#all i do is my brain gives me a prompt and i render it. i don't feel emotions from that art

[shokveyv]

I'm surprised that people are still making fanworks for Ambrosia after all this time. I read it last year and many of the feelings in it stuck with me. And it's difficult to find people to discuss it with orz

@welzhentlan wtf why didnt i answer this

YEAH! I just reread it this past week since my 2016 painting “Freedom” and i can’t believe how much I’m still learning from it, eight years later!! I’ve drawn lots of fanart for it this past week, though I’m not sure how much i want to reveal of it versus what I’d like to show Cyndi alone. Unicron, little welder, tini Minibot Unicron… i became a black hole and pre-teen me didn’t listen and bad things happened as a result LOL. I’m starting to learn how to put emotion in my art but its.. super difficult. Afraid I won’t be able to dance with my art like starscream. I just do not feel that way about my own art. :(

[gumiluver]

Prompt 20 w geto? But the after math.. like yk, when reader keeps pushing his buttons after that 🤭 fem reader plsss

I’m feeling the vibes babe, let me give it a shot!! <3

prompt 20: “Behave. You don’t want to see the punishments I have in mind for you.”

lover <3: suguru geto x afab!reader

byr/byi: the content in this fic is not suitable for individuals under the age of 18–minors will be blocked (DNI), wc: 1.1K

cw: smut, nsfw, pwp, afab!reader, handcuffs, slight degradation, manhandling, dom/sub dynamics

an: first request for my series special!! if you haven’t put in a request yet, they are still open! check out the guidelines here for more info :)

border credit: @/cafekitsune, pic credit: cckaisen on pinterest

You really were testing his patience.

From the second the two of you woke up until this very moment—you had been egging Suguru on just to pull away at the very last second. The long glances, the shameless touches, the coy laugh you throw at him when he lets out a frustrated groan, a visible tent starting to form through his sweats. It was all adding up on him where he could, quite literally, feel his rationality start to slowly slip through his fingers.

He doesn’t hide it either—in fact, he wants you to see what you’re doing to him. A part of him honestly hopes that when you see the dark stain of his precum fade into his sweats that you’ll finally break and bend to his will.

But of course you had…different plans, to say the least.

At first it was fun, getting pampered and dotted on by such a pretty little thing like you, his loving sweetheart. Feeling your nimble fingers play with his hair, his chest, his cock—of course it was going to drive him towards the point of breaking. Hell, a single touch from you at this point would probably get him to cum in his pants prematurely.

You knew what you were doing to him too—taunting the big beast with a supple treat, but right when he goes in for the kill you spring up, giving a lame excuse like shoko or gojo texting you about an emergency, and all he can do is watch as you flaunt your pretty ass to the other room with a small giggle and mischievous glance.

Such a tease.

Sure—he’s a patient man, but what you’re doing to him was just downright cruel. He can’t help but wonder how much longer you’ll play with your food, feeling his own composure slip every second you even look at him. And fuck—is that a new perfume you’re wearing today? It’s making his mind turn into mush; you’re making him turn into mush.

And yet again here you are, sittin’ pretty on your Sugu’s lap, straddling his toned waist as he rested his hands on your hips, gently rocking you to and fro—aching for more of your touch, for more of you.

“Fuck baby, need to fuck you,” he grunts, brows furrowed and veins bulging from his arms. He grits through his teeth, trying his best to restrain himself and his perverted desires of punishing you. Call him vindictive, but he’s just aching to give you a little taste of your own medicine—for his pleasure, of course. He smirks wickedly, a sinister thought coming to his mind as he quickly switches the position the two of you are in—figuratively and literally.

You yelp at his actions, the sudden change in demeanor making you feel as if you had whiplash. You feel Suguru press his clothed groin harder and faster against your pussy, as if he were trying to fuck you through his clothes. Times like these made him wish he had his friends six eyes ability, wanting to forever imprint the entirety of your pleasure filled body into his brain and see your energy build, and build, and build until you can’t do anything but release it—lost in your own desires.

You figured he’d caught on to your antics with the way he’s gripping your wrists tightly above your head, rendering you helpless to his mercy. Big doe eyes meet sharp primal ones, and like prey getting caught you feign innocence—playing with your food a bit more.

And he does not appreciate that one bit.

Suguru growls, diverting his gaze from your face by diving into the crook of your neck. He knows he’ll give in if he meets your gaze, ultimately a sucker for pleasing his pretty girl. Instead, he gives you gentle nips and licks that decorate your neck, and trails his lips to ghost over the shell of your ear, his daunting voice reverberating throughout your body “Behave. You don’t want to see the punishments I have in mind for you.”

And of course, you just had to tempt the beast—per usual.

“Shhh baby, I know,” he coos at you, soothing the skin on your soft ass. Red marks adorn your glowing cheeks after taking him so well, and suguru can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt when he sees you cringe.

But then again, he wasn’t quite sure if that was a cringe of pain or pleasure—considering he’s got you stuffed full of his cock as you lay pitifully on top of him, and fuck did it make all the teasing worth it.

“S-sugu, I ca-*hic*-can’t…n-no more,” you cry, taking in his sharp and deep thrusts with a whimper and cry. Your wrists are cuffed behind your back, helpless to your lovers ministrations. The hand that was soothing your red ass moves slowly to the small of your back to press you further into him and sink you deeper onto his cock. The groan he lets out is ravenous, and he snickers at your yelp when you take him to the hilt, remaining composed as he ignores your pleas for mercy.

You really didn’t think he’d react so strongly to some teasing as simple as this, but seeing your usually stoic boyfriend become so primal and unhinged was a sight so sacred that it made you yield to him.

You—his little firecracker—were finally under his demand, and he’d be damned if he let this opportunity slip from his fingers. He’ll make sure to take his time and draw out each and every one of those mind-numbing orgasms that Suguru and only Suguru can pull out of you, wanting to imprint this memory into your mind and show you just how mean your sugu baby can be.

“Oh yes you can, and you will,” he growls, giving you another sharp thrust that has you yelping and clenching your jaw. He smoothes the arch of your back, calming your poor, aching body—a sinful balance of dominance and praise that makes you willingly croon and comply.

His other hand surprises you by coming up towards the nape of your neck, grabbing a fistful of your hair, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. Your wince tells Suguru that your feigning innocence again, because what good girl would clench their pussy so tightly when they get their hair pulled like a common slut?

“You dug your grave, and now you’ll lie in it, pretty girl. Take your punishment nicely, or I promise it’ll be worse.”

an: if you are interested in submitting a request, make sure to check out the guidelines for requesting!! <3

As always, likes, comments, follows, reblogs, and any other form of interaction is greatly appreciated <3 #supportcreators

[moonlight-prose]

I love all of the prompts for your Sinful Soiree! It's so hard to choose one!

May I please request 💕 Steven Grant 💕 with the prompt: 🌹 "i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know." 🌹

I picked what I think would fluster him because i have the feminine urge to make that man ✨blush ✨

Thank you, love!

SUBTLE THINGS

a/n: when i say i meant to finish this within the first week of me doing the event. i had half of it written but steven's inspo vanished for some reason. honestly this fic is just porn very little plot. i tried to add some, but i don't know if i was entirely successful. given that it's steven being needy and a little bit greedy. i hope you enjoy it darling! (also yes that gif was entirely necessary. it shut off my brain seeing it so i had to use it).

summary: "steven wasn’t greedy by nature. but something about you flipped a switch in his mind, and suddenly he was a starved man, begging for a taste of whatever you had to offer."

word count: 1.8k+

pairing: steven grant x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, teasing, steven being hopelessly in love, fluff, oral (f receiving), cum eating, cumplay, masturbation, slight sub!steven vibes.

He was never subtle about the way he looked at you. Stealing glances as if he couldn’t get enough—addicted to the sight in front of him. Date night was a regular occurrence when it came to your relationship. A small routine to give yourselves something to look forward to.

If anything it gave you a chance to leave the flat for a change; most nights spent curled up on his couch in pajamas. You cherished moments like that, but you relished in times like this. Where you sat across from him done up as if it was the first time you were doing this, the sparks flying between you stronger than that night.

The same night he walked you to your place, only to come back an hour later per your request.

You smiled, sipping on the wine he picked and delighting in the fruity tang of it. Wishing more than anything that you were tasting it off his tongue. He watched your throat as you swallowed, his tongue peeking out to swipe against his lips as his fingers drummed on the table. He seemed antsy, ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

Steven was first nervous when you were together, wanting to please you however you wanted. But then things shifted. He gained confidence in how he could render you speechless with just his touch alone. How you lost your breath with a single look in your direction. Except there were still moments when you were able to bring back that stuttering man you fell in love with—watching his eyes dilate, chest heaving with anticipation.

“Dinner was delicious,” you said, pushing away the now empty plate of food.

He nodded, his lips pulling up into that precious grin. “I found this place in a guidebook. A bit old fashioned if I do say so myself.”

“Old fashioned is good though.”

His smile grew, mouth opening to continue telling you the details of the guidebook in particular, but your foot running up the length of his leg caused him to freeze. You could practically see the words die on his tongue as his eyes widened, his breath stuttering in his chest. There were only a handful of times where you acted this brazen out in public—this needy for his attention. His affection.

Steven could replay them in his mind with ease—each moment burned into his brain.

“Love…”

“I have a little detail of my own,” you stated as if you were about to tell him the most mundane fact known to man.

“Yeah?” he asked, breathless to the way you ran your finger along your bottom lip, cleaning up the smudged lipstick that was there. He found himself wanting to lick it off your mouth.

You nodded with a sly smile. “I’m not wearing any underwear.” He choked on this spit and you watched in glee. His chest heaving as he coughed—cheeks flushing a dark red. “Thought you’d like to know.”

“You’re…” His eyes dropped to the part of the table that covered your lap and you could practically see the gears in his head moving.

Steven thought for a second his heart would burst out of his chest. The knowledge that you were sitting there, bare for him to touch, to taste. He was a reserved man. Believing that you deserved the utmost respect when it came to where you two made love. But there were nights when he felt himself slip—desire overcoming any sort of sense that might have been running through his brain.

Before he could get a coherent string of words together, you stood from the table. The words bathroom and be right back being uttered. Except he wasn’t paying attention, eyes focusing on the slight sway of your hips when you walked. His thoughts immediately fell to what you looked like beneath your dress. Were you wet for him? Were you dripping down the inside of your thighs?

He was standing abruptly and following you before he could get a hold on himself.

Thankfully he was always one to be prepared. Paying for the bill before either of you finished your meals, because he knew you weren’t one to have dessert at the restaurant. Too invested in the thought of finally getting home where Steven spent the better part of the night between your thighs. He could practically taste you on his tongue, see your head tilted back in bliss as your thighs shook around his head.

His fist was rapping against the wooden door of the women’s bathroom in mere minutes. Waiting for you to open it for him.

“Took you long enough,” you practically purred, tugging him in by the lapels on his blazer.

He was pushed against the door, your lips sliding against his in a way that had his body going lax, a whine building up in his throat. In a quick haphazard move, he managed to lock the door before grasping for your hips—walking you back until your waist met the sink. His tongue licked into your mouth, your wet needy moan muffled as he took and took and took.

Steven wasn’t greedy by nature. But something about you flipped a switch in his mind, and suddenly he was a starved man, begging for a taste of whatever you had to offer. He pushed the skirt of your dress up, his chest heaving as he took in air like he’d never get it again. And there it was. The truth of your little detail all shiny with your slick—your inner thighs practically coated as well.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, eyes snapping up to see your lips spread into a smile, your hand grasping onto his wrist to tug him closer.

He groaned when his fingers slid along your cunt, the warmth of you practically seeping into his palm. There was no doubt now that Steven wouldn’t wait until the two of you got home. Not when you were willing and ready for him to take you now. Finding your clit with ease he grinned when your high pitched moan echoed off the walls of the bathroom. You canted your hips against him with a fervor he shared, your lips parting with small gasps of air.

“S-Steven,” you begged, teeth coming out to dig into your bottom lip.

“I’m here.” He wanted to devour you. To drink down the taste of you as if you were the best fucking dessert in this restaurant, because to Steven…you were.

“I need—f-fuck—need you baby.”

He nodded and before you could stop him, he was falling to his knees and spreading your legs wide enough for him to fit. With a dazed look in his eyes, he watched his fingers spread your slick up to your clit—his cock twitching painfully in his pants. What he wouldn’t give to spend hours right here, but you had a limited amount of time and he wanted to get you home.

Licking a broad stripe up to your clit, Steven felt the control snap inside of his body. Your hand slapped against your mouth effectively muffling your cry as he sucked your clit into his mouth. Two fingers dipping into you and curling as if on instinct. For him this was exactly that. He knew where to touch, what to do to bring you right to the end and back again.

He wanted to drive you to the edge and watch you fly off. The sight had become an addiction to him ever since the first time he saw it; now adamant on witnessing such beauty over and over again.

You dug your fingers into his curls, your hips rolling over his mouth and his eyes fluttered shut. A soft moan reverberating against your cunt as he licked at you, fingers pumping in and out at a rapid pace. He was drunk, desperate to have you entirely spread on his tongue. Until you couldn’t take it anymore. Sucking your lips into his mouth, he let them go with a pop, a wide grin spreading across his lips when your whole body jerked—a cry echoing behind your hand.

“Taste so good,” he mumbled, curving his fingers even more—watching in awe as your thighs trembled.

Words evaded you at that point. Your mind, a mess of nothing but Steven and the building pressure in your torso. He dove back in, doubling down on his efforts to have you cum into his mouth—your taste, something he wanted permanently stuck on his taste buds.

It’s when you began to rock your hips along his tongue with reckless abandon, moving him how you wanted, is when he felt it. The painful throbbing in his pants. Unbuckling his belt with one hand he managed to wrap his hand around his cock—alleviating some of the pressure. It wasn’t enough, but Steven didn’t care. His sole focus wasn’t on getting himself off tonight. No, he wanted to watch you crumble.

To scream his name so the whole restaurant heard you.

“Steven—” you gasped sharply, head falling back. “I’m gonna—oh fuck—”

He dragged his teeth lightly along your clit, pressing down on your g-spot and you shattered. Sobbing his name as your fingers tightened on his curls—pain blooming in his scalp and shoving him right over the edge with you. He grunted, hips thrusting into his hand as he spilled over his palm. A bright heat flooded his body, your slick now gushing into his awaiting mouth, and Steven felt like he’d ascended into pure bliss.

There was no bringing him down from this cloud, no saving him from you consuming him whole.

“Ah fuck love,” he grunted, biting into your thigh as he pumped his hand to reach that delicious point of overstimulation you usually brought him to.

“Did you…” Your face was fucked out, eyes hazy and blissed out, but still you watched as he continued to touch himself in front of you.

Something about the sight of Steven on his knees, so desperate to have you he couldn’t wait, shifting your entire mind. You bit your lip, tilting his head back as he gasped in pleasure—his cheeks red and flushed. It happened before you understood entirely what you were doing.

“Look at you baby,” you cooed, spreading your legs a bit more to show him the mess he made of you. “Open wide,” you breathed.

He followed your words without hesitation, his mouth parting. Sliding your fingers through your cum, you pressed your now shiny digits into his mouth, moaning when he sucked them clean. His whole body responded to you as it always did.

“Take me home Steven.” You wanted him inside you—aching to have him fill your now dripping cunt.

Getting to his feet, he tucked himself back into his pants and gathered you close. Pressing a deep kiss to your lips, licking into your mouth and spreading your own taste along your tongue. That familiar heady feeling returned, flooding your entire body until you practically hummed. He wasn’t subtle in the way he touched you, how he made it clear how much he wanted you.

Yet that’s what made you love him even more.

[alexthefly]

Did I miss the relevant prompt earlier in the week? Maybe. Shhhh...

In honour of FishTank Week, and particularly the prompt 💛"We're a team, always"💚 please enjoy this reblog.

*******

Green Wool and Sunshine

What is that?!”

“What is what?” asked Virgil through a mouthful of cinnamon roll.

“That! That…thing you’re wearing!”

Gordon sat up slowly from the sofa, his face fixed in equal parts grin and grimace as he pointed with his good hand.

Virgil looked down at himself and surreptitiously brushed a few crumbs off his sweater. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked.

“Dude, it’s hideous,” said Gordon, eyeing the offending garment critically.

Virgil looked again. True, it wasn't in the best shape. Pale green wool, striped with white and yellow, and all of it faded and bobbled to within an inch of its life. One shoulder had a loose seam so that it looked almost as if the wool were melting. And at the centre of it all, the distinctive shape of Thunderbird Two rendered clumsily in darker green.

"Where did you get it?”

“Grandma made it for me one Christmas. You remember that vintage knitting machine Dad got her that one year?”

God, it had made a racket, like someone flicking a giant comb over and over again. Thank goodness she’d finally lost interest in that particular hobby, although in hindsight Virgil wondered if her subsequent rediscovery of her old cooking books might have been too high a price to pay.

“Anyway, I just found it the other day in the back of the closet.”

Gordon’s mouth twisted to one side. “...Any chance you could lose it back there again?”

A deep grumble. Okay, so she might not be the best at the domestic arts, but she was still their grandma and he loved that she tried. Virgil had actually thought the sweater was pretty good, in a homespun, one-sleeve-slightly-longer-than-the-other sort of way; his girl’s big, friendly turtle-face was unmistakable, and Grandma had even included a little dark-haired figure in blue and green waving out of one of her windows.

“Lay off. It’s comfortable. Anyway, I didn’t see you criticising when she made you that yellow submarine one you wore down to scraps.”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “First of all, I was a lot younger then and not so refined.”

Virgil snorted.

“Secondly, yellow is infinitely better than green. And thirdly, I can carry that sort of thing off. You…” - he wafted his hand up and down at his brother in the manner of a bitchy ballroom dancing judge - “...unfortunately, cannot.”

Virgil grunted and took another bite of his roll.

“Really? Mr ‘Hawaiian Shirts and Sandals Go With Everything’ is criticising my fashion choices?”

“They totally do go with everything! They’re a completely universal outfit; the quintessential capsule wardrobe.”

He puffed out his chest to show off today’s offering, complete with large ketchup stain down the front.

“Anyway, why are you even wearing a sweater when it’s 80 degrees outside? I know you tend towards layers, tropical climate be damned, but this is a bit much even for you.”

“I was down in the hangars,” Virgil shrugged. “It was cold.”

“You doing some maintenance?” His little brother’s face lit up.

“Two’s left air intake’s doing that rattling thing again; I thought I’d give her an overhaul,” he said, brain shifting seamlessly into engineer mode, “And her injectors need a spruce up. Thought perhaps I’d have a play with that new neo-PEM cell Brains has been going on about.”

“D’you want some help?”

The enthusiasm in his voice was unmistakable, and cut deep.

Virgil bit his lip. “Aww, I don’t think so, Fish. You need to rest.”

“I could rest down there? I promise, I’ll just sit and watch you."

The desperation in his brother’s puppy dog eyes felt like knives in Virgil’s chest.These last few weeks since the Marindata Ventfields had been hard on them all. Even now, with Gordy finally home from the hospital, Virgil still woke almost nightly with the sound of that emergency signal echoing in his ears, the silence of his brother’s comms stretching out in his mind until…

No, don’t think about that. He’s home. He’s safe.

But obviously Gordon had been hit the hardest. His ‘bird was a total loss, his body not much better, and he still had months of rehab ahead, bringing with it all the oh-so-unwelcome memories he’d worked so hard to bury. Regular visits from Penny had helped, and their sunshine boy was trying hard, but it was like the clouds had gathered, dimming that indefinable brightness that made him…him.

Virgil wished beyond wish that he could indulge his little brother if it would make him happy. But…

“I’m sorry Squid, Grandma’s orders. There’s just too many hazards down there. Fumes and stairs and things to trip over… I wouldn’t be able to watch out for you properly.”

Gordon sagged, and Virgil felt his heart clench painfully.

“But hey, how about I leave the maintenance and come sit up here with you instead? We could watch an episode of Buddy and Ellie?”

Anything to bring back the sun.

A shake of the head, eyes fixed downwards. “Nah, seen ‘em all.” Gordon looked up and smiled again; this time it didn’t reach his eyes. “Anyway, you don’t want to be stuck up here. Not when there’s oil and grime to play about in. Better watch you don’t get that sweater dirty though, or Grandma might knit you another one.”

Virgil opened his mouth to speak, but his little brother cut him off.

“Stop worrying Virg. S’no biggie. I’m fine, see?” He shrugged. “I’ll just see you when you’re done.”

He lay back down on the sofa carefully, looking so much smaller than he had a moment ago.

“Actually, I’m getting a little tired now. You just go do what you gotta do - I’m gonna take a nap right here.”

And with that he closed his eyes; conversation over.

Virgil lingered for a moment, scouring his brain for something to say but coming up blank. Inside his heart burned with guilt and impotence: his little brother was hurting, and he couldn’t do anything to fix it. All he’d done was make things worse.

Perhaps he should go.

“Okay then. Take it easy, alright?”

“Yup."

“There’s cinnamon rolls in the kitchen if you get hungry.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Thus dismissed, he turned and made his way towards the elevator, mind no longer on his ‘bird but instead on her grounded, miserable co-pilot.

Oh Gordy. It will get better; I promise.

………..

As the sound of the elevator faded away Gordon opened one eye a crack to check the coast was clear. Then he slowly, painfully hauled himself up, intent on getting to the residential levels. No doubt his big marshmallow of a brother would be on the comms right now, asking someone - probably Scott - to come down and check on him, and there was no way he was hanging around for that.

Even if his body hated him for moving.

The journey from the sofa to his room used to take less than two minutes. Today it took him seven minutes twenty. What was worse was that objectively he should be pleased. Sub-eight minutes was actually an improvement on a week ago.

Goddammit.

Finally, he was able to close the bedroom door behind him and collapse onto his bed, aching and miserable.

This sucked.

He was lucky to be alive; he knew that. A few weeks ago he’d been lying at the bottom of the ocean with half a volcano on top of him. Now, because of his brothers, Penny and Parker, he was back in the bosom of his family, healing, getting stronger, gradually shaving the seconds off his bedroom run.

He should be grateful. He’d been through far worse, for God’s sake.

So why?

Why wasn’t he able to shake this off?

Why was it that whenever he tried to see the positive, all he could see was just how freakin’ useless he was?

He didn’t dare say that out loud, of course. His family would absolutely kick his ass if they heard him say something like that. Penny too. (Boy, would she!) He could hear them now, telling him to give himself a chance, these things take time, blah blah blah… Hell, he even tried saying that stuff to himself sometimes, like he would if it were one of his brothers in this position instead of him.

If only any of it actually worked.

Because no matter how much he tried to reason his way out of this funk he was in, it didn’t help, because this feeling wasn’t logical. It couldn’t be reasoned with.

It whispered to him in the dark.

You’ve let them all down.

Look at the slack they’re having to pick up.

Look how much they’re worrying.

Worse.

They don’t need you back.

They’re fine without you.

Every time his brothers went off on a mission without him, it hurt. Whenever someone else took his place co-piloting for Virgil - even Penny, who was only doing it for his sake - he felt cold inside. And when Scott had been the one to take his new Thunderbird Four out for her maiden voyage? The mission to recover the Zero X capsule, no less; the thing that had kicked off Operation Bring Dad Home? Well, he’d just wanted to curl up right there on that sofa and never move again.

The unfairness.

The guilt.

The fear.

He would never wish what had happened on any of his family in a million years. But at the same time, why was it always him that got hurt?

Perhaps he really was just useless.

Sad, exhausted, hurting in more ways than he knew how to handle, he turned his face to the pillow and let the tears come.

…………

The thing about uber-strength pain meds is that they can make a guy fall asleep in the middle of the afternoon and not wake up until the early hours.

He registered the dim not-quite dark as the world slowly came back to him.

Someone had drawn the covers over him at some point during the night, tucking them around him like he was a child, and didn’t that just sum up everything? Take a nap, take your meds, and maybe if you’re a good boy you’ll get a lollipop(!)

He shifted slightly and his hip complained. Gingerly he rolled over, tackling the manoeuvre in sections, trying to get comfortable. He was just settling again when something caught his eye on the chair by his bed.

A large package wrapped neatly in yellow paper.

Twisting carefully he reached out with his good arm and pulled the chair towards him. In the soft glow of pre-dawn, he recognised the paper as the same kind he’d had for his last birthday: bright yellow with blue seahorses and glittery bubbles. Scott had complained about the glitter getting all over his shirt, and they’d all spent the next hour randomly shaking the paper over each other’s heads until they’d sparkled like they were in a Las Vegas show.

He smiled at the memory and gradually pulled himself up until he was sitting, blanket wrapped around him in the cool, almost-morning air.

Holding the package on his lap, he delicately pulled it open at the seams, revealing unmistakable green wool underneath.

What the-?

In with the sweater there was a card written in Virgil’s big, swooping hand:

Seeing as you’re the only one who could pull it off anyway, you should have this, at least until you can make it back aboard the real thing.

She isn’t the same without you. V.

He read the card two more times, breath hitching on the last sentence each time, then he gently unfurled the sweater out in front of him to take a closer look at the design, now that it was technically his.

It took a few moments for him to notice it.

Something was different.

He squinted.

There, in the window of Thunderbird Two’s cockpit, carefully embroidered next to the tiny waving figure of Virgil, a second, blond-haired figure waved out at him in shades of blue and yellow wool.

How...?

...Virgil.

For a moment, he swore he could see the little co-pilot grinning. Or was that just his suddenly-blurred vision playing tricks?

He wiped his eyes and, discarding his blanket, pulled the sweater over his head. He couldn’t get his bad arm through the sleeve, so instead opted to keep it against his chest, nestled between the soft wool and his own thrumming heart.

Despite the way it looked, Virg had been right: the sweater was comfortable. So comfortable. Softened by repeated washing, with a clean smell of detergent and just a hint of Virgil’s cologne - sandalwood and bergamot, mellow and comforting - wearing it was like wearing a hug; warm and reassuring and just so snuggly.

Full of love.

Wrapping his good arm around himself and breathing in the calming, cozy scent, he picked his way carefully over to the window and opened the blinds. Dawn was just beginning to break over the horizon, painting the sky a hundred different shades of pink and purple and orange. As he watched, the sun slowly poked its head out over the gentle waves of his beloved ocean, bathing him in the warmth of its early morning glow.

It was going to be a beautiful day.

[greypetrel]

Fanfic Writer Questions

Tagged by @melisusthewee, and at least another person. I'm sorry if I ignored the tag, I was away and it's a busy period, let me know ;_;

Tagging forward: @ndostairlyrium @shivunin @inquisimer and YOU who are reading and would like to do it!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 12, right now.

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 497,183 ... I'm chatty.

3. What fandoms do you write for? Dragon Age, and a crossover with LOTR/The Silmarillion.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Home Was Never on the Ground (long fic, concluded, it's anthological and mainly me filling blanks in DAI as inspiration stroke)

She of Many Names (ongoing, a LOTR/Dragon Age crossover. A follower on Instagram asked me if Aisling was Sauron, the idea made me laugh so much that my mind took fire.)

Saturday Prompts (a collection of prompts I posted here. I never uploaded every one of them, oops)

Death and All of Its Friends (ongoing, a DA2 collection)

The Night Before First Day (Two chapters, concluded. One it's in rhyme and illustrated. Aisling taught her daughter that the Dreadwolf is Santa out of spite. Solas tries to disapprove.)

5. Do you respond to comments? Yes, always!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I do love angst, but I don't like angsty endings all that much ahahahahah. I think the one that gets closer, in a bitter-sweet way, is One for the Road. Call me a sucker for rare-pairs, this was also prompted here and my brain took fire (LavellanxFenris)

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? The Night Before First Day. Listen I'm not a Christmas person, I turn into a seasonal depressed Grinch at Christmas, living in a catholic country doesn't help, and that is my way of giving myself some joy.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not that I know of.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Not any that I publish.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? Yes I do. She of Many Names is a Dragon Age and LOTR crossover. I love it dearly, I'm slow to update it because I have the greatest love for Tolkien (with all his flaws, but my brain rewired when I saw the first movie, and the book has been my entire personality for two years. I wouldn't be the same person without it) and I do care of rendering it as I want.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? ... Not that I know of? I hope not, ahahahah :"D

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? If you consider that English is not my first language, all my fics are translated? xD Other than that, no.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, but I'd love to.

14. What's your all time favorite ship? EowynxFaramir, hands down. Out of pure lenght. Maybe LeiaxHan Solo (my parents are both nerds, I think my mom made me watch Star Wars the first time... I don't remember, the vhs were always around in the house. I was very, very little.)(we don't talk about the sequel trilogy.)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I tried to write a third chapter for the aforementioned One for the Road... But it ends up in a love triangle and I don't like love triangles that aren't a poly relationship. So, it's sitting in my folder and I'll never finish it. I was considering ditching the second chapter and rewrite it as a "Aisling as a companion in DA2" fic... But MEH.

16. What are your writing strengths? I think dialogue. I am trained as a comic artist, which means that the writing parts that get polished are dialogue. I have much more experience with that. ... I am also terrible at judging my own work in a positive way, tho, so you tell me.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? English not being my first language and leading to mis-spellings. Other than that... I started writing fanfiction after YEARS of not writing anything in prose that wasn't screenplays for comics (which follows different rules). Since I stopped because of being hurt by it, I went on to it by not planning stuff.

I'm rusty with prose, and my retelling -the first thing I tackled- clearly had little planning ahead.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? It's a no, for me, unless you specifically wants your audience not to understand what's being said and create a sense of isolation and of not knowing what's going on. A sentence here and there with a translation is fine. But if it's something long... You want the reader to understand well. Italicized text it is.

19. First fandom you wrote for? I wouldn't call it a fandom, but: Greek Mythology. I drew a parody comic of the Iliad in my first high school year, alongside friends. It had been so fun. I also wrote, still in high school, something heavily inspired by Eragon, which only my friends had the pleasure of reading. (I'm only saying it involved my now most hated trope: THE SECRET TWIN.)

20. Favorite fic you've written? The next one.

I'm very invested in Ashes and Sparks, aka the Dreadwolf AU. I'm putting ideas in it and going fully canon divergent and writing it as I would like Inquisition to have gone. No Corypheus, more crazy tevinters, and the focus ON FUCKING TIME TRAVEL.

In a modern setting because yes.

It's also tackling something I absolutely hate in fiction when it's done wrongly, which is time travel, and I'm sweating and hoping I'll do it with logic. It's something niche and not so focused on a single ship, so probably it'll interest only me, but I'm happily writing and trying to contain myself from posting chapters of more than 10k.

Blank Form Under the Cut

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments?

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

16. What are your writing strengths?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

20. Favorite fic you've written?

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #2: Drumming Song

Prompt: bark || Master Post || On AO3

--

“I think I’ve found it,” Synnove muttered to herself, examining a rhombic dodecahedral honeycomb made of tiny, glittering aetheric equations repeated over and over in a perfect tessellation, floating amongst a ribbon of other geometries.

Her new carbuncle, Tyr, was a lovely, sweet boy, gentle despite his enormous size, but he was…quiet. Unnaturally so: he made no physical sounds like the purring or chittering common of carbuncles, nor did he communicate via the aetheric harmonic that Galette uses with her. The lack of it has clearly frustrated the lad, and so Synnove had spent this first sennight of possessing a new summon on unspooling his physical form into a single line of code to examine each and every fragment of his full manifested array. The written array was perfect, so clearly something had gone pear-shaped during summoning.

And now, finally, she’d found it. This equation tessellating into the honeycomb, at a glance, seemed to be related to sound; Synnove jotted down the full equation in her notebook, as well as a sketch of a flat rendering of the shape it formed, to better study it later. Her current theory was that the sheer density of aether contained in Tyr’s topaz had caused some sort of interference and so far, the evidence supported it. That this was the only hiccup was a pleasant surprise.

For all that he couldn’t communicate in a traditional manner at the moment, Tyr was still aware and able to make himself known: the ribbon of his unspooled-self did an excited little shimmy. Synnove grinned as she began to pluck the honeycomb apart, pinching a dodecahedron here, smudging one with her thumb there.

As she worked, something rhythmic began to niggle at the back of her mind, thumpthumpthump, like someone rattling a door, growing steadily louder as the honeycomb. Her grin widened. “Patience, Tyr,” she crooned, and despite her growing excitement, she kept to her own methodical pace.

Finally, as the penultimate dodecahedron melted away, leaving but one behind:

--ama! Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama!

“Hello, Tyr,” Synnove said, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. Tyr’s aetheric harmonic was the comforting thrum of gazelle-hide drums and tolling brass bells. “It’s nice to finally meet you!”

MAMA! MAMA MAMA MAMA HI HI HI!

Synnove shoved her chair back, and the long, glittering ribbon of golden light abruptly rolled itself up with an audible snap! As the roll completed, Tyr burst back into full materiality, and he landed with a wood-creaking THUD. For such an enormous carbuncle, he was fast, and in the blink of an eye he had rushed forward to shove his head into her stomach, his tails lashing as he tried to crawl into her lap, and chattering at a high pitch.

She aggressively cuddled him back, leaning down to plant a smacking kiss between his ears, and laughed when the action elicited in an adorable tippity-tap from Tyr’s paws. “All right, my boyo,” she said, drawing away and cupping his head in her hands, “want to give me a nice big bork hello?”

Yeah! Tyr chattered. He backed up a few steps and sat down, so excited he was visibly vibrating. His chest expanded and he opened his mouth and—

[the agonistic colliding of tectonic plates and the melting of corruption into coal into diamond and the igneous iron at the heart of the star and the tintinnabulation of limestone water into stalagmites and stalactites and the ever-wait as fire becomes stone and the ancient humming at the root of a mountain and the patient rumbling as crystal becomes Self]

—Synnove’s  eyes snapped open and she wheezed for breath as she stared up into Tyr’s worried face.

Mama, did I do it right?

Synnove was not sure what he had just done. Her scientific brain was furious about that. Her common sense brain told her scientific brain to shut the fuck up and reminded it that sometimes stupid mortals Did Not Need To Know Things. Synnove listened to common sense brain, and promptly let her memory go fuzzy and grey.

Instead, she reached up and patted his cheek. “Think so,” she croaked. “We’ll work on volume. And tone.”

Tyr promptly dropped down onto her in a full-body sprawl—she wheezed again—and began to purr. It was deep, almost soundlessly so, but it sunk down into her bones and caused every muscle in her body to relax and woah. All right, yes, that. That was good. And amazing.

Synnove wrapped her arms around her carbuncle, and decided this was probably as good a time as any for a nap.

PREVIOUS || NEXT

[finniestoncrane]

HELLOO :) I hope you don’t mind me asking, but if you’re feeling like it, do you think you could do prompt number 4 with Arkham riddler? Thank you for considering ^^ (this is my first ask I’m so sorry, I’m not sure how to rly do it lmdao)

Amenable

Arkham!Riddler x GN!Reader, word count: 500 hey lil beastie! this was a perfect ask, do not apologise! 💚🔧 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: hostage/kidnapping theme

Adrenaline? Fear? Almost immediate Stockholm Syndrome? It was impossible to tell what the cause was, all you knew was that your reaction to being kidnapped was not normal, or even appropriate. But as he stood over you, looking down with cool, almost grey eyes, unblinking as they scrutinised your silently moving lips, you felt any lingering ability to speak dissipate.

He bent down, so close to you that you could pick up the faint smell of sweat and dust, something mechanical below it. It was how you imagined the Riddler might smell. In fact, everything about it was exactly how you thought it might be. Of course, a constant fear in Gotham. Being held hostage in one of the Riddler’s ridiculous traps was almost par for the course. And then he was walking away again, and you found yourself straining in the seat to follow him.

What you hadn’t expected, however, was to be so stricken with almost reverence. You watched him in awe, striding around in front of you with purpose as he put together the final pieces in the puzzle that you were to be a piece of. Listening intently to the words he spoke as he lectured you on his own self-importance, words not quite piercing through the thick cloud of almost pathetic lust as your brain was rendered stupefied by the surprising charm he held.

With a sharp snap of his neck, he turned to you. You felt your heart skip an important beat, chest hitching as you caught your breath. You moved your lips again, still unable to form anything beyond a choked squeak.

“I asked you a question.”

And you wanted to answer, desperately. You wanted to please him, to do as you were told. Almost like you felt in competition with any other hostages, past or future. You wanted to be the best behaved, to give him something to remember you by. But nothing came out.

Making it worse, he placed one hand on your shoulder, the other on your cheek, looking into your eyes and nodding his head with feigned concern, the patronising and mocking tone of his voice choking you.

“Come on, you can’t be that stupid. Use your words.”

“I… yes… it’s an… h-honour to be ch-chosen…”

Edward smiled a cruel, thin grin, his face contorting into a grimace as he leaned in even closer. His nose was pressed to yours, and you could smell the faint scent of stale coffee on his breath.

“Very good! I was worried you might be a complete disappointment to me.”

You felt your stomach flip, and you tried to hide the giddy smile, the slight blush. He’d seen it though, and made note. Usually, his hostages weren’t this amenable to their situation. It might be worth his time to see what else he could get out of you. It might be nice to treat himself. If Batman saved you, he could have you. But if he couldn’t, then perhaps you’d be Eddie’s for a while.

[oonajaeadira]

WINKTOBER DAY 12: Exhibitionism (Dieter Bravo)

You’re about to get three Dieter prompts in the space of five days. Here’s the first. Is it okay to say that I believe they all take place sometime after the (yet to come) conclusion of I’ll Never Fall In Love Again? Is that spoilery? Shouldn’t be if you know me at all...

And yet, it doesn’t have to be related to that fic at all. Dieter’s a fkn tornado in whatever universe he’s in....

“Hedy Lamarr and science, Gena Davis and archery, Paul Newman and racing, and now Dieter Bravo and painting,” you’d encouraged, “just because they were famous actors doesn’t mean they didn’t find acclaim in other pursuits.”

Six months after that little pillow peptalk, you find yourself flushed with pride as you stand in LAXART crowded with art show opening attendees as varied as yourself in your black cocktail dress and Dieter himself in his snuggle bear coat and hideous $400 Zubaz.

But beyond the patrons, his massive paintings haunt the walls, surreal studies of Arri Alexa cameras eating crew members or a swirling pot of Oscars melting and being molded into dildos, whatever your husband has seen in his dreams and flashbacks, working through his rehab with oils and charcoals, messying his hands instead of his brain.

You’ve been getting stopped by guests since you arrived and it’s only now that you’re able to wander into a side gallery where a group of people stand crowded around one painting in particular...it draws you in; someone sees you and moves aside, and then another, causing a wave and then a full parting of the sea to give you a quiet path on which to approach.

The painting is...you…in backlit realism, your naked form leaning against the frame of your bedroom window and looking out at the sunrise over the hills, every fleshy curve, dip, imperfection, fold, and dimple on display for the world to see…which might have rattled you except…except it’s so…you’re rendered so…reverently, so sensually… stunning…it’s breathtaking...holy shit, is that really you?

“Hope you’re not pissed, I probably should’ve asked,” he materializes at your back, whispering a kiss into your ear, “but I wanted it to be a surprise, to thank you for pushing me to do this and I wanted you to be awed like I am every fucking morning just to wake up and have this beautiful piece of ass as my muse.”

—

WINKTOBER 2022 MASTERLIST

[pomrania]

Draw Everything June (henceforth DEJ) is coming up, so here's what you need to know about it.

For the month of June, AdorkaStock will be releasing a new pose reference photo each weekday morning; there's a whole event, it's fun and you should look into it if you draw, or you're thinking about drawing, or heck if you write and you're interested in some non-traditional prompts.

Here's how I do DEJ. When I get online for days when there's a new pose, I make a quick doodle of that, then I post "hey here's what the DEJ pose is for today, does anyone have a queer D&D (or other gaming system) character that would fit this pose?" Then I work on neatening up that sketch from reference, getting increasingly obnoxious (because I'm increasing desperate) about asking for a character. Once someone gives me their character to draw in that pose, I ask them about what their character looks like, and work on drawing THAT character in the given pose. I need to know what Pride flag/s apply to the character, because I colour it in using that colour scheme; so, a lesbian character would be rendered in shades of pink and orange, for example. I need to get a piece done before the next pose comes out, and generally that means I need to get it started and finished on the same day, but if a pose releases on Friday then I can work on it over the weekend.

I can't do this without you. Literally, I can't, my brain won't let me; also I don't have any characters of my own to draw. And there's a REALLY long rant I have inside me about this, but it boils down to "just trust me when I say that a) I can only do this a certain way, b) I want to do this, and c) it's not an imposition if I specifically ask for you to make requests".

I like it when multiple different people go "hey my character would work well for this pose", because then I have the option of choice; and if I don't pick your character for THAT pose, then it's going on a list so that character WILL get draw, even if it ends up being in July.

Below the cut I'm putting some more clarification about what characters I'll draw; this hasn't changed from previous years, but if you find yourself thinking "oh they wouldn't draw MY character", please check this to make sure.

Will draw:

a character I drew for a previous year's DEJ

an NPC from your game (if you're the GM)

your queer D&D character

your queer character from a non-D&D TTRPG

your queer character from a weird indie one-shot you'd played once

multiple characters from the same person

your friend's queer TTRPG character, if you can sufficiently describe the character

a character with or without visual reference, and whether you clearly know what they look like or where you just have vague vibes of their appearance or anything in between

a character you're currently playing

a character you're no longer playing

a character you've already made up, but haven't yet gotten the chance to play

a character who has or hasn't had artwork done of them

a character who doesn't have a specific queer identity (the rainbow flag is very useful)

Won't draw:

a character I've already drawn in DEJ 2024, unless that character experienced a massive redesign

a character from an actual-play stream or podcast, because that counts as fanart and not "drawing your character"; UNLESS you're the person who plays that character

a character who isn't queer

your BG3 character, or your character from any other video game, because that's not a TTRPG no matter what its system is based on

a character who exclusively wears all black that covers most of their body (but I can work with you to come up with another outfit for them)

"oh just use my character for whatever pose you need"

your non-game RP character

[totallynotandie]

Writing Prompt #1

Characters reaction to being kidnapped.

I wrote this like, two years ago and was going to post it when I finished it’s sister piece (my ocs reaction to being kidnapped) it was supposed to represent a proxy who has dealt with the operator for years and is comfortable enough to know what is and what isn’t it’s influence and my oc was supposed to represent someone newer to all of this, not yet realizing the thoughts they can’t control aren’t their own.

Let me know if you want to see that sister piece! I need motivation lol

Anyway! Enjoy reading

————————————————————————

Brain woke up with a headache worse than it usually was, trying his best to figure out what the fuck exactly happened and why he was tied to a chair with a bag over his head. The last thing he remembered was that he was out on a simple mission, surveying the forest and getting rid of trespassers to appease the Operator. It had been a quiet night with the only interesting thing being the cabin he found. He previously remembered it to have been abandoned, however there was clearly light coming from inside. He didn’t waste time giving thought to it, figuring it was too late for any camper to be awake. He’ll make this job quick so he can get back sooner.

The first step in and he didn’t have time to react to the harsh hit to the back of the head, hard enough to make his vision blur but not enough to knock him out. The masked man whipped around to attack his attacker back only for the same pipe to hit him across the forehead. This time rendering him unconscious but catching a glimpse of a striped hoodie that he could almost remember. Of course the one time he doesn’t make a plan he gets the shit knocked out of him.

Lost in the dark with his pounding headache all that was left was to try and wiggle out of the ropes. Alone with his thoughts of how much of an idiot he is for actually being able to get caught like that, only to feel more like an idiot after struggling for 20 minutes and getting nowhere. At least he was alone and no one could see how stupid probably looked.

“You look like a fuckin’ idiot. Would you give up already?” The familiar voice causes him to freeze in his seat out of disbelief. Becoming very aware of the other breathing in the room. How was he breathing? Brian watched the tapes after everything- he watched Tim kill him. There was no way he could come back. Yet here both of them are. Two dead men sitting in the same room occupying the living world once again. Brian’s shock wears off after remembering his own untimely demise.

“Wow Alex.. you knew I always wanted a surprise party. Unfortunately..it ain’t my birthday yet’ “ Brian dryly chuckles at his poor attempt at humor, flinching at the sudden light hitting his eyes when the bag is ripped off. Alex’s angry face stares down at him, reminding Brian just how real all of this is.

“Shut the fuck up. You- you’re supposed to be dead!” His tone is stern but clearly Alex hasn’t accepted this as quickly as Brian. It's enough to keep the grin on Brian's face despite the fact he probably has a concussion. This’ll be interesting.

“I’m supposed to be dead? What about you?” He raised an eyebrow while tiling his head to the side to mock him. He squinted his eyes to try and make out any wounds on the others neck to no avail. There was nothing, like it never even happened. Just like Brian’s head.

“Stop fucking looking at me like that, asshole.” Alex stumbled out, running a hand through his hair while he paced in front of Brian. “I- I had your fucking body.” He crazily gestures with his hands, “And now you’re here? Are the rest of you alive too? How many times do I have to kill all of you??” His voice cracks into something broken, catching Brian off guard and causing him to refrain from calling Alex a creep for holding onto his body. Alex slumps against a wall, looking utterly defeated.

“...uh” Brain starts, not really sure how to comfort the guy who tried killing him for 6 years and currently has him tied up in a chair. “Maybe give up on the whole…killing us thing? Clearly it’s not working.” He continued to fidget with the knots around his wrist while Alex wasn’t paying attention. He had recognized the knot from rock climbing and now that he could see he could possibly undo it.

“Very funny.” Alex practically growls at him but he isn’t on the verge of tears anymore, instead he is fidgeting with a familiar looking gun. Of course even after dying he kept a cold hard clutch to the gun, Brian almost laughs but he doesn’t want to get shot at. He has plans with Tim that he doesn’t want to miss so he’ll have to try and survive this.

“I wasn’t joking. Do you really wanna waste the rest of your life re-killing all of us? You know IT can bring us all back whenever’. I don’t know how but- Hell! You’re a perfect example of that. Video proof of you bleedin’ out and not a single scar from it on ya.” Brain rambles on, holding in a sigh of relief when he feels the ropes around his wrist come undone. He holds onto the rope and keeps his hands behind his back. Waiting for a moment where he’ll be able to free the rest of himself and get away from his old friend.

“I forgot that you don’t know when to shut the fuck up.” Alex holds onto his head like it's going to split but he makes no other attempt to show that he's in pain. “When did you get so annoying anyway? It’s like you want me to kill you.” His voice shakes and Brian wonders if he can feel it yet too, the distaint buzz in the air. This will be over soon.

“You can avoid it all you want, Alex.” He takes the moment that Alex is vulnerable to sneak his pocket knife and start sawing at the rope around his ankles. “You can’t do anything to stop him..believe me, we all tried.” A clicking of a gun causes him to freeze while he was still looking down at his shoes, heart sinking into his chest while he started considering how this might all end.

“What did you get from ‘YOU TALK TO MUCH!’ It wasn’t a fuckin’ invatation, Bri.” He sat in his same spot only now he was aiming his gun at him. Casual from doing this so much, from killing them all before- everyone but him. Brian finished his job before he got the chance. Was that why he was so mad? Or was it the ever increasing headache that made him want to tear his own head off, one that was all to familiar. Brian slowly looked up at him to watch his face switch to realization and back to anger. “Did- DID YOU FUCKING SUMMON IT OR SOMETHING??”

As if on cue IT stood between the two of them but ITS attention was all on Alex, leaving Brian so he could think clearly enough to get out of the restraints. He grabs his stuff that Alex took off him, just his masks and gun that thankfully were easy to find with the chaos. Brian turns to leave the cabin, squinting a little due to most likely having a concussion. He was almost out and was content with leaving Alex alone in the woods. Alex’s screams wracked his brain until he was halfway out the door, he was alone with the static but he felt as if he could understand it.

A voice that he always mistook for his own internal dialogue told him what to do, like it was his own thought. But he knew that was ITS influence yet he couldn’t help but follow. Take him. The longer he stalls the louder he gets. He’s one of us. Even if Brian didn’t agree he couldn’t put up a fight, he was too tired to fight back anymore.

He left after throwing the unconscious Alex over his shoulder, avoiding ITS glaze while draping the mask over his head. His midnight plans were definitely ruined now.

[quirky-adorkable-nishy]

RobStar Week 2023: Synchronization

*If you haven't read my little fic for the prompt Missing I suggest checking that out first. I kinda planned these out with some continuity in mind.This also kinda follows a headcanon I have about Tamaranian powers. MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING: TORTURE!!! And also sorry in advance for the angst/feels. @robxstar

Synchronization

Starfire pulled her body against her restraints. No matter how much she strained, she could not break free. Still, she could not stop hoping that the dense metal would weaken.

The moment she had regained consciousness, her many stomachs had twisted. It wasn't just the dim memories of the intruders invading the tower and rendering them all unconscious that drove her to pull until she was certain the skin on her wrists and ankles were raw.

The moment she had first taken in her surroundings, she knew she was in grave danger. Many people in this star system and beyond had spoken in hushed whispers about the cruel Psions. The experiments they were rumored to perform, was enough to make the most battle hardened Tamaranian shudder.

So when she awoke and saw an array of strange devices, including the one locked around her neck like a collar, and the reptilian being looking at her with cruel fascination, she knew she was on a Psion ship.

"It really won't do you any good to struggle," the Psion said with no emotion. "Those restraints are made specifically to withstand Tamaranian strength."

"You will release me at once!" Starfire growled, voice dripping with defiance. If the Psion was intimidated, his expression didn't falter.

"I'm afraid I can't allow that. My client is just ad invested in the results of this experiment as I am." Before Starfire ask what he was talking about, the door just beyond her vision on the angled table opened with a soft hum.

Judging from the quality of his armor, a high ranking Citadel warrior stood before her. He looked at Starfire with a glimmer in his eyes that made her blood run cold.

"Greeting your highness. I am the High Commander D'rall. Though I get the sense you are less pleased to see me than I am to see you" he smirked. Stalking over to the table, he looked down at Starfire with a fierce hunger.

"I don't take too kindly to my prizes not being delivered," he growled, still smirking

"Commander, the device is ready for testing" the Psion said.

"Excellent. Before you begin perhaps we should tell her what glorious purpose the Troq shall serve." At the order, the Psion's neutral expression erupted into a malicious grin.

"I presume you are familiar with the Tamaranian phenomena known as the H'threkva. Starfire's heart slammed against her ribs. In English, H'threkva was known as "The Terrible Rage". When a Tamaranian lost control of their angertheir powers could temporarily increase ... but terrible things could happen.

Before she could fully process what this meant, the Psion continued.

"With the collar, the goal is to synchronize it to your nervous system. As it's synchronizing, we can trigger the part of your brain that controls anger, amplifying the power of your starbolts. The wrist restraints are remotely connected to a device at the front of this ship. When you inevitably release all that rage as starbolts, they will be redirected to that device. My hypothesis, is that we can use these amplified powers as a weapon."

"And what better way to test it than on Tamaran itself." With the press of a button a screen illuminated on the wall, revealing her home planet.

Starfire begged. She was not proud of it, but she pleaded with the two of them to reconsider. But their faces remained twisted and cruel

"I told you, I don't take well to my prizes escaping." The Commander nodded to the Psion....and it began.

Synchronization initiating.

A hot pain radiated from the back of her neck. It shot up and down her spine and she forced herself not to wince.

Do not focus on the pain. Do not give in.

If she gave in, everything was lost. Shutting her eyes, she forced herself to picture her friends. To picture Robin. He would find her. He was going to come for her. He always did. Everything would be all right as long as he was on his way.

Synchronization 10%.

Synchronization 30%

Synchronization 50%

Synchronization 75%

Every level of synchronization sent increasing waves of agony through Starfire's body. Fire blazed through her blood, her skull felt as if it would come undone, and her heart clenched with each beat it took. She didn't know when exactly she started screaming, but she couldn't stop.

She begged X'hal for relief, but her prayers went unanswered.

Then beyond the pain, there was a blackness creeping upon her Something told Starfire that within it's depths was the H'threvka.

It frightened her. Tamaranian's were so free with their emotions, and yet, this was a fury she wanted nothing more than to flee from. But the more she resisted against it, the more it pulled her in.

Maybe the pain bled into the anger they were trying to draw from her, or perhaps it was the other way around. But she had no control. This rage was not hers, and yet it was threatening to consume all that she was. Everything grew hotter and hotter by the minute, and the darkness drew her further down.

Do not give up. Think about Robin, think about Robin.

She anchored herself to memories of him. Their battles, flying with him, being near him, Tokyo. But even those precious memories were gradually falling into the black.

The door suddenly blasted open and through her swimming vision she caught a familiar blur.

Robin.

And then nothing but pain and darkness.

***

It had taken time, but they had made it. With Galfore's help, they managed to sneak around the scouting ships and board the ship hovering just beyond Tamaran's atmosphere. There were a few guards when they boarded, but they had been swiftly disarmed.

That was when they heard Starfire screaming.For a moment, all of them stood there, pale and frozen. Never had Robin heard her scream like that. He begged his legs to move, but they remained stubbornly numb and lifeless.

"Something's wrong," Raven said, clutching her temple with a wince. "Very wrong."

When the screaming continued and crescendoed into a never-ending wail, Robin ran wordlessly. Everything was blurry and tinged red.He was barely conscious if every step he took. But he didn't stop until he reached the door the screaming was coming from.

If you were to ask him the exact details of the fight later, he would not be able to recall. He knew his blows landed, but each punch and kick was robotic. Even when his foe fell, he kept fighting. It wasn't until Cyborg ripped his bo staff from his grip that Robin snapped to his senses.

"Robin! If we don't shut this thing down now, Starfire's heart is going to stop!" Cyborg yelled. Breathing heavily, Robin glanced down. The larger alien was battered, bruised yet conscious. The smaller one lay dazed somewhere in the distance, with BB standing warily over him.

Another scream jerked his attention towards the bound Starfire. Raven was beside her, trying desperately to use her powers to ease the pain or calm Starfire. But based on the sweat dripping from her brow, she wasn't succeeding.

Robin brought the face of the hulking alien close to his.

"Shut. It. Down" he hissed. The alien laughed.

"You can try. But it's fused to her nervous system. One wrong move...and you damage the Troq for good," he sputtered. Robin yelled and landed another strike, stunning his foe.

"Cyborg, you and me at the controls! Raven, keep it up!" he ordered. Cyborg cast him an uncertain glance, but Robin waved him off. He was in control of himself now. He had to be for her.

They sprinted to the computer, but the language on the screens might as well have been gibberish. Furiously,the two tried to hack the system, until a robotic voice chimed out:

Synchronization 100%

This time, there was no scream. Instead, there was a flash of green, and a loud metallic snap. Robin looked up and saw Raven back away from the now standing form of Starfire.

He should have been relieved. Under any other circumstances, he would have flung himself at her, held her against him until he was certain she was ok. But when her glowing green eyes snapped in his direction, he stopped.

Raven had been right. Something was very wrong.

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Smut and alphabets but not enough angst!!

I’m requesting a death claw with the prompt “You did this to me” with our favourite Detective Robot Nick Valentine? 💘

I’ve been reading all of your event works so far, and your writing still amazes me 😭

Poor Nick, omg 😩 No, but angst requests are good! They're tougher for me to write, so I'm glad when people ask for 'em! And this one is no exception, my goodness, the potential here had my brain going all over the place with the possibilities.

And ahh, thanks for reading! Sometimes I feel like these event prompts aren't my best work, since I move through them pretty quick, so it means a lot to hear you say that you're enjoying them! 🥰

And with that, I hope you like this one as well!

"Kid, I..." Nick was at a loss, his good hand reaching out to rest comfortingly onto Sole's shoulder, as his yellow eyes were met with the broken sight of his partner's adversary, their greatest enemy, and... and the only means to find their son, lying dead in a puddle of dark crimson.

"I'm sorry it happened this way." His hand made contact, and he felt the way his partner's shoulder shook below his gentle touch, the way their breath hardly seemed to leave them, only in shallow, muted gasps. "But there's still time. We know without a doubt where Shaun is now, and, well... If we're to believe our friend Kellogg here, it sounds like he's unharmed. If we can only--"

"We can't." Sole's voice was as stony and cold as the body that laid before them. "That was our only chance, our only way into the Institute, and now..."

They pulled away from Nick's touch as they shook their head, pushing past him quickly and moving towards the exit without a glance back. His glowing gaze fell to the grey floor, his hat low on his furrowed brows as a hollow feeling crept through his synthetic, steel bones.

That can't be true.

Nick set his jaw, and turned to follow Sole out- no, to stop them, to force the hope that still clung to him into their hands, to make them hold onto it as tightly as they had before today, as he still did now.

We're going to find him. Somehow. We have to.

His hand landed back upon their arm, and when they turned to face him, there were tears in their eyes.

I can't let them down. Not after everything they've been through to get here.

"That wasn't our only chance, Sole, I don't believe that for a second. We'll find a way, you'll see."

"How?" Their eyes and voice pleaded with the same desperation.

"There's more folks out there than just Kellogg. More synths who maybe know something, more Institute eggheads coming out to check up on the--"

"But he knew, Nick." His light touch over Sole's arm was rendered useless again as they pulled away. Pulled away from him like his fingers had bitten them. "Kellogg knew we were coming, he prepared for this. And he prepared to die to hold onto the Institute's secrets. You think others wouldn't do the same? You think they wouldn't kill us, or vanish like everyone from that horrible organization seems to?"

He nodded grimly to his partner. They were all good points, but there was something Sole wasn't taking into account.

No matter how resilient, how resourceful the Institute's people were, their synths were, well... he was one of them, wasn't he?

And I'm resilient too, dammit. I won't give up now. It's more than a case, it's personal. And I can't fail them. Not again.

"I can't promise that the folks from the Institute will cooperate with us, Sole, but I can promise you that I'll do everything in my power to help you find your boy again." He stepped closer to them, even as their still-glistening eyes narrowed. "Look, I know this time didn't quite pan out, but it's not the end of it. We're closer than anyone's ever been to finding the Institute now, all we gotta do is buckle down, use what we know, an' with a little bit of elbow grease, a little bit of hope, I believe we'll be the ones to crack this. I believe you'll see Shaun again."

"We can't just hope, Nick. We need more than that. We can't dream and believe that I'll find Shaun, that he'll be unharmed, unaltered by these people." Their eyes were distant as they said the words, as a despondent expression made a home upon their face.

He opened his mouth to refute it, to try and drive his, maybe foolhardy, optimism into them, but their eyes snapped to meet his and they spoke before he got a chance.

"You did this to me." Their voice was raw, accusing. It cut through him like raking steel fingernails. "You made me believe that I could find him, that this was the way, that Kellogg was the answer, that I could have at least a part of my family again, that I could trust a synth to help me when it's synths like you that are the fucking problem."

"Sole--" He stepped back, as though their speech had shoved him away like a set of cruel hands.

"Whether you want to be or not, Nick, you're still one of them. And... And if you are, I can't go on trusting you. I can't put faith or hope or anything in you. Not if it's just gonna end up like this. Because this?" Their hand gestured back to the body behind him, to the mangled 2nd gen synths still smoking and sizzling on the floor. "This hoping and working through my pain, going for days on end without resting or eating or anything, and thinking that there'll be the payoff of finding the only family I have left? If I have to go through that... If he's not there at the end of it... I can't do it again, Nick. I'm sorry. I'm--"

They kept backing away from him, a fear in their eyes that he should've been used to by now, if only it hadn't been his Sole showing it.

"I've gotta go. I've gotta try and fix this. Try and find him. And... I've got to do it without you."

Nick's hand reached out as they turned and fled from him, their harsh footsteps echoing down the hall as they vanished in the smoke and dust still encasing the battle-torn room.

His voice was caught in his throat, his feet locked in place as he watched his client, his friend, his partner fade into the bleakness of the room. Without him by their side.

Maybe they were right. Maybe he didn't even know it, but maybe he had jeopardized their mission from the start. Maybe they were better off without him.

Nick didn't know. But he knew what he'd told them, what he'd promised, was true. He'd do anything to help them find their son. Even if he couldn't be by their side.

He breathed out slowly, the sigh that left him a remnant of the old Nick's personality. That, and the way his good hand came up to rub at his face harshly, brushing his hat back on his head before his fingers came down and pressed hard to the bridge of his nose.

A moment of stillness passed. The only sound that of the elevator that was bringing his partner back up to the surface without him. Nick turned his head as the sound faded away, casting one last glance at the dead man who'd torn Sole's seemingly ceaseless hope to shreds and left them hollow and mistrusting. His glance easily turned to a glare at the sight of that man, who'd so easily ruined his friend's life more than it already had been after the end of the world they knew.

What the hell gave him the right?

Nick walked up to the body slowly, steeling his emotions and assuming the air of the professional detective again, shedding the true guise of being Sole's friend, their partner, as he prepared to find the evidence necessary to solve this case. Even if he had to do it alone.

[masterwords]

cold hands

This is nothing. I have been struggling lately with stories that are too big for my brainpower, so here is a little thing I used to try and jumpstart some brain activity. I'm not sure it worked.

1.5k words of Hotch & Reid in the hospital room after Route 66. Face shaving, very sedated Hotch, kissing, cute. Written quick and dirty, using the prompt: Tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin. This fits into my 50 Types of Kisses theme.

**

The little pink basin in her hand gave Spencer an idea. “Excuse me, nurse?” he asked, wringing his hands a little nervously. “Is..were you...Aaron Hotchner...” He was stammering, something about the situation had seemed to simple up until the moment it came to actually pushing the words out. Saw her with the basin and the disposable shaving kit, it had sparked an idea, and it seemed so simple. But asking...staring her right in the face and asking...well now it seemed silly to him. Intrusive in a way Hotch would never have condoned. “Nevermind.”

She smiled at him. “Mister Hotchner indicated that he prefers to shave daily,” she said matter-of-factly, taking another step toward his room. She was an older woman, had probably been haunting the ICU as long as Spencer had been alive, her features were full of light but her eyes told a darker story. She'd seen terrible things, things that had irrevocably damaged her soul. Spencer could relate. “We got around to visiting last night while I was making my rounds. He's peculiar.” Her eyes went distant for a moment, and then she smiled. It was soft and sweet, a little too wise for his taste this early in the morning. Wordlessly she was painting a picture he didn't want to look at. “I thought I'd let him get up out of that bed this morning, give him a few minutes in the bathroom to feel like he's got his ducks in a row but that's a no go. Sometimes I get a little carried away with hope, but don't you worry, maybe tomorrow. So I got to thinking,” she paused, her smile widening. “Well, he's got the quakes something fierce and I have a few minutes free. I figured I could be of service.”

“Oh,” he replied quietly. She'd rambled her way around his head and rendered him speechless. “Yeah. I was just...”

It felt like time travel, the moment his face flushed hot and the words slipped from his lips to now, standing beside Hotch's bed with the basin and kit in his own hands, no nurse in sight. She had time, but so did he. He had all day, and this was the only place he planned to be. Even in the dim morning light he could see Hotch's hands shaking where they lay against his thighs. Spencer sat on the edge of the bed, glad for the basin to keep his hands occupied, weighed down. He kept enough distance not to disturb Hotch's sleep, but unwilling to move to the more sensible chair. He'd watched him fall, smack his head into the floor, nearly die and then found himself on a plane headed the opposite direction. Hotch needed him close and he flew away. He was going to close that distance again as quickly as he could.

Blinking slowly, black lashes fluttering against too pale skin, Hotch woke. Spencer couldn't help smiling when he saw the first glimpse of his honey gold eyes, unfocused and tired but there. “Spencer?”

“The one and only,” was his quiet reply. He tried to sound sure of himself, tried to sound like he hadn't stayed awake all night waiting for visiting hours so he could be here. He thought perhaps Hotch was just out of it enough not to notice. “How do you feel?” His voice raised an octave at the end there and he cleared his throat, tried to play it off. A faint smile ticked up at the side of Hotch's mouth.

“Great,” he whispered. “Never better.” His eyes flickered, dragging slowly from Spencer's uneasy smile to his hands, the pink basin, then back to his eyes. Trying to read him but coming up murky and wrung out. He didn't say a word.

Hotch didn't protest when Spencer offered to help him shave. He knew enough of Hotch's tricks to get what he wanted. First, he'd tell Hotch he would hold the mirror and Hotch could do it himself. The little basin was filled with warm water, and shaving cream was slathered on his cheeks. Spencer watched him work with shaking hands, frustrated but determined. This was the easy part.

“Would you?” Hotch asked, handing Spencer the disposable pink razor with one trembling hand. There was a shadow there, some kind of deep sadness with the realization that he couldn't do this for himself, not safely anyway...but there was also a faint whisper of hope. And of peace. Because Spencer would. “Please?”

Spencer's eyes went wide with shock and he gulped down his surprise. He could have seen a hundred different ways that this would play out, but Hotch still managed to surprise him. It was one of the reasons he'd fallen in love. That Hotch could always out maneuver his analytical mind, that he often found himself chasing Hotch down back alleys of unpredictable thought, was endlessly fascinating. “Yes,” he replied quietly, almost reverently. “Of course.”

Hotch tilted his head back, leaned his full weight against the mountain of pillows that were holding him upright, and closed his eyes. The light hurt. His head was pounding and he was starting to feel sick but the steady drip of the drugs in his IV told him he only needed to patiently wait it out. Trusting Spencer with a blade was the easy part. Waiting for the pain to settle into the background was harder.

Spencer's fingers danced against his jaw, pulling the skin tight while he guided the small razor over the curves and planes. It wasn't going to be the tightest shave Hotch had ever had, or the neatest, but Hotch didn't seem concerned with that. Spencer's fingers danced against his cold skin, thumb grazing his lower lip every so often and the desire to lean forward and kiss his messy shaving cream mouth was almost too much to bear.

He would have liked it to go smoothly, too. In his mind it was effortless, the blade would glide smooth over his skin and Hotch would thank him and they would share a passionate kiss. It would be worth all the trouble, his care would ease Hotch's troubles, they would be okay. Yeah, okay, maybe he was romanticizing the situation a little to avoid the bitter truth, but the alternative was crushing. He'd already nicked him three times and tiny crimson rivulets of blood spread wispy tendrils through the thick shaving foam still clinging to his jaw.

“I'm so sorry, Aaron,” Spencer whispered, tearing off tiny pieces of a coarse paper towel to press into the wounds on his face once he'd finished cleaning him up. The white towel, warm and damp, screamed his sins. He wasn't an expert at shaving but he'd never done this bad a job in his life. Not even as a preteen trying to rid his face of a mustache that had no business growing on his lip. His mother's dull razor hadn't done him any favors, but it was nothing compared to this massacre.

“...s'okay...” Hotch whispered, his voice ghostly but in good humor. They were keeping him pumped full of enough sedatives and pain killers that he couldn't get worked up about much. What was another cut or two? His entire stomach was covered in gauze and paper tape, staples pulling his skin tight and holding his stuffing in. A few little slices on his cheeks were the least of his concerns. He hadn't even felt them, would never have known if Spencer hadn't hissed or groaned and muttered speedy apologies each time. “...at least we can see this bleeding...”

If Spencer didn't laugh, he would cry. So he let out a quiet chuckle and finished cleaning up the mess he'd made. It wasn't nearly the romantic and sweet experience he'd hoped for, more of a failed gesture than anything but when Hotch reached out with his shaking fingers and twisted their hands together, he knew it was still worth the trouble. Jessica would bring Jack later and they'd make fun of Spencer, she would probably make a comment about being thankful he hadn't ever wanted to be a surgeon and if he could live through her ribbing he could live through the rest.

“Thank you,” Hotch whispered, eyes fluttering closed. Spencer laughed a little louder this time. A little lighter.

“For what? Slicing up your face? That razor really was...” he started to explain, the disposable razor wasn't very sharp, he was nervous, the shaving cream was too thick and he had to press too hard...a litany of excuses stopped by Hotch's dreamy, tired smile.

“Yes.”

Spencer couldn't help it. He'd held off as long as he could, but that lopsided drugged smile was too much. He leaned forward and kissed him, no thought, no romantic words or questioning glances. Just a kiss. As simple as anything. He might not be opening a barber shop anytime soon, but this he could manage. Hotch's hands were shaking again and he slipped them up inside of Spencer's sweater, tangling the fabric with his IV cords. They were shivering blocks of ice and Spencer gasped, pulling away from the kiss briefly.

Hotch's smile widened, spread until his whole face seemed to light up, though his eyes remained closed. He would be asleep soon.

Spencer finally felt himself relax a little. “Let me get you another blanket,” he offered, but Hotch kept his hands firmly planted against his stomach and shook his head.

“Don't go,” he whispered, licking dry lips. “You're warm.”

[lilyliveredlittlerichboy]

5

Another third person, flashback chapter. Skull cleaved in two. Ortus is with her, as her cavalier, now clearly in some kind of alternate reality, of sorts.

Oh, I have half a mind to get Gideon out again and cross-reference the corresponding scenes. Since this is probably not the last flashback we will get.

If things get too much for my brain to process, I'm also SUPER not ruling out pausing my read of Harrow and rereading Gideon before I continue. That might be very interesting indeed. I'm still early enough in Harrow that I could just start again from the beginning after re-reading Gideon without too much turbulence.

But for now, let's just see if we can cross-reference.

In Harrow:

“Please,” a voice was saying. “Please, my Lady Harrowhark. Be—be peaceful. What can I do for you? What must be done?” [...] “Am I making the sign?” she managed. “Am I giving you the signal? No? Then I will remind you that anything else is none of your business, and hope I do not have to remind you twice.” [...] “Where are we?” Harrow added, in another sudden welter of nervousness. “I thought—perhaps—” “We must be four hundred kilometres above the surface now,” he said, mistaking her question. “They are securing our clearance to land. We shall leave orbit soon, I trust.”

The same scene in Gideon:

It was incredible. It was exquisite. She wanted to throw up. It seemed stolid insanity that Harrowhark’s only reaction was to slide up the plexiform barrier and hold down the communication button to ask: “How long must we wait?” The navigator’s voice crackled back: “We are securing your clearance to land, Your Grace.” Harrow didn’t thank him. “How long?” “They are scanning your craft now, Your Grace, and we’ll move the moment they have confirmed you’re free to leave orbit.”

In HtN, Harrow is discombobulated, sweating, nervous, her entire state prompting Ortus to check on her, which she dismisses, but with difficulty. In Gideon, she seems barely moved. This is a COMPLETELY different girl. This is a completely different reality, timeline, or whatever.

Gideon would have noticed if Harrow seemed at all like this in GtN.

Harrow was crying when she boarded the shuttle with Gideon. She's positively ill when on the shuttle with Ortus. This just gets curiouser and curiouser.

... She has the voile still, to tie around her head, as she did with Gideon.

Yeah, still, this is SO different. I don't need to check GtN to know it.

She was surprised again. “Nigenad, what would be the tragedy in living for a myriad? Ten thousand years to learn everything there is to know—to read everything that has ever been written … to study without fear of premature end or reckoning. What is the tragedy of time?” “Time can render one impotent beyond meaning,” said Ortus unexpectedly. He made his eyes downcast again, and said: “I would not expect you to—be crushed by the weight of that particular comprehension, Reverend Daughter.”

I mean, he's right. She IS a baby of seventeen. Oh Harrow.

It was coloured all over with thin blue ink, scribbled so hard that the termination of each letter pushed holes into the surface, and it read: THE EGGS YOU GAVE ME ALL DIED AND YOU LIED TO ME [...] “It’s blank, my lady.” “Fuck,” said Harrow.

This just gets weirder and weirder.

[twixremix]

lemme get mad at a few things to get it outta my system - if u are an NFT/AI enjoyer, do not read or else u will come for my clavicle. i do not want to lose my clavicle.

absolutely heartbreaking that a teacher that always preached critical thinking and expanding our world-view fell for an NFT pyramid scheme. ugliest fuckin’ slack-jawed apes with slapped-on clothes just to flex ur disposable income and “communities” full of desparate “forward-thinkers” aka scam victims. sad!

and another thing! AI is a great TOOL but if it ever EVER replaces a majority of human-led artistic expression and the joy of creating for a living or hobby, i will either destroy the host servers of the AI myself or destroy my brain’s host server myself.

i create for a living and as a hobby. it gives my life meaning and challenges me. i use AI as tools to problem solve and maybe develop different style frames outside of what i was thinking. if i’m out of a job completely bc a machine can do everything i dedicated my LIFE to learn, what’s the fuckin point? yeah sure i can become a teacher, child life specialist, or therapist like i’ve wanted as back-up careers but…. i have goals and dreams in THIS career. and who knows if AI will replace those fields too. stop praising AI for doing shitty rotoscope renders and hyping up how the future of this industry will be automated. i have so many friends in artistic fields that i’ve watched GROW in their skills and knowledge for most of their lives too. do not erase that journey completely with your 2 sentence prompts in ChatGPT.

when people discuss the future of the internet, all i see is AI-generated everything, pages saturated in ads, and content without passion because it’s either made by a machine or contains no love from the artist bc how can we ever win against AI when it costs less and is more of a selling point for likes/reposts than human artists

what a mess of thoughts…. all this to say, i have a very low tolerance when it comes to AI. i love it if it is my collaborator/co-worker. but if it takes my job and my love for the craft, it will also take my life along with it

[haresvoid]

( @devilssight ; Blurg @ Ome ) finally kissing the friend you've been yearning for.

❛[ KISS ME PROMPTS ≻ accepting! NOTES: finally kissing the friend you've been yearning for.

'IT HAD NOT ANTICIPATED MISSING THE UNDERDARK, LONGING FOR IT. Certainly it was more comfortable for the Mind Flayer // THAN THE SUN THAT RENDERED THEM NEAR BLIND, OR THE CROWDS COMPRESSING (DESPITE THE FASCINATING SPECIMENS IT COULD ONLY GATHER ABOVE, IT STILL HAD PREFERENCES). But this was different-- - this was a feeling like weight being lifted, pressure subsiding. It had been a couple of months since it and its research partner returned to normal realm of study // FEW MORE MONTHS SINCE CULTS DISPERSE AND ILLITHID INVOLVEMENT ENDED (A SITUATION WHICH HAD LANDED IT IN DEEP WATERS, QUITE LITERALLY).

'TODAY A REMINDER CAME IN THE FORM OF AN ITEM IN COLLECTION. A small jar, full of fluid and a tadpole slowly swimming within it // ONE OF THE SO CALLED 'ABSOLUTES'. Omeluum had been trying to study it despite the threat being gone, curiosities still existed regarding its unique and unnatural existence (SOME ANSWERS ALREADY RECIEVED WHILE OTHERS STILL ABSENT). “&– - I do regret being unable to gather more than one sample-- - it makes it difficult to decide between natural studies as I have been or finally going about a dissection. Alas, perhaps I should not complain.... as I am here to study it still now.” While usually one that spoke only when spoken to, Blurg was a RARE EXCEPTION for the Illithid-- - he was one it enjoyed spawning conversations with, to hear thoughts and voice. “&– - It's a decision I still find surprising-- - conditions and theorizing seemed most accurate that I would not be a worthwhile investment to free with all the danger and constraints present. A rare occasion I am... glad a theory of mine was proven wrong.”

'IT SPOKE ABOUT IT AS IF ANY OTHER DISSERTATION IT OFFERED UP. However, it sensed wisps of distress from its companion soon after its words // SUBTLE HUM LEFT MINDVOICE. “&– - That upset you.... my absence would have put a temporary hinder on the projects we have created, but I'm certain most you could proceed with within short time.” Always a logical creature // TILTING HEAD EVER IN SLIGHT WHEN THE EXACT OF WORDS WERE DISAGREED WITH (HAD IT SUSPECTED INCORRECTLY ABOUT THE SOURCE OF THE ISSUE?). Silence hung in air and the link crafted between minds, time given to observation instead // NOTING THE TINY MOTIONS, A PREFIX TO A TURN. Motions were quick, but eyes were keen-- - but not built of caution, NEVER OF CAUTION (IT TRUSTED THE HOBGOBLIN COMPLETELY). Of curiosity, of interest.

'AND THEN OF SURPRISE. Between the fleshy membrane where face split to forward tentacles were lips placed // LONGING AND YEARNING, BUT SPECKLED WITH HESITANCE TOO (THE MIND FLAYER EVER IN TUNE, EVEN WHEN ITS OWN BRAIN FILLED AND BUZZED WITH THOUGHTS). Omeluum decided to act when it found embers of doubt beginning to bud-- - a tentacle shifts, smooth slither behind until tip curls in placement against the back of Blurgs head // SOFT, LITTLE PRESSURE GIVEN (BUT A DISPLAY THAT THE ACTION WAS FAR FROM DISLIKED). “&– - I had not realized the extent of your feelings towards me.... I apologize.....” Truthfully, it had some suspicions // THINGS IT HAD SENSED, ACTIONS PERFORMED (BUT IT WASN'T EXPERIENCED ENOUGH TO DECIPHER FRIENDLINESS FROM WHAT IT KNEW ONLY FROM BOOKS AND OTHERS IT HAD DECIDED). Thus it had never dug, never pressed or asked-- - even when it found itself... interested, desiring perhaps, to experience what it had only known through research of reading and observation beyond the two of them. Now? It felt ever so emboldened, projecting the thin veil of ideas and discoveries paired with hints of feelings // IT WAS A DISPLAY TO REPLACE INABILITY TO RECIPROCATE KISS PROPER (BUT IT DID NOT DROWN ITS PARTNER IN ALL THAT IT COULD TRULY GIVE IN FULL MIND // JUST A TASTE, JUST A SMALL TASTE). A free tendril moved to ever so gently wrap against red palm. “&– - I would... enjoy expanding and exploring this, if I am correct upon the path this may lead; and if you would enjoy such a prospect as well. However, I am aware I may not be the best option in such matters-- - I wish for your comfort and safety above any potential lingering wants on my end.” // @devilssight