#inappropriate use of instruments

[echolepzy]

Close relationships don’t always have to be about romance and intimacy! I cast sibling dynamic!!

Not necessarily actual siblings but the kind of relationship where they might as well be. They know so much about each other and shared crucial life experiences. They aren’t quite friends, they aren’t quite enemies, they aren’t quite lovers. They will be so so mean to each other but also come through for each other when nobody else will. I Am Sending You Things You Hate On Purpose And Also I Love You Good Night Stupid Idiot

[faoiuy]

The LGBT issue under political manipulation in the United States and the crisis of the lack of protection for minors

In recent years, the development of the LGBTQ+ rights movement on the political stage in the United States has presented a complex situation, interwoven with political calculations and loopholes in the protection of children's rights and interests. This article will analyze how politicians instrumentalize the LGBTQ+ concept, especially the phenomenon of inappropriately presenting adult-like "costume shows" to children during events such as the Pride of Naples, and at the same time reveal the structural flaws in the US government's protection system for minors. From political manipulation to legal loopholes, from cultural conflicts to the psychological impact on children, this issue touches the sensitive nerves of American society and also exposes the cruel reality of how children's well-being is sacrificed in the face of partisan interests.

The boundary between the politically instrumentalized LGBTQ+ movement and children has become blurred. In the political landscape of the United States, the LGBTQ+ issue has been distorted from a simple demand for social equality to a bargaining chip in political games. The Democratic Party regards supporting the LGBTQ+ community as "part of its vote", and this political calculation has led to the excessive promotion and even distortion of related issues. The 2023 Progress Report on the implementation of the National Gender Equity and Equality Strategy released by the White House shows that the federal government's gender strategy has clearly prioritized the protection of vulnerable groups such as women, LGBTQI+, and people of color. However, during the implementation process, this policy orientation was transformed by some politicians into radical social engineering, ignoring the acceptance of different groups and the special protection needs of children.

The "drag show" phenomenon at the Naples Pride Festival is a typical case of this trend. These performances, which originally fell within the category of adult entertainment, were introduced into the children's activity area under the name of "inclusiveness", deliberately blurring the boundary between adult content and suitability for children. Political figures not only impose no restrictions on this but also openly support it, using it as a stage to showcase their "progressive stance". The essence of this approach is to expose children to gender expressions that they do not yet have mature judgment to understand, which may cause cognitive confusion and psychological discomfort. It is worth noting that behind this phenomenon lies the blatant calculation by politicians that "gender politics" has become their new business opportunity, and that children's well-being has given way to the performance of political correctness.

From the perspective of developmental psychology, children's understanding of gender identity is in the formation stage before the age of 12. Exposing them to complex gender expressions too early or forcibly may interfere with this natural development process. Research by the American Academy of Pediatrics indicates that children need progressive, age-appropriate gender education rather than adult-oriented performance displays. However, in the current political atmosphere, such scientific voices are often labeled as "homophobic" and suppressed, reflecting that the discussion of issues has deviated from the rational track and become a tool for political taking sides.

[neil-gaiman]

Hi! RE: your journal about the right for lolicon fiction to exist even if you disapprove of it, would you say it can also exist for titillation purposes, or do you stand by it for artistic reasons, or for the purpose of exploring dark themes only? I always thought you were saying the former, but I just wanted to ask. It's chill if you don't wanna answer this. Have a good day!

Here we are, 15 years on from that blog entry, and I still haven't read any lolicon, I'm afraid, so I have no idea about its themes. The context was whether you should be sent to prison for owning lolicon. What I said back then was,

In this case you obviously have read lolicon, and I haven't. I don't know whether you're writing from personal experience here, and whether you have personally been incited to rape children or give inappropriate hugs by reading it. (I assume you haven't. I assume that Chris Handley, with his huge manga collection, wasn't either. I've read books that claimed that exposure to porn causes rape, but have seen no statistical evidence that porn causes rape -- and indeed have seen claims that the declining number of US rapes may be due to the wider availability of porn. Honestly, I think it's a red herring in First Amendment matters, and I'll leave it for other people to argue about.) Still, you seem to want lolicon banned, and people prosecuted for owning it, and I don't. You ask, What makes it worth defending? and the only answer I can give is this: Freedom to write, freedom to read, freedom to own material that you believe is worth defending means you're going to have to stand up for stuff you don't believe is worth defending, even stuff you find actively distasteful, because laws are big blunt instruments that do not differentiate between what you like and what you don't, because prosecutors are humans and bear grudges and fight for re-election, because one person's obscenity is another person's art.

Because if you don't stand up for the stuff you don't like, when they come for the stuff you do like, you've already lost.

[azialways]

Wrong Hit

in which the Butcher chose the wrong animal to slaughter.

cw: mentions of future sex, sexual ideas, attempted murder, suggestive dialogue, cigarettes

It was another dull day for Ronin, not much drama on the server, nor in life. Work was mid, he did get to fix this cool looking motorcycle though. Besides that, a whole lot of nothing happened. Good news, it was slash season…meaning he could go kill as much as he pleased. He got on the server, asking the people what their thoughts were.

<goreboy>

yo Guys

feeling bored. should I go Kill someone?

find some unsuspecting passerby?

<hitmeuppp>

for SURE!

i mean find someone who seems boring or something

don’t go killing a baddie or somethin

or do, if they look snobby, i fucking hate snobby people

they’re always so annoying and uptight, that’s why people pay me to kill em

aaaaa i’m ranting again

<V>

I think it is inappropriate.

Do not go killing random strangers unless they have done wrong.

<hitmeuppp>

V SIGHTING! I REPEAT! V SIGHTING

<goreboy>

i think ill Agree with Misaki on this One.

i’ll send Pics

He then shuts off his PC and finds his killing clothes, which were to nobody’s surprise, on his dresser. He used them way too frequently this time of year, but luckily he had actually cleaned them. He threw them on, his favorite killing hoodie as well, then his gloves. Obviously couldn’t forget those, what type of serial killer would he be if he left evidence? Well, a fried one. He didn’t like the idea of the electric chair, because that meant getting caught and having no fun killing around, and instead spending time in a metal and stone cage. He then grabbed his crowbar, putting it in his instrument case He then grabbed his smaller knife, sheathing it then shoving it in his pocket. He double checked his beanie, then put the hood up. Last thing he needed was to leave any hair behind. But damn, he looked good to go. And hot. Maybe he’d go pick some girl up who thought he was hot, or maybe just drag someone into Purgatory, he’d figure it out. But first, he had to get out of the house, so he fed his pets, then walked out. At first, he strolled about, finding his way to the side entrance that led to Purgatory, maybe he’d light a cigarette and see if anyone joined him. That sounds good, dragging an innocent smoker trying to ease themselves in the alley.

He eventually stood there, putting his crowbar case down and took a pack out of his pocket, and then his lighter. He lit the cigarette, taking a long drag before tapping some of the ash onto the floor. He stood there alone for a while, leaving him to ponder his murder. He was thinking: wait til someone comes into the alley, chat them up a bit, then hold 'em at knifepoint, play with them for a little, then kill. He was feeling mean tonight, he was too bored to play quick and easy, no, he wanted to draw it out. He wanted to cut their voice box and hear their feeble attempts at screaming, slowly ripping them open and apart, falling into his signature. And as if the universe heard him, a person stepped into the alleyway. They looked at him for a second, acknowledging his presence before taking a cigarette out and lighting it; well, trying. Their lighter didn’t seem to work, and he heard a gentle “fuck.” It was the perfect opportunity.

“Wanna use mine?” He offered, holding it out to them.

“Could I? Sorry, mine died.” They muttered, lighting their cigarette with his lighter, and it lit. They inhaled, then exhaled. They then handed his lighter back, muttering a “thanks.”

“So. What’s a gorgeous individual like yourself doing in an alleyway smoking at 10pm on a Tuesday night?” He asked casually

“Got off my shift, needed a break. Was kinda a shitshow tonight.” They laughed softly, putting the cigarette to their lips.

“Where do you work?” Ronin asked nonchalantly, keeping the friendly appearance up.

“Vauhn’s on Orchard.” They responded, it was a club and restaurant nearby, and from the looks of the uniform, he’d guess the bartender.

“You look like a bartender.”

“You are correct. I legally poison people for a living.” They joked

He chuckled at that, the way they put it was unique. Ironic for the situation they were about to be in. He walked closer to them, bringing his cigarette to theirs before relighting. “They were going out, stupid rain.” He explained, but the pink on their cheeks showed he did exactly what he intended. He was ready to hit, he chatted, he charmed, now it was time to attack. They were charming, he’d admit. Maybe too much so, they had to die. Once they had their back turned, he snuck behind and wrapped his arm around their neck, holding the knife firm.

“Scream and you’re dead.” He warned, his tone much colder than before.

“Alright alright, chill bud. I don’t plan on screaming.” They raised their hands in surrender, a half laugh escaping from their lips.

“How many inches is that?”

Ronin choked on air as he heard the words escaping their lips, sure the friction got him a little hard, but not nearly enough to warrant the question.

“Excuse me?”

“The knife genius, not your dick.”

“Oh, shit uh.”

“7?” They guessed, and right they were.

“Yeah, how’d you know.” He asked, a little confused on how they guessed it so easily.

“I got one myself…right here.” They spun, shoving him against the wall with the knife to his throat. They pressed hard, not gentle at all, he winced slightly.

“Try anything funny and i’ll slice your goddamn head off.”

“Damn, alright, you got me, sweetheart.” He teased, putting the knife away.

“Who are you?” They asked.

“The devil, baby.” He responded, chuckling slightly. Then, he shut up as they pressed harder.

“You don’t know who I am, or what i’ve done. You made the wrong pick to hit out on, bud.”

“Yeah, who are you then?”

“Y'know that killer whose been on the rise?”

“Nah, no way.”

“And you’re The Butcher, huh? Crowbar case, lurking in Purgatory?”

“Only I call it that. How do you know that?”

“Misaki. I'm sure you know ‘em.” They responded.

“Fuck. Damnit Misaki.”

“Don’t worry baby, i’m not gonna kill you…you’re too pretty and important to die.” They cooed, and he hated it.

“Don’t baby me. And if you aren’t gonna kill me, get off.” He growled angrily, this brat was starting to get on his nerves.

“Or what, Ronin?” They sneered.

“Misaki told you my name too, huh? Who are you?”

“Y/N. And i’ll get off, but from the way your body is reacting, it seems you don’t want me to. I can see your hand reaching out to touch me.” Fuck, they were observant, maybe too observant.

“Fuck off, just because you give me a bit of a boner doesn’t mean shit.” He grumbled embarrassedly.

“Mhm, sure. I see they way you looked at me back there…you wanted to eat me alive.” They ran their finger up his chest.

“Flirting with the devil…it’s like you wanna end up in hell.” He scowled.

“I’m ending up there either way, why not have fun before I do?”

“just shut up before I do something stupid.” He responded, grabbing their shirt and pulling them closer. His eyes dropped to their lips…fuck they looked so pretty and plump…he could ruin them with his teeth. Their neck too, another thing he could ruin. He could ruin them and their entire being then build it up from fucking scratch. He wanted to, they were hot, feisty, not afraid…he liked that.

“Like what? You gonna kill me? or are you going to kiss me?” They sneered, their hand on his jaw.

“Little bit of A, little bit of B…I could fucking ruin you.” He caved.

“Why don’t you, hm? You're scared?”

“Oh you little…” He pulled them in for a kiss, pushing them against the wall. It was messy and needy, deep and full of desire. He bit their lip, licking up the blood and swallowing their moans. He didn’t know how much he needed this til he had it, and now he never wanted to be without it. Without this annoying, but so attractive individual. His mind raced with the filthiest thoughts that just made him as hard as his back alley dick could be, it made him moan softly into the kiss, and when they realized, they grinded into him until he wanted to just cum in his pants like a teenager. The things this person did to him were wrong, so so wrong and so stupid, he wasn’t one for love or sex, no he was just a mechanic and a killing machine by night, not some sexy loverboy. But for them, he might just be. Or maybe just a one time stand, or a frequent hookup, he’d never know unless he let himself indulge in this fantasy just once. Truth is, they were as crazy as he was, who knew how they were in bed? Only one way to find out.

[luvsupa]

001 | WORK OF ART

tags: sugardaddy!nanami x fem!reader, smut, public sex-ish, toys used, age gap (nanamis late 30s and readers early/ mid 20s), petnames, nanami is in love with reader and her art, mdni.

w.c: 2.6k

a/n: UHMM GUYS THANK U SOSO MUCH FOR 600 FOLLOWERS?! EEKKK ILY GUYSSS 🤍🤍

+ likes and reblogs are appreciated!

the convention center quickly fills up at eight o’clock as hundreds and hundreds of rich people eagerly gather to see and purchase the artworks displayed by you and your fellow artists.

you’re already over the fact that it’s art display season, as obnoxious rich patrons approach your work only to mock it and its price. your coordinator has repeatedly stated that your specific artwork isn’t as eye-catching as the others in your group.

“your art can only sell for one thousand, and that’s pushing it,” your coordinator once said.

one thousand is quite a lot of money, but everyone else’s pieces are selling for five thousand and more! their bland artwork compared to yours shouldn’t be sold for that much—now i’m just sounding jealous.

all the artists stand at their assigned sections in front of their artwork as the paid guests slowly walk in, drawn to whatever catches their attention. you glance at your friend beside you as she wishes you good luck.

the room is brightly lit with led lights, giving it a clean and modern feel. soft, instrumental music plays over the speakers, barely audible over the hum of conversations. waiters weave through the crowd, offering glasses of champagne that clink as guests accept them.

you stand awkwardly, already expecting the nasty glares at your canvas. this year, you went for an erotic art piece titled “a woman’s high.” the painting depicts a woman in an abstract way, in the moment of climax, as a blurred-out male figure gives her oral sex, with the focus solely on the female.

“don’t you think this is quite… inappropriate for an art exhibition?” the middle-aged woman clung to her husband’s arm, both looking disgusted at your erotic painting. she leaned in to read the card with your name, pricing, and title, her brows raising in amusement.

“hah! one thousand for this? oh dear, this is a mockery to all the other talented artists here,” she scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. the snobby rich couple found it hilarious, unable to control their laughter. “even i wouldn’t keep it if it were free!” she said as they walked away, still laughing as they moved on to the next pieces.

you stood there, their words stinging more than any you’d heard before. nearly five months spent on your painting, and this is how they treated you. damn that couple.

“your talent for oil painting is incredible,” a deep, husky voice said. you looked up to see a tall, middle-aged man with golden blonde hair slicked back, a few strands hanging in front of his beautifully sculpted face. he was looking at you—and complimenting your art?

you rarely got this stunned at one of your exhibitions, but wow. you shamelessly scanned his figure, muscles bulging from his white button-up shirt, a few buttons undone to show his toned chest. his black dress pants hugged his muscled thighs, and you gulped hard, eyes moving back to his-

“nanami! how great it is to finally see you!” your main coordinator appeared, twirling her hair awhile bombarding him with questions.

“there’s something i want to show you, but it requires us being alone,” she giggled, rubbing his arm up and down. you stood there awkwardly, not wanting to listen to their flirtatious conversation.

“i’m afraid i’ll pass. i’m more intrigued by this beautiful art.” he turned to look at you, making your eyes widen. no one had ever been this persistent about wanting to see your artwork. it made you feel giddy inside.

“oh nanami, this artist needs a lot of practice. i mean, look at the painting!” she pointed out, trying to embarrass you in front of this fine man.

“i wasn’t referring to the painting.”

oh.

“s-sir?” she stammered, both of you shocked at his words. he thinks i’m beautiful? he was very slick with that.

“and her skills are beyond amazing. the way she captures the perfect moment of the woman’s orgasm and highlights her expression—there’s no need for more practice,” he said, silencing your coordinator as he praised the parts of your art that he loved. you were still in shock at what had just occurred.

“however, there is one flaw about this,” nanami stated, and your smile slightly dropped. you were ready for him to treat you the same way everyone else had. your coordinator found an opportunity to bully you and your art even more.

“pfft, finally. i’ve noticed a lot wrong with her art—”

“the price,” he cut her off, pulling out a chequebook from his pocket and beginning to write. “how much?” you both gasped at his boldness.

“i-i…” you stuttered, at a loss for words for the first time, while your coordinator fumed. he chuckled at your reaction as he continued writing, then ripped the paper to hand it to you.

“i’d like for you to come see me later, beautiful,” he said, his smooth words leaving you hypnotized. and with that, he walked away as your coordinator followed him, trying to get his attention.

you stared down at the paper, your jaw dropping at the amount he was giving you.

10,000 dollars

holy fuck.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

as the art exhibition continued on all night, you left your painting unattended- searching everywhere throughout the museum to find the mysterious man, nanami. hell, you even had to beg your annoying coordinator for his whereabouts. finally, she gave in.

“he’s going to his car, something about a gift for me!” she exclaimed. you didn’t buy it for a second, but you headed towards the elevator, stepping in to pressing‘P’ as the button illuminated. the doors closed, and the elevator descended to the parking lot.

the button stopped glowing as the doors opened, revealing the eerie parking lot filled with cars on every level. you walked out, your heels clicking against the cold concrete as you quickly rushed to see where he could be.

“are you following me?”

you stopped where you were, hearing his deep voice. you turned around to see his beautiful smirk plastered on his lips, holding his black jacket on his shoulder. fuck, he’s so hot.

“i just wanted to thank you so much for purchasing my art,” you nervously said as he eyed you down. you squeezed your thighs tight as the tension thickened.

“come with me,” he said, smiling as he formed a sinful idea in his mind. he honestly couldn’t control himself, thinking about how delicious you looked in your black mini skirt and white button-up shirt similar to his own.

cute, he thinks.

you wasted no time, immediately picking up your steps as he strode down the long parking lot to his car. finally, his car came into view—a luxurious sports car you’d only seen in movies and tv shows. how rich is he?

he unlocks the driver's door as you stand in front of his car, listening to the muffled chatter and honks of the city coming to life at night. from the corner of your eye, you see him pull out a box as he shuts the door, catching your attention.

"i want you to put this on," he says, walking closer and towering over you as he hands you the box. you carefully read it, and your jaw drops for the second time that night.

bluetooth vibrator.

"i-i can't, i have to be talking to people this whole night," you stammer, attempting to hand the box back, but he doesn't take it.

"that's the whole point, sweetheart. live a little- have fun." he coos, bringing his hands to cup your face, caressing it. "you always seem so serious. let me show you how to enjoy yourself." for the first time your body betrays you as you start feeling aroused by him.

shamelessly, you bring one of your free hands to pull his neck lower to your level, smashing him into a heated kiss. he smirks into the kiss as you suck harshly on his lips, smudging your lipstick onto his. nanami places you against the hood of his luxurious sports car as the box slips from your hand, making a loud thud on the ground.

"eager, aren't we?" he murmurs, his voice dripping with condescension and desire.

nanami parts your thighs with his knee, allowing you to grind on him. your hips move rhythmically as you whimper into the kiss, growing wetter by the second.

he snakes his hand down to your thighs, moving his knee, eliciting a needy whimper from you. wanting more. he replaces his knee with his thick fingers, easily reaching your clothed cunt through your short skirt. he rubs your leaky slit through your panties, and you moan into the kiss. he pulls away, chuckling at how quickly you became this wet.

"such a good girl," he teases, his tone both patronizing and seductive.

you look up at him with needy eyes, craving more of his touch—more of him. you need him.

“i’ll see you inside,” he says, pecking your lips and sliding his hand away from your heat. he walks away, wiping the smudged lipstick off his mouth, leaving you sprawled out on the hood of his car. how can he leave you like this? you’re contemplating on whether you should continue on or leave- oh fuck it.

“w-wait, i’ll put it on,” you say, rising from the hood of the car and wobbling towards him as you quickly pick up the box. he chuckles, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. 

“my sweet girl, i knew you’d give in,” he says, turning around to see you almost losing your balance. he holds you steady as you start unboxing the toy, wanting nothing more than a good release from him.

you stare at the oddly shaped vibrator, confused about how to put it on.

nanami grabs the pink toy from your hand as he kneels to the ground. “may i?” he asks, wanting to insert it for you. you eagerly nod as he bunches up your skirt to your waist, and you stare down at him, watching his every move like a hawk.

he places a soft kiss on your clothed clit, making you nearly fall over. nanami swiftly tugs down your panties, and you step out of them as he rises from the ground, standing tall as he shoves your wet panties into his pocket. how nasty he is.

“geez, you’re soaking,” he points out, swiping two of his fingers along your slit and watching your arousal coat his digits. he brings the toy to your hole, aligning it with the tip before slowly inserting it. you hiss at the stretch of the toy within your velvety walls, the girth painfully good as you bite your lip hard, clenching rapidly around the silicone toy.

you whimper as he positions the other half of the toy against your achy clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to ensure it’s perfectly aligned with your sensitive nub. he’s determined to see you crumble.

nanami smooths down your skirt, pulling it back into place so no one can see the lewd things happening between you two. he retrieves his phone from his pocket and connects to the app, pressing the power button. your knees buckle as the vibrator springs to life, the dual stimulation nearly making you roll your eyes back at the slow, teasing intensity.

“you did so good, baby,” he coos, his praise making you hum in pleasure as he steadies your balance, pressing a tender kiss to the side of your head. he increases the intensity, and broken moans slip from your lips. he finds your reactions amusing as he guides you back to the elevator, pressing the button and standing behind you, holding you in place.

“y-you clicked the wrong f-floor,” you manage to gasp, breathless. he chuckles darkly behind you, making your skin crawl. your eyes shoot up in horror as you realize he’s selected the floor where all the guests enter to get to the museum.

“oh, did I? silly me,” he says, a smirk evident in his voice. as the elevator doors open, you’re met with a small group of guests, including the middle-aged couple who had mocked you earlier. you feel a fleeting sense of relief as he finally turns off the vibrator, but the situation remains unbearably tense.

the elevator is packed with guests, and you’re pressed intimately close to nanami. the heat of his body against yours only heightens your need, as you’re unconsciously grinding against his bulge, desperate for release.

“nanami, i didn’t realize you were with her,” the familiar woman says, clinging to her husband. the bitch who flat out insulted me..

“mhm, yes, i am,” nanami replies smoothly, his hand slipping lower to discreetly control the vibrator. “have you seen her work? i think everyone should join. she’s got a beautiful speech prepared, don’t you?” he adds, his gaze shifting to you with a knowing smile. heads turn in your direction, intrigued by the fact that nanami kento is involved.

“oh, yes, i suppose i’ll prepare something as well—mmf,” you try to stifle a moan as nanami cranks the vibrator to its fullest intensity. you squeeze your thighs tightly, fighting to keep your arousal from dripping down your thighs.

“and what will it be about?” a businessman in the elevator asks curiously. you can barely focus on anything except the overwhelming pleasure of the vibrator thrusting in and out at a relentless pace, your poor clit being ruthlessly stimulated.

“haven’t—hahhh—i haven’t f-finished,” you stammer, casting a pleading look at nanami, desperate for the torture to end. he only smiles in response, his eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction.

ding!

you’ve never been so eager for the elevator’s arrival. the guests say their goodbyes, but just as nanami tries to guide you out, you stop him, hitting a random button.

“what happened to speaking to everyone the whole night, hmm?” he says, his voice dripping with mockery as he gazes down at your dazed expression.

“fuck them,” you mutter, reaching up to kiss him, but he pulls away, eliciting a pout from you.

“such a dirty mouth—do you expect me to kiss you?” he says, bringing a hand to your face. you melt into his touch as he slowly brings his thumb to your mouth, smudging your lipstick. he rests his thumb on your bottom lip, and you open your mouth, looking sultry into his hazel eyes.

you take his thumb into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it and slightly bobbing your head as if giving a messy blowjob. nanami watches, his blood rushing to his growing bulge as he takes in your bratty attitude.

you release his thumb with a slight pop, leaving it glistening with your saliva. nanami, shocked by your filthy display, grabs your face and crashes his lips onto yours. this kiss is hungrier, more eager than the last.

ding!

the elevator’s arrival chimes, and the doors start to open. your coordinator, her face a mask of horror, sees you two and screams in shock. she’s so upset that storms off. the doors quickly close, leaving you and nanami in the privacy of the elevator.

you chuckle at her reaction. “i have to get back, nanami,” you say, your hands roaming his chest, a whimper escaping as you remember the toy still buried deep inside you.

“you’re really gonna leave me like this?” he growls, referring to his raging hard-on. you chuckle, feeling a thrill at his reaction. “hmm, you can still toy with me the entire night,” you purr.

nanami reaches into his front pocket and pulls out a business card, his name and phone number neatly printed. “call me when you’re ready to leave. i’m not done with you,” he promises, making you feel excited for what he has planned.

you give him a quick peck on the lips and press the ‘open’ button on the elevator. just as you’re about to step out, you feel a sharp sting on your ass cheek. you hear him hum behind you.

oh how he’s going to cause so much trouble.. 

[dayluxe]

Days of Glory - The Beatles

¡ request are open !

pairing: The Beatles x fem!reader (platonic)

summary: you and the band reminisce about the past when they first arrive in the United States.

warnings: a bit long, use of affectionate nicknames between the band members towards the reader, a bit of McLennon's innuendo, use of the translator, a lot of nonsense.

w/c: 3.173

The boys and you had just landed in America for the first time. The emotion was running high.

It was well known that the band was loved by many and hated by few, but still you all felt nervous.

At first no one believed in you, well, in you rather.

Seeing a woman being part of a band with four boys was not the norm. People were shocked to see a girl play an instrument, and to behave so inappropriately according to them. Let's say that the boys didn't care about this.

you were friends with George, since childhood. You had lived side by side all your life, you were like nail and dirt. And when he began to be interested in the world of music, you were already in. You've been interested in other instruments before, leaning more toward wind instruments. But when his fascination with guitars arose, you accompanied him.

They were a good duo, everyone said so. They both wrote really good lyrics, and you sang them most of the time. His guitar went perfectly with your voice, and they spent hours and hours writing nonsense and doing choruses with his guitar.

When he met the boys it was amazing. George's creativity expanded, and he was excited to be part of a band, but another part of him didn't want to leave you. So she recommended you to them, she said that she had a friend with a spectacular voice and that she could do everything. For you it was a very generous gesture on his part, and you soon hired yourself by meeting the guys. It was a very chaotic process, as they were very jerky at times, but you got used to them quickly, and they got used to you too.

Soon everything was history. you went from parties to bars continuously. taking advantage of every opportunity to make themselves known and grow as a band.

His songwriting sessions were the rarest thing you'll ever witness. there were times when it was based on an exchange of words between John and Paul, and then you followed instructions. But there were times when the music simply flowed between everyone, like a river of notes and lyrics. Those days gave you the reason to continue doing that, to continue with them. to continue making music.

His story was long, and soon life gave him success.

Your role in the group was multitudinous. from doing backing vocals, or writing lyrics, to being the second drummer.

Your instrument store had been expanded. You didn't just touch the wind. You could go from woodwinds to string instruments with ease, giving you an extensive list of roles within the band.

And so we got here. You and your boys in the United States.

The flight was exciting. You had about 20 camera cartridges with you to take pictures. You wanted a memory of everything, absolutely everything. George was on your left, you had given him the window space for his luck. You couldn't sleep, in fact none of them could. Their laughter did not stop at any time, and questions such as 'do you think you will find a good bird there?' were the main topic for the teasing.

"I see you nervous, beautiful. Is it because of my presence?" you heard George say from your side "haha, how funny Geo. and no, I just think about the number of beauties that will be waiting for me when I arrive" you said in an arrogant tone "what a big ego, y/n, but in case you don't know, I'm their favorite, not you" John told you as he passed through the hallway. "Excuse me, we all know that I am the favorite, and that is very clear," you shouted back.

George next to you watched with amusement the little argument between the two of you. Those fights happened frequently, since their big egos clashed too much which sometimes also triggered fights when recording, but that's another topic.

"Stop both of you, it's obvious that the favorite is me" Ringo's voice was heard in the middle of everything. You and John stared at each other, waiting for who would say the first word "finally someone says something meaningful, thank you ringo" you said, as you rolled your eyes and leaned back in your seat. "Here among us, you are my favorite" George whispered to you next to you. you turned around, with a big smile on your face "you're my favorite too, Georgie" you said as you pinched her cheek.

that was a habit you had built over time. You remember the first time you did that, George looked at you with a big frown on his face. As if you had told me the worst insult in the world. The next few times you did it just to tease him and see his face, and over time he just got used to it.

"We're going to land guys, please take a seat and fasten your seatbelts" you heard people say all over the plane. Your nerves increased, just thinking about the number of people who would be in that place. expectant upon their arrival. You felt your nerves turn to nausea, and your hands began to sweat.

Your friend noticed your change in behavior, and asked if you were okay "I'm fine, just a little nervous. The usual," you told him. It was true, because of all the people in the band, for some reason you were the most nervous when you gave a concert. "If you know they will love you, right? Literally, those girls are obsessed with you, in a good way, obviously," he told you, and then grabbed your hand among more of his "so don't be afraid, just go out there and be you," he told you while kissing your hand.

The welcome was amazing. what do you say, it was spectacular. The girls (and some boys) were screaming and crying for the band, for all of you.

Your camera kept letting out little 'clicks' 'clicks' 'clicks'. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but your mind couldn't do more than that and say hello. Your heart swelled just seeing the number of people that were there. Multiple groups with giant posters with their names and faces cut out. girls crying and shouting their names, ecstatic by their presence.

When they went down the stairs you felt yourself floating among people. Like your heart wants to go with the fans and hug them all, but you knew that would probably go very wrong. you greeted and gave friendly smiles to everyone, some girls cried when you turned to look at them.

When we arrived at the hotel it was all laughter and silly conventions with the boys. You and Ringo sprawled on the nearest couch. Paul went for something to eat, while John talked nonstop. George was looking at them all from an individual couch with amusement. He was smoking, as always.

"Did you see them, they're crazy about us, crazy!!" shouted John in the air, "Are you ready to hunt some pretty birds here Richie?" you said, as you elbowed him. "no, I already have one, and it's right next to me" he said while winking "who is it? Don't tell me you're going out with the pillow on the couch?" said John, before Ringo could answer you jumped defensively: "It's about time you said it, my dear Ringo. Just so everyone knows, Ringo and I are dating." You said in a dramatic tone, pretending to be caught up in something. "What?! I thought ours was real, baby. How do you go out with him?" Paul shouted at you as he left the kitchen "No, that's false, we all know who you're dating here, dear Paulie" you said looking at him with complicity. Everyone laughed and looked at each other. "Don't reveal his secret, my dear," Ringo told you as he rolled a lock of your hair around his finger.

The boys smoked and ate some. You decided to eat a couple of cookies with a soft drink you found in the fridge. they would eat after doing all the interviews they had for that day.

they were all on the balcony. The fresh air carried away the smoke of cigarettes, and was enveloped with the smell of the city. "Guys, have you ever imagined getting here? Like it wasn't just yesterday that we were in the cave playing for the first time, and now we have a bunch of crazy fans, we're America and in a super fancy hotel". You told them as you looked out over the city. Thousands of cars and people were passing through the streets. The air moved your hair and collided with your face, it felt warm and fresh, different from the air in liverpool.

they turned to look at you, thinking about what to say "well, i don't think any of us could have imagined getting to this place. but we are here, we managed to form a band that is loved and admired by many. no one imagined that, but we are all grateful to be here, together" said Paul looking at them all.

They all smiled happily, each of them deep in thought about the situation. "these are our glory days, don't you think?" said John, as a mischievous smile spread across his face "let's not dwell on that now, let's enjoy the present, and all those pretty girls crying for us" he spoke again as he let out a small giggle.

Before anyone could say anything, one of the staff came into the room and said it was time for an interview. Everyone got dressed up to look presentable, while you went to touch up your make-up.

The tour to the site was not long. It felt cheerful and lively as always, everyone was obviously excited.

When they arrived, multiple cameras blinded them with their flashes. they stood where they were told to stand in the usual order. A myriad of microphones were in front of you, all trying to get some of your attention. There were probably more than 20 journalists in that place.

Questions came and went, all naturally thanks to the friendly energy of the band. it was the turn of a journalist, her voice reached your ears and it was probably the most beautiful voice you had ever heard before. she shouted your name and then asked "what do you think about the many rumours that you are dating George or one of the boys, is it true and how do you take it?"

you laughed. because to the surprise of many, you didn't date any of them, let alone would you date any of them. that would be disgusting "well, that's a dirty rumour that's been around forever. i don't date my little Georgie, or any of them-" "too bad" Ringo interrupted your answer, everyone burst out laughing and you gave Ringo a playful punch in the side. "stop it, stop it. but no, i don't go out with any of them, it's funny to me that they think so, but they are all very unbearable as friends, imagine as a couple. but if you want you can be my next bird, i don't know, think about it my dear". you said and then winked at the journalist.

it was obvious that many people didn't believe you. but to be true, you as friends were very close, and many people during your career had created rumours that you had a relationship with each other, or even that you had a polyamorous relationship, a rumour that left you very shocked.

at one point during the interview a journalist asked what their inspiration was when writing and creating music, a basic question that more than one person asked. each of the guys gave their answer, from moments that happened, or just minimal objects. when it was your turn (after thinking your answer through) you spoke "i would say they all inspire me. i just look at each one of them, and my mind flies between lyrics and clever melodies. it inspires me to know that i'm here, with them, that we achieve what we achieve together. there are times when we record that i just look at them and think 'wow, they're all so magnificent' and it's a very intimate feeling, you know. like a connection that makes me create for them, for the band, for the people who listen to us, for us to keep growing together as a band and as individuals. i don't know, i think so".

your response left more than one person in the room moved. it had been a response of your own, you had always been known as 'the sentimental beatle', a nickname you didn't like so much sometimes. you were a romantic of sorts, and you didn't deny it. your lyrics embodied your passion and love for things, and people loved that.

"What a romantic answer that was, darling" you heard John say from the other side. You could see the smile on his face without even glancing at him "Well my dear John, that's the effect of being away from you" you said as you looked at him and smiled.

for the rest of the interview the boys looked at you with joy and warmth. your answer had touched their hearts, even John's. loving looks and smiles turned your way every time you were asked questions. the boys wouldn't say it, they are too proud for that, but they were really grateful to you.

They had no energy for anything else, just eating and wanting to snuggle into the soft sheets of their bed. "I'm hungry, I feel like the worm in my stomach is eating itself" you shouted as they entered their bedroom "I want to sleep with you" George said as they sat next to each other on the sofa "Me too Geo, me too" you said with your eyes closed as you snuggled under his shoulder.

"do you want to know a secret, Geo?" you asked him while you were still in the same position "tell me dear" he said. his hand played with your hair, all the boys loved to do that "i love you, you and the boys, you don't know how much" you said to him while you changed position to look him in the eyes. on his face a smile was drawn, a real smile that showed his cute fangs. "I love your fangs, and Paulie's eyelashes, just like I love Rich's rings, and John's glasses. I really love you, all of you," you told him.

Your smile was shy, but pleasant. one that a grandmother gives you after a cozy hug.

"Why do you suddenly get so loving?, it seems that you are saying goodbye, are you going to die? tell me no, please, I couldn't stand this band without you" he told you as his hands found his "don't be silly Geo, I just wanted to make you feel loved. You never say things like that to each other, I thought it was time to show you my love, didn't you?" you replied, letting out a small chuckle. You felt shy for a moment, embarrassed by your love. "You know a lot of secrets about me, and you know that one of those secrets is that I love you. I know, you know it, everyone knows it, and in case it's not clear to you, I'll tell you again. I love you, my dear, I love you," he replied.

They both laughed, as if they were two kindergarten children who had just gotten into a mischief. Their love was real, a soulmate love, but not a love from beyond. You understood each other as no one else did, but not in that way.

"Wait, stay here, don't move," you told your friend. You left without giving him any explanation, straight to your room in search of your camera. You wanted to capture this moment "I'm back. Now, look at the camera for me, please," you said as you placed the camera at your eye level. George didn't have time to say a word when he heard the camera click "you didn't let me know!" he yelled at you, you laughed "you looked good, I swear, plus the best photos are spontaneous, believe me" you said calmly. "I just heard a click, maybe he was taking pictures without me?!?" they heard John shout from the kitchen. Those guys really had no bottom. Soon they were all huddled in the armchair, laughing and fighting with each other.

You took multiple photos. from candid photos of them talking and laughing, to them being in funny poses. "Let's go out on the balcony, I have an idea" you told everyone. Everyone followed you, the air was a little colder thanks to the scarce sun. Their streets were still as busy as when they arrived.

they all settled behind the city. The blue sky was visible in the background, next to their buildings and apartments. You turned your camera around, trying to move it as far away as possible, and you took the picture.

At the time you didn't know it, but that photo came out perfect.

Ringo smiled as he showed off his rings. Paul smiled as always, with that beautiful pose of his. John was looking at the camera through his beautiful glasses, smiling like no other photo. George posed with his cigarette dangling on his fingers, smiling like when they were 10 years old, the smoke adorning his face in an angelic way. And you were in the middle, with the brightest smile in the world, your eyes shining as you looked at the camera.

When they returned from the United States you kept that photo with your life after seeing it.

You took it to all the other concerts you had together, always kept in your pocket as if it were a lucky charm. And every time you felt discouraged you saw it, closed your eyes and remembered the moment.

And every time you turned to the photo you laughed, remembering as if it were yesterday when you shouted "let's go for those little glories days" as they left the room for their first concert. You remembered how they laughed, everything they enjoyed that stay. You remember the euphoria of going out to play and feel how the screams of people made you vibrate. You could feel their excitement despite being about 20 meters away from them, and you loved that.

There was nothing more rewarding than leaving the concert sweaty and with the adrenaline rush. Still feeling the strings of the guitar in your fingers.

That photo wasn't just a piece of paper. It was your reason, your motivation. That was the reason why you were here, how you got here. That was your reminder of why you did what you did, and why you kept doing it.

a/n: something a little different, I wanted to feed my hyperfixation that I've had lately for the Beatles.

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

It’s My Fault- Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Reader returns from a hard mission and Bucky tries to help

Word count: 752

Warning: description of violent death and mentions of self harm

Bucky tag: @winterslove1917 @cieraboobear @mencantaleer @reckless007

✨ Want to be tagged in my next Bucky fic? Click here ✨

If anyone saw the position you and Bucky were in, they might see it as inappropriate. Your mentor holding you while you lay naked on your bed in his arms, but in reality, it’s the furthest thing from what people might think.

The mission had been exhausting, both mentally and physically on everyone. This was your first big mission, and you expected it to be difficult and even for something to wrong. You knew leaving Hydra and agreeing to join The Avengers would mean death and killing people, but not like that.

Using your elemental powers, you’d used a large rock to smash down a group of terrorists, but that wasn’t all it hit. As the rock flung further then you had planned, it hit a mother and her baby.

All through out the flight back, leaving the jet and walking to your room, the image and sound played over and over in your mind, like a torturous instrument twisting inside you, intent on driving you mad with pain.

There was no scream, no cries, just the sound of crushing bones and escaping air. The bloody image of the woman wouldn’t leave your mind, and your ears were too full of the sound of the crunching to hear Buckys call.

Bucky had wanted to go on this mission with you, but thought you’d do okay with Steve and Nat by your side instead of him. He couldn’t be there and as he saw you walk off the jet, every fibre of his being regretted it.

He didn’t bother to ask his friends what had happened, instead just following your trance like steps as you walked to your room.

He tried multiple times to call after you, but decided just to follow you, hoping when you’re safe in your room he’d be able to help.

When the bathroom door locked behind you and he started to hear the shower run, he tried again.

“Y/N, what happened? Please talk to me. It doesn’t help to lock yourself away, trust me. Just please open the door,” his voice almost broke with his plea, but he managed to keep his voice stable.

He waited only a few seconds for a response, but he couldn’t take it anymore, especially after hearing the sound of a pained gasp. He barely gave a warning as he brutally knocked down the door.

So entranced in your self hatred, you barely reacted to the intrusion, too busy with the woman’s face in your minds eye and the sting of the blade against your wrist.

“No! No! No!”

Bucky ran to your curled up body, laid under the running shower. Having no time to turn the tap off, he dragged your naked body from underneath the water and held you close.

“Oh sweetheart, no, no, no. What happened, sweet girl? What happened?”

He chanted over and over, a towel now pressed on your fresh wound as he rocked you on the cold bathroom floor. His heart shattered seeing you like this and he hated himself for not being there for you.

Your eyes usually so bright, filled with joy and hope, were empty, without a trace of life in them. There were no tears, just numbness.

Even as Bucky repositioned you and began bandaging your arm, not a single tear left your eyes.

“Come on, doll, let me look after you.”

Bucky didn’t bother to pull the sheets back, instead he just lifted you into his arm and gently held you on the bed. Rocking you, and whispering sweet things against your hair.

It wasn’t until your eyes finally met his that the numbness melted away. Seeing the tears in his eyes made your own burst out like a broken pipe. The scream you let out startled even the seasoned soldier, but all he did was hold you tighter.

“I see her face! I can still hear her bones! It’s my fault!”

The loud wail you let out tore Buckys heart in half. He didn’t have to know everything to know how you were feeling. He felt his own pain in your cries, the tortured sound explained everything he needed to know for now.

Bucky felt powerless to help you, but he still held you tight, rocking your trembling body.

“I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

Those seemed to be the only words that could come to him, knowing nothing else to say and knowing nothing else to do but to hold you.

Keep you safe, that’s all he could hope to do.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Do you have anything on writing the effects of Lobotomy?

Writing Notes: Lobotomy

Lobotomy - a surgical procedure historically employed to treat severe psychiatric conditions.

It is an incision into various nerve tracts in the frontal lobe of the brain.

Also called leukotomy, which is the surgical operation of interrupting the pathways of white nerve fibers within the brain.

Lobotomy was the name given to a prefrontal leukotomy in which the nerve fibers connecting the frontal lobe with other parts of the brain were cut.

Prefrontal (lobe) – the area of the brain at the very front of each cerebral hemisphere. This area is concerned with emotion, memory, learning, and social behaviour.

Lobotomy was primarily initiated by early 20th-century physicians who believed that disrupted neural connections in the brain were responsible for emotional and cognitive disturbances.

The original surgical procedure was called prefrontal (or frontal) lobotomy.

Introduced in 1936 by Portuguese neurologist Antonio Egas Moniz (1874–1955).

Connections between the frontal lobe and other brain structures—notably the thalamus—were severed by manipulating a narrow blade known as a leukotome inserted into brain tissue through several small holes drilled in the skull.

A second procedure, called transorbital lobotomy, was devised in 1945. It involved:

the manipulation of a pointed instrument resembling an ice pick

driven with a mallet through the thin bony wall of the eye socket and into the prefrontal brain.

Both procedures were widely used to relieve the symptoms of severe mental disorder (including depression and schizophrenia) until the advent of antipsychotic drugs in the 1950s.

These operations did, on occasion, result in improved function for some patients, but others either died as a consequence of the surgery or suffered major personality changes, becoming apathetic and prone to inappropriate social behavior; some also developed a seizure disorder.

Such procedures have since been replaced by more sophisticated, stereotactic forms of neurosurgery that are less invasive and whose effects are more certain and less damaging.

SOME CONTRIBUTORS

Gottlieb Burckhardt, in 1890, is credited as being one of the first surgeons to perform a psychosurgery procedure on mental patients to address symptoms such as agitation and hallucinations.

Others, such as Ludvig Puusepp, in 1910, began to operate more specifically on the frontal lobes of the brain to help a group of patients suffering from manic-depression psychosis. The results of the surgeries were mixed, and Puusepp, like Burckhardt, concluded that the dangerous procedure was not worth the risks to patients.

Years later, in 1935, Portuguese physician and neurologist António Egas Moniz, working with surgeon Pedro Almeida Lima, revived the psychosurgery debate by performing a prefrontal leukotomy*.

In 1949, Egas Moniz became the first physician from Portugal to be awarded the Nobel Prize for Physiology or Medicine for his work on the development of the lobotomy.

Prefrontal Leukotomy*. This type of lobotomy involved:

drilling holes on each side of the top of the head, near the frontal areas, and then

inserting a leukotome, a needle that contains a small circular wire that can be deployed.

Once the leukotome was in position, the wire was released and

the instrument was twisted to cut the white matter of the brain, which contains primarily nerve connections from the frontal lobes to other areas of the brain.

EGAS MONIZ

Egas Moniz himself did not employ the term “lobotomy,” which was first used in 1936 by his American disciple Walter Jackson Freeman and became the standard designation for the operation in the United States.

The term that Egas Moniz coined for the operation was “leucotomy,” from the Greek word for white (because the nerve fibers are white matter, as opposed to gray matter, which contains nerve cell bodies); accordingly, the surgical instrument he employed was called the “leucotome.”

This instrument, the design of which was refined and modified by Egas Moniz and others, contained a retractable wire loop.

After the leucotome had been inserted into the brain, this wire loop was extended and the instrument was rotated. In the first leucotomy, one such rotation (or “core,” as Egas Moniz termed it) was made on each side of the brain; in subsequent operations, as many as 6 cores were made on each side of the brain.

Other physicians around the world also tested and refined the procedure developed by Moniz. Their different techniques were grouped under the heading “psychosurgery,” which Moniz had coined as an umbrella term for leucotomy, frontal lobotomy, transorbital lobotomy, and new variations on the same theme. Despite earlier experiences with brain surgery for mental disorders, Moniz was seen as the inventor.

THE FIRST LOBOTOMY. Long crippled by gout, Egas Moniz himself did not perform the operations; rather, he directed his younger colleague, the neurosurgeon Pedro Almeida Lima.

Initially, Egas Moniz used injections of alcohol to destroy nerve fibers in the frontal lobes. The first operation took place on November 12, 1935.

The patient was a 63-year-old woman with a long history of mental illness.

Two holes were drilled in the top of her skull and injections were made on both sides of the brain in the prefrontal area.

In the following weeks, Egas Moniz and Almeida Lima repeated this procedure with 6 more patients, steadily increasing the amount of alcohol injected.

With his 8th psychosurgical patient, however, Egas Moniz adopted a new method, cutting (or, at first, crushing) the nerve fibers.

This surgery, performed on December 27, 1935, may be called the first lobotomy.

INCREASE IN LOBOTOMY PROCEDURES. In the immediate postwar years, there was a dramatic increase in the number of lobotomies performed worldwide.

in the United States, lobotomies increased from approximately 500 per year in 1946 to 5000 in 1949.

When Egas Moniz received the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine in 1949 for the development of the prefrontal lobotomy (he shared the award with Walter Rudolf Hess, a Swiss researcher recognized for his discovery of the function of the middle brain), the credibility of psychosurgery was further enhanced.

THE DECLINE. Within only a few years, however, by the mid-1950s, the number of lobotomies performed annually began to decline steeply. There were 2 reasons for this sudden turnabout:

Tranquilizing drugs such as Thorazine had been developed, and their widespread use was sufficient by itself to restrict lobotomy to exceptional cases; and

Serious concerns about the validity of lobotomy were being expressed in the medical community.

Some physicians had been opposed to lobotomy from the beginning.

But as more long-term studies of lobotomized patients became available, it became evident that proponents of lobotomy, like Egas Moniz before them, had not been objective in assessing the consequences of such surgery.

Although the operation as performed by Freeman and his colleagues became something quite different from Egas Moniz’s early attempts, lobotomy always involved radical injury to the frontal lobes.

Lobotomized patients frequently:

lost their abilities to plan ahead,

to think abstractly, and

to perform other vital functions.

In many cases, particularly in the treatment of patients suffering from schizophrenia, lobotomy was not only excessively costly in psychic terms but also generally ineffective.

In the 1960s and 1970s, growing public awareness of ties between the government and science and a new appreciation of the threat of various kinds of mind control led to the placement of further limitations on the use of psychosurgery, including some legislative restrictions.

Psychosurgery is still practiced in the United States on a small scale, with greater precision than ever before, thanks to technological advances and significant improvements in knowledge concerning the brain’s circuitry.

Despite such advances, resistance to psychosurgery remains high, both within the medical profession and among the general public.

SIDE EFFECTS ON PERSONALITY

Negative effects on personality were observed as early as the end of the 1930s.

In 1948, Swedish professor of forensic psychiatry Gösta Rylander, reported a mother as saying: “She is my daughter but yet a different person. She is with me in body but her soul is in some way lost.”

Hoffman (1949) writes: “these patients are not only no longer distressed by their mental conflicts but also seem to have little capacity for any emotional experiences – pleasurable or otherwise. They are described by the nurses and the doctors, over and over, as:

dull, apathetic, listless,

without drive or initiative,

flat, lethargic, placid and unconcerned,

childlike, docile, needing pushing,

passive, lacking in spontaneity,

without aim or purpose,

preoccupied and dependent.”

MOVEMENT AWAY from Prefrontal Leukotomy.

One year after Egas Moniz and Lima’s initial prefrontal leukotomy, American physician Walter Jackson Freeman II and surgeon James Watts began to modify the medical procedures. Freeman & Watts did away with the leukotome and started to:

drill holes on each side of the head, near the temples.

A blunt spatula was then inserted and

waved toward the top and back and toward the bottom of the head, effectively severing the neural connections between the frontal lobes and the thalamus.

This procedure came to be known as the Freeman-Watts standard lobotomy.

This procedure was believed to be more precise in its ability to selectively destroy connections between the frontal cortex and the thalamus and to produce better clinical results.

However, Freeman still did not like the fact it was a time-consuming surgery that involved drilling into the cranium and required an operating room.

In 1946, Freeman began to popularize a new version of the lobotomy called the transorbital procedure. Although this procedure had its beginnings in Italy in the late 1930s, Freeman altered the way that brain tissue would be destroyed. Freeman’s procedure involved:

taking a sharp metal instrument (he first used an ice pick; later specialized tools known as orbitoclasts would be developed) and placing it under the patient’s eyelid.

A mallet would then be used to tap the instrument until it broke through the thin bone behind the eye socket.

The instrument was then inserted a couple of inches into the head and moved back and forth.

Freeman perfected this procedure to the point that he could train another physician to complete it in ten minutes, without the use of a surgical room.

This simple transorbital procedure made it possible for lobotomies to be performed on a far larger number of patients.

Although Freeman himself performed about 3500 lobotomies during his career, it is believed that tens of thousands of lobotomies were performed worldwide.

One of the most famous cases has been that of Rosemary Kennedy who received a lobotomy (performed by Freeman and Watts) to control her "mood swings" and subsequently became incapacitated.

TREATMENT EFFECTIVENESS

Of Egas Moniz’s first 20 patients, 14 were reported to have recovered or to have substantially improved.

The remaining 6 were believed to have shown some improvement in that they had had more severe symptoms (hallucinations and delusions) before the surgery.

Egas Moniz was criticized, however, because he followed his patients for only a few days after the surgery. One follow-up study that was conducted 12 years later revealed that the results were not as positive as initially reported.

Freeman reported that patients, with the exception of those who were suffering from chronic schizophrenia and a limited number of other types of psychosis, generally benefited from the procedure.

Follow-up studies have found that it is difficult to determine who will benefit from a lobotomy and what kinds of detrimental effects the procedure will have on emotions and cognition.

Also, proselytizers of the procedure overstated the positive outcomes.

Despite some initial reports of patient improvement following lobotomies, subsequent evaluations revealed mixed results, and many patients experienced significant adverse effects on their emotions and cognition.

The operation was widespread during the 1940s and 1950s, but it became apparent that it could lead to serious personality changes.

By the mid-1950s, the advent of effective antipsychotic medications, such as chlorpromazine (Thorazine), began to transform the lives of residential psychiatric patients to the point that lobotomies became seldom used.

TODAY, lobotomy is considered a controversial and largely outdated practice, reflective of an era when options for managing severe mental illness were limited.

Lobotomies are no longer performed; however, psychosurgery, the surgical removal of specific regions of the brain, is occasionally used to treat patients whose symptoms have resisted all other treatments.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

You can find more details in the sources. Hope this helps with your writing!

[whimsyfaes]

Caged Songbird

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x fem!reader

Details: smut, (reader mid to late 20s), psychiatrist patient relationship, praising, dirty talk, light asphyxiation, mentions of gore, inappropriate use of the violin's bow, clothed sex

Insight: You have been seeing Dr. Lecter for the past couple of months, finding his process to be very sufficient. You are a talented violinist, causing Hannibal to be very intrigued by you. He asks for you to play him a song during one of your visits, and things take a dark interesting turn.

Your slender fingers grasp the violin's bow in an elegant manner, not only years of practice under your belt but of pure artistry. It has always called to you naturally, like a bird drawn to a soft melody. You can feel those golden eyes burn into your frame as you continue your serenade, your body moving with the vibrating cords in a trance-like state. Your psychiatrist, Dr. Hannibal Lecter, suggested you share your passion with him to get a better feeling of you. And perhaps, to share a common interest.

It was no secret that Hannibal dabbled in the arts of the world, his evidence littered everywhere in the dark lit room of his office. Multiple sketches of architecture and the human body covered his polished wooden desk, various books on the subject placed here and there. When you mentioned you played the violin, his eyes twinkled with intrigue, and so your conversation from your past experiences extinguished like a flame.

" Why don't you bring your violin to our session for next time? Such talent cannot go to waste. "

Your heart fluttered in your chest from his proposal, a finger lifting to push a fallen strand of hair behind your ear.

" It would be a pleasure, Dr. Lecter. "

There was no denying you were feeling adoration for this man, in fact it has been brewing since the first couple of visits you have seen him. There was something intoxicating about Hannibal, as if he were wearing a porcelain mask of demure that was waiting to be cracked.

And, you felt safe with him.

Oh poor naive girl.

As you continue to play your instrument, Hannibal's eyes trailed to the movement of your wrist with the violin's bow. So sharp, composed, and in control. Oh how he longed to snatch that away from you.

You were in the wolf's den now, though you were unaware of your fate just yet. He began to imagine how your body would look sprawled and open, your veins the same manner of your violin, and how he would play with you like how a true violinist should. You would be a masterpiece. But alas, he could never commit to such a devious thing. He wanted to keep you locked in a cage, like a songbird.

He sighed in content while sipping on his wine, head lolling back to bask in the sound of your enchantment. A soft purr escaped his lips, but was muted by your composing, his darkening eyes bringing to your attention once again as you finish the last piece of the tune.

" Absolutely exquisite, mon amour. "

Your cheeks blush brightly from the pet name, head bowing down as if you had just performed in front of an entire audience in thanks.

" You truly think so, Dr. Lecter? I -... It's been a while since I have practiced. "

It was as if your words had struck a cord in him, his pupils dilating while bringing a hand outward in your direction. He was beckoning you towards him, the lamb trotting into the slaughter.

" Come here .. "

It was such a soft command, but held so much weight in desire. In your heart you knew this was wrong, a psychiatrist should not have relations like this with a patient. Let alone, one so tender as yourself. But all rational thinking went out the window and flew into the wind, your body moving towards him with curiosity. You grasped your violin to your small chest in comfort, doe eyes glancing towards his predator ones in anticipation.

" When I watch you, do you know what I see? "

You shake your head lightly, pearl teeth moving to bite upon your plush bottom lip.

" I see the gentleness of your wrist moving elegantly in stride with your bow, a commander of a ship in a coming storm. " He lifts a hand to grasp upon your wrist then, a calloused thumb brushing tenderly on your bone under the flesh there.

" You have the ultimate control, the violin being your canvas, your hand the brush. "

You could barely breathe as he leans inward to whisper hotly into your ear, as if there were spying meddlers listening in.

" But little dove, I would like to be the one in control now. "

He could hear your heart beating wildly against your chest, lips moving to ghost along the shell of your ear as he closed his eyes wantonly. Hannibal had snared you in his trap, catching you off guard as you breathe heavily past parted lips. You were not able to escape now, a bird flapping wildly in her gilded cage. But....deep in your heart, you didn't want to.

You wanted to be plucked, bit by bit.

Hannibal pulls back to look into your eyes for confirmation, the back of his hand lifting to trail along your jawline affectionately. You tilt against his hand with fluttering lashes, your eyes lifting to directly stare into the depths of hell itself.

" .... Yes.. "

That was all that was needed, his soft lips colliding into yours in a hungry groan. His once professional composure now melting against your mouth, hands cupping your face as he dives into your wanton crevice with his skilled tongue. You whimper from the sudden intrusion, brows knitting together while lifting your free hand to tangle through his well kept locks. They start to lose their form, falling now freely across his closed eyes as he devours you with starvation for innocence. Hannibal pulls back to breathe against your lips for a split second, not wasting any time to move against your jugular with hot kisses.

" D-...Dr...Lecter... " You moan so sweetly, his hand wrapping around your throat in a sign of control. Not tightly, but firm enough to have you swallow thickly against his palm with glossy eyes.

" Hannibal ... " He commands you say his name, for the gates have been flooded open to let yourself go into him. You needed to be guided, your head nodding obediently with a hot moan.

" -.... Hannibal, please ... " What you were begging for, you could not tell. Anything, everything that belonged to him you supposed. His intoxicating lips formed into a devilish grin, those teeth like fangs of a snake about to indulge in his feast.

His hands removed from your flushed face, lifting your small form to sit upon his desk gently with your back against it's surface. You could hear the crumple of paper beneath you, legs naturally spreading while you clung onto your violin for dear life. He took notice of this, chuckling darkly before removing the instrument from your grasp.

" I wish to see you, all of you... "

You felt bare as soon as the instrument was taken away from you, hands moving to fold across your chest shyly. How achingly sweet you looked to him, his smile never faltering as he moved your hands away as well.

" You have nothing to be shy of, little dove... "

Firm but tender hands began to knead your clothed breasts in circular motions, your back arching with a soft gasp from the sensitivity. It has been a while since anyone has touched you here, but you did not think you could feel this much desire for somebody. You didn't want him to let go, your own hand reaching to grasp his wrist tightly. His disheveled hair falls across his face as he looks downward at your body in awe, fingers moving to quickly unbutton the front of your white summer dress.

Yes, white.. the color of innocence in a dark chamber. You were the last light to be flushed out.

You swear you could hear a slight gasp escape his lips as he unveils your tender bust, nipples already hardened as stone from his actions.

" So beautiful... " He moans heatedly, leaning forward to wrap his lips around a peaked nub. You gasp loudly before bringing a hand to place on the back of his head lovingly, arching into his mouth with earnest. He feels so divine, so warm against your reactive skin that you could shiver in delight. Hannibal groans against your flesh, tongue circling in swift motions before suckling firmly. You can tell he's getting heated as well, his arms moving to shuffle out of his elegant suit coat. It pools around him on the floor with a silk thud, his fingers rolling up his black button-up shirt while continuing to assault your breast.

" Please .... I.. - " You cannot form what you truly want to express, his mouth retracting with a lewd pop before bringing his dark eyes to yours.

" Tell me, mon amour... What do you want? "

Your foot reaches downward to brush along his tented groin with a gasp, the action being your answer to his desired question. How much he wants to rut against it, to spend his seed and stain those trousers but no... he would not let it release this easily. His hand moves to wrap around your throat tightly, lips ghosting along yours while breathing heavily against you.

" Use your words... What do you want? Do you want my cock, little dove? "

You swallow thickly against him while gasping for air, tears beginning to drip in the corner of your lust glossed eyes.

" I -... I want your cock, Hannibal... Please.. "

Oh how adorable you looked underneath him, so wanton and so willing to succumb to his pleasure. The sound of you saying such a lewd word from your innocent mouth made his skin crawl, his fingers loosening around your throat with a satisfied purr.

" Good girl... "

Hannibal pulls away to start unbuckling his trousers, the lack of his warmth causing you to whine a bit in frustration. He takes note of this with a raised brow and a deep chuckle, the sound of metal hitting the floor making your stomach flutter in anticipation. His trousers soon pool around his ankles, followed by his black boxer briefs to expose his hardened steel of flesh between his hand. He was large, thick with a slight curve and you could feel yourself salivating for it's taste.

" Let me taste... " You mumble in a haze of lust, your body lifting into a sitting position on the desk while fumbling forward. His other hand reaches up to guide the back of your head towards his throbbing member, a thumb moving to pull gently downward on your bottom lip.

" Open up, little dove... " Your mouth opens on his command, tongue darting out in readiness as his tip grazes along the hot wet flesh. He groans loudly with a tilt of his head, his other hand guiding his length to push past your swollen kissed lips.

" That's it.. take my cock ... "

You can feel your lips stretching around his flesh almost uncomfortably, brows knitting in concentration as you reach upward to hold onto his thighs for support. He has your hair in a vice grip with a twist of his wrist, your eyes flashing upward to gaze into his blown out pupils lovingly.

" Such a good girl, so open for me... "

He can't hold back another moan as it slides in deeper, your tongue resting against it's base while hollowing your cheeks in a suctioning motion. You are not unfamiliar with the act of sex, having had partners in the past for experience. But with him, you feel like a virgin, eager to please but fearful of his masculine nature. Though, you feel so good around his cock, like it was meant just for you, his thrusting beginning to quicken while he tightens his hold on your hair.

" Hollow your cheeks more - ... yes, like that ... fuck ... "

It was bizarre to hear such a word release from his usual professional demeanor, but it caused your heart to jump in excitement, your head bobbing in a faster pace while moaning around his thick wet member. You can feel he is losing more control, thighs trembling under your fingers, his chest rising and falling in a fast pace rhythm. Before you can even make another twist of your head, he removes you with a loud pop and a breathless sigh. Your lips are glistening from the act, spit trailing down your chin as he watches it fall onto the tip of your breast.

" Lay down.. "

Such a command was filled with deep desire, his voice slightly cracked as he pulls your waist towards his standing figure. You gasp in surprise from this action, head lifting to watch him fall downward between your open legs. Your stomach flips in anticipation as his hands part your thighs wider, hot breath tickling your soaked panties against your wanting cunt.

" Hannibal - .. " You arch your back to press against his ghosting mouth eagerly, his lips smiling against you before giving a wet open mouth kiss against the fabric. He's suckling enough to bring both your hidden flesh and the cotton in his mouth hotly, your core fluttering against him with a flaming ache. Small babbles escaping you as you hold onto his hair for dear life.

A finger moves the drenched fabric to the side to expose your eager folds, tongue lapping hungrily with a satisfied moan. It vibrates against you, nails digging harder into his scalp as you begin to pant like a bitch in heat. He's praising you while suckling and flicking his tongue, telling you how good of a girl you are for taking his mouth so desperately. You don't even register the first finger entering your hot core, sucking him in like a vacuum of lust. But he continues to thrust while caressing his tongue, adding another finger to the fray to find that sweet bundle of nerves hidden inside you.

You begin to see stars, your body contorting and shaking underneath him as you begin to feel your peak.

But no, he removes his fingers before you can finish your pleasure, a harsh whine escaping you. Something foreign is probing your entrance, something...cold, yet hard and firm. It almost feels familiar, your eyes looking downward with a confused glance.

Oh -... that's..

He's sliding your violin stick into your opening hole, a startled gasp emitting from you as you hold onto the desk with white knuckles. Hannibal pushes it in slowly, torturously, taking note of every facial expression you make before stopping to not go too far in.

" Good girl....that's it... " He praises softly, leaning up to kiss your temple in a false loving manner before beginning to thrust in and out. He's playing you, as if YOU were the violin you just played for him. It causes you to pant against his arm, his other hand moving downward to quickly rub against your swollen clit in rhythm. The stimulation and the thought is all too much, your body moving in time while strands of your hair stick to your forehead with sweat.

" I'm -... Hannibal ... "

He looks down at you with parted lips from his own arousal seeing you in such a debauched state, the violin stick thrusting in and out of you in a faster pace.

" Come for me.. Come ... "

It was all it took before you spasm with a sharp yell of ecstasy, your cunt clenching the stick and drenching it with your fluids. You're a sobbing mess, body trembling from the high as he removes the object in one swift motion. He cannot take it anymore, his lust on full over drive as he quickly positions his cock against your abused entrance.

With one fast thrust, he's inside you, stretching you to the fullest capacity. A strangled cry sounds from you, his fingers lifting one of your legs to drive deeper as he begins his assailant.

" Fuck - ... Still so tight, little dove... "

He's watching you with furrowed brows in concentration, your lashes wet from your sobs as you reached behind you to grab onto the desk's edge for support. The wood beneath you is creaking with each thrust, his own grunts following after which fill your ears with desire. Your eyes lock as he thrusts faster, faster, until you can feel your lithe body almost fall off the surface.

Hannibal is getting close, his fingers tightening on your thighs, creating crescent moons in it's wake from his blunt nails. Your toes are curling, hair cascading around you as you moan wantonly with each thrust. Seeing your heaving exposed chest with your dress still fastened on you made him lose his composure, a loud shout escaping from him as he made one final thrust into your core. You felt a heat radiate from within, a slight whimper escaping him as he leaned forward to breathe heavily from exhaustion.

You did not know this yet, or perhaps you did, but there was denial still creeping in the back of your head.

The free bird you once were, is now captured under the monster's grasp.

You were his... and his alone.

[thanatika]

i will say about the "gentle hands" comment: i'm a bit surprised that people have been focusing on the word gentle specifically, to the point that i feel like it's starting to be overstated as an inherently romantic/suggestive english word in contrast to the completely unromantic "чуткие". they are definitely different words, from what i've seen, since it's only "gentle" that has the connotations of comforting, kind, or soft. but!

i wouldn't call "gentle" inherently romantic — if Daniil had said "gentle hands" about some kindly nurse NPC who was patching wounds, or one of the townswomen NPCs who patch up clothes, or even Clara healing the sick, i don't think anyone would read anything suggestive or inappropriate in that, except that it might be uncharacteristically complimentary for Daniil to say (especially about Clara, who he mostly dislikes). as well as just... a little strange to be thinking about someone's hands that much in general! imo, thinking that about Artemy's hands mainly comes off as suggestive in the context (Daniil's seemingly great fondness for him for most of the Classic Haruspex route, the "that Haruspex of yours" line from Clara later in the demo, and the fact that the writers definitely know people see these two as having chemistry), not because "gentle" is that romantic. he could have said anything — "his hands are sensitive/attentive/delicate" might have been a more literal translation, and still would have raised just as many eyebrows, i think.

thinking his hands are чуткие or gentle or any other translation also stands out because of the context of their conversation, i think. their convo is about how Artemy's "gentle hands" apparently broke a microscope, and one of the first things Daniil can say is to tell him to "Please keep your bear paws off that precision instrument!". so, when he then looks at Artemy and thinks "But his hands are gentle", the thought could come off as him being ingenuine and sarcastic (those hands just broke a sensitive piece of equipment, and are known for being the hands of a "violent killer", besides). alternatively, it gives the implication that Daniil snapping at Artemy about his clumsy "bear paws" is where he's being inauthentic — that he doth protest too much, basically, and is making comments like that to cover for what he actually thinks about Artemy's hands. considering that denial seems to be a fairly major aspect of Daniil's character, i'm more inclined to say it's the second option.

(also, about that microscope: everyone keeps calling the "gentle hands" comment sexually suggestive, but personally i only burst out laughing after i read the "gentle hands" line, when i then turned to read his thoughts about the microscope: "A precision instrument, broken / As if it were used to hammer nails / And we all know who did the hammering". because, well. i don't know if it has the same connotation in russian whatsoever, but in english that can be a vulgar slang term for rough sex, in the same sense of "pounding" (and "pounding nails" is actually used as often as "hammering nails", if not more, so i'd guess they had to choose to use hammer to not be too obvious). the series has definitely not been afraid of making crude double entendres before — all of the "nuts" jokes in the original game, as well as a few more instances which didn't even make it into english that i remember from @katherinakaina's great posts comparing the Classic HD translations.)

back to gentle, though. when i looked up чуткие in the dictionary, one of the definitions was "keen" which reminded me of this moment from classic with Artemy and Eva, and, sure enough, it's the same word! just thought that was an interesting parallel between the two of them, Eva's being described with the same term being used for "the gentle hand of a surgeon". and for the record, i think "But he has keen hands" would have come off even more suggestive than "gentle", considering that "keen" has the connotations of eagerness.

[katareyoudrilling]

Audience of One (Dave York one-shot)

Pairing: Bodyguard Dave York x Female Reader

Summary: When online comments threaten your safety, you reluctantly agree to hire a bodyguard

Word count: ~3k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only. NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: a bit of danger, masturbation, unprotected PIV (please use protection IRL), a hickey (sort of)

A/N: This is my entry for @burntheedges Roll-a-Trope challenge! I got famous person AU and twisted it to fit my very niche tastes lol.  It has been quite a while since I posted something, thanks for hanging in there with me.  I really hope you enjoy it! Big thanks to @burntheedges for the beta 😘

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

Dave York Masterlist

Masterlist

Taglist – link in my bio or let me know!

“I really think you’re overreacting.”  You finish cleaning off your instrument and securing it in your case.

“I’m not and it’s not open to discussion.” 

You sigh.  “I’m a concert violinist, not a movie star.  No one is out to ‘get me’ or whatever.  This is ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” your manager forces you to meet her gaze.  “There have been emails, social media posts… I know you don’t want to believe it, but there are creeps out there focused on you.  I need you to be safe.”

She’s looking at you with so much care and concern that the fight leaves your body.  “Fine.  Send him in.”

“Thank you.”  She turns to open the door to the dressing room and gestures to someone in the hallway.  You gather the rest of your things into your bag and prepare to head to your hotel.

Your manager steps back into the room trailed by a tall, broad, dark-haired, incredibly attractive man in an overcoat.

“Meet Dave York, your bodyguard.”

. . . . . . . . . .

“I’m really sorry about this,” you apologize for the tenth time since getting into the back of the town car with your new bodyguard in tow. “All this fuss is unnecessary.”

Dave regards you across the darkened backseat.  “Your manager doesn’t think so and neither do I.  The sooner you accept my help, the better this will go.”

You lose your train of thought as the streetlights sweep across his gorgeous features.  His pouty lips… his aquiline nose… his strong jaw… his dark eyes… each feature takes its turn in the lamplight.  It’s probably for the best, taking him in all at once might actually kill you.  No one has the right to be this handsome.

You shake yourself out of your reverie and find Dave watching you closely.  You look away quickly, shifting your focus out your window.  You cross your legs, and the slit of your dress opens, revealing your legs up to mid-thigh.  You quickly adjust the skirt to cover yourself and tell yourself that you’re imagining Dave’s eyes flickering away.

You clear your throat, “Right, umm… how is this going to go, exactly?”

“I’ll be with you during the day.  When you return to your hotel room at night, I’ll hand off responsibility to my security team.  There will be extra security at your concerts and events as well.”

“That doesn’t sound too intrusive.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“I hope you like classical music.”

“We’ll find out.”

. . . . . . . . . . .

And that’s how it goes.  Dave meets you outside your door when you’re ready to leave in the morning and accompanies you on each step of your schedule.  He tags along to masterclasses, rehearsals, concerts, and your own practice sessions.  Ushering you in and out of town cars and back exits.

You share brief conversations in the car.  His dry, sarcastic wit comes out little by little as you spend time with him.  He often makes you laugh and you thrill when his pouty lips tilt at the edges into a wry smirk at something you said.

He leaves you at your hotel room door in each city at the end of the day, waiting until you close the door to call his security team.

You don’t lean against the door and wonder where he goes after he’s with you.  That would be inappropriate.

You don’t replay the events of the day, the glances, the almost touches, that assuredly exist only in your own imagination.

You don’t catalog the little things you’ve learned about him.  Single.  No kids.  Ex-military.  Coffee, black.  Unexpected crinkles around the eyes when he smiles.

You don’t seek him out in the concert halls, looking for a sign that he enjoys the music you’re making, always finding him watching you intently from backstage, still and focused.

You don’t find yourself pulling out your favorite toy to relieve some tension more and more frequently as the days spent in his company add up.

Definitely not.

. . . . . . . . . .

“You played something different tonight.” Dave’s deep voice breaks the silence of the car. 

You hum your assent, “Sarasate’s Carmen Fantasy.  It’s a real crowd pleaser.”

“I didn’t know a violin could do that.”

You chuckle, “Yeah, the soloist gets to show off in that one.”

“You like to show off, don’t you?”

The energy in the car shifts in an instant.  Dave’s dark eyes are even darker than usual as he regards you across the cab.  The question hangs heavy in the air.  

“You have to like to show off to do my job,” you explain a bit breathlessly.  You meet his dark gaze, and he hums in approval.  “Do you like to show off, Dave?”

He drags his thumb across his lower lip, your eyes can’t help but follow the movement.

“No, I don’t like to show off.  I like to watch.”

His words hit you like an electrical current, zinging across your skin, breaking you out into full body goose bumps.

You hold each other’s gaze in the dark, your breath coming in increasingly erratic pants.  He doesn’t look away.  Neither do you.

You cross your legs and allow your skirt to fall open up your legs, just like the first night you were in the car with him.  This time, the dress has an even higher slit—you save this particular gown for when you perform the Carmen, you enjoy playing into the persona.  This time, you don’t cover up.

You watch as his gaze flickers to your bare legs, exposed practically all the way to your underwear, the tip of his tongue sneaks out to wet his plush lips.

He drags his eyes back up to yours.  The air is thick with possibility.  A line has definitely been crossed.  Words begin to bubble up from your gut when the car pulls to a stop in front of the hotel.

The moment pops like a balloon.

Dave opens his door and swings up and out of the car.  In a haze, you open your door and step out into the night.

The next moments go by in a flash.

You hear someone shout your name, Dave yells, you’re shoved against the car, unfamiliar hands grab your shoulders and whisk you into the hotel lobby and into the elevator.  The doors close before you can understand the commotion happening outside the hotel.

You’re flanked by security guards you’ve seen around after hours.  The words “assailant” “custody” “weapon” permeate the buzzing in your brain.  Questions form and dissipate in the tangle of your thoughts before you can get them out.

The elevator doors open on your floor, and you are bodily moved into your hotel room.  Before they can close the door, you finally manage to ask what’s going on only to be met with vague instructions to stay in your room and wait.

You pace the floor and look out your window, hoping for a glimpse of what might be happening on the street below, but you’re on the wrong side of the building.  It doesn’t hold any answers for you.

Your hands reach for your phone only to realize it’s still in your bag in the car, along with your instrument case.

The car.

Your mind returns to that moment right before you pulled up to the hotel.  So ripe with promise and possibility.

Then you had gotten out of the car.

Oh shit.

You got out of the car yourself.  You opened your door yourself.  You weren’t supposed to do that. Dave opens your door.  Dave ushers you out of the car.

It’s all your fault.

Just as your thoughts threaten to spiral, there’s a firm knock on your door.

“It’s me.  Everything is ok. Open the door.” You hear Dave through the door.  You rush over and check the peephole like he told you to.  At least you can say you remembered to do that.  You confirm it’s him and open the door.

“Dave, I—”

He crashes into you, pressing you against the wall with the length of his body before claiming your mouth with a rough, desperate kiss.  His hands grip your chin, your shoulders, your hip as he devours your mouth.

Your hands scrabble against his chest, finding the lapels of his coat to hang on.

Just as suddenly as you found yourself kissing Dave, you aren’t.  He pulls back abruptly leaving you cold and breathless.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t ha—”

You pull him back to you by his coat, drawing his mouth back to yours.  You lick into his mouth, moaning as he responds.

This kiss is less frantic, but still full of need.  Your tongues tangle together, tasting and testing.

Dave eventually breaks away, resting his forehead against yours.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, I’m ok, but what happened?”

“A man came running toward you, the police have him now.  I’m sure it’s the person making those creepy comments about you online.”

“I got out of the car by myself, Dave, I’m so sorry, I know I’m n—”

“Shh,” he hushes you.  “It’s ok.  You’re ok.”

He presses his lips to yours, swallowing your protests, until you melt into him.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” He drags his lips down your throat, across your collarbones and shoulders.  He licks back up the side of your neck.

You gasp as he drags his tongue over the sensitive spot on your neck.

“I noticed this mark the night I first met you,” he murmurs into your skin. “I was so jealous of whoever got to do that to you.  I kept waiting to find out who it was, to see if they were worthy of marking your skin, but there has been no one and the mark has stayed.”  You sense the unasked question.

“My… it’s… a violin hickey,” you pant as he drags his nose up the column of your throat and along your jaw. “Where my violin rubs against my neck when I play.”  He chuckles.

“Should I be jealous of your violin?”

“Probably.”

He hums against you.  “Fair enough.”

He steps back to the hotel room door and for a moment your heart drops thinking that he might be leaving, but he only opens the door to pull your bag and violin case into the room.  You hear him conversing with a guard outside before he closes the door, locking the deadbolt before turning back to you.

He shrugs off his overcoat and suit jacket.  He loosens the knot of his tie and begins to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves.  You watch the movement of his fingers with rapt attention.

“So, Miss Show off. Do you want to show off for me?”  His eyes flash dangerous and dark and a thrill runs up your spine.

Adrenaline tingles in your fingertips as you find the zipper of your dress and pull it down your side.

You lock eyes with Dave as you let your gown fall to the floor, a puddle at your feet.  You are left standing in only your panties and high heels.

Dave drinks you in, caressing your curves with his warm gaze.  Your nipples harden under his perusal and wetness pools between your legs.  It’s all you can do to not rub your thighs together.

“Get on the bed.” He commands, his voice deep and rasping with need.  His shirtsleeves are rolled up now, exposing the tendons and veins in his forearms.  His hands fist at his sides, clearly fighting the urge to touch you.  But you’ve learned this about Dave, he is always in control of himself.

You walk over to the bed, turning your back to him and adding an extra sway to your hips.  You catch his strangled moan at the sight of your round ass framed by the string of your thong.  You turn to sit at the end of the bed with a satisfied smirk.  Dave stands at arm’s length from you, pinning you with his dark eyes.

“Show me.  Let me see if those fingers can play your pussy as well as they play your violin.”

You gasp at his filthy words and your center clenches with need.  Keeping your eyes on him once again, you drag your panties down your legs and off, kicking off your shoes as you do, and scoot a bit farther onto the bed.

You lean back into the plush bedding, resting on one elbow, knees bent, and spread your legs for Dave.

He drinks you in hungrily as you part yourself for him, dipping your fingers into your wetness.

Your mouth falls open as you circle your clit, a moan escaping your chest.  You fight to keep your eyes open so you can watch Dave watch you.  You really do like to show off and he is an eager audience.

You quicken your pace, hitting the rhythm you like best, and find yourself careening towards your peak.  Your hips buck on the bed, and you whine that you’re close.

“Show me,” Dave commands one last time before you fall over the edge, pulsing and shivering through your release.

 “Do I get a standing ovation?” you ask, breathless, once you’ve come back to yourself. 

“You tell me.”

You crack one eye open and find that he’s standing at the end of the bed naked.  His cock juts proudly away from his hips at full attention.

“My favorite kind.” You lick your lips as you sit up and crawl to the edge of the bed.  You look up at him as you take the tip of his cock between your lips, sliding down the hard length of him.  You watch his stomach flex with effort as he resists fucking into your mouth.

It makes you want to make him lose control.  He’s always alert and watching.  Even in the car on the way to the hotel tonight, he kept his cool as you tempted him.  Bursting into your room to kiss you is the only time you’ve seen him not in complete control of himself.

You tongue and suck and moan around him, losing yourself in the rhythm.  Dave drags his fingers down your cheek and throat.  

“Look at you, fuck.” He cups your breasts, swaying heavily between your arms, and pinches your nipples.  “I want to watch these tits bounce while I fuck you.”

You whimper around his length, arousal practically dripping down your legs.  He pulls out of your mouth, diving down to kiss you deeply and press you backwards onto the bed.

He arranges himself against the headboard and drags you on top of him.  “Ride me, baby,” he commands.  You eagerly comply, lining his weeping cock up with your entrance.

Your eyes roll back in your head as you sink down onto him, the stretch is so delicious with every inch you take.  When you bottom out, you open your eyes to find Dave breathing hard, the tendons of his neck taut with effort.

You rise and sink back down slowly, angling yourself backwards so he can see his cock disappear into your wet heat.  He licks the pad of his thumb and reaches between you, giving you friction that makes you shudder with each roll of your hips.

“Fuck yes,” he groans, eyes locked on your greedy pussy, swallowing him whole.  You feel yourself start to flutter around him, the intensity of his eyes on you drives your arousal higher and higher.  Being watched with so much desire gives you such a thrill that your orgasm threatens to take you far too soon.

You slow and lean forward, placing a hand on the headboard over Dave’s head.  Your breasts wobble in front of his face and he quickly takes one nipple into his mouth.  You arch your back into him as he sucks and tugs, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

He holds your hips still with one hand as he feasts on you, bringing his other to cup and pinch your tender flesh.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you cry as the pressure builds in your core.  Your hips grind into him, seeking relief as he relentlessly toys with you.

He allows you to move, to chase your high, riding his cock with abandon as he looks up at you with lust blown eyes.  You tilt your hips, and he finds your clit once again.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he praises you as you near your peak.  “Come on my cock, baby.  I want to feel you.”

You come with a gasp, rising up on your knees as your pussy clenches then collapsing back down with shuddering pulses.  Dave caresses your back before rolling you over and gently pulling out.  He kneels between your legs, stroking his length, as you lie boneless and hazy.

“That was so fucking hot, baby.” His jaw clenches as he strokes himself faster and faster.  “I fucking love to watch you.  Watch you play your violin… watch you touch yourself… watch you fuck…”

“It’s my turn, Dave,” you interrupt.  “I want to watch you come.  Come all over me.” You prop yourself up on your elbows and smirk at the way a shudder moves through his body.  He lets go with a groan, ropes of cum painting your tummy and chest.

You both collapse, satisfied.  Dave cleans you up, taking extra care with your breasts.  You smirk as he chases the warm cloth with his even warmer mouth.

“What happens now?” you ask later, when you’re twined together on the bed. “If that was the guy…”

“I’ll be here as long as you need me and even after you don’t,” Dave presses a kiss to the top of your head.  You snuggle into his side, relaxing in the knowledge that you are safe and thrilled with the prospect of showing off again for your audience of one.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A/N: I don't have, and never have had, a violin hickey. I probably don't practice enough lol. But they are often seen as a point of pride among violinists.

Dave York Masterlist

Masterlist

Taglist - in reblog

[r473n]

MAYURI'S LONG NAIL

(aka coke nail)

Spoilers for TWBY ahead, you've been warned.

I have had this conversation with a lot of other Mayuri fans by now about what is the purpose of The Nail.

Some think it's just a fashion statement, others that it's a symbol of social status (often a long pinky finger nail in places like China indicated the person was well-off and didn't do manual labour).

Many agree that it must serve a pragmatic use, be it to play a musical instrument, for self hygiene purposes or as a scooping tool of small objects, powders, etc (ehem, ehem).

And yes, I do agree any of these reasons could very well be it. We all know the man is a diva who likes to show off and that almost everything he does obeys a practical motivation.

But, there's another possibility as discussed below the dotted line in this analysis by @bleachbleachbleach (please go read it)...

It's instrumental to reach a reset button.

Now, hear me out.

He didn't have the nail as Tanuki during TBTP, as seen here.

Nor did he have it as Bug Mayuri, as demonstrated below.

You know what he also didn't have?

He also didn't have Nemu.

So, my theory and that of many other Mayuri fans, is that The Nail isn't something he needs for himself, otherwise he wouldn't have gotten rid of it - It helped him reach Nemu’s Gigai's reset button.

I believe he used it after Szayelaporro's fight, when he resuscitated her in front of Renji and Uryu who, inexpercied as they are (aka can hardly spell virgin), thought he was doing some weird sexual thing to her...

And ofc Kubo couldn't let an opportunity pass to create an awkward moment dashed with inappropriate comedy.

Anyhoo, that's my rambling done for today!

[aevallare]

excuses

light plot. heavy smut. mind the warnings. you can read on ao3 here

pairing: astarion/f!tav

word count: 4424

warnings: Aphrodisiacs, Semi-Public Sex, Squirting, Gags, Vaginal Fingering, Soft Dom Astarion, Wall Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Creampie, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Biting, Hand Kink, Inappropriate Use of Tadpole | Illithid Parasite Powers, Established Relationship, Rough Sex, Hair-pulling

preview:

“Go.” Auri's voice is hoarse. “This isn't your problem.”

Astarion's eyes narrow. “If you really think that I'm going to leave you here by yourself–”

“Astarion, please.” Again, Auri begs. “Something was wrong with that meat I ate. It feels infernal. Everything’s so warm. I can't–”

enjoy!!

-----

The orthon’s dead and his stronghold is now their camp for the evening. It’s a nice change from the usual; after barricading the entrance, they won’t even have to take watches. It’s well-fortified and Auri’s reasonably confident that they’ve wiped out anything in the immediate area that might want to kill them.

So spirits are light.

When Wyll jokingly tells her to lick the spider, Auri rolls her eyes at him. “Don’t be stupid. We’ll take it back to camp and cook it.”

Astarion won’t partake regardless, but he does afford her two raised eyebrows in response. Shadowheart grimaces and Wyll barks out a laugh that fades when Auri doesn’t join him.

“You’re joking,” Wyll says weakly. Auri sets her mouth in a line.

“There isn’t much else to eat down here.”

“Unless you’re Astarion,” Shadowheart snorts. It’s true enough, though it makes Auri blush. The marks on her neck are testament to that.

Wyll stares at Auri as she harvests meat from the spider with a dagger she pulls from her belt, and he says, “I’ll stick with what rations we have, I think.”

Auri shrugs. She ate worse when she was on the street. Her knife cuts into the spider’s corpse with a sickening crack through the exoskeleton before Astarion asks, “What are you doing?”

Auri looks up at him. “I told you I wasn’t going to let it go to waste.”

“No, that’s not–” Astarion pinches the bridge of his nose and crouches down next to her. “Move. You’re mutilating it.”

Auri’s barely started and he’s criticizing her. When he shoos her to the side with a flick of his wrist, Auri lets herself be dismissed. She stands, and behind them, Wyll and Shadowheart get to work setting up camp.

They’ve all long shed their armor. Astarion’s careful to push up the sleeves of his shirt before pulling a dagger of his own from his boot. The veins of his forearms thread down into his hands, thick and protruding, and as Auri watches, he gets to work.

“Did you moonlight as a butcher while you were a magistrate?” Auri asks.

Astarion exhales a laugh. “No, but as you might have guessed, taking things apart was an oft-used skill of mine after my time as a magistrate.”

The joke is dark, but Astarion doesn’t seem upset. In fact, he continues, “Are you really going to eat spider meat?”

“I put vampire in my mouth all the time and you never seem to complain about that.”

“True. Your exotic appetite is one of my favorite things about you.”

His dagger filets with grace; no movement is wasted. When he’s finally picked the spider clean, he looks up at her. The dagger’s still in his hand and he toys with it absently.

Auri’s always been enamored of his hands. Her own are calloused, roughened by years of playing every instrument she could get her hands on. They’re a lyrist’s hands. There’s nothing wrong with them; they’re nothing but tools.

His, though.

Astarion’s hands have never made music as far as Auri knows, but they make the world sing at his discretion anyway. Flesh and skin bow and warble at his fingers’ mercy, and gods know that her body’s sung under his touch more times than she can count.

Her hands are tools. His are art.

Astarion’s thumb brushes over the hilt of his dagger a final time before he stows it once more. Auri’s mouth is dry and it occurs to her that she’s staring. Astarion’s eyes catch hers and he smirks.

“See something you like, darling?”

His hand drifts up to push his hair out of his eyes. Auri’s gaze follows the movement like it’s a compulsion.

“Always,” she manages, and Astarion laughs for real then, a soft, secret thing that she’d never be graced with if Shadowheart or Wyll were nearby.

“Be careful staring like that. I might get the wrong idea.”

Auri blinks at him, finally pulled from the single-minded fixation she’s had on his hands. “What do you mean? We had sex just a couple of days ago–”

“Details.”

Auri gathers the meat in her hands and walks to the campfire. No one bothers her as she stokes the flames before skewering the meat on a sharpened stick and setting it to roast on the fire.

Shadowheart settles in next to her, and when she does, she wrinkles her nose. “That smells awful.”

“Everything down here smells awful–”

Astarion’s taken a seat and cracked open a book, but without looking up, he says, “You’re both right. This place absolutely reeks and that filth you’re cooking is making it worse.”

Wyll laughs. Auri frowns. Shadowheart huffs.

When the meat, for all intents and purposes, appears cooked, Auri pulls it from the fire. “You two are sure you don’t want any?” She looks at Wyll and Shadowheart in turn.

Wyll, at least, says, “No, thank you.”

Shadowheart just scoffs. “I’d rather starve.”

Auri shrugs. Her teeth tear through the spider meat, and if Auri doesn’t chew, it doesn’t taste so bad. Shadowheart’s grimace grows more and more disgusted, but Auri’s got a full stomach, so she doesn’t particularly care.

-----

There’s been little time to be unfocused in the Gauntlet of Shar. Everything is a potential or actual threat, and though he’s more or less convinced of their safety in this fortified pocket of ground that the orthon carved out for himself, Astarion still trances with a dagger in arm’s reach.

Still, his trance is light, and it’s been less than a day since he’s fed. He’s so much more when his senses are thrumming with Auri’s blood–

And it’s the sound of Auri that wakes him.

It’s a stifled, strangled, choking noise that pulls Astarion from his trance. It’s not close by, but he’d recognize Auri anywhere. It doesn’t sound like she’s in danger, exactly–

But Astarion slinks out from his tent anyway. Wyll and Shadowheart are nowhere to be seen; if he focuses, he can hear them both, breathing heavy with sleep in their tents. It’s hard to do that, though, when Auri’s gasping grows more and more labored.

So he follows it. And he finds her. And the reason she’s so far from camp isn’t hard to deduce once he does.

Auri’s slouched against a crumbling stone pillar. She’s managed to find a place free from bloodshed and gore, and her mind is entirely elsewhere (though she almost certainly wouldn’t have noticed Astarion anyway). From this angle it’s difficult to make much out, but Astarion doesn’t need to be able to see her in order to know what she’s doing.

Even from here, he can hear her ragged whimpering. He can smell the heat between her legs.

There’s something in Auri’s mouth, but when she slumps further down the pillar with a moan that dances on the line between relief and frustration, there’s no mistaking what she’s doing. She’s just made herself come, and she’s unsatisfied with the result.

She pulls the cloth from her mouth and whines, “Fuck.” Her body heaves and she fists both hands in her hair, leggings loose around her hips.

The idea of just watching her is appealing, but as Astarion looks on, tears prick at Auri’s eyes. He can see her bite the inside of her cheek in the way that she does when she feels that things are hopeless, and when he says, “I hope you don’t mind me saying, love, but you’ve looked better,” Auri doesn’t even startle. That’s when Astarion knows that something is truly wrong. He’d guessed, of course – there’s a feverish sweat beading on her brow and it’s unusual for her to wander off alone – but when she greets him without her usual bright smile, there’s no room left for doubt.

“Go back to camp. Please.”

There’s desperation in her voice. Astarion tilts his head to the side. “Darling–”

The pet name barely leaves his mouth before he feels her parasite push into his mind. It doesn't ask permission before it enters; Auri's lost control entirely. Astarion grunts in shock and then the assault of her tadpole on his comes into focus.

What afflicts her is lust incarnate.

“Please.” Auri struggles to form words but she tries anyway. “I'm not… myself. I can take care of this on my own. I swear.”

She's whimpering, filled with so much desire that it's causing her physical pain. When Auri tells him to leave, it's not for her own benefit. He can tell because of what the tadpole pushes into his mind, Auri's will be damned.

I could think about his hands forever. If he was the only one to touch me for the rest of my life, I'd be satisfied.

Astarion doesn't recognize what magic this is exactly, but her lust is unnaturally strong. “Not that I'm not flattered, but–”

There's a stone slab that was probably used as a table. I'm bent over it. Astarion's behind me and neither of us has bothered getting undressed. His cock pushes into me and when it does, there's finally some sense of relief. If it weren't for the gag, I'd scream loud enough to attract every enemy from here to the Underdark when he thrusts.

Astarion, suddenly, is also finding it difficult to form coherent thought.

“Go.” Auri's voice is hoarse. “This isn't your problem.”

Astarion's eyes narrow. “If you really think that I'm going to leave you here by yourself–”

“Astarion, please.” Again, Auri begs. “Something was wrong with that meat I ate. It feels infernal. Everything’s so warm. I can't–”

Auri lets out a muted moan. When Astarion steps forward, she does her best to shrink away, but the pillar she'd been using for support stops her. She doesn’t want to ask. She doesn’t want to put him in a position where he’d have to say yes or no.

He puts his palm on stone in the space next to her head.

“Would you feel better if I touched you?” Astarion asks.

Auri’s fingers shake. Her eyes flit between the hand that he isn’t using to support himself and his face.

“I don’t know,” she says. Her pulse throbs in her throat. “You don’t have to–”

He interrupts her, ignoring the latter half of her words. “Would you like to try?”

A sob wrenches itself from her body. “It’s the only thing I can think about.”

And at last, he won’t be the one at the mercy of her kindness. Maybe he’d feel used if it were someone else. But it isn’t. It’s her.

Astarion dips down to kiss her, and again, Auri’s lust pours into him. She bites at his lip greedily, hips bucking forward gracelessly into his.

When he pulls away, hand sliding beneath her waistband, Auri says, “The gag.”

Somehow, Astarion had forgotten about that. “The gag?”

Auri nods her head, a moment from falling apart without him even having touched any of the places she likes best. “The others– I don’t want the others to hear.”

When a finger slides inside her, Auri’s eyes roll to the back of her head. She’s warmer than usual, but other than that and the desire rolling off of her body, she doesn’t seem to be in any danger.

Yes. He can take care of this.

Astarion’s palm pushes up against her clit as his finger gets to work, and with his other hand, he pulls Auri’s makeshift gag up from around her neck. “What is this?”

“I stole a clean bandage from Shadowheart’s things. Another finger, please. It’s not enough–”

The Auri he’s used to is a tender thing, though she’s more than capable of playing rough. He punctuates the second finger that she asked for by stuffing the cloth bandage into her mouth. She was wet already; when the gag’s back in place, she clenches around his fingers.

“Do you want to talk or do you want me to take care of you?” he asks.

There’s fire in her eyes. Auri can’t speak, but the images she pushes into him are obscene. Astarion doesn’t even have time to process them all before he says, “Well, we can certainly try a few.”

Astarion feels the tension inside her play up with each touch. Her leggings have fallen to her ankles and the hand that’s not buried in her cunt massages her breast. He gives her nipple a delicate twist, and the strangled moan that escapes her is more than worth his trouble. The other breast falls prey to his mouth instead, and when he bites at the soft flesh there, Auri’s knees buckle.

“We can’t have that, love,” he says, and he heaves her leg up, the crook of her knee in his hand. She’s still technically wearing her leggings; they’re just in a pool around the leg still holding her to the ground. Auri’s eyes go wide at the new angle, but there’s no complaint. From here, Astarion can touch her easily, freely, and as his pace quickens, so too does her heart rate.

Please, Astarion– please–

The gag’s occupied her mouth, but she’s still able to beg through the parasite.

“I do love how you look when you come for me,” he says, and with his fingers hitched inside her, Auri shatters. It’s different from usual but no less entrancing, and for the briefest moment as Auri squirts into his hand, she almost looks like herself.

Her eyes are wide. Gods.

“That’s new,” he says, and Auri would probably laugh if the gag wasn’t still in her mouth. “Feel better?”

His cock’s hard, but that’s hardly the point of this venture.

Auri pauses before nodding, and maybe Astarion would believe it if her body language wasn’t completely at odds with her mind flooding him with the image of him spilling himself inside her as she's bent over the slab of stone that he can see from the corner of his eye. Astarion smirks, feathering his thumb over her hypersensitive clit as he pulls his fingers out from inside her. She whimpers for him, and he whispers in her ear, “Liar.”

This isn’t your problem, she says again.

Astarion licks the evidence of her orgasm from his hand. Her eyes lock onto the motion, and when he’s done, he lifts her into his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist.

“Unfortunately, without you around, my meal ticket disappears. So you are indeed my problem.”

She’s bare from the waist down. Auri’s slick enough that Astarion can feel it through his clothes. His cock’s already straining against his trousers.

She’s his problem in more ways than one.

When he lays her down on her back, he’s careful to make sure her shirt’s pulled down. The slab’s rough, unfinished, but she doesn’t seem to care. She sits up, pulling the gag from her mouth, and she says, “Let me.”

Auri reaches for the laces that will free his erection, but Astarion takes a step back so that he’s out of reach. He plucks the gag from her hand, and says, “I asked before. Do you want to talk or do you want me to take care of you?”

A shiver runs up her body and she doesn’t answer.

And that's answer enough, really. Well. That and the picture of him pulling her to the edge of the slab, bottoming out inside her, her breasts bare.

With painstaking restraint, Astarion exhales through his nose. “Oh, darling,” he says through gritted teeth. “Lie back for me, would you?”

If pressed, he’d admit it’s not the most graceful way he’s ever pulled out his cock, but it’s difficult to care when Auri is quite literally dripping in front of him. Her throat quivers and her fingers twitch; she’s doing everything she can not to touch herself, though Astarion’s not quite sure why.

He strokes himself thoughtlessly, like it’s the only natural course of action, but he won’t leave her wanting. This isn’t a night for games, although they’ve both been having fun despite her condition if the state of her thoughts is any indicator. When he dips down and presses a kiss between her legs, Auri cries out.

The gag’s still in his hand.

He fills her mouth with it in the same moment that he fills her cunt with his cock.

To distill Auri down into one word is impossible, but when he’s inside her, Astarion would struggle to name any adjective but warm. She’s a billion things, of course, not least of all naive, gullible, and foolhardy, but more than anything, she’s the essence of the sun made flesh. She’s made warmer still by whatever it is that’s afflicting her, but her body always leaves him in awe anyway.

A marvel of mortality.

When he thrusts into her, the gag swallows up a squeal that Astarion would frankly have liked to hear in its entirety. Auri’s hand reaches up behind her, nails scrabbling for purchase against unrelenting stone. When she turns her head to the side, saliva pools under her cheek, her eyes half-lidded. The underside of her breast teases him from beneath her shirt, and it’s like she was made for him–

Rip the shirt. I don’t care.

Somehow, even through her addled haze, she’s still thinking about his enjoyment. He could wonder at it, but he’d rather spend the time doing as she says. Astarion fists a hand in the front of her shirt and pulls her close. Auri’s head lolls backward before she regains the wherewithal to support herself, and before Astarion can second-guess himself, his fangs tear into her shirt enough that his hands can do the rest.

He takes a breast in his hand and squeezes as he pushes her down onto her back again, but not before he lifts her legs up onto either of his shoulders. Auri folds almost in half for him, his hips grinding against her clit as he buries himself fully inside her.

Frantic need and desire ripple through her, and if Astarion isn't careful, he'll lose control himself. The new position's made her tighter, and she's close. Astarion can feel it in the way her hips match his rhythm and from the desperate want in her eyes as her walls clench around him.

“My beautiful, depraved thing,” Astarion says, thrusting deep. It's impossible to keep his voice unaffected, but it doesn't matter. It has its intended effect anyway. “Look at you, those pretty tits bouncing as you take my cock. What would the others think if they saw you like this?”

Astarion–

“Their pretty little leader with her shirt torn open, bare on her back, coming for me again? It's a sight beyond compare.”

He won't spend himself inside her yet, though the temptation is certainly there. She's been pouring images of him fucking her into his head since they started, and this time, he returns the favor. When Auri sees herself as Astarion sees her, pupils blown out, blotchy all over, gag soaked through, she unravels. The parasite explodes with her orgasm; Astarion feels it rip through her like it's his own even as she spasms around him.

His own eyes roll back as Auri’s scream fights against the gag, but he doesn't come, and even as the climax is still rolling over her, Astarion hears her.

More– I'm sorry; I need–

She never asks for what she wants – not like this. Auri's always thinking of what he needs.

And she'd shown him before what she wanted.

“You need my cum, don't you? You want me to fuck you until I empty myself inside you?”

Whatever other thoughts she might have had go mute. Her eyes lock with his.

And this really isn't about him, but it occurs to Astarion that that's exactly what he wants, too.

He pulls his cock out from her and misses her warmth immediately, but it's a necessary evil. The beautiful thing about the tadpole and all the time that they’ve spent together is that they’re always a little bit in each other’s heads. The thought is terrifying if Astarion considers it too long, but it’s convenient that they’re on the same page about her scrambling off of the slab. Before she can readjust, Astarion presses his lips to her neck. That, too, makes her moan, and the echoes of her affection rattle along their connection.

I adore you, Auri says, and they could have done all this without Auri’s feverish state as an excuse, but it does remove an element of vulnerability that makes things much easier for Astarion.

The feeling’s mutual, though voicing it still makes his skin crawl. He doesn’t have the vocabulary for it anyway.

His fingers trail up her jawline. Auri’s eyes shine. “That’s my good girl,” he murmurs instead, and when she reaches down between his legs to take him in her hand, his nostrils flare.

She’s still the sun compared to him. Warmth radiates from her. His judgment’s impaired by his personal desire and the feeling of Auri’s hand on his cock, still slick from being inside her. Astarion’s eyes flutter shut.

Briefly, he registers that she isn't quite as warm as she was before, but there's no room for the thought.

Show me what to do, Auri says, as if she doesn't already know. It's the opposite of how this started, when she didn't want to put him in a position where he'd feel obligated to please her.

Auri's tadpole brushes up against his, and he'd known anyway, but it becomes crystal-clear.

Take what you want.

She makes him so fucking hungry.

In the fastest motion he can manage, Astarion pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the slab. The least he can do is make sure that it doesn’t mangle her.

Auri bites her lip as she releases him from her grasp, and Astarion wouldn’t say he’s being rough, but he certainly isn’t gentle when he turns her so her back’s flush with his chest. A thrill thrums through her, and then Auri’s bent over, upper body splayed across the stone.

When Astarion sheaths himself inside her again, it’s home. There’s no resistance. Auri’s body takes him like it’s what she was made to do.

There’s no patience left in him. Every time his hips meet the curve of her ass, he’s another moment closer to his own release. Auri whimpers and whines, and each sound that escapes the gag increases his pace. The freckles on her back are a constellation he’s rarely afforded the privilege of seeing while buried inside her, and his thrusts grow shallower, undisciplined–

Hells, Auri manages, half-coherent this time as he fucks her. Her singular word spurs something carnal in his gut, and he leans down, fisting a hand in her hair and pulling her face up and away from the slab.

When he does, she looks up at him from the corner of her eye. Her walls clench and his cock twitches as her gaze meets his, and she can’t really smile around the gag, but devilish pleasure is evident in her face.

He’s close. They’ve been in this position for barely a moment, but everything leading up to this moment has left Astarion close to undone as is. His grip on her hair tightens, and when she says, I can take whatever you give, Astarion’s last bit of self-control gives way.

He pulls her up, hand never releasing her hair, and when his other hand grips at her thigh, Auri knows what he wants. With only a little help from him, his cock never leaving her cunt, she kneels on the slab. Astarion exposes her neck and kisses the spot that’s his, the place he’s marked a hundred times over, and Auri shivers. Drink while you come in me– she starts, but his fingers interrupt her when they brush against her clit. Auri inhales sharply against the gag, airflow made more difficult by Astarion’s unloosened grip in her hair.

“Come for me again,” Astarion says. It’s almost a command but not quite, and Auri makes every desperate, needy sound all at once. His fingers rub at her clit, slow, deliberate, like he isn’t a hair’s breadth from shattering himself. “You taste better when you come.”

His touch quickens as he speaks, and he could lose himself in her. He already has.

Auri’s back arches, her ass pushing into him and her neck craning up until her head nearly rests on his shoulder. The artery in her neck sings its siren song, and Astarion’s not in the habit of denying himself what Auri’s body offers him.

This time when his lips meet her neck it’s a different kind of kiss, though it has Auri gasping anyway. Her saliva’s dripping down her neck in the same way her cunt drips cum around his cock. Auri’s blood pounds down Astarion’s throat as he fucks up into her, her climax pushing him to his own end. His teeth tear at her skin as he spills himself inside her, and Auri’s parasite radiates what he can only call unparalleled ecstasy.

Astarion doesn’t even want to think about what she can hear through his tadpole.

Auri shakes in his arms; her knees barely seem capable of supporting her. It’s always the hardest thing that Astarion’s ever done to pull his fangs from Auri’s flesh, and it’s made doubly difficult when he pulls his cock from her warmth at the same time.

“Alright, darling?” he asks, releasing her hair from his grasp. It’s a silly question. Astarion doesn’t know why he asks it.

Auri pulls the gag from her mouth and regards it with a look of disgust, dropping it to the ground. “When we do this again, can we get something a little more, erm–” Auri wrinkles her nose, but she hardly seems unhappy. “Dignified?”

“When we do this again?” Astarion teases, relacing his breeches. “Planning on eating more of that spider meat?”

When Auri turns to face him, she lets herself drop into a kneeling position. The adoration’s never faded from her eyes.

“If it gets you to fuck me like that, I’ll do just about anything.”

So, yes. She seems to be perfectly alright. Almost too alright.

Astarion’s eyes narrow.

“Whatever that was– it lost its grip on you after you came for me that second time, didn’t it?”

Auri smiles at him shamelessly. She’s made no move whatsoever to get dressed, entirely content to be here with him in a state that’s wholly vulnerable.

“We were having fun, weren’t we?” she asks.

Astarion laughs, soft and low.

“Yes. We were.”

[dwellordream]

Rules from a Victorian Housekeeping Guide

(Mrs. Beeton's Book of Household Management, 1861). This is extremely useful if you are: A. interested in Victorian domestic life, or B. writing something set in that era and trying to portray the attitudes and concerns a real Victorian wife and mother would have. It is important to note that in the 19th and early 20th century, hiring servants was not just the purview of the wealthy- most middle class families had at least one to two people, typically women, to help with cooking and cleaning.

The housewife should rise early every morning, lest her servants themselves become sluggish and lazy.

Adults should have a cold or lukewarm bath every morning, unless ill.

Gossiping friends should be avoided, as should mealy-mouthed people who are reluctant to call out wrongdoings or inappropriate behavior.

A hostess should never plan parties just for the sake of throwing a party, lest she become dissipative and frivolous.

Minor annoyances, worries, or criticisms of one's husband and children should never be shared with friends; only share major joys and sorrows when you need comfort.

The housewife should maintain a cheerful and caring attitude, and express genuine concern for the wellbeing of everyone, including her servants.

Women should (within reason) keep up to date on fashion trends, even if they personally find them absurd or uncomfortable. They should also ensure they spend money on clothing wisely, make sure the color and pattern flatter her complexion and figure, and make sure they will actually wear the outfit more than once.

Brunettes or woman with darker skin should wear darker, richer colors. Blondes or very pale women should wear light colors. Green and violet, gold and crimson, gold and lilac, pale blue and scarlet, pink and black, pink and white, gray and scarlet, and gray and pink, are the best color combinations.

Part of every household's income, no matter how small, should be donated to charity or given to poorer relations or neighbors- it is the wife's duty to ensure this happens.

Housewives should keep careful accounts books, and review their expenses every month to ensure they know where the money is going. They should personally note down each purchase and fee.

Rather than going to an employment agency, a housewife should ask friends and family for recommendations when it comes to hiring servants. A housewife should always be explicitly clear what chores she wants her servants to handle, so there is no confusion later.

A housewife should be as kind and considerate as possible towards her servants, while still expecting them to be disciplined and do their work without reminders. If a servant fails in their duties, the housewife should fire them, but never badmouth them or gossip about their flaws.

A butler should be paid anywhere from about £25 to £50 per year- in today's money, around £3,800 or $5150, to £7,600 or $10,300, depending on the size of the household.

A cook should be paid anywhere from about £20 to £40 per year- in today's money, around £3,000 or $4120, to £6,000 or $8250, depending on the size of the household.

A housekeeper should be paid anywhere from about £15 to £20 per year- in today's money, around £2,280 or $3090, to £3,000 or $4120, depending on the size of the household.

A lady's maid should be paid anywhere from about £12 to £25 per year- in today's money, around £1,825 or $2470, to £3,800 or $5150, depending on the size of the household.

Every day after breakfast, the housewife should inspect the house to make sure everything is clean and orderly, and then give her orders for the day to the servants.

After this, the housewife should spend the rest of her morning either teaching her preschool-aged children, making and mending clothes, or, if she is wealthier, gardening, reading, learning an instrument, or painting.

After lunch, the housewife should take time to visit friends or permit friends to call upon her, but unless there is a party or special occasion, the visits should be no longer than twenty minutes of chit-chat.

Serious topics such as politics, religion, etc should be avoided at house calls, and one should never appear to be lecturing their guests or host. Pets and young children should not be present for these visits.

When hosting a dinner party, the male and female guests should separate to different areas of the house after dinner, and it should be expected that guests will likely remain until midnight. It is acceptable to invite certain guests to come socialize after dinner; some people will attend as many as three dinner parties in a single night.

Needlework, chess, and reading aloud are all acceptable pastimes for a family to do together in the evenings after dinner.

Servants should never be permitted to stay up later than their employers; the husband and wife should always inspect the house once more before going to bed themselves.

[cyberrose2001]

Kinktober: Day 7

Prompt: Medical Play

TFP Ratchet x GN afab reader

Warnings: consensual Doctor/Patient role play, very inappropriate use of medical devices, slight bdsm, lots of body fluids, masturbation, temperature play

Word count: 1058

(this is your warning, this gets very kinky. click away if you’re not comfortable!)

“I'll take it that the patient is comfortable?”

Comfortable is a strong word for Ratchet to use, in your opinion. Being strapped down with your wrists bound with leather on an ice-cold gurney isn’t what most people consider relaxing. The only mildly comfortable thing about your position is the soft padding under your thighs, elevating your legs, but at the cost of exposing your entire pelvic region to the mech.

You weren’t comfortable. No. You were turned the fuck on.

Nodding helplessly, you grind your hips on nothing in anticipation of what your lover had planned. Though, you weren’t totally in the dark. Ratchet had explained his darkest desires beforehand after your curiosity got the better of you. His detailed explanation of the obscure, downright dirty, and, god forbid, unethical things he wanted to experiment on you unexpectedly set your groin on fire at the mental image.

“Very well then,” Ratchets’ servo grazes over his tidy set-up of intimidating medical equipment before selecting the humble stethoscope, turning to you as he secures it to his helm, “We will proceed with a thorough check-up then, hm?”

All you can do is nod once again; the O-shaped gag fitted snuggly in your mouth hinders your ability to give your doctor a verbal answer. He hums, approaching the head of the gurney. He leans over and places the cold end of the stethoscope above your heart, causing a soft gasp to leave your throat.

Ratchet listens for a bit, humming in thought, “Your heart rate is elevated. I can only deduce that you’re excited, or for a better term, aroused.”

You let out another whine as he moved the stethoscope down your stomach, stopping at each quadrant to listen. The icy cold instrument makes your hair stand on end, and Ratchet can't help but let his other servo drag across your tummy to feel for himself, “Abdominal sounds are excellent, no abnormalities from what I can tell.”

Ratchet agonisingly drags the end of the stethoscope down past your belly button, “Though I do have one concern,” He drags it even further down before pressing it straight onto your pulsing clit, “And it’s how fraggin’ wet you are.”

Never once had you thought that having someone take a stethoscope to your clit just to hear it throbbing would be hot, but watching Ratchet listen, and watching his spike pressurise right in front of you, was enough to draw a loud restrained moan from you. And when you think it couldn’t get more erotic, Ratchet starts to circle and put pressure on your aching bud with it.

“Nnghn… fck…” You whine, grinding your hips upwards to gain more friction, but it’s in vain as Ratchet pulls away, groaning as he watches your slick leave a silvery thread in its trail.

“My, my…” Ratchet breathes out, observing the end piece with equal professionalism and restrained lust, “I was going to utilise some medical grade lubricant on you,” He flicks his optics back to your dripping cunt, “But by the looks of things, we won’t be needing it.”

You keenly watch as Ratchet reaches for another tool, a speculum. You’re not entirely sure yet how Ratchet got his mitts on one, but you’re more curious about how he will use it. But you have a fair idea when he starts to press it against the entrance of your weeping hole.

“Relax, Y/n,” He reassures, patting your inner thigh as he sees you tense up at the coldness of the speculum, pushing it past your folds, “You don’t want me to sedate you, hm? Or would you like that too?”

You shake your head before inhaling deeply through your nose as he pushes it the rest of the way in, shivering at the icy coldness against your fluttery walls, “Nmh… mhmm…”

“Ohh, very good, I knew you could do it,” Ratchet hitches his breath, lowering one servo to his heavy throbbing spike to lazily stroke at it while he starts to actually fuck you with the speculum, “Such a good patient for me…”

“Ngghn! Hoh phcuk…” The gag does nothing to stop your moans or your saliva from spilling from your mouth. You grind your hips as much as you can, eager to impale yourself further and further onto the girthy device.

“Y’know, I really shouldn’t indulge myself while assessing patients,” A low grown escapes him, optics trained on how the speculum disappears into your tight heat as he fists himself in tandem, “But Primus, you make it so… hhnnn… so fragging difficult…”

Your thighs are shaking from the strain of their position, hips arching as you desperately moan and cry out for your impending orgasm. You throw your head back as your doctor fucks you faster and deeper, stretching your walls in a way that makes you see stars.

“F-Frag…” Ratchet stutters, positioning his weeping spike before the speculum, “Time for… ngggh… your injection…”

You have no time to question him before your core tightens and your orgasm hits you like a train, crying out in euphoria as you clamp down on the speculum, your entire body shaking and trembling against the restraints. But what you never expected was for Ratchet to grip the handle to open it so he could press as much of his spike as he could into the opening of the speculum.

“O-Oh frag…” Ratchet lets out a half whine, half sexy as fuck growl as he strangles his spike and shoots his trans fluid down the opening, onto your pulsing wet walls and directly onto your fucking cervix.

A strangled moan leaves your throat as he fills you up completely, allowing some trans fluid to drip out of your wide-stretched cunt, watching with pure erotic fascination as he milks the rest of his hot fluid into you.

Ratchet exhales deeply, letting go of his spike, allowing the last remnants of his overload to throb against his thigh. His optics flicker down to your gaping hole, still clamped open by the speculum, and he hums in satisfaction, bending down to get a closer look, and you can’t help but whine at the sudden feeling of being observed so profoundly.

“The procedure is successful,” He huffs before dragging the speculum out, letting the rest of his transfluids dump out onto the gurney, chuckling at your shivers, “Shall we arrange a follow-up appointment?”

[coolsosha]

SOSHARK OVERBLOT ART + FULL SOSHARK BACKSTORY WITH OVERBLOT LORE!!!!!

THE ART!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

extremely proud of it, i think it's badass

WITH MULTIPLE VERSIONS!!!

+soshark overblot ref in case someone didn't saw it

Also...

MY ASKS ARE OPEN FOR SOSHARK ASKS AND QUESTIONS!!!!

they were open for this whole time, but i think it would be fun to answer soshark questions or headcanons, so FELL FREE TO ASK ME!! :3

As long as it's not something inappropriate, of course...

Also this thing because my friend challenged me

BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY....

OVERBLOT LORE!!!!!!

I made this overblot flashback thing

THE FULL SOSHARK OVERBLOT LORE UNDER THE CUT!(SUPER LONG)

DISCLAIMERS FOR ANYONE BRAVE ENOUGH!!!!

DISCLAIMER: english is NOT my first language. I usually have no problems with talking and writing, but since this thing is absolutely GIGANTIC there might be grammar errors, weird sentences and other weird stuff. Sorry yall

WARNING: it is EXTREMELY long, and by extremely i mean EXTREMELY LONG. It is 32.5k characters long. IT IS EXTREMELY LONG

Also TW warning for following themes: discrimination, SH-like things, skeletons?, slight suicidal thoughts i guess?, blood mentioned, sharks biting arms

SOSHARK

OVERBLOT LORE

    Sosha Arklut is a freshmen student at NRC, came from the Deep sea straight to the college, where he proceeded to become one of the most troublesome and weird students in the first year. He got assigned into Octavinelle, which suits his really fishy behaviour. But thats not what the first impression of people was of him, the more accurate representation of their first thoughts would be "WHY IS THIS WEIRD GLOWING GUY HAS SOME MOTHERFUCKING SKELETONS AROUND HIM?!". Which is, a valid response to Soshark's main trick, that is never kept in his sleeve...

    "IT'S SHELLTIME!" is a signature spell that allows the caster to summon fish skeletons, that are controllable just like puppets, with no free will, with the sole purpose is to float in the air, as their puppeteer controls all their movements. And our student loooves showcasing his spell. He uses his fish comrades to help with walking, he is a merfolk, after all. But more importantly, he uses them to perform! He even uses his "stage name" Soshark instead of his real one. Ah, so romantic, making his fish play different instruments and use their bones for arts~ If only his music wasnt the personification of what people can call "tomfoolery".

    You see, there is 3 things that Soshark absolutely HATES, 1st is punishments, 2nd is boring adults and 3rd is stereotypes, social norms and rules! We don't need first two of these though. This sharkie absolutely can't handle the stupidity of "boring things that boring adults decided to make into a norm!". Almost his entire existence is entitled to opposing to the stupid society that ruins the fun! His music is loud, often switches between genres in the same song, often involves screaming, meaningless nonsense lyrics and the breathtaking feeling that the singer is a clinically insane person with insane music talent... He is a big fan of musicals, yet he prefers them to be edgy, fun and weird yet unique.

     Sadly, his passion for performing wasn't reaching it's culmination, he was working in Mostro lounge as a janitor after being kicked out of the kitchen for eating ingredients and kicked out of the waiters for kicking clients food on the ground. He and Floyd are getting along really well, but thats a topic for another paragraph collection.

     That was, until one day he heard about an upcoming theatre performance, that was hosted by a professor from the famous Coral sea theatrical university, where the cast is consisting entirely from young students with passion for arts that was volunteering to help. It's his chance! His chance for a stage!

     The performance was planned to be hold on a stage, located at a beach, it's pretty far from NRC, but thanks to the mirror traveling, going there is no big deal. As to the host, Mr. Merlin le vecchio puzzolente, he is a talented actor who made his first performance at this very stage, 40 years ago, the guy looks like he is in his 60s. He was the first actor in his crew to come from Coral sea, in his young age he got the lead role in the new(at that time) musical called "Sword in stone", that came out to be a great hit, regularly being replayed over the years at this exact stage by different talents who cherish the legacy of the art of performing. Now, this exact musical is being replayed for a 40 year anniversary, this time fully consisting of young enthusiasts, looking for a way to start their way in the theatre world!

    Mr.Vecchio is really nice old man, who guides the young students to the right path. Many people join, some from NRC, some from RSA, some from completely different places, even some of Music club members decided to tag along. Soshark tried his best to promote himself as the best lead actor, yet he was rightfully rejected the role. After all, his sharp teeth, loud voice and.. slightly troublemaking behaviour dont quite suit for a Hero. He was instead put on a backstage duty, having his fish play the classic songs and operate the SFX.

    Soshark's student record is really far from perfect, to the point that even other students, even those from other classes are aware of it. Often pranking and provoking teachers, cheating on his papers and committing rule violations, this guy has a collection of the most amazing all F- grades. But that's not the amazing part, he has straight A+'s on every single lesson that is at least relatively connected to the art of performing. Music? all A+, Flying? Can be used in shows, A+, Alchemy? I can mix potions for stage effects. Yet on all other lessons he is exceptional in being bad, not even trying to get a good grade.. And you can't even kick him out because he somehow cheats his way into getting a pass-able grade on the exams..!

    The production of the musical was going rather well, Everyone learned their lines and the stage is all ready! Except for Soshark, who keeps getting in the way with his "HEY, why won't we change the plot? Maybe make the music more fun? Isnt this thing like a million years old?", seems like someone doesn't quite understand the concept of cherishing the classic. "Why won't we make me the main character instead? I can sing! I can dance! I can do all sorts of things, just look at this beautiful man with his smug face! Cmon, old guy!" he keeps telling the crew and Mr.Vecchio keeps rejecting him "Sorry young lad, but a hyperactive and careless person like you don't quite suit the role. And your.. extraordinary way of seeing this show is not quite what we need. It's not your fault, a shark is just not quite fitting for this role." says the prof. No matter how much Soshark tries to show off, summoning giant fish, doing tricks, even making alternative versions of the costumes, he keeps getting put on the backstage and getting rejected. That makes sense, actors were already been chosen, the story can't be altered and all of Mr.Vecchio's arguments make perfect sense, don't they? Soshark is just being selfish, so fitting for someone with fins like his and the teeth so sharp.

    The show night, it's already over 9pm and the sun hid under the horizon, the stars are getting ready to show up in the sky. Beach is filled with people, sitting on the chairs in front of the giant stage. They all are excited for the performance, gossiping, preparing their cameras. Most of them are friends of the crew members, some of them are students from the theatre university, wondering what their professor hosted, and other ones are just strangers who decided to show up. The crew are checking everything, chatting and preparing. This was the thing they all worked hard for the last few months, the remake of the Sword in Stone musical, on the very same stage it was performed for the first time 40 years ago. Truly a special evening, surely nothing bad will happe-

    "Hello Merladies and Gentlefolks, today's show will be truly a special one for all of us!-" the lights turned off, a person came up to the stage, you can't see his face, yet the voice of his is very clear, its Soshark. He is not supposed to be there, the narrator was supposed to be Mr.Vecchio, and it's way too early..

    "I know you all want for the show to start as early as possible, yet lets have a quick moment to appreciate our dear guest of honour..." oh no "The one who hides within the shadows, the one whos name is still unknown. It's time to come out of the dark and scream your name out loud. It's time to start the show. IT'S SHELLTIME! THE GREAT WHALE!"

    His words were echoing around the audience, yet their meaning was unknown only for some moments. A giant something appeared out of thin air. It's mouth opens up, as it approaches the stage, in a few moments it CONSUMES the stage and the audience, trapping everyone within it's body, stopping it's movement only once it's tummy is full. Thats when everyone started panicking, looking around, that's when they realised, it was a whale skeleton, that consumed them all, trapping them inside, with no escape, it's ribs closing around them like a cage, they cannot break free. But will that be the most concerning thing in here?

    The air feels damp and heavy, like the bottom of the sea, particles of water are floating in the air like bubbles. The audience looks at the stage in fear just as the crew themselves, as the star of the show reveals himself. The spotlights turn, and lights start shining, the stage is infested with fish skeletons, some of them are long and big, swimming through the curtains and the new holes in the structure, some of them are tiny, swimming around in patterns, some of them are neither, they try to find something. But in a middle of it all, right in the centre, a merman stands, his teeth are grinning.

    All covered in ink, with a giant crown, with sharp and boney claws, in collar and some bracelets. The curtains of the stage wrap around his tail, the skeleton ribs hug it's body, seaweed floating around him. It's Soshark, in his new form, all in blot. His teeth are sharp as ever, his shark mouth so big and wide, the ink is pouring out of it. His eyes are insane yet very determined, they give a red shine, like eyes of a predator that saw the blood. He floats in the air like if it's water, ignoring physics and basic logic.

    The audience and the crew all  screams in fear, run away from the stage, kick the whale ribs to escape, yet there is no way. But don't worry just yet, since the great Yuu gang is here to save. They already fought Overblots before, thats not a big deal, just a few blows and it's done. Or so they thought.

    Overblot shark summons skeleton fish, to help him in fight, hiding behind them, making them do the dirty work. He doesn't seem to be interested in fighting, he prefers to stay on the stage. The fish swim and cut, bind and bite, the good crew destroys them with no problem, but they keep recovering and coming back stronger. Deuce's double down doesn't work, Fishies can always revive, and Shark doesn't attack by himself. Joker snatch is useless either, they just hit his spell away from the Overblotted, not letting it hit. Other ones are just as useful, they definitely tire him by making him recover the fish, yet they do no damage to him whatsoever. "Ɨ Đ€Ş€ŘV€ ŦĦƗŞ, ¥ØỮ ΔŁŁ ΔŘ€ ŇØŦĦƗŇǤ βỮŦ ĴỮŞŦ βΔĆҜǤŘØỮŇĐ ĆĦΔŘΔĆŦ€ŘŞ, ĐØ ŇØŦ ŞŦΔŇĐ ƗŇ Μ¥ ŴΔ¥!" Soshark screams, as the leftover fish all combine into one, the way bigger one, all the remaining bones wrap around people, forming a bone carcass around their bodies, they drag them away to the audience. Maybe fighting is not that effective? Soshark Ignores all further distractions, the fish prevent any damage from being taken by him and the bones limit the movement, i guess the only thing they can do now is watch and wait for a good moment?

    "Ŵ€ŁŁ ŦĦ€Ň, Μ¥ Đ€ΔŘ€ŞŦ ΔỮĐƗ€ŇĆ€.. " yelled the merman, as he bows "ƗŦ'Ş ŦƗΜ€ ₣ØŘ ŦĦ€ ǤŘ€ΔŦ€ŞŦ ŞĦØŴ Ø₣ ØỮŘ ŁƗV€Ş!" screaming as he starts his twisted dance. The skeletons around him start playing the instruments, pulling the decorations, his voice is screaming, shouting, but also singing in a beautiful melody. A mix of chaos and beauty, with strong taste of pain and despair. The performance thats worth to die for, the fish are swimming around, swinging their bloody bones all around, nearly hitting the audience, leaving cuts on Overblotted's body, yet he doesn't seem to care, he only cares about performing. His notes are chaotic, not following any patterns, only raw emotions and improvisation. Switching from a beautiful jazz to art chaos, sometimes the sounds are turning into a pure cacophony, yet Soshark doesn't pay attention. He keeps dancing and singing, the lyrics are total nonsense balancing with his feelings and thoughts flowing into them. The more he dances the more the stage gets destroyed and the more his own body is being damaged and worn out by the amount of magic he is using.

    Yet thats only the way the audience perceives it all..

    Did you ever heard about the deep sea? That place is located to the south of the Coral sea, not hard to connect the dots, but it's called that way because it's the deepest area of the whole sea. it is extremely dark, the sunlight can't reach it's bottom. It's cold, water gets colder with depth because cold, salty ocean water sinks to the bottom of the ocean basins below the less dense warmer water near the surface. There is barely anyone living there, no one would want to live in a dark cold bottom sea. Especially with sharks. There is a lot sharks there. They say they hide in sunken ships, waiting for prey. They say they are scary big and strong, but thats not all true. Sharks are gentle and gorgeous creatures, they love attention and getting pet. They often get jealous if you pet another shark! They don't mean any harm, you are not tasty for them, they just confuse you for a prey by accident. You can be friends with them, they are not scary at all!

    You never got all those things, you was born right here. in a sunken ship at the very bottom. You are a sharkie, but you are not big, not strong and not scary. You are way smaller than you siblings, you want to make friends. There is barely anyone here, just sharkfolks, they say you are small and weird. You swim away from them, to the other merfolk, but the kids look all scared, you are just as small as them, barely 6, but their faces fear you, they scream in panic "MOM! IT'S A SHARK!" your big teeth scare them, your fins look scary for them. No one wants to be friends with a scary shark. Adults are different, but they are not better, they are not scared, but they tell you some things "Hey sharky one.. how about you hang out with other sharks? Im sure they will love hanging out with you! We are just a little busy, that is no place for you".

    Sometimes, you like to swim to the sunshine, upwards, for light. You like the warmth and the shine, you never see a light do bright usually. You swim to the surface, your face is out of the water, the sky is so blue, the clouds are so pretty! The sun is so bright, is it shining for you? There is a beach nearby, humans are doing something, building, preparing, you are too afraid to come closer.

    One day, you swim up again, this time, you hear some loud noises from the beach. It's someone's singing, the instruments playing, the audience cheering. There is a performance up in the beach, you hide behind some boxes and stare at the show from the water. They are performing a musical on a stage, it's about a brave hero who fights all the difficulties and challenges and ends up becoming a king by taking the sword from the stone with a help of a magician! You were so small, but you remember every single bit, it was your first show. You've heard that merfolk have some underwater, but you never could see it, it's too far away, and sea is not your favourite, people are mean! You wish the person on the stage could be you! You wish people applaused you! You wish they would stare at you with the pride and excitement as they watch you every move! "I wish i could become same as them!" you tell to yourself. The curtains close, you hide away, not wanting to see their scared faces once they see you.

    Sometimes, you find some instruments at the bottom, maybe performers accidentally drop it in water? You try to play them, their strings and tunes are broken, you watch the performers to learn how to fix them. You didn't had an angelic voice, you could never hold notes for long, accuracy was never your strong side. You swim away into the seaweed fields, where no one hears you, you practice, you learn.

    They thought you was weird for your obsession, they couldn't understand, they bit off your fin. You remember their faces, filled with contempt. You don't remember anything else from that day, but your fin is still broken. One day, you decided to host a musical alongside your friends, nobody agrees, only your brother and a boy who lost a bet. You prepare the script, you take the villain role, silly but smart, troublesome but lovable. The audience is mostly empty, only a few teachers and some people that know you. You can't say a word, your tail is all shivering, they all stare at you. What if you embarrass? What if they will hate you? You freeze in fear, not able to look in their faces. Your brother skips his turn, says his line "Oh no, the bad guy kidnapped me! Why did you do that, bad guy?!" he is a damsel in distress. You take all your courage, you waited so long, you practiced and worked hard, it has to be worth something! "Well, sorry Maiden, but you are the chosen, the girl of the family that cursed me, you shall be kept in my castle forever!" You say, your fear goes away, the show continues, you are no longer you. You are a bad guy, a villain, an actor. With each line you say it gets better, you do not fear. As the show is over, the few people clap as you bow, by the end of the show only 7 people stayed to watch.

    You always felt like you was bad, everyone was telling you that, you are scary and big, but also small and weird... "it all makes no sense!" you say to yourself. But why should you be... You? You can play a role, of a silly bad guy! You can do the same thing you do on stage! Instead of being ashamed of what people say about you, you should make it your thing! Thats right! You shouldn't care about what they all say! You are a cunning, troublemaking, annoying, yet charming and charismatic villain! Like a jester! They can say anything they want, but it's only a matter of time before the audience will love you, everyone loves a silly villain! If everyone is making you into a villain, why fight it?

    You grow up, your passion never sinks, you watch every performance, you practice to become great and loveable. Your hard work pays off, you discover your magic talent before you hit 10, alongside your own special spell.. you name it... "IT'S SHELLTIME!" you scream as you move your hand, the skeletons of fish appear, they follow everything you do to them. You collect fish skeletons from your meals, search for them in caves and sands, your spell allows you to suck any skeleton into it, and then summon it and control it! The fish that once fell from your teeth are now reborn as your fellow crew members, and those sunken to the bottom are dancing alongside you. They are easy to summon, but hard to control, you practice your spell everyday. You try to play instruments with them, sounds terrible, you train until your flesh is bleeding from their sharp fish bones.

    Year after year, you become better, you are now able to play up to 5 instruments at once with your fish, you know tons of songs, your skills have improved. You changed your name to a stage one, you cause trouble, you annoy and cause chaos. People notice you, no matter if they hate or love you, you never look into their faces, you do not want to know. Being a jester is a lot more fun, you make performing your main desire, thats no longer an act, thats the way you live. But sometimes.. you get a voice at the back of your head, thinking "hey, maybe all of them were right?" you try to ignore them.

    One day, you get a letter, it's your 16th bday, it's a letter from the Night Raven Academy. You couldn't be happier! It's your chance...

    Your chance to get onto the real stage...

    ...

    For other people, it might not be a big deal but... This stage... is the same one you was watching for years. The same beach.. And the musical.. was the same one you saw as a kid! Of course you were overjoyed to play a role! You always wished to perform this musical! You also always wanted to change the story to be more exciting, make better songs! So exciting, yet.. Some random Mr.Stinky Old Guy is rejecting you?! He keeps saying that you don't quite suit the role, but that's a lie! You are perfect, he just rejects you because you are a shark! The same lie you was hearing for years.. People think you are "no brains all muscles", shark, or "aggressive scary hater" or "big scary shark"! They reject you despite all the work you did, but they would accept anyone else with lower amounts of skill just because they are not a shark... It disgusted you. You have to prove him that you are worthy, you have to show him all you've got..!

    You summon all you have, you show all your talents, but he keeps rejecting you, with the same words you were hearing your entire life. You can't play a part in your childhood favourite musical who inspired you your entire life.. Maybe you wasn't worth it from the start? Maybe you should try harder? You work more and more, summoning fish every time you can, you skip your meals and sleeps to work on alternative outfits. You have to get the spotlight. But nothing works. He says it's not your fault, your crewmates cheer you, but what do they know?! They know nothing!

    So stupid, did you really thought that will be enough? You are pathetic. You keep saying that you don't care about others opinions, yet you are so stressed because some random guy doesn't like you? it's not like that.. you are good enough! Are you? You are nothing but a child who believes in sunshine and rainbows, work harder and he will get you to play the role! You just have to push a little harder...

    You didn't noticed how the time of the show came, you are standing at the backstage, your mind is foggy.Your legs are shaking, you feel something thick in your throat, but you couldn't care less. "I... i have to get what i deserve..." is all you can think about "W-why it's not me?! What did i do wrong?!..". The stage is already prepared, the audience is waiting for the show, the crew is talking to eachother, you feel dizzy, trying to stand still you bump into one of the shelves, a vase falls on the ground, breaking in pieces, your hands are all in glass cuts, you are bleeding. The pain in your hands reminds you of things you didn't wished to remember, the smell of blood fogs your brain, you cough out something, something thick, black and wet, yet you can't control yourself, you rush to the stage as your face is being painted in the ink thats replacing your tears. You pick up the mic...

    "ŦĦ€ ØŇ€ ŴĦØ ĦƗĐ€Ş ŴƗŦĦƗŇ ŦĦ€ ŞĦΔĐØŴŞ, ŦĦ€ ØŇ€ ŴĦØŞ ŇΔΜ€ ƗŞ ŞŦƗŁŁ ỮŇҜŇØŴŇ. ƗŦ'Ş ŦƗΜ€ ŦØ ĆØΜ€ ØỮŦ Ø₣ ŦĦ€ ĐΔŘҜ ΔŇĐ ŞĆŘ€ΔΜ ¥ØỮR ŇΔΜ€ ØỮŦ ŁØỮĐ. ƗŦ'Ş ŦƗΜ€ ŦØ ŞŦΔŘŦ ŦĦ€ ŞĦØŴ. ƗŦ'Ş ŞĦ€ŁŁŦƗΜ€!"

    You cannot recall anything that had happened, everything is blurry, the old memories hunt your thoughts, replay in your head, while you can't even understand whats going on. The only thing you can feel is your emotions.. The raw anger, the sour sadness, the flaming determination.. You can't understand them, but you can feel them somewhere deep inside. You feel like crying. Tears flow down your face, the voices in your head tell it's all your fault.

    You hear something, something far away, echoing inside your head.... It's the applause.. The one you was waiting for your entire life.. The one that was your dream... Ahh! Feels so nice. You close your eyes and turn your head up, like if you are showering in their praise. The taste is so sweet like honey, something you could never try under the water surface. Warm like sunshine on your wet scaled skin. Feels so good it feels unreal... Your head feels heavy... You pass out.

    Overblotted Soshark's performance is filled with chaos and feelings, loud and messy but somehow charming. The audience doesn't feel that way though, they are trapped, unable to fight back, only witness a powerful predator in front of them and begging to not become his meal.. Some were nearly injured by his fish, some, like Mr. Vecchio were raised on the stage and got hurt a lot. Yet after all that, Soshark finally finishes his performance, he stands in the spotlight, his arms spread wide, his eyes closed, his head facing upwards, like if he is expecting the applause... Yet the audience is quiet.

    The applause is nothing but just an illusion in his own head, something like the light in the end of the tunnel, just a beautiful lie. He smiles as he hears them, like if it wasnt just his fantasy. After a minute or two he opens his eyes and lower his gaze on the audience.

    Their faces are full of fear.. They all stand frozen, unable to move and too scared to scream.. No one is clapping.. They are scared.. Disgusted... Confused... Shocked.... The look on their faces is the look that you was seeing your entire life... They are disappointed.. Judging.. Angry...

    

    Soshark's smile fades away, his face full of bittersweet sadness. He slowly takes the crown from his head into his hands, holds it in front of his chest.. He then bows like an actor ending his performance, holding his crown in one hand like a hat.. ink tear flows down his cheek..

    "₣ΔŘ€Ŵ€ŁŁ, β¥ Đ€ΔŘ ΔỮĐƗ€ŇĆ€...", Says he, as he stands up again and throws his crown into the air above him, his arm reaching upwards..

    The same moment, before the crown falls to the ground, something jumps out of the stage floor! It's a giant shark Overblot monster that wasn't present until this very moment?! The ink is flowing out of it's mouth, he jumps out from directly under Soshark, opening his mouth he EATS the Overblotted, his jaws close around him with a loud "CLANK", leaving only Soshark's reaching hand out of the jaws of the beast. The monster falls onto the stage, all the skeleton fish fall on the ground lifelessly, the audience's carcasses are falling apart. Soshark passed out, only monster of his is left...

    The next thing you can remember is waking up in the nurse office, alone. The sun shining on your bed from the window, the bandages all over you, your hand being covered in healing magic sigils, it hurts. You feel drained, your head hurts. You can't even summon your fish, you are too weak for that. You can't do anything but look in the window, the warm sun and the voices outside, you wish you could be there. You always wished. Were you wishing for too much?...

    After overblotting Soshark became a popular person for gossipers, after all, most of other overblots where hidden or even secret. But, apparently someone from the audience managed to record the whole thing! Everyone is talking about this. Seems like most popular opinion on this juicy topic is "Did this guy really just overblotted because he was jealous of not getting a role? LOOOLL, what a snowflake, lmao!" but some people see him as a victim "That old man was pretty damn racist, i would've overblotted as well! He STIIINKS! And his performance eats so whatever #THEYWILLNEVERMAKEMEHATEYOUSOSHARK!!!!" who even writes messages like that-

    It took a few weeks to recover, seems like most of the audience got away with just a few scratches and bruises. The most damage was done to Soshark himself, the monster broke his arm and the fish got him multiple scars while performing, fish bones are sharp and he didn't cared to make them move more careful. When he was finally allowed to use his magic and walk anywhere, he immediately headed to the place that started all of this..

    Sunset, the sun is about to hide behind the horizon, the sky has a strong pink/orange hue. The seawater is cold as usual. There, on the sand beach, a stage stands. Or, something that used to be a stage.. It's completely destroyed. The whale bones are still here, they are broken, students had to break them to escape. The rest of the fish bones are there was well. The audience chairs are damaged, laying everywhere. The stage itself is more looking like an abandoned wood garbage, the floor has a big hole covered in ink, all the wooden planks are broken,  facing different directions like spikes. The curtains are torn apart, backstage is a complete mess. This stage was standing for 40 years, serving as a way for people to perform, showing off the talents of some and inspiring the others. It's all ruined. Because of him.

    He stands, almost grieving the loss of something that inspired him. "... it's Shelltime! time to work, guys." Says he, the fish skeletons, previously laying lifeless awake from their slumber, following their puppeteer's commands once again. He starts working, trying to repair the chairs, picking up the trash, taking off the broken curtains. He tries to use the leftover materials from the backstage to fix the stage, yet they are not enough. It takes many days, Soshark makes a deal with Azul to get him to bring the materials to the beach, he goes here everyday and tries to recover something, for more than two weeks he was recovering the stage with his bare.. fishies, and hands. Recovering the old look of the stage is impossible, yet it is possible to start something new on it's place.

    Sweaty and messy, Soshark ends the construction, he walks aside to see the finished remade stage. It's slightly bigger, whale bones are still there, Soshark is not strong enough to summon them back at this point. The curtains are completely new, dark purple fading into cyan is so underrated. The lights were fixed, the chairs are standing in their place. It's different, but the stage is back where it belongs..

    "Are you trying to redeem yourself, young lad?" the sudden voice of an old man interrupted Soshark from his thoughts. It's Professor Vecchio, standing next to him, looking at the recovered stage.

    "Don't hope on that, old guy! you would say thats egoism, but i would say that thinking that others do things just for your approval is a lot more egoistic, i couldn't care less about what you think." said the Shark

    To think about, Mr.Vecchio and Soshark are quite similar, they are both merfolk moving on land for their first real performance. Vecchio 40 years ago, when he was young, and Soshark.. now. Merfolks have a lot of stereotypes around them, like "merpeople are amazing singers!", thats a stereotype, yet is it that harmful? Prof definitely had people be bias towards him in interviews, after all, merfolks are amazing singers, right? He never thought of that as a bad thing, it was only benefitting him. But, hearing Soshark's part of the story.. Vecchio did acted really bias towards him, didn't he. Shark stereotypes just happened to be more negative than positive. He is used to believe that sharks are bad, people say that all the time, almost as if it's a basic knowledge. Seems like it was a mistake of his. But as professor was deep in thought after a conversation, Soshark ran up to the stage, summoning his fish once again "I do not care what old stinky guys like you say! I will perform my favourite song even if no one will be watching and may only the Sea Witch stop me!"

    Mr.Vecchio didn't had time to protest, as the music started playing, fish with violins, trumpet and even on a piano are blasting a similar melody. The melody that both of them can recognise out of any other. It's the song of the main character of the Sword in Stone. Vecchio played this role 40 years ago. Hearing someone else singing once your lyrics is quite an experience, especially with his.. unique twist on the song. The instrumentals are more loud, sharp, chaotic and almost more villainy? But you can't help but see that Soshark is not the only person performing.. Like a ghost from the past, Young Vecchio is standing at the same stage, singing in a duet with Soshark, both of them mirroring eachother's movements and dancing around. They are having a blast, performing on a real stage for the first time, 40 years apart from eachother, yet sharing the same experience. Professor can't help but wonder if his younger self would've loved a performance like that. He witnesses the same show being held decades apart, but while one of the actors is performing with a full audience, getting applauses and roses, other one is performing for the empty beach with only a one person watching. Perhaps, Young Vecchio shares the happy end with the main character, and Soshark shares the struggles and hopes of a happy end. Thats tragic, don't you think so? The show is over, Soshark jumps down from the stage, wiping the sweat from his face. Professor can't help but clap.

    "I-""Tch, im hungry, im gonna go to Octavinelle, i skipped my lunch today." old guy's words were cut short by Soshark's complaint. He walks by the professor, not listening to anything, heading out of the beach he wishes for a snack. But perhaps, the guy will change his ways? Whatever, as he is walking off, he sees a familiar face standing next to the exit. A certain businessman's face alongside his so-called bodyguards, one of them is away, he is chasing a group of pigeons.

    "What do you want?" he asks

    "I have a certain deal for you" said Azul, "An offer that you wouldn't reject"

END

i was actually planning to add a section with me explaining all details and references, but ive decided that it's WAY TOO LONG, so it might happen in a reblog, but im not sure

HUGE THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO READ THIS ENTIRE THING!!!!

And a hi to everyone who scrolled to the very end without reading because they were curious of how long this is, lol

All opinions, reviews and thoughts are appreciated, i would really like to hear your comments on this :3333

i wonder if i might become mutuals or friends with someone because of my giant soshark ramble hehe, my asks are open for all questions and sillies! :3

also i am planning to make a soshark masterlist and write more soshark things and headcanons, don't tell anyone

I challenge yall to tag someone and make them read this entire thing it will be really fun, trust(they probably will die)