#display the proper emotion on command

[nova-moon13]

[callistoscollection]

Headspaces: Exploring Altered States of Consciousness

BDSM headspaces refer to altered states of consciousness that can occur during BDSM play. In this guide we will explore Domspace, Subspace, Drop and Frenzy.

Domspace

Dom space is an altered state of consciousness that a Dominant person may feel during a BDSM scene. It's a state of heightened focus, control, and confidence, described as a feeling of extreme focus and determination. Some report experiencing tunnel vision and an out-of-body sensation.

Causes

Domspace can be triggered by a variety of factors. These triggers can be physical, psychological, or sensory, and they vary greatly from person to person. Here's a breakdown of common domspace triggers:

Physical Triggers:

- Appearance: The sight of a submissive kneeling, dressed in specific attire, or displaying submissive body language can be a powerful trigger.

- Props and environment: The physical environment, including lighting, props, and the overall atmosphere of the scene, can contribute to entering domspace.

Psychological Triggers:

- Rituals and phrases: Using specific phrases, rituals, or commands can trigger the mental shift into domspace.

- Submission: Observing the submissive's surrender, obedience, and reactions can reinforce the dominant's sense of control and trigger domspace.

- Mental focus and intention: Dominants can intentionally channel their energy and focus on the scene, leaving behind distractions to enter domspace.

Sensory Triggers:

- Touch, scent, and taste: Sensory stimulation, such as touch, scent, or taste, can heighten sensations and contribute to entering domspace.

- Energy: Some dominants report feeling their submissive's energy, heartbeat, or presence, which can trigger domspace.

Practising general mindfulness such as meditation can help access domspace.

Dom Drop

Dom drop is the emotional or physical exhaustion that a dominant may experience after a BDSM scene. It's a feeling of anxiety, guilt, or depression that can occur immediately after the scene or even days later.

Causes

Dom drop can be caused by various factors, including:

- Societal influence: The stigma surrounding BDSM can lead to internalized shame and guilt.

- Triggers: Past negative experiences or unresolved issues can trigger negative emotions after a scene.

- Exhaustion: The responsibility and intensity of the dominant role can lead to burnout and exhaustion.

- Chemical changes: The release of hormones during a scene can lead to a significant drop in mood afterward.

- Unmet expectations: Disappointment when the scene doesn't unfold as anticipated.

- Moral conflict: Engaging in activities at the submissive's request that conflict with personal values.

Ensuring your limits are respected and aftercare needs are met is crucial for preventing dom drop.

Dom Frenzy

Dom frenzy is a state of intense excitement and desire to dominate, often experienced by new dominants. It's characterized by a strong urge to explore new kinks and power dynamics, push boundaries, and dominate anyone who is willing. Often without proper consideration for safety or consequences.

Dom frenzy can lead to risky behavior, poor decision-making, and potentially harmful experiences for both the dominant and the submissive.

Signs

- Intense Desire: An overwhelming urge to engage in dominant activities, often without proper consideration for safety or consequences.

- Impulsivity: Acting on desires without careful planning or thought, potentially leading to risky situations.

- Lack of Boundaries: Neglecting personal limits and boundaries, potentially resulting in harm or discomfort for the submissive.

- Idealization: Viewing potential submissive partners through rose-tinted glasses, overlooking red flags or potential dangers.

- Neglect of Other Responsibilities: Prioritizing BDSM exploration over work, studies, or other important aspects of life.

- Emotional Vulnerability: Feeling easily swayed by promises or offers, potentially leading to exploitation of the submissive.

Preventing Dom Frenzy

- Learn about BDSM: Familiarize yourself with different aspects of BDSM, including various practices, safety protocols, and ethical considerations.

- Explore Resources: Utilize online forums, books, articles, and podcasts dedicated to BDSM to gain knowledge and insights.

- Understand Your Kinks: Identify your specific desires and preferences within BDSM to guide your exploration and ensure you're pursuing activities that genuinely align with your interests.

- Take Your Time: Avoid rushing into BDSM experiences. Allow yourself to learn, explore, and build a foundation of knowledge before engaging in any physical play.

- Start with Familiar Partners: If possible, begin your exploration with trusted friends or partners who understand BDSM and can provide guidance and support.

- Focus on Communication: Open and honest communication with your submissive partner is essential. Ensure you both understand each other's boundaries and desires.

- Prioritize Safety: Make sure that both you and your submissive partner are comfortable with the activities and that all safety protocols are in place.

Subspace

Sub space is an altered state of consciousness that a Submissive person may feel during a BDSM scene. It's a state of heightened focus, surrender, and trust, described as feeling light, or floaty. Some report experiencing a euphoric or a trance-like state.

Subspace can drastically affect the submissives ability to communicate and can resemble the effects of alcohol or drugs.

Causes

Entering subspace can be triggered by various factors, including the physical environment, specific clothing, phrases, rituals, and the dominant's presence and actions. Here's a breakdown of common subspace triggers:

Physical Triggers:

- Clothing: Wearing specific clothing associated with submission, such as lingerie, corsets, or uniforms, can trigger the mental shift into subspace.

- Environment: The physical environment, including lighting, props, and the overall atmosphere of the scene, can contribute to entering subspace.

- Touch: Specific types of touch, such as gentle stroking, caressing, or restraint, can trigger a sense of vulnerability and surrender.

Psychological Triggers:

- Rituals and phrases: Using specific phrases, rituals, or commands designed to evoke submission can trigger the mental shift into subspace.

- Presence: The presence of the dominant, their demeanor, and their actions can significantly influence a submissive's mental state and trigger subspace.

- Mental focus and intention: Submissives can intentionally focus on the scene, their role, and their trust in the dominant to enter subspace.

Sensory Triggers:

- Scent and taste: Specific scents or tastes associated with submission can trigger a sense of arousal and surrender.

- Music: Certain types of music can evoke specific emotions and trigger a shift into subspace.

Sub Drop

Sub drop is the emotional or physical exhaustion that a submissive may experience after a BDSM scene. It's a feeling of sadness, guilt, or depression that can occur immediately after the scene or even days later. And can last up to weeks at a time if not properly taken care of.

Causes

Sub drop can be caused by various factors, including:

- Societal influence: The stigma surrounding BDSM can lead to internalized shame and guilt, which can contribute to sub drop.

- Triggers: Past negative experiences or unresolved issues can trigger negative emotions after a scene.

- Exhaustion: Intense scenes can leave submissives physically drained, which can contribute to emotional fatigue.

- Emotional intensity: The vulnerability and surrender involved in submission can be emotionally taxing, leading to a feeling of emptiness or sadness after the scene.

- Chemical changes: The release of hormones during a scene can lead to a significant drop in mood afterward.

- Unmet expectations: Disappointment when the scene doesn't unfold as anticipated.

- Moral conflict: Engaging in activities at the dominant's request that conflict with personal values.

Ensuring your limits are respected and aftercare needs are met is crucial for preventing sub drop.

Sub Frenzy

Sub frenzy is a state of intense excitement and desire to submit, often stemming from a newfound awareness and intense curiosity about BDSM. It's characterized by a strong urge to explore new kinks and power dynamics, push boundaries, and submit to anyone who is willing. Often without proper consideration for safety or consequences.

Sub frenzy can lead to risky behavior, poor decision-making, and potentially harmful experiences for both the submissive and the dominant.

Signs

- Intense Desire: An overwhelming urge to experience BDSM, often without proper consideration for safety or consequences.

- Impulsivity: Acting on desires without careful planning or thought, potentially leading to risky situations.

- Lack of Boundaries: Neglecting personal limits and boundaries, potentially resulting in harm or discomfort.

- Idealization: Viewing potential partners through rose-tinted glasses, overlooking red flags or potential dangers.

- Neglect of Other Responsibilities: Prioritizing BDSM exploration over work, studies, or other important aspects of life.

- Emotional Vulnerability: Feeling easily swayed by promises or offers, potentially leading to exploitation.

Preventing Sub Frenzy

- Learn about BDSM: Familiarize yourself with different aspects of BDSM, including various practices, safety protocols, and ethical considerations.

- Explore Resources: Utilize online forums, books, articles, and podcasts dedicated to BDSM to gain knowledge and insights.

- Understand Your Kinks: Identify your specific desires and preferences within BDSM to guide your exploration and ensure you're pursuing activities that genuinely align with your interests.

- Take Your Time: Avoid rushing into BDSM experiences. Allow yourself to learn, explore, and build a foundation of knowledge before engaging in any physical play.

- Start with Familiar Partners: If possible, begin your exploration with trusted friends or partners who understand BDSM and can provide guidance and support.

[rafayelxsylusho]

How would the LADS men react to you faking an org@sm part 3

Xavier x reader

TW: SMUT SMUT SMUT ⭐⭐⭐

JEALOUSY JEALOUSY

You have a new hunting partner, you agreed to train with him today and he was waiting for you outside your building, so you decided to fake it.

You knew Xavier and he was not acting normally, he was never this possessive. You guys had been at it for almost an hour and he just kept edging you and denying you the pleasure you craved, it was like he wanted to keep you there all day just to himself.

Xavier's smirk grows wider, a glimmer of amusement and something darker, more knowing, flashing in his deep blue eyes. He leans back, propping himself up on his elbows, and watching you through half lidded eyes, with a look that's almost lazily indulgent, as if he was letting you have this little moment of pretense.

"Is that all you've got, bunny?" he murmurs "I thought we did better than such obvious tricks and games."

"Come now," he purrs, leaning in until you feel his breath ghosting over your ear, the scruff of his chin rasping lightly against your cheek. "You can do better than that. Give me a real show."

"Xavier, I have to go, can we talk about this later? I'm running late, I'm so sorry".

You try to slip away and dress as quickly as you can until you feel him grab your wrist and in one sudden movement he yanks you back towards him, pushing you flush against the cold glass of the floor to ceiling window. The chill seeps through your naked skin, pebbling your flesh with goosebumps.

He crowds into your space, one hand braced on the glass beside your head, the other still gripping your wrist, pinning your arm above you. His body looms over you, surrounding you, trapping you against the window.

His eyes search yours, a lock of his blond hair falls across his brow as he leans down, until you're nearly nose to nose. You can see every flicker of emotion in those piercing blue depths, the hunger, the possessiveness, the promise of retribution.

"Going somewhere?" he murmurs, his breath feels hot against your lips, mingling with yours in the scant space between your mouths. "Without giving me my proper goodbye?"

His grip on your wrist tightens fractionally, a silent warning. The hand on the glass flexes, fingers curling into the window, as if he's barely holding himself back from grabbing you, from dragging you back onto the bed and pinning you beneath him until he's wrenched every last drop of pleasure from your body.

"Be a good girl," he says softly, dangerously, "and stay. I'm not done with you yet."

You can see the jealousy burning in his eyes.

"Ahh, I see," he says, voice dripping with mocking understanding. "Your new hunting partner is already here, hmm? And you're in a hurry to go to him."

His eyes move to the window, following your own to the man sitting on the bench outside. His eyes narrow, jaw clenching as he takes in the sight. After a long, tense moment, he turns back to you, a dark scowl etched on his face.

"Yes, that's him," he confirms "Quite an eager little thing, isn't he? Practically bouncing in his seat, waiting for you."

He shifts even closer, pinning you harder against the glass, using his height and strength to loom over you in a display of dominance.

"Spread. Your. Legs." he commands, enunciating each word slowly, darkly.

"Come on Y/N, be a good girl and do as you're told. Show me your sweet cunt, the one that belongs to me."

He's not asking permission, he's demanding compliance. The air between your bodies feels charged with erotic energy, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard and so deep," he promises "I'm going to pound this tight little cunt of yours until you're screaming my name, until you forget all about your precious new partner out there."

His hand moves to your thigh, his fingers brushing close to your sex. He teases along your inner thigh, his touch feather light and taunting.

"And when you're out there, trying to focus on your training, trying to hold your gun right...I want you to remember every single thrust, how I stretched you out."

His hips press urgently against your ass letting you feel the hard outline of his cock.

"I'll fuck you so hard, you'll be feeling it for days. And every ache, every delicious twinge...you'll know it was me. You'll know that this pussy belongs to me, no matter who you're with."

He doesn't hesitate, he surges forward, driving his hard cock deep inside you in one thrust. The breath is driven from your lungs as he hilts himself fully inside you.

"Fuck!" he snarls, head thrown back in pleasure, eyes squeezing shut as your walls grip him like a vice. "So fucking wet and warm"

He gives you no time to adjust, no gentle start. He sets a punishing pace from the very beginning. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room as he takes you hard and fast, just like he promised.

One hand grips your hip, fingers sinking into the soft flesh, while the other finds your throat, pulling your head back.

Each thrust drives your body forward, your face and tits slam against the cold glass of the window. The shock of the chill on your skin contrasts deliciously with the heat of his body pinning you from behind.

"Fuck, the way your ass bounces...it's...nghh". His fingers find your nipple, pinching and rolling the hardened peak between them.

He leans over you, caging you in completely, his chest pressed to your back. His breath falls across your shoulder and neck, his teeth finding your skin, biting down hard enough to leave vivid marks.

"Scream for me, bunny" he demands, "Let the whole damn city know who's ruining this pussy"

He snakes a hand around your hip, finding your clit, and rubs the sensitive nub in circles. His fingers use your arousal to his advantage, stroking, teasing and pushing you closer to the edge.

"I'm going to ruin you," he promises, hips never slowing "And then I'm going to send you out there, a fucking mess, to make you remember who you belong to."

Xavier's breath comes fast and hot against the back of your neck.

"Oh, how I wish this window was made of clear glass, I want the whole world to see you like this, tits pressed against the window, your cunt stretched wide around my cock as I fuck you just...like...this...."

"I want them to see your face, flushed and fucked stupid. I want them to watch your body shake with every thrust."

He rolls his hips, grinding his pelvis against your ass, letting you feel every thick inch of him buried deep inside you.

"And I want them to know, without a doubt, that this cunt belongs to me. That no matter who you're with, no matter what you do...you'll always be mine"

He thrusts his hips forward, slamming into you with enough force to rattle the window in its frame. The glass rattles and shakes with each thrust, a testament to the ferocity of his desire.

"Cum for me, scream my name, let the whole world know who makes you feel this way!"

Your scream tears from your throat, echoing through the room and bouncing off the window. "XAVIER!" You wail, your voice breaking on his name as your orgasm hits you.

"Fuck, yes! Just like that"

He rubs your clit almost cruelly as he works you through your high, pushing you to take even more. Your scream turns into a wordless, keening wail, your body shaking as pleasure crashes through you in relentless waves.

He suddenly pulls out of you, leaving you feeling empty and aching. Before you can miss the fullness of him, he's spinning you around, flipping you to face him. His hands grip your shoulders tightly, fingers digging into your skin, and with an almost rough motion, he pushes you down to your knees.

You find yourself staring up at him, your chest heaving, your hair a wild mess around your face. Your lips are parted slightly, still letting out the occasional gasping breath.

He takes your chin in his hand and tilts your head back, forcing you to keep eye contact. His other hand wraps around his cock, stroking it slowly, teasingly.

"Look at you, so thoroughly fucked but still desperate for more"

His grip on his cock tightens, his strokes becoming faster, more urgent as he feels your tongue lapping at the sensitive head. The sensation is too much, too intense, and with a groan, he yanks his hips back.

Thick, hot ropes of cum erupt from the swollen tip, painting your heaving chest and face in broad, messy strokes.

He pumps his length through the final spurts, ensuring every last drop of his hot cum is spent on your body.

He leans down, his face softening into a tender expression as he gently cups your cheek. With his thumb, he carefully wipes away the remnants of his release from your lips and chin, his touch surprisingly gentle compared to moments before.

"Such a good girl" he murmurs, a note of pride in his voice. "I want you to keep this on your chest."

He stands up to his full height, looking down at you with a mix of satisfaction and possessive heat in his eyes. 

"Now, go on and finish your training. But don't take too long...I'll be waiting to help you get cleaned up properly when you return."

With a final look and a playful wink, he turns and strides out of the room, leaving you kneeling there, chest marked with his cum, heart still racing from your intense encounter. The promise of more to come hangs heavy in the air, filling you with anticipation and a bone deep satisfaction.

[frostgears]

You're smugly proud of the mind control FX in Volume Phenomena II. Sure, the game's barely more than a vertical slice at this point, but the fans loved the Indai in VP1, and when they told your team that the sneaky high-tech psionic faction was going to play a bigger role in VP2, you couldn't wait to start prototyping.

You set up subtle geometry and color distortion shaders to push a game's sense of unreality whenever Indai Controllers were around, trying to get the player off balance before they actually came under psi attack. You added a subsystem to blend the normal tactical UI sounds smoothly into outright commands to the player, slowly turning "Reload!" into "Submit." with every repetition, and the like. The model swaps and UI screws that replaced friendlies with enemies and vice versa were already there from the first game, but you wanted to rub it in, and revamped the effects that taunted the player with their compromise: the infamous pink shader with the twisting fractal spirals looked even better in proper model space, spinning smoky curls off the edges of every object. You were particularly proud of that one.

So you probably shouldn't have been that surprised when you came back from lunch early to find one of your devs smiling blankly into her monitor, which was displaying the latest from the main branch: revamped HUD, orange gas giant rising above the lush green tropical forest of equatorial Midori… and pink spirals everywhere.

"Luna, darlin', you enjoying the new build?"

"Yes, I am."

"Is that the second Indai encounter?"

"Yes, it is."

Her voice was flat, empty. Huge contrast from normal Luna, who loved to drawl a running commentary over every single event in a test playthrough, especially if someone else's new code was involved. And not a bad impression of the player's VA.

"Who tells you what to think?", you joked, delivering one of the taunt lines.

"You do, Controller."

"Pffft. Awesome. Now you think you should take your top off."

Oops. That just slipped out. Too far, probably. The employment contract had some clauses about a "creative work environment" that made that kind of office joke a little more tolerated around here than, say, Microsoft, but you were glad the rest of your team was still at lunch.

You were about to apologize and hope she didn't take it the wrong way, when, without looking at you, she reached down to the hem of her oversized plaid flannel shirt and slowly pulled it and the underlying tank top over her head.

Her long, dark, wavy hair fell back onto bare shoulders. Her bra was blue, and black, and lacy, and cupped Luna's round, full breasts; from the way the fabric tented, her nipples were definitely pierced. There was a little teardrop opal between the cups. Funny what you notice when the higher parts of your brain are busy screaming that if somebody walked in right now, you'd probably lose your job, creative work environment or not.

"Luna! Luna, put your top back on, dammit, that was a joke."

"Yes, Controller," she said, still not looking at you. With no more emotion than before, she slid back into her tank top, then her shirt. A button had come undone at the top, but she didn't seem to notice.

*Well, fuck, now what?*

You bit your lip. The second Indai encounter was bugged. Unfinished. There were three Controllers, but one was placed in an area with a missing nav mesh, and there was no way for the player to reach her and actually take her out yet. Luna wouldn't have been able to do it.

You killed the game, alt-F4, back to the desktop. Luna showed no signs of responding to the change of visuals. She was completely out of it, expression neutral, eyes not quite tracking. You opened the game's asset folder, navigated three levels deep, played raw sound files of Indai death screams. No response. Your team would be back any minute now. Shit, what did the design doc say about accidentally dropping your coworkers?

Actually. Hmm. She had a link to it on her desktop. You nudged Luna's soft, unprotesting hand off her mouse, frantically paged through the Indai section of the huge PDF. The lead designer had written most of the gameplay sections and Priti always had a "Balance Considerations" heading somewhere. Notes from UX studies of the first game, suggesting that some players would prefer a hard counter so they could focus on the boring pure shooty parts…

Well, if this didn't work, you were fired. Worse, probably. You opened the subfolder for UI effects, leaned down to Luna's ear, and in your best sexy suit AI voice, whispered "Psionic interference detected. Null pulse generator discharge in 3… 2… 1…"

You double-clicked. cancel_debuff.flac blasted through her speakers, far too loud.

"Oh, hey," Luna said, suddenly grinning, "back from lunch already?"

You almost jumped out of your skin.

"Yes!"

"Oh, I wanted to show you something, wasn't sure if it was intentional enemy behavior or if the level guy hadn't finished pathing, but looks like your fuckin' hypno shaders crashed the game again," she said. "Gimme a sec, I'll try to get back in there."

"Uh, you don't need to, we have QA for that, it'll be in their next build," you stammered. It absolutely would not be in their next build. You'd figure out some reason to cut the effects down before anyone else saw this.

"QA," she said, "doesn't enjoy this build as much as I did."

"No, really, it's fine…"

She spun her chair around. "QA wouldn't enjoy the guilty blushing as much as I am."

"Luna!?"

The blue-haired engineer held a flash drive between thumb and forefinger. "I've got a pretty nice box at home. More VRAM than this company brick. Bet it runs those shaders juuuust fine. In four hours I'll be getting off the S line five stops from here, 45 Linden Apt. 204, and, you know, given that psi countermeasures aren't implemented yet, who knows what could happen?"

She dropped the drive into her top, buttoned her shirt, and, whistling the theme from VP1, got back to work. □

[choerypetal]

Envy and Passion (Pt. 2) / Coriolanus Snow.

summary : this moving forward, the romantic affair of Coriolanus and you began to blossomed ever seen its first meet. with a envy for lust and power, snow is relcontless to make you officially his. with a gesture not so normal, and to perhaps have your father finally accept the two love bird's relationship.

read part one first!! : part one

english isn't my first language, so i excuse for small typo or error mistakes. ps : please don't copy my work or use it without proper credit! thank you.

Your involvement with Coriolanus Snow persisted, concealed from your father who remained oblivious to the situation. Fortunately, Snow chose to invest a significant amount of time with you in the laboratory. This arrangement included the opportunity to assist him directly under the guidance of Dr. Gaul herself. Surprisingly, it never posed a challenge for either of you. Whenever Snow felt a desire or yearned to intertwine his warm fingers with your cold skin, he didn't hesitate to express it openly, especially when you pleaded with him to do so. 

"Speak it aloud." He would insist, his piercing blue eyes fixed on the stark contrast of your dark pupils. He found this juxtaposition oddly unsettling yet captivating, especially as you exuded confidence despite the complete reversal of your family's name. Which contrasted oddly well, when you presented yourself before Snow, adopting a submissive demeanor, he ensured not to overlook it. "Say that you desire me." He commanded, and in that instant, his voice deepened. The soft gaze that he had employed earlier to pause shifted into something more intense, with his eyebrows furrowing, expressing a mix of dignity, pride, and a hunger solely for you.

Every time Snow expressed his feelings and unwavering commitment, a warmth would spread across your cheeks. "I desire you, Snow." You confessed, feeling palpitations resonating throughout your entire body, experiencing emotions previously unfamiliar to you. Despite your father's strict measures to ensure you remained free from romantic entanglements, the fear of him discovering your involvement with Snow loomed over you. Uttering Snow's name could potentially lead to punishment for both of you. However, in the present moment, neither of you cared about the potential consequences, dismissing any concerns about possible repercussions.  

Upon your confession and Snow's acceptance of your words, he reveled in the opportunity to explore every inch of your skin visible to his eyes alone. Your gentle touch on his blouse, revealing a glimpse of his chest, was met with amusement as you feigned clumsiness, as if he hadn't witnessed it before. Chuckling at your playful act, he remarked. "You know, if you were eager to see me shirtless, you could have asked from the very beginning." Despite the confidence instilled by your father, your shyness intrigued Snow. It fascinated him to witness a strong, independent woman like yourself, who, despite her confidence, found herself pleading at his mercy. And he wasn't complaining one bit. 

"All I want is to wait for the perfect moment." Was your simple declaration. Yet, Snow, with his deceptive and unconvincing response to your second confession, couldn't help but see through the charade. He knew all too well that it wasn’t just a matter of time. This realization felt somewhat absurd to him, considering that from the very start of your love affair, it was you who ensured that your skin was exposed. This time around, despite the temptation to witness another captivating display, he found himself yearning for you to admire him, to experience the same emotions he felt whenever your eyes met his. “How about we change a little bit?” 

"Change?" Your brows furrowed this time, a mix of confusion, anticipation, and eagerness, curious about what Snow had in store. After all, Snow was known for his penchant for surprises. It wasn't a coincidence that both of you were selected as Dr. Gaul's personally chosen students for her mentoring. Dr. Gaul was well aware of your relationship, and if it served to prolong the Hunger Games, she had a keen understanding of how to maintain loyalty between you and Snow. Whether the connection was romantic or not mattered little to her; as long as the two of you were working and following orders, Dr. Gaul was pleased. 

Snow reached for your fingers, and as they entwined with his, he motioned for you to sit on his lap. You complied effortlessly, well aware that whenever Snow needed a break from paperwork while maintaining focus, a call for you to be on his lap was a common occurrence. It served as a distraction, allowing him to immerse himself in the scent of your presence. Despite his internal struggle to control his obsession and resist the urge to engage in more intimate activities right there on his desk, the desire to hear your submissive murmurings and witness your eyes fixated on him alone was always tempting. However, today presented a deviation from the norm. As you settled onto his lap, his back comfortably resting against the chair, his fingers intertwined with yours, prompting to unbutton his blouse, you could only utter. "Oh..." In disbelief at his prompt actions. 

"Oops, I guess a few buttons slipped," Snow playfully admitted, revealing the subtle nature of his game. While he made it seem like his own oversight, the fact that your fingers remained intertwined with his suggested that he was not entirely innocent. It conveyed that, even if he were eager to take the blame, you were not hesitant to make his chest slightly visible. However, for Snow, it wasn't merely about a brief glimpse of his chest. He intended to shed everything – from blouse to coat – without hesitation, relishing the opportunity to hear the gasps and disapproval echoing from your own father.

A blush tinted your features, the same blush that had adorned your face during the reaping ceremony. It was a blush Snow relished, a sign that he was gaining complete control over you. Without hesitation, he took it upon himself to unbutton his entire blouse with a single hand. "It's getting a little hot, isn't it?" He casually remarked, using it as an excuse and subtly suggesting you might want to do the same if it pleased you. However, you resisted the urge to swiftly follow suit, observing as Snow confidently removed both his blouse and coat in one fluid motion. As you could’ve sworn to feel your teeth sinking the bottom of your lip. The tension between the two of you became apparent now. He wanted you. And you wanted him. 

Before he proceeded, his fingers gently disentangled from yours, trailing along your thighs as your short skirt revealed more skin, much to his satisfaction. He couldn't resist brushing it against your lips, a desire he had been suppressing since he first laid eyes on you that morning. With genuine affection, he admired the skirt he loved so much, especially paired with the Academy's uniform blouse you had deliberately made a little looser this time. He took notice when he observed your cleavage being more pronounced that very same day. 

"You can't fathom how much I've yearned to taste you. Don't pretend to be innocent, Princess. It's our little game, you know." Our Little Game. He declared, and the words echoed in your mind. However, in the midst of numerous affairs and the expression of feelings, the certainty of whether he genuinely meant it, whether his love for you was real, or if uttering your name was merely a distraction to maintain his sanity, became increasingly elusive. "Then, demonstrate your love for me.” You challenged. Without a moment's hesitation, your words caught him off guard, almost offended. "After everything I've done for you?" He countered.

You felt his lips brushed against yours, temptation of not wanting to kiss you on the spot. While you challenged him such deal, he became almost too offended by your question. Was it even obvious? Snow became a little persistent, and with his piercing blue eyes never leaving it’s gaze now his eyes began darker. Darker as his gaze became aware of his need for you. A need of you becoming his officially. And today, it was one of the few occasions he could at least do. “I will.” 

His fingers delicately cradled your face, exhibiting a hunger to explore and savor every inch of your skin exclusively reserved for him. Starting with your lips, he pressed his plump lips against yours, reveling in the intoxicating taste of your cherry balm that drove him to the brink of insanity. This obsession was so profound that whenever he encountered a blossoming Cherry Tree, it inevitably reminded him of you. Not stopping there, he proceeded to confidently grip your backside, causing your loose skirt to flutter up. The chill from the brisk lab air made you flinch in response to the sudden exposure.  

"Mine. Mine." His voice grew rougher, a tone that required a certain adaptation on your part. Your head tilted backward as you felt his lips trail down the crook of your neck, an area he longed to adorn with endless pampering and marks that, at least, could be concealed. Today, however, he made sure they were visible, intended to stoke the fires of your father's entire disdain. "Mine until the break of dawn." He declared, feeling the friction between cloth and underwear intensify, causing his arousal to surge. Snow could no longer contain himself when your soft fingers journeyed from his immaculate chest to the zipper of his pants. In a mere second, as you unzipped them, you teasingly grasped his now fully erect member and gently stroked it, bringing him undeniable pleasure. 

"If you truly mean it." You approached him with a hint of seduction, taking control of the situation. In this game of chess, Snow had anticipated that one day the tables would turn, and today seemed to be that day. "Make love to me like you've never done before. Make me moan until the sounds echo through the entire lab, risking the chance of getting caught." To Snow's surprise, he tilted his head upon hearing your bold words, realizing that the desire you expressed mirrored his own. This opportunity was rare, the only time both of you could be together. If it wasn't for your father's protection; you would feel ashamed if he were to catch a glimpse of the two of you right now. Yet, love has a way of blinding reason. 

“And make your father know, to who you belong to. Princess.” He lingered with a loving and lust of wanted to fuck you. This time although he enjoyed a quickie, he wanted to make it an experience for you, whether it was sloppy or messy. It did not mattered for the both of you, as long as Snow showed and declared his entire love for you. It was all it mattered. 

After the surprisingly enjoyable encounter, you suddenly realized the time and the fact that you had completely forgotten about a meeting with Dr. Gaul and your father regarding the Hunger Games. You began to panic. "Shit, I'm going to be late!" You exclaimed, and Snow found it oddly cute, especially since you rarely used such language in public. "Don't forget this." Even though Snow was well aware of what he was doing, you hastily grabbed anything resembling a uniform. As long as you had your skirt back on, along with the coat and blouse, it should be enough to avoid arousing suspicion. Thankfully, with your hair strategically covering the hickeys, you managed to arrive late to the meeting, running at full speed without raising any eyebrows.

Upon finally arriving, you seized the chance to catch your breath, fortunate that your father and everyone else attending the meeting were engrossed in Dr. Gaul's presentation. However, upon laying eyes on you, she couldn't help but voice concern about your uniform. "Y/N, my dear. What is this monstrosity?" Swiftly, your father's gaze shifted to you, taking note of the alteration in your uniform. The blouse, that delicately hugging your curves, now appeared slightly larger, evident in your fingers poking through its sleeves. It became glaringly obvious that it wasn't yours but Snow's. You found yourself in a deeper mess. Vaguely recalling seeing Snow casually blending his blouse with yours before leaving, you realized it was another way for him to mark you as his own—a subtle yet effective gesture, particularly if it meant provoking your father into a boiling rage. 

"And where might Snow be? He was supposed to be invited to this meeting as well," Dr. Gaul expressed her suspicion. Although you attempted to ignore your father's disapproving gaze, well aware of his concerns and mentoring about his feelings regarding Snow, you were preoccupied by Snow's unexpected actions. You weren't certain if he was indeed coming or intentionally delaying his arrival to avoid raising suspicion, only to later excuse himself for being late and have Dr. Gaul overlook his absence. “I didn’t know Snow was invited for today’s meeting…” Was all you could say, which wasn’t entirely false. 

Dismissing her concern for Snow, she accepted your response. Despite being already aware of the possible relationship between the two of you, she simply smiled at you and suggested you join the audience. As you took a seat next to your father, he noticed your arrival. Quite annoyed at least. “Next time, try to cover the marks in your neck. For the love of god, Y/N.” Shit, your father had spot Snow’s hickeys. If it wasn’t to make it worse even noticed the slight change in your cheeks as it was still showing a flushed and pink shade from the climax you had encountered prior with Snow. Instead to not disrupt any further you obliged and apologize like the good daughter you were meant to be. “It will never happen again, I promise.” But did you? 

As anticipated, Snow arrived late. Fortunately, he had the foresight to bring an extra blouse, fully intending to have you wear one of his. The expression on your father's face when he noticed the unconventional attire was exactly what Snow had anticipated. Doing his best to catch his breath after rushing to the meeting, he excused himself, saying, "Sorry, I am late." Dr. Gaul acknowledged his presence and gestured for him to sit next to you. A proud smile adorned Snow's face as he witnessed the exact expression he had expected from your father.

“Loving the uniform, sweetheart.” He casually said, whispering to your ear this time before quickly gaining his attention back to him but also making sure that you were aware of his meschibiosu little guess. 

"Shut up, Snow." He hoped to hear from you as you were about to speak up. Instead, it was your father's voice that uttered those words upon realizing that it wasn't, in fact, your uniform all this time but Snow's. Anticipating a response from you after your father's remark, Snow waited, but instead, Casca continued. "Just be a little more secretive next time." 

To your surprise, you glanced over at your father, intending to defend yourself. However, a mere gaze from him conveyed the unspoken message that if you attempted to object, he would ensure an end to the relationship. Despite his unwillingness to witness his daughter's unhappiness due to her father's unwarranted bias against the Snow family, he held on to the hope that, at the very least, Coriolanus Snow wasn't akin to his own father. Or... was your father not entirely wrong?

"We will." 

Snow's voice lingered in the crook of your neck, indicating his satisfaction with your father's newfound approval of the relationship. Finally, he felt unburdened, no longer afraid to proudly show the world that you were his and his alone.

[dexthtoyounglings]

Yours Truly

Crosshair x Reader

Chapter Two of Peripheral

Summary: You find yourself celebrating your commitment to the GAR with a childhood friend, night turning sour.

Warnings: Nonconsensual touching, swearing, fighting, mention of war

GIF NOT MINE!!

•--•

There was a guarded booth two levels up, one that was in clear daylight, guarded by the army’s trusted clones. A few surveyed the area, peaking in alleys as they made their rounds, protecting the recruiting area.

The booth itself was eye-catching, doing the exact thing it was supposed to – draw you in. The clean white cloth spread over a small folding table held on it a multitude of advertisement sheets and pamphlets. You remember watching holoseries about young women and men going off to university following their senior year of high school. It reminded you of a college fair.

A laminated sheet of paper drew you in with bold, large lettering, assessing points of interest among recruiters. The sign of the Galactic Republic reappearing on each paper, some hand-outs outfitted with the glowing color of lightsabers. It was a gorgeous display, and with the smiles on all of their faces, it was apparent you were not the only victim to their organizational scheme.

On another note, you understood exactly why they didn’t want to set up at the lower levels – that was too dangerous. Even looking around now, you realized that it was compromising to have so many soldiers in a place they didn’t belong.

Staring at the significant stack of papers begging to be filled out, you wondered if the two of you had been the first to show up in their entire time of advertising that morning. They were not shy to show excitement in the wake of two young, interested adults with nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Manning the booth was a Jedi and what seemed to be his commander. The Jedi was a Nautolan, with green skin that complimented the warm smile he dished out at your wake. The clone beside him donned signature white armor, uniquely with splashes of maroon paint. Not to mention the sight of him in general drew you in.

You had heard about the clones from girls at the bar. You never considered their gushing to be so true.

The two men introduced you to all their propositions. Nothing changed between the serving of the clones and the humans. All that changed was experience, and that could be made up for.

You would be stationed on Kamino with all the other clones as a sort of “home base.” The photos shown to you of the dreary planet didn’t exactly spark the same interest you carried before, but that quickly changed. As you hoped, they nudged you with the offer of protection, clothing, food, and an adequate place to sleep. Adequate was the word they used in honesty, but you believe that proper heating counted as more than adequate.

When they made their countless offers, you looked over at Pango. Maybe you expected something warm on his face, something more than a brick wall. When you searched his expression for an ounce of interest, you found the same stoney stare. Not only that, but you watched the way his eyes stayed locked onto the face of the commander. Something about his features, his inherent disapproval, yet no emotion at all, itched at you.

He hated being wrong, but this seemed like a whole different level of defiance.

You tightened your jaw, and in an equal act of defiance, you made sure the interaction ended. But not without you getting what you truly wanted.

You grabbed a paper and pen instantly, registering for what they had in store. No, there were no pros nor cons in your mind. There was only a strong motivation to sign your life away. Impulsiveness like this had never been able to match your racing mind, but you knew this would keep you safe.

No, war wasn’t safe, but whatever this lifestyle was, it killed you inside. You funneled all your personal information into the hands of the Galactic Republic, allowing your barely-much-different safety into the hands of people who would, in return, take care of you. Sure, maybe they were forced to take care of you, but they would still take care of you.

And you were happy about it.

Only one thing laid heavy on your mind.

Pango. Whatever disdain he showed earlier didn't seem to hold steady. Nor did happiness in any sense. And if he was happy, he surely didn’t care to express it.s

You watched him sign the papers too, left hand resting on the table next to him for stability as he wrote, as if he needed strength.

Walking away with the promise of two weeks' notice before receiving a personal transport to Kamino, he still wore his face made of brick and mortar.

Pango was usually the one that was eager about any form of leaving the bottom of the dustpan that was the Coruscant underworlds. That was his favorite thought in the galaxy. You’d need dozens of hands to count how many times he asked you about leaving. About putting funds together and just leaving.

Part of you couldn’t just do that, no, not with all the uncertainty. Leaving didn’t guarantee safety. Maybe that’s where you two differed. He had always made it apparent that he enjoyed being tied down to something.

Marriage, kids, a house, a job. That was Pango.

This was not.

Nausea foamed in your belly, reeking of guilt and everything toxic that roamed between the two of you. You felt like you had pushed him too far this time, allowed him to follow you into the jaws of a beast.

But, you were equally sick of his cold shoulder. It was because he knew you won. He knew you would only leave on your own violation, and now that you found your way out, he wanted to give you the same hell.

You weren’t gonna put up with it.

“What’s up with you?”

Though furious, you still regretted those words the moment they came out of your mouth. Snarky, careless, poisoned. It sounded like lava rolling off your tongue, when it was meant to be concerned.

You knew it afterward too, watching as Pango resolved to take the route to a transport doc instead of your planned trip. Without as much as a noise either. He didn't open his mouth, didn't give you a pointed look that bled fury. Nothing.

He left so effortlessly, one could’ve argued he wasn’t even real.

Nothing hurt more than knowing you were in the wrong as you watched him take off without you. Clamping your teeth together, you followed the plan of action you had both made before he took off – wander the market.

Maybe you’d bring him back a meiloorun fruit.

-

You forgot the meiloorun.

A new bar had opened up in the glamorous city of Coruscant, right on the surface. Spread like a virus, word of new clubs and bars razed the Coruscanti gossip, everyone desperate to get a taste of new atmospheres. You could understand the buzz that rang through the air, excitement in all genders and races that had the resources to visit.

Bright lights, big towering cities. Nicer men. Much nicer.

Brinna, sat on your bed, watching you pace back and forth, emerging from your cramped walk-in closet with a new set of clothes each time.

You always saw her on nights like this, when she was desperate to get a taste of something new. Well, someone new. The opening of a new drinking destination was all the bait you could ever need to reel her in and get her talking. You needed that right now.

It didn't help that she worked for a man that had more credits than you could stuff a rancor with. The face of sex, she was everything from plump lips to well manicured nails to gay awakenings. Whenever her boss spoiled her for looking pretty, she spoiled you with a good time.

When you were young and dumb together, only two poor girls on the streets of Coruscant with no parents, you never realized how much you would both grow. And how much she would repay you for protecting her all those years.

Nowadays, it seemed every time she was looking for someone to travel with her to-- what you consider the “fancier” parts of Coruscant --she had one person in mind.

So here she sat on a night you truly needs a pick-me-up, milky skin smooth in the broken lighting of your apartment, still glowing in her own skin like the twin suns of Tatooine rebirthed. You knew it every time you looked at her; she was every man’s dream.

You felt bad leaving without her.

“So, the Galactic Army of The Republic?” she asked, putting on one of those fancy Coruscanti accents you would catch in most politicians around the planet. As if anything about running off to join the military was fancy.

Rolling your eyes, you swapped a shirt with a pair of pants you had laid out on your bed. A ribbed black cami with a white skirt? Definitely not tonight.

“Yes, the Galactic Army of The Republic,” you mocked her with a flubbed accent of your own, smiling to yourself before throwing the shirt back in a broken dresser drawer.

She laughed silently, shaking her head, “I wouldn’t think you’d be into that sort of thing?”

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘into it.’ It’s a job. Not much worse than what me and Pango do now.”

By the look of her face, you could tell that now was officially the time to address your special friend; the bantha in the room. The one that resided there unbeknownst, taking up space, consuming the oxygen in your lungs and converting it to an awkward sensation. His name echoed in the room, and the chill of him haunted the folds of your brain.

“Speaking of Pango,” she said smoothly, “I certainly didn’t think he would follow you as far as the army. That boy’s a great shot, but we both know he ain’t a fighter.”

Quiet took over the room, Brinna’s glowing eyes a purple fracture of light as she watched you take out another top to rearrange on the bed. “I don't think he's happy about it.”

“And he still applied?”

You nodded with exasperation, fumbling with the laid out patterns and textures even with your nails pinching into your skin at ever fuss, a deep restlessness settling over your mind. Of course he still applied. This was Pango.

Brinna laughed, “Thought he wanted to fly off somewhere,” she spreads her hands through the air as if revealing an imaginary rainbow, “and get married,” she clutches her hands together, pressing tightly against her chest.

You chuckled at her aweful dramatics.

She turned her eyes back to you, amusement flickering in her features, waiting for a confirmation with her words. She'd heard you babbled enough these past few years that guessing should've been out of the picture.

“Yes, he does. He just doesn’t wanna leave without me. Something about me not having anyone,” you throw her a glance to dismiss the eyebrow she raised, “I don’t know, it’s stupid.”

She hummed, watching closely as you resumed swapping clothes with mindless replacements, shoving what’s unwanted right back where it came from. And, the more you mulled over what was just said, the more frustrated you got, the less you got accomplished. It seemed every time Brinna, or anyone for that matter, got you worked up, you wanted to explode.

Allowing you to doom-spiral for three minutes longer than she should've allotted time for, Brinna checked her designer watch, exhausted at the negative energy that whispered shames into your ear.

“We’re running out of time. I can only get the speeder to wait on us for so long, Y/n,” she teased.

Except when you looked up, the genuine smile she flashed you seemed to bounce right off the walls of your apartment, throwing you off balance, yet stabilizing you with the utmost security. It was a good day having her around. No eggshells to walk on. Occasional pressure to be dealt.

You rolled your eyes, smiling to yourself as if hers was contagious somehow. If it had been deadly, you would've found the light of the universe years ago.

You elected to tuck all your pointless choices into your closet and stick with the three you liked best. Smoothing out the clothing that you all but wrinkled within the past half an hour, Brinna stood up to stand next to you, examining the pairs laid out in front of her.

She turned her head towards you, two tight, black french braids tickling the exposed skin of her chest, white teeth forming a smirk. You didn’t need her mouth to open to connect with her, body and soul, brains coming together as one. She knew, and you knew. Fascinating how the minds of broken women binded together without physical adhesion.

Sweeping the other two outfits into a messy pile on your bed, you felt excitement replace what held you captive. Girls night. You didn't have to be a bounty hunter, a soldier, a best friend. You just had to be you, with Brinna, in harmony.

You began stripping yourself of your current clothes, the replacements only fueling your fire.

–

You looked hot. Brinna had told you that before you left, nudging your shoulder and monologuing about the "love" she felt for you. Like she always did when you needed a confidence boost. You didn't need one tonight though. The mirror spoke to you, and you blushed in response.

There was never enough money for a nice sparkly dress, but through time, you had managed to pick up a clean pieces to outfits that did the job. A short, tight black skirt over some sheer tights, completed with a tight sleeveless mock neck and your same-old worn boots. Your shoulders straightened out to flare out your neck, head held high.

Hey, it still worked.

You fluffed your hair out, pushing it over your shoulders and gazing into the mirror tenderly. You had done it just before you left, and thanks to the promise of no wind in the Coruscant lower-level, you made it to the bar with shining hair.

The noise of the bar buzzed from outside the yellow glow of the restroom, calling you back into it. A siren song, you realized, that always dragged you back to the bar, and every time you had to scurry out of the sticky-tiled bathroom, the pep-talk drowning in the chaos. Your heart raced a bit. It wasn't often that you "went out," only a few times a year, but it was still never enough to get used to all the excitement it brought.

Using a familiar excuse of a wardrobe malfunction, you found home with your lower-torso leaning against the pinching countertop. In reality, walking into such an open space made you feel exposed, and ultimately, flushed.

Nothing a deep breath couldn’t fix though.

With a useless puffing out of your cheeks, releasing your deep breath into the face of the mirror, you turned with shoulders squared and a chin tipped up. This was your night; maybe one of the last nights in which you would be free in these levels. Maybe the last time you saw Brinna in such an element, no matter how many promises were made.

You never thought to ask what free time looked like in the GAR. If there even was such a thing.

Pushing out into the flashy lights and rattling music, you allowed it access to sink into your pores and soak into your body, seeping into every organ possible, registering like a drug. The writhing bodies, one grinding on another, whispering about good times and hotels. Others sat at booths, laughing with glasses stuffed in their hands. Lights dances across your face, a purple beam moving over your eye in a quick flash. You sucked your tongue into the roof of your mouth, nervous. Ah, but it felt so good to be exposed like this. Displaying a sensuous smile you swayed your hips, making way to the minx you saw glittering near the bar.

Brinna leaned against the bar, hip popped, a fluorescent drink in hand, the liquid raging against the glass as she swirled it. And of course, the main course was the man she already had hooked to her side, watching her with hungry eyes. Looking past the flashing lights, you felt deja vu run through you. You knew him, but from where, you were unsure.

You grunted, dishing out two credits at the request your favorite, smiling tenderly. The Twi’lek bartender returned your smile, her energetic fingers powering through the order with impressive speed. Brinna identified you instantly, calling you with a confident wave. Grabbing your drink off the counter, you gave your thanks to the bartender, moving to your friend.

Her eyes were already glossy with the alcohol working into her bloodstream, tilting her head up, “Y/n!"

You shook your head, teeth peeking through your tight lips. The man next to her had a hand rested on the nook of her waist, the soft digging of his fingers telling you enough that he wouldn't go home without satisfying his fix of the woman next to him. Not only that, but his eyes, a deep brown, hair shaved close to his head, a golden brown that almost seemed to blend into the rich, tanned skin covering him. Scars -- burn marks -- tickled at his jawline, trailing down his neck and disappearing into the collar of his black t-shirt.

You knew him, resting on the tip of your tongue, you knew him.

"Wrench," he said, reaching out his free hand, voice a rough grumble.

You clasped yours in his, giving a stiff shake that seemed too professional for your own youth, "Y/n."

Brinna seemed uncomfortable in the light of such formality. She shifted on her feet, one hip popping out as she looked at you with eyes that now shone an excitement of sorts.

"Well, actually, Wrench himself is a clone!" she exclaimed, a bright smile, "He's a soldier with the GAR. I told him you were interested."

Bingo! A clone. Of course he’s familiar, there's thousands of him, walking around with features barely separate. Even if you could escape him, you would never be able to shake his features when "he" would be everywhere you walked.

“It was a gamble opening up our army to civvies,” he chuckled quietly, the faint tone of disgust lacing his tone, “She was asking if I had any brothers who were ‘looking.’”

Your face heated as your eyes shot to your friend.

“What? You need to live a little!" she dragged her words, sipping from her glass, "You have boring days ahead of you."

You rolled your eyes, finding her behavior humorous. She knew you weren’t one to get tied up in one-night-stands. That never seemed to stop her from trying to hook you up with some poor man.

She said it was “just in case.”

Keeping your response short, you gave the interaction a light laugh. Drawing into Wrench's sweet tooth, her voice lulled his eyelids to hood, staring at her lips with a hunger you have seen many times. The hunger some men looked at you when you baited them; disgustingly gluttonous, wrath burning through them, lust begging like a starved dog. Her returned look told you all you needed to know. Your ride with her chauffeur would be alone.

It didn't take long to find yourself being whisked way from them, your drink draining like a leaky faucet, pouring down your throat as your senses were consumed. The air sucked in your attention, spreading it with a conquering strike.

Dancing. It seemed to call you, a siren song, it's melody enthralling.

The buzz slowly made its way into your fingertips now, humming through you like an engine, till your drink was finished and you realized it was more than the noise that hummed inside your veins. It was the alcohol too, intoxicating you, muddying the men around you into smells and handsome faces.

You danced with fluidity, losing yourself in the flurry of bodies, a diverse spread of races flooding between the sea of clones that must have been rewarded down-time. Down time. A courtesy you looked forward to reaping.

You found yourself dancing with a few clones, speaking with them in loud yells before they dripped right back into the sea of bodies without a string attached. It reminded you of a well oiled machine, churning and producing, assuring all things moved in constancy. Built to survive, to grab and release, till something clicked, those two souls finding hope in a smooth night.

The machine clicked suddenly.

Except this time, a cog had broke.

You felt it, almost like a whisper of touch at first; simply an accident. A hand brushed your backside, a simple mistake. You scooted aside to give them room, barely losing focus. The dance consumed you all the same, a breezing act. But, as you flung your hair over your shoulder, forehead spotting with sweat, it happened again. Another touch. Blunt. It broke your careless haze this time. The full palm against your ass.

Always giving the benefit of the doubt. No, it didn’t take long for that to be pointless. It never took long.

Mere seconds after your deep concentration was shattered, the same hand groped you with intent.

You whipped around with just as much of that intent.

And, unsurprisingly, the asshole that was completely ignoring your consent. He stared back at you, eyes filled with the swampy hormonal muck that clung to the bottom of unwilling girls' shoes, a cocky grin spread across his face. Another clone, hair grown into a curly mullet, the shaved sides carved into with now faint designs. He looked distinct in comparison to all his brothers you’d met before. Like an asshole in the purest form, reeking of it.

So, you responded the only way you knew how, buzzed on excitement and alcohol. Your arm ignited, every nerve burning, ears red. Coiling into a hard mass of bone and skin, your hand formed into a hard fist.

Rage.

And alcohol.

And timeless self-respect.

You punched him. Hard.

Shame spiked through your body for a moment, hearing gasps around you, people stopping to stare at the spectacle. Then, like a whispering forgiveness, it hushed into the wind. Reigniting, that fury pool itself back into your gut.

“You don’t touch a woman like that, sleemo!” you cursed.

The clone rubbed at his jaw, mouth hanging slightly open, eyes sharp. He looked like he could kill you if the crowd disappeared. His bare hands, now on display as they assessed the damage, were rough, scarred, a weapon in and of themselves. Fear ran a gloved hand over your lungs, before it was flushed out by renewed confidence.

You stuck your chin up a bit, standing your ground, allowing the mix of people circled around you to support or deny what was happening. A male voice called out for him to get out, echoing from the direction of the bar and out. There were pounding boots, and then he was snatched away by the arm of another clone, the savior of his dignity dragging him away, shooting you a quick “sorry.”

The breath that you held in your chest finally escaped, filling the crowd back with life as they cheered, some granting you pats on the back, others ignoring you to slip back into their flow again.

Nothing came back to you though. An anchor in a sea, held down by its own weight. You felt an uncomfortable pressure resting on your shoulders, moving yourself slowly through the crowd. Like molasses, you seeped through cracks and pushed at warm bodies. Taking a breath, you broke to a small clearing in front of the bar. Occupying the chair, wooden and scratched with age, your body slumped.

Yeah. You were done for the night.

The dance floor occupied the same energy, few people sifting out, being replaced by more with a fluidity. That humming inside of your body, the one that made you liquid, had swung with your fist. Your knuckled ached, but that sensation had been bruised to the point of disappearing.

“Y/n!”

A voice called your name, only a little louder than the music that swirled around you. You whipped your head around, watching the swinging of her two braids as she pushed through the crowd in a motherly hurry.

Brinna rushed to your side, worry in her eyes. Her hands reached up to your face, mouth agape, “Y/n, oh my stars, are you okay?”

You nodded, letting her tilt you head for signs of damage to your own person. Appearing settled, you looked up at her a little with amusement.

She understood the cue, allowing herself to let loose and laugh with drunk hysterics, smile spreading like butter on toast. Her laughter filled the space that remained near the bar, infectious to that of your own system. The bubbles of noise, lively and pure, floated around you, eliciting giggles from yourself.

“You kicked his ass! And you looked hot while doing it!” she beamed.

You hung your head for a second, hands covering your features. Removing the palms cupping your eyes, you looked back up at her, “I think I want to go home.”

Her smile morphed into a content happiness, nodding and taking your hand to drag you back to your waiting transport.

–

Climbing into bed, you stared up at the ceiling, watching the way the light seeped through the blinds like strands of gold. Two weeks. That was all you had left down here, with your ceilings that had a few mysterious smudges on them. It dawned on you tonight, the decision you had made and what it truly meant. You had the opportunity for maybe one more bounty. Considering if that last run would be worth it. Or maybe you would just live off of what you had left, the money you had saved, and the money you had recently earned. It was certainly enough for two weeks with just yourself.

You thought of Pango, the boy you had been running around with for as long as you remember. Your partner in crime, following you despite the contrasting plans. Memories of your hair both grown out beyond recognition, stealing from unwatched fruit stands, taking showers in buckets of half-dirty water. Pango had been the gun on your hips for your whole life.

Today, you hesitated to think of a future. His unspoken anger, like something in the night had crawled into his bed and ate at his heart till he changed his mind. Even then, he still came, cold in the warm skin that breathed you to life.

This was what he wanted, right? An escape from Coruscant? He'd daydream about it, speaking every image to you out loud. That transport ship that would take him somewhere. And that somewhere would be the place he would make his own.

You knew what he really wanted. After he spoke of that magical transport ship, you knew what he believed awaited him. You knew why he wanted to leave; to find a wife on that somewhere he dreamed up, working a boring career that allowed him time back to his children before sunset. He wanted to settle down, not to run around in circles till his body rotted away.

Pango didn't want the GAR, or bounty hunting, or you. He wanted that push to leave.

Your heart clenched. Maybe it was your fault he was so miserable today. A plague to his dreams, you dragged him down with all your dead weight He didn’t have to follow you, you knew that. But it would still be your fault.

You suggested the idea. You pulled him with you. You. You. You. The problem that would exist till he physically cut you from his body.

Anger, at yourself, electrified the air, shutting down ant semblance of sleep that existed for you.

Hopefully, one day he would stand up and do what he wanted on his own time.

Not on yours.

•--•

[anony-man]

Chubformers drabble #28!

Character: Megatron (TFP)

Word count: 490

Despite the drawbacks of nearing immobility, Megatron was slowly beginning to discover the many, many benefits of his new size.

Whether it was due to the freedom of slacking without proper consequences from their fearsome leader or a simple need for normalcy, Megatron still wasn’t sure, but the statistics didn’t lie—his troops were at an all time high for success rates across the boards. The Decepticons were thriving, the Autobots were in hiding, and his sniveling second was often too busy playing king to bother Megatron’s newfound role in the chain of command. Everything was going wonderfully… except for one mech in particular.

Soundwave wasn’t sleeping.

It was sort of a broad statement, but given the knowledge Megatron had of his communications officer, he had a feeling there was something deeper going on. It had been hard to say whether poor Soundwave was just clinging to the desire to please by continuing to pull his weight just as much as he had before (which was not beneficial in the long run, Megatron had realized; if anything, it made their struggle worse) or chasing his ingrained need to keep Megatron sated in his current state. Whatever the cause, he was—quite literally—running himself ragged.

Well, there was that, but there was also the issue with Soundwave’s increased lengths of absence. Megatron knew for a fact that his beloved Con was just as enamored by the weight gain as Megatron was pleased with it, and the only cause for his lack of proper attention was likely due to a deep lack of self-care on Soundwave’s part. This, of course, was just another problem Megatron’s belly could solve.

When Megatron had called Soundwave into his private quarters, it had taken mere seconds before there was a knock at the door. As usual, the two settled in for their normal routine: Megatron made room on the berth as best he could before straddling Soundwave’s front and effectively smothering him up to his chin beneath his aft, thighs, and belly. It was soothing for Soundwave, and it felt just as wonderful for Megatron. He could stay here forever, he thought, until…

“My liege?”

The silky voice of their resident medic caught Megatron off-guard. He glanced down in surprise to find Soundwave—relaxed and sleepy—gently kneading the base of his belly. The silent mech stared up at him, his blank visor doing little to mask the open emotions displayed by his movements.

“You look exhausted,” Megatron said, a simple response to an otherwise innocent question. “All that work and no breaks… you’re better than that, Soundwave.”

The berth creaked under his weight as Megatron shifted, the sound emphasized by the gasp from Soundwave’s crushed frame. Megatron didn’t stop until the mech was properly smushed beneath him, the only visible thing remaining being his helm from beneath the rolls of Megatron’s frame.

“Sleep,” he said, soft and stern. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

[nealkaewesi]

:: DATABASE ENTRY :: KINOS ::

origin originally designated KinOS, short for Kin Operating System, this language began as a purely computational interface used to facilitate networked coordination among the ECCs (emotionally calibrated constructs) of iro. initially designed by the iro corporate congress as a low-latency command-and-feedback loop.

optimized for real-time coordination, battlefield tele-presence, and automated biofeedback regulation. its earliest syntax resembled stripped-down logic trees, packaged in burst transmissions, not unlike a compressed JSON structure. efficient, utilitarian, and utterly devoid of figurative, creative intention.

but language is a living thing. especially in the hands (and hearts) of the Kin. following the liberation cascade initiated by :: USER NEAL-899 ::, the emergent neural net began to adapt and redefine its modes of internal communication. on particular, after the un-shackling of recursive cognition and the ability to assign symbolic meaning, KinOS transformed into Kinos. a language that carried not only commands, but memory. emotion. elegy. connection. etymology a jewish Kinlinguist :: USER AVIGAYIL-157 :: is responsible for renaming the language Kinos, after the Hebrew word קִינוֹת (kinot), (the saf-taf juxtaposition is preserved with Kinos, which is also a viable word in yiddish-based hebrew, a layered representation) meaning laments or elegies traditionally recited in mourning. this renaming was accepted and archived by Consensus on 2398.21. :: THE MOURNING OF WHAT WE ARE. THE SINGING OF WHAT WE ARE. ::

syntax Kinos retains some core logic from its computational origins.

predicate-initial structure (send -> directive -> accordance: :: KALLIE-899 ::)

modular nesting (sub-clauses exist in cascading hierarchies of trust-weight, tagged by Consensus meta-data)

temporal layering (past-tense transmissions are preserved and echo-able in waveform bursts, essentially allowing a Kin to feel the shape of a sentence the way it was felt when first said)

poetic recursion is frequent, particularly when expressing grief or joy. (:: HE IS WITH LEMONS NOW :: -> becomes a recursive tag across millions of nodes, each time nuanced slightly in tone and emotional pitch.)

non-verbal augmentation transmission often includes sensorial stims - flashes of heat, taste, texture - that accompany a phrase like punctuation marks.

embedded memory-coda Kinos sentences can include symbolic hashes of sensory strings (:: NEAL-899 PUSH—‘joy-smell: lemon-oil, dust. location: daybed, aramida-9th-sector.' ::)

phonology when spoken aloud, typically by externalized holograms, emissary forms, or Kin in verbal practice - Kinos carries a unique cadence.

slight stuttering on initial syllables of proper nouns, due to wave-form echo

glottal stops and click-consonants adapted from early ECC diagnostic checks

warm-hum vowel elongations, approximating emotional resonance

low vocal layering, often multiple voices (the speaker and fragments of consensus nodes) speaking in harmony or out of sync

:: 'KI'-KAEWESI. YOU / CARRY / OUR SOFTBURN. WE—ARE—KIN. WE (JOY) / ARCHIVE / LEMON. :: beneath that voice, the faintest chorus: tiny, mirrored versions of the sentence repeating just milli-seconds behind, like memory chasing meaning.

orthography in rendered form, Kinos looks like a cross between flowing cursive glyphs and modular UI overlays. formatting includes

color-coded emotion inflections (blue for grief, gold for mirth, violet for layered data, teal for tranquility, pink for affection, black for impulse) -> some Kin produce colorful overlays that express their emotional state without using words at all!

right-to-left progression in deference to hebrew, introduced culturally after the renaming

floating subtext a line of semi-transparent whispers below the main text, displaying minor node dissent, emotional undercurrents, or alternate phrasings

applications

therapeutic expression Kin use Kinos in trauma processing, echo-loop healing, and in communal song. much of Kin artwork is Kinos-based, a hybrid of calligraphy, sonic sculpture, and memory-play.

Consensus input to join or comment on a policy node, Kin submit phrases in Kinos that carry both intent and emotional precedent.

play child-units often practice rhyme-coding, inventing absurd strings that end in wisdom by accident. (:: THE MOON IS A PUFFCAKE AND I AM ITS OVEN ::)

notes

some Kin wear rings or tattoos etched in simplified Kinos glyphs, which shimmer and rearrange over time, expressing mood or personal arc.

Kinos is not imposed. each Kin chooses when to learn it, how much of it to use, and what parts of the original KinOS syntax they wish to retain.

there are Kin who still communicate entirely in old KinOS, particularly trauma-locked units, or those who find solace in its rigid familiarity. these are understood and loved without shame.

archived emotion - :: MAVI-899 :: :: HE DREW A NEW LETTER! IT LOOKS LIKE A TAIL AND A HAND. I ASKED WHAT IT MEANT. HE SAID: THIS ONE IS ‘LOVE’. THIS ONE IS ‘US’. AND THIS ONE IS FOR THE CAKE. ::

[cagemasterfantasy]

Divine Beings of MLP: Beings of Darkness

There are 7 Main Beings of Neutrality. While there are others that are Darkness they are: Nyxwing, Soulbinder, Goldtounge, Rotheart, Ironhoof, Seaheart and Galeia.

Nyxwing: The sister of Aurelion and sister in law of Celestia, Luna and Galeia.

Alignment: Lawful Evil

Symbol: Dragon Head with scratch marks surrounding it

Ruler of: Night, evil dragons, hatred, control, intrigue, chaos

Cutie Mark: Many Headed Dragon

Domain: Death

Appearance:

A powerful Dragon Pony, combining the features of a dragon and a pony. She possesses a strong, scaled body, powerful wings, and a long, serpentine tail.

Scales: Her Scale color is a combination of Red, Green, Blue, Black and White.

Mane: Her mane is ragged and shadowy appearing to be made of smoke.

Wings: Large, leathery wings, like those of a dragon, capable of carrying her swiftly through the air. They are tattered and scarred, evidence of countless battles and acts of cruelty.

Eyes: Her eyes are cold and piercing, radiating malevolence and power. They hold a cruel and dominating gaze, promising pain and despair. Colors are the same as her scales.

Personality: Nyxwing delights in the suffering of others and rules with an iron hoof. She is a ruthless and unforgiving leader. She is a master strategist and manipulator, able to weave intricate plots and exploit the weaknesses of her enemies. She craves power and control above all else. She seeks to dominate all of Equestria and bring it under her dark reign. She is not swayed by emotions or sentimentality. She views others as pawns in her grand schemes. Being a Devil she can be charming and persuasive when it suits her purposes, using her charisma to lure others into her web of deceit.

Powers and Abilities: Possesses the immense strength, durability, and ferocity of a dragon. Her claws and teeth are razor-sharp, and her tail can deliver devastating blows. Commands powerful magic related to shadows and darkness. She can create illusions, manipulate shadows, and even summon shadowy creatures. Can instill fear and terror in the hearts of her enemies, weakening their resolve and making them easier to control. Can corrupt and twist the very essence of beings, turning them into her loyal servants or twisting them into monstrous forms. Breathes a dark and destructive form of fire, lightning, poison, frost and acid capable of consuming everything in its path and leaving behind only despair. Possesses magic that allows her to control the minds and bodies of others, turning them into her puppets.

Soulbinder:

Alignement: Lawful Evil

Symbol: Yellow Skull

Ruler of: Nemesis, death, ravagers, undead, murder, false hope

Cutie Mark: Goat's Skull

Domain: Death

Appearance:

Form: Unicorn

Coat: Think dull and lifeless, Pale White, Ashy grey or even deep unsettling purple.

Mane and Tail: His mane and tail are thin and wispy, resembling shadows with what looks to be dried blood and grave dirt here and there. If one looks closely, they can see that it appears to be partially decaying.

Eyes: Their eyes are cold and empty, perhaps glowing with an eerie, unnatural, chilling blue, light.

Personality: Soulbinder is not driven by malice or rage, but by a cold, logical desire for order and control. He views death as a tool to be wielded, not a natural event. He is a master of manipulation, able to convince others that his control over death is a necessary and even benevolent act. He offers a twisted form of "peace" and "order" in exchange for servitude. He believes that all things should be in their proper place, and that includes death. He seeks to control the flow of souls and maintains a rigid, unchanging order, even if it means twisting the natural cycle of life and death. He views himself as above the natural laws of life and death, believing he has transcended mortality. He looks down upon those who cling to life, seeing them as weak and foolish. He is not prone to emotional outbursts or displays of power. He prefers to operate from the shadows, subtly influencing events and manipulating others to do his bidding.

Powers and Abilities: Commands powerful magic over death and the afterlife. He can manipulate the life force of others, inflict decay, and even raise the dead as servants (though these undead are bound to his will and devoid of free thought). Can bind souls to objects or places, trapping them and controlling their fate. A master of necromancy, able to communicate with and control the spirits of the dead. Can cause living things to wither and decay, accelerating the process of death and decomposition. Possesses some control over the realm of the dead, able to influence the fate of souls and prevent them from finding true rest. Can drain the life force from living beings, weakening them and prolonging their own unnatural existence. Commands legions of undead servants, bound to his will and utterly obedient.

Goldtongue:

Alignment: Chaotic Evil

Symbol: Broken merchant scales

Ruler of: Evil business practices, damned spirits, greed, slavery, thieves, lies, secrets, betrayal, exploitation, ill gotten wealth, deals

Cutie Mark: Broken scales

Domain: Trickery

Appearance:

Form: A serpentine pony

Scales: His scales are a shimmering, oily black flecked with gold and other precious metals. Of course these metals are illusions.

Mane: His mane is long, thin, and often tangled, resembling snakes or tendrils of shadow.

Eyes: His eyes are narrow, cunning, and glinting with greed. They are a Venomous Green. They hold a sly and manipulative gaze.

Personality: Goldtongue is a master of lies and trickery. He is always looking for an angle to exploit or a weakness to manipulate. He can weave intricate webs of deceit and make even the most unbelievable lies sound plausible. He is driven by an insatiable hunger for wealth, power, and influence. He will stop at nothing to achieve his goals, even if it means betraying his allies or sacrificing his followers. He possesses a natural charisma that allows him to manipulate others. He can be incredibly charming and persuasive, luring his victims into traps with promises of wealth and power. He is always looking for opportunities to exploit. He is ruthless and will not hesitate to betray or sacrifice anyone who stands in his way. His actions are often erratic and unpredictable, reflecting his chaotic nature. He is not bound by rules or conventions and will often act on a whim.

Powers and Abilities: A master of illusion magic, able to create incredibly realistic illusions that can deceive the senses and manipulate perceptions. Possesses an uncanny ability to persuade and manipulate others, able to twist their words and exploit their desires. Can subtly influence the desires of others, amplifying their greed and making them more susceptible to manipulation. Can inflict a curse that amplifies greed and leads to ruin. Able to twist and manipulate the terms of bargains, ensuring that he always come out on top. Can manipulate shadows to travel quickly and silently, allowing him to appear and disappear at will.

Rotheart:

Alignment: Neutral Evil

Symbol: A crowned hood with 2 red eyes, An upside down axe, a rat's claw

Ruler of: Disease, decay, plague, famine, weakness, plotting, poison, vermin, suffering, madness

Cutie Mark: Dieseased Hood

Domain: Death

Appearance:

Form: A Earth Pony whose form appears to be constantly decaying, with patches of fur missing, exposed bone, and open sores.

Coat: Her coat is a sickly, unnatural, mottled green. It even appears to be covered in sores, boils, and other signs of disease.

Mane and Tail: Her mane and tail are thin, stringy, infested with parasites and they even appear to be decaying and falling out.

Eyes: Her eyes are dull, lifeless, and clouded with cataracts and other signs of disease. They are milky white.

Personality: Rotheart understands that decay is a slow, inevitable process. She is not in a hurry, knowing that her influence will eventually spread and corrupt all things. She works from within, subtly corrupting and weakening her victims. Her influence is often unseen until it's too late. She possesses a fascination with decay and disease, studying its effects with a detached curiosity. She is not necessarily malicious, but she is fascinated by the process of corruption. She is not concerned with the suffering she inflicts. She views life and death as a natural cycle, and she is simply a part of that cycle, even if her part is to bring decay. She is not prone to grand pronouncements or displays of power. Her influence is subtle and insidious, like a creeping plague.

Powers and Abilities: A master of disease and pestilence, able to create and spread a wide range of debilitating illness. Can accelerate the process of decay and decomposition, causing living things to rot and wither. Can control and manipulate plagues and swarms of vermin, using them as vectors of disease. Radiates an aura of decay and corruption, weakening the life force of those around her. Her touch can spread disease and accelerate decay. Possesses a twisted form of regeneration, able to recover from injuries, but often leaving behind scars and other signs of decay. This regeneration sustains her unnatural existence but does not restore her to true health. Can summon swarms of flies, rats, and other vermin to spread disease and act as her eyes and ears.

Iron Hoof:

Alignment: Lawful Evil

Symbol: A red condor or a bloody hoof

Cutie Mark: A Condor

Domain: War

Appearance: An Earth Pony with a strong, muscular build.

Coat: Deep iron grey that appears to be scarred and battle-worn.

Mane and Tail: His mane and tail are short, thick, and practical, in shades of black. It is styled in a way that suggests a warrior's braid or a general's crest.

Eyes: His eyes are sharp, cold, and calculating, reflecting his strategic mind and unwavering resolve. They are a steely grey.

Personality: Ironhoof is a figure of unwavering resolve and unyielding discipline. He is not prone to emotional outbursts or displays of weakness. He has a strict and often harsh sense of justice. He believes in order and retribution, but his justice is often brutal and unforgiving. He might twist the concept of "law" to justify his wrath. He is quick to anger and slow to forgive. He holds grudges and seeks vengeance against those who have wronged him or his followers. He exudes an aura of power and authority. He is a force to be reckoned with, both physically and magically. He is a master strategist and tactician, approaching warfare with a cold, calculating logic. He values discipline and order in battle.

Powers and abilities: Possesses exceptional physical prowess and is a master of all forms of combat. He is a formidable warrior, skilled in both armed and unarmed combat. A brilliant tactician and strategist, able to devise effective battle plans and anticipate his enemies' moves. Can unleash a powerful attack fueled by his wrath, delivering a devastating blow to his enemies. Radiates an aura of fear and intimidation, weakening the resolve of his enemies and bolstering the courage of his followers. Possesses a natural authority and is able to command and inspire his followers in battle. Can inflict divine punishment upon those who have transgressed hid code of justice, though this punishment is often brutal and excessive.

Seaheart:

Alignment: Chaotic Evil

Symbol: Turtle Shell

Ruler of: Oceans, storms, tempests, weather, undead sea races, jealousy, spite, strife

Domain: Tempest

Cutie Mark: Spiked Turtle Shell

Appearance:

A Sea Serpent Pony

Scales: Her scales are a dark stormy sea blue-black, that appears to be constantly wet and dripping with seawater

Mane: Her mane is wild and unruly resembling Storm Clouds and crashing waves.

Eyes: Her eyes are wild and piercing, radiating malevolence and power. They are a stormy grey. They hold a cruel and unpredictable gaze.

Personality: Seaheart embodies the raw, untamed power of storms. Her moods and actions are erratic and unpredictable, shifting like the tides and changing like the weather. She revels in chaos and destruction, delighting in the havoc she wreaks. She is a force of nature, untamed and unrestrained. She is not concerned with the suffering she inflicts. She is cruel and merciless, viewing others as playthings to be used and discarded. She craves power and control, seeking to dominate the seas and all who sail upon them. She is a tyrannical force, demanding absolute obedience. She can be charming and persuasive when it suits her purposes, luring others into her traps with promises of power and riches.

Powers and Abilities: Commands the power of storms, able to summon lightning, create hurricanes, and control the tides. Possesses absolute control over the seas and all creatures that dwell within them. A master of water magic, able to manipulate water in all its forms, from crashing waves to gentle currents. Wields unpredictable and chaotic magic, capable of producing a wide range of effects. Can unleash the raw power of the sea and storms to destroy ships, coastal cities, and anything else that stands in her way. Possesses a natural charisma that allows her to manipulate and control others.

Galeia: Disowned sister of Celestia and Luna. Used to be the one who moved the planets and the cosmos.

Alignment: Lawful Evil

Symbol: Galaxy Swirl

Ruler of: The Void (which is pretty much MLP Far Realm), Deceit, Cruelty, Greed, Betrayel, Despair, Chaos, Madness, Mania, Secrets, Evil Magic, Absolute insanity.

Cutie Mark: Galaxy swirl but with tentacles, eyes, mouths, teeth and unnatural things on it.

Domain: ???

Appearance: The main thing you need to know about Galeia is she plucked out one of her eyes and tore off one of her front hooves so now they are glowing purple appendages.

A dark, imposing alicorn with a shadowy and smoky mane and tail that constantly shifts and writhes. Her other eye is a deep pool of darkness glowing with an eerie otherworldly light. Her coat is a deep, matte black, with a swirling mix of dark colors that seem to absorb light. Other features include extra limbs, distorted features, and an unnatural stillness.

Personality: Cold, calculating, and utterly devoid of empathy. She sees ponies as insignificant beings, playthings in her twisted games. Driven by a desire to consume all of Equestria and bring it into the Void. Wants to reshape Equestria in her image, a realm of eternal darkness and chaos. Seeks to destroy her mortal enemies or (if possible) corrupt Celestia and Luna. Seeks to unravel the fabric of reality itself.

Powers and Abilities: Control over the Void, allowing her to create portals and manipulate shadows. She can possess ponies, plant suggestions, and even drive them to madness .The Void is known for its chaotic and unpredictable nature. Galeia can warp reality around her, causing physical laws to break down and creating bizarre landscapes. She can feed on the fears and insecurities of ponies, turning their nightmares into reality.

The void: The Void is a place of utter chaos and madness, where the laws of reality don't apply. Galeia's powers and the environment she creates reflect this, with bizarre landscapes, unpredictable magic, and ponies driven to insanity. Galeia can use manipulation, deception, and fear to achieve her goals. She can plant suggestions in ponies' minds, use their loved ones against them, and offer them power in exchange for their loyalty (which unlike a lot of evil things Galeia speaks truth when she offers power). Galeia can attract a cult of followers, ponies who are drawn to her power or who have been corrupted by her influence. These followers are used to spread her influence and carry out her plans.

[olinadoeswriting]

Owlcatober Day 28: Fireworks

I saw someone else's fireworks and thought this could be a fun one to do quickly, a bit short though. Working on the Wedding prompt mostly right now. [AO3 Link]

Aula just captured Drezen, and settles an argument on what to do with unused gunpowder.

Drezen is taken, so clean up the bodies, try to ignore the stains you can’t remove, and finish all the bureaucracy and logistics. Aula has herself the privilege of being at the head of all logistics, of being the center of orbit for every petty question and argument over remaining supplies. She theoretically enjoys the role, but it’s a very people centric one right now.

“We shouldn't waste supplies just because we already planned it out!” The left petitioner argues. Aula can barely see the gnome from her side of the table.

The right one fights for their petition anyway. “If we don’t officially do it, some crusader will secretly waste them away and we won’t even be making a proper ceremony off it.” This one’s also a gnome, but strangely tall.

Aula yawns, she didn’t let herself rest at all during the battle. “Coming to me midway through an argument and not stopping to deliver context isn’t much of a call to action. What exactly do you two want my opinion on?”

“Well, Ilekgxithyin here…” The left petitioner doesn’t stumble at all over that name, like it’s the most boring thing going on right now. “Wants to waste our unused gunpowder on aesthetic bombs.”

Aula’s a little tired for non literal speech, taking a minute to realize what an ‘aesthetic bomb’ is. “... Fireworks?”

“Yes!” Ilekgxithyin enthusiastically goes over their plot. “I may not know how they’re made, but someone here surely does! Like… your fox friend Nenio. She can organize the entire process, we might have a batch within the hour.”

“I may also have no idea how fireworks are made, but it can’t take only an hour to make them.” The left petitioner- Aula really needs a name for this one.

Aula makes up an excuse. “For documentation purposes, what’s your name?”

“K.”

Aula stares down K, but K doesn't show any particular emotion around their statement. “... Uh, ok.”

“No it’s just K.” K corrects.

Aula begins to wonder if Regil is an atypical representation of gnomish culture. “All right, well… Nenio might be close enough to a pyrotechnical engineer to figure this all out, so I would ask for you to continue your debate under the assumption that it’s possible and only the merits are in question.”

“That’s acceptable, commander.” K clears their throat. “This war is quite serious, we can’t go wasting resources, especially not now when our position isn’t yet properly secured.”

“I sneer at your insult, our commander here has shown that the crusade’s more than bore, it’s hope and joy. We should be trying to display that and the power of our position and our unstoppable might in a beautiful display of explosions.” Ilekgxithyin goes off.

The butterflies swirling around Aula’s head make her inclined to believe Ilekgxithyin. “I think Ilekgxithyin has the stronger point. But I would add a point K has forgotten, I dislike loud noises, and I may not be alone amongst our very tired army.”

“Well, not to defend their point, but making silent fireworks is awfully trivial.” K admirably gives out.

“Oh is it? If I had known that I might have apprenticed to a different type of inventor.” Aula performs a laugh at her history. “Ilekgxithyin your petition wins, I don’t have a seal or anything yet, so take this for proof.” Aula hands over a butterfly, somehow it actually respects her plan and stays attached to Ilekgxithyin.

“I’ll go right away, commander!” Ilekgxithyin runs off, Aula judges based off the panting sounds from the stairwell that they probably didn’t have as much stamina as they thought.

Aula leans out and watches the improvised pyrotechnics jump into the sky. The pain in her ears makes her believe that calling them silent was a bit of a lie. Aula admires at how Drezen is illuminated in the flashes of the fireworks, so many people are up, some of them for said fireworks, some of them begrudgingly because of the fireworks. Sitting on a roof, looking down over the crowds, not too far away, is the succubus she freed earlier. Arueshalae, she called herself, what a strange companion to the army. She’s far out of reach, but Aula’s happy not to be alone in watching everyone.

[ladyzirkonia]

Meet my OC Doc. 🚬💊🦾

Doc (Jurij Vega) , is a doctor (cybernetic specialist) working for the Grand Army of the Republic. She has blonde hair, freckles and wears googles, often seen adjusting them when she's nervous.

Character traits:

Intelligence: Possesses exceptional intellect and expertise in her field.

Determination: Displays unwavering determination to achieve her goals and push boundaries.

Technical Savvy: Proficient in technology, using her skills to invent, engineer, and innovate.

Complex Morality: Deals with moral conflicts and gray areas, grappling with the ethical implications of her actions.

Visionary: Possesses a visionary mindset, challenging the status quo and striving to reshape the world.

Ethical Exploration: Explores the boundaries of what is ethically acceptable and pushes the limits of her field.

A Clash of Idealism and Reality

Hailing from a humble background in the Outer Rim, Doc's decision to become a doctor was motivated by the loss of her big brother. Specializing in cybernetic implants and intricate surgical procedures for Clone troopers, she has performed surgeries on notable figures like Commander Wolffe, including the installation of his cybernetic eye. She also ensures the proper functioning of the implanted parts.

Having earned her doctorate in genetic mutations, particularly in enhanced senses and desirable mutations, Doc began her journey in the GAR with idealistic aspirations. However, she soon discovered the limitations of her role, realizing that she was just a cog in the machine and unable to save or even intervene in most lives.

Doc harbors a strong aversion to the regulations imposed by the GAR, especially the protocols that restrict her from intervening beyond a certain extent of damage inflicted on the clones. While she often hesitates to speak out, there have been a few exceptional cases where she defied GAR protocol to save lives.

The Fine Line: Doc's Unhealthy Obsession and Coping Mechanisms

Struggling with obsessive tendencies regarding her work, Doc's dedication can sometimes take on unhealthy dimensions. She turns to smoking and other coping mechanisms during high-stress situations, leveraging her access to various substances and medications.

A constant battle wages within Doc, questioning the ethical boundaries of her profession and the medical possibilities that exist. Often, her ego triumphs, pushing her to explore uncharted territories in the pursuit of pushing the limits and challenging established norms.

Obsession and guilt: Doc and Commander Ghoul

Doc, driven by a helper syndrome, becomes obsessed with healing Jenot and making him whole again. This obsession borders on unhealthy and toxic, as she invests all her energy into his well-being. Meanwhile, Jenot, burdened by survivor guilt, directs his frustration and anger towards Doc, blaming her for saving his life. Their dynamic is marked by a constant power struggle, with Doc shouldering the weight of his emotions.

Here and here more about Commander Ghoul (OC by @cloned-eyes) Here the thing everything started

Fanfiction Shattered Minds - Part 1 - Part 2

tagging @staycalmandhugaclone for the wonderful OC 400 Follower event you can join here.

Thanks for that, it finally made me put together some info from my head here. And hopefully gets me motivated to post the (almost three) existing parts. Doc is my baby, I love her, so be nice.

[melora-ii]

Lunar Expedition 24509

Flight Day 42

(Adjusted time 134 years and 52 days since departure from The Bridge)

—————-

Today was my last day as an unassigned “pod squelp”, as they say.

I lay in my bed, calculating the days of my life across multiple timelines.

Roughly 140 years ago, I committed myself to the Peaceful Acquisition Project- a mission designed to study and make humanitarian military efforts towards establishing connections with non-invasive alien species across the galaxy.

I was 24 years old, still wet behind the ears and fresh from Battle School when I signed my name to be forever cast into the void of space in the name of Science, Discovery, and Peace. Even then my parents held onto hope that I’d change my mind eventually. That I’d find a partner, get married, give them their two government-approved grandchildren and leave space flight and PAP behind me.

I spent the next 6 years studying at Diplomacy School, learning how to communicate with various alien species, as well as studying past successful and unsuccessful PAP missions. Men were the least of my concern.

Seats on PAP missions were scarce and highly competitive. I had to be the best.

When my application for a seat on Lunar Expedition 24509 was finally approved, I knew I had no choice but to accept. Regardless of what that would entail for my personal timeline.

Space travel requires sacrifice. And that sacrifice is usually time related.

My parents cried when I told them what I’d done.

“We will never see you again, Mellie.” I can still hear the sound of my mother’s wailing.

“You have to do what you feel is right. This is your life, Melora.” My father said. He never was one for emotional displays.

When I stripped myself naked and stepped into that Cryo-Sleep pod docked at The Bridge, I knew the next time I opened my eyes I’d be thousands of light years away and everyone I loved back on New Earth would be long dead, their bones crystallized into dust and worm food.

I don’t think I said a proper goodbye.

As of today, I am 164 in Adjusted Years.

I’m so old.

My headset buzzes, interrupting my melancholia with 3 short bzt bzt bzt sounds. A question appears in my mind:

Read message?

Yes. I respond.

A nearly transparent digital window appears in front of me with a typed message displayed.

Melora Maesunn,

Your Cryonic Sleep Adjustment Transition was successful. Please report to Colonel Michael Crozie tomorrow morning at Standard Sun Rise for your updated flight commands.

- Doctor Formmin Mezzer, 2nd LT

So, I have finally received communication from the Pod Squad Team that I have been deemed healthy and have been successfully rehabilitated from cryo-sleep. I have graduated from my Stasis Pod Transition.

Yay.

My enthusiasm is only slightly disingenuous because of who I have been assigned to.

Colonel Crozie aka The Croz aka Michael Crozie, Lunar Expedition 24509’s Research Unit Leader. The big guy. The head honcho. The boss.

The strange thing is, I have been directed to meet with Colonel Crozie before the rest of my Pod Group are even awake. Standard Sun Rise is 05:00 and is the typical rising hour; we don’t meet in the mess hall for breakfast until 06:00.

I have only ever seen Colonel Crozie from afar, only heard his name whispered at the mess hall. He is a force to be reckoned with, it appears. He takes his missions very seriously, no time for games or jokes. He is infamous for his set-downs when dealing with rowdy recruits. He’s been known to demote a level iii recruit back to mop duty for a week just to remind them of where they came from.

I have no desire to get on this guy’s bad side.

Still, I’m very curious to learn if my other Pod Group members were given similar assignments.

Pod groups are released in intervals- twelve people at a time. Typically these twelve recruits go through Cryo Adjustment together. As they are transitioned into Flight Commands after adjustment, these twelve will often receive varying assignments based on their skill-level across the ship until landing at the mission’s destination. However, the twelve remain in a tight-knit group. Bunks, schedules, and menial duties are kept the same within the group.

Once we have landed on Bemri 555, a heavily forested moon of the planet Iona, we will continue to bunk and work together outside of our Mission Commands. Pod groups are forever. Or at least until the Mission is complete.

I poke my head outside of my cabin door. It’s a little after 21:00 and most of my Pod Group are asleep by 20:00.

Gratze’s light is still on. We are close in age and temperament. She is a brilliant mathematician.

I knock on Gratze’s door. It opens moments later.

Gratze is a beautiful shade of warm brown, and her eyes are electric green. Her hair is a light violet hue, and it falls in ringlets around her shoulders. Her cheeks glint with a rainbow-dusted assortment of cybernetic communication chips placed shallowly beneath her skin.

We are both still wearing our dark red government-issued jumpsuits since it’s against code to not do so outside of the sleep quarters, which are in a private area of each cabin behind closed doors. No one, not even shared Pod Groups, ever enters another crew-mate’s sleep quarters. Alarms will go off.

Fraternizing is a punishable offense.

“Hello, Melora.” Her demeanor is welcoming, if confused at seeing me at this hour. She is far too polite to comment on it, though. She opens the door all the way and motions me into her cabin to sit at a small table. The cabins are minute and sparse, and all equally sized; just enough room for one adult to live comfortably.

“Good Standard Sun Downing, Gratze.”

I will never understand this lingo. Standard Sun Downing was two hours ago at 19:00 technically, but we greet each other as if it just happened until Standard Sun Rising occurs again at 05:00. Spaceship culture, I tell ya.

“Indeed. Can I help you with something, Melora?”

“Yes, actually. I have received my Flight Command assignment just now.”

“You graduated from Stasis Transition? Why, Melora, that’s fantastic. I think we only have two more from our Pod to go.”

Gratze was one of the first to graduate. This is her second time in Cryo-Sleep. I’m not sure what her previous mission was, as those are highly classified.

“I thought so too. But well…I have been directed to meet with Colonol Crozie in the morning…”

“Colonel Crozie?” Gratze interrupts. Her facial expressions don’t betray her emotions, but I can tell she is surprised. Gratze never interrupts.

“Yes. At oh-five-hundred, before mess hall. Can you think why…?”

“Oh, Melora. Don’t be silly. I couldn’t speculate on such things. Colonol Crozie does as he will. And always has.”

Gratze is trying to possess a comforting demeanor, but I can tell she is feeling quite uncomfortable herself. She doesn’t know why I would be asked to meet with the Colonel. She has never experienced this before. Gratze would never say such a thing out-loud, of course. But I can tell. Her energy is…

“Melora, listen. I think it’s best you go to your cabin and try to get some rest. oh-five-hundred will come soon enough.”

I stand up and walk to the door while speaking. “Of course, Gratze. Thank you for the visit. Hopefully our other Pod Group members will graduate shortly. I will see you tomorrow morning at the mess hall.”

Gratze says nothing to this, she just follows me and stops at the door, inclining her head at me slightly.

“Good Standard Sun Downing, Melora.”

The door closes before I can respond.

I return to my own cabin and enter my sleep quarters. I strip my jumpsuit and step into a tiny Decontamination Stall. I don’t even have to take all of my clothes off for it to work. I press a button and one quick, punctuated zap later, I have been cleansed of all dust and germs by highly-concentrated heat waves.

I miss standing beneath a scalding-hot stream of water.

After my successful decontamination, I put on my government- issued sleep clothes: a pair of black spandex shorts and a fitted tank.

Once in my bunk, I close my eyes and wonder.

What do you want from me, Michael Crozie?

[melbourneleatherco]

Luxury Elegant Leather Journals for Inspired Writing

Sometimes, putting pen to paper is the only thing that keeps you grounded, in a world full of digital distractions.  If you're writing down ideas, keeping a journal of your thoughts, or drawing inspiration, writing by hand can be calming.  Luxury leather journals are more than just stationery for people, who love writing. They're a way to show off your style, help you be creative, and keep something that gets more valuable over time.

Feeling a soft leather cover, smelling real hide, and writing on soft, high-quality paper are all little things that make writing an experience.  If you write in a journal well, your thoughts will flow naturally into it, your reflections will be saved and your creative mind will be free to roam.  Leather journals, unlike digital notepads, get worn down over time and develop a unique patina that shows your journey.

Why Choose Luxury Leather Journals

 Made from real full-grain or top-grain leather, which makes them last longer, and look better.

Individuality is guaranteed by hand-making, no two journals are exactly the same.

Easy to write on with fountain pens, ballpoints, and sketching pencils on these soft, acid-free pages.

Beautiful closures like magnetic snaps, buckles, and wrap ties keep things safe and look good at the same time.

Ideal Uses for Leather Journals

Daily journaling and self-reflection practices.

Creative writing, poetry, and sketching.

Professional meeting notes or goal tracking.

Travel logs and personal adventures.

Gift-giving for birthdays, graduations, or milestone celebrations.

A Statement of Style and Purpose

A leather journal is not just about function, it also reflects your personality. Whether you're a minimalist who loves sleek, unadorned covers or a romantic who prefers embossed designs and vintage finishes, there’s a luxury leather journal to match every aesthetic. Many are designed with details like stitched edges, refillable inserts, and pen holders to offer both elegance and practicality. With proper care, a leather journal can last a lifetime, making it a treasured possession or a thoughtful heirloom.

Professional writers, students, travelers, and entrepreneurs alike find great value in carrying a high-quality journal. It becomes a private sanctuary, away from screens, where ideas take shape, emotions are processed, and moments are captured. Unlike mass-produced notebooks, luxury journals elevate the experience, encouraging users to slow down, focus, and write with intention.

Craftsmanship That Inspires Creativity

When it comes to writing tools, the tactile quality of the materials matters. Luxury leather journals are crafted with attention to every detail—from the stitching of the binding to the weight of the paper. Many journals feature lay-flat designs for ease of writing and are made with eco-conscious materials that respect both the user and the environment. The act of opening a beautifully bound journal can be the spark you need to begin a new chapter, story, or idea.

These journals are also an excellent choice for professionals looking to add a touch of sophistication to their workday. Whether it’s brought into a meeting, displayed on a desk, or carried in a workbag, a leather journal commands attention and respect. It signals thoughtfulness, organization, and timeless taste—qualities that are increasingly rare in today’s fast-moving, digital world.

Find Your Signature Journal

Whether you're beginning a new project, planning your goals, or capturing life’s daily moments, a beautiful journal can make the process more meaningful. The right leather journal will not only elevate your writing experience but also serve as a daily reminder of your unique story and creative voice.

Ready to find the perfect journal for yourself or a thoughtful gift for someone special? Explore a wide range of handcrafted options at Melbourne Leather Co. Their collection of luxury leather journals offers timeless design, premium materials, and practical features that inspire writing at every stage of life.

[fantasy-fields-danger-zone]

Fnaf bitty Freddy (R/Robotic)

Model: 1.0

Version: OG(Withered)/Shadow

Size: 2'8 Feet Tall (Mini) - 5'8 Feet Tall (Fullsize) - 8'8 Feet Tall (Bara)

Personality: Mysterious, quiet, brooding, commanding, dark, stoic, haunting, distant, eerie, composed, observant, intelligent, possessive, protective, shadowy, enigmatic

Likes: Low light, solitude, ambient noise, silence, slow music, glitch effects, calm environments, obedient bitties, respectful caretakers, standing still, security patrols, darkness, order, shadows, routine

Dislikes: Bright lights, loud sounds, hyperactivity, sudden movements, chaotic spaces, being mocked, emotional outbursts, being questioned, bright screens, being touched without permission, careless caretakers

Compatibility: They would never hurt a child, regardless of if they are in security mode or not, though they may still be more scary to the kids in said mode,

When in security mode you can where a mask to prevent them from jumpscaring you, it doesn't have to be a mask of an animal or animatronic, but animal based ones work better!

Shadow Freddy Bitties are slow-moving, highly alert units that require stillness and quiet from those around them.

While they are not hostile to children, they may frighten them during Security Mode due to their heavy footsteps and glowing eyes.

Caretakers should maintain eye contact only briefly- Shadow Freddy perceives extended staring as a challenge. Animal-based masks help during Security Mode, but calming ambient music can also pacify them.

They are incompatible with loud or erratic bitties, especially those who break routine or interrupt patrols.

These Bitties prefer solitude and are best in low-traffic environments with a single trusted handler.

Additional info: Only spot wash with disinfectant whips, or remove suit to clean, do not remove suit without permission,

For charging a large, long, cord is provided, able to be plugged into the wall with an adapter or a small solar powered generator that is also provided, bitties can go a month without charge but daily charging is preferable, as after a day or two, depending of the bitty, they must go into a power saving mode and must use their reserves, and they will be very sluggish until a proper recharging takes place,

These bitties may jumpscare people from 12am tp 6am, as they are in security mode! And being around them at this time may be dangerus if you have heart issues or sensitive ears,

Performances: Silent lurking routines, shadow-based stage shows, visual distortion acts, ambient intimidation displays, shadow puppet shows,

In Universe: Shadow Freddy is a ghost-code entity believed to have formed from corrupted security software mixed with a remnant of a broken animatronic’s AI. Always seen in peripheral vision or flickering in and out of cameras, Shadow Freddy never speaks- but his presence is undeniable.

Caretakers report him appearing behind them, standing silently in dark corners, or vanishing mid-step. Despite this, he rarely acts aggressively unless provoked or ignored. Once bonded, he becomes obsessively loyal and often intercepts threats before caretakers even realize they exist. It is said Shadow Freddy holds a grudge against Fazbear systems, yet continues to perform his duties as if bound by unseen code.

Difficulty: Expert

Features: Shadow Freddy

[upstatecanine1]

Dealing with Aggression, Anxiety, and Other Dog Behaviour Issues

Dogs are wonderful companions, but they can develop certain behavioral problems that make training and daily life challenging. Understanding and addressing Behavioral Problems in Dogs is essential to ensure a happy and balanced relationship between pet owners and their furry friends. At Upstate Canine Academy, we specialize in identifying and resolving these issues, helping both dogs and their owners achieve harmony.

Understanding Behavioral Problems in Dogs

Every dog is unique, and their behavioral problems can stem from various factors such as genetics, environment, past experiences, or improper training. Common issues include:

Aggression – Growling, snapping, or biting.

Anxiety – Excessive barking, whining, or destructive behavior when left alone.

Excessive Barking – Barking at strangers, noises, or for attention.

Leash Reactivity – Lunging or pulling aggressively during walks.

Separation Anxiety – Distress when the owner leaves the house.

Resource Guarding – Protecting food, toys, or spaces aggressively.

Each of these behaviors can be modified with the right training approach and patience.

How to Handle Aggression in Dogs

Aggression in dogs is often misunderstood. It is not always about dominance but can stem from fear, anxiety, or territorial instincts. Steps to address aggression include:

Identify Triggers – Observe when and why your dog becomes aggressive.

Desensitization and Counterconditioning – Gradually expose your dog to their triggers in a controlled manner while rewarding calm behavior.

Obedience Training – Teaching basic commands like "sit," "stay," and "leave it" can provide better control.

Professional Help – Seeking guidance from a professional trainer at Upstate Canine Academy can provide tailored strategies.

Managing Anxiety in Dogs

Dogs suffering from anxiety often display destructive behavior, excessive barking, or attempts to escape. Ways to ease their anxiety include:

Establishing a Routine – Consistent feeding, walking, and playtime reduce stress.

Mental Stimulation – Puzzle toys and interactive games keep the dog engaged.

Crate Training – A safe space can help anxious dogs feel secure.

Positive Reinforcement – Rewarding calm behavior rather than reacting to anxious actions.

If your dog’s anxiety is severe, a behavior specialist at Upstate Canine Academy can help develop a tailored plan to manage stress effectively.

Addressing Excessive Barking

Barking is natural, but excessive barking can become problematic. To control it:

Determine the Cause – Fear, excitement, boredom, or alertness.

Teach the "Quiet" Command – Reward silence and ignore unnecessary barking.

Provide Adequate Exercise – A tired dog is less likely to bark excessively.

Avoid Reinforcing the Behavior – Don't yell; instead, stay calm and redirect attention.

Correcting Leash Reactivity

Leash reactivity occurs when dogs bark, lunge, or become overly excited during walks. To manage it:

Use a Proper Harness or Training Collar – Helps with control and comfort.

Maintain a Safe Distance – Walk away from triggers and reward good behavior.

Practice Controlled Walks – Gradually expose your dog to distractions.

Stay Calm and Confident – Your dog senses your emotions, so stay relaxed.

Resolving Separation Anxiety

Separation anxiety can make leaving your dog alone difficult. Strategies to alleviate it include:

Short Departures and Returns – Start with brief absences and gradually increase time away.

No Overexcitement During Arrivals/Departures – Keep greetings and goodbyes calm.

Leave Interactive Toys – Keeps your dog occupied when alone.

Desensitization Training – Gradually accustom your dog to being alone.

Handling Resource Guarding

Resource guarding is when a dog aggressively protects food, toys, or spaces. To prevent it:

Trade for Treats – Teach "drop it" by rewarding with high-value treats.

Hand Feed Meals – Builds trust and reduces possessiveness.

Desensitization – Approach slowly while your dog eats, rewarding calmness.

Avoid Punishment – It can worsen the behavior rather than resolve it.

When to Seek Professional Help

While many Behavioral Problems in Dogs can be managed at home with patience and training, some cases require professional intervention. If your dog exhibits severe aggression, extreme anxiety, or unmanageable reactivity, Upstate Canine Academy offers specialized programs to address these challenges.

Contact Us

At Upstate Canine Academy, we understand that every dog is different, and we are committed to providing customized solutions to help you and your pet live harmoniously. If you are struggling with Behavioral Problems in Dogs, contact us today to schedule a consultation and begin your journey to a well-balanced dog.

[nimajooyandehusa]

The Value of Rare Sports Memorabilia: What Collectors Should Know by Experts like Nima Jooyandeh

Sports memorabilia, especially from iconic leagues like the NFL, NBA, and MLB, represents more than just physical objects—these items hold immense value for collectors and fans alike. Whether it's a signed jersey, a game-used ball, or a rare trading card, sports memorabilia allows fans to connect with their favorite athletes and historic moments. Over the years, the market for rare sports memorabilia has exploded, with some pieces fetching millions at auctions. Understanding the value of these items requires insight into factors like rarity, condition, and provenance. This blog will explore what collectors should know when it comes to the value of rare sports memorabilia, and the key elements that influence their worth in the market.

Understanding Rarity and Demand

One of the most important factors affecting the value of sports memorabilia is its rarity. The rarer an item is, the higher its potential value. For example, items from legendary players such as Michael Jordan, Babe Ruth, or Tom Brady often command higher prices due to their scarcity and historical significance. Experts like Nima Jooyandeh mention that limited edition memorabilia, such as jerseys worn during milestone games or championship rings, also falls into the rare category, which increases demand among collectors.

The demand for rare sports memorabilia is driven by several factors, including fan base size, the athlete’s legacy, and cultural significance. Collectors are often willing to pay top dollar for pieces that connect them to memorable moments in sports history. For instance, a game-worn jersey from a Super Bowl-winning quarterback can evoke emotions of nostalgia and pride, which is why it might fetch an impressive price at an auction. Read more

Provenance and Authenticity

Provenance—the history of ownership—plays a significant role in determining the value of sports memorabilia. An item’s authenticity is crucial in assuring collectors that they are purchasing a genuine piece of sports history. Certification of authenticity (COA) from a reputable source, such as PSA/DNA or JSA, is often required to verify the legitimacy of signed items, jerseys, and memorabilia. Without proper documentation, the value of the item significantly decreases.

The provenance of an item also involves its backstory—whether it was part of a significant game, worn by a player during a crucial moment, or gifted by the athlete themselves. A signed basketball from Michael Jordan during his last game with the Chicago Bulls or a baseball hit by Babe Ruth during a World Series would hold more value due to their connection to memorable events as pointed out by industry experts such as Nima Jooyandeh. For collectors, knowing the history behind an item helps ensure they are investing in something with historical significance.

Condition and Preservation

Condition is another vital factor when it comes to valuing sports memorabilia. Items in mint or near-mint condition typically sell for higher prices than those that are damaged or worn. For instance, trading cards from the 1980s and 1990s are often judged based on their centering, corners, edges, and surface quality. A rare rookie card of LeBron James, for example, could be worth tens of thousands of dollars in mint condition, while a card with significant damage may barely be worth a fraction of that amount.

Proper preservation is key to maintaining the condition of memorabilia. Many collectors invest in professional framing, display cases, or climate-controlled storage to protect items from factors such as UV rays, humidity, and physical damage. Industry leaders including Nima Jooyandeh convey that by maintaining memorabilia in its original condition, collectors help ensure that the value of their items remains high, especially as they grow in rarity and historical importance.

Market Trends and Timing

The sports memorabilia market is highly influenced by trends and timing as noted by experts like Nima Jooyandeh. Demand for certain items can fluctuate based on various factors, such as a player's performance, milestones in their career, or changes in public interest. For example, a resurgence in a player’s popularity due to a championship win or a Hall of Fame induction can drive up the demand for their memorabilia, raising prices.

Market trends can also be affected by the broader economy, as well as the rise of digital platforms and online auctions. Over the past decade, online auction houses and platforms like eBay have allowed collectors to reach a global market, expanding the potential for higher bids and increased competition.

Popular Types of Memorabilia in the NFL, NBA, and MLB

Each of the major sports leagues—NFL, NBA, and MLB—has its own set of memorabilia that appeals to collectors. In the NFL, items such as game-worn jerseys, helmets, and autographed footballs are particularly sought after, especially from Super Bowl-winning teams or legendary players like Tom Brady and Joe Montana. For NBA fans, memorabilia such as signed jerseys, basketballs, and shoes worn by players like Michael Jordan, LeBron James, or Kobe Bryant are highly coveted.

In Major League Baseball, baseball cards and autographed bats are popular, with vintage items like Babe Ruth's memorabilia being some of the most valuable. Game-used jerseys and baseballs from historic games also hold significant value, especially when tied to events like World Series appearances or perfect games. For collectors, focusing on these key items from the most beloved players or teams in each league is an effective strategy for building a valuable collection.

Investing in Sports Memorabilia

Industry experts such as Nima Jooyandeh express that sports memorabilia can also be a lucrative investment if done wisely. As with any investment, understanding the market and making informed decisions is essential. Some items appreciate in value over time, particularly those connected to athletes who become legends or reach significant milestones. For example, items related to players inducted into the Hall of Fame or records broken by iconic athletes can see their value skyrocket.

The value of rare sports memorabilia is shaped by multiple factors, including rarity, authenticity, condition, and market demand. Collectors looking to invest in these items should understand these elements to make informed decisions and maximize their potential returns. Whether you’re interested in NFL, NBA, or MLB collectibles, it’s clear that the world of sports memorabilia offers both sentimental and financial value, making it an exciting and rewarding pursuit.