#this is about creating art/writing btw

[corrosivesaints]

i'll be honest with ya chief, i'm gonna get weirder with it

[mammomlette]

People don’t talk about MC needing to wear a magical ring to not accidentally yk cause NATURAL DISASTERS with their powers??? Not only accidentally but without realising???

Diavolo or smthn is asking too much of MC or being a bit too annoying and their other hand slowly drifts towards the ring and they hold onto it while maintaining dead eye contact. Like continue to piss me off hoe I’ll blink and blow a hole in your castle idk

Obv they never do it (or do they?) but the threat is there and it’s a risk dia (or whoever but I’m using dia) can’t take

[ask-the-druggieverse]

How does swap deal with the fatigue? And the heart problems? Is there anything that helps??

- ALT - There's not much I can do but I try to be well rested and I also try to reduce less stress! (Dream helps me with that)

Science assigned me a diet for less sodium and just basically eat healthy. I also have bi-weekly check ups with Doc and get heart meds from Sci

I also live with Ink, Dream, and Error just in case anything happens to me (my uh... my AU I don't really ent- ... nevermind)

INK: We pirated cussing hotel

Ink and Error... aren't really in good condition to help me but at least they don't encourage me to re-lapse (their cooking is really good tho)

SWAP: That's uh... pretty much all I can do SWAP: I kinda fucked myself over with... edibles...

- IDK - Fuck it I'm just using regular font cuz chat font is being difficult with me, also HI SORRY FOR NOT UPDATEING IN A FEW DAYS!!! I recently just got two new guinea pigs and I'm trying to have all of my piggies get along! (uh... it's gonna take a long time because Butters/Pig HATES them... (it's slow progress! she's getting used to Reese right now :3))

MAIN: @inkyu

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[tarochimochi]

Losercake, everyday, daily

Day 83

[inbox-to-the-void]

Fresh's Theme: YOO I'LL TELL U WUT I WANT SO TELL ME WH Swap: FML

art source comes from here, fic made by @gaylordscooter

[IMAGE ID: A digital drawing of Swap Sans, visibly tense and hiding behind a broken wall. The wall is an almost-grey blue, the background is a slightly bluer and darker grey, Blue's background color is blue, and Swap's outlines are a paler version of his background. Behind the wall are rainbow all-capitilized words that switch color each line break. The words read "YOO I'LL TELL U WUT I WANT SO TELL ME WH", the words a reference to the beginning lyrics in Wannabe by Spice Girls. The rainbow words are cut off by the bottom of the broken wall. Swap's thought bubble background is his outline colour, while his speech bubble font color is colored in his background color. His thought bubble just reads "FML" in all caps. END ID]

[lordgeneralsix]

I can't remember who said this but there was this one dev who said that when making romanceable characters they have to be attractive in some way (personality, looks, not too morally fucked up etc). and since I read that, the statement hasn't left my mind and I'm very aware now of whenever outside influence and modern discourse get to me or other writers. like just yesterday I found myself rewriting a scene to be more "comfortable" to witness, even though the point was to be emotionally charged and face a difficult topic the character had been actively lying about. but some things can't be glossed over. sometimes it's good when media grabs you by the shoulders and makes you face horrible shit. it's good when media makes you uncomfortable even if it's coming from a ~romanceable companion~. that means it's working. if you remain comfortable forever you learn nothing.

I bring this up bc the veilguard companions are the perfect example and victims of the "romanceable characters need to be attractive" mindset. they don't have ugly sides, they don't fight with each other--and I mean really fight--they don't have controversial opinions or do problematic things. they don't ever question your authority over their lives and why you're the guy in charge. they are nice and perfect and their problems aren't really that serious and can be fixed by simply having a therapy session w rook (bc being possessed or gaining new magic isn't a big deal in a world where previously such events are Very distressing and hard to control). they are further proof that trying too hard to make something attractive has the complete opposite effect if your brain isn't the size of a pebble.

it's overall very frustrating that big game developers continue to be so spineless and I'm not giving anyone a pass for shallow writing, especially from a franchise that is known to have complex characters. none of this is impressive after the first three dragon age games, which were well loved and dissected and debated for years after their release. that isn't to say these games don't have kind characters, having that balance is why I personally like dark fantasy and liked what the dragon age games offered (whenever the writing was good..). it's not dark for the sake of being dark (see grimdark), there's a reason why these things are happening, and in this world no one is completely innocent even if they have good intentions. most people like when their characters aren't always kind or agreeable, bc it's extremely rewarding to finally find that middle ground (of course I have to bring up larian, who made bg3 and proved just how much people appreciate flawed characters, see astarion). conflict is the driving force of a story, no matter what it is. even the most sickeningly sweet cozy slice of life story will have some kind of conflict. it's unavoidable. that's life. taking that away is setting yourself up for failure and all that remains is a boring story full of boring people. no one cares about characters who have their lives together.

(the post is technically over but I wanted to put some final thoughts under the cut bc this got longer than I meant)

I want to go back to the statement real quick... like i do agree, it's true as writers we'll subconsciously (or consciously if you're insecure) try to make our characters appealing, but this is the common trap writers fall into by giving a shit about what others think and want from Their work (which btw I fully believe in writing what you want even if it's "bad" because something with genuine soul will never be as bad as soulless cashgrabs). romanceable characters can and should be as flawed as you'd make any other character, bc trust me there's an audience for everything. even a random npc with two lines will be attractive to someone.

the pressure of an imaginary audience is what pushes writers into a corner and prevents writers from writing and exploring what They want. it's the writer's story first, not the audience's. I think the romanceable companion trap can be easily avoided if writers just 1) grow a bit of a backbone and 2) ask themselves if this is even a necessary or insightful mechanic that will help develop a character further. ask themselves if this character even has the capacity to handle a romantic relationship bc everything else is subjective and it's impossible to appeal to everyone (which apparently this is a controversial take). I won't sit here and pretend that I don't appreciate a good romance, but sometimes all someone really needs is a friend.

obsidian is a good example of self aware devs. they tried to do romance for pillars of eternity 2 bc of fan demand, and it didn't work very well. now for avowed, they didn't explore romance bc they know it's not their strong suit and don't feel it's necessary for this story, instead that time and effort went to developing the characters in other meaningful ways. I have nothing but respect for such a decision bc they know what they want from their story instead of lying and trying to be everything at once. less is more as they say.

[nonbinary-sticks-the-badger]

imaginary world where i can work on a NiGHTS fangame with a plot serving as a direct metaphor to the trans experience and maybe even a better version of my dream more similar to chao garden (might actually start posting about this. because i do have stuff to talk about (currently its mostly nightopian designs tho because. this is me we're talking about. but still))

[slime-crafters]

Something underrated about game development is the naming conventions of quests. Like I frankly adore when devs name their quests after real-life songs. It's something that's so steeped in the culture that either produced the game or localized it and it's also such a nice way to tease to an audience what the quest will be about

By nature, you likely won't recognize every song reference or how it contributes to the story of a quest. But if you recognize the song? It tells you everything. And then you can speculate about how everything will happen. I just think it's such a neat thing that people truly overlook sometimes.

[pagib1g]

none of my business whether yall self ship with hazbin hotel characters or whatever, but since im seeing an influx of it (likely because of the new show) i'd like to remind yall to please boycott it (and pirate it if you must). it is being hosted on amazon, one of the BDS's pressure targets in the strike for palestine's cause– while it is acknowledged that you realistically cannot fully boycott targets like amazon (because of their monopoly over shipping), it will still be helpful to drop things sponsored by it that you ultimately do not need.

the self ship community has presented itself as an open and diverse community for years– prove it by being willing to stop giving profit to media that has a stake in hurting others.

support palestinian self shippers.

[jodoesnew]

"Didn't think you could read."/j

[sureuncertainty]

literally tho why are my friends so fucking talented what the FUCK

[dcxdpdabbles]

So I had an idea for a snippet series if your interested🫣

Danny is actually Bruce's brother, but nobody knows until they meet him, when he comes to Gotham to create music videos for his song series EPIC. (Through a combination of his Space obsession and his mentoring with Pandora Danny gets hyper fixated on Greek mythology) (I can see him going throughout the DCU for each Saga and Gotham would definitely be the Underworlds Saga)(They only know about him because Diana becomes interested)

Btw ABSOLUTELY LOVE your stories, they make slogging through my Christmas MET at work SO much easier. 🫶🏻

That man has his mother's face.

It's an odd thought to have about a stranger, but Bruce has it all the same. He spotted him after noticing the other man setting up some recording equipment, checking the camera with the same smile his mother used to make whenever she was writing songs at her piano.

It was the kind of smile that hid a smirk in the corners of her lip. Like she already knew that she captured Bruce's and Thomas' attention simply by approaching the piano bench. It was her special talent that she was willing to gift to them, one they loved dearly and she knew it.

Martha Wayne wasn't known for her musical talent, not in the way she was known for her charities or her horrific death. People always talked about her in those two ways, or sometimes, they reduced her to just Thomas Wayne's wife.

None of them knew of the hours she spent writing up songs about her life. The way she told stories with lyrics, and how Bruce knew how his parents met, their first date, their first kiss, and the feeling of their first dance, all within one of his first lullabies. She hummed mindlessly throughout her day, so much so that Bruce often figured out her mood by the way she raised or lowered her hums.

It was her own piece of theme music. Her little touch of love echoed throughout the manor. When she died, Bruce realized how loud silence could actually be. It felt like drowning, that silence, and no amount filter noise could ever save him from it.

It wasn't until he took in Dick, who has a habit of beating his hands against items in makeshift drums, did his drowning finally end. Even if his son is tune deaf.

In fact, none of his kids are talented in singing, not even Damian. It wasn't a bad thing, but sometimes he wished one of the children could join him in his mother's duets. The ones she wrote for Thomas (his father wasn't the best singer around but Mom always had a way of masking that with her melodies) , and the ones she wrote for Bruce.

She even wrote some songs she wanted to sing at Bruce's wedding, always talking about it, never being too early to have the perfect song for his perfect dance. They were all half finished, because she got distracted and figured she would have time before Bruce actually needed them.

He kept her songs and her music sheets, tucked away in his office behind a fire proof vault. Sometimes he would pull them out and attempt to sing them.

Bruce knows he has an amazing voice, has had multiple people burst into tears after hearing him, but he could never bring himself to partake too long in each song. It hurt too much to think of his mother.

How she sounded better them him, and how he could not remember her speaking voice, but at least her singing lived on in his memories.

The man finishes setting up, moving to stand in front of the camera. He offers the curious crowd a slight wave- he's behind some ropes with a permit hanging off of it, permitting his shoot. The official setup and the strange outfit- robes and a white sheer clothe around his eyes- has gotten the attention of walkbyers. It's why Bruce had looked as well.

He shakes his whole body, before he taps the microphone he has on his scarf. It's adjusted so it's hidden behind cloth, before the man climbs onto the rock statues that are designed to resemble a human skull, it was one of Gotham's oldest and most famous works of art. He sits inside the hole of the skull's left eye, draping himself dramatically on the ledge of it while dangling a leg and facing away from the cameras.

A murmur goes through the crowd, mostly appreciative of his pose and physique. A couple of teenage girls beside him giggle helplessly as the music feels the air.

It's a soft pick up of strings, piano, and it blends well with the man's voice as he gracefully moves his hand through the air, speaking about a prophet giving a warning of a future.

Bruce is mesmerized as the man's voice rises and falls, swaying in the skull. He carefully tilts his head towards the camera, his singing voice rising as the more emotions carefully blend into his warning.

By the chorus, the singer lets himself fall gracefully out of the skull, walking slowly towards the camera, speaking now of a castle in red, and his face slowly gaining more urgency.

Just as he leans into the camera, he spins on his heel repeating the same prophecy, a gripping tragedy of overcoming trails and still failing. It's ends with the man leaping back into his eye, slowly untying his blindfold to reveal glowing green eyes staring and reaching as if the sky was the future he spoke off.

It must be contacts, and yet, Bruce feels like someone kicked him in the chest. Those were his mother's eyes, the same shape and the same color, even if they had a special effect. The song ends with a choir of people singing as he bows his head but Bruce doesn't hear anything over the sound of blood rushing his ears.

The crowd goes wild, clapping and cheering as the man breaks character to grin and smile at everyone, taking some cheeky bows. His mother's hidden kiss and sparkling eyes dancing with the warmth he remembers her by.

Without really realizing it, Bruce steps over the rope, walking towards the stranger as if in a trance. The singer spots him, smiling, dropping as Bruce gets near, "Hey, I rented this area for recording. You have to get behind the rope-"

"Who are you?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Who are you. Why do you look like her?" Bruce breaths more then asks as he pulls out a photo of his mother from his pocket. The man's glowing green eyes- and now that he's close enough, Bruce can tell they are contacts, can see the slight ring around his pupils- blink slowly.

"Wow, she's a female version of me." The man gasps, touching his own face as if he could feel the similarities through his fingers. Holding out the picture makes this so much more uncanny, because the man's effeminate features and age almost makes it seem like Martha Wayne has come back to life.

"She was my mother." Bruce realized with a jolt that they are both at the age his mother died, and it makes something cold settle in his chest as the man blinks up at him.

"Were you ever adopted? My birth parents gave me up when I was born because of some twin superstition. At least that's what my adoptive parents said. I never bothered looking for them. All I know was that her first name was Martha."

Bruce steals some hair to confirm it but he knows deep in his heart the answer long before Danny Fenton, inspiring musical writer, test results come back.

This is his twin his parents gave up.

It takes months of investigation before he finds a centuries-old contract. The Wayne's had long ago promised the Court of Owls the spare of any twin born into the family, and to protect Danny from such a fate, Martha and Thomas faked his death and gave him away the day he was born.

His mother's song, "My lost little song," finally makes sense. She always cried when she sang that song.

[skinnyhmhas]

deserved ᮫࣭﹆ֹ b.e

fluff & iheart radio awards btw guys i haven't written anything in a long time so sorry if it's horrible

you could spend all afternoon writing about what your girlfriend's last album had done emotionally to everyone, but you'd never be able to finish. from the moment they told you that you would be able to present her with the award for album of the year, you could do nothing but try to keep your mouth shut and not say a word to billie.

you wrote your words to present to her in an old notebook, which you knew billie wouldn't see. it took you an entire night; it was so difficult to put all that majesty into simple words.

on the day of the ceremony you wore a simple black dress, with a chain elegantly decorating your neck. your girlfriend, on the other hand, wore the complete opposite, baggy and comfortable clothing, yet she wore a small suit to sing.

"you're going to do fantastic!" you exclaimed to her, excited to hear her sing wildflower.

billie's performance was fantastic, it was a true demonstration that no matter if she took home an award or not, nothing would change the fact that this woman touched souls deeply. she kissed your lips, standing on her tiptoes as she left the stage and you grabbed her hand to run off and get to her dressing room.

"how can you run in heels!?" she raised her voice so you could hear her, you both laughed.

"i have superpowers, baby."

you joked. you and billie entered the dressing room, quickly changing billie's clothes as they paused and named other winners. you two left the room kissing, returning to the event. you two sat next to maggie, patrick, claudia, and finneas. the table was filled with compliments for billie and finneas, emphasizing how talented they were. a member of the event staff came to you; it was your turn to speak.

"wait, babe! where are you going?" your girlfriend asked quickly, almost standing to follow you.

"i'll be right back, bils. stay here." you smiled reassuringly.

billie let go of your hand and you walked backstage. there were only two minutes left until you came out and announced the winner of album of the year.

"okay, go." said a robust man, guiding you to the stage.

you stood there, the lights came on, and you noticed billie's surprised look. you smiled with foreknowledge. the applause rose when they saw your recognized figure.

"f'me hit me hard and soft is more than just an album. is the album of the year, the one of the best created in the entired history of music. it moves you like nothing else ever done, it resonates in your soul and helps you heal it. it's a work of art that doesn't usually receive the praise it deserves because there are no words to describe the wonderful majesty it offers, it is ineffable."

everyone listens to your words, some people nodding, others with their hands on their chest, eyes full of tears and smiles of confirmation.

but billie's eyes were glued to your body, listening to every word you said. the words traveled through her veins, reaching her heart and piercing her soul. her eyes became teary. her lips pouted, turning to look at finneas and holding his hand.

"and i have the good luck to know the two people who made this album possible. a talented young man who adds color to everything he touches, finneas." everyone applauded once more. "and also to the most perfectly real and human soul, the most beautiful girl in the world billie eilish."

billie's trembling hands made her let go of finneas's hands, biting her lip to keep her tears from falling.

"thank you for making our album of the year: hit me hard and soft."

now they stood up from their seats, the award in their hands, and thousands of people cheering all over the place. they came to the stage, still not believing what was happening. finneas was the first to hug you, whispering a small "thank you."

now your girlfriend, whimpering a little at your kind words, hugged you by the waist, burying her head in your chest, jumping with excitement.

"you made me cry like a fucking bitch." you both laughed. "i love you, mama."

"i love you more, love." it was the last thing you said to billie, now in front of the microphone and with eyes full of tears, she thanked all the people who were in the process of making the album along with finneas.

you stood to the side of the stage, admiring how beautiful billie looked, as always, and you couldn't wipe the smile off your face.

"and you!" she turned around, looking at you with a smile. "you're like fucking amazing, you're beautiful, and i can't believe i'm with you—it's like, whoa. you know?"

the whole place laughed at billie's nervousness, her cheeks red and her words escaping her lips.

"okay, sorry. i love you. i love you all, bye!"

she came back to your side, hugging you very excited. finneas joined in the hug, and the three of you happily walked off the stage.

after a few moments and when you were all in your places at the table, everyone was congratulating billie, but she kept a hand on yours, squeezing it whenever she needed to relax. on the way home, in her car, she couldn't help but look at you when the traffic light turned red.

"did you really write all that for me and finn?" her voice was soft, almost unwilling to get her hopes up.

she turned to look at you once more, placing her hand on your lap, looking at you with those eyes that expressed love and gratitude.

"yes, of course baby." you responded instantly.

"you're so gorgeous, my girl." she kissed your shoulder.

"yours." you whispered.

and the traffic light was now green.

[kimberly-spirits13]

Damian Wayne Dating an Artist HC

Artist Credit: according to Pinterest, this is from heuksae

Warnings: not edited 🤭, None

Note: Thinking about writing a one-shot where Damian and kind of implied artist!reader meet at a gala for the Gotham Museum of Art- also trying to think about some general Damian things to write like SFW alphabet and some off handed oneshots but idk right now 😀- thinking about finding a notebook to write all of my ideas down and then just get through them one by one but I have MANY THOUGHTS LOTS OF TIME

Damian was drawn to you the moment that he met you

What really kicked it off was after you went on an entire speil about your favorite artist and why they are the cornerstone of your inspiration and ambitions, he saw the inside of your sketchbook and knew that you weren't just some amateur with a high opinion of themselves

The two of you sat for an entire hour talking about what you like to create, favorite mediums, favorite colors, the hues that you like to see, the artists that you like, what you're working on next, etc.

It started a bidaily routine of somehow meeting up somewhere and sketching together or picking each other's brains about some sort of artistic matter

He's never really had anyone that is able to give him constructive feedback when he's stuck on something, so he always turns to you when he needs another pair of eyes inspecting his work

The first time you ask him to help you fix something that you weren't sure about, his heart flipped out of his chest

He came to you because he saw you as an equal (sometimes as a superior), and he respected every thought that you so generously shared to the world from your mind

The two of you started dating after some time and hanging out more than what should be possible

one of his favorite dates is having some sort of hot drink like tea paired with Alfred's various pastries, sitting in the Manor's gardens with you, and creating (!doesn't have to just be drawing/ painting because there are many forms of art!)

He prefers the standard oil paint, watercolor, graphite, and sometimes charcol, but he's never forced himself to be married to just those mediums

He leans into realism with some obvious influence of John Singer Sargent, baroque, and hints of greater Impressionism

The two of you are often found wandering around hole in the wall art shops and carrying around a beat up sketchbook full of ideas

Damian LOVES going to the art store with you

he's not a shopaholic in any other scenario, but good weaponry and nice art supplies are his Achilles' heel

The two of you walk around the aisles of art supplies in a store like Dick Blick and spend hours talking about the things you've done with each medium, what you recommend using, what's your least favorite item, swatching whatever you can, and throwing everything into the basket

he insits on paying btw 🤚 even if it was your idea to run and grab a few things you needed to restock, he's whipping out that black card and will not hear a word about it

being endowed with the Wayne fortune, however, does not mean that he does not get excited when there's a sale running

He's the type to text you at 4am saying that he found out a certain store is running a sale that day and to be ready for him to pick you up so the two of you can go

Oil paint is expensive y'all- rich or not, that stuff makes me clutch my pearls seeing the price tag sometimes

Damian has dabbled in making his own paint with things like Gum Arabic and has a small collection of items he found walking around Gotham with an exact label of what it is and where he got it, that he uses to grind up as pigments

kind of starts to look like an old alchemist or something but that's okay

You're the only one that he'd EVER let use these pigments

Once he's perfected the formula and tested things like like fastness, he's making a custom palette for you and presenting it to you at either the most random time in the middle of the night, or as a special occasion present

Loves going to art museums with you and walking around aimlessly all day, studying how a work was done and discussing with one another what you like and dislike about something

He's def taken you to Italy or Paris on a random occasion just to go walk around the great museums there

One day Damian calls you and asks if you're free for the weekend because he wants to fly across the world to go see some museums with you- also the jet is leaving in three hours

like duh you're free

He has a seperate sketchbook that he rarely ever lets you see that is filled to the brim with sketches of you

Damian is kind of mortified when you find out but tries to play it cool

you tell him that it's extremely endearing but don't push it on him further since you can tell he's trying to sink into the void and disappear when talking about it

The two of you have totally left art supplies at each other's houses and at this point. things like brushes and pencils become a communal item

Damian would never use your things without explicit permission though

His paints are some of his most joyous and treasured possessions so he maintains that level of reverence with your collection

If you tell him you're fine with him using whatever, his stomach and heart switch places for a second and he starts to feel a faint blush spreading on his cheeks

To him, it shows how much you trust him that you're willing to lend him something so valuable to your being

Not really an art thing but more of an aesthetic preference, Damian likes tangible items over digital

He has a record player with his favorite records and a vintage film camera where he has a collection of photos displaying the various dates the two of you have been on and places that you have seen together

He keeps them in a leather envelope inside his desk drawer and reaches for them whenever he's missing you

Damian keeps one in his wallet from a time that you two were walking around the gardens one hazy spring morning when no one was at the manor. You have one of his sweatshirts on and a soft smile as you're peering off into the expanse of the gardens holding a sleeping Alfred the cat in your arms

Damian intensly listens to everything that you have to say and finds himself more and more curious about the inner workings of your mind the longer you're together

[kitsuneisi]

Despite literally ordering volume one (so excited btw- anytime i think about the fact i was lucky enough to order everything i literally buzz with excitment and flap my hands) I always forget that Double Hearted is like. A real thing. With multiple volumes. With multiple chapters in those volumes. Like this is Real. This right here? This is a whole complete comic SERIES.

Do you realize how cool that is? How amazing you and Maruu are? Do you understand that you guys have basically revolutionized the art community within the Hc/life series fandom? You guys didn't just create a silly little au with amazing writing and drawings, you guys created a real, tangible, thing that hasn't fully been done before. Comics? Sure. Merch? Sure. But ddvau is different, because its not only spiraled into something that is known by the majority of the fans here, but it's literally not even the whole au. Double Hearted is just a mini story, something happening in the background of your own original story.

And that? That amazes me. You and Maruu are so talented, and have created something that will probably go down in the metaphorical history books of the HermitCraft/Life Series fandom. You guys deserve so much love, because you have inspired hundreds of people, if not thousands, and that alone is something most artists only wish they could do.

BUBUBUUBUBUBUBUBUBUUUUBUBUB

[dropsnectar]

Fawning Rose: Vine Monster x GN!Reader

The Adventures of an Elven Herbalist Part One

NSFW or NSFT

This is my first time writing anything in 6 years so keep that in mind. Also my first smut fic. Or monster fic. I literally learned about the sexual parts of plants for this fic. Don't know how I got here but this was fun! btw if you don't like oviposition, I marked the parts with three !!! before and after that scene, so you can skip it if you want.

WORD COUNT: 3167, or 7 pages on Docs

It had been a long journey from your home country, having to cross an entire sea to get to the sleepy elven town of Hairevick. An Herbalist, you could craft pills to treat a human flu, create a poultice for a dwarves sore, work-tired limbs; even brew potions to help a beastmen ease out of a mating season-- but it was still lonely. Their were no elves about, except for the rogue eccentric nomad. 

Feeling as you had fully mastered your craft in that area, and curious about your kind, you set forth in hopes of bettering yourself. However, when introducing yourself to your neighbors, you found everyone to be polite, but detached. As far as elves went, you were quite young, and the people of Hairevick were elder and not so trusting of outsiders. But worse of all, everyone here seemed to have an excellent knowledge of the local flora and fauna, and their uses in maintaining health. There was no need for an herbalist, especially one so unfamiliar with their lands. 

You spent the entire week mourning your state over glasses and pints of botanical alcohol-- The local tavern drinks were amazing!-- until you finally met a sympathetic face. 

He had long silver hair and the wisp of a ginger beard around his sharp jaw; a peculiar trait. He greeted you friendly enough, asking how you were settling in. It turned out that he owned a store in town, selling odds and ends. He even had a little apothecary in the corner, where those who couldn’t be bothered to make a forest run would buy herbs and tinctures. 

Starved for companionship, you bombarded him with questions about clients, and local herbalism. He was jovial, and after quite a few dregs of honey yarrow grog, offered you a book on the local flora. After some midnight bonding over stories of patients, he gave you a proposition. 

He was having some issues procuring some materials from a special plant, a Fawning Rose. It had incredible healing properties, but a bad habit of uprooting itself and fleeing from anyone who wasn’t a youth. If you could lure it out and bring back anything, be it petals, roots, greens, he would pay you handsomely. Maybe even give you some lessons on how to work with local plant life.

It was for this reason that you found yourself two days into a trip to the heart of the Haire Wilds bordering town. It was not going well. 

***

The cool air caressed your skin as you entered the grove. You had caught a peculiar sweet smell, somehow floral and buttery at the same time, and had followed it with hope filling your heart. The scent had gotten so thick you could taste it, strong as a tea on your tongue. Blue wildflowers covered the ground, interrupted by the common tree route or vine. 

Your eyes followed the vines or small roots, colored a sage with a speckled gradient to midnight blue. They traveled up into the middle of the grove. Sunlight, so rare this far into the Wilds, fell down in large delicious specks from the trees. They refracted off a large flower, almost two yards in width. Its petals were raspberry pink, turning blood red in the middle. Vines from its base led upwards and rested on the low boughs of the nearest trees, framing the flower and its various young buds like some sort of ethereal art study. 

You grew excited, feet tripping over roots as you ran forward, losing a shoe. You lost balance again and landed face first into the crook of a particularly large vine and hit your head. Hard. 

Hot pain crashed through you, making you curse as you steadied yourself. You tried to get up but the heat struck your temple like lightning as you moved upwards. Alright. Best to stay down then. 

As you waited, you were able to see past the stars in your eyes and notice a slight powdery substance on the vines. It, too, was pink. 

Maybe it was the thrill of finally finding the damn thing, or the head injury, but you felt different. You could hear your heart pumping hard in your chest, pleasantly tight. Your breath was ragged, the air pushing a hard, chilling heat through you. 

Like a particularly good run, your mind registered. A high. 

Your limbs started to tingle at the tips.

The rose’s perfume felt more like a mist now. You were only a few feet away from the base flower, and the scent had turned heady. Your hunger from a missed meal seemed to be surfacing, goaded on by the delectable smell the plant was giving off. While the pain eased and the stars disappeared from your eyes, you noticed that the lightheaded fuzzy feeling stayed.

Uh oh. Not a concussion.

You had to work hard to bring the fear into your mind. There was very little anyone could do to help you out here. The best you could do was not move around too much, and hoped the Fawning Rose would cooperate.

Suddenly, you notice some movement from the roots under your palms. 

No no no not now! Please, I haven’t harvested you yet! You thought as you tried to scramble up. 

The roots moved upwards with you, shoving you onto your side. Sliding around your feet, one took your other shoe with it as it slithered about under you. Another seemed to upend itself and squeeze cooly between your toes. You jumped a bit, but your gaze and mind were slow.

Something thick gilded itself on your shoulder making you look up. Vines, three, four, five of them descended and started rubbing themselves against you like cats. The movement was kicking up clouds of the pink pollen, making you sneeze as you wiggled against the plants outer limbs.

A part of you was horrified, thinking that perhaps you had scared the thing off. After all, you had been warned that this type of rose was particularly skittish. But the plant did not seem to be gathering itself to run away, rather it was pulling you closer to itself, the dragging tearing at the underside of your clothes.

Try as you might, you couldn't seem to think. Foggy, fuzzy, your mind was like cotton. The tingling in your fingertips has spread through your body, and an embarrassed part of your brain noticed your lower body was starting to awaken too. A warmth was beginning to pool in your gut, slow and lazy. Tingly. Fuzzy, like your head.

The vines continue to rub against your body, tearing the rest of your clothes away until only skin remains. They were relentless, cool against your hot skin. Their outer layers were textured but still smooth; a foreign sensation but extremely exciting. It felt almost like something was licking you, the powder giving a wet feel as it spread itself all over. Liquid heat glazed the innermost parts of you, much to your embarrassment. 

Aphrodisiac. You finally registered. You started to curse out that damned store keeper. 

You’d been played. 

You were now at the base of the flower, with even more roots and vines cradling and moving over your body. You were… pushed? Pulled? A foot into the air, close enough so that some of the smaller buds were leaning over you, as if they were getting a good look at you. You felt a knowing, a presence from this plant now. It really was looking at you.

Some desperate part of your mind, far far back in your mind, tries to set off danger bells. That you needed to get up and run.

Ooze started to secrete from the smaller buds, and the already overpowering scent of floral butteriness seemed to multiply. It dripped out onto your belly, warm and tingling, then your chest, your inner thigh, even a bit on your cheek.

The syrup dribbled down into the planes of your mouth as you wriggled under the vines. A particularly mischievous one pushes through the plush cheeks of your ass and moves up, poking at your entrance, causing you to gasp. 

The liquid touches your tongue. It tastes just as it smells, deliriously delicious. Sweet. Hot. It was divine compared to the little rations you’ve been eating the last few days. Like youd been starving and had sudden.ly been given free reign of a pastry shoppe. But no pastry could top this silky butteriness

What little heat that had kindled inside you was now a roaring flame, putting your past arousal to shame. You groan, and pull your head up, sticking your tongue out for more. A part of you is screaming to stop and run, but it is a stupid part that is buried instantly under your sudden overwhelming need. You are desperately horny, and you deserve to feel good after all the trouble you've been through lately.  

Still sticking out your tongue, you start to moan even louder as the vine messages your entrance with its thick girth. At the same time, one of the buds above your face seems to notice your desperation, and leans down to your lips.You lick at its plush petals and sweet sweet nectar seeps into your mouth. It tastes much like a floral pastry and you suck greedily as it pushes itself deeper in. 

The petals are so soft, yet still firm in your mouth as a river of nectar floods your throat. You giggled around it as it started to take its full effect. You felt light as air, so good. 

The vines had moved over to allow a bud to circle itself around your most sensitive part. You gasped out as it started to suck you, making stars flood your already glistening eyes. Your wet lashes fluttered as it began to suck wave after wave of pleasure out of your body.You had never felt so good, you noted somewhere in your sex drunk mind.  The whole time, the bud leaked nectar, completely soaking all parts of your groin.

The nectar left your skin feeling sensitive,  and completely soaked. This seemed to please the vines, which continued to massage the oil about you, then finally push in. You cried out at the sensation. Drool started to pool out of your mouth, mixing with the nectar.

 The vines rubbed lazy curving lines around your walls, making your hips jerk and shake. They seemed to know what they were doing as they started out slow for a time, then sped up their pace, thrashing about inside you. You clench around them, overwhelmed by the unyielding sensation. The pooling heat in you was building high, and you could tell the walls were about to break.

A rogue, mischievous bud had decided to examine your hole, tracing around your entrance in lazy circles. The petals were so soft, softer than skin. The texture made you feel desperate. As if to read your mind, the bud stopped. It must have been blooming because you felt little feelers, probably stamans, tracing about your genitals, wet with its lovely, delicious pollen.

 You swore and whined and pleaded for more as the vines fucked you through it, voice garbled by nectar. Another, thicker vine veined in indigo added itself to its companions and you finally came. The rush was like being tossed in the ocean, a shock that completely enveloped your entire body in cold, pulsing ecstasy. Eyes rolling into the back of your head, your juices spilled down on the forest floor below. 

The echoes of the waves of pleasure were still rocking through you when the vines surrounded your body started to move you upwards again. The vines were slow and delicate as they handled you, as if you were precious cargo. You were brought upwards, almost as if they were about to set you on your feet. Your neck was out, as you were still suckling the addicting flower liquid. 

You noticed through your long damp hair that you were positioned just over the center of the Fawning Roses main flower. A drop of nectar slipped out from inside you and dribbled down and onto the flower's green pistil. The stigma was thick, with four fat lumps at the top. The stamen surrounding it swayed, almost as if there was a breeze. Their magenta anthers rained down more pollen, causing a beautiful gradient against the deep red at the middle of the large petals. It was a truly breathtaking sight. 

A single vine wiggled towards your face and pushed back your hair. You found the gesture almost sweet, leaning into its touch. You remained like that for a time, before the vines started to lower you on to the stigma. 

No no no, you tried to whisper, some understanding dawning; but the bud was being aggressive with its feeding, pushing further in your mouth. It had a job, and its job was to make you so desperately horny and stupid, you’d let this flower breed you. 

The stigma was a hard fit at first. Its lumpy texture felt so good rubbing against you, you couldn’t help but hump back into it. The vines around you squeezing your skin, tilting your hips this way in that, trying to make the fit. The surrounding stamen started to rub their anthers against you, two started focusing on your nipples. You continued to hump the stigma, smearing the nectars from your groin all over it. Then, finally, finally, You were able to squeeze it in. 

The vines had taken over the humping for you now, pushing you down harder and harder onto the pistil. The lumps dragged against your walls in such a beautiful way, that you screamed out babbling whines. Your skin was covered in nectar and bright pink pollen. Every part of you was being squeezed, rubbed, oozed upon with tingling liquid, that you weren’t even sure you had a body anymore, just pleasure. After you came for the fourth time, you started to feel a pulsing within the pistil.  It was like the thing seemed to grow within you.

! ! !

Ridges started to squeeze against your entrance, rubbing against your walls. They moved up, up, up, into the deepest parts of you. There was a sudden burst of warmth, then something small and squishy. You marveled at the texture, as the flower continued to lower you down on the pistil, now at a slower pace, in smaller movements. You ached so badly, but the new sensation of the objects and warmth inside you made you wanna keen louder. They felt sort of like eggs.

Seedpods. You registered lazily. You were being turned into a seedbed. 

This realization only seemed to turn you on even more. They felt so good, rolling about inside your walls. The warmth they brought rivaled the cool temperature of the pistil, a delightful duality. 

You moaned with every bulge, push, then pop of warmth and heaviness. It was getting to the point now where the vines were pulling you up off the pistil to make more room for the seeds. 

! ! !

You were cumming so much now you lost count. It was getting to the point that you were just continuously orgasming, as the seeds and the pistil dragged against your most sensitive parts. 

You may have been like that for hours, days even, the nectar kept you so dizzy you couldn’t tell time. But at some point you were so full that the pistil seemed satisfied. The wriggling stamen around you stilled, and the vines carefully lifted you off the pistil, giving one last drag within your walls.

The bloom inside your mouth slowly dragged itself out, making you whine in protest. The vines carefully laid you down at the foot of their roots, arranging your body in a comfortable position. The vines slowly retreated from your body. They lazily moved about, sometimes knocking into each other in a way that was almost comical. Their movements seemed lazy, almost like it too was spent. 

As the last vine left your skin, it caressed your cheek. Within you some affection of your own seemed to bloom. The haze that was in your mind was starting to dull, and replaced itself with the need to rest. Your heavy eyes closed and you gave into sleep.

***

You awoke without opening your eyes. You could feel that the curving mound of roots you’d been sleeping on had been replaced with fluffy grass and soil. The smell of freshly tilled earth flooded your nose, and you jolted upright, eyes wide.

The grove was quiet, and empty of the Fawning Rose. All that was left behind was you, the upturned soil it had left behind, and light dusting of pink pollen on the trees. Even the sweet pastry-like smell had left the grove.

You looked down at your naked, sore body and groaned. You could see a trail of bruises from where the vines had gripped you, along with dried out nectar and tons of pink pollen. Your stomach puffed out a bit more than normal, meaning all of this had NOT been a dream. Much to your surprise, nothing hurt though. Your body felt great, healthily spent like you had just run a marathon. Considering how hard you had been working there should have been some pain, but there wasn’t. Just the pleasant pressure of the seedpods against your insides.You recall the conversation with the shop owner at the tavern. Looks like this is the flower's healing abilities at work.

You continued to search around the grove. Your clothes were still in shreds on the forest floor, but your bag was safely tucked under one of the trees the flower had rested its vines in. With some effort, you managed to get yourself off the ground to pick it up, waddling the whole way. 

The pollen was still working its magic on you, but you guessed you had been exposed to it long enough to build a slight tolerance. Or maybe the growing rage within you was doing the trick. You pulled out one of the many glass bottles, and a silver knife. You went to work, scraping the dried nectar and pollen off your body, into the jars.

I’m gonna charge that asshole so much money, his kids will be poor. You seethed as you spent hours getting your money's worth off of every plane of your body. You’d have to birth those seed pods later too. Your insides grew warm at the thought. 

You tried not to think about how you were going to have to walk home naked, where you’d been and what you’d been doing laid bare upon your skin. It’d be free advertising tho, you tried to reason. 

You'd make a killing. Aphrodisiacs were rare, and extremely expensive, especially to a crowd of immortals. I think I'll sell these seed pods on my own though. You smiled. 

You’d make sure to be properly prepared the next time you went into the wilds.

Might do a part two, maybe with slimes next time? Also sorry about any switching of tenses, I have a hard time with that! Hope you guys enjoyed!