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starrclown · 3 days

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SunBurst duo headcannons that I have but can't explain why I have them but it's special to me.

(Look at them yall <3<3<3)

Before Wukong got comfortable with Pigsy, he was really shy about asking Pigsy to keep his food cool because he can't eat hot food. Mk started to ask for cooler noodles for Wukong.

They switched hair colors once. Wukong had dark brown hair and Mk was ginger. Wukong didn't like it but Mk really liked his. Pigsy made him dye it back because no one got used to ginger Mk.

Mk doesn't like peaches. At all. Wukong tells him it's alright and that he doesn't have to eat them but Mk forces himself to out of respect.

Mk has seen half of Wukong's glamors off. Wukong is still too afraid to let them all drop.

Mk has absolutely dressed up as Wukong for Halloween.

Mk didn't know what grooming was so when Wukong kept trying to mess with his hair, he kept swatting him off. Wukong eventually stopped and didn't attempt again. Mk then later found out monkies groom to show love and he cried. (This actually happened to me! My cousin has a capuchin monkey named Debbie and she did this to me when I was like 8. I didn't get what she was doing so I kept swatting her off. I got SO upset when I found out what she was going.)

Mk is Wukongs emergency contact number in his phone.

Mk knows some of the baby monkies by name. He even got to name a newborn.

Mk and Wukong like to color together. They even made a coloring book together!

Wukong sometimes turns into a small bird or cat and hides in Mks gold cart so he can go on Mk's noodle runs.

Mk just hops on Wukong when he wants a piggy back ride. Wukong started doing I too so now they just piggy back ride on each other.

Mk sometimes has nightmares about Wukong getting possesed or Wukong being trapped in the scrolls. Wukong usually has to comfort him.

Mk gave Wukong his own headband. Wukong uses it as a ponytail holder when his hair gets to long.

Wukong bites everyone as a love language. Not hard, just a little nibble. He first did this to Mk during midway through season 2 and season 3. Mk was confused but kinda rolled with it.

Wukong wakes up and attempts to take care of himself. Brushing his hair, teeth, and getting his clothes. Mk wakes up, puts his headband on and just goes. No thoughts.

Those two watch cartoons for HOURS on end. They have little movie nights :)

Mk was caught so off guard when he found out Redson was Wukong's nephew.

Mk before he knew about glamors, wondered why Wukong didn't look like how he was described (4 foot, red eyes.) but he was to scared to ask.

Mk stills feel bad that he didn't have faith in Wukong when he met Macaque. Wukong doenst hold it against him, he gets it.

Mk sometimes wears gold eyeshadow to match Wukong's blue eyeshadow. Sometimes they switch it up and change colors. (Bai He, Mei, and Redson sometimes join.)

I found this in my drafts and wanted to post it. Live laugh love SunBurst Duo.

(If you like Soysause duo more then GET OUT 😡

/J.) (Kidding)

- ⭐️StarClown⭐️

#lmk #lmk sun wukong #lmk mk #lmk sunburst duo #lego monkie kid #lego monkie kid mk #lego monkie kid sunburst duo #lego monkie kid sun wukong #monkie kid #monkie kid sun wukong #monkie kid mk #monkie kid sunburst duo #theyre special to me #lmk headcanon

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kekaki-cupcakes · 1 day

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Heyy! Could I request Jason x Child of Nyx! Reader, i'd figure it'd be a cool thing since you know Zeus and Nyx don't really like each other that and then their children fall in love.

You don't have to do it, if you don't want to and ps. I love all of your works! <3

okay so these have been sitting in my inbox since eons ago, so I decided I was gonna set myself a minimum of 0.4k words because I figured people would rather read a lil bit of their request rather then non of it, but I just churned out 1.2k words of this and I know more then the gods do about nocturnal animals.

enjoy <3

he was raised by wolves - Jason G x child of Nyx reader/animal lover

»»————-　★　————-««

Jason dumped his teddy bear jacket on the back of the spinning chair, after he checked there were no hedgehogs eating plum offcuts on it. He’d made that mistake one too many times. There were a lot of miniscule holes in the sleeves of his jacket.

The medical kit he was looking for was most likely in one of the crates stacked beneath the snake table. The table with the snake tanks on it, obviously.

Your cabin was dark a lot of the time, when you weren’t there, courtesy of the kingdom of nocturnal animals lurking between books and in pillowcases, so Jason had to turn on a few of the antique lamps you’d found [on the side of the road, of course] so that other people could see.

He got to his knees, wincing at the crack he heard.

He could also hear a faint hissing. He looked into one of the tanks, and waved at Benjamin. Benjamin was a northern desert night snake. Meaning he looked like if a leopard wearing a choker was turned into a slithery little serpent. Jason was glad you’d passed that pet leopard you used to have onto Pollux and Castor. It got fur all over his clothes.

Benjamin just stuck his tongue out at him, and Jason crawled underneath the desk, looking for the first aid kit every cabin was supposed to have.

There was a pretty high chance you had chucked it out to make room for that little collection of shrinking green frogs you had found in a river by the Hecate cabin, deep in the woods so that when they accidentally cursed bloodlines and the like, no one was in imminent danger. Lou Ellen owed her first born to three different beings, but that was irrelevant.

He dug past a few boxes of sugar glider pellets, and found the first aid kit.

“JASON GRACE, SON OF A BITCH, CHILD OF ROME, CONSUL OF DEMIGODS, PRAETOR OF THE FIRST LEGION!”

Jason sat straight up. A thud echoed through the low lit little cabin, and his head began to pound. He’d hit it on the bottom of the snake table. He sniffed, “I said that once.”

He heard you trot over as he tried to extract himself, the back of his head throbbing painfully.

“Babe, we talked about this,” you fussed, and yanked him out into the open with the force of someone who took chocolate out of coyotes mouths on the daily. “You gotta stop banging your head! You’re getting that chronic pain from it that Will told you about!”

Jason grumbled about nothing, and squinted as he looked around. Your face was just a blob.

“You dropped your glasses babe, hear, lemme… wait, hold this,” you said, dumping your wrapped up hoodie into his arms, the one with the moon cycle phases on the back, and then crawling back underneath the snake table. “I’ve got em!”

He watched you slide them back onto his eyes, your hands actually very gentle compared to the yanking from before. He tried not to grin stupidly. The hoodie in his arms wriggled. Jason looked down, and a small spiky red face looked up at him with big shiny eyes.

“Uh…” he said.

You stood up with a huff, “I knew it, you’ve got a concussion. Now you’re slurring your speech!”

“...No, I just wasn’t expecting a fox,” Jason managed to squeak out, staring at the little animal. It was pretty cute. It reminded him of a wolf, but not the wolves he knew, more of a spindly wolf dipped in ketchup.

You paused, the first aid kit in your hands. “You weren’t? What did you think I was doing in the forest?”

“I don’t know,” Jason said, standing back up and moving to the squishy blanketed bed behind the humongous crystal ball and stack of telescopes. There were also a few cat playgrounds to weave around, but he managed to sink into your pile of bat shaped teddies and pillows. “Fighting monsters, near death experiences, something regular?”

You rolled your eyes, and sat cross legged on the bed, reaching for his head with those gentle hands that made him understand how you could pick up the deadliest of spiders and feralist of wolverines without even a scratch.

Jason wasn’t even nocturnal, but he did sink into your hold.

Then you let go to crack the unfrozen ice pack and let the chemicals take over until it would make the tips of your fingers freezing. Jason knew to expect your cold hands under his shirt, trying to freeze him out.

He was sort of used to it, though.

He looked around your cabin while you savagely whacked the poor icepack against one of the many thick framed mirrors lining your walls. A few bats flapped out of their hiding places in the rafters and settled back down. A baby puma hissed from its place by the umbrella stand that was actually just full of swords.

From the outside, your cabin looked like a tiny portion of a haunted mansion plonked between the Asteria cabin and the Hestia cabin, which was really just a cozy little room for anyone. Jason pet the soft head of the fox napping in his arms. On the inside, though, it was just old lamps and chew toys and even older mirrors. And a lot of poo bags. And record players. And Jason’s hoodies.

You were already wearing his teddy bear jacket, but he didn’t argue when you pressed the ice pack to his head.

“So, what were you really lookin for in there, babe?” you asked, taking back the fox. You held your hand out, and it disappeared into a shadow.

“Bandages.”

On the other side of the room, out of a shadow, you grabbed a ziploc bag of raspberries. You pulled it back and began feeding the little fox, red staining your cold fingertips.

“You know you can’t beat Beth, right?” you teased, looking up for a moment with those gorgeous eyes that made Jason’s head feel a little floaty. Or maybe it was just the injury.

You smirked, “I mean, not that it’s totally not hot when you beat the shit out of people or anything.”

Yep. Definitely just the head injury. Totally.

Jason ate a slightly squashed raspberry. “I know, but I wanted to practise. I was gonna find Will. Can’t remember how to wrap my wrists.”

You passed over the fox, who wiggled out of the hoodie and curled around a fruit bat Squishmellow with a yawn, fangs stained with red that may or may not be berries or blood.

Jason shuffled forwards on the bed, ice pack falling from his white blonde hair. “My turn?”

“I thought you were going to get the shit beaten out of you by Annabeth?” You said with a smirk. You had that shark tooth necklace on. Jason gave you a half hearted evil eye, and you opened your arms.

He flopped into the hug, pushing you both back onto the bed. A Tasmanian devil [how? You were in America!] and a grumpy looking white tailed deer and about seven different types of bush mice stared at you.

Jason didn’t care. He snuggled into your hug, chin on your chest. Your fingers ran through his hair.

He was your favorite feral animal.

»»————-　★　————-««

#pjo fandom #pjo #heroes of olympus #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #Jason grace #Jason grace pjo #Jason grace headcanons #Jason #Jason pjo #Jason grace x reader #Jason grace x y/n #jason grace x you #jason grace x male reader #Jason grace fluff

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bikini-kill-pilled · 1 day

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im really interested in the revival of riot grrrl; i think its absolutely possible for it to make a comeback, and i could even argue that it never actually went away...i mean, its definitely lost a bit of its edge, but their are bands coming out in its genre and they keep the spirit alive. anyway, the essential thing for the revival is that riot grrrl fixes its previous mistakes. i hate when people try to trivialize its importance because i do think it made a difference in the small span of time that it was really popular, but the main issues were how whitewashed it was, how it mostly focused on middle/upper suburban women, and how it (in my opinion mostly) centered a lot around reclaiming femininity, thereby neglecting gnc women who don't WANT to reclaim it. i found a cool article on black women in the feminist punk movement--specifically how they made their own movement, sista grrrl riot--and these quotes stood out to me. this ones by musician tamar kali brown:

"Being in this urban jungle, I was a different type of girl. I was hearing what they were saying, but I was living in an environment where people were getting stabbed. Riot Grrrl felt like a bubblegum expression. I was bald, and I would get a lot of negative attention that bordered on violence, so I wasn't in the world of [baby voice] 'You just think I can't play because I'm a girl!'

and this one by laronda davis:

"I never looked at a magazine and thought that that was what I was supposed to look like. On one hand, it's actually kind of liberating to not be what this standard of womanhood is. That standard put a lot of women in boxes, and they spend their li[ves] trying to get out of the box. Black women were never allowed in the box. I wasn't looking at TV saying, 'Oh, that represents me.' I wasn't listening to music telling about my experience. I had experiences that told me I wasn't concerned with these things that the happy songs were about."

(article here)

all in all i think what riot grrrl needs to change is its idea of a universal female childhood in their songs that we can all relate to. it kind of sucks to say but really all women do have in common are the stereotypes we're given, and when punk women criticized and defied those stereotypes they really shone; i was reading that people called kathleen hanna writing "slut" on her stomach white feminism and i was like....err. sexualization is something all women are subjected to. i've just been in a bit of a rabbit hole which started when i researched the history of trans people in riot grrrl, then to modern times when i found a claim that kathleen hanna had stopped using the line "all girls to the front" and edited her riot grrrl manifesto, and finally ended here with me thinking "man, riot grrrl's spirit is needed now more than ever, but like we need to make it WAAAAYYY better so it actually works out". the good news is, like i said, it hasn't actually faded out of mainstream consciousness.

i might add on to this in later posts. sorry if it's messy.

#talking and thinking #riot grrrl #radblr #radical feminism #radical feminist safe #radical feminist #radical feminists do interact #gender critical #radical feminist community #female separatism

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escapingrealtiylovinginsanity · 1 day

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Jay Halstead: To Be Continued

This was the requested part 2 of Sensatory Overload

You hear the door open, but the automatic lights are turned off, so the room stays relatively dark. You are sitting on the floor, arms resting on your knees, back pressed against the cool wall. You know who it is before he even says your name. There is only one person who would think to look for you here. And it was only because you had dragged him to help calm him down a month prior.

You didn’t hear him walk into the room after the door closed but you did feel the heat from his body as he came to stand in front of you. “That was a rough one.” His voice was soft as he knelt in front of you. He sounded as emotionally drained as you felt. You could just make out his shape in the darkness and see his hand only a moment before it touched your skin. His hand was warm as it cupped your jaw. His thumb stroked your cheekbone, his fingertips curving gently around your head and into the hair at the nape of your neck.

You hum your agreement as you try not to lean into his touch. You hadn’t spoken much since the kiss. All of it had been work-related. You found yourself wondering if you had made the whole encounter up. But you could still feel the heat of it on your lips. The slight brush of his stubble as he kisses you. You couldn’t make up the sensations that had lingered long after the kiss had ended. Maybe he regretted kissing you. And that was why he had been so distant. “You don’t have to do that.” You whisper back.

“Do what?” His thumb catches a stray lock of hair as it continues brushing your cheek and uses his finger to tuck it behind your ear. “Check on you? I just want to make sure you are okay.” The silence is just a second or two too long and you can tell he catches the change in the air even as you answer.

“I’m okay. Just needed a minute.” You lean your head back against the wall and away from his palm. You immediately miss the warmth and feel your thoughts start to spiral. His hand drops and he sits next to you.

“Is this about that kiss?” His words are blunt and to the point in a very Jay fashion. The abruptness makes the air get stuck in your chest. Did he really have to bring it up? For what purpose? You both could have just ignored the fact that it had ever happened. You start talking to try to defuse the situation.

“It’s completely normal to do rash things when you're coming down from adrenaline like that. Things you wouldn’t normally think of doing. No harm, no foul. What happens behind closed doors and all that right?” You wished that you hadn’t said anything. You felt pathetic and hoped that you hadn’t made the situation worse by offending him by implying that kissing him wouldn’t be out of the realm of normal. After all, you couldn’t think of a single person who wouldn’t jump at the chance to kiss Jay Halstead. But the two of you kissing? That wasn’t something that should ever be considered normal.

“Is that your way of telling me to back off?” You turn to look at him, or the best you can in the dark. It was a strange way to phrase that.

“I’m just saying... In high-tension situations... You should be held to the actions you take.” You wince and continue blabbering on, “I mean you punched Adam. That is pretty-”

“Are you comparing our kiss to me punching Ruzek?” There is disbelief and maybe a touch of frustration in his tone.

“Well not exactly-”

“Because those situations were different. I was in a completely different headspace, thanks to you, during that kiss. And quite frankly I think Ruzek deserved that. He gets too cocky and needs to be knocked down a few pegs here and there.” You can hear the change in his tone. “So, if you are regretting that kiss-.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” It is the only thing that you can get out of your mouth. Then there is another pause that is just a little too long. You hear Jay mutter something that sounds like fuck it before a hand is on your cheek pulling you into a rough open-mouthed kiss. Your gasp turns into a moan. His hand grips your hip and yanks you to straddle his lap. You feel the gun on his hip dig into your left thigh. You shift sitting more firmly in his lap. You pull back from the kiss to catch your breath. Your lips barely graze each other with each breath.

“Sometimes you make no sense to me.” He whispered against your lips. You breathed out a laugh, leaning in to steal another kiss. You feel bold by his touch. His hands moved from your hips down to the back of your thighs before trailing back up to your ass and squeezing firmly. You hadn’t touched Jay during your first kiss. Not really.

You don’t waste this opportunity. You let your hands wander as you kiss him, touching all the places you had only ever dreamed about. You stroke up his biceps, shoulders, and down his back. You feel the lean muscles ripple under your fingertips.

A loud ringing makes you jump back. You sigh and pull your phone out of your jacket pocket. A text from your boss demands your return. You look at Jay, his face illuminated by your phone. “To be continued.” You lean forward to peck one more kiss on his lips before you regretfully get back to your feet.

@sdddoobydoobydoo you said you wanted to be tagged.

#chicago pd #jay halstead #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x you

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jimraisedmeup · 2 days

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TICK // 1.1 - gimme danger

Rating: mature (language, sexual content)

Word Count: 640

☾

There's nothing in my dreams Just some ugly memories Kiss me like the ocean breeze

Now, if you will be my lover I will shiver and sing But if you can't be my master I will do anything

☾

September 1983 - junior year

"Who does your tattoos, Edward Munson?"

The blunt voice behind him took him off guard, appearing out of nowhere. It didn't even sound like a question. More like a matter-of-fact demand.

Your voice was thick and dripping like honey. Deeper than the voices of other girls in your school. Eddie was so used to the high-pitched, bubblegum-popping, giggling tones of the artificial female species that wandered the halls of Hawkins High.

The cafeteria around him was bustling with all the usual assholes, but suddenly all he could focus on was the figure of you standing behind him.

Finally turning around to lay eyes on the culprit, Eddie was shocked to see you.

He knew you, of course. Or at least knew of you.

In the back of his mind, he tried to remember if he had ever even spoken to you before. But he would have remembered your unique voice. Eddie's whole life revolved around sounds, melodies, vibrations.

You were a year younger than him, being a junior while he was a senior. He recalled seeing you in the crowded hallways. Plain hair. A face that said leave me the fuck alone. Weren’t you a part of the French Club or some shit?

His mind was racing, but still responded to you without any sign of hesitation. There were too many witnesses around for him to let his guard down. Bako and Donny, seated at the table with him, openly stared in awe.

Eddie found his vocal cords. "I do some of them. My uncle has a friend that does some of them."

Your disarming gaze bore into him, squinting for a moment. Eddie took a second to glance down at your clothes. Blue jeans. Gray fitted t-shirt. You were plain. No other word for it.

"How much for one?"

"What?"

"A tattoo. How much do you charge for a tattoo."

Again, you didn’t really ask it as a question. It was less of an innocent query and more of a personal space invasion, a solicitation. Your face gave away not a single emotion or even a hint of a personality.

Eddie scratched his head, acting like he was thinking deeply. He glanced at Donny, who looked at him like well, say something, idiot!

"Well, sunshine, that depends."

That's all he could think of. Why were you suddenly speaking to him? You had successfully ignored each other for the last however many years.

Your shoulders dropped in annoyance, but you still held onto the lunch tray in your hands.

"Okay, depends on what?"

A wicked grin painted his lips. At the motion of your shoulders falling, he could easily tell that you definitely weren’t wearing a bra. Your tits were smaller than average, basically nonexistent, but Eddie had x-ray vision at the short distance between you and him.

"Hmm… size, the design… location." Leaning over in the plastic chair, he purposely fixed his eyes on your ample behind.

You scoffed at him, "Cool, you're a real Don Juan. Let's get to the point, yeah? I want a quarter sized half moon on my hip. Just the outline, nothing fancy. Need more info?"

Taking his time to answer, mainly because he suddenly found himself entertained by your impatience, he shrugged.

"Nah. I'll do it for fifteen bucks."

"Deal. How soon can you do it?"

You were all business and no play. Eddie was enticed by your no-bullshit confidence.

A shocking flash of pink passed behind you: a popular girl chatting excitedly with a football player. Neon pink windbreaker, bleach blonde hair in perfect curls. Eddie observed her.

And then he looked back at you. So ordinary yet so different.

"How does this weekend sound?"

You held your hand out in front of him to shake. Your skin was smooth and warm on his callouses.

"Don't fuck this up, Munson. I'll see you Friday."

☾

There's nothing left alive But a pair of glassy eyes Raise my feelings one more time

☾

(song lyrics credit: "Gimme Danger" by The Stooges)

TAGLIST for this series if you would like to be notified when I post new chapters!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddiemunson #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things #eddie munson slow burn #eddie x you #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x buckley!reader

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pinazee · 2 days

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Who ya gonna call? (The DID/trans ep)

Ill be honest i was nervous to rewatch this one but turns out it held up better than i thought. I mean, the worst of it is that the DID person is the murderer but that was such a common tv thing back then for procedurals. Every one had to have a DID ep, even though, as Psych points out, its so exceedingly rare. I get it, its a fun concept, but yeah, don’t make them the violent ones when 9 times out of 10 they’re the victims of violent crimes. I will say though, Psych made sure to include they were getting the help they needed and they really didn’t have to.

But what a cool way to show it though, having the other personalities act like ghosts. It feels very poetic. And to have one personality trans is such an interesting layer on top of it. It really can’t get more complicated than that.

This episode also tells us so much about Lassiter! Hes trying desperately to win back his not-yet-ex wife its kind of heartbreaking. We’re starting Psych right at the beginning of Lassiters downfall. He gets separated, has an “affair” with his partner who gets reassigned because ppl found out thanks to Shawn, and i believe its later implied he lost the promotion to captain because of that affair. And then Shawn comes along and he’s solving his cases. I have to wonder though, since we see in this ep how distracted he can be when he has personal issues, if Lassiter isn’t necessarily a bad detective in the beginning but just going through some shit and missing things. It kind of makes me understand why he’s so hostile to Shawn in the beginning. Not that thats any excuse. Just because you’re having a bad day doesn’t mean you get to shit on other ppl’s. And it was fun to see lassiters and Juliets miscommunication. It was nice to see them easing into their partnership, and allowing friction, particularly:

What was henry going to do if that kid just started wailing on shawn??? Honestly, probably would have tried to teach shawn how to hit back and would’ve got him pummeled.

Its kind of funny that in this ep Shawns all this guy believes in ghosts, hes crazy, when in later eps he’s so excited about aliens and bigfoot haha. I can only conclude Shawn doesn’t really believe in anything supernatural but definitely wants to. I think it would have been better if Shawn didn’t think the guy was crazy right off the bat but maybe had a stalker, or intruder. (P.s were the writers implying Shawn was right from the beginning and they were crazy, or was that just poor wording??)

Sidenote: Shawn just casually spoke german and seemingly understood her response. He probably simply knew enough to impress her, but still. He does this a few times i think in the series where he lets it slip how much he actually knows.

#maybe i should make a powerpoint presentation #that feels like the right format for the time haha #psych #psych rewatch #shawn and gus #shawn spencer #burton guster #james roday #james roday rodriguez #dulé hill #dule hill #shassie #carlton lassiter #juliet o'hara #timothy omundson #maggie lawson

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buzzkillchainsaw · 17 hours

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⚠️ addiction, child abuse/neglect, death

Takumi Hoga was twelve years old when he first entered the ring. What else was he to do, really? He had just found out that he would be held back another grade again. Usually kids like him would hear the same old "You're not stupid, you're just lazy" speech over and over again, but not Takumi. He knew what the teachers thought of him. The current ones, that is. The teachers at the last two schools he was expelled from were probably relieved to never waste another thought on him again, after what he did. Bit a child here, broke a bone there. Bruises. Bloody noses. "Beast types", teachers would sneer whenever Takumi caused another "incident". Other than that, nobody paid much attention to him, even in class. You see, Takumi was born with abnormally large and abnormally many teeth very similar to a shark's. Whenever he opened his mouth to say something, teachers and students alike would cringe at his impeded speech, the latter even making fun of it in front of the former. So Takumi just stopped speaking altogether. His grades steadily worsened. His job prospects looked bleaker and bleaker each year. His parents didn't care. His mother was busy with drugs and whatever affair she had going on currently and his father often left for "work" for days at a time, leaving his son to fend for himself more often than not. There was nothing in his life that could've prevented Takumi from entering the ring.

On that fateful day after school Takumi was prowling the streets, homework and upcoming tests being the last thing on his mind. Some kid, a few years older than him, approached him. A fellow "beast", with sharp teeth and blue scales on his skin. He was wearing a cool leather jacket and expensive sunglasses. Takumi liked them.

"Hey, buddy. You look bored.", the guy said.

Takumi nodded. He was bored.

"I know a place where kids like us can have fun and earn cash on the side. Interested?"

"Like a job?", Takumi asked.

"Yeah, but more fun.", the guy answered.

Takumi was unsure. His teacher had told him that he'd never have a good job with his lousy grades and long attack record. "No respectable company will want to hire a beast like you.", she said. So how come this guy now wanted him for a job? And a "fun" one, at that?

"What do I have to do?", Takumi asked.

Everything moved quickly after that. The guy introduced him to "the boss", a man in his thirties who loved expensive food and loud cars. He even let Takumi sit on the passenger seat and choose the music they listened to on their drive to the ring. When they arrived, Takumi was handed a simple white shirt and shorts which reminded him of the clothes he had to wear in gym class. "Now all you gotta do", the boss said, "is beat up this guy over there." Another beast was in the ring, not much older than Takumi. He waved towards the excited crowd beyond the cage that surrounded the ring.

"Beat him up?", Takumi asked, "I'm allowed to do that?"

"Yeah. Beat him, scratch him, bite him, do whatever you want until he taps out or you hear the alarm."

"What if I have to tap out first?", Takumi asked. The boss grinned and handed him a tiny plastic bag with some powder inside. "I don't think you will."

The guy from before didn't lie: This was fun. Takumi didn't even break a sweat during his first fight, knocking the guy out cold. The second fight was against an older girl who transformed into a wolf, Takumi grabbed her nape with his teeth and shook her until she tapped out. At the end of the evening the boss gave him his payment and drove him back. He handed the boy a phone and said he'd text him if he had another fight for him lined up. Takumi stuffed the phone and the money in his pockets and went to buy himself a leather jacket and sunglasses.

Takumi Hoga was thirteen years old when he adopted the stage name "Armageddon". The boss had turned him into a rising star in the local business. Bets were made on whether Armageddon won or lost the fight and the boss always gave him a cut of the winnings which Takumi would spend on food, video games and clothes. Sponsors would sometimes pay him directly to write messages and contact details on his white shirt in permanent marker, displaying them in the ring for all to see. After the fight, the boss would get him cleaned up and drive him home. Takumi then spent the next day eagerly awaiting a message from the boss. On nights without fights Takumi felt horrible, writhing around in his bed, sweating bullets and sometimes even throwing up. But as soon as a new fight came up and Takumi got his hands on that powder the boss always gave him beforehand, the world was alright again. He felt light but focused at the same time, fearless, excited and full of energy. He had finally found something he was good at. And he loved doing it.

Takumi Hoga was fourteen years old when he almost died in the ring. The boss didn’t tell him beforehand that the reptile-looking beast he was about to fight had venom. Armageddon knocked out his opponent, but then sunk to the floor, foaming at the mouth, breathing raspily. “This wouldn’t have happened if you just killed the fucker before he bit you”, the boss hissed into his ear. After some back and forth the manager of the reptile guy decided to hand over some antivenom. Even with that, Takumi felt horrible for days afterwards, unable to move the bitten arm. But when the boss texted him again the week after, he jumped at the opportunity to get back in the ring.

Takumi Hoga was fifteen years old when he fought his first adult opponent in the ring. He was hesitant, but the boss said that nobody wanted to pay to see Armageddon wipe the floor with boring ol' kids who couldn't even fight back. "There's just no money in it", the boss said, "and you wanna keep making money, don't you?" When Armageddon entered the ring, he saw a young man in front of him. Some kind of fish beast with claws and glowing spots on his skin. "Please", the man whispered, "I have debts. I need to get out of here. Please just forfeit, I need the money. I really need it." Armageddon shook his head. "Please", the man said, "Don't hurt me." Armageddon was fifteen years old when he took his first life in the ring.

Armageddon was sixteen years old when he first tried to leave the business. He kept having nightmares about the man he killed and the side effects of the powder started getting to him. But he craved it more and more and that tiny little packet the boss always gave him just didn't cut it anymore. He would've just bought himself more if he knew what it was. The boss wouldn't tell him. So one day, Armageddon stopped answering texts from the boss. He prowled the streets instead, picking fights, doing anything to distract from the withdrawal symptoms plaguing him. Eventually, he collapsed on the street and woke up again in the hospital. Police were called, his parents were called, social services were called. Lots of big words were thrown around that he didn't understand. Negligence. Addiction. Custody. Takumi Hoga was sixteen years old when he was removed from his parents and placed in temporary care with social services. But he didn't stay there very long. They wanted him to go to rehab, anger management classes, school. They took his phone and his hard earned money and placed him on a strict schedule with an early curfew. And Takumi tried. He really did. But he just couldn't live the life everyone else was expecting of him. Takumi Hoga was sixteen years old when he escaped back to the only life he knew how to live well.

Armageddon was seventeen years old when he fought “Razortooth”, a masked volunteer from the crowd. It was a rare occasion. Usually the boss decided who would fight him and the fights would be advertised in the business days in advance. Sometimes the book would drive him to private fights in some rich guy’s basement where Armageddon would fight and kill exotic animals, other beast-types or just random people who probably wronged that rich guy somehow. But tonight was open cage night in the ring, so whichever brave soul thought they could kick Armageddon’s ass was allowed to. Razortooth was a green-skinned beast wearing a short-sleeved hoodie and a ski mask. Armageddon immediately noticed that she fought wildly different from what he was used to. When you spend a lot of time in the ring, you tend to adopt a certain style. Flashy. Violent. Ruthless. But Razortooth didn’t seem to be here for the show. She dodged a left hook and rushed him, wrapping an arm around his neck.

“Hey”, she whispered into his ear as he struggled to get free.

“Hey”, he whispered back. He then punched her in the back, but the angle was weird, so it didn’t hit as hard.

“You want out?”, she whispered and shifted her weight, letting him stumble backwards towards her leg and kicking him in the back of his knee.

“I can’t”, he whispered back.

“He’s got you on Flick? That powder?”

“Yeah. Powder.”

“Alright. Sink to the floor and punch me in the kidney.”, she whispered.

“Why?”

“I’ll slip you my number and then I’ll forfeit.”

“Why?”

“I wanna help you get out.”

So Armageddon sank to the floor, then used her lowered defense to punch her. He then grabbed her and pushed her against the cage wall. Her arms flew up and he noticed something brushing against the pockets of his shorts. Razortooth forfeited.

Takumi Hoga was eighteen years old when he joined the Purpose Program. It was a long back and forth with Hitomi, the beast who had fought him in the ring under the name “Razortooth”. He thought about calling her for weeks after the fight, but something always came up. When he finally did, he didn’t expect her to be actually serious about helping him. But she was. They met up in secret and just talked for a bit.

“Are you a cop?”, he asked.

“No.”, she said, “Cops won’t help much in a situation like this.” Takumi nodded.

It felt great to talk about all this to someone. Hitomi never judged him, even when he talked about how he enjoyed hurting people in the ring. Or when he told her how he once woke up almost choking on his own vomit the night after a big fight (and big dosage of Flick). She showed him where to get Flick so he wasn’t dependent on the boss for it anymore. But she also told him what the drug actually did to his body, how he was cutting his life short if he continued consuming it. Takumi didn’t wanna die. But he also didn’t know what to do with his life if it wasn’t in the ring. Hitomi then offered to go get him tested, no strings attached. Takumi remembered how he did get tested once in elementary school, but not much was revealed there besides “big teeth” and “stronger than his peers”. The tests of the Purpose Program were different, though. It really felt like the scientists were interested in him, in what he could do. Apparently he was able to breathe underwater all this time, it just required a little surgery to open the gills in his neck. The first time he dove into the pool at the research center was heavenly, it was like he had discovered a piece of himself that was always hidden away from him. He was also strong, which he already knew, and had a lot of endurance. And the cherry on top was his excellent sense of smell underwater. He could locate a drop of blood on the other side of the pool while blindfolded.

“Water rescue” was the verdict. A job. For him.

He didn’t take it. He was scared. He relapsed multiple times, going back to the ring on nights where his mind just wouldn’t stop racing. But instead of the boss, it was Hitomi who picked him up. “Recovery isn’t linear”, she’d say. “But if you wanna enter the program, you gotta commit, Takumi.”

“I don’t wanna be Takumi anymore.”, he said, “But I also don’t wanna be Armageddon.”

“So who do you wanna be?”, she asked.

#buzzkill mirai #tw addiction #tw child abuse #tw death #oc #oc lore #worldbuilding

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goodluckclove · 3 days

Text

An Open Letter to a Professional Author

I came across a writer here who I imagine will probably never see this, but their presence was enough to make me pretty mad for two days now. I've decided to pen a little statement to this Long-Term, Professional, Full-Time, Published Author who makes a habit out of being deeply unpleasant in a way that apparently has only attracted an audience of other deeply unpleasant people.

People here seem to like it when I get mad. So, uh, enjoy?

Dear Professional Author,

I came across a post of yours on some feed here the other day and enjoyed your commentary. It was one of those writing memes that sort of called attention to actually writing as opposed to just thinking about your project - the kind that people usually respond to with some sort of joke expressing their repulsion at the concept.

You responded with distaste and I generally agreed. The tone was a little aggressive for me, but that kind of humor also leaves me generally confused. I personally ended up concluding that the self-deprecating humor was a coping mechanism for a larger issue that keeps these people from writing - intimidation, lack of confidence, physical or mental pain, things like that. You seemed to think it was a matter of will, which I found to be an approach that at the very least was well-intentioned.

Turns out it wasn't.

First off, I should say that this isn't about your political beliefs. Your political beliefs that are really more like general human beliefs. I don't want to get into that. Instead, I just want to talk about your writing. You are a full-time, published author, as you say in nearly post where you talk about writing. A major point of pride to you seems to be the fact that you are traditionally published. Any other method doesn't seem to be as legitimate to you. That's interesting to me.

You also don't seem to have much of an audience outside of people who mainly come to agree with your politics. I didn't really see a single positive interaction between you and another writer on here for as much as I was willing to scroll through your blog. That's also interesting to me.

I didn't spent too much time on your blog once I realized that you were definitely not the kind of person I would ever want any interaction with. What I did want to do is use your presence indirectly to prove a point that I've been wanting to get into for some time now.

To put it simply, I'll say this: a career in professional writing is not actually as cool or important as you might think it is.

Now I'll be direct and say that I've never been traditionally published for anything longer than a short story or long-term, unpaid column. You don't give any details on any of your writing, as far as I've seen (Once again - interesting!), so there's a chance you've made more in contracts and royalties than I have. But I'm a working writer. I've had a career in ghostwriting and technical writing. I've written and produced plays that have been featured in festivals in multiple states. I'm not speaking from a place of no experience, is what I mean to say.

What I also mean to say is that - while I view writing in many ways as a spiritual and healing act that I couldn't live without - it's also a job. It's not always exciting, and even when it is exciting it's only exciting to me. I consider the best date night to be when my wife works on video game development while I write my draft. I leave the house on a regular basis, but it's mainly to go to different places to write.

In short - I love to write, but I don't think it makes me cool. Or interesting. Or valuable. Or intelligent. Or just generally fun to be around and talk to. These are things I strive to cultivate in other aspects of the way I live and grow as a human being on this planet.

Being a Professional Author in one particular genre doesn't give you authority over the craft as a whole. You can't just throw yourself into conversations and start with I'm a published writer and assume that means you have the final say on any discussion. Believe it or not, in many cases it does not matter.

Lots of people are published traditionally, and it does prove some level of validity in their line of work. But there are a huge variety of people in the world of trad pub. There are people who write books in genres that don't apply to writers here. There are people who write books that aren't very good. There are even people who write trad pub books that are very good, but their careers are sullied by the fact that the authors themselves are not good people.

Being a successful writer does not mean you're a good person. Being a writer at all does not mean you are a good person. I believe in Death of the Author to an extent, but when that author insists on making a presence on a public website and doling out advice and opinions to other writers the lines start to blur considerably.

Writing is a job. You work it over a period of time and learn skills and strategies that work for you. The same applies to virtually every other job, including ones that society views as less romantic as something in the arts. Can you imagine me breaking into your home while you're making lunch and telling you how to arrange your cheese slices based on what I know as a full-time, professional sandwich artist at Subway? You might be interested based on leaning something you didn't know about a place you might've eaten at before. But that does not entitle me to your respect on its own.

I am not entitled to your respect based on how well I learned how to make a sandwich based on my hypothetical career at Subway. Just as I don't deserve it solely because I know two card tricks, can get out a variety of stains, read most of the works of the major beatniks, can make a really good carbonara, or any other specific about my life that ultimately does not play a huge part in who I am as a person.

When I am on my death bed, I hope to god the core of my character was not the fact that I typed stories from my brain until I got carpal tunnel. If my obituary begins and ends at "writer", no matter how positive the qualifier is before that, it will be the greatest failure of my life.

Because I am a writer. But that does not matter. It does not matter if you're a writer. It can be fun and enjoyable if you are, even better if you make a living at it, but it doesn't mean you'll be happy. It doesn't mean people will like you or perceive you to be the leader and teacher you might think you are. It certainly doesn't give you a free pass to throw cruelty at strangers for truly no real reason.

Professional Author, you had a chance to raise up the next generation of an industry I assume you must value. You're choosing not to, and that's fine. You don't have the obligation to. You do have the choice to not get involved and pretend to give advice that ranges from vague to untrue. You seem to be taking that responsibility very seriously.

It's like some twist on crab mentality, where instead of dragging crabs trying to escape the bucket you're swiping at anyone who tries to crawl in with you. Then, as they struggle, you're looking down at them and making comments on how easy it is to get in the bucket, if you only just do it and maybe read some books.

To all of us, I say this: question authority, even in the arts. Especially in the arts. Nobody knows as much as they say. That includes me, but I do know this - any branch of publishing feels really good. It's scary but it's fun. If you're traditional published or indie published or self published, it says nothing about how good your book is or how good you are as a writer or how valuable you are as a human being.

Don't be this lonely bucket crab. They seem mean and I'm tired of talking about them.

Best Regards,

Clove

#writeblr #writing community #writers on tumblr #on writing #writing #authors of tumblr #writer community #writing inspiration #writing inspo #writing rants #personal #clove is angry

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valenteal · 2 days

Text

Ok I have an idea for a fic and idk if anyone would be interested in it and rn I only have a concept rather than a specific line in my head which is how I usually get going. It’s not just coming to me so if I write it it’s going to take more energy than usual so I’m gonna throw the vague idea out there and if anyone is actually interested I might write it.

Anyway the idea is that Touya Todoroki used to play Star Wars: the Old Republic, he had his own laptop and an annual subscription and he played pretty frequently as a way to vent his frustration when he couldn’t sneak away to train or when he had already tired himself out but wasn’t ready to sleep. All his characters, every last one, is dark side. He doesn’t really do multiplayer, doesn’t have any friends he plays with and mostly sticks to the story quests. His main character, the one in the center of his legacy tree, totally maxed out and op, super cool outfit, designed to resemble Touya himself, is Darth Dabi. Dark side Sith Warrior, but he’s not cruel to his own companions. No romance with anyone until SoR where he can’t help flirting with Theron a bit. Anyway not the important part here just my brain going on a tangent.

The important part of the story is that after Touya “dies” Shouto steals his laptop. Everyone is grieving and different people take turns packing up Touya’s things so no one notices when a single item goes missing. Shouto just took it because he knew it was something fun his siblings got but he didn’t. His access to the internet was extremely limited and he just wanted to know what he was missing. He wasn’t able to actually do much with it, especially when he was still little but by the time he’s like 11 he’s figured it out. He explores what Touya had done on it, found school work and such but then he came across a document that Touya had used to record his swtor character backgrounds and reasoning. Touya didn’t like, write the whole story, it was just for himself to remember what he was thinking while he played, why he made which choices an such. He checks out swtor and luckily Touya had auto fill passwords and no security key. And lo and behold the subscription is still renewing annually and Touya had only played on one server. Shouto claimed another server for himself and started playing. He had so many cartel coins it was insane. He had a really easy time getting started but the more he played and figured out what Touya’s character notes implied he got worried about his brother even though Touya was already dead. He mostly puts it out of his mind but he realized that Touya was kinda not okay at all.

Years later when he meets Dabi for the first time he just kinda stops in his tracks and stares until blurting out “are you actually using the sith name you came up with in middle school to be a villain? Should I call you Darth Dabi now?”

#fic idea #mha #touya todoroki #dabi #shouto todoroki #my hero academia #swtor #would anyone read it?#don’t steal #humor

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angelslittlewritingcorner · 2 days

Note

I have a Adam x lute x Reader idea

What if they played a card game (like uno) or just a game in general but whenever someone loses they have to take off a piece of their clothes but then lute and Adam team up to make the reader lose almost every round then they play with the prize 🤭🫣

I thought the idea was really cool and had to write it straight away. Hope you like it

Warnings: Language and Smut a lot of it , MDNI

Masterlist

Dating Adam and Lute

PLAYING GAMES

‘Snacks?’ ‘Yes’ ‘Pillows?’ ‘Yes’ ‘Drinks?’ ‘Yes’ ‘Games?’ ‘Yes’ ‘Adam?’ ‘Should be here in a minute’ Lute nodded in satisfaction and turned to Y/N. She had coerced the arms into helping her set up the game night. Y/N didn't complain though, at least she got to spend more time with her friend. At last Adam and she had more than just a few hours a day to spend with her. Sera was always hogging her and forcing her to do chores. Sometimes she felt really neglected.

The door of the three's flat was flung open and Adam stomped in with a pizza box in his hand. ‘I've got the goods ladies,’ he said and winked at Y/N. She giggled slightly and held out her hands. ‘Nah, you'll eat it by yourself later’ he said and kicked his shoes into a corner. He took the pizza and put it on the table where everything was already ready. ‘So can we get started?’ ‘Yes we can, we were just waiting for you Adam’ Lute said and sat down opposite him. Y/N grabbed one of the cushions and sat down at the table too. ‘What do we start with?’ ‘Strippoker’ Adam said and Lute rolled her eyes. ‘No’ ‘Mano then something else with cards. I want to play cards!’ They discussed for a short while and then decided on a game. They played a few rounds, ate, drank and talked about their day. Y/N couldn't imagine anything better at that moment. Quiet moments like this were far too rare with the two of them

‘The game's getting boring, let's make it a bit more interesting,’ said Adam, stuffing a few crisps into his mouth. ‘Let me guess, you want to do your usual stupid things again?’ asked Lute, grinning slightly. She too found such moments with her lovers relaxing. ‘Fine,’ said Y/N. After all, it was always fun when the situation got spicy.

Lute lost the first round. She took her socks off and Adam just rolled his eyes. Adam lost the next two rounds and was sitting in front of them in just socks and boxers. Y/N soon followed his example and was also only wearing underwear. ‘Damn Lute how do you always do that?’ ‘Well, I'd say it's easy to do’ She brushed her hair back slightly and scrutinised Y/N intently. That could only mean something good, Y/N thought, and she sat up straight to show off her bust. Maybe she could make Lute lose today.

Y/N stared at her cards in disbelief - she had lost again. She only had one piece of clothing left. Her tactics had not worked. She sighed and stood up. Slowly, she pulled down her panties and bared herself to her two lovers. ‘I don't want to play anymore,’ she said and pulled a pout. ‘Tough luck but me,’ Adam said and stood up as well. ‘Still, I must say the prize looks pretty hot, doesn't it Dangertits?’ Lute nodded. ‘We really deserve it’ ‘WE?! Have you been playing together again?’ Lute smiled innocently at her. ‘Yes, at least it's fun to have you whimpering among us’

The two of them had tricked her again. She rolled her eyes and Adam put a hand to her cheek. ‘Kitten you have to be able to lose’ before Y/N could say anything back, he put his lips on hers and massaged her mouth. That idiot, why is he so good at it? How could she be mad at him? He put a hand on her waist and pulled her closer to him. She didn't even hear Lute walk away to get something. Adam's hand wandered down to her bum and massaged it lightly while their tongues engaged in a battle she was only too willing to lose.

Adam only broke away from her when they both heard a low growl. Lute apparently wanted to have fun too. She immediately took Adam's place and kissed Y/N. She held her close to her and stroked her spine. Goosebumps spread across Y/N's skin and a familiar heat spread through her belly. If Adam kissed her like a man, then Lute kissed her like a god. She could go on like this for hours.

While she was busy with Lute, she felt Adam spreading a little lubricant on her. At least they weren't going to hurt her today. That was good, because she was still a little sore from the last time. Adam pushed a finger inside her and she moaned into Lute's mouth. She pushed against his fingers and the heat in her belly continued to spread and seemed to take over her. He slipped another finger inside her and stretched her a little. Y/N reached for Lute's trousers. She needed more physical contact and the light-haired girl still had far too much on.

She briefly detached herself from her and got rid of her clothes before Y/N would tear them. Adam pulled his fingers out of her and slowly began to push his dick into her. She hissed slightly. The stretch he created inside her was heavenly. Lute pulled her back against him and Adam took this as an opportunity to push himself deeper into her. She was trapped between her lovers and yet felt freer than ever. She let her hand wander to Lute's breasts and began to play with them while Adam thrust himself into her. ‘Fuck,’ he grunted, digging his fingers into her hips. ‘Do you always have to be this tight?’ She nodded and kissed Lute's neck. Lute kept stroking her head and mumbling something about ‘good girl’ Y/N let her other hand wander between Lute's legs and began to play with her. She was so wet for her. She always seemed so hard on the outside but she could be different. She slipped a finger inside Lute and gasped as Adam increased his pace. ‘More’ Lute demanded and Y/N had difficulty obeying her command. However, she slipped another finger inside her and matched Adam's pace. Soon the three of them were a ball of body parts and moans. Y/n climaxed a few times, clawing at one of them in the process. How did they manage to get her to give herself to them every time? A few hours later, Y/n slumped down and pressed herself against Adam's chest, who laughed lightly.

‘Fuck that was good’ Adam said and Lute nodded. ‘Another round of cards’ ‘Yeah’ This was going to be a long night.

#hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin vaggie #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel charlie #adam #lute #adam x lute x reader #adam x lute #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin lute #lute x reader #hazbin hotel exorcists #guitarspear

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catenby-perineum · 2 days

Text

Please note

I rolled out of bed to type this because it was weighing on me a bit.

I feel the need to explain this in depth but I really shouldn't have to so I'll toss a tl;dr at the end, I just feel like where I'm coming from is useful or something? I'm not sure.

I just wanted to say that over the time I've run this blog there have been some compliments I felt uneasy about. At the time I often accepted them; Even viewed them as positive things even if something felt off. But dwelling on why they felt off gave me plenty of reason to make this post.

I hold no negative feelings towards the people who offered these compliments because in each case it's been very obvious where they were coming from. Perhaps I'm too nice, but I don't feel negativity about it.

But some people seem to misunderstand what "any pronouns" means or how it interacts with their views of who they are speaking toward.

I have had tags slapped on my pics that amount to things like "#hnnnnnng I love girls/women" as they have misconstrued my acceptance of any pronouns to mean I accept others gendering me for themselves.

I do not.

I have had many people compliment and sext over my "girlcock" or "girlmusk".

I do not have these things.

I am nonbinary, I am agender, I have some fluidity in there but it's constantly bouncing between miasmas of gender rather than along the traditional binary, I am trans and happy about that- it hasn't been a fact I understood for long but I've enjoyed understanding myself more as a person than as a singular gender.

I have a cock, not a girlcock, to put it bluntly.

To put it more clearly, I feel "at home" in so many different terms- so many different titles and pronouns- because I feel myself within them. If someone calls me mistress or miss or sir or whatever I feel myself in that because all of gender feels like a part of my blurry agender identity. Effectively they are calling me by parts of my home or something poetic- I rolled out of bed for this.

But when someone points at me and declares me one thing, calling me a woman in an apparent attempt to show appreciation towards the varied body types that exist within the gender- to show respect towards trans women by what? Misgendering a nonbinary person? It feels like someone found me hot and wanted to label me so they could maintain their preferred sexual identity or something but that's an assumption and not my internal world to explore.

Gendering my body parts as if my acceptance of pronouns extends towards deciding how to label my body for me is the real kicker that has dug at me over time.

At first I took girlcock to be a rather sizeable compliment as it felt divergent from my past identity. People were taking an effort to not see me as simply a man, so that must mean we're going the right direction- I thought.

But as time has sat on it it's just remained uncomfortable and I've long since figured out why.

Pointing at me, a nonbinary agender trans person, and saying "Girl-bodypart" is still incorrect. It's still deciding for me and frankly it feels really weird being in such happy trans circles but still occasionally hearing that I'm a hot transfemme with a hot girlcock when that's not what I am. You can clearly see that's not what I am- it's in my damn name if you needed a reminder.

*sigh* I'm not even actually mad about it, I'm mildly upset I guess, but more in a disappointed and kind of saddened way.

In practice it's just made these "compliments" feel like someone saying you're the coolest ever- at the exact moment you step in a puddle in bare socks. You sure as hell don't feel cool right now and this just feels fucking off and will continue to for a while now, thanks.

TL;DR I am nonbinary and agender and trans and accept any pronouns, this does not mean you can decide I am a woman for the sake of praising me as a hot woman, this also does not mean you can gender my body for the same purpose- I will softly remind you that I do not accept others complimenting my "girlcock" as I do not have one. Thank you.

I guess in conclusion, girlcock fucking rules, trans people fucking rule, I am nonbinary and not a girl and do not have a girlcock, mine's just a cock, I'm going back to bed and love you all 💜

#ag-t

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internet-cheesecake · 2 days

Text

oooooo so since the 'pre-cult leader lamb' is in the lead for the next comic poll as of rn, figured I'd do some quick doodles and notes on it & them

here's their general design & some info

(wawawawawawaaaaaaaaa why are side profiles so hard to draw ????? .⁠·⁠´⁠¯⁠`⁠(⁠>⁠▂⁠<⁠)⁠´⁠¯⁠`⁠·⁠.)

then some notes and rambling on the comic's plot & other info about their background below, so spoiler alert if you wanna wait !

this was probably the longest out of all the ideas, so I'm gonna split it up a bunch. This is the general plot idea though so far (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

•only child of a merchant family from anchordeep, thus learned general merchant trades & bribery

•fled the anchordeep culling with parents, and ended up settling in a hidden sheep village in darkwood

('hidden village refers to 'the herd' found in one of the lost messages. Generally, i think lambs in the areas wouldve been hunted in this order: silk cradle, anchordeep, anura, then darkwood.)

(silk cradle first, since Shamura is the god of wisdom, so it could have been their idea, plus, the prophecy

anchordeep next because Kallamar probably would've followed suit, whether it be for his own safety against the prophecy, or out of not wanting to upset anyone.

then anura, not much thought for this one, but we know darkwood was last since the Lamb was found there, so we can assume anura was before it.)

•would do odd jobs around the village for money and supplies, including guard duty, babysitting, supply runs, ect (basically, where they got the experience later used to run a cult)

•lambs who would leave the village on supply runs sometimes started disappearing while gone, including their parents. Lambert took this as a sign of a potential attack upcoming, and started stockpiling jewelery for bribery and selling, hence why they're wearing so much of it.

•was about to return from a supply run when the village was found, and they went into hiding

(reference to 'lost message II,' which states 'one fled my blade. I will find it')

•was caught a few times, but managed to escape by either using bribes or fighting

•after a few years in hiding, they eventually exhausted all their savings, (bribe jewelry) and when put into a difficult spot, they were forced to sell their sword, leading to them being unable to fight or bribe, causing them to be caught and sacrificed.

•when finally caught, did not say a word. was probably holding back tears and didn't want to seem like a coward in their last moments

(feels fitting that they'd have a lot of pride and not want to seem like a coward, since they're a sore loser in the game. also yet another reference to the lost message, stating 'I found the last, hidden deep in the Lands. It followed me, silent, to the ritual grounds.')

•Their sword, 'beat-up blade' had been a bit of a family heirloom. No one had actually used it in generations though, as it was not really fit for fighting anymore. After their parents disappeared, Lamb tried to DIY restore it by replacing the blade with a darkwood style one, as they were more used to it (due to guard duty) and the anchordeep hilt would sell for a pretty penny. Apparently, it was one of Kallamar's many weapons a very, very long time ago.

(I need some kind of actual reason for the Kallamar favortism that isnt just 'oh yeah internet-cheesecake thinks he's cool lmao' so made Lamb from anchordeep & gave them one of Kallamar's super old and unwanted swords. that way, i can do some kind of 'well, you kinda protected me, in a way. for that, I've grown to appreciate you. So thank you.' oh and plus i live in a tropical area and wanted to include that somehow)

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