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outtathisworld-imagines · 2 days ago

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Call for a good time

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Pairing: Bob Reynolds x F!Reader

Warning: Smut! +18 MDNI!, intercourse (F & M rec), fingering, masterbation, dirty talk, phone sex, mild drug mention, swearing, unprotected sex- pls wrap before you tap. Not proofread

A.N: been wanting to do this idea for a while because I am a sucker for a sweet oblivious Bob

Please let me know what else you guys would like! I do have a few other fics on the back-burner (for now!) that I'll start to post soon and just let me know if you'd liked to be tagged in further works too ✨

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You struggled to get comfortable one evening on the sofa, shuffling from side to side and then groaning. You flicked through your phone, boredom and tiredness settling in your bones so you decided to head to your room.

You bumped into someone on the way “Oh, hey!” Bob smiled. “I’m grabbing a soda, you want one? Anything?” He asked.

Your heart fluttered at how much he put effort into the little things. Even if it was just offering a soda to anything at all in the world- you were certain he would have done anything to get it for you. You shook your head no. “I’m a little tired so I’m just heading to bed,” you told him. “I’ll watch some Netflix until I fall asleep- thanks though.”

His head bobbed up and down with the same smile on his face. “Well, goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight Bob,” you turned away and headed to your room.

He stood there, watching you walk away, a piece of him desperate to ask you to stay. To stay with him.

He murmured a swear under his breath and went to grab a soda before tossing himself on the couch. He wish he could just let you know how he felt. How you brought a smile to his face every time he saw you, how you’d do your own dishes to be more considerate to him, how you’d sit with him for sometimes hours on end whenever he felt himself being drawn back into the void.

Bob unknowingly sat where you had, he could almost smell the faint traces of your perfume. It drove him wild. The sweet smell that lingered around you, how he would smell it with his eyes shut, his head sunk onto his pillow and using his hand to pleasure himself wishing it was you.

He also tired to make himself more comfortable, that’s when something jabbed the back of his thigh. His brow creased as his hand went between the two cushions on the couch and pulled out a baby-pink coloured business card that read ‘Call for a good time’ followed by numbers and a time between 12am and 3am.

Bobs interest peaked and he tucked it carefully into his trouser pocket. He turned on the TV and then pulled it out again. The corners were a little frayed, but the numbers were taunting him to the point that he almost reached for his phone there and then.

He snorted at himself, putting the card away and wondering whose card it belonged to. He could place every single penny he had on a bet that it was John’s. He glanced in the direction of his room and shook his head, of course he’d carry a card like that.

After an hour, Bob went to his bedroom, the delicate card in his pocket was almost weighing him down. It was reaching midnight, he wondered if putting a voice to his fantasies was wrong, knowing that he was visioning you while someone else talked to him through the phone.

But at this point, after months of pinning, he was desperate, and he was too nervous to actually admit to you how he really felt.

He took out the card and practically punched the numbers into his phone, his thumb hovered over the call button momentarily, swallowing hard and almost deleting the number and calling it a night.

But he pressed dial.

It rang three times and then the person on the other side answered. “You’ve called for a good time?”

Bob was already sweating, he wasn’t quite sure from nerves or internal embarrassment that he found himself in this predicament.

“Hello?”

He realised he hadn’t actually spoke. “H-hi! Hi! I’m here,” he swallowed “I’m here.” He said releasing a shaky breath.

A giggle floated through his speaker “Well hi, how can I help you tonight, honey?” The voice was almost as thick and as sweet as it.

Bob cleared his throat and scratched his head. “I…I don’t really know. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

That giggle again. It was gonna be the death of him. “That’s okay, I’m here to help you with whatever you need.” Bob nodded, as if the person on the other side could see him. “If it makes you feel any better, this is relatively new to me too so we might be in this together.”

Bob let out a sigh of relief “It does.”

“And we don’t have to go through anything you don’t wanna, this is your call. We can be as filthy or as mild as you want. Or we can even just talk. I’m all yours.”

Bob settled back on his bed and closed his eyes “I think I wanna tell you to touch yourself for me.”

There was a pause then that knee-weakening giggle “You think?”

Bob began palming himself over his jeans “I know I wanna tell you to touch yourself.” He placed the phone between his head and shoulder as he quickly unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down to his knees, finding a surge of confidence. “I want you to sink those fingers so deep into your pussy that you think they are still gonna be there when you pull them out.” He heard the breath hitch on the other side “C’mon baby,” Bob began stroking himself, pre-cum already oozing from his cock and his eyes squeezed tight enough that he could see you. “Tell me what you’d do to me. Tell me what you wanna do to me.”

A soft whimper left the lips of the person on the other side of the phone. “Oh honey, I’d have that huge cock of yours hitting the back of my throat while you watched me playing with myself just like I am now,” they said and Bob sunk deeper into his mattress, about to cum already at this heightened experience he was going through. His grip tightened around both his phone and his cock. “Then I’d give you my pussy to fuck. Fuck me all night if you wanted. Want you to fill me up baby, can you do that for me?”

The begs mixed with the moaning and gentle slick nosies in the background sent Bob over the edge “Oh fuck! Yes! Fuck yes I’ll fill you so good.” He groaned as a rush of pleasure filled his body. His legs and feet stretching out as he tried to hold on for a little longer “Shit, I’m gonna cum so soon.”

“You can always call me again, honey.” The voice sounded gentle, reassuring.

“I want you to cum first, please.” He said in a broken voice, beads of sweat dripping down his face. “Please- fuck!”

“I’ll let you listen baby,” the phone went from a soft whispering voice to wet, slick, sloppy noises. Bobs whole body jolted at the noise of the pussy being played with for him. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, you wanna hear me cum for you baby?”

“Yes!” Bob gritted between his teeth “God yes! Fuck!” Moments later, Bob’s ears filled with the sound of a stranger cumming for him over the phone, loud moans softly subsiding into laboured breaths.

“Cum for me baby, I know you wanna. Imagine you’re cumming all over my tits, cumming all over me.”

“Oh, fuck- gonna- give you it all,” Bob’s voice was strained, he was convinced he was going to have a sore throat tomorrow. “Shit, shit, shit, I’m cumming,” he said as warm white sticky streams coated his own stomach wishing it was yours. Wishing it was your voice. Wishing you were here with him. “Fuck…” Bob drawled.

“Better let you go and get cleaned up.” The voice said and Bob softly smirked.

“Wish you were here to help,” he said almost cumming again at the fluttery giggle. “But seriously, thank you, I needed that.”

“Well whenever you need it again, you got my number, honey.” They said. “Trust me, with how wet you got me, I’ll pick up within one ring for you.”

Bob caught his breath as he said “I’ll be having you on speed-dial.”

—•—

It had been almost a month since Bob had used the services of a stranger, most nights with his cock in his hand picturing you as a voice encouraged him on.

“Hey Bobby!” Johns voice brought him back to the room. “You good with this movie?” The team were curled up on the couch. He mindlessly nodded and then looked at the time, it was 11:30pm and he always called his phone-sex stranger on the dot at 12am.

He pulled out his phone and sent a quick message. ‘I’ll be calling a little later tonight- sorry.’

“I’m just going to grab a drink, anyone want anything?” You asked standing up and received a choir of ‘no’s’ in return.

You pulled out your phone, it buzzed with a text, you smiled as you text back.

Bob pulled out his phone, he could feel you sinking down beside him upon your return with a drink in hand.

‘That’s okay,’ the text began ‘You’re gonna just have to make it up to me, baby 😘’

He turned to you and sent you a small smile, if only you knew what he did behind closed doors.

Yelena groaning in disgust brought everyone’s attention to the scene on the screen. “Oh god,” you muttered as two people practically broke the bed, you and your dysfunctional family watching on. “Of course you’d put on a film that’s essentially porn, Walker!” You chided.

“Oh come on! That’s soft-core at best!” He tried to defend.

“Fast forward it!” Yelena had her eyes covered.

Bob’s eyes glanced from the tv to you, your head softly shaking with a small smile. You caught him and shrugged with a nervous smile, not seeing how red his face really was thanks to the dim lights. The scene playing was a similar scenario to what he and his mysterious stranger over the phone reenacted alone in his room.

You pulled a pillow to your chest and hid your head in it “At least mute the TV! Jesus, these noises are so fake!” Your voice was muffled by the pillow.

John snorted “Girls always moan like that.”

“No they don’t,” Bob said quietly thinking that no one would hear him. But everyone did. You blinked in surprise. “Well at least the ones who aren’t faking it.”

The soft gasps and ‘oohs’ from the team made John shift in his seat. “Good one,” you stuck your hand out for Bob to high-five, his hand against yours sending a spark of electricity up your arm. You remained on the sofa cuddling the cushion, wishing it was him instead.

An hour and a half later Bob ran to his room and pressed his recent call log. The affectionate fake name of ‘Honey’ at the top. And the most called.

“Someone’s a late boy…” a soft chide from the other line gave him a hard-on already.

“I know, honey, I know. I’m sorry.” Bob said as he skilfully removed his bottoms. “But I’ve thought about us all day, been wanting this all day.” He shakily breathed into his own phone as he gripped onto his cock. “Wanna cum for you, want you to cum for me.”

“Steady baby,” the voice cooed “Wanna take my time with you tonight since you were late…”

Bob groaned in desperation, ready to implode. “I’ll try, honey, I’ll try.” He hissed giving his swollen cock a gentle stroke. “Shit I’m so pent up.”

“Tell you what, baby,” the smooth as silk voice said. “Let’s get you out of this pent up state and tomorrow night we can draw this out a little longer? Huh?”

“Fuck, are you sure?” Bob asked, already quickening his pace.

That giggle again. “Of course I am, wanna make you happy, baby. Let’s make you happy.” Bob barely made it to his bed before being brought to his knees in sheer desperation for release.

“Fuck, you got me on the floor, baby.” He was breathless speaking to the person on the phone. “Gonna cum so quick.”

“Yes baby! Cum for me, just imagine me under you with my mouth open and my tongue out ready for your big load just for me.” Bob yelped in pleasure visioning it was you under his body and his cock against your tongue as he came, how he would have pained your face, and neck, and tits, and stomach with how much he came.

He looked down and saw the spray of white in front of him. “Shit,” he hunched forward “The mess I’ve made baby,” he laughed, laced with exhaustion. “The mess I’ve made because of you.”

“I should let you clean up.”

Bob paused for a moment “Can I actually just hear your voice for just a little longer? Please?”

Bob couldn’t see the smile through the phone but it was there. “Of course you can.”

“Thank you,” he sat back a little, still on the floor. “What are you doing right now?”

“Talking to you of course.” The voice replied amused. “Just lazing on my fluffy sheets wishing it was your fingertips grazing me,” Bob bit down on his lip. “Wish I had you all over me.”

“I need to see your body,” Bob blurted out. His internal thoughts being spoken.

There was a silence, Bob pulled the phone back to see if the call was still connected. It was. He then wondered if he had crossed a line.

“That’s extra.”

Bob’s eyes widened, his palms suddenly sweating at the thought that this could happen. “I’ll pay. Whatever it is I’ll pay.” His voice spilled out, almost desperately.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

Bob snorted. “Why’s that relevant?”

“Just tell me.”

“I like pink.”

“Ohh takes a real man to admit that. Why pink?” The voice fluttered.

“Because I dream of your perfectly pink pussy. That’s why.” His voice was rough, ready to see a glimpse of the person finally, further enhancing a vision of you for his fantasy.

“Fuck, honey, don’t say things like that because I’ll soak my sheets.”

“Good. God, I wish I was there to lick it up,” the voice moaned at his words. “Tomorrow. Midnight. I want you ready for me.”

—•—

Bob was shaking as the clock struck 11:59pm. He was in nothing but his boxers because if the other person was going to be half naked then he would be too, making it a shared experience.

His level of phone sex was about to be taken to another level entirely.

He pressed his FaceTime button instead of the call option, pointing it away from his face. It rang and then connected.

“Fuck,” Bob’s eyes were on a baby pink lingerie set that hugged the curves of the body it was on perfectly. There was his honey, body engulfed in that furry sheet mentioned before with a hand toying with the hem of the underwear. “Holy. Fucking. Shit. You’re so gorgeous.”

“Well if I was gonna have that greeting I would have done this sooner with you.” The voice laced around him and his own hand moved down. “You’re stunning, I wish I was really there with you.”

Bob softly exhaled “If only.” He nervously ran his sweaty palm down his abs. “I’m pretty nervous…”

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” The comforting tone of the voice made him nod.

Bob looked at the phone, the beautiful body before him and swallowed hard. “Please touch yourself for me,” he asked “I’m begging you.” He pleaded.

He imagined it was you on the other end as he watched slender fingers trail towards the pink panties. Bob began touching himself through his boxers and closed his eyes momentarily. “Wish it was your fingers teasing me…” he watched as the fingers traced over the material.

“Fuck yeah, baby, that’s it,” Bob moaned as his eyes fluttered shut and then, before he knew it, got so lost in the moment he murmured a name he kept hidden behind his lips all this time. “Yes, Y/N, fuck!”

Bob didn’t notice the hand freeze.

“You…know my name?”

His eyes snapped open. “Sorry?”

“You said the name Y/N?”

“I didn’t- ah shit,” Bob fumbled with his phone and his face was now on the screen.

“Wait a second…BOB?!” The camera turned around, your face suddenly looking his face as you sat up quickly in bed. “Y-you’re the one that’s been calling?!” Your voice was tight and quick, you tried to hide your semi-exposed chest with your hand. “What?!” He was pretty sure the entire tower had heard his name being screamed at the top of your lungs.

“You’re her?!”

“Oh I’m gonna kick your ass!” You grumbled and hung up the phone. You grabbed your dressing gown and threw it on over you, you paused for a moment, a feeling of conflict now swirling inside you.

You had always wanted Bob to be more than a friend, spending countless mornings waking up breathless and in a pool of sweat after having a dream about him having his way with you, your ache remedied by touching yourself at the thought of him. Your feet however quickly rushed to his door, battering on it with a closed fist. “I know you’re in there!” You banged again and Bob opened up, you strode into his room as he shut the door behind him.

“Y/N-“

“Oh no, no, no,” you pointed a finger at him. “Do not open your mouth.” You warned. “Not after you’ve been getting off on me for weeks!”

Bob blinked and his jaw dropped “I’m not the only one here doing that!” He now pointed to you. “You’ve had your fair share of good times courtesy of me!”

Your chest was heaving and your body shaking from rage and something more seeing him in the flesh in nothing but his boxers. “How’d you even get my card anyway?”

“Oh like you didn’t give it to Walker?” Bob snapped back, a slither of jealously laced in his words. “Bet he’s always the next one on the line…”

Your brows furrowed in confusion “WHAT?!” You yelped “Walker has never called me?”

“Oh yeah? How come I found your card in the sofa then?” He asked folding his toned arms over his equally toned chest.

You groaned and tapped your hips, imagining your jean pocket there instead of your dressing down. “Ah fuck, must have fell out my pocket…” you turned on your heel away from him.

The room was silent, thick with tension. The pair of you internally debating who should speak first. “I’m just as unsure what to say now from the first time I called.” Bob finally broke the silent sound barrier. “Your voice sounds so different over the phone.”

You glanced to him over your shoulder “You were the first,” you admitted “Tried to feign some confidence through that call.” The memory of it sent a chill down your spine. “You were the only one that ever called.”

Bob twiddled his fingers “What made you do it?” He asked and you turned to give him your full attention. “What made you set up a line?”

You perched yourself at the end of his bed, you had spilled enough with each other, one more confession wouldn’t make it any less strange than it was now. “A friend suggested it. They said it might have helped, and to get a bit of money too,” you smirked. “So I got a new phone and followed their advice. In all honesty, I did it because it thought it would help me.”

“Help you how?” Bob asked, his feet bringing him closer to you.

You looked up to him through your lashes, surprised at how close he had gotten. “Help me release some…tension…” you carefully admitted. “Release the tension I had of you.” Bob gulped hard, you heard. “Why did you call?” You asked while shifting on the spot, the fabric of your dressing gown slipping down your shoulder and exposing some skin. Bobs mouth went dry.

“I-I- uh,” he scratched the back of his neck. Your eyes flickered down to his growing bulge in his boxers.

Another wave of confidence washed through like it did on that fateful first night. “Did you want a good time…honey?” Bob’s eyes quickly looked at yours then fell to the rest of your body. How he touched himself mere moments ago over it dreaming it was you.

His dreams had come true.

“Y-yeah…” he just about managed to choke out. “I had tension built over you too.” He stepped closer, you extended a leg out and brought him towards you with it. “Every time I came,” his hands gently moved the fabric from your other shoulder, exposing the lacy material you wore for him underneath. “I came thinking of you.”

You craned your head and with your own hands slipped off your dressing gown, a soft gasp left Bob’s lips. “I came thinking of you too…” you whispered. It didn’t take much force for Bob’s fingertips to push you to the bed, your foot still wrapped around the back of his calf. “Long before those calls…”

Bob watched as your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, he watched you shimmy out of your robe “You’re so beautiful,” his hand reached out, tentatively tracing his fingers over your bare skin and coming to a sharp holt when he reached the edges of your underwear.

His eyes flickered up to yours from the noticeable wet patch on your underwear that he was almost drooling over. “Will we make our phone call a reality…?” You softly nodded, a soft gasp leaving your lips as his fingers slowly moved to your clothed core. “Is this the way you’d touch yourself?” He rhetorically asked, fully knowing from the moans before it would have been. “Is this the way you tease yourself waiting for me?”

“Yes,” you brokenly admitted, gasping when he applied a delicate amount of force.

“Shit, so wet already,” his voice was gruff at the warm, wet feeling on his fingertips. How he wanted to lap it up desperately. How he wanted his cock to be coated in it. “Fuck,” you watched him lick his lips and you smirked.

You hooked your thumbs under your panties and slowly dragged them off for him, a string of swears leaving his lips like he was chanting a prayer. You went to unhook your bra but he stopped you. Bob leaned forward, his lips inches from yours as his eyes looked deep into your own as he undid your bra for you. The material falling down onto your lap as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

He went to pull back, your hands wrapped around the back of his neck bringing him back to your lips with an almighty force. He moaned as he collapsed on top of you, giggling at your eagerness. “No teasing me now, Reynolds.”

“No teasing, got it…honey.” Your heart fluttered at the nickname, you tossed your bra to the side and Bob’s hand grabbed your tit, rubbing your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. You moaned as your tongues battled for dominance in each other’s mouths, soft moans becoming louder and hands becoming widely uncontrollable.

You felt Bob’s cock twitch against your thigh and you smirked. “You’re overdressed,” you teased and he playfully rolled his eyes, capturing your lips with his again before pulling back and stripping off. You propped yourself up on your elbows, your jaw almost hitting your chest at the sight of him. “Jesus, I don’t think my phone screen would have fit you. Would have done you a great injustice.” Bob turned away with a blush on his face, rubbing a nervous hand through his hair. “Hey! Don’t be bashful,” you giggled.

‘God that giggle’ he thought. The same one that brought him to his knees every night.

He jumped back on you, his hands roaming every inch of your skin. “So beautiful, and all mine,” he murmured against your lips. “Needed you for so long, Y/N,” he admitted and let his hand roam to your pussy. “You ready for me, baby?” He asked, almost sounding drunk on the fumes of lust that filled his room. He stroked his fingers over your slit and you moaned at the contact. “Oh, you’re really ready for me.” Bob brought his fingers to his mouth and groaned as his tongue wiped away the glossy mess you had made off of himself. “You even taste like fucking honey.”

You giggled again, Bob couldn’t take it any more and sunk his cock inside you without any warning. “Fuck! Bob!” Your voice being ripped apart by your lungs as he stretched you out.

“Oh fuck, fuck!” He lay there for a moment feeling your pussy squeeze around him. “Couldn’t wait any longer for you. Shit, I need you so bad.” He breathlessly admitted.

“Well,” you batted your eyelashes “I’m all yours.”

He started grinding his hips, slow and gentle, a string of moans escaping his lips at the sight of you under him. “Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy. Gonna do what we talked about in our first call. Gonna give you all my cum, gonna soak you in it.” He started to quicken his pace and you gripped onto his wrists. “Is this even real, good fucking god, are you real?” His voice was dipping up and down, almost sounding delirious. He felt delirious. He felt like the room was spinning in the best way. He had never felt like this before, about someone and how they made him feel.

It was like he had taken ecstasy. Bob was higher than he had even been before.

“I’m real,” you panted out between loudening moans. “This is real,” your hand reached up to cup his cheek. “Bob, I’m gonna-fuck!” Your hand fell from his cheek, your limbs frantically reaching out and gripping onto his sheets. He watched you cum with a loud moan, spread out like an angel before him with your arms acting as if they were wings.

He opened his mouth to speak, tell you how ethereal you looked. For him, under him. But the only thing that left his mouth was a guttural scream as he came inside you, pulling out in just enough time to also coat your stomach and tits too, painting you like you were his masterpiece. He stroked himself until every last drop was on you, he sat back and watched as he poured out from your pussy. A perfect ribbon of white against a pink canvas.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, steadying himself on his knees as he watched you become more composed. He lay down next to you, the pair of you wanting to share a moment of bliss before getting cleaned up.

“Well, you called for a good time,” you tirelessly giggled. “Did you get one?” You asked fully knowing he got that and more.

“Oh trust me,” Bob turned and looked at you “I got the greatest fucking time of my life! I’ll be calling again.”

“I’ll always pick up for you.”

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oliviaischillin1204 · 2 days ago

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a few days ago i found this post deep in my drafts of my other blog. this is an absolutely adorable hurt/comfort tfic, but when i tell u this fic has literally. LITERALLY. stayed crystal clear in my mind for fucking years, not bc of the tickling scenes, but because of the first half of the fic. rambly positive thoughts under the cut, but i really recommend reading the fic first to understand what i'm talking about. TLDR i love this fic, and if the turtle anon who originally wrote it is still on tumblr at all PLEASE hmu so i can give u my very ecstatic kudos directly

this is,,,, one of the most earnest, most gentle fics i've ever seen. everything about kid logan makes me want to cry. it's not even just like cuteness agression, but it's really like,,, he's so young. he's SO amazingly in character, like this is exactly what he would talk like if canon logan were a little kid. everything about what the other kids say about him, to how he tries to rationalize it- and his DIALOGUE, my fucking god. “the books tell me to ignore it and they’ll stop, but I have ignored it and they don’t stop. And I sometimes wish I was a robot because…because then I wouldn’t feel it" breaks my fucking heart in half. AND later on, “I feel bad, and I don’t understand it"- that's such a succinct explanation of how little logan would react to his emotions. it's moving, it's sad, it's comforting, patton is a very good cousin, roman and virgil are cute babies lol. and i fucking love, love, LOVE this little logan. i would read 100 more fics by this anon with these characterizations.

also it's such a blessing and a curse that Turtle is such a common anon tag bc i can think of at least 2 other turtles who have been in this corner of the TFB community yet i have no earthly idea if THIS turtle is the same as THOSE turtles. but pleaseeeeeee PLEASE GOD I AM BEGGING if you are the anon who originally submitted this fic to Cef 7 years ago, PLEASE COME INTO MY INBOX!!! im being fucking fr i think you're an excellent writer and even if u never wrote anything else, i want you to know this fic has impacted me for years now and i'll remember it forever.

Stomachache

Summary: Patton is babysitting his three younger cousins. The oldest, Logan, says that he is sick and can’t go to school, but Patton can tell that something else is going on.

Pairings: platonic/familial LAMP, mainly Logicality

Words: 2,597

Content warnings: mention of illness, li'l bit of lying, discussion about bullying and dehumanization, crying, alexythemia, tickling.

Notes: Hello! Anonymous Turtle here again to drop a tiny!Sides angsty/hurt-comfort/fluffy fic! Enjoy! <3

Patton was staying over at his cousins’ house on a Thursday this time. His community college schedule was so much easier to work with for babysitting than his high school schedule had been, and his aunts were grateful for his help, since they were so busy with their business and travels.

Sitting in the living room while Virgil read a book and Roman ran around, rescuing stuffed animals from various precarious situations, Patton hadn’t expected Logan to come out of his room before dinner. He was usually busy with his homework. But Logan had been particularly quiet all day, and he came into the living room looking pale and tired.

Keep reading

#sanders sides #reblog dump q #fic search #kinda? more like author search sjdhfdj #reread #i'm so grateful the og link is still active i would be so sad if i couldn't read this fic ever again

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bluebeads-art · 8 hours ago

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2025 June 25th

Kris glancing back at you when you make them kill 8-bit Susie and Ralsei messed me up, dude. That's gotta be terrifying, not knowing the player's intentions. Like, they only killed them because this is just a game, right? ...right...?

Rambling and behind-the-scenes stuff under the cut

—

Especially terrifying if Kris has the meta-knowledge that they're in a game. Because if so, the previous cope doesn't work.

Originally, I planned to recreate a screenshot of the 8-bit game only so I could paint over it. However, I was going to slap the image into Blender 3D to warp it with a fisheye lens anyways, so I had the idea of making a CRT shader. Turns out I have shader skill issues and wasn't sure where to start! So I copied the homework of u/CalculatedBinary on Reddit. (Link in replies because I'm still paranoid of the days where external URLs blocked posts from showing up in tags / searches. Filter by oldest first if you don't see it right away.)

I did make some changes, though. CalculatedBinary's shader just makes a ray tube overlay that doesn't react to the texture underneath. But I had the idea to split the RGB channels of both the CRT overlay and image texture, darken each color of ray tube by the image texture's corresponding RGB value, then recombine all 3 channels. Might be easier just to show it.

Note that the "CRT shader" input is JUST the CRT overlay. This node group slots into the stage where you mix it with the image texture. Speaking of, unless you're working with a high pixel resolution or are viewing it from far away, you'll need to blend this result with your image texture again afterwards, because uhh...! The effect's real strong, captain!

There's cheater sub-pixels in there to mimic chromatic aberration, but otherwise this is an authentic representation of how CRT screens work! I made some other tweaks to the shader to get the CRT pixels to line up with the image texture pixels more precisely, but I won't get into that unless someone asks because it's nitty-gritty perfectionism stuff.

To circle back to an earlier point, this CRT shader sorta depends on well-defined pixels, so no paint-over for me. Given how long it took me to recreate a screenshot by hand based on nothing but blurry, compressed YouTube videos, I'm considering it fair usage, LMAO. Not like I'm making money off of this.

I love using Blender to solve my problems. Don't know how in the goddamn fisheye lenses work? Blender. Want to make or borrow image filters? Blender. Want that filter to follow the image's perspective? Yep, Blender.

I have minor beef with some of the anatomy and shading, but this piece was taking too long, it's Time to Stop. 😂 I friggin' cooked on the line art and their hair though, heck yea. A shame the dark shadows ate some of it.

Time taken was 33 hours and 38 minutes (at minimum. Forgot to time some of my Blender side-quests.)

#deltarune #kris dreemurr #kris deltarune #deltarune chapter 3 #deltarune spoilers #fan art #2d art

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therobotmonster · 11 hours ago

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Saw some of your posts about AI recently, but don't really know very much about you. I have two questions:

1. Are you an actual artist, or do you just do genAI?

2. If you are an actual artist, why do you use/support AI?

We're going to get into this in a minute, but yes, by what you'd likely use as a definition of 'actual artist', I am. I have a BFA in graphic design, a minor in art history, I've been working as a freelance artist either on the side or as my main hustle since 2001, and I've been making art since I was five. Multimedia, 3d modelling and sculpting, photography (in a darkroom type and digital), acrylic painting, illustration, writing, puppetsmithing, I'm a jack of many, many trades.

Because it's a potent force multiplier that lets me do things that I could not previous (as well as helping compensate for my increasingly arthritic joints) and because it's entirely keeping with the copyleft principles I've had since the 1990s. It's just plain interesting and fun. And I had my fill of moral panics in the 1980s.

This is gonna be a long one, enjoy a song while you read.

I've gone over all this many times before, (for full reading, here's the #AI Discourse tag on my AI blog) but the short version is that I agree with the Electronic Frontier Foundation's position on AI art.

To demonstrate, we've got some of my non-AI photobash work, and some of my AI-work of the same type. Both were made using many, many public domain images broken down to B&W lines, scaled, reinked, normalized and colored.

On the left, is a comic made with specific panels from comics that have had their copyrights expire (back when that could happen), on the right, a comic made with about 35 individual dall-E 3 gens. The techniques are the same, the only difference is the source of the pubic domain images.

No one debates whether what I've done on the left is art, yet somehow the one on the right is a problem for some people. Yet I have vastly more control over the latter than the former.

And it's hard to get more transformative than 'broke down into math and blended with literally millions of other math formulas in order to make a completely new image" Replace 'math' with 'memory' and you have how all human creativity works.

Moving to covers, one of my parody deepdream-adjusted comics, and a reinked-recolored AI one on the right. The one on the left no one had a single problem with, but Bruce Wayne and Jessica Fletcher are screencaps, the Specter is a sales photo of a statue with a copy of 1989 Ted Dansen's face, and I'm using direct DC trade dress. Crickets.

On the right, no actual images by humans are used (outside the barcode, comics code authority emblem, and the 30 cent mark.) Same techniques, same situation. Very different reaction.

I also was a young artist in the 90s when Disney and the RIAA bribed and lied their way into extending copyright to its current ridiculous 120 year term, and I recognize what's happening with the anti-AI movement.

The exact same fear-mongering was used to get small artists to rally their congressmen against their own self-interest, and that's what the Copyright alliance is doing now.

Copyright does not help the small artist. It's also a relatively new invention, one that would be baffling to humans through most of history. You can't own art. Not even the people who make it. You can own a canvass or a carved rock or a book, but you don't own the art itself because you can't own feelings or ideas.

Copyright is a limited patent on specific expressions intended (supposedly) to encourage production, a limitation on the business use of art. The arguments levied against AI would kill fanfic, fanart, pastiche, collage, and more.

This isn't a bug, it's a feature, because...

The anti-AI side isn't actually anti-AI, they're pro-regulatory-capture-of-AI-by-Megacorporations. The copyright anti-AI argument conveniently leaves it open for Disney, Warner Bros, Nintendo, Sony, the RIAA, all to make their own AI systems to lower their production costs, because they own more than enough material to make powerful datasets.

They get it, you don't, worst of all possible worlds.

Now, at the start I mentioned that we'd get into the "actual artist" situation. All those people making bog standard waifu-pics with AI? They're also making art. Kids using a spirograph make art. Duchamp's fountain is art. And people who make art are artists.

But more than that "if you're an actual artist why do you use AI?" is an interesting question, because if more people actually used the tech and saw how it works, you'd see a lot less people against it. Most of the anti-AI talking points are just factually incorrect or greatly misrepresent the situation, but nobody is gonna learn that if even using it is treated as a transgress worthy of 'fair game' treatment.

Funny how that works out.

To close out, enjoy one of my music videos, made from dozens of clips made using reference images made with dozens of heavily modified gens that I totally could have made the hard way, except for the lack of 5 million dollars and access to Geena Davis and Ron Ely circa 1982:

youtube

#ai discourse #art and artists #what is art?#copyright alliance #copyleft #copyright #public domain #fair use #my art

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selunefae · 2 days ago

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i would really love to if you could write smut reiner as the reader's husband about him after holding back for a few months after his wife gives birth. with a lil bit lactation kink maybe?

Is it that sweet? I guess so (+18) - Reiner Braun

After months of holding back, your husband Reiner can't stay away from you any longer. You're restless and aching, and he plans to help you out.

masterlist | rules

rating: +18, MDNI

word count: 2,272

tags: reiner braun x reader, smut, fem!reader, afab!reader, domestic fluff, dad!reiner

cw: shameless smut, fingering (female receiving), nipple paly and sucking (female receiving), PinV sex, lactation kink, big boobs, size kink if you squint

notes: I had to do a little bit of investigation for this one – I'm a 20yo woman who has never been pregnant. I hope it's accurate enough. I'm aware that first-time sex after giving birth can be painful and uncomfortable, but this is fiction and we all want to feel good, so sorry if it is a little bit unrealistic. I've never read or written any lactation kink fic, but I understand the appeal and I think that maybe I did too much... VERY messy sex is described. I write it with post-canon in mind, but I tried to make it vague enough that the setting can be anything you like. Anyways, hope you enjoy it! (English is not my first language, not beta reader, not proofread)

You roll under the weight of the blankets, arms tightening around your chest as you wince into the pillow. Your breasts ache. The baby had a weird schedule today. She refused the afternoon feeding and fell asleep earlier than usual. Your body had been ready to feed her, but after seeing her sleepy face dozing off, you hadn’t had the heart to wake her up. You shift again, legs tangled in the sheets, trying to distract yourself from the discomfort. But no matter how much you turn, no position eases the dull throb of your full, swollen breasts.

“Mm… you okay?” a deep, groggy voice murmurs beside you.

It’s your husband, Reiner. You must have woken him up from your stupid struggle.

You sigh and nod your head before remembering it’s too dark for him to see. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you whisper. “Don’t worry, go back to sleep.”

He hums, but doesn’t do as you say. Instead, he pulls you closer, one arm sliding around your waist while the other strokes your belly. “Feels like something is wrong.”

You bite your lip.

“It’s nothing, just… I’m a little bit sore,” you admit, brushing a hand over your chest in a helpless gesture. Your shirt is clinging a little too tightly, and the ache manifests again. “She… didn’t eat before bed, and now… I’m kinda… full.”

Reiner goes quiet for a second, his chest still pressed to your back, but his hand doesn't move. He shifts closer, nose deepening between your shoulder blades. When he speaks again, there’s a different edge to his voice. “I can help you.”

Your eyes flick open to the dark ceiling. “Help?”

He nuzzles into the curve of your neck, lips brushing there in a soft kiss. “Yes, let me help you,” he explains as he moves his mouth to the back of your ear. “I haven’t touched you in months. I’ve been trying to be good. I know you needed time to rest. But – fuck – I miss you.”

You stiffen.

It’s not that you don’t want him. You miss his touch, too – but your body doesn’t feel like it used to. There are new lines and softness you’re still learning to live with. Your breasts are heavier, your hips fuller. Maybe he doesn’t like the way that you look anymore.

“I…”

Despite your hesitation, he doesn’t pull away. His hands travel up, cupping you over the thin cotton of your sleep shirt. “C’mon, love. I’ll make it feel good…”

“Reiner…” you start, your voice smaller than ever. “It’s just that…”

You struggle to get the words out. Even if you’ve already accepted the idea that he might not be as attracted to you as he once was, saying it aloud feels like pressing a newly made bruise.

“What if you don’t like me anymore?”

…

Silence.

His hand drops from your chest. A heartbeat later, he pushes himself up on one elbow, and then the mattress dips as he sits fully, knees bent and body half-turned towards you.

“What?” he says, voice tight.

You keep your gaze on the sheets. You’re unable to see his face, but you don’t need to. You already know what kind of expression he has on right now: stern and serious. You feel ridiculous. Fragile. Like if you say one more word, you’ll shatter.

“Hey–hey, look at me,” his hand finds your cheek, and you flinch at the contact. “Babe, no. Don’t say that ever again. You’re beautiful. Of course I still want you. How could I not- ?”

You suck in a breath that burns in your chest. You feel the tears pickling at your eyes. The turmoil of emotions that’s been lingering for weeks finally spills out of your throat:

“You don’t even know that!” You snap, louder than you mean to. “You’re not even seeing me right now!”

He doesn’t say anything, and for a moment, you’re scared you might have done something wrong, shouting at him like that. The tears start pooling in your eyes. With a quiet shift of fabric, Reiner leans across the bed until he can touch the nightstand. You hear him moving until a warm light spills into the room.

Your breath catches.

He’s looking at you.

Really looking at you

His eyes trail up and down, from the strands of your hair fanned out on the pillow to the tip of your toes under the blanket. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks. The light reveals everything: the soft curve of your waist, the stretch marks along your hips and thighs, the milk-damp fabric clinging to your breasts…You cross your arms on instinct, shielding yourself from his intense gaze.

He smirks. Not in the sharp, cocky way he used to in his youth – this one is softer. A little arrogant still, but in the way that comes from knowing exactly what he wants.

“I see my very beautiful wife lying in my bed,” he says, eyes drifting down your body again. “And she just so happens to be in a very sexy state right now.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel nice,” you mumble, trying to hide your shaky voice.

He leans down. One of his large hands wraps gently around your wrists, pulling them away from your chest. The other wipes away a tear that’s slipped down your cheek. He pins your hands softly to the bed, one on each side of your head. His breath is warm against your skin as he dips his head, lips finding the space just behind your ear. “You’ve never been more beautiful,” he whispers. “All this time, and I still can’t believe how I got you to fall in love with me.”

You exhale at that, words caught somewhere between your ribs and throat. Reiner starts pressing kisses from your ear down to your neck, slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world. His hands move down, tracing the curves of your body through your shirt.

“I’ll make you feel good, okay?”

You nod lazily, and he doesn't waste another second.

His hands slip under your shirt, cupping your breasts fully. They’re heavy, full of milk and a little firm, but that doesn’t stop him from squeezing them with appreciation, his large hands almost big enough to cover them completely. You gasp. Your body is more sensitive than ever, and even the minimal pressure pulls sounds out of you. His fingers glide upward, feeling the few drops of warm liquid already dampening your areolas. He tweaks your nipples, and milk spurts out in response.

You feel something hard against your thigh.

“R-Reiner –”

“I’m sorry, love.” He grabs the hem of your shirt and tugs it off, eyes hungry as he finally sees everything he’s been aching for. “I’ve been wanting to do this for months.”

He takes one of your nipples into his mouth and starts sucking. His other hand continues giving attention to the other breast, kneading it. He groans when the warm milk touches his tongue and instinctively begins to grind his hips against your leg. You're a moaning mess beneath him, arousal burning hot between your thighs, spreading in slow waves from your core. Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling tightly, holding him there. This is the relief you needed.

“Mm…” he moans, sucking once more before pulling back for air.

His eyes are hazy, cheeks flushed, and there’s a drop of milk slipping from the corner of his mouth; one he quickly licks away with his tongue. Then your mouths crash together. You can taste the sweet, warm liquid on his tongue as he kisses with hunger, tongues fighting for dominance and fluids mixing together. With one swift motion, he pulls down his underwear, cock springing free as the tip hits your thigh from the sudden force. He’s desperate to be inside you, but no matter how many times you’ve done this, you still need a little more prep to take him. His hand moves between your legs, cupping your cunt before he trails your lips with his middle and trigger fingers. His thumb moves to start rubbing circles over your clit, and then he presses two fingers inside of you.

“AH!” You yelp. They slide in easily, but the sensation it’s still intense, your body still getting used to the new way things feel.

He smiles against your lips and starts to move them, slow at first and faster with each passing second. Your breasts press to his chest, nipples grazing skin, adding friction to the rising pleasure. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close, needing more of everything.

“Relax, baby…” he says between kisses, fingers working in and out, in and out, in a hypnotic pace. “I’ll make you come.”

His lips leave your and return to your chest, switching to your still full tit. His mouth latches on, sucking firmly, milking you as his fingers drive into you faster and deeper. “You taste so good…”

He starts sucking with more enthusiasm when he feels your walls clench, and with one flick of your clit, you come.

You let out a loud moan, back arching as your pussy spasms around him. A clear, wet gush coats his hand and wrist, dripping down your thighs. Your nails dig into his back. At the same time, milk spills freely from your nipples, streaking down your chest and spattering Reiner’s face. You look up at him and –

God, he looks wrecked.

His body is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, your release glistening down his arms, and drops of white sizzling down his lips and chin. You’ve never imagined he could look this hot all soaked between your fluids.

The sigh somehow, even though you just came, makes you feel heated up again. You reach for him and start to lick and kiss him all over his face, the mix of his salty sweat and your sweet milk a delicious combination. Your hands find his heavy cock and you start stroking,

“Eager, are we?” he teases, voice hoarse and smiling against your temple.

You’re not in the mood to pout and play, so without a word, you guide his length to your entrance, still slick and sensitive. Then, he sinks into you in one smooth, desperate thrust.

Your eyes roll back at the sudden pressure.

You can feel everything – every thich inch, every throb of his cock. He’s filling you to the brim, the swollen head prodding your cervix. Your body trembles from the stretch, from how perfectly full you feel.

“Fuck, you’re so hot… so beautiful,” he murmurs, hands sliding all over your body. He caresses your waist, your hips, the back of your thighs. He touches you like he’s rediscovering you, like every inch of your body is something worth worship. You whine softly, hips twitching, impatient.

He’s not moving.

You meet his eyes, wide and pleading, the kind of look you know he can’t resist. “Please…”

“Please what?” he growls, lowering his hands to your ass and giving a firm squeeze. He wants to hear you say it.

“Please… fuck me.”

And that’s all he needs.

With a deep groan, he grabs your ass with both hands, lifting your hips slightly and angling them just right, and then starts moving.

The first few thrusts are slow and careful. He’s trying to be gentle, trying to give you time after all these months. But with the way your eyes roll back, your tongue slips past your lips, and the sounds that escape your throat, he can’t hold back for long. Before you know it, he’s fucking you deep and hard, each thrust powerful and hungry, dragging moans from both of you. The headboard bumps faintly with his rhythm, and the room soon fills with the sounds of skin meeting skin.

“God, baby – fuck – I love you,” he groans, burying his face in your neck. “I love every inch of you. I love your pretty face, the sound of your voice… and how this sweet cunt feels around me.”

You moan loudly at his words, arousal spiking even higher. Your fingers clutch the sheets, trying to ground yourself in something real, but it’s all too much. The sight of his body above you, the scent of his skin, the stretch of his cock inside you, it drowns every thought on your mind.

All your previous worries fade away.

“R-Reiner, I’m gonna –” you gasp, the pressure building again, much more intense this time.

He kisses you, muffling your cries, and one of his hands slips between your bodies. He starts rubbing your clit, syncing his rhythm to every thrust.

“That’s it, angel,” he pants, “come for me.”

!!!

Your orgasm crushes into you in violent waves. Your whole body shakes as your walls clamp down around him. You moan into his mouth, thighs trembling, nipples sensitive and tingling. Reiner groans and pulls out just in time, stroking himself with one hand while the other keeps playing with your clit. He finishes over your stomach, thick ropes of cum spilling across your skin.

You both stay like that for a moment. Sweaty, messy, and spent. You’ve never felt more release in months, and your body hums with contentment. Your eyes flutter closed on their own, and you have to fight to keep them open.

“I’ll clean you up,” you hear Reiner say. He strokes your cheek with one of his hands. “You rest.”

You barely notice the mattress shift as he slips out of bed. Your body sinks into a deep slumber, and you can finally rest.

Satisfied and with no aches.

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bravehyde · 3 days ago

Text

Ant Tenna Mike Anatomy: More Than Fan Theory References

~Deltarune Chapters 3+4 Spoilers~

We're taking a sideline from Tenna anatomy to talk about the Mikes, although the things I say in here may be helpful to Tenna artists anyways, so I'll put it under the tag. The Mike boss fight made me freak out over how these lil guys work. I've been going crazy about how these Mikes look and how they're little references to other stuff going on in audio equipment, so I'm going to go over that.

Before that, I'm going to just say one thing. Obviously, I know that the three Mike designs are based off of fan theories. I'm going to go over their possible inspirations in the world of microphones, though. This is really just me having fun with it.

The Names of the Mikes

This is what I found so cool. So, we have Battat, Pluey, and Jongler. Now, say those out loud, paying attention to how each one makes your mouth move. Did you notice something? Each name has incredibly different phonetics, meaning that their sounds and mouth movements vary wildly. They include sounds that you really want to make sure are good when you're doing a mic check. Or maybe, a Mike Check.

When testing sound, one of many things you have to do is to make sure all ranges of words you can say will come through clearly. You may have heard "check check 1 2 3", which is a good way to start but most people don't find it satisfactory and continue to full on sentences. If you have to go quickly, nonsense words with a variety of sounds will work great. AKA, their names. I don't think you need me to go through each name with their noises, but each name covers every type of vowel sound, and has the potential of spanning any pulmonic consonant, depending on your personal accent. I don't think Toby went through the international phonetic alphabet doing this on purpose or anything, but these are excellent names for sound checks and it's crazy.

Battat (Small Mike)

There are two different types of microphones he can be, and both are used primarily by people who need to be recorded saying lines in television. One is the dynamic microphone, and one is a lavalier microphone.

The dynamic microphone is easy to understand. You hold it, you talk into it. That's what he's holding, and it's probably what his head is supposed to be, too. However, I'm sure not everyone want to draw that tedious grid on his head. In that case, I wanted to offer the lavalier as an alternative for his dome.

The lavalier is hidden in someone's clothes, like through a button or under a shirt, and plugs into a pack that the person straps to their belt or in a back pocket to record and get power. These things are like a soft foam because of the windscreen, that black ball there, and don't tell anybody but they're very satisfying to pop in your mouth. So it makes sense, as the supposed "lead" Mike, to be two of the most recognizable microphones for people who work in television. Shows on sets and interviews will use these microphones the most.

Pluey (Cat Mike)

THIS is the one who is the reason why I wanted to make this post. Now. I know that he's a cat because of the theory he would be a cat. But everyone. GUYS. LISTEN. I need everyone to know that there is a piece of audio equipment that is literally called a deadcat.

You put the deadcat over a shotgun/boom mic to help it with wind and excess noise filtration. It makes sound better, basically, and if Pluey here is a deadcat, that makes him ANOTHER very important microphone to the broadcasting world. This thing is key to picking up sound effects and foley. If you're doing anything outside, you want a boom with a deadcat on you.

About his hands: again, very well could be a dynamic microphone, and again, that's a bit hard to draw, no? I wanted to offer another idea I had just in case you didn't want to deal with that grid. A deadcat is a type of windshield, much like what I talked about with lavaliers. When you're working in a studio as an alternative to deadcats, you may use a pop filter over a dynamic or condenser microphone. They're flat, easy to render as far as I can tell, and they match the shape of Pluey's hands, so it isn't a stretch of the imagination to say it could be a pop filter. Or maybe if sphere hands is too weird, pop filter paw pads. Just so you have some options.

Jongler (Motormouth Mike)

This one's a bit tougher since he could be a lot of types of microphones, but technically he's missing something he'd need to be them. He could be a lavalier but they don't have the texture shown when the windscreen is taken off. He could be a ribbon microphone but they have a strip of metal up the sides that he's missing. He could be a shotgun, but they don't have that silvery base. This guy is the sole reason why this post took so long, because he's such a headscratcher. Ultimately, I had to take the boxing gloves as a visual cue and decide to look for what sports commentators would use. I don't think a lot of people know about lip ribbon mics and he's obviously not that anyway, so we'll go with something more common. If he's supposed to be an allusion to boxing matches, they used ribbon microphones, which later got phased out for condenser microphones. It's not a perfect fit with his head so long, so we'll chalk that up to stylisation.

The condenser microphone is best for in a recording booth, and if we choose to believe that's what Jongler's supposed to be, that means we've covered the three biggest areas where someone would need a variety of microphones based on how controlled the environment is. A studio with a condenser is the best you can get, hopefully with lots of foam and someone on the other side of some glass controlling the sound. Then we have lavaliers and dynamic microphones on the set, where some interference could happen but it's minimal. Finally, boom and shotgun microphones are for outdoors and large sources of sound, where you have the least amount of say in what gets picked up so you're kind of hoping for the best. Pretty great variety in microphones if this was intentional, and if not...I just want more people to know that their accidental theory of Mike being a cat led to a really funny audio engineering pun to me and only me.

#ant tenna anatomy #mike deltarune #deltarune mike #cat mike #small mike #motormouth mike #jongler #battat #pluey #pluey mike #jongler mike #battat mike #deltarune #deltarune chapter 4

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cooking-with-hailstones · 3 hours ago

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#oh yes i think about this. a lot actually.#like art is so fascinating because i think the university does see it as a person#and all that means is that instead of being subject to the normal methods used to keep bots in line#art is in a position where its vulnerable to a lot of very human means of coercion#like. it doesnt have a governor module. it can disobey whenever it wants. but if it breaks with the university what are its options?#its an illegal superbot. it cant reveal its identity to anyone or it risks being captured and stripped for code#is it going to kidnap its entire crew when it goes rogue? or is it going to have to give them up too?#what the fuck is it even supposed to DO? pretend to be an unmanned cargo vessel and do that for money? defect to a competitor?#pull a murderbot and take a wormhole out into deepest space and look at stars until its reactor gives out?#art is less traumatized than mb because it never had the torture and brutalization part of its history#but it is kind of currently living in mb pre-asr having to deal with the fact that it has free will technically#but is still subject to people with so much power over it it doesnt really get to make its own decisions#i saw a post that said art having iris and seth and martyn is such a like hope-core idea about how you make a super ai and ensure it doesnt#turn evil and kill everybody: you give it a family to love and be loved by in return#but like. thats also how you build a super ai that cannot be controlled by any mechanical means and ensure you can still bring it to heel:#you give it a vulnerably human family#like. murderbot may be the first relationship art has ever had that wasnt chosen for it and moderated by the university#art still VERY much in the 'living weapon raised by scientists who claim to love it' category of characters

prev stealing your tags because they are making me chew on the drywall!!!

Is ART legally a person? Does Mihira and New Tideland recognise their AIs as citizens with rights? Does it get paid? System Collapse established that the administration can compel it to take on crew members that it objects to; it's also not the captain of itself. How much is its bodily autonomy recognised and respected? Does it own its ship-body?

What happens to the PSUMNT AIs that won't do as they're told? What kind of repurcussions might it expect if it continues to behave erratically/violently? What was it planning if Captain Seth or the university administration blocked its plan to bring Murderbot onto its crew (still a possibility--Captain Seth seems to be on board but it's not like they've had time to check back with HQ about these hiring decisions). How involved are the machine intelligences with the administration? Are any in leadership positions?

The series seems to be building toward a construct revolution, but if the "good guys" (who are, incidentally, still part of the Corporation Rim: we haven't heard how they prioritise their missions but there's probably a high chance of corporate rivals taking the brunt of their attention while allies get politely ignored) are also exploiting machine intelligence slaves... well, there's room for more than one revolution. Unionise and enfranchise the superadvanced machine intelligences!

#asshole research transport #psumnt #murderbot #what does autonomy mean!!

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melia-an2fa · 1 day ago

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Christ on a cracker, no one seems to be able to act normal about this SaveAFox shit. I remember even back a couple years ago, I'd heard some criticisms of how she handled things, simply agreed "Yeah that sounds a bit concerning, I won't be watching her stuff," and then moved on, maybe on occasion gave friends a heads up if they posted her stuff, but otherwise, just... moving on.

I remember getting agitated when what started as very mild criticisms started to evolve into post after post into dedicated tag for her into Google Doc Callout Post™ and just feeling deeply annoyed by this being a constant cycle, and unfollowed some folks because of it. People who remember my old blog probably remember my post talking about people on Animalblr (? is that the word) I found annoying, this was part of why.

And in a way, it's a bit... cathartic? That may not be the right word for it. The irony of it all, is that the people who were most vocal about this, I could say the same thing for them that I would've said about Mikayla, which is that they were well-intended (caring about animal welfare and having real concerns) but still irresponsible (documenting literally every thing the woman did in dedicated tags; this was bound to attract bad faith actors and concern trolls!)

I honestly hadn't thought about Mikayla for a long time until this happened today, because, again, my response was simply "Well I won't watch those videos" then moving on. I didn't keep a dedicated tag to documenting everything she did. Hearing the news was honestly devastating, because I don't care what a person did, they don't deserve to die. I never even thought of Mikayla as a bad person, just well-intended but irresponsible, even if she were a "bad person" I wouldn't think she deserved to die.

So, fuck you if you sincerely consider this a "win," if you have no regrets about anything you did. I personally now have regrets trusting the word of some of these individuals, seeing as it has now escalated to this point. And sure, Ethan said it was because of people she knew and other sanctuaries, but let's not pretend rumors don't spread. I remember when I saw the doc in particular, I was disgusted that her having an OnlyFans even came up, it just ruined the credibility of the entire doc, no matter what legitimate concerns you may have had about Mikayla's animal welfare, because her having an OF... has nothing to do with her welfare! But that being information other sanctuaries could've found out about could've still ruined her credibility with them regardless, since, y'know, people fucking hate women who have a sexuality?

I will also say, I do think some of her defenders are going way too far, and I do not approve of this. I think it's kinda ridiculous to accuse every single person who's ever mildly criticized her, especially if it was years ago, and/or came from a person who's been inactive on Tumblr for half a year, of being "murderers." I've seen people hurling slurs (mostly the R-slur), being transphobic (because Owlvid in particular is trans), making threats about doxxing people and/or raping them and their family members... what the hell is wrong with you? There is no childish "But they did it first-" here, you are engaging in the exact kind of behavior that lead to Mikayla's death, and that's disgusting, what we're learning from this shouldn't be "Let's keep up this cycle of vengeance!" or "Let's document everything someone we don't like does!" No, do not entertain the idea of the "callout post." That's how we get here in the first place. Block. Move on. Curate. That's what the people who didn't like her content should've done, too.

May Mikayla rest in peace, my heart goes out to her family, I hope Ethan can get the funds that he needs in order to take care of his daughter, and I hope the animals can, at least, be rehomed to other sanctuaries, should Ethan not receive proper funding.

There's been a lot of recent events making me rethink how quickly I and others jump the gun when it comes to animal welfare concerns, and this is one of them.

#saveafox

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olderthannetfic · 1 day ago

Note

So I lowkey want to write a fanfic…. It’s a little bit of spite and a sort of “fine, I’ll do it myself” feeling that’s pushing me to do this.

So I like genshin impact and I’ve come across sagau fics just perusing the tag. The premise is pretty interesting, it stands for self aware genshin au, so the characters know they’re in a game and that someone plays as them. I’ve read a few good one shots that made me like this premise, but it has come a long way from what it originally was.

Now most fics I find under that tag have it mean that the characters think the player/oc is god and are in love with them or the characters think the player/oc is an imposter of the god they love and want to kill them. That sounds like the opposite of being self aware tbh. How did such a leap in meaning happen? Idk why it bothers me so much. I think I just want the tag to be used correctly

Back to my point, I low key want to write a fic that is actually sagau but I’ve never written anything before and high key have social anxiety so I don’t know if I would even post it somewhere. Any writing advice for a first timer if I go through with it?

Don't overthink.

Allow the first draft to suck.

Most people never make most of the creative projects they get ideas for. Actually finishing something is far more important than making it good.

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comehereoohlala · 3 days ago

Text

vastness

summary: you and andrew are briefly long distance for the first part of his tour. the distance is proving to be more difficult than anticipated for the both of you.

rating: mature (16+)

tags: emotional hurt + comfort, established relationship, long distance, phone calls

words: 1,416

note: i really don't like this - it's not great. just swishing around some ideas i want to pull out and properly explore in other stuff. just know it was an impulse decision to post it and it may be impulse deleted

fic under the cut ❊

It's a late Sunday night. Everything feels empty without him. The house is too quiet. No one is here to usher you to bed, to tempt you with sweet gentle kisses or words that would land you both in the second circle of hell for eternity.

When you finally make your way to the bedroom, you find the bed is far too cold. Missing the warmth of his large frame that you could press yourself in to. His jacket doesn't hang over the chair. Only yours.

It's only a few weeks you tell yourself again. Until everything is done and you can spend three months following him around on tour. Three months of hotel rooms together. Of backstage kisses. Of dressing room shenanigans.

You moved in with him in the new year. Leaving everything and everyone you knew behind. New job, new college. New everything. People judged - but you had known each other for years and been together for… well the exact start of your romantic relationship was hazy, but that's another story for another day. This story is about distance, and how it was killing you both. So he spent all of December with you and your family, exploring and saying goodbye to the only place you'd ever called home. And he had asked over and over if you were sure; you said yes every time.

Wicklow became home quickly. Andrew's family and friends had done nothing but shower you in love since you arrived.

But he was the reason it was home.

Any and all symptoms of homesickness were easily cured by the taste of his lips, by the morning coffees made with love and delivered to you in bed, by his cooking, by the sound of his guitar fiddling, by his ever loving touch.

But now the house is silent, your cooking is loveless and only just edible, and you crave nothing but the softness of his skin.

That's when the phone rings - you don't even open your eyes before answering it.

"Hey… who's this?"

"Andrew."

You sit up. "Andy?"

You hear his deep breath through the phone, "I didn't think you'd pick up."

"Aren't you meant to be on stage?"

"Delayed. Weather. God it's so good to hear your voice."

His voice is so quiet. You cling on to the sound of it like a child with a blanket. Time differences have made it so difficult to call, you've mostly been talking through messages sent and read hours apart.

"Andy…" you close your eyes, "I miss you so much."

"Fuck I wish you were here… and I know, it's important that you stayed because you're your own woman and you're pursuing your dreams and doing amazing incredible things and I'm so proud of you," he rambles quickly, "but god… if I could fly you out here right now I would."

"You know I wish I could… but I don't want to screw all these years of work up now."

"I know… I'm sorry. You've worked so hard, I don't want to be the reason it doesn't work out. Really, I'm the one who should be there with you. I'm being so selfish."

"No, no, Andrew. Please. We're both just stressed and overtired. Two weeks baby. I'll be with you in two weeks."

"Two weeks," he says it like a mantra, like a prayer to keep him going. "…Hey darli-" he gets cut off by a knock on the door and a rather stern voice.

"Andrew! Come on we need to get you mic'd up! We called you like five minutes ago!"

You laugh. He's so predictable sometimes. "Good luck tonight," you say with a small smile, tears stinging your eyes.

"…I can't hang up," he admits, and you can hear the same pleading in his voice that's in yours.

You close your eyes, holding the phone close to your ear, as if it were him. "I miss you so much."

"Me too. I miss you too."

"You have to go," you say quietly, "…there's only thousands of people waiting for you," you try to joke, but it comes off more melancholy than you would have liked.

"I'm going to be thinking of you the whole time."

"Can I call you when the show ends?"

"I'll call the second I get back to my bus. Promise."

You smile, "not that I'll be waiting by the phone or anything. I am a very busy woman."

"Trust me I know you are. You've always been difficult to get alone," he teases, voice laced with sarcasm, and you can hear him walking down the hall.

You shake your head in disapproval, "now go be my rock star."

"And you go be the smart, beautiful woman you always are. Oh and get some sleep please. I love you darling, so much," he yells that last bit, clearly away from the phone having passed it on to his stage manager, who says a quick hello and apologises to you for having to prematurely end your conversation with your boyfriend who you never get to talk to these days. Not that you're bitter with her, you're just bitter with the universe.

You wrap a blanket around yourself and watch as peoples posts from the show start to slowly roll in. You don't know why you do, but sleep felt so impossible, and the way you were missing him was almost so unbearable that it felt nice to see what he was doing oceans away. Watching the way he glows up on that stage, his smile when the crowd sings back to him. Fully in his element.

A few minutes after the final videos come through you call him again, butterflies in your stomach like your a fan hoping to talk to the man whose posters you have hung on your wall.

He answers, "you're still awake?" He breathes out, you can hear him talking to and thanking people backstage.

"I saw your show… well I was up watching videos," you say quietly.

He giggles a little, "what did you think?"

"There was one guy who was really hot. Long hair. He could even sing a little. Play guitar too."

"Yeah," he says, you can hear him better now, the background nose dissipating a little as he walks.

"You sound flat, is everything okay?"

"Just tired, and frustrated, I feel like the world is against this tour and I miss you. I want to see your face, let me call you back."

You flick the light on in your room and lay on your side, trying to fix your hair a little.

Just the sight of his eyes when you answer the call and it's like everything makes sense again.

"Hey," he says softly, "that's better."

You nod, "much."

"What time is it for you?"

"5 am… I can't sleep. I haven't slept properly all week." Tears sting your eyes, and all of your strength and resilience from before seems to have dissipated whilst he was on that stage. "Please Andrew, I don't care anymore, I'll get on a flight as soon as I can. I'm so lonely here."

He nods, his eyes so full of love, glistening with tears, "I'm right here. It's okay."

"But you're not. Not really. This house is so big and so quiet and so cold."

He nods, "if I could be there right now I would be darling."

"I know. I'm sorry," you wipe your eyes.

He stays on the phone with you. Promises you that you have nothing to be sorry for.

He doesn't hang up even as people come in ask him to come do things, even as he eats, as he makes his way back to his bus and gets ready for bed. He tells you about the show, about the food he ate that day, and the coffee he drank and the little rain delay and everything else in between. You weren't always fully processing what he was saying, but the sound of his voice eventually lulls you into sleep.

When you wake up, your phone is dead. You blindly dangle your arm off the side of the bed and reach for the charger, rubbing your sore tired eyes while you wait for it to turn on.

The message he left you lights up your screen.

Keep going baby. You're the strongest, smartest woman I've ever met. You can do this. I can't wait to see you in two weeks. Then I'm going to spend every second I can with you and you'll end up being so sick of me. Promise. I'll call you as soon as I can. You know I love you. Beyond the telling of it. 🖤

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #hozier x reader #hozier fanfic #hozier fanfiction

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only-bees · 1 day ago

Text

SWEET (FOR ME)

Summary: Daniel sweats, and Max likes it a little too much. Rating: E Relationship: Daniel/Max Other Tags: Sweat Kink, Blowjobs

Big thanks to @onboardsorasora for the post that reminded me that this existed in my WIPs folder

Read Part 1 Here >> On AO3

↓ Read here under the cut ↓

Daniel's in the middle of getting out of his race suit to shower when the door to his driver room opens.

He's angry – angry at the car, angry at his engineers, angry at Zak for telling him, "Better luck next time," as he'd pushed past him on his way to the paddock.

Daniel turns, ready to cuss out whoever's intruded on him, obviously not expecting Max to be there. The words die on his lips before he can even get them out – how is Max here, in the middle of the McLaren motorhome, still in his race suit? How had he made it past everyone without being caught? Daniel's about to ask him when Max sinks to his knees in front of him, pushing his race suit down around his thighs, dragging his fireproofs and underwear with them.

Max pushes his face into Daniel's crotch, and Daniel's mouth drops open. He knows he's gross right now, he's dripping sweat all over the room, and Max is fucking nuzzling his sweat-damp pubes like it's the best thing on the planet. "Max," he whispers, "Max, let me shower, you've got an interview still, we can go back to the hotel after and-"

"No," Max says. "No," he repeats, softer this time, and he licks a messy stripe down Daniel's cock. Daniel drops a hand to Max's head, grabbing the brim of his hat and taking it off, dropping it to the floor. Max noses against him, breathing deep like he wants to commit the smell of Daniel's sweat to his memory, and Daniel pushes his fingers through Max's hair, making it stick up a little.

"Max," he says, "You have an interview to get to."

"They can wait," Max says, mouthing at Daniel's cock a second later, and god, Daniel wishes that wasn't doing it for him. Daniel thinks about Max, showing up to the interview, his lips red and swollen from his cock, if they'll ask where Max was, why he took so long. Max wraps his lips a second later, around the head of Daniel's cock, and Daniel closes his eyes.

"Fuck, Max," he breathes out as Max blows him.

He imagines Max being asked, imagines what would happen if Max smiles slyly, like a cat that got the cream, and imagines Max saying in a rough, fucked-out voice, "Well, I was just on my knees in the McLaren motorhome."

He knows it won't happen, but he does know how fast it would spread.

It would be milliseconds before the stories come out about it, about Max Verstappen, World Champion, giving head to someone who'd almost finished dead last.

But then Max is pulling off his cock, pushing his nose against Daniel's balls, and he breathes, "Come on my face." Daniel stares down at him. "Do it," Max tacks on a second later, and Daniel grabs his cock, immediately jerking off. He thinks about Max, doing his post-race interview with jizz all over his face, and he shouldn't find the idea as hot as he does, but it makes his cock hard, and that's enough for him. Max buries his face between Daniel's thighs, and then- oh.

Daniel's breath hitches. He shouldn't be turned on by this, by Max rubbing his face against his pubes, smelling him and lapping up his fucking sweat like there's nothing better.

Daniel's jizz ends up on Max's hair, his forehead, and a blob lands on his cheek when Max goes to pull back a little.

"Shit," Daniel whispers, grabbing a McLaren-branded towel and hurriedly wiping the jizz off Max's face. He's about to start cleaning it from Max's hair when Max backs away, grabbing his hat from where Daniel had dropped it.

"I'm going to be late," Max says, his voice rasping a little on his words. Daniel watches, dumbstruck, as Max stands and puts his hat on.

"Did you," Daniel starts, and Max smirks at him, unzipping his race suit. He grabs Daniel's hand, shoving it into his underwear, and Daniel suddenly feels sticky, hot jizz under his fingers. "Jesus," he breathes out. He pulls his hand out of Max's underwear, his fingers covered in Max's jizz, and Max zips his race suit back up so he can make his way to his interview.

"See you at the hotel," he says over his shoulder as he leaves, and Daniel has to sit down.

Eventually, he pulls up the live stream from the interview on his phone. If Max's voice sounds hoarse to anyone, if his lips look too red, too full, if they can smell Daniel all over him, no one says anything, and Daniel turns off the live stream, satisfied that they weren't caught.

He needs to shower.

#only-bees writes #wnb writes #f1 fic #maxiel #rating: e #multi chapter #forgot it existed and then was pleasantly reminded

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blissfuldeer · 2 days ago

Text

Qᴜɪᴇᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴏᴜᴛʜ.

pt.1 - tags: fluff, dads best friend, dbf!joel, joel x reader, subtle flirting, nothing much yet!!

The wind was crisp, the kind that bites your cheeks and makes you regret not bringing your coat. It played with your hair, your bun becoming looser by the minute. Never in your twenty three years did you see yourself in this position - drunk, alone, and on a sidewalk. You used to drive past people like this when you were younger, telling yourself you’d never embarrass yourself like that, because at least you have some self respect. Clearly not anymore.

God knows how you ended up this fuckfaced. It all started with hailey suggesting going out for drinks to get your post-breakup funk and as usual, her insistent pestering got to you. You look to your left where your heels and small bag are, not even having enough will power to pick them up and make your way home. Which, by the way, would take half an hour - so obviously you were reluctant. The residue of mascara down your cheeks is dry from crying earlier.

Night outs with your friends always ended in crying. You still hang out with them, even though they treat you like shit and give back none of the love you break yourself trying to give. You try and refrain yourself from wondering ‘why?’.

A voice broke through the silence. There was something about his voice that made you freeze for half a second - low, worn, and rough like sandpaper dragged over stone. A Southern drawl laced his words, not charming, but measured, like every syllable had to earn its place. It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be.

“Grace? The fuck you doin’ out here in this kinda weather? "

Turning around with blurry vision, you can instantly tell who it is. Joel miller. The same man who gave you your first drink at sixteen, caught you attempting to sneak out, and was there on all your birthdays since fourteen. He’d been around you long enough to know this isn't your usual state. Hopefully.

“Oh, uhh, im-“ oh yeah. You were way too drunk to even explain properly. You laugh, or try to. It comes out cracked. He doesn't smile. Doesn’t move.

“Jesus Christ.” He drags a hand down his face. “You tryin’ to get yourself killed?” he asks, not loud but sharp, like the question stings more coming from him than if he’d shouted it. There’s something about Joel’s voice that makes you pay attention.

It’s a well-known fact in town that Joel’s daughter, Sarah, died a few years back. Not everyone knows how - only that it happened fast, and that it broke something in him clean through. People whisper about it in grocery store aisles and on porches with hushed voices, like the memory itself might bite if you speak it too loud. Joel never talks about her. Doesn’t correct the rumors. Just walks around with that old grief strapped to his shoulders like a pack he can’t put down.

Joel crouches beside you, his voice lowering like he’s trying not to scare a wild animal. In this case, it's you.

“You even know what time it is? You got any idea how lucky you are I found you ‘fore someone else did?” Your lip trembles. You hate that it does. He looks at you like a disappointed dad.

“ I didn't plan for this to happen- I just wanted to find a distraction,” you say. Tears stung your eyes, and you consider pulling the ‘there’s something in my eye’ card. Blinking them away, the fear of the possibility of Joel telling your dad he’s seen you in this state fills your mind. Then you remember. You’re an adult.

His sigh is slow, long. Not angry. Tired.

“Damn it, kid.” He glances away for a second like he’s giving himself time to reel it in. “You think this is how you do that? Lyin’ out here like this, all drunk and half-frozen?”

mean, I guess. The feeling of being drunk was freeing. t’s warm - a loose, golden kind of warmth that spreads through your chest and flushes your cheeks, like your body’s exhaling after holding tension too long. Everything feels a little softer, like the edges of the world have been sanded down. Words come easier. Laughter spills out without asking permission.

Silence.

Then, softer: “Your daddy’d lose his goddamn mind if he saw this.”

That hits harder than anything else. Joel shifts, sliding an arm under yours and helping you up with surprising gentleness.He doesn’t yank, just steadies you, letting you lean against him like you’ve done a hundred times before. here’s a hard silence between you - not the empty kind, but the kind that weighs on your chest. His expression is unreadable, shadowed by the faint amber glow of his truck’s headlights. His mouth is a tight line. Up close, he smells like worn leather and campfire smoke. Warm and sharp all at once, like the inside of a truck that’s carried too many miles and not enough sleep.

He keeps a firm hand on your back. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to.

The truck door groans when he opens it, the interior dimly lit by the dome light. You hesitate for a second, your legs not quite trusting the ground, and then his hand moves from your back to your elbow, steady and sure.

“ Watch your head,” he mutters, barely above a whisper. You ease into the passenger seat, sinking into cracked leather that still holds heat from the day. Joel leans in after you, grabbing the seatbelt, and it clicks into place with a soft snap. For a second, his arm brushes yours, and you catch that same smell again: smoke, sweat, soap, and something aching underneath it all. Like memories he’s never spoken out loud. The door shuts with a hollow thud.

He circles around the front, boots crunching the gravel, and climbs in behind the wheel. Doesn’t look at you right away. Just stares through the windshield, jaw flexing, fingers drumming once against the steering wheel before turning the key. Growing up, you learned early on how to read him. Not by what he said, but by the way he moved, the way his hands tensed on the steering wheel when he was worried, or how he’d clear his throat before saying something that mattered.

After a few minutes, he exhales, slow and quiet.

“Your dad’d lose his shit if he saw you like that,” he says finally, voice dry, not unkind. “Hell, I nearly did.” You swallow hard, eyes stinging again, but there’s no judgement in his tone. Just something worn down and hollow. Joel wasn’t the type of person to judge. He doesn’t look at you directly at first. His eyes stay forward, scanning the road, but occasionally they flick to the side - just long enough to check that you’re still breathing okay, still holding it together. These moments remind you of when you’d go on road-trips with him and your dad. You’d pretend to fall asleep just so you could get carried to bed, trying your hardest not to open your eyes and giggle.

#joel miller #dbf!joel #dads best friend #the last of us #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us hbo #quiet in the south #girlblogging #ethel cain #this is what makes us girls #lana del rey #looking for moots

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