#i just needed to draw this before my brain exploded

[pink-pone]

had to drop everything i was doing to make this

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

"I remember holding him, and then there was a bright light, and then I felt warm."

[kelpermoosee]

Knocking them over and watching them scramble to get up with those big ass heads

[robotsafari]

i havent even watched legacy yet but that fucking kh world did some.. unexpected things to me (update: i watched it. the movie was okay. <- short for im deranged about it but it missed so much opportunities and omfg i cant list all of my thoughts here.)

[keeps-ache]

goin to the library, library time woohoo !!

[euphoriaslux]

two’s a party.

summary: you recently transferred to stanford, and decide to tutor a tennis player in your class. he has a friend. severe indecency ensues.

word count: 3.3k

warnings : smut, threesomes, f!oral receiving, swearing, smoking, drinking. slight cuck energy if you squint (i’m sorry ((no i’m not))). no challengers spoilers!

a/n: this fic got away from me big time but this movie has rotted my brain and as a result i have written utter debauchery that i will not apologize for. just had to get this out of my head, enjoy!

-

stanford science hall. monday , march 3.

You swear the last thing you’ll hear before your body is lowered into your grave is the process of lactic acid breakdown.

It’s 2:30 PM. Kinesiology 189 with Professor Wilson, a lanky middle-aged man with a PhD in exercise science and a half-grown beard that you don’t think will ever fully grow in, is almost over. He’s teaching Extended Studies of the Human Body in a humid classroom filled with student-athletes, most of whom are trying to stay awake, trying to hide that they’re taking a nap, or making no attempt to hide that they’re on their phones. You don’t really blame any of them, because the professor’s voice is so soft and monotone that it feels like he’s begging everyone to pay attention to anything but him. You’ve managed to stay somewhat on course with the thread of today’s lecture, the notebook in front of you filled with scribbles of incomplete molecular structures and somewhat legible drawings of the muscular anatomy of a hamstring.

This class is required for your biology major since you’re on a pre-medicine track. You don’t know why you’re doing it, the whole doctor thing, but you’ve developed a weird fixation for this class. The functionality of the body, how muscles stretch and tear with each movement, and how amino acids work to build them back even bigger.

And, possibly because of the tennis player who sits four rows ahead of you every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

His last name is Donaldson. You know because of the faded label on the massive bag he throws on the floor every time he walks into class, at least ten minutes late with a backward Stanford Tennis cap on his head. His first name remains a mystery, partly because he never talks in class, and mainly because you’ve made no attempt to speak to him. You like to think it’s because you’re so focused on the curriculum.

Professor Wilson knows your name, though, since you’re in his office hours every Thursday at 11 A.M. In part because he gives out most of the answers to his homework, and because you just transferred to Stanford your last year and very desperately need a letter of recommendation for medical school. Hence why you agreed to tutor a student with lower than 60% in the class during one of your meetings. And why everyone in the class was staring at you right now.

“... first come first serve, so reach out to her sooner rather than later.”

You give a tight-lipped smile, glancing around the room. Most people have looked away, back to their distraction of choice, but you meet eyes with the fluffy blonde-haired tennis player.

stanford library. wednesday, march fifth.

It’s 11 A.M., and you feel like your brain is about to explode if you look at another practice set.

“Hey”.

Your head whips around to the harsh whisper, only to be met with the blue-eyed mystery from your class. He has that large bag slung over his shoulder, with the end of a tennis racket peeking out of it. His hair is slightly stuck to his face, and his compression tee is slick to his chest like a second skin.

“Hi,” you whisper back. He smiles before tossing his bag on the floor and sitting in the chair across from you, either unaware of or completely ignoring the glares he’s receiving from the other students studying.

“You know,” he pulls out some kind of nutrition bar from his bag, unwrapping it and taking an aggressive bite, “for someone advertising their services, you’re pretty hard to find.”

“You’re in Mr. Wilson’s class, right?” you ask, hoping your subdued voice will remind him that he’s in a notoriously quiet place. He hums, pointing at you with his half-eaten snack.

“And I’m trying not to fail, but you didn’t leave your number anywhere in the classroom, and you bolt after every class. So how am I supposed to patronize your tutoring services…” he trails off, his volume the same level as when he walked in. You furrow your brows as he leans back into the chair.

“That’s when you say who you are.”

You feel a burn on the back of your neck as you tell him your name. He glances down towards the problem set you’ve nearly finished.

“How do you turn in any of those, I can’t get halfway through one of them.”

You pause for a moment before leaning slightly across the table to whisper:

“This new weird thing called studying. I think it just got approved by the CDC.”

“Very funny,” he shakes his head as reaches for your binder with your class schedule printed out on the front of it.

“Why are you taking so many bio classes?”

“Because I’m a biology major,” you can’t help the sarcasm dripping from your voice, and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, you’re making this too easy for me,” you raise your hands in conceit.

“I have practice every day at five so you can tutor me for like an hour beforehand,” he says before standing up, crunching up the silver wrapper and stuffing it into the front pocket of his blue jeans. You scoff at his sentence.

“Well, thank you for so generously fitting me into your schedule,” you roll your eyes, turning the page in your textbook. He grins.

“Tell the coach you’re there for Art. They’ll let you through.”

stanford tennis courts. friday, march 7th.

It’s 4 PM, and the California sun is sweltering. Your shorts feel like they’ve become a part of your legs, and your bag feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. By the time you make it to the tennis courts Art is already on the green concrete, shirtless with beads of sweat dripping down his face and chest. You hear his grunts as he sprints across the court, hitting the ball toward a slightly taller brunette with dangerously short red shorts. You watch them at the entrance for a few minutes, slightly entranced as the two play so seamlessly, as if they know every move the other person is going to make. You force your eyes away as you walk up the bleachers, stepping over leftover water bottles and chip bags to sit down and grab your notes from your backpack. It takes a couple more minutes for Art to notice you, yelling your name after he turns around to grab a ball his partner had hit particularly hard. You wave, and he says something you can’t hear to the brunette before the two of them jog across the courts and up the stands to where you are, blocking the sun as the two stand side by side.

“Who’s your friend?” you ask as you stuff the problem set you were working on in between the pages of your notebook.

“I’m Patrick,” he says, with a toothy smile and his ears poking out from under his hair. He has a bit more of a boyish charm to him than Art does, whose eyes are glued to his brunette counterpart.

“Are you in Mr. Wilson’s class too?”

Patrick opens his mouth to answer but Art speaks first, slightly pushing his friend with his shoulder as he says “He doesn’t go to Stanford, too busy being a tennis pro.”

Patrick rolls his eyes but his smile doesn’t leave his face. You notice how different this Art feels from the one in the library, how direct his playfulness is and how close he and Patrick stand together, their sweaty torsos nearly melding together.

Interesting.

“Like, Andre Agassi level pro?” you smile as the two of them laugh. Patrick raises the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his forehead, and you can’t help but take a glance at the exposed skin just above his waistband.

“Sorry, he’s like the only tennis player I know.”

“No, no I’m taking that as a compliment that you think I’m on the level of Agassi. No takebacks if you see me play,” Patrick points at you.

“Will do,” you salute, turning over to Art.

“You ready to study?” you ask him as he makes a comically loud groan, his head falling back. Patrick laughs, reaching over to ruffle his friends hair.

“You do remember that’s why I’m here, right? Midterms are in two weeks.”

“I definitely have not forgotten that.” he says. You purse your lips just as Patrick’s eyes seem to light up.

“I’m staying at the Courtyard Hotel for the weekend. You two can come over and study, I need to review my last match anyway. Kill two birds with one stone,” Patrick suggests.

“Just studying?”

“Just studying,” Art says, wrapping his arm around his friend's shoulder. You glance between the two of them, trying to decipher the unspoken communication they seem to be doing. But you can’t crack it, so you shrug.

“Sure.”

“Let us finish this set, and then you’ll have me all to yourself. Sound fair?”

“Wow, what a privilege. Don’t take too long, it’s hell on Earth out here!” you yell the last part as Art jogs down the steps and back down towards the net. You look up once you realize that the sun is still being blocked, and Patrick is still standing in front of you.

“You ever play?” he grins, flipping the tennis racket in his hand.

“Tennis? God, no, that would not be a pretty sight. I’ll stick to what I’m good at,” you gesture to the books and notes in your lap. Patrick nods.

“If you ever want to learn, I could teach you sometime, you know if-” he’s cut off by Art yelling his name, and you both glance to see him with his hands on his hips.

“Go, don’t keep your boyfriend waiting,” you wave him off, and you swear you can see him blushing. Must have been the glare.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder as he runs toward Art.

courtyard hotel. saturday, march 8.

It’s 11 pm. There’s a cold shiver in the elevator as you wait to get to the fourth floor, your tennis shoes tapping against the floor as one hand plays with the handle of the pack of beer in your hand while the other crumples and re-crumples the piece of paper with the hotel room number Patrick scribbled on it.

what are you doing?

You don’t have time to think about the consequences of your actions as the robotic voice signals that you’re on the fourth floor, the elevator doors fluttering open. It’s like your feet have a mind of their own, as you find yourself almost mindlessly wandering through the hotel halls until you’re planted in front of room 4B. You raise your hand to knock on the door but before you can make contact with the wood it’s thrust open, and Patrick is standing behind it. His dark hair is slightly tousled around his face, his striped shirt unbuttoned and his black boxer briefs low on his waist. He’s smiling, that same big smile as before, but his face is a little flushed, a gentle pink hue touching his cheeks. The two of you don’t say anything for a few seconds, as if you were both testing to see who would concede first to acknowledge the other’s presence. You raise the pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon in your right hand.

“I brought studying fuel.”

You were never good at waiting.

Patrick laughs before he moves slightly out of the way to allow you to walk into his room. It’s small, with a queen-sized bed and a tiny desk, and the A/C emits an odd rumbling sound as it smacks against the window. Clothes and scorecards are strewn across the floor, and the scent of cigarettes permeates the room. You place the alcohol on the floor before deciding to sit on the bed, kicking off your shoes as you cross your legs. Patrick seems to stall for a moment, smiling to himself before closing the door behind him. He doesn’t lock the door, but you didn’t notice.

“Art’s not here yet?” you ask, watching as Patrick walks over and tears open the cardboard case, cracking open a can. Taking a sip, he leans against the desk as he smiles.

“Art can be bad with time.”

“As I’ve noticed,” you reach your hand out to motion towards the drink and Patrick hands it to you, staring as you take a large sip.

“Well,” you wipe the side of your mouth, “I told him to bring the topics he wanted to study, so I guess we can’t do anything until he gets here.”

Patrick nods with a slight pout, his fingers playing with the pop tab of the can. “I guess we can’t.”

“How’s tennis… stuff,” you laugh as you finish the question, not sure of exactly what to say.

Patrick seems to tense a little at the mention of the sport, moving over to sit next to you on the bed. His knee grazes your leg and you feel a slight buzz at the contact as he takes the beer from your hand.

“I’m kinda fucking it up right now,” he says, and you furrow your brows.

“How? You were like, really good yesterday.”

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. He hands you the beer and you finish it off, placing the empty can at the bottom of your feet.

“I’m good with Art. It feels so fucking natural and easy with him. But in my other matches, I don’t know. I just … can’t replicate it.”

You nudge him with your leg.

“Sounds like you two were made to play tennis together.”

He makes a noise of agreement, his hands slowly moving to ghost over your thigh.

“You and Art are pretty close?” you ask as he plays with the bottom hem of your shorts, but he doesn’t say anything. You take his silence as a yes.

“Do you ever get jealous?”

“Of Art?” he asks, almost incredulously. You shrug.

“Yeah, or jealous of the girls he’s with. Either or.”

Patrick sits on that for a few moments before smirking.

“What’s mine is mine, and what’s his is mine.”

You laugh at that, a real deep laugh, and Patrick giggles next to you, the both of you tipsy from the can of beer you finished. You reach over and put your hand on his flushed face, rubbing your hand across his cheek.

“What were you doing before I came?” you feel his face warm even more against your skin as you position yourself closer to him.

“Practicing- or, sorry, rereading my scorecards from my last match.”

You tutted as you moved your hand to the back of his neck, gently running your hands through his hair.

“You can tell me the truth, Patrick.”

He turns his head to press a gentle kiss to the palm of your hand before looking up at you as if to check if that was too much. Whatever your expression is gives him the confidence to move down to your neck, his tongue licking your skin.

“I think you know.”

You feel a pull in your lower stomach at his words, muffled by his mouth nipping at the sensitive spot just below your ear, and he sucks hard enough for you to put your hand around on his face at the pressure. Pulling his face up, the two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, and his eyes glance toward your lips. You wanted to wait, to make him beg and plead for it, but your body seemingly pulled you forward as your pressed your mouth onto his.

You were really quite bad at waiting.

He tastes like tobacco and faintly of the fruit medley in the dining hall, and you sigh as his lips interlock with yours and his hand grabs the back of your neck, pressing you into him. The kiss gets messy and hard, his tongue gliding over your bottom lip and into your mouth as you lift your leg to straddle Patrick, grinding into him. He whimpers into the kiss as his calloused hands drop down to the waistband of your shorts, hesitating for a moment before dropping his hand into your underwear. You grind just a little bit faster as his fingers press circles into your clit, covering your mouth with your hand as you moan.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs as he uses his other hand to guide your hips, and your move your hands down to tug firmly on his hair. You can feel your climax building, the pressure in your stomach getting closer and closer to taking you over the edge-

You both jump at the sound of the hotel room dor slamming shut. Art is standing there, in that damn backward cap and a Stanford tee shirt as he crosses his arms over his chest, saying nothing as you and Patrick sit up straight, him adjusting his crotch and you smooth down your shirt, avoiding his gaze. Finally, the silence is broken by Art laughing.

“Christ, I’m not the cops,” he slips out of his slides as he waltzes over and opens a can of beer, drinking about half of it in one go. You look at him, and at Patrick, and then back at him, not knowing what the hell you just got yourself into.

“You want to fuck him right?” Art asks, and you can’t help your small gasp at how easily he said that. You glance at Patrick, hoping he’ll know what to say, but he’s just staring at Art.

“I-um,”

“So, no one’s stopping you,” Art cuts you off, taking a final swig of his beer and moving to stand directly in front of you. You open your mouth to try and explain, but before you can talk Patrick’s mouth is on yours again, his hand roaming your body. His grip is firmer now, his fingertips digging into the side of your stomach. He tugs at the bottom of your shirt and you separate, breathless as you pull your shirt over your head and toss it on the floor. Patrick’s mouth moves down to your neck, then your collarbones, and then your chest as he reaches around to take of your bra, and you feel on fire from Art’s gaze across the room. As Patrick kisses down your stomach and yanks down your shorts, you turn over to meet Art’s eyes.

“Come here.”

Whatever resolve Art was holding onto crumbles as he quickly takes off his shirt and slips out of his Nike shorts, tossing his hat on the dresser. In a flash Art’s hands are on your neck, tilting your head around to kiss you as Patrick lifts up your hips so he can take off your underwear. Art’s lips are softer than Patrick’s but he kisses you a little bit harder, his hand cupping the base of your neck. Somehow, they both taste the same. You moan into Art’s mouth as you feel Patrick’s tongue swirl around your clit, rolling your hips into his mouth as Art’s cock presses into your back. It’s just so much so fast, and that familiar buzz starts to pool in your lower stomach.

“Look at him,” Art turns your head to Patrick and you look into his eyes as you cum, Art’s hands hold your head forward as a wave of euphoria crashes over you. Patrick’s hands are digging into your hips as he stares up at you and Art. Your chest heaves up and down as you try to catch your breath, leaning against Art as Patrick leans back up, his mouth a few inches from yours.

“Who do you want first?

[incognit0slut]

Much Ado About Nothing (Act III, Scene IV: The Quiet Morning)

The tension between you and Spencer reaches a breaking point the next morning.

Part warning: (18+) breast play, fingering, and some grinding action because he can’t stop himself Words: 1.9k A/n: this might be the quietest smut I’ve ever written, but we need to keep the tension going because it’s good for the drama🤩 i also wanna say that i wrote this in between my pile of work so please excuse me if you see any mistakes or some weird description that doesn’t make any sense. my head is about to explode

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

You woke up with an arm draped across your waist. Under normal circumstances, you would have jumped at the unexpected contact, but when the memory of last night crossed your half-conscious mind, it shouldn’t have surprised you.

Although you weren’t sure how you ended up like this. The details of the night before were a bit hazy, like fragments of a dream slipping through your fingers. You remembered the intensity, the undeniable pull that had drawn you together, but how it had led to this calm, intimate closeness was a mystery.

The gentle weight of his hand resting on your stomach was a constant reminder of the compromising position you were in. You wondered whether he was awake, or whether he was merely drifting in that blurry space between sleep and consciousness. You couldn’t help but wonder if he even realized how tightly he was holding you.

But then a subtle brush across your stomach made you tense unexpectedly. You felt his warm breath fanning across your skin, a shaky exhale that barely made a sound as it passed through his lips. There was an intake, a pointed swallow, the thick gulp of exchanged air suggesting he was, in fact, already awake.

You shifted slightly. This seemed like the right moment to address what happened last night. The quiet of the morning made it seem like an appropriate time to confront your emotions, to peel back the layers of what was quickly becoming something more real. More than just a lie

But neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved. The only sound in the room was the steady rhythm of your breathing. You lay there, waiting, your mind conjuring up various scenarios of what might happen next. You imagined him awkwardly stumbling over an apology, or worse, bolting out of the room in a rush of confusion and regret. Yet you certainly didn’t expect what came next.

He pressed a hesitant kiss at the back of your neck.

You froze, caught completely off guard. You thought of pulling away, but your body remained still, almost as if it refused to react until your brain processed the rush of emotions flooding through you. For a moment, you felt suspended in time, unable to move, to think, to breathe. But as you felt his tongue trace a warm, delicate line along the curve of your neck, you knew you couldn’t resist him any longer.

You tilted your head, giving him better access to the tender skin beneath your ear. His lips found the spot where your pulse throbbed most visibly, and he lingered there, sucking gently the whole time you squirmed in his arms.

He took your response as encouragement, letting his hand trail along your stomach before stopping at the hem of your shirt. He paused, his hand resting lightly against you as if asking for permission. A moment of hesitation fluttered through your mind, but it didn’t last too long. With a deep breath, you gave a small nod, signaling him to continue.

His palm was warm as he slipped beneath the fabric, tracing soft patterns on your skin. You tensed momentarily at the initial contact, then relaxed into his touch as he gently skimmed along, drawing invisible lines towards the soft skin where your breast met your ribcage. He paused yet again, this time as if he was waiting for any sign from you to stop. But you gave none. How could you stop when every part of your body was trembling with anticipation?

When he realized that you weren’t pulling away, his large palm covered your breast.

You let out an audible gasp.

In all the time you had known him, Spencer was the type of person who approached everything with caution and thoughtfulness, and maybe even a bit reserved. But he was a man full of curiosity, always eager to learn and explore new things, and this time, he was curious about your body.

His hand lingered there, taking in the softness of your skin before his palm molded around the curve of your breast, fingers stretching out to feel the delicate flesh beneath. The pressure was light at first, almost tentative, as if he were gauging your reaction. He then moved his thumb to trace the outline of your nipple, causing it to harden under his touch.

Your skin prickled with arousal as he continued to tease you, brushing over the sensitive peak over and over again until he was satisfied. There was a certain confidence in his movement now, as though he were familiarizing himself with your body. When you arched your back, he responded by pinching your nipple lightly between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently, drawing a quiet moan from you.

His own breath was hot and uneven against your neck. You pushed your hips back into him, feeling the firm pressure of his growing arousal against your body. The sensation made you crave more—no, you needed more. Before you could second guess yourself, you pulled his hand away from your breast, only to guide it further down.

His fingers followed your lead, sliding over your stomach and down towards the waistband of your shorts. You felt his breath grow shallow as he realized where you were leading him. He hesitated for a moment, but when you parted your legs for him, his hesitation dissolved. His hand slipped beneath the fabric of your shorts, and with daring boldness, he let his fingers slide under your panties as well.

The moment he made contact with your bare skin, a shiver ran through your body. He ran his fingertips along the length of your folds with genuine curiosity as if he was wondering how you managed to be this wet already. His fingers slid over your slickness, up, down, and then back up again before he found your throbbing clit. 

Your chest began to heave, your hips unconsciously bucking against his hand as he worked over you casually. He circled your clit with slow precision, the pads of his fingers finding just the right pressure to make you gasp. A strained moan escaped your lips, more like a cry of need than anything else, and Spencer seemed to sense your desperation. 

He withdrew his hand from you, and you almost voiced a protest, but it died in your throat as he pushed your shorts down your legs. You quickly helped him, slipping off your panties before you settled back onto your side. But he stopped you, pulling you slightly onto your back so you were half-lying on the bed and half atop him.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as he slowly parted your legs. He positioned one of them over his, leaving you fully exposed. You could feel his ragged breath against your ear as his hand moved down the length of your inner thigh. You squirmed when he finally reached your heat.

He traced the outer edges of your folds, teasing you with light, feathery touches before he slipped lower, finding your entrance. He teased you there, dipping just inside before retreating, a drawn-out moan tumbling past your parted lips. He repeated the motion, each time going a little deeper, until finally, he pushed two fingers inside.

The sensation was immediate and overwhelming. His fingers were long, stretching you in ways that made your toes curl. You watched the way his arm flexed, his muscles tensing as he pumped his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt. He hit a spot inside you that left you gasping and panting, and your desperate hand sought purchase, sliding up behind you. You reached into the soft hair at the back of his head, threading carelessly through the tousled strands as he leaned closer, planting open-mouthed kisses along your neck.

Your moans grew louder, more urgent, as he continued to thrust his fingers deeper. The pressure built inside your lower stomach, and you could feel the unmistakable rhythm of his hips rutting against your ass. He was hard, his cock straining through the fabric of his pants, brushing against your bare skin with every thrust. Another drive of his hips had you clenching around his fingers, and suddenly, the sweetest noise flew past your ears.

A groan. A very small one, hardly above a whisper, but it was rich and coarse.

The sound only heightened your pleasure, and now you were seconds away from shattering. Your grip on his hair tightened as you turned your head towards him. He responded immediately, his mouth capturing yours desperately, a meeting of tongues and teeth that left you both breathless. You clung onto him as his fingers quickened their pace, and all you could hear was the filthy sound your body was making.

Everything was suddenly too much, and before you knew it, the tension coiled within you snapped. A wave of intense pleasure crashed over you, leaving you trembling and crying out against his mouth. Your body convulsed with the force of your orgasm, your inner muscles clenching around his fingers as he continued to drive into you, his hips grinding desperately against your ass.

You were now panting, trying to focus through the haze of your orgasm as you felt the hard length of him straining against his pants. You shifted slightly, arching your back to give him better access, and the new angle allowed him to press even closer. His fingers slipped from you, and he grabbed your hip, using it as leverage to grind himself harder, rutting his hips against you with an urgent rhythm.

With a final, forceful thrust, he found his release as a moan that sounded more strained and desperate, almost like a whine, escaped his lips. His body tensed and then relaxed, the tension melting away as he clung to you, his breath heavy and warm against your mouth.

For a moment, you stayed like that, both of you trying to catch your breath. But then the silence that followed became too palpable, stretching on as neither of you seemed ready to break it. You should probably say something, anything to fill the void, but neither of you seemed able to find the right words.

The quiet grew, and you suddenly became acutely aware of everything around you—how your leg was still draped over his, the feeling of his arousal still pressing against you, and the way the cool air brushed your exposed skin. And somehow, amidst it all, you began to feel a creeping sense of unease.

You began to resent how you had allowed yourself to be swept up in the moment. You began to hate your lack of self-control. When your brain was no longer clouded by lust, your thoughts became clear, and now you felt foolish for letting things go this far, for not guarding your emotions as well as your body.

Spencer opened his mouth, but you didn’t want to hear whatever regrets he might voice. You sensed it in the way he slightly pulled away, the way he loosened his grip around you as if he too was trying to make sense of everything. The last thing you needed was to hear those doubts spoken out loud.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The air felt thick, almost suffocating. The more you stayed there, the more you felt like drowning. It was all becoming too much. So you slipped away from his arms, trying to create some much-needed space between you. You didn’t look back as you headed towards the bathroom.

You didn’t look back as he called out your name.

[tapakah0]

Animation commission I guess...

Um... ha-ha, okay, it has been stuck in my head for the whole month, but if I will keep it any more I will explode, I need to busy my brain even more I'd like to take an animation commission. Like, a fully colored, shaded, with lightning, with in-betweens, with the clean line (and background). Up to 5 seconds depending on what you want to get I guess the price may start from 250$ and be higher or less depending on complexity of the details, character or movement (<- of course everything will be negotiated) I never took such commissions before so please be patient with me since I might spend even months ha-ha (really wanna beat this fear of taking something more complex) But I will do my best since it will be first experimental time for me 1. Payment via Boosty after acceptance of the sketch animation (very rough idea) 2. I think I can draw mostly anything (but won't 18+, guro and I can decline something if I feel like I will not like to do it) 3. You must have a reference of the character, I'm not ready to work with something that doesn't have a ref to start working right away 4. Please, properly think of what you'd like to see, I will not make 3 different rough animations of different ideas because you suddenly had another idea ;~;; 5. Note me in dms if you'd like to take commission... (I'd like to move to discord later since it's more comfortable in here) Uh... I have only this as a more or less proper example (it was based on amazing storyboard by yeye23)

Okay, I'll just leave it here if someone really will be interested and will delete if it if it will be decided.... I just feel like my brain is dying if I don't have an enjoyable/stressful more complicated work on a side that demands an attention from me. Have a nice day

[evolnoomym]

Dirty Little Secret 🗝️

Dad’s Boss!Joel Miller x F!OC Moon

General Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist | Support me |

Summary: Joel likes his employees daughter just a little too much. He really tried to not give in but one fateful evening Joel loses control.

Rating: 18+ mature content mdni!!!!

Word count: 0.8k

Authors note: No thoughts, just horny. Perhaps Yoga pants kink ??? What do we thinkkkkk??? I’m not promising for this to be amazing. I literally wrote it down in lightspeed.

Warnings: no y/n, F!OC, age-gap, FathersBoss!Joel Miller, dub con, thigh fucking, dry humping, yoga pants fetish???, Joel being a horny lonely dude, he’s sleazy

If I missed anything please let me know 🙏🏻

Shoutout to @cafekitsune for the divider 🫶🏻

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that. I’m totally here for constructive criticism or feedback on how to improve. In general I appreciate comments, likes and reblogs greatly 🫶🏻

Amongst the many things Joel shouldn’t do in his position, that being the boss of a successful contracting company, the worst is most likely lusting after the daughter of his favorite employee. You.

A stunning 22 year old sunshine. Something about that warmth made his cock swell again and again. How many times did you simply smile at him, resulting in Joel trying to tame his erection in the bathroom. Though he never finished, or was more was not able to. All his cock wanted was you, but just the mental image was not enough to quench his need.

It began innocently. Running into you when you brought your dad his forgotten lunch, short talks about whatever you could think of and giving you a tour of the company. Being the good girl that you are, you made sure to bring lunch for Joel too and for that alone he wanted to fuck your brains out.

He noticed that yoga pants, precisely those incredible skin tight ones, were your most liked attire to wear. You seem to own them in an array of colors and designs

Unprofessional is also to give an internship to you without paying attention to your skills or experience. He would hire you if you’d ask, he’d do anything and by now he had accepted the slight unhealthy obsession.

Even though Joel loves having you close to him, watching you walk away from him was so much better. Your butt cheeks jiggling so enticingly always leaves him Hard. Painfully so, he hadn’t gotten the chance to sink into a tight, wet and warm hole in forever so his lust was building up each day you tempted him.

Tonight however, he is gonna explode. Joel had watched you enter the cozy little work get-together earlier with your dad. Of course you wear one of those tight yoga pants again, these darn pieces of fabric leave nothing left to the imagination.

Sometimes Joel questions if you’re even wearing underwear. He sits in his office, not drawing up building plans and instead imagining your pussy rubbing against the seam all day.

He drifts off so far that he envisions sniffing and licking those pants after you wore them, these horny thoughts eat away at him.

It all boils over when he sees you slipping into the office of your dad, a chance for him, in there he can finally catch you all alone.

He trails after you carefully, watches you round the corners and bend over the table once you enter his room. A simple action that causes even more of his thoughts to stray, it’s the delicious curves of your ass, how they mold into the crotch where your puffy lips are so visible under the stretched fabric.

It all happens almost as if in trance, he pushes the door shut, locks it. Before you even have the chance to turn around he’s on you, pushing your front down on the table.

He’s tugging his zipper down, freeing his impressive throbbing length and drags his leaking tip all over your clothed butt-cheek.

“Sorry, babygirl, i couldn’t handle seein’ you prance around in those ridiculous pants.” Each word is emphasized with a thrust of his hips into your backside. His hands have a bruising grip on your hips.

“M..Mr.Miller, what are you doing?” You sound frightened and Joel can’t blame you but he has no intention to stop.

“Havin’ some fun, baby, I can make it good for you too,huh?” He humps you for a brief moment before pushing his shiny head between your clenched thighs.

“This is wrong, Mr.Miller you need to stop.” Joel might believe you’re actually telling him off, but the way your voice quivers doesn’t convince him. You don’t wanna get caught but the cock of your father’s boss doesn’t bother you.

“Shh, sweetheart, i can feel how wet you are, don’t lie to me.” The wet spandex material is offering the perfect amount of friction.

Joel can feel the telltale warmth in his groin of a pending orgasm. This might be over swiftly but he’ll make sure it won’t be the only time.

“I’m gonna come, sweetheart, paint those nice pants a lil white, huh, how bout’ that?”

Joel is on cloud nine, rambling in horny stupor.

“I’ll make a mess of you, my good little slut,” and that’s all it takes. He’s groaning loudly, frantically shaking from the harsh unloading of his heavy balls.

Unfortunately he can’t bask in the moment because he hears your father’s voice call for him. He tugs his length back into his jeans, closes his zipper and turns to leave, but not before landing a smack to your buttocks.

“That ass is a fucking present,” he leans down to your ear and whispers “can’t wait to unpack it.”

©️ evolnoomym 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[calebslittlecrow]

Manifested A New Monitor In Under 24 Hours

Apparently success stories are motivational or shit, so here is one for y'all. Not really my thing to share success stories normally, but this one is so dumb and fast maybe it helps someone. Take it or leave it basically ┐( ˘ ､ ˘ )┌ Anyway, context: I do digital art. Like a lot, a metric fuckton of drawing anime men. And I have been using the same monitor since the beginning of my art journey. I love that crusty old bastard, we have been through a lot. But like most good things lately it has been going downhill. Not in a "look how quirky" - kind of way. More like the "I may implode mid-project and flash seizure lights at you" - kind of way. And the power button stopped working, so it won't even turn off. Do I have other monitors? Yes. Are they decent for digital art? Hahaha... no. Yeah, I could use one of them in case my monitor suddenly flatlines while I'm trying to merge some layers or play Genshin or Dead By Daylight or whatever. But honestly? I rather wrestle my old monitor out of the afterlife than deal with whatever piss-yellow color settings filter those monitors have going on. But I wasn't actively looking for a new monitor either, because a decent one costs more than my will to live. Not ready for that kind of financial trauma. Didn't thought about manifesting one either, my brain kinda forgot this was an option. What happened? I saw an absolute unit of a monitor at my friends desk. Colors so juicy they made my eyes water and my heart lurch. Size big enough to show me my shrimp like posture while drawing in full HD reflection. I thought "Damn this thing is nice. I will get one like that one day. Mine". That was it. No drama, no longing gazes at the monitor, no dropping hints at my friend that I want the monitor. No hints that my old one was being cranky and slowly turning into a microwave. Just looked at that spicy monitor and internally decided one like that would be mine. Fast forward not even 24 hours later and my friend suddenly turns to me and asks: "Hey, you want that monitor? I never use it anyway". That exact monitor I locked eyes with the day before. Zero effort, zero mental crisis. We swapped, one of my backup monitors for that gorgeous piece of display heaven (that thing has touchscreen too T-T). "But Mochi, why are you telling us this boring story???" Because sometimes shit just works like that. No need to strangle or micromanage every detail of your manifestations. I wanted it, I probably mentally claimed it and went on with chugging a liter of hot chocolate with milk despite being lactose intolerant. No pressure, no mental crisis, no "what if I never get a monitor that nice?", no "I need it now or I'll explode." Same applies to shifting more or less. Maybe we should sometimes back off and trust the process, and maybe the 3D will get its ass up and actually do shit. And yeah, I struggle with that in regards to shifting too. No shame in admitting that. I want my DR so bad and now and I question everything I do twice, I basically build a brick wall in front of myself. But shit like those small manifestations make us learn, right? Right ^-^

[monimccoythings]

Primal Instincts

I saw that in an alternate universe he, sabertooth and wildchild are feral men called the pack. And I just knew my glorious purpose. For a second I was tempted to name this like one of those supernatural romantic novels from Wattpad like "Hunted by the Alpha" or something like that lol.

tags: as gn!reader as possible (except maybe one little thing that can be ignored), feral!logan, feral!victor creed (brief appearance), feral!Kyle gibney (brief appearence), animal behavior, scent marking, non-con elements, dark!logan, small violence (reader gets grabbed by the neck).

You came for a well deserved holidays to a cottage in the middle of the Canadian woods to relax and draw the wilderness. No signal, no wifi, and the closest town is half an hour by car. Just you and nature for an entire month.

Logan smelled your sweet scent from across the wilderness. And he was immediately entraced by it. He follows the scent towards a small clearing with a wooden cottage in the middle of it. And that's when he sees you.

Oh the primal and animalistic things you make him feel, too complex and strong for his primitive brain to understand and process. You make his mouth water and his cock twitch with raw desire, that's the only thing he needs to know.

Logan starts to scent mark around your house to ward off other predators, and to warn his packmates that you were already claimed; rubbing himself against trees, rocks, and the walls of your house. He got in an ugly fight with Victor because he came too close to his liking.

Kyle tried to approach you too, mostly driven by his own curiosity instead of defiance like Victor, but a single growl was enough to make him backpedal into the wilderness.

Logan also starts to leave at you doorsteps small gifts that range from cute (some flowers he had seen you sniff earlier) to creepy (a bird you had been drawing the day before, obviously dead).

When you leave for groceries he freaks out. Are you gone?? Where?? Why?? He grows frustrated because he cannot match your car's speed. You swore you heard an inhuman howl in the distance when you were driving towards the closest town.

Logan's rage and despair know no limits while you're gone. Not even Victor dares to provoke him in the middle of his frenzy, his destructive behavior could turn the smallest hint of a challenge into a very painful death.

He feels alive again when he sees your car return. Oh? You were just in need of food? He should have noticed, you don't need to worry about it anymore, he will take care of your hunger from now on. And to make sure you never leave him again, he flattens your tires with his claws.

So he starts providing you with carcasses of his hunts, his biggest prizes, only the best for his mate. He won't eat until he makes sure you have taken a bite, which concerns him when you refuse to do so. Isn't that enough? Should he hunt for bigger prey?

Let's just say it freaks you out to open the door and find a dead deer in your porch. It's not the first time it has happened. At first you thought those "presents" as accurate as they had been to your interests, had been left behind by some stray cat, yeah yeah, totally crazy but it was the safest way of thinking. But no cat was strong enough to carry a deer like that towards your house.

Fuck holidays, it was time to leave.

The blood in your veins ran cold when you saw the flattened tires. You couldn't escape by car. Your only options was either run for an hour towards the closest town, or stay there and hope whatever was lurking in the woods, never got bored of hunting just deer.

Either option terrified you, but you couldn't stop to dwell in the pros and cons.

So you ran.

It was getting dark, and cold, and your lungs felt like they were about to explode. Yet, the thought of dying if you stopped to take a breath kept you moving forwards. You didn't stop. Couldn't stop.

Until you literally couldn't take a step further.

There, in the middle of the way, something, or better said, someone, was blocking your path.

It was a man, and what a man.

Hairy like a wild beast and built like the strongest bodybuilder. He was flanked by two other equally naked men, hidden in the shadows to not overshadow the one in front of you. They were larger than him, but lower in their hierarchy, you supposed by the way they trailed behind, with their heads lowered. Their behavior reminded you of a pack of wolves.

You took a step back. Their leader, or at least who you supposed was the leader, slightly bared his teeth at you, showing the tiniest hint of two very sharp fangs.

Your mind went blank. Your entire brain short-circuited. Despite the thinly veiled threath in his actions, you unconciously took a step back.

"No." The man rumbled in a very deep voice. It sounded rough, weird even, like that was the first words he pronounced ever. Still, that wasn't enough to make him less intimidating in your eyes.

So that's why when he took a step fowards, you turned around and run.

It didn't take long for him to catch up to you. Of course he would. He moved like a fish in water, this was his territory after all.

The worst part of wanting peace and tranquility in the middle of nowhere was that nobody could hear your screams. Nobody could hear you trashing and kicking against that wall of solid muscle's strong grip.

You fought, you fought with everything you had inside. Not even when his patience ran thin and snarled at you with a sound that was more animal than man did you stop fighting.

He pushed the door of your cottage and walked in with you struggling in his arms like he owned the place. He made a beeline towards the bedroom and dropped your body unceremoniously onto the bed, wasting no time in getting on top of you when he sensed you were about to bolt.

At least the other two hadn't followed him in. Still, you knew they were out there, lurking, watching. You didn't know what was worse.

Even when he had you pinned in the bed you refused to submit. With an inhuman roar, he grabbed your neck with his right hand and pressed you against the pillow, while from the knuckles of his left hand sprouted three metal blades that sank in the pillow mere inches to your right.

He was so close to your face you could see his sharp teeth glistening. His large erection poked insistently at your thigh. In the middle of that raging cloud of emotions that went from fear to dread, arousal was certainly one you were not expecting. It was faint, yet it was there. As if your body subconciously enjoyed being roughed up by that brute. Shame filled your body.

His hand moved to the back of your neck, where he held you firmly in place. His face lowered to your pulse point, where your scent was stronger, it was driving him crazy, he could feel himself getting dizzy with it. His mouth latched at your neck, sucking, biting, licking and nipping; he couldn't get enough. Everything in him was screaming to mark you, claim you, breed you full of his pups.

But he could smell you. You weren't ready. Not yet. He had to be patient. With a last nip at your neck, he left your trembling form on the bed, muttering a single warning before he exited the cottage.

"Stay."

Stay, because he'd be watching. Stay because he'd know if you tried to escape again. Stay because it wouldn't take him much to drag you back there with him, and next time he may not be so gentle.

Before walking back into the wilderness he made sure to leave his scent all over the cottage and its surroundings once again.

Logan hadn't expected you to resist. He would have liked you had welcomed his courtship with open arms. His instincts were screaming at him to just take you and tie you to him forever. Yet, there was a tiny voice inside his mind, thatwarned him that mating with an unwilling partner would risk their hate. And if Logan craved something, was your love and devotion.

He is a predator, he is the alpha of the pack. He is a very patient creature. He had caught the smallest flick of arousal when he had manhandled you earlier. His chest puffed out proudly. That was a good reaction. In due time, he would make you his mate and you would accept, willingly.

In the meantime, he will keep courting you, catering to your needs, proving himself worthy of your affections. He doesn't need to worry about anything else.

Because in the end, you would be his.

A/N: THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SHORTER WHAT HAPPENED

[chelseeebe]

three’s a crowd.

this is just porn with absolutely no plot if i’m being completely honest lollll i was at a festival this weekend and wanted to ease my brain back into writing and then this happened?? i do have part 1 ready to go for shattering expectations but am waiting to post

18+. voyeurism. perv!eddie i guess. unprotected sex hehe

imagine sneaking off to the bathroom with steve at some event you didn’t even want to come to because he just can’t keep his hands off of you.

they’re grabbing onto your supple thighs to hoist you up onto the sink, moving between your legs, lips not living yours as his large, hardened hands roam your body. dress yanked up over your thighs revealing a damp patch in your lacy panties.

he’s growling into your mouth, feeling his erection nudging perfectly at your sensitive clit. pulling him closer to you with your legs wrapped around his waist.

murmuring words of encouragement to tell him to hurry up. you need him now.

his pants coming undone, cock springing up against his stomach as you shuffle forward, hips tilted as you wait impatiently for him to fill you up.

trying so desperately not to make any noise when he slides inside, forehead resting against yours with the tinges of a smirk on his lips. he can feel just how soaked you are for him already, stretching your pretty pussy around him.

finding it too difficult to keep your mouth shut when he hits that sweet, spongy spot deep inside, mewling into his ear with a breath chorus of stevestevesteve.

you’re not sure if you’re hearing things but you’re sure the door creaks and your eyes flit over to spot eddie stood gawping, one hand still wrapped around the rusting door handle.

you startle a little at the sight, squeezing steve’s shoulder to grab his attention, ‘steve.. steve,’ different to the similar sounds you’d been making.

he looks back over his shoulder without much concern, tsks quietly before continuing to thrust his hips, the sounds of your wetness filling the tiny room.

it’s so fucking hot. it shouldn’t be hot.

knowing he’s just stood there watching, you should feel weird. it was. but it was just so sexy, encouraging you in a way you’d never known possible.

your stomach twists, averting your eyes as your head rolls back against the dirtied mirror. heels digging into his back when his thumb moves to circle your clit. using the opportunity to bury his head into your neck, suckling at the taut skin, littering the empty space in a plethora of purples.

head lolling to the side as you once again making eye contact with the other man still stood at the door. dropping to the obvious tent in his pants, hand twitching, just absolutely fucking desperate to touch himself.

eager to please, you steve in by the collar of his shirt, lazily connecting your lips. tongues and spit. eddie’s chest is heaving, near enough drawing blood from his teeth dug into his bottom lip.

your stomach twists, too blissed out now to care about one eddie munson stood at the door. steve’s hand is balanced on the porcelain basin, slamming into your cunt mercilessly, feeling you tighten around him. he knows you’re close, the sweet sounds rolling out of your mouth are indication enough.

‘fuck..’ you’re whining, thighs trembling as the coil snaps, eyes squeezing shut as your orgasm overtakes your limbs. white hot flashes explode behind your eyelids. clinging onto steve’s neck in fear of falling off the flimsy sink.

steve grunts, burying himself to the hilt as thick ropes of hot cum paint your walls. leaving wet kisses along your jaw and down onto your already marked neck before pulling out. his pants back around his waist before you have time to even digest what had just happened.

he’s a gentleman, pulling your dress down and helping you from the basin. finding it so insanely hot to know he’s dripping out of you as you land on wobbly legs, cheeks burning when you catch sight of eddie again.

it’s a silent exchange between them but it makes you giddy all over again. steve nodding at the boy before taking your hand and pulling you out of the bathroom with as much haste as he’d pulled you into it.

the lock clicking as soon as the door is shut again.

[keeps-ache]

ヮ_ヮ [<- the Creature of Solitude]

[piqii]

quiet nights ( not really )

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ pairing !- junker queen x fem!reader

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ content warning !- smut, so mdni !!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ w.c !- 1k

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ author's note !- waaugh !! my first post to tumblr acc teehee ^^ do inform me if im missing any tags or if i should add anything i have no clue how to properly do this >m<

also dividers are by @/cafekitsune !! thanku they are very cute :))

Soft touches from calloused hands travel the expanse of your torso, the lady above occasionally digging her nails into skin to watch the way you arch for her oh so beautifully. She leans down as her hands come to rest at your hips, pressing featherlight kisses that trail down, ending at the waistband of your pants.

“ S’good for me, aren’t ya ? “ Junker queen purrs, the usually loud and rowdy queen appearing soft and gentle in these moments between the two of you, chuckling as she watches you nod in response.

Heavens, the way she gets lost in those eyes of yours everytime you look at her, her own eyes struggling to maintain contact in fear of her heart exploding in its place in her chest. Not to mention the way those eyes seem to widen as she undoes your pants… The queen can feel her own arousal spike with how delectable you look.

However, her own needs are pushed to the far back of her mind at the moment ; after all, tonight is about appreciating you, ravishing you in all the attention she failed to give with how busy she’s been running Junkertown. She pulls down your pants achingly slow, trying to draw out these moments where the two of you are free enough to bask in each other’s attention.

Spotting the damp spot on the front of your panties, Junker queen can’t help the chuckle that leaves her lips, hands moving to toy with the waistband of the undergarment. “ So wet for me already… And I’ve barely done anything.. “ The queen clicks her tongue, moving to straddle your hips as she leans close to your face, breath hot against your lips. “ What am I going to do with you, hmm ? “

Before you can gratify her with a response however, Junker queen presses her lips against yours, tongue pushing its way into your mouth to swallow any pleasured noises that bubble in your throat with the way her hand starts to slip into your panties. Hand achingly close to where you need it, you can help but roll your hips up in an attempt to get the touch where you need it, though all this brings is a hand to your hip to stop the movement.

“ Patience, love. M’getting there. “ Junker queen coos as she separates from the kiss, tongue licking up the strand of saliva that connects the two of you before she refocuses her attention at where you need it the most, finally pulling your panties down to pool around your ankles with your pants.

Getting off the bed for a moment, Junker queen moves to pull a bottle of lube out the drawer by the bedside, returning to her position above you as she lathers her digits in the lubricant. Her eyes fixate on the way yours are slightly glazed over, the gaze igniting something in her as she hovers her hand over where you need it the most, before slowly pressing it against you.

Experienced fingers find their way around your clit, the cool feeling of the lube drawing a sharp gasp from your lips as you arch your back off the bed, the position supported by Junker queen’s hand which moves to rest on your lower back. She twists and pinches the nub, relishing in each whimper and moan that leaves your lips as you drown in pleasure, brain muddled with lust.

Fingers coated with lube and your pre, Junker queen moves her fingers lower to prod against your hole, eyes meeting yours for consent ; a look you return with a small nod and roll of your hips. She returns it with a soft smile, pressing a kiss before she slowly pushes a finger in.

It’s a feeling you’ve felt countless times, yet it remains just as pleasurable as before, drawing soft moans from parted lips as you clench around the digits. Junker queen chuckles, loving every reaction she can draw out of you as she pushes another digit into your wet hole, which greedily accepts the second intrusion.

Fingers pump in and out of you at a gentle pace, the queen’s fingers occasionally curling up to prod at that sweet spot of yours that sends sparks of pleasure up your spine, accompanied by sweet cries that Junker queen could replay in her head forever. The calloused touch draws a familiar tension in your gut, walls clenching around her fingers in a vice grip.

It’s not long before that tension washes over with a well placed prod against your sweet spot, drawing a sharp intake of breath as your release coats her fingers, body trembling as you bask in the afterglow of the orgasm. Junker queen keeps her fingers in you for a moment longer before pulling out her fingers, bringing the digits up to her face to inspect that sweet liquid of yours.

Ensuring your gaze is locked on her, the queen slowly slips the fingers into her mouth, running her tongue between the digits to lick up any and all release that remains on her hand. It’s a sight that brings a flush to your cheeks, though you find yourself unable to tear your eyes away as she finishes up.

“ Beautiful… Just absolutely beautiful. “ The queen sighs, wiping the leftover saliva on her pants as she leans in, pressing a kiss against your lips which you greedily accept, arms slung over Junker queen’s shoulder to indulge in the warmth that seems to emit from her form. The two of you lay there for a moment more, the peace shattering as she playfully tugs on the waistband of your panties to snap it against your skin, drawing a surprised yelp from you.

“ Okay, pull y’self together, I’ll go start the bath for ya. “ Junker queen chuckles, crawling off the bed to make her way towards the bathroom. You watch as she walks off, a bit more energetic than she was when she dragged you towards the bedroom. Your hands move to fully slip off the rest of your clothes as you shuffle your way towards the bathroom on weak legs.

God, you could lose yourself in her forever.

[theshepherdshound]

9, 11, & 40 for the narinder ask thing if you don’t mind :)

tbh i will always talk about blorbo so all good- he's on microwave in my brain even if i can't write about him and the lamb rn

9. Do you have headcanons about who his witnesses or ‘bosses’ would be pre-exile? If so, who are they?

in all honestly i haven't put too much thought into it no, so instead here is a bunch of narinder pre-entrapment, post narrative spoiler, while lucid while i think on it

he did find the tail on the robe a bit excessive (and really he should have a veil but it is super annoying to draw and not make his face disappear) but the simplest answer is just that to me it is likely given his providence that he would've needed any given that the only way someone might find him unattended he'd be in the void and they'd be dead anyways and any mortal who touched him would die so what would've been the point really? it's not like they'd be able to spend time with him or the void or be near him for any extended period of time it's not like mortals are people anyways

11. How did Narinder feel about his priests, witnesses, and followers?

who?

(really he does have many feelings about it but why he has many feelings about it is narratively relevant, but He Does Not Feel Great About It and would really rather it went back to the way things were before) but- given he can experience 4D (and often it is unwillingly) it is mostly kind of hard to think of them as anything more than kind of a mass of colours and emotions in multiple moments in time. who the might've been or could be and never were- looking at an individual as someone you were taught to never see and struggled with to begin with kind of explode into all possibilities makes it best not to think on them it's not like mortals are people anyways- right?

40. What is his biggest struggle after being spared? Fitting in with the cult? Seeing the lamb’s face daily? Chronic pain?

his hands don't work as well and often can't do fine tasks- which when i was going through this questions was one i was like MMMM because i get to talk about one of my favourite thoughts around the motif of survival and narinder cats are prey they're hunters too of course, but there's also something interesting to me about an animal characterisation that is both predator and prey; that cats exist in this kind of between space of fight or flight. and it really depends on the situation what they choose to do! but most tend to attack when backed into a corner narinder was most certainly backed into a lot of corners all of the bishops are prey animals that are in some way potentially dangerous- small things that fight to survive and sometimes win. leshy is the most of a stretch here- but there are worms that are predators SO i stand by it but now he can't- he lost enough dexterity that on a bad day he cannot defend himself. and what do you do when everything you are is built on that concept; surviving at all expense, no matter what, taking down every obstacle that stood between you and the safety of yourself and those you care about?

what does he have now? what is there after being the one that survived? and having done so to have lost your last defense? in some regards i don't think that struggle stops, that fear is so deeply baked into his loose concept of self that there isn't really a way of dealing with it beyond management it is a huge part of what makes him kind of a wet paper bag of a person- he's essentially just managing to not have a panic attack most of the time

he's so silly WHEEEE

[worldsokayestmagicalgirl]

✨ recap time ✨

As Quincy settles in with Agatha, Sylphi pulls the party to the library table so they can attempt to find Ko Kiri’s home on a map. She’s able to locate it, but the area she hesitatingly points to is unmarked, and she admits that she’s not really supposed to tell anyone where she’s from.

The minute they figure out a travel route from Agatha’s forest to the mountains of Rocktom, Amoré begins the process of sending Ko Kiri on her way. Sylphi insistes that they need to walk her there, but Amoré puts her foot down on not being an escort service for wayward youths. They argue about it heatedly before Ko Kiri speaks up, saying she’s capable of making the trip alone, seeing as she made the trip down by herself anyways.

Sylphi unhappily obliges before leaving her to say goodbye to Diana while she goes to the kitchen to pack her some supplies for the road.

Amorè settles in at the table with Quincy, observing her demonstration of all the ways a gadget can explode. They begin chatting, and Quincy offhandedly asks about Amorè’s knowledge of “magic swords and gold lips.” The words are vaguely familiar to her, but Quincy dose not really elaborate or give her more context to work with. Instead, she asks if the Bellridge family has any hand in the religious world. Amorè bitterly admits she has not had any dealings in anything religious since she was very young.

Diana and Sylphi re-enter the cottage after seeing Ko Kiri off, and Sylphi chimes in that understanding religion takes effort. Amorè is immediately enraged at the insinuation that she didn’t try hard enough to keep her relationship with her Angelic Guide, and yells at Sylphi for assuming she knows anything about her situation. Sylphi tries to pacify her, and suggests that they talk it out. She is unsuccessful however, as Amorè goes on to remind Sylphi that she is still a stranger to her. And even if she wasn’t, that that is one of the last things she would ever talk about with any of them.

Quincy cuts through the tension by suggesting they all could benefit from some therapy. But before Amorè can redirect her anger on her, Diana speaks up to ask about the details of her research. She mentions recognizing God Items from her travels, and asks if Quincy had actually located any of them. Quincy admits that it’s a passion project of hers, that’s she’s not yet found the answers.

Amorè immediately wants to know what Quincy would do with these items if she could manage to track them down, given that things seem to explode under her watch. Quincy denies actually wanting them, assuring them that her interests are purely educational in nature.

Diana asks if Quincy could identify objects. Quincy says she’d be willing to take a look, and Diana pulls out a large purple orb from her pack. She tosses it towards Quincy, and Quincy…does not catch it.

It shatters the stone floor of Agatha’s sitting room like it weighs a ton, and Quincy frantically instructs Amorè and Sylphi not to touch it. If that orb is what she thinks it is, then it could kill them if they lay so much as a finger on it.

She’s absolutely flabbergasted that Diana was just casually tossing this around, given that she should not have been able to even pick it up in the first place. Diana does not reassure her as she admits that “they” said she should have does as well.

Previous / Next

I love how I could have been done with this so much earlier but my brain insisted on stocking the pantry. I was about to draw a loaf of bread before I sat there for a full 10 seconds before going “…fuck, Sylphi would make artisanal sourdough…”

As always, Diana : @wolfy1298