u/PernPorson

Fern grew up in a quiet woodland village at the edge of an old forest, the kind of place where the mist doesn't lift until midmorning and everyone knows everyone. She was the youngest of a large herd-family, which meant she spent her early years half-forgotten in the best way — free to wander, watch birds, and nap in sun-warm clearings. That's where her calm comes from. Deer learn early that panic gets you nowhere and stillness keeps you safe, and Fern took the lesson deep. She moves through life gently, rarely rattled, the sort of person who makes a room feel a little softer just by sitting in it.

But underneath the mellow surface is a heart that runs warm and eager. Because she grew up surrounded by so many siblings, closeness feels like home to her — so when something delights her (a friend visiting, a favorite song, good news), all that quiet contentment bubbles over into pure clinginess. She'll press close, tuck herself against your side, and completely forget the concept of personal space until the excitement settles.

The head-pats and back-scratches trace back to her herd days too. Grooming and gentle contact were how her family showed care, so affection given through touch reads to her as you're safe, you're loved, you belong here. A hand on her head between the antlers will make her go still and blissful; a good scratch along her back turns her boneless and happy. It's less a preference and more a language she was raised in.

She left the village as a young adult, curious about the wider world but carrying all that softness with her — a doe who's slow to spook, quick to trust, and always a little too happy to see the people she loves.

A prisoner who cannot be imprisoned, staying anyway. A coreless slime can flow under the door, through the bars, down a drain. The guards banging clubs on iron mean nothing to her. So her presence in that cell is a statement pointed at everyone who sees it: your walls are theater, and I am here to prove it.

Her consciousness lives in the whole medium, so there's no heart to stab, no single point of failure. The swirling patterns visible in her body aren't tattoos, they're suspended matter: seeds, spores, and cuttings from her burned grove, held in living stasis inside her. When they razed her land, she absorbed what she could.

First try at this! Happy I finally got something working :)

Prompt(ish, many changes throughout):

Masterpiece, best quality, highres, 1girl, slime girl, (translucent:1.5), transparent, detailed background, blushing, penis in vagina, gasping, riding, girl leaning back, (1male:1.3), (human male:1.3)