#I should've used a reference but I was lazy

[girafferoyalty]

Hi pal!! Ha, I am predictable and here to request any member of the rgb trio for Faebruary :D I hope you're taking it easy and doing well 💖

Hello @good-beansdraws! Thanks for the well-wishes and requesting some lovely Echoes boys. To be quite honest, I misread your message and was like "The RGB trio? Coming right up!" and only after I was finished I reread the message and realised you meant just one of them... Anyway here are all 3 of them with some animal friends! 🐁🐸🐦‍⬛🧚‍♀️

Edit: Had to fix the bird’s beak a little it was bothering me too much

[lacamorte]

bingqiu feesh

[zylphiacrowley]

WIP Wednesday Woops-I-Missed-Wednesday (by a lot)

Tagged by @lilas for WIP Wednesday but I wasn't working on anything at the time. Since then the only thing I've done is some mouth studies. I do not work fast when it comes to art lol. Trying to figure out if practicing details might help me with my overall skills or if I'll get too impatient to actually apply any of this to bigger more "finished" pieces. 🙃

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

“you’re not falling—you’re being pulled”

part IV

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Angel!Reader

Summary: The fall of an angel is far more satisfying than anything Ben's ever experienced.

Warnings: 18+!, Soldier Boy is a warning, language, corruption, religious reference, BLASPHEMY (rosary being used in a questionable way), manipulation, innocence, smut (dirty talk, clitoral stimulation, cunnilingus/oral, corruption kink, praise kink), I may have missed some.

Word Count: 6,601

It hadn't been his proudest night.

After you slipped out of his lap—all soft and whimpery, like you were about to burst into goddamn tears—Ben had let you go. Had let you tuck yourself away, whisper some excuse about being tired, about needing to rest.

He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly where you were going. Not to bed. Not to hide. But to pray. Begging your Father for forgiveness with the phantom heat of Ben's cock still leaking in your hand. Glowing with sin while you muttered your pretty little confessions to a God that wasn't listening anymore.

He should've felt victorious.

Instead? He spent the whole fucking night jerking off like a sixteen-year-old who'd just discovered what his dick was for.

Six times.

Six goddamn times before the throbbing finally stopped enough for him to sleep. And even then—he woke up half-hard, palm sliding over himself in the dark like he could still feel the imprint of your hand wrapped around him, tentative and sweet and so fucking willing.

Ben scowled at the memory as he wandered the safehouse, shirtless, loose sweats slung low on his hips, the morning sun cutting dust-speckled light through the grimy windows. He needed to find you. Needed to see you. Just to remind himself it was real—that it hadn't been some fever dream cooked up in the back of his rotten skull.

He found you in the living room. And fuck if you didn't make it worse.

You were sitting cross-legged on the floor again, right beside Kimiko, who was perched on the couch. Frenchie sprawled on the arm of it, cigarette dangling from his lips, signing back and forth to her in that fast, fluid way that always looked like a goddamn magic trick.

You? You were just watching.

Sitting there barefoot, another oversized shirt swallowing your frame. A soft, thoughtful smile tugged at your lips as you watched Kimiko and Frenchie's hands move through the air, like they were speaking in tongues only they could understand.

Ben stopped in the doorway.

Watched you. Watched the way your head tilted a little, the way your lashes fluttered when Kimiko smiled at you. The way your glow—soft and muted in the sunlight—hugged the edges of your body like it didn't know how to leave you.

And he wondered if you even understood what they were saying. Or if you were just sitting there, sweet and patient, indulging them to be polite—being a fucking angel in a den of sinners.

Ben's mouth went dry. His cock twitched.

Jesus Christ.

You didn't even have to touch him anymore. All you had to do was exist. He shoved a hand through his hair, dragging his palm down his face with a growl low in his throat.

"Jesus," he muttered, loud enough to catch Frenchie's attention. "What's the plan here, teachin' the glowstick how to flap her hands around too?"

Frenchie smirked around his cigarette, signed something lazy, then added out loud:

"She is learning, monsieur Soldier Boy. Slowly."

Kimiko grinned at you.

You looked up at Ben—bright, a little shy, still smiling.

Ben stared.

Because fuck if you didn't look proud of yourself. Like you thought you were doing something important. Like you belonged here, sitting on the floor, barefoot and glowing and good. And he wanted you. Right there. In front of all of them. Bent over the couch with your halo flickering wild while he fucked that sweetness right outta you.

He clenched his fists. Bit down a groan. And stalked into the room, dropping onto the other arm of the sofa like he didn't want to tear you open with his hands.

"Cute," he muttered, voice rough. "Real fuckin' cute."

You just smiled wider. Like you had no idea you were killing him.

He realised it the same way a man catches a glimpse of a blade glinting in the grass—accidental, devastating.

The shirt. Not Frenchie's. Not Hughie's. Not MM's. Not even Butcher's. His. You were wearing his goddamn t-shirt. Plain. Worn soft by a thousand washes. Collar loose, sleeves too big, the hem swallowing the tops of your bare thighs like you were a fucking gift wrapped just for him.

Ben leaned back against the couch, barely breathing, heart thudding slow and heavy under his ribs.

You sat there cross-legged, barefoot on the grimy wood floor, oblivious to the fire you were stoking with every shift of your hips, every bright flicker of your halo as you smiled up at Kimiko and Frenchie.

And that wasn't the worst of it.

The worst of it was the little glimpse he kept catching every time you shifted your weight—pink cotton, soft and innocent, with a tiny satin bow perched like a kiss right at the centre of your waistband.

New panties. Pink.

Fucking pink.

Ben ground his molars together so hard his jaw ached.

You giggled—quiet and delighted—watching Kimiko's hands move through the air in a fast, graceful rhythm of signing. Frenchie answered, sharp and sly, cigarette bobbing between his lips.

You watched them like you were watching stars fall from the sky. And for the first time, Ben realised—you weren't just observing anymore. You were happy. Actually happy to be learning something human, something messy, something small and imperfect. And you were doing it wearing him.

He shifted on the couch, jaw tight, heat pooling low and heavy in his gut, pressing hard against the inside of his sweats.

It should've been illegal.

You, like this. You, smiling for someone else. You, glowing for something that wasn't his hands. You, fucking pink and soft and ready without even knowing it.

He dropped his gaze lower, watched your fingers flutter awkwardly through the air—mimicking Kimiko's sign—your movements clumsy but so fucking earnest.

His chest burned. His cock twitched. He shoved a hand through his hair, rough and frustrated.

"Christ on a cross," he muttered under his breath, voice scraping low enough to pull Frenchie's gaze.

Frenchie grinned around his cigarette.

Ben didn't give a fuck.

He leaned forward, elbows braced on his thighs, eyes locked on you as you tried to sign something simple—maybe "thank you" or "happy"—your brow furrowed in concentration, pink tongue peeking out just slightly between your lips.

Fuck.

He could've come from the sight alone.

"Careful, sweetheart," Ben rasped, loud enough for you to hear, voice dipped low and mocking-sweet. "Keep squirmin' like that and you're gonna give the whole room a fuckin' show."

You blinked up at him. Smiled. Bright. Unbothered. Oblivious. You didn't even flinch. Didn't even blush. Just tilted your head in that soft, curious way you had, like you were trying to figure out if he was complimenting you.

Ben felt something splinter inside him.

Frenchie caught it too—laughed, low and sly, flicking ash into a cracked tray.

"She is very innocent, non?" Frenchie said around his grin. "Like a little lamb."

Ben shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel.

Frenchie only laughed harder and Kimiko hid her smile behind her hand. You looked between them, confused but pleased, still perched cross-legged on the floor, fingers playing idly with the hem of his shirt where it pooled around your thighs.

Ben groaned low under his breath, half in agony, half in worship. He shoved up off the couch, muttering as he passed Frenchie:

"Gonna fuckin' die hard as a diamond over here."

Frenchie laughed harder. Ben didn't stop. Didn't dare look at you again. If he did, he'd fucking lose it. Right there. In front of everybody. Dragging you into his lap, tearing those stupid little panties in half, making you show them how angels fall.

He stalked into the kitchen, fists clenched, heart pounding like a war drum behind his ribs.

You didn't follow. Not yet. You just sat there, still glowing, still smiling, still playing with the edge of his goddamn t-shirt like you didn't even realise you were his.

He was burning alive. Leaning against the kitchen counter, fists braced to the edge, jaw tight, cock straining against his sweats so hard it bordered on actual pain.

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't get the image out of his head—you sitting there, knees tucked up, wearing his shirt, pink panties peeking out, smiling like he hadn't been jacking off to the memory of you crying in his lap just the night before.

He gritted his teeth. Closed his eyes. His heart was beating hard now—too hard. A deep, echoing thud in his chest, each beat chasing the next like it wanted to burst right through his ribs and onto the fucking floor.

He barely noticed your footsteps. Light. Rushing, but careful. Soft and purposeful, like you didn't want to scare whatever you were chasing. Then you were there. Voice soft. Concerned.

"Ben?"

He looked up. You were standing in the doorway now—barefoot, cheeks flushed, eyes shining with worry. Your hands were clasped in front of you, the hem of his t-shirt brushing the tops of your thighs.

"I heard your heart," you whispered, as if it was something dangerous. "It's too loud."

He should've shoved you away. Should've told you to back off, to leave him the fuck alone before he did something he couldn't take back. But when you rushed into the room, glowing, worry crinkling your brow, mouth parted like you were afraid he was dying—

Ben couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything but stare. You came right up to him—fast but careful—and looked up at him with those wide, earnest eyes.

"Is it hurting?" You whispered, soft and shaken. "Do you want me to help?"

He said nothing. Just let you step closer. You laid your hand against his chest. Right over his heart. And he was lost. The second your palm pressed to his skin, he grabbed you—needed to grab you—dragged you flush against him until the soft curve of your lower stomach pressed up against his cock, hard and aching through his sweats.

You didn't even flinch. Didn't even realise what you were doing. You just tilted your head slightly, hand glowing against his chest, your grace spilling slow and warm through his ribs like you were trying to heal something that didn't want to be healed.

Ben groaned. Low and rough and desperate. And then he rocked his hips forward. Dragged his cock against your belly in a slow, grinding roll.

You gasped—soft and broken—but didn't pull away. Just blinked up at him, cheeks blooming with colour, glow fluttering like a candle caught in a draft.

"Ben...?" You asked, voice cracking slightly. "Are you okay now?"

He could've fucking cried. Could've dropped to his knees and worshipped you for asking—or dragged you down with him and taught you how pretty your mouth would look moaning his name.

He huffed a breath, cock grinding harder into the soft curve of your stomach, the friction singing through his nerves like white-hot wire.

"Not even fuckin' close, angel," he rasped.

Another slow rut. Your fingers twitched against his chest. Your thighs pressed closer together. And Ben saw it—the way your halo sputtered and flared, the way your breath hitched, the way your lips parted wider like you were about to say something, confess something.

He rocked against you again—lazier this time, heavier—and murmured, voice thick and rough and coaxing:

"Y'feel that?"

You nodded. Small and shaky.

"Feel that little flutter in your belly again?" He breathed, dragging his hips forward again, grinding slow against your soft warmth. "The ache?"

You swallowed hard. Pressed closer without meaning to.

Ben's hands slid down your back, heavy and sure, splaying over your hips to hold you in place as he rocked against you again. You whimpered. And he smiled. Slow. Dangerous. Tender in the way a blade's edge kisses a throat.

"That's me, sweetheart," he murmured. "That's what I do to you."

You gasped—tiny, helpless—and your glow flared harder, spilling gold light up across his bare chest.

He groaned deep in his throat, teeth grinding. Fucking holy. Fucking his.

You shifted again. Rubbed against him—clumsy, innocent, chasing the friction without even knowing you were doing it.

Ben barely held himself back. Watched your mouth fall open. Watched your eyes flutter shut. Watched you pant against him, forehead pressing to his chest like you couldn't stand up under your own heat anymore.

And then—

You whispered it. Small. Broken. Glowing.

"Ben... it's happening again..."

His cock jerked against your stomach. And this time? He didn't stop you. He didn't stop anything. Ben tightened his hands on your hips, ground into you harder, dragging a low, wrecked sound from deep in his chest as he felt you start to tremble—felt you start to glow—felt your thighs twitch and your breath stutter against his skin.

You were panting against him now. Small, broken little breaths warming his skin, your cheek pressed to his chest, your halo fluttering low and weak like a flame running out of air.

Ben barely breathed. Not when you looked up at him like that—wide-eyed and trembling, cheeks flushed a sweet, damning pink, mouth parted like you were still tasting the last time he kissed you.

Trust.

Fuck.

You looked at him like he was something holy. You pressed closer. Pressed your soft, shaking body harder into him like you didn't even know what you were chasing—just knew you needed more.

And then—small, cracked, sweeter than any goddamn prayer Ben had ever heard—you whispered:

"Can we kiss again?"

He lost it.

Grabbed you. Hands rough but reverent, hauling you up like you weighed nothing, spinning you until you were perched on the edge of the cracked counter, legs falling open instinctively to wrap around his hips.

Ben stepped in close.

Real close. Close enough that the hard heat of his cock, still trapped in his sweats, dragged against the soft, damp cotton of your panties—right over that swollen, aching little clit he hadn't even touched properly yet.

You gasped. Soft. Shaky. So fucking sweet.

Ben dropped his forehead to yours. Breathing hard. Gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. He didn't move yet. Didn't kiss you. Just breathed against your mouth—close enough you could taste the smoke and sin and hunger radiating off him.

"You want it?" He rasped.

You nodded. Pressed your thighs tighter around him, trembling, desperate for something you didn't know how to name.

Ben smiled. Lazy. Dangerous. Voice rough with the weight of everything he wanted to do to you.

"Come get it, angel," he whispered. "Come take it from me."

You whimpered. Low and helpless. Your fingers clutched at his shirt, trying to pull him closer, trying to close that last terrible millimetre between your mouths.

Ben didn't move. Held still. Made you choose. Made you fall.

You shifted. Leaning in. Mouth brushing his. Halo flickering wild behind your head like it didn't know whether to save you or surrender you. And when your lips finally pressed to his—soft and trembling and so goddamn sweet—Ben crushed you closer. Groaned low in his throat. Rolled his hips hard against you, dragging his cock over that soaked little scrap of pink cotton covering your cunt.

You gasped into his mouth. And this time? You didn't pull away. You clung. You kissed him back—messy, desperate, glowing—grinding against him without even knowing you were doing it.

Ben swallowed your soft, broken sounds like they were sacraments.

And he knew. You were his now, because you were panting into his mouth, clinging to him like you didn't even know where you ended and he began. Your legs wrapped around his hips. Your soft thighs squeezing. Your damp little panties grinding against the thick heat of his cock through his sweats every time you moved.

Ben didn't rush. Didn't shove. Just let it happen. Let you ruin yourself slow—kissing him messy, grinding against him needy, glowing for him like the heavens were falling apart inside you.

You whimpered. Shifted closer.

He groaned low against your mouth, grinding up harder, dragging your cunt over the thick ridge of his cock. You cried out—quiet and helpless—and that halo flickered wild and broken behind your head. And Ben grinned against your lips. Lazy. Dangerous.

Mine, he thought. Mine now.

But then something shifted. You pulled back suddenly, blinking up at him wide-eyed, breathing fast, pink mouth trembling open like you were about to cry.

Ben froze. Watched it all crack open across your face—the fear, the guilt, the ache you didn't know how to hold.

"I— I have to go," you whispered, voice wrecked.

Before he could stop you, you slid off the counter—bare feet slapping the floor—swallowed up by the halo of your panic. Ben let you run, watched you stumble away, still barefoot, still glowing, still wearing his shirt. Smirked slow. Shoved a hand through his hair and exhaled rough through his nose.

"Yeah," he muttered. "That's right, baby. Run."

He waited a beat. Long enough for you to think you were safe. Long enough for the guilt to start eating you alive. Then he pushed off the counter and followed. Didn't hurry. Didn't have to. You always made it so easy.

He found you in your room, on your knees at the foot of the bed. Pastel-pink rosary clutched between trembling hands, tears clinging stubborn to your lashes, head bowed low like you were waiting for the lightning to strike.

Ben leaned against the doorframe. Crossed his arms over his chest. Watched you. Silent. Dark. Almost smiling.

You were whispering. Soft. Broken. Begging.

"For forgiveness." "For strength." "For the ache to go away."

Ben cocked his head as he listened. Felt the way the words hit the air—sharp, desperate, so fucking sweet. But he knew. He knew you weren't praying to the right god. He pushed off the frame slow, boots heavy on the floor.

You didn't hear him at first—too caught up in your own pleading, your own trembling sorrow. It wasn't until he crouched right in front of you—close enough that you could smell the smoke on his skin, the sweat, the heat—that you realised he was there.

You gasped, head snapping up, halo sputtering behind you, with tears shining in your wide, broken eyes.

Ben smiled. Slow. Dangerous. Gentle, in the way a wolf's teeth could be gentle right before the kill.

"What're you prayin' for, angel?" He rasped, voice rough and low.

You blinked at him. Swallowed. Clutched your rosary tighter like it could save you.

Ben chuckled. A low, wrecked sound. "You think He's listenin'?" He asked, tilting his head. "You think He gives a shit what you want?"

You shuddered. Silent. Tears slipping down your cheeks.

Ben reached out. Hooked a finger under your chin—rough and calloused—lifting your face until you had no choice but to look at him.

"You're on your knees for the wrong man," he whispered.

You whimpered. A tiny, broken sound that shot straight to his cock.

Ben leaned closer. Voice dropping to a sinful, tender rasp:

"You wanna be forgiven, baby? You wanna be clean again?"

You nodded—small, desperate, trembling.

He smiled. Soft. Cruel. "Then you come to me," he said. "You pray to me."

Your lip quivered.

"Ben—"

"Shhh."

He brushed his thumb over your mouth, slow and reverent.

"You already glow for me, angel," he murmured. "You already ache for me."

Another tear slid down your cheek. Ben caught it with his thumb, and smeared it slow across your skin like he was painting you in your own sorrow.

"Let go," he whispered. "Let it happen."

He leaned closer. So close his breath fanned your lips, so close you could feel the heat of him radiating off his skin.

"You want absolution, baby?" He rasped, voice cracking. He tilted your chin higher, looked you dead in the eye. "Say you're mine."

You made a sound that didn't belong in this world. A broken, gasping, wrecked little sob that tore straight through the air between you and him like a blade. Ben froze. Watched your shoulders shake. Watched your halo sputter wild and frantic behind your head like a dying star.

"I've been fine—" you gasped out, voice cracking around the weight of your own sorrow. "I've been fine my whole life—"

You looked up at him, eyes red and shining, breath hitching, chest heaving under the hang of his old t-shirt.

"And then you—" you choked, shaking your head, tears slipping free faster than you could wipe them away. "You came along and you—"

You swallowed, sobbed, pressed your fist—rosary and all—tight against your chest like it could hold you together.

"You made this ache grow inside me," you whispered, broken. "Made me its host."

Ben didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stared down at you—kneeled, glowing, sobbing like you were falling apart at the seams—and let the dark, molten pride rise slow and heavy through his gut.

You pressed your palms flat against your thighs, shaking.

"You—" your voice shattered again. "My body—" You looked up at him, devastated. "It doesn't feel like mine anymore."

Ben smiled. Slow. Gentle. Wrecked. "That's 'cause it ain't, baby," he rasped, voice low and rough with the weight of his need. "It's mine now."

You blinked at him—shocked, trembling, glowing so bright it hurt to look at you. And Ben crouched lower, closer. His breath brushed your cheek when he spoke:

"Always was," he murmured. "Always fuckin' will be."

You gasped. Shuddered. Hands twitching, shaking, and then—then you did the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

You sobbed—loud and cracked—and cupped yourself. Both hands pressed tight between your thighs over your damp, ruined panties, clutching your pussy through the thin cotton like you were trying to stop the ache from eating you alive.

Your rosary—still wrapped around your wrist—pressed into the soaked pink cotton, tiny beads catching against the curve of your cunt.

Ben groaned. Deep and guttural. Almost fucking came on the spot, because you didn't even know what you were doing. Didn't even realise you were grinding your palms down, chasing the friction instinctively, whimpering soft and broken while you cried up at him.

You sniffled. Wiped your nose with the back of your trembling hand. Sobbed again: "I'm not—" you gasped. "I'm not made to want."

Your hips jerked, grinding harder into your own hands.

"I'm made to help," you whimpered. "I'm made to heal—and you—you make me feel things—"

You pressed your palms harder against your cunt, rosary and all. Choked on your sobs.

"Things down here," you wept, voice high and wrecked and holy, "that feel wrong—feel dirty—"

Ben exhaled hard through his nose. Fought the surge—the white-hot snap of need threatening to rip him open. He reached out, caught your hands, and held them still over your cunt, your rosary trapped between his rough fingers and your trembling heat.

"You ain't dirty, baby," he rasped, voice low and wrecked and almost tender.

He squeezed your wrists lightly, felt the heat of you pulsing desperate and frantic through the soaked cotton.

"You're perfect."

You whimpered. Shivered. Tried to press closer without meaning to.

Ben leaned in. So close his forehead almost touched yours. Voice dropping to a low, filthy rasp:

"I can make it better, angel," he whispered. "I can take it all away."

You blinked up at him—dazed, tear-streaked, shining.

"You just gotta let me."

You were breaking yourself apart. Bent on your knees, thighs trembling, grinding your soaked little panties against your own palms—hands he was only pretending to restrain, letting you ruin yourself, letting you squirm and whimper and cry against him while your halo guttered wild and frantic above your head.

The beads of your pastel-pink rosary bit into the cotton between your thighs with every desperate little roll of your hips, a slow, helpless blasphemy that made Ben's cock ache so hard he saw stars.

You were panting, gasping, soft broken little sobs caught in your throat, lips red and bitten, your glow trembling like a wounded thing. Every part of you shook, but you kept grinding down, seeking relief, chasing something you didn't know how to find, didn't know how to beg for yet.

Ben didn't stop you. He held your wrists loose in his rough hands, let you move, let you fucking suffer.

God, you were so fucking pretty when you suffered.

He leaned in close, breathing you in—sweat and salt and holy fire—and let his voice scrape low against your ear, hot and deliberate:

"You're grindin' down on your fuckin' rosary, angel," he murmured, voice rough with the weight of it. "Like it's gonna take that ache away."

You let out a wrecked whimper, pressing your forehead to his chest like you could disappear into him, and still your hips kept moving, your thighs squeezing tighter around your own hands.

He smiled against your hair. Dark. Gentle. Damned.

"You don't have to suffer like this," he rasped. "You don't have to cry 'n hurt 'n beg."

You shivered, breathing ragged, the pink cotton of your panties darkening with the wet heat that clung to you, that marked you, that made you glow all the brighter for your fall.

Ben pressed his forehead to yours, let his breath fan hot and heavy across your lips.

"I could kiss it away," he whispered, so soft it almost hurt. "You like kissin', don't you?"

You gasped—high and helpless—and nodded, a frantic little jerk of your chin, your halo sputtering wild behind you.

Ben's mouth twisted in something between a smile and a grimace. Because you did love kissing. You loved being kissed, loved being claimed and lit up and ruined sweet right down to the marrow of your little holy bones.

And he was gonna give you so much more than that. He was gonna take everything you had left.

"I could kiss you all over," he crooned against your cheek, grinding the words slow into your skin. "Kiss that ache away. Make you feel good. Make you feel mine."

You whimpered again, desperate, hiccupping on your own breath, rubbing harder now, grinding the soft cotton and sacred beads against your cunt like you couldn't stop even if you tried.

Ben let his hands slide lower, dragging slow over your wrists, your hips, guiding you, coaxing you, breaking you.

"I could lick it away," he rasped, voice cracking under the strain of his own need. "Get down there, spread you open, taste every sweet little drop you're cryin' for me."

You sobbed. Loud and broken and beautiful. Pressed harder, rubbed faster, begged without words.

Ben groaned low in his throat, the sound ripped straight from his chest, every muscle in his body strung tight, straining against the need to just take you.

He didn't. Not yet. He wanted you to ask. He wanted you to fall.

"Or I could fuck it away," he whispered, humming the words slow against your ear, hips rocking forward just enough for you to feel how hard he was, how ready. "Stuff you full'a cock 'til you forget what hurt even feels like."

You whimpered. Pressed your mouth to his chest to muffle the soft, wrecked noise. Rubbed harder. Ground your trembling palms against your cunt like you were trying to tear yourself apart.

Ben slid his hands back up your arms, rough and slow, then caught your face between his palms, lifted your chin so you had to look at him, had to meet his burning gaze.

Your cheeks were wet. Your lashes stuck together with tears. Your mouth quivered open and closed, open and closed, like you were trying to say something but the words wouldn't come. Ben leaned in, close enough that his breath was your breath, close enough that you could taste the smoke and hunger bleeding off him.

"You want me to make it better, angel?" He whispered, voice molten with reverence and ruin.

You nodded. Desperate. Trembling. Glowing.

Ben smiled. Soft. Cruel. Inevitable.

"You gotta ask," he said. Low. Final. His thumbs brushed your soaked cheeks. "You gotta tell me what you want."

And then he waited. Let the silence stretch thick between you, let you suffer on the cusp of surrender. Because he knew you would. He knew. You were already halfway fallen. All you had to do was fall the rest of the way.

It was a whisper at first. Small, broken, torn from the wreckage of your own throat.

"Please..." A cracked sob, wet and trembling.

Your hands clutched useless at the front of his sweats, fingers tightening, the glint of the rosary beads around your wrist flashing like a warning, like a prayer.

Ben didn't breathe. Just watched you shake and whimper and choose. You tipped your face up to him—glowing, trembling, ruined—and let out a broken little gasp that shattered something deep and hungry inside him.

"Please help me, Ben," you whispered.

You didn't even know what you were begging for. Didn't have the words. Didn't need them.

Ben had waited long enough.

He moved in a flash—couldn't fucking help himself—grabbing you under your thighs, lifting you up like you weighed nothing, hauling you against his chest with a snarl low and wrecked in his throat. Your legs wrapped around him instinctively, clinging tight, the heat of your cunt grinding desperate and hot against his ribs.

Ben crushed you against him. Buried his face in your neck, breathing you in deep, voice low and ragged and reverent:

"Good fuckin' girl," he rasped. "Good girl—fuck, you're such a good girl for me—"

He spun you, shoved you against the nearest wall hard enough to rattle the drywall, let you cling to him with all that desperate little strength, let you cry against his shoulder while he praised you like a dying man finding God.

"You're mine now," he growled into your skin, his hands greedy and rough and shaking with restraint. "Fuckin' mine."

You whimpered, and pressed closer. Arms wound tight around his neck, nails digging into his skin, the cold hard edge of your rosary pressing into the nape of his neck with every desperate little clutch of your fingers.

Ben almost lost it right there.

Almost came just from the feel of it—the fucking rosary digging into his flesh while you sobbed and writhed against him, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you from falling all the way into hell.

He crushed his mouth to yours—messy, savage, brutal—dragging a low, desperate moan from deep inside you. You kissed him back without thinking. Without hesitation. Soft and broken and glowing.

Ben groaned against your lips, rutting helplessly against the hot little seam of your thighs, feeling the heat of you through the damp cotton barrier still clinging to your ruined cunt.

"Fuck, angel," he panted, kissing you again, sloppier, filthier. "You taste like fuckin' heaven. Sweet little thing. Don't even know what you're doin' to me."

You whimpered into his mouth, ground down against him without meaning to. Tighter. Closer. Every little noise you made—every soft, gasping whimper, every broken sob—sent a fresh pulse of blood straight to his cock, made it ache harder, made his control splinter.

He kissed you harder.

Gripped your ass in both hands, dragging your soaked panties against the heavy ridge of his cock, grinding you slow and filthy against him while you clung to him with desperate little hands, the beads of your rosary still digging into his neck like a brand.

He pulled back just enough to speak, forehead pressed to yours, breath heaving rough and hot between you:

"You want me to take it away, baby?" He rasped. "You want me to kiss that ache right outta you?"

You nodded, frantic, lips parted, halo sparking and sputtering wild and broken behind your head.

Ben grinned against your mouth. Dark. Triumphant. Tender in the way a knife is tender when it carves something open.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, you do. 'N you're gonna let me, ain't you, angel?"

You whimpered again. Soft and helpless.

Ben kissed the sound right out of you, deep and hungry and filthy, grinding slow against your trembling body like he could drink your ruin straight from your mouth. His hands slid lower. Rough and sure. Hooked under the backs of your thighs and lifted you higher, shifting his grip so he could carry you, so he could take you wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

And you—

You didn't fight. You clung to him with everything you had.

Arms locked around his neck. Legs tight around his waist. Halo sputtering low behind your head, flickering every time you gasped against him, every time the rosary wrapped around your trembling wrist dug into the back of his neck.

He turned towards your bed.

It hit him like a punch to the gut—the sweet, clean smell of it. The pale sheets. The soft white blanket folded at the foot of the bed. The delicate little lamp casting a soft, warm halo over the space.

Pure. Pristine. Ready to be ruined.

Ben grinned against your hair. Soft and slow and wrecked. He laid you down careful—like you were something sacred he was about to defile. You were.

Your body curled into the sheets instinctively, thighs pressing tight together, shirt riding up just high enough to expose the soft curve of your hips, the sweet flash of your pink panties stretched damp and trembling across your cunt.

Ben knelt over you. Breathed you in.

You blinked up at him—eyes glassy, wet, shining with tears and something worse, something better—and he felt the last shreds of his restraint tear clean down the middle.

He bent low. Pressed a kiss to your forehead. Soft. Almost tender. Then he started moving down. Kissing a trail slow and filthy across your body—the slope of your temple, the hollow of your throat, the frantic thudding of your pulse under your skin.

All the while, his voice never stopped. Low. Rough. Filthy with reverence.

"Look at you, angel," he murmured against your collarbone, dragging his teeth lightly over the thin cotton of his shirt stretched over your body. "Fuckin' glowin' for me. Shakin' for me."

You whimpered. Squirmed. Ben smiled against your sternum.

"You know what else I noticed, baby?" He rasped, kissing lower, mouthing at the hem of the shirt where it rode up against your trembling thighs.

You gasped. Shook your head helplessly.

Ben chuckled. Dark and low.

"You chose to wear my shirt today."

You shivered. Tried to look away. Ben caught your hip in one rough hand—held you still. Pressed a kiss slow and filthy to the wet cotton covering your cunt.

You sobbed. Loud and wrecked. Back arched off the bed like you couldn't take it, like you were trying to escape—but there was nowhere left to run.

He kissed you again. Right over the soaked pink cotton. Open-mouthed and shameless. Tasting the sweetness of your ruin even through the cloth. And then—without warning—he opened his mouth wider, and sucked. Loud and obscene. Wet. Fucking gluttonous.

You cried out—loud and desperate—hands flying to the sheets, clutching so hard your knuckles went white.

Ben groaned against you. Ground his hips hard against the mattress, rutting slow and helpless, cock throbbing like it might tear free of his skin. He couldn't stop. Couldn't think. Couldn't fucking breathe.

You tasted like heaven and hell tied together. You smelled like sin and surrender. You sounded like prayers ripped straight from the throat of a dying star.

He sucked harder, let the slick sound of it fill the room, obscene and sweet and devastating.

You sobbed. Begged without words. Your hips jerked helplessly under his mouth, grinding against the wet heat of his tongue through the soaked cotton, chasing something you didn't even know you needed yet.

Ben didn't stop. He devoured you. Held you down with rough hands and filthy promises whispered against the trembling heat of your cunt.

"Good girl," he rasped against you. "Good fuckin' girl. Gonna taste you proper soon, baby. Gonna teach you how sweet you are. Gonna make you fuckin' glow for me."

You writhed, broke apart piece by piece beneath his mouth. And Ben ground against the mattress, desperate and helpless and ruined right alongside you.

Because this—this moment—was everything he had wanted. You. Glowing. Crying. Grinding your perfect cunt against his mouth, his shirt, your own fucking rosary. Ruined. Holy. His.

You tasted like the death of heaven.

Ben licked you through the soaked pink cotton, mouth open and filthy, dragging his tongue slow and rough over the trembling heat of you while you writhed helplessly beneath him, sobbing soft, broken sounds into the clean white sheets.

Your hands clutched at the mattress, clutching the rosary still wrapped around your fingers, clutching anything you could as if it might save you from what he was doing to you.

Nothing could save you now. Nothing should.

Ben pulled back slightly, panting against the damp cloth, his chest heaving, the wet noise of your ruin still clinging to his mouth, his beard, his fucking soul. He pressed his forehead to your thigh for a moment, grounding himself against the smooth tremble of your skin, the scent of your slick staining the air sweet and heavy and yours.

He wanted to tear you apart. He wanted to kneel for you. He wanted to ruin and worship and keep you.

He dragged his mouth up your inner thigh slow, leaving kisses sticky and reverent against your skin, his palms sliding rough along your trembling legs, holding you open for him, keeping you spread even when you whimpered and tried to close yourself off in some tiny, broken instinct toward modesty.

"No, baby," he murmured, low and rough, voice scraping across your nerves like velvet dragged over broken glass. "Let me see you. Let me taste you proper."

You sobbed, high and cracked, glowing so hard the air between you flickered.

Ben kissed the soft crease where your thigh met your hip, bit down just hard enough to make you whimper, then soothed it with a slow, dragging lick. His hands gripped the waistband of your panties, the little pink bow trembling under his thumbs.

He looked up at you once—wanted to see you. Wanted to feel you watching him.

You were staring down at him, dazed and weeping, cheeks wet and glowing, rosary clutched so tight in your shaking hand it cut cruel red lines into your wrist.

Ben smiled. "You wore my shirt," he rasped, voice a low growl of hunger and pride. "Wore your sweet little panties. Got on your knees for me. Prayed to the wrong fuckin' god."

You whimpered. Rolled your hips without meaning to.

Ben leaned in, pressed a filthy kiss right over that little pink bow, right over your ruined cunt, breathing you in deep, savouring the heat and slick staining the air between you.

"Good girl," he whispered against you. "Such a good fuckin' girl."

And then—finally—he hooked his thumbs under the damp waistband and peeled your panties down. Slow. Dragging the soaked cotton down your thighs like a man unwrapping something sacred.

You gasped—soft and broken—hips twitching as the cool air kissed your slick, trembling cunt.

Ben groaned deep in his chest. Almost collapsed.

You were so wet. So swollen. So fucking perfect it hurt to look at you.

He dropped your panties somewhere behind him without a second thought, spread your thighs wider with rough, reverent hands, and settled between them like a man taking his place at the altar.

You tried to close your legs again—nervous, shaking—but Ben just murmured soft against your inner thigh:

"Uh-uh, baby. Open up for me. Let me take care of you."

You whimpered and fell back into the sheets.

Ben dragged his tongue slow—obscenely slow—up the slick seam of your cunt, from the desperate little drip at your entrance all the way up to the tender, swollen pearl of your clit.

You screamed. High and helpless. Your hips jerked clean off the bed, your thighs trembling hard against his palms. And Ben groaned into you. Ground his cock against the mattress, again, fucking the bed slow and rough while he devoured you.

You tasted like salvation. Like surrender. Like something holy and forbidden and his. He licked you again. Long and filthy. Letting the wet, sloppy sound of it fill the room, letting you hear exactly how much he wanted you, how much he was losing himself in you.

You sobbed, clutched the sheets, clutched the rosary. Pressed it tight against your chest like it could stop the flood pouring through your body.

Ben wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked—hard, wet, relentless.

You screamed again, voice cracking, hips grinding helplessly against his mouth, chasing the friction, chasing the salvation he offered with every filthy, reverent lick.

He pulled back just enough to murmur against you, voice wrecked and shaking:

"That's it, baby. That's my good fuckin' angel."

He licked you again, slow and devastating, tongue thick and broad, dragging through every desperate, sweet part of you.

"You taste like heaven, angel," he rasped. "You taste like you're beggin' to be mine."

You sobbed harder, clutched his hair, pulled him closer. And Ben let you. Let you grind against his mouth, let you cry and writhe and fall, let you lose yourself against his tongue like you were praying in a language older than sin.

He drank you down. Greedy. Gluttonous. Glowing. Because you were his altar now. His prayer. His fucking religion. And he would never stop worshipping you.

Never.

a/n: OKAY. Please do not judge me too harshly for the rosary... believe me when I tell you I edited that part because I had worse stuff in here. If y'all want it, I'll add it back into part five because you already know what this whole series has been leading towards. Heh. I'm aware, I'm wrong and disgusting and too horny for my own good. BUT Y'ALLS HERE TOO, BITCHES. So you're slaves to the filth monster too. Again, class, can we all just say thank you to @tinas111 because this whole story is because of her. I love you, wifey. <3 Let me know what you think please, bbys. All the fuckin' goddamn love.

Soldier Boy/Ben taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @bejeweledinterludes @soldiersgirl @angelicjackles @lunaleah. @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @bittersweetfig @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @ohgodimgoungtodie @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l @kaz-2y5-spn @agoodgirlsguidetomakingmencry @bohoooitsme @lanasgirlfr @justatinybud @bitchykittenconnoisseur <3

[amelil-lita]

"She used to be the sun."

Alternate version + closeups below!! (And rambling ofc)

Sloppily did Arabella's hair to make it look at least a little more like her??? Uh not a huge fan to be honest, but I realized—as I don't have any reference for others to go off of in my blog—most people probably would not recognize younger Arabella. I painted this with the white hair image in mind cuz I like the amorphous shape. Now looking at it, I def should've changed the hair colors to match but I got lazy.

Kinda gave up. It's 5 AM and I still have school at 8 😭.

This is young Arabella!! As a girl she was more smily and chipper.

Been a while since I rendered, and it's a pain as always! Albeit a but fun. I just hate hands. If anyone is wondering, I always change to my colors whenever I draw to fit a palette and theme for cohesion, so these aren't exactly accurate to base off of.

Close ups!!

Love doing blendy scrappy lines... and dreamy, pale, washed out colors...mmmmmmmmmm

[iz-star]

My thoughts and guesses / theories about Zayne's upcoming main story branch.

Like I've said in previous posts, I've been hella busy with work and most of all, exhausted so I haven't been able to come here and scream about the game updates (let alone draw something) but I still want to summarize my reactions from the past few days.

About the main story update, I'm really excited to see what's going to happen! I love the Dawnbreaker references but I have to be honest, I don't really think this is Dawnbreaker, he's still Dr Zayne (they both are part of each other somehow, but you understand what I mean).

Here's why:

At first, I genuinely thought this time we really would get the chance to interact with Dawnbreaker since Zayne is wearing DB's outfit and not a jumpscare outfit like in Snowy Serenity but the more I watched the trailer, the more I realized that this is still Dr Zayne which both makes me feel alleviated (cause if it were to be Dawnbreaker, it would leave us wondering where Dr Zayne is) and scared cause if he gets to suffer/ sacrifice himself in this time line like he did as Foreseer and MoF, I don't know well how I'll handle it.

He's a male lead so I don't think they will kill him off (? but somehow with Zayne one never knows, he's honestly always surprising us. In any case, my wildest theory is that if something happens to Dr Zayne, then we'll continue his branch with Dawnbreaker... idk? Anyway, don't really pay too much attention to this since it's most unlikely that something like this happens.

The impression I got after watching the trailer so many times is that this is actually Dr Zayne in the process of becoming 'Dawnbreaker' (maybe not exactly his other self but the concept) which has been one of his biggest fears; the reason? Because the Xander Sciences experiments, the severe cases of Protocore Syndrome and Metaflux anomalies are probably speeding the process of humanity to get doomed since in Dawnbreaker's world, humans turning into wanderers is something pretty recurrent and the very reason Zayne is a killer and his world is apocalyptic. Dr Zayne knows of this, he knows using protocores in human hearts is dangerous (the very reason he gave up his research in university), he also knows that to be exposed to big quantities of metaflux is what turns humans into Wanderers, he knows it because when he and William fought side by side in Mt Eternal, it was in order to destroy a Protofield that got out of hand and the Metaflux anomalies there were bringing to land more Wanderers. It was until they destroyed the protofield when William started to turn into an Abomination and then, a Wanderer.

In the trailer, Dr Zayne says something like 'We have no choice but to destroy this place" so my guess is that there is another big Metaflux anomaly like in Mt Eternal but this time in a place where there is a lot of ppl and due to being exposed to it, they're turning into Wanderers, something that Zayne as a Doctor can't cure: "Aren't you a Doctor. You should've save me!"

In fact, this is something he can only cure as Dawnbreaker:

I'm really interested to know who was the guy who asked Zayne to kill him. My guesses are:

William (and this probably a flashback).

Carter

Greyson (most unlikely since the voice didn't mach but goshh could you imagine the angst if it was him??)

So if there is another Metaflux anomaly it means that there's a Protofield that got out of hand and it probably was in either Akso Hospital or Xander Sciences company cause they had a special patient that accoring to what they say in the trailer, had a fragil heart that would've stopped long ago.

If I'm not mistaken (and since I'm currently sleepy and feeling lazy) in the World Underneath anecdotes Carter and Xander Sciences tried to keep some patients alive or to revive them using protocores and keeping him in pods but it didn't work? However, long before these anecdotes were released, we knew that there were already organizations doing research about immortality:

It seems that 'A special energy field' is necesary in order to reach better conditions to regenerate the human heart. What if this 'special energy field' is something similar to a Protofield? If we remember correctly, in both Rafayel and Xavier's myths MC's heart was necessary for them to live immortal lifes? In Rafayel's case, she seemed to give ppl some kind of energy? But at the same time she couldn't leave their city neither. In Xavier's case, her heart was like an unending source of energy for Philos core and they wanted to feed Philos core with her so they would stop to sending humans and then Philos core would stop crearing wanderers.

In both cases, it seems that MC is the source of energy of a Protofield that both gives it enough quantities of energy to keep it balanced and making ppl within this field to be immortal (like her) without the risk of becoming wanderers. In Rafayel's myth, she was already the source of this field, so there are actually no wanderers in this myth. In Xavier's myth, she wasn't the source of it so they were creating wanderers bc of it.

What if in this case, Xander Sciences discovers that the key to reach immortality lies in creating a Protofield with enough energy to create the needed conditions to regenerate human hearts for indefinite amount of time and that the KEY to achieve this lies in MC's aether core??

What if what Zayne is trying to protect here is MC's heart so they won't use her to reach immortality, EVEN if he knows that this most likely will avoid tons of deaths and will stop the creation of wanderers and ALSO will avoid his future as Dawnbreaker but even so he chooses to save her, just like he did as Foreseer and Master of Fate.

And lastly, he mentions "When that day comes... When I can't wake up" my only guesses are:

His nightmare of becoming "The Grim Reaper" will become true.

By destroying the Protofield that is creating the anomaly, he also freezes himself?

Maybe he steals part of MC's power or even he takes the creatio protocore he gave to her as Foreseer and uses it on himself so instead of using her as the source of energy for this Protofield, he offers himself as this unending source of energy? (This one is quite wild and seems unlikely to happen but I still wanted to mention it ahaha).

Anyway these are all my thoughts for now. Please take this with a grain of salt, since these are only silly theories and nothing official. We'll have to wait some days more to discover the truth.

[ambrosialdesire]

Do y'all refer to yourselves, reader, or darling? I personally use darling.

Also... If you see those daydream doodles you know there's a bad end Laios. Okay now hear me out..... Dark king Laios chasing you down after you escape because you were one of the few people who cared and understood him. What's happens next?? Idk 😏- 🌻

SORRY OLD ASK THAT I SHOULD'VE ANSWERED A WHILE AGO AND IDK IF THIS IS REAL SUNFLOWER ANON OR ACCIDENTAL FALSE SUNFLOWER AGAIN

i usually prefer reader tbh or just y/n or "you" cause personally, it seems easier that way and that's who i am kinda to the fic LOL

YES i've seen those drawings before, i tried to ignore them cause i'm keeping up with the anime and not the manga but yk, that's hard to do nowadays esp with tiktok and tumblr's for you tab 😅

since i don't really know the ending of dungeon meshi (surprisingly LMAO), i fr don't know what happened to the whole group and what they'll do after retrieving falin back, but ILL TRY MY BEST FOR YOU SUNFLOWER ANON and i feel like the kingdom still remains underground in this scenario, so that's what i'm gonna try basing this on (sorry if it's off or wrong 😭🙏)

kinda went a little crazy with this but got lazy at the end LMAO

SPOILERS (ig) FOR DUNGEON MESHI BAD END?? 18+ MINORS AND BLANK BLOGS DNI

warnings + tags: yandere and obsessive themes, somewhat explicit sexual content, unhealthy relationships, dubcon, somewhat unbalanced power dynamic, sorta subby laios, prolly OOC laios, violence, all characters are 18+

before your escape, you tried to stay as loyal as possible to laios. despite the many changes he's gone through after becoming the dark king of the golden country, he was once a friend, your party leader. he declared you the job of being his right-hand, almost akin to an advisor with marcille (who he labeled as his dungeon master), although he didn't really listen to any of your advices on how the kingdom or the dungeon should be ran.

chilchuck, senshi, and izutsumi parted ways with the four of you right after he was crowned king. the half-foot was not able to bare seeing how laios will rule the eternally immortal lands, preferring to finally spend time with his three daughters once more after months of exploring this very dungeon. both the dwarf and beast-woman decided to go back to the higher floors together, deciding that it was what was best for them.

only you, falin, and marcille stayed. though it was briefly obvious that the elven mage had shown her preference to go back to the surface, she seemed to be thriving in her research on ancient magic down here, even if it was visibly mentally draining her. falin's reasons for staying were evident. they were unable to rid her of the plumage on her chest and the lower half of her body remained the red dragon's despite marcille's many desperate attempts. if she was able to return to normal, you knew she could never bare the thought of leaving her older brother in this kingdom deep within the dungeon. but you... you really don't know why you stayed with him. maybe you were always going to be a follower of his, despite everything.

the first incident came after a few months into laios's ruling, when a mass amount of outsiders of the dungeon managed to reach the floor of the kingdom. whispers of a hefty bounty for the head of the mage who resurrected the party member into a horrible chimera hybrid beast spread around (you slightly chuckled at the mention of it, they were really far too late in the news).

barely a flick of his wrist as he sat on his throne and he managed to summon such a frightening beast, considerably more awful than falin's hybrid form. he whispered something into its ear with each individual head, watching from the window as parties were felled one by one, an uneasy pit forming in your stomach. as the ash and smoke rose into the sky, you made your way quietly to his room and suggested for him to let the corpse collectors retrieve the bodies, only to meet with firm refusal.

"they'll only come back to hurt us," laios frowned at your pitiful gaze, before focusing on the smoking reddish sky. "they'll stop at nothing until they manage to kill falin, then go for marcille, and then you, an accomplice. they'd want me last, a king's head fetches for a considerable price and to be lord of the dungeon? one of the greatest treasures here."

"but laios—"

"we must consider our safety before anyone else's. that's final." he turned towards you, his eyes turning soft. "please, i'm doing this for you."

you could only nod, shutting yourself up with lips being pulled taut. from there, you could only watch as the villagers took the corpses one by one and buried them in singular nameless graves. as you rested a bundle of flowers on a freshly planted mass grave, you hoped this would be the last time, hoped that at least one survived and got the message.

the horns didn't appear until the fifth attack on the kingdom. they were unnoticeable at first, eventually laios did complain about some pain around the back of his head but every time that you and marcille tried to heal it, nothing worked. they grew overnight on the day that these outsiders were appearing, ivory-colored horns curving around the top of his head. laios seemed exhausted, dark bags forming on the underside of his eyes but was completely unphased by the approaching masses.

"do you think falin is hungry?" he asked you as he strode on horseback towards the furious crowd, your nerves jumping all about as you followed behind him.

"her appetite seems normal, she never complains and we always give her more servings when she asks."

"no, no. not that kind of hunger," he mused, resting his clawed metal glove on the hilt of his sword (you weren't even sure if it was kensuke anymore). "the hunger for a fight, for bloodshed."

you stayed silent, concern in your expression as he unsheathed the sword slowly, the blade shining brightly in the underground world's sunlight as he raised it up in the air. you wanted to say no, that the red dragon in her was the only part of her that revels in that sort of mess, but then a shadow blew over you, the force of the wind nearly pushing you and your steed back. the sun was blocked for a mere second, the ground shaking violently as falin dove into the crowd.

the screams were loud, ear-piercing. it was more horrid up close than you've ever imagined, nausea building up in your throat as the sharp iron smell filled the air with more smoke. the world seemed to grow quiet besides the flapping of her strong wings approaching the two of you, a beaten and bloodied elven man in her clawed grasp. you flinched as she dropped him on the ground in front of laios, like a cat bearing its owner a gift of a fresh kill. he might as well be a corpse if he didn't start sputtering awake, laios dismounting his horse and approaching him slowly.

"lor... l-lord of the dungeon," he spat out, complete terror but awe forming in his eyes. "you're... y-you're real."

"in the flesh. now tell me," the sword neared his neck, the blade right against a major vein. "why keep insisting coming here when you know that every party that comes here perishes by my hand, never to come back alive? is it greed for the throne? for falin and marcille's bounty? bragging rights for defeating the new dungeon lord?"

the elf was silent, raising his head once more and weakly pointing towards you.

"for her."

laios froze, the grip of the handle beginning to tighten, to the point where you swore it'll break. you were about to stop him, call out his name to try and snap him out of it, until he swung down the blade into the elf’s neck, almost cleanly severing the head from his body. you gagged as his head rolled towards you, his eyes becoming glassy as his mouth continued to open and close. oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. you could've saved him, should've stopped him.

"y/n, would you leave me?"

laios then coldly spoke, dull eyes staring at your quivering form.

"...no. i would never think of it." you lied, hands gripping tightly around the leather reins. he stared at you, almost hauntingly owlish like falin’s blank stare, finally looking away to clean off the blood of the once pristine sword.

"good. that’s good."

you visited thistle once the clock struck three, carefully sneaking deep below the castle and into the prison cells, seeing the even frailer elf curled up in a dark, damp corner. laios stuck him down here all those months ago, forgetting about him and leaving him to starve. what he didn't know is that you kept coming down here to keep him alive, the visits irregular and the amount of food you brought was scarce. you couldn't risk alerting laios. you thought that he didn't deserve this kind of life, despite the many atrocities he previously committed. were you any different than him, letting all those people die by laios' hand?

before, he'd only take the food and say nothing to you, his gaze almost like a wild animal. he didn't trust you back then, which was understandable considering the previous history between your party and him. now, he'll speak, give you small pieces of advice. the prison gets lonely down here, especially since he was the only one that laios allowed to live since becoming king.

"i need your help, i have to get out of here." you whispered through the bars, his head slowly turning towards you. the purple glow of his eyes cut through the dim darkness, narrowing at your hidden figure.

"so, the new king is going insane, isn't he?" he murmured, eyes glaringly sharp towards you. "now he knows how it feels trying to keep a kingdom and a dungeon together, the damn fool."

you quickly handed bread and milk to the elf, his hands quick to take them, mouth already full with the sustenance. down here, it could be considered as liquid gold. "yes, he's not the same laios i know. not even marcille says anything about his behavior anymore, she's too busy studying the ancient magic and fixing falin. i don't know what to do anymore and i don't want any more adventurers to die for me."

your lip quivered, head leaning against the filthy metal bars. "i'm scared of him thistle. i'm scared of what he's going to do to me if i object him. surely you must know a way to escape? anything, even if it kills me."

he was quiet, gulping down the milk harshly till the bottle was empty. "i'll say this once since you've been keeping me alive."

thistle quietly gave you the escape route, that there was a painting in the castle that lead to a secret hallway that lead into the higher parts of the dungeon, about floor 4. from there, you had to find your own way out, rely on no one other than yourself. since laios and marcille had complete control of the dungeon, nothing and no one could be trusted, not until you get to floor 1. you thanked him, apologizing profusely that you would have to leave him behind to starve once more, but he stopped you, grumbling something about not wanting you to have any regrets leaving here. you could live with that.

once you left the prison, you slipped into bed, heart pounding as the plans of escape swirled in your mind. it's been a while since you've been to the other floors, but the path upwards will come to you naturally, you're sure of it. after all, you were the navigator of the party.

you found the painting the next day right at the supposed crack of dawn, noting its location in your mind. if thistle was correct, you'll be transported into a different part of the dungeon, a complete unknown and uncharted place. slowly, you placed your hand against the artwork, feeling cold wind against your palm. quickly retracting it back, you continued on without looking suspicious, moving into laios' bedroom without a word.

"good morning laios, slept well?" you ask per usual, slowly making your way towards the bed, picking up ripped up scraps of paper and clothing. as you approached, the hair on your arms began to raise, an unusual chill filling the air. something wasn't right, but you reached out to the torn blanket. "...laios?"

before you could retract your hand, a clawed one latched onto you, pulling you down into the sheets. you screamed, wriggling in complete distress as reds and whites enveloped the world around you, the feeling suffocating. "still just as jumpy as before."

the rough, sleepy words caused you to stiffen, the blanket shifting until you could finally see the king. the horns were still as prominent as before, his eyes still weary and worn. you felt the rough touch of his hand on your cheek, newly clawed fingers wiping away the tears you didn't know you've shed. he was warm, only dressed in sleeping slacks.

"sorry. i didn't know i scared you that much."

for a moment, just a moment, your old laios was laying in front of you, a soft smile on his face. you stared at him, wincing as you felt the apple of your cheek get cut open with a slight sting, the crimson slip down into the white sheets, his eyes widening. "don't move. you're so fragile, y'know that?"

his face neared as you tensely shut your eyes, not wanting to see the horns come close to you. the warm, wet muscle of his tongue brushed against your cheek, lapping up the blood like he was some kind of animal. at this point, you might as well be his prey.

"do you know how sweet you taste?" he whispered into your ear, his breath warm and trembling in hidden excitement. you reopened your eyes, mouth suddenly dry as clawed hands pulled you in close.

"no." the inside of the blankets felt hot, as if it was the summer's heat back in the upper world. laios moved until he was on top of you, your lower halves connected and you could feel him, a flush growing on your face. he pressed against you with a hand gripping down on your hip, sensually grinding up and down, a soft whimper escaping you as you felt the nails dig into your flesh.

"laios," you breathlessly whispered out his name, hands tightly gripping the sheets. you were terrified, helpless against him. saying his name seemed to excite him even more, feeling it twitch against your covered cunt. "we... w-we can't do this, not now. y-you have things to do today, so ma... many things."

"i'm the king, they can wait." he bluntly stated with a certain tightness to it, shuddering as he pulled you up, still moving against you.

there was a desperate look in those tired eyes as he was holding himself back from going all out. he was almost drooling, his lower half bucking up in short spasms against you, giving you almost complete control of the pace. you didn't feel like you were in control of yourself either, hands pressed up against the softness of his chest as you bear down against him.

"l-let me kiss you, please. please, p-please. i need you, need to taste you m-more."

how could you reject the king's request? for today, you'll indulge him. one last time, you'll be his loyal right hand. you pressed your lips on his, pushing him down into the mattress and losing yourself in his embrace.

you awoke when the clock struck at midnight, body sore with bite marks littering around your skin. laios was completely knocked out next to you, snoring away on a partially-ripped up pillow. gently, you brushed the growing blond strands away from his face, watching him lean into your touch. you let out a quiet sigh. it's time.

underneath the trash you've been picking up, all your essential items in your old adventurer's bag laid underneath. you wanted to leave a note behind, but it was too much of a risk. better to let him think you've died than him trying to find you. one last look at him before exiting the room, you thought about what could've been if he had just been a peaceful ruler. if he was, would you have stayed in the underground forever?

not even a day passed and it was soon declared in the dungeon that you were missing and must be found, a large bounty on your head to be brought alive. you being dead wasn't an option at all. thanks to the changelings, you were able to change your appearance drastically to be able to make your way upwards with no trouble. there was unfamiliar knights scouting the floors, the haunting sound of metal shuffling around as you narrowly avoid the main paths. you had the idea of visiting senshi and izutsumi once you got to the higher floors, but they might send you back to laios if word has already gotten that high up.

chilchuck might've been the safest option; outwardly, he wasn't too fond of laios, but he put all his trust into him when situations get dire. be it because he had a family to get back to or there were no options left for the half-foot, he might've been the smartest one in the party.

the smell of fresh food and the sounds of joyous chatter reached your ears as you continued forwards, heart pounding with happiness for the first time in forever. the first floor, the start of it all. you shuffled through the crowd, seeing outside light peering through the gaping entranceway. closing your eyes, there was sudden realization. you'll be finally free from the damn dungeon's clutches, leaving behind the title of the dark king of the golden country's right hand.

it must've been 4 years since you've left behind the island, moving to the eastern archipelago with the money you've managed to scour in the dungeon. life is somewhat difficult with the civil wars that go on, but you wouldn't change it either way. anything was better than the island. you even started picking up the language, able to communicate simple sentences to the others living in your neighborhood.

you were busy hanging up the clean, wet laundry on the clotheslines when your son tugged on your robe.

"mama, a man is there." you glanced down and brushed the blond locks out of his face, tucking them behind his ear.

"is it haruto-san? i'll be there in a minute."

"no. the man has horns. haru-san has no horns." you fell silent, the basket on your hip falling down into the grass with a heavy thud. finally looking up, you see him through the flapping sheets. he's there, undeniably there. he's not in the dark metal armor, but in his normal casual wear. his hair has grown longer, his face scruffy with a growing beard. if not for the ivory horns, he would've looked like your laios but older.

"c'mere baby." you tucked your son behind you, backing up closer to your house as he began to approach slowly. you don't know how he finally found you, but he won't take you back there, and he sure as hell won't take your son away from you.

"y/n!" he called out to you as your hand touched the door knob behind you, pulling it open and almost shoving your son into the home. you quietly whispered to him to hide and to not come out until you came to get him.

"what do you want?" he finally reached you, his body towering over just like before. laios simply grinned, reaching out to your face and brushing his clawed hand against the scar on your cheek.

"just wanted to talk to my lover again, it's good to see you y/n. beautiful as the day you left me those 4 years ago, you liar." the grip on your throat was sudden but expected, the raising you up from the floor while choking you out wasn't something you expected. you wriggled in his grasp, your own dull fingernails digging and scratching at his hand and forearm, legs kicking at his body.

laios was unfazed, his head tilting off to the side. "still the same weak and fragile girl. tell me, who's the kid? don't tell me you slept with another man after that unforgettable day we shared together. the thought of you with someone else is giving me a bad taste in my mouth, surely you don't mind if i—"

he made the motion with his thumb, sliding across his own neck slowly. you shook your head, tears in your eyes. anything but him. kill the entire village, but not your precious son. "—y-ours..."

laios paused, the grip on your neck loosening. "what?"

"he's—h-he's yours..." you dropped to the ground, falling to your side as you put a hand over your neck, coughing and hacking.

"we have a kid?" there was a giddiness to his voice as he crouched to your level, completely ignoring the fact that he was just about to kill your and your son. you only started to talk once you were able to breathe, throat still immensely sore.

"yes, i've never been with anyone else since you. that's the honest truth, no lies. he doesn't know that you're his dad and i—"

"because you didn't stay in the kingdom, didn't stay with me like you promised to. we're going back, it's better there."

"a dungeon is no place to raise a child! i'm not letting asahi go down there and i'm never going back there, i don't want anything to do with you laios. stop being so fucking dense for once and look at what's happened to you! you're... you're a monster!"

laios fell silent, as if you've physically hit him with the words that came out of your mouth. his eyes glanced down at the mark on your neck, down to his clawed hands which reached over to his horns. he then started laughing, tears falling down his cheeks.

"this is why i made you my right hand! if only you were honest all those years ago." he wiped with his sleeve, still amused with your outburts.

"fine. if you don't want to go back, then i'll be staying. the boy needs his father." you paled, not even considering that this was the worst case scenario compared to death.

"w-what about the dungeon? the kingdom? you can't just abandon you duties there!"

"marcille's got it in control, 'specially since she's a long-living species. she's better adept at those kinds of things, me? i'm nothing without you, so i'll raise asahi and the rest with you."

you sat yourself up, feeling your heart drop into your stomach. "...th-the rest?"

laios then licked his lips, those frighteningly pale yellow eyes curving with malicious intent.

"4 years was an awfully long time without you, think of it as not being able to indulge in your favorite meal. now then," he grabbed your ankle, pulling you underneath him and pining you down against the wooden deck. you could feel those same claws drag up your exposed thigh, a shiver shooting through you.

"shouldn't we start catching up?"

[thefandomenchantress]

I was going to do a post about my overall thoughts on Mouthwashing after I watched a playthrough, but I got a little carried away talking about one specific point, so I figured I'll ramble here and do that later.

(WARNINGS: Mentions of SA, overdosing, guns and death) (And Jimmy in general)

Jimmy is a terrible person (sorry I know it's tradition not to say his name but I'm too lazy to think up something silly to call him every time I refer to him haha). I loved how they used the unreliable narrator trope with him, and how the deaths sorta reflect his (negative) growth in the story and overall themes and stuff.

First, Anya dies. Her death is one Jimmy can easily pretend isn't his fault, even though he's most of, if not the reason she died. He SA'd her and got her pregnant, crashed the ship and forced her to be stuck with him longer, was often rude or hostile towards her, and overall was the main contributor to her deteriorating mental state and her death. But Jimmy can't acknowledge that, so it was her own fault she died. It's not his fault she broke down over every little thing and decided to overdose. And Pony Express was also to blame, right? They laid her off. And Curly's the one who told her that before he was supposed to. So it wasn't completely his fault or even his fault at all, (to Jimmy, I don't believe all this obviously).

Then Daisuke dies. Jimmy has a harder time justifying that it wasn't his fault this time. Jimmy hadn't told Anya to lock herself in Medical and overdose, but it was Jimmy's direct orders that led to Daisuke getting majorly injured. Jimmy, the older, more higher-ranking crew member told him he needed to go along with his plan. Not only that, but Jimmy also manipulated Daisuke by saying that everyone was counting on him and that Swansea would be proud if he pulled this off. For the first time, he acts like he believes Daisuke is capable of doing something right, because now it benefits him. But Jimmy didn't force him to go in the vent, so it wasn't his fault. And how was he supposed to remember Anya said the mouthwash didn't work as disinfectant? Swansea should've waited longer before putting Daisuke out of his misery, he could've fixed it. In fact, Swansea was the reason he was forced to use the disinfectant earlier, so this was Swansea's fault, not his.

Finally, Swansea dies. And this time, Jimmy is undeniably 100% at fault, because he's the one who shot Swansea directly in the face. Swansea was tied up to the chair. Jimmy didn't do it out of self-defense, like what happened in the graveyard minigame. Jimmy stood in front of tied-up, defenseless man who could no longer hurt him, and shot him in the face without hesitation.

Curly's almost the worst of all. Jimmy forced him to suffer as a barely living corpse for months and then made him do things I...Don't particularly want to put in writing. And at the end of it all he assures himself that he's the hero, he did the right thing, because he saved Curly from dying for another twenty years, even though he's the reason the whole crew is in this mess in the first place. All his other heinous actions don't matter anymore, because he finally took responsibility, right?

And I think it's cool that the game slowly makes Jimmy realize that everything is his fault, the crew wouldn't have been stuck here in the first place if it weren't for him. The deaths both show the player Jimmy's true colors over time while forcing Jimmy to finally realize that he is not the victim. He is not better than everyone else. Everything is his fault. And now that he can finally see that...

He needs to take responsibility.

It's just...The sheer AUDACITY of this man. He's so caught up in his own ego it's atrocious. And that makes me love this game so much more, because even if I hate Jimmy with every fiber of my being, this game wouldn't work without him. It wouldn't even be the same game, really. So I guess what I'm saying is that while I hate Jimmy, I loved Mouthwashing.

[vhsc1ty]

quite literally NOBODY asked but long post about the mental illness I gained drawing mattress car door and attic (process and references sort of... id post a timelapse but i don't have one because storage :/) this is more just to look back on because i forget my own thought processes 😔 this sounds pretentious i promise i don't think im that guy i just like to Talk

it is legitimately just taiji taomote's marble statue "death visceration" . like i STOLE IT that was my main reference AND HIS OTHER WORK IS SO COOL you can read a bit more about it here . i actually saw this BEFORE i made my karmor and it made me want to make a karmor just so i could draw mahatma and atilla like this.

i think the meaning??? in my drawing is pretty bog standard basic nothing special there like he's trying to stop his mate from dying innit . the moment was only a couple seconds but i wanted him to have like an anime moment in his head so i guess this was it lol

ummm and karmors pose was partially referenced from these spiderman sketches by j scott campbell (?) hehe so neat i love spiderman karmors pose sucks tho but what can U do lol

ummm started with a sketch and added some colours to see if i actually wanted to draw it realised what the hell sure . gradient maps did not help in this case cause i didn't have a lot of different values so i just did

regular colours

dark blue multiply layer to darken the colours

radial gradient on linear light mode going from blue in the centre to yellow/orange to brown/red on the outsides. radial just means circular i think. like radius circle yea did not know that before i found it on my program lol

blue gradient from the top and red background for some contrast yass

teal blue radial gradient in the centre with ... soft light layer mode??? idk (added after i don't think it's in the picture)

cleaned up my lines (lucario helped) and added my flats and started rendering before i realised layers are annoying and i needed to merge them and paint like a REAL WOMAN!!#(# (joking). when i had some shadows down i merged the layers together and PRAYED (U can see in 2nd img below i painted ontop of the lineart which is sooooo useful)

main shadows for me go like a shade that's hue shifted one way, then another shade that's a bit darker than that one and then a lighter shadow shade that's hue shifted the opposite direction to the first shade to fill in blank spaces i guess idk it just looks a bit more interesting

blending used brush with some pressure opacity and colour picker is amazeballs bc my program's blending tool sucks bruh. i put down a colour with slight pressure and picked the resulting colour and painted with that on hard pressure. doing that just gets you a mix of the two colours and more control over what you put down because you don't have to worry about maintaining a light pressure or anything it's just all paint no opacity

hue and saturation sliders my fave cause u can see what shading colours look good but obviously do that before u merge ur layers... highlights mostly reddish from the background

used a gradient map on black and white to check values (deleted after) and see if the highlights are actually highlights (i should've gone darker with the shadows and had more of a stronger red but it doesn't matter who cares 💔) oh and some super basic hatching in some areas that look a little bit flat

karmors lightning power thingy was a last minute decision honestly it doesn't make any sense considering the lighting but idc . who gaf. maybe using my pencil brush would've been better but i was lazy so just don't zoom in and pretend the random ribbon brush looks in place

export + a little cleanup on a new canvas (barely any cause im lazy) . check how it looks on phone add a cool toned filter to it (using my phone gallery app 😭) and . yeah . also Instagram story crash out is mandatory unskippable step

i also just stole karmors entire outfit from Pinterest you see nothing i do is original IM A FRAUD i just steal and look the other way 😭😭😭😭 AND I STOLE HIS FACE i based him off of the model akeem osborne he is very pretty if only i took the time to practice other hair textures instead of being a bum and karmors hair wouldnt look like POPCORN in the final image GOD

I also just cannot paint and. can't draw faces from weird angles . but im glad i drew a full illustration i don't think i really have like this since 2021 😞

okay ya that's it bye

[alevolpe]

Hello hope you doing well!

I have a question when you started learning how to draw did you start with the basics like drawing lines and shapes every day?or did you start a different way I just don’t know where to start or how to start.

I hope I’m not bothering much😓.

Hi, please don't apologize, you're never a bother hun! I'm doing well indeed, thank you.

So I'll be quite honest, I'm aware I have a talent for art. Might be cause I've been drawing for as long as I can remember, but I know this stuff comes easier to me than some others for some reason. BUT I'm really not the best person to ask for art advice.

I never tried to go out of my way to learn in a class or learn from life (outside of the most basic high school art classes you can think of). I liked anime, I started drawing anime stuff cause I loved it and it gave me attention, but I should've taken a step back at some point before now and REALLY tried to learn the basics first, cause now I'm suffering the consequences..

Most of my art leaves me incredibly unsatisfied, I've been too lazy recently and nothing has humbled me more than starting this project where I have to actually know what I'm drawing and I have to make it make sense for an inking process, instead of just posting sketches

I cannot stress enough, please don't do what I did, learn and study from life first. (even if it's at the most basic level)

It's boring! Trust me, I know! The past few weeks, I've been spending almost exclusively drawing from life and studying anatomy, perspective and inking.

If you wanna start from scratch like I'm doing now, I really recommend buying an art book or finding a good place for references online and copying them. To prevent burnout, try to split your practice between drawing from life, then sketching characters that you like using those same principles (use references pls!)

Pinterest is also a really good tool for artists, I highly recommend it for references and small tutorials and tips! (Avoid AI like the plague)

The "just draw every day" thing people tell you will help you to an extent, but you do have to understand at least the basics of what you're drawing. Personally, drawing everyday mostly helps me 'stay in shape' as to say, making it easier to not get rusty and taking a long time to warm up before sketching.

Anyhow, this was very long. Sorry, it most likely wasn't the answer you were looking for, but I'm really not as good of an artist in the technical sense as some people think I am, just.. lucky I guess. At least for now.

[altraviolet]

Emily Wilde 2: vocab

I just finished a reread of Heather Fawcett's Emily Wilde series, currently standing at 2 books with a third coming out Feb 2025. I absolutely love these books and highly recommend them to anyone for whom the following appeals: scholar Emily Wilde researches and catalogs fairies, hates small talk and people, and has a big dog. There is a romantic angle, but it's not overpowering. There are footnotes citing sources she regularly refers to. It's so great.

Anyway! I didn't write down the vocab words I didn't know in the first book (I should've), but did do it for the second. A lot of these I understood through context, a couple I've seen before but just couldn't remember the exact definition of, and some I had no idea. Here's the list, because I think this kind of thing is fun. Presented in the order they appear:

stentorian, adj: (of a person's voice) loud and powerful

coracle, noun: (especially in Wales and Ireland) a small round boat made of wickerwork covered with a watertight material, propelled with a paddle

semasiographic, adj: certain words that exist in written language that have no spoken equivalent

prepossessing, adj: attractive or appealing in appearance

dudgeon, noun: a feeling of offense or deep resentment

erogation, noun (obsolete): the act of giving out or bestowing

koan, noun: paradoxical anecdote or riddle

emendation, noun: the process of making a revision or correction to a text

invective, noun: abusive or highly critical language

saxifrage, noun: a low-growing plant of poor soils

bole, noun: the trunk of a tree

insouciant, adj: showing a casual lack of concern, indifferent

Interestingly, I recognized the "stent" of "stentorian" from "Stentor," a single celled organism shaped like a trumpet, but knowing about the little creature didn't connect with the definition until after I looked it up (though context in the book made it clear what it meant).

"Prepossessing" and "insouciant" are words I've seen before but I just couldn't remember what they meant exactly, so I put them on the list.

I wonder if "dudgeon" is used colloquially in the UK or thereabouts: I've never ever seen this word in American English, but it's used several times in the story, which makes me think it's a normal thing to drop in description. Then again, the story takes place in 1910 so maybe the author is pulling from words commonly used back then.

Speaking of words pulled from the past, "erogation" was last recorded in the late 1600s, per the OED. Doesn't its use today in the novel mean that it's not obsolete anymore?

"Emendation" is an interesting one, as "amendment" is a similar sounding word that fulfills a similar function. They look like cousins to me. One of either the E or A changed from the stem word (I assume- I'm going to be lazy and not look it up) and then the noun suffix "tion" or "ment" was stuck on. "Amendation" and "emendment" could be words for those same reasons, yet they are not.

I'm curious why I never hear "bole" in American English. It's a perfectly good and easy word. I suppose everyone just uses "trunk" and that's that.

Words are fun :)

[crossdressingdeath]

Lucanis: Neve. In the Fade with Rook and Spite... you were there. I mean, not you, but... you know what I mean. You helped Rook. Sort of. Neve: Sort of? Well, isn't that flattering. At least I'm on your mind.

First, some housekeeping. If anyone comes on to this post to whine about how Veilguard was awful or claim Neve sucks or whatever the "waah the game wasn't what I wanted so it's garbage" complaint of the week is, you're getting blocked immediately. Fuck off. I'm sick of your shit. Second, this very much is not meant to say anything bad about Neve, mostly because... well, it's not really about her (hell, she isn't even there technically), it's more about how giving Lucanis any non-Rook LI plays with Inner Demons; Neve is just the non-Rook LI Bioware chose so she's the one whose name I'm using. Also: this is a very minor thing to complain about. I'm nitpicking. I know. But it's my blog and nitpicking amuses me so I'm doing it anyway. That said, let's get into it.

This is... an extremely generous description of what Neve does in Inner Demons. Or rather dream!Neve? Like Lucanis says, it's not really her. Anyway though, the thing is that dream!Neve does the same thing the other dream versions of Lucanis's family and friends do: she tells Rook to give up and insists that Lucanis is never getting out, and then when they refuse to give up on him she disappears. Which makes sense; the people ("people") we see in Inner Demons are as far as I can tell the darkest parts of Lucanis's mind spouting what he's afraid his friends and family think of him, they've got very little to do with the people themselves beyond potentially raising exaggerated concerns that Lucanis knows they had/have (for example Harding not initially trusting him). I mean, there's a reason why Rook eventually stops referring to them by name and just starts calling them Lucanis, they're parts of him and not the people they appear to be. Rook is different; they can act outside of those fears because they are themselves brought into the Ossuary in truth. Neve (or any other potential LI Lucanis could have; again, this isn't about Neve as a character, this would be a thing with any potential non-Rook LI) can't act outside of playing mouthpiece for those fears because that's not Neve!

I'm not saying Neve should've done something, to be clear; hell, I would've been annoyed if she had. Inner Demons is first about Lucanis's personal arc and second about how important Rook is to him! Having Neve suddenly show up and play a major role in the whole thing would a) weaken that relationship beat between Lucanis and Rook (there's a reason why all the major relationship beats between Rook and their companions are one on one, after all) and b) make very little sense in a Lucanismance/Nevemance run where they don't end up together, given their platonic relationship doesn't have much content (except in banter, which shouldn't be relied on since obviously not everyone will get it in a given run) and would leave her feeling like a pretty random choice (meta knowledge aside) compared to other options. Not to mention Neve's dynamic with Lucanis when they get together is different than his dynamic with Rook when romanced; she doesn't need to get in his head to help like that because her relationship with him is different than Rook's, that's fine. It's good even, it'd feel like a lazy copy of his romance path if they just slotted her into Rook's romance scenes with him.

The issue for me is that Lucanis is saying "oh you helped" when... she didn't. No "sort of" about it, she objectively did not help. She wasn't even there and that dream version of her just told Rook to give up on him until they refused same as the others did. If Bioware wanted to say Neve was helping Lucanis with his problems that could've happened in a cutscene between them! That would've been really nice, actually! They also could've just left it unsaid but safe to assume (the stupidity of the fandom aside) and that also would've been fine. But by having Lucanis go "Oh you helped! Sort of!" it feels kind of like... they're grasping at straws? Trying to make her seem more relevant to that sequence of events than she actually was? And to be fair that might be intentional and it's Lucanis doing that in-universe, but I just don't think trying to insert her into Inner Demons after the fact really... works, even if it is supposed to be Lucanis doing it. I honestly think that just not having this banter would've been better; hell, replace it with a mention that Lucanis went to Neve to discuss the events of Inner Demons at some point after the fact! That would've been great, have him actually make the choice to talk to her specifically about it! But Neve did not help during Inner Demons, that's not a bad thing (and hardly her fault given she wasn't there), and there was really no need to try to insert her into it after the fact. Let her have her own relationship with him and help him with this in her own way! Maybe it's just that it reminds me of those fics where people shove one half of their preferred ship into the other half's canonical emotional moments with someone else and call it a good romantic moment for their ship and those are a real pet peeve of mine, but this banter rubs me up the wrong way.

[loveislandthegame]

thoughts on today's volume ! this was probably the glitchiest volume i've played by far, but at least i didn't get that False hideaway glitch. i assume it just affected players with MCs that are only into guys? it just shows that FB is not playtesting their shit, something that obvious & easily replicable should've been caught

next up, we got some new hairs 😭 i thought these were braids, then i realised they're supposed to be twists, then i saw the morphed together braid-twists ??? and her hairline has me in tears, it looks like they tried to do a a shape-up with a lawn mower

moving on, what's stopping kelly from just choosing us? as in, the in-universe reason why, i know the actual reason is "FB is lazy and cuts corners at the expense of representation"

then we have a compatibility challenge, i was patting myself on the back for getting everything right with lyle before i realized that you'll win regardless. but MC actually gets to be the MC for once and kat gets off the fucking screen so i'm not too mad about that

shawn is lovely & all but calling him a VIP is a bit of a stretch . when i think "famous chef" i think of jake 💔🥺 i liked that whole dinner thing though, it was actually really fun

is this a reference to The Bear ? 😭

i chose to have the coffee date with natasha ❤️ i assume everyone does latte art because hell would freeze over before FB would ever do something unique for each LI, but this was so cute

pretending to be shocked that the recoupling went exactly how i predicted. i was actually stumped, but i ended up picking chen...because i used a random number generator & got a 1 😭

FB, you better be joking. i picked natasha here but i hope that didn't lock me out of kelly's route. i love them both ! it's not fair !

i was internally screaming throughout that entire shower scene with finn, not just because i'm not romancing him, but also because i was fully expecting some forced drama where kat walks in on us and loses her shit. thankfully MC could just walk away without a problem. (it's sending me that they put more effort into his towel than 99% of this season's MC's outfits)

i wanted to spend more time with natasha but i ended up going to the hideaway with chen, because i just couldn't deal with the secondhand embarrassment. i may be a hater, but i'm also a softie that gets sad over hurting fictional characters' feelings . i dunno why FB can't wait until every LI is available before shoving us in the hideaway.

when i tell you i almost closed the app when this shit popped up on the screen. 😭 i picked sexy dice because it's new, but i wouldn't necessarily recommend that because it's boring as hell. personally i'm alright with that though, because i don't care about spicy scenes

at the very end, we learn that one person is gonna be dumped in the next volume. i hope that it's between the guys you didn't choose in the recoupling, but that "who are you vibing with more?" chat with melissa has me worried it's gonna be between natasha or kelly 😭

[drugstore-love]

Down Bad

so many people, including those who say they are fans dislike TTPD and refer to it as lazy but I find it to be some of Taylor's best work. I appreciate the metaphors and how vulnerable she is with the narrative. She's not hiding; it's poetry. It's about emotion and the musicality really does come second.

Here's my song by song break down of things that I enjoy (and don't like) about the album for my own future reference so that I do not cave into peer pressure and start to hate the album on principle. Here are my personal interpretations and what the songs mean for me.

In no particular order Down Bad first:

Down Bad refers to the end of a relationship that everyone told you was bad for you but you just didn't care because you were happy and prioritizing your feelings first. This is one of the few songs I actually really like the production on because it feels like you're floating (like being beamed up and travelling through space) during the verses and then the choruses feel like falling.

Did you really beam me up? In a cloud of sparkling dust Just to do experiments on Tell me I was the chosen one Show me that this world is bigger than us Then sent me back where I came from For a moment I knew cosmic love

This is angry, petulant, and disbelieving. Reminiscent of RWYLM where the author is questioning what was the point of all this if you were going to leave me in the same place you found me after making promises of more. I showed you who I was and I believed the fantasy and you took it away

Now I'm down bad, cryin' at the gym Everything comes out teenage petulance "Fuck it if I can't have him" "I might just die, it would make no difference" Down bad, wakin' up in blood Starin' at the sky, come back and pick me up Fuck it if I can't have us I might just not get up, I might stay Down bad Fuck it if I can't have him Down bad Fuck it if I can't have him

These are feelings I can't sort through maturely right now. I want to kick and scream and throw a tantrum. I haven't felt this purely, this naively about love since I was a teenager. I really did plan my whole life around this and now that it's gone, I don't know what to do. To the dismay of my family and friends, I feel like without you, without us, I have nothing else going for me, no motivation to do anything but beg you to come back and pick me up.

Did you take all my old clothes? Just to leave me here naked and alone In a field in my same old town That somehow seems so hollow now They'll say I'm nuts if I talk about the existence of you For a moment I was heaven struck

I changed for you, I changed with you and now that I'm alone again I don't even know what to wear. All of the things that were important, that I cared about either feel pointless or are tainted with you and when I try to talk about it all anyone can talk about is your flaws and how I should've known better; but it was the best I can remember feeling and regardless of outside perception I'm upset that it's over and wistful for those feelings again

Now I'm down bad, cryin' at the gym (Cryin' at the gym) Everything comes out teenage petulance "Fuck it if I can't have him" (Fuck it if I can't have him) "I might just die, it would make no difference" Down bad, wakin' up in blood (Wakin' up in blood) Starin' at the sky, come back and pick me up Fuck it if I can't have us I might just not get up, I might stay

I really like the double meaning of down bad here. Down bad the slang obviously for being so into a person that you'll do anything, no matter how stupid, for them and to be with them. But also I'm down bad meaning I'm sad that we're not together, I'm crying in public places, I'm living dangerously, I've stopped caring about anything else.

Down bad (Like I lost my twin) Fuck it if I can't have him (Down bad) Down bad (Wavin' at the ship) Fuck it if I can't have him

Like I lost my twin is especially poignant. Twins who lose one usually change in personality because it's like a piece of them is missing. Whispering it as a backing vocal really just reinforces that this person was one of the few people the author felt truly knew and saw them and for them to just be gone (and unexpectedly so, meaning that the other person gave little clues that the relationship was ending) is devastating

I loved your hostile takeovers Encounters closer and closer All your indecent exposures How dare you say that it's -

I love this bridge. The author is speaking directly to the subject here. Everything that everyone else judged you for, all your rough edges and abrasiveness, where you were weird. All the things everyone warned me about are the things that I loved (Who's gonna love you like me?) I don't understand how you can leave me. I truly thought if anyone was going to end this relationship it would be me and the fact that you did...it's too painful to even actually say the words, it's easier to return to my metaphor

I'll build you a fort on some planet Where they can all understand it How dare you think it's romantic Leaving me safe and stranded Cause fuck it I was in love So fuck you if I can't have us. Cause fuck it I was in love

I would give you anything you needed. I would've convinced everyone. But instead you left because you thought I would be better off with those people. You let them and their words get into your head and ruin us and told me that I was better off without you based on the opinions of strangers. You left me alone because you thought you knew what was best for me but I was in love and fuck you for ruining that.

She brings the chorus back around and reminds us that in this cloud of emotion, in the aftermath of this relationship everyone felt like the enemy. Her family and friends for the lack of support, her fans for their ubiquitous judgement and opinions on her personal life and most of all her partner for leading her to trust them and their presence and then leaving anyway under the thin veil of mutual safety. It sucked and it hurt and the only thing that felt good was throwing a teenage like tantrum. Your care for me is ruining my life. (more on the mashup of this song with Fortnight, later)

*******I also really like the clean edit of this song because it almost changes the meaning. Taylor replaces "fuck" with "what if" which almost adds to the juvenile affect of the song where a teenager would pose a question, "What if I was in love?" an adult can come back and say you know what, "Fuck it. I was in love and now I'm..."

[jennawynn]

Enterprise Season 4 18-finale

Episode 18

So this is the episode they were filming when they found out they were cancelled? It's almost strange to think about it now in the era of streaming when the show gets filmed in entirety before it gets released and then two weeks later, you learn it's done. I wonder how you have the motivation to still do your best when you know you're getting fired.

The intro is interesting, but doesn't hold a candle to the real one. The effects are obvious, but it does its job in showing us what the people of this earth value- might over exploration.

Travis's little earring :joy:

I know Jolene Blalock was a model but do they always have to be putting her in low-rise pants if not skintight catsuits?

They even replaced the pics of Enterprise ships in Archer's quarters with weapons.

Guess you can't have hyper-masculine military shit without degrading women.

Bakula's still not very good at being convincing.

Episode 19

You know... this two-episode chunk has apparently been a fan favorite... but I'm guessing it's mostly nostalgia and seeing this crew in the uniforms of TOS(?). I'm not enjoying it at all. It is kinda funny seeing how colorful these sets are though.

Nice touch that it has the blaring alarm and name 'Battle Stations".

I guess they were planning to have more of these mirror-verse episodes in future seasons, though I can't believe they continued shooting and airing these episodes after hearing they were cancelled. It was complete whiplash and I didn't find that universe interesting at all. There isn't even an explanation about how or why we're returning to normal Enterprise between episodes.

Episode 20

Sometimes I think these fascist/xenophobic plotlines are too on the nose and then I remember they're from 20 years ago and then I remember that we've always had to deal with bullshit like this. Even a hundred or two hundred years ago. The only difference is which side the heroes are on and how sympathetic the villains are in the story.

I just realized every person in engineering is apparently an officer. In fact the only time I've ever heard anyone referred to by an enlisted rank was in the mirror universe? I mean... Enterprise is (supposedly) exploratory but Starfleet has some military aspect to it. Maybe it's the former-enlisted in me but how does anything get done if it's all officers? lmao

Episode 21

ok I actually laughed when Trip did the delayed punch on the guard. "Go ahead." "Ok."

of course the xenophobic leader is a hypocrite who uses alien dna. it's kinda lazy tbh.

They sure do like taking huge risks with tons of lives, don't they? Good drama, bad tactics.

Archer's speech here feels like what the whole series has been building to. I'm surprised that it wasn't the finale.

Oh... I was expecting the show to go to 24. I thought we were still a couple eps from the finale. I didn't realize this effectively IS the finale.

Vulcans 150 years from now have French tips, huh? lmao

Episode 22 (These Are The Voyages...)

It is pretty silly that they've been supposedly doing this 10 years without any change in personnel or even a promotion. Talk about no upward mobility.

Why would they mothball Enterprise after ten years of operation? The carrier Enterprise was like 50 when it was decommissioned and it basically running on duct tape and paint.

I'm wondering if I should've watched this along with TNG instead of Enterprise.

The first time we see Chef and it's Riker. lmao Fun fact: My cousin's named Ryker after him.

....why'd he kiss T'Pol's cheek? Gross.

ok, I thought this holoprogram was actually historical- that he was inhabiting chef while it was on and just seeing himself do the things, but repeating what was actually said. but then he slipped up and said 'Picard' instead of 'Archer' and Travis was like 'who?' which means that was RIKER asking Hoshi if she was ever attracted to Trip. Why? WTF? Is Riker a skeeze?

Ah, they have a warp 7 now. Guess that's why mothball. "To the Next Generation."

Only because it's the last episode and only because Troi (sp?) said something about it being sad he doesn't know he doesn't make it do I think they might actually take Trip out. That and the weird questions Riker's been asking about him like he's trying to figure out who Trip really was.

I don't like the 'formal' uniform variant. It looks like the flight suit with a white collar.

Really? They make a big deal out of the speech and then don't even let him-- oh, I guess they're saying that the thing Picard always said was part of Archer's speech?

I don't think I understand all the vitriol about the episode, but I do think it was an inappropriate sendoff. For one, you go the whole damn series without killing anyone just to kill Tucker and then you don't even actually memorialize him. For the other, it feels more like an episode of another show (TNG) than it does about Enterprise. Not knowing the story in TNG means that this is even more apparent to me- it's not nostalgia to me, it's just someone using the show I've been watching like a voyeur.

[lugarn]

My favorite way to use paragraph breaks is to emphasize something.

Having something at the beginning of a new line (or a very short paragraph on its own) emphasizes it more in our minds as we read, and so it is a great way to really go in on something that is essential to the story you're telling.

I am lazy so I'll use my own fic for reference:

Technically, the paragraph bracketed in red should've gone in the paragraph above, with the sentence about Phop doing the modelling that Nuth asked him to.

But the story is very much about Phop being uncomfortable in his own skin and doing what Nuth asked in spite! So I wanted to let the bit about Nuth thinking about Phop's discomfort to be on its own separate from the action.

A lot of paragraph breaks in the end is about your personal style and what feels right, so don't be afraid to experiment.

Paragraphs and When to Break Them

anonymous  asked:

I always have problems with paragraph breaks. Is there such thing as too many paragraph breaks? Also, I have a feeling only fanfictions or internet fics have paragraphs when a new character speaks. Do printed books also do that? Because I didn’t see that I think.

While there is some degree of personal style to paragraph construction, there are still very specific rules about when you should start a new paragraph.

You should start a new paragraph when…

1. A different person is speaking

So, what you’re seeing in fan-fiction is actually correct. Every time a different character speaks, it should begin a new paragraph. Even if they only say a single word or a few words, it will appear on the line alone. Here’s an example from The Raven Boys by Maggie Stiefvater:

The conversation is between Maura and “the man,” with Persephone chiming in at the end. 

Paragraph 1 (Maura) “It’s when…” Paragraph 2 (the man) “Is it more…” Paragraph 3 (Maura) “Not if you…” Paragraph 4 (the man) “Fine…” Paragraph 5 (Maura) gestured for… (and later) “Persephone, would you…” Paragraph 6 (Persephone) “Oh dear…”

2. Someone else does something

You should also start a new paragraph when someone else starts to do something. Look at this example from The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins:

Paragraph 1 - Gale tosses a berry toward Katniss. Paragraph 2 - Katniss catches the berry in her mouth and eats it. Paragraph 3 - Gale pulls out his knife as Katniss watches.

3. When a character first appears in a scene

When a character first appears in a scene, whether they arrive during the scene or were already there but haven’t been pointed out yet, you should start a new paragraph. Take a look at this scene from Twilight by Stephenie Meyer:

Paragraph 1 - Bella describes the inside of Edward’s house upon arrival. Paragraph 2 - Bella first notices Edward’s parents waiting to greet her.

4. The scene shifts when something new happens

Sometimes something occurs in a scene that changes the mood or the trajectory of a scene. It could be your character starting to feel sick at a party because they’re coming down with the flu. It could be flashing lights because the police just arrived to break up the party. Or maybe the music suddenly stops because the party host’s parents are standing in the front doorway looking aghast. Here’s an example from The Beholder by Anna Bright:

When the music quiets and the doors swing open, a new paragraph begins. Now, in this case a character also speaks. Personally, I might have started another new paragraph for that, but that’s a style choice, like I mentioned earlier.

5. When the “camera” moves

If you imagine everything happening in the novel as being “on screen,” any time something happens that would require “the camera” to pan over to something else or be moved to a new position, that’s a good time to start a new paragraph. 

6. The time or place changes

Any time you skip ahead in time (for example, “Later that day…” or “The following week…”) or the setting changes (such as, “Meanwhile, two doors down, Angie was being grounded…” or “When we got to gym class…”

7. The subject changes or a new idea is introduced

If your protagonist narrator is expounding upon the layout of their village, and then they begin to talk about their dystopian government, that should happen in a new paragraph. That way, you don’t get something like, “My friend Peeta waved as I passed the bakery and made my way toward the market. The Capitol had been ruling Panem for centuries, and it was not a forgiving government.” See how that’s confusing? She’s talking about bakeries and markets, then makes this non sequitur about the government.

If you need help remembering, go to Google Image Search and type in “paragraph rules.” You’ll typically find lots of colorful graphics that lay out these rules, so you can pick one you like, print it out, and keep it handy when you’re writing. :)