#black text on white background is suffering

[screampied]

❛ BON APPÉTIT, BABY! ❜ g. satoru

☆ sum. stupid ovulation week is approaching soon and out of nowhere, you get baby fever. you ask your sugar daddy for help but his version of ‘help’ is trying to get you pregnant.

wc. 5.1k

warnings. fem! reader, sugar daddy!gojo au, age gap (early twenties/early thirties), praise, dirty talk, mentions of pregnancy, implied multiple rounds, size kink, ōral (f! receiving), he makes out w your panties, overstim, major brēeding kink, nıpple play, spıt, impact play, petnames.

➤ sd! gojo masterlist.

fuck, these cramps never knew when to quit.

you were crawled up in a ball on the sofa, suffering in agonizing silence. you sigh, taking a brisk glance near the grandfather clock that sits beside satoru gojo, your sugar daddy’s glass cabinets. oh, you missed him. it’s been a few good months with him as his sugar baby and you felt like a princess—no, a queen. he’s showered you with many many praises, not just gifts but of course, that too. you’re so lonely in his mansion, but you wondered what he was doing right now. probably working, you knew how busy of a businessman he was, but you missed him. his smell, his presence, his petnames. whipping out your phone, you unlock it, skimming toward his contact. ‘toru’ with a pretty pink heart as his contact, you text him a sweet forward ‘miss you.’

not even seconds later, he replies, giving your message a heart. ‘Hi, sweetheart. i miss you too. being a good girl for me, yeah?’

with a pout, your eyes skim through his flirty words and you press the video call button. you couldn’t wait. . you needed to see him. satoru answers it, and as expected, he’s sat upright in his office. so handsome, his snowy white hair was ruffled yet neatly slicked back and parted. he wore the suit you picked out for him, the jet-black one with a tie that makes his pretty blue eyes pop. “hey you,” a raspy voice utters on the phone, and he’s snickering at how you’re just lazily slump on the couch, bored out of your damn skull. “put some clothes on, darlin’.”

“no,” you grump, although you did have clothes on. clothes that basically consisted of a thin sage tank top and panties. satoru was typing on his computer. you heard the quickness of his fingers typing away as he’s taking every few glances to look at you again. “come home, ‘toru. these cramps are killin’ me,” and you mumble the last part under your breath. “. . andiwantababy.”

it’s a long silent pause and he’s fully looking at you through the screen now. all that could be heard in the background was the screeching and beeps of his costly fax machine.

satoru’s got a glint in his eyes before his voice pitches, and he slyly hums. “oh, you want a baby, sweets? my, you really do need me ‘ta come home, huh.”

you squeeze your thighs together, positioning your phone to lie in landscape mode—you were still a bit sensitive from earlier, from touching yourself. as your breath excitingly hitches, you couldn’t help but pout again.

“ ‘toru, think ‘m havin’ baby fever or something,” and your words were oh so sweet. satoru’s sitting up against his chair, leaning up against his palm. the shine of his expensive g-shock glimmers in the light within each time he moves. “come home, please.”

“sweetheart,” he tsks, two white arched brows piercing together. he could never say no to you, he spoiled you so much . . not that he never minded either. you were his baby, and satoru playfully scoffs at your needy declaration. “you really can’t wait another hour? i’m almost done.”

“no,” you grouse, a cute glower stretching across your features, marinating as you speak. satoru chuckles at your bratty persistence, and you watch as he fixes his tie, lightly tugging on it.

“fine, fine,” he gruffs. “i’m coming, princess. wear that new designer set i bought for you, okay? ya know the one, the rose-gold?”

smearing your glossed lips against each other, you give him a nod. you ached for him, each second you spent on the phone was a constant reminder of how he wasn’t there with you. satoru found your clinginess adorable though. it was cute how you’d always text and call him while he’s at work. even if his responses were hours late, he’d always get back to you, sending you sweet ‘hi baby’ and ‘i miss you more, pretty,’ ‘s.

if you were feeling bold, you’d send him a few pictures of yourself in one of the many expensive custom-made sets of lingerie he buys you.

his favorite would have to be the ‘satoru gojo’ exclusive brand of lingerie for women, he literally bought the entire stock of all colors just for you.

“okay,” you mumble, already making your way toward his bedroom. a few of his servants and butlers were dusting away at furniture and his entire mansion was huge. it was spacey, you could practically get lost in it. as you stomp lightly, the bare soles of your feet slide against the glassy-textured floor before you glance down at your screen. “drive safe.”

“i will, sweets. see you soon, yeah?”

with a beep, the call ends and it’s just you trapped in your own silent thoughts.

as you made your way to the master bedroom, immediately, you’re met with the loud cologne scent of satoru. it’s enchanting, it’s always the same smell of cinnamon and spices. satoru gojo always smelled rich regardless. rich was his middle name. you dig through your walk-in closet he had made for you, fishing out the set he wanted to see you wear. it was dashingly pretty.

he bought the rose-gold set as a gift for your birthday, and even if it did hurt his pockets a lot, he never cared. anything for you—his pretty baby.

about forty minutes later, satoru returns home finally and he yawns, stretching his long limbs. you scurry to him, your head reaching just near the center of his chest and he lightly jerks back.

“hey baby,” he returns the hug, big callused hands roaming up and down your exposed skin. the lingerie fit you perfectly, displaying your curves and gorgeous physique. satoru buried his face into the crook of your neck, planting a soft kiss. “you’re so spoiled. i can’t always leave work jus’ because you miss me, y’know.”

“i know,” you let off a soft moan, his soft lips creating gingerly mushy traces everywhere near your skin. he was always so tender, nips of kisses slowly turning into flicks with his tongue. satoru’s left hand slowly snakes near your leg, raising it up before wrapping it around his slim torso. your ankle rubs against the burberry belt he wore. it clanks loudly and he then lifts you up. “s- satoru!”

“what?” he hums, leading you closer toward the bed.

you heard the playfulness in his tone, and he’s got you in such a firm grasp. his fingertips continue to roam down your soft skin, snagging against the laced fabric that wraps around your body like a christmas present. “god, you’re so hot,” he murmurs in a raspy tone, and you glance at his parted slick backed hair. it’s unkempt now, white strands and tresses running down his eyes. he lies you down on the bed gently, and that’s when he gets on top of you.

you gulp, meeting the eyes of satoru. pretty blue eyes, they’re always so mesmerizing to look at.

but this time, he’s got a more feral look in his pupils as they dilate. “sweetheart,” he whispers, using a thumb to caress the edge of your twitching lip. with the way you’re prettily sprawled all out like this for him at his very mercy, there’s so much he wanted to do. satoru’s eyes never leave yours, not for a single second. “do you really want a baby or is just the baby fever?”

“b- both,” you gasp, not even noticing his hand creeping down between your legs, parting them apart.

you moan, feeling his palm rub up against the outline of your panties. so soaked, satoru’s breath hitches at your sweet whimpers and he’s so close up to you. so close that his rock-hard boner presses up against you and fuck, it’s hard. a visible tinted bulge was sticking out the center of his slacks and it’s driving him mad.

the mental image of you with a swollen tummy, all plump and baring his child, it makes him groan. satoru’s had his fair share amount of sugar babies in the past, but none of them were you.

“such a silly little girl,” he huffs, a bit of humor in his tone. but not wanting to waste any time, he leans in, capturing your lips into a deep hungry kiss.

whiny moans pour into his mouth - he’s sweet.

the minty kind of sweet where you taste peppermint lingering on his tongue.

satoru kisses sloppy this time, gradually grinding his body against yours. it’s incredibly sloppy, not much passion and more-so filth—strings of spit tangle with each other, forming little lustrous cobwebs of saliva before he sucks on your tongue. his pretty white lashes flutter before he opens them, staring at you, grunting right in your mouth. his boner continues to rub off against your clothed pussy and his groans only grow louder.

“fuuuuckk,” he swears, smacks of lips ringing through his ears. it was something about you, he didn’t know what it was but you were addicting.

satoru starts to peel off the pieces of lingerie piece by piece. by peel, he’s carelessly tearing through it as if the entire designer set didn’t cost him an arm, a leg, and a fucking torso. but again, even with his pockets swollen and suffering because of you, he’d buy you the whole world if he could. well, he probably could. he’s satoru gojo. “sweets, ‘m gonna devour you.”

five words.

five words that constantly went on a loop in your head as satoru’s eating out your cunt like a starved man.

he was starved, it’s been hours since he’s seen you. as he’s delving his face right between the plush of your thighs. you moan, chomping the front row of your teeth down on your quivering bottom lip. fuck, he was just nasty.

merely seconds passed and he’s already slobbering over your pussy. strands and strands of glossy spit trickles from his lips and onto your folds. “ ‘toruuuu,” you whimper, relishing in the way his tongue curls all throughout your drooling core. he’s maneuvering all kinds of shapes and circles, even spelling all letters of his name on your cunt with his tongue. scarlet plump lips of his gently kiss near your labia whilst warm breath ghosts near your sappy slit. shaking all from his tongue, the bed grows rickety from your movements and you inhale a sharp breath.

your fingers get intertwined between his white locks of hair and you pull tight.

his head tugs forward into you and he grunts, swaying his slick pink muscle in and out of your cunt. “mngh,” he groans, and that’s when he sneaks a hand between your pried open legs.

you stare down at him as he’s devouring you whole, slurping everything out of you until he’s satisfied - and that won’t be for a good while.

it doesn’t take a while before he’s already completely pussy drunk.

satoru’s fingers slither near your pussy and as his flat tongue repeats to lap lap lap up your syrupy sweet juices, he pops inside a single finger.

an exasperated breathy gasp snatches straight out the back of throat before you immediately feel the mouthwatering stretch of his digits and it’s toe curling.

if it was one thing about satoru, his fingers were long, slender, and also very very thick.

with a single swirl motion he’s making with his finger shoved deep inside, you’re already at the verge of breaking. crumbling because of his sloppy tongue. his fingers could stretch you out just as much as his cock could.

satoru even had you keep your panties on for him. the same panties he bought you as a gift.

a gift where he collaborated with victoria’s secret, your panties had both of his infamous initials bedazzled on the front and back. god, every time he traces his tongue over the tiny little beads, it drives him crazy every time.

you drive him crazy.

his flat laid tongue teasingly licks at the silk fabric before it turns into a whole raunchy make out sesh. pretty white lashes flap as he’s slurping everything out of you, missing no spot.

he couldn’t afford to, not when you tasted this good.

“we’re a ‘lil squirmy today, huh,” he snickers, feeling your weak thighs writhe because of his tongue.

it felt so good, the way he’s casually slurping you, eating your pussy as if it was the last thing to devour on earth. such raunchy sloshing sloshes cry out from your cunt and he groans. your fingers remain tangled in his hair, yanking on his messy tresses before he flicks his tongue against that spot.

it’s soft and spongy, and with the help of his long fingers curling and scissoring in and out of your sopping pussy, you let off a candied three-second shriek. “oh, darlin. found it, did i?”

“fuck, ‘toru,” your body falls back against the silk pillows.

multiple wanton whimpers slither from your lips as he’s continuously toying his tongue against your g-spot. it seemed as if his tongue was helping with your cramps entirely. such pressure builds up in your body and you were just so hot that you felt like you were gonna explode. “gonna cum, fuck fuck.” you’re babbling out pathetic cries that fall deaf to his pointed ears. satoru hums in smug amusement, jaw feeling tight and locking but he doesn’t care.

he was feeling pretty exhausted from coming back from work but just a single taste of your pussy and suddenly, he was energized once again.

ironic.

his two fingers continue to swivel around inside your gripping walls as your body slumps into the mattress in lewd defeat. satoru grunts, grinding his boner against the edge of the bed to calm himself but you made it so hard.

you made him hard.

as he’s luxuriating in this eagle view of your legs prettily laid up for him, he’s merely knuckles deep.

you can barely stay still and the bed’s staring to grow rickety. satoru’s speed of his tongue doesn’t falters, and as he’s slurping every drop from your sappy folds—you let out your final elongated moan. it’s long, your legs erupt dramatically and shake within his hold before you’re finally cumming. it drags for a long time and you’re just nothing but hysterical.

overwrought with emotions and pleasure, your legs finally collapse—as if they weren’t already basically limp, you exhale deeply.

“fuck, fuck fuuuck,” you repeat, watching with hazy murky eyes as he pulls your panties back toward the center with his teeth. satoru licks up your sweet saccharine-flavored juices that seep out from you, savoring the honeyed taste on his tongue before you pull on his hair . . hard.

“tsk. watch the hair, girl,” he warns you, still being cheeky and playful.

your cunt embarrassingly twitches once he makes eye contact with you again. satoru sits up, his entire chin coated with nothing but your slit. its a stream of it and it’s pretty. it was just the way it trickles down and he laps the crevices of his lips with his tongue. “so cute,” he murmurs, and he closes the gap between you both. as satoru feels your trembly legs wrap around his waist, he pulls you into another deep passionate kiss.

you moan right into his mouth, lazily tossing your arms over his broad-built shoulders before feeling him yank your panties down your legs and ankles.

satoru’s body was hot.

he still had his business attire on, and he feels your hand slowly removing his tie. your other hand runs down his tux, sliding inside the center to feel his washboard chiseled and hiding underneath the piles of formal work clothes.

“such a needy ‘lil thing,” he whispers gruffly between kisses, chuckling once he sees the forming pout tweak against your swollen lips.

satoru rubs a thumb over you lip before his crystalline-colored irises meet yours. the silence was cold, he’s got a wolffish smirk compressing against his lips before he mutters right near your ear. “now, let’s give ya that baby, sweetheart.”

saying ‘baby’ was an understatement.

with the way satoru was about to fuck you, he planned on giving you triplets.

maybe even more, and the constant rambles of how little ‘ole you was stuck in his mansion all day with baby fever did something to him. oh, poor thing, suffering with cramps all day. it was the end of the world. to you at least it was. but like the loving sugar daddy he was, satoru figured he’d do his best to ease your little ‘problems.’

“gimme that pretty arch, goooood..” he purrs, using a hand to rub down your exposed back.

satoru groans—his formal trousers / pants were pulled down to his ankles and he’s staring at your pretty ass. so cute. he watches with a carnal glint in his eye as you position yourself, gnawing on your lip and the bars of your enclosure. the anticipation was about to bury you six feet under.

his leaky tip slowly smears and bedaubs against your dripping clit and you whine. your hands, clammy and all, roughly grip onto the richly-made sheets.

his tip was fat, it’s got a glistening swollen head that’s teasing you. satoru’s breathing grows shallow once he sees your pussy cutely trying to swallow. “fuck, please,” you croak, desperate for him to go inside. he always does this—everytime.

right before he’s preparing himself to fuck you raw, satoru smacks his bulbous cockhead against your sappy weeping folds, hearing your sweet little cries grow unsatisfied. all you could think about was having him breed you full . . over and over and over again, you didn’t just want it, you needed it.

you needed him.

“relaaaax, sweet thing. ‘m comin,” a chortle dies from his throat as he feels you trying to wriggle your hips.

you’re impatient, and once he’s fully aligned, he’s finally dipping his weighty cock inside your perfectly tucked folds.

suddenly, your needy whines stop and they turn into whines of rapture. satoru trails a big hand toward the cusps of your ass, tracing down the cute curvy curvature of your body before your skin’s met with a rude swat.

you moan as he’s easing himself inside your gummy walls, stretching you open even more than his fingers did. “atta fuckin’ girl. let me in, biiiiiig stretch, there we go.”

the stretch . . you’d never get used to it, never.

your stomach heaves once he’s reeling his hips in. “s- shit,” you kiss your teeth, your knees already buckling and becoming weak. satoru spanks your bare ass again just to hear those sweet yelps leave your lips. he’s so fucking big, it doesn’t take long before he’s bottoming out and you hear the welcoming ‘pop’. satoru groans once he starts to move, one hand holding onto your hip—another focused on your pretty perked ass. he likes this view, the view of his sweet girl arched over on all fours. satoru bites his lip as he starts to make delicious haste with his sharp keen hips.

“god,” his head throws itself back briefly at a certain angle.

already, white strands stick to his forehead with the help of his sweat substituting as glue. satoru’s voice shakes as his cock’s fully in, your clingy gripping walls were so warm and it makes his mouth water from the inside. “missed my favorite pussy so fuckin’ bad, so bad,” and you feel a few droplets plop down your back. satoru’s eyes rove over, watching you writhe again and he sheepishly snickers.

he was drooling.

“heh, sorry.” and he wipes his mouth with his wrist, the feral feeling pooling in his gut never fading.

you’re a mess underneath him, the second he starts to drill his hips into you—it’s over.

satoru’s stamina was always unhinged.

the bed croaks and groans from the constant shakes ‘n creaks it has to endure each second. the hinges were quite loud, you heard the rusty creaking wood that reverbs throughout the room. his cock continued to pound into you as his body’s on top of yours, in full sync with your own sloppy movement.

you’re whimpering, your head already being smushed against the pillow as the undersides of his thigh start to feel minuscule pangs. “toru, toruuu,” you mewl out in a melodic whisper. he’s hitting you deep, your glossed lips part into a circle before you huff.

each strike of his hips felt more precise and brutal. . you wanted more, you wanted to feel him more.

“i know, i know,” he coos, thumbs circling around your waist as he holds you in place.

satoru’s hips were so sculptured and sharp that they give you whiplash every time. he’s got such power within each salacious strike that it makes your head spin. every single stroke, you’re left stupid and speechless with your tongue already dangling out of your mouth. the room grew steamy within a span of a few minutes. it smells like nothing but pure passionate sex.

by now, your eyes were rolling toward the very backs of your sockets in utter elated pleasure. you’re seeing nothing but splashes of ivory black and white. “aht aht. c’mere, don’t fuckin’ run sweetheart,” his voice was as smooth as silk. satoru feels your unsteady hips trying to crawl away but he reels you back in. “nuh uh. take it, take it, take it, girl.” he groans, his heavy hanging balls thwacking right against your ass within each pivotal thrust.

the band of his platinum-colored watch rubs off against your skin again—he’s watching you jerk back against him. his cock was so full, he licks his lips at the thought of your pretty pussy and how you were gonna wring him dry like you always do.

“fuck me, fuck me ‘toru,” your whimpering words were repeating itself over and over as if you were a broken record. the pit of your stomach coils as each second draws itself out before he’s grunting gruffly. your cunt’s sloppy, coating his base with sheeny amounts and globs of slick. white hairs from his neat pubes stick against his skin and satoru’s now grinding into you. “ah, right there, ngh please.”

“thaaaaat’s it pretty girl,” he snarls in a raspy voice, feeling the fat smacking stings of your ass jolt backward into his pelvis. “fuck me right back, mhm. gimme this pussy, make me proud baby.”

as he’s whispering all sorts of praises and dirty words, you can feel yourself reaching your limit soon — it’s so close.

a fluttering sensation brews up inside your stomach before satoru suddenly groans. “fuck,” his cock’s wholly stretching you out to your elastic limit before it meets that same textured spongey barrier again. he knows right away because your knees buckle, your breath grows quicker, and you let off another surprised shriek.

right there, x marks the spot after all and he was constantly hitting his tip there until you let out cute shrilling screams.

“goddamn, ‘m gonna cum, sweets,” and his voice grows more shakier the longer he’s inside.

it’s as if time stood still.

the constant rotation of swiveling gyrations from each angle, each body has your head spinning like a merri-go-‘round.

you were probably looking a dumb cock-drunk mess. unkempt strands of hair were already flopping down your face and occluding your view of vision entirely. satoru pierces his white brows together before lightly shoving you further into the mattress. as you’re cutely arched forward with your ass raised up, he leans way into your back, wrapping a hand softly around the back your throat.

“gonna fuckin’ give ya twins. one isn’t enough, pretty girl. need that tummy swollen ‘n plump s- so bad,” and he inches his lips toward your spine, still pumping into you deep. “gonna make you my pretty ‘lil mama.”

as he continued to spoke, you whine as his cock plummets into your wet sopping cunt over and over. it’s to the point where your ears recognize the slapping sounds of skin. the squelches your wet cunt made had him groaning.

he’s breathing in huge chunks of air as he’s merely crushing you with his weight. as you both robustly rut into each other in flawless unison, satoru’s hefty weight that hovers over you anchors into yours, slamming further into you.

“fuck, don’t stop, hngh,” and your words were as shaky as your chattering teeth.

he couldn’t keep his hands off you, literally.

sweaty open palms paw at every part of your body. near your doughy tits, your ass—his favorite part, and even your pretty plush thighs that were nearly gluing together. “satoru, satoru, pleaseee.”

“mhm, sweets..” his voice tremors and cracks before a sharp gasp wretches out of him. out of nowhere, you feel his hips come to an abrupt stop and he groans loudly.

it’s so loud that it’s an almost bellowing roar, both of his ears clank at the blissful sensations. satoru grows quiet once he feels it, that familiar pressure that’s been stored full inside him for the longest.

he’s cumming, and it’s so much, a slimy knot shoots out and freely dribbles into your inviting swollen cunt and he chews the inside of his cheek. “fuck m- me,” he stammers, still holding both sides of your rickety hips.

the room’s filled with husky pants and skin slapping until he’s slowing down - velvety stringy ribbons spurt into you raw until he’s hoarsely panting like a dog at the sight.

he can’t stop staring. such a mess, but you’re his mess. god, the way it just leisurely trickles inside of you, spilling all down the sides of your jittery folds because it can’t keep all of it in. the sounds were even more filthy, sloshing squeaks feels the room and he goes quiet just to get a good enough listen. satoru came so much—so so much that it lasted for a plethora of long obscene seconds. as he’s trying to get over his orgasm, he’s still chewing at the inside of his cheek, his face growing flustered. his hips become strikingly sloppy and he’s basically humping you. “god, have my fuckin’ kids, sweetheart. ugh,” and satoru’s as prettiest as he’s ever been.

with his lip dragging from his teeth biting near the bottom, his eyes scrunch shut and white brows curl up. huffing out a big deep exhale, he’s sweating bullets.

his thick calves felt like they were on fire but he didn’t have enough of you yet. there was never enough of you. you had him whipped—he’s allowing you to milk him, relishing in the fact that your sweet cunt was just wringing him dry to the max.

satoru steadies your hips with his quavery hands, peering down at the masses of sweltering hot cum that drips down your legs and he grunts. “s- satoru,” you shiver, gasping once he pulls out only to flip you right over.

“not done. still got so much more ‘ta give my pretty girl,” he breathes, and it’s a feral look in his eyes. satoru raises your leg up slowly, his rings tickling against your bare skin. “lie on your back. i fuckin’ need more.”

satoru fucks you for hours.

any position you could even think of, he’s doing it.

both stacked bodies glisten with sheets of sweat as they rut back and forth against each other, fingers merrily intertwined. he’s determined to get you pregnant and your moans only fuel him. the rowdy snaps of his vigorous hips only grew stronger.

his stamina, you’re blinking, wondering if he’s even human. despite the drops of perspiration tearing from the sides of his face and his heaving long breaths, satoru showed no signs of fatigue.

he was drilling his thick cock into you again and again—giving you orgasm after orgasm.

your toes curl as you’re trying to keep up with him but it’s to no avail. weighty balls continue to rigorously slam into your core as you’re currently in mating press. the compressing weight of satoru melting against you makes you whine.

he’s so warm, and with the way he’s breathing down your neck, babbling how he’s gonna make you the most prettiest mommy in the world makes your cunt throb. “you’re so pretty like this,” he moans into your neck, his thrusts becoming weak yet again.

globs of cum dribble from your pussy as he’s right between your thighs, his cock springing up. he hisses at the feeling, feeling your arms wrap around his back. satoru groans at the twinge near his extensor muscles that flex.

you gave him scratches that ran all down his back. he pays for your weekly manicures just so you can paint his back with scratches with your pretty acrylics.

his pretty girl.

you’re a stammering mess, plugged all the way up with such creamy thin ropes and your body was already limp. with his dick still delved inside, satoru grabs your chin—pressing another kiss against your lips. you moan, twisting and tangling your balmy hot tongue with his before he presses a hand down on your tummy. you whine in his mouth, skimming your crumped up fingers down his little undercut.

satoru groans at the feeling of your digits toying with the back part of his hair. “s- satoru,” you speak between kisses in short gasps for air. your ankle brushes up and down his back and it makes him grunt - your touch made him weak. “ ‘m so full, fuck.”

“yeah you fuckin’ are, sweetheart,” he licks near your bottom lip.

satoru’s body was so hot against yours, even while he was fully milked out he was still stuffing you full. the sheets were a mess, but he didn’t care in the slightest. his cerulean-blue eyes rove down towards your chest before he leans down. you stare at him, panting—and that’s when he latches his tongue against your neglected tits.

so perfect,

he makes sure to lather viscous strings of saliva on both of them, including your sensitive perky nipples. “mhm.” he groans, feeling your fingers fish through his white tangled strands. he’s sucking on each of your breasts with the most stupidest pussy drunken grin.

after a few seconds, he removes his spit-slick lips, a string of saliva following before he gazes up at you. with a sly worn out gaze, he cups both of your tits with his hands, giving them a good squeeze. “aw. my girls are gonna be full of milk soon,” and satoru kisses near your chin, your forehead, your cheek, and then finally, your lips.

you return the wet sultry kiss before he abruptly pulls away, holding your chin. “can’t wait to be a daddy, darlin,” he says in a gruff drowsy voice. you watch as he gradually pulls out, moving his head down toward your bare tummy. satoru presses a kiss near your navel before his eyes stare right back up at you.

“now let’s wait for this pretty ‘lil bump, hm?”

[riality-check]

Steve, realistically, shouldn’t even be at this show. He doesn’t care about the band, he didn’t want to make the drive, and he had to bring Anna along because he couldn’t find a babysitter.

But he was going to suck it up to go with Dustin, who immediately bought tickets to see his favorite band when they went on sale. Who called Steve this morning to inform him, somehow both solemnly and frantically, that he had the worst food poisoning known to man, and, that until he stopped puking and shitting at the same time, he could not leave the bathroom.

Steve very much did not need to know that.

With Dustin went the rest of the Babysitters’ Club, all of them having eaten the same shady pizza and suffering the consequences. The only exception was Mike, lactose intolerant but cursed to take care of his idiot friends.

He texted Steve to ask if he had extra bleach. Steve dropped it outside the house because no way in hell was he entering that building.

Dustin assured him, amidst too much detail and shockingly disgusting background noise, that both tickets shouldn’t go to waste, and with no one able to babysit Anna, Steve should take advantage of both.

So, here he is. Standing in the first level - Dustin couldn’t get floor tickets, thank God - of a show for a metal band he has no intention of ever listening to and holding his four-year-old daughter, who has bright pink ear defenders looped around her neck in preparation for when it gets really, really loud.

“When are they starting?” she asks for the fourth time in as many minutes, with a sigh too big for her little body.

“In a few minutes,” Steve says, keeping an eye on the stage, where he watches the crew set up. Mad respect for them hustling so hard. He could never.

The seats are slowly filling up, and Steve feels a little sad for the first opener, a little sad that they don’t have a full house for their set.

A group of four guys takes the seats right next to Steve, with a pale, long-haired, big-eyed guy right next to him. He’s got tattoos on his arms and rings on all his fingers and a silver bar through his upper ear.

And he’s arguing emphatically with his friend next to him.

“I’m telling you, American Psycho is more recognizable!” he says, hands flying. Steve discreetly makes sure he and Anna aren’t within striking distance. “Not to mention cheaper!”

“A prop chainsaw,” his friend - a short white guy with shorter but equally wild hair - says, “can’t possibly be that hard to find by tomorrow.”

“We already have the axe!”

“I’m with Eddie,” the big white guy at the end of their group says. “I’m a sucker for American Psycho.”

“Okay, but I’m the guy who has to use the props,” the fourth friend, a Black guy with short braids who looks annoyed at this conversation, like they’ve had it before. “And I think I’d have more fun with the chainsaw.”

Eddie - the guy with long hair and heavy jewelry and hands with a mind of their own - rolls his eyes. It’s a full body movement, one that has him spinning to face Steve. When he does, his face cycles through a myriad of emotions too fast for Steve to really track.

“Hi, pretty boy,” he says. His eyes then dart down to Anna, who stares at him with her head cocked to the side. “Pretty dad. Dad. Pretty. Hi.”

“Eddie,” the short guy cautions.

“Yeah, sorry, anyway, can you be a tiebreaker for us?”

“Sure,” Steve says. Anna squirms, so he lets her out of his lap to stand, holding her hand all the while. “What do you need?”

“American Psycho or Texas Chainsaw Massacre?” the big guy asks.

“You gotta give him context.”

“No, I don’t, Jeff.”

The guy who said he’d be using the props - whatever that means - rolls his eyes and stops fighting.

“What’s American Psycho?” Anna asks, choosing the best time to pay attention to the conversation, like always.

“A movie you’re too young to see,” Steve says. “And the one I’m picking out of those two.”

“Oh, thank you,” Eddie says, using a tone that better fits Steve saving his drowning dog or something. He then turns to the rest of his friends and says, “I fucking told you!”

Anna gasps. “You’re not s’posed to say that!”

Jeff smothers a laugh behind his hands, while the other three guys stare at Anna, half confused, half admiring.

Eddie clears his throat, looking significantly abashed. "Sorry, Miss-"

"Anna," she says.

"Anna," Eddie finishes. Then he turns to Steve. "And you are?"

"Steve. No Mister for me though. I might be a dad, but I'm not that old."

"You are old, Daddy," Anna says.

Steve frowns down at her, where she stands at his feet. She's smiling, mischievous like she always is when she says something along these lines. "I'm not that old."

"Yeah you are! You're like, you're like, like, fifteen."

Jeff gives up on hiding his laughter.

"I'm older than fifteen," Steve says gently, trying not to laugh.

Anna’s jaw drops. “You are?”

“Thank God for that,” Eddie mutters, then shuts his jaw with an audible click.

Steve tried to come up with an answer for that, but someone comes on a mic and starts playing the drums, so he moves the defenders over Anna’s ears and pays attention to the show instead.

It's... fun, he guesses. Fun if he were into it, maybe. The first opener has a lot of energy, even if the music isn't melodic enough for Steve's taste. He finds himself tapping along to the steady beat, moving slightly in his seat to the music.

It's nice background noise. He'd put this on while he grades papers. It's steady enough to fill his head but doesn't have a whole lot of lyrics he could get distracted by and sing along to.

Eddie and his friends, meanwhile, are having the time of their lives. The short guy - Gareth, Steve thinks his name is - mimes the drum part of each song with startling accuracy. Archie jumps up and down, Jeff absolutely screams along, and Eddie-

Anna stares up at Eddie, eyes wide and jaw slacked as she watches him bang his head to the music.

Steve almost snaps a picture of it, this little moment, before the second song ends and Eddie snaps out of his zone.

He shakes the hair out of his face, then looks down at Anna, who's still staring at him. "What?"

She cocks her head to the side in a mirror of his. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

"The," she pauses, then starts shaking her head really hard, side to side. Steve puts a hand on her shoulder before she slams into the chairs in the row in front of them.

Eddie laughs. "The headbanging?"

"Yeah," Anna says, nodding.

"It's a way I move to the music," Eddie explains.

"Like dancing?"

"Sort of," Eddie says. "It's easier. I look stupid when I dance."

"You're not s'posed to say that," Anna tells him solemnly. "Right, Daddy?"

Steve meets Eddie's eyes. Even with the lights down, they're big and pretty and reflective, and Steve is going to kick himself so hard if he chickens out before he can get his number.

"Right," he says, still looking at Eddie. "We're not supposed to call ourselves stupid."

"Sorry," Eddie whispers.

"Don't be."

Anna tugs on Steve's hand, then Eddie's. "Teach me."

"Anna," Steve cautions.

"Can you please teach me?" she corrects.

Eddie glances down at Anna, then back up at Steve. "If it's-"

"Go ahead," Steve says because Eddie has more than passed the vibe check at this point.

Eddie crouches down as a new song starts up, and while Steve can't hear what he's telling her, he sees her smile, bright as day.

By the last song of the first opener, Anna is headbanging along with Eddie, off-beat in the say little kids always are but more than making up for it with effort.

Steve gives into the impulse to take a picture.

When the first opener finishes, Steve picks Anna back up and takes her ear defenders off.

"Woah," she says. "Can I keep them-"

"Nope," Steve says. "They stay on when the music is on. You heard it fine, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but you-"

"I have my earplugs in," Steve says, pointing at them.

"So do I," Eddie says, and when he moves his hair back, sure enough, there are black earplugs nestled in his ears.

"You don't seem like the kind of guy to wear earplugs," Steve says.

"You don't seem like the kind of guy to come of a metal show," Eddie counters.

Anna climbs out of Steve's arms and onto his back, where she loops her arms around his shoulders and just hangs, like she does sometimes when she gets bored.

Weirdo kid, Steve thinks affectionately.

"That's because I'm not," Steve says. "I was supposed to come with a friend, but he got sick."

"Yikes," Eddie says. "You coming tomorrow, too?"

"I am," Steve says. "Are you?"

Eddie raises his eyebrows, like he didn't expect Steve to ask that. "Yeah, we'll be here. Not in these seats, though."

The lights go back down before Steve can ask what he means by that. He reaches behind him, scoops Anna back down on the ground, and puts her ear defenders on by the time the second opener strikes a scary-sounding opening chord.

Anna doesn't look scared at all. From the moment the music starts, she looks up at Eddie, and when he starts headbanging, she does, too.

Yup. Steve has effectively created a monster.

He contemplates, if Dustin is fine by tomorrow, skipping out on the show and giving his ticket to Anna, but that means not seeing Eddie again.

He really wants to see Eddie again, even if he won’t have the same seats.

Whatever that means.

Steve decides not to focus on that. He decides instead to focus on the moment. He listens to the music. He lets Anna take his hand and dance with it. He bops his head along with hers, but not too hard because he can’t risk aggravating his whiplash.

He enjoys the show, even if it’s not his cup of tea. It’s easy to enjoy the show, with Eddie next to him. It’s easy to enjoy his wild hair and pretty jewelry and big eyes and contagious enthusiasm.

It’s easy to see the way Eddie looks at him.

It’s also very easy, after the venue clears and Anna falls asleep in the car on the way home, to forget to ask for his number.

Shit.

(Part 2 is alive!!)

[lostkitsclangen]

TW for blood and mention of murder

hnnnrgggh I'm gonna have another fanart tomorrow because Nettleclan is dragging me into the pit of hyperfixation and I can't escape /pos I swear.

Even MORE rambles under the cut

Anyways, this is Ambershard and Bumbletumble from @nettleclanstale. I wanted to include Bumble in yesterday's fanart but couldn't find a way for her to fit, but that ask about Bumble's conflicting feelings for murdering Hazelstar and how she did the right thing really hit me, especially the interaction between her and her dad that answered it </3

Devastating, I will never recover. I really wanted to draw it after reading that, it was so genuinely heartbreaking to see Bumble that broken, because Hazel hurt Bumble's baby, Meadowbreeze suffered because of Hazel. But even though Meadow was her baby, Hazel is someone else's baby. And if Hazel died for hurting someone's baby, then what does that mean for Bumble? What does it mean for the mother who killed another mothers baby? I will never stop thinking about this 💔

Little details! The background is the same colors as when Bumble murdered Hazel in her den at night on moon 80. Bumble's scribbly pupils are actually dual colored like how Angie usually draws Nettleclan cats eyes, with the top being black and bottom being the reddish color that Amber and Bumble share in their eyes. Ambershard has a little heart shape on his flank in his design, but it broke because of how devastated Bumble is at her own actions. Under the tears, Bumble has eye bags/wrinkles under her eyes because I don't think she slept very well after, uh, that. The white text is the only one that says "Papa" because the white is what she said, and the red is all in her head. It's all she can think about. The blood is glitching because it's not real, she's just stuck in the moment of killing Hazelstar.

[bfpnola]

Abolition For Beginners (2023 Edition)

In honor of Tyre Nichols and all others we have lost to policing and imprisonment. In honor of Black History Month. In honor of Better Future Program's mission to educate and serve marginalized youth globally... Let's break down abolition, again. (As usual on Tumblr, tap for better quality.)

Better Future Program's Linktr.ee | Donate | Liberation Library | Open Leadership Positions | Staff Application | Discord Server

Image description below. Written by @reaux07. Proofread by the volunteers and supporters of @bfpnola.

Image Description:

[ID: All of the following slides use a wrinkled, black fabric as their background with black text (bolded red added for emphasis) on top of white boxes with rounded corners. “@bfpnola” is written in the top right corner and the sources for the slide are in the bottom left corner. 

Title Slide (No. 1):

Written in red text, “UPDATED FROM 2021 EDITION.” The outlines of the word “ABOLITION” is written line by line 8 times in light grey with the year “2023” written on top in bold, white lettering. Below, written in red within a white bubble and red arrow, it reads “FOR BEGINNERS*.” Across from the bubble, “@BFPNOLA” is in red. Below, in red again, the asterisk mentioned before leads to the following note: “This post is heavily text-based so if you do not learn best by reading, feel free to utilize our Abolition Study Guide in our bio under "Social Justice Resources" instead!” Lastly, white stars and outlines of grey circles can be seen in each corner of the slide.

Slide No. 2 reads:

Abolition is an anti-capitalist, intersectional framework that aims to not only destroy the cages created by various “industrial complexes,” but to create inclusive, effective alternatives for addressing harm. As defined by Dr. Jennie Wang-Hall, an “industrial complex (IC) is a system that creates profit through embedding into social inequities and providing an ineffective product that keeps consumers under-resourced and returning for more.”

The most common examples of such systems? Prison and policing, psychiatry, foster care/family policing, the military, and even the Family (as an institution, not kinship altogether).

Despite common misconceptions, abolition is not just a negation of what currently exists, but an active evolution of what community-based support can and has looked like. Abolition is about the radical working-class imagination, about Black and Indigenous imagination.

If individualistic, reactive, punishment-based strategies are maintained, true accountability and rehabilitation will never exist. Instead, we can choose to be proactive, analyze the circumstances that perpetuate violence, and address harm at the root! Of course, no one is saying that harm will completely cease to exist, but to paraphrase butch anarchist Lee Shevek, wouldn’t it be a profound improvement to expand our capacity to respond to harm and challenge our abusers, rather than being restricted to system-granted authority? Especially when such systems deliberately ignore the suffering of marginalized communities (e.g. people of color, queer and trans folks, women and femmes, Mad and disabled folks, and so on) to begin with?

Sources: @Dr.JennieWH, @ButchAnarchy, Stella Akua Mensah, Erin Miles Cloud, @WokeScientist

Slide No. 3 reads:

Before we continue any further, let’s destroy the myth that cops actually stop violence. First off, we can’t depend on crime stats at face value because this begs the question of who exactly gets to define what counts as a “crime” and why (e.g. drug possession and sleeping in public vs. tax evasion of the wealthy and wage theft). Continuing, crime rates often only reflect violations that have actually been reported, chosen to be shown, and deemed out of line. By this logic, crime rates are simply reflections of cops’ perceptions, not of the material and emotional realities of the proletariat (i.e. the working-class).

As for perpetuating violence, “US law enforcement killed at least 1,183 people in 2022, making it the deadliest year on record for police violence.” (And those are just the deaths that were reported. In our home state of Louisiana, turns out the Jefferson Parish Sheriff’s Office, as of January 12, 2023, has been unlawfully destroying records of officer misconduct for at least 10 years.) Many (69%) of these murders were cases in which no offense was alleged, were mental health or welfare checks, or involved traffic violations and other nonviolent offenses.

This is, of course, without even touching on the involuntary servitude (i.e. enslavement) and maltreatment ongoing in American prisons. How many more deaths must occur before the general public says enough is enough? Or is this acceptable since these are working-class, disabled, Mad, non-white, queer, and trans lives being lost?

Sources: @InterruptCrim, The Guardian, Mapping Police Violence, @VeriteNewsNola

Slide No. 4 reads:

So we agree police are harmful. Why abolition instead of reform? Historically, reforms have either provided further funding to the prison, foster care, and psychiatric industrial complexes and/or just reinforced harmful ideologies surrounding policing as a whole. And trust us, these systems already have more than enough money. In the fiscal year of 2021, at least $277,153,670,501 were spent on federal law enforcement and prisons as well as on police and prisons by state and local governments. Can you even conceptualize a number that large? We could end all American medical debt with that much money. We could even provide clean water and waste disposal to everyone on Earth!

Continuing, reforms like body cameras are pitched as making officers more accountable, that if “done right” policing will actually keep people safe, and that those who do not use excessive force are suddenly no longer guilty of perpetuating centuries worth of systemic oppression. In reality, body cameras require further funding and increase surveillance!

Similarly, civilian oversight boards and the push to “jail killer cops” reinforce the belief that cases of murder, assault, falsifying information, and so on are exceptional occurrences rather than intrinsic to the very nature of policing itself. This is where the phrase “All Cops Are Bastards” comes into play, stating that while the individual character of some officers may be morally permissible, all cops are part of a “bastardized,” or corrupt, system.

Sources: Security Policy Reform Institute, Matt Korostoff, @CriticalResistance 

Slide No. 5 reads: 

Even laws don’t prevent police violence, e.g. the murder of Eric Garner despite the NYPD passing a policy against chokeholds, or the murder of Daunte Wright despite the passing of the George Floyd Law Enforcement Trust and Integrity Act and a separate Justice in Policing Act of 2020.

Alternatively, we can advocate against the expansion of policing “responsibilities,” i.e. not allowing officers to address Mad individuals in vulnerable states, the housing crisis, or people who use drugs (PWUD). We can reroute funding into non-coercive, peer-led initiatives for harm reduction, de-escalation, first aid, and self-defense. And maybe most importantly, we can reaffirm that EXTENSIVE power can, in fact, be found amongst everyday folks like you and me!

Abolition is not a one-and-done sort of deal but rather a progression of steps toward an infinite future of improvements. The act of building parallel infrastructures and modes of governance while the previous ones still exist is known as dual power. Abolition must begin as dual power. We can start today!

And in building such, these steps cannot: legitimize or expand oppressive systems we aim to dismantle, create divisions between “deserving” and “underserving” people, preserve existing power relations, or utilize exclusionary, one-size-fits-all, standardized treatments.

Sources: @ProjectLets, @HarmReductionCoalition, CrimethInc., Survived & Punished NY

Slide No. 6 reads:

One of the main questions brought up, though, is what abolitionists plan to do in the case of homicide, rape, domestic violence, and other harms. While this is entirely valid, this question seems to imply that 1) police are already effectively responding to such harms rather than perpetuating and/or ignoring them and 2) that there is one collective abolitionist response.

For one, the majority of sexual assault, for example, goes unreported and less than 0.5% of perpetrators are incarcerated. (And this assumes that through the reporting process and incarceration, survivors will somehow find healing, perpetrators will find understanding, and that sexual assault does not continue within prisons.) Meanwhile, let’s use our hometown as one example of many, a complaint of sexual violence is filed against a New Orleans Police Department officer every 10 days and nearly 1 in 5 NOPD officers have been reported for sexual and/or intimate partner violence. 

And secondly, we have a plethora of organizations like Critical Resistance and cultures like that of the Diné (Navajo) to learn from and build upon. We don’t have to be stuck within this false dilemma fallacy, that there is only policing or total chaos. Don’t you see that that is the state’s way of constricting communal power?

Sources: @RAINN, @CopWatchNola, @WokeScientist

Slide No. 7 reads:

To expand this conversation, abolition heavily aligns with the political ideal of “anarchism.” Anarchism supports the absence of government and absolute freedom of the individual. And despite its negative connotations, anarchy also reflects an evolution of community-based care rather than just a deconstruction of what currently exists.

A simplified version of its 6 agreed-upon principles are:

Autonomy and Horizontality: define yourself on your own terms, we stand on an equal footing

Mutual Aid: bonds of solidarity form a stronger social glue than fear, support your community

Voluntary Association: associate or don't associate with whomever you wish

Direct Action: accomplish goals directly rather than depending on representatives or authorities

Revolution: overthrow those in power who enforce coercive hierarchies (ex. white supremacy)

Self-Liberation: you must be at the forefront of your own liberation, freedom must be taken

While being an abolitionist does not require alignment with anarchism, it is worth considering how the state plays such an enduring role in various social harms. Concurrently, whenever you treat other living beings with consideration and respect, come to reasonable compromise rather than coercion, and decide to share or delegate tasks, you are already living by anarchist principles.

Sources: Peter Gelderloos, David Graeber

Slide No. 8 reads:

So, how can you get involved? How do we continue the efforts already being made by activists worldwide? After such an overload of information and even more to learn, we understand how political frameworks like abolition can seem daunting, but they don't have to be! Here are some general next steps:

Read the "8toAbolition" steps.

Look into "podmapping" so you know whom to run to when you have been harmed or perpetuate harm.

See if there are any pre-existing mutual aid networks in your community, and if not, start one with your neighbors or peers!

Begin to research issues affecting communities other than your own. Abolition is intrinsically tied to all of us as we are all surveilled. For example, do you understand how prison and policing further ableism, transphobia, or the sex trade? What about policing internationally (see our allies in: the Kingdom of Hawai'i, Palestine, Artsakh, Kashmir...)?

Research the differences between capitalism, socialism, and communism. Abolition and anti-capitalism are foundational to one another as well.

Look into the other industrial complexes we named in the beginning (psychiatry, foster care, the military, the Family...).

Volunteer (remotely or in-person) with organizations like Better Future Program (@bfpnola) to both educate yourself and directly serve your community!

And if you're looking for further reading/listening, BFP offers over 3,000 FREE social justice, mental health, and academic resources in our Linktr.ee, including study guides for beginners. While we can't promise that the struggle for liberation will always be easy, BFP will always do its best to support you in whatever way we know how.

End ID.]

[rocks-in-space]

I had thought Flint's choice of words to Rogers in 3x07 was a little odd, thinking that it wasn't so much an issue of happiness but in the (gay) manner in which they'd achieved that happiness. But then I re-heard Miranda's line in 2x03, and something clicked.

Yes it was about the gay, but part of that was that they were achieving connection and fulfillment outside of the colonial structure. If you feel genuine feelings (not just happiness. Flint can only express anger outside the confines of civilization, and the moment Miranda tries to express anger within civilization, she's killed for it), then you've probably stopped caring about what the neighbors think. And as Captain Hume so eloquently sets up for us in episode 1 (!!), civilization is really held together by this shame.

Happiness as only able to exist outside the colonial order, as the opposite of shame.

[Image ID: 4 photos from Black Sails overlain with text. 1) Miranda talking to Flint in his London apartment. Text reads: "In my experience, there is an inverse relationship between the degree of one's happiness and the concern one suffers for what the neighbors think." 2) Miranda standing on her porch looking sad with Pastor Lambrick in the background behind her. Text reads: "My husband and I were happy. But in London, a happy life can often be a very dangerous thing. Something that other people simply cannot abide." 3) Flint talking talking to Woodes Rogers on the beach. Text reads: "England has shown herself to me. Gnarled and gray and spiteful of anyone who would find happiness under her rule." 4) Captain Hume speaking in Richard Guthrie's house. Text reads: "You see, gossip is what holds civilization together. It reinforces shame. And without shame, well, the world is a very dangerous place." The text is white, but in each quote, the words "happy," "happiness," and "shame" are in yellow. end ID]

Photos from https://fancaps.net/

[zr-art-world]

CAN SOMEONE PLEASE HELP MMMEEEEEEE DX

I've been playing with these twos designs since forever, but I can never be sure if their actually good, like, objectively.

Can people look at these and tell me what I might need to remove/improve/add

Some character info

I'll try to make this concise as possible

For one, this takes place in a superhero scifi setting.

Psi

With Psi, I was going with android with insect motif, in particularly, butterfly and moth.

He was a human who's psyche was put into a techno organic robot body because he was on the verge of dyeing.

He grew up in a privileged setting but was mainly raised by robots made by his family.

He used to be always sick as a kid

He is a child prodigy that has a hard time with people because of his up brining.

Before being put into a robot body, he worked as a scientist (robotics specifically, however, he heavily dabbled in other fields as well)

He put himself in the robot body after a group tried to kill him and steal his technology and use it for their own gain

He feels like his intelligence is his one good defining trait, something that he relies on and something he thinks is the only thing he can offer to help people

Because of his upbringing, he is naturally curious about almost everything, despite him probably already knowing about it from his research.

After having his psyche put into an android body, he left his previous position to proses his thought and feelings and he also felt like he could do more good with his new body and intellect

Aster

Aster and their younger siblings were orphaned kids and were captured by Venlarians (a faction of bad guys in my story baseikly) and were trained and brain washed to be assassins and soldiers. (Aster became a well known assassin and sniper)

They were also experimented on a given powers (Aster specifically has minor mater manipulation abilities and can heal really fast and from major injuries. They can also teleport and harden their skin)

At the age of 18-19, they escaped but were separated from their siblings

They are adopted by another character, Mar (Who was the adopted son of the bbeg and emperor of the venularian empire before killing him)

After living with him and Mar trying to give them a normal child hood and saying that he and his colleagues will find them. (After defecting from Venularian empire, he joined the coalition of heroes which is like the justice league to put it in short terms), Aster wants to go out and find their siblings.

They also want to help others because they want to repent for what they were made to to while being controlled by the empire and so no one has to suffer under the empire.

Once their old enough, they take a space craft to explore the galaxy and to find their siblings and to help people.

They love exploring different planets and parts of the galaxy

She often hides her true feelings under a happy go lucky veneer, not wanting to scare people and not wanting her loved ones to worry about her.

Because of her powers and background, she doesn't have a lot of worry about her well being, often saving her friends and people in need at the expense of her well being because "I'll just heal right up! Don't worry, I can take it"

Aster originally had some avian aspects and I want to add those features again.

some other aspects for these two, they were slightly inspired by Psych and Eros

Idk if I want to make psi a different color other than blue, make his color pallet black and white like before or what.

sry for all the text, I always feel weird when talking about my oc's for some reason but I felt like the context was needed for me to get help with their designs

[stardustizuku]

So, I’m not gonna tag this. Mostly because I don’t want to blow this more out of proportion than it was.

For starters and some context, I am Latina. I am not considered white by the standards of the country I’m living in. But I am considered white in the country I’m from. So I am acutely aware of how racism diverts itself from culture to culture. What you consider the “other” varies from the culture you are speaking from.

I have stated, I am not Asian. The context of what I know, entails as racism in Japan and how it presents its extremely limited. I have read books, watched documentaries, done research but it’s not empirical and that’s something that drastically changes the quality of information I could give.

We have three ways of framing any given analysis of racism - one, using my cultural context of dissecting the “other” (which would consider religious background, skin color and class). Two, the cultural context of the author’s background, in this case Japan’s (which would consider skin color and nationality). And three and my least favorite, American cultural context, which places an uncomfortable amount of emphasis on skin color.

The reason I don’t like talking about a piece of media through the lenses of American Cultural Context is because that on itself is a form of American Imperialism (from my humble point of view as a Latina who suffered from American Imperialism).

It’s a way for Americans to position their own racism problems in the center of the conversation. Forcing everyone to comply to what their idea of “white” and “black” means.

And unfortunately, for everyone here involved, that’s the lense through which half this site uses as a default.

So you would understand my exasperation, when I see someone: not explain the cultural context through which they’re analyzing racism, explain little to nothing abt said cultural context, and ranting off more about the morality of the text than actually discuss any of these points with any nuance.

In my mind, I have my own cultural background at the forefront. Unfortunately, I have the American cultural background jammed in the back of my mind too. And suddenly you insert the Japanese cultural background handfisted in with the grace of a red eyed bull in a glass shop.

I get fed up, I don’t understand what’s going on, I make an untagged post criticizing the PERSON’s analysis skills (which I’m sorry if I’m mean, but it sorta is bad).

I never said or implied “this work of fiction doesn’t contain problems”, I just said I wished the people who criticized it had the skills to properly explain their point.

Which, by the way, part of that writing skills needed is understanding that your interpretation is not gospel.

Cause like, I had a COMPLETELY different interpretation on Lanzenave. And the country to me, has never come across as a villain.

Like, let’s look for a second MY cultural context, and you’ll understand why I was very confused by the original post.

I genuinely 100% thought Lanzanavians were being portrayed as the GOOD guys.

For starters, the “dark-skinned” comment comes in Part 5 Volume 5 where it comes from being compared to royalty - which may I remind you WE HATE. Like at this point the Royals have been portrayed as incompetent buffoons who have done nothing more than fuck up their country.

To me, this was less of an indicator of racial profiling, and more of “they are different from the awful royals”.

Which, in my mind, made them better.

A way to say, whatever crimes the royal family has committed, it bears nothing of the actual intentions and wants of Lanzenavians.

Thing that is sorta supported by the rest of the narrative.

Lanzenave was once a country with no King. Then a King came from a magical place across the sea. But as he became more and more useless, they decided to send him back.

It looked, to me, like Lanzenave was a colonized country, that used their King’s greed to get rid of him. It’s stated that many people who came from Lanzenave weren’t just ‘natives’, but nobles.

In my country we have a term “malinche” which refers to anyone who thinks “first world countries” are better than your homeland. A cheap attempt to replicate it and discard your country for the sake of false status - is considered a laughing stock.

Which makes obvious why, the way I interpret it, people who wanted to leave Lanzenave for Yurgenschmidt never registered as actual Lanzenavians. To me they were malinches. Actual Lanzenavians were those who stayed in their country, those who embraced technology and rejected mana and feystones.

In my eyes, Lanzenavians were always smart, hardworking people being exploited and colonized. Who managed to expel the poison. The closing of the gate to Yurgenschmidt wasn’t a punishment. It was freedom. A guarantee that their colonizers wouldn’t return.

The people who invaded, were always that. Colonizers. Nobles. Rich people who think they’re better than poor people.

To me this was Latinoamerican culture in a nutshell. A place where, where you consider yourself to be from, carries way more meaning than skin color or appearance. If you say you’re Mexican, you are Mexican. It doesn’t matter what you look like. But if you renounce your heritage and call yourself “American”, you get mockery and contempt. Cause Americans won’t take you in, they don’t think you are part of them. But you’d rather not be a part of them, than be a part of us? Then follow their rules, and whatever punishment follows - it’s rightfully deserved.

So you would imagine my surprise, when I see someone with a different perspective. Noting something true that I hadn’t realized - this is a Japanese story. Applying the lenses of your own cultural context isn’t how the story is meant to be interpreted.

But instead of anything productive to be had in a conversation, I’m met with…well. People picking a fight.

They genuinely don’t consider or want, to be honest, any sort of different perspective. What they want is to complaint.

They’re Angry that some of us enjoy the story. That we have different things to enjoy out of a story. That we aren’t focusing enough on the problematic aspects of the text. Reading untagged posts and forming a convoluted opinion off two or three sentences I make. Going into huge tangents that completely miss the point.

I think it’s important, if you wanna actually talk instead of throwing buzzwords around, to lay groundwork of what want.

Again, I’m not criticizing wanting to discuss the issues of racism and xenophobia that exist - but I am sorta criticizing your ability to convey a message.

I’m not saying AoB is particularly progressive. But the books do criticize royalty, generational power, the patriarchy and systems that oppress women, the Sakoku Period, inequality in education, restriction of information and censorship…which are issues that I very rarely see tackled in this G E N R E (bcs obv if you switch to other genres and books you will find it. But shoujo isekais that talk abt royalty are rarely ballsy enough to directly criticize the power fantasy they’re writing for young women).

This is honestly a very toxic mentality. I made this for the few ppl who might be following this thing - to me Lanzenavians were always very cool.

[sickly-sapphic]

a little history on disability pride month, usa-based (thinking of doing a focus on aus disability pride soon too) 🩶❤️💛🤍🩵💚🩶

[ID: A picture of an androgynous person with choppy purple hair taking a mirror selfie. They're wearing a white, ruffled crop top and low-waisted blue jeans. They're also wearing grey elbow compression sleeves, a grey back brace, and grey compression gloves. They're in an accessible bathroom, standing next to a black wheelchair with a blue blanket that has cartoon animals and the disability pride flag on it. This is the background on all slides. Purple text reads;

July is Disability Pride Month.

On March 12th, 1990, 1000+ people marched from the White House all the way to the U.S Capitol as a protest demanding that Congress sign the Americans with Disabilities Act, otherwise known as the ADA.

Later that year, on July 26th, the ADA was finally signed into law and thus began Disability Pride Month, which originated as just a one day celebration. It commemorates and celebrates this moment in disability history.

Disability Pride, as a concept, exists as a stand up against ableism and social stigma surrounding disabilities. It says that no, we are valued members of society, and we are not "defect".

It's roots stem from the same place as Queer Pride and Black Pride, and it is based on the social model of disability, rather than the medical one.

Disability pride tells us to break away from the shame society pushes on disabled people. It tells us we don't need to hide. It tells us to keep fighting for celebration, acceptance and representation for ALL disabled people.

After the shazam and dazzle of Queer Pride Month in June, Disability Pride Month suffers from a severe lack of acknowledgement, celebration and passion.

This year I urge you. Stand up for disabled people's rights. Celebrate our joys and pride with us. Bring awarenss to our existance and uplift disabled voices. We are just as important as everyone else.

Disability pride is beautiful. End ID]

[that-was-anticlimactic]

okay but can we just talk about "suffering and more suffering" and how each of these versions manage to capture the same haunted horror yet add different layers of suffering to it?

[ID: three images of Ritsu from Mob Psycho 100 having a breakdown. the first one is a panel from the Mob Psycho 100 manga. the right half of the panel is a ½ body drawing of Kamuro. he is covering his mouth and the lower half of his face with his hand as he laughs. his other arm is wrapped around his stomach. the background is roses. the text on this half of the panel reads: “Intoxicated / Completely swallowed in his illusions”. the left half of the panel is a ½ body drawing of Ritsu. his eyes are completely black. he is holding his head in both of his hands. he appears incredibly distressed and horrified. the background of this half is cacti. the text reads: “Suffering / And more suffering.”. the second image is the same scene depicted in the anime except it's only of Ritsu. he is still holding his head and there are still cacti in the background. he is sweating. unlike in the manga panel, his eyes are all white. he appears haunted. the third image is that same scene depicted in the third stage play with Matsumoto Gaku as Ritsu. there are no cacti in the image. Ritsu is angled slightly to the left. he holds his head in his hands. his mouth is open as he screams. off-screen, Dimple is saying: "...or in pain. Deep pain.". /End ID.]

[completeoveranalysis]

[1]

Chapitre 188 - The Ruins on That Day

The splash text reads:

Wounds that do not heal, a Light that I cannot see

Onwards... Even so, I just keep moving onwards

And ohhh this is so striking!

This is the cover that slaps you in the face with what it wants you to be looking at. All the lines and angles draw the visual focus directly to Lava Lamp’s eye as he stares directly back. It’s quite the confronting moment. It’s defiant. It calls back to the heavy lidded focus he had when he was still missing part of his soul and hadn’t had the chance to be anything other than his goals for years and years of his life. And arguably this is still the case, but with slight windows of characterisation opening up every now and again, almost against his will - which is very much in line with the splash text. Lava Lamp has dedicated himself to this existence of SUFFERING in order to fix [the big important something], and he would seemingly trade away any part of himself to make it happen and see it as more than a fair trade. Or more than that. He sees his suffering as irrelevant. He sees his suffering as something that must happen, and he will pay it again and again until he achieves his goal.

But all that aside! Here in the image the stark contrast of light and dark gives us the Full Syaoran Imagery Experience, especially when combined with the inversed colours in the background. The play of black and white against each other is trying to evoke the conflict between the Syaorans and just how different they are - and the focus on the eye in particular is hammering this home. Because what IS his eye here, other than a dark circle with a smaller circle of white within? It’s a banner showing his half of the yin yang symbol and a call back to everything this is a metaphor to. 

And on a more story level, the Evil Wolverine Magic Prison Lines are here as a timely reminder of what happened to Lava Lamp so that we’re thinking about it while we finally get to visit the Clow Ruins and presumably find out more about that all happened in the first place. 

Which I can’t wait to see :D

[maramirror11]

Jean vs Reggaeton

This fic isn’t beta readed, so I'm sorry for my bad english.

Intern (Irene) uses she/her pronouns.

—

A week before the money laundry plan finished, Intern received a text message while working. It was from one of her cousins inviting to a party at a local club. She accepted, it’s been ages since she went out. The message also said she could invite one friend.

At that moment, she heard a sigh from Jean who was working near her. With the deadline approaching, he had to be sure everything went according to the plan. As a result, he looked even worse than usual, darker bags under his eyes and gaze constantly lost in his own thoughts. Then, a brilliant idea came into her mind.

“Hey Jean, are you free this saturday night? Or are you going to finally get some sleep?” Intern walked to his desk.

“You know blinking is the only way I sleep” He chuckled. “Why do you ask?” His eyes still focused on the screen with an almost empty coffee mug in his hand.

“Wanna go out for drinks? I was invited somewhere and I'll like you to come too”

Jean paused his work for a moment and remembered his plan was to practice the ukulele. At first, he thought about declining since he was exhausted. However, it wasn't often when they could go out without the brothers and it would be nice to go somewhere new for a change.

“I’ll go. I need a distraction or I'll jump in front of the next car I see”

“Great! I'll send you the place and we'll meet there” She said with a smile. “But first I'll do a new pot of coffee, we still have a few hours left”

…

The day finally arrived and Intern was outside the building waiting for Jean while walking back and forth. This was different from the other times they went out. Normally, they'll go to drink and relax at a bar after work. She feared this hangout would make him go back home more stressed.

Her train of thoughts stopped when she saw Jean arrive and her heart skipped a beat. It was a pleasant surprise to see what he wears outside work. It wasn't anything outstanding but it made him look more handsome than usual.

“Damn Jean, you look stunning! I didn’t know you had something other than your usual white shirts and black pants” She greeted with a hug.

“Well thank you! I can say the same about you too”

“Oh, this old thing? You flatter me” Intern covered her face dramatically. “Now turn around, I want to see the whole outfit”

He complied and then said in a soft tone “Really, you do look gorgeous tonight”

“Thanks” Said flustered, taken by surprise by the sincere compliment. “Every once in a while we need to get all dressed up. Let's take a picture before we get inside”

They found a spot to take a selfie and then went to the entrance. When they got through the door, they found a big crowd already. For them not to get separated, Intern took Jean's hand and guided him towards the bar.

After they got their drinks, they went to the reserved table for guests. It was on the second floor, near the stairs. Most guests were on the dance floor, which meant they were alone. Luckily, even with the rather loud music in the background, they could still hear each other.

“Do you come here often? I see you are familiar with this place” Jean asked after he had his drink.

“My cousin is a friend of the owner. She likes to go out a lot and that means she dragged me here countless times” Intern took a sip of her cocktail. “Do you like it?”

“It's a little different from what I’m used to, but it has a nice ambience”

“Just you wait until the good music starts, it'll get even better. Believe me, you'll shake off all that stress”

“I'll take your word for it, or you'll suffer the consequences for lying to a dangerous mafia member” Both laughed.

Slowly, they lose track of how long they've been talking, only being interrupted a few times by Intern’s friends who came to greet her. Later, when Intern was about to get a new drink, she heard a familiar melody. As soon as she recognized it, immediately stood up and turned around towards Jean.

“Do you know how to dance?” She said looking expectantly.

“I do, but-”

“Good, you are coming with me” She grabbed his hand and quickly led him to the dance floor.

“Hey! What's the rush?”

“The song will end! Besides, you need to experience the rest of this place”

They got through the crowd until they found a spot big enough for both. Intern let go of him and started dancing, while Jean remained still.

She started swinging her hips in circles, spinning around, slowly going down and up with the rhythm of the music. On top of that, she was singing loudly while pointing at him. Sadly, he couldn't understand anything the song said.

Jean stood mesmerized by this new side of Intern. She was rather calm in their everyday life, despite how crazy their work became.

Normally, it was a good thing since he needed someone who can stay grounded, but now he wished she could take this rowdy side more often. As he saw her passionately doing what she enjoys, it made him eager to start doing the same.

He snapped out of his own thoughts and decided to join her, imitating those around him. He tried to move with the rhythm but that only made him bump into other people. For his misfortune, the only physical activity he does is walk to the bus since he hasn’t reclaimed his car yet. So, he failed miserably as his moves were too stiff.

Intern got out of her zone when she saw Jean's performance. This made her laugh a lot and got closer to his ear.

“Jean, you lied to me!” Intern tried her best to calm her laugh.

“I'm rusty, okay? Besides, the ones I know are slower with more space to move” He tried to hide his embarrassment.

“Let me show you then”

First, she made Jean separate his feet and slightly flex his knees since it’ll be easier to maintain stability and not crash with anyone. Then, he had to tiptoe forward and back in place while his shoulders swung forward. Once he got more comfortable, Intern showed how to move his hips on a circle while going down and up. This one took a little more coordination.

As time went on, Jean got enough practice and started to do it with more confidence. When Intern was satisfied with his performance, she resumed her own dancing. This should’ve been enough for him not to humiliate himself, except that he still looked somewhat stiff.

“Give me your hand” Intern said while extending hers.

“What for?”

“Just trust me” She winked.

Intern realized Jean took these lessons too seriously and proceeded to playfully make him swirl. It didn’t go as smoothly as she wanted, but it made Jean laugh and loosen up. Still holding hands, he tried the same with her. Except that this time, it went perfectly.

It's been a while since she saw Jean in a good mood. He was so anxious about every single detail for the money laundry scheme, due to his head being at risk. Still, he deserved to enjoy the present.

Intern knows Jean hates his job, he always warns about ending up like him. Despite all of that, still got something out of it, the Bada brothers. Even if they don't show it often, from the way they talk and treat each other, it's obvious they care about Jean. Another thing he has now… is her heart.

Unexpectedly, he became someone important in her life and everything was better with him close by. That's why she felt honored to make him feel safe enough to show his hobby and really hoped he had that confidence to just be himself more often.

Intern had this attraction towards Jean for quite a while, but wasn't sure whether to make a move or not. For the most part, it’s because they work together and could bring problems for both in case he was interested.

However, tonight they weren't co-workers, they were friends and that gave her more confidence in being more direct with her affection.

Deep inside, she feared he would've been taken aback by her attitude and changed the way he treats her. But it was a huge relief that it wasn't the case, on top of that he learned about her interest.

As both were dancing while holding hands, Intern was dying to get closer to Jean but didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. So, she started to move her hands at a slow pace to his shoulders, looking at his reaction. If he appears to be uncomfortable, she'll stop.

He shivered with the sudden caress, it’s been forever since he felt a simple touch like that. Despite the initial surprise, he took the hint and his hands went to her hips just like those couples around them. Upon every movement, she could feel her heart beating faster. His hands on her body gave her courage to get closer. Little by little until their bodies were almost pressed against each other.

Neither of them were paying attention to the music or people around them anymore. The only thing in their mind was the way they slowly moved together in synchrony while looking at each other.

The tension between them became painful and their faces got closer. Intern's lips almost reached into his. But all of a sudden, she stopped and pulled back. The nervousness got the better of her this time. Jean looked expectantly, but didn't move forward either. Intern had to think something quick to make the moment less awkward.

“Wanna go back?” She asked while mentally beating herself for wasting this chance.

Jean just nodded and both left with regret on their faces. To forget about this, they asked for another round of drinks before going back. When Jean sits down, he realizes how fatigued he feels, they have been dancing for a long while now.

“I wasn't THAT terrible, right?” He said with a short breath as he dropped into his seat.

“You did a good job actually! I'll take that as you had a good time” Intern sat and had her drink.

“I did, I feel a huge weight off my back. Although, I can't fucking move anymore” He sunk into the sofa.

“You see? I kept my promise. Besides, you deserve to unwind every now and then”

“Thank you. But, you never told me you could dance like that! Where did you even learn it?”

“Ha! It's one of my secret talents. I promise, I'll teach you more next tim-”

Intern suddenly recognized one of her favorite songs blasting through the speakers and stood up again.

“I'll be right back, it won't take long” She set down her drink on the table.

“Aren't you tired?” The thought of standing up was already draining him, let alone go back.

“Not when this banger is playing, but you can stay if you want”

Intern rushes back while Jean watches from the second floor, still with the promise in his mind and a dumb smile on his face. Then, the words “next time” echoed in his head and reality hit him.

In secret, he had been planning to leave the city after the Colombian deal was done. As much as he would've loved to run away earlier, he didn't want to leave Intern behind just like that. He finally found someone he could truly connect with, and now he had to be alone again.

A question occupied his mind. Will this truly be the last time they can be together like this?

The answer made his chest hurt but he couldn't stay for much longer. Even so, the thought of Intern wondering where he went or whether he’s okay, made the pain worse. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to let her know about his plan.

He was looking at the distance when he saw Intern waving at him, interrupting his thoughts.

“Fuck it, that next lesson has to be sooner” Jean stood up.

He pushed his worries aside and joined Intern on the dance floor once again. If this was their last time, then he'll make it worth it.

----------

The song that plays when Intern gets up for the first time is "Atrévete-Te-Te" by Calle 13 (Explicit Version). And the one when they are about to kiss is "Ahora Es" by Wisin & Yandel.

If you want more recommendations for similar songs, I'll leave a few (this is just an excuse to talk about my favorites song):

¿Qué tengo que hacer? - Daddy Yankee

Salió el Sol - Don Omar

Rompe - Daddy Yankee

Dile - Don Omar

El Telefono - Hector Bambino "El Father", Wisin & Yandel

Noche De Entierro (Nuestro Amor) - Hector "El Father", Wisin & Yandel, Daddy Yankee, Tonny Tun Tun, Luny Tunes

Ella me levantó - Daddy Yankee

[brighter-arda]

Non-SAM aromantic Nienna for day 3 of @aspecardaweek 🔵💙🤍💚🟢

Nienna as non-SAM because I think she had no wish to marry and decided that her love was given to the world and thought no more about it.

I chose silver fern for the final photo because their shape, koru, means new life and hope.

[image description: 10 images in blues, white and greens

1: white clouds, text 'Nienna' 'sister of the Feanturi'

2: ceiling of a blue mosque, text 'she dwells alone'

3: woman in black clothes and a black hijab on blue background, text 'she is acquainted with grief'

4: sunlight through trees, text 'and mourns for every wound that Arda has suffered'

5: green tinted supernova, text in a circle 'so great was her sorrow, as the music unfolded'

6: water surface, text 'that her song turned to lamentation long before its end'

7: waves on a beach, text 'and the sound of mourning was woven into the themes of the World before it began.'

8: same woman as before, with her arms lifted out. Text 'but she does not weep for herself;'

9: cropped, blue tinted image of Gandalf with text 'and those who harken to her learn pity'

10: fern fronds, text 'and endurance in hope']

[jester-showdown]

Jester Showdown: Round 2

art of beloved by heaartshaped

[ID: Two pictures on a split blue and red background. On the Right, Verence. On the left, a drawing of beloved wearing a yellow and red puffy-sleeved shirt. They are holding a scepter and looking to the right with a neutral expression. The drawing is surrounded by a yellow frame. Between them it says "VS" in flaming text /end ID]

reasons submitters gave for Why you should vote for each of the contestants

Verence

he is the ICONIC Fool from the meme "the Fool jingled miserably across the floor" he is pathetic and is the long-suffering minimum wage employee representation we all need. He sleeps on the floor, his boss threatens to kill him, and he has a useless degree from Clown College (real actual college in the story) KING SHIT ALL THE WAY

Beloved

The Fool is a jester in a court for most of the first trilogy and wears a black and white motley. He's witty, sarcastic and weird (he has a scepter with a dead rat on it named Ratsy). She's sometimes a woman named Amber and says that all the "plumbing" is not important.They're very private and we learn their real name (Beloved) 4 books into the series. They can see possible futures and wants to change the course of the world to make it better. He manipulates people and even his best friend Fitz in order to do that, but he feels very guilty about it. He's the most character ever and I love him.

[butchdogthing]

the entirety of the zine i mentioned in a prior post. in order: front cover, back cover, and pages 1-6.

image descriptions follow.

all pages are black text on white background. front cover has large text reading: OMG, did you know?...

back cover text reads: on Nebraska's LB 574, and the human rights of people like me.

page 1 text reads: on may 19th, 2023, a bill was passed in nebraska - LB 574, also known as the Let Them Grow act. the bill has two purposes: one, severely restricting access to abortions, and two, banning doctors from providing gender-affirming care to people 18 and younger. (and i do care about abortion access, but that's not what this zine is about.)

page 2 has a header reading  "what is 'gender-affirming care'?" and the remaining text reads: this refers to medical treatments which help transgender people to feel more comfortable with our bodies, and help us to be protected from violence by helping us blend in. this can include puberty blockers, hormone replacement therapy, and sometimes surgeries. most major medical organizations are in agreement that providing GAC to kids who want it is the best choice for their well-being, and causes MORE GOOD THAN HARM.

page 3 has a header reading "but it's not a big deal, right? i mean, so they just have to wait until they turn 19, so what?". under this, it says "how about a thought experiment:" and branches into two columns, with an arrow pointing to each. on the left: "WOMEN - how would you feel if you started growing a beard and moustache when you were 14, and your voice dropped? what if everyone called you sir?". on the right: "MEN - how would youfeel if you started menstruating & growing breasts at 11, and you never grew facial hair even when your friends did? what if everyone called you ma'am?" then the two columns both point to a paragraph below, which reads: what if there were safe, effective medications that could make this stop happening, but you couldn't take them until you turned 19? it probably wouldn't feel good. you might feel hopeless, even suicidal. that's what proponents of LB 574 are forcing trans kids to endure.

page 4 has a header reading "why should i care about any of this?", and the remaining text reads: because trans people are real people. because every adult was once a child. because our suffering is genuine suffering, too. we aren't just a hypothetical, we exist! i'm trans. my spouse is, too. i have trans relatives, even kids. my friends are trans. someone you know might be trans. there are trans people at the mall, at your doctor's office, at the bakery, in the car behind you in traffic, in school and in college, at the park, at your job... we're just people. we want to take care of our children. we want them to be HAPPY and SAFE.

page 5 has a header reading "ok, so what can i DO?", and the remaining text reads: well, a lot of people don't really know that these things are even happening. tell people about it. tell them what's happening to trans people and our rights. tell them how you feel about it. tell them you think it's wrong, and why. STAND UP FOR US. copy this zine, and give a copy to someone else, or leave it where someone can find it.

page 6 reads: you can go to this website or scan this QR code to get some resources. [here there is a QR code] butchdog.itch.io/574-zine the "download now" button, and you'll get access to 1) a .PDF file of this zine, so you can print and distribute your own copies, 2) a .PDF file with links to more information, and 3) instructions about printing your own copies of this zine.

end ID.

[kismetmoon]

‘I’m Atlas, and I aim to keep you alive.’

[ID: a digital drawing of four original Flatland characters - Liz, Atlas, Chief Jr. and 01 Isosceles.

Liz is a line creature who has a seven-point end with a white line to denote her mouth, which is her head end, and a five-point star on the other end of her body, which is her tail. Atlas is a light grey isosceles triangle with a beak-like mouth on his top corner, chips taken out of his top and bottom left corner and two scars on his side. Chief Jr. is a grey circle with a crescent moon marking, a beak-like mouth and a black crown on one of his edges. 01 isosceles is a dark grey isosceles triangle with a black line on his top corner to denote his mouth.

Atlas is in the bottom right of the scene, he is covered in his own blood and bleeding profusely from his various injuries to his corners and side, where the red blood is pooling. His mouth is turned into an open frown. Chief is to Atlas’s right. He has some small blood splatters around his beak and has a mortified, open-mouthed expression. Liz is above Atlas, her head is surrounded by a pool of blood with a blood trail in front leading back to her. Her mouth is turned down into a frown. 01 Isosceles is to Liz’s right, his top point with his mouth has been cut off the rest of his body. His mouth is a simple line devoid of any expression. There is some blood on the cut edges and it is heavily pooling between his body and decapitated top point.

The background is light grey with a slightly darker grey circle in the centre.

End ID.]

-

another drawing and explanation (which includes descriptions of assault, murder, threat and characters suffering from ptsd / anxiety attacks. warning here and now if you don’t like reading that kinda stuff) based off of something i wrote down on another of the character reference sheets :

[Plain text ID: a screenshot of some black text highlighted in white on a light cream background that reads as follows: “his chipped top point was caused by his first (and only) violent interaction with Chief Circle’s personal guard - a much more burly and aggressive isosceles than Atlas”. End ID.]

but instead i’ve changed it so all of Atlas’s major scars and the chips on 2/3 of his corners came from this other guard.

-

the attempted assassination had left Chief Circle’s personal isosceles, an unnamed guard who everyone has only ever heard of being referred to as ‘01 Isosceles’ (or just ‘01’ by Chief Sr. himself), incredibly stressed, paranoid and overly aggressive. it was his job - his ONLY job - to stop such an instance from happening. but he couldn’t. it had happened so fast. he was threatened for the slip-up by Chief Sr. (saying you’re going to off someone’s entire family is 10/10 motivation 🤩). this emotional build-up caused his violent and under-calculated confrontation with Atlas.

01 attacked in an attempt to split them apart after watching Atlas and Chief Jr. go into a secluded room together. to a not very lucid 01, it seemed that Atlas was luring Chief Jr. to a quiet spot so he could kill him and abandon his body where it wouldn’t be easily found. 01 was highly suspicious of everyone at this point, as the assassin hadn’t been yet found. Atlas didn’t know what was happening and tried defending himself and Chief, causing 01 to screech and cry out, alerting all surrounding servants and lower class guards to the scene.

in reality, Chief had wanted to get away from the flocking crowd of journalists in the courtyard asking about the recent attempted assassination on his father; he was the primary eye-witness. so Atlas took him to a quiet room to try and get him to calm down and catch his breath, as he was becoming overwhelmingly nervous and anxious.

as for why Liz was here, she’s almost always hanging around, or even inside, Circle Estate when she’s not at home, or in the city. (she’s mostly there to nick the fancy chocolate bon-bons they leave laying around or to eavesdrop on the staff’s gossip). which was extremely convenient for this situation, as she could hear the screaming from a few rooms down. Atlas would have absolutely died with just one more strike from 01 (who was getting ready to deliver the final finishing blow before Liz managed to slice his upper point off, effectively and quickly killing him).

but after the failed assassination on Chief Circle (although never being identified as a suspect), being seen covered in the blood of Chief Circle’s personal guard by several servants who arrived all too late to 01’s side was not a good look for Elizabeth. or anyone else in the room with her at that time…who were all also bloody messes at this stage (whether the blood belonged to them or not). only for the fact that none of the particular servants present had the full ability of sight recognition was Liz able to get away unidentified. again. but not without leaving a literal and figurative trail of blood behind herself…

[elysian-desire]

[Image ID: Black text on a white background that reads:

i exist despite your ableism

ryan h.n. — @elysian-desire

a priest gifted me a necklace ending with a cross when i visited his church at age ten. he put it around my neck.

i took it off.

and ever since, i’ve been bearing the cross on my back.

the priest gifted me a crown of thorns when he tried to hand me a bible because i refused to believe that there’s a kind god who makes me suffer so much.

i was taught that my pain is a necessary sacrifice to my own happiness,

even if i grew up with scoliosis and a tilted hip and ingrown toe nails and aching muscles and tonsils that made me sick instead of keeping me safe, and i knew—

i knew that none of it is my fault, and i was not punished to happiness.

but i was taught that there is something wrong in my brain, in my heart

for asking why god would do this to me—

when he loves me still—

and i am carrying my cross up a hill on which i hope to find an altar

so that i can cut into my own flesh and lay bare my every limb that god so loves—

even when he thinks there’s something wrong with it that will need fixing in heaven.

and so that i can bleed out on the same cross i was given when i stepped onto holy ground that burnt my feet the way god will burn my unfixed remains.

End ID]