#fluid-solid interaction

[fuckyeahfluiddynamics]

Mimicking Plant Movement

Many plants control the curvature of their leaves by selectively pumping water into cells that line the outer surface. This swelling triggers bending. Engineers created their own version of this structure. (Image credit: T. Gao et al.; via GoSM) Read the full article

[helianskies]

beautiful helia... I have a question for you, where do you think that Antonio was born?? In my head it makes sense that he's born in Sevilla ,I think that the reasons are obvious, but Tarragona as well, since it was an important city during the roman "colonisation" of iberia. What do you think?

anon if i could have it my way he'd be andaluz through and through. sevillano, cordobes, granadino, da igual. that's purely because of my personal affection for the south. but i think with the 'birth' of a nation, it largely depends on when you personally deem them to have been born in the first place.

you may... want to take a seat. have a drink. munch on a cookie 🍪 while i give you a nowhere-near straightforward answer, if even an answer at all...

happy birthday, toni! get cosy under the microscope! :D

so, i'll admit, i don't really worry too much about where nations were 'born'. it's never interested me in that way, and many of them probably wouldn't remember where they first popped into existence, so i don't know that they would be so bothered, either. and then you have a case like Antonio. Spain. where do you even begin...?

many people consider Antonio to have only come around in the 1400s with the formal unification of Castille and Aragon; others like myself enjoy seeing him as an ex-Roman province following in some questionable footsteps. i think both interpretations are perfectly valid* (and if there are any others, i'd be very intrigued!) but that naturally affects where you'd consider Antonio to have been born. if under Castille and Aragon, then... Toledo is a safe bet, i suppose. but the Romans? or even earlier? mmh...

(* also. can i add while i'm here. can we stop getting pissy when others don't agree with your own idea of a nation like Spain's 'age'? as i said here, people have different headcanons. if you don't agree, that's fine, but there's no need to be snotty about it or decide that everyone has to agree with you. because that's the point of a headcanon! just seen a fair bit of it lately and it's quite simply annoying!)

historically speaking, if we consider Portugal to have been (Hispania) Lusitania, then surely Spain would have started as (Hispania) Tarraconensis. all cool there. that would neatly place him in Tarragona, capital of Roman Hispania!... but then, prior to that, Lusitania was part of Hispania Ulterior (and not even called Lusitania, from what i gather) and Tarraconensis was made up of Hispania Citerior and other small provinces - so what about towns like Cartagena? Itálica? Mérida? Tarragona may be the oldest Roman city in Spain (as far as we know) but a personification doesn't necessarily have to have been born in a city... right?

moreover, prior to the Romans, Hispania was a melting pot of native tribes, Celts, Iberians, Celtiberians (ooh!), Carthaginians, etc. question is, if Antonio was around for the Romans, was he also there as a child amongst the Carthaginians? and where does mother Iberia, often depicted as the mother to both Spain and Portugal, come into it? and if she doesn't, then who would Antonio considers his parent(s) to be (if nations believe in having parents) let alone his birthplace?

it's confusing, isn't it? i can see the appeal of Antonio only coming into being in the 1400s for the ease alone.

truth be told, i don't know where would make most sense for Antonio to have been born. ni idea. like i said, andaluz Antonio gives me life and suits some aus, just like me making him galician every now and then, but in nationverse, when i consider my own preference that Antonio is already around when Rome shows up on his shores, even if only just, it only complicates matters.

consider this, however: he is, quite simply, a wilderness baby. a feral child. born up in the sierras, or in the middle of arid plains. like... most nations probably are. he was not born in a 'city' so much as just some random place in the area until he found his 'people', and that's as good as it gets. he could have come from anywhere, and i doubt he'd be able to pinpoint it himself beyond a vague gesture at the entire country.

still, if i had to give you a region, i'd say central-eastern Spain is where i'd place him. it's in the general area of what would have become Hispania Citerior and then Hispania Tarraconensis, which fits nicely with how i personally translate his character to that era. but i'd never be more specific than that. as far as i feel, many places in Spain have come to mean something to him, and his 'birthplace' is no more important to him than they are.

in conclusion: just go with your gut! i'm not here to validate anything or otherwise argue against your headcanons. he could be from Seville, he could be from Toledo, he could be from Tarragona - it only matters as much as you want it to matter. and that's all you should take away from this post!

hope that answers your question and hasn't been confusing in the least for you, beautiful anon! 💖

[gideonisms]

okay okay success!!! (professor paid me compliments :'))

[cuubism]

Morphology | Dreamling | 4.6k words | Explicit | AO3

eldritch Dream, genderfluidity of a kind, lots of smut, nonhuman organs, angst, body dysphoria, undefined body forms and transformation, brief eldritch panic attack, they/them pronouns for Dream

Dream is not meant to stay in one form. But they must, for that is the form that Hob knows. That Hob loves. Or so they think.

this is based on @gabessquishytum and their anon's post located here, about Dream believing Hob won't want him in all his nonhuman shapes, only to discover Hob is very much a monsterfucker... and also loves him very much. I was going to append it to the post but then it got kind of very long. Hope you don't mind me playing around!

---

It was not for dreams to be only one thing.

In the Dreaming, they morphed and shifted, merging from one form to another. Smoke to wind to water, lava to sparks back to stone. In the minds of dreamers they took every unconceivable form, a thousand impossibilities as various as the limbs of Destiny’s forking tree. They were all of unreality. All that could not be, all that was hoped for, fleeting, forgotten, or held, for a time.

In the Waking, it was different. Dreams Dream bent and condensed into a singular form. They he knew well enough from his dreamers that while fluid changeability may be accepted in the illogical narratives of dreams, it was not so in the Waking. To interact with humans, he must appear as one, with the limited mutability that allowed.

Which was not to say that Dream disliked his Waking form. He chose what was pleasing to him. But sometimes it felt… stifling, for one used to being as expansive as the clouds.

Particularly after his imprisonment. Kept like an insect pinned to a board. Immovable. When he was meant to move. When he was Morpheus. Shaper of Forms.

Dream put that away from him.

Hob liked this form of his. Dream had come to understand the way Hob looked on him, and he liked that Hob wanted this form. But. He was not meant to stay in this form. Not always. It was. Chafing. It was. Hurting.

No matter. He could stay in this form that Hob wanted, because more than wanting to break from this skin Dream wanted Hob’s love. And his desire. He wanted to keep Hob’s gentle, heated touch.

This form of lean muscle and sharp bone. This solid body that had endured Roderick Burgess’s prison but also received Hob’s love… he could keep it. Yes. He could. He could.

~~~

I am wind that wishes to storm. Cloud that edges on rain. I am caterpillar’s dream of flight, I am words of disbelieving, I am the hopeful light of new stars, I am— I am water’s dance with the shore, and the sun’s kiss of the moon, and— and— no—

“Yo. Roiling mass of terror that I’m pretty sure is the boss. You good?”

Dream opened their eyes. They did not have eyes, but no matter. Dreams were often about seeing. Matthew was standing on the sand before them, head cocked.

“You alright?” he repeated. “I couldn’t tell if the shrieking was a bad thing or just like. One of your things.”

“One of my things,” Dream repeated.

“Can never know,” said Matthew. He hopped onto an arm that Dream’s form generated just for him to stand on.

“I was not,” said Dream, “shrieking.”

“You were definitely shrieking,” said Matthew. “It sounded like a laundry machine dying.”

Dream grumbled in offense.

Matthew nudged his head against one of Dream’s hands. “Do you… wanna talk about it?”

Dream considered. “Do you often ponder your own physical form, Matthew?”

“Well, since I became a bird,” said Matthew. “Kinda weird. It’s cool, though. Who doesn’t dream of flying, amirite?” He flapped his wings in demonstration, lifting off Dream’s arm, then settling down again.

“And when you were human?” Dream asked.

“Every human thinks about their body, dude.”

“Did you desire to change it?” Dream pressed.

“You mean like a weight loss program?” said Matthew. “Those never work.”

“No,” said Dream. Their form morphed around them, here legs, there tail, wings, teeth. They could not make it settle, not on a human shape or on anything else. They felt— agitated. They should return to their usual human form. Should. “That is not what I meant.”

“Ohhhhhh,” said Matthew, and smacked his face with his wing in realization. “It’s this whole deal. Well, you could change it if you want? I mean. You’re doing it.”

“I did not mean to,” said Dream, their form still writhing around them, never landing on any one shape. “I—” they were meant to go see Hob. They had been cloaked properly in their usual shape. And. Something had snapped.

They remembered, now, falling to their knees on the sand, the careful construct of their human self, a body once worn easily as one of many, shattering into a million shards.

They should. Change. They should change back. They wished to see Hob, and Hob, for all his adaptability, was only human, he would not be able to tolerate this, this thing that could not even give itself a face, or decide what it was, this thing that found physical stasis anathema after so long pressed in glass. Hob cared for the being that he knew. Not this one that, Dream thought, sometimes did not even know itself.

“Whatever you’re doing, I think you should probably stop,” Matthew warned.

“You dare to question me?” Dream bit. He was condensing back down under his human mask, he could do it, he could. He had loved this form once. Could again. As one of many.

Matthew nipped at his hand with his beak. And it was only this that made Dream realize he was clawing at his face so hard he was bleeding starlight.

Solidity spiraled away from Dream again, and they let out a hard breath. It was useless. Whatever meager control they had maintained since their escape was slipping from them. It was pointless to pretend otherwise any longer. Or to pretend that they could truly offer Hob the form he was accustomed to.

“Matthew,” Dream said, and Matthew hopped to attention. “I have some business I must attend to. Please leave me now.”

“Are you sure—?”

Dream waved a hand and sent him back to the palace.

If it was impossible for them to consistently return to their prior state, then at least they should be done with it now. Show Hob what he was truly dealing with. That Dream was not what he thought. Or wanted. Then, at least, they would spare themselves any greater heartbreak.

Wrapping the barest trappings of their usual form around them like an ill-fitting coat, Dream stepped into the Waking.

~~~

Dream emerged directly onto Hob’s bed as a formless shadow. It felt good, to be formless. Normally, they did like to take a form, but to choose recently had been taxing.

Hob was awake and reading. Dream had been meant to come for dinner, and was late. When Dream appeared in a sudden fall of darkness, Hob shrieked and flung his book at them on instinct. It simply passed through Dream with no effect.

“Dream?” said Hob, gasping, the spike in his adrenaline clear. “Is that you, love? Somehow? Or am I about to get eaten?”

Those do not preclude each other, Dream said. Though as they were still a shadow, their voice was more a low rumbling vibration than a true voice.

“Not sure how I understood that,” said Hob. He tilted his head, trying to make out features in the darkness but not, Dream thought, managing it. “Always kind of knew you were more than you seemed,” he added. “Didn’t quite picture this, though.”

It is but one form I am capable of holding, Dream said. Strictly speaking, it was not quite a form at all. As they said it, they shifted, unconsciously, until they were the beam of lamplight caressing Hob’s face—Hob’s hand chased them across his own cheek—and then the lulling hum of traffic, comforting night sounds. Hob kept reaching for them, not quite knowing where he was reaching. And Dream slipped into his daydreams, his vision for what Dream’s many forms might be.

Hob’s daydreams were a comfortable place to land. Warm. Welcoming. And when Dream emerged, they were a thing of Hob’s imagining, something dark and shadowed and multi-faceted but ultimately. Touchable.

That was what Hob desired of them?

“Okay,” said Hob, “what actually is going on here? Are you okay?”

Dream did not reply, stuck on Hob’s daydreams. He did not wish for Dream to force themselves back into their usual form. He merely molded what Dream brought him into a form that was comprehensible to him.

Relief crashed over Dream, magnitudes greater than the dread they had refused to acknowledge. They knew, now, that they had truly expected this to be the end. To scare Hob off. But Hob did not seem to be scared.

“Dream?” Hob reached a careful hand toward them. He pet down Dream’s flank. Fur that was soft because he was touching it. He huffed an incredulous laugh. “Wow. It really is… you.”

“In some fashion,” said Dream.

“In some fashion,” Hob repeated. “In what fashion, exactly?”

Instead of answering, Dream butted their head into Hob’s shoulder. Following the relief of his touch, so much softer and more detailed, now that they did not have the barrier of a stifling form in the way.

“Darling,” Hob said, petting Dream’s hair, “need words.”

“No,” Dream mumbled petulantly. And Hob allowed them their petulance. Dream let out a long breath. It blew warm over Hob’s throat, and Dream felt him shiver. They trailed fingertips up Hob’s ribcage, along bare skin, feeling the stacked solidity of his bones. Hob shivered again.

“It’s like that, is it?” he said.

Dream shifted closer, half slither, half crawl, until their form, incomprehensible even to themselves, was draped over Hob’s lap. Bliss, there, the warmth of him. “You are not repelled?”

“By the ten arms? I think I can cope.” He pressed his lips in close to Dream’s ear. “In fact. I had a dream about this the other night. Well.” He laughed. “I guess I’m having a Dream about it now, eh?”

“Did you?” said Dream, ears pricking up. Had their… moods slipped into Hob’s dreams?

“Can’t remember the details,” Hob said. “But I remember how it felt.” He trailed fingertips up the bony knobs of Dream’s spine. Unlike Dream at the moment, Hob only had two arms, but Dream felt every press of his fingers acutely.

“How did it feel?” they whispered.

“Like,” Hob murmured, lips to Dream’s jaw now, “you were everywhere. Like I got into your body and made love to you from the inside out.”

The thought made all of the strange and varied nerves of Dream’s shifting body stand on end. They wrapped legs around Hob’s waist, arms around his shoulders. Scraped sharp teeth over his pulse. “Really?”

Hob laughed. “Interested now, are you?”

“Yes,” Dream rumbled, their form flickering in excitement, to shadow then a falling rainbow of light, to a mass of vines that wound all around Hob’s body, and then into roots, as if they could grow into Hob, then branching veins pulsing and racing with Hob’s heartbeat, then back to a morass of half-body, half-shadow, because yes, they wanted to be held by Hob, they must remember that.

Hob was still for several moments, then laughed incredulously. “Okay. You’re so cool. I don’t know what to do with any of that, so I’m going to have to wing it.”

He traced a hand along the soft feathers of a wing that had grown with his words. Dream shuddered. A sensitive part of the body, indeed.

“You’re gorgeous,” Hob murmured. “My strange creature.”

Dream purred in pleasure, wrapping their wings around Hob’s back, mouth catching on the edge of his jaw, and, incredibly, felt Hob growing hard under them, as he would if Dream lounged in his lap and mouthed at his jaw as a human.

“You like this,” Dream said, unable to keep the surprise from their voice.

Hob chuckled. “Didn’t you know I fell for you the second I saw the spark of the otherworldly in your eyes? Just didn’t know the whole of what I was looking at. Not then.”

The spark of the otherworldly. “You are in love with dreams.”

“Figured it out by now, yeah.”

“You are. In love. With this,” Dream said, voice echoing from more than one throat, choked up.

“With this? You mean with you?”

“I do not know quite what I am, now,” Dream admitted.

“Well,” said Hob, slipping a hand between them. Dream gasped in pleasure, wings fluttering involuntarily. “You want to find out?”

Squirming against his hand, Dream said, “Do you even know what it is you are touching?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Hob said cheerfully. “Made you go all shivery, though.”

It had. It was. Dream writhed in his lap as Hob experimented, moaned in startled pleasure, toes curling. Body shifting to hurtle towards that arousal. Hob startled as his hand was suddenly enveloped in heat, something he could press into, and Dream whined, so full all at once with no prelude, body twisting out of control without their explicit direction. But it was good.

Hob gripped them by one wing—these had stayed even as Dream’s form continued to spin—and Dream quivered as Hob pulled them closer, pressing his hand deeper into slick heat. He was grinning against Dream’s throat, scraped light teeth over his pulse, sucked a bruise there. Dream’s form rode the wave of his daydreams, provided a wet mouth for him to bite and kiss as soon as he thought of it. Dream tangled long fingers in his hair, claws digging in.

“Can I fuck you like this?” Hob breathed against his lips.

“If you can cope with me changing on you,” Dream said. “I am not. Entirely in control. At the moment.”

A shameful admission, but Hob groaned as if it was the hottest thing he could think of. “I get to have you multiple ways at once? Oh, how will I manage?”

Dream laughed. It may have been a bit teary. Their many hearts were racing, lungs stuttering for air. Wings shivered, feathers fluttering. A long, furred tail wound its way up Hob’s back to wrap lightly around his throat, possessive. Dream would not let this man go now. Could not.

“Budge up, let’s see what we’re dealing with,” Hob said, probing deeper under Dream’s form with his hand, the other still firm on Dream’s wing, which he seemed to have understood was very sensitive, and intended to press that advantage as much as he could.

The touch of Hob’s hand, in Dream, on them, around them, was bliss. Dream wished to be full of him again. To, as Hob had dreamt, be made love to from the inside out.

Riding that hope, their body shaped another hole for his questing fingers. Hob obligingly pressed his fingers in, but said, “Regrettably, darling, I’ve only got one cock, and I had other plans for my hands.”

“Regrettable, indeed,” said Dream, and Hob laughed. Then, “Plans?”

“Oh, yes. I expect some other interesting things may crop up, eh? Need hands free.” He leaned in close to Dream’s ear, which flicked toward him to listen. “I’m going to find every erogenous zone on this body and make it scream.”

Goosebumps broke out all over Dream’s body. They clung to Hob with every limb they could find. Hob grinned wickedly at this reaction. It was a look Dream knew well, one that always boded very well for them indeed.

Hob worked Dream open on two fingers—though he need not, Dream was already wet and gaping for him—then maneuvered his sleep shorts off, took his cock in hand and stroked it twice, hand slick with Dream’s fluids. Then he lifted Dream bodily and sank them back down on his cock.

Dream whined, careening up several registers, as they were filled so suddenly, as they took Hob to the base. Hob groaned at the feeling of their body. Dream tried to adjust to him but couldn’t, Hob’s cock pressed on sensitive spots deep within them, and any time they thought they’d gotten used to the feeling their body produced a new place to torment.

They clawed at Hob’s back, leaving red lines with sharp fingers. Hob gave an experimental thrust, shifting Dream in his lap, and Dream bit down on a scream as their body lit up, chasing the feeling, loving it, magnitudes more affected than in their usual, limited form.

“Wow,” Hob said, fond laughter in his voice, and heat too, as Dream panted wetly in his ear, “this is going to be fun. Have you been all worked up, my darling? Just needed someone to give you what you really need?”

“Needed you,” Dream murmured. They clenched around Hob, tried to steady themselves, but it only made things worse. Everywhere deep inside them was searing flame, their skin-feathers-fur prickly with static, they feared and needed Hob’s touch in equal measure. To soothe. To set alight.

Hob slipped a hand into the other space Dream had left to tempt him, probing deep. Dream bit down on his ear, drawing spots of blood. Hob drew his hand back, met one of Dream’s many eyes. Licked Dream’s fluids from his hand.

Dream lunged forward to kiss him, whimpering into Hob’s mouth as that drove them impossibly deeper onto Hob’s cock. Hob pulled them close, kissed them hard, caught a fistful of Dream’s hair and pulled. Dream’s body decided that it liked that very much, indeed. They whined at the grip, clawing at Hob’s skin with many hands.

Hob brought them close with a firm hand, bounced Dream in his lap, moving them on and off his cock. Dream wailed, overstimulated by all the angles of his touch, torn between pulling away and diving closer as Hob swept his tongue into their mouth, over sharp teeth and soft palate.

“There’s a love,” Hob breathed. “Does that feel good, darling?”

Dream couldn’t offer a reply, and Hob didn’t wait for one. He dug his fingers into the tight feathering of Dream’s wing and tugged. Dream shrieked, wings flapping wildly, sets of them bursting along their back, more, more, less, more. Hob didn’t let up, stroking his fingers through the feathers, dragging over soft skin, sucking on Dream’s throat all the while.

Dream saw white, their body seized up, and the nebulous hole Hob was using to fuck them morphed into a mouth.

Hob yelped to suddenly feel his cock grazing over shielded teeth. Then he laughed. “Don’t you dare bite my dick off, you menace. It’s horrible to regrow it.”

Dream would have asked how he knew that, except Hob’s cock was down their throat. They choked, swallowing around him. Dream did not need to breathe, and so the pressure was exquisite. Their long tongue wrapped around Hob to the base, caressed his balls. Explored further, along his perineum, to probe at his entrance, and then press in.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck—” Hob’s voice was a strangled shout. “Dream what the actual fuck are you doing?” It didn’t sound like a complaint.

I am fucking you with my tongue, Dream said, a hum directly from their form to Hob’s.

“I can bloody well tell, Jesus Mary and—”

Dream purred and rumbled in pleasure, the satisfaction of taking and being taken at once, of being inside their beloved and having Hob inside them in turn. As Hob had dreamt.

Hob’s fingers pressed into Dream. Dream’s form gave and made places for him to press into. Hob’s fingers tickled deep within them, starlight and heat tracking their path. Dream swirled in an indefinite vortex of shape, a hundred things at once, their body prickling all over with the pleasure of Hob’s touch.

Hob twisted against them, clenching down on their tongue, shouted “Dream!” and came down Dream’s throat. Dream swallowed him down in pleasure, retracted their tongue from Hob’s body, eliciting a long moan. They let Hob pull out, and licked the final taste of Hob from their lips before letting that mouth disappear into their form, the traces of Hob consumed.

And then Hob flipped them, somehow manhandled Dream’s indefinite form down to the mattress, pressed down immovably on legs and arms and wings so that the softest parts of Dream’s body were bared to him. Dream reached for him, always they reached for him, cock hard and straining, cunt aching, the slashes of their being weeping for Hob to come inside. Always weeping. They cried out, every inch of them trembling for Hob’s touch.

“You gorgeous nightmare,” Hob said. “You brilliant daydream. Oh, my darling, I love you so much. I’d do anything for you. Anything. But mostly I want to do this.”

He pressed his mouth to where Dream’s body strained for him.

Hob had a very talented and generous mouth, which Dream had blessedly been on the receiving end of many times. This was different: Dream’s form echoed out Hob’s touch, replicated it a hundred times over so every crevice of their body could feel the flat swipe of his tongue, how he drank Dream’s fluids down, the drag of his stubble over lips and folds and the soft skin of thighs. Dream’s many limbs trembled, bent, reformed themselves in ecstasy, they dragged at Hob’s hair, pressing his face deeper so Dream could grind against him, which only made Hob grin.

Hob pressed two fingers into Dream’s mouth and Dream greedily sucked on them, grounding themselves. Taking Hob in more than one way at once… yes. That was what they wanted. They closed their many eyes and gave themselves over to sensation. Hob’s mouth and tongue, the taste of him, the weight of his body as he bent Dream on the bed, his scent, musk and the woodsmoke that seemed to cling to him all these years later—or perhaps that was only in dreams.

They were a dream of completion. They were a dream of ecstasy. Of flight. Hob’s hand tangled in their fragile feathers. Hob’s mouth and fingers inside them. Then Hob plunged three fingers hard, deep within them, as he sucked on Dream’s clit, and with a piercing noise like glass shattering Dream came.

They were. Fragments. The individual colors splayed wide by a prism. Red, yellow, blue. Hob’s fingers trailed through them, blending the colors like paint in water. For several moments Dream drifted, more thought than being. Distantly aware of Hob’s weight on them. It felt… like kindness. Then they floated back to the present, light as the first flight of unfurled moth wings.

Hob was lying on them, looking at them, head tilted. A twinkle in his eyes. He skated his hands up Dream’s sides. Flowers bloomed in the wake of his touch, their soft petals shivering with sensitivity. Hob plucked one of the flower buds and, holding Dream’s gaze, ate it. Swallowed it. Dream watched the movement of his throat.

Inside out, he thought.

“Broke you into pieces,” Hob said then, with satisfaction. “Think I might have seen God for a sec there. Can do better, though.”

“Better?” Dream echoed, voice hoarse. Their form shifted, still, but slowly, languidly. No longer restless. A dark wing draped over Hob’s back. A tail played with his hair. He didn’t seem to mind.

“There’s so much we can do with this,” he said. He gazed at Dream, fond, terribly knowing. “Only getting started, love. I love—” he kissed Dream’s belly, a light, ghosting touch, and tickled Dream’s side with his fingertips— “how sensitive you are like this.”

“I—” Dream started. Absent the writhing need, now they just felt… stripped. Vulnerable. “I expected that you would. Not. Like this. It is not. Human.”

“Neither are you,” Hob pointed out.

“I appear so,” Dream said.

Hob snorted. “No, you don’t.”

Dream stared at him, unable to decide whether or not to be offended.

“I wear the guise of a human,” they insisted, and, to prove it, morphed back into the form that Hob would know as his lover. It was an easier coat to wear, now that they knew they could take it off.

“No, keep the wings,” Hob complained. “Those are cool.”

Dream obligingly returned wings to their form.

“I appear human, to you,” they insisted again.

“Dream, I say this with all the love in my heart, which is quite a lot because I do. Love you.” He leaned on his hand, looking at Dream with sparkling eyes. “You look about as human as a kid wearing a bedsheet looks like a ghost.”

Dream stared at him, mouth agape.

“Don’t worry, it’s a gorgeous costume,” Hob said. “Love it. Really, really do. But I could always tell that wasn’t the whole truth of the matter. Especially once I got close.” With this, he winked.

“A part of me is human,” Dream said. Had Hob truly always seen through them? Paid so close attention as to perceive the translucence of the mask? “For I am the dreams of humanity.”

“And a part of you isn’t,” said Hob. “For—” he mimicked the cadence of Dream’s speech, though not in a mocking way— “you are also the dreams of birds, and shadows, and stars.”

Dream nodded. “These and more.”

“Brilliant,” said Hob.

Brilliant, Dream thought.

Then Hob tilted his head, thinking back. “You expected me not to like that?”

“Recently,” said Dream slowly, “I found I could not maintain this form without pain. And so my hand was forced.” It hurt still, to think of. “I had no choice but to make my true form—or rather, my true formlessness—known to you if I wished to be here at all.”

Hob pushed himself up from where he was lying on Dream’s chest, and instead straddled his hips so he could take Dream’s face between his hands. “It hurts?” he demanded.

“At times,” said Dream. “More so. Since.” They didn’t finish the sentence.

“Why are you doing it now, then?”

“It does not hurt so much now,” Dream said. “It is simply that when I stay static, it begins to. Ache.”

“Ache,” Hob repeated, looking stricken. “Dream, if it hurts, then change back. Be a chimera or whatever the hell you were doing before.”

“That is how you interpreted it?”

“To be honest, I don’t think my brain was really interpreting it at all. You were just kind of… everything.” He stroked a fingertip along the fine bone of Dream’s wing, which was folded against their back now. “Did like the wings, though.”

“I’d noticed that.”

“Cheeky.” Hob shook himself. “Getting distracted. The point is, don’t hurt yourself. I don’t want to see you hurt yourself.” He tipped his head against Dream’s, lips to their skin. “Much rather see you how were today.”

“How?”

“Letting go. Enjoying yourself.” He smirked, Dream felt it against their temple. “Making all kind of lovely noises. Squealing. Shrieking—”

“I was not shrieking.”

“You were shrieking.”

Hob tickled his fingers through Dream’s feathers, and Dream made an embarrassing squeak. They smacked Hob in the face with that wing, and Hob burst out laughing, even though he had to pull a feather out of his teeth.

“I love you,” he said. “Don’t hurt yourself. Be... the indefinably strange creature that you are. And just trust me to keep up.”

Hob kissed them lightly on the lips. Dream leaned into him, made still for a moment by the depth of Hob’s care for them, how Hob caught all of their longing and swallowed it, kept it warm. How he loved Dream. And dreams.

Hob drew them both down to the bed, and the covers over them, and Dream let their other forms creep out, hesitant, but hungry for Hob’s affection. And a creature that was the sky’s dream of nightfall and the poetry of rain upon a still lake, that was the individual patterns of snowflakes and the sculptures built of their drifts, that was ambitious owl and frightened vole, quiet soil and its thoughtful worms, shape and narrative and human, too, of course, laid down its many heads, and curled its much-loved wings over its lover, and rested in his dreams.

[buckysfaveplum]

pretty boy

summary: it's hard to focus on the task at hand when the assassin on team cap is highly captivating

pairing: bucky barnes x opinokinesis! female reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: literally just fluff, cute nervous blushing bucky, peter does try to flirt with reader but she just kinda laughs it off

a/n: this is based off this post right here by @rottenstyx !! i saw this and immediately was like yes yes i will be writting this! so all credit to them for the idea <3

masterlist | send requests

“Wow it’s so weird how you run into people at the airport, don’t you think that’s weird?” Tony asked, his mask shield opening to reveal his smug look.

“Totally weird,” Rodney said.

You chuckled as you watched the interaction from behind a parked helicopter. Tony advised you to hide, and only come out if things began to escalate. 

You’d hoped it’d never get to this point. When Ross came to the compound with those papers, you never could’ve imagined it’d end with your only family split down the middle. Half refusing to sign and half wanting to be held accountable. You fell on the latter.

When Tony said he was going to bring in Steve’s friend, you insisted on joining. Steve was one of your closest friends, more like a brother. You knew how much it crushed him when you signed The Accords. How much of a betrayal he saw it as. But you had to disagree. 

You never wanted to hurt his friend. You were there when SHIELD fell, when the helicarriers exploded, when the Winter Soldier dragged Steve from the river. Barnes was a victim, you knew that. You had sympathy for the man. But running away would get you all nowhere.

Steve rambled on about some psychiatrist and how he had orchestrated the entire debacle the team had found themselves in. Your interest peaked, trying to listen in and hear him out. Maybe he was right, maybe this was a misunderstanding and you could all talk it out.

Before Steve could finish, you saw a tall figure dressed in a black suit leap out from the trucks behind him. Suddenly, you were on your feet. Rushing to provide backup as the men exchanged false pleasantries. 

“Y/n,” Steve said. It was kind, no malice present as he watched you stand beside Tony. A somber and bittersweet smile spread across his face.

“Hi Steve,” you said.

Your focus fizzled as they went at it. Your eyes darted around the lot, taking in all the cars, planes, jets, and helicopters. Every nook and cranny of the space had to be accounted for. Tony wasn’t dumb enough to confront Steve alone, why else would you be there? No doubt Steve had the same thoughts.

Your eyes narrowed in on the large glass windows of the building behind Captain America. A pair of red goggles caught your attention. With a deep breath, you focused, allowing your sight to harden and zoom in on the figure. A blue haze clouded the outskirts of your peripherals as your vision became clear. Up on the top level of the building stood Sam, Redwing close behind him. Beside him was a man you’d only caught quick glimpses of. James Buchanan Barnes, Steve’s best friend, the Winter Solider. 

The last time you saw the man he was someone else. Dressed in harsh layers of leather, an assortment of guns strapped to his person, and a thick mask covering half of his face. Your chest tightened as you took him in now. You couldn’t put it into words, but he looked different. A good different.

You felt your focus being pulled back to the task at hand when you heard Tony begin to shout.

“Underoos!” He shouted.

You watched as Steve’s shield was yanked from his hands by a thick stream of web fluid. A flash of red and blue flew by, encasing his forearms and hands in the same material before landing on a cart with a flourish.

“Nice job, kid!” Tony said.

Tony had mentioned to you that he had a little bit of backup you wouldn’t know. But this was something else.

The “kid” before you began to ramble, his young voice slipping out as he thanked Tony for his new suit. You muffled your chuckle with your hand as you watched the two go at it, the boy showing just how starstruck he was.

“Cap-Captain, big fan. Spiderman,” he said, gesturing to himself. Tony continued to try to refocus the kid, but he seemed too awestruck. He continued to wave and greet everyone before his attention fell on you.

“Wow, you’re Dark Room,” the kid said as he gestured to you. Behind the mask, you just knew he was gawking. You couldn’t bite back your giggle as the boy stammered.

“You’re so cool, like one of my favorites!” he said.

“Thanks, kid,” you said, shooting him a friendly smile.

Spiderman continued to ramble on- how you were so cool and pretty, and had the best powers. You just rolled your eyes and smirked. The kid was a charmer. Tony seemed to be done, however.

“Okay, you can annoyingly flirt with her later. Just, good job,” he said, finally silencing the boy. You chuckled, shifting your focus back to the fight you never was coming.

-

You raced through the empty airport, chasing after Sam and Barnes as fast as you could. You knew the others had their hands full on the tarmac, someone had to stop Barnes from escaping. Spiderman was almost too eager to join you.

Finally catching them on the top floor, you paused as you watch Spiderman smash in through the window, knocking the two men down. With a small laugh, you made your way over. Just in time to catch some more of that Spiderman chatter.

“Whoa, you have a metal arm? That’s awesome dude!” He said, stopping Barnes’ fist with his hand.

“Kid!” You said, trying to get him to focus. Before you could reach him, you saw Sam begin to swoop in behind him.

“Don’t worry Ms, I’ve got this all hand-” he couldn’t finish before Sam flew in and snatched him from the ground. You could hear his snarky comments as Sam dragged him further through the airport.

While the two continued their spat, you paused in front of Barnes. For the first time, you could get a good look at him. He was tall, taller than you remembered. A good bit of stubble speckled across his jawline. No, you couldn’t even call it stubble. More like a soft beard. 

His hair was the same as before, but frankly more fluffy and smooth. His expression was soft and less harsh than last time. But his eyes drew you in the most. So vibrant and wide. Taking in the fight as if the assassin had never seen one before. You scoffed, pulling his attention from the two fighting to you. His eyes roamed over you, head to toe, scanning you in his mind. Finally, he landed on your face, his eyes locking with yours. You prayed he didn’t catch your eyes glow from nerves. Damn, he was cute.

“Barnes, right?” You said, slowly walking over to him. You could see the anxiety written across his face as he took a small step back.

“And who are you?” he asked.

“Oh, you don’t know? I’m the girl you kicked in the ribs three years ago,” you said, with a smirk. Realization seemed to wash over him as if he was recalling thievery day right before your eyes.

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t…I’m sorry,” he said. You continued to close in on him. “But I don’t do that stuff anymore.”

“Fair,” you said, stopping in your pursuit. He seemed to relax for a minute as your steps paused. “I mean that’s not what you’ll remember me for anyways.”

“What will I remember you for”

“Being the girl who drags your ass into custody,” before he could process what he said, you swung. 

He dunked, narrowly avoiding your shot and backing away. Before you could make another move, he dove for your leg. His metal arm shot out, trying to knock you off your feet. He wasn’t quick enough for you, though. Suddenly his arm froze, twitching by your calf.

“What the hell?” he asked, trying to move his arm. He looked up to see the strong yellow glow emitted from your iris’ as you smirked at him. 

“What? You didn’t think you were the only Hydra experiment, did you?” you said, smiling at him. His eyes were lost, looking at you again trying desperately to remember you. Digging through the jumbled mess of memories in his hand, hoping something would come up. He had to have known you.

“How are you doing this?” he asked, his look that of curiosity rather than fear. The emotion you were often met with. “Sensory manipulation. Sick huh?” you said with a smile. Before he could respond, you released his arm and gave him a soft kick in the chest, sending him back on his ass.

Barnes was quick to his feet, about to come back at you when a large sign fell from above you. You froze as the thick purple-colored steel came crashing down. Your feet were suddenly lifted from the floor, your body falling back away from the destruction. Two strong arms were wrapped around you, pinning you to the ground. Looking up, you saw Barnes.

Gently, he eased you to the floor, removing his arms from around you. You were stunned, lost for words. This was the same man who had bombed the UN just days before? You were pulled from your daze when you caught his cheeky smile.

Just as fast as he had saved you, he was gone. Racing off in the direction of Sam and Spiderman. You gathered yourself fast, jumping to your feet and brushing yourself off. Your legs carried you after him, as quickly as they could.

His thick silver arm grabbed some of the debris of the sign that had just tried to crush you. With precise aim, he launched the debris at Spiderman. The kid latched onto a nearby beam with his web fluid, just dodging the shot.

As you began to catch up to Barnes, ready to avenge yourself, you heard the kid shouting.

“Hey buddy I think you lost this!” he said. 

You spotted Barnes hiding behind a pole, slowly peering out in surveillance. You stopped yourself as you saw the large debris flying straight back into the pole. Quickly, you ducked to the side to avoid the collision. Barnes ran, the sign smashing the pole behind him in sparks. 

“Hey kid!” you shouted in annoyance as you got up. You spotted him perched on another beam up by the ceiling.

“Oh sorry, Ms! Didn’t see you there. I didn’t mean to hit your pretty face,” he said, frantically. When Sam came up behind him to knock him down, you almost chuckled. Somewhat deserved. 

The two continued at it, Spiderman ultimately pinning Sam down by his arms against a railing. You caught sight of Barnes once again, giving the kid a nod of agreement as you went after him.

“He likes you, huh?” Barnes asked as you ran at him, swinging with a hard fist. You missed, him grabbing your arm and yanking you away from him. You flipped out of his hold, gaining your footing before charging back at him. Your eyes glowed as you focused on his hearing. The man was quickly doubling over, hands over his ears as he tried to stop the ringing you sent through his ears. While he was down, you ran up and kicked him down. Your hands found his, pinning him to the linoleum flooring below you.

“Jealous, pretty boy?” you asked, leaning in.

“Of a kid? I don’t think so,” he said. Your guard was down as you stared at his spirited blue eyes. Before you knew what was happening, you were on your back and Barnes was running towards Sam.

A crash caught your attention. You shook yourself off, stumbling up as you made your way to just below where Spiderman was perched. From your spot under the pole, you smirked, looking down to take in the kid’s work. A floor below you, surrounded by smashed glass, Sam and Barnes were stuck to the floor in web fluid. This time, you couldn’t hold in your laugh, a loud giggle escaping your lips at the sight.

Behind you, you could hear Spiderman rambling before suddenly being flung out the window by Redwing. You ran up to the railing to see Sam with his hand on the control. The two men were on their backs, surrounded by debris, and still had in them to trade snide remarks.

“You two bicker like an old married couple,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning forward to rest on the railing. Barnes rolled his eyes, you just sent him your best heart eyes. 

“Please,” he said with a scoff.

“Lotta back talk from a guy who just got pinned by a teenager!” you said.

Sam signed before giving you a soft smile.

“Hey Y/n,” he said, his restrained hands giving you a small wave. You returned the gesture, taking a moment to catch up with your friend.

“Hey Sam,” you said. 

“How’s your cat?” he asked. Barnes wore a confused look on his face as he watched the two of you. Two skilled fighters mid-confrontation taking a moment to chat about a goddamn cat.

“Good. How’s your partner?” you asked, gesturing to Barnes.

“Annoying,” Sam said with a grimace of frustration.

“Maybe, but he’s cute,” you said. Barnes’ attention quickly shot to you. Making eye contact with you from his place splayed out on the floor. You just shot him a wink before taking off, making your way to the stairs.

—

taglist:

@baby-banana @mattymurdocksbitch @themorningsunshine @skyfullofinfinities

[mad-fem-lesbian]

We All Know What a Woman is Essay

This is the essay I wrote for an assignment where we were assigned to write an argument of definition. I defended that "woman" "female" and "lesbian" all have clear definitions and that it's offensive to try to change them.

I had to be “civil” in my arguments, so I had to rein myself in a little bit on certain parts.

But I was still able to show a backbone and make my stances very clear.

My professor was extremely impressed. He even said it was one of the best essays he’s read. 💪🏾

I’m new(ish) to the community, so I look forward to interacting with you all!

We are living in a time where the words “women” and “female” have become almost taboo and devoid of meaning. The definitions of these two words, which have always been clear historically, are now up for debate. No longer are the dictionary/medical/historical definitions universally accepted. There is a push for a change in language that’s more “inclusive” or “gender neutral.” The push for this change is mostly due to wanting to legitimize transgender identities. Some examples include no longer referring to pregnancy or menstruation as being female or women’s issues.  The point of language, however, isn’t to be inclusive. The point is to be able to describe and categorize things accurately. We need language to explain the similarities and differences between things. In the case of female and male and with woman and man, these words need to be clear because they have historical significance, medical necessity, social implications, and legal ramifications.  

The differences between the sexes and how we refer to each group have always been clear. Man has referred to an adult human male and woman has referred to as an adult human female. Biology has always been a part of the definitions and distinctions. Not accounting for disorders of sexual development (DSDs), the sexes are usually accurately observed and categorized in terms of chromosomes and primary sex characteristics. Sex and gender were intrinsically linked terms and concepts in the past. As the Merriam-Webster website explains, the terms sex and gender have been linked since the 14th century (Merriam-Webster, n.d.). Meanwhile, the terms gender identity and transgender didn’t have known uses until 1964 (Merriam-Webster, n.d.) and 1974 (Merriam-Webster, n.d.). So, it’s a relatively newer concept that gender exists separately from sex. Sex has a definition based on biology; it’s based on something that’s tangible, measurable, and concrete.

 Comparatively, gender identity is based on someone’s internal sense of themself and therefore it is “unverifiable and unfalsifiable” (Griffin L, et al., 2021, p. 292). There are large enough parts of society who support the idea that women are a social category made up of “feminine” traits and characteristics. They want to redefine woman/female based on transgender people’s view of themselves. Even this side of the argument has to admit that since their gender definitions, such as the belief that “gender can be fluid” or that someone is non-binary or agender that it’s not solid enough of a concept to start changing definitions and laws based on an unprovable concept. As Dahlen (2020), explains, “No genetic marker, biochemical test, brain imaging, or objective measurement exists in medical practice for gender identity . . . ” (p. 42).

Historically, women were discriminated against medically and legally. Of course, we still see this practiced in current times by things such as Roe v. Wade being overturned by the United States Supreme Court on June 22, 2022. As a black woman, one of the first things that comes to mind when I think about the medical horrors against women is Dr. J. Marion Simms and his “medical experiments” on enslaved women (Ojanuga, 1993). Dr. J. Marion Simms was considered by many to be the “Father of  modern Gynecology.” Ojanuga goes on to explain how during that time period, gynecology didn’t even exist as a medical field yet (Ojanuga, 1993). To make these atrocities against my ancestors even worse, the enslaved women weren’t able to give consent to the medical treatments (Ojanuga, 1993). Unfortunately, black women are still facing problems related to maternal health (Cuénant, 2023). Women have never been able to separate our “gender” from our sex. Our female bodies have always been a target when it comes to medical and political attacks. Male bodies aren’t policed in this same manner and they’re often the ones in charge of women’s autonomy. That’s why the idea that any male (regardless of how feminine he may feel or how he presents himself) can “identify” as a female or as a woman personally offends me.

Our sex is fixed and anything related to undergoing hormone therapy or surgically altering one’s genitalia doesn’t actually change anyone’s sex (Dahlen, 2020). I don’t object to feminine men, only to the fact that they want to shoehorn themselves into womanhood. We are not a nebulous concept that can be erased or redefined. We are not the ‘former planet’ Pluto. Culture is different globally and the gender roles associated with different cultures such as style of dress or responsibilities may differ, but we all have one thing in common that unites us, and that’s our biology. Being the sex that’s capable of giving birth, menstruating, and going through menopause are universal female traits. As such, we deserve our own language and descriptions.

When women weren’t able to vote until the Women’s Suffrage movement successfully fought for those rights in 1920, everyone knew who counted as women. When women needed restrooms in the workplace, when it came to creating women’s schools/colleges, and when it came to owning property, everyone knew who the women were. When women needed their husband’s permission to use birth control and when they were being discriminated against when it came to getting credit cards in the 1970s, it was very clear what segment of the population was being targeted (Eveleth, 2014). It’s always women that have had to fight uphill battles to get our rights and our cries recognized.

Another way that this debate personally affects me is because I’m a lesbian. If one argues that trans women can be women, that means that they can also be lesbians by that same logic. (Merriam-Webster, n.d.). The history of the concept of lesbianism goes back even further when considering the term lesbian dates back to Sappho of Lesbos (c. 610-c. 580 b.c.) (Merriam-Webster, n.d.). The concept has always been focused on women loving other women. It still means that, even though there’s a push to make “lesbian” a more inclusive term as well. There was a feminist/lesbian music festival called Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival or Michfest for short that was held from 1976-2015 on private property in the woods of Michigan (Welcome to Michfest, n.d.).

Controversy found the festival when its founder, Lisa Vogel reiterated that the festival’s focus was for “womyn-born-womyn” (Macdonald, 2018). Despite reports that the festival didn’t allow trans women to attend, the owner did know that there were trans women attendees. Other than the incident in 1991 when a trans woman was requested to leave, the festival didn’t ban them (Macdonald, 2018).  However, Lisa Vogel never backed down from her vision or mission of the festival which is that it was always focused on women and that it was a female-centric space. There was a group called Camp Trans that picketed the festival for their “exclusionary” practices (Camp Trans, n.d.). The festival being held on private property is the equivalent of if I had a meeting for lesbians in my home and then there were people organizing on my front yard in protest. The spaces for lesbians (or women in general) to meet and connect with each other in-person and online are dwindling because of the idea that female-only or single-sex spaces are exclusionary.

As far as legal situations, Title IX is a hot button issue right now. Title IX is part of the Education Amendments of 1972. It prohibits discrimination “on the basis of sex” in educational programs and activities that receive financial assistance from the federal government (Title IX of the Education Amendments Act of 1972). There are different interpretations about if gender identity is/should be protected under Title IX. It varies from issues about what bathrooms transgender students should use and if they should be allowed into locker rooms or play on sports teams in relation to their sex or gender identity. Outside of Title IX, different sporting bodies are also considering the same issues (Brito, 2023). The issue of fairness is often the argument about if males can safely and fairly compete with females in sports regardless of their gender identity. The science generally supports that transgender women have a physical advantage over women (Roberts, et al., 2020). Beyond the physical advantages is the psychological warfare on women that are forced to share locker rooms with males, especially in-tact ones. Former University of Kentucky swimmer, Riley Gaines, and her experiences should be considered. She was uncomfortable having to share a dressing room with and compete against Lia Thomas, a male swimmer who spent his first three years competing against other males (Schlott, 2023).

The radical feminist or gender critical stance is not one that objects to feminine males or masculine females; historically most radical feminists have been gender non-conforming lesbians. We generally don’t shave or wear makeup. So, no, we’re not the pearl-clutching religious or conservative group that believes each sex has to prescribe to a specific gender role.  That’s not my argument here at all.

We’re all for believing that people can dress and present themselves exactly as they’d like. We just don’t believe that someone’s inner sense of themself (their gender identity) is the same thing as them actually being the thing they want to be. 

Making legislation changes and conceding our language to appeal to someone’s inner sense of self, something that’s not concrete, is not practical. What happens if they change their gender identity again or continuously? What happens if in 10 years the medical community admits that the science behind this movement is flawed and that it should fall out of favor in the same way that lobotomies have? How will all of the female athletes who got injured or lost scholarships/games/medals be compensated?  How will they correct official documents like the sex recorded on birth certificates and passports?  These are not small, easy things to reverse. These things have to be considered when talking about policies, rules, and laws. 

We are not asking for the eradication of trans women despite what a lot from the pro-transgender side are arguing. We are simply asking them to create their own identity and spaces because woman and female are already taken. Asking us to call trans women women isn’t just going against the dictionary/medical/historical definition of the word, but it’s also asking us to erase ourselves in significant ways. 

If we don’t have language to describe ourselves, our experiences, our needs, and our rights as a defined and marginalized group, then what do we have? The words man and male are not facing the same kind of scrutiny. Phrases like “menstruator” “bleeders” “uterus haver” “people with vaginas” don’t have male equivalents that medical institutions or well-respected media outlets regularly use (Steinbuch, 2021).

In conclusion, my stance is not one against transgender women, it’s a stance that’s pro-woman. I’m for women not being erased or redefined due to a small group of males that want to “identify” as us. Misogynist attitudes, language, policies, and laws worldwide make it clear that everyone knows exactly what a woman is.

[fatehbaz]

Mangroves. Estuaries. Shorelines where land meets water. Fluidity and porousness of boundaries. Imposition of imperial, colonial, European property law and the “fiction” of solid borders. Profit extraction from property, the “legal magic” of creating permanent borders, and the destruction of coastal forest-worlds.

---

[T]his tropical coastal ecology is a site of continual refiguration: neither sea nor land, neither river nor sea, bearing neither salty nor fresh water [...]. The mangrove has been prone to confused definitions, [...] also a complex coastal ecosystem in itself. With these hybrid conditions of “belonging,” the mangrove lends itself to helping us think through the present-day schematic of Euro-American crises [...]. Its polymorphous personality as a sediment-carrier, land-builder, defender of numerous life forms [...] renders the mangrove a fascinating study in the biopolitics of selfhood. [...] The Sundarbans covers an area of 10,000 square kilometers of intertidal zones between parts of southwestern Bangladesh and the state of West Bengal in India. The largest mangrove forest in the world [...]. As a landscape, the Sundarbans is marked by unfixity, since its intertidal nature places it between appearance and disappearance -- with islands being submerged overnight. [...] [T]heir porous quality does not allow for clear border-making. In reading [...] satellite image[ry] of the Sundarbans, produced by what is said to be “the most stable, best characterized Earth observation instrument ever placed in orbit,” we are met with the trembling instability of borders. [...] [H]ere the coastline becomes indiscernible as a single entity. The legal vexations of such amphibious and obtuse terrain become pronounced in sea-rights cases, wherein border-making becomes the necessity of tenure. Forming rulings over such zones lays legality prone to paradox. In the Blue Mud Bay case, heard by the High Court of Australia in 2008, a legal body was called upon to make a determination regarding the shifting geography of a mangrove coastal region. In the final ruling the aboriginal Yolgnu claimants were successful, with the court ruling that the column of tidal water lying above land should be regarded no differently from the land itself. Thus the court’s attempt to encompass Dholupuyngu cosmology and “aqueography” occasioned a legal magic transforming water flow into the fixity of “land.” [...] The mangrove line is, hence, one of sedimentary reclamation rather than clear political divisions of terra firma. In mangrove zones, human determinations become ghosts.

Text by: Natasha Ginwala and Vivian Ziherl. “Sensing Grounds: Mangroves, Unauthentic Belonging, Extra-Territoriality.” e-flux Journal Issue #45. May 2013.

---

Traveling through Bengal in the eighteenth century, [...] [travelers] saw a highly sophisticated water-based economy -- the blessing of rivers [...]. The rivers were not just channels of water; they carried a thriving trade, transporting people and goods from one part of the delta to another. [...] Bengal’s essential character as a fluid landscape was changed during the colonial times through legal interventions that were aimed at stabilizing lands and waters, at creating permanent boundaries between them, and at privileging land over water, in a land of shifting river courses, inundated irrigation, and river-based life. Such a separation of land and water was made possible not just by physical constructions but first and foremost by engineering a legal framework. [...] BADA, which stands for the Bengal Alluvion and Diluvion Act, a law passed by the colonial British rulers in 1825 [...]. Nature here represents a borderless world, or at best one in which borders are not fixed lines on the ground demarcating a territory, but are negotiated spaces or zones. Such “liminal spaces” comprise “not [only] lines of separation but zones of interaction…transformation, transgression, and possibility” [...]. Current boundaries of land and water are as much products of history as nature and the colonial rule of Bengal played a key role in changing the ideas and valuations of both. [...] [R]ivers do not always flow along a certain route [...]. The laws that the colonial British brought to Bengal, however, were founded upon the thinking of land as being fixed in place. [...] To entrench the system, the Permanent Settlement of 1793 created zamindars (or landlords) “in perpetuity” -- meaning for good. The system was aimed at reducing the complexities of revenue collection due to erratically shifting lands and unpredictable harvests in a monsoon-dependent area [...]. From a riverine community, within a hundred years, Bengal was transformed into a land-based community.

Text by: Kuntala Lahiri-Dutt. “Commodified Land, Dangerous Water: Colonial Perceptions of Riverine Bengal.” RCC Perspectives, no. 3, 17-22. 2014.

---

[A]t the shore, where the boundary between land and water is so often muddied [...] terrestrial principles of Western private property regimes feel like fictions [...]. Shorelines, indeed, do much to trouble the neat boundaries, borders […] of the colonial imaginary […]. And so thinking about shallows necessitates attention to the multiplicity of water, and the ways that tides, rivers, storm clouds, tide pools, and aquifers converse with the ocean [...]. For Kanaka Maoli, the muliwai, or estuary, best theorizes shoreline dynamics: It is not only where land and water mix, but also where different kinds of waters mix. Sea and river water mingle together to produce the brackish conditions that tenderly support certain plant and aquatic lives. [...] As Philipp Schorch and Noelle M.K.Y. Kahanu explain, the muliwai ebbs and flows with the tide, changing shape and form daily and seasonally. In metaphorical terms, the muliwai is a location and state of dissonance [...], but it is not “a space in between,” rather, it is its own space, a territory unique in each circumstance, depending the size and strength or a recent hard rain. […] [T]he muliwai [...] as a conditional state [...] undoes territorial logics. [...] It is not a space of exception. Rather, it is where we are reminded that places are never fixed or pure or static. Chamorro poet Craig Santos Perez reminds us in his critique of US territorialism that “territorialities are shifting currents, not irreducible elements.” If fixity and containment limit, by design, how futures might be imagined beyond property, then the muliwai envisions decolonial spaces as ones of tenderness, care, and interdependence. [...] Because water has the potential to trouble the boundaries of humanness, it may furthermore push us to think through […] categorical differences […], to consider the colonial mechanisms that produced hierarchies of bodies to begin with [...].

Text by: Hi’ilei Julia Hobart. “On Oceanic Fugitivity.” Ways of Water series, Items, Social Science Research Council. Published online 29 September 2020.

[mysticstronomy]

WHAT IS INSIDE THE MOON??

Blog#340

Saturday, October 14th, 2023

Welcome back,

Well, the verdict is in. The Moon is not made of green cheese after all.

A thorough investigation published back in May has found that the inner core of the Moon is, in fact, a solid ball with a density similar to that of iron. This, researchers hope, will help settle a long debate about whether the Moon's inner heart is solid or molten, and lead to a more accurate understanding of the Moon's history – and, by extension, that of the Solar System.

"Our results," wrote a team led by astronomer Arthur Briaud of the French National Centre for Scientific Research in France, "question the evolution of the Moon magnetic field thanks to its demonstration of the existence of the inner core and support a global mantle overturn scenario that brings substantial insights on the timeline of the lunar bombardment in the first billion years of the Solar System."

Probing the interior composition of objects in the Solar System is most effectively accomplished through seismic data. The way acoustic waves generated by quakes move through and reflect from material inside a planet or moon can help scientists create a detailed map of the object's interior.

We happen to have lunar seismic data collected by the Apollo mission, but its resolution is too low to accurately determine the inner core's state. We know there is a fluid outer core, but what it encompasses remains under debate. Models of a solid inner core and an entirely fluid core work equally well with the Apollo data.

To figure it out once and for all, Briaud and his colleagues collected data from space missions and lunar laser ranging experiments to compile a profile of various lunar characteristics. These include the degree of its deformation by its gravitational interaction with Earth, the variation in its distance from Earth, and its density.

Next, they conducted modeling with various core types to find which matched most closely with the observational data.

They made several interesting findings. Firstly, the models that most closely resembled what we know about the Moon describe active overturn deep inside the lunar mantle. This means that denser material inside the Moon falls towards the center, and less dense material rises upwards. This activity has long been proposed as a way of explaining the presence of certain elements in volcanic regions of the Moon. The team's research adds another point in the "for" tally of evidence.

And they found that the lunar core is very similar to that of Earth – with an outer fluid layer and a solid inner core. According to their modeling, the outer core has a radius of about 362 kilometers (225 miles), and the inner core has a radius of about 258 kilometers (160 miles). That's about 15 percent of the entire radius of the Moon.

The inner core, the team found, also has a density of about 7,822 kilograms per cubic meter. That's very close to the density of iron.

Curiously, in 2011 a team led by NASA Marshall planetary scientist Renee Weber found a similar result using what were then state-of-the-art seismological techniques on Apollo data to study the lunar core. They found evidence of a solid inner core with a radius of about 240 kilometers, and a density about 8,000 kilograms per cubic meter.

Their results, Briaud and his team say, is confirmation of those earlier findings, and constitute a pretty strong case for an Earth-like lunar core.

And this has some interesting implications for the Moon's evolution.

We know not long after it formed, the Moon had a powerful magnetic field, which started to decline about 3.2 billion years ago. Such a magnetic field is generated by motion and convection in the core, so what the lunar core is made of is deeply relevant to how and why the magnetic field disappeared.

Given humanity's hope to return to the Moon in relatively short order, perhaps we won't have long to wait for seismic verification of these findings.

Originally published on www.sciencealert.com

COMING UP!!

(Wednesday, October 18th, 2023)

"IS THE MOON RUSTING??"

[cringefail-clown]

I'm balls at telling the outfits apart what class is Hal? Also just generally curious about why you picked this classpect for him

hals a mage of mind in this au! as for the reason why, lets take a lil deep dive into my thought process here:

first the mind class, taking the description straight from the extended zodiac it says:

Those bound to the aspect of Mind are-you guessed it-the universe's great thinkers. But don't for a second think that means that they have all the answers. They are very concerned with remaining rational, and they have such a firm hold on the constant conjunction of their thinking that it's easy for them to see the multitudes of the choices laid out before them, which often leaves them frozen and unable to act. That said, when a Mind-bound finally launches into action, they can execute a plan with unbelievable grace and precision. Their identity is fluid-it can change from day-to-day, from thought-to-thought, from interaction-to-interaction. Remaining logical is more important to them than building up a solid foundation of "self." At their best they are great innovators, architects, and creators. At their worst they can be nasty, inflexible, and indecisive.

i always liked the idea of hal being a mind player. first off, its the opposite of heart aspect, which ties nicely with his and dirks relationship. mind is also about the changing of ones self and masks the character wears to hide their true self. hal goes through many changes in his identity - starting once as dirk, then being the autoresponder, then changing his name to lil hal. all the mind players we know about (in the og comics at least - idk how it looks in other media outside og hs) are also characterised by wearing some form of shades (tz and latula with their redglare style, u could also argue dirk wearing his ties into him being a prince of heart, therefore ghosting the mind aspect while destroying the heart), and as we all know, in famous words of the man himself, he is glasses. its not like, big thing that mind players have going on, and its pretty inconsistent with dave also wearing shades, i just always thought it was a fun thing to ponder bout. also, again, tying into mind players hiding their true selfes behind masks (ie. shades), and we all know that eyes are the windows into the soul...

mind is also strategic and manipulative - not always a bad thing, players of that class just know how to pull the strings to make their plans work, and how to alter decisions of others. i think the best example of that would be hals whole ordeal in the synchronize/unite sequence. you could also argue that through the rooftop convo between dirk and hal, hal actively manipulates dirks decision so he doesnt get rid of him.

honestly hals a tough cookie to classpect. he might as well be prince of heart as dirk - it also fits him well. it just so happens that tb!hal fits more into the mind aspect in this particular au.

him being a mage is also entirely tied into the turnabout au - for the og hal id say hed be maybe an heir of mind, if we went with this particular aspect? (inheriting the mind and being drawn to it, also becoming the aspect itself), but for turnabout hes the mage.

now mages are the active knowledge class, its passive counterpart being seer. while seers gain their knowledge through outside sources and guide other players actions, mages gain their knowledge through their own experiences and use it for themselves. mages also usually experience their aspects uniquely, and because of that gain a deep understanding of it.

hals situation in tb is very unique indeed - hes become an ai fairly recently, still struggling with his identity. he helps dirk with getting jane into the medium, and through the gained experience he plays a major role in getting dirk into the medium - which causes some... unexpected things to happen.

[sortinghatchats]

OFFICIAL SORTINGHATCHATS QUIZ V2.0

Just uploaded a new version of the Official Sortinghatchats Quiz!

This new version includes new questions! Less bugs! A way to save your progress and come back later!

For those of you unfamiliar with our sortinghatchats system, we sort in two ways here:

Primaries: WHY you do what you do (morals, motivations, beliefs)

Lions are Idealist - Felt - Internal Primaries

Badgers are Loyalist - Felt - External Primaries

Birds are Idealist - Built - External Primaries

Snakes are Loyalist - Built - Internal Primaries

Secondaries: HOW you do what you do (methods, means, behaviors)

Lions are Solid - Improvisational - Inspirational Secondaries

Badgers are Fluid - Constructed - Inspirational Secondaries

Birds are Solid - Constructed - Situational Secondaries

Snakes are Fluid - Improvisational - Situational Secondaries

Neither your Primary or your Secondary is the more important sorting-- that's just the order we write them in (Primary/Secondary). Both WHY and HOW are important!

I lost my original source code for this quiz, so this involved rebuilding it from scratch! The sortinghatchats discord & my patient friends have been amazing in assisting me with balancing this quiz & also bug-testing it. I'd be thrilled if you checked it out!

[animeyanderelover]

It's totally okay if you don't want to write for him, but I would practically die for yandere Shirabu (Haikyuu) REALLY liking a classmate that's super sweet but too intimidated by his salty attitude to actually interact with him (and feel free to change this as much as you want if you do write for him!) I love your writing either way and am excited to read more from you! >3<

I think that's the first time anyone has ever asked for something with Shirabu.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, stalking, manipulation

Too salty

🐾There you are again, sitting in front of him whilst chatting with your close friends, that damn smile on your face that always manages to speed up his heartbeat a bit. How long has this been going on now? A few solid months would be Shirabu's guess, he can't get much more accurate as the line between a huge crush and a fine obsession has been a fluid transition for him. An obsession with you, the infamous sweetheart in his year and due to that quite liked by almost everyone. That includes him but his feelings are a bit different from everyone else around. He has never considered himself as someone who would start obsessing over a person like in some fanfiction written by a teenager yet here he is, finding himself studying you again from behind, accurately guessing what you'll have in your bento box as he's familiar with what you enjoy eating and your preferences. He could be proud of himself, unfortunately he can't help but feel a bit like a creep because he knows that despite never having interacted with you before.

🐾To his defence, that is largely your fault. Sure, his own pride has held him initially back, it took a while to gradually come to terms with his unhealthy feelings. By now everything is blamed on you though as Shirabu has actually tried to approach you in the past before only to discover that for some reason you don't seem to like him. You have never been downright rude but kept the conversations short before storming to your friends as soon as you caught a glimpse of them, excusing yourself and fleeing the scene. He's not willing to make a fool of himself, he has gotten the message. You're for some reason nervous and slightly anxious around him and for that reason he has stopped trying to talk to you. He won't admit it, but you did hurt his feelings with your behavior. Worst of all is that he seems to be the only one you're intimidated off as you have no problem offering your help or sparing a sweet smile and encouragement to other classmates of yours. That is just infuriating.

🐾The lack of willingness from your side to interact with him only worsens his jealousy of literally everyone else you're willing to talk with. Unconsciously he starts comparing others to himself. He has excellent grades, he's diligent and he's the setter for the volleyball team which is famous even across their prefecture. By all accounts, Shirabu can't help but feel like he deserves a slice more attention from you than some other people you chat with. So it's not uncommon that people catch him with a scowl on his face, glaring at you and whoever is your company at the moment, eyes narrowing angrily as he wonders what's so special about them anyways. He catches Taichi talking with you once and holds a grudge against his teammate afterwards, tongue sharp and tone rude during their training together and it isn't until the coach nearly yells at him that he passes him acceptable tosses, purposely making it harder for the male. Shirabu is aware that he's being irrational but it's hard to keep his boiling jealousy under control and he partially blames you for that.

🐾He has to find out what he's doing wrong or otherwise he fears that he might literally go insane. Luck seems to be on his side though when he overhears during a conversation between you and your friends, a conversation he just happens to eavesdrop on for a bit, that you need to score well on an upcoming test in a particular subject he knows you've always struggled with to make up for the abysmal score you had in the last test. Your teacher wants to help you though, has offered you to find someone to help you with, ideally someone in the same year as you. Shirabu is exceeding in this subject and he knows instantly that this could be his chance. He approaches the teacher in talk soon enough, slyly convinces them to set him up for coaching you. It's quite easy because Shirabu is an obvious choice so soon enough said teacher approaches you, Shirabu following him closely behind. You have a look of slight panic when you realize who they brought but are stuck, Shirabu is fully aware of that. If you reject him right now, you would openly insult the kind teacher and him and you could never do that.

🐾He schedules for you two to meet tomorrow after school so he can start coaching you and the night before that, Shirabu diligently creates notes for you and comes up with a whole plan how and what to teach you. You're awkward and stiff when you meet him, still a tiny bit anxious which does not make the male happy. This is a good chance to cleanse whatever bad image you have of him so he's on his best behavior. He's patient, explains everything in great detail to you and gives you tips or shows you tricks how to solve questions easier. This is a matter of pride for him because if he helps you to get a good score in the exam, you'll definitely have to change your mind about him so he can't fail you here. His sheer dedication to help you doesn't go unnoticed by you nor his polite behavior that soon makes you question your previously bad image of him. Sure, you've seen and heard about his salty behavior but in private he does not seem to be all that rude. At least not to you.

🐾You start to crumble with your cautious behavior around him, something Shirabu notices and he knows that he needs to push you a bit further to hopefully break all mistrust you hold against him. He purposely lets Taichi hand you over something he prepared for you to help you with the stuff, fully aware that Taichi will mention to you that he's been preparing sessions for you even in the locker before and after training, only deepening your guilt for having judged him without ever having properly interacted with him. It's by that point that he dares to ask for your number to communicate easier and so that you can ask him questions even outside of those private sessions and you cave in, a little bit hesitant but also unable to reject because of all the work he pours in for you. At times he purposely lets you solve stuff that is quite advanced and specifically catered to the areas you struggle most with. He can easily cover it with the excuse that he wants you to learn how to solve those problems, in reality it's just as much for his own want as it allows him to keep you longer with him.

🐾He approaches you for the first time outside of those private study sessions the day before the exam and hands you notes specifically made for you so you can prepare yourself for the test, right in front of your friends who afterwards can't help but talk about how detailed he made them and how much time he must have spent on them. All for you. Don't just think he did it out of altruism, Shirabu has been eavesdropping on you and your friends. Their image about him has majorly improved because of what you have told them that by now they almost scold you a bit for your unjustified fear of him and their words get to you as you already feel very guilty. If he can get them on his side, it would make things a lot more easier for him. The next day, during the exam, Shirabu can't help but glance over to your table multiple times, more nervous for you than for himself. There's relief though when he always sees your pen moving and never stopping for too long as you can write down an answer to everything.

🐾It seems quite normal when he approaches you after classes and asks how it went. You appear still surprised when you tell him that you were needlessly worried as you had only little problems because of everything he has taught you, genuinely thank him for his help. It's the first time that you've actually given him such a sincere smile and to his slight embarrassment, and to your friends delight, he starts blushing a bit. When you get your test back, with Shirabu having written the best one out of the class, you're delighted and relieved to see that you have majorly improved and have over 80% right. You're so relieved because this really is the final proof that you've been able to use everything Shirabu has taught you. If you would have failed, you think you wouldn't have been able to look him or the teacher in the eyes anymore. You come running to him excitedly afterwards, show him your exam joyfully and Shirabu hides the smug grin as he receives an ego boost. He knew he would be the right one to help you, luckily he convinced the teacher on that day.

🐾You want to pay him back somehow for his help and simultanously apologize for your bad behavior before because you've realized that you judged him wrongly. The male accepts your invitation and both of you agree to meet up on the weekend. You want to thank him for his help but are unprepared when he actually gifts you something to congratulate you for your good score on your test. Initially you want to reject since he's done enough for you already but can't do so in the end as he insists that he wants you to have it. You're slightly surprised when you realize that he just so happened to gift you something you've wanted to have for a while now but never had the time to buy due to all the studying. You think of it as a very lucky coincidence, Shirabu certainly won't tell you that he has listened on the conversations of you with your friends one too many times and has studied you closely for months and knows you for that more than you know. He feels satisfied though when noting your bashhful reaction because this confirms that he has definitely managed to make you forget about your assumptions about him. That means he can move on to the next step now.

[dollya-robinprotector]

So If turning them off ungoopifies them, are chobis get harder the less aroused they are?

depend on the Chobi, not any will goopify like the Lusty one

for example, the Trauma Chobi will dissolve into fluid when she's too tired from crying, and the Depressed Chobi emits black smoke-like soot all over the place when she's... too depressed.

But yeah they're kinda solid when they're "normal"

tch…. I let them loose to run to mutuals' ask box because of this. They need to run around and find distractions or they'll drown in their own miseries. They were born from Lya' past distress, being artificial creations created from experiences, they had no real "life substance" to them and could only retain a sense of purpose by clinging to the emotions that were used to make them.

If they don't interact with new people in order to develop their own hearts and emotions, they will literally dissolve just like this.

[talonabraxas]

Description of the Frontispiece in Magic: White and Black by Franz Hartmann.

At the foot of the picture is a sleeping Sphinx, whose upper part (representing the higher principles) is human; while the lower parts (symbolizing the lower principles) are of an animal nature.

She is dreaming of the solution of the great problem of the construction of the Universe and of the nature and destiny of Man, and her dream takes the shape of the figure above her, representing the Macrocosm and the Microcosm and their mutual interaction.

Above, around, and within all, without beginning and without an end, penetrating and pervading all, from the endless and unimaginable periphery to the invisible and incomprehensible center is Parabrahm, the unmanifested Absolute, the supreme source of every power that ever manifested or may in the future manifest itself as a "thing", and by whose activity the world was thrown into existence, being projected by the power of His own will and imagination.

The Omega (and the Alpha in the center) represent the "Son", the Absolute having become manifest as the Universal Logos or The Christ, also called Buddhi, or the sixth principle, the cause of the beginning and the end of every created thing. It is One with the "father", being manifested as a Trinity in a Unity, the cause of what we call Space, Motion, and Substance. Its highest manifestation is Self-consciousness, by which it may come to the comprehension of Man.

The spiritual man whose matrix is his own physical body, draws his nutriment from this universal spiritual principle as the physical fetus is nourished by means of the womb of the mother, his soul being formed from the astral influences or the soul of the world.

Out of the Universal Logos proceeds the "invisible Light " of the Spirit, the Truth, the Law, and the Life, embracing and penetrating the Cosmos and becoming manifest in the illuminated soul of Man, while the visible light of Nature is only its most material aspect or mode of manifestation, in the same sense as the visible sun is the reflex of its divine prototype, the invisible center of power or the great spiritual Sun.

The circle with the twelve signs of the Zodiac, enclosing the space in which the planets belonging to our solar system are represented, symbolizes the Cosmos, filled with the planetary influences pervading the Astral Light, and which are caused by the interaction of the astral emanations of the cosmic bodies and their inhabitants.

The activity in the Cosmos is represented by the interlaced triangle. The two outer ones represent the great powers of creation, preservation, and destruction, or Brahama, Vishnu, and Siva, acting upon the elements of Fire, Water, and Earth — that is to say, upon the original principles out of which ethereal, fluid and solid material substances and forms are produced.

The two inner interlaced triangles refer more especially to the development of Man. B, C, and D represent Knowledge, the Knower, and the Known, which trinity constitutes Self-knowledge. E, F, and G represent the Physical Man, the Ethereal or Inner Man, and the Spiritual Man. The center represents the divine Atma, being identical with the Universal Logos. It is, like the latter, a Trinity in a Unity. Of the three interlaced A's only one is distinctly drawn in the figure.

It is the spiritual seed implanted in the soul of man, through whose growth immortal life is attained. Its light is the Rose of the Cross that is formed by Wisdom and Power. But below all is the realm of illusion, of the most gross and heavy materialized thoughts, sinking into Darkness and Death, where they decompose and putrefy, and are resolved again into the elements out of which the Universe came into existence.

(Excerpts from: Magic: White and Black by Franz Hartmann)

[danosrosegarden]

helloooo!!!! :3

so i had this idea pop in my head and i would love to see what you do with it!

So basically edward most certainly has an account on onlyfans to see women on there i just feel it in my bones, but anyway his favorite account on there is the reader’s….and let’s say one day she just randomly moves in next to him? he’s freaking. the. FUCK. OUT. i mean his favorite onlyfans model moving next to HIM?? oh he’s creaming his pants forrr sureee, anyway she’s just the sweetest person ever and interact with him (and he’s just there profusely sweating like “she’s talking to me???”) whenever she’s lucky to get to see him come out of his apartment like for example he’s leaving for work and she’s making her way outside aswell to run some errands, and the more they’re getting close and being friends she invites him to her apartment for food or drinks and he’s just flipping the fuck out because he loves her (and her OF content) so much, and that leads to smut 🤭

and i dont know maybe…. one day he could appear in some of her OF content….. if he wanted to of course

anyway have an amazing and lovely day/night!

<3333333

Girl Next Door - Edward Nashton x Camgirl!Reader Headcannons (NSFW)

Contains: descriptions of masturbation and camming. Also, a jealous and somewhat delusional Eddie.

Note: return of the camgirl! I truly love this dynamic. I know this concept has been done before with Eddie, so I tried to be original as could be.

♡ "Excuse me, sir? Could you lend a hand for a moment?" Edward's blood runs frosty, his limbs frozen solid as he watches you struggle with your boxes in front of your apartment door. The contents inside clatter about in loud cymbal crashes. There's no fucking way.

♡ The shine coating your hair is the same shine he's seen late at night on his laptop. The curves of your hips are the same curves he's got his eye on as he pumps his cock with a tight grip. The curl of your pouted lips, the bat of your long lashes, hell, the sparkling color of your nails...it's really you, isn't it?

♡ It takes every fluid ounce of strength flowing through his body for him to not jump for joy. He was on his way to the store, but groceries could wait. "Uh, yes, of course," he coughs, scrambling to help hold the boxes.

♡ "Thank you," you say. "I'm new to Gotham. You're actually the first person I've really interacted with." Oh, how heartbreaking. A sugar-sweet angel like you shouldn't have to have her blood pumped and tainted with the filth of this city. If only I could find a way to protect her...to hold her close to me, then nothing bad could happen...

♡ As it turns out, you live two doors away from Edward. You offer a warm smile as you enter your apartment and close the door. Edward nods and rushes back to his own place, instantly peeling his pants away and frantically pulling out his cock. He's grasping at the faint notes of your perfume still swimming around in his nostrils.

♡ Regular porn didn't do it for him. Everything was so...stiff. The moans pouring from the women's mouths reeked of plastic. Fake. That's what it all was. The concept of paying for what he liked seemed more appealing. After all, these were real girls in the comfort of their own homes. Real pleasure. He liked seeing that.

♡ It didn't take long to find you...and he was smitten. You were a real life doll, overflowing with enchanting beauty, soft skin dripping with grace. Your moans were luscious and candy-coated. And besides all that, he could tell you were really enjoying yourself each time you appeared on camera. Oh, how he wished he could hear those groans in person and feel them dissolve on his tongue. How he wished he could just reach out and touch that smooth skin, tug on that soft hair...and now you were here. It felt like a fluffy-clouded dream.

♡ He imagined it with his eyes squeezed shut and his fist gliding up and down, his cock throbbing and glossy with precum. You would invite him over for dinner one night. After all, he was the only person you knew in Gotham. Something about that excited him. You would open the door and Edward's breath would snake out of him, floored by your bewitching allure.

♡ The night would wax and wane to the tune of wine-soaked laughter and stolen glances. "You're so cute, Eddie!" you'd say. "I just want to eat you up!"

♡ A breathy whimper slid from his mouth as he pumped faster, thinking of how small brushes of the hand would turn into grazing up and down his sensitive sides. How that would morph to the shedding of clothes, the soft click of kisses, the candied sound of your moans as you slid down onto him.

♡ He was always jealous of the comments you'd respond to while playing with yourself. Every "you're so pretty" turned his blood a deeper shade of furious red. Each "I want to fuck you" made his heart race with rage. You were supposed to be just for him. His little secret.

♡ "Mine," he growled lowly, tugging desperately, feeling his high draw closer. "Mine." Maybe one day you'd let him come on camera with you...then he'd really show those pigs what they could never have.

♡ Hot cum wept from his tip as his breath hitched in his knotted throat. He did feel a twinge of guilt rip through his organs for a split second afterwards...you had barely spoken two words to him, and here he was, leaking all over his clenched fist from the thought of you.

♡ He couldn't afford to wallow in his pathetic disgrace for too long, though...he had a mission now. It was time to make his dream girl his reality.

[iamthekaijuking]

It’s been about a year since I drew the Flesh God, so new sketches were overdue, and yes it took me roughly around 2 months to work on these on and off.

As a recap on the face for my content, he’s an infinite paracausual expanse of flesh that occupies the space between galaxies across the multiverse and the spaces between universes, and has the genetic code of everything. But what I’ve actually drawn are pseudobodies, little bodies he sends out to interact with things.

So more deets on him under the cut

- he’s actually a plastic cell colony with genetic singularities and cellular processes that operate faster than light. Each cell can operate and move independently but work together and move like a slime or liquid, but usually just acts like solid flesh. The perfect light speed shapeshifter. He basically moves like the player character from prototype, Atom Eve’s siblings, venom, and the thing but fast.

- pseudobodies can be anywhere in size from a few meters to the size of celestial bodies. The biggest ones have neutron stars suspended between their horns. They’re are often stored in “recharge cysts”. They basically sit suspended in amniotic fluid with umbilical cords attaching to their spines supplying them with power. All the heat from the cellular processes are vented out a pseudobody’s back, but his main body doesn’t really need to worry about overheating much by virtue of being in space and having his own internal pressure and in some places his own atmosphere.

- pseudobodies have a set amount of energy (granted it’s enough to end worlds) and biomass, and while they’re creative with what they can do, they can’t violate conservation of mass. But they can open up a portal to the main body inside of themselves and establish an umbilical cord connection to get unlimited power and biomass and become unstoppable.

- attacks often involve lots of spinning and rolling while shape shifting and redirecting kinetic energy. He also uses a lot of jukes and rapid flurries of hits and slices. And while I didn’t illustrate it, to give himself an extra kinetic push, pseudobodies will usually shoot tendrils into things in the direction he’s going to move and yank himself forward or steer in midair like they’re grappling hooks and/or utilize controlled explosions to blast himself somewhere. Ultimately its about hitting as fast and hard as possible in short bursts while outsmarting attackers and maintaining momentum when sending them flying.

- he can form organs as needed in an instant and just as quickly reabsorb them. The pseudobodies don’t necessarily need organs but he just likes to have them. Usually a full skeletal system, digestive system, adrenal system, and a circulatory system with a six parallel heart set up.

- when he’s nervous he starts waxing and waning limbs and body parts, but usually this doesn’t happen because he just redirects all chemical signals that induce stress into a “stress sack” so he doesn’t have to deal with it.

- he actually used to be human, and he’s just arbitrarily appointed himself as the god of life and biodiversity, not that anyone can contest him.