#may we always keep making art

[shootingstarpilot]

y'all folks already in 2025 better tell me what the vibes are

[silusvesuius]

i legit love when a character's gender is so integral to their personality (and perception obviously.) like so concrete that if genderbent their whole shtick would just be absolute dookie. anyways i'm just writing this text so i can talk in the tags (My beautiful safe haven)

this 14 minute song is soooooooooooo FYRE

[petiolata]

For me it's not the self-conscious part of my brain. My creations are not a product for consumption. I will talk about my works' flaws and my struggles with making them, those are parts of my creative process and I like to share those with others, and I like when others artists and writers do the same.

I don't have to pretend to be perfect, or that my work is perfect. Nor do my summaries, notes, tags, have to be designed with maximum appeal to a consumer.

I understand that some people have a problem with self-deprecation and shame about their works, but not everyone discussing the flaws in their work is having an unhealthy mental process at play. Some of us are objective in our observations, or at the very least, our observations are not being driven by negative emotions.

I would not advise people to pretend they think their work is good, if they don't. There's not really a reason to fake confidence unless you have a concrete goal it serves, like getting accepted into a college or job, or better selling products. Outside of that, it serves no purpose in itself.

Now, actually changing the way you think about or view your work--that can be good. But simply hiding the bad thoughts is doing just that--hiding them, sweeping them under the rug. They still exist.

you'll get the urge as an artist or a writer to say out loud the things you're worried about "the proportions are off" "kind of out of character" "i'm not good at summaries" "didn't get as much detail as i wanted" "i made a mistake and here's how" and that's the self-conscious part of your brain telling you "it's bad and if you don't tell them you know it's bad then they'll think you're stupid" but you've got to ignore that little voice and pretend you think it's good or else that little voice is going to ruin your life

[sublimati0ns]

daily koss #29: if we only have one shot… better make it count, right?

Since I started on the 18th of February, today marks the one month anniversary of me drawing these wretched old men every day!!! I wanted to make something special for it, so I tried my hand at a comic (even though I am NOT good at comics—dear god, paneling is so unintuitive for me that I ended up wrangling this into a webtoon format just to avoid it).

Despite the increasing level of render and polish on my dailies over the past two weeks, this is the first time I’ve really, actually tried to flex my art muscles and apply my braincells to a piece 😂 Here’s to hoping my work paid off! I have now, officially, moved from low-effort shitposts to real-effort seriousposts 😔

(Also, if you’ve never read a webtoon before, hopefully the long-scroll format wasn’t too jarring! >_<)

A meta aspect I love about KOSS is that Transformers is a multi-timeline franchise: Knock Out and Starscream exist across multiple different continuities, sometimes alongside each other, sometimes not. But they only really ‘work’ in TFP, despite them both having other characters as constants (Breakdown, Megatron). If this were any other world, and they were any other versions of themselves, they might not even have been coworkers—just ships passing in the night.

And yet, the perfect storm of random events led to them being in one thing together, with a compelling dynamic at that (even an entire episode that puts it on blast!!!). Sometimes I think about how, according to the TFP artbook, Knock Out was originally conceived as something of a counterpart to Bumblebee—another fast, pretty car, except a villain this time—but the writers ended up fleshing out his relationship with Starscream the most. I wonder what the thought process behind that was—did the devs find their dynamic fun to play with as well?—and whether the two would get more moments together if Prime wasn’t cancelled…

But I digress! The fact I discovered TFP in the first place is the cherry on top of the serendipity-cake; I never imagined I’d ever get into Transformers, but one impulsive ‘hey, what if we watched the new Transformers movie’ from Lacuna at 3AM in the dead of January changed the trajectory of my life.

I’ve always been really bad at committing to projects for over a month at a time—I often find myself burnt out and restless after only a few days, even. So to still have so much drive and inspiration to create fanworks—for KOSS, of course, but an assortment of other pairings and properties too—is such a novel and exciting experience. My tune may change at a moment’s notice (I can be very fickle), but for now I’m eager to keep scribbling on 🥰I already have something planned for the next week of Daily KOSS hehehe~

Anyway, things referenced in the comic!

G1 cartoon s01e13 “Fire in the Sky”

2019 IDW continuity Tread & Circuits issues 2, 3, and 4

Armada episode 48

TFA s02e03 “Mission Accomplished” and s03e13 “Endgame II”

2005 IDW continuity “Choose Me,” Spotlight: Megatron, and Annual 2017 “Chosen One”

And it’s probably obvious from the art, but I love the juxtaposition of Starscream being tortured by god in every other universe while Knock Out is either happily married or doesn’t exist.

[pretentious-blonde]

jealous much?

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: steve may not be the jealous type, but when he sees someone else eyeing his girl, he’s more than happy to remind you exactly who takes care of you the best

warnings: 18+ this is smut, filth with feelings, depictions of sex, p in v, fingering, manhandling, steve being a cocky little shit, lots and lots of aftercare because how could i not???

a/n: to the anon(s) that told me they wanted steve to be a bit harsher, i gotchu <3 pt. 6 but can be read as a standalone!!

series masterlist

Steve’s bedroom was always comfortably cluttered—movie tickets scattered on the nightstand, a lone shirt draped over the desk chair, and a rumpled blanket that smelled faintly of his cologne. You loved it here. Loved being with him here. The two of you were sprawled across his bed, legs tangled, currently discussing the goings-on with the people in Hawkins. 

He always had a soft spot for scandal, unable to shake his love for idle gossip. He kept up with every whisper in the school hallways—a habit that only worsened once he gained access to the town’s personal archive of movie choices. 

Dangerous information for him to have, truly. 

“You should’ve seen what Keith has been checking out lately,” he said, propping himself up on his elbow, eyes bright. “Nothing but straight rom-coms. He thinks we don’t notice—‘cause, y’know, he does it on his own time—but Rob went snooping through the store’s computer system.”

“No way. Keith?” You snorted. “I thought he was into those art-house horror flicks or those silent German ones.”

“Right?” Steve agreed with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “We’re putting money on him having a girlfriend. That would explain why he’s been giving us both more hours lately—guy’s gotta prioritise his love-life, you know?”

“Huh,” you mused, nudging his knee with yours. “So he finally snagged a girl?”

“That’s the theory,” he affirmed, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Now we just gotta figure out who it is. Or corner him into telling us.”

You giggled, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Well, I’m sure that won’t take long. Keith has never been good at subtlety.”

“Kinda jealous he’s the one who arranges the schedule, though.” He hummed, shifting closer until you could feel the warmth of his breath on your hair. “Means I gotta argue with him if I want a full weekend off.”

“You poor thing,” you teased, tapping his chest. “I can always come hang out if you get stuck working. Keep you company.”

He brightened. “Yeah?”

“Totally,” you said smiling. “I don’t mind. I'm very entertaining.”

“Well, does that mean when I get a weekday off, I can come crash your work?” he asked, waggling his brows. “I look great in a tie.”

You eyed him skeptically, but there was no denying he’d look downright mouthwatering in a suit. All done up, weaving through your office like he owned the place—it made your insides curl.

He’d probably climb the ladder faster than you, effortlessly charming his way to the top. It was unfair how charismatic he could be, even without trying.

“I wish you could.” You groan, getting your mind out of the gutter. “It’d make the day go so much faster.”

"I’d be the perfect intern," he agreed, "I could grab the coffee for a change—plus,” a playful smile tugs at his lips as he gazes down at you, “I already know exactly how you like it."

You laughed, then shrugged. “Actually, you wouldn’t have to run for coffee now. We got a new hire last week—Ryan, I think his name is? He’s younger, maybe by a year or so, but super eager. I’ve been showing him around, finally getting some of the stress off my plate.”

His expression changed with a touch of curiosity or perhaps just a pang of protectiveness—but it settled quickly into genuine affection. He reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face. 

“You looking out for him, angel?”

“Yeah—well, I mean—” A flush crept up your cheeks. “I would’ve liked if someone had done that for me when I started, you know? Don’t want him to feel overwhelmed by everything.”

He almost melted as those words left your lips, loving the flustered look on your face when he praised you.

God, you’re too sweet for your own good sometimes.

You snuggled closer and let out a yawn, feeling his arm tighten around you in a gentle hug as you hid your face in his chest.

“Alright,” he said, clearing his throat as he glanced at the clock on his desk. “Come on sleepyhead. You’ve got an early morning, gotta get some rest."

You groaned dramatically. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“Hey,” he offered with a warm smile, “want me to drive you? I’ve got tomorrow off so it’s really no trouble.”

“Honestly, it’s fine.” You shook your head tiredly. “Have a lie-in for once, you deserve it. Besides, you’re picking me up after work anyway, right?”

A lazy, content grin spread across his face.

“Yeah, yeah. Alright,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you—slow and sweet. “Come on, sweetheart. Bedtime.”

Steve insisted on seeing you off that morning, even when you tried to do the nice thing and let him sleep in. 

He woke up with you anyway. It baffled you how he could sleep through his own alarm but miraculously rise at the first buzz of yours. Even when you tried to turn it off and sneakily creep around his room without rousing him, your efforts were futile. 

He followed you downstairs and sipped the coffee he brewed for you both at the kitchen counter, watching while you tugged on your office blazer, making sure your hair was just right in the reflection of the hall mirror. 

It made him grin stupidly, watching you hustle around in your formal attire—his career girl. 

He couldn’t help himself. He’d pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead at his doorstep before you left, telling you to “knock ‘em dead.” Which earned him a huff from you. 

He was far too corny in the morning for your liking. 

Only when your car was out of sight did he head back inside, now all glum that he had to entertain himself for the rest of the day.

He spent his time alone doing errands—laundry, a quick trip to the grocery store, all while counting down the hours till he could swing by your office.

It wasn’t pathetic, but he’d be the first to admit he was maybe a little too eager. Then again, he’d found his person, and he figured it wasn’t a crime to want every spare minute with you.

When the time finally came, he pulled up outside the Hawkins Post, scanning the pavement for your familiar silhouette. 

He spotted you laughing with someone—the new hire, must be, he deduced as he took in the guy’s slightly younger appearance and the way he stood just a bit too close to you for his liking. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel as he examined him further. 

Great. Of course he’s hot.

You glanced up just then, beaming at the sight of the familiar BMW. After a quick word to your coworker—who, he noted—looked decidedly unhappy as he caught Steve’s eye.

You bounded over to the passenger seat as he gave the guy a little wave, more smug than polite, and felt a twist of satisfaction when the guy’s scowl deepened.

You slid into the seat, barely getting the door shut before he leaned in over the console to kiss you—deep and warm, with a hint of urgency that made your pulse skip. You let out a surprised hum but quickly relaxed into it, hand coming up to rest on his cheek.

“What was that for?” You pulled back, blinking at him.

He shrugged, eyes flicking past you to the figure still hovering on the pavement. 

“Nothing,” he said, casual as can be. “Just missed you, that’s all.” 

He caught your colleague staring and resisted the urge to smirk openly.

Gotcha.

You huffed a playful laugh, still a little breathless. “Well, I’m not complaining.”

“Ready to go?” Steve asked, turning the key in the ignition. You nodded, and he eased the car into the street. “Oh—there are M&Ms in the glove box. Grabbed 'em for you.” He added, remembering picking them up at the store earlier. Knowing you’d appreciate it. 

“Ugh, you’re the best, you know that?” you said, popping open the compartment and grabbing the bag, eagerly tearing through the plastic.

He glanced sideways, a small, satisfied grin tugging at his lips. Holding out his hand, he waited as you handed him a few—only fair, after all.

Because, yeah, he is the best.

Damn right.

And he’s glad you think so too. 

Dinner had wrapped up at your flat, the remnants of takeaway containers still on the coffee table, but neither of you paid them much mind. You were curled up with him on the couch, your legs draped over his lap as you recounted every last detail of your day—he hung onto each word like it was the most important news in the world. 

Well, more important to him than the news you printed, anyway. 

“And,” you said, voice cracking with excitement, “they’re finally letting me write my own story! The whole thing, just me.”

His grin was instant, radiant enough to outshine the lamp in the corner. Pure happiness poured from him as he watched you speak, your joy lighting up the room.

There wasn’t a trace of resentment—just pride, just excitement, just you. 

He was every bit as thrilled as you were, because he knew how hard you’d worked to get here. And now, seeing it all finally pay off, he couldn’t have been prouder of you.

“That’s incredible, honey,” he said truthfully. “Seriously, can’t wait to read it. What’s it gonna be about?”

You shrugged, flustered and thrilled all at once. “I have so many ideas—I haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, whatever you choose, I’m first in line for a sneak peek.” He draped an arm behind you on the couch, giving you a playful nudge. “You gonna let me see the first draft?”

“Nope.” You snorted. “You have to wait until it’s printed, just like everyone else. No boyfriend privileges here.”

“What?” He let out a mock-offended huff. “I’m supposed to wait for the issue like the rest of town? Come on you gotta give me, like, a preview or something.”

“Alright, alright,” you conceded, stifling a laugh at his dramatic pout. “Let me get changed first, and then maybe we can brainstorm together, okay?”

He leaned back, playful grin returning. “But I like the corporate look.”

“Yeah, well, now you get the pajama look,” you countered, sticking your tongue out as you got up.

He watched you walk off, fondness swelling in his chest. He’d never get tired of that view—hair done up from a day at the office, blouse slightly rumpled from a long day’s work. 

You disappeared into your bedroom, leaving him alone on the couch. He let out a contented sigh, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

With a lazy flick of the remote, he turned up the volume on the TV, barely sparing it a glance. What you wore didn’t matter to him—truth be told, he loved you just as much in cosy attire as in your best dressed-up look.

Comfort suited you, and therefore suited him just fine.

Not even a minute after your departure, the phone rang—a jarring, tinny sound that made him glance over his shoulder. It only rang twice before he heard your cheerful voice answer in the bedroom. 

His ears perked up. He couldn’t help it—he was nosey.

Sue him. 

Muting the TV, he angled his head to listen, as your muffled giggle drifted through the space. 

“No, seriously, don’t worry about it,” you said. “He doesn’t need it until Monday—promise.”

He rose from the couch, moving quietly toward your slightly ajar door. He caught a glimpse of you standing by your chest of drawers, one hand on your hip, the other clutching the receiver. He couldn’t quite make out every expression with your back turned, but your tone was friendly, warm, comfortable. 

An unwelcome pang of jealousy flared in his chest, though he quickly reminded himself that you love him, you’ve talked about this, he trusts you. 

Still, he couldn’t resist sidling closer.

“Yeah, don’t listen to what he said,” you continued, your tone soothing. “He’s all talk, trust me.”

He inched into the room, sliding his arms around your waist from behind and nuzzling his face against your neck. Your skin was still warm and you let out a tiny squeak of surprise, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned into him.

He inched down to whisper in your free ear, low and soft. 

“Who is it?”

Turning to him, you quickly covered the receiver with your palm. “Ryan,” you mouthed.

Ryan. Right. Great. 

He rolled his eyes a little, then brushed a slow kiss on the side of your neck. 

“Call him tomorrow, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice playful but filled with an undercurrent of impatience. 

You already spent the whole day with the guy, and now he's calling you? Even when he saw him pick you up? It didn’t take a genius to figure out you had other plans, and the thought nudged at him uncomfortably. 

You shook your head in exasperation, though you were smiling. He continued to nuzzle you, pressing you gently forward until your back arched at the contact. 

“Leave work at the door,” he teased, fingers pressing slightly into your waist.

You exhaled a soft laugh and brought the phone back to your ear. “Hey, Ryan? I’ll, uh, I’ll just swing by the office a bit earlier tomorrow if you need anything else, okay? … Yeah, no worries, meet you outside. Bye.”

You placed the handset back in the cradle and turned fully to face your boyfriend, still in your work clothes, not yet changed.

Crossing your arms, you fixed him with a look, and he couldn’t help but smirk, already anticipating the playful scolding coming his way. But all he could focus on was you—standing there in your blouse and slacks, looking far too damn sweet for him to take even the slightest bit seriously.

“Feeling needy, huh?” you asked, tilting your head.

He let out an incredulous huff, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. 

“What? Couldn’t he have waited till tomorrow? I mean… come on. He could have talked to you anytime today.”

You shrugged. “I did tell him he could call if he had any questions.”

He snorted, stepping closer, fingers trailing gently along your waist. 

“Questions, huh?”

“Questions,” you confirmed, heart skipping a beat at the intent look in his eyes.

His touch lingered, a tiny spark of possessiveness flickering behind his eyes. Then the realisation seemed to strike. You saw it—the slight tightening of his jaw, the faint furrow between his brows. It made you bite your cheek to stop from letting a giggle slip. 

“Wait a second,” you said, holding back a smile. “Steve, are you… are you jealous?”

“What? No.” He shifted, clearing his throat. “Absolutely not.”

“You so are,” you pressed, delighting in the way his nose scrunched ever so slightly.

“Sweetheart,” he warned, voice dipping lower, “I’m not.”

You only giggled, emboldened by the rosy flush creeping into his cheeks, wanting to push his buttons just a little. 

“Aw, you think I’d ever pick him over you?”

Something sparked in his eyes, a confident glint that made your stomach flutter. 

“Oh, honey,” he purred, “I know you wouldn’t pick him over me.”

You couldn’t resist teasing him one step further.

“Oh, well…” you sighed, letting the words trail with a mischievous lilt, “I’m not quite sure. I mean, he knows my coffee order too, you know.”

The air shifted—his hand slid up your torso in one smooth motion, fingertips barely brushing the exposed skin of your collarbone before settling at the base of your throat. 

His palm rested there, thumb gently grazing your quickening heartbeat as he angled your chin up to face him.

“You wanna finish that thought, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice low enough to send a tremor through you.

You swallowed, a sudden dryness in your throat. He smirked, clearly relishing your hesitation. 

“Didn’t think so,” he whispered, brushing his lips fleetingly against the corner of your mouth before pulling back.

Your heart pounded, body already hyper-aware of each place he touched you. You wondered if he could feel the way your pulse had sped up beneath his hand—because from the triumphant gleam in his eye, it was clear he knew precisely what kind of effect he had on you.

When his fingers trailed beneath your collar again, you shivered, and the reaction only seemed to spur him on. 

“Think I’m jealous, baby?” His mouth hovered just above yours, teasing, refusing to close the distance.

When you leaned in, he pushed back just enough to make you wait, to make you listen. 

"Need me to show you how well I take care of you?” His other palm slid against your lower back, holding you flush against him. “Can’t have you forgetting, can we?"

The way he was looking at you, like he dared you to argue.

His eyes were locked on yours, hungry and unapologetically smug, as he backed you against the counter. Waiting for the subtle nod of your head to tell him to continue. 

His fingers fiddled with the button of your trousers, and you could practically feel his heart racing in sync with your own.

“H-haven’t forgotten,” you managed to stutter out, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

He cocked a brow as he paused his motions, leaning in until his breath fanned over your lips. 

“You sure? The way you were talking—almost like you need a reminder.” A slow, dangerous smile tugged at his mouth. “And you know how much I love proving my point.”

You swallowed hard. You did know—Steve was stubborn as hell, and once he made up his mind, there was no talking him down. 

You’d learned that the very first time you hung out with him—he spent a whole hour building you that damned bookshelf that was wedged in the corner of your living room, refusing to even let you help him carry it up the stairs. All in an effort to prove himself to you.

And by the way he was acting, he was determined to prove himself again. 

“Say the word, baby, and I’ll stop.” He tells you earnestly, as his brown eyes search your face. 

He would stop in an instant if you told him to, but the way you're looking at him tells him you won’t. Something tells him that you want him to show you how good he can make you feel.

And Steve? 

Well, Steve never backed down from a challenge. 

You let out a shaky exhale, no response forming except the pleading expression you're giving him. A small, triumphant noise rumbled in his throat. Your slacks and underwear hit the floor, and in one swift motion, he coaxed you against the side of the counter, broad hands splaying over your hips.

He brushed his hand against you slowly, cautiously, fingers gliding against your core and making your knees threaten to buckle.

“Already?” His tone was low, teasing, right at your ear as his fingers entered you with a lewd, wet sound. “You’re shaking, baby. Maybe I have been neglecting you.”

“Please,” you whimpered after a moment, overwhelmed by how slow and teasing he was moving—he wasn’t normally quite so unhurried with the foreplay.

Steve usually never made you beg for anything. 

He let out a soft chuckle, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to the side of your neck. Clearly, he was enjoying this—relishing the way your hands pawed at his shoulders, desperate, pleading for more. For him to stop playing and just give in.

“Shhh, I’ll take care of you, alright?” His fingers moved with agonising precision. “So sensitive—so sweet for me”

Your breathing stuttered; the sensations bloomed hot and electric with every brush of his fingers. But his mouth kept going, sliding into that cocky territory he owned so well. 

“Bet he wouldn’t even know where to start with you,” he murmured, voice laced with pride. "Wouldn’t even know how fucking beautiful you sound when you—" his thumb pressed hard against your clit, dragging a desperate, wrecked moan from your lips, “—fuck yourself on my fingers.”

You could tell he was on a roll, completely caught up in the moment, but you mustered the courage to speak anyway.

Feeling bold, you forced a small smirk, even as your body threatened to betray you. You’d never seen him this pent up before—this utterly consumed—and the sheer thrill of it sent a sharp, electric spark through you.

Curiosity burned—just how far could you push him?

“O-oh, I don’t know—” you managed to choke out, stepping on dangerous territory. “He’s a keen learner…”

So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?

Everything stopped—his fingers, his breath, the push of his body against yours. He stilled, letting a harsh exhale flare his nostrils. 

Then a dark, knowing laugh bubbled out of him as he lifted his head to look at you—really look at you. You caught a glimpse of his determined face, before all composure snapped. 

Now he really had something to prove.

“Fuck, angel,” he groaned, voice taking on a frustrated edge. “You just don’t know when to stop—do you?”

Before you could react, he flipped you around and pushed your hips down against the dresser with a firm grip. The wood pressed into your stomach, your palms splayed on either side as he molded himself to your back.

He cupped your jaw from behind and you gasped at the harshness of his grip, every nerve alive. His teeth found your shoulder, biting just enough to blur the line between pleasure and pain.

You let out a sharp cry, and he swallowed it with a low groan. Running his tongue against the dull ache as a gentle apology. 

“One of these days," he muttered, "that smart mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble—” you could feel his breath, hot and ragged, “—lucky for you, I’m the one who gets to teach it a lesson.”

His words send shivers across your skin and you tried to twist in his grip. 

“Oh no, you don’t,” he chided as you tried to squirm, pressing against you back as he stilled your movements. “Stay.”

He placed one strong palm between your shoulder blades, guiding you lower, til your chest made contact with the wooden surface. Keeping you where he wanted you.

He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t forcing—just holding you there, making sure you felt him, making sure you knew exactly how this was going to go.

Your legs stumbled as you adjusted to the position, and he just laughed, sliding his fingers inside you once more, coaxing the most desperate little noises from your lips.

“Say my name, angel,” he demanded, that infuriating confidence dripping from every syllable.

“S-Steve,” you whimpered, voice barely recognisable to your own ears.

“Good,” he praised, dipping his head to kiss along your shoulder, fingers hitting that sweet spot inside that he knew drives you wild. “Want it to be the only thing in your head, okay?”

You moaned out his name once more, and he hummed with approval. 

“That’s right." He cooed. "You're a fast learner, baby.”

He pulled away momentarily and you whined at the loss of contact, until you heard the metallic rasp of his zipper. He was right back against you, pressing his length along you with a low moan.

"You feel that?"  he murmured, voice thick with need as he pressed against you, rolling his hips in a slow, deliberate grind. The friction sent sparks through your core, pulling a soft gasp from your lips. His grip tightened, fingers digging in just enough to make you shiver. "You're soaked, sweetheart."

He didn’t want to wait—couldn’t wait. He needed to prove it to you, needed you to understand just how much he could give you. Just how much he deserved you. 

You tried to speak, but your voice came out ragged. Then, mercifully, he pushed inside—slow enough to let you feel every inch. The stretch pulled a drawn-out, trembling whine from your chest.

“Ah, fuck—.” His own voice cracked, hips snapping forward as though he couldn’t possibly wait another second. “That’s it—see how good that feels?—pussy was made for me. Ain't that right, angel?”

You only mewled in response as he settled into a driving rhythm, each thrust pushing you into the surface, bullying his cock deeper and deeper inside.

He wrapped a hand against the back of your neck, keeping you pinned where he could use you, pressing hot kisses along your shoulders when you cried out. It was music to his ears as he continued his relentless pace.

Normally he was gentler, but now, he was done holding back. The litany pouring from his mouth was shameless, full of desire and unfiltered possessiveness.

“Should’ve kept him on that damn phone—” he rasped against your neck, each word punctuated by a thrust. “Should’ve made him listen to how you sound—‘cause that’s the closest he’s ever gonna get to having you like this—”

Your walls tightened around him as his words poured over you, and he noticed—of course he noticed. He drank in every tremor, every flutter of your pussy, letting out a breathless laugh tinged with disbelief as he felt you squeeze him deeper at his teasing remarks.

"You like that?—really?" He let out an amused chuckle at the new information. “Shit—never knew how filthy you were, baby.” 

The way you gripped his length, pulling him deeper, the sinful sounds spilling from your lips—he knew he was giving you both. Worship and destruction. 

And fuck, you loved it.

You dragged your nails across the dresser’s surface, searching for an anchor in the storm of sensation. His hand slid over yours, fingers lacing as he drove into you, relentless.

“Too fucking bad he’s never gonna see how pretty you look when you're fucked dumb,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss the side of your neck, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "That's just for me."

You felt your composure slipping, your body teetering on the edge. Your head rolled to the side, a broken string of words escaping.

“Steve, please—” spilled from your lips, but you weren’t even sure what you were begging for at this point.

He tangled his fingers in your hair, pulling you upright just enough so he could whisper directly into your ear. The pain was delicious as you arched against him, lungs gasping for air as he continued to spill every dirty thought he had.

"It's alright sweetheart—I’ll give you what you need. Just look at you—can’t even think straight." A soft, desperate moan tore from your throat as his mouth continued to run. "Just falling apart on my cock, letting me fuck every last thought out of that pretty head of yours."

His pace quickened, your body overwhelmed with the slide of him inside your walls, the heat of his skin, the possessive timbre in every word he rasped into your ear.

"But you know what you will remember?" he purred, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "Every time you see him, you’ll remember how I had you bent in half, screaming my name—not his." He let you fall back onto the dresser, firm grip returning to your shoulder. "I want this burned into you, baby. So every fucking time you even look at him, all you can think about is me stretching you open—ruining you for anyone else."

Fuck, you knew Steve was loose-lipped in bed, but this was something else entirely. 

He wasn’t making love to you—he was fucking you. Hard. Rough. Saying whatever filthy thing came to mind without a second thought. 

You wished you could throw back a sly quip, but at this pace? You could barely breathe, let alone speak. 

Not that it would matter—he wouldn’t give you the chance.

Your moans rose in pitch, matching the mounting tension in your core, and he groaned, voice unraveling into something so heady it almost vibrated through you.

"I—fuck—I want you feeling me tomorrow, sweetheart—want every step you take to remind you exactly what’s waiting for you when you come home." He thrust sharply, greeted with the cry that tore from your lips. "‘Cause, baby, I’ve got no problem bending you over like this again and again—’til the lesson sticks—"

That final promise was all you needed—you came hard, a wave of ecstasy rolling through you as your body clenched around him. Your cry echoed in the small space, and you felt his grip falter as he groaned your name, riding the crest of your climax.

“Fuck, baby—that’s it,” he choked out, thrusts turning erratic. “So good for me, taking me so—”

Then he followed you over the edge, hips snapping one last time before his body seized. You felt his breath come in ragged pants against your neck, his chest pressed to your back. Every muscle in him went taut, then slack, as he let out a deep, guttural moan of satisfaction.

Your name fell from his lips in a trembling exhale, and for a moment, neither of you moved—both lost in the aftermath, hearts hammering in sync.

He held you for a beat longer, both of you still catching your breath. Your body trembled against the wood, and as he finally pulled out, he stayed close—almost reluctant to let you go.

But as he pulled away brushing a knuckle over your spine, guilt crept into his eyes the moment he took in your shaky form.

“Ah—shit” he murmured, voice low. “Hey, sweetheart, you with me?”

You nodded weakly, turning your head and giving him the smallest smile of reassurance, but he still frowned in concern. Maybe he'd gone overboard.

“Yeah… all right. Can you stand?”

“I—I think so,” you managed breathily.

“Okay,” he whispered, guiding you upright with one gentle arm around your waist. Once he was sure you weren’t going to topple over, he bent down to scoop up your trousers and set them aside. You’d probably complain if they got creased—more creased than they were. Though, that wasn’t his number one priority right now. 

You noticed the way his forehead furrowed in worry as he led you to the bed, helping you settle against the duvet. He slid in behind you, propping himself against the headboard so you could rest in his lap.

Your hands trembled a bit from aftershocks—adrenaline still coursing through your veins. He felt it, too, and his anxious expression only deepened.

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

“Hey, angel?” His voice was gentle, coaxing, as he sought your eyes. “Can you look at me for a sec?”

You tilted your head back to meet his worried gaze, your cheeks still flushed and eyes glazed with the rush of it all. His own eyes flickered over your messy hair, the light smudges of your makeup, and your rumpled work shirt. Guilt pinched at his features.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” His words tumbled out in a rush. “I’m sorry if I got carried away. I just—just got caught up in everything, and you—”

You let out a soft chuckle, lifting a hand to cover his mouth gently. 

God, he’s adorable when he’s fussing over you. 

“Steve,” you said softly, watching him go silent. “You didn’t hurt me. I promise.”

He still looked unconvinced. “You’re just saying that.”

“No, I'm not,” you replied, smoothing your thumb over the swell of his bottom lip. “I’m really, really good. Better than good.”

He cupped your face gently, thumb brushing soft circles into your cheek, eyes flicking between yours as if searching for any sign of discomfort.

“Didn’t mean to be so rough,” he murmured, voice laced with concern. "Should've been more gentle with you, angel."

You were still quivering in his lap, body still sensitive. He was torn between holding you tighter against him, or letting you breathe.

You leaned forward after sensing his hesitation, brushing a soft kiss to his jaw, you make the decision for him.

“I loved it." You tell him truthfully. "I love you.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, hands finding your hips and holding you there. His warmth seeped into you through the fabric of your rumpled work shirt.

You loved him.

No matter how many times the words left your lips, it still made his chest ache.

"Love you too," he murmurs, eyes avoiding yours as they dart to his lap. "Just... don't want you thinking I, like, lost control or something." He looks up at you sheepishly. "Never want to hurt you."

“I know that.” You rested your palm against his jaw, the intimacy of the moment made your heart flutter. “I trust you. And if it was too much, I’d tell you.”

He stared at you for a moment, brow furrowed in uncertainty. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

A long exhale left him, relief slumping his shoulders. 

“Thank God.” He leaned forward to rest his forehead gently against yours.

“But… you’re probably right.” You managed a playful smile as his eyes snapped to yours. “I’m definitely going to feel it tomorrow.”

A rosy flush bloomed across his face, and he buried it against your neck with a half-embarrassed groan. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You gave a teasing shrug, ignoring the dull ache that made itself known the second you moved your hips. “You might’ve had a point, too.”

“Yeah?” he asked, lifting his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

A teasing grin curled your lips. “You are kinda hot when you’re jealous.”

“Oh, God, don’t say that.” He winced exaggeratedly, making you laugh. “You’ll give me a complex or something.”

You laughed again, and he couldn’t help smiling back, brushing his nose against your cheek in a moment of affection.

“But, I mean, are you feeling jealous?” You asked him with full seriousness. “Because if you are, you can talk to me about it.”

He swallowed, his grip loosening slightly as his eyes softened, realisation settling deep in his chest.

You cared. So much. He thought about it for a brief moment—was he really jealous?

But then he looked at you, all concerned in his arms. The way you gazed at him, unwavering and sure, the way you had trusted him completely not five minutes ago, letting him take control, letting him have you.

It was all the answer he needed.

There was no room for doubt, no reason for insecurity. You were his—entirely his—and he knew it.

“No,” he finally said, voice gentle. “’M not jealous. Not really. I just—I don't know—wanted to make my girl feel good.” His lips quirked up in a small, sheepish grin. “And I guess I wanted to remind you who you’ve got waiting when you clock out.”

You leaned up to plant a reassuring kiss on his jaw. “Well, message received,” you teased, drawing a chuckle from him.

Steve glanced down at your blouse, still haphazardly half-done-up, and your bare legs still shaking. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? I kinda distracted you from changing.”

“You definitely did.” You smile softly as he gets up, offering you his hand to stand.

“C��mon, let’s get a bath running.” He tells you as he cocks his head towards the door.

He guides you to the bathroom, flicking on the light and starting the taps. As water rushed into the tub, he helped you out of your disheveled work shirt, eyes flicking appreciatively across your skin. Gently, he traced a thumb over a reddening mark on your neck where he’d bitten down. A pang of guilt made his eyes tighten.

“Sorry about that,” he whispered, pressing a featherlight kiss over the mark. “Got carried away.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting a grin. “Hey, you got what you wanted, didn’t you? Everyone to know I’m yours?”

“Yeah,” a bashful smile tugged at his lips. “I did.”

Once the bath was ready, you both climbed in. The warm water soothed the lingering tension in your muscles, and you leaned back against his chest with a contented sigh. His arms draped loosely around your middle, fingers stroking lazy shapes over your skin.

“So,” he spoke up after a moment, lips brushing your ear.  “you wanna brainstorm those ideas for your article now, Miss Journalist?”

You chuckled, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder. “Oh, now you’re interested in my writing process?”

“Course I am.” He gave a soft laugh, tightening his hold on you. “I’m always interested in whatever you’ve got going on. You know that.”

“Alright,” you teased, “I have a few pitches… maybe a feature on that new charity coffee place that’s opening up on Maple Street? Or this local teacher doing after-school science programs? I’m torn—so many good leads.”

Steve made an encouraging noise. “I like the teacher one,” he mused, brow furrowing in real consideration. “I mean, c’mon, that sounds like it’d be really feel-good for the paper. Everyone loves seeing that kinda community stuff.”

“You think so?” You felt a wave of affection swell through you at how genuine he was.

“Yeah. It’s definitely the kind of story that’ll get people talking in a good way.” He paused, a grin curling his lips. “But I gotta say… I also love coffee.”

“We’ll see which one the editor likes.” You giggle.

He helped you out of the tub once the water began to cool, wrapping a towel around his waist before carefully bundling you in another. He pressed a sweet kiss to your temple, then led you back to the bedroom, flicking off the overhead light so you were left in a peaceful glow from the bedside lamp.

You slipped into a soft tee and lounge shorts as he grabbed his own pyjamas from your chest of drawers, blushing at what transpired on it previously. He would never look at it the same way again.

You curled up against him in the bed—his arms around you made everything feel warm and safe.

“What time do you have to be at work tomorrow?” you mumbled against his chest.

“Not ’til afternoon,” he said, carding his fingers through your hair.

A content sigh escaped you, eyes fluttering shut. “Nice for some, I guess.”

“But,” he continued, clearing his throat pointedly, “I’m definitely dropping you off tomorrow.”

Your brow creased, and you glanced up at him with a sleepy frown. 

“Why?”

He smirked, his hand coming to rest gently on your hip. “Because… you said you were meeting him earlier, right? The new guy?” He leaned in, voice dropping playfully. “I wanna see the look on your face when you see him—see if you remember exactly what we did tonight.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, and you smacked his chest lightly. “Steve!”

“What?” He chuckled, utterly delighted, pressing a mischievous kiss to your forehead. “I’m curious.”

You huffed in mock-annoyance but couldn’t hide your smile. “You’re incorrigible.”

His chest rumbled with laughter, and he buried his nose in your hair. “That’s me,” he murmured, voice going soft again as he held you closer.

[moineauz]

જ⁀ 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 , various !

synopsis: his voice lines about you as his beloved partner

including: veritas, jing yuan, blade

side comments: dw i promise i'm working on the house of musica requests... i just wanted to do this for fun! also this is the first time I've written for jing yuan which is kinda funny. i liked writing for blade again. originally i had welt and aventurine in the mix but i wanted to post this hahaha.

extra: gn reader, angsty and fluffy moments, mentions of marriage, aventurine jumpscare later favourites: blade word count: roughly 2,085+

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎

WHO ARE THEY? I "So you're asking about my significant other? Are you shocked that I have a significant other? At the very least consider your question."

FIRST MEETINGS? "I met Professor ( Name ) when they barged into my lecture, they said they were 'lost'. Since then we had several heated debates academically. Have I lost in these debates? Several times yes, consequently making debating with them all the more... interesting. Especially considering that Professor ( Name ) has a well-rounded vault of knowledge in most subjects of academic and social relevance. Finally, a conversation worth my time.

GREETINGS? "Professor ( Name ) considers a good greeting the highest attribute. A curt smile and a cup of coffee suffice, thankfully they know when to remain silent. However, there are instances when they will talk relentlessly. Initially, I used my headpiece around them. Nevertheless, their conversations do occasionally convey subtle insightfulness and definite meaning. Gradually I have come to share some liking towards their rather pleasant 'small talk'."

PARTINGS? "A small kiss on the cheek: be it on my skin or the headpiece, that is all. However, I... have always preferred it on the skin."

ABOUT US: ART "Outside of ( Name's ) academic career, they share a peculiar fondness for art. Be it painting or sculptures they could very well get lost in a museum. When they discovered my fondness for sculptures and anatomy, they were... oddly quiet; tracing their hands over my sculptures- or my face to be exact. ( Name's ) admiration is always shown in silence, one of the greatest forms of praise.

ABOUT US: TRUE APPEARANCES "I have questioned how ( Name ) has perceived our relationship. Considering that we are both colleagues, it can lead to speculation amongst other *sighs* inappropriate comments. Hence, I prefer to keep our relationship known only to those who need to. I believe them to be devout and... undoubtedly caring. I hope my attitude towards them conveys a similar message.

CHAT: WORK "Although we teach different subjects, we occasionally mark or review the work of our students. You may call it a 'second opinion'. Thus, their opinion is one that I trust."

CHAT: SERVICE "( Name's ) actions can initially appear simple-minded. However, underneath simplicity, lies thoughtfulness beyond comparison in both work... and at our residence.

PASTIMES DONE TOGETHER? "Film is not an art I deliberately take part in or seek out for leisure. However, ( Name ) was quite adamant and passionate about film. Thus, we've watched a myriad amount of films and TV shows together, both acclaimed and disdained. I have my own varying opinions. I must admit, after a long bath, a film in bed is quite soothing. Considering that ( Name ) similarly enjoys the pleasure of a bath, our nighttime routine is undoubtedly satisfying."

ARGUMENTS: "One must always think before they speak for there is a price to pay. ( Name's ) silence is decisive, deliberate and painful; burning right through your chest. Debates are loud, quarrels are bitterly silent."

SOMETHING TO SHARE: "Solitude is the greatest gift to civilization and self: introspection enlarges the expanse of the mind. However, the pursuit of knowledge is not only found in discovery and text. It is through experience alone. I have found much knowledge in solitude and an equal amount through genuine companionship. Hence, I share my deepest revere. "

WHO ARE THEY? II "My lover. That is who they are to me and all you need to know."

EXTRA: AVENTURINE'S OPINION "I met Ratio's lover when I visited for business matters. But, all that went out of the door! I saw a lovely individual by his desk and thought, 'Who is this?' Ratio never, and I mean never, allows anyone to screw his desk up. Yet, here they were, seated at the edge of his desk toying with his stupid chalk greeting me with a bright smile. We immediately hit off. I suppose Ratio does have some luck in him, but then again, ( Name ) was the one who first asked him out. Less to do with luck, and more to do with destiny. In my opinion, destiny is not something I fully believe in, however, when I watch Ratio and ( Name ), it's difficult to imagine a universe where they aren't together."

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍

WHO ARE THEY? I "You are looking for Commander ( Name )? Sadly they're on a business trip, however, I'd be happy to answer in their place."

FIRST MEETINGS? "( Name ) is an interesting soul. I've heard of their praised skills in combat and decisive thinking. Many assume I met them on the battlefield. Yet, I met them over a coincidental cup of tea."

GREETINGS? “I find it amusing how our everyday greetings have evolved. At first it was a salute. However, I find that a kiss on the cheek is a much more efficient way of greeting and brightening up the mundane tasks *sighs* of work.”

PARTINGS? “Why bid farewell when one hasn’t said hello? Partings have always been bitter. Yet, I find comfort in knowing that all things lead back from whence they came.”

ABOUT US: AGE “Time for long life species is fickle and plainly slow. Despite that, ( Name ) has constantly made time— less daunting and more fun. ( Name’s ) life span… is a touch shorter than that of myself. Hence, they have brought forth a new value in every passing year to which I cherish. This year I plan on doing something special for their birthday— though, don’t tell them that.”

ABOUT US: SILENCE "As much as ( Name ) glows in social settings, they equally enjoy stillness, if not more. There never is any obligation to fill the void when we're together. It is as natural of an act as breathing.

CHAT: PRODUCTIVITY "( Name ) likes to be on task. I, however, don't always find leisure in such activities. ( Name ) quote, 'holds me accountable'. Of course, there are moments in which I can distract them."

CHAT: FELINES "They are quite fond of Mimi. Unfortunately, Mimi is rather... aggressive when around ( Name ) and has been for a considerable amount of time. One time ( Name ) was attempting to bargain with Mimi for her favour. *Chuckles* What a sight.

PASTIMES DONE TOGETHER? "Master Diviner Fu Xuan would frown upon it... but I suppose napping on the Seat of Divine Foresight is considered a 'pastime' when done regularly enough."

ARGUMENTS: "I do not attempt to quell the frustrations of my dearest. It is not often they disclose them to me and it does pain me to be the cause of their anger. Nevertheless, if it means the two of us will grow closer, then I will gladly offer myself to the brute force of my dearest. Of course, the swelling of regret still stains the heart."

SOMETHING TO SHARE: I've lived one life yet many all at once. Companions scattered amongst the universe and enemies whose names I've gradually forgotten. Yet, underneath the breath of my dearest, I'm simply a man in his spouse's embrace. Nothing else matters."

WHO ARE THEY? II "My most loving spouse."

EXTRA: FU XUAN'S OPINION "When Commander ( Name ) came into the Seat of Divine Foresight to help the General... he grew all the more 'lazy'. A part of me feels sympathetic towards Commander ( Name ), imagine having your own spouse bully you into doing your work? Alas, it's not my business to speak about their marital life. Besides, the two go hand in hand, like a puzzle piece clicking together. Both can do well without, but when joined together, they are a force to be reckoned with."

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄

WHO ARE THEY? I "Their weapon may be thin, but it pierces holes even in the most... stubborn of enemies."

FIRST MEETINGS? "Elio's script is always followed. However, ( Name ) is a detail I did not anticipate or was foretold. My body met the tip of their spear before I saw their face."

GREETINGS? "Over time ( Name ) has grown close to the Stellaron Hunters- especially Kafka. Their presence is imminent despite not being a Stellaron Hunter themselves. ( Name ) smiles whenever we meet, it has always been more than enough."

PARTINGS? "My promised end will come, yet an absurd inkling of regret remains."

ABOUT US: THE BLADE "( Name ) believes the blade to be a form of art. They had said, 'The blade dances in air with undisturbed poise and precision, a kind of mercy not known to themselves.' I asked them why they chose a spear then. They replied, 'Because I could never dare replicate it's beauty.'"

ABOUT US: WOUNDS "( Name ) never wanted to be a traveller, rather, they opted to string fabrics together with a needle and thread. Perhaps that is where their skills come from."

CHAT: MIDNIGHT "The mara is like a ghost. Yet, ( Name ) is a fool. They embrace the ghost I can't seem to remember other than its bottomless spite and fear."

CHAT: SCARS "Their hands never 'keep to themselves'. ( Name ) prefers to trace their hands over surfaces and make shapes. They tend to draw stars... so many stars."

PASTIMES DONE TOGETHER? "When there are no missions, we sleep in silence. Under the guise of sleep and their warmth, immortality does not follow me."

ARGUMENTS: "When all is said and done, silence remains."

SOMTHING TO SHARE: "If there is life after death, then I wish to meet them in the same manner, again and again with that smile and spear."

WHO ARE THEY II? "The person who taught me how to breathe and pressed their lips against my skin."

EXTRA: KAFKA'S OPINION "Blade will never admit it. But, ( Name ) cares for Blade and Blade does too. The pair will never put a name to the push and pull between them. I caught Bladie once; staring out into the open universe searching for something with a spark of life that doesn't belong to a dead body. I wonder if ( Name ) put that there."

masterlist.

[invincibledc]

Tiny request for twin reader with damian mabye they were seperated at birth aka talia gave bruce twin reader and kept damian but win reader has some kind of disability like walking with crutches and as soon as damian moves in he goes into protective brother mode and always tries to help twin reader

“I’m your protector.”

Damian Al ghul-Wayne x Disabled! Twinreader

Summary: separated from birth, Damian finds out you are disabled from walking. Knowing that you are his blood sibling, he can’t help but be protective over you

After Talia revealed to Damian he had a twin (brother/sister) that she gave away to his father all because you were disabled. He felt anger towards his mother and a little bit of betrayal.

How could she keep such a secret from him and the fact she just gave you away made him feel…protective.

He wants to know you are okay. He wants to make sure you are okay. So when he moved into his new room, he got a knock on his door. He opens it to see, you. You had crutches, smiling as your hand grip the crutches handle. “Brother! Oh my, we do look the same!” You were excited, happy. Damian immediately observed you, he sees you are pure of light. He was right to feel protective when you don’t know much of the words he is saying with his high vocabulary.

He draws and colors on your crutches, he likes to see the light in your eyes when he draws what you like on your crutches.

You both may be different, but his brotherly love is not. He’s always sitting by you, dinner, breakfast, lunch out of the manor, events, galas. He’s always there. Sure Bruce would try and tell Damian that you can protect yourself, maybe even that you can do things without his help. But you’re ten, just like him. So what did he do? Not listen to his father like he always do.

He’s happy to know you never wanted or tried to be Robin. His heart would break knowing that his precious half would try and fight. But that also meant you never learned how to protect yourself and fight mostly, making it worse for Damian to grasp.

Damian tried not to baby you much, but he couldn’t help but feel anxious at those random thoughts in the back of his head. “They’re gonna fall one day, what if no one is there to pick him up.” He would sometimes just sleep on a chair in your room incase you fall off your bed.

Damian would train Titus for whenever you fall and you can’t reach your crutches. He would have Titus use his body and guide you somewhere so you can get up.

“I’m your protector.” He would say when he sees you trying to get up and grab your crutches. But titus and him are already up and helping you. You laugh thinking he’s joking, but he’s not.

If you’re sick? Protectiveness levels are off the charts when he sees you cough and shake. Yeah he’s not going to school until you’re better. No way he’s leaving his sibling at home!

Would call pennyworth off his phone if you are homeschooled. Always checking up on you no matter what, it doesn’t matter if Alfred says you are okay. He wants to hear you say it.

If someone dared to make fun of you, he’s after them like the devil himself. If they dared to try and take your crutches, it’s gonna get wicked. Even god himself won’t be able to take Damian off the assailant.

Say you were also on the artistic route, he would absolutely treasure your art work. “It’s bad..” you said once, and Damian straight up lectured you about how art takes time and how beautiful your art work is to him no matter what.

I can see Jason saying it’s true the artwork looked terrible, and Damian just straight up chased him around angrily while you try to tell Damian it’s okay.

Titus adores you, and you adore Titus which makes Damian feel even better that Titus likes you. I mean who wouldn’t when literally you are the sunshine of the family.

Damian definitely have written letters to you when he was on “punishment” is what he called it when he had to go work with the titans. So when you visit him at the titans tower, he made sure most things were safe proof for you. Kory already knew you because of Dick. Kory tries to reason to Damian as he literally rips something apart because he deemed it as “unsafe.” But did he listen? No.

When beast boy playfully was play fighting with you, Damian was ready to cut Garfield’s head off. Only for you to wipe the floor of the green shapeshifter by using your crutch as a bat. Damian hid his sword with a smirk, maybe he doesn’t need to protect you much.

[prokopetz]

One of the pieces of feedback I'd received on the previous revision of Eat God is that the introductory text didn't clearly communicate what the game's big-picture deal is. I'm hoping this rewrite makes it clear!

(Image transcript under the cut.)

Introduction

Eat God is a game about being on the outside. It revolves around the Folk, beings who stand for every small, funny-looking creature in every game that insists small, funny-looking creatures are morally okay to kill, every goblin and kobold and imp, all reimagined here as members of the same impossibly varied, self-created people. Each player will take on the role of one of the Folk, different from any other, and navigate the world from their knee-high perspective.

Of course, player characters in Eat God aren't just any small, goblin-like critters. They're also God-eaters, practitioners of an esoteric discipline – part existential philosophy, part martial art – that comes with both fantastical abilities and big questions: namely, what does it mean to eat God?

Is “God” the systems of oppression we build to keep others down, and eating God means throwing off those chains?

Is “God” the culmination of an error in our understanding of reality, and eating God means finding another way to be?

Or is “God” just a great big tyrant in the sky, and eating God means exactly what you think it means?

As a God-eater, your journey to find out will take you from place to place, with each destination presenting potential answers, usually in the form of someone being ground under someone else's boot. Owing to your limited outsider's perspective, your interventions may not always help, at least not in the ways you intend, but they'll definitely ensure that those who benefit from the status quo are having a bad time.

Or, in less elevated terms, Eat God is a game about a bunch of gender-ambiguous muppety things with bullshit super powers wandering around causing problems on purpose. If you cause enough, you might even accomplish something.

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Art the Clown x Reader SMUT • headcanons, how Art fucks, what he gets off to, etc

big content warning! contains some stuff that may gross you out; read at your own risk: menstruation kink, piss kink, oral sex, anal sex, object insertion, blood kink, various weapons mentioned, bondage, human hair and bones, butts and what comes out of butts, public sex, cockwarming, mostly dom!Art and sub!reader

🔪 Remember the work desk with all of Art’s weapons and tools on it? He knows you want him to fuck you, but he’s got shit to do (meaning weapons to build) so he lets you sit under the desk, cockwarming him while he works. You’re on the ground between his knees, patiently holding him in your mouth. When he finishes constructing his latest instrument of torture/slaughter, Art pats his palm against his thigh, wordlessly telling you to climb up into his lap and ride him.🩸

🔪 Art enjoys blood and guts, so it goes without saying that during your period, he’s particularly eager to fuck you. He can detect the slight change in your scent, usually aware you’ve begun to bleed even before you know. He plays with your pussy like it’s a new, special toy when you’re bleeding, spreading your lips and tracing his name on your inner thighs in red. Seeing/touching/tasting blood that comes from you is special to Art. It’s the only time he gets to play in blood without it being the result of him hurting someone, so that makes the experience unique for him. He saves your used pads for ‘alone time,’ using them later as a ‘sleeve,’ to masturbate with.🩸

🔪 Art sometimes fucks you with unconventional objects, like the handle of one of his weapons (knife, axe) or the neck of a bottle. If you’ve displeased him but he still wants to fuck you, he might deny you his cock and instead use something else, like the handle of one of his knives or the barrel of an (empty!) gun, to make you come instead of his cock, as a degrading ‘punishment.’🩸

🔪 Art loves bondage. He knows what he’s doing when it comes to tying knots, as evidenced by the multiple victims you’ve watched him restrain. He enjoys the power dynamic of being in absolute control of another person. When that crosses over into sex, you both get off on him tying you up and doing whatever the fuck he wants with your body.🩸

🔪 Art’s methods can border on sadistic at times (I mean how could they not??) but because he wants to keep you around to play with for the long haul, he never pushes you beyond the limits of safety, no matter how many new ways he comes up with to plug every hole in your body. If we know anything about Art, it’s that he’s perceptive. He studies the way your body responds to different forms of stimulation and mentally catalogs the information for later. All of his skill in crafting tools of torture means he’s able to create customized ‘toys,’ to fuck you with. But the thing is, they’re never normal, or sweet; they always contain something fucked-up and sick. Art once surprised you with a whip he’d put together for you. Its strands were soft and felt so good gliding over your clit. You came so hard when Art whipped your pussy till it was puffy and leaking. It would have been a wonderful gift, if you hadn’t realized later, upon closer inspection, that the strands now wet with your cum were in fact strands of human hair. And the custom dildo Art made for you, the one that was so smooth and colored beige/white? You later found out Art had chiseled and smoothed down a human bone to make it for you. The information almost made you sick on the spot. Art found your horrified reaction hilarious, of course, and it didn’t stop him from laying you down and fucking you with it all the same…🩸

🔪 ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL …

He loves to fuck you in the ass. Art’s a nasty little motherfucker when it comes to the stuff that comes out of butts, and I’m not gonna elaborate here, but you can use your imagination to follow where I’m going with this…🩸

🔪 Art has zero inhibitions: he kills anyone, anywhere. Imagine that relating to sex; of course he’s going to fuck you wherever he wants, including places where you might get caught. Sex in public/risky spaces feels natural to Art, because he literally does not give a single fuck. Remember the first time you ever saw him? When you stumbled out the back door of that sleazy little bar in your home town, so drunk off your ass you thought you were leaving through the front? Art was in the alleyway behind the bar, black garbage bag hoisted over his shoulder, not even looking for anyone to fuck up but when he saw you, he knew he’d found a victim for the night. He’d planned to stalk you home and do unspeakable things to you-but as you took the lead and approached him, there in the alleyway, he was caught off guard, his whole plan upended the moment you slid your arms around his waist, stood up on your tiptoes, and placed a soft, sloppy kiss on his cheek. He was awestruck, and even if he could speak, Art would still have been at a loss for words. You walked him backward a few steps, lining him up against a dumpster in the alleyway. You began fondling him through his costume, grinning when you realized his body had already begun to respond. One thing led to another, and within minutes, Art had you bent over that dumpster, with a fresh hole torn in the front of his costume where your bodies were joined…🩸

🔪 No one would associate The Miles County Clown with tenderness, but if they knew Art, they would see a softer side of him only you do. He’s still fucking deranged, don’t get me wrong. But Art also has moments of vulnerability, when there’s nothing he wants more than to hold you. Sitting in Art’s lap, he wraps his arms around you and stays still, so still, just enjoying the soft thump of your heartbeat against his, and the low hum of your breath on his chest. Your nearness calms the monster inside Art so well that sometimes, he forgets he is the monster itself…🩸

🔪 Another benefit of having you in his lap? Art realized he could use his strength to make you stay in his lap no matter how badly you had to get up and take a piss, forcing you to wet yourself all over him. You felt him gradually getting hard under you as you began to wriggle on his lap. Art could see your discomfort, and when you told him you needed to get up and take a piss, he refused to release you. You’d expect him to be smiling at you at a time like this, silently mocking you; but the look in his eyes was deathly serious, pitch black and full of a demented lust that would have had you locked you in place even if his arms hadn’t. Blushing into his shoulder, you accepted the fact that Art wasn’t letting go of you any time soon, and that he really was into this. He wanted this to happen. You allowed your bladder to empty, a soft trickle saturating your panties, followed by a steady stream of hot piss that spread over Art’s lap. His clothes were soaked through below the waist, your piss running down between his thighs and dampening the couch cushion beneath you. Art was rock hard by this point, his wet cock throbbing against your pussy. He lifted you off his lap just enough to reach between your bodies and position his tip against your entrance, then used your piss as a lube to slide inside you…🩸

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

reunion

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.5K

Warnings: Slow burn; unrequited love; angst; yearning; divorced Art Donaldson; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; safe sex

Summary: It wasn't that Art Donaldson was the one that got away. It was more like Art Donaldson was the one that never really knew you existed.

"Did you hear Art Donaldson is supposed to be here?"

The question is whispered behind you and makes your hand freeze in its signing. You're half-bent over the table at reception, fingers tight around a pen as your mind is jogged.

No way was he turning up, that's what Anne had said.

Tashi will be there, she's the head of the goddamn reunion committee, the ink is still wet on their divorce—that's what Anne had said. Hell, she'd sworn it.

So what the hell is he doing here?

The sound of your name jogs your attention and you manage to finish signing in. You straighten, taking up your name tag and haphazardly slapping the adhesive onto your top. You need a drink, and quickly. You're halfway to the bar before you feel someone wind their arm through yours.

"Okay, I know you didn't wanna come—"

"Anne."

"And I so appreciate you being here so that I didn't have to come alone—"

"Anne—"

"But I got some news and it's going to be a little shocking so I think you should hear it from me—"

"I know he's here."

"What?" Anne freezes, her arm dropping from yours. You turn to see her looking stricken, her cheeks pinking with panic and embarrassment. You sigh softly, glancing around your fellow alumni. Less than half of them look familiar; your eyes catch on the odd face before you realize that you're inadvertently looking for him.

"Look, there are, like...Five hundred people here, alright?" You add. "I probably won't even see him."

"We can go."

"Look, we made the trip, we're here, we may as well stay. It's fine, okay? We're all adults here! It doesn't matter!" Your insistence is chased by a slightly hysterical laugh. "It was, like, a hundred years ago."

"...You're sure?"

"I am positive."

Positive that you need a drink, and positive that you're going to regret agreeing to stay.

--

It wasn't that Art Donaldson was the one that got away. It was more like Art Donaldson was the one that never really knew you existed.

You were friends, sure. You palled around, had a few classes together, hung out at a few parties—but he was so in love with Tashi Duncan that you'd never made his romantic radar. You'd forced yourself to believe that that was for the best, that you didn't need his love or romantic validation to be happy. But you couldn't pretend that wanting him didn't sting.

He'd had a couple of girlfriends while you were at Stanford, but you could always feel, always see that they were never really his priority. It was Tashi, then tennis, then them.

The two of you had kept touch a little after college, but you'd pushed yourself to move on. Conversation had begun to fade, and when he hadn't tried to keep it up, you had resolved to let him go.

You'd avoided his name in the news as much as you can, but it had been hard. He was on billboards, packaging, tv—it was like you couldn't escape him.

Want melted to sadness; sadness shifted to annoyance; annoyance hardened into disdain. You couldn't see his likeness or hear his name without rolling your eyes. It wasn't his fault, of course, but the prospect of running into Art fuckin' Donaldson made you queasy.

Still, you put on a brave face for Anne, forcing your focus into conversation.

It's a struggle to keep your gaze from seeking him out. You take each sip with a little white lie, convincing yourself that you're looking to make sure you can avoid contact. You spot Tashi a couple of times, but you don't go out of your way to say hello. She's surrounded by a cloud of people—taking pictures, signing programs and name tags and old Duncanator shirts.

When Anne insists on going to say hello, you force a small smile.

"You, um—you go ahead," You nod, taking a couple of steps back. "I'm gonna get some air."

Anne's dark eyes flit over you questioningly before she blessedly lets it go, nodding and going on her way. You turn, swiping a fresh drink off of a passing waiter's tray as you leave.

It takes a few moments for the buzz of conversation to clear from your head. You take a gulp of the prosecco, wrinkling your nose. It's a little sweeter than you usually like, and doesn't mingle well with the three other drinks that you've downed. Tashi's not going to find your lack of presence or greeting conspicuous; you'd been cordial and on speaking terms in college, but the two of you had never been close.

Damn, but it's chillier outside than you thought it would be. The reception had been so warm, so crammed with people. Paired your head being near-permanently on a swivel, you hadn't realize how hot and tense you'd been.

You frown at the waft of cigarette smoke that catches your nose. Who the hell is still smoking in this day and age—

"Are you hiding, too?"

Maybe you can feign that you didn't hear him—that the sound of his voice didn't jog a hundred memories and trigger a flurry of butterflies. But before you can stop yourself, you turn, the words, "I thought you quit smoking," tumbling out of your mouth.

Art's smile widens as he draw the cigarette back from his lips, a stream of smoke pushed out of the side of his mouth.

"I did. Quit quitting, though." He takes one more puff before he flicks it away, drifting closer. "Hi."

Hi, like it's not the first time you've seen him in the better part of a decade. Hi, like neither of you are oceans from where you where when you last saw one another.

"Hi," You manage. He doesn't hesitate to draw you into his arms; he seems to almost do it without thinking. You only allow yourself a moment of resistance before you raise and curl your arms around him. The clean scent of his pressed jacket and woodsy cologne are muddled with smoke. The fingers of one if your hands curls covetously in the fabric of his jacket as his palms smooth gently over your back. You hear him draw in a deep breath, feel him hold it, and then release it with a soft hum.

"How the hell are you?"

Probably better than you are these days.

You shrug a little, mumbling, "Fine."

He draws away, eyes skating across your face.

"You don't sound so sure about that."

"I'm sure."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

You can feel him winding up for another pass at it, but you hold your glass out before he can. His fingers brush against yours as he drains it.

"Why are you hiding?" You ask. He shrugs, nods toward the door.

"It's a lot in there. I forgot what these events are like."

"People wanna congratulate you. They're proud."

"Are you?"

"I am, but I'll hold off. Don't wanna crowd you."

Your attention is drawn from Art's smile as you hear someone clearing their throat over the speaker system inside:

"If we could have the reunion chairpersons to the stage, please!"

You glance toward Art and find him fidgeting, his thumb smoothing across his bare ring finger.

"…Do you wanna go back in?" You offer. He considers before he says, "Wait here."

You watch curiously as he darts inside, and are stunned when he reappears a moment later. You just barely catch a glimpse of the bottle of champagne clenched in his fist before he rests his other hand on your lower back, steering you away with an urgent murmur of, "C'mon."

--

"I'm surprised you came," You tell him. Art doesn't look at you for a moment, and you take the chance to lean back against the hard plastic seat. He's as beautiful as he was the last time the two of you were together, the night before graduation—practically in the same seats. You don't know if he was thinking about that when he'd led the way into the stands, chosen where to sit. Maybe it was pure muscle-memory.

Either way, you don't know how long the two of you have been sitting out there, knees bumping, passing the bottle back and forth. You take in his profile—the slope of his nose and cut of his jaw; the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows.

"My therapist said it would be good," He finally admits. "Told me I needed to get out more, start getting back into events, work at the foundation...What about you, huh?" He turns, brows raising. "You always told me that you hated this stuff."

You're surprised he remembers.

"I do hate this stuff, but," You shrug. "Anne didn't want to come alone."

"You're a good friend. I never forgot that." He sits up and passes the bottle back to you. "What happened to us, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did we stop talking?"

I couldn't keep begging for scraps of attention.

"I don't know," You deflect. "Guess we just lost touch. It happens."

"I shouldn't have let it happen to us."

You look down at the bottle, sweeping your finger across a slipping drop of condensation.

"You were busy."

"You weren't?"

"Not in the same way," You laugh self-consciously.

"What were you busy with then, huh?" He shifts, thigh pressing against yours. "You used to always say you'd uh—burn out by twenty-six."

"Yeah."

"Did you?"

"Oh, it didn't take nearly that long."

"What!" He laughs. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know what to tell you, man. A girl can only take a soul-sucking marketing job for so long."

"So what do you do now?"

"Still in marketing, but I'm a manager, so. Still soul-sucking, but making a little more money."

"You like it?"

"God no, but I don't know what else I would do." You pass the bottle back.

"Could find something for you at the foundation."

You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head as Art sputters a laugh, asks, "What?"

"Don't do that, Art."

"Don't do what?"

"I don't need, you know—"

"We could use you—"

"You don't even know what I do at work."

"I bet it's great—"

"You don't even know if I'm a good worker—"

"Sure I do, I know you."

"No, you don't!"

You know it's a mistake the second it leaves your mouth. Art's smile wavers as he leans away again.

"I just mean—" You try.

"I know what you mean. It's been a long time."

"...Yeah, it has." You take the bottle back, drawing deeply from it before passing it back. "I should get going. I'm sure Anne's looking for me."

"Sure."

You don't say goodbye or tell him that it was nice to see him. You just make as hasty a retreat as you can without tripping over your feet.

--

@ a_donaldsonofficial requested to follow you. 3h

You're not sure what surprises you more—the follow request or the message in your DMs: Dinner?

--

His groan is sinful and low, and makes you rethink ever losing contact with the guy. Under the warm glow of the diner's lights, his eyes slip shut, fingers tightening around the bun.

"...When's the last time you had a burger?" You finally manage to ask.

"I can't remember." He admits it through the mouthful, and you don't begrudge him the couple of flecks of food that land on the table. You smile, plucking up a couple of fries.

"Art?"

"Mm."

"Why'd you ask me to dinner?"

Art sets the burger down as he swallows, taking off his napkin to clean off his hands.

"I was thinking...About what you said at the reunion."

"Mhm."

"About me not knowing you. You're right. But you know what?" He presses on before you can process your surprise. "I don't think you know me, either."

You think for a moment, brows furrowing. He's right. You know the image of Art Donaldson that's been projected to you over the years—on tv screens, in magazines, in online clips.

"...I don't think I do," You agree.

"Figured we should fix that. Catch up, fill each other in on what we've missed."

"Okay."

"So, after college..." He trails off, waving his hand. "Fill me in."

"Moved to New York."

"Uh-huh."

"Working in marketing."

"Burned out before 26—"

"Yeah, hit my capitalistic peak at 23."

"That fast?"

"I mean, that's the last time I remember giving a shit about work, so. Yeah."

"Relationships?"

"...A couple," You admit.

"Serious?"

"Yeah. One."

"Married?"

"No. Engaged." His eyes drop to your bare left hand, and you hurriedly tuck it into your lap. "Formerly engaged."

"What happened?"

"It just didn't feel right. I don't think either of us were ready."

"...Was it anyone I knew? I don't remember you dating much at school."

"Guess I didn't."

"You weren't shy."

"Well no, but—"

"So what was it?"

"I had the worst crush on you, dude!" It's another mistake, but where the last one seemed to make Art retreat, this one leaves his gobsmacked. His eyes widen, mouth opening in a wide smile.

"You what?"

"Oh, kay, you know what—"

"I had no idea!"

"I was very subtle."

Art leans back in the diner booth, watching you openly. You can see the gears turning in his head, and you wonder what he may be remembering, holding up and twisting about in this new light.

"...Huh," He mutters.

"You can feel free to forget that at any time."

"I don't think I will...I wish I'd known."

You consider for a moment before you shrug. "I don't know. I'm kinda glad that you didn't."

"Really?" His brows knit with confusion. "Why?"

"I don't like coming second, Art."

Art nods slowly, and you see something tight pass across his face before it's smoothed away again.

"You know what?" He smiles bitterly. "Neither do I."

You nod toward his plate.

"Your burger's getting cold."

--

"So, uh..." Art clears his throat as the two of you take slow, drifting steps to your car. "I'm gonna say two things, and I don't want you to think that they've got anything to do with what you said earlier."

You know exactly what he means, but you just grumble, "I said a lot of things earlier."

"I think we both know which one I'm talking about."

"Uh-huh. So what's up?"

"...I wanna see you again."

"Okay."

"But things are a little...Messy right now. Tashi and I are working on getting Lily into a regular rhythm and it's harder than we thought it would be."

You lean back against your car, tucking your hands into your pockets.

"Mhm...I hesitate to ask."

"Yeah."

"How does this have to do with what I said earlier?"

"I just don't want you to think that this is—"

"A consolation prize?"

"Something like that."

"Whatever you need to do to get in a good place with Lily is fine, Art, you don't need to justify that to me."

"Even if it means you come second?"

You tip your head to the side, pursing your lips. "It's different when it's your kid. I meant that I didn't want to be second to—You know."

"...Yeah," He mutters, looking at his feet as he takes another foot forward. "And for the record, I was thinking of asking you out again by the time we sat down."

"You could've changed your mind."

"I didn't. And I don't want to."

You smile, nodding. "Well I don't want you to, either." You straighten up as you fish into your bag for your keys. "Call me the next time you're in New York."

"Sure."

You reach out, cupping his cheek and leaning in, pecking his cheek. You pull away, smiling at the flush creeping across his face.

"Goodnight, Art."

"Night."

--

It isn't easy at first. Messages are far and few, mostly how are yous and how was your days. You think that as nice as the little swell of contact has been, that's all it'll be—but the two of you both start to really try. The odd text becomes the weekly phone call. Weekly phone calls become daily FaceTimes. On the nights when he has Lily, they're late, usually when you're getting ready for bed. On the nights when he's on his own, the two of you eat dinner together and chat over your calls. It isn't always perfect, but it's more than you could've anticipated from that dinner a couple of months ago.

--

"She down?"

"Yeah."

"Are you in a hotel again?"

"...Yeah." Art seems to admit it grudgingly, and you smile a little as you take up your toner and a cotton pad.

"There's nothing wrong with leaning into it if it's working," You argue. "And not to be that bitch, but you're not exactly broke."

"Might be if she keeps ordering room service and movies on-demand."

You laugh softly, turning your attention to your reflection as you swipe the toner across your face.

"How's your day been?" Art asks.

"Fine, standard. I had to fill out an assessment ahead of my annual review."

"When's that?"

"End of the week."

"How do you feel about it?"

"Mm," You shrug reaching for a serum. "Fine, I guess. I'm doing okay, my team's hitting their targets."

"You're doing better than okay."

"Art."

"You are."

"Well. Thank you for that." You glance over as he goes quiet, catching a glimpse of him as you smooth the serum into your skin. You raise your brows at the sight of his gentle, warm smile. "What is it?"

"You're beautiful."

Your face goes warm at the compliment, and you bite the inside of your cheek to tamp down your wide, idiotic smile.

"You are tired, huh," You deflect.

"I mean it."

"...I know," You murmur, reaching for your moisturizer. "Tell me what you got up to today."

"I had a meeting at the foundation. We're starting planning for the gala."

"Oh yeah? Have you done them before?"

"We've had three before, but I was usually playing or training, so I haven't been as involved in the planning."

"How's it been?"

"We're still in the preliminary stages, but it's been interesting, you know, seeing how the pieces come together before I usually see them."

You nod, picking the phone up from the mirror holder and heading into your bedroom.

"Where are you gonna have it?"

"We're still scouting locations...As a matter of fact," Art adds, "We're considering a few in New York."

"Oh?"

"I'll be down there for at least a few days, and I wanna see you."

You grin bashfully as you climb into bed, settling against your pillows.

"I wanna see you, too. Are you gonna, um—I mean, is Lily gonna be with you?"

"No, it'll be Tashi's weekend."

"Okay, cool. Just wanna make sure I don't mess up your time."

"I appreciate that." Art's tongue swipes across his lower lip, eyes sweeping across your face. "I gotta say..."

"Mmm?"

"I'm looking forward to seeing your apartment."

"Oh, really?" You chuckle. "Why's that?"

"It'll be interesting, that's all. I mean, you already take me to bed every night."

You laugh, covering your eyes as you groan, "Oh, god, shut up!" as Art chuckles.

"Let me know when you're free," You add. "Your schedule's gonna be weirder than mine."

"Yeah, I will, as soon as I know what it is." You watch as Art lays down, propping his phone up on the nightstand. "...Can you stay on?"

"Yeah," You soothe, setting your phone on the nightstand in suit. "Until we fall asleep."

"Okay," He murmurs. The two of you settle in on your sides, watching one another on the phone.

"Night, Art."

"Sweet dreams."

--

The restaurant is picked. Your nails are done, your hair is done; you get a new dress, new shoes, a new bag. You're going to have an amazing night—a good dinner, a great conversation, and, if you have any luck, an amazing good night kiss.

--

You know the minute you see him that you're not making it to the restaurant. Art's eyes sweep over you in covetous wonder when you open the door. He closes the gap between the two of you, drawing you into his arms, and this time you go without a second thought. He presses his face into your neck, letting out a gentle hum at the scent of your perfume. The tip of his nose trails up over your jaw, his lips brushing the corner of your lips as his forehead rests against yours. He sighs as you draw in a nervous breath, and he sways in, lips pressing to yours.

You raise your hand to cup his neck, shivering as his hands smooth over your hips. He guides you deeper inside, blindly reaching back and shoving the door shut behind you as you fling your purse toward the bench in your entryway. His kisses grow hungrier as he steers you down the hall. You slip your tongue along his, smoothing your hand up to grasp his hair. Your fingers fumble with the buttons on his shirt, exposing more of his pale, muscled chest to you. He slides down the zipper on the back of your dress and leans away just long enough to draw the dress up over your head. His eyes sweep across you, taking in your lingerie.

You hook your thumbs under the band of your underwear, giving them a teasing wiggle as you back further away from him. You expect him to follow, but he steers you back against the wall, dropping his head to suck hot kisses along your neck and down to your chest. He yanks one of the cups of your bra down, taking your nipple into his mouth. You bite your lip, tipping your head back against the wall and whining as he slots his knee between your thighs. You roll your hips down against the hard muscle as he laves and teases your nipple, reaching up to thumb and tweak the other.

"Art—Mm, god that feels so good."

He groans against your skin, trailing his kisses further down as he lowers himself to his knees. You look down as he curls his fingers around your panties—and waits. You smile softly, nodding, murmuring, "Please?"

Art grins, pressing a kiss to your hip before he gently eases the fabric down, waiting for you to lift your feet so he can fling them away. He leans in, swiping his tongue across your aching clit. Your knees would knock if he wasn't wedged between them. You draw in a shallow breath, letting your head tip back as he draws your leg over his shoulder. You shiver at the feeling of the chilly air against your heated, slick flesh. He nuzzles and laps against your cunt, taking each tip of your hips in stride. His hand smooths up your trembling inner thigh, giving your ass a gentle squeeze before he teases a finger into you. You whimper at the touch, unable to help the way your pussy clenches around it.

Art groans at the feeling, turning his head to smear his lips slips against your hip.

"Goddamn," He breaths against you.

"More."

You feel more than hear his gentle chuckle as he eases another finger in.

"Need it bad, huh?"

"You have no idea."

"I'm getting a pretty good idea." He turns his head, leveling a sucking kiss to your clit that makes you cry out. You tighten your grip on his hair as he pumps his fingers harder, curling and scissoring them as he pushes you closer to the edge.

"Art—Mm, god, fuck, yes—Yes—" Your toes curl in your shoes as your hips rabbit down against his face and fingers, chasing the swell of your orgasm. You look back down as he draws back and find his lips and chin shining with your juices.

"Bed," He urges.

"You can fuck me right here."

Art laughs, standing and smoothing his hand over your thigh.

"We're doing this right."

"We could be doing this right...." You slid your hand down his chest to palm his cock through his pants. "Here."

You grin as Art's eyelids flutter, his dick twitching against you.

"Bed," He insists again.

It isn't far to go, and the two of you are entirely bare by the time you get there. You scooch back onto the bed, spreading your legs as he rolls on a condom. He's over you a moment later, and you watch the bulge of his biceps as he braces his hands on either side of your head. You bite your lip as you feel the brush of his cock against your entrance. You reach down, grasping his cock and guiding him closer.

You tip your head up, tongue teasing the seam of his lips as he eases into you. You melt into the mattress as he crushes against you, filling you completely. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, sliding your legs over his, as if you'll manage to fuse the two of you together. Art's tongue swirls around yours before he captures your lips in a kiss, rolling his hips slowly.

"More," You plead, but Art keeps his pace achingly steady, even when you try to pick up the pace.

"You feel so fucking good," He breathes, "Even better than you taste."

"Harder, Art, please, god damn, please," You whimper. He tips his head to the side nipping at the hinge of your jaw as he reaches down, hiking your hip up even higher. Your mouth fell open with a stunned moan as he presses deeper, the slap of his hips filthily filling the stifling air around you. You arch up against him, nails raking down his back as you feel the swell of another orgasm.

"Art."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm—Fuck, almost—"

"That's it." He sucks his fingers between his lips before he slips them between your bodies, swiping across your tender clit. You begin to close your eyes, but he tuts softly.

"Don't—Don't close your eyes—Look at me," He orders between breaths. You force yourself to focus on Art, taking in the flush on his cheeks, his almost dazed eyes.

"You, too—" You urge.

"Yeah—"

"Oh—yeah," You gasp, unable to keep your gaze on his you cum. You feel Art's hips slap roughly against yours before he slows, groaning low in his chest. You draw in a deep breath as your heart pounds in your chest, sinking back against your pillows as he settles down over you. You smooth your hand over his nape, smiling as he nuzzles against your shoulder, dropping tender kisses to your skin.

"...Art?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we're going to be late for dinner."

--

"You know, I've been thinking."

"You've been doing a lot more than thinking, mister," You mutter, and grin as Art laughs. You cuddle closer against his side, nuzzling into his chest as he tightens his arm around your shoulders.

"I'm glad I didn't know you liked me in college."

"Really?" You tip your head up, brow furrowing. "Why's that?"

"...I wasn't ready for you back then." He smooths his fingers along your jaw, eyes wandering your face contemplatively. "It's like you said, you know. You would've come second."

You nod, turning your head to press a kiss to his palm.

"I don't think I was ready for you, either," You admit. Art smiles.

"And you are now?"

"More than."

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ;

@buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

[hopeastrz]

LIBRA THROUGH THE HOUSES: where you adorn the world with a touch of grace♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

CHECK OUT SEPTEMBER SALE: fixed price on any and all of my readings 17 DOLLARS only.

TIP: could also apply to your venus placement!, also graceful as in where or how you’re known to be the most beautiful!

NOTE thank you so much for your support, you can check my master-list here, lots of love xoxo!!♡˚₊‧⁺˖

LIBRA IN THE 1ST HOUSE | LIBRA DEGREES 7°, 19° ON THE AC:

Starting off strong with the divas, the queens and models, the placement of the best looking women i’ve ever encountered, you’re so graceful in the way you handle yourself, the way you walk and present yourself. You may have a very beautiful waist, jaws and butt, sorry to be so upfront but good googly moogly that thang is juicy af, ehem.. your presence is just so adorable and attractive, your outward behavior is always graceful and your physical appearance is on point!, i really love the way you guys dress!, you’re known to have a beautiful face and looks!.

LIBRA IN THE 2ND HOUSE | LIBRA DEGREES 7°, 19° ON THE 2ND HOUSE:

The food you cook can never be missed, i just love how you decorate your food and always make sure it looks beautiful, like using pretty plates and utensils with pastel colors, but umm.. please make sure your food tastes as good as it looks, (please don’t come for me) you guys tend to also prefer eating in aesthetically pleasing restaurants and cafés, you might prefer perfumes with vanilla scents (since vanilla is ruled by venus) and somehow you’re make up is always so flawless (tell me why??? What’s your secret!?? Sold your soul to the devil????) you my also have pretty wallets, oh and very beautiful material possessions, like paintings, antiques, and also your music taste is one of the best things about you, lastly your voice is quite charming and graceful, it may be kinda low or soft on the ears.

LIBRA IN THE 3RD HOUSE | LIBRA DEGREES 7°, 19° ON THE 3RD HOUSE:

The type of people to drive oh so gracefully, always making sure to follow the rules and have their passengers feel oh so welcomed and comfortable throughout the ride, you may keep snacks in your car, always need to have it smell beautiful, always have your favorite music blasting around the car, you’re the type to decorate it cars with charms and cute aesthetic things.. you may also have been known in your school, you might’ve been popular or you school in general is popular and looks beautiful!, also your neighborhood might’ve looked very nice too, and you’re known around there to be a beauty!.

LIBRA IN THE 4TH HOUSE | LIBRA DEGREES 7°, 19° ON THE 4TH HOUSE:

THE BEST BAKERS I KNOW, QUEENS AND KINGS OF CARBOHYDRATES AND VANILLA, STOP BECAUSE WHY ARE YOUR BROWNIES AND COOKIES SO DELICIOUS HELLO? we need to have a serious conversation after you give me all of your recipes, also why does your houses and room look so beautiful?, you are the real masters of interior design, like you really know the tips, tricks and the just right color schemes to bring out the best out of every space!, you may also have the best home in the neighborhood or have the best apartment throughout the residency. You may also prefer a minimal aesthetic looking self care products even if they weren’t even benefiting, and you may be the best looking member of your family, you’re the image of it, or all of your family members are quite beautiful, i do believe too that this placement indicates having a beautiful spouse!. Also not to sound like a creep but beautiful chests? Breasts? and it’s not even about the size, im talking about the shape in general (ughh don’t ask me how i know i just do)

LIBRA IN THE 5TH HOUSE | LIBRA DEGREES 7°, 19° ON THE 5TH HOUSE:

Beautiful boyfriends?, you really tend to choose people whom you hookup with carefully, if they’re not good looking bye bye to them (not everyone ofc, beauty definition is diverse to people) you’re known to go to places that look very beautiful and sophisticated for vacations?, also your art!, one of the most elegant and creative art makers you’ll meet in your life, you also may love drawing or painting as a hobby, just any soft and Venusian hobby and practice, maybe even you’re a make up artist!, also you’re hair is known to be the most beautiful about you!.

LIBRA IN THE 6TH HOUSE | LIBRA DEGREES 7°, 19° ON THE 6TH HOUSE.

Pilates princesses?, yes yes yes, i feel like you’re the type who look very beautiful while training since you might prefer low impact practices like yoga and pilates, very graceful while you workout, no sweat or any bad smell and you always have a cup in your to stay hydrated, and it kinda makes since because you’re a taurus rising!, people may enjoy going to different kind of workout practices with you, and you might also be known around your coworkers to be very handsome or charming, you may be the most beautiful one in your company, also you might be the type to dress your dogs or pets in general and groom their hair and build pink houses for them or treat them like your babies!, also your bodies are very beautiful, waist area is very charismatic!.

LIBRA IN THE 7TH HOUSE | LIBRA DEGREES 7°, 19° ON THE DC.

The father of your children, or your spouse may be quite beautiful, or you’re the one who’s known to be a beautiful housewife/spouse!, really charming, if you ever decide to start a business it may be generally focused on venusian themes, like art, clothes, perfumes, makeup etc… you may also hear things like ‘your taste in men/woman’ is very beautiful etc. your spouse may also find you very beautiful, and of you wanna uncover your hidden enemies see who are close to your spouse, who tend to copy your looks subtly.

LIBRA IN THE 8TH HOUSE | LIBRA DEGREES 7°, 19° ON THE 8TH HOUSE.

Well well should i really pinpoint the obvious?, sexy queens and kings, your kinks may involve art in some sorts or ways?, like painting on each others bodies idk, very ‘lady on the streets freak in the sheets’ placement, you may also be known to have a beautiful kitty, also you’re usually sucker for future spouse readings pacs and astrology content on tumblr lmao, keep feeding your delusions my ladies because you may really manifest your ideal one!, you may also make plastic surgeries to fulfill the ideal image you have for yourself (pisces rising).

LIBRA IN THE 9TH HOUSE | LIBRA DEGREES 7°, 19° ON THE 9TH HOUSE.

You may have studied arts in university or architecture and even law, studies that involved beauty and art, or literature and law, you probably went to one of the most prestigious universities, or your uni looked beautiful, has beautiful sceneries. You also prefer to read rom coms or erotic novels for some reason, you really love romance, and also you may travel to specific countries because they’re known to be beautiful and artistic, like France for example, you probably fit every country beauty standards!, (because of the Aquarius rising, fit every country standards but your own)

LIBRA IN THE 10TH HOUSE | LIBRA DEGREES 7°, 19° ON THE MC.

The most beautiful woman around the workplace and in your career idc, oh also you might like dating people from work, especially those who has a higher position than you!, like your bosses for example, you also may work with some really beautiful people, like modeling career for example!, you work with beautiful woman or even celebrities, also you may have a really graceful and admired public image!, your career also pays you quite generous amounts of money, salary may be good!!, and you may be lucky in this area, you catch people’s attention easily because of how beautiful you are, and also your long term goals may involve marriage, finding/becoming the ideal spouse or change your looks.

LIBRA IN THE 11TH HOUSE | LIBRA DEGREES 7°, 19° ON THE 11TH HOUSE.

The regina George of your friends group and the Zendaya of social media, blessed with grace and beauty, also good company!. Whatever you do you may see people do the same, i know someone who had this placement back in Highschool and she used to wear glasses, whenever she changed them her friends who also wore glasses always loved to get the same glasses as hers lmao and she had a girl who copied her. you also might be known to be very creative and aesthetic on social media, if you have a personal account or a random account for whatever topic you will make sure it looks aesthetically pleasing, you’ll be told things as ‘your feed so aesthetic’ etc.. you also love taking care of your bio and make sure your posts match each other, also i believe this is one of the trendsetter indicators placement!.

You are really so kind and iconic to the point that whoever enters your life becomes better looking and take care of themselves, it seems like they’ve had a drastic glow up after meeting you because of really how iconic you are, you might also open their eyes onto things they’ve never known, think about it.. how many person changed their style because of you?.

LIBRA IN THE 12TH HOUSE | LIBRA DEGREES 7°, 19° ON THE 12TH HOUSE.

Sleeping beauties?, is your second name princess aurora?, im not even kidding when i say you sleep beautifully, like for real, you barley toss and turn while sleeping, if you for example slept on your right side you without any doubt will wake up in the exact same position, you guys rarely snore, talk or even do anything that might be considered annoying while sleeping, also you know these people who wake up with perfect hair and a fresh face in the morning?, that’s you!. You may also appear in your lovers dreams a-lot, or your husband in case you’re married, you might excel in fulfilling other people’s fantasy about you too because may appear to be the picture perfect partner or the ideal trophy wife, and your enemies may be people whom you’ve had a close romantic relationship with or your business partners, and conflicts may end in court.

also this might be kinda random but do you cook seafood the best or like love it the most?, and also do you make the best cocktails or drinks?, your past may be solely focused on romantic relationships or you have a constant fear of relationships going wrong.

[dominiqueramseyart]

Some positivity in these turbulent AI times

*This does not minimize the crisis at hand, but is aimed at easing any anxieties.

With every social media selling our data to AI companies now, there is very little way to avoid being scraped. The sad thing is many of us still NEED social media to advertise ourselves and get seen by clients. I can't help but feeling that we as artists are not at risk of losing our livelihoods, here is why:

Just because your data is available does not mean that AI companies will/want to use it. Your work may never end up being scraped at all.

The possibility of someone who uses AI art prompts can replace you (if your work is scraped) is very unlikely. Art Directors and clients HAVE to work with people, the person using AI art cannot back up what a machine made. Their final product for a client will never be substantial since AI prompts cannot be consistent with use and edits requested will be impossible.

AI creators will NEVER be able to make a move unless us artists make a move first. They will always be behind in the industry.

AI creators lack the fundamental skills of art and therefore cannot detect when something looks off in a composition. Many professional artists like me get hired repeatedly for a reason! WE as artists know what we're doing.

The art community is close-knit and can fund itself. Look at furry commissions, Patreon, art conventions, Hollywood. Real art will always be able to make money and find an audience because it's how we communicate as a species.

AI creators lack the passion and ambition to make a career out of AI prompts. Not that they couldn't start drawing at any time, but these tend to be the people who don't enjoy creating art to begin with.

There is no story or personal experience that can be shared about AI prompts so paying customers will lose interest quickly.

Art is needed to help advance society along, history says so. To do that, companies will need to hire artists (music, architecture, photography, design, etc). The best way for us artists to keep fighting for our voice to be heard right now is staying visible. Do not hide or give in! That is what they want. Continue posting online and/or in person and sharing your art with the world. It takes a community and we need you!

[dduane]

I have been trying to write fic (well, smut) set in a world where certain things are slightly different to serve the fic's plot.

However, each time I try I have run into a problem: my head insists I need to justify the changes - I need to know comprehensive details about how the world works so I can ensure everything is consistent and not too f'd up.

So I get bogged down, and don't write a word. What do?

In your position, I’d sit down and write myself a bible.

This is how I did my prep for Barbie: Fairytopia.* And how I’ve done it for various works of fic presently on AO3… and how I’m doing it right now for the new Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rats of Sumatra III project. I was taught this art by my animation story editors at Hanna-Barbera, and it’s stood me in good stead. (Peter and I pulled down our first miniseries assignment from a company that told us “we gave great bible.” And that was true.) 😄

When I say “bible” I don’t necessarily mean something that thick! (Though some of mine have been pretty hefty, with one TV project’s bible running more than a hundred pages… because I knew I had skeptical and underinformed TV execs to convince about something historical.) For the kind of purpose we’re describing here, your prep bible could be quite short: maybe looking like a bullet-pointed “shopping list”, five or ten pages long. It can be just as long or short as it needs to be to cover all your salient points.

The idea is simply to put down, in concrete form, a list of the main “different things” you need to know and remember about your alternate universe when you’re working in it. This is where you do your justification work, in as much or as little detail as you need to convince yourself you’ve got the necessary bases covered. The virtual “stage manager” who sits at the back of the theater of the Writing Department in your mind, judging when things are right, will be your guide here, and will advise you as to when you’ve got enough and it’s time to stop. And once this stuff is down on the page, you’ll be a position to judge critically whether everything makes enough sense to work with, and slots together correctly.

This is also a bit like (for the prose part of a project) outlining, in that it’s incredibly freeing. Once you’ve got this background nailed down, you know you can safely turn your attention away from it and get down to the serious business: drama, and the character interactions that express it. (And inevitably as you’re doing the bible writing, you start getting ideas for how the substrate you’re laying down is going to affect the conflicts between and among the characters. The bible stage can be incredibly fruitful this way.)

It would be facile to describe the bibling process as “getting the easy part over with first”. Because sometimes it’s not easy! But it’s worth doing first, because having done this first relieves you of the ongoing anxiety caused by knowing you may have to keep inventing or rationalizing stuff on the fly. (Which can produce the kind of micro-blocks that a writer can generally really do without.) …Not that you’re not going to be inventing things on the fly anyway: that’s a normal part of the writing process. But the biggest and most obvious issues will have been handled already, and you’ll know they have; which is always a weight off one’s mind. And the fewer of those weights you have loading you down, when you’re in the midst of the labor of composition, the better.

Anyway, give it a shot and see how it works for you. And then you can, like the rest of us smut writers, get on to the really pressing business: making sure you haven’t lost track of where all the characters’ arms and legs (and things) are when you’re writing those hot steamy sex scenes. 😏

Hope this helps!

*ETA: My remit on this job did include creating a bible for them. But I write a rough-draft one for myself first, including various meta that I needed but they didn't.

[tarotbyjam24]

Pick a card :messages from your future spouse

Likes , reblogs and feedbacks are very much appreciated 💗

Masterlist \pick a cards

If you like my work you can now tip me on kofi too ,leave 🖤

Disclaimer: This is general reading . It may or may not resonate . If reading doesn't resonate let it fly and choose another pile or simply there were no messages for you through this reading 😊 Take the reading lightly as nothing's set in stone until you believe so🕊️

Thankyou for stopping by let's dive in ☄️,shall we ? Choose the pile you feel most drawn to 🧸

Pile 1

Anyone who takes the time to be kind is beautiful .

Some people don't change no matter how hard you try.

But we can not simply sit and stare at our wonds forever .

You spread joy because you're joy that's what I admire most about you .

First love teaches us what love isn't .

It's better to feel the hurt of honesty then to live in a false comfort of lie .

The secret of life is to be obsessed with yourself and be kind to everyone around you.

Some days are just heavy .

Everything you lost will be replaced with something better.

Imagine being loved the way you love .

Pile 2

You haven't met the best version of yourself yet don't give up

when you choose yourself everything around you will choose you too

remember you can start again over and over as often as you need

people don't cry because they're weak it's because they've been strong for too long

the little things ? little moments ? they aren't little

perhaps we should learn to love ourselves so loudly , it silences our insecurities

I love seeing you happy

it happened so that you could grow

you will forever be my always

do it for your future self

Pile 3

You can't go back and change the beginning but you can start where you're and change the ending

expect nothing appreciate everything

you can also comit injustice by doing nothing

be patient. Sometimes you've to go through the worst to get best

how many time can the same thing break your heart ? As long as you love it

find joy in simple things life will always be fulfilling

In the end, I realized the hurt never turned to hate. No matter how much my emotions led me to feel so. I never stopped loving people. I stopped trusting them.

The art of observing and not absorbing

Not liking me is fine, but making up lies to destroy my character is weird.

Keep it private until you know it's permanent

Imagine being loved the way you love .

Pile 4

First love teaches us what love isn't .

Discipline is the strongest form of self love .

She's an old soul with young eyes, a vintage heart, and a beautiful mind

people talk about me behind my back and i just sit here like damn i got myself a fan club

It takes grace to remain kind in cruel situations .

Forgive yourself for the mask you wore when you didn't feel safe enough to be yourself

YOU DON'T NEED EVERYONE TO love you, JUST A FEW GOOD PEOPLE

may every hour in your soul be golden, may it be filled with endless magic .

Vibes to carry through out the week

You're not sensitive. You're not overreacting. If it hurts you, it hurts you. Don't let anyone invalidate your feelings. Ever

I hope you liked the reading . Thank you so much for letting me read for you . Wishing you best ahead . 🎀 Bless you and have a nice day 🫶🏻

Loads of love , jam

Exchanges : open , collabs for paps : open

[theskywithin]

Birth Chart Breakdown: ☾ Chiron Through the Houses — A Wound You Were Meant to Heal ☾ (and a light you were born to carry)

We all carry a wound that doesn’t quite bleed but still aches in silence. Chiron shows us where that ache lives, where we feel broken, unseen, not enough. But it also reveals the place where our pain becomes our gift.

Chiron doesn’t just mark a wound, it marks your wisdom. The place where you cracked open is the place light gets in. And one day… you’ll thank your wound for becoming your why.

Let’s begin, house by house.

Chiron in the First House You wear your wound like a second skin. It’s in your smile, your posture, the way you hesitate before saying “this is who I am.” You may have learned early that being yourself wasn’t quite enough, or perhaps, too much. But your healing begins the moment you stop trying to be palatable. Scars don’t make you less beautiful. They make you real. And your presence? It’s medicine for anyone who’s ever been afraid to take up space.

Chiron in the Second House This is the wound of worth. You were taught that value had a number, a title, a price tag. That love must be earned. That safety lives in the external. But eventually, you’ll tire of negotiating your value. And when you do, you’ll find the gold was never in the bank. It was buried in your bones. You are already enough. Not because you did something. But because you are.

Chiron in the Third House They may have silenced you, misunderstood you, interrupted your thoughts before they could bloom. So you turned your voice into a locked room. But even quiet things echo. You were never too much, you were just ahead of your time. Your healing lives in words, raw, trembling, true. Speak them. Write them. Because your story is the bridge someone else has been praying to find.

Chiron in the Fourth House The ache of this placement sits in the bones of your childhood. A home that didn’t hold you, a love that felt conditional. You may still carry the echo of doors that never opened when you knocked. But healing is not about rewriting the past. It’s about becoming the sanctuary you never had. Build it, brick by brick. And one day, you’ll sit in your own warmth and realize you were always your own home.

Chiron in the Fifth House They laughed when you were serious. Dismissed you when you were vulnerable. Taught you to hide your light so you wouldn’t be burned. But joy is not a luxury. Creativity is not frivolous. This is your birthright: to feel, to create, to love without apology. Your art is the rebellion. Your love is the revolution. Keep creating. Even when your hands shake. Especially then.

Chiron in the Sixth House You’ve tried to be perfect, haven’t you? To fix the cracks before anyone sees them. You measure yourself in tasks completed, bodies managed, emotions controlled. But healing isn’t neat, it’s messy and cyclical and human. You are not a machine. You are a rhythm. A breath. A being. Let yourself rest. Not because you’ve earned it. But because you deserve it.

Chiron in the Seventh House You gave too much. Or maybe never dared to give at all. Love wounded you. Connection confused you. You keep meeting mirrors that don’t reflect you back. But here’s the secret: your worth was never dependent on another’s recognition. You are whole, even when standing alone. And when you finally meet someone who sees your soul instead of their own shadow, you’ll know the difference. You’ll choose love without losing yourself.

Chiron in the Eighth House This is the wound that hides in locked drawers and dreams you don’t speak of. Loss. Betrayal. The kind of pain that changes your shape. You’ve walked through the underworld more than once. But you came back each time, didn’t you? That’s your power: to die and be reborn. Your healing isn’t about avoiding the dark. It’s about remembering that you are the light that knows its way through it.

Chiron in the Ninth House You searched for truth and found contradictions. You believed, then doubted, then disbelieved entirely. Faith became a wound. But life isn’t meant to be figured out. It’s meant to be lived. Let go of needing answers. Let yourself be the question. And one day, you’ll realize: you weren’t lost. You were just walking a path no one else dared to take.

Chiron in the Tenth House You’ve been climbing mountains just to prove you’re worthy of the summit. Authority figures may have broken your spirit, or expected you to be more than human. But your soul didn’t come here to impress. It came here to impact. Success isn’t found in applause. It’s in the quiet knowing that you stayed true to your essence. Leave your mark, not on the world’s expectations, but on its heart.

Chiron in the Eleventh House You’ve always felt like the outsider. The misfit in the room full of masks. You wanted to belong, but not at the cost of your truth. And so, you kept your magic hidden. But the world doesn’t need more fitting in. It needs more you. Your weird is your wisdom. Your edge is your offering. Find your people, or build your own constellation.

Chiron in the Twelfth House You feel everything. Pain that isn’t yours. Sorrow without a name. It’s like you’re carrying something ancestral, karmic, invisible. And maybe you are. But within that fog lives your deepest gift: compassion that could flood galaxies. Your healing is quiet. Subtle. Spiritual. You may never get closure from the world. But you will find peace within. And in doing so, you’ll become the kind of presence that heals without even speaking.

[bmpmp3]

Ok but that "im SORRY i get inspired by the storytelling of others like every other human does" was so FUCKING REAL OMGGGG 😭 why do we have to feel so embarrassed by simply harmlessly enjoying things so much aaaaaaaaaaa

LITERALLY like...... I'm a person who in general has always improved best as an artist by surrounding myself by others and others' works like it's impossible for me to grow artistically without community and human connection but there's still some little voice in the back of my head like "u little HACK" its ridiculous like..... if im a hack then its good to be a hack!! it's good for your soul to love people and the things people create so much you create yourself