#cool blind user...

[mysteriousdragon2]

Art trade for @funkii-fox Requested me to draw N'Doul! Been drawing him quite a lot, along with Geb. But no complaints, drawing the two of them is always a treat- Geb especially because I get to mess around with how to draw water-like effects! Forgive me for the delay and mild inactivity, life's been a disaster BUT I will definitely post JoJotober in some weeks so everybody will get to see characters I don't draw often, or new characters completely! Thank you for the art trade chance once again, enjoy this N'Doul everybody ;p

[theflyingfeeling]

helloooo I'm back to writing after a brief summer break! this time I was inspired by Joonas spilling some vague details about the Mountain Dew boyfriends and also low-key by @hotpinkandsparkly's comment on the ask I got about it 😏💓

it's nsfw but not awfully explicit, just the right amount of steamy I'd say, and I hope you like it 🔥

~

It starts out as a joke. Or maybe out of boredom, of having too much time to kill at the hotel before showtime, Aleksi is not sure. Olli poked his side, that much he remembers; a sharp stab in between Aleksi's ribs that makes him yelp out loud, more in surprise than in pain. He returns the compliment then, luring out a series of hearty giggles from Olli's mouth, and in the next moment Olli is straddling him on the bed where they had been lounging in, his eyes twinkling with mischief, darkened with how his pupils were blown from how dim it was in the room, no doubt. Looking up at his bandmate, his wicked smile and wild gaze, there's little else for Aleksi to do other than just lie underneath him helplessly as Olli's thighs pin him down to the mattress.

It starts out as Olli's hands all over him; his laughter ringing in Aleksi's ears for the rest of the day (although he doesn't know it yet); his body warmth wrapping Aleksi as if in a blanket when they wrestle. There's Olli's smell, making the room around Aleksi spin a little from how heady it is, and Olli's heavy huffs and puffs that have Aleksi's own breathing coming out in groans and gasps that mirror Olli's moves on him, from a couple of more surprise jabs to his sensitive sides to Olli's hip bones pressing against Aleksi's own with sharp thrusts whenever Aleksi tries to wriggle free. The harder he tries, however, the harder Olli pushes him down, until they're both red-cheeked and breathless and Olli's quiet laughter is tickling Aleksi's cheek.

It starts out as the look they share then, one that probably doesn't last more than a second or two, but enough for Aleksi to almost lose himself in it. He has noticed before (although he's tried not to) how pretty Olli's eyes are, with their millions of different tints and the long, dark lashes that frame them. Olli's lips – equally pretty and twice as treacherous if Aleksi was to lose control – move smoothly near Aleksi's when he speaks.

"D'you know what Joonas and I always used to do when we were bored enough?"

By now Aleksi is too aware of Olli's entire body weight all over him to form a single sensible thought, too stunned by the sudden hardness he can feel down his own shorts and against his thigh to stop his curiosity from getting the better of him.

"Tell me."

A flash of something in Olli's eyes, something that makes Aleksi's stomach turn, and Olli shifts himself on top of Aleksi.

"What if I showed you instead?"

Aleksi's heart is beating out of his chest when Olli begins rocking his hips, but he doesn't ask Olli to stop (because he doesn't want him to). He feels Olli's erection through his sweatpants and finds himself meeting Olli's thrusts, ignoring a small voice in his brain yelling at him that it's wrong (because it feels so good and right). The voice grows weaker the harder his cock grows and the faster Olli grinds on him, so that it's but a shaky whisper by the time they're full-on humping each other, foreheads sweaty and mouths dry. Olli's eyes are still piercing Aleksi's and his mouth is so close to Aleksi's own, and if Olli hadn't been the first one to look away – only to bury his face in the crook of Aleksi's neck and moan quietly – Aleksi can't promise what he would have done.

Would he have told Olli how gorgeous he looked like that, a heaven on earth with his eyes and lips and cheeks glowing, his gaze softened and glassy?

Would he have moved his hands from where they rested on either side of Olli's waist, either upwards to feel Olli's toned arms which Aleksi knew were not that firm just from a bit of yoga, or down his backside and to his bum, the sight of which often flashed in Aleksi's eyes when he stuck his hand down his boxers late at night?

Or would he have just closed the gap between their mouths to feel Olli's lips on his and finally let go of himself, finally give in to the desire that has lived inside him for so long, long enough to have made a home somewhere deep inside his chest where it kept him up at night as he wondered just how it might feel like to be loved by someone as amazing as Olli Matela?

The thought (now that it crossed his mind again after a good while of being suppressed to the best of Aleksi's willpower) nearly brings tears to his eyes, would made him whine in agony if he wasn't already whining from how good the friction on his cock felt. Just to have something to work off his frustration on, he grasps Olli's shirt with one had and brings the other to the back of Olli's head to take a fistful of his silky curls in a tight grip. By the sound of it, Olli is not opposed to this in the slightest, his groan partly muffled by a pillow, partly by Aleksi's neck where he can feel Olli's hot breath.

"So horny. Need to come." Aleksi is not sure whether Olli is talking about himself or Aleksi, but he agrees nevertheless.

"Feels fucking good," he murmurs into Olli's ear, and Olli seems to appreciate his feedback as he's now thrusting into Aleksi with more vigour and with more quiet whimpers straight into Aleksi's ear. Olli's strong thighs are holding Aleksi in place while he rubs their clothed cocks together, and his arms are on either side of Aleksi's body, but this new rhythm has Olli sneak his hand towards Aleksi's head and sink his fingers in his hair. His touch is much more gentle in comparison to Aleksi's, however, much softer, almost loving if Aleksi wouldn’t have known better, so that Aleksi has to really try and focus solely on the feeling in his cock rather than the feeling elsewhere in his body, every inch of which wanted Olli more than anything Aleksi had ever wanted in the world.

More than gold records or world tours.

More than whatever the universe had to offer him (how could any of it be even close to what Aleksi is holding in his arms right now?).

"I want–" Aleksi forces himself to swallow all the words he wants to say but can't. "I want to come so bad. Let me come."

Olli's reply is wordless; he gives Aleksi's temple one last stroke of this thumb before sitting up and sneaking his hands under Aleksi's hoodie. His hips keep rolling against Aleksi's with no pause or change in tempo, and the mere sight of Olli's hard-on through his sweatpants combined with Olli's warm fingers caressing his bare skin are enough to bring Aleksi close to the end. In the meantime, Olli has closed his eyes, and with his head thrown back and his mouth slightly open, he looks like he's not far from his climax either.

I want you so bad, Aleksi would have said, if he wasn't such a coward. Let me be yours, he would have said but didn't, because that is simply something that is not said between band members and friends.

Olli may have done it all before with Joonas, but Aleksi doubts that included teary-eyed love confessions. That's where the line is drawn.

Still, encouraged by Olli's gentle touches on his body, Aleksi slides his hands beneath the fabric of Olli's sleeveless top. He holds Olli's waist like he'd hold the waist of a lover; caresses Olli's skin as if they did this every night; pets Olli's tummy and plays with his happy trail as if he was allowed such a privilege whenever he wanted. 

Mesmerised by the look on Olli's face, mouth gaping and dark lashes resting on his cheekbones, Aleksi watches as pleasure washes over Olli's face while Aleksi's runs his thumb up and down the trail of hair below Olli's navel. Under his touch, he feels Olli's stomach clench and hears his moans becoming louder until a wet patch begins growing on the front of his pants, his cock throbbing wildly against Aleksi's abdomen.

Olli keeps on moving his hips all through his orgasm, right until Aleksi is ready for his own. If he wasn't so consumed by his climax, he'd stop to wonder about the absurdity of all: he's spilling inside his pants and Olli is there, riding him until there's nothing left of him; he closes his eyes and Olli is there again, the divine revelation of all his secret fantasies. Opening his eyes once more, the sight hovering above him is beyond anything he could have ever imagined.

Out of breath and so goddamn beautiful that it punched the air out of Aleksi's lungs, Olli was far better than all of Aleksi's dreams of him combined.

(There had been quite a few over the years, but that was another story entirely.)

Olli looks down at him with dark eyes and bites his lower lip. The gap in between his front teeth has always been endearing to Aleksi, but now, with his eyes still full of lust and his hair all unruly around his face, it looks even more adorable. Aleksi's not sure what Olli's silence means – is it expectant or regretful? – and he's not given a chance to ask before there's a knock on their door.

Aleksi can't believe his eyes when he sees Olli climb off him and off the bed and heads towards the door looking like that, with his curls tangled up and his cheeks the colour of cherry blossoms and, for crying out loud, a blotch of cum on the front of his pants with a lingering bulge leaving little for the imagination of the poor whoever was on the other side of the door. Even though Olli at last has the decency to cup his crotch a second before he unlocks the door, Aleksi is still holding his breath, for Olli's dishevelled state and the drowsy look in his eyes are an open book to anyone with eyes.

Well, anyone except Porko, maybe.

"Hey, it's almost time to leave for the venue. We're meeting in the lobby in half an hour, yeah?"

"Yeah." Olli's voice is raspy and low; hell, even Porko might figure what they've been up to (or especially Porko, for reasons Aleksi would rather ignore).

"Okay, cool. You weren't answering my texts, so I just thought I'd make sure."

"Oh." Olli glances at his phone on the bedside table, then at Aleksi. "Must have not noticed that. We were... busy."

Olli's explanations seem to alert Joonas' suspicions and he peeks his head into the room to take a look at Aleksi who's still spread on the bed with the corner of a duvet hiding the rest of the evidence of what they had been up to until Joonas came to check up on them. Aleksi feels it's in vain, though, as there probably are no fewer traces of his recent orgasm on his face than there are on Olli's.

"Busy, huh?" With that tone of voice, Joonas might as well have just asked them.

Careful not to uncover himself from under the duvet, Aleksi sits up and pretends not to listen to the whispered conversation by the doorframe.

"Was it fun?" he hears Joonas ask, and Olli mumbles something incomprehensible in response before pushing Joonas out of the room and turning to Aleksi, not bothering to mask his grin.

"Let's get going then," he says, more than a hint of amusement in his voice. They avoid each other's gazes as they change out of their cum-stained underwear but break the silence by bursting into quiet, almost nervous giggles – or at least Aleksi hopes Olli is as nervous as he is.

Already at the door, ready to join the others in the hotel lobby, Aleksi takes a deep breath and, despite the thumping of his heart almost deadening the sound of his own voice, asks what he's been wondering ever since Joonas left their room.

"So. Was it fun?"

Olli lifts his gaze from the doorknob with a fleeting flash of surprise in his eyes before his features soften again, his hair still a mess and his cheeks still rosy pink.

"It was."

"As fun as... with Joonas?"

Olli's smile widens and, although there's no one else in the room to hear their conversation, leans in to brush his lips against Aleksi's ear.

"More, actually."

He leaves a quick kiss on Aleksi's cheek and is on his way to the elevators when Aleksi is still waiting for his soul to descend back to his body. 

[zapricity]

feels like i’m playing a trick on god (read: the electricity company) when it’s over 90F outside but my house is still cool without AC

[sp4ceboo]

ai rant in tags bc im so fucking tired

[queseraphita]

Ohhh bakugou died frfr huh?

[arkyfox]

Two player rhythm game idea where one person plays the rhythm part and the other person moves the character around to dodge attacks and explore

When there's no danger or puzzles to music at the rhythm player can freestyle

Everything requires (usually simple) rhythm mechanics, cooperating to use the shop is actually hell when the rhythm player doesn't like what the character player wants to get

Rhythm player annoys the shit out of the character player by playing the exact same song over and over again and the character player annoys the shit out of the rhythm player by failing really basic platforming (both unironically and ironically)

There's audio cues for attacks that character player has to listen for with certain musical motifs signaling what sort of enemy or elemental attack while in battle or solving puzzles so they have a very musically driven experience

The rhythm player has to watch for certain visual cues like platforming patterns and color schemes to determine what kind of tempo or surprise rhythms/ mechanics they need to pay attention to and is overall a visually driven experience

By timing specific musical notes with abilities or dance moves the players can perform skills that give health/ stat boosts/ special puzzle abilities/ epic attack

There is no way there wouldn't be a learning curve but by the end of the game, both players learn to cooperate to bring out there full potential (falling into ravines on accident and endlessly playing the Pokemon theme song)

There are several Easter eggs referencing other games such as the character player crouching on a green pipe and the rhythm player playing the first notes of the underground Mario theme and something happening

[eggfriedricedwasian]

Tim Drake is blind. He's blind but no one knows. Why? Because he moves around so well they dont think twice. They know he can fight blindfolded, but they dont know it's because he already is blind.

He can still see, he can see light, but in full bat fashion he uses echo location. It becomes so second nature to him he has Constantine or whatever magic user check to see if he hasnt changed entirely into one and he cant see. He's still human, sort of, just a fast to adapt one.

When he gets ready he has someone, a hired personal assistant, that does his hair and what not. People, mainly his family and some of his friends, think he's just being rich and using his money, but he doesnt know what he looks like. So when he dresses for himself or to hang out, he's going based off feels and feels alone. So he has really horrible fashion taste so he hears.

While patrolling as robin, he has thermal sensors built in. The bright colors of the heat he can see so he can tell where people are and how many people.

When doing cases or work, he knows where the screen is thanks to the light, but he has an earbud in reading everything to him fast so it just looks like his reading even if he's just having it read to him in his ear. When handed a case he usually has his domino on which sends the words into his comm line.

He likes photography, so he found away to do it while being blind. His camera was custom made by his parents to make a sound, or vibrate if he chooses, when he gets a clear shot of something, then he'll snap away.

When he watched Avatar, or well listened, he found it so cool that Toph was blind and used her feet to feel the vibrations of the ground. He learned how to do that as well, although it's hard to feel vibrations in the ground. He still learned how though.

No one except for Tam, his secretary, and Ra's al Ghul, for some reason, know that he is blind.

He neither hides nor tells everyone else if he is blind or not. It's through bat training that he doesnt tell because you shouldn't show any weaknesses. It's also through bat training that he doesnt jump whenever someone sneaks up on him.

He also doesnt want anyone to know he's blind all at the same time for fear of Bruce benching him permanently so he wont be able to go out as a vigilante anymore.

[merakiui]

coastal conversation.

yandere!floyd leech x (female) reader cw: (soft/subtle) yandere, nsfw, breeding, obsession, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, slight delusion, floyd's kind of a pervert in this one note - everything is in bloom in spring: the plants, the incessant rain, romance… for floyd, it means mating season.

In the most unfiltered way, Floyd feels like utter shit. 

He tossed and turned all throughout the night, drowning in an ocean of his own sweat. One minute, he was hot all over, thus the blankets were cast off, and the next he was chilled to his marrow so badly he had to cocoon himself in those same drenched sheets. Even though it’s early spring and the unpredictable forecast has hammered NRC’s campus with floods of cool rain, Octavinelle Dorm is kept at suitable temperatures for its residents.

Therefore, it shouldn’t be much of an issue. He’ll regulate and bounce back…or whatever it is human bodies do when throttled with wild weather.

Floyd has an innate sensitivity to everything, so it’s no surprise he’s able to immediately zero in on it—the creeping suspicion that something’s wrong. He knows he’s falling ill, but there are way too many human ailments for him to recall and some of them aren’t even worth pitching a fit over. He takes pride in his human immune system, which the doctors have observed is healthy every year he’s had to sit for his medical exams, so, really, he has no reason to fret.

And he’s not. It’s more inconvenient than anything. He has plans today—plans he’s not exactly thrilled about—but plans nonetheless. This mounting sickness is the perfect excuse to ditch them and sleep the weekend away. If he believed in all that universe-speaking-through-signs crap, he’d say fate is on his side. It’s destiny telling him not to go on this blind date.

That’s right. A blind date. Those are the plans.

He’s not even sure why he agreed to it in the first place. Maybe because it sounded interesting at the time it was proposed, but now he has to actually execute everything he once marveled at in theory. And dates are so much work, even more so when you’re not feeling it.

But Jade—the professional provocateur that he is—went and blabbed about this development to their mother, who was so thrilled on Floyd’s behalf and wished him all the best. If she wasn’t stuck in the sea with her own business to handle, she’d come up there to visit and cheer him on—something Floyd was quick to veto. He loves his mama, but sometimes she can be excessive in her affections. Any other day he’d be pleased to bask in it, but not when he’s feeling so volatile. It’s like the four seasons are at constant war within his body, each one battling for sole control over his temperament.

Still, he’s a little curious.

He’s never been on a blind date before. It was arranged through an app he’d downloaded for the sake of slaking his boredom. Find your next Charming Darling. That’s what the app advertised—purely fairy-tale experiences. True love and princesses and all kinds of lovey-dovey stuff Floyd scrunched his nose at. Azul had said the app itself seemed “dubious at best, but most certainly a scam,” as it worked only by pairing two anonymous users together for online chatting. It was a location thing, apparently. You wouldn’t know who you were talking to and neither would the other person—each profile kept private for suspense or some other stupid reason—but you’d both know where the other was in proximity to you. 

And it just so happened that Floyd’s Charming Darling was close. On campus close. 

He wondered which small fry had matched with him, and it was his theorizing that convinced him to melt out of bed and into clothes for the day. He can handle a few hours in town. He needs to pick up some things anyway, so if the date is a bust the trip won’t have been for nothing.

After confirming the meeting place with his so-called ‘darling’, he pulls his sneakers on, stuffs his wallet in his pocket, and then sets off to catch the bus into town. 

Even though the sun is high in the sky, the would-be heat is chilled by the gentle breeze rolling in from the coast. His head is pounding and stuffed full of crackling static and wires, and he feels an impossible itch deep beneath his skin. But the pleasant weather manages to lift his spirits enough for him to let his date know he’s arrived at the café. He finds a table outside and plops down, content to wait after receiving an enthusiastic almost there text.

He smells you before he sees you.

Suddenly, the sticky-sweet aroma of candy and pastries and every other saccharine thing invades his senses. It’s thrilling like blood in the water, widening his pupils until his eyes are nearly twin pools of the deepest black, but instead of iron and injury he catches the floral notes of arousal. Or maybe it’s a scarily strong perfume.

Either way, it has his hunting instincts switched on, that predatory hindbrain of his prickling with the urge to chase and capture prey.  

Just before he can sift through the other scents slamming his nose and narrow in on that very specific one, someone speaks up.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. You’re my Prince Charming?”

Oh, he knows that voice. Immediately, whatever bad mood was sitting on simmer in the back of his head shuts off and is replaced with a burst of positive energy. A malicious smile curls on his lips, one he’s all too eager to flash at you when he turns around in his seat.

He almost falls out of it.

You look different. It’s a good sort of different. In your pretty blouse and skirt, stockings pulled up to your knees, you look ready for a date. You’ve even styled your hair and done your makeup to match your outfit. It’s a stark contrast to how you normally look at school: perpetually exhausted, too lazy to do anything more than simply pull your uniform on and attempt a semi-presentable attitude. Enough to get through the day. But this… This is a genuine effort.

You got all dressed up for this little date. Even put on a pretty scent.

All for him.

Cute.

If this was the sea, you’d attract all sorts of predators.

Thankfully, your scowl is evidence enough that you’re too miffed to notice his uncharacteristic silence. He beams up at you, the picture of innocence.

“Heya, Shrimpy. Looks like you’re the one I’m s’posed to meet.” To prove it, he holds his phone up for you to see. The chat log glints back at you.

“Unfortunately.” You fix your purse strap and eye the surrounding area with a frown. Floyd can tell you’re searching for your real date because you don’t believe it could be him. When you check your phone for confirmation, your expression sours. “So it really is you.”

“In the flesh. Sooo. You gonna sit?”

“I guess. I already made the trip here, might as well.” You slide into the seat across from him.

“Ya look good.”

“And you look like you just crawled out of a cave.”

“Nope, not a cave.” He rests his elbows on the table and leans in, a giggle tickling the back of his throat. “Bed.”

“Yeah, that sounds like you.”

“If I’d known it was gonna be you, I woulda wore somethin’ nice.”

“Can’t get much nicer than this.” You gesture at him vaguely and he laughs. He’s glad he didn’t miss this. “Whatever. I’ll just get some cake to go and be on my way.”

“Whaaat? That’s lame. Aren’t ya gonna stay a bit?”

I’ll make it fun, so don’t go.

“Why? Are you?”

He nods.

“You don’t even like me. Why would I make myself—and you—even more miserable by staying?”

“Cuz,” he replies with a noncommittal shrug, like that answers it.

Instead of offering him a response, you pry the menu open and hide behind the flaps.

“Didn’t think you were the dating app type,” he tries, aiming for small talk.

You lower your menu to look at him. “Tell me, Floyd. What’s the ‘dating app type’ supposed to look like?”

He leans back in his seat, amused by your annoyance. “Dunno.” And then, before you can recover, a rapid-fire question: “Who were you hopin’ to meet today?”

Tell me so I can beat ’em into the ground.

He snaps out of the sudden territorial jealousy and, like the waves, feels the violent urge ebb away. 

Weird. He’s not looking to start a fight today. So then why is he so…restless?

“Not you. You’re the furthest thing from my ideal Prince Charming.”

And he’s back in the ring, ready to swap verbal vitriol until someone succumbs to the blow. “Well, what’s your perfect, li’l prince look like?”

“I don’t know.” You huff and retreat behind the menu, and right then he knows he has you cornered. “Anyone but you.”

“Aww. C’mon, Shrimpy, ya gotta have an image of ’em, at least. If you’ve spent so much time thinkin’ about it—” and he knows you have because he was present for all of those midnight text exchanges, trading details on future partners like they were cards— “then you’ve gotta have an idea.”

“It’ll never be you, so I don’t see why you’re so interested.” But then you slam your fist against your palm. “Oh, I get it. You just want dirt on me.”

“What? No way. That’s boring.” He pulls a disgusted face. He’s not the type to rely on psychological warfare and mental manipulation. So not his style.

“Isn’t that your whole angle?”

His mood promptly nosedives. “Just cuz I’m in Octavinelle and I hang with Jade and Azul doesn’t mean I follow their flow by the letter,” he snaps.

Rather than flinch back, his irritated tone seems to smooth out your stiffness and he watches you visibly relax. He thinks that’s strange. Why aren’t you scared? Not that it’s his intention to frighten you. The last thing he wants is to chase you off. He’s waited so long for a moment like this one; he isn’t going to ruin it.

That’s why he’s so thrilled you’re you. The other small fry would just quiver like a bunch of babies, but you’re different. You meet his mood swings head-on, unflinching and unbothered. Patient, that’s what he’d call it. You’re patient. Not surgically so like Jade and definitely not meticulously like Azul. Your patience is like a tide pool. Calm and transparent. No ulterior motives. 

It’s just you. That’s why he likes you so much. No elaboration needed.

“In that case, I could turn the question on you,” you continue, idly scanning the menu. “What does Floyd Leech’s ideal partner look like?”

Fuck. He wants you to say his name again. It pokes at some dormant part in his brain, the one that’s just starting to wake, humming with a queasy sort of desire. He fidgets with the menu, more focused on the extensive list of treats than the contents of your question.

He could say his ideal partner is you, but you probably wouldn’t believe him. And because of that it’s not worth using as a shock factor. Too predictable.

“Someone fun,” he says after a beat of quiet.

“So it was you… I can’t believe I didn’t realize that while we were texting.”

“Wasn’t obvious for me either. You talk so casually over text. It’s like a completely different Shrimpy.”

Equipped with this new information, it drapes another layer of context over your conversations. Because now he can associate your face with all of those flustered messages. He’s proud of that—of teasing you and eliciting such sweet reactions. To think it was you on the other end this entire time. He wonders if he made your heart skip a beat. Or maybe you stuffed your face in a pillow to hide your embarrassment. He pictures you holed up in Ramshackle, vibrating with nervous excitement.

Cute, cute, cute.

Refusing to dignify that with a proper retort, you fold your menu, pass it to the waiter, and voice your order. Floyd follows your lead, rattling off the name of the first dessert that caught his eye. 

Just beyond the umbrella shielding both of you from the sun’s searing gaze, storm clouds begin to darken the pastel sky. 

To shake off the ache that’s beginning to brew behind his eyes, he asks you about your plans for spring break. He must have won the small talk lottery because the suspicion in your stare disappears and you launch into a full-blown lecture about all the things you plan to get done. A whole grocery list. You’re going to be one busy Shrimpy come next week. A shame he won’t be around to witness it.

He’s keen to listen because it’s really all he can do with his waning focus. Your voice reels him in when his attention drifts. He doesn’t realize he’s admiring your mouth as it sounds out syllables he can only just register. Suddenly, it’s like he can’t even parse human speech. You’re looking through him, brows furrowed.

He’s always thought about kissing you. It’s in a moray’s nature to lie in wait, shrouded in the shadows, patiently waiting for the opportune moment. He doesn’t have anything to hide behind now, though. And if he kissed you here he thinks you might slap him. That would be invigorating.

Something stirs in him. 

No. Actually, it’s…

The world.

The world is being stirred. Someone’s stuffed a spatula into the fluffy mixture and given it a steady whirl, and now everything’s a blurry mess of shapes and colors. He blinks rapidly to clear his vision.

It’s too hot. He needs to peel himself out of his skin and soak in the abyssopelagic zone.

Is he sweating? He must be. He’d lick at the liquid gathering between his armpits to determine that, but he’s on a date with you and human courtship dictates that he must impress you. So he can’t do things humans consider ‘gross’ or ‘indecent’. He has to leave a nice impression. He has to prove to you he’s just as good, if not better, than your lousy Prince Charming.

So he wipes his palms on his pants. Not that he’ll hold your hand. He thinks you’d sooner chop your own hands off than willingly reach for him, and the image of this extreme aversion is too funny to offend him. 

Floyd swallows thickly. Your smell is so strong. Have you always smelled like this? Now that he’s looking at you, you appear…softer. He can’t explain it. Your skin looks healthier. The darkness sitting under your eyes isn’t nearly as sunken in as it usually is. Your lips shimmer with a beautiful shade of pink-red. It’s almost like you’re glowing.

If you were a mer, he thinks you’d be an ornamental fish. A pretty thing kept pampered, fins flowing like skirts, scales bright like individual chips of glass. A beguiling beauty who is just as fierce as she is stunning. 

Maybe, he wonders, his gaze trailing down to your chest, you have eggs. Maybe that’s why you look softer. 

“oyd… Floyd!”

He snaps back to himself. “Hmm?”

“Are you listening?”

“What part?” he asks without missing a beat, still smiling even though it hurts to do anything more than simply breathe. “Shrimpy’s got lotsa plans. You’re gonna be all diligent and hardworking. Hey, you should stay over at Octavinelle. We’ll keep ya nice and busy there.” 

You roll your eyes. “Keep dreaming.”

He giggles. Oh, if only you knew of all the things he dreams about. Nothing can compare to the real Shrimpy, though. The one who glares at him like he’s an insect. The one who puffs up like a pufferfish when upset or angry. The one who always has such fun reactions to his teasing. How could he possibly stay away?

Just then, the desserts arrive. Floyd can’t find the appetite and is instead satisfied watching you eagerly receive your fruity drink and cake. He scoops a bite of pudding on his spoon and holds it out to you. Unsurprisingly, you scowl at it.

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s a date, ain’t it? Gotta live up to your expectations.” And then, because he’s itching for your hands on him, whether to hit him or choke him out, he adds, “Shrimpy’s got some reeeal high standards.”

“Ugh. Gross. You’re the last person I’d want to feed me. And I’ve got my own food, thank you.”

“Ya sure? Should I manta it?”

“Should you what?” You fix him with a critical look, but he can see the interest bubbling beneath the thin veil of confusion.

“Y’know, manta it. Like this.” He moves his arm so that the spoon glides along an invisible current, moving smoothly like a manta ray. “Mama used to do that all the time when I didn’t wanna eat somethin’.”

“So the fish version of the airplane.”

“Eeh? That’s what humans do?”

You shrug. “It works.”

Floyd thinks he still prefers the manta. “Sooo. Wanna give it a try?” He’s itching to prove he can provide for you, even if it’s just pudding and not heaps and heaps of fish or an entire shark carcass. 

You eye his spoon​​ warily. “What flavor is it?”

“Secret,” he hums, delighted. 

“Fine. Just one bite.” You reach to grab it, but he moves his arm up and away. 

“Nuh-uh. You gotta let me do it. Defeats the whole purpose if you do it yourself.”

You submit, albeit with a stubborn pout. 

“Now say ‘aah’,” he prompts, thinking you might really swing your fist. 

Begrudgingly, you lean in and open your mouth wide. “Aah.”

Floyd straightens up in his seat, his eyes the size of plates. He swallows thickly, curling his free hand into a fist. He feels his nails pierce his palm, sharpened points drawing the tiniest pricks of blood. You crack an eye open, all while your wide, impatient mouth gapes back at him.

“Never mind,” he mutters, stabbing the spoon into the pudding and shoving the dish at you. He avoids your searching eyes and instead burns quietly in the flames of his own embarrassed arousal.

“Ugh. I can’t believe I fell for such an obvious trick,” you scoff around a dainty bite of cake. “Honestly… Life was so much better before I found out you were my match.”

Awkwardly, he rubs the back of his neck. He could make dozens of home runs out of the depravity that’s become his thoughts, what with how frequently he’s batting them away. When he looks at his hand, he finds a thin membrane webbing between each of his fingers.

That can’t be good.

“You can have mine,” he blurts, nudging the pudding towards you. “’m not hungry.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I don’t suppose you want something in return for your generosity?”

“What do ya have to offer?” he asks, swallowing the bucket of saliva pooling on his tongue. It coats his dry throat on the way down. He can’t think like this. Maybe he really is sick because you’re all he can smell right now. It’s like he’s zoned in on it, a shark drawn to blood. Nothing else matters. You’re the only Shrimpy in his sea.

Predators, he remembers, the reminder tacked onto his mental bulletin like an afterthought. 

Restlessly, he glances about. He flexes his fingers, curling and uncurling them. Deep down he’s aware this doesn’t mean anything. You’re not his mate, but he wants to protect you anyway. That’s probably the last thing you want, though. You’re a capable Shrimpy. It’s one of your many strengths. 

Still… It’s nice to pretend, if only for the moment.

“An actual date,” you say, sipping at your drink. 

The way your lips close around the straw is so unintentionally erotic it brings him back to a few minutes ago, when you opened your mouth at him. He should’ve reciprocated, but then it wouldn’t have meant anything. Not to you, anyway.

To clear his head and hopefully cool his boiling temperature, he stuffs a spoonful of pudding in his mouth. It’s sugary but not nearly as much as he’s certain you are. If he licked a stripe up your neck, perhaps he’d know your taste for sure.

“Since we’re here, we might as well, right?” you add and he’s brought back to the present. “And then after that we never have to see each other again.”

“Uh-huh…”

He remains unconvinced. No matter how much you push him away, he’ll still be there to pop up and surprise you on campus.

He’s a bother, and you—sitting beautiful and shimmering in the glow of spring courtship—are everything he’s ever dreamed of.

So it’s definitely eggs, he decides, his mind made up. How else can he explain the smell and the softness, all tell-tale signs of a mate in waiting?

Floyd has never been one to pursue smooth seas, preferring the euphoria of a hard-earned success. But Sea Witch below does he wish today wasn’t so challenging. How is he supposed to express everything in his heart if you can’t even read his body language? He’s not even sure if he can gauge yours. Do you want to mate with him? That’s why you prettied up your fins and…

No.

No, no, no.

He has to remember this is a blind date. You had no idea it was going to be him and neither did he. He wants to come out and say it because the complexities of moray courtship are struggling to get through the muddiness of your own human signs.

It occurs to Floyd he could just cast a spell so that his thoughts are broadcasted to you and he can read yours. But that’s a dirty trick, one that would be heavily frowned upon in the sea and perhaps even on land as well. It’s all so complex. He doesn’t have the energy for all of this thinking.

With a petulant whine, he melts onto the table in a puddle of pouty Floyd. 

You raise a questioning brow and finish off the rest of your cake. “I’m eating your pudding so it doesn’t go to waste.”

He waves you off. “Don’t got much of an appetite for it anyway.”

“Suit yourself.” Shrugging, you take a bite and hum in delight. The tiny smile that traces your lips stuns him.

Oh.

He’s never seen you smile like that before… Usually, if you’re smiling, it’s one of malice—directed at him and accompanied with the threat of a clenched fist.

From where his head rests against the table, he’s free to admire you and your gluttony. Will this be enough? If you have eggs, you need to eat so much more than a measly slice of cake and some pudding. 

But before he can call the waiter over to order everything on the menu, there’s a loud tearing sound and then a heavy flop. He glances behind him and finds his tail is protruding from his lower back like a thick, winding snake. It thumps against the ground in anticipation, almost as if it’s wagging.

That’s fun!

“So,” he starts, lifting his head to look at you properly. He remembers something you told him over text, when it was well past midnight and the both of you had strayed into more private discussions. “Shrimpy’s never had her first kiss, hm?”

“And it’s not going to be with you, so don’t even try,” is your scathing comeback.

Fuck, he wants you.

A wild grin breaks out on his face, sharpening in time with the fins that pop out from his ears. Crisp sounds rush in all at once, as if the cotton has been tugged out. Traffic, nearby conversations, the shush-shush of the waves crashing against the rocks. He pulls a face at the cacophony assaulting his hyper-sensitive ear-fins.

You stare at him. “You’re…green.”

“Huh?”

But then his fins shred through his sleeves and it becomes apparent his mer features are starting to poke through his human disguise. Teal flashes across his skin in speckled patches, swallowing up what’s left of his previously pale coloration. 

This is odd because, as much as he despises it, he choked back that nasty potion just a few days ago to avoid this exact scenario. What gives?

It’s in this transitional stage, the space between half-human, half-mer, that the haze really settles in. Floyd staggers to his feet, rifling around for his wallet, and slams a fistful of bills down. It’s getting bad. He needs something he can’t have, and if he spends any more time here…

“We should go,” you say before he can, already out of your chair. “You need to get back to school or… Well, I guess if it comes down to it we can go to Craneport and throw you in the water there. It’s not too far from here.”

“Aww. Worried I’m gonna dry out?” He manages a casual tone despite the heat bubbling in his blood.

“As if. I just don’t want to haul your heavy eel ass around.” Scoffing, you step out from under the shade of the umbrella.

Just in time for the first few droplets of rain to come pattering down. You and Floyd glance skyward before sharing a quiet look. He extends his hand to catch a few drops on his palm.

“Look at that. The weather wants us to stay together,” he remarks, delirious.

“Even the universe wants us to split,” you speak over him.

“Hee-hee. The universe’s gonna hafta try harder than that. This is nothin’.”

As if in response to his challenge, lightning flashes across the sky in a crackling arc. It’s quickly followed by deep, rumbling thunder. Again, you and Floyd eye each other. His wide, toothy grin makes you frown. But that becomes the least of your worries when a smattering of rain comes pouring down on both of you. 

You gasp, your hands flying up to protect yourself. “My clothes! My hair!”

Floyd watches you fall into a panicked sprint, his tail swishing to and fro. He doesn’t care about the many stares he’s starting to draw when he takes off after you, his obnoxious laughter echoing down the path. His clothes are already ruined. A rainstorm isn’t going to make any difference. 

You take shelter in an alley, beneath an awning shared by conjoined buildings. Just beyond, a steady curtain of rain falls. Floyd marvels at it with a whistle. What a downpour… The forecast didn’t say anything about rain, but then he supposes that’s normal for springtime on land.

“As if this day couldn’t get any worse,” he hears you mutter. Floyd’s gaze pans from the slick street to you and finds you’re shivering. Your arms are wrapped around yourself and his mismatched eyes travel down, down, down.

Your blouse is clinging to your body and through the sopping fabric he can see the frilly outline of your bra. Unconsciously, his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He tastes sweat-tinged rain as it trails down his face in salty streaks. When he brushes his matted hair out of his eyes—and it feels more like he’s draped a mop of seaweed over his head—he finds you’ve lowered your arms and are now attempting to check your makeup with a pocket mirror.

“Nooo. I spent so much time on it, too…”

Can you get any cuter? If he could afford just the smallest peek, maybe he’d see what type of panties you’re wearing. Are they as lacy as your bra? Are they thin like it, too, allowing him to see the pebbled peaks of your nipples poking through?

Damn it all to the deepest trench! Floyd can’t take it anymore! He needs to know.

“How big is it?” he blurts, grabbing your shoulders. He’s careful not to dig his claws into you, even though his instincts are telling him to shred that silky blouse to ribbons, snap through the strap of your bra with a voracious chomp, and make you his. But you’re precious, not prey, and so he’ll try to exercise some restraint. 

You blink back at him in bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”

“You know…” he trails off in hopes that you’ll fill in the empty space.

“No, I don’t.” You shake him off, but he’s quick to latch onto your wrists next. “Seriously, I don’t! What’s gotten into you? You’re acting weird.”

Floyd inhales through his nose. A bad move because your pheromones or perfume—whatever the fuck it is—invade his senses all over again. He can’t keep swatting the inevitable away. It’s only a matter of time before his biology incapacitates him. But while he’s still semi-coherent he’s going to take this opportunity to tell you everything that’s been on his mind ever since he first saw you. 

That’s the plan, at least. How much of it he intends to follow, good question. 

You’re staring at him like he’s lost his mind and maybe he has, drenched and looking like a teal Godzilla. He pulls back to rake his hands through his soaked hair. 

“Y-Your clutch,” he mutters. “Can never tell in human form.”

“My…clutch. You want to know how big my clutch is. As in, like, eggs?” 

“Mhm.”

He avoids looking at you out of sheer embarrassment—this sort of thing requires tact and sly communication, not direct fumbling that could be borderline begging—so he can’t imagine what expression you might be making. There’s a long, drawn out silence. He prepares himself to be slapped or berated—maybe both.

You touch his arm gingerly. He peers at you. 

“If you were struggling, say so. Gosh, you’re so stubborn.”

Warmth and concern are hidden in those criticizing eyes. Even though your tone feels more like a scolding, it lifts his mood to know you care. He’d tease you for it, but he’s just not feeling it right now.

Floyd shakes off his reservations like a dog drying itself. For once, he doesn’t know what to say or do as he watches you through lidded eyes.

“I don’t really understand what’s going on, but you don’t feel good, right?” At that, he offers a small nod. “You were forcing yourself this entire time. Why didn’t you just leave? Why stick around and suffer?”

“Cuz Shrimpy was really lookin’ forward to this. Didn’t wanna disappoint ya.”

He wanted to impress you, show you that he’s a worthy mate, but that feels impossible now. With his back to the wall, he slides down until he’s sitting on the wet pavement. He’ll probably change back into a moray mer soon. Maybe the rain is delaying it. Maybe it’s the magical properties of the potion regulating what’s left of his human form.

You step into his line of sight then. His gaze travels up your stocking-clad legs. Before he can picture what’s beneath your skirt, you’re crouching down to view him. “I don’t think it matters whether you disappoint me or not.”

Yeah, it does. It matters cuz I like ya and want ya to have a good time.

“So you don’t have eggs,” he says, switching topics.

You sigh. “Yes, Floyd, I don’t have eggs. I’ve never had eggs. Not in the way you’re thinking. Humans don’t lay eggs.”

He knew that. Learned it in land boot camp. A shame. You’d look adorable saddled with a clutch or two.

But if that’s not the case, what’s with your smell? It can’t be perfume. Even the strongest of scents can’t compare to this. This is a sweetness that’s coming from between your legs, he’s sure of it. 

You’re reaching into your purse now. “What’s Azul’s number? I’ll give him a call. Don’t push yourself.”

His tail moves without thinking, coiling around your waist to drag you closer. The force of it knocks you forward. With a startled yelp, you shoot your arms out to brace yourself against the wall, unintentionally caging him in. He gazes up at you, an unfocused stare that you hold with newfound intensity.

“Floyd,” you breathe, and he can see you’re scanning his face for answers.

Gently, you run your fingers over the dark swirls on his cheekbones. He gives a full-body shudder in response, biting back an enthusiastic trill when your touches trail to his ear-fins. He flexes his tail and squeezes your waist. He shouldn’t let it go further than this.

But if he does he could finally have you.

“I’ll help. Whatever this is, I’ll…do my best.”

Now it’s his turn to be confused. “You sure?”

You glance at his lap. Floyd follows your line of sight to find his cock pressed prominently against his pants. You swipe his hair back and hold your hand to his forehead.

“You’re burning up! Why would you even come out in the first place if you’re so sick?”

“Didn’t think it’d get this bad.”

You huff. “You’re unbelievable. Aren’t you scared?”

“Course not. How can I be when Nurse Shrimpy is takin’ good care of me?” He tries a playful smirk, but it falls short into a grimace.

“Whatever.” A serious look passes over your face next. “I’m not sure what to do, but… But I think it’s safe to…to do it. That’s what you need, isn’t it?”

Floyd drags you into his lap. “More or less, yeah.”

He doesn’t have to get into the details. That’s for future Floyd to explain…or not.

“Okay. Then… Hurry up and get it over with. The rain’s cold.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll warm ya up.”

“If I get sick from this, I’ll kill you.”

“Hee-hee.”

You shift awkwardly, searching for the right rhythm when you press down against his erection. Floyd hisses through his teeth. It almost doesn’t seem real. He thinks he can feel your pussy through your panties, and he wonders if they’re just wet from the rain or from something else. While you roll your hips, his hands move up to fiddle with the buttons on your blouse. It’s significantly harder to undo them when his claws are long and curved, and in a fit of impatience he grabs hold of the fabric and yanks it open. It comes away with a rip, buttons popping off and exposing your rain-slick skin and bra, much to his minacious delight.

“Floyd!” You yelp as he tips you backwards, pressing you against the cobbled ground. This new position allows him to slot himself between your legs, where he ruts like a mindless animal.

“I’ll get you a new one,” he promises, his mouth laving over your neck.

He just barely remembers to tug his pants and boxers down enough to free his cock, now more moray in structure, the shaft tinted teal and peppered with dozens of nubs. He nearly shreds through his underwear when his claws catch on the waistband. All you can manage is an aggrieved whine, which soon tapers off into a low moan when the head of his cock bumps against your clit.

“Off.”

“Wait, wait! I’ll do it. This is my nicest pair—don’t you dare ruin them.”

He’s sure they’re nice, but right now he doesn’t have time to appreciate them in full. He needs to be inside you or else he’ll pass out. The want is unbearable. Fuck, he wishes this was the sea. It would be easier to entice you there, with colors and scents and shows of strength. It’s way too complicated on land.

Your panties aren’t even halfway down your legs before he’s burrowing himself between your soft folds. It feels better than anything he’s ever known before. You’re warm and gooey inside, squeezing him like you’re intent on snapping his dick in half. And suddenly he can’t think or speak. Everything is blank as he grabs your hips and pulls you down. Your pussy swallows him up in one reckless thrust, and you squeak in surprise when it knocks against your deepest part. He feels your arms wrap around his neck, your legs twisting around his waist, and you cling to him like you’re afraid the storm will sweep you away. 

He can’t muster another second of patience or restraint, so he slams in and out of you at an erratic pace, chasing the euphoric bliss that’ll finally satisfy every instinct buzzing beneath his skin. 

“S-Slow down, Floyd! I ca—aah—can’t! S’too much,” you babble and dig your nails into his back, which only serves to embolden the brutal snap of his hips against yours.

“Shorry,” he rasps against your skin, his mouth watering with so much drool it drips in fat, warm drops and puddles in the slope between shoulder and neck.

He’s a pathetic moray. He can’t even offer you a nice cave to curl up in. He can’t even manage the patience to prepare you, to work you up until you’re glistening with desire. The best he can do is this filthy alley during the worst weather ever, and even then it’s far from romantic. 

To offer you a modicum of comfort, he slides his tail beneath you to raise your ass for a better angle and provide a pillow for your head. You cry out a string of incoherent words. He pants against your pulse, the little heartbeat pounding in time with his own. 

It’s wet and filthy and desperate. He’s not even sure if he’s breathing. All he knows is that he needs to fill you until you’re heavy with his seed, until your pussy weeps nothing but cum. You can’t walk around with your fins all prettied up, smelling like a sweet treat, attracting the worst kinds of predators with each step. If you smell more like him—if every inch of you is marked by him—no one else would dare to approach you. He’ll make damn sure of it.

Oh, that’s what this is.

Mating season.

Perhaps he could’ve gotten it out of his system if he stayed on campus and swam laps in Octavinelle’s special pool. He’s not used to feeling it in spring, but then his cycle has never followed any set schedule. It’s only this bad because he saw you—because he caught your scent and it flipped the switch in his brain, the one that’s screaming at him to breed his mate.

Because that’s what you are, even if you don’t know it yet.

That’s what you’re going to be. Biology won’t give you a choice.

Floyd grits his teeth, his pace mostly uneven now. He won’t bite. He’s not sure he can control his strength, and if he sinks his teeth into you what’s stopping him from tearing the flesh from your bones? Instead, he presses sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to the space above your heart. His arms twist tightly around you to keep you trapped in place.

It’s fine if you think he’s scum or the worst moray in the Coral Sea. 

Nothing is more titillating than a challenge.

Wrapped up in you and your hypnotic scent, your breathless voice in his ears, he cums so hard his vision whites out. You seem to have done the same, for your pussy clenches like a vise, rendering you boneless beneath him.

The haze in his head is dizzying. He blinks until color returns and that’s when he tugs your skirt up to see where you’re connected. He’s buried snugly inside, keeping all of his cum plugged deep. Your chest rises and falls with every wheezing gasp, and in this moment you are so fragile he thinks you might shatter if he fucks into you without warning again.

A feral smile widens on his lips. 

“Hey, Shrimpy.” He nudges your cheek until your head lolls to the side. He knows you’re still conscious because your eyes, ringed with ruined eyeliner, find his. “There you are. Don’t fall asleep on me, ’kay?”

Thunder rumbles in the distance. 

He leans in close. “Didja know? You came to this li’l date smellin’ suuuper sweet and I came sick.”

It takes a moment for you to register his words, but when you do all you can provide is an intelligent: “Huh?”

His hands settle on your spread legs, claws digging shallowly into the meat of your thighs. “Isn’t that funny?”

“Wha… I don’t…” You shake your head. “Don’t get it.”

“Hee-hee. Did I fuck all the brains outta ya? Oops. Guess you’ll figure it out later then.”

We’re each other’s cure, he thinks, his form shadowing yours.

And now a mated pair.

[yotonyokai]

So, it's news to no one that the Sharingan is representative of trauma. That's a level one Naruto fact. But I think not enough fans really appreciate how that's represented through what the Sharingan actually can do. Between projecting hellish nightmares into someone's mind and perfectly recording whatever the Uchiha sees, letting them flawlessly replay it over and over again... its main abilities seem to stem from PTSD symptoms. That's the core of what the Sharingan is and why it's so tragic.

The thing that *I* think is really cool about the Sharingan is that it has two branching evolutions. The Mangekyou Sharingan and the Rinnegan. A lot of people seem to think that the Rinnegan evolves from the Mangekyou, but that isn't really true, it is connected to the basic Sharingan and that's because the Rinnegan and Mangekyou are two different methods of processing trauma. The Mangekyou Sharingan doubles down on trauma and makes it integral to one's character. The visions it can project are even worse, the user grows in power with every negative thought and the user will gain two abilities directly feeding from their own personal trauma. Obito and Sasuke have different Mangekyou Sharingan abilities because the way that their worlds were destroyed were completely different. Obito feels like a ghost floating through a fake world, while Sasuke believes that the world is very real. It just need to be burned down and reshaped from the cinders. The one ability shared between every Mangekyou Sharingan user is Susano'o. It isn't a coincidence that the Kanji for this technique breaks down into "He With The Ability to Help Through All Means". It's the Mangekyou user's best friend.

Their own chakra.

Formed from hate.

And it brings them immense pain.

It's an incredibly lonely ability, the end of wallowing in hate and being unable to heal from trauma. Pain and Blindness are the only things that awaits someone who awakens a Mangekyou Sharingan, it's one of the most bleak and cynical things in the series.

So, is the Rinnegan a better way to conquer trauma? Lol. Lmao. So, whereas the Mangekyou Sharingan seeks to exploit the user's own trauma for drive and power, the Rinnegan is the rejection of trauma and all worldly matters. The rejection of death, the rejection of humanity, the rejection of basic rules that govern our world. It is complete and utter detachment with the end goal of becoming God and just leaving it all behind. But... it's cope. Madara was the only human character to naturally possess two Rinnegan. Nagato tried to be a god, but couldn't succeed because the eyes weren't his. Obito tried to become a God, but always kept his Mangekyou Sharingan because he couldn't let go of his trauma, he didn't want to. As unhealthy as it was to cling to this, Madara's goal is even worse. Even Sasuke who gets a Rinnegan independent of Madara, notably only gets one because he doesn't want to sever his ties to the past and wants to remember his trauma, remember what he wants to preserve and why. Only Madara's insane ass is truly resolved to leave it all behind in the name of becoming a God.

[dumbseee]

matchmaker.

in which max is tired of lando being a single mess, so he plays matchmaker.

lando norris x famous!reader.

fc: sabrina carpenter.

_

liked by landonorris, francisca.cgomes, madisonbeer and 1 738 929 others.

y/n: lil photodump 💭

_

madisonbeer: my goddess!! miss you pookie xx

liked by y/n.

user: QUEEN OMGGBSKSKSL

user: she’s addicted to slaying

user: pls come to brazil!!

user: can’t wait to see you in paris!!

user: she’s so pretty wtf

user: Y/N AND MADISON COLLAB WHEN??

user: emails i can’t send is a masterpiece y/n!!

user: JUST ONE CHANGE IM BEGGING AHKSOSLSL

user: the man who’s going to date her is literally the luckiest man on earth

see more.

_

imessages between max and lando.

max:

mate

i have good news

lando:

what?

i’m scared actually

max:

fuck off

it’s for your own sake

lando:

okay NOW i’m terrified

max:

SHUT IT

you’re going on a blind date tonight

lando:

um

no?

max:

wasn’t a question you idiot

be ready at 9

a car will come pick you up

lando:

DHAT

WHAT

MAX ANWSER

WITH WHO???

I REFUSE

_

_

imessages between max and lando.

lando:

max fewtrell.

did you REALLY sent me on a blind date with Y/N FUCKING L/N??

WITHOUT WARNING ME??

i was SO embarrassing

max:

okay for my defense, i didn’t know

i asked kika to find me someone who could match your vibe and apparently it had to be y/n…

BUT apparently it went well so we good

lando:

mate

i fucking spilled my wine on her expensive looking dress

i tripped over my own feet when i got up to pay the bill

i stuttered when she asked for my NAME

i almost slipped when i tried to open the car door for her

i answered « that’s cool » when she told me that the inspiration for her new album was her past and traumatic relationship

max:

holy shit dude

she’s never calling you again that’s for SURE

well at least we tried

lando:

wait till i catch you and kika

i’ll run you over with my car

BOTH OF YOU TRAITORS

max:

i’m innocent

it’s all kika’s fault

_

_

imessages between max, kika and lando.

kika:

YOU COWARD

SHE THINKS YOU DIDN’T LIKE HER

TEXT HER NOW

max:

why are we yelling

kika:

go on twitter and see for yourself

lando:

WHAT DO YOU MEAN I DIDN’T LIKE HER??

she should be the one to dislike me i literally made a fool out of myself BECAUSE I WASN’T PREPARED TO MEET MY CELEBRITY CRUSH???

kika:

you should be always prepared lando norris

lando:

omg give me a break

what should i do?

max:

her fans hate you lmao

text her maybe?

kika:

I HAVE A BETTER IDEA

invite her for the miami gp!

yes i’m a genius

lando:

do you want me to crash on the wall francisca?

i will 100% fumble the race if i know she’s watching

max:

oh my god

why are you such a pussy?

lando:

fuck YOU

this is all your fault

kika:

if you don’t invite her, i WILL

lando:

FINE

but if i die i’ll haunt your ass forever

kika:

who knows maybe you’ll finally win a race ;)

mister lando NOwins

lando:

wow i didn’t know mister pierre gasly was a race winner already

max:

okay enough you two

_

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell, francisca.cgomes and 2 628 048 others.

y/n: may not know a lot about formula one, but i know for a fact that you deserved that win. i can’t wait to be with you during your journey, pretty boy <3

_

landonorris: i couldn’t ask for a better partner, pretty girl <3

user: YESSS FINALLY

user: omg they’re together??

user: WTFFFABSKSLMSLS

user: no bc why are they so cute??

user: aww she was so happy for him when he won

user: lmao the cameraman kept zooming in on her when lando won ajsksllz

user: PARENTS

user: CONGRATS LANDO

user: he better treat her right

user: they’re cute ngl

see more.

[invincibledc]

Now that I have ur permission to request, I was wondering if it could be a batfam/invincible x magical boy reader (magical boys are just magical girls but dudes) it can be headcanons or a small drabble, doesn't matter!

(Anyway I'll be waiting in the basement ���🦯)

𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐦/𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐱 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

A/N: doing both because I love them both!

BATFAMILY—

If reader/you were to say the spells out loud, the family would try to see if you can try to do them some other way for your safety. If it’s not possible, than maybe how about you say the spells softly low

Your own batfamily suit is so cool! It has back up weapon that holds your magic incase your magical weapon snaps and have it regenerate, so it’s a win win that Bruce is considerate 

Bruce, the man himself sees you as a son. So of course expect a little bit of bossiness and control about where you go, what you eat, and how your performance is with missons

Although, Bruce is amazed by your abilities, especially your spells. He’ll test how much you know about your spells and analyze what each can do be helpful during serious things.

Lastly, he’s a good guy that makes sure you also have a good “normal” life outside of your magical business.

Jason is the type of guy to ask for you do a magic trick, and it literally the most classic “magic” trick in the world as you make an apple disappear or maybe pull a bunny out of no where.

Course zatanna and you are best friends! You both are different kind of magic users but are still powerful. Zatanna is mostly shocked that you are.. a magical boy.. cause like she never heard of that before so of course she is interested in you (platonic ofc)

And Raven? She’s chill about it! You could be doing something by her as you hum whilst she meditates to keep her powers in control

If you were the kind of magical boy to be like “i honestly wants this shit to be done” with a quick transformation of your outfit and immediately one shooting an enemy.. any one around the radius would be shocked to see that

Dick is literally the same as Jason, “do a magic trick!” He exclaims as he sits on the couch and watches you sighed in an annoyance as you pulled a quarter from his ear out of pity

He fakes shock before clapping his hands as he just kept that stupid grin on his face. But other than that, he at least supports of you if you do wanna be a at a kid’s party to show off your own tricks.

Dick always shows you designs of his own about your magical boy outfit, honestly is your number one supporter

Tim side eyes you everytime you transform cause it’s so dramatic, like bro is holding his staff as he just stares at the glowing light blinding his eyes. But either wise, he would just use that blinding light to “STRIKEE!!” a hoe when the foe is stricken by your glowing body

Tim using you as a glow stick, or maybe your wand as you run up and smack his head as he uses it during a power outage

You and tim are an odd duo that don’t be around each other as much, but always make things work with duo combos

Damian pitys you due to how he sees your whole being as pathetic, that was til you hit killer croc with the hardest beaming blast of his life

Soon he magically clings to you like a black cat that doesn’t like anyone but you, he literally tugs on your clothing to show you some drawings of you in a sparkling aura having your magical weapon

Shows Jon you, and Jon starts to fanboy over you whilst you have two young child just gushing over how cool you are to them now.

It’s a shocker really

INVINCIBLE—

Honestly, you’re in teen team, there’s so many coool people with such cool powers! And then there’s you in your “magical” outfit as Rex makes fun of you. Saying how “girlish” you seem whilst Eve and mark try to comfort you.

Rex was soon turned into a frog, smirking as he croaks in distress.

Rex never doubted you again, but after the whole shot in the head gig happened, he was one of the dudes that just got along with you. “Oh that guy? Yeah he can make you shit sparkles, watch out.”

If you had a magical weapon that helps along with your magical boy persona, you can bet mark is swooping in as you yelled in anger about your broken weapon that will have to regenerate in 24 hours now

Mark and the others, mostly mark, scolds you for relying on some “stupid” staff

Eve being your best girl friend as you both hang out, mark is a great guy. He would always make sure you’re okay, and always see what kinda other spells you can do.

If your magical boy transformation changed your whole appearance like hair, eyes, or just like height, the team will be shocked when you’re out of your appearance and look so… normal.

You’re more of a support than on the team, sure you can fight and handle battles with those deadly or passive attack spells, but you’re on the sideline of things

Debbie wasn’t sure about some magic boy in her house, but seeing how Oliver likes you and mark loves you around. She invites you at any chance for dinner

Meanwhile Cecil has plans for if you turn against him, of course if you went rouge and not just “hey, I quit.” Type of against him ofc

Either way. You and Oliver are such gremlins

“Can you turn mark into a frog?” Is what Oliver asked you the first moment you told him how you turned rex into one.

Chasing mark with Oliver was fun!

Eve finds it so funny when you turn any guy trying to harass her into a horse , just to actually call them a horse face.

Imagine mark watching your transformation and just clapping supportively as you flex off your new “hero” costume

The variants, they stare at you weird. You don’t exist in any of their worlds. You’re an anomaly, something that shouldn’t be alive, something that shouldn’t even breathe when you blast one variant from you with a beam that actually hurts him. And he’s supposed to be… invincible.

THANKS FOR READING!!

[dark-night-hero]

"Why are you avoiding me?" It was those words that made you look up from the book novel that you are reading. There was your lover hovering over you, causing you to frown and slightly move away. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Don't lie, even now you're avoiding me." This time, he looked so frustrated, he look like he was about to cry if you do actually admit you are avioding him in which you are not. "Look, Luc. I'm not ignoring you, okay?" You spoke, brushing him off as you stood up and went towards where the open window is.

He went towards you to follow you when you hold up a hand to make some distance between the two of you. For the first time these days were you have been avoiding him, there was a pained look on his face that made your eyes go wide. Quickly setting your book down as you hurriedly chase after him who was now walking out of the room. "Wait! I'm not ignoring you, I swear to Lord Barbatos! I just need some distance between us okay?!" You explain in panicked.

"Isn't that the same thing?" There was a small sad smile on his lips, "Are you tired of me- of us-?!" "No! That's not what I meant! It's just you're hot!" .... "Huh?" He was dumbfounded. What did you just say? "I'm hot?" "No! Not the hot you're talking about but you're hot, it's hot!"

Then it sink in, these nights were you refused to be held, the lack of skin ship the two of you had except for a kiss here and there. You putting up a good distance between the two of you. It is summer, and it is hot as fuck. And he is a pryo user and they sometimes emits heat unknowingly, it can be because of the cold, or maybe because of the heat that it affects them unknowingly.

"Ah." "I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away, I thought you were doing in on purpose knowing how Kaeya and I have been messing with you before. I didn't mean to ignore you. It was just... it's so hot." You look down, of course it was fun to tease him, but now knowing he has been turning all along unknowingly to you, you felt sorry for your behaviour. "Forgive me?"

"Only if you let me cuddle with you at night." He smirks, holding your free hand that was not holding the book. This causes you to groan and pout. "But it's hot..." "Well make it work somehow." He laughs. What more can you do when you are blinded by his bright laughter? "Fine! Just make the room cool somehow before we settle down" "Of course, my love." He spoke, putting your hand close to his lips before giving it a kiss.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2024°

: I lived in one of the coolest place in the Philippines every year end so I'm guessing the heat I'm feeling in our province this summer is nothing compared to those who lived in the city but damn. ITS SOOOO HOT HUHU I FEEL LIKE I'M BURNING EVERY TIME I STEPPED UNDER THE SUN.

: Reklamador nang pakinggan pero sinusubukan ng init ang pasensya ko nowadays.

[copperbadge]

I was on a retail website on my phone recently and I was trying to get to some information it did not seem to want to provide -- and just in case, out of desperation, I clicked on the little "universal sign for wheelchair user" logo in one corner.

It pulled up this menu, which was intriguing...

[ID: A website sidebar menu, headed "Accessibility features"; it offers the option of turning on a number of features including those for blindness and colorblindness, epilepsy, motor skills disorders, dyslexia, and crucially for me, ADHD.]

I'm not someone who uses digital accessibility tools much but still, I don't think I've ever seen such a visible accessibility function on a website before, and I've definitely never seen one that offered ADHD accessibility. What did that even do? So...I clicked it, and:

[ID: A screengrab of the website with the ADHD accessibility turned on; most of the site is greyed out, including a header listing my subscriptions and a subscription ID. A narrow bar of the site is illuminated in normal white, showing my next shipment is July 25th and offering me the option to view or skip it.]

The damn thing darkens the entire page except for a narrow "light" bar that highlights whatever your looking at, which you can drag up and down the site with your finger. Honestly it's super cool. It's not something I desperately need, but I may go looking to see if there's an app I could acquire that would do the same for me across browser and e-reader functions on my phone.

[beuxwhoyouare]

Preying on Him

We were at one of those Spartan type races when I saw him…what a beaut. I guess what they say about gays is true, they all end up falling for their doppelgängers. I mean maybe it’s my delusion but we shared quite a few similarities. Our physiques were similar and our heights were a near exact match. So I guess if you had like facial blindness and squinted and I dyed my hair darker we could be twins.

You may laugh because that sounds like a lot but in my head it was almost like the world challenging me to do it. I navigated my way through the mud and pulled my way towards the wall when I saw him to my left. He’s so cute and his light colored eyes were hypnotic.

I had to give up on any hopes of winning the race as I worked to trail him. I wouldn’t say I have an obsessive personality until that point but maybe that was the catalyst for it forming. I just wanted to know everything I could about him.

The race ended and I saw him meet up with a group. Once he separated and told them he’d meet them there I manufactured a moment of us “bumping” into each other. A quick glance was all I needed for now but I knew it wouldn’t be enough.

So sure I stalked him for the rest of the evening and saw him pick up on all the nuances of how he interacted with friends, how he moved, and even the cadences of his voice. His was a little raspier than mine, I mentally took note. Eventually, he separated from his friends saying he’d meet them at the after-race kickback. Returning to conventional modesty he sheathed a form fitting shirt over his lustful physique and taking a selfie to update his friends and followers.

I was nearly entranced and salivating over him. Eventually I naively decided without a plan to follow him, I trailed him as he went to the store to get liquor and snacks to share with his friends. Following him throughout the store, I began to realize that while there were similarities between us, he was like an idealized version of me. More muscle, more conventionally attractive features, and more masculine. At checkout I got close to him but kept my distance and found out his name as he sifted through his wallet for his ID, Benito, but his friends called him Benny.

It was the perfect name and reading it was nearly enough to break me. The day continued and so did my stalking, eventually leading to the kickback by a forested area by the lake. It was so chill and you could easily tell him and his friends were enviously charismatic and cool. I parked at a distance and sifted through all the random things in my car. I worked in medical device sales and I was sure I could figure out one unsellable device in here that could help me achieve my twisted climax.

Aha there’s this thing? I never could find the right psychiatrist for this one. It claimed to be an empathy device, someone incapable of feeling empathy for others could in theory garner that of the user. I don’t know if it actually worked but I’m sure I could tinker with it to make it exchange a little more than just some empathy.

As I sat there sifting through the devices code in the backseat of my car I made sure to alternate on keeping an eye on Benny. I made some tweaks and hoped I had done enough. The taser like device required skin to skin contact which was definitely a major fault with this plan but a moment presented itself as Benny waltzed away to go pee at a nearby bush. As he began to pee, I pounced turning the device on and launched at his neck. Too stunned to react, I made contact and a spark burst out and then everything went black.

I’m not sure how much later but I woke back up to some people shaking me as I lay on the ground. My blurry vision slowly started to focus and so did the. Sound of what they were saying to me. “Yo Benny dude wake up are you okay? We called the park rangers on that dude, are you good?”

I tried to hold in my laughter but a smirk appeared across my face. I had done it. They were calling me Benny. I pretended to be shocked by the attack as I snuck one of my new hands under my shirt to feel the new goods.

I told the people I just wanted to head out and go home, but my perverse desires were already taking hold of me as I walked back to my jeep. I couldn’t stop copping a feel of everything. My hands migrated one at a time from my new cobbled stomach going back and forth between relaxing and flexing, eventually moving my hands to squeeze my new arms and chest. I made my way to the vehicle and fumbled looking for an ID with a home address.

I sped off after putting it in the gps, continuing my exploration. Well over the speed limit, I was matching the speed of my heart beating as I ran my hands across my hair. I wanted to do more now but I needed to be in private.

I parked anywhere I could find at the address and ran as fast as my new muscular legs would let me. After a few failed attempts to get into the home, I made it inside and began nearly ripping my clothes off. He was so strong I could hear some seams pop as I thought I was being gentle taking it off.

I got to the last piece of clothing and was nearly salivating. I paused to savor the moment before I truly went carnal. Taking a picture before losing my innocence in this new vessel. I quickly turned my attention to the growing rod in my hardly modest boxer briefs. It may not be that long but it was intimidatingly thick. Like I needed both hands to wrangle that horse. And once I started I needed to brace myself against a wall.

I stroked with both of my hands expertly in a way this body craved. I was normally silent when doing this kind of thing, but this body wouldn’t allow that. Moans and sighs of unbelief escaped every other stroke. I don’t know if Benny lived alone but if he didn’t, everyone nearby is getting the erotic audible show of their lives.

I should’ve expected it since we met at a spartan race, but his endurance was ridiculous. Minutes in I was simultaneously beyond aroused and almost bored. I wanted to finish so bad but also never wanted it to end. And just then, I felt it and as I began to frantically look for something to finish in, it escaped everywhere. I fell to my knees as I let it release load after load in the room. I thought I had enough but couldn’t stop myself from licking up my mess on the floor, before falling over breathless.

I just laughed and walked myself to the shower. As I turned on the water, I walked back to see my new reflection in the mirror….what a good day to be Benny.

[cripplecharacters]

What exactly defines a token character as a bad representation choice and not as a "background character" who happens to be disabled? And can a disabled character be the only disabled character but still good representation?

I know having relevant disabled characters is important, but when, besides the cast members who influence the plot, you have one of those scenes where a one-off character needs to be there, like when the autistic protagonist needs a ride in the middle of the road and a little person stops to help, or when the wheelchair user main character wants to talk to the magic council about a certain situation and the attendant is a blind person with a cane who checks the information of a braille book, is it safe from tokenism?

Hey!

For this post I will use "representation" to imply good/decent representation, not just the act of XYZ minority technically appearing on the page.

There's definitely a lot to discuss when it comes to tokenism, and there are a lot of different criteria that you can use to define what exactly it is.

So I'm gonna start with the main definition of what would differentiate a "token" from an unimportant character (=one that doesn't influence the actual plot) who just happens to be disabled: how you go about the fact that they are in your book(/comic/etc.).

If you put in the description of your work that it's "disability rep!" because there's this one guy in a wheelchair in one scene, that's tokenism: using a minority to simply boost/promote something as "diverse". That's the most annoying occurrence of it, there's so much media that people recommend as "XYZ rep" and when you look into it, the "rep" is a side character that shows up in two episodes and has like a line of dialogue. Sad!

To use one of your examples, tokenism would be if you claimed that your work has "dwarfism representation" in it because of that one guy who helps the main character in one scene. It's... just not that. That doesn't mean it's bad; if every single background character who wasn't a cisHet white abled Christian man (etc.) was supposed to be deep and thought-provoking then no one would be writing them, because that's not what a background character is supposed to be.

But - you could commit a tokenism with a character even if they are just a background extra who shows up once. Tokenism often goes with the fact that the token character could be swapped out for a non-minority one and nothing would change, since the key here is that the author doesn't really care: it's all just to say "hey, I got XYZ in my book!". So if you were to write a background character that you explicitly mention has disability X, but then they do something that a person with that disability wouldn't be able to do - that's probably a token (if not, it's still a badly made character). It's there to "represent" a group, but it doesn't make sense and there is no point so to speak because the author just doesn't care.

In that way, many disabled characters are just tokens - because the writer is writing an abled character, but keeps calling them disabled. When's the last time anyone has seen a character with albinism who was blind or low vision? What's up with all those deaf characters who read lips and speak orally so well that you literally forget they are even supposed to be deaf? Why is that "tragically unable to walk" character... walking for the entire duration of the book? They're just tokens done with no care nor research, it's all diversity points and quirky aesthetics. Everyone wants to be "inclusive", no one wants to actually have a disabled character who experiences disability.

Another thing with background characters is what role they serve. Most of them are fine - cashier has a skin condition, guy ordering a drink uses a speech generating device, mom of an annoying kid doesn't have a leg, cool. But sometimes it's worth to just ask "why am I making this specific character, whose disability has no impact on the story, disabled?". That is to say that if you need a prodigy piano player and your idea is to make them totally blind who always wears sunglasses, or to make the generic murderer have a big burn scar on half of their face, you're repeating a stereotype. "Role" also encompasses what happens to them. Does the one disabled guy just... die, and that's all? That's a token.

Those are the main things I'd avoid when it comes to background characters. Don't claim that they are what they aren't or represent what they don't, and if you want a disabled character - even just an extra - then either commit or just don't do it, and keep in mind where you're putting them in the first place.

Can a disabled character be the only disabled character but still good representation?

They sure can, but they just aren't, usually at least. The problem with single character representation is that it puts a big burden on this one character: to represent a whole community. That's a lot. I've found myself in this exact spot before: small cast, one character is disabled, and I try to make the whole thing better and more authentic... every single time the result was adding more disabled characters, even if their roles were smaller. It's about the potential contrast.

There are choices that you can do when you have multiple characters of X minority that you should probably avoid if there's just one of them. If I see a work that has three blind characters and one of them wears sunglasses, my reaction will be "oh, cool, they have photophobia like me". If there's one blind character, and they wear sunglasses, my assumption will be that that's what just the writer thinks all blind people wear.

(Even though, that singular character could 100% also be photophobic. My assumption here is based on my experience, because that's how it usually goes.)

In that case you can find yourself in a place where you either need to subvert a bunch of stereotypes (some of which are based in fact!) or address it in one way or another in your work. That character could say "oh, I wear sunglasses indoors because even artificial light really hurts my eyes", but in order to do that, you need to be aware that this is a writing trope in the first place. Not to mention, if you do it too much, it starts reading as some sort of disability PSA. There's a fine line to everything, and the fewer characters of a particular minority you have, the harder it is to navigate it in a way that feels natural to actually read.

Sometimes the occurrence of just a single disabled character also raises some questions. Where's everybody else at? There are some exceptions to that (e.g. stories with a very limited character count) but generally speaking, everyone knows someone who's disabled in one way or another, especially if they're disabled themself. Books tend to make disabled people seem as a rare phenomenon, but that's really not the case.

Sometimes it borders on nonsensical worldbuilding - all those disabled characters who only get their mobility aids/meds because they Know A Guy (or are that guy)... I always ask myself, "what about all those people who don't know this one specific guy? what about everyone who lived before and after this one specific guy?", and I don't think the authors ever consider that. Unless the world population count is in triple digits at most, your character won't be the only disabled person. Writing in a way that subconsciously implies that they are is to me just another form of tokenism, because they're not only the only disabled character in the story, they're also presumably the only one in that universe overall.

This is just a lot of paragraphs to say that you probably aren't ever fully safe from tokenism unless there are multiple disabled characters who have at least somewhat important roles in the story - and even then, they can still be badly written, just in different ways.

Sorry for the long post but I hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[lumierexfics]

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! 🕊

Chat Log Name : Father knows best!

chat log description : Doctor Easterman notices something different from his favorite reagent as he needs to snip this defiance because he knows best.

online users : Doctor Hendrick Joliet Easterman, Reagent! Reader

‼️ CONTENT WARNINGS : MDNI 18+, Blow jobs, Second POV, Torture, Semi-canonical behavior towards Amelia, Father Kink, Gender Neutral Reader, Minor injuries, Unhealthy behaviors, OOC! Dr. Easterman. ‼️

<< a03 link

The needles dug into thin layers of flesh while your hands gripped the metal armchairs. Your eyes burned at the slight of the light that seemed to cover your own body—you knew that this was going to happen. You were a mouse caught in a rat-trap.

The room had no cameras, no windows; a pure blind spot in the Sinyala facility while the room was coated in thin layers of dried blood that wasn’t yours and some spots of fresh blood that came from the dribbled puncture wounds that he pressed into your skin.

“Who am I?” His sleeves were rolled up. “I picked you off the streets. I tried to make you into something beautiful.”

“Doc—“ A painful groan escaped from your lips.

A painful jolt from the needles made your eyes dart wildly around.

“Wrong,” he scolded.

His shoes clicked on the cold floor as his hand grabbed your bloodied face, his thumb pressed on the open gash on the left side of your face. Your body squirmed and thrashed at the sudden pain that spread through your body.

“Who am I?” He asked once more, still pressing on the open gash.

“Fa—Father,” you cried out.

“That’s a good boy/girl.” His hand grazed your jawline. “See it wasn’t that hard, right?”

“No…no, father,” you mumbled.

The familiar hissing noise of the restraints unlocking as you lifted your hands out of the restraints then back to him with a slight concerned look.

“You’re so good for me but…” His grip tightened, slightly. “You were observed picking up schematics throughout the therapy. You know that she is imaginary—she cannot take you away from me because only I can tell you when you can go and you are not ready.”

The green gas embedded itself into your lungs, his eyes watched you run around the room then you had collapsed over your own footing; mumbling and whining as if you were in actual pain. He stepped towards your fallen figure, watching your muscles contract; they were rapidly repeating the cycle more than you can handle.

“I know what can cure your current situation.” He pulled out from his pocket an antidote. “Look what I have here.”

His hand gently swatted away your hands that tried to ruthlessly take it from his hand.

“No manners, I thought that you were better than this,” he scolded, lightly.

“Ple—please,” you groaned in pain.

“Please, what?” He inquired. “Answer me properly.”

“Please…please give it to me, father,” you gasped, weakly.

Your trembling hands gripped the antidote that he gave you while the burning sensation left when you inhaled in the antidote. Your watery eyes looked at him, his cold hand held your cheek—the metal of his wedding ring cooled down the heat of your warm skin.

“You are forgetting your place,” he stated. “You need to listen to me, not this imaginary person. You’re lying to yourself by listening to her delusions. You just need a reminder, right? Because father knows best.”

The cigarette smoke clung to him as if it was now a part of him. He stood in front of you, cautiously wiping away the slobber from your lips.

“Father’s just stressed.” He sat back on the chair that he pulled closer to you. “You know what to do. I don’t have to tell you, right?”

You pulled yourself up to your knees and went closer to him, between his legs. Your hands carefully undid his belt buckle and pulled out his erection from his boxers.

—You must’ve been doing something right as his hand was pushing you further down to satisfy his needs that only seems to increase due to him groaning and praising you for your good behavior…More of his praise, more of— You stuttered at sucking as the electrical shock ran through your body.

“See,” he scolded, lightly. “You were…getting ahead of yourself again.”

“I’m…I’m sorry, father,” you responded.

“That’s a good boy/girl for apologizing,” he praised. “You know that I didn’t want to shock you, right? I had to because you were not listening.”

His hand guided you back to sucking as it seemed like an eternity while the sudden taste of saltiness exploded into your mouth. His hand pulled you off and looked down at you as his breathing was slightly rapid.

“You need to listen to me,” he stated. “She is only trying to undo your progress to your new birth.”