#modified contour | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anantaru · 5 months

Text

as it was, scaramouche always kisses your clit before he advances forward to please you properly— a gentle, although sizzling kiss on your throbbing clit before he eats you out and contours his tongue over your glistening folds, or yet another once again before he ultimately squeezes your legs into your chest as he, with a breathless sigh, sinks inside.

that need, that want, realized in such kiss as he helplessly presses his beautifully plush lips close against your soft sex twitching beneath, all possible hesitations by the thought of not being good enough wholly abandoned when you whine out for the first time this night, desperately cry in pleasure and welcome his darling warmth.

kuni's lips were certainly searing, imposing a feverous load on your wet flesh and so was his cock later— roaming through you as if he wanted to claim you from inside and out, thrusting into your tight hole with the amounts of mixed fluids almost brimming as it turned all the more simpler when he grinds his hips in, always making sure to add a couple tiny shoves into your twitching cunt whenever you engulfed him all up to his base.

scaramouche explores every inner contour of your insides as he pushes against a high point inside your cunt, slipping and thrusting in a more loosened, much more feral tempo as he adds an intimate touch on the softness of your ass before roughly squeezing the flesh and making it jiggle— your lips dropping apart as you mewl in ecstasy, calling his name so he would lean forward and linger featherlight kisses on your neck until your cheeks are set aflame.

now, your boyfriend was mouthing eagerly over your neck with his wet tongue splattering his saliva across the thin skin, all his earlier shyness or lack of experience swathed away when you wrap your hands across his head to pull him into your lips— accompanied by a famine rush of lust and tongue that crushes against the forming bubble holding your desire hostage inside of your stomach.

his cock was throbbing while your swarming walls cage him in, your pussy feeling like blazing skin tugging on his erection as it seared around the veins in his trembling body.

with your eyes squeezed shut now, your quivering figure freezes from the sheer overstimulation and additional ministrations that shuffled a shameless ache across your used pussy, your oozing arousal manifesting vividly above the thin skin on his length as you indulged in the pressure he thrusted into your cunt.

but the best part for scaramouche, what could it be? of course, it were your candid reactions, like pure honey drizzling down the tip of your tongue, eternally hidden in the shelter of his soft lips.

#fem! reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut

1K notes · View notes

cinnamoneve · 3 months

Note

satoru’s favorite past time is staring at you. that means he is so very aware of everything, so he picks up on the little things you do— especially your facial expressions. he finds himself subconsciously copying your facial expressions while you tell him stories. knows you well enough to know what the slightest twitch in your right eyebrow means. fan behavior imo 🙄🙄

sweet angel girl i love this one sm i had to elaborate on it .... he's so sick in the head (i need him)....

"why are you looking at me like that?'

satoru leaned on the counter, cheek squishing as his palm supported his head up.

"i'm not looking at you in any way, really," he teased.

you pursed your lips just a bit, as you always did when satoru was being an ass. it was a little way of suppressing a smile from creeping up on you--better not let his ego get too inflated.

"hmm..."

narrowing your eyes a bit, you studied his little lopsided grin as all he could do was smile back at you.

he copied you, pursing his lips a little and sitting up straighter as he narrowed his eyes to read you better.

and he never realized he was doing it. subconsciously, something deeply comforted him about mirroring the person he loved.

you see, satoru would swear up and down that he could sculpt your sweet face from memory; the plump curve of your cheeks, the way your nose contours into the lips he's kissed a million times, and hopes he could kiss a million more.

neither of you realized that you'd become reflections of the other. to be loved is to be changed, as they say; even in the most minuscule ways. maybe it's the purse of your lips, how you instinctively lean in the same way satoru does when he's trying to hear better, or perhaps it's even simpler than that.

maybe other little habits have taken home in your routine that you'd never care to admit, or even notice.

but as you look at the white haired boy in front of you, his eyes still sleepy and body still heavy, you figured it probably wouldn't be a big deal if you two were more similar than you thought.

"you're looking at me like you want something," you lean in more to him, keeping your eyes narrowed in on him.

"oh am i?" he laughs, "maybe there is something small,"

you already knew where this was going.

you mirrored his body language, leaning on the counter to face him with your chin on your palm. you tried not to smile, but rolled your eyes instead.

"and what would that be, baby,"

satoru pushed his lips inward, keeping eye contact.

"just one kiss, please," he asked softly.

you pushed your lips inwards, not even knowing you were copying him.

you finally let the smile take over your oh-so-stoic expression, impossible to hide anything from him.

it was no surprise as you leaned into him to fulfill his sole wish. one more kiss in the bank for satoru.

all content © cinnamoneve 2024. do not repost, modify, steal, or copy without permission.

537 notes · View notes

aweina · 9 months

Text

slightly suggestive ? !┊more spiderverse content.

shirtless hobie was a common occurrence that you found yourself slowly getting used to. he’s staying at your apartment for the night? then he’s waltzing around the place fully displayed with a hand going past the waistband of his pajama pants — presenting the contoured edges that defined his small waist. oh, you wanna go out? hobie will simply throw on a fitted jacket and call it a day, a shirt wouldn’t look good with his outfit anyways — especially when he can show off his silver body piercings and his stick-and-poke tattoos.

wait, now you want him to wear a shirt? maybe he got too comfortable? too bold? well, it’s fine — he totally understands that. so then he wears a shirt and god, how he never fails to show off once in awhile. the collar of his shirts is always loose and torn, showing off his deep collarbones. the fabric was obnoxiously thin, emphasizing the grooves and cuts of his manicured body instead of doing its actual job. it’s pretty hot outside these days, right? then hobie would tug at the end of his shirt, wiping off the sheet of sweat on his forehead — showing off the narrow line dividing his solid muscles evenly and the trail of coarse hair sprinkled under his navel.

hey, you don’t look so good, you okay? hobie would quirk a curious brow at you when your quivering eyes quickly avert to the side as he tosses on another shirt — gnawing at the flesh inside your mouth. okay, now he sees why you’ve told him to cover up. hobie looks at you knowingly, lifting his shirt up without any context. can you hold out your hand real quick? now he has a firm grip on your squirming wrist, laying your palms flat over the soft skin of his abdomen. your face is scorching hot and your dazed vision is blurred between hobie’s abs and the playful smirk on his face. “if you wanted to look n’ touch, should’ve just asked.”

#. spider blurbs #i feel like a victorian man seeing a woman’s ankle for the first time #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown smut #hobie brown x y/n #spiderpunk x reader

1K notes · View notes

beginningdrawing · 7 months

Text

Assignment Two: Modified Contour

This assignment is very similar to assignment one, but this time you're allowed to pick up your pencil (or pen) and look at the paper about 10% of the time.

The purpose of a blind contour drawing is to train your eye to move and your hand to follow, the purpose of a modified contour drawing is to build further on those skills as well as to get you to start seeing objects in relation to one another as you pick up and move your pencil.

Instructions:

Select 3-5 detailed objects in or around your home. Good subjects for this are things like complicated furniture, grills, cars, figurines, electronics, and toys, but you can use anything that you have as long as it has a decent amount of details. You can use simpler objects too, but if you do that plan on making more drawings.

Using a fine-point drawing implement (a hard pencil is great, I prefer fine-tipped pens because it removes the temptation to erase) and any type of paper, identify one detail of the object and start to draw it.

Place your pen on the paper and your eyes on the object and begin to draw the contours of the object, glancing at your paper occasionally to check that your drawing is fairly accurate. You can look at this paper, but you should look at your subject much more, aim to look at the paper about 10% of the time and your subject 90% of the time so you can learn what your hand is doing when you aren't looking at it.

Move very slowly, taking at least half an hour to draw complex objects and ten minutes for simple ones (if you want to go for broke, draw a building and spend at least two hours on the image).

Your goal is to draw something that is reasonably accurate but not perfect. You may mess up proportions or over- or under-draw your lines, and that is fine. You are still training your hand and your eye to work together and you are still learning to look at things, so it shouldn't be perfect!

Examples:

320 notes · View notes

white-poppie · 6 months

Text

You're an angel, I'm a dog (s.haruchiyo x reader drabble)

Haruchiyo is petrified when you first ask to kiss him.

His breath caught in the ravine of his gullet as you stare at him with those eyes of yours: the ones he would sacrifice the world for if he has to.

“Haru?” You ask softly, you are so patient with him; it reduces him to a soft, pliable mass. He is scared of shattering his mirage of the perfect future (you) if his grip is even slightly harsh.

“Yeah baby,” he says, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he pulls his mask down and stuffs it in his pocket.

It's not like you haven’t seen his face under his mask, diamond scars bedecking the sides of his mouth, in a faint cicatrix, painted by a soft stroke of a pink that should be patented for him.

Your breath is on his neck as you look up. It is a gust that seems to wash away his sins.

He loves you like a dog. Feral in all its gruesome and bloody glory, how in the end he has his head perched on your lap, kneeling as you brush your hands in his hair, loving him despite all his blemish and bestiality.

The diamonds on the corner of his lips tremble as he leans close, his hand grabbing you closer by your waist, he’s scared.

No one has ever been this close or seen him this vulnerable. He’s afraid of disappointing you. He is nervous about losing control. He is anxious about his first kiss.

“Haru, don’t be nervous.” You say as you move your palm to trace those diamonds on his face; more valuable than any hallmark ones you can find.

He has to close his eyes to control himself, his name uttered by your mouth, Ha-ru… He’s Sanzu to the world, but he is your Haru.

The brush of your skin, feeling someone stepped up on the accelerator of his heart. As you bring your finger towards Sanzu's face, a gentle caress over the bridge of his nose elicits a subtle scrunch at the tender sensation. Your finger then glides to the dip of his lips, tracing the contours of his mouth with a delicate touch, before lingering over the ridged skin at the corners with a gentle reverence.

His lips part in a shaky 'o', head tilts slightly, revealing a constellation of blue veins on his neck, his Adam's apple bobbing like a soft landmark on the expanse of his flesh when he gulps.

He leans in, the muscles of his face twitching slightly before he stops halfway through. Your noses touching. His sharp, small naxal muscles, and fuchsia eyes peering into yours like the world is ending.

And then your lips finally meet. It's awkward and stiff, with skin getting caught between teeth, lips hitting cacophonically, but it's special, enchanting perchance. It's gradual, saccharine melting of lips, eyelids fluttering, palms holding each other's faces comfortably..

Breathing heavily and pulling away with flushed faces as silly grins break onto both your faces.

Sanzu loves you like a dog but kisses you like you are his god.

— TOKYO REVENGERS - Fanfictions

TAGS: @akumicchi, @futuristicallykawaiiturtle, @kristaline2dmensimp, @rintaroubby @nanaseishiro, @cleaningfairylevi, @ynjimenez, @webawee

﹒ Taglist (lmk in the comments in case you wanna be added and the link doesn't work!)

psst, hey, over here! Uhm hi :) Do you like reading? If so can you please check out my first novel? I am a 15-year-old author who needs support, I assure you it won't disappoint! It's okay if you don't buy, it would be enough to share the link with someone else who might be interested! I humbly request you support my career as a child author by purchasing my book. This would help me to write more books in future. “Of Vengeance and Ashes” -> BUY NOW!!!!

Also Check out: L'appel du vide (✔️) (Synopsis: Your husband, Hanma Shuji is dead! With no memories of what transpired two days before his death, you team up with Tachibana Naoto, Chifuyu Matsuno, Ryuguji Ken and Mitsuya Takashi, you go on a journey full of betrayals and twists. Can you find out what really happened to your husband? )

#⎯⟡ 𝔗RV #[𝕭𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍'𝐒 NO. 𝟐]#white poppie🌼#sanzu #sanzu haruchiyo #sanzu x reader #tokyo revengers sanzu #tokrev sanzu #sanzu smut #haruchiyo sanzu #tokrev #sanzu x you #sanzu x y/n #sanzu fluff #akashi haruchiyo #haruchiyo sanzu x reader #haruchiyo x reader #tokyo revengers haruchiyo sanzu

246 notes · View notes

cvlutos · 1 year

Text

REPAYING FAVORS!!

✡| May.01st.2023 | 0.5K |

✡| Riddle Rosehearts | Gn!Reader

✡ | Synopsis: Riddle just needs a little help, and you're such a good friend, how could you ever turn him down.

“Please—Please—”

He lets out a shuddering whine, back arching and jaw falling slack. His right hand shooting down, grabbing your hand desperately, nails digging into your skin. “I—” He stumbles over his words, struggling to speak, watching his cum paint his once pristine white shirt, his cock head twitching as beads of his juices rolling down his length and onto your hands.

His face flushed red and his lips tremble, pressing his forehead against his desk. You call his name, pressing your chest against his back, your left hand placed against the desk edge, supporting your weight as you leaning over him. Your teeth grazing the nape of his neck, feeling his body shudder and hand desperately cling onto your wrist.

“A mess—I'll make a mess—” His words come out as frantic and breathless.

“We'll clean it up.” Your words send a muffled whine from his lips, as you drag your palm along his sensitive dick, a whine mixed with a loud cry follows, his free hand immediately slapping over his mouth, his glossed over eyes squeezing shut. His body pressing closer to yours, his hips grinding into your palm, coating your hand in his pre.You call him again, your thumb rubbing the leaking tip of his cock, gently coaxing him to move his hand that covered his lips, watching saliva drip past the corners, dripping onto his white button up.

“I might—I want..” He struggles to speak, his hand hesitantly pulling up the ends of his shirt, bringing the ends to his lips and biting down, his index and thumb brushing over his hardened nipples, gently tugging as he fucks your hand.

“…not enough…”

He mumbles desperately, turning his head to look at you, begging, pleading for you to do anything. You can't help by smile, pressing a chaste kiss to his shoulder and neck, whispering against his skin. Teasing him, edging him to simply say what he wants, what he so desperately desires.

“…. I wanna cum…” The words sound slurred and foreign, and he knows, his face contouring into one of embarrassment, his eyes move away from you. You whisper his name, pressing your forehead against the back of his neck, slowly pumping his cock, listening to his muffled whimpers and mumbled begs of your name.

Only you.

He swears by it, his eyes squeezing closed, only you can see me like this, can make me feel like this. You feel his body tense, a hot cry escaping from his lips, cum splattering onto the wooden floor, coating his stomach and your hand, white sticky liquid coating your fingers leaving behind sticky strings as your pull away, still keeping your weight on the housewarden. Moments pass in silence, Riddle slowly coming down from his high, carefully nudging you away as he pulls down the ends of his shirt hiding his dick, unable to look at you as you sit in his desk chair.

“Queen’s Rules.. dictate that favors must be… repaid…. in timely manor…”

Riddle’s words come out unsure, his gaze darting from your face, down the area between your thighs, then back up. You tear your graze from your coated hang, running your tongue along your fingers, watching Riddle practically screech at the action, before he heavily swallows, turning away from you as you clean your fingers.

“I like to…. repay all my favors…. starting…. right now….”

#t.manor.erotic.stories #riddle rosehearts #riddle smut #riddle rosehearts smut #riddle x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #twst smut #twst x reader #twisted wonderand smut #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst

419 notes · View notes

just-prime · 7 months

Note

Ahsoka is so slow I could cry. She was trained by Anakin and presumably Obi-wan and several other Jedi, and Rosario can hardly do an actual lightsaber twirl, let alone make me believe she could survive Ventress, Maul, Grievous, or Vader, survive order 66, or run in a way that looks fast. Bo-Katan moves faster, Shin moves faster, Sabine moves faster, Ezra moves faster, even Ewan's lazy twirls while walking around and not actively engaged in battle in the prequels were roughly as fast as Rosario's in an actual duel.

It's also canon that in this era, in a less prequels flashy version of standard Jedi abilities, a Jedi can leap SEVERAL feet. Luke in ROTJ- even GROGU can jump higher, while Rosario's feet are consistently glued to the ground. Her choreography and speed are so inconsistent with this established era and people keep writing it off and praising it as her fighting like a samurai now, even though it makes NO sense for her to, given who trained her. She isn't A New Hope Obi-wan, nor sad cave dwelling Obi-wan who hasn't stretched or lifted a weapon in a decade, and a 44 year old Jedi is still supposed to be in their prime.

I truly wonder if part of it is that they can't keep her lekku on properly if she does a flip, and they are shorter because they were meant to be more practical, but I'm really not seeing a character agile enough to need stunt modified lekku.

If they couldn't bring this to life in live action convincingly, it should have remained animated and each passing week demonstrates this more and more.

I'm sorry to anon into your inbox like this, but your post about the last episode has been so refreshing, and I've felt like I've been watching a completely different show than other people and don't know how they considered any of the actors ready. (Rosario has said she was training during filming). Thank you for your brutally honest take, you're spot on on all counts.

Couple of things.

A) I agree with everything you just said. Always feel free to come and rant into my asks.

B) I HAVE BEEN ANTI TINY LEKKU SINCE MANDO S2. It's laughable that we've seen cosplayers with more Rebels accurate headpieces. And of course everyone defends it with the 'it wouldn't be fair to the stunt person to have them try and do flips in that' and it's like NEWSFLASH Ahsoka isn't doing flips anyway!!! And sure, they probably stuck Rosario in a 5 week sword training class, but she's clearly not had to do any serious combat training given how clunky her fights are. And again, this was also a problem back in Mando s2, only she was in the middle of a foggy woods, so it was easier to hide the fact that she is incompetent when it comes to fight choreography.

C) "If they couldn't bring this to life in live action convincingly, it should have remained animated" Exactly. This is why every passing day I am increasingly pissed that this show killed and ate the animated Rebels sequel series that was in fucking development. Everything about this show, from Ahsoka, to Hera (hell, even TBoBF cameos like Cad Banes) prove that Disney is not willing to shell out for a decent makeup and/or CG designer. No shade to the artists that are currently working on it, they are doing their jobs to the best of their abilities. What I mean is they didn't have anyone on set that was in a high enough positions to say 'Hey, have any of you heard of contouring?' Like, just looking at the alien makeup of the OT...which somehow holds up better than state of the art Disney budget makeup. It's just fucking embarrassing at this point. There is no reason everyone should look as flat as they do, but it's no surprise that they do when mary elizabeth winstead is celebrating that her makeup only took an hour. Sure, it's understandable that you don't want to be sitting in the makeup chair every morning of hours on end, but in the end you are an actor who signed up to play an alien...Suck it up buttercup.

D) I totally understand how hard it is to be not liking this show right now. The amount of people who've told me that "well, clearly it's just not made for you" after I point out a simple fact that a character is out of character is painful. Looking at twitter after each episode as everyone seems to think Filoni is creating the second coming is painful. Because it really does feel like we're watching a different show than them.

Okay, I think I covered everything. Thank you again for your kind words and your wonderful rant!!!

#rambles #dave filoni critical #ahsoka critical #ahsoka series #ahsoka spoilers #star wars #prime responds #anti filoni

163 notes · View notes

fayes-fics · 10 months

Text

Stand & Deliver

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Roleplaying highwayman with Benedict

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, consenting-non-consent (CNC) play, gunplay, gags, handjob, dirty talk, exhibitionism, a touch of breathplay, slightly rough vaginal sex. Staged robbery, fake threats, husband and wife very much in love roleplaying. Kinda romantic too tbh.

Word Count: 2.1k

Authors Note: Soo, to get my smut muse going, I played a drabble roulette wheel game. I got Regency + Benedict + Roleplay… and instantly Highwayman popped into my head. So uh yeah, sorry. This isn’t a drabble. Dedicated to @eleanor-bradstreet. Enjoy! <3

The oak bark is rough against your shoulder blades as he presses you bodily into the tree trunk. A cooling breeze rustles the leaves and ruffles the tendrils of hair around your ears, almost a balm against your flushed skin.

“Please, sir, please do not,” you plead, playing up.

His hand, gloved in black leather, is grasping the golden locket you wear long around your neck, his knuckles resting on your cleavage as he does so, sending your thoughts haywire and your chest heaving under his touch.

“It was a gift from my beloved husband,” you add breathily, pointedly, for his benefit.

His eyes flash, framed by a simple black mask, slipping effortlessly into the role he has assigned himself. “Oh really, and where is he now?” his voice low, leaning in and running his nose up the column of your neck, inhaling deeply as you turn your head, biting your lip, fighting to conceal the very real gallop of desire in your veins. “Not here to defend his fair lady?” he adds mockingly.

This is a game—your husband, one Benedict Bridgerton, roleplaying highway robber. Swinging out of your carriage on this country lane near your cottage, paying your footmen handsomely to look the other way while he stages a late-night ‘robbery’, brandishing his empty duelling pistol as he hauls you from said vehicle and holds you ‘hostage’.

“It would appear not,” you reply with a faux tremor in your voice.

“Well, more’s the pity, pretty one,” he sighs, then scrapes his teeth along the edge of your jaw. “This trinket, while nice, is not nearly enough to make this robbery worthwhile,”

“But sir,” you protest weakly, “it is all I have to give you.”

He chuckles darkly, and the hand drops the locket, smears heavily down your dress, and lewdly cups between your legs through the cloth, making you gasp and squirm on his fingers.

“Oh, I do not think that is at all true….,” he rumbles, smirking deadly as he rocks his middle finger expertly over your throbbing clit, making you whimper, “....do you?”

“Please, sir, no, take my locket, not me…” you pant, very much lying through your teeth now. You know he can feel your heat and dampness through the gauzy layer, your underwear discarded in the carriage before this charade so much as began.

“And what, pray tell me, would stop me from taking both?” his question with a touch of menace that is entirely believable as he continues to tease your swollen bud.

You glance apprehensively over at your footmen, steadfastly averting their gaze as they stand with the moonlit carriage about thirty feet away. His smirk grows wider, but that is all your husband, not the highwayman.

“Oh please, wife, have we not fucked in our carriage countless times?” he whispers, breaking character.

“Yes, but that is unseen,” you hiss as he raises a sardonic eyebrow. “Well, mostly.” you modify.

“It’s certainly not unheard,” he huffs bemused.

“Hush, husband. Alright. Get back to being a dastardly highwayman, please,” you pout theatrically.

He takes a half-step backwards, his face morphing into sharp contours as he pulls the unloaded duelling pistol from the front of his britches. Slowly, he drags the cold metal barrel down your breastbone until it catches against the top of your locket, the metal tinking together. Your inhale is ragged, the sheer thrill coursing through your body of being held at ‘gunpoint’.

“Sir, please, no, do not,” you implore louder, ramping up your distress, your hands scrambling over the rough tree near your hips, digging your nails into its sharp grooves.

The hand not holding the gun clamps over your mouth, the leather glove creaking slightly around his flexed fingers.

“Shhhh,” he warns, pressing into you again so you can feel something else in his britches that is steely but by no means cold. “This will be much more pleasant for you if you stay quiet and do as you are told.”

Something hot and molten bursts behind your ribs. This. He always knows exactly how to make you weak at the knees.

“Please don't hurt me,” your mewl muffled under his palm.

“If you behave, pretty thing, I will let you go unharmed,” he avows, the hand clamped over your mouth, slipping to trace the swell of your breast. “Can you do that for me?”

You nod with pleading eyes to affirm as an entirely wicked lopsided grin claims his face.

“Good girl.”

He drags the gun up over your collarbone until it is pressed to the underside of your chin.

“Undo my britches,” he orders with a sinister tone.

You inhale sharply as if horrified, even as you feel something trickle down your inner thigh. Reaching forward with trembling fingers, you do as bidden, pulling open the buttons of his trousers until the front of them relents. As ever, he is without undergarments, and his cock stands proud of his body.

“Take me in hand,” he adds gruffly.

You obediently wrap your fingers around his cock, hot and rigid, and pump with your fist as he growls, the gun barrel pressing into your skin as his hand squeezes your breast in syncopated rhythm with your hand. Even though he is partially obscured behind his simple black masquerade mask, you can still see every expression on his handsome face as you do his bidding, a slight growl under his breath with each stroke you make.

“What will you do now, sir?” you ask, biting your lip, acting up as if afraid but aching for him to be inside you.

The gun withdraws as he grabs your dress with both hands, rapidly tugging up the hem, the sound of delicate silk tearing as he does so. He bats your hand away from his cock and hauls your right leg over his arm. Before you can so much as take a calming breath, he is nudging your folds, the sound of metal hitting the ground as he drops the gun and grasps your left hip in an almost painful hold.

You cry out as he thrusts up and fills you swiftly. It’s an overwhelming sensation heightened by the night chill swirling around your thighs and the sight, over your husband's shoulder, of the footman stock still and unwatching as you fuck right there against a tree.

Your foot curls around the back of his thigh where he holds it up, and you moan as he starts to move. It’s not gentle, snapping his hips harshly and oiling you down to spear his cock to your hilt with each stroke, causing that good ache, the one that pulls like a string between your hips from the inside, so utterly spellbinding in its intensity.

The bark scratches into your skin as he takes you without mercy; all you can do is cling on. His wool jacket is soft under your fingernails where you scratch down his back, wrapping your arms tight around him, playing as if fighting him even as the truth couldn't be more the opposite. Craving this and him, uncaring of the audience you have.

His gloved hand is back around your throat as he snarls in your ear. “Don't bother trying to call for help; no one is coming to rescue you from me, pretty one,”

“Please…,” you murmur, pretending to be upset when you are the opposite; you want to bite him, leave marks on him for how thoroughly he is fucking you.

When he changes angle, your eyes roll, and you hiss at the sensation. Cursing quietly under your breath as he preens, so very proud he can do this to you.

“What is in your locket, pretty thing?” He gusts in your ear.

“It is a lock of my husband's hair,” you respond, attempting defiant but mostly breathless, wanton.

“How devoted you are. But tell me, does he fuck you like this?” He growls, sucking your earlobe, hoisting you higher so your feet almost leave the ground.

“Only you can fuck me like this,” you respond, intentionally vague.

“That is right. Do not forget it. You are mine,” the lines blurring between Benedict and the highwayman he plays so effortlessly. His possessive talk never extends beyond your intimacy, but his ferocity and heat in the moment never fail to leave you in floods, in no doubt about his primal desires.

He places one hand high above your head on the tree trunk as leverage to curl himself into and around you. The fingers of his other hand insinuate between your bodies, snagging your clit between his knuckles and squeezing roughly, making you cry out.

“Do not fight it; how much you want to come for me,” he growls. “You want to come screaming, don’t you?”

When you don’t respond, too busy gasping, he halts, speared deep. Your pulsing clit is left bereft as he grabs your chin instead, forcing his gloved fingers between your lips. The taste of your own desire tart on the supple leather.

“I asked you a question…,” the tone dripping with jeopardy as he holds down your tongue, your breaths loud and harsh over his fingers, “you must answer me, pretty thing, or the next thing in your mouth will be my gun.”

Your mind stutters a curse, so enrapt, enthralled, undone.

“Yes,” you garble, your speech impeded by his hold on your tongue. Feeling desperate, wanting, needing relief.

“Yes, what?” he raises a chilling eyebrow.

“Yes sir, I want to come,” you reply, trying your best to enunciate. The fingers slip from your mouth, glistening in the moonlight, and wrap around your throat, just enough to notch your arousal higher, a little pressure on your windpipe as he starts to move again, withdrawing slowly and surging back in fast, your body going limp under his assault.

“Good girl. Come on then, I want to hear it, to feel it,” he snarls.

At this point, you are at his mercy, his pelvis aligning with yours to stimulate without needing his fingers between your legs. You wrap yourself tight around him, not wanting to be parted for an inch, the rough wool of his trousers abraiding the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, the scent of his body, soap with an undercurrent that is all him, is strong; your senses of smell heightening with his grip on your throat.

You start to babble his real name, the roleplay falling away for you both as you greedily chase release. Knowing you are giving your staff an audience and not caring one jot. You hope they experience passion like this—all-consuming, intoxicating, almost addictive. He is groaning with each thrust now, and you can see small beads of sweat forming around the edge of his mask as he increases in speed and intensity. There are a few moments where you are skating the edge, your whole body tense, awaiting the moment you break.

With a few whispered words and his hand relinquishing its grip, you are tumbling, the sudden rush of unrestricted air filling your lungs and pulsing around your head, open-mouthed, teeth hooked on his neck as your cunt pulsates hard around him, clenching in waves that mirror the tension and slack in your muscles. Needing his arms to hold you upright. In the blissful state that follows, you feel him take a few artless moves, then still, his jaw locked tight, gritted teeth as he finds his shuddering release deep inside you.

He slumps around you as you gingerly find your footing again, your mind returning from a fuzzy floating world high above the country lane you are on. Your hands squirrel under his jacket and draw soothing patterns on his shirt back as his breathing returns to normal.

One hand sinking into his luscious hair, you untie the mask; it falls away from his cheekbones to reveal the handsome face you know so well.

“Welcome back, husband,” you murmur playfully, “I had such an adventure this evening you would not believe.”

He huffs a bemused laugh and rearranges both of your clothing back to a semi-decent state, scooping his pistol from the ground.

“You and your adventures, dear wife,” his responding tone light as he picks you up bridal style and sweeps back towards the nearby carriage. “Why not tell me all about it on the journey home, hmm? You must be exhausted from your eventful day,” he hums sympathetically into your ear as he settles onto the seat and bangs upon the roof with his fist. The carriage jerks to life as he pulls you further into his lap, wrapping you in a warm embrace, his treasured locket nestled safely against your chest.

“Well, there was this highwayman…”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queenn @jeanfreau

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader

350 notes · View notes

roegadynroost · 4 days

Text

Update to the Dawntrail Benchmark and Character creator coming soon!

Big news for those of us fretting over the issues with characters in the benchmark. I hope this will be the fix to most if not all of the issues folks have been worried about. Here's hoping!

Hello everyone, this is Naoki Yoshida, Producer and Director of FINAL FANTASY XIV. I would like to thank you all for your feedback regarding the recently released Dawntrail benchmark. While we have received positive feedback and reactions from players, we have also seen others express their concerns. Therefore, I would like to share the current situation regarding these factors.

1.Character Creation System in the Benchmark

The character creation system was created over ten years ago, based on the release version of A Realm Reborn. Although it used the same processes as the actual game, certain aspects (such as weather) were combined to create special conditions exclusive to character creation. This was done to present the texture resolutions and shaders at their best based on the quality standards at the time, which included the PlayStation 3 version. Furthermore, its light sources take advantage of backlighting which, in this case, proved detrimental for showcasing the upcoming graphical update. The character creation environment should have been updated, but was overlooked as we prioritized the development of Dawntrail and tuning the graphical update in the actual game, for which I would like to apologize. We are currently expediting a rework of the environments and light sources of character creation for both the actual game and the benchmark; once that is complete, the current benchmark will be replaced. The following points are some of the factors that will be resolved by applying the graphical update of the actual game to the character creation system:

A.“Lifeless” eyes due to a lack of highlights in the pupils

B.Facial contours appearing flattened due to incorrect lighting conditions caused by backlighting

C.A lack of gloss or excessive appearance of gloss due to character creation-exclusive weather conditions (i.e. the use of thunderclouds)

The special conditions created for the existing character creation system are largely responsible for the points outlined above. Changing these settings should greatly improve the situation, and I would appreciate it if you could bear with us as we work on updating the benchmark.

2.Issues Related to Certain Data and Processes

Based on the wide range of feedback on the official forums and social media, we were able to pinpoint a number of issues in the data and certain processes which manifested due to our need to modify an enormous amount of data. I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience these issues have caused. Naturally, these issues are steadily being addressed as we finalize our development of Dawntrail. However, these issues remained in the benchmark due to simple data-related errors or neglecting to reflect the upcoming changes to the benchmark environment. The following are examples of issues which fall into this category:

A.An issue with unimplemented high-resolution textures, including those for certain playable races.

B.An issue pertaining to special data processes.

C.An issue with necklines for playable races under certain circumstances.

D.An issue with uncorrected scaling for the mouth of certain playable races.

The above issues can be corrected, and I would appreciate it if you could bear with us until they are resolved. Naturally, these issues will be addressed in the release version of Dawntrail.

3.Correction and Replacement of the Dawntrail Benchmark

In order to resolve the points outlined in 1 and 2, we are planning for a replacement of the benchmark software. As we require some time to investigate the issues and reconstruct the benchmark environment, the timing and further details of the replacement will be announced later. We will also continue to make adjustments which incorporate as much of your feedback as possible into the revision of the benchmark, as well as the release version of Dawntrail. (Due to the issue of release dates, however, there are likely to be some differences between the benchmark software and the release version.)

My apologies for asking you to bear with us as we address the points of concern. The team and I will continue doing our best for the graphical update and Dawntrail's release, and we would appreciate your continued support!

Naoki Yoshida

FINAL FANTASY XIV Producer & Director

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy #ff14 #final fantasy 14 #ffxiv benchmark #benchmark

35 notes · View notes

kybercrystals94 · 5 days

Text

Teal Paint

Read here on Ao3!

Angstpril 2024 | Day 18 | Prompt 18: Left Behind

Rated: G | Word Count: 1526 | Summary: Memories left behind... | Character Focus: Hunter, Crosshair, Tech, Wrecker, Omega, Echo

*some slight spoilers at the very end for Season 3*

Tech finds a reasonably tame city to spend their brief period of downtime between missions. It took several months, but they’ve finally scraped enough credits together, and today is the day. The streets are crowded with evening traffic, the Batch walking close together to avoid being separated.

“Did you know,” Tech says, informatively, “that facial tattoos are among the most painful, depending on the location on the face?”

“Thanks, Tech,” Hunter grumbles, “that’s really helpful.”

“You’re not going to talk us out of it,” Crosshair adds resolutely.

Wrecker nods. “Yeah, we’re gonna do it no matter what you say, Tech!”

Tech huffs. “On the contrary, I’m quite eager to observe the process. I just believe that being well informed is beneficial when making a life altering decision.”

“Maker, Tech, getting a tattoo isn’t life altering,” Crosshair says.

“It’s awesome!” Wrecker declares. “You should get one too, Tech.”

“I prefer modifications that can be modified,” Tech retorts.

Crosshair leans close to Wrecker, puts his hand up to shield his mouth from Tech, and loudly whispers, “He’s too scared.”

“That is not true.”

“Aww, Techie’s scared,” Wrecker crows, throwing an arm around Tech. “I can hold your hand, be brave for the both of us.”

Tech tries to extract himself from Wrecker’s grip. “I am not scared! I have stated my reasoning clearly and concisely. Fear has nothing to do with it.”

Hunter rubs his hand across the left side of his face, a fist of apprehension balling up in the pit of his stomach. He isn’t having second thoughts, he’s almost positive that he’ll be happy with the results. He and Crosshair spent hours with a pad of flimsi sketching and scheming. Crosshair wanted something subtle, meaningful, a reflection of himself. Hunter, to his brothers’ surprise, wanted something bold. A statement. Memorable. Of the Batch, he most resembles, in appearance and speech, a reg. But he is no more a reg than any other member of his squad. He might not be able to easily change his facial structure or vocal pattern; however, inking half his face with the dark contour of a skull seems like a good start.

“What do you think?” Crosshair asked, holding up the sketch he’d made of Hunter.

Hunter grinned, taking the pad and admiring the simple lined likeness to himself, the skull motif shadowed deeply with graphite. He loved it. It was perfect. Exactly as he’d imagined it. “Looks good,” he told his brother.

Wrecker, at the last minute, decided that he also wants a tattoo, although his ideas are scattered and untethered to any sort of theme. Even as they approach the tattoo parlor, he is still undecided, claiming that it is going to be a surprise.

“A tattoo is permanent,” Tech tells Wrecker again, having resigned himself to being tucked under Wrecker’s arm for the remainder of their trek. “You should at least have some sort of idea.”

“I do,” Wrecker says, “My idea is that it will be the coolest tattoo in the entire galaxy.”

“That is not an idea,” Tech sighs.

At Tech’s direction, they turn off on a side street, the crowds petering off the further they walk. It doesn’t exactly feel like a bad part of town; however, it is less kept, the buildings showing their age and wear. Hunter is beginning to wonder if Tech got them lost when they turn another corner and a neon sign blinks the word “TATTOOS” at them, the flashing light practically searing into Hunter’s retinas.

“They should get a brighter sign,” Crosshair snarks, “we almost missed it.”

They step inside, and find the business deserted except for a human who stands up from a chair behind the counter. He is covered in colorful ink, his natural pigment completely lost under the tapestry of mismatched designs across every inch of his exposed skin.

“Now that must’ve hurt,” Wrecker mutters to Tech, but he might as well have screamed it from the rooftops.

Tech rolls his eyes.

The man smiles, flashing white teeth. “Only hurts ‘til the pain goes away.”

“Naturally,” Tech agrees sardonically.

“I’m gonna guess you lot are here for some ink,” the man says.

“They are, I am not,” Tech replies quickly. “I am here to observe.”

“Not a fan of needles, huh?” the man asks.

Tech opens his mouth to deny the accusation, but Wrecker gasps out, “Wait, needles?”

Crosshair groans. “We went over this, Wrecker.”

“Yeah, well” Wrecker says, “it sounds different the way he says it.”

“How?”

Wrecker heaves his broad shoulders in a shrug. “I’ll just wait on my tattoo. Until I think of something good, ya know?”

Crosshair steps around Wrecker and jerks his head in Hunter’s direction. “He and I are getting tattoos. These are what we want.” He pulls two pieces of flimsi from his pocket with their chosen designs, pushing them across the counter.

The man takes them, looking over the details. “Straightforward and to the point. I like that. C’mon around and we’ll get started.”

Hunter takes a deep breath.

He’s not turning back now.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Hunter and Crosshair decide to add to their armor to coordinate with their new tattoos. The next time they’re on Kamino, they find their leftover paint and set to work, Tech and Wrecker joining them. Inspired by Hunter’s new half skull tattoo, they decide to incorporate the symbol into all of their armor in some way.

“So help me, Wrecker, if you tip over another can of paint…” Crosshair mutters, snatching up the at-risk bucket from Wrecker’s proximity.

Wrecker is sprawled out on their barrack’s floor, taking up far more than his fair share of space. His paint brush flicks up, sending a spray of heavy duty white across the room.

“You’re cleaning that up,” Tech says from his place at the table.

“No one will notice,” Wrecker assures them. “Maybe they’ll look like clean spots!”

Hunter sighs. “That’s not a good thing, Wreck.”

Wrecker ignores the comment, instead dropping his paintbrush onto the tray Tech ordered him to use and holding up his helmet. “What do you think? It’s a skull.”

“Not a human skull,” Tech points out.

Wrecker shakes his head. “Human skulls are boring.”

“There’s supposed to be red on your helmet somewhere,” Crosshair gripes.

Wrecker reaches over and plucks Crosshair’s fine tipped paint brush out of his hand, the bristles still dripping red paint. Crosshair sputters a curse as Wrecker happily begins painting with the stolen utensil.

“Hunter!” Crosshair cries, “Tell Wrecker to give it back.”

Hunter doesn’t even look up from his work. “Let’s share our toys like big kids,” he coos, earning a chuckle from Tech.

“I’m gonna give it back in a second,” Wrecker says. “Almost done.”

Crosshair growls something rude in Huttese.

“There!” Wrecker says, tossing the brush back at Crosshair, the sniper catching it from the wrong end, paint staining the palm of his glove. Wrecker turns his helmet again to the room. “See? It’s perfect.”

The number 99 is brandished across the forehead of his helmet in dripping red.

“Subtle as usual, Wrecker,” Tech says.

Wrecker grins. “Thanks!”

Hunter sits back and admires his own helmet’s new design, carefully imitating his inked face. It’s exactly how he imagined it.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“I like this color,” Omega says, pointing at a swatch of teal paint. “Oh, and this orange is nice.”

Tech glances at Hunter, clearly questioning the decision to let Omega choose their new armor colors. Hunter shrugs. At least it will look…different. Which is exactly what they want.

“What about this one?” Wrecker asks, pointing at the yellow swatch.

“Yes! I like that one too!” Omega cries.

They purchase the three cans of paint and some brushes before heading back to the Marauder. Omega is beside herself with excitement. “Do you think the paint will work on my helmet?” she asks.

“Sure, kid, ‘course it will,” Wrecker says cheerfully.

“I’m gonna use orange on mine, then,” Omega says.

That evening, spread out under the Marauder’s wing, the Batch set about repainting their armor. Wrecker can’t bear the thought of covering up the skull on his helmet, so he settles for removing the bright 99 from it instead, sanding it down and repainting the area white. With Omega’s help, he uses orange and yellow to accent the rest of his armor pieces.

Tech and Echo decide to monopolize the orange paint, leaving very little to Hunter. With a sigh, he picks up the teal paint, and pries it open. Omega beams at him. “I think that will be a very nice color on you,” she tells him sincerely, and suddenly, the color doesn’t seem so bad.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“All the armor’s been stripped. But we’re still not gonna blend in,” Echo says, tossing Hunter his helmet.

The colors of his past lives have been removed with finality. He knows it is necessary; however, he can’t help but feel the pang of loss as he stares at the familiar piece of himself he’s had for so long, devoid of the visible memories lingering like ghosts behind him.

Maybe they’ll paint their armor again, when all of this is over.

If they all make it back.

END

@the-little-moment and @just-here-with-my-thoughts 🥳 I can't believe we've only got 4 more stories/chapters each to go!

✨Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list!✨

Tag List: @followthepurrgil @isthereanechoinhere96 @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @nagyanna424 @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @merkitty49

52 notes · View notes

swampstew · 7 months

Text

It's October! SPOOPY TIME ~ *throws ghost shaped confetti* ~ I am so excited to start this fun event! Reminder that this is a costume contest that YOU can vote in on October 29~ Vote for my mans, he worked really hard🥺

Character: Eustass "The Sexiest Captain" Kid Summary: Kid is going to steal the show away with his costume. He's a known murderer after all, and he's going to slay this contest as this villain everyone loves to hate. Word Count: 1,031

“OI! KILL! Get in here!” Eustass Kid angrily yelled from his room. He stared at his hulking form in the floor length mirror he had stolen from some place or another, eyeing the material laid over his body as he tried to piece together his idea.

The door pushed open as his best friend came through, hauling some pieces of metal behind him. Piling it next to Kid’s desk, Killer finally sized the redhead up, tilting his head as he inspected the idea Kid was toying with.

“When you said you wanted to be Sauron, I kind of assumed you’d go all in with an impressive armor -plated outfit. The helmet is coming out fine and I got the materials for the spikes but…what exactly are you trying to do here?”

Kid rolled his eyes, “It’s a costume CONTEST, Killer. I need to appeal to all of the judges.”

“I see. So you’re going for…skanky horror?”

“More like monstrously fuckable.”

“Well you’re on the right track. I’ll leave you to it.”

With a nod, Kid took the helmet prototype off his head, pulled the metal sheet plates from his body, and stepped out of the floor-length mesh skirt he pinned together.

His plan was to go as his favorite character. The baddest bastard in all of literature – Sauron Thee Lord of the Rings. He already knew the judges had personal tastes and preferences, and if he could hit all of them he knew he’d be the undisputed winner. Alvida liked to gawk, Buggy liked flashy, Mihawk liked weapons, and Crocodile just showed up for the party but had a soft spot for the classics.

The contest was in a few weeks so there was no time to fuck around. With a determined look on his face, Kid gathered his scraps and blueprints, spread his materials on the long work table, and grabbed his hammer to begin flattening the steel.

Strike upon strike echoed in his room as Kid worked. First, he flattened the metal sheets and used his body to shape the plates of his armor around his muscles, making sure to bend the metal to heavily emphasize the contours of his jagged edged form. When all the individual, scandalously modified armor components were formed, he welded the units together to create his costume – it consisted of: an extreme crop top plackart with connecting pieces for the pauldrons, couters, vambraces, spaulders, and rerebraces; tassets and extremely short cuisses that stopped mid-thigh for his groin; greaves for his legs; the helmet and bevor; the mace; and jagged additions to his sword.

Next was making the imposing spiky pieces that decorated the helmet, shoulder plates, thigh plates and shoes. Kid took thicker pieces of metal and manipulated their shapes to his design: long, wicked looking slats that could slice you up if you didn’t watch out. He also made spindly spikes in varying sizes, making much more than he would probably end up needing. Kid then soldered each addition to the base of the armor; the smell of iron, tin, and fire leaving a heavy odor in the air that lingered even with all the windows open.

The weeks passed as he worked on his project a little every day, determined to meet his deadline and take home the prize. Kid poured his sweat and blood into shaping, sanding, buffing, smoothing, shining, painting, and sealing each individual piece of his costume. The only time he asked for help was when he needed Heat to sew fabrics together. Kid might be able to bend metal to his will but not even he could thread something as small as string to needle with his thick, clunky fingers.

At long last the day of the costume contest arrived. The crew was pre-gaming and helping each other dress for the party. Kid didn’t want anyone to see him until he was fully dressed, locking himself in his room to shower and get ready.

With freshly dried hair that he didn’t bother to style, Kid placed his trusty welding goggles on his bed as he looked at his outfit. With a confident grin, the redhead dropped his towel to the floor.

Slipping on the first layer, Kid pulled tight black shorts over his underwear, the ends of the cotton spandex shorts had been sewn together with the mesh fabric to create leggings that he could tuck into his amor-plated sabatons. He pulled on a long-sleeved, extreme crop top made of the same cotton spandex and mesh, which did nothing to hide his nipples. Eyeing the way the mesh made his muscles look, Kid started the next layer.

Pulling up the tassets that were reminiscent of his belted war kilt, the cuisses sat comfortably over his thighs and looked menacing with the slats and spikes, as did his greaves. Over his torso he put on the customized plackart – it ran down to his forearms right over the mesh, covered his collarbones but stopped short just above his pecs. Stepping into the metal plated boots, Kid’s outfit was nearly complete.

With a quick hand, Kid swiped on burgundy lipstick and heavy, smoky black eyeshadow. From the closet he pulled out the new fur cloak he had Killer dye from maroon to black, snapping the clasp in place to hang from the backs of the pauldrons, between where the jagged spikes were soldered into the steel. Brushing his hair back he slid the helmet over his face, the generous gaps in the visor were just enough to show a passing glance of his makeup. Taking a step back, he pulled out a bottle of posing oil to make his exposed muscles gleam, rubbing it deeply into his skin.

For the final touch, Kid picked up 10 pointed claw rings he made with the extra metal he had, sliding each over his fingers where they sat snugly. Grabbing his sword and mace, he walked back to the mirror and gave himself a final verdict.

Frightening. Deadly. Slutty. Scary.

Perfect✨

With a grin and some badass poses, he took a few selfies with the cam-snail before he left the room. Roaring out to his crew, “Alright let’s crash this party Kid Pirates style!”

#Raven announces #eustass kid #buggy's spooktacular special #costume contest stories #writer collaboration #one piece fanfiction #one piece halloween #eustass captain kidd #swampstew bedtime stories #eustasscaptainkid

90 notes · View notes

total-convergence · 8 months

Text

the Xa

I wasn't planning on revealing another sophont, but it's a creature I have a decent amount of information and sketches on, so I decided to post it while I work on some complex 3D art for this world. The Xa are tall black birds you may have seen in the Intro to Total Convergence..?.

These two meter tall avians use their wings for walking. Their thumb has increased in size and the claw has re-appeared and modified into a hoof. They primarily use their beaks for manipulating with objects, but their feet, which the Xa leave off the ground when walking, greatly assist with this. Another ancient feature that has re-appeared in this bird are the teeth, but they aren't used for eating. The teeth of the Xa have bright golden and dark red stripes and are flattened, resembling our incisors, and are used as a dispaly structures during communication.

Normally, a Xa would walk around with their head resting on the neck, their beak covered up by their thick plumage. This one got startled by a distant noise and is looking around.

I'm still deciding whether to keep the "lip pads" or not.

A Xa's perception of reality and the rate at which they take in information is also remarkably fast. An average Xa, for example, is able to read one A4 page full of text in circa five seconds. This means that a Xa can graduate way faster than a human, making up for their short lifespan. This is one of the reasons why it can be hard for them to enjoy movies, the ones that were made by non Xa are unwatchable because of the "low frame rate".

There is almost no sexual dimorphism in these birds. On normal occasions the gender nor sex of a Xa is not distinguished at all, and probably no Xaian cultures have different social roles for men and women. The only way to tell the sexes apart is through pheromones, which are only released on special occasions. Only Xa are sensitive to these pheromones, and non avians wouldn't be able to tell the difference at all.

The Xa are relatively short lived, maturing at the age of seven. In the prehistory, they could live up to be twenty years old, but thanks to modern medicine, their lifespan has increased to be up to thirty years. When hatched, a baby Xa is born featherless, growing a coat of ash-brown downy feathers after ten months. A "pre-teen" coat - black contour feathers - begins to appear at the age of four, and at the age of seven, the "adult" plumage with its characteristic white eye pattern and contrasting, irridescent black feathers on the Xa's crest appears. These white patterns typically fade to gray with old age. The irridescence is also a lot less striking in older Xa.

Due to their plumage, they don't really need soft fabric to make their clothes comfortable, they mostly focus on making waterproof and elegant garments. But soft fabric can sometimes be a sign of the wearer's status. Because of their reliability on their beak as our equivalent of hands, the great majority of utensils and tools are made to be carried in and controlled by the beak. Tools and guns specificaly are mostly attachment based - there are several types of universal helmets that are used to attach a variety of tools to them. A lot of guns can be operated with both beak and hands. Shooting a gun is a lot easier when a Xa uses their beak, but hands are more practical when they need to quickly draw the weapon.