#it's not to Create Something Pretty it's to Create Something With Intention

[txttletale]

hey what’s up, i think you’re pretty cool but disagree with you on the whole ai can make art thing. to me, without the purpose from an actual person creating the piece, it’s not art but an image; as all human art has purpose. some driving factor in a work, compared to a program which purely creates the prompt without further intention. i was wondering what your insight on this is? either way, hope you have a great day

well, first of all, does art require 'purpose'? there's this view of art which has very much calcified in "anti-AI" rhetoric, that art is some linear process of communication from one individual to another: an Artist puts some Meaning into a unit of Art, which others can then view to Recieve that Meaning. you can hold this view, but i don't! i'm much more of a stuart hall-head on this, i think that there is no such transfusion of Intent and that rather the 'meaning' of a piece is something that exists only in the interplay between text and reader. reading is an active, interpretative process of decoding, not a passive absorptive one. so i dispute, firstly, that 'purpose' is to begin with a necessary or even imporant element of art.

moreover i think this argument rests on a very arbitrarily selective view of what counts as "an actual person creating the piece" -- 'the prompt' is, itself, an obvious artistic contribution, a place where an artist can impart huge amounts of direction, vision, and so on. in fact, i completely reject the claim of both the technology's salesman and its biggest detractors that genAI "makes art" -- to quote kerry mitchell's fractal art manifesto: "Turn a computer on and leave it alone for an hour. When you come back, no art will have been generated." in the past, i've posed questions about generative art pieces to demonstrate this

secondly, of course, the process does not end after image generation from prompt for serious generative artists--the ones who are serious about the artform (rather than tech guys trying to do marketing for the Magical Art Box) frequently iterate and iterate, generating a range of iterations and then picking one to iterate on further, so on and so forth, until the final image they choose to share is one that contains within it the traces of a thousand discrete choices on behalf of the artist (two pretty good explanations of this from people who actually do this stuff can be found here and here)

third and finally, that very choice to share the image is itself an artistic decision! we (and by we, i mean, anyone who cares about what art is) have been talking about this since fountain -- display is a form of artistic intent, taking something and putting it forward and saying 'this is art' is in and of itself an artistic decision being made even if the thing itself is unaltered: see, for example, the entire discipline of 'found art'. once someone challenged me, yknow, "if you did a google search, would that be art?" and my answer to that is, if you screenshot that google search and share it as art, then yes, resoundingly yes! curation and presentation recontextualizes objects, turning them into rich texts through the simple process of reframing them. so even if you granted that genAI output is inherently random computer noise (i don't, of course) -- i still think that the act of presenting it as art makes it so.

since i assume you're not familiar with anything interesting in the medium, because the most popular stuff made with genAI is pure "lo-fi girl in ghibli style" type slop, let me share some genAI pieces (or genAI-influenced pieces) that i think are powerful and interesting:

the meat gala, rob sheridan (warning: body horror!)

secret horses (does anyone know the original source on this?)

infinite art machine, reachartwork

ethinically ambigaus, james tamagotchi

mcdonalds simpsons porn room, wayneradiotv

software greatman, everything everything (the music is completely made by the band, but genAI was partially responsible for the lyrics -- including the title and the several interesting pseudo-kennings)

i want a love like this music video, everything everything

cocaine is the motor of the modern world, bots of new york

poison the walker, roborosewatermasters (here's my analysis posts on it too)

not all of these were necessarily intended as art: but i think they are rich and fascinating texts when read that way -- they have certainly impacted me as much as any art has.

anyways, whether you agree or not, i hope this gives you some stuff to think about, thanks for sharing your thoughts :)

[vibelladonna]

𝓎𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝓈𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝓆𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 : 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓋𝒾𝓋𝒾

Hi, my dearest readers! I’ve been seeing a lot of questions piling up in my inbox lately—a few certain ones I wanted to speak on, too, so... now’s the perfect time to sit down and answer them all at once.

Quick heads-up before we dive in: my finals are coming up next week, so from May 5 to May 9, I’ll be pretty much off the grid—buried in textbooks, tests, and the occasional existential crisis.

Once that’s over, I’ll be packing up and moving out of the dorm, then taking a much-needed breather. I’ll still be writing a little here and there, but mostly I’ll be catching up on sleep and spending some time with friends.

That said, I am planning to post at least one headcanon and maybe a longer fic this weekend—just something to keep you fed before I vanish into academic chaos for a bit.

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s jump into the questions!

“Hello! I loved "luscious" so much! Believe it or not, it improved my self-image for the week. The way you write is truly magical. You stated in the warnings how you were a bit uncomfortable writing topics like this, but I don’t see it in your “will not write for” and I’m wondering if you write for ED readers? I’m in recovery and I’d love to see how the TKAB would help out!”

Okay, starting off strong, thank you so much for your kind words about Luscious. I’m really glad it resonated with you and even helped improve your self-image, even if just for a week—that honestly means a lot to hear.

That said, I want to be very direct and honest with your question:

No, I will not be writing content centered around eating disorders, and I want to explain why—not to shut you down, but to be transparent and respectful.

As someone studying psychology and deeply familiar with how sensitive, complex, and personally damaging ED-related themes can be, I make a conscious effort to avoid writing about them. Even with the best intentions, depicting eating disorders in fiction—especially fanfiction—can be incredibly risky.

It’s not just about triggering someone who’s in recovery (or not yet), but also about unintentionally reinforcing harmful thought patterns, behaviors, or body image distortions for people who might be silently struggling.

Even if the story seems like it’s meant to be supportive, fanfic isn’t therapy, and I’m not willing to gamble with someone else’s mental health by romanticizing or oversimplifying such a serious condition. EDs are clinical, rooted in deep psychological, emotional, and often neurobiological complexities.

They aren’t just plot devices—they’re lived pain. And I have too much respect for that pain to fictionalize it in a way that could do harm.

You’re not wrong for asking.

In fact, I admire your honesty, and I’m truly glad you’re in recovery. That takes strength. But for both ethical and personal reasons, EDs are a firm boundary for me as a writer. My goal is to create dark/funny, complex, emotionally rich content—but never at the cost of someone’s real-life progress or well-being.

I hope you understand.

“Hi! Ur stories r absolutely amazing but I have a question, we're u the one who wrote abt TAKTB men as fathers? Thanks!!” 

Hi! Thank you so much—that means a lot to hear !

To answer your question: no, I haven't written anything where the TKATB men are portrayed as fathers. And to be honest, I likely never will. I don’t enjoy writing pregnancy or family-centered tropes, especially ones that involve raising children or parental dynamics. It’s just not something I find creatively fulfilling or comfortable to explore.

If anything, I might dabble in themes like marriage or long-term commitment from a psychological or emotional angle, but kids? That’s a hard no. That discomfort also ties into why I really dislike the whole “Mommy/Daddy kink” trend—something about it just makes me recoil. 

It’s not for me, and I don’t plan to entertain it in my work.

Ironically enough, I will be working with children in the future—but in a psychiatric setting, not a fictional or romantic one. So while I can engage with those dynamics professionally, it’s not something I bring into my writing. I might consider a babysitting scenario purely for humor or character chaos, but that’s probably the farthest I’d go. 

Hope that clears things up!

“I’m pretty new around here, but I’m absolutely in love with your fanfics! If it’s not too much trouble, could you recommend some other writers for TKATB?”

To be completely honest, I don’t actually know a lot of TKATB writers—at least, not personally. I’m familiar with a few, like @soluversworld, @lovelake, @mannior, @lu-dao-writes, and @zombii-hoe. They’re all incredibly talented, and I really admire the way they bring the characters to life.

On the art side, though, I’m mutuals with a bunch of amazing artists here, such as @alienfreak124, @bonw0n, @tkatbyon, and @mint0hhh. There’s also Waza, whose work I absolutely love—though she’s only active on TikTok and Twitter, not Tumblr.

I genuinely adore the creativity in this fandom. The writers and artists have such a unique way of interpreting the TKATB universe, and I always find myself inspired by them.

And, funny enough, if you’ve noticed my fanfic headers lately… I’m actually running out of art to use for them. So, I’ve started reaching out to artists directly to ask permission to feature their work. I always make sure to credit and tag them properly—it’s important to respect their effort, especially when their art plays such a big role in setting the tone for a fic.

“hi! i love your writing, i have a question about your writing but feel free not to answer ofc<3 would you be comfortable writing for Britney (tkatb)”

Hi! First off—thank you so much, that means a lot to me! And no worries, I don’t mind answering at all !

So, if you’ve read my earlier post [ 𝒶𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓅𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑒 ], you might already be a little surprised… but yes, I have considered writing for Britney—and Jess too, actually. The thing is, I’ve just never fully settled on a solid plot for either of them yet. That said, between the two, I’m much more inclined to write for Britney.

There’s something really compelling about her character—she’s ambitious, confident, and unbothered in a way I admire. Honestly, I’m also friends with someone in real life who reminds me a lot of Britney, so she feels easier and more natural to write.

Jess, on the other hand, is trickier. I tend to view her more as a background or supporting character rather than someone central to the plot, so it’s harder for me to build a narrative around her.

As for future plans, I do intend to write a few fanfics involving Britney and even Deryl. They’ll probably have their own little section or category though, since I’ve completely run out of space on my main TKATB banner that holds all the character mini-icons—there just isn’t room left for those two at the moment.

But yes, you’ll definitely see Britney show up more in my work going forward—especially if inspiration continues to hit.

“i just read game over.. u should ABSOLUTELY write the threesome!”

“Idk if I'm being greedy but at the last part where you were suggesting a threesome with Hyugo and Sol in your most recent post, I FELT something. So ya that's basically what I'm asking for 😞😞”

IT IS KILLING ME (in the best, most dramatic way possible) how feral everyone’s gone over the idea of a Sol x Reader x Hyugo threesome. Like… y’all saw one line and collectively lost your minds. And honestly? I respect it. Deeply. You’re all insane—incredible, unhinged, perfect—and I love being here with you guys.

Here’s the thing: when I wrote [ 𝑔𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 ] that ending? That was never the plan. Like, not even close. I was originally inspired by an artist’s piece—art really is my creative lifeline—and I was vibing, writing, enjoying the pacing... until suddenly my brain was like, “Wait, what if Hyugo just strolls back in like he never ghosted us?” 

Because let’s be real—his disappearance was suspicious as hell. You think he was just gonna vanish and not stir chaos? Please. So I threw him back in, stirred the pot, and BAM—suggestive chaos.

And apparently, I awakened something in everyone.

So YES. Part Two is coming. Will it drop immediately? Nah—I’ve got finals breathing down my neck like a demon in a horror movie. But the plot? Already in the works. It’s going to be chaotic, hot, and emotionally messy—basically the fanfic equivalent of a beautiful, reckless car crash.

AND—AND—I WASN’T GONNA SAY ANYTHING YET, but while studying for my statistics exam (because that’s the kind of multitasking monster I am), I started thinking…

Crowe x Reader x Geo.

WAIT. LISTEN. My two favorite men?? IN A THREESOME??? I’m grinning, kicking my feet, giggling while writing this. I’m so serious. You’re probably thinking, “But wait—Geo is aro/ace?” And YES. He is. But don’t worry—I already figured out the plot, and it’s going to make perfect sense. I’m scribbling notes like a mad scientist as we speak.

So yeah—hold tight. Sol x Reader x Hyugo is coming soon. Crowe x Reader x Geo is loading. 

And once I survive finals, you’re all getting fed.

“ur so real because bullying sol is sooo fun for fics >:3”

— YES. YES IT IS. You get it.

Let me be completely straight with you: Sol? 

He’s easily the TKATB character I like the least.

And I don’t mean that with full-blown hatred or anything—it’s more like… he’s pathetically entertaining. In the kind of way where you squint at him like, “Are you okay?” and then continue to mentally toss him into a locker for fun. He’s an insert character to me, which is fine, but he just never really grabbed me the way others did.

Now—is it because of the orange juice scene that I don’t vibe with him? Honestly? Kind of. I didn’t really care for him overall, but that ending got my ass.

I hate being lusted after in real life—it’s genuinely uncomfortable, borderline revolting. That whole scene just hit a little too close to something I’d sprint away from irl. But I still write him because it’s fun to twist his character into chaotic, emotionally messy situations. Plus, the kicker? He weirdly reminds me of my roommate. No, really—down to the clothes, the quiet weirdness, the way he says stuff that makes you pause and question your existence. It’s freaky. 

We lowkey flirt and it’s hilarious but… It’s fine.

Sol is like the kind of guy you see walking around campus wearing his tragic poetry boy aura like a fashion statement. And because I’ve seen real-life versions of him around way too often, it just doesn’t hit for me. I gravitate toward a very different type.

Oh, you already know who has my whole damn attention.

Geo. He’s exactly the type of character that digs claws into my brain and doesn’t let go. Broody, hyper-intelligent, calculated to the point of obsession. That man’s a locked vault, and I want the key—not because I want to open it, but because I want to understand why it’s locked in the first place. He’s a walking case study in emotional repression, and that mystery? That layered silence?

That's what hooks me.

It’s actually hilarious because I hate nonchalant guys in real life—the whole “too cool to care” vibe? No thanks. But Geo doesn’t feel nonchalant—he feels withholding. There's intent behind his silence. Purpose in how he watches a room. He’s cold, yes, but cold like a sharpened blade—not because he doesn't feel, but because he chooses what you’re allowed to see.

That level of control? I eat that UP.

And while I enjoy characters like Hyugo and Deryl, their goofiness can be a little much for me sometimes. They’re fun, chaotic, but not the kind of energy I lock onto. Geo’s the exact opposite—he’s tension incarnate, and I adore it.

Now Crowe? I do like him. I mean, who doesn’t love being adored? Compliments? Spoiling? Drama served with a smile? He’s got flair and elegance, sure—but lowkey, he started getting boring for me. Like, I appreciate the charm, I really do, but when someone throws too much attention my way, I get suspicious… or annoyed. I like to chase, not be constantly showered in praise.

Still, Crowe clears Sol by a mile.

The choice is obvious.

“Have u read the A Date with Death webtoon? The latest chapter made me so emo. 😭 (If u haven't, it's called A Date with Death Zero, there are 5 chapters out currently, and it updates monthly. If u have, what r ur thoughts ? 👀)”

Yes—before answering this, I actually sat down and read the entire A Date with Death: Zero webtoon. I had to reset my login because, honestly, I haven’t touched Webtoon in a long time—not since freshman year of high school.

Back then, I mostly stuck to the top titles, and School Bus Graveyard was hands-down my favorite. Wow, I might have to reread it just for the memories.

Anyway, back to Zero—I’ve read the five chapters that are out, and I already have thoughts. It's a genuinely strong tie-in, offering the kind of context I think the main game benefits from. Seeing Grim’s origin laid out like this? It adds depth. He wasn’t born. He wasn’t chosen. He was made. The transformation wasn’t spiritual—it was mechanical. 

That alone reframes the whole concept of what a Grim Reaper is in this universe. The fact that they’re manufactured, not reborn, changes everything. It makes the reapers feel less like supernatural entities and more like tools—built with purpose, stripped of choice. That angle hit me fast, and it stuck.

As someone who grew up obsessed with Black Butler, my baseline assumption was always that Grim Reapers were souls punished by suicide—recruited into eternal service as penance. So, seeing Date with Death lean into the idea of artificial creation rather than post-death transformation?

 It gave me chills. It shifts the lens: instead of being punished for dying, you were never really allowed to live to begin with. You were constructed with a purpose, and that purpose is final. Cold. Mechanized. Beautifully cruel.

If it’s not obvious by now, I adore supernatural themes. I’m goth btw

Witches and Grim Reapers top the list—no contest. Vampires and werewolves? Meh. I’ll choose vampires over wolves if forced, but neither does much for me in comparison. Reapers though? There’s always something tragic, elegant, and quietly rebellious about them—especially ones like Grim—well, real name Casper, who toe the line between duty and desire.

Speaking of Casper—I absolutely adore him.

Which is the reason why I write [ 𝒽𝒶𝓊𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 ]

He’s sweet, and surprisingly complex. I love how both the game and the webtoon explore the reapers' core rule: no attachment.

You don't speak. You don’t feel. You don’t empathize. Just collect the soul and move on. That idea being drilled into them since creation is haunting—but the possibility of falling in love with a soul? That little crack in the system? That’s what makes it beautiful. Why give them emotions at all if not to tempt fate?

There’s something poetic about that entire setup. 

Reapers are expected to be tools, yet some still give themselves names. Not numbers—names. That act alone speaks volumes about the quiet rebellion written into their existence. The story’s not just about death—it’s about identity. About claiming autonomy in a world that tried to strip it from you at creation.

Also, let’s not pretend I didn’t notice the senior reaper—5012. He is stunning. That aesthetic alone? Flawless. He’s ethereal, composed, and absolutely captivating. His design hooked me instantly—don’t even care if it was shallow, he’s the kind of character you look at and immediately want to know more about.

I haven’t finished the game yet (so I’m holding off on writing any serious fics about Casper or 5012 for now), but I’ll admit—I’ve been tempted. 

The story does an excellent job of blending the narratives of the webtoon and the main game so far. The worldbuilding—especially the divide between the underworld and the mortal realm—is rich and nuanced, practically begging to be explored further. 

That delicate boundary between life and death, and the emotional consequences of crossing it, gives the story an aching kind of beauty. It’s not just about reaping souls—it’s about the emotional restraint these characters are forced to live under, and what happens when that restraint slips.

And to answer a question you didn’t ask but probably thought of: why don’t I write for other visual novel games?

Honestly…most of them just don’t hit the same way.

The Kid at the Back and A Date with Death stuck with me in a way others haven’t. Like, I was this close to dropping VNs entirely and returning to Creepypasta full-time, however, there’s something about these stories that feels different.

Visual novels are like interactive books, and when they’re done well—especially with supernatural elements—they resonate hard.

Back when I was around sixteen, I was deep into the Seduce Me the Otome series by Michaela Laws. Main games, side stories—I was fully in it. It was one of those unhinged hyperfixations that weirdly helped me discover writing as a hobby.

Now that I’m older, in college at twenty-one, I’m more selective. There are popular VNs people swear by that just don’t do anything for me. If the writing doesn’t grip me, I’m out.

But A Date with Death?

It has that potential, I love it. It feels more grounded, more personal. Casper has emotional depth and is incredibly endearing, and the universe’s laws—especially how Reapers aren't supposed to form attachments—are beautifully tragic.

Once I finish the game, I will be writing about Grim / Casper.

Especially other reapers like 5012. His aesthetic alone has me paying attention. If you can't see already I love purple-haired men.

“Btw, do you write for 14dwy? If not, ig i'll try to think of a couple of requests for TKATB then ^^”

Ah, so—do I or will I ever write for 14 Days With You?

Hell no. Fuck no.

No offense if you're into it, but that game? Not for me at all.

Yeah, I know it’s an upcoming romantic horror visual novel centered around Ren—the pink-haired yandere boy who’s supposed to be obsessive and twisted in a sexy way—but I just… don’t care for it. 

I’ve seen it around on TikTok, I even tried playing it out of curiosity, and honestly? It didn’t hit. At all. The vibe was off. Maybe it’s the overly pink aesthetic, maybe it’s Ren’s personality (or lack thereof), or maybe it’s just the fact that I didn’t find it unsettling or engaging the way horror should be.

Let me be clear: I have nothing against the creator.

But once more, the game simply didn’t capture my interest, and I’m not going to force myself to write for a character or fandom I find underwhelming/overwhelming.

Ren just doesn’t have the depth I look for—he feels like a cookie-cutter yandere to me. Basic, predictable. 

I’m not in the yandere community, and I never WILL be in it. I don’t mind writing yandere characters when there’s real complexity behind them—Sol from TKATB, for example, is a mess, sure, but he’s layered. He has a backstory, conflicting emotions, moral rot—and I love when creators, such as @fantasia-kitt acknowledge her characters are meant to be morally wrong.

It makes the writing grounded, not romanticized.

Meanwhile, Ren? Flat. Just clingy with a knife and a pretty face.

Also, from what I’ve seen, there’s been a lot of drama in the 14DWY fandom. The creator even publicly distanced themselves from the yandere community altogether (let's add Your boyfriend, too, because that game is simply confusing to me)

That alone is enough for me to steer clear.

I don’t want any part in a fandoms that chaotic.

Now, if we’re talking games, I have enjoyed—there are better ones.

Doki Doki Literature Club?

A classic. Yes, a Yandere game, and it has genuine female love interests, and possibly three yanderes?

However I can't think of any VNs that come close to being as subversive, creative, well-written, interesting, and overall, a brilliant experience as this. While this VN is extremely well loved in the indie gaming community, I rarely see people acknowledge how genuinely brilliant it is.

Everything in this game's narrative is carefully constructed in such a wonderful way that I notice a new detail every time I replay it or watch a new playthrough. The characters are all extremely enjoyable and fun, as well as being delightfully well-written, relatable, and psychologically fascinating.

The Bloody Painter Dating Sim?

Sure, it’s still technically yandere, but it leans more slasher horror, and at least the guy doesn’t pretend to love you until the end. I’d rather write for Helen Otis or go full Creepypasta mode. That’s childhood nostalgia right there. Not a phase, but something that genuinely shaped who I am—like if My Little Pony wore black eyeliner and a ski mask.

Or take Homicipher.

That one’s a weird gem—a language-based horror game where you’re decoding an alien dialect while navigating surreal monster-boys. Now that’s unique. I probably wouldn’t write for it either, but I respect the hell out of it. It’s strange in the best way.

And Love and Deepspace? Yeah, no thanks.

That chaotic mix of gacha mechanics and otome storytelling is basically a Mystic Messenger flashback just waiting to ruin my sleep schedule again. I remember those 3AM chatroom alarms, the fake phone calls, the emotionally manipulative plot twists—it was immersive, sure, but I came out of that phase with chronic eye bags and trust issues. 

Not doing that to myself again.

Now, I’ll admit—Love and Deepspace has its spicy, swoon-worthy moments. Visually? Stunning. But it’s also a financial trap.

I'm not about to drain my wallet just to unlock affection from a highly designed pixelated man who won’t even text me back on time.

I’d rather watch all the juicy clips on YouTube like a sane person. It’s great for inspiration, but I’m not committing to that grind. Honestly, that game drops more content than I write in a month. You guys already have a feast. Be fed. Stay blessed.

So yeah—circle back to TKATB requests if you're thinking of something. Because 14DWY? That’s not even on the table.

Respectfully—but very firmly—nah.

𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓊𝑔𝑔𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈???

So, overall—yes, I’ll definitely keep writing for The Kid at the Back.

That’s not going anywhere. I’m also planning to flesh out more content for A Date with Death, and maybe Creepypasta since it's always been my comfort zone. That’s home base, creatively and emotionally. It shaped a lot of my early writing, and honestly?

I always end up crawling back to it, no matter what.

Now, when it comes to expanding into other fandoms… I've thought about anime-based content, but the truth is, I’m into way too many series. Trying to commit to one would be like herding cats—pure chaos.

Some of my top picks include Death Note, a classic, but let’s be real, that fandom’s been six feet under for years, then there's Bungo Stray Dogs and The Case Study of Vanitas—also beautifully written but buried under layers of fan silence. Then there are MANY MANY others, psychological, supernatural, horror anime and manga I love, however, that's too much to list.

Overall, basically, I collect dead or dying fandoms like cursed antique—beautiful, forgotten, and weirdly comforting to keep around.

There’s something about those quiet, half-abandoned spaces that feels like home. But even among all the dust-covered gems, a few stand out—and right now, I’m in the middle of a three-obsession: one familiar, one newer, and one oddball wildcard.

Let’s start with Black Butler—a timeless obsession of mine.

This fandom has been with me for years, and while it once drifted into the shadows, it’s recently clawed its way back into the spotlight. Only the real ones know the hype I’m talking about. The manga is thriving again, and with CloverWorks giving us two fresh anime seasons that align with the Manga correctly this time?

Yeah, I’ve never hit the rewatch button faster.

And yet, despite how wonderful the comeback is, my love for it has always been quiet, private, and deeply personal. I’ve got over 100 chapters written about my OC, called 𝓂𝒶𝓁𝑒𝒻𝒾𝒸 𝓇𝑒𝓁𝒾𝒸—hidden away on my iPad like a little treasure hoard I’ve never shared.

For me, Black Butler is a whole world I keep close to my heart. It’s more than comfort—it’s a legacy. Honestly, it’s even bigger than my attachment to Creepypasta, and that’s saying something, considering both of them raised me in very different but equally strange ways.

Absolutely—here’s a more emotionally raw, elaborate take that leans into the chaos Nana leaves behind and your appreciation for female authors:

Then there’s Nana—another top-tier comfort, or at least that’s what people call it. But let’s be honest: this show didn’t just comfort me, it ruined me. Nana doesn’t live rent-free in my brain—it owns the deed, remodeled the interior, and emotionally wrecked the foundation. I was told it was the kind of anime you should watch in your early twenties, and let me tell you... they were right. Too right.

The moment I hit play, I was done for.

The fashion? Impeccable. The writing? Sharper than broken glass. And the emotional fallout? Atomic. It’s the kind of series that doesn’t just hit you in the feels—it digs into your chest, sets up camp in your ribcage, and whispers, "You will never recover from this, and that’s okay." It's pure, messy, devastating art—and that's what makes it brilliant.

What Nana does so well is show you the raw, jagged edges of youth—ambition, failure, dependency, heartbreak, and all the fragile little dreams we keep trying to stitch together. It doesn’t sugarcoat the reality of growing up. It lets it bleed. And somehow, you thank it for the wound.

I think about it constantly—not just the story, but the feeling it left behind. And honestly? One of the most powerful parts of this obsession is knowing it came from Ai Yazawa, a woman who understood exactly what kind of emotional labyrinth she was leading us into.

Just like Black Butler—which is also written by a woman, the insanely talented Yana Toboso—Nana proves that women creators build worlds that are emotionally intricate, psychologically rich, and haunting in the best possible way.

It’s no coincidence that my favorite stories are written by women. They see things differently—sharper, deeper, more emotionally dangerous. And I crave that kind of storytelling. It's what keeps me coming back for more, even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.

Now, onto the odd one out: Kaiju No. 8.

BROOOOOOOOOO, this series has me in a chokehold. I never thought I’d get so obsessed with a Kaiju-based story, but here we are. Seriously, this manga has a grip on me that’s hard to describe. It’s just so damn good.

This is the wild card in my lineup, the unexpected obsession I didn’t see coming—but I’m deep in it now. And by deep, I mean “I own merch and have a shrine-worthy level of admiration for Soshiro Hoshina and Mina Ashiro” kind of deep.

I even created an OC for this world called 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓁 𝓃𝑜. and quietly wrote over 30+ chapters about her. Hoshina especially? He owns space in my head rent-free and fully furnished. No apologies.

Side note: I’m one of those who watches almost all mainstream animes, either solo or with friends. But right now, I’ve got this mini obsession with The Apothecary Diaries. MaoMao is everything. She’s honestly the funniest female protagonist I’ve ever seen, and her sarcastic, sharp-witted nature just makes the whole show so entertaining.

And then, there’s my current favorite romance anime: A Sign of Affection. Oh my god, it’s just beautiful. The story, the characters, everything about it feels so pure and heartwarming.

And Itsuomi Nagi... the man, the myth, the legend. Nagi is just chef’s kiss. He literally healed my heart from the emotional wreckage of A Silent Voice—which, let's be real, is one of the most gut-wrenching movies out there.

But Nagi? He’s a breath of fresh air.

Thinking about he's mix of Crowe and Geo. My opinion.

Games like Bayonetta and Devil May Cry? I love them, but strictly as a player. Writing for them isn’t really on the agenda. And Danganronpa? Yeah… absolutely not. That fandom left psychological scars on me. I’m good.

So yeah, exploring new fandoms is something I’ll deal with later. If you have any solid recs or think there’s a community I’d mesh with, feel free to let me know.

Otherwise, I'll be sticking to my usual writing routine.

Catch you later, my dear readers—I'm off to crash and get some much-needed sleep (only got like three hours of sleep from writing 𝒶𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓅𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑒). — ♤

[acourtofthought]

21

I was chatting with @crazy-ache and we realized there might be another meaning behind the number 21. Feyre's birthday is December 21, the longest night of the year. The Winter Solstice doesn't inherently represent death, but it's often symbolically linked to it, especially in ancient cultures. The solstice marks the shortest day and longest night of the year, which can be perceived as a "death" of the light before its "rebirth" in the coming months as the days grow longer. This symbolism is often tied to the cyclical nature of seasons and the belief in a constant cycle of life, death, and rebirth. Nesta's birthday is sometime in the Spring and while we don't know the specific date, we know that Spring symbolizes rebirth through it's natural cycle, mirroring the idea of new beginnings and renewal after the dormant winter. The emergence of new life represents a fresh start and the promise of growth. This does seem symbolic to Nesta's story, where she had exactly those things. We don't know Elain's date of birth but many have theorized it to be the longest day of the year (in contrast to Feyre's birthday) with June 21 being the summer solstice in the northern hemisphere. The summer solstice is often symbolically linked to life. It marks the peak of the sun's journey with it being at it's highest point in the sky, and is associated with themes like fertility, growth, and the celebration of nature's bounty. Some believe that the solstice energy can amplify intentions and facilitate personal growth and transformation (owl shifter Elain! -shameless theory plug for me there). The abundance of sunlight is often associated with the power of light over darkness, representing the vitality and life-giving energy of the sun. Summer Solstice is a time for celebrating earth's life-giving powers because of the sun being at the highest point in the sky.

Elain = characteristics of an Earth goddess, wanting the world to have more gardens, being a gentle grower of things, creating life from seeds, being bothered by death and cruelty. Lucien = the heir to the Day Court with the power of the sun running through him. It seems pretty meaningful that Elain sat in the HOW with every curtain drawn back as if any bit of darkness was abhorrent. With Rhys' noting that it was typical for her to sit by the sunniest of windows. With Lucien demanding they take her outside after which time there was a marked improvement to her catatonic state. With her replying "Sunshine" when Nesta asked what she needed. It also seems meaningful that there are a few mentions of Life, Death and Rebirth mentioned in the series and there is the possibility that the three sisters could represent this. (I never understood why Sarah made Nesta's birthday in the Spring but I wonder if this had something to do with it). June 21 would not only tie in well to that idea but also to the pairing of Elain and Lucien and the harmony that exists between the Sun and the Earth.

[zesty-goblin-trash]

Man, it's been a hot minute since I was active in the fuse bead community. 🫠

Someone on Reddit asked about this post because it was linked to my old pkmnmastertash-creations blog instead of manicmadegeekery. I dunno if reblogging it here will help correct the issue but maybe if someone's googling the title of that post this one will come up instead. I also have no idea of the programs will work on modern machines, I wrote em on Windows 7 I'm pretty sure?

That being said, I also linked them what is essentially v2 of these apps. I ended up making myself a spreadsheet to punch in more details that should factor into what you're selling and is generally more accurate than just assuming everyone beads at the same speeds.

I wanted to slap the link to that into this post too, again, in case anyone comes across this and finds it helpful. It's probably hella outdated and I don't have any plans to update it.

Hell, while I'm at it; here's my old ass ironing tutorials too. I see them shared from time to time so they must still be helping people 🤷‍♀️

They're rambly, and probably cringe but I don't feel like rewatching them to find out 😂

Also, no matter your craft, your skills are worth something. Don't undersell yourself. Know your worth and the value of what you create!

There's more to pricing than just what you think something is worth, but seriously. If you're making something with the intentions of selling, don't sell your self short. It's always harder to majorly increase prices than it is to lower them slightly.

I have opinions, don't mind me.

Fuse Bead Sales Price Calculator!

Even though I’m on a hiatus from beading for a bit, I wanted to share something I finished today! As some of you may know I’m currently attending college for a course in computer networking, but since taking the mandatory programming class I’ve found I’m really enjoying it. A lot. So much so that I wrote my own little program!

So folks, “What does the program do?” You ask? Well, let me tell you! It takes a couple pieces of information from you, does some simple highly complex math, and spits out a rough price for you to sell your fuse bead art for!

I have 2 versions! They both ask the same questions and give you the same results, it’s just a matter of how you want to run the program. Both of them start by double clickin’ the Bead Cost Calculator .bat file

First the programs will ask you for the amount of beads in your project. (If you don’t know how to find this out, I wrote a tutorial for GIMP 2.8 a little bit ago. Then they ask how much you paid for a bag of 1000 beads. You can be as exact as you’d like ($3.73) or as basic as you’d like ($3). Next they ask you how much you charge per hour of work. Again it can be as exact or a basic as you’d like. After gathering your information, the programs then do some math, and give you a total price! Of course this is just a suggested price, feel free to round or change it as necessary!

Now about the 2 versions! One is command prompt based, and does everything through that. As seen below.

The second version is a pop up notification style. (Note: command prompt will still open in the background when you run the .bat file, but it will close on it’s own when the program is done.) This one looks like this!

Onto the goodies!

You can snag the Command Prompt version from here! And the Pop Up version from here!

When you download the file, it is a .rar file so you will need to extract it first. You can get a program like 7zip and it will work perfectly. Extract it to it’s own folder and then simply double click the Bead Cost Calculator file and run! You do need to keep the two files together for it to work though.

If you’ve got any questions, or are having any trouble, feel free to let me know and I’ll do my best to help!

For now, enjoy!

[hannahssimblr]

A flute of champagne. Delicate thing in my hand. Protective of it as I navigate through the gallery, past groups of observers, making comments about the pieces using German words I have not learned yet. Anspruchsvoll. I commit that one to memory. Something to look up in the dictionary after I get home.

She’s at the back of the room, black polo necked top stark against the white paint on the wall, and the spill of her hair down her spine. Steffan, the art history lecturer, listens with intent interest to whatever she is saying. Sees me coming, eyes flicker to me, before pretending he hasn’t, and he deepens his frown of concentration. 

Midway through her point, I don’t interrupt, but quietly slot into place next to her. Confidently voicing the intention of her work.

“...this incredible societal push for positivity. It’s almost aggressive, actually, without direction or nuance,” she takes the champagne. “I wanted to make work that disrupts that. That invites a kind of… necessary slowness. I tried to make something that… advocates for introspection, I suppose.”

“Yes, of course,” Steffan, nodding. “I sensed that. Particularly with the collection of three displayed together. Your work seems to represent an offering of solace amongst the fatigue of contemporary life.”

German. Something I understand well without speaking well. A frustrating thing. A link missing between what I want to say and what I actually can, like a via missing in a circuit board, a connection faltered, and nothing to carry the words to my mouth. 

Like now, when Steffan acknowledges me right before it might be considered rude not to. “Jude must have some fascinating thoughts about the work, too, seeing as he has been spending so much time in your studio.”

I falter. Plaster on a grin. “Yes, it’s true,” I say slowly, foreign accent seeping through the words. “I have spent some time watching her create the work. I even helped her… um, I helped her to photograph it for the… magazine piece.”

She leans in and squeezes my arm with pride or embarrassment, I’m not sure. 

“Aha,” Steffan says, eyebrows creeping beneath his tousled flop of hair. “But what exactly is your impression of it?”

I squint at a piece balancing on a pedestal, an abstract mass of porcelain, vaguely Roman-temple-esque. Black and purple glaze dribbles down the sides like ink from a newspaper left in the rain. It’s like deciphering a riddle. Something about collapse. Something classical, then undone. Post-something. Post-truth? Post-intention?

“I think it’s… anspruchsvoll.” Pray the word carries the right kind of weight. I leave it hanging there, like it should mean something profound. Steffan’s eyes flick to my girlfriend, amused. 

“Ah, right, of course. But as I was saying to Astrid earlier, it’s really the concept behind the work that’s most intriguing, don’t you think?” he says, the effortless flow of native German pouring out of him. “It’s all about the intellectual rigor. You’ve likely noticed that, too, but maybe not in the same way as Astrid. I’m sure it is anspruchsvoll to you, but I might have thought you’d have a more sophisticated understanding of the work by now, no?” He laughs then, so I know it’s a joke. 

Astrid, with a brittle smile on her lips, sips her champagne. “I think Jude’s got a pretty sharp take on the work, actually. He just needs the right words, don’t you think?”

“Ah, but we are in Germany, no? Shouldn’t we all be speaking the language? Jude, you’ll be writing your dissertation eventually, won’t you? Might want to brush up on some of the language for that. ‘Anspruchsvoll’ only goes so far, after all.”

I nod. Yes, Steffan. Thank you Steffan. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten I’m a foreigner. Haven’t forgotten the diabolical art history grades I rack up in your class. Those big smug question marks on my misspellings appear in my nightmares, thank you. An essay that took me five days, tossed back on my desk like it had been written on a takeaway napkin, big note on it, saying, essentially: What???

“God, Steffan,” Astrid laughs too quickly. “You’re being an ass.”

“He knows it’s a joke,” He slaps my arm, stands too close, as though we are friends. That thin, patronising smile on him. “Just kidding, Jude. Your German’s definitely better. Just needs a little polish for the heavy lifting ahead.”

His eyes drift over my shoulder to someone more interesting, and then he leans in to Astrid, touches her arm. “Oh. I have a friend over there I’d like to introduce you to. Could I take you to meet him?”

She hesitates. Glances at me like she might ask, might defer. Then back to him. “Yes, sure,” she says. “That would be fine.”

I look too, through the crowd at groups of arty types, examining the work, speaking in hushed tones. Each of them indistinguishable, variations on the same theme, in the same jacket, the same shoes.

“Won’t be long,” she mutters, before Steffan whisks her across the gallery, hand touching, just a moment, the curve of her lower back. That thin, practiced touch. The kind men use when they’re testing the water, or reminding you it’s already warm. Hackles rise along my spine. Idiotic. I take a moment to remind myself of who I am, and who he isn’t.

I watch them go. Wait a beat longer than I should. Then amble to the champagne table, careful not to glance at her. Fetch a glass, stem slippery with condensation. Try not to look like I’m waiting.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[enden-k]

The new info about the things this fear did to everyone at the cult? OUCH. AND EW. HANDS OFF. Tentacles? Tentacles off

First of all something tells me that poor Yx's body might have been desecrated in front of Saran (really hope not-) or at the very least Saran was forced to look (probably by the entity. Kinda like 'look what happened just bc someone didnt fulfill their duties correctly. Daddy shouldnt have sheltered you so much') and really take in what had happened

Or maybe he wasnt forced by the entity but something still did happen bc it is mentioned he was made to look. Had no choice. Nightmares about it

Also, the part that really stumps me is how did Saran go from 'probably standard manifestation of a murder victim' into mutating enough to reach category of 'greater evil'? Something is odd here

The while thing with purification and stuff- Saran probably had some energy/fear stuff inside if he had done his first exorcism by then bc i highly doubt the entity purified him without the whole offering thing and i doubt even more Yx let him offer his body. So maybe that mutated him somewhat but, enough to fuck up big time stuff?

Also, in all this, is the fake god even still alive? Is it still messing stuff and people up in what remains of the cult? Trying to latch onto a new bloodline?

Something tells me its no longer in play. Something tells me Saran might have gotten (or tried) to get rid of it (or fuck forbid maybe consume it and thats why he's so similar). Not quite on topic but it will be VERY funny if he did indeed eat it or a part of it in the context of the doodles of him eating the octopus little ball thingie (or was it just a tentacle? Cant remember the doodle)

Or maybe he's working with it. This one is least likely. Specially in light of what happened to Yx

I make myself sad just thinking about this all. Poor Yx! He did all he could but in the end Azai's greed-

New thought but Entity wanting to break Yx and fucking up his body and cursing it bc he was its fav and it wanted to break him and Azai fucking up Saran with the intention of being able to keep him to break him? Too many parallels. Maybe this is why Yx knows so well what his intentions are on sight in the canon Universe, and kills him before he can try

Azai your other blog self can NEVER stop me from hating. Ever. I will remain a hater this is both a warning and a threat

-🦜too many thoughts atm. Still sorting through

yeaaaa lots of questionable things. but it really thrived off the fear and discomfort it induced in its servants

anw alright, im gonna reveal some more in this ask since you already got pretty close anyway (and i revealed tons of stuff anw so akjscbk)

the act of desecration wasnt done in front of saran but the entity did show saran the damage to cause distress and generate more negative energy to feed off, mocking him for his attempts to undo the damage, mocking his own death, mocking and disrespecting yuxuan and blaming saran for everything. it underestimated the power of emotions though

yuxuan was perfectly balanced and constantly unbothered, always keeping his negative energy and emotions in check. saran never really learned this and its what turned his overwhelming emotions, his fear and grief and horror and erverything into pure violence and hatred, mutated it. the entity basically meant to fatten his negative energy up so it can devour him and become even more powerful but all it did was create a vengeful creature losing control on a destructive scale, too big to gobble up. saran lit became smth similar to it but the more powerful one between them won

the entity is no longer alive. its bc saran devoured it. he became one with it, making it a part of himself and not it making him a part of itself. he inherited traits and appearances, like the lust to devour other fears and energies and his soul-snatching cursed eyes. sometimes his viciousness is a shadow of the entities personality. but other than that saran is fully conscious and himself. he cant lose control in this destructive scale like he did after his death when he devoured the entity bc a certain energy within him that was consumed w the entity makes sure he keeps his calm. like a father calming his upset child

[wake-me-up-inside-imagines]

A Charlie craven (I think that is how it's spelled) X nurodivergint reader specifically autistic or ADHD or both if its no trouble its ok if you don't want to

Yeah no problem! I'm gonna stick to autism for this post because I don't have ADHD and I fear trying to write for it will end up with me falling into stereotypes, but if you would still like an ADHD post, I'll be happy to write one!

Yandere! Mafia Boss With A Darling Who Has Autism

gn! reader

Warnings: kidnapping, implied torture involving skin (not on reader), overstimulation, intentional and unintentional infantilization, obsession, mentioned fighting, Charlie doesn't know much about autism but he's learning

Divider credit goes to: @enchanthings-a

-I feel like Charlie would be pretty understanding of an autistic darling, all things considered. Of course, kidnapping you and forcing you into a new environment wasn't so great, especially if you already weren't good with change to begin with, but he had expected a bad reaction, so it was kind of par for the course.

-Having said that, Charlie does do everything he can to keep your environment as comfortable as possible. He already learned your likes and dislikes through stalking you, so your room will already be decked out in the most comfortable, least overstimulating decorations, textures, and colors by the time you get there. The change is horrifying and so is the situation, but you can't really complain about the room. That's been decorated to perfection. Charlie also tries to keep the rest of the house relatively friendly to your needs, but it might take awhile to fix some things, depending on the previous furnishing and your preferences.

-Charlie's naturally pretty blunt with his thoughts and emotions, so he doesn't have a hard time communicating efficiently with you. He's always made himself very clear with what he wants to convey, and while he's much gentler with you than his employees, that habit doesn't die. He just uses a nicer tone when speaking to you. When there are mix ups in communication, he doesn't get upset. You ask him for clarification or he'll see your confusion and he immediately clarifies whatever it is he was talking about, barely giving the miscommunication a second thought. he truly doesn't get bothered by it, he gets it. As long as you understand what he's saying by the end of it, all is good.

-Because Charlie's super protective of you, you don't often get the chance to interact with others besides him (at least at first). However, in the event that you do end up in social situations, Charlie makes sure you're always comfortable and in the loop with what's going on. If there's some social cue you're not picking up on, Charlie will be sure to clarify for you. He's not very subtle about it so it can be embarrassing and borderline infantilizing, but he's not doing it on purpose. He just wants to include you fully, and telling you how it is tends to be Charlie's go to. If you give him a better way to communicate possibly missed social cues he'll quickly adapt, but if you don't say anything he'll carry on they way he normally does.

-One thing that does drive Charlie a little crazy is a lack of eye contact, but if you're someone who struggles with that, he tries not to blame you. He's aware it's not your fault and it's not like you're trying to be rude, so he has no real reason to complain. He just likes connecting with you via eye contact, but he'll figure out ways to cope with the lack of it appropriately.

-One thing you and Charlie have in common is the tendency to have more black and white thought patterns. It can lead to some pretty heated arguments if you two can't get the other to understand your point of view. It'll take a decent amount of work and communication to work that out, and it's something you two may need to start getting better at. Still, it's nice to have someone who can relate to similar thought patterns, even if it creates issues sometimes.

-Charlie often does his best to keep anything that could trigger your sensory issues to a minimum, but he is naturally pretty loud, which might cause some issues. Still, he'll try to keep his voice at a reasonable level if you ask him to. He'll also do his best to control other aspects that might trigger you like textures, air quality, temperature, brightness, stuff like that. It's not too hard considering how much money he has at his disposal to change things out if need be, it's more an adjustment in terms of remembering what's ok and what isn't. He's pretty good at remembering though, only the best for his darling, right?

-If you do happen to get overwhelmed or overstimulated, Charlie makes sure to bring you to a dark, quiet spot in the house. He's not sure exactly how to comfort you, if you want to be touched, if he should say anything, so he'll probably shuffle around awkwardly and wait for you to tell him what to do. He doesn't want to make things worse for you, after all. He'll mostly just end up sitting relatively close you without touching you directly, nervously rocking back and forth while he watches you try to calm down. He hates when you feel like this, especially since you describe overstimulation as having something crawl or poke around in your skin. As someone who's inflicted skin related torture on people before, it is not an experience he wants you to go through. Ever.

-On the topic of hyperfixations, Charlie doesn't really understand them, at least when you first explain it to him. He'll indulge you of course, buying you anything and everything related to whatever you may be obsessing over while listening to you talk nonstop about it, but he doesn't really understand why you feel so strongly about something seemingly unimportant. Why do you care so much about some random piece of media, or a band, or something of the like? Sure it's entertaining, but is it that cool?

-And then he realizes that he's just as obsessed with you as you are with your hyper fixation, and honestly, he's even more offended. Why can't you focus your devotion onto him, like he's done to you? Why does a something so insignificant grasp your attention more then him? Is he not good enough? Does he not entertain you enough? Is e not loving you enough? What more can he do to prove he deserves to be the focus of your obsession?

-Yeah he doesn't really understand the difference between being harmlessly obsessed with a piece of media and being obsessed with a real person to the point of stalking and kidnapping, but uh...that's neither here nor there.

-The biggest downside to being with Charlie as an autistic person is his habit of infantilizing you, but you have to understand that it's not because of your autism, it's because he's insane. No matter who his darling is, autistic or not, he'll treat them like they're much more fragile then they actually are. Because you're a civilian, he believes you to be much more weak then him, both in mind and in body. It's for this reason that he babies you to near death. He wants to spoil you rotten, but he also sees you as beneath him, in a way. Like you're someone who needs to be coddled and protected rather than a normal person with unique strengths and weaknesses. It has nothing to do wit your autism though, so it's not like he's treating you differently then he would any other darling.

-Overall, he's not too bad with an autistic darling, despite his lack of understanding on the matter. If you can ignore his typical infantilization, you'll probably fare fine.

I hope you enjoyed!

[bogkeep]

this may be something i might change my mind about later, but i don't actually Hate artificially generated aesthetic pictures that are like "fungus themed couch" "art noveau inspired camera" "stained glass bathtub" "gothic style platic chairs" or "really fancy sky" tbh. like i think there's lots of room for playing around with ideas and concepts using - applying some good faith here - public domain source photos or otherwise ethically/consensually acquired images. what DOES drive me up the wall is that every time i come across a set of pictures like that there's NO mention that it's artificially created. sometimes there's no source listed at all, which is really common for ~*Aesthetic Pictures*~ anyway. what's worse is when it's like, [Name Of Creator, Name of Collection, 2023] as if it's a legitimate art exhibit, with no mention of the program used to create the pics. that's actually pretty upsetting - the underhandedness of it all. ugh.

[bleue-flora]

Why I think c!Dream is Autistic - Part 3

[Part 1] - [Part 2] - [Part 3]

Alright, you’re gonna want to probably go read part 1 and 2 first, promise they aren’t too long.

Done? Long time no see buddy. :) Good deal. Now finally, the last reason(s) I think Dream is autistic is because of how it fits narratively.

Who better to frame as the villain than someone who is already on the outside, who is already different, weird, a little off, not like everyone else, obsessive, abrasive, and already setting off subconscious red flags of not fitting the norm. There’s a quote that most have probably heard by Andrew Smith that says, “People fear what they don't understand and hate what they can't conquer.” And does that not say it all? Talk about history repeating itself, real history. This truth is the basis of many real wars. And if communicating and thinking differently weren’t enough to garner dislike, sucess and intelligence are another foundation of hate and as I said in part 1, while not true across the board, high IQ is one way they identify people with ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder). So who better to frame as the villain than an autistic admin infamous for being one of the best Minecraft players.

Of course, I hear you ask - couldn’t you make the same argument for sociopaths/people with ASPD (Antisocial Personality Disorder) are they not also different than most people to garner inherent fear? The answer is: No, not really. Contrary to popular belief, people with ASPD are not the odd balls out but are more likely to be popular and well liked as they lie and manipulate others to get what they want. In other words, there is a more calculated persona/masking in both ASD and ASPD, but while ASD is just trying to fit in, people with ASPD often have an inherent entitlement to the things they want and are trying to gain power and stand above the crowd not in it. In addition, autistic people tend to be honest, to the point of inappropriate or rude because they are straight forward. In the dsmp, Dream’s default isn’t to lie in fact he tells a lot of truth before often being forced to change his answer [clip]. Unlike people with ASPD who lie because they enjoy the power it gives them and to get what they want.

There is of course empathy to be considered when comparing ASD and ASPD as perhaps the main difference between the two and I think there is a lot of evidence that Dream does have empathy. In fact, I think his moral compass is originally one of the strongest before the dsmp slowly wore away the edges. He returns items after wars, fixes creeper holes and destroyed property, helps people mine or gather materials, fights for the side of who was wronged first, constantly gives out food to feed people… etc. He does a lot of caring things he doesn’t have too. That give him no real advantage, but often even end up putting him in a sticky situation. I mean what better example do we need to prove he has empathy than him rebuilding Tubbo’s house [post]. There was no reason or manipulation or obligation to do that, he did it because he saw that Tubbo was upset. I mean I’ve said it before that we can’t truly prove whether someone does or doesn’t has empathy, but we can look at behavior and I’d argue that his less empathetic acts come much later on his arc and are not consistent across the board like they would be if he truly were a sociopath. Leaving us with the most obvious conclusion then that his logical mind that makes him look like he’s unempathetic and his masking must be because he’s autistic instead, which again aligns well with his high intelligence and obsessive development of skill.

Finally, and perhaps most notably, while a lot of times masking is associated with ADHD it is much more notable and important for an autistic person. Because we are not masking just to cover up our stimming or hyperactivity we are putting on a different face to blend in and be accepted and loved. We are shifting the very parts of ourselves to fit in a circle shaped hole when we’re squares. Which is a skill and habit I don’t find it hard to believe that Dream would use for his villain persona, especially since our (my) masks tend to change too based on environment, whether needing to fit into the family dynamic, student culture or professional world where the social rules change. Which is exactly what we see from Dream as his mask changes depending on who he’s with whether that be Tommy, a large audience, Wilbur, his friends, The Warden, Quackity, Badboyhalo, Techno… etc.

In other words, how fitting would it be if a character with the disorder infamous for masking had a literal mask. One that he literally had to take off to discover who he was all along. What better example of the dsmp main theme of seeing things from other peoples point of view to gain understanding, than the extreme case of that. What better picture of communication issues than a disorder infamous for social struggle. Like not only does it fit so very well with Dream’s character, not only does it make sense with the symbolism of his mask, and the narrative, but it fits the overall arching dsmp story too, because by being autistic Dream is kind of like the ultimate version of the theme and for him to be a main front runner of the story just truly drives the point home in a beautiful and important manner.

[snazzi-strawberri-artz]

the inherent homoeroticm of lighting a cig with another man

version w/out the blue filters below!! >:D

Honestly i also like this version!! less dramatic, sure, but i like the casualness of it?

[semiotomatics]

think i found a fake georgia o'keeffe painting lol

[uncanny-tranny]

Maybe it's just me, but part of why I never really felt completely secure in being public about my own artistic endeavors was how... being proud of yourself in any capacity for any reason is almost a faux pas, if that makes sense.

I've noticed how it's almost expected to perform the air of humility, but is that humility? Is it humility to say, "Oh, I'm sorry for clogging your feed with my awful art" or anything to the effect of self-deprecation?

I think that's why I so often gravitate toward those who make "bad art." There's a sense of freedom that is only achieved with the level of hubris that being unashamed in the number of people who hate your art. I wonder, though, how many people don't hate the art as much as they hate that they can't chastise the artist into humility, into recognizing how "terrible" an artist they "actually" are?

[vt-scribbles]

Something seriously lacking in my art is the ability to tell a story in a single illustration.

I've gotten so used to drawing my characters standing around doing random things that I've never practiced telling a full tale/putting implications into my pieces that require more thinking/looking.

It also comes from a lower amount of details in my works by default [since I like to get pieces done fast], but I'm tired of using that as an excuse.

[staryeclipse]

Midjourney is an AI art generator, where people can put in prompts for it to vomit out "art". Saying that they want to "emulate with midjourney" means they want to use it to generate art that is similar to the artist tomm moore

So yeah, that person doesn't want to draw something similar, but instantly generate something similar with word prompts using AI. Not drawing :(

These picture generating prompters have no shame…..

[444venicebitch444]

a/n: ty guys so much for all the love on my last post, i absolutely wasn’t expecting it. probably gonna write something about joel miller in the next few days. if you have requests, send away, ly!

simon riley who gets a new neighbour that won’t keep her fucking blinds closed. 

he'd seen the moving truck, a pretty bird thanking the movers and hadn’t thought much of it; he wasn’t one to make conversation with his neighbors, so he minded his own business. 

or at least he tried, but it was real fucking difficult when he could see through your windows at any god given moment.

at the beginning it wasn’t even intentional, he actually found himself getting annoyed at how exposed you were. did you have no fucking self preservation sense, letting anyone and everyone look into your house? christ, people these days.

but then the fascination creeped in and he couldn’t help but let his eyes travel to you. watching as you sat on the couch on your phone, watching tv, reading, whatever. 

he observed as you came home from work, talking on your phone way too loudly for his liking, or laughing like the girls he always found insufferable in school when your friends came over. 

after only a few weeks he put a name, and every other thing there was to know, to the pretty face. not like it was hard: you had your name on your mailbox, public social media profiles, and readily available professional and academic information on the first page of his google search.

simon knew it was weird, that he should stop watching, maybe mention your lack of blinds to you, but he couldn’t. not when he saw you undressing in a way that felt like you knew he was watching, like you were doing this on purpose, teasing him. 

he tried telling himself that this was a bloody mid-life crisis, that he was too bored after retiring and needed to pull his shit together, but it did little to quell his growing enchantment. 

so when he saw you struggling with your ground floor window, a rusted old thing he’d noticed quite a while ago, he exited his home withe the excuse of collecting his mail despite his mailbox being empty and shot a casual, gruff “everything all right?”

you were polite, sweet, assured him it was nothing, just the old house acting up, but he insisted. 

he pulled at the old wooden frame with big, calloused hands, your gaze inevitably slipping to his strong, ink covered bicep, the muscle flexing as the window finally budged.

he noticed your look, of course he did, and couldn’t suppress a tiny smirk as he stepped back, “there you go, love”.

you thanked him profusely, then introduced yourself, obtaining his name right back, and offered him a cup of tea, but simon wanted to take his time. he had to think with his head, not his cock, and make sure you were the right one before getting himself too invested.

so, despite every bone in his body wanting to do the opposite, he refused “maybe some other time”

“I’m holding you to that, simon” you smiled and the sound of his name dripping from your lips like the sweetest of honies almost made his knees buckle. 

after your interaction simon got more diligent, looking for anything wrong with you, anything to turn him away, to put a stop to this; but he couldn’t.

every bit of information he attained made him fall deeper, fed his growing love for you, validated the idea he had created in his head. you were bloody perfect for him.

so he did take you up on your offer of tea and biscuits, and showed up at your doorstep.  

the sight of you greeting him with a soft smile and wearing a pretty sundress almost had him throwing his self control out the window and just telling you how you were made to be his. but he resisted.

he was a little awkward, but in a strangely endearing way. he made you laugh (god, he would die a happy man if your laughter was the last thing he heard), and was respectful, polite. 

and obviously you found him attractive, you weren’t being exactly subtle: simon knew he wasn’t that funny and that there was absolutely no need for you to grab his arm as you giggled. 

simon held onto every touch, every laugh, every time his name left your mouth like a man starved, his chest warming at the realization that he might have a chance, that you might love him back if he made an effort.

and sure, he might’ve placed a tiny listening device under your coffee table while you made a second kettle of tea, but that was just because he wanted to understand you better. to know how to please you, how to make you happy.

the ego boost he go from it a few days later as he listened in on your phone call was just a bonus. he couldn’t help the smile that decorated his face as you ranted to you friend, “he’s, like, unbelievably hot, build like a fucking tank. and sweet too! i know fucking your neighbour isn’t a good idea but christ”.

so you could imagine his surprise when he saw you come out of a car that wasn’t yours, an arm that wasn’t his around your waist. when the wanker kissed you at your doorstep, practically eating your face off, his fists clenched, blunt nails leaving bloody crescent moons on his palm.

who the fuck was that bloke? what the fuck were you doing? didn’t you like him? hadn’t you said that-

simon took a deep breath. he needed to calm down. 

this wasn’t your fault, of course it wasn’t. you didn’t know how he felt, he hadn’t told you yet, how were you supposed to know?

you were his sweet, little bird, you’d never do anything to purposely hurt him. you weren’t like that.

so any ounce of anger towards you disappeared as soon as it appeared. that man, though?

the entire night, simon seethed. he’d closed his curtains but the image of him around you was burned on the front of his brain and he fantasised. fantasised about being the one driving you home, kissing you, pulling you upstairs, tasting you, burying himself into you as you screamed out his name. fantasised about crushing that man’s skull, cutting him up limb by limb, making him eat his own tongue, teaching him to keep it in his mouth instead of letting it slip into yours.

but simon wasn’t one to just steep in his fury, he did something about it. 

so in the morning, as soon as he saw you and the asshole go downstairs, he turned the volume up on the laptop hooked to the listening device as he got dressed.

the guy offered to make you breakfast, and simon’s eyes damn near fell from his skull at how fast they rolled.

“that’s…nice, but I have to go to work, micheal” your voice came out static-y from the old computer, but the annoyance in it was unmistakable. simon knew you didn’t work on saturdays and it made him grin: you didn’t even like the bloke, you just needed a shag. and while simon didn’t exactly approve the way about which you went about it (i mean, he was literally across the street, love), he could understand that.

had you thought of him while he fucked you? had you imagined his strong arms around you? his cleft lip against your plush ones?

simon realised something good had come out of your little hook up: it had given him a courage of sorts. you were his, not this man’s who he was sure hadn’t fucked you right, who certainly didn’t love you as much as he did, and who wasn’t even enjoyable enough to keep around for breakfast.

so that same afternoon, he knocked on your door, had another cuppa and finally asked you on a date, being met with the brightest smile you’d given him as of yet, and making you promptly forget about micheal.

which was good because simon really didn’t want you knowing about how micheal hadn’t shown up to work the next day and the police had found his car abandoned, specs of blood on the seat.

[ch0llies]

EARNED IT | MATTHEW STURNIOLO

brothersbestfriend!matt x innocent!reader

You’re an 18-year-old high school senior, the innocent little sister of Matt’s best friend. Which means off-limits in every way. But 22-year-old college hockey player, Matt can’t ignore the way you cling to him, asking dangerous questions with trusting eyes. You don’t understand the fire you’re playing with- but Matt does. And he’s burning to teach you what happens when you get too close.

story warnings: heavy make out, lowkey corruption kink (if u squint), brothers best friend, pet names (sweetheart, angel), age gap (four years), etc. all characters are of age. If any of these topics upset you...don't read!

word count: 7k

a/n: i didn’t go into this with the intention of creating a similar story but as i read it over I’m realizing it’s very similar to an @ariestrxsh fic with the same trope. click here to read the first chapter of that! it’s very good and I recommend strongly!

You stand in front of the hallway mirror, tugging at the hem of your navy-blue dress, smoothing the fabric with your palms. The dress fits snugly, a little more mature than what you’re used to, but tonight isn’t just any night. It’s the sports award banquet. Your brother and Matt’s banquet. And your dad only let you tag along under the condition that you “stay out of trouble.”

But it wasn’t exactly you who he was worried about.

A sharp knock echoes from the front door.

“Get the fuckin’ door!” your brother shouts from upstairs.

“Okay, okay!” You huff, your heels clicking against the hardwood floor as you rush to answer.

When you unlock it, the bitter January air bites at your exposed skin, sending a chill down your spine. Matt stands in the doorway, hand raised mid-knock, his dark brows lifting when he takes you in.

His smirk is slight but enough to notice. “Well, don’t you look all grown up,” he muses, voice low and teasing. Then, without warning, he reaches out and ruffles the top of your freshly styled hair.

You scrunch your nose but let him, even though you just spent the better part of an hour curling it.

“Jesus, Matt,” you huff, stepping aside so he can come in. The cold air follows him as he shrugs off his coat, revealing a navy-blue suit, just a shade darker than your dress. You swallow, watching through the mirror as he tugs at his tie.

“You coming with us?” His voice is lighter now, curious but knowing.

“Yep! Daddy said I could tag along if I behave.” You smile, turning back to your reflection, smoothing your hair again.

Matt exhales a quiet chuckle, stepping closer behind you, his presence warm despite the winter air still clinging to him. You watch as he adjusts his tie in the mirror, his fingers long and practiced.

“You gonna behave then, sweetheart?” His eyes flick to yours in the reflection, amusement flickering behind them.

You nod, standing up straighter, suddenly aware of the way he towers over you. It’s always been like this. Him looking down at you, you looking up. The age gap was something your brother had always made a big deal about. ”Too old for you.” “Off limits.”

But Matt never seemed to care about that.

Your breath catches when his hand moves again, messing up your hair on purpose this time.

“Matt!” you whine, swatting his arm as you twist away. “I just fixed that.”

He grins, tongue running along his front teeth as he watches you pout. “Relax, kid, you still look pretty.”

Your stomach flips at that.

Before you can say anything, your brother’s voice rings out from upstairs. “Matty B! Get your ass up here!”

Matt sighs dramatically, shooting you one last glance before jogging up the stairs. You watch him go, your fingers tightening slightly around the fabric of your dress.

The banquet hall is grand, chandeliers casting a warm glow over round tables covered in crisp white linen. The clinking of glasses and laughter fills the air as athletes and their families mingle, celebrating another season of victories. You follow closely behind your brother and Matt, your heels clicking on the marble floor as you take in the scene with wide eyes.

Your brother spots your dad near the head table and heads off with a wave. “Don’t get into trouble,” he mutters over his shoulder.

“I never do,” you chirp back, but he’s already gone.

Matt stays beside you, his hand hovering at your lower back in a way that feels protective, almost possessive, but he never actually touches you.

“You stick with me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, eyes scanning the room. “Don’t need you getting eaten alive in here.”

You blink up at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

But before he can answer, a familiar voice interrupts.

“Damn, Y/N.”

You turn to see Jackson, one of your brother’s teammates, grinning at you like he’s just won something. “Didn’t know you cleaned up this nice.”

Matt stiffens beside you, but you don’t notice, too busy beaming at the compliment. “Thank you, Jackson! You look nice too.”

Jackson smirks, stepping closer. “You should let me take you out sometime. We could grab dinner, maybe see a movie, head back to my place?”

Before you can answer, Matt shifts slightly, his broad frame stepping just enough into the space between you and Jackson to make it clear. “She’s not interested,” he says casually, though there’s an unmistakable edge to his voice.

Jackson’s smirk falters. “She can answer for herself, can’t she?”

You glance between them, feeling a little lost. “I mean… I do like movies.”

Matt exhales sharply, running a hand down his face before placing it firmly on your lower back, actually touching you this time. “C’mon, angel. Let’s find our table.” His grip is gentle but insistent, steering you away before Jackson can say anything else.

As you walk away, you glance up at him. “That was kinda rude.”

Matt scoffs. “No, sweetheart. That was necessary.”

You frown but don’t push it, too distracted by the sight of the massive dessert table at the far end of the room. “Ooh! Can we get something sweet?”

His jaw clenches, but he nods. “Yeah, sure.”

Before you even make it halfway there, another one of your brother’s teammates- Tyler- sidles up beside you, grinning.

“Hey, Y/N,” he drawls, eyes trailing over your dress in a way that makes Matt’s fingers twitch against your back. “Didn’t think I’d see you here tonight.”

“My daddy let me come,” you say cheerfully. “It’s so fun! I didn’t know it’d be this fancy.”

Tyler smirks. “Your daddy, huh? You look real good all dressed up. Bet you’ve got guys falling all over you tonight.”

You blink. “Huh? Oh no, I just came with Matt and my brother.”

Matt sighs, long and slow. “Yeah, and she’s leaving with us too. Right, sweetheart?”

You nod, completely missing the way Matt glares daggers at Tyler. “Yep! Daddy said I had to go home when they do.”

Tyler chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s a shame. If you ever wanna have a little fun after curfew, you know who to call.”

You tilt your head. “Fun? Like… Games or…?”

Tyler lets out a loud laugh, but before he can respond, Matt steps in front of you completely, his voice dropping dangerously low. “Walk away, Tyler.”

Tyler holds his hands up in mock surrender, still grinning. “Relax, man. Just messing around.”

Matt doesn’t budge. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t blink.

Tyler’s grin fades slightly before he turns and disappears back into the crowd.

You tug on Matt’s sleeve, pouting. “Why are you being so mean tonight?”

Matt exhales through his nose, looking down at you with something unreadable in his expression. “I’m not being mean, angel. Just looking out for you.”

You huff but let it go when you finally reach the dessert table, distracted by a chocolate fountain. “Oh my gosh! Look at this!”

Matt watches as you grab a skewer and dip a marshmallow into the melted chocolate, completely oblivious to the attention you’re getting from half the room.

His jaw tenses as he glances around, making sure no one else even thinks about coming near you.

Your brother would kill him if he knew how he was feeling right now. But as you happily hum while licking melted chocolate from your fingers, utterly unaware of the way his entire body is locked up with restraint- Matt knows he’s in trouble.

Big, big trouble.

The banquet is in full swing as the night goes on, the energy in the room buzzing with excitement as awards are handed out. Your brother wins MVP, grinning as he walks up to accept his plaque, you and the rest of the crowd erupting in applause. Matt wins Best Defensive Player, and when his name is called, you clap so enthusiastically that he shoots you a look- amused but slightly exasperated.

“Calm down, angel,” he murmurs as he sits back down, placing his award on the table.

“I’m proud of you,” you say, grinning.

Matt shakes his head, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he nudges your knee under the table.

Throughout dinner, glasses of champagne are passed around, and even though Matt gives you a warning look, you take one anyway.

“It’s just one,” you assure him, lifting the flute to your lips.

“That’s not just one,” he mutters as you reach for another a little while later.

But you don’t listen. The bubbles tickle your throat, making you giggle, and before long, there’s a slight warmth settling over you, your limbs loosening, the room feeling lighter, happier.

Matt groans when you sip your third glass. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart.”

Your brother, too busy celebrating with his teammates, doesn’t even notice.

Matt does, though. Matt always notices.

By the time the banquet winds down, you’re giggling at everything, eyes bright as your dad rounds everyone up to leave.

The ride home is quiet, the hum of the car filling the space. Your dad drives, your brother is on your left, and Matt is on your right. Somehow, you’ve ended up in the middle seat, legs tucked under you, your body loose and relaxed from the champagne.

You lean against Matt’s shoulder, sighing dramatically. “M’so sleepy.”

Matt stiffens, his whole body going rigid.

“You shouldn’t have had all that champagne,” he murmurs, voice low, almost strained.

You ignore him, nuzzling into his arm like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “But it tasted so good.”

Your brother snorts. “You’re such a lightweight.”

You pout, shifting slightly, pressing even closer to Matt. You don’t realize what you’re doing, the way your fingers absentmindedly trace patterns on his forearm, the way your cheek presses against the fabric of his jacket, how warm he is.

Matt notices.

His jaw is clenched so tight it aches. He keeps his hands firmly planted on his thighs, muscles tense as he stares straight ahead. You’re touching him like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t mean anything. But to him?

It means everything.

Your fingers graze his wrist, and he exhales through his nose, shifting slightly in his seat, trying to put some distance between you. But you just follow, draping an arm over his bicep, your cheek now resting against his shoulder.

“You smell so nice,” you sigh, voice hazy, drunk and sweet.

Matt swears under his breath.

Your brother doesn’t notice. He’s too busy scrolling through his phone, occasionally grumbling about some play he should’ve gotten more credit for.

But Matt? He’s suffering.

Because you’re all soft touches and sleepy sighs, completely unaware of the fact that every innocent little move you make is driving him insane.

You shift again, snuggling impossibly closer. “You’re so comfy, Matty.”

Matt groans so quietly only you hear it. “Jesus.”

You blink up at him, bleary-eyed. “Hmm?”

“Nothing.” His voice is tight.

You smile, resting your head against his shoulder again, your fingers still tracing those mindless little patterns on his arm. “You’re so nice to me.”

Matt closes his eyes briefly, inhaling sharply through his nose.

If only you knew.

When you get home, the house is quiet, the air thick with the lingering chill of the winter night. Your dad mutters something about heading to bed, your brother and Matt trudging up the stairs after him.

You follow, still tipsy, still warm from the champagne, your limbs loose and slow as you move.

Matt is staying over, just like he always does after big game nights or events. He and your brother disappear into his room while you shuffle to yours, sighing as you peel off your dress, trading it for an oversized t-shirt- one that falls mid-thigh, barely covering your underwear. You tug on a pair of thigh-high socks, cozying up against the cold air before slipping on your blue light glasses, needing something to steady your still-spinning vision.

You head to the bathroom, flipping on the light, humming softly as you brush your teeth.

The door creaks open, and Matt steps in, rubbing his face tiredly before freezing in place when he sees you.

His eyes sweep over you, taking in your messy hair, the oversized tee hanging off your frame, the way your socks cling to your thighs. His jaw ticks, but he says nothing, just clears his throat before stepping toward the sink.

“Didn’t know you were in here,” he murmurs, voice rough with exhaustion- or maybe something else.

You shrug, toothpaste foaming at the corners of your mouth. “S’okay. I don’t mind.”

Matt huffs a quiet laugh, turning on the faucet to wash his hands. “You should be in bed, angel.”

You lean against the counter, tilting your head. “Matt?”

He grabs a towel, drying his hands before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah?”

You blink at him, expression slightly dazed. “Why were all those guys acting weird tonight?”

He stiffens slightly. “Weird how?”

You frown, thinking. “Like… they kept talking to me. Saying things that didn’t make sense.” You pause, then look up at him, brows furrowed. “What did they want?”

Matt exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “They were flirting with you, sweetheart. They thought you were pretty.”

Your nose scrunches. “Oh.” You tilt your head. “But you flirt with me too, right?”

His fingers flex against the counter. “Not like they do.”

You narrow your eyes. “You think I’m pretty too, right?”

Matt lets out a slow breath, gripping the edge of the sink. “Yeah, angel,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “I do.”

You blink, processing. “Then why does it matter?”

Matt turns, leaning back against the counter, arms crossing over his broad chest. His gaze is steady, dark in a way that makes your stomach flutter.

“Because they don’t just think you’re pretty,” he says carefully. “They want to sleep with you.”

You stare, heart skipping. “Oh.”

Matt watches your expression shift, your lips part slightly as realization starts to settle.

“They-” You swallow. “They wanted to… have sex with me?”

His jaw tightens. “Yeah, angel. That’s what they wanted.”

Your cheeks burn instantly, your fingers gripping the hem of your oversized t-shirt. “Oh.”

Matt studies you, the way your breath hitches slightly, the way your eyes flicker down before snapping back up.

“You really didn’t know?” he asks, voice gentler now.

You shake your head quickly. “No, I- I just thought they were being nice.”

Matt exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else, sweetheart.”

Your fingers fidget with the fabric of your shirt, your face still warm. “I didn’t- ” You hesitate. “I don’t really… talk about this kind of stuff.”

“I know.” His voice is soft, understanding.

You shift on your feet, gnawing at your lower lip. “I mean… I know what it is. But I don’t-” You trail off, exhaling sharply. “I don’t get it.”

Matt tilts his head slightly, his gaze heavy but patient. “What don’t you get?”

You chew on your lip again, hesitating before blurting, “Why do they want to?”

Matt blinks. “What?”

You huff, flustered now. “Like… why do guys want to do that so much? I don’t get it.”

Matt runs a hand down his face, clearly trying to stay composed. “Because it feels good.”

You inhale sharply, your face burning hotter. “Oh.”

Your heart stammers in your chest, something thick and unfamiliar sitting heavy in the space between you.

You grip the counter. “Have you…” You hesitate, then force the words out. “Have you done it?”

Matt’s lips twitch slightly, amused despite himself. “Yeah, sweetheart. I have.”

Your stomach flips, something strange curling in your gut. “Oh.”

He smirks. “That bother you?”

Your face flames. “N-no! I just-” You fumble, shaking your head quickly. “I just… I didn’t know.”

For a second, neither of you move. The space between you is thick with something you don’t quite understand, something unspoken but heavy. His gaze lingers, his expression unreadable, and it makes you fidget.

Your fingers play with the hem of your oversized t-shirt, twisting the fabric nervously. You don’t even realize that it hikes up slightly, exposing more of your bare thighs, the soft curve of them accentuated by your thigh-high socks. But Matt notices.

His eyes flicker down for the briefest second before snapping back up.

You hesitate, then softly say, “Matt?”

His jaw tenses. “Yeah?”

Your eyes stay fixed on the way your fingers pull at the fabric of your shirt. “Does it… really feel good?”

Matt’s breath is slow, measured. “Yeah, angel,” he murmurs. “It does.”

You shift on your feet, heat creeping up your neck. “Like… how?”

His lips part slightly, and for the first time tonight, he looks caught off guard. He drags a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose like he’s trying to gather himself.

“It’s- ” He stops, searching for the right words. “It’s different for everyone, but it’s… intense.”

You swallow, your fingers still gripping your shirt. “Intense how?”

His eyes darken slightly, his voice dropping a little lower. “It’s a kind of pressure. A build-up. And then… release.”

Your stomach flips, your whole body suddenly feeling too warm. “Oh.”

Matt watches you carefully, taking in the way your breath has gone a little shallower, the way your fingers fidget with your shirt again, lifting the fabric another inch before you even realize it. His eyes flicker down, then back up, something sharp flashing in them for a second before he schools his expression.

“Angel,” he says slowly. “You ever… thought about it before?”

You blink up at him, dazed. “Thought about what?”

His jaw clenches slightly. “Sex.”

Your breath catches, your entire body heating at the way the word rolls off his tongue so casually, like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t make your knees feel weak.

“I- ” You shift on your feet. “I mean, I know about it.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Matt murmurs.

You feel like your face is on fire. “I don’t- ” You bite your lip, exhaling shakily. “I don’t think so.”

Matt hums, tilting his head. “You don’t think so?”

You frown slightly, trying to collect your thoughts, but your mind is a mess, spinning, hazy from champagne and the weight of this conversation. “I just don’t really-” You shift again, your thighs pressing together instinctively. “I don’t get it.”

Matt watches the movement, his throat bobbing slightly before he lifts his gaze back to yours. “What don’t you get, angel?”

You hesitate, feeling impossibly small under his gaze. “Why people want it so much,” you admit, voice softer now, almost unsure.

Matt exhales slowly. “Because it feels good, sweetheart. It’s the closest you can get to someone. And when it’s with the right person…” He trails off for a second, then looks at you intently. “It’s really good.”

You shiver, despite the heat curling in your stomach. “What does it feel like?”

Matt’s fingers twitch at his sides, like he wants to do something with them but won’t let himself.

“You really wanna know?” he asks, voice lower now, rougher.

You nod, swallowing hard.

He leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “It starts slow,” he murmurs. “Your body gets all warm, all needy.” His eyes flicker down to the way you’re fidgeting with your shirt, how your thighs shift slightly where you stand. “You feel it everywhere. The pressure, the tension. And then when you finally get what you need-” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “It’s like relief. Like every nerve in your body is completely relaxed all at once.”

You stare at him, heart hammering, your fingers tightening on your shirt as you shift again, a deep, unfamiliar heat curling in your stomach.

Matt notices. Of course he notices.

He tilts his head slightly. “You ever been kissed before, angel?”

Your breath hitches. “What?”

His lips twitch slightly, but his expression remains unreadable. “You heard me.”

Your cheeks burn. “I- I mean, yeah.”

His gaze sharpens. “Yeah?”

You swallow hard. “Once.”

Matt hums, like he’s not entirely convinced. “And did you feel anything?”

Your stomach twists. “I… I don’t know.”

His jaw clenches slightly. “If you don’t know,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, rougher, “then the answer is no.”

You press your thighs together again, your whole body suddenly feeling strange, tingly, like your skin is too tight. “Oh.”

Matt’s gaze doesn’t waver, dark and knowing, like he’s seeing right through you.

“You’re feeling it now, aren’t you?”

Your breath catches. “W-what?”

He exhales through his nose, his voice dropping lower, slower. “The first part.” He tilts his head slightly, eyes dragging over you. “Warm and needy.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears. “I- I don’t- ” You shake your head quickly, even as your skin burns, your thighs press together again, your grip on your shirt tightening.

Matt takes a slow step toward you, his presence impossibly big in the small bathroom. “You are feeling it,” he murmurs, eyes locked onto yours. “Aren’t you, angel?”

Your mouth opens, then closes, your face scorching hot. “How can you tell?” you whisper.

He smirks, slow and lazy, but his voice is still rough, still tight. “You’re not exactly subtle about it.”

Your breath stutters as realization hits you.

Your thighs- pressed together.

Your fingers- clutching at your shirt, pulling it tighter, twisting the fabric.

Your breathing- short, shallow.

You feel like your body isn’t your own, like every nerve is suddenly hyperaware of the space between you and Matt, the way he’s looking at you, the way you can feel the heat radiating off of him even though he’s still an arm’s length away.

He takes another step closer.

Your stomach flips, your heartbeat a frantic staccato against your ribs.

His voice is lower now, softer, but it makes your entire body tingle. “Where are you feeling it?”

Your throat dries. “What?”

His gaze flickers down, then back up. “Where do you feel it the most, angel?”

You swear the air in the room disappears. Your skin prickles with heat, embarrassment flooding you so fast that you physically shrink back.

“I- I…” Your voice barely works, breathy and unsure.

Matt hums, his eyes flickering over you again, watching the way your fingers still grip your shirt, how your weight shifts between your legs.

You do feel it. Everywhere.

Your cheeks burn hotter, your head spinning. You don’t even know what you’re supposed to say.

Matt watches you, his expression unreadable, his body still tense. His eyes flicker over your flushed skin, the way you’re gripping the hem of your oversized t-shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. He exhales slowly, shaking his head slightly before tilting it, his voice dropping back to something softer, more careful.

“Tell me about that kiss you had.”

You blink up at him, still flustered, your brain barely catching up. “What?”

“The one you said you had. The only one.”

You shift uncomfortably. “I- uh. What about it?”

Matt’s gaze sharpens. “How did he touch you?”

Your stomach flips. “Touch me?”

He nods once. “Yeah. His hands. Where were they?”

You frown slightly, thinking back, but there’s nothing to think about. “He… didn’t.”

Matt’s brows lift slightly. “Didn’t?”

You shake your head, feeling a little embarrassed now. “I mean… he just kissed me. That’s it.”

Matt’s jaw ticks, his fingers flexing against the edge of the counter. “How long?��

You swallow. “Like… a second? Maybe two?”

Matt exhales sharply, shaking his head. “And what did it feel like?”

You bite your lip, thinking. “Nothing.”

Matt’s lips press into a thin line. “Nothing?”

You shrug. “I mean… it was just… a kiss.”

Matt takes another slow step toward you, his voice quieter now, rougher. “That’s not what it’s supposed to feel like, angel.”

Your breath catches, your fingers twitching against the hem of your shirt. You look up at him now, the air between you impossibly thick.

“…Then what is it supposed to feel like?”

Matt scans your body, his gaze dragging from the top of your head down the length of your frame- your messy hair, your parted lips, your bare thighs still pressed together slightly. He glances toward the open bathroom door, his jaw tightening before he reaches out, gripping the handle and slowly pushing it shut.

The click of the latch echoes in the silence.

When he turns back to you, his expression is darker now, his voice impossibly low.

“That warm and needy feeling?” His eyes lock onto yours, steady and intense. “It should feel like it’s on fire.”

Your stomach flips violently. “What do you mean?”

Matt steps closer, towering over you, his scent wrapping around you like something heavy and intoxicating. He leans down, just enough for his breath to brush against your lips.

“Like this.”

And then he kisses you.

It’s slow and intentional. His lips press against yours softly at first, like he’s giving you a chance to process, to pull away if you want to. But you don’t.

You can’t.

The second your breath hitches, he deepens it, his hand lifting just slightly like he wants to touch you but stops himself. His lips move against yours, slow and deliberate, and warmth spreads through your entire body. It’s thick and pulsing and burning.

Your fingers tremble as they clutch your t-shirt, your body melting before you even realize it. This is different. This is new.

This is what he meant.

When he finally pulls away, you’re breathless, dazed, your lips tingling from the weight of his touch. Your wide eyes meet his, your heart slamming against your ribs.

“…Oh.”

Matt’s jaw is tight, his breathing slow, controlled. His hand twitches at his side like he’s restraining himself, his eyes searching yours.

“Now tell me, angel,” his voice is rough, nearly a whisper.

“Did that feel like nothing?”

You swallow hard, shaking your head slowly. “…No.”

Matt’s lips twitch, his gaze darkening slightly. “Where did you feel it?”

You shift on your feet, feeling impossibly small under his stare. “I- I don’t know.”

Matt hums, stepping closer. “No?” His hands lift, slow, careful, fingertips ghosting over your cheeks as he cups your face gently. His thumbs brush against your skin, warm and grounding. “Did you feel it here?”

You inhale sharply, lips parting slightly, but shake your head. “Not… really.”

His hands move down, skimming over your shoulders, gripping them lightly. “Here?”

You shake your head again, heart pounding.

His hands trail lower, skimming down your arms, barely touching you. You shiver, exhaling shakily, but still, you shake your head.

Matt watches you, his movements slow, deliberate, as his palms skim over your waist, his thumbs pressing lightly into the soft curve of your stomach.

Your breath stutters.

His hands move lower.

Your fingers twitch against the hem of your oversized t-shirt as he settles them just above your hips, his touch firm, grounding. “What about here?”

You swallow, feeling lightheaded, but shake your head again.

And then his hands drift lower, fingertips grazing the soft skin of your lower stomach, right above where that deep, pulsing warmth sits heavy between your thighs.

Your body stiffens. Your breath catches.

Matt’s lips part slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, watching, waiting.

You nod, the smallest movement, barely even noticeable.

But he notices.

“Yeah?” His voice is softer now, rougher. “What’s it feel like, angel?”

Your thighs squeeze together instinctively, your skin burning under his touch. “I don’t know,” you stammer, breathless.

Matt hums, his thumbs tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin. “You sure?”

You nod quickly, but your body betrays you, shifting slightly into his touch.

Matt’s lips twitch again, something knowing behind his dark gaze as his hands slide down, fingertips trailing over the tops of your thighs before dragging back up, slow, teasing.

You shudder.

“Does it feel like a pulse?” he murmurs. “Like a throb?” His fingers trace the sensitive skin just above your knee, then glide up, his palms warm as they press lightly into the soft flesh of your thighs. “Almost a little wet?”

Your entire body jerks slightly, heat flooding your face, your stomach twisting violently in the most delicious way.

“Matt,” you whisper, mortified, shaking your head quickly.

His hands squeeze your thighs gently. “Hmm?”

You shake your head harder, but your body is betraying you again, shifting into his touch, your knees wobbling slightly as warmth pools deep in your core.

Matt watches you, eyes dark and knowing. Then, after a beat, he pulls his hands away, stepping back slightly.

Your body feels cold without his touch.

His gaze lingers on you, studying every little movement, every breath, every tremble. Then he asks, “Do you like that feeling?”

You hesitate, lips parting, but finally, finally, you nod.

Matt exhales slowly, his jaw tight, his hands flexing at his sides before his lips twitch into something almost smug. “It can feel even better.”

Your breath catches. “It… gets better?”

Matt chuckles, low and deep, shaking his head slightly. “So innocent,” he murmurs.

You frown slightly, embarrassed, shifting on your feet again.

But then his hand lifts again, fingertips brushing against your cheek before sliding into your hair, tilting your chin up slightly.

His gaze flickers over you, slow, measured.

And then he whispers, “Wanna see?”

Your breath stutters. Your pulse pounds. Your stomach twists in the most confusing, exhilarating way.

And then before you can even think- you nod.

Matt doesn’t hesitate.

His lips crash against yours, hotter this time, hungrier. His hands cup your face, tilting you exactly where he wants you as his mouth moves against yours, coaxing you into something deeper, something that makes that pulsing heat between your thighs turn into something more. It turns into something desperate, something dangerous.

Your fingers lift, gripping onto his shirt, needing something to hold onto as your legs feel weak beneath you.

He deepens the kiss, pulling you even closer, his hands firm as they slide from your face down to your waist, gripping you like he doesn’t want to let go. His lips are hot, insistent, moving against yours in a way that makes your head spin, your entire body buzzing with arousal.

His hands tighten around your waist, and before you can even register what’s happening, he lifts you effortlessly, gripping the backs of your thighs and setting you onto the cool bathroom counter. The contrast between the cold surface and his warm touch makes you shiver, your legs instinctively parting just enough for him to step between them.

And then- asound escapes your throat.

It’s soft, barely there. Nothing but a breathy little whimper as he tugs you closer, his hands gripping your thighs.

But it’s enough.

Your entire body locks up as realization sinks in, heat rushing to your face as you abruptly pull away, eyes wide with embarrassment. “I- I didn’t mean to-”

Matt’s breathing is heavy, his lips swollen from kissing you, but his eyes- his eyes are dark, focused, hungry.

He tilts his head, his hands still holding you firmly in place. “It’s normal, angel,” he murmurs, his voice impossibly low, deep enough to send shivers down your spine.

You swallow hard, still mortified. “But-”

He shakes his head, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your thigh. “It just means you like it,” he explains, his voice warm, coaxing. “Means it feels good.”

You shift, heat curling in your stomach again. “Still-”

“And it makes me feel good too.”

Your breath catches.

Matt’s eyes flicker over your face, his expression unreadable for a moment before he adds, “Makes me feel warm and needy, just like you.”

Your stomach flips, your fingers tightening against the edge of the counter.

Your voice is quieter now, unsure. “Then… why don’t you make any sounds?”

Matt stills, his lips twitching slightly, but it’s not amusement- it’s something else. His fingers flex against your thighs before dragging slowly up, fingertips pressing lightly into the fabric of your oversized t-shirt, tracing just under the hem.

He leans in, so close that his lips ghost against yours when he speaks.

“You want me to?”

Your pulse stutters.

You should probably say no.

But you don’t.

Instead, you nod.

Matt exhales through his nose, his smirk finally breaking through. “Yeah?”

You nod again, slower this time.

His hands slide up, gripping your waist, and then he kisses you again.

But this time, it’s different.

It’s slower and deeper. His tongue tracing against yours in a way that makes your head spin, your body arching slightly toward him before you even realize you’re doing it. His hands slide over your thighs, gripping them, pulling you forward until your legs wrap loosely around his waist.

A low sound rumbles from the back of his throat.

It’s quiet, but it’s there, vibrating against your lips, making your stomach flip and your entire body heat.

You gasp softly, your fingers gripping his shirt as the sound sends something dangerous pulsing between your thighs.

Matt must notice, because he groans again, this time a little louder, his hands tightening on your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin like he’s holding himself back.

The tension is unbearable now, your skin hot, your breaths short, every little movement making your head spin.

His hands gripped you tight, pulling you flush against him. His fingers trace slow, teasing patterns against your thighs, sending shivers up your spine. Your entire body is warm, buzzing, that unfamiliar but intoxicating feeling creeping higher and higher until a soft, breathy moan slips past your lips.

Matt freezes for a fraction of a second, his entire body tensing like a live wire, his hands gripping you tighter. And then he groans, deep and low, like the sound did something to him, like he needed to hear it.

His hands move before he can stop himself, sliding up your sides, fingertips teasing beneath the hem of your oversized t-shirt, skimming your bare skin as he pushes the fabric up, his palms warm and making you skin tingle in ways you’ve never imagined were possible.

A sudden, sharp knock on the door.

You barely stifle a yelp, but Matt is quicker.

His palm immediately covers your mouth, his other hand gripping your hip as he tenses, his head snapping toward the door. His light eyes flicker back to yours, and he puts a single finger to his lips, signaling for you to stay quiet.

Your heart is pounding.

“Yo, Matt,” your brother’s voice comes from the other side of the door. “You seen my sister? She left her laundry downstairs, and it’s hogging the dryer.”

Matt exhales slowly, his hand still over your mouth as he tilts his head toward the door, his voice calm, casual, like he hasn’t just had his hands all over you.

“Nah, dude. No idea where she is.”

The doorknob rattles.

You flinch.

Matt’s grip tightens on you instinctively, his hand pressing a little firmer against your mouth, his other hand flexing against your waist.

Your brother sighs. “Bro, unlock the door. I gotta brush my teeth.”

Matt’s jaw clenches, his eyes locking onto yours, something sharp flashing behind them before he whispers, so low you can barely hear it-

“Fuck.”

For a split second, you don’t know what he’s going to do.

Then, without hesitation, he lifts you again, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct, and moves.

You barely have time to process before he’s setting you down into the bathtub, your back pressing against the cool surface. He leans in close, eyes serious, his hand brushing over your cheek for just a second.

“Stay quiet,” he whispers.

You nod quickly, heart hammering.

Matt exhales sharply, stepping back, adjusting himself. You blink, watching as he tugs his waistband up, shifting awkwardly, like he’s hiding something.

Your brows furrow slightly. “What are you-”

Matt immediately puts a finger to his lips again, shaking his head. “Shh.”

You shut your mouth, still confused, still burning from everything that just happened.

Before you can think too hard about it, Matt pulls the shower curtain closed, hiding you from view just as he unlocks the door and swings it open.

Your brother steps in, rubbing his face tiredly. “Dude, what took you so long?”

Matt shrugs, leaning casually against the sink, like he hasn’t just shoved you into the bathtub to keep you hidden. “Was taking a piss.”

Your brother makes a face. “Long ass piss bro.”

Matt just smirks, crossing his arms, his body perfectly positioned to block any possible view of the tub. “Long ass piss for a long ass dick, what can I say.”

Your brother rolls his eyes, grabbing his toothbrush. “Whatever.”

You hold your breath, praying he doesn’t notice anything, praying he doesn’t hear the way your breathing is still uneven, the way your body is still buzzing from Matt’s touch.

Matt’s hand twitches against the sink, his knuckles flexing. His jaw is tight, his body still tense. Like he’s just barely keeping himself under control.

After a few minutes of tense silence, the sound of running water and your brother brushing his teeth fills the room. You stay completely still in the tub, pressing your lips together to keep yourself from making a sound, even though your heart is still racing from what had just happened.

Finally, your brother spits into the sink, wipes his mouth, and mutters, “Alright, I’m going to my room.”

Matt doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, I’m just gonna wash my face, I’ll meet you there.”

Your brother hums in response, the bathroom door creaking as he steps out. The moment you hear his footsteps retreating down the hall, Matt quickly shuts the door, locking it again before exhaling heavily. His shoulders relax slightly as he pulls back the shower curtain, his gaze landing on you, still curled up in the bathtub.

“Alright he’s gone.” he murmurs, stepping forward and reaching for you.

You let out a breath, still a little dazed as his hands slide under your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly. He sets you back down, steadying you on your feet before his hands settle on your waist.

You look up at him, eyes wide. “Oh my God.”

Matt chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Relax, angel. He had no clue.”

You exhale shakily, running your hands through your hair. The room is still heavy with everything that had happened, and while part of you is still flustered and embarrassed, the other part- the part that’s still warm, still needy- doesn’t want the moment to be over.

Matt watches you carefully, and for a second, you think he’s going to lean in again, that he’s going to pick up where you left off. But then, he sighs, smoothing his hands over your sides.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “We can’t go further right now. Your brother’s waiting for me, and he’s still looking for you.”

You sigh, deflating a little. You know he’s right, but still, the heat swirling in your stomach doesn’t quite go away. “Okay,” you mumble, chewing on your lip.

There’s a brief pause before something else pops into your head, something you don’t quite understand. “Matt?”

He tilts his head slightly. “Yeah?”

You hesitate, shifting on your feet. “What were you… doing? With your… you know…?”

Matt blinks, then raises an eyebrow. “My cock?” he asks bluntly.

Your entire face burns. “Matt!”

He smirks at your reaction, but instead of answering immediately, he reaches down, adjusting the waistband of his sweatpants. You watch confused until he untucks himself, and suddenly, the thick outline of him is tenting out his grey sweatpants prominently.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You stare.

It’s… big.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, a deep, unfamiliar curiosity curling in your stomach. Without even thinking, your hand twitches forward slightly before you stop yourself at the last second, pulling your hand back quickly.

“Sorry,” you blurt out, embarrassed.

But Matt shakes his head immediately, stepping closer. “No, sweetheart. Don’t be sorry,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, coaxing. “Please do.”

Your lips part slightly, your heart hammering in your chest.

“It’ll make me feel good,” he adds, his eyes locked onto yours.

You swallow hard, hesitating just a moment longer before you slowly reach forward again, your fingers lightly wrapping around him through the fabric.

Matt exhales sharply, his head tilting back slightly. “Fuuuck,” he mutters under his breath.

Your fingers tighten slightly, gripping him a little more firmly.

His hands flex at his sides before one of them lifts to grip the counter. “This,” he breathes out, his eyes fluttering shut for a second, “this is another way of knowing that I like it.”

You stare at him, your breath short and quick. “I did this to you?” you whisper.

Matt groans quietly, nodding. “Yeah, angel.”

You blink, still gripping him through his sweatpants, still feeling the heat of him against your palm. You squeeze slightly, watching as his jaw tenses, his breath stuttering.

Your voice is quieter now. “Is it like… how i feel…wet?”

Matt exhales, his fingers twitching against the counter. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Just like that. When you get wet, my dick gets hard.”

Your cheeks burn. “Why does it do that?”

Matt leans in then, his breath warm against your ear, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s your body getting ready for me to be inside you.”

Your entire body locks up, heat flooding your core so intensely that your thighs press together on instinct. Your fingers twitch around him, squeezing his clothed length a little harder.

Matt groans, his head dropping to your shoulder, his breath ragged.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he rasps, his voice strained, “I’m gonna cum if you do that. You’re making me crazy.”

You freeze. “Wait- what?”

Matt lifts his head, exhaling heavily before he leans down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll explain to you another time,” he murmurs. “But for now? Get to bed.”

You nod slowly, still reeling, still confused, still burning. “When will you show me?”

Matt smirks as he watches you hesitate, his voice softer now as he nudges you toward the door.

“Whenever you earn it.”

PT.2 HERE💙

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