#time and the human mind

[sprinklemuffin]

they all share one single thought!! so so silly

[northernfireart]

who up washing they mouth closeups<3

[lucabyte]

even dogs pass the mirror test

[baeshijima]

thoughts on being engaged to duke!sunday, the head of the oak family, an incredibly influential figurehead within society, the close subordinate of emperor gopher wood who brought him and his sister in and raised him like his own, and the villain who faces a tragic ending in a novel you recently finished — the very same one you just so happen to find yourself transmigrated into. he is as cunning as he is blinded, a trait which brought ruin to many in the empire, and one which ultimately brought ruin to himself at the hands of the protagonists.

as luck would have it, you became a barely mentioned side character from a marquis family, whose role was to be the villain's wife stuck in a one-sided love who, too, would get caught up in the tragedy alongside him. however, now that it's you who is stuck in this position, you're determined to try any means necessary to deter him from going down that path, all in an effort to escape your predestined doomed fate!

of course, you didn't expect it to be easy. the day of your arrival in this world was already the night before your wedding, so you had little time to prepare yourself for the nonchalance of your supposed family, how they viewed you as but a means — a tool — to boost their influence and prosperity, the dismissive mannerisms of the household servants, and the absolute beauty of a man you will be married to.

(seriously. the novel descriptions did not do him justice. he was like... like... like he was handcrafted by god himself! and not to mention his sister, robin, was the very epitome of an angel! perhaps you're destined to perish by the god-tier visuals instead...)

to say the least, the wedding ceremony went by quickly. safe to say you didn't spend the night; he was cordial and gentlemanly upon letting you know that he won't do anything until you're ready, that you can take this relationship slow, but somehow you ended up feeling a tad insulted. like, who leaves their newly wedded alone in a big cold bed as they walk out on their own? a sick bastard that's who!

well, whatever. it's not like you need nor want to consummate with him! besides, you have bigger things to worry about — things such as your impending death. and, of course, the only way to stop sunday that you can imagine working is by chipping away at his resolve bit by bit, and opening his eyes to reality.

he is a tragic character, one who cares more about the well-being of penacony and its people than anyone else, but was manipulated into getting his hands dirty in the emperor's stead. you knew this. you sobbed over his story, cursed out the protagonists, and even fought internet randos on novel forums about sunday's motivation and how,

no, he is not just a stupid villain. he is a complex character with flaws and humanity and was cruelly taken advantage of by someone he considered family. he was deceived through the suffering the emperor wanted him to see to make him easily manipulated, creating a rift between him and robin to have that prominent separation. you know what? maybe you're just a !%#@ who can't even #@?"% read properly!

and yet you still find yourself at a loss when faced with the walls he has in place. your initial efforts went as well as it possibly could have; you trying to earnestly help him, while he "kindly" dismisses your offers! well, "kindly" being more condescending since you could read between the lines of his mannerisms and amiable demeanour, but that's fine! you expected this! that just means you have to double down on your sincerity, get through to his heart (somehow), and help him realise humanity isn't as weak as he's led to believe!

you have three years until the novel's plot officially starts, and another year after that until your demise. that's plenty of time to get him to warm up to you!

it was easier said than done, but after your valiant effort and abundance of time put into this relationship, which admittedly you could do with some of that lost time back, you could give yourself a pat on the back with the progress you made! while you definitely could have done without a lot of the headaches, it's safe to say sunday has significantly warmed up to you in comparison to your wedding day. he now willingly eats all his meals with you with some real conversation, takes garden strolls with you in the early evenings, invites you out for dinner at a restaurant at least four times a week, hell he's even joked and laughed with you more frequently! but most importantly, he has begun asking for your opinion before finalising any decisions he is required to make. and he actually listens and considers your side! now, that certainly is the best outcome you could hope for after all this time, and it most definitely will help in your endeavour to save you both from the protagonists!

however, you've noticed he's been more... affectionate? well, at the very least he now willingly holds your hand when in private (not just in moments when you're in the public eye and he has to make sure the family's reputation is spotless), sometimes he will hug you out of the blue ("i just need to... recharge. you have a way of calming me down. i hope you don't mind." ...how could you say no to his supreme god-tier face card? that's just a losing battle you won't even bother fighting against.), oftentimes he opts to just gaze wordlessly at you (robin had mentioned over one of your tea times how it almost appears as though there is no one but you in the world when sunday gazes at you with, in her words, "the eyes of a man so deeply in love!" ...whatever that's supposed to mean...), but a more recent development has been his sudden interest in kissing you; well, more specifically giving you a kiss to the back of your hand or on your forehead — certainly not anywhere near the lips! (besides, he's probably just gotten comfortable with you, enough where he can freely act without judgement. nothing more, nothing less.)

well, either way, development is development! soon enough, the time for the main plot to start has arrived. it of course follows what you remember, from the organised balls to the protagonists meeting to the political aspects of it all. the only difference is sunday's less active involvement in all the schemes and the emperor's ploy. rather, he seems more focused on you and the future of your marriage and even displayed a sudden interest in your practically non-existent relationship with one of the foreign diplomats, aventurine— wait...

"[name]," he calls your name out so sweetly you nearly disregarded it as someone else he was talking to. well, perhaps you would have done had he not suddenly appeared before you, a tight-lipped smile tugging the corners of his lips as he steadily approaches you.

oh. he doesn't seem very happy, if his tense figure is anything to go by. you wonder if one of the nobles grated his nerves a little too much this time?

sunday comes to a halt a step away from you. "i don't like that... gambler being so close to you. it... it brings me a rather unpleasant feeling." there's a slight, trembling pause. not a moment later does he close the gap between you, one knee on the ground as he matches your seated height on the fountain rim, your hands gently enclosed in both of his.

you idly wonder if this is what robin meant by the so-called "eyes of a man so deeply in love" she constantly gushed about, for the way in which he gazes up at you is enough to render you breathless.

"tell me, [name]," he begins once more. there is an underlying desperation woven within his tone, one which has your head spinning and heart thumping wildly as his trembling gaze holds you in place. "tell me, what am i to do with this fervent love and overwhelming adoration i hold for you?"

oh.

...oh.

perhaps your impending doom should be the least of your concerns when you now find yourself in the arms of a clingy husband...

(though, it's safe to say you did, in fact, manage to prevent him from succumbing to his tragic fate! you just gained a loving, yet slight slightly emotionally challenged husband along the way.

well, you can help him work through it; you have the rest of your lives now to figure it out, after all.)

[yourangle-yuordevil]

Serpent of temptation? More like serpent of missed occasions, serpent of denial, serpent of I-love-you-so-much-angel-but-I-can't-tell-you 🐍

[bet-on-me-13]

Fear Toxin had an unintended side effect of the people of Gotham.

So! When Jonathan Crane was first testing his Fear Toxin, he was only ever testing on the Inmates at Arkham. And suprisingly a lot of the Patients there were from outside of Gotham (before it was converted into a revolving door of a Prison, it actually used to be an Asylum for the mentally ill. Who knew?).

Since he had so many Test Subjects from outside of Gotham, by pure coincidence he never actually got to test his Fear Toxin on a Born and Raised Gothamite. The first time he saw the effects of his Toxin on the people of Gotham, was his first Terror Attack on the City.

And it did not go as planned.

As it turns out, the People of Gotham are mostly Liminals due to the high percentage of Ectoplasm in the area the City was built on. And unfortunately for Scarecrow, Ectoplasmic Beings like Liminals have a very different reaction to distilled Fear than normal people.

Their Bodies process it differently, it is filtered by their Ectoplasm into pure energy, and that energy is directed straight into their Dopamine Centers.

Basically, Fear Toxin is Weed for Liminals.

Scarecrow accidentally released a cloud of pure Weed into the City. And the people loved it. It wasn't long before he was being inundated with requests for more of his "Product" from every single Crime Boss in the City.

This wasn't what he wanted! He wanted to see them squirm and riot in unadulterated Terror! He wanted to see them attack eachother in Fear, not raid the nearest 7/11 trying to satisfy their Munchies!

But whenever he tried to make a new Strain of Fear Toxin to get them with, they all rejoiced at his "New Product"! It was sickening!

He should have moved to Metropolis.

[jimjamjomjum]

The parallels between these two haunt me.

[carolinemillerbooks]

New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/the-time-travelers/

The Time Travelers

My branch bank was closing.  The nearest location was three miles away. I don’t own a car so the distance was significant.   Needing to learn how to make future deposits, I stopped by the office to learn about options.     The acting manager greeted me with a smile and waved me into her office as I entered.  Except for the clerk at the reception desk, we were alone.  Sliding into the plastic chair she indicated, I noted her desktop was clear, except for a phone, and a computer, beside which sat a notepad and a glass jar crammed with multicolored pens. She splayed her fingers across the walnut surface as she sat opposite me, her eyes wide with anticipation. No doubt, I was a welcome distraction in an otherwise hum-drum day.  I noted she was young, barely a year or two beyond her teens with a smile that left no wrinkles at the corners of her upturned mouth.   A distance of 70 years stretched between us, I guessed.   When I told her why I’d come, she looked relieved.  “Check deposits? That’s easy.”  She chirped out a couple of choices.  With a debit card, I could make deposits at any ATM. Or, if I preferred, the app on my smartphone would perform the same magic.   She might as well have been speaking in Swahili.  “I have neither a debit card nor a smartphone,” I explained.  “What I want is a mailing address for my deposits” The woman behind the desk took in a sharp breath as if I’d shoved a knife between her ribs.  “Mail deposits?  We don’t accept those.”     I frowned.  She was speaking Swahili again. “Are you sure?  Things can’t have changed that much.  Could  you check with the head office?” A pair of youthful shoulders shrugged– a sign designed to discourage me.  Nonetheless, the young woman picked up the phone and dialed a number.  I held my breath while it rang.  A brief exchange followed between the caller and a voice somewhere in the ether. At last, the woman seated opposite me hung up, turning a pair of owlish eyes in my direction.   “ I had no idea we did mail deposits  No one’s ever asked.”  She tore a page from her notepad and wrote down a P. O Box number which she handed to me.   Leaving the office with a light step, I was glad I had persevered. Even so, I sensed a pair of blue eyes at my back as I exited.  No doubt the twenty-something person I’d left behind thought I was a relic that needed to be stored in a box in the bowels of the Smithsonian. She might be right.  Time is a tricky thing. In the everyday world, it moves at the speed of light in a single direction.  But time in the human brain is flexible. My thoughts can take me backward and forward in history. The same is true for my young banker. The difference between us is that she lives in the violet spectrum of now, while I and my memories have decayed into the red zone.  We are creatures of the same universe, yet she and I exist in dissimilar energy fields.  The laws of physics decree that when different fields can be described by the same mathematical structure, rapid advancement of knowledge takes place in which the two fields cross-fertilize.   So it was with the young woman and me that afternoon.  I saw her as limited in knowledge. She, no doubt, saw me as obsolete. Even so, by the time we parted from one another, we were both wiser.  Youth and age are frequently out of tune with each other, the way classical physics and the quantum world appear to conflict.  Call it an atonal harmony, the kind the gravitational force field makes when it suffers a disruption and sets the universe to humming.  I think of that humming as the music of a higher order. If humans were to penetrate the deepest secrets of that harmony, where would they take us? We saw the effects of harnessing nuclear power. It ended World War II and gave us clean energy.  But it also helped to deplete the ozone layer, raise global temperatures, and hasten the effects of global warming. The mind is a terrible thing to waste, yet curiosity comes with a price. We embrace Neurotech devices that measure metabolic functions to retain good health, but surveillance capitalism, like nuclear energy, has a downside. At any time, our private information can be made public. China, for example, requires some workers to wear EEG sensors to monitor their productivity and emotional states. Can we be sure the demand for brain transparency won’t one day deny us the right to private thoughts?    Advances in Artificial Intelligence (AI) have led some theorists to speculate that one-day homeo sapiens might become obsolete.  Bionics are already widely accepted. Pacemakers are common as are artificial joints, cochlear implants, and intraocular lenses.  This evolution has come softly on cat paws and with each progression we blur the line between robots and humans.  My young banker knew nothing about mail deposits, having no historical memory. In the future, will it be the same with our acceptance of robot technology? And should AI become sentient how will we view our creation? With fear? Or,  in our quest for eternal life, will we download our memories into an avatar? Should we choose to merge with robots, will we still be human? What will become of our unconscious minds? Will we dream?

[astearisms]

part of a sadness

[aimasup]

Suffering from Epic the Musical gave some very odd and sudden inspiration for this. crack scenario. The only thing stopping Bill from killing him on the spot is our suspension of disbelief

better roll a 20, stan. There's lives at stake

[that-wildwolf]

hey, remember being 18 years old and playing mass effect for the first time and it's got this like intense aura of being very small and very insignificant in a very big, very empty galaxy? remember playing mass effect for the first time and everything all of this is so new and mysterious, and it's 2am and you're sitting in a dark room in the light from your tv and you're playing through feros for the first time and you feel that this is someting very old and very ancient and you are somewhere you shouldn't be and you don't know what's going to happen or where you're going but you keep on. there's a tingling in your stomach and you're playing mass effect for the first time. the thorian is a milennia old sentient plant being. the rachni queen is old and telepathic and a hive mind and in pain. sovereign is an ancient machine that has not been built but is, and has always been, and this is something so alien and so unlike and beyond anything your human mind can comprehend, and this is something unexplainable and huge and as uncaring and indifferent as the empty galaxy around you. you're playing mass effect for the first time and you're walking on the surface of an almost completely empty planet with nothing but your two companions silently walking beside you and everything is so huge and empty and silent and you're so small and insignificant and it's so beautiful and so scary and you feel like you are on a rollercoaster about to drop down. you are playing mass effect for the first time and you're playing the mission on the moon and you stop and just look up at earth visible in the sky. you know this. this is home. you are playing mass effect for the first time, and the galaxy is so big, and you are so tiny, and everything is about to change for you.

[s0up1ta]

i hate them so much

[specsthesecond]

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The only thing you register is the murky darkness beneath you and the ice above your head. It's calm for a long moment before you feel the twinge in your lungs and your body lurches with a suffocating need. You pound on the ice ceiling, acheiving nothing but bruised palms as the air bubbles leaving your mouth accumulate on the ice.

Then suddenly a sallow hand reaches up from the depths and grabs your leg. The knight’s dead eyes scrutinise you from below, as if offended that you would struggle against this well-deserved fate. Your scream is drowned by the water as you're pulled down, further and further into the icy abyss.

You jolt awake, breathing harsh and eyes frantic. You look around the room, brown curtains shut out the light of the moon, high in the sky. Thick sheets cover you, yet you're still cold, ever aware of the vacant spot next to you that wasn’t when you went to bed. Your heart aches, with longing or exhaustion, you're not sure.

Light emits from the ajar bedroom door. You climb out of the large bed, shuffling away heavy sheets and fixing your thick winter nightgown. You tiptoe down the short hallway, cold stone ground chilling your nerves through your socks until you reach the thick carpet that covers most of the living room.

Your orc sits in the middle of the room, hunched over the dining room table. A candle on the table casts a warm glow, you can hear graphite against paper, the movements slow and deliberate. He only notices your presence when you touch his shoulder. The orc looks up at you from his seat, and your eyes must have been red or puffy because he immediately knows something is wrong. He pushes out his chair so that he’s facing you and gives you a worried look.

You shake your head, trying to ease his concerns but knowing it won't work. He plays with the sleeve of the loose tunic he must have slipped on when he woke up and then reaches out to softly wrap thick fingers around your wrist, sliding them down until he holds your hand in his. It’s warm and grounding, his thumb slides over your knuckles, questioning but never demanding. You sigh and say,

“I had a nightmare.”

You place your hands together and rest your head on them, closing your eyes, trying to convey the action of sleeping and then you shoot your head upright, trying to convey shock. His face lights up in recognition and even though the hasty gestures are a little embarrassing, you still feel…proud when he understands you.

He says a string of orcish and you only catch the words, “I’m sorry.”  He then gestures to himself and nods sadly.

He had a nightmare as well?

You feel foolish for not considering that, extremely foolish for feeling disappointed when you noticed he wasn’t in bed with you, as if he isn’t dealing with his own troubles, as if you’re the only one who’s looked death in the face. Your eyes flick to his chest. How long has it been since you’ve cleaned his wound? Are you really so selfish you can’t remember to clean the fresh wound of the one you call your lover? You look from where his wound should be then back to his eyes, silently asking for permission to touch. He nods and you lift his tunic up his chest until you reach the wound, a wound covered by fresh, clean, white bandages. You scrunch your eyebrows and look back up at him, he looks back with a proud smile, almost smug, you’d say.

You scoff, drop his tunic back down and look away, irritation flowing from you. You’re glad that he knows how to clean his own wounds, you never doubted he couldn’t but you're responsible for that lifelong scar and you feel an obligation to help take care of it. You just want to make up for the pain you’ve caused, why isn’t he letting you? Not only have you not thanked him nearly enough for saving your life, but you've only made his life worse by being in it.

Your lover notices your mood and reaches for your hands again, leading your eyes to meet his, when you do, you can’t help but let the pain flow freely onto your face. The self-loathing finally too much to try and hide it from him with a tight smile. He sighs and brings your hands to his shoulders, pulling you gently until you’re sitting on his lap, head placed right next to his beating heart. He whispers something in orcish, rubbing your back. You know he doesn't see it the way you do, he doesn't see you as a burden but that doesn't negate the fact that you are burdening him. And yet, despite knowing this, you cling to him so tightly, wholly unwilling to let go. When did you become so selfish?

You look away from him and notice the loose pages on the table. There are loose pages with scribbled orcish and human common, some messily scratched out while others are crumpled into tight balls. You reach for one of the loose pages unthinkingly, but your lover reaches them first and pushes them further away. You're slightly startled by the action and look up to see him turned away, cheeks dark and eyebrows scrunched. He's angry or maybe embarrassed? Maybe he's angry because he’s embarrassed? You reach for his cheek to make him look at you and when he does, you lightly nod your head, trying to convey that you won’t peek at what he’s writing if he doesn’t want you to. You think he understands as his shoulders ease up and his hand comes back to your waist. You rest your head against his chest and let out a tired breath, closing your eyes. His fingers comb gently along your scalp as he eases back against the chair, with you nestled comfortably in his arms. You didn't intend to fall asleep but sleep comes anyway, it always seems to come so easy when you're close to him like this.

When you’re nudged awake, you can see out the window that some time has elapsed since you fell asleep, but not enough that the sun has come up yet. You rub your eyes and look up at the lovely orc who woke you. He looks down at you apologetically and nods his head towards the paper on the table. You reposition yourself and reach for the page, straightening up when you realise just how much is written on it, more than either of you have written before. You thoroughly rub your eyes clean of sleep and with one more glance towards his nervous face, you begin reading.

“My name is Շɿoþƚɿiǫ.

Please tell me your name.

I can’t might not be able to pronounce it but I want to try.

In my mind I have been calling you Ꮦлαᗩ, I think it will mean “My Love" in Human.

I’m sorry it is this way. Sorry you have to leave home. Sorry you had to kill that man those men. Sorry that you lose sleep. Sorry your life has changed so much. I want to I will make it better for you.

When you said you love me, do you mean it in the way I mean it?

Orc courting are different from humans, so I will explain.

I think of you when you are not here, I want to touch you when you are close, I want to make you smile and laugh. I want to make my home feel like your home.

Orcs don’t have marriage but we do have courting. This is what I want with you and I deeply wish that you feel the same.

If this is not what you meant then I'm sorry for misunderstanding.

I still love you.”

You read the letter once, wipe your tears and then read it again. He only looks back down at you when he hears your wet sniffle. His hand massaging your thigh stops moving, he looks at you with worry. You don’t know what else to do, so you nod your head and cry, pulling him into a hug. You hold him close, not knowing at all how else to respond besides burying your head in his neck and nodding, a poor attempt at an affirmation. He rubs his hand down your back, hugging you back, clearly hesitant but it seems like a weight has been lifted from him.

It takes you a few minutes to calm down. You thought you were good at hiding your emotions and being stoic but it may just be that you’d never actually felt such strong emotions in the first place, and now that you do, you have no idea how to hide or even manage them, it’s incredibly embarrassing.

Even more so when he is so patient with you, letting you melt into him, letting you wet his shoulder and hiccup into his chest. You curse yourself, he must be so nervous, anxiously waiting for a clear response to his carefully crafted words but all you can do is cry and nod.

You pull away, wipe your raw eyes and hiccup one more time before turning around and grabbing the thick graphite pencil. You sit on his lap and begin paging through the dictionary. He sits patiently, arms around your waist, resting his head on the back of your shoulders, giving you the same privacy you gave him to write your thoughts out. You struggle immensely with choosing the right words, there’s so much you want to say but it doesn’t need to be a poetic love letter, it needs to be clear and understandable. Even though he deserves all the most beautiful poetry the world could craft.

You are, unfortunately, not a world-renowned poet. You feel so exposed and it's ridiculous, honestly, trying to channel your most intense emotions into graphite lines on a page. You're not even sure any medium, language or alphabet could truly express these feelings but you have to try for him. You write until dawn is approaching, looking down at the orcish words your own hands have written, you sigh to yourself wearily.

You nudge the orc behind you and he simply hugs your form tighter. The man fell asleep around halfway through your painful writing process, back against the chair with his arms never leaving your waist. He breathes in deeply, sleep melting away slowly as he comes to.

You gently unwrap his heavy arms from around you and stand up, placing your letter in front of him on the table before he can argue about the loss of contact. He rubs his eyes and stares down at the page, you try not to stare at him while fidgeting to the side. He glances at you for a second and then pulls his chair in a little, picking up the small page.

“My name is ______

I would love to hear you say it.

This is difficult so I will be direct.

Please don’t be sorry for me. I killed for you because I love you and I don’t regret it.

That is what I mean when I say I love you. It means I want to protect you, clean your wounds, make food with you, help you when you can't sleep.

These are things I have never felt before you.

I don't know why you saved me from the ice, but I will live my life trying to thank you for it. Even if you say I already have.

I have never dreamt of marriage but I dream of you. I want to live with you next to me, I want you to be my home. We can call it courting or marriage, as long as I get to love you and feel your love in return.

I think you understand me perfectly, My Lover”

At least that's what you hope it says. Taking into account punctuation, tense and grammer issues, it probabaly reads very differently.

Your stomach churns when you remember all the sincerity that went into those penciled words, and still it isn't half as thoughtful as his. His was so beautiful and concise, while yours feels not nearly as put together. He deserves better. What if you translated it so badly that he doesn’t understand? You realise that he must have been feeling this exact same way when you were reading his letter but that thought only quells your anxiety a little.

You feel like hours go by in just those few minutes. You can't decide if you want to watch him read it or avert your gaze, so you do both, glancing back at him every few seconds while trying to give him the patience and privacy to read in his own time. You can’t help but watch how he rubs his eyes and sniffs quietly, you want so badly to console him but you just stand there and wait.

He wipes his eyes once more and stands up from his chair, moving closer to you, reaching out his hand for you to take. You do and he brings you into his hold. You hug tightly as he bends down to fully engulf you. He whispers something into your shoulder and gives the skin a little kiss over the material of your nightgown. You try to separate to ask him what he’s trying to say but he squeezes you close, nuzzling into your neck. He mutters in orcish and kisses your neck, repeating the process all the way up your neck until he reaches your lips. He looks into your eyes and it seems that whatever he was looking for in them was found when he leans his head onto yours.

You lean forward just a bit to kiss him, the same as your kisses have been before, slow and deliberate, meant to convey as much as possible. When you can’t convey something with words you have to convey it with actions. You separate from the kiss and he breathes out a soft word in orcish which you can now identify as “My love” and he blesses you with another searing kiss. You kiss back, feeling his tusks on your cheeks as the kiss deepens.

His hands smooth down to your thighs, where he picks you up slightly and places you on the dining table so he doesn’t have to bend down so far, you assume. He still kisses you so lovingly, whispering soft orcish. You try to decipher his words but your thoughts are quickly led astray by his lips on yours and his hand gently intertwined with your hair, holding you as close as possible while leaving room to move away if you please. You don’t.

As you kiss, you wrap your legs around as much of his waist as you can, just trying to get as close as possible, your chest presses against his and you're grateful for the scant layers between you. You can feel the fabric of his tunic dampen with sweat, the downsides of running so hot, you suppose. Though it doesn’t feel like such a downside to him as he feels your hand trail up under the tunic, feeling the thick fat and dense muscle of his stomach, he shivers at your touch but the cold doesn’t stop him from reaching back and yanking his tunic off, tossing it aside as if it offended him.

You stare at your lover, now able to appreciate his physique with all your attention, nothing to distract you from following his chest hair down to the trail that disappears into his sleep pants. His chest moves up and down with every breath as your gaze lingers, you bite back a grin when you think you can see him flexing his arms. You like that he can feel your eyes on him.

Your gaze meanders back up to his face, framed by messy strands of black hair contrasting strongly with his cream-white tusks. You want to feel those pretty tusks on your neck again, grazing against the soft skin there. He can clearly see you staring at them and he bends down to your height, resting his hands on the table on either side of your thighs. His face is inches away from you, his amused grin mirroring your slightly more nervous one. You lean forward and kiss him flat on the lips, then kiss both his tusks, your way of letting him know you accept him as he is, in the same way you know he does. A way of saying you love him, not despite the fact that he’s an orc or because he’s an orc but that you love him as whatever he may be. You hold his face in place while you attack him with loving kisses and pull him into your neck, not so subtly encouraging him to lay his own kisses on the recently discovered, very sensitive area. Your hands travel down his broad shoulders, feeling up the large expanse of muscle and skin.

He finally moves his hands to cup both of your thighs, touch burning hot, you let him trail his hands up your thighs until he’s massaging the fat around your hips. Your thighs squeeze around him as you shiver, the fabric pooling at your hips. You can see his eyes linger where your nightgown pools at your hips as your legs wrap around his waist. After debating a bit in your head, you make the decision to shift and shuffle your nightgown up and off your body, the action making you feel much more vulnerable than you expected, even in the heat of the moment. He stares unabashedly, trailing his hands up and down your waist. You can’t help but cover your breasts from him, it’s not that you’re shy, that’s not the word for it, though you’re clearly overwhelmed and a little out of your depth.

Luckily, it seems he understands. He places a kiss on your lips and then trails a few down your neck, making sure to nudge his tusks against the skin, it looks like he's figuring out exactly what you like. He then places kisses all over your neck and shoulders, he kisses as if he's blessed to even get to offer his affections at all. You breathe deep and let yourself feel his warmth, slowly taking your arm away from your chest and sliding the hand behind his head. You lead him down and he follows, trailing kisses down your chest until his hot tongue makes contact with your nipple, and you downright moan.

He moans back in return, suckling so sweet and gentle. He brings a hand up to your other breast to feel the weight of it in his hand. He pulls your hips closer to his, at the edge of the table, he has to bend down a considerable amount to reach your tits and have your hips meet his, but it’s clearly worth it for him.

You can feel how big he is through his sleep pants, and you know he can feel your heat through your underwear. You press even closer, wanting to feel more of him, and you grind your clothed cunt against him. Just that little friction has his grip tightening and his breath hitching. At the very least, you can be assured that your lover is probably as experienced as you are and will probably last just as long as you if you both keep getting so worked up so easily. You grind forward again, pushing his head into your breast, scraping his blunt tusks against your plush chest as he laps and sucks the soft skin. He suddenly grabs your hips with both hands and lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist tighter and holding you close with one hand on your back. You look each other in the eyes, you're getting really good at assessing each other's feelings through body language. You don’t need to tell him you want him, and vice versa, you can convey that with your bodies.

He places a hand on your ass and you pull him into a searing kiss as he grinds his hips forward, making both of you moan. He leans on the back of the couch next to the living room table for support. Clearly very sensitive himself, he slowly sinks to the ground, with you in his arms, still keeping you as close to him as possible. Now that he’s sitting on the floor, back against the back of the couch, you have more freedom to move how you want, now actively grinding into each other, searching for the incoming climax.

It feels so good, even through the layers. You can't help but murmur praises at him and he seems to like this very much despite the fact that he can't understand most of it. When you stop your praises to suck in a breath or moan, he whines softly and looks at you with a pleading expression that only melts into pleasure once you start talking again.

It just feels right, not too much too fast and yet the most pleasure you’ve ever felt. You can see him getting closer, hands clutching you tighter, moving you against his bucking hips. When you can feel yourself getting closer, you pull him into a passionate kiss. Your lips fit together so well, and so do your bodies, pressed as close as possible, save for two layers of cloth. You release the kiss only to rasp out his name and the words "I love you" in his mother tongue as you reach your peak. He groans out what you're pretty sure is a swear word of some kind before kissing you so deep you feel your lips might bruise. He kisses you through his shuddering climax, and you stay connected like that well into the come down.

You rest on top of your lover, feeling his heart beat alongside yours. Any attempt to move your lower half sends pain towards your most sensitive parts, having been rubbed raw against your soaking wet underwear. You shift a little and he sucks in a breath, the hand rubbing your back moves to still your hips. As if you needed any more evidence of his enjoyment, his thin sleep pants are absolutely soaked, you're not sure where his wetness ends and yours begins, but you find the sight oddly endearing. You look up at him and grin, he grins back and you both snicker at yourselves. It must be a funny sight, two star-crossed lovers, former lonely wood dwellers, cumming in their pants the first time they get even slightly intimate with each other.

Your lover only releases you from his embrace when you shiver from the cold night air, though not without a few more kisses and whispered endearments. You slowly lift yourself up, stretching and grabbing your nightgown before walking, only wobbling a little, to the kitchen to make you both some well-deserved tea. You can hear your lover trail into the bathroom, probably to get a fresh pair of pants and you know you'll have to do the same when you feel the wetness slowly cooling uncomfortably between your thighs. The stupid grin on your face stays there the entire day, only matched by the equally stupid grin worn by your lover.

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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[demaparbat-hp]

Izumi (steambaby) sketches.

[portalmonsterrr]

[Alhaitham Become Human AU] Meeting Nahida part 1/4

Some notes on the au + if you haven't played the game:

One of the playable characters, Connor, is able to enter something of an introspection mode or a mind palace where he discusses the unfolding events with his imaginary handler Amanda. It's a garden that changes its environment depending on Connor's mental state. rA9 is a deity or a belief among androids, it's unconfirmed if it's even a person; it could be the deviancy virus or the first awakened android. In my AU, Nahida is the first ever sentient/alive android (something that is backed up by her having a conscioussness, being able to dream and self-reflect)

all the pages are available in early access on my patreon

dbh AU: 1 2 3

[cubbihue]

Although Fairies appear humanoid in nature, they actually have a more pure form unseen by the naked eye. This is because Humans lack the ability to perceive anything beyond the fourth dimension. Given enough magic, a Fairy can manifest their true form onto all planes of existence.

This is usually not recommended, as seeing a Fairy's purest form can cause madness. A Fairy should only use their pure form when necessary, such as containing uncontrollable wishes, or high quantities of magic. Especially since there's heavy drawbacks and sacrifices to manifesting one's pure form.

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