#the hunt is what defines us

[harena--tigris]

CROPPED n//s//f//w commission for @thatzeta for her AMAZING fanfiction The Hunt Is What Defines Us !! full pic on my twitter

[thehuntiswhatdefinesus]

It's been a while, huh? But finally, an update!

[thatzeta]

Hey, just wanted to check on you and ask if everything is alright. Since your last chapter, things have become quiet around you :(

Heyo, thanks for checking in 🥺

Don't worry, I'm fine.

Just had a lot of stuff going on privately/IRL these past weeks and in between stress and exhaustion, I kind of lost my writing vibe a bit. (And I hate it. I wish I could write, but it's difficult to force it.)

I spent most of my spare time gaming because I couldn't focus much on anything creative. In theory, I have the next chapter all finished, but I still need to edit it (it's approximately a year old, and looking back, I'm dissatisfied with it) and then have it proofread. Once I find the energy for it.

I hope to have something up by early October - fingers crossed.

[ghostbird-7]

Ethan: so that’s the lore I guess as the kids say haha

Benji: (white faced, thousand yard stare, spreadsheet of dead friends on desk) cool.

[darkwood-sleddog]

I want anon to understand that Animal Rights Activists, especially those working at the legislative level, don’t make or care to make any distinction between our working dogs on tie out and pet dogs on tie out. To them it is equal and this is why outright bans can be harmful (be it harm to a pet dog on a tie out that gets enrichment or working dogs) and I have a hard time believing anybody that actively keeps dogs on a tie out would believe they aren’t going to be in the crossfire of a tie out ban.

[ducktracy]

So in “Back in Action”, it is claimed that if Porky dropped his stutter, he would be rendered unfunny. Do you think this is true?

i think there’s a big misconception that Porky’s stutter pulls more weight than it actually does. it can absolutely add its own humor and certainly a lot of charm, but i wholeheartedly disagree that he needs it to be funny

the stutter can be an avenue for a lot of fun or charming gags (the ever reliable bait and eh-sweh-swee-eh-swetch-swi—beh-bai-eh-bait and eh-seh-sweh—the ever reliable switcheroo is always a favorite, but the rare occasions where it’s actually acknowledged by Porky himself make for some fun situations too), but Porky’s personality is i think wholly independent from his speech patterns and many of his best cartoons aren’t because he has a stutter and nothing else. it can help with charisma for sure, and i definitely think it would be an odd if he didn’t have it, but… it’s like a topper for what’s already there. stutter or no stutter, he’s a bumbling, oblivious but endearing innocent. the stutter i think helps to convey all that, but is like a compliment to an already founded ensemble

outside of the bait-n-switch wordplay (which can be genius in its own right but IS often used as a crutch by directors when they’re having trouble finding inspiration for him), it’s rare that Porky or other characters really comment on the stutter. likewise, very rarely is it made fun of, and if it is it’s usually by characters who are purposefully supposed to be conveyed as assholes in the moment. which, y’know, is good! it’s not something that’s often noted by other characters and i think that does help in showing that he’s more than just a guy who stutters and doesn’t really single him out.

and you have clips like this for example—i didn’t notice anything odd about it until i noticed there wasn’t a stutter, and even then the personality is still all there in the voice (and mannerisms.) likewise, there’s quite a bit of his dialogue that he goes through without stuttering because having him stutter on every single sentence ever WOULD be excessive. it’s definitely an art, all of the varying directors have different variations of his stutter and as i said before, sometimes you CAN tell when the directors are struggling with inspiration because that’s when the switcheroos come out in close concentration; i don’t think it’s Porky being an unfunny character so much as it is the occasional lack of inspiration. the personality is VERY much there, but sometimes it can be hard to find depending on the circumstances. i have a hard time pinning that as a problem exclusive to Porky

i guess it depends who you ask. i am a Porky nut and often make a point to try and get people to come to The Pork Side because i feel he’s very underrepresented and a very FUNNY character at that! so i’m a bit biased—some other people may think he IS only funny because of the stutter. i personally think that’s very false and puts a lot of faith on the stutter when (at least in the originals) it’s not something given a lot of importance from the characters themselves. i can only really think of one cartoon where the stutter is central to the plot (two if you count the days with his original voice actor, whose stutter was natural)—it would certainly be odd without it, and i can see how it adds a lot of charm and some personality, but people who say he’s ONLY funny because of the stutter are usually people who don’t know how to write him to begin with

[devertigozation]

Got 2nd booster shot yesterday (4th overall), and damn, not since the first shot did i feel those side effects that intense.

Literally like making a choice between laying in bed all day (which makes all my blood turn to jelly and causes headache) or walking around at least even though my bones and muscles ache so...

[cienie-isengardu]

The Death Watch was a violent splinted group of mercenaries who disagreed with Mandalore Jaster Mereel’s insistence on honorable behaviour.

[mcghosts]

grabbing my coworkers by the shoulders and shaking them vigourously: when you define a variable leave a comment saying what it is! use descriptive variable names! add some comments outlining what your big blocks of code do! make your code intelligible to others! please! god! please!

[ghoulphile]

wish you'd make me cry | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 2.3k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; rough, dom!cooper, frottage, sitting missionary, dirty talk, degradation kink, pet names, teasing, dacryphilia, bareback, drug/chem use (jet), shotgunning, high sex ➥ summary | "You’re such a needy fucking brat." :3c ➥ notes | drabble (that's no longer a drabble lol) request for @tearueful, thank you bby!! this one really got away from me... i had to stop myself from writing lol. un-beta'd atm. masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

Setting up camp for the night in an abandoned warehouse, you and Cooper wait out a radstorm that blows in off the horizon. Because while he loves sitting outside with a smoke, soaking in the rads until he’s buzzing with frenetic energy, you don’t feel like hunting down RadAway tomorrow.

It’s quiet apart from the distant sound of super mutants and ferals roaming the city, the sporadic roar of thunder, and rain tinging off the sheet metal roof. There’s still hours left until daylight, and it doesn’t seem like the volatile weather will break soon.

Unfortunately, you’ve read all the Grognak comics you could get your grubby hands on three times over, and there’s not much else to pass the time besides scuff your boot along the concrete floor, and pluck at a stray thread hanging off your tattered sleeping bag.

Meanwhile, Cooper lounges on his side, unbothered. His hand - bare for once - props up his head, the unscarred skin of a commandeered digit stark against angry rad burns and ropey scars. Between the knuckles of his other hand, he rolls a vial of chem over and over in a mesmerizing flick of deft fingers.

A lantern sputters between you as the old battery struggles to keep it lit. Its jaundiced glow banishes the thick darkness; a fuzzy halo of light that elongates shadows and deepens the cuts of his face.

You kiss your teeth, and say, “Hey, you got any more Jet?”

Lazy eyes slide towards you. A hairless brow quirks. “And if I did,” he asks, the vial pausing between his fingers, “why you wanna know?”

“Dunno, I’m bored… wanna get high?”

“Well, shit,” he whistles, bares his teeth. A low, crackling laugh rumbles from his chest. “Why the fuck didn’t you ask sooner.”

You shrug and crack a knuckle.

To be honest, the idea hadn’t occurred to you at first. Now that it has, anticipation curls low in your belly. Not only has it been a long, long time since you last got high (the sensation a hazy, half-remembered dream of fuzzy warmth and whirling thoughts), you know Cooper always carries a top-notch stash.

The little chem fiend, you think fondly.

“So,” you prompt. “Wanna get high together or what?”

“Sure as shit, darlin’. Let’s party.”

He settles against the pockmarked wall beside you with a soft grunt, the grit of concrete digging into his back. Thigh to thigh, his body is a rad warm line of heat. A bloom of suffocating heat in the otherwise biting chill of a wasteland night. Gunpowder and smoke tickle your nose when he leans over to rifle through his bag, leather creaking.

Muted, mellow; everything fades into a silent companionship as you pass the red inhaler between you. With every puff, whorls of smoke curl from your mouths until a murky gray cloud hovers in the air; defining the edges of your crafted universe.

The acrid vapor of chem burns its way through your lungs and into your bloodstream. A bitter taste coats your fattened tongue, lips tingling as your palm smothers little coughs. A flood of static rushes down your nerve endings, sends your head spinning.

As your vision blurs, the tension leeches from rounded shoulders with a bone weary sigh. And with every slow clicking blink, colors spark to life in a distorted kaleidoscope. Head lolling to the side, you watch through heavy eyes as Cooper rattles the inhaler and takes a shallow hit.

When he exhales, little tendrils of smoke caress the plains of his cheek. Dance along the hollow nasal ridge. “Almost out.” He grunts, your fingers brushing when he passes the cartridge back. “Go on, now. Finish it.”

The kind gesture (for him) touches you.

Then a faraway thought flutters.

Snags - settles into a nebulous desire.

And before you can second guess yourself, a rumble of thunder shakes the building. Wipes away the last of your common sense, and reservations. After all, why not? He was nice enough to share. You can too.

To his credit, Cooper doesn’t startle when you slink into his lap - not that you expect him to, even without being chem-addled. He tracks your movements from beneath a heavy brow bone, the dark Nuka Cola of his eyes glittering like shattered glass in the wane light.

“Heh, this that kinda party then, darlin’?” he asks once you settle, your thighs draped over his hips and your ass flush with his crotch. “‘Cuz you’ll be wanting ta extricate yourself if it ain’t.”

—Before I do it for you.

Humming, you dip forward until your breasts brush over the wide expanse of his chest. Interest flickers to life behind your navel; cinders cracking and popping along your spine. While you’d never considered Cooper a sexual availability beforehand (what with his never-ending search for family), the laden weight of his gaze as it pauses on your chin before dropping lower sings through your blood.

Kickstarts your heart into a galloping stutter that thuds against your ribcage as longing hooks behind your navel, tugs sudden and sharp. The world spins.

Maybe, you think, peering at him from beneath the fan of your lashes. Maybe…

“Pervert,” you murmur, biting down on a small smile.

The knife-sharp smirk falls from his lips faster than a comedown from Psycho when your fingertips ghost over the curve of his jaw, turning his head towards you. Like this, you share breath, the scant space between you thrumming with energy.

So close you can see flecks of gold in the amber whiskey of his eyes.

Your forehead brushes over his; the rough drag of gnarled skin sending a shiver through your limbs. “Let’s share the last hit. S’only fair.”

Pausing, he considers you for several long moments.

His gaze bounces from yours to the playful curve of your mouth and back. A small eternity passes like this. And then - when you’re about to crawl away to lick your wounded pride - the most imperceptible of nods grants his assent.

There’s a hiss of aerosol, a lung burning inhale, and then you’re exhaling into the open gash of his mouth.

Wisps of smoke dance off your tongue onto his, the bow of your lips glancing off the swell of his top lip as you squirm closer. You feed him chem in a slow, steady stream until all the air has left you.

He groans - a wounded, low-throated sound.

Your eyes flutter open to find him already staring, his iris a thin ring around the Blackhole of his wide blown pupils. Hooded, hungry: a caged predator. You lick your lips, and in doing so, flick your tongue over his.

Your stomach swoops, “I --”

“You’re such a needy fuckin’ brat, y’know that, sweetheart?”

Whether it was an apology or some other retort stuck to the back of your teeth like hard candy, you’ll never know because in the next moment a rough hand knocks the Jet out of your hand. The inhaler cracks against the concrete with a plastic smack before skidding off into the darkness.

A burning palm curls around your wrist, calloused fingers digging into your fluttering pulse point. “Hey — hngg!”

He yanks you close, and you taste the violence in his kiss.

Harsh lips map out the softness of yours as teeth pinch and roll until your mouth is a swollen mess of tender flesh and smeared spit. Keeping up with the frenzied scrape of his tongue and the deep pulls of his kisses is like trying to weather a hurricane or fight off a Yao Guai with a single bullet.

“W-Wait,” you gasp, fingers twined through the lapels of his duster. “I don’t --”

“Shut up,” Cooper growls, worrying the swell of your bottom lip until a bead of blood bubbles to the surface. He sucks it away with a stifled moan, his hips kicking up against the plush of your ass.

“Shut the fuck up right now. You know what you was doing - trying ta act innocent when you’ve been gaggin’ for it.”

Flustered, you pull back, “No, that’s not true!”

It’s hard to keep your balance with chem pumping through your veins, and you sway to the side. The only thing keeping you upright is the bruising grip Cooper has on your wrist. “I haven’t been — you’re wr-rong.”

He spits out a mean spirited chuckle. “If that’s what you need ta tell yourself, sweetheart.” A critical eye drags down the pathetic sight you make, crumbled as you are in his lap. “But I know the truth. I felt you looking - pantin’ after me like a bitch in heat.”

“...”

Panic grips you by the throat, your pulse thundering against the thumb he strokes along the curve of your shoulder. You should’ve known better.

Of course, he’d notice.

He was The Ghoul after all - best bounty hunter from this coast to the next. It was his job to perceive everything around him, sus out friend from foe.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

What else can you say?

He brought you along (for whatever reason, fuck if you know why), and you’ve caused nothing but trouble every step of the way. It’s a wasteland miracle he hasn’t kicked your ass and left you bleeding in the dirt by now.

I have to fix this. Whatever it takes.

“I ain’t wanting you sorry.”

Gulping, you will away the sting of tears, and say, “Please, don’t kick me out.”

“Y’know, sometimes I think it’s a miracle you survived this long at all.”

“You don’t have to be so rude about it…” 

“Listen good and well, sugar,” he says with a roll of his eyes, that tender hand brushing over your neck turning into a collar as he drags you close. His lips whisper over yours with every word. “I didn’t go through all of this bullshit just ta get rid of you. Now--”

Hips rut up into you, dragging the firm line of his growing erection along the soft globes of your ass. “Stop teasin’ and make yourself useful,” he says. “Or you will be sorry.”

Everything after that flicks in and out of focus like a zoetrope: the burning clasp of hands, the slick glide of hungry mouths, the frantic rock of your hips as you both chase after dry friction with a desperation that borders on madness.

Your hands don’t know where to settle, fluttering from the nape of his neck to the breadth of his shoulders to the rippling muscle of his stomach as he rocks into you. Bites at any exposed skin that he can until his teeth leave marks you’ll carry for days.

All the while the hard edges of his body crash into your softness like waves against an eroding shore. Liquid fire blazes in your belly like a raging wildfire, scorching you from the inside out until you’re dumb and dripping.

The chem snaking through your body enhances the littlest of sensations until you feel like one giant exposed nerve. Slick drenched and sweaty, you moan weakly and rest your forehead against his cheek.

“Please,” you slur, thighs trembling where they squeeze at his live-wire hips. “S’not enough - need more. Wanna cum. Please, please, please. Make me cum.”

Cooper bites out a curse, his fingers biting into the fat of your ass. “Yeah, s’that right, sweetheart - d’you think you deserve it for bein’ such a lil brat?”

“Yes, yes, please, I’ll do anything. Just - hhahh, fuck!”

The fabric of your panties clings to your folds, and your pants chafe.

Your clit throbs with every thud of your heartbeat, every firm grind of his cock and low husk of his voice. Want him seated so deep inside you choke - your poor pussy struggling to take his cock as he rides you so hard you cry.

“Anything?” he asks with a breathless chuckle.

The devilish gleam of his eyes rattles your bones, shivers of electric anticipation fizzing through your veins like Quantum.

“Well, shit. Don’t come cryin’ ta me when you regret it. Now, take off those fucking pants and ride my cock like a good girl.”

And when he bullies his way inside, those thick ridges dragging along gummy walls, you almost swallow your tongue. He’s so big - the biggest you’ve ever had.

Every inch is a struggle, a victory. He’s not patient, he’s not kind. You don’t want it any other way, spread so wide your pussy flutters pathetically, trying to push him out.

Then the fat head grazes past the rough patch of your g-spot, sliding home to kiss your cervix. Your knees lock around his ribs, your head tossing back as a high-pitched whine punches its way out of your throat.

“A-Ah! I can’t — oh shit — you’re so,” you babble. “Too much!”

An ache spears deep, roots behind your navel.

“Heh, you asked for it, sweetheart. Look at me.” A scarred thumb wicks away a tear as you peel your eyes open with a sniffle. “That’s it. Shit, you look s’pretty when you cry.”

He licks his skin clean, uses his wet thumb to reach between you and roll the pad over your abused clit. You jump, sliding up on his shaft only for gravity to drag you back down with a solid smack of skin, your limbs jello soft.

The motion slams him deeper and slick drips from you in a sticky gush to soak his balls. You cry out, reedy thin.

Cooper grunts, warns, “You keep doing that and we’re not stoppin’ til you’re dripping cum.”

Though the thick haze of chem and syrupy sweet pleasure, you cobble together a grin and lick your way into his mouth. Tangle your tongues and suck as your hips arch into his. “Please, ruin me,” you breathe.

A possessive greed glints at you from the depths of his hangman eyes.

“Don’t go sayin’ I didn’t warn you, sweetheart,” he promises.

[thehuntiswhatdefinesus]

Preview: Chapter 1 Rewrite

A/N: This has not been proofread yet. The werewolf meets Daniela for the first time.

The world spun around her when a new wave of nausea hit her and she swayed, struggling to keep sitting, until finally, her eyes managed to focus again…

… only for her to spot a pair of glowing golden orbs hovering above her.

She craned her neck, peering up into the darkness before her cell and as her vision slowly adjusted to the lack of light, she found herself face to face with a woman. Pale faced and with wide eyes, eagerly clutching the metal bars of the cage as she watched.

It wasn’t Cassandra.

She was dressed similarly, though, with black boots and black pants peeking out from underneath a black hooded winter cloak.

“Uh… hi?” the werewolf said, rather awkwardly.

“You must be the mutt,” her visitor spluttered, sheer uncontainable excitement bleeding into her voice and following her words with a bright giggle that seemed so misplaced in a place as dark and dreary as a dungeon.

The name didn’t come as a surprise to her, since the castle’s other inhabitants seemed to have settled on calling her ‘mutt’ – much to her dismay. Still, it was probably for the best to play along and not get onto her new visitor’s bad side, considering she didn’t know who she was dealing with, but the woman very much had golden eyes similar to Cassandra.

“I- yeah? I guess I am?”

“Cassandra told me about you,” the woman continued, clutching the bars just a little harder and shifting her weight from one foot to the other, “and about the lovely mess you made in the hall… just had to see you for myself…”

She trailed off, her eyes darting over the werewolf’s seated form, drinking her in. Unashamed and wild and hungry and a shudder trickled down the werewolf’s back, hot and cold.

“Ah- well- I hope I don’t disappoint?”

Fear should seize her heart. Terror should make her want to shut up and retreat and protect herself – but all she could do was move and reach for those metal bars and pull herself onto her feet and step towards the woman, staring deep into those golden depths.

Up close like this, the werewolf could tell they were actually slightly mismatched, one eye more of a yellow gold compared to the other’s warmer orange tone and all she could think was ‘pretty.’ Something about them was absolutely mesmerizing, in the way the pupils had dilated with excitement and how the irises was glowing brightly in the dim light of the dungeon.

The werewolf couldn’t help but lean in closer, eyes half-lidded as she was overcome by this pull that lured her in close, drowning in those golden depths– then movement caught her attention, just at the edge of her vision.

She turned her head-

Flies.

Around her, dozens of shimmering wings in the flickering light of the torches.

A multitude crawling up and down the metal bars of the cage, over her torn shirt and bare skin and onto the woman’s gloved hands and along her arms and over her shoulders, only to sneak their way under the hood and disappear beyond the collar of a white shirt beneath.

Hackles instinctively raised, the werewolf clutched the metal bars hard, recalling the way Cassandra had coalesced from a swarm of flies before her very eyes.

What was it with the castle inhabitants and flies?

“Oh, not at all… You��re kind of cute, actually,” the woman giggled, pulling the werewolf right out of her thoughts and back into the here and now, where the words slowly sept into her mind-

Cute?!

Her face fell.

That was the last word she expected to hear while imprisoned in a cell, drenched in blood and grime.

“Cute?”

“Yes~” the woman purred, peering at her from behind half-lidded eyes. “And your blood… hmmm tastes so good…” she trailed off with a barely sustained groan, a visible shudder overtaking her body, and she clutched the bars harder, pressing her forehead into the space between them. “Makes me want to have another taste…”

“Another…?”

When and how-

“Yes, I hope you don’t mind that I had a little taste while you were asleep…” Her visitor smiled – innocently as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

She raised her arm and from below the sleeve, new flies came crawling forward and she eyed them with something akin to mild interest while she held out her palm for them to sit in. “Could pick out your scent even underneath all that disgusting Lycan stink… so interesting…”

The werewolf frowned. Well, at least they agreed that the Lycans smelled repulsive…?

She pulled herself a little closer to the metal bars, watching on when the woman turned her hand and the flies seemed to obediently follow the movement, crawling to settle back down on top.

“They like you, you know?” she whispered, attention shifting back to the werewolf and meeting her gaze, her eyes warm and gentle and so strangely… alluring.

“They… do?”

The werewolf slowly raised her eyebrow, immediately looking down at them.

Could the woman… communicate with the flies? Control them? Did they have a will and opinions of their own or were they an extension of her? They were part of her body, right? Like with Cassandra?

They looked like ordinary flies – well, massive, ordinary flies.

She struggled to suppress a shudder, worried it might offend her visitor.

“Oh yes! If I’d let them, they’d be all over you, right now!” the woman giggled, mirth making her eyes erupt into a warm and strangely attractive glow, “and who can blame them? You’re just so special.”

“Special? What do you mean?”

“Well, why else would my flies be so interested in you?” she mused out loud, slipping both her arms through the space between the bars and the flies seemed to protest the sudden movement, buzzing around the two of them until they settled on the werewolf’s arms and shoulders, making her freeze in place, fighting the instinct to swat them away.

The woman’s fingers brushed over her plaid shirt, teasingly walking upwards to the collar and slowly drawing her in. “And you can feel it too, can’t you?”

“F-feel it?”

Movement against her neck, legs skittering over her skin.

“The pull.”

The woman’s voice was but a mumble, a spell and the werewolf’s eyes snapped to hers – those irises the colour of glowing embers, warm and soothing.

Fingers followed the flies and traced her neck, upwards through the stubble on the back of her neck and the werewolf’s eyelids fluttered heavily as a rush of hot and cold ran down her neck.

She should withdraw.

She should pull away and retreat and swat away the flies-

And yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the woman’s and couldn’t remove herself from that touch that seemed to set her body on fire either. A touch that she should hate and reject, petted like a puppy and yet all she could think about was how-

- good it felt.

So good.

Fuck.

(1,173 words, compared to the original version sitting at roughly 718.)

[thatzeta]

"No."

"But like, are you?"

"I'm not gonna answer."

Bela stepped into the library, watching Daniela pester the family pet. "Dani, what is--"

"She's being difficult, Bela!" Daniela sighed from where she sat facing her lover on the couch.

"I'm not."

"I'm sure you aren't, darling. Daniela, what is your que--"

"Is she an alpha?"

Bela paused.

The she-wolf eyed her blonde lover with a raised brow.

"...are you?" Bela asked.

The woman grumbled, looking away from the two. "You too?"

"It is a valid question, little one. Given you are a wolf--"

"I don't have a traditional pack though--"

"We're your pack." Daniela helpfully supplied.

"That's not how it works--" The werewolf sighed. "Dani, you've been reading way too much erotica--"

"I just want to know if you get one of those or not!"

Bela went a deep shade of red. "Dani!"

Daniela huffed. "...the sex would be amazing."

The werewolf grumbled.

"... the sex would be amazing."

Oh my god, Daniela. Reading too much A/B/O erotica.

I mean she's right! It totally would be amazing sex... if the woof was an alpha in a rut, you know (and if the story had A/B/O dynamics). I'm afraid she would, in fact, not be an Alpha, though. She's way too submissive.

Honestly, though, they should have just asked Cassandra. If one of them could figure out of the woof is an Alpha then it's her.

... 👀 you know what, have a little... something.

“She’s not,” Cassandra commented dryly from the other side of the room. She had been there the entire time, seated at a table and absorbed in a book containing sheet music, which she was copying while leaving little comments in the margins of the paper. “An alpha, I mean.”

Daniela’s head turned, peering over her shoulder at the middle child.

“And how would you know?” she asked, one eyebrow raised and her arm drawing the werewolf closer and lifting her hand to comb through the red strands of hair. Her nails scratched over the scalp, sending a shudder down her pet’s back and a little groan to spill from her lips.

“An alpha would not present herself face down on her knees and beg me to breed her,” the huntress continued without so much as bothering to look up from her notes. But her lips pulled into a shit-eating grin, regardless, quite visible even from across the room.

The werewolf groaned, covering her face with her hands in shame as she felt a rush of heat to her cheeks. Of course Cassandra would betray her. Why was she not surprised?

Daniela’s petting came to a slow stop, her fingers slowly trailing down the nape of the werewolf’s neck, where they hooked in the collar and pulled, forcing her pet to lean back and meet her gaze. Daniela’s expression was unreadable and the werewolf swallowed hard, not sure what to expect.

“Puppy?” she asked, slightly tilting her head. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

“Because-” the werewolf paused, eyes darting from Daniela to Bela, who was leaning against a bookshelf now, arms crossed over her chest and a curious eyebrow raised as she watched events unfold. “It’s embarrassing?”

“Is it?” the blonde asked. “Why?”

“B-because it’s not a werewolf thing!” the pet whined.

“What does that-” Daniela questioned, only to be interrupted by Bela.

“It’s the human in her that gets turned on by it.”

“Oh. … oh,” Daniela gasped in realization, shifting her focus back onto her pet, who was staring up at her, eyes wide and biting her lip. “Well, now, puppy. You should have just told me.”

She reached for the werewolf’s face, two fingers caressing the smaller woman’s jawline from the ear to the chin, in the ghost of a touch, just slow enough to not be considered innocent any more. Daniela tilted her face up.

The atmosphere had changed, suddenly loaded, the tension palpable… the sexual tension.

Bela cleared her throat, pushing away from the bookshelf to head for the door.

“Cassandra,” she called and the huntress looked up from her notes, nose scrunched in disapproval.

“I’m busy.”

“Cassandra,” Bela said again, more firmly, more serious. The brunette looked from her notes to the werewolf and Daniela, then back to Bela and tilted her head questioningly.

“What? You think it’ll bother me if they have a go at it right there on the sofa? I can tune the noise out… and if I can’t, I could always join them…” she purred, her voice dipping just a little bit deeper towards the end, a little bit rougher.

The werewolf shuddered, daring to cast a glance at the huntress who meet her gaze unafraid, a mischievous glow in her golden eyes.

“… really?” Bela sighed, exasperated.

Cassandra chuckled, pushing back and getting up from her seat. She crossed the room for the door – but not without making a stop by the sofa and reaching over to ruffle the werewolf’s hair and grab a fistful of it, tilting her head back.

“Try the most filthy dirty talk you could come up with, Daniela. She loves it,” the huntress whispered towards her sister, without taking her eyes off the werewolf, whose pupils widened immediately as the mere mental image sent a rush of heat down into her nether regions.

Then, without another word, Cassandra pulled away.

Before leaving the library with Bela, she threw the werewolf a last look over her shoulder, accompanied by a smug grin.

The door fell shut.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

WHAT

[Other May 2024 JP server news!]

MY THOUGHTS EXACTLY 😭 After 4 long years… TWST has finally given us the elusive bare Rook arms and his Savanaclaw era design???????

Look at how well-defined his arms are, the Magical Archives was NOT lying about his secretly buff physique… The curly hair??? Freckles???? Ripped T-shirt sleeves???? Even the brows are noticeably different… THE GASP I GASPED WHEN I LAID EYES ON THIS DUDE OTL It’s suuuuch a drastic change???? Vil described Rook’s Savanaclaw days so… well. A little TOO well… (I laughed a little upon realizing Rook always wore some iteration of a hat; in this context, it feels more cowboy-ish.)

ALSO I THOUGHT BRO WAS CARESSING VIL’S DORM UNIFORM WHEN I FIRST SAW THIS CARD (then I looked closer and realized it seems to be Rook’s bed). The floor pattern does not look like Rook’s room though…? Did he just. Yoink some Pomefiore fabric and hide out in a rando’s room to admire it??? THAT’S AN EVEN SCARIER THOUGHT…

I feel like this is a fever dream that I can’t wake up from 🤡 This right here, officer… This is what my sleep paralysis demon looks like… He T-poses in the corner of my bedroom and watches me sleep while whispering “omelette du fromage” 💀

I didn’t think we’d be dream-hopping to every individual student’s dream to pull them out of it because that feels like such a time sink (and book 7 is already so long), but… why the sudden limited Rook banner drop to go with a book 7 update???? Are we actually going to be waking everyone up one by one…? Well then that also opens up the possibility of a book 8 since there’s no way TWST could cram all this dream hopping AND cleanly resolve all the other lingering questions (Grim’s origins, Ace’s UM, Crowley’s motives, why was Yuu brought to Twisted Wonderland, etc.)????

How fitting that it’s the enigmatic Rook Hunt to send us all spiraling and questioning everything JUST BY SHOWING UP IN NEW (old?) THREADS…

[powdermelonkeg]

Cheat Code #4 for accommodating disabled characters in sci-fi/fantasy:

If you want to show a character's personality in the aids they use, you need to add customization, accessories, and/or specializations.

i.e.: You'll have a more three-dimensional character design if you take the time to consider what you can make unique about an aid; it should be as much a part of your design thoughts as the clothes they wear or the hairstyle they keep, and there are several ways to go about it. For example:

Customization would be things like colors and lights. A prosthetic arm can have colored guards that slide in and latch; a rich person might have those guards gilded, while a scientist might have a whiteboard arm panel to scribble notes on, and a stage performer could have theirs painted black with a bone on it to give the appearance of a skeletal window. A visor that replaces vision could have a screen that shows expressive pixel eyes for a happy-go-lucky hacker, or a practical black shield for someone in strict uniform. ⠀ To customize: make yourself a base, then take that base and imagine what each character you apply it to would WANT it to look like; prioritize aesthetics or practicality based on their personal preference. ⠀

Accessories are add-ons to your aid, rather than part of it. A cane could have ribbons wound around it if it's used by a magical girl, or a secret compartment stopper to hide notes in for a paranoid detective. A wheelchair might come with paragliding wings that open with a pullstring for a daredevil, canvas bags full of tools for a mechanic, or hubcaps that detach and can be thrown as weapons for a soldier. ⠀ For accessories, you're not necessarily thinking of "what can I add to this aid to make it special?" The process is better defined as "what would they want to have, and how can I merge the two in a way that's easy to use?" ⠀

Specializations are sort of a deeper combination of the two above features. They're a more advanced way of making your aids stand out, down to the materials they're comprised of or their intrinsic properties, that uniquely suit your character. They're typically hard to come by without being specially made, and can't be quickly modded in. ⠀ A spine brace being made of magic, living wood that grows to fill gaps when damaged would be available to a wood elf, and probably specially given to a warrior who WOULD damage it. A wheelchair made of magic-resistant metal could have use for a battlemage that can't turn to deflect spells quickly, or a witch hunter who wants immunity from the mages they're hunting. A cane that lights up when it senses radiation would be useful to a planetary explorer or warp drive mechanic, but not to a marine xenobiologist studying the starwhale population, who instead has a whalecall whistle built into theirs. ⠀ A specialized aid takes into account not only your character's wants and needs, but also their profession, their common risks, and occasionally their class—especially if you're using rare materials.

When you want to design an aid to be unique to your character, go through this checklist:

What do they want it to look like?

What would they want to add to it, and how do I make it convenient?

What would their setting offer them for their job or status?

What modifications would they have to seek out themselves, and would/could they?

Ask yourself these, and you're well on your way to making your disabled characters as varied as your abled ones.

Cheat code 1: How to avoid eliminating disability in your setting

Cheat Code 2: What kinds of aid to use to accommodate disability

Cheat Code 3: How to make your setting itself disability-friendly

[austinsastrology8991]

How PLUTo haunts your HOUSE > Pluto in the houses < Pluto Destroys to give you the power of DESTRUCTION - live with it or die by it

Pluto in the First - destroys others with a look. Watch as everyone crumbles before them, as they try to muster up the courage to look them in the eye. But when the facade fades, everyone mocks them. They either look smug or pissed off, and it really rubs everyone the wrong way, and it rubs themselves the wrong way too. Pluto in the Second - Refusal to be devalued. No matter what you throw at them, they will stay the same. They do have twisted morals, "but every man gotta have a code" until > "they are more like guidelines." They'll change the rules and their own code of ethic so it doesn't interfere with their newest plans. Basically will never follow orders Pluto in the Third - Masters of words, can convince you anything, no matter how retarded, but when you try to teach them something, they have an infinite amount of answers as to why its retarded. These guys are so smart, but so cunning > so people would rather eaves drop their conversations instead Pluto in the Fourth - Unbreakable people who pretend to be broken. They act like they are fragile, but they are just emotional. Everyone tries to prove how weak or strong they are by hitting them again. But this just pisses them off some more. Everyones favourite punching bag Pluto in the Fifth - They act so satisfied, and people wonder what they have accomplished, but they only act this way because they fucked your crush and their sister. In their eyes the way others perceives you makes or breaks you, so they toss out any morality holding them back and curate the perfect image, whilst they are slowly turning into satan. true masters of disguise. Pluto in the Sixth - works way too hard. even when they sleeping they are manifesting in their dreams. Insane work ethic, but others hate them for being try hards. So they get sabotaged a lot, but this only makes them work harder lol Pluto in the Seventh - They know what you want and they embody the forbidden apple that you crave. Everyone resents their ability to play others. And even if you stay outta their way, they'll play everyone around them just to piss you off (unconsciously they'll say). They have little regard for others, because they feel people use them, when they are usually the users. Obsessed with their crush. Pluto in the Eighth - True understanding of power and intrigue. They never reveal their true intentions because they are demonic. But they use this as their allure and throw more smokes and mirrors at you. And everyone around them is fixated on trying to understand them. Until their secrets are revealed, then everyone condemns them for existing. Pluto in the Ninth - They have thought of every intention, every manipulation, every potential secret, so that they cannot be outdone. Until they are, then they re-strategise, and they will make any excuse to themselves as to how their loss is technically a win. Pluto in the Tenth - They gonna get it whatever the goal, the means justify the ends every time. They'll literally make a deal with the devil if it defines victory. They refuse to follow society, so they break it, and make society their bitch. Pluto in the Eleventh - Extreme desires, and extremely fearful they won't make it. So they pull strings with shady characters, who inevitably resent them for letting them being played by someone new to the game. So they got a lot of enemies, and a lot of friends, and the lines are blurred for who is who. Pluto in the Twelth - Everything in life has broken them > when they got injured > when they were 'medicated' > when they came home to their pissed off family. they feel they never get a break. i think life wants to break them, so they realise they are the strongest. but they stay broken because nothing ever stops trying to hunt them down.

Pluto is scary, but its not meant to scare you, but to scare others. well maybe scare everyone...

[etherealstar-writes]

I WANNA BE YOURS | LIONESSES X READER | PT 2

pairings: lionesses x reader

summary: in which you're accidentally added to a random group chat, not knowing they're all actually famous footballers, and obliviously end up having many of them competing for your love and attention.

part: two

part one here

✦ ——— ✦ ——— ✦

THE NATIONAL DIVING TEAM

elton changed the name the karate kid to the imposter

elton added the REAL karate kid

the REAL karate kid

PLS 💀

you all were annoying a random

person thinking it was me LMAO

and this username ??

i mean i'm not complaining

elton

oh shut it

neev

y'all got anything in your stash?

stairway

i was gonna ask the same thing.

where's lotte when you need her?

earpsy

i don't have anything in my stash

brightness

neither

maya

i'm broke

elton

ugghh i'm so bored

you guys got any food to eat?

the REAL karate kid

i got redbull

meado

that is not food less

the REAL karate kid

says who?

kie

red bull is an energy drink.

it is made up of carbonated water, sucrose, glucose,

citric acid, taurine, sodium bicarbonate, magnesium

carbonate, caffeine, niacinamide, calcium pantothenate,

pyridoxine hci, vitamin b12, and natural and artificial flavours.

meado

thank you keira

daily

did you just copy and paste that from google?

willybum

damn i lost braincells reading that

the REAL karate kid

didn't know you had any in the first place

willybum

shut up

elton

if i drop you on a deserted island with

only redbull alessia, will you survive?

the REAL karate kid

yeah

willybum

why don't we test that out

stairway

i second that

the imposter

honestly it depends on

what you define food as

i mean literally anything could

be food if it's consumable

the REAL karate kid

thank you, my imposter!

idk who you are but i already love you

the imposter

you're welcome :))

willybum

why the hell is everyone in love with alessia??

this is not okay.

and why do i keep seeing videos

of you everywhere??

it's like you're haunting me

the REAL karate kid

sorry leah, i just can't help it

it's my charm

the imposter

so ....

does anyone feel like showing

what alessia looks like? 👀

elton

were you not taught anything

about stranger danger??!

or internet safety?!

you could be a 40 year old man

wanting to hunt us down

the imposter

BRUH

you were the one that LITERALLY

added me to this random groupchat

for all i know you could be the

one trying to do that to me

elton

hey hey hey!

don't put this back on me

that's not fair

the imposter

excuse you

your name is literally elton

i will not be taking this

you could be a stalker for all i know

shut up

elton

.....

the REAL karate kid

PLS

you actually silenced her

ILY

willybum

i think i just witnessed love on first sight-

stairway

you're not the only one-

part three here