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This blog has an ongoing series of #WatercolorScience articles about how different types of weather affect your painting, even if you work inside. Extreme Heat & low humidity: We're Having a Heat Wave & I Started This Heat Wave Freezing Temperatures: When Winter Comes Howling In Humidity & Rain: Lost in a Fog

If you want to paint en plein air (fancy art term for outside) you will need to consider the weather as well as a number of other factors. Let’s begin at the beginning.

A Super Beginner’s Guide to Painting Skillfully Outside

Painting outside is more different from painting inside than you may realize. What you bring to paint, what you bring for yourself, where you go, how you sit… Everything has to be thought out in advance. Start with figuring out what you want to bring with you & then do a test run at home. I tried out my potential art kit while sitting on my tiny porch. This helped me realize I had completely forgotten a waterproof pen & water for me to drink.

The following lists are just suggestions – I don’t carry everything on them, & sometimes I pack extra things. I don’t have a car, so generally if it won’t fit in a backpack, it doesn’t go in my kit. Luckily enough there are several parks with chairs & tables nearby, so I can skip carrying in my own furniture!

Kit For Painting

• Paper
• Waterproof pen(s)
• Brushes: sizes 2,6, & one from 99¢ store.
• Jar with a tight-fit top for water
• Cloth to wipe your brushes on – a tshirt rag or old athletic wristband is reusable
• Paper towel – there’s nothing like it for dabbing at watercolors – tuck it in your wristband or under your paint while you’re working so it’s less likely to blow away
• Easel or Clipboard or Table (or plan on working with a sketchbook in your lap, like I do)
• Small DIY travel palette. This has black & white gouache & will someday have 3 primary watercolors in it, but I need to buy more tube paint for that.
• Paints, of course! I used a watercolor paintbox for the test. I will bring watercolor markers when I’m not working right on my porch, as they take up less space & use less water. I got lazy here & grabbed the paint that was already out.

Things to Think About

If you get impatient, like me, bring enough paper so you can work on multiple paintings at once. That way you can switch between them, leaving ample time for each painting to dry before you continue. I generally have 4 rectangles of paper taped into my sketchbook, so I can keep it open & just rotate to a new painting.

If you are pressed for time, consider painting at home & save the excursion for another day. Remember, if you try to pack up wet paintings they will be ruined by the time you get home! I walked home carrying an open sketchbook once because I ran out of time. It wasn’t the end of the world, but it was quite annoying.

Another option to consider is using a “wet panel carrier”. It is a small briefcase-like box that (can you guess?) carries wet paintings. You can probably buy one, but you could also DIY one. You could even kick back, relax for a couple weeks until I make one, & then read my future blog post about it! (I’ll add a link here when I write it)

Kit For Humaning

• Seating of some kind (even if you work standing up, you’ll probably want to sit at some point!)
• Water
• If you like to listen to something while you work, wear your most stable headphones! This is not the time for ill-fitting earbuds you are constantly adjusting.
• Snacks
• Sunscreen
• Bug spray
• Lightweight jacket
• Umbrella or wide-brimmed hat
• Backpack (or a reusable shopping bag, whatever you’ve got) to carry it all
• Camera – the one on your phone will do just fine!

Obviously this is not an exhaustive list. It's going to change not only person-to-person, but day-to-day. Water is the most important thing here. Your paints will dry faster outside & so will you! Make sure you bring plenty of water to drink, even if it isn’t hot.

One More Thing To Think About

Be prepared to carry everything you need in & back out again. This is a literal ‘take only pictures, leave only footprints’ scenario. Many articles that I have read advise using ‘found water’ & ‘found objects’, but only do this if the location you picked specifically allows it! Also be aware of what might be in that ‘found water’. How might various pollutants affect your paints & brushes? This is always a concern, but especially after massive flooding or near construction sites.

What’s Next?

OK, we’ve got our painting kit together with our water & sun protection. Now what? How do we actually paint outside? We’ll cover that in a future article. When? I don’t know. Southern California is getting hit by a tropical storm, we’re about to go into another heat wave, & we literally had an earthquake as I edited this paragraph. This #EnPleinAir series will continue in a few weeks.

Next Tuesday’s Karin Wanderer Learns will be my 30th article! It’s going to be about Pizza & the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. (My 20th article had my favorite vegan cake recipe.) I never intended to make KWL into a baking blog every 10 weeks, but I’m happy it’s turning out this way. See you then!

This is the third installment of my SOS story, the first of which can be read here (and the second there but who in their right mind would start reading a story in its middle?)

Aboard the spaceship Locust, Val and Sam have picked up a distress call. On site, Sam has gone looking for survivors inside the wreck of the Scintillating. He's just actually heard one.

I switched back to Val’s band. “Val, you there? We’ve got a survivor. She’s the one talking on band eighty. She’s completely tripping. I'm switching over for three minutes tops, to try and locate her.”

“Understood.”

I switched back again. And again, the terrified voice.

“… here, if you don’t come and get me! Listen to me! Don’t leave! I don’t know—”

“This is Sam Foster, of the Tin Locust. Can you hear me?”

The voice stopped completely. For a time I thought I might have lost the signal, so I tried again:

“Can you hear me?”

“Y-yes! I hear you! Great gods, I hear you! Come get me! Get me out of here!”

“Getting you out of here is the plan, uh, what’s your name?”

“Flora. Flora Kesler.”

“Hi, Flora. I'm Sam. Do you know where you are? In your cabin?”

“No. They took us somewhere after the first explosion. The officers really wanted us out of there. And then there was a second explosion. I lost consciousness and when I came to, I was alone in this room...”

“In which direction did they take you? Towards the bow? “The what?”

“... towards the front of the ship?”

“I don’t know… they... they took us to the bridge! Near where the captain’s quarters were!”

The bow it was, then. I kept walking, placing my relays at each intersection, continuing my little chat with the chick. From her description, they had left her in a life support room, probably because they were out of suspension pods. The door out was locked. She’d found the survival rations, and the blankets, and she’d discovered the sanitaries, as they dare call that.

But when it came to me locating her, I was sh—ort on luck. I’d reached a junction at the end of the corridor: one door to the left, one to the right, one dead ahead, and a staircase. The girl didn’t remember which way they’d followed. Where she was, there wasn’t a single text or number on the walls or on the door to give us a hint. Total dark. I needed a map.

I told the chick that I needed to switch back shortly to Val for routine checks.

“Val, did you download the ship's blueprints, by any chance?”

“I haven't received them yet. Why?”

“I've zero lead to find the girl, and it's going to take a long time. Mind you, she said she's still got rations for two days, so there's no real hurry–”

“I'm afraid there is, Sam. With the Locust locked on the wreck's trajectory, I've been able to estimate that it's on course to cross Hawking' surface and in thirty hours, the wreck's overall inside temperature will have become unbearable for life.”

Great.

“Can we stray the wreck from its course?”

“We could try lighting up the remaining thruster and turning the fall into a slingshot around Hawkins. She might survive the lesser temperature rise, but she would literally run her water reserves dry too soon.”

“Ok, so the plan becomes: forget about ID-ing the dead, locate the girl and bring her aboard the Locust as soon as possible, then ferry her to the closest station. How long until we have to move the Locust away?”

“Twenty to twenty-five hours. Priority on finding the girl, but you can record identities for any bodies you find on your way, provided you don't need to search for too long. And don't tell her about the deadline.”

“Ok.”

I resumed walking the corridor and switched back on eighty.

“Sam? Are you still there? I can’t hear you!”

“I’m here, Flora. Everything’s fine. Only hitch is, I can’t head straight toward you because I don’t have a map of the ship, and even if I had one, I still don’t know where you are.”

“Don’t leave me here!”

“I won’t. I’ll find you, it’s just going to take a bit of time.” The door ahead led into the rest of the corridor. The stairs led up to a maintenance shaft and the main corridor. Chances were that the doors on each side led to cabins or storage. On a hunch, I decided to open the door to the left.

It was another airlock, but this time, there was pressure on the other side. Good sign. I closed the exterior door and equalized.

“Val, I’m in the airlock of a pressurized area of the ship. I’m going to try to see if I can breathe it. Pressure... zero ninety-five, O-two twenty. Breathable. Let’s see what that gives.”

“Copy that.”

I put my hands over my helmet’s lock, took in a deep breath, and took off my helmet in one swift movement. No point hesitating.

To call the air breathable was overstating it. The undefinable smell that saturated the air could only mean one thing: death. When a spaceship depressurizes, bodies are ejected, and there’s no air to carry scents anymore. But in a part of a ship that’s still airtight, it’s awful.

I opened the interior door of the airlock and walked in. It was a vault. Sixteen suspended animation pods in two rows. All without power. Not a blip. Not a light. I closed in on the first pod and looked inside. Checked out, of course. I didn’t need to look at the others to know they were all dead cold. The stasis sequence had screwed up, probably from power loss.

I didn’t tell the girl what I’d found; instead I said that I had to renew contact with the Locust. I switched to Val’s frequency band.

“Val?”

“Here, Sam. Did you find her?”

“Not yet. But I found a stasis vault. I’ve got sixteen stiffs here.”

“Ready to record IDs.”

I inspected each pod, one by one. Thankfully, these deads were pretty conscientious, as they all wore their identification badges. I recited the first fifteen names, then stopped at the last pod. After a while, Val spoke:

“Sam, I’ve got fifteen names here. Weren’t there sixteen of them?”

I looked again at the pod. And its occupant’s badge. After another long moment, I answered:

“Val… Do you believe in ghosts?”

Continue to part four

Re: Alt Text changes at the GDS?

Eyyy it’s been a minute.

Thought I’d get this thing up and running properly, finally. And for my first real post, I’m going to quickly do a better job of the alt text debacle reaction that is currently doing so many goddamn numbers on my .art account.

So!

The thread I wrote was a quick, off the cuff reaction to a blog posted by the Government Digital Service (GDS), which basically runs the UK Government’s website. In the blog, they talked about doing a bit of research which highlighted their content management system (CMS, in this case, Whitehall) had a confusing user interface (UI) when it comes to adding images to their content for publishing.

They did a bit of back and forth with a small team and, essentially they’ve changed the UI to make uploading images easier. However, while fixing their UI to make content management easier, they’ve also removed the option to add alt text to their images, citing ease of accessibility and availability to everyone.

My day job is actually in digital accessibility, I’m part of a small team that basically does the majority of the accessibility for a very large organisation, so this sort of thing is part of my every day. When we learned about this move, and from the GDS, (which is considered something of a leading voice in accessibility!) we were pretty confused!

Hence my rather flippant little reaction thread!

So, more seriously then.

Maybe the GDS has a pretty good reason for removing the alt text field, and maybe they even have pretty good user research to back up what they suggest doing instead (putting the image descriptions in the body content), but we don’t know either of those things for sure yet. So, just working on what we have got, I am at least a little concerned.

As I mentioned in my original thread, alt text isn’t only beneficial for screen reader users. That’s the original point of it, of course, but alt text is used by so many more people in so many more ways now.

• Screen reader users, of course, not just to know what they can’t see, but also to navigate the page, and to get a bit more context for the page by listing all the images and their information.
• Partially sighted or colour blind users who can partially see the image, will get a better chance to understand what it’s meant to convey via the alt text.
• Other assistive technology users, such as speech-to-text users who can use images to navigate and get more information in similar ways to screen readers.
• Neurodiverse and cognitively disabled users will access the alt text in order to find more context to better understand the image, especially if it’s highly topic specific, a meme, a complicated graph, a piece of art, etc.
• Alt text can also be a stop-gap solution for when images aren’t loading, either due to crap bandwidth or site maintenance issues. And for users who have all images turned off.
  

Instead, the GDS is suggesting including the image descriptions as part of the main body content. Though they didn’t explain how – do they mean in an academic sense, with numbered image references, or do they mean full alternative text content that is simply part of the overall text? We just don’t know at this point, unfortunately.

People who know a bit more than average about image accessibility may also be aware that there is already a recommended mechanism for giving universal access to image descriptions. The long description.

The long description is typically created by writing something like the following in the alt tag:

[<]alt=“Image of [thing], see long description”[>]

And then adding the long description itself in an expanding text box directly after the image. This can be opened by anyone with a simple mouse click or keyboard stroke.

The problem with adding the descriptions into the main content is that it removes all the advantages I mentioned above, and creates a host of new issues.

• If using academic style image references, you’re adding a new layer of confusion for ND and cognitively disabled folks.
• If using the descriptions embedded in the main text, you’re adding the need to find the image it’s referring to, and the reverse, needing to find the description that goes with the image you’ve been examining.
• By adding either version, you’re adding a lot of extra information to the page that ordinarily would be visually hidden, reducing the clutter and noise on the page. Too much information in a page can negatively impact ND and cognitively disabled folks experiences.
• How does this change affect assistive technology users? The GDS hasn’t shared any end user research on the matter.
• It might actually be in breach of WCAG 1.1.1 Non-Text Content, which is… interesting.

There’s probably a host of other issues that I haven’t thought of just yet. And of course, the GDS might have some mitigating information that I’m not yet aware of.

As it stands, though, I feel like this is a step too far into overcorrection. It started as a series of steps in order to reduce content creator errors, most of which seem legitimate, but included removing the alt text field, which is far less so.

I might change my tune, if the GDS clarifies the decision! But I’m not currently a fan of this change to their position on their alt text field.

H

This is the second installment of my SOS story, the first of which can be read here.

Aboard the spaceship Locust, Val and Sam have picked up what may be a distress call. Val has diverted course toward the source, and now Sam is about to go inspect the wreck.

Turned out the wreck was mostly intact, except its starboard engine had been torn off the hull and was trailing some ten thousand klicks behind. We’d missed it on the radar because it was hidden by the ship’s signature.

And the emergency broadcast? We traced it right back to the main antenna. Given the ship’s state, no wonder that blip was all it could put out.

I checked my gauges for the umpteenth time. I had enough for a couple hours of autonomy but that would probably be too short: this was a cruiser, with room for at least three hundred passengers and probably another fifty crew. The engine had ripped a fifth of the hull at the stern; enough that the chances of running into a surviving crew member were nil. But the bow, where the passengers usually were, looked pretty intact. Who knew, I might even find a dozen of them still alive.

Val interrupted my thoughts.

“Good news, Sam. The wreck’s got a Shabasch onboard computer, just like the Locust.”

“Gesundheit. What’s that mean?”

“... That we can communicate with it. I might even be able to download the ship’s log from here. But it will take quite a while. It's unusually sluggish.”

“Are you surprised? The ship took quite a hit.”

“I don’t know... The computer should be at the bow, far from the bulk of the damage. In any case, Hawking is close enough to power its solar panels. You should start by unlocking some of them.”

“Shouldn’t I take a peek inside first?”

“If they’ve survived so far, they can wait for another five minutes. Plus, it will be easier for you inside the ship if you can get some power back on. You should be able to reconnect at least two solar panels with rams. Not to mention, we’ll also be able to recharge faster from there.”

She was right — that’s the rule: the living feed on the dead. And the survivors, if there were any, probably didn’t give a shit if we diverted a few solar megawatts or tapped their propulsion fuel, seeing as there wasn’t a chance this wreck would ever fly again.

I exited through the Locust’s port maintenance hatch. Val had put two rams there for me. Fifteen seconds were enough for my suit’s thruster’s to bring me to the wreck; Val always did have a talent for tight manoeuvres. I found two solar panels, put the hydraulic rams in place and activated them. then I travelled along the hull till I found a usable airlock.

“OK Val, I found an access.” I forced open the casing of the airlock’s controls. “Everything’s green, but I’m reading an interior pressure of zero. I’m going to try to get inside. Also, the ship’s name is written on the airlock. The Scintillating. Cute, isn’t it?”

“Very. Place your relays evenly, I’d hate to lose you.”

“No problem. The door’s opening slowly… ah, shit.”

At first I tried to get out of the way, but then DuRes kicked in, so I grabbed the spacesuit by the collar, dragged it back into the airlock, and secured it against a wall. I checked around for the dogtag. I was having a hard time pulling it out from inside the suit and around the head, because I didn’t want to touch him. My visor got real foggy from the effort, but I finally pulled the tag free. I read the name.

“And here’s the first one, Val. Quartermaster Vogel. Found in airlock…uh, T21, in his suit, but no helmet. Apparent C oh D: depressurization.”

“Recorded.”

”Right, I’m placing the first relay and closing the outer door.”

I stuck a radio relay on the interior surface of the airlock, then I shut the external airlock door.

“Val?”

“I read you, Sam. The relay gets through. Once you get the inner airlock door open, don’t close it unless you need to.”

“Alright, mom. So where am I going?”

“I’m not seeing any activity from here.”

I checked my gauges once again. Then the airlock’s interior control panel. The hall inside was at zero pressure too. Bad news for anyone who was inside when that happened. I tapped on the controls, and the door slid open with no problem.

“Well, I guess if there is anyone left, they’re all at the bow. The airlocks will slow me down, but I think I can—”

An ear-splitting ringing in my helmet interrupted me. I slammed down the acknowledgement button on my collar to shut off the vibration/drift alarm, grabbed the closest handrail, and yelled:

“Val! The ship’s still warm! She’s moving!”

“Negative, Sam. One of the solar panels was resisting the ram and just gave in. Your suit caught the vibrations. There are now two active solar panels. Essential electrical systems should be going back online now.”

Right on cue, the dim emergency lights on floor flickered off, and a bright overhead lighting picked up. I waited another few seconds, but there were no new alarms.

“Okay, I was about to say I’m going up towards the bow. Null pressure, as before.”

“Sam, is there a console near you?”

“There are probably some in the cabins just off this hallway. Why?”

“Your relays are picking up a signal that’s not yours, on the interior communications band. Band eighty, to be precise.”

“Probably the big boss’ mike that he forgot to turn off before going on vacation. Switching to eighty and then right back to you.”

I switched. And in my helmet, I heard this:

“…lp me! Please! I know there’s someone out there! I’m in here! Answer me! Don’t leave me here! Please!”

It was a woman’s voice. On the edge of a panic attack. No, scratch that. Deep in a panic attack.

Continue to part three

More PixAI Hagrids
Prompt:
Hagrid wears his own caramel latex bodyglove. A stout robust barrel chested eleven feet & six inches tall man; with large hands; with a plump face, long cascading mane of chocolate-brown hair, a wild, tangled beard, muscled sumo wrestler's body.

Note, the functionality of this may change – the feature is still in development and the specifics of how it works might be different when it's released to how it currently is set to work in the PR and as described below.

An upcoming patch for Mastodon, which is currently in the testing phase, will introduce federated cross-instance full text search (meaning, you could enter the word 'watercolours' into the search box and see any public posts from discoverable profiles from your instance and other federated instances that have used the word 'watercolours' in the post).

This is dependent on having ElasticSearch (ES) enabled, which mastodon.art does not (by choice, currently). So, here's a hypothetical scenario:

.art does not have ES enabled .other DOES have ES enabled .art user enables discovery, makes a public post, this post federates to .other that post is now searchable on .other But because .art does not have ES enabled, .art users can't use the search feature.

So even if your instance doesn't have ES enabled, this doesn't mean that your users won't be affected by this new full text search implementation.

How it will work:

On instances with ES enabled, the public posts of profiles that have the 'suggest account to others' box ticked WILL be indexed for text search.

Unlisted posts will NOT be indexed, regardless of this setting (but note that unlisted posts also don't show up in any of the public feeds (local/federated timelines) and won't be included in hashtag search results, so if you want to make a post with hashtags and want people to be able to find that post by searching for the hashtag, it has to be made with 'public' visibility).

Here's what you need to do to opt your content OUT of being indexed for full text search;

https://mastodon.art/settings/profile (substitute with your own instance URL if you're not on mastodon.art) > uncheck the 'suggest account to others' box.

With this checkbox unticked, even if you make public posts, they will not be indexed.

You can also turn the checkbox on, which means that any posts you make with the 'public' visibility *will be indexed, but posts made with the 'unlisted' visibility will not be indexed.

There is currently no way to have your account be discoverable (i.e., to be recommended to others via the Profile Directory, https://mastodon.art/directory) while not being indexed, unless all of your posts are made with the 'unlisted' visibility setting; with the current iteration of the feature, it's all or nothing. So unfortunately, if you want to entirely opt out of being indexed, you'll also have to sacrifice some discoverability of your profile.

There are other opt-in profile discovery directories you can use instead, though:

https://fedi.directory https://fediverse.info https://communitywiki.org/trunk

It's also important to note that currently, anyone who has the checkbox enabled but who doesn't see the updates about the scope of that checkbox changing to include opting in to search, will be opted in by default just by virtue of not being given a heads up to uncheck that box.

Relevant info for techier people than I:

The PR: https://github.com/mastodon/mastodon/pull/26344 One of the devs saying it's likely to make it into the 4.2.0 release: https://oisaur.com/@renchap/110856034083717387 The 'discoverable' setting: https://github.com/mastodon/mastodon/pull/23808 https://github.com/mastodon/mastodon/blob/4caa9f0e69f922ce70af50d695cc84a7f551534f/app/services/activitypub/process_account_service.rb#L117

Post talking about various issues with search and why it should be opt-in: https://www.anildash.com/2023/01/16/a-fediverse-search/

I'll do my best to answer questions, you can find me at https://mastodon.art/@curator ! :D

Massive thanks to other instance admins and to Hugo of MastoHost who helped me gather all of this into this post, who've been tracking the GitHub, fact-checking in the official Discord, and feeding back on the info that's in this post <3

(Note: We have always moderated cultural appropriation on .art, and this policy has always existed, unwritten – this is just us adding it to our code of conduct in a more official capacity)

Cultural appropriation is “The unacknowledged or inappropriate adoption of the customs, practices, ideas, etc. of one people or society by members of another and typically more dominant people or society.”

Creators should always be mindful of the role that cultural history plays in the development and adoption of artistic styles and ideas. While it's natural for artists to experiment with different mediums, colours, and techniques, as this is how we learn and grow as artists and develop our own set of skills and styles, it's also important that we don't mis-use or mis-contextualise cultural work.

Cultural appropriation can include:

• Reproducing artwork from other cultures
• Using cultural artwork as a costume
• Appropriating facets of another culture to use in your own art

Knowing that this is a nuanced topic, we'll always approach reports of cultural appropriation by involving people who can speak for their cultures relevant to the artwork in question.

Ah got some aid on using PixAI for ai making “makeover Hagrid”

from Bofeariling Blotearod

PixAi by me with help from Sordahon and JesterFoxFlame

Prompt: A large giant stout man standing at eleven feet & six inches tall, with hands as large as dustbins, feet in boots large as baby dolphins, his head and face are covered or almost completely hidden by a wavy mane of deep chocolate brown hair and well-styled extra long beard at mid-torso length, with glittery black eyes, and reddened bulbous nose, he is dressed in a fine golden button-up shirt, in massive cognac and caramel brown overcoat, with a bandolier hung with multiple two color spheres, he has a binturong on his shoulder, ethereal umbrella in his hand.]

Prompt: Hagrid with smoothed hair and beard dressed like a pokemon master from Unova.

Prompt: A large giant man standing at eleven feet & six inches tall, with hands as large as dustbins, feet in boots large as baby dolphins, his head and face are covered or almost completely hidden by a wavy mane of deep chocolate brown hair and well-styled long beard at mid-torso length, with glittery beetle black eyes, and reddened bulbous nose, he is dressed in a fine golden button-up shirt, in massive cognac and caramel brown overcoat, with a bandolier hung with multiple two color spheres, a binturong on his shoulder, he is stroking a deer-like creature's snout.

Prompt: Hagrid after he's become an Astartes cares for a pokemon

A large giant stout man standing at eleven feet & six inches tall, with hands as large as dustbins, feet in boots large, his head shaved and tattooed, face covered almost completely hidden by a wavy deep chocolate brown well-styled extra long beard, with cybernetic eyes, a bulbous nose, he is full metal pot armor, with a bandolier hung with mug sized bullets, massive bolter rifle in hand Hagrid as cyber super soldier

Hagrid as a Necroscope PIXAI is a traitor

Hagrid with a Klyntar? Well he's much stronger looking but also more monstrous

OR Superheroic

This will be a long post. I'm going to discuss recent fedi 'drama', particularly around Stux/mstdn.social and Byron/Universeodon, to call out the problematic behaviours by white guys that I'm repeatedly exposed to as a demifemme admin (experiencing this behaviour probably applies to anyone who is perceived as 'not male', though), and by the people who perpetuate the behaviour by either agreeing with it, or not calling it out: misogyny, DARVO, gaslighting, and abuser tactics. Content Warning: this post will discuss those tactics, and tangentially mention abusive relationships.

Part 1: Misogyny

To Stux, to Byron, to the privileged white guys who respond to my fediblock posts with threats of litigation, who try to bully and threaten me when I speak up about you, and to everyone who enables you: you're misogynists.

I want you to look at that word, hard, and I want you to feel its weight on you. I know you're probably scoffing, rolling your eyes, maybe tutting about me under your breath. You're already dismissing me. You? Misogynists? Nah.

~

For the readers: I'm going to present a definition of misogyny. It will include a description of behaviours that you're either familiar with from having personal experience, or familiar with from having heard people talking about their personal experiences. I trust that this definition and the provided examples are all things you're familiar with, and that won't be a surprise to you, given how common they come up when discussing misogyny; that is, you'll read the definition, and go 'Ok, yeah, those are clearly misogynistic'.

Hostile misogyny presents as beliefs and behaviours that are openly hostile towards women, viewing women as manipulative, deceitful, and needing to be kept in their place.

Examples can include using sexist language or insults, treating women people as subordinates, and punishing them when they step out of line.

Think of people like Trump and the kind of words and language they use to discredit their female critics; the things they accuse them of, the way they try to paint them as 'less than' and themselves as 'more than'. Things like questioning their mental state, their health, their ability, their credibility. Language that shames the woman and paints the woman as small, feeble, inept, and the man as big, powerful, competent. Words like 'shame', 'disappointed', 'nasty', 'irrational'.

Think about all of that and keep it in mind.

Okay, back to directly addressing my abusers.

~

Whenever I 'step out of line' you shame me, insult me, accuse me of beign manipulative, of lying, and you punish me to keep me in my place.

You're misogynists.

When I block your instance directly citing your behaviour and you respond by DMing or emailing me legal threats, that's you trying to punish me and to keep me in my place.

You're misogynists.

When I call you out on behaviour that I find problematic, you respond by threatening me, calling me names, treating me as your inferior, questioning my ability, calling me a liar, questioning my rationality, questioning my credibility, saying I abuse my power, questioning my health, my 'normality', disgracing me, calling me toxic, blaming me for your actions, claiming I'm manipulative, deceitful, and stepping out of line.

You're misogynists.

Still don't believe me?

Insulting me/calling me names

Stux, 'the nasty posts': https://mstdn.social/@stux/110570790071229972 https://archive.ph/2wS1z

Stux, 'the nasty admin': https://mstdn.social/@stux/110570709034574825 https://archive.ph/554VD

Shaming me / treating me as your inferior 'shame on you mastodon.art', 'it's shameful how they're treating the community' https://mastodon.art/@welshpixie/110576560037257542

'I am disappointed in mastodon.art' https://archive.ph/pMiRN

Calling me a liar/deceitful/manipulative https://archive.ph/uWgtQ#selection-2151.0-2151.93 In the same thread as 'i'm punished for being open and honest', saying 'and they blocked the entire admin community'

https://mastodon.art/@welshpixie/110618527857662981

And ending with claiming you're speaking the truth again: 'I can't do anything but clarify my position and speak the truth'

Questioning my rationality https://universeodon.com/@supernovae/110792017979976143, https://web.archive.org/web/20230723005724/https://universeodon.com/@supernovae/110752423959362422, 'I still chose to be a rational person' https://archive.ph/1O2zI

Questioning my credibility 'bad admin', 'defederated me on lies', spread lies' https://archive.ph/1O2zI

Saying I abuse my power https://archive.ph/w34Av

Questioning my health and 'normality' “this beef that mastodon.art wages is not normal. It's not healthy” https://ghostarchive.org/archive/nN92o?wr=false

Disgracing me https://mastodon.art/@welshpixie/110612692782940469 

Blaming me for your actions Accusing ME of the mstdn.social defed: https://mastodon.art/@welshpixie/110618244376288511 (the OP is gone but the preview is there) https://mastodon.art/@welshpixie/110622507795240380

Threatening me/Punishing me for stepping out of line Stux punishing me: https://mstdn.social/@stux/110577241910599246 https://archive.ph/32wnl

Calling me toxic and saying I'm happily inciting violence, holding me responsible for other people sending death threats and threatening to dox: https://mastodon.art/@welshpixie/110624074405406421

Most (all, maybe, considering Byron has deleted everything from his account older than a week or so ago and there aren't archives of much of it) of those posts are all from the first week that .art announced defederating Universeodon, and that behaviour continued from then until this week.

Whenever Byron spoke about .art, it would be with that misogynistic framing, calling for 'rationality' as if I had been irrational to that point, calling for punishment for .art (me). A month of misogyny whenever Byron brought it up, and he brought it up a lot, finding anyone talking about the situation and inserting himself into the discussions to keep driving the point home that he's just a rational, responsible, big smart man and I'm an irrational, irresponsible, small silly woman that needed putting in her place so that he could get back to doing all this Important Man Business without silly little me getting in his way.

Part 2: DARVO, gaslighting, and abuser tactics

The fedi-admin Discord I'm in is a big group of mods and admins from servers whose principles align with .art, and we use the space for discussing blocks, getting feedback on community things, moderation issues, tech issues, keeping an eye on potentially problematic behaviour, and just generally communicating and supporting each other. It's a room full of predominantly marginalised voices, and as such communities go, many of us have faced some form of abuse and/or persecution to varying degrees because of who we are.

Seeing the situation with Stux and Byron unfolding, we moved discussion of it into its own thread, to keep our main channels easier to navigate. Over the past month, that thread pretty literally turned into a support group as many of us started identifying behaviour that made us feel uncomfortable, and triggered, and we'd have to check in with the other people there for validation.

It became clear to us pretty quickly that Byron was displaying abuser tactics in his conversations with people, and a bunch of us watching it were reminded of previous abusive relationships or scenarios we'd been in, recognising patterns of behaviour that were used to manipulate us and control the narrative while turning others against us.

This includes me. I've been stalked, and I've been in (non-physically) abusive relationships. I am unfortunately familiar with these techniques, as I have had them used against me.

DARVO is an acronym for “deny, attack, and reverse victim and offender” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/DARVO). It's a common tactic used by abusers, that includes gaslighting (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gaslighting , 'an individual's perception of reality is repeatedly undermined or questioned by another person) .

DARVO can take the form of calling into question the other victim's credibility while asserting your own credibility over theirs, accusing the victim of lying while stating that you're telling the truth, denying the things you were accused of while blaming the victim for things, calling the victim the offender while taking on the role of victim, and attacking the victim.

https://archive.ph/uWgtQ

This thread is rife with DARVO and gaslighting;

Accusing me of lying: “I'm disappointed / I'm extremely disappointed”, “used in a [...] intentionally deceitful context”

Lies/abusing power: “Their style of moderation is control”

Lies: “People on .art have 0 agency and it creates an environment of fear”

Playing the victim while gaslighting (.art is the one creating safe spaces while many see Byron's actions as creating unsafe spaces): “What kind of people do that to other admins who are openly trying to make things better and talking with admins in a “Safe space” to do so?”

Accusing .art of perpetuating fear: “and why would artists flock to a site that perpetuates such fear? “

RVO: “Can you not see how shitty their behavior is?”

Accusing me of lying: “not writing some bs blog of half truths they cherry picked to fit their own agenda”

Lying about me: “they blocked the entire admin community”

RVO, gaslighting: “ i felt it was about time to call abuse when i see it”

Lying about me: “They took advantage of the mastodon branding, got listed on joinmastodon during twitter waves – then took offense and mocked everything about mastodon and the developers and have gone on a defederation tirade built on lies “

Putting me in my place: “and not let them get away with their shenanigans “

Saying he's telling the truth: “I can't do anything but clarify my position and speak the truth. I spoke it.”

https://ghostarchive.org/archive/nN92o?wr=false

Attack: “this beef that mastodon.art wages is not normal. It's not healthy and it existed long before universeodon did”

RVO: “It was .art that made a blog and broke the connections of consenting folks for no reasons other than personal attacks against me based on heresy.”

Lies, RVO: “the entire instance is moderated to control what is on local and that means every post you make when you think you're talking to your audience is limited/controlled and has to follow the rules of their iron fist moderation of local.”

RVO: 'People are afraid. I just won’t speak for them. Admins are “afraid” – it’s why i’m speaking up.”

RVO: “I’d never open an account there knowing how untrustworthy and disrespectful they are.”

RVO, putting me in my place: “For too long people let them scream and abuse other admins for fear of rocking the boat – they have been able to frustrate and shame people and mock admins for lies for too long.”

Putting me in my place: “i’m just done beating around the bush and calling bullshit when i see it.”

RVO (also double standards, doesn't apply this to Stux) “what would you do if some asshole admin decided to sever all your relationships?”

“It’s probably why they want to ban me because i see all their bullshit”

Double standard, he's allowed to do this but not me: “I have enough dignity for myself and respect for others that I let people have their own opinions or defend them themselves.”

Superior to me: “I find it all absurd and childish”

https://archive.ph/3VA1z

Credibility: “They have no clue what they're talking about.”

Holding a man to a different standard: “i'm just respecting that we have different views and outlooks and that you can hold yours and i can hold mine and we'll both still be who we are.”

~

This all happened in Byron's first response thread to the .art defed. It continued from there. Byron would insert himself into conversations that didn't tag him, presumably by using Universeodon's full text search feature to find people talking about him, and use it as an opportunity to DARVO and gaslight.

This was still going on weeks later. While expressing sentiments like wishing it would all be over, he'd bring it up again himself, blame me for harassment he was receiving while (despite being asked many times by many people) never showing evidence of his continued harassment. Often, the moment someone asked for receipts so that they could do their due diligence as admins, he would either stop responding to the conversation, or block them.

Many, many admins tried to engage with him from a position of good faith and open-ness to either figure out what he wanted so that he'd back down, or to see receipts so that I could properly be held accountable for any harm I was doing or so that I could moderate any harm coming from the .art community. This was always, without fail, met with Byron skirting the subject, DARVO-ing, gaslighting, more lying, shifting the focus, reframing the questions, and never answering anything directly, eventually either stopping responding, or blocking.

See https://archive.ph/y1446 for a perfect example of this, where he is asked with an abundance of kindness and compassion to please share the receipts, and he constantly tries shifting the subject and changing the focus of the discussion, until he just stops responding at all.

I also recommend reading the footnote #9 at https://privacy.thenexus.today/should-the-fediverse-welcome-surveillance-capitalism/#fn9 which has loads of receipts.

Eventually, one of the white guys in our admin group tried to reason with Byron in DM, meet him on his privilege level. What he wanted (and he had brought this up before) was for .art to remove 'the blog post' (the dotART defederation announcement, that listed a few direct links to Byron's posts and explained that their content made us feel unsafe federating with Universeodon; it was very simple, straightforward, 'we're defederating, here's a list of reasons' post) because it was 'responsible for his continued harassment' and 'all his problems started with that blog post'.

Byron's problems actually started many days before that blog post, when he posted asking for contacts at Meta, then posted about reaching out to Meta, and then posted that he was attending a meeting with Meta (see https://writer.oliphant.social/oliphant/defederating-universeodon, Article 4, Gaslighting).

Asking me to take the blog post down – a blog post that does not, in any way, incite violence and is simply an announcement for our users and for Universeodon users to be aware of our actions – is 'the woman needs to know her place' and is tantamount to abusers holding power.

Conclusion

The fediverse – a network of social media platforms without one big tech company or a board room of white guys in suits or a dickhead egotistical billionaire controlling everything – by its very nature challenges the status quo. White guys who are used to being in control, who are used to waving their privilege dicks around and everyone else getting the fuck out of the way while they indulge in their incessant and continuous mutual ego-stroking, are running into people who don't give a shit about them or their supposed Place In Society, but now instead of having to 'like it or lump it', we're able to do something; we're able to opt out and continue our lives without them in the conversation.

That must sting something fierce. Imagine having gotten your way, having everything laid out for you, having a free pass to coast friction-free along whichever path you chose, for your whole life and suddenly that grinds to a halt and you're told 'No.' by some dinky 5'1 girl from a tiny village nobody's heard of in whatever-the-fuck that little sticky out bit of land next to England is, and she's standing there in front of you with her hands on her hips emanating 'You Shall Not Pass' vibes, and you realise in a moment of abject confusion that you're the Balrog?

This has been a month rife with your shitty misogyny and your shitty gaslighting and your shitty DARVO not just to me but to all the people, my friends, who tried to call you out on it, tried to get you to stop, tried to get you to stop behaving so damned petulantly, to stop victim blaming , to stop sealioning, who put themselves in harms way to try to show you what you were doing, how you were being, how you were abusing, to stop triggering all of us with your gross slimy abuser tactics, and it never happened.

Your narrative, your approach, through all of it, was to stand on your soapbox going 'Look at her! Look at the woman, the nasty woman! Look at how shameful she's being! How irrational! Look at how she manipulates, how she deceives! Woe is me! Woe is me, for she tries to dishonour me with her sinful ways! Do you not see? The nasty woman!'.

While the people who recognised your abuse were trying to call you out and make you stop, far too many of the other white guys in the house were standing up, applauding, jeering at me from the sidelines, buying into and feeding your narrative, coddling your poor hurt cashmere-wrapped feelings instead of growing backbones and calling you out for your blatant misogyny and harassment.

It was a shit time, full of migraines and anxiety, of breaking out in a heart-pounding sweat whenever someone linked me to one of your posts, of being reminded of past things I wanted to forget, of fucking Men being Men being Men being Men wanting to subjugate and dominate and being despicable in their means of dismissing me, of lying, of twisting the narrative like a knife in my ribs at every fucking opportunity, for four long-ass weeks, all because you couldn't deal with a woman telling you, No.

CW: underage, teacher-student, dub-con, porny-scifi, inaccurate/forced transition discussion

I could use some help for this. Ala some of the GSS greats I am doing a gender swap version of a subplot of this story in Chapters 9, 12, 14 of student teacher affair in a world being filled and altered by Body Shifters – cum needy shapeshifters who seduce men by deed and then chemical and psychological domination and deceit – changed into an MLM version of the storythread with a fuckboy student who ends up seducing and corrupting his human-turned-shifter teacher.

My issue is either the student needs to be into men and so she turns he to fulfill him and get his seed (simplest) OR the teacher is already a dude but just undercover, as the female version, about her transformation into a cum feeding lust blolb and then shapeshifting to accommodate a gay boy in a world where het-sex fantasy caterers are ten to a penny.

One big thing is in the 1st instance, the inciting incident that triggers the spiral of an affair by revealing herself to her student, is the student smelling the lady teacher's perfume while in her old body, this arouses him, which she senses, and thus unconsciously but flagrantly shifts to entice him. He notices and so starts takes the lead, dominating her, knowing her shifter instincts and nature will make her override any objections or other concerns to feed on his cum and be used by her. This will not work if the boy into .. well dudes and she is in female form. If the teacher is already a dude it might work but that needs more thought into the change of the story, narrative, and characterization. Either way a change in name.

A key part is the dramatic guilt and growing desire for the boy and loathing of herself and her infidelity and perfidy

I have some parts/adjusts already written out in a very rough and incomplete edit/adjustment

Not sure if should keep the “Caterill/a” (singular/plural) change to “Shifter” but felt like an idea to free things up or at least mark where gone over changes. Was simple to do...

If care to, read and reply and advise

CHAPTER 9: Sarah's difficult student.

* * *

Sarah chose to have a quiet afternoon in class, by having the students read a chapter from the book while she marked their homework.

“Question fourteen, the answer is D, Robert Owen in 1817,” she thought to herself as she marked a student down, before realizingrealising that she hadn't opened her teacher's edition onto the correct page yet.

Instead of looking it up, she reached over and opened the book to page 103 and found the official answer.

1. (D) Robert Owen, 1817.

“How did she know that?” she wondered as she looked back at the student's homework, looking for a clue. she then looked away, closed my eyes for a second and quietly said to myself: “Twenty-three, My Dark Rosaleen by James Clarence Mangan, answer is... A?”

She looked back at the teacher's edition, turned the page and read the official answer.

1. (A) My Dark Rosaleen, James Mangan (1803 – 1849).

“How the fuck did I know that?”

She played this game a few more times with random sections of the book before concluding that as a Caterilla, she now has a phenomenal memory. She was able to recall, in an instant, every line of every page.

In fact, as she sat there glancing over the homework, and she could instantly recall what answers each student had given for their homework since the start of term! Thinking it over for another second a hidden correlation the class came into focus.

There. Billy, male, arrogant, and young enough to have reached puberty after the arrival of Caterilla kind. A man that grew up in a world full of sperm-chasing Caterilla, never having known rejection or insecurity, and brought up to see women as nothing more than objects that would do his bidding.

Most memorable because, in a fit of hormone driven anger, she'd throw a textbook at him earlier in the academic year.

He deserved it.

Ah but in the other corner was Sally. Thin, quite tall, and athletic. In Sarah's school days she would be the campus social life sought and followed and selecting. But now, here, today, there was a point nine-seven probability that she was the source of Billy's written work.

How had this perversity happen to her? Ah, that much was easy to understand: Sex. He'd hung the promise of actual attention and loving over her virgin shoulders. Like she was the sick craven troll he could demand service as his birthright.

“Should I tell her parents?”

She considered. No, they probably already knew (or were even helping). Grandchildren needed motivation for anyone nowadays.

She wanted to tackle the perpetrator, legitimately.

Make him stay.

Later she could go off at him. In private

This time she would break his smugness.

* * *

I closed the classroom door after the last student had left. I'd heard the corridor outside start to clear of people as the halls echoed then quieted. No interference. I turned and looked at Billy. His smirk, baseball cap, and high school sports jacket hung loosely over a middling tall, slender, teenage buck.

“So what can I do for you?” he said ending with a grin as he leaned back on his chair.

I took the offensive, picked up sheetand adjusted my wire-frames on my nose, remembering to squint then blink before I chose put him on the spot: “Who was your last homework essay about?”

He slinked up soles to the floor narrowed his eyes as lips flattened and brow furrowed, “That guy, Scottish, Burns.” My ears caught the swallowing after his statement.

The smile on my own face put the fawn's prior to shame, “Wasn't that the topic from the week before?”

Billy temples reddened as creases dampened. I had no intention of letting him cheat me, my class. He sat rigid, nostrils increasing in aperture. He was calculating what he was about to get and what, if anything, he could do about it.

I stood in front of him, close, arms folded, eye-teeth glinting at my catch of the worm. Looking down over him, he was quivering in form, especially the neck even as tried to tighten cheeks into a jaw. He knew I would make him suffer for his bratty arrogance.

Billy looked up at me, I wondered if he was about to attempt an appeal, when an important mistake was made. I'd gotten close enough that he could smell my perfume.

* * *

Step backwards some

You have to understand, that admitting you're a Caterill in the workplace is the same as asking for a pay cut. Or, if like me you're only hanging on to your job with your fingernails, I could be fired on the spot.

It had helped that I hadn't been one for more than 2 years and moved in with the recent staffing crisis.

I was wearing my “old” body to class, like work uniform I kept around just to make dresscode. I still looked like the same middle aged, slightly round English teacher that everybody had come to expect since I started working here.

I looked maybe a little trimmer than my old human self, but had to minimise my Caterill nature at work. But its your whole body. Not just in your head. My enhanced memory and panic interacted to make me recollect when I'd learned. How I'd come to this infidel route.

“Are you absolutely sure this is your wife?” asked the thirty something female doctor, looking across her dark mahogany desk

“We've been down this road before!” he held my hand tightly, “this is definitely My Sarah.”

“You're sure of that? Our tests show that she has Shifter cells!”

“We have a system,” the voice I've know as my better half for 6 years answered defiantly. He was angry at the dismissal or his mind. I was stuck between rage, horror, and despair.

The doctor took a moment to consider the situation, leaning back on the dark leather of the office chair, took another inquisitive look at us.

“Very well then. Your. . . wife- Sarah – seems to have contracted the metamorphic ability of the Caterilla.”

I demanded an explanation, somehow. I needed his arm so so badly then.

“How much do you know about their physiology?”

“Just what is on TV” one of us replied.

The doctor smiled. I shook and began to hum-whine as my legs scraped each other and shoes the floor.

“Despite all this time, the complete process and breath behind their shape shifting is still being research,” the doctor explained. “But we do know that it happens on the cellular level and involves cell machinery and behavior quite different from our own. . ” the professional continued and those exceptional unlike muscle or brain but both and neither absorbed. I didn't know that then, only later would they be using what they learned, taught me, shared and weaved into my stream of thought now.

They-We have the ability to select particular gene sequences, and implement them any time they like.

“Like a computer choosing to run different programs” my spouse's voice hadn't sounded that sure. His biological knowledge could be put on notecard and leave more room than started.

While in fixed state Caterpilla have the organs; respiratory, nervous, digestive, reproductive systems, a lifeform would need for the shape in their intelligence is not located inside their human brains, but that part of vestigal or possibly invisible, some speculated quantum entangling one, spread out throughout their bodies. Any part of our bodies can develop to want, think, need. But to not become metastasized we link within a form. Like a band

A symphony of me. Each member with need, specific pitch, want, tempo, and so.

In cooperation like a hive or colony this or these minds are perfectly adapting. Capable in any environment and situation.

An almost intelligent design if you will, except for our one true flaw.”

The doctor's voice came to my current attention, “unlike our own, lack the ability to repair and maintain DNA as it decays naturally over time. Instead they must rely on other creatures to provide this vital material, and have to form a symbiotic relationship with another species simply to survive. Specifically, they need the pre-Meiosis DNA found in reproductive material.”

No. I'd worked so hard. Been so good. I couldn't.. I wouldn't let this happen. I wouldn't metamorphise to fulfill HIM of all things.

“You've had close contact with Shifters. Close… physical contact. Exchanged the richest body fluids, yes?” the doctors voice was curious but not questioning. The Shifter cells abilities getting the better of her, ME.

I was now the one under pressure as I sensed him getting aroused at this close contact. I should back away, I knew, but even as I moved, my grey sweater gave me away by unbuttoning itself and revealing a shadow of … pec?

I sensed the energy of Billy's reaction flow over me, which in turn started a chain reaction of exposure and resculpting flesh.

Billy smiled at my sudden yet pleasing transformation, before looking over my catering form and then staring intently into his eyes. MY eyes. Perfect. Trembling. Eyes

“You're pretty smart...” Billy started, as he leant forward. My lips whispered as my brain fought my minds, arms handing, 'clothing' spilling down and off into shapes his body heat, heartbeat, smell and.. aura responded more and more to.

My mind fighting fearful. My traitorous body opening, baring. Excited.

“You know what I tell smart, baggy, bitchy women to do,” he outdid my predatory smile with an open sharp mouth, enjoying the moment. “...I make them my perfect cockwhote.”

I stood there. Wanting him told off.

“Tell him that he shouldn't treat people like that.”

He shouldn't seduce a teacher with his intense boundless he-energy. Not to women. Especially not to me.

I couldn't stand against it.

I landed on my hands, face down on my knees, surprised as much as anyone that I was now face to face with his brown felt shoes.. But at ease when my mind relaxed, just alittle to accept the loss of not having to struggle physically just against the feelings, the thoughts to keep in place of the tide and undertow. My tongue extended out from past my lips tickles before elongating and lapping at his Lugz. It felt so natural to reach gently shine out his fuzzy footwear hard and hold my hands as the small of my back.

I/Shifter Me was enthralled eager to show him all the stuff I'd learnt from Sam and practiced on my spouse. I touche the tip up under his pant cuff past smooth men's silken sock to calf-skinopened my perfect mouth and let my long pink tongue stretch out and gently circle against the narrow but turgid end of his leg, tasting another man for the first time since my re-birth..

Playfully I followed through by stretching out up against the other leg, eyes wide more, as I coiled my wet slimy tongue up along his shaft all up along the way to his inner thighs, rough thick fingers with short nails tickled from middle seat of his pants beneath the taint to the balls at his crotch. My nostrils tickles as the burning on my skin added weight that drowned the objecting figment of my married wife self under the turmbulent squalling cockwhore sea of desire.

Once I felt him secure in my embrace, I had the irresistible urge to hook his waistband from underneath pull back and down with my outstretched tongue and smoothly pants him before snapping my mouth shut. Enjoying the feeling of the thrill and surprise along with surge in aggression as the remaining indepent length worked his pants down to his ankles to a spill to join twining the other while now digging down to under his sock to his soul

That final act had subsumed her entirely to HIM. Not even stung. They could each taste his feet still.

A mere distraction to the flood of their nostrils. Billy's pubic scent and the sight even behind speckled tightly worn pair off panties. Sarah was so overthrown she couldn't even make HIS whiskered mouth smirk. But both's heart, seized at one at the sight and anticipation of the feast.fingers grasped and dug about atop the youth's knees. Nosing deeply snorting like boar for feed. Even as the finely heavy full bristles tickled and drew, parted and cut at the undercloth the play had worked.

Billy didn't notice the telltale red raises spots on his skin or understand the rush of liquid excitement to where HE licked and mouthed and tore cloth and soon suckled was more than just man's blood rising his member.

“That's the last time you give me a hard time in class b-buh biiiiitch,” he declared as palm out brow fingers bent to dig into the dark highlighted auburn hair of his once teacher not servant. His vision sharpened along with the absolute NEED to drive into this bitch.

“Uhhhh,” HE thrummed, rumbling his throat and lower jaw as length and scrotum held and massaged them.

“I told her . . . I'd fuck her . . uh...at uh – prom,” he panted. Who? No need. Serve. Excited. FEED.

All else largely forgotten in a sperm induced haze.

* * *

I sat there alone, barely blinking. Trying hopelessly to reconcile my love for my husband with my new found lusts and body. I cursed the closeted teen. Speculation on what about queers had been bubbling, not on the primetime news. No too disturbing in this man fantasy on earth. Now I had found out, personally witnessed. I was a regular Lara Croft.

But even as I thought about it I realised how stupid the idea was. It wasn't him; it was me, this body. The taste of his sperm affected this Caterilla body in ways I was now only beginning to understand.

It's so hard to control it, now that Gary is refusing me. Resisting my milk. I he'd caught me on the fourth attempt to sneak into his drinks. It was torture.

“We can't be sure how much is TOO much exposure. Suffice to say you'll need to...limit contact, until we know how to mitigate the...replacement rate and hope not spread.”

Sex was the key. I needed sex. With him. Then I could reshape to his ideal, my newer curvery, toned, beefy, hot self. ARGH

There was no way it could work. CockWhore was within. I wanted both Husband and my master. No, stop, I mean my student. NO I don't want my student.

I

His words ran through my mind, clear as day in my impeccable memory.

“I told her . . . I'd fuck her. . . at ... prom,” he that gasping harsh throaty rushing sound of his voice. Made me hard. UGH Nips.. hurt. Good god too.. much.

My mind even without Cockwhore in full control wasn't in mine. It drew and ran and perculated. All along the lines of what drew out and heard and saw with senses shaper and deeper than any woman's or mans. My thoughts tried to go to lazy Sundays, cleaning schedules, days of comfort after diagnosis. But the arms at my shoulders weren't old but not unfamiliar. Imaginarily pinning a phantom down over a classroom desk. Billy's rough hands groping heavy at the hard nipples. A hollow rapturous cry.

I shuddered looking at the thin slightly colored discharge on my desk. I leaned in, blinking, cones and rods readjusting focusing, optic nerves rewiring. Whatever came out of from the length between my fingers it had not sperm. I knew that as much as I knew were my knee was or I was no longer female. Human

The discharge seems to spread, diffuse and then sink ,soon though could see microscopic sratches and grain and mites...not the watery emission. My chest heaved.

I stood up and looked at my reflection in the dark classroom glass, and saw me. I think I could draw some concept of where from. The Paper Towel mascot, the older one before the Caterpilla made society not even try to not promote females as models and mascots. Well things that *looked* female.

I blushed reddened cheeks visible under my brown russet highlted full beard. I had a sturdy solid body but hair that seemed more perfect than could be possible without hours of treatments. It was bristly and smooth up the jawline connecting through my sideburns, I had SIDEBURNS, to my hair. It even performed a slight change in tone, attractive in the right light but in common acceptable, not directly drawing attention.

The face smiled, frowned, furrowed, and went through the gamut but never looked much softer. I glanced to my arms, no rough parts or stretch marks. Solid, no flab, carveds I seemed to pump or deepen my cut with each move. I focused, invisible line over my skin became light then heavy red brown hair. Then fur. Woman, I was wondering if man or ape. The idead of being so primal. Beast moistened my mouth and made my guts churn. My nails were strong and thick but even.

A glitter at the side made me look to my shadowed reflection and turn my head. I had tiny green bead piercings in each lobe but a small but thick gauge hoop on one ear. The back of my head wasn't a mullet but some decorative style at the ends to a bare enough neck, no fat and lips, just strong muscle, skin and peppering of hairs that seems to form a pattern that I felt my eyes shifting to catch right. I wasn't sure if below my collar it was growing or moving. And a human likely couldn't hope to without being caught.

I was dreading this. For my Mesomorphic build and rectangular frame I was bigger in one comparison to the “work outfit”

“Damn, gay are straight why like them so...big”

They were fat, solid and extended out but how fitted in the open clutching sides of my sprung open flannel through the easily unconcealing white tee where muscle tits of Cockwhore. They were more turgid but felt simulataneously hard stopping me but pressing outward. And the nipples. I didn't lean aagainst the window to not leave a hairline.

I could bounce, suck them in widen them, they liked, felt happier flat but didn't dislike puffing out. And with a pinch I found could still squeeze out my magic milk through my shirt into my hand and...oh

I rubbed it then brought to my sharp narrow nose. Then I peered as the 'milk' faded, leaving my hands no wetter than lotion or oil. It was most like the fluid I'd ejaculated just now. My throat drew up and down.

Looking over to Billy's desk I spotted a half empty bottle of mineral water, sitting upright and discarded.

I realised why Billy had been so .. overt, forceful, unguarded. I'd been dousing him with...IT. I didn't know know. My human brain wasn't equiped. But the Caterpill flesh, the attuned, adaptive, catering glands, and sniffers and thinking cells. They'd been faithful to their mission. Their directive. To help get me a supplier. One that would FORCE his sperm into me. While I forced my milk, venom, or musk into him. OR anything I could. Tainting them. Turning them. Slowly stripping them of the wrapping about the maniac beast within all mankind.

Its why he kept babbling, kept going. And to the end his eyes been. FULL of something besides consciousness. Or lust. Or desire. Something primal and alien at the same time. Soaking into his cerebral fluids. Rushing through his blood, saturating his fat cooking loose then broiling hard the bones and muscle.

Sarah was once again in her classroom, writing the headline of today's study topic on the whiteboard. To keep her identity as a Body Caterilla a secret, Sarah had changed back to her old human form. But these days she walked with a spring in her step and a happy contented smile on her face.

There was a snigger from the back. One of the boys must have whispered something silly. Perhaps it was Billy joking again about his latest conquest.

Sarah turned around to look at the class and was surprised to see worried faces on two of the girls up front. They were staring past her at the whiteboard, looking worried by what they saw.

“It's not that hard,” Sarah muttered to herself as she turned around and looked for herself.

“Fuck Me Senseless!” was written on the board in Sarah's own handwriting.

That was my “oh crap” moment.

A quick wipe with the eraser, and I was writing the title again. “Just keep calm, Sarah” I said quietly to myself, wondering if I was going crazy or if my Caterilla body was rebelling again.

“H... e... mm... i... n... g... way,” I spelled on the board, mouthing every vocal to make sure that my traitorous hand wrote it properly.

I looked back at the class as if nothing had happened, only to see one of the shocked girls shake her head and point at the whiteboard in horror.

So I looked back. “I want to taste your CUM,” the board demanded, again in my careful scrawl.

“Oh shit,” I mouthed much louder this time, as I cleaned the board with another flick of my eraser. But it was too late. I could feel my dress tightening up around my slimming legs, while the cotton in my shirt was gradually transforming itself into silky lingerie.

Slowly I turned around, my folded arms covering my growing and partially exposed bosom, my face questioning how I could brush over this now very public infraction.

But to my surprise almost all of my students were suddenly gone, and all that remained was Billy, sitting alone in the centre of the room surrounded by now empty chairs.

I heard the door to the classroom close itself quietly on a spring. Departing student footsteps could be heard down the hallway.

“Still thinking of me?” Billy asked rhetorically, drawing my attention back towards him, as he looked me over.

“Let's not do this,” I suggested plainly, raising both my eyebrows and slowly shaking my head. My folded arms were slowly being prised apart by the weight of my expanding breasts.

Billy stood up and smiled. “How are my grades doing?”

I backed away at his advance, my withdrawal suddenly blocked by the profanity stained whiteboard to my back.

“How many more 'A' grades do you want?” I pleaded, as I felt his aura of arousal envelop me. “You've stopped turning in your homework, I've started writing your essays for you.” By this point I was talking quickly and pretty much begging him to stop.

My shoes by this point had for the most part turned themselves into leather stiletto boots. Smooth black points slowly extended from my heels, forcing my curvaceous ass to slide upwards along the cold white plastic board.

He was close enough now I could feel his muscles grow. I noticed he was better dressed than before. That ugly sports cap he used to wear was gone, and now I saw a head full of hair, full of body, his face one of alpha masculinity.

I studied his jaw line, his lips, that way he looked into my eyes.

“None of that matters because I own you,” he explained, his hand running over my ear and down along my blond curly hair.

“No I...” I stammered, as my nipples hardened through silky lingerie, reaching out and touching his waiting hand.

“What are you?” he asked with a devious smile as he pinched the top of my ultra sensitive nipple.

“I'm your teacher,” I squeaked, my body shivering in anticipated pleasure.

“What are you really?” he whispered directly into my ear, as my hand brushed its way upwards along the inside of his leg.

“I'm your slave,” I corrected myself. My fingers having found his hardened member, pressed tightly against his trousers.

“What does my slave want?”

“I want you to take me,” I acknowledged. “To pin me up against this wall and fill me up with your sweet precious cum.”

“Good, let's keep it that way” he smiled, suddenly backing away and turning towards his desk.

I was in heat. My enlarged breasts roaring with anticipation, and he was turning his back on me? My mouth was wide open in shock, as Billy walked to his desk to grab his rucksack.

I was nothing to this man, not even a polite fuck. I was to be kept on a leash, to do his bidding, to serve him like many others.

I felt a dark anger grow inside of me. What arrogance, I was worth more than this. If I was a slave to his cock, then he would be a slave to my needs. My dark thoughts were matched by darker drops that appeared on my white lingerie, like black ink poured on pure white paper.

My leather stiletto boots grew dark and shiny, like an evil second latex skin that flowed upwards over my knees. My right hand pointed downwards, fingers grouping together, growing longer, shinier and gaining flexibility. Forming a long black slimy rope, that reached the floor and trailed behind me as I walked.

“I didn't say you could go,” I insisted firmly as he paused on the way to the classroom door.

He turned around in surprise, either at my new attire or attitude.

“You can't leave until I'm satisfied,” I insisted, as I twirled my whip and expertly cracked it against his left buttock.

“What the fuck slave that hurt!” he squealed as he recoiled in pain, his hand instinctively covering the point of impact.

I extended my whip in length, and with one quick motion swung it forwards and coiled it around his legs. A single forceful pull knocked him over and dragged him back over to me.

The slimy whip coiled upwards around his knees, as I stepped over him with my sharp stiletto heels. He pulled his hand back from the floor at the last moment, to avoid having it impaled on my heel.

“Perhaps you were mistaken,” I suggested forcefully, staring down at him as he got a view of my black plastic dress actively splitting open in the middle. “My clit is hungry, and you're going to please me.”

“You can't do this to me,” he insisted as my slimy black rope whip moved up around his torso, immobilizing both his arms completely.

“You are now my cum-slave,” I insisted as my ropes tightened, causing him intentional discomfort and emphasizing my domination over him. “You will please me, or I'm going to squeeze every last drop of sperm out of your good-for-nothing-else-cock.”

He squirmed helplessly, as I fell to my knees and lowered my wet vagina over his face. Instinctively my body released a cloud of powerful pheromones, which he was forced to inhale.

He turned his head away, still resisting my erotic onslaught.

I playfully ran my fingers through his hair, as my slimy clit engorged itself ready for his attention. But I was impatient, so I followed up by grabbing his head and forcing it inside of me.

I shuddered as he squirmed between my legs. A moment later I allowed him to emerge and gasp for air. His face now covered in my sweet sticky fluid, tasting me for the first time, his body quickly adsorbing my aphrodisiac ladened lubricant.

His eyes rolled backwards for a moment, as my magic took effect.

In a few moments I leaned forwards and relaxed into him and felt his willing tongue touch my wet insides. My body shivered in expectation.

* * *

It was dark. Samantha squirmed from somewhere between my legs. Her distinctive and so familiar purr slowly brought me back to my senses.

I was somewhere else, confused. I allowed my eyes to grow larger so I could see the long black hair moving between my legs and the downstairs living room furniture spread around me in the dark.

I could still feel Billy's tongue sliding around deep inside me, expertly caressing my insides. No that was Samantha's tongue. Had I been dreaming? Sleepwalking again?

“Who is Billy?” Samantha asked, innocently, after carefully withdrawing her tongue.

I blinked back at her in the dark with my oversized eyes. This was compromising. Nobody was allowed to know about my affair with my student.

“You were saying his name when you were whipping me,” Samantha whispered, with a slight sensual moan. “Don't worry, I won't tell” she continued, keen to show her loyalty.

I was angry. I love my husband but Billy was driving me crazy, corrupting me, and haunting my dreams. My Caterilla Body was falling for his poison, and I needed to get it out.

It was then that I knew what I had to do to make it stop.

CHAPTER 14: The Sarah Split

* * *

I ran the projector on the last lesson of the day. I had my students lower the classroom blinds to avoid fading out the image. I asked Billy to stay late so I could talk to him about his pattern of missed homework. Exactly two minutes after the other students had left I checked the hallway for stragglers and silently locked the door.

I'd gotten good at this.

I walked past the classroom of empty chairs, turned on the spot and leant against my desk. I looked over Billy, my one remaining student. He was still sitting, ignorant of my plans, looking down at his phone and occasionally swiping left.

Time passed.

Billy noticed the silence, looked up, then around, then back at me.

I grinned when I saw his startled face. Taking pleasure at the sight of him realizing he was now locked in a room with his Body Caterilla teacher. The one he'd forced to pleasure him, in this very classroom, not more than two months ago.

I'd considered tying him to that chair with a whip, or perhaps growing big muscles, dragging him into the supply room and tearing off his clothes.

That would have been fun, but in the end, I decided that it was best to simply relax and let my Body Caterilla takeover. It knew what he wanted. It knew what to do, and it was going to be so easy.

He watched as my body fat moved north, engorging my chest. My jumper thinned and receded into a thin white bikini that emphasized my rapidly growing legs and barely held up my football sized breasts.

I felt the warm glow of his dick hardening, and confirmed it by glancing between his legs.

He'd clearly gotten the message, stood up, and took the opportunity to run his hand along my now perfectly muscled abs. Without warning he spun me around, pushed me over my desk, reached around and plunged his fingers into my moist vagina.

A moment later I was moaning and begging him to get inside me, which he quickly obliged.

He pumped, I moaned, and contracted my insides around him tightly until he was compelled to pump me with his hot cum.

But if he was expecting me to orgasm, then he was disappointed. I lay silent and motionless on my oversized breasts. Billy, now quite confused tried to pump me a bit more, and then tried rubbing my boobs for a bit, before giving up.

Then came the awkward pause.

“Leave” I commanded, from underneath him, with whatever authority I could muster while my insides were full of his cum.

Billy grunted in acknowledgement, withdrew, fumbled with his trousers, unlocked the classroom door and walked out.

* * *

I was now alone.

The only thing I had to do now was get my overly sexualized body behind the desk to where there was no possibility that I could be seen from outside.

But first I had to convince my body.

I was holding my womb together, holding the warm juicy sperm inwards, willing it not to be absorbed by my hungry shapeshifter body. It resisted me. Made my breasts grow larger. Hair change color. Fingernails lengthen. I felt my legs stretch, and then go numb as I tried to stand until my knees gave way and I fell to the floor.

In my last act of defiance, I used my elongated arms to drag my shape shifting body under and past the desk and roll myself onto my back.

All was quiet. I smiled knowing I was now safe.

I opened my legs and felt a drop of hot cum roll down my ass cheek. Adsorbing it felt amazing. It didn't matter anymore. I extended two elongated fingers inside me and allowed myself to feel the pleasure.

Silencing my moans with my left hand, I circled around my sensitive parts, oh how they were sensitive, and rubbed in the cum, feeling it fizz, sending waves of pleasure around my now oh so willing body.

Then it happened. Something changed. I can't pretend to have thought too much about it at the time, but the orgasms got stronger, longer, overwhelming.

I looked down to see my belly turn to chrome, as slithers of silver started running up my body.

To be honest, I'd seen a couple of Caterilla split videos online, but never in person, and I definitely never considered that it could happen to me. Not until a few months ago at least.

I smiled a silver smile, as I watched my arms become enveloped in chrome. Drops of me began to fall from my fingers onto my breasts as I felt myself become free.

My thoughts became liquid. It was the most relaxing feeling ever as the difference between my head, my legs, even my hair became irrelevant. I was all one being as I gave myself fully, once and for all, to my Body Caterilla consciousness.

* * *

I felt crowded. Instinctively I rolled over and started crawling towards something.

The more I moved the more the chrome slid off me, or into me.

The chrome was fading but my vision remained blurry. I was driven by my sense of smell, which became sharper as I moved.

I could smell a man. Billy. His name came to my lips. It was his chair, and with my desperate hunger I crawled over to it. On my knees I embraced it, and longed for his cum.

Shit, it didn't work. My infatuation with this student was worse than before. I felt my plan to split, to remove his poison, was a fail.

“He's all yours,” said a familiar voice from across the room.

I blinked, my vision quickly returning. I turned to my left and saw for the first time a familiar figure standing behind my desk.

She wore the same shirt and dress I was teaching in less than an hour ago. She had my hair; she had my purse… or was it her purse?

I was scared for a moment. Was she going to challenge me for Billy?

“What do you want?” I demanded, gripping the chair tighter.

“All I want is the love of my husband,” said Sarah with a contented grin, before dropping some cash on the desk for me and leaving.

As she left I became aware that the chrome was fading from my rapidly darkening skin. I stood up, found my reflection, and saw my unfamiliar face for the first time.

Body Caterilla: Sarah's Transformation

CHAPTER 13: Hypnotizing old flames

* * *

Cathy was having a good day.

Her ass, now thick and delightfully rounded, bobbled up and down on Gary's hard cock, each movement pressing him down further onto the soft fabric of his plush office couch.

In theory he was taking her from behind, but she was so far on top of him, and he was so flat on the sofa, that all he could do was reach around her waist or hold her ample behind.

Her eyes were closed, her smile deep and contented, humming a popular tune to herself. Her overstretched Atari T-shirt barely holding back the bouncy movements of her ample cleavage, as her well lubricated pussy massaged his shaft in ways only a shape Caterilla could.

Gary grunted from under her, and Cathy followed by breathing out a soft moan of pleasure as she felt the first drops of Gary's sperm touch her willing womanhood.

Then came another grunt, and he began to cum, for real this time. The first spurt woke her up from her happy trance with a shock. Cathy's eyes blinked wide open, her mouth aghast, as at first pain, followed by immense soul filling pleasure flowed its way up through her body.

Her eyes rolled up in pleasure, her head fell back and suddenly Gary's face was covered by her long jet black hair.

While his hand struggled to free his face, Cathy's womanhood instinctively tightened itself around his cock and started sucking every last drop of his cum.

“I'm sure you should have split by now?” Gary asked, reflecting on his promise to pump her with sperm until she could reproduce and now suspicious at how much of a good time Cathy was having and/or the feeling of being milked.

“Who's suddenly an expert at Body Caterilla physiology?” Cathy asked in a mocking way, looking down at him and holding his dick tighter in her vagina to prove a point.

Gary winced a little at this show of strength.

“For your information, it takes longer, as I started off behind,” she explained, somewhat mischievously, as if talking to a child.

All Gary could do was grunt in passive agreement, as she satisfied herself that she had the last of him and let go, standing up and freeing his manhood with a small pop.

“Perhaps if we did this more often?” Cathy suggested with a small shrug, her shapely legs gaining a darker fabric texture as she reformed her jeans. “But I have to get back to work. You're the one who's got me working on this project 24/7; perhaps you're the one demanding too much?”

Not waiting for a response, Cathy placed a tic-tac in her mouth and left Gary's office with a perky smile on her face.

CHAPTER 10: Target Audience

“Doctor!” shouted the blond paramedic as she raced the stretcher down the white hospital corridor. The female casualty moaning in pain from under a thick thermal blanket.

The hansom male doctor turned around, revealing his dark curly hair and square masculine jaw. He lifted the blanket, to find the injured woman shivering underneath.

She reached out, her slender hand still blue with cold. “Is little Ann going to be OK?” she asked, weakly.

“She'll be fine,” insisted the female paramedic. “You saved her from drowning in that icy lake.” “You're a hero,” she said, comforting comfort the woman before looking back at the doctor with worry.

“No talking, or we're going to lose her,” insisted the doctor, his voice one of concerned professionalism. “Over a quarter of her mass has been frozen. She going to go critical.”

“What do we do?” squeeled the paramedic.

“There's only one thing we can do,” he insisted as he unzipped his flies and pulled out his large member, rubbing it solidly with his large hands.

“Of course,” she realised weakly before unzipping her thick high visibility jacket to reveal her pert C cup breasts underneath.

Eager to help, she began rubbing his member between her supple breasts, making him harder and quickly bringing him to orgasm.

He turned and started spraying strong jets of semen over the patients exposed body, before forcing the last of his spurt into her open mouth.

She almost choaked, weak as she was, at the sudden intrusion into her airways. But then, slowly at first, she started to suckle on the life giving juices.

The patients skin began to bubble and fizz under the layers of sticky white liquid, as her body started adsorbing it, bringing new life.

“It's working!” the paramedic exclaimed, her milky white teeth gleaming with joy.

* * *

TV had gotten strange as of late, Gary considered as he watched yet another apparently sensible program decend into multiple pornagraphic plot lines.

He'd lost interest in the show after a nurse walked in and was offended by her lesbian lover sexing the good doctor, before being convinced to join in herself. Moments later the patient herself was apparently healthy enough to execute a four way.

It wasn't the sex that made Gary uneasy, it was the camera work. How even though there were multiple beauty's in the scene, it was only the doctor that stayed in focus. A character who'd been working hard to remain credible in a woman dominated profession, now being milked in pure fan service.

Gary wanted to change channel, to see how his football team were doing, but Sarah was captivated. Watching the show intently from her position on his lap under his right arm.

Samantha, their live-in Caterilla maid, walked into the living room carrying a fully ladened tray of snacks with two hands. In another hand were some glasses filled with Cola, and another held a freshly baked pizza on a large plate.

Gary had long ago given up trying to keep track of what she does with all those arms of hers.

After carefully placing everything onto the coffee table, Samantha covered a nacho with guacamole and took her place beside him on the soft leather sofa.

The TV switched to a commercial break, causing Sarah to turn her attention to the pizza. She licked her soft red lips, picked up a slice with her soft feminine hands, and started feeding it carefully to her husband.

Gary didn't know why she'd started doing this lately. When asked, Sarah always insisted that it just felt like the natural thing to do, that it brought them closer together.

By now Samantha had grown bored of the natcho. It's spicy flavour not registering well on her Caterilla pallet, instead tasting bland and hollow.

As an alternative, she smoothly ran a hand inside of Gary's trouser band and gently wrapped her long feminine fingers around his cock.

“Do you mind?” she asked suggestivly, as his member grew quickly in her soft grasp.

Gary mumbled something in reply, his mouth full of hot food as it was, as Samantha carefully removed his hardened member from its now inadequate confines.

It stood to attention, impressive in size, resilience and most of all output. The product of regular exercise, a vitamin enriched diet and the secret infusions of that mysterious Caterilla milk, added daily to his diet without his knowledge.

Samantha quickly inserted the proud member into her mouth, and expertly massaged his manhood with her lips and tounge. Once satisfied at his level of arousal, she began forcing herself all the way down his rod until his tip became snugly embedded into her deep wet throat.

“Splunkaid” announced the TV commercial. “That refreshing semen taste, for that special lady.”

“Doesn't actually contain any sperm,” insisted Sarah in disgust, as she took a sip on the Cola anyway.

Gary on the other hand immediatly spat out the Cola he'd been drinking, only now recognising the source of that unfamiliar taste in his own mouth.

Looking back at the ad, it became apparent that he wasn't the target audience for this product.

At this moment in time 98% of the population were made up of Caterilla

CHAPTER 12: Turning To the Dark Side

* * *

The family had just been to the zoo.

Their little boy was happy but exhausted, sleeping peacefully in his pushchair as the group walked through the strip mall to their car. It was late enough on a Sunday for all the shops to be closed, but that didn't discourage the girls.

“We haven't gone shopping in ages,” smiled his girlfriend/live in maid Samantha as she skipped out ahead to take a look through the window of a fashion store. Her beautiful Caterilla eyes staring intently through the clear glass at the no expenses spared mannequins, frozen in time, adorned with the latest fashions.

Samantha stepped back, looking somewhat pleased with herself as she began a perfect ballerina twirl, with a long red dress materializing around her.

“What do you think?” she asked, winking one eye while revealing a leg in a most erotic manner.

“Red really is your color,” complemented Gary with a big smile on his face. Appreciating how she looked amazing, but pretty much how she always looked amazing.

Taking his eyes off the beauty for a moment, Gary turned to see his wife Sarah staring into the thick reinforced security glass of a fancy looking jewelry store.

She looked absolutely engrossed by the diamond encrusted gold ring that took centre stage on the display. Gary didn't know anything about jewelry, but he could see the size of the rock and all those zeros on the price tag.

Those pretty eyes of hers were transfixed, as she moved her head along the window so she could get a good look at the goods from any angle she could. She stood on her tiptoes for a moment, eager as she was to see how the light reflected off its golden form, and through the geometry of the expertly cut diamond crystal.

Once satisfied, she stood back from the window, looked down and carefully cupped her hands together. After a moment's concentration, her hands parted, revealing the golden diamond ring on her finger.

“It's beautiful Gary, thank you,” she said gratefully as she kissed him playfully on the cheek.

Gary smiled then suddenly felt nervous, looking back at the security cameras outside the jewelry store. Feeling that they had somehow stolen the ring, he felt the need to push onwards and take them all back to his waiting car.

When he walked, he had a gorgeous girl on each arm.

Sarah was once again in her classroom, writing the headline of today's study topic on the whiteboard. To keep her identity as a Body Caterilla a secret, Sarah had changed back to her old human form. But these days she walked with a spring in her step and a happy contented smile on her face.

There was a snigger from the back. One of the boys must have whispered something silly. Perhaps it was Billy joking again about his latest conquest.

Sarah turned around to look at the class and was surprised to see worried faces on two of the girls up front. They were staring past her at the whiteboard, looking worried by what they saw.

“It's not that hard,” Sarah muttered to herself as she turned around and looked for herself.

“Fuck Me Senseless!” was written on the board in Sarah's own handwriting.

That was my “oh crap” moment.

A quick wipe with the eraser, and I was writing the title again. “Just keep calm, Sarah” I said quietly to myself, wondering if I was going crazy or if my Caterilla body was rebelling again.

“H... e... mm... i... n... g... way,” I spelled on the board, mouthing every vocal to make sure that my traitorous hand wrote it properly.

I looked back at the class as if nothing had happened, only to see one of the shocked girls shake her head and point at the whiteboard in horror.

So I looked back. “I want to taste your CUM,” the board demanded, again in my careful scrawl.

“Oh shit,” I mouthed much louder this time, as I cleaned the board with another flick of my eraser. But it was too late. I could feel my dress tightening up around my slimming legs, while the cotton in my shirt was gradually transforming itself into silky lingerie.

Slowly I turned around, my folded arms covering my growing and partially exposed bosom, my face questioning how I could brush over this now very public infraction.

But to my surprise almost all of my students were suddenly gone, and all that remained was Billy, sitting alone in the centre of the room surrounded by now empty chairs.

I heard the door to the classroom close itself quietly on a spring. Departing student footsteps could be heard down the hallway.

“Still thinking of me?” Billy asked rhetorically, drawing my attention back towards him, as he looked me over.

“Let's not do this,” I suggested plainly, raising both my eyebrows and slowly shaking my head. My folded arms were slowly being prised apart by the weight of my expanding breasts.

Billy stood up and smiled. “How are my grades doing?”

I backed away at his advance, my withdrawal suddenly blocked by the profanity stained whiteboard to my back.

“How many more 'A' grades do you want?” I pleaded, as I felt his aura of arousal envelop me. “You've stopped turning in your homework, I've started writing your essays for you.” By this point I was talking quickly and pretty much begging him to stop.

My shoes by this point had for the most part turned themselves into leather stiletto boots. Smooth black points slowly extended from my heels, forcing my curvaceous ass to slide upwards along the cold white plastic board.

He was close enough now I could feel his muscles grow. I noticed he was better dressed than before. That ugly sports cap he used to wear was gone, and now I saw a head full of hair, full of body, his face one of alpha masculinity.

I studied his jaw line, his lips, that way he looked into my eyes.

“None of that matters because I own you,” he explained, his hand running over my ear and down along my blond curly hair.

“No I...” I stammered, as my nipples hardened through silky lingerie, reaching out and touching his waiting hand.

“What are you?” he asked with a devious smile as he pinched the top of my ultra sensitive nipple.

“I'm your teacher,” I squeaked, my body shivering in anticipated pleasure.

“What are you really?” he whispered directly into my ear, as my hand brushed its way upwards along the inside of his leg.

“I'm your slave,” I corrected myself. My fingers having found his hardened member, pressed tightly against his trousers.

“What does my slave want?”

“I want you to take me,” I acknowledged. “To pin me up against this wall and fill me up with your sweet precious cum.”

“Good, let's keep it that way” he smiled, suddenly backing away and turning towards his desk.

I was in heat. My enlarged breasts roaring with anticipation, and he was turning his back on me? My mouth was wide open in shock, as Billy walked to his desk to grab his rucksack.

I was nothing to this man, not even a polite fuck. I was to be kept on a leash, to do his bidding, to serve him like many others.

I felt a dark anger grow inside of me. What arrogance, I was worth more than this. If I was a slave to his cock, then he would be a slave to my needs. My dark thoughts were matched by darker drops that appeared on my white lingerie, like black ink poured on pure white paper.

My leather stiletto boots grew dark and shiny, like an evil second latex skin that flowed upwards over my knees. My right hand pointed downwards, fingers grouping together, growing longer, shinier and gaining flexibility. Forming a long black slimy rope, that reached the floor and trailed behind me as I walked.

“I didn't say you could go,” I insisted firmly as he paused on the way to the classroom door.

He turned around in surprise, either at my new attire or attitude.

“You can't leave until I'm satisfied,” I insisted, as I twirled my whip and expertly cracked it against his left buttock.

“What the fuck slave that hurt!” he squealed as he recoiled in pain, his hand instinctively covering the point of impact.

I extended my whip in length, and with one quick motion swung it forwards and coiled it around his legs. A single forceful pull knocked him over and dragged him back over to me.

The slimy whip coiled upwards around his knees, as I stepped over him with my sharp stiletto heels. He pulled his hand back from the floor at the last moment, to avoid having it impaled on my heel.

“Perhaps you were mistaken,” I suggested forcefully, staring down at him as he got a view of my black plastic dress actively splitting open in the middle. “My clit is hungry, and you're going to please me.”

“You can't do this to me,” he insisted as my slimy black rope whip moved up around his torso, immobilizing both his arms completely.

“You are now my cum-slave,” I insisted as my ropes tightened, causing him intentional discomfort and emphasizing my domination over him. “You will please me, or I'm going to squeeze every last drop of sperm out of your good-for-nothing-else-cock.”

He squirmed helplessly, as I fell to my knees and lowered my wet vagina over his face. Instinctively my body released a cloud of powerful pheromones, which he was forced to inhale.

He turned his head away, still resisting my erotic onslaught.

I playfully ran my fingers through his hair, as my slimy clit engorged itself ready for his attention. But I was impatient, so I followed up by grabbing his head and forcing it inside of me.

I shuddered as he squirmed between my legs. A moment later I allowed him to emerge and gasp for air. His face now covered in my sweet sticky fluid, tasting me for the first time, his body quickly adsorbing my aphrodisiac ladened lubricant.

His eyes rolled backwards for a moment, as my magic took effect.

In a few moments I leaned forwards and relaxed into him and felt his willing tongue touch my wet insides. My body shivered in expectation.

* * *

It was dark. Samantha squirmed from somewhere between my legs. Her distinctive and so familiar purr slowly brought me back to my senses.

I was somewhere else, confused. I allowed my eyes to grow larger so I could see the long black hair moving between my legs and the downstairs living room furniture spread around me in the dark.

I could still feel Billy's tongue sliding around deep inside me, expertly caressing my insides. No that was Samantha's tongue. Had I been dreaming? Sleepwalking again?

“Who is Billy?” Samantha asked, innocently, after carefully withdrawing her tongue.

I blinked back at her in the dark with my oversized eyes. This was compromising. Nobody was allowed to know about my affair with my student.

“You were saying his name when you were whipping me,” Samantha whispered, with a slight sensual moan. “Don't worry, I won't tell” she continued, keen to show her loyalty.

I was angry. I love my husband but Billy was driving me crazy, corrupting me, and haunting my dreams. My Caterilla Body was falling for his poison, and I needed to get it out.

It was then that I knew what I had to do to make it stop.

CW: kidnapping, brain-washing, death, enslavement/brainwashing

Series: Jumpchain Darmani

“Primary site this story has been published on: Gay Spiral Stories”

Copyright © 2022 Darmani. All rights reserved. This story may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.

Some Sogampros are simple in result but still a story to keep and gain. And more direct courtship can happen.

Maximum the Ryo => Gushing Kitario, Balladeer Kawakita

Appearance

He varies between thick early 00s rocker form and his more tight MMA fitness. His tattoos removed, only one mark permanently remains on his body, at the small of his back his Heart Crest mixed with . He may redecorate his canvas with a fine nonstaining self-maintaining cloth with an additional Mending style effect where wipes ( keeps tied to his instrument or hung out back of waist). He could add body jewelry, even fine ‘engravings’ of silver or lines through his skin, even occasionally has Madaraki-Suture face. But reverts to a ‘clean’ look if sense dislike from Jumper for look. If his shapely fit form he favors short hair, sleek early 21st century athletic gear if in public gym, or fetish gear and styles of same if within Jumper facilities.
He can become his more well fed form in a matter of weeks, aided by candies or trainers and effects. His clothing as this is always torn or perforated. And his waist is never in more than ragged daisy dukes. If not take knife to make new apparel fit his style, he’ll wear it and act to get his battle damage authentically.
His dreads would be his actual hair which he dyes in dark colors, browns, contrasting reds, golds, and/or oranges.

Personality

Humility oo
Extraversion ooooo
Conscientiousness oo
Agreeableness oo
Openness oo
Wild in performance his face ready to break in expressions. He is the storm lasso’ed by Jumper and proud of it.

Power

Now with how he feeds off the cheer and adoration of his audience his music is medium for action and influence on all touches and echoes through. His voice is a sound studio to itself.
Whether fattened by Sal, or trimmed and re-buffed by Law, he is brimming with energy and enthusiasm. He is a true balladeer, taking the sense of a place and history, with his song and flushing it into the mind and ensorcelling the vision of his audience. He can tap into outer views and thoughts of those watching echoes of his performances, but he is enthusiastic and burning with live crowds. He prefers to increase what is there, but can bring his own storm of emotions and ecstatic revelry if he pushes himself.
Though capable of composing all sorts of strumming music, he is more likely to act, to PERFORM than any other Sogampros in rock, heavy, and revelry music styles.

Origin

Tragedy struck when a 46 hour manhunt for the kidnapper of Ryo Kawakita (川北 亮, Kawakita Ryō, born December 13, 1978), also known as Maximum the Ryo (マキシマムザ亮君 Makishimamu Za Ryō-kun), the guitarist and vocalist of MAXIMUM THE HORMONE. The mad black foreigner, alleged American had been seen crossing all boundaries to the bands concerts, in spite of security. Letters more insistent and intense unable to be stopped to the celebrity musician, age 25. He was tracked to an abandoned highrise, with his kidnapper who was spotted on a whirlwind of sightings not just through all the 47 prefectures of Japan. Evidence of assault and even drugging was speculated in every investigated holding area found by police on the scene.
Bandmates and fans struck when need for sniper came and SDF rated marksman Aohige Nanaki shot the kidnapper but also got the musician in the chest. The multi-story fall has made the bodies unidentifiable and
click
And so your high stress life as corpo-band frontman is ended. But don’t worry. drip drip I will make certain your love of music, performance, and attitude get all the expression in your new life lick lick not even a stolen corpse, just shaped meat and bone. Bit annoyed had to bring in hairy blueberry. But really. I just not likely get another opportunity. Don’t worry, you won’t…forget yourself. Just be so much else can’t be that person anymore. And I’ve got clothing and new identity when you leave.
…
Yes, I knew you’d return. Please only 1 month. And you didn’t just feel lost. Had some fun. So, that’s just what I can grant you. Come along and mightier gains await from cosmic entities. You can be anyone. Anytime. So long as you stay my hot asian burning heart.
…
Yes, I know, don’t worry, so long your love not truly fade this won’t. Yes. Good. Yes, Another poke going in lower, VERY soon…
…
Yeah that was your future, well training with us is a little excessive for your needs. Just want to do some K-pro or octagon fightin’ right? Heh, well okay could use someone with some sport focus. A coach. I got the guy.
…
Candy tells me you’re sulking. I like you all thick and chunky or tight and fiery. Like a rooster. Here, a diet and exercise plan. Trust me, stick to these for how want to look.
…
Good, you’re making quite the name for yourself. But be careful, outside they might not be able to…quench your thirsts
…
Its alright, its alright he’s okay now. Home safe and sound. And recalls a difficult ordeal want to avoid you and this life for and nothing else. I know first time out of the octagon or ring. I think… well you need a special league. Still same challengers. Well better caliber. But entertainment who can keep up and competitors not compelled to deny the … costs of defeat are acceptable.
Its alright. I ADORE you. I consider making the Seraglio exhibition a fine addition to the recreations available. Its okay. The lights here will dim their recollection as they leave. Its a subtle enchantment. You could weave it too, it emerges with your little private concerts.
Yes I know.
Goodness sakes, it was weeks before your afterpartygoers didn’t leave running into lakes, lamps, and walls. I had to ease them up. But you do so good now have to base this work off you. Now go, break his ass on the mat. And don’t forget, one week after to trust Sal with your cooking. Tours start in two months.

Sogamprós: meaning son-in-law or bridegroom that joins or, offensively, not leaving or laying about, the house of the patriarch. Used as possible designation for members of The Seraglio meant to be especially active in agenda and alterations of Seraglio and agenda of it’s Lord

Pupau Chrisalice Brimford “Lucky” Deaibes

Appearance
An atmosphere of grandpa, older man, or dad energy and warmth in surprisingly well kept skin, firm body, gorgeous hair, arresting look, thick iconic mustache, and his eyes.…
Add in the beloved charm effect, akin to the sun across the plains or sea, it is only his relatively unassuming conduct, while those around him reflect his psychokinetic ardor, that make him so suited to sweep forth, a breeze in the air that is never barred merely turned about to goal.
Personality
He is obedient to the Master as Specialist to Client, a well treated, regarded specialist. And takes as a given He is as King or Royalty. Chris develops disdain for those who would disparage or inconvenience his patron, while being rather live and let live regarding himself, if dispassionately retributive by social means, if it is easy and with no long-term commitment. Though if Brimford sees a serious willful injustice or offense will take it as cause to act, though now makes sure to send message to Gryphon if not The Seraglio or The Jumper/Master, whoever most available in his mind, when moved or sees such.
Powers
You, as all, believe in his heart and charm. And he sounds so…nice. The glowing radiance of sensual loving charm, that spreads by:
Gaze, his on you or yours on him.
His voice, even if unheard if tickles your skin,

If cups you anywhere your hormones dance to his humming or subtle expressions.
A field as wide and intense as his body odor surrounds him. Always smelling elder but assuring and… strong. When in its area of effect, feelings and actions you are both in agreement with are supported, only reined by a grindstone mind that can work in parallel as converses or acts otherwise.

He is exceptionally aware due to this Stoking Aura. If touch the field he can smell, hear, see, and touch you. He even induces shadows of those sensations on a person or object in range. Even rain and water no help as when shares run-off has as many phantom limbs, fingers, tongues, and more where his effluvium graces bodies or permeates shared fluid (a shared drink, or ice cream, or serving plate). So too his heart commands your being as it does his own. Moreover he feels and can see whoever sees him, and hear all the sounds, even their arteries, who listen in on him.
While able to flip from pacifying assurance, to terrific awe with a look or a yell, his emphatic influence is always arousing, intensifying. Its not so much he reduces inhibitions, as drunkenness, so much galvanizes energy, feelings, and thoughts he observes in someone or wishes magnify at a guess.
A wet kiss lets him peek into your thoughts, sharing one that effect lasts for as little as two to many as six hours. Lovemaking peels you open and, even before he issues, can plant seeds of desire, wants, dreams, and hungers. Eight hours of continued contact and your skin is but a wrapping to the feelings and body he forms out of you like raw materials for a tire, or ingredients for a chef.
While favors insect colonies as models for his converts’ arrangements and traits, not limited to them or solely familiar with them. Raw temptation, arguably a fourth type of Love God in addition to LG, Jumper, and Thompson due to the Jumper’s augmentation and experiments. All love him and rasp in reverence, at least a little, when he doesn’t take medicine to help reduce is Appeal Field.

Origin
After obscene amounts of money spent Wilford Brimley answered a summons to put in an appearance at a birthday party. All attendees seemed enthusiastic just to have his company, hear him speak, and hold hands. He was fed custom food, his health a public matter, but felt mildly unnerved by the eager smiling toothy grins and shining eyes.

The sight of them would haunt his dreams for weeks later.

Soon he disappears from his wife as they sleep, not remembering leaving. When out of bed, drawn to a door that appears just out of the way: in an alley, at stores’ back, in his of visited basement, his agent’s office, or studio lot.
After their 20th encounter he enters.

He’d feel gone for a lifetime, then returns never lost more than an afternoon to others. At first fears suffering dementia, the dreams and door experiences are like his movies, only not quite. He isn’t on set, but IN the films, living in the world, passing along as a ghost.
At first.
Later it is reliving the characters’ lives, over and over and over again even parts never played out, with people not cast.
Then things alter.
Versions not even scripted, let alone filmed, akin to porn parodies, or fantastical remakes but with same casting and no lack of skill or production, effects visible as in post.

And soon things he’s never been in. Things he ‘dreams’ about before seeing great grandchildren share. And often the Birthday Man there, sharing that smile.

As ages he finds he grows. Stronger, hearing more, seeing more, feeling more, while his skin deadens to inexpressive leather, a shell.
He is flushed with virility and vigor the character and vastness of prairie and savanna and mountains.
As the years draw on frequently he wakes up intertwined in groups made of folks from passerby, in entertainment clubs, at swinger parties, corn-hole razing, and more. Though not a dream, he’d run home on foot, he’s never caught.
It was surreal.
Then, years later after he and his wife add another, and another, and another lover. Knowing it is impossible their problems this minimal and he this able. He is approached in the flesh by the man whose party he’d graced.
He walks into his home, door welcoming as the furniture parts. The home makes the way until at his couch, paramours languishing, wife over bare lap, his bliss blessing hands stroking from her cheek to small of back, voice hard to use but sonorous as a jazz horn and wide as San Andreas.
Wilford knows why the man there. What He, with soles inches over his third oldest’s negligee covered side, invites him to by offering a dangling candy bright marble on hook and fine chain.

He knew the object. He’s been thinking of it continuously for five months, ‘dreaming’ of it for many times that.
“Would you like to follow me across the cosmos? To place this in your ear. To close your eyes in this life, and open them forever in my chain. To become our dream?”
Unable to restrain his trembling hand, reaching out like in the grips of binge to a heavy tumbler of liquor, he, almost blindly, in thoughtless need, pierced his own ear.

and

His pupa-flesh burst open into dandelion clouds of light that flowed like a river in the speed and shape of a comet.
He blazed into a space outside all others to find a long liminal warehouse hall, piled with shelves and objects.
Not searching the swarm spill-poured into a book on a shelf

Inside, a limitless rolling hill-plain with finely shone skipping stone the width of a compound. Inside that a labyrinth. Streaming without diversion or halting down a path to a housed a laboratory. Within, a chamber machine that flares to plasma orb and Tesla coil life to disappear him.
To be taken to a building of opulence to shame Villa Paradiso that throbbed with vein-circuits of gold, flexed by tendon-vines of purple. He was taken to conversation pit centered in a room with walls like the Dolmabahçe Palace but decor like a 70s parlor room and saw

Himself.
All his roles.
All his dreams.
Stunt doubles
Look-a-likes, and actual musked throbbing WALRUS were in still and in place.
The men’s eyes closed, heads bowed, left ears mated with the earring that’d transfigured him to make it here.
The creature, a fertility god, came writhing to life from mid-air statue stillness. His bark alerting the men. They only responded by a seizing or change in posture. Their eyes stayed closed, faces downcast. The geriatric cowboy actor Korean war veteran as cloud of lights, will, and passions puffed up and returned the pinniped’s calls and exceeded them with a bellow that shook the walls.
As a quivering mass the creature fell to the center and the swarm remains of the man showered the room turning the air to conflagration
And thus the recruitment was done and he was reborn as part of the Menagerie of The Jumper. He plugs himself into the pit to alter his mind and heart, to become more. To consume more. To grow more.
Virility, passion, vigor, experience, and just More.
Until too bloated with it all to sit still, or when summoned by his Client. He has his own entire wing in continuous renovating fulfillment, populated with his lovers, his children and friends visit. Every convenience made, or recreation provided.
His mind always instructed how to enact his desires as his body act them out. Constructing, learning. The more primal and basic, the better.
As with his chambers his aura interlaces with all visitors in perpetual rapturous unity.

This is an announcement and information post for members of mastodon.art.

mastodon.art has limited firefish.social and moving to suspend in a week. If you have contacts on firefish.social that you'd like to keep, take this time to message them and figure something out. <3

We had previously suspended stop.voring.me because the admin, ThatOneCalculator/Kainoa, was federating with, and interacting with, a well known anti-black harasser Eris from akko.disqordia.space (https://thebad.space/location/073b336e-3a39-4e2d-b4e0-9e1d8e7d58c3 , more below). If you've been on the fediverse a while you'll be familiar with that instance and the user as notable for constant harassment, abuse, anti-blackness, and block evasion used to continue to harass.

At the time, ThatOneCalculator was in the 'Fedimins' Discord space that .art has in our Discord backrooms with a bunch of other instance admins where we communicate, support each other, etc. There are PoC in there who have been directly targeted and harassed by Eris, so when we found out, we removed ThatOneCalculator from the room, DMed to explain why, and then suspended their instance from .art with the same note.

We've found out today that firefish.social, the renamed calckey.social, is not just federating with Disqordia UPDATE, firefish.social have silenced Disqordia: https://firefish.social/notes/9hpajgawuuy84piz and https://firefish.social/notes/9hpa84jcdzyxyr1u , but that ThatOneCalculator/Kainoa, who is the lead developer of Calkey, is boosting Eris's posts.

Image receipt here: https://mastodon.art/@welshpixie/110787367946264359

As explained on our about page (https://mastodon.art/about), .art defederates from any instance that doesn't take a firm stance against racism or that makes space for racists to exist without repercussion.

For an explanation of why we suspend the full instance in situations like this: https://dotart.blog/dotart-blog/dotart-as-a-safe-space-instance

Eris receipts: https://rage.love/@puf/108829412633265534 Editing a screenshot of someone criticising her to look like Hitler: https://archive.ph/FnETX Slurs and harassment: https://ghostarchive.org/archive/q9vFQ

This is a tiny sample. Eris and Disqordia appear in the fediblock tag frequently.

EDIT: Addition, Kainoa/ThatOneCalculator has forged a screenshot of our Discord conversation to paint me in a bad light: https://mastodon.art/@welshpixie/110788232121017336 Their post archived at: https://archive.ph/h3ati

This is an announcement and information post for members of mastodon.art.

We have limited federate.social and will be moving to a suspend in a week, giving users of both instances who have follow relationships time to arrange staying in contact. We have also already suspended the abusive user that caused the below.

The reason (shared with permission from Nuz):

https://cutie.city/@nuz/110731201263400207

The report that was made to federate.social about the user's behaviour (also shared with permission):

This user: – Was repeatedly and actively hostile towards other users who had commented in good faith. – Invoked his white privilege to dismiss the voices and concerns of multiple marginalized people. – Referred to the above people and their instances (which are all primarily LGBTQ+) as “weirdos”. – Tried to play the victim by accusing the so-called “weirdos” of engaging in the bad-faith arguments and tactics that he himself was pushing (DARVO).

federate.social's server rules state that “Harmful and abusive speech and behaviors include the language and tactics of the white supremacy movement”. Given how accurately that phrase describes M's behavior, I hope to see federate.social properly enforce their own rules.

It's a long post that I encourage you to read through, but the TLDR is very problematic behaviour from one user that included harassment and tone policing People of Colour, and further problematic behaviour from the instance admin who not only did not action reports against that user, but then shared the text of the report with the aggressor (the text of which made it fairly obvious who'd made the report) which escalated the situation and led to increased harassment.

It's the admin's behaviour directly that leads to our decision to defederate; given how the instance admin responded to the report, we don't feel that we would be able to trust any report sent from us to that instance to be handled correctly, and since the admin isn't just not moderating but is actively perpetuating harassment, we're pro-actively defederating to prevent something similar from happening with our users.

We're not approaching the admin to discuss, as it's the admin's actions that lead to this decision.

Hello! My name is Dani and I am a visual environment and concept artist. You can find my portfolio here and my Mastodon account here

I intend to use this space to share the knowledge I've gained as well as just rambling in general. I would also love to get back into creative writing (narrative isn't my strong suit but I'd love to improve)

In general the goal of my work is to create a sense of wonder and exploration. I want viewers to look at my pieces and wonder what's around the corner, and wish they could explore the worlds I portray themselves. I'm primarily inspired by Monster Hunter, Guild Wars, From Software, Nausicaa, and yes, Bionicle. Basically if there's a series with a world that leaves a lot up to the imagination, but is still dense with world building and a sense of adventure, that's the kind of media I love.

I'm looking forward to posting more here, and hopefully someone comes along and enjoys the kind of content I post :)