#lets talk about the parallels instead

[melandrops]

can someone explain to me why we hate jurgen leitner so much

[autisticandroids]

FAMINE: That's one deep, dark nothing you've got there, Dean.

[youtube with closed captions]

dean and his father. dean and his family. dean and how bad it is.

(via @closetoyou1970)

[starlooove]

Duke should have a chain with a lil bat on it and that’s all I can really say about fashion

[bisaster-energy]

Merlin but Merlin loses it when Arthur dies and instinctively starts a time loop and every time Arthur dies it automatically resets...for angst purposes it could stay tragic..no matter what he does to change the past kilgharra was right. no one can change their destiny nor can they escape it. or by starting this time loop at all he's doing is preventing the rise of the once and future king so by staving off Arthur's death he's actually preventing anyone from ever really living again. a never ending story with one character aware of the narrative but powerless to change it. a puppet with a brain but no autonomy to put it to use. A tragedy of his own making instead the one prophesized

[lichtecht]

PART 20

of the dfk 2023 audiobook translation

@cnka

Narrator (audiobook): Robert puts another piece of wood on the trunk and swings the axe.

Bökh: „And you never wanted to get in touch?"

The Nichtraucher picks up a piece of wood.

Silence.

Nichtraucher: „Why should I? We didn’t see each other for the past ten years either.“

He rips the piece of wood apart with his bare hands. While holding eye contact with Justus.

Silence.

Justus lowers his head.

Jo: „Uh.. weren’t you-" Martina, quietly: „Jo, leave it. Lets go.“

Martina, louder: „We need to go! We still have something to do.“

The kids leave. Jo and Martina are holding hands as they walk away.

Bökh: „Yeah… Thank you, kids.“

Jo, whispering as they walk away: "What was that just now?!"

Robert picks up the chopped wood and walks back to his wagon. Justus looks after him.

Narrator (audiobook): If the two friends will find back together? Matze isn’t so sure of that.

Matze, sarcastically: „Well, that was a great success!“ Jo: „Yeah, so much for friendship between Internals and Externs.“

Narrator (audiobook): At least Robert granted Herr Bökh access to his wagon. He looks around lost in thought more or less, while Robert washes the dishes.

Dishes clatter. There is silence otherwise.

Justus stares wistfully at Robert while he washes the dishes.

Justus takes his eyes off Robert and starts looking around while Robert continues to ignore him.

Bökh: „I thought you were living in London.“ Nichtraucher: (silence) Bökh: „It's nice here.“ Nichtraucher: (silence)

Justus starts walking around.

Bökh: „I told the kids about our friendship.“ Nichtraucher: „As a cautionary tale?“ Bökh: (chuckles/scoffs) „No. Of course not.“

Narrator (audiobook): Bökh spots the poster of „the Bandits“, the same one hanging in his apartment.

Bökh: „The 'Wild Dog' that we always played in is still there.“

Nichtraucher: (silence)

Bökh: „Should we meet there sometime? For a beer?“

Robert looks up.

He lets out a small huff, almost like an incredulous laugh or a scoff.

He dries his hands on a towel and folds it.

Nichtraucher: (silence) Nichtraucher: „I don’t know what we would have to say to each other.“

Bökh: „Hm. Well. A lot of time has passed.“

Narrator (audiobook): Robert sits down at the table and lights himself a cigarette.

Justus turns as well and starts looking around again.

Nichtraucher: „Why didn’t you come to Marie’s funeral back then?“

Nichtraucher: „You didn’t even get in touch.“

[„You didn't even get in touch“ -> parallels to „And you never wanted to get in touch?“]

Justus is silent. He starts fiddling with his jacket and pulls it off his shoulder. He lets out a deep, shaky sigh and is silent for another few moments.

Bökh: „…I don’t know, you met her and… and suddenly you were gone.“

[Parallels to „suddenly your closest loved ones are gone“]

Bökh: „As if everything -our friendship, the band- as if that had all just been a dream.“

Justus turns around and looks at Robert.

Bökh: „Wir zwei. Wir hatten doch Pläne.“

Bökh: „That really hurt me.“ Nichtraucher: „It hurt you.“

Silence. Just the music.

Bökh: „Yes. Very much back then.“

The Nichtraucher lets out a soft incredulous laugh again, almost like a scoff.

Nichtraucher: „I see.“

Long silence. Justus stares out the window. Finally, he turns and walks to the door.

Bökh: „You know where to find me.“

Justus leaves the wagon. Robert nods to himself silently.

Narrator (audiobook): And with these words, Herr Bökh leaves his friend’s train wagon. If the two will ever see each other again?

[itsmarsss]

OH CMON STOLAS WTF

[fragmentedblade]

I swear, if they all not get to be deranged and awful and resent each other and kill each other over and over with the bitter aftertaste of love WHAT EVEN IS THE POINT

[dog-violet]

tbh i’ve spent all day thinking about the Summerteen Romance story from Paradox Space i wholeheartedly believe it’s the greatest piece of semi-canon hs content out there

[springcatalyst]

*banging on your door* I'D LIKE TO HEAR ABOUT JULIAN, LILIANA, UND BROOKE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE.

What are their final thoughts in the dark silence of night before they sleep? How do they sleep?

How do they choose their clothes when purchasing and dressing?

What is a fear that they cannot pull themselves away from? They need it, and they hate it.

OMG HELLO HI HELLOOOOOOOO i am taking ur coat like a victorian gentleman and inviting u inside.  These are so specific and dramatic i love

AHEM

-

Sleep, rather, the moments right before it, is when a person is at their truest.  You can’t really hide from it.  So those final thoughts are typically a lens into the basal forms that make up a character.

Liliana is a character that’s very true, very genuine, so her sleeping mind doesn’t show much that you wouldn’t expect, because there’s not a lot that she hides, at least not from herself.  She’s obsessive: stuck (though ‘stuck’ implies that she’s here by some force other than her own) in this quest that she’s been trailing for years, getting closer but not in any way that’s tangible.  She goes to sleep with ‘what next’ floating around in her skull, and dreams of a goal reached.  And she sleeps like the dead, but only because she puts it off for as long as she can.  Not that she avoids sleep itself, though, rather she stays up and works until she can’t stay upright anymore.  She is laser-focused, set on her task.  It can benefit her, in certain conditions, but mostly it leaves her running on so little sleep she has trouble functioning. Her being a satyr means her sleep schedule doesn’t quite align with a ‘typical’ one anyway, but she definitely fucks it more and also that’s not set in stone atm.

Julian, on the other hand, is a liar and he hides just about everything about himself, including from himself.  Julian and Liliana are similar in a lot of ways but this is not one of them.  So his unconscious truth doesn’t always align with what he appears to be.  It’s careful.  It’s somatic: a sort of ‘is the door locked is the knife within reach is the cane by the bed,’ but it’s also theoretical: more a ‘who here do I trust (in the most basic sense of the word) or who do I watch out for.’  He absolutely is the impulsive asshole he looks like, but the little bit of careful caution that remains beneath plays a role in his continued safety (relatively speaking).  Julian is also a pretty light sleeper, growing up with five siblings (lmao) there’s a good amount of noise in the mornings or if something is wrong at night, so he’s just kind of grown accustomed to waking up, even if it’s that barely-awake state, to evaluate the noise.  And he rises with the sun- mostly old habit, but it’s also convenient for guaranteeing some time unobserved, for safety or just for some quiet.

Brooke is different in that the thing that follows her into sleep isn’t as much a thought as it is a feeling.  Brooke spends a lot of time busy, not necessarily with the intent of keeping her mind securely in the present, but that’s the effect it has, no matter.  So when she isn’t doing something- following or fighting or helping or hurting -she gets that little moment of quiet calm and it’s occupied by guilt.  The weight of it kind of lingers above her, the knowledge of what she was a part of, the remembrance of what she’s constantly trying to undo.  Brooke lives in the shadow of a debt to repay, and it catches up to her when she has a moment of still.  She is an uneasy sleeper, heavy to the ongoings of the waking world, but she rarely sleeps straight through the night, nevertheless.  She doesn’t dream, just wakes with the feeling that she did, even as it evades her. 

-

I feel like this is already so long and that’s just the first thing but like, you gave me the opportunity so I’m taking it <3.  Choice of fashion is a little less dramatic but I’m sure I’ll find a way to make it anyway.  Clothing basically serves three functions: utility, expression, and comfort.  For the sake of character designs I usually focus on the first two unless it’s particularly relevant, which it isn’t for these three so much. 

Brooke is mostly utility.  She has casualwear, of course, but honestly I haven’t really designed much of it and usually just draw her in her armor.  Which is pretty obviously utile, but it’s also familiar.  She keeps this leather armor, embossed around the edges (that I’ll actually design and make mean something eventually but... not yet apparently) and either similar or just the same to the kind she wore with her family, their guild.  Familiar isn’t always a good thing, but it’s all she knows.  If I’m being real she’s still being developed, especially storyline specifics, so not a lot is decided.  I’ve thought about switching around the colors, the blue I typically give her can be a changed version, removed from its ties to before, which was maybe a gold or a purple, something more implicative of importance.  Or of having her rid herself of the armor completely, so caught up in breaking her bonds that she makes herself vulnerable... but I’m a little too attached to how the armor looks... basically, she’s just balancing the safety of utility with the unrest of something recognizably hunter. 

Liliana is mostly expression.  She doesn’t need anything particular from her clothes, so chooses what makes her feel good.  Nothing too extravagant, because she is still wrecking shit and needs to not be hindered by what she’s wearing, but she dresses to look good and be scary, when the need arises.  She wears dresses and skirts despite the fact that, as a satyr, she really doesn’t... need to?  Because satyrs, post-cataclysm, live closely tied with humans in particular, though fauns as well, depending on locale, and as such have absorbed some social elements of theirs- like clothing and gender norms.  She abides by those norms, gender in particular (to a certain degree), not because she has to but because she wants to- because, you know, trans.  She carries a good amount of things with her on average- swords and knives and lockpicks and money and various other whathaveyous -but rarely carries them all at once, taking them on or off her person whenever she thinks she may or may not need them, but her belt remains on no matter, because that’s what she needs to have any of them at all.  Her compass, too, stays on her at all times, but that’s more sentimentality than use. 

Julian is a bit of both, but with him, a lot of the expression melts over into utility.  The puffy shirts, while inherently pirate out-of-universe, are conveniently the opposite of form-fitting.  They make him look bigger than he is like a cat puffing out, but also hide, you know, trans.  Typically they’re white or otherwise lightly colored, because it’s cheap and function-over-form, but later era when he’s particularly full of himself he trends towards darker colors and black.  Black, as a dye, is expensive to make, so wearing it is a way of making it clear that he is either important or dangerous or both- he strives to command respect or fear and it doesn’t always matter which.  Julian, like Liliana, also carries some stuff with him, but the difference is that he has less, and so almost always has all of them.  The exception is his sword, which is bulky enough to always have that unless he for sure needs it, he’ll leave it in favor of a knife (or two, counting the one in his cane).  And because his right hand is typically occupied by his cane, his things are all strapped to his left, another reason he doesn’t always carry the sword- it gets in the way.  Finally, depending where storyline-wise he is, he wears a couple little gold earrings- mark of a pirate.  Been considering having it be a status thing, too: one for crewmate, two for first mate, three for captain, or something similar. 

-

Fear is a really interesting one.  I dig where you’re going with it, and I’m sure I’m about to exhibit some mental illness, but like, fear is possibly one of the most important things in a character, because it’s what’s really behind at least 90% of a characters’ motivations, isn’t it?

Gotta start with Julian for this one.  He is afraid of a thousand entwined things in a way he will never admit and might not even be aware of.  The way he is perceived is so important to him that he lives with the constant threat of what he’s built for himself being taken away.  He’s so... I can’t call him exactly fake, because it’s not all false... he’s so constructed.  Everything he is, is exaggerated.  He is angry, and impulsive, and fast and rude and detached, but the way those things are presented is curated to be viewed in the way that he wants it to be.  And because of that, because everything he is is built on a not-quite-lie not-quite-truth, he runs the risk of having it all crash down around him.  That’s what follows him: the fear of being seen past it all, because he thinks that with that, he’ll end up right back where he was before.  Not to be too insane but in my silly little character.doc that I have for fun there’s this segment that’s pretty much what I just said:

He is afraid of no longer being taken seriously

He is afraid of losing the image he has created

He is afraid of trust being broken and secrets getting out

He is afraid of being patronized or the subject of pity

He would have you believe he is afraid of nothing

Liliana, now that I’m thinking about it, is actually pretty similar to him.  I didn’t even do this one on purpose oops.  Her difference, though, is that what she is isn’t fake.  She has this legacy, this name, that she reigns- people know of her, she commands that same respect or fear that Julian has to try so hard to.  Part of that, though, is taken from her.  She has her... I don’t want to call it a birthright, because that sounds entitled, but she has her birthright, then it’s stolen from her, and she rebuilds it even as she is on a hunt to reclaim it.  And so her fear stems from the possibility of failure.  If she never reaches her goal, if she truly loses what should never have been taken in the first place, then it’s all been for nothing, not only her work, but her father’s.  And the longer she goes without reaching that finish line, the more she is afraid of ‘what if it’s too late’ and ‘maybe it’s already over.’  Because her failure is also his, what she’d lose is also his, and that’s worse than if she just failed herself, because she feels the need to honor what he built, what he left, and what he was, in his absence.

Brooke is afraid of exactly what you’d expect.  A thousand what you’ve done’s follow her.  She terrified of never making it right, of the possibility of her wrongs being something that she never can make right.  She made a vow and she intends with all her being to keep it, but there is no endgoal, there is no ‘finished.’  It’s constant, and as such the constant threat of failure, of breaking that promise, whether by action or inaction, stays with her.  She lives with it for so long that it begins to leech into her, more than it already was, so it becomes what drives her.  But also... it’s what’s always driven her.  For a long time, she’s driven more by what’s behind her than what’s before her, and all that does is make her steep in this guilt and fear, fighting for a repentance that she doesn’t even know if she deserves. 

-

Okay I’m done being insane now, I hope my fucked up little guys provide enrichment to your enclosure but either way you’ve given me the GIFT of LETTING ME BE ANNOYING so THANK U AGAIN BESTIE. KISSING U KISSING U KISSING U KISSING U K

[clumsycapitolunicorn]

only the football show could make me feel optimistic, then take that away and make me not bother hoping for anything when they decide they want to do a S4.

[babycharmander]

(BOOK OF BILL SPOILERS)

I just finished reading The Book of Bill and I am kindof losing my mind over some of this stuff.

I had wondered if Alex Hirsch might make Bill sympathetic in some way and oh boy I was not expecting him to do it so successfully (and without cheapening Bill's character).

So, we learn that Bill was born into a 2D world... as a mutant who can see into the third dimension. He claims he was absolutely loved by all, but when talking about his powers, he mentions under Pyrokinesis:

"Cipher, Cipher, he's insane / Starting fires with his brain." The kids in grade school could be so cruel. But where are they now, huh? WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

So probably not quite as liked as he was letting on. To add to that, there's the silly straw page, which looks like silly nonsense until you decipher some of the codes:

"EYE DOCTOR OF A DIFFERENT KIND / WHO WANTS TO MAKE HIS PATIENTS BLIND" "THE DOCTOR SAYS / THREE SIPS A DAY / WILL MAKE THE VISIONS / GO AWAY"

I wasn't sure what this meant until I saw someone point out... he was seeing a third dimension that no one else could see. His parents probably took him to the eye doctor to try to "fix" him. Which, speaking of his eye doctor, the coded message in the section about human eyeballs says something interesting:

"MY OPTOMETRIST NEVER SAW IT COMING"

It could be a joke given beforehand he's talking about dissecting a human eye, but given the previous hints of medical abuse, I wouldn't put it past him that he tried to get revenge on his eye doctor.

Oh yeah and the whole thing about him setting his entire dimension on fire? Yeah it turns out it was entirely a mistake (he just wanted everyone to understand the third dimension he was seeing so they could be free of only two dimensions), he was so traumatized by it he blacks out when trying to recall it. He deeply, deeply regrets it, and...

"What? Your ENTIRE home dimension? destroyed? How? By what?" Bill looked distant, more distant than I'd ever seen him. "By a monster."

He sees himself as a monster.

And yet, he's not some innocent, misunderstood being. He still revels in causing pain and chaos. He's terrible in general, but becomes incredibly abusive toward Ford.

"YOU'RE MY PROPERTY. DON'T FORGET IT. The hillbilly abandoned you, your father won't want you returning without millions, you have no friends, and if you died out here in the snow, who would even miss you?"

Which... speaking of him and Ford...

Yes, yes, I know people ship them. But like, whether you see their relationship as romantic or platonic (I see it as the latter), there's some interesting parallels to be made here.

Both Bill and Ford are mutants who were mocked for their being different. (Bill was not physically a mutant, as far as we know, but more in the sense of him having vision stronger than that of everyone else in his dimension, and also having special powers. And he does describe himself as a mutant.) Both became social outcasts, separated from their families but still haunted by them (Ford seeing commercials of Stan on TV and running across old photos of him and his brother, Bill being haunted by his family in some form). Neither could return home for one reason or another. Both more powerful than their peers (Ford intellectually, Bill in terms of actual powers). Both of them isolated and alone. (Yes, Bill does have the Henchmaniacs, but they seem like shallow friends, and only really seem to follow him out of a desire to have a place to party.)

Ford was not aware of most of this, aside from knowing that Bill could not go home because his dimension was destroyed. But Bill absolutely saw himself in Ford. There was no other person he tried to use whom he felt a stronger connection to.

And he actually seems to care about Ford--he actually gave him a birthday present, and when Ford didn't like it, he decided to get drunk and party with him instead to make up for it.

And then when Ford realizes what Bill's plan actually is and refuses to go along with it, and fights back no matter what Bill does, Bill completely breaks down.

After living for trillions of years, he met someone who was like him, and that person rejected him.

He goes berserk, wreaking havoc, being caught by the dimensional authority that he's been taunting for most of his life.

And then after dying and being cast out of hell for being too annoying, he winds up faced with the Axolotl, who sends him to therapy, where he continues to break down further, sending out the book in a desperate attempt to find someone, anyone who will help him break loose and wreak havoc once again.

"You have no friends, and if you died ... who would even miss you?"

I don't know, Bill. Who would even miss you?

In short,

[ID: The front and back of one of Bill's Valentines cards. On the front is a black void with Bill Cipher lying down without his hat, gazing blankly upwards, with the text "I DON'T WANT TO DIE ALONE" above him. On the back is a simple white "TO/FROM" in red, with a red outline illustration of Bill spontaneously growing a mouth and eating a realistic, bloody heart. /end ID]

[martyrbat]

so many of you talk about the cruel adults in your childhood that negatively effected you and caused lifelong insecurity yet you're still perfectly fine with being that mean stranger to any kid that has the misfortune of existing around you and thats just really gross !!!

[lolliepops-rox]

I worked out why so many people get davekat wrong. It's cos they don't know how to add that nonstandard romance touch that some aspec people have. They just don't get how to break the mold.

[sigh-tofm]

if you need a weighted blanket… (some 18+)

…price

- questions. tries to tug it off of you when he comes home late from a long deployment it, ready to join his darling wife in bed. grunts quizzically when it doesn’t move from your shoulders. mutters ‘wha’s this,’ and you turn slightly over, smiling at him with your sleepy eyes still closed. ‘hey, baby.’

‘doll, wha’s this thing,’ he urges again, testing the weight of the blanket in his hand . ‘m’weighted blanket,’ you mumble, reaching out blindly and fumbling after his hand to pull him to bed with you.

‘wha’s it for,’ he asks as he joins you, setting his knees on the mattress and feeling his way across it, trying to find where you start and end so he can get as close to you as possible. you sigh contentedly when he slots in behind you, where he belongs. you don’t start explaining deep pressure therapy to him in the middle of the night, though.

‘helps me sleep when you’re not here,’ you mutter instead.

‘well,’ he says as he leans over you and kisses your round cheek, while his hand with some effort pulls the blanket off of you. ‘don’t need it anymore, then.’

… kyle

- indulges you. service minded, through and through, in everything he does. does not entirely understand the appeal of being pressed into the bed under a heavy blanket, but understands how important it is to you.

makes sure to change the sheets often and always lays the blanket out properly when he makes the bed. never leaves it scrunched together at the bottom of the bed, where it will be hard for you to get it. no, it’s always laid out and ready for you, easy for you to slide under.

packs it up and brings it along when you two go to a hotel for the weekend. carries all 12kg up to the room, makes the bed while you shower and knows that after dinner, after drinks and dancing, you get to sleep soundly and he gets to look after you. sneakily slips underneath just to test it out and figures it’s still not for him. but it’s for you, and he’s for you.

… johnny

- thinks the more, the merrier. already loves feeling the weight of your plush body atop his, always pulls on you in your sleep to get you as close to him as possible. eagerly embraces a weighted blanket on top as well.

has your ride him, too. sweet talks you into straddling your broad hips over his so he can feel the grind of your bodyweight against his muscles, can watch the way your skin ripples with hearts in his eyes. loves nothing more than to feel your flesh give way under his fingers.

loves how he during the aftercare, after you’ve both collapsed on your backs on the mattress, can roll you halfway on top of him again and pull the weighted blanket over the both if you, easing you into sleep from the afterglow while he enjoys the heavenly solid pressure of warm skin against warm skin.

… simon

- parallel plays. has his own, and breathes a silent sigh of relief when it comes up on the third date that you can’t sleep properly without your weighted blanket. he feels less self conscious about it when he takes you home on the next date and lets you share it with him during the night. you don’t know it yet, but you are taking part in something sacred. his blanket is heavier than yours, and combined with his hefty arm across your chest it feels like the entire starry night sky is pressing you down into him.

when you move in together, you bring your own blanket. in the daytime they lie side by side on the bed, waiting for your return. in the nighttime they more often than not end up halfway on top of each other. you two sleep so entangled it’s inevitable.

simon can cognitively rest when he’s deployed. knows that a good soldier sleeps when he can. also knows that true, marrow-deep rest for him only comes when he’s in your proximity. and the blankets don’t hurt.

[thepowerofswayze]

demonstration

originally on ao3

based on this post by @fantasylandloser

pairing: art donaldson (challengers, 2024) / afab reader [gender not specified]

word count: 1.9K

warnings & info: 18+, afab reader, college era art AHHH, friends to lovers, first time together, mostly smut, oral sex (reader receiving), art is a munch obviously, reader wears a bra and skirt

summary: Catching Art up on your adventures gets hard when he doesn't get your explanations, or your hand puppet examples. Looks like you just have to show him exactly what went down. Based on this post that i could not stop thinking about. :))

☆

“Oh my god, fuck you!”

Art chuckled from where he stood, watching as you tossed the t-shirt he’d balled up and chucked at you back in his direction. It fell harmlessly to the floor a foot from him, and you glared at him as he snickered, picking it up and putting it away.

You were visiting Art, your close friend from high school, at Stanford. At that moment, you happened to be explaining how an interaction at a party at your university had gone a couple weeks before. Art never really liked listening to you talk about guys- hence, the shirt thrown directly at your face when you’d started describing this particular frat boy to him in detail- but he’d given up complaining a while ago. It was either that or be honest about why he hated it so much, and that was never going to happen. So, he tidied up his room as you explained the lead up, the flirting, the stumbling up the stairs. He fell back parallel to you on the bed as you got to the “good part”, his head by your legs and an arm over his eyes, like he could block out the imagery.

“Anyway, I didn’t think it was a big deal at first, like when we were flirting, but then I was on him, kinda like-” You took a moment to sit up straight, grinning as art groaned and propped himself up on his elbows to see you better. He watched you attempt to mimic the position with your hands, your left hand being the guy you were talking about, your right being you.

To Art, it just looked like you were mashing your hands together. He looked up from your hands to see you raising your eyebrows at him, as if to ask if he was following. “Huh?” He said.

With an exasperated sigh and without another thought, you pushed yourself up on your knees and waddled over to him, swinging a leg over his body and hovering just over his torso. For a moment, Art just watched, bewildered, as you steadied yourself with your hands on either side of his head. He let himself fall back from his elbows, hands sliding up your hips and settling at your waist, catching momentarily on the fabric of your skirt. His fingers peeked just under the hem of your shirt. Your skin tingled where he touched you.

“... Like this,” you said finally, blinking at him for a moment. “Well, uh.” You moved your hands to his chest instead, careful not to push too hard (though with the muscle he’d acquired since he’d started playing tennis for Stanford, you were sure it bothered him much less than you thought). “More like this, I guess.”

Art nodded, quickly licking his lips before asking, “Then?”

You tried not to look at his mouth. “What?”

“Then what did you do?”

It finally hit you then: what the fuck were you doing, climbing all over your best friend to ‘show him’ how you and some guy had been fooling around a couple weeks ago? That would just mean fooling around with him, obviously. That wasn’t really the plan.

But, it was too late for your common sense to kick in now. There you were, your hips hovering over his, not quite touching yet. You watched his eyes dart down to your lips, then drag slowly back up to meet your gaze. You couldn’t wait here and think about what you’d gotten yourself into and how this would change your friendship forever, though you got the feeling he’d let you take as long as you wanted.

Then what did you do?

You steeled yourself, biting your lip and watching his lips part slightly as he tracked the action with his eyes. Then you took that moment to fully sit on his lap.

You could feel his chest expand beneath your hands with his sharp inhale, his eyes snapping down to your hips, then back up to your face.

“This,” you murmured. You’d intended for it to come out cocky, maybe even a little seductive, but you could hear the breathlessness in your own voice. You were trying your best to ignore the growing pressure where your hips met his, though really, it was hopeless. 

Art’s ears were burning a bright shade of pink. The urge to gently nip at them crossed your mind, just for a moment. He cleared his throat. “Then?” His voice was almost a whisper, chest rising and falling unevenly with his nervous breathing. The way he was looking at you, like he wasn’t sure you were real…

Fuck.

You leaned forward, trying not to let your breath stutter at the friction caused by the movement, until your lips hovered just over his. Then you kissed him.

You pressed your lips together gently, lingering for a moment before pulling back by centimeters. His lips chased yours, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly, and you were right back on him, lips falling open against each other. A soft sound escaped him as your hips shifted against his, along with a contented sigh from you. You repeated the motion, reveling in the low groan he let out, followed by your name murmured into your mouth.

Art’s lips were soft. And he’d shaved recently, you thought, hands cupping his face. The smooth skin of his cheeks was a stark contrast to the calloused hands he was now raking over your thighs, your skirt pushed up around your hips. You broke away from his lips, kissing down his neck instead, listening to the noises he made whenever you left a mark, whenever you ground against him just right. “Shit,” he gasped. “You’re- You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” You left another kiss just below his ear, before murmuring, “What is it?”

You could feel him all but shudder beneath you. “Fuck,” he groaned, then your name, before he looked you in the eye. You resisted the urge to dive right back in. “Let me eat you out,” he said, suddenly determined, though still flushed and dazed. “Please.”

All you could say was “What?” because, surely, this was one big dream.

“Please.” His hands hadn’t stilled, still rubbing shapes into your thighs, his hips rolling up against yours. “Can I?”

Your entire body was on fire. “Okay, yeah. Yes.”

He wasted no time flipping the both of you over, laying you against the bed so he could kiss down your neck. You barely had a moment to process, your hands moving to tangle in his hair, one of his knees slotted between your legs. He tugged at the bottom of your shirt, prompting you to lift yourself slightly and help him get it off. Your bra came next. “You, too,” you murmured, pulling at his shirt and making him chuckle. He reached behind his head, tugging it off in one swift movement and abandoning it beside your shirt and bra on his freshly cleared floor.

One of his hands slid down your chest from your shoulders, enclosing one of your breasts, the thumb circling your nipple. You bit your lip and sighed, pulling him down for another kiss by the back of his neck.

Art let his hand trail from your chest down the sides of your stomach, then slotted his palm right between your legs, over your underwear. You gasped quietly, pulling away long enough for him to return his lips to your neck, your shoulders, your collar bone. You murmured a couple choice words as he started to move his palm, rubbing at your clit through the fabric. The dulled sensation was almost enough on its own, paired with the kisses he left against your chest. “Arthur,” you whined, tugging at his hair. “Don’t fucking tease me.”

A grin overtook his face at the use of his name, his hands only slowing down, tracing torturously slow circles over you. Art only snickered at your glare before hooking his fingers into the waist band of your underwear, pulling it down and leaving you in your skirt pushed up to your waist. He watched you carefully as he slid further down so that his head was between your legs. His finger only traced a line from your clit to the bottom of your hole before whatever restraint he had was gone, and his mouth was on you.

Art’s tongue flattened against you, the warmth and friction making your head fall back as your eyes fell closed. “Fuck,” you moaned, hands threading into his hair as he answered with an equally obscene noise, muffled against you. ‘Hungry’ didn’t even begin to describe him, his mouth falling into a vague rhythm, eyes closed blissfully, whining into your pussy like it was doing him just as much good as it was you.

You thought about asking him to finger you while he worked, but his tongue prodded at your entrance and almost immediately, words escaped you. You brought one hand up to your face, clasping it over your mouth to muffle your moans, but Art stopped suddenly, watching your face. You whined your confusion, and he reached out to tug at your hand. “I wanna hear you. Let me.”

You blinked at him, chest heaving, and murmured “Alright,” before watching his head dive right back between your thighs, one hand still intertwined with yours. You had no choice but to moan unabashedly, your other hand busy pulling at his hair.  His free hand was wrapped around the outside of your thigh, pushing it in towards his head, so tightly you were sure it couldn’t be comfortable. But there he was, continuing to move his tongue against you like there was nothing else he’d rather do, whining and whimpering like you were his first meal in weeks. “Fuck, Art,” you cried, barely keeping your eyes open so you could watch him move. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

He groaned at that, relenting the pressure of your thighs against his head just long enough to reply: “That’s it, baby, please.” If he had anything else to say, he couldn’t keep himself off of you long enough to finish, already pushing your thighs back against his head, nose bumping against your clit as he bobbed up and down.

It seemed like that was all it took, really. You squeezed his hand and his head embarrassingly tight as you felt yourself tip over the edge, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. Art kept up his rhythm as you cried out his name, your hips rolling against his face. He didn’t stop even when you’d come down, chest heaving, until you basically pushed him off, desperate for a moment of relief.

He kept a hand on your thigh, the other untangling from yours to push his blonde hair out of his eyes and look at you. He was breathing as hard as you were, you noticed. His mouth hung open as he panted, the entire bottom half of his face coated in saliva and your arousal. Fuck, he was pretty like this. “‘S good?”

You shook your head, beckoning him toward you and pulling him down by the back of his neck when he was close enough. “You’re unbelievable,” you murmured, lips against his almost before you were even done speaking. You didn’t mind the stickiness. You pulled back to look at him, then glanced down to the tent in his pants. “Lemme return the favor.”

Art let out a breathless chuckle. “I don’t think I’m gonna last that long,” he said, somewhat embarrassed. “Not if you’re the one touching me. Not after this.” He gestured to the shine still on his face, to your thighs beneath him. Your face burned, and your smile was so wide that your cheeks hurt.

You shrugged. “Lemme try anyway,” you said, before bringing his ear down to your lips, nipping at the lobe gently. “Please?”

He couldn’t say no to you.

[deception-united]

Let's talk about foreshadowing.

Foreshadowing can add a lot of depth to your writing and make it more exciting for the readers. They create a sense of coherence and satisfaction when future events unfold as hinted—or shock if they don't.

Here are some tips for effectively using foreshadowing in your novels and books:

Plan Ahead: Foreshadowing works best when it's woven into the fabric of your story from the beginning. As you outline your plot, think about key events and revelations you want to foreshadow, and strategically place hints and clues accordingly.

Use Subtlety: Foreshadowing doesn't have to be obvious or heavy-handed. The best foreshadowing is often subtle and understated, leaving readers with a sense of intrigue and curiosity rather than outright prediction.

Establish Patterns and Motifs: Look for opportunities to establish recurring patterns, motifs, or symbols that can subtly hint at future events. These can be visual, thematic, or even linguistic cues that tie into the larger narrative arc of your story.

Create Tension: Foreshadowing is most effective when it creates tension and anticipation for the reader. Use foreshadowing to hint at potential conflicts, obstacles, or twists.

Reveal Gradually: Foreshadowing doesn't have to be limited to one-off hints or clues. Instead, consider how you can layer foreshadowing throughout your story, gradually revealing more information as the plot unfolds.

Pay Attention to Timing: The timing of your foreshadowing is crucial. Introduce hints and clues at strategic points in your story, building anticipation and suspense without giving too much away too soon.

Revisit Foreshadowing: Ensure that foreshadowed events are eventually fulfilled or addressed in the story. Revisiting earlier hints or clues can provide a satisfying payoff for readers and reinforce the narrative coherence.

Balance Subtlety and Clarity: Foreshadowing should be subtle enough to intrigue readers without giving away major plot twists too early. Aim for a balance where foreshadowing is noticeable upon reflection but doesn't detract from the immediacy of the story.

Let's look at some ways to incorporate foreshadowing:

Symbolism: Symbolic imagery or motifs can serve as subtle foreshadowing devices. Think about objects, settings, or descriptive details that can serve as symbolic foreshadowing. A recurring image or object, for example, might subtly hint at future events or themes in the story.

Dialogue Clues: Characters can drop hints or make cryptic remarks that foreshadow upcoming events. Dialogue is a natural way to introduce foreshadowing without being too obvious.

Character Reactions: Pay attention to how characters react to certain situations or events. Their emotions or responses can foreshadow future conflicts or revelations.

Subtle Descriptions: Incorporate subtle descriptions or details that hint at future events. These can be easily overlooked on a first read but become significant upon reflection or when the foreshadowed event occurs.

Dreams and Visions: Dreams, visions, and other forms of altered consciousness can be effective vehicles for foreshadowing—they can hint at an upcoming event, or explore characters' subconscious desires and fears. This method can sometimes be either blatant or subtle depending on how it is incorporated.

Foreshadowing Through Setting: Use the setting to foreshadow events or developments in the story. For example, a stormy night might foreshadow conflict or turmoil ahead, while a serene setting might signal upcoming peace or resolution. (On the flip side, this can be used to catch readers off guard, like a "calm before the storm" type of situation.)

Parallel Storylines: Foreshadowing can occur through parallel storylines or subplots. Events in one storyline can subtly hint at future developments in another, creating anticipation and intrigue.

Recurring Themes: Identify recurring themes or motifs in your story and use them to foreshadow future events. These thematic elements can serve as subtle hints or clues for attentive readers.

Misdirection: Foreshadowing can be used to misdirect readers and create suspense by hinting at one outcome while actually leading to another. (See my post on misdirection for more!)

Happy writing! ❤

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