#im still trying to figure out tags for these things

[othersidedd]

Let me take care of you

Joel Miller x f!reader

🤎 You're sick and Joel wants to take care of you.

🤎 tags: no outbreak or maybe were in jackson however you wanna imagine it, sickness, soft dom joel, caring joel, kissing, joel talking you through it kinda, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, praise, joel cums in his pants from just eating you out

🤎 wc 2.5k

🤎 a little bit self-indulgent short thing cuz im sick again for the third time this month and im honestly so tired of it (and i wish joel miller would take care of me)

🤎 reader has hair she can braid, pink lips and is smaller than joel

-

You had been feeling under the weather for a few days now, waking up with a dry throat, guessing it'll probably pass when you get a glass of water, but instead it stuck with you, then it was your nose next, midday suddenly realizing you cant get any air through your nose.

A day after that it all really hit you. You woke up to an aching all over your body, getting up from the bed, rubbing at your forehead, attempting to ease some of the pain. You tried to breathe with your nose, but still nothing. You groaned in annoyance and pain, waking up Joel, who was still peacefully sleeping next to you. He slowly blinked, adjusting his eyes to the bright sun beaming from the window, making you glow in the light as Joel watched you, but you definitely didn’t feel all that shining and glowing right now.

"Is somethin' wrong, baby?" his voice called, still rough and slow with sleep. His eyebrows furrowed with worry, a hand reaching for your cheek. He softly traced your cheek with his thumb. "Jesus, you're burnin' up." He brought his hand up to your forehead, laying the back of his hand flat on your hot skin.

"Everything hurts, I just wanna sleep for a bit more," you told him, looking at his sweet, dark brown eyes filled with concern about you.

"Ya' stay right here, I'll go get the thermometer." His hands left your body and you laid your weak body back on the white sheets, sighing with the acceptance of it all, you really weren’t feeling well, and you would have to stay in bed for at least today.

As he came back and sat next to you on the mattress, checking your temperate, you both figured out you really were burning up. In Joel’s words, you had a dangerously high fever. He told you to relax and stay in bed, while he ran to the pharmacy to get all kinds of medicine to help get you back on your feet.

Only back then you didn't know that you would still be staying in bed after a week, feeling like an eternity with your body locked up in one place. This sickness was hitting you hard. You mostly slept through your days, and even when you could rarely stay awake for a few hours, you couldn't do anything. Your body was so weak, even standing up made your head spin.

Thank god Joel was there for you. You tried to tell him you could take care of yourself, however he insisted on helping, and there was no use trying to argue with him, he was a persistent man, and you were also lying, there was no way you could have taken care of yourself when you were like this. He made food for you, he read your favorite book for you, the pink cover of it looking silly in his big, rough hands. He even helped you get to the bathroom, the fever still making your legs wobbly. He carried you to the couch on the days you wanted to watch a movie to pass the time. He laid with you when you fell asleep, his comforting hands around your waist, and his hot breath in your hair.

And of course, he gave you all those medicines he bought. He would feed you a strange tasting liquid with a spoon, demanding you to open your mouth afterwards to make sure you actually took it all, then spray something up your nose, and then, your favorite, he would rub those creams on your chest and back, running his calloused hands on your soft skin. It felt comforting, his touch so gentle and knowing, soothing away some of the aching in your body. But his hands on your chest, only inches away from your breasts, also had your stomach twisting with want. You'd stare at his face with pleading eyes, as he focused his gaze on his hands spreading the cream on you. But either he didn't notice the glint in your eyes, or he just didn't want you like this, all stuffy and messy, because day after day, his hand left your body, fixed your shirt and kissed your cheek, wishing you a good night.

-

"Open up, baby. Stick your tongue out." You rolled your eyes, but still obeyed, sticking your tongue out at Joel sitting in front of you on the bed, soft mattress dipping under his weight. You still tasted the metallic taste of the medicine faintly on your tongue.

"Good girl," he cooed, smiling at you. You laughed softly, the praise slightly stirring something in you, reminding you of all the times you've been on your knees before him, hearing those same words, but in a darker tone.

"Gotta' make sure you take everything I give ya'." You gave him a look, a mad one, maybe, but you didn't actually want him to stop. He was teasing you, and whatever he was trying, was working, your face flushed, and your touch deprived body tensing up at his filthy words.

"Stop talking like that." You slightly pushed his shoulder, only earning a soft laugh from him. "I'm all messy and sick," you said, more to yourself, trying to stop the arousal twisting in you. You hadn't even looked into a mirror that day, but you could only guess what a mess you were, sitting on bed in your worn sleep clothes, hair falling out of your now loose braid, holding an used tissue in your hand.

He reached for the small container of cream on the bedside table, twisting the top open with ease. You were only wearing a small pink tank top, giving Joel all the access he needed for this. He dipped two fingers, his index and middle, into the soft cream, your eyes closely following their every move, causing you to feel a familiar heat between your thighs. He brought the fingers to your neck, softly starting to work the cream onto your skin, starting at the neck.

"You're still burnin' up,” he stated matter-of-factly as his hands worked on your skin. They were slowly starting to make their way down, now massaging the cream into your upper chest. You felt your nipples harden at his touch, the action clearly visible to him too, the hardness of them poking right through your thin shirt. His eyes flickered to yours, lips now forming into a small smirk. His hands inching lower, you could sense this wasn't about the cream anymore. Your breath hitched in your throat, lips slightly parted.

"You look beautiful," he whispered as he slowly brought his lips to yours, giving you a gentle kiss. His hands sat right above the soft flesh of your breasts. You huffed and opened your mouth to protest, how could he find you beautiful in this state? But he quickly stopped your attempts, "Shh, don't say anythin'." To make sure you got the message, he closed his lips on yours again.

You breathed out his name, hands tugging at his old gray t-shirt, trying to ground yourself, but also wanting to pull him closer, get more from him. He softly brushed a few strands of hair behind your ear, his sweet eyes looking at you with so much love and gentleness. "I know, sunshine, you've been feelin' so bad." His hand still resting at your chest finally moved lower, gently massaging over your clothed breast.

"Let me make you feel better." Your head dizzy with the sickness, and now also arousal, all you could do was nod, hoping that would be enough for him, enough to not stop, enough to give you more.

He slowly tugged your shirt over your head, leaving you in only your panties. His gaze moved over your chest, always savoring the sight of your pretty flushed nipples and soft skin, as if every time was his first time seeing you like this. He kissed your jaw, neck, collarbones, making his way down, feeling the feverish heat of your skin on his lips, sucking gently, tasting the sweetness of you on his tongue. As his mouth finally found your breast, you leaned your head back, a slow exhale escaping your parted mouth. He knew just the way to touch you, and tonight it was all about you.

"Lay down for me." His big hands guided your back to find the soft sheets, making sure your head was resting on the pillows. Joel hummed in satisfaction, moving himself towards your feet. His thumbs tenderly teased circles on your hips, "Let's get these off," fingers finding the waistband of your white panties. He slowly tugged them down, taking his time, letting you relax and feel every moment. He tossed the damped underwear aside, rough hands gently guiding your legs open.

You loved when he was like this, Joel Miller, the big, rough, mean man, touching you like a sacred thing, like you could break at any moment. His touch so full of care and love.

His breath tickled your skin as he kissed along your thighs. You suck in a long breath as he softly held your legs, thumbs circling the skin, and kissed right next to the wetness between your legs. You felt yourself struggle for breath, your nose still stuffy.

"Breathe through your mouth, baby," he guided you, other hand reaching for your lips, other still staying at your thigh, holding you open for him. His index finger pushing against your pink, soft lips, your body responding to him, parting your lips. The digit gently pressed at your lower lip, holding your mouth open. You took long inhales through your mouth, Joel feeling the hot air on his finger.

A soft whimper escaped your mouth as he licked your folds, dragging his tongue along your wetness. The sweet pleads from your mouth as he worked you with his own, went straight to his cock, feeling the hardness in his boxers. He looked up at you, as he slowly dipped his tongue into you, your parted mouth, slight string of saliva running down your chin, wetting the finger still in your mouth, gently, but firmly holding it open, your face flushed the most gorgeous shade of red. You moaned his name, hips bucking up, grinding into him. Joel savored the taste of you, even if this was for you, that didn't mean he wasn't allowed to enjoy himself.

"This what you needed?" His lips found your clit, sucking gently, causing you to throw your head back, body shivering from the sensation. "Needed me to make you feel good?" You couldn't answer, only frantically nod, barely even registering the words in your hazy mind. His digit left your mouth, trusting you to keep it open with all your moans and whimpers. The hand traveled down your body, touching your neck, chest, stomach and thighs. He rubbed your thigh, trying to ground you before speaking again, "Tell me, beautiful."

Your voice came out hoarse and dry, more like a broken cry, "Yes, fuck-. Joel, yes, please, I need you." He smiled at you, a soft, comforting smile.

"That's my good girl," he cooed, a calloused finger finally finding your opening, slowly pushing inside of you. Your back arched at his digit working its way inside of you, your breath fast and unsteady. "Easy, let's take it slow," he didn't want you to overwork yourself, already feeling weak due to your fever. He slowly dragged his finger in and out, feeling the way you were soaking it.

"Look at me." You opened your eyes, hadn't even realized they were closed, lost in all the pleasure. You gazed at him with heavy eyelids, meeting his eyes, glimmering beautifully in the dim light.

"Keep your eyes on me, okay?" You tried to respond, half the word disappearing into a moan as he pushed his finger deeper, hitting that sweet spot inside of you. You fought to keep your eyes open, soft whines filling the silence of the night. His mouth returned on you, gaze still connected to yours as he licked your clit. The sight of him like this, between your legs, mouth working on you, lips and jaw glistening with your wetness, eyes full of eagerness to please, was enough to almost bring you to the edge.

Joel loved this too, his precum dampening his underwear, cock twitching with arousal. The way you looked, so messy and ruined under his touch, your whimpers and begs in the thick air, how you let him take care of you. He saw the way you were struggling to keep the eye contact, brief moments of eyes closing, moans getting shorter and louder, signaling to him that you were getting closer. And he was too, he felt that familiar tug at his stomach, causing him to groan against you.

"My sweet girl," he mumbled in between sloppy sucks and licks. "You're doing so good for me."

His words went straight to your cunt, hips bucking up into him, his finger curling inside of your soft walls. He stared at you with hunger and fire in his eyes, like he never wanted to stop, like he was enjoying this just as much as you.

"Joel-," your words cut short by another flick of tongue against your red, aching bud, "Ah- I'm gonna-". You reached your peak, back arching from the mattress, crying out his name.

He felt you come undone on his finger, your walls squeezing around his digit. He watched you writhe under his touch, listening to your cries of pleasure, hearing his name on your lips over and over again, pushing him over the edge too, grunting as he felt his release paint a wet spot in his boxers.

You both watched each other come undone, his finger still softly moving inside of you, letting you ride out your pleasure. Breathy moans and groans traveled in the air as you collected yourself.

Joel slipped his finger out, bringing it to his mouth, licking the flesh clean. He leaned over you, hands on either side of your head, closing you in, bringing his lips to yours. You tasted yourself on his lips, gaze traveling around his still clothed body, surely he needed the release too, you were ready to help him, even if your body was aching and screaming at you to go to sleep, but then, you noticed it, the wet spot on his pants.

"Did you...," you whispered between the soft kisses, staring at his crotch with slightly widened eyes. He looked down at himself, then back to you, and nodded, eyelids heavy and breath still uneven. You laughed softly, running your hand in his dark curls. "Joel Miller, the man you are," you smiled at him, eyes bright with amusement, earning a low chuckle from him.

"C'mon now, lets get you to sleep, baby." He laid his bigger body next to you, hands resting on your bare waist, holding you close to him. Planting soft kisses on your neck and shoulder, you drifted off to sleep with Joel holding you, taking care of you, like he always does.

-

🤎 im so sorry if theres any errors im sick and tired :( please tell me your thoughts if you have any !!

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Tell one random thing about yourself then go on anon and asks your 5 most favorite moots this!

I am currently looking into Paganism although almost everyone on my page probably already knows that rn. 💀 its been very fun so far, never knew there was a word for my beliefs.

Currently I am reading Drawing Down the Moon by Margot Adler. And then maybe I’ll do research into certain deities, such as Lady Hecate and Lady Aphrodite. Hecate is actually the reason I was drawn to Paganism at all.

[teratomatica]

you always land on all fours

[dreamsy990]

TELEMACHUS AND ANTINOUS. FINALLY

[acekindaneat]

supportive bf during Seri's finals week 🫶

[a-loose-collection-of-ants]

I love your depiction of Hamilton and Lafayette, it’s so funny! Lafayette is so sweet and happy and Hamilton just has beef w/ the entire world. I can’t wait to see more of their brotherly relations in ur AMAZING art style

God, they're so narrative foil coded

Seriously though, there's some fantastic contrast between them. They're just similar enough (both roughly the same age, both insecure and glory hungry, + their "shared father" or whatever Lafayette said) - and yet they manage to be exact opposites at the same time.

I could say more but I think this bit from Mike Duncan's biography about Lafayette basically gets at what I'm trying to say:

"Like Lafayette, Hamilton grew up without a father. He also lost his mother to a fatal illness at almost the same age Lafayette lost his. But where the tragedies of Lafayette’s childhood made him the heir of a fabulous fortune, the tragedies of Hamilton’s illegitimate childhood left him systematically cut out of his family’s inheritance. So where the dark clouds of Lafayette’s life were lined with silver, the dark clouds of Hamilton’s life were simply dark. Lafayette emerged from childhood buoyant and effusive, Hamilton cynical and reticent. But even though Hamilton started life a penniless bastard on the periphery of European civilization, and Lafayette started life an insanely wealthy heir in the heart of a great kingdom, they fell into an easy friendship. French was not the only language the two young men shared. The also shared a code of personal honor and a desire to prove themselves to the world." -Mike Duncan, Hero of Two Worlds, The Marquis de Lafayette in the Age of Revolution

Now, I am not qualified to speak on the real figures, but I do like to write. So, there is a narrative opportunity here that drives me insane.

Like, cast Hamilton as brilliant, but overly cynical with a habit of assuming the worst in people, and give him a negative character arc where he comes close to recognizing the potential good of humanity but ultimately falls into his more authoritarian tendencies. Then contrast him with Lafayette who's more naive. He's not quite sheltered but unfamiliar with the sort of selfishness and greed he'd have encountered if he grew up in a more vulnerable financial position. In coming to America he, like Hamilton, is forced to reckon with contempt, greed, and the failings of democratic government. But, unlike Hamilton, still manages to come out of it with a generally positive opinion of humanity.

I'm just saying, if I were writing history to contain ✨themes ✨ they are a perfect opportunity.

[ryssbelle]

Poppy for N2 au, it took me so long to make her design cuz I didn't really know what I wanted to do only because I feel like her design is pretty perfect.

But then I just thought about fun outfits to give her or outfits that I would find comfortable if I was wearing them and it all came together.

Poppy here is pretty much the same as here movie counterpart, as nothing really changes on her end of things other than having more insight on Branch through his brothers, and through Lief. Shes also a bit more understanding a bit earlier on because of it but it doesnt do much to change her own character arc I would say.

Bonus

Part of Poppys design was based off a design I had made for previous rulers of Troll Village/Tree

Namely Queen Protea who I designed as Poppys grandmother

Named after the Protea flower which part of her design is based off :D

In the context of this Au Protea was the one who conceptualized the tunnels while her son, King Peppy, was the one to follow through after her death

[sheetzking]

Compilation of random hakuoki stuff ive done over the last month because ive been replaying the games👍

idk if anyone sees my visions here idek if theres a fandom here ?? hey guys😌

[psychotic-nonsense]

< || >

"Eddie...?"

"I'm sorry. No. Not quite."

"The hell does that mean-" Steve doesn't get to finish. His body reacts on its own again, wanting to surge and face the evil head on. All it does is strain everything in him again, makes him hiss in pain and struggle to remain upright.

The hand that he didn't even realize left returns, and the other holds a wet cloth. It dabs at his forehead, lukewarm and comforting. Everything is as cold as the Upside Down, these days.

"Not important. It really is best that you stay in place." That tone is monotone again, the brief moment of clarity gone. It's back, the... thing using Eddie's voice, his body, his face like an amateur puppeteer. How brutally ironic. "You must heal."

Steve, ever stubborn, bats the hand above him away. It's just a limp wave in his state, but the thing backs off. The hand behind him remains though, surrendering to help Steve find his way up. It's tough, considering how swollen one hand feels and the lingering phantom pains that Steve's body endured but Eddie's did not, but Steve gets himself into a sitting position.

"'Not important,' my ass." Probably not the best threat when Steve hacks up a lung immediately after. The thing doesn't respond, and when Steve faces it again, it's face is painfully blank. Wide, yellow glowing eyes stare at him, a bare hint of white at its center, so utterly familiar yet simultaneously foreign.

"If you're not Eddie, then what are you?" Steve spits, full of emotion compared to the husk beside him. He brings his left hand up to his chest, rubbing softly along the wrist with his other and wincing at the feeling.

The thing takes in a breath, eyes flitting off to the side briefly before returning. Still with that infuriating lack of emotion. "You are not in a good state to have this conversation."

It reaches for Steve's hands with the rag, and he pulls them out of reach. Too quickly, as well, his jaw instinctively clenching with the motion, resulting in an even more embarrassing groan of pain. "You don't know that," Steve forces out.

"I do."

"How so?"

"You are injured, weak. And this is a complicated matter."

"You just don't want to tell me."

"Because it will be too hard for you to hear."

Damn, it's got him there. As much as Steve wants to know, he's not sure he could bear the answer. Everything rubs so raw, everything having happened in such quick succession to him, and he feels like a live wire.

It reaches for his hands again, now frozen on his lap. Steve doesn't fight it, lets it carefully take his hands in its own. "Rest, let yourself calm." The thing says. "Then I will tell you."

Steve, begrudgingly, welcomes the still damp rag it wraps around his swollen hand. Doesn't do more than flinch when it's warm hands begin carefully massaging his through the cloth, thumbs circling around the wrist in a barely there pressure Steve feels in pulsing waves.

He takes the time to study the thing beside him. Human, definitely, an exact replica of Eddie at its core. Same clothes, same hair, all the same from the last time Steve saw Eddie alive. Except this thing glows like a faint light bulb, the light seeming to come from its entire being rather than one place. Steve already knows it's eyes, wide and unfeeling, pure gold but for a pale shape at the center.

Then there's the scars. When Steve last saw Eddie's body, there was a huge gash along it's left cheek, deep and bloody. Now the mark remains, but it glows the same damn bright gold as everything else. No blood, no tears, and this thing seems to have no problem talking with it. He wonders what that means for the wounds that took Eddie.

A slightly stronger pressure is applied to his wrists, and Steve groans again. The hands stop, let him breathe through the pain. Sprained, at best, and the doctors lingering around Hawkins have more to deal with than one possibly broken bone.

They've been sitting in silence for who knows how long now, the rag in their shared hands already cooling. The massage and quiet have done their job for Steve's brain, allowing him to come down from the panic. He's still pretty raw, but he no longer feels so in danger.

"Can I ask you something else then?" he asks carefully, voice raspy and soft.

The thing doesn't respond right away, and doesn't look up when it answers. "Yes."

"Where'd you get hot water from?"

It almost seems to relax at the question, as if it was expecting a different one. It still hasn't moved, still cradling Steve's hand. "Your bags had water and matches. This place had pots, and we are in the woods."

Fair enough, Steve supposes. "Why bother? Water is water."

"It is cold, and you are weak. We assumed the heat would help."

There it goes with the 'we' thing. It referred to itself that way earlier too. But Steve knows he should be wary with what he asks, so he ignores it for now, in place of something far more important.

"Is Robin okay?" His voice cracks a little there. Neither of them talk much louder than a whisper, but Steve still glances over at his best friend. She remains asleep, unmoving in every place but the one that matters.

"You both have similar injuries. You have woken, so she will too. She will be okay."

Steve sighs, put more at ease by that than he thought he'd be. Yet the response only creates more questions. He gently pulls his hand away, turning back to face the thing beside him. It does the same. Confusion to blankness.

"How'd you find us?" Steve asks slowly.

It blinks in response, pausing. "I found you in the Other woods." It says 'other' like it's a title. "I don't know what happened to you."

"Why did you bring us here?"

"It was empty. Close to the Gates."

Steve's coming up on the point of no return. He can feel it. He doesn't ask the more obvious, important question, but he can't stop himself from toeing that invisible line. "Why take us in at all?"

The thing finally shows its first sign of emotion in a while, eyebrows furrowing just slightly. Guilty again. "This is your home. You weren't safe there."

They stare at each other for a while after that. Steve holds back every impossible question he has. It watches him, face falling just a tiny bit more, waiting for him to break.

Steve cracks. His voice shakes, fighting to keep himself in control. To stay calm enough so he can finally get answers. "You apologized for bringing us... here earlier. How did you even know about that- about any of this? The boathouse, the medical supplies, how to start a fire. What-" He stops himself before he goes too far.

Its eyes search his expression, flitting between the injuries across his face. Still just the barest hint of guilt in the slight furrow of his eyebrows. Eyes still wide and inhuman. "I was told."

Steve doesn't ask, 'By who?' Doesn't let it come out in the desperate wail it wants to. Because he already knows. So he gives that plea to another question, puts as much emotion into the pathetic whisper that slips past his injured jaw.

And he breaks. "What are you?"

[chilopodakiss]

also reuploading this mudrock doodle i did on my new ipad (more of hand-me-down) hehe

[prettycoolducks]

just finished playing portal revolution. I like evil science lady and her rabid vacuum cleaner

[good-beansdraws]

Very silly sequel to my other Fuuta/Mikoto duet art -- it turns out both VAs were in this singing group anime together! (I haven't seen any other Milgram vas overlap songs, and now I've found two for them, huh...) I cut the songs together to make a fun little duet, but the individual versions are here: 🔥 ⚾

The outfits are courtesy of @clover0101 's au here :D

[thebrokenmechanicalpencil]

A Look.

( @quibble-auk I wanted to explore the Swap au Comet some more, figure out his personality without the Spidey senses and Pretender stuff. I played with your concept of programming a bit, more of my own thoughts on the servant class. Maybe I'm not overdoing it-)

Comet hadn’t been able to sleep that night, recharge not on his Master’s list of chores for him to complete. 

Instead the young mech was forced to run errands between the Architect and the Artisan all night. Back and forth to and fro, carrying datapads color, swatches, and material listings. Cometeater wondered why they couldn’t have their offices closer. The reason for such an odd system was that the Artisan enjoyed his highgrade, and adored a large personal studio away from the main towers, especially while he chipped away at a project for the families. Said families would never risk ruining his artistic mood, and they themselves would never do something as lowly as deliveries.  Why not send pictures? Well the pictures never caught the form or the color correctly, that's what he assumed from the drunken ramblings of the Artisan. 

Comet had stood stock still for two hours as the mech worked, ready to deliver his progress at any moment. Stiff and optics lowered, he waited. 

Eventually Nisis shooed him, saying that his work would take more time. That the servant’s hovering was destroying his focus. Comet had bowed low, optics never moving from the floor. 

Silently taking his leave, his programming whirring angrily in his chest. Bowing to the Masters was a movement he had practiced till it was second nature. A slow bend at the waist if being dismissed, keeping your movement smooth and graceful.

Yet it made part of him angry. Some alien piece of him hated the feeling. Comet had been cuffed more than once for allowing his displeasure to show in a twitch of his plating. 

“A servant is placid, a shadow and an extra hand to the Master, bite than hand boy and you lose yours.”

Comeater sighed deeply as he passed the lavish halls, the older servants beginning their days. Quickly and without even a glance they flitted past him. Comet couldn’t help but cut his eyes up at them.

Servants were beautiful mechs. Their colors are inviting and comforting, never pastels or bright eye catching shades. The hues always complemented their master’s paints, embellishments from their master’s pallet dotted and painted in lovely patterns on their plating. 

To be a servant of a house was to be like a painting in the hall, if your servants were beautiful then your status showed with every movement they made. A splendid house would be decorated in the flawless mechs, themselves part of the house itself. 

Companions, status symbols. 

Being a decoration to a family, honoring the Masters was all any servant could ever live for. Providing comfort, advice, anything beckoned of them. 

Comet couldn’t help but be in awe of them. 

He had to be chosen by a family however to become one of them. 

Cometeater sighed deep in his chest as he manoeuvred past the mechs, avoiding the gazes of Guardians when he could. 

The large intimidating sentinels you could almost miss if you were not careful, but Comet knew they would never miss you. Acting suspicious in any way would have you on a list in their minds, Comet couldn’t afford that. He wasn’t exactly supposed to be out this early, not that his Master cared.

Soon he reached the servants door that would lead him down to the  quarters, a section of the wall that when pressed on, opened with no fanfare. He looked side to side, checking for the echo of footsteps or murmurs within the passage. 

Comet heard none.

In a flurry he flew down the stairwell like a bird, he let himself smile as he did it three steps at a time. The airtime from the leaps causing giggles to bubble in his chest. 

Finally he was alone. 

Finally he could cut up just a bit. 

Comet laughed to himself as he went, the tired aches forgotten in the thrill of finally loosening his shoulders. Moving as fast as he wanted, no Master to cuff him for the childish twirl he did when he hit the bottom at a spark hammering speed. Breathing fast, he couldn’t stop grinning, continuing to spin, arms outstretched with his left over momentum. 

Comets laughter echoed through the passageway, dizziness and the thrill of being alone egging him on. He finally came to a halt leaning up along the wall, breaths deep and optics glowing brightly in the dim light.  Cometeater laid in the exhilaration for as long as he could, now with all of his training and chores he hardly ever had time to feel like this. He smirked, it almost felt like flipping off his Master. 

See you stupid ugly fragger?

He could have fun, do whatever he wanted. 

Comet felt his spark hum, his programming stuttering at the insults, the love of control. Some darker part of Comet crowed, the part of himself that had been numbed and blocked. But still showed its quills. Showed him what it felt like to control, to try and dominate.

He was supposed to report the thoughts to his superior, but Comet was infatuated with knowing something those slaggers didn’t. Having something that was his. 

It made him feel so perfect, why would he let them take that away?

His drunken happiness was cut short however by yells above, thundering steps down the stairs. 

Comet hardly moved in time to avoid the Guards as they rushed past.

He couldn’t help but be surprised when one of them stopped, optics fiery with clicking programming. Comet allowed his own to take root, bidding goodbye to his heated other, keeping him from reacting to the sudden intensity of the gaze.

“Are you alright?”

The guard's voice was close to winded, Comet nodded his servant programming purring at the attention, that he had asked him something. He wanted desperately to ask what was happening, so before his jaw would lock he let it slip.

“Why what's happened?” 

The guard only scowled down at him, “You shouldn’t even be out here boy, younglings are supposed to be in their designated areas till released by your Master.”

Comet’s programming snapped up the attention like a starving dog, the need to please, to help. He also felt his curiosity flare.

“I was doing errands for the Architect, did something happen?”

There was a childish lilt to his voice that seemed to make the guard soften, a look of protectiveness flashing over him.

“One of the guards found a dead mech on the east gate Sparklet,” the warmth vanished before Comet could get a proper glimpse of it, the guard answering his com. Then his faceplate hardened. “That means you should get back to your barracks, now. I don't want to catch you out and about again by yourself. Got it?”

Comet felt a sulkiness rear its head, but his innards begged to please. “Yessir.”

The armored mech nodded, but did not move. Comet sighed in realization, like all guardians the mech wouldn’t just leave him till he knew he’d follow orders.

Comet gave a bow, and turned on his heel for the barracks. He knew the guardian wouldn’t leave till the younger bot was out of sight, so Comet with a sad grumble accepted that his time for play was over.

He had work to do.

[autisticlee]

sometimes people who struggle like to make jokes or find positives about their condition that causes them to struggle so they can escape the constant negative and struggle. sometimes autistic people will say things like "the 'tism" or use the "autism creature" or say their autism helped them have a *positive trait* to feel better about their struggles. because living your life only focusing on the struggles and negatives is depressing and makes it hard to want to live, even if those struggle take up 100% of your life and you can't actually escape them. sometimes any little seemingly positive thing can help a lot.

but there's so many other autistic people that hate when we do that and call it "reducing autism to a cute trendy thing" and say it takes away from *their* struggles and is bad and shouldn't be used. maybe *you* want to only focus on your struggles, but some people can't live in constant negative and need some positive or to find ways to make their condition more positive so they can feel better about living with their struggles. life is hard. I take anything I can get.

I cant get jobs. I can't make and keep friends. I can't get help and support for doing "normal" things so sometimes I go weeks without being able to shower and without eating more than a bowl of cereal a day. most times can't even do things I like. struggle to communicate. have meltdowns. i'll never be able to live independently. I struggle a lot. but instead of sitting here always depressed and having no motivation to live, i'd rather try to joke about "my 'tism is acting up again" when i'm struggling (just an example. don't think I ever actually used the 'tism thing but i saw others use it) or say "i'm just being a creature" when I need to stay in my dark room because everything is too much and I personally find it cute to be a little creature meant in a positive way. i'm not actually downplaying mine or anyone else's struggles. I still acknowledge them and that silly jokes dont make them go away. i'm not trying to be trendy. i'm not doing any of the things people say we do by making silly little jokes. i'm using the silly little jokes to convince myself life can be a little more than pointless, painful garbage all the time.

(continue in tags)

[nerdie-faerie]

Just when I think the day's going well, I crash a golf cart

[fleouriarts]

investigating different tattoo options for furries, featuring (ferret) riley and his stupid giant dolphin tattoo ❤️

wasn't able to cram it onto the pic, but another con to freeze-branding is that it can take up to 8 weeks for the fur to grow back white and show a visible design. it'd probably be the best option if it wasn't for that and its price if you weren't getting a premade design