#with a non-generic body type?

[aria-ashryver]

Guarded came up on Book Pass today so I thought I'd give it a go and jfc. I am exhausted. I like smut, but this is just bad writing. Think I'm gonna DNF this one because oof. It's just this shit, over and over and over again

he's???? he's just holding a drink???????

#choices guarded #am i still going to make an edit of my sprite #with a non-generic body type? #yes #she's pretty lol

[enniewritesathing]

oooh, a pose book that's relevant to my interests!

And I can get it off of Amazon (Japan). It's only $19? Hell yeah!

...ah, shipping costs.

#a tragedy in 3 acts #however! i somehow got a JP pose book on regular amazon for $12 at the time (which is a fucking STEAL) #it's a pose book with muscular models that's i'd say are close to john's body type #(and i will be on the record they look handsome) #the other one i have is more for general poses #anyway it would cost like $43... which is a little steep #i bookmarked it so i can maybe wait that price out or find it on US 🤞 #a text post #non sims #there's not enough male pose books!!

[hurricanewithmyname]

i would like to stop hearing from thin people complaining about the scale in the anti-hero mv

#hi it’s your resident non-thin person tired of people getting angry on my behalf #if you are yourself a non-thin person who felt some type of way about it then okay fine #but please stop generalizing #i find it comforting that even someone as gorgeous as taylor falls prey to beauty standards because if she does then obviously they’re #complete bullshit! like i personally get annoyed when thin people are like ‘love yourself fight the patriarchal standards!’ because like. #okay easy for you to say #for taylor to admit that the world is so fucked up that even she feels fat and uncomfortable with her body #is actually nice for me to hear #so if it’s not for you i’m sorry but stop trying to make a production on my behalf

[veresiine]

Every time I go back to WoW after a long hiatus, I'm struck by how DIFFERENT my characters look in-game from how I imagine them, draw them, and ask others to draw them.

It's most jarring with Verk because of the vastly different body type. Verk is an elf, yes, but she is a TANK; she's short, muscular, and also flat as a board. The newer armor with 3D effects helps a bit for adding bulk and avoiding boobplate, but I still want to take her character model and squish it to half height while keeping the original width to at least make her proportions correct.

Tel is also an elf, and she IS thin and leggy, but even SHE isn't the spaghetti of blood elf models, especially since she should still have the shoulders of an archer. I should count it as a win that I can finally actually give her black hair, olive skin, and more jewelry, as of whenever that cosmetic update was, but she's still not quite right.

Eres... I get that she's immortal, but why does she look so YOUNG? Eres spent like 2 years as effectively a single mom working like 60 hours a week and living off caffeine and the grace of the Light. The two years before THAT she got kidnapped, almost died, and had her entire worldview overturned. She is TIRED. Why can't she LOOK tired?

#veresiine irl #my OCs #In general it's less bad for the guys #the main issue is that I made Marelan as a demon hunter when I really should have made him as a warrior #but that's on me #I mean there is the problem of my non-physically-inclined dudes (Felix and Onoras) #but I can't even bring myself to make them as characters BECAUSE the body type difference #is so jarring. Not every man is made of 90% muscle by volume y'know

[malkaviian]

Thinking about fankids favorite kinks because I can't sleep

#seba is def consensual non consent. also brat taming (with him being the brat) #eris is just a sadistic in general but if i had to think about it. blood and knife play. with a bit of fear play #gun play generally is also good #but knives are her favorites #damian... probably tentacles and medical play. #as for pandora i have no idea tbh she doesnt strike me as the type of person with kinks #maybe hypnosis? i guess i can see her getting into it. or maybe good ol' body worship #nsft #oc talk

[squeeneypod]

this is the last post but like. if looking at fat bodies for reference makes you uncomfortable then you gotta deal with that

otherwise! while the resources are still small, people are putting in the work to collect references of fat people to be used for art! the one ive used before (and need to use more because I'm fairly limited still!) is fatphotoref.com (includes both nude, partial nude, and clothed models)

you need to request access because people Suck but it has some nice refrences for learning to draw people of varying sizes

and yknow. morpho fat and skin folds. holds it up like the bible

#and thats it thats the last non podcast post #just be cool and follow the rules of the blog because it's Good #im nowhere near the level id like to be when it comes to drawing various body types #because in general id say my figure drawing skills are very limited! #self taught art has its limits and one of them is not regularly drawing real people lol #hell i still cant quite draw people bending over in a natural way because the human spine is weird

[goldensunset]

feel free to elaborate in tags of course on how easy or hard cosplaying them would be

bonus question: how much do you WANT to look like your icon. like are they the goal you aspire to

#peach rambles #if i see anyone vote the first option i’m shooting them be warned #hall of fame i guess #<- not often that i get to add that tag a matter of mere hours after posting something #tbh i confess i didn’t structure these options well. i could not have imagined the wide variety of responses i’d get #my bad

[headspace-hotel]

I will write this thought about Veganism and Classism in the USA in another post so as to not derail the other thread:

There are comments in the notes that say meat is only cheaper than plant based foods because of subsidies artificially lowering the price of meat in the United States. This is...part of the story but not all of it.

For my animal agriculture lab we went to a butcher shop and watched the butcher cut up a pig into various cuts of meat. I have had to study quite a bit about the meat industry in that class. This has been the first time I fully realized how strongly the meat on a single animal is divided up by socioeconomic class.

Like yes, meat cumulatively takes more natural resources to create and thus should be more expensive, but once that animal is cut apart, it is divided up between rich and poor based on how good to eat the parts are. I was really shocked at watching this process and seeing just how clean and crisp an indicator of class this is.

Specifically, the types of meat I'm most familiar with are traditionally "waste" parts left over once the desirable parts are gone. For example, beef brisket is the dangly, floppy bit on the front of a cow's neck. Pork spareribs are the part of the ribcage that's barely got anything on it.

And that stuff is a tier above the "meat" that is most of what poor people eat: sausage, hot dogs, bologna, other heavily processed meat products that are essentially made up of all the scraps from the carcass that can't go into the "cuts" of meat. Where my mom comes from in North Carolina, you can buy "livermush" which is a processed meat product made up of a mixture of liver and a bunch of random body parts ground up and congealed together. There's also "head cheese" (made of parts of the pig's head) and pickled pigs' feet and chitlin's (that's made of intestines iirc) and cracklin's (basically crispy fried pig skin) and probably a bunch of stuff i'm forgetting. A lot of traditional Southern cooking uses basically scraps of animal ingredients to stretch across multiple meals, like putting pork fat in beans or saving bacon grease for gravy or the like.

So another dysfunctional thing about our food system, is that instead of people of each socioeconomic class eating a certain number of animals, every individual animal is basically divided up along class lines, with the poorest people eating the scraps no one else will eat (oftentimes heavily processed in a way that makes it incredibly unhealthy).

Even the 70% lean ground beef is made by injecting extra leftover fat back into the ground-up meat because the extra fat is undesirable on the "better" cuts. (Gross!)

I've made, or eaten, many a recipe where the only thing that makes it non-vegan is the chicken broth. Chicken broth, just leftover chicken bones and cartilage rendered and boiled down in water? How much is that "driving demand" for meat, when it's basically a byproduct?

That class really made me twist my brain around about the idea of abstaining from animal products as a way to deprive the industry of profits. Nobody eats "X number of cows, pigs, chickens in a lifetime" because depending on the socioeconomic class, they're eating different parts of the animal, splitting it with someone richer or poorer than they are. If a bunch of people who only ate processed meats anyway abstained, that wouldn't equal "saving" X number of animals, it would just mean the scraps and byproducts from a bunch of people's steaks or pork chops would have something different happen to them.

The other major relevant conclusion I got from that class, was that animal agriculture is so dominant because of monoculture. People think it's animal agriculture vs. plant agriculture (or plants used for human consumption vs. using them to feed livestock), but from capitalism's point of view, feeding animals corn is just another way to use corn to generate profits.

People think we could feed the world by using the grain fed to animals to feed humans, but...the grain fed to animals, is not actually a viable diet for the human population, because it's literally just corn and soybean. Like animal agriculture is used to give some semblance of variety to the consumer's diet in a system that is almost totally dominated by like 3 monocrops.

Do y'all have any idea how much of the American diet is just corn?!?! Corn starch, corn syrup, corn this, corn that, processed into the appearance of variety. And chickens and pigs are just another way to process corn. That's basically why we have them, because they can eat our corn. It's a total disaster.

And it's even worse because almost all the USA's plant foods that aren't the giant industrial monocrops maintained by pesticides and machines, are harvested and cared for by undocumented migrant workers that get abused and mistreated and can't say anything because their boss will tattle on them to ICE.

#agriculture #it's so messed up #plants #livestock

[ohbother2]

Lucifer x f!reader - Forced Proximity

PART II

PART I

This was supposed to come out at the weekend, but holy shit the previous part already has 1k likes so here you go a few days early.

This is just smut, no plot, you've been warned. Minors DNI.

Btw I'd love to hear your feedback! I'm not very experienced at this type of writing, so I'd love to know what you think!

(Srsly, thank you guys for the amount of love on the previous part, don't think I've ever had a piece of writing be so popular)

Tag list - @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx

--

"You know," You complain, letting him guide your face back down towards him, you prop your weight on your hands either side of his head, not allowing him to pull you into another kiss quite so soon. "you could've let him leave the door open. I'd quite like to be able to see you."

His free hand slides down from its place against your shoulder blade, and he hums contemplatively as it slowly trails down your spine, finally resting on your hip. His eyes are heavy-lidded, and he looks as though he's struggling to focus.

"You can look at me later." He tries to crane his neck upward, but you're determined and turn your head slightly, his lips only finding the corner of your mouth. He groans in frustration.

Realising you weren't going to kiss him any time soon, he presses his lips against the side of your throat, giggling into your skin when you gasp in surprise. He doesn't stop though, and you feel his fangs graze against your jugular teasingly.

"Are you not uncomfortable?" Both of his hands are now on your thighs, rocking you gently.

"God, no." He mumbles against your throat, too distracted with covering the areas of sparse unblemished skin he had glimpsed when the cupboard had been opened. "I'm very happy here."

"We could've gone somewhere with more room." Your eyes close, sinking into his touch as he peppers kisses along your collarbone. You start moving your hips lightly to join his movements. He exhales deeply, one palm pressing against the small of your back to press you down onto him.

"And where would we be?" His voice is quiet, husky, and muffled against your shoulder. The question was non-commital, not expecting you to answer.

"Your desk."

He inhales sharply and his claws dig into your thighs painfully, you feel him stop breathing beneath you. His lips detach from your neck and when you glance down his wide eyes are staring straight at you, suddenly far more alert.

"Y-You," His voice audibly cracks, mind reeling at the images that assaulted him. Images that he had been burying for the past several years. He almost feels sad; he definitely should've made a move sooner. You smile at how strained he is, voice an octave higher than it should've been. His trousers were suddenly painfully tight. "should stop talking."

"Flustered?" You hum cheekily, a hand resting against the side of his face, fingers carding through his disheveled locks as you lean impossibly closer, teasing him with a kiss. His head tilts with your hand hopelessly, and you watch his eyes flutter. Your lips graze against his own and a high-pitched pathetic little sound catches in his throat. Your lips ghost away from his own, across his cheek, and finally press firmly against the crook of his jaw.

"No." He breathes deeply, but his composure falters again when one of your hands slithers between your bodies, tugging gently at his belt. He was a bad liar. "But you keep talking like that-" He gasps, high and airy, as you slowly pull the zipper down his front, fingers grazing generously at the tent in his boxers. "and this'll end before it even begins." His voice pitches and warbles when you lick a line up from the hickey you had been leaving at the juncture between his throat and shoulder.

Your hand rests teasingly against his waistband, a finger slipping just below the hem and pulling playfully. He whines, a hand gripping your hair and pulling your face up to meet him. "Please," He gasps as another one of your fingers teases at the band of his boxers. You can feel his knees spread behind you, allowing room for you to press against his upper thighs. "kiss me."

He was staring at you desperately, the hand in your hair beckoning you closer, but not forcing. Oh how you wished you could see his expression, and you wanted to punish him for not allowing the door to remain open. You catch a glimpse of his furrowed brows, barely visible in the dim light that emanated from his big eyes, and you bite your lip thoughtfully.

"Sweetheart, I'll beg if you want." You didn't doubt it, leaving your fingers pressing against his quivering stomach.

"Next time," You instruct, and you can see the way his eyes flash red at the prospect before settling back to their amber hue. "I choose where, even if that means you have to wait."

"Anything." The word is half whispered, half mumbled against your lips as you finally lean down. He doesn't waste any time, hand gripping your hair tight and forcing you closer, guiding your head to tilt to the side and forcing your lips to open. His tongue snakes its way back into your mouth, and you have to grip his hair for stability, barely able to reciprocate the bruising force of the kiss, never mind keep up. He groans again at your fingers against his scalp, he hums something incoherent, and you're only allowed a second to gasp for breath before he's pulling you in again.

You were too distracted to notice the way his free hand slithered down your body, gracefully unbuttoning and unzipping your trousers. You were even too distracted to notice the way his fingers had pulled at your underwear, but you do notice when a cool finger presses exactly where you needed it to. You moan into his mouth, and you can feel his lips smile as he rubs a small tight circle over your bundle of nerves. "Luci." You whimper as he pulls back for a breath, your damp foreheads pressed together as you try and steady your heart. He pulls you back into a kiss, muffling a whimper when two of his fingers push deeper, gliding easily against your wet folds, pressing against your entrance as his palm rubs against your clit.

"This wet already for me?" He tries to sound seductive, but the breathlessness of his chest and panting of his breath betrays him. "I've barely touched you, love." A fingertip presses in lightly, and your legs spread wider invitingly, but he pulls back to circle two fingers against your peak. He swallows your whine with another breathless kiss.

You writhe on top of him, and his hips jerk involuntarily when you plead his name against his lips. One finger finally breaches your entrance, sliding in easily, and you rut against his hand to speed up the agonisingly slow pace he was taking.

Lucifer had been playing along, grinning against your lips and flexing his fingers enticingly, showing you what he could do but not quite giving you a pace that would accomplish anything. He glides a second up alongside his first finger, and his own moan catches in his throat at the way you tighten around him. You mewl at the pleasurable stretch. Truthfully, he had been thinking ever since you had made your comment about his desk, and the many ideas he had come up with on his own whilst sat there pining after you. He had an idea. He wasn't going to let you interrupt this plan.

His fingers suddenly pull away, leaving you empty and confused, chest heaving as you sit up, staring down at him.

"Off." He pats at your thighs, tugging at your trousers and shimmying them as far as they would go. The smile in his voice was palpable, but you didn't question his sudden giddiness, lifting your hips to help him. It was a little awkward with the small space you both had, but you eventually wiggle free of the tight garment, underwear following in a heap in the corner.

You sit back against him, completely bare on your lower half whilst your top still bunched around your elbows. You lower yourself all the way, folds pressing against the tent in his boxers and grinning wickedly. He doesn't react as you'd hoped though, staring up at you with large shining eyes, admiration in their depths, as well as something else you couldn't quite distinguish, something a little more, mischievous.

Without warning he thrusts his hips up, and you nearly crash into his chest at the sudden forceful jerk. His hands grasp your bare ass firmly, claws digging into the supple flesh. You're so impossibly close to his face you can just make out the grin adorning his features.

"What are you-" You go to sit back against his hips, but his hands stop you, forcing you up instead of down. His own breathing had picked up in anticipation. You hover above him, not sure what he wanted you to do.

"Come on, sweetheart." The words slip from his lips fast and energetic, and his strong arms pull you higher up his torso, now hovering above his sternum. "I promise it'll be worth it."

"Wha-" Realisation hits you like a freight train and your breath leaves you horribly quickly. You had never done this before, and you most definitely had never had someone excitedly trying to yank you up their body. "Luci- I-I don't-"

"Please?" He pleads, and you twitch when he turns his head to place a quick peck against the inside of your knee.

"You want to-?

He doesn't even let you finish. "Yes." His hands tug you closer, inch by inch, and you tentatively let yourself be risen. "I wasn't lying earlier; would've been on my knees for hours."

The way his voice had taken on a whiny pitch had you clenching around nothing in particular, struggling to believe such a powerful man was here, on his back, desperately trying to persuade you to- to- you couldn't fathom it.

"I've never done this before." You hesitate, your nerves growing in the pit of your stomach as you stare down at his bright eyes. If you could see anything in this darkness, you'd see his ear-splitting grin and the way his tongue flicked against his lips as he positioned you. You'd also notice the way his cheeks and chest had flushed feverishly once he had realised you were actually going to let him do this. Instead, you focussed unwaveringly on his bright eyes, which constantly flicked between your face and the growing heat between your thighs.

Something in his chest jumps, knowing he'd be the first to do this to you. His mounting resolve had just solidified, you were most definitely not getting out of this now. You hover direction above him and he places a clawed hand on either of your thighs, gently coaxing you down.

"Perfect," Some of his cocky self had come back now that he was finally getting what he wanted, and his hot breath fans across your thighs as you slowly lower down, your hands grasping the shelves above your head to stabilise yourself. "just let me take care of you."

You pause your decent when you feel his hair ticking at your thighs, and he takes the opportunity to turn his head slightly to the side, immediately pressing a hot open-mouthed kiss against your inner thigh. You gasp, fingers clenching around the shelf above you, as he sucks your skin into his mouth, teeth grazing over the sensitive skin. He hums, slowly licking and kissing his way towards your core. He presses a delicate kiss against your heat, and you automatically lurch upwards, but his grip around your thighs prevents you from moving at all.

You breathe deeply, and his eyes connect with yours, gently but forcefully pulling you closer.

"it's okay, sit."

You comply, albeit hesitantly, worrying for his head when he pulls you closer, your thighs flush against either side of his rosy face. You stare down at him, wide-eyed, as he stares back. Without warning another kiss presses against your folds, and you jerk again, but he had been anticipating it and his hands flex against you, rooting you in your spot and digging deliciously into the flesh of your upper thighs and hips. He kisses again, and again, each one lengthening and growing more sloppy. You pant above him and he watches your expression gleefully, finally suckling your little bud into his mouth. You jerk as he presses his forked tongue against your most sensitive spot, and a moan heaves from your chest when he grazes his teeth against you, lavishing that one particular spot with unfaltering enthusiasm.

Just as you begin to whine, hips twitching at the ministrations, he shifts lower, long tongue lolling from his mouth and licking a decisive stripe up against your entire length, parting your folds and gathering your juices on his tongue. You moan his name sinfully, and he whines, hips raising against nothing as his tongue finally delves its way into you, slithering inside your walls and licking up into your heat. You gasp in surprise: his tongue was long, sinfully so, and its forked edge delved deep as he explored.

His claws grip you tighter as you shift around, pinning your hips in place as his tongue presses against that special spot inside of you. You whine, and you can feel his teeth press against your opening as he grins, a mumbled "found it" lost against your damp flesh, tongue licking harder against that spot. His eyes close completely, brows furrowing as he concentrates, sinking into the floor and making sure to drag your hips down with him.

"Oh- Luci-" You gasp, fingers tightening against the shelf as he withdraws his tongue, sucking your clit back into his mouth like a man starved. He uses his forearms to make sure your hips stay down, hands coming to grasp the insides of your thighs and forcing them to stay apart as they threatened to twitch close. He hums against you, and the sounds of his lips against your core is downright sinful; you spread your thighs further and he groans when he realises he can reach more of you with his mouth.

"Yes, hngh, yes-" You moan, hips beginning to grind down to meet his tongue. "There-!"

"mhm" He hums in acknowledgement beneath you, grasp tightening on your thighs as he abuses your clit. His own chest was heaving as he worked, and his forehead creased as he concentrates, swirling his tongue in circles and sucking just the right amount before it became painful.

He cracks one eye open, suddenly incredibly aware of the lack of your hands against him, and he follows your twisting torso up, frowning at seeing you grip the shelving unit above his head. He doesn't stop, tongue continuing to lick its fiery trail against you, and his eye closes again as he lifts his hands from your thighs, travelling up the length of your body.

You shiver at the contact, head thrown back and eyes flickering wildly behind your eyes as you continued to grind down against him. You feel his hands travel up your shoulder blades, down your biceps, your forearms, coming to rest against your wrists with a tight grip. You allow him to pull your hands away from the shelf, and your eyes open as he draws them down to his hair, tugging them against the strands and tangling your fingers in his locks before his own claws are settling around your thighs again.

Had he just wanted you to touch him? You wonder, though it was hard to form a coherent thought as his tongue thrust into you. Experimentally, your fingers tighten against his blonde locks, and he moans hoarsely, teeth grazing your folds as he drags you impossibly closer.

This new position allowed to you to glance between your arms at his face, and you pause confused when no dim light meets you. Then, your core clenches as you realise what he was doing. You couldn't see his eyes. He had closed his eyes. The realisation has your own eyes rolling to the back of your head and your fingers tighten against his hair, pulling painfully at the roots. He whines, a high-pitched cracking groan, hips jerking up voluntarily.

He carries on working his tongue against you until you dissolve into a panting mess, sweat beading down your forehead as you hips jerk against his mouth, that familiar tight coil winding quickly in the pit of your stomach. You moan weakly as he continues to abuse your cunt, and the muscles in your thighs tighten as you feel that coil suddenly tighten to its capacity.

"Luci." You warn, hands tugging at his locks so tightly that he opens his eyes to gaze up at you, a bleary pair of ruby eyes looking up at you questioningly. "S-stop, I'm close."

"nuh-uh" He hums against you, eyes slipping closed as his hands fasten their hold around you. His tongue leaves your entrance, your clit once again finding itself in his mouth as he sucks harshly. You got the message: 'no chance'.

"Luci!" Your voice raises a pitch, and your hands pull so tightly against his scalp that it hurts; he whimpers, hips shifting as he continues his ruthless pace against your heat.

"W-wait, shit-" You gasp uselessly, teetering on the edge of losing complete control. Lucifer seems to realise, and he pulls out a move that he'd been saving. His mouth opens as wide as it would allow, and his tongue slithers out and into your folds, immediately pressing against your g-spot as his upper lip closes around your clit, working the small bud between his upper lip and the base of his tongue. The double stimulation has all air forced from your lungs, and it only takes one press of his tongue against your g-spot before your crashing down from that blissful tightness. Your toes curl as he licks against your spasming walls, claws lightly breaking your skin as he wrestles your thighs to stay apart. He moans into you and you see stars, hips faltering as you let him do as he pleases.

You can't form words as he guides you through your orgasm, body tight and hunched forward, his head grasped tightly between your hands as you moan and whimper. "God." You groan as he grazes his fangs against you clit, sparks shooting up your entire spine at the oversensitivity.

When it finally ends you slump forward tiredly, hands still knotted into his hair as he presses one last longing kiss against you. He guides you down his chest with his hands until you lay flat against his chest, breathing ragged and core fluttering as you try and regain your bearings.

"Good, sweetheart?" Lucifer hums against your temple, but you can hear the shit-eating grin in his breathy voice, and you just know the he knows he was good.

"Yes." You mutter, placing a kiss at the base of his throat as you breathe deeply, heart rate beginning to come back down. "Absolutely amazing, Luci."

You can feel him shift at the compliment, a breath catching in his throat, and you arch a brow inquisitively. You prop yourself back up, and immediately place your lips over his, kissing him deeply and taking him by surprise. You can feel the wetness that coated his chin and lips, and a hand against the side of his face tells you he was practically covered in you, the skin damp and warm beneath your touch. He grunts against your lips, returning the kiss with as much excitement.

"You were so good to me." You hush against his lips when you pull away, and you grin when his breath hitches and his pupils dilate. You had him.

"We can't leave you like this, can we? Not after you were so good." You grin more when he gulps, hands landing on your hips when you shimmy down his torso, pressing your soaking heat against his still clothed, painfully-hard erection.

"Am I that easy to read?" He questions through deep breaths, a hand tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

"Just to me. I did notice how you always got so flustered at compliments." You reveal, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

You turn awkwardly, straddling him backwards as you make quick work of his trousers and boxers. You tuck your hands into the waistband and gently tug down, unable to really see what you were doing so moving carefully not to accidentally hurt something. He lifts his hips to help you, and hisses when the cool cupboard air finally reaches his throbbing cock.

Unbeknownst to you, he had grown impatient as you struggled with his hips, and pushed himself up by his elbows to gain more access to you whilst you finished sorting his trousers. You feel him kissing the back of your thigh as you push them past his knees, and you have to force yourself to breath as you finish pulling them down to his ankles.

You pull away from his reaching hands which had tried to tug you back towards his face, swatting at him playfully as you turn and reposition yourself.

"Can't blame a guy for trying." You can hear his smile as he rests back, his hands sliding up your thighs and resting against your hips, thumbs pressing into the divot of your hipbone.

You could hear his deep puffs of breath in the darkness, still trying to recover from the energy he had used when treating you, and you decide that you wanted to work him up a bit more before you rewarded him in return.

"I really wish you'd let him leave the door open." You start complaining again, resting against his thighs instead of his hips, a hand running slowly down his sternum and tickling the sticky skin that quivered under your touch. "I want to see how pretty you look like this."

He stares at you from the darkness, utterly dumb-founded, mouth agape and his breath quickening.

"Trust me, I'm a mess." He forces out a nervous chuckle, but you can feel the way his fingers flex at the compliment, and your confidence only grows.

"I don't think so." You slide your palms up either of his sides, feeling the way his lungs expand as you slowly wind your arms behind his neck, drawing yourself down closer until you can feel his nose brush against your own. "I bet you look gorgeous. More handsome than you usually look, and I can barely keep my eyes off of you normally, you're just such a pretty boy."

"W-What?" He questions quietly, breathing deep when you tilt your head and kiss against the shell of his ear. His hands fall slack against your thighs, too enraptured by your words to bother to control your movements.

"Hmm," You hum, and your warm breath against his ear has him shivering. You kiss just beneath his ear, whispering huskily. "Such a handsome man. The most powerful man in Hell, and yet he's beneath me, eager to please, letting me do whatever I want, being so good."

His cheeks burst into a fiery red at your compliments whispered against the shell of his ear, chest almost caving in with the way he struggles for breath. All he can think of is you, all he can feel is you: your hands resting against his chest and against his throat, your lips and tongue peppering their way along his angular jaw, your hair brushing his forehead as you move closer.

Your hand sneaks down his chest lazily, finally grazing against his throbbing member resting heavy against his stomach. He stutters when your fingers graze against him, and you grin into the skin on his jaw when you feel how damp he is, pre-cum covering his length and puddling across his stomach. He was already fully mast, and you hadn't even had to touch him.

"Eager?" You question, hand finally wrapping around him as he pulls you in for a heated kiss, whining into your mouth when you give a leisurely stroke, thumb swiping across his slit. His hips jerk at the small action and he bites at your lips when you grip him firmer, pulling once, twice.

"You're the Devil." He gasps against your lips, tongue already flicking out to lick across your bottom lip, fully intending to pull you into another kiss.

"I think you'll find that's actually you."

You let him snake his way into your cavern, tongue filling your mouth as you shift your hips, stroking his cock agonisingly slowly, coaxing him into position without him even knowing. You take him by surprise when he feels his tip pressing against your opening, and his eyes shoot open with his tongue still mid-way towards your throat. You grin against his lips as you sink down, sheathing him in one steady rock of your hips. A pathetic little sound screeches in his throat, eyes screwing shut at the pleasurable pressure and hands regaining their death-like grip on your hips. He whimpers against your lips when you rock your hips again, beginning to set a slow, steady rhythm.

"Oh- oh, darling." He whines the pet-name through clenched teeth, hips jerking erratically as you try and find a rhythm.

You loved the little sounds he made, and you decide to let him know, carding a hand through his tussled locks, breathing against his lips. "Such pretty little noises."

You catch a glimpse of his eyes rolling back before they're hidden behind lilac-hued eyelids, a pitiful whimper rewarding your compliment, and his hips slowly begin to match your rhythm. You attempt to sit up, to really take control, but his hand at the crook of your neck prevents you from pulling too far away from him, and he grasps desperately when he realises your attempt to pull away. You could pull away if you really wanted to, plant your hands on his chest and begin setting the pace you wanted, but his needy little whines and the way he clung to your neck has you leaning forward and succumbing to the slow and steady rhythm.

It didn't take long for Lucifer to become a panting whimpering mess, not with the way your walls clung to him so achingly, hips rolling against him in such a deliciously delightful way, and lips meeting his own like an unholy prayer.

"C-close." He warns, gasping against your lips and continuing to raise his hips to meet yours. Both of his hands grasp your hips, but he allows you to set the pace, clinging on for stability more so than control.

"It's okay, Luci." You assure him, grinding harder as you edge him towards release.

"No." You feel him shake his head, hair swishing against your jaw as he licks and sucks at your throat. A hand leaves your hip and circles around to your front, thumb pressing harshly into your sensitive clit and circling it, hard. "'m not done with you yet."

You feel his thighs spread behind you, his feet planting firmly on the floor as he thrusts harder than before, pummelling that pleasant spot inside of you with renewed urgency. He was close; he couldn't cum before you did again.

"Luci," You gasp in surprise, hands fighting to find purchase and ultimately finding their way back into his hair. The rest of your sentence dies in your throat, his thumb circling harshly against your sensitive bundle of nerves, his cock drawing pleasure from the deepest parts within.

"Come on, sweetheart, please just one more. For me." His voice was a wreck, a plea muttered between gasps and chocked-back whimpers. It was the gentlest, and yet most sultry thing you had ever heard. His desperation was palpable, his throat tight, the muscles in his neck and chest rigid, his toes curling inside his shoes as he tried to fight back the pleasure rapidly building in his stomach.

"I-I-" You don't think you can until the very last second where his dick hits that deep spot inside of you in one particularly hard thrust, and then your vision blotches around the edges as pleasure sparks from the tips of your fingers all the way to the soles of your feet, your spine rigid and hips stuttering as you moan and pant. Your body shakes with pleasure, and Lucifer silences your cries of ecstasy with his lips sealing over yours, brows furrowing as he continues to rub tight little circles over the centre of your pleasure.

Your walls flutter and spasms around him, and Lucifer grunts and groans as he tries to fight back his own high, both hands falling back to your hips as he tries to concentrate, brows knitted together and mouthing thoughtlessly against your lips. You had no chance to recover from your own orgasm, his hips stuttering up into your with a frantic urgency, thrusts sloppy and out of rhythm. His resolve completely shatters when you decide to sink your teeth into his bottom lip, and then his voice is breaking and his hips are humping pathetically as his own orgasm crashes over him.

Some attempt at your name is whimpered against your rouge lips, his arms encircling your waist fully as he pumps into you once, twice, hard aborted thrusts attempted on shaking legs. When he's finally spent, with nothing more to give, he pulls away from your lips, forehead pressing heavily against your own as he gasps in a shuddering breath, panting pathetically and gazing at you with blurred eyes.

His arms don't fall from your waist as he sinks back into the cool ground, all muscles in his body lax, the aftershocks of pleasure thrumming through his weary muscles. You lay flat against his heaving chest, fighting to catch your own breath, beginning to feel the bruising muscle of your thighs, continuing to straddle him, neither one of you wanting to pull away.

"Sweetheart," His voice is rough, and he has to clear his throat before he continues. A hand slowly slides up and down your spine as he talks, clawed fingers gentle and delicate as you shiver at the sensation. "if I'm ever as dumb as I have been for the past six years, I want you to shoot me."

You giggle at how serious he sounds, tilting your head to look up at him. His eyes are upturned towards the ceiling.

"I mean it. Can't believe I waisted so much time with you because I was scared." He laughs around the last word, embarrassed and not quite believing his own sheer stupidity.

"You were scared?" You question quietly, a finger tracing an imaginary pattern against his side, your eyes closed to the world as you breathe deeply.

"Of course, look at you: you're so fun, so happy, absolutely perfect at everything you do. Hell, you even join in with my lame jokes and terrible dancing. You're too good to be true, especially down here."

"If it makes a difference, I could've acted, but I was scare too."

The cupboard falls into silence for a moment, nothing but the sounds of your slowing breathing filling the silence. His palms slide up your back slowly, claws grazing the skin lightly, teasingly, repeating the motion along the expanse of your back and hips, again and again.

"There's plenty of time to make up for lost time, we've got forever." You mumble against his chest, sighing as both of his hands massage over the bruises he had unwittingly left across your thighs. Your tone turns cheeky, and you pick your head up to look at him properly. "How long do you think we have left in here?"

He seems to take the hint, gaze snapping down towards you. You grin when you see his eyes brighten in the darkness. "Give me five minutes."

#hazbin hotel #Hazbin Hotel lucifer #Hazbin Hotel Lucifer x reader #Hazbin Hotel x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader smut #lucifer x reader #lucifer #Hazbin Hotel smut #Hazbin Hotel x reader smut #Hazbin Hotel Lucifer x reader smut

[hypertextdog]

YOU -- mm i want a fat man on me gaystyle but with clothes on

FURRY INCLINATION [Medium: Success] -- Any *animalline traits* to him, two-legs?

SENSATION -- That would do nicely, texturally speaking...

YOU -- not for now, but i'll keep that in mind.

POSTER'S GAMBIT [Easy: Success] -- Yes. YES. It's the perfect emotion. Everyone wants -- even if not that. So generalize, blogsman. Ambiguate. With this, you can finally build your *viral empire.*

BROAD APPEAL [Hard: Success] -- With your crowd: three faves, and a flirtatious re-blog from some fur-fag. Eight if the bitcoinette or the not-lycanthrope touches it...

POSTER'S GAMBIT -- Try again. We're *this* close to another "you have to let 'denny's parking lot at 3am' go."

YOU -- mm i want big men on me gaystyle #gay #mlm #lgbt #asexual

SENSATION [Medium: Success] -- But it's not about "big" -- "big" alone is nothing. Non descript. You crave *plasticity* -- you want to feel him pushing through, between your fingers...

FURRY INCLINATION -- Oh, yes. Sounds *sonft,* two-legs.

SENSATION -- *Really* sonft. If we must say it that way. And so *heavy* on our supine body, too. I almost wonder if we could...

New task: Administer the *auto-hand-job.*

SENSATION -- Yeah.

POSTER'S GAMBIT -- NEVER MIND THEM. Never mind any of that. You're almost there. Keep going, blogsman. *Earn* the U.R.L.

BROAD APPEAL [Hard: Success] -- Thirteen faves, four reblogs. None flirtatious -- none you think.

YOU -- what's missing?

BROAD APPEAL -- What do you think?

YOU [Impossible: Success] -- the *sapphic* factor.

BROAD APPEAL -- Exactly right. I *told* you I'm named this way for a reason...

HIGH SCHOOL G.S.A. -- Do it for Erin. And Michaela. I wonder if they're still...

BROAD INTUITION [Medium: Success] -- They're not.

YOU -- mm i want big men or women on me #lgbt #ambiguously queer

HIGH SCHOOL G.S.A. -- Ah-ah-ah.

BROAD APPEAL -- And about that word "big" ... you know what has to happen.

YOU -- but that's the core of it to me, kind of.

POSTER'S GAMBIT [Easy: Success] -- And to the fur-fag sector.

BROAD APPEAL -- A sector is nothing. We want the *website* in our hands. Even the proponents of Astarion, and the proprietors of "best girls"...

YOU -- Yuck.

BROAD APPEAL -- I know. But they're the only way.

VANITY [Easy: Failure] -- God, we'll be on *Ellen.*

BROAD APPEAL -- Enough of that. She's out.

YOU [Impossible: Success] -- mm i want anything at all #lgbt #ambiguously queer #asexual

POSTER'S GAMBIT -- STOP THERE. YOU'VE FOUND IT, BLOGSMAN. QUICKLY -- BEFORE WE BOTH FORGET -- TYPE IT UP AND POST.

BROAD APPEAL -- The known numbers don't go high enough. You've found a ticket out of here -- out of *Massachusetts.*

SHIVERS -- IN 2027, A METEOR THE SIZE OF A KLEAN KANTEEN WILL LAND IN THE CENTER OF ROXBURY AND LEVEL BOSTON WITH ITS ZETTA-JOULES OF IMPACT ENERGY. TOO SMALL AND TOO QUICK FOR EVEN M.I.T.'S OBSERVATORY-BOYS TO DETECT.

POSTER'S GAMBIT -- More important things than that are happening -- and sooner, too. Type it up, blogsman. This is the easy part...

YOU -- You type: "mm i want anything at all #lgbt #ambiguously queer #asexual."

SENSATION [Hard: Success] -- Stop. Go back. It's dishonest.

BROAD APPEAL -- This was never about you -- you were only ever the basis on which *this* could be constructed. If that...

POSTER'S GAMBIT -- Post it, blogsman. Make the world relate to you.

YOU -- You hit: "post."

YOU -- The progress bar reaches -- reaches -- completes. A green light indicates success.

POSTER'S GAMBIT -- YES. YES... Oh, I suppose we should have waited for *optimum posting hours.* It doesn't matter now. It's done -- and the onslaught faves will begin rolling in catastrophically in three... two...

POSTER'S GAMBIT -- In three... two...

Thought gained: Any day now...

POSTER'S GAMBIT -- Don't worry, blogsman. Just keep checking your phone -- the *wi-fi* here is *bunk,* anyway.

VANITY -- And once it does -- Ellen.

#disco elysium

[merakiui]

never-ending noctuary; love forevermore.

yandere!malleus draconia x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, somnophilia, non-con, overblot!malleus, obsession, breeding, baby-trapping, malleus is written to have two dicks, spoilers for part two of book seven note - and sitting powerful on his throne of thorns, omniscience at his fingertips, the lord of malevolence takes a bride.

An eerie, all-consuming quiet has fallen over Sage’s Island.

It is frigid and unfriendly like winter. Harsh and oppressive like silence. Painful and abrasive like brambles. Time has come to a swift halt here, and with it the people fall into never-ending euneirophrenia. Delights so dreamy shall inhabit the minds of all who sleep, the grandest gift granted to those unwilling. Like fate itself, wound around every living soul, it is inescapable. Inevitable like death—unfair and unforgettable.

But then it is also peaceful and secure. Quaint and warm like a blanket. Fluffy and floral like spring’s first kiss. Solace is far sweeter when spent in oneiric solitude, and so it will seem for one-thousand years. Forevermore, stretched taut into the future, the dream persists.

Is that not the best blessing? To those who wish to savor a fleeting moment just a second more, is this not a wish granted generously tenfold? Rather than immortalizing the past with photographs, it shall never come to pass. There is no need for bittersweet recollections or tearful farewells. The present will persevere, lived out in endless dreams.

Surely this is the correct course. Not just for Malleus, for he is a gentle, kind creature who recognizes the mutual desire for interminable merriment, but for the entirety of the island. Although in hoping for love forevermore, he has shackled himself to selfish, Epicurean pleasures. The type which normally lasts as long as a vision spent on cloud nine.

Currently, sitting proud and alone on a cold throne, Malleus knows of no greater joy.

The party may have fallen still as the grave, bodies slumbering in stiff propinquity, but it hasn’t finished. The food may have congealed, inedible and decaying, but it is there. A testament to spirits kept aloft, if only to ensure no one ever knows the desolation of endings.

Paradise is what you make of it. Thus, should you hope for it, you can walk on the clouds in your mind and never know of Icarus’s plights. You can shed insecurities and anxieties and taste delectable metamorphosis. You can be anyone and anything. You can be strong and wealthy. You can be fearless and heroic. You can be an impossible ideal.

You can be loved.

Malleus watches your seemingly lifeless form splayed on the sofa, limbs draped over that of Ace and Deuce. It’s a tranquil sight, a marionette freed from the strings of somber, suffocating life.

Under a roof of thorns, you are reborn.

Paradise is wondrous for Malleus, albeit a touch silent. He wonders what you might say if you were to stand at his side and observe this eternal slumber party. Would it fill you with awe? With appreciation? With abject terror?

Perhaps there is no use in theorizing. He doesn’t need to know, for you will love him even in sleep.

He rises, taking each step at a time. Thorny branches and roots part to make way for him, a groom traversing the aisle in search of his bride. You lie still, secrets sealed behind pretty, plush lips, and if he was not the cause for your current state he might assume you were late.

But there is no death here. It cannot reach. It will never reach because Paradise knows not of death or suffering.

Paradise is the garden before the infestation. Paradise is the body before bacterial devastation. Paradise is love before departed lamentation.

Malleus gazes at your restful face, leaning down to trace a clawed, blot-tainted finger along your cheek. There are no tears; you are a doll incapable of such sorrow, sculpted to portray perfect neutrality. He is most pleased with this development, his chest rumbling with a triumphant chuckle. Now you shall never know an ending ever again. Now you shall remain here, safe and stagnant in his arms, far from the mirror that may allow you to return home.

Gathering your body in his arms, he lifts you from the cushions. You crumble in his grasp, head lolling and arms noodling at your sides. Sagging dead weight, but he places his ear to your chest to listen to the melodic thrum of your heart. You’re alive, frailty shielded from the horrors of the world. Here, in thorny idyll, you will live forevermore.

Historically, all rulers must have someone to call their own. Whether it be by way of arrangement or convenience, strung together for the sake of conjoined power or out of obligation, this is an irrefutable fact. Historically, all rulers must bear an heir—someone to carry on the glory of an ever-present lineage.

Malleus refuses to bring a child into the world unless they are given the blessing of the one thing he was deprived of since birth.

A mother.

You fit in his embrace, a puppet tugged into a one-sided waltz. He steps over fallen bodies as he holds you against his chest, following the routine even though you aren’t awake to reciprocate.

Historically, a married pair must share the first dance. Or that’s what he’s read in fairy tales.

There are no rings here; promises are left unspoken. He won’t entertain rejection because there is no room for it in Paradise. Every unsavory, horrid thing—pestilence and pain, death and destruction, and sadness and sin—is packed away in Pandora’s box and shelved. Malleus won’t risk opening it to release the tiny shred of hope desperately clawing for escape. It’s not worth it.

He will foster his own hope if he must, and she exists in his arms—beautifully motionless.

The steps are executed with care, up the stairs and towards a lonesome chair. He attempts a twirl, lowering you into a dip. Your arms hang limply, eyes shut in permanence. Brimming with fondness, Malleus tugs you back up to press his lips to your forehead.

“Dearest one,” he mumbles, “may you know many fruitful fantasies in the arms of Morpheus.”

He reclaims his seat and situates you to face him while perched on his lap. You slump against him, near-boneless. He smiles at you, imagining the ruckus that would certainly come about from such a daring gesture. Sebek would squawk at you to have more respect and dignity. Silver would tut and shake his head. Lilia would look on in amusement.

These are small pleasantries, little wishes he hopes to witness someday.

Historically, a married pair must consummate their bond.

Malleus’s fingertips flit across your figure, feeling fabric beneath his palms. He tries to exercise restraint and take it slow—everything in moderation, Lilia would remind him—but he can’t contain his nympholepsy. Your clothes are discarded at once, shredded to scraps in his haste. He moves clumsily, following the searchlight of intrinsic ardor. You’re softer when bare, he observes, peeling your bra from your skin. A pallid hand presses down onto your breast, the pudge of which caves beneath his fingers. He withdraws and it bounces back to its shape.

Fascinating, he marvels with wide, enchanted eyes.

Claws tweak at your hardened nipples next. He’s careful because you’re notably weaker. Even in sleep, he must mind his hedonism. Too much and you will break. Too little and he’ll be left unsatisfied. Malleus watches your expression. It was mostly neutral, but now your eyebrows are twitching in response to his touch.

In sleep, you are the most vulnerable.

He knows this because he’s peered in from afar, admiring you through a glass barrier while you slept unaware in Ramshackle. He would never do anything without invitation. Though it may not be in writing, your body is oh-so-inviting. And he indulges because he’s only known this fervor in the deepest, darkest dreams.

Curiously, in his pursuit of passion, Malleus happens upon the special space between your legs. Delicate like a flower, it’s the prettiest part of your anatomy. If he wishes to connect with you, to tie himself to you in unholy communion, he must acquaint himself with this sliver of seventh heaven. He’s never seen one up close; the sight is foreign but very welcome. He drinks it in, burning your form into his retinas. Two fingers trace your labia, stroking along flowery folds in V-shaped strokes. You twitch in his arms, an unconscious, knee-jerk reaction.

At some point, in the middle of his experimental exploration, Malleus begins to hum. It’s a soft, genial lilt. Low and soothing, the lullaby fills the silent halls of Diasomnia’s common room like poison gas.

He contemplates whether this is enough. Can you feel these sensations even when you’re so deep in your dreams? Perhaps so, for when he brushes back the hood protecting your clit to rub at it you soak his fingers. Lubricious, your wetness shimmers on his fingertips when he pulls them away to admire the very essence of you. Without hesitation, he places his fingers on the pad of his tongue to clean both. It’s a divine taste, proof of pleasure.

You cannot speak, so instead your body does so for you. A most bewitching behavior.

Malleus’s hand slithers back towards home, his fingers sliding in with surprising ease. Gummy walls cling to slender digits, embracing the intrusion as if it’s meant to be. With each pump of his fingers, your body warms. The sinful squelch of scissoring fingers joins his humming in a salacious song. Every now and then, you spasm in his arms, your lips parting ever so slightly to release a sigh or a breathy moan. It’s musical, a whimsy he’s only just discovered.

“My beautiful bride,” Malleus croons, “you will know love in my arms. Love forevermore, here in this sanctuary. Fear not, for I have done away with all that may terrify and traumatize.”

Pressure is straining beneath the belt, an itch that must be promptly dealt with. Removing his fingers, he shifts you on his lap so that he may free his cocks from confinement. Twin monstrosities curve towards his stomach; perhaps you’d have been frightened if you were awake to behold them. His hand settles on the small of your back, steadying you as he lines one of them up with your body. The tip just reaches past your navel. For a moment, Malleus ponders whether he might break you.

Careful now, he can hear Lilia’s chiding. Impatience will lead to injury.

He heeds the unspoken warning, lifting you with both hands until the head of his cock is kissing your pussy. And then, slowly, he lowers you down onto him. Your pussy stretches around him, a snug squeeze that only grows tighter with every inch swallowed. Malleus pulls you flush against his chest when he’s halfway slotted, his breathing staggered. Your body quivers, walls fluttering around him, while his other unsheathed cock presses against your navel. Pre-cum smears on your stomach.

He’s determined to cherish you, thrusting all the way to the hilt after a few determined tries. It’s a firm fit, but it’s still bliss. Hissing through his teeth, brows knitted in concentration, Malleus wraps his arms around you and fucks. Mindless, mostly, but with the intent to reach the only acceptable end here: orgasmic ecstasy. He makes up for the lack of motion on your part by moving his hips to meet yours as he rocks you up and down. Whimpers slip past your lips; he shushes you with song, humming through groans and grunts.

This is love.

Malleus thinks so when he positions your hands over his other untouched cock. The illusion doesn’t last long because your hands are quick to fall away. Instead, he grasps your hand, guides it back to his shaft, and pumps himself using your precious palm for friction.

You’re bounced up and down in a parody of consensual copulation. Malleus dwells in imagination, picturing you in a wedding gown. He considers what you might say, the vows you would undoubtedly swear, and the sweet nothings you’d exchange late into the evening. He’d twirl you across an elegant ballroom while everyone looks on with tender adoration and reverence. He’d show you the stars hanging just within reach, and when you’re swept up in riveting romance the sky is tangible and dreams are spun from sugar.

He’d place you on his bed, stripping you of your dress, hands trailing up to tug the frilly garter from your thigh, and you’d smile at him, open your arms and welcome him with mutual affection. You’d bloom for him like a moonflower, your heart beating in sync with his, as he fulfills the final promise—one so bodily imperative. An oath to disturb desolate halls with noise. To hear the pitter-patter of tiny footfalls upon stone floors—he can’t imagine anything more harmonious.

You would soften throughout the months, bright with that foretold pregnancy glow. He would press his hands to your rounded belly and feel squirming within, restless kicks and nudges. You’d discuss potential names over breakfast, and he would hover even though he knows you’re plenty capable. But he worries because you’re so fragile and fleeting. So pretty. So round with child. He wouldn’t leave you alone for a moment; you’re far too enchanting. Perhaps, in some distant future, he’ll lower to the height of your stomach and sing to the baby.

A smile would tug at your lips and you’d reach down to pat his head, running your fingers over his horns. And then— 

Malleus cracks his eyes open, his breath hot against your face. His chest heaves as he comes down from the high of domestic daydreams to find your stomach spattered with cum. Swallowing thickly, he peers between your bodies at your pussy stretched around his other cock.

Oh, he came inside.

Unexpectedly. Or perhaps not, for this was his intention. But once is not nearly enough, and he must fill you until you’re fit to burst—until it’s biologically certain you’re pregnant.

An emotion flickers on your face. Malleus mistakes it for jubilation, the type which calls forth a sunshower on your cheeks. He kisses the tears trailing down your face, ending at your lips for a chaste peck.

This is not the finale. It is simply the beginning.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus draconia x reader #yandere malleus x reader #yandere malleus #n/sfw #tw: noncon #tw: breeding #tw: baby trapping #tw: somnophilia

[winged-self-indulgence]

Why Do People Like Yanderes?

Hi everyone, my name is Diya, and this was going to be a YT video-essay-type-thing but I'm too poor to afford a mic and too busy with college to learn how to edit videos, so here's my vague exploration of the psychology behind why people like yanderes so much through the lens of my favourite Visual Novels.

TW for uh. yandere content. Mentions of sex, gore, and non-con, particularly in the last topic. This is more like the first draft of an academic paper so while it's not explicit, I do go into some detail.

Introduction

If you’re a fan of anime or visual novels, then you’re probably already aware of what a yandere is, or at the very least you’ve seen that one picture of Yuno Gasai. Still, for the sake of thoroughness, let’s take it from the tippy top. The term ‘yandere’ is a Japanese portmanteau of ‘yanderu’ – the progressive form of ‘yami’ – meaning ‘sick’, and ‘deredere’ which roughly translates to ‘loving’. Together, the word refers to someone who is – in short – extremely lovesick. Obsessive to the extreme, and with little morality to spare, the standard yandere is characterized by a dangerous fixation on a chosen target, often appearing shy and caring at first only to flip the script and become violently aggressive towards perceived threats (Kroon, 2010).

It should be noted that yanderes are not a strictly romantic or sexual trope. The Ancient Greeks classified at least six forms of love, from familial (storge) to guests (xenia). Modern psychologists may distinguish love as either Companionate or Passionate (Kim & Hatfield, 2004) or consisting of three dimensions of Intimacy, Passion, and Commitment (Sternberg & Sternberg, 2018). Realistically, possessiveness shows up in a variety of relationships. However, people are generally primed to view certain dynamics as inherently amorous. Societal norms tend to encourage the idea that romantic bonds ought to rank above all others, and therefore if Person A is bizarrely fixated on Person B, then clearly there must be an element of sexual interest involved regardless of the actual relationship between the individuals in question.

Regardless, yanderes remain quite popular in fiction. Many dismiss it as a fetish, which it can be, but that isn’t the case for everyone. While there is nothing wrong with indulging in kinky fiction, not all of us get horny at the thought of being chained up in someone’s basement, no matter how hot our captor may be. So why is it so pervasive? Why is this trope so appealing that most writers cannot help but include at least a single line of dialogue implying that – if circumstances had been ever so slightly different – my wholesome shoujo romcom might have turned into a psychological horror?

Hybristophilia

‘Hybristophilia’, also known as Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome after the titular criminal couple, is a word is derived from the Greek word ‘hybridzein’ meaning ‘to commit an outrage against someone’ and ‘philo’ which means ‘a strong preference for’. Sexologist John Money reportedly defined it as a paraphilia in which an individual is sexually aroused by a partner who has a predatory history of hurting other people (Money, 1986, as cited in Matuszak, 2017). In his book, Serial Killer Groupies, true crime and crime fiction author RJ Parker distinguished two forms of hybristophilia: passive and aggressive. The former is when an individual contacts a criminal with the intention of striking up a relationship with them, allowing themselves to be seduced and manipulated but having no interest in committing a crime themselves. The latter are far more dangerous, as the individual not only derives sexual pleasure from their partner’s atrocities but are active participants in carrying out or covering up the crime. To quote Griffiths (2013, as cited in Pettigrew, 2019):

“[They] help out their lovers with their criminal agenda by luring victims, hiding bodies, covering crimes, or even committing crimes. They are attracted to their lovers because of their violent actions and want to receive love yet are unable to understand that their lovers are psychopaths who are manipulating them.”

In some ways, hybristophilia is the nearest thing we have to a realistic understanding of why people love yanderes. I mean, much of the fantasy surrounding such characters and their media tend to be filled with posts begging to be spat on or calling the rightfully terrified main character ungrateful for being a teeny bit upset about finding surveillance cameras in their ceiling. However, enjoying fictitious immoral activity does not predict real perpetration, so what does? There exists little consensus amongst psychologists as to what sparks this particular predilection, and that was strange to me. You would think there would be more studies into this topic, in spite of or perhaps because of its controversial nature. Heck, that one dude wouldn’t shut up about white women’s obsession with Bundy and Dahmer, and I assumed he had gotten that information from somewhere, but it turns out that was just him using modifiers to justify sexism.

However, I believe that we can hedge a few guesses, and over the course of my research, I’ve organized the main rationalizations under four umbrellas which I will explore through the lens of my favourite yandere-themed Visual Novels. Please keep in mind that most of these games are rated as mature due to sexual scenes and/or gore. Additionally, in the spirit of transparency, this ramble will be focused exclusively on male or masculine yanderes. So, without further ado:

Call Me Bob the Builder Because I Can Fix Them

If you’re familiar with DC Comic’s Batman, or just happen to have attended any costume event held over the span of the last 20+ years, you may be familiar with the character of Dr. Harleen Quinzel, better known as Harley Quinn. Initially created as the Joker’s one-off sidekick in Batman The Animated Series, she was so well-received by audiences that she became a recurring character in the cartoon and was eventually given a proper origin story in the form of a one-shot titled Mad Love.

Harley’s origin story has seen some alterations over the past decades, but the core aspects remain largely untouched. In the beginning, Harleen Quinzel was a promising young woman who wanted was a degree from the university’s prestigious psychology department, which she gained through…less than scrupulous means.

(Listen, I’m not sure if the authors were leaning on the Dumb Blonde stereotype, or if they simply thought that casting her as a genuinely bad student would make her later actions more believable. Either way, the idea of Harley as someone with a legitimate PhD came later)

After landing an internship at Arkham Asylum – a half-hospital and half-prison straight out of the 1870s that might as well be built out of one-ply tissue-paper soaked with gasoline and left next to a crate of fireworks – Harleen set her sights on the then incarcerated Joker. At the start, her fixation on the criminal wasn’t remotely sympathetic. She didn’t want to help him, she wanted to use him. Harleen Quinzel wanted piggyback off his infamy and write a tell-all tale detailing what sort of messed up childhood resulted in Gotham’s Clown Prince of Crime. Yet the more she interacted with him, the more the Joker took advantage of her empathy. By the end of their sessions, Harley no longer saw him as a violent serial killer with a clown schtick, but as a “lost, injured child looking to make the world laugh at his antics.”

But Diya, you may be asking, what does this have to do with the video? The Joker never loved Harley, and it could even be argued – as Shehadeh did in a 2017 essay – that her obsession with the pasty-faced clown is more akin to Histrionic Personality Disorder. While that may be the case, I believe that Harley’s story provides one of the reasons yanderes are so popular: their backstory.

Whether they were abandoned by their family, bullied by their peers, experimented on by evil scientists, starved on the streets, died under mysterious circumstances and then trapped in a haunted VCR tape for decades, or are simply so impossibly inhuman that they frankly do not understand why it isn’t socially acceptable to imprison their crush in a pocket dimension made of meat and non-Euclidean geometry, yanderes often have fairly sympathetic or at least understandable explanations for why they are Like That. Your mileage may vary significantly depending on how much you sympathize with these motives, but the point is that yanderes always make sense to some degree. Their morality and priorities may be twisted or even completely incomprehensible, but the audience almost always knows the reason, and that can be comforting. In the real world, other people aren’t always straightforward, and we never really know what they’re thinking, but narrative coherence demands a semblance of internal consistency lest the audience end up frustrated and confused. So yanderes are not only easy to sympathize with, but also fairly predictable. In-universe they may be unhinged freaks with a blood fetish, but to you watching from behind the safety of the screen they’re just acting out the script written for them based on a prototype. And if you understand the why behind their loose gears, then you might just be able to put them back together again.

The concept of rescue romances or “I Can Fix Them” has been around in our stories for thousands of years. The Epic of Gilgamesh detailed how Shamhat essentially ‘civilized’ wild man Enkidu through ritual lovemaking, and a concerning number of religions push the idea that women are dutybound to save men from the follies of sin. Yet men are not exempt either, with one notable example being the German fairytale, King Thrushbeard. Call it what you will regardless: Knights in Shining Armour, the Florence Nightingale Effect, or a plain old case of Because You Were Nice to Me, studies have shown that human beings generally like helping [DA2] others, even when the reason doesn’t necessarily stem from pure altruism. I will delve deeper into this later, but care and compassion are deeply ingrained in human nature, and arising from those roots is the appeal of this mentality: You can save them. You can change them. You can make them better. You are special, and the way you treat this person carries a weight that has not and will never be matched by anyone else for the rest of their mortal or immortal existence.

The illusion is a delicious one, especially if the person you’ve helped turns out to be a billionaire CEO with cash to burn, a super powerful ghost king willing to raze continents to dust for you, a demon having fun on a Friday night, or just your average hot creep with a knife. Moreover, different people have different ideas of what ‘fixing’ even means. Maybe you want to single-handedly rehabilitate your yandere into a functional member of society. Maybe you’re cool with the incessant stalking but would like them to stop slaughtering your friends, family, and local service workers. Maybe you want to make them much, much worse.

Not only do yanderes provide immediate proof that your actions have a tangible impact on the lives of others, but the fantasy also includes the desire of being seen as special. Of being admired and adored by someone whose life you inexplicably made better by virtue of simply being yourself, or an idealized version of yourself. In this fictional world, in this imaginary setting, the person you are is so uniquely, impossibly irreplaceable to someone. And if that’s the case then they can’t risk losing you, can they?

The Allure of Obsession, or ‘Til Death Do Us Part (Literally)

It shouldn’t be necessary, but here is my obligatory disclaimer anyway. Ahem: obsession is not a good thing in real life. Fixating on another human to the detriment of your own wellbeing and that of those around you is dangerous, as is encouraging someone else to obsess over you. You might think you are being worshiped, but real life is not a visual novel. The outside world doesn’t come with an age rating, the author’s guiding pen, and a convenient fade to credits sequence once you’ve reached an ending. The consequences will still be there in the morning, so don’t do it. Just don’t.

PSA out of the way, it’s natural to want to be wanted. Maslow’s Hierarchy places it just above physical safety, but I’d argue that it could easily be compared to baser drives. According to many psychological and anthropological studies, much of humanity’s continued survival and environmental dominance is largely attributed to our ability to form groups, cooperate with one another, and maintain complex interpersonal networks. Social support, intimacy, and a sense of belonging are linked to emotional and physical benefits, such as more optimistic health perceptions, higher subjective well-being, increased creativity and innovation, and greater self-efficacy (DeWall & Bushman, 2011; Harandi et al., 2017; Wang & Sha, 2018). Therefore, it’s perfectly understandable that rejection of any sort would be construed as a threat.

But if someone is obsessed with you, then you have no reason to worry about that, right? No more nights spent agonizing over how they feel about you, asking yourself whether your last text made you sound too desperate, or if you’re boring them because you spent the past hour info-dumping about Stardew Valley farm layouts. With a yandere, there will never be any doubt that they care about you. Sure, they might go about it in weird, manipulative, and insidious ways that violate your physical and mental autonomy, but you can’t deny their loyalty. They do love you in their own bizarre way. You are the sun around which they orbit. When you’re in the room, no one else exists. Every single messy flaw is just another bullet point on the mile-long list of why they adore you.

In essence, yanderes are not only attentive, but their love can be virtually unconditional. A yandere might know everything about you, and still revere you. It’s unhealthy as hell and you might genuinely question their taste, but it can be tempting to pretend that all of you, right down to the ugliest parts of yourself – the traits and choices that you would never share with another living soul even at gunpoint – are worthy of understanding, if not open praise and affection.   

Attractiveness, or Okay but Have You Considered That They’re Hot Though?

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I mean what am I supposed to say here? They’re hot, what do you want from me?

No, but in all seriousness, fictional media paints an idealized version of the world, and most yanderes are hot because they have the freedom of existing purely behind that screen; artfully arranged and edited to forever appear compelling to anyone who happens to enjoy their particular style. And there are a lot of styles to choose from. Whether you want them pretty faced and disarmingly cute, or scarred up and big enough to pin you like a butterfly, yanderes come in a wide variety of shapes and sizes that are meant to pique your interest and draw you in like a naïve little fish being lured towards the mouth of an angler fish, unwilling to believe that anything bad might happen to us when the bait is this pretty.

This is often referred to as the Halo Effect, a form of cognitive bias referring to the tendency for people to assume that a single obvious positive trait must be associated with other positive traits. The go-to characteristic is typically physical attractiveness, but a nice voice, good humour, and cooking skills are also factors which serve to influence our perceptions.

So, conventional physical attractiveness is one thing, but that’s only skin deep. What about beyond that? After all, the yandere still has to talk to you before they enact their master plan of tying you up in their basement until Stockholm Syndrome kicks in.

When I showed my friend a picture of John Doe from the game John Doe, she told me that he looked like a creepy slob, and she’s far from the only person who’s ever thought so. Look at them. I feel like if I tried to comb that hair it would simply eat me, and some of the CGs really put the scopophobia in Scopophobia Studios. I love Doe, but he is not hot, and he doesn’t behave in a normally appealing way either. If the player chooses not to take a bath, Doe will immediately comment that you “smell good” before following you home, breaking into your house, and leaving a bloody organ on the floor for the player to trip over. Many yanderes can at least fake a veneer of normalcy, but from the get-go Doe doesn’t even bother to pretend he’s anything less than an otherworldly creature stuffed into a vaguely person-shaped meatsuit. In an effort to find out why so many people had latched on to Doe – including me – I shopped around social media and YouTube for answers, and what I found was a widely unanimous sentiment.

While some were drawn to his fun design and goofy personality, most simply thought that he wasn’t inherently malevolent, just very confused. In addition to being a supernatural being with a completely alien axis of morality, Doe’s meta-awareness and unbridled attempts at winning the player’s affection lends him quite a bit of support from the audience, especially if you yourself also happen to struggle with social cues and relate to his pure earnestness. In Ending 7 of the extended version, the player character has the option to tell Doe – who has altered himself to pass as more ‘normal’ – that they prefer who he truly is, at which point he grows visibly flustered and sports an adorable pair of literal heart-shaped pupils.

Whether they’re charismatic, seductive, cute, sweet, funny, nurturing, or generous, the best yanderes have engaging personalities. Even while they’re committing truly heinous crimes against God, man, and your guts, you still kinda want to hang out with them, and you want them to acknowledge you as being just as interesting. And this is all fine in fiction because you’re the one in charge, and if you ever get bored or uncomfortable or busy with something else, then you can simply close the tab or window with zero consequences, which brings us to the final and most important reason.     

Power Dynamics and Consent in Fantasy (I Couldn’t Think of a Joke Here Guys, This Is Kinda Serious)

Once again, I feel that I must preface this section just for the sake of my own peace of mind: sexual coercion and assault are vile and disgusting crimes that should never be emulated or tolerated in the real world. We are speaking purely of fictional media, specifically adult-oriented media in this case, so please be mindful.

In 2009, Bivoni and Critelli conducted a study on 355 undergraduate women with the goal of assessing the reasons behind fantasies of non-consent. At the time, there were two leading explanations of this phenomenon. One stated that women with high libidos but repressed views of sex used these imaginary scenarios to alleviate the guilt they had grown to associate with sex. Because the simulation was a purely mental exercise and they themselves were cast as helpless victims in the scenario, they were able to remain blameless while still finding sexual gratification. The second stated that these fantasies were an expression of liberation by women who were adventurous and comfortable enough with their own sexuality to engage with taboo ideas that they weren’t at all interested in performing in real life. Which do you think was more common?

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If you guessed the second option, you’d be right. The study found that of the 220 women who had experienced such fantasies, 45% found theirs erotic, 46% were mixed, and only 9% reported pure aversion. One justification for this outcome relies on psycho-biological theories, for example masochistic preferences or the unintended activation of the sympathetic nervous system and subsequent mis-attribution of arousal. Other reasons have to do with higher order thinking and are tied to the power dynamics within such fantasies. On the surface is the appeal of being so desirable to someone that they simply cannot control themselves, but then there is a deeper impulse, which the researchers referred to as Adversary Transformation. To quote the article: “[fantasies] involve a struggle between an assailant and a potential victim in which it is relevant to consider who is the winner and who is the loser. At one level, it is a struggle over sex, but the woman's non-consent may be feigned or token. At another level, the woman may be seeking a victory that is not about whether sex occurs, but about what happens emotionally between the protagonists.”

Basically, the imaginary perpetrator may have ‘won’, but the self-character need not have ‘lost’.

Media provides an extra layer to the illusion, one that you as the viewer have absolute control over. If you are choosing to engage with a piece of media that explicitly labels itself as including R18+ yandere content, then you clearly have some expectations, and that background awareness goes a long way in reducing long-term discomfort and allowing audiences to make informed decisions. If you don’t like the plot, you can simply turn it off it with the click of a button, and when the screen goes dark it’s not like the yandere is going to punish you for saying no. Strade isn’t going to break into your house with a drill, there are no homicidal clown ghosts hiding in your TV, and no suspicious pink-haired hackers watching your webcam. They aren’t real, and the consequences aren’t real either. You have all the power here.

Conclusion

In summary, Yanderes are appealing for a variety of reasons. Whether you want to save them, think they’re attractive, wish to indulge in a dream of being utterly coveted, or simply enjoy a bit of spice in your me-time, it’s obvious why the trope has persisted for so long and will likely continue to do so. If you enjoy yanderes but are worried that having a taste for the less wholesome side of things might imply something about who you are as a person, don’t be. The notion that fantasies and media preferences directly reflect subconscious desires is not only painfully out of date debunked nonsense but also indicative of restrictive ideologies wherein bad thoughts = sin. This isn’t 1984. You haven’t committed a thought-crime by having a weird kink. You aren't going to superhell for fantasizing. The human mind is hardly ever so mathematically rational, and the point of fiction is to allow us to safely engage with and explore various ideas, provided the everyone involved is mentally, chronologically, and emotionally mature enough to do so.

Thank you all for listening to me. If you learned something or were just a little bit entertained. If you're curious about knowing more, I've listed my sources below

REFERENCES

Bivona, J. M., & Critelli, J. W. (2009). The Nature of Women’s Rape Fantasies: An analysis of prevalence, frequency, and contents. Journal of Sex Research, 46(1), 33–45. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490802624406

Critelli, J. W., & Bivona, J. M. (2008). Women’s Erotic Rape Fantasies: An Evaluation of Theory and research. Journal of Sex Research, 45(1), 57–70. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490701808191

DeWall, C. N., & Bushman, B. J. (2011). Social acceptance and rejection. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 20(4), 256–260. https://doi.org/10.1177/0963721411417545

Flynn, F. J., Reagans, R., Amanatullah, E. T., & Ames, D. R. (2006). Helping one’s way to the top: Self-monitors achieve status by helping others and knowing who helps whom. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 91(6), 1123–1137. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.91.6.1123

Harandi, T. F., Taghinasab, M. M., & Nayeri, T. D. (2017). The correlation of social support with mental health: A meta-analysis. Electronic Physician, 9(9), 5212–5222. https://doi.org/10.19082/5212

Hazen, H. (1983). Endless rapture: rape, romance, and the female imagination. https://openlibrary.org/books/OL3161300M/Endless_rapture

Kroon, R. W. (2010). A/V A to z: An Encyclopedic Dictionary of Media, Entertainment and Other Audiovisual Terms. McFarland.

Matuszak, M. (2017). Hybristophilia White Paper. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55dfd21ee4b0718764fb34cc/t/5cb7cabee5e5f00ab13be58b/1555548863275/Hybristophilia+White+Paper.pdf

Oarga, C., Stavrova, O., & Fetchenhauer, D. (2015). When and why is helping others good for well-being? The role of belief in reciprocity and conformity to society’s expectations. European Journal of Social Psychology, 45(2), 242–254. https://doi.org/10.1002/ejsp.2092

Parker, R. (2014). Serial killer groupies. RJ PARKER PUBLISHING, INC.

Wang, T., & Sha, H. (2018). The influence of social rejection on cognitive control. Psychology, 09(7), 1707–1719. https://doi.org/10.4236/psych.2018.97101

#reference list is completed! #yandere #sunny day jack #my dear hatchet man #mdhm #stnaf #ddlc #john doe #boyfriend to death #tpof #degrees of lewdity #your boyfriend #14dwy #br<3ken colors #camp willowpeak #br0ken colors #obey me #binary star hero #favor vn

[bet-on-me-13]

Captive AU

So, the GIW has been around for a while.

Ghosts have been a problem for centuries, the US Government wouldn't have waited until the 21st Century to figure out a way to deal with them, so the GIW has been around for years. And the general Public knows about them, it's a common household name like the FBI or the CIA. They are simply seen as another government organization doing its job, no need to care about the Ghosts they capture, they're Non-Sentient anyways.

Over the years of their existence, they have acquired their own little prison full of Ghosts. And among that collection of Ghosts, 4 stand out.

Because they are somehow Ghost-Human Hybrids.

The first was captured a while before the others. A College Student studying Ectology had been admitted to the Hospital after a Lab Accident, where he had been diagnosed with an, as of yet, unknown and incurable Disease. He had Green Boils popping up all over his Face, and he was in excruciating Pain.

The GIW had sent a team to investigate, and they had found that the College Student was slowly transforming into some type of abomination. He was still partially human, but he was also partially a Ghost. They had him declared Dead and shipped him off to a Blacksite Facility to be experimented on.

...

The Second One came about 10 years later. Coincidentally, it was very similar circumstances. The very same pair of scientists who had been acquainted with their previous subject had just admitted their 5 Yr old son into a local Hospital. He had been in a Lab Accident that had stopped his Heart for a few minutes, and out of curiosity the GIW had sent a Team to investigate.

And what did they find, but a perfect recreation of their favorite Test Subject.

They declared the Child Dead, and sent him off to the same Facility they kept the other one in.

...

The 3rd of the Hybrids was actually created in a GIW Lab, 3 Years Later. In an experiment to see if the Hybrids condition could be recreated, a GIW Scientist had taken the DNA of the 2 existing Hybrids and had cloned them.

Of the Test Batch of 15, only 1 Subject survived. It was deemed only a Partial Success, because while they did manage to create a New Hybrid, it was Unstable and prone to melting if overexerted.

They placed it in the same Containment Unit as the other 2, and left it at that. No more Cloning Experiments had been conducted afterwards since the project was deemed an overall Failure.

...

The 4th and Final Hybrid was found in Gotham City of all places, 2 years later.

A GIW Operative had been visiting Family when their Van's Ecto-Detector had gone off. Soon after that they found the Subject in an Alleyway, seemingly disoriented from its recent awakening.

DNA testing had revealed the Hybrid to be deceased Jason Peter Todd, the adopted Son of Bruce Wayne who had been killed 6 Months Prior while studying in Ethiopia. By the Scientists Best Guess, an Anomoly in Space-Time had caused a Natural Portal to open right on top of the Teenagers Corpse, fusing his Deceased Body and nearly formed Ghost into One.

They shipped the Teen off to the Blacksite, and placed him in the same Containment Unit as the others.

...

So now the GIW have 4 Hybrids, all created from different circumstances, all different ages.

One was formed from the Slow Death of a College Age Student, after a Lab Accident had flooded his system with Pure Ectoplasm.

One was form from the Instant Death of a 5 yr old Boy, after a Lab Accident had flooded his Body with a dimensions worth of Ectoplasm.

One was created in a GIW Lab in a Cloning Experiment. She was created to be 3 Yrs Old upon Birth, and was Unstable as a Result.

One was created from the Fusion of a Long Dead Teenage Corpse and a nearly formed Ghost, in a random Space Time Event that forced both together.

...

All the Halfas are basically a Family together. Vlad is the oldest, at around 35, and takes the Paternal Role.

Danny and Ellie are the Kids, and are 10 and 5 respectively.

Jason is the Oldest Child, and takes his Older Brother role very seriously. He is 15 when he is brought in.

They all take care of eachother, through all the experiments and tests the GIW force them through.

One of the most common experiments is to have them battle the other Ghosts in Captivity. Although that is just a thinly veiled dog fighting ring that the GIW scientists like to Bet on. Sometimes they are put up against eachother, but they refuse to fight until they are electrocuted into submission.

They were also forced to Push all of their Powers to their Limits every day, just so the Scientist can see how they are growing. This had drained them, since they only got the absolute minimum amount of Ecto to survive off of, and they were forced to use it all up every day.

This goes on for 3 more years.

...

Until the day when the GIW messed up.

During one of their Constant Dog Fights, they had made the mistake of putting two Electricity Core Ghosts against eachother. The resulting battle had created an Electromagnetic Wave that fried all systems in the entire Facility.

It was a Disaster. Dozens of Scientists were killed when the Door Locks failed to contain the captive Ghosts, and even more were injured when a few of the Ghosts managed to break into the Armory on Base.

It was only hours after the whole ordeal was Finally quelled that they realized that their most Valuable Test Subjects were missing.

Vlad, Danny, Jason, and Ellie had taken the chance to run away during the commotion. Vlad had unfortunately been injured during the escape, and Ellie had been forced to use her powers causing her to destabilize a little, but all in all they had managed to escape on one piece.

But now they were fugitives on the run from the Government, with an injured adult and a sick child.

Jason had an Idea though. While he didn't have very clear memories of his life, a side effect of his late resurrection, he did remember that he used to live in Gotham. And they all remember researchers grumbling about how their scanners always malfunction when they passed nearby Gotham.

So, Jason led his little Family to the most Familiar place in the city he could think of.

Crime Alley.

#Dpxdc #Dp x dc #Dcxdp #Dc x dp #Danny Phantom #Dc #Dcu #GIW #Guys In White #Ghost Investigation Ward #The GIW is actually Compent #They have been around for years #They capture Vlad when he is first admitted into the Hospital #They catch Danny when he is admitted into the hospital as well but as a 5 Yr Old #They make Ellie and keep her in Captivity #And they Catch Jason the same day he is revived as a Halfa #Just to clear up the Ages #Vlad was captured at 20 and is released at 38 #Danny is captured at 5 and is released at 13 #Jason is captured at 15 and is released at 18 #Ellie is a bit more complicated #She is Born as a 3 yr old #She is physically 8 but actually 5 when she is released #The GIW was seen as a good thing for decades by the Public #So even the JLA agreed that the Ghosts needed to be locked up #The JLA is horrified when JLD tells them that Ghosts are both Sentient and Sapient #Especially since the GIW researchers they question seem to be oddly defensive about the whole thing #The GIW knew all along but they kept it a secret because they are assholes #Jason leads his little family to Crime Alley #He finds a few good hiding spots for his family and eventually decides to start helping out around the neighborhood

[doufudanshi]

ON GHOSTS AND DEMONS: Wei Wuxian's "demonic" cultivation?

There are a few big misconceptions I have repeatedly seen in English-speaking fandom about things that are fundamental to the story of MDZS. One of them is this—

Wei Wuxian is not a demonic cultivator.

To prove this, let's take a deep dive into the original Chinese text of MDZS.

(Adapted from my original gdoc posted on Twitter on May 27, 2022. All translations my own unless otherwise stated.)

Demon vs. ghost

Let's start from the very basics. In addition to orthodox cultivation using spiritual energy and a golden core, there are two other forms of cultivation that are mentioned in the novel:

魔道 (mó dào), or “demon cultivation/path.”

鬼道 (guǐ dào), or “ghost cultivation/path.”

To be clear, 魔 mo "demons" and 鬼 gui "ghosts" (and thus their respective cultivation/paths) are not interchangeable because of the in-universe worldbuilding within MDZS. Using the characters in the term 妖魔鬼怪 "monsters," MXTX created four distinct categories of beings, each of which has a strict definition in the novel. From chapter 4 (jjwxc ch 13):

妖者非人之活物所化; 魔者生人所化; 鬼者死者所化; 怪者非人之死物所化。 Yāo (妖) are transformed from non-human living beings; mó (魔) are transformed from living people; guǐ (鬼) are transformed from the deceased; guài (怪) are transformed from non-human dead beings.

And of course, WWX hoards all the ghost-type pokemon monsters at the Phoenix Mountain tournament, and he only exerts control over corpses, spirits, and the like (aka people who have already died). (As opposed to Xue Yang, who appears to have been actively trying to make 魔 "demons" out of living people with those "living corpses" of his, perhaps.) (And, ironically, in order to avoid showing necromancy / zombies on screen, CQL technically does show WWX practicing demon cultivation because everyone is "supposedly alive" even when they're corpses? Which is, funnily enough, far worse morally in the MDZS universe, lol.)

So, intuitively at least, we know that WWX must be practicing ghost cultivation—now let's look at some concrete examples from the book.

Running the numbers

1) 魔道 (mó dào) means “demon cultivation.” As such, it must use living humans.

魔道 appears one (1) time in the novel.

Yes, once. The only time it appears is in the term 魔道祖师 modao zushi, or the namesake of the novel, in chapter 2. This is a title the general public has given him through rumors:

魏无羡好歹也被人叫了这么多年无上邪尊啦、魔道祖师啦之类的称号，这种一看就知道不是什么好东西的阵法，他自然了如指掌。 Wei Wuxian wasn’t called titles like “The Evil Overlord,” “The Founder of Demon Cultivation,” and so on over the years by others for nothing—he knew these sorts of obviously shady formations like the back of his hand.

2) 鬼道 (guǐ dào) means “ghost cultivation.” As such, it must use dead humans. 

鬼道 appears 12 times in the novel.

Here is the first instance that 鬼道 appears, which I believe is the first time Wei Wuxian's method of cultivation is properly introduced. From chapter 3 (jjwxc ch 8):

蓝忘机 […] 对魏无羡修鬼道一事极不认可。 Lan Wangji […] had never approved of the fact that Wei Wuxian practiced ghost cultivation.

Here's another quote from chapter 15 (jjwxc ch 71) for funsies:

蓝忘机看着他，似乎一眼就看出他只是随口敷衍，吸了一口气，道：“魏婴。” Lan Wangji looked at him as if he saw through his half-hearted bluff. He took in a breath, then said, “Wei Ying.” 他执拗地道：“鬼道损身，损心性。” He stubbornly continued, “Ghost cultivation harms one’s body, and harms one’s nature.”

3) 邪魔歪道 (xiemowaidao) means heretical path/immoral methods/evil practices/underhanded means/etc—e.g., lying, cheating, stealing, bribery, and so on.

It appears ~24 times in the novel.

I mention this last term because it is often used to refer to Wei Wuxian's cultivation, but as a pejorative. Every instance of 邪魔歪道 is said by or to quote someone looking down upon Wei Wuxian’s cultivation (Jin Zixun, Jin Ling, etc.) and referring to it derogatorily, whereas every instance of 鬼道 guidao/ghost dao is said by someone discussing it neutrally and/or factually (Lan Jingyi, Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian himself, random cultivators at discussion conferences, the narration, etc.). Here is a pertinent example with Jin Ling (derogatory) and Lan Jingyi (neutral) in chapter 9 (jjwxc ch 43):

金凌怒道：“是在谈论薛洋，我说的不对吗？薛洋干了什么？他是个禽兽不如的人渣，魏婴比他更让人恶心！什么叫‘不能一概而论’？这种邪魔歪道留在世上就是祸害，就是该统统都杀光，死光，灭绝！” “We are discussing Xue Yang,” Jin Ling said angrily. “Am I wrong? What did Xue Yang do? He’s scum that’s lower than a beast, and Wei Ying is even more disgusting than him! What do you mean ‘don’t make sweeping generalizations?’ As long as those practicing this kind of demoniac, heretical path are alive, they’ll continue to bring disaster. We should slaughter all of them, kill all of them, annihilate them once and for all!” 温宁动了动，魏无羡摆手示意他静止。只听蓝景仪也加入了，嚷道：“你发这么大火干什么？思追又没说魏无羡不该杀，他只是说修鬼道的也不一定全都是薛洋这种人，你有必要乱摔东西吗？那个我还没吃呢……” Wen Ning shuffled around. Wei Wuxian gestured at him to stay still, only to hear Lan Jingyi also cut in loudly, “Why are you getting so riled up? It’s not like Sizhui said Wei Wuxian shouldn’t have been killed. All he said was that people who practice ghost cultivation aren’t necessarily all like Xue Yang. Do you have to go around breaking things? I didn’t even get to eat any of that yet…”

Tl;dr—Wei Wuxian does not 修魔道 practice demon cultivation. When Wei Wuxian’s craft is discussed in a neutral and factual manner, it is referred to as 鬼道 ghost dao. 

In fact, Wei Wuxian’s imitators are also referred to explicitly as 鬼道修士 ghost cultivators.

魏无羡早就听说过，这些年来江澄到处抓疑似夺舍重生的鬼道修士，把这些人通通押回莲花坞严刑拷打。 Wei Wuxian had heard a while back that over the past few years, Jiang Cheng had gone around snatching any ghost cultivator suspected of being possessed or reborn, detaining them in Lotus Pier to interrogate them using torture.

So why the confusion?

Of course, there is the matter of the novel's title, which I will get into in a second. But the real issue is a matter of translation.

The idea that WWX uses "demonic cultivation" is a misconception in English-speaking fandom due to issues with the translation of terminology. Of note, EXR actually did translate 鬼道 guidao as "ghostly path" most of the time, though there were at least 3 instances of "demonic" and 1 instance of "dark," especially regarding the first few.

However, this misconception was perpetuated (and arguably worsened) by 7S's official translation, which not only mistranslated additional terms as "demonic cultivation/path" (at least in book 1), but also consistently mistranslated every instance of 鬼道 as "demonic cultivation/path."

So why is this book called 魔道祖师, commonly translated as "Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation?"

One possibility is one posed in Chinese-language meta online, which often cites that WWX himself is a sort of 魔 demon. While this may be true—after all, he can hear the voices of the dead—it doesn't quite explain the fact that the title sets him up to be the 祖师 or "founder."

My take is that this novel is very much concerned with hearsay vs. truth. This is one of the many monikers WWX is given by the public, who collectively view him as evil. (Also of note is that the non-cultivator public is not aware of all the nuances that cultivators learn re: distinctions between the 妖魔鬼怪 monsters.) In the quote from earlier, note that the first title we're given is actually 无上邪尊 “The Evil Overlord,” then 魔道祖师 "The Founder of Demon Cultivation." Like, what can that be other than MXTX telling us, "please take both of these with a HUGE grain of salt, lol."

(And not only the title, but the very first line—"魏无羡死了。" / "Wei Wuxian is dead."—is a lie.)

I think the title is genius, honestly. It intentionally makes readers come into the novel with preconceived notions that Wei Wuxian practices 魔道 demon cultivation and evil techniques—just like the public in the novel. What better way to tell a story warning about the dangers of how easy it is to fall for misinformation and jump to incorrect conclusions?

(Though, in our case, perhaps it worked a little too well.)

#魔道祖师 #mdzs #mdzs meta #mdzs translation #wei wuxian #wwx #demonic cultivation #ghost cultivation #mine #doufudanshi translation #crossposted from twitter #(sort of)

[writers-potion]

Writing Weapons (1): Swords

The Thrusting Sword

Type of fight scene: entertaining, duels, non-lethal fights, non-gory deaths, swashbuckling adventure

Mostly used in: Europe, including Renaissance and Regency periods

Typical User: silm, male or female, good aerobic fitness

Main action: thrust, pierce, stab

Main motion: horizontal with the tip forward

Shape: straight, often thin, may be lightweight

Typical Injury: seeping blood, blood stains spreading

Strategy: target gaps in the armous, pierce a vital organ

Disadvantage: cannot slice through bone or armour

Examples: foil, epee, rapier, gladius

The Cleaving Sword

Type of fight scene: gritty, brutal, battles, cutting through armour

Typical user: tall brawny male with broad shulders and bulging biceps

Mostly used in: Medieval Europe

Main action: cleave, hack, chop, cut, split

Main motion: downwards

Shape: broad, straight, heavy, solid, sometime huge, sometimes need to be held in both hands, both sides sharpened

Typical Injury: severed large limbs

Strategy: hack off a leg, them decapitate; or split the skull

Disadvantage: too big to carry concealed, too heavy to carry in daily lifem too slow to draw for spontaneous action

Examples: Medieval greatsword, Scottish claymore, machete, falchion

The Slashing Sword

Type of fight scene: gritty or entertaining, executions, cavalry charge, on board a ship

Mostly used in: Asia, Middle East

Typical user: male (female is plausible), any body shape, Arab, Asian, mounted warrior, cavalryman, sailor, pirate

Main action: slash, cut, slice

Main motion: fluid, continuous, curving, eg.figure-eight

Shape: curved, often slender, extremely sharp on the outer edge

Typical Injury: severed limbs, lots of spurting blood

Strategy: first disable opponent's sword hand (cut it off or slice into tendons inside the elbow)

Disadvantage: unable to cut thorugh hard objects (e.g. metal armor)

Examples: scimitar, sabre, saif, shamshir, cutlass, katana

Blunders to Avoid:

Weapons performing what they shouldn't be able to do (e.g. a foil slashing metal armour)

Protagonists fighting with weapons for which they don't have the strength or build to handle

The hero carrying a huge sword all the time as if it's a wallet

Drawing a big sword form a sheath on the back (a physical impossiblity, unless your hero is a giant...)

Generic sword which can slash, stab, cleave, slash, block, pierce, thrust, whirl through the air, cut a few limbs, etc...as if that's plausible

adapted from <Writer's Craft> by Rayne Hall

#writing #writers and poets #writers on tumblr #creative writing #let's write #poets and writers #creative writers #writeblr #resources for writers #helping writers #fantasy #sword #sword fighting #fight scene #historical fantasy #adventure fiction #description #writing practice #writing prompt #writing inspiration #writing ideas #on writing #writer #writerscommunity #writing advice #writing community #writer stuff #writers life #writers community #writers block

[7777vie]

as inexperienced as spencer was, he knew what went on behind the door of a relationship. he knew exactly what was released during intimacy that made people love each other.

"dopamine, serotonin, and norepinephrine play a role in determining your initial attraction to someone, while oxytocin and other chemicals aid in bond formation and in reshaping your brain when you're in love."

"when we're stimulated by our sexual partner or experiencing love, our bodies generate oxytocin, earning it the moniker "love hormone" and "cuddle hormone."

he could explain every aspect of love — but the doctor found it hard to recognize these feelings when he's approached by them himself.

he knows why people's cheeks flush when they talk to others they are attracted to. when you're attracted to someone, blood flows to your face, an emotional reaction triggering the release of adrenaline, which causes your veins to widen or dilate. but that can't possibly be why his face flushes when he sees you focused on his rambling. there simply had to be another explanation.

"mhm, what about why people kiss?" a simple question he could answer in a second, but the delirious look on your face, as you asked him, made him stumble through his words. he cursed himself for starting this topic during your debrief of the profile which was left vacant a while ago.

"i-it could be interpreted as a type of 'attachment behaviour,' like— akin to hugging or holding hands. These actions alleviate stress and enhance relationship trust, contentment, and intimacy."

he took your hum as a sign of satisfaction as he cleared his throat. he loved talking about what he knew — he took pride in filling his brain with knowledge yet he felt a twinge of embarrassment talking to you about this topic. he wondered why. this was an unshameful topic and you expressed interest in what he said, why were his cheeks flushed red?

lost in thought with a pen around his fingers, he hadn't noticed the numerous times he was called by his older colleague by the door.

"spencer?" "yes?" "gideons calling you."

you would have thought that if he turned any faster his head would have unscrewed, or that if he had gotten up any faster his legs would have fallen through the floor — but that was just the way the genius was.

gideon was nothing but aware of exactly spencer was feeling at the moment. the profiler in him was aware of every thought going through his head at every glance he took at you and every glance of yours he caught. but he could do nothing but sigh at his unawareness.

"deep in thought?" just by the sound of the younger feet shuffling next to him and the sight of his hands in an awkward position in front of him, he knew he was nervous. something that even a non-profiler could tell.

"the unsub is showing obvious signs of delusions— but we have no concrete links to what could have caus—"

"not those thoughts," gideon chuckled at the lost expression on the genius as he resembled a child who lost his mother in a crowd. "you're thinking of something else. it's distracting you."

it didn't take spencer long to track back to what he was thinking of before gideon called him. his eyes ran through the room and he didn't know how to answer, "i am a bit distracted, but i am still thinking about the case."

"i know."

the older man stifled a grin as he turned to the younger, "we have a few names you need to go by, you two are going to the first victims house. I'm going to the crime scene with hotch. got it? garcia's already sent you the information."

the younger nodded eagerly and slipped his hands into his pockets. "yes, sir," he responded promptly, showing his readiness to share with you. he felt a reassuring pat on his shoulder, and he heard the older agent say, "she likes you too, don't be so nervous." As soon as he regained composure to what he had said, he turned his head to respond, only to find the older person already walking away towards their destination.

what? 'she liked you too.' it took the genius only a second to understand what he had hinted at — but an eternity to realize something else.

he liked you too.

#bau #spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #bau team #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #fluff #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds spencer reid #spencer #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader