#How to Practice Patience

[thatsbelievable]

[damian-lil-babybat]

'Dead Poets Society' gang

Headcanon that these four drop poetry and literature quotes on their conversations unprompted.

Jason 'English-major-I-only-visit-the-manor-for-the-library' Todd-Wayne

Damian 'I-master-liberal-arts-unlike-you-plebs-PHD-holder' al Ghul-Wayne

Cassandra 'I-learn-English-thru-Shakespeare-as-god-intended' Cain-Wayne

Duke 'only-title-holder-of-vigilante-poet-and-will-cuss-you-just-as-poetically' Thomas-(future) Wayne

[chiropteracupola]

hornblower ceramics au that no one (incl. me) asked for

[mars-ipan]

getting hype for deltarune again and relearning how to draw these damn characters for the first time in years

[meowdei]

Watching the recent trend of white people and clothing companies start to appropriate the dupatta and profit off of it is exactly why I get so annoyed by the fact that people on here who selfship with sumeru characters make their self inserts wear traditional south asian clothes in their comms and stuff despite selfshipping with a character that’s clearly intended to be arab.

The less proper research you do, and the less credit you offer to the correct culture, the more common it is to simply erase the original people who value it from the equation and start a trend where others benefit from something that has no historical meaning to them

[jedidragonwarriorqueen]

Gotta put in for Callum on the drawing expressions!

Here's best boy in E5 as per your follow-up ask! 😁 I'm imagining that Soren is pitching a stand-up bit to him, but the joke isn't quite landing 😆

[welcometogrouchland]

I miss them so bad (Dick and Damian)

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

if 9&10 were "dont wander off", and 11&12 were "the doctor lies", 13s rule #1 is "dont question me"

"have we not had a good time together" shes pointing yaz to the rule that yaz very well knows is there: we can travel if you dont ask me any difficult questions. yaz knows this is the rule - "because you ask too many questions", "this team structure isnt flat" - but she also was the one to invite the doctor into her home so im pretty sure she also knows shes not gonna kicked out that easily. she has some leeway. which she has been using between revolution and flux, which is why the doctor reminds her of the rules

i dont think she'd kick her out though. she wouldnt. i think it's just that the more you break the rule, the more unpleasant she becomes to be around, and eventually youre gonna walk out on your own. she doesnt want you to, she'd rather you stay and dont ask questions. but if youre gonna try to ask questions anyway, i think thats whats gonna happen

and yaz must think so too. because she does back off. because she doesnt want that to happen either. and it does anyway

[despairforme]

Okay, but why the fuck isn't he being prioritized?

[azuzula]

testing out a new style of rendering with this guy

[luvo27]

with love and love and love and love and love (seriously, you cannot imagine how much these mean to me) to @spectator-moon, @aspoonofhoney, and @peachcandiz because i will never be able to express how absolutely blown away i am by the art that you made. i know how much time and effort and practice goes into your art, and the fact that you then used what you learned in all that time and effort to make art inspired by something i wrote??? insane.

(original art: 1, 2, 3)

[vaya-writes]

Infernal Assistance (Option Four) - 3

You’ve been struggling to survive in a zombie apocalypse. Things are looking really bad before a demon swoops in to help. But that demon is an incubus. And he’s in need of help too.

-

Reader (GNC pronouns, AFAB, asexual spectrum) x incubus (cis male). Situationship. Allies to lovers. Zombie apocalypse AU. Banner by saradika-graphics. Wordcount: 2000.

Content Warnings: apocalypse setting, oral sex, reader has chronic pain, discussion of chronic pain affecting sex. Please let me know if you'd like anything else added.

If you noticed the continuity break, no you didn't <3

Masterlist - A03 - Previous

You’re startled awake by the knock at your door. Sleep has been fitful ever since the world ended. Every sound startles you awake; ready to face a horde breaking down your door. 

But this knock is polite, and it’s enough to remind you of the events of yesterday.  

“Just a second-” you call, sitting up and giving yourself time to breathe. To settle your heart.  

You stand with a groan. It seems one night of bedrest isn’t enough to erase the pain of three nights sleeping on cold concrete. But it’s a start.  

You cross the room on shaky legs and unlatch the door. Squint up at Veron, eyes still adjusting to the morning light. 

He smiles down at you. “Good morning. I thought you might want to rise early today. Take advantage of the light.” 

He’s chipper. You’d assumed he’d play a more passive role in clearing the building. Waiting for you to take the lead and make the plans.  

Still. His initiative doesn’t bother you. You just wish he’d waited until you’d recovered from the ordeal on the roof.  

You wipe the sleep from your eyes. “Sure. I’ll get dressed.” 

His hand catches on the door. “Before you do...” He tilts his head, polite smile turning strained. “... might I...?” 

Yesterday had been such a blur. You know what you agreed to, but you haven’t had time to properly process it. To think about the salacious details, or to let your anxiety grow. 

“Have breakfast?” You supply, voice a little faint. 

His smile relaxes. “Yeah. That.” 

“How do you want to-” 

He nods towards your bed. “You could lay down and I could go down on you again. Make it nice and relaxing for you?” 

You let out a long breath and nod. You’re glad he’s content to take things slow. You hadn’t let yourself consider the details yesterday, but sexually gratifying a stranger is intimidating. Especially when you have little choice in the matter. 

You shuck your pants off and climb back onto your bed. Take comfort in the texture of your blankets. The curve of your pillow.  

Veron kneels at the foot of your bed, and you close your eyes to block out his imposing figure.  

You expect weight. Too large hands wrangling your legs into position. Attention to your slit nearly immediately.  

Instead he huffs. His voice is gentle when he speaks; “Let’s clean you up first, yeah?” 

You hear the click of his fingers and feel a tingle against your skin. It only lasts a moment, but afterwards everything feels... lighter? Clearer? It’s hard to describe. 

You open your eyes and look down at yourself. It’s almost indistinguishable but... you’re clean. 

You sit up and stare. 

Veron chuckles. “First prestidigitation?” 

Arms out, you touch your skin. “Yeah.” 

“It won’t fix any itching or reactions you’ve had to being dirty. Nothing like a wash to do that. But it will remove surface dirt and sweat.” 

He nudges your shoulder. Claws circle your ankle. “Now lay down. Make yourself comfortable.” 

You do as he says and close your eyes again. It’s noticeably easier to relax. Even your sheets feel cleaner. You press your cheek against your pillow and exhale. Perhaps he’d cleaned your bed too. 

He doesn’t release your ankle, instead working his digits into the meat of your calf. Probing your muscles and rubbing soothingly over your sore spots. You realise he’s settling in to give you a massage, and can’t help but relax further. You definitely could do with one.  

He takes his time, turning your legs into jelly without even making it sexual, kneading your flesh and banishing the worst of the pain in your lower half. You're so relaxed by the time he makes it to your hips that you don’t even tense as he removes your underwear. Instead your legs loll open when he starts massaging your groin, firm touches lightening as he strokes your labia and your mons.  

He ignores your clit, taking a more sensual approach, thumbing your folds and encouraging blood-flow.  

Your arousal sneaks up on you, leaving you in ignorance until your clit begins to swell, and you become slick.  

“There you go,” Veron murmurs, almost coos at your pussy, before spreading it open.  

You flinch, only just noticing how badly you need to be touched. To feel some kind of pressure, some friction between your legs. 

Veron shushes you before leaning in to kiss your clit. A chaste string of pecks that quickly devolve into messy, sloppy kisses. He punctuates them with little sucks and brushes of his tongue.  

You can’t help but tremble and pant. It’s about all you can do in your relaxed state.  

He’s in no rush to get you off. If there’s any desperate hunger, it’s impeccably disguised. Everything about his touch is worshipful; reverent. If yesterday’s oral was entirely for him, then in comparison, today’s is entirely for you. 

You lose track of time, entirely focused on the heat between your thighs and way it makes your thoughts fuzzy. Until your orgasm, like your arousal, sneaks up on you, and you’re suddenly cresting a wave of pleasure you hadn’t noticed looming.  

Your knees clamp shut around Veron’s head and your hands fist in the sheets. You come louder than you think you’ve come in years.  

He doesn’t seem to mind, gripping you by the hips and repeating that little motion with his tongue – the one that has you arching off the bed – prolonging your orgasm for all it’s worth.  

Until finally you fall silent, body turning limp. 

Like yesterday, Veron doesn’t pull away immediately. He takes his time releasing you, going back to rubbing your legs, working his way down to your feet until you’re luxuriating in the high of endorphins.  

When he thinks you’ve basked enough, he drops your feet to the bed and gives your leg a pat. “How was that?” 

It’s a struggle to even speak. The best you can do is give him a weak thumbs up.  

He huffs a laugh and makes himself comfortable at the foot of your bed. You might be bothered by his insertion into your room and private space if it weren’t for how good he just made you feel.  

Minutes trickle by and you suspect Veron is waiting for something. Regardless, you take your time, grounding yourself again and waiting for the rush to dissipate. Until finally you speak into the silence. 

“I don’t remember the last time it felt that good.” 

His brow furrows, but he still pauses to consider his words. “It was a... nice size. A good long orgasm. Not what I’d consider spectacular.” 

You close your eyes. Yeah. You don’t want to look at him if you’re going to have this conversation.  

“It didn’t hurt. And you were... patient.” 

The silence is heavy.  

His words are careful when he breaks it. “Does it usually hurt? When you come?” 

You give a noncommittal shrug. “I just mean. It’s nice not to have a crick in my neck from staring at my phone, or a sore hand and wrist from taking too long. Coming is nice, but not usually worth the pain I experience trying to do so.” 

His hand rests on your ankle again. Soothing motions made with his thumb against your skin. His attempt at comfort.  

It’s... nice. 

“I’m sorry you deal with that. I’ll do what I can to make sure all your orgasms feel worth it.” 

You don’t know if it’s the sentiment or the seriousness of his tone, but suddenly there are tears trying to squeeze out from your eyelids. The world has ended, and somebody still has it in them to be mindful of your chronic pain.  

You smile up at the ceiling. “Thanks.” 

- 

It’s terrifying, leaving the safety of your room. 

Veron goes ahead of you, searching two of your neighbouring apartments. He’s thorough. You’d specifically instructed him to check under beds and tables, inside cupboards and wardrobes; basically anywhere a person could fathomably fit and hide (and turn into a zombie and climb out to surprise you). 

Once the apartments are deemed clear you follow behind, bringing boxes and bags. You do a brief survey of the spaces, jotting down on paper what kind of supplies are present. Your sense of relief grows with each opened door and cupboard. 

The kitchens are your first port of call. And though neither are abundantly stocked, both have clearly been untouched in the weeks since society collapsed.  

Vernon tactfully ignores the way your eyes begin to water as you work. He keeps out of the way, searching other rooms, mostly snooping. You appreciate his discretion. 

Most of the refrigerated foods are spoiled. There are a few sealed drinks that are salvageable, but it turns your stomach just opening the door long enough to fish them out. 

You raid the linen cupboard. You haven’t been able to change your sheets in so long, and the prospect on sleeping on clean (if a little dusty) sheets has you giddy. Sure, Veron might be able to magic them clean, but his energy is another resource that should be carefully rationed. Especially when he needs to feed on you to keep powered. 

But the true bounty of today is in the bathroom. You nearly start weeping again when you enter the room and spot multiple rolls of toilet paper. 

Veron interrupts this time. “You good?” 

You force your expression into something resembling neutrality (or just normal levels of relief and happiness instead of the teary-eyed mess you’re quickly becoming) before nodding at him. “Yeah.” 

“Good. I’m going to take some of this furniture to the hall. We should have enough to build a partial barricade.” 

You nod your agreement. “Can you check in later to escort me back? I don’t want to make trip alone. At least not while my hands are full.” 

His eyes flick to your already growing pile of supplies. “Sure.” 

It doesn’t take you long to assemble what you what to take back home. Food, water, toiletries, sheets. A book, some sturdy looking bags, some medications. Stationary, a screwdriver, some duct tape... Until there’s a pile by the door and you’re categorising everything else in the apartment. Thoughts ablur about your future plans. Because suddenly you have a future. 

And yeah, there are a bunch of survival things to think about. Habits you need to stop and adjust, to be sustainable long term. Waste management, long term food solutions, building on your water catchment system... But they’re good problems to have. Significantly better than starving in your house and dying in your bed.  

Left with nothing to do with your hands, you sit on the couch and wait for Veron to return. You’re just thinking of fetching more paper and starting a to do list when you hit a wall and your legs turn leaden. Standing to fetch a pen suddenly seems like a monumental effort. 

You’ve never been a font of endless energy, and you’ve been so hyper-fixated on the task at hand that you’ve forgotten to pace yourself, to stop and take your usual breaks. Besides, you’ve been cooped up for so long and you’re malnourished. You’re bound to have less stamina than you had before. 

It’s okay though. You’re just tired. A few minutes of sitting will fix you right up. You can get up and write that to do list later. There’s no point burning through all your energy before lunch. 

You loll your head back and let out a long breath. Yeah. You can afford a break.  

Pep talk successful, you sink further into the couch, content to rest a moment. You turn your thoughts towards that to do list, barely noticing when your sluggish processes turn light and cloudy, slipping out of grasp. 

Despite the unfamiliar setting, despite being slumped over a stranger’s couch- 

You drift off. 

-

Next

[sleepy-bear-tm]

Every time I think of Dimitri teaching Dedue the Fodlan language and Dedue teaching Dimitri the Duscur language I feel like sliding dramatically down a closed door

[acemakes-art143]

imagining tokomaru fluff animatic thingy in my mind to the song Sleeping In The Kitchen by Madilyn Mei because I'm normal about them

[itspileofgoodthings]

Darcy said “I’ve been struggling and suffering” and Lizzy said “I think we all—”

[xxgoldie]

having ocs and selfships and stuff is so funny when u aren't an artist. like yeah this is my blorbo from my brain. they have to stay locked up in my brain. they are shaking the bars of their cage but i don't have the key, sorry.