#I don't think any of it is but it's a little hard being earnest about things that have become so personal to you

[cacw]

I talk a lot about how you should post whatever because your art is for you and yourself alone but I don't actually do this. because I am still embarrassed

[inkskinned]

no, actually, where is the whimsy?

my ex had a best friend named larry who asked me once: what do you think comes after irony?

we were at the bar where larry worked. it was a quiet night, and he'd hopped over to sit with us on the patron side. i swirled the lemon around my limoncello martini.

earnest positivity, i said, while my ex said, art self-destructs.

i stared at my ex. he stared at me.

his argument was the cinemasins argument: look how bad media is becoming! look at the loopholes and the dumb shit!

it was roughly 2011. galaxy print was still in. at the time, i had a favorite shirt that was a wolf howling at the moon. it got ripped in half in the wash and i honestly still mourn it. i dressed like effie stonem, because everyone did. and irony was the name of the thing. men liked MLP "ironically." the internet liked the kind of crass, "anti-mainstream" vibes of things like fuck romance, touch my butt and buy me pizza. we put cats in sunglasses everywhere, which was because we only liked things in irony.

and media had the same vibe in it: anti-hero white men would be "hard to love" and then storm off the scene. nobody was just earnestly trying to save the world: they were jaded, angry, unoriginal. mad you even asked them to try to help.

my ex ends up not being wrong. cinemasins becomes super popular. a lot of people start viewing media with this lens that is the cruelest, most jaded depiction. it's wrong for your character to have unexplained powers, even if the entire movie is about how strange it is she has unexplained powers - that is still considered a "loophole." characters make thoughtless, panicked choices? loophole. characters are actually kind people, despite hardship? loophole. features a woman doing literally anything without assistance? loophole. movies become hyper-aware of scrutiny, and now irony rules the media.

which means you go to a movie, and the character has to turn to the screen and say "beats me!!" or one of the side characters has to have some kind of quip like "are you seriously telling me that you think this is normal?" because nothing can happen in earnest. like a sitcom laugh track, we now anticipate the fourth-wall break: the moment that the media acknowledges it is telling a story. the media has to apologize for itself, or else someone like my ex rolls their eyes.

but here's the thing: i wasn't wrong either.

the difference might be that i am (and always have been) so soft-hearted that any crack in the light of this world will spear me into the ground. and i was the poet in the relationship. (he thought that was the same thing as being naïve and stupid). i was making things daily. i knew how all of us artists are driven by some strange desire to evolve. he notably liked to critique art, not to create it.

so yes, i've made things that are bitter and angry and even ironic. i've made long, sharp poems with all capital letters, and i've made poems about how the silence stretches out like a song. someone wrote once that we will spend our whole lives just circling the place we grew up. i think it's more that we spend our whole lives trying to remake a home. i think it's that as we age, it becomes less exciting to build the castle on the beach - we become aware of erosion, of windforce. we realize what we really want is to come home to our dog, castle or not.

and while art in the foreground is mired in white male violence and irony, and aggression, and not taking anything seriously - i don't think that's true of all art. i think more and more artists are leaning in to the things we love. the world has changed so much. they have taken so many things from us. the only thing we have left is love. at the bottom of the moving box - all we get is the faint sense that we have to appreciate what little we've got. i can't enjoy this stuff ironically anymore: what room do i have for irony? if it makes me happy, that is an amazing thing. there are so few happy places left for me. i want to be happy because of how leaves shiver beside each other like nestling birds. i want to be happy because of the color pink, and how magenta doesn't exist. i have spent so much of this life suffering, i have earned my right to a gentle ending. if nothing matters, i get to assign meaning to the nothing. i get to create meaning. i am an artist first and foremost, which means creation is my thing.

where is the whimsy? wherever i fucking put it. because if this is my last fucking chance to do any good in this world - i want to do it earnestly. i want to write things that make you happy. that make people feel heard and seen. what comes after irony has to be positivity.

it was close to my 21st birthday. in 7 years, i would end up writing a book about this relationship, which is hopefully coming out somewhere around May 2024. i come back to this bar scene in my memories a lot. i keep thinking of how pale my ex was. the look that crossed his face. how i looked back at him. how for a moment, both of us couldn't recognize the other person. like the gulf between us was a suddenly wide and cavernous thing. like we were alien to each other. he never took my opinion seriously, and he always seemed surprised whenever his manic-pixie-dream-girl ever broke free of the plot. like in the whole time we were together, i wasn't human enough.

this knowledge: where he said nothing comes after, my only instinct was what comes after is love.

[nothorses]

You've made a lot of really great posts about transmasc experiences and struggles, and they really resonate with me! So I guess I want to in complete earnest ask: why the push for 'transandrophobia' when anti-transmasculinity as a term has been around for longer and faces little friction by comparison? I don't really *dislike* transandrophobia, but its meaning gets muddied everywhere from different directions, while ATM is pretty direct and succinct I feel. It's very clear that it's about TRANSmasculine oppression. I'm not against having a dedicated term at all, but the content of our struggles gets lost in the weeds of attaching kind of understandably divisive terms like misandry and androphobia in an attempt to mirror a phenomenon very specifically about misogyny; it seems more trouble than it's worth considering ATM is right there

I'll be honest, this ask is confusing to me for a few reasons.

When I started talking about transandrophobia around the summer of 2020, the conversations I was encountering were very much, like, a handful of people across Twitter and Tumblr (literally, a handfull!). I picked up "transandrophobia" because it was one of two words I saw in use, and the other- "transmisandry"- felt much less clear and much more contentious. It seemed super obvious to me that people would draw a line from "men's rights activists" trying to push this idea that "misandry", as a systemic oppression of men by women, to "transmisandry", and assume some ill intent where there was none. It's confusing!

"Transandrophobia" was the better of two options being floated at the time, at least in any conversation I saw. "Anti-transmasculinity" was not really a term I'd been made aware of, if anyone at all was talking about it at the time.

I have seen people pick up "anti-transmasculinity" more recently (maybe in the last year?), and this is definitely the first I've seen someone shorten it to "ATM". The people I've seen use that term have been mostly people who seem really new to the conversation, and the vibe I've gotten has been very, like, "we're the Good Transmascs, our word isn't dirty and gross like those other Bad Transmascs everyone hates. you'll listen to us now that our word is Good and Pure, right?"

Which is like... kind of frustrating, and kind of sad, honestly. I think these people honestly believe that if they just choose the right word, all the people who've been dragging me and every other transmasc talking about these issues through the mud for the last 4 years or so will really just stop & listen. If they can just say it right, these people- who have been relentlessly harassing and spreading lies about every single transmasc who came before them for years now- will care what they have to say, and will be willing to engage with them in earnest, compassionate dialogue.

If you just find the right word, all of these people will care about your hurt, your pain, and the suffering of your community.

It kind of breaks my heart. It's an incredibly hopeful, kind, loving way to view the world. It's compassion and patience and forgiveness that these folks are not being given, but that they so badly want to offer to others.

And at the same time, it sucks to be the Bad Transmasc. It sucks to have fought so hard for so long, and for the people I've been fighting for all this time to turn around and say, "you're gross, and dirty, and evil, and everything you've done is a mistake." It sucks to see the people I've been fighting for agree with the people I've been fighting against, and shove me under the bus in an effort to appeal to the people running me over with it. Knowing that the bus is going to aim for them once it's done with me just makes it sadder, yknow?

@saint-speaks wasn't the first person to ever speak the word "transandrophobia", but he is the one who coined and popularized it in its current form. And then he was dragged through the mud so hard and so brutally that some people think I coined it, just because when I defended him (too little and too late, imo) I withstood the mud-dragging better than he did (and gee, I wonder white.)

And now people take for granted that everything everyone said about hymn to justify that frankly fucking evil harassment campaign was true, actually, and we should abandon the word he coined and find one with purer origins.

If you honestly think "anti-transmasculinity" is just a more practical word, that's fine. I don't care what word we use. But they're going to cover it in mud, too. They're going to cover every one of you in mud.

Will you keep fighting for "ATM" once they make it the new dirty, gross, bad, evil word? Will you keep fighting when they drag you and everyone else through the mud for using it? Or will you agree with them, make up a new word, and never look back?

Please don't let us drown in the mud. We've been fighting for you, and we want to fight with you. Please.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Can you PLEASEEE write a Hero x Villain only one bed trope! Love ya

"Did you know that single people, on holiday, often pay more than couples because all of the hotel industry is built around the assumption of shared rooms and beds?"

The villain turned their attention from the double bed, the only bed in the room, and back to the hero. They blinked. Once, slow, deliberate.

The hero's met their gaze. "Down with amatonormativity?"

"You're sleeping on the floor."

"Oh, come on. It's not my fault! This is the only room they had."

"You're a hero. Be heroic and heroically take the floor."

"I'm not sure my being a good person extends that far," the hero said, eyeing said floor. "There's not even any carpet."

"Well, we can't share!"

"Only child, huh?"

"Don't fish for information about me."

The hero's lip twitched with a maddening and entirely too endearing amusement. "If you're worried about me attacking you in your sleep, I don't think my being on the floor is going to save you."

"I don't think - it's not that -" The villain felt colour rise up their face. They folded their arms. "It's not weird that I don't want to share a bed with you."

The hero's head tilted, studying them for a long moment, before they shrugged. "Fine. Bed's yours. I'll grab the chair."

The villain eyed the chair. It only looked fractionally more comfortable than the floor; less hard, but also significantly more cramped given the hero was hardly small.

"So, what," they demanded. "You'd be just fine sharing with me?"

"It's just a bed," the hero said. "I'm going to be unconscious, all things going well."

"What if we accidentally end up touching each other?"

"I already said you could have the bed."

"Well, now I feel bad!" the villain snapped. "I'm taking the chair. I don't need more reasons to encourage your sanctimonious attitude!"

With that, they strode into the small shared bathroom to change and firmly locked the door.

When they returned, the hero had already fetched a spare blanket from the cupboard. It was large-enough, if a little worn. They'd squished themselves onto the chair.

"I said I'm taking the chair," the villain said. "My god. Do you have to win at everything?"

"I know I got us into this mess."

The villain stopped short, not expecting the quiet words.

"I can take the chair," the hero said. "Not being sanctimonious. It's really just fine, okay? I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable or whatever."

The hero looked up at them, with an expression that the villain couldn't quite read. Whatever it was seemed earnest.

The villain swallowed.

They got into the bed, on the side furthest from the hero and the chair. They switched the lights off. They heard the hero shift and shuffle, trying to get comfortable. The villain could see the beautiful curve of their face illuminated in a small shaft of moonlight, the hunch of their shoulders, when they glanced over.

The villain glared at the dark ceiling for several long minutes.

"...Just get in the bed."

"What?"

"Get in. We can share."

"Are you sure?"

"Don't make me say it again. You look ridiculous. Like a lion trying to fit into a shoebox."

"If it fits, it sits."

"Well, you obviously don't fit!"

A brief silence passed, before the villain heard the hero move and felt the mattress dip. The hero kept to the far side of the bed, oh so respectfully, but the villain could still feel every inch of space between them. They folded their arms across their chest.

"Would it help to tell me what you're worried is going to happen?" the hero asked.

"No."

"Okay."

Another brief silence passed. "Is the thought of accidentally touching me really that hideous to you?" the hero asked.

Their voice was different in the darkness. Softer, somehow.

"Is the thought of accidentally touching me really that hideous to you?!"

"No?" the hero sounded bewildered. "I never said it was?"

The villain ground their teeth, even as their stomach gave a stupid little flip. "Just shut up and go to sleep."

"Goodnight."

The villain couldn't remember the last time anyone had ever wished them that. It caught them unexpectedly, in the gut and the throat. Winded. Fatal wound.

They glanced over at the hero again. They had their eyes closed, seeming perfectly at ease now that they were no longer scrunched up.

No. It wouldn't be hideous to touch them, not at all. It wouldn't be ghastly at all to roll across the expanse of mattress and wrap their arms around the hero's stupidly broad body, to nestle their face against the hero's shoulder, to hold the solidness of them.

Accident-smachident. The villain hated everything.

The hero fell asleep within ten minutes. The villain listened to the steady metronome of their breath, aching. Three hours later, the hero made a soft sleepy little sound and rolled, nuzzling their head against the villain's chest. A tangle of limbs.

The villain snagged their phone off the side table and held it up to take a selfie, making sure to look as unimpressed as possible. Just in case. For the morning. So the hero would know they didn't start it.

Then, and only then, did they finally melt and fall into the sweetest sleep they'd had in a long time.

Bonus:

[mytheoristavenue]

MHA - How they comfort you - I

Dedicated to my dear friend @marsoverthestars.

Summary: Your peers notice you've hit a rough patch lately and want to help.

Warnings: Pure fluff, comfort, mentions of depression, mentions of unhealthy habits.

It was no secret: you were going through it. Life was ju8st currently putting you through the wringer and you were beginning to feel like a damp, laundered rag. Due to having a quirk heavily affected by your emotions, every soul around you could feel your upset, as if your depressive mood chipped the very paint off the walls. Luckily for you, they know just the trick to help you out of your funk!

Yuga Aoyama:

"Out of bed, mon amie." Yuga chirped, letting himself into your room, throwing the curtains open. You hissed at the sudden flood of light.

"Aoyama, shut the curtains!" you protested, pulling your comforter over your head and rolling over.

"Not today, cheri," He persisted, tearing your covers from you.

"You've been locked away in this dungeon for far too long, my dear, and I'm afraid you're beginning to smell." He smirked, pulling you out of bed by your wrist, forcefully but with care.

"Gee, thanks..." you grumbled, rubbing your eyes, nonchalantly sniffing your underarm before wincing. "Fuck, I do smell."

"Langauge, amie," He reminded, sifting through your dresser. "But yes, you do, and worse than that, you're loosing your sparkle and that simply won't do." He stood straight, a bundle of clothes in his arms, smiling warmly. "For this time only, I will grant you access to my luxury bath salts, so make sure and enjoy them while you can."

He shooed you out of your own room, shoving your clothes into your arms. "No off with you, towels warm and the bathwater is boiling. Go take care of yourself, darling."

Mina Ashido:

Mina hadn't seen any sign of you in days, worrying her to bits. She knew you tended to seclude yourself when you were down, and she did try to respect that. She'd comb through TikTok, bombarding your inbox with memes, edits of your favorite characters, and 'us' slideshows, but when you would simply heart them (if you responded at all), she couldn't take it anymore.

"(Y/N), are you in there?" She asked cautiously from the hall, knocking softly. "Can I come in, please? I miss you!"

You trudge to the door, wrapped in melancholy and a stale blanket. "What is it, Mina?" To your surprise, she threw her arms around you, tearing up as she saw your disheveled state.

"Whatever it is, I'm sorry!" she lamented, squeezing you tightly. "Whatever is bothering you, we can talk about it, please don't shut yourself away from me!" You'd never seen her so upset outside of battle. She was typically so bubbly, was she that concerned. "Everyone's so worried about you..."

"M-Me...?"" you repeat, not having realized how important you were to others.

"Please, if you won't come out, at least let me in..." she begged, pulling back with an earnest look, onyx scaleras glistening with worry. To her relief and yous, you relented, letting her inside.

Tsuyu Asui:

Tsu had noticed you withdrawing from your peers long before you actually had. First, you wouldn't talk as much in class, then you began eating lunch alone and declining invites out, and then, one day, you disappeared entirely.

She wasn't entirely sure how to go about comforting you, but it was obvious to her you were having a hard time. At first, she just left you alone, thinking you might have needed space, but then she began to wonder if there was something more she could do. Then it came to her, she was a big sister, she was so good at giving comfort to others. She'd just do for you what she'd do her her siblings.

"You you like a hug, ribbit?" the question caught you off guard as you stood in the kitchen, drink in hand, one of the rare occasions you left your room.

"What?"

"I've noticed you've been having a hard time, would you like a hug, ribbit?" She asked, offering you her arms. "I know being part frog, I'm a little awkward to hug, but when my little siblings were upset, I'd-" You didn't care how her slouched back back it odd for you to do it, you wrapped your arms around her, tears streamiong down your face.

"Yes, a hug would be wonderful, Tsu..." you answered with a sniffle. "Thank you." She happily enveloped you in a warm embrace, stroking her thumbs over your shoulders.

"Happy to help, ribbit," she beamed, resting her head on your shoulder. "I'm happy to give you as many hugs as you like, anytime you like..."

Tenya Iida:

Tenya was smart, obviously, but he was still a novice when it came to relationships with his peers and handling interactions. That's why when you began skipping class, he, as class president took it upon himself to hand deliver your homework, along with a stern talking to about attendance. That earned him a door slamming in his face, to nobody's suprise.

Now he knows better. Though it goes against his morals, he cuts you slack, visiting you every day briefly. Papers slide under your door in stacks. Neatly written notes, mock tests, and graded homework, all with nothing less than A's. You haven't done your homework in a week. Among the pages, one day, a letter appears, reading:

"I understand I am still learning how to be a friend, and you are teaching me new ways to be a better one. I appreciate that. I also understand I can't take your woes off your plate, so, even though I find it wrong, I will take on what of your burdens I can. I hope we can talk soon, but until then, take all the time away from school that you need. You will have perfect grades to come back to."

Ochako Uraraka:

'Good morning!' 'Goodnight!' 'How do you feel today?' It seemed like your phone never stopped dinging from how many times a day she texted you. Not only that but she'd check in on you in person multiple times a day as well, especially if you didn't answer any of her texts. She'd bring you breakfast in the mornings and dinner in the evening, catch you up on current events.

Eventually, you wound up letting her stay longer each time, texting her back longer replies. Before you knew it, you were texting/talking for hours. She'd send you a meme and you'd send one back. She'd tell you who liked who in the toher classes and you actually began to care.

You didn't even notice when the worries of your depressive episode began to fade into the background, the excitement of waking up to a good morning text lighting up your day each and every time.

Mashirao Ojiro:

It wasn't clear how it came to this, but here you were, cradled in Mashiroa's lap, tail curled around you securely. "Shhh, it's okay, let it out." he murmured, chin resting atop your head, thumbs stoking your skin with such care as he rocked you back and forth, letting you cry and vent your frustrations.

He hadn't needed to ask, he didn't beg you to talk. He simply knocked on your door and engulfed you in a warm, wordless embrace, the moment you opened it, holding you against him until you stopped resisting. You were rewarded for your surrender with his fingers gently raking through your hair. And then, you ended up like this.

"It's all gonna be okay, I promise." He swore, pressing a kiss to your temple as he felt your breathing calm. You'd cried yourself to sleep in his arms. He was just glad to see your pain fading away, even if momentarily.

Denki Kaminari:

"Why'd you stop answering your phone?" Denki asked, leaning into your doorway. "I've been worried sick."

"It died," you said dismissively. In truth, you doom-scrolled the battery to death.

"Charge it, maybe?" he deadpanned, cocking a brow at you.

"Lost my brick." you answered numbly, moving to shut the door, simply wanting to crawl back into bed, only to have his foot come between it and the frame.

"Bullshit," he called, pushing his way into your room, kicking out of his shoes and crawling into your bed without care in the world. "C'mon," he patted the space beside you, rolling his eyes at your befuddled expression. He swiped your chord off the nightstand, popping it in his mouth. "Bring me your phone." he said, words muffled by the charged between his teeth.

Your shoulders slumped as you came closer, handing it over, watching him plug the chord into it before holding the power button and bringing it back to life. Reluctantly, you crawled under the covers with him. "What are you doing?" you asked as he opened the Youtube app.

"You look like you could use a laugh," he smirked fingers tapping across the keyboard. The search bar read 'kids getting hurt'.

Eijiro Kirishima:

Eijiro sat on the outside of your door, rapping softly against it near the bottom. "Talk to me, please?" He asked, defeated. "I wanna help..." He had been at this for hours, listening to you cry on the other side of the locked door. He finally sighed, shifting into a more comfortable position. "We don't have to talk, if you don't wanna, we could just chill..."

Ten minutes pass and still, your only response to his coaxing are sobs not even meant for him. "I'm not exactly cuddly, but I could give you a hug?" he offered, knowing it was futile. "We could watch a movie, just lay in bed." he swallowed hard, rolling his stiff neck. "Just let me know you're okay..."

Still, he got no answer and part of him began to wonder if he was doing more harm than good. "Want me to just go...?"

"...No..." your soft voice came from the other side- inches away. When had you moved closer? It didn't matter. His fingers slipped under the crack of the door as a sympathetic smile crept across his face, widening when he felt yours graze them.

"I'm not goin' anywhere," he reassured kindly. "We don't gotta talk, I'll stay out here all night if I have to. Until you're ready for more than company."

Koji Koda:

Koji had no idea how to help soothe your pain as shy as he was. He could hardly talk to you in person, what could he possibly do? Well, he did have your social media, and he knew your favorite animal...

At exact times, staggered throughout the day, your phone would buzz, always with a message from him saying something like: 'I hope you're doing okay today!" with an attachment of a cute video or picture of your favorite animal. Sometimes they'd come with a little factoid about the animal.

It wasn't much, but he put a good deal of effort into this ritual, always making sure the messages, facts, and media were never the same. Little did he know, his efforts weren't in vain, they meant everything to you.

Rikido Sato:

Rikido had many flaws, but if there was one thing he was an expert at, it was keeping an index of everyone's tastes, and baking. That's why when he noticed you beginning to pull away from your friends, he was quick to jump into action. He wasn't one for confrontation, but acts of service were how he showed he cared.

He knew you favored a certain flavor, and he challenged himself to see how far he could take that knowledge. What all could he do with the extract of one flavor?

You were taken back when you began finding treats waiting for you outside your room every day. Poundcake on Monday, cupcakes on Tuesday, tarts on Wednesday, and so on and so forth. After a week or so, he was beginning to sweat, having scoured the internet and every book on his shelf for new recipes.

On the eighth day, while setting a beautifully wrapped box of cookies at your door, he jumped out of his skin, looking up to find your feet in front of him. "Sato..." you muttered, smiling sadly down at him as he bashfully stood, hulking over you.

"S-Sorry to bug you, just uh..." he explained sheepishly, lifting the package off the floor and handing it over directly. "I-I made you some cookies and..."

"Thank you..." you smiled, holding them to your chest. "You're so sweet." He was delighted to see such a genuine look of joy in your tired eyes. He felt like he'd found you after a long search.

"There you are..." he smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Missed you..."

I hope these help lift yall's spirits! There will be more, I promise!

[suuuupernovaaa]

seze

seze [ˈsɛ.zɛ] n. blue flower

Anonymous Request: Reader confesses her feelings to Ao'nung and he rejects her pretty harshly, and Neteyam comforts her and eventually confesses to her and she realizes her feelings for Neteyam. When it comes time for them to mate before Eywa, Ao’nung regrets rejecting her, but it’s too late.

1,708 words

He looked me right in the eyes as he said it, with no shame, holding back nothing.

"I could never love someone like you."

He didn't yell it, he didn't even use a particularly harsh tone... he said it as if he was commenting that it looked like it might rain. It was a simple fact, and he seemed surprised that it wasn't something I'd considered.

I knew what he meant by 'someone like me'. Someone of little consequence. Someone with no particular or special skills. Someone on the outskirts of the clan, someone no one had ever really noticed.

Someone unimportant.

Though the words knocked the wind out of me, drained the blood from my face and made me feel light headed, all I could do was nod, turn, and walk slowly away.

It had taken weeks to work up the courage to tell Ao'nung how I felt. He had been so kind to me lately... I thought maybe, he felt the way I felt. Now I realized, that was foolish.

I left the beach for the protection of the treelined, and once I was out of sight, I sank to the ground, and let out a painful, low-pitched wail that I felt through my entire body.

The disappointment was hard, but the embarrassment was almost worse. Of course Ao'nung wouldn't be interested in someone like me; he would take a high-born mate, not a fisherman's daughter.

I cried myself to sleep, slumped against a tree, trying to accept my fate.

--

Neteyam noticed a change in Y/N right away. Though she mostly kept to herself, she was always cheerful and happy. He knew Kiri had a particular interest in Y/N, they had become sort of friends, and so she was around his family sometimes.

Something had happened to Y/N about three days ago, but Neteyam didn't know what. Though she was still around, she didn't speak, or smile, or engage hardly at all.

Neteyam asked Kiri what it was, but Kiri just shrugged and told him Y/N hadn't said anything to her.

He thought that was obtuse of Kiri. Hadn't he noticed the change in her friend? She was quiet before - not absolutely silent.

After another day of this, Neteyam could no longer hold his tongue, and when the opportunity presented itself and he found himself alone on the beach with Y/N, who was braiding a fishing net, he decided he had to speak up.

--

Neteyam sat next to me, lifting the net I was working on into his hands. It was small yet, but would be quite large when I was finished.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked.

I glanced over at him and nodded.

"Actually, I wanted to ask... if you're okay?"

My hands, once busy, settled into my lap, gripping the netting tightly. I was not okay, but I couldn't imagine why Neteyam would care. He had never shown any particular interest in me. In fact, no one had, save his sister, but even she hadn't noticed what was going on with me.

Ao'nung was right - I was not lovable.

A tear slipped from my eye, and I brushed it away, hoping Neteyam hadn't noticed.

"I'm fine," I replied.

Neteyam shook his head. "You are crying."

I turned away from him, pulling my knees to my chest. "It doesn't matter, Neteyam. Don't trouble yourself with me."

His warm, strong hand gripped my shoulder, and without thinking, I leaned over, pressing my cheek to his hand. The contact felt so good, and I tried to remember the last time someone had touched me like this... or at all.

"Tell me."

He pulled gently, and I turned to face him. The look on his face was so genuine, so earnest, and so full of concern. For a second, I wondered if he was teasing me. Maybe Ao'nung had told him what happened already, and Neteyam wanted to make fun of me.

That didn't make sense, though. Ao'nung and Neteyam weren't even close to being friends.

So maybe the concern was genuine.

The words spilled out of me then, like vomit, and I couldn't stop them. I told Neteyam about my years-long crush on Ao'nung, how I had pined for him, imagined a life with him, took his kindness to mean something it hadn't meant, and how when I'd told Ao'nung how I'd felt, he made it clear that I was too unimportant for someone like him to ever care about or notice.

I was crying by the end, fat tears rolling down my cheeks and splashing hot onto my lap, but it felt so good to finally tell someone that I didn't care, I couldn't feel embarrassed anymore. I had suffered enough embarrassment to last a lifetime over the past few days; I wanted to be done with that.

When I finished, I furiously wiped the tears from my eyes, and waited for Neteyam's response.

His expression was... angry. His brows furrowed, his mouth pursed, his eyes focused.

"I will kill that moron," he whispered.

I sighed and shook my head. "He doesn't have to love me."

"But he could at least be kind!"

I didn't reply, because I couldn't exactly argue with him.

Neteyam reached out unexpectedly, pulling me to him, wrapping me in a tight hug. Without hesitation, I wrapped my arms around him, scooting closer, our bodies pressed together.

It felt so comforting, so intimate, so nice to be treated like this and cared about, I would've started crying again if I'd had any tears left.

"Neteyam, thank you," I whispered.

He pulled back, looking me in the eyes. "You are important, Y/N. I have watched you. You are kind and thoughtful. You watch Tuk carefully to ensure she doesn't ever get hurt, you treat Kiri with thoughtfulness and protect her when others treat her like she's different, you even tolerate Lo'ak. I have never met anyone so gentle or caring. That someone could hurt you... it makes me want to kill him, Y/N. He had no right to speak to you that way. You are like... you are like a flower, with soft petals. You should be protected, given water and sun, not stomped on."

A flower. This is was nicest thing anyone had ever said to me, and Neteyam was staring into my eyes, so intently. How could someone like him, the son of Taruk Makto, have noticed and felt these things about me?

"Neteyam, I..." I searched my mind for a perfect reply, but could only come up with: "I see you, Neteyam."

"I see you, Y/N."

My lips spread wide in a smile - my first in many days - and Neteyam smiles in return.

--

After that day, Neteyam and I were scarcely ever apart. He became at first, a best friend, my closest confidant, and then naturally, it turned into something more.

There wasn't a moment when I realized it had happened. He just began holding my hand nearly all of the time, guiding me by the small of my back, touching his forehead to mine when we part and finally, one night, he kissed me.

It didn't even shock me. It felt natural, that Neteyam would kiss me. It felt really almost overdue. Neteyam should have been kissing me since the moment we met.

We were completely in step, in sync, together always. Neteyam was meant to be my mate, and I was meant to be his.

He didn't really ask me, formally, to be his mate. He just mentioned once, something about, "when we're mated..." and I agreed.

And the date was set... but we told almost no one, outside of his family and mine. It felt special, secret, just for us.

--

"Kiri says they're very happy," Tsireya told her mother while she chopped fruit. "I think it's nice, that Y/N has found someone. She's always seemed so lonely."

Ronal nodded. "That's good. Good for Y/N. She's a nice girl."

Ao'nung sat across from them, his jaw set in anger. Y/N had done him a kindness by telling no one about his harsh rejection, and he had since realized that.

It wasn't that he didn't like Y/N. He had always thought she was beautiful, and kind, and there was something interesting about her, a quality he hadn't seen in other women in the clan... but no one really knew her, or cared about her. Her parents weren't particularly important to the clan, and neither was she, and Ao'nung thought, as future Ole'eyktan, he should have someone better.

He had come to realize that he had been stupid. Better wasn't more well-known, more talented, more superficial... better was kind, and caring, and someone his mother thought was a 'nice girl'.

"They are to be mated before Ewya," Tsireya said with a blush. "They don't plan to make a ceremony of it, just the two of them."

Ronal smiled. "Beautiful."

Ao'nung sat, simmering in anger at the chance he had lost, thinking of how Neteyam had almost beat him senseless when he found out how Ao'nung had treated Y/N.

He knew now, he deserved it, and he'd missed his chance.

--

When Ao'nung had told me he could never love me, it had seemed like the end of my life. It made me feel stupid, and worthless, and ugly. I hadn't thought I'd ever recover.

Then, Neteyam breathed new life into me. He didn't have to, but he did, and he kept doing it, every single day since then.

We emerged from the water, Neteyam breathless, chest heaving, my mate before Ewya.

He pulled me into his arms once more, pressing a desperate kiss to my lips, holding my face in his hands, then wrapping his arms around my waist.

"I love you," he whispered over and over between kisses, and I thought I could cry with gratefulness and joy.

"I love you, Ma Neteyam," I replied. I pulled away, just for a moment, to smile at him. "Thank you."

He pushed the wet hair from my face. "My flower," he said with a soft smile, as he so often did.

The sting of rejection was long behind me, replaced by enough joy to last a lifetime.

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

(cw: age gap 25/41; nsfw, smut, MDNI; spit kink, dry humping, creampie)

the part before: breaking me (not literally)

Lazy evenings with König

...are what I enjoy most about being with him. Now that I'm staying at his place, we get a lot of those.

We just sit on the couch, listening to music and exist in the same space. Doing something on our own. I started another crochet project, I'm actually trying to make a cute lacey top, but the pattern isn't that easy.

Sometimes we share a drink, just like today. The glass of wine passes between us because he poured himself one, and I didn't want to get up and get my own.

His hand is on my thigh, his thumb tracing slow circles over the skin that is showing. And I have a hard time concentrating on my crochet project because of it, the soft touches pulling me out of my thoughts while trying to replicate the pattern.

He's reading something, something in German, those goddamn glasses on his nose, while caressing and kneading my thigh, not even paying attention to his lingering touches. Just absentmindedly stroking until he removes his hand to pick up the glass of wine again. Taking a sip and handing it to me then.

I sigh and put the whole crochet project away before reaching for the glass and scooting closer to him.

His eyes pan from the pages to me, looking at me from over his glasses, like "what?". I chuckle, crawling over his lap, and the curious look turns into a knowing one. His signature smirk turns up one of the corners of his mouth, while I settle down on his lap. His hands land on my hips, softly kneading, while I lean forward and give him a little kiss. I straighten back up while he sets the book and his reading glasses down on the end table.

His gaze is on me again, getting heated, when I drink some of the wine.

"Can I have some as well?", he asks, seeming a little breathless. I want to hand him the glass, but he gently pushes it back into mine.

"No, I mean... from your mouth.", he explains, the look on his face heated, but earnest, his cheeks coloured in the lightest shade of red. He clearly isn't joking right now, looking at me, patiently waiting.

My lips part as the little request sends a pang of filthy need to my core, my hips are squirming in his lap and I can feel his dick harden against me. I mean, we already shared drinks like that, from his mouth to mine or vice versa. This isn't any different, right?

I take another sip of wine and lean forward to press my lips to his, kissing him. Slowly letting him taste me and the wine. He moans into my mouth when I deepen the kiss, his tongue stroking eagerly against mine.

His hand tangles in my hair as he frenches me (He wouldn't like me calling it 'frenching'), a deep and sloppy kiss, while I pull up his shirt a bit. Caressing over the tummy and his muscles with my fingertips.

When I break away, I can see the hazy expression on his face, the hoods lidded, almost seeming drowsy. Something they call Schlafzimmerblick in German, ‘bedroom stare’. His mouth has fallen open just a little bit and his eyes are fixed on my lips, like he is still thinking about it.

"You like that, huh?", I tease him softly while I know myself just how wet it made me. I can feel the slick between my thighs as I press myself against his lap, the thin layers of fabric a barrier between me and him.

"Yes.", he answers without hesitation, his hands gripping my hips, his fingers digging into the swells of my ass. He clears his throat. "Could you do it again?"

"Hm, I don't know...", I tease him a little more, a little bratty smile forming on my face, and he groans.

"Please, I-", he starts again, but I already lift the glass to my lips.

I sit up a little straighter, scooting up his body. My hand is tangled in his hair as I lean forward to kiss him again. Letting the sip of wine slowly trickle down into his mouth while my legs close around his waist, my hips searching for friction, finding it as I grind against his abs. The fabric of my panties and my short shorts are in between, I can feel the roughness of it against my sensitive slick skin, and I wish they weren't.

His needy kisses spur me on. Seeing, feeling, sensing how he drinks me up, how he's hanging onto my lips, it gets me as well. When I break away again, his hands are still grabbing me, his eyes intently on mine, the filthy need of his winning over his hesitant restraint.

"Please, fuck, just-" He breathes in harshly. "Just spit in my mouth, I need to taste you.", he begs, his deep voice desperate and needy as his arms close around me, pulling me closer to him.

I still for a moment, his words registering in my mind, and I suppress a groan. Fuck, I'm so turned on, my panties damp and wet. Fighting the urge to restlessly rub myself over his stomach.

I look into his eyes, darting from one to the other. He's just waiting, patiently, what I'm going to do. Letting his arms drop away a bit to give me some space to think. I put the wine glass down on the end table, scoot up further and he instinctively tilts his head back, so it rests against the sofa cushions, his long hair falling down the backrest.

I place my hand on the side of his face, moving it down to his chin. His mouth falls open and I take that as the invitation it is, letting the dollop of spit that rests on my tongue slowly drip down until it lands on his.

His eyes roll back as he closes his mouth and swallows down my taste, a low groan dropping from his throat. The sound sending a shiver down my spine.

I press my lips to his and he almost devours me with his desperate kiss, his hands roaming my body until they land on my hips again. Dragging me back and forth, and the sensations shake me, my thighs starting to tremble. Oh fuck, this is really getting me worked up.

"Have to get these off.", I tell him, the words getting swallowed up by his mouth, still stealing kisses.

He pulls back a bit, a string of saliva hanging between our lips, while I scramble to get my pants off and he pulls his shirt over his head, the black fabric damp and sweaty.

Then my wet pussy rests against his stomach. He growls when my wetness spreads on his abs and tummy, soaking parts of the happy trail leading further down. I moan, a soft turned-on sound, pressing against his lips, licking, nipping, getting all sloppy with it again, while I drag myself over his stomach. Feeling the hard shapes against my pussy. Feeling deliciously dirty.

"I need more, please.", he mumbles into the kiss.

A little smirk stalks onto my lips as I pull back and look down at him, not moving a bit, stopping the rolls of my hips against his stomach. Just caressing his face softly, feeling the scruff on his jaw against the palm of my hand. Toying a bit with him, and I enjoy seeing him like this...

"Please, just- I'll do anything.", he almost pleads, his eyebrows turned up.

"Anything?", I ask, while I pull his head back again, my fingers gripping his hair tighter.

"Yes." His lips part as he looks up at me. The look in his eyes, how he gazes up at me, make my lower belly tingle. It feels like he is at my mercy for once, and the feeling is intoxicating.

"Please, Liebes. Spit in my mouth again.", he begs, again. No shame in his voice, just pure need.

Seeing the big strong man crumble like that, desperate, pleading for a filthy little taste of me is a heady sensation. His hips rut forward into nothing, I can feel him squirming beneath me.

Anticipation is building in my core while I'm pulling his head back a little bit further. "Open up.", I whisper, and he drops his jaw in an instant.

And I spit. The sound alone sends a tingle down his spine, I can feel him shivering beneath me. The saliva hits his tongue and lips, and he laps it up.

Seeing the pure unadulterated pleasure on his face does something to me and I can't stop rubbing myself on him, his fingers digging into my thighs, moving me over him, spurring me on.

His eyes are turned up, looking at me with that look, totally enamored by me. And I press my lips to his slightly opened mouth, needy to taste him as well, his deep warm scent and the tart hint of wine.

I kiss him with a frenzy, not stopping my movements, feeling his hard muscles, the soft tummy and the fluffy curls of his happy trail against my slick pussy.

His one hand is still on my ass, digging into the plush pillow, while the other slowly strokes to the front until his fingertips find my clit. I'm a wet writhing mess, his fingers stroking over the sensitive nub, circling it.

He swallows up the sounds that rise up my throat, kissing me deep and sloppy, his tongue stroking against mine. The next roll of my hips, his fingers pressing against my clit, and I come, trembling as I restlessly rub myself over his stomach, riding it out, while he whispers sweet nothings to me, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me closer.

Still moving, I smile against his lips. "I think I just discovered that we both like that very much.", I whisper to him, coming down from my orgasm.

"Yeah...", he answers, kissing me again. "Fuck, I almost came in my pants.", he confesses which pulls a chuckle from me.

I slide down a bit until I'm seated on his lap again, my eyes panning down. The tip of his dick is poking out of his boxers, a stain of precum staining the fabric beneath.

"Liked it that much, huh?", I say, taunting him with a pulled-up brow while I drag my finger over his tip.

"Ja, fuck. You taste fucking divine", he drawls. "And leaving a mess like that on my stomach..." The heat in his gaze intensifies as his eyes dart to the wet trail on his tummy and abs where I shamelessly rubbed myself to completion.

"Apparently, I like making messes.", I tell him.

"Those messes I can get behind.", he says simply, a filthy little smirk tipping up the corner of his mouth. He leans forward to kiss me again and I don't think I could ever stop kissing him.

I just came, but I can't get enough of him, holding onto his bare shoulders, my hands greedily roaming his burly back.

He pulls my shirt up, breaking the kiss for a moment to lift it over my head and tossing it to the side. His hands shoot up to fondle my tits, playing with them as his lips finds mine again. He pinches my nipple softly before squeezing the supple mounds, his huge hands cupping them.

My mind is still reeling, hazy with pleasure, whiny mewls dropping from my mouth, but I just need more of him, closer, just...

"I need you inside me.", I tell him, whispering softly against his lips.

"Let me get a-", he starts, almost getting up with me in his arms.

I pull back a bit, looking at him. "No, I mean, like this." He slumps back into the cushions and I rub myself against him, the fabric of his boxers against my sensitive skin. "Without anything between us."

His eyes snap to mine, searching them. "Are you sure?", he asks, a little breathless.

I nod, sure that I want this. Not sure about his reaction though. "Yes, you know I'm on the pill now, and I'm clean.", I explain with a calmness, that I don't really have. I'm so wound tight and needy, my pussy still leaking wetness onto his lap, anticipating what he will say. He's just looks at me, contemplating.

"Fuck, okay, I'm clean as well.", he breathes, but he doesn't move. I still can see a hint of hesitation in his eyes.

"We don't have to do it, if you don't want to.", I say, backing off, smiling at him. It's okay, of course. I want him to be okay with it too. "We'll just get a-"

He grabs me, pulling me into him. "I want to.", he simply says, a little shiver shaking him. "You really are sure?", he wants to know again, but I don’t have any second thoughts in my mind.

"Yes.", I answer again, pressing my lips to his. His tongue pushes into my mouth, stroking against mine, his hand tangling in my hair.

I free his dick from his boxers, pulling the waistband down further, so I can feel his heat against me. I don't break the kiss while I rub my slick all over him, the movements hurried and needy.

Until I can't take it anymore. I get up a bit, lining his length up with my entrance, and slowly sink down on him. Inch by inch. Cursing quietly at the stretch while his gaze holds mine, his mouth falling open, a deep ragged breath shaking him.

We both groan in unison when the swells of my ass rest on his lap, his dick fully seated inside me. "You feel so good, fuck.", he sighs.

I feel tight, so fucking tight around him still, my walls pressing down on him, as he stretches me over and over again while I start to ride him. His tip massaging against the soft spongy spot inside me, when I start to roll my hips, and I think I can even feel his fucking piercing.

"Oh, fuck, you're squeezing me.", he groans, his head falling back. The ecstatic expression on his face is mirroring mine as I move up and down his length. Slowly, relishing the feeling of him slipping in and out of me.

He looks completely lost in his pleasure, just like before, taking what I'm giving him for a change, riding him with languid strokes.

"So good for me today, huh?", I whisper softly, and the little comment gets me in trouble. His eyes light up, his hands are grabbing me again, the quick movements make me lose the rhythm.

"Always, brat.", he growls, pulling me into him. Lifting me easily, only to push me down into the cushions again a second later. Now I'm the one looking up at him, his tall stature towering over me.

He gets rid of his pants hurriedly before he pushes my legs up and slips into me, groaning when my pussy swallows him up, and I can’t help the loud moan escaping from my lips when he bottoms me out.

His gaze is fixed on the spot where we are connected, watching his dick move out and press into me again, slowly, nothing between us. My eyes are on him as he places his arms beside me on the cushions, and I go to hold my own legs up, spreading myself wide for him.

"Good girl.", he drawls, and if I wasn't bent in half like this already, I would have folded.

His thrusts get harder, deeper, and I can feel how my pussy is clenching down on him, when he hits that sensitive spot inside me.

"Oh fuck.", he curses, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he wills them to stay on my face. I know he can feel it, more intensely than usual. The warmth, the wetness. The inevitable closeness.

His long dark hair is falling forward when he thrusts into me, his hand pushing the strands back every so often, so he can keep looking at me, the ends shaking with every roll of his hips. His face is soft, his jaw slack, his eyebrows turned up. In contrast with his deep, hard strokes, his lap colliding with mine in loud slaps of skin against skin.

My spine goes rigid, the orgasm slamming into me with full force, the enraptured look on his face getting burned into my mind as I look up at him, pulsing around his dick.

Choked moans drop from my opened lips, coming hard, and he doesn't stop pushing into me, even when he loses his rhythm, his hips stuttering forward. Desperate thrusts into my wetness.

"Fuck, gonna cum.”, he whines.

My arms shoot out to grab him, pulling him into me, I just need him closer. Our lips press together as he bends down and I whisper breathlessly into the kiss: "Yes, yes, come inside me, please, fuck."

And he does, his hips pushing forward once more as he spills inside of me, a deep moan dropping from his mouth, and I swallow it up in another kiss. Pressing myself up against him while he comes inside me.

His ragged breaths against my lips, his sweat-slick chest against my pressed-up legs. His dick still deep inside me. Our combined panting fills the room, the soft scent of sex heavy around us. And I don't want to let go, one hand on the back of his neck, feeling the soft strands of his hair, the other stroking over his face, his shoulder, down his side.

He presses a kiss to my cheek, pulls himself out of me and I whimper at the loss of fullness. I just want him back inside me. I feel the wetness drip down, my juices and his cum. Fuck. He really just came inside me. His eyes are fixed on my pussy as his fingers dart out to coast over the soft wet skin.

"Hmm, so fucking pretty.", he drawls, his gaze heated and just a little bit depraved.

His finger strokes up again, through our combined slick, making sure it doesn't further drip down, or onto the soft cushions. He then lifts it to my lips, his pointer and middle finger parting them as he pushes them in. His eyes are intently on my face while I lick his digits, the salty taste on my tongue. Pushing a little deeper until I’m almost gagging, the tattooed letters on his knuckles disappearing into my mouth. My eyes turn up, breaking the eyecontact, and he pulls back.

He lifts me from the cushions, into his arms, and I hold onto him, slumping into his sweaty chest, while my legs wrap around his waist. My head is resting against his shoulder, and I can feel the beat of his heart strumming beneath my fingertips. Strong and steady, but just a little bit too fast.

As he is carrying me towards the stairs leading upstairs, over his shoulder, I see our clothes, strewn over the living room floor, his book and the glass of wine on the endtable. His big hand strokes up my body until it rests on the back of my neck and he murmurs into my hair: "Come, Prinzesserl, gotta get you to bed.". With the way he says it though, I doubt we’ll get much sleep.

next part: going for a walk or more stuff in the Masterlist ~

[exaltedfuzz]

What are your thoughts about Gant? Like, his motivations, as a characters, how much of what he does is premeditated/intentionally manipulative?

I really enjoy Gant. He's a fascinating character to me, and there's so much to say on him. I find it hard to describe him, because he's so disingenuous in how he presents himself. It's not that clear if he really means anything he says. But let's try and tackle this...

His motivations. He's self-serving. He says it outright. ("There are only three people I look out for: Me, Myself and I." - Gant)

I think this is being said slightly defensively, but it does hold up. When he kills Neil, it's to cinch the Darke case, but that can't be it. I don't remember if a concrete motive is ever given in game. I need to replay the case. However, I think this unknowable aspect to him is one thing that makes him terrifying. Beneath that jovial charisma, we know he's making Lana's life miserable. ("[withdrawing] was the only way I could make it through the past two years." - Lana) By the time we see her in RFTA, she's at the point where she's what amounts to being at least passively suicidal.

Obviously, she confesses to Bruce's murder to protect Ema through shouldering Gant's crime for him, but I can't help but feel like there's more to it than that. I think she's been incredibly worn down, overworked, and had her personal life and relationships purposefully eroded by him. Gant does whatever is convenient, and he's incredibly comfortable doing so. He outright tells Lana that he killed Bruce, without any idea that she'd tell anyone anything about it. The reason he gets caught in the end is because of her daring to tell Jake, and the whole stunt Jake pulled in the evidence room, iirc. The fact that he doesn't even consider the possibility that Lana would seek assistance kind of says a lot about what he's grown to expect from her.

I think "the legendary duo" as an idea is a crazy power imbalance. A young woman, presumably a very new detective, 24-27, and the deputy chief of police, a man in his 60s with an insane amount of power. Factoring in Lana's own circumstances, being Ema's only caretaker, and constantly falling into being the more mature one in anything interpersonal (Angel says she was always looking out for the other detectives, and that Jake couldn't have ever recovered from Neil's death without Lana's support.) it must have been nice for her to have a partnership where she was the one learning. She says that Gant "was everything [she] aspired to be", and Angel says that Lana hated anything corrupt. (I'm taking Angel's words at face value here, because Angel is shown to be very resentful towards Lana, and not likely to be giving her undue praise.) So, Lana had no idea about the kind of man he really is.

I think, therefore, that his decision to use Lana was very thought out. He knows full well that she respects him, admires his work, but more importantly, that she's nice. She's a character who seems to me like a little bit of a people pleaser. When you look at how all the characters describe what she was like, it's often about what she'd do for other people, and she comes off as being a little naive, maybe. Too private, and too passive.

I think Gant, working closely with her, and being the observant person he is, would pick up on this easily. He knows that Lana shuts up and gets on with it, but also that she's honest and earnest, and she'd need a tipping point to be able to be scared enough to be useful in furthering his career and his ego. So, at the first opportunity he has to make her sweat, when she's blinded by being terrified over whether Ema will be ok, he takes full advantage.

He also would have likely been her friend. So he'd have known she went to law school, and that she was the best. (She seems keen to brag, even in the circumstances at the start of RFTA, so I imagine she'd have been a little smug under normal circumstances). I think her earnestness that we see coming through near the end of the case, when she starts using that leaning forward sprite, would have led to her probably sharing a lot of personal things, which Gant would obviously keep in mind just in case there was ever an opportunity to use this information to his advantage.

Outside of Lana, though, he seems to be a good judge of character. In who he chooses to demote and fire, he fires Angel. He knows that Angel is the "cough-up-queen" (I found out that the Japanese version is "vomit-covered-okyou". Strange.) and that if she's ever on the same case, or in the same workspace as Prosecutor Skye, she'll break her and ruin everything. So Angel is out. She's wily enough to weasel her way back into their proximity, though, using everything she knows she can use as leverage. Jake, as well, isn't outwardly as confrontational as Angel, and he wants him tethered to the place his brother was murdered in, as a sort of reminder that they "found his killer", and he "has justice", I suppose? Maybe so that Jake never has the chance to take a step back from it all and evaluate. Of course, he doesn't factor in Jake and Angel having a relationship outside of office hours, and this enduring friendship giving Jake that chance... Which, actually seems to be a theme with him. I think he probably is a quite lonely man, and doesn't account for people having relationships more complex than coworkers. Maybe because he just doesn't care about anyone else.

I think very little of what he does is excessively premeditated, and everything is in his follow-through. Killing Neil seems entirely opportunistic, and killing Bruce, similarly, was done spur of the moment. I think he works within the framework of believing he knows exactly what pieces he has to play with. He knows how to terrify everyone around him - he puts Jake on the crime scene as a sort of "look what happens", and I don't think it's entirely unreasonable to think that he knew he'd be making Lana fear for her own life by casually telling her to dispose of the body of a coworker she was likely quite close to. He seems very aware of the bargaining chips that he has re:each person. Which makes it interesting that he doesn't care much about Angel, actually! I figure this is because she's a much more canny person, and he knows he'd never be able to shake her, so it's best to just have her out of the way.

I think an interesting line is the bit where the Judge says that he's not the man that he used to know.

Either Gant has always been corrupt, and incredible at keeping himself guarded, as we do see him to be in game, or he really was a good guy. Maybe he saw himself in the earnest, good natured Detective Skye, and the natural progression, therefore, was that she'd become just as corrupt as him. He doesn't factor in her empathy, though. He knows he's terrifying her by getting her to dispose of Bruce, but he doesn't care that her being terrified leads to her making awful body-disposing decisions. She leaves Bruce in the place he put him, she leaves the real weapon at the crime scene, she's witnessed, photographed, and she cuts open her hand. I don't think this was his intention, to frame her. I mean, clearly, Edgeworth was the intended target of the framing, but Lana messed everything up enough to give him a brand new scapegoat. He wouldn't want to dispose of the person who puts the prosecutors office in his pocket, but I think this incident really tanks her value to him in his eyes. He believes he can count on her to do anything, but she has entirely failed this task, so she might just become a liability for anything in future. I think Lana knows this too, which is why she doesn't have any fight in her.

When Lana is free from Gant, she, of course, has her smiling sprite. (My favourite.) But it's not just her being happy, it's her being actually free. She says so. ("A long time since I've felt free of these heavy chains"). Because I draw her so much, I've looked at her sprites a lot, and her smiley one really gets me. It's got the "can't stop smiling" feel to it, with how her eyebrows are held, and how her eyes crinkle. When you look at her normal sprites, she's either got a thousand yard stare or she looks terrified. The judge even asks if she thinks something is amusing, because she's just grinning. It's just cathartic. She's giddy. Usually she's acting out of a (misguided, and slightly self serving) desire to protect Ema, but knowing Gant isn't going to be a presence in her life anymore seems to not just delight her for Ema's sake, but also because she, herself, isn't in the middle of this anymore, and it seems like being happy for herself is something unusual enough for her that it just makes her soft. As well, her hands are in front of her now. So she's not having to hide the blood on them anymore. Anyway. I really like Lana's sprites. This isn't supposed to be about her.

I went on a bit, and I'm sure I repeated myself somewhere, but those are some of my Gant thoughts. He's really interesting to me. Especially the way he interacts with the other characters. Bear in mind this is being written a fair few months after playing RFTA one time...

[bunmurdock]

am i the only one who finds that premature ejaculation can actually be really hot? 😔 like idk about y’all but im pretty sure matt would be the type to cum quickly and even untouched sometimes because (yk hypersenses)and i think he wouldn’t be ashamed at all cause that man is a charming slut.

but it’s not like sex with him is quick cause i’m also sure that it is really NOT. he takes his sweet time with his partners and when he wants to last longer he just pulls off to let himself breath and his partners wouldn’t even notice why he is doing that because he’s so smooth with it that it just looks like he’s teasing them, yk? he’d pull off and eat them out or slow down his rhythm or even make his partners cum quicker by sliding his hand to their clit 😵‍💫🐰

also really specific fantasy of matt eating pussy (cause he’s a munch duh) and literally cumming on his pants just from it !! </33 so when you’re getting really close and your moans get louder his do too and you don’t really get why until after your climax he lifts himself up and you see that damp spot on his boxers

BUT while his heightened senses might make him cum quicker than usual they also give him a really high sex drive like ik that man is INSANE and he definitely compenses his sexual partners (which he canonically has a lot, i love my experienced man) by getting hard again in a matter of seconds

ANYWAYS 🤕

it's so hot whimper :( i got inspired...

i can see matt murdock climaxing two minutes into you riding him in earnest, bed swaying so hard his cane clatters to the ground from where it's propped up against the headboard. he chokes and wheezes from the overstimulation. maybe you graze your nails—they can be long or short—over his chest, nipples, stomach, with just the right amount of pain mixed in with the pleasure, and he'd twitch with every marking. because hitherto all his senses were trained on you, your expressions, curves, and breaths, until you got him where he was most sensitive, most guarded. his arms would come up and seize yours on instinct. maybe you'd gently push them back over his head, leaning down to cup his precious head in your hands, kiss his nose, and whisper sweet little nothings at him. i could see him barely croaking out that he's gonna cum if you don't stop riding him, before seizing up and lifting his hips so high into yours you're raised off the bed momentarily while he empties himself into you. flips you over a while later, and shoots another load into the bedsheets like a touch-starved teenage boy from the way your cunt wags into his face while he inhales your girlmusk.

also, i've said it before, but matt murdock strikes me as someone who prefers to make love with a consistent partner over flings with strangers. most wouldn't want to hear about his personal problems or really get to know him for who he is beyond the surface. but if he was with someone he felt completely safe, perceived, and accepted around, i could see him as capable of being made to cum in thirty seconds flat, anywhere, any place. lots of silly little quickies everywhere. as long as it's with you ^—^b

masterlist | share your mm fantasies

[ventique18]

Sometimes I'm reminded that the reason why Malleus is always dunked on as a boomer who can't use machines and technology isn't just because he's old. For an entity who can do anything using his god-given gifts, there's really no need for any form of help. Tools are made to aid people, so for someone who can do the task with his own body, it's probably baffling why there would be a need to learn how to use new things.

Pickaxes were invented to help humans dig through hard surfaces, for example. But for someone who claws through stone with his fingers? Not necessary at all. Phones were made to contact others in long distances, but for someone who teleports anywhere? Not necessary. Cars were invented to make travelling easier, but for someone who's his own plane and flies everywhere? Not necessary.

He lives a completely different life compared to others on a fundamental level, so it's understandably difficult for him to relate to others with so little commonality. What's great about him, though, is despite being built like a god, he has endless curiosity and tries to understand why others do what they do, from their perspective. He doesn't dismiss these little things. He's fascinated with the ingenuity that comes with people's earnest efforts to live a little better each day.

Some references that come to mind regarding this:

Him listening intently to Trey's lecture about how fireworks are manually made, despite he himself saying it would be easier and resource-efficient to play with magic instead.

Also him asking Trey to teach him how to pitch up a tent, despite it being easy for him to carve a cave out of boulders.

Him making an effort to try and learn how to use a shaved ice maker gifted by Ortho, despite how easy it would be to just freeze stuff with magic.

Him actually using kitchen tools during cooking classes when he knows damn well he doesn't need to.

Him thinking highly of and handsomely rewarding Deuce for fixing his tamagotchi, despite Deuce admitting it was Malleus' wind magic that ended up fixing it. The fact is he himself wouldn't have thought of that if it wasn't for Deuce.

I could go on and on tbh. The effort he puts to connect with others is admirable. It's something that people both in-game and within the game's players don't really understand immediately.

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

Kinkuary Day 1

AN: Bouncing off my walls in excitement. Happy New Year, and welcome to Kinkuary! Starting off the month with San, one of the biggest thorns in my side when it comes to Ateez. I've been itching to write something royalty related for him, and this was the perfect opportunity.

Synopsis: The crown prince is beloved by everyone in the kingdom far and wide. Unfortunately for him, you don't share that same fondness. However, that may be exactly why he seeks you out.

General tags and warnings: Choi San x Fem! Reader, one-sided enemies to enemies who fuck, royal au, no specific time period is mentioned but, it's heavily implied this takes place pre-20th century, prince! San, maid! Reader, one mention of decapitation in relation to treason, blood mentioned a few times, pretty minimal plot and I think that's it honestly.

Primary kink: Degradation.

Smut tags and warnings: Dom! Reader, sub! San, degradation ((duh) m. receiving), dirty talk, oral sex (f. receiving), clawing and marking (m. receiving), hair pulling (m. receiving), hints of a dacryphilia kink, piv sex without a condom, creampie and no aftercare.

Word count: 3.9k

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

It wouldn't be hyperbole to state that everyone in the kingdom loves Choi San.

In all the books and scraps of paper you've managed to get your hands on over the years, you're not sure you've ever come across a royal who has inspired more loyalty and adoration than the current crown prince. Not even the King and Queen who currently hold the throne. You'd never speak these thoughts out loud (you're much too fond of your head remaining attached to your shoulders) but, you think if he ever tried to make a claim for the throne that he'd have a solid portion of the kingdom willing to back him.

That's not the kind of man San is, though.

He's much too kind and honourable to let greed cloud that heart that so many people are in love with. No, he's the kind of prince that will do all of his duties while supporting his parents' reign. He'll patiently await his turn to sit atop that ghastly golden glorified chair like the good little princeling he is. And you're certain that when he does, the cheering through the streets will be so loud that it'll ring in your ears for decades.

It all makes you so sick.

You can't stand the way everyone falls all over themselves when he so much as nods in their direction with a gentle smile. You can't stand the stammers of thanks and praise from the lips of fellow royals to commoners such as yourself when he compliments this or that about them with so much earnestness that bile rises up in your throat. You can't stand the sincerity that sparkles in his eyes during his impassioned speeches about making the lives of his subjects better. You can't stand him.

It takes everything in you to stop yourself at clenching the fabric of your uniform and biting your tongue so hard that you sometimes taste the familiar tang of metal in your mouth when you know you've clenched your jaw too hard. Yunho says it's a bad habit you've developed over the years. He's never understood your disdain for the prince but, he doesn't need to. No one does. That's between you and yourself, and no one else.

Until it isn't.

If someone had told you months ago that you'd find yourself in the crown prince's bed, you would have laughed in their face. No, you likely would have slapped them across their face enough for your palm to burn and then laughed in their face like a woman possessed.

Any yet, here you are.

Or, to be more accurate, here he is.

In the most private parts of your mind you have been able to admit that San is an attractive man. Being in the same room as him is enough to cause your blood to simmer and bubble in your veins but, you are still a woman with eyes and a functioning libido. Between his muscles that seem to span endlessly and his handsome face, yeah. San is a good-looking man. And you suppose you're not above giving into your baser needs.

“You're late,” you drawl atop his bed, toying with the blanket beneath you. You try not to think about how just one of his sheets would likely keep your family fed for at least two weeks. Shoving that particular, unpleasant thought aside, you watch him from your position.

“My apologies. The meeting ran later than I expected. You know how my father can be–” if only the entire nation could see their precious crown prince rolling his eyes at the mere mention of his father.

“I don't care. Don't be late again,” you cut him off sharply, your eyes cutting into him far more harshly than your words ever could.

From the way he folds into himself and practically sags against his enormous bedroom door, you can tell he's already slipped into the self ascribed role he takes during these…encounters the two of you have.

“I won't be. I'm sorry,” ah, there's that whiney edge in his voice that you've become accustomed to over these past few months. He's slipping into it much quicker recently. The thought brings an edge of sadistic glee to you, the corners of your lips turning up just the slightest bit.

“Make sure the door is locked,” you order, drinking in the way he all but, jumps at your command. Sometimes, you think you understand why people wage wars and betray family members for just a drop of power. It is intoxicating. You've come to understand over these months why some people spend their entire lives grappling for it. Your ambitions aren't that grand, however. You don't care for sitting on the throne or ruling a nation. Having San at your beck and call is more than enough to feed your ego, you think.

Drinking in the way his jacket stretches across his broad frame as he locks his door makes your blood simmer in a way that is categorically different from normal. When he turns back around, his eyes already glossy, you can't help the way desire claws horribly at your insides and your walls throb.

“It's locked,” is all he says, the breathy quality to his voice not helping the gradually building ache between your thighs in the slightest. For a long moment, all you do is regard him. Ideas of what to do next rotate in your mind. You shift marginally, making yourself more comfortable on his mountain of silks and cotton. You don't miss the way his eyes follow your every movement, taking a second too long to depart from your thighs before they meet your eyes once again. Waiting.

He's so predictable that it reminds you why you despise him all over again.

“Take off your jacket,” you start simply, lounging on his bed while he complies. His jacket dropping unceremoniously onto one of his ridiculously ornate chairs. His shirt is so much worse than his jacket. Barely leaving anything to the imagination with the way it hugs his broad chest and clings to his arms in a way that prompts your thighs to rub against each other.

The air between the two of you is tense. The density of it is a phantom weight on your chest. You can't recall a single time where the air wasn't charged between the two of you even if your life depended on it. As Yunho likes to joke, you do have a knack for thriving in the most uncomfortable circumstances.

You elect to break it. Rather than for the poor princeling’s benefit, you can already feel your undergarments starting to stick to you and it's been longer than you care to think about since you last had a decent night of sex.

“I want you to crawl to me,” you say, tilting your head in the faintest bit of amusement at the light blush that colours his cheeks. You've made him do much, much worse but, for a moment you wonder if he'll hesitate, if not full on decline. The knife of arousal twists harshly in your gut when he drops down without so much as another glance from you. Your lips part unconsciously as you watch him make his way towards you. His gaze is later focused on his path, not that you mind all that much. You're much too busy following the lines of his firm body. Watching fluid muscle that pebbles your nipples beneath your nightgown and increases the steady heat in your bloodstream.

It's not long before he's mere centimetres away from your legs. Glassy, eager eyes finally finding your own when he eventually sits on the backs of his legs. Ever the good boy. Awaiting your directions with no signs of complaint or visible signs of frustration.

Well, signs he can control at the very least.

“You're already hard?” You both know your question is rhetorical. The tent at the front of his dress pants is visible from the mountains of The Healm. No, he knows you don't want an actual answer.

“I can't help it,” he whispers, his ears burning and you don't miss the way his hands clench and unclench on his firm thighs.

“What would people say,” you start, shifting closer to the edge of his bed. His eyes following your every movement like a hawk, his tongue darting out to lick his pretty mouth, “If they saw their precious prince like this? Crawling on his bedroom floor and getting hard just because I've been a little mean to him. How embarrassing.”

The shudder that rips through his entire body is intoxicating.

“Even worse, what if they all knew how much you like being embarrassed,” you continue, tugging your gown further up your thighs. More of your wetness dribbling out of you as you watch his eyes zero in on the apex of them. The whine that leaves his lips would be barely audible to anyone else. However, you're not just anyone when it comes to San.

“Look at you,” you bite out but, part of you knows it doesn't quite sound as intimidating as you'd like it to, “sitting there and panting like a fucking dog just because I'm letting you see my undergarments.”

A smirk spreads across your lips and you can't help the way your pussy flutters around nothing watching his eyes clamp shut and his teeth sink into his bottom lip. “I'm sorry. I'm–I just–,” he stammers, “It's been awhile,” he rushes out once his brain seems to finally piece itself back together.

“Aw,” you don't miss the way he shudders at the faux sympathy in your voice, “Poor, little princeling. Probably already leaking all over yourself just because it's been a few weeks since I've let you touch me,” you pout. Satisfaction coils in you watching the blush on his cheeks darken, fingers gripping his thighs like a lifeline.

However, as fun as it is to toy with him, you can't deny that you've been frustrated these past few weeks too. You'd sooner move kingdoms than admit this aloud but, your hand was a poor substitute for the prince's mouth and, occasionally, cock. Your fingers could get you there well enough on their own but, they paled starkly in comparison to him.

Much to your growing dismay.

San doesn't move. He doesn't even seem to breathe once your gown is bundled over your waist. Leaving your wet undergarments completely clear for him to view. He just stares. Hands gripping his thighs so harshly that if you cared about him, you may have been a little concerned. The dazed look in his eyes prompts your walls to flutter harshly without your consent.

His breathing is ragged as he watches you shimmey out of them. His eyes never leaving the apex of your thighs even as your undergarments drop unceremoniously on his pristine bedroom floor that you cleaned earlier in the day.

“Well?” You ask with a tilt of your head, spreading your thighs wider and pushing down a shiver when the cool night air hits your slick folds, “What are you waiting for? Do I really need to spell out what I want you to do next?”

“N–No,” he stammers out, shuffling forward so quickly that he's between your thighs in a blink. Your hand weaves into his hair as soon as his mouth descends onto you. You may not be able to stand the man hungrily lapping at you right now but, fuck is he fantastic with his mouth. Eager doesn't even begin to describe him. In moments, his mouth is thoroughly coated with your wetness, the vibrations from his moans further adding to the tightening in the pit of your stomach.

He only moans louder when you tug on his hair harder, your fingernails biting into his scalp sharply. He happily let's you shove him further against you. Latching onto your clit in an instant that briefly causes your vision to blur around the edges. God, he really may have ruined all other men for you. Your eyes flutter shut when his tongue, that fucking tongue of his, adds pressure. Licking patterns against your clit you couldn't decipher if your life depended on it.

“Ah, this is all you're good for,” you breathe out, using your unoccupied hand to tug down your gown to grab your breast, “Kneeling between my thighs while I use you.”

The smile his whimper brings out of you is sharp enough to cut glass.

Your hips jump when you pinch your nipple, a quiet moan ripping from your throat. Which motivates the little prince further. He sucks on your swollen clit in earnest, smearing the entire bottom half of his face with your juices as though they're his only source of hydration and he hasn't had a drop of water in decades. You're sure if you let him touch you, he'd use those stupid muscles of his to keep you locked in place while he feasts on you. Making you take all his mouth has to offer.

The thought makes your head spin and your hold on his scalp grows harsher. If the pain of your nails is too much for him, the prince doesn't show it. Electing instead to cling to your clit like it's the most important thing in the world to him. You're closer than you thought, you realise when another one of his pathetic whimpers forces your thighs to start quivering. Well, quivering more than they already were.

Cracking your eyes open proves to be a fatal mistake when you catch his watery eyes watching you. Drinking in every twitch of your brow, every pull and knead of your breast, every moan that slips past your bruised lips from when your teeth had sunken into them. He watched it all as if to commit every miniscule twitch of your muscles to memory. And those scorching eyes don't waver now. Even as your grip burns his scalp and you all but, ride his face to bring yourself closer to the metaphorical edge.

That's ultimately what does you in. Much to your ever growing irritation.

Not that you focus on it too much when your body feels as though it's floating somewhere amongst the stars. He continues to lap at you, albeit more subdued. Each brush of his tongue extending the shock waves that render your body limp on his too expensive sheets. You're sure that if he had his way, he'd continue to mouth at you until his jaw ached. Although that does sound like a wonderful way to spend your evening, you have other ideas in mind.

“Enough,” you bite, tugging him away from you once you regain some semblance of feeling in your limbs. He whines in protest but, otherwise doesn't disobey you. Letting you pull him away from your twitching hole and pulsing clit. The sight of him already looking thoroughly fucked out making you clamp down harshly around nothing. The emptiness is starting to burn.

“Take off the rest of your clothes,” you order once you release him. The prince is nothing if not efficient. Stripping himself in what you can only assume is some record. On the endless list of things you'll never admit to anyone until you die, one them is that just the sight of his scalped torso is enough for you to start dribbling onto your undergarments. And now, watching his tan skin and muscles he's spent years crafting bathed in the moonlight, you know you're doomed.

Your body reminds you very quickly that you're still empty and the solution to that emptiness is twitching not too far away from you.

San watches you like a hawk as you recline onto his bed, your head resting on his mountain of pillows while your thighs remain spread. Smeared with your release and his spit.

“Would you like to fuck me, Your Highness?” You ask him, resting your cheek against your palm and biting back a smile when his cock bobs notably at your question. A question you both know the answer to but, it does wonderful things for your ego every time to ask it.

“Yes but, only if My Lady wishes it,” he whispers faintly but, he still manages to find the courage to meet your eyes. It makes you just a bit more mad how attractive he looks now with bruised, glistening lips and a faint blush colouring his cheeks. God, he's so annoying.

“I'm strawn out on your bed, am I not?” You ask him with a raise of your brow, your tone clearly questioning his intelligence but, based on the way his cock twitches, he's obviously into that too. Typical.

“Y–Yes, My Lady but, I didn't want to be presumptu–”

“Do I really need to tell you how to do everything? You can help run a kingdom but, all sense seems to leave you when tasked with fucking a woman. How pathetic,” you bite out, a twinge of sadistic glee twisting in your gut when he avoids your gaze and his flush deepens, “Come here.”

You snort when he nearly trips over himself in his haste to reach his bed. Shuffling between your thighs before you can blink but, not moving an inch beyond that. His body is practically vibrating with the effort it's taking him to not touch you without your say so. Cute.

“I really have done a good job with you, haven't I?” You ask more to yourself than him as your hand caresses his chest. Your pussy pulsing when a sharp gasp leaves his lips as you dig your nails into his skin. Dragging them along his body and marvelling at the faint, pink lines they leave. “To think,” you start once again while your fingers toy with one of his nipples, “the crown prince would become my own personal bitchboy,” you mutter, twisting his nipple between your fingers and revelling in the moan the action and your words rip from him.

“Please,” he whimpers so quietly that you don't catch it at first. However, once the word registers in your foggy brain, you grab his face. Cupping it and letting your nails dig into his cheeks, satisfaction and arousal coursing through your veins. You try not to do this too often. You don't need the palace gossiping and asking questions about the marks on the prince's face. However, sometimes you just can't help yourself.

“Please what?” You ask, the saccharine edge to your voice makes him shake in your grasp. Good.

“I want–may I please f–fuck you?” He pleads, tears welling up in his eyes and, Lord, does this all make you dribble onto his sheets even more.

“Aw, poor, desperate princeling,” you coo with pseudo sympathy. Your hand drifts from his face to the apex of your thighs. You watch his face while he watches your hand as though it possesses knowledge not even Galileo could have discovered. A soft curse flits into your ears when your fingers touch your swollen, soaked folds. The curse is more harsh this time when you spread yourself for him to see, to marvel at.

“Is this what you want, your highness?”

“Yes,” he rushes out, his body curling into itself with how much his desire weighs down on him, “I–please. I've been good and it's been so long,” he pleads, turning those watery eyes onto you once again.

“Go ahead. Let's see if you can impress me,” is all you need to say for him to grasp his slick cock in his trembling hand and guide it to your fluttering entrance. You're too preoccupied with watching him push into you to know what the prince is doing but, you have an inkling he's watching himself be swallowed by your walls too.

You'll never give him the satisfaction of knowing how good the stretch of his thick cook feels but, you can't stop your eyes from fluttering and your hands from anchoring themselves across his stupidly broad back. The prince isn't one for reservations, however. He moans long and loud once he's finally sheathed inside of you. His sweaty forehead resting against your shoulder while his cock twitches nonstop inside of you.

“All it took was being inside me for a few seconds for you to become this weak? Isn't this a little too sad even for you, my prince?” You whisper against the shell of his ear, biting down on his lobe and smiling when all he can respond with are pitchy whimpers for a moment.

“I–I'm–I'm trying,” he grits out against your skin, thrusting into you before you can spit out another response. San is a fucking machine once he's finally given permission. You don't consciously cling to him but, you rake across his back nonetheless. The pain just pushes him further. The sounds of skin hitting skin echo throughout his disgustingly large bedroom and, if you had the presence of mind to care, you may have worried that someone could hear the two of you.

All of his little whines and moans shoot straight down to your clit not unlike lightning. However, just as you're starting to enjoy finally getting a decent, thorough pounding, it ends just as quickly as it started.

Your eyes fly open when all you receive in warning is a strangled whimper of your name before copious amounts of warmth flood your slick walls. San shudders harshly over your body. His cock throbs with each rope of cum that paints your pussy white. He must've been just as pent up as you, you reason but, it doesn't stop the white-hot disappointment that you feel. You stare up at the maurel Hongjoong had painted for him ages ago while he tries to stop himself from crushing you with his weight as his seed starts to leak out of you.

“I'm sorry,” he mutters into your throat, strong hands rubbing your thighs in what you assume to be apology, “I could–I couldn't help it,” he squeaks. He's blushing so hard that you're certain the heat radiating off him raises your body temperature.

“Disappointing as always. Nothing new,” is all you say in response, shoving him off of you and standing on unsteady legs. He reaches out to help you but, must see something in your face that tells him not to touch you. So, he doesn't. He watches as you make your way into his washroom. Ugh, other than letting him touch you, the clean up is probably the most annoying part of these little meetings.

Once you've cleaned yourself up enough that the prince's seed isn't dribbling onto your thighs, you exit his unnecessarily ornate bathroom. Met with the sight of him still naked and lounging on his bed, waiting for you.

“We can go again,” he offers sincerely, “If you'd like to, of course.”

You resent the way your clit throbs at the offer.

“I'm fine. I think I'll retire for the night,” you respond, picking up your discarded undergarment from the ground and slipping it on. Only just managing to hold back from cringing at the cool wetness that meets your skin. The prince looks like he wants to say something. To argue. However, nothing comes.

“Well then, goodnight. I look forward to our next…encounter,” he finally replies once the words find him. A different man. This is the prince you're more accustomed to outside of his bedchambers.

You nod before turning to face his door. Slinking into the darkness of the hallways and hoping no one sees you leaving the crown prince's personal chambers at this hour.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Do not repost, edit, copy and/or translate my work. I do not give you my permission to do so, nor will you ever receive it.

Kinkuary 2024 Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist | Ko-Fi.

[k0nstanta]

with the recent influx of trans fem discourse on twitter (which i won’t bring here) i find myself coming back to your sasha posts so much. being a hairy, larger, and more masc woman myself, i feel comfort in her and how she is. thanks for making her and for making me feel seen, it means a lot. (more than you think)

hi! sorry, your message was so touching that i felt like being very earnest in response, so under the cut is a little piece of my heart and mind that i wrote out in one go.

i often say that i do not draw my characters the way they are for the purpose of representation, but i find it very heartwarming and flattering that people keep telling me that they can see themselves in my art.

i suppose the reason i make such believable characters is because at some point in my life i have unlocked shrimp gender and have since been... very nonchalant about it. i'm of the opinion now that any combination of appearance and identity can be possible, and that every person has unique feeling about who they are and what makes them who they are, and because of that it would be weird to try and neatly categorize it all, and even more so to imply that one must conform to something to be something. or look or act a certain way to be something. for me just knowing you think you are that something is enough.

do you understand what i mean? like i could have drawn a completely different looking character and they could be a masculine trans woman, too. it's really not about the visual clues to me. i just believe they are who they feel they are regardless of how they look and i suppose that bleeds into my art.

it's hard to put it into words but what i'm trying to say is that i see my characters as people first and a list of characteristics and / or labels second. but at the same time they are not separate. they make up a single important whole.

when i draw them i don't think "ah, if i add this detail people will understand that they're [this thing]" ("if i add body hair / masculine clothes people will understand she is masculine"), i add those details because they make sense for that one particular character. in my head they are just people who happen to like dressing a specific way, or have specific habits, or a specific personality, or specific opinions about themselves, or any other thing, and what's most important to me is to just draw that person. who just also happens to be, for example, a masculine trans woman.

there are so many different people in this world that for every character that you come up with there is at least one person out there who looks the same. or acts the same. or dresses the same. so it always delights me when people tell me that they relate to my characters a lot. i'm glad that, even if incidentally, i made you feel seen. it's a big honor to bring that kind of comfort to people.

i think it's very cool when that happens. it's also very bizarre, in a good way. what do you mean you hated yourself but seeing my art made you feel better about your body (real thing someone once told me)? i can have that effect on people? art is so crazy. when people say art can be powerful and moving usually you'd think about massive gorgeous paintings, or something deep and profound, but it turns out that any little thing can strike a chord in someone's soul. and sometimes i'm the one who made that little thing. i will never stop being amazed by it.

with all of that being said, i know that labels and purposefully crafting a certain look are very important to some people, but i'm not one of those people, so all of the above is just my very subjective thought process while drawing and designing characters.

sorry if none of this made sense. i hope you have a wonderful day

[shhh-secret-time]

is me again hiiiii:•)

you don't have to do it right away, but the sp writing fandom is pretty busy with irl stuff from what i can see and i'm literally dying of withdrawals from no lovesick-idiot mccormick like its such a vital need for me to be alive. suave kenny is great, but STUPIDLY red-faced kenny fumbling a corny pickup line? [SLAMMING THE TABLE]

if you have a crumb of anything at all with kenny being a dummy when it comes to his lover, spare please if you want actually i'm not forcing give it now it's ok 🤲

ALSO HOPE UR DOING OK!!! :•D

- 🪼

Well hi you! I'm glad to see you back! I hope you guys don't mind that I combo'd yours together again! I'm so glad more of you are asking for Kenny! I couldn't resist the "Can't take a compliment to save his life" Kenny. Because same.

Warning: NSFW, Strong Language, Bad Flirting, Praise Kink

Pairing: Kenny x GN!Reader

The way his hair lays across your lap makes it look like little strands of golden thread. Such a peaceful look on his face would make any man jealous. That little thought tickled the front of his brain, how lucky of man he was.

Kenny opens his eyes just a bit, heavy lids beckoning him to close them again. It takes all his willpower not to listen to the sleepy siren song. But how could he even consider that when you look so beautiful.

He takes in every little detail he can. Watching your eyes move across your phone, it's hypnotic. You're not paying attention to him and sometimes he likes it that way. Getting to admire you in peace like this, without you trying to hide the things he loves so much about you.

But sure enough, when you feel his loving eyes on you, you stop and raise a brow down at him. He can't stop the lazy smirk that tugs at his lips. It makes you smile in return and Kenny feels his heart pounding in his chest.

"How's the most beautiful person in South Park feeling?" Kenny purrs up at you.

His flirting makes you chuckle and run your fingers through his hair. It only encourages him, you know that. Just a bit of attention from you and he becomes an addict wanting more and more. All you did was smile and laugh, and he's already pushing for more of that sweet sound.

"I don't know, how is he feeling?" You hum softly as you push the shaggy bangs out of his face.

You have to stifle back another laugh when you see his eyes widen. Even more so when a small blush begins creeping up his neck. He'd be lying to himself and any God that was listening if he thought you were going to shoot back like that. His heart wasn't ready, not by the way it slammed against his chest.

"You're a big flirt Angel. C'mon now, don't upstage me at my own art." He says trying to recover from the little counterattack.

"But Kenneth," Oh the way you say his full name. Even in that playful tone, it would make him stand at attention. "You're the real piece of art here."

And oh, the way your fingers trace down his jawline, like you're trying to memorize all his features on touch alone. Kenny's breath hitches in his throat, hoping that you don't feel the way his face heats up under your touch.

"S-Sweetheart. You're laying in on a little thick."

"Am I? I don’t think I tell you enough."

How can you sit there and tell him something like that so easily? The shade of your eyes holding such a deep passion. You look at him as if he's the most precious thing in the world, like the most devoted would their God.

"I don't think you hear it enough. I love you, Kenny. I love you so very much." You pause for only a moment, "From the way you smile at me with that earnest smile. I know you're trying so hard…even when you're tired, you're smiling and it's so beautiful."

Fuck.

"Oh, and the way you take care of those around you. I could go on for hours about how I adore you for that. You always make sure other people are happy before yourself. That heart of yours is gorgeous."

Fucking shit.

"And the way your eyes light up when you get excited. Oh, it's so cute! Pretty lavender eyes, I get envious when they're not on me. How could I not admire you as art?"

But they are! Always! He wants to tell you that, but the way you speak so softly. The way your voice drops to a whisper, tracing his lips as you speak. He can do nothing but open his mouth in awe. The blush on his face deepens and crawls up to the tip of his ears.

Just as he throws his arm over his eyes, burying his flustered face into the crook of his elbow, you let out a laugh. The sound rings out like a bell, a sound he wants to remember for the rest of his life.

"Kenny, don't hide from me baby~. Please." You know his weakness, a whisper against the shell of his ear in that pleading tone.

Kenny groans and slowly moves his arm away. He's barley able to look you in the eye. The way he tugs his bottom lip in between his teeth tells you everything you need. His face is such a deep red you think his skin is going to be permanently stained by that cherry color. In between nibbling on his bottom lip, the soft pink flesh quivers into a wavy line. From the way his fingers tap against his knuckles you know he wants to pull his hood up and pull the strings to hide his face.

So, you take them in yours and bring them up to your lips, pressing a kiss onto his bruised looking knuckles. You trail your kisses from his knuckles to the palm of his hand where you nuzzle into the warmth.

"And how could I forget these hands. These hands that protect people… these hands that hold me when I need it. The way you touch me with them makes me feel so loved." You hide the little smirk in his palm, watching the way he tries to hide into the side of your thighs.

"I-…I do love you. I love you so much." You think you hear him moan but it's hard to tell from the way his muffled voice barely reaches your ears.

If it was there’s no way you were going to let him hide them from you. You let his hands face go and cup the side of his face. Just like before you bend over and guide his face back towards yours. Your lips brush against his not quite kissing them yet, you want to see if his mind is still working.

Luckily, it still is. Once he registers that you've got your beautiful soft lips on his, he presses into them with a shaky breath. It feels like he can't catch his breath the way the kiss pulls the air out of his lungs. The rhythmic pounding of his heart picking up speed made its way up into his ears. Every time you pulled away traces of mint would make his mind hazy, only for your lips to anchor him right back in.

Kenny's kissed you before, plenty of times he'd ambush you and pepper your faces with an assault of his love. He’s snuck up behind you and dipped you in his arms, placing a passionate kiss before you could even register what was going on. A few times it earned him a smack on the shoulder or a punch but every time it was worth it.

Kenny's kissed you with want and need behind every little press of his lips. Everyone who knew him knew he was a physical lover, expressing admiration in touch. What better way to tell you how badly he craves you than with a long-drawn-out kiss?

Kenny kisses you with a toothache, how sweet you taste moving your lips across his.

He reaches up. His fingers through the locks of your hair, intertwining fingers through them so carefully one would think you were made of glass. His faded lifeline brushes against your chin and settles right on your jaw line.

His lifeline.

You.

"I love you." Kenny repeats himself.

"I love you too." So do you. Sneaking in the affection, weaving it between the kisses that just won't stop.

You can't stop, not when you can feel all the love, he's giving you. Normally it's his tongue that sings your praises. Kenny McCormick gave you all he had and more. He was a well of devotion and how you wanted to just keep pulling from him.

But sometimes you needed to remind him to take his fill. He could take from you more than he does, that it was alright to be a greedy man. That he didn't need to give so much without getting a little in return.

"No other man makes me feel like you do. When my time comes, I'll always remember you Kenny and all that you do." You whisper with that beautiful smile coming across that gorgeous face.

God if you only knew what you were saying to him. If you knew how heavy your words sat in his heart. You'd remember him? Through everything you'd remember him.

Your words echoed in his mind, your voice sounds like you are worshiping him. It should be the other way around. It's always been the other way around. He was put on this earth to serve, and when the universe gave him you, he was rewarded. Every time he felt the cold embrace of death, he'd wake up the next morning with his head in your lap.

Warm and safe. Home.

Does a man like him deserve more? Does he deserve to have his heart beating so deeply from your praise. Did he deserve to feel the way your lids lower, staring at him like he was the low lamp light of heaven?

"Can I tell you something Ken?" You start to say, snapping him out of the spell you've put him under. "I think I'd love you no matter what universe we were in."

Did you know just how much he'd do for you? The things he'd do to get back home to you. That there wasn't a god or death in the universe that would keep you from him. What he would do to anything that tried to get in between the two of you?

That was it. This is what was going to take him out, but if it was you maybe he wouldn't care.

Luckily it doesn't, not this time anyway. Kenny pulls away from your touch, sitting up with his back facing you only for only a moment. He knows he hasn't said anything in a while, but his silence doesn't scare you. You know him better than that. You know him better than any person has even bothered to.

He twists his body until he's facing you with either leg resting by your hip. His knees propped up to cage your body with his. Hands find home on your waist, pulling you into their lap. Kenny tilts his head like he's going in for another kiss.

"I know we would. I'd find you and give you my heart every time." Confession never sounded so saintly, not by the way Kenny says it.

The blond doesn't even seem to mind that his face is still a deep crimson, that he's all but shaking while holding you. The man's a lovesick fool.

"And I'd give you mine. My Kenny."

"My Angel."

Lips connect again ending the praise and sweet names. Hands begin exploring bodies, mapping every inch of skin. Calloused fingers push up against your soft skin and Kenny can't help but damn himself for how rough they feel against you.

But you seem to love it. You seem to love everything he does. When the pads of his fingers trace up and down your spine it makes your arch your back, chest pushed into him. The barrier of clothes has never really been a problem for Kenny, but tonight they were the source of his frustration. He needed to feel you against him, to touch you and feel that warmth that makes his skin buzz.

When your shirt is peeled off you expect him to dive straight towards your flesh like he had done so many nights like this. Instead, his hand comes up to the back of your neck and he presses his forehead against yours. He calls you an angel again, reminding you that you’re his, before his eyes trail down your form.

Why couldn't he just put into words how you made him feel? Put it in a way that wasn't a stupid pick-up line or some filthy comment. Kenny wishes he could just tell you, tell you how you're the only thing that makes him feel like this. He wants to tell you all the things you're so quick to tell him. But he can't. He can't form love on his tongue like you. He forms love on his tongue the only way he knows how.

His head dips down right where your shoulder connects with your neck, pressing a kiss into tender pulse of your heartbeat. Hoping it'll carry down your body landing right where it needs to. The pleased sigh it pulls from you tells him that's exactly where it went. Kenny speaks to you through chapped lips on skin trailing down your neck. Where he'd normally leave red splotches, tonight he leaves promises.

I love you. - a kiss on your collarbone, he lays you on your back against the bed.

You mean everything to me. - he bites your flesh and swirls his tongue, tasting you.

Don't forget this, don't forget me. Please. - he begs with a shaky sigh as he comes up for air only to dive right back to the other side of your neck.

Your hands slip into the folds of his orange jacket to push it down his arms. He tears himself away from you just long enough to grant your silent request. Sitting on his knees, he tosses the jacket to the side where it disappears somewhere in your room. Next is his worn-out tank top that leaves him bare to the cool air.

"You're so pretty Ken." Your voice and hand beckon him back down as you trail fingers up his chest.

He groans into the crook of your neck followed by a soft moan. He can feel himself slipping each time you compliment him. The feeling fuels him further, tugging your bottoms off. You feel him fumble for a moment until his thumbs hook into the waistband of your underwear, there he smooths out the flesh under them with the pads of his thumb. Rolling your hips up against him, you can feel just how pretty he thinks you are.

"M'gonna make you feel so good baby." He promises as he finally removes the clothing separating you.

He finishes removing your underwear and starts working on the rest of his clothes. Pants with a silver chain on the side and boxers that only served to keep him away from you. His silver necklace dangles off his neck between the both of you as he crawls back over you. Somewhere along the way he hooks his arm under your leg, pushing it up towards your head. His other hand follows by skimming up your thigh and gathering it up into his palm. They guide your legs apart, opening you up for him.

"I know you will." You laugh. Not at him. But in a way that's so carefree, "You always do, you're so good to me."

Kenny's hips buck forward in response pulling another sweet moan from you. Another one of many he hopes. He bites his lip when you take his member into your hands, gently guiding it into your warmth. It's slow the way he nudges the tip against you, opening you further to him. He wants you- needs you to memorize every inch of him so he takes it slower. Sinking further into you until he bottoms out.

Moans mix in the silence of your room. Until you lull your head to the side with that same pleased smile. "That's it. You feel so good Kenny. Come on love, have me like only you can do."

He almost feels bad when he squeezed your thigh, so sure that you'll complain about the bruise later, but you know what you're doing. You know praising him lead to this point, even if that wasn't your intention. To pull a gasp from him was just a little treat, one you were happy to have again and again.

When he drags his cock out of you, you mewl and squirm under his grasp. Your back arches again trying to encourage him to take more of you. Every long drag brush against your walls, every move feels calculated. He knows your body, knows where to push and grind to pull every sweet sound out of you.

Every time you call out his name, he feels his control lose and any other time it wouldn't be a problem. Right now, he hates it, he wants to take this slow and show you what you mean to him. But he can't, not when you press a kiss onto his throat whispering praise after praise into his pale flesh.

Kenny's hips snap forward, long slow thrusts have turned to sharp quick ones. "Say it again." He pants in-between each slam, "tell me you want me."

"I want you! God, please!" You cry out just as you wrap your arms around his neck.

"Again!"

"I want you, Kenny!"

"Fuck!"

He can feel it, he's at the end of his rope. That fire at the pit of his stomach is raging, consuming too much, but he can't finish yet. Not when you haven't. He inhales trying to focus on making you feel good. Making you feel like the way you should, but it's so hard when you're clenching around him and saying all the things that make him weak.

That's when he hears it, the way your tone pitches up an octave. You're not moaning anymore, they're silent cries of pleasure. Your nails dig into his back, and he hisses, you're close. So close.

"Ken- I'm gonna…I'm gonna cum!"

He doesn't even register when you do, not when you pull his own release from him. Kenny's moan is muffled by the way he turns his head and captures your lips again just as he spills himself into you. His cock twitches and throbs inside you, where he stays locked and connected for a few more beating moments.

A breath.

Shame washes over him, this was supposed to be about you. He was supposed to take his time.

A heartbeat.

Show you just how much he loves you because this was all he was good at. All he was ever going to be good at. Using his body to-

A laugh. Yours.

You're giggling and peppering kisses across his face. Gentle hands cup his face and hold it there. That smile that wakes him from the internal battle he put himself through.

"Kenny! You're crushing me baby!" The way you say it makes him think you don't really mind. The way you kiss his nose makes him think you're just happy he's in your arms. The way you hold him makes him think. Why'd he ever wants to be anywhere else. He smiles and presses his lips into your cheek blowing a kiss, lips make your skin vibrate.

Kenny’s just happy to have a home.

[lucysgraybird]

Billy taking you on a horse ride 🌞.

you have no idea how insane these blurbs make me lfggg. i hope this makes sense bc i don't actually remember learning to ride 🧍🏻‍♀️it was like 16 years ago

in this case, let’s imagine you haven’t ridden before & you’re not super comfy on a horse/with horses. billy’s been trying to get you out riding for ages and you’re always hedging around it, finding any excuse not to get on the back of a 1200 pound animal, but he does finally convince you with promises of taking it slow. he makes sure it’s the most perfect day out – no threat of storm or strong wind or really anything that could spook the horse or make you unsteady, even though he knows his horses are well-trained and won’t buck for hardly anything. the hardest part is that he really doesn’t understand being so nervous; he’s been riding for so long that he’s almost more comfortable on horseback than he is on the ground, but he’s still so careful with you. he shows you how to tack up the horse, just getting you as comfortable with it as possible before he has you get on it. when you’re ready, he boosts you up onto the horse. you make this hesitant little noise when you realize just how high up you are and he laughs a little, squeezing your calf and saying, “‘m right here, honey, you’re alright,” and it’s hard not to trust him. he shows you how to hold the reins and promises that he’s put you on a very cooperative horse, so you don’t have to worry about tugging too hard or anything. 

pretty soon, he’s deeming you good enough to start properly riding, and gets past your hesitance by saying that you’re not going to get more confident the less you ride. he mounts his horse and just rides alongside you on the plains for a while, and pretty soon he’s pushing the boundaries of what he can get you to do – “wanna try a trot, honey?” – and he seems so earnest that you can’t say no. he talks you through what to do, smirking a little when you blush at his demonstration of how to rock your hips with the movement of the horse. eventually y’all start trotting and it hurts a little but it’s so fun, the wind tearing through your hair and filling your lungs, trading spots with a loud laugh. it makes billy’s heart soar, that sound, so pleased that you’re enjoying yourself, and when you roll to a stop by his side, flushed and smiling, he’s already thinking of the next time he can take you out riding and where to bring you, just to see that look on your face again. 

[stardustedknuckles]

It occurs to me to wonder, like. When is the last time a fandom was rewarded so much for loving something as hard as we love critical role? I don't necessarily mean rewarded as a transactional thing, though there's no denying that love translating to funding was a big part of this - I'm talking about stories that get told again in a new way so soon after ending and which the fans are grateful to have and eagerly looking forward to. We live in a world of unnecessary remakes of old IPs as thoughtless cash grabs, where smaller projects like roundtable stories are lucky to get comic versions and little more despite the authentic love powering them from creator and fandom alike.

The Mighty Nein were over. They ended, the way all stories do. We had no reason to think there would be more (aside from oneshots, which are another unique and sustaining feature of this medium) or that they would get the same opportunity that Vox Machina did because it is so rare. Unprecedented, really. There was every chance that CR would get one or two arcs animated for their first beloved story - still further than any project like this has gone before - and that would be all.

And instead their whole world has opened up. In the days of beloved shows being canceled left and right, the love and support Critical Role has cultivated among its fanbase just by being earnest and kind has ricocheted back into the world as so much opportunity and the stories that were over and done are getting new life. The Mighty Nein aren't over. They're coming back - and soon. When's the last time a fandom was unexpectedly given the chance to rise again and grow stronger instead of being suddenly cut short?

We couldn't have picked a better horse to bet on here, and this couldn't be happening to a better group of people. I hope Critical Role's success is a marker of things to come for the other, smaller projects of this sort - and I know the CR crew hopes the same.

[chubs-deuce]

I think I also saw a post explaining that if a ship in the fandom got too popular, the network producers would try and force that ship to become canon.

It's like, I love Charlastor, but I really don't want it to be canon. I feel like non canon ships are more fun!

yeah!!! 100% agreed, and I despise it when producers actually let that happen too :/ Glaring very hard at the grossly entitled people a good while back to tried to sway their preferred ship into canonicity by doing petitions....

I wouldn't want charlastor to be canon tbh.

It's, frankly, wild to me that so many people even equate shipping to exclusively mean "to root for two or more characters to get romantically involved in the source material", and any exploration of dynamics beyond that is then frowned upon, shamed or invalidated.

To an unfortunately large amount of people, shipping is little more than a popularity contest :')

To me, a huge part of the appeal in shipping is that it's a means to explore interpersonal character dynamics from a piece of media in ways we don't necessarily see happen in canon.

I LOVE non-canon ships for the fact that they leave us with SO much creative freedom! [more in-depth thoughts + what appeals to me about charlastor under the cut]

It allows us to hypothesize and experiment in-depth with how these characters would find their way from one type of dynamic into a different direction in so many different ways, without canon to give us one solid path to stick to.

One trope I'm very fond of in fanfiction in particular has always been slowburn with a touch of mutual pining - when a dynamic is truly given room to breathe and naturally grow into different directions and REALLY digs into the involved characters, it enables the authors to thoroughly lay out why and how their feelings change, what affected them in the process and how/when they eventually choose to act on them!

Character analysis is my bread and butter, so if a dynamic strikes my interest it's almost always because it has something unique about it far beyond just wanting to see them all lovey-dovey bc it's cute (though that can be part of it lol).

Charlie and Alastor as a combination are so intriguing to me because they're in many ways polar opposites, but simultaneously also have just enough similarities to leave a lot of potential for a genuine bond.

They combine the most conniving, manipulative, steadfastly and proudly immoral person with someone whose good intentions color absolutely everything she does, who also has the willpower and moral code to see it through.

They're like a forbidden, alluring dance, endlessly circling in each other's gravitational pull - which parts of them will prevail? Who will inevitably buckle to the other's influence first? What draws them in? What drives them apart?

I love watching Alastor's masterfully crafted plans get absolutely thwarted because he can't get a consistent read on her - a being who's - by her very nature of being part demon and part angel - a bundle of contradictions.

I'm also extremely fond of Charlie 100% seeing through him every step of the way and still keeping him around - regardless of his motivations, he is a vital, helpful part of the hotel, and she won't give up on trying to win him over for her cause in earnest.

There are very few things as funny to me as the idea of Alastor -master manipulator - being so far up his own ego, obsessing over getting a figurative hold over this fascinating and yet frustrating princess, that it takes forever for him to realize he's the one being used all along, expertly playing right into her cards.

Simultaneously, there's so many other ways to write them!!! It's just so damn fun to explore all of the what-ifs.