#think about what you are putting out into the world because your own thoughts and words can turn against you and you won't see it coming

[stellamarielu]

handsy

joel miller x female reader

summary: joel is hopelessly touch starved and you just can't seem to keep your hands to yourself.

content: nsfw, 18+, age gap, cursing, mutual pining, mentions of male masturbation, hand job, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, good girl, breeding kink [if you squint]

author's note: guys i’m sorry I know this isn't my usual aidan turner brainrot, but i’m rewatching tlou and i needed to write some joel miller smut. i mean, aren't we all horny for that old man?

—

To put it quite plainly, Joel was touch starved. 

It had been a long time since he’d felt the hands of a woman on his body. Of course, given the current state of the world, he didn’t have much time to think about it.

But then he was all settled down in Jackson and his days were filled with mundane jobs, casual conversations, cozy living conditions, and you. 

You lived in the little house across the street from him and although your relationship began with awkward smiles and shy waves, Joel found himself getting closer to you over time. 

Now he was lingering on your front porch after you offered him coffee in the mornings and walking you into town when he had absolutely no business there, all to spend a little extra time with you.

From the beginning Joel somehow found himself not entirely annoyed by your persistence in breaking down his walls, and instead indulged in your constant questions and continuous attempts at bad jokes. Maybe it was because he felt bad ignoring your endless efforts to strike up friendly conversation; or perhaps he enjoyed your company because he was lonely, and you were an undeniably gorgeous young woman seeking out his attention. Even he was confused as to why someone like you would be putting so much energy into getting to know him. You were probably lonely too, Joel convinced himself that your friendly advances must’ve come from a place of hunger for basic human interaction. 

He would’ve had no issue fulfilling your need for friendship and community if it weren’t for how handsy you were. Of course, Joel knew your touch was never sexual. It always came from a place of innocence, just a welcoming nudge on the shoulder or a casual hand grazing his bicep. You were just someone who showed your appreciation through simple acts of physical touch, but to Joel those little gestures might as well have been you dropping to your knees in front of him. 

In fact, those thoughtless touches frequently made their way into Joel’s mind late at night when he couldn’t sleep.

He would think about the way your hands felt on his body; how soft and gentle they were. He would think about the way they brushed against his arms or his back, imagining what they’d feel like on his bare skin. He would fight against his own morality as his hand slipped into his pants touching himself at the thought of you. His fingers wrapping around his dick, holding back moans as he pictured it was your tender grip on him instead. 

He was disgusting

That’s what he told himself now, standing in your kitchen with your delicate little hand caressing his forearm as you laughed about something he said that most certainly wasn’t that funny.

You had convinced him to come over for dinner, and who was he to deny a warm meal? But now you were inches away from him at the kitchen sink after you had argued over who would do the dishes. Both of you working together to wash up, and Joel couldn’t keep himself from thinking about the warmth of your body and how soft it felt against his. 

It was all so domestic. You washing the plates then handing them over to him so he could dry and put them away. You were talking and laughing with full bellies and smiles on your faces. It was impossible not to soak in the simplicities of moments like this. And it was definitely impossible to ignore the way his skin was burning under your touch.

You knew you had a way of getting in other people’s personal space; touching others as you spoke to them. It was something you had always done, extending a hand in an effort to show you were listening or engaged. It was just a way of showing your appreciation and attention. Only, it was more than that when it came to Joel. Your relationship with him was strictly platonic, which was a real shame because you desperately wanted to touch him in more inappropriate ways.

You knew it was bad to think about him like that. He was a friend, yet you were constantly picturing what it would feel like to kiss him– to have your hands on him.

In an effort to fulfill these little fantasies, you were always finding ways to touch Joel. Obviously, it was only ever friendly, just softly grabbing his arm when you needed his attention or leaning your body into his when you walked side by side; such small moments of feeling the weight of his body beneath your hands, but it only ever made your secret obsession with him more intense. 

Like right now, your fingers were curling into his forearm as you laughed and you knew you needed to pull your hand away before you trailed it all the way up his arm tracing every inch of muscle as you went. Joel was just so big, and strong, and rough– it drove you fucking insane. You had never felt like this before, so pent up with sexual frustration for someone. It was almost embarrassing how badly you wanted Joel to bend you over the kitchen counter and have his way with you. 

You were ready to loosen your grip on his arm and pull away when you felt something coarse underneath your fingertips.

A scar. One of the many that littered his body.

You had noticed them before, but you had never felt them. Joel was wearing a short-sleeve shirt tonight, something he rarely did. He was always clad in long sleeves or jackets, which made you realize this was the first time you had ever touched the bare skin of his arm. 

Your hand lingered on his forearm and your eyes were fixed on the scar underneath your fingers, and Joel just watched. He watched the way you stared as you felt his skin. And then you were moving your fingertips against him, tracing the mark there, and he had to keep himself from shuddering under your touch.

“There are so many.” Your voice was hushed as you studied him, looking at the scars painted all over his skin.

“Yeah well…” He was trailing off with each stroke of your finger against him, losing his train of thought.

“I’m sorry.” 

The simple apology was all you said, but when your eyes met his, he could see the sympathy swimming in your gaze. You understood. That was one thing Joel appreciated about you more than anything– you understood each other. You respected his boundaries, never pushing him on the things he wasn’t willing to talk about.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about.” 

His smile was back, so gentle and kind as he looked down at you.

“Can I have my arm back now?” His voice was playful, and you realized you were still holding onto his forearm.

“Oh god, sorry.”

You let go abruptly.

“Sorry, I’m not the best at keeping my hands to myself.” You were joking about your bad habit of touching others too much. 

“I’ve noticed.”

Joel was going back to work, drying a dish and putting it away in an overhead cabinet, avoiding your stare. 

“Oh shit Joel. Sorry does it bother you? I’ll be more mindful from now on.” 

Oh, you were humiliated. All this time Joel was annoyed by your friendly affection and you were just constantly touching him.

“No. no, doesn’t bother me. Just-“ He was speaking as he continued doing dishes, still avoiding eye contact with you.

“Just what?” You were prying, but you didn’t care. That’s how things often went with you and Joel– you asking too many questions and him putting up with it. 

“Nothin’. Just doesn’t bother me that’s all. Don’t worry about it.” 

He was sidestepping the conversation entirely now. But if it didn’t bother him, then what? 

“Joel c’mon what were you gonna say?” 

You were reaching for him again, this time grabbing his bicep. The feeling of his thick, muscular arm in your grasp nearly had your breath hitching in your throat. 

He stopped what he was doing, giving in to your touch and turning to face you completely. His eyes were peering down on you, his expression unreadable. 

“Just distracting. That’s what I was gonna say. Distracting.” He was just staring as he spoke, his voice stoic.

Distracting? Joel was distracted by your touch? 

“But not… in a bad way?” You had to clarify before your mind started going down a rabbit trail.

“No. Not in a bad way.” 

You felt a fluttering sensation fill your chest at his confession.

Was Joel saying he liked when you touched him? That he liked it so much it made him lose focus? There was sudden surge of confidence bursting through you as you ran your hand further up his arm. You found the hem of his sleeve, toying with it between your fingertips.

“How do I distract you?”

Doing your best to make your voice sound innocent you stared at the material of his shirt in your hands, too nervous to actually look him in the eyes. 

“Just don’t know how you’re always so kind and sweet. Your hands are so gentle.” He was speaking quietly.

You allowed your eyes to find his after he complimented you, but you wished you hadn’t.

His gaze was fixed on you, searching your face in a desperate attempt to read the situation. You were inches away from each other, your bodies nearly pressed against one another with your hand still on his arm. 

“Do you think about me in a way friends shouldn’t think about each other?”

The question was trickling from your lips and into the silent room. You were testing the waters, dipping a toe in the potential pool of shared desire. 

“Because I do. I think about you all of the time.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you looked up at Joel. 

“What it’d be like to kiss you, to feel your hands all over my body.”

You let your touch travel up to his shoulder and over to explore the broad expanse of his clothed chest underneath your fingertips. 

“We shouldn’t.” His words were hesitant but his body didn’t move in the slightest.  

“Why not?”

Joel could think of a million reasons why not. Starting with you being half his age and ending with the fact that sex could ruin the perfectly good relationship that had taken months to form between you.

But as he looked down at you, your lips all pouted and your eyes full of hope, he threw all caution to the wind.

Fuck it.

He placed both of his hands on either side of your face, bringing his head down and crashing his lips into yours.

His kiss was hungry and rushed but still somehow tender. Your mind was reeling at the taste of his mouth against yours. Your hands found solace at the nape of his neck, arms slinging up to rest on his shoulders as the kiss deepened.

Your kitchen suddenly felt so hot as the sweltering tension between you and Joel had finally reached it’s peak. 

“Fuck sweetheart if you only knew half the things I thought about you.” His voice was breathless as he broke your kiss.

Joel’s mouth trailed down your jaw placing impatient kisses on your skin. 

“Tell me.” You were practically begging as you moaned at the feeling of his warm lips on your neck.

“Think about those sweet little hands of yours on me.” 

He was nipping and sucking behind your ear. You weren’t sure if it was the way his mouth was caressing your skin or the words he was speaking between kisses, but it had a whine slipping from your lips. 

“Where Joel?” The words were a whimper coming deep within your throat as he continued his assault on your neck. 

“Jesus Christ sweetheart you’re gonna kill me.” He was muttering into the curve of your shoulder and the hum of his words against you had you losing your mind. 

“Do you think about them here?” Gaining just an ounce of composure, your voice was calm and collected as you slid your hands down his torso. 

You were careful to feel every little detail of his body as you let your touch wander lower. The tense muscles of his abdomen were hard to ignore as your hands found the button of his jeans. 

“All the time sweetheart.” He was admitting to his dirty thoughts. Bringing his hands to thread through your hair and pulling your gaze to meet his so you could see the seriousness in his eyes as he spoke. 

“Think about how soft they’d feel wrapped around me.”

Oh. It was prevalent now more than ever that Joel had entered an entirely new headspace. The way he was talking to you, the way he was looking at you; It was all fueled by complete and utter sexual desire, and you couldn’t get enough. You wanted to hear more filthy words come out of his mouth, you needed it. 

“Joel..” You were all but moaning out as you unzipped his pants, eager to get your hands on him.

He was pulling you in for another hungry kiss as you shoved his jeans down just enough to get your hands into the waistband of his underwear. Here you were in the middle of your kitchen with your hands down Joel’s pants– something you didn’t foresee happening when you invited him over earlier that day. But the two of you were so fucking pathetic and needy, having finally given into your feelings for one another. There was no time to waste, you needed to feel every single inch of him right here next to your kitchen sink.

The groan that left his lips when you finally had his cock enveloped in your gentle touch was enough to send a rush through your entire body. You pumped him up and down making sure to maintain a slow pace to purposefully draw another sinful noise from his mouth.

Just as you thought, your mild movements had the man in front of you sighing out in pleasure. It was a sigh of true relief; you wondered about the last time Joel had been with someone like this. The thought spurred you on, making your hand move faster from the excitement of being the first person in a long time to make him feel this way.

Joel’s jaw tensed and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head when your eyes flickered down to his dick. You were watching your own hand as it worked to bring him closer to completion. He wasn’t accustomed to this– having a pretty young thing handling him like this. There was no way he was gonna last long, not with your delicate hands sliding on his cock and your innocent gaze peering down between your bodies. 

In seconds his hand was on your wrist halting your movements. 

“Joel-“

You were ready to protest but your words were caught in your throat as he lifted you onto the kitchen counter. His lips were back on yours in a messy kiss while his hands fumbled with your jeans, practically ripping them from your body. 

“Need to feel ya darlin’.” He was panting out against you when his hand came in contact with your core, the thin material of your panties stopping him from touching your bare center. 

You didn’t have to feel them to know how wet your panties were. They were drenched the second your hand was on Joel’s arm earlier. All you had to do was think about the man and a pool of arousal would appear between your legs.

“Fuck you’re soaked.”

The words were laced with pride as he felt the ruined cloth with his fingertips. You wanted to moan at the feeling of his hand putting even the tiniest bit of pressure against that needy spot between your legs. You wanted some sort of relief– needed to feel him touch you.

As if he could read your mind, Joel was pushing your panties to the side and gliding a finger over the wetness pooling at your opening.

“If I knew you were this needy for me, would have done this a long time ago.”

As the words left his lips he was slipping a single finger into you at an agonizing pace. Slowly moving it in and out while you gripped at his arms for some sort of stability.

Fuck– even just the one finger moving in and out of you insanely slow was enough to have you seeing stars. So when he added a second you nearly dug your nails into Joel’s arm hard enough to leave marks.

His fingers were working into you, each stroke more mind numbing than the last. He was pushing and curling them and the little noises leaving your mouth were absolutely pathetic.

“Your little whimpers are so pretty baby.” 

Baby. All these endearing pet names he was calling you had you falling apart. You were preening underneath Joel’s touch and every time he called you sweetheart, or darlin, or baby, you were further subdued into a state of surrender for him. 

“So pretty’n sweet just for me.” He was mumbling with his fingers knuckles deep inside you.

You could feel the pressure building in your core with each deliberate movement of his fingers. Your gaze found his and the look of need consuming him pushed you closer to the edge. Your eyes were locked on one another, your forehead pressed against his as you gripped his arms tighter. 

“C’mon sweet girl, let me hear it.” Joel’s words were a low growl as he coaxed your orgasm from you.

“Wanna hear the pretty little sounds you make when you come undone.” 

His whisper was the final blow that had you spiraling toward release. You were chanting his name as you clenched around his fingers.

Your chest was heaving, and you could hardly think straight but you didn’t hesitate to pull Joel closer to you.

He was standing between your legs as you sat on your kitchen counter, your chests almost touching and his hard cock inches away from meeting your entrance. 

“Joel please.” You were out of breath and nearly speechless, still shaking from your climax, but you needed the satisfaction of Joel filling you. You wanted more than his fingers.

In an instant, he was lining himself up with you and pushing his tip in just enough to make you groan in pleasure. Hearing you beg for him like that– his name dripping from your sweet lips, Jesus he’d do anything you asked. 

You were moaning out satisfied little hums with each inch of him that filled you. He was pushing into you slowly savoring every pulse of your walls around his cock.

“So tight sweetheart.” His voice was low as he watched between your bodies. His eyes were staring at your sweet little cunt as you sucked him in deeper and deeper, so needy to be filled– so greedy for him.

You could only moan in response. The feeling of him stretching you out had the coil in your abdomen already tightening again.

He was pushing into you to the hilt and you instinctively grabbed at his shoulders, gripping and pulling at him in pleasure. You just needed to feel more of him– all of him. Your hands ached to feel every square inch of his body.

With your fingers splayed out on his back, Joel pulled out only to thrust back into you fully. Doing this over and over again until you were nearly screaming out underneath him. He could feel your fingertips digging into his shoulder blades which only made him drive into you deeper.

He was thrusting and you were a moaning, writhing mess against him, your bodies meshing together on the tile of your kitchen counter. The lewd sounds of whimpers and skin slapping filled the room and all you could think about is how close you were to coming apart again. Your legs clenched around Joel’s waist as your core strained.

Without warning, he brought his hand between you, letting his thumb fall to your clit. He was rubbing lazy circles into your bundle of nerves while his dick repeatedly hit the perfect spot inside you and your body nearly went limp.

“Got another one for me?” His words were broken by grunts.

“Wanna feel you squeeze around me while you cum sweet girl.”

His dirty words were going to shove you right over the edge. With each word he spoke, you pushed yourself closer to the finish line wanting nothing more than to please him.

You felt your body begin to shudder and your second orgasm of the night set in.

“Atta girl. There she is. Good girl.”

That was it. The words of encouragement you needed to completely let go. You were whimpering and gripping onto Joel as your release rushed over you.

The way you were clenching and squeezing around his cock made Joel’s head spin. You were nearly pushing him out, it was so tight and warm and Fuck- he was losing it.

You were barely tethered to earth as he continued sliding in and out of you. His pace was ruthless as he chased his own high. He was fucking you straight through your orgasm, the feeling of it too much for the both of you.

His hands were pawing at your waist, holding onto you as he thrusted relentlessly. The breathy moans and inaudible profanities coming from his mouth signaled his impending release.

You were pulling him in closer with your hands on his back, pushing him into you deeper.

“I want you to cum inside.” You were whining out.

You weren’t sure how you were even forming coherent sentences at this point but the only thing more important than regaining your sanity was the idea of Joel spilling into you when he finished.

“Please Joel, wanna feel it.”

There you were begging for him again. He had absolutely no self control when you spoke to him like that. And when he pulled back to get a good look at you, he almost lost himself entirely. Your gaze was glossed over and your eyelids heavy, you were completely fucked-out on his cock. It was enough to finish him off.

The look in your eyes and the feeling of your walls so tight and inviting around him, had Joel coming undone. He was leaning forward and burying his face in the crook of your neck as he let out a long drawn out moan.

His load was shooting into you all wet and warm. It was coating your insides and making you hold on tighter to the man doubled over on top of you.

You sat there, your bodies molding together, breath catching and hearts beating. Both of you in shock over how you ended up in this position after a harmless meal shared at your kitchen table.

“So…” You were still breathless as you spoke, trying to gage how Joel was feeling about your current situation.

“Should probably finish those dishes huh?”

He was picking his head up from the comfort of your shoulder and tilting his neck to motion over to the sink next to you.

He was wearing the goofiest smile all sex drunk and proud.

If Joel’s expression told you anything; that wouldn’t be the last time the two of you end up fucking on your kitchen counter.

my masterlist

[dungeonmalcontent]

Im not sure if this is a joke or not. But I 100% agree.

Overcomplicated moral philosophy of why + rant and ramble below cut.

Of the two solutions (take out all playable races OR put all playable races in) they chose the more superficially profitable. A leaner book can go to print faster, requires less editing work, less art, etc. it takes up less shelf space overall and it can be sold for essentially the same price at this point.

But, the problem persists. The problem being that of fantastical moral progressivism. And, on the surface, that sounds bad to call a problem. But listen carefully. A monster exists for a reason. And what makes a monster?

When we define monsters as an exclusive group, we find way to integrate them into our own group without truly taking away their monstrous status. We see them as monsters with a people card and us as people. D&D 5e is already a game that deifies beings that hoard wealth (dragons), paints particularly beautiful people as wiser and better (elves), glorifies monarchical structures (kings/nobles), and so on. And some of that may be a stretch, it's part of the genre, after all. But so are monsters. Orcs and goblins serve a specific role in fantasy, they're the obvious evil (primarily for their grotesque appearance, like it or not) and their job is to be the kind of monster you can slay. You're not supposed think if the goblin has a family, and it's a lot easier to do when mechanically they're just a monster. Is that a good way to think about things, is that a bad way to think about things? I'm not going to get into that, because that's kind of the point. It's a game and it isn't supposed to mirror the real world, because it's escapist.

On the other hand, you solve the problem completely by admitting that anyone and anything has the potential to be a monster. There's no moral quandary if everyone can be a monster. If everyone can be a monster regardless of personhood, you skip all the steps if thought that complicate moral decisions on a meta level. Would your character steal and kill? If you wrote them that way, sure. Does it matter what they are? No. Anyone can do those things, and relegating those actions to a certain type of creature you call a monster implies that you think only certain kinds of creatures can be monsters and that by extension you can't be. It glosses over the other side half of why monsters exist in fantasy, they reflect stories about real dangers including dangerous types of people (people obsessed with money, narcissistic abusers, and tyrants).

When you make an orc a person without making humans monsters, you do begin to repair the racism inherent to the depictions but you also erase the function of the orc in fantasy (regardless of depiction): the evil crony brute. And I'm seeing a lot of evil crony brutes turning up in the world and trying to insist they're reasonable people and you should listen to them--the trouble is they don't actually look like orcs. Now, if we allowed humans to be the monsters too, it would be progress in the right direction.

So apparently they took orcs out of the new Monster Manual, and I get their reasoning. They’re in the Player’s Handbook now, and none of the others from that book, like elves or dragonborn, are in the Monster Manual.

But I think this was a mistake. There was actually another solution, something that literally every other edition of the game did. You want to be a return to the old ways, don’t you, 5e? I know you do you nasty little freak. So here’s what you should have done:

Put the other ones back in the Monster Manual.

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 11 - flatline

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language

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after your day with rafe yesterday, the girls had so many questions and you told them everything, down to the song he wrote for you. what you didn't expect however, was that the song was going to be released in a few days time.

"i genuinely can't believe this," sarah started, "i mean him opening up to you? the commincation? the song? where is rafe and what have you done with him." she giggled.

"no y/n i don't think you understand the extent of this. like we've all been friends with rafe for a good 6 years, and i have never seen a girl have this affect on him before."

"guys stop you're making me think i'm some kind of miracle." you laughed with them.

"that's because you are a miracle." cleo joined in.

"so do you think you'll become official soon...?" sarah questioned.

"i don't know, the fans already think we are." you stated.

"the fans are fucking crazy. you'll get used to that i promise. when me and pope started dating everyone went bonkers over it." cleo reassured you.

"i guess so, it's okay i don't mind it, it's just getting used to seeing my face whenever i open twitter." you said. "whatever, we've got a flight to catch." you all finished your last minute packing and made your way into the car that was waiting for you outside the hotel.

part of you was sad to be leaving the state you had made so many memories in, but you knew heading back to new york all together was just the beginning for this new chapter for you and rafe.

once you made it to the airport, you found the rest of the boys who had left earlier as they all entered 'dad mode' and were getting stressed, john b to blame for that.

"finally you're here!" john b began as he saw you walk through the door.

"yeah thought we were gonna have to leave without you." pope said sarcastically.

"enough. we're here now aren't we?" cleo said rhetorically.

"yes ma'am" jj joined in, everyone was in agreement that cleo was the boss of the group.

you made your way to say hi to topper, who was slowly starting to become his usual self again, you assumed him and rafe had a conversation to try and clear the air.

but you eventually made it to rafe, who looked like his was patiently waiting his turn to get your attention, "hey you" he said.

"hey" you replied with a slight blush, "i didn't know you were actually going to release the song." you rushed out.

a look of concern took over him, "do you mind?" he asked worriedly.

"no! no i'm happy" you started, "but the fans are a little crazy."

"yeah i know they are and i should've warned you about that, but the best ones mean no harm and all you can try and do is ignore them." he replied.

"hard to ignore them when they're commenting on everything i post." you quietly said.

"i can say something if it really bothers you, okay?" he softly reached out to give your hand a squeeze.

"okay" you smiled at him, always putting you at ease.

"ok love birds pack it in," jj hollered "i don't think this plane is going to wait for us."

"whatever dude" rafe grinned, "ready?" he turned to you.

"ready."

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a/n: sorry guys i made this chapter a lot more smau, just as i had the idea to do the thread (which took me ages LAWD) and also wanted to get the song mentioned ! 5 points to anyone who knows the actual song and band🙈

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm @pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes @judesgfirl @4urvalidation @chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover @yesshewrites1@amterasuu@babykhloutofthisworld @blushmimi  @moonywhisp3rs @rafeysworldim19 @marleymarleymarleymarley@sabrina-carpenter-stan-account@vcnillafairy @bambii1i @sammyrenae68 @popou61

[nomie-11]

Ellie Williams x Reader, the Reader is immune like Ellie and both find out the other is immune while out on patrol. They have feelings for each other and when the truth comes out about their immunity and their feelings they start dating and eventually become a couple. If Joel is alive in the story maybe his reaction to there being another immune person.

Breathe Me In

masterlist!

synopsis: the above request!

pairings: ellie williams x reader

The floor gives way before either of you can react. One second, you’re moving through the abandoned building, snow melting off your boots, and the next, the rotten wood splinters beneath your feet. 

The world tilts. 

Your stomach lurches as you crash through layers of decay, falling hard onto your side in a pile of broken furniture and debris. Dust explodes around you—and despite the gas mask on your face—that wasn’t what made your breath catch. 

Spores. Thick, swirling clouds of them. 

Your heart pounds as you scramble up, your gas mask still snug over your face but your eyes immediately lock onto Ellie. The air was knocked from her chest, she’s coughing, and at first you think it's because she hit the floor so hard you could hear the air rush past her lips. But then you look up, watch her shake off the impact, and—her mask is cracked. 

A deep fracture splits the glass down the middle, already letting in the infection that should be filling her lungs. 

Your entire body goes cold. 

“Ellie!” Your voice cracks as you lurch forward, hands already ripping at the straps of your own mask. The rubber digs into your face as you yank it off, ignoring the awful sting as the air—thick with spores—hits your skin. Your only thought is her. Her, with her mask split, her with her lungs exposed to the infection, her with wide green eyes locking onto you in absolute horror. 

She’s on you in an instant, faster than you expected, fingers clawing at your wrists. “What the fuck are you doing?!” Ellie’s voice is sharp, bordering on desperate. 

You try to shove the mask at her, pressing it to her face, your grip shaking. “Put it on! Ellie, put it on, now—”

Her hands snap up to catch yours, her grip iron-tight. “No! Jesus, y/n! Keep it on!” She wrestles with you, trying to force the mask back over your own mouth, her panic rising. 

You don’t let her. You can’t let her. 

“Ellie, please! Just take it!” You push harder, trying to slip the straps over her head, but she’s fighting you like her life depends on it. And maybe she thinks it does. 

Ellie shoves at your hands, her breathing ragged, her green eyes wild with desperation. “What the hell is wrong with you?! You need to keep it on—just keep it on, okay?” Her voice cracks at the edges, and it kills you, the fear laced in her words. 

You shake your head violently, pushing against her resistance, your grip slipping against the sweat forming between your palms. “No, no, Ellie, you don’t understand! You need it more than I do—just put it on, please!”

She’s shaking now, her fingers digging into your wrists hard enough to bruise as she fights you, her entire body wound tight. “Stop it!” She practically begs, trying to force the mask back over your face, her voice trembling. “You don’t get it, you can’t—breathe this in—”

And fuck, if only she knew. 

But she doesn’t. 

Just like you don’t know about her. 

You can see the panic in her eyes, the way her chest heaves with frantic breaths, and it makes your own heart feel like it’s breaking apart, because she’s not scared for herself. She’s terrified for you. 

“Ellie—” Your voice wavers, your throat tightening. “Please, just take it. I can’t—” Your breath stutters, raw emotion bleeding into your words. “I can’t lose you.” 

Her face twists like you’ve just physically hurt her. 

And then she makes a split-second decision that nearly knocks the air from your lungs, yanking your hand down, the mask clattering to the floor as she grabs your face between her shaking fingers. 

Her forehead presses against yours, her breaths mixing with yours, warm and uneven. 

“No one’s losing anyone,” she whispers, her voice breaking on the words. “Not today. Not ever.” 

Tears sting at your eyes, your fingers curling into the fabric of her jacket as your body trembles with the weight that both of you are standing in the basement covered by spores without masks. The way she holds onto you, like you’re the only thing anchoring her to the ground. The way she’s so willing to put her secret at risk to save you, without hesitation, without question. 

And it’s unbearable, because you would do the same thing for her. You are doing the same thing for her. 

Ellie closes her eyes for a second, breathing you in, before she slowly pulls back just enough to look at you, her hands still cradling your face. 

“We have to go,” she says, her voice quieter now, but not less urgent. “We have to go before something shows up.” 

You nod, swallowing against the lump in your throat, your fingers reluctant to let go of her. “Okay.” 

Neither of you acknowledge the truth that hangs in the air between you. 

Not that you’re both still standing. Not that you’re both still breathing. Not that neither of you are infected. 

For now, you just hold onto each other, grip tight, fingers still trembling, as you push your way out of the ruined building, the weight of what just happened settling like a ghost between you. 

——————————————

The kitchen is silent. 

The kind of silence that weighs heavy, pressing into your skin like a damp cloth, suffocating in its own way. The only sounds are the occasional creaks of the old wooden house settling, the faint whistling of the wind slipping through gaps in the windowpanes, and Ellie’s foot tapping idly against the leg of the chair. 

Neither of you have spoken since you got back. Since you climbed out of that ruined basement, since you forced your breathing to slow, since you walked through the front door of Joel’s house Ike nothing had just shattered the foundation of your entire world. 

Ellie had thrown her jacket over the back of her chair, sat down, and you’d followed, dropping into the seat across from her. And now you’re here. Sitting. Waiting. 

For what, you’re not sure. 

The clock on the wall ticks. A fork in the sink shifts slightly. The sound makes Ellie’s jaw tightened, her fingers twitching against the wood of the table. 

You should say something. Maybe make a joke, ease the tension, bring up the fact that you’ve just experienced the most batshit insane moment of your life. That she's like you. That you’re like her. 

That you’re not alone. 

But the words won’t come. 

So the silence stretches. 

Until the front door swings open, and Joel steps inside, boots heavy on the wooden floor. He exhales as he shrugs off his coat, muttering something under his breath about the cold before turning toward the kitchen. 

And the second he sees the two of you, he stops. 

His brows furrow, gaze flicking between you and Ellie, taking in the way you’re both sitting there, shoulders tense, hands still. 

His expression shifts. “Alright,” he says slowly, crossing his arms, standing firm in the doorway. “What the hell is goin’ on with you two?” 

Neither of you answer. 

Ellie stares at the table. You focus on the small crack in the wood near the salt shaker. 

Joel’s gaze hardens. “Ellie.” 

She shifts slightly but doesn’t look up. 

“Y/n.” 

Your throat feels tight. You say nothing. 

Joel exhales through his nose, stepping further inside, letting the door shut behind him with a soft thud. “What, did y’all burn down a building or somethin’? Kill someone you weren’t supposed to?” His voice is gruff, laced with that sharp edge of concern he’s never quite been able to mask. 

Ellie’s fingers curl into her hoodie sleeves. 

Then, finally, she speaks. 

“You weren’t lying.” 

Joel’s frown deepens. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”

Ellie lifts her head, finally meeting his eyes. And when she speaks again, it’s softer. Almost disbelieving. 

“There are others.” 

Joel’s whole body goes still. 

Ellie looks at you then, and it makes your heart stutter. 

“She’s immune.” 

Silence. 

Joel’s expression doesn’t change at first, like his brain hasn’t fully registered what she just said. But then his jaw clenches, his eyes darken just a little, and his arms drop to his sides. “That ain’t somethin’ you joke about, kiddo.” 

Ellie shakes her head, voice steady. “I’m not joking.”

Joel’s gaze shifts to you, and suddenly, you feel like you’re under a microscope, every inch of you being examined. You swallow hard. 

He stares for a long moment, then exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.” 

Ellie leans forward, eyes sharp. I saw it, Joel. We were in a basement filled with spores. My mask was off. Her mask was off.” She swallows, voice quieter. “Look at her. She’s fine.” 

Joel doesn’t speak, he just turns his gaze back to you, and this time, it’s not skepticism. It’s something else. Ellie is still staring at you, something new in her eye, relief flooding her softer gaze. 

You’ve both spent so long thinking you were alone, and now, suddenly you’re not.

Joel finally speaks. “You told anyone?” 

You shake your head again. “No.” 

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face, muttering something like ‘fuck, I liked her more when they were just datin,’ 

Ellie is still looking at you, a hundred thoughts floating behind her eyes. Then, slowly, she traces a finger over the scar on her arm, buried under a chemical burn and layers of ink. “Where’d you get bit first?” 

You hesitate, before pulling up your shirt, revealing a similar mark, a faded bite on your hip. 

Ellie’s lips part slightly, looking between yours an hers, like she’s trying to make sense of it, like she’s seeing herself in you. 

“So, what now?” She asks, voice quieter, uncertain. 

Joel sighs, rubbing his temples. “Hell if I know.” 

But as you look at Ellie—someone who understands, someone who is like you—for the first time in years, you don’t feel alone. 

———————————

The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and old wood as you and Ellie sat side by side on Joel’s porch. The rocking chairs he had made last winter creaked as you shifted slightly, your knees pulled up to your chest wile Ellie leans forward, elbows resting on her thighs. 

It’s quiet, the kind of quiet that settles deep in your bones, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the good kind of quiet. The kind of quiet you only find when you’re sitting with someone who understands. 

Ellie exhales, tilting her head up to the sky. “You ever think about how fucking weird this is?”

You glance at her, raising an eyebrow. “You mean the whole ‘I should be dead, but I’m not’ thing?” 

She snorts. “Yeah. That.” 

Silence trenches between you again, but this time it’s different—warmer. It lingers, pressing against your ribs, curling around your fingers as you pick at the frayed hem of your jeans. 

“I wasn’t alone,” Ellie says suddenly, her voice quiet. “When I got bit, I mean.” 

You look over at her, but she’s still staring at the sky. 

Her fingers trace the mark on her arm absentmindedly. “Her name was Riley. She was my best friend. My…” she hesitates, her throat bobbing as she swallows. “More than that.” 

You don’t say anything, just let her have the space to breathe through it. 

Ellie sighs, her hands curling into fists. “We snuck into this mall together. We were just… being stupid kids, y’know? Drinking shitty alcohol, messing around, dancing like idiots.” A soft chuckle escapes her, but there’s no humor in it. “And then… the clickers came. I don’t even remember how it happened. One second, we were wearing Halloween masks and dancing, and the next, I’m curled into her side on the floor of the mall, my finger’s tracing over the bite on my arm.” 

Her voice gets quieter, barely above a whisper. “We decided to wait it out together. Just… go crazy together. But then she turned, and I didn’t.” 

She finally looks at you then, and there’s something raw in her eyes that makes your chest ache. “I kept waiting. I thought maybe it was just delayed. That maybe I’d turn later. But days passed, and nothing happened. And I had to—” she cuts herself off, blinking rapidly. 

You reach out, fingers brushing against hers, and she exhales shakily, but doesn’t pull away. 

“I was alone when I found out,” you admit, voice barely audible. “I was traveling with this group, people I barely knew. We got ambushed, and I got separated. A runner came out of nowhere, tackled me, and bit my hip just as I was about to shoot it.” You pause, your grip tightening slightly around Ellie’s hand. “I thought that was it. I just sat there, waiting to turn. Hours passed, then a day. Then another. And I was still me.” 

Ellie’s gaze is locked onto you now, her breathing slow and steady. 

“At first, I thought maybe I was just lucky. Maybe it was a fluke. But I couldn’t believe it, not really. So I tested it.” You swallow, your voice barely above a whisper. “Again. And Again.” 

Ellie’s fingers tighten around yours, her expression shifting. “What do you mean?” 

You turn your hand over, rolling up your sleeve, showing the faint, scattered scars along your arm. “I needed to be sure,” your voice is steady, but your heart pounds. “So I let them bite me.” 

Ellie inhales sharply. “Jesus, Y/n.” 

You shrug, but there’s no real weight to it. “I had to know. I had to be sure I wasn’t just hallucinating it.” You force out a chuckle, but it just comes out hollow. “Turns out, I’m really fucking immune.” 

Ellie shakes her head, her thumb tracing absent circles against your skin. “That’s… fucking insane.” 

“Yeah.”

Another pause. The wind picks up slightly, rustling the trees in the distance. 

Ellie shifted in her chair, turning more toward you, her leg brushing against yours. “You were really going to give me your mask back there, huh?” 

You met her gaze, something tender blooming between the two of you. 

“My secret wasn’t worth you dying,” you admit softly. “I wasn’t gonna let you die.” 

Ellie exhales, shaking her head with something between disbelief and fondness. “You’re an idiot.” 

You huff out a laugh. “So are you.” 

A small smile tugs at her lips, and Ellie watches you for a long moment, her fingers still brushing against yours, her eyes flickering down to your lips just once before darting back up. Your stomach flips. 

You don’t think you just move. 

Slowly, cautiously, you lean in. 

Ellie doesn’t pull away. Her breath hitches, her fingers curling slightly against your palm as she tilts her head just enough to meet you halfway. 

It’s soft. hesitant. Just the barest brush of lips, warm and tentative, like neither of you are quite sure you’re allowed to have this. 

But then Ellie exhales against your mouth, something easing in her shoulders, and you both lean in just a little more. 

It’s not desperate, not rushed—just the quiet understanding of two people who have spent so long being alone, finally finding something, someone, who makes the world feel a little less heavy. 

When you finally pull back, Ellie’s eyes are still closed, her lips parted slightly. 

She breathes out a laugh, quiet and disbelieving. “I think I like you.”

You grin, heartbeat hammering. “Yeah?” 

Ellie opens her eyes, and there’s something so soft in the deep forest green that your heart feels as though it’s being squeezed. 

“Yeah.” 

The wind whistles through the trees, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like you can finally breathe. 

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[saturnniines]

i love thinking of faroeverse as more of a role swap au than a ‘genderbend’ au (except for Denise “The BUTCHer” Collins i love you Denise “The BUTCHer” Collins) where it puts focus on existing female characters in malevolent that either don’t really get explored or who kind of just exist as backstory for men (addison larson, samantha holeman, faroe herself) and ive found that through that process it creates REALLY INTERESTING characters because once you break out of the male default for a lot of character archetypes you can start having a lot of fun with their motivations

who is Samantha Holeman in faroeverse? well, if her brother fought in the Great War (and maybe he dies in it in this universe), perhaps she worked in the munition factories, as some women did. maybe the poor conditions led to her developing breathing problems. maybe there’s something to be said here about the betrayal of serving your country dutifully until your lungs are feeble and your skin yellow from the sulfur, only to never truly be recognized for that sacrifice after the war ends and you are once again cast aside, with a parting gift of your brother shipped home in a box, unemployment, and your now irreparably damaged health. maybe the woman faroe meets wears a gas mask, but also her brother’s old clothes, someone still stuck in a time long since past (and faroe really isn’t much different, is she?)

who is Addison Larson? in canon, she’s a sacrificial lamb, a casualty of her father’s lust for power, a parallel to arthur’s loss of faroe, and not much more than that. but in faroeverse maybe she was a little girl who always had a habit of snooping around, spoiled by her rich father, who never thought to question his love for her until she finds a hidden room in their house, and starts discovering a whole other side to his life. she starts to steal books, she eavesdrops on his meetings, until she eventually learns what he has planned for her. maybe in this world where father’s love prevails, he wasn’t even going to go through with it, not his Addy. but addison wouldn’t know that. she sits at a dinner table across from a man she knows is planning to kill her all of those nights, her whole world shattered. maybe that’s when the idea comes to her; it’s him or her, and she’s Not going to die. in the end, it’s her father who is torn apart, crying out at the betrayal of his own daughter doing what he could not. and once she tastes that power, she finally understands.

addison believes that her father’s death, a ‘sacrifice’, in the most literal sense of the word, enriched her own life. faroe has never stopped torturing herself over her own father’s death, a true sacrifice made out of love. she can’t help but just see herself as addison

[elucubrare]

@idionkisson said, re: my very last tag, if you wanted to share any more mean thoughts about this tendency vs. the way people talk about AI art, yk, just sayin, i'd love to read em 👀

DISCLAIMER: I don't think the current usage of AI art is good. I think it further contributes to the devaluation of the artist's intent. that said, the thesis of this post is that there was a strong anti-intellectual and anti-academy vein of thought that prepared the way for the view that AI art is a full replacement for human-made art.

so, there was an age of the internet where every other tumblr post, it seemed, was about how this artistic-looking thing had happened "accidentally" or was done by an amateur, or described an artist with a decent amount of recognition and respect in the art world as "this guy," as in "this guy spent a year making a map that is the territory" - the one i'm immediately able to find is this crystalized book, by the artist Catherine McEver.

it went viral on tumblr as "a book that fell into the ocean" (and on facebook as "an ancient bible that's still readable", which is v. funny because that book is clearly less than a hundred years old, and i would warrant less than 10). there was also a really cool artwork with less easily googable keywords - someone made a beehive with internal structuring so that it would look like a heart when opened, which people posted as "a beehive that went back to nature" or something. this supposedly accidental production of works that evoke emotion in the viewer was contrasted to "modern art", which was viewed as sterile, emotionless, overly intellectual, and inaccessible. Only that which Nature creates, or which people create accidentally or without study is "true art".

to some extent, this is a reaction to the way art, especially making money in art, has become genuinely inaccessible - much studio art is taking part in a really long conversation that you could probably trace back to the walls of Lascaux if you wanted, and it is really hard to make your way as a working artist.

(NOTE i am not going to say "due to capitalism" here - the way you could make your way as a working artist without being born rich in the Renaissance was "being adopted as a pet artist by a nobleman" or "getting commissions from the Church" and in the 18th and 19th centuries it was "selling portraits to rich people" or "making a whole bunch of sentimental prints that sold well". we are not well-served by inventing past utopias.)

but that, combined with a shallow reading of the death of the author (not "the author's point of view on their own work is a single reading & not necessarily the most valid one" but "the only thing in a work is what any individual reader sees there"), ends up valorizing things the author "didn't see" in a work ("did they know how funny this is????" about a deliberate contrast in tone in a scene is part of this too), because it allows the reader to feel smarter than the author - they just put down the proceedings of their soul, the reader decodes it and finds the truth!

So, to return to AI. AI art does not have the same intentional choices behind it as human-made art. i won't argue that. but there are AI pieces that get reblogged without people knowing, with tags that indicate that it made the reblogger feel something, and then as soon as they find out that it's AI they decry it as soulless. but didn't it make you feel something, before you knew it was AI? is there a difference, in the initial experience, all arguments about copyright aside, between a computer randomly collecting billions of bits and outputting an image and "this guy put ink on ants' feet, what they created will amaze you"? both of them are art without intent.

again, I am arguing purely on an experiential level. there are ethical concerns about AI art, and functionally, there IS still a human actor who thought of putting ink on those ants; ant-foot art is not going to take over the internet. still, it's extremely jarring, after years of reading people downplay artists' skill, intent, and years of study, often phrased as an attack on the "fake" art world, to read them now talk about how the artist's intent and experience is paramount.

there's this horrible school of attempted literary criticism on here that holds that 1. everything in any given author's work is autobiographical, especially if it seems "real" and 2. those themes seeped into the work subconsciously, revealing something about the author that they're either trying to hide or unaware of themself. it drives me up a wall, since it seems to deny the fundamental skills that make people good writers: the empathy to imagine and portray experiences that one hasn't had oneself and the ability to take one's personal emotional experiences or worldview and fold them, consciously, into the unworked clay of a narrative.

[meritksi]

equally yours • kinich x gn!reader

With Kinich, everyone gets what they deserve. You can either name your price or accept what Kinich offers in return, and no matter which option you choose, you won't be shortchanged—ever. That’s just how he is.

However, you are an exception. No matter which choice you make, you always end up being shortchanged—at least that’s what he believes.

This annoys him. He tries to make things equal while you insist on giving him more. Sometimes, it makes him wonder if you have ulterior motives. Yet, deep down, he knows that being nice is simply in your nature, just as he has his own tendencies.

But it really, really annoys him.

He dislikes being indebted to others, and he doesn’t like when others owe him either. He might be able to tolerate the latter, but the first thought truly bothers him to the point that he finds himself lying in bed, thinking about how to repay you in the middle of the night as he stares at the ceiling while Ajaw murmurs about how he is going to rule the world when he takes over Kinich's body.

And that -the first thought- always seems to be the case with you.

So when he spotted you sleeping in one of the trees near the Children of Echoes with your saurian companion, as some Saurian hunters approached you two, he acted without thinking—which was out of character for him—and dealt with them in an instant.

Looking back at you, who was still asleep while cuddling with the said companion, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

It seemed like you two were equal now.

That was good. You weren't aware of it so you weren't going to do something about it too. Perfect.

From that day on, Kinich never accepted jobs from you, fearing that if he did, you’d do something so in character of you that would leave him empty-handed again.

Now it was your turn to feel annoyed.

Whenever you caught a glimpse of Kinich, he vanished at the moment you blinked. Everytime!

He still interacted with Mualani, Kachina, Chasca—anyone, really!—except you, of course.

You thought Kinich and you were getting along just fine. Since he was always taking jobs from you and you were helping him out every time he did that too. He was desperate to repay the kindness, that was the reason behind the upcoming requests of taking jobs from you. But you didn't know that.

This new approach(could it even be called approach if he didn't approach at all?) made you feel lonely. And he didn’t know that, too.

Kinich felt restless. No matter how much he tried to avoid you, his mind wouldn’t cooperate. He found himself thinking about you more—it was not just at midnight anymore. It reached the point where he would lock his gaze to somewhere far away while his customer talked, trying to rid himself of thoughts of you by repeating, “We are equal now, equal. Equal. Equal.”

He even almost called Mualani by your name. Whenever that memory came to his mind, his ears burned bright red.

He missed your voice.

Wait, what?

Who said that???

Kinich felt himself blush furiously. The worst part? He was in the middle of a conversation with Mauvika, the literal Pyro Archon. He excused himself, and Mauvika gladly let him go.

But Ajaw wasn’t having it.

“Do you have a fever? Please die in silence so I, the great Dragonlord K'uhul Ajaw, can—”

He couldn’t finish his sentence because Kinich put him on a timeout.

He didn’t even know how that happened, but when he came to his senses, he realized he was standing in front of your house.

At that point, he didn't mind owing you; in fact, he felt like he was already indebted to you (especially considering he still felt like you were shortchanged even after the previous encounter, he thought you deserved so much more).

He just wanted to see you.

And maybe, you also wanted to see him too. Given how tight you hugged him when you two finally made up.

He was empty-handed. It felt weird, he doesn't remember coming here like this in what felt like forever.

But now thinking about it, he didn't feel empty-handed at all. Especially when his fingers brushed against yours, intertwining them with such care, he thought he could get used to this.

Through the embrace of you, he felt his eyes soften when he realized there was no such thing as being indebted between the two of you. Whatever you had was his, just as whatever he had was yours.

Because he belonged to you, just as you belonged to him.

Equally.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ notes!

☆ not proofread; it was just a thought that came to my mind while I was trying to sleep, and now it's 3 am lol

☆ i might rewrite this, who knows

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Oh my God I'm such a twilight girlie you write him so good!!! Like I'm a blushing mess here giggling kicking feet the whole nine yards. Also making him thic is such a accurate power move 🤭🤤 one of these days I'd love to hear all your thoughts on the different 🍆 sizes for the links I just know it'd be glorious until then I shall devour all your writing repeatedly while imagining hot blondes (your four rut one is my absolute favorite I must confess)

Anon you flatter me!!

Hyrule: 4.9 inches. Now, before you come at me in the comments for making our fairy prince smaller than Four, hear me out: like I've said before, and continue to say, penis size is heavily affected by both genes and external factors, and even a slight discrepancy in either one can had mixed outcomes. 'But Fyre, we came here for sin, not a biology lesson!!', some of you may gripe, but I promise there's method to this madness. Ever since starting his first adventure at the ripe age of 9 or 10, Hyrule has been on constant alert because of 1) the literal cult trying to steal his blood to reincarnate a giant pig man and 2) the fact that his world is quite literally a wasteland with minimal food/tainted water/and all sorts of other nasty things. I can't even imagine the stress he was under during those frankly crucial developmental years, so it's highly likely that his body just... didn't fully develop due to a combination of him not getting enough to eat/drink and being on the run for most of his life (i.e lots of stress + probably a horrific sleep schedule). Moreover, both of these factors are what's known as endocrine disruptors, which can heavily affect mental and physical growth.

But now onto the dick-cannons: while he may not be the largest or thickest, I like to think Hyrule has a pretty good handle on what he's doing regardless*. Definitely not circumcised, considering his background (someone please tell him how to wash).

*(I once saw a headcannon that Hyrule probably used sex as a form of payment when things got tough, which I think is very underrated and absolutely true.)

Four: 5.5 inches. So I DEFINITELY did too much research on Four's, but I think y'all need to hear this. While I love the headcannon about Four's dick being 4 inches because his name is quite literally 'Four', I'm not sure anyone has tried to tackle this conundrum with his heritage in mind. Typically, penis size is influenced by parental genes, the person's own unique genes, and a combination of other external factors. For Four, we know for certain that he has Hylian parents, BUT he's also part Minish because of the events of Minish Cap. The Minish are typically described as anthropomorphic mouse people, so we can comfortably use mice as the basis for this genetic addition. Now, mice typically have a penis size of 10% of their body length (tip of nose to base of tail), which would concurrently put Four at 0.458333333 in feet, or 5.5 inches.

Dick-canons: probably circumcised. He's got the vibe of being pretty unassuming, but then he whips it out and everything suddenly makes sense. Balls* are on the bigger side (BREED), but no one's complaining.

*(Have you seen mice balls?? They're fucking [tee hee] massive. View at your own risk, but I couldn't have stopped the idea of Four like this if I tried. Yes yes I know this is a rat, but close enough!)

Wild: 5.6 inches. This one was probably the most difficult, because Wild's just... an average guy*. He doesn't have any non-Hylian transformations or crazy evolution history under his belt (tee tee), so all that really leaves is his height–which isn't a truly reliable measure of penile length, BUT we take what we can get in this blog–and background. It's somewhat implied that his father was a knight/someone who worked for the kingdom, which means he and Warriors were likely raised in very similar situations, though Wild's likely was a bit more stressful. For one, he pulled the Master Sword from its pedestal at the ripe old age of 12, and was immediately shipped off to guard Princess Zelda while she attempted to awaken her powers. While not as extreme as Hyrule's backstory, this is still a great deal of pressure for a child who arguably had a very peaceful life before finding the Master Sword, but I don't think he suffered any developmental conditions; even with the stress of finding out you're the Hero of Hyrule before you even finish puberty, it's reasonable to assume that Wild was physically cared for by the royal family, if only for the fact that his destiny was to defeat Ganon. Not just that, but there's the whole other issue of being stuck in a shrine for 100 years after dying; I'm no doctor, but that doesn't sound like favorable conditions for anyone. Obviously, the shrine heals him, but is that all it does? It's a well-known fact that water isn't good for skin**, especially considering he laid in it without moving for a century, so it's hard to imagine how his dick looked after the bath to end all baths.

Dick-canons: it glows– assuming he actually does have a penis, it's fairly average looking. Probably circumcised for military/cleanliness reasons, but he does have a very lovely vein running up the side of the shaft that always looks like it's about to pulse out of his dick. He should probably get that check out. Average sized balls, maybe a bit on the small side due to 100 years of cold water exposure.

*(I'm just going to come out and say this: all the Links are, at their core, average guys. Twilight was a goat herder. Time may or may not have been birthed by a tree and raised by tree people. Hyrule is just a simple traveler. Wind wasn't even chosen, he just wanted to save his sister. That's why they're so likable... they're not born special, or heroic, or anything. They're just dudes. Regular, selfless, boring, amazing dudes. Anyways enjoy the rest of my insanity.)

**(Is it wrinkly? Dried up? Completely and totally detached?? Laying in water for even a few days can cause severe medical complications, such as open sores, loss of skin elasticity, bacterial and fungal infections, and tissue decomposition. Cold water can temporarily slow the effects of decomposition because of adipocere formation, which is a phenomenon in which a waxy substance forms over the skin as a byproduct of fat decomposition, but not for 100 years. By this logic, Wild shouldn't be on this list because he shouldn't have a dick.)

Legend: 6 inches. Y'all already know where this is going. Unlike his successor, Legend didn't begin his first adventure until the age of 12, and lived a fairly stable life before hand thanks to his Uncle. This means that there likely wouldn't be too many developmental factors to worry about in determining the dick-cannons, so now we must turn to his rabbit-ifying encounter from his first adventure. I'm going to use the eastern cottontail rabbit (Sylvilagus floridanus) for this example because they're one of the most widely studied/available rabbit species. Now, cottontails typically reach 14-19 inches in length, but I'm going to go with 20 inches for Legend because he is CHONK, and also 20 is a lot easier to do math with. Keeping this in mind, WikiVet has informed me that rabbit penises can range from 20 to 45 mm in length. I'm going with 45 mm (4.5 inches) because he's a big boy and I also want him to have a big dick, so, when paired with the 20 inch body length, you'll find that approximately 8.86% of a rabbit's length is dick. Now that we know dick-to-body ratio, all that needs to be done is put that against Legend's height of 5'6", which leaves us with 5.8476 inches, but I added an extra 2 in to account for the fact that he is also hylian. It just feels right.

Dick-canons: Definitely a good choice if you're not sure what you want; bunny boy has many talents. Definitely has some breeder balls*, and I firmly believe he's curved just right for maximum pleasure. Probably circumcised because of his uncle, but he's secretly glad because it means he doesn't have to clean it like he would if he wasn't.

*(Yup, we're doing this again. Scientifically, rabbits have some of the highest sex drives of any animal, and are capable of breeding six hours after giving birth [WTF], which means this absolutely applies to Legend. He is never not down for a fuck.)

Sky: 6.3 inches. Prepare yourself because this one is very speculative. So, Sky was born on Skyloft, a set of islands in the sky. He was trained as a knight for most of his life and had a generally very peaceful life, so no endocrine disruptors or developmental discrepancies to worry about. Moreover, we know he started his journey at seventeen, which means he's at the tail-end of development. Now, instead of turning to some type of animal encounter, I'll turn to his Hylian heritage to answer this conundrum. I doubt there's anything out there with Skyloft's exact elevation, but it does appear to be a decent few thousand feet above the cloud barrier, which I've discovered are most likely altocumulus clouds, which typically form at an elevation between 6,000 to 20,000 feet. To calculate this, I watched a Skyward Sword gameplay video and determined that, in-game, it takes approximately 1:02.87 to reach the surface, and, assuming Sky/Link, is going at terminal velocity (the fastest an object can go while in motion, which happens to be 120 mph for belly-to-earth skydiving), this would put Skyloft at a roughly 7,544.4 foot elevation, which aligns with the altocumulus cloud prediction. There are only so many places on Earth that match such a high elevation, but I'm going to choose the Himalayas (which are inhabited by the Tibetan people, which are already known to have more capillaries and a more specialized hemoglobin function due to living in higher altitudes) as our comparer-region. Using this information, we can safely assume that Skyloftians, though fictional, who evolved in a very similar environment, may exhibit some similar traits to the modern-day Tibetan people.

While researching, I also discovered an incredibly interesting phenomenon called "airplane boners", which is a scientific occurrence where changes in pressure can cause erections (i.e. flying on a place), and decided that this would be perfect fuel for my scholarly degeneracy, which leads me to my next point: Sky has a big dick as an evolutionary response to what is colloquially known as the 'airplane boner'. Not convinced? Let me explain. When a penis is erect, arteries in the pelvic/penile region dilate to allow for greater blood flow, which thus increases the size of the penis itself. Now, imagine being at a high elevation for your whole life, surrounded by people whose ancestors have never lived anywhere else. I firmly believe that Skyloftians are well-endowed as an evolutionary response that allows the sustainment of larger blood vessels as a sort-of defense against high air pressure. Natural selection favors these traits because they ultimately lead to reproduction, which is the single-most important characteristic of evolution. 6.3 inches was a bit of an educated guess, but I believe that because the people of Skyloft evolved in a closed high-altitude ecosystem, it's entirely reasonable for Sky to be THICC because his body has a adapted to handle a greater hemoglobin factor and increased vascular capacity, likely in the penile region.

Dick-canons: due to the blood-vessel evolution, Sky's dick is likely thicker than average, with some very visible veins running up the sides; so many that it likely makes his dick appear incredibly flushed when erect. Contrary to what some of you may think, I don't think he has large balls, because it is likely more advantageous to have a smaller scrotum to combat the elements/conserve heat. So no breeder balls for him, but that doesn't mean he can't breed you just as good ;)

Twilight: 6.8 inches. I feel like this goes without saying, but he's a country boy. He's hung. Twilight grew up in Ordon, a close-knit community where everyone takes care of everyone, which means he most definitely had a very good childhood. Like some of the others, I see no reason to bring up developmental challenges due to being chased by a cult or some similar bullshit, so we're going to skip right to his transformation of a wolf at the beginning of his journey. Contrary to Legend and Four, I do not believe that this transformation affected him significantly in terms of penis appearance/size. Twilight was 17 when his adventure began, which means he already is at the end of physical development from a biological standpoint, and, in Linked Universe, his tattoos appear to be the only true physical mark on his hylian body, so it's safe to assume that we don't need to take this into consideration. Now, some of you may say: "Fyre, but your theories were so crazy for the other ones and now you're saying Twilight's hung because he's country??" Yes. Yes, I am saying that.

BUT.

There's a pretty solid theory running around that Twilight is a very small part Gerudo, due to Talon (Malon's father) having married/banged a Gerudo woman in secret. In LOZ, it's fairly obvious that the Gerudo are supposed to emulate modern-day Middle Eastern culture, which a study by the National Institute of Health states have an average penis length of 14.34, or 5.6 inches. Obviously, this is nowhere near 6.8, but this is also a race of mythical female warriors, so everything's a little skewed. However, in every iteration we see of the Gerudo, they're always tall, somewhat aggressive, and visibly muscled, which are all indicators of above-average levels of testosterone. This is highly important because, in addition to being required to build muscle mass, testosterone is heavily responsible for penis growth during puberty, meaning that Twilight could very well be the way he is because of this naturally-increased testosterone production (i.e why he's so visibly muscled compared to the other Links), plus an assumed more efficient vascular system due to his heritage. Adding on to this, Twilight likely already has booming levels of testosterone due to his very physical, very labor-intensive occupation as a rancher, plus the fact that he's in the prime of his life. In short, he's doing everything right: he eats well, works out, and has fairly decent emotional and mental health, all of which can be correlated with optimal penile development.

Dick-canons: Breeder balls to the MAX. All that extra testosterone has got to go somewhere, and it ain't his head. Fairly girthy, so prep is a necessity. Has one big vein right under the head that honest-to-god throbs when he's turned-on. Probably not circumcised because Ordon is fairly closed-off and I can't see them as being sticklers for that.

Warriors: 7 inches. While height isn't directly correlated with dick size, it is reasonable to assume that Warriors would be a bit higher on the list because of this, as well as his overall health in comparison to Hyrule and/or Legend. It's hinted that Warriors was raised in a very military-esque lifestyle, so it's not a surprise that he wouldn't have any true developmental setbacks in terns of penile length. Now, that doesn't mean we can't analyze the reasons why he's like this. Being raised in a militant environment means he was fed appropriately, participated in training regularly, and was likely taught stress-regulation habits (does he use them? no, but at least he knew them during his developmental years). Like Twilight, increased muscle mass is typically linked to elevated testosterone levels, and since Warriors has been training his whole life, it's reasonable to assume that these factors had a positive impact on his penile development. He and Twilight are very similar in this regard, except Twilight's size comes a bit more from favorable, wack genetics, though they both make sure to take care of themselves. However, Warriors is shown to be somewhat vain in Linked Universe canon (to the point that the other heroes have a running joke on it), which means it shouldn't be put past him to try more... under-the-table methods to ensue his 'perfection' reaches all aspects of his body, dick absolutely included. I'll leave it up to y'all on whether it's actual herbal/medical enhancements or sheer force of arrogance, but it's still a fun thought!

Dick-canons: Definitely circumcised (if not, definitely obsessed over keeping that shit squeaky clean). He's not as girthy as Twilight or Sky, but it'll definitely feel like he is from the way he wields it* during the deed. Doesn't have the biggest balls, but they'll definitely smack against any ass he can get his hands on.

*(There's a lot of speculation on whether Warriors is a manwhore or not, but I believe he's got experience. Definitely not in relationships, but one-night stands? Tavern hook-ups? He's done more of those than he's [un]willing to admit, but when it's someone he honestly, truly cares about? Slap a blush on him and call him a virgin, because he sure acts like it!)

Time: 7.3 inches. I saved the best for last. I want to preface this by saying that Time is HUGE, so obvious he's got to have a bitchbreaker in those britches, right? Right? Not exactly, because the version of Time we see in Linked Universe is the 'second' version; the one who got sent back in time by Zelda for Majora's Mask. This is HUGELY relevant because, honestly? Time likely took terrible care of himself over the course of Ocarina of Time, or at least somewhat neglected his needs in favor of completing his quest. Then, when he was sent back to being 12 years old in a new timeline by Zelda (Majora's Mask), you cannot convince me that he didn't have a major epiphany on how to actually take care of himself now that he was literally given another chance to get it right. He still trains, hard, but also knows his limits and, for the first time in his new life, he actually makes a point to start eating vegetables and drinking milk*, which give him all the essential nutrients to bridge the gap between surviving and living, especially during these crucial developmental years. Time genuinely makes an attempt to try. For himself, this time. And it pays off in the form of that fat-ass cock ;)

Dick-canons: a true bitchbreaker that will rail you six ways to Sunday. Not circumcised (bro was basically birthed by a tree), and definitely has breeder balls; he basically acts like he's in rut, and Twilight's got to get that trait from somewhere. Probably pretty veiny, like his hands (HNNNN), with just the slightest curve that'll have him hitting all the right spots.

*(Lon Lon milk all the way, my good readers.)

And, of course, I had to consult google:

[fuck1ng-queen]

Less Complicated

Noah Sebastian x Reader

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: none actually, enemies to lovers

Author comments: hey bestiessss! this is the first oneshot i'm posting to celebrate valentine's day with bad omens and i'm so excited to this week because i'll post one per day! i hope you all like it and see you tomorrow! 💕

The wind was blowing so hard you could hear it. You pressed your arms against your body, trying your best to close your coat around you. The leafless trees danced under the light of the streetlamps. A few small piles of snow piled up on the damp sidewalks, reflecting the brightness of the shop windows decorated with red hearts and shiny letters. The distant sound of laughter and conversations between couples walking by created a cozy backdrop, contrasting with your loneliness as you walked. Valentine's Day had never been a special day for you, it was just another one when the world around you was immersed in hearts and flowers. As you walked to the café on the corner, the one you always went to when you felt lonely, your thoughts were occupied with the upcoming exhibition you were organizing for the local gallery. It was the only thing that still kept you distracted from it all.

The sound of music in the distance caught your attention. You frowned in disapproval as you recognized the melody of the famous song by the band you avoided listening to so much. More specifically, the lead singer you'd rather forget: Noah.

Noah had always been a constant presence in your life, but not always for the best reasons. Ever since high school, your lives seemed intertwined by an inexplicable rivalry. He was the kind of person who always made a point of annoying you, as if he knew exactly where every single one of your vulnerabilities was. How could someone who hated you so much get to know you so well? And to make things worse, he did it with pleasure, always with a smile on his face that at the time you could die for, but you would never tell anyone that you found it attractive.

The music in the distance brought back memories. The fierce competitions to be the best student in the class, the discussions about who was the most creative in the projects, the challenging looks you exchanged every chance you got. Noah always found a way to unsettle you, with his unfunny jokes and constant teasing. He knew exactly how to make you angry.

“Do you really think you can beat me?” Noah scoffed after one of the many competitions you’ve entered.

“At least I make an effort, unlike you who only rely on your own cheap charm,” you retorted, with sparks in your eyes.

“Charm? I didn’t know you noticed,” he replied with that mischievous smile that only pissed you off even more.

Inside the café, the warmth and the scents welcomed you. You took off your coat and sat down by the window, opening your computer to revise a few things. You were so immersed in your work that you almost didn't notice when a man entered the café, shaking the snow out of his hair and heading for the counter. He looked different from what you remembered, maybe more mature, but still with that carefree air that irritated you so much. You blinked a few times until you believed it was none other than Noah.

“I can’t believe it.” His voice brought you back to reality.

You looked up, forcing a polite smile. “Noah.”

“You here? I swear I didn’t expect to see you.” He smiled, and you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes.

“I’m working. What about you?”

“Show. We're in town. It looks like the band is still following you,” he joked, and you let out a sigh.

“Unfortunately, it seems so.” You turned your attention back to the screen, trying to put an end to the conversation.

But Noah wasn't the type of person to be ignored so easily. He ordered a coffee and sat down at your table, facing you. “Why are you always so serious? Isn't it Valentine's Day? You should be having fun.”

“And what about you? Where's your romantic day?” you replied, raising an eyebrow.

“I don't have one. My passion is music, remember?” He shrugged, taking a sip of coffee.

“Of course. How could I forget?” you replied, with a touch of sarcasm. “You play everywhere.”

“You always notice, then” he laughed, making you roll your eyes. “But what about you, still organizing those art exhibitions?” Noah asked, trying to strike up a conversation.

“Yes, that's my job,” you replied as dryly as you could, turning your eyes back to your laptop.

“You know, you really take all this seriously. Haven't you ever thought about relaxing a bit?” he teased.

You sighed and closed your laptop with an audible click. “Noah, why do you always feel the need to tease me?”

“Because it's fun to see you get angry,” he replied with a mischievous grin. “But maybe I also like to see you a little out of your comfort zone.”

“You don't change, do you? Always the same Noah, eager to be the center of attention,” you retorted, crossing your arms.

“And you, always so focused, so determined,” he said softly. “Maybe that's what I admire about you.”

You couldn't help but be surprised by the honesty in his voice. “Admire? You?”

“Yes. As much as we fight, I've always admired your passion for what you do. We're artists, we can't deny that we're passionate, and I admire that in you. Even if I don't say it often,” Noah admitted, looking directly into your eyes.

You felt disconcerted. You weren't used to this vulnerable version of Noah, let alone a compliment from him, or the way you felt, unable to arm yourself for a response. You looked away, trying to process what he had said.

“Well, thanks, I guess,” you mumbled, not knowing what to say.

Noah smiled, realizing that he had managed to disarm you. “Who knows, maybe we should try being friends for once?”

You arched an eyebrow, still skeptical. “Friends? I don't know if we're ready for that.”

“Maybe not now, but who knows in the future?” Noah replied, getting up to leave. “Anyway, it was good to see you. Good luck with the new exhibition.”

“Thank you, Noah. Good luck with your presentation,” you replied, watching as Noah left the café.

(...)

In the following days, you tried to concentrate on your work, but the conversation with Noah kept going through your head. He seemed different, more sincere, more vulnerable. It made you uneasy.

On the opening night of the exhibition, you were nervous. The lights in the gallery shone brightly, reflecting the meticulously selected paintings and sculptures. You ran your eyes over everything, as if there were still some detail or other that might have gone unnoticed, in an attempt to suppress your nervousness.

“It's perfect,” Noah's voice sounded next to you, soft and encouraging.

You turned to him, surprised to see him there. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to support you. We're artists, I know how lonely today can be for you. I thought you might need a friend tonight,” he said with a warm smile.

You felt a genuine wave of gratitude at that moment, making you smile back. “Thank you, Noah. It means a lot to me.”

“Can I ask you something?” Noah hesitated, as if choosing every word he was going to say.

“Of course,” you replied, curious.

“Why have you always hated me so much?” The question was direct, but there was a vulnerability in his voice that made you feel your stomach lurch.

You took a deep breath, staring at him. “It was never hate, Noah. I think it was... fear. Fear of how you made me feel. You were always so free, so confident, and I didn't know how to deal with it.”

“Fear?” Noah asked, surprised. “I never wanted to scare you. I always thought you hated me because well... I've always been a jerk to you.”

You laughed softly, despite your serious look. “And you were. But I was also a bit stubborn and proud. The two of us were always competing, always trying to prove I don't know what to I don't know who. Maybe we were actually trying to hide what we really felt.”

“And what did we really feel?” Noah asked in a soft tone, but full of curiosity.

You sighed, your gaze fixed on his eyes. “I think we were afraid of getting hurt. It was easier to fight than to admit that maybe there was something more. Something we didn't know how to deal with.”

“I won't deny it, I always felt there was something more,” Noah admitted. “But I didn't know how to tell you. Every time I tried, we ended up fighting. And then I thought, maybe it's better this way. Less complicated.”

“Less complicated, more painful,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly. “As time went by, I kept thinking about all the things I wish I'd told you, but never did. There was always a barrier between us, something we never knew how to cross.”

Noah took a step closer, gently holding your hand. You didn't remember, but that was probably the first time you touched each other, and it gave you goosebumps. “I always felt that there was something big between us. Maybe it's too late, but I think I'd still like to explore it with you.” 

You felt your heart soar at his words. “Noah, I feel it too. I think I want to stop running away.” 

He smiled, gently pulling you closer. “So, what do you say about starting now? My name is Noah and I sing in a band.” He smiled, holding out his hand to shake yours.

You giggled, feeling your face heat up. You smiled back, your eyes shining with the chance of a new hope, feeling that the truce between you could last forever.

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Masterlist | Valentine's Day One Shots

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@lacy1986 @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @kenjipepsi1 @chey-h @concretejunglefm @blade-dressed-in-red

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[gorbalsvampire]

On Diablerising Downwards

childer diablerizing their sires is peak but what about a sire diablerizing their childe? in most cases the sire gains nothing from this. not the usual things kindred usually hope to gain from diablerie anyway.

An excellent Post from dykeferatu that I had Thoughts about, because I was pretty sure that, at least in V5 game mechanical terms, this claim was not true. I agree wholeheartedly with the spirit of the Post, so I didn't want to be seen as quibbling over something as petty and mundane as "ackshuwally in the game" - but I wanted to make a case that there is (now) a strong incentive for sires to diablerise their childer in exactly the same way that Kindred fearmongers and Cainite propagandists bang on about.

Pre-V5, diablerie was (mechanically) a way to raise Generation, thus also raising blood pool and, once you were into the single digits of Generation, the number of blood points you could spend in a single round. Action economy stuff. "Levelling up." This is why the ultimate taboo and soul haunting nature of diablerie were occasionally, now and then, by one or two people, downplayed - because there was no other way to hop your Generation up and get through the ceiling on your Discipline action economy.

Requiem, of course, does away with Generation entirely, introducing Blood Potency as a measure of each individual vampire's general thiccness. It increases slowly, naturally, as a Kindred ages and grows into their power, and decreases during torpor, which said Kindred will probably want to enter once they're so thicc that only slurping on their own kind sustains them. Diablerie is, putting it crudely, a shortcut - a speedrun of that first part, gaining more potent blood without growing into it. Still very tempting, but it's not The Only Way to "level up," and that's important because it makes choosing not to diablerise valid in mechanical terms.

V5 does both. Generation sets the floor and ceiling on Blood Potency, but it's a bracket: a Kindred will become stronger over time without having to diablerise. With this idea of Generation as a bracket, diablerie has expanded to do three things.

Learn Disciplines the victim knows.

Increase Blood Potency within the diablerist's Generational bracket.

IF the victim is of lower Generation than the diablerist, the diablerist moves one step lower on the Generation ladder, moving their "bracket" for Blood Potency.

The first two of those are directly beneficial to elders and sires who thirst for the blood of their childer. Let them go forth into the world, live out a lifetime or two, learn things you never have; then bring them back to you, consume them, reclaim the blood and the lessons with it.

I don't think it should stop at Disciplines, personally. The idea that one's diableries stick around, haunting you in a pure story sense that kind of floats above the mundanities of mechanics? Grab that and pull it down. Claim specific specialties. Claim Merits. Claim Flaws. Reify that this person's personhood lives on in you, after you murdered them. What does not exist in rules is not true - and the sublime damage of diablerie is too good to leave in the ephemeral realm of "just RP it bro."

[sorry-not-feeling-it-right-now]

Since you've done Smitten, I'd love to see Damsel for the character meme!

(Ahhhh Damsel… my sweet girl…)

(Can’t believe I went from seeing her as a flat character to relating to her… she’s my pookie…)

(Ask game below!!! As always, excuse my formatting)

(And as usual, it’s getting longer than I’ve expected, soooo I’m just gonna put a cut somewhere)

FAVORITE THING ABOUT THEM

Honestly I think she’s so funny for no reason and I lowkey love that for her. Her preppy personality is honestly kind of endearing once you get through and understood her character. To think I once thought it was creepy…

The fact that she remains preppy is honestly kind of amazing considering what she had went through. She must have been so scared and yet she continues on with a smile anyway.

Her way of coping through pleasing people is also really relatable for me. I’m kind of a people pleaser myself, so I really saw bits of myself in her. I really want to see her grow into something more, and maybe she will get her growth of change through HEA(or at least take advice from her experiences).

Speaking of, I really like the transition from her to HEA. Like her shock when Smitten rips out our heart and shows it to her when she says that she wants to leave is probably such a shocking moment for her. She probably never expected that from you. Also. Parallel with Nightmare showing her heart to you. Oughhhh so good.

LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT THEM

In the words of Smitten:

“She is gorgeous! Absolutely Devine!”

(There is none /j)

Ok but seriously it’s probably her inability to say “no”. (Again, this is out of love for her!!!!)

I see a lot of myself in her, so her inability to say no just resonates with me since I used to have that difficulty as well. Damsel simply doesn’t know how to say no, as it wasn’t in her own nature to do so. But with that inability also hurts her and her inner self, which makes her kind of a doormat. I really don’t want her to be stepped all over, so this is for your own good Damsel!!! Protect yourself!!!! DON’T FEEL BAD ABOUT SAYING NO!!!

FAVORITE LINE

“I’m gonna die now ^^ I think that’s what you want :3”

GIRL YOU’RE DYINGGGGG

(The game is funnier then I remember what the hell)

BROtp

Oooooo there are a lot of good options for this actually, I don’t think I could just choose a couple of them

Damsel and Prisoner is a classic. I could imagine Damsel being really naive about the darker and grittier stuff and Prisoner had to teach her to protect herself from the horrors because Pris knows that the world is not as innocent as Damsel believes it to be. I can see Pris being a bit protective over her.

Damsel and Witch is another fun one. Damsel’s naive and trusting nature versus the creature who lies and does a little trickery.

OK WAIT I JUST THOUGHT OF SOMETHING

Damsel and the Cat princesses. Disney Princess and creatur. Holy sh!t.

OTP

I’m starting to fw her with Stranger or Witch as a pairing. I can see the vision.

Stranger cause she is many perspectives at once, while Damsel is, at least on the surface, a flat character fully embracing her role as the damsel in distress. Stranger would be such a comforting presence for Damsel, as she would gently guide her to be more than who she already is. While Damsel, due to her nature, would try and make Stranger happy and please her. She then realises that she doesn’t need to please her since she already loves her unconditionally. It’s just. So fluffy ok.

Damsel and Witch is an interesting one, cause Damsel is basically Witch but if she hadn’t been betrayed. Witch would see her old self in her, and in turn she would teach Damsel to protect herself. Damsel teaches Witch to trust and love herself again. Just. Oughhhh…

NOtp

She and Smitten. I forgot to say this in the Smitten post but. I love y’all individually but get them far away from each other 😭😭

As hilariously sweet these two are together they are literally two people pleasers being put in a room together. Their happiness and emotional stability is fully based on the other’s happiness. They can’t exactly grow from their experiences during their time together and they’re just gonna make each other worse. At least to me.

“But at least they’re happy right???” Oh just you wait when they get themself into a long term relationship. It’s really fricking tiring.

Ik they’re not people so it really doesn’t matter too much on whether it’s an endless loop of trying to make the other happy, but, y’know.

RANDOM HEADCANON

It’s not really a headcanon as it’s heavily implied, but I feel like Damsel would probably be the only one who can’t fight (or at least unwilling to). Like, at all. She has strength yes but she is also really hesitant to use that strength considering that the last time she used her strength it had cost the life of a person she cared for. I feel like if a person she really care for told her to do something like hurting someone else, she would definitely be unwilling to, but would do it anyway because she just doesn’t want the other person to hate her. It would definitely traumatise her further though.

And yes. She does talk to animals like a Disney princess. I just thought it would be funny.

UNPOPULAR OPINION

People often see her as an airhead but I feel she is smarter than we think she is. Or well, not a complete idiot I mean. She seems to be nudging the player to continue believing that as long as they think is possible, then it’s possible. She does have a bit of a grip on how the construct seems to be forcing you to do something that you don’t want to do, and so she acts the way that she is by nudging you to believe that you can best the construct. Kind of like how Prisoner tries to nudge you into getting her memo. Burned Grey kinda reveals that she does know(or had assumed) that the construct is forcing them to hurt each other, so I supposed that is basically confirmed? I dunno

(Feel free to correct me though)

SONG I ASSOCIATE WITH THEM

I don’t have a song that I associate with her unfortunately 😭

At least not at the top of my head…

FAVOURITE PICTURE OF THEM

Determined Damsel!!!

Drew her while reading a fluffy fic teehee

[corishadowfang]

            One of the Foretellers had come for Mary’s daughter, today.

            It wasn’t often that they did; most children were sent off to Daybreak Town on the promise of sending money back to their family, or of getting a better future, or because the village had no magic users to protect them and they needed someone.  There were no big ceremonies or flashy goodbyes; there were small farewell parties, sometimes, or tiny little familial blessings, asking that Light may guide them safely and Darkness hide them from all that would do harm.  But a Foreteller had come, for Elaine, for Mary’s little girl, and the town had scrambled to put something together.

            It was—an honor, really.  Mary knew this.  It was why she’d set the table with the finest dinnerware they owned—an old set, heirlooms, from a time when there had been less strife—and asked her mother to help her prepare a large dinner, and had wrung her hands as she’d tried to stay polite and proud and keep her wringing hands underneath the table.

            Master Ava had been a polite and accommodating guest.  Mary had thought, at first, that she’d seemed almost awkward at the attention—but that seemed an absurd thought, when Master Ava was a Foreteller.  Everyone had heard the stories—of the heroes who had risen from a town on the edge of daybreak, wielding weapons borne of themselves and slaying the monsters that had so long seemed impossible to defeat.  She was more than human; how could Mary expect her to feel something so normal as uncertainty?             (She’s young, some part of her whispered—some part of her that could not quite stay quiet—and she did her best to hush the thought.  It was dangerous; she could not afford to think it.)

            “I’ve heard that you’re interested in magic,” Master Ava said, turning her focus mostly to Elaine.

            Mary’s skin prickled, and across the table, her mother shifted, like she wished to interject but thought better of it.

            Elaine either didn’t notice or didn’t care; she beamed, eyes brightening as she said, “Yeah!  I’ve been studying.  Mister Gavin says he thinks I might replace him one day.”

            Mary squeezed her eyes shut.  They are not taking our only mage, she thought, and it was close enough to the truth that she didn’t have to think about the consequences.  Gavin was old, but alive; they would not be left defenseless if Elaine became a wielder.  If anything, this was a better opportunity for her; she would go and train with some of the best mages in the world, and then she could bring back her knowledge here, to fend against the shades that encroached on their borders.

            (Elaine was still losing her baby teeth; Mary could hear the lisp.  She tried not to think about that, too.)

            “That’s good; I’m glad to hear it.”

            “Keyblade wielders are good at magic, right?”

            Mary could not see Master Ava’s face, and it chafed.  “Some of us are.”

            That was a lie; all of them were, compared to the average person.  Most mages trained for years, and even then, they might only be average at best; a newly-fledged wielder could use magic on par with the best almost instantly.  ‘Some’ was only relevant in comparison to other wielders.

            “So if I go with you, I could get better?”

            “Yes.  Good enough to keep your whole village safe.”

            (“You heard about Marty’s kid, didn’t you?”

            Mary hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but she’d stalled, hesitating just out of sight as she’d come to collect Elaine from Gavin’s shop.

            Gavin’s expression had hardened, and he hadn’t said anything.

            “Went off to Daybreak Town—that’s what he said.  Got letters for a while, and then things slowly just…stopped.  They haven’t heard from him since.”

            “I think,” Gavin had said, glancing back toward the shop—toward Elaine, who was still studying inside, “that you’d best stop spreading rumors.  All you’re going to do is scare people.”)

            It was a given, that Elaine would go; Mary couldn’t reasonably deny a Foreteller (even if Elaine was a child, even if they needed as many mages as they could get, even if things were dangerous), and Elaine was too excited to even consider turning down the invitation.  But still, a pit opened in Mary’s stomach as she knelt in front of her daughter, tangling a stained glass pendant around her neck.  It was one they’d made together, and Mary was only willing to part with it because she hoped it would grant her daughter some sort of protection.  “May Light’s blessings fall on you,” she said, because if she said anything less formal, she might sweep her daughter back into her room and refuse to let her go—even at the demands of a Foreteller.  “May Darkness guard you from the eyes of all who would seek to do you harm.”

            And may the Great Heart welcome you, should you find yourself in need of rest.

            She couldn’t bring herself to say the last part.

            Elaine’s nose scrunched, like she thought it was funny that her mother was saying such things, but Master Ava’s hand landed on Elaine’s shoulder and tightened, and Mary, strangely, got the impression that she understood.  “I’ll take care of her,” she promised.

            Mary didn’t know if it was true.  She didn’t think it mattered.  In the end, she still had to watch her daughter walk down the road, bouncing excitedly as she chattered to a stranger in elaborate robes.

            “It’ll be alright,” her own mother said, even if she didn’t entirely sound like she believed it.  “The Foretellers are blessed; they’ll protect them.”

            (They did not hear from Elaine again.)

[elbiotipo]

do you think a hypothetical highly developed alien species, i.e. sapient, would have a body form much different from that of a human, beyond things such as taxonomic classification? the human body is essentially purpose-made to function as the best possible instrument of labor, with dextrous hands, an upright posture, long maneuverable limbs, etc. as labor is what seperates us from animals and what allows our life.

I've had this debate, I think that's an anthropocentric argument. Let's revise what are considered some of the "smartest" animals, in terms of problem solving, sociality, abstract thought, etc:

Primates, which are 99% identical to us

Cetaceans (dolphins, orcas, whales)

Corvids

Parrots

Octopuses

I'm missing more than a few, but notice that besides primates, which are basically us, they all have radically different body plans. Birds and octopuses do have dextrous appendages and use them to solve problems and use tools, but as you can see the difference between each and also primates is colossal. Cetaceans don't even have manipulators, yet they display very complex social behavior and problem solving, and have what some people have called a proto-language and "culture" (controversial but more here)

It's questionable that it was labor, or the use of tools on itself, that made us humans. What makes us human is perhaps one of the hottest topics to debate, but from the time I studied anthropology, it is not any anatomical feature, it seems to be abstract thought and culture. Abstract thought, as my professor put it, is the ability to imagine and concieve of something that doesn't exist yet (or cannot exist, or cannot be seen materially, like ideas) and managing to create it in real life, to take it out your mind so to speak and change the material world. Culture is the ability to transfer ideas from generation to generation through social learning. Many animals have social learning, but few (except maybe, maybe, cetaceans and corvids) have culture. I think this is key, for example octopuses are very smart, and they do have social skills, but they don't transfer any of those skills to the next generation or to their fellows, they don't really have a society*. Humans do; every single human being is shaped by culture, shares it and changes it and modifies it.

It was once thought that humans first evolved abstract thought and that "forced us" to become upright and use tools, now we know this isn't the case. Australopithecus already had upright bipedal posture, free hands for tool use, and it was probably pretty smart, yet it would have remained simply a bipedal ape if not by the development of abstract thought and culture. It's not like other animals don't have similar things, it's that humans are so incredibly defined by it that it makes our way of life unique.

With regards to alien life, well, we've seen incredibly complex behavior arise in animals as different as mollusks and vertebrates. I believe that alien life will look indeed, very, very alien, especially since the development of our own multicellular life was very bumpy and strange. But you know what's interesting? I believe that while we would have many differences between us and any alien civilization, we would be able to communicate and understand each other, to which degree I cannot say. Because, if what I say is true, and abstract thought and culture, mediated by language, are what create social animals capable of society and 'civilization', it means that there is a language that can be translated, and if that is the case, we can talk with them. About what? I cannot say.

(unless, like Lynn Marguillis has done a decent case for, the nervous system has its origin on modified microtubules, which are the result of endosymbiosis, and so it's a unique thing to animals and probably to Earth itself... then again, even slime molds, which are fungi, are able to display behavior similar to nervous systems, so I don't think this is a limitation)

*well, there's Octopolis and Octlantis, but that's more of individuals living together rather than a social group

[acerathia]

how art is made (out of your desire) || Qi Yu | Rafayel

Summary:

Art is something subjective. It's supposed to be. Yet, it seems that everyone agrees what art is. You don't. To you Art is something special, something only you understand. Until you met him.

Wordcount: 4.9k (lol?)

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Professor!Qí Yù | Rafayel / f!non-MC!Art Student!Reader

Tags/CW:

Minors and Ageless Blogs DNI!! porn with some plot, art is subjective, and extremly horny here, semi-public masturbation (in a bathroom), orgasm denial, private masturbation (help lol), both vaginal fingering, edging, bodily fluids used in art, squirting, lowkey strip tease?, cucking as in, he's watching her masturbate idk if that's right lol, cunnilingus, pussy job, piv, some kind of exhibitionism, u will get it LMAO, this is without feelings, what if i kms, this is weird and lowkey gross and for meee

Note:

professor rafayel is lowkey insane and i need him in my guts thanks

Nobody truly knows what Art is for them. Many simply tell the normal and usual response.

“Art is an expression, some sort of communication.” “It’s entirely subjective.” “Everyone has their own interpretation of its meaning.” “The artist had an idea, a feeling and put it onto the canvas for us to understand.” “It’s the technique that matters.”

Nothing out of the ordinary, standard words for people to repeat without putting much thought into Art itself. Not you, though. To you, Art is something out of this world, something that sends shivers down your spine, making your heart beat, your blood rush, your head spin; something that excites you to the core. It’s reverence, it’s worship, it’s lust.

Maybe because of this difference in views, you can’t help but be bored to death at every single of your lectures. The professors, failed artists in your eyes, droning on about the techniques and how to use tools to use your skills to the fullest. Nothing but empty words when the right feeling is missing, when Art is missing.

That’s why you had pretty low expectations for your newest lecture. The professor is allegedly a famous artist, teaching just for some time, exclusively. Not that you care, most artists aren’t more than people with nimble fingers and connections.

At first, you did try to get into their world, to get to know all the different artists and their styles, what made them special, what made them stand out. But every time you stood in front of a painting, you felt… nothing. None of all these pretty decorations evoked anything in you, and soon boredom turned into frustration. Your dream was to belong, to have your own work join their ranks. But after disappointment after disappointment, you could not even think about your silly dream. Was it truly worth risking your beliefs just to fit in? To strip everything that makes art Art for you just to make it pleasing for all of these people with nothing but time and money? This realization made you turn your back on the world of artists, diving into your own Art, ignoring all possible repercussions of your intentional ignorance.

So, the professor at the front of the room is a complete stranger to you, but you do notice the reach of his fame, as the whispers stack on top of each other, getting louder with each student entering. You simply ignore the fawning and take a seat in a place where you can just not pay attention. Because the only reason you’re here is for the credits. And this new professor isn’t going to change your opinion about their type of art just with his senseless blabbering, probably filled with praise towards himself.

Still, you try to at least act as if you’re interested in what he’s saying, just until he’s not paying as much attention towards his audience anymore. You set your eyes towards him, and you freeze. Purple hair, soft as clouds above the setting sun, a gentle face, smooth and akin to beautiful marble. But what really gets your insides in a turmoil are his eyes. The way they shine when the light hits them, and the coldness hiding underneath all that radiance. Eyes that belong to someone with a certain touch, something similar to you, yet entirely different.

Your heartbeat rises, your lips curling ever so slightly. Oh, how much you desire to see a single work of his, to see if it could change your world. And so, despite your initial rejection, you begin to pay attention to what he says. Careful, one might even think calculated. Every word leaving his lips is akin to a script, something Rafayel, as he introduced himself as, is simply saying to please the masses. But you know, you know the way he’s speaking is different, the way his body coordinates so flawlessly with his words, but there’s always something off, and you know. Words which seem so pliant and meaningless, sprinkled with what he truly wants to express, hidden for anyone to see. And you were hanging on his lips, piecing everything into rough patches in your mind, out of order, nonsensical, but something.

Until he finally reveals one of his paintings, as part of the impending discussion. The moment your eyes lay on the canvas, the way the colors flow into each other, you gasp silently. The emotions seeping out of every brushstroke are caressing your skin, flowing into your veins, tickling the deepest part of you. The painting is filled with desire so intricate, so deep, you grin with excitement, pure unadulterated excitement, throbbing and twitching.

With this, you knew that Professor Rafayel is just like you, that his kind of Art is filled with the same meaning as yours does. A buzz is filling your brain, one stemming from all the possibilities, all the Art you can create under his tutelage; together with him.

The bubbling under your skin does not abate even after the lecture is over, your eyes never leaving him out of your sight, drinking him in, every single motion, every single word. You take everything, and you thirst for more.

That’s why you straighten yourself out, making sure that you look the right balance between amazed, worried and meek, hiding all your hunger away, before you make your way to his desk.

“Good morning, Professor Rafayel. Uhm, I love your art, the way the colors interlink and create this atmosphere, it’s amazing! Uh, what I wanted to say is, that I’m worried– worried that I might not do good work in this class. Do– Would you mind if I showed you my progress occasionally? Maybe give me some pointers?”

His eyes briefly glance over your face, and you barely hide a shiver, feeling your heart beat loudly in your ears. It’s obvious that Rafayel is a genius, and you don’t doubt he has seen through your empty compliment, but as most people sound the same, you’re not worried that he will call you out. Rather, it will strengthen your facade, making him believe that you’re truly as clueless as you make yourself out to be. So, you nibble at your lower lip and furrow your eyebrows ever so slightly, not too much, but just enough for it to look like a subconscious action.

“Alright, you can do so during my office hours,” he finally responds, scrawling all the information you need on a piece of paper and handing it to you.

Thanking him profusely, you leave the lecture hall, and the moment you step out, a grin breaks over your face, the tip of your tongue gliding over the edges of your teeth. You have finally found something that can satiate you, another person with the same essence as you.

So, without stalling for a single second, the moment the door to his office unlocks, you’re already carrying your painting with much care into the room, and give him a smile the moment your eyes meet. With a simple flick of the wrist, he shows you where you can set the canvas for the upcoming analysis.

The painting is one of the lighter ones. The real motive hidden behind the swirling colors of the waves, entering and leaving a cave, gushing. If one knew how to look, they would uncover the yearning, or rather, the desire behind each brushstroke. This painting got created with a mix of oil and water, highlighting the insinuation for those who get it. Normal paint, not the ones you mix specifically at home. No, those mixtures are used for that kind of painting you had yet to show. You first have to make sure that your intuition has not lied to you about Rafayel.

The artist has positioned himself in front of the canvas at the perfect distance and you watch as his eyes glide over every single decision of yours. Chaotic strokes and a use of paints that could only be called unrefined in the eyes of those who seek perfection. But every single one of these was a rational decision, every single one shows the heights you’re willing to reach, ignoring all that is natural and accepted.

You don’t know how long it takes, because you’re simply staring at him, watching every single reaction, down to the tiniest twitch. And then he faces you, a small smile playing around his plush lips.

“Interesting work. The emotional resonance could be stronger, though. Do you mix your own paints?” he cocks his head, his eyes wandering over your face, almost like it’s the first time he’s truly seeing you, like you weren’t even worth noticing before.

And now you are. You nod. Not trusting yourself to speak, as the depth of his eyes is revealed before you, their intensity not only shining through, but outright swallowing everything else. All of this makes your blood hot and you bite on your lower lip to suppress an inappropriately excited grin.

“Good. Next time, bring me one of those paintings. That’s when we can truly start with Art, yeah?”

A shiver runs down to your spine and you feel your lungs collapse, breathlessness wracking your body as you feel heat throughout your body. Before your reaction becomes too obvious, you thank him, giddiness tainting your voice, before you leave with your painting.

There’s barely enough time to stumble to the next bathroom, locking yourself into the cramped space, before you begin to pant, moans stuck in your throat. Before you know it, your belongings already strewn across the ground, your hand has dipped into your pants. Quickly, your fingers touch your throbbing clit, strokes after strokes after strokes, in circles, with more and less pressure, akin to how a painting is made. Slowly, they drag towards your slit, warm and wet, a cave yet to be filled, the waves yet to crash.

But instead of using your fingers to enter, you simply let the pads tease your entrance, and you shiver and clench. The aching hole, needy, bothered, yearning to be filled, an emptiness evoking nothing but inspiration. Your very own muse. One that cannot be taken away from you, ever. Your body tenses when your fingertips return to your clit, touch too feathery for your liking, but this lack of satisfaction makes you lightheaded, and you feel yourself climbing, climbing, one step and you’re going to–

With the last shreds of self control, you jerk your fingers away from your hot bud, your insides hollow and craving. Not yet, you’re only going to give yourself the heights of pleasure once you finish a painting that will make him look at you, truly look and see you.

A shaky sigh, before you fix your rumpled appearance and collect your scattered things. With the unsatedness settling in your body, you rush back to your atelier, inspiration fueled once again.

Once there, you grab your palette, dried colors flaking off of the surface. What you want, need, to show him should not be any old art of yours, no, it should be proper Art, the exact one Professor Rafayel is seeking.

There are uncountable tubes of paint sitting each in their own corner, but for this painting, you shall not use any normal paint. A stack of cans is hidden in a cabinet, each color painstakingly collected, wrung out, until mixing each component brought you these colors. Their consistency and shimmer something one could only replicate if they shared the same sentiment as yours. And of course, a small container, barely as big as your little finger, and its content even smaller. This truly is something that only exists for you, only imitations are possible, but perfect copies never. Unless you allow them to. But it has been ages since you have been attracted to another artist.

A thought creeps up at this, and you lick your lips. Maybe, if everything works out with Professor Rafayel, he might get a bit, and you might get another component for your colors. You wonder how that one might affect your painting.

For now, you set the small container away, it’s the last step to finish the painting, and then you turn towards the open white space of the canvas, and you remember how you felt earlier, how it felt to rise, rise, rise, only to plummet into nothingness. You let these feelings flow into the paint brush and you move, guided by your reverence, by your lust, towards Art.

The colors mix and flow, gush and squirt. Pushing and pulling, hitting the right areas, over and over again, getting the perfect angle with every stroke. Letting the tip caress and touch and love. Moving in circles, in patterns, pressure against the hot spot at the right time, and it drops and drips.

Heaving, panting, hot and feeling sticky, you finally take the small container combined with the smallest brush in your arsenal. You press your tongue against your teeth as you slowly spread the fluid where you need it to be, where it would have the most effect on your painting.

Only after the finishing touches do you unravel, feeling the high of Art, of this painting, penetrating you, making your insides squirm with want and desire. You throw your head back slightly and you moan, letting this feeling overtake you. This is what true satisfaction feels like, and it would reach new heights once you show this piece to Professor Rafayel, once you experience his reaction to it.

You let your piece dry, as there’s still time until you can visit him again. So, all you do until then is attend lectures as you have been, keeping the tension in you going and going, never letting it snap or slip away. Even if you were pretty close to losing control when Professor Rafayel made intense eye contact during one of his talks about the emotions and the way they manifest in art. Something about the way he looked at you made you clench and swallow.

And when he beckons you to talk to him after class is over, you feel your blood heat up with excitement, rushing to your head.

“How can I help you, Professor?”

Without a preamble, he gives you a slightly crumpled piece of paper. “Let’s change locations for the next meeting. I think it would be more ideal to do so. Do you mind?”

You shake your hand and glance at the address written.

“Good. See you then.”

His back is already facing you before you could say goodbye, but you don’t mind, your mind is too preoccupied with the fact that he wants to avoid meeting on campus. You knew your intuition about him was right.

With a grin splitting your face, you make your way home to grab your latest painting, before you input the address into your phone.

You have no idea how long it took you to get there, but standing in front of the gate closing off the huge mansion rips you out of your excitement-induced trance. This eerily looks like a home rather than just an atelier, just some place. Your ribs tingle and you hum. This is getting better with every step. You barely remember to ring the bell, your insides twitching and nudging, and all you want to do is grab him and show him what you’re capable of.

The gate swings open and you step through, feet almost silent on the soft rock leading you to the entrance of the mansion. You take a breath before entering with a knock.

“Professor?” You look around, trying to find the atelier in this huge place.

“Drop that, we’re not in university, right now, we’re just two artists,” his voice sounds behind you and you twitch in surprise and turn around to face him.

His words, coupled with his baring shirt and flushed face, make you unable to speak, suddenly stunned. Rafayel looks like he has been painting passionately and this, coupled with the removal of the societal barrier between you, make you lightheaded, your blood rushing into your fingertips, into your core, and weirdly enough, over your nape. You can only nod, clutching the canvas desperately.

He glances at your hidden work and cocks his head to make you follow him. And he leads you into his spacious atelier, paint and brushes, marble and chisels, a controlled chaos. You can’t help but stop to stare at some of his unfinished works, bare bones, but enough to light something in you, to make you yearn for something so far away, seemingly forever out of reach. His works are simply on another different level, out of your world, you can barely imagine how he might have achieved this.

“Hey, you can put it on this one,” he calls out to you, pointing towards a free easel.

A couple quick steps and you have caught up to him, and you put your painting where he has shown you, removing the covering at the same time. You notice the cloth covering the ground, but who are you to understand the whims of a genius artist.

You put some distance so he can have proper space to see your work while you watch him. Watch him scrutinize your work, analysing every single brushstroke, every single color combination. Like a lot of your paintings, it looks like a simple one, until you dare to dive deeper. This one shows the waves crash against an impossible cliff, trying to reach the edge but failing with each wave, with each push. To you, it’s obvious what your intent is, but you hope it’s clear to another person, to him.

There’s the tiniest clench in his jaw and you keep your eyes on him, wide and expectant, you’re not even trying to put on a mask anymore, it’s too late for that anyway. Soon after that miniscule reaction, he turns his head to face you, eyebrows ever so slightly furrows.

“This is excellent work. Truly, the repression is visually and emotionally resonant, making the viewer feel stifled as they’re failing to reach the climax. But say, how did you produce this?”

With a long stride, he’s letting his fingertips swipe ever so slightly over one of the parts you have coated in your very own mixture. And you almost whimper when you see him smell and lick it off his skin. All while holding eye contact with you.

“Why don’t you show me? Hm?”

You release the air out of your lungs, a little raspy, bordering between a giggle and a moan, and roll your shoulders and neck. Then, you make eye contact with him, as you let your fingertips wander over your throat and collarbones, drawing the line of your chest, splayed across the peak, before your palm beets your tummy, closer to the waistband of your pants.

Playing with the button, you ask him with heavy eyelids: “How much do you want to see?”

While you have been putting up this act, Rafayel has made himself comfortable on the closest couch. Positioned like it was his plan all along. From his seat, he cocks his head, fingers tapping slightly tapping against his temple, his body unrestrained, smooth and laidback, draped over the armrest, legs spread apart.

“Everything. Impress me.”

At his words, you hum, a suppressed moan in disguise, as you feel your insides twist and tense, yearning. With a flick you unbutton your pants and grab the zipper, slowly dragging it down, click by clack, his eyes watching your every move.

Without hesitation, you simply let your pants drop to the floor with a little shimmy of your hips. And maybe you did draw your motions out a little bit, just to see how his eyes follow each sway. Your pants out of the way, you lower yourself to the ground, legs apart to for him to see your still covered cunt and the wet spot on your underwear.

“Usually, I have something to collect it, but I suppose that won’t be necessary today, hm? This is but a demonstration. So, maybe a little censorship would make sense, don’t you agree?”

You watch as his eyebrows furrow, realization dawning upon him, as your fingers find your clit, pressing on your throbbing bud with the cloth still inbetween. A moan slips between your lips as you stroke it, drawing patterns on it, a piece in progress, swiping and flicking, controlled in a way a painter’s brush flows over the canvas. A calculated mess. The pressure sinking and rising, the angles changing, the position gliding. You know what your body needs, but to you, it matters more to satisfy the voices demanding for more and more Art. And the Art in this current situation is simple: A Show.

So, you follow the stream of one, building the tension more and more, hitting every spot that sends electricity down your nerves, until you’re about to reach the climax, only to stop, a cliff, the depression, tension dropping. Your moans turn into whines, even if you’re the one doing this to yourself, letting yourself hang in suspension. His eyes feel hot against your skin as he takes you in, takes every motion, every twitch of your hips, every drop dripping onto the whiteness underneath you. And you grin, tongue against the edge of your teeth, when you notice the strain in his pants. The effect of your Show, of your Art on him makes you clench around nothing, feeling yourself getting worked up without even touching yourself again.

After the little pause, you resume, fingertips stroking over your hot bud towards your slit, and you tease your aching hole with slow motions. You catch his eyes for a moment and you let your eyelashes flutter as you moan, deliberately making it sound close to his name, but not quite enough. With each dip of your fingers, with each caress, you feel your insides tighten, electricity tingling between your nervendings. Until with a certain flick, a finishing brush, you unravel, twitching and moaning, a resolution fit for the finishing act.

Panting, you put your hands behind you to support you, and you cock your head at him with a grin.

“Does that answer your inquiry? I doubt you could replicate it, though, unless you have me,” you raise your hand and stretch it towards him, and from your perspective it looks like he’s sitting on your palm.

“The Art we could create together, just imagining the possibilities inspires me again.” You close your eyes as you shiver slightly.

A shuffle, steps, and then Rafayel is crouching in front of you, taking your hand to kiss the tips of your fingers, his tongue licking the wetness clinging to them. With dark eyes he looks to you and smiles. A smile filled with something calculating and sinister, and your grin broadens as you give him the same look back, eyes wide and excited at the words he speaks next.

“With pleasure.”

With these words, his knees hit the ground and he crowds your space immediately. His breath mingles with yours, but he immediately pushes your torso to the ground, before he makes himself comfortable between your thighs, his hot breath now cooling the wet cloth of your underwear.

“Let’s make Art,” he murmurs as he completely removes your panties, throwing them aside.

Not allowing you a moment to register what he’s planning, his mouth is already on you, tongue running once over your sticky folds, and his groan vibrates against you as he tastes you. Swiftly, he latches onto your clit, sucking and licking, teasing the throbbing, still sensitive bud with each move. His hands grab your thighs, holding you in place as your hips buck in reflex, yearning for the new sensation. For some time, all he does is let his tongue glide over your clit over and over again, enjoying the way your body tenses with each stroke. There’s a meticulousness to his lapping, a precision one only wields when holding a brush. And it seems that you have turned into a part of his canvas.

His control leads to your climax being delayed over and over again, every time you feel close to the edge, he pulls away, almost like he’s observing you, thinking over his next steps, how he wants to finish this piece. And you don’t know what he wishes to achieve but you’re willing to do anything for Art. So, you moan his name and tense over his tongue over and over again, feeling yourself drip and gush. Until he finally allows you to reach the edge of the canvas, one last stroke and it’s done, you unravel and out of your frays Art is made.

Your body limp on the ground and you barely look up as you hear the sound of the zippers, seeing him pull his pants just enough down to reveal his hardened length, pre dripping from the tip. His hands grab your hip, fingertips carefully digging into your flesh, as Rafayel pulls you closer to him, hip to hip, his cock pressing against your clit, and you whimper at the sensation.

“Before the real mixing starts, we gotta have all the necessary materials, don’t you think?” he murmurs before he begins to jerk his hips.

His silky tip presses against your throbbing clit, and the rest of him follows as he lets his length slide through your folds, carefully avoiding your wet slit, the one clenching with every time he moves his cock through you. His veins rub against your heat and you moan, his suppressed groans growing with each slide, twitching against you. You can’t help but grind your hips against his, trying to get more pressure, more of him. With each move, you feel your insides tense up, his length slick with your wetness, gliding and pressing against your aching bud. The way your sexes rub together, the noise, the slickness feels like that sort of Art where every viewer gets to participate, gets to feel what has been felt before. And before you knew it, you were watching him cum, splattering onto the white cloth, mixing with your earlier demonstration. Just seeing him twitch and the way his spend is pumping out, feeling its heat against your skin, makes the tension snap in you, just barely.

“Hng… perfect… now, the climax of this piece,” he rasps against your skin, eyes hovering over your face.

You barely have time to grasp his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself some way, before you feel it. His tip slowly pushing into your entrance, spreading you apart bit by bit. Filling the aching void you have always left behind, the one always spurring your inspiration. The very one now getting replaced by another kind of pleasure, another kind of Art. You moan his name, clenching around him the moment he has filled you to the hilt, your hip against his, grinding, rubbing, slick and wet, and pure Art.

For a moment, everything stands still, the rapture of attention, the discovery of something so innate to life and what it means to create. Until his hips move, pulling out of you, slowly, drawing out like a brush following a measured line. And then he pushes into you again, angling your hips to hit that sensitive spot inside you, to get you messy and babbling underneath his touch. That’s how Art should affect people, turning their minds into a chaos, incomprehensible yet swirling you to the core.

Groans slipping from his lips mix with whimpers of your own as Rafayel finds a pace that satisfies you both, steady, careful, yet filled with conviction and decisiveness with which one would wield a pen to paper. His fingers find your clit and they add more pressure, more sensation, more texture and feelings, and you suddenly burst at the seams, sparks and colors filling your vision as you spasm and clench around him.

The way you tighten around him leads to his own climax, but he pulls out of you before he fills you with his heat, a decision you’re slowly beginning to understand.

Because as you pant and try to recover, you notice how the once white sheet has turned into different colors. With a surprised noise you support yourself on your elbows and take a closer look.

“Do you like it? The colors react to acidity and basicity making them appear. And see, desire is Art, Art is desire, and together, well, I think we can achieve the pinnacle of Art, yeah?”

You giggle, and even after he has milked you dry, you still feel a twist in your tummy, hot and delicious. “That is how Art is made after all, isn’t it?”

The same white canvas, the one colored with your pure desire, mixing and swirling, is soon exhibited amongst his paintings, your name by his side, a collaboration for all to see, with much more depth than anyone could ever comprehend (but not for you, every time you glance at this piece of Art, you see the outlines of your hips, your legs, the dents of his knees, his colors and yours, and the way they coordinate, mix). As for both of you, Art is Lust, Art is Desire. Something much more than what the common folk acknowledges, it’s something to pour your whole body into, no matter the consequences. So, you will continue to thread this path of Art, no longer alone, no longer with shut eyes, but with excitement and him by your side, discovering more and more ways to turn these feelings into expressions and colors. Showing each other how art is made out of your desire.

[erinwantstowrite]

A while ago you liked a comment of mine on TikTok where I said that there should be no second Batman bc having Bruce retire/die means his fight should be over and he should be able to rest properly, (idk if that’s exactly what I said but I think it’s in the ball park) so can I ask what you think about a legacy Batman? And who would you have be the second Batman? Also your art is amazing and I love leap of faith, hope you have a great day

i remember that comment!!!!

i honestly believe that having a "legacy" for every single hero is just,,, boring. the reason this happens is because they are never going to NOT have Batman. how else would they make money??? so they just keep giving us reasons why his mantle has to be there. just like the Joker HAS to always come back, why new characters are always tied in to existing characters somehow, etc.

in a perfect world, we'd get new characters sometimes and overarching storylines that aren't regressed the second we make any headway on character development. we'd have new villains by now that make a name for themselves outside of the original villains, we'd see an impact on our settings and characters, all that jazz. and in this perfect world, we wouldn't have so many legacy mantles

and i mean, like, one of the supers taking up the Superman name? that's cool. they're a family, thematically it works. even with the Flash family, I accept how they do it (though I hardly keep up with their comics)

but Batman?????

STOPPPPP

Every other Batfam member has an arc where they branch away from Bruce and the name, save for Tim and Cass, I think. Tim is... a gray area. I only put him here because he's back to being Robin (because DC can't let go of that money maker!). It's an insult to their characters to put them into the Batman mantle, but in universe, this keeps happening because "Gotham needs Batman."

No! No they do not! They do not need Batman specifically. They need his ideals! His kids do not need to be Batman to have Batman still be around after he's put up the cape or died, because they are that future without the cape! There is no magic tied in to that stupid cowl, they just see it that way because Batman is this larger than life figure. Of course they think their dad is impervious to the world, that the cape that protected them is special, that they need Batman. But that is NOT the case.

Just like with any family, life will move on. The legacy continues through the lessons that the kids learned. In many ways, they are better than Batman because they learned from his mistakes, too. Just like every kid does with their parent.

But they don't want to be Batman. And it's kind of insane to keep putting them in someone else's suit, basically someone else's identity. Dick is a great Batman, but his biggest fear is losing himself in Bruce's shadow. What happened to Jason was because of Batman's failure, and it isn't healthy to put him in the Batman suit. Tim should be allowed to move on from Robin and finally get his own mantle because he has always used someone else's. (Yes I am purposefully forgetting that Drake existed do not remind me.) That and the existence of Gun Batman. Do NOT put him in that suit!!!!!!! Damian is branching out of vigilante life altogether, which is so so so good for him. Him becoming Batman after struggling so much with his identity, purpose, and blood ties, is a spit in the face to character development. I think Duke should get to choose his own name for a hero mantle (because Bruce thought of Signal), and thematically I don't think he fits into the Batman role. He is a shining light the way Robin was, but this time more literal because of his powers. Batman is very human, that's what makes his character. Duke deserves more than being Batman.

The best person for that job is Cass.

Not only does she understand the No Kill Rule in the way that Bruce understands it, she is also his equal or superior in every way. Whether it's her physical abilities, or her intelligence, or her morals, Cass fits the bill. She's one of the strongest members of the Batfam and I think she would be able to take on the burden without crumbling under the pressure or feeling scared of that responsibility. She's fit in to the Batman role before, has mirrored him in many ways, and is also her own character (and man I just really love Cass). She strikes the same amount of fear into people that Batman does, a master of the shadows, the dark, and she has a hope that I think Gotham could need.

But she doesn't need to be Batman to do it. She just has to fill in that role. Sure, she could pick up the name Batman, it won't kill me. But so long as she fills in the space that Bruce left behind, becoming the next leader and mentor, she could be anyone.

I think it's more powerful that way to show that the time has passed. That Bruce's time as a vigilante made an impact. Gotham has changed. His kids have grown up. And the Dark Knight is still there, at home.

[feinyan]

I need more Damon's boyfriend text....or whatever. anything, I'm starving for a Damon content 😭😭

ROMANCE TROPE featuring. damon maitsu, kai monteago and wolfgang akire

more below the cut .. no texts but this has damon so.

# damon maitsu

hear me out on .. sort of enemies to lovers with the ultimate debater himself ?? damon and you who bicker constantly, always comparing and teasing amongst yourselves.

i can see damon thinking of you as someone lower than him, someone whose time shouldnt occupy his own oh-so important time. i mean, he has soooo much more important things to focus on. but eugh, your conflicts, your constant bickering, led to … weird, thrilling feelings, something that led to wanting more. this need grew overwhelmingly frustrating, which interrupted his thoughts. his mind could no longer find itself hyper focused on debating and studying despite his best attempts, because now, he always found that you were somewhere in the back of his mind. small reminders of you would spark a disruption within his head, one that led him to feel a hot, annoyed feeling in his chest.

pushing the tip of your finger into his shirt, you tilted your head to the side, a smug grin tugging at your lips.

“oh! would you look at that. what happened to your cocky attitude? not so confident now huh, mr debater?” you’d hummed, a sheet of paper firmly held within your fingers, waving it back and forth in front of his eyes. he’d narrowed his eyes in exchange, gaze flickering between your own and the wall behind you.

a huff escaping his lips, he’d finally regained his composure, his flustered face cooled down at least a little. “.. oh shut up, you managed to finally get a grade higher than me, congrats.” his muttering was sarcastic, clasping his fingers around your wrists and pulling them away from himself.

“for once? im pretty sure last exam i—“

“.. yeah yeah, that’s enough from you.” he’d interrupted, letting go of your wrists and instead throwing a hand over your mouth to prevent your sentence from being finished. with a muffled protest, you raised an arm to tug at the hand covering your lips with a struggle. damon couldn’t help but snicker at this, eyes making contact with your own helpless ones. finally managing to pull his hand away, you took a step back, annoyance apparent in your face.

turning around, prepared to make your way to your next class, you paused in place for a moment. “start focusing on your grades more, you’ve been lazy recently.”

a sigh from damon could be heard from behind you, accompanied by the shuffling of his pants. probably him putting his hands in his pockets. with a grumble, he responded. “it was by 4%. i’ve been busy with other things.”

“hmm, do you need encouragement? let me think,”

he remained quiet.

“if you get a higher grade than me on the next assignment, you can take me out on a date.”

“… the- huh? the hell?” he stammered, for a second, he was almost certain he’d heard wrong. but when you only replied with a giggle, beginning to make your way through the hallway, your words were surely made clear. gross. he didn’t know how that made him feel, yet a hot feeling began to consume his insides at the thought you’d offered into his mind, one that tugged at his heart — a feeling he disliked. one that pissed him off. he’d remained quiet in place, mouth slightly hung open as he watched you skip off all innocently. yet the pounding in both his chest and head was one that he couldn’t stay quiet about.

“you idiot .. y/n, wait up.”

# kai monteago

kai is the biggest secret dating troupe ever .. do you hear me. hello. guys. please hello!!!

kai — who shouldn’t have a partner to begin with. his fans are .. pretty obsessive to say the least, and getting a partner would totally make him lose popularity! therefor, when he met you, despite how desperately he wanted to show you off to the world, he was pestered until he finally agreed to keep it silent. his conflicting feelings though, were ones he never shut up about.

“… kaaaai,” you muttered, stretching out your body in attempts to free yourself from his tight grasp. it didn’t work. he clung to you harder, wet lips pressing against your cheek and lips time after time. this drew a giggle from your lips, turning your head to the side so you’d have the opportunity to speak.

though, kai spoke first.

“babyyyyy! i couldn’t kiss you aaaall day! let me have this!” a dramatic whine arose from him, burying his head into the crook of your neck with a huff. a sigh left your throat as you placed your head atop his own, rubbing his back with your hand.

“.. you’re such a baby, kai.”

# wolfgang akire

im not really sure but maybe arranged marriage ?? the idea of the uncomfortable, awkward feeling of marrying someone who you don’t know, yet wolfgangs display of kindness and tender actions despite the situation slowly causing you two to form a sweet bond. things like cooking you breakfast every morning no matter how early he’d have to wake up, buying you little gifts and treating you even though he doesnt need to.

sitting across from wolfgang, you kept your eyes on the food. an awkward silence always lingered whenever the two of you shared a meal together, yet slowly but surely, its been getting lighter.

“did you enjoy the breakfast id made you this morning?” his words came off in a gentle tone, interrupting the silence between the two of you. lifting your head, your eyes immediately met his eyes. eyes that were already staring at your own, and had probably been for awhile now.

taking a moment to respond, you nodded with a smile. “yeah, thank you, i really like strawberries.” you’d hummed a cheery response. he gave a smile in exchange to your last comment.

“is that so? i’ll try to include them in more of your meals then.”

a kind offer, but you shook your head. “.. ah, you don’t have to make me meals. you wake up really early for it. i do appreciate it a lot but—“

he cut you off with a shake of his own head.

“no need, you’re my spouse, its the least i could do.”

@ feinyan