#time to get writing ig...

[waiting-drives-you-crazy]

you know it's bad when you've read all the fics the fandom has to offer...

[sodaneko]

you can tell osamu rushed over in a hurry when you open the door a crack for him; his hair disheveled (a lot like that one stray cat he feeds behind his shop), the white undershirt rumpled and awry and revealing glimpses of his broad chest, an old pair of slippers on which he usually keeps on his balcony when he steps out for a smoke. he doesn’t even need to take in your equally messy appearance, just drops the conbini plastic bags he was holding to the floor before he wraps you in his arms. 

osamu is good at hugging. he gives the kind of hugs that make you feel as if a weight has been lifted off you, as if you’re glowing afterwards. you wonder if it’s his stardust rubbing off on you or if it’s his heart resonating with yours, trying to beat out of his ribcage to crawl into yours. he tucks your head under his chin, one hand resting in the nape of your neck, the other drawing slow, lavish circles against your back. being in his embrace feels soothing and warm, a safe cocoon shielding you from the rest of the world.

his lips brush against your temples, his voice low against the shell of your ear, trying to coax a hoarse laugh out of you through your tears that are currently staining his top. the heartache is radiating off you in waves. you didn’t mean to pick up osamu’s call earlier, but he was persistent in his attempts, probably sensing you were about to wallow in misery if he wasn’t there to catch you. he always does. it’s as if he got a sixth sense for your moods, always there to soften your fall or lift you up higher. 

wanna sit on the counter while i cook us something? yeah, of course i brought your favorite noodles. the one ice cream you wanted to try, too. (i love you.) i can run you a bath. i’ll sit with you, we don’t have to talk. let me wash your hair. (i love you.) are you gonna hog the blanket again? when my warm arms are right there? alright, alright, you can be the little spoon for once. (i love you.) of course i’ll still be there in the morning. i’ll be there tomorrow and next week, next month, next year, the one after that, even when we turn 100. i’ll still be there, i’m not leaving you. never leaving you. (i love you.) 

loving you is easy to osamu. how could it not be, when your hand fits so perfectly in his, when your eyelids flutter underneath his kisses, when his name falls from your lips like something holy. osamu loves you, always loved you, feeling invincible with your face cradled in his palms and his lips brushing over yours. love–it’s not something he has to think about, it radiates off him like sunbeams, stretching out in the darkest corners to reach you.

[ghostbsuter]

Danny had been around Gotham for a while.

The crime was never ending, but since Batman's arrival, it had gotten better.

The unmistakably CLANK! From around the corner had him jump, wary now. The man walks around the wall, eyes on the black car with— with Batman's symbol at the front.

A child sitting on the ground with a car tire next to him, the Bat Symbol a stark contrast to the shadows.

"Shit, kid. You're bold to rob Batman." Danny didn't really realise he was speaking until the kid looks up, spooked.

"What the fuck?" The kid was clearly of Gotham breed, yelps with a glare.

"I'm impressed," Danny doesn't give the kid the chance to talk, not with the way the tiny terror seems to be glaring and holding his wrench.

"You're quick, got eyes for details and know how to work around cars."

The suspicion in the kids eyes didn't lessen, having gotten up to press himself against the wall, eyes never leaving Danny.

"Here," Our local spook threw a card on the hood of the car. It was his business card.

"If you need income with far fewer risks than stealing from Batman, call me."

He didn't really wait to see the kids reaction, just leaving, bot before shooting a look into the sky the kid clearly caught.

As danny left, the kid looked at the entrance of the alleyway, back to the car, and then to the card.

They had talked for too long. Jason had to leave now, lest Batman actually caught him.

With one last look to the tires and the car, he leaves eith a scowl.

Just barely missing the man with the cape.

[mediumgayitalian]

"Don't worry about me."

"I'm allowed to worry for people when they are doing stupid, foolish things."

"You worry about everyone."

"False. I've never worried about Cecil Markowitz a day in my life."

Nico snorts, tugging on his boot and yanking on the laces. "Right," he drawls, "and the insistence on walking him fourteen entire fucking miles to the bus stop at the end of camp was because..."

Will flushes. "Because he's stupid, okay. He's actually unwell. I checked his brain and everything. If I leave him alone too long he'll get kidnapped, and then what?" He cocks a hip to one side, crossing his arms and tapping his foot and generally just looking like a carbon copy of his mother. Nico mourns his lack of camera. He needs to send Naomi another snapshot for the Wall of You Do Act Like Me, You Little Shit. "What am I gonna do if he dies, huh? Resort to off-brand Twizzlers? I'd rather kill myself."

The frayed ends of his laces cooperate, finally. He desperately needs new combats but the thought of having to break in a new pair makes him want to strangle the nearest karpoi. Any one of them would do.

Nico pushes himself to his feet, cupping both sides of his boyfriend's scowling face and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, holding there until he feels them soften. He smiles, snickering at Will's huffy pout.

"I am doing one errand," he says, exasperated. "Just one."

Will throws his hands up. "You know who else did one errand?! Orpheus! That's right, dumbass, and he died! So!"

He waves his hands again, because obviously he cannot simply make his point with his words alone. Oh, no. His whole body needs to get involved, or else there is Not Enough Emphasis.

Gods, Nico loves him to death.

To death, and then some.

"You are more dramatic than your father," Nico says, kissing him again before pulling away. "You know that?"

"I thought you loved me," Will grumbles. "I thought you loved me, and then you go around saying such insulting things. Don't you love me? People who love me would never say that to me."

"I have actually heard that exact speech come from Apollo's mouth. Twice, at least."

"I'm about to commit a felony. It rhymes with shmassault and battery."

"Shut the fuck up," Nico says, but he's grinning. Will is scowling hard but doing a very bad job of it, and Nico can actually see the don't you dare fucking laugh you're mad at him you have to stay mad at him flashing around in his eyes.

Nico swipes his thumb gently over his freckled cheeks.

It does not take very long for him to cave.

"I'm just worried," he admits, sagging into Nico's hold. His head, as it always has, fits perfectly in the crook of Nico's neck. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to his temple.

"Knew it."

"Shut up." The quick curve of his exasperated smile twitches against Nico's collarbones. "I just mean. Gods above, Nico. It's all the way across the country."

"I shadow travelled all the way across the world, once," Nico reminds him. He runs a hand through fraying curls. "I was fourteen at the time."

"Yeah, and you almost fuckin' died."

Will pulls away, agitated, and Nico lets him. The fraying curls get worse with every tug of his twitching hands, and the sound of his own echoing pacing makes him jump. The bags are deep and black under his eyes.

Nico sighs.

"Will," he says, and words hard to keep the frustration out of his tone, "Will, sweetheart, you cleared me."

But Will isn't listening. The mumbling has started, and so has the fidgeting; the bandages around his arms twist, and twist, and tug, leaving red marks on his bruised wrists.

"Monitoring hymn," Nico hears him mutter. "Or a lifeline..."

Nico checks his watch. He's -- well, he's late, technically, but he's never been punctual even one time, so it's fine. He's got time. He flops to the marble floors, leaning against his bedpost. He watches his boyfriend, notes the flicker and flash of his glowing freckles, of his spattered burn scars.

You and I both know you will be fine, Chiron had said. He had sighed, long and aged and hard, and stared at his buzzing, fritzy student. It will be good for him. Exposure.

"Will," he calls, eventually. "Tesoro."

Will stops. He blinks, coming back to himself, to the cabin. He searches around, eyes settling on Nico's comfy spot on the floor.

He sighs, shoulders sagging. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He stands there a long while, still except his breathing, tense.

"Everything is -- green," he says eventually, voice small. "I don't know how to stop it."

"You know how to make it worse," Nico points out, as gently as he can manage. "You've been spiraling for weeks."

"Not -- weeks."

"Since the start of the month."

"Yeah, only a few days."

"It's the thirtieth, Will."

He looks up, eyes wide. "No." He blinks. "Actually?"

Nico's smile is small and sad. "Yes."

"I thought -- I thought --"

"I know."

He doesn't really. He's watched it for years, but he doesn't -- understand, not in the way he understands the depression, the anger, the grief. He and Will have more things in common than they don't, but he doesn't spiral. Not like Will does. His pain has always bubbled and burst its way out of him, tingeing the edge of his vision red and igniting the curl of his fists. His pain has made him quick. His pain has made him quick, it has made him bitter, it has made him miserable, but it has always pushed him forward.

Will's pain gets curled up endlessly inside him, twisting his insides to knots.

It robs him, sometimes.

"Come here."

Will does. The fight has drained out of him, and there are tears in his eyes, even as he tries desperately to blink them away. His bandages lay limp at his sides, fluttering in the breeze from the still-open door.

"It's not that I don't trust you," he says, somewhat desperately. He turns so they're facing each other, criss-crossed knees knocking. "I do."

"I know," Nico says. He manages a small smile. "I always know that, Will."

"Good." His bright eyes soften in relief, fingers rubbing at his sternum. "You -- you're powerful, Death Boy. More than anyone I've ever known."

Nico raises his eyebrows. "Careful with that, Sunshine. You're going to get smited."

"Smote."

"Don't correct me when we're having a vulnerable moment."

"Don't need correcting, then."

Nico's smile widens. Will's, this time, matches, dimple flashing on his left cheek. Nico presses his thumb there, relishing in the sudden heat of Will's face and accompanying rolled, flustered eyes. He lingers, and stares, and stares, even as Will squirms, as the glow turns into something hotter than blood heat.

"I'm going to be okay, my love."

"I know."

"It's one jump. Hazel is waiting, unicorn draught at the ready in case I start swooning like a damsel."

"I know."

"Even my dad knows."

"I know."

"I would actually have to try to die, Will. Like there would have to be real effort on my part."

"Just --" he scrunches up his nose -- "I don't know what you could say that would make me less scared of it. Of losing you."

"I mean it would kind of suck if you did." He tilts their foreheads together, because it looks stupid as shit at this angle, and he knows Will'll laugh. He's right. "Since you love me and everything."

"I suppose it's one of those conditions," Will allows. "The whole caring if you up and die thing."

"Yep."

"S'a real pain in the ass."

"You're telling me. I was just fine being an emo loner, not giving a fuck about anything, and then you had to go ruin it. Now I gotta stress about your wellbeing and shit."

"Must be exhausting."

"Miserable." He reaches for Will's hands and squeezes, hard, until Will squeezes back. "It is the most important thing to me, though. Ever."

Will swallows. "Okay."

"I love you, Will Solace. Even when you are annoying about grammar and when you are prodding me about my iron levels and when you are so far in your head you're losing time." He pulls back slightly, just enough to press a kiss to Will's knuckles. "Especially then."

"I love you, too." Will swallows. "You'll be okay."

"I will."

"And you'll IM me when you get there."

"I will."

"And I'll be okay. Waiting."

Nico smiles softly. "You will be."

Will takes a deep breath. He nods. He stands, pulling them both up, and walks to the darkest corner of the Hades cabin, shoulders tense but face brave. He turns, exhaling slowly, and brushes invisible lint of Nico's shoulders, hands lingering.

"I will see you when you get back," he says.

"When I get back," Nico echoes. He kisses him again. "Worrier."

Will huffs, and Nico laughs, and he lets go, and Will lets him, and he steps into the familiar darkness, and the last thing he sees before the shadows envelope him is the trust in Will's light eyes.

[scribz-ag24]

I've recently seen again a post talking about the Sableye and Dusknoir's relationship so i'd like to put my two cents in the discussion, for I love screaming into the void about PMD. (this isnt meant to discourage any other interpretations btw this is just my take on theirs and Dusknoir's relationship, bc I think they're very fun characters and I am very glad the game actually gives these minions a bit of relevance in se5).

Tbh I don't buy that Dusknoir treats the Sableye nicely, at least not out of kindness. I don't think he's a tyrant or inexplicably mean, of course, and I think his minions ADORE him, but i also believe that doesn't mean he's nice to them, sth that i consider meaningful for their character arcs.

Throughout the entire game he's exclusively giving them orders, in se5 he concocts a plan that involves thrashing them MULTIPLE times (he's lucky Grovyle isn't one to try and kill enemies in battle ig), and the cherry on top is that the first time we see him being fully genuine he does this:

(yes, he is in turmoil in here, but there's not a single thing implying that 1. this is an unusual response towards the sablye, 2. dusknoir feels bad for it at some point or is surprised at himself, 3. this has any impact in the sableye at all. You can argue these reactions happen off screen and we don't see them, they don't happen bc they have pressing matters to attend to or they happen after they return to life, and that's perfectly valid, but i'm sticking with what the game shows us, here.)

I must say, though, the fact that the Sableye, despite having been almost mindless pokémon up to now, STAND UP TO AND ATTACK Primal Dialga for their boss and even try to look after him despite him ordering them to check on Grovyle and Celebi first is SO important to me. they are goons to the bone and they love that scheming ghost so much.

My own view is that Dusknoir is generally polite to them (you wouldn't randomly break your own revolver or weapon without any reason, would you?), but is quicker to get mean with them than with people he doesn't know or he is seeking to manipulate. He doesn't care about their behaviour as long as they get the job done, which is why I think the anime thing of the Sableye climbing onto his shoulder isn't that remarkable, rather it's a very cute moment, one that is showing how they've been working together for long and how their size difference affects their interactions, but it is not necessarily conveying an affectionate bond (this is a bit random, but it reminds me of Disney's Jafar with Iago lmao. throw your pet sableye at your enemies so they mock them and then return to your shoulder). Additionally, Dusknoir letting the Sableye onto his shoulder is probably as close as we are gonna get to a villain turning around in his chair while petting a cat in PMD lol.

[this isn't meant to be a one-to-one comparison, it's just a detail i find cute and shows that this gesture can have multiple interpretations, with none being the only right one]

Leaving that aside, I hesitate to claim Dusknoir trusts his Sableye as allies, as Grovyle makes a point in the main story of how the Sableye (your Sableye, he says, as if objectifying them; not friends, but tools, weapons at Dusknoir's disposal) are lacking compared to the way hero/partner/grovyle support one another (power of friendship and hidden information babyyyy). The Sableye are used to Dusknoir's way of doing things, though, I'm sure. They know what happens when he's displeased, after all.

I think, most of all, the Sableye are meant to look disposable: they are 6 identical pokémon that almost act like a hivemind, and we are not supposed to think at all about how we may hurt them in battle any more than we do with the angry Manectric pack or random dungeon pokémon. This, I believe, is why the game has them stand up against Dialga and gives them unique dialogue at the end of se5. They're meant to show their inner shine, just as Dusknoir managed to do. They suddenly gain an individuality they had never shown while they were working to maintain the dark future.

Where they abandoned Dusknoir in the Old Ruins, now Grovyle has motivated them to look for their dignity and fight for a better world, and that starts with protecting their leader from Primal Dialga's rampage, and supporting his new objective and allies in their quest to save the future. In their own small way, they've also grown as characters throughout SE5.

I believe that, overall, Dusknoir saw the Sableye as tools, but thanks to their growth and clear care for him, there's a possibility he might start to see them (and by extension other pokémon) in a more genuine, less pragmatic / objectifying way in the future. Now that Dusknoir has the chance to live a fulfilling life, he may learn to care for others without surrounding himself by so many walls. If anything, I think their future is quite bright. Not that the Sableye would mind if he still thrashed them around, though lol, they're clearly not bothered much by it (special episode 0 had a great depiction of the sableye imo, you can check that romhack if you haven't yet).

In conclusion, look at these little guys who adore their can-get-mean-but-is-mostly-polite boss and probably have a body count but now are good, they're so cute:

[sweetheartsnips]

Daddy Cool - Chapter 3: Dio

Summary: You are Dio's sweet girl and he treats you as such. He isn't mean and evil here because you're so lovely he can't help himself.

Tags: collars, biting, breeding, cockwarming, gentle choking, pet play, creampie, dom/sub

Words: 2.7k

Read ao3 version

A/N: Thank you to my dear friend Mosca for beta reading this chapter. They are always kind enough to read my drafts, support me in my freakiness, and encourage me to keep improving an challenging myself.

For other chapters in this series please see my JoJo masterlist

Candle wax melted, leaving the dim glow of their flames to drip down their sticks and pool at their feet. Little flits of warm amber were cast around the room, the boundaries of their light fading meekly into thick darkness. The faintest trace of incense, the lingering scent of vanilla. Dio preferred to keep blood out of the bedroom. 

Speak of the devil: you sat in his lap, bare thighs spread over his, the warmth of your body leaking from your skin and soaking into his cool, still-clothed lower half. You were naked, of course–as was demanded, save for your black leather collar. Dio’s hands roamed your flesh, strong fingers squeezing, kneading, rubbing, making your skin prickle. Slow, absent-minded caresses with his palms on the outside of your thighs. Thumbs tracing circles over and around your nipples as his palms cupped your breasts, each brush against the sensitive buds making you squirm.

To steady yourself, your hands rested carefully against his chest–smooth skin stretched over and between broad pectorals and wide clavicles. Truly a body to be admired. 

He loved each and every one of your reactions: every time your breath hitched, every flutter of your heartbeat. A satisfied hum rumbled from his chest. Parted lips ran over your pulse point, kissing feather-light, dry pecks against the thin, delicate skin. 

Then, slowly, he bit down–not hard enough to puncture, but firm enough to draw a shrill whine from your throat, canines smirking against your skin in their retreat. His lips left you, only to press a fleeting kiss against the mark he had left behind, as if to soothe.

His hands continued their wandering, palms rough as they slid up your thighs, settling in on your hips. Sharp nails dug into the flesh there, the ounce of roughness intended to coax another noise out of you. The tantalising rhythm of his touch was both possessive and patient in a way that made your throat thick with wicked excitement. 

Your collar sat snug–the perfect fit, an ever-present reminder of his power over you. He tilted his chin, teeth catching the leather, tugging at it playfully before hooking two fingers under it, right beneath the ring at the front. The dip between his forefinger and thumb replaced the familiar fit of the collar against the column of your throat. A slow squeeze, firm and commanding, the tips of his fingers pressed into the blood vessels below each corner of your jaw. It sent a dizzying rush through you– you were aware of every shallow breath you took, each thrum of your pulse beneath his hands. Your head quickly became hazy with that mindless, acquiescent desire to please. 

His breath tickled your earlobe, his nose nuzzling softly against your cheek. “You are just the most perfect little pet for me, aren’t you, dear?” he whispered. 

A squeak of a half-formed word left your lips, your voice almost entirely lost to his grip on your neck. Sensing your struggle, his fingers loosened slightly. His eyebrows raised in a small, expecting gesture, beckoning you to speak.

You swallowed, wetting your throat. “Yes, Lord Dio.” 

He smiled as fond a smile as somebody like him could manage, before planting a short kiss between your eyebrows. “You could leave me if you wanted to," he murmured against your skin, his deep voice dripping with amusement. "I gave you a Stand strong enough to defeat me." Another kiss, to the tip of your nose, this time. "And yet, here you are. It’s endearing, really."

He was right. You could have left. You could have fought. You had the power to escape, to end this game before it had even begun.

But yet, you stayed. Now you hated the thought of ever being without him. 

He pulled his head away from you slightly. “Now, you know what to do, don’t you, kitten?” 

You nodded obediently. You knew. Your hands, timid but assured, drifted to the front of his pants. 

But before you could continue, he stopped you. Dio grabbed your wrist, his palm cold against you. 

Surprised, your eyes rose from his body to meet his: questioning. Pools of amber bore into yours—unreadable—except for the hint of something rare. 

Patience.

He was waiting. Seeking permission. 

A beat passed, then he spoke. “You are ready for me, aren’t you?” 

You nodded. It was small and quiet, but he knew you. You wanted this. You wanted him.

A slow smirk curled at the corner of his lips, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim candlelight. “Good, good,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the inside of your wrist, idly tracing the shape of your veins. He relished the way your pulse fluttered beneath his touch, as if you were made to be held like this, delicate yet utterly his.

“I never want you to be in any discomfort,” he continued, his voice softer and smoother now. “But perhaps I needn't worry…We fit so well together, sweetheart.” 

A soft, indulgent chuckle bubbled from his chest at his lewd little tease. The sound sent warmth pooling deep in your stomach, and before you could stop yourself, you let out a breathy laugh, caught somewhere between affection and desire. 

Then, he leaned back in, his lips meeting yours in a slow, tender kiss that stole what little breath you had left. His touch was paradoxical—reverent and affectionate, yet firm enough to remind you of exactly where you stood. His fingers tightened ever so slightly against your skin, before he pulled away. 

Dio’s eyes were full of calm, something almost content. He took your hands in his, thumbs pressing lightly against your knuckles before guiding them away from his body. The coolness of his skin sent a shiver up your spine, a stark contrast to the heat simmering between your bodies.

“Allow me,” he said. A silken promise.

He admired the twinkle of anticipation in your eyes for a short moment. A slow, knowing smile played at his lips, as if savouring the way your mouth hung ever so slightly open, how your hands twitched against his skin, threatening to grab him and draw him in. His fingers drifted downward, grazing over the fabric that separated you from what you both craved. The soft click of undone fastenings filled the air, mingling with the hush of breathless expectation. 

His green belt was discarded, buttons released with enough haste to convince you he wanted you as badly as you did him.

The sight you were greeted with made you bite your lip. The perfect combination of length and girth–flawless velvety skin. A thick vein that pulsed in his arousal that ran up the underside. And he was so hard. It almost looked painful. His cock stood proud and at attention, nearly reaching his navel. 

You would have loved to kneel between his legs and fuck your own throat with his dick whilst he held you by the collar. But he was already squeezing the base in his fist, manoeuvring you with his grip on your hip to hover you over his eager cock. 

He pulled you close–so close your nipples were brushing against his skin, and lined himself up with your slit: slick and syrupy with your essence. He rubbed his thick uncut tip between your folds, gathering some of your wetness over the sensitive skin before dragging it down, letting it catch on your entrance. Pressing into you slowly, he let out a sigh as his cockhead was engulfed by your warmth.

The way he seated himself inside you was exquisite torment—the way your pussy stretched around him, his dick filling every inch of you with a pressure so tight, so overwhelming, it bordered on unbearable. It was too much and not enough all at once. Your body moulded around him as he pressed deeper, claiming space inside you that has never felt so deliciously occupied. 

“Dio…” you sighed, exhaling shakily to abate some of the bittersweet stretch. 

His grip on you tightened, and before you knew it, you were moving, but not of your own accord. Dio moved your body to his liking, dragging you up and down his length, in and out of your wet heat in slow, languid grinds. 

One hand lingered at the front of your collar, fingers curled, a quiet yet commanding reminder of his strength—how easily he can move you, how effortlessly he can seek out his own desires. The muscles in his arm flexed as he guided your movements. He didn’t just let you ride him; he controlled it, lifting you, dragging your cunt along the full length of his cock with a pace slow enough to tempt you to beg for more. 

He was such a vision like this, skin exposed, eyes trained on you like you were the most precious thing in the world. You had no idea how he could look so composed when his dick was splitting your depths open–only a slight pinch of his bottom lip beneath his canines betraying his true pleasure.

 His grip was ironclad at the backs of your thighs, fingers sinking into your supple, soft skin, anchoring you in place. The beginnings of your pleasure started to flutter warm and light between your legs as strings of mewls escaped your lips. But just as you were starting to get excited, he stilled.

No more of that sweet friction, no more movement, just heat and fullness—his body locked against yours, buried so deep you swear you could feel the shape of him moulded inside you. Your thighs trembled where they saddled his hips, the tip of his cock pressing firm against your cervix, teasing the edges of pain and pleasure. 

He tapped your hip with the pad of his finger, summoning your attention. “You are such a good girl,” he hummed, giving your flesh an affectionate caress. 

Christ, you could have almost come from just that. 

He held your gaze through hooded eyes, watching you, drinking in every shudder, every half-strangled whimper you couldn’t quite bite back. You wanted to keep being good for him, to stay quiet. You tried not to whine too much, but the way he filled you, how he held you there as if it was where he belonged–it was impossible not to. 

His grip never faltered, keeping you there, holding you in place as he tilted your chin up to pull you into a kiss. Slow, consuming, his lips claiming yours as thoroughly and deeply as his body did. His mouth moved against yours, his tongue tracing along your lower lip before slipping past, tasting you, stealing every shaky sound you gave him. He kissed you like he owned you, like he needed you to be his from the inside out, and it sent a violent rush of heat to where his cock was buried inside you. 

And then, he shifted you—rocked your hips forward, kept fucking himself with your pussy and rubbed your clit up against the flesh above his cock. His skin was cool, and the little flecks of hair there tickled your sweet spot so perfectly. The friction was immediate, electric, and he did it again, guiding you, dragging you over him in a rhythm he knew would break you apart. 

“Let me hear you, kitten,” he purred, his voice a low command against your lips. “Don’t be shy.”

Your breath stuttered as you moaned softly, pleasure cresting sharp and dizzying. He took the opportunity, pushing a thumb between your parted lips, holding them open as your expression melted: pleasure-drunk, fucked-out, utterly wrecked for him. The fullness inside you, how he rubbed your clit against his body: over and over again until your slick dripped down between your bodies in warm rivulets– you were going to cum so hard you’d choke. 

He was relentless in drawing out your pleasure, each movement of his devastatingly precise, pushing you closer, closer, until you shattered.

 A sobbing gasp tore from your chest, your breath catching in your throat. Pleasure burned through you in waves, your pussy clenching and fluttering around his cock as you came, trembling, undone, all for and because of him. 

Your nails dug into his back, anchoring you, carving crescent-shaped marks where your fingers had once rested so softly, so gingerly against his shoulders. The contrast was stark—how delicacy had melted into desperation, how your hands clutched at him now, as if holding on was the only thing keeping you tethered to the world.

He shifted. He held onto you just a bit tighter as he fell onto his back, dragging you down with him by his hold on the leather around your neck until your body flush against his. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before he pinned your front against the broad plane of his chest, solid and warm. His pecs pillowed your hands where they settled against him for balance, his heartbeat a steady thrum beneath your palms, grounding you even as he lifted his hips and speared you with his cock with a fervour that stole your breath. 

Lifted you again. Up, down, up, down . Your hips crashing into his with a force so great you swore he was beating into your womb. You couldn’t see him, but the way he fucked you told you loud and clear that he was focused entirely on his own orgasm.

Each sharp cry that tore from your throat was swallowed by his own, your separate moans converging into one high-pitched, broken whine that stuttered with every ruthless thrust. Each stroke sent pleasure ricocheting through you, stretching you open, slamming into the deepest, most sensitive parts of you. He knew exactly where to aim, exactly how to push you far enough to break your mind but not your body. 

“Come on, my sweet girl,” he murmured, voice thick with desire, ragged with need. “Let me pump you full of my seed… give me a child, my kitten.”

The words sent a fresh shock of heat down your spine, something primal and instinctive sparking in your blood. You were aware, somewhere, in the farthest reaches of your mind, that he had a young son somewhere. The thought of him as a father, with you as a mother, of bearing something of his inside you, it made your breath catch, made your thighs tighten around his hips as if beckoning him to stay deep inside you. 

“I can’t wait to see you all soft and full…” he groaned, his hold on you possessive, reverent. “All heavy with my child… you’d be even more beautiful.”

His thrusts grew erratic, his grip on the collar around your neck bordering on desperate as his hips beat against yours in uneven thrusts. With one final push and a husky moan, he buried himself to the hilt and spilled into you, painting your walls with spurts of warm, fecund cum. He held you down, anchoring you in place as he let each rope sink deep, as if willing it to take.

He didn’t pull out. 

He held you there, locked against him, his breath shuddering through parted lips as his chest heaved beneath you. 

For a long moment, there was only silence. The slow ebb of heat, the sticky, sweaty, breathless aftermath. He pressed a kiss to the side of your hair.

And then, a pause, barely perceptible, like the world had hiccupped, like time had skipped a beat. He was pulling away as if he had kissed your forehead, his hand tangled softly in the strands of hair at the nape of your neck. 

Eventually, he sighed, stretching beneath you before settling again. “You know,” he mused, a cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “if you don’t move soon, I might not be able to resist staying here.”

You scoffed, propping yourself up on your elbows to look down at him with a playful smile. “Then I’ll stay.” 

He pretended to consider it, planting another soft kiss to your lips before rolling you both onto your sides, tucking you against him. “Fine. But I do not take orders from you. Do not get any ideas, pet.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Lord Dio.”

An amused hum in your ear. “Sleep, sweet girl,” he murmured against your hair. “I’ve got you.”

And you did. Safe, warm, wrapped up in him.

[candyje11yfish]

slight redesign. love her🩻🩸

[evelyn-and-art]

TORSO STUDIES (extras): Kotoha, Shizuka, Tsubakino and Endo

Art Studies with Eve #2

The studio welcomes three lovely queens 🫶

...and a snake 😕

And that completes the torso studies! Thank you for the positive feedback on the first part and for waiting for this one 🫶.

Part 1

[nonranghaes]

"it's just me."

you barely get a chance to roll onto your back before soonyoung's already climbing onto the bed and somewhat on top of you and your blankets, and it's only seconds later that he crashes. it's far from the first time this has happened (soonyoung is clingy and cuddly, especially when he's sleepy), but he manages to knock the wind out of you nonetheless. he rests his head on your chest, and you wiggle an arm out to curl around him as best as you can in your semi-trapped position.

"soonyoung--"

"just go back to sleep," he murmurs. "everything's fine."

you stroke his hair, thumb dipping down to graze his cheek at one point. "soonie--"

"i mean it," he says, eyes peering up in the low light to see yours. "i'm fine. just need to nap." his hand finds yours, and he wraps your arm around him as he snuggles in. he plants a kiss against your chest before resting his head against it again, eyes fluttering shut. "you can rest a little longer, too."

you settle back down after a moment, arms wrapped around soonyoung as you shut your eyes again. sometimes you swear this tiger is a teddy bear, but regardless of which he is, he's yours.

[realmrooikat]

haiiii guess who made a trmsp uquiz :3

[fistfuloflightning]

When Ming Fan finally fought his way through the underbrush to where the Rift had appeared, it was already too late. Shizun and Luo Binghe stood at the edge of the yawning chasm, swords unsheathed and pointed at each other. He hadn’t thought much of it when Shen Qingqiu had flown past him so soon after the earthquake that had torn open the Rift, but he could now see there was something very wrong. Shen Qingqiu’s back was turned to Ming Fan and his face hidden, but he could see plainly the fear and confusion on Luo Binghe’s face. Along with the glowing, damning mark on his forehead. Something demonic.

Ming Fan gripped the foliage, forcing himself not to run out. Not yet. He’d end up dead or wishing he was. He had mocked Luo Binghe early in the Conference, yes, but he knew the younger boy had done nothing to merit this kind of punishment—!

In a matter of seconds, Xiu Ya had stabbed forward, Zheng Yang had shattered, and Luo Binghe had staggered back into the Rift.

Everything seemed to still.

Ming Fan sucked in an breath and darted out of the foliage—but it was too late. Luo Binghe’s arm vanished over the edge just as Ming Fan ran past their shizun. He lunged forward the last few feet, fingers clawing at Luo Binghe’s forearm just in time. Caught, held. The sudden weight had him crashing again against the ground and the wind was knocked out of him. The taste of charred earth mixed with that of fresh blood where he’d nearly bitten his tongue in half.

But that was inconsequential. Not when he could feel the weight at the end of his arm that told him he didn’t fail. Even when the only person he needed to acknowledge that fact was someone he couldn’t stand. No one deserves to die like this, Ming Fan thought viciously. Not even him.

Dangling below him, Luo Binghe’s eyes were wide with terror and confusion, at odds with the damning, demonic seal glowing on his forehead. But there was something like gratitude there as well, out of place and so painfully frail.

For a fragile second, it felt like they were breathing the same

“Shixiong—”

With a cry, he was wrenched from Ming Fan’s grip and into the Abyss below. Ming Fan’s cry was strangled in his throat.

He didn’t know how long he remained there, clenching the burned grass with white-knuckled fingers and straining his eyes to see through the acrid smoke that rose from the chasm for even the barest glimpse of Luo Binghe. But time moved on and the Rift sealed shut and when Ming Fan blinked and once more became aware of his surroundings, he realized he was not alone.

Shen Qingqiu loomed over him like a stone Buddha, face cold as jade. His spiritual sword was once more sheathed, his robes neat and not one hair out of place. As though he hadn’t had a hand in what had happened here.

“You… you killed him,” Ming Fan breathed, still unable to fully process what had just taken place. But that’s what it was, a death sentence fed to the hungry maw of the Endless Abyss.

Shen Qingqiu. “He was a stain upon our sect.”

Ming Fan could feel the rage slowly rise. “He was a disciple of Qing Jing Peak. He was your disciple.” Acknowledging it was like vinegar on his tongue but a boy was dead because of him. He stared at Shen Qingqiu as if seeing him for the first time. Stripped of his elegance and his masks…

“He was a demon.” Shen Qingqiu sneered down at him. “There is no need to explain to you why he needed to be eradicated.”

Ming Fan tore burning eyes away from that frigid, impassive mask. He couldn’t bear looking at the man he had so long idolized. Instead he stared at the ground, in fear he would do or say something he could not undo. And beside his knee he saw slivers of metal.

The shards of Zheng Yang, tangled in the burned grass. Ming Fan’s vision blurred and his breath grew sharp and ragged, anger slamming into him full force. He wrapped his fingers around the pieces, the razor pain of their edges grounding him as the rest of his world unraveled like poorly woven cloth. His shizun had failed him.

And he had failed his shidi.

[hella1975]

when ur local artist mutual starts the 'This Time i really have lost the ability to do my art and it's Not coming back' that is of course untrue and it will come back and their insecurity is getting the better of them etc etc. not me tho i really have lost it forever

[fist-of-vengeance]

thinking about how essentially every relationship john locke formed in the early seasons of lost has completely disintegrated by the time of his death.

of course there's his relationship with jack, which starts tense but manageable and culminates in jack pointing a gun at john's head and pulling the trigger. but even his smaller, less narratively prominent relationships either implode or drift apart. he bonds with walt in season one but then walt leaves the island, which is itself a severing of their bond since it was mainly based on being the only two people who wanted to stay. still, he goes and visits walt off the island so this is probably john's most successful relationship. I dont think i need to explain how he fucked up with boone, "the sacrifice that the island demanded." charlie viewed john as a mentor and claimed to trust him more than anyone on the island, but after the events of fire and water, that trust is destroyed and charlie despises him. at the same time we get john bonding with claire and having a pseudo-paternal dynamic with her, but their closeness basically drops off the face of the earth as he gets less and less involved with the other survivors.

his arc in the series is essentially a gradual distancing from everyone around him. it starts when he abandons hunting (providing for the others) in favor of trying to get the hatch open (it's extremely clear his primary motive isn't any survival applications but getting answers to the mystery). when they do open the hatch, he spends more and more time inside, underground, cut off from other people. he spends more and more time interacting with ben, a human mystery box that he's obsessed with cracking even if it gets him killed. he follows the proverbial white rabbit deeper down the hole and leaves his connection to humanity behind. the island and its mysteries become more important to john than anything or anyone else.

then in season three we get him claiming to go undercover with the others only to unceremoniously tell sawyer that he's actually going to join them. and it doesn't feel shocking, it feels inevitable. because john has spent the entire series becoming less and less connected with the people he arrived with. in that sense he actually makes a fascinating foil to juliet, who is introduced as one of the others and yet never really fits, she's increasingly sympathetic and kind in a way the rest of them aren't, her redemption arc feels so natural that she actually starts referring to her old people as "the others" like she's been one of the crash survivors from the beginning. her and john basically have inverse arcs, which is probably accidental but very neat.

in season five john tries to convince everyone to go back to the island, and fails spectacularly. and of course he does, because he was so consumed by obsession that he stopped maintaining his relationships, and in many cases actively alienated people (this is also basically what happened with helen) and now he can't wrap his head around why they're all so hostile to him. i am forever obsessed with the scene where he confronts kate and she brutally calls him out for wanting to return to the island because he doesn't love anyone. it actually struck me on rewatch how well the two of them got along in season one, and how badly their relationship has degraded by this point. john repeatedly casts aside interpersonal relationships in favor of his obsession with destiny, so when said destiny actually involves persuading the people he once shunned, he's at a loss. this is because john treats purpose as a supplement for connection, destiny as an alternative to love.

as an aside, this aspect of john's character kinda ties into my opinion that several lost characters can be read as allegorically neurdivergent under a certain lens. i know this was absolutely not intended, but as an adhd former gifted kid who struggles socially, there is something uncomfortably familiar about a character who allows their relationships to burn around them because of a single-minded obsession, especially as a result of being promised the fickle status of "special."

tl/dr: john locke is a doomed idiot and i love him

[mammoth-clangen]

Do you have any source websites about mesozoic wildlife/ecosystems? I want to make a clangen or just comic thing about some form of dinosaur (either the microraptor, velociraptor, or kulindadromeus) and I'd like to figure out what other species were a part of their life

Nope sorry, research is rarely that easy buuuuut...

*cracks knuckles*

H'okay I have some advice but it'll probably be long and rambly.

Disclaimer:

I am a professional Nothing and am not an authority on anything. There is no right or wrong, this is just how I Personally do research.

Short answer:

Work out what geological formation(s) your chosen main-character-species is found in and Wikipedia it. (E.g. Kulindadromeus is fron the Russian Ukureyskaya Formation). Then go to Wikipedia's sources and skim at least the abstracts of scientific papers to get an idea if things.

If the Formation is lacking info, try searching the Epoch they're from. By that I mean "middle Jurassic" not just "Jurassic" 'cause each of these is already Huge, you want a decent idea of the overallworld they lived in! (Better yet, get it to stage, like Callovian or Maastrichian)

Also learn to draw ferns, lots of ferns, there's no grass in the Mesozoic so the groundcover is Weird cx

Long answer

(to be considered before even getting to the above step):

When choosing a setting for a story, particularly a paleo one, I find it useful to decide on what kind of story I want to tell first, then pick a species that compliments that.

A clangen, for example, relies heavily on the species being very social (such as herding hadrosaurs or sauropods). Telling a story about a lone traveller might be better with a large pterosaur or wandering ceratopsian. A story about warring factions would be better set a high competition environment like the Kem Kem or Morison, with several fighting predator guilds. Conversely a story about working through personal differences may be better with different species of herbivores living in symbiosis; hadrosaurs and ornithomimids acting like modern gazelles and zebras.

Etc etc

Choosing a species first is fine, but you'll likely have to work the story around what makes sense within that! Otherwise you end up with the aforementioned social tigers and patriarchal hyenas.

Also don't shrink-wrap your dinosaurs im begging on my hands and knees

tl;dr: research everything, choosing a species before a story is climbing ass-first up a tree, Wikipedia is your friend because they compile and summarise primary sources

[burningcheese-merchant]

The relationship between Burning spice and Pepper Jack reminds me terribly of the relationship between CrowFeather and Breezepelt

of warrior cats

you just inspired by them?

Oh my God... Jesus, Mary and Joseph... Warrior Cats........ Got sent back in time like 15 years with this ask. I feel so old right now.... Live footage here

No actually, I wasn't thinking of Crowfeather and Breezepelt 😅😅😅 in all honesty I've been taking a lot of inspiration for Burning Spice and Pepper Jack's relationship from Kratos and Atreus from God of War (4 and 5). The sort of redemption arc/change of heart and post-redemption attitude/behavior I gave Spice in my canon bears a bit of resemblance to how Kratos behaves in GoW, and while I was imagining his relationship with Jack I remembered what Kratos goes through with his own son and realized I could maybe learn from that and see how I could make my version work with these two characters instead. Former mass-murdering, vengeful lunatic who's calmed down and realized the error of his ways and is just trying to carve out a decent life with his new family, having some issues connecting with his son because they're so different from each other in so many ways, and also because the father is hiding the truth of his dark past out of shame and fear of what the son will say and think. (Obviously I don't want to just straight up rip off GoW, just take inspiration haha. I think I've made my own take unique enough that I don't have to worry about it much)

I do want to draw Spice and Jack dressed up as Kratos and Atreus one of these days though :P maybe for Halloween or something. Gonna title it "God of Destruction" instead of God of War. It'll be cool I promise

... Chat, should I try to depict the family as cats from Warrior Cats now? I'm getting hit with nostalgia so fucking hard rn

[atopvisenyashill]

since i’m rhaegar posting i do think it’s likely that “being in love” will be part of the story just the same as george likes to refer to dany & drogo as a romance. i think george likes these kind of,,,,romantic abusive situations where a young girl will fall in love with a man who is older & obviously harmful to her because he likes to explore the sort of mindset you’d have to be in to force yourself to fall in love in that case.

but the same way that the line about “she had just turned 14” is there to freak you out for a REASON, the same way Sansa loves “Petyr” but doesn’t enjoy “Littlefinger”, I think that Rhaegar is going to have several motivations as to why he makes off with Lyanna and they won’t be particularly romantic! I think they will be prophecy related, and deeply disturbing, and I think by the time Ned finds Lyanna in the Tower of Joy, her opinion on this and on Rhaegar will have changed significantly! And regardless of how the characters feel about each other,,,,,,,this is still a horrific and terrible thing that Rhaegar does to Lyanna and his “love” for her does not matter to me when it winds up getting her killed! Love is not an excuse!!