#but i recognize that in many ways this is a product of the world and culture we live in and that he lived in

[uncanny-tranny]

Something I realized (which was obvious to me subconsciously) is that... The family that vehemently didn't accept me when I first came out but now do accept me are still the same family that I am most unwilling to be open about things I feel protective over.

I remember that my dad reacted so poorly, not to my coming out, but to my transition specifically that my therapist was the one to ask if I wanted to put it on my file that I wanted nothing to ever be shared with him about my health after I broke down multiple times due to my anxiety that I would never transition. While there are and were protections for me, I was incredibly fearful at the time because I was a minor, and I was so worried that he would have prevented my transition that I couldn't have said for certain what (if any) lengths he would have gone to to prevent that.

He's grown a lot as a person, and made some commendable strides. But he didn't find out from me when I medically transitioned the second I turned eighteen, and I think that's among the things that truly made him realize the scope of the issue.

I'm not here to guilt trip parents, guardians, or other members responsible for the care of the children or teens or young adults in their care.... but this is a cautionary tale. You aren't saving the people in your care when you do this, you simply reinforce an idea that you will never care for them, never want them as they are, would rather them be shoved away.

When you give people reasons to be secretive, they will behave secretively. When you give people reasons to doubt their safety around you, they will become sneaky, defensive, and withdrawn. When you give people reasons to doubt that you value their life, they will believe that you don't care if they live or not.

#queer #lgbt #lgbtq #ally advice #transphobia #transphobia tw #i always feel the need to preface that i have a rebuilt relationship with my dad specifically... #...but that my experiences with them have served to me in many ways to illustrate... well... what NOT to do if you are in his situation #i do still grieve that my relationship with him looks very scarred and that it took a long time to get to where he is now #but i recognize that in many ways this is a product of the world and culture we live in and that he lived in #in a world he grew up gay was used as a slur. would i expect that trans people would be treated better? #and he was responsible for how he reacted but also... it's nuanced as to why he reacted so poorly #and i want people to AVOID being like he did if they EVER want a decent relationship with the other person #i want this to be a cautionary tale and that my ending is unique. not all of us are even ABLE to repair a relationship that was THAT broken #some of us die trying. some of us never get closure. some of us are in active danger because of those reactions #and that's the more common reality i have found. most other queer people have no-contact with families who pulled the shit my dad had... #...and that's - frankly - a good idea in 99.9% of cases. i will never judge someone for the way they go about dealing with that #i'm just emphasizing that i am unique in the sense that i was able to somewhat repair that

[certified-bi]

Okay all my thoughts because some people have been saying that not supporting this change is not supporting artist and creators and as an artist fuck that.

1. Audiences owe you nothing. You have to convince them to engage with your creation not the other way around. This is something both the nonprofit theatre I work with recognizes and huge companies realize. It's just part of life. There are so many talented people in the world making amazing art, videos, music, writings, and on and on, and there's only so much time in the day. I'm not saying you shouldn't know your worth, just that being flippant about how little you care about those who can't pay isn't a good move. On that note...

2. PR is everything. If you haven't made a visible effort to push patreon, channel memberships or other avenues of making money, don't be suprised that your creation that was previously accessible to those without extra cash and to those who can't support foreign subscriptions due either to conversions or because it simply doesn't work, being made private isn't popular. There's a big leap from "We want to have more artistic control" to "We can't afford to make our content accessible to most of our audience," and people are smart enough to see this. You either have to make budget cuts or give into sponsors. This isn't unique to Watcher, it's part of literally every production from broadway, to Hollywood, to YouTube. Unless you can fund it yourself or get viewers to pay(which given how many are already strapped for cash...) that's life.

Not to mention they simply do not have enough followers to make the switch to a paid only site(dropping the first epsiode only on YouTube isn't going to draw people in, they're just going to say "oh why start if I'm not going to see the rest" and not watch) especially not one that is buggy and a security risk. Even if the switch had been supported its not going to end well. The only reason services like nebula and dropout work is because of the large amount of series and creators and the fact those creators still are partly on YouTube so new people are drawn in.

3. As for the price, 6 dollars a month is a not a good starting price for only their content and that's as someone who pays for nebula. I'd be paying the same amount for a fraction of the access to others work. Actually it'd be twice as much. And before someone says "it's only a coffee-" that's for you. Not everyone has your lifestyle. And with every other patreon and subscription service that says the same thing, it all adds up and I simply don't think 60 dollars for 48 videos a year on a subscription basis where you don't get to keep the videos if your situation changes, some of which don't appeal to every viewer is a good move. If you were able to buy physical copies of your favorite series they've made that'd be different, but that's not what this is.

4. I do believe that the employees deserve a livable wage. I also did not hire them. It is not on the viewers that they hired more people than they could afford to. They can charge that much if they want to to try and balance this out. They also shouldn't be suprised if not many can or will sign up. They also don't have to be based in L.A. L.A has ridiculous costs associated with it, and quite honestly it doesn't really add much to the content. I'm not saying they need to move to the middle of nowhere Kansas. Simply that living and basing your studio in a super expensive city and then being suprised money is tight is just weird.

5. Something that occurs to me is that they might get more views if their playlists were better set up. Only some series are given playlists. It'd be easier to find all of the series and binge them if they didn't just show off their more popular shows. Honestly the only draw the streaming site has to me is that the series are actually labeled well.

Do I think the weird ass energy towards Steven is necessary? No. He's not the only one at the company and they're all adults. I actually liked grocery run and homemade, and like to see them back. The parascoial attachment to Ryan and Shane is annoying in people's criticisms, but that doesn't make them completely wrong. If you're going to brand yourself as the anti capalist underdogs you can't get away with being dismissive of your poorer fans. The dissonance is what is causing this backlash and makes you look like hypocrites. I definitely think Steven is turning into the fall guy which is fucked up, his statement and the fact dish granted is one of those shows that make people uncomfortable about wealth flexs doesn't help matters.

#watcher #they really need a CEO who has business experience first and foremost or at the very least a consultant they actually listen to #they also should put more focus on other personalities and actual give them a chance to stick. none of them got famous or a fanbase in a day #give some of the others time to grab attention

[kitten4sannie]

ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴᴇᴛ

ᴛᴇɴᴛᴀᴄʟᴇꜱ/ᴛɪᴛꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ➠ ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ

pairing: intergalactic alien idol! wooyoung x cyborg call girl! reader (fem) feat. ai! san

genre: futuristic au, idol au, smut

summary: your company pleasureplanet™ gets a call from the most sought after idol in your galaxy, requesting you for an evening. he shows you a side his fans have never seen before.

w.c: 2.5k

warnings: switch! wooyoung, reader adapts to whatever woo wants for her own pleasure ^^, alien heat cycles, woo’s got an big alien cock, implied voyeurism, praise, begging, tentacle sucking + fucking, deep-throating, titfucking, choking kink but not in the way you think, unprotected sex, just…so much cum and alien goo lol, breeding/impreg kink, actual impregnation (in this economic climate??), oviposition, creampie, cum inflation

a/n: i’m giving my lord and savior cthulhu all the credit for bestowing this idea upon me,, it’s not like i’ve been wanting to write something this heinous for months and months… where’d you even get that idea from?? haha…ha. but fr im so happy i finally got to write out something that’s akin to a hentai lol i’m living my best smut writer life rn. please heed the warnings and if you did so i hope you enjoy :3

Now Playing:

ᴘʟ4ʏɢ1ʀʟ ʙʏ ʟᴏʟᴏ ᴢᴏᴜᴀÏ

0:01 ❍─────── 4:28

Volume: ▁▂▃▄▅▆▇ 100%

ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

Wooyoung woke up from his sleep in a cold sweat, the flashing lights projecting from the room’s flatscreen making patterns on his glistening skin as he sat up, his body filled with an odd, though familiar heaviness that he knew he would have to take care of sooner than later. 

“Shit, is it happening already?” he whispered to himself, groaning as pulled himself to the edge of the king-sized bed to sit comfortably. “San, do a body scan.” Wooyoung rubbed his tired eyes, waiting for his in-house AI system to kick in, a familiar ding suddenly ringing out inside the empty room.

A projection of a youthful man with sharp, feline-like features appeared on the wall closest to Wooyoung’s bed. He looked in Wooyoung’s general direction, giving him a cordial smile and a bow. “Good evening, Wooyoung.” Blue rings of light formed along the edges of San’s brown eyes, studying Wooyoung’s form. “It appears that your BPM is above normal range. Abnormal body temperature and cortisol production have been detected. Unusually high levels of arousal and semen production are recognized as well,” the AI stated matter-of-factly, blinking. “You seem to be exhibiting symptoms of an illness that members of your sector are susceptible to contracting during this time of year. Would you like to see an in-depth analysis?” 

“Yes, San.” Wooyoung waited for a moment until a prompt appeared on the small computer built into his wrist, tapping a few options, until it projected various images to him. The application showed him what he was in denial about discovering, the bright red letters indicating that he was indeed smack dab in the middle of an intense heat, and to make things worse, he was carrying. To make matters even worse, he knew his kind was required to transfer his offspring to a willing partner, or else his own body would become a birthing ground.

Knowing that he had too many fans relying on him in the intergalactic entertainment world, it simply wasn’t an option for him to retire. He would have to find someone that could host them for him, but where? And so late in the night? Who could possibly–

“Hey, sexy, are you looking for a late-night lover?” an ample-chested member of the spider dimension with eight hooded eyes and fearsome mandibles questioned Wooyoung from the bright TV screen, bringing a bit of their web together into a pattern that formed a heart.  

“Oh?” Wooyoung murmured, realizing that just perhaps his reluctant, desperate prayers to his galaxy’s god were in the process of being answered.

A curvy gray alien leaning seductively against a bar table continued the spiel, “Someone you can unload your deepest desires onto? Someone that can make your wildest dreams come true?” 

“Well, look no further.” An enthusiastic, though automated voice took over this time, as the screen showcased the company’s shiny logo, while it flipped through a slew of optional playmates across the screen like pages of an open book, showcasing the wide range of choices Wooyoung had. “Our playmates at Pleasure Planet will take good care of you. For price options, call (XXX)-XXX.” 

Wooyoung bit his lip, about to look away from the TV when you popped up on the screen, drawing his attention to you, your human-like beauty mixed with the metal intricacies of a robot standing out to him. 

“Well, what are you waiting for, baby?” you asked Wooyoung through the screen, laying across a plush velvet couch in only a small black slip, your back arched, running your fingers up along your sleek body, until you brought them into your hair to push it behind your ears, your fingers brushing against the small lit-up chrome circle near your temple. “Give me a call~” 

Wooyoung gulped so hard, he almost swallowed his Adam’s apple, knowing what he had to do. He rubbed at his sweaty neck, feeling more beads of sweat trickle down his neck to his chest, the loose sleep t-shirt that was hanging off his shoulders now tinted a darker color. “San, call Pleasure Planet and book me an appointment with the cyborg girl.” 

“Right away, Wooyoung,” San obeyed, bowing at the waist, before his image dissipated, the wall returning to a blank state. 

࿏࿏࿏

A soft ding sound filled the empty space of Wooyoung’s expansive cyber chamber after some time went by, finally distracting the overheated alien from his current predicament. He continued to lay in a fetal position on the side of his bed, too overwhelmed by the dizzying amount of arousal that was swirling around his insides like a shoal of fish. “Is…nnngh…she here, San?” 

San’s form materialized onto the wall once more, scanning his Master’s crumpled up body, running a number of tests, finding that the situation was beginning to grow imminent. “Yes, she is, Wooyoung. Please begin the mating ritual as soon as possible, to prevent less favorable outcomes. I’m sure your company wouldn’t want you–”

“You think I don’t know that, San?” he snapped back, holding a hand to his disruptive abdomen, groaning in both pain and unexplainable pleasure, as what Wooyoung could only describe as molten-hot lava churning around inside his core, just aching to spill out of him. “Where the fuck is she? I need to–”

“I’m here for you, Wooyoung. Please, put your worries to rest,” you replied as you entered his room, Wooyoung’s eyes following your movements like a moth to a flame, taking slow steps up to his bed, shedding various articles of your clothing until you were bare for him. 

“O-oh, hi,” Wooyoung croaked, doing his best to sit up in his bed with his head against his pillow, beads of sweat already soaking into it, strands of black hair sticking to his forehead. He watched you climb onto his bed and crawl towards him, his eyes shifting from your face to your body, trying to get his spinning mind to stop for a moment. “Wh-what’s your name?” 

“Y/N, but you can call me whatever you want. I’m yours for tonight~” You mounted him, lowering yourself down to feel his aching length pressing into your heat through his boxers. 

“Y/N…” he repeated softly, entranced by you. 

Smiling down at him, you gently ran your hands up his rapidly rising abdomen, feeling up his soft body along the way, eventually slipping him out of the sweater he was in, eliciting a whine from the alien below you. You brought your lips near Wooyoung’s parted ones, whispering against them, “Oh, baby, you’re in bad shape, huh? Need me to take care of you?” 

Wooyoung nodded weakly, his hands on your thighs, feeling your soft skin underneath his heated grasp. He squeezed into it, swallowing harshly, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing inside his throat. “Y-yes, please, it hurts so bad…” 

San, who was still watching from the wall, cleared his throat, doing his duty and informing his Master of important information. “Master, please return to your body’s natural state soon. Your vitals are starting to worry me.” 

“I got it, San,” Wooyoung grunted, glaring at the AI, before returning his attention to you. “Oh my god…” He groaned at the sight of you running your hands up and down your perfectly created body, your fingers slipping past the metal, glowing seams that sealed you together, until you got down to your glistening cunt, your fingers spreading yourself open for his viewing pleasure, all while grinding back and forth against his slippery, clothed length. “Y/N…fuck…I just…don’t want to scare you…” 

“You won’t, trust me. Please, let yourself go, Wooyoung, it’s okay,” you reassured him softly, licking at your fingers before they returned to your perfect pussy, rubbing at your clit, feeling zaps of electricity course through your body, your artificial synapses firing off inside your brain. “I’ll take care of you, I promise.” 

Inhaling sharply, Wooyoung closed his eyes for a moment to ground himself, knowing you wouldn’t judge every inch of him like people on the Universal Net did. Little by little, he let his body return to its natural state, small, ridged scales growing in patches along his skin, which exhibited an electric blue tint wherever his blood settled in the most, long, slick-covered tentacles emerging from his form, some of them idly curling around different parts of your body — the most notable change to his body being his cock, which tore out of his boxers from its size. It was no longer human-like, but instead resembled his wriggling appendages, had prominent ridges, leaked a steady flow of blue, viscous pre-cum, and had an obvious girth to it, thick, heavy-looking, and perhaps capable of stretching you open to your particular model’s max capacity for cock.

“Oh, Wooyoung,” you sighed, small digital hearts forming within your hooded eyes, cupping the alien’s flushed face, bringing your lips to his. “You're beautiful.” 

Wooyoung melted into your kiss and body respectively, bringing his hands up to your own face, holding it, his tentacles exploring the rest of your form for him, a few curling around and in between your tits, others sliding along your thighs and hips, while his slippery cock idly rubbed back and forth along your cunt like it had a mind of its own, sending waves of pleasure into the both of you. “Fuck, I need you so bad, Y/N…” 

A string of saliva broke your kiss as you pulled back, squeezing your tits together around the tentacle that was between them, licking at the wriggling tip. “How bad, baby? How bad do you want to fill me up with your cock?” you asked breathily, feeling the tentacle begin to thrust faster and faster, dripping blue pre-cum onto your slick skin. “You want to fuck your cum into me, Wooyoung? Fuck me so deep, it reaches my womb?” 

“Y-esss, please, oh my god, please,” Wooyoung moaned out, grabbing at your hips, continuing to grind his large, ridged cock against your cunt, unable to stop gasping for air from how hard he was breathing. 

“Then, come here,” you purred, reaching down to grab Wooyoung’s cock and pushing it inside you, feeling it fill you up inch by inch until your hungry cunt swallowed it in its entirety, your bodies essentially becoming one. 

Any semblance of composure completely left Wooyoung’s burning body in that moment, encouraging him to grab onto your hips like handlebars and drive his cock deep into your cunt over and over, his tentacles still eagerly exploring the expanse of your skin, some rubbing into your clit, others still preoccupied with your now bouncing tits, an additional tentacle loosely wrapping around your neck, the tip of it sliding along your cheek like it was licking you. “Feels so fucking good being inside you, Y/N, I’m gonna melt.” 

“Take me, Wooyoung, do whatever you want to me,” you told the alien in between pants, opening your mouth when Wooyoung’s tentacle rolled down your other cheek and across your lips, eventually slipping inside your mouth when you opened up, the small round disk built into your temple continually flashing blue the longer your body short-circuited with pleasure, your sensitive flesh squelching lewdly each time they joined together in slick, gooey harmony. 

Wooyoung watched you with a fondness that bordered obsession, drooling at the sight of his appendage fucking itself into your bulging throat that it was wrapped tightly around, still bringing you down onto his cock at an unnerving speed, the heaviness swirling around inside his lower abdomen growing more and more prominent. “I’m going to breed you, Y/N, did you know that? I’m going to fill you to the fucking brim with my kids.” 

You gurgled happily around the thrusting tentacle that was currently stretching out your lips and throat, your body shuddering with pleasure once load after load of blue goo spilled into your willing mouth, dripping down the sides of your chin and traveling along the rest of your slicked-up body. The tentacle left your mouth with a lewd pop and slowly wrapped around your waist instead. “Fill me up, Wooyoung, please, fuck it in me, deeper, I need it,” you begged him, desperately driving yourself down on his thick cock, cupping your own overheated cheeks, the hearts inside your eyes growing more and more bright each time the alien’s cock slipped deep inside your sloppy cunt.  

“Gonna fuck you so full, Y/N, gonna plug you up with my cock so you have to be my breeding bitch again and again,” Wooyoung mindlessly moaned out, simply driven by his overwhelming lust and instinctual urge to procreate, the heaviness moving closer and closer to his pulsing cock. 

“Yes, give it to me, please…!”

San, who had been silently observing the entire time, cleared his dry throat up to announce, “Delivery of offspring will be completed in…three…two..one…”

Neither you nor Wooyoung could tell who had came harder between the both of you, your joined moans and pants filling up the heavy air in the room. Wooyoung’s hands were cemented against your lower abdomen, able to feel as each warm, egg-like object had been deposited into your contracting cunt. “Feel them?” he asked under his breath, looking up into your barely open eyes.

“Yeah, I feel them,” you breathed, feeling dizzy just from the sensation of being filled to the absolute brim, Wooyoung’s cock acting as a dam until he knew that nothing except loads of his cum would come out afterwards, a small bulge present inside your stomach being the proof of what had been done to you. 

Wooyoung let out a small whine, slowly pulling out of you, his cock flopping lifelessly onto his pelvis, his eyes focused on the way your used hole fluttered around nothing, dribbles of electric blue cum dripping out, until a flood of it came seeping out in between your sticky bodies. With a blissful smile on his face, Wooyoung rubbed your stomach with gentle circles, humming to himself. “Let me know when you’re ready for another round, okay, baby?” 

You smiled softly down at him, placing your hand over his, ready to ask him for another round as soon as possible when San spoke instead.

“I hate to interrupt, but you have quite the schedule tomorrow, Wooyoung…practice at 9, vocals at 11, a fan meeting in the Twilight Quadrant at 3….” San slowly informed in a disheartened tone, a drop of sweat cascading down the side of his sleek face. 

Wooyoung growled, grabbing a pillow and tossing it at the wall, the image of San blurring temporarily. “Shut off! Shut down, San!” He looked back at you, rubbing your hips gently, unable to stop smiling at your pretty cybernetic face.

San disappeared from the wall, but his voice remained. “Just so you know, I don’t actually have a shut-off button, Wooyoung. I’m sentient…” 

Wooyoung’s fingers clenched into your hips, his eyebrows twitching downwards. “Oh my god, San, just wait till I fucking figure out how to hack your programming…” 

San cleared his throat, shaking his head, though it wasn’t visible to either of you, especially since you were both too busy eye-fucking each other. “Again, I’m sentient. That’s out of the realm of possibility.” 

“San!” 

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

#cultofdionysusnet #cromernet #wonderlandnet #ateez #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez wooyoung #wooyoung #wooyoung smut #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez imagines

[ghostssweetgirl]

Hello, I hope you are well. 141 men+Konig and Roach.Alex. How do they react when they accidentally see female reader in the city for the first time? And just like that. The reader is shopping at a grocery store. And men do not know her. because they never saw the reader's face. but the reader recognizes them because she has seen their faces before and the reader says. What's up? (name) I'll send you a photo of the reader's gaze. so the reader works on the same team as them but right now it's a free day

Have a nice day :)

Hey there! I really like this request <3

TF141 + König + Roach + Alex Reacting to Seeing the Reader's Face (in public)

warnings: cursing, other than that, none. they think you're pretty 😍

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Simon happened to be shopping in your town. No, he didn't do it on purpose. It was just on his way home.

You were shopping as well. You lived in a big city, so it wasn't unusual for you to be unmasked when doing your business. No one here knew you. You were on the pet food aisle, glancing over the ingredients of a specific brand until you suddenly felt a familiar presence walking by along the outside of the aisle. You look to your side and... spot Ghost.

Why was he here? Not like, why was he shopping, but why would he come to your city? It was too many people for his liking.

You watch him walk by, he doesn't give you a second glance as he goes about his business.

You set the bag of food down as you abandon your cart, walking fast to catch up to him. "Ghost!"

He heard a familiar voice call behind him, but as he turned around, he didn't know who he was looking at and how they knew his callsign. "What's up?" you asked, tilting your head at him. He stopped in his tracks, looking you up and down. "Bloody hell are you?"

You nervously laughed. "Y/N...?"

He was in disbelief. Wow, you were quite beautiful. He didn't think you'd be ugly, but my goodness, he was swept off his feet. "Fuckin' hell, kid," he rasped, chuckling nervously, you could tell.

"Sorry, I forgot you've never seen my face."

"Forgot to warn me you were quite stunning, too, darlin'."

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish

He heard about this big grocery store from a friend, deciding to check it out. It was also the one you were at, trying to find some new clothes.

In your own little world, you weren't paying attention to the fact you were absent-mindedly taking over the aisle as you were folding a shirt back up.

"Excuse me," a voice called from behind you.

"Sorry," you muttered, moving out of the way. The man gave you a polite smile, and as you made eye contact, your pupils dilated, recognizing your teammate, Soap. "What's up?" you asked.

"Oh, jus' shoppin', nothin' much." You looked into his cart, curious. Some beer, socks, small food items. Also hygiene products. He watched you nose into what he's buying, wondering who the hell this random (pretty) lady is.

You stifle a laugh, looking at the soap in his cart. "Soap." He shook his head, softly chuckling. "Wha's so funny about that?"

You teased him. "Soap! For Soap... Come on, do you not get it?"

For a minute, he recognized the voice but couldn't put two and two together. Wondered if you were who he thought you were.

After awkward staring, you throw your arms up playfully. "Soap! You must not... recognize me...?" "Y/N...?" you continued.

He just figured it out, the way you emphasized his name. "Y/N... Shite, yer... beautiful," he muttered. "Didn't think I'd ever see your face, lass."

Captain 'John' Price

He was just leaving, checking out with his cart full of his selected items. Damn this long line, he'd be here a while.

You were walking in with an empty cart, eyes glued to the front of you. Wanting to get in, and get out. You take notice of the long line. Sighing in annoyance, you go about your business.

You make your way up to the front, expecting the line to have made progress. Nope, still long. Some person had 3 full carts, and was giving one of the cashiers a hard time. Not to mention it was one of the rush hours of business. You look around to see a bunch of grumpy, tired faces. It was all just regular people, until you saw your captain. You smiled, hesitant to say hi to him, not wanting to be a bother.

"Hey, Captain Price!" you sang. He fixed his gaze onto you precisely, questionably. "What's up?"

He met you halfway in between the queues. "How in the bloody hell do you know who I am?" his voice was low.

"Because... I'm in the task force, silly," you laughed. "Y/N."

"Oh," he said plainly, his body visibly relieved. "Well, kid. Near freaked me out, some pretty lady knowin' my rank."

"Sorry," you blushed. "I'll leave you be, then? See you at work."

"Nice to see ya, y/n," his bright blue eyes beamed as they crinkled from his wide smile.

You were nearly finished up shopping, when you walked next to Gaz.

You didn't notice him at first, but when you did, he smiled at you with a polite nod as if you were a stranger.

You smiled back. "What's up, Garrick?"

He squinted his eyes at you, wondering how he knew you.

"I'm sorry, remind me of who you are?"

"Y/N, silly," you quipped.

"Oh," he sighed, looking over the features of your face. "Nice seein' you without the mask."

You almost blush, reaching up to soothe your unmasked face. "Thanks. Definitely didn't expect to see you... here."

"It was just on my way."

"Yeah, well, I hope you're enjoying your time off," you smiled.

"You, too, y/n," he smiled back, walking off but making sure to get one last look at you before you walked off, memorizing your face.

König

It's been such a long day already, and here you were stuck at a busy grocery store in your city. You usually stopped by here every so often, but didn't think the store would be busy when you came here today.

You were pretty much just looking at useless stuff at this point, to pass time by as the queues were not moving. You sigh as you grew tired of looking at this nonsense. Seeing some queues move, you finally hopped in one. You were in a hurry, and that was obvious, but so was someone else.

You almost bumped carts with this man, and before you go to apologize, you hear his thick German accent being the first one to apologize profusely. "I... am so sorry! You go ahead, ma'am," he muttered.

"König! I am so sorry!" you giggled. "I was in a hurry, I didn't see you there! What's up?" He stuttered, hands nearly shaking at you knowing his name. "I... was just shopping here."

"Are... you okay?"

"Ja... yes, I just... sorry, I don't think I know you..."

"Y/N! I don't have my mask on..." you rubbed your cheek. "Sorry to confuse you."

He was taken aback by how beautiful you were. He was already an anxious man, finally being able to put a voice to a very pretty face felt quite nice, but finding out just how gorgeous you were was making his heart slam against his ribcage.

"I-sorry," you could hear his nervousness, it was admittedly very cute. "You are very pretty, Maus."

Roach

You had gone to the store to get some alcohol, it was one of your days off and you wanted to enjoy yourself.

You went to the aisle, and started browsing.

You grabbed a few bottles of wine, and an extra bottle of liquor for another day and started walking out of the aisle to leave.

Until someone came around the corner.

You smiled as you spotted your teammate, Roach.

"Roach! Hey, what's up?"

He made eye contact with you, and you could tell he was confused.

"Sorry, do I know you?"

"It's Y/N! Sorry, don't have my mask on," you apologized, blushing.

"Oh. I was wondering how some beautiful woman knew me," he laughed. "It's nice to see you."

"Thanks, Roach," you smirked. You bid your goodbyes as you walked off, not seeing him look back at you once more.

You were stumped on a product, deciding if you should buy it. You started looking around for products that seemed popular, and went with the correct brand.

You were on your way to the front, when you spotted someone you knew. Alex. He was either in a hurry, or just wanted to get to where he was going, but you followed him.

You about lost him, but finally caught up.

"Alex! Hey!"

He looked around at a few people before he looked at you.

"What's up?" you smiled at him.

He stammered his words. "Hi. Who're you? How do I know you?"

You laughed as you playfully rolled your eyes. "Y/N."

"Damn, nice to see your face, lil lady," he chuckled, eyes wide at your beauty.

"Aw, thanks," you replied. "Enjoying your time off?"

"You know it." You both did some small talk before you had to make your way out. You waved goodbye at him, and he returned it with a polite smile, watching you as you walked away.

"Damn, she's beautiful," he whispered under his breath.

--

A/N - Hope this was good! I've never written for Roach or Alex, so I don't know if I wrote them out well, but thank you for this request and sorry it took a while to get finished! <3

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley imagines #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish imagines #john mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #cod mwii #cod modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #simon ghost riley imagine #captain john price #captain price #captain john price x reader #john price imagines #captain price mw2 #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #gaz cod #kyle gaz garrick cod #könig call of duty #könig x reader #könig imagines #könig headcanons #könig my beloved #könig #könig mw2

[elbdot]

You know what? This year may have been THE most chaotic one yet in EVERY aspect of the word - but it surely was my most productive year as well! As many emotionally ups and downs as I had, as hard it was to distract yourself from the CHAOS of the world and the justified anger, fear and frustration of the people, I can still say that my year has been more positive than the ones before! I feel different - more like...myself. MORE me. Almost complete. And I have the strong desire to show more of myself out there, to be seen and recognized for what I do and who I am, I want my work to go OUT THERE, to make new friends and find new business partners so I can finally go ALL OUT and republish my books - and I did actually form new friendships this year, more in one year than I did in the past 6 years combined, it's incredible! I stepped out there and made new friends by not even particularly DOING anything - I was just me: A pure bug nerd walking with Maybugs and wild bees on my hands through the streets - that's how I met MULTIPLE people this year.

And I gave myself the space and time to flourish artistically in EVERY direction - From Fakemon Designs to animal studies, horse illustrations, realistic styles, comic styles, personal-, fan- and Pokemoncomics, traditional animation, puppet animation, Photography, SKITS on Youtube - EVERYTHING I wanted to do I DID and I am VERY PROUD that I was able to see through and finish almost everything I started this year or had begun to work on the year before!

There's so much I still want to do and I hope to achieve next year - when I hopefully am more in power again, when my body has recovered from its current whooping cough, when I can contact agencies again. And I really hope social media will become more kind to us artists again, when we currently have to struggle so much with algorithms who want us to be influencers and content machines to post daily. That's why I'm really grateful for my community here on tumblr and the fact that it is not being dictated by an unforgiving algorithm like twitter and Instagram is. On here you actually still have a chance to be seen.

Thank you all SO MUCH for your support this year! Especially those of you, who decided to join my community on Patreon and have become part of my Discord server. You guys have lifted my spirit in ways I couldn't describe and I'm so happy to have such a kind and incredibly generous community! Truly, thank you all so much for being here!

Onward to 2024, let's hope it will treat us all with gentleness and kindness 🥹🥰💖💕

Socials | Patreon

#art #artists on tumblr #art vs artist #happy new year #illustration #digital art #pokemon #fantasy #horses #fakemon #comics

[maple-the-awesome]

The Chain Meets Your Baby || 1/2

Part 2 ||

Pairing: Hyrule, Time, Wild, Four x Reader

Requested by @kieradumpzz081927: I hope your request are open(or if ur free for requests), so i saw ur LU oneshots about the one that is called ' He becames a dad ' or smth. So, why not that he would introduce his kid(s) to the chain? That ones going to be interesting Interesting indeed 😈Now, I have my own set of headcannons for what order the Chain becomes dads in, but regardless of their own experience, I'm sure the Links would all subject the new dad to lots of support and teasing. Here you go 💜 Warning: Some mature jokes here and there. Nothing major, but gotta give the new dad a little hell, right? ¯_(ツ)_/¯

Zelda Masterlist 🤍Fandom Masterlist

The last thing Hyrule was expecting to encounter during his village visit was his old traveling companions, the other heroes of courage. Then again, life has been full of surprises lately and it wasn't like he didn't already know that the portals between their worlds are still active. It was only a matter of time before their paths crossed again and honestly, it couldn't have aligned more perfectly.

Happy to see the rest of the Chain again, Hyrule takes the liberty of inviting them back to his home so that they can properly catch up and not be the subject of so many judgment stares from villagers. Throughout the short trip there, the group’s laughter is vibrant as they detail accounts from their recent adventures, soon turning it into a friendly competition of who has the craziest stories. 

This conversation stays well alive all the way from their first steps outside of the village gates to the second Hyrule opens the door to his house, at which point the spirited teasing immediately dies off into a stunned silence.

“Oh! Hello again!” You’re just as pleasantly surprised to see the boys as your boyfriend had been, your smile more than welcoming as you turn around to greet them, yet they’re less focused on you and more so on the small infant you cradle in your arms.

“...I think the Traveler wins,” Wild mumbles, his disbelief shared amongst the rest of the group who merely nod distractedly. 

“Right! I forgot to mention -” Hyrule excitedly hurries to your side before turning to his friends with a thrilled smile, “- This is our daughter, Hope.”

“You just casually forgot to mention you have a kid now…?” Legend narrows his eyes while pointing to the kid in question. He should probably be more annoyed with Hyrule’s tendency of always skipping over important details, but honestly he’s just too shocked to process it right this second.

“Well, she’s only about a month old. Being a dad now takes some getting used to,” Hyrule defends, rubbing the back of his neck timidly, but when you pass your daughter over to him, he shows practice in the way he gently holds her securely to himself before approaching the boys to properly show her off.

Despite their surprise, they’re eager to crowd around him, each wanting to get a good look to ensure this isn’t some clever joke you’re both pulling on them. Fluffy head of dark wavy hair…A little button nose…Sharp pointed ears…Yep, this baby must be yours. She looks exactly as one would imagine the product of Hyrule’s sex life to look like…

“...Geeze. She’s adorable,” Warrior awes, practically leaning over Legend who elbows him back with a glare.

“Isn’t she?” You preen.

“She’s strong, too,” The Vet acknowledges with an unamused pout. He had made the mistake of holding a finger out to the baby only for her to grasp it in an unwavering grip. His attempts at pulling away are fruitless, not that he’s actually trying that hard. Maybe he even likes the feeling of his heart melting just a bit.

“Congratulations. You two must be very proud,” Time praises kindly, having already felt the joy that comes with being a parent himself. He can recognize it in the way Hyrule and you affectionately watch your giggling baby with a pleasant glow surrounding you both.

“We very much are…”

Muffled commotion outside alerts you to the fact that you have visitors long before they stumble into your home, not even bothering to knock as their excitement gets the better of them. Now, any other day, your husband would be quick to scold such ill-mannered behavior, but fortunately for your guests, he's in far too good of a mood to let it be soured.

So, instead of acknowledging the Chain’s less than graceful entrance, Time immediately rises to his feet with a proud hand left upon your shoulder, "Everyone, we'd like you to meet Saria and Mallory."

The young heroes are in awe as they crowd around the bed just to get a look at the small bundles held within your arms. Sure, they've seen babies before, but these are Time's babies. For many of them, the complicated concept of love alone had once seemed out of reach for any hero of courage, yet here the Old Man is, hitched to a lovely wife and now the lucky father of two adorable daughters. It's an amazing accomplishment, really; one that has the entire Chain feeling happy for him.

"They're so little," Hyrule whispers, scared to speak any louder out of fear he'll accidently wake them.

"They inherited their dad's nose, poor things," Warrior jests, throwing a smirk Time's way.

"They'll grow into them," Rather than take it personally, he chuckles while carefully taking one of the girls from you. Despite having only become a father a few hours ago, he's already a natural at handling them. Ever so gently - as if handling the thinnest of glass - he cradles his daughter to his chest and fixes the tiny hand-sewn blanket around her; a gift from her godmother, Malon, of course.

"You'll have your hands full with twins," Four remarks prudently.

You sigh at the thought, your head thrown back against your pillow, "Ugh, we know…”

Although you’re visibly tired after having undergone hours of stressful labor, you still look upon the baby in your arms with nothing short of pure admiration, clearly having no actual regrets towards having either of them. In your eyes, twins just mean all the more love to give.

"Nothing we can't handle," Time promises before getting a mischievous glimmer in his eye while casually extending his sleeping baby out to Twilight, "This one is Mallory, by the way -"

"- W-Wait -!" The Rancher is immediately caught off guard by it, yet his objections are ignored. Time drops the baby into his arms anyway, practically forcing Twilight to take her, not that he truly minds. A natural around children himself, it takes him only a few seconds to adjust the baby comfortably in his hold.

Blind to the other boys who hover around his shoulders, Twilight's eyes are locked in amazement upon the tiny bean who scrunches her nose and whimpers quietly before soon settling down…To think, this small infant no more than a few hours old is a relative of his. He can't help but wonder how closely related they are. How many generations between them? Three? Two? Maybe even just one? It's a strange thought to consider...but also a very comforting one, too.

"...She's a real beauty, isn't she?" Time asks softly with a strong pat to Twilight's back. The only reply he gets is a wordless nod and whimper as the teary eyed Rancher sniffles.

What kind of horrors do they need to prepare themselves for? That's the question that rings through every hero's head as they approach Wild's home. They're concern only grows when - as if sensing them - the Champion suddenly appears in his open doorway with an ear-to-ear grin greeting them...Not the most comforting sight seeing as they've come all this way under his vague request.

A letter had been sent to each of them only giving the minor hint that there’s a certain 'surprise' he can't wait to show them, and with someone as chaotic as their accident prone centenarian, the Chain has every right to be anxious about it.

Even as they all crowd outside of his home, Wild refuses to add any context, instead maintaining his mysteriously upbeat aura before finally stepping aside to allow them in. It's only then that the heroes realize what his 'surprise' is, welcomed by the sight of you as you stand there matching Wild's grin while holding an unfamiliar baby in your arms. She can't be much older than a few weeks, judging on both her tiny features and the obvious bags under both of her parents’ eyes...

"You have a baby?!" Wind screeches with delight, not wasting a second to race to your side.

"Her name is Mikan," Chuckling, you kneel down to let him better see your pride and joy. It isn't long before you're surrounded by most of the heroes who are immediately taken by your daughter's cuteness.

"When did this happen?" Time inquires through a raised eyebrow, one of the few Links who had remained by the door with Wild.

"Uh, she'll be three weeks old tomorrow," Wild answers, his hand darting up to rub the side of his neck. He knows that isn’t exactly what Time meant, but it’s the easiest answer.

"I didn't think you -..." Begins Twilight quietly. Although he ultimately cuts himself short, the curious look he gives his successor wordless finishes what he might've said.

Nodding slowly with some hesitation, Wild bows his head while looking back over to you. There's a fondness in his eyes as he watches you carefully pass your daughter over for Wind to hold, "I know what I said before. I...I didn't think this was something I could have - something I could want this badly, but...Well…I probably don’t need to tell you how it is…”

Twilight pats Wild’s back with a knowing smirk, indeed understanding. He’s happy to see his friend finally accept the peaceful life he deserves instead of continuing to run away from it, after all, Twilight has never been blind to the curiosity and faint jealousy that would shine in Wild’s eyes whenever listening to the other heroes talk about their families. He’s been long overdue to have one of his own.

"Hey, just one question," While Wind is busy cooing and rocking your daughter, Four turns around to address Wild once they finally join everyone else, "Did you really name your daughter after a fruit?"

Wild's cheeks flare in embarrassment, "I - It can be a pretty name, too!"

"I'm actually the one who chose it," You confess sheepishly, taking the attention away from your partner, "I was really craving tangerines throughout the whole pregnancy."

"At least it's a somewhat normal name. I was half expecting you to name your future kids something like 'Biscuit' or 'Curry'," Legend snorts.

"...We did consider picking 'Sage'.”

Warrior laughs heartily before throwing a hand over Wild shoulder with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows, "Can we expect that to be the second child's name then?"

"Woah, woah, woah - Let's settle down now, gentleman,” You immediately scold while also taking the chance to save your poor partner by pulling him away from the onslaught of teasing he was about to endure, “One baby at a time. It’s not easy carrying those things, just ask your wives!”

Four has been off into his own little world - That is to say, he’s been both distracted and extremely tired; a terrible mix, but hey, it’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. Despite his eyelids feeling like bricks, he remains awake and alert, arms folded across his chest as he sits in the bedside chair keeping watch over your sleeping form. 

You need the rest more than him anyway. Your husband has been through some pretty fearsome and ravenous beasts in his time, yet your work last night easily trumpeted every hell he’s undergone himself. Best to let you sleep unless he wants to change that statement.

A series of echoed knocks send Four bolting through the house, hissing a curse under his breath before tossing the front door open with plans to scold whoever’s on the other side, yet he’s stunned into silence when he realizes it’s no poorly timed mailman, rather the very friends he had invited over…although, they did come a lot sooner than he thought they would…

“WE’VE COME TO SEE -!”

“- SHHH!!!” Four nearly smacks a hand over Wild’s face. 

“- …The baby…” Wild finishes with a whisper and a grimace.

Four quickly ushers the Chain inside, allowing them to make themselves comfortable with STRICT orders to keep the noise level down. Yes, their early visit may not have been exactly anticipated, but Four holds no ill feelings towards it, in fact, he’s rather smiley while leading them to the nursery.

“Here they are,” He practically sings, eagerly looking inside the large crib as if he, himself, still can’t get enough of its contents. He has every right to be infatuated, “These are my girls~”

Although Four is bubbling with joy as he admires his little creations, the rest of the Chain stands by with wide eyes. Some even take the time to count each baby just to confirm that they are, indeed, seeing triple. Inside lies three little newborns, each fast asleep after having about as stressful of a day as their parents.

“We’re thinking of naming them Marigold, Amber, and Camelia. You know, keep to the color theme and all…”

“Damn, three of them, huh? You didn’t hold back at all, did you, Smithy?” Warrior observes aloud, much to Four’s instant lack of amusement.

“They’re so cute~” Wind coos, Twilight having to pull him back before he accidentally falls into a crib again.

“I suppose it’s a good thing I brought some of the twins’ old stuff then,” Time hums, his smirk holding a hint of sympathy. Needless to say, he doesn’t miss those early days of juggling babies himself, as much as he loves them dearly.

Four preens at the attention his daughters get, however his smile falters when he notices Sky sticking to the very back of the group, awkwardly rubbing his arm and chewing down on his lip. Four frowns.

“...I’m sorry. We should’ve waited until we told -” He keeps his voice down as he joins the older hero who is quick to shake his head and muster his best smile.

“- No, no. We’re happy for you both. Really…” Despite the sorrow stuck in his voice, Four can tell Sky means every word of it, even the sighed: “...You’re a very lucky guy.”

“...I am,” While there could be more said, he realizes now might not be the time to discuss it. Not with so many new babies in the room.

“No wonder you wanted us to be quiet. I can barely handle one newborn at a time, let alone three at once?” Legend mumbles half to himself, his finger gently cresting one of the baby’s chubby cheeks.

“You know, if you ever find your house getting a little too quiet, you can always babysit -”

“- No way in hell. We already have our hands full as it is.”

#lu time x reader #lu hyrule x reader #lu wild x reader #linked universe x reader #link x reader #linked universe #x reader #reader insert #legend of zelda #lu four x reader

[catgirlforeskin]

Since Wizards of the Coast is torpedoing all the good-will they have with DnD to wring more money out of it, I want to make a guide for people who recognize they should jump ship, but don’t know alternatives.

If you’re deeply invested in DnD and want something as similar as possible, Pathfinder 2 is what you want. It’s the next biggest game in the tabletop scene (in the US), you can find physical copies in stores easily, and Paizo allows free resources online to exist without constant threat of being taken down like WotC does. It will remain free to play on any VTT while DnD will require you to subscribe to their proprietary one.

Most importantly, though, it improves on almost every aspect of DnD. Combat and class balance is extremely well thought out and makes all combats engaging and difficult in a fun way, requiring teamwork and clever thinking. Roleplay is integrated into character creation and play better, and you no longer have to choose between being good in combat or exploration or roleplay, you get to play and feel useful during all aspects of the game. It’s hard to emphasize how much better it is without just playing, if you still want something like DnD, play Pathfinder 2.

If you like high fantasy adventuring but are willing to get more out there, Fellowship and Dungeon World are good options. Fellowship is a more free-form adventure game focused on creating a cinematic experience over getting bogged-down in rules-heavy play. If you want to play a Lord of the Rings style campaign and have it feel like the movies, Fellowship is the way to go.

Dungeon World is called “Powered by the Apocalypse” which means it was inspired by Apocalypse World, an amazing ttrpg that revolutionized the scene and became the gold standard for interweaving roleplay and gameplay. Dungeon World is meant to be a bridge between DnD and indie rpgs, and it’s good for that, though there are better PbtA games. It’s a good introduction to principles like failing forward and playing to find out what happens (and hell, a good introduction to games having principles lol). There’s also an Avatar the Last Airbender licensed PbtA game that’s very good, if that’s your thing!

Speaking of licensed games, Free League Publishing sets the benchmark for rpgs built for existing intellectual properties, and while I haven’t played all of their games, I’m a big fan of what I have played. They also have independent settings, like Twilight 2000, a really good apocalypse survival game set in a collapsing warfront between an alternate-history NATO and Soviet Union as the two dying empires bring all of society down in their death spiral. I’m using it as the base for my Halo rpg, it’s very good.

Blades in the Dark is another big name in the indie scene, and for good reason. It’s a heist game that has been adapted to lots of other settings (games that say they’re “Forged in the Dark” take inspiration here) and it’s clear to see why so many have used it as a foundation once you’ve played, it’s an exciting crime procedural where you play a group of scoundrels punching above your weight and facing the consequences

There’s a million other amazing rpgs I could mention here, and I’m sure people will talk about plenty of lovely ones I’ve missed in the notes, but I think the most important thing I want to convey with this is that there’s a whole world of diverse and interesting rpgs at all levels of production, from big corporate teams to one girl with a laptop who barely knows how to make a pdf, and there’s no better time to start exploring them.

A common refrain is that DnD can be modified to do anything, but once you’ve played other rpgs you’ll see why that’s not true, and why those creative efforts would be better spent in other systems. Hacking rpgs is as old a tradition as rpgs themselves, but if the only tools you know are DnD, you’re being limited with what you can create more than you could possibly know. There’s no better time to leave this Plato’s Cave and see the beauty and wonder of the whole ttrpg scene

#DnD #ttrpgs #ATLA

[missycolorful]

I think I'll just say this: I don't agree when people call any of the islanders "bad parents" just because their parenting is flawed.

Like, parents and their parenting is flawed. Inherently. One parent cannot meet all the demands of their child; it is literally impossible. As humans are imperfect, there will always be something missing or lacking in one's parenting. Hell, sometimes even two parents can't meet all their child's needs, depending on their personalities. If that's the case, then I guess all parents are bad parents. But that's not the case, so I don't get why people are so adamant when they see that a parent isn't handling things 100% perfectly and go "wow this person's parenting sucks."

And this is even more so when you take into account... pretty much everything going on in Quesadilla island. These people never really planned to be parents, yet here they are! And this island is out to kill these kids, so it's also a dangerous game of survival now, too! There are horrors around pretty much every corner. Plus, outside or inside forces are making the islanders suffer very often. The islanders are never okay. How they take care of their children is going to be different just by the very basis of their environment. The standards of parenting are different here. Their relationships with people, including their children, were never going to be 100% healthy or positive or okay. It's just not possible.

so, no, I don't think that just cause, say, q!Tubbo or q!Phil aren't great in regards to their emotional intelligence and often isolate themselves, or when any other parents in general don't handle what their children are going through perfectly, that they're bad parents. That kinda statement feels like it diminishes pretty much all the hard work and effort and love they put into taking care of their kids and even kids that aren't their own. Tubbo gives his everything for Sunny, and was/is an active babysitter for a lot of other eggs. Phil works so hard to love and teach survival to and take care of his two eggs equally. (Like, being 'basically' a single parent, of one or WORSE, two, is already hard enough in the real world - imagine being one on this fucking hellscape they're on).

Like, I don't think there's anything wrong with pointing out the parents' flaws. Their flaws make them human, and it'd be foolish to disregard their humanity. And it's interesting to analyze their flaws and what they say about the character, and how they impact their family. There's nuance there, and it should be discussed.

But I think when you're just going "oh, they're bad at parenting in general" because they fumble the bag in other departments lacks nuance. Sure, if you're just saying "they're bad when it comes to certain aspects of parenting," that's a different story, because that's understanding their flaws while recognizing that those flaws don't define all of their parenting. But to just say they're bad at it in general isn't productive analysis of their characters in any way. I haven't watched q!Phil take care of his egg for a whole year (followed by a second egg more consistently shortly after) only for people to shit on his parenting just because his lack emotional intelligence is more noticeable as of recent due to all the trauma and bullshit he's endured. And I haven't seen q!Tubbo put his whole heart into taking care of Sunny as well as multiple other eggs, being Chayanne and Tallulah's reliable godfather, just for people to put down his efforts because he's not always great at more emotionally in depth conversations. They're good parents in a lot of ways, and those strengths shouldn't be discredited just because they aren't good at other things. Their characters deserve way better than that.

tldr these parents are all good in many regards and are just trying their damn best in the worst of circumstances, can we cut them just a bit of slack, please?

#qsmp #fuck it i'm tagging the characters i mentioned #philza #tubbo #missy rambles #also tldr this discourse is fucking dumb #like jesus calling them bad parents feels like it's shitting on all the time they've spent on this damn island taking care of these kids #all cause they're bad at talking about feelings sometimes? give me a break

[gendertrickster]

i dunno why i'm making a post about eridan but i thought about him and how people perceive him so why not

eridan is a really good exploration of the hope aspect i think. like aspects are defined by the characters which embody them and eridan defines a very dark and twisted side of hope, which is that of holding many harmful and dangerous views of the world and choosing never to question them or allow anyone to defy your idea of how the world functions. eridan is defined by these hollow and black ambitions and in turn this defines a part of the hope aspect itself: delusion

this shit reads like a manifesto. eridan is so hopelessly far gone down this path of broken belief and it's an extremely dangerous state for a prince of hope because the strength of his convictions directly correlates to his power (in a less allegorical sense, his will to act correlates to his desire to accrue a weapon to enact his beliefs in the way he sees fit, which is an extremely real thing that happens). he's convicted in his belief that he is disrespected and not taken seriously enough but refuses to address his own flaws or the trauma society has inflicted upon him through expectations and when pushed beyond the limit the result is a murderous monster of a 13-year-old boy

it's also interesting to note that eridan does not attack unless he has a personal justification for it. to him, sollux started it and got what he deserved. to him, feferi was a delusional woman who never understood him so when she charged forward he did not hesitate. with kanaya, they stood in a standoff until she glanced the way of the matriorb and his hatred of trollkind acted on its own and destroyed it, which provoked kanaya which justified his actions. to him, all of this is just "self-defense"

here, eridan's silhouette is white where kanaya's is black because eridan believes himself the purest arbiter of truth. to him, she is acting on thoughtless aggression where he is ever calm and collected. and thus he kills one of his best friends

the only reason karkat went untouched in this is because he's a man he didn't involve himself in it, only staring in shock at what he just allowed to happen but knowing he would never have stood a chance, being complacent in the actions of the higher troll, which is befitting of karkat

and it's THIS shit that is the core of eridan's entire character. you can definitely take his character further if you so wanted — he can be really engaging and even funny if you do him right — but you have to recognize that if you do, the mark he bears for his actions can never leave him. not to say he can't change, this is homestuck we're talking about, but he was written to be the ultimate product of alternia's broken and cruel systems, and it's something very important to keep in mind lest you forget what defines him

#ado post #character analysis #eridan ampora

[thespectrehauntingfodlan]

I feel like a lot of people, and this is really more for Usamericans than those from other countries who don't have any exposure to the internal affairs of this particular nightmare country, truly do not grasp the scale and significance of the problems and horrors here?

Literacy will be mentioned and downplayed, but a full 20% of people living here are illiterate to a degree where they cannot interact with even basic writing. That's one in five people, or almost the population of the entirety of the United Kingdom. And that's only the population that either cannot read any words at all or cannot parse sentences, an equally large amount of people can only read at a very basic level, and can't interpret and extrapolate information from text that's not direct. This is not some cry about media literacy, this is about basic functioning in society and how many are left behind from a society that increasingly isolates and diminishes them.

Manufacturing will be mentioned, and the thought most will have is that American production has been gutted and outsourced (usually leading to hostility to places like China or Vietnam), which has some truth but much of American industry has been transfered from "free" workers to prison slave labor, with some states not paying prisoners forced to work at all and the most ""generous"" states paying them a seventh of the already laughable federal minimum wage, and with the government actually subsidizing this by giving corporations a $2400 tax credit per prisoner they "employ"

Prison will be mentioned but the sheer inhumanity and brutality will never be grasped even when people recognize elements of it (usually for what passes as comedy) the totality of it will never register. One out of five of all people incarcerated on Earth are in prison in America, subjected to conditions which regularly and frequently kill them or break them, and there's not even a consistent reporting measure for people who die in prison or jail, to say nothing of the police killings which dwarf the amount of people executed by the state, which has even less of a standard for reporting. One county was simply burying the people they killed in unmarked graves nearby and never reporting it or recording it, only being discovered after years almost on accident.

Homelessness is rampant but the numbers and methods for assessing the size of the unhomed population are pitiful at best and laughable at worst, regularly undercounting and diminishing the severity because those who are homeless are barely considered people to not just the government but in the perception imposed by society.

And none of that is touching on the scale of the imperial war machine which ravages the rest of the world, how there's no way to even know how many bases the US even has, how many people it kills, how many wars it fights, who it even supports. None of us touching on the non-military methods of support and control the US provides to its proxies and cronies who prop up its hegemony.

The scale of it all is just mind breaking and I have seen excellent writing and interrogation of parts but I don't feel like the overall picture is ever even glimpsed.

#I don't know how to tag this #I'm just screaming into the void basically #There's a dozen other things I should add but I lost steam writing this and trying to grapple with what I want to get across #It's overwhelming and intersecting #The decaying corpse of this empire strangling not only it's subjects but the whole planet #death to america #Basically #marxism

[netherfeildren]

With Mercy for the Disturbed

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: He's a father and then he isn't, and then he's in the perfect place with the perfect girl, and he's done so many bad things that terrify the both of them. And then, finally, he's saved and there are dancing bears and doors newly opened, and everyone's a little mad at the end of it all.

-OR-

the Hannibal/Alice in Wonderland AU wherein Joel loses his mind

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: AU; Extremely Dubious Consent; Or Non Con; You decide but vibes are definitely off; Dark Fic; Rough Sex; Face fucking; Oral Sex (f!receiving); Bondage; Unreliable Narrator; Memory loss; Blasphemy; Discussions of religious disdain; Discussions of morality; References to suicide; Beware of the old man who’s crazy and lets all his intrusive thoughts win; Older man/Younger woman; Creampie; Light breeding kink; Like very light for the likes of me promise; Possessive Behavior; Kidnapping; Joel POV

A/N: Hello and hallelujah, I’m so happy to be posting this!! For a minute after I finished Pink I felt like it would be impossible for me to write anything else ever again, and felt so weird and without anything left to say.  I struggled so much just getting these words down, and it was supposed to be something very different initially compared to what it turned out to be, but I think I quite like the final product. I hope you do too. 

And one million kisses and thank yous and all the praise in the world to @frannyzooey for giving this a little looksy over before posting. You’re the greatest and the bestest, Kelli, thank you so so much :)

Please heed the tags carefully and err on the side of caution!!! The goings on in this are very strange and this is probably the darkest thing I’ve written to date. 

Word Count: 8.8K

Read on AO3

He can’t remember her name anymore, but he remembers the number. It’s been seven hundred and thirty eight days since his daughter died. 

Sometimes, he’s not sure if he even remembers his own name. He thinks it’s Joel, and the sound of it brings him comfort in a way, when it’s especially dark and confusing in his mind, and so he tells himself over and over again that that’s what it is. Joel. Joel. Joel. I am Joel. That that’s what it’s always been. That that’s the name she knew him as. 

Sometimes you call him that too.

He used to be a father, and then one day, so suddenly he can’t recall how it even happened, he lost everything. Like dominos falling over in his mind – the girl, and then his memories and then the man with the face like his. He plays dominos all the time now. 

In his spot in the sun in the big blue room, wearing his whites and his soft socks and taking the pills they force down his throat. He plays dominos, and he does his exercises, and he thinks of that daughter whose name he can’t remember. He says his own name over and over and over again so many times until it’s not even a sound anymore, only a buzz or a hum or a scream. 

His beard is thick and his hair is long, and he does not recognize his own face in the mirror. All he sees are ghost green eyes and dark hair and a fathomless sort of failure. A father, no longer a father. He goes for walks in the garden, he eats the food they give him even when he doesn’t really want to, even when it tastes like ash or greater madness than the one he’s already swallowed. And he waits for you. All the time he waits for you to come to him, he watches the big doors that go out into the world he’s too frightened and broken to step foot in now, draws his fingertip over the gristle of scar tissue at his temple mended over invisible fracture, and he waits and waits, and he says his name and he thinks of that nameless daughter and he waits and he thinks: the morning after I killed myself, I woke up in the perfect place with the perfect white walls and now all I do is wait. 

He sits in his chair in the corner now and counts the seconds for you to come for him. Always at this time, always when the sun is at that spot in the sky. When it rains, and he can't tell where he is in the world, and the clouds are swollen purple gray verging on melancholy and anger, he feels something like despairing. Something like the sort of insane they whisper he is behind his back now.

He watches the puddles filled with dark mercury grow and grow like the ocean rising out of concrete, and the orange tree that drips and weeps and sags and he thinks he feels very much that way inside too. Sometimes, when the sun shines and there are no clouds and he doesn’t feel so terribly downtrodden, or maybe worse than usual, each orange blossom opens like a hand reaching out for him. Begging him not to do it, not to think of it, not to go back to that bad place. Focus only on me, she says. Focus only on the blue walls and the perfect room and the place where the sun sits in the sky, she’s on her way, she’s almost here. 

The first time they’d told him he was ill – or dead – the first morning in the perfect room, he’d been angry, affronted or offended, and he’d howled and fought and said I’m not fucking crazy, it’s only that my daughter is dead. But as much as he’d fought or kicked or screamed, wept until he was brittle and dry as a whale bone, they’d not believed him. And so, he’d come to appreciate the peace of the perfection surrounding him, the perfection of a lie, or the perfection that comes to visit him in the shape of a woman, soft and round in all the right places and pretty. Fuckable. He tries not to think of it. He swears he does. But there’s little else to consider in the perfect place. So really, he thinks of little else. 

You’re almost here, he knows it’s almost time.

A few more moments of the sun in the place where it is until it’s in the place where it should be, and then you’ll be here, and he looks down at the stone in his palm, held for so long it’s turned dark with his sweat now. I shouldn’t have, but I brought you something, placed it in his hand, done that thing with your eyes and your mouth that told him secrets he wasn’t sure you were even aware you were telling him. 

He knows that it’s November now because you’d said it was, and he doesn’t know why, but when you’d told him, he’d wept and wept and wept. Become inconsolable which had sent you to worrying, put the different sort of look on your face, in your eyes, the one that vibrates, that screams instead of whispers. And he’s positive you don’t know you show him that one, but he sees it anyways, you’ve got a shit poker face. And he’d told you between sobs and chokes, it’s November and it’s terrible and I can’t explain why except to say that it’s as though the earth has suddenly realized that she’s grown old and cold and there’s nothin’ she can do to prevent it except weep, and I feel very much like this in my own heart too. And when he looks back up at the sun, it’s finally where it’s supposed to be, and when he looks back at the double doors that lead away to all his fears and all the bad, there you are. You walk towards him slow and measured, and you’re perfect, perfect, perfect. Precious, impeccable, absolutely exceptional in every way. He wants very much to ruin all that pure magnificence. 

He knows that he did something very bad after his daughter, after they took her, lots of very bad things to lots of very bad people. He knows this, he remembers this vividly, enjoys the memory of it, savors it like something sitting sweet and light on his tongue. 

The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love with the idea of a girl who was gone who’d come from me who is never going to be again. Who I never made enough time for when there was still time to be made.

You always wear beautiful clothes, and it makes him appreciate the blandness of his own. That you stand out, that he’s merely a blank canvas for you to inflict yourself on. Wool skirts and silk blouses and sheer pantyhose he wants to rip to ribbons with his fingers. Makes him appreciate the beauty of you, faultless, guileless. Sweet in a way he’d never witnessed before like a kitten that’s so adorable you want to squeeze and squeeze and smother until it bursts. Big eyes and a full, soft mouth and breathy voice, and then you’re right there.“Hi, Joel,” and yeah, that’s right, he does know his name, you remind him of it all the time.  

“Mornin’.”

“Ready?”

“As ever.”

The room you usually sit in to talk has a big painting of a field in it, a bear in the far off center up on its hind legs, somehow, appearing as if it’s dancing away. Even the paintings are mad here, but he likes it, wants to dance away into the far off unknown like that too. 

“The middle of the day’s not the best time for fishin’ usually.” Sometimes, you let him start where he wants. Silent until he chooses to break. He pulls the thought out of nowhere. “Bein’ out there’s just the excuse, I suspect, in the sun and the water.” 

He listens to the scratch, scratch of your pen. You write with one of those fountain types with the sharp point, and he wonders if you’ve ever considered how easily he could turn it into a weapon. How smoothly it’d pierce the soft, satin skin of your throat he likes to fantasize about. He would never. But he does like to think about it, pretends it’s a show of your trust, wonders if the guards and higher ups know you bring something like that in here with him. Scratch, scratch, scratch, and it makes his brain itch. 

“You used to fish?”

“Think so.”

“Are you remembering?”

“Nah.” The morning after I killed myself, I lost my memories – it’s only that they’d hurt everywhere I’d touched them, and so I’d had to let them go.

“No?” 

You’ve got the loveliest voice, and sometimes he wishes he could tell you to stop asking so many stupid questions about him and talk about yourself. Endlessly. He chooses a new route. “What is it about empathy that people find so difficult to be generous with?”

That soft hum in your throat he loves, the one he feels soothe that itchy brain of his. “Humans can be inherently selfish. We’re born with only ourselves, we die with only ourselves, sometimes that gets in our way.”

“No… Don’t think that’s true.”

“No?” He knows you like to lead him sometimes, like a game he doesn’t want to enjoy. “You’re the one saying we’re greedy with our empathy.”

“Forgiveness too,” he adds.

The click of your tongue, “Do you think you’re forgiving?”

“Not at all.”

Scratch, scratch. Once he’d asked what it is you write about him during these talks of yours, and all you’d said was notes. It’s the only time he’s ever been angry with you, refused to talk to you for three days after that. Only because if you wouldn’t tell him things, then he wasn’t going to tell you anything either. “Then what’s the point you’re trying to make? What’s your question?” But then he’d missed the sound of your voice too much, had felt the burn of your gaze on his skin too intensely, had masturbated too many times without satisfaction to the memory of your eyes on him that he’d been forced to relent. He needed the sound of your voice in his head also to be able to come. 

“Why is it so difficult?” He asks again because he has to understand. Because he needs an answer desperately. 

“It’s hard to see someone as simply themselves, simply human – a sentient flaw, so to speak – when they make a mistake. And yet, as grievous or offensive as something can be, we all do it eventually. Some people have no patience for that.”

“Even though they themselves will eventually, inevitably, do it too?” He can feel himself getting upset, his heart beating too fast, a cold sweat sprouting at the back of his neck while his face flushes hot and red. 

“Yes.”

“That’s bad.”

You shrug, “Perhaps.”

“Selfish.”

Again, “Perhaps.”

And then the true source of his anger, “I think I’m like that.”

You nod like you understand, and he wants to shake you and make you see that there’s no way you actually could. “Would you like not to be?” It pisses him off when your voice goes all even and patient like that. 

“Yes. I hate people like that. I hate people that can’t find it in themselves to forgive – to give someone a second chance.”

“Why do you think that is?”

He can’t help himself when he vomits the words, not fully expecting them to come out so slicked in truth as they do. “Because I wish someone would give me one, even if I don’t deserve it. F– forgive me– But even then… what does it matter? What does it matter if I’m forgiven, given a second chance, absolved of all my sins? Look at where I am. Look at what I've become. I’m entirely lost to myself. You know, sometimes I can’t remember my own name if you don’t remind me of it.”

“You’re Joel. You had a daughter. Her name was Sarah.” He flinches at the sound of it, wants to bare his teeth at you like a rabid animal. “Your brother is Tommy. He calls every Friday at three o’clock to ask how you are. You’re Joel Miller.” That’s right. The morning after I killed myself, I met my brother for the first time. The real him. The him who’s afraid of me. The real Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. Sometimes the name rings familiar in his mind, again, when you remind him of it.

He shakes his head, swallows a gruff sound, tries to shutter the manic look he knows floods his eyes, reverts back to his initial thought, “False senses of moral superiority disgust me.” The sun’s shining in at an angle so that there’s a single tendril of sunlight wrapped around the slim of your crossed ankle, gripping the nylon covered limb in its light. Joel’s eyes shift jealously from that held piece of you to the shadow of far off rain he can see in the distance through the window, trying to find some measure of peace in the sight. It’ll reach here eventually, and he tries to ground himself in the inevitability. “Yes, there’s right and wrong. There’s also humanity. There’s also the right to grow and learn, and to make mistakes that, in the end, make you better. Who are you to condemn me? Is your glass house so pristine not a stain mars it? Grace, forgiveness, empathy… I find those infinitely more valuable than whatever false sense of good and bad you’ve decided makes me worthy or not,” he says, eyes cast towards the coming rain. He can feel your gaze on his face, and he does not want to acknowledge it. 

“But the things you did were bad, Joel. You hurt people. You killed people.” 

That makes his eyes snap back to yours for the way you say it. As if you’re sharing a bit of inconsequential news with him. The weather is about to hit, the rain is almost here. Can’t you see it, just there, in the distance? Voice so even and soft. Sometimes he calls you angel, when he knows he’s charmed you enough just to get away with it, when he’s said all the things he knows you want to hear from him and smiled all the right smiles that cost him so much. Voice like a goddamn angel, face like a goddamn angel. Everything else… like something come straight from Hell to drag him down to where he really belongs and never let him go. 

He eyes you suspiciously. “The Bible says an eye for an eye. They killed my daughter so I took their eyes.” And then other parts.

“And then their lives…” And then their lives. He nods once, succinct. “You ascribe to the scripture?” You snap that little leather bound book open again, red, scratch in it once again, all your secrets about him. That itch returns, stronger than before. He bites down on it, chews it away within himself. 

“What? Like I believe in it? Fuck no. Fuck religion. It isn’t real. A weak construct made for weak men in need of comfort. And– and… like what – it’s going to save my soul? I ate that a long time ago, angel. Look at where I am…” He shrugs, letting his head fall back in a circular motion, coming to rest on his shoulder. He can’t help but smile at you, he knows you hate it when he gets like this, all ornery and heretical. 

You purse your lips, shake your head at him gently, and he wants to eat the lipstick from your soft mouth. “You believe in angels though… you call me–”

His smile cranks up another notch for a single beat. “Gotta believe in somethin’ that’s right in front of my eyes, don’t I? What d’ya think, that’m crazy?” And his eyes slide to the window again, smile melting off his face. “‘Sides they told me so–” 

“Who told you what?” Voice slow, measured, all serious-like. He rolls his eyes, feels the stone of anger in his belly heat, spin, jump to his throat. 

“They killed my daughter,” he spits like a whispered scream instead. The shadow of rain is closer. If the dancing bear were out there, it’d be lost to the deluge by now. “I should’ve done worse. I would have, had I not been thrown away in here.” He remembers that a man with a face like his left him here, but he doesn’t know who. He shakes his head, jostles the non-memory out of his ears, searches harder for the dancing bear, killed a bunch’a people, he murmurs to himself, once more again, because he likes the sound of it.

“So you’re talking about yourself. You want to be forgiven.” He doesn’t like when you tell him, when you don’t ask. It makes him feel like you know something he doesn’t, and he wants to know everything you know. 

“No. I don’t know.”

“Do you feel thrown away, Joel?”

“I feel forgotten – impossible to remember,” his voice cracks at the end, eyes suddenly wet and hot.

“By who?”

“The world.” He can’t remember his childhood. He can’t remember what he was like as a child, and it makes him sad. 

You’re quiet for a long time, no more scratch, scratch, scratch, no more itch. No more angel voice, and then, very soft, like you know you shouldn’t. “I remember you. I haven’t forgotten you.” 

Once, a time ago because he can’t discern lengths of it anymore, it doesn't exist here in the perfect place, amidst what, he thinks, is a lot that you know you shouldn’t have allowed, you’d changed the routine up on him. Had sent for him, instead of coming for him yourself. When he’d stepped into the room where you have your talks, you’d been facing the big window, looking out at the green, the line of your shoulders and the dip of your waist and the swell of your ass in your skirt that shifts like water around your knees and the saliva pooling heavy in his mouth, it’d been too much, too much for a broken thing, and you hadn’t turned. Like the pen, like more trust, you hadn’t turned to face him even though he knew you’d heard the door snick shut behind him. He’d stepped as quiet as he could up behind you, quiet like when he was sneaking to kill, and he’d brushed a single tip of his finger up the length of one of your skinny, little ones, so much smaller and finer than his thick, brutish ones, stroked the palm of your hand. You’d made the tiniest sound, interrupted by a swallow, but he’d heard it. He’d heard the want in it. He’d not forgotten either, and he sees that sound in your eyes now, again, as you stare at him with an intention he’s not so fucking crazy that he doesn’t know you shouldn’t possess. 

He smiles a little again, and you don’t return it, but it’s okay, he sees the sound of your want in your eyes anyways, and that’s infinitely more satisfying to him. “It would serve us all well to remember to try to be a little more empathetic, a little more forgiving.”

You swallow, shaken, he can tell. Shaken by that thing inside you for him he knows shouldn’t be there. You scratch a little in the book, say slowly, “It starts with you, I think, you have to forgive yourself first.”

He doesn’t acknowledge that. There are things you talk about you clearly have no understanding of. You’re young. You don’t know better. He understands. “I think… I think, I haven’t been myself lately.”

“Who have you been?”

And again, he doesn’t mean to say it, but you tell him so much you don’t mean to say either that he feels he might as well also. “Someone–” That anger again, he can’t help himself even though he desperately wants to. “Someone my daughter would be afraid of.” Full blown rage now. At you. Yes, at you. You force things from him he doesn’t want to give you, and there’s a thing within him that wants to punish you for it, take a pound of flesh in repayment. “I want someone to forgive me. I want to be forgiven. I want to experience it.” Truth is like fire, hypnotizing, seductive, once it catches, inextinguishable. He wants to hate you sometimes for forcing these things from him, for not giving him a choice, and worst of all, done so unintentionally, unknowingly. He wants to not give you a choice either. 

“From who?” You ask. Silly little girl. You need to learn the art of restraint, of temperance. He should teach you. 

“Our hour’s up.” He looks away, dismissing you. As if he’s the one in charge here, and not the one caged. Divested. 

“No, it isn’t. It’s–”

“Our hour’s up,” head snapping back towards you, barking–  “It’s time for you to go.” And something in his gaze must tell how far he’s been pushed, by you, for you jerk up and out of your chair suddenly, turning to scurry towards the door, not bothering to say goodbye, not bothering to turn back, not bothering to notice the clatter of your pen on the linoleum. 

He watches you go, a single black seam runs up the back of your hose, and the sight makes him feel violent, eager for darkness and the solitude of his white box room. 

-

He doesn’t know why, maybe the way the rain beats against the singular tiny window in his room, maybe the way it whispers at him like all the other things that whisper at him now, but he knows you’ll come before he hears the stunted jangle of keys, the sigh and click of his door, the bare pad of shoeless feet on the hard floor, you’d thought this through, your too fast, too shallow breathing. 

He’s staring up at the ceiling, arms crossed behind his head, cock hard, a little chafed. He wasn’t able to make himself come tonight, sometimes it doesn’t work, sometimes he needs the imagination of your wet cunt more than just the mere memory of your voice in his mind and the remembered feel of your gaze on him, but he’s never let himself picture the full act of fucking you. Thinks it would send him to a level of unhingedness he’d find unable to restrain in your presence. He only thinks of bits and pieces of you, like a dissected doll pulled apart for his half pleasure. Never the full thing, ever. 

You try and say whatever it is you want to say several times before it finally comes out, all choked and feigned regret, but you do try and put on a good show, swallowed up by nerves as you are. “I– I just– I just came to make sure you’re okay,” you whisper. You’ve never been in his room before. He’s never had you in his space like this, and it makes him leak. 

“You didn’t come for that.” Voice slow, still wide eyed, looking up at the white domed ceiling, something like victory in the shape of a hymn pounding through his veins. He won’t look at you until he’s ready. 

“I… I felt badly about how we left things this afternoon. I shouldn't have– I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t end our talk the way– the way… Joel?” You stutter,  trail off, voice small and unsure. 

He sees you move out of the corner of his eye. One step forward, two back, pressing up against the door again. Little bunny full of regret for coming into the wolf's bed, and he moves suddenly, swift despite his age still. He has little to do here besides move his body, make sure it doesn’t grow rust. He sits up quick as a whip, swinging his legs over the edge of his too small bed, planting his feet wide and sturdy on the cold floor. He can see the tremble of your throat even from here, the pristine lines of you. Your hair and your face and your tits and the tiny little pearl buttons of your blouse like soldiers waiting to be felled on the battlefield. He’s going to rip them from you, pluck the garments keeping you hidden away from your skin, spread you out, filleted. 

“That’s not what you came here for, angel.” He shakes his head slowly, and your panic ricochets higher, makes his cock harder. Your arm reaches back for the latch slowly, fumbling behind you, and he braces his legs. Your other palm outstretched, fingers trembling. He gives you another slow shake, as if that small gesture could keep him at bay. “I hear all the things you tell me. Don’t worry. I always hear.”

“Wh– what do you mean?”

“I always see the things you want me to know. I know… I know. It’s okay.”

“I don’t– I’m not sure… I shouldn’t have come.” Your hand finds the latch, angling your body to slip through as swiftly as possible, and his muscles coil tight and ready. “I just wanted– to– to make sure…” You pull the door open, move to slip away, and he lunges for you, catches the edge of the swinging door, lets you float in the lie that you’ve gotten away for a few seconds, scurrying a few paces down the dark corridor of his perfect place where he’s found his perfect girl. 

The morning after I killed myself, I found an angel. 

You make it as far as the bend in the hall before he’s trapping you in his grip, swinging you around so fast you bounce against the white tiled walls, cages you there, open mouth immediately at your jugular, biting down hard while his big palm completely smothers your face, forces your choked cry back down. His other arm wraps around your waist, lifting and dragging you back down the hall towards his white box and his little bed and all his fantasies, artery caught between his teeth, no more choices to be had, exactly like you leave him all the time. He whispers at you to be quiet, quiet, quiet, angels are always good, and then he’s shutting the door behind him, trapping you inside and plucking the keys from your skirt pocket, locking the two of you away together as you should’ve been from that first day. 

You try and struggle in his arms, little feet kicking weakly at his shins, scratching at his sides where he has your arms trapped, but the sound of your fight is restrained, held low and gurgled in your throat, and he knows that you know that this is what you’d come for, that you’re getting exactly as you’d sought. 

“Fight harder if you’d like,” he says low in your ear, throwing the keys to the far corner and wrapping both arms tight around you, pressing all the air out. Finally, fucking finally. He’s touching you, the plush heat of your breasts against his chest, the soft swell of your belly against his stomach. He’s so fucking hard he wants to rut into you like a beast. “I want you to be scared,” and it’s the foremost truth he’s ever shared with you. The heart of all his depravity. “I want you to want it so bad you’re terrified. As bad as I want it. I want you to not want it also. Want you to fight and cry and scratch and bite, and then take it anyways ‘cause I’m gonna to give it to you anyways. You always take all of my choices from me,” he adds on, voice going barely there, mumbled, pressing a tiny kiss to the tiny hammering pulse in your throat, and you let out your first soft moan. An angel singing right into his ear. Your fighting tells all sorts of lies. He hoists you higher, presses you closer, and you wriggle and squirm, grinding his erection into the soft apex of your thighs. 

“Joel– stop, please– please. I– I didn’t think–” He bends his head to your breast, drags his nose over the hard peak he feels beneath the silk of your blouse, nuzzles there, enjoying the sound of your breathlessness, again that feigned shock. You’re right, you didn’t think, and it’s too late now. What did you expect would happen, coming here to his cage like this in the middle of the night? He catches the taut peak between the edge of his teeth, tugs gently, plucking your cords.

With a fist wrapped in the length of your hair he forces you to your knees at his feet, jerking your head back roughly so that your mouth falls open on a gasp giving him the opportunity to hook his fingers over the edge of your bottom teeth, stretching your jaw open wide. “Open– lemme see,” he orders. “I wanted you so bad,” dragging the pad of his thumb along the sharp edge of your jaw. “I want you so bad. All those days when you forced me to tell you things I didn’t want to tell you. I’m going to show you temperance now, angel,” he nods his head down at you condescendingly when you try and protest. I didn’t force you to do anything, “But you did. You did. You pulled things out of me I didn’t want to share. And now I have to have you. You always take all of my choices from me.” He clicks his tongue down at you, and there are tears in your eyes that go wide and something worse than frightened when he tugs the elastic waist of his soft white pants down, pulls out his angry erection and heavy balls. Your expression morphing from something worse than frightened, to something like desperate, like hungry, like his for the taking. And he’s big, he knows it. Much too big for the pretty little throat he’s about to force it down. But he’s going to be gentle, he’s going to help you, teach you. 

“Joel, please–” And look at you beg, so pretty with tears in your eyes, running down your cheeks. He brings the searing brand of his erection to your cheek, presses the burning hot skin all over your face, coating himself in the wet of your tears, marking you in the thick male scent of him. And the feel of you, just like this, just this little bit – with his fingers still hooked over the edge of your teeth he turns your face so that your open mouth brushes against his length. “Taste– I know you’re hungry for it. Give it a kiss hello, little angel.” 

Your eyes flash up to his face for a brief moment, almost too quick for him to catch, and then you’re pursing your mouth against him, swallowing the shudder that moves through his entire frame. A tiny kiss to the ridged underbelly of his cock, the drag of your lips against the length of him to the fat tip, and then another kiss with wet lips and enough tongue to undeniably lick up some of what’s slicking it. You want him, even if you won’t admit it, even if you cry or fight. It’s all he needs to know. 

Still caught by the teeth he jerks your head back forward, opens you wider and forces his cock down your throat. You gurgle around him, whining, shrieking, false, he knows what you really want. Can feel it in the slicking of your tongue around the proof of his desire for you, he’s giving you everything he has, and he spits your name, purges it from his belly like an infection over and over again while he starts to fuck your mouth. Feels you gulp hard just at the right moment to get his leaking tip caught tight at the choking opening of your throat. He could come just like this. He could, he could. You’re all his. Fill your belly with his semen until it bulges, feed you himself until you’d never be without him. He lets his head fall back, looks up at the white dome, at the false home of the false God, tells you again, voice all cracked and broken and gone away from him, “I don’t believe in God anymore, but that’s okay. I have you to believe in now,” fucks harder, listens to your cries climb up the walls, savors the scratch and shove at his thighs when he tightens his fist in your hair to a painful degree. You always take all my choices from me, always. But he knows that if he’s to show you temperance he must exercise his own, and after a few more slick thrusts, he pulls wetly from your mouth, enjoying your whistling groan as you sag face first against his thigh. He pets your hair now gently, fingers twisting through the softness. He’d always wanted to feel it, memorize its texture, its scent. There is nothing about you that isn’t worthy of veneration, of doing the worst thing in the world just to have you, taste you, keep you.

He lets you rest for a moment, wonders at the fact that you haven’t screamed yet. You easily could, call for help, salvation, an escape. You haven’t, and it soothes him. Makes him feel disgusting in a way that doesn’t match up with how disgusting it should feel to force himself on his pretty angel; a self satisfied type of disgust. Something he should be more ashamed of than he truly is. But when you have so little, when you barely have yourself, when theft is the only means of self satisfaction, little recourse remains for creatures caged in perfect places with only bad avenues left to them. 

He hauls you up by your underarms, lets his wet cock press trapped between the two of you, and he’s so close, so close, so close to what he’s needed for so long. He gathers you in his arms, cradles you gentle and with purpose. Tucks your hair behind your ears and wipes the tears and spit from your face, takes it the sparkle of your big wet eyes. So pretty. “Truly like an angel,” and chucks you beneath the chin when you shake your head at him. “You are. So pretty and so soft.” And then finally, like so many times he’d forced himself not to imagine it because he was terrified of what the fantasy would turn him into, no longer the dancing bear in the distance finding it’s escape, but a hungry one, a violent one, an animal so far beyond control all it could do was devour, he pulls you close by the tip of your chin and swallows your mouth whole. All tongue and teeth and the slick slide of your own fervor because yes, it’s there, tangling with his own mouth, pressing your own spit onto his tongue like an offering. You kiss him back.

You kiss him back.

 And, “I want to make you my little butterfly,” he says, “Spread you open, pinned just for me to look at. Only me.” He whispers it into your mouth, soft and secret and true. He’d string you up if he could, split you open and peer inside, rifle through the shafts of your ribs like a lexicon that spells out the truth of who you really are. And then that sudden anger again, that furious stone spinning in his throat. His touch becomes harder, punishing, “You’re going to tell me everything about you,” he says with all that rage in his voice, spits the stone out at you. “You shouldn’t have kept secrets from me.” Fuck the little red book and the scratch, scratch, scratch. He’s going to have all your truths. He’s going to be the one taking all of your choices away from you now. 

He hauls you towards his little bed, popping the pretty pearl buttons as he goes, knowing he’s going to go to his knees later to collect them like treasures for himself after this is done. He rips the blouse from your shoulders, shudders at your indignant little gasp with the sound of the tearing silk, and you’re all soft skin and fine lace and the prettiest thing he’s ever beheld with his own two eyes in this whole life. 

You bring one delicate hand up to his throat, try and grip him there, push him back, but he presses into the touch, sucks at your mouth again, harder, biting, and you say onto his tongue that you shouldn’t, and please, Joel, just wait, but he won’t and he can’t and he tells you it’s useless to fight because he’s having you regardless. 

“No, no– none of that. You’re going to take your fucking like a good little girl,” and something about his words or his tone or the look in his eyes must make the connection in your brian that this is happening click because you suddenly go boneless, head falling back to bear your throat for him, soft sound of concession slipping from your lips. 

He goes in for the kill, he’s always been exceptional at that, after all. Teeth latched at your jugular, tongue up and across the slope of soft sugared skin, and you taste like salvation. He’s saved now, he’s sure of it. Everything he’d lost, his daughter, his mind, himself, he’s going to find it buried in your cunt. Joel is absolutely certain of it. 

He divests you of your skirt, the pretty lace, leaves the nylons held up by tight elastic around your soft thighs, and then it’s all just bare skin and heat and your soft whimpers, the coolness of your hair between his fingers. He lays you out across the length of his bed, takes in the majesty of his winnings. An angel felled and caught. You lie there staring up at him, and there’s an innocence to your gaze that brings him to his knees, set down and at your mercy now. He parts your legs slowly, one small kneecap in the bowl of each palm, the softest skin he’s ever felt beneath these death roughened hands, and Joel could sob now, weep if he had the time for it. He spreads your thighs wide, palms dragging up the insides, calluses catching on the smooth nylon and watches the dip and hitch of your belly as you gasp and shiver. 

“Are you scared?” He whispers right as his palms reach the uppermost part of your thighs, and you’re all softness and warm, damp skin, plush in a way that makes his mouth water and his gums ache, and then he’s finally laying eyes at the center of you, and you’re slicked in the gloss of your desire for him. Playing pretend, feigned fight and reluctance, but he’s looking right at the heart of you, and all he sees now is your truth. You shake your head no, let out a soft breath. “Look at this drippy little cunt,” and he drags his thumb over the pearl of your clit just as whisper soft as his voice is. A half screeched hitch claws up your throat, your thighs jumping at that first touch. He needs to see more, hooks a thumb at each delicate lip and spreads wide, but gently, so as not to hurt you. That’s for later. He stretches your little hole, enjoys the shy wink it gives him. 

“My God… look at you,” he says with something like reverence in his voice. So slick and gorgeous. “I think this little cunt’s going to take me in very nicely.” He runs the pad of his thumb over your swollen clit again, clicks his tongue when your knees try to struggle shut. “None’a that, angel. Be good for me now.” He presses harder at your clit, runs his thumb down to your twitching opening, passes there lightly, coating himself in your leaking slick. “I wanted you so bad,” he tells you, one more moment for confessions before he starts. “I want you so bad. And you’ve always taken all my choices from me. Forced me to stay myself when that’s not who I want to be anymore.”

“You’re Joel,” you whisper, and bring your hand to circle the wrist of the hand he’s petting you with. Not pushing him away or pulling him closer, only a gentle manacle around the thick of his bone. He looks up and into your eyes as he presses his thumb slowly inside of you, hooking it over the thin edge, twists you open slow and gentle and measured, gets you ready for the thickness he’s about to split you open with. 

“That isn’t who I wanted to be anymore. I wanted to forget all that, all the bad, her, I wanted to forget all of it. I tucked her name under my tongue for so long it became blood, and I wanted it like that. And you didn’t let me.” 

Your thighs shift restlessly around him, and you bring one foot up to the edge of the bed, anchoring yourself there so that you can begin a gentle rocking motion of your hips, fucking yourself slowly on his thumb. Your breasts heave and sway with the motion and his balls go so tight and so searingly hot, he could come just now like this from the sight of you, suddenly green and untried like he was in his youth. He didn’t think it was going to be like this, and it’s like he’s wasting your honor, stealing it from you, but something given can’t be stolen and his plans are foiled, he’s not in control but he doesn’t really care either. He finally has you. 

He bends his head, brings his mouth to your slick swollen cunt and takes the first sip. Groans so deep in his chest he’s more animal than man suddenly, sucking hard and sharp on your clit, he pulls his hand from you and laves his tongue over the entire slope of your sex, tongue dipping into the well of you. He spreads your lips again, wide, stretches your hole and fucks you with his tongue, big nose pressed to your clit, drowning in your sweet musk. Your fingers twine in the overly long curls of his hair, and he grips your thighs so hard he’s sure you’ll be left with the mark of him later which only makes him rougher, stronger in his hold. With your grip in his hair you sing for him in soft moans and whimpers and more feigned resistance with whispers of no, Joel, and please, stop while you ride his face, his entire mouth covering your cunt, eating it. More beast than man, not Joel, not a father, not a brother, not a killer, only yours. Carved in the image you’d wanted him to be. The one you’d made him with your words and your looks and your scratch, scratch, scratch. All those times you’d asked him what do you want, Joel? And he’d never had an answer for you because what was he supposed to say? You, this, freedom, your wet cunt, the far off field and the dancing bear and my daughter back, alive, my brother, face not unknown. My name, my name, I want my name back. I want myself back. To be alive. I want to be alive. You come on his tongue, first with a shudder and then with a groan, your entire body flushes hot, and it’s a concession of yourself and a door opening, the first vestiges of what the rest of his life will be. 

“You’ve got the sweetest little cunt, baby. Goes so tight and wet and fluttery,” he licks up the sticky sweet of your come, runs his tongue over the wet around his mouth, feels it trickle through his beard. “Think I’ll keep you.” 

Pulling his shirt up and over his head, he crawls up the length of you, slotting his hips between your damp thighs, pushing his soft pants down his legs as he goes, gathering the small of your wrists in a manacle of his fingers to pin them up above your head. He drapes himself over your body, covering you entirely with his weight and pauses for a moment, nuzzling through the curtain of your hair to get at your ear, your throat, your smell. “Are you going to fight back?” He says soft into the small shell of your ear. 

“No, I don’t want to.” You turn your head further to the side, bearing more of your throat to him. 

He follows your orders, runs a line of wet kisses up the delicate column, tastes the pulse of your heart and the slope of your shoulder. “Why not?”

“I don’t have it in me. I’m not a fighter, I came from a place where there was always fighting, where I always had to do battle constantly. I don’t have it in me now, anymore, ever.” You turn to face him again, lick at the line of his mouth, suck on his tongue, your hips rolling now against him, his erection slotted between the soaked lips of your cunt, swallowing him in warmth. “But also, because you were right. Because I want you. Because I did take all your choices from you.” 

Your words pull a groan, a whimper from him, and he pulls his hips back, presses forward, uncoordinated and slipping against all that slick, hot skin. He lets one of your wrists go, keeps the other trapped above your head. “Fuck– grab my cock,” and he feels the heat of your fragile formed hand wrap around the thick of his cock. An ugly, brutish thing held by perfection. You squeeze gently, twist just barely, and he feels his tip rim puckered skin, hot and round and persistent, probing against you as you try and find the right angle. “I’m gonna ride this cunt – hard. And you’re going to take it just how I give it. And you’re going to beg for more and harder and you’re going to thank me.”

Yes, yes, yes. Please, Joel. Thank you, Joel. 

You notch the tip of his cock at the wet mouth of your cunt, and then he’s pushing in, saving himself, finding salvation, returning or leaving himself, it doesn’t really matter anymore. He presses in, in, in all the way until he’s sitting hard and heavy and deep inside of you, and he’s sure he can almost feel your heartbeat when he bottoms out, balls pressed to the slick curve of your bottom. Your breaths scratch in whimpers against his ear, his hair fluttering in the wind of your gasps, and your free arm wraps tight around the back of his neck, your hips rolling to take more, impossible, for he’s already deep as he can be, tip to womb. But he shifts his weight, grinds against your cervix and enjoys the sound of your pained moan. 

“You feel right there? Where it hurts? That’s where I fuck you full’a my baby, little angel.” And his thoughts are unhinged, his desires full of madness and future and possibility. He pulls his hips back, drops them and shifts his weight forward inside of you. “And right there?” Grinds against your most sensitive spot, “That’s where I make you cream all over my cock.” He pulls his hips back again, focuses the tip of his cock at that desperate place inside of you and with his hand gripping your bottom to the point of pain he pounds into that place over and over again. The slick wet, obscene sound of his cock fucking in and out of your drippig cunt rings in his ears, and he grits thourgh clenched teeth, “Say thank you, say thank you. Beg me for it harder.”

And you’re so good, so good, and all please, Joel. Harder, harder, more. You’re so deep, it’s so good, please, more. 

He’s going to fill you up and mark you and keep you for himself, and he bends his head, wraps his mouth around the full and heavy weight of your bouncing tit as he fucks you into orgasm around his cock. Going tight, tight as a fist, so wet it drips down his balls and onto the already soaked sheet of his too small bed, and you come for him the way he’d never let himself fantasize about before. Your moans like a song in his ear, and it’s so fucking good, better than any dream, better than anything the voices in his head or the dancing bear could have ever conjured up. He shifts upwards, anchoring himself above you so that he can look down at you as he fucks down deep into your cunt, cock punching against your womb so that it hurts, so that the look on your face is folding in on itself, but good enough still so that your pussy convulses again in another forced orgasm. He wants to look at you as he fills you with his spend, turns you into something he owns after this. 

“Gonna fill you up now– gonna fill you until you’re leakin’ me.” Your hands slide up the soft slope of his stomach, his chest, fingers dragging through the hair there, twisting and pulling on it, up to his face where you cup his chin gently, eye to eye and all wrapped up in your cunt he starts to come, the thick heat of his semen coating your womb while you milk him deeper, every last drop of every last part of him he has to give. 

When he’s done he pulls heavy and wet from you, the sight of your swollen red cunt gaping from him, he finally pulls the slick ruined panty hose from your legs, the marks of the too tight elastic leaving brands in your soft skin, he fingers the grooves gently, clicks his tongue at the sight in reproach. The only thing leaving marks in your skin now should be him. He pulls your wrists back into his grip again, and the look on your face is almost melting in submission, soft and spent and sloppy, leaking cunt all covered in him. 

He ties each delicate wrist to the iron frame of his bed, tight, he can leave marks here now, you’re all his, and returns his attention to the source of his salvation, ignoring your protests as he eats his own come from your cunt until you’re crying a little too loud to remain undiscovered, coming twice more before he gives you reprieve, but he’s the one taking all your choices now, and you have no say in what happens after this. 

He eyes the forgotten keys he’d thrown to the dark corner of his white boxed room, “If you’re not good and quiet, I’ll leave you here for everyone to find, naked and fucked and leakin’ me. Pretty used cunt for the whole world to see, that what you want?”

“No, Joel,” you shake your head, all falsely innocent gaze sparkling up at him. 

And he tells you how good you are because the two of you are only going to share truths with each other now, only going to share everything. “I had nothing for so long. Nothing. Not even my own body, not even my own mind. Now I have you, and I won't give you up for anythin’. You’re mine now. They all told me so.” 

“Who told you?” You ask softly, but he ignores the question as he draws his clothes back upon himself. 

“I find myself so hard to remember and so easy to forget, but you remember me. You said so, and now I’m going to make sure you never forget.” Joel collects the keys and the pearls brought to him for his salvation, the dancing bear is so close now, and wraps your shredded clothes back around you, unties your wrists from the bed only to re-secure them, and hoists you folded over his shoulder for the taking. 

Joel lost his daughter, and then he lost his mind, but now he’s found you. And they said it would all be okay now that he’s found you. 

The morning after I killed myself, I found the end of my suffering, and at the end of that suffering there was a door – behind that door, I am alive again.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

#vic fic #Joel Miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller/you #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us au #Joel miller smut #dark joel miller #dark fic #joel miller imagine #pedro pascal characters

[nardo-headcanons]

Sunagakure Worldbuilding Headcanon

My last post on Kirigakure made me think of some Sunagakure Headcanons. Here they are! This is very long, but I hope you enjoy!

People and Culture

The wind realm’s population is rather decentralized, so there are a lot of subcultures, accents and customs that have developed over time. The people of Sunagakure are very intelligent and hard workers and don’t take shit from anyone. They value their independence but also recognize the use of unionizing to achieve their goals. They use rather few words to communicate amongst each other in public, but in private they can be very poetic. Also, they secretly don’t mind the stereotype of tumbleweeds rolling around everywhere in the village, because they can relate. To outsiders, they seem secretive and mysterious, but they are in reality very friendly and hospitable. Once you make a friend in Suna, you’ve made a friend for life. Gift giving, especially in the form of food or other self-made goods is always appreciated. Suna citizens are hopeless romantics, and most soap operas and sappy romance books are produced there. They love to make music and sing together. Most instruments originate from the wind realm and its citizens proudly call themselves the creators of all music in the shinobi world. The wind realm is the country with the richest culture in the shinobi world.

Politics

Recently, Suna has been plagued by an economic crisis, as the wind realm daimyo has preferably hired Konoha shinobi to get missions done. This has raised the distrust in the wind realm government and made the people more loyal to the kazekage than the daimyo. The shinobi have started to prioritize the mission over the lives of the shinobi fulfilling it, however they make sure to give their teammates a quick and painless death if they get into that situation.

Clothing and Cosmetics

Most Suna Shinobi wear long sleeves and cover their head, to protect their skin from sun damage. It’s also very common to cover your face in layers of fabric, as the Suna sandstorms can be ruthless. Light brown, grey, white and black are the most popular colors, as they allow you to blend in with your surroundings and not get detected by enemy shinobi. All people, including kuniochis, keep their hair rather short, cover it or tie them together in some kind of way. There are a lot of unique hairstyles to deal with the strong winds, as can be seen by Temari, who wears four ponytails because the winds would otherwise just destroy her hairstyle if she wore just two. For festive occasions though, Suna clothes are vibrant and colorful, with very intricate details. The most preferred fabric choices are silk and cotton. Before the recession, Suna also had a booming beauty industry, with the best moisturizers, sunblock and body wash originating from there. There is an ongoing feud between the wind realm and the water realm about who has the better skincare products. Wind realm citizens are known to always smell good and take great care of themselves. They use bidets and shower frequently. The women are rumored to be the most beautiful in the shinobi world, however many of them have to deal with orientalism and exoticism from foreigners.

Nature

Flora

A fact that a lot of foreigners get wrong is that Sunagakure is covered completely in desert wasteland. Quite a bit of vegetation is savannah and what we call mediterranean. Still a rather hot country, it is characterized by agonizingly hot summers and barely existing winters. The actual deserts of the wind realm are sprinkled with oases, around which many settlements have formed. The terrain around those oases is very fertile and most of the country’s produce is grown there. Sandstorms are not a rarity here and during these storms there are self-imposed curfews as Suna citizens know that once you get buried in a sandstorm, there is no way anyone will find you buried under all that sand. Only a few nomadic families actually travel and live outside of the oases.

Fauna

The deserts that surround Suna are filled to the brim with the most dangerous, savage animals known to the shinobi realm. The snakes especially must not be underestimated, as their venom can kill a grown shinobi within minutes. Many marionette wielders therefore use it against their enemies. The rivers of the wind realm are full of crocodiles and freshwater fish. The fennec fox is seen as a symbol of good luck and suna nin believe their mission will be a success when they see one. Aside from other cats of prey like lions, cheetahs and leopards. Other mammals include hyenas, hyraxes, macaques, gazelles, oryxes, camels, hedgehogs and sheep. When it comes to rodents, you can find desert rats, porcupines, armadillos, meerkats and gundis. Suna also has the largest spider population in the shinobi world, and you often must check your toilet and shower for any venomous spiders hanging out there. At night you can see bats flying through the sky. The wind realm sea is a home to many kinds of saltwater fish and sometimes you can visit the dolphins, that are particularly friendly to children. Mosquito stings are nasty here, and many diseases, for example those that we call malaria and dengue fever are endemic here. Wind realm citizens have a natural immunity against them and sleep them off in a day, but there are vaccinations available for foreigners.

Food

Stew and other slow cooked gravy dishes The absolute staple of any Suna nin are stews. They’re elaborate and take the whole day to cook. Every family has its own recipes (and thinks theirs is the best) it’s useful to just cut up veggies and meat, and then slow cook it until it’s done. Stews made in Suna include gumbo, adobo, maafe, and many curries. Spices Wind realm citizens have the greatest spice tolerance in the shinobi world. The greatest variety of spices is produced there, from cumin, fennel seeds, coriander seeds, pepper, chilli, cardamom, cinnamon, nutmeg, bay leaves, tumeric and a myriad of other herbs and spices. Suna food is very spicy for two reasons: many spices they use have a disinfecting effect, and the accelerated production of sweat helps cool down the body. Most spices are sold dried to increase shelf life. Many outsiders travel to Suna to acquire spices directly from the source, thinking they’ll get them for cheap, however, the vendors charge foreigners at a hefty margin. Sunagakure is the greatest exporter of all things spices.

Legumes Legumes play a very important role in the local eating pyramid. They serve as a satiating source of carbohydrates and protein. Beans and lentils can be turned into tofu, stew, mashed or baked, peanuts are often used as a base for stew and sauces in the form of peanut butter. Roasted and salted peanuts are a popular snack in Sunagakure. The biggest buyer of Suna’s exported legumes is Iwagakure.

Cassava This starchy root is soaked and then cooked for a long time to make mash, in stews, or fried. Cassava flour also serves as a gluten free flour alternative and many Suna nin use it to thicken sauces and stews. There’s also tapioca starch which is exported into other countries. Olives In the moderate climate regions, many olive trees are grown, which are then used to make olive oil, the preferred fat source of Suna’s people. Dairy It can often be purchased from nomad families, who sell it in the form of milk, yoghurt, kefir, butter and cheese. The preferred dairy variant is goat’s dairy; however, sheep and cow’s dairy are also available. There’s a possibility that the concept of fermenting milk to make yoghurt and kefir was once brought in by Kiri immigrants, however most wind realm citizens are too proud to give this possibility any thought or think it’s just a myth. Meat Just like dairy, meat can be purchased from several families that travel though the wind realm, or on bazars. It is dried often to increase shelf life. Sweets The best chocolate comes from here. The wind realm has a few islands where cocoa beans are produced, and Suna chocolate is known globally for its rich, earthy, fruity taste. Suna Nin are also the only people that regularly take coffee with them during missions. Most foreigners don’t like the bitter taste, but Sunagakure’s shinobis have realized that the caffeine within coffee beans is useful during missions where you must stay aware for long times. The most common sweetener is cane sugar and used to make coffee candy. Wind realm citizens don’t discriminate, and even children are allowed to have them. Another sweet food, especially popular amongst children are dates. On special occasions, Baklava are offered to the guests or given as a gift. Most foreigners find them way too sweet, but just can’t say no because they recognize the effort and craftsmanship that went into making them. The most popular fruit in Suna are: pomgranate, various kinds of citrus fruits, apples, grapes and green almonds. Ripened almonds are used to make marzipan, which is another one of Suna's culinary prides. Those who try persipan, a localized version from Kirigakure, think that it is a lesser version of their beloved treat.

#naruto headcanons #naruto #naruto shippuden #naruto imagines #naruto scenarios #akatsuki #naruto fanfiction #headcanons #sunagakure #worldbuilding #naruto meta #sasori headcanons #gaara #sabaku no gaara #temari

[dwcmarshalarts]

It's Labor Day in the US!

To my American friends:

While many associate the holiday with barbecues and days off, I'd like to take a moment to ask a question: What does Labor Day mean?

When you go to the supermarket and you buy produce, somewhere, some underpaid and likely maltreated farmer harvested that for you. Along the chain, another, underpaid transport worker, ferried it from Point A to Point B. Then, another underpaid worker, a retail employee, took that produce from the containers and placed it on the display.

Now, that's all a gross simplification. I didn't even mention the armies of regulators making sure the produce didn't contain salmonella (regulations which were inspired by consumer-protection programs against the same exploitative businesses that made labor underpaid in the first place). I didn't mention the various and myriad ways of transport involved in the production of vegetables. I didn't mention the construction workers who sweltered under the hot sun to make the building that the supermarket would become. And there's a lot more people I didn't mention, inextricably linked to bringing you a head of lettuce at the supermarket on any given day.

See, my friends, labor is the face of every worker, visible or invisible, that holds up the world as we know it. Even in the face of soulless automation, the world, its economy, and society at large cannot function without the worker, without labor.

So on this day, as with May 1st (the Internationally recognized Worker's holiday), we should all take a moment and remember why this day is named after Labor.

To the more inspired, organize. Do you work at a business? Feel your labor is being exploited? Get together with your coworkers and do the hard work to form a union.

Want to breathe energy into political change? Get informed, read about legislation, join your local chapter of DSA.

My friends, the worker's built this world. It's up to us to save it.

Original art by DWC Marshal Arts

#furry #anthro #digital art #furry art #illustration #dwc marshal arts #furries #furry fandom #labor day

[elonomhblog]

the importance of balance in academia

balance is SO IMPORTANT in every aspect of life, but so often students sacrifice it in order to achieve high-level grades. balance is a critical factor that contributes to both personal well-being and academic success. many myths exist that build this lack of balance in the academic world, so let's debunk some of them.

working long hours guarantees advancement who told you this? seriously? the number of hours worked does not necessarily correlate with productivity or career success. quality of work matters more than quantity. you should try to prioritize efficiency and well-being over excessive hours.

life must be compartmentalized separating work and personal life rigidly isn’t always feasible. embrace flexibility. sometimes school/work and life blend, and that’s okay. focus on being present wherever you are.

you can have it all this is a big goal of a lot of people. i hate to break it to you, but you're NEVER going to have it all. balancing everything perfectly is challenging. prioritize what truly matters to you. accept that some trade-offs are necessary.

time management solves everything another lie that's commonly believed. yes, time management helps but IT WILL NOT SOLVE ALL YOUR PROBLEMS. time management alone won’t guarantee balance. it’s about making conscious choices, not just managing the clock.

technology frees up more time/technology wastes time technology can both help and hinder balance. you must learn how to use technology wisely; and not let it consume your life. always disconnect when needed.

academic stress arises when a student’s existing capacity to manage and adapt to academic demands is exceeded. it encompasses mental distress related to expected academic challenges, fear of failure, or even the possibility of academic failure. you can prevent it by learning about your stressors, changing what you can, moderating your emotional reactions and practising physical responses to stress (e.g. mindful breathing). remember, academic stress is normal, but managing it effectively is essential for your overall well-being and success. prioritize self-care, seek help when needed, and find a healthy balance.

one thing that you're going to have to learn in order to become more balanced on your academic journey is to drop perfectionism. you may think that it has helped you get to where you are,, that it motivates you and keeps you going. these are lies. you must find new ways to motivate yourself that are not harmful.

for example, learning how to evolve whilst accepting that you are still growing and that you are just a person will get you to the same places, without the detrimental effects. perfectionists tend to have an all-or-nothing mindset and experience feelings of inadequacy due to toxic comparison. in being a perfectionist, your creativity may dwindle, as well as health implications arising and relationship strain.

if you don't believe me -- take a look at the article here.

but HOW can you manage balance in academia?

prioritize and plan though time management will not save you by itself, it is a great skill and very helpful. create a weekly schedule that allocates time for BOTH academic and personal activities. prioritize essential tasks and set realistic goals to avoid feeling overwhelmed.

set boundaries establish clear boundaries between work and personal life. make time to go out with your school friends outside of schoolwork! you have to be mindful, however, that it impossible to have a perfect divide or balance. we are humans; we are messy; life is messy.

self-care make time for activities that help you relax and recharge, such as exercise, meditation, or spending time with loved ones. prioritize physical and mental health alongside academic commitments.

be flexible recognize that there will be times when your work demands more of your time and attention. adapt to changing circumstances while maintaining a balance.

build a support system i can't stress this enough! having people around you --even if you're writing your stressors on an anonymous blog-- is so vital to academic success. foster personal relationships and build a network of colleagues and friends who understand the challenges of academia. seek advice and support from mentors and peers.

effective communication communicate openly with colleagues, supervisors, and family members about your commitments and limitations. negotiate the workload when necessary. i remember in primary school (sixth grade, to be precise) when my teacher gave me extra homework to 'push me'. it took so much time away from me. as a twelve-year-old, i was able to talk to her and we agreed that i would simply just do the extension homework (instead of double work) so that i would have more time to play. this shit works!

utilize technology leverage technology for efficiency. use tools for time management, collaboration, and communication. if you get too distracted by technology, block the sites. delete the apps. do whatever you have to do to make it a tool. you can always re-download when you're finished. you can always call a friend during the breaks.

i think one of the most significant things to learn, ever, is that all of your actions/strategies are a double edged sword. they can either hurt you or help you. you have to decide which side you use.

achieving balance is an ongoing process, and you have to learn what works best for you--everyone is different. always strive for a healthier equilibrium. i promise you that it will be better for your wellbeing; your soul.

luck on your academic journey.

❤️ joanne

#elonomh #elonomhblog #student #academia #chaotic academia #study blog #student life #productivity #that girl #becoming that girl #studying #100 days of studying #grad student #stem academia #stem student #stemblr #study #study aesthetic #study hard #study inspiration #study motivation #study inspo #study notes #study tips #study with me #study space #studyblr #studyblr community #studyabroad #studygram

[devildomwriter]

Reacting to Your First Sonogram | Barbatos x Reader

Being forbidden by his master, lord Diavolo, to look into the future he’d been a little surprised when you announced to him your pregnancy. Still he was only a little surprised, not only had he been bedding you multiple times a day, cumming in you every time, but he also recognized the early signs of pregnancy even before you had.

He was so concerned and curious how this pregnancy would go that he’d asked Diavolo to look into the future but Diavolo had told him that would ruin the fun of it.

So instead Barbatos was quick to research everything necessary and book you as many appointments as possible. He also scheduled as much free time as he could to give you relaxing spa days and all the special treatment the mother of his child deserved.

Now you were in the waiting room of an esteemed human world doctor with devildom affiliations who’d made time for the two of you in their busy schedule.

You leaned on Barbatos’s shoulder as he flipped through a pregnancy magazine. He’d already flipped through magazines advertising baby products and baby clothes and a magazine specific to motherhood opinions such as bottles vs breasts. Barbatos’s answer to the argument was that fed was best and you agreed, trying not to think about breastfeeding or any other challenges that may come up since you weren’t even two months pregnant.

Barbatos finished with the magazine and seeing as there weren’t anymore he handed it to you smiling, hoping it’d interest you.

It didn’t but you flipped through it anyway as you remained waiting for the doctor that Barbatos of all people sought out.

Barbatos held your hand tightly as he surveyed the waiting room for the millionth time, reassessing danger each time someone so much as flinched. He was extra protective now that he was protecting two people in one—his partner and his first child.

A nurse who looked like he’d been running around all day called out the fake name Barbatos had given.

The doctor had the real information, including who Barbatos really was, but no one else. The nurse held the door open for you and you and Barbatos made your way into the hall.

Barbatos stood on your “most vulnerable” side and had his arm wrapped around you for support and protection.

Another nurse stood outside the door to your room and gestured for you to walk in.

This nurse, a younger woman, had the room fully prepared including two glasses of water and a large tv on in the corner in case there was a wait.

Barbatos locked the door and stood in front of it just in case as you changed into the long robe. It didn’t seem like a standard hospital gown, in fact it had your initials inscribed.

“Umm, Barbatos how far did you go with all this?”

“Hm? Not far at all. I simply told the doctor when we’d be coming and to have everything ready my partner could possibly need.”

“So you scheduled this on your time?”

“Correct.”

“Okay.” So the doctor hadn’t squeezed you into the schedule, a powerful demon had told him he’d be showing up and the doctor just had to deal with that.

The doctor arrived shortly after Barbatos unlocked the door and you had rested your head on the pillow of the exam bed.

Barbatos put a second pillow under your knees to help prop you up nicely and the doctor, a nervous looking man, tried hard not to fumble through his questions, confirming everything Barbatos and you had filled out on the medical information sheet.

Barbatos smiled and nodded politely to everything but the doctor seemed more panicked by Barbatos’s lack of words.

“Okay, so what I’m going to do now is apply this gel to your stomach—“

“Allow me,” Barbatos said reaching out his hand with a ‘grin’.

The doctor obliged though he knew he wasn’t supposed to.

Barbatos put on a pair of plastic gloves and applied the gel to your stomach. You squeaked in surprise at the cold and he chuckled.

Seeing Barbatos’s light hearted reaction the doctor eased up a little bit.

The doctor fiddled with the monitor and sensing Barbatos’s intentions, instructed Barbatos on how he should handle the transducer.

Barbatos nodded approvingly and the doctor stepped back as Barbatos ran the transducer carefully over your gelled stomach until something caught his eye.

“Is that—“ his breath caught in his throat and the doctor grinned and nodded. He approached the monitor and pointed to the heartbeat Barbatos focused in on.

Barbatos immediately looked to you and smiled. He seemed a mix of grateful, approving, and relieved.

Just as you were about to become a mother, he too, a demon as old as time was about to experience something new—something that hadn’t happened in all his millennia.

He held your hand and allowed the doctor to hold the transducer as he scooted close to you at the end of the bed. He rested his head against your chest listening to your heartbeat as you both watched your child’s fast beating heart on screen.

#obey me shall we date #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me barbatos #omswd barbatos #obey me scenarios #obey me drabble #obey as dads #obey me second generation

[soapskneebrace]

A note on future chapters of both Neighbors and the upcoming Soap series:

so, uh, with my recent neurodivergence revelation and also becoming familiar with PDA, I've decided to put absolutely no pressure on myself at all and refuse by all means necessary to update consistently. I make zero promises as to when any chapters will happen, or honestly if I will even FINISH any given work.

Behind the scenes I've been beating myself up a lot because I can't seem to get Neighbors chapters out faster than every two months, and I have always wanted more from myself in terms of writing. However with the deluge of realizations I've made in the past 36 hours I've come to understand that wanting more has made more an obligation, and (considering I'm not getting paid for this) my brain literally cannot work with that.

It's more than accepting or emphasizing that fanfiction is primarily for myself and thus is not subject to the whims and wants of others; I am very comfortable disappointing you all in favor of my well-being. Advocating for myself has been a skill I've worked very hard to cultivate. However, tuning my own expectations for myself has been harder to practice. I have always wanted to be more productive, more consistent, and more organized. I have always wanted to feel like I could do exactly what I wanted myself to do.

I've recognized in the end that having these expectations at all has perhaps been detrimental to my creative growth. My brain is not a neurotypical brain. The things that motivate a neurotypical brain--goal-setting, external accountability and satisfaction--do not motivate mine. They cause me stress and shame and anger and disappointment, all directed inward.

I have spent many, many years hating myself for falling short of these expectations. I have believed that the only reason I cannot meet them is because I am actively choosing to be a disappointment, because I do not have the self control to do "better" and change myself. I know now that this is not the case. I am different. My needs are different. This is okay. It is okay for me to be this way.

ALL OF THIS TO SAY LMAO that you'll see me when you see me. I'll have stuff for you when I have it. I still want to write for my series, because I'm very happy about them and it gives me a lot of joy to see other people enjoy my work, but I will no longer bind myself in obligation to them.

There will be no schedule, and I will no longer apologize for gaps between updates. I'm vibing. I'm embracing happiness. And my sincerest wish is that everyone who has been with me since the beginning finds the courage and the freedom to do the same. Thank you all so much for your support, especially through one of the hardest years of my life. It has meant the world.

#sorry for no read more but it's important to me that y'all read this