#Ten Days in the Valley

[shovingdirtinmymouth]

i hate the catfish in stardew valley. it knows that i crave it with my whole being and yet it hides from me. the fish may crave me but the catfish fears me. willy asks for a catfish and i have to look at him and tell him no, for the catfish has left to go to a different land. when i do catch it will be smoked as selling it right away would be too kind.

[marlenacantswim]

just finished matt smith's run as the doctor, still hot off the tails, and as is to be expected, everything that happened to him keeps making me think of nine and ten. i hadn't stopped to consider just how fresh the whole "committing genocide against my own people" thing was for nine. like the amount of High Grade Denial And Suppression he had to have been doing to be as barely functional as he was must have been publishable.

[word-ghost]

i had the pleasure of commissioning @jellyaris for this amazing artwork of Harvey and my farmer, Peach. it's somehow more perfect than i could have imagined, and i can't thank them enough!!

based on the following scene from my fic, razing doubt.

Some sunlight managed to brighten the sky behind the clouds. The wind had calmed. Our footsteps were barely audible over the endless patter of the rain. Harvey’s umbrella swung from the crook of my arm while we walked together under mine. 

“I’m not sure we’ll make it in time,” Harvey fretted.

“I promised to get you there, didn’t I?”

“Yes, before you dug through everything you own to find your rain boots.” 

“Everything I own fits in two drawers and a tiny closet. And if I recall, you were still getting dressed.” 

“That’s— I could blame you for that too,” Harvey muttered, color rising to his cheeks.

“No fair,” I said, stepping to the side to get a better look at him. “There’s no way you walked all this way in a rainstorm— before dawn in a rainstorm— just to tell me about some broken phones.”

“Well,” he began, scratching the back of his head. A smile bloomed across his face.

“Well?” I giggled. “Admit it. You just wanted to see me.” 

“Your hair’s getting wet.” 

“It was barely dry when we left. And don’t change the subject, y—”

In one gentle motion, Harvey caught my arm and whirled me around to face him. The rain had made his wavy hair a bit more wild. His grin dug those tiny little lines around his eyes. My heart pounded as his fingers brushed my cheek, and his eyes bore into mine.

“I wanted to see you,” he said. The look in his eyes pushed the air out of me. His sincerity liquefied my nerve, and I had the urge to hide from him again.

“Okay,” I breathed when I’d found my voice. “Good. Come on. We’re in a hurry, remember?” I took his hand and pulled him after me to the cobblestone path ahead.

you can find the full chapter here, or start Peach's story from the beginning here 🖤

[oreoambitions]

housemate: we should make zucchini bread me: should we... grow some zucchini housemate: ... buying it from the store *does* feel a little like cheating now, yeah

[noviistarz]

does anybody else have any ideas for the svrvival street charas and their voices or am i alone in this struggle

[witchceleste-sdv]

so i have been listening to milk town nonstop and i could not get this out of my head

but imagine instead of milk town its pelican town and the carters happen to be a certain shopkeeper and his wife that have their eye on the new farmer

pierre carter likes me

mr carter kind of stares

pierre carter sells cheap seeds

mr carter kind of swears on wednesdays

[wishfuldorian]

Vanilla Stardew: So many things to do and virtually no time to do them slowly it kinda drove me mad and stressed me so much sometimes I felt like crying cuz I couldn't do anything I wanted really. Like talk with the villagers

Time management mod Stardew: Oh wow I love life, oh hello everyone! Im gonna fish, ooh ill sit on this bench... Let me get some wood... I wanna say hi to everybody! Ill water these crops one by one... peace and love on earth im so chill I could sleep and I can do anything

[compulsiveobsessing]

hmmm so new job is going fine, it's pretty low stress. i have plenty of time when i get home to shower and chill out and eat an actual meal only i. just end up collapsing in bed and reading or falling asleep instead of eating. and part of the reason is cause once im showered im clean and it's a Risk to leave my room to go make food so i just. don't. and then i sleep for like 10 hours and have nightmares and stress dreams. hello

[pseudowho]

You hadn't heard Kento arrive home, but moved from garden to living room like a moth to the flame, when you heard the telltale clink-clink of him removing his harness.

You sidled up behind him, a tease in your voice, dragging one languid finger down his spine.

"What's a guy like you, doing in a place like this, huh?"

A low chuckle. "I'm sure I'm meant to be here."

You bit your lip. "Me too. It must be fate. Does your wife know you're here, Mr...?"

"Nanami. And I certainly hope she does."

You weaved your way round to face him, now, sliding your hands from broad chest to shoulders, all peaks and valleys of stone.

"And what would she say," you whispered, circling one fingertip over his chest until he shivered, lifting one knee to brace against his hip, "if she knew there was someone like me, here?" Kento looked down at you, honey-rich eyes narrowing, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"That's what you want, is it?" He whispered back, low voice barely audible in the moonlight-flood living room. "A little...roleplay?" Your eyes glimmered at him in confirmation, and he chuckled. "Alright, then." You felt yourself tremble with anticipation.

Abrupt and firm, his smile replaced by a scowl, Kento removed your leg from his hip.

"Get your hands off me."

You gawped at him. Kento stepped back, clearing his throat, and adjusting his tie, the wedding ring glinting on his finger.

"I'll excuse you, just once, but I'm a married man. Happily."

"Kento, I--"

"That's Mr.Nanami to you. I don't recall us ever meeting, and I don't enjoy such intimate familiarity with strangers."

"--you are just so--"

"I'm sorry for whatever has happened in your life, for you to have such little self-respect, or respect for others, that you have such ill-intent towards a married man--"

You withered onto the sofa under his cool tirade.

"--but I wish you all the best in your future endeavours, while I wait for my wife."

"You are a fucking nightmare--"

"And how did you get in my house? I'll give you ten seconds to leave, before I call the police--"

You screamed into a sofa cushion.

"--do you have somewhere safe to go? Are you hungry? Thirsty, certainly. I can pay for a taxi--"

You felt your soul leave your body.

"--I do hope we don't meet again--"

You laughed, humourless, face down in the pillow.

"-- good day to you."

Kento walked away to the bathroom, leaving you prone and mortified on the sofa. You heard the shower start to run. You lifted your head, shouting at him, furious in your laughter.

"Fuck you for being so fucking pure, Mr.Nanami! Your wife is a lucky woman!"

A deep laugh from the bathroom. "Yes, she is."

[oceantornadoo]

bad day (simon riley x reader, best friends to lovers)

honestly, you should have seen it coming. staying in a safe house with four men who have never ending stomachs? but today, it was the last straw.

“you ate my last cookie?”

soap’s face dropped, jaw open. your voice was on the verge of breaking, tears forming in your eyes. you never showed this much vulnerability in front of the team, and he was flabbergasted. he shot a look at gaz, who was equally as confused. “‘m sorry, bonnie, i didnae ken-“ you pushed your hands on the table, shoving your chair back and out. “it’s ok. gonna take a nap.” you were wiping your eyes furiously, feeling unstable. first you got your period four days early (asking price to add pads to the shopping list was something you never wanted to experience again), then you couldn’t find your heating pad, and now your cookies were out? maybe it was the hormones, but you were done.

“oof.” you had ran into a thick wall. scratch that, the wall was moving. your vision was blurred by tears you refused to shed that you didn’t even realize it was your closest friend ghost. “dove?” you hiccuped. why did he always have to be so nice to you? gruff and mean-sounding to everyone else, but an avid listener and sweet talker when it came to you. “jus’ trying to get to my room, didn’t see you. sorry l.t..” you tried to maneuver around him, but unfortunately a 6’4 machine of a man did not move easily.

“why you cryin’, baby?” shit, simon did not mean to call you that. he did not want to have this conversation right now, especially when you looked like you were about to break down. you were always so strong, having to work ten times harder as a woman in the military, and he was always careful to not undermine you or your struggles. unfortunately, that landed him firmly in the friendzone for the past year, unable to confess his feelings without breaking your trust. he maneuvered you to the closest room, which happened to be his. he sat down on the bed, intending to sit you down next to him, but instead you still stood, walking in between his parted legs.

“‘m sorry, just on my period and everything hurts and it’s all hitting at once.” your eyes were red, avoiding his. he could see you were in pain, and as someone who had endured enemy torture and the hardest forms of training, his heart never hurt as much as it did now. he reached a gloved hand towards your face, brushing away your tears. his other hand came to your lower belly, rubbing circles over your clothes. “shhh, ‘s okay. you wanna sit down?” you shook your head in disagreement. you felt like a child, but you were never allowed to be weak outside of your own room. for some reason today, you let simon riley see you weak.

you walked around his body and laid on top of his covers, curling into a fetal position. he let you get comfy, finding a way to lay down that lessened your cramps. finally, you were done moving. “si?” you never called him that unless you absolutely needed him. he got up and locked the door, not wanting to disturb your peace. “yeah, baby?” might as well use it now, you hadn’t complained. if anything your face softened when he said it, and simon riley would die a thousand deaths just to see a moment of relief on your face. “will you lay with me?”

he eagerly stripped out of his gear, climbing on top of his bed to lay down with you. he placed a hand on your arm, letting you choose where you wanted him. you dragged his hand under your sweatshirt, using it like a heating pad for your cramps. you let out a soft moan of pleasure and he answered it with a low growl, pulling you into him by the stomach. his thumb caressed your bare skin with small circles, memorizing every dip and valley. he strived to commit the moment to memory, not knowing if you’d ever be this vulnerable again. “feel better, dove?” you nodded, finally succumbing to sleep that had evaded you the past night. he smiled under his mask, placing a small kiss to the back of your head.

finally you were at peace, and all because of him.

[cottageivy]

goodnight, i have been in bed all day with god awful cramps and no pain killers :)) hoping they’re not as bad tomorrow cause it’ll be warm enough to go swimming again

[ms-demeanor]

Why reblog machine-generated art?

When I was ten years old I took a photography class where we developed black and white photos by projecting light on papers bathed in chemicals. If we wanted to change something in the image, we had to go through a gradual, arduous process called dodging and burning.

When I was fifteen years old I used photoshop for the first time, and I remember clicking on the clone tool or the blur tool and feeling like I was cheating.

When I was twenty eight I got my first smartphone. The phone could edit photos. A few taps with my thumb were enough to apply filters and change contrast and even spot correct. I was holding in my hand something more powerful than the huge light machines I'd first used to edit images.

When I was thirty six, just a few weeks ago, I took a photo class that used Lightroom Classic and again, it felt like cheating. It made me really understand how much the color profiles of popular web images I'd been seeing for years had been pumped and tweaked and layered with local edits to make something that, to my eyes, didn't much resemble photography. To me, photography is light on paper. It's what you capture in the lens. It's not automatic skin smoothing and a local filter to boost the sky. This reminded me a lot more of the photomanipulations my friend used to make on deviantart; layered things with unnatural colors that put wings on buildings or turned an eye into a swimming pool. It didn't remake the images to that extent, obviously, but it tipped into the uncanny valley. More real than real, more saturated more sharp and more present than the actual world my lens saw. And that was before I found the AI assisted filters and the tool that would identify the whole sky for you, picking pieces of it out from between leaves.

You know, it's funny, when people talk about artists who might lose their jobs to AI they don't talk about the people who have already had to move on from their photo editing work because of technology. You used to be able to get paid for basic photo manipulation, you know? If you were quick with a lasso or skilled with masks you could get a pretty decent chunk of change by pulling subjects out of backgrounds for family holiday cards or isolating the pies on the menu for a mom and pop. Not a lot, but enough to help. But, of course, you can just do that on your phone now. There's no need to pay a human for it, even if they might do a better job or be more considerate toward the aesthetic of an image.

And they certainly don't talk about all the development labs that went away, or the way that you could have trained to be a studio photographer if you wanted to take good photos of your family to hang on the walls and that digital photography allowed in a parade of amateurs who can make dozens of iterations of the same bad photo until they hit on a good one by sheer volume and luck; if you want to be a good photographer everyone can do that why didn't you train for it and spend a long time taking photos on film and being okay with bad photography don't you know that digital photography drove thousands of people out of their jobs.

My dad told me that he plays with AI the other day. He hosts a movie podcast and he puts up thumbnails for the downloads. In the past, he'd just take a screengrab from the film. Now he tells the Bing AI to make him little vignettes. A cowboy running away from a rhino, a dragon arm-wrestling a teddy bear. That kind of thing. Usually based on a joke that was made on the show, or about the subject of the film and an interest of the guest.

People talk about "well AI art doesn't allow people to create things, people were already able to create things, if they wanted to create things they should learn to create things." Not everyone wants to make good art that's creative. Even fewer people want to put the effort into making bad art for something that they aren't passionate about. Some people want filler to go on the cover of their youtube video. My dad isn't going to learn to draw, and as the person who he used to ask to photoshop him as Ant-Man because he certainly couldn't pay anyone for that kind of thing, I think this is a great use case for AI art. This senior citizen isn't going to start cartooning and at two recordings a week with a one-day editing turnaround he doesn't even really have the time for something like a Fiverr commission. This is a great use of AI art, actually.

I also know an artist who is going Hog Fucking Wild creating AI art of their blorbos. They're genuinely an incredibly talented artist who happens to want to see their niche interest represented visually without having to draw it all themself. They're posting the funny and good results to a small circle of mutuals on socials with clear information about the source of the images; they aren't trying to sell any of the images, they're basically using them as inserts for custom memes. Who is harmed by this person saying "i would like to see my blorbo lasciviously eating an ice cream cone in the is this a pigeon meme"?

The way I use machine-generated art, as an artist, is to proof things. Can I get an explosion to look like this. What would a wall of dead computer monitors look like. Would a ballerina leaping over the grand canyon look cool? Sometimes I use AI art to generate copyright free objects that I can snip for a collage. A lot of the time I use it to generate ideas. I start naming random things and seeing what it shows me and I start getting inspired. I can ask CrAIon for pose reference, I can ask it to show me the interior of spaces from a specific angle.

I profoundly dislike the antipathy that tumblr has for AI art. I understand if people don't want their art used in training pools. I understand if people don't want AI trained on their art to mimic their style. You should absolutely use those tools that poison datasets if you don't want your art included in AI training. I think that's an incredibly appropriate action to take as an artist who doesn't want AI learning from your work.

However I'm pretty fucking aggressively opposed to copyright and most of the "solid" arguments against AI art come down to "the AIs viewed and learned from people's copyrighted artwork and therefore AI is theft rather than fair use" and that's a losing argument for me. In. Like. A lot of ways. Primarily because it is saying that not only is copying someone's art theft, it is saying that looking at and learning from someone's art can be defined as theft rather than fair use.

Also because it's just patently untrue.

But that doesn't really answer your question. Why reblog machine-generated art? Because I liked that piece of art.

It was made by a machine that had looked at billions of images - some copyrighted, some not, some new, some old, some interesting, many boring - and guided by a human and I liked it. It was pretty. It communicated something to me. I looked at an image a machine made - an artificial picture, a total construct, something with no intrinsic meaning - and I felt a sense of quiet and loss and nostalgia. I looked at a collection of automatically arranged pixels and tasted salt and smelled the humidity in the air.

I liked it.

I don't think that all AI art is ugly. I don't think that AI art is all soulless (i actually think that 'having soul' is a bizarre descriptor for art and that lacking soul is an equally bizarre criticism). I don't think that AI art is bad for artists. I think the problem that people have with AI art is capitalism and I don't think that's a problem that can really be laid at the feet of people curating an aesthetic AI art blog on tumblr.

Machine learning isn't the fucking problem the problem is massive corporations have been trying hard not to pay artists for as long as massive corporations have existed (isn't that a b-plot in the shape of water? the neighbor who draws ads gets pushed out of his job by product photography? did you know that as recently as ten years ago NewEgg had in-house photographers who would take pictures of the products so users wouldn't have to rely on the manufacturer photos? I want you to guess what killed that job and I'll give you a hint: it wasn't AI)

Am I putting a human out of a job because I reblogged an AI-generated "photo" of curtains waving in the pale green waters of an imaginary beach? Who would have taken this photo of a place that doesn't exist? Who would have painted this hypersurrealistic image? What meaning would it have had if they had painted it or would it have just been for the aesthetic? Would someone have paid for it or would it be like so many of the things that artists on this site have spent dozens of hours on only to get no attention or value for their work?

My worst ratio of hours to notes is an 8-page hand-drawn detailed ink comic about getting assaulted at a concert and the complicated feelings that evoked that took me weeks of daily drawing after work with something like 54 notes after 8 years; should I be offended if something generated from a prompt has more notes than me? What does that actually get the blogger? Clout? I believe someone said that popularity on tumblr gets you one thing and that is yelled at.

What do you get out of this? Are you helping artists right now? You're helping me, and I'm an artist. I've wanted to unload this opinion for a while because I'm sick of the argument that all Real Artists think AI is bullshit. I'm a Real Artist. I've been paid for Real Art. I've been commissioned as an artist.

And I find a hell of a lot of AI art a lot more interesting than I find human-generated corporate art or Thomas Kincaid (but then, I repeat myself).

There are plenty of people who don't like AI art and don't want to interact with it. I am not one of those people. I thought the gay sex cats were funny and looked good and that shitposting is the ideal use of a machine image generation: to make uncopyrightable images to laugh at.

I think that tumblr has decided to take a principled stand against something that most people making the argument don't understand. I think tumblr's loathing for AI has, generally speaking, thrown weight behind a bunch of ideas that I think are going to be incredibly harmful *to artists specifically* in the long run.

Anyway. If you hate AI art and you don't want to interact with people who interact with it, block me.

[shiny-jr]

- Warning: None really. Gender-neutral reader. 

- Characters: Malleus Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge, Silver, Sebek Zigvolt.

- Summary: You work a minimum wage job when a fae takes an interest after you jokingly asked him "will you adopt me?"

- Note: I planned for this to be a platonic yandere thing, but really it's only silly thoughts so I don't really plan to continue this unless y'all want. I don't even have a name for it.

Thinking about an AU where...

You were born a regular magicless person in Twisted Wonderland. Which was a travesty, but not too uncommon, as there were plenty of beings in this world that were incapable of magic. It was considered a privilege to be born with such capabilities. A privilege.

Which was likely why the world seemed catered specifically for magic users. Magic users were the cream of the crop, the best of the best. In the social hierarchy, magic users reined on top. That's just how things were. It wasn't discriminatory. It was merely the nature of society. If a company was looking to hire, of course they would inquire if potential employees could use magic. And of course, they were more likely to choose magic users to fill the positions. That explained why you could only find work as a minimum wage telemarketer, but it was better than nothing.

Random numbers generated and numerous attempts, scripted greetings you've said so much you could recite them in your sleep. As soon as you get an answer of "mmmyello?" a casual and exaggerated hello, you go off on the scripted greeting to advertise the product.

Shockingly, the person on the other end doesn't immediately hang up. They merely hum at your words, occasional shifting heard on the other end.

By the tone and voice, you've deduced that it's a rather relaxed guy. A conversation ensues, and although he doesn't sound all that interested in making a purchase, he doesn't get annoyed by your call. In fact, he continues to chat, seemingly amused by you and willing to share details such that he had a son and two others he fondly cared for.

The man, whom referred to himself as Lilia, mentioned he lived in Briar Valley. How odd, as it was common knowledge that the valley didn't have the best connection with technology due to their preference towards magic. He spoke of his well-mannered son and the other two boys he helped raise, one was a loud son of a dentist and the other was a quiet son of longtime family friends. By this time you were imagining an older gentleman with three young boys no older than ten.

He seemed to care so fondly for them that in the middle of the pleasant conversation, you couldn't help but jokingly ask, "Will you adopt me?"

The line was silent and you were mortified as you remembered this was supposed to be business talk, and your calls were likely being recorded. After what must've been shock, he began to laugh on the other end, and you immediately ended the call in your panic.

Why did you say that? You shouldn't have said that– Damn it, right when you were just gonna test the waters to see if he wanted the insurance package! Well, there went your big catch of the day. The rest of the evening was failed attempts, either deadlines or potential customers just hung up as soon as you spoke. Things were looking bleak.

Eventually, not even a week later, you received a letter. A letter, not an email, that was written much like how you expected the contents of a letter from the medieval ages to sound. Starting with: Salutations, Telemarketer–– and after several paragraphs, ending with ––That is why I am now interested in your deal! I will need your assistance, because I have not a single clue about how insurance works.

There was no number, and you couldn't recall the one you had reached him through, so there was no choice but to resort to the old fashioned way. Through letters. Although it would be a hassle and an interaction that would likely last for weeks just for one deal, a customer was a customer, and this would be your first one in so long. However, when you agreed to speak to him, you didn't actually expect him to show up at your doorstep. The voice you recognized, but he was not what you had in mind. He looked to be your age, short with magenta highlights in his black hair and wide red eyes accompanied by a fang-toothed smile. And pointed ears, the sign of fae. Of course he was a fae, that made total sense as to why he spoke as if he were older. He probably was older, much older than you previously thought.

Lilia wore a constant smile, listening but also not listening when you tried your best to explain what insurance was to a fae that had never once needed it.

"Do you get it now...?" You asked finally, after a lengthy explanation to which he barely asked any questions. All he did was nod up and down.

There was a brief pause. "Yesss..." That sounded uncertain, but he didn't appear to care too much as he noticed your bag with only the minimum in it like keys and a thin wallet. Along with the time. "Shouldn't you be on your lunch break now?"

"Yes, but... I don't eat lunch. I'm not hungry." A lie. You were hungry, but it wasn't easy to get lunch on a minimum wage salary alone. You'd eat something for dinner.

Lilia seemed to sense this, somehow detecting your lie. "Hm... Well, I like you. And I'm not about to let a child starve on my watch."

"A child...?" You stared at him incredulously. This fae was practically the same size as you, maybe even shorter. "I'm over––"

"Uh-huh, just nod and come along." He instructed, holding up a finger to gently shush you as he waved you along to follow beside him. "If your age only has two numbers in it, then in my eyes, you're like a toddler."

Lunch was surprisingly nice, as Lilia was quite eccentric but excellent at holding a conversation. He seemed wise and witty, making a great combination. However, you couldn't help but wonder what a fae from Briar Valley was doing here, as it was known that most faes preferred not to leave the valley.

"It's getting late, I do have to be going..." Lilia sighed, before turning to you and his smile softened. "Would you like to see my boys I told you about? It won't take long."

Did he live close by? That was the only plausible explanation you could think of, since Briar Valley was a whole continent away. It only made sense that he lived nearby if he were here now. Maybe he was one of the few fae that chose to leave the valley.

This was quickly disproven when he held your hand and told you to stay still, when it felt like you were hurled through space. A gust of wind slapping your face, your eyes momentarily seeing a kaleidoscope of colors, you felt sick when suddenly your surroundings were darker.

Dark brick walls like black, candles lighting the space, gray stone floors... definitely not the outside of the cafe you were just standing in front of moments ago. Teleporation magic...? He was a fae, and all faes had magic. You only had milliseconds to recover and swallow the rising bile in your throat, as Lilia pulled you into an open space like a courtyard where light filtered in. However, in this space there were training dummies and swords instead of flowers and butterflies.

"Come, come, meet my boys. The ones I've told you about!"

You immediately paled. When you heard boys, you were expecting young children no bigger than half your height. Instead you were met with three towering men with forbidding expressions.

Two of which were dressed in dark metallic armor and lowering sharpened weapons. The one on the left was a bit taller, with green hair and sharp eyes that pierced you like a blade. The one on the right was the shorter of the two, but that didn't make him any less intimidating with his gray hair and aurora eyes on an expression as cold as ice.

And the last, the last was recognizable anywhere. Black robes and majestic black horns like a crown with slitted green eyes that seemed to glow and peer into your very soul. That was the prince of the valley, a fae with unrivaled and frightening levels of magic.

"This is Sebek, Silver, and Malleus. They've so looked forward to meeting you ever since I told them about you after our pleasant telephone chat yesterday!"

[abigailtravellerjasie]

[nanabrainrot]

Five to Ten Fingers

You have a thing for holding hands. He has a thing for holding hands with you. You always know when to do it.

Homelander/F!Reader | insinuated established relationship, fingering, beta free. No use of pronouns but reader has a pussy. Drabble bc I lazy </3

Babbling, bucking, and broken, John fucks your pussy nonetheless. It was a fixation, obsession, to watch you like this; coo at the way you twitched on his lap with his fingers pumping you full. Getting to know you meant getting to know your pussy. Getting you to cum was an easy task now and barely even a feat in his eyes - it only mattered how much he made you cum.

The hum of the television, ginormous and hosting an angelic ever changing projection of color on your naked torso across his lap, is loud enough to keep that constant rurr of background noise but not loud enough to compete with the cacophony of sounds spilling out of you. The sound of your socked feet pushing against the sofa’s fabric as you kicked your feet involuntary as your nerve endings fired unwittingly everywhere. The sound of your cunt, squelching loud gushy sounds as his fingers pumped into your groin. The sweet, sweet sound of your pleading. Unintelligible, broken, and stupid.

Your hands kept searching for something, grabbing at the blanket with a vice grip, his pajama pants, his evening tee, whining with each contact until you find something: his hand. His left hand had settled near your shoulder a bit ago, stroking at the skin as he milked you of everything you could give.

You find the skin and the clarity is there for a second, a moment, as your head falls back as your hands start to draw his hand to your chest. Not to toy with your tits but to leave it there - hands wandering up his forearms and stroking the skin of it, then wandering to his hand.

The thick veins pushed at his skin. Apricot, peachy skin and the undertone of greenish veins under it. His hair was yellowy, brownish. Eyes a hue of blue only found in colored pencils, gouaches, watercolors - something only manmade which made sense for him. Beyond human. Beyond reason. The muscles of his chest in his home clothes, a tank that was ribbed and thin, off white. His lips, a thin line of mauve smirking. Teeth like pearls. Hands like a bear trap - open and capable of breaking. Made for breaking.

Bear trap or what, you hand clambers into his. Graceless, needy. Gripping pathetically like it was a rope and you were descending into a valley of death. Needy. Desperate.

“Homelander saves the day!” The television hums, the planes move by. Humming, sounds all aware to him with supersonic ears. They mean nothing. White noise. The sound of gushing, socks on the sofa, panting. Whining.

His favorite noise: “John!” You croon like you’re crying now. A weepy sound, tears slipping down your face. With your eyes screwed shut, you don’t see the smirk change, his eyes soften.

“One more, okay?” he coos, your back arching off his lap. You cried, but nodded and sniffled. Then second favorite sound: the sound of you cumming.

[likedovesinthewindd]

Can you do a fic of jealous art donaldson?

yes omw 🙏🏽🙏🏽this is a bit short tho sorry bb

What the two of you had was not exclusive. That had not been said explicitly by either of you but safely assumed by both. It was an unspoken agreement you two had reached at some point during this whole affair: you weren't looking for anything serious right now, just some harmless fun.

You didn't like to call it what you both knew it was — friends with benefits — because it felt too impersonal to say so. Ironic, considering being impersonal was exactly what a situation like yours required.

But it wasn't; there were way too many nights that ended with your head resting against his chest, his hand tracing patterns across the top of your arms and between your shoulder blades and lips pressing soft kisses to the top of your head after he had asked you to stay the night. Too many times where you were the first person he'd call after a hard day, just needing to hear your voice to feel better. Too many times, he'd look for your face in the crowd on the pavillion, a smile stretching across his face when he'd find you sitting front row.

So, at times, it was hard to say the two of you haven't become close over the last few months because you definitely have. It was also harder to admit to yourself that the only reason you even gave Henry, the boy in your economics class, the time of day was because you thought it'd help take your mind off of your ever growing crush on Art. You'd regret it immediately after, feeling as though you were stringing the poor guy along.

You felt ten times worse when Art had asked you about it, too.

"What's up with you and Henry these days?" he had quietly asked as his mouth continued its painstakingly slow pace down your body, pressing feather light kisses to every area of exposed skin.

Your hand ran through his blond hair, frowning at the mention of Henry. "Nothing," you answered, "why do you ask?"

He shrugged as he lifted his head, resting his chin on your chest. Both of your hands ran through his hair now. "I'm just curious," he reassoned, shifting his head to kiss the skin peaking from the top of your bra. "I just don't really like him," he added.

"That's too bad," you sighed as his warm hands gripped your upper legs, bringing one higher to rest on his hip, "because I have a date with him tomorrow night."

It almost scared you how fast he stopped what he was doing, looking up at you with eyebrows furrowed. "Really?" he asked, scowl deepening when you laughed, the sound reverberating through his chest.

"No, I'm just joking," you said, thumb smoothing over the crease in his brows as you watched his face soften. "I just wanted to see what you would do."

He huffed, head bending down to place another kiss to the soft skin above the soft lace trimmings of your bra, hands continuing to rub your legs gently. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous," you laughed, the sound quickly turning into a shriek when he lightly bit you in retaliation to your teasing.

"Of course I'm jealous," he sated very matter-of-factly, lips now between the valley of your breasts, kissing the bra's little bow. "Why are you jealous, Art?" you asked softly, gently lifting his head so that he'd look at you again. "You know why," he sighed, eyes closing when he felt your nails lightly scratch against his scalp.

"I wanna hear you say it."

His eyes reopened, moving up your body until you were face to face. You held his face in your hands, and he kissed the corner of the mouth. "Because," another kiss to the other side, "I want you all myself," he admitted. You smiled unabashedly at that, body warming at his admission. "You could have that if you asked," you countered, and he hummed in amusement. "Can I be your boyfriend? Would you like that?" You rolled your eyes playfully, pretending to be in thought for a moment. "I'd like that."