#for me personally that made it challenging enough to be engaging but i'm

[moonsidesong]

finished the last palette! my final thoughts are that i enjoyed side order a lot. i don't think it was nearly as good as octo expansion but i....... think it would be very difficult to top octo expansion. i wanna go back in to complete all the color chips and buy all the items and upgrades, but i think ill take a break from that for now.

like a lot of people, i wish there was more to the story, and i really wish the final palette felt like more of a real finale, but off the hook got more screen time and acht is a really cool character so i dont REALLY have too much to complain about lol.

the music and sounds are AWESOME and probably my favorite part of the whole thing. i really recommend playing with headphones, at least for some of it. it's really great there's already so many high quality game rips floating around, but i really really can't wait for the eventual CD to releaseeeeee 😭😭😭😭 i want that music in my HOUSE

overall i had fun! solid experience. except for when i had to use the splatana stamper i really really really don't like using the splatana stamper just in general. that's not really a criticism so much as it is i just kind of hate when that weapon is in my little octo hands

[writers-potion]

Describing Food in Writing

I love food. And drinks.

When I think of the HP series, I recall the feasts. Treacle tarts and puddings. Butterbeer. Food trolley on the train and chocolate frogs in the Gryffindor common room.

Foods helps readers engage with the story, so it's good to know how to describe them.

Just one Adjective

There's really no need to go overboard with how a particular food tastes. If it's something that your readers are already familiar with, just add in a small detail.

Are the breakfast eggs yellow or white, clumpy or fluffy? Salty or bland? Grainy or silky?

Just one adjective/detail is enough.

Think of the Character

Take note of each character's palate while you describe. Especially if you're writing in 1st person POV.

Someone in your cast may be a culinary artist and another content with spray cheese.

Food descriptions can reveal a lot about character's personality and lifestyle.

Watch Food Shows

Master Chef. The Great British Baking Show. Aesthetic character baking channel on YouTube.

Food shows usually have a section where they assess/review the food made, which might be helpful.

Recently, I've noticed that 1-minute food reviewers on YT Shorts are pretty good at graphic yet succinct taste descriptions!

Ratatouille

I'm not kidding!

If you ever want to get into the mind of someone who is passionate about food, or need inspiration yourself - check this movie out.

Just watching Remy's passion and the magic of the culinary arts will boost your writer soul with inspiration (or something like it, anyway).

Experience Restaurants

The best research of all is probably experience, so the next time you eat a meal, challenge your palate.

Think about how it looks, tastes, and feels in you mouth.

If possible, try dishes your characters would eat and discern what they would detect. What elements of the disk would your character like?

Some Food Adjectives

Tangy Creamy Crispy Tender Juicy Exquisite Luscious Gourmet Wholesome Delectable Risk Zesty Succulent

Crunchy Greasy Gooey Tart Smoky Savory Marinated Meaty Moist Battered Dainty Homestyle Fudgy

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[campgender]

Whenever a player safewords, this is an occasion for mutual support. We understand that nobody safewords from a happy place, and that all of our egos feel frail and kind of runty when we need to back out of a scene. It is completely unethical to respond with scorn or ridicule to a person who has safeworded: S/M is not a competition, we are not playing against each other.

As tops, we have noticed that if we are having a good time and our bottom safewords, our initial feelings may not be happy. Whaddaya mean you don't like that? I do all this work and you don't appreciate it? I'm hot for being in control and you want me to stop? We have felt real anger and felt challenged in our top role... and, on a deeper level, we have felt put down, hurt and rejected. It is okay to have these feelings. It is not okay to act on them. Take three deep breaths and everybody start taking care of each other.

Sometimes bottoms get so deeply engaged in a scene that they fail to safeword, or forget, or so profoundly believe in the fantasy that it doesn't occur to them: many of the techniques we play with, like interrogation, function in the real world to undermine volition. Dossie remembers a scene in which a top offered her a choice of something or other: "I felt very confused. Some distant part of me vaguely remembered having made choices, but the response from my state of consciousness at that time was, Choose? I am not a thing that chooses." So then what is the top's responsibility?

If a bottom does not safeword and you don't pick up on what's going on, and this will happen if you play long enough and well enough, there is no blame. However, it is still your responsibility to monitor for physical safety as best you can. As ethical tops we make a commitment to never knowingly harm our bottoms. To this end we check in regularly to make sure that things are going the way we think they are, and we constantly monitor the physical and emotional safety of our bottoms. If a bottom is beyond safewording, and you as the top feel unsure about how far you should go, it is your responsibility to slow down or stop the scene and get into communication with the bottom to make sure you have informed consent. If you have to bring the bottom back into reality to do this, please remember that you helped get them into that altered state in the first place, so presumably you can help get them back there again as soon as you are sure of what's going on.

And just because someone safeworded doesn't mean that the scene has to be over. There may be times when the problem that brought either of you to safeword is so overwhelming that carrying on doesn't feel like the right thing right now - but most often we find that after we've dealt with whatever the difficulty is, we're still terrifically turned on, with the added bonus of a shared intimacy.

from The New Topping Book (2003) by Dossie Easton & Janet W. Hardy

(note: the authors use ‘top’ & ‘bottom’ in the historical S/M sense, meaning ‘person performing the act’ & ‘person receiving the act’; the act in question is not necessarily penetration.)

[pendarling]

Ring of Engagement

Villain locked the cuffs around Hero's wrists, "You're at fault for getting stuck in this situation." They sighed. Hero was on a terrible losing streak this month, and a part of Villain wanted to ask what was wrong; then again, what right did they have to ask those questions? They only ever met with them once a couple of weeks.

Their eyes had caught something they hadn't noticed as they secured the cuffs, "A ring?" They smirked, "I didn't know you were engaged."

Hero grumbled something and reluctantly let themselves be led away to the vehicle. For some reason, it hadn't occurred to Villain that Hero might've had a life outside their job, but the thought had disturbed them enough to grow slightly annoyed at the proposition. "I didn't take you for being a potential spouse." They off-handedly commented. They weren't entirely sure why they said it, maybe just to pass the time or to fill in the empty silence at Hero's refusal to banter.

They pushed them into the front seat before stepping to the driver's side and starting the ignition. It would take a while until they arrived at the lair, mainly because they had moved it outside of town to avoid the growing dangers surrounding the downtown area.

"How're you feeling?" They glanced to the right of them and caught Hero's annoyed stare.

"Are you going to keep talking, or are we gonna do this in peace?"

"A little grumpy today, huh?" They chuckled and pulled the car onto a highway. "Get used to me because we'll be stuck together."

"For fuck's sake..." They leaned back into the chair and fiddled with the metal, locking their hands together; a specialized handcuff prevented a person from using their powers. 

"So what's up with the ring? You got a family?"

Hero scoffed lightly and stared out the window. "Why? Were you interested?"

Villain felt their ego shift a bit, "What? No. You're way in over your head, dear." They licked their teeth and stifled an uncontrolled laugh, "Besides, you're not even my type." 

"Okay, well, you're not my type either."

The soft hum of the tires running along asphalt covered the few minutes of silence between them again as Villain wondered if engaging further would bring more harm than good. Still, their inability to keep their lips shut made them decide, "It's a cheap-looking ring anyway." They mumbled. 

Their adversary laughed heartedly, "Are you seriously judging me for a ring? Just let it go already!"

"I'm not judging, it's just ugly."

"You're ugly."

"You would actually settle down with someone who can barely give you a proper ring? Wow."

Hero shrugged, "And you could do better?"

They clicked their tongue, almost too glad they had asked, "I sure as hell would."

Their rival smiled and looked in Villain's direction. "All this for a ring with no meaning..."

Villain spared a second to shoot a glare at Hero's smugness. Yet, somewhere inside, they'd gone through the stages of grief until swift recovery at the newfound information. Villain smiled pleasantly, and Hero had mistaken it for another challenge. Their eyes scanned them for another reaction besides the failed attempt to laugh with joy. They couldn't believe their luck. Hero wasn't engaged.

What a relief.

"What's so funny?" Hero asked.

"Nothing," they smirked again and continued focusing on the road.

"You've flamed me all day for my romantic decisions--"

Villain shrugged. "What? I already told you I'm not interested. You can do whatever you want with your love life. Go marry a hero for all I care." They rolled their eyes and tightened their grip on the steering wheel. Yet, Hero could see they kept that smile, a sense of satisfaction.

Hero crossed their legs and faced the window again, "Yeah, maybe I will. Better than someone with a criminal record."

Their eyes squinted, a flash of irritation and some bitter hurt stung through those words, and even though they had previously said very clearly that they weren't interested, the intense pain that arrived moments afterwards promised a different reality. 

They took a deep breath, their brows furrowed, and without any warning, Villain pulled the car over abruptly, the car set on idle. "First of all, you have no reason to bring up my past."

"What's your deal anyways, Villain? Just keep driving."

"No. You're saying this, and you're saying that you better stay off of my back."

"Or what?" they smirked calmly. Their unbothered eyes hid another suppressed feeling they had only seen a few times previously. Villain unbuckled their seatbelt without much thought; they'd pushed their lips roughly against Hero's. Their hands pulled at their attire, and in response, Hero reciprocated with an equal amount of fierceness. Their lips locked in a battle for control, tugging and roughly pushing them back down again repeatedly. 

Their eyes opened momentarily in a silent argument for domination. Unfortunately, Hero was always on a losing streak, and their bad luck had returned in the form of a small trickle of blood down their lip as Villain bit slightly harder than intended. It didn't have to come down to it, but Hero forced it upon themselves.

"Fucking idiot," Villain breathed heavily against their mouth and licked lightly at the cut, "Look what you made me do to you." 

Hero winced, their breath bated and sharp. They patiently waited for Villain to undo their seatbelt, "That hurt, you animal."

"Shut up," Villain shoved Hero to the back of the car; they rechecked the vehicle to be left in park while busy only momentarily. Hero sat on the leather chair, still trying to understand their surroundings. Their enemy followed quickly behind with much more elegance than them, "What are you sitting around for? Get on your back."

"You're going to have to make me!" 

______

The sun had already dipped below the horizon, leaving the streets dark. Long empty stretches of road were trapped between a suffocating line of pine trees. The sky was a dim blue, heavy with clouds as they began to roll in.

Hero woke up a little warmer than expected. Villain had left their coat lying on top of them, which kept them from the chilly temperatures of the season's end as they approached fall. 

Hero could barely make out Villain's words through the dull sounds of the vehicle's engine. "Up already?" They glanced at the rearview mirror and adjusted it slightly. 

They could only groan as they struggled to sit up from their position. It was much harder to do with the handcuffs still on their wrists. Villain would never let their guard down, even if they knew there wasn't any threat at their weakest state. "I'm starving."

"As I expected." They smirked, "Just give me a second, I know a place." They pulled the car over to what looked like a diner. Its bright light nearly burned their eyes if they hadn't squeezed them shut in time. 

Villain stepped out of the car and opened the back door. "C'mon now, don't waste my time."

Hero took a deep breath and used what little strength was left to scoot to the edge. 

"Wait."

Villain leaned into the car and looked them over, their hands reaching around their neck and pushing their hair to one side. Villain's hands were exponentially colder than theirs, and instinctively, Hero had goosebumps at the touch of their icy fingers along their neck and down their collarbone. 

"You're freezing." They murmured. 

"I know." They whispered back and straightened up again, "Stay here."

From the trunk of the car, Villain pulled out a scarf and stuck out a hand to help them out of the vehicle. They would have nearly collapsed on themselves if it hadn't been for Villain's quick catch. "Easy there." They helped them up and wrapped the scarf around their neck with careful focus. Next, they undid their cuffs; Hero was just glad they weren't going in with them still on. In place of the cuffs, however, Villain took it upon themselves to reach for their hand. 

Even though they complained of the cold earlier, it felt nice. Villain's hands were comforting as they stayed secured onto them. Hopefully, they knew that; it would be a shame otherwise.

"Be good." Villain shut the door, and they walked inside the diner.

Villain insisted on sitting next to them rather than across, and it wasn't like they had a choice in the matter anyway since they were the prisoner. Whatever it was, it was probably out of fear of them escaping. They had Hero sit between the window and them. "What do you want?" They slid over the menu in their direction.

With heavy eyelids, they tapped on the sheet at whatever was closest. "This one."

"This one? You sure?"

They nodded. All Hero wanted to do was go back to sleep; they only woke up due to hunger. One of the employees walked over and took their order. Villain did the talking; they could only stare outside at the small shower of rain that began to pour from the sky. "How long until we get to your lair?"

"That's confidential." They said. 

Hero narrowed their eyes at Villain's reflection, "Don't tell me you're trying to kill me and dump by body somewhere out here."

They heard their enemy laugh. "No, that's too cliche." 

Hero adjusted themselves in their seat and felt a dull pain from there. They reached into their pocket, and it was the ring from earlier. They didn't recall placing it in their pocket. Hero took a deep breath and set it on the table, sliding it to Villain's side. 

"Hm?" Villain's attention shifted to their hand on the table as they pulled it away to reveal the ring underneath. "Are you giving this to me now?" Villain mused.

They looked at Villain's expression, a mix of disbelief and a calm delight. "You can have it. I don't want it anymore." 

They quietly picked up the band and lifted it to their eyes. The intricate details hidden in its sharp edges weren't noticeable from a distance, but they've come to appreciate its worth even if Hero deemed it meaningless. Without another word, Villain placed it back in its spot. "You can wear it." 

Hero's head rose just enough to catch them looking their way. They tucked the ring back into their pocket and settled their hand atop Villain's.

~~~

MASTERLIST

[quickandsilvers]

Consider: something like this w/Peter.

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGed5Ysh5/

Like, Peter gets hurt on a mission and he comes back with just a couple bruises and he's like, "it's just a bruise, I was shot in my costume".

[Cue the touch bit here]

Idk, I'm just,,,,, thinking,,,,, 😳😳😳

A/N- I made this wayyy longer than it had to be but.. sue me? I decided to do Reader/Peter’s introduction too because why the hell not! Also, whats a fic of mine without smut, huh?

Medical Malpractice and Awkward Interactions🔥

Peter Maximoff x fem!reader SMUT 🔥

Summary: Many times Peter Maximoff embarrasses himself in front of you, and one time you patch him up… and screw him against a shower wall. It’s standard first-aid procedure, right?

Warnings: slow burn (kinda), pining, blood, wounds, LOTS of sexual innuendoes, Nurse/Patient role-play, handjob, p in v, oral (Peter receiving), dirty talk, grinding, public humiliation, creampie, shower sex

Word Count: 9905

Taglist: @kaismanwich @evpeters87 @pretzel-bunnie (Please ask if you want to be added/removed!)

—————————————————————————

For most of his thirty plus years of his life, Peter Maximoff considered himself as a relatively easy person to get along with. He had friends who were somewhat happy to have him as company, despite his overly-outgoing nature and lack of social cues.

Magda had raised him to the best of her ability, or at least until the damned speedster mutation kicked in at twelve. After school nights of pretend tea-parties with Wanda or playing kick-the-can with the neighborhood children turned into petty-theft and a challenge of sending poor mama Maximoff on the brink of insanity and financial instability.

So yeah, said mutation sorta sent Peter into a boisterous, thieving tailspin. But hey, at least he wasn’t a complete jackass.

He never smoked, never drank, and since joining the Xmen, Peter only stole things from major companies that wouldn’t notice it was missing in the first place; and occasionally the few Rainbow or Jimi Hendrix vinyls that caught his attention passing by. ‘No one’s perfect, prof!’ Peter would tell Xavier as he returned to the mansion, only to be greeted by an unimpressed shake of the head.

And yes, he did pay back the money his mother paid for the local police to keep the mass amount of snack cakes in his basement under wraps. Once again, Peter wasn’t a complete jackass.

But then, he met you. You were a fellow professor at Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Children, and were renowned across campus - if you weren't teaching music theory, you could either be found giving study sessions for students falling behind or making your famed lasagna bake whenever the Xmen came home from a mission - and you were loved for it.

And you were pretty. Like, shit! Hella pretty. Whether it was your skill at engaging everyone in your lectures or your jaw-droppingly gorgeous face, you held the unofficial record for the most loved on campus. Peter, as the school’s physical education teacher, was second place, and for once he didn't mind getting the silver medal.

He'd heard about you in the staff room one morning. All good things. A real glowing report card. Everyone loved you and for good reason, apparently. But you hadn’t met yet.

That was until Peter realized your class was in the morning and an hour before his PE lesson began, so he decided to snoop around to check out if you were as good as everyone said you were.

Arriving at the back of the classroom, Peter pushed his goggles up to his head, tufts of silvery soft hair coming with it.

And there you were in all your glory, sitting back on your desk and waving to everyone as they walked in, the occasional student getting 'Love your new look, Cynthia!', 'Ready for class, Michael?' or a giant grin and the sporadic finger guns.

Okay, so you were kind too. Kind and pretty. Kind and pretty and obviously smart enough to get a doctorate. Though, how hard was it to get a degree in music; what did you even have to know? Def Leppard formed back in ‘77, Neil Peart is the best drummer of all time, blah blah blah. Pssht, enter Peter into an exam and he’d have a degree in lickedey split!

The fact you had devoted your life to getting a music doctorate compelled Peter to wonder what your taste in said music was. Admittedly, he wasn’t so keen on the idea of you lecturing if Charles had formulated the curriculum himself. What did that old man even listen to? Peter found it hard to imagine his higher up rockin’ it out to Journey.. and God forbid- Black Sabbath?!

Definitely not. Xavier would be limited to the likes of Beethoven. Peter's skin crawled at the thought. Expand your horizons, you powdered-wig wearin’ maniacs!

No matter. If you did turn out to be some kind of sonata orchestral devotee, you wouldn’t be able to resist Peter’s charisma and persuasive techniques. Said persuasion would be helluva lot of nagging in your ear until you subsequently cave; and you would, because everyone does. And eventually you would join the light side of the force, and Peter would teach you the music ‘way of the jedi.’

"Hi! Hello everybody!" You greeted cheerfully and stood up, waving your arms around for emphasis. “It’s great to see you all back looking nice and refreshed!”

Peter normally would have snorted in irony. In most cases, an hour-long lecture at six am in the morning wouldn’t have people ready to learn and raring for the day ahead. In Xavier’s literature lectures, one could easily mistake the students to be flesh-eating, grumbling zombies who hadn’t seen a ray of sunlight in a millennium.

However, as he looked around the room from his seat in the very back, the students filing in had almost cheshire grins on their faces, smiling eagerly at your buzzing figure and sitting up straight in their seats.

Peter’s eyes flitted back to you. The bell bottom jeans you were wearing were dark and fit you perfectly, the flare swishing around as you slowly paced around the room. For the first couple of minutes, he didn't hear a thing you were saying because the swaying was far too distracting.

His eyes trailed upwards. A faux shearling collared leather jacket hung off your frame, belt loose at the hem and clashing against your hip when you took a step. You looked like something straight out of the 60s: and Peter was totally diggin’ it.

The zip was undone, allowing a slither of your t-shirt underneath to show the letters “ardbi” peaking out in a red font. His heart leapt. The Yardbirds, nice, and fitting. Right this second Peter’s walkman hummed the tune of ‘Layla’ by Eric Clapton through his headphones. Quiet enough so he could hear your voice, but loud enough so his head could bop along to the instrumental. Shuffling in his seat, Peter adjusted his RUSH t-shirt, as if wanting him to catch your attention so you could strike up a conversation about it.

What would he say if you did? He needed to impress you, stat; before Scott could find you and chat you up with his extensive motorcycle knowledge that seemed to be all the rage nowadays. Pfft. RUSH was cooler anyways.

All in all, you didn't look like the stereotypical lecturer. Your outfit was far from professional attire, but it didn’t matter; the kids loved you.

Peter was addicted to all of you; from the browline glasses on your head to the Mary Janes on your feet. It was comforting.

"I know you’ve all been working so hard this past semester," you began, leaning against the podium casually, your arms folded as you eyed the students. "And the lovely gentleman that is Professor Xavier would never allow this, but I've decided we can allow ourselves a breath of fresh air and watch a film today."

Cheers and excited whispers rang out in the room as the students smiled impossibly harder, rushing to shove their textbooks into their bags so the film could start.

“Now hold on!” Your laugh graced Peter’s ears, holding your hands up to settle the class. “We haven’t yet discussed the film options! How do we feel about ‘Bobby deerfield’?”

Groans and scoffs resonated through the classroom, and a girl with pigtails a few rows in front of Peter spoke out. “You’re not kiddin’ anybody miss! Everybody knows that film is wack!”

You laughed and stood off the podium, moving towards the open window that was letting in a cold draft. “You know me too well, Jubilee. No one likes that film.” You bent over an empty desk to reach over, closing the window and turning the lock to the right “How about The Empire Strikes Back?”

In a moment of total stillness in the classroom, Peter let out a choked-off groan. Whether it was the sight of you bent over a desk or the mention of that god-tier film, he wasn’t all too sure.

Silence.

Peter knew he had royally embarrassed himself yet again when howls and giggles erupted in the classroom, some students convulsing in laughter and others wolf-whistling as you paused, turning to look back at him.

Jubilee turned around in her seat to stare at her PE teacher, ponytails swinging wildly as she covered her mouth with her hand and guffawed. Peter’s cheeks burned.

"Excited for the film are we, Mr Maximoff?" You quizzed, bemused.

Oh, you noticed too. Great. But you knew his name. Cool, less sarcastically speaking. You were both staff members of the same school so it wasn't that outlandish, but Peter’s stomach still flipped nonetheless.

"Yeh.. aha.. Erm- yunno Luke became a Jedi master in this film, right?" Peter blurted out instinctively, his thoughts in overload under your stare. He kissed his teeth and nodded his head in affirmation. “Pretty.. Pretty cool stuff.”

Congratulations, you thirty-somethin’ year old virgin. You have well and truly out-nerded yourself. This chick will certainly be beggin’ for you to burrow yourself between her thighs now.

Peter swallowed, waiting for someone to say something. Literally anything. All he was met with was muffled giggles and snorts echoing around him. He teaches people in this lecture, dim-wit! How were they gonna respect him and do laps in his classes now, O’ Jedi Master connoisseur?

You grinned sweetly, amused, silently waving your hand for your students to quieten down "Thank you for sharing that, Mr Maximoff, truly. Although I have seen this film before." You nodded in acknowledgement to his RUSH shirt and then returned your focus to the class before Peter could word vomit anything else.

You began to ramble on again. It made sense. Why would you pay attention to him when you had a job to do?

What could he do? Embarrass himself further by standing on his desk and demanding that you have a conversation that ends with you saying, 'Wow, Peter, you're so smart and fast and criminally handsome. Would you like to go to a record store so you can continue to impress me with the sheer amount of knowledge you have stored inside that adorable silver-haired noggin’ of yours?'

A mumble still traveled across the class, primarily because one of their teachers is a raging airhead, but you shushed them quickly by clapping your hands together. It was a casual movement, but one that got everyone's undivided attention again.

"Can anyone guess what year it came out?"

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the blur of a hand go up but you weren’t going to call on them, and so, Peter was left with his palm awkwardly facing towards the stage. You reiterated your question, "Can any of my students take a guess? Mr Maximoff, I'd appreciate it if you could give my class at least 2 minutes so they can discuss the answer."

Peter’s hand lowered slowly and he narrowed his eyes at the person snickering next to him.

“Don’t make me give yer extra laps next lesson, Christopher, the weather forecast ain’t lookin’ so good fer this Friday.”

Christopher abruptly stopped and faced back to you.

Once again, silence met your question until it was broken by a timid voice. A boy in the front row with curly brunette hair was looking at you unsure. You smiled encouragingly and nodded for him to speak up louder.

“1980?"

"Like always, Bobby, you are correct!" You exclaimed happily. Bobby blushed, embarrassed by the attention and compliment but smiling nonetheless as you moved on to another question. "The film came out in 1980. Does anyone know who it starred? Don’t be afraid to speak up!”

The film started soon after and for the entire time, Peter was completely transfixed by you. You leaned against the door and peered up at the projector screen, a smile on your face as you snuck a few handfuls of popcorn out of Bobby’s grasp as he watched the film intently. He now understood the enthusiastic compliments from the staff room, and why you were so loved by everyone. You were infectious.

He couldn't help himself, Peter found his eyes wandering over every part of your body, studying every inch of you before he'd had the chance to properly comprehend that he was being a creep. Appreciating beauty was one thing, leering at women he hadn't met before was another. Keep it in your pants, Maximoff.

As the students piled out of the lecture hall, all chatting loudly as they walked out, Peter waited. A group of girls surrounded you and asked you a bunch of questions, and you answered them all like you were their cool older sister rather than someone who was paid to teach them things. Then they left too, and you were alone.

"Did you enjoy the class, Mr Maximoff?" you asked kindly, a smile tugging at your lips as you turned around slightly. You sat on top of the nearest desk and folded your legs under yourself, resting your elbow on your knee and your head on your fist.

Blinking, Peter froze before nodding vigorously. So vigorous, in fact, that his goggles slid from his head down to the apex of his nose. He huffed in irritation and the exhaled breath fogged up his lenses completely. Peter bets he looks so irresistible right now.

Say something- think of something fast, moron! Isn’t that your whole gimmick? Impress her with your natural God-given charm!

Who are we kidding, this is Peter Maximoff. Master of the Jedi’s and embarrassing silences.

He wiped his goggles with the end of his shirt "I would think a music teacher would be lecturin’ about music, not films.. But yes, yer were- the film was.. very entertainin’."

Shit. Your lip twitched. Did he do somethin’ wrong? Of course he did- he just insulted a Professor’s lecturin’ to their face, ewok!

"You're a professor of...?"

"Err, I teach PE.. yunno.. I just make the kiddos run laps ‘n kick a ball around, basically." No shit, doofus! Maybe stop mansplainin’ what workin’ out is and apologize? “Fuck i’m so sorr-”

You cut him off with a simple wave of your hand, that gorgeous smile of yours decorating your face once again. “It’s alright, honest!” You say, observing his exasperated look as his mouth parts, ready to apologize “Jean told me that your mouth moves faster than your brain sometimes, I don’t take any offense to what you said.”

Peter sighs, relieved yet processing your words. “So, uh..” he hesitated, an awkward yet boastful smirk building then “Yer talk about me? All good things, I hope.”

You felt a heat rising to your face immediately and you looked around the room to avoid his intense stare, your eyes falling to another window you had yet to close. The cogs in your head turn and you whip around to face Peter, fanning yourself with your hand and beginning to shrug off your jacket. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?” You faux panted, moving away from him to open the window like you needed a cold breeze.

Peter watched as you bent over, much closer now and able to see you from straight behind. His eyes grazed your body with a suggestive smirk.

“Just you, babe.”

Okay, babe?! Not helping your flushed state, at all!

You muffle your sputter by coughing, turning around once again and sitting on the desk. You watch as Peter walks up to you, standing close enough that his thighs force your legs a little wider around him.

The silence is unbearable, so you break it. “I mean, of course I've mentioned you once or twice, dude!” You chuckle nervously, “It’s hard to miss someone that looks like you speedin’ around the mansion.”

You register the confused shift in his gaze and now it’s your turn to run back on what you said, jumping in realization and your knee knocking into his trouser-clad outer thigh. “Not that you look weird in any way! I just meant the whole ‘silver’ aesthetic is totally bitchin’! And obviously I’ve heard about that whole Apocalypse fiasco in ‘84. It was really brave, what you did, and I can’t help but thank you for savin’ the whole world.. and whatever..”

You trail off as you babble yourself into a frenzy, Peter’s delighted grin humiliating you further as he wiggles his eyebrows.

“Thanks, babe.” You let out a shuddery breath. Again?! Where was this confidence when he was making a fool out of himself not just a minute ago?

Peter gave in at your pleading gaze and stepped back, a sheepish smile on his face as he looked down to the floor, shoving his hands into his pockets. He swayed back and forth on his heels. “I better go anyway. Places to be, worlds to save.. Y’know how it is, babe.” The uneasiness on his features left as soon as it came, now replaced with a cocky smirk and a sly wink.

“Well, if you come back in one piece, maybe we could, I dunno, go out for a movie or somethin’?” You ask apprehensively “since you seem to like Star Wars so much.”

“Y-yeah!” Peter said almost too quickly, clearing his throat before gathering his thoughts and masking the elated grin battling to appear. “I mean, only if yer gonna be makin’ that lasagna, right?” He quipped, stomach rumbling at the thought.

You nodded in answer, grinning. “Just come stop by whenever you’re free and we’ll figure out a date, yeah?” Your eyes widened. “I mean date as in time!”

Peter wiggled his eyebrows again, speeding to the door and saluting you before making his way to the training room, fistbumping the air. Fuckin’ score!

For the remainder of the day, Peter couldn’t keep his mind off of you and the promised movie date you were set to have after his mission, uncontrollably vibrating in excitement whilst boarding the X-jet the day after.

“Promise me you’ll stay safe, yeah?” You ask him, standing on the runway as you smooth out the wrinkles in his uniform, your palm flat on his chest.

A broad grin spread across Peter’s face as he placed his own hand above yours, running his thumb smoothly over your skin.

“Don’t worry about little ol’ me, ‘kay? A promise is a promise, sweet-cheeks.”

——————————————————————————

Peter’s not a jackass. He would never intentionally go back on his word.

But that was a pretty damn hard promise to fulfill.

As soon as the jet landed four hours too late, Peter crashed into the living room couch, ignoring any questions of passers by for medical assistance. He practically melted into the linen cushions, exhaling deeply.

The kid previously sitting on the couch scowled as Peter stretched himself across the furniture, waving the younger student off with his hand. “I’m an Xman, I have the authority here.” The cushions muffled Peter’s grumble.

All in all, he wasn’t that hurt. In reality, the mission was fairly easy-going. Peter was barrelling through an evacuated suburban village, rescuing any stragglers that had found themselves lost or stuck under rubble, whilst the other Xmen dealt with arresting the rogue mutant. Blurs of grays and browns passed him at rapid speed as he did one last sweep of the area, confident in the fact that all people had been safely vacated.

Leaning onto a particularly large mound of debris, Peter swung his leg in boredom, waiting on Charles to give him the go-ahead to start the X-jet back to the mansion. The wind picked up, sending his tufts of hair back and away from his forehead.

Abruptly, a flurry of white flew into the air, startling Peter as he whipped around, ready to attack.

The sight wasn’t as menacing as he thought, though. Small seeds dispersed across the terrain, each carrying a bundle of fluffy white bristles in its wake. He looked down to the sparse grass and was met with a patch of green stems, like a blossom without its petals. Peters brows furrow. What a funny lookin’ flower.

Crouching down, Peter plucks the base of a stem with all its remaining puffballs, cupping his hand in the direction of the wind so it wouldn’t fly away. He grinned, standing up again and inspecting it. It looked peculiar, and rather outlandish. Just his style.

He was halfway through tucking the flower carefully into his back pocket before something slammed into him, sending Peter tumbling into a jagged pile of rubble and fragments of serrated wood.

Motherfucker! He groaned, feeling a searing pain shoot through his stomach. A pile of dust shot up into the air almost comically, leaving a tangy taste on his tongue. Bleh. With feeble limbs, Peter lifted himself onto his elbows, looking down from his cracked goggles to shakily unzip his uniform halfway, revealing a hefty patch of crimson fluid staining his white undershirt. Scraps of wreckage tore holes through the fabric, revealing shallowish wounds littering his chest and stomach. Fuck!

Peter blinked slowly, turning his gaze to try and detect who or what had struck him. Just to the right of his aching body, a sizable slab of concrete stuck out of the ground, that had presumably collapsed from a nearby building.

How fuckin’ embarrasin’! Peter was probably gonna scar from this incident, and he would have to tell people the ‘heroic’ tale of how it went down? That he was assaulted by a chunk of rock? The students barely respected him from the whole classroom debacle with you the day prior; how were they ever gonna treat him with high regard now?

That’s right. You. How were you gonna react when he tells you? ‘Oh, How am i doin’, sweetcheeks? Thank yer for askin’, i got a real wild story fer these battle scars. What was it, ya ask? Hand-to-hand combat with buildin’ material. Sexy, right?’

Yeah, no. He had already embarrassed himself enough around you.

Once he had been strapped back into his seat, with the help of Hank, Peter now had to endure two hours of throbbing pain, and Scott giggling next to him.

Peter slumped into his seat, whining into his dust-cracked hands. “What the fuck am I gunna tell her, man? I can’t keep on embarrassin’ myself like this!”

“Don’t worry too much, dude, you’ll forget about this in no time.” Scott assured, smiling and placing a hand on his shoulder, before screwing his face up and wiping the dust frantically on his sleeve. Peter hummed, albeit confused. When was Scott ever the one to give Peter actual reassurance?

“All in all, it’s just another brick in the wall, man.” Ah, there it was. Peter slowly turned to face Scott, deadpanning and watching the boy’s shoulders shake from silent laughter.

Scott shrieked as Peter shook his head like a wet dog, showering his best friend in a flurry of dust.

Once the flight had come to a halt, Peter limped through the mansion's corridors, hobbling to the living room couch as he was in too much pain to climb the few flights of stairs to his room.

Peter grumbled into the couch, eyes hooded as he melted into the material, ready to fall asleep.

And then you came barreling into the room. Peter sat up as you rushed into the room, nudging him into the back of the couch and placing your knees either side of his quivering hips, clutching his face. Peter really wished he had showered now.

“Take off your shirt.” Come again? Were Peter’s wounds making him hallucinate some filthy apparatition?

He blinked. “Eh?”

“When did you get back? No one told me you got back and I've been worried like crazy. You were four hours late, Peter!” You stressed, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide. “Kurt told me you were injured! Did the mutant hurt you? He said you went flyin’ into rubble and practically got impaled!”

You were speaking in such quick succession that it had impressed Peter by your pace. He merely blinked once more, too caught up with your smooth hands against his cheeks and your frantic words. You were worried about him?

“I’m fine, babe.”

You glance down to his stomach, however you couldn’t see much of anything due to the dark hue of his uniform. “I can’t believe you were impal-”

“Not that I don't appreciate yer concern fer me babe, but 'm fine.” You glared at him “Honest! It’s just a few scrapes. Nothin’ i can’t handle.” he grinned, attempting to ease you up a little.

Despite Peter’s best efforts, you still seem just as on edge as before. Taking your hands off his cheeks, he whined at the loss of warmth, chasing your touch. Instead, you reach down to grasp hold of the zipper at the top of his ensemble, zipping it down to just above his hips. His mouth makes a small ‘o’ before contorting into a lazy smirk, glancing up at you.

“Easy there, tiger.”

A glimpse of his stained undershirt tells you all you need to know. You meet his gaze anxiously as Peter gives you a guilty grin, shrugging his shoulders at being called out. “Okay, maybe it’s slightly worse than i let on but-”

“Take your shirt off.” You urge imperatively, and he flushes.

“I dunno babe, I'm like, supeerrr sore. I don't think I can do it by myself, yer gonna have to help me.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. It was blatantly obvious Peter was flirting, any common idiot could tell. But he looked pretty beaten up, and you were mostly sure that moving him around too much would not feel too great for the speedster, so you obliged.

You lift his shirt up in gradual intervals, keeping your focus on the garment as he grins straight at you, clearly wanting to catch you peeking a glance at his body.

“Normally I'd be buyin’ yer dinner before showin’ off the goods… but-” Peter cuts off as you peel the shirt away from one particularly deep wound, the skin sticking to the material. You whisper apologies, lifting the shirt off his head and discarding it to the side. You glanced back down.

Peter noticed your blatant staring and looked up at you, tilting his head to the side. "So are you goin’ ter look me up and down like that ‘er are yer gunna patch me up?"

“Shush, ‘m not looking at you like anythin’!”

“Mhm, sure yer weren’t sugar.” He beamed. You redden, his thoughts transmitting like a beacon through his facial expression.

“Dont make this sexual..” You mutter, avoiding his gaze as you look around for the medkit you brought with you. Peter follows your movements with his gaze, head leaning back to rest of the edge of the couch whilst you shuffled about the room.

“Now what fun would that be, hm? Can’t I enjoy some attention from a beautiful woman like you?”

With the supplies you return to your earlier position, standing over his shirtless body and desperately trying to keep your thoughts at bay.

Finally taking a closer glance, you see his wounds, shallow, but littering his stomach and chest. There was a fairly large but not too serious cut on the right side of his abs and you lightly gasp, your fingertips reaching for it. “Can I touch you?”

Peter groaned “Ooh, yer can touch me anywhere yer want sugar.”

Choosing to ignore him, you open the first aid box with a satisfying click, taking out a roll of bandages, cotton pads and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, placing it down on the couch next to you. As you do so Peter takes a deep breath, letting him savor the scent of your perfume before the alcohol’s smell eclipsed it.

“So are ya my nurse now?” Peter observes “Kinky. Didn't know yer were into roleplay, but i'm not gonna lie, im kinda diggin’ it babe.”

You choke, smacking his arm. Too far, maximoff.

Peter winces, “Hey! Do ya hit all yer patients? This is medical malpractice right here! I was just sayin- this is like the start to every porno ive ever see-” he hisses as you press down the alcohol soaked cotton pad on his wound.

“Sorry, this may sting a little.” you say half apologetically.

“Well it don't mean anythin’ if yer warn me after, babe!” He whimpers, reaching to grab your hips for support from your position above him. You suppress the urge to rut into his lap, continuing your cleaning as you feel an onslaught of slick ooze from your core. You tried to keep in the sigh, but it fell so easily from your mouth at his touch.

“Ouch. Ow. Ow, ow oW OW!! Babe?! Does the word ow mean anythin’ to yer? Ye- agh-OW!” Peter shrieks, and you wince at the voice crack “Jesus christ! Who taught yer how to tend to people’s injuries? A construction worker with a jackhammer? OW!”

Despite his clear pain you stifle a laugh, swiping more gently this time. “It’s all part of the process, Peter. I’m trying to help you here.”

“Oh really? Are yer tryna help me or finish the fuckin’ job, babe?!”

A moment of tranquility passes, and just before you think Peter will stay quiet and let you get on with your work his voice drops, a sultry tone now teasing your ears. “I've got ter say babe.. when I pictured ya with yer hands roamin’ my chest, the wound was conspicuously absent.” You failed to keep in your reaction this time, a shuddery whimper leaving your mouth as you tense. Peter bites his lip, grin impossibly wide and his hands snaking around your hips.

You feel him pull you in closer and you oblige, facing him as you sit down onto his lower thighs as carefully as you can, not wanting to cause him any further strain. He grins.

“Okay, one more cut to clean and I'm done, yes? Then you can be bandaged up.” Clearing your throat, you await his response.

Peter inhales, screwing his eyes shut in preparation “M’kay, ‘m ready. Jus- FUCK.” You press the cotton ball onto his wound, watching as his muscles tense up and he grips onto your hips for support. Chewing on his lip in anguish, his head throws back once more. You refrain from looking at his adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat.

His tight grip on your hips loosen after a minute and you hum, proceeding to unravel the bandages and wrap them around his torso.

Peter looks at you seriously for a moment, breaking the silence in a much more apologetic way this time. “ ‘M Sorry about blowin’ the whole movie thing, I know yer wanted to go out after i got back.. I guess this will have to be our version of a first date, huh?” He chuckles half heartedly, but his eyes oozed regret and mourning for your date to the theatre.

You move a slither of hair out of his eyes, smiling. “I don't mind either way, we could always go out another time, yeah? And no one predicted you were gonna get hurt like that, it’s not your fault, Peter.”

“Yeah, thanks babe.” your heart clenches as his dimples show through his toothy smile.

Clearing his throat, Peter’s large hands splayed across the small of your back, sliding you from his lower thighs to be flush against his crotch. He grins cheekily as you gasp, feeling his semi hard cock through the soft material of his unzipped uniform.

Hands laying to rest on his bare shoulders, you smooth your thumb over his collarbone. You move your other hand down from his left shoulder, your fingertips grazing down his arm before reaching his hand. Gently coaxing his grasp away from your hip, you interlace your fingers, clasping them together as his other hand frames your jaw.

“Hey.. uh, I think I might have a little scratch up here on my lip. I don't s’pose yer would be interested in checkin’ it out, doc?” Peter’s sweet, chocolate browns shed a spicier shade when he captures your gaze.

Your body answers before you can talk, tongue wetting your lips, leaving him in suspense for a moment.

You faux sigh in thought, “I guess I can’t leave a patient suffering. It would be medical malpractice, and I always make sure my patient gets the care he deserves.”

Peter’s eyes dilate then, and you begin to question whether or not he was joking about the roleplay kink. Alas, you had no more time to ponder as he didn’t waste a single second, bumping your nose against his before seizing your lips.

Kissing him sensually, your tongue swims smoothly against his as you move to scrape your fingers across his scalp. Whining in response, Peter’s head lolls back at the stimuli as you nibble his lower lip. You could feel Peter’s cock twitch and you grind slowly against it, eliciting a filthy moan from his mouth into yours.

As you swallow and get over the initial wave of adrenaline, a bitter and rather tangy taste invades your mouth, forcing you to pull back as Peter chases your lips. You place a hand to his chest, breathing hard and scrunching your face up. “Bleh!”

Peter’s half lidded gaze snaps back open as he observes your clear disgust, swiping his tongue over his own lips in questioning. “Uh- yer.. yer alright over there? I know ‘m sorta outta practise but-“

You swipe your thumb over your lips, noticing a few specks of dust covering them. Peter notices and brings a hand to his forehead, slapping himself at his idiocy.

“Shit! Sorry, babe. I totally just crashed here when i got back, forgot about the whole.. grime situation.” Peter grimaces, cursing himself under his breath, “Way to kill the fuckin’ mood, Maximoff.”

To his surprise, you only lean in closer, batting your eyelashes at him. “Patients have to be clean before assessments can begin. Standard procedure. I hope you don’t mind if I scrub you down?”

Your sultry voice forces a heat to pool in Peter’s belly, and he chokes on his own groan, pupils dilating further.

Fwip. You don’t even get the chance to scooch off his lap before Peter had you in his bathroom, shirtless and with his navy uniform dangling around his v-line. Another Fwip and Peter turned on the shower before pulling your back against his chest, tugging at your t-shirt as a silent plea of desperation and unbridled horniness.

Your mouth parts as his head dips into your shoulder. You swore you could hear the faintest of whimpers leave his mouth as he tenderly kisses your clothed shoulder, his lips humming small vibrations of aroused distress.

What choice did you have but to comply?

As you turned around, undressing yourself before him, Peter’s eyes drunk you in, his eyebrows twitching and his teeth sinking into his lip at your little strip show. Down to the last few articles of clothing, you removed your underwear slowly, a thread of wetness connecting your pussy with the soaked fabric.

“Jesus Christ.” He muttered, his hands quivering as you then slung your t-shirt somewhere around the room, eager to surge forward and grasp at every part of your body.

You smiled, flattered yet unsure of what to do, your eyes too preoccupied with Peter’s uniform, of which was slowly sliding down his hips, revealing the black band of his underwear.

“So.. nurse, I think 'm ready fer my physical.” Peter chuckled, observing proudly as your breathing sped up rapidly, gazing at his torso.

“Need any help undressing?” You asked, motioning to his bandaged chest and bruised arms. “It must be sore.”

“Yes please, nurse.” Peter replied flirtatiously, maintaining his character as patient. You stalk over to him, getting on your knees as you start pulling his uniform and boxers down as slowly as possible without Peter getting frustrated. As you do so, you notice his painfully hard dick slapping upwards from its confines. Smiling, you innocently glance up at Peter’s blushing state, inching forward as if you were about to…

Peter’s cock twitched and he gasped as you surged forward, only to completely pass where he needed you most as you teasingly peck the inside of his thigh, eyes still boring into his own.

“C’mon babe.. That ain’t playin’ fair.” A mix between a whine and a growl left Peter’s throat as you stood up to face his pleading eyes. Taking his face in your palms, your soft lips tease him by brushing against his lips, but not yet giving in to kissing him.

“I think It’s best if I check your temperature orally first.” You mumble. Capturing his lips roughly, your kiss turns into a wet, dueling passion. As you battle for dominance, Peter kicks off the clothing pooling around his ankles, guiding you backwards and into the awaiting shower.

Hot water cascades over you as he pulls you close again, diving in for another heated kiss that you’re all too eager to return.

You have no idea how long your tongues swirl around one another, but eventually a hand grips your wrist and tugs you away. You go easily, and when you look up at Peter, he grins giddily and places a bar of soap in your hands. You lick your lips, this time no longer unwelcomed by the taste of dust and plastering, but of Peter.

The room becomes stuffy as the water from the shower starts to get hot. You sigh as the hot water caresses your skin, or maybe it was from Peter running his hands over your body. They stop on your breasts before gently squeezing them, looking down at you with a dopey grin. You throw your head back as the water runs over your chest.

As Peter prodded and squeezed your tits like they were some new gadget you began the slow, worshipful task of running your soapy hands across his chest, making sure to leave the bandaged areas alone.

"I would really appreciate it if you communicated every ache, any pain that needs tendin’ to, sir." You say, moving to whisper the words in his ear sweetly, the filthy undertones dripping from your tongue.

Peter pauses briefly before managing to regain control over himself, grabbing your arm and pulling you impossibly close. He nuzzles into your neck as he whispers back in a playful manner. "I've got one in a specific place. Maybe yer could help me by usin’ those magic hands of yours, doc?"

"Mhh, or do you need me to kiss it better, Peter?" You tease, licking your bottom lip suggestively before biting the plump flesh with a wink.

Peter’s face turns into a huge blush and his heartbeat starts accelerating even more as he watches you move in close, staring into his eyes. His mind goes absolutely blank and he can only stare at you in shock. His breathing becomes heavier as he looks at your lips and how you bite them; and with that a strange flurry of stammers leave his mouth.

“Nghnaawhaaaaat?”

"Peter? Can you show me where it hurts, honey?" You continue to tease him with a pout. God, you were such a fuckin’ brat.

He can't help but feel both embarrassed and surprised at how forward your question is. He clears his throat "Uh... R-Right here, doll..." He says in a nervous manner as his blush deepens even more, then he points at his twitching cock. You follow his line of sight and smile, watching as beads of pre-cum drizzle out of his tip.

"Aww, poor baby. How long has it been hurting?" You furrow your brows, a mischievous look in your eyes as you place your hands on his chest, traveling downwards.

Peter looks at you with a shocked expression for the fifth time that night, tilting his head much like a puppy as he watches you in awe.

Shiit... Are you really doing this? It’s a good thing you didn’t fully embrace the doctor-patient performance with a stethoscope and all, because you’d certainly be worrying about the freakishly-fast roadrunner beat Peter’s heart was jammin’ to. Fuck.

"Do you want me to kiss it better, baby?" You quiz sweetly.

Peter starts to feel his breath getting heavier as his heart is racing faster, wayy too fuckin’ fast. "Ah... Y-Yeah..." He replies softly, still feeling his face turn into a brighter red as he slowly nods.

Every nerve in his body went on high alert as Peter watched your fingers close around his aching cock and move over the swollen flesh. A tortured gasp escaped his lips, and he threw his head back against the shower wall, panting; it felt so good, your smooth palm creating a delicious friction. He thrust forward into your hand, wanting you to continue, his shame at being naked and aroused gone entirely.

Your face was still close. Close enough to observe his face, fascinated at the raw sensuality flickering across it. Drops of water freckled Peter’s cheeks and forehead; you weren't sure if it was the spray from the shower or his own sweat. His mouth was open slightly, and his rough breathing was causing yours to speed up as well. You smoothed your hand back down his wet length and drew the other hand down to cup his balls.

Peter hissed loudly and pushed his hips forward again, cursing. You couldn't tear your eyes from his profile; he was flushed, his lips dusky and moist, the silver of his eyelashes standing out against his fevered cheek. Simply delectable, and you wanted to have a taste.

The touch of your lips on his neck brought Peter to the surface as you pressed your breasts to his chest, your lips everywhere. They ghosted over his collarbone, shoulder, neck and jaw before closing over his earlobe. He moaned, turning, seeking out your lips.

Peter's eyes opened as you released your hands from him. In no time Peter had locked lips with you once more, in a clash of teeth and moisture; whether it was spit or water you weren’t entirely sure. He raised his hands to your breasts at the same time your tongue parted the seam of his lips, and the two of you moaned together before fusing your open mouths.

Your eyes fluttered closed as Peter ground the raised centers of your nipples into his large palms, then rubbed a thumb over each in rhythm. Your initial intentions were to tease the ever-loving shit out of the speedster, but you couldn’t but melt into a puddle at his tender touches.

Peter’s erection was pressing into your belly, hard as steel. You ground against it, wanting it lower and inside, quickly losing your intention to mess around. Abruptly breaking the kiss to breathe, you quirked an eyebrow at Peter. "So, have you made up your mind?"

"Wha-?" He was adorably confused, his pupils dilated in the shadowy light. You grinned and reached between yourselves to stroke along his cock lightly, picking up the trickle of pre-cum on his cockhead and rubbing it around the smooth, ragingly red area.

Lightly pushing Peter back under the full spray, you sank to your knees in front of him. Handling him gently, you sucked the tip of him into your mouth, savoring the much nicer tangy sensataaion.

"Oh Fuck," The speedster moaned on a sharp inhalation of breath. This was progressing past the realm of sweaty-palm fantasies and straight into the embodiment of every pornographic dream he'd ever had; only those dreams had never felt quite so hot.

Your mouth was liquid fire over him, your tongue circling and teasing, making him grow even larger.

He resisted the urge to grab your head and thrust into your mouth like he had seen in the pornos, giving you free reign over his pleasure. Instead Peter coursed his hands through your damp hair, giving you wordless pats of praise when you traced up a particularly sensitive vein.

Already weak at the knees from your mouth, Peter nearly shot when he looked down and caught you watching him with feverish eyes. The image was so blatantly erotic, he couldn't help but complete it by curling his fingers deeper into your hair.

The slight jerk of his hands on your scalp told you that Peter was close to going completely out of control. His slight grunt and increased participation, in turn, increased your enthusiasm. Releasing your grip around the base of his cock, you tried to take him deeper. This you had tried before with varying amounts of success, usually gagging as the overzealous recipient tried to choke you.

However, with an untried Peter, you were having a great deal more success with the technique.

After figuring out how to time your breathing with the motions, you crept forward and began in earnest, taking Peter in until your nose touched his silvery pubic hair. His hands tightened again, and this time his whimper of pleasure was louder, needier.

He was so close, water pounding his chest, blood pounding in his ears, lips, tongue and friction at the center of it all.

Nearly mindless now, searching for that sweet release, Peter thrust forward a bit, searching for the movement that would send him over the edge. When he encountered no resistance from you, he thrust his hips in rhythm with your mouth until he could take no more.

You could feel Peter's flesh tightening and knew he was ready to blow a load. He tried to push you away before he let go, but you gripped the back of his thighs tightly and sucked hard, an explosion of cum shooting down your throat and tongue.

You gagged a little when the first stream hit the back of your throat, but you recovered enough to hear the incoherent whines Peter made. Another grunt escaped from him as you rubbed your soft tongue over the underside of his dick, moving over the pulsating veins there.

It was all Peter could do to keep from crumpling as he shot harder than he ever had in his life, knees weak from the sheer force of it.

If you hadn't been there to maintain the grip on his legs, he would have melted into a pile of jelly at your knees.

Once you had ridden out his orgasm and released him you stood back up, pushing back the soaken strands of hair that hung off his forehead. Peter grinned, chest heaving as he watched your tongue come out, licking a spot of his release you had missed on your lip.

“Feeling any better, sir?”

Again, Peter felt tongue-tied. He wasn't sure what to say or do. Even though he'd had the most soul-sucking orgasm of his life, his dick was still half-hard. Typical speedster sex drive.

The water was still hot, yet wouldn’t be lasting for much longer. He had to make this count.

Your breasts brushed his chest again when Peter leaned in to capture your lips with his. A slight squeak of surprise escaped you when he separated the seam of your lips with his tongue and pushed forward aggressively. Your tongues duelled, battling for position. Peter could taste the musky odor of his own arousal on your lips, strangely exotic. His hands were tender when he lifted the weight of your breasts in his hold.

Nothing in his fantasies matched the feel of your nipples as he circled over them. Softly puckered flesh dragged under the smooth calluses of his thumbs, causing you to moan softly and push your torso against his.

Straightening up, Peter grasped your waist tightly and with a smirk, swiftly spun you around, pushing you forward into the shower wall.

You let out a hiss as your nipples came in contact with the cold tiles, them becoming painfully hard. Peter gently pushed your hair aside before placing a chaste kiss on your neck; you moved your head to the side, allowing him better access.

Peter rested his forehead between your shoulder blades as the water ran down his back. He took a deep breath in, trailing a hand down your back before pulling back and slapping your ass. The loud moan that fell from your lips made him chuckle, "You've done yer job doc, now yer need payment.”

You nodded your head as you whimpered, feeling yourself become more and more turned on and unbelievably wet. You feel Peter’s tip rubbing your folds, spreading your moisture around as you whimper in anticipation.

You looked back over your shoulder to Peter glancing down at where you two meet. Raising an eyebrow, you went to say something but Peter's quick thrust into you made all the air in your lungs escape. You were wet enough that it didn’t hurt, but the delicious stretch it provided you made your eyes roll back into your head.

Hands slipping as you try to hold onto something, your breasts bounce into the wall as you whimper, legs spreading further so Peter could fully enter you.

Without stopping and with a thoughtful hum, Peter reached up towards the detachable shower head and flicked the setting to a steady stream of fast water, pulling it down.

You could hear him doing something and looked back over your shoulder to see him messing with the shower head, "Are you about to-" You let out a cry as you felt the pressure from the water on your clit, "Shi- shit! Peter!" The pleasure making your eyes roll back.

You attempt to snap your thighs shut, trying to escape the intense pressure on your bundle of nerves. Peter, however, had other plans as he huffs breathlessly, lips dragging up the sensitive skin of your neck. He nips at your ear, using a free hand to spread your legs apart.

“Yer need to keep ‘em spread for me. Y-yer can do that fer me, can’t ya, babe?” He grunts into your ear. You whimper, nodding.

“That’s a- f-fuck.. good girl.”

In a carnal rage, a clatter sounds as Peter drops the shower head, gripping your hips with both hands as he fucks up into you, leaning his bodyweight onto yours to give him more leverage. The faster he fucked into you, the faster the feeling of your climax crested. This one felt different, more intense, and you both knew it.

You make a pitiful noise, again and again as Peter drives his cock into your cunt, hitting your G-spot every single time.

“Therrre she is. Is that it, yeah? That spot feel good, honey?” You could feel Peter’s grin against your throat. “Yer squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight. Can yer hear that?”

The slick sounds of his cock fucking into you was loud over your pants for air, and you nodded weakly. You felt slick and pre-cum run down your thighs as Peter moved in and out of your heat in rapid succession, much like an animal in heat. "I think yer might even squirt fer me, doc.”

A shuddered moan fell from your lips before you agree. Sharp, white hot pleasure tore through your body, from head to toe, and you keened as Peter forced himself deeper. "Yer pushin' me out, babe-lemme in, need to feel it," he moaned. "Fuck, yer so pretty; that's it, that- Fuck!"

You felt the dampness of your thighs before you could comprehend the heightened pleasure, and you glanced down to watch Peter’s lower half become soaked from your climax. "Oh-" You turned your head as much as you could to face him, eyes half lidded.

From his position behind you, Peter crashed his lips to yours and forced his tongue into your mouth, fucking it languidly while his hips stuttered in their rhythm. You panted as he pulled back, his breath fanning over your spit-slick lips.

"I need ter cum, baby-" he pleaded, thrusting deeper.

"Please, please-lemme cum in-"

"Yes," you rasped, nodding. “Please- i need you to cum in me so bad-”

Peter groaned and shuddered. He lowered his head to your shoulder and rested his forehead on vour collarbone. You could hear him panting over the slapping of skin and slick noises of his cock in your cunt, and you matched his thrusts in an attempt to bring him closer to the edge.

"Oh, fuck," he rasped. Each thrust sent a shock of pleasure curling up your spine, but you brushed it off, intent on making Peter cum - you squeezed around him and circled your hips. The whimpery noises he makes only make you clench harder, wrapping him in a vice you never want to let go of.

Suddenly, the hot spray of water turns cold and you gasp, arching your back and clamping yourself down on Peter’s cock with all the strength you could muster, tipping him over the edge.

“I-ngh.. Shit!” Peter panted and his hips faltered, a warmth soon blooming in your cunt, filling you up to the brim and leaking out of your quivering body.

The slow, rocking rhythm Peter set with his hips soothed you, bringing you slowly down from your high while he descended from his. "Fuckin' hell, babe," he murmured, and he kissed you on the lips, then the forehead.

The room is full of the scent of arousal, and it makes you feel high up in the clouds, filling your head with the syrupy-sweet fuzziness of speedy contentment.

You must have zoned out for a little bit, because the next thing you’re aware of is the sound of the shower being turned off, and strong yet shaking arms scooping you up off your feet. You were deposited outside the walls of the shower, and then a soft towel is being worked around your body, collecting the droplets of water falling off your hair and frame.

"Let's get yer warmed up, babe."

Before long, you’re bundled up in a bathrobe, hair perfectly brushed out, and being placed gently onto the couch you had been making out with Peter on not too long ago. The volume of the TV had been lowered, allowing you to hear Peter's soft mumblings of praise in your hair as he lays below you, arms cradling you to his chest. His sweatpants feel comfy against your bare legs, and your palms rest on the cotton of his white t-shirt he had changed into.

“Can we watch The Empire Strikes Back?” Peter murmurs into your hair, making you grin as it takes you back to the day you met him in the auditorium. Humming contently, you fish your hand down the side of the sofa in search of the tv remote. You furrow your brows however as you feel something rather furry brush against your fingertips.

Pinching it between your two fingers you pluck it out of the couch, inspecting the small… seed?

Peter’s eyes follow your gaze as he gasps softly in remembrance, craning his head to the side to see an abundance of dandelion seeds littering the couch. Peter frowned. He had forgotten about the strange flower he had plucked due to the abrupt slab of concrete disrupting his day. The seedlings must have fallen out of his uniform when you were tending to his wounds.

“Shit! That was meant ter be a surprise, babe.” Peter frowned sulkily, plucking the puffball from your fingertips. “I found these weird lookin’ flowers on the mission and wanted to show them to yer. Thought i discovered a new species er somethin’.”

Despite your heart warming at the kind yet failed gesture, you laughed. “Peter, honey, they’re dandelions. Weeds.” You grinned, watching as his mouth forms an ‘o’ in realization.

“But.. at least they’re rare, right?”

You thin your lips out into a line whilst shaking your head, trying not to laugh as the speedster groans, throwing his head back.

“Ugh, I could’ve totally avoided that wall if it weren’t fer these fuckin’ things,” Peter drops the dandelion seed, letting it float to the polished wooden floor. “All that fer nothin’!”

You snuggle further against him, grazing around his bandages with a confused expression. “I do appreciate the gesture, but I thought you got these from the fight? Not from.. A wall?” You appear more perplexed as you try to imagine the scenario. “Did you.. run into it or somethin’?”

Peter sighed. Another point to add too his ‘you royally suck, dude!’ tally chart. How many times had he embarrassed himself before you now, five?

“No, it-” He grimaced “-it slammed into me.” He watched as you squinted your eyes, picturing how it went down. “Don’t fret though, babe, I totally showed it who’s boss. Knocked some sense into it.” He grinned, stroking your drying hair.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” You grin, tracing further down the trail of wounds and scratches. “Seems like it knocked more sense into you, though.”

Peter scoffed, waving his hand in dismissal before looking down at you, smiling lopsidedly. “Do I get a lolly fer bein’ so brave, doc?”

He smirks at your flushed expression and you still for a moment, before reaching into your bathrobe pocket and pulling out the panties you had strewn across the bathroom earlier. Peter's eyes widen.

“Here, take these.” You say simply, lazily dropping the material into his hand. Peter beams, face dusted pink. He’ll find some use for those, you’re sure. It won’t be a surprise if you find them framed up in his room, next to his Greta Van Fleet poster.

The next morning you change, treading down the corridor into the living room. Scott is slung across the sofa’s armrest watching the news as Jean sits on the other end by his socked feet, reading a book. Kurt and Ororo share a large armchair nearby, also watching the TV as Peter leans against a wall, sipping a steaming cup of coffee. Not like he needs it anyway.

As you walk in Peter raises his mug at you, nodding and grinning toothily as you greet him back. You silently hope he hadn’t mentioned the prior events to the others.

You ask Scott to turn the volume up and he groans tardily, reaching down the back of the sofa to fish for the remote. You go into shock, however, when he furrows his brows, pulling out a lacy pair of underwear instead. Your underwear.

Scott holds them up in the air with his index finger and thumb, flushing wildly and looking around the room in search of answers. Jean lowers her book, giving you a disapproved stare before continuing her new read of the day. Ororo squeals in laughter and Kurt goes a deep shade of bluey purple, his gaze anywhere but your panties.

“Well, what do we have here?” You could hear the smugness through Scott’s voice as you look wildly across the room to Peter. He only hums, as if in question, no doubt reminiscing on the memories of last night as he sips his coffee, pleased.

You meet his eyes, desperately searching for something to say as he winks at you, strolling up behind the couch to inspect your underwear like he didn’t know whose they were.

Sighing in relief, you thought you were going to get away with it, the embarrassment slowly ebbing out of your head; that was until Peter’s voice piped up.

“Babe, I swear those are your panties, right?”

Okay, maybe Peter was a little bit of a jackass.

[taska-rokanh]

Befriending Spock Headcanons

My first Star Trek content! Spock is my favorite character by far and I feel like he needs some love. A lot of my Star Trek content will be romantic, but I feel like especially with Spock, it's necessary to explore the first steps of just becoming friends, because it's harder to break down his walls and he's not one to just act on attraction at first sight.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.1 k

- People have very different, often very polarizing opinions on Commander Spock. You'd heard more than enough stories about how cold, calculating, unforgiving, and inhuman he was. 

- But when you met him, all you could think was that he was so cool.

- He was incredibly intelligent, capable of making smart and informed decisions regarding basically any situation that affected the ship in minutes, and always acted with absolute certainty. Despite that, he did not want a command of his own and readily accepted his own mistakes, readjusting accordingly. What was there not to admire?

- You tried your best to be friendly, but you knew it was a long shot. Not only was he a Vulcan, he was your commanding officer. You weren't sure how he regarded any sort of personal relationship, really.

- Still, you found yourself engaging him in light conversation in the halls, the mess hall, or the lift. You broke it off quickly if it didn't seem like he wanted to talk, which surprisingly was very infrequent. If you got him talking about science, or the history and philosophy of Vulcan, it was quite easy to get him to talk.

- Spock is... I'm not sure how he would describe it, but I suppose, pleasantly surprised to find someone that not only tolerates his discussion of such topics, but actively pursues them.

- Whether you know it or not, you've chosen the most effective method of breaking the ice.

- Spock encourages this by consulting you on data that is outside of the normal scope of your duties as often as possible. He enjoys being challenged, and surmises that you must, as well. You have a natural curiosity and a scientific mind, one that with proper training could even attain his level of authority in time. These discussions don't feel like replacement training sessions so much as informal academic chatter, though.

- Spock starts to show that he considers you a friend through verbal encouragement first. It's often very dry and hard to detect, but it's there.

- He once corrected you regarding a postulation you'd made when analyzing some data that was adjacent to your field. You said, "Oh, right, that makes more sense. Sorry, I'm a little stupid sometimes," out of habit, something that you knew you should probably grow out of.

- He looked at you, perplexed. "Ensign, you should not insult yourself for being unaware of a highly specialized piece of information that allowed me to see the facts in this particular light. Every scientist, no matter how intelligent, has their blind spots."

- You smiled at his encouragement before raising your eyebrow in doubt. "Even you?"

- Spock hesitated for a moment before considering his ineptitude in handling his friendship with his captain and now, it appeared, you as well. "Of course."

- You didn't believe him, but thought it was sweet of him to say so. "Thanks, Commander."

- "You may call me Mr. Spock, or Spock, if you prefer."

- "Sure thing, Mr. Spock."

- The Mr. gets dropped shortly after.

- Every smile you manage to get out of him is an absolute treasure, as it is very rare. Something tells me that the first smile he gives you would be in a situation in which you are distressed and he is trying to reassure you, perhaps he sustained a nasty injury and you are very concerned. The smile is fleeting and feels a little unnatural, but the effort he put into it was enough to convince you that he would recover. little did you know there was little effort expended--seeing your care for him, it was almost irresistible.

- Every smile you give him is treasured by him, though they are so much more frequent. It is true that humans smile with so little provocation, but it's still nice to know sometimes that he's the reason and not the butt of some joke (looking at you, Kirk and Bones)

- There are two facts about Vulcans that are very relevant to this situation: 1) Vulcans are touch telepaths, meaning that touch is very, incredibly personal and reserved for special situations (except for Sarek and Amanda cuz they're whores), and 2) Vulcans are, in fact, very emotional people.

- Keeping these facts in mind, there must be some way for Spock to express his feelings of appreciation and camaraderie for you, and it cannot be in the average human manner (handshakes, pats on the back, high fives)

- So instead, he takes a more vested interest in your wellbeing, asking if you've eaten, drank water, slept, etc. especially when you've come back from an away mission and are busy analyzing new data.

- You often seem to find each other following each of the Enterprise's adventures. These are often time-sensitive and life-threatening, and as a low-ranking science officer, often your only orders are to stay put and protect yourself. 

- The first time or two after you've become friends, you try to hide how shaken you are--you know you're fine, really. You just can't help that your reaction to coming down off the adrenaline high is to literally shake and sometimes cry a bit.

- However, Spock sees through what you're trying to do and reassures you that you are safe. "I know."

- "I intended to convey that you are safe to express any emotions you may currently be experiencing."

- Oh.

- You usually end up sitting with Spock somewhere, your quarters, your lab, the mess hall, the holodeck, shaking and crying before recovering after a bit. The emotional expression always makes Spock a bit uncomfortable--not because he's disgusted by it, but because he doesn't have/doesn't feel comfortable expressing the skills or the emotional intelligence needed to interact with them. 

- His simply being there is enough. You recover in 15 minutes or so and can carry on as before.

- "Have you considered consulting Dr. McCoy regarding the management of your anxiety surrounding these events? They seem to cause you a high degree of stress."

- You shrugged. "It's just my body's response, it doesn't bother me," you reassured him. "Besides, I've got you."

- The feeling of being needed in a way not associated with his intelligence or his duty was unexpectedly welcome.

- In time, he comes to take a more active role, bringing you food and water while you're working or offering to make a bit of progress on your work while you take a short rest--Vulcans don't require as much sleep as humans, after all.

- After a while of this, you mention to him that you feel that you could be a more proactive friend, when he takes so much time and effort to look out for you, and ask him what you could do.

- He looks at you, perplexed. "Your presence in my life is quite sufficient," he assures you. "Your companionship proves to be a gratifying part of my daily routine in any measure."

- He has no idea how sweet he can be.

[the-badger-mole]

Swept Away

Katara took a deep breath. In through her nose. Out through her mouth. She wasn't nervous. Not really. Not in the sense that other people mean when they say they're nervous. She wasn't scared. She was eager. In a few short minutes, she would be a wife. She would be Zuko's wife. He was going to be her husband.

"Are you sure about this?" Suki asked for the thousandth time. "Really sure?"

"I am." Katara opened her eyes and turned to her sister-in-law. She couldn't fight the smile that spread over her face. "I'm more sure of this than anything in my life. Zuko's it. He's the one."

"Katara," Suki sighed. "Look, I get it. Zuko's incredibly hot. He's smart. He...seems really nice, but-"

"Suki," Katara started to say, but she didn't get a chance to complete her thought.

"Katara, you've known him three months!" Suki burst out. "You've only been dating for eight weeks! You are the most straight laced person I've ever met. Why are you doing something this...impulsive? You're not impulsive!"

"What are you talking about?" Katara turned from the mirror to face Suki directly. "I'm exactly this impulsive. Don't you remember Jang Hui? My protest about gender equality for STEM fields at the North Pole? The time I started a rally for prison reform?"

"Okay, fine," Suki relented, rolling her eyes. "When it comes to social justice, you are very impulsive. But, this? Katara, you're getting married! Without your dad here. Without your GranGran! I know how much they mean to you."

"They mean the world to me," Katara agreed. "But you know I've never cared about a huge wedding. I love Zuko. I love him. I don't see why I should have to wait to make him my husband just because it would take too long for Dad to fly over to see us get married. We'll have a big party...a huge one later. And everyone we love will get to meet and celebrate. But this feels right!"

"Right?" Suki snorted. "It feels right to get married without telling anyone but me and your brother?"

"Yeah," Katara said. A wistful smile tugged at her lips. "I know it sounds crazy, but...I can't wait to marry him. I literally cannot wait. I've never felt this way about anyone. You know! I know you do. Sokka told me you and he started talking about marriage two months in." Suki rolled her eyes skyward and groaned.

"Yeah, talking about it!" Suki repeated it. "We didn't actually get engaged until a year in! We got married on our second anniversary!"

"Zuko and I don't want to wait that long," Katara laughed. "So we've on a faster timeline. So what?"

"What if there are things you don't like about him?" Suki pressed. "What if he's....I don't know...super anal about the way you put toilet paper on the roll? What if he doesn't wash his feet in the shower? What if he...he hates cats?"

"Did you know Sokka's every annoying habit when you married him?" Katara challenged. Suki made a face at her and sucked her teeth.

"No," she admitted. "But I knew a few of them! I knew enough to know that I could deal with the biggest ones."

"So do I," Katara said. "I know that Zuko likes his food unreasonably spicy. I know that when he's angry, he shuts down and needs a day or two before he can talk about it calmly. I know he thinks rom-coms are a wasted of a perfectly good evening. But I also know that he already values my opinion and will make decisions with me. I know he's put in so much work unlearning toxic traits he was taught as a child, way before he and I met. I know he has the softest heart underneath the hard layers. In three months, he's become one of my closest friends. I trust him, and he trusts me. I love him, Suki. I want to marry him now.

"Um..." Suki swiped at her eyes with her knuckles, and blinked rapidly against more tears. "I get that. I do! I just don't want you to regret doing it this way. I don't want you to regret not having Dad here to walk you down the aisle. Or not having Gran Gran help you into your gown. Don't you want a first dance with Zuko?

Katara turned back to the mirror and considered her reflection. As a girl, she had pictured her wedding. Her dressed in silk and looking the best she's ever looked, and her father walking with her to meet her husband. It was exactly as Suki said, with her dancing with her new husband while people took pictures and tossed confetti. Her extended family together and celebrating.

"I don't need it," she told Suki. "Did you know that the only family that Zuko has is his uncle? His mother is dead. His father is a monster. His sister won't speak to him. He wouldn't be alone- he has friends- but, it wouldn't be the same. Plus crowds make him anxious.

"So he asked for this?" Suki frowned. "He wanted to get married at City Hall?

"No, this was my idea," Katara assured her best friend. "He said he was fine with whatever I wanted. But Zuko's an introvert, and a little agoraphobic. The only buffer he would have would be me and his uncle. He wouldn't enjoy himself. Not as much as I would want. There will be plenty of time later to celebrate with the people we love. But not all at once.

"Dad won't like it," Suki warned. Katara shrugged.

"He'll get over it once I explain it to him," she said. "And he'll love Zuko. They have a lot in common."

Suki stared at Katara for a long while, wracking her brains for something, anything to say to her sister-in-law. She came up frustratingly empty. She should have more objections to her best friend and sister marrying someone she's only known a few months. Katara was convincing. She was very convincing when she wanted to be. Finally, Suki threw her hands up in surrender. If Katara was making a mistake, then the next best thing Suki and Sokka could do was make sure they were at least close enough to help her if she needed it.

"Sokka's not thrilled," she told Katara. "I promised him I'd talk sense into you before it was too late."

"It's been too late for a while," Katara chuckled. Suki nodded and laughed with her.

"I see that now," she said. "Sokka's going to be so disappointed."

"I hope that won't cause any issues with you guys," Katara's brow drew down in worry. Suki just waved her off, though.

"Nah," she said. "I'll just tell him I'm pregnant if he gets too riled up." Katara gasped and leapt up from her seat.

"Are you joking?" she squealed. Suki grinned and shook her head.

"I just found out a couple of days ago," she said. "I was going to take him out to the game this weekend and have it announced on the jumbotron, but I'll use it to distract him from your questionable decision making if I need to."

"I'm so happy for you!" Katara said pulling Suki in for a hug. Suki hugged her back tightly.

"I'm happy for you, too." And to her surprise, Suki realized she meant it.

[muiitoloko]

Can we have something fluffy but smutty for Karl? Like a second part of the story of him and nurse reader?

Her nursing him to his prime self, being able to play with his son, take care of business, living his best life but avoiding the sex topic because they are a little scared to try and having something happen or going wrong with Karl’s heart but it goes exactly the opposite way, fantastic, cute and sexy since he is a real gentleman and macho lol

Title: Fragile Heart, Fierce Passion

Summary: Karl is determined to take care of you in any way he can.

Pairing: Karl Hoffmeister × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: Thank you so much for your request. I'm loving writing for Karl. There are so few (almost no) stories about him. We need more of Karl!

First and Second part here.

Also read on Ao3

Just as you promised, you took care of Karl and his son, Otto. Your days were a whirlwind of responsibilities, but you embraced each moment with determination and love. Karl, true to his word, put an engagement ring on your finger, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and vulnerability as he vowed to return to you in better health. The memory of his touch lingered, a constant reminder of the bond you shared.

Moving into Karl’s house marked a new chapter in your life. You balanced the delicate act of caring for Karl’s fragile health with the lively energy of young Otto. The boy, with his boundless curiosity and infectious laughter, quickly became the light of your life. Karl watched with quiet admiration as you seamlessly integrated into their world, your nurturing presence bringing a sense of normalcy and warmth to their home.

Karl’s business, a sprawling industrial empire, presented another challenge. At first, Karl was hesitant about involving you in his business affairs, a reflection of his deeply ingrained beliefs about gender roles. However, a single icy look and a raised eyebrow from you were enough to dispel his doubts. He realized that you were not only capable but determined to support him in every aspect of his life.

With resolute efficiency, you dived into managing the industries. Your mornings often began with reviewing reports and coordinating with Karl’s staff, ensuring that the operations ran smoothly despite his absence. You proved yourself to be an astute and resourceful leader, navigating the complexities of the business world with the same care and precision you applied to medicine.

Despite the demands of the business, you never neglected your primary role as Karl’s caregiver. You meticulously managed his medication, monitored his progress, and made sure he followed the doctor’s orders. Your evenings were spent by his side, sharing quiet moments of conversation and providing the emotional support he needed to keep fighting.

Otto, ever observant, often joined you in Karl’s study, where you taught him about the world of business and responsibility. His bright eyes sparkled with curiosity as he absorbed every word, eager to follow in his father’s footsteps. You took great care to balance these lessons with playtime, ensuring that Otto’s childhood remained joyful and carefree.

Karl’s initial reluctance about your involvement in his business gradually gave way to admiration and gratitude. He saw how your presence revitalized both his personal and professional life. The industries under your guidance thrived, and the respect of his employees for you grew with each passing day. Karl’s health showed signs of improvement, a testament to your unwavering dedication.

One evening, as you sat by Karl’s bedside, he took your hand in his, his eyes reflecting a deep sense of appreciation. “You’ve done so much more than I could have ever asked,” he said, his voice filled with emotion. “You’ve given me hope, strength, and a reason to fight. Thank you for being my rock.”

You smiled, gently squeezing his hand. “We’re in this together, Karl. I promised to take care of you and Otto, and I meant it. We’ll get through this, one step at a time.”

Karl nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. “And I have no doubt that we will,” he replied, his voice firm despite the underlying fatigue. “With you by my side, I feel like I can conquer anything.”

As you smiled and leaned in to kiss him, planning just a quick kiss to convey your affection, Karl surprised you by pulling you closer, his lips meeting yours with a hunger that mirrored your own longing. The kiss deepened, both of you losing yourselves in the intensity of the moment, fueled by years of unspoken desire and missed opportunities.

But as the passion threatened to consume you both, you hesitated, pulling back slightly despite the overwhelming urge to surrender to the heat of the moment. Karl held you close, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he looked at you with a mixture of desire and uncertainty.

You knew that taking things further with Karl was a risk, one that you were not willing to take lightly. As a doctor, you understood the dangers that his fragile health posed, and the thought of risking his well-being for the sake of a fleeting moment of pleasure was too great a gamble.

And Karl, despite his own desires, shared your apprehension. The fear of his own mortality loomed large in his mind, casting a shadow over the passion that burned between you. He longed to be close to you, to feel your touch and experience the depth of your love, but he couldn't shake the fear of what could happen if things went too far.

Still, the desire between you was undeniable, and Karl was determined to find a way to please you, even if it meant taking things slow and steady.

As Karl's lips trailed down your neck, his hands tender yet possessive, you couldn't help but feel a surge of desire coursing through your veins. But as much as you wanted to lose yourself in the passion of the moment, the doctor inside you screamed a warning, reminding you of Karl's fragile heart.

"Karl, we can't..." you protested weakly, trying to push him away even as his touch ignited a fire within you.

But Karl was relentless, pulling you closer to him with a strength born of longing and desire. "I need to take care of you, just as you've taken care of me and Otto," he murmured against your skin, his voice husky with need.

You tried to protest again, citing his heart condition as a reason to hold back, but Karl silenced you with a searing kiss, his lips capturing yours in a passionate embrace that left you breathless and wanting more.

As Karl's lips moved from your mouth to your earlobe, sucking and nibbling with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine, you couldn't help but moan in pleasure. His touch was electrifying, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you whole.

"Karl, please..." you whispered, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart. "We can't risk..."

But Karl wouldn't be deterred, his fingers tracing patterns along your skin as he begged softly against your ear. "Let me touch you," he pleaded, his voice filled with longing. "I need to feel you, to know that you're real."

You hesitated, torn between your desire for Karl and the fear of what could happen if things went too far. But when Karl's fingers dipped lower, brushing against your inner thigh with a feather-light touch, you couldn't hold back any longer.

With a reluctant nod, you gave in to the overwhelming need that consumed you both, allowing Karl to turn you around and pull you to sit between his legs. Your back pressed against his chest, his warmth enveloping you as he leaned against the headboard, his lips trailing kisses along the curve of your neck.

As his hand caressed your arms with a gentle yet possessive touch, you couldn't help but feel a surge of desire coursing through your veins. "Karl..." you gasped, your voice trembling with anticipation. "I want you."

Karl's response was a low growl of desire, his hands roaming over your body with a hunger that matched your own. "I need you," he whispered hoarsely, his breath hot against your skin. "Let me show you how much I want you."

You nodded, giving Karl the permission he sought, your heart racing with anticipation as his fingers trailed down your arm, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. His touch was gentle yet possessive, his hand cupping your breast through the fabric of your nightgown, causing you to moan softly in response.

As Karl's other hand continued its journey downward, caressing your thigh with a feather-light touch, you couldn't help but part your legs for him, eager for the intimate connection that awaited you. His touch left a trail of fire in its wake, igniting a hunger within you that demanded to be sated.

You watched with bated breath as Karl lifted your nightgown, exposing your panties to his hungry gaze. The anticipation of his touch left you trembling with desire, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you waited for him to make his move.

With a hungry look in his eyes, Karl leaned in closer, his fingers teasing the thin fabric of your panties as he felt the dampness that betrayed your arousal. His gaze met yours, filled with a mixture of desire and anticipation, as he sought your permission to proceed.

"Please, Karl," you whispered hoarsely, your voice thick with need. "I want you to touch me."

Karl's response was a low growl of desire as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "I've been dreaming of this moment, meine Liebe. I want to feel you, to taste you, to make you mine."

With trembling fingers, Karl hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down as he revealed your glistening folds to his hungry gaze. The sight of your exposed pussy filled him with a primal need to possess you, to make you his in every sense of the word.

As his fingers brushed against your wetness, you arched against him, your hips rising to meet his touch as he explored the depths of your desire. "Oh god, Karl," you moaned, your voice filled with need. "I need you inside me."

Karl's response was a hungry growl as he leaned in closer, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss that left you breathless and wanting more. "I'm going to make you mine, meine Liebe," he whispered against your lips, his voice thick with desire. "I'm going to claim you in ways you've never imagined."

With a surge of determination, Karl curled his fingers inside your pussy, groaning in pleasure as he felt your wetness enveloping him. The sensation was intoxicating, driving him to the brink of madness as he lost himself in the depths of your desire.

As you writhed against him, lost in the ecstasy of his touch, Karl's fingers worked their magic, exploring every inch of your pussy with a hunger that bordered on desperation. "You're so wet for me, meine Liebe," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I'm going to make you come undone, over and over again, until you beg me for mercy."

You whimpered, holding Karl's wrist. He paused, his fingers still buried deep inside you. His other arm wrapped around your waist, holding you firmly against him as you began to rock against his hand, seeking more of the delicious friction he provided.

But Karl didn't move his fingers, instead choosing to hold you in place, savoring the moment as he pressed his lips against your ear. His breath was hot against your skin as he praised your pussy, whispering words of admiration and desire that sent shivers down your spine.

"God, you're so beautiful," Karl murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I can't get enough of you, meine Liebe. Your pussy is so soft, so wet for me. I love the way you squeeze my fingers, the way you moan and whimper for more. You drive me wild, darling."

His words sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, the intensity of his desire matching your own as you rocked against his hand, craving more of his touch. But Karl had other plans, and he wasn't about to let you take control just yet.

"You're so tight, meine Liebe," Karl murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "I want to feel you around my cock so badly, but I can't risk it with my heart."

You whimper in response, craving his touch more than anything. His fingers are relentless, teasing and stroking your folds with a skill that only comes from years of longing and desire.

"Tell me, darling," Karl's voice is low and gravelly, his breath tickling your ear. "How many of my fingers can you handle inside you? You've got two in there already, and you're so tight."

Your hips instinctively move against his hand, seeking more of the delicious friction he provides. "I-I think I can take another one," you manage to gasp out, your voice trembling with need.

Karl chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "You're so eager for me," he murmurs, his fingers dipping lower, brushing against your entrance. "I love how you respond to me, meine Liebe."

As his fingers curl inside you, stretching you gently, you moan and arch your back, seeking more of him. "Please, Karl," you plead, your voice thick with desire. "I need more."

With a determined growl, Karl pushes a third finger into you, stretching you to accommodate his size. "You're doing so well for me," he praises, his breath hot against your skin. "I knew you could take it."

The sensation of being filled by Karl's fingers is overwhelming, and you writhe against him, lost in the pleasure of his touch. "Oh god, Karl," you moan, your voice echoing with need. "I need you, please."

Karl's other arm wraps around your waist, holding you firmly against him. "I've got you, meine Liebe," he assures you, his voice filled with tenderness. "I'll make you feel so good, I promise."

He begins to move his fingers inside you, setting a rhythm that drives you closer to the edge. "Does it feel good, darling?" he questions, his voice a low rumble. "Do you like how I touch you?"

You can only nod, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. "Yes, Karl," you gasp, your breath hitching with each movement. "I love it, please don't stop."

He continues to move his fingers, his touch relentless and teasing. "I love how you respond to me," he murmurs, his voice a soft rasp.

Karl’s fingers moved with a skill born of years of yearning and unspoken passion, exploring every inch of your core with a deliberate and intense touch. Each stroke, each caress sent ripples of pleasure through your body, making it difficult to focus on anything other than the sensations he was igniting within you.

"You're so beautiful like this, meine Liebe," Karl murmured against your ear, his voice a blend of desire and reverence. "So responsive, so eager for my touch."

As his fingers curled inside you, finding that perfect spot, you gasped and bucked against him, your back arching against his chest. His other hand cupped your breast through the fabric of your nightgown, squeezing gently as his thumb flicked over your nipple. The dual sensations left you breathless, teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

"Please, Karl," you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. "I need you so much."

Karl's breath was hot against your neck as he whispered, "I need you too, darling. But we must be careful. Your pleasure is my priority, but I cannot risk my heart giving out before I have the chance to fully love you."

Despite the haze of desire clouding your mind, his words brought a sliver of clarity. You knew the risks involved, knew how fragile his health was, but the craving for his touch, for his love, was overwhelming. "Just... take it slow," you murmured, your voice a soft plea.

Karl's fingers moved more deliberately, slower but no less intense. He knew exactly how to bring you to the brink and pull you back, drawing out your pleasure until you were a trembling mess in his arms. "Tell me how it feels, meine Liebe," he urged, his voice a low, sensual growl.

"It feels incredible," you breathed, your hips moving in sync with his hand. "You're driving me wild, Karl."

He responded with a deep, satisfied hum, his fingers never faltering. "I want to hear you scream my name," he said, his voice dripping with possessiveness. "I want to make you come undone, right here in my arms."

The intensity of his touch, combined with the heat of his words, pushed you closer to the edge. You could feel your release building, a tidal wave of pleasure that threatened to crash over you at any moment. "Karl, I'm so close," you gasped, your body quivering with anticipation.

"Let go for me," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Let me see how beautiful you are when you come."

With a final, deliberate stroke of his fingers, you shattered. Your release washed over you in waves, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. You screamed Karl's name, your voice echoing through the room as you gave yourself over to the overwhelming pleasure.

Karl held you tightly, his fingers never ceasing their movements as he guided you through your climax. "That's it, meine Liebe," he murmured, his voice filled with pride and satisfaction. "Let it all out. I'm here with you."

As the waves of pleasure began to subside, you collapsed against Karl's chest, your body trembling from the intensity of your release. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you caught your breath.

"You were incredible," Karl whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. "Thank you for trusting me."

You turned your head to look at him, your eyes filled with love and gratitude. "Thank you for taking care of me," you said softly, your voice still a little breathless. "But we need to be careful, Karl. Your health is too important to risk."

Karl nodded, his eyes filled with understanding. "I know, meine Liebe," he said, his voice gentle. "I will always put your needs first, but I will also listen to my body. We will find a way to be together, safely."

With a contented sigh, you snuggled closer to him, your head resting on his shoulder. "I love you, Karl," you whispered, your heart full.

"And I love you," he replied, his voice a tender caress. "More than words can express."

In that moment, wrapped in Karl's arms, you felt a profound sense of peace. You knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, bound by love and an unbreakable promise.

[eeldritchblast]

Thoughts on Halsin

I want to preface this by saying I don't have anything particularly against Halsin as he is in game. But I do find him lacking in depth, when compared to everyone else.

Even without knowing that he was added as a full companion last minute, I would probably have guessed as much simply because there's not much to him beyond the role he plays in the Shadow-Curse quest of Act 2. This is lampshaded with dialogue about how he himself feels consumed by his determination to end the curse. But to me, that just feels like a cop-out. Imagine any other character looking at the camera and just saying "yeah I know I don't have much character beyond what happens to me in the plot, too bad?"

But I think the worst crime about his lack of development, is the fact that because he doesn't have a lot else going on, he feels a little overly sexualized to me; like he's just there for the player to thirst after because he's this big, bulky man. Now, to be clear, I don't care that he's horny, and I definitely don't care that he's poly. (My GF is a poly lesbian, and honestly I could see myself having more than one romantic relationship , too, if someone else was ever interested in me like that and cool with it.) What I'm trying to say is, because he's lacking in other areas, leaving those traits being of his few you can list, it makes them feel of less value, and makes him feel more like a sex prop. And if you're gonna have a character with rape victim as part of his background like Halsin has, then that's the last thing you want, I think.

So, what more could be done with Halsin?

I once made a joke that someone should draw Halsin in a "Big Auntie Energy" shirt. For those of you who aren't Native, let me try to translate: In most if not all Indigenous Nations, we often call women who are champions of our cultures and communities "Auntie", whether they are actually literally your aunt or not. An Auntie is someone you dearly love, and trust to guide you. Halsin already plays something of a mentor figure to the protagonist—indeed, dev notes even call him "avuncular"—so why not lean into it further by showing what he does for others, too? Pretending that there was more development time allotted, here's what I would've liked to see...

"This place crawls with life, but little of it flourishes. I see refugees, unhoused. The destitute, unwanted. Orphans, unloved. … I wish there was a better way. I wish everyone could see the sun, have a full belly, and know nature as a friend. There is a balance that is yet to be found." —Halsin

After ending the Shadow-Curse, Halsin says he needs to find a new purpose. I feel like his purpose could easily align with his horror of the inequalities of Baldur's Gate. Instead of just talking about how awful it is, why not allow the player to challenge him to try and change things, then? For example, I like to imagine Halsin telling stories to the orphans in Rivington, providing them comfort and someone to look up to. Or another example: Halsin helping out in or maybe starting some kind of charity meal program. It's small, but it's enough to say that he could actually grow a little as a person within the game's story. And it would add at least a little bit of engagement on the player's end as well, instead of feeling like the relationship with Halsin, platonically, is one-sided.

This all doesn't come from nowhere, by the way. If you exclusively romance Halsin, he says goodbye to the player in the end because he is leading a group of people into Thaniel's realm to start a new life. But personally, I feel like this is too great a leap back into an Archdruid role he specifically rejected, because he didn't like it. It also would've been nice to get this kind of dialogue without having to romance him; to know what lies ahead for Halsin as a friend, too.

Now, that's the good ending. But almost all the companions in BG3 have a "good" and "evil" ending. I feel like this really adds a lot of insight into the characters, because they feel real through it; we all have the potential to make good and bad choices, after all. So what could be Halsin's evil-aligned ending? Well, remember when he questions if the Shadow Druids actually have a point? How about giving the player the opportunity to push him further down that path instead... Shadow Druid Halsin, holy shit.

Now, there's one more thing I want to circle back to: Halsin's past. He very casually speaks of his time as a captive in the Underdark. And maybe it was so long ago that he's long dealt with such trauma, but still, I really wish there was a way to say "hey bud, that's really fucked up and I'm sorry that happened to you." But there's not a single dialogue option that allows you to express sympathy, besides just saying "that's awful", which doesn't cut it. Halsin himself says, "sometimes I think people look at me and imagine my feelings can't be hurt." Not allowing the player to be sensitive to his feelings goes exactly against this message not to judge a person's emotions by physical appearances.

Anyway, Halsin is a character that I think has a lot of potential, but doesn't quite reach it in game. I think it's great that he was given a bigger role due to popularity, but I just wish that role was expanded on to the same degree as the other companions.

[anticmiscellaney]

I absolutely adore your work! What's your process been like for writing NewOldRare and developing Neil and Louis? Your art and character writing feel so genuine and realistic to me, so I'm really curious how you go about it!

Thank you! I've always been obsessed with character-driven stories and interaction, so I guess this is the result of years of practice and observation, and dismantling stories that do and don't work to see why.

Unfortunately, there isn't a clear way to explain it. It's one of those "you know when you get it right" things, requiring an eye developed over a long time. I will redraw things if I don't feel like I've captured the nuance I wanted to, and a few months later I'll look at it and see where I could have done better. Same with writing. I'm obsessed with pacing and page design, I had a moment of "that's how I think about it too" when Will Eisner described comic panels like music.

The technical approach is I make notes about stories I want to write, then I expand that into outlines, then scripts, then thumbnails, then I draw the comics and colour them and finalise the dialogue. At every stage I'm asking myself if it feels right, if I'm getting across what I want to. That's not to say there aren't surprises and things don't develop organically, but every stage is an attempt to solve as many problems as I can before the next stage. My thumbnails are quite detailed because it makes pencils easier, and I spend a while on them.

I have total aphantasia so I am operating off feeling rather than any mental images. I have no idea how it works and no idea why I pursue this when I'm missing what many visual artists describe as a crucial component. I just do it and I have better things to do (art) than wonder about something I can't change. I don't think it's made me a better or worse artist, though I think it has given me different ways of approaching/developing things. But also, literally everything about you makes your work different to everyone else's work.

You need to care. If your character is into music, listen to that music. If they have an old car that keeps breaking down, read up on common problems for that model. If they work as a film projectionist, watch a training film about using the machine. The characters care about things, have things in their lives that matter, have skills and interests and challenges. If I don't care enough to understand them, why should anyone reading it care, and also why am I writing it if I don't care?

So I do, and in caring I understand them better. This helps me develop characters/story but it also gives me so much more to write/draw. Understanding how things work and how they are done from a physical standpoint makes writing/drawing them easier too. The more you put into your head, the more you can get out later. I'll do way less for a 12 page short than for a 300 page graphic novel, obviously. Pick your battles, a little can go a long way.

They tell artists to collect visual references - solid advice - but you should collect substance too. If you pay attention, you will hear and see things you could never in a million years make up.

I find online socialising difficult, so I go out regularly and talk to people, or just hang around and observe. Chatting with strangers mostly involves listening to them. No one in gay spaces is interested in flirting with me (I'm rather homely and queer men assume I'm straight) but I think an audience is just as appealing sometimes, and maybe even harder to find. You'd be amazed what people will tell you if you're genuinely interested and listening. I once spent forty minutes at a sci-fi con talking to a guy who'd recently gotten into fisting. While I have zero personal desire to partake in that activity (and he had no interest in being fisted by me), I'm engaged, I'm invested, I'm asking questions, spare no detail.

I collect behavior and movement and the ways people interact too. Reading stories on reddit or whatever is one thing, but the words might not be as interesting as the way they're standing, the way their hands move, the way they respond. A guy in a bar once literally humped my leg like a dog because he felt I wasn't paying enough attention to him. I would never think of that as a response to that situation, but he did, and he followed through. Fortunately my friend had just tried to drunkenly sit down and missed the chair, otherwise I would never hear the end of it.

I see the leghumper around sometimes, he's got a boyfriend and avoids making eye contact with me, thank god.

[izzyspussy]

So, if the dog motif is made into a more blatant metaphor, and we say Izzy is a dog bred for one thing, then trained for blood sport, then his owner suddenly quits dogfighting after becoming enamored with a newbie livestock rescue ranch owner and expects Izzy to immediately take to herding just because he tossed him in the enclosure with the sheep, and then the ranch owner gets cold feet and goes back to his high powered city businesswoman leaving the ranch and the sheep and Izzy's owner behind, and Izzy finally Gets herding and starts doing the job but only after the owner who had wanted him to in the first place has become the wolf/poacher/cliffdrop Izzy needs to protect his sheep from...

More info on these breed groups to help you pick which you think fits Izzy's personality best:

Herders* are easily distracted from tasks that aren't challenging enough but incredibly focused on activities that fit their instincts, attentive, energetic, sociable, eager to please, use barks and nips to make the animals in their charge move where they want (the inventors of "all bark no bite" - unless of course you are a predator in which case say goodbye to your carotid artery), and will do their jobs effectively with or without supervision. If you do not give them animals to herd, they will herd you. *I'm including livestock guardians here, as you might have sussed from the description, even though it's not their official classification. Personally, I think the instincts and (non-combat) temperaments are similar enough, and lots of breeds from both classes are often used for the other type of work or both. Listen, you're already humoring me, so just go with this too, okay? <3

Sporting dogs are not typically that sociable with other animals, have a very good memory, are devoted, loyal, eager to please, curious/adventurous, and resilient. They are highly trainable and can learn basically any trick or call, but will be anxious, distracted, and uncontrollable without clear and consistent direction.

Scent hounds, like the examples I listed, have exceptional stamina, endurance, and agility, are persistent, tenacious, and often will not quit even when told to until the job is done to their own satisfaction or they can't do it anymore. They are naturally gentle and patient, but can get loud and mean if they don't get enough alone time or breed appropriate work to do. They are also known for their pretty voices.

Working dogs are the type of smart and stubborn that makes them opinionated about the rules and commands they're given, to the point that they might choose to purposefully disobey, or even engage in malicious compliance. They are highly trainable and devoted, but they really make you earn their obedience and loyalty. If you are not at least as smart, competent, and confident as they are, you can't handle them - and they are not afraid to prove it.

Terriers are also smart and stubborn and will make you earn good behavior. They need consistency and are very territorial, very energetic, and equally persistent and unwilling to quit as hounds. They don't have a lot of patience and are emotionally/mentally sensitive, easy to frustrate or upset.

Companions are also territorial, intensely loyal, need a lot of attention and are likely to get jealous of other pets, babies, and new friends/partners. They don't have a lot of self-awareness, especially regarding their size (i.e. very large breeds that think they are lap dogs & very small breeds that will try to start something with much bigger animals). Maybe that last bit is more applicable to Con than Izzy lmao.

[samwisethewitch]

In Defense of Fluffy Bunnies, or Witchcraft in Times of Burnout

At the very end of 2023, I used my Christmas bonus from work to buy myself a tarot deck I never would have purchased six months earlier.

This deck was from a creator whose work I had really enjoyed in the past, but when I had looked at it earlier in the year, I'd had concerns that it was softening the meaning of some of the more "difficult" cards in the tarot. For example, The Hanged Man is replaced with "The Patient Witch" and Death is replaced with "The Broom." I'd had concerns that replacing these cards, which are traditionally associated with more dire or upsetting readings, meant the creator was trying to whitewash tarot into something cute and fluffy, sacrificing a lot of its depth in the process.

The deck is The Cozy Witch Tarot by Amanda Lovelace, and I'm so glad I gave it a try. This deck has an incredibly kind and gentle feel, but it is absolutely capable of giving serious readings. The depth of the tarot hasn't been compromised at all by Lovelace's changes, and her version's greater emphasis on agency and personal empowerment is exactly what I need in my practice right now. I use this deck to read for myself almost every day.

So what changed? How did I do a complete 180 in my thoughts on this deck in only a few months?

I've always been very opposed to "love and light" or "fluffy bunny" witchcraft. For those who aren't familiar, these are both terms used online (usually negatively) to describe witches who only do "light" or positive magic. According to the Witchipedia, "Generally, the 'fluffy bunnies' have based their practice on only the most delightful aspects of their spiritual path or romanticized, fictional Hollywood or literary accounts of witchcraft or Wicca." From what I can tell, this term came out of Wiccan Internet forums in the 1990s, and it refers to someone who dons the aesthetics and mythology of Wicca or witchcraft without actually engaging critically with magic theory. Fluffy bunnies also tend to focus on feel-good magic, at least according to stereotypes.

Similarly, "love and light" witches are known for only focusing on the lighthearted side of witchcraft. In an opinion article for The Wild Hunt, Storm Faerywolf writes that, "On the surface it seems harmless enough: a philosophy of love, kindness, non-violence, and a concerted practice of positivity." This type of witchcraft is very closely tied to the "spiritual but not religious" movement and borrows a lot of concepts from New Age spirituality, like crystal healing, the Law of Attraction, and chakras. While fluffy bunnies are very much a product of the 1990s, love and light witches are very much a product of the New Age boom of the 2010s.

I've been very vocal about my dislike for both of these types of witchcraft on this blog in the past, and I still 100% agree with Storm Faerywolf, who says in that same article: "But to assert that pain, and fear, and even anger are somehow less important than our joy, our courage, and even our love, is to do a grave disservice to our collective mental and spiritual health... groups that embrace this mode of thinking have effectively ensured that they can mutually avoid anything that might challenge their cultish mindset. Angry over injustice? You’re just living in a lower vibration. Afraid of contracting a deadly virus? You just don’t trust Jesus enough."

I think accepting and working with challenging emotions is an important part of what it means to be a witch. Spiritual bypassing and cries of "good vibes only" do more harm than good. But for a while I got so caught up in rejecting anything even remotely fluffy or love-and-lightish that I ended up with a magical practice that, to be honest, kind of made me miserable. And I don't think I'm the only one.

I spent a lot of 2022 and 2023 wrestling with injustice, both in my spiritual practice and in my personal and professional life. My practice is inspired by witches like Starhawk and Christy C. Road, and politics play a key role. Most of the spells I did in 2023 fall into the category of justice magic, including breaking family curses and hexing rapists. At the same time, I was working a series of direct services jobs that saw me working closely with homeless teenagers, domestic violence victims, and people battling addiction, just to name a few. And that's not even getting into my personal life and recovery as a queer, disabled survivor of abuse.

And let me tell you: By the end of 2023, I was fucking exhausted. I was beyond burnout. And I didn't even want to do magic anymore, because magic had become just another part of my life where I had to face the injustice and harm happening in the world around me.

I was in desperate need of some fluffiness, some love and light. And that was when I bought the Amanda Lovelace tarot deck.

I knew something had to change. In my burnout, I desperately needed to be tenderly cared for. I needed my spiritual practice to be a source of peace and comfort, not a drain on my energy. I needed to get out of the dark for a bit so I could remember how to see the stars.

What I've realized in the last few months is that yes, anger, pain, and fear are important in a balanced magical practice and a balanced life -- but joy, love, and comfort are equally important. And if you spend a lot of time in one part of your life dealing with pain and fear (like I do in my day job), focusing on love and healing in your witchcraft can help keep things balanced.

"Comfort" and "care" are definitely the keywords for my magical practice right now, and that means my magic looks a lot more fluffy than it has in the past. And that's a good thing.

[v3nusxsky]

Dont tempt me| NSFW

——————————————————————————

Authors note~ here’s some content for my lovely lady lesso. This could be absolutely poor quality as I'm exhausted and it will not be proof read so I apologise for any mistake but they are all mine :)*

Trigger warnings ~ dom/sub begging fingering oral overstimulation accidental mommy kink praise kink degrading kink

Prompt~ "fuck you" ... "would you?"

Since the merger of the school for good and the school for evil, the environment has been reflecting the mood swings of a teenager. Good and evil now learning to co-exist and lean on each other. Baby steps of course. That's where you come in. You were hired to teach literature for both Evers and Nevers. One of the first teachers to have a mixed class. Yet you were thriving. Your students seemed to bond well with you, rather engaging in the lessons as you tried to cater to everyone's interests while sticking to the curriculum. It was truly magical to see the students slowly but surely not want to kill each other. You hadn't been brave enough to assign any mixed group work projects yet tho. That for sure would cause bloodshed, not particularly something you wanted to deal with in your first semester.

With the Evers, professor Dovey stood with them. Her beauty and pristine gracefulness shone through her joyous personality. Truly a joy to be around. Should anyone ever need cheering up, you'd definitely send them to Dovey. Clarissa Dovey, Dean for good used her powers to comfort struggling students the most. Instantly you could spot how certain students would seek her out in a room. She made them feel safe. A smile and a hug could go a long way.

Then there's her counterpart, Lady Leonora Lesso, Dean of evil. Now imagine the complete opposite of Dovey. Yep that's her. Quite a complex human. That's what drew you in if your truly honest. She's so guarded, you just want to know more. Often you could find her staking the halls like a fox hunting it's prey. Despite the merger, students still feared her. You'd heard stories of a doom room. One with some rather interesting attributes. Although probably not the desired effect of the room, you ached to visit, to just experience it one time. Two consenting adults could have so much fun in there. The thought causing a flush to adorn your cheeks. She was a coworker for heavens sake. The thoughts of becoming Lesso's prey only grew with time. Little did you know, you were quite the curious creature to the red head. She longed to clip your innocent white wings, and watch you fall under her spell. This is what leads you to the current moment.

The past few weeks had become some what of a game between you and the dean of evil. It all started when she interrupted a lesson of yours as you were teaching one of your favourite Shakespearean plays. Macbeth. The particular passage where you were asking your class to asses her body language and what that implied. Lesso smirked and offered to give a real demonstration for the students. "After all some students learn visually isn't that right Miss y/l/n"

She revealed in your reaction, immediately starting the cat and mouse game. Or rather the fox and her dove. Pay back had been sweet, of course you had to be mad to challenge Leonora but still you did so anyway. This is exactly what lead you to her office after hours. You should be marking your students essays on Lady Macbeth however, a black raven swooped in, narrowly missing your head while dropping a piece of parchment before leaving again. You carefully untied the bow and instantly recognised the neat cursive penmanship.

Does my dove give up? I've been eagerly awaiting your next move. I expected more of you y/n. At least give me a challenge.

The fox.

As you read you could practically see her lips curling up into her famous smirk. She signed it as the name you'd accidentally given her. In a lesson you had with first years you we're discussing a descriptive words to describe a fox. Only when a few students began to give answers such as "sly" "sneaky" "feisty" "stealthy" did one student stutter "lesso." You couldn't help but agree. She did rather match the description so you wrote it with the rest. At that moment you heard a chuckle. The fox herself stood in your doorway. "Miss y/l/n, you think I'm a fox? Then what are you? The innocent dove?" She taunted you watching the blush appear that you desperately tried to fight off. "Lesso, how lovely of you to join us. Did you need something?" You deadpanned hoping to avoid the feelings stirring in you at the pet names.

You definitely had feelings for the women. But she was infuriatingly untouchable. No matter your best attempts you couldn't achieve the level of flustering her that she did on you. Which is why you decided to get brave. Parchment in hand you stormed your way down to Lesso's office. Anxiety rolling off you in waves at your plan. You were most definitely going to get killed. But death by her stunning hands? Well worth it.

When you arrived at her door you bypassed knocking and just waltzed in. The women sitting at her desk busily working away. She didn't even spare you a glance as you entered. "Now dove what are you doing in here?" She mumbled seemingly very uninterested in your presence. Her eyes never stopped scanning her work and he quill scribbling down words in her beautiful cursive penmanship.

"What is this game lesso? Is it anything to you? Just fun. Why do you keep messing with me during my lesson times. What was with the raven? Miss me that much huh" you were spiralling, desperate for some kind of reaction. "Maybe I'm making you wait fox maybe I'm busy" you finished eyes blaring with determination.

"Miss y/n I'm rather busy-" she tried only to be cut off by you approaching her and crushing your lips to hers in a bruising kiss. Waiting for the moment she was desperate for more. Only then to pull back and completely remove yourself from her. "Oh such a desperate fox" you taunted her watching the frustration and desire fight for control.

"Fuck you dove!" She all but growled at you her breathing heavy.

"Would you?" You retorted unsure where this brass neck of confidence came from. Her eyes darkened in response as she leapt up and stalked towards you. Instinctively you moved backwards until you were pressed between the wall and the fox. Her grin almost sadistic, eyes black with desire. A embarrassing squeak drew from your body as she roughly claimed your lips as hers. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip. The cooper taste mixed with the taste of her causing a low whine to leave you.

Pulling away to gain air, she kissed nipped and sucked all over your neck. The dark purple blemishes already showing. All you could do is whine and whimper at the sensations and desperately pray your legs would hold you up. "Some innocent dove you are" she sneered after a particularly low whine left you as she nipped your pulse point, "such a response slut for me hmm" she all but cooed.

"Please" you begged not knowing if she'd comply. Completely at her mercy was not what you had planned for the night. With that you were lifted into her arms and carried to her bed. Immediately her hands working to rid you of your dress. Desperate for more skin to explore. Months of pent up desire finally coming to head. She moaned out in approval once you were stripped bare and laid out for her. Her hands trailing all over your skin. Feather light and teasing. Hickeys now adorned your neck and the tops of your breasts. Her mouth creating more bruising while her fingers stroking your breast with one had and pinching the bud with the other. Moans were flowing more freely now. But as nice as it was, it wasn't enough. Your hips jerked up in a silent plea. This was torture. You needed her. And now.

However your plea was ignored, simply moving her hand to pin your hips to the bed. You whined in response to her denial of your unasked question. "Now now dove, be a good girl and you'll get what you want. You want me to touch you hmm?" She husked out still completely enthralled with brushing your pale skin. All you could do is nod and try to be patience.

"If you want me to make touch you then I need words my slut" she purred loving how you were responding to her. Who would've knew you would be like this? Some meek little English teacher, not an ever, but not a never but a secret little minx. That fact only adding to the attraction and infatuation lesso has with  you.

"Please, please Nora I -" a moan broke your sentence off as she immediately moved her hands to your soaked folds just teasing never fully giving you anything. "Nora?" The smirk on her lips showing you she liked the nickname. "I wonder how many times you've screamed that with your own fingers between your legs wishing they were mine." She mused out loud before bringing her lips to taste you. Your aching core was dripping and the taste absolutely Devine. Her self control dwindled as she lapped you up like fine wine.

Your orgasm building faster than normal, you were no use anymore. All you could focus on his the pleasure the fox was giving. Feasting on you like there was no tomorrow. Your bundle of nerves reviving the attention it craved. "Please please fuck please I need" you whimpered as you teetered on the edge of pleasure.

"You may dove. That's my good girl hmm. Such a good slut" and with those words she continued eating you like there was no tomorrow. Lapping up every drop of your essence as you tumbled off the edge and into the pools of pleasure. A whine of surprise left you as you realised Lesso wasn't done with you. Her mouth still working diligently between your soaked thighs.

"Fox i fuck what?" Your train of thought completely lost as two fingers were thrusted into your core. Immediately your walls reacting to squeeze the life from them. Fuck this women was going to kill you. She set her own brutal pace as she finger fucked you soaking in every delicious sound you made. Watching as you screwed your eyes shut and flung your head back in pleasure. The whimpers were nearly constant now. All you could do is lay there and mewl at her administrations like a cat in heat.

"Oh fuck mommy!" You all but screamed as another gush of white hot pleasure tore through you. How many orgasms had you had now? Honestly you'd lost count, all you knew was your body called for her. You didn't even know what you said until you felt her withdraw the fingers that has been bringing you pleasure. "Mommy? Oh what a little minx you are young one" she teased as you stumbled over an apology. Why did you say that. God but it had felt so good.

"No no dove don't say sorry I like it."she reassured before going back to business. Her touch was killing you. It was all too much now. You're tired battered body couldn't handle another orgasm but lesso seemed sure on forcing another. She'd rip it from your body despite the fact your exhausted. She wanted one so she'd get one. "Mommy! Please I can't! N-no m-more " you whined. Feeling the familiar feeling of the edge once more.

"You can and you will pretty girl. I want you to cum for me" and with that you tumbled over the edge with a scream of pleasure "mommy! Oh fuck god I"

The room feel silent oddly quick besides the unstable breathing from you both. Did you just? A quick peak confirmed it. You'd passed out. She'd fucked you so well your body physically couldn't handle it and shut down. The fact filling her with an unmatched sense of pride. Quickly but gently, Leonora set to work cleaning you up, carful knowing you would be sore before shifting you into her bed and wrapped the covers over you. Despite not actually being pleasured that was something that Lesso would treasure forever. In fact she wanted more. You were hers now. Her dove and she your fox.

Word count ~ 2118

*Authors note~ I haven’t wrote for lady lesso before but I’m obsessed with her character so I may write some more for her*

[dc-and-arfrona]

Dried Tears

----

Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Summary: Jason makes you cry.

Type: Angst

Masterlist

Word Count: 900+

----

Jason Todd stood in the dimly lit room, his gaze fixed on the person who sat across from him. They had been engaged in a heated argument, words flying like daggers between them. Emotions ran high, tensions mounting with each passing second.

It wasn't Jason's intention to make them cry. In fact, he despised the thought of causing them pain. But in the heat of the moment, his anger and frustration got the best of him, and his words cut deeper than he had anticipated.

As the argument reached its peak, a single tear trickled down their cheek, their eyes glistening with hurt and sadness. It was a sight that struck Jason like a lightning bolt, instantly shattering his anger and replacing it with an overwhelming sense of regret.

Time seemed to stand still as Jason witnessed the impact of his words on them. His heart sank, guilt washing over him like a tidal wave. He had always prided himself on being protective, caring, and understanding. But in that moment, he had failed.

Without a second thought, Jason closed the distance between them, dropping to his knees in front of them. He reached out, gently wiping away the tear that stained their face, his touch filled with tenderness and remorse.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice laced with genuine regret. "I never meant to hurt you. I let my anger get the best of me, and I crossed a line. Please forgive me."

They looked into Jason's eyes, their expression a mix of vulnerability and uncertainty. They could see the sincerity in his gaze, the raw remorse etched on his face. They knew that Jason was flawed, like everyone else, but they also saw the goodness within him.

Tentatively, they nodded, their voice barely above a whisper. "I... I forgive you, Jason. But please, remember that words can leave lasting wounds."

Jason nodded, his grip tightening ever so slightly on their hand. "I promise," he said, his voice filled with determination. "I'll learn from this. I never want to see you hurt like this again."

From that moment on, Jason made a vow to himself to be more mindful of his words and actions. He understood that his temper could be a double-edged sword, capable of both protecting and hurting those he cared about. He was determined to harness his emotions in a way that would uplift and support them, rather than tear them down.

In the days and weeks that followed, Jason worked hard to mend the wounds he had unintentionally inflicted. He showered them with acts of kindness, love, and understanding. He listened to their fears, their insecurities, and their dreams, offering a steady presence and unwavering support.

Slowly but surely, their tears began to dry, replaced by smiles, laughter, and a renewed sense of trust. Their bond grew stronger, forged in the fire of their shared experiences and the lessons learned from their darkest moment.

Together, they navigated the complexities of their relationship, learning to communicate openly and honestly, embracing both the joys and the challenges that came their way. And through it all, Jason remained steadfast in his commitment to never make them cry again, cherishing their love and vowing to protect their heart at all costs.

"Jason, I... I can't believe you said those things," they choked out, their voice trembling with a mix of hurt and anger.

"I know, and I deeply regret it. I can't apologize enough," Jason replied, his voice filled with remorse. "I never wanted to see you in pain, especially not because of me."

"But why, Jason? Why did you let your anger consume you like that?" they asked, their voice filled with confusion.

"I wish I had an excuse, but the truth is, I lost control. I let my frustrations cloud my judgment, and I lashed out at you," Jason admitted, his voice heavy with guilt. "I'm working on my temper, but I have no excuse for what I said."

"I thought you understood me, Jason. I thought you knew how much your words could hurt," they said, their voice tinged with disappointment.

"You're right, and that's what makes this even worse. I should have known better, and I failed you," Jason replied, his voice strained with emotion. "I promise, from this moment on, I'll do everything in my power to make it up to you."

"But can I trust you, Jason? Can I trust that this won't happen again?" they asked, their vulnerability evident in their voice.

"I understand your doubts, and all I can do is show you through my actions. I'll prove to you that I'm capable of change," Jason declared, determination seeping into his words. "I love you, and I never want to see you hurt. I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust."

Silence hung in the air for a moment as they contemplated his words. They looked into Jason's eyes, searching for sincerity, for a glimmer of hope. Slowly, they nodded, their voice softening.

"I want to believe you, Jason. I want to give us another chance," they said, their voice filled with cautious optimism. "But know that trust takes time to rebuild."

"I understand, and I'm willing to put in the effort," Jason affirmed, gratitude lacing his words. "Thank you for giving me another chance. I won't let you down."

And so, their journey towards healing and rebuilding began, one conversation at a time. Jason was determined to prove himself, to become a better person for them. Through open dialogue, sincere apologies, and a commitment to growth, they started the process of healing their wounded hearts and rekindling the love that had brought them together.

[naamahdarling]

How do you cope with “don’t trust your brain”? I can’t trust it at any time of day, due to the dysthymia.

For me, realizing that it is time-related for me really helped. I learned to identify those feelings in specific because of when they routinely occurred, and am now able to lower their internal priority.

With dysthymia that isn't going to be helpful, though.

But still, some of this probably will be at least a bit useful because the helpful part for me was less the time - that was just the factor that made it easiest to catch. It was mostly that identifying them was the first step. Like that part isn't always easy, the thoughts are REALLY COMPELLING, we assign them high priority because of their strength, so it's hard to say "Wait. These intense feelings I am having are not accurate They are a distortion of the facts. They are based on valid fears. However, the way they are currently all ganging up on me, or feel unusually intense, is not in proportion."

And that's sort of where I am now. Here's some stuff I do.

I respond by gently reminding myself that I have a condition that predisposes me, I tell myself it's okay to have the feelings, and then I say "I am going to do what is best for me in this moment while these thoughts upset me." And that can me hard as hell and I can't always do it. But I am trying and learning.

When I get the three o'clocksies as I call them (my schedule is often twisted around enough that they happen at 3, my equivalent of 8 or 9) I take a short bit to remind myself it's a distorted perception (or sometimes utterly false, like when I get the "everyone hates me"s), I challenge it gently, then try not to give it a chance to respond. I try not to argue with it because that doesn't help. And I just find something else to do or think about.

Maybe I move to something I know I like even if I don't want to, and give it a bit to see if I can switch gears. Maybe I say "well I'm ruined for a while, might as well do something hateful like get some water or gather some trash, or brush my teeth, because if I have to suffer I can at least suffer to make my future self a bit happier." That didn't come easy either. Occupying my hands AND my mind is important. I often can't turn the bad feelings volume down if I don't occupy my mind. Movies don't work, but podcasts/audiobooks and hand crafts or engaging phone games do. I have like sixteen I can choose from. (Your library may have audiobooks to borrow digitally btw. It's very cool.)

I ask for help, I ask for asks here a lot, I have some friends to talk with about fun things, my boyfriend is great. Doing imaginative stuff like discussing silly questions (the gryphon question I just got was like a perfect example, thanks!), what-ifs for our OCs or fanfic, or silly stuff like we watch a ghost hunting show and stop it to ask what we/our imaginary people would do, or a spooky movie or podcast or reality show and we raise a hand at the point where we would nope out. We're watching a cake show and we pause it to say what we would do or what winner we would pick. Having another person is so helpful, but you CAN do this with yourself. Write the answers out longhand or journal them on your phone (Journey app!). I will now often do this WHILE I AM CRYING, guys. It helps. Even if I think it won't. I did it during a goddamn tornado warning where for once it WAS very fucking close. Boyfriend was safe across town, I am unbelievably scared of storms and was in about the scariest one I've been in since a kid, and I was snot-crying on the phone and once we said our I love yous we just talked about stupid OC shit. And by god it got me through.

Reading aloud to my cats has helped before.

Like. Whatever it is that's crawling up your spine. It's so much about saying "look, I feel this way, and it is INTENSE, but I don't have to just sit with it; I can do other stuff WHILE I feel this way, I can engage with things ALSO, I can have other thoughts too." You don't have to end the thoughts by force. You can just let them run and move on as much as possible, think about other things as best you can. And with practice it DOES get easier. It does.

Another thing I have recently discovered is that I need TIME to have emotional reactions. Someone I love said something unintentionally SUPER HURTFUL a while ago, and y'all I was SO ANGRY. SO FURIOUS. And I realized before I could address the situation and tell them they crossed a line, I needed to make room to have this huge emotional response before acting, and they DIDN'T need to be part of that. Even though the intense feelings demanded I act, I didn't. With practice, amazingly, I have learned to give MYSELF the space we all talk about giving others to feel first, solve after. It took practice but I'm there. Once I cooled off, I realized not just why I reacted the way I did (specific past trauma) but why they said what they did (their own past trauma, inappropriately dumping it on me) and was able to talk it over with them in an empathetic way and it all smoothed out, with better boundaries now.

The having the emotional reaction thing may not work in some cases such as repetitive thoughts of, say, trauma, but when there is a precipitating event that just happened or I get blindsided by a trigger, it is really helpful to realize it's a reaction, probably a really understandable one, and I won't feel like this forever.

Also psych meds and specifically mood stabilizers are really great for me. I'm on two, and at first I had some internalized ableist shame around taking them because I didn't like how it implied I was like my toxic mom with her uncontrolled rapid cycling (not why she was toxic, but it made me feel like I was failing at being Not Like Her), but WOW having them has helped. The right meds. It can be hard to get that in place, but I did want to say, it really did help me.

I have also with my therapist built a safe place in my mind. This doesn't have to be boring! I have a floating island with cloud oceans, lovely ruins, amazing wildlife, and a badass wizard lair. And in it is a box for the horrible thoughts I can't deal with right now like the PTSD stuff, so it's contained when I'm not working with it, and a koi pond where I drop these glowing rocks I imagine the scary feelings going into, and then the water cleans them and turns them into pretty stones. Like, this was just stupidly useful and I never thought to do it in a way that wasn't boring before. So I can go there, now, with practice, for a quick visit to drop some bad stuff off. I also visit as I fall asleep and explore, to help make it easier to go there quickly. Doesn't work for everyone, has been good for me. Come to Magic Floating Islands! We have perytons and flying coelacanths!

Anyway, I don't know if that's helpful. Other folks might have ideas. But that is kind of where I'm at. It isn't perfect, doesn't always work, but I'm getting better because it's partially just a skill. You know? You're already a bit ahead of where you were initially, since you know it's a distorted pattern. There was a time before you realized that and it probably sucked even more, and there will be a time after this when you have one or two things to try that will suck a little less. It won't be a hundred percent, but you do move forward a bit at a time.

Hope that helps a little. 💕

[knightobreath]

Why do you like showvember so much? (not/neg)

alright folks youre going to need to remove your cringe and irony-poisoned glasses for this one, i'm going to be genuine

This is a question I've been asking myself for a while! Sometimes things just make my brain really really happy and I can never tell why, but I've done enough research on myself to know SEVERAL reasons why Showvember specifically appeals to me.

Of course there's the more normal stuff that it shares with a lot of my other fandom-able interests. It's funny! I find it very entertaining! I like Popcorn's character!

And then. There's the part that puts it apart from the other stuff I like. If you aren't familiar with Showvember, it was made in a way comparable to the drawing game exquisite corpse. Each episode is made by one person with as little information about the other episodes as possible. They only have character designs/names/pronouns and elimination order to work with.

I think the key factor to why I'm obsessed with it to this degree is it's inconsistency! You'd think this would make it harder to engage in fandom, but I love the challenge! My favorite type of fanwork to create is just filling in plot holes and connecting dots to expand or explain canon. Headcanons! I like the world-building and logistics side of headcanoning over characters though. Showvember is a lot of work to be a fan for, but it's not a chore to me, more like a challenge. This was a large part of my enjoyment of MCYT and probably the big reason why i stuck around that fandom so damn long.

There's also this part of Showvember that really lends to it a lot of charm, and that's its messiness! It's an art game played by a group of friends and that shows! You can really see the strings and I like that in works. Being able to sort of see through a creation makes it more meaningful to me. I put this in a lot of my own works, I think it can be important to see the brushstrokes.

If you didn't properly remove the cringe and irony-poisoned glasses that I asked you to, you may be laughing at how I've referred to Showvember as a "work" and "meaningful." You may be confused that I'm treating it like a proper art piece and not just a silly joke. And that's because it is! it is an art piece with meaning, even if that meaning is not some grand theme or statement! I love these sorts of things. My greatest interest is in internet and specifically fandom culture, and one of the most infuriating things I come across is the discrediting and disrespect towards internet art and fanworks. And so I will treat these things with the respect and genuine care that they deserve as legitimate art. I will die on this hill and I will die on it next to shitposts and fanfics and silly YouTube shows that are basically one big joke.

So, in conclusion, Showvember is a show that I not only find entertaining but also manages to lend itself perfectly to my preferred type of fanwork. It is also a show that comes from a culture I am very passionate about. All of this intersects into a piece of media that I find very enjoyable to engage with both in and outside of fandom.

It kind of feels like when I was younger and I would fish out all the stranger pieces from the lego bin to make something with all of them. I love all the parts and where they came from, and would like to puzzle them all together into something just as fun. My Showvember fanworks are just as much an expression of my love for the show as they are for the OSC, for fandom, for the internet, and for silly art everywhere.

okay. we can go back to joking around now. the real reason is because i have brainworms that make me look at 50 popcorn showvember pics a day.or i die