#these are all tags from my art and its probably not even the half of it

[alciedoodles]

love love the way you draw reigen he's so pathetic i love him

thank you im sure he appreciates it too

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

reunion

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.5K

Warnings: Slow burn; unrequited love; angst; yearning; divorced Art Donaldson; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; safe sex

Summary: It wasn't that Art Donaldson was the one that got away. It was more like Art Donaldson was the one that never really knew you existed.

"Did you hear Art Donaldson is supposed to be here?"

The question is whispered behind you and makes your hand freeze in its signing. You're half-bent over the table at reception, fingers tight around a pen as your mind is jogged.

No way was he turning up, that's what Anne had said.

Tashi will be there, she's the head of the goddamn reunion committee, the ink is still wet on their divorce—that's what Anne had said. Hell, she'd sworn it.

So what the hell is he doing here?

The sound of your name jogs your attention and you manage to finish signing in. You straighten, taking up your name tag and haphazardly slapping the adhesive onto your top. You need a drink, and quickly. You're halfway to the bar before you feel someone wind their arm through yours.

"Okay, I know you didn't wanna come—"

"Anne."

"And I so appreciate you being here so that I didn't have to come alone—"

"Anne—"

"But I got some news and it's going to be a little shocking so I think you should hear it from me—"

"I know he's here."

"What?" Anne freezes, her arm dropping from yours. You turn to see her looking stricken, her cheeks pinking with panic and embarrassment. You sigh softly, glancing around your fellow alumni. Less than half of them look familiar; your eyes catch on the odd face before you realize that you're inadvertently looking for him.

"Look, there are, like...Five hundred people here, alright?" You add. "I probably won't even see him."

"We can go."

"Look, we made the trip, we're here, we may as well stay. It's fine, okay? We're all adults here! It doesn't matter!" Your insistence is chased by a slightly hysterical laugh. "It was, like, a hundred years ago."

"...You're sure?"

"I am positive."

Positive that you need a drink, and positive that you're going to regret agreeing to stay.

--

It wasn't that Art Donaldson was the one that got away. It was more like Art Donaldson was the one that never really knew you existed.

You were friends, sure. You palled around, had a few classes together, hung out at a few parties—but he was so in love with Tashi Duncan that you'd never made his romantic radar. You'd forced yourself to believe that that was for the best, that you didn't need his love or romantic validation to be happy. But you couldn't pretend that wanting him didn't sting.

He'd had a couple of girlfriends while you were at Stanford, but you could always feel, always see that they were never really his priority. It was Tashi, then tennis, then them.

The two of you had kept touch a little after college, but you'd pushed yourself to move on. Conversation had begun to fade, and when he hadn't tried to keep it up, you had resolved to let him go.

You'd avoided his name in the news as much as you can, but it had been hard. He was on billboards, packaging, tv—it was like you couldn't escape him.

Want melted to sadness; sadness shifted to annoyance; annoyance hardened into disdain. You couldn't see his likeness or hear his name without rolling your eyes. It wasn't his fault, of course, but the prospect of running into Art fuckin' Donaldson made you queasy.

Still, you put on a brave face for Anne, forcing your focus into conversation.

It's a struggle to keep your gaze from seeking him out. You take each sip with a little white lie, convincing yourself that you're looking to make sure you can avoid contact. You spot Tashi a couple of times, but you don't go out of your way to say hello. She's surrounded by a cloud of people—taking pictures, signing programs and name tags and old Duncanator shirts.

When Anne insists on going to say hello, you force a small smile.

"You, um—you go ahead," You nod, taking a couple of steps back. "I'm gonna get some air."

Anne's dark eyes flit over you questioningly before she blessedly lets it go, nodding and going on her way. You turn, swiping a fresh drink off of a passing waiter's tray as you leave.

It takes a few moments for the buzz of conversation to clear from your head. You take a gulp of the prosecco, wrinkling your nose. It's a little sweeter than you usually like, and doesn't mingle well with the three other drinks that you've downed. Tashi's not going to find your lack of presence or greeting conspicuous; you'd been cordial and on speaking terms in college, but the two of you had never been close.

Damn, but it's chillier outside than you thought it would be. The reception had been so warm, so crammed with people. Paired your head being near-permanently on a swivel, you hadn't realize how hot and tense you'd been.

You frown at the waft of cigarette smoke that catches your nose. Who the hell is still smoking in this day and age—

"Are you hiding, too?"

Maybe you can feign that you didn't hear him—that the sound of his voice didn't jog a hundred memories and trigger a flurry of butterflies. But before you can stop yourself, you turn, the words, "I thought you quit smoking," tumbling out of your mouth.

Art's smile widens as he draw the cigarette back from his lips, a stream of smoke pushed out of the side of his mouth.

"I did. Quit quitting, though." He takes one more puff before he flicks it away, drifting closer. "Hi."

Hi, like it's not the first time you've seen him in the better part of a decade. Hi, like neither of you are oceans from where you where when you last saw one another.

"Hi," You manage. He doesn't hesitate to draw you into his arms; he seems to almost do it without thinking. You only allow yourself a moment of resistance before you raise and curl your arms around him. The clean scent of his pressed jacket and woodsy cologne are muddled with smoke. The fingers of one if your hands curls covetously in the fabric of his jacket as his palms smooth gently over your back. You hear him draw in a deep breath, feel him hold it, and then release it with a soft hum.

"How the hell are you?"

Probably better than you are these days.

You shrug a little, mumbling, "Fine."

He draws away, eyes skating across your face.

"You don't sound so sure about that."

"I'm sure."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

You can feel him winding up for another pass at it, but you hold your glass out before he can. His fingers brush against yours as he drains it.

"Why are you hiding?" You ask. He shrugs, nods toward the door.

"It's a lot in there. I forgot what these events are like."

"People wanna congratulate you. They're proud."

"Are you?"

"I am, but I'll hold off. Don't wanna crowd you."

Your attention is drawn from Art's smile as you hear someone clearing their throat over the speaker system inside:

"If we could have the reunion chairpersons to the stage, please!"

You glance toward Art and find him fidgeting, his thumb smoothing across his bare ring finger.

"…Do you wanna go back in?" You offer. He considers before he says, "Wait here."

You watch curiously as he darts inside, and are stunned when he reappears a moment later. You just barely catch a glimpse of the bottle of champagne clenched in his fist before he rests his other hand on your lower back, steering you away with an urgent murmur of, "C'mon."

--

"I'm surprised you came," You tell him. Art doesn't look at you for a moment, and you take the chance to lean back against the hard plastic seat. He's as beautiful as he was the last time the two of you were together, the night before graduation—practically in the same seats. You don't know if he was thinking about that when he'd led the way into the stands, chosen where to sit. Maybe it was pure muscle-memory.

Either way, you don't know how long the two of you have been sitting out there, knees bumping, passing the bottle back and forth. You take in his profile—the slope of his nose and cut of his jaw; the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows.

"My therapist said it would be good," He finally admits. "Told me I needed to get out more, start getting back into events, work at the foundation...What about you, huh?" He turns, brows raising. "You always told me that you hated this stuff."

You're surprised he remembers.

"I do hate this stuff, but," You shrug. "Anne didn't want to come alone."

"You're a good friend. I never forgot that." He sits up and passes the bottle back to you. "What happened to us, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did we stop talking?"

I couldn't keep begging for scraps of attention.

"I don't know," You deflect. "Guess we just lost touch. It happens."

"I shouldn't have let it happen to us."

You look down at the bottle, sweeping your finger across a slipping drop of condensation.

"You were busy."

"You weren't?"

"Not in the same way," You laugh self-consciously.

"What were you busy with then, huh?" He shifts, thigh pressing against yours. "You used to always say you'd uh—burn out by twenty-six."

"Yeah."

"Did you?"

"Oh, it didn't take nearly that long."

"What!" He laughs. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know what to tell you, man. A girl can only take a soul-sucking marketing job for so long."

"So what do you do now?"

"Still in marketing, but I'm a manager, so. Still soul-sucking, but making a little more money."

"You like it?"

"God no, but I don't know what else I would do." You pass the bottle back.

"Could find something for you at the foundation."

You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head as Art sputters a laugh, asks, "What?"

"Don't do that, Art."

"Don't do what?"

"I don't need, you know—"

"We could use you—"

"You don't even know what I do at work."

"I bet it's great—"

"You don't even know if I'm a good worker—"

"Sure I do, I know you."

"No, you don't!"

You know it's a mistake the second it leaves your mouth. Art's smile wavers as he leans away again.

"I just mean—" You try.

"I know what you mean. It's been a long time."

"...Yeah, it has." You take the bottle back, drawing deeply from it before passing it back. "I should get going. I'm sure Anne's looking for me."

"Sure."

You don't say goodbye or tell him that it was nice to see him. You just make as hasty a retreat as you can without tripping over your feet.

--

@ a_donaldsonofficial requested to follow you. 3h

You're not sure what surprises you more—the follow request or the message in your DMs: Dinner?

--

His groan is sinful and low, and makes you rethink ever losing contact with the guy. Under the warm glow of the diner's lights, his eyes slip shut, fingers tightening around the bun.

"...When's the last time you had a burger?" You finally manage to ask.

"I can't remember." He admits it through the mouthful, and you don't begrudge him the couple of flecks of food that land on the table. You smile, plucking up a couple of fries.

"Art?"

"Mm."

"Why'd you ask me to dinner?"

Art sets the burger down as he swallows, taking off his napkin to clean off his hands.

"I was thinking...About what you said at the reunion."

"Mhm."

"About me not knowing you. You're right. But you know what?" He presses on before you can process your surprise. "I don't think you know me, either."

You think for a moment, brows furrowing. He's right. You know the image of Art Donaldson that's been projected to you over the years—on tv screens, in magazines, in online clips.

"...I don't think I do," You agree.

"Figured we should fix that. Catch up, fill each other in on what we've missed."

"Okay."

"So, after college..." He trails off, waving his hand. "Fill me in."

"Moved to New York."

"Uh-huh."

"Working in marketing."

"Burned out before 26—"

"Yeah, hit my capitalistic peak at 23."

"That fast?"

"I mean, that's the last time I remember giving a shit about work, so. Yeah."

"Relationships?"

"...A couple," You admit.

"Serious?"

"Yeah. One."

"Married?"

"No. Engaged." His eyes drop to your bare left hand, and you hurriedly tuck it into your lap. "Formerly engaged."

"What happened?"

"It just didn't feel right. I don't think either of us were ready."

"...Was it anyone I knew? I don't remember you dating much at school."

"Guess I didn't."

"You weren't shy."

"Well no, but—"

"So what was it?"

"I had the worst crush on you, dude!" It's another mistake, but where the last one seemed to make Art retreat, this one leaves his gobsmacked. His eyes widen, mouth opening in a wide smile.

"You what?"

"Oh, kay, you know what—"

"I had no idea!"

"I was very subtle."

Art leans back in the diner booth, watching you openly. You can see the gears turning in his head, and you wonder what he may be remembering, holding up and twisting about in this new light.

"...Huh," He mutters.

"You can feel free to forget that at any time."

"I don't think I will...I wish I'd known."

You consider for a moment before you shrug. "I don't know. I'm kinda glad that you didn't."

"Really?" His brows knit with confusion. "Why?"

"I don't like coming second, Art."

Art nods slowly, and you see something tight pass across his face before it's smoothed away again.

"You know what?" He smiles bitterly. "Neither do I."

You nod toward his plate.

"Your burger's getting cold."

--

"So, uh..." Art clears his throat as the two of you take slow, drifting steps to your car. "I'm gonna say two things, and I don't want you to think that they've got anything to do with what you said earlier."

You know exactly what he means, but you just grumble, "I said a lot of things earlier."

"I think we both know which one I'm talking about."

"Uh-huh. So what's up?"

"...I wanna see you again."

"Okay."

"But things are a little...Messy right now. Tashi and I are working on getting Lily into a regular rhythm and it's harder than we thought it would be."

You lean back against your car, tucking your hands into your pockets.

"Mhm...I hesitate to ask."

"Yeah."

"How does this have to do with what I said earlier?"

"I just don't want you to think that this is—"

"A consolation prize?"

"Something like that."

"Whatever you need to do to get in a good place with Lily is fine, Art, you don't need to justify that to me."

"Even if it means you come second?"

You tip your head to the side, pursing your lips. "It's different when it's your kid. I meant that I didn't want to be second to—You know."

"...Yeah," He mutters, looking at his feet as he takes another foot forward. "And for the record, I was thinking of asking you out again by the time we sat down."

"You could've changed your mind."

"I didn't. And I don't want to."

You smile, nodding. "Well I don't want you to, either." You straighten up as you fish into your bag for your keys. "Call me the next time you're in New York."

"Sure."

You reach out, cupping his cheek and leaning in, pecking his cheek. You pull away, smiling at the flush creeping across his face.

"Goodnight, Art."

"Night."

--

It isn't easy at first. Messages are far and few, mostly how are yous and how was your days. You think that as nice as the little swell of contact has been, that's all it'll be—but the two of you both start to really try. The odd text becomes the weekly phone call. Weekly phone calls become daily FaceTimes. On the nights when he has Lily, they're late, usually when you're getting ready for bed. On the nights when he's on his own, the two of you eat dinner together and chat over your calls. It isn't always perfect, but it's more than you could've anticipated from that dinner a couple of months ago.

--

"She down?"

"Yeah."

"Are you in a hotel again?"

"...Yeah." Art seems to admit it grudgingly, and you smile a little as you take up your toner and a cotton pad.

"There's nothing wrong with leaning into it if it's working," You argue. "And not to be that bitch, but you're not exactly broke."

"Might be if she keeps ordering room service and movies on-demand."

You laugh softly, turning your attention to your reflection as you swipe the toner across your face.

"How's your day been?" Art asks.

"Fine, standard. I had to fill out an assessment ahead of my annual review."

"When's that?"

"End of the week."

"How do you feel about it?"

"Mm," You shrug reaching for a serum. "Fine, I guess. I'm doing okay, my team's hitting their targets."

"You're doing better than okay."

"Art."

"You are."

"Well. Thank you for that." You glance over as he goes quiet, catching a glimpse of him as you smooth the serum into your skin. You raise your brows at the sight of his gentle, warm smile. "What is it?"

"You're beautiful."

Your face goes warm at the compliment, and you bite the inside of your cheek to tamp down your wide, idiotic smile.

"You are tired, huh," You deflect.

"I mean it."

"...I know," You murmur, reaching for your moisturizer. "Tell me what you got up to today."

"I had a meeting at the foundation. We're starting planning for the gala."

"Oh yeah? Have you done them before?"

"We've had three before, but I was usually playing or training, so I haven't been as involved in the planning."

"How's it been?"

"We're still in the preliminary stages, but it's been interesting, you know, seeing how the pieces come together before I usually see them."

You nod, picking the phone up from the mirror holder and heading into your bedroom.

"Where are you gonna have it?"

"We're still scouting locations...As a matter of fact," Art adds, "We're considering a few in New York."

"Oh?"

"I'll be down there for at least a few days, and I wanna see you."

You grin bashfully as you climb into bed, settling against your pillows.

"I wanna see you, too. Are you gonna, um—I mean, is Lily gonna be with you?"

"No, it'll be Tashi's weekend."

"Okay, cool. Just wanna make sure I don't mess up your time."

"I appreciate that." Art's tongue swipes across his lower lip, eyes sweeping across your face. "I gotta say..."

"Mmm?"

"I'm looking forward to seeing your apartment."

"Oh, really?" You chuckle. "Why's that?"

"It'll be interesting, that's all. I mean, you already take me to bed every night."

You laugh, covering your eyes as you groan, "Oh, god, shut up!" as Art chuckles.

"Let me know when you're free," You add. "Your schedule's gonna be weirder than mine."

"Yeah, I will, as soon as I know what it is." You watch as Art lays down, propping his phone up on the nightstand. "...Can you stay on?"

"Yeah," You soothe, setting your phone on the nightstand in suit. "Until we fall asleep."

"Okay," He murmurs. The two of you settle in on your sides, watching one another on the phone.

"Night, Art."

"Sweet dreams."

--

The restaurant is picked. Your nails are done, your hair is done; you get a new dress, new shoes, a new bag. You're going to have an amazing night—a good dinner, a great conversation, and, if you have any luck, an amazing good night kiss.

--

You know the minute you see him that you're not making it to the restaurant. Art's eyes sweep over you in covetous wonder when you open the door. He closes the gap between the two of you, drawing you into his arms, and this time you go without a second thought. He presses his face into your neck, letting out a gentle hum at the scent of your perfume. The tip of his nose trails up over your jaw, his lips brushing the corner of your lips as his forehead rests against yours. He sighs as you draw in a nervous breath, and he sways in, lips pressing to yours.

You raise your hand to cup his neck, shivering as his hands smooth over your hips. He guides you deeper inside, blindly reaching back and shoving the door shut behind you as you fling your purse toward the bench in your entryway. His kisses grow hungrier as he steers you down the hall. You slip your tongue along his, smoothing your hand up to grasp his hair. Your fingers fumble with the buttons on his shirt, exposing more of his pale, muscled chest to you. He slides down the zipper on the back of your dress and leans away just long enough to draw the dress up over your head. His eyes sweep across you, taking in your lingerie.

You hook your thumbs under the band of your underwear, giving them a teasing wiggle as you back further away from him. You expect him to follow, but he steers you back against the wall, dropping his head to suck hot kisses along your neck and down to your chest. He yanks one of the cups of your bra down, taking your nipple into his mouth. You bite your lip, tipping your head back against the wall and whining as he slots his knee between your thighs. You roll your hips down against the hard muscle as he laves and teases your nipple, reaching up to thumb and tweak the other.

"Art—Mm, god that feels so good."

He groans against your skin, trailing his kisses further down as he lowers himself to his knees. You look down as he curls his fingers around your panties—and waits. You smile softly, nodding, murmuring, "Please?"

Art grins, pressing a kiss to your hip before he gently eases the fabric down, waiting for you to lift your feet so he can fling them away. He leans in, swiping his tongue across your aching clit. Your knees would knock if he wasn't wedged between them. You draw in a shallow breath, letting your head tip back as he draws your leg over his shoulder. You shiver at the feeling of the chilly air against your heated, slick flesh. He nuzzles and laps against your cunt, taking each tip of your hips in stride. His hand smooths up your trembling inner thigh, giving your ass a gentle squeeze before he teases a finger into you. You whimper at the touch, unable to help the way your pussy clenches around it.

Art groans at the feeling, turning his head to smear his lips slips against your hip.

"Goddamn," He breaths against you.

"More."

You feel more than hear his gentle chuckle as he eases another finger in.

"Need it bad, huh?"

"You have no idea."

"I'm getting a pretty good idea." He turns his head, leveling a sucking kiss to your clit that makes you cry out. You tighten your grip on his hair as he pumps his fingers harder, curling and scissoring them as he pushes you closer to the edge.

"Art—Mm, god, fuck, yes—Yes—" Your toes curl in your shoes as your hips rabbit down against his face and fingers, chasing the swell of your orgasm. You look back down as he draws back and find his lips and chin shining with your juices.

"Bed," He urges.

"You can fuck me right here."

Art laughs, standing and smoothing his hand over your thigh.

"We're doing this right."

"We could be doing this right...." You slid your hand down his chest to palm his cock through his pants. "Here."

You grin as Art's eyelids flutter, his dick twitching against you.

"Bed," He insists again.

It isn't far to go, and the two of you are entirely bare by the time you get there. You scooch back onto the bed, spreading your legs as he rolls on a condom. He's over you a moment later, and you watch the bulge of his biceps as he braces his hands on either side of your head. You bite your lip as you feel the brush of his cock against your entrance. You reach down, grasping his cock and guiding him closer.

You tip your head up, tongue teasing the seam of his lips as he eases into you. You melt into the mattress as he crushes against you, filling you completely. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, sliding your legs over his, as if you'll manage to fuse the two of you together. Art's tongue swirls around yours before he captures your lips in a kiss, rolling his hips slowly.

"More," You plead, but Art keeps his pace achingly steady, even when you try to pick up the pace.

"You feel so fucking good," He breathes, "Even better than you taste."

"Harder, Art, please, god damn, please," You whimper. He tips his head to the side nipping at the hinge of your jaw as he reaches down, hiking your hip up even higher. Your mouth fell open with a stunned moan as he presses deeper, the slap of his hips filthily filling the stifling air around you. You arch up against him, nails raking down his back as you feel the swell of another orgasm.

"Art."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm—Fuck, almost—"

"That's it." He sucks his fingers between his lips before he slips them between your bodies, swiping across your tender clit. You begin to close your eyes, but he tuts softly.

"Don't—Don't close your eyes—Look at me," He orders between breaths. You force yourself to focus on Art, taking in the flush on his cheeks, his almost dazed eyes.

"You, too—" You urge.

"Yeah—"

"Oh—yeah," You gasp, unable to keep your gaze on his you cum. You feel Art's hips slap roughly against yours before he slows, groaning low in his chest. You draw in a deep breath as your heart pounds in your chest, sinking back against your pillows as he settles down over you. You smooth your hand over his nape, smiling as he nuzzles against your shoulder, dropping tender kisses to your skin.

"...Art?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we're going to be late for dinner."

--

"You know, I've been thinking."

"You've been doing a lot more than thinking, mister," You mutter, and grin as Art laughs. You cuddle closer against his side, nuzzling into his chest as he tightens his arm around your shoulders.

"I'm glad I didn't know you liked me in college."

"Really?" You tip your head up, brow furrowing. "Why's that?"

"...I wasn't ready for you back then." He smooths his fingers along your jaw, eyes wandering your face contemplatively. "It's like you said, you know. You would've come second."

You nod, turning your head to press a kiss to his palm.

"I don't think I was ready for you, either," You admit. Art smiles.

"And you are now?"

"More than."

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ;

@buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

The Artist and the Builder [a Joel x reader fic]

Read on Ao3

Sequel: All The Fear and the Fire of the End of the World

Fandom: The Last of Us

Ship: Joel Miller x you/artist!reader who is his age and has arthritis and allergies.

Tags/warnings: Bit of pining, Joel is sweet and settling in, reader has joint pain and allergies, kissing, pretty tame foreplay, a little fumbling, teasing, insertion of objects into vagina that probably shouldn't be there but it's the apocalypse there ain't no dildos, vaginal orgasm, Joel is Too Big and also has Bad Knees, piv sex, cuddling, artist stuff listen I don't know how to do this anymore.

Summary: Gruff contractor Joel Miller has been in Jackson for a while and up until now, you thought he didn't like you because you're an artist and who the hell needs art in the post-apocaypse? But you are wrong.

Words: 7,139

A/N: Listen I know absolutely nothing about being an artist, sorry about that. I also don't have allergies or arthritis (although I suspect I am going down that road but let's cross that bridge when we get there). I just want Joel to be soft with someone his age whose body is falling apart. Many many thanks to @pazizz and @rambling-in-purple who helped me with this one. It started as one thing but ended something else. I really appreciate the help along the way <3

My masterlist

The ache protrudes harshly into your dreams and tears you away from sleep way before it’s time to get up. It grows stronger as you come to, and you carefully try to open your hands. Each joint is like a rusty hinge that creaks and whines when moved, and you sigh deeply as you hide your hands in opposite armpits in an attempt to warm them up. Your mother had arthritis and would tell you in a bland voice that you’d probably get it, too. She had it, her mother had it, and so on. But that seemed so far away, you had your whole life ahead of you, and you had just settled down and started to live after your crazy twenties when the outbreak happened, and survival became your only goal. Despite it all, you managed to live for twenty more years, and then got slapped with the family curse.

Closing your hands around a mug of hot tea, you walk around the living-room of your small house and inspect your various half-finished projects: paper made of plants, clay paint, painted mugs. The whole house smells like a compost, so you open a window to let in a cool breeze. You immediately feel it in your aching hands but do your best to ignore it.

Sitting down at your drawing table, you pick up the charcoal and sketch a couple of lines to the profile you’re working on. It doesn’t feel right, however, so you put down the charcoal again. Restless, you sip some tea, your foot tapping against the floor.

Eventually, you have to go to the infirmary, where Robert, Jackson’s doctor, already is treating his first patient of the day.

You like Robert, like being of use, but being a nurse isn’t what you wanted. You trained to be one, yes, and worked as one for years because it felt like a good, honest profession, and your parents insisted. At nearly 30, however, you quit, and went back to school to pursue your true calling: art. You had almost finished your education when the world went to shit, and your passion no longer counted for anything. For the past twenty years, you’ve thrown yourself after art supplies like other people after food, but even paper is becoming harder to come by. Hence your experiments using plants.

“Your hands bothering you?” Robert asks around lunch, and you nod silently. You haven’t said anything, but he notices.

“Take the rest of the day off.”

“I’m good.”

“Just go, okay? I can’t give you anything for the pain, but I can give you the day off.”

You accept gratefully, and as you change into your normal clothes, you decide to go check at the latest construction site if there’s any sawdust to be had.

You hear the promising sound of a saw working its way through wood as you get closer to the latest house being erected, and when you reach it, Joel Miller looks up from the sawhorse and straightens his back. You think you see a grimace flash across his face, but then he carefully rearranges his features into the usual scowl.

Joel’s been in Jackson for a while now. You don’t really know much about him, except for what you’ve heard from others: that he walked across the country from Boston with the girl in search of his brother, and when the place where he was supposed to drop off the girl was destroyed, they both came back here. He seems to have settled well, and he’s handy, so he’s a welcome addition. He doesn’t really seem to understand your needs, though: when you first asked him if he could save some sawdust for your papermaking, he scoffed when he learned that you needed the paper for art. You bit back on an acid remark. Art wasn’t valued very highly in this world, but it’s what made you happy, and you didn’t care what someone like Joel fucking Miller thought.

“Hi,” you say, stopping in front of the sawhorse. “You got something for me?”

He wipes his forehead on his sleeve and nods towards the wall of the house he’s building. There are three buckets by it, and you see that two of them are filled with yellow sawdust, the third one with nettle leaves. Puzzled, you look over at him. You can’t really figure him out.

“What’s this?”

“Ellie said you were looking for nettles in the vegetable patches,” he mutters. “Passed by a bunch of them on patrol yesterday.”

You chew on your lower lip as you process the unexpected kindness.

“Thank you,” you eventually say. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Joel picks up the saw again and goes back to working on shortening the board propped on the sawhorse. The woodsy scent of sawdust fills your nostrils, and you catch a whiff of sweat from Joel, despite the cool weather.

The buckets are proving difficult to pick up. Your fingers refuse to curl around the handles, and even if the weight is more than manageable, your hands are just not having it today. You swallow hard, embarrassed by your frailty, when Joel steps up behind you.

“I’ll take those.”

Big hands close around the handles of the sawdust buckets. You pick up the nettle bucket and start to walk towards your house. Joel walks alongside you, silent and avoiding looking at you just as you are stubbornly staring in any direction but his.

“I have arthritis,” you finally tell him, naming your disease with disgust dripping from your tongue. “My hands don’t work so well some days.”

“That’s rough,” he offers. “I used to have a neighbor who had that. Sorry.”

You finally venture a glance at him. His features offer nothing of what’s going on behind those dark brown eyes.

You arrive at your house, and Joel carries in the buckets for you. You see from how his nostrils flare that he wasn’t prepared for the earthy smell of your home.

“Just put them down there,” you ask him, gesturing to him. Joel does that and is left standing in the doorway to your living-room. He looks around at your various half-finished projects, the pictures on the walls, all your attempts at creating art with whatever materials you've been able to get your aching hands on.

You pretend to busy yourself with washing your hands, but you're really watching him. You've seen this before: people who don't care about art seeing art in a whole new way for the first time. They're always slammed in the face with it, and it's a very delicate moment that shouldn't be disturbed. So you busy yourself at the sink, rinse out your cup despite it being close to clean already, warm up your hands some more with water, open the cupboards and rearrange things. Joel disappears into the living-room, his heavy, unfamiliar boots causing the floorboards to complain about every step he takes. You hear him walk around slowly, and your curiosity gets the better of you. Quietly, you walk over to the doorway to sneak a peek at him.

He's standing by your desk, holding up a paper with a half-finished sketch. To your horror, the picture is of him, the one that you just can't get right because you can't figure him out, can't combine his threatening glower with the warm smile he reserves for his close ones.

You almost dash across the floor and snatch the paper from his hands before throwing it down on the desk, picture down.

"That's not finished, I mean, it's not... you weren't supposed to see it."

"It's good," Joel states simply. You glance at him as you mindlessly rearrange the sketches on your desk.

"Thanks."

His stare is piercing and hard to meet, so you cast down your eyes to a sketch of Ellie right in front of you. Joel follows your gaze and sees it.

"Can I see that?"

You bite your lower lip, pick up the sketch and hand it to him. You're happier with this one: Ellie's face is open, honest. She talks, questions, comments. You've barely heard ten words in all from Joel, and he's been around for months.

"You really captured her," he admires you. "Did she pose for this?"

"No," you shake your head, "but I've worked together with her occasionally. It's easier to draw someone when you know how they move and talk and such."

He hums in agreement as he studies the picture.

"Is that why you haven't finished my picture?" he eventually asks, catching you off guard. "Because you haven't spent time with me?"

"Probably," you shrug, and hold up your hand for him to relinquish the picture back to you. He does, and the line between his brows seems to melt away when he asks you if you'd want to finish his portrait.

"I can come by tonight after work."

You meet his soft gaze and nod.

"Yeah, okay."

///

You're in the middle of dipping your paper molds into a tub of pulp and putting them to dry when there's a knock on the door. You call out a "come in" as you wash your hands under water as hot as you can manage. Not good at staying passive, you've strained your hands all day continuing with your experiments.

Joel steps in, eyeing the room immediately before settling his nut-brown gaze on you.

"How are your hands?" he wants to know. You shrug.

"The same."

You reach for your jacket, and Joel grunts questioningly. You raise a brow at him.

"Are we going out?"

"I need fresh air."

"It does smell in here." A grin flashes by his face, almost shocking you. Was that a joke?

"Sorry," he immediately apologizes, taking your silence for chagrin. You smile wryly.

"Don't worry. It really is smelly, I just don't notice anymore."

You leave your house together and start walking slowly down the street. The evening is cold in a refreshing way, and you hide your gloved hands in your pockets, both to keep them warm and to keep them occupied. Keeping your eyes trained on some invisible spot in the distance, you try to figure out something to say. It doesn't feel like you and Joel have a lot in common, and all those old icebreakers of "where are you from" and "do you have a family" can be sensitive in this world. You opt for something you do know about him.

"Did you build houses before?"

He takes a second to answer, but finally tells you that he was indeed a contractor.

"Always good to know how to build things," you comment. Joel hums in agreement before clearing his throat.

"And you? You usually work in the infirmary."

"I was a nurse, but I didn't like it much," you tell him. "I went back to school to study art, but the breakout happened before I finished. And nobody needs art to survive. So I work as a nurse."

Joel doesn't say anything, but nods to a passer-by.

"Do you like being a contractor?" you ask. Once again, he takes a little time before presenting his answer.

"I do."

"Good, honest work, huh?"

"Something like that. And..." He hesitates, gaze flickering when you turn your head to look at him.

"It's nice to build something instead of destroying it," he finally mutters. You nod slowly.

"Yes. Yes, it is."

Without hurry, you walk around Jackson three times while talking. Joel is a man of few words, but the words he does utter are well chosen and sometimes heavy with information. He talks about his former construction work but doesn't utter one word about his personal life, possible family, likely loss. His voice is warm when he talks about Ellie, the teenager he delivered across the country, only to find that the people who were supposed to take care of her were already dead and buried. There is a momentary crack in his facade when he talks about his failed mission to bring Ellie to Salt Lake City, but he quickly gathers himself, and states that that's how both ended up in Jackson. He seems happy enough with those turns of events.

You tell him about your art education, about how you ever since you were a young child have seemed to notice how light falls on objects, faces, your surroundings, and the deep-seated urge to draw the light, paint it, trace is with a brush in futile attempts to replicate the magic. The light changes everything, how the world is viewed, and you're constantly trying to capture those moments when the light renders a common kitchen utensil magical, just because the first rays of morning sunshine catch the curves and angles of it. You're not sure he understands, but he does listen.

Eventually, you stop outside your house, facing each other. Darkness has fallen and you didn't leave the porch light on, so you struggle to see his face in what little light there is to be had from the moon, and the glow from the windows of the neighboring houses.

"It was nice talking to you," you say sincerely.

"You too."

You hide your hands in the opposite armpits in an attempt to keep them warm. The cold is getting to them, even with gloves.

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

Joel blinks.

"You're not going to draw me?"

"It's too dark."

"Ah." You hear from his tone that he just realized that you've been talking about light this whole time. His head shifts on top of that long, strong neck, his face turns a little to the side and you catch the profile of his aquiline nose against the faint light coming from the neighbor's house.

And you know you have to try to draw him like this, half cloaked in darkness, the bridge of his nose sharp against soft light, maybe from a fire, the shadows painting dark valleys on his face with his frown, the glint of grey in his beard, a lock of hair curling by his ear.

"Maybe not," you correct yourself and step past his towards your porch. "Come on in."

You load up the fireplace, your hands only trembling slightly from the weight of the wood. Joel kneels next to you by the fireplace and takes the matches from you. A protest rests on the tip of your tongue, but the brief touch of his warm, callused hand makes you swallow it. You stand up and watch him light the fire, breathe life into the kindling, and carefully place smaller twigs on the first, small flames before rocking back to watch the fire grow. You move your weight from one foot to the other, tuck your hands into your pockets. Joel glances up at your fidgeting.

"Your hands hurtin'?"

"It's the cold," you shrug. "But it's fine, it's not that bad."

You take a step back, towards the kitchen.

"Want a cup of tea?"

"Sure. Thanks."

When you return with two mugs of steaming tea, the fire is crackling merrily. Joel rises, joints popping, and accepts one mug from you with one hand, the other suddenly taking a gentle hold of your wrist. You twitch, the tea spills over a little, but you don't pull back your hand. Slowly, Joel covers it with his big, broad palm, so much warmer than yours, and you almost instantly feel the heat spread into your aching joints.

When you search his averted gaze, he releases your hand, and clears his throat.

"Thanks for the tea," he murmurs, and you nod quickly.

"You're welcome."

You busy yourself with emptying the run-down armchair from various knick-knacks and tools, and indicate the seat for him. Carefully, as if afraid to break it, Joel sits down. You pull up the desk chair and take a piece of charcoal and a paper, propping it on your lap with a sheet of cardboard under.

"You're not going to continue with the half-finished picture?" Joel asks, sipping his tea.

"No," you shake your head. "It's not how I want to draw you."

"Waste of paper."

"I'll use it to make more. It's okay."

He grunts, and you hide your smile without knowing why you're even smiling in the first place.

"Turn your head a little towards the fireplace," you instruct, and Joel squares his shoulders, as if he's unhappy about being told what to do. However, he does as he's asked, and follows the rest of your directions easily. When you're happy with his angles, you put coal to paper, and start to sketch.

For a long time, the only sound heard is that of the fire, and the soft scratch of the coal against the coarse paper. Your sharp eyes note every hair, pore, and line on Joel's face, but you're finding it hard to transfer them to paper. After a long day, your hands are hurting bad, and the pain keeps shifting your focus away from the task at hand. Finally, you sigh deeply and turn the paper upside down.

"I'm done."

"It's finished?" Joel asks, shifting like he's sitting back and leaning forward at the same time. One brow is quirked inquisitively, while his tight jawline lets you know that he doesn't really want to see the result - but he's curious.

"No," you specify as you get up, "it's not finished. I have to start over, but it's getting late."

Your fingers can barely let go of the coal when you set it down together with the paper. You hide your knuckle in the palm of your other hand and rub it discreetly.

"You won't show me?" Joel rises from the armchair and comes up to you, putting away the cup of tea. Standing right in front of you he seems almost impossibly broad.

"Your hands hurtin'?" he asks in a low voice that vibrates along your spine. You swallow quickly.

"Just need to warm them up, it's okay, I'm used to it."

Your breath gets caught in your throat when he takes both your hands and presses them to his chest. You feel his heart beat quickly against your palm and realize that some of his body heat actually comes from him being just as nervous as you are.

Feebly, you try to pull back your hands.

"I'm getting coal on your shirt..."

"Don't care."

You bite into your lower lip, speechless as if you were fourteen and standing in front of your crush, instead of a middle-aged woman talking to...

Who is Joel to you, anyway?

"Why are you doing this?" you ask hoarsely. Joel frowns, his hands slowly letting go of yours. You keep your palms on his chest for a second longer before letting go. Bereft of the warmth, your joints feel even worse.

He doesn't seem to have an answer to give you, but his lips move like he's trying to say something to break the silence. When nothing comes out, you get impatient.

"Joel?" you prompt.

"No one's ever looked at me like you look at me," he lets out, his dark gaze locking in on you. "It's like you're staring right through my clothes. It makes me nervous. I haven't been nervous in... a very long time."

"Nervous how?" you hear yourself ask, even if your armpits have grown damp, and your heart is beating so hard he surely must hear it.

"Nervous in that way." You hear exactly what he means, all the possibilities and threats and risks summarized in that. There's something so awkwardly boyish in it that you find yourself smiling. His frown deepens when he sees it, but his lips soften.

"Joel," you ask, softly touching your aching hand to his, "do you want to kiss me?"

He immediately grabs your wrist and touches his lips to yours in a kiss that doesn't really know what it's supposed to do but wants to do it anyway. He forgot to draw breath, and instead of inhaling against your skin, he pulls back quickly when he has to breathe.

"Fuck," he mutters, "that was a shitty kiss. I'm sorry."

Your cheeks flush violently when you pull at his hand.

"You can try again?"

The offer makes him smile, finally, and he displays that dimple that you found absolutely impossible to put to paper. His closes his hand around the back of your neck, and his lips press onto yours, and he remembers how it's done, and kisses you until you're not sure your legs will carry you anymore.

///

The picture of Joel becomes secondary to your meetings. Joel, you realize very soon, courts you, like some southern Gone With the Wind-type of gentleman. He brings you whatever materials he can find when he goes on patrol - you're excused from that task due to your horse allergy - and quietly offers you his thick gloves when you're out walking together, and your hands hurt. He continues to not talk much, but you start to recognize the little things: acts of service, the way he looks out for you, how his eyes light up when he sees you. His kisses when you part.

There is only kissing. He hasn't touched you in any other way, and you haven't taken initiative to anything further. There is only a rather chaste, yet warm, kiss when he leaves your house, where you usually meet up. He drinks tea and watches you draw, or paint when you're not asking him to pose for you. You know exactly how you want to capture him but so far, your hands haven't been skilled enough, and for every hour you spend with Joel, you lay another piece of the puzzle that is Joel, and you become unsure of how to draw him.

One evening, a couple of months after that first kiss, you're enjoying the warm fire in your living-room when there is a knock on the door. Joel stands on your porch, eyes scanning you quickly as soon as you open the door.

"You weren't at the movies," he says, referring to the event that nearly everyone in Jackson went to tonight. You hear the question in the statement: Are you okay?

"It's cold," you shrug. "Not my thing. Wanna come in?"

He enters your house, and you take his coat and hang it by the door.

"How are the hands?" he asks. You rub your palms together.

"Not bad today, actually. How's your knees?"

He grins a little, knowing that you saw him carry furniture up porch steps earlier.

"Creaky, but they still carry me."

"Tea?"

"I don't want to disturb, if you wanted to be alone."

You lead the way into the living-room, and move some things away from one armchair, pulling it closer to the fireplace, next to the one you were sitting in.

"You're not disturbing, do sit down. I could work some more on your portrait."

Busying yourself with picking at pieces of charcoal, you don't pay him any attention until his footsteps bring him right behind you. One warm hand touches your waist gently, startling you into turning around to meet his sheepish face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay." His warm body is so close to yours, and his smell of wood, sweat, and snow invades your nose. You inhale deeply, pretending to sigh just to get the opportunity to soak in this intoxicating, masculine smell of his.

"I got something for you." Joel holds up something wrapped in cloth, and it takes you a few moments to gather yourself.

"For me?" Carefully, you take the little package from him. "Whatever for?"

He shrugs. “Thought you might need it. It’s probably your birthday at some point, or Christmas, or whatever.”

You never were good at receiving gifts, and it's even harder now. When was the last time you even got one?

He shifts his weight; a show of nerves that doesn't match up with his calm, deep voice. You decide to put him out of his misery and unfold the cloth.

It's four paintbrushes, hand carved with thick, curved handles, and tidily shaped heads.

"Oh. Joel, these are... these are gorgeous."

You hear him exhale, like he had been holding his breath.

"You think they're any good?"

"I'm sure they are, the hairs look amazing. Where did you get these?"

"I made them."

Now you tear your eyes from the brushes. "You made them?"

"Carved them, they should be comfortable to hold, I asked the doc what's suitable for someone with arthritis... The hairs are horsehair, bound together with sheep hairs."

He has really listened to you talking about all the art supplies you miss, and your ideas of making your own.

"The hairs are washed, so hopefully they won't give you allergies," he adds quickly.

"Joel... thank you. I don't know what to say."

He chuckles a little. "Try them first. What I know about making paintbrushes can fit onto the head of a nail. You may wanna return them."

"Unlikely."

You lean forward, the brushes still in your hands between the two of you, and touch your lips to Joel's. His hands rise to gently cup your elbows as he accepts your kiss. Only when your lips grow more insistent, does his hold tighten as well, and all you can think of is him holding your tits in the same manner.

Your hands, still holding the brushes, come to his chest, and you start undoing the buttons of his flannel. Joel's lips leave yours, and when he looks at you with eyes steeped in hot molten lava, you know that it didn't come easily.

"What are you doin'?"

"What does it look like?" you smile a little shakily. Is this the beginning of a refusal? Have you misunderstood his interest in you altogether?

"I don't want you to do it just because I gave you somethin'."

"It's not because you gave me something, it's because you never took anything away."

He cups your cheek now, strokes his big thumb over your lips.

"You're beautiful. I haven't done this in a long time, and never with anyone as beautiful."

"How old do you think I am?" you laugh, amused and touched at the same time. His ever-present frown changes slightly, turning quizzical.

"I don't need to hear that I'm beautiful," you specify, hands still on his chest. "I don't care about that."

"Then what do you wanna hear?" His voice is impossibly low. Your pussy clenches, grows moist and hot.

"I want to hear you want me."

"Oh, darlin'..." he sighs, closing his eyes momentarily. "I want you like crazy. I have wanted you for a long time, but I wanted for you to decide when you'd have me."

You didn't know how much you had longed for someone who saw you as a sexual being, a woman with desires and a will of her own.

"Joel," you whisper, and he swallows the rest of your words when he crashes his lips to yours. The brushes fall from your hand when you throw your arms around his neck to bring him closer, and Joel's big arms go around your waist. He hums into your mouth when your entire front is pressed against him; a satisfied hum, like he's happy to have you here. You answer with a hum of your own and feel his lips curve in a smile.

Slowly, his hands begin to know your body, sliding over curves and dips, fingers dipping into flesh, palms caressing over your clothes. Your approach is more direct: you pull at his flannel, wanting it off him.

"There's no hurry," he admonishes you between kisses. "Unless you got somewhere you need t'be?"

You exhale in something in between a scoff and a chuckle.

"In your pants?"

"Bedroom, then?"

"It's warmer in here, where the fire is."

"Hold on."

He releases you, seemingly unwillingly, and disappears into your small bedroom, re-emerging momentarily later with your bedding. You move the armchairs away to allow for him to put everything down in front of the fireplace. Groaning, he lays down on the makeshift bed, taking your hand and pulling you down next to him. You giggle a little as you plop down, immediately receiving more kisses.

"This better?" he wants to know. Your skin knots over when his hand finds its way underneath your shirt.

"Much better."

He rolls half on top of you, hand finding your breast for a light squeeze as his knee pushes between your thighs to separate them. His cock is stiff against your hip, and you move against it, smiling into the kiss when he grunts and grabs your breast harder. You put your hand on his, pressing it down, feeling his hand disappear into your soft flesh almost painfully. Your moan gears him up, and he starts to pull your shirt upwards. Squirming out of it, you reach for his belt, huffing in annoyance when Joel sits up to take his own shirt off. You sit up as well for a better reach, and your forehead connects with his chin just as he dives back to you.

"Ouch!"

"Fuck!"

You smile sheepishly at each other, both of you more startled than hurt, and Joel gently pushes you back down.

"Maybe we should take it slow?"

"I need you, I'm done waiting."

"I know, sweetheart, but I don't want you to break my jaw."

You scoff, but his kisses make you docile. Your clothes come off, along with his, and when you're both finally naked, skin against skin, you discover that you're happy with going slow as well. In the light of the fire, you trace your hand along his strong muscles and soft flesh, kiss his scars from past struggles, and the newer bruises from recent altercations with logs or whatever he has attempted to lift on his own. You close your fingers around the girth of his cock - Jesus, 20-year-old you would've giggled like a maniac at the sight of it - and enjoy the sounds of surrender that you can conjure out of him.

"God, your hands feel good on me," he hisses as you slowly, while trying to remember how to do this, stroke him with both hands. You smile, suddenly struck with nerves, when you pass your thumb softly over the glistening head of his thick cock. The precum catches the flickering light from the fire, and you get lost in how light and shadow play over Joel's skin; the dark dip of his navel, the hills of his soft pecs and stomach illuminated, his cock rising proudly from a thicket of dark hairs towards the light, the fuzz of his thighs. The embossed skin of a scar reflecting the warm light. The way his skin rises in goosebumps at your touch...

"Darlin'?"

You blink, and meet his wry, amused smirk.

"You with me?"

"Yeah, sorry. I just... was looking at the light."

"How you'd paint it?" Joel seems to catch on immediately, having listened to you rambling on about The Light several evenings. Yod nod and run one finger along the length of his cock before continuing up his happy trail, swerving around his navel.

"There's so much to see on the human body, if one just knows how to look."

"Lemme try that."

Joel pulls you down and rolls you onto your back, propping himself up on one arm next to you. You blush a little as he inspects you, his hand following the dancing shadows on your chest and stomach.

"Yeah," he murmurs, "I can see it alright."

"Yeah?"

"M-hmm. Hold on."

He rolls to the other side, looking in the dusky room for something. When he returns to your side, he's holding one of the brushes he made. With a feathery touch, he touches the brush to your ribcage, right underneath one breast.

"Here's light," he mumbles, carefully tracing the brush along a rib. "Right next to the shadow of your breast."

You exhale in a soft moan as his knuckles brush up against your breast, knotting the nipple. Joel's tongue slips out to lick his lower lip before he goes on tracing the lines that only he can see on your skin.

"What are you painting, Picasso?" you ask hoarsely.

"Hush," Joel tells you curtly yet not unkindly. You smile and close your eyes, shifting a little so that you can drape your arm around his shoulder. His hot breath is on your breast, his whiskers tickle you before something warm and wet disturbing your nipple tells you he's licked it. A shiver runs through you, and you push your chest out, asking him wordlessly to do it again.

He latches on and suckles steadily, but your shout of surprised pleasure has barely died down before he releases you and continues down your stomach with the brush.

"Joel," you whine, blinking up at him, but the focus in his eyes is so intense that you don't say anything more. Instead, you watch him figure out the fundamentals of visual art: how the light changes everything, how to handle the brush, how to angle the hand. His brush may not have any paint on it, but he paints your pleasure with sounds from you: gasps, hums, a hiss when he passes over a ticklish spot. With the brush trailing through the thicket of your pubes, your legs fall open and your lower lip catches between your teeth. Your pelvis rises to meet the soft hairs, and you moan when Joel dips the brush through your slick folds. He moves the brush to your nipple, circles it to wetten it with your arousal, then ducks down to suck it into his mouth. Your back arches, your inner thighs are wet, your heartbeats echo in your pussy, and you need him to understand just how desperately you need him.

"Fuck me," you keen, "Joel, I need you to fuck me."

He hesitates, coming up to slot his mouth over yours and steal your breath away. You rub yourself against him, find his cock and tease it, make him moan just as needily as you.

"I take it you ain't a pregnancy risk?" You hear from his tight voice how close he is to snapping. Fuck, but that's hot.

"STDs are our only concern," you try to joke, but it's not funny. Before coming to Jackson, you spent years in a quarantine zone as a nurse, and the common sexually transmitted infections ran rampant. Without proper testing equipment, it was hard to tell the scale of it.

"I should be clean," he tells you, and you're too far gone to doubt him.

"Me too."

He kisses you again as he rolls on top of you, his width and weight blocking out everything else as he plunges his tongue into your mouth. Your hips rise to meet him when he leads his cock against your entrance, and you almost bite him when he starts to push into you. Your nails press into his shoulders, the fit is impossible, and Joel stops.

"Fuck," he mutters. "You okay?"

"It's big, it's been a while."

He growls and pulls out, cupping your cheek when you whine.

"Don't wanna hurt you."

"Just get me wet, Joel."

"You're plenty wet already."

"And you're hung like a goddamn moose, so get me wetter," you snap, and Joel chuckles.

"Relax, darlin'."

"I'm trying."

He kisses you again, hand between your legs, two fingers slipping through your folds and drawing out the slick to a slow circle around your clit. Sparks run up your spine and you bury your fingers in his thick, greying hair.

"You always try to cram it in before finding a girl's clit?" you mutter, but your smile shines through. Joel slips a finger inside you.

"I told you, it's been a while." He trails kisses down your neck and moves his finger inside you, seeking the right, spongy spot. You mewl and writhe, needing more but not getting it. One finger is not enough. An idea forms in your head.

"Take the brush," you ask him breathlessly. Joel stills, finger slipping out as he studies your face. You roll your eyes.

"It's not a commentary on your skills. Get over yourself."

"You were the one who were in such a such a hurry a minute ago," he teases before looking around for the brush. Finding it, he brings it to your tits, but you shake your head.

"No, use it on me."

His brow rises quizzically. You push his hand down.

"Fuck me with it, Joel."

You expect an objection, or at the very least surprise, but all you get is a strangled sound and a searing kiss. The handle, so smoothly polished, is thick and curved in a way that bears resemblance to a dildo - not that you've used one in twenty years, but the thought is there now and you have to try this out.

The handle slides in easily, filling you better than his finger but without the intensity of his cock.

"Fuck," you keen, directing your hand down to rub your clit as Joel slowly pulls out the handle before pushing it back in. "There, fuck, Joel, that's good..."

He's breathing audibly now but you don't look at him anymore, you close your eyes and let him help you find all those buttons and spots that you had almost forgotten that you had anymore. When your toes start to curl, and you moan "Faster, Joel, faster!" he complies, rough whiskers scratching the sensitive skin of your tits as he fucks you with the paintbrush that he carved with his own split-knuckle hands to spare you your aching ones.

You barely know what an orgasm feels like anymore, but there's no mistaking this one. The rise and the tightening of muscles, the holding of breath before releasing it in a choked moan, the loosening of limbs, the pounding heat of your pussy.

"Jesus, but that's beautiful," Joel sighs, gently sliding out the brush and putting it to the side before kissing your flushed forehead. "Darlin', you're killin' me."

You chuckle huskily and pass your hands over your face.

"I think it takes a lot more to kill you, Joel Miller."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

The bedding underneath you may keep the draft of the floor at bay, but offers no suspension, so when he edges into you a second time and bottoms out, it's like being split in two between a rock and a hard place. But you can take him, and you cling to his broad shoulders with breaths coming out as hissing.

"Relax," he murmurs, petting your hair as if you were a skittish animal while slowly moving in you. "Sweetheart, you can take it, you're doing it already, you're doing it so well, it feels so good..."

You keen as he spears you again, slowly but steadily, his muscles trembling from the effort of keeping himself from crushing you. Your legs wrap around his thighs, arms around his shoulders and you pull him down, you want to be crushed, you need him like this, steady like a train and sharp like a razor, his breathless kisses on your neck, the groans that may come from pleasure or discomfort from being on the floor, you have no idea, but you need him just like this.

"Come, Joel, come," you gasp into his ear, the good one, and he endures, unwavering in his effort as he digs into you, deep, thorough, devastating.

His climax is a relief and a sadness. You don't want it to end, but you also couldn't bear one more second of it.

Joel slumps to the side, gathering you into his arms as he draws a deep, shaky breath. In the faint light of the embers that are left in the fireplace, you trace the scar on his right cheek and watch his eyelids press shut more firmly before he turns his head to kiss your fingers.

The temperature in the room seems to drop as the heat dies down, and you carefully untangle yourself from Joel's firm hold to put another log on the embers. When it flares up, you return to Joel's side, now finding him watching you.

"You okay?" he asks when you pull a blanket over both of you. Making yourself comfortable, you nod with a little smile and a kiss to his lips.

"Perfect."

"That thing with the brush was... interesting."

You blush. "I don't know what happened."

"Glad it did."

"Joel, I... haven't had sex like that... at all... in decades," you blurt out. "And this was... perfect."

He hums, glances down, and to you it's glaringly obvious that he is conflicted. Your heart sinks just as he speaks up.

"It really was perfect."

"But?" You can't help yourself: there's a slight edge to your tone. Joel leans his head back a little to take a good look at you, the usual disapproving frown back on his face.

"But there was someone," he starts, "for years. And we never had this. Time and place wasn't right."

You exhale in relief. History and baggage are easy to deal with, rejection is not.

"I'm sorry."

He shrugs with a little sound, forehead smoothed out.

"Was she... Ellie's mom?" you dare. Joel shakes his head, and his hand slowly passes over your back, fingers strumming the bump of your spine.

"I didn't know Ellie until a few months ago. This was... someone else. A partner. She took Ellie on, really. I was against it. And she... didn't make it."

You don't want to say that you're sorry again, but don't know what else to say, either. So you kiss him, because you want to, because you think he needs it, because there are no words. Your hand is splayed open on his cheek, his lips and mouth are dry and so are yours, but the kiss is sweet and gentle, and the things you can't find words for are carefully passed on to him. He exhales in a soft sigh onto your cheek, then tilts his chin up to kiss your forehead before burrowing his nose against your hair. It's clear to you that he wants to sleep, but you're buzzing with unexpected energy. Carefully, you slide away from his arms, smiling at his frown, and get up to tip-toe to the desk, where you pick up paper and coal. A faint blush colors your cheekbones when you feel his cum seep out of you, and you hurry back to the makeshift bed, sitting down by Joel's feet.

"C'mere," he barks, but you shake your head.

"Just stay still."

He complies with that frown of his, and you settle down, putting the piece of coal to the paper.

You know how you want to draw him now.

[thecoffeelorian]

Fandom Friday, 09/13: Fanart!

Hello again, everyone…and welcome to another installment of Fandom Friday, the two-post series where I go off to find new and interesting fanworks that might need a bit more visibility.

Before we begin...I'm not sure I have a cool address created for this latest update, other than the seasons are about to change, and I think that...for better or for worse, I'm probably changing a little right along with them.

I have no idea whether this will prove to be a good thing or not in the long run, only that I'm still learning new things even as I face my elder nerd years, and my ever-increasing amount of gray hairs upon my head keep reminding me that there's still a ways for me to go here...so please. I hope that anybody still reading my words will continue to be patient with me, especially if I don't always feel in the mood to draw, write, or otherwise create eye-catching things for the rest of the interwebs to enjoy.

And so without further delay...here are my picks of the week.

THE CLONE WARS

The Clone Wars Fanart--By @clownbloody:

The Clone Wars Fanart--By @lonewolflupe:

THE BAD BATCH

The Bad Batch Fanart--By @thora-sniper:

The Bad Batch Fanart--By @elslittlestories:

ANDOR/ROGUE ONE

Andor Fanart--By @fen-luciel:

Rogue One Fanart--By @aron-mp4:

STAR WARS REBELS

Star Wars Rebels Fanart--By @hayesflint:

THE MANDALORIAN

The Mandalorian Fanart--By @shadsthequeenofthepotatopeople:

In conclusion, as part of my mission to poke around the Star Wars fandom and, on Friday every two weeks, highlight those artists who might otherwise go unnoticed…I hope you will check out the links I have included for yourselves and like, comment on, and reblog them, as well as also giving the artists a few more followers to their Tumblr pages.

Please also like and reblog this latest installment so that these links can be spread around to as many other fans as possible, just in case not all of them can tune in at the same time.

An additional thank you goes to @djarrex for making the divider I used earlier in this post, but still want to give credit for.

And finally, so that I do not forget…this post will be continued in its second half: the Fanfiction Edition.

Thank you, good morning, and I’ll see you in the next post!

No Pressure Tags: @melymigo @algo-o-nada @theosb0rnway @everybirdfellsilent @skellymom

@leos-multifandom-corner @maggie-dylan @leenabb104104 @gun-roswell @tazmbc1

@bluedeedeedoop @its-time-to-rise-above @tlmtwelve and anybody else who might be on the lookout for new SW fanart.

[pinkykats-place]

BakuDeku fic recs ft. Size Difference

Archive of our own

Disclaimers!

None of the stories linked on titles are mine.

Some contain mature content.

Read tags. Check Ratings.

Art works not mine.

Note: If you read any of these stories and like them please let the author know with a kudos and/or comment!

look and see by SpicyJam

Summary: Deku whines, "This is so unfair. Can you even feel my weight?"

"A little!" Eijiro says, good-naturedly. He half-squats once or twice, just to test, and then proceeds to shoulder-press the nerd. "I could probably do like a hundred reps with your body."

Deku just whines louder.

Katsuki has had enough.

---

Or: Katsuki's the only one who can manhandle Deku, dammit.

One Shot | Pro Hero au

Rated - Explicit

All the small things by kmochi (lowsywriter)

Summary: "Katsuki can't stop using Izuku's short stature to his advantage; he'd move him around like a doll, lift him like a sack of potatoes and pick him up so they can see eye to eye."

— — —

Where Deku is small and Katsuki really doesn't know how to deal with him.

Complete | 5 Chapters

Rated - Mature

your fingerprints a brand by comradekiwi

Summary: Kacchan’s hand could cover his, would widen the space between his fingers with his own if they were interlaced, could probably hold both of his hands in one. God.

Izuku watches him now, as Kacchan twirls a pencil in his right hand in front of him. Izuku is two seconds away from scolding him for lack of public decency. Especially when Kacchan reaches for his water bottle and unscrews the cap, the bottle and lid tiny in his hands, tendons flexing casually in a way that is, quite frankly, obscene.

——
or, the izuku-definitely-has-a-thing-for-kacchan’s-hands-and-their-size-difference

One Shot | UA Students

Rated - Teen & Up

Day 1: Size Difference by BeckyFullOfFrills

Summary: As they grew older Izuku practically shot up in size in comparison to Katsuki! At first he hated it but he soon learned that even this has its benefits...

One Shot | Pro Hero au

Rated - Explicit

Big Hands (Bigger Dick) by tiredwrites

Summary: Izuku loves Kacchan's hands. They're warm—they're calloused perfectly - not too rough, not too soft - and they're /big/.

They're perfect.

Izuku loves how they envelop his tiny hands, holding his hands delicately between rough, calloused palms.

He loves Kacchan's hands with a passion. He loves how they enclose his own, how they skirt across his freckled skin, how they looked with black and gold rings settled on the thick digits, how they look covered in blood, in slick, in everything.

Everything.

{One Shot}

Fem Bodied Deku | Yakuza au

Rated - Explicit

Jaded by ohren

Summary: Katsuki’s small community is the only one that is left of their kin.

“Small little things” The titans say. “That need our protection.”

{One Shot}

Titan’s Bride au | Arranged Marriage

Rated - Explicit

Giant by ThatAmbedoLove

Summary: This is purely based off of a piece of fanart by @noxatn on Instagram. And if you know who I'm taking about you know EXACTLY what art I'm referencing.

All Hail Giant Deku.

One Shot | Pro Hero au

Rated - Mature

frenzy by varooooom

Summary: All the eyes of the world look up to Izuku as a role model, a hero and a symbol of everything good that exists. The lecherous fucks at this gala were ogling him just as much as Katsuki, even if the oblivious bastard was too busy being jealous of those looking at Katsuki to notice.

He's stupid and perfect and Katsuki is helplessly smitten.

But he doesn't want to spoil him by encouraging bad behavior, so Katsuki clicks his tongue and pulls Izuku in for one more heated kiss, then keeps him close so he can stare at his lips as he murmurs, "If you can keep it in your pants long enough to get these monkey suits off of us first, then I'll give you a reward. How's that sound?"

Izuku's cheeks flush red and he nods his head eagerly, "Yes, please."

Katsuki grins, cupping Izuku's chin as he genially says, "Good boy."

One Shot | Pro Hero au

Rated - Explicit

Bigger Is Best by MuscleChubBoi

Summary: When they'd started out at UA, Deku had been a scrawny little shit. Now as adults, the asshole is a total brick house. And he's gotten stronger than Katsuki too. Way stronger. It's absolutely un-fucking-acceptable.

In a jealous (and somewhat aroused) rage over Izuku's progress, Katsuki decides that he needs to catch up and surpass that shitty nerd by any means necessary. The solution? Bulk excessively. Work out for all he's worth. He gets stronger very quickly. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) all that excessive eating and not watching his calories close enough while he trains has caused him to gain a lot more than just extra muscle.

But maybe he likes it... Midoriya certainly does.

Complete | 5 Chapters | Pro Hero au

Rated - Explicit

and it was Just Right by cinnabee

Summary: Katsuki spends two years post-graduation in a furious one-sided competition with his childhood friend and rival's promotional photos - until they finally run into each other, and, well. You shouldn't believe everything you see in magazines.

Complete | 4 Chapters | Pro Hero au

Rated - Explicit

Bite Me, Big Man, I Ain't Leaving by CatieBrie

Summary: Popular horror writer, Bakugo Katsuki, hated moving, but he had to do it a lot lately. So often, in fact, that he usually just left half his shit packed up for when his fans inevitably forced him somewhere new. His new home, Yujomachi, was a tiny town not found on most maps with a train system that eschewed all rhyme and reason, making it a place nearly impossible to find. It was a straight up pain in the ass which was exactly what Katsuki needed and if he was lucky, he'd never have to move again.

That was, however, if Deku let him stay.

One Shot | Vampire au

Rated - Explicit

[loversberceuse]

Allow me to guide you through this experience.

The year is 20XX, and the world's population has finally succumbed to a disease. While such an event was expected, this disease didn't turn anyone into zombies or wipe out an entire population due to sickness. It is a sickness, sure, but nothing like what was expected.

It all started with a steep increase in crime.

At first, the constant murders and missing persons' cases went unnoticed. These things happen all the time, especially in big cities. As the amount of crime increased, so did the panic. With thorough research, which took about a year and a half to complete, the cause was discovered. This disease caused people to go insane, caused them to obsess over one singular person. They'd do anything and everything in their power, even murder, if it meant keeping the person they were so incredibly infatuated with close to them. In short, it turned people into what a person would call a yandere.

The disease spread rapidly throughout the world, leaving insanity and death in its wake. Despite the steps taken to counteract this, nothing helped. This disease continued to spread, continued to destroy what people used to know as their daily lives.

It's now been two years since the disease was officially announced on live television. While most of the world's population are now classified as yanderes, a few unaffected by the disease still remain. Among those few are, luckily for those reading, you! Somehow, you, the reader, have managed to make it this far. Congratulations! You've made some friends along the way as well.

Valkyrie, who you managed to save from an awful eye injury after some chaos in your hometown two months ago. While he did still lose his eye, he's still happy to come along and help keep you and the rest of the group safe. (TAG: lbValkyrie)

Lune, though apprehensive about joining this small group due to fear of catching the disease, has become a great friend to everyone in your little team. He dislikes being touched, though, so you've learned to keep your distance. (TAG: lbLune)

Elias is.. Well.. He's simply just someone you ran into one day. He seems fairly reserved, but is also probably considered the most "normal" of anybody else in the group. Not much else is to be said about him, he's an alright guy. (TAG: lbElias)

Your little squad has been just fine, everyone has managed to fend off any stray yandere along the way to safety. These guys do make everything easier, and finding supplies is much easier with more people around.

Lately, though, all three of them have been acting strangely...

Hello! Welcome to my blog! This is a two-sided yandere oc x reader blog! My friend, who will be writing for the other three, has their own blog for this as well (You can find it here) .Speaking of my dear friend, all art on my blog (unless said otherwise,) was made by them! (They can also be found here at @buriedpair )

[kyoghurts]

hh-hi hi, i've been scrawling the mashle x reader tags all day, and i'm very desperate to see someone write anything for my gorgeous wife magarette macaron ;v; preferably fem-reader. i just think about her entry in the fanbook alot about how she'd like someone preferably stronger than her, and i'd just imagine a student who deeply respects and admires her who's motivated to improve their magical ability and their inclination for the arts (painting, dance, music etc, it might even be part of their magic ehe, something that'd compliment margarette's sound magic <3) to try and catch her eye. my apologies if it's too specific! i understand female/nb characters in the mashle fandom aren't exactly the apple of many writers' eyes, and i hope your studies are going well ;u; i would just like to see some content of my favourite character. thank you!

LOVE. oil on canvas

content ♡ prns used for margarette in this fic are they/them. gn reader. fluff. established relationship. not proofread. half assed poetry writing. gazing each at each other with lots of descriptive scenes and not many dialogues. wrote this while having writers block :( apologies

notes ♡ MARGARETTE MACARON THE NONBINARY EVER <3 sorry your request took so long :( the first few parts were written 2 months ago and left there until i could not pick out details from the outline i made, so i had to modify a bit until i visualise it properly. div creds to cafekitsune!

there'd have at least an answer to every call of your heartbeats each time margarette macaron comes to slip its way into your thoughts, the sound of their chuckles or the shape of their grin, the swift catch of eye as you bump into them at random intervals, the occasional quips and teases when chances arrive. you long to find an answer to your heart hammering inside your chest, you want this organ to quell itself because if this keeps up, you might as well just die from a heart-attack.

but even when you get the gist of your feelings, the answer doesn't come to you in details smaller than the canvas of a larger size than what you're used to. the big picture is there, but it lacks...something. and you don't know what it is.

(why you admire them so much to the extent of soaring high of inspirations. like a drug that streams in the bloodstream subtle but persistent, an addiction in a good way. each interaction is recalled even more vividly than the last. it’s enough to drive you insane.)

(why, that’d you even go as far as to take it upon yourself to scramble for ways to grab their attention. you don’t.. want to admit it, but perhaps a part of you is so driven to win this once-in-a-lifetime art contest because you want margarette to finally see you. in the same way you see them)

(and for reasons… you can’t bring yourself to conclude)

you’re standing in front of your piece like a man slowly decaying, a dejected look smothered all over your face, accompanied by splotches of paint and dirt. you probably look like shit, but even that thought doesn’t bring you to feel anything.

days—weeks of letting your emotions snowball into a flurry of frustration, anxiety, and starving ambition until it crashes against a wall, tall and sturdy, completely shutting you down. you’re spent. and now your mind inevitably falls back into a place you know so much and not.

your piece, although praised by many of your peers, you can’t seem to bring the same enthusiasm to yourself. yes, the message is clear, the artistry is well done, and yet… it lacks a detail so precise you can never capture whole. a fleeting dream in wide waking eyes, it flashes through your vision and yet can never be caught in the paint and tremblings hands that you have.

a missing part. a body without a heart, leaving a hollow in the left of the sternum, and between its lungs.

you’re about to heave a sigh of resignation when footsteps approach you, clean and smooth traces that you’ve heard and know so much, a calm stride despite everything.

margarette calls out to you, familiarity in their lips, honey-soaked tongue and well-poised and its sending you into a state of shock, tongue tied. why are they here? heart on your throat, eyes blown like a deer caught in a headlight. they smile, though different than politeness they often express, it’s curves at the end tells a more softer story. a gentle stroke of touch.

they look concerned, so to speak.

“it’s late out, (name).” they tell you, and you have to slowly gaze at the clock across the room and wake up from your daze, look at the windows to see midnight blues greet you in a gentle reminder. “why are you still here?”

“i only have a week to finish this…” you motion towards your canvas, somehow you can’t find the word to call it an artwork. not to margarette of all people.

“it’s lovely, dear” you purse your lips, looking down instead of accepting their words of praise head on, as if you don’t trust any of it, like how you don’t trust yourself.

“hmm, i do have some suggestions, take it as a grain of salt.”

you lift your head so suddenly it gives you a fright. “really?”

margarette’s attention doesn’t waver, they gaze your artwork with scrutiny, half lidded and in deep thought.

for some reason, you feel vulnerable with this. like they’re not just staring at your piece, they’re including you, too. it’s your work, after all, and from the way they tilt their head and eyes not leaving every single detail, it feels as though they’re looking through the artist’s intention— what’s beyond the efforts of the craft that most people always want to look past.

for some reason, it scares you how they’re so quiet, how close they are next to you right now. and though you don’t want to admit it, but the more you stare at margarette, the more clearer their features become. you wonder what it would feel like to trace the musical note marks traveling through the eyes to their cheekbones, how dangerous it must be if you swipe your thumb against their lips as you smudge the dark color that so attracts you. how it would all feel if you cup their face and scrutinise you instead. to memorize you the same way you’ve been studying art itself.

when they finally speak, a flood of ideas break through the dam. they tell you it’s mostly minor details, but to you, it means everything. and you’re not even exaggerating it, art has been your call, even your personal magic speaks for itself, and you want to let margarette know how much this means to you. how much of a burden has been lifted off your shoulders, in just an instant.

“your work inspires me.” they chuckle, faint and airy and it’s making you blush. “i hear a beautiful sound just by gazing at it.”

they turn to you, a smile on their lips.

you don’t want to tear your gaze, you say, “if my work sings to your soul, then…its fulfilled its purpose.”

“it has, my dear.” they might have noticed something on your face, because they start sifting underneath their robe, and pulls out a cloth. “you have paint all over you.”

“oh where-”

“here.” they lift your chin, wiping the side of your face with their other hand, and they take their time doing so. their movements delicate and gentle, your eyes on them the whole time, completely breathless.

(with the lights casting shadows across your face, twilight saying hello in your window, and the person you so admire from a place raw within a heart that feels hollow and not, empty but full and heavy, you want to capture this particular moment with this particular person in a time that’s suspended and remembered.)

(there are pieces that simply evoke too many emotions inside your ribcage, but this piece could actually lead you to an answer you’ve been putting on hold for so long.)

(the answer is simple, actually, you could laugh at yourself for this.)

you hadn’t realised that you did laugh, margarette stops from wiping and watches you in surprised amusement, the softness in their expression stirs your stomach in such a familiar way as you feel your face starting to burn. “sorry,” you say in between chuckles, “that was sudden.”

after a while of small talks and discussions towards your artwork, you finally call it a night. margarette walks you to your dorm, and you can’t miss the way they wave at you and mutter goodnight as you close your door.

you’re sure your going to dream about this for days without end.

you didn’t expect for your work to be displayed in such a grand way, with golden frames and a title plate situated under the piece. honestly, you’d think this is another dream questionable enough that you’re starting to battle reality, like right now.

you think you’re going to wake up soon and forget that day they announced your name as the first placer and that people literally hurdled towards you in utter shock and excitement, screaming in your ear until it bleeds from the “congratulations!!” to “you slayed like picasso on a caffeine high!” and “you've officially made the rest of us look like we're finger-painting with our toes. congrats on the epic win!” and more out of pocket forms of praise that you don’t want to hear any further.

you want to wake up that is until they stood on the hall to where your artwork was displayed, until they see the small plate with the title written in a small, minimalist text.

as you approach margarette anxiously, you soon find yourself not needing to be so tense. you watch as they scan your piece similar to that night, subtly taking each and every detail with their whole, undivided attention.

"congratulations," they say, their voice filled with warmth and sincerity. "you've captured something truly special here.”

this time, you smile with pride and gratitude. you don’t have to say anything for when they ask for your hand and they kiss your knuckles so delicate you feel elated, so over the moon that the answer to your heartbeats has been settled like stilled ocean. no longer in hunger for a call, no storms raging inside your poetic little heart.

you take one good look at your piece before margarette leads you to- well, this is most definitely not a dream, but you’re sure they ask you if you’re free at the moment, asking to join them for lunch.

your bright, excited ‘i’d love to!’ doesn’t leave any doubts, in fact, margarette can only squeeze your hand in response. as if saying they reciprocate how you feel, and that the missing piece has always been there for you all along.

© kyoghurts ★ reblogs & likes are well appreciated!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I posted my art from a zine early?

I (23nb) joined a zine for a semi obscure 2000s manga/anime as a page artist with two of my friends. I enjoy this media but I don't really consider myself in the fandom, I only joined because one of my aforementioned friends is a huge fan of it and the other friend is also a casual enjoyer and we thought it would be fun if we all did a zine together.

However.

Most zines have a timeline of around 9-10 months from beginning to publishing but this one's been in production for almost 2 years. I've been in a few zines and this one has the worst organization I've ever seen in any project. The timeline on the discord only covered the first 5 months and had no estimate for how long the production would be, but a year and a half for publishing is pretty unheard of. The only check-in for progress that I remember didn't even require sending in your piece, you just had to say if you were finished or not and only a handful of the 30ish people on the discord responded lmao. Both of my friends ghosted at this point and the Singular mod (there might be two mods. I can't really tell) didn't dm them to see if they still wanted to participate or anything. Since there is only one person doing everything me and a few others have asked if they need any help and every time the mod(s) say that they're fine. every month or two someone will ask how the production is going and the mod will answer, and then another month goes by and the cycle repeats. I think the zine has finally gone into its “preorder interest check” stage (so not the actual preorder) but judging by how long everything takes i estimate that it'll be another 2 months at least before it actually goes into preorder. Its also never been clear if this is a free zine or if the sales will be donated to charity or distributed among the contributors. Since there's Allegedly going to be a physical copy it's gotta at least use the sales money to pay for production and shipping costs, but I have no idea if I'll be compensated with a physical copy or any money, especially if I do the thing that I might be TA for.

So here's my actual question. WIBTA if I posted the art I made for the zine before the mod says it's ok to do so? A big part of zine etiquette is that you do not post the final piece until the zine is finished, and the repercussions for someone who does range from a mod dming them to take it down or being kicked out of the zine entirely or in the absolute worst case, called out and blacklisted in the fandom and zine circles (I don't think anything that serious will happen to me but I have anxiety so I'm always imagining the worst thing) Most of the people on Tumblr in this fandom are kind of annoying fandom mom millennial types so I don't really want to deal with any possible backlash from them lol. If I just posted my art on Instagram idk if any of them would see it, but they Definitely would if I posted on Tumblr since the zine originated on there and it's such a small tag. I'm also so frustrated with the experience I kind of want to write something cunty in the description about how it's a zine piece for a zine that probably will never come out but I know that's just being petty and would probably invite drama. Also since I drew this thing a year and a half ago it's a little busted looking so I might redraw parts of it, so posting it would still be kinda shitty but it would technically be a different piece from the original one I submitted to the zine.

What are these acronyms?

[justakidicarus]

A little ficlet based on the recent Zelda reveal

I was suddenly inspired by The Legend of Zelda: Echoes of Wisdom game trailer. While this probably can't be considered spoilers on accounts of the game and its story not actually being out, viewer discretion is advised. This is likely not canon to the actual events of the game and is just my initial lore prediction. I was heavily inspired by the trailer and it got words flowing.

Assumptions:

Set in the Downfall timeline post Link's Awakening due to similar art styles and the presence of Deku scrubs.

Characterisations are unique

Also, I know nothing about the Downfall timeline besides vague hints from Linked Universe content as I haven't played any of their games. Creative liberties have been taken.

Fic under the break. Tags of ficlet contain spoilers. Also additional notes for the fic are under the fic itself, including explanations of concepts and background for the scene not included in the Assumptions.

---///---

Zelda threw herself to the ground as the Void Rift finally stopped eating at her steps, the halls of Ganon's new lair shrouded in shadows that Tri could barely pierce with their gleam. She groaned, hand still gripping the Tri-staff with a white-knuckled grip, as she refused to let go of her one saving grace in her journey for her kingdom. She didn't know how Link made each of his quests look so effortless. If the kingdom itself wasn't resting on her shoulders she didn't think she could have made it half as far as she has.

"Well, well, well. I didn't expect to see you in the Lord's Lair so soon. Quite far from the light aren't you, Princess?"

Zelda scrambled to her feet, Tri flying to her side to steady her hasty rise as she brandished her staff before her, summoning an echo torch before her to light the room.

The torch lasted mere moments before it was snuffed out, seemingly consumed by the ravenous Darkness surrounding her. If it wasn't for Tri and her staff, the wayward Princess wouldn't have been able to see the ground at all.

Tri zipped beside her ear to whisper advice, likely wary of whatever was in the room. The sheer fact that Tri didn't already know was worrying in and of itself. "Zelda this isn't normal Darkness, whatever is in here is dangerous, maybe even Ganon's most dangerous creation yet! This Darkness feels relentless." her companion murmured, their button-like eyes creased with barely concealed fear. Zelda felt her own heart jump. Tri couldn't even tell what was hidden in the shadows?

Zelda lifted a hand for her fairy to rest on as she replied with an equally as quiet "We can't turn back, not with the rift in the way. We'll make it through together," Before looking back into the Darkness for even a hint of movement. "Show yourself, servant of the Demon King!" She shouted, swinging her staff forward as an entire swath of torches was lit, fans behind them pushing the fire forward to clear out a path through the Darkness.

With a loud snarl more befitting of its master, the Darkness surged forward and attacked the fans directly, shattering the echoes before consuming the flames in turn. The hidden monster's voice had a loud echo as it spoke. Whatever room they were in must be big. "Do you think you can beat my Master? Your oh-so-pathetic knight couldn't, what makes you think you stand a chance?" it taunted, voice moving lazily across the room, uncaring of the impact of its words.

"Where is he? Answer me you monster!" Zelda cried out into the moving shadows surrounding her, twisting as she tried to track the monster, refusing to let it get behind her.

"Oh Princess, didn't you see those cursed souls outside?" it seemed to whisper, voice dripping with mocking pity as her heart clenched. The cursed souls, the Hylians that Ganon had kidnapped through the Dark Rifts doomed to serve their captor as slaves to the monsters. Only the Tri-staff's power could free them from Ganon's thrall, and return them home. Link would never succumb to the Darkness; he was too strong for that, but even the thought of him befalling such a fate sent a spike of fear through her bones.

"He would never have succumbed to your Master and his powers. Link is far too strong to ever fall," she hissed at the voice's general direction.

"I'll admit, he put up a fight. Not even a thousand monsters could weaken his resolve and put out that fool's damned faith." Despite the way the voice spat insults at her hero as if the words were poisoned, she almost felt relief at its words. Of course, Link would fight an entire army of monsters to reach her again, it was such a Link thing to do.

"but there's more than one way to snuff out a light," it chuckled, the voice whispering into her ear as her heart lept to her throat. She swung around and summoned an echoed lizalfos in front of her, but it barely lasted a second before the Darkness surrounded it and she could hear its death throes. Tri hovered over her shoulder, shaking with the weight of Zelda's fear for her knight. What are these monsters doing to him?!

"What have you done to my knight!" She screamed out, equal parts fury, mania, and fear giving her power enough of a boost that the Tri-staff glowed brighter, reacting to her will. The voice only laughed at her, its horrid amusement staining the air as the shadows pooled lazily at the edges of her light, unconcerned with her strengthened power.

"Where there is light, there must always be Darkness. Darkness is the natural state of the world, a state my Master will return it to once he rips that little triangle from your hand. From Darkness everything has come from-" it spoke with a madness that outshone its master's own, the monster's manic tone betraying barely a depth of its own insanity. Zelda's foot almost slipped into the Void Rift before she pulled herself back from the edge. Whatever creature Ganon had in this room, it was unlike anything she had ever faced before. It terrified her.

"-and to Darkness I have returned," it purred as torches of Dark fire lit upon the walls, bringing vision through the room while the space remained covered in its darkness. The ceiling was high and decorated with Ganon propaganda, images of the boar-faced brute staring down from all angles. The walls were leaking more of that Darkness, pooling down into grooves on the floor as they made their way to the circle of the cylindrical room. At its centre were multiple sets of shackles, prepared as if to contain a single person despite the sheer number of chains. Standing in the centre of the room was the source of the voice, the servant of Ganon whose darkness was so absolute that it didn't care at all for the power of the Tri-staff.

Distantly, Zelda could feel Tri slam into her chest, trembling so violently with both horror and fear that the little fairy could barely breathe. She could hear blood roaring in her ears as silently, desperately, she begged her eyes to be lying. This couldn't be real. Yet even as her free hand's nails dug hard enough into her palm to leave red marks on her skin, nothing in the room changed. The Hylian in front of her didn't morph into something else, or disappear as a trick of the shadows. This was real. This was real and she didn't know how to handle it as her world was shattered and laid to rest at the feet of the one she had journeyed so far to save.

"You've been searching my Master's kingdom for your hero? Well, here I am Princess." Link grinned at her, not an ounce of kindness in his eyes as he stared at her as if she were nothing but a Bokoblin he needed to kill.

---///---

Notes!

So to start there are two kinds of Rifts. Dark rifts lead to Ganon's evil Realm and Void Rifts, lead from Ganon's Realm into the Void. Nothing survives a Void rift.

Darkness is the main evil force in this. It's sort of an omnipresent force as a vapour in Ganon's realm but also exists as both a liquid and a solid. it is essentially evil given tangible form.

And to get to the meat of the concept Link has been corrupted by Darkness!

Dark Link's appearance isn't brought up, but you can assume it's evil-looking and menacing, perhaps even the classic Dark Link fit (Black skin, Red eyes, Silver hair, Black hero outfit). Just make his eyes red.

The room is indeed a boss room, but Zelda will escape due to Tri-staff BS without finishing the fight with Link because I need to get at least two encounters out of this guy.

Ganon also stole Link's part of the Triforce when he captured him the first time. Yes, Link has escaped Ganon, but the only way in and out of the realm without Ganon's power is the Tri-staff. Link does not have the Tri-staff

The chains in the room + Ganon's Propaganda might not have been entirely obvious but this is also where Ganon imprisoned Link to corrupt him. I could write another ficlet for it but he was essentially chained down and smothered with darkness completely, with nothing but pure evil and propaganda for company. This would have been going on for at least two weeks to a month before Link was fully corrupted.

Zelda will eventually purge him of the Darkness don't worry, but first, the Tri-staff and her own power will need a serious upgrade. The Darkness infesting Link is supercharged, coming directly and purposefully from Ganon himself and is also attracted to him as the past holder of the Triforce of Courage. At her current strength, Zelda would be hard-pressed to beat him in combat, let alone purge hm of his Darkness.

I have a few ideas on how to build off of this idea, including the aforementioned Link's corruption ficlet, but also one where Zelda seeks aid, a Dark Link POV ficlet, and even Link's Purging. Feel free to suggest more ideas if you've got them, I wanna see where this idea could go!

[owlespresso]

vere tutors you on the sacred art of the handjob. spice beneath the cut. obviously. tags: handjob

Thank u @xvi-the-tower for the advice

"Of course we're using lube. What are we, animals?" The corner of Vere's lip draws up as he sends you a look bordering on exasperation and disgust.

You blink at him, slowly and blearily. This is the last time you take him up on an offer for anything, even if it's free. "And don't answer that. I don't want to hear your smart mouth right now."

"...Right," you mumble.

You're perched on your knees between his wide open legs. Looming over his laid out, prone form. He's completely open. Belly-up. Taut abdomen and lean chest and wide hips. It's a vulnerable position, one that you suppose should give you a feeling of...authority? Dominance?

You just wind up feel out of your depth, set in between the open vise of his thick thighs, just waiting for them to snap shut. Dig snug into you like the teeth of a bear trap.

"Lube's in the nightstand. Go get it." He nods his head towards the lacquered nightstand. The shiny russet waves of his hair fan out on the pillows and halo his thin, handsome face.

Grateful for the chance to move, you scuttle over and open the top drawer, retrieving a dainty, but elaborate glass bottle. Popping the cork, you lather a generous amount onto a trembling hand.

"Awh," he coos in faux sympathy, fluttering his eyelashes at you. "Are you nervous, little lamb?"

"No," you mumble, and settle in between his spread, naked thighs. He lounges back, radiating disinterest as you stare down his cock. A pretty, curved thing which stands proud against his stomach.

"Well? It's not going to bite you," Vere, growing impatient, seals his hand around your wrist and pulls you forward. "Though, I might if you keep dragging this out. Have you never seen a cock, before?"

You don't answer that. Cautiously, you press your palm against the head of his cock and tentatively rub it. Immediately, he heaves a contented sigh, head falling back onto that audacious mound of pillows.

"Take it in your hand," Vere instructs breathily. He's still staring at you, through half-lidded eyes.

You listen. Your wet fingers curl around the heat of him.

"Up and down, now," he says, and you start a tentative pace. He's hot in your hand. A little heavier than you thought he'd be. Enough girth to probably hurt if he put it inside you. "Faster," he murmurs, and you oblige. "Faster—right there, lamb."

He rolls his hips into the rhythm, droplets of lube spattering into your chest, your lap. Onto the nice silken beneath you. It dribbles down your wrist and your forearm, all the way up to your elbow.

"Tch, messy. You'll be—aah—cleaning the sheets after this," he says, but there's no bite to it. His voice is but a tender, lavish sigh. The sweet sound prised from his lips by the unskilled touch of your hand. It strikes you, then, how strange and thrilling it is to have such a powerful creature at your mercy. Writhing and moaning because of you.

"When you start to feel friction, add more lube," Vere instructs. "Or just spit on it, if you don't feel like stopping." You make a face at that, and he laughs. "Really? Your hand is already on my dick. It's a little too late to be a prude."

"I'm not a prude," the space between your eyebrows wrinkles in irritation. You debate on pointing out how much of a pillow princess he's being, but quickly decide that withholding his release could easily cost you your life. You've seen him kill more people for less.

"Whatever," Vere snorts. "Just put more on. I don't want you touching me with sandpaper hands." You pour more lube onto your hand and resume working. He tilts back onto the cushions like a spoiled cat, tail curling with each dulcet noise. His cheeks are flushed, rosen all the way down to his sleek shoulders. Long lashes fanning against his cheeks.

The rhythm of his hips stutters and begins to break as he climbs towards his orgasm, chases it, nips at its heels

"Twist your wrist," he pants huskily. "Just a little bit—"

He comes with his eyes closed. White fangs peek out from beneath painted red lips. He twists with the pleasure, hot cum spurting over your hand, dripping down your wrist and onto the bedding below. You milk him through it, eyes wide, fixated, and fascinated as he endures the throes of his pleasure. You persist until he's batting your hand away with pursed lips.

"Don't get too enthusiastic! One handjob and you think you have the right..." Vere complains, voice lowering into little grumbles you don't bother to catch. You watch him as he falls back, track the steadying rise and fall of his chest as he regains his bearings. It's silent, besides the soft sound of his breathing.

"How was that?" you ask after a few minutes. He huffs, amused. One of his eyes cracks open.

"Still second rate. But improving."

[meruz]

hi im putting all my asks in one post again. these are from like the past month and a half approx? some digimon thoughts some tmnt thoughts some art musings u know the usual

@waywardistics YAYY thank you so much for ordering! I'm glad it got to you & that you are enjoying it!

this is kind of a missive to everyone who ordered but: I am very nervous about pre-orders whenever I do them... nervous that not very many people will order, nervous that there will be supply chain or production dilemmas and I won't be able to get copies out to people in a timely fashion, nervous about having people's money but having an indeterminate amt of time where i have not yet "held up my part of the bargain" etc etc SO. THANK U GUYS...FOR ORDERING and being patient and im so glad it got to y'all

@seanonthemoon (idk why i cant tag u BUT) interesting... i gotta be honest I don't think abt the crests that much. i agree that they're very much like heres the "girl" crest heres the "nerd boy" crest etc to the point that it becomes almost meaningless. but i think what makes them even more meaningless to me, and is probably the reason they kind of designated girl/boy crests etc is that i think like the digivices they're toys and merchandise more than they are actual narrative tools LOL. I wouldve loved something with cody and mimi! theyre both so deeply empathetic and sensitive.. theres a lot they share but i think because they look so different on the surface it would make it difficult to market that merch...booo capitalism boooo toy marketing its all sexist bullshit at least here in the u.s. idk if japan is that different though.

I'm actually a little frustrated with how often 02 and 02 related media squanders cody in general lol. he feels like a parallel of izzy, joe, and TK(season 1 tk) while also being kind of none of those and suffering through lackluster characterization as a result... and then once ken joins the team it feels a little redundant. there's a couple cody-centric eps of 02 I remember really liking but then i think abt how he's been used since in like post-series content and 02:the beginning where they made him type on the computer even though obviously that's yoleis thing but because he had nothing else to do and aghh... my blood boils. i feel like the youngest but most serious anime achetype even at its bare bones is actually rly interesting idk why they don't play it up. UM. Once again my opinion is that he should be taller LOL and maybe they should play up his kendo martial arts honorable training stuff more idk. tallest + youngest + most serious just seems like a recipe for success for me. well. theres still time. and theres always fanfic.

THIS IS SO NICE TO SAY and not the first time someone has said it but i appreciate it everytime because i really admire the mm art style so much. It's like part of why I got really into the movie because I really recognized my own artistic sensibilities and aspirations in the way they stylized everything.

UM And i feel like since watching the movie and looking at all the concept art and making my own art i do feel like its only become more obvious how much my own art is lacking LOL LIKE when you see something that feels so similar I think the differences only become more stark. those artists are definitely on a different level than me. But it's nice to hear people say it doesn't look so different from their pov. thank u ^^

thank u!!!!!!! i love mundanity and naturalism... there's something so beautiful abt it to me lol... I feel like my anatomy needs work actually but ive been feeling better abt it this year so it's good to hear! thank you!

DLKGDSGDLALSNDF WAS IT TOO FAR..?? firstly, yeah I was thinking late teen/young adult ages for both of them ie 18-19ish, definitely not the age the kids are in the movie lol.

but also they arent DOING anything in that pic it is literally just a confrontation + some innuendo... I think teens should be allowed some less than subtle innuendo.. its like one of the top 3 classically teen pastimes...

this is such a funny ask to get because i feel like i haven't been able to do thin lineart until like. this past year or two maybe LOL. UM having a line-centric art job helped I think. I started on craig of the creek back in 2022 and thats a show where we spend a lot of time inking so I had a job where I was constantly moderating my line weight 40 hours a week every week for over a year. disappointingly, much of improvement is simply horrendous amounts of practice.

Here's a tip though: I think a lot of thin lineart boils down to confidence. I think instinctively we read thick, bold, fast lines as confident but theres actually a lot of obscuring you can do with a thick line. if you're not sure whether the nose on the face or a browline should be a little more left or a little more down you can hide that with a thick line and pretend its a shadow. or hide it with a bunch of quick lines and the eye can kind of approximate where looks best among the mass.. whereas a thin line is rly singular and stark and hides nothing, it needs to be precise. so anytime i know i want thin lineart i spend a LOT of time sketching, making sure i know exactly where i want my lines to go. so im not second guessing by the time im inking...

ok thats kind of a broad tip lol... here's one thats more applicable: IF POSSIBLE, lower your pressure sensitivity on your device. most devices have some way to edit your pressure sensitivity curve. I use a surface pro at home and this is what my pressure curve looks like most of the time.

When I work on a wacom it looks even more like a reverse L shape LOL. I'm naturally a really heavy-handed artist and I use a "light" or "hard" pressure curve to compensate for how hard I'm always pressing on the pen lol. if you're like me and you struggle with going too hard with the ink too fast... this will probably help a lot!

SFHASLDFH I LOVE THIS ASK this is like the type of question a person gets asked when chalk drawing on the sidewalk at recess LOL. but i understand because I've been struggling also for like. months. I think I'm finally starting to nail it down though so here's some of my observations.

[feel free to save this img but **please do not re-post it or share broadly**. my biggest fear in the world is to spend 30 min on some notes and become a widely proliferated art tutorial im not even kidding. i made it low contrast and difficult to read on purpose.]

my other tip is to just look at and study a lot of reference because that's all ive been doing. the tmnt are really cartoony so its difficult to use like actual anatomical reference unless ur going for that look BUT theres been so many adaptions in so many different styles that there's a real treasure trove of stuff to look at for how to simplify, stylize, and dissect these characters while keeping the recognizable essence. so theres lots to pull from.

If you want to expand further, it's also good to have 5) something sci-fi 6)something fantasy 7)something mundane/slice of life. a bedroom is a really good go-to. And of course some bgs can be two or more of these things at once.

I've definitely answered asks abt bg tips before but here's one specifically for if you want to do bg design for a job:

Your portfolio should probably have at least one of each of the following 1) an interior 2) an exterior 3) a cityscape 4) a nature scene. Just to cover kind of the basics of what you'd be asked to draw on any given project.

I actually feel like I don't have that many cityscrapes in my portfolio... this is something I'm gonna try to work on in the coming year LOL. OH ALSO. This is a very basic tip and people will tell you it all the time but its worth repeating: look up portfolio websites of artists who have the job you want. An easy way to do this is to go onto imdb for any cartoon or movie you like and to find the names listed as "bg/background designer" or whatever then just google that name +"art" or "animation" most artists have some public facing internet presence so it's not hard. spend time studying their work and hold those images in your head! it's a good way to get a good idea of what "industry standard" looks like and comparing ur own art to it... I know people sometimes get bummed comparing their art to others but if you can keep your head up lol.. it'll help you figure out what you need to work on!

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ok thats all i have to say sorry for typing so much. happy new year everybody who read this far LMAO!!!!!

[starsurface]

Can you please do Nightwolf caregiver headcanons?? I haven't seen a single agere post with him yet 😭

I love Nightwolf!! He'd made an AMAZING CG, fr!

Also on the side note: I do not know much about Native American culture, so if I do get any of these either incorrect or ‘eeeeeeeeh’ tell me and I'll make sure to change or alter them!!!

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

CG Nightwolf Hcs

🐺 OH MY GOSH THIS MAN WOULD BE AN AMAZING CAREGIVER AND I WILL FOREVER STAND BY THAT

🐺 Would be amazing with ANY age, fr

🐺 Tiny soft baby? Oh my goodness of course!! Wrapping you up in soft furs, rocks you gently

🐺 Toddler that just likes sitting around, watching cartoons and coloring? Cartoons might not be entirely his thing, but of course he'd love to watch an episode or 17 with you!!

🐺 Excited kid that likes running around and doing things? He's all up for some tag and arts and crafts!!

🐺 Emo or Moody preteen? He use to have a emo phase back in middle school too, what's your favorite band? Do you wanna share eyeliner secrets?

🐺 ^ If your not Moody preteen (i really project on that sometimes), he still likes hanging out with you. Whether its gossiping over making those kanji (?) bracelets or letting you rant about your favorite current thing in the entire world

🐺 Adores pet regressors!!! Playing tug-in-war with a puppy, letting a kitty curl up on his lap, finding yummy treats for a bunny, etc etc

🐺 Will highly encourage you to spend some time outside with him

🐺 Outside is good for you!! Plus you can go on a nice walk, or play hopscotch, or sit on his lap and play with the grass or whatever toys you brought

🐺 If you can't handle outside for whatever reason, such as sensitivity to grass or lightness sensitivity, he is very understanding and won't force you outside

🐺 Even five minutes is good for him, but if you really can't or just don't wanna, he will never force you to

🐺 If you do like going outside, that's great!! But if your too fearful about going outside because your small and someone might judge or see, he'll make sure to find secluded spots like the Motako Woods or Fujin's Temple Garden

🐺 If Nightwolf is busy hell most likely leave you with Fujin because thats who he trusts the most

🐺 Off topic, Fujin would so spoil you if Nightwolf dropped you off to him (he's gotta keep the fun Uncle title!! Otherwise he might get the Grandpa title, like Raiden!! 😨)

🐺 I feel like he'd make you wooden toys, hand crafted

🐺 I don't know a ton about Native culture, but I know there's a BUNCH of really cool stories/legends!!

🐺 He'd love story time, sharing one's passed down from his Mama and Auntie

🐺 He doesn't mind reading from a book either, but does prefer legends passed down

🐺 Favorite CG nicknames would be Nighty Wolf (I dunno why, but it sounds cute), Cloudy (based off his true name), Papa, Bubba, and any other one you wanna call him

🐺 His favorite nicknames for you would be Little One, Young One, Cuddle Bug, Moonlight, Starlight, Baby Bear, and more

🐺 Although truly his favorite nicknames for you are your favorite nicknames because you perk up at them and have the biggest smile and ugh- His heart!! 🥺

🐺 He's a stickler for the rules though >:/

🐺 Doesn't like seeing you pout and whine but will put his foot down on very certain rules (if you use your acting skills and tear up a bit you can get past half of them)

🐺 Not a health nut, but does give you mostly healthy snacks . . . >:(

🐺 But if you ask for it, he'll give you a piece of candy on the side, he's not that mean

🐺 Doesn't let you eat too many sweets though, tries to explain that it's not the best and you might get a tummy ache

🐺 (Although one look of ‘🥺’ and he'll probably crack)

🐺 The most he's ever done for punishments is the naughty corner, and that's only if you've hurt someone or did something really, really bad

🐺 Firmly believes in talking about what you did and how to fix it

🐺 Doesn't ever yell but he has this stern voice that you know your testing his limits

🐺 And he knows it's a scary stern voice (will only use it if he must must)

🐺 Any boo-boos you have get a band-aid and a kiss, you don't have much arguing room

🐺 (^ Also kisses make everything better anyways 🥺)

🐺 On the topic of band-aids, if you have a favorite show or something, he'll try his hardest to find band-aids with that specific design!!

🐺 Really likes cuddle time because it's time to relax and he can ‘protect you’

🐺 Man has big arms, feels like he's protecting you whenever you two hug

🐺 If you ask for permission and he grants it, he'll let you play with his hair

🐺 But you must use soft hands!! No tugging whatsoever pretty please

🐺 He'd love to do hairstyles on you though!! Even if its a super complicated, he'll try his hardest to do it perfect!!!

🐺 If you babble when regressed, most of his reply are ‘Hm?’ or ‘Is that so?’ but his tone is always very gentle and loving

🐺 Feels like the type of CG that if you place something in his hands, unless it's trash that he'll throw away, he'll hold it until you need it again (even if you already forgot and two hours went by)

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Y'all there were so many amazing gifs for Windwolf. Also like 97% of Nightwolf gifs have Fujin in them??

I love this man, he's so Dad coded. 🥺

[pompadorbz]

good morning pompadorbz nation as it turns out i am still sick and twisted

No, the Ender Prince AU has NOT left my brain, don't you think for a second that it hasn't, it is to the point that I am drawing this guy for one of my final assignments, ive already gotten an art trade of him its honetly a miracle i haven't put him on artfight yet. AND. And. I spent my entire evening on one singular short fic. Here is that fic. (note that. i very much made this for myself but i think ive pretty much talked about all the plot points so far in my that appear here in my older posts about this au, which you can find under the #ender prince au tag. if there's something that appears here that I've omitted from the posts then like. idk that's an issue not an issme lol. I'll probably post about whatever i didn't in like 2-3 business days knowing the state of my brainwaves rn. also shoutout to @fries-is-silly for beta reading this for me whilst i slept comfy and cozy in my bed)

The claws of Phil’s exoskeleton lightly click against the cold purpur floors as he briskly makes his way across the long hallways of the end palace. The Ender King had requested the night prior that he visit the throne upon awakening, and Phil knew he was an impatient man. Phil knew better than to keep him waiting this long by now… He never failed to disappoint in that regard, it seemed. Phil truly could not move any quicker if he tried. The lavender tiles were so large that he would barely miss the edge of each square with every step, and he swore up and down to himself that walking back and forth across a single hallway would take him a complete twenty minutes, but this was assuming time was valuable enough in the end to fact-check that estimate to begin with. Perhaps he had only gotten used to it at this point, but Phil always felt as if the hallways had shrunk since his first days in the palace– not that the King had really allowed him to roam very far for that first while, anyway. He remembered the dread he felt as he was first carried off into the throne room; How staring up the unfathomably tall walls and to the impossibly high ceiling made him feel horribly nauseous. He thought that no closed space should ever be this colossal. It gave him a rare fear– a terror of heights. For once. But that was back then. This is Now. And right now, Phil was on solid ground, and he was nearly at the throne room. He thought that maybe- as he picks up the pace, if he could get away with a quick sprint, he would get there a little bit quicker. However, A familiar voice called from around the next corner, dripping with acid. It makes Phil freeze dead in his tracks. “You took your precious time getting here as is, little fly. It would be a waste of energy for you to scratch up my floor with your little claws.”Phil’s pace slows significantly at the comment as he turns into the throne’s open doorway, clasping his hands together in shame as he stares up towards the throne where the Ender king sat, shrouded in his usual cloak as his hair fell like waterfalls off the edges and arms of the seat. The golden mask that rested upon his face was one that Phil didn’t recall ever seeing him wear; a spider, with its giant mandibles protruding outward from the lower half, and eight eyes, painstakingly painted a bright red. Phil thought it looked rather striking.

“I… I’m sorry for rushing, my lord. I knew when I woke up that I would be cutting it close… It won’t happen again.” The ender king hums low and sarcastically. “You say it won’t happen again… And yet, every time, you always seem to break that promise without fail now, don’t you? Hm?”There was a faux-sweetness in the monarch’s voice that made Phil’s throat tighten, and before he could work up the courage to provide another pitiful excuse, the Ender King was already continuing. “Though, I suppose that it is to be expected by now, isn’t it?” He asks rhetorically. “But no need to fret it much, little prince. There are far, far more pressing matters we must discuss today.”Ah.Phil knew well what that probably meant. “Is… Is it nearly time..? And so soon?” He questioned, feeling a pit form in his stomach from the nerves alone. “Ohh, we are not quite ready just yet, foolish prince! There are still a mere few preparations to be made.” The king explains matter of factly. “I will tell you exactly when it is time.”So in other words, Phil had to prepare to receive this information at the very last minute. Cool. “For now, however… I can prepare you for your little adventure just a cinch more.”He slowly holds his hands out in front of him. “Come forward.”

Phil nods in silence and flutters his elytra, slowly lifting off of the ground and flying up into the king’s hands as he’d done dozens of times before. It was a practiced movement by now. The Ender king wordlessly carries Phil over to the arm of his throne, letting him carefully walk off and take a seat on the end stone as he’d done countless times before. Sometimes, if he was lucky, the king would allow him to wrap whatever draped from his cloak around him as he sat by his side. …That did not occur often, however. And most certainly not today after having arrived so late.

Phil instead watches the Ender King as he reaches a bony hand into his cloak and pulls out a tiny (by his standards, anyway), white-painted chest. He carries it between his fingers, placing it directly in front of Phil with just enough force to threaten to crush him; if he ever fell out of line, that is.

“A gift! Just for you, little orchid.~”Phil stares at the box for just a moment and reaches toward it… Only to look back at the Ender king for a moment in his hesitation.

The last time he had been given a gift, it was… Well, it was his very own room in the palace, complete with a rather comfortable bed, some soft wool carpet… Even a few trinkets that the king didn’t wish to keep for himself in the throne room. It wasn’t terribly big, nor was it filled with riches… But it made the castle feel a little more like a home.

It wasn’t a perfect home, but of course… Phil hadn’t a reason to complain that’d be worth the Ender King’s time.

“Oh, don’t just gawk at me like that, Corvus. Don’t you wish to know what’s inside? Are you not curious?” Says the king. “You could at the very least pretend to be grateful.”“I am grateful, my king! I really, truly am! It… just took me by surprise, is all-”

“Yes, well I believe that is in fact the point of a surprise, isn’t it?” The Ender King impatiently cuts him off, tapping his finger nails on the opposing arm of the throne.

Phil stares into the vacant red eyes of the spider mask for a brief moment, but only sighs, accepting the swift dismantling of yet another poor excuse.

“Yeah, I guess it is, huh…” He concedes, turning back to the chest and gently placing his hands onto the lid.

He lifts it open and peers inside at what looked like… A wool blanket..? No… No, rather it was something wrapped inside a wool blanket. It glistens in gold through the holes in between each fuzzy woven thread as Phil carefully takes it out of the box and cradles it in his lap.

More of the object’s golden surface is revealed with each layer of wool that Phil unfolds, and after there is nothing left to cover it, there sits in front of him:

“A mask..? Like.. Like one of yours?” Phil tentatively asks.

The Ender King laughs with a disposition so sunny it was almost unnerving.

“That it is, clever prince! I made it especially for you to take along on your journey.~”Phil looks back down at the mask in slight awe, inspecting it further. It looked almost like a mantis’ face of some kind, with two large eyes protruding outward from the top, sitting just above where the real eyeholes sat… But more curiously, something was nestled in between the eyes…

“What’s this ender pearl for..?” Phil asks.

“Ah, now that, curious little prince, is because this mask serves a very important purpose.”

The king’s tone was the most fluttery and excitable it had ever been, letting the answer to Phil’s question dangle like a carrot on a string for a moment.

“This will be your ticket in and out of the universe I’ve picked for your first little expedition,” He begins. “and every universe beyond that for the rest of our forever time.” Oh.

This was more than just a mask… It was a priceless artifact; one more valuable than Phil could ever imagine being.

He couldn’t even think of something to say about it… This whole mission had a lot of responsibility to it already, but… This was different.

It was tangible.

It made any and all words elude him.

“Now, What do we say, Corvus…?”Though… He supposed he could start with that one, yeah.

“Thank you…” He nearly whispers, trailing a hand against the mask’s surface before he wraps it up in the blanket once more and places it carefully back into the white box.

The Ender King places a hand to his chin.

“Oh, Corvus… I didn’t quite catch that– What, with your incessant mumbling. Oh do repeat yourself, would you?~” Phil nervously clears his throat as he looks back up to the spider mask, looking into the eyeholes as if he could see the deity’s face underneath.

“Thank you so very much… My king.”

“Good boy.”The Ender King holds a hand out for Phil to once again climb upon, and Phil obliges; this time allowing himself to be brought down to ground level. The last thing he wanted was to drop his present.

“Run along now, little prince! There will be plenty of work to be done in due time, so do not disappoint me.”Phil nods and begins making his way toward the door… But he’s stopped by the monarch one final time just as he goes to turn through the exit.

“Oh… And one final thing before you leave, yes? It is incredibly important… So listen closely.” The Ender King begins.

Phil only barely turns around before the feeling of dread hits him like a brick. There was always a catch to these… Nicer interactions.

“Be careful with that mask. Don’t you lose it, and don’t you dare break it. Because if you do…”

Phil swallows the lump in his throat. He knew the threat he was about to hear. As empty as it seemed after constant reiteration… It never failed to strike fear into his heart.

“I have absolutely no qualms with plucking those little wings off of your ungrateful back.”

The silence hangs heavy between the two… And what was likely only a few seconds felt like minutes to Phil.

“Do I make myself clear, Icarus?”Phil Nodded.

“Crystal.”

[i-am-an-arson-enthusiast]

Here at i-am-an-arson-enthusiast, we i am dedicated to bringing you top quality content such as but not limited to: gay things, random thoughts, and even live arson that you don't even have to tune into!!

hi this is my intro post :D

Hiiii!!

here, have some basic info about me :3

name: anything goes pretty much but please use multiple names :] HOWEVER not neptune as that is reserved for @marcysbear , cass/cassie/cassiopeia is reserved for my boyyyfrieeenndddd <33 ( @mostautisticangel ) and dont call me enthu unless ur terri :] uh also you three dont necsessarily have to branch out more

OBLIGITORY QUEER SECTION!! i say that like i dont actively want this here. anyway! the labels i use are queer, bi, lesbian, gay, polyamorous, genderfluid, trans, gnc, non binary, genderqueer and arospec. arospec as in i am largely aromantic and use that as an umbrella term, however i am capable romantic attraction/ am flexible with such labels bc its all bullshit anyway.

i have audhd! i get hyperfixation and sometimes talk abt that if i so wish and my special interests are space and generally queer shit. also pls use tone tags i will think u hate me im too anxious for my own good sometimes

i am dogshit at spelling so. ignore the typos and misspellings!!

if u send me chain asks dont expect me to keep the chain going, ill answer it and say thanks but i wont actually do the thing

BOUNDIES!! GENUINE, ACTUAL BOUNDRIES!

-pls don’t send dono asks i don’t got money bc im a minor

-dont think if i have a take like "i dont like taylor swift" i am personally attacking you. you can like whatever the fuck u want idc everyone is entitled to their own opinoins. i just dont like her as a person

-DONT call me the reserved names if you arent that one person

-try to refrain from calling ppl (including me) baby/babe/bae around me it makes me want to die sometimes and i dont want to constantly be a romance repulsed little shit around u guys (this means dont use those names for anyone if i am in the conversation i cant control past that) (it also isnt a problem here i dont think ive ever seen it here its really just discord tbh)

-dont ask for my discord unless were friends or close in some way and dont get offended if i say no

-u can call me a faggot or dyke or tranny as long as you are the slur you are using

-if you have my discord and were moots you can call me a slut and a whore all u want idm :3 (bc i am a slut and a whore.) (really really sorry if you didnt want to read that btw /gen)

OH TAGS UH

i try to consistanly use them but sometimes i dont. sorry.

woah i’m using queue - i’m actually queuing a post for once instead of spam reblogging (which i mostly do sorry not sorry)

woah a real text post - me positing an actual text post for once but it’s becoming more common

cool ass art - art that i reblog (it’s all cool)

arson does half way decent art sometimes - my art. art i made. yea

boyfriend dearest - @mostautisticangel my hot and beautiful boyfriend :]

moots feel free to ask for tags <3

i will keep adding more as i remember them and make them so yea :D also i try to tag for things but i often dont add tw or cw because. idk. just havent ever done that. if you need me too you can tell me in any form and ill try my gaddamn hardest to add them. feel free to *kindly* remind me if i forgot. (as in no verbal abuse ya know. if ur scared ur probably fine)

~~~~

i think. thats it. if u follow me and u didnt like this post dw im gonna screen u anyway <3

thank you for reading all of that i know it’s long. your cool so here’s a cookie 🍪 also here have this

~~~~~ blinky time ~~~~~

holding up these blinkies to ward off ppl who dont like gaybians

credit to @jeweledviolets @v-4-l-0-n and @theprideful :)

[ghostoffuturespast]

hey ghostie i was gna get specific for the ask game but I wanna know *all* of it now, the acronyms, the full names, all of em! are they for cyberpunk or other fandoms? no matter how much there is to know, i wanna know! talking about an idea helps a lot, i speak from experience! thanks for the mention, ill get on the wip game soon, too! ❤️

WIP Game Here

Thank you for the ask! I appreciate it :) They are all Cyberpunk 2077 things lol. I’ve largely been a lurker in other fandoms until this one, and this is the first one that finally compelled me to make stuff and that I’ve had the bravery to share. Don’t have many snippets at the moment, all of what I have so far is already out there. Since you asked for all of them though, I shall dish and give you a bit of a peak behind the curtain on how all this got started…

(I’m sorry, this got very rambly.)

And def tag me when you do yours! I will come find you and your wips! 🧡

SIG - So It Goes

(The title is based off the radio song from the game that you can listen to on Morro Rock. Never officially released and credited to the fictional band Fingers and the Outlaws in the game. Officially sung by Ryan Kattner, the front singer of the band Man Man.)

SIG is my current V/River conspiracy theory long fic that I’m working on, and the project is coming up on its two year anniversary. It’s also my first fic. I’m hoping to wrap it up this spring so I can move on to other creative endeavors. There are a lot of art projects, fandom and non-fandom related, that I’ve held off on because of this and I miss those hobbies. I also feel like I’ve been missing out a lot in the writing corner of the fandom too because a lot of new writers have popped up on the scene since I started (back when there was still a monopoly on the tag, but that’s a different story) and everyone else seems to be having fun reading everyone else’s fics, except me… Reading’s complicated for me right now. Writing this had a lot of ups and downs, but overall I’ve loved telling this story, learned a lot, and I’m really proud of it!

I think most people get into fic writing for the ships, the romance, the smut, the processing of internalized trauma, a more satisfactory ending, weird niche interests… And don’t get me wrong there’s a lot of appeal with all that, and definitely those aspects in my own work. But this whole thing got started because of conspiracy theories. I fucking love mysteries and puzzles, so after playing the sun ending and then I spotting Mr. Blue Eyes on the balcony during the conclusion of Dream On, I just about lost my damn mind. I went down the rabbit hole, spent hours reading shards and messages in the game, combed reddit theory posts, and started picking up on all the hints and foreshadowing of something larger looming throughout the game.

I initially didn’t have any answers when I made the decision to start this fic (fuck, high probability I still don’t), it was largely me brainstorming and trying to figure out what kind of story I wanted to write. Seeing if I could even piece things together. But in the process of thinking all that through, I came up with this little theory. I thought it was pretty mind blowing at the time (still think it is) but it’s been my little secret since I got here and I’m very anxious to finally share it.

Most people probably would have just written a theory post and been done with it, but I decided to turn mine into a fan fic lol. Which may or not have been a mistake, we’ll see. This is either gonna be game changing or everyone is going to think it’s dumb and I’m gonna be wearing a dunce cap for the next fifty years.

River Ward. The other half of my reason for writing this fic. I actually wasn’t sure if I liked him at first, it took me a while to warm up to him. But the more I got to know him, the more I started to like him. The more he grew on me. He got hotter over time. Plus, I’ve got a fondness for detective characters and unusual coats, so I should’ve seen it coming.

River’s gotten a lot of flak from this fandom. People claim he’s boring. He’s a cop, so acab. Being unemployed and living in a trailer park with your sister, niece, and nephews isn’t a particularly redeeming quality. I don’t agree with most of those statements, but I do agree with the folks who do appreciate his character, that in terms of development, he absolutely got shafted in the game. This fic is also an attempt to rectify that.

For as underdeveloped as his story arc was, there’s a lot of nuance to his character that I think gets glossed over by the game and most people. We didn’t get much, but out of what we did get, it’s been interesting trying to piece a story together that’s in line with what we got. And I did mention earlier that I like puzzles.

I’ve noticed that a lot of folks tend to lean very hard into the cop aspect of his character, but as far as I’m concerned, River Ward doesn’t give a shit about the law. Conducting an off the record investigation, intimidating a confidential informant, illegally obtaining evidence, breaking into a restricted lab, committing arson for your ex so she can pass a medical exam, conducting another investigation after being suspended; those are not the actions of a man who holds the letter of the law above all else. Those are the actions of man who is determined to get to the bottom of things, and protect people, all while navigating a system that is anything but equitable or fair. They are the actions of a man who is willing to go above and beyond for the people he cares about, even to his own detriment. His own safety. For River Ward, it was never about the law, it’s about justice. And pursuing that sometimes involves breaking the rules.

River is also Pomo. Which is something that was only added in subsequent patches, heavily glossed over in the game, and is only disclosed if you choose to actually romance him. But he’s Indigenous. Native American. And yet he still made a conscious decision to join the NCPD. Given the historical participation by law enforcement and government institutions in North America, and around the world, in the cultural erasure and mass genocide of entire nations, tribes, and communities of people. And given the current state of issues regarding law and judicial enforcement on tribal lands, I think River's character is a rather poignant reflection. Of wanting to good, of wanting the world to be better, but being confined in systems that simply won't allow that. There's a billion other little details I could ramble on about, but his character had the capacity to walk a very fine line of complexities which the game never really did justice to.

Diversity and representation in media are important to me, and I want this fic to reflect that. Being bi-racial, I didn’t get very much of it growing up, so if I can provide representation, even in some small capacity, I think it’s better than nothing. And while I don’t know if I’m achieving that, well, shit if I’m not trying.

I wouldn’t say this story was really meant to be original, but rather to fill in the gaps on the story we got and for me to practice writing. Practice telling a story. CP2077 is a violent game set in a violent world. And I somehow managed to start writing a story that accidentally ended up being a love letter to aikido. (Much to my chagrin. It’s everywhere. In everything. I cannot escape it.) Aikido is a martial art that translates “to the way of peace” or “the path of harmony.” Yet again, another study in dichotomies. How can a martial art, an art form designed to inflict violence, be peaceful? Aikido is as much of a martial art as it is a philosophy. We train to practice and learn that philosophy.

One of the major themes I’m exploring in this fic series is the nature of violence. What it is, the forms it takes, how cyclical it is, that it is a relationship - violence requires your participation. So the question ends up being: how do you break cycles of violence when you live in a world where you are beholden to it? V and River are very much two characters that are caught up in cycles of violence. Will they find peace? I don’t know, but maybe they can find out together.

From The Top

(This one isn’t named after a song. I just decided to start from the beginning.)

From The Top is the VP project I started up last spring where I’ve been taking storyboard style photos of all the main missions. Plus whatever else I feel like. I take all of my photos on PS5 in vanilla photomode and randomly started snapping pictures just because. I did landscape photos, shared a few. Got a bit of nice feedback from people who cared to look and then started branching out. I eventually got to the point where I started a new playthrough for the sole purpose of snapping photos.

Taking VP is very different from writing for me. I don’t have to think about. I don’t agonize about making sure every tiny detail is just right, because for the most part I don’t have very much control It’s candid, intuitive, experimental, it’s straight up play. I simply wait for opportunities to present themselves and capture whatever I think looks or feels interesting to me. It’s easy for me to walk away from it if it doesn’t do well when I post. Unlike my writing, there’s no ego attached to it.

I’m getting to the tail end of this project, I still have a couple of the base game missions to get through, but I’d also like to do Phantom Liberty as well. Not sure what my VP career is going to look like after this, might go into soft retirement. But that’s okay.

NR - Night Running

(Named after Night Running by Cage the Elephant)

Is a sleeper wip that’s currently in the notes, brainstorming, and kitchen drawer phase. It’s part 2 of my Nothing Comes Before Night City series. So It Goes is part 1.

It takes a long time for me to mull over and ruminate on ideas, so this document is largely just a repository for notes and thoughts. Jamming the utensils in the drawer until I’m ready to organize them. I have a very broad idea of what I’d like to happen in this fic, key moments I’d like to hit, but there’s still a lot of refinement that needs to happen, and stories this involved require me outlining. I do already have a running set list of songs to draw from though.

Les Preludes

(Named after Les Preludes by Franz Liszt)

Another sleeper wip, also in the brainstorming phase. These are meant to be one-shots or short stories from the Nothing Comes Before Night City series. Moments I mentioned in the series, but can’t fit into the larger story. Character studies and background lore from V, River, Johnny, Jackie, a couple of OCs and whatever else I can think of.

I will probably start casually working on these after I finish SIG and while I’m outlining NR. I’d like the series to go in chronological order. Should be fun. And I think it’ll be good practice for being more concise. Unlike, this response...

If you stuck around for this TedTalk and made it all the way to the end, thank you! 👻

[stardustdiiving]

Got tagged by @/kanonavi! 20 fanfic writer questions thing

1. How many fics do you have on AO3?

UMMM. I think around 13 probably. I anon or orphan a lot of old stuff

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

32.2k words…probably at least an extra 10k in orphaned stuff though

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Its been solely genshin since 2022. Usually something needs to be a primary tier fandom hyperfixation for me to even think about writing fanfic for it , and then even then I rarely finish more than 1-3 fics for it. Genshin broke this streak bc something shifted in my brain and I’ve finished around a dozen things for it somehow

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1) source of inspiration (genshin — makoto, ei, wanderer character study) — 541 kudos

2) better days (genshin — zhongli & xiao erosion fic) — 254 kudos

3) Pattern Recognition (genshin — wanderer & Nahida sickfic) — 254 kudos

4) are you happy? (genshin — postcanon wanderer & nahida) — 142 kudos

5) marvel fic I wrote when I was 15 — 97 kudos

The 1st and 3rd most kudoed fics were actually the first genshin fic I wrote + the first and only bnha fic I wrote when I was 16 but they don’t count because they’re like my disowned children who I should probably orphan but don’t in case I want the option to delete them? I feel they were made before I really processed how to characterize the characters n what sector of fanon I wanted to contribute to, so they’re really like, generic fandom tropey to me and vastly different compared to how I usually write in a way I find kind of unbearable. I am really deliberate in my art n writing in trying to appeal to my own specific n niche fandom tastes so to help me find a similar crowd of people to hang out with and am usually pretty successful in nailing the niche. But for these fics it feels I not only didn’t try to target my own tastes I somehow managed to write something I feel only people who like the fanon I actively don’t vibe with would like ?!? I have no idea how that happened!

it would be if I somehow managed to write a hat radish fic that had “maternal Nahida and her edgy teen son Wanderer” written all over the characterization as if this is not fanon I actively dislike and a lot of how I write hat radish is often motivated by me trying to fulfill my own preferences because I find them in conflict with a lot of fic I read about them? JSDJDNDJ. Itd be like. Where did that come from. How was this written by me. Its one thing to not like my work but how do I have a finished thing I fundamentally disagree with on all grounds that make up my interest in why I may want to write fic about a certain thing in the first place. Disowned child moment

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

YEAH always even if I’m slow too. This is an extension of my habit with my art I usually always respond to every comment on my work I get even if it just feels like me repeating thank you over and over bc i like to acknowledge people who r interested in what I’m doing as much as possible to convey I appreciate it. I think it’s always helped in building a sense of community/connection w ppl which is what I’m more interested in as opposed to quantity of interactions

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

Idk why this keeps happening but at least half my fics fall under “bittersweet” to “hurt no comfort” territory because I . Hmm. love character study that invokes complicated or ambiguous emotions. I think that’s the trend here

Id probably nominate someone to watch me die?. Its a xiaoven fic that was born out of me being interested portraying a xiaoven dynamic that felt at least somewhat believable characterization wise but pitched studying how venti & xiao’s deep rooted issues could clash with each other in a relationship in a way that’s rlly accidental and tragic when put with their feasible compatibility n care for each other. I have it on anon bc I have weirdly mixed feelings for it bc it feels like a xiaoven fic that probably appeals to any faction of xiao or venti fan who isn’t big on xv far more than a xv shipper

But idk how to advertise it as that bc it’s not like that audience would be in the xv tag?? and it’s specifically romantic xv so it categorically should be there. But it being in the tag feels weirdly hostile to me. I guess I feel it comes off as a fic that exists to be kinda contrarian and hostile to most ppls enjoyment of xiaoven but that wasn’t my intention :( it was made out of my own enjoyment of xiaoven….i just process romance weirdly and I think am more down with ship fic where the ship is kinda depressingly dysfunctional more than other ppl may be. I like the fic quite a bit but I just don’t feel it has a place to Go fandom environment wise

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I HAVE. no idea I feel like no fic I have up leaves off with emotions that are meant to be solely happy. The closest I get is bittersweet . Um. The scripted end of pattern recognition would take this spot but it like. Doesn’t exist yet (but it will…soon…..w)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

HM. I don’t think I ever have. Probably in part I don’t write enough for it

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

Look at this shrimp 🦐

10. Do you write crossovers? If so, what's the craziest one you've ever written?

I actually love fandom crossovers as indulgent thinking exercises but I usually never get indulgent enough to write fic about it. However I did write a 30k Steven universe gravity falls crossover where the GF characters were SU gems in 2 months when I was 12 and I have no idea how I did that but it was crazy. Thats still the longest thing I’ve written . It was so much

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nah

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Someone translated a fan comic of mine I made when I was 13 a few times but never a fanfic iirc

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

Surprisingly no!

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I do shipping in such a weird specific way. My go to answer for this is bakudeku bnha but I kind of lose all feeling for a hyperfixation after it ends most of the time so I don’t really…actively like it…sort of….but it’s also a vague ride or die thing to me…it’s complicated… the fandom environment for it is so unrecognizable to me since I was into bnha idk how to talk to people about it anymore particularly the new generation of fans. I don’t really like actively Ship them in a fandom way but fictional romantic relationships that r very influential to me are Pearlrose Steven universe and Anthy/Utena from rgu

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

I mainly just want to finish pattern recognition and I think I will. Ummm. Usually if I don’t finish something it’s bc I just lost interest in seeing it finished

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think people usually like my characterization especially in terms of like, exploring or pitching certain aspects/interpretations of a characterization . Like I feel people usually respond specifically with like “wow interesting characterization. Im adding that to my system of beliefs” this applies to both funny headcanons and more serious character portrayals.

I feel I’m also usually decent at atmosphere and invoking more visceral emotions when needed especially when the emotions in question are like. Mental Illness Monologues (tm) or jarring panic/fear/discomfort idk

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I. struggle. SO bad with like. Organizing how to execute all the thoughts I want conveyed in writing, especially the order of hie things should flow. If I want to hit on multiple traits of a characterization I’m doing for ex I have a hard time figuring out how to order it into a cohesive thing. This is kicking my ass with my oc comic story rn

I also have a hard time with subtlety & trusting my writing to speak for itself. I usually have very detailed thoughts on what I want to communicate and have to do a lot of shifting around to find a balance of feeling things are conveyed clearly enough to be caught onto and interpreted but not overexplained. Its not even a matter of feeling I need to dumb stuff down it feels more like me trying to write emotional analysis of writing I find interesting before doing the writing that would be Fun To Analyze. This is kind of the torture labyrinth when usually all I want to write is emotional subtlety and naunce

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

Idk my usual rule is I don’t like when it feels forced. I feel I see it used with ship pet names a lot but as someone who doesn’t get the appeal of pet names conceptually it’s often almost a dealbreaker for me in fics if it feels forced in to be cute , and is not something I can realistically imagine character A doing for character B. Like it just wigs me out. I have no idea why I get such a strong reaction out of it

But I’m really on board when it feels like people pulling from their own experiences with being bilingual or sharing a similar background with the character. When it feels intuitive I rock it as fleshing out the character’s background and people really understanding the societal background and environment the characters exist in

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I have no idea actually omg. Especially in terms of what was first published

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Idk I don’t really enjoy my writing? Often when i finish a piece of writing I am usually satisfied I’ve executed an idea or communicated The Things but I’m not actively happy or proud of anything. Its like talking to me. I talk for myself and based off I want to say but overwhelmingly talking is for communicating with Other People so once it leaves my brain my experience with its existence ends and now it’s all about other people’s experience. This somehow does not apply to my visual artwork where part of the motivation to create it involves how my experience with it continues after its completion

Ummm. I guess my intuitive answer to the question is Pattern Recognition in the sense I feels it Conveys The Most I want to convey about a subject. But it’s also like the fic I cant stand to read the most and doing so is usually an ocd trigger too. Its complicated. I very much write for myself and my own interests and i never force myself to do so but having favorites or enjoying my work just feels incompatible with my brain somehow. And somehow this does not discourage me from writing at all