#this feeling that you don't belong or don't fit in

[slapmeshigaraki]

♡ can't get my mind off of possessive!xavier who gets off on seeing you get jealous too

"See, there was no reason to be pouting all night, hm?” You couldn’t help but write against the grip of the man behind you, his rough hand grabbing your face, forcing your eyes to meet his over your shoulder. He almost looked possessed, his normally sweet gaze was different now...soft blue eyes darkened as he looked at you, ravenous.

“Admit it—you were jealous. All that attitude the whole ride home, giving me the silent treatment—fuck—just because I was talking to another girl. You say I’m possessive, but I think you might be worse than me, princess.” He was almost growling into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine as his chest pushed you forward, forcing your tits against the sliding glass door that led out to the balcony. The heat from your sensitive nipples and your warm flesh causing the glass to fog up as he pressed you into it. The dim moonlight illuminated his face, eyes staring into your soul as he thrusted himself into you relentlessly. It was as if you were in a trance, mouth hanging open, panties down around your ankles, as Xavier forced himself in and out of your hole at a pace that made you clench around him just right. It was perfect—at least until that oh-so perfect pace was disrupted, the once full feeling suddenly gone as your face was jerked lightly from side to side.

“Unh uh, you don't get to play braindead slut this time. Pay attention—tell me what I wanna hear or I’ll stop.” You were whining now, your body quivering from the unexpected lack of stimulation.

“I was jealous.” You whispered, that same pout you’d worn all night was back on your face again, bottom lip poking out in shame at the confession, wide eyes looking up at the man that was towering over you. Both of your bodies were slick with sweat, chests rising and falling erratically amidst the tension, lips barely an inch apart. You wanted to taste him so bade, to feel the warmth of his tongue sliding in and out of your mouth as he grinded into you—just the though was making your clit ache between your thighs.

“Aw, you were?” Now he was the one to whine, a similar frown painting his face—mocking you. The sinister look in his eyes made even more wetness pool between your legs as he slowly slid himself back inside you, just the tip.

“Its not as fun when you’re not the one making me jealous, huh? Doesn’t feel good to see something that belongs to you with someone else, does it?” he said, reveling in the way you shook under his touch as he slid his fingers across your skin, slowly but surely making his way to that needy little spot hidden between your legs

“N-no…”

“No? But you always tell me it’s silly to be jealous, right? That I’m overreacting. Is that not what you’re doing right now?” His fingers lightly rubbed against your clit, your juices coating his skin as he spread your lips open, being careful not to push you back onto his cock any further.

“In fact, it’s not just silly for you to be jealous. It’s stupid. You are all I think about. I-” another inch slid inside of you, a soft gasp escaping both of your mouths, “Fuck—I dream about your face, your voice, your body—the way this fucking cunt sucks on the tip of my cock just right. We fit together so perfectly…for you to think that I could ever want someone else is just dumb, right?” With that, his hips slammed fully into you, pulling a scream out of your mouth as your eyes rolled back into your head, the nasty words making your cheeks grow hot from embarrassment.

“Xavier, oh my god. Pleaseee…please let me cum. I promise I won’t—“ Your words were abruptly cut off by one of his arms snaking around your body, his palm pushing itself against your plush lips, silencing your begging and muffling your whimpers as his other hand kept toying with your pussy, his fingers petting your just right like he'd done so many times before.

“Shut up. You’re dumb, remember? If you don’t have anything smart to say, then I don’t want to hear you at all.” His muscled arms held you up, keeping your knees from buckling beneath you as he quickened his pace. The most disgusting sounds filled the room, your hole squelching and squealing with every move Xavier made inside of you. His thick cock was forcing the sweetest cries out of your aching cunt, much to his amusement—a small smile creeping across his lips.

“You may be stupid, but this pussy is fucking brilliant. Listen to how nicely she to talks to me, none of that attitude I get from your filthy mouth, huh?” He pressed his palm further against your mouth, silencing your silly little whines and babblings almost entirely, “Shhhh… let me hear her, princess. Be good for me, yeah?.” You tried your best not to have to bite Xavier’s hand just to quieten yourself completely, but he could barely hear your moans any longer anyway—the sounds of his heavy breathing, your ass clapping against him, your little pussy sobbing out for relief was the only song playing in his head any longer.

“Shiittt she’s milking me so good. I think she likes having an audience. What a nasty girl…” An audience? Your face--he was almost sure that the expression alone was going to have him coming within the next two seconds. He couldn’t help but let out a round of laughter at the sight of your eyes widening at his words, brows furrowing as he continued fucking into you, his cock aching more with every thrust. His hand forcing your face forward back towards the glass. You squinted slightly, eyes adjusting to see a window belonging to the apartment across from yours. It was dimly lit, but there was a familiar figure staring back at you, her face contorted in disbelief.

“Getting all mad at me for talking to our new neighbor who was asking me what flavor muffins she should bring over to introduce herself to my sweet girlfriend… tsk.” Horrified, your new neighbor ran in the opposite direction, shielding her eyes from the lewd view of your nipples squished against the glass, mouth covered, a hand between your legs while Xavier held you hostage in his arms, his face flushed, hair glued to his forehead, both of your bodies sticky with each other’s sweat—how fucking filthy it must’ve been. "Doubt we'll be getting that tray of chocolate chip muffins anytime soon, huh baby?" You tried to turn your face away from the glass for the sudden fear that someone else may end up seeing the two of you, but it was no use, Xavier’s grip on your cheeks was far too tight.

“No no no don’t look away. Don’t you want everyone to know who I come home to every night? Don’t you want to show everyone who my good girl is? My sweet princess taking my cock so well, drooling into my hand—you’re mine. Say it.” Your lips were suddenly freed by his palm, a string of saliva glistened between your mouth and his flesh as he pulled it back. You were sure to respond quick, realizing that if you didn’t use your brief liberation wisely, Xavier had every intention of punishing you for the rest of the night.

“Yours I’m yours. I belong to you—please fuck, you feel so good inside of me. I can’t hold it anymore please let me cum.” A strike of lightning rippled through your body as the tip of his cock finally pushed against your g-spot, once, then it was twice, and then a third time—over and over again without rest until your sweet screams flooded his ears once more. You tried to squirm away, fingers reaching back, desperately trying to pull off of you just a little so you could catch your breath, but he was quick to grab you, forcing your arm behind your back, creating an ever deeper arch in your spine.

“Where you running off to? Do you want to cum or not, I’m confused, princess? You pushing me away—does it not feel good?” His lips were against your ear again, tongue running over the shell, gently biting your flesh just the way you liked as he continued abusing your poor aching hole.

“No no so good—feel so good, can’t cum yet though. Please god please.”

“Poor baby, why can’t you cum yet, sweet girl? Is it not enough? Do I need to rub you faster, hm? Pinch this little clit between my fingers—oh look at that, she’s so swollen against my hand. What's the matter, don't you like when I play with you?” You mind was so clouded, tongue hanging out of your mouth as his lips licked and sucked your skin, teeth nipping your neck, leaving his mark as he forced more of those precious begs out of you. You were close, so painfully close that you were drooling at the thought of finally getting to cum around him, painting his fingers with your sweet juices, clenching around his cock as he stretched you around him—but you knew better.

“Need permission to cum please Xavier can I cum. Please please I promise—mmmh—I promise not to get jealous again. I’m yours.”

“Ohh you promise? Maybe you aren’t that dumb after all, baby. Or maybe you’ll just say anything to get me to let you cum. Is that it? Are you a liar, princess?” His fingers stalled between your legs, hips suddenly not snapping forward into you anymore. It wasn't more than a second later that you'd started begging for him to start up again, your body burning to feel him back inside of you once more. He thought you were so cute like this—so pliable, so desperate for his touch you were willing to say anything just to feel him.

“Nooo not lying not—I wouldn’t lie to you. Please don’t stop.”

“Yeah, you telling the truth? You know dumb girls don’t get to cum. But you’re not dumb anymore, right? You my smart girl, princess?”

“Yes yes I’m telling the truth. Smart, I’m gonna be smart, please I just need—“ Every inch of his length sunk back into you at once, warm fingers unexpectedly gliding over your slippery clit again.

“Good girl, that’s what I wanna hear. Cum for me, go ahead. It’s okay princess, let me feel it, please cum on my cock. I know you can do it, so fucking pretty like this. I need it, come on do a good job for me. ” So you came—squirming and writhing in Xavier’s strong arms as he held you close, whispering soft praises in your ear. Curses and moans left your lips, your arm finally going limp in his grasp, thighs squeezing and clamping down around his hand as his fingers flitted against your clit while you slowly came down.

For some reason though, just as you were catching your breath, muscles finally relaxing after the waves of pleasure dissipated and you felt Xavier’s length sliding out of you—your felt him forcing himself back in, pushing your sloppy walls apart again without any warning. He wasn’t trying to fuck you fast anymore, now he was fucking you hard, stretching you open agonizingly slow before sliding back out and and doing it all over again. The overstimulation caught up to you as you realized…he wasn’t close to being done.

“Xavier wait, I’m too sensitive to—oh my god,” You tried to push yourself away with your free hand, but he only ended up grabbing that one and holding it hostage behind your back as well.

“No no I’m not stopping. C’mon that’s not fair is it? Didn’t anyone ever tell you that you have to take care of your things, hm?” You were screaming now, the sensations overwhelming your body as you cried out his name.

“You’re mine, but I am yours. You have to take care of me too, yeah, baby? Please, let me cum for you too, hm? Don’t you want to make me feel good?” he said, pressing a soft kiss into the crook of your neck.

“Mhm wanna make you cum too.” He knew you meant it, despite the way the tears stung the inner corners of your eyes and your soft tummy tightened and convulsed around him, your body falling limp in his arms. He knew that you wanted him to fill you up, to feel his sticky cum dripping out of you has he pulled out, to have his thick fingers stuffing his babies back inside of you. You were so perfect for him—how could he ever want anyone else?

“Aw, that’s my smart girl.”

♡ a/n: ummmm had this idea sitting in the drafts for quite a bit, but the new banner dropping finally inspired me to finish it !! quite short and not super edited but i hope u enjoy,, happy friday angels xx

[sheena-is-a-punk-rocker]

Aroace here who didn't figure it out until I was like 27, almost 28 and spent 2 and 1/2 years being absolutely miserable in a relationship where I felt broken, I just wanna repeat that you are NOT broken. My ex made me feel like everything that was wrong about the relationship was because I was bad at sex and didn't want to have it often enough, and it absolutely crushed me. I've only recently started crawling out of the hole with my current QPP

Please don't EVER feel like you need to have sex with someone or be in a relationship to be whole or "normal" or "accepted"

And on top of that, there are a shit ton of microlabels under the ace and aro umbrellas because there's so many different ways to be ace and/or aro! I thought I had no right to claim the asexual label because I masturbated and read smutty fanfiction. Turns out my microlabel is aegosexual!

There IS a place for you in this community, I promise. If you feel like the ace and/or aro label fits you, you belong!

Oh, and also, traditional romantic and/or sexual relationships aren't the only valid kinds of relationships. Queerplatonic relationships can be just as fulfilling and important and intense as any "traditional" relationship. Even just strictly platonic relationships can be just as fulfilling and important and intense as any "traditional" relationship

Okay, so ace discourse is going on. People are doubting themselves. In wake of that, I want to put here a list of things I wish I’d known when I first figured out I was asexual. Because when I first found out I was asexual and again when I figured out I was arospec I was terrified. So if you just recently figured out you’re aspec, ace, aro, arospec, or if you’ve known for a long time but the ace/aro discourse is making you doubt yourself, here are some things I wish someone had told me before I became confident in that part of my identity.

It is a real orientation.

Your hormones are most likely not out of whack, and even if they are that doesn’t make you any less asexual or aromantic.

You don’t have to have sex or be in a romantic relationship to be “normal”

You don’t have to abstain from sexual or romantic relationships to be ace or aro.

If you have split attraction and one of your attractions is solely to people of the other binary gender you still have a place in the queer community if you want it.

It’s okay to be confused and not even know what attraction is.

You are not heartless.

You are not broken.

You can’t be “fixed”

You don’t need to be “fixed”

Because like I said, you’re not broken.

Don’t force yourself into sexual or romantic situations you’re uncomfortable with in an attempt to seem “normal”. Just don’t do it.

Don’t put up with “you’ll find the right person” comments

Correctional rape is a thing and although it’s typically associated with lesbians and gays it happens with ace people too. Be careful.

If you’re twelve you’re not too young to be thinking about that, and if you’re eighty you’re not too old to be figuring it out.

If you want to be in a romantic relationship without sex then don’t stay with a partner that tells you that you’d have sex if you loved them.

When explaining things, be calm. I’ve found the majority of people will find it makes sense and are willing to learn. If they’re being a douchebag that’s when you get snappy. Not when people are just genuinely curious.

Don’t waste your time on aphobes on the internet or people that keep insisting that asexuality is just an orientation for people who don’t want sex or demisexuality just means you want to take it slow. They are wrong. Attraction or lack thereof is something out of your control and there are allosexual people that don’t like sex.

If you want to be really loud about your orientation that’s great.

If you want to keep your orientation on the down low that’s also great.

I know sometimes dealing with a world that constantly throws sex and romance at you is hard. You can do it.

It’s okay to be confused.

You’re not a freak.

You have a place in the LGBTQIA+ community. There’s a reason the long version has an A there.

Yes, people actually do feel attraction. They’re not all pretending or exaggerating, as much as it might seem like that.

You don’t have to be good at puns, but there will be a lot. Fair warning.

Being asexual or aspec is a beautiful thing.

Being aromantic or arospec is a beautiful thing.

The love you feel for your family and friends is not somehow inferior to romantic or sexual love.

You can be happy. Anyone that tells you that you can’t be happy without sex and/or romance is lying.

Embrace your pride flag. They’re all pretty cool. And there are a lot on the spectrums.

Your aro/ace headcanons are just as valid as the gay/lesbian/bi/pan headcanons.

Be aware of the alliance with the bi and pan people. They may seem like our complete opposites at first but they understand the erasure thing and are equally bad at puns.

[yaniluvs]

“nerds don't date , right?”

[ 정인 ] ✷ ‎. . flirting with the chic nerd turns into something else ?

۫ 𖨂 𓈒 𝑛erdy!jeongin ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader ˙ . ꒷ g. fluff , humour , crack , forced proximity , classmates to lovers , uni au , fake dating , skz ensemble . 32OOw. ⎯⎯⎯ LiBRARY ⟢ cw. suggestive , as of now . ┆ 📹 ⋮ a y.jg mini series .ᐟ ֹ ₊

yani's note 𑁍ࠬܓ happy jeongin day! <3 thought this fic will end up too long (no surprise there..) so instead i'm turning into another series. ik i update all my series very slowly BUT listen, i will post freq. for this since it's a mini series !! this is pretty fast-paced, for the first chapter though. the upcoming ones may be slow-paced and not rush tho hehe. comments, likes, req./asks and reblogs are always appreciated !! send in a reply or an ask if you want to be in my mastertag, or my individual series' taglists. happy reading, love <3

the autumn air was crisp, golden leaves swirling across the university courtyard as students hurried to their morning classes. the faint scent of coffee and fallen leaves lingered in the air, mixing with the distant hum of chatter and footsteps against cobblestone paths. it was the kind of morning that made people pause for a second, taking in the poetry of the season—well, people who weren’t already running late.

you weren't late, but you sure weren’t in a rush either. the café near the library had just handed over your classic hot cocoa, still warm against your palms, and the world felt like it was moving at a slow, dreamy pace.

that was, until a familiar figure cut through the crowd like a scene straight out of a high-fashion editorial.

yang jeongin.

jeongin, the so-called nerd, of at least your year. the one with the perfect grades, the sharp jawline, and the ever-present black glasses perched on his nose. the one people assumed spent all his time buried in textbooks, immune to the chaos of university life. except, he wasn’t just a nerd—he was a walking contradiction.

because if jeongin was just a nerd, why was he stepping onto campus dressed like he belonged on a runway?

today, it was a black oversized blazer with a fitted turtleneck, silver rings glinting against his slender fingers as he adjusted the leather strap of his bag. his glasses sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose, giving him an air of quiet arrogance, like he knew he looked good but didn’t care enough to acknowledge it.

his dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d just stepped out of bed looking effortlessly perfect. and the way he walked—like the world was just a backdrop, and he was the main character—made people stare without even realizing they were doing it.

jeongin definitely had an idgaf attitude, you had thought when you first shared a class. not towards his studies—no, he was practically married to academic excellence—but towards people.

he didn’t care for the unnecessary drama, the loud parties, or the fleeting conversations about nothing. he had a small, trusted circle and didn’t entertain anyone outside of it.

which was exactly why you found it so fun to mess with him.

“morning, topper,” you called out, stepping in line with him as he made his way toward the lecture hall. “where’s the rest of your nerd squad?”

jeongin barely spared you a glance. “not a nerd,” he replied smoothly.

“yeah?” you sipped your cocoa, unfazed. “you literally corrected our professor’s math last week.”

“he was wrong,” the guy shrugged.

“yeah, but who does that?”

“a person who values accuracy,” he deadpanned, his lips twitching slightly.

you simply grinned, as you walked alongside him. your friend group always teased you for hanging around jeongin, saying you were probably the only person brave enough to bother the university’s golden boy.

he wasn’t mean, exactly, but he had a way of making people feel like they weren’t worth his time.

which was true regardless.

still, you had made it your personal mission to crack his icy exterior.

“so,” you continued, “you ever been on a date, topper?”

he slowed his pace. it was so brief that most people wouldn’t have noticed, but you caught the slight hesitation before he turned to you, raising a perfectly shaped brow.

“what?”

“a date. you know—dressing up, awkward small talk, trying to impress someone so they don’t ghost you after?” you clarified, voice laced with amusement.

jeongin adjusted his glasses, looking unimpressed. “i know what a date is.”

“great! so, have you been on one?”

for a second, he just stared at you, dark eyes unreadable behind his lenses. then, in a tone so nonchalant it almost sounded careless, he said, “no.”

you almost choked on your drink. “wait, seriously?”

he continued walking, unfazed. “yeah. why? is that surprising?”

“duh?” you huffed, catching up. “you’re, like, weirdly hot for a nerd. i thought people would be throwing themselves at you.”

he scoffed. “that’s the problem. i don’t care about people throwing themselves at me.”

you tilted your head. “then what do you care about?”

he continued walking, completely nonchalant as he gazed up. the morning sun caught the silver of his rings as he slipped his hands into his pockets, tilting his head slightly.

“why?” he mused, voice smooth as ever. “you wanna change that?”

you blinked. for the first time, you were the one caught off guard.

because jeongin wasn’t looking at you with his usual passive expression. no, there was something in his gaze—something sharp, something challenging, something that almost looked like interest.

and you, for the first time in your life, had no idea what to say.

flirting with a nerd shouldn’t be this hard.

the crisp morning air suddenly felt warmer.

you were not the type to get flustered easily, but the way jeongin had just looked at you—head tilted, hands in his pockets, voice smooth as hell—all the while walking straight ahead as if he hadn't just lowkey flirted with you—wasn’t fair.

it wasn’t nerdy. it wasn’t normal. it wasn’t jeongin.

since when did nerds flirt back?

you narrowed your eyes, stepping closer to mask your sudden loss of composure. “that sounded like a challenge.”

“maybe it is.”

you blinked. okay. this was new territory. you were used to jeongin rolling his eyes at you, shutting down your playful jabs with a bored look. not this. not him flipping the script so effortlessly.

but two could play that game.

“well, topper,” you hummed, leaning in slightly, “if you want me to take you on a date, you should just say so.”

his smirk didn’t waver, but you caught the quick flicker of his eyes—the way they darted to your lips before meeting your gaze again. he adjusted his glasses, his fingers briefly brushing against the silver rings.

“i don’t recall saying that,” he mused.

you grinned. “you didn’t deny it, though.”

jeongin exhaled through his nose, amused, before turning back toward the lecture hall. “come on. we’re already late.”

you watched him walk ahead, your heartbeat a little too loud in your ears.

what the hell just happened?

— inside the lecture hall

the class was already half-full when you and jeongin entered, the air buzzing with lazy morning energy. some students were half-asleep, slumped over their desks, while others were whispering about weekend plans.

the professor hadn’t arrived yet, but the massive whiteboard was already filled with equations from an earlier class—long, intimidating numbers that you barely had the mental energy to comprehend.

you spotted your some of your friends near the middle rows. felix, ryujin, and yeji were sitting together, with an empty seat next to the blonde. across the hall, the nerd's own 'gang'—jisung, hyunjin, seungmin, aeri and yunah—was all huddled near the front.

as you slid into the seat next to felix, he raised an eyebrow. “you were talking to jeongin again?”

“yeah?”

he leaned in, lowering his voice. “bae. people actually think he hates, like, everyone.”

you scoffed, unbothered. “well, i’m built different.”

ryujin, who was casually scrolling on her phone, smirked. “or maybe you just like hot twi— nerds.”

“he's not tw—”

yeji cut you off, nudging the other two. “what’s the bet again?”

felix only grinned. “y/n would either break jeongin’s cold exterior or completely embarrass herself trying.”

“so far, it’s leaning toward the second one.”

you groaned, shoving felix’s arm. “so i'm as valuable as a bet now?”

meanwhile, across the room, jeongin was already in his seat, casually flipping through his notes. jisung nudged him with an exaggerated smirk.

“was y/n hitting on you again?”

jeongin adjusted his glasses. “probably.”

seungmin, looking unimpressed, leaned back in his chair. “and you just let her?”

jeongin shrugged. “she's entertaining.”

aeri cackled. “you so have a crush.”

“i don’t.”

“right, right.” jisung rolled his eyes. “that’s why you’re smirking to yourself like a roblox character right now?”

jeongin’s smirk immediately disappeared. “shut up.”

— after class, the campus café

after suffering through an hour of math (or thriving through it, if you were jeongin), you found yourself at the campus café, sipping on some watermelon juice you had gotten. the café was a cozy little spot near the library, filled with the soft hum of conversations and the clinking of coffee cups. the warm lighting made the wooden interior glow, and the air smelled like cinnamon and espresso.

you were sitting with felix and ryujin when jeongin entered.

of course, he looked annoyingly good again.

and of course, he had changed his attire after class.

noon's outfit: a fitted cream turtleneck under a tailored charcoal gray coat, paired with black trousers and sleek leather boots. his silver rings caught the light as he pushed his glasses up, scanning the menu like he wasn’t aware half the café was stealing glances at him.

you sighed dramatically. “does he ever look bad?”

felix smirked. “that’s what you’re worried about?”

“no, i’m worried about myself, because apparently, i’m developing a thing for well-dressed nerds.”

ryujin raised an eyebrow. “oh? so you admit it?”

at that moment, jeongin’s gaze flickered over to you. your eyes met. and instead of just nodding or ignoring you like usual, he did something that nearly made you drop your drink.

he smiled.

not a smirk. not a teasing glance. a smile. dimples and all.

you blinked, stunned.

felix leaned in, whispering, “oh. you’re so done for.”

and for the second time today, you really had nothing to say.

the art of losing (to a nerd).

jeongin had smiled at you.

not a smirk, not an i’m-better-than-you glance, but an actual smile. dimples, soft eyes, the whole deal.

you were losing your mind.

“i—what—he—” you sputtered, gripping your juice like it held the answers to the universe. “did he just smile at me?”

felix sipped his iced coffee with an amused look. “yup.”

ryujin smirked, barely glancing up from her phone. “congratulations. you’re officially the first person outside of his nerd cult to get that privilege.”

“oh lord.”

across the café, jeongin had already turned back to the counter, unfazed. he ordered his usual—black coffee, no sugar—before casually making his way to a corner booth. he moved so effortlessly, extremely nonchalant.

you, however, were still stuck on that smile.

what did it mean? was he just being polite? was he messing with you? did he—

felix snapped his fingers in front of your face. “hello? earth to y/n? you’re staring.”

you blinked. “i am not.”

ryujin raised an eyebrow. “you totally are.”

felix leaned in, grinning. “wait. wait. are you blushing?”

“no.”

“you’re so done for,”

“first stage of denial: over.”

“i hate the both of you.”

. . .

a few days later, you were at the campus library, attempting to study. spoiler: it wasn’t going well.

the problem?

a nerd sitting across from you.

it wasn’t planned. you had been minding your own business, laptop open, notes spread out, when jeongin had materialized in front of you, dropping his books onto the table with an air of casual dominance.

“reserved seats don’t exist,” he had said when you had gaped at him.

so now, here you were. stuck at the same table, trying (and failing) to ignore each other.

you tapped your pen against your notebook, sneaking a glance at him. he was focused, dark eyes scanning the textbook like it was the most interesting thing in the world. his glasses slid down slightly, and he absentmindedly pushed them back up with a knuckle.

how was it possible for a nerd to look so effortlessly cool?

“you’re staring.”

you flinched. “observing.”

jeongin didn’t even look up. “creeping.”

you huffed, crossing your arms. “you are so full of yourself.”

a smirk. “you’re the one staring, not me.”

you scowled, ready to retort, when an idea hit them. a terrible, wonderful idea.

you leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. “you know,” you mused, “if you ever need a break from all that.. nerding, i can take you on a date.”

jeongin finally looked up, raising a brow. “are you seriously flirting with me in the library?”

“why? is it working?”

a pause. then—

jeongin leaned in too.

too close. close enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne—something woody, expensive, unfairly attractive.

“you tell me,” he murmured.

your brain short-circuited.

felix was right. you were so done for.

. . .

you had two rules in life.

1. never get involved in unnecessary drama. 2. never—ever—fall for a nerd.

unfortunately, han jisung existed solely to ruin both of those.

the set-up (aka jisung's dumb idea)

"so, uh… i kind of need a favor."

jisung plopped down beside you in the campus café, grinning like he hadn’t just uttered the most dangerous words in existence.

you, munching on a cookie, didn’t bother looking up from the textbook you were pretending to read simultaneously. "no."

"you don’t even know what i’m asking."

"i know it’s stupid."

jisung pouted. "wow. no faith in me at all?"

you finally sighed, setting the cookie down. "fine. what’s the favor?"

jisung clapped his hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. "so, jeongin has this family thing coming up, right?"

"okay… and?"

jisung leaned in, lowering his voice like he was about to reveal a government secret. "his parents keep nagging him about dating."

"and why is that my problem?"

jisung grinned. "because you’re fake-dating him now!"

silence.

you stared. "i’m what?"

"you heard me."

at that exact moment, jeongin—who had just arrived at the café (wow magic) —froze mid-step. he turned to jisung with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

"what are you doing? no!"

jisung pouted. "come on, dude. your mom keeps asking about your nonexistent girlfriend, and y/n is perfect for this!"

you smirked, propping your chin on your hand. "perfect, hm?"

jeongin shot you a flat look. "don’t."

jisung, ignoring him, continued excitedly, "think about it! y/n’s hot, pretty, you two already bicker like an old married couple, and—"

jeongin cut him off. "i’d rather die."

"well, damn," you muttered, feigning offense. "you could at least pretend to be a little enthusiastic about fake-dating me."

jeongin turned to you, unimpressed. "i’d rather explain quantum mechanics to a toddler than date you."

you grinned. "you know quantum mechanics?"

"that’s not the point."

jisung threw his hands up. "guys! focus! jeongin, do you want your mom setting you up with random girls?"

jeongin clenched his jaw. he hated when his mom did that. every family event ended with some aunt introducing him to their neighbor’s niece, followed by exhausting small talk and forced compliments.

his eyes flickered to you, watching him with that stupidly smug smile. you probably weren’t taking this seriously, right?

good.

because he wasn’t doing it.

"no," he finally said. "not happening."

jisung groaned. "dude. it’s one dinner."

"still no."

you leaned in, resting your elbow on the table. "you’re really against the idea of dating me?"

jeongin exhaled, looking you dead in the eye. "fake or not, i wouldn’t date you if you were the last person on earth."

you grinned. "good. that means i can flirt all i want, and you totally won’t get attached, right?"

"oh yeah? wanna bet on it?"

"oh you're on, yang. i'll flirt with you as much as i want for-"

he cuts you off, "-one month. a whole week of me buying you snacks and lunch on the line. if you win."

"hmm, scared much? why not make it three months and i'll actually leave you alone after it all?"

"oh this is fun." jisung only stared between the two.

"bet."

jisung clapped his hands together. "so it's settled! you two are fake-dating!"

"i never agreed to this," jeongin muttered.

you simply took another bite of your cookie. "too late, topper. we have a date to plan."

jeongin swore under his breath.

this was going to be a disaster.

. . .

the night of the dinner came faster than jeongin would’ve liked.

you, unfortunately, were thriving.

"so, babe," you teased, nudging him as you walked toward the fancy restaurant where his family was waiting. "are we holding hands or what?"

jeongin shot you a glare. "no."

you pouted dramatically. "you’re so bad at this."

"i don’t want to be good at this."

you sighed. "fine. but i am calling you ‘babe’ in front of your parents."

jeongin stopped walking. "don’t."

you smirked. "babe."

jeongin groaned, rubbing his temples.

this was hell.

so, the second you stepped in, jeongin’s mom beamed.

"iyennie! you made it!"

you nearly choked. iyennie?

jeongin shot you a look that screamed, say a word and you die.

you, of course, took mental notes for future bullying.

his mother, looking as happy as ever, turned to you, eyes lighting up. "and this must be your girlfriend!"

you smiled sweetly, reaching for jeongin’s arm. "yes, ma’am! i’ve heard so much about you."

jeongin stiffened. his actual nightmare was happening.

his mom clapped her hands together. "oh, she’s adorable! and so polite!"

jeongin shot you a glare.

y/n, in response, squeezed his arm.

. . .

the dinner had barely started, and jeongin already wanted to disappear.

his mom was in full hosting mode, greeting everyone at the long, beautifully decorated table like she was running a royal banquet. his dad, more relaxed but equally nosy, sat at the head of the table, eyeing jeongin and you like you two were the most interesting thing in the world.

and then, of course, there were the relatives.

the visiting relatives.

which jeongin had not been informed about.

"aunt nae is here?" he whispered to his mom in horror as they took their seats.

"of course! she and minji wanted to see you, and they had to meet your girlfriend," his mom whispered back, beaming.

jeongin shot a look at you, who was way too comfortable in this situation, greeting his relatives like you'd been part of the family for years.

he exhaled sharply. this is fine. one dinner.

you turned to him, grinning. "jeonginnie, babe, scoot closer."

jeongin flinched. "what the hell did you just call me?"

"jeonginnie," you repeated, full of amusement, before turning to his mom. "it’s my nickname for him. cute, right?"

his mom melted. "oh, that’s adorable!"

jeongin clenched his jaw, gripping his fork like it was his last lifeline.

you were having the time of your life.

"so, y/n," jeongin’s dad started, leaning back in his chair. "tell us about yourself. what are you studying?"

you smiled, setting your chopsticks down. "music and literature."

jeongin’s mom clasped her hands together. "oh! a creative soul!"

jeongin muttered under his breath, "more like a chaotic soul."

you kicked him under the table. he barely held in a grunt.

one of jeongin’s aunts, a well-dressed woman in her late fifties, eyed you curiously. "and how did you two meet?"

before jeongin could stop you, you smoothly responded, "in the library. he was too shy to talk to me at first, so i had to make the first move. such a baby, right?"

jeongin nearly choked on his water. "that’s not—"

"oh, my," one of the older relatives gushed. "that’s so cute!"

"it really was," you continued, ignoring jeongin’s silent death glare. "he kept glancing at me over his books. adorable. my little nerd."

jeongin took a slow, deep breath. "lying is a sin, you know."

you turned to him with a sickeningly sweet smile. "so is being grumpy at your loving girlfriend, babe."

jeongin gritted his teeth. "i hate you."

"no, you don’t."

the rest of the table ate this up.

minji, his cousin, sighed dreamily. "you two are so cute together."

jeongin gave you a sharp look that screamed, look what you’ve done.

you only smirked.

and so, the dinner continued, filled with stories, laughter, and jeongin’s silent suffering.

until his father, casually sipping his drink, said, "we should invite y/n to the family trip next month."

silence.

jeongin’s brain short-circuited.

"excuse me?"

his dad smiled. "the family trip! your mom and i were just talking about it the other day. since y/n is part of the family now, she should come!"

jeongin nearly passed out.

you, on the other hand, simply blinked. "family trip?"

"oh, yes!" his mom clapped her hands together. "a whole week at the beach! we go every year, but this time, you’ll be joining us!"

jeongin stared at them in horror. "no, she won’t."

"of course, she will," his dad said firmly.

"we’ve only been dating for a few months!" jeongin protested.

his mom tilted her head. "so?"

"so?! that’s too soon for a family trip!"

you, who had been silent, leaned in slightly. "i mean, i do like the beach."

jeongin whipped his head toward them. "are you kidding me?"

you smirked. "what? i think it could be fun, babe."

jeongin clenched his fists. "i hate you." (keep counting guys !!)

"no, you don’t."

the table broke into excited chatter about the trip, completely ignoring jeongin’s very obvious distress.

this wasn’t happening.

this couldn’t be happening.

but it was.

and you were enjoying every second of it.

. . .

the evening air was crisp, a sharp contrast to the warmth inside the restaurant. the soft glow of the streetlights cast elongated shadows on the pavement, flickering with the occasional movement of people walking past. somewhere down the street, a car honked, followed by the muffled laughter of a group of university students spilling out of a nearby café.

none of that mattered to jeongin.

because he was currently standing outside the restaurant, rubbing his face aggressively while you stood beside him, grinning like you had just won the lottery.

as soon as you had left the restaurant, he had dragged you to the side, glaring.

"you just had to play along?"

you shrugged. "what was i supposed to do? say no and make it obvious?"

"yes!"

you smirked, tapping your chin. "hmm… too boring."

jeongin groaned, rubbing his temples. "this was supposed to be one night."

"well," you said cheerfully, "looks like we’re fake-dating for a month now. hope you’re ready, iyennie. oh, and this doesn't mean our bet is off the line now."

jeongin groaned louder.

this was hell.

"you're enjoying this," he accused, voice flat, eyes burning into them.

you smoothed the skirt of your blue, satin dress, pretending to think. "maybe a bit."

jeongin shot you a glare.

okay, a full-blown murderous glare.

you, still entirely unbothered, placed a hand on your hip. "i don’t see why you’re mad. i mean, a free vacation? beachside views? quality time with your loving girlfriend?" you batted your lashes. "i’d say that’s a win."

jeongin exhaled through his nose. "a win would be me never having to fake-date you in the first place."

you gasped dramatically. "that hurts, iyennie."

jeongin physically recoiled. "don’t call me that."

"aww, but it’s cute." you tilted your head, smirking. "just like you."

jeongin’s entire body tensed. "i hate you." (what did i tell you?)

"no, you don’t."

"besides, you could've asked any other girl for this whole.. fake dating agenda, you know. but you didn't, so i think that's very contradictory to your complains right now."

"you think i had a choice when jisung practically threatened me there in the first place?"

"please, you could reject it if you really wanted to. that man would forget about it if minho appeared randomly."

jeongin groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "this was supposed to be one night. one dinner. one stupid meal, and then i could go back to my normal, peaceful life."

"peaceful? dude, you have two research papers due, a physics exam next week, and you literally stress-buy sweaters. what part of that is peaceful?"

"shut up," he muttered.

"aww, did i strike a nerve?"

jeongin clenched his jaw. "let’s just go."

"go where?"

jeongin pointed to his car. "i drove you here, remember? which means, unfortunately, i have to drop you home, too."

"aww, you care about my safety, now? such a great boyfriend."

"no, darling, i just don’t want my mom thinking i abandoned you on the side of the road."

you gasped, pressing a hand to your heart. "cold, iyennie. cold."

jeongin ignored her and walked to his car.

jeongin’s car was clean. of course it was.

dark leather seats, faint traces of cologne and fresh laundry lingering in the air, a neatly placed water bottle in the cup holder, and absolutely no mess in sight. it was exactly what you had expected from someone like jeongin—controlled, neat, meticulous.

you, on the other hand, sprawled in the passenger seat like you had all the time in the world, kicking off your heels with a sigh.

"ugh, finally," you said, stretching your legs. "i swear, those things were invented by a man."

jeongin side-eyed them as he started the car. "you chose to wear them."

"yeah, because i actually put effort into my appearance, especially because i was meeting my boyfriend's family, you know. not to mention, i also had to match someone's peak of fashion sense."

you looked him up and down, eyes dragging over his outfit. "speaking of, i gotta admit, you looked kind of good tonight, nerd."

jeongin, dressed in a perfectly fitted black button-up (with the sleeves slightly rolled, because of course), navy slacks, and a silver watch that sat just right on his wrist, kept his eyes on the road. "kind of?"

"mhm. but don’t let it go to your head."

jeongin clicked his tongue. "too late."

you laughed, leaning against the window. "so, when were you going to tell me you had a whole extended family coming to dinner?"

jeongin let out a deep sigh. "i didn’t know."

"mm-hmm."

"i didn’t. if i had known, i would’ve never agreed to this in the first place."

"bet your mom planned it on purpose,"

jeongin’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. "oh, she definitely did."

silence filled the car, the quiet hum of the engine the only sound between them. the city lights flickered past, casting patterns of gold and silver against the windshield. the streets, alive with late-night chatter and the occasional honk, blurred into the background.

you shifted, turning to face him. "so, what’s the plan?"

jeongin frowned. "what plan?"

"you know, the fake-dating plan? we need a strategy."

jeongin blinked. "we don’t need a strategy. we just—" he exhaled. "we just survive the trip, act normal, and then break up after."

you gasped. "break up? so soon?"

jeongin shot you a look. "we are not actually dating, idiot."

"but think of the drama!" you grinned. "we could stage a messy breakup—throw some fake tears in, maybe have a whole 'it’s not you, it’s me' moment—"

"no."

you pouted. "boring."

jeongin rolled his eyes. "you are the most insufferable person i’ve ever met."

"and yet, here you are, fake dating me. out of every girl in town."

jeongin groaned. "i hate my life."

you smirked, playing with the edge of your dress. "no, you don’t."

. . .

when you finally pulled up in front of the women's uni dorm building, jeongin parked and rested his head against the seat, exhausted.

"alright, we’re here. get out."

you gasped. "no goodnight kiss?"

"out."

you laughed, wearing your heels back and stepping out. before closing the door, you leaned down slightly, peering inside. "sweet dreams, iyennie. don’t miss me too much."

jeongin glared. "i will actually block your number."

you winked. "you wish you could."

and with that, you shut the door and disappeared into the building, leaving jeongin staring after you, questioning every life choice that had led to this moment.

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @bddaramjis @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan

[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.

[writingbluerose]

once upon a dream | silver x reader

summary : it has been a few weeks since you've entered Twisted Wonderland as a student and defeated Riddle's overblot. But you've been having these dreams...and a boy is always in them, he's so handsome and kind, too bad he's just a boy made by your imagination, right...?

warnings : maybe some mentions of bullying, reader is Yuu and it's implied she's a girl <3 ; suggestive!

a / n : Other Silver fanfic order for you! A plot that came to me while I was trying to sleep, heh, ironic :3 ( and yes I KNOW, this ain't really an original fic name but believe me I didn't think anything was more fit for this story than this title )

Other day done at Night Raven Collage. Classes upon classes and lots of students that had nothing better to do but laugh and look down at you as always then getting beaten up by Ace and Deuce. It was a routine at this point and it always made you just as tired every day and even more excited at the thought of just crashing into your bed and never wake up again. Though you couldn't help but think about that dream again.

You've been having this dream lately, you're always in the same spot. A forest, with tall thin trees and colorful flowers, and also a lake, so clear it could resemble a mirror and so so very pretty. And yet, not one of them can top his beauty. While dreaming of this forest, there was a boy. A boy with silver hair and eyes with such a beautiful color to them that they rival the aurora borealis back in your world, a boy so pretty you wonder how did your consciousness even make him up. And he comes to you in every dream, every single one, not once he had missed a meeting. His name is Silver, he says, and he's a knight, a knight in training. It's been roughly a month since you met, and you keep wondering if he's truly a fragment of your imagination because he's somehow too perfect and if you were completely honest you've grown to have romantic feelings for him, which not even you can believe.

In another part of the school past the hall of mirrors and into the Diasomnia dorm, a silver haired boy is sitting on the couch deep in thought. Not about something, rather about someone, someone who's been in his dreams for far too long and now occupies his every waking thought. And of course, to search for an answer he goes to the wisest person he knows yet. “Father, are you busy? May I tell you something?” Knocking on a room's door, Silver opened it quietly to reveal the figure of Diasomnia's vice housewarden, Lilia Vanrouge, also Silver's adoptive father. “Of course you can Silver! Come in and tell me, you've made me curious” Giving him a smile, Lilia invited the boy in. Sitting next to him Silver looked at the floor then at his father. “You see, lately my unique magic has been... activating more frequently” “Is that so? How come?” “I don't know how but it's not really that which concerns me more. It's the fact that no matter how many times it activates I end up in the same dream, with the same person, and well... I don't know how to say this...” “Do you know? — Lilia was now listening more closely, more interested by the second by his son's story — Who's dream does it belong to?” “I don't...but, it's a girl. I remember she said her name was Y/N” If Silver would've stayed just a few more seconds looking at his father he would've saw how his smile grew ten times more at his son's confession. Scooting closer to Silver he pushed him to tell more. “And? What's happening in those dreams hm?” “Well, the place we're in is the same, it looks so similar to Briar Valley though, she's always there by the lake, like she's waiting for me and we talk and laugh. I think she thinks I'm just a fragment of her mind, but even so she seems so happy talking to me like she's in her own element and that makes me happy, but lately I can't get her out of my mind, she's always there” “Then? Are you in love perhaps?” His father asked quiet boldly yet he didn't miss how his son's face turned the faintest shade of red. “I don't know for sure, maybe I am...but, what I know for sure is that... She's beautiful”

At the same time, three first year students were crashing in Ramshackle's dorm lounge, three friends to be exact and one little magic beast snoozing away in the corner of the couch. “So this guy has been in your dreams ever since you came here?” “And he's never missed a single one?” Clutching a pillow to your chest, you buried your face in it, clearly embarrassed by the conversation which you started with the goal of searching for a solution to your feelings. You quietly murmured a yes in the pillow causing the two boys to look at each other. “Well I ain't got nothing for your situation Y/N” “Myeah, sorry me neither” “Guys COME ON! There's got to be something! Right? Right?!” Grabbing Ace's shoulders you shaked him desperately, you were way too exasperated for this yet you couldn't help but ask your friends, they were the only ones you could lean your shoulder on. “Ok ok geez! Stop shaking me like that I'm gonna puke! Sevens...hm, to be fair, I can't help but think that that description of yours seems oldy familiar, but I can't wrap my head around it” “I agree with Ace — Deuce turned his head to look in your direction — something about that description seems familiar but I don't remember anyone looking like that at all” You whined and sat on the couch sulking. “What am I gonna do?! How did I even feel in love with a guy that MY imagination created?! This isn't even possible!!” Ace snickered. “Well can't do anything about that! But um, are you entirely sure your imagination created him?” “Well what else would bring him in my dreams every single night?” “Well, it could be someone's, you know... unique magic” “Hm? Oh like Riddle's 'Off with your Head' spell?” “Yeah!” You hummed and looked at the floor thinking. Even if he was real, how can someone be so... perfect? And so so beautiful like Silver?

Two days passed since the conversation with Ace and Deuce and by now you're almost convinced that the boys were right and that in fact the boy who accompanied you in every dream was a boy who was brought here by, probably, his unique magic. Though who is he really? Is his name really Silver? Does he know who you are, is that why he's with you all the time? Or he doesn't and he's being brought here by accident? Answers, you'd like to have the answers to these questions. “You alright Y/N?” Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you turned around to see Deuce next to you, behind you Grim and Ace were bickering about an accident that happened in professor's Crewel class. You softly smiled at Deuce, “Yeah don't worry about it Deuce. I was just thinking” The dark blue haired boy frowned at you, “Are you sure that's all? You know you can tell us everything right?” “Of course yes, it's just...hm...” He took his hand off your shoulder, his expression turning softer. “Hey, if it's about that guy in your dreams, don't worry about it. I'm sure we're going to find him soon! Don't let that ruin your day, alright?” You gave him a soft smile and turned your head in front of you, but just as you started walking again your body was thrown onto the floor by a sudden force...you hit someone didn't you? “Y/N! Are you alright? You're not hurt are you— Hrk!” Eyes trailing to the two figures in front of them, Deuce was suddenly face to face with two of the students from Diasomnia. Its Vice Housewarden and... and Silver, who, now that Deuce thinks about it, looked awfully similar to the description of the boy you saw in your dreams. “Oh my! Sorry about that you two! Silver didn't see you here!” Lilia laughed the matter away, not noticing the way Silver looked down at you. Something about you was awfully familiar.

Silver snapped out of his thoughts and held out a hand for you to take. “I apologize, I... I didn't see you, I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking” Rubbing the back your head, you took his hand before looking at him with a smile. “That's ok, I also need to pay attention to where I- ah!” Your hand stopped mid-air, your eyes wide at the person in front of you. It's him, that's him! That's...that's Silver! “U-uhm...” You shakily took his hand and pulled yourself up on your feet quickly retrieving your hand from his. “I'm- uh- yeah! I'm ok! Don't- don't worry about it!” You looked anywhere but at him because goodness, if you did you wouldn't be able to tear your eyes from his. Unbeknownst to you, Silver was thinking the same. He finally found you, you're here at NRC, right in front of him, it's you. You looked at Deuce with a panic the boy has never seen before. “Come on Deuce! We gotta go!” Startled by your voice Deuce barely had time to think before you grabbed his arm. “Wh- hey are you ok?? Y/N?!” You hurriedly pulled his arm to be out of Silver's vision. From behind you, Ace's voice echoed through the halls, completely oblivious to what happened seconds before. “Hey hold on where're you going? Wait for us!” With Grim on his shoulders Ace quickly caught up to both of you and just like that you were out of Silver's reach. His eyes trailed to the place you feel. Noticing his distress, Lilia questioned him, “Something wrong Silver?” The silver haired boy waited a minute before answering back to his father. “Lilia that was her. That's Y/N, it's her, I finally found her” Silver couldn't believe it, you were not a meaningless dream he's been having, you're real. And Sevens, he never wanted to feel your touch more than he does now.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Your mind was racing as you stepped in circles in the back of the Ramshackle dorm. After class ended you quickly excused yourself to Ace and Deuce and ran back to your dorm. You can't believe it! Silver! He's- he's real! And he's at this school! Gosh you've never felt more embarrassed than you did now. How are you even going to meet his eyes or even cross him in the halls without it being awkward? And yet... you feel so happy. He could've easily dismissed you like everyone else, he had magic so he had every right to. Yet he didn't, he stayed and listened to whatever you had to tell him despite your inferiority. And that made you really happy. Silver was kind, perhaps the only kind person you'd ever find here. Smiling to yourself you looked up at the sky, “I wonder if he'd meet me now that he knows who I am” “Of course I would, I don't have any reasons not to” From behind you, a calm voice answered your question. Silver silently walked and stopped next to you. “Why would you think I wouldn't?” You looked down before blushing slightly “Well, you know...not many people want to have something to do with me because I'm...well...you know, magicless, so I'm weak” Silver frowned. “Weak? I wouldn't say that being magicless means you're exactly weak. There are other types of strength you can train and use to your advantage, just because you don't have magic does not mean you're inferior to anybody, you should always remember that” Smiling at you, Silver landed you his hand in hopes that you'd take it and you did. “Do you trust me?” You laughed “After all the time we spent together? How could I not?”

Without any words exchanged between you, both of you walked deeper and deeper in the forest with you taking a peak at Silver's expression from time to time to see if you can discover what he plans on doing. Soon enough you both arrived at an opening in the forest. The trees were tall and forming an almost perfect circle around you giving space for the sun to peak through the leaves and branches, there were small patches of flowers with all types of colors and you could hear tiny birds singing happily. How could such a place even exist on the grounds of this school? It's like a place from a fairytale. “This place is...really pretty, I didn't know such a place existed here” “It is yes. I come here whenever I feel drowsy after hours, I would usually hate the idea of sleeping for such a long time, but sometimes even I can't help myself... Though I wish to get rid of my drowsiness as soon as possible” Pouting, Silver scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. “But that's not why I called you here” He came to you and took both your hands in his, dragging you a bit farther into the opening. Still holding your hands he looked at you with a seriousness you've never seen from him, even in your dreams. “Y/N — he began, a bit hesitant, you noticed — I wanted to tell you this here, so I hope you'll listen to me until the end” Looking at his questioningly you smiled and signaled for him to continue. “Ever since I've met you in your dream, I-... I wasn't able to get you out of my mind. You were there in my thoughts even at times where I was thinking about something completely unrelated to our adventures. And soon enough I... I discovered that I love you! I really love you and when we met today I realized that my feelings for you were even stronger! So I don't know if you feel the same but I wanted to tell you. I love you Y/N, I love you” Taking a few seconds to process his words your face became redder and redder in every passing second you thought about every single word he said. “Silver I... I love you too! And I've been loving you for so long, even when I thought you were part of my imagination! I mean how could I not? You're so handsome and kind and- and perfect! I... I've always loved you, like, a lot” The boy's eyes widened in surprise at your words “Perfect? You think I'm perfect?” You excitedly nodded at his question.“The most perfect person I've met”

You steeped closer, your bodies almost touching. Silver's eyes trailed to your lips signaling what he wanted before he met yours again. One hand went to your waist the other still holding yours. Doing the same one of your hands found its way to his shoulders pulling him even closer, feeling his breath so so close to your lips that you couldn't help but shiver. At that, Silver squeezed your waist as a way of telling you that he is too, getting impatient. You looked him in the eyes while your lips almost touched. “Do you want to? Show me how much you love me?” “If you'll allow me” Feeling his words against his lips you nodded, accepting. At that, Silver's lips finally found yours and he groaned at the contact. His hand left yours to hold your cheek and yours flew to his silver locks and grabbed his hair. Silver groaned again before he nibbled at your lip and bit it causing you to gasp against his mouth allowing his tongue to explore you. Not a single inch was left out, Silver wanted to engrave you in his mind, how you felt against him, your touch, your looks every single thing. The kiss lasted for a long time, every single breath, whimper, groan and brush of tongue exchanged was engraved in both of your minds, bodies so desperate for each other's touch that letting go was almost impossible.

After some time you finally parted with heavy breaths and puffy lips. You looked at each other for a while before smiling. Silver's hand brushed the hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear smiling softly. “You're so beautiful” “Me? You're mesmerizing” You said laughing. The boy took your hand in his and brought it to his mouth kissing it, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled away and kissed you on the lips once again. “I love you” “Hm, I love you too Silver, so much” You hugged him pecking him on the lips, you just couldn't resist not to do it, he was just so pretty for you to resist.

After the confession, you and Silver didn't stop meeting in your dreams. Even when Silver's unique magic didn't work he himself made it work so he can see you every night. Dancing and laughing in your dreams at night, whenever you couldn't meet at school, exchanging kisses in the dreamworld. When you did meet at school you make sure to sneak out, even if it's just for a minute, to spend time together before going back to your respective tasks. And both of you couldn't have it any other way. Silver sometimes hopes that you'll stay with him so that you can grow old together, he knows it's selfish but he's allowing himself to be just for a little while if that means you'll stay with him until the end of his life.

[mercymaker]

you know those nightmares where you're running and no matter how hard you're trying, how stressed you are, how much you're exerting yourself, you still can barely move?? ?? i realized that most of the time conversations feel like that to me

[allyriadayne]

We are puppets dancing on the strings of those who came before us, and one day our own children will take up our strings and dance in our steads.

[thanatologie]

@extravagantliar - question, in the space of donations to the mourn watch and other high ranking officials in the grand necropolis, we know there is obviously ethics around it, but is there any moral quandary with the use of others, or is it more of giving things new purpose and life?

so this is something i've been thinking about a lot, actually, with regard to manfred especially.  mostly because manfred's body, is, essentially, a cobbled-together skeleton from spare parts; like we know his ribs were a gift (the question is from where and who), and he picked his own skull from donations (again, where and who did it come from and i could write reams about manfred's skull in particular because it shares very similar - but not exact! - features to emmrich's skull bc i've spent so much time looking at both, yes, manfred picked a skull that would leave he and emmrich favoring one another if he had flesh i said what i said).  and we know his arms came from a charnel pit, which i imagine in reference to the mourn watch and the necropolis in general is exactly what it says it is on the tin:  just a pit full of piles of bones with no quote-unquote owner; a bones-r-us of dismembered body parts, basically.

we also don't know where the rest of his body came from, like…his fingers and toes, or his legs and pelvis.  his spine.  my assumption is - i'm writing a huge long post about manfred that's taking me way too long bc i've gotta scrape together all the dialogue, that's not exactly about this but includes it - that his whole body is made of various bits and bobs from here and there because of the idea that the corpse used to house a spirit colors the undead's actions and personality.  or, in other words, a whole corpse will cause a spirit to exhibit traits of the deceased (audric is a good example of this - technically that's not the audric that was alive, but there's enough of him in there that essentially it's audric, you get me?), manfred is mostly just manfred, because there's no one particular remnant pulling his personality in any direction.  there may be echoes, but essentially manfred is his own little dude.

like…essentially reduce, reuse, recycle is what they're doing anyway.  emmrich more than once laments the fact that the rest of thedas burns their dead (that bit about all those fine mansions burned to ash, and how he got green around the gills witnessing a funeral outside of nevarra), because raising the dead for various jobs - construction, cooking, etc - is normal in the necropolis especially.  there are rules to it, sure, and i'm sure the nobility are safe from clearing sand out of the shrouded halls (probably much to emmrich's disgruntlement lbr, mans really said the only good noble is a dead one), but like…that's what the average person can expect for their body after death.  it's what mourn watch members can expect after death, too, they're pledged to eternal vigil.

and then you get into the wibbly wobbly bits about the body needing to be whole (mummification and preserving organs) because if you're missing things in the quote-unquote real world you'll be missing them in the afterlife - it's partially why the hand of glory is such a no-no, you're harming the soul as well as the body to make one.  but, you know, sometimes there are things like mass graves, and sometimes bodies can't be identified or put back together, and the necropolis is so big, and so old, there are probably loads of bodies that have gotten scattered and can't be identified and put back together, or the skull can't be found for a corpse whisperer to have a chat with, and i imagine that's where the charnel pits come from.  like there are probably rules about what you can build from those spare parts (no 180 ft bone constructs to violently take over nevarra, for example), but also i imagine they're most frequently used for repairing skeleton workers and guards when they're damaged or for slapping together new ones as needed.

which is a really long-winded way to say yes, i think there are rules concerning where you can source the bones/parts from (charnel pits - okay, scattered bones you find somewhere outside - probably okay, bodies that have been donated to necropolis operations - okay, gifts - okay, filching from someone's tomb while they're lying in state - not okay), and what you can make out of them (manfred - okay, johanna's monstrosity - not okay), but also that there's a practical…there's no way to identify these bodies and the parts are just here in a big pile so you might as well make use of them kind of thing.  like they revere the dead and spirits, sure, but it's not all whimsical idealistic twaddle, there's a practicality in making use of that which can't be reclaimed with a name or a story.

eta: also! let's not forget they keep intruders' bodies and put them to work so...make of that what you will.

[fromtheseventhhell]

A whole portion of fandom truly believes Arya isn't capable of being a leader because they misinterpreted her feelings on being a Lady, excellent reading comprehension folks

[morelikesin]

Drowning.

Trying.

Grieving.

-

Practicing my portraiture; albeit through unconventional means.

[sanji-screenshots]

I'm FINALLY through with Dressrosa which means I'll be seeing our main man again soon, but now I'm thinking about how long I'm going to be in Whole Cake Island... like it took me a (relatively) long time to get through Dressrosa and Sanji wasn't even there for most of it! With WCI I'm going to be pausing every 5 minutes to get screenshots! Lord help me, I'm going to be stuck there for the rest of my life...

[warden-wolfxe]

i didn't really like the way the language was used in veilguard but not really because they said "okay" a lot

[lurking-latinist]

⛵

[databent]

why the fuck is it that some people cant seem to acknowledge that people can just... be disabled. not through any fault of their own, not because something "happened" to them, just because, you know, sometimes people have disabilities. like, come on

[good--merits-accumulated]

it's MY fic and I call the shots (eg: move aside pseudo-medieval gay romance. no more romance. Time For Brothers Who Kill Each Other Now)

[mercymaker]

i can't start my morning with yet another cheeky cry come on now