#don't starve forge

[pippatis]

@theblueskyphoenix's post reminded me that I, too, once tried to draw the Magmatic skins in DST, and made me want to do it again. Well, Wilson, anyways. This is her design, though, it's cooler. I haven't drawn this dude in a few years, I hope I remembered how pfft

Forge 1 was where it was at. I also thought this particular set of skins was kinda boring

Here are the old ones, from 2018 lmao, for comparison. I only got as far as Wilson and Webber. The above drawing is from last night

[spongenadey25]

Feral gladiator boi... >:3

He's not done until his opponent's down!

(BOTS, GET OUT!!! NO COMMENTING, NO DMS AND NO DM REQUESTS!!!)

[hoodie-doodles]

Day 10: Thief

Day 11: Heal

[strampunch]

I never played the Forge, but I've been watching a bunch of Dimension 20 campaigns and was inspired to revisit the DST characters as DnD archetypes and I just had to draw Maxwell in warlock shenanigans.

Excuse the poor quality of the photos, but if I don't post these now I never will. (I feel Wilson would be an Alchemist artificer or something, so his Forge skin doesn't fit too well, but I haven't designed his look yet)

[spinwulves-and-molers]

day 6

somethings off.

[e-one-seven]

Don't Starve Together: Time Flies [Animated Short]

The feels (and also new stuff or things I didn’t recognize. Klei if you make the Forge and the Gorge playable again I scream, I loved these events!)... Also, check out this link for the updates and some sweet deals on Klei’s stuff! https://forums.kleientertainment.com/forums/topic/157355-new-skill-trees-and-staying-afloat-update-next-thursday/

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

im begging you to make more shapeshifter!141 tormenting witch!reader pleek

since you said pleek :)

65 / 1.1k / part 2 of shapeshifter familiars!141 tormenting witch!reader

...

You pour two warm cups of cloudy sloe ale—one for you and one for Price. You're the only one who feigns enough interest to sip it.

Price laces his hands together and leans forward. "I didn't come for blood."

None of them did, apparently. You curl your hands around your tin cup. He wasn't supposed to come at all. He visits when the moon is full. That was the deal. "I understand that."

Price’s gaze flicks to a bit of drying blood on your hand, and you feel his displeasure at the sight. "Then you also understand my irritation when I learn I've been kept in the dark."

"About what?"

"A number of disturbing reports from the townsfolk."

"Hm." Tension rolls through your muscles before you force them to soften. "I wasn't aware you spent time in the village. Do you visit often?"

Price doesn't like your coyness. His voice loses some of its politeness. "The villagers have become too savvy. They forge protective charms. They invoke holy names. They line the thresholds of their homes with salt and rue." He leans forward. "Now, how would they know to do that?"

You swallow delicately around the lump in your throat. "Old folk tales, I imagine."

"Folk tales?" He chuckles. "They're not paying protection money to cupboard sprites. Old tales don't teach them how to bless trees and cut the lumber into cradles."

"Then I wouldn't know. The villagers don't speak to me on principle."

"Then you have no knowledge of this? You’ve accepted no coin from them in exchange for your talents?”

"You know I'm banned from trading in the village market. The guards would take my head off the moment they caught me inside the walls."

“Maybe so. But there are other ways of propagating information, aren’t there?” Price leans back, arms crossed. “Rumors spread.”

You scoff to sound braver than you are. "They've puzzled out how to keep you away from their daughters. It has nothing to do with me."

Price's blue eyes flicker. "We’ve been quite careful with our food source. Gone out of our way to be discreet. They shouldn't suspect us of being in the area, let alone come up with protections against our kind."

You tilt your head in a stiff shrug. "Maybe Soap let one get away."

"Soap is brash. Not sloppy." Steel creeps into his voice. "He's more likely to bite his tongue off than spill our secrets."

You go to sip your ale again, but Price's fingers latch around your wrist as you raise it.

"Careful with that." His grip tightens as he forces your hand back down to the table. "You'll inebriate yourself if you're careless."

You slowly release the mug. After a long beat, he releases your wrist.

He doesn't say anything else, but you can't meet his eyes. The cold metal of his rings still burns against your skin.

He studies you in silence. The dry glint in his eye tells you he doesn't need to pry for what you're hiding from him. He knows already. But a deal is a deal, and you're under his protection. "Regardless of the reason, our feeding options are suddenly limited. If you insist on keeping my boys half-starved, we'll travel outside our territory to offset your stinginess."

"Fine. We’ll suspend our contract."

"Certainly not."

Your jaw sets. "A temporary suspension of our terms would serve all parties' needs well enough, would it not? You seek your fill elsewhere."

"I will seek it where my needs are most pressing."

"I don't have the means to leave my hut. I assure you I'll keep to myself until you get back."

Price smiles, and your heart sinks. "Another witch might. You?” He hums. “Besides, you know how they get when they're deprived."

You’re hyperaware of Ghost's shadow falling over you. His rough hands cover the back of your chair. It creaks in his grip. You squelch the instinct to cover your blind spot and, fisting one in your skirt under the table to steady your nerves, keep your back to him. You also ignore the gleam of two other sets of eyes behind Price, hovering in the pitch-blackness of your kitchen.

“That’s kind of you,” you say finally, “but there’s no need to be overprotective.”

Price stands. He pours the last sip of your ale out onto the soft dirt floor. You hadn’t even seen him pick it up. "We'll come for you tomorrow night, witch. You'll travel with us."

Your head spins. No, no, this isn't how it was supposed to go. You covered your tracks. You planned perfectly. He can't just uproot you—can't just kidnap you like this.

"No, I—" You stand before you realize it. All four shapeshifters turn back to glance at you. Price looms halfway out the front door. You steady yourself with a white-knuckled grip on the table. "I'm not leaving my home."

Price takes in the defiant look on your face and the tense, brittle set of your body. "No? Hmmm." He rubs his beard. "We're in a tight spot, then. Ghost, what do you think?"

The scars on Ghost's tight scowl gleam in the candlelight. "I think she owes us a meal, and we expect to eat. One way or the other."

Gaz scoffs. "There’s a proper solution."

Soap grins. "We could just take her, you know. Suspend the contract and make her come with us."  His eyes light up. "We could have a lot of fun on the road."

"Not if there's a fight," Gaz says, eyeing you. "She can make real trouble if she wants to."

"No' if she knows what's good for her."

"That's enough," Price says. He looks back at you. "Lads are in a mood. They've been feeding from the villages as a stop gap, and they're not nearly full. Their tempers are short, their stomachs are growling, and they have energy to burn. You understand?” His gaze steadies on your neck. “We'll be back tomorrow night. You'd better be ready to go or else ready to give them a full meal."

Soap’s grin sharpens. The implication is obvious. Payment is payment. If you don't give them what they want, they'll take it by other means.

They turn to go. Ghost is the last to step over your threshold. "Blood won't be enough," he says. Then he's off, a black dog bounding into the night.

...

← part 1 / [part 2] / part 3 ➡

more Price / more Ghost / more Soap / more Gaz / masterlist

[silcoitus]

Can we maybe have silco x reader who he bites out of habit (could be nsfw, while making out of something) and they moan from it? How would his reaction be to it?

As I was writing a continuation to Practiced Hands, I realized I could incorporate this request into it! So behold, second installment of Young Silco! Reminder that this turns into an AO3 link in one month's time! So read it here while you still can!

Practiced Hands (Part 2)

Masterlist | AO3 link

Previous Chapter

Rating: Explicit—Minors DNI

Tags: Young Silco, f!reader; biting; couch sex; cunnilingus; penis in vagina sex;

Word count: 1.5k

Betas: @juniper-sunny

“Why don't we continue this upstairs?”

You'd answer if you had any energy, but with the way Silco's hands worked you, you're entirely spent. Turning your head toward him, eyes half-lidded, you look at him through your hazy afterglow.

Twin oceans stare back at you behind a curtain of raven hair, the fringe he so stubbornly styles obscuring his face like a thick forest canopy hiding the form of a hungry tiger, nothing visible except for its predatory eyes. Silco’s gaze is possessive and carnal, an animal running solely on instinct.

And with one small nod, you yield to it.

At that, Silco bends down to scoop up your legs in one arm, the other supporting your back. He lifts you with such ease that you're suddenly reminded of the hidden strength behind that lithe frame. Muscles toned in the mines, forged out of necessity. 

His footsteps are light as he carries you out around the bar, heading for the staircase that leads to the office. All the while, you press your face to his neck, breathing in his scent. 

The office door left ajar, he shoves it open with his shoulder before swiftly kicking it closed behind him. It's not long before he's depositing you onto the couch, his hands now free to shove aside a box to clear a space on the floor.

You sit up to watch him, your pants still hanging open from before. And when he kneels in front of you, long fingers digging under the waistband of both your pants and underwear to yank them down, you suddenly awaken from your fuckdrunk stupor. 

You gasp when the air of the room hits your core, Silco pulling the garments past your knees. But when your boots halt his movements, he curses under his breath, bending down to remove one. One leg freed—just enough to have you spread open for him—is all he needs. You're left with the strange sensation of your left calf draped in a pool of fabric while your right leg is completely exposed. But you're given no time to protest the arrangement when Silco's hands are tucking under your knees and yanking you forward. Your ass is practically hanging off the couch when Silco dips his chin and dives into your core, mouth first.

“Ah!”

His tongue is hot against your folds, greedily licking your glistening arousal from his previous ministrations. He ravishes you with the fervor of a man starved, doing nothing to hide his enjoyment, his hums of approval vibrating through you.

Your knees rest on his shoulders as his hands smooth up your thighs to grip you by the hips, keeping you rooted to the spot so he can thoroughly pleasure you with his mouth. You throw your head back as your hands reach for his head, fingers tangling in his long raven hair, nails dragging against his scalp. That sharp blade of a nose parts your folds to nestle over your clit, breathing in your musk. 

You can feel another orgasm building within you and you're powerless to stop it, so overcome by the way Silco makes a meal out of you. Just as you stand on the edge and stare down your ruin, he pulls his face away.

You let out a soft whimper, looking down to see the lower half of his face absolutely drenched in your arousal. He wipes most of it off with the back of his hand before standing, thumbs hooking into the waistband of his pants.

“Don't want you coming yet,” he explains, voice almost hoarse. “Not until I'm inside you first.”

He shoves his pants down over his hips, his hardened cock springing free. Your eyes widen at the sight as he continues to push the fabric down to his knees.

“Lie down.”

Wordlessly, you obey, shifting on the couch to lie on your back. Silco joins you, seemingly too impatient to take his pants off all the way, his boots proving too much of an obstacle, just as yours had.

You spread your knees for him, one leg hanging off the couch as he scoots toward you, one hand gripping his shaft to line himself up. And as the head of him glides through your folds, gathering your slick, you close your eyes and wait.

“I’ve wanted you ever since you joined the Children,” he says, voice ragged with desire. “I’ve wanted you since I first laid eyes on you.”

You open your eyes to see him towering over you, his cock prodding at your entrance but his gaze solely on your face, drinking in your ruined form. 

“Tell me,” he grunts, bringing his free hand to grip the armrest behind you. “Tell me you want me, too.”

Half naked beneath him, you can’t help but chuckle, a little bit of your old self returning, no longer a prisoner to your own lust.

“You fucking idiot,” you say breathlessly. “Of course I fucking do.”

You lift your head and crash your lips into his, bringing both hands up to grab his face, fingers digging into his cheeks and behind his ears. He groans into the kiss, mouth hanging open as you swipe your tongue against his. The two of you almost seem to forget about his hardened cock at your core, so focused on tasting each other like this for the first time. 

Your absentmindedness is short-lived, as Silco is quick to press himself against your entrance, prying you open. And as you continue to kiss each other in a mess of lips and tongues and teeth, he pushes into you in one smooth—absolutely blissful—motion.

You whimper against his mouth and dig your fingers into his scalp at the feeling of fullness, acutely aware of how easily he pressed in with how thoroughly drenched your core is. And when his hips pull back just enough to piston back into you, you break off the kiss to let out a shattered, hedonistic moan, filling the office with the sounds of your ecstasy.

There’s a roughness to Silco’s movements, sending the various buckles and metal rivets on his clothing jingling with each thrust of his hips, driving his cock deep into you. Both his hands grip the armrest now, the top of your head pressed against the stiff side of the couch, your mouth hanging open as he fucks you. 

Your spread legs are a sinful display, one hanging off the cushions while your other knee hooks over the back of the couch, granting Silco all the access he desires. As he continues to pound into you, you bring your hands up above your head to the armest, holding on for dear life. Silco’s eyes spot the movement and he’s quick to lace his fingers over yours, gripping them in place. 

The couch shifts with every thrust, the squeaking of wood on wood unmistakable as Silco rails into you. You feel on the edge of oblivion, your body limp while Silco uses you. And just when you think you can’t take it any longer, his hands leave yours to grab you by the waist, his torso flush with you as he brings his face to your neck. Breath hot and labored, he squeezes you like a boa constrictor with his arms as his teeth drag against your pulse point. His teeth clamp down, biting you harshly as his hips stutter frantically, signaling the beginning of the end.

As Silco’s teeth sink into your tender flesh, you can’t help the wanton wail that escapes your lips, the exquisite pain of his bite sending lightning to your core. At the sound of your loud approval, he laughs against your skin before soothing the bite with a long, hot swipe of his tongue before shifting his mouth and biting down again, marking you once more.

Your walls clench around him at that and you can feel your demise thundering toward you, heavy and overwhelming. 

His grip is tight on you, the harsh metal pieces of his jacket digging into your chest. He ruts into you at a staggering pace and you can do nothing but dig your nails into the wood of the armrest as he comes undone inside you, his cock pulsing against your walls and sending you spiraling into your own release. Silco’s breath comes out as short grunts as he paints your insides, while your walls flutter around him, milking him for all he’s worth. A heady warmth fills your veins as vibrant colors dance behind your closed eyes, mouth hanging open as you ride out the brilliant sensation that is your orgasm.

When finally you pry your hands from the armrest, your fingers shake from exhaustion, your forearms sore from how tightly you had held on. Silco lets his full weight flop onto you, his torso heavy, but strangely comforting.

He lifts his head just a fraction, peeling his cheek off your sweat-dotted skin to bring his mouth to your ear. You’ll think he’ll whisper something to you, but he instead nips at your lobe, as if he’s still hungry. But there’s no vigor behind the gesture, his energy too spent.

Finally, he speaks, voice ragged.

“I’m never letting you leave this office.”

You laugh with what little breath you have left.

“This is how the revolution dies. Not on the bridge, but on the couch.”

He chuckles.

“We can pick the revolution back up tomorrow.”

Taglist: @averagecrastinator @mazikomo @writingmysanity @insult-2-injury @constantfragmentation @ariaud @jennrosefx @steponmesilco @leave-me-alone-silco @whatisafandom @violet-19999 @juicboxd @you-never-talk @noposwe @toripandashady @sirenofzaun @22carolina08 @roxnpens @commanderblood @medic-simp @cthezaunite @verdant-onyx @ursawastricked @artwithvivien @edlix @lackofhonor @spoczkot @witchypandamonium @lotus-99 @robin-the-enby @blissfulip @all-that-we-hope-to-be @zaunite-leo @silvia-elaine-hestia @nyx2021 @cccandynecklaces @another-batkid @toogaytofunctiondangit @rinkatai @mollymauksboi @pinklunarprincess

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[notreallythatlost]

AT YOUR FEET

➴ halbrand/sauron x female!elf!reader

summary: you are an elf, cast out by your people thousands of years ago. now you are sauron’s lover and he promised to give you what you want most: revenge and the satisfaction of all your desires.

warnings: 18+, mdni, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, knife play, sex on the floor, slight biting, reader is on sauron’s side, a little fluff in the end

word count: 1.8k

author‘s note: well… here i am writing about sauron again. i’m so obsessed with him and i know y’all are too. 🤭 i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoy writing about him. and thank you all for the support, it means so much to me. you are amazing, never forget that. xx

The forge was almost completely dark when you entered. Only the flickering embers in one of the furnaces provided light, which fell on the man who stood with his back to you.

“I knew I would find you here,” you said with a gentle smile, which made him turn to you.

“What are you doing here? Is Galadriel sending you to convince me to accompany you?” he asked, looking at you with an impenetrable gaze.

You couldn’t help but grin and shake your head slightly. “You should know by now that I don't let myself get ordered around. Especially not by someone like Galadriel.”

Halbrand raised his eyebrow, but smiled when he catched you in his arms as you ran towards him.

Your arms wrapped around his neck and you looked up at him. “I know you want to see Númenor fall, my love. But let's go back to Middle Earth. You've waited so long for this moment, why not take the chance?” you asked, but Halbrand silenced you by putting his index finger on your lips. Your eyes met his and it was as if your insides were bursting into flames.

“I'm going back to Middle Earth. And then what?” he asked quietly and pushed you back until your back hit the wall while he looked you deeply in the eyes.

You held his gaze and stroked slowly over his chest with one hand.

“You, my Dark Lord, will bring your enemies to their knees. Right where they belong,” you breathed as he came closer to you and you could already feel his warm breath on your lips.

“Keep talking...” he whispered and you had to smile again, pushing him back a little.

“You will let them feel your power and all of Middle Earth will be at your feet. To worship their king, the true king of-“

Your words were drowned out by a kiss as Halbrand pressed his lips greedily to yours. It was as if he was starving and your lips were the only thing capable of keeping him alive while he devoured you.

His breathing was heavy as he pulled away from you slightly. “Not quite,” his words were only a breath, a soft touch against your already swollen lips and he pushed your hair behind your shoulder with one hand.

“They will be at your feet, my love.”

With that, he kissed you again and pressed you against the wall with the weight of his body. His hands grasped your face, held you in place while his tongue pushed into your mouth. A low moan escaped you and you were ready to surrender to him right here, but he seemed to have other plans for you.

His hands slid down your body, long fingers finding the hem of your dress. As soon as he grabbed the soft cotton, he pushed it up, revealing your bare thighs to the warm air of the forge.

The heat between your legs was almost unbearable and you longed for his touch — so much that you thought you were going to lose your mind.

Halbrand seemed to enjoy the torture he did to you, because he pulled away from your lips and watched as your head fell back the closer he got to your throbbing center.

You were just about to raise your head when he slipped a finger through your folds, causing a breathless moan to escape from you. He didn't make a game of it, because not a second later two of his fingers slipped inside of you.

The intensity of this touch made your knees go weak and you sank down slightly, but Halbrand held you tight. “And I thought I should be the one kneeling in front of you,” he commented with a wicked smile and began to move his fingers.

Your hands dug into the fabric of his clothes and your head fell forward against his shoulder. It felt so good and yet it wasn't enough. You wanted, no, you needed more.

He seemed to sense it too, because he withdrew his fingers from you again. They glistened with your juices in the light of the fire and Halbrand brought them to your lips. “Be a good girl and open your mouth,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and you obeyed him.

Your lips closed around his fingers and you whimpered softly at the taste of yourself on your tongue. You sucked on his fingers, as your gazes were locked but he didn't wait long before removing his fingers from you again. His hands quickly grabbed under your thighs and lifted you up in one fluid movement.

You immediately wrapped your legs around his waist, your hands buried in his hair desperately. “You will get your revenge. And I will watch with joy as you rise from the ashes. As my queen,” his voice was so deep by now that every single one of his words let your insides clench around nothing, desperate to finally feel him inside of you.

Halbrand carries you away from the wall and to one of the tables where he sets your feet down on the floor again. His hands left your body, grabbing one of the daggers which layed on the table next to you. “And then I will be the one who lies at your feet...” With these words, he tears the thin fabric of the dress apart with the dagger, exposing your naked chest.

Your breathing was heavy as you looked up at him, but he didn’t look away from you. As if you were more beautiful than anything he had ever seen in his long life.

He placed the blade on your collarbone and ran it over your skin. He looked deep into your eyes as he moved the dagger further down. It caused goosebumps to spread across your body and you bite your lower lip to suppress the moan.

His gaze dropped to your breasts and he let the blade slide over your stiff nipple. Your breath caught and you felt like you were suffocating, you wanted him so much.

“Sauron,” you whispered his name and finally, his gaze met yours again. There was a hunger in his eyes, the same hunger that raged deep inside you. The knife slid down your torso before he put it back on the table. Softly his hands cupped your face and he kissed you again. With such passion that you moaned into his mouth.

Together you sank to your knees, kissing until he gently pushed your shoulder back so that you had to lie down on the floor.

Halbrand leaned over you slowly and stroked his hand over your cheek and neck until he finally reaches your breasts. His thumb touched your nipple and you arched yourself against him.

The touch elicited a longing moan from you and you saw a smile creeping onto Halbrand's face. “Let me feel everything of you,” you whispered with a broken voice, too desperate to keep it steady.

“Well, I could never deny you this wish, my queen,” he answered as he started to free himself. He was so big, so perfect, and the sight of him made your mouth water everytime.

Your fingers close around the hem of your dress, which you slowly pulled up and revealed yourself to him. Halbrand settled between your legs and let the tip of his cock slide over your entrance slowly, even torturing. A taste of what was about to come.

With a single movement of his hips, he thrusted his full length into you and put his hand over your mouth to muffle your scream.

“Shhh,” he breathed in your ear and began to move his hips slowly. “As much as I want to hear your beautiful little screams for me, you don't want anyone to catch us, don’t you?,” he continued, releasing his hand from you again.

But you couldn’t help but moan when he hit a sensitive spot inside you and you wrapped your legs around him to feel him even deeper.

He took it as a sign and started to speed up. His hands wandered up your body, catching your head as it fell to the side.

“Look at me,” he gasped as he moved his hips forward again. It was hard to do what he said because he filled you so perfectly, hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars. You felt like you were floating, lost in the feeling of endless desire.

Halbrand found grasp in your hair and buried his fingers in the soft strands. He pulled your head back, gaining access to your neck. He kissed, bit and sucked on the thin skin there until you writhed beneath him.

“Please,” you moaned and trembled as the orgasm slowly builds up inside you. You couldn’t think of anything else except the desire to finally find release and Halbrand could feel it.

“Easy, love,” he breathed against your skin. His fingers dug into your hips, so tightly that you knew it would leave marks.

And you knew that later he would tenderly caress these marks, because they were the sign of your lovemaking — that you belonged to him, even though nobody else could see it.

He pushed himself into you again, this time even harder. He had no mercy in fucking you into the floor and enjoyed the sounds of pure pleasure that came from your lips.

And when he touched your sensitive bud, you couldn’t hold back any longer. Everything inside you tensend until you finally feel like you're falling. You screamed his name breathlessly while your body trembles under the waves of the orgasm.

He fucked you through it until he found his own release. His upper body fell forward and he supported himself with his hands next to you. Breathing heavy and with closed eyes, he emptied himself into you. Finally, he sank onto your smaller body and you let your hands glide softly through his dark locks.

“I take that as a yes” you broke the silence that had fallen over you and got his attention.

“What do you mean by that?” Halbrand asked curiously and looked up at you.

“Are you coming back with me to Middle Earth?" you asked and watched him sit up. A soft whimper escaped you as he slipped out of you by that.

After he had put his pants back on he crouched down in front of you again. Halbrand offered you his hand and pulled you back into a sitting position, taking your face gently in his hands.

“I would follow you everywhere, my love. And if you wish to go back to Middle Earth, I'll come with you,” he whispered against your lips before giving you a gentle kiss. After that he let go of you and stood up, ready to leave the room.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you asked and watched as he turned to you again and let his gaze glide over you, full of renewed desire.

“I'll get you something to wear. I'm definitely not letting you go like this.”

2024 notreallythatlost

[distort-opia]

@psalmsofpsychosis I didn't want to make that post longer by reblogging it, but... well, I feel that it's something that started with The Killing Joke and then never truly stopped? And perhaps the core of it can be summarized by something Bruce said then:

"You needn't be alone." (Small paranthesis: I like Kevin Conroy's rendition of this line in the animated movie a lot more... He says "You don't need to be alone. We don't have to kill each other." He emphasizes "need" and his voice slightly breaks on it in a way that makes me want to drink cement, frankly.)

At the end of the day, Batman can make Joker vulnerable because he's the only one Joker can relate to, and thus the only equal Joker has. Batman is the only other human being Joker sees as a person. But the very act of caring about someone betrays in him a need for connection, for meaning-- no matter how stunted or emaciated and starved. This is where the "getting dragged kicking and screaming" part comes in. Joker has chosen to be inhuman, he's intentionally made himself into a monster. If Bruce coped with his trauma by becoming Batman, the man who fell into the acid vat chose to cope with his by becoming Joker. Both chose to become something more than human, but in opposite directions. One preserves life at all costs while the other snuffs it out. One intentionally suffuses the world with meaning and attempts to control every aspect of it he can, while the other sees no point in anything at all and aims to sow as much as chaos as possible. But also, one intentionally surrounds himself with people and forges connections that keep him human, while the other shuns any kind of genuine emotional attachment or relationship.

Except one. Joker simply can't destroy his connection to Batman, no matter how much he wants to, and occasionally even tries to. Batman made him, however accidentally... if Batman hadn't been there at ACE Chemicals, Joker would not have been faced with the choice of getting caught or committing suicide. He wouldn't have had to choose how exactly to make sense of his permanent disfigurement, how to live with it. Batman is essential to the creation of his "Joker" identity; he's also a threat to it, by virtue of how much Joker cares about him. So Joker's solution has been to make Batman inhuman too. A fellow creature, an embodiment of cosmic forces, something that can be idealized and thus objectified.

This solution doesn't always work, and it's because Bruce doesn't always play along. Bruce's humanity drags Joker's humanity along with it. Because what's "You needn't be alone" if not a different way for Bruce to say "I needn't be alone"?

Batman: Endgame

Batman (2016) #49

Batman: Joker War

In the Endgame example Bruce pretty much literally drags Joker kicking and screaming into being a person. For both of them it's always about one thing, in moments like these: being left alone. Being left behind. For Joker, anything that threatens Batman is another way through which this could happen... whether it's Bruce having chosen his Family at the end of Death of the Family, Bruce planning to marry Selina, or Bruce getting back together with Selina and unsuccessfully trying to have the best of both being Batman and Bruce Wayne. No matter how inhuman and monstrous Joker's made himself, the idea of being alone makes him panic, and the only one capable of making him act in such a painfully desperate way is Batman.

As a last thing, I do want to say that I love the Batman/Dylan Dog crossover for its novel premise of Joker feeling alone, even with Batman perfectly alive and kicking. It's a fascinating window into what Joker's current relationship with Batman can't give him. But this post is already so long, I'll put the rest under a cut.

Joker literally resurrects a dead guy so he can have a companion:

And then, Joker's interactions with Batman after he gets rejected...

It's such an interesting exchange, to me. Batman is pretty much saying "Did you think if you left me Gotham I'd let you go?" but their relationship is solely made out of violence. He hunts Joker. He hurts Joker. That's the only thing he can give, and he struggles with accepting that Joker might want anything else; that he could be more than a monster.

Batman/Dylan Dog #3

Most of the time, the violence is what Joker wants, for a myriad of reasons. But other times, Joker wants someone to understand. He wants someone to stand with him at the heart of chaos, meaninglessness and disorder-- someone to recognize that the world is pointless and hate it and hurt it. This is what drives him to try and get Batman to kill him, because that's the only way Batman would become like him. The only way to make him see what Joker sees.

...But I'll stop before this turns into an essay about Batman/Dylan Dog. I'm obsessed with all the rare instances Joker tries to leave Batman behind, because it elicits the opposite out of Bruce in such a delicious way. Joker turns into an emotional mess, suicidal and grasping at straws, but Bruce turns into someone horrible. Someone who'd beat Joker within an inch of his life, someone who'd rather hold Joker down so that they'd die together rather than let him go.

[spongenadey25]

The gladiator flexes off, then Box25 just went "uhhh ok whatever" XD

I think I like practicing drawing muscles on Wilson lmao... XD

(*BOTS GET OUT! NO COMMENTING, NO DMS AND NO DM REQUESTS!!!*)

[yayasvalveplay]

https://www.tumblr.com/yayasvalveplay/772324490186211328/the-miners-in-transformers-one-probably-arent?source=share

I can only think of whoever they encounter first on the surface whether that be Alpha Trion or the High Guard just laying into the rest of the group on how could they bring a carrying mech up here? Don't they know how dangerous it is?

The miners including the one who's sparked up: What. What are you talking about?

The hit of suprise parenthood to both D-16 and Orion when they were following the exact script of sire and carrier subconsciously: increased sex drive so sparkling has plenty of transfluid to grow big and strong, wanting to stick together even more than they already were, and Orion was even feeling queasy in the mornings.

Imagine having to explain to someone who's 9 months pregnant and showing that their stomach isn't just doing that for funzies, there's a baby in there.

I imagine that Optimus got thrown into sub level 50 when he was 4 months pregnant. And he and the rest of the gang survived on the surface for about 5 months.

They learned the trains were carrying energon, thanks to theirs flipping over, crashing. (D-16 curling around Orion protectively) only giving them a single box, that the 3 (Orion tried, but D-16 snapped at him that he couldn't and that he was injured. He wasnt.) carried

They spent their time walking, trying to outrun the Quintizons and the elite guards. Along the way and night cycles Dee and Orion would end up fragging, quietly as the other slept. Dee getting a 'kink' of keeping his transfluid inside Orion, and Orion always obliged.

Keeping his modesty pannel closed once they were done, saying in the morning theyd drain it, but when it came time. Nothing came out, so they just kept doing it. And soon Orions belly was getting bigger, they had to slow down, taking constant breaks, or Dee just carrying him.

And they were doing so well until.

"Hey this one isn't going into stasis lock."

"What are you doing? What have you done with them!?"

"Wouh. Calm down. We arnt going to harm ya. We just need you lot unconscious. Can't have you finding our secret- your carrying."

" I'm what?"

And this is where they find the high guard. Seekers are immediately on Orion, checking him over, doting on him, getting him a soft place to sit next to Starscream (because really that's the only place this small bot won't get stepped on) who is just looking him over worriedly.

Getting everyone else activated Starscream starts railing on them on how they've been treating their carrier. Malurished(as they had to ration, and even as Orion took more because he was getting hungrier.) And starving. At least the Sires been keeping up with the transfluid donations, but still that gives them no excuse to take this carrier out of the safety of Iacon. They have been lucky, supper fragging lucky to have been found by them and not Sentinels gang.

And it's here they learn about how crappy Sentinel is. "That can't be true."

"Want to see for yourself little one." Cue Ravage spying on them, and the feed coming back to Soundwave who gives them all the feed back.(since this is still early, not even close to the story happening. There is no fear of miners getting overworked. Yet. But it's enough to have Dee raging and wanting to fight. He still gets his fight with Starscream, but it's not violent since no t-cog.

The others learn what it I'd meant to be a high guardsmen. As Orion is supper close to emergency, they don't want to leave the safety of the High guards, so they become scouts. They also learn what sex/safe sex and pregnancy is.

When emergency day comes. Orion has the help of high guard medics. The birthing is rough but soon, there is a little protoform, wailing, cold to the new world, and when placed on Orions chassis, he holds his baby close and just cries. He's been carried in his forge for 9 months making him suffer. And he decided to look exactly like his sire.

But it truely is a happy day for everyone,, mostly.

"Hey. We got a problem."

"What kind?"

"Airachnia kind, seen very close."

"Get these mechs to the emergancy base.

Where is that. Uhh supper close to where the primes were killed.

And hell wouldn't you know. Alpha Trion is still alive. And are those bots without their T-cogs. That will not do.

Starscream? Why are you crying? Oh yes, of course big old hug. Oh and Is that a sparkling. He hasn't seen them in. How long has he been in stasis?

Alpha Trion joins the party.

[fireya-x]

they say don't open old wounds

AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

The mask hides more than just a face; it hides a shared past, a love lost, a ghost you thought long buried.

[3,7k words]

cw: angst, smut, piv sex

they say don't open old wounds

but this is still brand new

and I've got nothing left to lose besides you

and I've already lost you once

what more could you do?

they say don't open old wounds

but I want to

PVRIS - old wounds

It had been months since you joined the 141, months of missions that pushed you to the edge, missions that forged an unexpected bond with your team. A sense of mutual respect and care for each other, a blend of professionalism and camaraderie that softened the harsh realities of the work you did. Soap was always ready with a joke, Gaz offered tactical insights and support, Price kept a watchful eye on your well-being — but Ghost… Ghost remained an enigma. Shrouded in mystery. He rarely spoke more than a grunt or a clipped command, the complete opposite to the warmth of the others.

He was the same hidden figure, strict and cold, like he had been a few years ago when you had the honour of being trained by him and Captain Price. He was a puzzle you couldn’t solve, a cipher you hadn't even intended to attempt to crack, yet the easy familiarity with which the others interacted with him, offering their vulnerabilities to someone who resembled Death himself without a second thought, left you constantly bewildered. You needed to know more. How could they trust someone implicitly who was hidden behind a mask, someone whose past remained a blank slate?

He could be anyone, a traitor in their midst, and no one would know. You shook your head, catching yourself staring yet again, your gaze tracing the lines of the thick skull sewn to his balaclava, desperately trying to find a flicker of the man beneath.

Missions blurred into weeks, then months, and the uneasy feeling just didn’t let go. You had an eye of him always, your gut telling you to, but you found something different than you were hoping for.

It began with small, almost imperceptible observations that chipped away at the carefully constructed wall of Ghost’s persona. Subtle movements, like the precise, almost ritualistic way he adjusted his gloves like he had always done; a subtle tilt of his head as he listened, mirroring his thoughtful pose from years ago. The way he favoured the knife in the strap on his left, like he had always shown off his favourite weapon to you, shown you how to use it to defend yourself if you ever had to grab it from him. The subtle shift in his breathing when under stress, something he tried to conceal but you recognized it with an unnerving familiarity.

You’d catch yourself staring, again and again, searching for something, anything, beneath that mask to prove your mind wrong — or right.

You scoffed at yourself, pushing the thoughts away. Wishful thinking. Ridiculous. Simon was gone. He is and always will be.

It was your mind playing tricks on you, you reasoned, grasping for closure. You were back in the field, surrounded by danger, by ghosts of your past. Of course, you’d see him in every shadow, hear his voice in every whisper of the wind. Your heart, starved for the his presence, filled the void with illusions.

But you couldn’t help it. The mask. A blank canvas that taunted you, allowed your mind to paint his face onto it a million times over, feeding your impossible, unrealistic hopes with the absurdity of ever seeing him again.

Then, a mission had gone sideways. A sudden ambush, a chaotic scramble for cover. Shots were exchanged, but the target was hit, the job done. But in the chaos, you’d gotten separated from the team, wandering some endless fields, unsuccessfully trying to contact anyone through the deafening static of your radio.

Suddenly, you saw him — Ghost, slumped against the rough-hewn timbers of an abandoned barn, a gash bleeding freely on his forearm beneath the torn fabric of his jacket.

Adrenaline surging, you raced towards him, your medic instincts taking over. 

Inside the barn, the air was thick with the scent of dust and hay. Ghost leaned against the bales and exhaled loudly, avoiding looking at you.

You carefully set down your rifle in the hay. “We have to wait here and hope we can contact the others. Comms are down.”

No response.

“Let me look at the wound, Lieutenant.” Not a question, but a command, softened by the implicit understanding that he couldn’t afford to ignore the wound, not now, not while still being out in the field.

You knelt beside him, your hands already moving to assess the damage. “Fuck,” he swore, the word muffled by the mask. You assumed it was the pain, but later you would understand the true reason behind the swearing.

“I'm sorry,” you murmured, your focus narrowing to the task at hand. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.” You pressed an alcohol-soaked cotton against the wound, retrieved form your medkit, your touch surprisingly steady despite the frantic beating of your heart. Even through the layers of his tactical gear, you could feel the heat radiating from his skin. Something about the feel of him, the solid weight of his body against yours as you leaned in to examine the wound, sparked a disconcerting sense of déjà vu. Stop it, you berated yourself. This is not the time.

All those times he'd been around you, he’d kept his distance, interactions brief, clipped, professional. But now, trapped with you in the suffocating silence of the barn, with nowhere to run, no excuses to offer, no escape from your touch, his carefully constructed walls seemed to crumble, inch by agonizing inch. With your hands on him, gentle and caring as they had been countless times before —

You heard the thud of his helmet hitting the ground, followed by the soft rustle of fabric as he shifted, loosening your hold on his arm. “You need to hold still, sir.”

And then you heard it. Your name. Not your call sign, not the impersonal formality of military protocol, but your name. Whispered with the same cadence like it had been in your dreams, and you were sure fatigue had finally driven you beyond sanity. 

Your blood ran cold. No. It couldn't be. He’s gone. It was impossible. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to wake up from this nightmare. He is not here.

But when you turned, you froze. You looked at a ghost. Not the Ghost, but that ghost from your past that had haunted your every single waking moment, your dreams, your nightmares. It had been stalking you, mocking you, reminding you of a love lost and irrevocably buried. The ghost with its dirty blond hair and scarred face and hazel brown eyes.

Simon.

The man who had stolen your heart, then shattered it with his sudden, unexplained disappearance. 

A strangled sob tore through you, the sound raw with disbelief, with years of suppressed grief.

A torrent of emotions washed over you – shock, denial, a resurgence of a love you thought long buried, a burning anger at his deception, at the years of silence, of unanswered questions. “Why?” you choked out, the word laced with accusation. “Why, Simon? All this time… we were here. Together. You knew.”

He winced, his gaze dropping to his injured arm, unable to meet the intensity of your gaze.  “I… I couldn't risk it,” he murmured, the words a strained whisper. “Risk you.” 

A wave of nausea washed over you. He knew. All those stolen glances, the way you always gravitated towards him—he'd known. The realization struck you, and fury warred with the irrational surge of joy. Alive. But he chose this. Chose to hide, to let you grieve.

“The things I've done…” His voice cracked, the weight of his secrets heavy in the air. “…The things I had to do…” He met your gaze, bracing himself for the storm of your anger. “I couldn't risk you getting hurt.” A weak excuse, a pathetic justification, but the only truth he could offer. 

Shame burned in his gaze, and for a terrifying moment, he thought he’d lost you, before you even had the chance to find each other again. The anger, the hurt, the unanswered questions — he saw it all swirling within you.

“Hurt?” The word was hollow, edged with bitterness. “You left me to rot in hell for seven years, wondering if you were even alive, and you talk about hurt? You were here, Simon. You even trained me!” He flinched at the pain in your voice, a pain he inflicted. Something he deserved, not you.

You felt a flash of anger towards Price, who had kept this from you, knowing how much Simon’s disappearance wrecked you. But you also knew that Price, above all else, was loyal to his men. 

“I know what you're thinking,” he whispered. “I asked them to keep it from you. I asked them not to say my name around you… I thought… it would be easier.” He knew now how wrong he'd been. How could he not know? How selfish and misguided this attempt at keeping you safe had been. He was supposed to protect you, not hurt you. “If you’re angry, be angry at me.” He was the only one to blame. It was never up to his comrades to take this weight off his shoulders. 

Then suddenly, he closed the distance between you, and his hand, trembling, cupped your cheek. A jolt, a spark, in the desolate wasteland of his guilt. Your skin, soft and warm beneath his fingertips. A reminder of everything he’d lost. Everything he risked losing again by revealing himself.

No. Your mind screamed in protest, wanting to pull away from the unwelcome tenderness. Don't you dare forgive him. But the words remained unspoken. His thumb gently stroked your skin, a familiar caress, and a sob escaped your lips. This is wrong. He hurt you. But the voice of reason was a faint whisper against the roaring tide of longing. Your hands trembled, wanting to push him away, to distance yourself, anything but this aching tenderness. But at the same time, you wanted nothing more to feel him.

“I don’t want to be angry,” your hand found its place above his on your cheek. “Just… tell me why, Simon? Why?”

He didn't answer. He couldn't. Instead, his lips found yours, a kiss that was both a question and an answer, a desperate, hungry reconnection of two souls separated by time and circumstance. 

He knew you’d push him away, he expected it, he deserved it. But he needed this, this moment of contact, the fleeting taste of a past he had thought was lost forever. He had been dreaming of this moment for too long, torturing himself with imagined reunions, each encounter an agonizing exercise in self-control. Every time you were near, he’d shackled himself mentally, fighting the overwhelming urge to reach for you, to touch you, to scream at you that he is alive and yours, and to beg for your forgiveness.

Your lips on his were like watering a withered flower that his heart had turned into, dry and shrivelled, unable to let love close if it wasn’t yours. He’d sworn never to love again when he left, believing it was that easy, believing it was the only way to protect you.

He had hoped that each mission and kill helped to bury his heart and his emotions until there was nothing left but death. Bury the part of himself that yearned for you, that ached for your touch, and leave only the Ghost behind.

But then you were there. On his team. You stood before him, more beautiful than he remembered, your long hair braided back, your uniform hugging your curves, a vision that made his breath catch in his throat. He could have died then and there, content to simply exist in the same space as you, to breathe the same air.

And with your return, so was he, whether he wanted to or not. He was powerless against you. Simon Riley, the man who loved you, resurfaced from beneath the mask, shattering the carefully constructed illusion he'd built around himself. 

The moment he dreaded haunted his work now, and he considered running, again. Leave the team, like a dog with its tail between its legs, give up and run from his past.

But Price had promised him that he wouldn’t tell you, if he stayed. He had almost begged him not to run again, knowing his past and his pain, and somewhere, he knew Price was right. He needed them. And he realized he needed you.

From then, he cherished every moment with you together, and it pained him to be so harsh to you. But he had to be, afraid the mask would slip, literally. Conversations cut short, orders barked, the subtle flinch in your eyes when his voice cut through the air — each interaction was a battle, a constant war against the overwhelming urge to reach out, to soothe the hurt he knew he was inflicting, to pull you close and beg you to forgive him.

And now, with your hands on him, so gentle and caring, the dam had finally broken. He couldn’t bear it any longer, this agonizing distance from you.

And your lips, so sweet and so soft, like no time had passed at all, they were his salvation, his damnation, his only hope of redemption.

A sigh left your body, distorted from the sobs, and he pressed your face closer to him. He never wanted to let go anymore. Never again.

He still expected you to push him away, to be angry, to unleash your wrath upon him for abandoning you — but you didn’t. Your hands touched every single inch of skin that was exposed, and he didn’t stop you.

He was ashamed of the relief that flooded through him, ashamed of the way his body responded to your touch, ashamed that he dared to enjoy this moment, a moment that should never have existed, a moment born of his lies and his carefully constructed deceptions. Then your hands cupped his length through his jeans, and an unexpected groan escaped his lips. 

He should stop you. You should be furious. You shouldn’t be rewarding him for the years of silence, for the agonizing absence that had left a gaping wound in your life. But the moment your hand touched him through the fabric, every carefully constructed defense crumbled to dust. He was lost.

“Show me you’re real, Si,” you whispered against his jaw, your lips leaving a hot, wet trail along his stubble, your hips pressing against his thighs, the friction igniting a fire in his blood. “Show me… I need… I need to know this is real.”

How could he deny you? How could he deny himself this one moment of reckless abandon, this one chance to reclaim a piece of the past he had so carelessly thrown away?

“Are you sure?” 

He felt the zip of his jeans slide down, heard the quiet clink of his discarded weapons against the hay. He felt you nudging his thighs open, a sense of anticipation coursing through his blood like pure, electric adrenaline.

“I don’t know.” You whispered, looking up at him. Your sight was blurry from the tears, but you saw real concern in his eyes. Mixed with confusion. He had expected you to react differently, you were sure of that. 

If this was just a fever dream, a hallucination conjured by a mind desperate for solace, then so be it. You would savor every moment, every touch, every stolen kiss, before the inevitable awakening, before the cruel return to reality.

You kissed him again, your hand now firmly stroking him, the familiar texture of his skin, the throb of his arousal beneath your palm, sending a wave of heat through you. His hands found their way beneath your uniform, slowly pushing your pants down as far as your position allowed, and the catch in your breath when his touch found your centre was his undoing. The small, shuddering breath that passed through your body, an unconscious reaction to his finger as it played against your sweet spot. And he felt the blood rush to his cock, hardening it, causing it to ache with a need he hadn't felt in years.

You crawled closer onto his thighs and slowly eased yourself onto his waiting length, and that puzzle that was Ghost, the unsolvable mystery, finally clicked into place, a puzzle piece finding its perfect fit, making you both whole.

The world around you ceased to exist. It was just you and him and nothing else. The wound and blood were long forgotten. If there were enemies outside, you didn’t care. You could die right then and there, if it meant you were in your lovers arms for all eternity and beyond.

The stretch of his cock inside your sensetive walls was pure bliss, and you sighed into his neck. “There hasn’t been anyone else. Just you. Always you.” You whispered in confession, and you earned a groan in return.

“I swore to never love again,” he murmured against your hair, as he began to move inside you, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. “And then,” a hard thrust, a gasp escaping your lips, “you were right there again. Fuck.”

Your hands gripped his shoulders, fingers digging into the worn fabric of his uniform as he moved within you. The rhythm was both familiar and achingly new, years of longing poured into every thrust. The feel of him, solid and real, chased away the ghosts of the past, the years of wondering, of imagining, of hoping. This was real. He was here.

You sobbed, a mixture of relief and the lingering sting of betrayal, and he responded with a guttural groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His breath, hot and ragged against your skin, mingled with incoherent apologies whispered against your ear.

“Si…” you breathed, his name a prayer, a plea, a reaffirmation of a love that had endured despite the years of silence and pain.

His hands tightened on your hips, guiding your rhythm to match his, the friction building and building. It wasn't just the physical pleasure, though it was like a white-hot fire spreading through you; it was the reconnection, the desperate need to erase the years of separation, to meld back into the person you were before he disappeared. 

“I missed you,” he groaned. “So fucking much.”

“Me too,” you whispered back, the tears you thought you'd cried out returning.

The world narrowed, shrinking down to the feel of his clothed body against yours, the heat of his breath, the relentless rhythm that was driving you both toward the edge. 

There was no pretense, no holding back. Just the raw need to be close, to reconnect, to find solace in each other's arms after so long apart, even with the limitations imposed by the circumstances.

You arched into him, the friction of clothing against skin a delicious torment, and a wave of pleasure ripped through you. His grip tightened, and his name tore from your throat as wave after wave of sensation crashed over you, shattered you, dragging you under.

He followed close behind, his release a shuddering groan against your ear, his length pulsing inside you. For a long moment, you just held each other, hearts pounding, breaths ragged, the silence broken only by the occasional shuddering sigh. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t poetic. It was messy, desperate, and utterly perfect.

Even as the aftershocks subsided, you kept your eyes closed, clinging to the warmth of his embrace, afraid to break the spell, terrified that opening them would erase him again, that this precious moment would dissolve into the cruel, cold reality of his absence. You felt a kiss on your forehead, a tender gesture that sent a pang of fear through you. Was he going to leave again? 

But he didn't move.

“I’m so sorry, love” he whispered, his voice ragged, breath warm against your skin. “Please… look at me.”

You opened your eyes, your gaze locking with his. Scarred skin, hazel eyes filled with remorse, but also with an unmistakable love.

He was still there.

He hadn’t disappeared.

He didn’t walk away.

“I promise,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, “I won't ever leave you again.”

You clung to his words, your heart swelling with a cautious hope. “Will you tell me what happened?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening, but his eyes held yours. Watching you these past months, your strength, your resilience in the face of unimaginable danger, revealed a simple truth that would strip him of any excuses not to tell you. You were stronger than he’d given you credit for, stronger than even he had believed. You deserved the truth, no matter how dark, no matter how painful. And he would give it to you. He swore it to himself.

 “I will.”

“Bravo Six… in the blind… you… copy?” The radio crackled, a jarring intrusion into the fragile intimacy of the moment. He reached for it immediately. 

“Bravo Six, this is Ghost. We're in the blind. What's your status?” 

His voice, when he responded to Price, was still tinged with the softness you’d heard only moments before, a subtle reassurance that despite the return of the impersonal detachment, despite the mask he wore for the world, for his team, he was still there, somewhere beneath the surface.

“When we go back,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the static of the radio, laced with a vulnerability you hadn’t intended to reveal, “…when Ghost comes back,” you corrected yourself, the words catching in your throat, “will I still have… Simon?” 

He paused, his hand hovering over the radio, his gaze locking with yours. “You, always,” he said, without any hesitation. “And I promise,” he added, his voice softening, the warmth of him breaking through, “I'll help you understand… Ghost.”

He would reveal the darkness, the secrets, the pain that had driven him to become the masked soldier. He would trust you with the broken pieces of himself, the fragments he’d kept hidden for so long. He owed you that much, if not more. 

He’d give you every little piece of him he could offer.

[dont-starve-scrapbook]

Let's talk about Wilson's perceived competence. Can we talk about Wilson's perceived competence, please? I've been dying to talk about Wilson's perceived competence with you all day, okay?

(Prefacing with the fact that I am aware that people just like to make jokes and be silly sometimes, nothing wrong with that, plus that that doesn't mean they believe that's his entire canon personality but I just wanted to make a post)

There seems to be this increasing general opinion/characterization that Wilson is like. an incompetent, know-nothing-know-it-all?

Yes, he does have a bit of an ego. ("Just when I thought I couldn't get any better", for the Construction Amulet.) He can be insecure about not knowing something, which isn't particularly odd, it ties into the ego thing. (The quotes for Wagstaff's tools show this though personally I feel like Klei leaned a little into some flanderization there perhaps?)

But incompetent know-nothing?? :(

(once again no-one's said that word for word, it's just the vibe)

This is the same guy who, canonically, forged his way through the entirety of adventure mode and reached the Nightmare Throne before anyone else. And then after Charlie threw him back into the Constant he (probably very likely) made those blueprints for the Jury-Rigged Portal.

He's also invented things like the Telltale Heart, three of the boating implements, (perhaps the Think Tank itself?) and the Gardeneer Hat, which can be upgraded at the Ancient Pseudoscience Station!!

To my knowledge there's only 2 other items you need pre-existing crafts to make, but this is the only one that's personally invented by one of the survivors! I think that's pretty notable!

I like how Wickerbottom puts it here, eccentric but sound.

Another thing is something from the old ARG stuff that Klei set up. One of them was a map with a bunch of formulas and equations, which he wrote! I don't think he was pretending to know what he was writing here.

Anyways bleh, it seems like Klei is getting in on it too with certain quotes and especially the overabundance of puns that just. aren't good. (Anything involving marotters, for example...) I really hope that they stop leaning into that sort of thing for his characterization in the future. He's capable and actually pretty smart even if he's not the best scientist in the world. (I do still think he's a pretty good scientist. He's just wonderfully out of the box) (Most of the screenshots and images are sourced from the non-fandom.wikia don't starve wiki)

[green-tea-in-absinthe-bottle]

ENJOY THE SILENCE

Lazy mornings with honkai and genshin boys (fem!reader x Diluc, fem!reader x Dan Heng) a bit suggestive in Dan Heng's part GENERAL MASTERLIST

DILUC

Your lover, Diluc Ragnvindr was without a doubt hardworking and responsible man. Running biggest winery in the industry, protecting Mondstadt at nights and still working full-time job as a bartender, he gave you plenty reasons to be proud of him. Unfortunately, his lifestyle came with many downsides, sleep deprivation and shortage of free time he could spend with you being one of them, so when you found your handsome boyfriend lying next to you in bed, you couldn't stop yourself from admiring him, for once so peaceful, so relaxed. You felt like it was ages since he could sleep in like that.

His voluminous hair tickled your nose, he smelled both manly and sweetly at the same time, scent of cecilias he cultivated in his garden mixed with leather and smoke, reminder of dangerous activities he indulged in at night. You shifted closer to him, inhaling this familiar smell. His eyes opened, morning light enhanced golden tones in his hues. When he met your gaze it felt like all the warmth in them poured into your soul, lightening it up like sunlight itself, taking your breath away.

Diluc smiled at you lazily, leaning to kiss you. He tasted like promise of adventure, but his strong arms were like a safe harbor, grounding you and sheltering from all harm.

"I hope I didn't wake you up" you giggled. "You deserve a good rest for once Diluc."

"Don't worry, even if you did, I'd rather enjoy your company then sleep my love. Compared to reality with you every dream is dull." he whispered gently stroking your hair.

You laid your head down on his muscular chest, happy to cuddle your big, strong, loving man for the rest of the morning.

DAN HENG

Your beloved dragon came off as cold and emotionally detached to most people, his reserved nature forged in solitude he lived in for most of this lifetime successfully scared most people off. Yet, there was other side to him, born from isolation he suffered in Xianzhounian prison as well. Hunger for life and experiences he was devoid off for so long, overwhelming need to be free and feed his senses with all things this wast universe can offer, things he knew only from books.

Dan Heng was used to relying on himself, never given a chance to ask for too much or express his emotions freely, so when he was alone with you he tried his best to not seem needy, but it was obvious just how much he craved to be close to you.

He always kissed you a bit too greedily, as if it was the last time he can taste something so sweet, and he never pulled away first. When he caressed your body his fingers dug into your flesh, leaving marks on your fragile skin. Claiming you as his mate. He was touch-starved to the point of pain, skin to skin contact was so foreign to him it almost burned but he couldn't get enough. It was never enough.

Today you and your boyfriend woke up earlier than the rest of the crew. Before going back to your duties in the archieves you decided to take a quick shower together. Dan Heng looked stunning with water dripping down his perfect body, you couldn't take your eyes off his broad chest. He was more comfortable than usually, tracing marks on your skin with his fingertips.

Water washed away your mixed scent from your bodies when your hands massaged shampoo in his scalp. Dan Heng always made sure he does his share of work, both as Astral Express archivist and as your lover. It was a habit of his from time he first escaped from Xianzhou. He used to work for refuge and food in various places, justifying his existence with usefulness. Therefore you were not surprised when he returned the favor soon after you washed his hair.

" Why won't you let me spoil you sometimes?" you asked.

"You spoil me all the time." he calmly spoke up. "You give me all your love and help me become something more than a shadow of my past life by giving me another great reason to live here and now instead of dwelling on my nightmares. I merely return the favor."

Your cheeks flushed.

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to earn my kindness each time." you explained, biting your lip. His hands rubbing your head slowed down a bit.

"Don't worry about that. I like doing things for you, that's my way of showing that I care about you." he sighed. "You keep on telling me I need to learn how to receive affection, but aren't you the same as me?"

You didn't say anything back, instead you just let go and let his hands get lower to massage the knots out of your back, your muscles relaxing under his tender touch.

[aerynwrites]

Hi! Just wanted to say that I admired your work, and you have pushed me to write again. I hope you have a good day. (Sorry,

a little awkward here)

If you don't mind, I have a request. I always wonder how Gale, Halsin, or whoever you would like to write would react to a Tav that her/their love language is physical touch and/or gift giving (like little crafts and stuff.) Thanks!

ooo i love this idea!! Did it in HC format so I could do both Halsin and Gale (+ Dammon bc I love him lol). I hope you enjoy my friend!

Having an S/O whose love language is Physical Touch and Gift Giving

Gale

I definitely take Gale as someone who loves physical touch but doesn’t like PDA.

So he reserves all his touches for when you all are alone or away from prying eyes.

But he does love it.

He loves when you cuddle up to him when he reads, putting his arm around you and pulling you close as he reads to you.

he also loves holding your hand, intertwining your fingers together.

And he loves kisses.

Kisses to your lips, your cheeks, your nose, etc…

He especially loves leaving kisses to your neck/shoulders when you are lying in bed or just before you wake up.

No when it comes to gift giving, I don’t feel like Gale is particularly familiar with relieving gifts from romantic partners - at least not the small but still meaningful ones.

He keeps anything and everything you give him, always telling you what he likes about it and stuff.

If it’s something he can wear/use you bet your ass he is using it or wearing it all the time.

Halsin

Halsin, as we all know, is not a shy man.

He loves to touch you and doesn’t give a fuck who sees lmao.

He will hold your hand or tug you closer to his side, even kiss you whenever and wherever. He does not care, he just loves having you close and feeling your skin against his own. Even in a non sexual way.

I also know this man loves to cuddle okay??

Like I feel like he runs warm, so at night he probably doesn’t sleep with a shirt on and just has you tucked against his chest.

And he obviously, loves to kiss you just like Gale lmao.

He’s always sneakin’ a lil’ kiss.

When it comes to gift-giving, he loves the little things you bring him.

Whether it be some honey you found at the market or small little malformed wooden figures you tried your best to whittle.

He keeps and cherishes them all, something you don’t find out until you find his little stash in his pack.

If you ask him about it, he just smiles that wonderful smile and tells you he likes to have a piece of you close to him at all times.

Dammon

Okay, possible controversial idea but uh…

I feel like Dammon is a bit touch starved.

Not because he doesn’t like touch or anything but with his home being thrust into he hells and most of his time spent in the forge I just don’t see him spending time much with others.

So when it becomes apparent that your love language is physical touch, he’s a tiny bit lost at first.

But he reciprocates after a while, and soon he finds out he loves that shit too.

He loves to hold your hand, even presses a kiss to your knuckles everyonce and a while, especially if you’re both just lounging around.

I definitely peg him as one of those guys that does the whole “hand on your lower back when he passes behind you” thing and if that doesn’t make you weak in the knees idk what will.

also his tail?? I’m sorry but that man projects his emotions with his tail i swear.

You find it wrapped loosely around your leg a lot when you’re cuddled up in bed, holding you close just like his arms do.

Now, when it comes to gift giving - I think he is more used to being the one to give rather than receive.

so when you first give him a gift he is really surprised and can really only mutter a stuttered flustered thank you.

I feel like your first gift to him might be a new scarf, so even if he didn’t verbalize it well you know he loves it when he wears in nonstop for weeks after you gave it to him.

anything else you give him, small hand made trinkets and baubles, etc… you’ll soon see proudly displayed scattered around his forge.