#also having everything play out the Exact Same Way is Weird to me.

[emeraldelysium]

jem white bear black mirror you are so beautiful .

[thefudge]

Advice for writing smut???

gonna do bullet-points of things i tend to live by when it comes to smut (this is just my opinion):

don't switch styles: the way you write the smut has to be consistent with the way you write the rest of the story, so if your story is more comedic or romcom-y in nature, the way you write the smut should have those stylings. i personally find it very jarring when authors decide to break the format for the smut, almost like the story has to stop for the sex intermission; if you're writing a horror story, the smut must be informed and influenced by that genre, and if you are breaking genre for the smut portion, tell us why you're suddenly switching gears (it has to be an aesthetic choice you're making on purpose). likewise, if your style in that story is more lyrical, the smut has to be somewhat lyrical too, or if your story is more cormac mccarthy-esque-cut-and-dry, the smut can't suddenly involve an effluvia of purple, sappy prose. integrating the smut in the story and treating it like any other part of the story is key to me. too often i've seen ppl switch to this anonymous pornified style when they get to the smut

which brings me to specificity. i'll talk about het sex, since that's what i tend to write most: not all men are going to be fingering or eating pussy the same way, not all dicks are big and they shouldn't be, not all women immediately get excited by fingering, not everyone moans the same way or makes the same sounds. you're writing about particular characters so it has to be particular to them. i know this is very old advice, but i think it bears repeating

there isn't an exact formula or sequence you have to follow, there aren't precise steps, you don't have to go "well, first he has to kiss down her neck, then reach the boob area, then play with the nipples, then put the nipple in his mouth, then slowly go down on her, then prepare her for entering her etc. etc. etc." this can get boring and repetitive and you start thinking of your characters as these mechanical dolls who have to fuck for your audience. and that can be a vibe too, if you do it on purpose. but sometimes you can get stuck in a porn routine (and ofc, having only the guy show initiative can also get boring)

in order to break that, insert some character moments. what are the characters thinking during this? sometimes they might be thinking of something completely unrelated on the surface, but which has a thematic relevance that can make the scene hotter. likewise, maybe they're doing smth that seems unsexy on the surface, but which, within the context of the story might be really hot. sex doesn't just involve, well, sex, but so much weirdness and humanity and creativity. two bodies (usually) are trying to do this really awkward thing together and they might have a lot of baggage and history to inform it. there's a lot you can do with that.

don't make it glossy and clean, where everyone smells of strawberry shampoo and there is never anything out of sync. the most boring smut tends to be the kind where no one makes any mistakes and everything is super efficient. i imagine it feels like using an industrial pump to milk various farm animals.

and you know what? you can make that hot too. you CAN write a kind of robotic efficient smut and make it really interesting based on the context. let's say you're writing a 1984 AU fic where ppl are forced into intimacy only to procreate and their sex drive is diminished. you can play with that premise and lean into the dehumanizing industrialization of sex, but you have to mean it, aka your narratorial voice must be conscious of these factors.

if you're writing dubcon, make the dubious part present, make sure you draw out the ambivalence and ambiguity. if you're writing noncon, the character whose consent is being violated has to be transformed by this in some way. it can be forced pleasure, for instance, but not only. it has to be a journey for them too, some kind of spiritual pit, or a form of access to terrible knowledge. i know this is a personal thing, but noncon doesn't work for me if the character being noncon'd is just sort of *there*, suffering passively. i think that sort of dead passivity can be done very well too, but the narratorial voice has to persuade me.

that being said, don't be afraid of fear in consensual sex. terror and vulnerability are a part of consensual sex too, imo, and again, depending on the story and the characters, there's a lot you can explore there

i personally find it really hot when the narratorial voice starts discussing some of the ideas that the story wants to convey during the smut. so like, you can characterize person A and outline their worldview and their plans while they're ramming person B, and the thinking & fucking are thus entwined. idk, i dig that

speaking of which, smut can convey world-building details and social/philosophical ideas, not just emotions and character beats

not all smut has to end with mutual orgasm or even one-sided orgasm, it depends what you want to do or where you want to go. again, you don't have to follow a sequence. plus, it's fun (and hot) to write about frustration and failure too.

if you want to mix up the descriptions, resort to the story & characters. you'll find it's easier to describe someone fondling a boob in a new or at least interesting way if you're thinking about that particular character in that particular story, and not just Man X from planet porn (sorry to be snarky, but mainstream erotica is soooo guilty of this)

screaming & really intense reactions are cool but they have to match the characters and the situations

sometimes, it's hotter if an effect is mild or negated, if the usual outcome doesn't happen; mix up the order of events, toy with the usual reactions. it's not about being original, it's about finding out what works for your characters. writing about sex is, in a way, a performance of it, an attempt to go through the sexual motions, to find out what works and doesn't, to engage with the erotics of text (roland barthes entered the chat)

if you are bored by your own smut, that's a problem. i know we all talk about how hard we find writing smut, and IT IS hard, and sometimes it's not enjoyable, because writing itself is often not enjoyable, but even when it's painful and annoying, it gives you that little intellectual kick like "huh, i'm creating this and making these people do this, and ohh look, i can maybe put this unnamable thing into words". but if you become bored, that's a sign you have to look at the language & characters and figure out what's not working for you

last thing i'll underline: pay attention to your narratorial voice. in this ordeal, you are the seducer. not the characters. you have to seduce us with words and context. your voice matters the most. you can persuade us of anything. but you have to be confident in your weirdness and particularity. this is your bedroom (so to speak), so invite us in.

[a-case-of-attachment]

Okay, writing prompt if you're interested. LuciferXreader, making out in a pile of rubber ducks. It may be weird as hell, but also really cute and funny. AND!! Laughter is a healthy part of any relationship!

Yes I’m interested!!!!!!!!!

I hope this is what you’re after, it kind of got away from me and I spent way too long thinking about what all those little duckies could do.

Lucifer had a problem, one of his own making that was yellow and sometimes quacked, maybe barked, there was even ones that spoke backwards and in riddles. They came in all kinds of colours and did all sorts of things. He had a purple one that could teleport, a rainbow one that shot confetti out of its mouth when it was squeezed, he even had one that glowed in the dark and played lullaby’s. The point was that Lucifer had made a lot of rubber duckies over the years but he didn’t realise quite how many until he was looking for one specific duck.

“Where are you, you little piece of…” Lucifer grumbled, his words trailing off as he dived into another mountain of ducks, sending them tumbling down to join the rest that had spilled over the floor. He had been at this for a while now, sending his work room into chaos and all because Charlie had been telling Vaggie all about one she had seen him making when she was a child. She hadn’t asked him for it and Lucifer had honestly forgotten it existed until she had brought it up but she seemed so enamoured with it that Lucifer had decided there and then that he had to gift it to her as a reminder of happier times in her childhood. The only problem was that he couldn’t find the damned thing and he was quickly running out of patience.

“You alright there love?” Lucifers head jerks up and round at your amused voice, blinking dumbly at the sudden brightness of the room. Your leant against the door frame, eyebrows furrowed slightly but a teasing smile tugging up the corners of your mouth. You were a vision, a ray of sunshine through the grey cloud that had been steadily forming over him. “Yep! Everything’s fine. Hahaha. A oh kay. What erh, what are you doing here darling?” Lucifer laughed nervously, his cheeks heating up with embarrassment at being found in such a state.

He had abandoned his hat and jacket ages ago, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and his gloves somewhere within the sea of ducks. Lucifer had unbuttoned his collar at some point, his bow tie pulled loose and hanging around his neck like a sad flat little snake. His face must be flushed by now and his hair that was once neat and styled probably looked more like a birds nest now, stick up in every direction and clinging to his forehead.

“Charlie called me. Seems someone has been ignoring her calls and texts for the past couple of hours and she wanted me to check in and make sure they hadn’t gotten so involved in a project they forgot to eat again. Clearly she was right to worry.” You gave him a pointed look, clearly expecting an answer for his current predicament. Bitting his lip Lucifer let his eyes sweep across the carnage that was his work room and the vast amount of ducks he still had to get through. He needed help or he was never going to get through all these, not any time soon anyway and who better to help him than you? He always wanted to spend more time with you and this would keep you in close proximity for quite some time. It was a win win in his books and he was damn sure going to take full advantage of it.

Groaning Lucifer let his shoulders slump and looked back to you, finding you in the exact same position you had been in before though your eyes had softened slightly now, worry starting to creep in at the edges. “I’m looking for a duck,” he stated, nodding slightly after he had spoken like it was that simple of an answer. “Oh really? Never would have guessed.” Lucifer glared at your sarcastic reply, huffing loudly and crossing his arms over his chest in an overly obvious display of indignation that you both knew was just for show. The gentle laughter his behaviour got him sounded sweet, even as you rolled your eyes and pushed away from the doorframe. He always liked the sound of your laughter, like music that soothed his soul and made his heart ache all at once.

“Alright your majesty, are we looking for one in particular or is this a know it when a see it situation?” You raised an eyebrow at him in question as you sank down onto one of the few spots of clear floor. “It’s made of crystal, has a really cute teeny tiny crown on its head.” You hummed at Lucifers words, your attention now firmly on the ducks that surrounded you. “And when did you last see it?” Lucifer winced at your question, tugging at his already loose collar and refusing to make eye contact with you when you glance in his direction. “I don’t know, maybe a couple of centuries ago. Charlie was about five or six at the time.” You made a weird choked off noise when he said centuries, Lucifer catching a glimpse of your hand slipping on the pile of ducks you had been looking at and sending a couple more tumbling to join the ones that Lucifer was already half buried under.

He offered you an apologetic smile and hopefully his best puppy dog eyes in an attempt to soften any sort of regret you might be feeling at having sat down to help him. It must have worked because you sighed heavily before rolling your shoulders back and sitting up straighter. “It’s fine, we’ll find it and when we do you are sooo going to make it up to me with back rubs and kisses.” Lucifer agreed readily, nodding his head and promising you that and a thousand things more. “Right! We are going to do this one duck at a time, sorting as we go. We will have four separate piles, one pile for the ones that are just rubber ducks with a unique paint job and another for the ones that do something useful.” Lucifer opens his mouth to protest because all his duckies are useful but a quick glance from you has him closing it before he can even get a sound out. “There will also be a pile for ones that do pointless things and another for the ones that are just plain dangerous.”

“They are not dangerous!” Lucifer insisted, snatching up a random duck and squeezing it to prove his point. There was a loud click followed by sound of metal grinding together and Lucifer looked down in horror as the barrel of a pistol slid out of the ducks now open mouth. “Hahaha, how did that get there?” Huffing you held your hand out expectantly and Lucifer reluctantly handed the traitorous thing over, making sure the postal was safely back in place first. Without a word you leant over and pushed a section of the ducks out of the way, clearing a patch on floor in front of you. The gun toting duck was place down gently, looking way too sweet and innocent for what it hid within.

You picked up one from next to you and held it out towards Lucifer. “What does this one do?” He squinted at the thing, turning his head slightly to the side as he tried to remember what this one did. It was yellow like most of them except this one had a red rimed beak that made it look like it had lipstick on. “Lipstick!” Lucifer shouted out triumphantly, his sudden outburst causing you to startle. “It’s lipstick, retro rouge if I’m not mistaken.” You turned the duck toward you, tilting your head quizzically as you squeezed at its sides. It’s beak parted as a stick of bright red lipstick emerged. “Huh,” you said, loosening your grip on the duck so the lipstick went back in before placing it on the floor a few inches away from the other duck. You picked up another, this one yellow with black spots and held it out towards him. “What about this one?”

This goes in for hours, one duck after another and though it would normally be a rather tedious Lucifer is having fun. Some of his duck creations really are bizarre, like the one that changes colour depending on the time of day in Hawaii or the one that screams whenever someone says pineapple. There are some good ones though, like the one that generates a personal forcefield that’s lasts up to an hour when placed on your head or the one that cleans your bath after you’ve used it. The useful pile was a lot smaller than the others though, the useless ones needing a whole corner of the room to themselves. You had even found one that said ‘I’m quackers about you’ in a squeaky voice when squeezed, a little heart shaped box of chocolates with Lucifers hat emblazoned on the front held between its wings.

Lucifer had refused to hand that one over, especially when he realised you intended to put it in the useless pile. A had sat there, cooing at the thing and stroking its head whilst you glared at him. So preoccupied with the duck Lucifer didn’t have time to prepare himself as you suddenly lunged across the space, hands grabbing for the sweet little ducky. The two of you had spent far too long rolling around the floor and tussling for the duck until finally you came to a stop, sprawled across Lucifer and the both of you breathing heavily. You were close, head hovering above his as you stared into one another’s eyes. All Lucifer would need to do is tip his head back and then he would be able to kiss you, one of his favourite things to do these days. His eyes dropped to your lips as your tongue snuck out to wet them, your teeth nipping at your bottom lip enticingly. Lucifer sucked in a deep breath, his hand flexing on your waist where it had ended up in your little play fight. Your head lowered slightly, eyes darting down to his lips then back to his eyes as if asking permission that you really didn’t need. From down by his hip there came a loud quack followed by ‘I’m quackers about you’ then another quack effectively bringing a sudden end to the tension growing between the two of you.

The two of you dissolved into laughter, Lucifer wrapping his arms around your middle as you buried your face in his neck. You lead there for a while, laughing softly until that trailed off and the two of you when just lead there, holding one another and surrounded by ducks. It had been nice if a little weird but Lucifer wasn’t complaining. “It’s true you know,” he said softly, not wanting to ruin the moment but his words had you shifting, pushing yourself up slightly so you could look down at him with confusion. “What is?” Your voice was just as soft as you spoke, the hushed tone adding to the intimacy of the moment. Sighing Lucifer reached up, cupping your check and rubbing his thumb gently across it. “I really and quackers about you,” he deadpanned.

The stunned silence that hangs between you goes on a lot longer than Lucifer thought it would and despite how hard he tries he can’t help the large smile that spreads across his face or the laugher that comes bubbling out. Groaning loudly you finished pushing yourself up into a sitting position, shoving Lucifer back down when he tried to follow. “You’re terrible,”you mumble, shifting back over slightly to avoid nocking into a stack of ducks. Lucifers still chucking when he sits back up, effortlessly catching the rubber duck you half heartedly throw at him. “Mmmm, and yet you still love me.” Lucifer wiggled an eyebrow at you, leaning in slightly to emphasise the ridiculousness of the gesture. This time it was you who couldn’t help but smile, huffing in amusement and shaking your head at him. “Yeah, I do.” Lucifer beamed like the cat who go the cream at your words, always feeling like his heart could take flight every time you told him you loved him. Truly a bizarre phenomenon that would need much more research done into it, requiring you to tell him often and in multiple ways how you felt about him. “Now come on, this bloody duck isn’t going to find its self.” Lucifer took the duck you held out to him, a hot pink one with a flame branded on its chest, and quickly lent forward to place a kiss on the back of your hand before he started telling you all about the duck and how it could be set on fire and wouldn’t melt.

That had been a good few hours ago though and night had settled heavy over the city since then. Over half the room had been cleared now, Lucifer having opened a portal and dumped all the colourful, boringly normal ducks onto a sleeping radio demon to create some extra space for you both. There was still no sign of the duck he was after though and the both of you were clearly tired, the process having slowed down considerably in the last half an hour or so. He’s beginning to think it’s a lost cause, the duck long since lost or broken.

You yawn loudly, arms stretching out above you before you fall back into the heap of ducks behind you. The groan you make sounds almost painful as you wiggle in an attempt to make yourself more comfortable amongst the ducks. Your eyes close, hands disappearing into the sea of yellow above you. Despite how horribly uncomfortable it must be you look content and Lucifer wants nothing more in that moment than to crawl over there and join you, curling up against your side and resting his head on your chest so you can both get some much needed sleep. As much as he wanted to give into temptation Lucifer was determined to find the duck for Charlie, fixated on giving her that little moment of happiness and wonder that had stayed with her since childhood. That didn’t mean you had to suffer with him though.

“I think it’s time you were getting to bed darling, I can finish up in here.” Your eyes open slightly at his words, brows furrowed and your smile slipping into a frown. “Lucifer.” There was an odd tone to your voice, one that he probably should have paid more attention to but Lucifer assumed he knew what you were going to say so he kept on talking, turning away from you to continue looking through the ducks as he did so. “I know. I should be trying to get some sleep as well but you know I won’t be able to, (Lucifer), not till I’ve found this duck anyway and I really just want to surprise Charlie with it. She seemed so happy when she was talking to Vaggie about it and I just wanted to, (LUCIFER!)” Your loud cry of his name had Lucifer jumping, dropping the duck he had been holding to the floor with a loud splat as it oozed out like a marshmallow melting in the sun.

Laughing nervously Lucifer turns back to you, an apology already on the tip of his tongue but it quickly disappears when he sees what you’re holding. You’ve sat up, eyes fixed on your hand that you’re holding out towards him. In your palm sits a crystal duck, a small black crown sat atop its head styled similarly to Charlie’s own. Lucifer sucked in a breath, reaching out to take the thing from you with trembling fingers. He can’t believe you had found it, just when he was starting to lose hope. You truly must be heaven sent.

Without warning Lucifer lunged at you, flinging his arms around your neck and sending you sprawling back into the ducks with a yelp. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” Lucifer said between peppering your face with kisses. “Lucifer,” you laugh, turning your head to the side and giving him access to your neck. He places a few more quick pecks along your neck and the top of your shoulder before placing one final one on your lips.

“She’s going to be so surprised,” Lucifer beamed, pushing himself back up and turning towards the door, a wide smile on his face as he stared down at the crystal duck clutched in his hand. He didn’t get more than two steps towards the door before fingers wrapped around his wrist and stopped him in his tracks. Frowning Lucifer looked back over his shoulder at you, finding you looking at him just as confused as he was you. “Where are you going?” Lucifer blinked down at you dumbly because surely that was obvious? “To give Charlie the duck?” It came out slow and sounding more like a question, Lucifer even holding up the duck in case you had forgotten.

Your confusion smoothed out into understanding, a small smile curling up the corner of your lips. “Lucifer,” you said almost teasingly, tugging gently on his wrist until he turned to face you fully. “It’s the middle of the night love. She’s going to be asleep, and even if she isn’t she’s probably going to be doing something she doesn’t want her dad walking in on.” You look at him pointedly, waiting for your words to sink in. “Oh…ohhhh,” lucifers eyes went wide, looking down at the little duck in a mix of horror and embarrassment.

You chuckle gently, tugging on his arm and causing him to take a step towards you. “So why don’t you,” you plucked the duck from his hand, leaning back to place it on top of the coffee table before turning back to him and wrapping your hands around his wrists, “come back here and finish giving me my reward hum?” You tugged him forward and down, Lucifer’s knees hitting the floor on either side of your waist with a dull thud. You used your hold on his wrists to lift his hands and place them on your shoulders before gripping his waist and pulling him down and closer until he was sat in your lap. Lucifer blushed, licking at his lips and swallowing slightly. “I eh, I can do that.” You hummed at his words, lifting one hand to cup his cheek and guiding his lips down to yours.

The first few kisses were soft and slow, Lucifer humming gently at the addictive feel of your lips moving against his. He sank into you, getting more comfortable on your lap and letting his arms drape over your shoulders. The two of you stayed like that for a few long minutes, Lucifer content to spend hours just like that but it seemed you had other ideas. Pulling back you nipped gently at his lip, Lucifer letting out a little whimper at the sudden sting. Resting your forehead against his you slid both your hands up his back, pressing him as close to you as he could get. “Hold on tight,” you mumbled, placing a kiss against his lips.

Lucifer barely had time to register what you had said before you were moving, effortlessly tipping him to the side and rolling him onto his back. He landed within the ducks with a dull thud, several of the stupid things tumbling down to land on his face. Your laughter was sweet as you helped remove the offending ducks off his face, leaving the ones that had fallen around his head and shoulders. “There you are handsome,” you smile as you remove the last one from his head, clearly delighting in the bush your words get you. “Your erh, looking rather radiant as well.” Lucifer cringes at his own awkward attempts at flirting, refusing to look at you because of how awfully that was. You would think he would have gotten better at this sort of thing over the centuries but there was something about you that just left him flustered and unable to say what he means when in your company. When you’re not around he can wax poetry about how your smile lights up the world like a sunbeam or how your eyes sparkle like the stars, but now? With you looking down at him like he’s your whole universe? Not happening.

You shift to the side slightly, slotting one of your legs between his and pressing up against him. “Only when you’re the one looking,” you whisper before pressing your lips against his, using his startled gasp as an opportunity to deepen the kiss. Lucifer moans softly, wrapping his arms around your neck and pulling you in closer. There’s a duck digging into his back and the sound of muffled quacking coming from somewhere above him as their movements caused another wave of ducks to fall down in them. It was ridiculous, kissing in a pile of ducks that were threatening to swallow the two of you up but Lucifer found he didn’t really care, especially when your tongue swiped across his lips, seeking permission that he readily gave. This here, this was the closest to heaven he had felt in eons and he was content to stay in this moment for eternity. Well at least till Charlie woke up anyway.

[mywitchyblog]

Forgot to say this too :

Alright, listen up, you judgmental assholes. I see y’all out here screaming about how "wrong" and "creepy" it is for someone to age themselves down in their DR to hook up with someone or relive some youthful romance. Meanwhile, you’re out here aging yourself up for the same exact reason, but somehow, in your twisted logic, that’s perfectly fine? Bitch, be fucking for real.

Let’s cut the bullshit: If aging yourself down to date or fuck is wrong, then guess what? Aging yourself up for the same reason is just as fucking wrong. There’s no moral high ground to be found here. You can’t call someone out for shifting into a younger version of themselves while you’re over there shifting into some older fantasy version of yourself just to live out some “mature, powerful lover” scenario. It’s the same game, just flipped.

Now let’s get to the real MVPs of hypocrisy: teenage shifters. You’ve got a real special brand of double standards, don’t you? Y’all will shift to a DR where you’re suddenly married with kids, living that adult fantasy life like you're some grown-up with a mortgage and responsibilities. Then the next day, you’re back in a high school DR, flirting with your 15-year-old sweetheart like it’s nothing. And yet, these are the same people who have the audacity to label adult shifters “creepy” for shifting down to experience young love or redo some teenage memories they missed out on. How the fuck do you not see the hypocrisy?

You can’t have it both ways. You defend your shifts by saying, “Oh, teens are also horny too so it is okay for me to script sexual stuff.” But then, as soon as an adult mentions wanting to relive a younger stage of life, you’re all up in arms, crying “predator!” Girl, sit down. You’re doing the same damn thing, just in reverse. You can’t pretend your shit is squeaky clean when you’re basically flipping the script to suit your fantasy.

And here’s where it gets real funny: y’all love to age yourselves up to live that mature, adult life, but when you come back to being 15 or 16 in your DR, suddenly you wanna cry about how your "maturity" is affected? Please. You’re switching between being a married 30-year-old in one DR to being a high school junior the next, but it’s the adults you want to come after? Y’all really gotta wake the fuck up.

Then, oh the fucking nerve, teenage shifters will sit there and script full-on adult relationships with older partners in one DR, then hop back to being a teenager dating another teen in the next DR. And y’all don’t see the contradiction? How’s it okay for you to be all up in adult business in one DR, but when an adult shifts down to experience young love, you wanna call them out? Make it make sense, because it sure as hell doesn’t.

Oh, and let’s not forget the real kicker: The pressure y’all feel to cram in all these shifts before you hit 18 in your OR, like once you become an “official adult,” those fantasies will suddenly be seen as creepy. So, there’s this mad rush to get all your DR desires in before adulthood hits, like you’ve got some moral deadline. Really? You’re creating a ticking time bomb for yourself, thinking everything's okay now, but if you did the same shifts in two years, you’d call yourself out? How is that not completely fucked up logic?

And let me not forget how some of you teenage shifters treat shifting like cosplay. You’re out here playing dress-up in your DRs, accusing adults of being creepy, and yet you’re scripting yourselves into stripper DRs or pornstar fantasies, acting like that’s somehow less weird. Bitch, please. You’re over here aging yourselves up to hook up with adults, or worse, aging down your adult love interests to match your age, and you still have the nerve to point fingers at others? That’s some next-level mental gymnastics right there. Y’all are doing cartwheels with your logic, and it’s honestly embarrassing.

Here’s a real mind-fuck for you: A 15-year-old shifts into a DR, lives there for 40 years, then comes back to their OR and dates someone who’s still 15. By your own logic, they’re now some kind of “predator” because they’ve lived for 55 years, right? But flip it around, if they shift back to being 15 and date a 55-year-old who’s aged up in their DR, suddenly that’s a problem? Where is the consistency here? You’re out here with a ruler trying to measure everyone else’s moral standing while standing in a pile of your own bullshit.

It’s like trying to apply chess rules to poker—you can’t just make up the rules as you go along to justify your own shifting decisions while dragging others. Every reality is different, every context is different, and trying to slap your one-size-fits-all judgment on someone else’s shift just makes you look like a clown. Shifting is nuanced, it’s complex, and y’all really need to stop pretending you’ve got some moral blueprint for everyone else to follow when you can’t even keep your own shifting ethics straight.

Bottom line: If you’re out here aging yourself up for the same shit you criticize adults for when they age down, you’re a hypocrite. Period. Either admit that both are fine, or recognize that both have the potential to be problematic. But you can’t keep pretending that aging up for some weird-ass fantasy suddenly makes it all okay. If you’re out here policing other people’s shifts while turning a blind eye to your own ? you're full of shit.

You don't get to rewrite the rules just to fit your narrative and then sit there acting like you're the moral compass of the shifting community. If you’re out here saying that aging down for a fantasy is creepy but think aging up for the same purpose is perfectly fine, you’re not only delusional, you’re a straight-up hypocrite.

And let’s get real: the double standard isn’t just ridiculous, it’s fucking exhausting. If you’re playing the same game, whether you’re aging down or up, it’s still the same manipulation of age for personal gratification. The moral high ground you think you’re standing on? That shit doesn’t exist.

So here’s your wake-up call: Stop preaching about what’s “right” or “wrong” when you’re shifting if you can’t apply the same scrutiny to yourself. You either gotta accept that shifting age—whether up or down—comes with some ethical complexity, or you need to shut the hell up and sit down. Because if you can’t see how aging up to fulfill your fantasies is just as questionable as aging down, then you’re not as woke as you think you are.

So next time you wanna criticize someone for how they shift, take a long, hard look at your own DRs and ask yourself: Am I being a hypocrite? If the answer’s yes, then maybe it’s time to step off your high horse, own your shit, and recognize that you’re not above anyone else. Either own it across the board, or get off the fucking ride and let everyone shift how they want to. Stop acting like one version of age-changing is somehow more acceptable than the other.

[hyuneskkami]

❪ ⭑ ❫ starlight: chapter 2───lee know.

02. black cat… cats! plural.

ꕀ cw. mentions of dizziness due to exhaustion , lots of nicknames , being called ‘baby’ , hinting at hyunlix ; wc. 1.07k

the next morning, I woke up to a bunch of texts from my manager, explaining when the collab stage would be, and its theme.

we were collaborating for day 2 of our concerts in tokyo, since we had the same dates for our tour in japan, and were set to play in the same location for day 2.

the collab stage in japan was set for next month, which meant we had just that long to plan, learn, and rehearse. it also meant that I could spend a whole month with my best friends, ‘professionally’.

(though hyunjin was slightly sad that we’d have to postpone our hangout in paris as well as our concerts in paris (to focus on the collab), he was very happy that it meant I could spend a whole month with them.)

starting tomorrow, I was told that i’d be given a room at the skz dorms to live with them, and I was so excited about it, I finished packing all my stuff in an hour.

after that, the ride to the jype building was quite short. I rolled out my twin suitcases, paid the taxi driver, and entered the building to meet the boys.

I immediately dropped the handle of my suitcases and ran to chan when I saw him. he embraced me in a tight hug, which could only be described as a bear hug.

“channie hyung! I can’t— breathe—”

“y/n-ah! you’re finally here!” he said, loosening his grip around me.

“when do we start practice?” I asked, eyes wide with excitement.

“oh baby, you’re so hyper, hm? let’s meet up with rest of the boys first,” he hummed. he took my suitcases with him, and we talked till we reached the room where they had been practicing.

as soon as I opened the door, jeongin came running and bumped into me.

“noona! you’re finally here!” he screamed into my ear, hugging me as we both fell onto the floor.

“iyyenah! I missed you, my little baby,” I cooed.

han pulled us up, and detached jeongin from my arms so he could hug me too.

“n/n-ah, it’s been too long! do you just come for hyunjin and ayen? not for us?” han asked, making doe eyes at me. more like, boba eyes.

I pinched his cheek in response, smiling. “don’t worry hanji, i’ll be with you guys for the entire next month, so you can’t get rid of me easily then.”

chan clapped his hands to draw attention. “y/n’s going to be staying at the dorms with us, starting today. so i’m expecting that you guys will at least try to behave a little decently.”

they were anything but decent.

over the next few days, while I got settled in the dorms, I saw many unspeakable things: ramen on the couch, shirtless men walking around, seungmin being a menace, butt-hunter lee know, and chan being bullied by all the others. I wish I could sell this content to STAYs and become rich, ugh.

I had gotten closer with changbin due to our shared love for working out, and with seungmin because we both simply loved annoying everyone together (han complained about having two seungmins ‘as if one wasn’t enough’).

the only one that didn’t fit into my grand scheme of things was lee know. from the first second we laid our eyes on each other, we started bickering.

“yah! y/n! can you take your weird slippers away from here? it’s blocking my way,” he said, rolling his eyes. speak of the devil.

“move them yourself,” I grumbled back from my spot on the couch, where I was sitting to watch some anime with felix.

for many years (since our debuts), fans of both stray kids and my music, constantly theorised about how similar lee know and I were. I did do my research on it (obviously) too. my tasteful analysis and conclusions revealed that he was… amazing. I liked his style, his dance, his personality, everything.

the problem was, those side-by-side dance comparison videos made by fans actually made sense. we did have the same dance style. and the exact same personality, apparently.

and that is exactly why we started bickering. our dynamic just made sense if we were like that. not like I have a problem, because it’s actually fun and entertaining most of the time (there were complains of having two lee know’s too, now).

“she’s such a black cat!” jeongin said.

“black cat… cats! plural. both lee know and her,” chan added.

soon enough, we had only two weeks before the collab stage. we had surprisingly finished all practices already, and just had to rehearse now.

vocal practices were always fun in rooms with air conditioning, and while I loved the dance practices with a bickering lee know and god-knows-what-they-are hyunjin and felix, I would definitely have preferred not to be drenched in sweat by the end of practice everyday.

it was our last day practicing at the jype building, since chan told us we’d be flying to japan tonight. apparently, our managers wanted us to ‘officially’ announce the collab via a vlog in tokyo.

hyunjin and felix had decided to head back to the dorms early to start packing. lee know and I stayed for a final practice, since we had both already finished and had our suitcases ready.

halfway through the dance, black spots began to cloud my vision. I felt my body sway a little slower, and it felt like marbles were rolling inside my brain. either I was hallucinating, or lee know was looking smaller and looked like he was much farther away.

is this because of the three-hours-per-day sleep schedule? or something else?

I tried to push through to finish the practice, but I felt myself falling. strong arms wrapped around my waist before I fell to the floor, saving me from a concussion.

ah, my hero, of course. lee know.

“y/n? Y/N? where’s your water bottle— nevermind, just take mine,” lee know spoke fast, half-dragging half-walking me to the chair near his bag. he helped me sit down, and shifted around to get his bottle.

I felt his hand open my mouth and water was poured into my mouth, some of it dripping down, as my head was against the wall.

he closed the bottle, and moved me so I could rest my head on his lap, and dabbed at the drops of water running down my mouth with the sleeve of his jacket.

“why can’t you just rest enough, n/n,” he whispered. “you always get me so worried.” he stroked his fingers gently through my hair, and the dizziness slowly turned into sleep.

prev < m.list > next

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

omg girl pretty please was perfect, need a part two with more spice

here it is, with a lot more spice, so be warned! 🔞

pretty please | pablo gavi [part 2]

🧁 synopsis: Pablo and you decide to turn your friendly casual hook-ups into a "no-strings-attached" arrangement – it sounds like the perfect plan: easy, fun, and uncomplicated. If only he weren’t so annoyingly impossible. tags: friends with benefits, banter, dirty talking, smut. (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) (around 3k words)

you can read the first part here

Your friends are spilling out of cars, shouting directions, arguing about who almost missed the turn, and debating who owes who gas money. You climb out of the backseat of your friend’s car, smoothing down your dress as you walk toward the restaurant.

Pablo is leaning against the wall near the door, arms crossed like he’s trying to blend in. But the second you step out, his eyes lock on you, and he starts making a beeline straight for you.

“Hey, what’s with the dress?” he asks, his voice sharp enough to cut through the parking lot noise.

You blink at him, playing dumb. “What about it?”

He stops just short of crowding you, his eyes dragging over the vintage Versace. His expression gives away nothing, but you can tell he’s trying not to combust. He knows exactly what you’re doing, but you also try to keep your expression neutral, as if you’re completely oblivious to how short, how tight, and how ridiculous this dress is.

You borrowed it from your mom without asking. She would absolutely kill you if she knew, but as long as there aren’t any pictures, you figure you’re safe.

“You know exactly what about it.”

“No, I don’t.” You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “You have something against fashion, Pablito?”

His jaw tightens, and you swear he mutters something under his breath. You’re having too much fun to care.

“Seriously, though,” you continue, twirling the hem of the dress between your fingers. “You don’t think it’s cute?”

“Cute?” He scoffs, looking around to make sure none of your friends are within earshot. “It’s... distracting.”

None of your friends know what the two of you do behind closed doors. To everyone else, you’re just two close friends, which makes it even funnier when they try to set you up.

It’s become a running joke between you and Gavi, the two of you playing along just enough to make them think they’re onto something.

You can’t help but grin. “Distracting for who?”

“For me,” he hisses, glaring at you like it’s your fault.

“Oh, well, I didn’t realize I had to run my wardrobe choices by you.” You shrug, pretending to think. “Maybe next time I’ll wear something really distracting.”

“Don’t even –”

“Come on, Pablito,” you cut him off, grabbing his wrist and tugging him toward the entrance. “People are waiting, and you’re being weird. Let’s go.”

His steps falter, but he follows, muttering as he lets you pull him along. “I’m not being weird.”

“Relax,” you say, turning to flash him a grin. “If it’s really bothering you, maybe you should sit on the other side of the table.”

He stops walking, staring at you like you’ve just personally challenged him to a duel. “Not a chance.”

“Suit yourself,” you sing, swinging open the restaurant door. Behind you, you hear him mutter something unintelligible – probably about how impossible you are – but he’s already following you in, like he always does.

part 2

Your group takes up the long table near the back and dinner starts out fine. Pablo, for reasons only he knows, has stationed himself at the far end of the table, so far away from you it feels intentional.

You figure it probably is.

It’s almost impressive, the way he’s managed to talk and gesture like everything’s normal, all while sneaking glances at you every few seconds. You know because you’ve been doing the exact same thing – watching him out of the corner of your eye as he fidgets with his glass, rubs the back of his neck, and very clearly struggles to keep his attention on the conversation in front of him.

You’re not trying to make things harder for him. Well... not exactly. Teasing him is fun, and you didn’t realize that was part of the deal when you started this whole “friends with benefits” arrangement. Apparently, it is, and it’s working better than you could’ve imagined.

The dress helps, of course.

By the time your friends start debating dessert orders, you notice Pablo’s grip on his fork is a little too tight. His jaw keeps ticking, and his eyes haven’t left you in what feels like minutes.

Then, out of nowhere, he blurts, “Oh, we need to go.”

The entire table falls silent, everyone looking at him in confusion.

“What?” one of your friends asks.

Pablo’s eyes are glued to you, panic flickering in them like he didn’t think this through. “We have that... thing,” he says, gulping hard. “With your brother.”

You nearly choke on your drink. His eyebrows are doing that wild thing they do when he’s embarrassed, and it takes everything in you not to burst out laughing on the spot.

“Right,” you say smoothly, nodding. “Thanks for reminding me, Pablito.” You grab your bag, standing up with practiced calm. “Sorry, guys, we’re leaving. Can’t be late.”

Your friends barely react. You and Pablo leaving early isn’t exactly unusual – you’ve been practically glued at the hip since you met.

You pay your share of the check, wave goodbye, and make it all the way to his car before the composure you’ve been holding onto snaps.

As soon as the doors shut, you burst out laughing.

“With my brother?” you wheeze, clutching your stomach. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

Pablo glares at you, his ears turning pink. “Don’t.” His voice is low, trying for roughness, but it only makes you laugh harder.

“Oh my God, you looked like you were going to pass out.”

“I said don’t.” He leans back in his seat, covering his face with his hands, but you can see the faintest hint of a grin breaking through. “I can’t believe you did that.” 

You blink at him, “Did what?”

He scoffs before turning to glare at you. “You spent the entire dinner giving me that look.”

“What look?” you ask, trying not to grin.

His jaw tightens, and for a second, he looks like he regrets saying anything. But then he mutters, “The look you have when you want to... you know.”

You burst out laughing, loud and uncontrollable as his ears turn pink.

“You’re insane!” you manage between laughs. “That’s totally a projection. You were the one who kept looking over at me.”

“Whatever,” he snaps, looking back at the road as he starts the car. “I’m taking you to mine.”

You’re still grinning, leaning your head back against the seat. “And what are we doing at your place, Pablo?”

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, and the smirk creeping onto his face says it all. “I don’t know,” he says casually, his tone a perfect imitation of innocence. “Play video games, maybe. That’s what we do, right?”

“Right,” you say, biting your lip to hold back another laugh. 

He’s not saying what he really wants, but he doesn’t have to. And the way his hand taps restlessly on the steering wheel tells you he’s not going to hold out much longer.

part 3

His bedroom door clicks shut behind you, and before you can even process what’s happening, Pablo is dropping to his knees.

“What are you doing?” you blurt out, genuinely taken aback.

He doesn’t answer right away, his hands already gliding down the sides of your thighs. His head tilts up briefly and you can see the faint flush creeping over his face. It’s not shame, it’s desire.

You’re tempted to say something snarky, to keep up the teasing game you started at dinner, but the way he looks at you – half-lidded, feverish – makes the words catch in your throat.

When his lips press against the curve of your leg, just above your knee, you feel your breath hitch. He trails soft kisses down, his touch so careful it sends shivers up your spine. 

“Pablo,” you say again, but this time it comes out quieter.

Still, he doesn’t respond, his hands sliding down to your ankles. When he finally reaches your feet, he pauses, looking up at you as if asking for permission – or maybe just enjoying the way you’re completely at his mercy.

“You’re so dramatic,” you mutter, trying to sound unaffected.

He smirks, the flush deepening on his cheeks as he carefully slides one of your heels off, then the other. “And you’re a brat,” he says, like it’s a compliment.

You’d almost feel bad for teasing him earlier. Almost.

But the way he’s looking at you now? Yeah, you don’t feel sorry at all.

Gavi stands up and you raise an eyebrow at him when he takes you completely by surprise. Before you can react, he hooks an arm around your waist and manhandles you up like you weigh nothing.

“Pablo!” you yelp, your legs kicking lightly in protest as he hauls you toward the bed.

“What?” he says, laughing as he effortlessly shifts you in his arms. 

“Put me down!” you demand, though the smile on your face betrays your annoyance.

“Okay,” he says, plopping you unceremoniously onto the mattress. You bounce once and he doesn’t follow immediately. Instead, he steps back, his dark eyes scanning over you. His head tilts slightly, his brow furrowing.

“You’re… hot,” he says finally.

You blink up at him, “You’re only noticing now?”

He moves closer, his hands skimming over the fabric of your dress. His fingers linger at the hem, then drift to the exposed skin of your thighs, your shoulders, the back of your neck – everywhere the dress doesn’t cover.

“No, I’m serious,” he says, his voice lower now, his focus entirely on you.

Before you can respond, his hands slide up to cup your face, holding you firmly, like he needs you to hear him. His thumbs brush against your cheekbones.

“You look really fucking hot right now,” he says, and there’s nothing teasing about the way he says it. 

You open your mouth to reply, but the words won’t come. You’re too distracted by the way he’s looking at you. So you don’t even think about it – you just grab his shirt and pull him down, kissing him hard. The kind of kiss that friends definitely shouldn’t be sharing. It’s reckless, fueled by everything he’s made you feel tonight, by all the times he’s told you not to overthink this, not to complicate things.

But this? This is the definition of complicated, and you don’t care.

At first, he freezes, like the force of your kiss has stunned him. Then his hands tighten on your face, and he kisses you back even harder.

His lips move against yours with a kind of desperation that makes your head spin, and his fingers slide into your hair, anchoring you to him. 

When he finally breaks the kiss, his hands are still cradling your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks like he can’t quite let go. His gaze drops, taking in every inch of you, and when he looks back up, there’s a determined gleam in his eyes.

“I’m not even taking the dress off,” he says, his voice low and sure as he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

You giggle, shaking your head at him. “We can’t! My mom would kill me if I screwed up this dress.”

But Gavi just shakes his head, completely unfazed. “I’ll buy her another one.”

His shirt is off now, tossed somewhere behind him, and you’re caught between laughing at his confidence and being completely swept up in it.

“Oh, really?” 

“Really,” he replies, his tone leaving no room for argument. His hands find your waist again, pulling you closer as he leans in, his breath warm against your skin.

You shake your head again, but this time it’s less about disbelief and more about the fact that you’re already giving in. 

He slides your lacy underwear off with deliberate care, and when he notices they match the color of your dress, he pauses for a beat, his eyes lingering. The corner of his mouth twitches before he does something you don’t expect – he places them right next to your face, on the pillow you’re lying on, his grip on them firm.

You laugh, the sound bubbling out. “You’re so weird.”

His lips twitch into a smirk, but he doesn’t let it slide. “Stop calling me weird,” he mutters, biting your ear in retaliation before trailing down to your neck.

You shiver under his attention, but then he pulls back to focus on his next task – taking off his pants with a kind of urgency that’s kind of endearing. When he’s finally stripped nude, he stands in front of you, hands on his hips like he’s waiting for a round of applause.

“Tell me I’m hot,” he demands.

You shake your head, biting back another laugh. “What? No way.”

“Why not?” he asks, feigning offense as he moves closer. “Come on, say it.”

He leans in, peppering kisses across your cheek and jaw, his persistence both ridiculous and charming.

“You think your annoying best friend is hot, don’t you?” he whispers into your ear, his tone dropping just enough to make your pulse race. “And you want to sleep with me, don’t you?”

“Stop projecting your feelings onto me,” you argue, but your voice is breathy, already undone by his proximity. Your words would be more effective if you weren’t already moaning under his touch, two of his fingers going in and out inside of you, the softest sounds escaping you as his lips find yours again.

The room is filled with your unsteady breaths and the sounds you can’t quite keep contained, each one louder than the last. But then, out of nowhere, Gavi stills completely, his movements halting. He grabs your chin, tilting your face toward his. His expression is serious, annoyingly composed.

“I’m not letting you finish until you tell me I’m hot,” he says, like this is a perfectly reasonable demand to make at a time like this.

You glare at him, every nerve in your body screaming at the unfairness of it all. But it’s too late for you – you’ve already given up.

“You’re hot, okay?” you snap, your voice desperate and unfiltered. “You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever been with, so please, please just fuck me.”

For a second, he looks almost touched. And then, to your complete horror, he has the audacity to laugh.

“Jesus! Calm down, I’ll do it,” he says, his grin breaking through his mock seriousness.

You see red, slapping his hand away from your chin in pure frustration. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, but before you can say more, he’s fingering you again, his hands steady and assured, and everything else fades away.

His hands and lips and teeth start exploring every inch of you with a passion that feels almost primal. He’s relentless, his mouth all over your skin, lingering on the parts of you he knows will make your breath hitch. The delicate fabric of your dress shifts under his hands, pushed and pulled as he reveals more of you, your breasts, your cunt, as he eats you out with a feral hunger.

You cum twice, his name falling from your lips. By the time he finally lifts his head from between your legs, his smile is smug, proud.

“I’ll give you what you asked for now,” he says, “What you begged me for.”

“Shut up,” you snap, your voice unsteady.

He laughs, brushing a strand of damp hair from your face. “You’re so mean to me,” he murmurs, shifting you gently to your side. His voice softens further as he positions himself behind you. “I always give you what you want, don’t I?”

You roll your eyes, your tone sharp even as your breath hitches. “Hurry up with the condom.”

“Do you want to put it on?”

“Yes…” you mutter, your fingers brushing against his as you take it from him.

When he finally enters you, it’s consciously slow, his lips pressing softly to your shoulder, shushing you as your breathing grows uneven again. “It’s okay,” he whispers, his voice soothing as his pace quickens, the rhythm you find together is absolutely perfect.

As you sense him nearing his peak, you lean back slightly, your voice quiet but sure. “Cum in my mouth.”

Pablo groans loudly, a mix of gritted words spilling out. “Fuck, fuck.” He pulls away quickly, his breathing ragged. “That’s what you wanted all night, wasn’t it?” He’s breathless, his words edged with laughter. “You wanted to taste, wanted to – fuck, to eat my cum, fuck – nasty girl.”

He’s hasty and shaky now, completely lost in pleasure as his member fits perfectly in your mouth. He closes his eyes, moaning loudly as he finishes. In his hurry, he becomes careless, and a few drops land on your face, his eyes widen. Then, without missing a beat, he leans in to clean it off, his tongue brushing over your skin with an exaggerated gentleness that makes you giggle.

“What are you doing?” you laugh, but he shushes you, his focus entirely on his task.

“Fixing my mess,” he mutters, his lips trailing up to yours. He kisses you fiercely, sucking your tongue. It’s messy and uncoordinated, full of laughter and half-mumbled complaints.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes rake over you, and he groans dramatically. “Mierda, I’m hard again.”

You laugh, pushing at his chest. “You’re too horny!”

“Me?” he scoffs, grabbing your wrists and pinning you down effortlessly. “You came three times, and I didn’t hear you complaining then.”

You roll your eyes, already teasing him with your touch, one hand on his erect member, caressing him. “I’m tired now,” you say, your voice playful even as you keep up your antics.

“Tired?” he repeats, “No, no way. Give me another one.”

You stretch out lazily on the bed, making yourself comfortable. “Fine,” you say with a grin. “But I’m not doing any work this time. You’re on top.”

Gavi groans again, rolling his eyes. But the smile on his face says he’s more than ready to oblige.

[deepdreamnights]

Vidu 2.0 - First Reactions

I am in the Vidu Artist's program, so I've had a chance to play with version 2.0 before the official launch on the 15th. What I'm working with is a pre-launch build, and has improved day-to-day, so this may not reflect the final release.

I haven't yet had a chance to give it the full paces-run-through it deserves, but here's some early samples, and early thoughts. (Converted to GIF because you can only upload one video per post.)

The short version is that everything has been incrementally improved: Better coherence, better prompt responsiveness, better motion, and way, way better speed. Without doing exact time-tests it's say it's at least 25% the time to generate a video of the same dimensions.

While there's still some of the "smudge-blurring" that you got with 1-1.5, it happens less frequently, and is more mitigated with an image/animation that match.

Motion varies gen-by-gen, but impressive results seem to be the norm.

While his sticks are somewhat flexible at full framerate, the cat drummer's cymbal hit struck me as particularly nice.

Control and Coherence

While the roar may not seem particularly impressive, roars, howls, and other emotional outbursts didn't work well in previous versions. Aunt Acid's fumes and drips are are particularly fun, and while it still has problems with her tail, PteroDarla's crest and wings are actually working the way they should (after a number of attempts).

For a long time, I've wanted the last shot of the TMax opener to be Max starting with a zoom-in on the eye going out to a roar and pose. While this isn't quite where I want it, 2.0 is the first time I've gotten him to go through the whole sequence. Which is promising.

Weird Stuff Works

What remains impressive about Vidu is how well it handles concepts and characters that are off-the-beaten-path. Hailuo just released a character consistency feature that only works with humans, but here...

Here's my friend Cole's OC, the Waffler (Intergalactic Bounty-Hunter.) He's one unbalanced breakfast. He's also rather resistant gen AI replication because he's an SD space man with a waffle for head, a very specific waffle for a head turned at a 45 degree angle. Vidu 1.0 wasn't able to work with him, almost always giving him a mouth or rotating his waffle, if not completely glitching out. 2.0 is much better to handle it.

The numerous dino-anthros above are all in the "Tricky for AI" box. If I was into doing what could be gened easily, however, I'd just be pumping out an endless parade of pillowy waifus.

In my defense, I classify SexBomb as more of a 'strifu'. This particular one was an attempt to see if a toony image prompt could be rendered live-action with text prompting. Long story short it can't, but it can produce some interesting effects like the faux-posterized background.

I've had AI gen close to her costume before, but it never adds the fuse or does the boob-window right, and here we are.

One of my old bits of Transformers fanart of the Pretender Monster Icepick served as the character model for the one on the right.

Fantastical Creatures in general are a lot easier to execute in this version as well.

And... Action!

Motion is a lot more natural this time around.

Weapons fire (though sometimes a bit literal) tends to come out of the barrel semi-consistently now, characters can fight the waves without melting themselves and...

A giant rubber monster can eat your protagonist (if you're lucky.)

Quirks and Flaws

Nothing is perfect, and all AI you see is curated. So lets talk areas to be improved.

A lot of stuff presently generates with multilingual gibberish captions sometimes, which I expect is an early model bug. Versions 2-3 of Midjourney would have similar artifacts, and that sort of thing isn't hard to correct for.

There are still issues with blurring/smudging, especially with things like tail-tips, hands, and any motion the robot doesn't quite get.

Sometimes stuff shapechanges or appears that ought not to, like the knight's floppy second blade.

Or speed gets off requiring being fixed in post.

And stuff just goes dumb sometimes, which one should expect (and in my estimation, desire) from any generative system, artificial or analogue. Should the water go on the fire rather than the firemen? Yes. Do I regret this gen? No.

One quirk of the system is how it resolves incongruous multi-prompts. I've been accustomed to Midjourney, which, when generating an image must blend everything requested. You can put two completely different backgrounds in as image prompts and it will blend them into something new and wacky.

Vidu resolves problems like having two background images at once by taking advantage of the 4th dimension. Confuse the robot too much and it will just cut/fade from one idea to the next.

And then there's stuff that just happens, like, a shot being perfect except a painted (and thus ought to be static) background object animating beautifully (going retro is a path wrought with irony) and the robot deciding it'd rather do CG-style than 2d.

And while it doesn't show up great in the gif of Max at the construction site there, 2.0 is more vulnerable to interpreting bad transparency-clipping as part of the character design, so be careful if you're using transparent PNGs.

Also, if you slap a character and a background together without elaborating on the setting with the text prompt, it will often slap the background back there as a static backdrop and produce a very "greenscreen-y" effect.

Rather than laden this post down with more animated GIFs, I'll be setting up a batch of them as posts for the upcoming days. At least, that's the plan.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Heavy Topics: A Child's Vision of Evil

One of the first big “aha!” moments in my journey to retrofit d&d’s laughably bad lore was the realization that the way the game treated evil didn’t make much sense.  As a dungeonmaster I was asked to create dramatic stakes for my players but the out-of-the-box antagonists supplied to me were as laughably one note as the pollution loving villains in Captain Planet. Who would ever worship the demon god of killing everything that lives? Of torturing you for all eternity? Of being unpleasantly covered in slime? 

None of it really made sense until I started to understand the world and recent history through a political lens, at which point several things became clear: 

Despite how large a bogyman it played in the satan scare of the late 80s, the people who laid the foundations for the lore of d&d came from a background of conservative american christianity, and baked a lot of that ethos into the game. 

The conservative christian imagination can only see things in black and white. People who disagree with them can’t just have a different opinion, even if that opinion is objectively good, they need to be wilfully evil . In fact they must be trying as hard to be evil as the christian is trying to be good, because they’re a backwards person, a monster, a demon. 

This idea of the “Backwards Person” is the exact process that gave rise to the bloodlibel, to the witchpanics, to the redscare, and yes, the 80s fear that satanists lurk around every corner sacrificing babies and putting poison in candy because they love evil that much.  It’s the same thought that’s given rise to Q-anon and the groomer panic. “People who disagree with just can’t just have a different opinion, they must be demons.”

D&D’s classic enemies are similarly all “backwards people”, hardwired to do evil so that players always have an excuse to kill them.  While on the surface it seems harmless or even childish it leads to the default d&d world being one where peace is impossible and genocidal violence is the only correct answer.  

We can do better in our writing than a bunch of shut-ins who wanted nothing more than to play cowboys and indians while ripping off Tolkien. Whether you want to write a sweeping epic or a mindless dungeon crawler, there’s a way to reconfigure d&d lore. 

Join me below the cut for a discussion of different ways to use evil in your games.

Children cannot control their emotions nor their fear, they lack the life experience necessary to contextualize things beyond a surface level reading. If you ask a child to "imagine something bad" they're going to take something that scared them, something gross or unpleasant or threatening and imagine it blown up to cartoonish proportion. Tolkien got bit by a spider as a kid and the entire fantasy genre has never lived it down.

D&D is weird because it keeps these childish ideas about evil and drags them forward into an adult context. Those three demon gods I mentioned in the intro make a sort of sense when you realize they're fears of dying, pain, and uncleanliness made manifest. That said most of us having outgrown our childish simplicity understand that those things are neutral, Spiders might personally gross you out but we all understand that doesn't make them bad on a spiritual level. In the base d&d lore however that personal distaste is ALWAYS true: Evilness is synonymous with ugliness and monstrousness, drawing a thick crayon line between the good people and the bad things.

That's where we get our particular flavor of backwards people, because one of those fundamental (pun intended) fears d&d inherited from it's creators was xenophobia, fear of the strange, but also fear of the stranger. When the white, suburban, middle class, christian creators of d&d imagined the other they took all the bad things they had been told in their youth about people who were not them and made them into monsters: That's why the default thinking enemies of d&d are tribal primitives who squat in the ruins of greater civilizations worshipping demons while coveting the beauty and wealth of cultured people. It sounds hyperbolic, but there's a one for one parallel between between the weird sexual anxieties conservatives have about black men and orcs raiding human lands to kidnap women as breeding stock. Same fears about emasculation and race mixing and ethnic replacement, only d&d gives the good ol' boys a narrative vehicle where they can revenge themselves upon their imagined foe.

Most modern d&d is not like this, and I chalk that up to the demographic shift that's happened both because of time passing and the influx of new voices that came along with the 5e renaissance. We're all media literate enough to avoid the obvious racial pantomime... except in cases like the Hardozee when the devs port something almost word for word from an older edition and we get a thanksgiving uncle/facebook aunt screed about how the silly monkey people are really SO happy to work for the refined and civilized and white elves.

What's left behind however is that pervasive childlike worldview: Where perfectly natural things that creep us out (like rot) or frighten us (like pregnancy) are made universally villainous regardless of any themes that are going on in that specific story. Ask yourself why the creators of a piece of media made their badguys look and act like they did, rather than just accepting that it's that way because "the lore says so".

Anyway, that's my rant over, and I promised you guys some different versions of how to use Evil:

Classic demons or lovecraftian horrors make for good bossfights but are thin on character, one of the basic building blocks of story. To remedy this, pair your unremitting force of darkness and destruction with a troubled and nuanced mortal agent, someone who is trying their general best but has been forced down this low road by circumstances beyond their control. This gives your roleplaying focused players something to play off against while your combat focused ones battle a building sized monstrosity. Raw evil isn't interesting, it becomes interesting when we see what it makes morally grey people, even good people, do in reaction to it.

Extremity is one of the best ways to turn normal people into villains, a looming disaster or recent crisis that's putting the pressure on everyone and preventing anyone from thinking beyond protecting themselves and their own. Beyond the people acting rashly, you're also going to have a legion of opportunists offering to fix the problem as your higher rank of antagonists to overcome.

Similarly, if you're going to have your villain backed up by legions of faceless mooks you're going to need a reason for their loyalty. Your villain is offering them something worth dying for, which gives your heroes an alternate win condition for overcoming their numbers beyond genocide.

If you're willing to take a step into a more fanciful, cartoony universe, feel free to play with the idea of good and evil as arbitrary teams: It's the badguy's job to cause chaos and it's the goodguy's job to stop em, they're all working professionals and the dungeon is the workplace comedy. This is fun, but then lets you escalate the tension when someone doesn't play by the rules. What happens when a zealot starts executing evildoers who'd already surrendered? what happens when the villain summons something that is more interested in devastation than wacky hijinx?

Think of morality like a punnett square: There's the party, and then there's the villain who wants the opposite of what they want. THEN there's the villain who wants what the party wants, and the ally who wants the opposite of party wants. Suddenly rather than a simple binary, the party is forced to balance the interest of varying groups as well as their better judgment. This can be made even MORE complex by creating different categories of "what the party wants", which is generally how you get complex political dramas like game of thrones.

[girlyassumes]

Everyone is You Pushed Out (EIYPO)

What is it?

This concept right here is the foundation of manifesting. To basically define what this is, it's the concept that everyone you interact with in your life reflects who you are (your beliefs, assumptions, etc). It's a really good thing to know and always keep in mind. It's something Neville Goddard coined and researched.

It is not a technique in manifesting. It is a concept of how things function and work out in your life. You have to pay attention to what you expect, believe, assume, etc. because that is what will reflect in others. It can be hard to pinpoint since we subconsciously manifest just about everything, but once you're able to notice, it can help you get to your end state.

Examples of EIYPO

From my own experience, it took me a bit to grasp this concept. I even questioned it. But, then it clicked for me when I thought about all my interactions and situations with people I've dealt with in my life and how it reflects me. I'll give you some real-life examples.

Back in high school, I ended up making a lot of unkind friends who'd even ignore me during our lunch breaks. I remember the guy I liked in this friend group was a total player, but I leeched onto him while he told me things like, "Don't be a doormat. You let people walk all over you." I knew deep down I was letting this happen, especially since that boy himself was doing that very thing. But I allowed it, so it kept happening over and over again. People kept taking advantage of me.

In early adulthood, the way I used to treat myself during tiring and stressful mornings was getting snacks (particularly a Mountain Dew and a bag of M&Ms). So, I made a friend and he ended up treating me to those exact things as well. I was also in a bad relationship with someone who sucked at communicating, someone who I felt was just going along with things. But I constantly let him get away with not reaching out to me first and wouldn't question why he'd constantly hide his notifications. He kept on letting me reach out first and ended up being a cheater (deep down, I was expecting something bad like that to be true).

Right now, my two SPs are very monkey-see-monkey-do. My romantic SP, Bee, shows his adoration for me in the same way I do for him. We have the same weird habits. My platonic SP, Gary, greets me the same way I greet him and we don't shut up around each other.

So, what I'm getting at with all of these experiences is this: because I expect, allow, and settle for these things and this behavior from other people, it plays out that exact way. Plus, particular people mirror my own traits and behavior because I care about them a lot and they reflect that back in the same way. This very same concept applies to everyone. You subconsciously manifest certain things to occur and certain behavior from others because of your own beliefs and expectations.

Does this mean I have to have a good self-concept?

No. Your self-concept determines just about everything in your life, BUT it does not have to be really good in order to manifest what you desire. I've talked many times about how you can manifest things you want even through disbelief, doubts, negative emotions, etc. "Persisting through tears" as some say. I've done it successfully many times, as have many other people.

Can it help to have a good self-concept? Yes. If you have confidence that you can manifest everything you want, that'll give you a massive boost. But, again, you don't have to in order to manifest. Manifesting is about simply knowing and putting the assumption out there that you have it, then you get it. That requires no perfect self-concept.

Does this mean people in my life have no free will?

So, when it comes down to it, no, they really don't. But also, this isn't forcing or controlling people. No matter what, you are always manifesting people to do things and act a certain way, whether you realize it or not. It happens naturally and subconsciously. The people in your life always reflect you. Don't think of it as forcing when everyone in yourself is somehow a reflection of you and what you're assuming.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem Bingo event.

we went down swingin' (yes we did)

Prompt: Too Many Beds | Word Count: 7117 | Rating: E | CW: Spouse Swapping, Some Cuckolding Kink, A Little Dash of Dom/Sub Vibes | POV: Eddie, Steve, Gareth | Relationship(s): Steddie, Gareth/Di (OC) + the Swinging Pairings | Tags: Future Fic, Everybody Lived Nobody Died, Middle Aged, Road Retired Corroded Coffin, Lifelong Friends, Bored Empty Nesters, Swinging, Key Party

Also on ao3.

Eddie

Nancy is holding a fish bowl, and she shakes it at them with a grin when they walk in the front door. Eddie and Steve both dig into their pockets, and toss in their car keys in, as demanded. 

It was weird to arrive separately, and since everybody else did the exact same thing, the cul-de-sac is filled with more cars tonight than this party is indicative of, with every half of each couple in their own car. 

She walks away, and Eddie looks at Steve, "You sure about this?"

Steve runs his hand along Eddie's shoulders, squeezing, "It's just sex. But if you've changed your mind, we can slip away."

"She just took our keys!" Eddie hisses, and Steve digs into another pocket, pulling out his spare set. Eddie laughs. Steve is never unprepared. Eddie should have been ready for that.

"You wanna bail?" Steve asks, those big eyes giving him an out, because Eddie knows Steve would leave with him. They could just escape right back out the front door, and their friends wouldn't ever say a word. Probably wouldn't even be all that surprised. 

"Nah," Eddie says, he honestly does kind of want to see this crazy idea through. He thinks it's gonna be an adrenaline rush he hasn't had in years, an unknown. Something he hasn't felt since they retired from touring.

He's just nervous. Not about Steve, never about Steve, they're on solid ground. He just always gets nervous about a performance, and this feels like a performance. 

Eddie turns into Steve's chest, getting Steve to wrap his arms around him, hugging him tight. Kissing him. Like it's his last chance to do so, even though he knows that's not true.

"Do we just need to give Eddie Steve's keys and get it over with?" Goodie hollers from the other room, and Eddie smiles against Steve's mouth while raising his hand to flip Goodie off.

Everybody's laughing, and it makes him feel far more at ease. They're his friends. He just can't believe they all decided to actually do this. They've been talking about it for months, maybe a year.

What started as a group joke, has turned into reality tonight. 

They ate like everything was a normal group dinner night, like they just might play a board game after, when it most definitely is not. Eddie's knee is bouncing under the table. Steve rests his hand on it, settling him. 

"Want to run?" Steve whispers. Another out.

Eddie shakes his head no.  

Nancy stands at the end of the table and is shaking the mixed up keys. She has really spearheaded this whole night. "Okay. We're all friends here, if you decide you're not into it, for any reason, just tap out. Right?"

Everybody nods. 

"Okay, then. Robin goes first, right? Everybody else is still down for anything?" she asks, confirming one more time.

"Way to single me out," Robin says, acting like she's all offended. 

Eddie knows better. So, he can't resist fanning the flames. 

"Yeah!" Eddie chimes in, "That's rude, Nancy!" 

Nancy rolls her eyes, looking perturbed, "Sure. We'll just let her pull Steve's keys and see how fast she wants to be singled out." 

"Good point," Eddie quickly says, "proceed." 

And Nancy holds up the bowl, trying to keep it out of Robin's line of sight. She pulls a set and wiggles them. 

"Those are mine," Nancy says, and Eddie can see the blush creeping up Robin's neck. He wants to catcall them, but he restrains himself. He can be good. Sometimes. In theory.

When Nancy turns to add all the men's keys into the mix, Eddie leans over Steve and taps Robin on the thigh and she brushes his hand off. He grins. She's so embarrassed. He loves it.

Gareth is sitting back, relaxed, his arm stretched across the back of Di's chair. Eddie doesn't understand how he looks so calm. He figured Gareth would be a simmering ball of jealousy. But he looks chilled out in a way Eddie could only dream of feeling.

Maybe he's medicated.

Maybe he'll share.

"Vickie?" Nancy says, offering her the bowl next. Vickie pulls out a set of bare bones keys.

"Uh, mine," Jonathan says, and the room all kind of laughs.

"You're just straight up doing a partner swap," Eddie says, waving his finger back and forth, poking at them.

"Luck of the draw. Vickie, get your own keys out," Nancy orders, and Vickie shuffles through them until she has own pulled from the bowl. "If you're so smart, you can just go next," Nancy says, holding the bowl out to Eddie.

He swallows, and sort of glances in the bowl. She raises it higher.

He reaches in and fumbles around with them, feeling them out, like maybe he could identify Steve's car keys that way, and escape with his husband.

"Eddie!" Nancy snaps, and he grabs the closest set and pulls them out of the bowl. They're Jeff's. He knows it. Recognizes them.

Jeff laughs, as easy-going as he always is, "Oh, this should be interesting."

Steve laughs with Jeff, and Eddie elbows him. But he settles back in his chair. Jeff works. He knows Jeff. He can do this. No problem.

Then, Eddie watches as the rest of the keys are drawn and divvied out.

Seeing the mass exodus across the lawn is fucking weird. He feels like the neighbors must know what they've all agreed to do tonight. That, or they think a cult meeting has just adjourned. Eddie gets in his own car, and his instinct tells him to follow Steve. Of course, that's not what's happening tonight.

The caravan starts splitting off as they pull out of the cul-de-sac. Eddie watches as blinkers go on, and wrong, wrong, wrong pairs disappear together down different streets. 

Jeff turns on his blinker, and Eddie follows suit, turning when Jeff does, losing sight of Steve's car in the process.

Eddie squeezes the steering wheel. This is gonna be an interesting night, that's for damn sure.

Steve

"Tell me what you want, what you don't," Steve says, because he isn't going to feel around in the dark. He knows Di, and well, so there's no reason they can't talk this through together. 

Steve didn't have a preference on who he ended up with. That's a lie, he supposes, but only because he was concerned it'd be Nancy and then Eddie would read into things that aren't there, and haven't been there in over thirty years.

It's just sex.

"I want you to fuck me," she says, grinning at him. She's not shy, and knows what she wants. Steve appreciates that. There's no need to dance around what they're doing tonight.

"I can definitely do that," he says, grinning back at her.

He puts his hands in her hair, and presses his mouth to hers. It's weird. And it's weird that it's weird. He's kissed her platonically before. Hellos, goodbyes. But this is just different. The first thing he thinks is that he hasn't kissed a woman in years, decades. It's only been Eddie. 

The second: Gareth's gonna kill him.

Steve was surprised when she led him to their master bedroom. For some reason that never crossed his mind. Nobody is at their house tonight, so he supposes he doesn't have to think about it too hard. If this is what she's comfortable with, then he's good, too.

He sheds his jeans, letting them drop to the bedroom floor. He's already getting hard, and he cups himself through his underwear, speeding up the process. 

She's on her knees, watching, and when he finally tugs the waistband down, stripping totally, she scoots closer across the bed on her knees.

"Goddamn, I knew it," she says, wrapping her hand around his cock.

"You knew it?" he asks with a laugh. 

"Steve. You know we can all see the outline of your cock all the time, right? It's not a secret. We've all talked about it. For years."

"We?" he asks, gripping her shoulders. 

"Me, Chris, Barb. The wives."

He tilts his head back and laughs. Alright, then. 

"You could have just asked Nancy. Or Eddie."

"Where's the fun in that?" Di teases, and he grins at her. "Lucky Eddie. That's the consensus."

He laughs. Alright. He supposes he doesn't have anything to be embarrassed about, he's not totally unaware.

"Maybe don't say a word to Gareth. For both our sakes."

She giggles, letting go of his cock, taking his hand instead. Inviting him into her bed. He climbs in, and she pushes on his shoulder, getting him to lay back, then straddles him. She lifts her hips, palming him, giving him one more stroke as she's guiding him. 

And then he's in her. 

Sliding right in, she's so goddamn wet and ready. He lets out a long, low groan as he squeezes her hip, trying to regain some sense of control. It's been a long fucking time since he's been inside a woman. It's not better, just different. 

He'd forgotten how different. 

He's being hugged all the way down. All that wet, warm pressure down the entire length of his cock. He'd kind of forgotten.

"Oh, that's good," he says, and she starts setting her own rhythm. 

Riding him, hips working herself on his cock. Her hands in his hair, holding on. He knew, has always known, how much her and Gareth fuck. Has seen more than he's ever wanted to on the road, but he never expected he'd be the one inside her, on the receiving end. 

This is going better, easier, than he anticipated. He hopes everybody else is having the same experience.

Gareth

"You're not fucking me," Goodie says, and Gareth glares at him from his spot where he's slumped on the couch, arms crossed. 

"When did you hear me ask to?" Gareth snaps. If he's gonna be an asshole, Gareth will be one right back. 

Seriously, though? What's the plan? What are they gonna do? Stare at each other all night?

"So, what? We're just gonna sit here and stare at each other until the sun comes up?" Gareth asks. 

"Well, we could talk about how your wife is definitely getting fucked by Steve right now, if you want," Goodie offers like an asshole, but Gareth won't take the bait. 

"Well, when your wife comes home from getting fingerbanged by Chrissy she may never want to fuck your annoying ass again," Gareth snarks. He doesn't believe it, but Goodie started this childishness. He always drags Gareth down to his level. It's a given.

Goodie grumbles under his breath, but doesn't say anything.

This is rotten fucking luck. He gets paired up with Goodie, and Eddie gets paired with Jeff? And they've all spouse swapped in some way. It's like the universe is trying to blow up their band after they made it through the other side of moderate fame and the stress of touring unscathed, still friends. 

"We could go into my studio and play. See if we can write something. Be productive at least," Goodie suggests, and that's not a terrible idea. Not at all. Sure, songs don't start with the rhythm section, but they can jam a little, at the very least. Something might sound good and stick.

Eddie

Eddie can't stop laughing, and really, he's not sure that's what this night was supposed to bring forth. 

Jeff is just laying on the bed, taking it all in stride.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Eddie says, and Jeff just shakes his head.

"We don't have to do this," Jeff suggests, and Eddie knows it's to let him off the hook. He doesn't want off the hook, he just needs a minute to pull his shit together.

Maybe two. 

"No, no. I want to. I just need to get this out of my system," he says, and then bends over at the waist, laughing again.

Steve

He pushes her up against the sink, his hand gripping her slick hip. She just got out of the shower, but he's ready to go again. And she made it clear if he was ready, she was ready.

Nudging his cock along her hip, it slips along her wet skin.

"Yes," she says, and he pulls back, lining up, pushing back inside her. She moans, and he watches her grasp for the edge of the countertop, looking for something to hold onto. 

He reaches around a grabs a handful of her boob, thumbing at her nipple, "These fucking tits," he says. And they are so fucking good. He had no idea. Small, but don't look like any boobs he's seen on women her age. All he needs is a handful, and that's what he's got. 

"Harder," she demands, and he fucks her harder. Solid, punishing thrusts, his hips digging into her ass. Shoving her into the vanity with every stroke. 

She comes. She comes so fucking easy, he's learned. And isn't Gareth goddamn lucky. Squeezing his cock, spasming around him, and he just fights to hang on. 

Fucking her, one of her feet up off the floor, because she's so fucking short. He's got a great view of her back, and the tattoo she has for Gareth along her ribs. He's got one for Eddie on his chest. Both of them committed to this dog and pony show, and have been, since forever. When Corroded Coffin was making the circuit, city after city, tour after tour, bus after bus, plane after plane.

It was a hard life, but they all made it.

Steve slams his hips into her ass one more time, and comes with a long groan, catching her eyes in the mirror. She's smiling, and he smiles back.

He pulls out, and she turns, hoisting herself up onto the vanity. Pulling one leg up. He moves closer between her spread thighs, and she runs her fingers through his chest hair. 

He'd ask her if she's good, but he can tell that she is, and she reaches her arms up, getting him to bend down, so she can wrap them around his neck. 

So, he stays pressed against her until she plants her foot to his hip and pushes him back a step, and he's not sure why at first, until he looks down. She's leaking his come, right onto the marble, and she wanted him to see it.

Goddamn.

Gareth

It's a tasty fucking groove, even if he feels slightly off on this kit that isn't his own. Well, it is his. It's not like Goodie has other drummers over to play. It's just not his. It's a set bought for Goodie's small studio, not his regular kit at home, or his damn near dupe at Eddie's. Or even his old road backup kit that lives at Jeff's. The places he plays the most.

He doesn't spend a lot of time in Goodie's studio, none of them do, it's too small, and really just exists for Goodie to noodle around in alone. Recording ideas they might want to use later.

Goodie's clearly feeling it, and while they definitely don't write songs starting with the rhythm section, maybe Eddie and Jeff can work some magic with this. They don't tour, not anymore. A group decision he's never regretted. But they still put out music from time to time. When Eddie and Jeff aren't writing songs for other artists.

Playing like they are, it's almost easy to forget why they're here, just the two of them without Eddie and Jeff.

The final notes dying off, Gareth watches as Goodie unstraps his bass. Reaching for his drink up on the railing. The ice is melting, watering it down. It's warm in the little studio, and Gareth lifts his shirttail, wiping the sweat off his face.

They haven't played that hard just for fun in years. 

Standing, Gareth pushes his hair up and out of his eyes. He studies Goodie, changed out of the wife-approved clothes he wore to Nancy and Jonathan's earlier, now in his own ratty Corroded Coffin shirt that's seen a lot of shit over the years. Miles of road, decades spent together.

"You can fuck me if you want," Gareth blurts out without thinking first, chest still heaving. 

Goodie stills. Lowball glass pressed to his lips.

And Gareth hates that he said that. Hates that he ruined this good time they were having. Hates that Goodie's surely gonna—

—push him onto the ratty studio couch. Okay, that's not what he expected. 

Goodie reaches over, and puts down his glass, then crowds him. And Gareth lets him. This is what they were here to do tonight, even if Goodie acted like he had no interest. Goodie's all bluster. Gareth knows that. A hard shell you've got to chip away at, piece by piece, if you want to see the real deal inside.

"Have you ever?" Goodie asks, heel of his hand pressing down on Gareth's cock, already half-hard and trapped in his jeans.

"Gotten fucked?" Gareth clarifies.

Goodie nods. 

"Uh," Gareth says, weighing his options. Deciding how much he can handle Goodie knowing about him and his sex life. 

Goodie raises an eyebrow, waiting. Rubbing Gareth's cock a little harder. Like he's trying to work an answer out of him.

"Yeah," he says, "yeah. I have. Fuck."

Goodie pulls back, staring down at him.

"When did you get fucked? We were all attached at the hip as kids. I'd have known. You'd have made sure we all knew."

Gareth just looks at him. 

"Earth to Gare," he says, snapping his fingers.

Gareth takes a deep breath. He'll probably live to regret this. 

"Di has pegged me," he admits. 

Goodie's eyes get comically wide. 

"Shut up!" Gareth snaps, whacking him in the side.

Goodie laughs, rubbing at the spot Gareth hit him, "I didn't say anything! I knew she was freaky though. I just knew it. You've never deserved her." 

Gareth laughs. He doesn't disagree.

Eddie

Eddie grips Jeff's shoulder with his free hand. Laying face-to-face, jerking each other off. This he can do. Definitely.

Jeff's hand is firm, and Eddie looks at his face. Jeff grins, and Eddie can't help returning it. It feels really good. Different from Steve's hand. Guitar calluses that he's only used to feeling on his own fingers.

Eddie looks down between them, at their cocks being stroked, knuckles brushing. 

"Fuck," Eddie says, letting his head fall closer to Jeff's. Breathing against his lips.

And when Jeff kisses him, Eddie kisses him back. It's not even weird. Jeff's seen him in all manner of ways over the years, and this is just another one. He doesn't know why he was so in his own head.

Steve was right. Steve's always right. It's just sex.

Jeff's got a good rhythm going, a grip that is really working for Eddie. A firm grasp as he moves up and down. Then his thumb teases under the head of Eddie's cock, and that's it. He's gonna come. His whole body tenses, and he feels the rolling pleasure of his orgasm hitting him. Coming all over Jeff's hand and stomach. Cock twitching, heart hammering against his chest.

Fuck. He groans. That was good.

Eddie has slowed his own hand, not on purpose, but when he realizes, he pushes Jeff over onto his back, and slides down the bed, nudging his thighs apart.

He loves sucking cock, is good at it, and he wants to show off. Just a little. For his friend.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Jeff says as Eddie takes him deep right away, opening his throat, letting him slide in.

Eddie hums his contentment, and works him over real good. Cradling his balls, putting a little pressure on his taint, his whole bag of tricks.

Pulling back, allowing Jeff's cock to drag along his whole tongue, meeting Jeff's eyes as he does it. Eddie rubs the head of his cock along his bottom lip. Teasing him, before going deep again.

Jeff squeezes his shoulder, a warning, and Eddie just swallows around him. Feeling Jeff tense as he's coming down his throat.

Eddie eventually pulls back, giving the head one last lick that makes Jeff laugh.

Eddie wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning as he does it.

"You're quite the cocksucker," Jeff teases, and Eddie flops over onto his back, laughing. He really is. He's glad Jeff noticed. Flattery works on him. Always.

"Why, thank you, Jeffrey. I'm so glad you've acknowledged my area of expertise."

Gareth

Gareth's bent over the edge of the couch, and it's pretty fucking great. He's never been fucked by a real-life dude before, and Goodie is pounding into him. One hand resting on the small of his back, the other on his hip.

Gareth moans when he hits his prostate, head bowing toward the cushions. It's good. Warmer than getting pegged. Though, that has Di, and nothing will ever beat that.

But still. This is good. Really good.

"I'm gonna come," Goodie says, and Gareth reaches for his own cock, determined to get there, too. It's overstimulating in the best way.

"In you," Goodie pants, tapping Gareth's hip, "or out?"

"In," Gareth answers. It's Goodie. 

Goodie groans, slams his hips against Gareth's ass one more time, and comes with a long, loud moan.

Gareth's almost there, almost. He reaches his hand back, and finds Goodie's hip, "Stay in me, let me come," Gareth requests.

Goodie presses closer to Gareth's ass, keeping his softening cock snug inside Gareth. It feels so good, feeling full. He's always liked coming this way.

He strokes his own dick, forehead resting against the cushions.

When he comes his orgasm feels ripped from him. He tries not to make a mess all over the couch, but he feels too good to really think about anything else. He clenches down on Goodie's cock, and lets the last of the waves roll through him. Sighing as it slows to a stop.

"Can I pull out?" Goodie asks, thumb rubbing back and forth on the small of Gareth's back. 

"Yeah, yeah," Gareth answers, and when he does, Gareth feels empty. But really good, too.

He's glad he suggested it after all.

After they've gotten cleaned up, and he's wiped up his mess on the studio couch, he has a realization.

It's all on tape.

Audio only, thankfully. 

But still, there's proof of what they just did together.

Gareth just laughs. It's absurd. But they had fun. Which means hell must have frozen over. 

"We were still recording, weren't we?" Goodie asks, coming to the same conclusion Gareth had reached.

"Yeah. Be sure to cut that off the version we give Eddie." 

"No shit," Goodie says, but he's smiling. 

Eddie 

Eddie is resting the back of his head on Jeff's thigh, plucking at the guitar on his lap. Jeff's feet are up on the coffee table, and they've already written a song that Eddie kinda assumes they might be able to shop around. 

This isn't out of the ordinary. Not really. Whenever they're together this is usually what happens.

Maybe a little more touchy, but Eddie's handsy and always has been. Nobody would think twice if they saw them like this. It's only different because Eddie knows what they did earlier. 

"Do you have anything for the bridge?" Jeff asks, and Eddie keeps plucking his guitar, thinking. Not yet. But they'll come up with something. He knows they will. 

They always do. 

That's why they make the big bucks as a professional songwriting duo. If anything Eddie does could ever be considered professional, that is.

Steve

Steve is dressed, showered, and it's time to go. When he gets to the living room, she's on the couch, feet tucked under her, a cup of coffee resting on her knee. She's in a big fluffy robe. He leans down and kisses her on the cheek.

"See you for dinner?" Steve asks, because it's Sunday. And they always all get together on Sunday night for dinner. Just the four of them.

"Yep. I'm making pasta," she says, and it's business as usual. 

"I'll get stuff for a salad—" he says, but is interrupted by her phone ringing, making them both jump. Steve laughs. It's Gracie. And it's eight in the morning, so Steve waits.

Di's listening, and finally Steve asks, "Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's good," Di says to Steve with a smile, then covers the receiver, "Sorority house drama."

Steve laughs, nodding. He can only imagine.

And then Di says into the receiver, "No, it's not Dad. It's Uncle Steve." 

She listens some more. 

"Gracie says hi."

"Hi, girlie!" Steve shouts. The girls are off at college, which seems impossible. But they are all empty nesters. That's how this whole idea started, he's pretty sure. Trying to recapture some wild youth they all experienced on the road, back when Corroded Coffin was touring hard. Before they retired from the road to let those who had decided to have kids, raise them. Now, those kids are all grown.

"No. Dad's on band business. Uncle Steve came and worked on the plumbing."

She says it with such deadpan boredom. Like he may have actually came over bright and early to snake the drain. He's sure Gracie would actually not even question that. Steve swats Di's arm, making her grin. She's evil, but he loves her. She's family.

If she's good, he can go. 

"You have fun with your little yappy lap dog when he gets home," he whispers, giving her a wink. He can't imagine how insufferable Gareth's gonna be. Not that expects Eddie to be any less high strung. He knows them both too well.

Di laughs, swatting his arm back in retaliation.

"Nothing, Uncle Steve's just being funny. He's leaving. Continue."

And he slips out the front door, walking down the driveway towards his car.

Eddie

He hears tapping. Somewhere. Faintly.

He pulls his headphones off, and glances around Jeff's studio. Chrissy is tapping on the glass, holding up his ringing phone, shaking it at him. 

It's Steve, she mouths.

Eddie hurries into the booth, snatching it from her, and she kicks him in the shin as he goes. He cackles as he runs back into the studio where they're paused for him, and swipes to accept.

"Are you ever coming home again, or have you left me for Jeff?" Steve asks, as soon as the call connects.

Eddie laughs, glancing at his watch. Shit. It's almost noon. 

"Yeah, sorry about that. Guess you'll just have to keep Di."

Gareth hops up from behind the kit, "The fuck if he will!!" 

Steve must have heard him, because he laughs in Eddie's ear. 

"Seriously, though. We wrote a song. It's good," Eddie explains. "And Gareth and Goodie wrote, too, and they somehow happen to fit together pretty damn nicely. It's like we were in sync from afar."

"Through your cocks," Steve teases. 

Eddie laughs. Yeah, maybe. 

"Can't wait to hear it," Steve adds.

"I'll be home in twenty minutes," Eddie says.

"So, you mean an hour," Steve banters back.

"Or two," Eddie teases. Steve knows him all too well.

Steve

Eddie flops on the bed, hair wet from his shower, and dripping onto his t-shirt, wetting his collar. It jostles Steve, who struggles to keep a hold of the book in his hand. He took a short nap, but he knew if he slept all day, he'd be fucked.

So, he's compromised by just lounging in bed, reading.

"Easy tiger," Steve says, but Eddie just presses his face into Steve's neck, sending cold droplets of water down his skin, and around the back of his neck.

Steve flinches, rolling his shoulder upwards, trying to combat the steady trickle that's escaping Eddie's hair to try and freeze him to death.

"Tell me everything," Eddie demands, and Steve lowers his book, resting it on his chest.

He looks at Eddie over the edge of his reading glasses, knowingly.

"What? Tell me!" Eddie demands, and Steve just grins. 

"Tell me about the new song."

"No! You won't distract me," Eddie argues. "Tell me the truth."

"You can't handle the truth!" Steve banters, and Eddie flops over onto his own pillow, laughing. 

Steve grins at him.

"It was good. It was just sex," Steve says, and Eddie turns his head, giving him a look. 

"It was just sex," Eddie repeats like he doesn't quite believe it.

"What? Was your roll in the hay with Jeff not just sex?" Steve asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Mine was a comedy of errors. Jeff thought I was crazy."

"Jeff's always thought you were crazy, so nothing new there."

"I couldn't quit laughing," Eddie admits.

Steve grins, "Sounds about right."

Eddie scrubs his hands over his face, and makes a dramatic noise that Steve's all too familiar with. 

"You good?" Steve asks. 

Eddie looks at Steve as he pulls down his cheeks, stretching his lower eyelids downwards, like a weirdo. He's over fifty, but nothing ever changes. 

Steve puts his book on the end table, and rolls over, settling on top of Eddie, pressing his lips to Eddie's neck. 

"I'm good," Eddie answers. 

"You sure?" 

"Pretty sure."

"Want me to give you a — hard reset — just to make sure?" 

Eddie laughs, sliding his hands over Steve's shoulders, "You just want to get all the mileage you can out of your recreational boner pill. Which was cheating, by the way."

"It wasn't cheating!" 

"You don't have ED."

Steve laughs, he doesn't. No more than anyone else does at their age. He just wanted to make extra certain he could go all night, no matter what, no matter who. 

"Don't be jealous you didn't get to experience it. Di says hi by the way."

Eddie growls, and it's not menacing in the slightest.

"If you can't go again so soon, I get it," Steve taunts.

"Pants off, Harrington," Eddie demands, and well, Steve does what he says. 

Once stripped down and naked, Eddie straddles his thighs and squeezes. Then lifts his ass, like he's gonna slide right down on Steve's cock.

"Whoa, how about we don't try that," Steve laughs. They don't need an embarrassing trip to the emergency room.

Eddie doesn't listen, never does, and just grips Steve cock, guiding him as he sinks down. Easy, already loose. Of course he is. 

"I got ready in the shower. How do I compare?" 

Steve laughs, reaching up to push Eddie's wet hair out of his face, "You're crazy. You know there's nobody that compares to you."

"Good answer," Eddie says, working himself on Steve's cock. Steve's the one in him, but somehow he's just along for the ride, like always. Catering to Eddie's every whim. 

He wouldn't change a thing.

"Is your cock harder or has it just been a minute?" 

Steve laughs. Both. The answer is both. His dick is getting a little pharmaceutical boost, and it's been a while since Eddie's bottomed. Mainly because Steve just prefers to get fucked by him, but he gets that Eddie needs to plant his flag. Or, needs Steve to plant his, as it were. 

"Don't know what you're talking about," Steve lies, "it's always been this magnificent. All the women are saying so."

Eddie sighs, and wraps his arms around Steve's neck, "I don't care what the women are saying. It is. And you should only fuck me with it."

He sounds like he's teasing, but Steve knows him too well. If Eddie is one and done, Steve's one and done, too. 

That's more than okay with Steve, and he cups the side of Eddie's head, "Only you."

Gareth

"I already told you," she says, stirring the pot of sauce simmering on the stove, "we did it with the lights off. Under the sheets. He was a perfect gentleman."

Gareth tilts his head, "Diana Jones, I wasn't born yesterday."

She turns and grins, biting at her bottom lip, and he knows he's in trouble now. The next thing that comes out of her mouth may ruin him. He needs to hear it immediately. 

"He fucked me up against the bathroom sink. You wanna see the bruises on my hips?"

His cock throbs, hardening, trapped in his jeans. He palms at himself as she goes back to stirring.

Then she hits him with more. 

"I didn't change the sheets. You wanna smell him in our bed?"

And that's it. He can't be expected to just stand by idly. He grabs her around the waist, pulling her away from the stove as she squeals, tucking her feet up, letting him lift her off the ground. Then, he thinks better of it, pausing just long enough to reach over to turn off the burner on the stove. Putting the lid on the pot.

They might be a while. 

Only then does he jostle her in his arms, tossing her over his shoulder, swatting her on the ass. Hauling her towards their bedroom, like they're still kids. She's laughing, and he can't wait.

He puts her down on their bed, getting underdressed, and when he finally yanks down her underwear, she wasn't lying. There are faint bruises forming where her hip bones made contact with the marble sink. 

"I'll kill him," he says, sealing his mouth over one of the bruises, sucking. If she wants bruises, they'll be his. Not Steve's.

She whines, grabbing a fistful of his hair, letting him get it out of his system before guiding him downwards. He buries his face in her pussy, and breathes deep. Then, presses his tongue into her. There's nowhere else on earth he'd rather be than between her thighs.

"Do you still taste him?" she asks, and he pulls back just long enough to rub his stubble against her sensitive inner thigh. Eyes meeting hers.

She giggles, and he goes back to eating her out in earnest. But she just keeps talking. 

"He came inside me so many times, Gare. He fucks just like you think he would. Eddie's so lucky." 

She's taunting him, he knows what she's playing at. And maybe it's his fucking imagination, but he thinks he can taste him, but he'll mark his own territory soon enough. Right this wrong.

She's just gotta come first, and he's the expert on making that happen. Not Steve. Not anyone else. Just him. He's had years to perfect his craft. 

"Right there," she says, and he shoves two fingers inside her, tip of his tongue running circles over her clit, knowing that'll help nudge her over the edge.

It does. She has barely finished jerking from her orgasm, when she turns the tables, grabbing his shoulders. He lets her manhandle him, turning him onto his stomach. Then her hand is pressing the back of his head, forcing his face into the sheets, both of his hands in hers as she pulls them backwards, securing them behind him.

"Breathe deep," she says, "I got so wet for him. Before, after, feeling his come leaking out of me all over our sheets."

"Di," he says, but he presses his face into the soft cotton that does smell like sex, and not just their sex.

He grinds his hips into the bed. 

"If I let your hands go, are you gonna be good?" she asks, and he nods. He will. He leaves them clasped behind his back, right where she put them.

She nudges his knees apart.

"Feel it?" she asks, and then her slick fingers, wetted from her own pussy, are pressing against his asshole, "Did you get fucked without me, too?" 

He nods. He did. And she pushes her fingers into him, one then two. He's loose enough, but he still whines. This is the hottest, dirtiest thing they've ever done and they've done some raunchy shit together over the years.

"I wanted him to fuck my ass so bad," she says, "but he wouldn't fit."

Gareth's whole body tenses, his cock jumping, throbbing, trapped against the dirty sheets.

"He's that big, Gare. Maybe you'd like him to fuck you," she says, twisting her fingers inside him, finally making contact with that bundle of nerves that lights his whole body on fire. He wants to ask for the whole thing, the strap, all of it.

But he just lets her run the show. 

He isn't surprised when she lets him up, and shifts their positions until he's back over her.

Gareth knows what she wants, and he slides into her, as he imagines Steve doing the same thing. He wonders how he did it. What speed, what rhythm, as he starts hammering into her. Hard. Fast. 

Just like she likes it when she's this worked up.

She's moaning, thumb brushing her own nipple. He knocks her hand away and does it himself.

"I'm so fucking jealous," he says, and she covers his hand with her own, pressing his hand into her chest, right over her heart.

"Gare," she says, far softer now. "It was just sex."

He slows his pace, just grinding into her. Rolling his hips, just like she likes, pressing his pubic bone against her clit. 

"No, no, I know. And it was Steve. I trust Steve, like, if I could have handpicked anyone there? I'd have picked him. Because I'd have no doubt you'd be taken care of," he admits, and that's the fucking truth. He only trusts Eddie more, and he cannot imagine Eddie having sex with a woman, even if Gareth knows he has before. It's still a foreign concept.

Steve, though.

"Then why are you jealous?" she asks, wrapping her legs around his waist. 

He's not sure. But it's bubbling inside him.

"I didn't get to watch," he finally says, and she grabs at his side, squeezing his love handle as she comes, pulsing all around him, hugging his cock while involuntarily trying to push him out at the same time. 

He loves that feeling, has always loved it.

"You…you wanted to watch?" she asks on an exhale, a whine, as he keeps rocking into her. 

And, yeah. He thinks he would have enjoyed that quite a bit. Which is kind of a new revelation. He's definitely never thought of sharing her before the key party talks started. 

But now. At least pondering the idea of what happened last night. Yeah, maybe.

He nods, "My imagination can't possibly do it justice."

"If we ever decide to play again, you can watch," she promises. "Fuck, please. But right now? I just want you."

And that's all he wants, too.

Steve

"Hey, darlin'," Eddie says, taking the covered dish from Diana's hands when they walk into the kitchen. She was in charge of the main dish this week, and he's pretty excited. He's never had anything she's made that he hasn't liked.

And Eddie isn't destroying their kitchen with dirty dishes. So, win-win.

Gareth walks by Steve, and reaches out, tapping the back of his hand against Steve's dick. A little harder than necessary, Steve thinks.

"Ow," Steve giggles, cupping his junk, and Gareth laughs. 

"You fucked my wife," Gareth says, like that wasn't the whole idea. 

"You can fuck my husband if you want to," Steve suggests, teasing.

"No, he definitely cannot!" Eddie declares, and they all laugh. 

Gareth leans up in Steve's face, and smacks a kiss against Steve's lips, "I don't know what you did to my wife, you goddamn animal, but we fucked about it all afternoon. Thanks, man." 

Then he winks, and Steve shakes his head, laughing. 

"I could always give you a demo if you want. Teach you a thing or two," Steve says, taunting him. 

Gareth shakes his fist at Steve, and Di slides in front of Steve, getting between them. Steve wraps both arms around her shoulders, hugging her from behind, resting his chin on the top of her head. 

It's nothing he hasn't done a million times before, but watching Gareth's blood pressure rise in real time is sorta fun. They're close, have always been close, all of them. Now, they're just a little bit closer in an unexpected way.

"Yeah, Gare. You want a demo?" she asks, teasing, but Steve feels like there's more to it the way color spreads across Gareth's cheeks. It's interesting. Gareth might actually like that.

He's a horny little freak, though, always has been, so Steve's not too surprised. Not really.

Gareth crowds in close, pressing up against Di, wrapping his arms around the both of them, squeezing, pressing his fingers into Steve's back, probably a little harder than he really needs to.

"Stop that, all of you. We're not having an orgy," Eddie says from where he's putting a salad together. It's their Sunday tradition. "We're having dinner. That's it."

They all laugh, and Steve feels relieved it's all so normal. Di takes a step away from him, and he lets her go. She sits at the table next to Gareth, and Steve walks over and wraps his arms around Eddie's middle, hugging him from behind, "No orgies. Got it. Who knew Eddie Munson would be the prude among us?"

Eddie spins, salad tongs in hand, putting them right in Steve's face, "You take that back! I'm a freak!"

Steve laughs, and holds up his hands in concession, "My bad. You're a freak."

"He's not a freak, he's an imposter," Gareth says.

Eddie growls at him, and it's far less scary than he thinks it is. But they all just humor him, like they always do.

Steve carries the salad to the table, and Di takes the lid off the pasta. It's all so normal, and they easily fall into regular conversation. Like they didn't do something new last night.

"We've got a good one," Eddie says, "the song. We're keeping it for us. It's a Corroded Coffin song. Could be a single. Hell, maybe we'll do an EP."

Gareth is nodding, "He's not wrong. Songs don't usually come together that quick."

"That's what she said," Eddie jokes.

"She definitely didn't," Steve banters, and Gareth kicks him under the table.

So, nothing's changed. That's good.

Eddie

Steve's bending over in the fridge, looking for pie he bought for dessert. Eddie bangs his groin into Steve's ass, sending him off balance, making him laugh. Eddie squats beside Steve, looking lower, finding it on the bottom shelf. He presents it to Steve on both hands, making him laugh.

Steve takes it from his hands, and places it on the counter to be cut, as Eddie starts a pot of coffee. Eddie can hear Gareth and Di talking in the living room, and he knows he was worried for nothing. 

It was only sex.

And what's a little sex between friends?

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the May Mayhem Bingo Event!

Notes: Title from Swingin' by Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers, which has nothing to do with a key party. (But everything to do with Di, lol.) However, Brief Encounters by Franz Ferdinand is much more likely about that, and it definitely got some listening time while writing this.

May Mayhem has been so much fun, writing borderline unhinged things I'd never probably considered before. 🤣

[chalkscrub]

chalkrub stuns in new oc-tober prompts

it's a text-heavy update...i love rambling

day 11: symbolism/themes/visual metaphor i.e my favourite things in the world - eng lit nerds make some noise!!!!!

goin back to day 11 with my favourite thing in the world: an unfinished sketchy concept. and also SYMBOLISM and themes and metaphor…and also dark green

so mika and heidi's story is haunted by one time they happened upon a drowned fox and pheasant in a disused canal, something which came at a weird time in their lives and which heidi made weirder by making cryptic suggestions about the whole thing, especially playing on mika’s (former) religious beliefs about spirit connections. Over time, it’s infected mika with budding paranoia in the form of nightmares, hallucinations and latent aquaphobia, all of which she begins seeing as premonitory

shan’t overexplain the symbolism even though my brain wants me to, but this was all inspired by seeing literally the exact same thing on a walk with my great aunt when I was like 6 or 7. the canal water was all covered in algae/pondweed so i’m guessing the fox chased the pheasant, they both mistook the canal for grass, then fell in and drowned together. even as a little kid I was like wrow this is so poignant and tragic and heavy with the potential for on-the-nose symbolism….. or alternatively it just looked cool as hell and felt kind of rare and special. either way, like 15 years later I was developing a new direction for a couple of initially completely unrelated ocs, i.e mika and heidi, and at some point in their story development, I was like now wait a second….this is just like that one time I saw those animals who chased each other into an early shared fate and drowned together…… and it fit them really well and also made everything click into place for the main story, it was kind of uncanny. Thank you nature for showing me cool things every day, and rip to the fox and pheasant you live in my mind forever and always

day 12: future

BEAS!!! beas i love you beas. initial beasley flavour on the left and future flavour on the right. his whole deal is he wants to start a cult, so he ventures to The Big City to make a name for himself. then he realises imps like him are a dime a dozen in the city and nobody cares about him, so he has to scrape by working a minimum wage job as a cashier in a tiny corner shop. he’s from a comic I (partially) made for uni, idk how his story goes exactly but I guess it probably ends with the typical sappy message of being yourself for yourself and not for fame or fortune or whatever. he gets up to hijincks, feels sad and depressed, and goes through the torment of living with his own mediocrity in a world that demands greatness. imps grow with power, not with age, so at the start of the story, even though he’s an adult, he’s still as small as when he was born/summoned/spawned/whatever. he’s got some shapeshifting prowess, so his future form is more an example of the kinds of feats he can pull off when his powers stabilise, and also his cool badass flaming eyes.

day 14: inspiration.

here's a convoluted block of text explaining the heretic's main inspiration, which isn't very apparent in the design at ALL but nevertheless: they’re kind of inspired by the concept of a closet costume. like how you can throw a bedsheet over yourself and cut out some eyeballs and voila. You’re a ghost. Or put a big furry coat and a mask on and you’re a werewolf now. almost all of their design links back to this in a roundabout way: the fur is meant to look like a rug/coat/furry thing draped over something. I used to have a sheepskin rug when I was a kid and I’d always hide under it and crawl about and pretend to be a monster lmao…this is what i looked like in my head maybe. The normal shoes poking out are the human element – like how halloween costumes will sometimes be mostly themed but the shoes are just practical, or you see shoes poking out beneath one of those two-man horse costumes. The face is meant to look mask-like – the glassy unfocused eyes, the fixed toothy grin, the simple cone shape. The black eyelids are meant to be like those Halloween masks that have eyeholes above/below the eyes, covered with that black fabric to make it less obvious there's eyeholes. And the ears are floppy to be like socks or something; they have those two black lines because they remind me of loose stitching. Also just some animal influences thrown in – possums, goats and bulls…..none of the closet costume stuff is meant to be noticeable or apparent in the design, so why did I put so much thought into it? who know… but this thing is one of my favourite designs I’ve made so maybe it was all worth it

[howlingday]

JAUNE

"Frère Jaune~! Frère Jaune~! Dormez-vous~?"

"Fermez-la!" Jaune shouted at his older sister.

"Aw~!" Saphron cooed. "Is it time for my baby brother's nap already?"

"I'm not a baby!" He huffed, stamping his foot. What was supposed to be a fun day of playing in the forest became another mean game for Saph to play on her only brother. She knew he hated that song, mostly because she sang it specifically to him. But when has an older sister ever listened to her younger brother?

"I found you, so now you have to go hide."

"That's not fair!" Jaune huffed.

"Life's not fair, baby brother~." She pinched his cheek, reeling in her hand as he swatted it away. "Now, turn around and let me go hide. No peeking."

With that, Saphron walked away, leaving Jaune to turn around and count to 100. How one counts that high was usually up to the person counting, and he learned a neat, little shortcut that cut his counting by five. Fives, to be exact.

"Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five..." The only son of the Arc family couldn't help but smirk as he cheated. Saphron was probably still looking for a place to hide while he was already halfway through his handicap. She might be upset, but Jaune figured it was fitting payback for her own cheating earlier. "...ninety-five, one hundred! Ready or not, here I come~!"

Jaune turned around, walking the same direction Saph did. Knowing her, she probably just went straight ahead and turned somewhere. However, as he made his way through the woods, something felt wrong about their game. It wasn't a wrong gut feeling like you just cheesed your way into a win without earning it. No, this was a wrong feeling like everything was too quiet and the air was suddenly a lot heavier than it should have been. Even for a forest of bare trees on the cusp between winter and spring, it was as silent as the grave.

That's when Jaune found the footprint. It was big, many times the size of his hand, possibly even bigger than his arm, and it ended in four, sharp points. A Beowolf; a Grimm not normally found near Jaune's family home, thanks to the efforts of Huntsmen like his father and others, but here now all the same. He turned to home, ready to run and scream for his father to protect him, but he was stopped by a bit of string under his shoe, soaked in mud.

Saph's necklace. She said she got it from a girl in her class, a close friend of hers. She also said she would never take it off so long as she lived. Girls made weird promises like that, but that wasn't important. What was important was that there was no Saphron Arc to accompany this necklace, and the thought of that filled Jaune's belly with ice. Heavy ice.

He picked up the string and looked to where the Grimm footprints led to. He could run back to the house. It wasn't far, and his father could come out to save his sister without much effort, unlike Jaune, who was only just a boy. What could he do, anyways; he wasn't even ten years old, and he thought he could be a hero? Like the ones in his stories?

Still, Jaune pressed further through the trees, deeper into the trail of the beast, hoping there was some chance he could somehow save his sister. His pacing only quickened when he heard her cry out from beyond the ridge. Approaching the lip, he saw the black beast below, snapping into the roots of a tree that Jaune's older sister sought refuge under. It was huge, massive even. It was much bigger than the stories his father told him. He took a step back.

'Will you run?'

Should he run? He's already made it this deep into the woods. Going any further would be certain death. But to leave Saphron, who was sobbing and kicking to keep as far away from the monster as she could, would also mean certain death, but this instance would be hers. Could he live with that sacrifice?

No.

'Will you fight?'

Could he fight? Jaune found a large stick next to his foot. He picked it up and noted its weight. He could swing it, though he doubted it would do anything. If nothing else, it would serve as a distraction for his sister to escape. Still, there was that chance, that hope beyond hope that he could kill it with this stick. Slowly, the stick looked less like sturdy kindling and more like a sword. A sword fit for a hero. But reality is, was, and always be cruel, and despite whatever fantasies a boy may have, a stick is still just a stick.

But I still have to try.

'Why?'

Jaune was about to throw himself into an unwinnable fight against a creature his father had to train to fight. He had zero training, zero skill, and stood a better chance of surviving fleeing and getting his father. If he jumped down there, Saph might live, and that was a strong might if the Grimm wasn't finished with Jaune first. Should Jaune simply run and hope for the best, or risk everything in his young life to save his mean, older sister? What would be the point of doing that?

As Saph screamed and wailed, Jaune gripped the shoelace in his fist ever tighter, and he found his reason as he jumped from the cliff and onto the Grimm's back.

The beast thrashed its head around as its bony head smashed against the roots of the tree. Jaune clung to the hairs of its back, slapping his "sword" against the side of the massive monster. Finally, it rent itself free from its wooden prison, flailing more wildly as Jaune continued to hang on for his dear life. It rolled across the ground, suffocating and crushing Jaune into the soaking ground of mud and rock. He let go, and found the creature glaring down at him.

Time slowed down for Jaune Arc. Everything moved like the air itself was made of very thick maple syrup. The Beowolf, with its maw so wide, drew closer to its newest victim. Behind him, Jaune saw Saph screaming as she reached for her baby brother. She had the same thought he did; he was going to die here, and so would she if she stayed to watch. Even still, she couldn't stand by and let this happen.

"GO." Jaune simply said, speaking as normally as he could. Saphron's scream pierced the air as the Grimm snarled.

However, no blood would be spilled this day. Instead, where there should have been a dead boy was instead a living boy with a golden bubble around him. The Grimm snapped and dug its claws into the protective barrier but found neither purchase nor score to have been made in its attempt to maul the boy.

'Greetings.' A voice said inside of Jaune's head. Before he could react, the voice continued. 'I have chosen you to be my new vessel. I hope there aren't any objections.'

"Who...?" Jaune finally took his surroundings seriously. This was real! Was this his superpower? Making a protective bubble for himself? Before he could question any further, he turned to Saph, who looked on in awe of her baby brother. "Saph..."

'The Grimm is too occupied by our power.' The voice said. 'The girl will be safe so long as we are here.' Jaune breathed a sigh of relief. 'However, this cannot be guaranteed if she remains here and more Grimm arrive.'

Jaune nodded, turning to his big sister. Taking a page out of his favorite stories, he gave a confident grin before proclaiming. "Have no fear, Sir Arc is here~!"

Saphron wanted to argue that what her brother was doing was the dumbest thing he could possibly do, but now wasn't the time for arguing. She instead chose to call back. "I'm going to get dad! Don't die before he gets here!"

As she ran, it dawned on Jaune that, despite the amazing superpower he got, his life was still in danger. Suddenly, the Beowolf looked much larger and more dangerous than it was seconds ago. Could Jaune win? This bubble offered protection, but for how long, and could he still fend off the Grimm without it?

'Have faith.' The voice said. 'Though it is a mighty beast, and though you are mortal, we can win so long as you believe in yourself.'

"Who... are you?" Jaune finally asked.

'I am one of the two creators of this world.' Answered the voice. 'And I need your help to find my brother.' A claw pierced through the barrier, but did not break further than that. 'But we can discuss this later. For now, it is time to fight.'

Fight? Jaune only had experience in one kind of fighting, and that was against his sisters. This was not his sister, nor was it even human. It was a Beowolf, a creature of Grimm, and it had every advantage Jaune didn't only a few minutes ago. He wasn't a huntsman, nor was he even in training to be one. So what chance did he have in beating it?

'Do not fear, my vessel, for fear is what draws in the Grimm the most.' The voice attempted to soothe. 'Think instead of why you chose to fight instead of running away. What is at risk if you run now?'

Jaune squeezed the stick in his hand a little tighter. Saph, his big sister, almost died because of his inaction. Now wasn't the time for that; now was the time for payback. Suddenly, a golden light shined in Jaune's eyes, and where there was once a stick there was now a golden sword of light. The Grimm stabbed into the barrier once more, this time its massive claw tearing through, and found itself stuck in the barrier.

Claws that would have torn him to shreds if not for this power. Claws that would have torn his sister to shreds if he didn't show up. A fury so righteous boiled inside of Jaune before he swung his blade clean through the Grimm's talons. It reeled back with a screech, screaming in agony before making another leap at the barrier.

'I trust you, my vessel.'

The barrier fell. The beast lunged. The voice faded. And Jaune moved forward, thrusting his blade into the fanged maw of the Beowolf. His weapon struck true and pierced through the bone-white skull of the monster. It slumped forward, its heavy body crushing Jaune. Fear took hold of him, before the weight lifted and he was left coughing in a pile of fading ash.

"Jaune!" A familiar voice called out. He turned in time to see his father barreling down, brandishing the family sword, Crocea Mors, in hand. "Are you alright, son?!" He circled around his child. "Where did the Grimm run off to?!"

"I killed it, Dad." The look his father gave him was a new one. It was one of disbelief and concern.

He then noticed the ash soaked into his son's clothes, and a grin split across his face. He sheathed his blade, kneeling down. "You killed it, eh, son?" A sharp pain burned across Jaune's cheeks. "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING, FIGHTING SOMETHING THAT BIG?! YOU KNOW WHAT WOULDA HAPPENED IF YOU DIED?!"

"SAPH WOULDA BEEN OKAY!"

"YOU DON'T KNOW THAT!" His father released his hands from his son. "For Brother's sakes, son! Your sister was probably scared out of her wits, but the Grimm probably wasn't that big!"

"Could you not say that, Dad? My friend doesn't like that."

"What? Your 'friend' has a problem with the word Grimm?" The air quotes showed that his father cared little with the voice in Jaune's head.

"No, Brothers." Jaune clarified. "He doesn't like his name being said like that without his brother." There was an even more confused look from his father.

"I think you might be concussed, son. C'mere," the large man picked up his son, "let's get you cleaned up, little hero."

"Hero?" Jaune's heart skipped a beat.

"Yeah. What else do you call someone who saves their sister's life? Even if it was a stupid thing to do, and you've probably used up all the good luck for the rest of your life, you're still a hero to me, your mom, and all your sisters. Especially Saph."

Jaune looked to the stick in his hand. He tried to will it into a sword, like before, only to instead receive a chiding message from his savior.

'There is a time and place for everything, but now isn't that time.'

Jaune gave a sigh. How disappointing. Then, he got an idea.

"Hey, dad?"

"Hm?"

"Can you train me to be a huntsman like you?"

"Mm..." His father then chuckled. "Sorry, Jaune. No can do."

"What?! Why not?!"

"There's only one huntsman like me, and that's me."

"Aw..."

"But..." Jaune felt a chill up his back. "I'll see what I can do about making you into a huntsman like you." Jaune could barely contain himself. Literally. "H-Hey! Stop shaking so much or I'm gonna drop you!"

Meanwhile, deep inside Jaune, a voice chuckled. 'This will be interesting, won't it... Brother?'

--------------------------------------------------

"Thankfully, the boy's father was able to arrive just in time to save his son, who nearly sacrificed his life for his sister. The family says that their son is now training to attend a huntsman academy when he's older."

"I guess it's not the size of the hero in the fight, but the size of the fight in the hero, huh?" The newscasters chuckled. "In other news, the infamous Huntsman Hunter has struck again. The victim was a huntress, whom our sources wish to remain anonymous out of respect for the fallen. Residents of Mistral are advised to travel in groups no smaller than three and to avoid travel at night if possible. Though the suspect remains at large, they are considered to be armed and dangerous..."

[genshinnrambles]

noticed this similarity between capitano and the blazegem inscription

so I was re-watching the cutscene in the natlan archon quest because the Genshin Impact youtube channel posted it last night, and I noticed something:

I had just played Act II of the Children of Echoes-focused story quest before rewatching the cutscene, and the symbol on Capitano's chest jumped out at me given the similar shape to Tlazolli's Blazegem Inscription in the screenshot on the right.

Some light speculation under the cut:

An important caveat: the symbol on Capitano's chest and the Blazegem Inscription are mirror images, they are not exact copies. It's a subtle difference, but you can see it if you look at the way the loops fold over each other.

What could this mean? Full disclosure, no I have not finished every world quest and explored all of Natlan yet lol. It's possible I am missing some really damning evidence for what this could mean, but I'll go off of what I've completed so far. The Blazegem Inscription is made with the same techniques used for Ancient Name forging, though from my understanding it isn't an Ancient Name in and of itself. It's draw is it's ability to resist erosion and preserve what's engraved on it throughout time.

So why is a similar symbol on Capitano's person? There's been some speculation that Capitano has more direct ties to Natlan, and to be honest I was pretty skeptical of those theories until the cutscene with Mavuika. Capitano talks about a couple of things that seem oddly specific and, if I may, personal about Natlan: the oath made five centuries ago, the ley lines destined for ruin, Mavuika's plan (also made 500 years ago), and Natlan's "rules." And Mavuika concurs: "But it sounds like this is about more than the Tsaritsa."

I have not touched a lot of world quests that deal with Xbalanque, but I understand that as the first Pyron Archon he is the one who fashioned Natlan's "rules" that allow for humans to ascend as Archons. Maybe it's not weird for Capitano to have some understanding of that, but it still strikes me as odd given everything else he seems to know.

Another small observation is that almost every Fatui harbinger we've dealt with has had some kind of personal connection to the region we encounter them in. Not so much for Childe or Signora in Liyue (Pantalone arc in Liyue DLC when), or Signora in Inazuma and Scaramouche in Sumeru, but there is precedent in Signora appearing in Mondstadt, Scaramouche in Inazuma, Dottore in Sumeru, and both Arlecchino and hints of Sandrone in Fontaine (Arlecchino's crimson moon dynasty origins not withstanding). All of this yapping is to say, Capitano's evidently otherworldly and uncanny qualities aside, he may have more direct ties to Teyvat and to Natlan specifically.

And another thing - why is Olorun from the Masters of the Night Wind collaborating with him?

[max1461]

I'm getting suicidal and need this to improve quickly.

Feels like normally I have some... mechanism, that has a variety of functions. It pushes away thoughts that are too upsetting, it occurs when I commit to a specific decision, it occurs when I exhibit emotional inhibition. Basically like something that puts the breaks on my immediate mental state and re-focuses my attention on higher level goals and commitments, or something. It's an inhibitory response I guess. I used to perceive this as a basically internal thing, with a physical correlate: usually when this response would trigger, I would feel a slight kind of "gulp" sensation, like a little bit of muscle movement in my upper throat?

Since I went to the dentist, it's felt like something in the back of my throat is numb or immobile, and therefore I can't trigger this inhibitory response. So my thoughts and emotions are all over the place, I keep feeling it trying to trigger and failing, and it's causing me huge problems.

I don't know which direction this goes. It's possible that it's some kind of tic, maybe I have Tourettes as one neuro suggested, and it's a tic that usually goes off, but it can't because of like nerve damage that's physically impeding it, so there's a build up of the premonitory urge? That certainly accords with a lot of the internal experience of this. Other possibility is like: so when I was at the dentist I was having a panic attack, and so I was intentionally impeding this inhibition response (because otherwise I would have been too afraid to get the local anesthetic shot). I do remember doing this, intentionally impeding this response. And I was panicking pretty hard. And when I was given the anesthetic, like I said, it felt kind of good at first, it felt like my panic was stripped away and my whole body felt warm and so on. So maybe I just... unlearned this inhibitory response in that moment? And I don't know how to trigger it again? Neither the psychological nor the physical side of this response seems to be working. There is a definite sensation that something in the back of my throat is "frozen".

And right, the weird mental imagery. As I've said elsewhere, I've always had very vivid mental imagery, including visuals, sound, smells, everything. Now it hasn't been this vivid in the past, and in the past I've been able to control it, obviously. But it usually is very vivid. I could make it as vivid as it currently is by concentrated sufficiently. The problem is it's like that all the time, and I have no control over the content. But the imagery itself isn't totally unprecedented for me. Two neurologists have mentioned synesthesia as playing a role, which I definitely have.

But, really, I have felt since the beginning that there is only one possible solution to this, which is to get that inhibitory mechanism back again. Can anyone help my brainstorm how I might do this? I have already tried a lot of stuff. I have tried relaxing and letting it come, I have tried focusing really hard and pushing it through. I have tried thinking about things that would normally trigger it. I have tried decoupling it from the physical movement, like trying to simply activate the mental side of it and ignore the physical. All of these have almost worked in the exact same way, where it totally feels like it's gonna come and then just doesn't.

One way or another this is destroying me and I really want a solution.

Oh, right. Right. I have other facial tics (that's the term I'll use), as I've said in other posts, associated with specific emotions. So if I'm sad or happy my face scrunches up in a particular way, etc. I would not previously have distinguished these from just "expressions", other than that presently it's clear there's a premonitory urge. These are also not working? But I think a lot of them also usually co-occur with the inhibitory response, so maybe that's why? One way or another, I have felt them coming out in other places. I have felt them try to trigger in my face, fail, and then trigger in my hand or my stomach. It's the same pattern of movements, immediately and intuitively recognizable as the same tic, but occurring in my hand or stomach. And it triggers a similar-but-alien-and-disconcerting emotional response as the one in my face would trigger. And I feel like as these incorrect tics(?) trigger, I am like relearning all my emotions into these crazy alien things.

I just fucking need this shit to stop. Does anyone have any new ideas?

[vickdrake]

Do i know you?

Jake opened his eyes finding the annoying glow of his computer, with those codes that had been left undeciphered after he inexplicably fell asleep on the table.

He didn't remember the exact moment when he had fallen into the world of dreams, but he knew that it was due to an oversight that should not happen again. Tiredness took its toll on him after months without sleeping properly, or rather without sleeping at all.

He cracked his neck, letting out a grunt of relief before looking out the hotel room window. It was autumn, the leaves were falling withered from the trees, indicating that winter was approaching and that everything old had to disappear to make way for a new beginning.

His pursuers seemed to be getting closer, always straining his patience and making him change hiding places more often. When he woke up his first concern had been to check where they were, but he was surprised to see that they had not yet picked up his signal, that they were still quite far away from him.

“Strange” he thought.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and staring into the corner of the room as he remembered a dream even stranger than the fact that his pursuers had not already knocked on the door (although they would never really knock, they would broke it).

Have you heard of people who don't dream? Jake was one of them. Dreams were not recurring in his life since he was little.

And I'll tell you something else, as a child, Jake feared his dreams because they were always too real.

This time it turned out to be a dream within a dream.

There he had also been sleeping as if he had no worries in the world other than rest, but the difference was that this time he was not alone.

A girl who radiated as much light as beauty caressed his hair as he opened his eyes.

—Good morning, sleepyhead. I've never seen you sleep as much as you did today —she said, smiling with amusement and tenderness as she tangled her fingers in the locks that covered Jake's eyes—. Do you want to tell me what you were dreaming? I almost thought you weren't going to wake up.

He himself had thought that it would be weird to find a strange woman at his side, speaking to him as if they had known each other for a long time, but his body, his mind, had reacted in a different way, ending up putting his arm around her waist and approaching to kiss her.

"Wait, wait, i haven't brushed my teeth yet," the woman protested, laughing as he left kisses on her neck and cheeks as he sought her lips.

"I don't care," Jake heard himself say at the same time he managed to make her stay still so he could kiss her hungrily.

She had complained that it was disgusting, but he didn't care at all.

In his dreams he had a life with her, they were both happy and Jake remembered laughing like he hadn't heard himself in years.

Through the tricks his head played on him, he managed to feel the human warmth of someone else for a period of time that felt like decades. It seemed to him that it was someone else's life, someone completely oblivious to him but at the same time had everything to do with himself.

He remembered her delicate fingers on his face, drawing paths across his chest, playfully running over his neck and tracing the shape of his eyebrows in a reassuring way.

He discovered that an engagement ring was on her ring finger and a feeling of pride, joy and overflowing love invaded him as soon as he saw that image. His girlfriend, his girl, his fiancee. Or rather, the fiancee of that Jake who did have a happy and free life.

His own mind playing with him, reminding him that he would never have a life like that, that he would rather end up rotting in prison or dead, buried and forgotten.

After a while he forgot the dream.

He completely forgot about the girl's face, the scent of her hair, and her smile that became Jake's favorite thing for at least five minutes after he woke up.

He continued to run away because it was what he knew how to do best, the only thing he could do, and he didn't allow himself to go back to sleep.

But... One afternoon, almost a year later.

A fragrance invaded his nostrils when the door of the Rainbow coffee opened.

An essence of roses, jasmine and… sea salt.

It seemed like a strange mix, although it made sense as he began to remember every detail of his dreams.

The rose petals that she put in her books so that they would be dissected, the jasmines that she loved so much and that Jake left next to her pillow every time he had to run away again, and the sea salt from that beach where he decided that he wanted to spend the rest of his life being by her side, that place where as soon as he saw her come out of the water with her clothes and hair wet, laughing and throwing water at him, he was so hypnotized that the words came out of his mouth on their own.

"Marry me".

It had been a while since the iron mine had caught fire with Richy Rogers and Jake inside, Hannah was slowly recovering after they had managed to rescue her and the rest of her friends were trying to be strong for her but at the same time they couldn't ignore the pain of Richy's death.

The woman, who had helped the group and the hacker, decided to distance herself although she did not lose contact with any of them. She didn't go where she wasn't called, she comforted those who came to her and one day she finally decided it was time to say goodbye.

Jake watched from a table as she entered the cafeteria. Everything about her seemed so incredibly familiar even though he had never seen her in his life and also he could feel deep inside that he knew every mole, scar and mark from her body.

He didn't care about looking crazy as he looked at her, he had no interest in being careful as he found himself immersed in the lost expression on her face as she looked out the window, in how she drummed her fingers on the table and then how she took the cup of coffee to her lips.

He wanted to touch her, call her, say all those words that he had only spoken to her by message, discover if her hair was really as soft as in that dream, if her hands really radiated that comforting warmth.

Then he noticed that she was no longer looking at the cup of coffee or at the people passing by on the street but directly at him.

His heart began to accelerate and he felt the beat reach his ears, also causing his breathing to become agitated.

"I know you"

His legs moved on their own, making him get up to go after her as soon as he saw her grab her things and go to the cashier to pay. He didn't approach, not wanting to draw too much attention from her, but it was inevitable for the woman to get scared when she found him a few meters away from herself. Of course she must have guessed it was him at some point.

Jake heads toward the door to open it, but he turns his head in her direction just to let her know that he's waiting for her. He sees her doubt, observe him, analyze him, and he understands that she is wondering if she is wrong about who he is. She begins to approach, without taking her eyes off him, she watches him carefully, patiently, and Jake has to control the impulse to put his arms around her waist and press her against his body as soon as they face each other.

Nobody says anything. They communicate through looks. Jake thinks about what he wants to tell her and it seems to work, she seems to understand, because her frown softens.

“I love you,” a corner of his mind whispers and he smiles slightly.

No one else in the cafeteria is important, she overshadows anyone else and makes him forget that they've been looking at each other for a while, what wakes him up is her voice uttering a soft “thank you” before she walks through the door and leaves.

Jake watches her walk away, but he knows that she expects him to follow her so he doesn't waste time and with a more noticeable smile, he closes the door of the cafeteria and while he puts his hands in his pockets he decides that from the beginning she was always his destiny.

PS: This story is slightly linked to “With or without you”.

[pseudoartistpostsstuff]

Ik you said you’re on break but that’s okay! I can wait lmao

I’m obsessed with your yandere lu writings. I would love a yandere Time x fem reader where he like extra creeps on reader? I’m talking like spying on them n shit and maybe stealing an article of clothing just bc it smells like them

Lord help me that sounds so weird

Why am I like this

Help

Thank you so much for requesting for my boy Time!

Notes: No no I like your way of thinking, give me your worst. Me, personally, I can be way worse than that lol

In fact, I may have accidentally made this creepier than I meant to, idk

By the way, when I said underpants in this I meant those white pants thing Link uses, which is probably called tights or something, but I didn't want you guys to read this and imagine reader with, like, fishnets by accident lmao

Time has anxiety and I'll not elaborate

I was gonna post this tomorrow, but ya know

TWs: Yanderism, stalking, suggestiveness, clothing stealing.

Yandere! LU! Time x Reader

In a way, Time was like a cat.

There was no way you could just ignore random articles of your clothes going missing every time you went to bath.

No matter where you went to clean yourself, it was like one part of your outfit was picked out by hand and evaporated, be it your undershirt, underpants, socks, and sometimes even your underwear!

You tried everything to prevent it, hiding your clothes, setting up traps… You only drew the line when it came to anything to do with poison, since you couldn't bear to possibly end up killing an innocent animal just for the sake of clothes.

Even if said clothes somehow always ended up randomly returning unscathed to the rest of your laundry.

Time and time again, this topic was brought up in conversations with the men you traveled alongside. Yet, for some reason, the matter was also time and time again swept under the rug. It never got solved, neither did it ever get discussed, more often than not.

Starkly different from your point of view, Time found it pretty cute how you got all fussy over some little clothes, clothes which he could easily just make you throw away and buy new ones, it's not like he was lacking the rupees for it, after all.

Yet, he couldn't find it within himself to keep pressing on that matter, not when you looked just so embarrassed protesting against the idea of throwing away your under clothes, stressing about how comfortable your clothes were and about how they were your favorite because of that exact reason.

From what he's noticed, you barely ever wore anything else, no matter how many clothes they could offer you, which was proof of just how much you adored that outfit, each part that composed it having been carefully thought out before being picked out by your hand back when they first went to the market to look for an appropriate Hyrulean attire for you.

It was more than obvious by now that you weren't planning on getting rid of it any time soon.

Still, despite all your best attempts to keep your clothes safe, you couldn't really stop them from randomly disappearing, that is, unless you stopped bathing, and that was something you obviously couldn't even consider doing.

So, you simply sighed with resolution as you took off your clothes to once again go into the river next to the camp, wanting to wash off any grime that may have rubbed on you from the last battle the Links went through before you guys left for the next village.

A little ways down in the same river, you knew the other men were washing themselves, that way, a scream would be all they needed know to come over to help you, should anything happen.

Not that anything had ever happened to you while you were bathing.

You kind of felt like you were being watched, but then again, you learned to not pay attention to that, after all, your brain always seemed to like playing tricks on you, be it making you think you saw the shadows in the corner of your eye moving, or strange noises coming from bushes, all of which always proved to be absolutely nothing at all. Especially the strangely distinctive smell of Time rubbing off on your clothes...

Besides, whenever you looked around yourself to see if your senses were correct, you'd only be able to hear the calm silence of the river waters, almost as if the fish itself held back from swimming every time you tensed up.

The regular calming ambiance noises returned when you finally stopped being paranoid, going back to washing yourself with a relieved sigh, knowing the feeling of being watched was just a product of your tricky mind.

Sound doesn't travel much underwater. Should it be sounds of heavy breathing, sounds of something much larger than the river fish swimming, or even the heavy sounds of metal boots sinking into the sandy floor of the river with every step their wearer took.

Time observed with certain amusement as you walked around the shallow part of the river, your head just above the surface, your feet dangling dangerously near the deeper part. One wrong step and you could risk drowning.  

However, you seemed to be having fun while cleaning yourself, enjoying the cool, clean water. The elder, though, was having his own fun watching you.

He had to give it to you though, no matter what you did, your movements were always so captivating to him. He had already seen a lot in his life, many races, creatures and even monsters. Yet you had such a… Human way of behaving. Even if humans were so alike hylians, you still seemed different in a way, a very good way in his eyes.

What was even more interesting to him was the fact that you were still different from the other humans he'd met through his life.

More often than not your actions were unpredictable and random, not at all serious, it was like you somehow weren't very phased after getting kicked out of whatever universe you originally belonged in and into another. An universe that was extremely dangerous and distinct from yours. His universe.

You were very, very far from your home, yet he could still see some of it in the way you spoke, behaved and reacted to the things and beings around you.

Sometimes, he'd catch himself becoming infatuated again with the stuff that he was already used to, simply because you seemed so surprised and excited by them. 

Things he saw in his everyday life and just happened to ignore. Places, people, animals, creatures, plants, you name it. You gave him a renewed view of life, the whole "enjoy the small things in life" a concept so simple that still managed to make him feel truly alive again.

When he was with you he felt like Hylia and the Golden Goddesses themselves were paying him back for all heroic deeds he performed. In his eyes, you saved him.

In no time, watching the stars with you became a new routine, you were always so interested in them, yet still didn't seem to mind when he preferred to do something else, as to avoid looking at the moon.

Therefore, counting and catching fireflies was the next best thing.

And before he even noticed, he had bought an extra satchel at the market just so he could collect and buy those things that reminded him of you, things he noticed you pointing out whenever you saw. Pretty rocks, shiny crystals, colorful shells, and even those silly little trinkets that, in his eyes were useless, yet brought happiness to yours.

You'd even managed to make him blush the other day, when you told him he was acting like a cat, placing gifts by your bedroll at night, while you were asleep.

Yes, you made him blush. Him, The elder, The Hero Of Time that was also The leader their group, a group made up of the strongest men known in the history of Hyrule.

But, in a way, you were actually correct. 

Cats are very attached to their favorite person, enough to follow them around and watch them do the most simple things, like sleeping, or bathing.

He didn't feel like admitting to those things though, especially not to stealing your clothes.

At first, he assured himself that he was doing all that watching just to make sure you were safe, after all, bathing time was the only moment of the day when you were “fully alone” or so you thought. Time would never forgive himself if you accidentally got hurt because of his lack of attention to you, even if the “hurt” in question was merely a scratch on your knee from accidentally slipping while bathing.

He knew better than anyone that too much peace meant something bad could happen at any time, and too little peace was even worse! Therefore, there was no middle ground, you needed to be protected at all times. And the fact he also got a little fun out of guarding you didn't hurt anyone. After all, what the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't feel.

He didn't even try lying to himself about stealing your clothes, he wasn't that delusional, after all, liking your smell didn't sound like too good of an excuse to tell you, should you find out about that little habit of his.

In a way, he wasn't even hidden right now, per say, he was just not in plain view. 

In fact, sometimes even hoped you saw him, so that he'd be able to stop just watching and join you already.

After all, you wouldn't be able to get hurt if he was right there beside you, right?

Let him keep pretending that's the only reason he wanted to join you in the bath.