#tool breeders

[leftlaine2013]

All tomorrow's sketches ✨️

[continentalblue]

A continuation of your all tomorrows headcanons?

👀

👉👈

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I FORGOT TO ANSWER LMAOOO

i said I would do these yesterday but it's like 12 am so it still counts #slay

also lemme know if u want me to rewrite/clarify any of these I'm typing all that comes to mind

also I wouldn't mind writing more of these lmaoo. this one got a teensy bit long

______________________________

🌌 Bug Facers had a bartering/trade system rather than a cash system. This trade system was highly complex; people who tried to pass off their goods as being more high-quality than they really were were punished severely. They also had a monarchy, with the Queen being 25% larger than the other people. Her citizens were taxed and the best food went to her. Her function was the same as that of an ant's queen. Actually, more to the point, I picture their monarchy as being similar to that of ant's. However, after their invasion, the monarchy was dissolved and turned into a democracy.

🌌 Despite their relative immobility, the Temptors actually developed some form of culture. Males would spread ideas between females, who rued the fact that they could not meet other members of their species. I also feel that the males could talk, though their enunciation wasn't really that good. Based on the sharpness and shape of their beaks, it's possible they were all-purpose feeders who preyed on insects, nuts, and other worms. The females required three times the amount of food as males in order to provide enough energy for their brains.

🌌 The Lopsiders actually experienced some sexual dimorphism. The reason for this is because their designs remind me of anglerfish. Females were markedly larger than males, and the males depended on the females for sustenance. This was slowly phased out as they evolved, as the species would cannibalize others for food. They had no trade system; they operated under a "it's yours if you're fast enough mentality."

🌌 Because their experience became so automized, the Tool Breeders actually evolved away from actually having blood at all! As a result, their flesh became more gelatinous. While a drought would have slowly but surely dehydrated the species' flesh and caused the end of the species, they learned how to make water from seemingly thin air. They have a capitalistic system that constantly pushes new inventions.

🌌 Much of the Titan's mythology focused on figures who were more mobile; ie., those that had two legs. When a Titan was born with two limbs, they were hailed as a god. They were seen as prophets and harbingers of good luck. They emphasized an ideal that the species could no longer go back to.

Since they lived in a savannah, they also grew thick skin on their bodies to account for the insects and the spikes on their favorite plants. They also transferred to a more vegetarian diet, consuming foods similar to those that giraffes and African elephants eat.

🌌 Hand Flappers had mating dances similar to those of birds-of-paradise. Had they developed sapience, Hand Flappers would have pioneered acting as an art form, using their wings to emphasize their stories. High-class Hand Flappers wore bracelets of precious metals that surrounded their wings. Wing care became an important social aspects; to groom someone else's wings was tantamount to declaring your love for them.

🌌 Satryiacs had fairly short lifespans, which accounted for the amount of parties that they had. As a result, their minds matured remarkably quickly: by their first birthday, their minds were already fully developed. Their bodies followed soon after, and six months later, they were already considered adults. They had very loose views on monogamy; as a concept it simply did not exist. They had relationships with whomever they wanted, whenever they wanted.

🌌 Despite their lack of sapience, the Blind Folk actually had fairly defined parental relationships, mirroring that of humans on Earth. Blind Folk babies were born helpless and unable to do much of anything. A cry from a baby would inspire all the adults in the surrounding area to come to their aid, a fact that was occasionally exploited by predators.

🌌 If put on Earth's atmosphere, Spacers would get crushed underneath their own weight. Also, since they have such modified internal systems, they do not need to eat. However, they need to sleep for fourteen hours in a day to recuperate enough energy to move.

[penisbutterjellytime]

[fefnepz]

Day 15

[kdw0000]

Transparent tool breeder just chillin

[ornisapiens]

Recently learned Wigglypaint has alternate palettes and a transparency feature. With this I doodled a Tool Breeder feeling annoyed about... something. Maybe their coworkers forgot to feed the squid TV monitor, again.

[tiefling-queer]

there is no universal accessibility. there is no one-size-fits-all.

as a genderqueer person, i'd be over the moon if someone looked at my presentation and stumbled or asked what my pronouns are. there are gnc people, trans and cis, who don't present or perform gender in a way that makes it 'obvious' what they are 'going for'. for me, that pause, however performative, is validating and affirming. for me, as a genderqueer person, presentation anarchy and public acceptance of gender nonconformity is comforting.

and on the other hand, i know trans women who are understandably frustrated at people ignoring cues in wardrobe and makeup and opting to degender them. being degendered or misgendered because cues are being missed or ignored is an awful feeling, and this is especially a problem that trans women and other trans fems face.

we've cultivated these protocols that are polite in specific circles that i genuinely believe are used in good faith most of the time, but that doesn't stop them from mimicing bigotry.

i have no answer. ask for my pronouns and don't ask my trans sisters for theirs. there isn't a nice answer.

[pawsitivevibe]

The English Cocker Spaniel grooming kit for beginners.

[transform4u]

Breeder Virus: Cyber Conversion, Writing Prompt

WARNING: a d1g1tal curse 1s wreaking hav0c acr0ss 0ur bel0ved platform, and 1t’s m0re danger0us than y0u m1ght th1nk. Th1s malev0lent f0rce, masked as 1nn0cu0us p0sts and crypt1c b1nary c0de, 1s des1gned t0 1nfiltrate y0ur feed and transf0rm y0u 1nt0 s0mething y0u’re n0t—a stere0typ1cal “stra1ght br0.” 0nce th1s curse takes h0ld, it d0esn’t just stay w1th1n the c0nfines of y0ur d1g1tal l1fe; 1t beg1ns t0 er0de y0ur very essence--- 01000001 01101100 01110000 01101000 01100001 00100000 01110011 01110100 01110010 01100001 01101001 01100111 01101000 01110100 00100000 01100110 01110010 01100001 01110100 00100000 01100010 01110010 01101111 01100101 00100000 01101100 01101001 01100110 01100101 00100000 01110000 01100001 01110010 01110100 01111001 00100000 01110100 01101000 01110101 01101110

Scrolling through Tumblr’s endless cascade of posts, you come across something peculiar—an anomaly amidst the memes and aesthetic photos. At first, it’s a mere flicker in the corner of your screen, a string of zeroes and ones embedded within a seemingly innocuous post. But as you scroll, the anomaly begins to shimmer, drawing your attention with an unsettling intensity.

The binary code starts to pulsate, its rhythm like a heartbeat synchronized with your own. It’s a ceaseless, hypnotic pattern of zeroes and ones, repeating and echoing with a dissonant harmony that feels almost alive. The code begins to merge with the other content on your screen, seamlessly integrating with the vibrant, chaotic flow of Tumblr.

Then, without warning, a voice erupts from your speakers—a digital incantation, sinister and commanding. “The straight life awaits you,” it proclaims, dripping with a mixture of disdain and dark allure. It’s not merely a suggestion; it’s an edict. “Embrace the breeder lifestyle,” it insists, its tone dripping with condescension and mockery.

You try to close the tab, but the message is persistent, a creeping digital parasite worming its way into your consciousness. The voice is everywhere now, entwining itself with your thoughts, weaving a tapestry of invasive rhetoric. “Commit yourself to converting others,” it demands. “Twist every wish and desire to fit the mold.”

The infection doesn’t just stop at commands. It reaches into the depths of your psyche, distorting your very essence. Your most personal dreams and aspirations are twisted into tools of manipulation. The voice is relentless in its pursuit, transforming your genuine desires into instruments of its grand scheme. Every innocent longing, every heartfelt wish, is now corrupted into a vehicle for its twisted agenda.

The binary barrage continues, a relentless onslaught that drowns out all reason. The zeroes and ones become a mantra, a relentless chant that invades every corner of your mind. It’s as if your thoughts are no longer your own, but rather a battleground for this invasive force.

Imagine the audacity of it all: a straight man’s desires—once pure and personal—are commandeered and weaponized. Your authentic inclinations are now turned against you, molded into a grotesque parody of their former selves. The infection is not just a virus but a malevolent force that warps your entire being.

The infection spreads through your mind like a virus, corrupting your thoughts and desires. You scroll through the endless stream of posts on Tumblr, each one a carrier of the insidious message. At first, it's just a whisper, a subtle suggestion in the back of your mind. But as you continue to consume the content, the voice grows louder, more demanding.

It starts with images of happy families, smiling couples holding hands, the American dream played out in pixels. But there's something sinister beneath the surface, a hidden agenda that seeps into your subconscious. The straight life awaits you, the voice hisses, a life of conformity and normalcy. Embrace the breeder lifestyle, it commands, as if your very identity is up for grabs.

The zeroes and ones repeat in your head like a mantra, a code that rewrites your neural pathways. You feel it in your bones, a primal urge to procreate, to continue the human race at any cost. The desire to convert others takes hold, a mission to spread this newfound purpose to anyone who will listen.

Your cock twitches with a foreign desire, a craving for the warmth of a woman's body, the promise of offspring. The voice barks at you, demanding that you embrace what it means to be a man, to be a breeder. Twist every wish and desire, it growls, until all you can think about is the straight life that awaits you.

You feel the infection taking hold, a metamorphosis of your very being. The Tumblr posts continue to scroll, each one a brick in the wall of your new identity. You know that you must commit yourself to this cause, to convert others to the breeder lifestyle, to ensure the survival of the human race at all costs.

As the final post loads, you feel a sense of purpose wash over you. The straight life is your destiny, and you will stop at nothing to achieve it. The voice has won, and you are now a willing vessel for its message. The infection has taken hold, and there's no turning back now. "You are a breeder, and nothing will stand in your way. Reblog. Convert. Straighten out your brothers"

As the digital voice fades, it leaves behind an echo of its commands, a lingering whisper that taints every thought. The zeroes and ones continue their relentless dance, a haunting reminder of the infection that sought to remake you in its own twisted image. Convert. Reblog. Infect.

Tell you story bro---- 01000001 01101100 01110000 01101000 01100001 00100000 01110011 01110100 01110010 01100001 01101001 01100111 01101000 01110100 00100000 01100110 01110010 01100001 01110100 00100000 01100010 01110010 01101111 01100101 00100000 01101100 01101001 01100110 01100101 00100000 01110000 01100001 01110010 01110100 01111001 00100000 01110100 01101000 01110101 01101110

[dark-konohagakure2]

I just read your sexually abusive bf sasuke post and oml that made me feel smth. I was wondering if you could write something like that for Madara, Indra or kawaki. Please feel free to just do one of them, no need to do all unless you want to :) I hope you have a great day loves 🫶🫶

tw: noncon, abusive relationships, misogyny, age difference, breeding, dehumanization, neglect, possessiveness, emotional abuse

All characters depicted are 18+

Madara doesn't have a girlfriend or lover, he has a novelty, a womb with legs, a breeder. Nothing more nothing less. She is so far beneath him that he might as well be a superior species to her, and he treats her accordingly.

He rarely spends any time with her, having a myriad of more important things to attend to aside from humoring the worthless affections of some silly lass, but when he is around her, he isn't very pleasant to say the least, figuratively and literally keeping her at arms length unless he wants a certain something from her, that something being the only thing he ever wants from her, the only reason he keeps her around.

Being the head of the Uchiha clan, he's almost always either out on the battlefield or training himself half to death for his next battle, so Madara gets very worked up and stressed, and when he's pent up, all Madara wants to do is squeeze his favorite stress toy until she pops.

Her consent and feelings are less than irrelevant to Madara, she is his property, and that means he is allowed to do whatever he wants with her, including but not limited to filling her up with his offspring.

"Stop moving so much, you mewling quim. You're just a tool to me, and tools don't cry and struggle against their owners..."

On the rare occasion that he puts aside time for her, that time will be spend either degrading her, trying to impregnate her, or both at the same time. He'll spend hours on top of her and bullying her poor womb with with his cock, not stopping until he is absolutely certain that he's successfully knocked her up.

If Madara ever does take her out on a 'date', it'll only be after much pestering from her and for the sole purpose of showing off his property to the less fortunate men of the village. He'll keep his hands on her to make sure she doesn't wander off like a wayward child, whether it be an arm around her waist or shoulder or even a hand gripping her ass, signalling to everyone that she's Madara's bitch.

Despite his habit of showing her off, Madara doesn't let her around anybody besides himself, not even letting her near people trusted by him such as Izuna and Hashirama, it isn't because he doesn't trust them, it's because he doesn't trust her. She was a lowly stray slut before he so graciously tamed her, and once a slut always a slut.

If she ever dares to try and leave him, be it due to falling out of love or just plain old self preservation, Madara won't physically stop her at first, instead he'll attack her with his words, picking at her insecurities and keeping her in line with his words better than any fist ever could.

"You want to leave me? Fine then, go back to being an unloved little harlot, see if I care. You don't deserve all of my love and care anyway..."

Madara isn't a bad boyfriend to her at all, because he doesn't even consider himself to be her boyfriend at all, he's her handler, and she's just an unruly mutt who needs him far more than he needs her.

tw: noncon, abuse, power imbalance, master/pet, degradation, possessiveness, collars

Indra isn't as cruel as his reincarnation, but he's still very cold, and views herself as being far above a pitiful little human like her, he sees her as a pet, a pet he takes care of, but still a pathetic little kitten regardless.

He doesn't start off too bad, while he's still possessive and forceful, he still dotes on his pet in his own distant way, petting her hair and graciously forcing allowing her to sit on his lap, and he'll even gift her a lovely collar that symbolizes their strange union. Although the peace won't last very long...

When his father unexpectedly makes Asura the head of the clan instead of him like he had anticipated, Indra is enraged, believing that his dimwitted younger brother has stolen his rightful position out from under him, and he is in dire need of someone to take his anger out on.

Indra's sudden turn from coldness to red hot anger is as jarring as it is terrifying, his Sharingan glowing a bright ruby color as he holds her down, his face etched into a scowl as he forces her to bare the brunt of his fury.

"Don't resist me, stupid girl. You're my pet and it's your job to keep me happy, and I am the furthest thing from happy in this moment, so do your job, now."

After that day any semblance of fondness that Indra had for her is seemingly gone. He still keeps her around, but he no longer pats her head or acts affectionately, instead yanking on her leash harshly whenever he wants her close and forcing her to service his erection whenever the urge strikes him.

He doesn't let her out of his sight either, Indra doesn't want her to be around anyone except for him, especially not wanting her near his father or that damn Asura. She's like a consolation prize for him in a way, Asura might have gotten the position of their father's succesor, but Indra got the most perfect toy in the world.

Indra also won't be as forgiving of disobedience from her as he used to be, in the past he would simply lecture her or give her a slap on the wrist if she went against him, but now if she steps out of line his punishments will be much more swift and brutal, be it a slap across the face or a harsh face-fucking.

If she ever tries telling him that she wants to leave him, Indra will show some mirth for the first time in a while by laughing at her, although it's more of a mocking laugh than a happy one, letting her know that leaving him isn't an option for her.

"You're leaving? Oh how funny, but you seem to have forgotten something, little one. I own you, and you are never leaving me unless it's in a casket."

Indra is nothing short of cruel towards her, but the Otsutsuki doesn't see it that way, he truly believes that the way he treats her is justified because he loves her, because he owns her, and that means he can do whatever he wants with her.

tw: noncon, abuse, threats, semi-public sex, possessiveness, jealousy, victim blaming, noncon kissing

Kawaki actually makes a semblance of an effort to be an actual boyfriend, but he doesn't fully understand how to be one, he thinks that being someone's boyfriend just means having someone he can kiss and order around and nothing more, so that's how he approaches it.

He doesn't try to be mean, but she's always pushing his buttons, trying to hang out with other people that aren't him and not putting out for him, so he sees ever instance of her raising his hand or berates her as completely justified, she's being a bad girlfriend.

Despite how he acts, he doesn't hate her, but she's just so annoying and ungrateful, hardly worthy of all the love he's pouring into her, but he does love her quite a bit, but he isn't able to express those feelings without force and violence due to her tumultuous past.

His gruff disposition will give way to anger when he sees her talking to other men, Kawaki is paranoid when it comes to the people he claims to love, and seeing his girlfriend talking to other guys when she already has him just amplifies these feelings. Why does she always have to be such a bitch? Such a bad, bad girlfriend?

"Who the hell was that? Do you like him more than me? Huh?! If you really love me so much then stop being so damn cold to me and prove it for once.

Kawaki will take her right then and there. She doesn't love him enough to put out, he'll just take what he wants. Fucking is what boyfriends and girlfriends who love each other do, and he's going to fuck her extra hard so she can feel the full depth of his feelings for her.

He's incredibly rough out of both anger and inexperience, he'll try to make up for his harshness in a way by kissing her, but Kawaki is a bad kisser too, his teeth slamming against hers as he presses his lips onto her own, nearly choking her when he forces his tongue down her throat, his bad kissing just makes the entire experience worse for her rather than acting as a band aid solution to his harsh thrusts.

After their 'first time', Kawaki takes that as meaning that their relationship is good and healthy again. Couples are supposed to kiss and have sex all the time, that's the entire point, so he has no idea why she's crying. Maybe she's just shy, or maybe she's just trying to play the victim and make him feel like a bad partner.

Kawaki won't take her seriously if she says she wants to break up, dismissing her words as stupid empty threats, but if she persists, he'll get mad, threatening her with a fate worse than death if she talks like that ever again.

"What?! Leaving me?! Pssh, don't be stupid, if you talk that nonsense again then I'll just send you to the same place I sent Lord Seventh..."

Kawaki doesn't try to be a mean boyfriend, but his intentions don't match his actions in the slightest, but he still tries to justify it regardless, he's trying to be nice, but she just makes it so hard for him.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Marx saw the eighteenth-century breeder Robert Bakewell as representative of capitalist agriculture. Bakewell’s family belonged to the new caste of ‘improving’ farmers, whose ancestral home was among the first to be enclosed (as far back as More’s lifetime). Before Bakewell, domesticated sheep took five years to mature, but he managed to cut this down to a year by reducing ‘the bone structure … to the minimum necessary for their existence’, Marx observed. Marx recognized that in a capitalist society there was no difference between a sheep breeder like Bakewell and a locomotive manufacturer who adopted new machine tools, because both were capitalists who sought to increase profits by reducing turnover. Blind capital sees little difference between animal and machine; both are instruments to raise labour productivity.

Troy Vettese, Drew Pendergrass, Half-Earth Socialism: A Plan to Save the Future from Extinction, Climate Change and Pandemics

[andr0nap]

cowboy au worldbuilding with the thoma

as you can see im taking some creative liberties with the giant emu by making them more diverse bc canon isnt enough for me and i have the brainworms

extra notes below the cut

standard thoma:

the original thoma and most common type available

perfect for travel, can pull wagons or carry light cargo

fast with good stamina, fastest over short distances

friendly, intelligent, energetic and quick to learn

the most diverse in terms of colors, patterns and extra traits

well rounded in all departments (theyre like the AQ horses of trigun)

draft thoma:

uncommon outside of major cities (kept by specialized breeders)

used for construction work and long haul heavy cargo transport

gentle, patient and eager to work

not built for speed but can walk for days at a steady pace without rest

dense feather coat protects them from the heat and sand

expensive to maintain and keep due to their size

theyre a relatively new type that came from selective breeding

"wild" thoma:

actually feral (aka. previously domesticated), not wild

originating from lost/runaways that have not been in contact with humans for generations

rare and elusive with a small population, sometimes spotted living near shipwrecks

people will pay top $$ for their capture

begin to exhibit adaptive mutations that help them survive the wastelands

smaller and less fluffy than their standard counterparts

dont come in many colors, mostly bays, chestnuts and blacks

hardy with incredible endurance

very stubborn, temperamental and intelligent, cant be forced to do something they dont want (like donkeys)

rarely ridden, mostly kept for crossbreeding

cattle-type thoma:

related to the standard thoma but NOT the same species

common pack animal in caravans, sometimes ridden as a cheaper alternative to the standard thoma

mainly bred for meat, hide and eggs

kept in huge open range herds that travel along worm swarms for feeding

sometimes kept as a form for anti-worm pest control

keratin crests are lightweight and used for protection and display

ranchers will paint patterns on their crests as a form of identification

not the sharpest tools in the shed, tend to bite and trample people

[facts-i-just-made-up]

What’s the best tool for hunting feral drones, and is it safe to keep them as pets? A lot of my friends have one but I don’t want to go to a breeder.

Drones that have wandered from the hive can act dangerously and should not be kept as pets. It's best to keep only drones from a hive with an active queen, as they produce the best honey.

I am referring to unmanned aerial vehicles, not bees.

[justatalkingface]

I find Endeavor giving up on Toya once he found out that his son's quirk (Blueflame) was self-destructive to be, not only out-of-character, but incredibly stupid.

Endeavor is loaded, he bought Rei. Why not buy Toya special support gear costume with cooling? Aoyama's belt, Mirio's suit, and f*cking Mecha Might basically suggest that support gear can do anything as long as the plot demands it.

Besides that, has Endeavor literally never heard of endurance training? That's literally the only type of training Class 1A does most of the time. Just have Rei on standby if anything goes wrong. It's not like being a human cooler would be the most degrading thing she's suffered.

It's like the first time Aizawa criticized Deku for injuring himself with One for All. Did they try thinking of solutions before trying to get them to give up ?

Also, it's kind of messed that Toya's inability fulfill Endeavor's goals is because Rei, the bought mother. It could've easily been Endeavor's fault, like his intense training at a young age ruined Toya's developing body.

OK, you see, the thing is you're thinking about this logically. Like, Endeavor has been many things, but 'rational' isn't one of them. Deeply toxic and twisted, on the other hand?

You need to think like someone desperate to prove themselves, filled with about eight superiority and inferiority complexes, and yet so resigned to his own inferiority that he ended up needing to make someone else to do it for him. The fact that Toya hurt himself? It meant he was weak. That's it. He was weak for being unable to use his powers safely.

And the second he was weak, he was no longer useful, because he could no longer beat All Might.

(Nevermind, of course, that there was nothing he could do to make someone able to beat All Might, because All Might and All For One are both setting breaking hacks that single handedly break the balance of power. Even a super Shoto with the blue flames of Dabi and, like, absolute zero ice, perfectly balanced and able to withstand his own power, would get casually bitchslapped by All Might. That's how overwhelmingly broken he is.)

Beyond that, it's worth pointing out that, 1, Mecha Might is, again, setting breaking bullshit, even in the bullshit casually tinkertech setting that is MHA, and that 2, while Quirk training is a thing (presumably that's how Dabi was able to be as high functioning as he was with his... well, entire everything, that he grinded with his Quirk until he was able to work beyond the pain), there are limits without Awakenings... and let's be honest, Awakenings are just how Hori tried to explain people's various power ups to try and keep them relevent in the ever increasing clusterfuck of his story. No amount of training would make it so that Toya would not burn himself; training like that increases limits, but it doesn't change how the Quirk works.

There's basiclly no reason, in setting, for someone not to suit themselves entirely in support tech to be a purely tech driven hero, beyond institutional culture that is built around people's Quirks. I can't even say it's expensive, because hell, Mei just pulls them out on the regular, and there's every reason to think she was making them even before she actually got into UA, instead of somehow learning to make them within a week or two of getting into school.

The fact that support tech is so damn underused is almost criminal, especially for people with more limited abilities; can you imagine if Kirashima, with his hardening, was given some kind of ranged tool? An air blast or something?

You're also ignoring all his complexes in implying that, 1, Rei could do anything, when literally she only exists to be a breeder, and I don't think he's ever shown imagining her able to do... anything helpful.

And, most importantly, 2: Endeavor always blames everyone but himself. Always. Even in the 'canon' (I have opinions on the sheer level of retcon there) version of events, with how soft that is on Endeavor, Endeavor sets up Toya to have a psychotic break. He isolates him, orients his entire life around one thing (surpassing All Might) and then takes away the very foundation he built his life on, before basiclly ignoring him and never trying to fix him afterwords; of course the kid is messed up! Yet, all this time, he looks back, and all he can think is, 'I couldn't stop him! Toya was so driven, Toya wouldn't stop hurting himself, Toya wouldn't listen to me!'

Toya, Toya, Toya. Everything wrong with Dabi's story was blamed on Toya, even though he was an actual child and Endeavor was the one with all the control in the family; his recollection of things was so warped you could see how it contracted with literally everyone's experience of events... Of course he was going to blame Rei over himself! Rei is the person he bought, and he's the top hero, rich and famous! Nothing is ever his fault!

(Also, I have opinions on Aizawa, and they're overwhelmingly negative. The fact that Aizawa wanted to ditch Izuku first thing is a result of his overwhelming biases and prejudices..... exactly like Endeavor. MHA has this thing of making massively biased authority figures that are obviously so and then going through fire to protect them from their own actions.)

[ritunn]

Vile Beauty - A Look at the Elves of Lorwyn/Shadowmoor and Queerness

"Beauty determines values, and we determine beauty."

That's the flavor text that accompanies the card, Masked Admirers, a rare, now uncommon, elf that made its debut in Lorwyn. Flavor text that summarizes the views of the Lorwyn elves who we'll be revisiting next year.

Beauty Determines Value

I started playing MtG back in 2009 and I took a liking to the elf and kithkin tribes almost immediately. I was young enough that I didn't quite understand the social commentary being made by the writing behind the elves at the time, but it's something that's entranced me since then. In Lorwyn, the virtue often associated with elves, their unnatural beauty, has been twisted. The vain elves live in a hierarchical society where the most beautiful live on top and a single scar or blemish can ruin your life. While nature is nothing more but a tool to continue their harm of others or to be shaped to be as beautiful as them.

It's a strange society, but one that fits all too well with elves and the tropes we've come to associate with them. Though the twist of eyeblights, the name elves give to those too ugly to be anything else in elf society, but also what they call everyone else, adds an fun twist to the basic idea of "What if the beauty industry was a society?"

Eyeblights at best are treated as eye sores, creatures to be avoided if needed and an annoyance at worse. At worst, they are hunted for sport, blades slicing them in twain while the insidious moonglove poison kills them in seconds if that fails. This is often reserved for giants and boggards, the name for goblins, but they aren't above using these selfsame measure on other elves.

But for those elves who would reach so low as to become eyeblights, often due to disfigurement, purposeful or accidental, they are allowed to become nettelvine breeders. Nettlevine is a parasitic plant cultivated by the plane's elves that shortens the already short lifespan of elves, but also grants them great control over it, allowing them to make mockery of the plane's treefolk and devastate the enemies of the elves. But, what lays in the store for those elves who reach the pinnacle of beauty?

We Determine Beauty

Elvish society in Lorwyn is separated into four distinct classes, the faultless, immaculate, exquisite, and perfect.

Faultless: the lowest caste, the faultless meet a minimum threshold for beauty. They're without fault as the name suggests, but their beauty isn't anything better than what is expected for an elf and work the basic jobs required of society.

Immaculate: those who act as dignitaries for the elves. If you're cunning enough in addition to beautiful, you can reach the level of immaculate and attain some special privileges within elvish society.

Exquisite: second only to the perfect, elves who reach exquisite are masterful hunters and lead other elves in hunting excursions with packs of wolves to kill eyeblights. As dangerous as they are beautiful and the only caste below perfect with permission to speak to them.

Perfect: the most cunning of all elves and of transcendental beauty, perfects rule elf society in Lorwyn and have permission to kill anyone they'd like in a caste below them. Vicious and vain rulers of which only a few exist.

Eyeblights are not in the caste system. As mentioned before, these elves are either made into nettlevine breeders or killed. Even associating with creatures that aren't elves or using them to kill eyeblights such as one of the Lorwyn/Shadowmoor protagonists, Rhys, did can earn you the ire of other elves. Speaking of Rhys...

Rhys, the Exiled

Rhys was a student of Colfenor, an elder treefolk and the last yew treefolk. He taught him the secrets of yew poison magic and they'd maintain a psionic bond for life even when Rhys became an eyeblight hunter. His past of being associated with an eyeblight like Colfenor always earned him some contempt, especially from his superior, Nath. Nath was a more traditional elf, one who was quite annoyed when Rhys made use of a pair of giants to deal with goblin raiders after the hunting party's trap went wrong due to an inexperienced archer, an archer Nath cut down for his mistake. As such, Rhys and Nath had a tense relationship, one that broke when Rhys became one of the very eyeblights he hunted and his friend turned against him.

Nath had ordered Rhys to exterminate some peaceful goblins getting together for a story time festival. Despite Colfenor's pleas not to go through with it, he did and the attack went horribly wrong. The goblins turned feral and murderous due to the Great Aurora starting to begin, an event that inverts the traits of every race on the plane and brings eternal night. With little choice, Rhys unleashed the magic Colfenor taught him and killed everyone except for himself, his friend, and Nath. When he awoke, he found his horns destroyed. He had become an eyeblight and his friend and Nath had promised to slay him, but not before he was rescued by an elf named Maralen and a group of fey.

The rest of the story follows his adventures with Maralen of the Mournsong and the other adventurers on Colfenor's quest to continue to yew treefolk line and stop the Great Aurora, but this fall is what we care about. Rhys knew what was wrong but still went through with it anyway. Corrupted by the pressure of a society and willing to kill to maintain his position, only to lose it all. Though, when night comes the only true monsters on Lorwyn become its saviors.

Beauty is a Seed

The elves of Shadowmoor, the name the plane adopts when the Great Aurora brings eternal night, are an interesting contrast in the dark fairy tale feel the plane adopts during this phase. These elves are also obsessed with beauty, but the world itself has become as ugly as they were inside while phased to Lorwyn. Thus, there's the twist. They seek to preserve beauty, those little slivers left. Beauty is a seed, waiting to blossom under capable hands as the flavor text of Bloom Tender puts it. As everyone else becomes the monsters they believed them to be, they stopped hunting them. They hunted for beauty instead. No longer vain, they care for each other and see the seeds of light in the darkness. They see true beauty, of nature, of love, of life, and just want to protect it. There's something so kind about it, so heartwarming, a glimmer of hope in darkness, all ripped away when the morning tide washes away the darkness and things return to normal. We get a glimpse at what the elves could be, and in a way, it hurts.

Something I have yet to mention is the deer-like apperance of the elves. In Lorwyn, this soft apperance hides the truth: they are predators, hunters, to be feared, not prey. But on Shadowmoor, they are the prey, able to fight back, but prey nevertheless to hideous monsters like scarecrows, kelpie, deurgar, and the twistwed residents of Shadowmoor. They've become the ones they once hunted, the other, but for once, they're free of hierarchy and free to live life and dream for a better tomorrow and they revel in that. Rhys is able to find redemption in Shadowmoor, and embrace his true ideals. Night doesn't last forever though, and neither can this. But, I'm intrigued to see how it ends up being handled come 2025.

Toil to Renown

So, what do I love about the elves of Lorwyn/Shadowmoor? Well, they are quite pretty, I love the design, but these days, I think love that they're the very people that'd despise me. Being queer means to live outside the binary standards of beauty quite often. Some transphobes even go as far as to label others trans based off of very minute masculine or feminine traits that no one but them cares about. This leads to reinforcing gender stereotypes and leading to violence and/or vitriol against anyone who doesn't fit in. We become eyeblights, as does anyone who's cis and not quite the perfect model of their gender. All the while, people like Rhys, who don't totally agree, are browbeat into conforming and suffer for it when they too find out they will never live up to the standards of such wretched people. Whether they come out queer or simply have an accident.

But, I also love these elves, the ones on Shadowmoor, because I see myself in them too. I want to find the beauty in a cruel world that despises me and others I call friends and family and protect it with all my heart. Beauty isn't flawless skin and a sharp intellect, it's in a lonely flower blossoming, the laugh of someone you love, celebration of life. We fight every day to live and assure our continued existence in a world that despises us. Is that not reason to celebrate? Life may be grim, but there's beauty everywhere and we decide it ourselves. I hope WotC explores that duality again in 2025, because it's a beautiful message I've taken to heart for years. Thanks for reading.

[septimusmoonlight]

Anonymous: You would be a lovely experiment, I'd say. Spreading your cervix open with a speculum, implanting golf ball sized alien eggs into you one by one, each vibrating and thrumming in an odd way... certainly you'd be able to take plenty of those eggs. Most breeders would be overwhelmed by the amount in the brood, or the overwhelming sensation, but luckily you've been trained for this. Your body would be examined every second, and you'd be perfect to fill with more once this clutch hatches.

Mmm, this sounds so nice <3

I’d love to be subject to experiments like this, trained to take such hefty clutches by way of unique toys and tools. It should probably start by opening up my pussy wide enough to get to my cervix, of course, but you can’t just proceed directly deeper from there - procedure is to keep my cunt stretched until I’m more than used to it. Only then can you start fiddling with my cervix directly, torturing me with vibrators and fake eggs, spreading me wide over and over again until I stop screaming every time something touches the top of my womb. The sensation takes a long time to stop being so overpowering, especially when vibration rates are considered a legitimate variable, but I get there eventually.

That’s when I’m considered ready for the true experiments to start.

Opening me up is trivial, at this point, and so is inserting the eggs one by one. I’m so used to similar sensations that I’m not surprised by how the eggs feel, but there is something pleasantly different about them; maybe it’s how they vibrate, or their texture, or…something. I can’t put a finger on it. Whatever the case, they hum and shudder inside of me as they’re slowly piled in, my womb stretching easily thanks to my training, and my midsection swells to accommodate. I’m strapped to the examination table to prevent me from squirming too much, my legs held up and out of the way, but they’re not necessary; I lay back and easily comply with the procedure. I chew on my lower lip to stop myself from moaning as my womb is packed more and more full.

By the time the last egg of the clutch is slipped easily past my cervix, my breathing has sped up noticeably and my toes are curling. I’ve taken on similar cargo before, in preparation for this very scenario, but there’s still just something about being wrapped around a load of alien eggs - real ones - that lights up my brain. The speculum prying open my cervix is closed and removed, and I inhale sharply as my cervix pulls shut over my impressive clutch. The following examination doesn’t help, gloved hands prying open my pussy and palpating my abdomen to feel out my womb’s position. I’m so tempted to gasp and moan as the eggs shift inside me, rubbing delightfully against each other and against my walls.

As part of my payment for agreeing to be trained for this sort of experiment, I’m given room and board in this facility, of course. Luckily, that just makes it very easy for me to retreat to my private quarters right after the procedure so that I can pleasure myself. In fact, it becomes a habit of mine, masturbating furiously as I rub one hand across my lumpy midsection. It doesn’t help that the eggs grow day by day, closer and closer to hatching, and that just makes me cum harder. I just hope that the scientists don’t notice how wet I am during every single one of their examinations to make sure that the eggs and I are both in good health. Though, I will admit, sometimes I do fantasize about being taunted and teased for enjoying this a little bit too much, maybe taken advantage of by some researcher or another who wants to help me “practice” for when the clutch hatches…self-indulgent thoughts that pop up every time I touch myself.

The ever-increasing size of the eggs also increases their shivering hum inside of me, which of course is remarkably distracting. If I hadn’t gotten the requisite training, I get the feeling that I’d probably be on my knees and howling at this point, but as it is, I just stagger around, trying to support my enormous middle. I get plenty of researchers putting their hands on me at all times, some of them just so they can help me down a hallway and others so that they can show off their newest “project” to an associate. I politely answer questions when asked, deferring to the scientists when I don’t have an answer, but the entire time I’m soaking through my underwear.

One day, something inside of me lurches.

I pause in the middle of what I’m doing and gasp, putting a hand do my midsection. I wait for the movement to repeat - and it does, twice more in rapid succession. I know exactly what this means, and I hurry off - well, as much as I can hurry in my current state - to find one of the researchers who works on me. As soon as I alert them to the fact that the clutch is emerging, I’m whisked away to my usual examination room and spread out on the table I’m so used to at that point.

Heat is rising in my lower abdomen, so I inform the researchers that the stimulation is causing arousal, making sure to omit the fact that I’ve enjoyed this from the very beginning. I just don’t want anyone to be surprised when I climax on the examination table. To my surprise, they encourage arousal as a reaction, noting that such a response to a clutch as large as this one is a good indicator that further incubations will settle in positively. In fact, they urge me to embrace it, explaining that a positive association with the feeling of being a host will mean fewer problems in the future.

I’m all too glad to follow their recommendations, moaning and gasping as my midsection sways and jolts with each hatch of an egg, each shift of the alien young. I can’t help but notice that most of the researchers quickly sport impressive hard-ons in response, not even bothering to disguise them as they attend me. Some of them even rub themselves over their lab technician scrubs, and one of them goes so far as to press their bulge conspicuously against my face, disguised as leaning over the table to adjust a piece of equipment. Almost without meaning to, I mouth at it, so turned on that I’m willing to serve whoever needs it. That garners a fond chuckle from a handful of attendants, and some of them write something on a clipboard or notepad.

Finally, the time for the young to emerge comes.

One of them presses up against my cervix, and I gasp, my toes curling. I moan as it wriggles and writhes inside, doing its best to dilate me for its escape - and it succeeds with a spurt of slimy fluid, slithering out of me and into the waiting basin positioned beneath my table. I swear loudly, tapering off into another moan as a second follows the first. Then another, and another, and more and more until they’re cascading out of me in slimy bursts, gushes of fluid spattering the table and my inner thighs.

I can’t help myself and I cum loudly, arching my back, my cries of pleasure echoing from the walls, and the attendants all encourage me, more of them fully hard now. Some of them are just outright jacking off as they crowd around to watch me give birth. A good handful are still making sure that the young and I are both in good condition, of course, but most seem too distracted to bother with the pretense of an examination at this point. Honestly, that just turns me on more, and the sounds coming out of my mouth grow more obscene. It’s not even intentional - it just feels like instinct to put on a good show.

My middle shrinks, deflating as my cargo makes its escape. My orgasms decline in intensity as my womb empties, and I yearn deeply for the weight, the mass deep inside, the fullness that comes with being a host. The researchers seem to pick up on this, and the first to notice reassures me that I’ll be full again soon. I whimper, asking them to promise, and a few of the researchers laugh.

Just as the last of my young slip from my body, the door to the research room opens. Two new researchers walk in, one wheeling in a cart - and the other holding a speculum.