#i had to stop trying to refine this at some point and this is good as any

[a-s-levynn]

"Wash me clean again before I pull myself beneath the waves" A Series of Small Offerings - III/11 - day31

[foxy-eva]

Date? Date!

Summary: Reader asks Spencer if he wants a date (the food item). Miscommunication ensues. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: food mentions, miscommunication, awkwardness 

Word count: 700

Masterlist

Early into your career at the FBI you learned how important it was to take good care of yourself. Long and irregular work hours made it difficult to nourish your body, so you made it a habit to always pack some healthy snacks.

Recently you discovered your love for dates - a fruit packed with fiber and potassium while satiating your sweet tooth. 

You grabbed a small container from your bag while your eyes landed on your favorite coworker. Months ago you noticed that his main source of energy was coffee and refined sugar, so without thinking too much about it, you decided to offer him an alternative. 

“Date?” You asked once Spencer found your eyes. 

“Wh…what?” He muttered. “You’re asking me… just like that?” 

His reaction was a little confusing but it wasn't the first time that the brilliant Dr. Spencer Reid left you a bit puzzled. 

"Yeah, of course! I think it’ll be good for you!” You chirped to encourage him. 

“You think?” His mouth stayed agape after those words made it past his lips. 

You raised your eyebrows at him and withdrew your offer, “You obviously don’t have to. You can just say no.”

“No, no, it’s not that! I just.. I have never been… I mean… I have never really… had a date?” He muttered.

“Really? That's hard to believe.” You couldn't hide the surprised tone in your voice. Dates were pretty popular, you had never met anyone who hadn’t tried one.

“It’s true…,” he mumbled.  

“Maybe it’s time for you to try it!” 

"I... have thought about it. A lot actually." Spencer whispered while his eyes dropped to the floor. "With you specifically"

At this point you definitely couldn't hide your confusion anymore. You took one date out of the plastic container to look at it before you said, "You have thought about eating dates with me?" 

When your eyes met his again you noticed the color draining from his face. The already pale doctor suddenly looked like he had seen a ghost. 

“You uhm… you… of course… you were talking about dates,” he stammered.

“Yes? What were you tal–” You stopped mid sentence when you realized. 

Oh.

Oh.

Spencer must have thought you were asking him out. 

Now his reaction made a lot more sense. 

Before you could say anything, Spencer quickly got up to leave the room. You could only imagine how embarrassed he must have been right then. Your heart began aching at the thought of hurting the person you cared so deeply about. 

The truth was that you were hoping for him to ask you out for months now. It was hard to tell if he actually liked you too, so you never had the courage to ask him yourself. 

It seemed like the cat was out of the bag now and it was your chance to finally ask him out for real. 

“Spencer!” You called out his name as you ran after him. “Wait, please!”

To your surprise he slowed down, coming to a halt right before he reached the elevators. 

“I just want to go catch some air,” he explained with a fake smile on his face. 

“Please don’t be embarrassed,” you said with a soft voice. “It was just a little misunderstanding.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s fine, really!” He lied while pressing the button of the elevators. 

“It’s true that I was just offering you a date, but…” you paused for a moment, noticing his eyes getting bigger. 

You almost got lost in the warm amber that were his irises. It was hard to actually speak the words you so clearly wanted to say. But you knew it was now or never. 

“... But I would really like to go out with you. On an actual date,” you confessed. 

The features of Spencer's face suddenly softened and it seemed like relief washed over him. 

“You do?” He wanted to make sure. 

“Yeah, I really do,” you confirmed.

A wide smile appeared on his face. “I would really like that, too. Maybe we could go out for dinner someday.”

“Dinner sounds a lot better than just eating dates together,” you laughed. 

Please like, reblog and leave a comment! I need your lovely words to stay motivated to write more stories.

Taglist: @nomajdetective @reidsbookclub @gspenc @samuel-de-champagne-problems @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @malindacath @reidselle @alexxavicry @frickin-bats @spencersprettyslut @sebs-oxygen @happymangospot @cynbx @hotchandspencearedilfs @emiliaserpe @thenerdthatwrites @velvetthunder93 @saturnstringz @missabsey @guacam011y @hugyourlungs @reiderwriter @enamoradax @hales-17 @cham9ions @loaksulluyswife @ecneremili @xserenax-13 @grumpyy-bearr @luredwithpretzels @castiels-majestic-wings @super-nerd22 @pleasantwitchgarden @yeonalie @r-3dlips @evvy96 @torigorie @meyaareads @luvdella @luvley2k @bunnylovesani

[mochimooon]

DTF Only (Girl Dinner) - jean kirstein x reader 18+

pairing: Jean Kirstein x afab! Reader summary: It's Hump-Day and your latest match, Jean wants to wine and dine you. word count: 4k+ notes: Part 5 of DTF Only. My fav, Jean's turn 😊💗 Indented text refers to Reader's messages. warnings: smut, explicit content, explicit language, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, oral sex (f! receiving), vaginal sex ☻ masterpost☻

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ !!

Hey! :) You’ve got a pretty smile.  How’s your week going?

Tinder has quickly become part of your daily routine. At night, you fall asleep swiping. In the morning, you catch up on new messages as you pour a cup of coffee. 

The man—a gorgeous man—behind the latest message stirs your sleepy mind wide awake.

A handsome face with an equally handsome smile, a jaw framed with a dusting of scruff that adds a rugged touch to his refined beauty. 

Jean’s a year older than you are, works in property management, loves to travel, and he’s open to anything. Friendships, hook-ups, long-term commitments. Vague. 

Scrolling through his photos, you pause on a group picture. He towers over everyone in the frame, and you notice his height is left out of the bio, letting the pictures speak for themselves. Given the apparent stature, your imagination runs wild…

He looks great in every single picture, whether in a suit or dressed casually, Jean’s confidence is effortless through the screen. He even snuck in a shirtless photo of him by the pool, and you’re not disappointed in how he looks in those swim trunks. Good boy…

You are shooting your shot here and now. 

Week has been interesting so far lol Are you a local or in town for a visit?

His response is immediate.  

Local ;) Can I take you to dinner tonight?  There’s a new spot I think we should check out.

Another date. It would be a sin to say no.

7pm works best for me. Where’s this spot?

…

“Ohhhhh….he’s…good job…” 

After sending a picture of Jean to the group chat, Pieck is at a loss for words on the phone call.

Even Ymir gives her own seal of approval. “Alright, so far, he’s more your type. Tall, classic pretty boy. Unlike that doofus from the other night.”

“Cory?” Pieck says.

You sigh, looking out the car window, the cityscape shrinking away. “Connie was not a doofus, he was fun!”

Ymir scoffs on the other line. “Whatever, this Jean dude gets points for wanting to take you on a proper date. He’s already trying to impress you, and you know what that means…” Her voice channels into a devilish tease. “He might take you to a fancy hotel, pop some bubbly, and then chase it down with…”

Being the freak that you are, your thighs clench together. You dart a look at the rearview mirror, hoping that your Uber driver hasn’t taken notice. 

“We’ll see. I might not take it that far tonight.”

Laughter fills your ear. Pieck and Ymir don’t take you seriously. 

“Don’t stop now,” Pieck says. “Ymir’s right, Jean looks promising. It could lead to something more.”

You frown. “I’m not looking for anything serious.”

Ymir clicks her tongue. “Keep it open-ended. If this guy wants to spoil you with dinner and fuck you, then you’ve struck Tinder gold.”

“I thought the whole point was to explore?”

“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” Pieck says. “It’s how dating works, keeping your options open and enjoying the process, regardless of outcome. Ymir and I just want you to be happy.”

Ymir pipes up in agreement. “Yeah, we’ll always support you for hookering.”

You smirk, endeared by that sentiment. 

The Uber pulls to a stop, and you end the call. 

Despite the traffic in the city, you’ve made it to the restaurant five minutes early. You enter through the front, taking stock of the place.

It’s a coastal spot, offering outdoor dining that overlooks the ocean on a large patio.

You watch people saunter in and out, dressed much sharper than what you’d find at the local surf-n-turf. Even the host is dressed to impress, wearing a suit as he answers a call with polished etiquette. 

When Jean had sent you the restaurant info, you had given it a onceover after searching it up. From the location and seafood fare, you knew it’d be fancy, the kind of place that serves top-shelf wine and scoring a reservation is akin to winning the lottery. 

And as you soak in the venue, you’re doubly impressed. This place is fancy fancy.

Jean said he made reservations for 7pm under his name, but you’re unsure if you should check in or wait for him. 

There’s no need. A minute after your arrival, you catch a smooth voice uttering your name.

Spinning on your heel, you struggle to keep from grinning ear to ear.  You’ve been lucky all week and Jean’s no exception, outdoing his profile like a reverse Catfish. 

Who were you kidding? Your friends were right not to take you seriously. You need to sleep with this man.  His tall frame is poise as he steps forward, a beautiful smile widening. Light brown eyes sip in your appearance. You straighten your spine, discreetly jutting your chest out to appear graceful yet fuckable.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you in person,” he laughs, a long arm wrapping around you gently. 

You lean into the hug, senses drenched with his cologne. He’s dressed for the occasion, a clean-pressed, button-down shirt in navy, a matching blazer overtop. The top button is undone. You’re shameless, stealing a glance at the skin. 

His eyes do another sweep, settling on your chest for a few seconds before snapping up to meet your eyes. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you say, coquettish as he extends his arm for you to take.  

Together, you approach the host. 

“Kirstein at seven,” Jean supplies. 

A quick review from the host behind the counter and he smiles, grabbing menus. “This way.” Leading you both out to the patio for your table, he turns around. “Ever been to an oyster bar before?”

Jean gestures to you.

“First time.” 

The host stops at a table near the center, a comfortable distance from the glass railing to take in the ocean view, but far enough that you won’t be freezing all night. 

Jean pulls your chair out, taking his seat afterwards. The host briefs you two on the menu, and after explaining the wine selection, Jean orders a bottle for the table. 

“The blue suits you,” you say, nodding. Under the glow of the string lights and heat-lamps, you can’t stop ogling him. “On theme for the evening.”

Jean unrolls the silverware from the cloth napkin, giving you a cheeky look. “Thank you. Glad you were free tonight. I know it’s kind of last minute, so I appreciate the flexibility. Didn’t want to miss out on a chance to see you.”

“How could I say no?” You bat your lashes. “Trying to be more spontaneous these days.”

Jean huffs an amused breath. “I can relate. It’s healthy to be spontaneous sometimes, breaks us out of routine.”

You hum in agreement. That’s something you’re quickly learning. 

A waiter arrives, presenting the wine bottle Jean had ordered with the host. A white wine variety that that pairs well with shellfish. Neither of you waste too much time deciding on the menu, placing an order for their popular oysters. And the waiter disappears. 

Jean reaches over, pouring wine into your glass. “Can I ask what brought you to Tinder?”

You lean your chin into your laced fingers, shrugging. “It was my friends’ idea. ‘You’re single, you should be out there exploring’.”

“A little peer-pressure is harmless,” Jean teases. “If not for them, we wouldn’t have matched.”

You laugh faintly. “I’ll thank them later. Besides, it’s become the new norm to meet people online. That’s why you’re on it, right?”

He flashes his teeth. “Yeah, it’s not as weird anymore as it once was. My friends, colleagues, almost everyone’s hopped on it. In the end it’s no different than meeting at the DMV or at a coffee shop.”

You smile. “Like a meet-cute?” 

Jeans smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Is that what they call it when you meet offline?”

“Rom-com lingo. Meeting someone where you’d least expect to meet. I guess it can apply online too.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”

Aside from casual sex, nope.

Beyond that, you don’t know. You’re in a lull, still processing how to feel about your breakup. You suppose you could just say, you’re looking for a fling, but saying that aloud seems too bold, and if you’re being honest kills the mood. Sex is most rewarding through the art of seduction.

“I like to keep things open-ended, so whatever happens, I guess I’ll figure it out later.” 

Jean nods. “Same here, I like to go with the flow, see where it leads.” 

From the way his eyes dance from your lips to your chest, you don’t need him to clarify his answer. It’s staring right at you, six foot three with ash brown hair that graces his nape. You want to run your hand back there, maybe yank it a little.

Jean raises his glass, meeting your eyes. “Cheers to whatever happens.”

You exchange pleasantries, getting a better feel for each other. He talks about how he got into his field of work, and you explain what your days are like working from home. 

It’s tame and safe…for now.

The tray of oysters is set down at the center of the table, arranged neatly.

“Glad you’re not picky about seafood,” Jean says. 

“I like most but never had oysters. They don’t look as intimidating as I thought they’d be.”

Jean squeezes a lemon wedge over the spread. “I think you’ll like them.”

“I’ve heard it takes a special kind of palate to enjoy them.” You tilt your head, and his smile understands that you’re not talking about the shellfish. 

“The texture takes some getting used to. But they’re a superfood. They’ve got protein, antioxidants, they boost energy.” 

There’s a pause, a bold shift passing across the table. 

“And a stimulant,” Jean finishes. 

You hold Jean’s stare for a moment, reading where the line of small talk blurs. It’s a tempting lure, and you take the bait. “An aphrodisiac.” 

There’s a glint in his eyes that reaches his pearly whites. “Exactly.”

You shiver, goosebumps coating your skin.

Jean looks to the plate of oysters, reaching for one. You do the same, tipping the shell up without breaking eye contact as the flesh disappears behind your lips. 

The texture is a little off-putting, but you chew it enough to assess the briny taste. You swallow, puckering your mouth, reaching for your glass. 

You wash the oyster down with white wine and sigh. 

Jean’s stare flicks to your wine glass. “You got lipstick on it.”

You spare the glass a look, arching a brow. A distinct nude imprint is stained on the rim like a delicate kiss. 

The corner of your mouth curls. “Guess that means I’ll have to redo it. It’s my favorite shade, but it’s not long-lasting. Rubs off too easily.”

“That right?” Jean purrs, a smirk ghosting his lips. “I thought the point of wearing lipstick was for it to get ruined.”

The brisk ocean air turns humid, leaving you breathless and setting your pulse aflame. You look forward to seeing where the night takes you.

A few more helpings of oysters (and a little more wine) later, the flirtatious back and forth darken to vulgar language whispered across the table and shameless eye-fucking. 

“I want to feel you squeeze around my cock,” Jean intones, low and gravelly, and meant for your ears only. 

You bite your lip, imagining how hard Jean must be right now. You shift in your seat, crossing your legs tighter under the table, but that doesn’t help at all. You’re so horny you want to crawl across and devour him. 

The waiter returns, you and Jean doing your best to tone it down. 

“Another bottle of wine for the table?” 

“No, we’re fine, thank you,” Jean says, smooth like silk as if he wasn’t dirty-talking you just seconds ago. 

“Can I get you two anything else?” 

Beneath the table, you drag your foot up Jean’s leg, looking at the waiter with an innocent smile. Subtly, you bring the tip of your heel to nudge Jean’s muscled thigh. It’s subtle and secretive and gets the exact response you want from Jean.

He masks the hitch in his throat as a chuckle.

You can tell he’s losing his patience, unable to resist the crackling tension. His equilibrium hangs by a thread.

He addresses the waiter with an even tone, but you’re not deaf to the whisper of urgency behind his words.

“Just the bill.”

…

Jean white-knuckles the drive to his place. His other hand rests on your thigh, pressing his fingers into the flesh. Unable to control yourself, you take his hand to stroke along your face.

He flicks a glance from the road, caressing his thumb across your lip. You nibble his thumb, smiling around it when Jean groans. 

It’s cute how riled up he’s gotten, and you can’t deny how much it turns you on.  

You suck on his thumb, whirling your tongue around it. “Do you like this, Jean?”

Eyes trained on the road, Jean can only manage a strained hum. “Mhmm—”

It’s a rhetorical question, because you already know, and before you realize it, he’s pulled into a parking structure and kills the engine. 

Jean all but grabs you from the car and tugs you up the elevator to his apartment. He bites back a displeased grunt, sliding his arm from your waist upon seeing a few people inside. 

The other tenants give you both a brief onceover and turn away as they read the room, fraught with so much sexual tension.

Reaching the fifth floor, Jean’s hand squeezes yours as he politely excuses you both, wishing the other tenants a good night behind a strained smile.

It’s a short walk to his door. Jean’s keys scratch at the keyhole a few times, distracted to get it open. It’s not his fault your hands roam around his torso, mapping out the taut muscles beneath his shirt.

The door clicks open, and Jean drags you inside, whirling around.

Your back hits a wall, mouth seized in a fiery kiss. Reaching for his shirtfront you pry it open, popping a few buttons. Your fingers graze lines of chiseled muscle, fingers brushing against his nipples as you help him slide the shirt off. 

Jean hisses into your mouth, taking hold of your thighs to lift you up. He’s on the move, deepening the kiss, kicking a different door open. 

You land on your feet, and with enough willpower, you pull away for air. “Jean…”

Light brown eyes gloss over your face, rich like scotch. He’s so much bigger than you, can easily pick you up again and toss you to the bed. It’s an enthralling idea until a different thought crosses your mind.

“Jean.”

He hums against your pulse, peppering that spot with a few more kisses before he resurfaces. Anticipation hangs over the edge of his smile, eager for you to give him a signal.

You make a bold request. “Get on your knees.”

Surprise flickers along Jean’s brows, stretching to his hairline. But it’s replaced with brightened excitement. He kisses your cheek, then drops to floor, peering up at you, a dog waiting for a bone.  

Despite the current dynamics, you feel a little timid then, wondering how far you can go with this. 

Jean’s eyes flutter shut, melting at the feel of your nails carding through his hair. 

“Does that feel good?” you ask in earnest. 

Jean nods heavily, looking up with a lidded gaze. “Yes…” 

You catch the slow bob of his Adam’s apple, and you lick your lips. “What about this?” You’re still testing the waters, reaching for the back of his skull. You tug his hair, pulling his head back.

“Yes…” 

Shit. Jean’s so quick to yield to your touch, it makes your pussy throb.  

Hiking up your dress, you throw a leg over his shoulder. 

Jean’s eyes drown in the lace of your panties. “So fucking pretty…” he husks. He grabs onto your thigh, kissing your pussy through the fabric.

You moan, rewarding Jean with another comb through his hair. Nails dig a little deeper, again testing both his and your limits. 

He sighs in bliss, pulling you closer to bury his face against your panties, kissing your clit, you nearly falter. 

Jean’s mouth opens to slot over your pussy, licking the thin fabric for a taste of the slick that’s soaked through. 

“Yes…just like that…” Your fingers massage Jean’s scalp, a command to continue. 

“You taste phenomenal. I’ve been dying to have you like this all night.”

Moans float from your mouth and cascade to the floor; you can’t stop yourself from bucking your hips to match the rhythm of Jean’s mouth. 

He pushes back, though his lips linger above your waistband, fingers hooking into the sides.

Your hand moves from his scalp to stroke his face, restoring his gaze.   

He’s a man enchanted, face flushed, and pupils dilated. He’s absolutely pussy-drunk.

You thumb his swollen lips, stained with your lipstick. His mouth opens a little wider with a hunger that gnaws at your stomach. 

You tug on his lower lip. “Use this.” You drop your hand, sliding your leg from his shoulder.

Jean’s quick to understand. He grabs your hips, fingers reaching to grope your ass as he takes the side of your underwear in his teeth. He drags it down, switching to the other side to do the same, eyes going skywards to ensure that he has your full attention. 

It takes some time, but you’re grateful that Jean’s hasty. Any longer and you would have asked him to rip the lace. When they reach your knees, you and Jean lack any more patience. He pulls them off in one fell swoop of his hands. 

Your leg comes astride his shoulder again, a sharp breath digging deep in your chest, fixating on the view below. 

Jean’s eyes reach yours, his breath hot and humid against your pussy. “I’m gonna devour you.”

And he’s all in, tongue thrusting into you, nose nudging your clit. 

You whimper, grabbing onto Jean’s hair for leverage, savoring the feel of his mouth. You’re so sensitive, already so close to the edge. Your body moves on its own, hips bucking to grind against Jean’s face. 

He eats you out with desperation, hungry to please, as though he’s been waiting for this moment all night long. His fingers press into your hips, a beautiful, bruising pain. 

He doesn’t stop to pull for air, nor does he resist your hand guiding him for deeper contact. It’s like there’s nowhere he’d rather be. 

Gasps burst out of your mouth, aware of nothing else but Jean between your legs. Your mind is close to slipping away, but as you toe the edge of ecstasy, you release Jean’s hair to tap him urgently on the shoulder. 

He draws away, slack-jawed, threads of drool and slick breaking apart.

“Bed,” you breathe. “On your back. I want to ride you.”

With that incentive, Jean’s on his feet one second, and plopped onto his bed the next. He’s so tall, he takes up most of the space. That doesn’t matter, however, as you crawl on top of him, taking his wrists and bounding them at the sides. 

You inch closer to his face. Jean lifts his head to meet your lips. The kiss is hungrier than ever, and at the feel of Jean’s bulge between your legs, it’s clear that you both have starved long enough. 

Pushing back, you slide off, searching the floor. 

You swipe up your clutch, tossing it away a second later to flash the wrapped condom, ready to tear it open.

Jean props himself on his elbows, shaking his head. “It won’t fit.”

Your brain lags, at first, but lowering your gaze at Jean’s crotch, it dawns on you. Your finger hooks into the waistband of his underwear, drooling at the impossible to ignore outline of his cock.

Jean grabs something from the drawer of his nightstand. “Here.”

He hands you another condom—a more sizeable one. 

You blink, taking it, and drag his boxers away. 

Jean’s cock springs up, slapping your wrist.

It’s…big. 

You stare, mouth agape, unsure if you want to suck him off or ride him. 

“It’s waiting on you,” Jean rasps.

You look up to meet his smile, more humble than smug. He grabs hold of his cock, stroking along the skin, rubbing past the thick vein plunging down the base. 

He takes your hand gently, guiding you to stroke him. 

When he lets go, you’re stunned with how fucking heavy it is, mind spinning with how much it’ll stretch you out. 

Not wasting anymore time, you tug on his boxers and pants. He lifts up, pushing them down to assist and he’s naked underneath you. 

After sliding the condom on, you straddle his lap, ripping your dress off, giving Jean a moment to play with your tits and appraise your body. 

“Stunning…” he purrs, the word scrapes against his throat.  

“I’m going to ride you now Jean.”

He nods, hands on your hips. “Please do.”

You brace yourself with a deep inhale, still in awe as to how all this will fit inside you. Regardless, with the help of Jean’s large hands, you lift up, biting your lip as you slowly sink onto his cock. 

The stretch is immediate, tender, and intoxicating. Still, you’re careful, taking your time, relishing in the feel of your pussy sucking him in, bit by bit.

You catch Jean watching his cock disappear inside of you, his mouth hanging open. 

Sinking further, you gasp, already so full before you’ve taken all of him. It’s like time came to a still just for you to embrace the moment he’s fully sheathed inside of you. 

Jean waits for a signal, patience stuttering from the twitch of his dick. He’s traveled so far into a trance, the only way for you to reach him is to move. 

It’s a tentative start, a roll of your hips to ensure you still feel comfortable. 

Jean hisses, squeezing your hips. A muscle ticks in his jaw and your pussy spasms. You’re done being cautious. 

You lean forward, splaying your hands across his toned chest for support and bounce on his cock. 

Jean lets out a choked moan.

You ride him, moving up and down, gasping from the stretch and slide of his dick against your walls. The momentum builds as your hips move faster. 

Your thighs ache, and you fight against it. But your muscles cramp up for a bit, forcing your hands to slide forward from Jean’s chest to his shoulders. 

His hands leave your hips, taking your wrists. 

Your pace dials down, blinking in surprise when he wraps your hands around his neck. 

“Make it tighter,” comes Jean’s ragged breath. 

You apply pressure, stunned to feel the beating of his pulse quicken. You try to pull back, but Jean presses his hands over yours.

“A little harder.”

A low groan slips past Jean’s mouth, his Adam’s apple rolling against your palm. He gives you a delirious smile that curls down your spine. 

He’s at your mercy. He wants to be at your mercy, and it ignites a new flame inside of you.

With a firm grasp on his neck, your tongue dives into his mouth.

“Touch me,” you say against his lips, building up speed again. 

Jean’s thumb finds your clit, swallowing hard when you moan. 

You don’t mean to squeeze harder, but Jean’s dick jolts anyway. 

The momentum triples, your pussy tightens around Jean, and with another look at him—hooded eyes and gaping mouth—you cum, pleasure pulsating through every nerve. 

Your orgasm loosens your hold on Jean’s neck, but you continue to ride it out, despite the trembling thighs. 

Jean takes care of the rest, taking your hips to thrust into you, cock twitching and a satisfied moan echoing in your ears.  

Your movements become meager, thighs cramped, energy drained. Jean’s cock softens, you fall to his chest, wiggling off his lap. He’s so big, your pussy feels hollow without it.

Jean heaves a deep breath, an arm snaking around your back. He reaches behind you to slip off the condom and tosses it aside. 

Time moves again, your breathing evens out, head clearing that you’ve become aware of Jean’s fingers trailing up and down your spine. 

You look up, exchanging a tired smile with his. “You like getting choked?”

His smile broadens, a blush paints his face. “Sometimes. I like it when a woman takes the reins.”

You huff a tired laugh, replaying the image of Jean moaning with your hands wrapped around his throat. You’re all for equal share in the bedroom, but sometimes a part of you burned to take the lead. Though you don’t mind the opposite either.

“And other times,” Jean continues, stroking up your back until his fingers tangle into your hair. It’s a gentle pull, though firm enough to drive his next point with a devilish look. “I like to have total control.”

A new fantasy pricks your mind, a visual of Jean standing before you with you on your knees. You swallow that thought for now, remembering Ymir’s words.

“Keep it open-ended.”

☻ masterpost☻

taglist: @moonmalice @daisynik7 @theragethatisdesire @squidalapobre @arlerts-angel

[fafnir19]

Desire upon the sea

It all started with a stroke of unbelievable luck. I, Lennart, a carefree 20-year-old student with a penchant for casual attire, had won a first-class voyage on an exquisite cruise ship. The grand prize seemed tailor-made for an older, more refined audience, a fact only accentuated by the conspicuously elegant attires the other passengers flaunted. As I stepped onto the luxurious cruise ship, I couldn't help but notice the elegant attire of the other passengers. It seemed like everyone had walked straight out of a black-tie event, while I was just a casual bloke in my everyday clothes.

Still, I brushed it off and decided to make a joke out of it, because that's just the kind of guy I am. I spent my days wandering around the ship, enjoying the sights and sounds, until one evening, I heard peculiar noises trailing behind me. As I turned to investigate, a strange figure materialized from the shadows. It was a goblin, of all things, with a sneer etched onto its wrinkly face.

"What's your problem, buddy?" I said, half-amused. "You're the problem!" the goblin retorted, pointing a gnarled finger at me. "You're ruining the ship's reputation with your scruffy appearance and lack of grooming. Clean up your act, lad!" I couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation before bidding the goblin goodnight and heading to bed. Little did I know that the night held a surprise for me. The following morning, I shuffled groggily to the bathroom, only to realize I'd been blessed with a new haircut—a perfectly styled 'do that I hadn't asked for. Confused and a tad worried, I heard the goblin's cackling echoing in the room. I looked around, but he was nowhere to be seen, leaving me to exclaim, "If I can get my hands on that little troublemaker!"

The day took an even stranger turn when I found myself at the spa, enjoying a massage from a petite, skilled masseuse. As her hands worked their magic, I felt an odd sensation spreading through my body, like I was being tugged and twisted in ways unimaginable. I winced in discomfort and pleaded with the masseuse to stop, but all I heard was the goblin's laughter. And when I looked in the mirror, a shock awaited me. My unkempt form had vanished, replaced by the silhouette of a young Greek god—toned muscles, blond hair, and piercing blue eyes. It was as if I'd stepped out of a marble statue, and with a mixture of bewilderment and annoyance, I muttered, "What in the goblin's name is happening to me?"

Determined to escape this madness, I embarked on a shore excursion, hoping for some respite. However, upon my return, I found my clothes gone, replaced by a sleek suit and accessories—courtesy of the goblin's mischievous handiwork. From that moment onwards, it seemed the goblin held the reins to my desires and appearance, turning me into an impeccably groomed, preppy youth. As the days went by, I longed to break free from this bizarre spell, but the ship was already bound for a week-long journey across the Atlantic, leaving me at the goblin's whims.

As I sauntered across the deck, trying to make sense of my inexplicable transformation, a sleek sports boat docked at the cruise ship. A suave, sophisticated businessman disembarked and strode towards the pool deck, exuding an air of confidence and allure.

My gaze inadvertently intersected with his, and it was then that I discerned a disquieting fascination glinting within his eyes. Despite my efforts to elude the intrusive weight of his lingering stare, the sensation of being undressed by his gaze trapped me in a discomfiting nexus of unease. Seeking to extricate myself from this distressing conundrum, I made a hasty retreat to my cabin.

A futile hope, as it turned out, when I found him seated at my table during dinner.

"Good evening," he greeted me with a captivating smile. "I'm Pierson. I couldn't help but notice our paths have crossed numerous times on this ship." I swallowed nervously, feeling the weight of his gaze, and managed a polite response. "Lennart," I said, trying to keep my cool. "Yes, indeed. It's quite the coincidence." Pierson leaned in slightly, his eyes never leaving mine. "Coincidence, you say? Or is it fate that led us to each other?" His words, dripping with a hint of flirtation, left me flustered. "I-I'm not sure what you mean," I stumbled, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. As the dinner progressed, Pierson's attention remained fixed on me, his subtle innuendos fluttering around the air like mischievous butterflies. Being straight, I felt a wave of discomfort and couldn't help but squirt under the weight of his suggestive remarks.

Night descended upon the ship, and soon I found myself in a tormented state of slumber, plagued by the most bewildering dreams. Dreams of Pierson, his intoxicating eyes, and the touch of his lips upon mine. It was a series of vivid and erotic dreams. When I woke up the next morning I realized that the dreams were not only intense but also wet dreams. The following day, I attempted to evade Pierson, hoping to dispel the lingering echoes of those perplexing dreams. However, the next night I had the same dreams again.

One sunny morning, as I lounged by the pool, attempting to find solace in the ocean breeze, I spotted Pierson striding past. His eyes met mine, and a faint but unmistakable smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Suddenly, an unexpected sensation sent a shiver down my spine—a telltale sign of arousal. I shifted uncomfortably, desperately hoping to conceal my hard-on.

Later, as we convened for dinner, I found myself battling with an unfamiliar, unwelcome sensation. My cock twitched by the  mere sight of Pierson.

Flustered and at a loss, I hastily excused myself, feigning an excuse to retire early. Alone on the deck, I let the cool ocean breeze wash over me, attempting to clear my mind from the bewildering entanglements stirring within. Before I could process my thoughts, I felt a presence behind me. A familiar one. Pierson's arm wrapped around my shoulders, and he leaned in, planting a tender, albeit unexpected, kiss upon my lips. For a brief moment, I flinched, but then something within me surrendered to the moment, allowing it to unfold. The night swiftly turned into a whirlwind of passion, eventually leading us to Pierson's suite, where our mysterious liaison reached its climax. The morning light revealed a revelation—a revelation that struck with the laughter of the irksome goblin.

A voice, singing, "That's how I like you, sweet gay Lennart!" I protested, adamantly refuting the label, but the goblin's words reverberated in the chamber. "I planted gay dreams in your head, and you made them happen. You've sealed your fate, lad. Embrace it." Before I could offer a rebuttal, Pierson reappeared, casting a suggestive glance my way, proposing an amorous shower together. In a moment of bewildered impulse, I accepted, and it marked a peculiar turn of events for me. In the days that followed, Pierson bid farewell to the ship, leaving behind a bewildered, conflicted Lennart, lost in the peculiar conundrum of his newfound reality. Days passed, each rolling into the next, veiling me in my own introspection until an unexpected surprise awaited me one fine morning. There, upon my bed, lay a pristine steward uniform, intricately folded, bearing the goblin's crimson laughter. He explained, "Pierson was pleased with your service. As a reward, you're destined to don this uniform and live out your gay fantasies amidst the opulent corridors of this ship." And so, clad in the uniform, I embarked on a whimsical journey, serving the passengers with impeccable grace, while navigating the bewitching intricacies of my newfound desires. Is this my fate—a twist of magic and mishaps, or perhaps an unforeseen realm of revelation that awaits amidst the billowing seas? Only time would reveal the enigmatic path that lay ahead.

[xzhdjsj]

Zaros x Reader

You leave Serulla, only returning when danger threatens your kingdom

This fic is based on THIS brilliant theory by @astralbulldragon13. I simply couldn't get it out of my head and had to write about it I have to say I'm not very happy with the way this came out, but I spent too much time on it to not post it😭

Also, this is really long (almost 3.5k words) idk how it happened🤡 when I started writing it, I just couldn't stop. Plz let me know if i made any mistakes

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"There, you win. Your son is now the Eminence, but know this, if you try to rule my kingdom vicariously through your Zaros, or control his new life in any way, there is no where you could go, no hole you can hide in, that I won’t find you."

-

The realisation dawned on you, way before the trials began. You weren’t interested in the throne; that wasn’t where your heart lies. That position was polished and refined for your brother, but guilt has its ways of twisting one's mind and kept you fighting for a life that was stolen from him, replacing a prodigy child that was stolen from your mother.

Zaros' insults and demeaning remarks only contributed to your mindset, though that didn’t make them any less hurtful. How could they not be? Especially when coming from someone you admired and cherished. They were fuel to the fire, a constant reminder of how unfit you are.

It was hard to imagine yourself as a good ruler anyways. Sure, you were knowledgeable, but what good is education with no real experience or empathy for the struggles of your people? Not to mention being cloaked by a porcelain mask 24/7, designed and altered to meet the needs of the people around you.

Zaros, on the other hand, was different. His pernicious attitude cracked the corners of your mask, forcing raw emotions to erupt to daylight. It was a distasteful experience considering your position, but deep down you never felt more alive than when you could be yourself with him, throwing insults right back into his face. It forced the masked persona to face the real you and come to terms with what you wanted, before it was too late.

You wanted a life that was yours to live, a life where you could be yourself. Not one you are forced to live, or a person you are required to be. There were things you had to let go of and things you needed to learn.

By himself, Zaros would be a skillful leader capable of building a successful future for Serulla. He had the experience that you lacked, that alone could potentially secure Serulla a brighter future than you could ever offer. The only threat was his mother, Nira Atha’lin. She was obnoxious, quick to point out every miniscule flaw and mistake in your ways, if Zaros was unbearable, she was enough to push you to insanity. Her personality was sour and ugly, like biting into a mouldy rotting fruit. Her intentions are unclear, but it isn’t hard to see her abusing the authority of her son and the crown.

Though that didn’t matter, you trust Zaros, he would never put the wellbeing of Serulla at risk. He’s headstrong and stubborn. It’s no wonder you admire him, in some way or another he’s just like you.

He has become a decent acquaintance in your life. Looking back, he could have easily double-crossed you in the trials and spited his way to the top, but he didn’t. Every last minute of it was fair and just. Maybe that’s why you felt so strongly for him now.

-

Outside the hall, minutes away from a final decision, both Zaros and you stood. If you had something to do, now was the time to do it.

He reaches for the heavy gold handles of the door, but he doesn’t get to push it open.

"Zaros", you take his hand.

He ignores the door, turning to face you.

"If you are indeed the victor, which.... I have no doubt you are; I need you to promise me something."

His eyebrows perk upwards, and he steps closer, taking your hand fully in his.

"We don't know that yet. You gave me quite a challenge during the trials you know. Don't tell me you're giving up now?", signature smirk plastered to his face, though you no longer feel the need to punch it off.

“Please listen to me.”, you sigh, "I need you to promise me you'll never let Serulla suffer. I know I'm not capable of helping all the people who deserve our help, but you are. I’m certain of it, so promise me."

The seriousness in your eyes was enough to stifle his usual sarcasm.

"I... I promise." He barely mutters, no longer smiling. It’s an unusual sight, the kind that makes you feel nauseous. He's even more alarmed when you offer a pinkie to him, like you used to do years ago when you were just kids roaming the corridors and sneaking into the kitchen.

"Pinkie promise?" You smile.

He caught his own pinkie onto yours. "I promise, I'll do my best."

He knew what you were about to do. But he also knows how stubborn you are and there was no way he could stop you, no matter how desperately he wanted to.

After facing Nira that day, you smiled at him and whispered a gentle "Take care of yourself and my home for me". You swore that from that moment onwards, you’d never mask yourself again.

Those were your last words to him before you'd vanished, leaving behind only a letter. In which, you asked that he looked after your mother and detailed an apology as well as a segment of feelings you'd harboured for him. It was an intended goodbye before he forgets about you, lest you have a reason to return. You hoped you wouldn't.

-

Throughout your travels you faced many hardships, the expected reality of being a lone traveler. But you grew from those experiences. You learnt from the people around you and made friends.

You sharpened your survival skills as you traversed the lands, a melody of experiences of new cultures and flavours, from continents you'd only dreamt of, melted on your tongue. Those fleeting dreams were nothing compared to the reality you held in your own two hands. You learnt to appreciate life and how to trust.

The last place you ventured was the Northern Nation, though their reputation is scandalous, their culture is rich. What you weren’t expecting was to meet see a familiar face, a palace staff, an informant no less. Only now he worked for Nira, delivering letters to the most dangerous kingdom of all the nations and had informed you that you were banned from the home you grew up in.

After 8 years, it was time to turn back. It was time to head home.

-

There was a masquerade ball being held in Serulla at dawn, the perfect opportunity to tiptoe into the palace unnoticed. What was the plan? You weren’t entirely sure but one way or another you had to speak to Zaros. If you marched in like you own the place, you would be promptly kicked out a few feet upon entering the gate. It’s a good thing you knew your way around every crack and crevice like the back of your hand. It shouldn’t be too hard blending in once you’re inside. But first you needed clothes and a mask, nothing extravagant, just enough to blur into the masses.

Learning to walk silently made slipping in as easy as dreaming, before you could blink you were in the ballroom. Oh, did it feel nostalgic, you remember the times you were the main focus of these elaborate events. Now look at you, sneaking in and avoiding any attention whatsoever. You missed these walls, they look the exact same since you’ve left them, grand, luxurious and unchanged. You couldn’t help but take a minute to reminisce and admire.

“Can I ask for a dance later, mysterious stranger?” a young man snapped you out of your trance.

“I’m afraid not sir. I have prior arrangements for the evening”, you bow. “My sincerest apologies.”

What a nuisance, you thought, abruptly turning and leaving. You had to find Zaros. As King of Serulla he had to be here, his presence is of utmost importance and entirely compulsory for this kind of event. Perhaps he’d show up later in the evening, all you had to do was wait amongst the crowd. Maybe a drink would take the edge off while you do, maybe it would help you ignore the eyes you felt burning holes into your back.

Hours later the arrival of the king was finally announced, and there he was, fashionably late in all his blond glory. He’s just as captivating as you left him all those years ago, just as beautiful and refined. It was like staring at the sun, glowing so brightly it just might blind someone. Yes, you were staring, but so was everyone else. Who wouldn’t stare when graced with the presence of the King himself? His lips moved as he acknowledged his audience, but your mind was too preoccupied with gawking at him to hear a single word. You’re yanked back to reality when the crowd scatters at his dismissal, so you retreat to a space further away, where you could keep an eye on him as he conversed with guests. It would be unwise to approach him now, there’s too many eyes on him this early into the night. Once the crowd has had their fill of wine and was no longer capable of seeing any further than their nose, you’d seize the opportunity to steal him away.

Lay low, keep an eye on him. Two simple tasks to accomplish. But the fool you’d rejected earlier in the eventing, now a drunken fool, apparently doesn’t understand the meaning of two simple letters, no. You rejected him twice already but he keeps coming back.

“I’m not taking no for answer hic- you simple must dance with me”, before you could reject him again, he’s dragging you to the floor. If it weren’t for the fact that you didn’t want any attention tonight, his arm would’ve been broken on the spot.

You struggle in his grip as he swayed you, haphazardly and arrhythmic to the music, and FUCK you lost sight of Zaros. If only this imbecile would let go of you! And cease his gooselike movements!

“Unfortunately, good sir, they’re not available to dance with YOU this evening.”, you’re backed into a hard wall, a clothed wall? A familiar smelling wall. A speaking wall.

His sticky hands are gone from your body in an instant, he even backs away from you.

“You-your Majesty”, he stuttered.

“All of their dances are promised to me tonight. I’ll assume you weren’t aware and turn a blind eye just this once.”, the wall speaks again, replacing unpleasant hands with a gentle yet possessive grip. It's very obvious who this wall is.

“Now if you’ll excuse us, I’ll be stealing them away now”, he doesn’t wait for a response, pulling you further onto the dance floor. You’re still facing away from him as he guides your body to the tune that swirls the room.

“Welcome back Earis” he whispers and you can just hear the smirk he’s wearing.

“A bit of a lost cause on such title now, aren’t I?” you answer. “How did you know it was me?”, he moved your body effortlessly, like it was made specially to fit beneath his palms.

“How could I not? I could feel your eyes on me all night.” Following the music, he spins you around to finally face him. “Even if death took me, I’d still remember those eyes.”

You scoff, “How charming. But everyone’s eyes are on you tonight.”

“Hmm you think so? A shame, none are as captivating as yours.”

“I need to speak to you Zaros.”

“We’re speaking right now, are we not?”

Fuck, why does he always have to be so difficult?

“Not here. I need to speak to you in private.”

There was too much attention on him for you to speak freely, it’s a surprise guards haven’t escorted you out the room yet.

“Sounds alarming. And just when I thought you came back to see me.” he fakes a frown, and let’s go of your hand as he ends the dance. You curtsy, and he leans closer to whispers for you to follow him. He leaves first and you linger around the corners before disappearing yourself.

Eventually you’re back in the abandoned hallways of the palace, walking with Zaros.

“So why are you back?”

“I’ve made a recent discovery, and I was worried. I needed to talk to you about it.”

“Worried?”

“You’re aware of the notoriety of the Northern Nation, correct?”

“Who isn’t? Their name stains chapters of history text with the blood they’ve spilt.”

“Yes, that’s why it was a surprise when I found out your mother exchanges letters with their King and his court.”

He halts, “What? What are you talking about?”

You turn to him, removing the mask from your face. “While I stayed in the city of the Northern Nation, I recognised a familiar face. A Surullian informant. I’ve seen him work for my mother for years, naturally, I was confused by his presence there.”, you sigh. “I tried to get as much information as I could from him, but he knew nothing. He had simple instructions from your mother to deliver the letters to and from the Northern Kingdom. Unfortunately for me, he had already passed on the letters, so I did not get a look. He swore to never tell a soul of our encounter to avoid any further issues, but I also found out I'm blacklisted here.”

“What are you saying? Why would she even want to converse with the Northern Kingdom? An alliance with them is like an alliance with hyenas. They bring nothing but war and bloodshed. And what on Earth do you mean ‘blacklisted’?”, he shouts in frustration. “She’s my mother, I trust her. I find it all of this hard to believe.”

“Hah of course you don't believe me." you look around frantically. "Follow me.”

He stomped after you as you made your way for the nearest set of guards.

“Wait here, and watch.”

You walked up to them, as if to inquire something, only to be quickly apprehended.

“Let go of them immediately! What do you think you're doing?”, Zaros march in their direction.

“Apologies, your Majesty. We’re only following orders!”

“Whose orders?”, he yells.

“Lady Atha’lin, you Majesty!”, the fear is evident in their voices, and you give him a knowing look.

“Fuck”, he whispers under his breathe. “You’re dismissed and inform every guard in this palace that no one is to lay a finger on them. Do you hear me?”, he says, curt and unforgiving, as they shuffle away clumsily.

“As I said, blacklisted. Do you believe me now mama’s boy?”

If looks could kill, you’d be dead in milliseconds the way he glared at you. He's angry as can be, it’s not every day the tables are turned.

“A shame, had I been kicked out at the gates, you’d be oblivious to your mommy’s devious little plans.” You push.

“Oh what do you care? You left Serulla for 8 years. You’re back to warn me once and suddenly you’re high and might?”

“Hah, I was not just here to warn you. No Zaros, my initial plan was to meet your mother directly.”, you roll your eyes.

“Allow me to refresh your memory, 8 years ago, before I left, I made a promise to Nira Atha’lin that if she threatened Serulla in any way I’d be back to drag to her to hell with me. For your sake, I wanted to meet you first. But know this Zaros, if you’re incapable of handling your mother, I am not. I have no qualms in removing her by force, with or without your permission.”

You went overboard, but it was too late to take it back. The anger in his eyes boils over, as does the internal turmoil, but he keeps silent. He paces back and forth, and it might be better if you left him alone with his thoughts for a while.

“I’ll leave you be for now, when you are ready to find me again, I’ll be in the garden.”, a vast contrast to the tone you had previously.

-

You leave Zaros to decipher his feelings alone, it would be better if you weren’t there. You were annoyed at him for doubting you, yet that was no way for you to speak to him, especially considering the amount of information to process in such short time. How did it even progress that quickly? Sometimes old habits are hard to kill. You needed to apologise to him later.

The garden is still as beautiful as it always was, flourishing healthily despite your mother’s absence. You had heard of it, the news circulated Serulla and its neighbouring nations with the passing wind. The Queen was no more, and her child was absolutely vile for leaving her. People will always talk.

But it looks like Zaros kept his promise to take care of your home.

The garden was silence, as you stood before the two memorial tablets mounted there. One for your brother, another for your mother. You prayed that somewhere in her heart she’d forgiven you for leaving her alone. You wipe away the tears that warmed your cheek.

“She kept speaking highly of you, to the very end.”, his voice startles you, relaxed and calmer now.

“I don’t deserve it, I left her. But there was no point in returning then, if anything it made me not want to return at all.”, you replied, kissing the top of the stone with your mother’s name carved into it.

“I’m sorry.”, he sounded sincere, the most sincere you’ve ever heard him be.

“It’s not your fault, we all have to die one day, do we not?”

“No, for not stopping you from leaving.”

“What?”, confusion thickens your voice. “What are you talking about?”

“All these years you were gone, I couldn’t help but believe it was my fault. I felt guilty, like I pushed you out of your own home. Like this was never truly my place, but yours. I’d found you again after 8 years, only for you to slips through my fingers for another 8. I really am sorry.”

“Zaros.”, you stand directly in front of him. “That was not your fault. I chose to leave. I wanted to, I had to find myself. If anything, your stupid insults helped me, although they still hurt, don't get me wrong. Besides look at how well off Serulla is! You are more of a ruler than I ever would’ve been-”

“And I missed you.” He cuts you off and silence ensues, save for the soft howls of the wind. You didn’t expect him to confess that to you so openly and easily.

“I… I missed you too.” He takes a breath and smiles, not one of his devious smirks or teasing grins. A real genuine smile that once again showed a sincerity you were unfamiliar with. You sit with him in silence for a long time, admiring the stars and flowers. and you remembered a conversation you had a long time ago. He was right watching them in the moonlight was comforting. You could only hope he feels the same way right now.

“Remember how you told me to look at the flowers in the garden at night? It was so long ago; I almost don’t remember their name. What were they called again? Bitter bell something?”, you reminisced.

“Bitter bell dureni” (sorry ik I probably butchered that idk how to spell)

“Right, yes those. I got to see them tonight. They really are beautiful.”

“I’m sorry for how I reacted.", he confessed. "I promised you I’d keep Serulla safe, and I intend to keep that promise, even if it means revoking all authorities from my mother.”

“I’d much rather not use violence too. I apologise for provoking you.”

“I suppose it was a taste of my own medicine”, he laughs and you join him. “Does this mean you’re leaving again?”

“What? Do you want me to leave that badly?”

“Ha-ha, very funny.”

“No, I plan on staying a while, as long as your guards keep their hands to themselves of course.”, he laughs again and you can see yourself getting addicted to it. He sounds serene.

“Then, it’s my honour to have you.”, he reaches for your hand. “Come, your old room has been vacant for 8 years. It’s about time someone used it.”

“You kept my room vacant?”

“I may have had a little hope you’d return some day. To Serulla. To me.”

It’s hard not to smile when he says such things.

You take his hand, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek, and he averts his gaze, though not enough to hide the dusty pink shade of his skin.

“I have another question.”,

“Yes?”

“Did you really mean all those things you said in your letter?”

It’s silent again as you walk the familiar path to your room. You both knew the answer to that.

[tanzdoesthings]

Birthdays

for the Ancient AU. Five Pebbles and Seven Red Suns celebrates a birthday.

a gift for @ardienothesieno !

“I thought you didn’t do birth-cycles?” Pebbles said as he tilted his head and looked to Suns. His cup clinked against the smooth table, drink sloshing a bit, letting the ice clink against the straw. The room was filled with the low hum of conversation, casual and yet refined. Suns fit in better than Pebbles ever did.

They sipped their drink, as poised as the cycle they met, embodying a silent holiness that Pebbles could never dream of achieving. “No, it is not my usual style,” they reply, “but it seemed valuable to celebrate.”

Void below. What is he supposed to say to… this? All of this! Seven Red Suns taking time out of their busy schedule just to take him out to lunch? He’s an artist and lab tech, for wyrm’s sake, and yet they continue to meet, discussing anything under the sun, and then lower as well. Religion, philosophy, paintings, life, their work on the lifeblood of their civilization. Turning Spires is activating soon, and they’re here. Celebrating his birthcycle.

“Pebbles?” they prompt, bringing him back to the moment. “Is everything alright?”

He nods, taking another sip of his drink. “Just thinking about all that’s happened.”

They raise their glass in agreement, tipping it towards him and then taking another sip. “It’s incredible, really. We always wonder if the cycle has us trapped, and here we are, celebrating it.”

“Tradition, I suppose,” he contemplates, holding the cup on the table.

Suns seems to have noticed the oddities, to his dismay. “We don’t have to celebrate here, you know. I thought it would be nice to take you up here, but you seem… uncomfortable.”

“Thanks for stating the obvious, Suns,” he bites back, harder than he really meant to.

Smoothly, always elegantly, in a single motion, Suns sets their cup on the table, taking Pebbles by the arm and pulling. He almost falls, but manages to keep step with his friend. They travel down the elevator, out onto the street, moving between the flowing crowd.

It takes until they are standing in front of the rolling door to Pebble’s workshop that he realizes what Suns is doing. “Hey- I thought you said no work today!”

Suns unlocks the door. They’ve known the code for many cycles now. “Where do you keep your paints? And an apron, preferably.”

Little Pebbles, standing in the doorway where he was left, stares. “You want to paint?”

“It’s your birthday, yes? You enjoy doing this. I want you to show me.”

It takes another moment before Pebbles snaps back into action, collecting two aprons and moving to hang his mask on the hook- until he remembered Suns was also there. Should he take off his mask-? It would be more difficult to paint with it on- would it be weird?

Maybe it would, except Suns had moved behind him, taking an apron in one hand and holding their own mask in the other, hanging it. Oh. He tries to stop thinking, pulling off his own mask and hanging it side by side. They are smiling at him- have they always been? Their eyes are so vibrant- focus. Paint. Cans are pulled from the cabinet, nozzles fitted and set in front of a blank wall in the workshop.

“It will take some getting used to,” he says, picking up a red can and shaking. “Keep your hand moving, or else the paint will pool and drip.” A piece of paper is handed to Suns, and they reach down to pick up another can. Purple.

They shake it as well, trying a few sprays across the paper. The first two drip, but the third is relatively even. Pebbles watches, and void below is it different having Suns in this workshop. They’re tall, he’s always known this, but even without the mask Suns towers over him. He nods at the test sprays, pointing to the wall.

“We start with a sketch. This will get covered up later, but it’s good reference.” He takes a deep breath, stepping up to the wall. Scholar symbol. That will do. It’s bubbly and big, and Suns moves to add some pearls in around the character.

“Is this good?”

He’s always painted alone, this is so different. It’s good. “Yes, very. I like the way it frames the subject.”

Five Pebbles gets into the rhythm of painting. Shake-shake-shake, spray. Step back, see the big picture. Next color. Repeat. Suns works on the pearls, and they almost glow on the wall, colors weaving together. They’re picking this up well.

“You’re quick,” Suns observes, adding gold to one of the pearls.

“I’ve done this for a long time,” he replies.

More painting. Outlines are added, highlights giving emphasis to the shapes. Suns steps back at this point, letting their friend finish the work.

He steps back, dropping the near-empty canister on the ground. “Well. We did it.”

“Thank you Pebbles.”

“Oh-“ He really had needed to get something on this wall, this had just been a good excuse to-

Suns puts their hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”

He nods. It was still so surreal to see Suns without their mask, but there they went, picking the cans up off his floor. He hastily followed, putting caps back on and throwing out the empty ones. It all cleaned up quickly, and they both returned to the cabinet to put away the cans and aprons.

“It’s a shame we must wear these bulky masks and not be able to properly appreciate all the artwork on the walls.” Suns states as they pick up their mask, inspecting it before putting it back on.

“Yeah.”

Suns glances to Pebbles. “Let’s get home. It’s been a long day. Oh- send Moon my regards! I’m still writing a response to her last message,” they laugh, standing and walking to the door.

“Yeah, I’ll make sure she knows.” He follows suit, closing the door behind the two and locking it.

Many cycles later, when he’s running for his life, he’s going to come in this workshop, looking for supplies. He’s going to see the mural, made with the one who set him up to fail. The burns on his hands, his face, all from the void fluid that Suns gave him. And he is going to swallow his despair, and run.

Run far away.

[noirs-pages]

Lucifer 2

Summary: Lucifer wants to get along better with you and you see that. So, to show that you appreciate his attempts, you keep him company while he gets himself drunk off his wine. Unfortunately, Lucifer misreads your signals and makes an unwanted advance.

(Just me being my aro/ace self. Basically a case of Lucifer making an assumption, acting on that assumption and it backfires horribly.)

Lucifer was someone you could only tolerate on a good day. He isn’t a bad person by all means. He meets the low low standard of not actively wanting your death, but the little things he does, the small demands he makes of you, they irritate you in such a way that makes you want to avoid him altogether.

Lucifer dropped a pen and he asked you to pick it up. There’s a book too far away and he asked you to get it for him. There are papers that need to be taken to the student council room and he asked you to take them there. You wouldn’t have minded doing these small things. They’re menial tasks that you can easily forget.

But then you began to truly understand him. By the time he asked you to wash his utensils after finishing his dinner, you understood that Lucifer never truly asked for anything. They’re demands wrapped in politeness, things he expected you to fulfill without question, because it fed his pride to have someone at his beck and call, no matter how small and insignificant the task may be.

You remember Mammon calling you paranoid when you told him these things, because understanding the subtly of intentions behind too-small actions was never his calling. But, it took a simple sigh for Mammon to stew in his brain for a little bit to see your point.

Either way, you avoided Lucifer when you could and it took weaponizing Diavolo’s favor towards you for Lucifer to start reigning in his pride just the slightest bit. Diavolo wanted to see you do your human things while Lucifer wanted to refine you to his specifications. Obviously, Diavolo was going to win out and Lucifer had to concede.

And it seems that that particular event actually stuck with Lucifer, because when he would catch himself slipping into old habits, he would clear his throat and either help you out or do these tiny tasks himself. He stopped trying to “perfect” you in those small ways.

Honestly, it wouldn’t mean much to you if it weren’t for the fact that were no other eyes beyond just you and Lucifer. This attempt at trying to treat you like an equal stretched beyond the gazes of everyone else.

So when Lucifer drunkenly texted you near the middle of the night for some company, you figured why not. The both of you are getting along better. You can even say he’s your friend by this point in time. Besides, you’re at that point where you do want to get to know him better.

That and it would probably be pretty fun to see drunk Lucifer in action.

“… and wouldn’t you know it, he came at full sprint. Without a single article of clothing on him,” Lucifer chuckled, pushing his hair back from his flushed face, “Mammon was lucky nobody saw him.”

You snorted, swirling the wine in your glass even though you weren’t going to drink it, “That’s evil, Lucifer.”

“It’s of no fault of my own that my phone misspelled ‘witches’ with ‘riches.’”

“But you didn’t correct it,” you put the glass down and picked up your own phone, wanting some music to fill this quiet air.

“That I didn’t.” Lucifer further slumped into his chair, digging his fingers into his tie before pulling it off.

You found an interesting pick and played some modern classical music. You can save your weirder picks for later. The swell of strings and light presses of piano keys had Lucifer tapping his finger.

Just as you were about to soak in the atmosphere, Lucifer stumbled to his feet.

“Have you ever danced?” Lucifer almost tripped backwards but caught the arms of the chair in time.

“Depends on the dance,” you leaned forward, smiling at this too drunk to function demon.

“Do you want to dance?” Even when you know his head must be swimming, Lucifer tried to be suave and held out his hand. He would’ve tipped forward had you not caught his palm.

“Might as well,” you stood up just to support him, letting him rest most of his weight on you, “Here, let me show you something fun.”

And so you pulled him into a dumb little jiggle of a dance that did not suit the music in the least. Just loud steps, awkward swinging of the arms, the kind of dances you’d do as a kid when coordination and social awareness was just not a thing.

It got Lucifer laughing and you couldn’t help your own chuckles.

Lucifer eventually fell into your arms, too drunk to properly stand and you adjusted his head on your shoulder.

“Whoa there,” you patted his back, guiding the both of you to your knees so you don’t fall, “I think you had enough wine for the night.”

“Hmm,” Lucifer leaned forward, hooking his arms under your shoulders for a hug. You let him. You didn’t mind giving hugs at all.

You let your hands lazily rest on his spine, just letting him be in the moment since you’re pretty sure this man hasn’t had a hug in a while. You’ll let him have this since he probably won’t ask again when he’s sober.

Lucifer further buried himself into your neck and you shifted your weight so your weren’t on your knees. He took a deep breath in and when his fingers trailed down and grabbed at your waist did you stiffen up.

For a moment, you thought you were misunderstanding him, that you were too paranoid and that this was some sensual affection he wanted, nothing more. But then he snuggled deeper, pressed his lips up your neck and rubbed his thumbs over your ribs.

It was a knee-jerk reaction, shoving him away and onto the carpet away from you like that. Honestly, this wasn’t the first time you had your waist grabbed like that by the other brothers in this house. Beelzebub pretty much did that all the time but you knew him. He never meant anything more than that. He’s just a naturally affectionate guy that likes some sensual affection as well.

Lucifer, however, was a different story. Face holding, hand caressing, getting lost in the smell of skin, waist grabbing, all those things aren’t just actions that he would do casually. He places meaning to just about everything he does, as he puts too much effort in refining himself.

Lucifer rose from the floor, hair a mess but eyes wide with surprise and a shocking amount of clarity.

“… sorry,” you murmured as you got up. You don’t want to think deeper on this. You just want to attribute this to him being too drunk and that’s it. There’s nothing hidden in him, nothing that he’s shoving down, no fantasies that he wants to come true. Any and all softness that he’s been showing is because he wants to be your friend and nothing more.

Because if there is more, then he’d have to find out how disgusted you are by that. And you don’t want him to find fault in himself just because that’s how you react. You don’t want to ruin this already fragile friendship.

“It seems…” Lucifer started when you helped him up and back into the chair, “I lost myself a bit there.”

“You did, but don't worry about it, okay?” you backed away, skin unable to stand the thought of touching anything. You need to be in bed, away from here. “Good night.”

And Lucifer didn’t stop you. Hopefully you all will forget this night in the morning.

[power-handmaiden]

what I want to (re?)gain from reading all these tinglers.

Long ass personal ramble below because this is my blog where I ramble about things now

I used to draw all the time and even longer ago I used to write and at some point I just stopped because I got hung up on whether I was "good" at these things things or whether it was a waste of my time creating such "trivial" things rather than art with "meaning" or maybe of I should be spending my time on more "useful" skills. Why write if you're just going to write gay fanfiction? But when I tried more "serious" things to "develop my skills" and also do things like proofread and edit, it just wasn't fun anymore and the hobby was dropped. Drawing lasted longer and I never dropped it so completely but I think smartphones put a damper on it. Once we all got little Google machines in our pockets I was never just out somewhere doodling freely, there was always the option to look up a reference, to draw the thing Correctly, and then time would pass where I was trying to find a picture of a ram's horns at just the right angle, and my number at the DMV would be called or whatever else I was waiting for would demand my attention and I would never even set my pencil to paper in these moments when I used to doodle.

I also felt like I could never express sexual ideas as much as I wanted to because of the "quality" of my work. Making "bad" art was one thing, everyone in the learning process does that, but sharing "bad" sexual art? Well, everyone on the internet forums I frequented was *justified* in reposting their art to mock them and linking to their online galleries for passersby to point and laugh personally, I thought at the time. How dare they be horny and express it in an appropriate adults-only space without mastering their craft first!

There's a lot holding me back. I deeply miss drawing and writing. I miss how freely I used to be able to just do them without the mental block telling me I need to run certain steps for Quality when I never did intend to do these creative things as a profession or anything?

Why is it so easy to sit down and "waste time" playing a video game or scrolling the internet, but so hard to spend the same amount of time drawing something for fun?

here's where Chuck Tingle comes in. He is someone who just DOES IT. This is the writing of someone who is not overthinking the process like I am when I become too paralyzed to create. And, I cannot stress this enough. IT'S SO GOOD. I LOVE IT SO MUCH. So much fun, joyful art has come from a process that I had convinced myself was something to be reined in and feared. The free act of creation that I'd convinced myself was nothing if I didn't learn to refine it into something "respectable". Ideas that would definitely not have passed a committee vote but make the process of reading all these stories one after another so exciting.

Even when I hit the occasional one like today that doesn't hit well anymore, it's evidence of someone who was creating from the heart, in the moment. Weirdly, they make me feel that yearning even stronger, with the knowledge that I know I'll love future stories.

I still haven't gotten there yet but I hope the love I find in these stories eventually breaks down the mental walls I've built and makes me feel free again to DRAW SOME GODDAMN LESBIAN FURRIES.

[katsukatzz]

Desperate Carlo x reader

warnings: suic!dal thoughts

Wrote by @kaifougere666

Carlo looked into the distance at the ocean, frowning and throwing pebbles into the water.

You were sitting on a massive cobblestone; the pencil was sliding across the elite parchment, outlining the refined, aristocratic features of the boy.

"If I ever disappear, will my father regret it?"

Carlo sat down and rested his head on your forearm.

"Don’t say that, please,”

You almost whined, sitting down on the other side.

Carlo glanced back at the waves on the ocean.

"I'm serious,"

his expression was solemn.

"I'm just wondering. If I were to disappear, would my father really care?"

"I don't know the answer, but please don't do anything stupid.."

Carlo sighed and looked at you with a heavy heart.

"I won't. And what would you do if I...you know...?"

"If you ?"

Your gaze changed from worried to serious "I'll catch you back from doing anything stupid."

Carlo stared at you for a few moments. Then, he smiled faintly, trying to ignore the growing lump in his throat.

"And what if..." Carlo looked away from you and then stared straight ahead; the waves kept crashing against the shore. "What would you do if I disappeared??"

"I would create a parallel universe where you never disappear. And if you keep disappearing, then I will create other parallel universes to save you until you stop trying to go away and disappear."

Carlo smiled at you, feeling slightly less hopeless. "So no matter what happens, even if I were to disappear, you'll never give up on me?"

"Never."

Carlo sighed and relaxed, letting out a deep breath. "Thank you. Even if I'll never disappear, I just need to know you've got my back..."

"You idiot." A tear fell from your eye and caresses your cheek, only to go to your chin

Carlo's brow furrowed. He watched you, his expression filled with concern. "Hey... Don't cry..."

You hug Carlo tightly

"I hate how life made you so... desperate for affection and approbation. The thing is, I see myself in you. And I hate it. I hate how your father made you like that... this asshole. He's just like my mother.. I'll be there for you, Carlo. I'll never leave you."

Carlo's eyes slowly got wet with tears as if he had been holding them back for a very long time. He buried his face in your shoulder and held you tightly. The hug he gave you was gentle, like a warm, sweet embrace of a loving soul.

“I…”

he began,

“I don't even know what to say. Thank you…really.”

"My love for you is so painful.."

You said, eyes still tearing up.

A few tears ran down Carlo's cheeks as he continued to hold you. His body trembled slightly, feeling overwhelmed.

"It's all so painful... all of it."

"But this pain.. it feels so good.." You let out a giggle as you still hold Carlo.

"Did I suddenly become a masochist?"

You laugh

Carlo couldn't help but giggle with you at this point. But he hugged you tighter, squeezing you harder. He pressed his face against your neck and smiled softly.

"I...I don't know what's wrong with us, really..."

"Everything propably. But that's why our psychology is so interesting if you see it from an exterior mind. If we were to be novel characters, then we'll be full of depth and interesting character background. "

You laugh

"Too much background,"

Carlo agreed.

"We need some character development instead... and a happy ending,"

He said with a small, hopeful smile.

"Yes."

You nod, a hopeful smile on the lips.

"We will get this happy ending."

Carlo hugged you even tighter, not wanting to let you go.

"You promise?"

"I promise."

.

.

.

.

.

Hope you enjoyed ♡

[sashi-ya]

𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 [+18] 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐟! 𝐩𝐫𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 [final chapter]

ʚ masterlist: part 1; part 2; part 3 ; part 4; part 5 ʚ tw: finally, some good smut! love making. fingering. oral. vag. love love love confession! this is the last part of this story, but... is it really? 😏 wait and you will see...

𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐚𝐬

“Nevermind…” you sigh, going back inside. The night is too beautiful to be enjoyed on your own, and you should be finishing some last details on your cosplay. “Back to sewing…”

As your fingers work with the last part of the hem of Sora’s wife’s cape your eyelids feel heavy. And even if your mind won’t stop thinking about Law and his “surgery”, soon the sound of the waves outside lull you to sleep.

Her hand on his inked one, their bodies sweating on a tiny hospital office. A woman so refined, so pretty, and desirable, lets her white coat fall back as he pins her against the desk.

“Dr. Trafalgar… do you think this is proper?” she asks, giggling so devilishly as his kisses attack her neck.

“Even if it’s not proper, I can’t wait no more… Nico-ya…” Law sighs, loudly, opening the blouse to reveal the turgor of her breasts. He is desperate, in need of sex and release. And the tanned skin of his colleague seemed to be the right place to dig in.

Her deep blue eyes scan with lust the way Law opens his ripped jeans and lifts the yellow shirt up. He tucks it under his chin, while the white coat still remains on.

Dr. Nico Robin’s tight black skirt ends up looking like a belt around her waist as Law comes closer and lifts it up to gain a better access to her core.

“Let me fuck you now, Nico-ya” he grunts, pumping his hardness closer to a dampened fine lace panty of hers.

“Fufufu- fuck me now, Dr. Trafalgar… this surgery can take as long as this night lasts for ~”

Tears sprout from closed eyes, a painful image to look at. Your head over the table of your kitchen, and a ray of light hitting your eyes making you wake up.

In between sobbing you notice it doesn’t seem to be the sun but artificial light. The little led of your sewing machine reminds you that you had fallen asleep while working on a costume.

“Fuck…” you swear. “It was just a dream. That’s it… just a dream…” you try to calm yourself down as you check the time on your phone. Four hours have passed since you started working, enough time to finish if you hadn’t fallen asleep.

Dragging your feet to the refrigerator, you search for a trusty energy drink. The sweet and sour flavour of chemicals will do to keep you awake. However, you are sure that it won’t be the only thing…

You take a look through the window; the noctilucas are on full display over the coast and the blueish gloom tinting the beach looks like a perfect magical place. Maybe the doors to a different universe in which pirates rule the world and people have powers like being made out of gum.

“I wish you were here Law…” you sigh, painfully remembering the dream you just had. Imagining Law being with another woman breaks your heart…  but seeing him unleash sexual desires over her; that’s even worse.

You decide to check your phone; the last time Law used his was the exact moment he bid you goodbye. You are not very sure if he is indeed operating, or he simply turned off his phone so that you wouldn't bother him while being with another girl.  In any case there is no point on keep worrying about it. So, you sit down again at the table and start sewing the last part of your cosplay.

A sudden knock in the middle of the silence of the night, creeps you out. “Who could it be at this hours?”

Carefully you stand up and walk towards the door. By taking a swift look through the peephole you discover that nobody’s standing there. A shiver runs through your spine, and you wonder if you are again in danger or not…

Immediately, the memories of what happened six months ago hit you;  however, this time there isn't any hero around you called Law. This time there is no officer Roronoa, nor Penguin, Bepo or Shachi.

You silently grab the keys, squeezing the white fluffy ball that Law gave you. You take them from the door trying to make the least sound possible and walk backwards. Grabbing your cell phone, you check on your security camera app discovering that by the porch off the door there is a package with a bow that looks like a gift.

A million thoughts run through your mind; you are sure that this is something similar to a scene you saw on a Halloween movie. You feel like you're sweating, but it is cold. You ponder if you should call 911 or not… after all if there is nobody there, and it’s just a package they will probably call you crazy.

You take a deep breath. You ponder all of the possibilities.

“All right this is probably someone trying to kill me. And if I open the door to grab the damn package, for sure someone will come in and try to kill me. YES! that's it! What if it’s a fucking murderer clown? Or a guy wearing a coat with pink feathers and glasses that wants to kill me with strings around my neck??!”

You think of the stupidest things, even if today they do not sound that stupid… And frankly, when you grab your phone, you realise that you shouldn't be calling the person that you're calling… But you can’t help it…

The ringing tone seems eternal. Law isn't answering his phone. Of course he is. And if he's either operating or not, he is busy… he won't pick up the phone.

“This is Doctor Trafalgar Law speaking. I am not available in the moment to answer but please, leave a message after the tone. Thank you.” His voice resonates in your head like echoes of losing hope.         And as you curl up into a ball, by some corner of your kitchen in total darkness, you speak to him.

“I don't know why I'm calling you… but I'm scared, and I know you can’t do anything because you're on the other side of the country. But I really think you are my safe place… so, if something happens to me tonight, I need you to tell you something… I’m madly in love with you Law. Goodbye.”

Which theory eyes the next you hear is a new knocking on the door. This time it isn’t suspicious, this time is desperate.

“(Name)-ya! (Name)-ya! It’s me!!! Open me please!”

“LAW???” you stand up, sniffling. At this point you are sure you are hallucinating.

“(Name)-ya, please open! It's me, Law! I didn't mean to scare you; I was hoping that you will find this a pleasant surprise!” the desperate voice of your lover sounds in your eardrums like a balsam.

You wipe your tears with the back of your hand and run to the door. Unlocking the latch, you let the summer breeze hit your heated cheeks.

His image, standing right by the door, feels like a dream… what is Law doing there? He was supposed to be on a surgery, or… or with Dr. Robin.

“L-Law?” your lips tremble, giving your beloved doctor a sweet look of helplessness. Like a scared little girl to his father, you stretch your arms to him.

Law sighs; he is so relieved to see you safe and sound. He immediately hugs you, lifting you up and pressing your body against his.

“I’m here. Don’t panic…” he murmurs, nuzzling on your temple while you do the same on the crook of his neck.

The scent of his skin, something you wonder you had forgotten, still is as delicious as you remember. Once again the feeling of safeness with his arms around your frame. Once again him, nobody but him.

“Wha- what are you doing here, Law…?” you whisper, both unable to move nor break the hug. The need for one accumulated all throughout six long months.

“I- I wanted to come and see you…I am aware that this wasn’t very well planned, but I…” he whispers back, inhaling, after, the perfume of your hair.

You giggle. He shouldn’t be apologizing; it was you who ruined his surprise.

He puts you down, carefully, and softly.

“Law… I…” you lift your eyes to look at him. You wanna say something, but the sudden memory of your love confession strikes you. Did he hear you through the door? Has he already listened to the voice memo?

However, none of that matters anymore because without warning, neither mercy, desperate lips crash with yours in a scorching kiss.

Law’s mouth feels like paradise. A heaven you never knew it existed and to where you wish to be taken. The taste of his tongue on yours, so deliciously intrusive… for how many nights you imagined this?

When the first kiss finally breaks - because your lungs were rioting for at least a molecule of oxygen- he fixes his needy orbs into yours. “I owed you this since the airport” he pants.

You blink slowly, still unable to process what has just happened. He still feels the salty taste of your tears, while you drown into a pit of butterflies attacking your stomach.

“And… I’ve been waiting for it since that day…” you murmur, biting your lower lip too sexily for the surgeon’s imagination.

He moves that mysterious box that was still resting on your porch, inside. He didn’t even lift it up, he just kicked it in, with care.

Closing the door behind you, he lifts you up again, this time by your legs. You, quickly, surround his waist with them trapping his body for it to be only yours.

He walks towards your kitchen, kissing you so desperately with grunts and growls that sprout so easily from his throat. Law moves inside as if he knew your home, as if it was his own.

Of course, had other type of stuff be over your table he would have pushed them away, but he didn’t want to ruin your progress. So, Law keep walking through the little glass door that you kept open in your kitchen. Such door leads to a little deck that offers you the most beautiful views of the beach right across the street.

He deposits you over the little railing of your deck, amazed by the breath-taking scenery ahead of you. However, Law still believes that there is nothing more beautiful than you. That nothing, not even the Noctilucas, shine as bright as you.

His tattooed hand lands on your cheek; soft blessed fingers, trained to save lives, killing you slowly with a loving caress.

You enjoy the way his caramel skin shines bright by the blueish phosphorescence of the Noctilucas on the coast. Under a dark sky, a dot of brilliance beats like two hearts finally able to join after so long.

It is impossible for you not to get emotional. Eyes once again getting humid, this time because of pure joy.

He gets lost in the view of the coast; and the beating sounds of your hearts that match the waves crashing against the sand create a beautiful melody of love.  

“I missed you so much…” he murmurs once he looks back at you. “I missed you too, Law… I… I…” you need to tell him how much you love him; even if he really knows. Of course, he does.

Law’s lips get closer to yours, barely touching them. His hand slides from your cheek to your shoulder, a finger tangling on the strap of your lose dress. And it falls, uncovering your body, showing the man of your dreams a skin so ready to be loved. So ready to be adored.

“Don’t say it just yet…” he utters, as he begins to kiss your shoulders with loving pecks that will remain carved in your flesh for the first time and for the rest of your life.

You nod, because you understand completely why he wants you to wait. And you really don’t mind about the rest of the world, even if your bare back is on full display towards the coast during a lonely Friday night.

As Law goes down with his kisses, leaving a trail of lust, you play with the soft yet messy hair of his. Combing through it, with your nails, you watch him approach your breasts.

He discovers, with love and praise, how perfect your anatomy is… this time for real, because you both are willing to offer one to the other. Cupping your right breast, he gets your protruding nipple in between his lips.

Sucking, ever so softly, you feel like exploding. The sleepiness has eased away, and now there is just love and need. Desire and lust.

Your throw your head back, with your mouth wide open, letting a low moan to scape your chest. The way he pulls, and nibbles so delicately, is like the delicious starter for a full curse banquet.

And a banquet, a feast is what Law wants from you. To do with you. He finds your skin taste to be delightful, and he can’t wait to check that indeed your core is as ambrosial as he imagined it to be.

He kneels in between your legs, spreading them from your inner thighs. A place where he firstly squeeze, and then kiss. Diving underneath the flowy skirt of your pleaded yellow dress.

Your belly spasms in anticipation; Law’s hardness seems too painful for those blue jeans. The wet spots on your panties are everything the surgeon desires to enjoy, and little by little the tip of his nose reach for them.

You try to close your legs as in an unvoluntary muscle reaction, with knuckles turning white as you grab yourself from the railing not to fall.

“Keep… them open, (Name)-ya” he orders, sending a sting of pleasure with a simple command that sounded so dominant.

“Y-yes…” you barely mouth, knowing that you must try your best to spread your legs so that he can rejoice with your sex.

You can sense what he is doing right under your skirt, with playful finger that graze the dampened fabrics that cover your sex. Law uses his thumb, rubbing it up and down, painfully slowly over your covered slit. And taking all of his sweet time, he finally moves away your lacey coverings.

“Heh” you hear him scoff, followed by the warm sensation of his breath getting closer to your labia. You squirm, passing your nails through his nape, or at least the little part you can reach as you don’t want to lose your balance.

First, the tip of his tongue. Then all of it, eating your whole, drinking your elixir drop by drop. The technique, so immaculate. Sucking, touching, licking the right parts, showing you exactly how much of an expert he is in terms of knowing the human body.

And when your legs begin to shiver, to quiver instead of spasming, and your moans become louder… Law knows it’s time to enjoy the beautiful expression of raptured pleasure your face must be holding.

He stands up, cleaning the brilliance off his lips but never taking two fingers out of you. Those two fingers that keep you at bay, won’t let you finish but won’t let you lose the heat either.

“Can I make love to you, right now?” he asks, with his lips grazing yours, in a sexy and raspy voice.

You swallow. He said “make love…” not “fuck”…

“Ye-yes, please… make love to me, Law ~”

The surgeon smiles sweetly. Even if lust would lead you both, there is also something deeper. There is love with no words, pure adoration.

“Where is your bedroom?” he asks, taking his fingers out of you and holding you back in arms.

You point at the glass door next to the kitchen one. Your cheeks on fire, your insides too. Your heart combusting, with sparks flying from such burning.

He slides open the door with a swift motion, grunting to discover you didn’t lock it. “You should close this…” he scolds you and you simply giggle.

When he gets to the foot of the bed, he kneels with you still in arms. You sit on his lap, with noses grazing, both breathing desire, with your sex over the bulge forming underneath his jeans.

“Are you sure?” he asks, again. “Yes, because I…” you wanna say you love him, but his inked index stops you from doing so. Not just yet.

Law slowly takes his finger from your lips and kisses your forehead.

Your breasts pressed against his chest are dying to feel his skin against them. Thus, you surely begin to pull up from his shirt.

Caramel skin, yet again barely bathed by the blueish light filtering from the coast through the glass door. The black lines, tracing a heart pattern forever carved on his flesh like the memories of that man who saved his life… the man he told you about during endless texting before bed nights.

Planting sweet kisses on his neck and collar bones, you enjoy with no hurries every inch of skin. But it isn’t enough, he is hurting. The jeans jail’s been too much already, and he needs relief. He. And you, too.

Surely and quickly, you stand up just enough for him to take his jeans off. And Law delivers almost instantly. You discover clean legs, this time with no tattoos like the rest of his body and wonder if there is something he is waiting for to get them permanently drawn with.

Your fingernails trap the hem of his boxers, and pulling them down, you finally give his shaft a so needed freedom.

It is hard, it is perfectly sized and healthy too. The way its tip is covered in shiny essence, pushes you to gloat before such tempting imagery.

But he can’t wait no more. Law needs to feel the warmth of your insides surrounding him, like a wet hot hug of clenching shelter.

His nails bury into your hip sides, guiding you towards his dripping masculinity. As drippy as your core that drizzle with connecting strings of wetness, his purplish tip.

Looking up, with pleading eyes, Law awaits. You put an end to the torturing inches that separate both bodies, sitting so perfectly on his lap, letting his sex slide inside you, feeling the way it opens its way towards your centre.

As you finally reach the deepest point, Law’s arm surround your lower waist, pressing you so hard against him. Both take a moment to enjoy the connection, looking into each other’s eyes before he starts ramming in and out of you with merciless hips thrusts.

Your body on its own coordinates its motions to match Law’s, going back and forth, around, and up and down. Lips grazing, sloppy wet kisses, grunts, and whines…

It is time now, right? When the body, the soul and the heart reaches its climax…

“(Name)-ya, I’m madly in love with you ~” “Law, I loved you since the very beginning…”

You want an epilogue?! Yes! And it’s coming soon :3

[glassprism]

Opinion on chumisa? She’s gorgeous but haven’t heard much of her

So, keeping in mind that I tend to just skim over reviews and I don't really get hyped over actors a lot...

I really liked her. Like, she was very, very good.

And it's pretty incredible considering the video I have of her that she's only barely started the role, but there we are: Chumisa Dornford-May feels like she came into the production already having a good idea of exactly how she wanted to play Christine and how she wanted to act certain scenes and string it all together to show her character's arc, and she went and did it. Now all that's left is for her to refine it.

Some highlights: from the get-go I loved how she played 'Think of Me'; I think it's very tempting to go the happy, joyful route a la Gina Beck, and I like that interpretation! But she acted the song in a way that was more appropriate to the lyrics she was singing, sometimes nostalgic, sometimes wistful, sometimes distant and grieving. It gave me a great sense of Christine as not only a good singer but a good performer too.

In terms of whether she was a Phantom or Raoul girlie, I'd honestly say neither, though if pushed I'd say she maybe leans a little more towards Raoul. Her Christine in the lair scenes was not necessarily afraid or angry at the Phantom, but she did feel rather resistant to him, especially compared to some of the other Christines in the role right now (e.g. Lily Kerhoas and Colleen Rose Curran). There were moment where she would melt a little, seemingly going, "Oh, this is kind of nice", but much of the time, she appeared more wary than anything else, unsure of what the Phantom was up to.

I also say she's not quite a Raoul girlie because she acts similarly in the rooftop scenes. In particular, her 'Why Have You Brought Me Here' was played like she was trying very hard to convince Raoul of what she saw and was angered that he kept trying to calm her down rather than actually attempting to understand her. Her Christine doesn't just want to tell Raoul what's going on, she wants him to believe her. She was also noticeably less giggly than other Christines during 'All I Ask of You', at least in this performance, and I liked how it kind of flips the dynamic between them: whereas earlier it was Christine trying to convince Raoul, now he has to be the one to convince her that all is goodness and light, and I'm not fully sure she bought into it.

What else? Oh, in 'Twisted Every Way', she did something that I first saw Yang Chen Xiuyi do in the Chinese production, which was to turn very hopefully towards Raoul when he says, "Christine, Christine, don't think that I don't care..." It's like she thinks, or wants to think, that Raoul is going to back down and call off his plan, which makes it all the more devastating when he doesn't.

And finally, by 'Point of No Return' and 'Final Lair', her Christine had definitely reached her limit with the Phantom. I really enjoyed how you can see Christine working out that it's the Phantom onstage with her during 'Point of No Return', slowly drawing out her phrases as the wheels in her head spin and then committing to continuing the show to catch him. (Never mind about the stuff after.) She delivered a truly contemptuous, "Please, Raoul, it's useless" in the 'Final Lair', and I think she gave a truly angry kiss to the Phantom. It felt very similar, interestingly, to her dynamic with Raoul on the rooftop; she seemed to be using the kiss to desperately try to convince the Phantom away from his current path (using the power of making out to stop the cycle of abuse and trauma!). Such was the quality of the video that I'm pretty sure I saw tears on her face during the kiss, and Chumisa Dornford-May played it, I feel, like it was due to the overwhelming catharsis of emotions she was experiencing: anger, grief, betrayal, terror, all of it being released into this one grand moment.

The only flaws I really noticed had to do with her singing. Most reviews have pointed out she belts some of the score; I didn't notice it too much, but I definitely heard it during 'Wishing'. It wasn't the worst place to belt - she did it during the last stanza, where Christine is usually singing pretty loudly anyway, likely to add volume to her singing - and I didn't mind it too much, but it was jarring. There were also a few parts where her voice was a little quiet, and small scenes where Christine was not the focal point but she could done a little more in her acting, or just paused and let the scene "breathe" a little (which, in fairness, is something most actors new to a role will do, rush through the show).

But honestly, those were minor nitpicks in what was otherwise a really great performance. And this is her early in her run? I can only imagine what she'll be like with a few more months under her belt!

[sparkytheandroid]

ABOUT NEW 50% OFF CONTENT

Hey sorry to get your attention like that, kind of a scummy move but bare with me a few moments. I’m the other person who made 50% Off, Sparky the Android, I also voiced Haru and Rin and some other small things. People usually just call me PJ now cause I don’t really make content anymore. Speaking of content Alex, Octopimp, decided he was going to make some new 50% Off content this past week and I would just like to explain some things as to why this is a real legitimate slap in the face to me personally. I want to stress that I was not sexually abused, physically abused, or in any major danger in my long creative partnership with Alex, he was just a scumbag who acted like an asshole and treated me really poorly over the course of the show forcing me to eventually quit. I was willing to just walk away from this stuff. Close the door, yknow? Get some closure but Alex seems intent on opening it by posting new 50% off content without talking to me about it first in any capacity. I have not spoken to Alex in several years but I was and always have been an equal creative factor in 50% Off, so him releasing new content without me feels especially insulting.   Alex came to me ten years ago asking if I would be interested in making an abridged series at the time because I had a background writing comedy and went to school for film. This was under the pretense of an equal partnership. We’re both funny, I’m a good writer and a decent voice actor, Alex is a decent writer and a good voice actor. He bought me my first voice acting microphone and we set to work developing the show with me refining a lot of our ideas into actual scripts to read from. As the series progressed I started taking on the larger writing work and Alex the larger editing work. Episodes went from 4 minute goofs (the original concept) to more longform almost 20 minute episodes at a time where characters had their own throughlines and stories progressing. It was a large task for the two of us, especially the difficulty of editing for Alex specifically. I don’t want any of this to seem like I did all the work, or that I never fought with or insulted Alex because that’s far from my point. Both of us were supposed to be partners but Alex consistently treated the show as SOLELY his in increasing amounts. I had to ask him to stop saying things like “I sign your paychecks.” or to stop insulting me in videos when he would add in insults against me without talking to me about it first. I can take an insult! I wrote some content insults about Alex too! But I was always up front and he would slip his insults in, or little jokes that were not in my scripts, without ever talking to me about them I would see them in the video premiers. He consistently minimized my involvement, I had to argue with him to get my name on the end slate, I wrote the theme rap, I wrote 90% of the material, I wrote our dumb tshirt commercials, the show is unequivocally so much of MY VOICE and I was begging to get a little more limelight or recognition. Alex took guest appearances at cons without talking to me. We did a panel at anime expo where HE was the guest and when I asked him about a badge to get into the con he informed me that he was giving the other pass to his girlfriend at the time. And while he did end up purchasing me a new badge to try and make good, just the act of not thinking that that badge should have been mine was so insulting. When we went to funimation he consistently bore it down on me that i was LUCKY that he flew me out so we could go to Funimation even though he would not be going in the first place without my scripts and voice. He made content without talking to me. He kept me at arms length in an arrangement that was supposed to be equal and I never spoke about it publicly because even a small amount of internet fame warped my little idiot brain and I wanted to keep being famous and cool on the internet. 

I never saw our official earnings numbers or even had access to the channel and took it on blind faith that I was being fair. When I quit the show because it was seriously becoming a real detriment to my mental health I walked away from any earnings the show would make after. 

It sucked. It sucked because I wanted to make more of the show. I wanted to finish season one. I promised people I would. It sucked because for some of it I was having fun! I was going to voice actor parties and people were paying attention to me. Selfishly I thought I could right the ship and turn it into a real career but I know that was never really an option. And it sucked because Alex and I WERE friends. I did some of my best material with him. Times hanging out with him where he was a genuine person were great. And I tried so many things! I realized arguing with him wasn't working so I figured it must be my fault. I tried being more supportive of him, supporting his streams, cheering him on at game tournaments, etc. But he just kept using me and the people around him to further his career. I just couldn’t take it anymore and I took the only ownership I really could and I walked away. The show stopped and, I’m sorry to the people who loved it, I think it should have stayed stopped. Nagisa is a fuckin racist caricature, one I actively contributed too regardless of the actions I took to make Nagisa smarter, more artistic, less of a one note joke about drugs and crime. Hell his final speech about how he felt about fetishizing MLM content at the time was feelings I WAS HAVING as a person coming to real terms with their queer identity. Alex is not a queer person! I am! I gave that speech to Alex to perform. I gave him MY VOICE. But it's still a racist caricature rooted in the past that is my fault for perpetuating.  

And again I’m not an angel. I argued with Alex a lot and said a lot of mean things to his face. Some stuff I regret because I’ve spent the time after the show specifically not shoving myself down another pipeline of making online content. The attention makes me stupid and I act like a jerk! I made mistakes while doing 50% Off and I’m sure I’ve hurt people too. I’m sorry to anyone who crossed my path when I was hopped up on stupid internet fame. You met one of the worst versions of me and it was my own doing. I’m sorry to Alex even for some of the stuff I said. But Alex leveraged his position of power over me as an excuse to treat me like shit. I’m in a good place in my life and I just wanted to shut the door on all this but Alex is intent on opening it after all these years and STILL minimizing my contributions. Saying things like “I just don't have the time/resources to make full episodes anymore.” He can’t make full episodes anymore because he would have to replace my voice in them but more than that replace my entire writing style. I was willing to let him upload a short like w/e its 2023 like whatever right? Tell your joke dude I don’t care. Then he posted another acting like he was going to do even more new 50% Off stuff and a close friend spoke with him saying it wasn't a good idea and he agreed. Then he posted them on youtube! And is saying stuff like this to people in the comments.

Like implying that the only reason he can't continue to produce 50% Off in full is because he doesn’t have the energy or schedule. He can’t continue because it would be continuing without me and I know deep down he KNOWS he shouldn’t. I don’t want any fucking clout or want you to watch any of my content because I don’t MAKE any. I wasn't sexually assaulted or physically abused. Alex was just a huge dick to me and a lot of my friends and we all just let it slide for all of our own personal reasons. Hell I was content just walking away the way I did, making the split seem amicable so there wasn’t a bunch of drama, letting the show stay up, and still field questions for people curious about it. I took my gdrive with every script i ever wrote for the show and just closed the door. I’m just tired after all these years of this guy actively ignoring my involvement in the show that is partially responsible for his internet fame. Tired of him pulling this bullshit “uwu i would love to make more but i just can't!” attitude to lie about why he can't actually make more. Tired of him opening that fucking door. 

A few years ago Alex got in contact with me through a friend with an apology. At the time he sent it many streamers were facing backlash for how they treated people in the past, ones closer to Alex, so this seemed suspiciously timed. The apology I got sounded like every other apology Alex had given me over the years. A lot of avoiding his own culpability in his actions. I told him that if we were to resume being friends it would take a lot. I think anyone who makes the effort deserves the chance to be redeemed, but I had absolutely zero trust in him and thought it was unlikely that he really wanted to make an effort to be a real friend to me. After that we resumed not speaking and when people asked me about him I still tried to make our split seem at least somewhat amicable and I try to generally avoid projects he is involved in. 

Imagine my surprise when he walked out on that Jerma stream. 

I want to thank everybody who watched 50% Off honestly and truly. I think some of it still shines as some of my best work. I got to do a lot of cool things like have my voice in a real anime, and I met tons of people who cared about me and my role in the show specifically. Those people were like life preservers while I felt like I was sinking in Alex’s shadow. It’s undeniably cool to have people respond to your work so well and I know I wouldn't have seen that happen without Alex’s skills as an entertainer and producer. Alex has hurt me personally as a friend, as a business partner, and has hurt several of my other friends in various ways with his behavior. The way I felt on 50% Off became truly harmful to my mental state. I struggle personally with imposter syndrome and RSD and at the time of making the show I had gone through very little therapy to help me develop healthy coping mechanisms for those things. It was just like pouring gasoline into a fire. And I really wanted to put it all behind me for the sake of my own mental health and life because all things considered I’m happy where I am now. I’ve worked really hard on myself personally and have been so lucky to have emotionally intelligent friends help me and give me so many chances I should not have deserved. I’m fortunate to be able to support myself and my cat, and I get to make personal art I love without having to push myself into the internet game because if I’m being honest I had a bad addiction to social media. I apologize I don’t have a nice resolution for you, I’m not asking you to stop watching 50% Off, or watch anything I make, or hell even stop watching Alex’s personal content. I just felt like I had this intense pit in my stomach seeing him parade around in the other half of our two person horse costume and insist he’s wearing the whole thing. Yknow? After all these years I just wanted to say SOMETHING about the way I was really treated so I could finally get some closure for myself. Thank you for your time and again to all the people who DID support the show thank you sincerely. 

[southern-god1]

Guided Meditation

As you returned home from work, a package waited for you outside your apartment door. It was addressed to you, but there was no return address listed. 

You opened it and were surprised to find an old-fashioned tape recorder and a pair of headphones, a brochure for some guided meditation thing. 

Curious, you decided to try it. You found meditation calming, and a guided meditation experience sounded potentially interesting. You slipped on the headphones and pressed play. 

“Welcome to Guided Meditation. I will be your guide through this guided meditation experience, Dr. William Greyson.”

The man’s voice was calm and quiet, possessing a refined Southern accent, the quiet dignity of a gentleman. It was soothing to listen to. He continued. 

“Close your eyes and attempt to clear your mind. Remove any distracting thoughts. Politics, sports, pre-conceived notions. Take a deep breath in. Count to 5. 1…2…3…4…5. Exhale. Good.”

You took a few deep breaths, counted to five, and exhaled, trying not to think about politics or sports or anything else, to clear your mind, as you did with all meditation. The smooth voice continued. 

“Picture a pristine, babbling creek, full of fish, winding its way through the forest. Hear the soft babbling of the water, the sounds of birds around you. You are fishing in the stream. Feel the rod in your big, strong, calloused hands. Feel the cool air against your tough, sun-burnt skin, hardened from years of hard work on the farm. Your hairs stand on end from the cool wind, your skin prickling. Remain in this calming space for a few moments, listening to the water and feeling the cool wind on your skin.” 

For a few moments, you could swear you felt a cool breeze rush over you and hear water rushing nearby. Not the sound of waves crashing against the hot beaches of Oahu, but water like in a creek or a stream. Must be the power of suggestion, you thought. 

“Now, let us transition to another scene. It is fall, and as the leaves are falling, you are getting busier. Busy hunting and of course, playing football. Feel the adrenaline pumping through your body, the sweat after a hard-won game. Feel the energy coursing through your veins, through your big, strong muscles, solid and strong like white titanium. Feel the heat radiating from your body, the sweat and musk wafting from you. Feel your size 16 cleats crunching through fallen leaves, feel the sweat drying on your body. Smell the smoke of a bonfire, taste the ice-cold beer on your lips before you rumble out a burp.”

This was getting…weirder, you thought. Adrenaline and heat, energy? This was supposed to be meditation, not pumping you up! And what kind of a meditation tape would ever talk about beers and burps and bonfires? Maybe you should stop listening, you think, before a hot warmth swells up inside you. You felt sweaty, but you did have a hard day at work, and it was hot, like always. 

“Feel the pride welling up inside you. The pride from winning a game, winning a game against a weak team from up north, showing them Southern power and strength. Utterly dominating them, as you should. Feel your mighty muscles. Your huge boulder biceps, mighty pecs, your hard abs. This is the power within and without. It is your power. You are strong. You are mighty. You are powerful. Feel your white titanium muscles slowly swelling up bigger and bigger, getting stronger as you embrace your heritage.”

You had no idea what was going on at this point, and tried to reach for the headphones, only to feel the warmth inside you abruptly move, to your pecs. Your pecs began to grow and swell, swelling out into mighty slabs of muscle. Your abs became chiseled like thick cobblestones of muscle. You couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes, and it felt so good. It burned, but it was a good kind of burning, like a purifying flame. 

“Feel your arms and legs growing. Your cock becoming worthy of you, rather than the old, inferior you.” 

The heat shot out in several directions. Your arms and legs began to burn; you could feel muscles swelling up from nothing, being molded by the heat like clay being fired in a kiln, hardening into strong mounds of muscle, huge biceps, triceps, calves. As the heat spread to your cock, you nearly doubled over with pleasure as you felt your balls balloon in size, your cock growing, becoming a long, thick cock worthy of a man of your size. 

“You may feel disoriented as you adjust to your new reality. Feel your skin burn as you become a true Southerner, a Son of Dixie. Cast aside your old identify and be born anew."

You were finally able to open your eyes and felt an intense itching all over your body. You looked down in awe and horror at your new muscles. They were so big and strong, but slowly seeping across your body was a wave of white, almost like oil seeping across your body, climbing like kudzu vines up a trellis. Wherever it passed, your skin itched furiously for a moment before becoming pure white titanium, unblemished and nothing like the darker tone over what was left of your body. You frantically tried rubbing it off, and tried reaching up for the headphones, only for a wave of confusion to wash over you. Why were you trying to take off the headphones? This was helping you become a new, better you, a bigger you, a stronger you. 

"The process of acquiring new memories may be confusing, disorienting, traumatic. You are a proudly Southern country boy, you have always been a proudly Southern boy. You are a big, strong, cocky football player. You have always been a football player. Let go, give in, give up, surrender to who you are now." 

You shook your head vigorously, looking down at your body. Why had you ever thought you were Asian? Fuck that, you were a country boy through and through. Nah, the only thing Asian about you was the fried rice and egg rolls you ate at that cheap Chinese place on the corner. You and your team members had once eaten literally everything in the restaurant, forcing them to close early. After all, big muscles like yours needed big fuel. You were a big strong country boy, Will Hayes, a player for the Nocturne City Rebels. 

"Feel your memories slipping away. Do not be afraid, they are the remnants of your past life being erased so you may start anew, so you may be reborn. You will be a Southern country boy through and through, with no memory of your past life."

You had strange memories. Memories of someone else...someone who you thought was you. An Asian boy, living in Hawaii. Milestones of his life flashed by; a birthday party on the beach, learning to swim in the salty Pacific, his first car, attending a Harry Potter screening with friends. But these brief flickers faded quickly, like embers in a dying fire, struggling to survive. You shook your head, new old memories flooding in. You were born to a small family in rural Virginia, outside Nocturne City. You spent your childhood hunting, fishing, helping dad out on the farm. You had never left the continent, let alone been to Hawaii. You remembered the first time you shot a deer, your father proudly helping you mount it on the wall where it remained to this day. You remembered getting your truck, a big, lifted Ford that had speakers that could shake the ground when you blared Dierks Bentley and Florida Georgia Line. You remembered your first football game, the rush you felt when your team won against the pathetic little team from up north. 

"Now, clear your mind of any lingering elements of your old self. Interests, hobbies, all need to be destroyed that you may be born anew as a Son of Dixie."

Despite your country upbringing, you had weird tastes. A fondness for Harry Potter, Magic The Gathering, and musicals. All that needed to be erased. Within seconds, your knowledge of Magic cards and spells was replaced by a hard-won knowledge of how to fish and hunt. Your encyclopedic knowledge of lyrics from the songs of Wicked was replaced with knowing how to change a tire, fix an engine, and fix a leak. Your love of fictional British wizards was replaced with a love of all things football. Your favorite movies were now the Southern Avengers movies; you even had a framed poster for the original Captain Confederate on your bedroom wall. 

"Good. Now, there are just one more thing left to do. I assure you; it will come quite naturally to you. Explore your new body, and then jerk off. Purge yourself of your remaining impurities."

You looked down. Your work clothes were incredibly tight, unable to handle your new size, and looking comically undersized on your mighty body. Absolutely nothing remained of your previous appearance, aside from the clothes. You ran a hand through your scruffy facial hair, feeling the short brown hairs tickling your fingers. You felt your bulging biceps, flexing and feeling your immense muscles bulge with every flex. The sleeve of your work shirt tore, unable to handle your new biceps flexing. Your hands ran down, rubbing your huge pecs, massive slabs of beef topping your chest. You ran your hands down your abs, like rock hard bricks of white marble. Your hands found their way down to your immense cock; eight inches soft. You reached down and felt your balls, churning up seed. Normally you'd be fucking or being sucked off by a weak Yankee, or having sex with your boyfriend, Ryan, but you needed release now. You stroked your mighty country boy cock, and felt it harden. You slowly began to stroke it, feeling your cock quickly harden in response to your touch. As you stroked, more memories came to you. You remembered meeting Ryan in high school, the two of you falling in love on the football team; you were a running back, he was a tight end. You remembered your first time dominating a Yankee; making some weak Yankee nerd lick your cleats clean, get you beers, and suck you off. You stroked harder, cock lengthening to a ten-inch monster of country boy meat. 

"Purge yourself of what remains."

The voice was accompanied by the intense heat returning, concentrated in your cock and balls, and you groaned, stroking faster. Whatever this was, it felt incredible. You moaned loudly as you came, all traces of your previous existence being blasted out along with your load of thick salty cum. Your underwear and pants were soaked, and so was your chest and work shirt. This didn't last long through. The heat shot up to over your heart, and began to burn, more intensely than it had before. You nearly doubled over in pain and pleasure, as a battle flag tattoo formed over your heart. As you saw it forming, an intense wave of pride came over you. You were proud to be gay, proud to be Southern, proud of being a real man, proud of where you were from, and eager to show off your superiority to puny Yankees. You closed your eyes for a moment, reflecting. When you opened them, you looked down. Your work clothes were gone, replaced by a tank top and a pair of jeans, a pair of boots on your feet, which had grown to a solid size 16. A ball cap rested on your head. Despite the chill of the Virginia winter outside, you felt fine wearing just a wifebeater. You were no longer in Hawaii, you were at home in Virginia, about to go meet up with Ryan for a date; burgers, beers, and dominating a pair of Yankees he had caught. You grinned and took a pic before heading out to your truck. 

This was a commission for @dumbmusclehypnojockboy Thank you again for being one of my first ever commissions!

[neonscandal]

I read this from twitter, can I ask your thoughts, Neon? Somehow I felt like there is something wrong in here (this post) :

"Even if Geto was never able to learn RCT or Domain Expansion, at the end of Shibuya we saw how Kenjaku had a better understanding of Curse Manipulation than Geto ever did even after 20+ years of using his technique which indicates that Geto stopped trying to hone his technique.

We're constantly shown through the actions of current players how in retrospect other characters made the wrong decisions when they chose the easier path instead of facing their hardships head on and trying to become stronger themselves.

Geto chose to be the strongest among the weakest instead of trying to keep up the strongest which is another betrayal to Gojo. Gojo says this to Megumi because from his POV, he doesn't feel like he abandoned Geto but Geto abandoned him by not striving to get stronger as well."

Dusting off the haters ✨

Baby girl keeps catching so many strays.

This read is kind of interesting in calling Geto the strongest among the weakest which.. I actually kind of like but that's another point.

I don't know what OP is specifying as far as what Gojo says to Megumi to say Geto betrayed him, I don't recall anything that would make sense to have extrapolated that but we'll put that on the backburner for a minute.

We'll go point by point. In universe, not everyone has the ability to learn RCT or Domain Expansion so let's start there. Mind you, a Black Flash, which is a lot more attainable, is still not a feat that everyone is able to accomplish offhandedly. Nanami, a Grade 1 sorcerer, knew his 4 in one go was a feat. In fact, when Gojo took Yuji under his tutelage, he basically explained that, jujutsu power graduation system be damned, you're born as strong as you're going to be with the exception of the bit of power that is refined/honed. So, for most sorcerers entering into Jujutsu High, they're already at like 90% of their potential. Shoko's cursed technique is her ability to manipulate RCT just like Nitta's brother. It's not like you see either of them offensively applying any cursed energy. The offensive fighters you see who have mastered RCT as a cute, little add on bonus are those who are special grade and with an infinite or godly amount of cursed energy (Gojo, Yuki, Sukuna, Yuta who can copy techniques, etc.). Geto's CT involves eating curses to subjugate them. Subsequently, I'm not sure how much of that translates into actual cursed energy he can manipulate.

The humor of this understanding is the fact that Gojo says this knowing that he unlocked like... a great deal of his own potential and shattered the glass ceiling of his power. This is echoed in Yuji's power ups throughout the story which is also considered anomalous.

Cursed techniques are passed from generation to generation. Of course Kenjaku had a better understanding of Curse Manipulation than some yokel who was born to non-sorcerers?? Kenjaku has lived for hundreds of years. If you've been in jujutsu society for a bit, you have more of a flair for deciphering other peoples' techniques.

Good Will Event - Kyoto sorcerers try to keep their techniques somewhat of a secret. Even those who don't have an inherited technique have something to lose when someone gets wind of what exactly they're dealing with

Toji vs Gojo - There was so much lore about Six Eyes and Limitless that Toji was able to craft a trap around what he knew to wear Gojo down. Over time, word tends to get out about the limits of famed familial techniques. Gojo says, during his second fight with Toji, that there's somewhat of a manual when you inherit a technique but even Purple Hollow hadn't been something that a lot of people knew about.

Megumi in Shibuya - As a reader, we actually watch as Megumi works to determine what cursed technique or the conditions of a person's CT are as he's fighting them to figure out how to best them.

The advantage of simply knowing is shown repeatedly. But if we couple it with the assumption that you're already as strong as you're going to get... why would Geto question it? He's the genius of hard work but even he knew he and Gojo weren't on the same scale of strength just because they were The Strongest.

Now we get to the strongest of the weakest comment which I love because... isn't it just so? Geto, born of non-sorcerers carries the burden of protecting the defenseless to give meaning to his suffering. Kinda makes him seem a little more egocentric than we'd have previously given him credit for, right? When we consider this idea of being the "strongest of the weakest", it puts me in the mind of a few things:

The level of Geto's strength suited his purposes just fine. Geto simply wished to protect. In being able to do so, why would he strive for more? He had no grand design for the power bestowed upon him. Gojo was actually driven to be the strongest, excited by any opportunity to go all out when it arises. Gojo is strong for his own satisfaction. As such, I see where there would be a divergence in motivation and, subsequently, dedication. Geto was just happy being at Gojo's side as The Strongest duo.

A lot of people assume Gojo has a god complex (tbh this link also supports why Gojo is the way he is in general as to my first point). But this spin makes it seem like Geto is more god complex leaning (not completely, relax). After the humbling against Toji, Geto develops a full blown martyr complex before his brain chemistry and ideals radically change. But it's only possible because he views his power as a burden because of its unpleasantness in its practice but also the responsibility for others it subsequently damns him to (search "herd" to get to the point).

There are countless references to Buddhism in JJK, obviously. I'm not a practicing Christian but this idea very much puts me in the mind of Jesus, born of man, scorned by and sacrificed for man. Just another interesting perspective as to how doomed Geto was by the cage of his own morals.

Following Riko's death, Geto does stagnate. In his grief, his survivor's guilt, his PTSD. We see Gojo soaring to new heights with his cursed technique because he can. I'm not sure Geto ever had the capacity given my first few points. Just because he's a special grade does not actually make him on par with the likes of Gojo or Yuta. Obviously, he mastered Maximum Uzumaki, his finishing technique, he used it against Yuta.

The big difference between Kenjaku's competence and Geto's competence with Geto's technique is that Kenjaku was able to subjugate Mahito and co-opt Mahito's technique which I'm not sure Geto had done previously (re: utilize the cursed technique of a curse he'd imbibed). But that begs the question over whether that ability was something Geto could do with his technique or whether that was actually a benefit of Kenjaku's ability to body hop and take over other sorcerers' techniques. Even the Domain Expansion that we see Kenjaku perform later, avoiding spoilers, is not Geto's just because it was performed in Geto's body. It was Kenjaku's own Domain Expansion.

Gojo was very obviously hurt by Geto's defection. Namely because of what he lost, what he could not understand, and Geto's parting words. But I don't think, at any point, he ever felt betrayed by Geto. Least of all by his inability to keep up with him, per se. Why else would he call him, in present tense, his "best friend, his one and only" ten years after his defection? After considering OP's comment further, I assume they are referencing the deal that was made when Gojo goes to collect Megumi.

.... Is that a look of betrayal or a look of regret? Seems more like the latter, to me. In his heart of hearts, I don't think Gojo could bring himself to blame Geto. As far as Gojo was concerned, Geto was in the right more often than he was in the wrong. He was his moral compass, someone whose opinion he valued, someone he could confidently rely on. I think Gojo was more inclined to believe that he failed Geto, if anything. Geto left him questioning himself, as we see in the exchange with Yaga, but it also led him to the fact that it is not enough to simply be strong.

[nights-at-crystarium]

January 9 is Vivi’s birthday \;w;/ The date’s cheeky, it’s when I reached ShB on him ingame. A year ago. JUST A YEAR. No other oc of mine had such an intense development process. I wanted to try writing a disaster, and, well....

Lemme have today as an excuse to ramble about his influences. Of course I didn’t merely lump these together, I kept realizing the likeness as time went on.

The concentration of unhinged blondies and literal idols is past the critical level, take cover, it’s gonna blow.

Spoiler warning for everything.

Anarchy Panty

Because his full name’s Vivien Fucksalot Rell x’D A good number of their tropes match perfectly.

This speech could as well be copypasted into his final battle with Emet:

Panty: You're right, I'm just a little bitch and I'm proud of it. But guess what, douchebag? That's not the point. News flash, I don't need special fucking powers to beat the shit out of you. You know why? Because I'm a bitch who doesn't give a fuck. You and your half-dead face can preach about hymens and demons and other weird words that supposedly mean shit, but that doesn't change the fact that if any of you fuckers get in my way, I'm gonna kick some twisted-ass ass. You hear me dick? I'm a hot bitch angel named Panty. And no matter what anyone says, I DO WHAT I FUCKING WANT!

Princess Ai

An edgy fashion icon that I'm still in love with. Brainstorming the visual styles for Vivi, I simply decided to indulge as hard as I can.

Howl

Howl gets his redemption arc, Vivi, uh.... Surprise, the entire ShB part of Fragments is his redemption arc of sorts. But he exists outside ShB as well. He’s not meant to be a goody two shoes. But hey, his drama queen moments are entertaining to watch.

Raha has a lot of Howl in his character too. With Vivi, he’s basically this, except he doesn’t swallow him.. Okay he does but in a different way *kicked*

Arataka Reigen

Because I’m physically incapable of writing a classic hero.

Vivi has a complicated relationship with his career and a pragmatic approach to most things in life. He also prefers words to violence, will fight only if that fails.

When confidence and persuasion carry so hard you don’t really need anything else. Vivi firmly believes in everything he says and does. He doesn’t derive any fucked up joy from being right, but he knows as a fact that he IS right.

Sakuma Ryuichi

Duality my beloved \o/ And dorkiness. Other than that, Ryuichi doesn’t have as much influence on his character, but the visuals?

I mean I literally use this shirt and necklace as an easter egg/homage. Gravitation triggered my queer awakening in the faraway 2006, might as well give it the acknowledgement it deserves.

And, lastly, the he.

What else do you expect from a character tailored for a ship \o/

Short. Sassy. Dorky. Gremlin. All of their direct likeness stems from ARR, while the more subtle parallels and extreme opposite values form later.

If Raha’s eccentric, Vivi takes that just a tad bit further, simply because he’s always been allowed to.

What Raha keeps repressed, buried deep down, Vivi embraces in full. He’s an unruly, effervescent spark of life, he’s meant to be Raha’s “manic pixie dream boy” according to tvtropes, to slowly lure him out of his shell and teach him confidence, the joy of living, and find a way to stop him from killing himself over and over again.

Words of praise and affirmation have no effect on them. Both are competent in some field, but never brag about it. While Raha has a severe imposter syndrome, Vivi knows he’s cool as a fact, which still doesn't mean he loves or values himself as he should. He just acknowledges and uses his status for his own benefit as openly as the world keeps using himself.

Destiny (affectionate) and destiny (derogatory).

Raha’s The Adult (tm) Vivi needs to stay somewhat stable. This’s the reason they don’t quite get along in ARR yet, Raha must go through that century of suffering that, despite all common sense, refines him into something delightful, Vivi must go through HW-SB to realize his priorities in life and frankly get fucked up enough to form a perfect chemistry with Exarch.

Raha has a moral compass that he may adjust at will, Vivi has none at all. How much more questionable would they be if they weren’t cute and charismatic :’D

They’re feisty and competitive towards each other, Raha especially so. Vivi has a red cloth effect on him. Forever wrestling for that imaginary control (yep, in bed too). On the emotional side, it’s forever “you matter, I don’t”. They’re mirrors of each other, reflecting some parts as they are, twisting others in most peculiar ways.

Vivi literally wouldn’t exist without Raha, both ic and ooc. So I daresay Raha has the most influence on his character, at the same time he’s his own guy enough to stay interesting. I’m so proud of him. I’m holding him by the scruff and helplessly shaking him in the air.

[comicaurora]

Sorry if this is a weird question but how long did it take for you to start making art you felt was good enough, at least at the time? I have a lot of ideas for projects I want to make but I'm slowed down by not quite being at a level I'm happy with for professional endeavours. Wondering if I should quit while I'm ahead and just hire an artist I like.

Hoo. Good question.

It's hard to keep track of, honestly. I think every artist is going to feel a degree of "this could be better" about anything they make, and if that's all you're keeping track of it can feel like no progress is being made - but in hindsight, I think "this could be better" means a lot of different things, and what it means for my work has changed over time.

One of my earliest art-related memories is having a very clear image in my head of a pencil sketch I wanted to make (a family portrait of some wizards, a mom and dad flanking a young daughter) and then being immensely frustrated that what I produced was a pale, inexpert shadow of that image. The starting point I was at was "this doesn't look right and I don't know why," and I stayed there for a long time, even as I got overall better.

The first time I remember trying and failing to emulate a specific cartoon style, it was the manga Steam Detectives - I'd mostly been exposed to newspaper comics and scientific illustration, so I had never seen that sharp-angled straight-lined manga style before. There was a liveliness to it I couldn't capture, and that frustrated me. At this point I could see what was wrong, but couldn't yet correct it - my unconfident pencil sketching wasn't going to produce the same kind of three-dimensionality and flow as the brush strokes used in the, in the same way that a traced figure can look strangely odd and off-balance because it's only mimicking the outlines. At this point I'd hit "this doesn't look right and I know why, but I'm not sure how to fix it."

At that point, practice was kind of the only solution - unconfident linework can only be improved by honing the muscle memory and confidence of the artist, which I didn't know at the time or do on purpose but ended up happening anyway, especially once I got going on the channel and was regularly doing dozens to hundreds of drawings per project.

I do remember the first time I thought "oh, that's actually better than I expected" - I had broken my clavicle and my right arm was in a sling, and my art teacher encouraged me to try drawing something with my left instead. I am very much not ambidextrous and my lines were spidery and shaky, but when I stepped back at the end, the thing I'd tried to sketch - a portrait of a regal-looking elf man - actually wasn't too bad. The muscle memory in my right hand was completely absent from my left, but apparently my basic understanding of shapes and shadows had come through and made something that got across the gist of what I wanted. That was the first time I felt "this doesn't look right, but I already knew that, and what it does do is actually pretty solid."

At some point in the process of cranking out channel illustrations, and later chibi character commissions, without even noticing I hit a baseline level of confidence in what I was doing. Certain things got easier because I was doing them a lot more. I stopped thinking about whether a facial expression was communicating exactly what I wanted it to, stopped spending long stretches of time trying to refine poses - because in those specific areas I was no longer experiencing "this doesn't look right and I don't know why." I'd draw a face, realize it could look angrier, redraw the eyes and brows to be angrier, then move on. I'd block out a pose, decide the leg didn't look right, redraw it, line it and move on. It wasn't that I was nailing everything first try, it's that I'd had enough time and practice to quickly diagnose what wasn't working and quickly try something else to correct it.

Instead, I was thinking "this doesn't look right and I don't know why" about other things. Trees, buildings, figure shading, fire, water, metal textures. I still didn't feel ready to do the comic in earnest, but I'd started doing digital illustrations of the characters and mock-up pages/covers, and I kept finding problems in the composition. It didn't look right and I didn't know why. If I didn't know why, I couldn't fix it. A lot of that process boiled down to redrawing stuff until it managed to look right, then trying to reverse-engineer what had worked about that. I'd accidentally draw the most perfect torso and try to figure out what magic combination of lines had made that work. And again, it was a slow process, almost unnoticeable from my perspective, because I just gradually stopped worrying so much about unsolvable artistic problems because the solutions had just arisen with practice and experience. The background looks wack - it's probably under-shaded, darken some corners to make it match the foreground. This texture looks off - probably needs some particle effects to help give it detail. Etc etc.

At present, I very rarely think "this doesn't look right and I don't know why." I still have moments of "this doesn't look right" - almost constantly, probably - but they aren't noteworthy because I've had enough practice improvising solutions that it turns into a brief experimental phase before I fix whatever was bugging me and move on. It doesn't mean it's perfect, it just means whatever problems or places it could be improved are either subjective choices that are fine either way, or small mistakes I don't notice at the time. The process of error-correction and bug-fixing becomes quick and painless enough that I hardly think about how I used to spend ages agonizing over something that was wrong that I couldn't make look right.

The point I eventually got to could probably be best described as "I could make this better if I wanted - do I want to do that?"

Making a comic like this, it's very important for me to consider the value of pouring too much into any one page. If I vastly overdesign anything, I'm going to need to keep up that level of design every time it shows up. If I drew every forest shot by hand-drawing every single tree I'd never get anything done. If something looks off and I know the solution would be more detailing and more texturing, sometimes I'll do that - filigree and particles and all that good sauce - but sometimes I'll just try a few things until I find a shortcut that makes it look fine to my eyes. Art can always be more polished, so that's not really a metric for completeness or ready-ness - I really do think the most helpful metric is whether you're regularly struggling because you can see something is wrong but you can't figure out what. If you consistently know what's wrong - or, more accurately and less judgmentally, what could be polished if you wanted to polish it - you're probably in a pretty good spot.