#ultra edge levels

[spiltcandycoatedpunkblood]

I've seen an alarming increase in pushback against the literal existence of the climate crisis lately, especially during summer with massive heatwaves and wildfires and it is absolutely horrific how people are just absorbing the idea that it's all a hoax and that it's good shutting down activists and protestors who have now come further to the point where this now REALLY NEEDS TO BE SAID

[thechekhov]

There’s no elegant way to express this thought without making anyone mad, but

I think some modern writing suffers from the delusion that a super-hyper-ultra strong version of the character is always the best one, and I think those stories are more boring for it. 

I’ve more and more frequently run into stories where the main characters all go super-saiyan, and it’s treated not as an extreme, but as an obvious attainable and sustainable goal, when (in my humble opinion) it should not be either. 

Not all characters benefit from being their strongest selves. Some characters are good BECAUSE they’re weaker. Some characters are interesting BECAUSE they’re average. Characters becoming the strongest version of themselves is cool sometimes BECAUSE it’s an edge of ability that is neither healthy nor realistic long-term.

If your only conceivable goal as a writer is to make all your characters reach level 100, you’re not writing a story. You’re scripting yourself a bar graph that is going to break the presentation, and overshadow all the other interesting things you can do with the rest of your quantifiers. 

[lets-try-some-writing]

team prime reacting to sparkling water

the jasper trio bring some back from some a school event and everyone promptly gets a spark attack from the name alone

The sheer terror would be immense. I think I saw a comic drawn about this exactly scenario that had me laughing. That said, I imagine the reaction would go something like this:

The kids got some sparkling water from school and they come waltzing on into base totally unconcerned. Jack complains about the drink, gagging or something of the like while Rafael silently pockets his. Best to not make a scene in his opinion. But Miko? She makes a show of the sparkling water since her two compatriots don't seem all that sold on the liquid.

The team don't care about what the children are doing, at least until Miko decides to shout the following:

"What are you guys whining about? Sparkling water is the BEST!"

The deafening silence following her words is startling. Looking around, the kids quickly find the team in various states of shock and horror.

Ratchet is holding the edge of the medical berth so tightly that there are imprints on it. His expression is the embodiment of horror and his plating is flared instinctually as he gazes upon the tiny water bottles the children have in disgust. Smokescreen takes one look at the bottles, mutters "That's some Overlord level scrap." before shuffling off to purge. Bumblebee isn't that much better, his optics wide as he slowly steps back in horror. Arcee for her part stands still as stone looking at the children in a brand new and far darker light. Bulkhead and Wheeljack drop their lob ball without commentary and start in place like fools, both sharing a glance before Bulkhead starts to gag.

Optimus draws his arms up close to himself, instinctually standing in front of Bumblebee as his battle mask slips into place. He watches the children with wide shocked optics and prepares for combat without thinking about it. Ultra Magnus for his part shakily makes notes, adding "Sparkling murder." to the records he has kept on the children and any other relevant humans.

Not a spark is able to calm down until Ratchet snatches one of the bottles and runs it through analysis to conclude that it is not in fact the blended remains of a young Cybertronian.

[nashusglasses]

it's a spotlight stuck on the ceiling (why are these the things i'm feeling?) (m)

+ based off nsfw prompts: 11.  “You’re fucking hot when you cry.” & 50.  “You’re such a good cunt/cock warmer.”

note: i got tired of writing exposition so u know what? it's F word time!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! these prompts are from this list

note 2: this is based off my gojo work husband au, which. u might be asking. where is it?????????? that's a good question. I have no answer. please enjoy and lmk if u wanna know more! 8)

PAIRING. gojo/reader GENRE. established relationship WARNINGS. oral (f receiving), overstim, crying from said overstim, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex SUMMARY. You forget you ever had a bad day. WORD COUNT. 2k

You’re past any formalities of new relationship butterflies the third time Satoru gets you naked. It’s still weird that the person who fills out invoices next to you at work knows how to make you cream around his dick, but you can’t say the added baggage of dating your coworker is a bad thing. You save on gas when you sleepover at Satoru’s place. He gets his own personal cocksleeve when he’s had a bad day in the office. It works out.

It’s you who has a bad day today. Nothing catastrophic, but IT playing email tag all day pissed you off bad. You begged Satoru to get a knife from the break room and gouge your eyes out instead of looking one more second at your monitor. He’s used to the drama. He promised you a better solution, anyway. 

He kept his hand on your thigh the entirety of the drive home; a touch you’re still not quite used to, but you melted under the warmth. You crossed the threshold of his apartment door, half-expected your typical night in with takeout from the Chinese restaurant down the street. But now you’re two orgasms deep into forgetting why you needed a pick-me-up in the first place, and Satoru’s already asking:

“Think you can do one more?”

You vibrate at the thought. That’s easy. Late nights and hours with a clit sucker have prepared you well, but this is different. Toys don’t watch you squeal, crumble at the edges. Satoru gleans your every move, especially when he’s determined to make you feel good. You’d curl up, but he keeps you pliant with a hand on your thigh.

“Stop trying to hide from me,” he snorts. “I already told you I don’t care that your left boob is bigger than the other.”

“Shut up. It’s because I’m the only one naked here.” It’s true. He’s still got his work clothes on. Sleeves rolled up, one button undone because you like to fiddle with his chest when you make out. You won’t tell him that you think his slacks make his legs look ridiculously good. 

He just teases a spit-wet finger inside you. Nothing threatening but you close your eyes in anticipation. You feel him lean over, leave a quiet kiss on your nipple as an apology. “You know I like you like this.”

You do. Satoru’s a greedy lover. Coaxing those lewd noises deep from your chest not just for your pleasure, but because he knows he’s a good fuck. He realized fast that you like his fingers the most. He takes agility to a whole new level, doesn’t stop till your bones melt into the bedsprings. One more orgasm means ultra-focusing on that explosive feeling, and now you’ve got cotton candy brains. 

You’re sweating into his sheets. Something tells you he’s craving something even wetter. You’d give it to him if it meant getting him on top of you faster.

“I can do one more,” you concede, and Satoru wastes no time settling down between your knees, licking a thick stripe over your core like he’s grateful. The heat is almost unbearable. “Oh–god.”

He cradles your thighs with a tight grip. You’ve got no choice but to take it. “Relax,” he urges. “Let me make you feel good.”

You don’t expect anything less. But that sharp jolt of pleasure every time he sucks on your clit makes your head fog over. Your hands smooth into his hair, clawing when he teases his tongue inside. “It–it hurts.”

He lifts his head, mouth and chin shining. “Too much?”

“Keep going.” You’ve got a promise to keep good on. Satoru yields to your efforts, adjusts your legs till your knees settle on his shoulders. You know this move. Leaves you trapped under that incessant tongue but you’ll fiend for it regardless, and you don’t care about the cramp in your hips. Not when he’s just so into it. 

The first time he went down on you, he let you keep the lights off. Fend off the unnecessary anxiety of seeing you so vulnerable, but he made it clear that he liked hearing you unravel underneath him. You’re not shy to moan. When he drags another hard suction on your clit, you mewl loud. “Oh my god.”

The fog thickens. Arching your back, digging your nails in his scalp because he relishes any physical reaction. He slurps at your clit till he feels you shake. He’s taking advantage of your sensitivity, but the feeling is addictive. Almost like you yearn for your demise, and he’s got you right in his palm for the taking.

You’ll always give in to him. “Satoru,” you warble. “Oh–ngh!”

He heeds your call. Clutches onto your thighs even tighter, tongue a lightning strike on all your good nerves. No need for his fingers because his mouth is just that hypnotizing. You don’t know where he’s learned how to get you to fold so fast. You’ll ask him what kind of porn he’s into later.

Satoru makes the most disgusting slurping sound, and you laugh amidst the haze. “I think–haah–you’re enjoying this more than I am.”

“What?” He grumbles, kissing the soft spot above your pussy. “I get to fuck the shit out of the hot office lady, sue me.”

You blush in the praise. “So get to it.”

“I’m getting there. You want my fingers?”

In other words, choosing your poison. You’ll come either way. Your gut clenches at the thought of his fingers inside you again, clawing at your heat till you saw white, your body spun off its axis. The assurance of his mouth is softer. More bearable, because half an hour ago he’d fingered you till your begging was gibberish and you couldn’t talk for a solid minute afterwards. His ego is the brightest hue of pride when it comes to getting you off.

So you shake your head, and Satoru bends down again. He’s done easing you into it. Craving your orgasm like he’s impatient, too, and you whine when he swipes that hot tongue with hard strokes. Inviting that deep fever till your ankles dig into his back. Your mouth is dry from your panting.

“Oh my god don’t stop,” you cry, and he groans like he’s preening. You sweat where his palms meet your skin, slippery when you twitch your hips up in instinct. “Satoru–close–!”

Your eyes roll back. Satoru holds your legs wider, eats you out like he’s starving and you’re the sweetest slice of cake on the shelf. The heat makes your chest collapse with every shaky exhale, clutching on the sheets because you’ve got nothing else to hold you down. There’s spit dripping down your ass, but you relish in that wet feeling. The nasty mix of your pleasure with his. You open your eyes, lean up on your elbows to watch him savour it too.

The sight is too much. Legs dangling over those wide shoulders, his nose nestled on your clit, pushing that tongue so deep you collapse right back. Pleasure ripples quickly from your centre into all the edges of your body, and you dissolve into desperate whining.

“Holy fuck that feels good,” you praise. Satoru just moans again. Too busy luring that climax he wants down his throat, and you don’t know what to do with yourself. It’s so much. All your frayed nerves from your two orgasms make you ache for something you don’t know you can handle. 

He probably knows it, too. You might genuinely pass out. But you haven’t tapped out yet, and he’ll let you call all the shots if it’s your pussy in question. It’s almost romantic, the way he lets you take from him, chasing that feeling from his mouth. He stokes that fire over and over again.

You settle into it. All thoughts filtered out except the sounds of Satoru’s indulgence, the squeal you let out when he teases a bite. Soothing the hot rush with fast flicks of his tongue. You tense with every movement, hips canting back and forth because staying still is too much to take. 

He doesn’t heed to that, though. He clamps his hands down, forces you to take the hard latch of his tongue, guzzling hard on one spot till you’re begging in your sheer desperation. “Oh god–! Satoru, I’m–coming..!”

There’s 0.01 of a second before you feel the wave crash, and you’re reduced to nothing but a mess of your most intense orgasm of the night. Gargling nonsense, shrieking his name, his nails digging indents in your skin to keep you from flailing too hard because holy shit are you going through it.

“Oh my god,” you hiccup, and all of sudden you’re crying, and you shiver with every tremor of your subsiding high. “Oh my god, Satoru. Holy fuck. Y-You–”

“I’m here,” he says. He leans up, wipes his (extremely!) wet mouth on the back of hand, crawling over till he can cradle your head to his chest. “Jesus. You’re shaking.”

You’re weeping. Your body shivers closer to his. “Yeah. Oh my god.”

“I can’t even lie.” He presses a soft kiss on your hair, a little reward. “You’re fucking hot when you cry.”

If you had the energy you’d kick his shins till they bruise. But for some reason you can’t stop the tears from falling, and you heave through another sob. “Yeah, well. I’ve just–never felt that before.”

Satoru grins. Leans down to kiss your mouth with no urgency, just the need to feel your lips on his. Despite your exhaustion, you know he’s still left wanting. 

You feel his dick press up against your stomach when he kisses you harder, sneak a hand down his slacks to tease a stroke. He tenses up.

“You’re not tired?” He asks. The answer is a resounding yes, but you won’t let him know. As if you could just leave him to jack off in the bathroom while you take your well-deserved post orgasm slumber. You tug at his zipper till he finally gets it, and he shoves his pants and underwear off like he’s relieved.

You sniffle when he settles over you again. “I feel like I want you all the time,” you confess. 

Call it the general horniness of discovering your partner’s body, but you can’t remember the last time your hormones have acted up like this. You’re almost scared for the calendar reminder of your next ovulation period, but you think Satoru won’t mind one bit.

He just nods. Smiles into another long kiss, and you spread your aching legs for him to position himself. It doesn’t surprise you both just how fast he slides inside you, all that residual wetness a sticky invitation. “Oh. That’s–oh don’t move yet, shit.”

It’s still new. The instant transition from empty to full, and Satoru collapses into your neck. “You’re still–so tight.”

“Means I’m not horny yet,” you joke. You don’t think you have any orgasms left in you, but the thought of Satoru creaming you till you spill over has a luring call to it. “The hell’s wrong with you?”

“My bad. Guess I’ll–” he bottoms out, and you bury a moan in his hair– “try better next time. Holy shit. You’re such a good cockwarmer.”

“Go to hell–ngh!”

“I’m taking you with me.” Satoru chokes through the small twitch of his hips, like he can’t help the motion. You feel it tenfold. Eyes rolled back with the sensitivity because you honest to god could not come again.

He rolls a deeper stroke still sticky with your arousal. Moans streaming from his mouth right into the heat of your neck, and he bites down to hear you squeal. “Fuck that feels good,” you teeter with clenched teeth.

Satoru leans up, watching you dissolve. “Like it when I go deep?”

“God yes,” you hiss. You still twinge with the novelty of dirty talk, but Satoru makes it easy to get used to. He’s earnest with his fucking now. Still shy of the harder thrusts you know he’s capable of, but you revel in the pleasure regardless. 

You’re going to start crying again. 

“Oh baby,” Satoru coos. He slams a thrust so heavy you sob. “That good?”

“Ye-es–!”

He does it again. Takes one second of breathing space to ram his dick so hard his balls make that foul sound against your ass, and you’re sure he’s watching your tits bounce like the perv he is. It feels good, knowing you get him off. He swipes a stray tear from your chin, leaning down to kiss you. Swallowing the hiccups you can’t get rid of. Satoru licks fire behind your teeth.

“How ‘bout one more?” 

He’s smiling. You’re shaking with tears and he’s smiling. Sick freak knows it’s not happening, and you bet he’s goading you because he’s close. So you shake your head, heeding with no verbal response because you can’t think straight. Not when he’s picking up the pace, bed frame complaining under you. You cry freely. “Sa-to-ru–!”

He kisses the spot between your eyebrows, grunts with every press inside you. “I’m close,” he pants. 

“I want it,” you quaver. You pull him close. Hide your face on his shoulder, forgetting to breathe. “I–I want you to come, please–!”

“Oh fuck.” He lets his pleasure guide him. Hips twitching in that desperate draw for a climax, and he sits up on his haunches just to fuck up into you faster. You’re limp with every movement, wailing from the change of position. 

He seizes the meat of your inner thighs. Keeps you embarrassingly exposed with rugged hands, and you think you’re wet all over.

“Please,” you beg. Your pussy so battered you think you’ll pass out any second now. “I can’t–”

“I’m coming.” Satoru’s head hangs forward with concentration. Watching where your centres meet, his dick creaming you full. “Oh my god baby–!”

You open your legs as much as your hips allow. It’s a depraved sight: the base of Satoru’s cock white with your combined arousal, and you can’t help but squeeze him deeper inside you. He shivers through another wave of his orgasm, pumps till he physically can’t take the warmth of your cunt, pulling out quick. He collapses on top of you.

You think he’s got cum on your stomach. “Mmmrrghhhhh,” he grumbles.

“I’m sweating balls,” you say.

“Hmmmm.”

“And I’m spilling cum onto your sheets.”

He shrugs. Still saying nothing, so you pet his hair with a tired hand. 

“I don’t think I can walk,” you tell him next.

Satoru huffs a breathless laugh. He groans incoherently one more time, then flops onto his side of the bed like a dead fish. He keeps his eyes closed. After thirty long seconds of silence, he twitches so violently you flinch. “Huh–oh.”

“There’s no way you just fell asleep.”

“Maybe.” He licks his lips like he’s parched. “Good pussy does that to you.”

“Oh my god.”

“Let me rephrase. Hot office lady pussy does that to you.” 

“I need you to stop talking,” you urge.

Satoru opens his eyes. Gives you a tired little smile, and you feel your heart twist. “You have cum on your belly button, nasty ass.”

He rolls out of bed before you can smack him. He owes you that takeout, after all.

[namedr]

What are your art inspirations?

Disclaimer: A LOT of RAMBLING

Honestly hard to answer, nowadays I don't really look at a lot of art anymore but mostly just movies.

Biggest inspiration over the years (from 2020 to 2022) would have to be Kan Liu. His painting style with mostly just the round brush and hard edges really spoke to me, especially when it came to lineart I was a massive fucking copycat lmao.

Around 2022 I also began falling in love with Sungmoo Heo. The perspectives and overall style just fucks so hard.

The most obvious inspo would have to be Seonhyeok Jeon though, who I still rip off blatantly.

In general I began taking art seriously around 2020, when I found Kan Liu, because I began training to compete in bodybuilding, which I did the next year. I began getting super interested in how the body and muscles work so I just drew those a fuck ton, and those anatomy studies ended up really helping my art skills in general.

Anyway! For animation... Hiroto Nagata and Q Kawa are big inspos.

This shit is so fucking RAW and HOLY SHIT when I look at how the perspective gets just in your face I always just think "what am I even doing man I have to PRACTICE". It's like watching a Zyzz or Ronny Coleman clip before doing a lift at the gym but for art, shit's motivational.

This cut in Ghost In the Shell as well is WOW, I think what speaks a lot to me is when an animation doesn't conform to what's standard in the medium and tries to push boundaries/be unique. Be it in this case through insane details, in the case of Mushoku Tensei through bg animation mixed with extreme foreshortening or just a crazy perspective and punchy movements in the Madoka clip.

Overall it's hard to say what else my inspirations are though. When it comes to manga and comics I can think of Batman Year One, The Climber by Shin-ichi Sakamoto, Ultra Heaven by Keichi Koike, Solo Leveling (big inspo in 2021) and Homunculus.

Also, even though everyone assumes it, I haven't played Cyberpunk 2077 or am that big a fan of the Blame! manga, I guess I just have a fairly similar artistic vision to both of those.

For animated fiction it'd be Spiderverse recently, Millennium Actress, Silent Voice and a million other anime I've forgotten the name of. Naoko Yamada's directing for Silent Voice or other anime like Hibike Euphonium and the Liz movie has always been amazing to me because she is able to express characters personalities through their body language, like they way they walk or stand, in a way I have never seen done before. Extremely recognizable and iconic style imo. A long time ago I used to be really into watching anime, but I don't care much for it anymore.

Other inspo would be this guy on twitter, his stuff is insanely cool https://twitter.com/be_myvu/status/1725069515107533178?s=46

It's like that Ralph Waldo Emerson quote - “I cannot remember the books I've read any more than the meals I have eaten; even so, they have made me.” I think throughout the years I've been so obsessed with all kinds of artists that I've taken in inspiration from everywhere. I cannot recall them all anymore, but they have made me the artist I am today.

Currently, like I said, I would consider movies to be my biggest inspiration because I find it interesting how cinematographers are able to stylize real life, which I'm trying to get closer to. If I could direct a movie, I would probably stop making art right then and there, but I'm not really working towards that goal anyway lmao. One day, being able to make a short film in animation would be something I would like to do though.

I'm not deep enough into the movie scene to get the street cred of being called an expert but I love them a lot. Fallen Angels made me fall in love with fisheye back then for example. Fight Club and The Batman have a grit to them visually that I find inspiring, and movies like Persona and Heat also come to mind when I think of movies I just love. I could look up my letterboxd for a more thorough answer but I feel I've already been writing way too long.

For video games, I guess you can imagine that I would say Signalis lmao. Besides that I can think of Subahibi (vn), Muramasa (vn), and Va-11 Hall-a for inspirations

Lastly, I guess huge inspirations are also a fuck ton of music. I mostly listen to either metal or hard techno, but I think I'll refrain from any more yapping.

I feel that this isn't really a great answer to the question, but it's the one I consider the most correct, because it's never as simple as just mentioning one artist. With a lot of these you wouldn't see a visual resemblence to my art, but in all of these I recognize a feeling that I also find in my own art.

Thank you for the question!

[shini--chan]

Can i req yandere sheet: attributes,flight, punisment for canada and russia?

Yandere Character Sheet I

1p Russia - Ivan Braginski

This is probably something I should have said before, but better late than never. Some of you might be inclined to voice your political opinions - with this I politely ask you to refrain from doing so. This has nothing to do with my own political stances and everything to do with this not being a politics blog. If somebody does decide to air their political opinions in the comments or ask box, it will be deleted without prior warning or further ado. Freedom of expression also means freedom to not express my opinions which is why politics will never be discussed on this blog. 

Also, only whole Character Sheets may be requested!

Trigger warning: isolation, hyperthermia, hunting (with you as the prey), murder, disposal of corpses, controlling behaviour, manipulation, hints of survival horror, neglect, implied physical abuse

Attributes - What sort of Yandere is he/she?

Ivan is ultimately possessive. He has been lonely for so long, unable to connect with other people on a deep emotional level for so long. Therefore, when he has you in his grasp, you can be assured that he'll never let you go. Why should he, when you are his happiness? In the end, it isn't very important to him to know everything there is to you, as long as you are at his side (Though, that doesn't mean that he isn't curious about you). 

If there is one defining thing about him, it is that he is unpredictable. He is a land of contradictions, the ultra rich live close to the dirt poor, with warm summers and hellishly cold winters - it is something that also reflects in his demeanour. He can be cultured - leading you out to theatre plays and ballets, visiting art museums and cuddling on the sofa at night and reading the classics with you. Or he could drag you along on a hunting trip, where the two of you have to live off the land for a few weeks. The ballroom or the heavy metal concert in the cellar of an old factory. It thus extends to his more unhealthy behaviour where he can maintain a stoic appearance for long, only for the emotions to concentrate into something more intense and then bubble over. It could often catch you unawares. 

This is only amplified by the fact that he tends to humour the misconceptions that many people have about him. After all, if they base their actions on stereotypes and fantasies, then it means they'll underestimate him, and he'll have the upper hand and wipe the floor with them. 

Aside from that, he is also very persistent. Russian winters are long and harsh, and additionally, Ivan has learned through his own history that nothing good ever comes easily. As such, he definitely wouldn't be dissuaded if you'd throw obstacles in his path. If anything, he would find it amusing that you think him so weak. So, no matter how far you run, no matter how much time passes, he won't forget you; all you can hope is that he'll lose interest or something else will take up the majority of his attention for a lengthy amount of time. 

He can also be surprisingly astute and attentive to you, and this can be to your advantage as much as it can be to your disadvantage. Advantageous in that be can be very considerate - offering his jacket, or buying you presents that you like. It is also where his obsessive nuances would come to the fore and he would be so eager to please and pamper you. 

The flip side of this coin is tied in with his paranoia. Having lived under countless occupations, regimes and suffered through rebellions and revolutions, plagues and famines, he would constantly be on the lookout for signs of betrayal. He is the sort to always look at his bedroom door before turning in and take keen note of people on the edges of his vision. Applied to you, that means he'll keep a very close eye on you if he thinks that you are being … disagreeable. There is the temptation to keep you under lock and key, but he knows that he has the best chance of catching you if it is in the middle of the act and if you are completely unaware of his suspicions. 

There is also the matter that he has the proclivity to be very harsh. After the life he has lived, the bloodshed he has witnessed and even partook in at times, it is difficult to faze him. Thus, his interpretation of what is hurtful or even traumatising is severely different than that of other people, thanks to his blood soaked frame of reference. While he is aware of this, it still would often happen that he would scoff and label you or other people fragile when tears are shed about genuinely hurtful things. Naturally, this further influences how he treats you - varying from being too harsh with his punishments to then treating you like a fragile doll that would need toughening up before being allowed out without supervision.

Ivan is also patronising. Not to the extent Yao is, but still to an overtly noticeable degree. The main difference is that he bases it not at all on seniority but on having lived through interesting times aplenty. He has had to claw his way to his current position with nearly nothing given easily and everything painstakingly defended over and over again (at least that is how it is in his mind). Can you even claim to have suffered through a fraction of the tragedies he has? So heed his word since he is a more knowing and experienced person than you.

Cornering - How would they get you?

Ivan would much prefer you come to him willing. Perhaps you are charmed by his appreciation of the arts and literature - then he'll try to woo you by playing the gentleman or the daring young hussar. Maybe you met him as an attendee of heavy metal concerts, as a hunter in the steps and the woods - he'll indulge you so as well, showcasing the more savage part of himself. The point is that he'll try to pinpoint an angle from which he can hook you in, and then pull you closer. 

But soon enough, conventenal wooing wouldn't be enough for him - his "passion" would only overcome his patience and he would want to haul you in quicker. Perhaps he would orchestrate circumstances so that you would be forced to move in, or he would manipulate events that you would have to rely heavily on him. He would dissuade you from seeking out friends and family, depicting them as parasitic and unhelpful. Whatever fears and doubts you have about your other chosen company. If he has to stand against the world, then he wants it to be with you at his side. 

Though, it can just as well be that he'll have to resort to more permanent and extreme measures. At his core, he is a hunter and like any accomplished hunter, he doesn't automatically go after the weak or old - rather, it is the prized pelts of the strongest creatures he wants. The more you prevail against him, the more it will excite him. To him, catching you will be more of a game than anything else, a game of cat and mouse. If he were angry with you, it would also serve as a moral lesson. 

Then there is the matter that he likes to manipulate events so that you end up in his arms - he is calling in favours, or gently nudging circumstances to play out in his favour. When it is required, he can be very patient and act with a lot of thought. He is more the sort to plan for the long term, even if he does have bouts of impulsivity. 

Expectations - What do they expect of you?

He holds a certain ideal in his head, that he wishes you to fulfil. If you aren't really there yet, it is still fine - diamonds have to be cut and polished as well in order to achieve their brilliance. Why shouldn’t it be the same with you? Nevertheless, he has some expectations that you have to fulfil, in his eyes. 

Politeness is one of them. This doesn’t mean that he wishes you to be unfailingly appeasing and gentle and kind all the time, all no. In his eyes, it is perfectly worthy of praise and encouragement if you have sharp edges. It is simply that you have to have tact and not make any scenes in public, and know how to act appropriately in any given moment. And that when you don’t really know how you should act, or are exceptionally jittery, that you don’t make a fool of yourself. What Ivan expects is that politeness that comes from having lessons on diplomacy or etiquette, or even just a good upbringing, and not that that stems from being a doormat. 

Topping that, he wants you to be both cultured and witty. Ivan is of the opinion that you have to have a good balance of both - those that are only book smart and not street smart can be painfully entitled and self-righteous. That is something that dives into that sort of idealism that makes Ivan physically ill. He would rather not have a missionary for a spouse - they can be so hard set in their way, no room for budging and certainly no reverse gear once they start to escalate. And they are certainly of the sort that will always place any blame on him. Street smart because he would love it if you can give your own input on social situations, and relieve some of the burden from him. So that he doesn’t have to guide you through interactions, and doesn’t have to clean up any mistakes that you make. So that he can let you out of the house without having to worry. But not too street smart please, and not just that - he needs you to be able to converse on higher topics that gossip and psychology and bread prices. Book smart because it often means cultured and he wants somebody that he can share his passions with - going to the theatre, reading books on stormy nights, going on long walks and appreciating nature. 

Related to that in a way, he would loath it if you are lazy. Participate in some sort of sport, preferably of the sort that isn’t of the team variant and allows you to shine on your own. Figure skating, fencing, chess, swimming … either one, maybe even all of it. Mind and body are connected so ensuring you have a healthy body through physical exertion should help prevent your mind spiralling down to insanity while at his mercy. Be the sort that doesn't procrastinate on chores and puts effort in running a good household. 

Additionally, Russia likes people that are ambitious, be it in the practical sense of building and acting, or in the manner that poets and philosophers are. Have more intentions than to just stare at a screen and give out money. Have passion, dare to dream and crave more than what you have. Life in the weather extremes of his domain don't favour those without fire in their souls, and steel in their spines. Sink or swim, and if you don't have the discipline to cling to your dreams and not give up, then you won't survive him.

Though, don't forget him amidst all your calls and desires. He wants you to care for him, to sooth his paranoia and worries. Run him hot baths and cook the meals. Come New Year's lay all the homemade biscuits and cakes and salads on the table for a feast. Be family to him and he'll be family to him. Be caring and affectionate and playful (but carefully so) behind closed doors and stoic and proper in public.

Faded - Would they let go of you in any way?

Maybe, when engaging in his favourite pastime of existential dread, he would come to the conclusion that he isn't good for you; he would let you go or even deliver you to your preferred person. At times, the self-hatred does come to the fore, and makes him conclude that the wisest course of action is the one he detests the most. 

Aside from that he has dreams that are bigger than his relationship with you. If you were to threaten his dreams of empire and the securities tied with it, then he would choose his dreams over you. While he would die for you (given that he will revive) he would never sacrifice himself for you. 

Or, you could evolve into the sort of person that he detests. Of course, he would attempt to take control over the wheel and righting the course, but a lost cause is a lost cause. He would reluctantly let you go and cherish the memories he has. Though he'll do everything in his power to avoid such a scenario.

Punishment - How would they proceed if you do something they disapprove of?

This is the case where he doesn't really pull any punches - though he wouldn't beat you. That is something he considers himself above and besides, common punches and kicks wouldn't even teach a dog right from wrong, so how would such methods be suited for his partner. 

Ivan views punishments as a form of re-education and it would be useless if he doesn't make it clear what lesson he is trying to impart, or if you don't learn it over the course of your chastisement. Besides, he doesn't see you as his enemy or an unruly subordinate, so why should he treat you as such? 

Thus you'll usually receive a long lecture on your misdoings - what exactly was wrong, why and how he will deal with it. And then the actual correctional actions would commence. 

In winter, he may leave you out in the cold for a few minutes, stripped of your clothing until you develop hyperthermia. Then you are forced to lay your life and wellbeing in his hands as he nurses you back to health. Besides, isn't it so romantic to have somebody save you from death's door?

In the warmer months, he would tie your hands and feet to weights and anchor you to the shoreline of a river or lake. You would be up to the chest or hips in water and he'll have you wearing either something short-sleeved or just leave you there in your underwear. That way, you would be at the mercy of the mosquitoes and insects and the creatures in the water. And at risk of getting a nasty sunburn, if you are prone to it. He would leave you for hours out there, so don't think it would be a walk in the park. If he is feeling particularly provocative, then he'll start a BBQ or do some fishing. And no, you're not getting anything to eat or drink. If you end up getting sick from drinking the water you're standing in, or eating some water plant, then he'll pump out your stomach. 

Of course there are other punishments, all along the vein of the carrot and the stick. Ivan will give you your own room during the first few years, and have it fitted to your tastes. Though, you'll only be allowed to have these if you behave yourself. The same goes for good food and beverages other than water. Should you start rebelling, then he'll start stripping away the luxuries that he has given you until only the basic necessities remain. People have had to survive on less than overcooked food and plain water, so you will just be fine. 

And don't presume that you can argue that you'll only give him respect if he shows you respect in the first place. While at his mercy, you're on the shorter end of the stick, powerless in relation to him, so you'll have to make careful and very good arguments. Also, don't even try to play at being a fixer-upper. He is not some broken clock that needs repairing, so don't try to "fix" him. Attempting to do so will push him very close to wringing your neck as one would a turkey on Christmas.

Though, above all, this isn't a poker game where he'll take bluffs and slights of hand and hollow promises with a mere scowl and some harsh words. Play him for a fool, make promises you have no intention of keeping, prove yourself to be utterly untrustworthy, then he'll make you feel sorry. Either, it will be solitary confinement for a week or two, or he'll dump you in the middle of nowhere, weeks away from any other human being. Perhaps he'll have to confine you to a sick bed afterwards. 

Reaction - How would they react to you escaping?

His first reaction is anger, though not of the screaming and breaking things. Rather, it is that ice cold anger that makes his blood freeze and his mind razor sharp in its focus. There is part of this wrath that is due to the disrespect you show him through running away. A good relationship relies on good communication, so why did you have to run away? Why didn't you just talk about your problems with him? Why do I have to behave like a sugar-addled brat? Perhaps he should lay you over his knee, and give you a good hiding. 

The other side to this coin is anger born out of worry. In terms of chinks in his armour, you can be considered one, and Ivan know of a great many people that would ruthlessly exploit it. And those people would care about honour, propriety or even so-called rights, not when ignoring that can get them what they want. Aside from that, you are so fragile and helpless compared to him - just how can you hope to survive the big, bad world out there? But don't worry, he knows how you feel, having been in a similar position a few times, so he'll be quick to come to the rescue.

Should it be possible, Russia will endeavour to retrieve you without the help. It is a private matter after all, and he does feel some second-hand embarrassment due to your antics. In the case he does involve some agents or other people, he'll be as vague about the true nature of your relationship. Just don't think that you can really use this against him - it will end up harming you more than him. 

However, there could be a scenario where he would even anticipate and hunger for this. A mind game, perhaps, one designed to break your hope of escaping and flaunting his power and skill to you. In his bid to make a lasting impression on you, he is willing to declare open season on you. If he is feeling particularly vindictive, he'll draw all of this out, play with you, like a leopard toying with a baby impala before ultimately killing and eating it. Beware, for he can empathise and think like you, and thus deduce your movements and ultimately track you down. You are the prey and he is the hunter and he is willing to let you think you have the upper hand, only to crush those fantasies underfoot when the time is right. 

Turnabout - Scenario: You have the upper hand? What would be different from their usual MO? 

He isn't the sort to take defeat lying down, given since past events have taught that that only leads to subjugation and misery. Each time he could think about giving up, about surrendering even just a fraction of the control that he has over himself, all the times he did so before flash before his eyes, especially the 90s of the past century, of Alfred imposing his shock therapy on him and the apocalyptic circumstances it spawned. All because he was naive enough to believe an enemy would show him mercy. Why should you be any different? So if he has to go down, then you'll go down with him - he burn the cities, salt the fields and flood the mines. If he has to die, then you can ride to hell with him. 

If it doesn't come to that, if the turn of events is born due to betrayal and false expectations, then he'll proceed slowly. Gradually he'll undermine your actions, or at least nudge the course of events to suit his needs. His goals don't have to be diametrically opposed to yours, or seem like things worthy of your attention. If you are ignorant in some category, then he won't hesitate to use it against you. He does intend on repaying you for everything you've inflicted upon him, and that with interest, compound interest if you are not cautious. 

Should you be kind and considerate, he'll be more open to such an arrangement, as long as you pay a lot of attention to him. Ivan will still find ways to influence you, and while things will be quiet for a while, it will eventuell end like the events described above in the second paragraph. He'll make it clear to you that it is nothing personal and just business. 

Vengeance - What would they do in the face of competition? 

Quiet like a tiger would act if somebody steals/tries to steal his meat. At first, he is content with threats and displays of powers, puffing himself up in order to appear bigger. Cold expressions and even colder words towards any other potential suitors. Commonly, he carries himself with such authority and purpose that he scares away most of those that stand in his way. 

If that is not enough, he might send some boys to knock the opponent around a bit. Or maybe stick out a leg at work to trip the other. A small message, a swipe with his claws - back off. Just a tiny incident to show the concurrence that he is serious. 

But if that isn't enough, then matters get dark. Perhaps the other has his reputation ruined, with illicit material of that person posted online. Maybe he'll warn everybody to stay away from that person, a recipe for insanity. Or if the man/woman dares hurt you, or worse, then that person will end up chopped up and rendered to pig food. Anything to keep you safe, after all.

Art is not mine: from Irina Vinnik and other artists

Info an the Yandere Character Sheets

[eclairfair98]

The swing doesn’t creak under his weight. It’s different from the little tyre Dad had strung up for him in the backyard when he was a kid. But in the ways that matter, it’s exactly the same.

Securing his grip on the chains, Pete takes a few steps back. And then, he lets go. Swings ahead, kicking the air. The white of his shoelaces almost glowing in the dark.

The height of the swing increases with every pump of his legs, a glorious breeze blowing against his damp brow. The rise in his body’s centre of mass making itself know in bubbly feeling floating in his belly.

It’s almost like one little swing is enough to turn-off something as big as gravity.

And maybe, gravity only exists as a manifestation of the loneliness of all the molecules and atoms and protons and neutrons and electrons that make up the Earth.

Of the loneliness experienced by all the living breathing people with burdens and disappointments and broken dreams that inhabit the planet.

“Pete… slow down. Please.”

The voice reaches out to him, but he can’t really hear it. Smooth syllables rounded out by the faint buzzing in his ears. ‘Cause somewhere in Pete’s head, all the sound has gone out.

And what is life? What does it even mean to be alive?

He closes his eyes against the cool wind buffeting his face, raises his legs as he reaches the topmost part of the arc of his swing. Takes in a breath that makes a gasping sound at the back of his throat.

Is it this?

The act of breathing in and breathing out.

Is inspiring oxygen and expiring carbon dioxide, pumping enough blood from his heart to his arteries and eventually, all of his visceral organs, enough to classify Pete as alive?

Maybe, it is.

If so, maybe he’s only as alive as an insentient tree, or a patch of symbiotic lichen growing on the bark of a tree. Or a non-flagellated bacteria that cannot move freely through its own immediate environment and lives out its brief, insignificant existence stuck in the same ultra-microscopic space that Nature deemed it appropriate to cage him in.

After all, what is he?

A universe of atoms. An atom in the universe.

There’s fresh wetness burning behind his eyelids, clumping his lashes, and Pete makes a valiant attempt to fight the stupid, overwhelming, all-encompassing need to cry, till he ends up crying a little, anyway. Staring up at a flock of stars scattered across the night sky. At the light that’s been traveling for hundreds and thousands of years to reach his tired eyes.

“Push me higher, Daddy, I want to fly!” he would implore. And his father’d always obliged. Instructing him to hold on tight, as the sky rushed up to welcome him with open arms.

The metal chains of the swing dig into his palms, but Pete doesn’t notice the discomfort, tightly closing his hands around the only thing tethering him to the ground.

Pumping his legs for the last time, Pete wonders whether he and his father are looking up at the same night sky, whether Dad sees the frozen lights twinkling against a backdrop of crushed, black velvet, and thinks about just how small he is in the grand scheme of things.

And in that sublime moment that seems to stretch on infinitely, Pete is flying.

After a while, he does slow down, spots Tom who’s now standing next to his swing, off to the side. His shoes skid against the sand as he comes to an abrupt stop. Little spots dancing in front of his eyes. Growing bigger and bigger. Taking on shapes and colors: starry-blues, fuchsia-pinks, firetruck-reds. Till his vision starts crumpling ‘round the edges.

Till strong hands grip his waist and his arm, deftly lower him into the swing, hold him securely till the colors fade away. Bleed into the night.

“I’ve got you,” Tom murmurs, warm hand moving up to cradle Pete’s tear-stained cheek. To caress his quivering chin with a calloused thumb.

This way they’re at eye level, and Pete can see his face clearly. Can smell his scent. Like a rain shower in the summertime after the grass has been cut.

“I really don’t know what this is, but I feel so scared, Tom… I feel so alone...”

Moonlight glances off Tom’s wedding ring, and Pete brushes his pinky against the cool metal. A minuscule movement that stills Tom’s hand. Turns it boneless in Pete’s grip.

“But you’re not alone, Pete. You don’t have to be scared, ‘cause I’m going to take care of you. You have me. You’ll always have me,” Tom whispers. And it feels as though he’s reciting a prayer, breathed into existence against the unsteady beat of Pete’s heart.

He runs his thumb along Tom’s knuckles, over the warmth seeping through his sun-kissed skin. Over the faint scars sloping over the smooth ridge.

Remembers how Tom got those scars. The bubblegum pink balloons that littered the varnished gym floor at prom. The fraying ends of the ribbon tying the corsage to his wrist. It’s rose petals picked away by his anxious fingers. The short-lived relief of getting away from the heat and the people and the noise. From all of the eyes on him, and all of the whispers. Of Annapolis admissions and impending engagements and the possibility of getting bonded before marriage. Of the fact that the Academy forbade Midshipmen from getting married. But didn’t stop them from bonding their omegas.

He remembers the sharp smell of unfamiliar alpha stinging his nose. The cold burn of calloused fingers on his neck. The yelp of distress punching it’s way out of his chest. The white-hot shock that flooded his insides when a senior he hardly recognized leaned in to deliberately scent him and remark: Kazansky’s got himself a sweet one, all right. But you don’t seem to like him very much, do you? Say, if you’re looking for someone better—

Remembers only being able to string together three weak words, nascent tears choking his voice: Let me go.

Remembers the blur of motion at the edges of his vision. Strangled sounds of a brief scuffle. Raw knuckles clenched into tight fists. A spot of blood staining the pressed-clean collar of Tom’s dress shirt. Quicksilver glinting in his steady blue eyes.

Unapologetic even in the face of detention and the threat of suspension.

The same eyes that are looking at him now: open and vulnerable and all the more steadier for it.

“Please, let me be there for you. Let me be good to you. Let me take care of you. Let me…”

Tom shuffles closer, touches the hem of his tee-shirt with shaky fingers. Smooths it down where it had ridden up, exposing a sliver of his pale abdomen.

“Okay,” he whispers.

Because Tom isn’t a liar. He would never lie. Not to Pete. Not to anyone.

Because Tom would never not be good to him.

Because Tom’s hands never shake, but they’re shaking now. As Pete cradles them in his own, brings them down to his still flat belly. Feels the press of them against his covered skin. The space between his breaths shortening, till he lets a little breath go.

Till he closes the distance between them, his mouth hot on Tom’s, the whole of him held between Tom’s shaky palms.

Because Tom feels like home.

Tom’s eyes widen, his next inhale coming in a little shorter, a little sharper. And Tom tugs him a little closer, curls his calloused fingers round the slope of his jaw, kisses Pete deeper. Something desperate in the hard press of his lips on Pete’s. Something heartbreakingly tender about it.

And Pete doesn’t know what to do with it. With the way his chest’s heaving like it’s being crushed under the weight of his ribs. With the way his lungs are bursting, ballooning up and taking his breath away.

And it feels so simple. So easy. Even though it really isn’t. The honesty of it. Of wanting to hold. Of wanting to be held. Of wanting to love and be loved.

But he leans into it. Fingers weaving softly in Tom’s thick hair, thumbs tracing the curve of his cheekbones.

Because, Tom is home.

[therealvinelle]

what are the cullen’s hobbies? (not canon ones, things and activities you think they’d enjoy - even if being a vampire made it a little difficult or damn near impossible)

God, my eye is twitching with the desire to give them the weirdest hobbies imaginable.

The Cullens have an insane amount of money and time, and their powers (ultra-fine muscle control, amazing vision, etc.) means they will excel at a lot of hobbies.

The hobbies they are prevented from by their vampirism are things involving animals, professional sports (as you'll have to submit to drug tests and your health and fitness routine being monitored), close contact with people in general, food-based hobbies, and hobbies were humans are likely to bleed one way or another.

To say nothing of how niche a hobby community can get. Everyone knows everything about everyone, and that opens up for a level of scrutiny a vampire might not be prepared for.

So, let's assume these barriers aren't an issue for whatever reason. What do the Cullens do?

(I... admit I wasn't entirely able to resist that weird hobby urge.)

Alice might just find herself doing cat or dog shows. The level of perfectionism and effort that goes into preparing your pet (depending strongly on breed and fur quality, of course, some breeds require little if any preparation. The universal experience, though, is GROOOOOOOOOMMMM and if it’s dogs, then TRAIIIIINNNNN your dog) could very well appeal to her, and I imagine she'd develop her own coat products. Silicone powder, color-enhancing shampoo, volumizing spray, she's got her own line, to say nothing of the edge her gift would give her, as she would know which puppy or kitten to buy. (The "which cub am I choosing?!!" issue being a common one because when a puppy is 8 weeks old you simply do not know if it will grow up to be a hottie or not, and it’s not much easier with 12 week old kittens. This is a science.) Her pets win everything.

Carlisle, well, the trouble with this guy is his work is his hobby. And it's already one vampires are supposed to be unable to do. The man is a fluke. Carlisle's hobby is now to be able to contribute to medical research and reference patients from the 1820's without anybody asking questions.

Edward... god, all I can picture is some intensely esoteric craft, one that five people in the world can do and that creates something beautiful and meaningful. Making instruments, the rarer and more elaborate the better, is the name of the game, I think.

Emmett would love to compete. He's a vampire, he's going to win at everything anyway, he's incredible. He kicks the butts of seventeen-year-old humans who worked hard and makes them all cry because he just took their scholarships. He whoops, beats his chest. VICTORY!!

Esme, cooking competitions. She's winning them all. And, because anon said to remove the vampirism problems, she's not eating her competitors.

Jasper is into theatre. Not because he's particularly interested in it, oh no, he just likes to abuse his gift this way. With his gift he can make the other actors bomb their scenes, or make an untalented schmuck seem like the next Rex Harrison. He's in a movie club for the same reason. He made one guy laugh during Schindler's List. Just the one.

Renesmée, if finding the limitations of her hybridness lifted, becomes a freestyle diver. Who needs to breathe? Usually Renesmée, but not anymore!

Rosalie has her cars already, but she strikes me as a horse girl. Give the girl an unafraid horse, and the ability to compete without that being an issue, and our girl is on a Dutch Warmblood competing on a national level in dressage.

[would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend]

lurantis or fomantis? they are my babies :3

[A link to a previously published fomantis post will be at the bottom of this one :)]

I worry that I say this too much in these posts, but this one was tricky. In all honesty, the data surrounding this pokémon is often contradictory, a perhaps fitting condition considering its tricky appearance. Overall, from the best that I can tell, a lurantis would not make the best pet for many owners.

Thankfully, size isn’t an issue. It rarely is with bug pokémon like, but not exactly like, lurantises. Lurantises only appear to be a bug pokémon in order to hunt and protect themselves (Ultra Sun, Scarlet), but they sell the facade well. This protects them from predators seeking a grassy snack and tricks tasty bug pokémon to come closer to them until it’s too late. While this strange pokémon doesn’t have very extreme space needs, they are notoriously difficult to care for… somehow.

The pokédex makes it very clear that it takes a very attentive trainer to keep a lurantis healthy (Violet). The species’ beautiful floral coloration, which have given it the reputation of being one of the “most glamorous Grass Pokémon” (Ultra Moon), is a handy health indicator: a happy and healthy lurantis will have bright, vivid colors. This is said to be difficult and laborious for trainers to maintain (Sun, Violet), though some have taken up lurantis care as a hobby (which indicates that its both possible, and attention-consuming). I’m not sure, however, why it is so difficult to maintain this level of health for a lurantis. After all, due to their common ability Leaf Guard, this species is immune to conditions like poisoning as long as they are in the sun, and their many self-healing moves, it shouldn’t be that difficult to maintain their health! It’s a puzzle. Let’s just say that a lurantis is unlikely to be a good starter pet.

While they may not be particularly violent normally, aside from taking down prey, lurantises are quite dangerous. Their move pool might not be too much to worry about on the surface, their biology has provided them with some truly formidable weapons. The sickle-shaped petals on their arms are actually quite sharp, allowing them to use moves like Slash and Leaf Blade (Ultra Sun, Shield). The danger in these petals goes beyond their sharp edges: lurantises are capable of turning sunlight into powerful beams which they can shoot from their petals that are powerful enough to “cleave through metal plates” (Moon). So. That’s… not great. Any pokémon that could kill you instantly, just from spending time in the sun, is one we have to consider very carefully no matter their usual behavior.

All-in-all, lurantis scores a very middle-of-the-road score due to the mixed results of my analysis. They’re beautiful, small, and smell nice (Scarlet), but they are also said to take a lot of attention and care, and could cause massive damage on whim. Prospective lurantis owners, I’ll leave this one up to you. Personally, I think a fomantis is a much safer choice.

The Fomantis post:

[raccoonsrummagerostrum]

Yautja x reader fluffy fluff

Yautja x gn!reader

Word count: 1k

Warning: slaughter of fictional animal, fictional blood

Summary: while away on a hunt your lover can't stop thinking about you. So they decide to bring you back a gift

A/N: with the state of the world being complet ass I figured we all deserved some good ol' fashion escapism! So please enjoy some ultra fluffy fluff in these trying times

Every night your lover slept over, they got to observe the sacred ritual of you arranging your bed. They had come to know that you could not sleep until everything was just right. The right pillows in the right places, the right temperature, the right noise level. Not to mention the stuffed animals. Your lover thought they were trophies, but you explained that they weren't. Though some of them had been given to you by an ex, but they don't need to know that. 

This ritual would start with a base of blankets, and end with the rotation of the stuffy to ensure that none of them got lonely or jealous. Your lover, ever confused by your strange earth ways, asked if the names for the stuffies were their species name. Still certain that they were trophies. You explained that actually Henry was a hippo and Margate was a horse and so on and so forth. 

This is what your lover was thinking about while away on a hunt. It was bitterly cold on this frozen planet. Specialized ice armor had been made for them and the hunting party, but the cold still got through. The point of this hunt, as with all hunts, was to take on this planet's greatest prey. But their eyes wandered to a much, much more submissive creature. This particular species was perfectly suited for this environment. Its unique triple coat kept it insulated during the long, cold, and dark winters of this planet. 

It was the middle of said winter and the thick fur coat was at its biggest and warmest. And your lover knew it was now or never. Rushing in, cloaking device on, they swiped low to avoid the slow but large and powerful tusks and took the creature's head clean off. Things didn't stay clean as the creature started to bleed a deep purple. But the large coat on its back remained unsullied. The yautja were always known to kill in a way to not destroy the trophy, but even still this was no ordinary trophy. 

The others in the party didn't understand why your lover had gone after such easy prey, and this mocked them for hunting like a suckling. But your lover just rolled their eyes and ignored them. Dragging the carcass into their room they got to work extracting and cleaning the thick coat. The softness was unusual to them. It was the kind of gentle warmth they had only felt two other times; from their mother, and from you. It nearly brought them to tears. Nealy. As they continued to work they couldn't get the thought of you out of their head. They longed to be with you, and they grew desperate to see your reaction to their gift. 

And with your gift ready, and the skull of the creature cleaned and added to their collection, all your lover had to do was put up with the harassment of their shipmates and watch the stars drift by as the ship made its way back to earth. 

~~

At last they made it. Earth was within sight. The home ship settled into orbit and your lover hopped into a space plane and raced down. But it was late. And the lights in your home were off. So they very quietly stuck in, and found you balled up in your nest. You were sound asleep and clinging onto a large overstuffed body pillow. Your lover knew you well enough that this was an attempt to replace the warmth and mass that they were meant to bring. 

It broke their heart. Since they first started courting you they had found themselves torn between what they know and what they love. They couldn't imagine giving up hunting, not now. Perhaps in a few decades when they were old and slow, they would settle on some vacation planet at the edge of the empire and enjoy retirement. But for now they wanted to hunt. They needed to hunt. They couldn't fight this primal urge to prove how dangerous they were. And especially when home with you they felt it, gnawing at their brainstem. Screaming and begging as if all their ancestors were pushing them to continue what they had started. 

But. They had spent the entire time away thinking about you. As if you had infected them. They couldn't focus on anything else. Even when on an inhospitable alien planet facing certain doom from the fauna and environment alike. The only thing on their mind was you. You and your human softness, your human cuteness. They didn't care what their shipmates said about how they were going soft and losing their edge. They didn't care how it felt like they were betraying their very bloodline. They wanted you, they needed you. Like they needed air. 

As though they were being pulled apart by their wrists they still couldn't not give either one up. No matter how much it hurts. They needed both. 

You sturred. And just flipped over. You didn't even bother opening your eyes, or fully waking up. You released the body pillow and rolled over. Pulling the blanket back in place,  you were still again. Your lover moved carefully. They started by folding up your gift and pushing it against your front. Then they surgically removed the body pillow that now lay ignored behind you, quickly replacing it with themselves. They fit perfectly. Almost like you knew they would come home tonight and made that space just for them. 

~~

Despite their best efforts the exhaustion of their hunt and race back to you betrayed your lover and pulled them into sleep. Something they didn't realize until the morning light hit their eyelids. They looked down at you only to discover you had flipped over once again and had your face firmly smushed into their chest. They knew well that if given the chance you would sleep for hours, so they attempted to grant you that. But they couldn't help but scratch their claws against your face as they relished this comfort. 

The sudden, and unexpected, but not unwelcome sensation roused you. The moment you realized who was on the other end of those claws, you sprung into action. Hugs, kisses, and 'I love yous', followed. They held you tight as you showed them with every ounce of affection your still sleep foged mind could give them. After a few moments calm returned to the room. You revealed in their presence, breathing in their scent, feeling their rough skin beneath your fingertips, hearing their deep and gravelly voice in your ears.

"Do you like your gift?" Gift? You thought. You look up with a puzzled expression, your head slightly tilted. 

"Gift?" You responded. Your lover noded. Reaching around you to grab the gift that had been absent mindedly pushed aside. As they pulled it into your view you stared at it in awe.

The hide was bright white, the top side covered in dense and soft fur. You pet it, letting your finger sink into the single softest thing you had ever felt. You pulled it to your face, and rubbed it against your cheek and down your neck. You never wanted to let go of it. 

By now you were very much used to the yautja style of gifts. And you had amassed an entire antique glass cabinet full of skulls. And you cherished each and every one, for you knew what it took your lover to get it for you. But this was unlike anything they had ever given you. It was perfect. 

"I saw this fur," your lover spoke again, "and thought only of you. I had to get it for you, for your nest." Your heart burst at that. The skulls they always brought you were due to their culture, but this came straight from the heart. As your own heart swelled and you stared into their bright eyes, you came up with a gift for them.

"I've got a something for you too." You said in a coy manner. Intrigued your lover asked,

"What is it?"

"Breakfast."

[rodismancave]

[ Starter for @for-the-better-and-worse ]

It takes Rodimus very little time to find what he assumes is the hole Prowl enjoys burrowing himself in. A place like this isn't all too hard to find, especially when all you have to do is find the last building you saw him in, and look for the one single hallway people avoid walking through at any given time.

The whole place is desolate. Perhaps a little more now with Starscream in charge. Rodimus has seen people, and he's certainly heard people, but it all feels superficial. Mechs he doesn't know, and won't ever bother getting to know.

In all honesty, Rodimus had been in Cybertron for nearly two days now. He hadn't want to give Prowl that satisfaction, and he would frankly never admit that Megatron and Ultra Magnus did, in fact, let him go without much trouble. He'd say his excuse of 'Urgent call from Cybertron, Prowl won't stop bothering me to help. Says only I can do it,y'know how he is' had been convincing, but he can never tell these days. He could've probably just left without saying anything and Rodimus is sure they'd only notice when they realize the quiet. (and the missing vessel)

When he knocks on the door and there is no answer, Rodimus simply makes himself at home. The door is unlocked (which shocks him to a degree, he'd expect Prowl to be better than this) and the inside is dark and gloomy and ridiculously organized, a feat Rodimus both appreciates as familiar, and is repulsed by due to the simple fact it reminds him of who lives here. Making sure not to leave a trail (Prowl is a detective, but Rodimus is stealth-- he knows not to be obvious when he wants to), Rodimus goes through a few surface level items, checking everything he can, gathering whatever fucked up personal information he can while Prowl is away. He's not trying to find anything to blackmail the mech, he is Prowl, after all, and everyone's got something on him, but he does enjoy going through people's things, reading things he is probably not meant to. Simply taking his time exploring his surroundings.

His (very careful, very methodical) research gives him a single screaming result: Prowl is boring, and he works and works and works, and doesn't even give himself the pleasure of having doodle pads. It's almost sad, really.

Disappointed but not deterred, Rodimus is quick to find a nice, cozy spot to wait Prowl in. (Which happens to be a particularly tight closet. er. He's not picky.) The runaway Captain inspects the door, shrugs, and closes it, trying to wiggle into a comfortable position, and promptly getting the edge of his spoiler stuck in-- God, he doesn't even know what it's gotten stuck in, but it hurts like a motherfucker, and he can't do anything about it now, because the more he struggles the worse it gets wedged in there. Oh, yeah, and he hears someone come in.

[missamyrisa2]

More Magic Box Chicanery

I find myself stumbling in my stride as I feel the fuzzy flutter of the Magic Box app opening on my tickler's phone. "Oh no..." I murmur, people passing me by in the mall casually curiously glancing over when I misstep. The scan tingles over my body sending the relative sensitivity levels back. That breezy moment of anticipation only gives me precious seconds to anticipate as their wicked teasing fingers thoughtfully flutter over the cute pulsing icons for sensations to send at a zone.

I can sense their smirk from far away even as I make my tummy taut and stiffen my thighs~ which does little good when the feeling of fluttery long nails glide lightly up my sides. "mmmh. Hmmmmmm~ excuse me" I try to stifle with a fake cough, humming as I step aside past a couple. My cheeks flare pink, my legs already weakening. They see my defiance, my attempts to cover what they're doing to my body and respond in kind ~ the adorable wiggling makeup brush icon is dragged over my navel in a circular motion~

"FFf~ nnnhht~ not the blushhhherrr~" I hiss, those words appearing on the transcription of my tickler's app. With a grin they pinch out and pinch in on my face in the program, sending two taunting blush brush sensations to my cheeks and accentuate the growing pink hue on my skin. I stomp forward, my locomotion captured by the sensors. Pinchy fingers attack behind my knees, the display illuminating how my legs quiver and protest. I stumble and brace myself against a long window pane, the proprietor of the accessory shop inside regarding me with a sassy glare. I try to explain wordlessly, pointing to various parts of my body~ which goes about as well as one might expect.

I try to wiggle myself away and look natural, and naturally, I look possessed by an evil force particularly as I start slipping cackling giggles. My phone buzzes furiously in my pocket, as if the vibrations had just been upgraded tenfold. I frantically reach for it and just as its face is shown, the speaker screams to life ~ cleverly hijacked by the magic box app to make use of a text to speech app. "Coochie coo, giggle bug~!" the robotic voice calls out. Behind me I sense a growing crowd.

The girl from the shop is following intently but at a distance. Her modest long dress and uptight ponytail swish and bounce while she makes a phone call. My tickler breaks my long legged pace by sending rubbing thumbs to my sides and a feather duster to my back. The brisk rotations have me screaming out in laughs, twisting side to side frantically clawing at nothing. When I stumble and slide across the smooth cold floor my shirt rides up and immediately the virtual thumbs are relocated to my hips as they become exposed. I buck in what appears to be a suggestive motion. The proprietress is outraged, shaming me with a wagging finger. Bystanders are equal parts horrified, smirking, and curious~ "Tickle tickle tickle~!" the text to speech reads out ~ it could have been used to prove what was happening to me, but no one but me could hear such things over my own laughs!

"Pleease stop please you don't know what you're doing to me no no nonoo moree~!" I beg to the air, my words scrolling across the magic box as my tickler purses lips and shortcuts to the royal zones. Feathers are sent to my royal chest buttons. I arch my back and thrash, trying to shake them loose. The ultra soft teasing sensation tickles incessantly, teases me into gasping giggles. The dreaded single finger tickle is sent to my most royal area, first tracing my inner thighs with a slow stride. "DON'TTT TICKLE ME THEREEE~!!" I hear myself shriek between my breathless high pitched laughs.

My legs open and close and kick and squeeze. The tickles never stop. Every twitchy reaction and dramatic exasperation is relayed back for their amusement. "Yes, definitely there. Cute gigglebugs deserve to be tickled. And taunted. And teased. And bullied. And edged. Always." The robotic voice stipulates, before devolving into cutesy tickle sounds, something like wiiddawiddawooooo before being entirely lost in the rising noises between myself, the crowd, and a now hysterical storekeeper.

The single finger tickle migrates up, and begins tracing and stroking my royal part. I plead and beg, I grasp at my chest and my legs. "NOT THE QUEEN PARTTTTT~" I whimper loudly, writhing on the ground as a swarm of sensations are summoned. A blusher teases the tip, barely touching. Two bullet vibes trade off gliding under the head. The slow moving oiled up hand grasps the base and barely moves. An affectionate other hand is gently massaging the royal jewels. And a feather fills in the gaps, occasionally taking over each location when the tool retracts for a moment to fly up and tease my bouncing navel. My royal chest buttons aren't left out as lingering lover kisses are sent to make out ~ and a final set of kisses are sent right to my own lips, brushing ever so lightly. My tickler just knows how to hot wire me into madness ~

My queen part throbs and aches for release, and for the time sees none. The prominence of my royal part in my snug bottoms is all too obvious. The crowd watches and "oooooohs!" as it looks like I might reach the conclusion, casting their disappointment when the sensations retreat and leave me to suffer the tingle, barely able to get a word out. The accessory girl watches but also converses rapidly on her phone, her high ponytail bouncing in judgement. My tickler is simply enjoying how my royal part twitches and trembles, leaving the edge protocol on automode~

And despite the promises of endless edging, the ticklegasm is indeed doled out after endless rounds of rising my arousal to the peak and letting it tumble back in gigglegaspy agony. The single kiss given to the deathspot under my tip triggers the soft ticklecum, sending my body into writhing convulsions, gasping to the sky and grasping my face as I cannot believe I've just been made to put on such a climactic performance for this crowd. The magic box, my tickler, has made me cum right here on the floor of the mall for at least twenty bystanders and a very judgemental store owner.

The next moments are a blur. The magic box continues to taunt, sending loving kisses at my belly and sides and neck. Feathers flutter all over my royal parts to milk out the remnants of my ticklecum. But I'm being rushed, moved hurriedly back on my path. Robed figures are hustling my steps, the modest girl follows aside and is frantically explaining to them. Moments later as my fuzzy haze begins to fade, I find myself in the back room of the shop, seeing the shiny girly accessories as the owner slams the gate down and slaps the lights off.

I'm weakened by my forced ticklegasm, but even without that I know the strength of these robed masked people would be too great to fight. My clothes fly off in their hands, pulled and tossed carelessly. They put me into a chair and fold my legs up, strapping my ankles into place and my arms over my head so that I sit bound with my legginess compacted and my royal area totally exposed. I can only assume my tickler watches with bated breath ~ they can't see what approaches me now but they will know soon enough.

I shriek in madness, trying desperately to pull loose from the chair. The leader of the group flexes their fingers and pulls on gloves as the modest girl grins and pours excessive amounts of lubricant onto their fingers. "We'll get all that evil out of you now" she skitters around like a mouse, testing the bindings and nodding as those masterful looking fingers of the master float down and seize my quivering queen part. I groan and moan out, pleading that I'm already spent, I already came.

"We have to get it all. All of it now."

And my voice reaches a new volume when a finger wiggles and slides to my tush, gliding up and finding my honeyspot. Incredibly, my resolve holds and I only grow slightly aroused. The master looks to the girl as she all to quickly seals my fate. "Try tickling~"

The finger starts moving in a rapid motion. It teases me beyond measure, that finger mercilessly stroking and refusing to let go as my queen is squeezed and milked. My tickler surely watches with the utmost amusement as to what their tickles have led me into now, I can sense the magic box is still open. I'm screaming with laughs now gigglemoaning to the heavens~ my sounds drift gently out of the closed shop and soon to be closed mall. "All of it~"

[witchofthesouls]

I keep thinking about the Other!humans-into-Cybertronians. A lot.

Jack constantly sneaking around the base, spooking the Autobots like the ghost he is. June is no different. Absolutely amused whenever she gets someone to ruffle their plating with every random appearance.

Whenever Jack and Miko get excited, their wings start quivering and beat rapidly. When sad, they droop low. When spooked, they flare. When upset, they pull back with a higher flare.

Raf not only enjoys being carted around like a football, but likes tucking into someone’s side for a nap, especially after someone returns from a drive. He’s a heat-seeker. He’s the easiest one to find, usually in his pen, digging into rocks by the machinery, or underneath the computer.

Somebody save the rest of the Autobots whenever June and Optimus vibe on the same level. Like of course, the semi-domesticated mech from the Wastelands turned archivist and into a Prime gets along with the resident cryptid and the feral sparklings.

The kids are hot gossip at Jasper Hospital. There’s quite a few well-wishers and gifts. Miko absolutely adores the durable plushie/squishmallow that a floor worker from the Aquatic Unit had crafted and sent over. The Autobots have mixed feelings since it’s pale, has multiple faces, and many tentacles, and Miko really likes pouncing on it. The creepy thing causes a lot screaming when it propelled itself in the water. Joy from the kids; terror from most of the mecha.

Jack is picking up Neocybex quite well. He has the unfortunate habit of mashing different dialects together. It drives Ratchet, Arcee, and Ultra Magnus up the walls. Optimus doesn’t see the problem, the boy is learning quite well. (Orion Pax went through the same thing. Alpha Trion had the patience of saint to unravel the mess, especially when the ancient mech also had to bridge the Wastelands instinct with Iaconic mid-to-upper-caste sensibilities.) Wheeljack and Smokescreen, live on the edge and fear few things, cackled like hyenas when Ultra Magnus does an impressive spit-take when Jack, testing out more phrases, tried asking him for a ride. No child, not with those subglyphs.

There are many snapshots with the sparklings. On the ceiling, perched on the computer, cuddled in lap, in the makeshift nest that was once the couch, in the oasis, climbing all over walls and trees, deep in a hole, happily chirring in the showers, feeding wildlife, hitching a ride on someone’s back, and so on. (Weirdly enough, Jack’s pictures and videos have an eerie, dark shadow lurking at some corner. There’s no eyes upon the figure, but it seems to turn its uncomfortable gaze upon those that focus too much on it.)

Many times an Autobot had woken up by Jack’s face peeking down from the ceiling or Miko silently staring along with her giant plushie/squishmallow’s multiple, beady, dark eyes at the head of the berth. Yes, bitty, get in the berth.

The Autobots get used to Jack and Miko scurrying up their frames to peek over a shoulder as they hook into the seams of their back-plating or spinal struts. It’s easier to keep track of the sparklings, especially with Jack’s habit to suppress himself.

Never had an Autobot base been so meticulously clear, especially in private rooms. All because the baby Predacon will get too curious about anything on the ground and, due to the lack of fingers in Raf’s alt-mode, will nibble and take a mean bite. With varying levels of success. 

There’s an unspoken agreement to not give the sparklings sugar. Jack and Miko already have the zoomies. Just as there’s an unspoken agreement not to question too deeply about June’s work and habits.

When Nightstrike, the once Base Cougar, finally got released, the kids raised so much fuss that a trip was made to try to find her in the wild. Of course, she finds them. Never had the Autobots seen such an indulgent look by an animal as Jack and Miko trill and chirp at her.

Because Miko is Miko, no matter the species change. She had immediately darted through the Ground Bridge and, much to the Autobots’ absolute horror, dropped into the icy landscape of Greenland during a major storm. Luckily, they didn’t recover an icicle of a sparkling, nor did Miko suffer any cold-related damage to her frame, but it was time that Optimus was truly angry and kept her grounded right by his side for several weeks.

[theseasicksailorblog]

Indie Sleaze: 5 item shopping list

My non-negotiable 5 clothing items to live your indie sleaze truth, written as 2000s/2010s fashion historian.

Ballet Flats

Worn by school-teachers and it girls alike, ballet flats have always been a staple in fashion history, especially in the late 2000s and 2010s. For a first time wearer a simple black flat is a safe bet as it can be paired with anything, but if you want to sleaze it up, opt for a metallic or glitter variation. Something to note about indie sleaze fashion is that the more extra it feels, the better it looks, so don't hold back on cool, funky, flats. These can be found in thrift stores, department stores, and all over Amazon.

Metallic Fabric

Since the dawn of rave/party culture, glamorous lamé fabrics have used for just about every article of clothing possible. Cheaper spandex alternatives rose to popularity as The Cobra Snake era partying merged into mainstream. Shiny red leggings paired with a black cropped tank was peak casual 2010s sleaze attire. A great place to find styles like this is Los Angeles Apparel aka American Apparels re-brand. Though they no longer sell the fun colored disco pants and shorts, the lamé collection offers a variety of shiny colorful items with that trustworthy AA quality. Other places to look are party supply stores, poshmark/depop/ebay, rave shops, and of course Amazon.

Ultra Feminine Dresses

One of the most underrated pioneers of indie sleaze fashion is model and t.v. personality Alexa Chung. While Alexa is often grouped with the Twee (shopping list coming soon) and hipster aesthetics of the 2010s her ability to blend soft girlish dresses with last nights makeup allows for an uber sleazy effect. Mini shifts, polka dotted a-lines, and vintage baby-dolls all work as long as you pair them with unkempt hair and grungy tights to keep the edge, bonus points if your dress has a peter pan collar or your tights have rips. You can find these practically anywhere but start at your local thrift store as they usually have large selections of outdated dresses that were popular during this time period. Alternatively look at department stores, vintage/antique markets, and you guessed it Amazon.

Ringer Tee's and Shorts

Before athleisure was an over-saturated mess of "flare leggings" and Lululemon we took inspiration from student athletes everywhere with the iconic ringer tee's and ringer shorts. Getting their name from the contrasting ring of fabric outlining the seams of the article, ringer style pieces were seen everywhere and worn with everything. Both such versatile basics that could be kept casual or dressed up that you might see a ringer tee with a skirt, or ringer shorts with stockings and a blouse. Los Angeles Apparel has great options for both the shirts and the shorts, places like Walmart and Target often carry ringer shorts, and Forever 21 with great ringer tees, and as always Amazon.

Stockings/Tights

It doesn't matter if they're black, white, multicolored, fish-netted, or opaque, stockings always find a way to elevate a basic look and is often what takes an outfit from mainstream to indie sleaze. Don't worry about buying a super nice quality pair as stockings look best with ripping seams and enormous holes. But don't tear them with a fork like those tiktok girls did in 2020, it screams try hard as a real indie sleaze girl would rip them via dancing, curb sitting, and drunken stumbling. Just like the dresses, you can find tights anywhere. However I don't recommend secondhand as they are technically an undergarment and it's hard to ensure the level of cleanliness.

Spacehey saw it first https://spacehey.com/theseasicksailor

[draconic-absurdism]

More paws for sale, either shipped or for Anthrocon pickup! Asking $160 for these, as they're my first pair of JUMBO paws!!!

They're the biggest pair I've ever made, and are most likely the biggest they could get without becoming ridiculous :D

I also got a new Andis ultra edge clipper and it works BEAUTIFULLY, it trimmed the beans on these paws perfectly and I think that level of clean shaving is really going to take my fursuit work to the next level!!! Big hype!!!

I'm currently setting up my SumUp storefront after switching over from PayPal. I need a few days for my account to be verified. **IF YOU'RE INTERESTED IN BUYING THESE PAWS feel free to DM me,** I will hold them for you! ^_^

[🪡 Modified Kloofsuits pattern]

[tfwhynoy]

Hello! S/O is phlegmatic and usually doesn't care what happens on the Autobot base. Type...She just watches, doesn't go anywhere, and doesn't do anything special. Perhaps her pofigistichnost emotionlessness and some laziness irritates the active Miko. What about bots?

I now have a very obscure word to describe me from high school. Cool

There's a general feeling of 'why are you here?' Everyone else is fighting for the lives of themselves and those around them. They're either clinging to the moments of peace while they can, or preparing for the next fight or mission. You don't take part much of anything, and when you do you aren't even an active part. You shrug off most invitations unless there's the option to sit and watch.

That's okay, bots like Optimus, Ratchet, and Ultra Magnus are pretty similar, but they're also usually busy doing something. You're human so you're technically there for your own safety more than being an active war effort so there's no reason for anyone to suggest you leave.

Making bonds with most of them is going to be hard.

Wheeljack is probably just going to ignore you unless he's your guardian and then... He's a pretty high energy guy most of the time. He likes having someone he can banter and be rowdy with. Considering he wouldn't be much of being anyone's guardian you're already gonna be fighting a bit of an uphill battle. it's not that he dislikes you, you go along with whatever happens well enough that you aren't a bother, it's just hard to forge a bond when you give him nothing.

Bulkhead is a little torn. It's nice to have someone whose calm and mellow. As much as he loves Miko, if the team got another of her he's pretty sure Ratchet might explode. He just wishes you would try. Maybe if you put yourself out a bit you'd feel more like apart of the team but with you always standing on the edges watching, it just feels like they have an odd one out that won't leave.

Ratchet and Magnus feel pretty similar. You're another human, another liability if you're in the field, and another person they have to watch for at base. You don't cause much trouble so they aren't going to open the can of worms that is fighting for you to be kicked out.

You can't understand Bee and you don't really go out of your way too interact with him as a result. You're relationship with him is somehow even more painfully neutral than anyone else on the team.

Arcee feels a little uneasy around you. She can't pin point why, but she tends to linger on the edge with you whenever you're around. It just doesn't feel comfortable doing things with someone constantly watching like you.

Smokescreen is probably your best bet when it comes to a guardian. Someone who he can explore human culture with whose level headed and takes a backseat while he picks what he wants to do would probably be good for him. He considers you a friend but he can't shake the feeling that you may not feel that way towards him. Makes him feel down if he thinks about it too long.