sup, im Ember, he/they, and i just want to make people laugh. currently hyperfixated on Bloodying my Mary and Jumping In Again and Again and Again and Again and- (Profile picture by the wonderful @anaart-stuff!)
#Ember's comfort tag : A tag where I talk about/repost ninjago things!!! Whooo!!! Maybe some generally wholesome things sprinkled in there too :)
#Ember writes : I WRITE THINGS! sometimes... very rarely actually
#asks and answers : Me answering asks, not really much else to it
#ember.txt : My weird text/shitposts
#art sillies : my art tag!
anything to do with my ocs will be under their respective character tags, seen in the tags of this post :>
Other stuff:
I'm ace/arospec, so please no sexual/romantic stuff/requests in my inbox thanks
I don't tag triggering stuff much, so be careful <3
I will not tolerate grooming, homophobia, transphobia, acephobia, ableism, racism, nazis, TERFs, exclusionists, or any kind of hate. THIS INCLUDES ANTIS OF ALL KINDS. Seriously guys I don't care if so-and-so writes 'problematic' smut or identifies as something you don't like/don't believe in you can have your own opinions but get out of here if you're gonna be annoying about it I will NOT side with you.
If I repost something from a blog that is or supports any of the above please, please point it out to me. If you just politely inform me of such I will apologise and take the post down, you have my word.
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This isn’t exactly the usual vibe of my blog, but I cannot let this slip by. It is likely by now you have seen that Nigel Farage, the previous MP for Clacton, head of the Reform UK party and general village idiot, has decided to step down as MP under reports of misconduct, so that he can run again as a show of power over the people of Clacton. He seems disgustingly confident that he will be voted in again with ease.
It is no secret that Nigel Farage is a racist, xenophobic, ableist piece of shit. This is the most attention seeking behaviour I have seen from a UK politician in years. None of the other parties have risen to it, understandably seeing it for the childish tantrum that it is.
In fact, no person has come to run against him in the election, but one.
Count Binface, a comedian in a crown of stainless steel. (See the picture above for him in all his glory)
People of Clacton, it is now up to you. You can chose either to let this man win his childish power trip, or you can chose to let his career end in a face off with a literal rubbish bin.
Please, I’m begging you, if you have a sense of justice or even just a sense of humour, do not let this man win. Do not let Reform UK take more from us than they already have.
(Reference: Mason, C. (2026) Farage called by-election from weak positon - and it could backfire on him. Available at: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/c9d2882jj3yo (Accessed 8/7/26))
ok i just gotta share one of the best artfight pages ive ever seen lol made me laugh so hard u need to see this bro: https://artfight.net/character/10373088.the-freakipliers
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Pertaining to your iron lung drawing requests post, perhaps ava looking in through the porthole? Like we're standing behind her and we see the back of her head while she's looking in :)
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i wake up., check notifications from sleep, remember im not a ninja turtle, apply to at least one job listing, get uo p get ready for work, mourn not being a mutant freak with a hero’s purpose, drink wotrr
Explicit || Bloodymary || TW: Unreliable Narrator, Off-Screen Negotiations, Consensual and Safe but Questionably Sane
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Simon doesn't think of the ocean often anymore.
The SM-13, COI and Eden, the blood- most of them had faded with time and he had gladly let them, eager to lose those memories in favour of the blessed life he lives today.
But right now, all he can hear is Elsie's voice as if she stands in the darkness of their house with them- echoing in his ears, under his tongue, with the desperation and fear that had made it through a corroded black box and a rusted computer as she screamed, "I told you to stop drinking it! You have-"
"-to stop fucking drinking it," Simon sobs, begs, pleads. "Ryland, please! It's not fucking good for you!"
Ryland laughs against him. "Sure, sure."
"RYLAND!" Simon violently jerks his hands in a bid to get free, even though he knows it never works. It never will. "You don't know what it'll do to you, Ryland, honey, please-"
A sigh. Even knowing that he's right, he is, he can't lose sight of that fact no matter what anyone says- Simon still clicks his mouth shut, shoulders curling in.
Shut your stupid mouth when those smarter than you are speaking.
Ryland's hand that had been stroking the outside of his thigh presses into his skin as he pushes himself up to his feet. Simon trembles as his partner's scarred palm travels upto his ass, over his tailbone, up his spine- but thank the Tree, thank the roots; it was still the same hand he'd known for years, despite all the-
Ryland lifts his hand suddenly and smacks him.
Simon gasps, his whole body jolting forward, ass smarting. It hadn't even been that hard of a hit, compared to everything he's borne before, but Ryland bitches and grumbles yet truly admonishes him so little that every irritated click of the tongue feels like an open-handed slap.
This never fails turns his brain off entirely.
"Simon," Ryland murmurs from behind him, rubbing a soothing hand over where he'd hit, gentle now. "Sweetheart, why are you always so scared? It's been years of this, and you're still so resistant. I already told you, all the cells are benign-"
"If they're so benign, then why do you get like this?" Simon snarls, trying to gather himself. Tears drip down his face. "Why are you so addicted?"
Ryland laughs, leaning down until their bodies are pressed together, stretching forward to press a kiss to Simon's cheekbone. The smell of iron wafts from him. He almost sounds normal when he teases, "I can't be addicted to my partner's pussy?"
Simon turns his head to look at him. Ryland smiles back, blood smeared across his face, lips and beard drenched in it. "That's not what this is about," He says, voice cracking as his stomach tenses up in a period cramp. "And you know it."
"What is it about?" Ryland says, grinning. His other hand moves under them and slips back into Simon's cunt with a squelch that echoes off the walls.
He groans, trying to keep his head even as the pleasure sparks up to his brain, his aching body melting against his will. The restraints tighten on his arms and he uselessly jerks against them again.
But he doesn't break them, even though he can. They both know he would never dare harm Armando.
"Hm?" Ryland teases, pressing kisses down his neck, over the bark and gills and teeth. His fingers do something that make Simon drip.
Simon shakes his head and tries to put together his scattered mind. "You have to stop," He says again. "Because we don't know what drinking that blood is doing to you."
"We've been through this, Si," Ryland says in his patient teacher voice. His fingers are still moving. "The blood needs two complex lifeforms in contact for more than eighty-four hours to become properly active."
"Yes, but it still has an effect on you!" Simon argues, trying to ignore the heat building within him. "You and Rocky and all the others just don't want to delve into it because it's convenient."
"We did delve into... that, and those effects are limited, remember?"
"But don't you see that you've changed?" Simon begs. "You have me suspended in the middle of the room for over three hours again, just to eat me out- that isn't normal!"
"We planned this scene before you got your monthly," Ryland reminds him, fingers moving to circle his dick. Simon bites his lip against the accusation that it still easily could have been planned if the other had simply kept track- but he doesn't know that for sure. "And c'mon babe, give me some credit; we've had scenes longer than this. Besides, I used to do this for Linda too when she had cramps. You know this. I don't understand why you keep forgetting."
"I don't keep forgetting, it's just-"
"And consider it this way," Ryland interrupts, straightening up. The heat of his body recedes for a moment as he adjusts something and then-
Simon shouts in surprise, jerking up as far as he can go as Ryland slides right in, even though it doesn't do much as sting with how wet and loose he is.
Like he was waiting for it, the other grabs him by the throat while he's still up and pulls him back gently, forcing Simon to arch his back even as he pants for air.
"If I was addicted. If the blood did have me in its grasp." His lover kisses him on the cheek and whispers in his ear. "Don't you think the very first thing I would do is cum as deep inside you as I can?"
Simon makes a strangled, terrible noise. He wheezes for air, eyes wide and holding himself as still as he can- terribly, terribly aware of the fact that he can feel warm skin within him.
"Don't you think," Ryland continues, ignoring Simon's whimpers as he pulls out slowly and then thrusts back in, not wearing a condom, not wearing a- "That if the blood was alive, if it needed two lifeforms to spread its control... wouldn't the easiest way to do it be to put seed within you?"
"Ryla-"
"How can I be addicted," Ryland cuts his cry off with a thrust so firm it makes him shout and drip more blood and slick on the tiles below, shivers of pleasure running up his spine. "If I'm ignoring not one but two biological imperatives screaming at me to knock my pretty boyfriend up, all the time? If I know for a fact that even one single spill will have you giving me twins or triplets, but I don't, because I love you?"
Simon sobs, shaking full-body now, tears streaming down his face. His entire body is on fire, mind melted by the heat of it. He has never been more scared in his entire life. He has never been wetter in his entire life.
Ryland lets go. Pulls out and walks back around to the front of him, where Simon is gasping for breath.
He kisses him. "Alright? Do you feel better about it now?"
"I'm scared," He bursts out, buoyed by the distress of how empty he suddenly feels. "I'm scared that you- you won't be able to tell and then one day I'll... I'll hurt you. I'll transform you and then we can't undo it-"
"That's not gonna happen," Ryland says firmly. "Simon, look at me? That won't happen. Trust me, okay?"
"I do trust you," Simon says, voice thin and high. He sobs into the other's neck as he wraps his arms around Simon's neck, stroking his hair. "I just-"
"Hey. Look. The second you get proof, I'll stop, alright?" Ryland says, voice laden with adoration as he tucks a strand of sweat-drenched hair behind Simon's ear. "I promise. The moment you actually come to me with solid proof that it is hurting me in some irreparable way, I will stop. So will you please let me ease your pain, darling?"
Simon inhales shakily, but he has no more arguments. He nods.
Ryland kisses him on the forehead. "Lovely. Now if you'll excuse me, baby-" Ryland grunts, pushing himself back up. Simon cranes his neck to watch him as he kneels back down with the usual soft smile aimed Simon's way even as he leans forward to inhale the scent of his blood. It's disarmingly hot.
But he can't ignore how his canines are sharper. How he no longer has grey hair.
Simon tries to ignore the growing dread that creeps up in him as it settles in that he's been talked into this once again.
Ryland's eyes flash bronze in the low light. Simon's stomach drops as he realizes suddenly that he doesn't remember that last time he wore his spectables. "-You have cramps that need to be relieved."
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"Now I've shot so many Nazis, Daddy will have to buy me a sable coat." (From his Wikipedia article).
Neil Munro "Bunny" Roger
June 9, 1911-April 27, 1997.
Bunny Roger killed a bunch of Nazis and then invented Capri pants.
He was expelled from Oxford for his indiscrete gayness (discrete gayness being perfectly fine at Oxford and part of the curriculum until...today probably, at least like 1992?). Then, having been sent down to London, he started his own fashion business, and his first client was Vivien Leigh.
Bunny served in WWII, killing fascists in North Africa and Italy, and often wearing a mauve scarf in the field. Roger claimed that he had gone into a battle brandishing a rolled-up copy of VOGUE and commanding: "When in doubt, powder heavily!"
Roger was known in high society for his themed soirées; Diamond, Amethyst, and Flame Balls were held to celebrate his 60th, 70th, and 80th birthdays. He wore a curious plum colored catsuit with a feathered headdress at his 70th birthday ball in 1981. At his 80th, he made his entrance in a catsuit of scarlet sequins with a cape of orange organza, greeting his guests from behind a wall of fire. His parties were covered by the newspapers, including a New Year's Eve Fetish Ball where the proper upper class mixed with young guests in rubber S/M gear.
From an obituary: "Beneath his mauve mannerisms, Bunny was stalwart, frank, dependable and undeceived; to onlookers a passing peacock, to intimates, a life enhancer and exemplary friend."
