#they can have fucking TOOLS FOR HANDS just SKIP THE HANDS ENTIRELY IT MAKES SO MUCH MORE SENSE

[lord-squiggletits]

Honestly the weirdest thing about all the "forged medic hands" hullabaloo in MTMTE was that Ratchet's hands (and Pharma's original hands that Ratchet stole) are just like. Human hands but made of robotic parts. Why in the fuck are "Swiss army knife hands" like Pharma's Luna-1 replacements not just the literal standard for forged medics?

Isn't it so much more efficient and cooler for robots to have tools built into their hands that they can transform instead of having to go through the extra step of holding tools in their hands? Wouldn't medic hands being able to transform into any tool lend a lot more credence to Functionist ideas of "forged medic hands are the best and if my hands stop working or I get replacements it won't be the same" that Ratchet spouts? Because like at least in that case there would be this interesting robotic worldbuilding in which the space alien robots debate about whether hands-that-hold-tools can be as effective as hands-that-turn-into-tools and the flavor of that would be so cool. And it would create this whole anti-Functionist debate that a pair of hands being "less optimal" doesn't mean that the work they do isn't still worthwhile (for example, just because one doctor has a lower mortality rate than another doctor doesn't mean that both doctors aren't having a positive contribution to the world).

[magewolf-the-artist]

Ahh, Charles Brook my beloved

1. Me when I first started drawing this doodle dump: Oh golly gee brain, what should we draw first? My brain: Charles on a toddler leash with Susan holding it and looking tired Me: Wowie sounds fun! Yeah this doodle pretty much summarizes their dynamic in the Domestic K-9 AU

2. There's a graphic description of somebody being killed in the next paragraph so feel free to skip over it 

To make a long-ish story short, Charles was snooping around the backstage area as his daughter, Lily's, birthday was wrapping up, he found Susan on death's door inside the Banny animatronic and freaks tf out, Bon finds him and they play a terrifying little game of hide and seek, and just as Charles thinks he's fine, WHAM! His faces gets smashed into the floor by Bon, turning his skull into a fine mush and killing him pretty much instantly. Ironically in this AU at least, his death was the most merciful because he at least got the insta-kill treatment rather than suffering through hours or days of agony. I imagine in death, his face kinda sags forward. Kinda like a bag of sand taped to a wood plank. 

3. So semi-recently I think, Charles was confirmed to have ADHD, and I saw some doodles by @xzbat-loverzx about one of him stims being clicking a pen and I thought, "Ah yes, perfect". Not really a ton else to this doodle, except I can imagine BSI employees constantly leaving pens and pencils behind whenever they stay at the K-9 Facility

4. This one is my favorite and the one I'm the most excited to explain!

So the first few weeks or so at the K-9 facility was, to put it lightly, a fucking nightmare for Charles (and Rosemary but I'll cover that another time). He was constantly eaten away by guilt, shame, anger, fear, and sadness and generally he was an incoherent, delusional wreck, even on his good days. At some point he managed to get it into his head that he could break out of the facility by body slamming the walls which, A, they are made of solid concrete, and B, even if he did break them, he'd be greeted by an avalanche of dirt. But again, he wasn't really in his right mind at the time

Susan was kind of in a hell of her own during that time considering she'd have to be the one to repair him afterwards. Those episodes are actually the reason the plastic casing on the Boozoo animatronic's upper right arm and the left hand is missing, because at some point they sustained so damage that they just fell off. Susan didn't exactly have a ton of patience for this, and his incoherent babblings whenever she would pull him away would only make her more pissed off. This isn't entire fair to him of course, as he is not at all in his right mind, but in fairness to her, the idiot would slam himself into the walls whenever she took her eyes off of him for even a SECOND, even if it was just to retrieve tools or spare parts from the tool closet.

Eventually what happens is that Susan convinces Bon to hold him down while she goes over to the tool closet and retrieve whatever thing she needs, idk man, I'm not into robotics. When she gets back, Charles is unusually quiet and Bon is trying not to laugh his ass off. Oddly enough, he doesn't take the opportunity to make some snide comment or mock either of them while she works, he stares at the both of them silently.

Once that's done, Susan very begrudgingly thanks him for the help and, with possibly the most shit eating, Cheshire cat, smug as fuck grin, Bon replies, "That's what friends are for." And then she smacks him.

[unforgivenn]

i drug, kidnap, and throw Andrey in my basement. I tell him he deserves it then proceed to cut him up with my knife and then rub salt in his wounds. I then cut off two of his fingers and stab the others fingers. I leave him in a freezing room with no blanket or any sort of comfort.

Noone has the pass to hurt Noah baby like that.

This was... so much fun to write... I should write more of whumpee andrey.. Thanks for breaking my writer's block anon <33

REVENGE IS A DISH BEST SERVED COLD; WHUMPEE ANDREY AU

SHACKLED BY ROYALTY MASTERLIST

CW: GOREE, torture, emotional and psychological abuse, Whumper turned whumpee, reader is whumper, I think its pretty obvious of what the Cw's are from the ask :)

Andrey awoke to darkness. His head throbbed, a dull, pounding pain that seemed to echo through his entire body. He tried to move, but his limbs were bound, heavy chains biting into his wrists and ankles. Panic surged through him as he realized he was in an unfamiliar place, the cold stone floor beneath him sending chills through his bones. The last thing he remembered was being snatched and thrown into this basement. How that happened, he had no idea.

"What the hell?" he muttered, his voice hoarse and weak.

A light flickered on, blinding him momentarily. When his vision cleared, he saw a figure standing before him, a cruel smile on their lips. The basement was dimly lit, the walls lined with sinister-looking tools and instruments.

"Who the fuck are you?" Andrey demanded, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"I know exactly who you are, Andrey," you replied, your voice dripping with malice. "And I know what you've done."

Andrey's heart skipped a beat. He had made many enemies over the years, his cruel treatment of those beneath him earning him more hatred than he cared to admit. But this... this was different. This was personal.

You stepped closer, revealing a gleaming knife in your hand. "You deserve everything that's coming to you," you said, your eyes burning with a sadistic light. "And more."

"Oh you will regret this, when I execute you. If you know what's good for you, let me go, and I will let you live."

"You speak like you're not scared when I can clearly see the fear coming from you. It's not common isn't it?" You spoke, kneeling beside him and tilting your head.

"What?"

"Well it's not everyday that an heir to a country gets captured is it?"

Andrey's eyes narrowed, his pride and arrogance flaring up even in his vulnerable state.

You don't know who you're dealing with," he spat, though his voice wavered. "My family will find you. They'll make you pay for this."

You laughed, a chilling sound that echoed off the basement walls. "Oh, I'm counting on it. But not before I make you suffer for what you did to Noah."

Andrey's eyes widened. Noah. That pathetic wretch. "Noah? You're doing this for him?" He couldn't help but scoff. "He's nothing. Just a tool. A weak, sniveling—"

A sharp slap cut off his words, the sting burning across his cheek. Your face twisted with rage. "You don't get to talk about him like that. Not anymore."

Andrey's mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. He glared defiantly, his pride refusing to yield. "Do your worst," he hissed. "I won't break."

Your smile was a chilling promise. "Oh, I intend to."

Andrey's heart skipped a beat as you held the knife closer to him, but he forced himself to remain still, to show no fear.

"You deserve this," You whispered pressing the blade to Andrey's skin, drawing a thin line of blood. Andrey clenched his teeth, refusing to cry out. The knife dug deeper, slicing through flesh with agonizing slowness.

Andrey's thoughts were a whirlwind of pain and defiance. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. He wouldn't scream. He was better than this, stronger. But the pain was relentless, the knife carving cruel patterns into his skin.

"You think you're so strong," You taunted, your breath hot against his ear. "But even you have limits."

Andrey's vision blurred with tears he refused to shed. His pride was a fragile shield against the overwhelming agony. Your blade moved with precision, each cut a deliberate act of cruelty. Andrey's body trembled, sweat mingling with blood.

"How does it feel?" You asked, their voice a dark melody.

Andrey's mind screamed with pain, but he forced his lips to stay sealed. He wouldn't give them the pleasure of his suffering. He was a noble, damn it. He was—

A searing pain ripped through his hand, your knife sawing through bone and flesh. Andrey's world exploded in a blinding agony, his resolve shattering. He couldn't stop the scream that tore from his throat, raw and primal.

"That's better," you murmured, your voice filled with twisted satisfaction. You held up Andrey's severed fingers, blood dripping onto the floor. "Even the mighty can fall."

Andrey's breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling uncontrollably. Your eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure as you held up a jar of salt in front of his face, mocking him.

"No! You can't do that!" It was obvious that Andrey's bravery facade was starting to break, and you couldn't stop grinning ear to ear about it.

The pain was indescribable as you poured the jar of salt across his body, not even giving him a chance to recover, a fiery agony that consumed him. "But that's the thing, Andrey. I can do whatever I want." He screamed again, his pride crumbling under the relentless assault.

"How does it feel?" you taunted, your voice cold and hard. "How does it feel to be the one in pain for once?"

Andrey couldn't answer, his mind consumed by the unbearable torment. He could barely think, barely breathe, his entire existence reduced to a haze of pain and fear.

But you weren't done. You grabbed his hand, holding it down as you brought the knife to his fingers. Andrey's heart raced, terror flooding his veins. "No, no, please," he begged, his voice a desperate whisper. "I'll do anything..."

You ignored him, your eyes gleaming with sadistic delight as you cut through his fingers, one by one. Andrey screamed, the pain a white-hot explosion that left him gasping for breath.

You cut off two of his fingers, the stumps bleeding profusely. Andrey could barely see through the haze of pain, his vision blurred with tears. He sobbed, his body trembling with agony and fear.

You stabbed the remaining fingers, each thrust of the knife sending fresh waves of pain through Andrey's body. He screamed until his voice gave out, the sound a hoarse, broken whisper that echoed through the basement.

Finally, you stepped back, admiring your work with a satisfied smile. Andrey lay on the floor, his body a wreck of pain and blood, his mind a shattered ruin.

"You think you're so powerful," you sneered, your voice filled with contempt. "You think you're untouchable. But look at you now. You're nothing."

You grabbed him by the hair, dragging him across the floor and throwing him into a small, freezing room. Andrey's body ached with every movement, his wounds burning with a relentless agony. He shivered violently, the cold seeping into his bones.

"No blankets, no comfort," you said, your voice echoing through the room. "You can freeze in here. You deserve it."

You slammed the door shut, leaving Andrey alone in the darkness. He lay there, his body trembling with pain and cold, his mind a chaotic jumble of fear and despair.

Noah's face flashed through his mind, the boy's terrified eyes pleading for mercy. Andrey had shown him none, and now he was paying the price. He sobbed, his tears freezing on his cheeks, his body wracked with pain.

In the freezing darkness of the room, Andrey’s breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale sending a fresh wave of cold pain through his chest. His mind swirled in a haze of agony and fear, struggling to grasp the reality of his situation.

As he drifted into unconsciousness, his last thoughts were of Noah, the boy he had tormented and broken. He had thought himself powerful, untouchable, but now he was nothing more than a broken, bleeding wreck, a prisoner of his own cruelty.

He would suffer, alone and forgotten, a prisoner of his own making. And there would be no one to save him.

No one to hear his screams.

Next

Reblogs are appreciated <3

Taglist: @miireux134/ @nuriiz134/ @noeul-whumpsss/ @morning-star-whump/ @parasitebunny/ @anutz1234/ @whatwasmyprevioususername/ @whumped-by-glitter/ @lordcatwich/ @someoneoninternettt/ @natthebatt/ @noeul-whumpppssssss1234/

@electrons2006/ @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees/ @lolrpop(let me know if you want to be added or removed :D)

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith blinks.

It was — it had been right there.

Right?

He squeezes his eyes shut, thinking back. No, it had been. He’s sure of it. It had been on the hangar right next to his fancy schmancy Altean suit, which was the worst thing in the world and something he avoided at any and all costs. (One frequent cost, for example, being his dignity. Take last week. The team was tasked to attend some stuffy gala, and the formalwear was non negotiable. No chance of wearing his armour instead. Well, there was no chance of Keith wearing that stupid fucking suit, so he’d had the wonderful idea to fake a case of intense diarrhea so he could skip the gala entirely. He was real proud of that excuse, too, until the self-appointed Garrison Trio started giggling to themselves, and he’d realized — too late — that he’d taken a pretty large L.)

Forcing his brain back to the problem at hand — truly a herculean effort — he glares at the closet and all its contents harder. Maybe he’d somehow misremembered? He flicks through each of the garments in his closet, one by one, but he still doesn’t see it. Confused and a little frustrated, he starts throwing shit out of his closet on into his bed, wondering if it’s somehow hidden by the other clothes.

Nothing.

Fully annoyed, now, he starts digging through his dresser drawers, wondering if he had somehow completely misplaced it, but nothing turns up. He throws his hands up in indignation, finally giving up on the apparently fruitless search.

His favourite flannel! Missing!

Scowling, Keith shrugs on a random black shirt. He glances around the piles of clothing strewn about his room, and decides it’s not a problem for Current Keith, and Future Keith can handle it.

He makes his surly way down to the common room, as was his original intention, just…colder. (Does he have other flannel shirts he could wear? Yeah. But he wants his blue flannel today. His fancy flannel. His favourite flannel. So he will suffer until damn well finds it, because no other flannel is going to cut it now that he has his mind set on the one he wants.)

Hmph.

As he walks, he toys with the idea that perhaps someone else knows where his flannel is. Maybe he left it around, somewhere, and someone picked it up? He tends to be forgetful, so it’s very possible. Maybe he left it in the kitchen when he was helping Hunk bake last week? (‘Helping’ being the operative word. He was sitting on the counter and bitching about various things that had pissed him off that week, because Hunk has forbidden him from touching anything kitchen related — you blow up one damn spaghetti pot and you get a lifetime ban, so unfair — but Hunk is also insatiable for any form of drama.) Or maybe he left it in Pidge’s workroom, when he was handing her tools a couple days ago. Or maybe he left it in the training room when he was sparring with Allura and Shiro yesterday?

Man, but he was so fucking sure he saw it in his closet!

He walks into the common room with a scowl that could turn air to stone, admittedly stomping a little.

“Hey, Keith,” Hunk greets absentmindedly, fully engrossed in what looks to be an intense staring contest with Pidge.

Keith decides he doesn’t want to know.

“Has anyone seen my flannel?”

“Isn’t your closet, like, 80% flannel, you useless gay person?” Pidge asks, which earns her a flick on the ear (and subsequently makes her lose her staring contest with Hunk, which has two direct consequences: Keith is now in Hunk’s good book — which means more treats and preferential kitchen chore treatment, hell yeah — and in Pidge’s bad book — which means Keith has to Watch His Back for the foreseeable future, yikes).

“I have a normal amount of flannel,” Keith says, lying and unashamed about it. “Anyway. I was talking about my good flannel. The blue one. The formal one.”

“There’s no such thing as formal flannel,” Allura says, looking at him with disdain. “You fashion disaster.”

Keith sniffs. “It is so fancy. It’s got a nice collar and buttons on the cuffs. That’s formal, right there.”

“What’s that term Lance used? What was — oh, yeah.” Allura gives him a deadpan look. “Okay, you country fucking bumpkin.”

Keith lets that sit there for a moment.

“You should go back to being annoyed every time Lance walks into the room,” Shiro says sagely. “I miss when you didn’t know what fuck meant.”

Allura shrugs. “I’ve made my peace with it. Unfortunately for me, he’s funny, so.”

“Guys,” Keith says again, with more urgency, but he is still largely ignored because his family is full of mean people. “Important problem at hand. My flannel. It’s missing.”

Pidge and Hunk have now moved from intense staring contest to a furious round of rock-paper-scissors, so they offer no input.

“You know, I bet Lance has it.”

It’s the first helpful piece of information Keith’s heard all day. Shiro is officially re-instated as his favourite brother. (He was knocked down yesterday because he stole all Keith’s fucking almost-peanut butter ice cream, and Keith barely held back from killing him for real, because how fucking dare he. He’s lucky he’s stronger than Keith and that Keith loves him, or else he would be dead.)

“Lance? Why would he have my flannel?”

“Because he never wears his own fucking clothes,” Hunk says, scowling as Pidge beats him — scissors to his paper. “I swear to god. He didn’t even come to space in his own clothes. He was wearing Marco’s jacket and Veronica’s jeans. He steals my hoodies on a regular basis.”

“He steals my socks on a regular basis because he is the worst,” Pidge complains. “He fucking stretches them every time. Why are older brothers so obsessed with doing that?”

Shiro, looking pointedly away because he’s an asshole who is also guilty of doing that (Pidge is right — seriously, why??) and pipes up next. “He keeps stealing my pants. I don’t even know why. They’re too big for him.”

“None of you get to complain,” Allura says venomously. “He has raided my closet at least three times a week since he fucking got here, I swear on the sky. I keep having to steal all my favourite skirts back! It’s not fair!”

Keith feels something like jealousy writhe around in his stomach, which is stupid. He’s not jealous that Lance doesn’t steal his clothes.

He’s happy. Lance’s stupid stinky butt shouldn’t be in his clothes, anyway. This is a good thing.

“Lance never steals my clothes,” Keith says, unable to tamp down a scowl. “So that can’t be it.”

No sooner are the words out of his mouth that Lance comes waltzing into the room, pleases as punch, visibly smirking.

He fucking is wearing Keith’s good blue flannel.

The bitch.

“You stole my fucking shirt!”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Lance says breezily, draping himself on top of Pidge, who immediately sends him tumbling to the floor via hard shove. Lance is not phased in the slightest, and simply gets up and drapes himself over Hunk, who has had over ten years to get used to Lance as a person and so he does not react. “I bought this shirt for myself at the space mall.”

Keith is incensed. Fuming. Rage-filled.

(And a little pleased to see that Lance is wearing his clothes.)

(A little.)

(Like, the most minuscule, tiny amount. It doesn’t even count, really.)

“Take it off, you asshole! It’s mine!”

Lance hums, insufferably smug. He doesn’t even have the decency to look at Keith, pretending instead to investigate his nails. “No.”

That’s — it’s the self-satisfied smirk, Keith thinks. That’s what makes him snap. He wants to wipe it off so fucking badly. That fucking smirk haunts his dreams.

(Nightmares! Nightmares! He fucking meant nightmares!)

He lunges at Lance, snarling, who shrieks at the top of his lungs and begs Hunk for protection.

Hunk does not provide it. (Hell yeah. Keith knew being on his good side would be awesome.)

Lance, who is woefully unprepared, has nowhere to go when Keith tackles him to the ground, sitting on top of him. He immediately tries to unbutton the flannel and rip it off, and Lance, who is screeching so loud that they can likely hear him from Earth, is desperately trying to button it back on. Keith pins Lance’s wrists above his head to stop him.

“Stay still, you brat,” Keith growls.

Lance keens. His face lights up bright red, pupils dilating so wide they almost swallow up the brown of his irises. He stops struggling.

Keith freezes, captivated by the heat pouring off Lance’s face in waves.

Holy shit.

“You’re blushing.”

“Fuck off! Fuck right off! No I’m not!”

“You are.” Keith’s voice is almost awed. Unbidden, his free hand comes up Lance’s face, backs of his fingers pressing to his cheek.

“Oh my God,” comes a gleeful mutter behind him, along with a camera shutter. It shocks Keith right out of his stupor, and he throws himself off Lance’s lap — holy fuck, he was on Lance’s lap — with a strangled shout.

“G-give me my flannel!” Keith yells, ignoring how red his own face is getting.

“Fine,” Lance says, voice stretched and reedy. His fingers shake as he unbuttons the shirt.

Keith’s mouth goes dry, watching those long brown fingers fiddle with the buttons.

Oh, no.

Oh no.

“I love my life,” Shiro says, rubbing his hands together like a goddamn cartoon villain.

Lance shoves the flannel in Keith’s face, and then scrambles to sit next to Allura (who, he says, is the only person who hasn’t betrayed him).

The flannel is warm. Keith is already sweating.

Lance is still redder than Keith’s lion. Keith wants to bite him.

Oh, God.

What is he doing to do?

[tehriel]

Moth and Flame (not Ghoul enough)

Behold, I have finished this fanfic, I am editing chapters as they come out.

Sodo/Dew x Reader primarily. Little Rain and Phantom x Reader too. Reader do just get around.

Mature, more plot over porn.

Tags: banter, attempts at humour, little violence, gore, really don't take this one seriously

Classic enemies to lovers romcom vibes. Not reinventing the wheel should be an easy read. The reader is a too-happy, sparkly ghoul who has been given the position of cardinal. Sodo is the bane of their entire existence; they are forced to work together. Gaffs ensue.

Deals with themes of being a people pleaser.

Below you can find the first chapter~

will probably repost when I have made a pretty cover for this one~

You hummed softly, swaying in the lazy light of early spring. You spun barefoot around your well-trodden paths of the greenhouse, which hid in the great shadow of the cathedral. Your waltz caused your tail to sweep the dirt floor and the skirts of your white cassock to flutter.

You stopped dead in your tracks. “Just look at you~” you chirped, pausing to admire one of your black roses. “Friend, you’re early; the ritual dance isn’t for another three weeks,” you tapped the early bloomer on the head. “Maybe I’ll dry you out so people can still enjoy all the work you’ve put into being pretty, hmm?” You pondered for a while before pouring some water from your watering can. The water ran red. The rose could not be happier.

“Cardinal _______,” came a soft call.

A smile slowly peeled over your face; your teeth were sharp, but your demeanour wasn’t threatening. “Sister Maria~” you sparkled and peered down from the balcony, “I’m in the roses—from memory, you liked my roses, hum?”

“O—o.. yes, Cardinal.” You were her Juliet on your balcony, and the small slight of a girl turned bright beet red.

You cocked your brow and gave her an unassuming grin. “Whatever has you so flustered, Sister?”

“N-nothing, uh, Papa Emeritus has sent for you, Cardinal.”

“And here I was thinking you’d come to see me, Sister,” you teased and picked up your snips from your tool table. “I’ll be down in a moment.” Your voice turned to whisper, “You want to go with her, huh? That’s why you were early, very sly of you.” You took the rose low on the stem and replaced your snips on the bench before walking down the spiral steps, flower in tow. “You look lovely today, Sister~” you twittered.

“Oh, t-thank you…” The scarlet of her cheeks contrasted her black habit.

You expertly dethorned the rose with quick claws.  “Here you are,” you gave a short bow and offered the plant.

“T-thank you, Cardinal,” she stammered and looked away as she twirled the stem between her fingers.

“Anytime, Sister~ You know I appreciate your company~” You twinkled and danced around her, tail moving like a streamer in your wake. “Will you walk with me to see Papa~?”

“No-no, I’m needed in the kitchens today.”

You clicked your tongue, “Ah, too bad—and still, I think I can tell when you are helping out in the kitchens, the meals taste a little extra… mhhm.” You made the universal hand sign for ‘fucking delicious’.

“Oh, I just chop…”

“It’s not what goes in… it’s the way you smell,” you slowly flashed her your teeth.

She swallowed.

“Anyway~ I’ll see you later, Sister; enjoy your rose~” you beamed and near-skipped away to Papa Copia’s offices.

***

“Meet in Aeth’s room after practice?” Rain the water ghoul prompted the group of dark-clad ghouls in his soft-spoken voice.

“Yeah, you can all try my new brew,” Swiss’s grin was too big, it always was.

“Eugh, you didn’t make this one in your toilet again, right?” Aether wrinkled his nose.

“Noooo….” Swiss waved off in a way that everyone with ears could tell he was full of shit.

“Oh, you so did, fucking minging, man,” Aether was loud. His voice echoed up the polished marble hallway.

“Naw, come on, it adds to the-the… experience. It’s fucking powerful stuff—I’ve been bothering Papa for a distiller.”

“I don’t care about the minutia and the abience of your fucking toilet, man!” Aeth’s nose wrinkled.

“I cleaned it before I..”

“Brewed more fucking shit in it?” Aeth’s brows rose in a ‘are you kidding?’ manner.

“Well, I’m in,” Phantom shrugged, “pretty sure I’ve put worse things in my mouth.

“Pretty sure I’ve watched you put worse things in your mouth,” Aether slapped his shorter brother’s shoulder affectionately.

“Uh, hey guys, what are we talking about~?” You twinkled, stepping up to the group. Your white hooded cassock shone colours in the stained glass sunlight, a blinding contrast to their inky black formal ghoul’s uniforms.

“Oh…” is all Swiss said. 

They all went dead quiet. 

You felt the weight of it.

You watched them look at each other. 

Even Phantom couldn’t look at you.

You nodded to yourself, “Uh, I was going to hang out in the forest later this week if anyone wanted to come?” You prompted, still smiling.

“Ah, busy week,” Aether stretched.

“Busy,” Swiss nodded. “Yeah, you know all this ritual prep,” Swiss waved.

“Phantom?” You smiled hopefully. 

“Ah, nah, gonna have to take the L on this one, Cardinal… busy, uh, with them.” He pointed to the rest of the group.

“All uh, week?” You frowned.

“Yeah, yes.” Swiss nodded. “Alllll week, that Copia is a real slave driver.”

You nodded in a big way. “Ah, yeah… I get it, no, uh… probably more fun alone, right…? uh, trees and… yeah. Really absorb the… ambience,” You refused to let your smile die or show any disappointment.

“Anyway, we got a thing with Sodo, like right now, so…” Swiss thumbed.

“That’s right,” Phantom touched his forehead. “Almost forgot that.”

“Oh, cool, yeah, you guys have an awesome day, huh?” You nodded, still beaming as brightly as you could.

“Yes, will do!” Phantom gave a thumbs up but was already walking away.

There was a chorus of ‘bye’s, and they hurriedly walked away. Rain was last to move. “Sorry, Cardinal ______…” he murmured, turning away.

“You know you don’t have to call me that?” You called softly, knowing his grey, pointed ears would still hear you. “Just ______ is fine.”

“______,” he muttered but left anyway.

Your grin shakily gave out, and you sighed softly, watching the leaves dance and mar the light of the windows. You were alone.

***

“Ah, my beautiful Cardi _,” Copia brimmed and stood from his paper-littered desk. He might as well have swum up to you from the depths of ink and paperwork. Poor guy.

“Does not seem fair that I can no longer call you Cardi C, Papa,” you chuckled. “How are you today, Papa E~?”

He was in his comfy red sweats and simple dark eye makeup for a hard day in the office. “Ah yes, good-good. Come sit, my ghoul. You want a biscuit or perhaps a juice box?” He offered you the cookie jar on his desk as he always did.

You sat, your tail ending up politely in your lap as you waved off the biscuit; for some reason, you had no appetite. It definitely had nothing to do with what just happened in the hallway on your way here. “What can I help you with today, Papa~?” You twinkled.

“Naw, can’t I ask you into my office just to catch up?” His grin skewed the black of his painted upper lip.

“I know you wish you could, Papa,” you huffed a small sigh, missing when you were both cardinals and he had actual time on his hands. But humans grew up—and you just wouldn’t.

“I’m taking some holiday time soon, perhaps then, huh?”

“That is the best news I’ve heard all day~” you grinned. “Ooo ooooo, I gotta start planning!”

“Yes, I will book you in for a weekend, but until then, I want you to do something for me.”

“Hmm~? I’m listening.”

“I, uh, need the basement cleaned out and reorganised. I went down looking for what we need for the springtime ritual dance, and I really couldn’t find shit down there.”

“Not even a little turd?” You frowned.

“Very funny,” he said in a way that meant, ‘you’re not funny at all’.

You stood and stretched yourself out. “Last I checked, it’s a fucking hellscape down there; I think I’d know because, uh,” you pointed to the horns that popped out the top of your hood. “But I’ve got this~ Anything else, Papa?” You were already getting ready to leave, though. He just didn’t have time for you anymore, but if this made things easier for him, you were all too happy to help.

“Eh, yes, actually,” he looked away, and his leather-clad finger fiddled with a pen on his desk.

“You’re usually a little more forward about these things,” you chuckled and piqued a brow.

“What? Uh, nah.. it’s…” he cleared his throat. “Sodo will be helping you clear the basement.”

“Eh-what?” You felt your usually springy, chipper mood slipping.

“Sodo is going to be helping you out,” he repeated, but you had definitely heard him correctly the first time. You were praying for a bee to have maybe buzzed passed, and it sounded like people just saying stupid shit for some reason.

“Papa…” you eased. “Papa, this is where you say uh, ‘sike’, and we both laugh because he is an awful shit, and you would never trap me in a basement with him for weeks on end.”

“I am sorry, ______, I am aware of how you feel about him.”

“I am starting to think that may not be the case. Papa, Lucifer created him to be the size of a football for a reason.” You studied his mismatched eyes, trying to detect some kind of joke you were missing.

“A reason, Caro?”

“So that Baggio might one day kick him into the sun.”

Copia laughed before he could stop himself. “Ah, I love Baggio~”

“Come on, Papa, there has to be something more useful he could be doing, like uh, being a hamburger. I have a very good recipe if you ever consider….”

“______,” he shook his head and chuckled, “I’m sorry, it’s out of my hands; Sister caught him trying to set a fire in the abbey again…”

“Of course, he was,” you rolled your eyes. “He keeps saying there are cherubs in there…”

“He’ll be helping you out as punishment.”

“Punish himmmm! Not me! I can do this all so easily by myself.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love you both dearly,”

“I have no idea why…” you muttered under your breath.

“But I worry what would happen if he was in there alone and unsupervised with all our ritual decorations…”

“And the weapons locker,” you huffed, and your lip dropped. “He only has two brain cells, violence and dumb.”

“Naw, come now, Cardinal ______. I am still not wholly sure why you hate him so much.”

“He’s short, angry and mean,” you answered without thought.

“Mean?”

“Oh, you know, ‘______, if you love plants so much why don’t you marry one,’ orrr ‘______, maybe you should sew yourself a body bag next’ orrr ‘______, I get to make love to Swiss, and you don’t so… go eat worms.’ You know, things like this.”

Copia steepled his hands in thought. “I see. Maybe you could, uh, take time and ‘bond’ over this… at least hate each other a little less…”

“Bond? Bond?! Papa! I rather eat glass. I would rather strap on wings and ascend to whatever heaven the Trump supporters go to.”

“At the very least, you will have some more uh, comedic material, huh?”

You blew out your cheeks. “They say trauma makes a person very funny. Eugh, but I’ve already seen hell; why must I survive it here too?!”

“Ah, always so dramatic, my pretty ghoul.”

You gave him a face of utter disapproval.

“I’m afraid it’s my final say on the matter, ______. I believe the two of you can work out the basement without too much damage.”

You closed your eyes for a long time and sighed, “I understand this next ritual takes a lot of time and planning, so I will do this for you, Papa Copia—not for him. For you.” 

“Thank you, my sweet ghoul. Perhaps I will take time to plan out our weekend, huh? As a reward for all this?”

“When did you ever get so charming?” You gave him a tight smile.

“Oh, uh, always~” he grinned. 

“Right, let’s fucking get this done…”

“Hope you have a lovely day, Cardinal~”

“You too, Papa,” you sagged, opening the door. Your tail followed you limply out. Fucking shitty, fuck. Hell.

Thank you for reading friend! I hope you enjoyed it!!

[kisnin]

"Simple" does not mean "crappy".

Just cause you have a sword and I a club, does not mean I'm not capable of beating the living SHIT out of you.

This kinda a callout to people who write about improvised weapons/simple weapons in a negative light.

Good example: Pitchfork. It's a farm tool and it has some SHARP AS FUCK points to it. In steady hands, it can be an excellent weapon. You can use it as a spear/short pike. You can whack people with it cause it's got good weight. You can even give someone the catclaw treatment XXL with the tines by slashing. You can catch weapons in it and spin them out of an opponents hands.

Another example: javelin. They're simple to make but are devastating. You will rarely survive a clean hit from any sort of throwing spear.

Examples continued: sticks and rocks. Never underestimate the effectiveness of beating someone over the head with a stick or slamming a rock into their chest. Even good armor will have issues against shear concussion force. Or, employ the rock via sling. Or just drop it on them from high up.

Another thing to mention is bronze weapons. Bronze is in many ways an excellent material. While it doesn't have the hardness of iron or steel, it's still capable of fucking someone up. Bronze can also, despite popular opinion, be hardened. This is done by working the material with a hammer, causing the crystalline structure to compress, short explanation. While this still doesn't have the same hardness of hardened iron or steel, it dramatically increases the durability of the piece.

Whatsmore, many writers, historians, and such have a very "civilocentric" (which is a word I pulled out of my ass, but I will define as... uh. I need a language expert @mommalosthermind, I apologize for name dropping but you seem to have a grasp of this based on your blog) view of history, and often weapons.

IE: a sword (or other object) has to be metal.

It don't. There are WORLDS of cultures (not just non-western ones, though they are really easy to use. I'd draw your attention to the celts and Germans but that would mean I'd have to get out my notes from HS and extended education so well skip that.) WHERE SWORDS ARE NOT METAL. Take a trip down to the Kiwiville Before the Tommies (New Zealand, and brevities sake Polynesia) and you'll find any manner of examples in many different materials ranging from the possibly impractical (shark tooth) to the downright terrifying (sharpened fucking WOOD) that sit in the category of a sword.

Or we could take a trip across the pacific (or just far south for me) to Mexico, where the Aztecs and other cultures used obsidian blades glued to wooden paddles to achieve an effect something between a sawblade, cleaver, and club. Said weapons were VERY effective, and in some cases may have even destroyed European swords in action.

In similar style there's also evidence that atleast one person naped some flint into a blade shape, and the glued it to some backing. They then probably became the single most stabby motherfucker on the block (flint wounds are fucking terrifying, cause they often come with a serrations status effect).

To conclude this rant.

There is an entire wide world of THINGS to use. ANYTHING is a narrativly possible and reasonable weapon.

[space-blue]

may we know what is the crumbs 3 wip? 👀

Aha! It's the 3rd chapter of the fic A Trail Of Crumbs whose concept I adore but fell out of love with when I stumbled out of the Avatar fandom.

It follows Recom Miles Quaritch after the events of the film, lone survivor back on base and wrestling with the increasing dread brought about by a series of 'crumbs' he picks up on over time. RDA staff say and do weird things. The way he's treated seems odd. Ah, and his fucking custom watch. The tattoos they all have... Stuff doesn't really add up.

The goal of the fic was to explore the nature of the 'soul drives', how edited recom memories are, and the growing realisation that Miles isn't anywhere near his old human self, not any more than any other Marine with a similar background.

It was pure vibes of Blade Runner, artificial memories, created as a sentient tool unaware of their own artificiality beyond the obvious, etc.

In the end, I think I explored the concept better in this short comic in Mansk POV.

Chapter 3 crumbs is the incomplete conversation between Aslan and Miles, hinting at past Miles/Parker Selfridge. I stuck to dialogue only towards the end so it grows barebones, but I'll put what I have under the cut for the curious because I honestly don't think I'll finish this unless Avatar 3 makes me its bitch again.

'Why did you come back to Pandora?'

'Well, we landed in fanfare, as you can imagine.'

Yes, Miles can well imagine the media shit-storm so politely labelled fanfare. There's a part of him he's not particularly proud of that is glad his own death allowed him to skip this particular shitshow. He'd been, after all, the man in charge of operations at the time. Had pulled rank and everything. The media would have vivisected his career, his entire being. It's unlikely to have been much kinder to other RDA personal, returning with their tails between their legs.

'And in the middle of all this, my family...' Aslan gnaws on their lip, their faraway look snapping back to Miles with sudden intensity. 'We weren't really friends, you and I. You weren't one to hang out with the "science pukes", right? You'd know about my family if you had. I used to complain quite vocally whenever I got a comm from them. The old vent, you know. Anyway, let's say they were there, at the landing pad, waiting for me. In the middle of all that... fanfare.'

They look through the blinds, over the blighted landscape of concrete and metal, crawling with bots and shivering with heat and ship exhaust fumes.

'I signed up for the next mission over.'

Miles nods politely. He knows the type of family they're alluding to. He's met people who worked on the Mars terraforming program off world, because restoring Uganda's water table wasn't far enough of a getaway. Pandora's one of the furthest frontiers known to mankind. Different appeal to the science pukes, who generally arrive thrilled to go pull up grass, but dysfunctional families are universal, and to many RDA workers, the distance is a bonus.

He goes to say some platitude, that he understands, because really, he does. But Aslan cuts him off with a sharp hand gesture.

'Can we cut the crap, General? I mean Miles. You're not interested in my family, and you're keeping me away from the deeply fascinating samples I've come all the way here to put under a microscope, so let's just talk.'

Miles is struck by the sudden realisation that he's got no easy segway ready to start on the whole RDA conspiracy thing. He turns a few sentences over in his mind, growing discomfort flattening his ears to his skull. Should he threaten Aslan? Ask plainly? He's burning to cut the crap, as asked. But Aslan is also the one who'd gone to great pains to arrange a believable meeting between them, who'd seeded fear into his mind.

The manual had held no hint when he consulted it. The term soul drive had an asterix to an appendix that wasn't in the book.

'Something bothering you?'

Miles smiles tightly. 'You can tell?'

'You have a long way to go before you obtain a Na'vi poker face. I suggest you stay away from the Thursday games.'

To hell with it. It's not like he expects he'll make it past the court martial, the way things are going.

'Why do your people tattoo us?'

'You flatter me if you think me this involved, but that happens on the ship over, with a crew well out of my jurisdiction.'

A deflection. He'll be damned. 'I'd appreciate an answer,' he says, putting steel into his voice. 'Of the straight kind, too, if you can manage those.'

'A jab at my sexuality? Too easy. Is the tattooing what's bothering you? Really?' Aslan's smile is knowing, the light in their eyes dances with unwholesome mischief.

'Let's say that I've tried and failed to find a better starting point.'

'All right then. Let's do a short test. Answer my questions fast and truthfully.'

Miles relaxes. 'Sure.'

'Year of birth?'

'2104.'

'Do you have a son?'

'...Yes.'

'What was his mother's name?'

'Paz Socorro.'

'What year was she born?'

'I...'

'Am not sure?'

'I don't think we discussed it, but—'

'You had her file. She was one of yours, wasn't she? Surely you remember how old she was?'

'I think—'

But Aslan doesn't let him catch his breath. 'Who was Parker Selfridge to you?'

Miles sits straight, ears point to attention now. Will Aslan also reek of fear if he answers 'friend', no matter how much of an overstatement the word might feel? Heck, they asked for fast answers, so he says, 'He wasn't exactly my boss, but he was the Head suit in charge.'

'I need an honest answer,' they say, rasping a knuckle on the table.

Miles has his jaw hanging. What do they want from him?

'Do you recall leaning in his doorway?' Aslan continues, hardly slowing down. 'Poring over maps together?'

'Well, we...'

'Do you remember the way he laughed at your jokes? You leaned into the corny dad humour and he loved it. Do you remember your mug?'

'Yes.'

'Do you remember how you got it?'

'...Selfridge? Wasn't it Paz?'

'That's a question, so I'll take it as a no. Moving on to—'

'All right, all right. You've made your point.'

'What point do you think this is?'

'My memories are incomplete.'

'No, Miles.' Aslan sighs and sinks into their chair. 'Your memories are edited.'

It's somewhat depressing that of all the emotions he feels in that moment, surprise is not one of them

'Look at it this way. The machine scours your neural pathworks, and bounces memories. But it can't recreate the events that got you there, and it can't recreate what you blocked even from your own wakeful memory. Things you've forgotten, things you've hidden under too many layers, things you've trained to look away from.'

'So we're missing chunks?'

'Yes, all soul drives are inherently incomplete. That's why the technology isn't widespread. But that's not it. When you're in the machine, they can trigger memory chains. It helps map out... Look, it's hard to simplify, especially since it's not my specialty either, but they can snip out entire sections, like cauterizing a thought beyond surface level, or blot out all emotional reactions to a concept.'

'Are you saying... Do you actually mean the RDA edited the story of my life like a fucking home movie?'

They shrug. 'Yeah. That's the gist of it.'

'That in the contract I signed?'

'Of course not. Come on, colonel, you worked private long enough to have seen this coming. What? Do you think they'd give a fuck if you had issues with your situation?'

Miles rubs a shaky hand over his eyes, trying his best to remember the sound of Parker's laugh. 'Are you— Are you saying Selfridge and I were close—'

'Close is a good euphemism.'

'—and they erased so much of it, I freaked the shrink out by referring to him as a friend?'

Aslan tuts. 'Bad move.'

Miles gives them a sickly sweet smile. 'What a shame nobody warned me about the nature of this assessment!'

[randomnameless]

How would you feel if IS decided to release a Forging Bonds where Claude and Hilda acknowledged Cyril's situation prior to Rhea saving him, Hilda specifically apologizes to him for what her family put him through, and Claude specifies that one of his first actions upon becoming leader of the Alliance was to outlaw any and all indetured servants throughout the country and free all the ones that already existed, along with giving them support structures to help them get readjusted to normal life?

On the one hand, it'd be pretty much the only choice IS has at this point if they were to ever adress the slavery problem in Almyra, and the writing team for Heroes has clearly shown itself to be more than willing to go against stances taken by the Fódlan games, such as having Lissa call out Edelgard on how stupid her stance towards crests is, so it wouldn't be entirely out of the realm of possibility; on the other hand, they did go out of their way to conveniently skip over the part of Cyril's backstory where he was a slave when he was added to Heroes, implying they really don't want to touch that subject either, and it'd be really lame if such a major issue with one of the three major countries in Fódlan was only ever addressed and resolved in the gacha game.

Anon,

Have you seen/lived through Book 7 of FEH?

All jokes aside, I think that even in the case FEH suddenly bring backs writers from the fridge, that would teeter to close to "uwu challenging a House Leader" and we know, with the bonkers A!Ingrid FB's event, that this is something they will never do.

Claude (and Hilda) having to grow from their FE16/Nopes selves?

Nah, can't do.

In a way, I think the Nabateans (and Billy?) were able to be "tooled"/"more developed" in FEH because, as ridiculous as it is, they're not the main selling points of Fodlan.

Lissa and Supreme Leader's FB was really odd, because FEH dared to go in that direction (ditto with Mila and Hegemon!gard) - so maybe they could... or, as seen in Engage with Supreme Forehead, they will try to erase everything that made her controversial or a character to begin with, to focus on "uwu rivals uwu school friends uwu".

So, if Supreme Leader's situation is that "difficult", I can't see them give the same amounts of fuck to Claude -

And, as you pointed out, given how Cyril's BG was "modified" to make sure House Goneril isn't mentionned or whatever happened in Almyra, I don't they will ever care - even if there used to be a time (or is it still going on?) where Supreme Leader's MYH blurbs, just like Dimitri's and Rhea's were periodically edited/modified by IS (especially the JP versions, for reasons we all know :p ) so, who knows, maybe one day, Cyril's MYH blurb will also be modified?

As for the idea in general -

In the paralogue, Hilda sorts of feels sorry for Cyril's time as a "servant" in House Goneril, which is like, the minimal kindness-reaction she can give, but there are no other mentions of that situation in this paralogue.

Hell, later on, when Hilda goes to Holst after the battle, she checks on his health, and recovers Freikugel - no mention of "plz tell people not to pick almyran children or at least don't give them so much work to do because they're having a hard time".

And while I liked the idea, in FE16, of Hilda being a sort of kind and caring character, who still has a lot of prejudices against Almyrans - she is lazy and doesn't want to do her chores because she's afraid she will mess up, and yet, she can be lazy because her House is the only one mentionned in Fodlan that has "servants" who aren't fed everyday who do "hard work" - because while Tellius went ham on the people who are prejudiced against other races, sometimes racism means someone can be the kindest and nicest person you ever know... except not to some other group of people (iirc we get this with Lyn's grandpa, who didn't approve of his daughter marrying Hasan, a Sacean, and yet, through his few lines and appearance, we see how he is a kind (albeit feeble) old man - who finally managed to get over his prejudice on his "deathbed", only for him to recover and spend time with his granddaughter at the end of Lyn's story).

Of course FE16 couldn't give this character arc to Hilda - which is kind of a shame, bcs tfw an ultra minor NPC from FE7 can grow but not a playable character in FE16 - but as an idea and concept, it could have been nice.

Instead, both Hilda and Claude are in a kind of limbo regarding this issue, because their games want to push the CoS scarecrow, thus the source of "everything wrong in Fodlan" and so, human vice, human greed and human failings aren't explored in their routes.

FWIW, I don't think any major state and its issues are explored in the Fodlan games, save for, maybe, Faerghus thanks to Nopes - and the Fodlan games aren't really concerned with tackling racism, even if I still give them a spot above Tellius, since Tellius has "biological reasons for anti miscegenation", but even if the games don't pretend to make a huge point of being "anti racism", imo this issue is best presented in the Elibe games.

TBH, I'd prefer a FB where Cyril interacts with the Nabateans and/or calls them his true family, maybe to someone like Medeus and or Xane or even later Jahn when he will be released? who wonder why he is hanging out with Dragons when he is only a human, Cyril replying that human or not human, Rhea showed him kindness and saved his life when no one else cared, so she is his mother and savior, period.

End of FB ends up with the Rheas overhearing him and each taking a turn to hug him which embarasses him to oblivion, with Seiros the Warrior not participating because she doesn't know that human yet, but if there is that kind of human in Future Fodlan, then even if Adrestia will fall, her fight wasn't for nothing.

[shopcat]

i personally need s5 to leave the jancy/stancy triangle in the dust i’m so tired of it. like i used to like jancy!! but having jonathan say nancy would abandon her dreams to be with him was so strange bc he knows she wouldn’t do that so it was like what are we even doing why are we inventing drama. and what happened to jonathan wanting to go to nyu? like to an extent i understand the weird stancy revival bc they never resolved their issues but it Was weird to me that robin was pushing nancy towards steve when i can’t imagine a world where robin doesn’t know how that relationship ended. and i would have liked the nancy and steve talks more if they weren’t so stancy forward i wish they could just acknowledge that they meant something to each other but that they’re never going to be the person the other needs romantically. can they be friends they would be so much better if they were just friends. + the only person atp i want steve to end up with is robin platonically.

agree on all counts let's go skip together holding hands. it's SOWEIRD but it's like whatever u can't do much about what's been #done and can only pray for a good wrap up of it all... personally i try and look at it as objectively as my own mind can handle and i've talked about this a little like how... all their little talks in the woods was about how they're just acknowledging what they mean to one another... and i'm even okay with steve maybe being hung up on his feelings like it's FINE but the obvious conclusion there SHOULD be that they reconcile and both move on not fucking ?! go backwards

and it is hilarious that one of the entire little monologues was about how he crawls backwards and he would be crawling backwards to nancy 😭 and so would she!!! i saw someone once say his 6 little nuggets thing was (beyond it being a death speech) just a way to gauge her reaction and she never even REALLY said anything other than some encouragement like i think she was like "that's nice" and that was it and it was a tool for them to realise they AREN'T meant to ultimately end up together even if they didn't break up their fundamental worldviews wouldn't shift. and i also think that speech was obv obv more about metaphors and he doesn't actually want 6 kids he just wants a family and a future and a life beyond hawkins but can't forget his connection to the kids as well and that nancy was and is still important to him etc etc. not that they should fucking. elope or whatever.

like one of the most interesting things to me and it is one of the reasons i'm more positive st4ncy at the very least won't be endgame is how nancy SPECIFICALLY is entirely career orientated like you said + does not want to just become another suburban mom. and then steve describes this insane scenario where she's BEYOND a suburban mom at that point it's like one of the most extreme versions of the literal NIGHTMARE from the little rant in season 1 jonathan described (and i'm hoping that it's all deliberate or i'll kms). and then JONATHAN doesn't want to tell her he didn't get into college because "she'll give up her dream for him" or whatever like it was literally just created to be this intentional alternative to steve's "settle down and have a family" thing, "i won't hold you back from your dream school just for our relationship which makes you end up settling into the suburbanite you don't want to be" and imo DOES show jonathan does obviously know her more/care for her because he doesn't WANT her to do this bc he knows how much her career and going to that college meeeans for her future and for her own like sense of self but the way they try and show this was just a weird and sloppy attempt to revive the love triangle yeah.

which is unfortunate but the good news is season 5 will end in steve with a new york boyfriend and robin in a polyamorous throuple with a deli worker and a life model.

[garrulousgeologist]

> AND ANOTHER THING

Likely a recurring segment where I make a post, go to bed, and then wake up the next morning with at least a handful more opinions to get out of my head.

This time it’s not cute I’m just vomiting my thoughts.

I’d like to expand on the ‘skip to the trolls’ idea. First of all I don’t care how other people read the comic, this is just my retrospection on my own experience. Had to get that out of the way. Now:

The first 3 acts are a tutorial for the reader on how to interact with Homestuck, as well as how the world these kids live in works, and how it changes due to SBURB. It is also a tutorial for the kids themselves. I am getting ahead of myself a little bit here as I am about to reference events beyond what I’ve re-read so far; Four human kids (children. This is important I’ll talk about it in a future post) gain access to working versions of a game and begin playing, setting off the events that follow for the rest of Homestuck. When they begin playing they have to figure out the tools and materials at their disposal and to what ends do these means strive. Their tutorial culminates in a timed trial that can only end in two ways. 

They complete the trial successfully and are catapulted into the game, SBURB.

They do not complete the trial successfully and stay in their original world. Their original world is being demolished by meteors.

So really the choices from the moment they receive these discs in the mail are: keep playing or die.

That’s all, I just really like the dynamic reader-pull that is being written into the same position the main characters are in. We’re both anxiously going through a confusing tutorial that ends up being the intro to something extremely difficult to define but undeniably impactful in every sense of the word. 

Now let’s talk about SBURB.

S…BURB….suh…burb…Suburb.

Suburban.

I realize I’m the 612th person to point this out, so I’ll link to a video essay that words this better than I could here and then give my brief thoughts and summary. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qVbPr04ugPc

[What the Hell is Homestuck? By Hawkwood on Youtube]

Now, brace yourself, I’m going to talk about generation traits on a public platform.

Homestuck was published on John Egbert’s 13th birthday 4/13/2009, making him born in 1996, the year widely believed to have been the last year someone could still be considered a millennial. Andrew Hussie was born in 1979, widely believed to be the last year someone could still be considered Gen-X.

I was born in 1996, and so were most of my friends. We all share the opinion that we don’t really identify as millennials or gen-Z, we’re ‘cuspers’. This gives us a unique view into both generational categories, for whatever they’re worth. I’d wager Hussie feels a similar way about millennials and gen-X, both based on his birth year and the echoes of such an opinion in the context surrounding the beta kids’ perspectives. Stay with me, I have a point I swear-

“[Hussie and Egbert] frame the entire millennial generation between them, cementing Homestuck as a purely millennial text.”

-Hawkwood, the video linked above.

What a statement to make. I don’t entirely disagree or agree, nuance is desperately needed and given in the full video. What I will say here is that this concept makes complete sense when specifically applied to the chat logs, forums, online interaction style, parent-child interaction style, and penchant for staying in their bedrooms.

Hear me out on that last note: if you’re younger than me you might not have the context for that.

Today it seems common, but good fucking lord the world is different now, especially post-global-quarantine. But in the 1990’s and early 2000’s, kids were becoming the very first human generation to ever grow up with the internet. To their parents, it was new and scary.

Did you get the ‘everyone on the internet is a dangerous, antagonistic liar and out to get you’ talk? I did, and I hid my information accordingly online, and what little I did share online I hid from my parents. A whole generation of children getting that talk plus stranger danger conditioning makes a whole generation of kids very cautious around strangers, very interested in staying inside where it’s safe, and socializing in a completely new and different way than recent generations before them. 

One of the only ways to personalize the first social messenger accounts to exist, before social media as we know it, was to change the text you typed with. For example: Colors, grammar, using numbers, using emoticons,and whether people capitalized their sentences or not were all considered quirks inherent to an individual. Sound familiar?

ANYWAY, what else was huge in the late 80’s, 90’s and early 2000’s?

The Suburbs.

Is there something to be said about the isolation and sterile nature of suburbs being a catalyst that tipped our global society into something catastrophic? Maybe, but definitely not by me. Think about it on your own blog. 

If you haven’t lived in or near a real suburb (not to gatekeep) you might not be aware of how uniform and barren it can be. The image of John’s neighborhood that I used above, that’s exactly what it’s like. Where would John have gone if he had walked outside? …for a walk? What else? Even if you did find a kid your age you could stand to be around, if you tried sports or anything loud or, gog forbid, skateboarding (a ne'er do wells pastime) you’d get hushed and ushered inside.

What about Dave, then? Near the top of a high rise in a major city? He’s not hanging out in the streets. Rose then. In a remote part of northern New York state? Yeah right. Jad-..nevermind.

It’s isolating.

They’re…stuck. At h-

These kids all fit in that time and online space, isolated and finding their only community in a new, exciting, high risk high reward online space where they could hang out with friends from far away places in the comfort of their own homes. 

“Brief thoughts” I said. 

Another commonly acknowledged but pertinent fact:

The alien species known as Trolls are a parody of internet trolls. I only bring this up to point out they were common in early internet messaging clients. Any old asshole could come chat at you, you’d have to block anyone who was bothering you. Almost like..nevermind.

Small tangent: I still haven’t seen all the movies that John has posters of! I went! To film school! For a little while, at least. -ahem-

Long enough to understand John fits (among many, many other things of course) an online forum young film buff archetype. Especially when it comes to Con Air. I was on set as an extra for a commercial once and mentioned Con Air being a sort of shitty movie to another extra and one of the film crew heard me and got genuinely livid. He had never heard of Homestuck. It was to my detriment, I couldn’t stop laughing and eventually got asked to sit outside for scenes I wasn’t in.

Added to my watch list: Deep Impact, FACE/OFF, Failure to Launch, A Time to Kill, and Ghost Dad. Wish I had seen that last one before the Bill Cosby allegations had come out but alas not all things can age well. Least of all things referenced in Homestuck.

I have so much more to say but it would be so disjointed and ahead of my own game. I’ll finish with this:

Can anyone explain the kernelsprite to me?

I understand it’s function on the surface- it’s a guide meant to help you through the tutorial.

But why does it exist? Where did it come from? Is this one of those topics you’re not supposed to think too hard about? Something that causes me trouble with Homestuck is how deliberate and on-purpose everything is. The kernelsprite has a deeper meaning and origin, it must, this is Hussie’s writing we’re talking about. But could anyone but them explain it to me? Unsure.

Maybe the term kernel. Is anyone out there familiar with computer processing/code/mechanical engineering/theoretical mathematics expertise able to explain the possible reference the word ‘kernel’ is making? It feels significant but I’m genuinely asking, I don’t know what it’s supposed to make me think of.

tl;dr

Homestuck’s hook is that the characters are struggling through a tutorial the same as we are. The context to the kids’ perspectives is inherently generational with real historic significance. Kells needs to watch more movies. Kells is confused about kernelsprites.

[sabertoothwalrus]

do you have any tips on streamlining your comic/art making process? I colored in a doodled comic and the whole thing took me hours, I just feel like there's something I'm missing that would make the whole thing go faster? I know a part my own struggle is just learning the program i work with in the first place. apologies if this is somethin too specific to myself lmao

laziness, ultimately.

I think it's pretty universal for artists to assume they're doing something the "wrong" or "difficult" way, and that there MUST be some secret everyone else knows that you somehow missed. I know I definitely feel this way, especially about painting and layout design.

I think once I realized that the amount of time you spend on a comic =/= how much people like it, I stopped caring if I left things sketchy or uncolored or anything besides the bare minimum of what it takes to say what you need to say. I've been trying to practice skills I'd use in storyboarding, except I don't really think about it like "practicing storyboarding skills", I think about it like "what can I do to communicate this scenario as efficiently as possible". How clear are the poses? The order of dialogue? The pacing? The tone? Does the punchline land? Is the setting and placement of characters clear? What can I do to vary the perspective and angles to keep it interesting and aid the tone, without it being too confusing? Sometimes, I DO need to do a bit more with value or color or backgrounds, but I try to get away with conveying as much as I with as little as possible.

I skip a lot of steps. I don't do lineart, I just clean up my sketches. I rarely color things (but I'm trying to get better!) and when I do it's really sloppy and not at all in the lines, but it doesn't really matter. I don't think anyone cares much (not in a self-deprecating way, but a "most people are only going to look at this for a few seconds so fuck it" way)

Beyond that, keyboard shortcuts help a lot. I know screen tablets are the Hot Thing and seem like the industry standard for animation and illustration, but I can't imagine not having my hand on my keyboard the entire time I'm drawing. I use wayyy too many shortcuts to ever use the ones on my tablet, or one of those controller things.

Certain things like the polygonal lasso tool or CSP's nifty "close gap" feature on the bucket tool sure help a lot. There are somethings you'll always have to brute force, so you just have to practice getting faster at brute forcing it.

[wtftarot]

The Magician PAC reading

The Magician card is awesome. This card is all about creation, learning, skill, willpower, and obviously magic. So, this reading is all about where/how you can embrace more of the Magician card's energy. What tools do you have at your disposal that you're not seeing? Where do you need to utilize your full willpower? Etc.

*none of the photos are mine*

**tarot readings are for entertainment only and are not a substitute for professional help at any capacity**

Pick either the As Above Hand, the Table and Tools, or the So Below Hand and head to your reading.

As Above

It's funny, y'all chose the hand with the wand, because y'all have more wands than any other suit. Something is taking its fucking time getting here isn't it? Holy shit, HAHA. Time by Pink Floyd just started playing on the radio. Fucking seriously. That was just perfect. Guides have a sense of humor today, I love it. Anyway, the reading. There's something you're working on that's just going so fucking slow, right? That song with the cards, you think you're running out of time. Ok, another song playing is referencing not having the time. Y'all are really stressed about time. I am getting so many messages and each one is pushing to go first and it's all jumbled. Babe, let's just stop a second ok? Breath. Slowly in. Slowly out. Slowly in, and out. Hey, I know you just read past that and didn't do it. Please, just take a second to breathe, the reading will still be here. (i know a few of you are still skipping it, but I'll let it go) Y'all are overwhelming yourselves here, like a shit ton. I'm getting a lot of different situations. Some of you are trying to manifest something, other something with school, some it's building a whole ass career (damn). The picture I'm getting is of this Awesome Idea that you've worked and worked toward but it still hasn't come about and now you're doubting it entirely. You feel like you have to be on the defense with others, constantly proving that this Awesome Idea is worth it. At the same time, you're doubting that it is worth it.

How you can embrace the Magician's energy in this situation is to be patient. (i know, I know fuck me) You have the tools, the idea, the willpower, none of that's the problem. The Awesome Idea really is awesome and it is possible. The thing is though you're approaching this with Wands energy when you need to use Pentacles energy. Which makes it so much fuckin funnier that you picked the picture with the wand. The Wands are all about quick, fiery bursts of energy and inspiration. Which is great, we love the Wands energy, it's just not what will help you in this situation. You need the Pentacles energy. Solid, consistent, diligent work. You don't plant a seed and then expect it to be a rose bush by the end of the day. You have to go out and water it, pull the weeds and get rid of pests. You also don't get pissed at it for not producing flowers after a week. You would understand that good things take time to grow. If you want a seed to grow to don't dig it up to see if it's growing, you nurture it and trust the prosses. You see what I'm getting at? You are going to be a beautiful fucking rose bush, but right now you are a seed or a lil sprig. Give yourself time. It's interesting because you're stuck in the past and pushing yourself to already be in the future but you're avoiding the present. Honey, cycles are a part of life. The moon goes through phases and so do we. You can't be a full moon if you've not been a waxing crescent. All of nature goes through them, and babe, you are nature. It's easy to forget in this world we live in but we are all natural creatures. We need time to grow and that's okay. You've got this. Trust yourself. Trust the universe and the cycles of life.

Random ass vibes: shooting stars, fate, Pink Floyd, manifestation, rabbits, roses, welcome to night vale, k-pop bands, purple, 'im hungry', rubber bands?, earth.

The Table and Tools

First I wanna say the cards are syncing up soo well with the group images, group one got mostly wands and y'all got a near-perfect balance of suits, with one less sword card than the rest. So y'all may need more focus, objectivity, and clear communication in your life. I love this energy, y'all have a good idea of the life you want but you have no fuckin clue how to get there. You're very determined to get there though. I'm hearing 'shot in the dark'. Hmm, you seem to have trouble grounding your ideas. Don't get me wrong, the ideas you have are absolutely awesome. Just that you may have a tendency to fantasize about doing them, more than working on them. Babe, I'm a Pisces moon, I do the same thing. I keep getting hung up on your ideas and not the situation or advice because the ideas are just sooo good. Holy shit. You can see this future where you've got all your needs met, where you are super generous and abundant. I think one problem you may be having is that you have too many awesome ideas for the future and maybe have trouble picking a direction to go. Because they're all so fun. These things though, seem very private. Almost like you're hiding them. You want this absolutely beautiful life but you can't let others know you want it. Or you may only be sharing it with a few people. Maybe the life you want is hugely different than the life you have now and you're worried about others judging you. This dream of yours is very close to your heart.

Y'all have a shit ton of the Magician's energy already, like damn. BUT, you need to utilize more of the tools you have. It's funny, the last pile needed more Pentacles energy and you need more of the Swords. The Swords are all about decisive, focused action. Cutting through the bullshit and making a plan. You have a lot of ideas for your life, but you can't pursue them all at the same time. So, maybe try picking one to work on for now, if you end up not liking it you can switch. Or even if you do like it and later in life, you want to go a different direction, you can. Your life is your life. It's supposed to make you happy, not your father or your mother or your brother. You. If you can't do some of it right now, do what you can. Life isn't all or nothing. Ok, I got a specific message for someone: It's okay to be a partial fan, your not a fake fan for only liking some of it or not knowing everything about it. To expand on that a lil bit for everyone, it's okay to just do something as a hobby. It's okay to be a beginner. To start something and change your mind. To just not want the life that everyone else wants. To not go to college. To not want to aim higher. It's okay to want what you want. What do you want? Find it. Plan for it. What can you do now, to get there later? Pursue it. Fight for it. Cut out the bullshit. You've got the passion, the creativity, and the materials. Now you just need the plan.

Random ass vibes: wind, are y'all eating something while reading this?? (not judging, just a vibe), archery, arrows, nighttime, 4 (four), poetry, books, astronomy, bicycles or motorcycles, psychic abilities.

So Below

Ok, my back started hurting as soon as I started this reading? Y'all okay? I thought the last group was stuck in their heads, but damn y'all got them beat. Because this is a reading about the Magician's energy and it uses the tools of the suits of tarot. The suits that come out have been very telling and y'all got mostly Swords and Wands. With only one of each, Cups and Pentacles. That tells me that y'all are VERY much in your heads. You seem to be pretty smart and creative but have trouble grounding your ideas or connecting with emotions. You seem to be kinda lost in your own world. Ok, don't take this the wrong way, but it's like you feel the need to lie about how well you're doing in certain areas of your life? I don't actually it's lying so much, as making things seem better than they are? You may feel the need to put on a brave face around certain people. Keep up appearances, so to speak. You feel like you need to suppress your emotions for the good of others. Oh my god, guides are funny today. Sweet Emotion by Aerosmith just started playing on the radio. That song doesn't have any real meaning to add to the reading, it's just a lil joke or confirmation. You may be the type to avoid problems by escaping into fantasy or fiction. Some may be doing that by using alcohol or drugs. Not judging but it may be getting to the point that it's costing you? You may not be taking a real role in your own life. Avoiding major life choices and letting life choose for you. The thing is you have super strong intuition. That you seem to be suppressing and confusing because you're out of touch with the world around you. A few of you know about your intuitive abilities but are downplaying them to seem more logical to the people around you.

This is so funny, each group has needed to work more with the energy of a different tool or tarot suit. Y'all though need two. Cups and Pentacles. The Cups are all about emotions, relationships, and nurturing. The Pentacles are about grounding, practicality, and the material world. So, what y'all need to do to embrace the Magician's energy is to connect more with the world around you. I know it sounds counter-intuitive if you're wanting to strengthen your spirituality but balance is the key. You can and should do both the spiritual and the material. I'm getting a message for some of those that resonated with the bit about avoiding reality with fiction: you could try to find a hobby that you can still take a break from your problems with but that is more grounded. Working with clay is one that popped into my head. Go out and do something with your friends (safely). Or even by yourself. You can go read in the park. Embrace the world and people around you. You need things with more structure, more tangibility. Cooking is another good one. If you're the type to use alcohol, pot or other drugs may be slow down a bit. (not judging at all, this message is for anyone who uses it excessively). It's okay to enjoy things you like but you don't want to miss out on your life. You can't let life make the choices for you and then wonder why you don't have the life you want. I just heard 'that's harsh'. I know and I'm sorry. I'm trying to be gentle but the cards are pushing the need for a wake-up call and there's only so much softening I can do without losing the message entirely. I get the feeling that you keep doing tarot readings and asking for messages and then ignoring what you're told? Now, guides are yelling like 'HEY, LISTEN'. They want you to enjoy the world around you and not hide from it. They want you to be happy and you can't do that by letting your life pass you by.

Random ass vibe: abandoned buildings? 11, sailing, boats, turtles, aliens, music, books, water, earth, 44, lightning, marvel, social media.

[bi-bard]

Better Than Anyone Else - Castiel Imagine (Supernatural)

Title: Better Than Anyone Else

Pairing: Castiel X Reader

Requested: by @zizzlekwum

Word Count: 1,306 words

Warning(s): cussing, kidnapping, insults, Dean can't really keep his mouth shut

Summary: (Season 5) (Y/n) and Castiel are taken hostage by angels in the hopes of getting information on how the Winchesters plan on stopping the apocalypse. (Y/n) finally reaches their boiling point with the angels that try to make Cas feel like shit.

Author's Note: I swear, Cas is one of my favorite characters to write for.

Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

-------------------------------------

I was seething.

I watched as the angels strutted around Cas and me. We were tied across from each other. Cas with some weird kind of chain and me with just rope.

They just kept poking at him.

Mocking him for his humanity. His caring nature.

It pissed me off.

"Isn't it pathetic," one of them asked. "Knowing that your choice to help the humans is pointless? You trusted them... cared about them... all for it to go to waste. They don't care about you, you're just a tool to them."

"Leave him alone," I snapped, tugging at the ropes harshly. I didn't even wince at the feeling of the material burning my skin.

"Shut up, you gnat," the 'head angel' of the group said. "You are one of the biggest reasons Castiel forgot his purpose."

"He didn't forget his purpose," I hissed. "He found it."

She held her blade to my neck, grabbing my hair so I couldn't wiggle away.

"He's one of the most caring creatures I've ever met," I continued, ignoring my fear. "He's a hero. Not just to me but to so many others. You are just trying to make him hate all he's done so he can be guilt-tripped into helping you. If you were worth helping, you wouldn't have to do that."

The angel nearly growled at me before stepping away.

I started combatting words with words.

"You mean nothing to them" was met with my response of "You're amazing and I'm honored to even know you."

"If you didn't have powers, they'd drop you like dead weight," was met with, "Don't listen to them. The boys and I think you're brilliant. You're amazing... a hero."

"They obviously don't need you... they would've saved you by now," was met with, "Sam and Dean will be here soon, they just can't teleport."

This continued until the doors were slammed open. I smiled to myself. Sam and Dean stormed in and started fighting. Sam quickly cut the ropes from my wrist and ankles and grabbed the blade the had rolled from one of the angels.

"One second," I said to Cas quickly, going after the main angel.

I sunk the blade into her stomach, ripping a key from around her vessel's neck.

"Didn't know angels used such basic locks on shit," I muttered, undoing the lock. Cas stood up instantly, moving me out of the way so he could smite an angel that was behind me.

The action died down and we all looked around to check on each other.

"All of us alright," Dean asked. I nodded. "Let's go, Bobby's waiting for us."

We went to walk out but Cas called my name. I turned back to him. He gently grabbed my hands. I blushed as I watched how careful he was as he healed the rope burns.

"Thank you," I mumbled, looking up at him.

I noticed how close we were. I took a deep breath in before turning around and following Sam and Dean. Cas teleported out.

"How are you feeling," Sam asked as Dean started driving.

"I've been better," I muttered. "They just kept insulting him. Like they knew it would hurt more than hitting him."

"What did you do," Sam asked.

"Defended him," I replied. "He deserved that. Even after they held a blade to my throat, I just wanted him to know that we cared."

There was a moment of silence.

"(Y/n)," Dean said carefully. "Do you promise not to hit me after I ask my next question?"

"I can't promise something like that, I've heard some dumb questions come out of your mouth," I replied, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Do you... love Cas," he asked.

My breath stopped in my throat for a moment.

I looked down. Was love the right word? Was that too far? I definitely liked him. He was sweet and brave but... love? He'd be uncomfortable if I said love. I sighed... maybe I did love him.

"I don't know if 'love' is too far or not," I finally admitted.

"Holy shit," Dean sounded so excited. I chuckled. "I fricking knew it! Sam, you owe me twenty bucks!"

"You bet on me?"

"...No," Dean suddenly turned guilty when he realized that I was unhappy with his choice.

"Sam."

"It was Dean's idea," he said, throwing his brother under the bus immediately. I looked at Dean.

"(Y/n)... listen..."

--time skip--

I was looking through Bobby's basement for him. He was working on some project and just needed me to help him grab some things. I was happy too. Working with Bobby was not as scary as some would assume.

I was heading back up the stairs when I heard Cas and Dean in the kitchen.

"I just want to know why (Y/n) defended me so adamantly," I froze, realizing neither one had noticed me.

"I can't tell you that, Cas, you need to ask them," he replied.

"You know and won't tell me," Cas said it as a statement, not a question.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I can't."

"Dean, I don't understand-"

"I'm sorry, Cas, but this is (Y/n)'s business."

I guess I didn't know how long they had been going around in a circle. Still, what happened next made me want to throw what I was holding at Dean's head.

"Is there something wrong with (Y/n)? Are you worried about them? What do I not know-"

"Guys," I heard Sam try to intervene.

"(Y/n) loves you, Cas," Dean finally snapped. "There! You know why now!"

My heart just sank, "How fucking dare you?"

Dean looked at me with a panicked look.

"(Y/n)-"

I held up a hand. I walked to the living, placed what Bobby asked for on the table, and then walked out of the house.

"Where are you going," Sam asked, going to stop me.

"On a walk," I snapped, slamming the front door shut behind me.

I don't even know how far into Bobby's yard I had walked. I just kept going. I was angry and stressed and embarrassed. I was ready to fight Dean and leave him tied up in the trunk of his own car.

"(Y/n)," I heard the deep voice from behind me. I ignored it. "(Y/n)."

"Cas, I really don't wanna-"

I ended up walking straight into his chest. I took a step back and looked up at his face.

"Cas... we can just forget that," I motioned toward the house. "We don't have to worry about it."

"No."

"No?"

"I don't want to forget about it," he muttered. "It made me very happy when I heard you loved me."

"Oh," I mumbled.

"I... I love you too," he had a small grin on his face, seeming nervous. Angel of the Lord... nervous.

"You do?"

"Yes," Cas nodded.

"Oh," I mumbled again.

He stepped closer to me. I felt my entire base heat up at the motion. Being this close to Cas... or anyone really... was kind of new to me. I watched him closely and saw him furrow his eyebrows.

"This is where I'm supposed to kiss you, right," he asked softly.

"If you want to."

"I want to," he replied. I smiled widely at him.

I leaned in and pressed my lips to his lightly. I grabbed the lapels of his jacket. It felt like I was going to lose him if I did. He slowly reached out to touch my sides as he relaxed into the kiss. It was a perfect moment.

I slowly pulled away, trying to hold back a laugh as he tried to lean forward and kiss me again.

"I love you," I whispered, my forehead touching him.

"I love you too," he mumbled back. "And I'd like to kiss you again."

"Be my guest," I chuckled, pulling him back into a kiss.

What a perfect moment?

-------------------------------------

Masterlist

What I Write For

Request Guidelines

Musical Prompts

Small Moments With…

When Worlds Collide (Doctor Who Crossover Series) Masterlist

Some Original Characters

folklore/evermore Writing Challenge (and Masterlist)

[akaashioppa]

Promise Me?

pairings: baji keisuke x reader

summary: Baji promised you that you would have a great night. You, him, and Toman. He was out to have a good time too until the drugs came into play.

warnings: baji using drugs, curse words, angst, mentions of blood and teeth pulling. DONT DO DRUGS!

w/c: 1.6

a/n: Baji is a sweetheart and i know he’ll never do anything like this ☺️

A boy’s night was meant for the boys and only for the boys. The roaring sounds of the motorcycles, the blasting of the music did not go well with the anxiety that was soaring throughout your body. Baji being the crazy person he was, decided to bring you out to the club where all of the members of Toman would be.

You were standing near the game room with Baji’s hands firmly gripped around your waist. The sharp canines in his mouth were pressed against your delicate skin. The feeling of him kissing your neck all the way up to your ear was making you weak. 

“Hey, I’ll be over there with the boys. You stay here with Emma.” He muttered into your neck, His husky breath invaded your personal bubble. The scene was making you intoxicated with him and you didn’t care. All of the worries about coming here tonight with the gang completely washed away once you saw that smile. He was actually happy and not grumpy for once. Usually, he was a pain in your ass with his sudden outbursts of rage or the way he’ll set something on fire just because he wants to. 

“Okay baby.” You tried so hard not to stutter but Baji’s hand would accidentally slip into your inner thigh. The haze you were caught in finally came to a halt when his warm aurora left you. He stood by your side with his arms draped lazily around your shoulders. 

“Yo, Emma, Watch my girl will ya?”

“It’s okay, I can watch myself, babe. Let her enjoy herself on the dance floor...Go with the boys.” You pushed him gently in the direction of the boys. That particular grin on his face caused your heart to skip a beat. It was the same grin he gave you when he first told you that he was in love with you. He also showed that grin when he was ready to rip someone’s head off of their shoulders but you didn’t mind. It was hot either way he showed it. 

“Okay...I got you...remember that.” 

“I trust you.” He walked off into the distance towards the bathrooms where two other men stood. It was quite odd of a scene since the other boys were in the arcade playing pool and cards. He was the only one in the dark part of the room...No, he would never do anything that could make you uncomfortable. He promised since the first day you guys met that he would never lay a hand on you or show you the demons within him. Baji always wanted to protect you from any danger that awaited and tonight was no different. He made sure that there was a member in every corner of the club so nothing would happen to you.

Emma’s cheerful scream broke you out of your thoughts, “Come on (Y/N) let’s go grab some food from the food bar I’m starving.”

“I could go for some sushi.” 

You walked off from your spot with Emma’s hand in yours. There was a creepy feeling in the air, it’s been there since Baji left your side. He wasn’t with the boys which caused you to feel tense. Another reason was that he was still back there with those boys who now had something shoved up their noses. It looked as if they had tiny shovels in their noses.

‘There’s no way’

“Hey, Emma, Do yo-” 

The sopping feeling of dressing on your clothes helps you come to a rest. You looked down to see that there was a big stain on your shirt. The person who did it stood in front of you with a look of fear.

“I’m so sorry, let me help you!” The man in front of you launched into action, he fearfully began to wipe your shirt down with the paper towel in his hand. The crowd around you only grew from curiosity. You tried to speak, you tried to get him to stop but the words that were processing in your head wouldn’t allow you to speak them.

Emma grabbed you from the scene. She caught the signal that you were giving out. It wasn’t hard to miss since you stood there in complete shock. “We might need some water. Here there’s a family restroom. maybe we can use the water there.”

“Don’t I know you from somewhere? I think we went to the same middle school.” The man asked, you took a long look at him before you realized where you had seen him from.

“Yeah...Aren’t you Haruto?”

“Yeah, that’s me. I’m still as clumsy as ever.”

“It was a complete accident. You don’t have to worry, I'm sure Emma has a spare top in her bag.” You waved him off, he seemed much calmer now that you were almost clean.

Bang

The bathroom door was kicked in. Baji stormed through the door with two unfamiliar guys with him. He completely ignores you so he can grab Haruto by his collar forcing his head into the mirror behind him. “So you’re the culprit huh? What the fuck is your deal?”

“Baji! Put him down, it was an accident.”

“An accident huh? Look at you, you’re covered in shit.”

Baji threw Haruto across the room. He scanned the room until he found the perfect weapon, pliers. He snatched the tool from under the sink making sink water spray out everywhere. You watched in horror, the laughter from the other guys encouraging him to continue his menacing antics, it did not make the situation any better.  

“Can you please stop? You’re creeping me out.” Your voice was barely a whisper but it came out the stern. He seemed to have heard you cry out for him. His whole demeanor changed...he has more of a sinister feel to him.

“Why do you want me to stop? He needs to be taught a lesson. If not, then he will think that he can do it again.” He stood over Haruto with the pliers in his hand. He gave him a few kicks in the ribs just to toy with him. Emma tried to drag you out of the restroom but you stayed to face him.

He wiped his nose for the third time since he’s been here. This time a drop of blood followed behind it. You have been counting, ever since he left your side to be with those boys you have been observant of him. His sloppy posture, dilated eyes, his erratic behavior, and now he was having more mood swings than normal.

You tried to force the pressure that was forming in your throat away. You had to be strong, there were too many people out there that wanted to test you because they thought you were too weak to be Baji Keisuke’s girlfriend. So you put some bass in your voice and took a step forward. 

“Are you fucking high right now!?”

He smirked, “What does it look like, baby?”

“You son of a bitch” You scoffed, you marched your way over to him giving him a firm slap across his face. A gasp could be heard from the background. You and he both knew that all of Toman was here to see what was going on. 

“You promised me that you wouldn’t go to the extreme when it came to drugs! Look at you! You look like a fucking junkie, your fucking nose is bleeding and you don’t even care.”

He said nothing.

You reached down to grab the pliers only to be stopped by him. His strong grip from his hand wrapped around your wrist. “Get the fuck away from me”, he snarls.

You stare up at him and say nothing. The disbelief of him grabbing you and saying you engulfed your entire state of mind. He promised. You could only look into his dark orbs to see if he was actually being serious. It was no use, that demon he told you about was consuming him for the worst.

“You promised me that you would protect me tonight and yet you’re doing the most harm.” You placed a hand on his chest to feel his erratic heart beat. You knew what the white substance could lead to. His could actually burst if he got too excited.

He snatched your hand away from his chest,“I am protecting you! If only you’ll allow me to do my fucking job!”

Your hand was ripped away from Baji’s. It wasn’t him nor you.

Mitsuya pulled you into an embrace back from Baji. “The fuck is your problem Baji! Don’t you ever yell at a female like that! What the fuck!? Is this how you treat the woman you claim to love!?”

“What? You’d really think I’d hit a woman? I’m not your dad Mitsuya.” He stuck up his middle finger towards him with that annoying smirk on his face. “I’ll fucking kill you. Give me my girl.”

“I’m taking her home.”

You stood behind Mitsuya far away from Baji. You could see how badly he wanted to ruin Haruto. The blood lust in his eyes couldn’t fool anyone.

“Fine then. If that’s what she wants, take her home.”

“Don’t hurt him Baji. He didn’t do anything. Can you please just listen to me for once?” You were so emotionally drained from the situation that your words came out in a mumble. You knew what he was about to do. Your pleas would never get him to stop once his mind was already made up. 

He chuckled, turning his back towards you. The walked over Haruto again screamed that he would murder someone who got in his way. You sat there with a blank expression watching your boyfriend shove the pliers into Haruto’s mouth. No one dared to stop him, some watched out of pure enjoyment. 

 Mitsuya pulled you out of the bathroom before you could see your boyfriend in that state but you could hear his disturbing laugh and Haruto’s pleas for forgiveness.

“He’s too high to comprehend what’s going on right now. You’ll have to talk to him tomorrow.”

“But he promised me…”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Fully Completely 3

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), violence, mutual irritation, harassment

This is dark!Loki x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s a new face in Birch and he’s come to haunt your door.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, and Little Bones

Note: On to part three. Sorry for being a human disaster.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 3: Or it will move right through me

💀💀💀

Jerome annoyed you as he picked through your tool box and clicked the ratchet noisily. He was excited but impatient and complained that you were taking so long. You told him if he wanted to pay out of pocket for labour, you could finish faster. 

You sat by his bike, parts strewn at your feet, and bent your head to look under the tank. You still had a lot to go and hadn’t yet added anymore of the gross chrome to the frame.

“Do you realise how filthy this is gonna get?” you huffed as you sat up and leaned your elbows on your legs, “not to mention how ridiculous it looks.”

“I like it. It’s just my style,” your brother grinned, “I don’t remember you spending this much time on Bucky’s ride and you and him--”

“He had me replace the tailpipe, you want nothing short of a rebuild,” you scoffed, “and you’re not the boss.”

“Don’t remind me,” he rolled his eyes, “guess it could be worse though. It could be Steve.”

“Thank god it’s not,” you chuckled, “I don’t know how many women had to toss beer in his face before he latched onto that mousy one at the bakery.”

“She’s nice,” Jerome shrugged, “far as I know. She doesn’t talk to anyone but Steve.”

“I wonder why,” you tisked, “he has insecurity written across his forehead.”

The tinny bell rang and the door whooshed open as the wind caught it. Jerome glanced over and dropped the ratchet noisily into the drawer of the tool box. You growled in warning as you spent much of your spare cash on those. He apologised quietly as he squared his shoulders at the man who appeared.

“Hey,” Bucky wiped the flakes from his hair and blew out a shiver.

“Bucky,” Jerome said rigidly.

The other man nodded and stepped further inside the garage. He shoved his hands in his pockets and paced aimlessly around the concrete floor. You watched him as you fiddled with the bolt in your hand.

“You wanna head down to the bar?” It wasn’t a question as Bucky came to face you, “I gotta talk to your sister.”

“Sure,” Jerome replied sharply, “you got it, boss.”

Bucky grumbled and waited for him to leave. He sniffed and kicked his toe into the floor.

“So… what’re you doing here? Been a while so must be urgent,” you sat up on the rolling stool and stretched your back.

“The whole town’s talking about it. You fighting him,” his brows drew together, “I told you I’d take care of him.”

“You didn’t,” you said evenly, “so I did.”

“I talked to him--”

“And said what?” you snorted.

“Look, you don’t understand. You said it yourself, you don’t care about my business. You don’t get what’s going on but what I need from him is bigger than your temper.”

“Excuse me? This is my fault? He broke into my shop, he followed me from that diner and he put his hands on me,” you stood and tossed the bolt away, “what do you want me to do, Buck?”

“First, I want you to remind yourself who I am. We’re not fucking anymore so that mouth isn’t as cute,” he warned, “and I want you to play nice.”

“All you have to do is keep him away from me. How hard is that for a man like you, huh? You’re the big dog.”

“Watch it,” he pointed at you, “I won’t tell you again.”

“He’s here to deal with you, not me,” you insisted, “he grabbed me, I defended myself, and I’ll do it again.”

“This isn’t grade school anymore, you can’t fight the boys,” he sighed.

“What are you saying?”

He was silent as his jaw ticked and his blue eyes strayed to the ceiling. You stepped closer and gripped your hips as you stared him down.

“There’s nothing else I can do for you. Nothing else I will do. He’s your problem.”

He met your glare and you scoffed in disgust, “you’re fucking serious? What do these idiots have on you?”

“It’s not what they have on me, it’s what I want from them. I’m planning for something bigger than Birch, that means there’s gonna be some sacrifices,” he shrugged.

“Sacrifices? Is that what you call it? Well, here’s one for you, the next time you get a little scuff on your tank or your headlight starts to flicker, you can head down to Carl’s,” you scowled.

“Don’t do this,” he gritted through his teeth.

“I can get business without you. I do better work than Carl, you know that. So go, I’ll deal with that asshole on my own, how I see fit.”

He inhaled and lifted his chin. He closed his eyes and thought. 

“Damn it,” he swore, “you can’t make anything fucking easy. What is it with you women and your god damn--” he lifted his hand and stopped himself, “you get in the way of my business, and you won’t be so worried about Loki.”

“Oh yeah? That’s what he said about you,” you mocked, “what’s with you men and your egos?”

His lip curled and he breathed through his teeth. His eyes lit up and he punched his palm as he turned away quickly.

“I hope he has his fun with you. Maybe he can fuck some sense into you,” Bucky growled, “God knows I tried.”

“You weren’t that good,” you snipped.

He kicked the shelf of wipers hung near the front of the shop and grunted. He stormed to the doorway and stopped to look back at you.

“You’ll be wishing it was me…” he hissed.

He waved you off and continued through the front door, slamming it behind him loudly. You stared at the scattered packages of wipers and bit down on your tongue. You wanted to run out and strangle that idiot but you knew how he could be. It was the reason you broke off your little fling; he was too much like you. Hard-headed and volatile.

💀

You weren’t going to change just because the town was overrun by asshole men. You were standing your ground and that meant you were going to finish your club sandwich and enjoy one lunch without interruption. 

The café was busier that day as the snowfall dwindled and the streets were mostly cleared as the plows made their regular rounds. You looked through the window as the school kids stopped by the bakery for hot drinks on their lunch and circled the rim of your mug with your fingertip. You sensed it was only the lull before the storm.

Further down you could see the corner of The Asp and heard a rumbling engine. Your shop remained empty except for Jerome’s bike. Since Bucky’s visit, you were too worked up to concentrate anyway. You wanted to take your wrench and knock every man in town in the head with it.

Nora brought your sandwich as Kimmie didn’t work on the weekends and your side of soup. You would eat both and leave satisfied. You wouldn’t let anyone ruin your day off. Well, not that you had very much to do aside from that.

You dipped your crusts in the tomato soup and stared at the seat across from you. Empty. Perfect.

You scooped the last of the bowl into your mouth and wiped your lips with the napkin. You stood and gulped up your coffee. You left money on the table and headed out. A peaceful, solitary lunch all to yourself.

You skipped the shop and continued down the street. You pushed into the hobby shop you rarely ventured into, more a bookshop if you were honest. You greeted the man at the counter with a smile. When you were a girl, you remembered he ordered you a special set of paints as the ones in his store were all dried up. Lu, you recalled his name.

You went to the shelves of models and looked over the new arrivals. You took the Smokey and the Bandit Trans Am off the shelf and smirked. Your father had one just like it when you were a kid. It wasn’t exactly new. You grabbed a bottle of black paint with it, always running low on the stuff, and headed for the counter.

Lu punched the buttons on his till and you heard a creak. Light footsteps emerged from the basement of used books as you opened your wallet.

“I didn’t take you as bookish,” Loki’s voice made you cringe.

You didn’t answer and counted out the bills for your purchase, “actually, you got any glue? I didn’t see any on the shelf.”

“Hmm, oh,” Lu turned and bent to reach into a box, “haven’t stocked up but these came in just before the storm.”

He added the orange and white tube to your bag and you added another bill. He counted out your change and handed it to you.

“Quite interesting what small towns can hide,” Loki didn’t wait to step up to counter and stood close, his sleeve against yours, “An antique edition of Whitman. One of the only Americans I read.”

You looked down at the worn tome, the edges fraying and the letters faded. It was marked up to a couple hundred. You could appreciate a love for reading but you weren’t entirely sure some old paper was worth all that.

“I’ll need the reading material as my visit has been prolonged,” he mused as you grabbed your bag and headed for the door, “my brother is due to return so I will stay in his place… get to know the town of Birch more intimately.”

You hid your disgust at his words and continued out the door. His exaggerated tones stuck in your head as you passed the window and absently swung your bag. You hated him. You really did. You should have bashed him over the head with that dumb book. 

You thought of that day in the snow and smiled. You knew that shame lingered in him. You would have no problem repeating that scene.

You came up to your shop and stopped short. The burly redhead who arrived with the pestilent man stood at your door, peering in through the window, angling his head as he tried to see around the blinds. You cleared your throat as you neared.

“Something I can help you with?” you asked dully.

“Oh, ah,” he turned and laughed at himself, “I thought… Loki, I thought he’d be here.”

“No. He wouldn’t be,” you said, “he’s down at the book shop.”

“Thanks. He apologise?” He prodded.

“You seem to know him well. You think he did?” you challenged.

“Ah, nah,” he smiled awkwardly, “s’pose he didn’t.”

“S’pose he didn’t,” you echoed, “it would be smart if you kept him away from here.”

“Yeah, uh, should do,” he sidled past you and you listened to his heavy boots clump along the beaten snow.

You took out your key and unlocked the door. You closed it quickly behind you, that man’s presence set you on edge. He hadn’t shown any of the venom of his associate but he was loyal to him. You double checked the locks on all the doors and made certain all windows were closed. 

You went up stairs into your apartment and stripped off your coat and boots. You sat at the small table where you ate those dinners you didn’t forget and unpacked your new model. You sorted the pieces and spread out the instructions. The image of the car on the box brought back nostalgic memories. You wouldn’t know all you did about bikes if it wasn’t for your dad. You missed him every day for the last… too many years.

You lost yourself in the tiny parts. You hunched over the table and carefully dabbed glue onto the plastic. Your eyes began to itch as the windows dimmed and you got up to turn on the lamp. You kept building well after dark and finally left the half-finished car on the table.

You stretched out your limbs as you stripped down to only your loose tee and yawned. You fell into bed and turned on the old tube television. You hit play on the VCR and the loud previews blared from the boxy speakers. You rolled yourself in your comforter and sat through the same movie trailers you’d watched a dozen times.

You were never a romantic but you the movie was another shadow of your childhood. Your grandma used to watch Kathleen Turner whenever you went to her place. She would serve you yogurt and berries and turn on the cheesy action flick and if you slept over, she would put in the sequel right after.

Your rituals kept you sane. You found it was easier to know what to expect and given your temper, it was better not to be surprised. You were always the trouble child and you regretted all those times your dad had to come talk to the principal or walk you home from school. You promised him you would be better.

Still you didn’t regret what you did. He always told you to stand up for yourself. Hell, he taught you how to throw a punch and all your best insults were inherited from him. You smiled as you thought of him and hugged your pillow as the intro played and the credits flicked up one name at a time.

You drifted off in the glow of the television and the sound effects sank into your dreams. You were still in Birch but thick vines had grown around all the buildings and billowing leaves shrouded the skies. The town had turned to jungle and you could hear the growls and grunts of beasts unseen.

You spun as a twig snapped and a snake uncoiled from a branch and fell into the brush at your feet. You stepped back and it slithered towards you. You stumbled and ran away as you could hear its skin smoothly glide through the grass at your feet. You tripped as its long body wrapped around your ankles and you crashed to the ground.

You struggled as the snake constricted your body and wound its neck around to face you. Its green eyes shone as its black scales gleamed. Its tongue flicked against your cheek and you felt its hot breath as it opened its mouth and revealed long, frightening fangs. You screamed as its bite loomed and you woke with a start.

The visions of the wild jungle faded but the heat did not. You blinked as an amber haze took over the room and you fought through your messy blankets and tumbled onto the floor. Your curtains were alight along with much of the wall. You bachelor was blazing with orange flames and you could barely see the door through the smoke.

You coughed and scrambled to your feet. Your eyes streamed and you blindly ran for the door and flew down the stairs. The shop was almost entirely engulfed as you reached the lower landing and you fumbled with the front door as flames licked closer and closer.

You burst out into the frozen night and your feet were numbed by the ice and snow. You retreated from the burning building, your life set aflame, and turned back as you reached the sidewalk. Sirens screamed and made you wince as you crossed your arms and chattered against the cold.

“Pity,” the slither made your skin crawl, “though I suppose it is a blessing you at least saved yourself.”

You glanced at Loki as your vision blurred with the tears of realisation. Everything you had was turning to ash before you. You blinked away the droplet and sneered at him. He smirked and you knew. He smirked and he knew. It wasn’t an accident.

[existslikepristin]

Please, No Virginity Puns

The most recent thing I posted before tumblr. It was on Choerry's birthday, and I am proud of that.

Tags: TheLounge, Loona, Choerry, male reader insert, it's her birthday!, 100% butt stuff, I ate a thesaurus

~~~~~

It didn’t matter what you had to say anymore. Choerry was already on top of you, nude and keeping you muted with her tongue. How did you get there?

Well, moments prior, you were sitting next to Choerry at your small dinner table. She’s always insisted on sitting as close to you as possible in order to enable near-constant snuggling. It’s gotten a little annoying here and there, but you can’t help but concede to her innocent demands whenever she smiles.

Of course, and not that you’ve ever complained about this, that’s not to say that her demands aren’t always entirely innocent. Most of the time they are, but not always.

That day, for example, you woke her up with breakfast in bed. It wasn’t tradition, but you were just getting her back for the last time she did it for you. And what better day to present her, prone, with a pancake, pulverized potato, and porridge parfait platter… with toppings… than her birthday?!

It can be hard to tell if Choerry is acting or not at times, but you’d like to think that her cartoonish level of enthusiasm for the treat was entirely real. She carried that sunshine throughout the rest of your day, skipping through the park, greeting everybody on the way to, inside, and on the way out of The Lounge, at the surprise party that you helped all of her members get her with, and when she dragged you to her room.

Not a drop of alcohol had touched her lips that night, so it was all the more surprising when she shoved you onto her bed and stated matter-of-factly-but-also-vaguely that she wanted you to put a thing in her butt. Her words came out of her mouth like shimmery soap bubbles.

You had to pause for a moment to process her words. You were certainly up for some sexy times with Choerry. You had anticipated it was going to happen when she put your hand down her pants near the end of the birthday party with no attempt at subtlety. But her exact word choices had you rubbing your temples out of exasperation, even as she stripped herself down to her ridiculously cherry red lingerie.

Your chance to admire that rare view was lost to history, however. She removed the lingerie from her body while she claimed your lips. Your disappointment at not getting the opportunity to remove it yourself quickly faded when she popped back up though.

Her breasts were as perky as her attitude, and also your dick. She was quick to notice the latter and made quick work of your clothes too. She sighed satisfactorily at the sight of your sword and stooped to supply it with a suck and some slickening slobber, so you suspected the sex was starting summarily; more swiftly than standard, it seemed.

Concerned for her well being, you made sure to ask if she had lube available. Again, you weren’t going to complain about her gusto, but she lacked the anal experience that some of your mutual friends had, at least you assumed. Sure enough, there was a bottle mere feet from her reach in her drawer. She grabbed it and jumped back on top of you, pouring it generously over her ass crack and your cock with surprising accuracy for someone so engaged with a hot and heavy kiss.

You were sure you had something to say on the matter. Perhaps some additional words of caution, maybe some other words of encouragement. It didn’t matter what you had to say anymore. Choerry was already on top of you, nude and keeping you muted with her tongue. How did you-- come back around to the exact same thought that the story began with?

“It’s okay, right?”

You attempted to blink away your stupefaction. “O-okay?”

“Mhm! For me to… you know!” She leaned in and whispered directly into your ear, “Put your penis in my butt.”

Ah, yes. The demand that you had nearly forgotten in her flurry of kisses, now slightly reworded to include your dick in the equation. “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Just checking!”

“We’ve… done this before.”

“I know!” Choerry swooped back in to continue kissing you, implying that she had no intention of expounding further. Her fingers wrapped around your cock, massaging the whole length to ensure that the lube had maximum coverage.

Your breath caught as you felt her readjusting you, tapping you around between her legs as she tried to match you up with her intended target purely via exploration. Your cock was ground between her ass cheeks, the tip slid over her clit, and dipped briefly into her pussy. A groan was the only complaint you could give to only being given a half second of her fantastic heat.

You didn’t have to wait long to get it back. Her ass opened up to the pressure she applied against it with your dick, but exceptionally slowly. Choerry released a series of little exclamations into your mouth as she pushed. She tossed the lube bottle to the side and snatched your hand, curling her fingers into your palm.

Finally, the last pop came, and was followed by a short slide. With no more manual guidance necessary, she grabbed your other hand as well, which promptly slipped out of her grip considering the amount of lube present.

Choerry released you from your kissy bliss to look at her slippery hand, a mixture of anger and amusement on her face. She tried a couple more times to hold your hand with it, but you liked this look. You easily slithered your hand out from under hers every time she slapped down. It was like watching a cat trying to catch a laser pointer.

It was just another reminder that no matter how deep inside Choerry you may physically be, she’ll never stop bringing a goofy-ass smile to your face.

Finally, you relented and entwined your fingers with hers, locking your knuckles together so you wouldn’t fall apart. She glared down into your eyes, but a grin still crept through. “Thank you,” she said, lips tight and nose scrunched up.

With you fully in her grasp, Choerry straightened herself up, allowing you the opportunity to look up and down her sublime figure. Though her movement caused her to cause you to penetrate her a bit further which caused her to flinch slightly, she kept herself aloft on her knees to not go too far all at once. She closed her eyes and took a series of deep breaths there, as calmly as if she was meditating.

As much as you wanted to go ham on her ham, you didn’t want to hurt her, so you contented yourself with watching her chest rise and fall. “Happy birthday…” you whispered.

“You’ve already told me that today,” Choerry intoned, eyes still closed like she was drifting off into her own little world.

You laughed. “I was saying it to myself! Have you seen you?”

She smiled again, and said three words in a voice that made it seem like she was speaking to an audience on the edge of their seats, “Okay, I’m ready.”

Her fingers constricted around yours, so you questioned if she was, in fact, ready. But you wouldn’t be the one to stop her.

Choerry’s tight tush trucked its way toward the top of your tower twice to tighten her take on the task at the time, before torturously trending testicle-ward. She temporized without taking your entire tool.

So hypnotized were you with her graceful movement that you didn’t even notice the frustrated moan coming up your throat until it was too late.

Her eyes popped open. “I’m sorry!” She sounded like she meant it, too. “This is… tough.”

“Take your time,” you said, straining your voice for comic effect.

“Could have used that four paragraphs ago,” she said, continuing her extremely slow descent down your shaft.

The odd statement distracted you just long enough for Choerry to finish her drop. No longer did space separate your pelvises. You grew concerned again when she winced and bit her lip from the inside.

“Choerry, we really can do something else. Don’t hurt yourself please.”

She gave you an exaggerated, indignant gander. “Rhetorical question: Who gets to choose the cake on her birthday?”

You held in your “cake” joke.

“It’s me,” Choerry’s voice was far too chipper to make this talking-to sound as stern as you were sure she wanted it to come across as. “As birthday lady, I get to pick the cake, and I get to feed it to you if I want to.”

You held in your “cake feeding” joke.

“And tonight, the cake I pick is my bum.”

You opened your mouth to comment on her most excellent selection of the word “bum” in the midst of a scenario where your cock is fully inside of said bum, but you instead gasped a sharp breath.

Choerry ground forward, pulling your dick with her and anointing the lowermost part of your stomach with the juices being lightly sprinkled from her clit.

“Besiiides,” she continued, re-angling her hands to she could tickle the backs of yours, “We have all the lube! Even some that’s got a certain special flavor to it!”

“Just some?”

“Yeah, ooh,” she crooned, apparently quite enjoying the grind back down your pelvis, “I didn’t get it all at once. Now guess the flavor!”

You waited for her grinding to pause again to be able to think straight, “Does it start with a ‘C?’”

Her smile grew. “Yes!”

“Is it a fruit?”

“Yes!”

“Is it… cherry?”

“Failure!”

“Wha--”

“It’s coconut!”

If you weren’t so established in your hand holding with Choerry, you’d have palmed your face. Thankfully, thoughts of how she could have possibly expected you to guess that were pushed to the back of your mind as she resumed her removal of your breath with a series of fanciful body rolls.

Finally fucking her fanny felt fictional. For while not the first foray there, far-fetched was the philosophy that it was fielded often, the front being the favored fornication fissure for the foreseeable future. Unless, of course, you could make this an especially special session.

But woe was unto you. Choerry had the upper hand(s) figuratively as well as literally. But, perhaps, you thought, this was exactly what she wanted and you could wait your damn turn to take control.

And you liked letting her anally probe herself this way, so, you know, what were you to do but enjoy the ride?

Over the course of her self-imposed ravaging, Choerry’s meditative breaths became ragged. Her eyelids fluttered at regular intervals. Through it all, she held her phantasmagorical demeanor. A couple of times she reached for the lube bottle and shotgunned it somewhat inaccurately between her legs, but it did the job. You were happy to see that she was still considering her own comfort.

In fact, to your surprise, her mouth opened wide in a silent shout. Her core trembled anticipatorily. Her hands held yours with a colossally increased lewdness. And those two mystical words trickled from her tongue with a high-pitched susurration, “I’m… cumming…”

Choerry’s grinding came to a grinding halt. Her body jerked and she fell onto you. Your cock sprang free of her ass in, and as a result of, the same motion.

You untangled one of your hands to stroke her back in the most adoring fashion you could muster. After chewing on a thesaurus for the prior hour, you were sure neither of you really needed any more words.

She stayed there for a spell, and you were happy to let her. It was so late it was nearly no longer her birthday, but her birthday it still was. She deserved the rest, along with the rest of your undivided attention.

Her whole movement consisted of her back going up and down as her lungs attempted to revive her fighting spirit, and her thumb lovingly shifting over the divinatory lines on your palm. You wished she would do something about her hair plastered on your chin, but ninety-nine percent of paradise is paradise enough.

You were disappointed when Choerry rose once more, slimily straddling your stomach. She detached her hands from yours to give the hair on either side of her face a good backward flick over her shoulders, and she sighed with contentment.

It was a shock to hear her speak again after such a prolonged reticence, but her unerringly cheerful voice was entirely welcome nonetheless.

“More please.”

You couldn’t then, and you still can’t help but concede to her innocent demands. Her smile just touched the corner of her lips. Sure, some of her demands aren’t so innocent, but… How did you get here again?