#and the human body was not doing great there!!!!

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( ninth installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugar mommy! reader , sugar baby! toji , mentions of sex , profanity , crying , angst

୨୧˚ an; does anyone even care about this anymore LMDOAOO but for real, i’m sorry for how late this part got out. i am battling severe writers block it is dangling me by the BAWLLSSS,, im thinking that this series is coming to a close soon and i never meant for it to get this deep but here we are 🦝 thank you all for being so patient with me i lob you

୨୧˚ join my discord server ! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

There was something about thunderstorms that Toji always felt drawn to. They were great; overbearing in a way, rolling through and burying a perfectly fine day under gallons of rainwater and gray skies. Authoritative, condemning humans to take shelter lest they wish to drown in its fruits. Suffering the consequences; soaked-through clothes and sopping hair. He watches the pane of glass at the roof, a skylight barred into the flat of your high rise ceilings. The rain storm had reduced it into nothing but a drab, dusty square, baring the pelts of precipitation like punishment. Toji holds you in your bed. Your weight drapes across his chest like a blanket, your head tucked beneath the cut of his chin.

“Do you like the rain, Toji?”

He felt naked, both in the literal and metaphorical sense. The silken sheets that wrap your mattress were unfamiliar against this flesh, cold and slippery. Regretting the forfeit of pajamas. You two had shared a shower after dinner, of which you held him with all the sentiment in the world. Toji fucking hates when people stand at his back. He doesn’t like it, feeling a presence before seeing them. But he let you stay centimeters behind, working peach and ginger scented shampoo into the roots of his scalp. When he was a boy and his mother had yet to find a place in the Zenin's private graveyard, he vaguely remembers receiving analogous strokes of care from the only family member in his life who didn’t see him as a filthy disgrace. Mom bathed him like this, scrubbing blood and tarnish from his cheeks with a threadbare handkerchief in that tin can he called a tub. All that fucking family money, but a new washcloth or a proper bathtub was never in the cards for him. He remembers mom apologizing often when she washed him.

Toji fucked you in the shower. A difficult means of having sex, sure, but slippery surfaces and soap in the eyes weren’t enough to quell that undying twist of hunger. So he took you against the sleek porcelain wall with his hands shelving beneath the curve of your ass and your legs constricting at his waist. You guided him to a quick orgasm with spouts of hushed praises spoken to his ear; he was certain you didn’t cum, didn’t feel that cute clench you did the first night you two slept together, but you lied and told him you did with a reassuring grin. Why did you lie?

“It’s fine, I guess.” A hand caressed your thigh, the one that was slung over and hiked up onto his stomach. Toji grazed his nails over your flesh, mindless and dejected.

Thunder clapped, then lightning struck, and all Toji could think in the moment was about you and him. Together. Stark nude in bed with limbs entwined. He, the thunder; loud and fierce. Scary, enough to make little children and small animals shake and cower in the corner with fear. You’re more like lightning, he supposes. Elegant and powerful, something so naturally beautiful. 

You will hear thunder and remember me.

More thunder boomed. Toji squeezes your body tighter. “I like that.”

“Like what?” He asks.

You trace wobbly circles against his collar bone, avoiding the slices of silvery skin that raised off the plain of skin. Scars, Toji was doused in gauges. Scraped up head to toe, and he could feel your eyes dart lazily between each and every one of them. “I like the thunder,” comes your reply, followed by a small, bashful shrug. “Ever since I was a kid.”

Toji scoffs. Fuckin’ mind reader. “Liar. Nobody likes thunder.”

“Don’t call me a liar,” you slap his cheek playfully. “I mean it. The quiet can be disturbing sometimes. But to me, thunder is so… human-like? Makes me forget I’m alone.”

This has the man tossing his head back against your feathered pillow. “You’re so full of shit.”

Another stroke of brooding thunder rapped against the window like knock, and if Toji was a believer in the Gods above, he’d curse every last one of them for their shitty comedic timing. You’re giggling into his neck; Toji can feel warm puffs of breath fan over his pulse point. “See?” You ask through a grin. “He came back to yell at you.” He, referring to the crack of thunder. Toji rolls his eyes. Leaves a pinch at your thigh.

“Hey, what did you say before?” Toji walked his fingertips down the curve of your spine, stopping just above your ass. “The fuckin’—the french thing?”

How did it go again? Tu mas something?

It took a moment for you to decipher what he was talking about.

“Tu m'as manqué, Toji?”

Toji bit down on the tip of his tongue, stifling a smile at the grandeur in which you held when speaking the delicate French language. He nods, “what’s it mean?” 

“Means ‘I miss you’.” Is he melting? Liquifying into a disgusting puddle beneath your prying palms, soaking into the bed sheets. You lament over his absence, spitting such pure genuine inflections that Toji is inclined to believe you when you tell him just how much you missed his unlawful presence. Like a stray dog that you offhandedly feed every now and again, praying for its safe and soon return back on your doorstep, digging into the leftover scraps of meat you’ve so kindly plated on the stoop. He’s that washed-up, flea ridden, unabashedly feral mutt that can’t help but crawl back to the idea of home. “I missed you. A lot.”

Toji doesn’t think you’ve ever sounded so vulnerable. Not even in the throes of passion when he’d had you spread and wet for him did you sound like this. Small and volatile, yet self-assured all the same. How the fuck do you manage to balance such contrasting notions? A witch, you must be something of the sort. 

There’s a gap of longing silence that fills the room; Toji concludes that you wait for him to return the gesture. So he does, “I did, too.” It’s the cold, hard truth, and he gives it to you on a silver platter. “Thought about you.”

And he’d leave that there. It was a much sweeter sentiment than to admit that he thought about you particularly often in those bloody showers with his hand wrenched around his hard on. Leaves much room for you to wonder. 

You hum. 

More quiet. He is fond of the quiet moments with you. 

“This looks fresh.” Ruined peace. He feels your thumb pad prod ever so gently at the teared flesh of his pec, the same one you used as your own personal pillow. It was inflamed, red and angry unlike the plethora of other battle scars which have now faded into a cooler pinkish tone with time. You were right; it was new. Nothing but a little switchblade slash—one of the men Toji had decimated this past week was armed. It was a careless mistake, one that had no real impact or effect, Hell, he barely felt the paper cut. But it impacted you, he noticed. “Does it hurt?” A fingertip whispers over the wound, and he flinches. 

Not because it’s painful, but because your gingerness made him sick to his stomach. Never more than in this moment did Toji feel so guilty for accepting your tender touches, wishing to holy Hell his conscience would allow him to bite his tongue. To let you keep thinking of him as some down-on-his-luck middle aged man with a shit job and no money to his name. 

“Don’t touch,” it’s quick, the way he snatching your wrist. Sturdy bone crushed under the bruising grip of his shaky fist. He didn’t mean to grab you so roughly. You’re taken aback by the outburst. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s a meager apology that doesn’t sound right spilling from your lips. It’s trembly and skittish, and your eyes widen coquettishly to flit between his face and the iron-clad grip that joins you together. “I’m—I should’ve asked you first.”

His breathing pattern was off its axis. Shit, shit what is he doing? Toji let’s go, flinching his hand far from your arm like you burned him. He shakes his head. “Didn’t mean to grab you, I didn’t mean to.” Toji pushes up from the warmth of your bed—from the warmth of you—and scans the floor for his boxers. 

You reluctantly part from him, gathering the blanket up over your chest as a makeshift barrier between bare flesh and the chilled air-conditioned bedroom. “What are you doing, Toji?” You sound sad. He finds his boxers. They’re balled up, discarded on the far end of your too-fucking-gigantic bedroom. “Toji!”

He keeps his back toward you, mechanically stepping into his underwear and dragging them up over his hips. It’s fucking gross, feeling the crunch of dried semen as the fabric contorts, but it’s ultimately ignored. “Thanks for dinner, you’re a fuckin’ A chef.” Toji spots his sweatpants nearby. 

“You got that new cut at work.” You’ve made a power move to ditch the comforter, stepping down into the carpet wearing nothing but your birthday suit. The tone of yours shifts, a steep incline from sweet and patient to demanding and accusatory, and Toji doesn’t like that one fucking bit. His sweatpants on, he tosses you a glance over his shoulder. 

“It was an accident.”

“Is that right?” Your brows furrow, gesturing to his torso. His marred, battered, abused torso. “Just covered in accidents then?”

Now he faces you, looks you in the eyes despite your naked form. “Pretty much.” Each lie tastes acidic, like that soupy bile he spits out before vomiting. “Thanks for dinner.” He makes an attempt to stalk past to the door, foregoing the shirt because he couldn’t give less of a fuck about it. Probably lost in a forgotten corner of your room, and with the way his heart raced against his rib cage, Toji wasn’t sure he’d survive long enough in this stuffy room to find it. So he thanks you again with an air of finality, only to be stopped. Your hand is flat against the center of his chest, pressed over the beat of his heart. No doubt about it, he’s sure you can feel that manic tempo. 

Beat, beat, beat. 

“I really thought we were getting somewhere.” You start quietly, voice hovering just above a whisper. His eyes stay fixed on the tiny hand that has glued itself to his sternum. “I thought we… I thought… I don’t fucking know, okay?

I like you. I like you so much, Toji.”

I like you too. “I…” like you I like you I like you. 

“Don’t feel like you have to reciprocate anything. These are complicated feelings, I know that. It’s a lot to spring on a person, but it’s the truth. I’m giving you my truth, and I need you to do the same because I don’t know if I can take another week of you disappearing for however long only to return like… like this!” You gesture to the red gash. “I care about you, and I want to help you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, but you make it so fucking difficult.”

It felt as though every saliva particle had been vacuumed out of his mouth, leaving a dry desert plain for a tongue. He's never been so at a loss for words before, you actually rendered him speechless. Finally, finally, after a minute of gaping like a stupid fish out of water, Toji finds his bearings. 

“You’re a good person, Y/n.” He peels your hand off him. “And I’m not.” Toji moves to disconnect hands, but yours follows him, clamping them back together. He can’t find the strength to let go, knowing good and well that his palm was clammy as shit. 

Your brows pinch, knitting with confusion at the seemingly random proclamation. “I mean, sure you can be kind of a dick sometimes, but I don’t think—”

You don’t understand. So unscathed by the bleakness of this world, your definition of a bad person is someone who’s ’kind of a dick sometimes.’ Toji’s frown deepens, and he shakes his head, bangs bouncing with the movement. Your fancy conditioner made his hair feel soft against his forehead. “That’s surface level shit. You don’t understand what I’ve done.” 

“So tell me—”

“I can’t.” The word cracks in his throat, and he coughs around it. Choking on it like he did your pretty fingers in the kitchen. “Don’t you get that? If it was that easy…”

“Tell me.” Your voice grows calm, yet stern. Aggressive in the gentlest of ways, coaxing the truth to light. Arms crossed over your bosom, you jut a chin in Toji’s direction. “Because I’m really sick and fucking tired of you treating me like I’m incapable of comprehension. I’ll understand.”

You won’t. He knows you won’t. 

Time grows slow and thick like molasses; Toji feels caught in the midst of an unwinnable battle. Either direction he takes—to come clean, to dance around the truth some more, to lie—will only serve to worsen things to an unfortunate degree. He stalls. Scratches at his jagged jaw dusted with faint stubble. Then, he paws over the masculine plates of his abdomen, feeling his own flesh. There isn’t any warmth to him anymore. Every ounce of humanity had leaked from Toji’s soul, leaving him to become this cold, withering husk of a man. 

When his mouth finally peels open, it takes effort. Like his teeth had been welded together by one of those chewy caramel-coated candies Shiu keeps in his glove compartment. 

“I’m a killer.”

A strange sensation splashed over Toji. Maybe it was relieving to finally share that tidbit of himself, to get his shame out in the open and off his chest. His shoulders felt a little lighter, his joints felt a little looser. This high didn’t last forever, though, and soon he was plummeting back down to Earth when your horror-stricken voice shook in his ears. 

“That’s not a funny joke.”

“Wouldn’t joke. Not about that.” He swirls the built-up saliva in his mouth.

Your eyes were wide, never leaving him. “You… you kill people? For money?”

Begrudgingly, “yes.”

You sputter. “How do you expect me to believe something so—so unimaginable?” Your brows sewed themselves, drawn close in absolute bewilderment. Hinging on the cusp between puking and laughing in his stupid face. “This is insane, Toji.”

He scoffs quietly. “Ain’t fuckin’ lying woman.” No saccharine ma’am. “Wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I had to fight to live.” A low blow, but you didn’t seem to take it to heart, far too distracted by your own disturb. 

Toji wasn’t prepared for how much this was going to hurt. The disgusted way you looked at him, something you’d never ever done before, made him barely able to contain his quiver. He deserves every morsel of your animosity, but knowing he deserved it didn’t make it any less painful. Toji felt you scanning, analyzing every scar wedged into his torso. His arms. His neck. His face. He sees you making connections, noticing healed-over bullet wounds and knife attacks for what they were: hideous. He watches you make connections, visualizing a new scenario for each scar; for each life he’s taken and how they desperately fought back against him for mercy. Toji’s body bears the story of hundreds of deaths, and you look sick to your stomach at the realization of what he truly is. 

An ugly monster. 

“Oh my God.” You’re hushed, speaking to yourself. “How many people, Toji?”

He grimaced. “I lost count.”

“Oh my God…” Your hand is pressed to your hairline, and you look exasperated to all Hell. Crazed, maybe. As though he’d just rocked your entire world.

Toji interjects with unnecessary commentary. “I told you. I said you would never understand.”

“No, n-no I understand plenty.” Then, you smile, but it’s not one you’d ever bore to Toji before. It lacks any kindness. It’s empty and unloving. “You’re a murderer.”

He winces. Killer and murderer were synonymous, but for some odd reason being called a murderer was a different type of wrench to the gut. “Yeah.” Toji nods. For the right price, he has slaughtered, fucked, and even sold a few peripheral organs. Because money is everything. Money is food. Money is shelter. Money is life itself. But money isn’t you. 

“Get the fuck out of my home.”

You look terrified of him. Toji is frozen stiff.

“I said go! Fucking leave!” Suddenly, you're rushing to collect your crumpled outfit from the floor, feeding your limbs through the small pair of panties and that oversize bed shirt. Amongst the frenzy to get dressed, you snatch your phone from the bedside table and frantically scrawl over the screen with clumsy fingers. Toji sees tears track down your cheeks, they glint from the light emanating off the cellphone. “Or I’ll call the police.”

And turn in what evidence? He’s too good at what he does, Toji doesn’t leave paper trails behind. But he lets you think you have the power to get him in cuffs. You’re already so frightened, clinging to your phone with trembling hands.

“Go ahead. Call them.” His words are lifeless. Lifeless with a touch of irritation. Spat with malice because you would never understand the life he lives, despite how much you’ve preached to him that you would. You teased him, dangling this idea of a normal life in front of his face. One without lies and secrecy, just you and him and this almighty penthouse. This would more than likely be the last exchange between the both of you, the last time Toji would ever look you in the eyes again, and it angered him. All good things have expiration dates. “You know where I live.”

“Just… Fucking leave.” Christ, you were shaking like a leaf. Was it out of fear? Or anger, maybe? Probably a combination of both. Toji gets a few more seconds of stillness in, spent entirely on gulping down eyefuls of you. Even now, face twisted up and cheeks wet from tears, you look so fucking gorgeous. His savior, the one who showed him how to feel again. 

“Okay.” 

He collects himself, puts on a presence of nonchalant coolness. Like walking out of your bedroom wasn’t the most difficult thing he’s had to do in years. Never-minding the shirt, he walks to the door without sparing a glance back over his shoulder. 

Toji leaves. It’s raining, and he is shirtless and sopping wet. Thunder rumbles. 

You will hear thunder and remember me. 

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

tags . • @4imhry @sugurubabe @mastermasterlist1p1 @mikisspeak @fluttershyfangs @iluv-ace @xstom @bratbby333 @mizzfizz z @sserafin @wo-ming-bai @maexc @r0semultiverse @r0ckst4rjk @aesukuni @taelattecookie @purple-obsidian @hqtoge @khaothick @saintkaylaa @ya9amicide @crayzyaarna @saiki-enthusiast @haesify @nyamocka @sixxze @lifesucksweswallow @darkstarlight82 @megumisdivinedogs @celestialol @yunho-leeknow @ghostfacefricker6969 @aizawa19 @lupicalbestwolf @nymphsdomain @makuzume @killerkinnie @haesify @svnkenlily @bimbobunnii

[dunmeshistash]

Incomplete/imperfect knowledge in Dungeon Meshi is so good isn't it?

The exposition I usually see in made up worlds tend to the side of being perfect explanations (or at least they eventually get explained to the audience) but in dungeon meshi we get a lot of speculation from in world imperfect understanding of the people living in it, it's so good.

The bad understanding that gets corrected later on it's like "Oh I see why they thought that" but some isn't even given a good answer at all.

Some examples is of course the living armors people assumed were moved by magic but were a monster. But there's also less obvious things, like the understanding about ancient magic, dungeons, the basilisk "which one is the main body", differences between humans and demi-humans etc

Even characters that know more than other characters still have blank spaces in their understanding they fill with misconceptions. Like the canaries not fully understanding the demon even tho they think they do.

This is one of the great parts about the ending 10/10

so what happens now that the world was changed? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[communistkenobi]

Would you be willing to dunk on speak more on mainstream feminist theory you're reading? And/or share some of the non-juvenile feminist theory you've read?

(Note: I will try to link to open access versions of articles as much as possible, but some of them are paywalled. if the links dont work just type the titles into google and add pdf at the end, i found them all that way)

If there’s any one singular issue with mainstream feminist thought that can be generalized to "The Problem With Mainstream Feminism" (and by mainstream I mean white, cishet, bourgeois feminism, the “canonical feminism” that is taught in western universities) it’s that gender is treated as something that can stand by itself, by which I mean, “gender” is a complete unit of analysis from which to understand social inequality. You can “add” race, class, ability, national origin, religion, sexuality, and so on to your analysis (each likewise treated as full, discrete categories of the social world), but that gender itself provides a comprehensive (or at the very least “good enough”) view of a given social problem. (RW Connell, who wrote the canonical text Masculinities (1995) and is one of the feminist scholars who coined/popularized the term hegemonic masculinity, is a fantastic example of this.)

Black feminists have for many decades pointed out how fucking ridiculous this is, especially vis a vis race and class, because Black women do not experience misogyny and racism as two discrete forms of oppression in their lives, they are inextricably linked. The separation of gender and race is not merely an analytical error on the part of white feminists - it is a continuation of the long white supremacist tradition of bounding gender in exclusively white terms. Patricia Hill Collins in Black Feminist Thought (2000) engages with this via a speech by Sojourner Truth, the most famous line from her speech being “ain’t I a woman?” as she describes all the aspects of womanhood she experiences but is still denied the position of woman by white women because she is Black. Lugones in Coloniality of Gender (2008) likewise brings up the example of segregationist movements in the USAmerican South, where towns would put up banners saying things like “Protect Southern Women” as a rationale for segregation, making it very clear who they viewed as women. Sylvia Wynter in 1492: A New World View likewise points out that colonized women and men were treated like cattle by Spanish colonizers in South America, often counted in population measures as "heads of Indian men and women," as in heads of cattle. They were treated as colonial resources, not as gendered subjects capable of rational thought.

To treat the category of “woman” as something that stands by itself is a white supremacist understanding of gender, because “woman” always just means white woman - the fact that white is left implied is part of white supremacy, because who is granted subjecthood, the ability to be seen as human and therefore a gendered subject, is a function of race (see Quijano, 2000). Crenshaw (1991) operationalizes this through the term intersectionality, pointing out that law treats gender and race as separate social sites of discrimination, and the practical effect of this is that Black women have limited/no legal recourse when they face discrimination because they experience it as misogynoir, as the multiplicative effect of their position as Black women, not as sexism on the one hand and racism on the other.

Transfeminist theory has further problematized the category of gender by pointing out that "woman" always just means cis woman (and more often than not also means heterosexual woman). The most famous of these critiques comes from Judith Butler - I’m less familiar with their work, but there is a great example in the beginning of Bodies That Matter (1993) where they demonstrate that personhood itself is a gendered social position. They ask (and I’m paraphrasing) “when does a fetus stop becoming an ‘it’? When its gender is declared by a doctor or nurse via ultrasound.” Sex assignment is not merely a social practice of patriarchal division, it is the medium through which the human subject is created (and recall that gender is fundamentally racialized & race is fundamentally gendered, which I will come back to).

And the work of transfeminists demonstrate this by showing transgender people are treated as non-human, non-citizens. Heath Fogg Davis in Sex-Classification Policies as Transgender Discrimination (2014) recounts the story of an African American transgender woman in Pennsylvania being denied use of public transit, because her bus pass had an F gender marker on it (as all buss passes in the state required gender markers until 2013) and the bus driver refused her service because she “didn’t look like a woman.” She was denied access to transit again when she got her marker changed to M, as she “didn’t look like a man.” Transgender people are thus denied access to basic public services by being constructed as “administratively impossible” - gender markers are a component of citizenship because they appear on all citizenship documents, as well as a variety of civil and public documents (such as a bus pass). Gender markers, even when changed by trans people (an arduous, difficult process in most places on earth, if not outright impossible), are seen as fraudulent & used as a basis to deny us citizenship rights. Toby Beauchamp in Going Stealth: Transgender Politics & US Surveillance Practices (2019) talks about anti-trans bathroom bills as a form of citizenship denial to trans people - anti-trans bathroom laws are impossible to actually enforce because nobody is doing genital inspections of everyone who enters bathrooms (and genitals are not proof of transgenderism!), but that’s actually not the point. The point of these bills is to embolden members of the cissexual public to deputize themselves on behalf of the state to police access to public space, directing their cissexual gaze towards anyone who “looks transgender.” Beauchamp points out that transvestigators don’t need to be accurate most of the time, because again, the point is terrorizing transgender people out of public life. He connects this with racial segregation, and argues that we shouldn’t view gender segregation as “a new form of” racial segregation (this is a duplication of white supremacist feminism) but a continuation of it, because public access is a citizenship right and citizenship is fundamentally racially mediated (see Glenn's (2002) Unequal Freedom)

Susan Stryker & Nikki Sullivan further drives this home in The King’s Member, The Queen’s Body, where they explain the history of the crime of mayhem. Originating in feudal Europe (I don’t remember off the dome the exact time/place so forgive the generalization lol), mayhem is the crime of self-mutilation for the purposes of avoiding military conscription, but what is interesting is that its not actually legally treated as “self” mutilation, but a mutilation of the state and its capacity to exercise its own power. They link the concept of mayhem to the contemporary hysteria around transgender people receiving bottom surgery - we are not in fact self mutilating, we are mutilating the state’s ability to reproduce its own population by permanently destroying (in the eyes of the cissexual public) our capacity to form the foundational social unit of the nuclear family. Our bodies are not our own, they are a component of the state. Situating this in the context of reproductive rights makes this even clearer. Abortion access is not actually about the individual, it is the state mediating its own reproductive capacity via the restriction of abortion (premised on the cissexual logic of binary reproductive capacity systematized through sex assignment). Returning to Hill Collins, she points out that in the US, white cis women are restricted access to abortion while Black and Indigenous cis women are routinely forcibly sterilized, their children aborted, and pumped with birth control by the state. This is not a contradiction or point of “hypocrisy” on the part of conservatives, this is a fully comprehensive plan of white supremacist population management.

To treat "gender" as its own category, as much of mainstream feminism does (see Acker (1990) and England (2010) for two hilarious examples of this, both widely cited feminists), is to forward a white supremacist notion of gender. That white supremacy is fundamentally cissexual and heterosexual is not an accident - it is a central organizing logic that allows for the systematization of the fear of declining white birthrates (the conspiracy of "white genocide" is illegible without the base belief that there are two kinds of bodies, one that gets pregnant and one that does the impregnating, and that these two types of bodies are universal sources of evidence of the superiority of men over women - and im using those terms in the most loaded possible sense).

I realize that most of these readings are US centric, which is an unfortunate limitation of my own education. I have been really trying to branch into literature outside the Global North, but doctoral degree constraints + time constraints + my own research requires continual engagement with it. I also realize that most of the transfeminist readings I've cited are by white scholars! This is a continual systemic problem in academic literature and I'm not exempt from it, even as I sit here and lay out the problem. Which is to say, this is nowhere near the final word on this subject, and having to devote so much time to reading mainstream feminist theory as someone who is in western academia is part of my own limited education + perspective on this topic

[generalsdiary]

my roman empire is us (the trailblazer) meeting ratio and him greeting us with "oh it's you, I remember you", and the realization hitting we have not seen him, as the mc, since the bug and cat cakes event. and to him we are just that. my mind went immediately to;

"you were a wonderful experience"

"you were everything"

because we ratio defenders, analysis writers, we explain him, defend him, research him, love him, we go ON AND ON about him and, I was so excited when I saw him standing in penacony near the current divergent universe, and to be met with such a reality check truly broke my heart. veritas ratio you are everything, even when we are, in game and out of the game, just perceived as a mere fan, enthusiast. but I would mention, that it is refreshing to be perceived and talked to like a normal person from a scientist and a genius when EVERY genius so far has treated us like an experiment, and a need to explore our bodies and use us- to the point of poisoning us. it is so in his character at the end of the day, to do, the bare fucking minimum btw, and treat us as a human being. hopefully, we get more of him, a companionship mission or something, because it is unfair that a character as great as him is kept away from us, we are left to live on crumbs, moreover left to live on dust when it comes to our canonical interactions in game.

they could never make me hate you, Veritas.

[crowsintheforest]

you can look at the vorkosigan saga books and assume (correctly!) that it's a lot of space opera/space war stories, with daring rescues and laser gun pew pew and clones wandering around. but they're also full of other things, like

probably most famously, jane austen via space russia (a civil campaign my beloved)

look I swear we're going to finish our honeymoon but my boss's ships got impounded and whoops I seem to have found a murder mystery

oh no we lost a dead body before we could do future medicine to bring it back oh no we lost the protagonist

fake wedding turns out to be a real wedding and your cousin won't stop laughing at you

great news shareholders, we've genetically engineered humans to live in null G by giving them arms instead of legs! what do you mean humanity invented artificial gravity

culture and medical exchange's influence on gendered politics, or how does nobility's patrilineal inheritance work when you can trans your gender

navigating polyamory when one of you is dead

basically a decades-long multibook treatise on the impacts of providing and utilizing alternatives to in vitro fertilization and live births

[ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her]

I think one of the best elements of fantasy world-building for making a setting feel unique is its magic system. There's a lot of ways to approach building a magic system, and most of those ways can produce something compelling, but an approach that I've been thinking a lot about recently is what I call the Three Questions approach, because I think a lot of the times generic and interesting magic systems show up in stories that aren't really about the magic and so don't want to spend very much narrative space or exposition wordcount on it. Three Questions is great because it creates something unique and interesting without consuming much page space, and can also help with the rest of your world-building if you feel like spending a little more than the bare minimum on it.

The Three Questions are:

Where does magic come from?

What can it do?

What can't it do?

Answering the questions in order is helpful because the answer to each question suggests the answer to the next. The best recent example I've read of this system comes from How To Become the Dark Lord and Die Trying, and I'm gonna walk through that book's magic system in this context to illustrate why this approach is so effective.

Where does magic come from?

A mineral called thaumite, which grows in the body of monsters.

What can it do?

Thaumite comes in different colors, each of which corresponds to a different type of magical effects. Humans can use thaumite as a material component to create spells with effects determined by the color and magnitude determined by the size of the thaumite. Non-humans can instead consume thaumite and gain permanent passive benefits of a type thematically related to the color of thaumite. For example, red thaumite can cast fire spells and increases physical strength. Non-humans also need thaumite to live and thrive, though they can go without eating it a lot longer than they can go without food and water. Non-humans can theoretically live forever if they keep finding thaumite, but they need it more and more often as they age.

What can't it do?

Humans can't eat thaumite and be enhanced by it, and non-humans can't cast intentional spells. You can't cast spells that aren't thematically linked to an existing type of thaumite, so big complicated idiosyncratic curses and the like are off the table.

The book lays out all of this scattered through the first quarter of the book without any big egregious blocks of exposition dumping, and the results are really cool. We now know exactly what kinds of tools and challenges are protagonist can use, what limitations they have to work around and exploit, and as a result, engaging with the magic system feels like it has understandable stakes. The mechanics of the magic system inform the rest of the world-building as well - humans and non-humans are in constant conflict over access to thaumite, and the human kingdom is more built up technologically because they can utilize deliberate spells to accomplish things on a scale that non-humans can't. It all makes the world feel real and distinct.

This obviously isn't the only way to make a good magic system, and there are some things that you might want out of a magic system - like mystery and uncertainty - that this system can't accomplish by itself. But I would love to see this used more often in, say, romance stories in fantasy settings to make the world feel like less of an afterthought. Good world-building leads to better and more memorable storytelling, even when what you think you want is specific trappings to enable your story and nothing else.

[the-monkeies-girl]

I recently saw your prompt list, and I would like to know if I could pretty please have the 6 and 60 with caesar?😭

6. teasingly kissing the tip of the nose. 60. Sitting in their lap.

Smoldering is how his hands felt against your skin, taking in the delectations against your side as they were brought down from the side of your rib cage towards your hips, Caesar securing his grasp there and pulling you even closer with a small huff of contentment mixed with need. If he could, the Ape King would have you inside of his skin at moments like this where the wall he had needed to rebuild time and time again in all his interactions with humans since the flu came tumbling down and he was able to feel the trembling of your body against his own.

The pure torture his leathery skin gave you as he held you so tightly, in any other form would cause you to burst out of laughter as it tickled instead of pleasured, was sending you in the the highest bid imaginable. That was the thing about Caesar. He would always get you there, bring you to the very edge and in a seconds worth of hesitation as you both never wanted the feeling to end, he’d staved off and thus make you follow him into the trenches were all you were able to mutter was his name and the occasional plea. You were such an incredible sight to the green eyes that were so intent on watching, admiring and trying so desperately to remember the way your eyes rolled back, the way your mouth, ajar murmured one prayer to him before you were utterly consumed in white heat that seemed to burn hotter than the sun itself, Caesar doing his best to swallow the sounds you were making as he knew they caused a ruckus to the Colony members, but he could not bring himself to care anymore with the subsequent actions you put him through.

A small utterance 'Caesar' catapulted the Ape into the great Heavens themselves as he brought his face between the bridge of your breast, nuzzling his mildly protruding muzzle there and garnering himself a tightening of your hands in the fur of his shoulder when Caesar bared his teeth against the already flushed skin and tasted your sweat on them. 

Coming down was never the easy part, your head lulling itself into the crevice of his neck as the grip on your waist that was keeping you leveraged as you bounced atop him mildly were becoming loosened as even the great Ape himself staggered out of the abysmal heat into the trenches of chilled air that lingered around the nest during the latest hours of the night. His eyes shut long enough for him to recollect himself, to recollect yourself as he dragged his hands upwards on your back, touching barely on your shoulder blades but feeling you tense out of heady intentions to go again despite your mate coming back from his trip late, despite him being tired. Caesar dragged you down with him with carnal desire and now you were both reaping the utmost consequences. 

“Mmm…” You murmured, bringing your head from the fur of his neck where you had been swimming in his musk of ashen wood, the tallest red wood where its top peaked the clouds, the deepest and riches parts of the Earth were only a worm would enjoy until this moment where all you wanted to do was consume it yourself. “You need to go on long trips more often.” Caesar chortled at that, the action in his shoulders causing you to shift ever so slightly in his lap as your legs loosened their tensed grip they had around his sturdy pelvis. “Think… You should stay awake… and wait for me when I return late from these trips…” Caesar lifted his gaze to meet your own, the flushed nature of the green and golden specks always mesmerizing and your breath caught in your throat, enough to cause you to grasp the fur of his shoulders much tighter as you saw the glimmer of flirtatious notes playing behind them. Caesar, unprompted, was not one to speak like this and you really only got it in the aftermath of intense throes of scorching pleasure. You took what you could get, dishing back what he had served. 

Bringing your face down towards his own, Caesar had thought that you were going to swipe your lips against his, then bracing for impact on the immediate basis that he was only blessed with lip to lip contact on occasion, knowing that it wasn’t something common amongst the Apes.

But--- He was wrong, your lips placing themselves on the cartoon heart shape of his nose for only a fleeting pash in time as you laughed against him, your chest rattling movements causing his eyes to dip just once so he could see your breasts move along before the visual was lost as you came scrunching in tighter, the hands that had scratched themselves into his bare flesh beneath the thickness of his furred shoulders now coming to wrap themselves around his muscular neck.

“I’ll be sure to try my best.”

[a-twistedheartslonging]

sometimes people will pay mc to clean/cook for them. all are using it as an excuse to get a scent on you

epel appreciates home cooked meals, don't bother paying for ingredients, just use ones from his farm. he'll keep you company prefect

jade and floyd (who has taken to calling you his Cleaner Shrimpy) jade thinks it's cute to see you cook, he would love to see you swap recipes, learn your taste, do add extra mushrooms to his food please. floyd enjoys following you around while you clean and trying to mess things up so you can't leave. he always make jokes about lockin' you in. what do you meeeeaaannnn you have other clients? maybe he should bite you so they learn to stay away :) maybe he should lock you up right here :)

azul? come work for the mostro lounge! clean up the mess after work, only work for him, he'll pay you double just don't go spend time with others. why don't you start with his office and finish up after people leave. is what he would say if he lost all words the moment he gets to close to you.

jack is just helping a friend >:( don't get the wrong idea just hang out in the room when you're done, he does enjoy your cooking, he knows you'll make a great little mate and a great parent too, he does always compliment the chef.

riddle and vil will critique you but ultimately try to get you to stay

malleus follows you around while you clean all of diasomnia. he pays extra just to not clean savanna claw

sebek yells how you should be grateful to work for malleus, silver ears every meal with a smile and always compliments you and how he can tell you worked hard on it, lilia tries to have a cook off with you. you didn't have the heart to roast his cooking.

leona is used to the women hunting, cooking is almost like that, he'll pay you double is you drop the dragon, he'll say come over to clean but you're just a body pillow lol

ruggie uses those big old puppy dog eyes to get to give him a home cooked meal for free ninety nine.

by the end of it rook just pays to watch you go about your business in his space. it's creepy. but he always does write a 20 page thank you letter complimenting your skills, unless he decides to keep you in his nest ofc

trey wants to swap recipes remarking something about "well fed children", deuce is enamored with your cooking and raves about you to his mom, ace pretends not to care but will just throw his laundry at you for you to do, he tried to pay you in a hoodie of his but you refused to accept. carter says he'll make a post promoting your innovative idea but is trying to keep it to himself, he doesn't want some other stinky guy on you >:(

idia is to shy to ask but ortho has needed this for a while

jamil is thrilled when you too can cook together and try each others food, and you give him a break from cleaning after parties? kalon thinks it's a sign you love him that you offered (and his parents are thrilled to have a human work for him) and jamil gets to hang out with the cute little human and take a break? god send

eventually whoever gets the most from you is OBVIOUSLY a status symbol and will be shown off.

anyway sorry if you didn't like this

Oh, I love this, I talked before about Yuu getting a little cleaning and cooking side business going since a lot of guys suck at taking care of themselves, especially the well-off ones that prob had a maid take care of everything.

Jamil and Ruggie both need breaks/some help. Leona and Kalim are working these poor boys to the bone. Ruggie is def hounding you for leftovers.

I can imagine Idia is kind of embarrassed and might clean up or hide a few things before you come over, doesn't want you thinking he's gross. I'm picturing him in his web looking flustered as he pretends to act all focused on the game his playing on his tablet but he's actually just watching you clean and fueling his house waifu/husbando fantasies.

I would def run a hoodie tax for doing laundry.

Rook is another that would hide the things he doesn't want you to see before you come over to clean, not that there's much for you to do. He's very neat and organized but always looks for an excuse to get you into his nest. Probably offers you extra to scent a few things for him.

Cleaning for Leona...you know those cats that lie on the bed when you're trying to change the sheets and nap on the fresh from the drier clothes? He diffidently does that. He totally keeps trying to get you to only work for him and lays on you so you can't leave, threatening to charge him overtime doesn't deter him in the slightest. He also sticks close when you're cooking, the man loves food and wants to be fed by hand by you.

Oh man, Mal, Silver, and Sebek are so grateful when you take care of the cooking. Seb refuses to admit it though. You really need to keep an eye on everything, or else Lilia will sneak something into what you're making.

With the trouble that Ace and Deuce cause you're probably called to their dorm often to clean up some mess they made.

You would definitely get a lot of extra work from the octo trio, if it's not their rooms you're taking care of then it's help with the lounge. The eels are big-time fans of your cooking, but neither will leave you alone when you are trying to clean, and it makes the jobs take a lot longer. Not too bad if you're charging by the hour at least.

[redtsundere-writes]

Tyrant's Favorite | Sukuna Ryomen

Chapter 6 “Harvest Season” is available now!

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

PICK YOUR FAVORITE!

AO3 or Wattpad?

Preview ↆ

“Welcome to this year's harvest. Thanks to your relatives or communities, you have been chosen as the most useless beings of this year. So the great king Sukuna has decided to give you the opportunity to work for him as servants,” The person began to read the scroll aloud in front of everyone. 

A collective sigh was heard when he read the word “useless”. Most of them, being elderly, already knew that they were only a burden to their families. Therefore, there was no need to stress it further. It was like squeezing lemon on an open wound. 

“As every year, we give those who are completely useless a chance to leave. King Sukuna needs real servants and not stupid dogs.” Along with that announcement, the castle gates opened.

There it was, the door that would lead them to freedom right under their noses. Hearing that, most of them ran towards their escape route, desperate to return home to their loved ones. You took the child in your arms and were about to run away until the thought that the offer was too good to be true settled in your mind. “Those who go in, never come back” you thought. 

“Come on, dear, let's go,” the kind old woman asked you while she pulled you by the arm to escape quickly. 

“If they do this every year, why doesn't anyone come back home?” You asked her. “It's a trap, I can feel it.” The old woman looked at you puzzled at first, but understood your point after processing it for a couple of seconds. She was so blinded by the brilliant exit that she hadn't boasted about it. 

Once the first to escape was about to reach the door, the grille slammed shut. The evil laughter of hundreds of curses echoed through the place like a war chant. In less than a second, a gigantic flock of armored curses began to eat all those who were about to flee. A massacre, desperate screams and blood spraying everywhere. You had never seen anything like it in your life. You knew the curses were evil and ate humans, but you never thought it would be such a disastrous sight. You covered the child’s eyes. The lady covered her face as she realized the hell they had been sent to. 

“Traitor dogs do not deserve to live,” the white-haired person said as soon as no human who had tried to escape was left alive. 

“You were right…” the old woman whispered next to you between silent sobs. 

You looked back at the front of the castle while your eyes were still drowning in tears. The person who was summoning you was glaring at you, as if offended by your mere presence. You looked around, less than half had stayed. The other elders were crying, vomiting and some lucky ones hadn't even turned around to see what was happening. Your arms were shaking from the cold of the morning and the terror that consumed you whole. You squeezed the child against your body to protect it. A little creature was not to blame for being in a place like that. You had to protect him, it was the only way he would have a chance to survive. 

“I congratulate you for surviving the first round. My name is Uraume, and I am the right hand of your king, Sukuna Ryomen,” they introduced themselves in a loud, monotone voice so that we could all hear them. “Next you will introduce yourselves to the king. He will have the final word as to your fate,” they explained before returning to the castle. 

Open fanfic commissions!

Masterlist.

[adragonprinceswhore]

You’re Perfect

Billy Washington x Girlfriend

Summary: You ask Billy to fulfill one of your fantasies.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, deepthroat, throat fucking, breath play, fingering, cum eating

A/N: Here you go, anon! Made a header ‘cause I was bored 🤓 Also, I can’t believe I wrote this? Please forgive me for the crimes of my ovulation 🙏

Word count: 1700

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The days between Christmas and New Years always feel like being in limbo; stuck in time between the cosy familiarity of Christmas, and the rejuvenating passing of New Years. Never feeling quite like yourself; sometimes unburdened by the stressors of everyday life, sometimes fretting over the return of normalcy as a new year embarks.

When your head is swirling with endless questions, sometimes something as simple as a shower makes you feel human again.

You step out of the bathroom, steam accompanying your dampened silhouette as you enter the living room of Billy's small flat. He’s lounging on the small sofa in the corner, feet propped up on the low ikea coffee table, eyes flickering from the TV screen to you, taking in the way your dressing gown clings to your dewy skin.

Eyes still on you, he sits up a bit straighter, spreading his legs out while stretching out a needy hand, the other one fidgeting with the remote to mute the TV, “Come here”.

As you got more comfortable with each other as a couple, you learned a few things about Billy; he’s giving and he’s needy.

He wants you to know how much he appreciates you. He shows his love by making you tea each morning. By complimenting your cooking, even when it tastes horrid. By touching you, every chance he gets.

You take his hand and sit down on his lap. Billy’s face instantly nuzzles into the softness of your chest, nose trailing across your smooth skin as he inhales, “Did you use that shower oil I got you for Christmas?”

“The one I told you to buy for me?”, you giggle, remembering how panicked his blue eyes had looked in the over-crowded shopping centre before you slipped your gift into his hand and told him you’d go out while he finished up there, “-yes”

Billy hums, the stubble on his chin scratching your skin, “Great choice. Do you feel better after your shower?”

When your head is swirling with endless questions, sometimes something as simple as Billy's touch makes you feel human again.

He’s always so gentle with you, a stark contrast to the natural clumsiness he seems to possess. With you, he’s always careful, fingertips grazing delicately over your skin.

“Yes”, you answer honestly, grabbing his face to angle it towards your lips.

The kiss starts soft, plush lips moving against each other slowly. But once Billy finds your ass, squeezing it over your dressing gown, his mouth matches the neediness of his hand.

When you push on his shoulder to allow yourself a moment to come up for air, his lips chase your mouth, reluctant to allow separation between the two of you.

You dodge him, place a quick peck on his lips and stroke the smooth skin on his cheekbones, “There’s this thing I’d like to try..”

Unable to keep from adoring you, Billy peppers your neck with soft kisses, mumbling “Tell me” into your skin.

“It’s this fantasy I’ve had for a while”, you start, feeling Billy straighten up slightly as he lifts his gaze to meet yours, intrigued.

“Anything”, he says, grasp on your ass moving your body slightly so your leg makes contact with his crotch, feeling the hardness already there.

“Before we met, I’d… get off to this thought…”, you explain, hand moving to play with the sandy hairs at the base of his neck, “it’s something I’ve always wanted to try”.

“If you’re about to suggest a threesome with one of my mates, I’m throwing you out the window”, Billy jokes, still busy lathering you in featherlight kisses.

You chuckle, leaning in closer, mouth right by his ear as you purr, “I want you to fuck my throat”

Billy’s body goes stiff beneath you, but you can swear that you feel his cock twitch against your leg.

“Um-, y-, yeah. Yeah, guess we could try that”, he stammers, caught off guard by your brazen request.

You swing one leg over his lap so that you're straddling him, a playful smile turning the corners of your lips up.

“Yeah?”, you excitedly confirm, stifling a giggle at how rapidly your partner's cheeks have turned pink, “would you like to try right now?”

Tongue darting out to lick his lips, Billy looks at you in amazement, nodding a silent yes.

You’d already gotten a bit worked up from just mentioning the subject, and now the realisation that it’ll happen has your core aching; arousal overtaking you rapidly.

You leave one last peck on Billy’s rosy lips before standing, pulling him up from the sofa and laying down with your head hanging over the armrest.

He observes you, mouth hanging open in astonishment, shoulders slumped and tent in his adidas bottoms evident. You almost let out another giggle at his baffled state.

“I want you to use me, Billy”, you urge, hand closest to him grabbing a fistful of the soft joggers material to pull him closer, “please”

He exhales shakily, hand moving down to palm over his aching cock. If this is what you want, who is he to deny you?

His eyes flicker from your face, eyes expectant and half-lidded with want, to your scarcely covered body, peeks of your soft skin peeping through the middle slit of your dressing gown.

God, you’re perfect.

“Tap my leg if it’s too much, yeah?”, he says, hesitation still evident in his tone, and you smile in reply, nodding.

He grabs his cock in one hand, the other moving to your face, fingertips gently tracing your cheeks as his eyes softly regard you with utter adoration.

Sliding in slowly, he inhales sharply at the feeling of your hot mouth welcoming him. He takes the lead, setting a shallow, easy pace, allowing you to get used to the sensation.

After a few thrusts he pulls out, cock twitching at the sight of a trail of your spit connecting the two of you, “You okay?”

His consideration is sweet, but the feeling of his heavy length in your mouth and the taste of his salty skin leaves you craving more, “Yes Billy, try going deeper”

He inhales shakily again, face evidently hot; cheeks shifting from pink to red and skin glistening.

He slides in deeper, holding the side of your face carefully in his palm, fingers gently feeling the outline of his cock through the delicate skin of your throat, and moans.

“Fuck”

He lets his inhibitions go a little more, focusing on how good it feels; how his eyes are able to appreciate every inch of you as you offer yourself to him on the worn-out sofa in his crummy flat.

Feeling your throat close in a useless attempt to swallow whatever’s blocking your airway, Billy whimpers at the pleasurable squeeze before pulling out, eyes looking down at you in horror, “Shit, sorry!”

You cough slightly, inhaling deeply to fill your lungs again. He’s so cute when he’s like this; worried puppy-eyes contrasting his out-blown pupils.

Locking eyes with him, you smile as one of your hands slides down to slip inside the opening of your dressing gown, fingers diving between your folds, urgently seeking your entrance.

Without needing further preparation, you work two fingers inside your tightness, delighted that the wet sounds of your arousal echo across the room.

“I like it”, you reassure him, “Use me, Billy”

Instantly complying, he moans loudly at how good it feels as your mouth welcomes him again, wet squelching around his length matching the fingers still buried between your legs.

You continue like that, Billy still careful to let you breathe as he fucks your throat with more and more vigour.

Each time he pulls out, there’s more spit adorning his cock. That sight alone has his balls tighten almost painfully in arousal, ready to release at any moment.

You take in a few deep breaths before opening your mouth again, glistening lips and teary, half-lidded eyes illuminated by the harsh, bright light coming from the TV.

Billy leans forward slightly, slowly easing his length back into your hot, wet mouth, unrestrained moans falling from his lips at the maddening sensation. His large hands tug at the cotton belt holding your dressing gown loosely together, revealing your naked form to his hungry gaze.

His palms brace themselves on each side of your waist, fingers squeezing your soft flesh tightly as he begins to thrust his hips again, fucking your throat in slow and precise movements.

The sound of your fingers working your dripping centre, mixed with the moans contained in your throat vibrating around him forces him towards an unabated release.

“‘M gonna cum”, he whimpers, pulling out of your mouth, once again mesmerised by the glistening wetness connecting his cock to your lips as you cough, lungs eager to receive oxygen as you breathe heavily beneath him.

His hand moves furiously over his slick length, pearly spurts landing on your hot skin as he paints your exposed tits in his cum.

Still breathing heavily, Billy drops to his knees beside the sofa to kiss you passionately, warm hand lovingly cupping your cheek.

“I love you”, he whispers, kissing your jaw.

You giggle, still a bit dazed.

“I love you”, he repeats, lips moving down to brush against your sore throat, your collarbones. He crawls on the floor next to you, kissing his cum on your breasts, smearing it over your skin with his tongue.

His lips find your nipple, biting at the nerve-filled flesh before soothingly sucking at it. Meanwhile, his fingers push the limp hand between your thighs away, plunging inside your dripping centre fervently, causing your back to arch off the sofa.

“Does it feel this good when you touch yourself?”, he asks, voice muffled by the skin of your breast, “Can your fingers reach this deep?”

“No”, you moan.

Your Billy, who often looks so afraid and unsure, lights up with confidence as his blue gaze mets yours,

“Didn’t think so”

[vanhelsing-if]

FAQ

-> What personality types can we play as?

You can play as most of the usual IF personality tropes, but Helsing is canonically very professional and stoic during jobs - they’re not really the playful/joking type while on a hunt. They’re efficient, experienced, and a leader with good examples to set and first-hand experience that cockiness can get you killed. You will have more freedom regarding their personality in other aspects of their lives though. Do they retain that stoicism and distance? Are they gentler with their loved ones? Do you get grumpy/annoyed easily? Are they more relaxed and capable of joking when not on the job?

-> Can Helsing be confused about modern technology?

In the way that your grandparents can be, sure! They know what all the latest technology is, and how to use it, but they can definitely be like “damn this phone and its autocorrect!!¡!” when you send a message to dracula like “i’m getting pregnant.” and dracula is like “excuse me????” and you meant to say “i’m getting pringles.”

-> Stats?

Helsing is very good at their job so they are canonically strong, intelligent, and well versed in fighting, weapons proficiency, and strategy. So, it’ll be more of a case of seeing which one you focus on and develop more i think. at least, that’s the plan for now. You’ll also be able to choose which weapon you have a preference for and what kind of fighting style you use (do you focus more on strength or speed or intelligence etc.?). This is more of a story based story though, so i wouldn’t worry too much about sacrificing your preferred choices for the sake of winning etc.

-> What will we be able to customise about van helsing (appearance wise)?

Once again, it will be very similar to other ifs. You will be able to customise hair, eyes, skin, body type, height, pronouns, gender, clothing style, glasses, tattoos, scars, etc.

-> Can we play as trans?

You can, and i will do my best to be respectful and will be open to suggestions as i am not trans myself.

-> How many books?

I’m thinking two books, but that’s subject to change.

-> What kind of asks can we send in?

Any asks are welcome! please tag nsfw at the beginning though if applicable <3 also please understand that i have a job, so it might take me some time to get to your ask, but i will get there (unless it makes me uncomfortable or is too spoilery - then I will probably delete it or save it for later).

-> Is ‘???’ a full romance?

Yes and no - you can end up with them, but they’re not nice at all, so i don’t think you could really call it a romance. It’s quite a dark route so please take care when doing that route - i doubt it’s for everyone.

-> Are the poly romances a triad or a v?

they’re both triads cause i think helsing deserves it. All the ro’s have solo routes as well (even Dracula). Please don’t send me weird asks about feeling like a third wheel/like you’re being cheated on/jealous/like the solo routes aren’t canon etc. because they will be ignored and deleted.

-> We had a son with eli, how does that work if you’re in a same sex couple or infertile or sex repulsed, etc.?

You can choose whether your son was biological or adopted.

-> Does homophobia/sexism etc. exist?

Xenophobia definitely exists - humans and supernaturals have a very tense relationship in this time and the creatures appearance has not helped. Male/male or female/female helsing and eli were not legally married back in the 1800s as it was illegal, but they held a ceremony with friends and acted as though they were. No one said anything either because helsing was far too great an ally to isolate.

-> Where is this if set?

The Helsing Institute is in Romania, but Helsing and the team travels all over.

[doe-eyed-and-desperate]

Love when a good song gives me some ideas

Song reference:

Tongues & teeth by The Crane Wives

Thinking about being fwb with wearwolf outcast of a small town. They’re an outcast for a good reason they’re violent and aggressive the town has half the sense to put them down for some of there outbursts. But you don’t see that you see someone you could fix (classic savior complex) and you want to fix them because you love them (not like you would tell them though). With all their bad habits every time you come over to try and help them a bit, always after a rough few rounds of sex. You think you’re being discreet but they can see right through you..

Eventually they get sick of you trying to help them and confront you, telling you out front that this would never work. They’re far to cruel for you, far to cold, far to violent especially for a little human like you to handle. Grabbing your chin and tilting t up to them as they run their thumb over the cut on your lip from their teeth.

They talk of how they would ruin you, they know that you mean well but they’re not someone who deserve your good intent. They let let go and head to leave now that you’re crying they feel as though they’ve made there point but here you are still tugging on there sleeve talking on how you don’t care. How pitiful they think as you beg and beg for them to stay that you’re fine with all their flaws and just want to at least try making things work..

They keep listening stone faced as you cry and plead with them till they finally snap. Fine you want their love they’ll give it to you. They manhandled you to the ground not bothering to listen to your Inesscents tears why should they this is what you were pleading for. And they’re fully intend to keep to their promise and ruin you.

Looking at the aftermath of your body they smile in an almost sadistic way. They get dressed leaning down to press a small kiss to your lips there teeth cutting into your lips again. As the whisper “if your fine with that you can be mine” they lean back watching as sleep takes you before they get up and leave.

Yah just a thought Ykwim

Always just a thought

Maybe to much of a thought

Anywhoooi

-🎀

I completely forgot about that song, the crane wives are a great band. Also, babes, you need to start writing, this was a very fun prompt. I literally stopped what I was doing and immediately started writing for it

Also, should I name them? if so, I want ideas

WC: 1.1k

TW: Dubcon? violence, toxic/abusive relationship, Ddne

You had always been intrigued by them, hearing stories and rumors of a violent brutal werewolf with not a care for anyone or anything. Whenever they return to the public for any reason the aura of dominance and cruelty radiates off of them. No one needs to be told to stay out of their way, their body just forces them, innately knowing this is a dangerous dangerous person.

But you must be lacking that basic instinct.

That or you're really fucking stupid. The towns people have yet to decide, as you, someone who can't fight for a shit, not that it'd matter, walk up to them and try to begin a conversation. The hair on everyone's neck stands, a sickening dropping feeling in all their stomachs, as though they were the one talking, knowing what is to come next.

To everyone's surprise, the monster doesn't immediately lash out at you. Bare those jagged teeth or stain your body with their marks, but just stops and stares down at you, their hulking non-human body towering over your own. Perhaps the hesitation is only of confusion, or maybe they've managed to retain a bit of the humanity they once gripped desperately onto.

Who knows.

The people around you quickly pull you away as the werewolf starts to change their mind, snarling at you. You got lucky, don't test it again. But whatever thoughts you had before of them still having the capacity to love have fully been unearthed, now at the forefront of your mind at all times. You saw the hesitation and decided it meant everything.

They decided you were really fucking stupid.

They will only hurt you. They'd enjoy every second of it too. They're nothing but sharp teeth and claws. But you don't listen, trying to prove to everyone that the wolf's not as bad as they seem.

So, you track them down, it isn't too hard, they don't live very far from town, and bring them something you've baked. They're already on edge, not expecting someone to just show up and at their home, and seeing you pisses them off. But they show restraint and only slam the door in your face, telling you to fuck off. You just leave the pastries on their doorstep, a little hurt, but not shaken, deciding to keep this up.

The second visit they didn't even open the door. But the third was worse. They were angry with your actions, just leave them alone, they don't need your fucking pity. They push you, sending you tumbling back, a claw mark ruining your pretty skin. A few tears well in your eyes from the rejection and pain, but you quickly blink them away and stand back up, trying to talk to them. They just growl and throw the food to the ground next to you.

The towns people are begging for you to stop, they hurt you. They are nothing but the monster they've succumbed to. Why do you want to go back? You don't listen, refusing to give up.

This time you take a different approach, instead of bringing something you made, you bring yourself. Offering your body up for their use.

They actually take you up on this offer, kicking you out the second they were done. Leaving you limping and littered in their marks, not caring to be gentle with you. You asked for this, you knew what you were getting into and you just kept coming back for more. Trying to stay after you're both finished, talking gently to them of domestic peaceful things.

But they see right through you. They know there is no true altruistic motivation for your actions. This is not for the genuine betterment of the wolf.

No, you never actually cared about that, you're only doing this becuase you want to be seen as better. You just want to feel like a good person with your "good intent." You have a savior complex. You don't actually care about them at all, it's never been about them. It was always about You.

Watching your bloodied lip move while you talk, one they bit into to make it that way, talking about far too sweet things, they snap.

"Stop! Fucking stop! I am so sick of this, I'm not some little project for you to fix, goddamit! I cannot be gentle. Why don't you understand? There is no fixing me. You burn with feelings I can't return."

"You had to know this wasn't going to last."

They turn to leave, going to go hunt as a means to get the anger coursing through their veins an escape. Their words slam you like a brick wall, you look around frantically, body starting to shake, you run towards them. Sobbing and gripping onto their arm, begging for them to stay.

You need them.

Can't they see that?

Its pathetic, but its the only thing you can do. Broken hoarse words spilling from your lips. You don't even know what you're saying anymore, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is that they're still here.

They just stare at you with those same dead eyes as they did all that time back. Not an ounce of care in them. They snarl and push you off, but you come back the second you stand. They clench their jaw and refuse to look at you, ignoring your pitifully desperate pleas.

Every time they look at you they can only see the worst parts of themself, the parts that have nearly engulfed them whole. All the claw marks, bruises, cuts, bites, staining your innocent weak body.

This is what they do to those they love.

They will only hurt you.

Can't you see that?

They can't be trusted, they do nothing but harm. They can never change, they wouldn't even if they could. This is who they are. Nothing more, nothing less. Abandon any dream you had about the person they could have been.

They warn you that they will ruin you too, corrupt you. But you don't care, you say they're all you want, no matter what.

Finally, they accept your words, deciding to give you what you're asking for. Pushing you to the ground, tearing your clothes to shreds, stabbing their teeth into your skin, ravaging your body completely. Cry all you want, this is what you were begging for.

What? Can't take it now that you've gotten what you want?

Should've thought about that before pleading for it. You don't have a choice now. You wanted their love? Now you have it.

Using your body till they're fully satisfied, not caring for you at all. Ruining your body with each hit, ruining your body with the pleasure they give, even if not meaning too. They finish, and just like the first time, get up and leave. Your bruised and bleeding body lies there on the cusp of unconsciousness and they sink their teeth into the same cut on your lip, leaning over you, growling, "You're mine, now.

"This is the price of my love."

[amiactuallydoingthisblog]

It’s been over a month since the finale, but I’m still thinking about speculative biology, so let’s figure out how the Telchin glow. Connor mentioned in this post that he liked the idea of Ulysses’ skin/freckles glowing, so that’s what we’re trying to do. Long post incoming!

Bioluminescence is extremely common in the deep sea, and once they make it down there, it makes sense that the Telchin would evolve it. There’s a number of different reasons for animals to evolve bioluminescence, from defense to camouflage to luring food towards them. The Telchin probably would’ve evolved it to be able to see—human eyes aren’t great at seeing in the dark—but right now I’m less interested in the why and more interested in the how.

Bioluminescence comes from a chemical reaction between three main players. There’s the luciferin (the molecule that produces the light), the luciferase (the molecule that starts the reaction and helps it along), and oxygen. Over the course of the reaction, the oxygen gets attached to the luciferin, which releases a photon (light!) in the process. There are many different types of luciferins and luciferases, each specific to a group of organisms. The different luciferins can also emit different colors of light, but most of the marine bioluminescence is blue-green, because that’s the wavelength of light that travels the best in water.

Brief sidenote: there’s other ways for organisms to glow, most notably fluorescence and phosphorescence, but those require the absorption of light from the environment. Because there’s no natural light in the deep ocean, we’re sticking with bioluminescence.

Now, there’s two ways that a species can bioluminescence. They can either make a version of luciferin/luciferase themselves (this is what fireflies and certain plankton do) or form a symbiotic relationship with a species of bacteria that creates it (this is what anglerfish and types of squid do). While some mammals are biofluorescent, none (that I can find) produce their own light. Given that fact, and the fact that humans have a symbiotic relationship with different types of bacteria on their skin, I think that Telchins would do the latter method.

A symbiotic relationship, specifically a mutualistic relationship (also known as mutualism), is a relationship between two species where both species have a net benefit. In this case, the Telchin give the bioluminescent bacteria a place to live (their skin) and nutrients, while the bacteria give the Telchin light to see with.

In order to form this relationship, the Telchin would either have to encounter the bioluminescent bacteria in their environment or inherit it from a parent. Because the skin microbiome is started at birth, and then gains bacteria as you age until it eventually stabilizes, I don’t think they would be able to directly pass on the bacteria. So, I hypothesize that as a Telchin grows, they slowly form this relationship with the bacteria that exist in the oceans. (This is how anglerfish form their relationship as well!)

In order to get glowing freckles, the bacteria would just have to all congregate in one area of the skin. This already happens with human microbiomes—different bacteria live on different parts of the body due to differing environments on the skin. Over time, it’s plausible that Telchin would evolve certain areas of the skin that would be tailored to form this relationship. It also makes sense that it would be on the face and around the eyes—the glowing freckles would almost act like a natural headlamp to light the way for the Telchin.

In summary: Telchin form a symbiotic relationship with bioluminescent bacteria on their skin, which gives them glowing freckles.

[magpod-confessions]

the thing about literary analysis and media criticism is that everything is fair game AND sometimes things aren't that deep. someone could write an impassioned , thoughtful meta about Needles but he's still gonna be a Funny Little Guy, horrible edition. but: maybe the meta writer wants to explore body horror vs bodily autonomy and the role of piercings in individual queer empowerment narratives, and they give it some thought and say 'this is a way Needles can be read.' and that's legit!

there's also a difference between listening to magnus like it's a story and listening to magnus like it's a puzzle. it's really apparent in how much tmagp meta reads like a continuation of the ARG: people making spreadsheets and notes and figurative (perhaps literal?) red string boards (which is also a thing people liked to do while tma was airing, too, i'm not trying to point fingers at protocol in particular). the coffee/tea people say that the oiar crew's hot beverage of choice symbolises their ties to either protocol-verse or archives-verse, but what a lot of them seem to mean is not that coffee/tea are symbols, but that they're *clues.* (personally I don't think it's either, but am prepared to be wrong about this.) because tmagp is still so new, too, it's harder to understand if/how it's operating on an overarching thematic level; we can't see the forest because the trees are still saplings.

when people say things like "the fears are capitalism," I mean. the fears are a pretty good allegory for the systems of power and oppression that, in their avarice, seek endless and complete consumption of the very resources (people) that keep them alive. the web is a great image for the inconceivably complex systems that surround and entrap us, whether we're a fly or a society. at the same time, the fears/the fear entity is literally an extradimensional force beyond human comprehension that must feed off the terror of other living beings and seeks to expand its reach across the multiverse. the fears are also scary because being trapped in a cave is scary, and the endless void of space is scary, and clowns are scary, y'know?

so I think my hot take is that critical engagement with media and textual analysis and interpretation and meta of all kinds is fun and rewarding, but that while stories generally have literal meanings (they've got a plot, they've got characters, things occur), they don't tend to produce clean solutions. if the magnus archives were two sentences long ("exploitation is bad and we are probably mostly doomed. you should still try I guess, and also care about people," for example) it would be a lot less memorable!

.

[dangerousduckcloud]

Flowerbeds make up for a nice eternal rest

Read it also on AO3

Dick jumped from the car, walking until he was consumed by the darkness that surrounded you. Seconds passed and nothing happened, no movement, no sound, nothing. It’s now or never. The door opened without a problem, barely making a sound, but one that could be misinterpreted by the hooting of owls nearby. You stood there for a full second, waiting to see if Nightwing would come back, but he didn’t. Taking a few steps backwards, you hastily turned in your place, ready to run away as fast as you could.

Chapter 3 < > Chapter 5

taglist: @kurai-hono-blog

Ever since you were a child, your parents would engrave the phrase ‘do not get into a car with strangers’ into your mind every single day. And you listened, feeling uneasy as a teen every time you had to get into a taxi by yourself, the sentiment not quite leaving you even now that you were a young adult.

But when the stranger had a real life Batmobile which could go up to 500km/h? Well, that’s something worth risking your life for. After all, how many people could say they had the opportunity to ride in an exact replica of the legendary car?

Besides, did that sentence applied when you were already staying with the stranger?

“All these buttons work?”

“Yeah.”

“What does this one do?”

“That’s the comms.”

“What about this one?”

“GPS.”

“And this one?”

“Emergency eject.”

If Dick didn’t had plans to kill you, he likely did now. The moment your eyes spotted the car, you ran straight towards it, throwing yourself inside when Dick unlocked it, your parents’ precaution all but forgotten.

The interior was everything you expected. Black leather seats with dark red detailing, more gauges than a normal car should have that you didn’t even know what they were measuring, the dashboard packed with dark gray buttons, some labeled with numbers, others with letters, you only stopped trying to press them when Dick almost swerved off the road at seeing you were about to push the auto-destruction button.

But that didn’t stop you from asking.

“This one?”

“That’s the GCPD radio.”

“And what about—FUCK!” Stepping on the pedal, the car reached a speed at which no normal human should be able to drive. “Stop! STOP!”

Just seconds before you would hit a car waiting for the red light to change —even though it was way past midnight, and the streets were empty— the Batmobile stopped, the force of movement sending you forward, an ‘ooph’ leaving your mouth once your chest hit the dashboard.

Dick’s shoulders were shaking with mirth.

“If you wanted me to shut up, you could’ve said so.” You complained while rubbing your shoulder, sure that the seatbelt would leave a mark.

“I’m sorry.” He pursed his lips, stepping on the pedal once more, this time at a normal speed. “Are you alright?”

“I guess I’ll survive.” Reclining on the seat, you took a second to take a deep breath, calming your body before it decided to return your meal. “So, how far is Mr. Wayne’s house?”

“On the other side of the city, all the way to the outskirts.”

You’re certain he was lying, that his plan involved driving you around to get ‘lost’ and not realize you’d gone back to the same place, something that totally would’ve work if you didn’t know the truth, whatever the truth was.

“Can we at least turn on the radio?” You asked, hoping it would help you learn where were you, because no matter how far he’d drive, you couldn’t recognize any part of the city. Had they moved you to a whole different town? “This car has a normal radio, right?”

He hummed, thoughtlessly hitting a button, and bringing to life the voice of whatever talk show host was on at this hour.

“… Top-up security if so many prisoners keep escaping.” The woman in the radio said. “But I guess once can get complacent when you have grown men in tights running around beating up these criminals and bringing them back. That’s Gotham for you, folks. Time’s fifteen past two am. Temperature’s…”

Great, so the radio was of no use as well. Just how many people did they have on this scheme? Was this something pre-recorded?

Your feelings were a weird mix of danger, curiosity, anxiousness, and hopelessness. Nothing made sense, what did they want with you? Why you? Were you simply on the wrong place, at the wrong time?

This wouldn’t be happening if only you’d remember to charge your earphones and— That’s it! Your phone!

Chiding yourself for forgetting it, you moved on your seat pretending to soothe a cramping leg, but in reality, you were patting your right leg for the hidden pocket on your pant, something you had to sew in most of your clothes after getting mugged the first time you moved to the city.

The rectangular bulge your fingers brushed over your thigh brought some peace of mind, meaning they hadn’t done anything to you, not even pat you down to make sure you wouldn’t call the police.

Were they amateur kidnappers?

Song after song was the only thing filling the space inside the car, some random add here and there on the radio.

“Won’t Mr. Wayne be mad we’ll wake him up at two in the morning?” You decided to break the silence.

“Nah, it’s a Friday, he’ll most likely be just returning from some party. We’re almost there.”

‘There’ was pretty vague, tall buildings had transformed into a beautiful field, moonshine reflecting on the early morning dew on the grass. ‘There’ was nothing here, just a road that continued behind a hill.

The car came to a stop, all kind of alarms flaring at full volume inside your head. There was no one here, there was nothing here. They could kill you or brainwash your brain and people would be none the wiser, no one would be able to help you.

“Wait here.”

Dick jumped from the car, walking until he was consumed by the darkness that surrounded you. Seconds passed and nothing happened, no movement, no sound, nothing.

It’s now or never.

The door opened without a problem, barely making a sound, but one that could be misinterpreted by the hooting of owls nearby. You stood there for a full second, waiting to see if Nightwing would come back, but he didn’t. Taking a few steps backwards, you hastily turned in your place, ready to run away as fast as you could.

That is, if a body hadn’t impeded your escape. A ‘humph’ escaped you for the second time that night, followed by a scream that you hoped would alert someone and come help you.

“Safe.” The body —a girl? — said, hands raised. “You’re safe.”

Hurried steps resonated on the concrete, getting closer and closer until they came to a halt.

“Jane?” Dick asked, worried. “What happened?”

“I… I…” Words elude you, what could you say? ‘Yeah, my bad, I was trying to escape’? “I just… You didn’t come back and…”

“I see you met Cass” A different voice spoke this time, older and blithely, the voice of someone you would see on those air-headed reality shows. “She’s my daughter, nice to meet you, I’m Bruce Wayne.” The man extended a hand towards you, and your brain short-circuited, looking from his hand to his face, wasn’t he supposed to be ‘missing in another universe’? "Are you alright?"

Coming out of your stupor, you shook his hand, closing your gaping mouth with a click.

“Nice to meet you, sir. Thank you for, uh… For taking me in. I’m… Jane.” You settled on telling him the name Tim had given you, you weren’t sure if they knew your real name, but didn’t want to tell them in case they didn’t. “I’m sorry to be an inconvenience, specially at this hour.”

Now that he was closer and the moon shone on his face, you could appreciate how handsome he was, sure that he was someone who had all kinds of men and women throwing themselves at him.

“You’re not an inconvenience, when Nightwing called I was more than happy to give you a room in my home. And my daughter and I were just getting home after a charity gala, in case you were worried you woke us up.”

“Oh.” His story checked out, as he was dressed in a luxurious tuxedo that probably costed more than your rent, drenched in what looked like wine. And the girl, Cass, was wearing a beautiful but simple black cocktail dress. “Why wait here?”

“You see…” The man, Bruce, or whatever his real name was, cleared his throat, rubbing a hand behind his back, and a coy smile on his face. “I’m trying to avoid certain gossip that has been coming up more with the years.”

Nightwing did his best to not laugh, instead covering it with a couple of coughs, eliciting a heated glance from Bruce.

“As much as I would love to hear the story, I gotta go.” Dick said. “The Scarecrow escaped again and we’re getting close to capture him. Jane?”

He led you a few meters away from Bruce and Cass.

“I know how hard this all must be, but I promise you, you’re safe, there’s no safer place on Gotham than Wayne Manor. But if you ever feel threatened…” He pulled out a rectangular metal plate, barely longer than your hand, with only a red button in the middle. “This is a signal emitter, if you press the button, both Red Robin and I will receive the signal, and we’ll immediately come and get you, wherever you are, okay?”

“Okay.” The gift warmed your heart, tears welling in your eyes. “Thank you.”

He hugged you and led you back again with the Waynes. You watched the Batmobile drive off into the city, the spot getting tinier and tinier until it disappeared.

“Ready to go?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah, sure.” You cleaned a stray tear with your sleeve, clearing your throat and followed both to a costly car hidden behind a tree. Sitting on the back seat, with Cass on the passenger seat, and Bruce driving.

The car screamed luxury everywhere you looked, there was even a mini fridge inside, and TV screens on the seat’s backrest. However, it didn’t look like a car that was used too much, maybe only to show off when going to parties, not to do menial tasks, like groceries or errands.

“So, Jane.” Bruce spoke. “How old are you?”

“22.”

“Ah, that’s great! Cass is 23, I’m sure you two will get along just fine!” From the mirror, Cass smiled sweetly at you, which you felt forced to give back. “I have more kids, but they’re not home most of the time, only Cass and Tim are full time living in the manor right now, although Dick has been spending more time there lately.”

“Tim is nice. But he is tired.”

Bruce chuckled, pressing a button on the screen in the dashboard. “Yeah, he loves staying up until late with his silly videogames, don’t feel offended if he doesn’t talk to you, most of the time he won’t recognize people until he’s had his third cup of coffee.”

“Is that… Healthy?”

“No.” Cass replied with a flat tone.

Silence befell the car, moving your sight from the side window to the front when the sound of old gates moving reached your ears, mouth agape and a gasp of awe broke the silence.

At the end of the driveway, a mansion—no, a castle loomed over you, just two windows had their lights on, the rest of them as dark as the night. After getting off the car, you had to crane your neck and a bit more to see the full house.

“We can give you a tour tomorrow, I’m sure you’re tired.” Bruce mentioned, getting back inside the car. “I’ll go park the car in the garage. We prepared a room for you; Cass can show it to you in the meantime. We’ll talk tomorrow morning.”

“Alright. Thank you, Mr. Wayne. Goodnight.”

With a smiled, he closed the door, the gravel under the tires the only thing heard. A small, slender but calloused hand took hold of yours.

“Come.” Most lights were off, only a couple of lamps on helping you to not bump onto the furniture. Paintings adorned the walls you walked alongside, but most faces weren’t visible at this late night. “This is your room. This is mine.” Her’s is directly in front of yours, and you didn’t know whether to feel safe at having another girl nearby, or wary to feel monitored at all times.

“Thank you, Cass. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Turning the knob, you entered the room and made a beeline towards the bed, throwing yourself on top of it. A groan of pleasure escaped your lips once your back touched the softest bed you’d ever slept on.  

With a sigh, you force your eyes open, trying to make sense of everything that’d happened so far.

How had they all managed to get coaxed into this? Who was the mastermind behind it all? What did they want with you?

Was there a miniscule chance that this all was… Real?

[mindmelter]

Serving The Alien And Its Puppets — Part 1

I was kneeling between my older stepbrother's legs, looking up at him as he smoked. My plan didn't work out as expected.

He looked as intimidating as ever, but this time it wasn't my obnoxious older stepbrother behind those hating eyes. Instead, a small alien slime had taken over, consumed his brain, and replaced it with its gooey form.

My stepbrother had always been a homophobic asshole, and for that, I despised him deeply. Yet, in a twist of cruel irony, he was also one of the most hottest men I had ever known. I loved watching him from the window of my room, working out in the backyard until his body was glistening with sweat. I knew it wasn't safe to spy on him like that.

But I wasn’t safe with the alien slime either. Fear gnawed at me as I realized I might suffer the same fate as my dumb stepbrother. Yes, I might have helped the purple gooey creature enter his body, I did it believing it would be grateful and let me have fun with his body. But now, I feared my plan had turned against me.

My stepbrother was way bigger and stronger than me, so when he ordered me to kneel, I just obeyed. He looked down at me, thinking about what he should do to me.

"I should take you over too, It's too risky to let a human know about my existence," He took a puff and blew out the smoke. "but you helped me get inside this human after all."

"I-I promise I won't tell anyone about you, I just wanted to have my way with him, that's all!"

"You helped an alien slime replace your stepbrother's brain just so you could have a taste of him, gay boy?" He asked, lowering his underwear and freeing my stepbrother's thick flaccid shaft.

I eagerly nodded, there was nothing I wanted more than to taste my stepbrother's cock. He playfully slapped the heavy shaft on my face as he had an evil grin on his face, a grin that I was very familiar with. "I guess having a human with an intact brain as a slave could be fun." He grunted as he smacked it hard on my cheeks, but when I tried to lick it, he pushed it away.

"Nah-uh you have to earn it first, gay boy. The takeover left this shell quite sweaty, so if you lick the sweat off him, I might let you suck him." He promised.

Still on my knees, I started to lick the sweat off his abs and pecs, his big muscular pecs felt soft against my tongue. I sucked on his nipples as his right arm rested on top of the couch and he smoked with the other. "I will give you two options, gay boy. You can either be my obedient slave and help me spread my control over your kind, or you can become like your stepbrother, an empty husk of a man with a head full of alien slime."

I nodded and smiled at him, "I will gladly serve as your human slave."

"Great." He grunted, and then he coughed a small purple slime on his hand, just like the one I helped get inside him, but smaller.

"Take it and prove your loyalty to me, your stepdad is in the shower."

My stepdad was a strikingly muscular man with a sexy hairy body. He was kind to me, but he never intervened when his son bullied me. Part of me thinks he deserves this, but it's not like I have a choice—it's either this or have my brain devoured.

I grabbed the purple goo and headed towards the bathroom door. I could still hear the shower running, I slowly opened the door and walked inside the bathroom, the curtains were closed so my stepdad didn't see me entering. When I was close enough, I threw the purple slime over the curtain.

"What the-" I heard my stepdad say, but his voice was soon cut off and he started to grunt. I couldn't see what was going on behind the curtain, but it looked like my dad was fighting it. Suddenly everything went quiet. The shower turned off and the curtain was pushed open, revealing my stepdad wearing a towel.

"D-dad?" I asked, my eyes on his muscular hairy body, he looked so hot.

"Not your dad anymore, call me Master Daddy from now on, my human slave!"

He suddenly dropped the towel and I gasped when I saw how big he was. I had never seen him naked before.

"Kneel and show me some respect, slave." He grunted. I dropped to my knees and took his entire shaft into my mouth, he fucked my face as I caressed his meaty hairy pecs. He then pulled me up by my hair and forced his big tongue deep inside my mouth, it felt so good, I loved how strong his tongue felt. While we kissed I groped his pecs and pinched his nipples, he let out a deep sexy moan while still making out, so it looked like my stepdad had sensitive nipples, I thought.

We walked back to the living room to my possessed stepbrother, now Master. "Good job, my human slave. You have proven yourself worthy of my trust."

That day my stepdad fucked me while I sucked my stepbrother. I was their slave now, and the alien made sure that I would get busy with his puppets.

The alien thrived on consuming brains daily, so it never ceased creating new empty puppets. Every day, he would send me outside with a small copy of his body so I could find a man for him to feed. That was my job as his slave, to help him feed and spread his control over humanity, and I couldn't ask for a better job.

_____________________

Mr. Rossi was my hot Italian Daddy neighbor. I had been fantasizing about him for years, ever since we moved into this quiet neighborhood. He was the perfect example of a hot, protective, and loving dad figure, I grew up seeing how caring he was to his two sons, his sons lived on their own now. So when my Alien Master sent me to find him food, I knew Mr. Rossi would be perfect.

I knocked on his door and waited, I had in my hand a small part of the alien. It wasn’t the creature’s main form, just a copy of it that was connected to the original alien inhabiting my older brother, once the copy consumed Mr. Rossi’s brain, the main alien would also feel satiated, like a hive mind. The alien hadn’t explained the exact mechanics to me, so that was all I knew.

Mr. Rossi opened the door and gave me a warm smile. "Hey Eric, Is everything ok?" He kindly asked. I didn't respond, and just threw the slime on his face.

I was soon inside his house, staring at the hot hairy Italian Dilf in front of me. The alien slime had already replaced his brain.

"Come here, my human slave," he purred. His voice was still Mr. Rossi's, but it was deeper and more commanding. I felt a shiver of anticipation run down my spine as I walked to him and we started to make out, I then buried my face between his big pecs while I cupped and squeezed them, Mr. Rossi just stood there, letting me have my way with his pecs.

I always fantasized about Mr. Rossi and his pecs, and now I finally had them for myself, thanks to my alien Master.

Mr. Rossi then reached out and gently stroked my cheek, his rough hands leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "You've wanted this for so long, haven't you?" he whispered, pushing his finger inside my mouth and leaning in close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my ear. "You've wanted Daddy Rossi to take care of you, to make you feel safe and loved because your stepdad was a piece of shit who let your stepbrother bully you." He then playfully slapped my face. "Too bad that's not gonna happen. I'm gonna destroy your hole with this puppet's cock! I'm going to teach you a lesson for being so naughty." He lifted me into his strong arms and walked to his room.

He then threw me on his bed and pulled down his shorts. "Get on all fours, now." He commanded.

I didn't hesitate, obeying his command as if I'd been waiting for it my entire life. I got down on the bed on all fours, presenting my ass to him. The hairs on Mr. Rossi's chest tickled my back as I felt his hot breath against my ear. "You're so fucking tight," he growled, his big manly hands taking hold of my waist before he finally thrust his huge cock inside.

He began to fuck me hard and fast, driving his length deep into my body with each stroke. I arched my back, moaning in ecstasy as the alien inside him made the nice neighborhood dad act like a gay depraved dom.

"Yes, Daddy," I moaned, feeling his thick cock stretch me impossibly wide. "Fuck me. Own me. Make me yours."

When I felt Mr. Rossi's load fill my ass, we lay there, panting heavily, I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of contentment. The slime had given me everything I ever wanted. I looked at a portrait picture on the side of the bed, in the old pic, Mr. Rossi was fishing with two sons.

"Why don't you call your sons to come over? Say It's an urgency." I suggested.

Later that day, while I was on my knees sucking Mr. Rossi's cock, we heard a knock on the door. Mr. Rossi smirked at me and coughed two purple slimes on his hands. "Go open the door," He ordered.

When I opened the door, I saw two hot men, they both looked just as hot as their dad. I couldn't wait to have them as the Alien's puppets.

"Who are you? Where is our dad?" One of them asked, pushing me out of the way.

"Dad? We're here, are you ok?" The other asked.

Mr. Rossi grinned at his sons as he was standing naked with purple slime on each of his hands. I closed the door...

Later that day I was in Mr. Rossi's room, looking at the two hot Italian brothers in only their underwear.

"What are you waiting for?" they both said in unison, it would be creepy if they weren't so freaking hot.

I dropped to my knees and started taking turns between the two huge Italian cocks. After a while, I was being spit-roasted by the two hung brothers. Mr. Rossi walked inside the room while I was still being filled on both ends, his huge shaft swinging with each step.

"You did good today, gay boy. Your Master is very satiated, you got him three meals." Mr. Rossi and his two sons said in unison. "He will allow you to pick one puppet to dominate."

I was surprised, I already helped the Alien Master convert a lot of men, but this would be the first time he would let me top one of his puppets.

I stood up and looked at the three puppets for a while, "I want Mr. Rossi," I said.

Mr. Rossi lay on the bed with his legs up, his huge hairy ass on full display, I kneeled behind him and playfully slapped it, watching it jingle. I then grabbed each cheek and shoved my shaft inside in one thrust, fucking him roughly as I buried my face between his pecs.

"Why don't you two feed your cocks to our Daddy slut?" I asked the brothers. They obeyed and kneeled on each side of Mr. Rossi, who started to take turns sucking them both. As I fucked Mr. Rossi, I watched his big pecs bounce with each hard thrust, then I got an idea.

"Boys, Daddy's tits are begging for a sucking, don't you think?" I suggested, with a wicked smile on my face.

They both lay next to their dad and started sucking on each nipple. It was such a hot sight, seeing two grown men with wives and kids sucking on their dad's tits.

That afternoon, me and the two brothers took turns on Mr. Rossi's ass, I came so much that I passed out. By the alien Master's orders, Mr. Rossi took me in his strong arms and brought me home.

_____________________

After the Rossi family became puppets for the alien Master, I suggested the alien to go for my boss, Mr. Wahid.

Mr. Wahid was a rich, muscular, Arabic hunk who had always captured my heart, he was rude and intimidating, and treated the staff like his slaves, but the few moments I had near him, would always had me staring at his muscles and having gay fantasies about him.

The next day while I was at work, Mr. Wahid called me to his office. He was busy on the phone and without even looking at me, he ordered me to get him a coffee. It was as if I was nothing to him.

It was the perfect opportunity for my plan. I had brought a small fragment of the slime to work. So I went to make his coffee, but before entering his office, I slipped the slime into the cup. As I walked in, Mr. Wahid didn't even glance up or thank me; he just grabbed the coffee and continued talking on the phone, completely ignoring my presence. All it took was a sip, and his phone dropped to the floor as his eyes rolled back and his muscles tensed. I had a hard on as I closed the door with me inside, a few seconds later he glanced at me with an Intimidating look.

"Come get my phone off the floor, slave!" I grabbed his phone and gave it to him, he then ordered me to get on my knees under the table and suck him off. I smirked as I undid his pants and fished out his thick member. Soon I was slobbering on my boss's shaft, he was so huge and thick that barely fitted my mouth, and he also had a strong smell as if he hadn't washed his junk for the entire day.

He smacked his heavy shaft on my tongue as he continued talking on the phone in Arabic, I ran my tongue on his heavy hanging balls and soon he was coating my face with his Arabic milk.

Mr. Wahid would be just the first one in the company to become an alien puppet, I had a lot of subjects in mind. Mr. Wahid ended the call and looked down at me—my face still buried in his musky balls while cum covered my face.

"We are closing a deal with an Arab prince. He's about to arrive for the meeting and I want you to welcome him. Now take your dirty mouth off my balls and go do your fucking job!"

Honestly, the alien possessed Mr. Wahid wasn't much different from the old one. A few hours later I was waiting in the parking lot for the Arab prince to arrive. I saw an expensive car park in front of me, when the door opened, my heart started racing. Inside the car was the hottest Middle Eastern man I'd ever seen.

Fortunately for me, but not so much for him, I had an extra slime in my pocket.