#than getting a book deal for something with no substance

[cokou]

𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚐𝚊𝚛 𝙻𝚊𝚠 × 𝙵! 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

sum. an unknown substance had hit your face causing you distress, Law helped you rid of it. ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tw. sex pollen. office sex. rough sex. ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ a/n. I love this trope and was kinda hoping to write it one day, which is this day!! Hope you guys enjoy :3 // do not translate or transfer to any other platforms, this is my only account, will not be crossposted anywhere. POLL DECISION.<33

As soon as the submarine resurfaced, you couldn't help but explore the newly discovered Island that was infront of your very eyes. Getting off the ship then walking to explore the forest like Island, you left trail remembrance of ribbons in each tree branches. While on your walk, you acknowledge all plant types that you come across of, such as tree's with various sizes, or various patterns of green, even small bushes that grew kinds of small red berries.

Walking around and distinguishing which berries or fruits are edible and poisonous, you come across a vine with a strange leaf and flower pattern, the flower being bigger than the vines itself, causing the vines to slowly give up on it. The flowers color hue was different, it was shaded a blackish red that faded into a greyish pink towards the middle. The vines were deep green colored and it grew thorns on it.

Curiousity took over you as you recalled all vines that you had studied on a book you had recently bought, most types of growable plants were there, but you certainly haven't come across this one. As you leaned your face closer to examine it, it's scent took over, the scent was flowery, sweet, and it reeked the smell of freshly cut grass.

Leaning your fingers through the vines, you touched the flower. As you tried picking it up, it squirted a pollen into your face, latching itself into your eye, causing you to scream at the sudden pain. As the others scream your name behind you, asking if you were okay. You had told them that something had just gotten into your eyes and that it wasn't such a big of a deal.

As the sun sets and the sky turns darker, you all had decided to call it a day and head back into the submarine before anything bad happens outside. Walking back behind several crewmates, you felt a burning sensation across your whole body, your mouth turned watery as heat pools between your legs. You had thought that you were just tired, or maybe even hungry and shrugged off the sudden feeling.

But as you make your way to your room, you felt the heat through your body again, rethinking about the way pollen had gotten into your eyes from the flower earlier, making you a tad bit concerned. You backed away from your room and proceeded to find your captains whereabouts to let him know what had happen. By the time you had catched him inside his office, you couldn't help but feel irresistibly horny.

—

"So you're telling me that a powdery substance got into your face, and that now you feel like you're burning?" Law makes sure that he had heard you correctly as you identify all the details of what had happened earlier.

"y-yeah, and I'm telling you— it's getting worser." As you finished the sentence, your cheeks had grown an even more pinkish hue.

"..That isn't likely to happen, what type of flower- or vine was it?" Even more confused, Law had no idea of what vine nor flower you talking about, talk about bad day.

"Well, it had a blackish red color and a bit greyish by the middle, and— the vines were dark green.." You were such sweaty mess right now, it's taking such a huge toll on your personality, causing you to slighty hump the chairs edge as you urge yourself to masturbate under the table while consulting Law, or just fuck it and take Law right here in his office.

"Hmm, well you do have a book th—"

"Fuck it Law! Please, take me right here right now!" As you ball your fist onto your thighs, having your thoughts win, you felt a pang of embarrassment wash over you.

Law looked towards you shockingly, examining how your face was bright red, and how you were 'burning'. He finally understood what you were trying to ring up on his mind. It wasn't any type of regular pollen that had brushed through you, it had some sort of aphrodisiac on it, causing your behavior to be distressed.

"Come here." He gestured you towards his lap. You obeyed him and made your way infront of him, slowly lowering yourself onto his thighs.

You felt his hands hold your hips, wasting no time, he lowered your bottoms all the way towards your ankles. Unzipping his pants, he lowers it to his knees together with his boxers, freeing his semi-hard cock, giging it a few pumps to harden its current state. He positions your legs onto his arms, and slowly lifting you up.

He latches you towards his cock, your wetness being enough to lube both of you up.

"Are you sure?" Taking a moment to reassure that you'll be fine with this.

"y-yeah, please." You reassured him.

Satisfied with your answer, he decides to slowly move you on his cock, making you bite a moan out of your lips. He continued thrusting you onto him slowly, making sure that you'll be just fine on his hands.

"No— don't hold back, please!" You held his hands, which were holding onto your legs.

Law hesitates with your order, but gives in as he knows that with your situation right now, you'd probably need it. Without a warning, his grip tightens and he continues thrusting you onto his cock faster.

The harder you contain yourself from biting back your moans, you eventually give up, your lips swollen from your teeth biting against it, causing blood to form on it. You released a low moan, enough to be heard by Law, followed with a much louder one, as you get used to letting out noises for him to hear.

Law jolts as you released a stream of moans from your mouth, causing his dick to twitch inside you. Feeling his dick grow inside you, your moans increase volume enough for the whole room to hear. Law hugs your figure whilst still holding your knees and thrusted harder and faster inside you.

You felt heat rushing through you as you about to hit your edge, you warned him with your upcoming release and he nods in response. A bit later, you felt climax jolt onto you as you released on his cock, embarrassment pangs through you as you realized what you just did.

Law slows his pace and continues thrusting inside you, making you release shaky breaths and panting. Law didn't stop even when you had reached your climax, now you felt a second one coming through. His pace once again picked up, being faster than earlier.

"L-Law— i'm, c-coming again—" warning him with your upcoming orgasm again, his pace picks up once again— this time it felt like volts of light colliding, your skins producing noises that you sworn could be heard miles away, your moans being louder and clearer, it was obvious that he was close.

"m'close— (name).."

"i-inside me— please!" As his pace slows down, you felt his release deep inside you, it was warm, warm enough to feed the coldness of his office.

He removes you from him, his release dripping off your entrance.

"Better?" He was panting and out of breath.

"Yes, thank you—" You stood up while holding onto the table for dear life.

"We should get you cleaned up, especially your face, you wouldn't want that happening again do you?" He leads you into the bathroom and hands you a towel.

If it meant by Law fucking you like that, maybe you shouldve preserved that little flower that gave you trouble, right? Definitely.

©Cokou 2024,all works belong to me. DO NOT TRANSLATE OR TRANSFER!

[afewfantasies]

Lucky Strike 🎯 🎱 - HISTORY- II

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Pairing: Benny Cross (Bikeriders) X Reader

Summary: Benny deals with the personal ramifications of his joyride & learns about the precincts unexpected guest after a night of being in the doghouse with Kathy.

Warning: Mentions of DV and substance abuse. Neither are descriptive or in the current timeline of the story they are reflections of the past.

Word count: 1.3K

Getting to the house felt like it took twice as long while Johnny drive Benny home with Kathy in the back seat and Bruce following behind with Benny’s bike. The tension was getting to be too much for Benny and half of the reason he’d been going on a joyride. He’d grown up in a household that argued and it was why he shut down most times instead of going at it with Kathy. Johnny bids him a farewell with an apologetic look having not time to talk as Brucie puts the keys to his bike in Benny’s hands.

“Come by tomorrow we’ll talk” Johnny says with a serious tone.

“Ok, thanks guys” he nods before heading in with Kathy. He closes the door behind him and heads to the kitchen to find something to eat before Kathy really starts fussing. When it does start Kathy really does lean into it. Her points are valid but it wasn’t like Benny had become a bike rider after he’d met her. If that were the case she’d be on a solid foundation. But she’d fallen in love with an outlaw and then tried to change him. 

“And who was that woman there with Johnny? Never see you fellas with them kinda real fancy women” Kathy snaps. Benny hadn’t returned home to peace but all out war for the stupidity of his deeds and disregard for his lady and the family they were building. Kathy’s words not his.

“I was locked up how should I know?” Benny asks thinking of heading to stay with his father tonight as a means of stilling the argument.

“Fancy broad, all done up” Kathy explains as he gets a cigarette. “No smoking in my house!” She snaps.

“What am I locked up in here too!?” Benny snaps finally.

“You comparing my place to a jail after I just put all I had towards your bail? I’ll be eating from cans for the next two weeks” Kathy snaps.

“I didn’t ask you to do that Kathy and you should’t of if you’d resent me for it” he snaps lighting up as he exits the house. He sees her in the doorway as he revs his engine heading back to his father’s house. The drive is long and allows him to clear his head. When he gets out he sees people up playing cards in the middle of the night and nods a greeting before getting his keys. A foul smell hits him as he enters to find his father in a worse state than last time.

“Hi son” Mr. Cross says to his son.

“Pops” Benny nods heading into his bedroom. Sitting in his room be breathless fresh air opening the window and lighting another cigarette. His eyes hold your old window. No one hand heard anything about you since you’d left with the exception of one letter from your mother to Benny’s with a check for the money she’d borrowed and a note telling her that you and your mom were safe and doing well. There was no return address. Teaching over to his nightstand Benny opens his book of children’s stories to your favourite, a photo falls out. Looking at the old photo Benny smiles at your toothless grin. It was one of very few keepsakes he kept from childhood. The two of you had walked for miles on tiny legs to the fair. One of the carnies took pity on the two of you, fed you and gave you enough cash to do one thing. After an hour of contemplation you both decided on the photograph. It was a miracle you’d survived at all. He couldn’t think of things being any worse for children. 

He didn’t know why his mind was on you that night but people say when you dream of someone they’re thinking about you. Benny was the main character in tonights dream of yours as you reimagined a colourful life for him. Based on the news reports and his new friends. He was so handsome from the picture he gave James Dean a run for his money. Wherever you were he hoped you were happy, hoped things were going well and that one day he could see you again. Tomorrow he would to to see the guys and straighten out everything to do with his bail, then he’d find a way to repay Kathy. Maybe even leave her alone for awhile.

…

Benny feels more eyes on him than usual. Tensing he prays Kathy didn’t carry on too badly about his jail time. He finds Johnny across the room and heads over. Brucie gets up and Benny sits down unnerved, looking at Johnny.

“How fast were you going kid?” Johnny smiles. His demeanour is a shift from Benny’s expectation.

“I don’t know but I’ll pay the club back” Benny says ready to stand up. 

“No need kid, it was taken care of here, have a beer” Johnny says putting one in front of Benny. It’s surprising he’d seen what a bailout could do to the clubs treasury and with so many lately he knew the coffers were probably nearing empty.

“How? Kathy says you called up a woman?” Benny says describing you from Kathy’s recollection.

“Handle your old lady Benny, I don’t need the headache at home.” Johnny snaps. Not wanting the untrue tale to get back to his wife. Johnny hadn’t called you, he didn’t know you.

“Alright” Benny nods sharply.

“Besides, she wasn’t there for me, she was there for you.” Johnny tells Benny.

“I don’t know any women who dress that well” Benny mumbles lighting a cigarette. He’d been underprivileged before he’d become an outlaw. 

“Yeah? Well she knows you.” Johnny responds taking out the two day old paper, handing it to Benny he points to the death announcements. Skeptical at first Benny goes line by line stopping at a familiar name. A man whose death he’d prayed for often as a kid. Emotions overtake him and suddenly he feels like the chair he’s sitting in is unsteady and the clubhouse is spinning around him.

Sitting back Benny recalls the last time he cried. It had been a tearful goodbye because of the very name he was looking at. The two of you were holding onto each others hands for dear life, with fear for the unknown as your mothers pulled you apart. Your mother trying to get you to the car before your dad returned home from 60 days in jail, while Benny’s mother tried to get him back inside. You were only kids and you were both wailing. Your father had gone on a tear and really did damage to your mother before nearly turning on you. It had been Benny screaming into the phone like a void that made the police rush over to avert a homicide. It was the first and last time he called them. He’d been trying to save your life and had lost you anyway. Once separated you both watched each other tearfully until you were no longer in each other’s sights as the taxi cab drove away. The memories flow in and he remembers how powerless the two of you had been. Remembers that you were the only person that ever really fought for him. Swallowing he gets goosebumps, he’d just been thinking of you last night.

“Y/N?” Benny asks, your name carrying with it a ghost of hope.

“Y/N, where’d you meet a dame like that?” Johnny asks making Benny smile.

“You sure?” He can’t hide his excitement.

“I’m sure Benny, she came in all done up” Benny smirks recalling the somewhat wild and unkept child from his memory. “The guys were nearly drooling, she’s a looker with good instincts.” Johnny says. Leaving Benny to ponder those thoughts.

“She married?” Benny asks.

“I didn’t look at her hands” Johnny admits as Benny tries to visualize the new image of you in his mind. He was relieved that you seemed to be alright, thriving and beautiful but his heart hoped against hope that you’d found forgiveness for such a sorry excuse of a man.

“How do you know her?” Johnny repeats drawing Benny from his thoughts.

“Neighbours, as kids” Benny mumbles getting up. “Gotta run” he says getting back on his bike suspended license and all.

________

NEXT CHAPTER

Authors note:

Thanks so much for reading🩵 🎆 ! Don't forget to comment, like and reblog.

FOR FUN i'm curious to see what you think. Respond without reading the other comments:

Where's Benny headed next do you think?

Who's death announcement was in the paper?

Would you bail Benny out no questions asked, no resentment?

Tags: @mrsalwayswrite @ughdontbeboring @astrogrande

[bitletsanddrabbles]

Okay, I lied. One last post before I take that much needed mental health break.

A post that I always swore - back before you could turn off reblogs and mute comments and basically make the lives of would be trolls very pointless, because you will never see what they say - I would never be stupid enough to make.

I leave you with my essay on…

Why Sparkly Vampires Make Perfect Sense, Stephanie Meyer Just Went About It All Wrong

Let's face it, humans don't always know what we're looking at. As an example, I was reading a book about poison use in royal courts. In the section on cures, in the subsection on unicorn horn (alicorn, for the technical term), it mentioned how the people who procured this rare substance were somewhat baffled by the fact that at the end of their lives the unicorn (which lived in such places as Africa, Persia, India, etc.) would migrate to the far north to die on the beaches of the arctic sea. Now, in their defense, it's very unlikely that any of these individuals would be well traveled enough to have even the opportunity to see both a live unicorn and a dead one. If they had, they might have had an easier time realizing 'these are two different animals!'. But the point still stands.

Humans don't always know what we're looking at.

Now, if you go through folk lore and mythology, you will, of course, find horrible blood sucking fiends that drain innocents of their life. Vampires. You will also find lots of entities which emit an ethereal luminescence or radiant glow, entities which possess powers beyond mortal understanding, who can be benign or terrible, and who are known to abscond with humans, although we're certain these humans are safe and happy on Olympus or under the green hill, not dead like they'd be with those blood suckers.

No one who had not seen both Apollo, God of the Sun, and the horrible vampire who chowed down on the neighbor two doors down would realize: they're the same entity.

To make it even harder for the poor mortals (and easier for the vampires!), vampires look different in different lighting conditions. After all, something that sparkles in the sunlight will also sparkle in the moonlight, the firelight, etc., it's just a matter of degrees. So some vampires would hang out in moonlit glens, for that 'fairy of the moonlight' feel, while others would set themselves up in temples with a many fires as they could manage. I mean, if you're going to call yourself Apollo, God of the Sun, you had better be all sparkle all of the time! Top all of this off with mind reading ability that lets traveling vampires fit into the local not-vampire-vampire mythos and yeah, the humans don't stand a chance.

It's great! Things are wonderful! Even if someone does see you devour a hapless victim and run screaming 'vampire' in the town, you can always just eat them next. No big deal. Only the stupid and careless are in real danger.

And then…

CALAMITY!

The head of the Roman Empire, that militant mass of well armed testosterone (and a bunch of less important people), converts to Christianity and proclaims there's only one god who is…not you.

Well shit.

Of course, if you're a lesser known vampire you can pass yourself off as an "Angel of the Lord" in a quick pinch, as long as you're talking to a peasant who's too illiterate to realize you're lacking in the eye and wing department (good news - this is most everyone), but you can't do that too often. And if everyone knows you as Apollo, God of the Sun?

Sucks to be you. You now have a bunch of very militant fundamentalists armed with sharp, pointy implements of destruction chasing after you with cries of 'demon' and 'false god'. Even with your supernatural speed, getting away from them is made far more difficult by the fact they can see you glittering from the other side of the market.

This is where vampires went nocturnal, since moonlight is less sparkle inducing than the sun. Then, since even that gets risky, they slowly moved into caves and cemeteries and the occasional creepy old castle that no sane person would enter without an explicit invitation to dinner, or for a real estate job. Something like that.

The next millennium was pretty dire. The millennium after that was…okay, also pretty dire, until suddenly, at the end of the twentieth century, a miracle! A remarkable shift brought about a change that would once again free vampires from their castles and cemeteries and allow them to walk safely among humans!

But they wouldn't go creeping off to the sun starved, water logged boonies of the Olympic rain forest. Oh hell no! They would go to the cities, to Soho, to Broadway, to places where they could strut proudly down the street to the envious stares of mortals and cries of "Damn, I wish I looked that good in body glitter!"

[cactusdrinkstea]

─ ‧ ִ ۫✭ Beautiful mess

Vil Schoenheit x Reader

Summary: You saved Vil from getting his looks messed up from a failed potion and now he feels conflicted about it.

Word count: 1105

I loved how I wrote this one. I may write a part 2 with Vil pampering the reader perhaps. I will see later on -w-

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Looking absolutely divine was second nature to Vil. An art cultivated by him across the years to attract as many looks as possible. It could be described as a talent, but Vil also liked to think of it as his passion. Presentation was always the most important part, he always thought that way. 

If you presented yourself with good looks, everyone would listen to you and be at your whim, and even if they weren’t, your beauty would stand out more than anything else. That’s how he always thought. 

That day he was passing through the halls at NRC, it was no different than any other regular day. He had a book under his arm, heading outside from his history lesson. Usually his mind was focused, but that particular time he was thinking of something else. Thinking about his next possible photo shoot or if the beauty product he started to try was an improvement from the previous one. He could only hear faint muffled voices from some first years. 

“You messed it up! This is your fault! Now Crewel will fail us for real” 

“My fault? That furball poured the wrong quantities!” 

“Hey stop tugging it, you guys will drop it!” 

“How is ‘more’ a bad thing?! More is always better!”

Those were the rambles he blocked in his mind. Stuff he didn’t even want to get involved in. That was until he heard a warning that he didn’t pay attention to, and by the time he noticed he was being shoved to the side. He stumbled back at the unexpected motion, staring in surprise as his book fell out of his hands, the noise of glass shattering into pieces filled his ears. He fixed the strands of hair that went out of place and he stared back up. 

“What is the meaning of this?!” He snapped until he stared at the scene in front of him.

“Deuce, Ace, of course this involves you both, I can’t believe I am caught in the middle of—” He was about to rant until he saw the state of the last person in the trio. 

From head to toe, your body was covered in a weird substance. It looked like a potion gone wrong. From the texture to the color. A familiar potato covered in disgusting potion gunk. How could a potion be so runny and sticky at the same time?! It was like bubblegum mixed with water. Your usually plain looking face looked completely ruined, and if it was wearing any makeup before, he couldn’t even notice it anymore. 

"Lovely..."  You said sarcastically as the other two fools apologized over and over again when they stared at you. You told them it wasn't a big deal and then you looked at Vil

"You okay, housewarden?" You asked him, face still stained. Those eyes looking relieved to know it didn't get all over him, since instead you took the hit.

"I...What did you do that for? You just—" Vil didn’t even know how to feel. He seemed surprised, dumbfounded, and even angry, especially because he had been so careless not to notice the potion drop in the first place. It was the first time someone had jumped in front of him like this to avoid something bad happening to his looks. He was usually the one to be taking care of them, no one else did. 

"Ah, you are okay. It would have been a shame if it fell on you. I know how much you care about your looks” 

Now that truly shocked him, it felt as if the potion had fallen on him. No, it felt as if ten potions combined had just splashed onto his face. 

He felt a warm cozy feeling into his chest. Gratitude? Fondness? He couldn’t put his thoughts into words. Not only that but, since when did your face look so pretty? It didn’t make any sense. To any standard the way you looked was absolutely messy. Your usually clean hair looked sticky and the strands were stuck together. Your cheeks were covered in that slimy substance. That perfect uniform was stained and would probably need more than a singular wash. And yet with all of those things combined, he had never seen such a cute face before. No makeup needed, no fancy clothes or the most amazing hair. None of that. It only took a little kind potato protecting him to feel that way. 

Your eyes looking happily at him had never seemed so shiny and adorable. He snapped out of his thoughts and he took out a handkerchief from his pocket and started to walk up to you. 

"Yes, I am alright. I am more worried about you, that concoction looked like it was probably poorly made. Just look at what it did to your poor appearance” Vil softly wiped the sticky potion from your face. The last thing he wanted was for that cute skin to be left with any nasty spots, or your complexion would be ruined. He was even doing it more tenderly than usual. 

"What are you two doing creating any kind of potions anyway? With the looks of it this could easily be poison…” He said sternly to the first years, to which they only stepped back a little. 

“We were doing an assignment that went a little wrong. No harm done, right?” Ace said until he got elbowed by Deuce. 

“Clearly you guys don’t know how to make one!” Grim added but was promptly ignored.

“We messed it up in the process and then we all started to fight over it. We didn’t mean to drop it” Deuce sheepishly replied. Vil sighed and decided to focus all of his attention on his potato instead. 

“You’re not going to your room like this. You’re going to my dorm” He spoke firmly, already starting to drag you in the direction of Pomefiore’s mirror chamber. You were already trying to argue back, saying it wasn’t a big deal and that you would handle it, but whenever Vil had something in mind it had to be done. 

Right now he had to clean you up, give you a new wardrobe, the best skin and hair routine ever to fix that sticky mess and then maybe even try new makeup. He was going to take care of you just as much as you had taken care of him during that incident. Although deep down he was sure you wouldn't look as cute and beautiful as you had when you first saved him back in the halls. He had to keep that beautiful memory all to himself. 

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┆   ┆    ┆જ    ✾

┆    ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °             

┆彡   ✩               

[worlds-end-discotheque]

This isn’t a fully finished thought-project yet so please bear with me but I’m pretty sure Cuno is the one paying the bills for the de Ruyter apartment.

Or at least he’s trying to.

When you go into Cuno’s apartment, the first thing you realize is the chain and the warning about the electricity. From what we know about how Cuno protects his shack (and the state of his inebriation-comatose father) we can safely assume that Cuno’s the one who chains the door closed whenever he leaves. Obviously, no one in Martinaise would want to leave their home open for any reason, but the apartments clearly have deadbolts installed in the doors— so the chain is an extra measure. Cuno can’t have anything being stolen, even taking the extra effort beyond confidence in his own intimidation to chain it up.

The apartment has two rooms: Uuno’s bedroom, and the living room. Uuno’s bedroom consists primarily of the bed, the clothes line, presumably a dresser or some end table-like surfaces. Plenty of room for his substances and shit.

The living room has the sofa, which is clearly covered in Cuno’s clothing and a makeshift sleeping setup. The risqué pinup on the wall is basically confirmation that this is Cuno’s “space,” not something that he and his dad alternate or share. The L-Couch is Cuno’s bed, bedroom, and dresser, effectively.

Which leads us to the tiny desk. The items on the desk are minimal, but crucial: Cuno’s speed with the straw, Cuno’s textbook and homework, a lamp, the stack of bills, and an open phone book.

We’ve established already that Cuno and his father do not share space. Cuno is already a territorial kid, established by his limited safe zones in his own home. He wouldn’t leave his damn homework out somewhere where his dad could access it; the fact that the homework exists means that beneath his attitude, Cuno clearly has a deep level of care for his schoolwork and at least a desire to complete it. With how terrified he is of his father, there’s no way in hell Cuno would leave his schoolwork out in a place that his father could damage it or get angry for it. Which essentially confirms that the desk is Cuno’s space only.

The speed has its little straw, making it convenient to sip on consistently while doing work at the desk. (I do this with my water tumbler.) especially if you’re at the desk for a long time. With the open phone book, it’s clear that Cuno is at least trying to find the numbers for the companies that the bills are coming from. It’s not just a pile of mail on the desk— he’s doing research into it. Gathering phone numbers to take outside to one of the payphones. The desk is organized, business-like, unlike anything Cuno is— except for how he deals.

Which leads me to my last bit. Cuno’s insistence on selling you shit. Obviously, the best way for this kid to maintain a steady supply for his own addiction is to be a dealer. However, for a 12-year-old boy with a substance addiction in the world of DE where there’s nothing else to do, that level of self-control is absurdly high. There’s a meticulousness to it that betrays a primary aspect of Cuno’s approach: business. Cuno isn’t doing it for popularity, for “cool” points, and if his focus was only his own addiction then he would likely just steal them, take it all for himself. He’s not supplying his dad, that’s for sure. On top of that, he’s got a side hustle selling clothing and other crap he picks up, enough to try and pitch it to Pigs— repeatedly. There’s a lot to buy off Cuno, and it’s the one thing he repeatedly brings up in dialogue options, aside from insults. He wants you to know he’s willing to do business. He needs the money. Because the bills are stacking up, his dad could die any minute, and now he’s got Cunoesse too. (It’s not confirmed if she stays in the apartment with him, and I’m inclined to think not, considering the chain, his fear of her too and the fact that she stands on the other side of the fence than him— there’s a special separation there. There’s also no trace of Cunoesse-noted belongings nor a second space to sleep indicated on the couch; shivers, empathy, none of the skills speak up when inside the apartment about anyone but Cuno and his dad. At the same time, this is again unconfirmed).

I lost what I was talking about here, but the point is. Cuno breaks my heart and I want to adopt and take care of him so badly. It’s one thing to be a delinquent kid, it’s another to be a 12-year-old delinquent kid trying to pay your own damn bills in Martinaise. Fuck, man. I love this kid so much. He breaks my heart.

As much as I yap about my old man yaoi, I think Cuno is my favorite character in DE. He’s just… I need to take care of him. God help me. I wanted to kill his dad so badly. Sigh.

Anyways. That was my thought project. Thought Cabinet just adopted Cunology.

[puzzled-pegasus]

wof headcanons but theyre oddly food and substance related for some reason

Although I understand why Tui didn't include very much info abt alchohol or drugs in a kids book there is an extreme lack of culinary related world building so here are some ideas I had while on this train of thought :)

SeaWings tend to be foodies and are generally given cooking classes in school. Which if you think about it, is rather important, because like 60 percent of the creatures in the ocean are poisonous and the rest have parasites and nasty germs so they need to know whats up when it comes to food safety.

SeaWings use a lot of citrus in their food and drinks and they also use it for fragrances and stuff they just really like it

SeaWing nobles commonly eat fugu and there have been assassinations where a chef was bribed to not properly take out the poison so the dragon eating it would die

SeaWings drink to taste. SkyWings drink to forget what century it is.

SkyWings typically eat their meat raw but on special occasions they will barbecue it and put some spices n stuff on it. They don't eat much else besides meat but they do like spicy things like peppers and they also like strong onion or garlic flavors. The little masochists. Anyway,

SkyWings don't really like sweet things and many of them can't even taste them so they're like wtf is a dessert

man do they love them some olives tho. Olives everywhere. In their drink. Out of the jar. On their meat. Oil on their scales. Oil in their hygiene products. They started trading them from the Sand and SeaWings millennia ago but theyve selectively bred ones that grow in the mountains

This one's more drugs than food but SkyWings will sometimes take some kind of stimulant before battle like a beserker so they're all fired up heheh

MudWings are excellent meal preparers and sibs like to all cook together so they'll make a big pot of stew or something

They like bread and desserts, they have easy access to sugar cane being along the east coast and they also use a lot of honey. They're re into canning stuff too, they have a lot of raspberries and blackberries and strawberries in their temperate forest areas and they grow them to make jam and wine and they use honey to make mead

basically they are Cottagecore(TM) and I love them

They also eat lots of freshwater fish and crawfish and whatnot

And they also eat a lot of tatoes

Vanilla grows in the swamps, they use that in their cakes

MudWings deserve some appreciation goddamnit their kingdom is biologically diverse and beautiful

SandWings have tequila because. Yknow. Cactus.

They eat a lot of bugs and lizards, they don't really need to eat every day so it's not a huge deal

they do like coconuts tho and they use coconut oil in a lot of their hygiene products as well as in their cooking

They deep fry a lot of shit. Idk where i got this but trust me. They love things with lots of fat in it bc they need all they can get

Really sticky sweet desserts and candy; enjoyers of those one lollipops with the mealworms or whatever tf in them

also canning stuff like bone broth is very important

pickled cactus as well

rhey probably have a festival when cactus fruit goes in season

what even is IceWing cuisine.

Well way up north where there's nothing but ice it's pretty bad and the dragons have to eat just plain ass meat and seafood, but down into the tundras there's some pretty good stuff like cinnamon, pines for tea, honey berries, and other foraging as well as more diversity of meats

They would probably eat sushi

All the other tribes like to make fun of them and rightfully so bc their food is so plain

they make good honey berry wine tho

Maube that's why theyre so damn grumpy

RainWings are expert foragers ofc but they don't really feel the need to prepare their food in any way

They are, however, in constant dire need of sodium because they get absolutely none from their fruit

So anything salty is wow

Maybe rhey have a place near the mud kingdom border where they can grow some asparagus for salt

they are also the only tribe besides Night that can eat chocolate but forgor 💀 how to make it so the NightWings and them have to re figure it out together

Salted dark chocolate bing bang boom instant delicacy

NightWings used to be able to cook really well, especially desserts and pastry, but they forgor while they were trying to not die on the volcano

[poisonedprose]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷. KINKTOBER DAY 14. PURRING PERFECTION

ellie williams x hybrid!fem!reader

warnings: 0.8k words, kinktober smut, kitty hybrid!reader, pet names (kitty, hun, baby), cursing, thigh riding, pwp, first heat

masterlists

Ellie’s fingers mindlessly scratch behind your ears, listening to the sound of you purring on her chest while she read some book about space. You thought it was so attractive when she was indulging in the things she was passionate about. Your face nuzzled into her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her aroma.

Your body was warm, warmer than usual. Ellie brought it to your attention but you insisted that you were fine and that you didn’t have a fever. But both of you forgot to consider the possibility that you were on the brink of starting your first heat. You didn’t know much about them, only relying on the few elder hybrids that resided in Jackson, but even then there wasn’t much information to go off of.

As far as you were concerned, you were a late bloomer. You were grateful you didn’t have to deal with such a burden of having a heat. You were told that the first heat was the worst, but no one would ever elaborate. You just figured they were all exaggerating but when a warm substances warmed your cotton panties you knew you were fucked.

Your panty covered core was pressed against your girlfriend’s thigh. Your shirts were thrown askew on the floor, along with Ellie’s jeans. The sun that shone down on Jackson was close to unbearable. Your tail was swaying nervously back and forth, from side to side. Ellie and you hadn't really done anything physically, the both of you opting to take things slow, so it was safe to say you were panicking.

Ellie's hand slid from the top of your head all the way down to your ass, giving it a quick squeeze before trailing her fingers up your tail. Your purs only grew louder and your cunt only grew wetter. You shifted trying to get in a comfortable position, maybe you could wait it out until she left and take care of it by yourself. But of course, why would anything work in your favor.

Ellie moved her thigh at the same time you were readjusting your position, making your clothed cunt grind against the soft plush if her thigh. A whine escapes your lips. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She apologized sincerely and softly, figuring she probably bumped you and hurt you. She offered a comforting pat on your butt with a small smile.

“Els.” You whine, a pout evident on your face. “I said sorry, kitty.” She was still under the impression that you weren’t currently drenching your favorite pair of underwear. “No, no, Ellie…” You grind your self down on her thigh involuntarily. “Huh?” She looks outright shocked to say the least. “You need me to take care of you or something?” She shows you a toothy grin, mostly joking to ease the tension of what you just did.

She wasn’t expecting you to actually nod and agree. “Pretty please, I’ll be a good kitten.” She’d only ever heard you beg twice. One time when you were begging her to let you come on patrol with her and another time when you wanted her to cuddle with you. She’d never heard you beg like this.

It didn’t take her long to figure out what was happening. Your hot body, your swollen lips, your rose cheeks, your whiny voice. “Holy shit.” She mumbles to herself, she wasn’t sure what she should do in this situation. “Come sit.” She pushed the book aside and grabbed you by your waist and sat you on her thigh. After all, this would be the first time the two of you have been together this intimately.

You instantly took her invite, immediately rubbing yourself on her thigh. “Holy shit.” She mumbled again as she looks up at you. She can’t help but think how beautiful you look while riding her thigh. “It’s okay, hun, yeah? It’s alright.” She says, her words full of breath as her own arousal pools in her boxers

“Wanna tell me what’s up?” She asks as she guides your hips against her thigh. Her space book was long forgotten. “It came out of nowhere Els.” You whimper, ears pointing straight up and your tail curling in pleasure. “Yeah, I noticed.” She chuckles lightly. With two fingers she gently pulls your panties to the side. A string of your arousal sticks to the cotton. Ellie bites her lip as she watches you rut your bare pussy on her thigh, coating her skin with a thin layer of slick.

“Mmm, baby, as much as I’m enjoying this, I don’t think i’m supposed to let you do this.” It was true, a few of the hybrids had mentioned it’s best to hold out going through your heat for the first time with a partner. “No, no, no! Please don’t go Els, need you to help me. I dunno how to fix this.” You felt embarrassed by how desperate you felt— and probably looked.

Ellie had way more experience than you did, you knew she did. You knew she’d take care of you better than you could ever take care of yourself. She sighed, fingertips denting the fat of your hips. “Alright, alright. How could I say no to my pretty kitty, hm?”

[gremlingottoosilly]

A question about König:

How much would he control Mrs. König around the house in terms of substances? If his wifey smoked, either cigarettes or marijuana, would he try to stop her? Or if he had a few drinks at dinner, she was able to keep up?

And, how would König be while drunk or high?

Unfortunately for us, Konig strongly believes that cigarettes aren't something a lady should ever touch - and with weed, it's even worse. He might be swayed if only for a little bit if you have a prescription - for your chronic pains or for anxiety, he will allow you to smoke a little bit, only after consulting with your doctor and taking in all the notes. He doesn't trust any drugs - had quite a few terrible accidents while young and high, and now he doesn't want to deal with his precious wifey experiencing something like this. He will be so sickly supportive while making you quit, it's impossible to handle him like this. Konig is determined to make you get your nicotine kick somewhere else - and every time you express the urge to smoke, or after a certain stressful event, you find his hand worm its way in your pants, making you addicted to orgasms brought by him - maybe, it's even worse. He doesn't care if you need to smoke if you only do it on occasion - he wouldn't even care if he started smoking and you'd scold him for being a hypocrite. He wants to control what you will get addicted to - and he won't hesitate to lock you in an empty room with a bed and maybe a few books if you proceed to sneak cigarettes into the house. He is a lot more lenient with alcohol - beer and heavier liquors are an important part of Austrian culture and Konig wants you to be able to explore some of his favorite drinks with him. Granted, it only happens while he is at home(he keeps all alcohol in the closed drawer and will carefully go through the cameras to see if you're buying anything yourself) and with him pouring your drinks. He won't allow you anything more than a few glasses - even though he is the type to drink a whole tank of beer and top it with some pear schnapps, he still will control everything you get in. He is funny when drunks - like all of his years and traumas are being washed away and you are left with this silly and awkward newbie in Special Forces, who doesn't know how to talk to a pretty girl, and has no idea that you're his wife and he scored such a hottie.

[cultusmeus]

Sleepless sleepovers

Summary: You and Rust have a sleepover

Warnings: general warning based on the topics of season one of True Detective

Word count: 800ish

————————————————————————

You were caught off guard by the sound of a certain somones Truck in your driveway, you’d already settled in for the night PJs on and winding down on the couch with a drink and a book. Before you could even make a move for the door, he had already begun to knock. “Come back with a warrant.” You joked as you got up and opened the door. Rust didn’t look amused brushing past you into your house. Rust headed for your couch and you headed to the kitchen plating some of the dinner you’d made.

“Eat.” Is all you needed to say as you sat the plate down in front of him. Giving him his space and sitting on the opposite end of the couch while you finished your drink. Conversation between you two flowed at its own pace, You and Rust had a strange sort of relationship that blossomed from just selling him Benzos, Quell, etc. At some point he started to linger around longer after deals, and you never kicked him out or turned him away and now here you are. He abandons his half empty plate to instead inspect the book you were reading before his arrival. “I don’t know how you make it through all these fantasy and sci-fi books…Did you read what I gave you?” He asked reading the summary on the back of the book. “I did, I enjoyed it. Not as much as my sci-fi or fantasy though. If I wanted to spend my free time indulging in non-fiction death and darkness I’d turn on the News.”

Rust goes silent. He puts the book down. “So you’re content ignoring the harsh realities and burying your head in your fantasy books to ignore it?” He ask leaning back into the couch and lighting a cigarette, he turns his head to look at you as if he’s waiting for a response but instead starts up again “Thats the problem with people in this fucking town.”

“Hmmm tough day at work I’m guessing?”

His eyes narrow and he takes a long drag. “Did I strike a nerve?” You smile trying to diffuse his mood.

His eye contact doesn’t let up. He’s in the kind of mood where your stupid little quips aren’t enough to suffice. He wants to argue he likes to disagree. It's one of the parts of his personality you had to get accustomed to. “Yes, I read fantasy books to take my mind off of the world. It's nice to get lost in something like that, you know what though that’s a much better alternative than the substance dependency I have.”

“I feel like this.” You gestured to the book. “Is the much more tame side of my escapism behaviors.”

Rust lights up another cigarette, taking a drag before handing it over to you. “Didn’t mean to rile you up.” You take a few drags and huff in response. “You did. You did mean to and you know it.”

You huff out a laugh, and Rust's expression lightens. To keep the mood light you go to retrieve your usual vices hoping to end the evening on a better foot.

You don’t make it back to your spot on the couch before Rust reaches out to grab you, tugging you down onto his lap and pulling the cigarette from between your lips and putting it between his. “You work tomorrow?” He asks between drags, finishing the cigarette. You shake your head moving to sit beside him handing him two pills. He takes two more pills from the bottle you bought over downing them. You follow suit, taking two of your own.

Rust stands holding his hand out to you, you smack it out of your way, going to stand up for yourself. You don’t make it onto your own feet before Rust swings you over his shoulder without a grunt or struggle and walks towards your bedroom. Placing you with all the grace he can muster onto your bed. Rust makes quick work for his clothes stripping down to a wife beater and his boxers. He lays next to you, arms touching. You reach over for his hand holding it as you both stare up at the ceiling. These odd moments of intimacy with Rust continue to grow the more time you spend together. He squeezes your hand, as you both lay in silence. “Is this our version of a sleepover? Sleep over for the sleepless?” You feel the drowsiness coming on. Rust lifts your intertwined hands kissing yours and placing them back down.

[tgmsunmontue]

Caring, Keeping and Collecting Transformers - A Guide 8/?

Maverick is unknowingly surrounded by Transformers. He knows something is up though. Just not quite what it is exactly.

Bradley and Jake, having never met, are embarking on their own journeys and will have to learn to deal with the fact that they've both been adopted by Transformers.

Despite having years more experience, Maverick is no help at all.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN

EIGHT

                When they go back downstairs Admiral Kazansky and Captain Mitchell are both standing at the opposite ends of the kitchen, looking angry. He chances a quick look with Bradley who simply rolls his eyes. Definitely weird.

                “Dinner should be here in about fifteen minutes.”

                “Thank you.”

                “Yeah. Thanks,” Bradley adds and Jake knows he considers these two men some type of parents but his whole attitude screams disrespect and Jake wonders when Bradley might get over himself. He doesn’t want to risk disciplinary action by association. Although, he supposes, Admiral Kazansky can definitely tell that it’s all on Bradley, which is a blessing. The silence is definitely awkward, and he doesn’t know what he can possibly talk about when every subject is a potential minefield, so silence seems like the best choice for now. Admiral Kazansky does offer drinks, of which only Captain Mitchell accepts, asking for a beer and for some reason there is huffs and eye rolling and Jake has no idea what is going on.

                Weird.

                The food finally arrives and they eat and make polite conversation, none of it of any substance. Jake desperately wants to ask how long Admiral Kazansky has known about Transformers. He also wants to ask Captain Mitchell what he’s worked on in the past, because he suspects he’s going to get to learn all about the mechanical workings and help build Jetfire. That’s something that has him buzzing, something he’s wanted to do since he was a kid and not been able to do and now being given even the chance has him excited.

                Dustdrift and Ninja are in the garage and he can tell that Captain Mitchell is itching to get out there. There are definitely more silent conversations happening around the table than there are actual spoken ones and he’s certain he feels almost glancing blows as either Admiral Kazansky or Captain Mitchell kick each other under the table. Or maybe Bradley is the one doing the kicking. Regardless, he draws his ankles under his chair where they’ll be safe from roaming kicks.

                When they’re finished Captain Mitchell automatically starts clearing the trash and stacking the used plates into the dishwasher, clearly comfortable in the Admiral’s house and a pleased smile breaks out on his face when Bradley goes to help him.

                “Oh…” Ice says, voice soft and Jake is fairly certain he hadn’t meant to make a sound. He looks at the domestic scene and wonders what it’s about. Before he can think about it too much Admiral Kazansky is pushing his chair back and inclining his head, clearly intending for Jake to follow him. He enters a study, large desk taking up a large portion of the room, there are photos, maps, books and knick-knacks he’d love to go and study but he stands there, very mindful that this is clearly a conversation Admiral Kazansky wishes to have in private. Or maybe to give Bradley and Captain Mitchell some privacy. Then Admiral Kazansky is reaching behind the door and handing Jake a set of khakis.

                “Here. They’re not up to current regulations but they’re still a step up from civvies.” Jake takes the coat hanger and looks, sees the Kazansky nameplate and his eyebrows shoot up. “They’re old, I was keeping them for sentimental reasons. And I would like them back, however we can make some exceptions given the current… situation.”

                “Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”

                “Don’t speak too soon Lieutenant, we need to have a talk.”

                “Sir?”

                “Please, this is an informal talk. Very informal. I’m about to trust you with something that only a handful of people know.”

                Jake doesn’t know if he’s ready for state secrets, it’s bad enough knowing that his new knowledge of the Transformers is going to no doubt have a considerable impact on his career, and he doesn’t know if it will be positive of negative yet.

                “Do you have to tell me sir?”

                “Well, I have been informed it would be best for you to know, so that you are not caught by surprise should a… situation arise.”

                Jake has no fucking clue what sort of situation he could be referring to. They’ve already got fucking transforming robots, what else could there be? If it’s informal as it is?

                “Now generally this is very much a case of don’t ask –”

                His stomach plummets, skin instantly clammy and then his stomach is rushing back up and he swallows against the urge to throw up.

                “Did Bradley say something?”

                “What?”

                Jake snaps his mouth shut, mind racing back over the conversation he’d had earlier with Bradley. That they knew that Bradley was… not straight. That they were fine with it. Sort of. Fuck. What does any of that even mean?

                “Sorry sir. You were saying?”

                Admiral Kazansky’s eyes have narrowed and Jake swallows.

                “I’m gay and have been in a relationship with Captain Mitchell for twenty years. Give or take.”

                Jake’s sure his jaw hits the floor. Of all the things he was expecting, that was not it. Likewise the relief that floods through him makes his knees feel a little wobbly and he locks them tight. Bradley’s cryptic as fuck comments make way more sense now in hindsight.

                “Holy shit. Me too.” Admiral Kazansky’s eyebrows go up, and Jake is pretty sure his lips are twitching with amusement and he replays what he just said. “Uh. Just the gay part, not the relationship part…”

                “Yes. I gathered as much. Well. Pete thought it prudent that you were made aware it was a fact so that you could… avoid revealing said fact, even accidentally.”

                “Of course sir. Distract, deflect and divert right?”

                “I like your thinking lieutenant.”

…            …            …

                “Did you remember to tell him that he could have the other guest room?”

                “Shit. No. I forgot.”

                “So, we’ve just put two young men in a room with one bed, despite there being a perfectly empty second bedroom.”

                “Two young men who aren’t straight.”

                “Really? Huh. Well, it is possible they’re just…”

                “They met for the first time today. Bradley may have changed, but I don’t think he’d…”

                “I would have. Ha. I did.”

                “Jesus Mav, you aren’t reassuring me.”

                “Okay, how’s this for being reassuring. The guest bedroom they’re in is on the opposite side of the house and we won’t hear anything.”

                “Still not helping!”

                “He’s twenty-four – ”

                “Six.”

                “What?”

                “He’s twenty-six.”

                “No. I know… oh my god. You’re right. He’s twenty-six.”

                Pete’s voice breaks a little and Tom wraps his arms around him and holds him tight. He knows they’ll start building back their relationship from before, but it will be different and it will have scars and tender patches with bruises that will hurt for years, especially if either of them press too hard. They’re both a little too hot-headed and volatile sometimes and he can only hope that Seresin is calm and collected under pressure, because he’s fairly certain that their futures are all now intrinsically twisted together.

…            …            …

                “Holy shit, Admiral Kazansky is gay and in a relationship with Captain Mitchell.”

                “Uh. Did you figure that out, or are you asking me?” Bradley asks him, and he’s changed into a sleeveless undershirt and boxers, clearly getting ready for bed. Even used to communal living like he is it feels a lot more intimate with them in a room with a single large bed.

                “No. He just flat out told me. Said he was trusting me. Holy shit.”

                “Oh. Thank fuck.”

                “You knew,” Jake states, even though he already suspected that was the case.

                “Yeah, of course I did. Mav is my godfather and Ice is… Ice. Uncle Ice.”

                “Right. Makes sense that you’d know. Except you weren’t talking to them for the last few years because of the secret that your Bronco decided to spill… Weird coincidence that we’ve got a bunch of Transformers and naval aviators and none of the naval aviators are… straight,” Jake says. Because Bradley still hasn’t specified exactly how he identifies, and that’s fine, he might be a little curious, but he doesn’t have to know. It’s enough to know that he’s not actually alone in that respect either, not that he thought he was, but suspecting and knowing are two very distinct things and it’s making him feel quite buoyant.

                “Yeah, you’re right. Although if what Dustdrift said then they came to my dad first, and he was very much… actually. I’m assuming he was straight because he was married to my mom, but he could have been bisexual I guess.”

                “You’ve taken this whole thing really… calmly,” Jake states.

                “Well, I always suspected something was up, so today has just been the confirmation that I’m not actually going crazy and imagining the fact that I haven’t ever paid for gas…”

                “Well, I’ve got a horse truck that needs filling up if you want that life experience…”

                Bradley laughs and Jake finds himself smiling at the sound, because it’s somewhat of a relief that even after everything something as mundane as putting gas in a truck can somehow be funny. Also Bradley looks good, all happy and relaxed, his arms are nicely defined with muscle and yeah, he’s got long legs and Jake should probably stop staring. Not that Bradley seems to have noticed at all, which is a relief.

                “So, now that you know Mav isn’t using the other guest room, you’re welcome to it. We don’t have to share.”

                Jake blinks, a little taken aback, because that logistic hadn’t occurred to him. Of course Captain Mitchell is comfortable here, he likely spends a large chunk of time here, no wonder he simply started clearing the trash and packing the dishwasher, will be sleeping in Admiral Kazansky’s bedroom. Huh.

                “I’m the actual guest, surely you should go to the other room?”

                “Bullshit. I’m just as much a guest as you are. I’ve never lived here. Haven’t called any house of Mav’s or Ice’s home since I was eighteen.”

                “Yeah, and how long has that been then?”

                “Eight years.”

                “Oh. Huh.”

                “Just make up your mind. I don’t care. Less loads of washing if we share though.”

                “Yeah… yeah okay,” Jake agrees, because it’s a flimsy excuse but it’s still better than admitting he struggles to fall asleep when he’s not in a room with several other people, his time at USNA and now in bunks or racks meaning he needs the sound of other’s breathing to lull him to sleep.

[sapionic]

Taurus Moon And Each Day Of The Week

Taurus moon and each day of the week. I will get to the other moon signs. Just follow the blog to stay updated with each post.

Monday - This is a day meant to be spent in the comfortable and most easy way possible. Your job may be a little more easy-going this day. If you are independent, you are likely to rest or do minor things on this day. You may actually want to be doing more or having more on this day, but you may be met with limits of some kind. A lot could be on your mind, especially your to-do lists. Joking around, the use of substances, complex attitudes, and enjoyment of any kind is likely.

Tuesday - A day that can be considered "for the books" A lot is happening or it is a highly active day. If you aren't traveling, there is a lot that you see or are getting into. You may likely be focused on yourself and your own goals on Tuesdays. Work day most likely or a day to work on something as you would be more focused and willing to dedicate genuine effort.

Wednesday - Enjoyable day for you. Things seem magically easy and fun. You may smile a lot more on this day. Your energy is light and social. You want to connect with people more on this day. You are likely able to joke around loosely on this day. Your actions are unpredictable. Good day to post on social media and/or watch movies.

Thursday - You are a social charmer on this day. You are full of optimism and energy. Your social battery is fully charged and ready to go. You are likely to be aroused on this day so if you are coupled, this is a good day for those needs getting met. Whatever is going on today, you are able to adjust easily. Not likely to be a day of actual planning. It's a go with the flow type of day.

Friday - Good day for people with business on social media. Good day to promote something you have going on. You are full of inspiration on this day so also dont be surprised if you FIND inspiration this day. Whatever you have to get done on this day, you may do it in a way you have never done it before.

Saturday - You have more to do today than you prefer to. A productive day with randomness to it so be open to things being multiple ways. Good day for self-care if it is possible. You want to chill or you just want balance around you on this day. The day itself could be either enjoyable or complex. You are more responsible on this day.

Sunday- This day is either confusing or a lot happens that is unplanned. You have multiple things you can get into this day. Best to be wise about what and how you do things on this day. Another day where you may be aroused and wanting some romantic dealings. Best to use this day for travel. Social media usage is recommended on this day, especially if you are promoting something. You are likely very influential this day. There is likely something you can learn on this day.

[torchship-rpg]

Dev Diary 9 - Harm & Healing

Space is dangerous. A huge portion of the rules space in Torchship is given over to various ways it can hurt you, but before we get there we have to establish how being hurt works, and how to get better after it happens. 

Harm and Healing is the first in a section called Detailed Systems, which is a catch-all section for systems which, while not foundational the way Core systems are, will still come up fairly frequently. The book ‘unspools’ in this way, starting broad and getting more specific as you go through chapters.

Of these, Harm is the one that will be most likely to come up for many people. 

Harm Tracks

Every character has four Harm Tracks on their character sheet, abstracting the various ways you can get messed up on your missions. You can, if you must, think of each slot on the track as a Hit Point for this sort of Harm. The track has 12 slots, but this is to account for characters who are tougher than average; most people only have 8-slot long Harm Tracks, and you shade out the parts you aren’t using.

However, if you’re playing a very tough alien, you might have more Injury tracks, while a Baseliner has a longer Toxicity track than their genetically-modified peers whose metabolisms run leaner. Conversely, some Traits will shorten your track instead; genetic Augments can end up with shortened Toxicity tracks, for instance. 

The four kinds of Harm all have slightly different effects and happen for different reasons, but follow the same basic mechanical rules in terms of how they are inflicted, recorded, and removed. They are:

Injury, for actual physical damage to your character. This is the one that can kill you directly, so its management is really important!

Stress, for the mental and emotional strain of the job. Stress is the easiest to take, and the easiest to remove, over the course of gameplay.

Radiation, recording the progress of radiation poisoning, should it happen. Radiation is unique in that you never take it directly from radiation sources; you always take it as Ongoing.

Toxicity, your body’s ability to handle potentially dangerous substances. This can track poisons, but is mostly used for restricting the amount of pharmaceuticals you can stuff in your body.

Taking Harm

Broadly speaking, you can take harm in two ways. The first is to take it directly, where you simply get told to fill in a number of spaces on the track.

That’s simple enough, but there’s a further twist. Every time you take Harm, you also have to roll something called a Shock Check, which is rolled using one of your Universal Abilities. Powering through Injury is a roll of Wild Animal, while keeping calm and collected after radiation exposure tests Cosmonaut. Failing has a variety of effects, but most put you temporarily out of action.

The second, and often much more dangerous, way you take harm is taking Ongoing Harm. Every hour in-game, you increase your Harm Track by the amount of Ongoing Harm you’re taking. That gives you some time to work with, enough to come up with clever solutions like the space cadets you are, but left untreated your Harm Track will fill up. Atop that, Ongoing still inflicts Shock Checks, so if you’re bleeding from Ongoing Injury, there’s a chance every hour you go into shock!

As you climb the tracks, you face increasing negative effects to your character. Injury is the most direct, inflicting increasing amounts of Disadvantage (we renamed Complications btw) and making your checks harder as you deal with the consequences. High Stress makes using Unity more expensive, which can hurt a lot given that Unity is one of the primary ways you remove Stress.

Finally, Toxicity and Radiation both have the same effect of downgrading your rolls on Checks, effectively representing the way the mounting illness and the accompanying psychological impact makes you less able to use the skills you have. Don’t worry though; 6s are always successes, no matter how bad it gets.

Filled Tracks

Once you fill your track, each one has a special penalty. For Radiation and Toxicity, you start taking Injury; this takes the form of untreatable Ongoing Injury for Radiation (you’ll need to lower your Radiation before you can heal it), while any further Toxicity you would take when the track is full just becomes Injury.

For Stress, a filled track means your character just can’t function anymore; they’re either panicking too badly to act rationally, or they’ve just shut down from the stress. Don’t worry; this is a good chance to take over an NPC using the B-Team rules until your character gets back on their feet.

When your Injury track fills up, you die. 

Healing

To avoid your tracks filling up, you need to use the Healing rules. Because Being A Doctor is a whole 1/8th of the character skill archetypes in the game, we made sure that doctoring has some teeth to it, same as filling out Investigation Checklists for researchers or hacking for Signals (we’ll get into that one next time we do a mechanics diary). You don’t just get to lay on hands and Cure Light Wounds (which would be very handy in a setting with lasers, where light can cause a lot of wounds) but rather you have to actually address the problem the way a doctor would.

Because of this, there are four ways that healing works in Torchship. Characters have a degree of passive healing that slowly removes Harm; it works on Stress and Toxicity automatically, heals Injury so long as you’ve gotten some treatment, and doesn’t do anything for Radiation.

Still, this is not really practical for most gameplay purposes, though it works a little better than in most games as you really can just quantum leap to another crewmember and leave Captain Archer recovering in his quarters. Fortunately, it’s the future, so faster healing is available.

Harm Stabilising is first aid, where you remove Ongoing Harm. When people have been hurt, especially in a mass casualty situation, this is the priority; prevent people from getting worse. This is done as a simple Check using the responder’s medical Tool dice pool; if you get at least 3 Passes (that’s successful dice rolls, we revised that language too) you remove 1 Ongoing, while further Passes remove more.

Stabilising is difficult, especially if the patient is in a bad way. It’s harder to do the more Harm Factors the patient is dealing with, and there’s a chance of inflicting more Harm if you mess it up. For that reason, it makes logical and mechanical sense to attempt some Harm Management before Stabilising. 

Management is what you do in the field to suppress the effects of Harm; it’s painkillers, anti-nausea drugs, and so forth. No Checks are needed; you simply take some medication, which is either the pre-designed stuff from your stockpiles, or custom Harm medication you crafted with the pharmaceutical crafting rules. You take some Toxicity from the drugs, and the Harm Factor effects are gone!

Harm Management suppresses penalties, but doesn’t actually remove Harm. Once the duration of the meds are up, the effects come back, and if you keep popping pills to stay functional you’ll reach max Toxicity in short order. You need to actually deal with the Harm directly, and that’s where Harm Recovery comes in.

Recovery is a Check you can perform on a patient after they have been Stabilised. Successes grant negative Ongoing Harm, healing the patient over the course of hours. You can’t go faster than that (yet), but getting somebody from the brink of death back to fully healthy in the space of eight hours is still pretty impressive! Every time you perform Recovery Treatment, the patient takes 1 Toxicity, so you may have to wait for their Toxicity to reduce before going on with it.

Death

As mentioned earlier, characters can die. Any character, not just the ones working in Security. Fortunately, it’s the future, which means that a lot of circumstances we might call Dead are, in fact, Only Mostly Dead.

Which means they’re a little bit alive.

Curing Death is a special Check that doctors can do which simply requires they roll as many Passes as the character has Injury. As this is going to be more than you can roll dice in most situations, you’ll need to get every advantage you can. With a specialised, emplaced tool for bringing back the dead, you can roll 8d6, which will be enough in most circumstances if every one is a Pass. That means you’ll need every scrap of Unity you can to reroll until you get it.

It also gets harder the longer somebody’s been dead. Having a frozen compartment on board (which you might, for smuggling things past tachyon sensors) also means you can keep a body on ice to buy you a few more hours; you can always build a freezer in an emergency. If you have Sleeper Pods aboard your ship, you can use the advanced cryogenic chambers to keep a character around indefinitely, until you develop the technology to bring them back.

Just remember to be waiting outside the pod in your weirdest clothes, ready to yell “WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF TOMORROW!”

[unsentimentaltranslator]

“Wait, why are the edgelords right about the people who make ‘translation is loss’ posts?”

I don’t want any of the people I reblogged from under my old account, or any of the people I will undoubtedly reblog from under this account, to think I’m judging them for reblogging those posts. Those posts are the only point of view that non-translators on here tend to see, both because media translation is more interesting to the average non-translator than the majority of what we do and because while the tortured artist types are posting their laments on the internet, the rest of us are typically just getting on with our work. But “translation is sad because you can’t translate great literature in a way that fully replicates the experience enjoyed by those who speak the original language” is…not the best way to conceptualise translation for numerous reasons.

1. Most translators will never get to work on high-profile literature projects. You know that line in the song Don’t Be A Lawyer in Crazy Ex-Girlfriend where he says “Did you hope one day you’d find a way to spend four years working on a pharmaceutical company’s merger with another pharmaceutical company?” Yeah. And that’s not always a bad thing. “Translation is loss” is a romantic way of saying “if you work on prestigious literary projects, EVERYONE will have an opinion about the translation you did and many of those opinions will be the same kind of bitching that any high-profile creator has to deal with”. At most, I’d be willing to work on something like Marie Kondo’s books, where the audience is interested in the substance, not the style. Beyond that, forget it. I know what people are like.

2. Translation loss in prestigious literature is the kind that’s most talked about, but it’s one of the least actually consequential kinds. Not getting 100% of the original experience of reading a novel might be a bit of a bummer, but it’s not comparable to people dying because someone messed up a translation for an aircraft or a medical device or a bridge. It just isn’t. In my country, a dodgy translation of a treaty occupies the same place in our history as the smallpox-covered blankets in American history. That’s a tragedy. “We can be sad about both!” But you’re not.

3. Bridging the gaps between the two languages is OUR FUCKING JOB. If it was easy, we wouldn’t be hired in the first place. Academic study for translators is not supposed to be a fucking funeral for the source text (again, where would we be if translators in fields like aviation, medicine and construction did that?!); it is supposed to equip you with the analytical and problem-solving skills necessary to create the best target text possible. Which brings me to my final point:

4. If you’re a novice translator, the reason you find it so difficult to convey the source text in a way that is both accurate and natural is BECAUSE YOU ARE NEW TO THIS. You are going to need a lot of corrections at first. WE ALL DO. Some people never get good enough to translate professionally, just as not everyone is cut out to be a professional writer or artist or doctor or lawyer or teacher or pilot or athlete. That isn’t the profession’s fault. Every novice translator has to deal with a difficult learning curve and you can either blame it on the inherent nature of the profession or you can work on becoming the best translator you can be.

In closing:

 “ReAdEr i HaVe TaKeN LiBeRTiEs” NO FUCKING SHIT.

[theriu]

In case anyone needs to hear this tonight:

Please don’t hate your body. You are more than your body, but your body is important. It may get confused or scared or send wrong signals, it may be afflicted by incorrect processes, it may be damaged, but it is YOURS. It may not fit some ideal the world has tried to fit all bodies into, but it is YOURS. It was entrusted to you. It is precious. No matter how broken or confused parts of it may be at times, it is yours. It is precious. You are precious.

Your mind is connected to your body. How we think can indeed affect our bodies. I don’t mean that believing something a certain way will MAKE it happen, but science has proved again and again that we can retrain our thoughts to be better (even if they arent perfect); we can learn optimism and empathy even though we struggle with them; we can deny sensations and urges we know are wrong or harmful. We can care for our bodies, for ourselves, without hating our bodies or ourselves.

Your body is not against you. It is your cradle, your vessel. It doesn’t know anything expect “protect the body and the person in the body,” and sometimes it needs help because it doesn’t realize its attempts to protect you are broken, are hurting you. The corruption of this world can damage the body, but it’s still TRYING. Sometimes it tries so hard that it hurts more. Sometimes it’s a small child that needs you to lovingly hug it and tell it you’re okay, everything will be okay.

Please love your body. Please put away the sharp blades, the harmful drugs, the surgeries that remove healthy parts because the body or mind is confused and thinks it shouldn’t have them. It’s okay to need help, whether from doctors or counselors or pastors. The pain or depression or anxiety or disability or whatever you’re dealing with is hard, it’s so hard, it’s okay that you struggle with it! But please don’t give up on your body. Sometimes things pass, and sometimes God leads us to new ways of living that turn even the worst problems into sources of light.

Please, don’t hurt your body. Please, don’t abandon your body. We need you here. It’s not your time yet. And if you have hurt your body, I promise, I promise: There is still hope. The Healer can make beautiful things out of dust and ashes. It’s not too late. It’s never too late while you still have breath in your lungs.

The Lord God made you. He loves you. He has not abandoned you. He knows every ache and pain and fear. He offers HIS strength to get you through this hard time. He doesn’t condemn you for finding it hard. He understands it may take you time to fully trust Him. He isn’t going anywhere. He isn’t giving up on you. Please don’t give up on yourself.

You are so, so very loved. Please, know that it is okay to love yourself, too.

———

“Just as a father loves his children, so the Lord loves those who fear and worship Him [with awe-filled respect and deepest reverence]. For He knows our [mortal] frame; He remembers that we are [merely] dust.”

— Psalm 103:13-14 (AMP)

“For You formed my innermost parts; You knit me [together] in my mother’s womb.

I will give thanks and praise to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; wonderful are Your works, and my soul knows it very well.

My frame was not hidden from You, when I was being formed in secret, and intricately and skillfully formed [as if embroidered with many colors] in the depths of the earth.

Your eyes have seen my unformed substance; and in Your book were all written the days that were appointed for me, when as yet there was not one of them [even taking shape].

“How precious also are Your thoughts to me, O God! How vast is the sum of them!

If I could count them, they would outnumber the sand. When I awake, I am still with You.”

—Psalm 139:13-18 (AMP)

[salllzy]

Sal's snippets #4 (hidden in the shadows #3)

For a demon, she would be considered an anomaly, but given that she was half angel it wasn't all that shocking that sometimes she was more virtuous than the average human and demon. That didn't mean that demons didn't have virtues a lot of them did, but they were buried so far down that they were impossible to find.

But she was her father's daughter. Her dad hadn't raised her to allow anyone to walk all over her and with the angels now forcing them to reveal themselves and just what they are? Well, she wasn't going to play nice, regardless of who they were. Sarah knew bits and pieces about angels and how they behaved, her dad, tried to get books on them. Which had been a painstaking task to do. So she knew that angels formed flocks and bonds with those who resided in their flocks. Her flock was her and her dad, that was it. The same was true about her dad.

For as long as she could remember it had always been her and her dad, no one else. Sure he was a serial killer with bodies in the hundreds and he was a cannibal, but no one was perfect. He had never laid a hand on her and he had done everything in his power to keep her safe, even going as far as to learn voodoo from his mother. While the woman herself had never used it, she had proven to be a fountain of knowledge. She pressed a golden-covered hand to his back and focused on his wounds, his self-inflicted wounds. She would call him dramatic but in this situation, she felt as if dramatics were warranted. Neither of them wanted to join Heaven and be part of their flock, not when they had proven how easy it was for them to toss a member of their flock out. She and her dad were different, they would never fit in. They would be tossed out well before they even reached the gates. "Oh, papa." She pressed her hand into his back, she knew that he didn't like touch from those that he didn't trust and men. And for good reason. Her aversion to touch stemmed from a different place, the only person who had ever touched her without the intent of harming her was her dad.

She had stopped trusting her dad's mother when she kept trying to force her to go to church and that all she needed to do was pray and all would be forgiven.

The thought of praying and begging for mercy for something that she had never done, had never sat right with her. She had been a child when the older woman had begun dragging her to church, her small wrist in an iron grip. She would sit in church and try to mimic what was being said, as her tongue blistered and bled. She had never mentioned it to her dad.

Her dad had been so happy that she was spending time with his mother that she had kept her mouth shut. Now she wondered if she had done the right thing, perhaps she should have told him. But what was done was done and she couldn't change it. All she could do was keep going forward and hope that they would be able to deal with whatever was thrown their way, as they had always done. "Don't worry papa, no one will hurt you while I am here." Her eyes flickered into dials before they returned back to normal, she wasn't going to let her anger rule her. She was better than that. Once she was sure that he wasn't in any danger she left his room, she knew that she looked a fright covered in gold-tinted blood. In all honesty, she didn't care, her red eyes took in every detail as she made her way through the hotel. She knew that she would have to be on her guard, she didn't know them and her dad hadn't said whether or not she could trust them, to an extent. But she knew that she had to stay away from Vox and the rest of the Vees, which wouldn't be too much of a problem, she had heard the shouting match that the Vees had gotten into when she was healing her dad. She doubted that any of them were still at the hotel. The Vees were all style and no substance. But if they were in the hotel? Well, she didn't have to play fair.

[thetypedwriter]

Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Fairies

Emily Wilde’s Encyclopaedia of Faeries Book Review by Heather Fawcett

This book was very, very cozy. 

Even though there were some objectively dark moments, like fairies getting skewered by tree branches like kabobs, most of the book was a feel-good easy read. 

The novel surrounds the life of the scholastic grump, one Emily Wilde. Instead of focusing on things not worth her time, like fashion, keeping her hair tidy, decorating, or even relationships—both platonic and romantic—Emily’s main obsession are fairies, so much so that she’s dedicated her life to researching them. 

If you think that Emily is sad and bereft with this kind of lifestyle, you are wrong. She is perfectly content, thank you very much, to be out doing field work, writing in her journal, or working on her encyclopaedia by her lonesome (which she prefers). 

She has one last kind of fae to research, the remote Fair Folk in Hrafnsvik, a tiny village in Norway where the landscape is icy and the people are even icier.

As Emily begins her investigations into the landscape around Hrafnsvik, she finds herself stymied by her lack of social skills and accidentally offending the rustic townspeople who don’t understand the mousy researcher that is hunkering down in their home.

Stubborn and deciding that she doesn’t need help, Emily perseveres until she is rudely interrupted by her academic rival from Cambrdige, the beautiful and insufferable Wendall Bambleby.

While scorning him left and right, Emily is secretly relieved to have her one and only friend join her in such an unwelcoming place, scholastic competitor or not. 

With Bambleby by her side, Emily starts to delve into the secrets of the Hidden Ones, finding along the way that opening up to people, making friendships, and relying on others is just as important and fulfilling as finishing her encyclopaedia, and is, in fact, necessary in order to achieve and succeed with reaching her dreams. 

While this book had plenty of action, humor, and heartwarming moments, I feel like I’ve summed it up quite well in just a few short paragraphs.

The relationship between Emily and Bambleby is endearing, one that leaves you either in laughter or with a smile every time they interact. 

All the characters in the novel were very charming. I found myself forgetting which townsperson was who, Thora versus Lilja versus Margaret, but I genuinely don’t think it made that much of a difference. 

One of the best parts about this book was how fun and easy it was to read while also having substance and moments of genuine intrigue and thoughtfulness.

Emily’s steadfastness when it comes to her research is a refreshing take on a female protagonist, especially when dealing with fairies. 

The scholastic lens in which you read through the novel offers good insight into folklore as a whole, but also lends a refreshing narrative of a female character that cares more about her academic pursuits than romance with a fairy prince. 

Speaking of, while the romance in this book is very light, that isn’t to say that it’s shallow. Instead the relationship between Bambleby and Emily is so light and fluffy that I couldn’t even tell if there was something stirring between them until the later half of the book, largely in part because Emily’s whole character doesn’t center around her feelings for Bambleby. 

Emily’s journey of learning to lean on and open up to people was also very enchanting. The progression aligned well with her character and also to the events around her.

This sounds simple in theory, but I feel like authors often struggle to give characters arcs and to have them also make sense in the context of the plot. 

While Heather Fawcett has already written the sequel, Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands, and while I greatly enjoyed this book, I strongly feel no need to read the sequel. 

Emily and her journey came to a satisfying end that doesn’t leave me itching for more. She completed her self-discovery, finished her encyclopaedia, realized her faults, and became better as a person. 

The only cliffhanger that remained is the status of her relationship with Bambleby, but oddly I find myself okay with that because in my heart’s canon, I know they would end up together, squabbling over Emily’s choice of fashion (or lack thereof). 

Normally when I find a book I enjoy, I desire to devour everything and anything the world has to offer to me. In this strange case, I am content to close the book on Emily Wilde and her love of fairies forever, encasing it amber without adding in a potentially not-as-good sequel. 

Recommendation: A great summer read to bask in while suntanning by the pool. You will languish in the heat as you read about the frigid temperatures Emily has to go through while conducting research.

It's a light and easy read that will fill you up with contentment and satisfaction (while teaching you more about fairies than you even deigned to know). 

Score: 7/10