#Python you make me go crazy

[anitalianfrie]

My code not working for some unfathomable reason I know the thought process behind it is right but there's something that I'm not getting about this error

[fingertipsmp3]

The other thing that’s happened is I had a dream last night that wasn’t really sad or a nightmare but it really disturbed me anyway and I’ve spent the last like 2-3 hours just thinking about it

[yieldtotemptation]

PYTHON ft. Danielle

danielle x male reader smut

17k words

“You really need to stop showing up like this,” you’re saying, knowing full well that it’s falling on deaf ears. But it doesn’t hurt to try.

Danielle tilts her head. Glossy lips part, flashing a smile. It’s pretty. So clearly practiced, and so fucking obvious. Worst of all—it absolutely works on you. “Like what?”

“Unannounced,” you start, before swerving, “Naked.”

“Well.” Danielle takes a step closer. Then another. Suddenly making you feel like a stranger in your own apartment. “If you really had a problem with it, you’d have changed the door code by now. Or told my sister what we’ve been up to.”

You need to correct her before this can get any further out of hand, there’s no we to tell anyone anything about, but—look. She’s half-right. You were going to get around to changing the locks. Eventually. The other part, the nuclear option, the sister of it all—“You know I can’t do that.”

“Then you’re just going to have to deal with me until you can,” she says, casually.

Doing that thing all pretty girls seem to have built into their genetic coding. Standing there, posing, like she’s the sum of a dozen happy accidents—the hip cocked just so, the hand at her impossibly tiny waist. The wet hair, the pout, the fucking collarbone.

Accidents—yeah right. 

Anyone else but her, and maybe you’d buy it. 

“Besides, I’m not completely naked,” she adds, smile sharpening into a grin, and—fuck.

She is far too gorgeous for her own good. She is also extremely, without a shadow of a doubt, bad news, persona non grata, unbelievably off-limits.

“I'm wearing your towel, after all.”

—

(Okay, okay, okay.

You’re well aware you’re the only person on this planet that wouldn’t be delighted to have Danielle stepping out of their shower.

But maybe consider the following points:

1)      You’re still raw, wound’s barely scabbed over from the last woman you let into your home;

2)      Your whole career kinda rides on the fact that you keep your head fucking straight and free from any distractions, especially the kind that’s crazy enough to break into your apartment and hot enough to make it seem like a perfectly good idea; and

3)      If you were going to ignore points 1 and 2, and just decide you’re going to let that towel drop and let whatever happens, happen (hopefully something with a lot of moaning and a lot of sweat and a lot of giving up on what little modicum of peace you’ve managed to claw back from the world)—she’s your ex-girlfriend’s sister, for fuck’s sake.

Counterpoint:

She’s Danielle fucking Marsh.)

 —

Clearly you should’ve ended things a week ago when she first showed up—kicked that irredeemably cute, tight ass out of your apartment and slammed the door behind her. 

You should’ve seen Danielle for the walking, talking red flag that she is: a jump-scare in skin-tight jeans, or a barely-there top, or more frequently than necessary (or not frequently enough, depending on how honest you’re feeling) in nothing but your towel that’s now clearly found its home around her razor-thin waist.

The girl is apparently allergic to clothes.

“I’m gonna make some ramyun,” she’s calling from the kitchen, rifling through your fridge. Voice carrying over the sound of a week’s worth of meal-prepping and pre-blended protein smoothies being carelessly shuffled out of order. “You want some too?”

No, not a ‘would it be okay for me to help myself’, or even a simple ‘do you mind?’. Just straight up making herself at home, helping herself to your bathroom, your kitchen, and after a very strong suggestion, one of your old sweatshirts.

Your casa; now her casa. Or something like that.

“I don’t have any ramyun,” is your answer. It comes out weak.

To that, she whips around, cradling in her arms her bounty—a pack of noodles, a tub of kimchi, and a cut of pork belly you’ve been saving for a special cheat day. Throws you a far-too-easy grin that you’re realising is her signature. “I know. I picked some up on the way here.”

“Of course you did.”

“It’s a good idea to eat normal people food every once in a while, instead of whatever this is,” she says, nodding her head to your stacks of perfectly portioned containers; your towers of health and virtue.

“I think I’m good,” you reply, cautiously. Resisting the urge to let your eyes wander and get caught for the nth time. Don’t want to give her even more ammunition in her campaign against your very clumsily-established boundaries.

At least not until you’ve made your cursory attempt to get her the fuck out of here. Trying (and inevitably failing) to come up with a compelling argument that would convince her to leave. Something to illustrate that this isn’t going anywhere, she doesn’t do a thing for you, let alone register as anything other than a mild strain on your already tenuous relationship with your ex-girlfriend.

Yeah, you don’t even believe that shit yourself.

Regardless, recognise that your first instincts, like always, are terrible ones. Ignore all the parts of your brain that are telling you to do things that could end with you buried in some unmarked grave along the DMZ. Ignore how good she looks wrapped up in your oversized sweatshirt; how it looks so lovely draped over her body, stopping short of the tops of her thighs, letting the damp, pale skin peek out and glisten and—

Fuck.

Maybe you should take the sweater back. Peel it right off her body and—

Again. Fuck.

“Trust me, you’ll want some. Everyone thinks they don't, right up until they do,” she says, and there she goes, pursing her lips together, throwing you a wink. God knows what she’s insinuating.

“Do whatever you want,” you’re saying, leaving out the implied—‘not like I can stop you’.

“Careful with your promises,” she’s laughing to herself, turning away and setting her culinary treasures next to your stove. “I just might have to hold you to them.”

That you pick up on immediately. But she lets it rest, putting a pause on the flirting-that’s-totally-not-flirting, busying herself with the task on hand. Reaching for your pots, your spices, navigating around your kitchen like she’s done it a million times before. So at ease, so… natural, in your space.

It’s eerily intimate.

Wearing your clothes, cooking for you, chatting over her shoulder as if she’s the sister that you have the years of history, of baggage with. First times and fuckups. All the messy, complicated shit in between.

(No matter how well she fits the role, a reminder: she’s not.)

There’s all these incidental miracles too—a curtain of chestnut brown hair sweeping aside as she stirs, a hint of bare shoulder, a column of porcelain along her neck. The sag of her collar until it’s falling down one arm, and there’s no sign of a top underneath, no strap, nothing to curb your imagination from running wild.

And it's all extremely unfair, how the hemline rises with each sway, how it clings right to her waist and curves around the flare of her hips. It wasn’t built for someone like her, wasn’t designed to withstand being worn like this.

But it tries it’s best. You do too.

You really should force your eyes elsewhere. The living room, the TV, the window. Anywhere but her. But you can’t help yourself.

“So,” she starts, happy to let the dish come together on its own. Asks, apropos of nothing, “You ever wonder why my sister never wanted to leave us alone together?”

You blink, torn from the hypnosis of her bare skin. “What?”

Danielle’s facing you again, leaning over the kitchen island. Playing with a loose strand of hair, looping it around her finger. Taking the dumb look on your face as an answer. “I mean, before all these little hangouts we never even had a full conversation, just me and you. One-on-one. Isn’t that weird?”

No. It never occurred to you, because it’s not weird at all.

Because Danielle is, and this is plain fact at this point—not in any way, shape or form exaggeration—unfathomably, quite offensively hot, and very much aware of the devastating effect she has on the people around her just by simply existing.

You hardly trust yourself at the moment.

“Then again, she probably knew what I’d do if given the chance.”

Danielle bites her lip, and you make the mistake of staring for just a second too long.

Yeah, it makes a lot of fucking sense.

(Back in the kitchen, the pot boils over.)

—

(It was somewhere close to the end of things; when it became more common to talk in loud accusations than sweet whispers, that your ex was telling you—“I do love her. But I swear sometimes, I can’t stand her.”

“Who?” You’d asked, because playing dumb was much easier than accidentally stumbling into some new argument you weren’t quite prepared for.

“Dani.”

“Your sister?” you replied, too quickly, and without thinking, “I don’t know—she seems sweet.”

There’s a pause, a tension in the car and your hand clenches around the steering wheel as you realise what you said, and the entire world holds its breath. Then, she laughs. Something sad and bitter that makes you wince. “Sweet? Yeah, sure. She’s a fucking angel.”

And before she can even elaborate on that, she’s looking out the window, leaving you to wonder how you’re at fault this time.

So, you decide then and there to never mention her again, never even look in said sister’s direction when she’s around. Push her out of your mind completely. As far as you’re concerned, she never even existed.

That lasts right up until the next time you see Danielle, and she’s all smiles and friendliness and barely-dressed and so painfully attractive and so very happy to see you. And sure, maybe you smile back, reciprocate the hug, blush when she kisses your cheek, hold your hand on her lower back for that extra millisecond too long, bounding over that ephemeral line and right into flagrantly inappropriate territory.

All the while, somewhere over your shoulder your ex spits out the corner of her mouth—“Typical.”)

—

“I thought I already explained?” Danielle starts, the next time she shows up uninvited, half-naked, bright and early and ready to completely fuck up your day.

Despite the number of times you’ve witnessed the same routine, it still floors you every time she sashays into your kitchen, towel draped low on her body, wrapped around her ridiculously tiny frame, water droplets clinging to her flushed skin like a layer of glitter.

Fresh from a shower. She’s always just fresh from a shower.

She’s already rolling her eyes at whatever she’s about to say. Takes a deep breath, then: “There’s a whole thing going on with my living situation at the moment. You probably don’t need to know anything other than sharing a bathroom with four other girls can be a bit of a nightmare, and your place is so conveniently close, and your water pressure is actually unbelievably good, so—”

You’re very slowly realising that she’s never imagined a reality where this would actually be a problem for you. “And so you decided that the next best option was a complete stranger’s apartment?”

Danielle drums her fingers over your kitchen counter. Your eyes follow the beat. “You’re not a complete stranger.”

“You don’t even know me,” you say, trying to play the part of the responsible adult. Danielle scoffs, because you’re failing spectacularly.

“Well, according to my sister, I have nothing to worry about when it comes to you,” she says, adding, “she told me the two of you broke up because you were gay.”

“She said what?”

She recites, “He prefers rolling around with men than with me—were her exact words.”

“M-M-A. I do MMA.”

“Hm.” Danielle’s baring teeth now, a dangerous slant to her smile. “Is that a new addition to the acronym? LGBTQI-MMA? What colours are your flag?”

“It’s fighting,” you clarify, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck. “Mixed martial arts. I’m not—not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I’m not—”

“Sure.” She pushes herself upright and rounds the counter, swinging herself around and over to you. “And here I thought you had all those muscles for show.”

“I’m very straight.”

Her laugh fills the room, makes it warmer, the air sweeter somehow. You choke on it. “Good to know.”

She closes the distance in much fewer steps than you’d like, bare feet gliding across heated flooring, until you’re forced to notice that she’s taken the liberty of using all your shower products too, and you’re starting to rationalise the perfectly normal response it's eliciting. The shortness of breath, the thumping in your chest, the stickiness of your palms.

All perfectly normal.

Stand your ground, what’s the worst that could happen? You’re taller, probably twice her weight. You could pick her up and throw her out if you had to. Or onto one of the many softer surfaces in your apartment.

Erase that thought.

“If it really helps, maybe all we need to do is get to know each other better,” she says, all honeyed-sweet and fucking hazardous, and when she’s this close, you can’t avoid looking.

You try not to, but you’re absorbing all the details—how are her lips this pink, how do they look this soft? How does her skin look so smooth, how does vanilla and coconut and sandalwood smell so much better on her?

It’s fucking troubling how much of her sister you can see in her, except it’s all skewed in directions that make your brain short-circuit. Similar eyes, same shape, but darker; less warmth, more heat. That same mouth, the curve is a mirror when she smiles, but on her its natural state is a pout or a grin over anything close to reassuring.

The dial’s been turned up, the sliders are all wrong, no one should look this good with this little effort.

“For starters, how about we just exchange numbers? So I can call ahead before I come up next time. Avoid any unnecessary surprises,” she throws out, noncommittal. “Even though that’s the best part.”

It should stun you, the smoothness of her request. So innocent in its construction. Yet she loads it heavy, suggestion stacked on suggestion.

She continues, when she catches the look on your face, “I promise I’ll only contact you in strictly emergency shower situations. Would that be okay?”

“That’s fine,” you answer, making liars of you both.

“Then it’s decided then!” She practically cheers, jumps in your arms, wraps you in a hug. Looks up at you, all smiles, all teeth; all wide eyes and hopefulness and fucking hell she’s so close.

Instinct has you leaning closer, has you maybe letting your hands rest a little too comfortably around her waist.

Panic has you recognising that you need to get out of here before she catches on to the involuntarily reactions she’s coaxing out of you. Eyes dipping down to the towel, heart bursting out of your chest, and your co—

“It goes without saying, but you can contact me too. For anything. Emergency or not.”

Yep, it’s about time to get the fuck out of here. Peeling her arms off you, bailing on this conversation before you start agreeing to even more things you know you shouldn’t. You declare, rather robotically, “I should be on my way out.”

“Guys waiting for you to roll around with?”

You sigh, “Something like that.”

“Well, I’m always available if you want someone more fun to practice with,” she says, before amending. “Or, on.”

Again, this can absolutely not happen. You’re not usually one for rules, but it goes without saying—no fucking around with your ex’s sister. It’s like the golden rule of dating, or human decency, or something.

Besides, it’s not really about you that she's into. It’s about the idea of you—the one person who won’t immediately give her what she wants.

That’s all.

She’s just a brat that’s dealing with denial for the first time. Right?

Danielle pouts when it’s clear that you’re not going to feed into any more of her flirty delusions. Twirls on her heels, the towel dancing around her waist. You’re pretty sure you could write a whole essay on the physics of it all.

“Guess there’s no point in me sticking around if you’re not going to be here.”

You avert your eyes. No need to watch her disappear into her room.  

Correction—your room.

But then you hear it, and your head whips around so quick you get fucking whiplash.

Witnessing Danielle time her exit just right so the last thing you see before she rounds the corner is the sweep of her back, the drop of her towel, and the flash of her tight, bare ass that will burn itself into the back of your retinas and stay there for the rest of the day.

—

(You really should’ve seen this coming.

Or maybe you did, and the lesser angels of your nature thought it wouldn’t be so bad to let it happen.

Whatever, it’s too late to come back now because Danielle’s taken to sending you messages throughout her day. All mundane updates; what she’s doing, who she’s with, what’s she eaten for breakfast, lunch, dinner. Little things throughout the day that somehow remind her—through bizarre and barely tangential logic—of you.

You read them, pretend to ignore them.

You choose not to reply.

She chooses to start sending photos.)

—

It really, really doesn’t help that Danielle is everywhere.

She’ll be in your kitchen, your living room, your bedroom when she conveniently forgot to bring a change of clothes and the ones that she came over in are way too sweaty and sticky to put back on. Hopefully you don’t mind washing it for her?

You’ll leave your apartment thinking you’re finally free, only to find her flashing that grin on giant screens hanging off buildings, or on the side of the buses you take to the gym, or on the cover of every magazine at the convenience store where you used to dive in for a quick snack without ever even having to worry about her existence.

Her music plays in the café you get your afternoon caffeine fix; her commercials show up on every single app on your phone—she’s selling everything from headphones to sneakers to fucking bank loans. All with that same sweet, annoying, lovely voice that haunts you with unabashed innuendo and questions about where you keep your fabric softener and why your apartment is completely barren of anything that could be considered a snack.

It's a sick, sick joke the universe is playing on you. Throwing her in your face every five minutes when all you can think about is how she looked that morning when she took her time putting herself together—just lounging on your couch in nothing but a pair of glasses and a towel, kicking her legs up in the air while she laughs over some meme that's completely skipped your generation.

The legs. Can’t help but think what it would be like to run your tongue over them.

She'd probably be thrilled to let you try.

“Hey,” Danielle says, choosing the moment when you’re trying to figure out just how high her legs go to catch your attention. “Did you and my sister ever do it on this couch?”

“What?” —the fuck.

“Just asking,” Danielle sing-songs, taking the opportune moment to adjust the knot on the towel. Higher up her chest, higher up her thighs. “It’s got good cushioning, you know.”

“That’s,” and really, stop right there, because you’re not about to rehash the greatest hits with her. Not going to even get close to dipping your toes into an innocent, casual chat about ghosts long exorcised—about all the nights you had your ex spread out like a buffet, her legs around your neck, her nails digging into your back; her whispers and pleas, the sweet taste of her—and fuck, now the memory of her face is twisting and morphing and you’re seeing Danielle in those same positions and—

You shake your head, clearing the fog.

"Not going there."

Danielle feigns innocence, batting those doe-eyes. You’re already sick of that sugary-sweet giggle. "Where?"

“Anywhere. With you.”

“You never know, it could help,” she’s teasing. Possibly the most dangerous sentence you’ve ever heard. “Replace all the old memories with some new ones? A little less her, a little more," she pauses for great emphasis, and it feeds right into the mouth of the devil on your shoulder, "me?"

“Danielle—”

“You know, you can just call me Dani. All my close friends do.”

Alarm bells are blaring. Take the easy way out, just leave again. Maybe leave forever. Get out of here and don’t look back. She can have your apartment as far as you’re concerned—the backseat of your car isn’t that uncomfortable.

But before you can make a break for the door—"I just meant we could watch a movie or something.”

And again, you find yourself asking so often these days, “What?”

“You know a little bit of Netflix,” she suggests, and you’re already anticipating the grin before it spreads across her face, because she’s far too smart to play dumb, “and a bit of chill?”

“Danielle—” you try once more, then correcting before you can think better of it, “Dani.”

Danielle blinks. Adjusts herself. Pats the cushion next to her.

Her legs spread, then cross over each other. Just to give you some room.

The towel holds on for dear life.

—

It all goes to shit in a matter of days.

Truthfully, you can’t be blamed for this one, no matter how predictably it plays out.

Danielle’s fogged up your mind with thoughts you’d rather not be having, really been hard at work convincing you of just how available she is.

(Translation: Look at me, aren't I just so damn fuckable?)

Even though it’s all been common knowledge from the get-go, her cards have been on the table since she first stepped out of the steam and rented a space inside your brain, whether you want to be honest with yourself or not.

She wants you, badly.

You want her too.

It’s all you think about.

So, it’s no surprise your coach sends you home early from training after taking one too many unanswered shots to the head. Pushes you out the door and yells at you to get over or on top of whatever the fuck is going on in your personal life.

You know he’s right.

And it’s in this state, where your brain is mildly-concussed and filled with the images of Danielle—the ones of her wearing next to nothing except that fucking wry, knowing smirk of hers, like she’s just counting down the moments until you finally, inevitably give in—that you stumble into your apartment.

You don’t even have the strength to close the door properly.

You barely notice the closed blinds, the heating turned up too high, the light coming from your room, the scent of something much more sweeter; something that doesn’t belong here at all.

No, you don’t notice anything at all—until you do.

A moan from down the hall.

Louder as you approach, joined by noises of shuffling bedsheets, the unmistakable rhythmic squeaks of your mattress. The slick sounds of skin on skin, and—oh fuck.

You push open your door.

Danielle’s there to greet you, flat on your bed, fingers deep inside her cunt.

Wearing your sweatshirt and nothing else.

Crying out your name.

It’s game over.

Every filthy, lurid though, every half-imagined fantasy, everything your brain has conjured up whenever you've caught a glimpse of Danielle's bare skin, brought to life.

Fucking gorgeous, pretty, even like this. Wrecking herself so sweetly, fucking herself with her fingers so deeply and carefully, half-naked and wet and begging.

“Ah, God—” She’s sinking into herself, not even registering your presence, nor the fact that the door’s even opened.

Her face is locked into this smile, and you clock it as the same one she wears every time she catches you watching her, every time she manages to make that crack in your armour widen just a smidge. It’s a trap. A challenge. An invitation.

You hover by the door, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but watch as she works herself over, eyes fixed shut, cheeks red, burning hot.

You shouldn’t look.

You should turn around.

You should do anything but stay.

But you don’t.

You just witness her, in your bed, chanting your name in tempo with her own fingers. Your body betrays you—you take a step forward.

Her eyes open. Unsurprised. “Hey.”

She keeps going.

One more step couldn’t hurt. Moth to her flame, fly to her sweet, sticky trap.

The sweatshirt is a crime against humanity, hiding her like that. You could reach down, rip it off her, expose all her secrets to the cold air. Finally see it all.

But instead, you keep your eyes trained, transfixed, as she arches her back, her breasts pushing up against the cotton, points of her nipples poking through. Abs—chiselled, firm, tense—revealed inch by glorious inch.

Your name on her lips, moaned into your ears.

And her pussy. So pretty. Pink, plump. Perfect.

Sopping wet and making a mess of your bedsheets. The mattress will never be the same. 

“Welcome home,” she gasps out. Loving this turn of events. Spreads her legs wider, no intention to stop. Just going on and on.

She stretches out your name for good measure, fucking herself faster. Fingers plunging in and out of herself, hips rocking back and forth. Eyes locking onto yours, daring you to do something about it.

“How’s the view?” She’s grinning, aiming for seductive, nonchalant, but her voice is all broken-up and fucked up. Too turned on to be anything but earnest.

“Fucking hell,” you find your own voice much the same. Really, it’s a miracle that your lungs aren’t clogged up with the thick, heavy air that’s settled in your room. Or that your tongue isn’t a dry, useless slab of meat in your mouth.

“I’d say it’s rather—gah—” Danielle says, taking your words, twisting them into something that sounds like a whine as her eyes slowly shut, a fresh wave of pleasure washing over her. She opens them again, focuses on you. “Heavenly.”

You should have more to say. Something locked and loaded to navigate your way out of this specific situation, because face it, this was always going to happen one way or another the day you let her have free reign of your apartment, of your life, of your thoughts.

Your mouth opens, hoping something disarming and with enough wit comes out to end this whole farce, only Danielle beats you to the punch—“I bet it tastes heavenly too.”

And then the words come to you. You grit out, “Stop.”

Danielle laughs. Unconvinced. “Why should I?”

You repeat. “Stop.”

She just keeps fucking herself. “Make me.”

“Stop,” you let your voice come out deep, firm. Like it's a threat. Taking the closest ankle in your grip, lifting her leg up.

Danielle gasps. Her hand stills.

“Stop and let me.”

Danielle’s whispering now. “Then go ahead.”

You’ve never imagined yourself as that guy. You’re a romantic, you swear. Grand gestures, sweet kisses, candles, roses, the works, making love slow and soft until the sun comes up.

Nothing like this.

Like wanting to ruin something beautiful. Take the hottest girl you’ve ever met, probably ever lived. Cross lines so thick you’d typically need a buzzsaw to cut through. Make her forget about anything that isn’t you, anything that isn’t you. Make her need you in the worst way.

Make her come apart in your fucking hands.

The look on Danielle’s face gives you all the permission you need. Her words are just the cherry on top. “Please.”

You start small.

A kiss on the sole of her foot, and Danielle’s already trembling, giggling, at the light touch. More kisses, building, keen attention on the arch, the ankle, the calf, and she’s shivering. Muscles tensing under your lips, body tightening in anticipation.

She’s a ticking time bomb, was on edge when you walked in, so you don’t drag it out. Just long enough to make her whine. Get a few, “God you’re so—”, gasps and half-formed sentences that die the higher you get.

You kiss your way past her knee, and she’s properly whimpering now. Her fault that her legs are so long. A ladder of sweetness, salt on her skin, and you’re starving. She is right. It tastes heavenly. You’ll do your part by devouring it, bite by fucking bite.

“This is torture,” the words slip out of her, but it hardly sounds like a complaint. Moreso a confession. Something to say while her shoulders sink into the mattress and her fingers dig into the sheets. “Sweet torture.”

A chuckle into her inner thigh, where the skin is softest, smoothest, and her wetness has leaked down far enough to coat your cheek. Because this is the first time Danielle’s been anywhere close to a position of submissiveness to you. Let the mask, the control slip. The game, the pretences. All it took was the right use of your tongue.

“Higher, please, just eat me already,” she’s pleading now, and it sounds so lovely coming from her lips. And fuck, the scent of her, her arousal, sweet and heady. Calling for you to just dive in face-first.

But you want her to beg. Make her as desperate as she’s made you. It’s only fair.

Your nose meets the bottom of the sweatshirt. You push up, ghost your lips, the warmth of your breath higher up her thigh until her hips are practically stuttering.

Lean in, nibble the flesh just beside her pussy.

She convulses then and there. Arches off the bed, a sharp cry leaving her lips.

Only a moment to revel in it before your hair is snatched in her hands, pulling you closer, and you finally give her what she wants. Tongue darting out, tasting her.

“Right—yes—fuck!”

Her scream drowns out the groan climbing out from your throat, as your lungs are filled with the depths of her. No waiting, really, she’s fucking soaked already. Primed, prepared for your tongue. For the sucking, licking, kissing; every part of her that’s been begging for attention, waiting for you.

Her hips buck, but your palms shoot up, press down against the flat of her stomach, feel the ridged abs, the tiny waist under your fingertips. Holding her down with a firm hand. Letting her know the truth of it all. She’s yours now.

All she can do is whine, “I—I—God, I need—”

“Need me to taste you? Lick you, suck you right up, ruin you with my tongue?” The things coming out of your mouth, the aggression in your tone, it surprises you. But there's not enough time to ponder on what manner of beast she's turned you into so quickly, there's only what's next—press the flat of your tongue against her folds, give a rough, firm pressure, make her squirm.

It’s from here that you can witness it all: the bend of her neck as she throws her head back, the tightness in her stomach, the sharp inhale and heavy exhale of her chest. The tremble in her thighs against your cheek, her breath hitching and her pussy quivering over your mouth.

And it comes to you, so easily, like it was always there. Filth being composed in the back of your mind anytime she was in your presence. Everything you've ever wanted to do to this girl. Everything you've wanted to inflict upon her cunt.

“I'm gonna make you into a fucking mess all over my face, down my chin, all over my bed. Fuck this pussy, Danielle. I could get drunk off it. So fucking sweet.”

“It’s—fuck—” and you’re really enjoying this now, having her be the one that’s lost for words for once. “—whatever—all of it. Do whatever you want, please, because I’m so, so close.”

“I didn’t need your permission,” you tell her, speaking into her cunt. “But it’s appreciated anyway.”

And Danielle’s well and truly wrecked. Drenched cunt so swollen and desperate and really, truly in quite a state. So desperate for you, her body thrumming with it. Cunt pulsing like a fucking heartbeat.

You could take it slow. Could drag out the torture a little longer.

Fuck that.

Tongue goes higher, fixes upon her clit. Danielle falls apart.

“Fuck—fuck—fuck—” Her words are slurring together, choked out, gasps, whines. Barely coherent, and yet, “your mouth—tongue—please—”

The pleases you recognise, they come in staccatos as you lick her from bottom to top. Long, slow drags that make her legs shake.

“You’re going to scream for me,” you declare, a prediction more than an instruction. “Beg for me. Going to make you cum so hard. So loud. Going to make you remember it. Remember me every time you think about touching this sweet cunt.

“Sadist,” she manages, breathless, but it’s hard to detect anything from her other than pure glee. “I can see why my sister would always come home so—fuck—so worn out from seeing you.”

“Don’t,” you spit on her cunt. Take a long, gratuitous lap of your tongue against her folds. Force her hips against your face.

“I’m only wondering—” she says, and there’s an edge to her voice, and you know that whatever’s going to follow is going to make you fucking crazy— “Did she taste as good as me?”

You try your best to ignore the taunt. Just push your tongue inside her, feel the way she clenches around the muscle. Fuck her for making you even think about your ex.

“Or did she ever even get to feel like this? Did she let you? Or maybe you never gave her the honour. Because I can't imagine ever letting go of someone like you."

“Enough,” you murmur, not even sure if it’s a warning or a plea. Your teeth graze her clit. Danielle jolts. “This isn’t about her. It’s about you.”

A barely there—“Me?”

“You started this,” your voice is gravelly now, coloured with something mean, “Just had to be too pretty to ignore. Fucking cocktease.”

“Then—oh—give me what I deserve.”

“That would take hours.” The laugh that comes out of your mouth is anything but warm, and she tries to fire back with one of her usual quips—something that dances on the line of flirty and sarcastic and completely charming all at once, the full Danielle experience.

But that all dies on her lips when your finger pushes through until you’re knuckle-deep, curling up inside her.

“Ah—fuck—” That’s all she’s got, and it’s all you need.

You kiss her cunt, suction around those puffy lips. Her pussy is just so, so pretty; like the rest of her, same as every single fucking inch of her. Even now, all huffing and groaning and fucked-up on your tongue—so effortlessly beautiful.

“Baby,” comes out, all velvety and warm, and then again and again. Pitch rising, falling, voice getting louder, a crescendo dictated by your mouth.

Creamy thighs fit snug over either side of your head, but you’re not going anywhere. You need to make her cum—as hard as she can. Make sure she remembers.

You lick, kiss, suck. Danielle doesn’t require much precision, just intense passion. Showing her how much you love her cunt, love making her fall apart. Really sloppy with it, it’s the pace that matters at this point—giving her everything that’s been boiling deep inside her since she ever laid eyes on you.

Swirl your tongue around her clit, flicking it in a way that has her knees shake and bang together. Suck deep against her folds, making her fingers knot themselves in your hair. And when you moan into her cunt, vibrate your lips against her while your fingers—one, then two, now three—work her over, well—

She can’t fucking do anything but try to breathe, try to keep herself together. Be anything other than the excruciatingly cute and beautiful and fucking delicious mess you’re turning her into.

“Right—right there—right there—” Unnecessary instruction, really. Because you already have her dissolving underneath your tongue. Filling your bedroom, your apartment with noises of her cunt being properly fucked, the sighs and moans that bounce off the walls, echoing around your skull. Putting you in some heavenly torture chamber where the only way out is through her orgasm.

And it’s somewhere in her pleas for a higher power that you feel the beginnings, or the very rapidly approaching endings of it all. The tightness in her thigh, the convulsions. The waterfall dripping down your tongue, your fingers, onto the palm of your hand and pooling underneath her ass.

“This is—this is too much—"

Too much means not enough. Not enough of her, not when you’re so in love with the sound of her breaking apart. The smell of her on your nose, your chin. The feeling of her cunt colliding against your lips.

“Oh God, fuck, please, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—"

You breathe in, take all you can from what little oxygen she’s left in the room, and bury your face in her. You don’t let up until her cries become screams, until she’s bucking against your face, until her nails are digging into your scalp.

You don’t stop until you feel the first pulse in her climax, until her cunt clenches around your fingers like a fist, until she’s painting your face with her wetness.

And that’s when you reach your other hand around her, urge your fingers underneath those tight, firm cheeks. Push a finger up into her ass, press into that puckered button, making her seize like you just sent a bolt of lightning through her.

“What the fuck, it’s so—God!”

For a moment, she’s yours. Completely and utterly yours.

Her stomach tenses, abs bunching and knitting together. Not a single muscle in her body moves, just frozen in place, locked in pleasure.

Tiny, little shakes, building and building, until it’s a full-body experience; quakes all over her skin, shaking your whole bed. And then—

“Daddy!”

There’s a right word for this—flawless, absolute, divine. Or just plain perfect.

The way she cums is so at odds with who she is. It’s not pretty, it’s not subtle. God, it’s fucking apocalyptic. Orgasms herself into an out-of-body experience onto your chin.

It’s all so fucking obvious; people in the next building over will be able to feel what she’s going through just by the timbre of her voice when she cries out for some sort of God, or spits a filthy curse, or just screams your name in a dozen different ways.

“You’re fucking—yes!”

You need both hands back on her body to fix her to the bed, make sure she doesn’t fall off the fucking edge of the world. Help her bear it, through gritted teeth and sharp hisses, that one final push into oblivion.

A whine signals the end for her; a final real, loud, teary-eyed whine. The most honest sound you’ve ever heard from her and fuck you’d do anything to hear more of it. Give up everything for just an echo of the sweet obscenities that fall from her lips when she cums.

Danielle exhales.

Tries to relax her way out of it. But the trembles haven’t left her, still bubbling underneath her skin. Her legs fall away from your head, leaving your ears ringing, and you ease back. Wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

You massage her, run your hands up to her waist, underneath the sweatshirt. Stroke the lines on her body to coax her back down to the land of the living. Let it all slow down.

Her eyes are still hazy, glazed over, pupils all fucked-up and blown wide.

“Animal,” she says, when her lungs begin to fill again. She giggles, and there’s all the sweetness returning to her body. Radiating off her in this afterglow. Twisting herself a little beneath you to work out all the tension that you’ve just built up and wrecked her with.

“You asked for it,” you tease, hovering over her. Rightfully smug.

Danielle huffs. Looking so pretty behind all the tears. “And I will again.”

And you exhale too, because now you don’t know what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into.

But Danielle doesn’t give you time to dwell on your thoughts. Scoots up and shifts so she’s on her elbows. Takes your chin in her fingers. Kisses you.

Inhales you deep, tongue immediately pushing past your lips, scraping around the edges. Licking up all the evidence that’s still stuck on the roof of your mouth.

You fall into her, hands rising up her body. God, you just need to feel her nipples harden beneath your palm, her body fold back into yours. Get to know every curve, every dip. You’ve tasted heaven, now you want to map it out with your fingers.

Your hips urge against her waist, pushing her legs apart, and that tells Danielle all she needs to know.

But her tongue leaves yours, escapes the chase of your own.

“Not yet,” and she’s laughing because you actually believed for a heartbeat that you were the one in control here. That you weren’t the one that was going to be left begging. Aching. Left with nothing to do but commit the taste of her to memory.

She draws her tongue across your jaw, your cheek. Licks your face clean, leaves it sticky. Smiles against your skin.

“But maybe later.” She pushes back, hand at your chest. Gets herself up and off your bed, turns away from you so you can only imagine the grin playing on her lips.

Her ass tilts. Her pussy drips onto your floor.

She looks over her shoulder, blows you a kiss, a wink. “Gotta take a shower first.”  

—

(This is the part where Danielle pulls her greatest trick yet—radio silence.

A week without hearing from her—not a text, not a peep, nothing. Turning your brain inside out. Leaving you with nothing but this tangled mess of thoughts about thighs and abs and moans and questions of did whatever the fuck that was really happen?

The worst part of it all is, you know exactly what she’s doing when she’s not busy haunting the edges of your apartment, leaving her fingerprints in every room, over every surface, just waiting for you to find them.

She’s quite easy to be found. She’s still everywhere.

Everywhere except the one place you need her to be.

It’s too early in the evening to be lying in bed, staring at your phone, nothing but the background noise of heaters, TVs and air purifiers to make you seem less alone.

You should really have much better things to do then to hover your thumb over her name.

Your screen lights up with a message—immediately disappointing you when you realise it’s not her. Just your training partner, sending a cursory group invite to anyone else that fancies a night out to break up the routine of getting punched in the head on the daily.

Fuck it.

It’s as good a time to drink as any.)

—

You’re barely in one piece when you get home; which is really par for the course for the past few weeks.

Dazed, horny, tired, concussed—and now, stone-cold drunk.

Habit has you collapsing on your bed in a heap, flicking on your phone, dragging your finger over the screen and taking an embarrassing amount of attempts to unlock it. The blue glow lights up your room, the screen immediately blasting you with the most recent thing you were looking at—the last photo Danielle had sent you.

The one she took in front of your bathroom mirror, where she’s leaning over the sink. A hand perched on the counter, hip cocked to the side. Towel hanging on by a thread, dipping, just so. Tongue poking out, lips looking so shiny and soft.

Eyes right down the barrel of the camera. Knowing the reaction it’ll force out of you. The power she has to stir your cock to life with just a single image.

It’s so fucked up. How in such a short amount of time, she’s occupied every corner of your mind, every corner of your digital life. Unavoidable. Inescapable.

And there’s truth in that: you’re flying too close to the sun; you’re going to get burned but you can’t help but soar a little closer anyway. Heading headfirst into tears, heartache, or worse, a very awkward family reunion.

And you hate that you miss her.

Hate that you’re calling her.

She answers.

“Hey—” you slur, making a stellar start.

You’re picturing the smug smile on the other end of the line. “Is this a drunk dial?”

“I—yeah.” No point in lying. You’re not good at it, and she’s not that dumb.

“Well, I’m flattered,” and there’s pure amusement seeping out of the speaker and into your ear. She sounds like she’s laughing at you. But it’s warm, familiar, and for a second it’s like she’s right here, in your room, in your bed, her naked body pressed against yours. “To what do I owe the honour?”

Since you’re too inebriated to be anything other than honest, you just outright say it—“Got drunk. Can’t sleep. Missed you.”

There's hesitation on the other end. Surprise, you guess. "Then that makes two of us."

"You're drunk too?"

"Unfortunately not. Just the insomnia and the yearning on my part."

“Why aren’t you here?” comes right out your mouth, before you can even stop it.

Her breaths come through the phone. Slow. “Because I’m in a hotel. Hong Kong.”

You roll onto your back, close your eyes. Picture it. Danielle, prettier-than-perfect, curled up on some plush, extravagant bedspread. A complimentary towel getting the luxury of being around her tight figure. Her long legs stretched out in front of her, painted toes digging into the sheets.

You still remember how they felt against your lips.

“I don’t believe you,” you decide, and demand, “Turn on your camera.”

“Oh, you’re very drunk,” is Danielle’s reply, right before the chime of your phone and—

There she is. Scarily accurate to your imagination. Only now, the details are colouring in the rest of the picture—the contrast of hotel white against her dark hair. The glint of light off her sharp cheekbones. Her lips absolutely wicked.

No towel, though. A bathrobe this time.

“It’s fucked up how pretty you are,” you say, because it’s true and you can’t hold back. “Like, Christ.”

Danielle giggles, and it’s also fucked up the things the sound does to your stomach. Forcing you to realise how much you missed having it in your apartment. She leans closer to the camera, head tilting a little to the side. “Very, very drunk.”

“Don’t have to be drunk to recognise how good you look.”

“I always look good.”

“If you were here right now—or if I was there—”

“You’d what? Bury your face between my thighs? Ruin me with your tongue?” She’s smiling. Teasing. Thank God you can see her face again. “Make me call you Daddy?”

“I didn’t make you do anything. That was all you.”

“And you just happened to love it,” she says so easily. Full of confidence. “What else would you love to make me do?”

It comes to your mind immediately, the thought of it—“Your shoulder.”

Her eyebrow jumps up at that, expression settling into something curious. “My shoulder?” She angles herself, gives you a better look. Leaving it bare, the bathrobe droops, doesn’t bother to hide the line of her throat. “Nothing about my neck, my eyes, my lips?”

“I’d get to that. But I’d start with your shoulder,” you recite, letting her in on the journal entries you’ve been writing in your mind. Notes on Danielle. “You’re always just leaving it out there. Your shoulder, collarbone. I’d kiss there first.”

Your words do something to her, you can see it through your bleary eyes. She shifts on top of her bed, twists herself around to settle into a more comfortable position. Leans back into the headboard of her bed. Juts her shoulder out so the bathrobe drops further down her arm.

Has you follow the path of her camera as she angles it lower, and it doesn’t help that she’s biting on her lower lip, and you can’t see where her other hand has gone, and she’s spurring you on by asking:

“Would you kiss me lower too?” The bathrobe parts, plush cotton revealing a single line of her sternum, and then further still, the shadow of her cleavage just out of view.

You nod, swallow. A strained, “Yeah.”

“And here?” The robe slips, falls further down. Revealing the swell of one perfect breast. A nipple, stiffened from the cold. Or the thought of your lips.

Your eyes are locked onto the image of her creamy skin, the darkened areola. You don’t care that you’re groaning, that your hand is already reaching down to palm your erection through your sweatpants. You don’t care that she probably knows.

It’s what she wants.

“Yeah, I’d kiss you there. Lick it. Get it between my teeth, and—”

“Sounds like you’ve thought a lot about me,” she murmurs, but she’s only saying things that you both are keenly aware of. You are—have been—putty in her hands. A man lost at sea with only her voice as a compass. The camera moves in closer still. You can feel the heat of her skin through the screen. “What if I told you I’ve been thinking about you too?”

Her free hand returns in view. Up to her chest. Teasing her own nipple; pinching between her thumb and forefinger. She gasps, breathes heavy down the line, and you swear you can feel it too, a phantom softness at your own fingertips.

“I’ve been thinking about what you did to me with your mouth, been thinking about it—” she’s panting, and her hand’s moving. Thumb tracing lazy circles around her breast, and you’re thinking that it’s the exact path you’d take with your tongue. “Every. Single. Night.”

It’s too much and nearly not enough. No where close to satisfying the ache she’s built inside you. You want her here, in your bed, underneath you. You want to show her what you can really do to her. How you’d kiss her until she couldn’t breathe, lick her until she couldn’t think, fuck her until she’s nothing more but a shivering mess, leave her begging.

And then, as if announcing your own thoughts back to you— “I want to cum,” she sighs, barely a whisper. “But I don’t want to do it alone.”

“Show me.”

There’s a beat, two, where Danielle mulls it over. Nothing but pants heard through the speaker. Her nipple still in view.

Until she turns, phone hitting the bedside table with a gentle thump. Screen still on, camera pointing right at her face. But the angle’s off—she shifts it downward and returns to the bed.

It sobers you up, puts you on alert. Danielle. Lying on her side. The soft, pale swell of her breasts, the dip of her vanishing, practically non-existent waist. The curve of her hips down to the long, smooth legs. The robe slides down, baring her other shoulder. Her neck. The cut of her clavicle.

Fuck.

Her breathing hitches when she sees you, the look on your face. So low, so quiet, when she says, “Now, you too.”

A mirror of her actions—your phone finds a spot to lean on. Hands wobbly, vision blurs as you rush to get the angle right. Sweatpants disappear, freeing your cock. The waistband catches on your length, causing it to spring out hard.

It’s Danielle’s turn now to groan out a “Fuck.”

And for a moment, it’s just heat and silence. Hot, laboured breaths filling the space between the two of you. Her hand drifts down, skating between her abs, lower—

“Tell me,” she says, fingers crawling to the hood of her pussy, gliding over where she’s most sensitive. Her thighs part slightly, slowly, showing herself to the camera, to you. How wet she is, how delicious she looks. You want to taste it. You’d die to feel the heat of her against your tongue once more.

But you’re not there. You’re both stuck in this digital limbo. Two people desperate to fuck each other through a screen. It won’t be enough. It just can’t be. But it’s all you’ve got, so it’ll have to do.

“Tell me everything.” Her eyes close, hand starting to move with purpose. Spreading her folds. Glistening clit standing proud. “Everything you’d do to me. All of it. I know you’ve been thinking about me. Give me every little detail. Make it dirty, make it good, make it—”

“I—” you start, only to stumble, “I want to fuck you.”

“Obviously,” she’s smiling into the camera, and yeah, you’re realising it was a stupid way to begin things. “Please don’t make me do all the work here. Where’s the guy that said he’d make sure I remember him every time I touch this tight, little cunt?”

“Sweet cunt.”

“You would know.”

You clear your throat. Adjust yourself. Angle your cock towards her so she can see how much you mean what you’re about to say. “Danielle—”

“Dani, please.”

“Dani,” you restart, “After your shoulder, your collarbone, after I’ve left those fucking tits all marked up—I’d run my tongue back up to your neck, suck on that spot right here—” you bring your other hand up, tap it over your pulse. Danielle’s eyes shoot open. Follows your finger. “You know the one.”

Her hand falters, she chokes on a breath. She’s picturing it. Feeling it. “Yeah,” she stammers. “Yeah, I know.”

“And then—then you’d feel my fingers. Pushing in,” you continue, hand tightening around your own shaft. Pre-cum making it slick. Recalling her heat, the tightness of her cunt. The clench around your digits. “So fucking slow. Watching your face as you take them. One, two. Three. Yeah, you’d look just like that.”

Her own fingers dip, bringing your words to life. Eager to follow word for word, whispering these hushed little pleas, and then a moan, and then— “Don’t—don’t stop.”

“Slowly, Dani,” you make her whine, as if you’re right there, holding her hand, forcing her to balance on that edge. “Just like that. God, you look so pretty. You would look so pretty. Coming apart on my fingers. I don’t think I’d ever be able to stop telling you, because fuck.”

You break it down—break her down. Tell her the steps, one by one. The way you’d kiss her, taste her. How lovely it would be, lips as sweet as her cunt was. Kiss so deep that you’d steal the breath from her lungs, make sure she knows what it’s like to be consumed. The way you’d kiss her neck, her ear, make a mess on her tits. Every spot that makes her quiver.

There’s tension in her shoulders, tightening across her muscles. Eyes clenched shut, fingers dancing over her every inch that you tell her you’d explore once you’ve finally stripped her bare.

Leave her in her natural state: naked, beautiful, fucking breathtaking.

Her hand’s a blur now, thighs trembling with each pass of her fingers, and she’s chewing on her bottom lip so hard you can see the indentation. Whining, pleading, these divine little noises, intermittent—“Keep going, don’t stop, tell me more,” —pure bliss articulated,  and you’ve lost track of how many times she’s asked, “and then?”

“I’d spread you wide open, Dani,” you tell her, and watch as her legs part, leaving her splayed out on her bed. Image so fucking wanton it’s biblical sin. “God, look at you. You’re so fucking wet I can hear it through the phone.”

Danielle can’t help herself, “It’s you,” she’s gasping, panting, fucking herself with her fingers so intently that the sounds of her cunt are coming through loud and clear. “It’s all because of you. So, so wet. I’ve been like this all week.”

A thought, you realise, “So that’s why you stopped messaging me.”

The tightness in her voice confirms it for you, “Yeah. Couldn’t stop thinking of you. Reaching out would’ve made it too fucking much.”

This revelation hangs in the air, thick and palpable. Pushes aside any remaining inhibitions. You stroke yourself harder, faster, matching her rhythm, her breaths. Joining the slicks of her own cunt with the sound of your skin slapping against your palm.

“But it didn’t help. So, fuck it. I needed to let you see. Let you know. How much I want you. Need you.”

“Was never much a secret.”

“Never said I was good at hiding it,” and Danielle’s grinning now, looking so beautifully lost and downright filthy and there’s really only one thing left to ask, “Tell me how you’d fuck me.”

“Hard.”

One word and she fucking loves it.  

“Flip you over, from behind. Against whatever hard surface I can push you up against. Nothing sweet about it. Giving you what you fucking deserve.”

“God!”

“Leave you out of fucking breath. Just take my cock deep. You can see it can’t you? How big it is. How fucking hard it is for you. I’d make you take every inch fucking fast and rough. Make you mine. My own personal cocksleeve. Daddy’s little cocksleeve, how do you like the sound of that?”

Danielle’s back arches, chest rises and falls. Hand moving faster, fucking herself, really going for it. Head thrown back, eyes open, on you. Like she’s memorising the way you’re looking at her. Unable to do anything but look when you’re puppeteering her body across an entire ocean, words dictating every little shiver, every little pulse.

“Pin you against a wall, Dani. Make it so you can’t move. Can’t do anything but feel me. So deep inside you that you’d feel fucking empty without me.”

“Fuck, that sounds so—” Dani’s barely breathing now, and whether by some reflex or just a need to make your words feel a little more real, she rolls onto her stomach. Ass up in the air, pushing her face down into the mattress. You can see the muscles in her back ripple, the fingers disappearing between her thighs, and she’s biting down on the sheets but you’re making out the— “Just like that. Yes, yes, like that. Fuck me like that. Make me—”

It’s the view of her tight ass and it's like she's inviting you to tell her, “I’d spank you—leave you all nice and red. So you’d feel it after. Have you screaming until you can’t even speak. Make sure the last word you’ll ever say is my name.”

“You’d pull my hair too, right?”

“You wouldn’t have a choice.”

Danielle screams your name; the first time you’ve ever heard it sound like that. Somewhere between worship and pure desperation. It’s fucking heavenly. Your cock flexes in your hand, and you want to drop everything and rush over to her hotel room right now and shove it directly in her face.

But you’ll have to be content with what you’ve got.

With Danielle, an utter disaster; soaked cunt and all, splashing down onto the bed. And it’s going to be a problem, an explanation she’ll have to provide. How the perfect, idol-princess left her room stained and forever ruined with the scent of her cum-drenched sheets.

She’ll lie, of course. Spin something about a spill, or a new perfume she’s trying, or maybe she’ll fucking own it.

How some guy over the phone left her shaking with his words alone. Made her scream his name until she got noise complaints from rooms on the opposite side of the hall. Caused a fucking mess that the hotel laundry service would never be able to scrub out.

She’s so close, so fucking close. You know because you’ve been on the same tracks as her, charting it through the throbbing of your own cock, the tightening in your balls.

She’s just dying for release. For your permission.

“I’m just—I can’t—Can’t believe you’re going to make me—”

“Just fucking cum then, Dani,” you command. An order.

She follows without question.

Hand builds speed—faster, faster, faster. ‘Fuck—fuck—fuck’ spilling from her lips until it’s all just one noise buried in a mess of pleasure and bliss. Until she’s just a heartbeat in the palm of your hand.

Fucking God, she cums hard.

You do too.

You swear the camera shakes, it’s not just your vision, the head spin, the alcohol. It all vibrates around you and you can’t see straight.

Watching Danielle; her abs tense, back bow, collapsing into her bed. Eyes squeezed shut, choking on sheets as she tries and fails to muffle herself. Orgasm ringing through your phone, a chorus of sin. Your own cock is bucking, moving with her hips, and you’re fucking her, fucking her through it all, making her fall apart again and again, making her shiver, beg, cry out your name and—

It’s a fucking masterpiece.

“Cum for me please, Daddy!”

Like a gunshot, a trigger, and you’re gone too.

A mess—sticky, warm. Fucking satisfying.

And then it’s over.

You both slump down, dissolve into your own individual puddles. Needing deep, heaving breaths. Sweat sticking to your skins, to the sheets. It makes her glow.

Just laying there. Not bothering to clean up. Evidence of your lust smeared across your hands, your stomachs, your beds. The trophies earned.

The silence stretches out, and it’s weird because it’s just like she’s breathing right in your ear, coming down next to you. Warmth against your neck, hand sliding down your body. Fitting right in your arms.

Her eyes finally open. Slow movements have her hand dropping away from her pussy, sliding over the wetness to her side. A mess, and there’s a new kind of smile on her face. A little lazy, weak. Satisfied.

“Fuck.”

“Tell me about it.”

She watches you for a beat. Runs a tongue over her lips. “Can’t wait to see you again.”

“When?”

“As soon as I fucking can.”

 —

(It feels good—too good—to be honest for once.

The games are still there, but now that you’re a willing participant, Danielle’s tactics shift.

It starts innocently enough—a good morning text here, a photo of her breakfast there, a meme you’d both find funny.

And then the escalation.

Here’s what I’m wearing. Here’s what’s underneath. You want to see more?

Reciprocate.

Every notification from her has you running to the bathroom, or at least somewhere with a little privacy, because it’s always a photo or a video, a little slice of heaven to get you through the day or completely ruin it just by seeing her picture.

And fuck, you do look.

And then there’s the last photo—and of course there’s a bathroom and a mirror and your sweatshirt hiked up to her chest and she’s completely bare otherwise and you’re thinking she’s laughing here because she knows you’re going to zoom in and find the tiny caption left for you to discover between her thighs.

One word.

Your cock jumps, a silent cheer.

Tomorrow.)

—

It's borderline problematic how you have to hold yourself back from sprinting down your hallway when you get home. Just because you hear the sound of running water.

Danielle's here again.

She’s fucking back.

And that’s how you find her; the door to the bathroom’s been left wide open, an invitation you don’t really need—nothing could stop you at this point.

But it doesn’t take away from the surprise of it at all, you're knocked off your feet when you meet her in the shower.

Danielle, head thrown back, letting the hot water cascade over her. Down her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. She’s soapy, skin a canvas of bubbles, your bottle of body wash in her hand, flipped upside down and dripping on her tits.

There’s a smile in the opposite mirror for you, and fuck, for a second you’re believing in love at first sight or the existence of angels or just the fact that maybe you were put on this planet to procreate.

“You’re late.”

You clear your throat, steam starting to warm it up for you. “I was at the gym.”

And she giggles, and she’s smug, and you missed her presence so much more than you anticipated. “Then it sounds like you should join me.”

She reaches out, grabs you by the wrist, and you have mere seconds to get rid of your shirt and your sweatpants and anything you don’t want to get wet because you’re falling into her. Threading your fingers through wet mattes of hair, pushing her into cold tile, and kissing the prettiest fucking girl you’ve ever met in your entire life.

“Missed you,” she murmurs into your lips, warm and steamy words that taste like mint. “Really fucking missed you.”

She’s too real now.

In your shower, beneath your fingertips, water running in rivulets over her body. Moisture evaporating off her skin, sticking to yours. Photos, videos, everything from that fabricated reality of pixels and soundwaves, could never do enough to come close to having her right in front of you.

You run your hands over her body, hers are doing the same down yours—as if needing multiple points of contact to confirm that you’re really here, that this is really happening. Her skin’s like silk under the water, slippery and smooth. You trace the outline of her waist, her ribs, the curves of her ass.

And her abs. Fucking hell. Sculpted, each ridge a testament to her dedication, to hours spent. To the sweat, the tears, the sheer fucking willpower it takes to become an idol. A map of her life’s work, and they’re begging to be touched. Appreciated.

You do.

A soft touch. Reverent. She responds with a gasp that sends a shiver down your spine. Danielle’s eyes are on yours, watching, as your thumb traces the line of here stomach.

You get the obvious out of the way. “You’re so fucking pretty, Dani.”

She arches a brow. “Just pretty?”

You smile, kiss her shoulder. Lap up the water pooling in her collarbone. Stuck between the need to take your time to worship her body like it deserves, and the primal urge to just claim her, take everything about her that’s good and soft and hot and make it yours. “It doesn’t even cover it. I don’t think any words do.”

“Then show me.”

So, you pull her closer, hands cradling her face, thumbs brushing against the soft skin of her cheeks. Kiss her until she’s melting into you, until her body’s pressing into yours so tightly that you can feel the heat of her.

A palm falls to her hip, thumb resting at that glorious spot where her waist sinks right in just before curving out to her ass. Your fingers dig into flesh, and Danielle’s moan; the sweet, sweet sound fills your mouth, vibrates down your throat.

Her hand wraps around the back of your neck, gripping tight; she’s not shy of about touching you either. About asking for more. More of everything. More of this. More of you. You kiss her harder, like you’re trying to break her apart and rebuild her in your own image. Like you’re trying to brand her with your mouth.

“This is,” she breathes between the kisses, slurring against your chest, “so much different in person.”

“How so?” You ask, and follow her eyes southward.

Her cheeks flush, and she looks up at you through wet lashes. “Bigger.”

You laugh, feeling something unlock in your chest. It’s so absurd. Like all at once, your entire destiny's been flipped on its head.

Danielle’s fingers take hold of your cock, stroking you gently. Staring at it in wonder. She’s worshipping it. This goddess, and it’s your cock that’s her idol. She squeezes at the top of your head. The glee in her eyes when you groan.

“God, it’s—” Danielle voice cracks, and she gives the words their proper weight when she says, “Taken too long.”

You can barely think anymore. Not when her hand is winding up and down you in these long, smooth strokes. Like she's somehow been practicing, rehearsing for this exact occasion, studied upon every sensitive spot and how to hit it just right.

“Could’ve had this from the start,” Danielle tells you, and you’re throbbing so hard in her hands. “Could’ve had this any time you wanted,” she says again; like it’s fact, a simple truth of the universe.

And suddenly nothing really makes sense anymore. Whatever logic you had leading up to this point—why didn’t you just reach out and take her? All the times she was right in front of you, on your couch, in your bedroom, or in this very shower, with the door unlocked.

“Could’ve had me whenever you liked,” she whispers, pushing herself closer, her pert little nipples pointed against your chest. “I’ve been so wet and desperate and ready for your cock this whole time. All you had to do was take it.”

You’ve got nothing but an uncommitted, “Couldn’t.”

To that she laughs, presses her lips into your jaw and her grip’s tightening. There’s pre-cum beading from your tip and leaking onto her palm, you both see it clearly before it gets washed away. “I know. That’s why I tried my best to be patient.”

You need a reality check, make sure she’s at all aware of the damage she’s been wreaking. “You? Patient?”

“Oh, you think this only started a few weeks ago?” Danielle taunts, and it’s with an air of ridicule. Incredulous that you could be so naïve. “You have no idea.”

But the honest truth is—you do. You’ve been aware of it—aware of her—from the start. Her sister had probably been aware of it even longer.

Probably why you chose to bury your head in the sand.

But there’s no avoiding it now. This girl—woman. This dream. A picture of youth and beauty; a masterpiece painted by time and genetics, with a touch of that special something that makes you want to frame her and hang her up on every wall in your apartment—make everyone see her the way you do.

And even then, strip that all away, and it's just those lips—the grin, the smile, the pout—and the intention behind each expression that is your true undoing.

It’s the smirk this time when she makes her point, “I’ve had the biggest crush on you since—” And that does it. That does you in. “Forever.”

“Yeah,” you tell her, falling straight into confession. “I think I have too.” 

Danielle’s pace picks up, the rhythm building until it’s starting to drive you crazy. Making you lean into her, pushing into the warmth of her small hands. She’s back to kissing into your throat, your ear lobe, any part of your skin she can get her lips to when she whispers, mockingly, “Is this the part where you tell me—I want to fuck you—again?”

That’s an unfair callback.

Danielle quirks an eyebrow. Daring you to do something about it.

You push off her. Slip out of her grasp. Hand trapping her wrists above her head before she can grab you again. You're the one grinning now.

"No. This is the part where I spread you wide open. Pin you against this wall. Make you scream my name.”

Her eyes dilate, pupils blown wide. She licks her lips, “Spank me?”

“And pull your hair.”

“Then go ahead and do it.”

But you pause. Wait. Hold her wrists above her head and stare into her eyes. Give her the chance to put the magic words together herself. Your grip tightens.

Danielle’s smile widens. “Please, Daddy—”

She’s so fucking small, light, practically weightless in your hands. Easy enough to take her hips and lift and spin her around before she can even register that she’s moving. She catches herself on the tile when you set her down, bracing herself against the wall; palms flush, fingers splayed out. Legs naturally split just slightly.

All this build-up and you can’t help but rush.

She turns to look back at you. Needs to see you, needs you to see her, all of her. Giving up on all ideas of teasing, of whatever game took you to this point. Just need. Just burning desperation.

“Need it,” is everything she’s wanted to say, everything she’s tried to tell you over and over again. Everything that makes her vanilla thighs tremble, her knees all wobbly, her cunt drip onto your shower floor.

Your cock twitches, and there’s first contact, sweeping against her folds. Heat sticking to the tip and fuck, yeah, this is not going to be one of those slow, tender moments. You press into her, align yourself between her thighs. One hand at her hip, the other joining her palm against the wall because judging by the way she’s shivering, she just might slip away completely without it.

“Need it now, Daddy,” Danielle whines, so fucking cute and honest, and when you drag your cock so it’s kissing against her entrance, it turns into a demand of, “Inside—please, fuck, put that big cock inside my—”

A push of your hips, and she’s so fucking soaking wet that you slide right in.

Her moan.

You think she’s trying for ‘Daddy’ again, but it’s all fucked up and muddled. Lost in the clench of her muscles, the tension across her body, the way her face screws up and holds and makes all the noises that come out strained and whiny.

So fucking nice.

“God—fuck—finally—”

Fitting so perfectly around you; folding her body into yours. It’s partly the angle—her back arching into yours, her hips urging backwards so nicely, ass squishing against your waist. Her pussy. Hotter than hot, wetter than wet. A fucking vice, a perfect grip that makes you feel like this is where your cock was always supposed to be.

Buried deep inside Danielle’s hot, tight, fucking glorious body.

It’s all just so easy, everything about her, so easy to fuck. Not that she’s not tight—the feel is so fucking divine it’s enough to make your eyes roll back in your head—but because she moves with you, like you’re two parts of one machine, two bodies meant to be joined at the hip; or at the cock and the cunt.

She’s made for you. Tailored to each line and curve and angle of your length.

It takes several strokes—euphoric, mind-breaking, soul-shattering strokes—before Danielle gets some bearings on herself. Panting through it all, making some effort to tear off the bathroom tiles with just her nails, but she’s got enough breath to whisper over her shoulder, “Feels so good. I knew—knew it would be like this.”

A small hand leaves the wall, reaches behind her. Fingers dig into your thigh because she needs something else to hold onto. Something real.

“Knew I’d be perfect for you.”

You want to laugh, chalk it up to her doing her usual cocky little thing. But she’s got you too deep inside her, you’ve sunk all the way in so quickly your lungs are still in recovery trying to catch your breath. Got you so far up her cunt that it’s difficult to manage anything that isn’t a moan. So you just nod. Thrust harder. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“God this is exactly how I thought it’d go,” she keeps going, slowly finding her voice again. Each word like a spell, a curse. “I thought about it—what you’d be like—how you’d fuck me—”

“Danielle,” you grunt out, surprising yourself with how easily it comes out. Then again, it's always been on the tip of your tongue.

“I used to think it’d be nice and sweet—gentle—” she says, shakily, “But this—rough—fucking me like you own me—like you can’t get enough—it’s so much better than I ever imagined. So much better—”

Her words cut off into a gasp when you kiss into her throat. Her hand snakes back up to your neck, pulling you closer, nails scraping along your skin, leaving little white lines. The sting is nice. A welcome distraction from the fire burning through your veins.

Your lips drift higher, and she twists her body to draw you into this clumsy, uncoordinated kiss. Sloppy in construction, she’s kissing at the corners of your mouth, your tongue is dragging up to her cheek at one point. But it’s all communicated in the clash of lips and teeth and the way she’s panting into you, moaning down your throat, “So good, you’re so fucking good, Daddy—”

And then just—

“More,” and she’s at your mercy, and she just loves it, is so fucking earnest for her need for you to just keep going. “Harder, please, I need—”

But you already know. She needs to be fucked, handled rough and just nailed like she’s wanted you to for weeks. Months. Maybe a year at this point. She’s done watching from the sidelines while you were too stupid to realise that she was what you needed all along. Done being the outsider, the third party, watching you go by unappreciated, watching you not get what you needed.

Your name bounces off the shower walls and back into your ears. Impossibly loud; the sound hardly sweet or loving, but it’s pure music. Everything you’ve ever wanted to hear.

It’s joined by the wet smacks of skin on skin. The slick of her cunt around you. Her breaths hitching and catching every time you bottom out and rut your cock so deep in her bowels that it takes a herculean amount of effort to pull it back out again.

Her ass just bounces back against you. The perfect handful—slapping into your thighs with every push. And then, the idea thought of in tandem, two minds as one—“Didn’t you say you were going to—”

A smack ripples across Danielle’s ludicrously tight cheeks.

“Fuck!” She cries out, eyes start to moisten, but she just pushes her ass back. Ready for more.

So you give her another.

A snap; your palm against her. Making the flesh pink up, making it jiggle just right.

Her eyes squeeze shut, mouth opens. Forces out these adorable little sounds, mewls, whimpers.

And then another, and another, and her pussy tightens around you with every hit. You can hear her breath catch in her throat; and fuck she clenches even tighter down on your cock. It’s so dangerous for her because the way she’s reacting, practically thanking you with her moans and sighs and lovely tightening of her cunt around you—it’s making you so greedy.

Greedy to mark her up, to really draw a work of fucking art on her skin. Leave your handprints on something beautiful.

“Again,” she begs, and her voice is absolutely shot. Just raspy, desperate, needy. “Harder, please, Daddy. I’ve never, no one’s ever—"

You smack her again.

And again.

And again.

Leaving her cheeks red and stinging. Leaving her trembling. Just a boneless mess of beautiful sighs and blissful pleasure. You can see it, in the bumps rising on her skin, the way her toes are curling in ecstasy, her cunt gushing down your own thighs. There’s no hiding it. Without a doubt, this is what she’s always deserved.

It’s a hard thrust, a harsh smack, each following one after another in rapid succession. Fucking her apart, fucking her in two. Fucking her into oblivion.

Each spank, each perfect spasm of her abs, her cunt, it’s all a quiet mercy. Pain pushing her closer and closer to pleasure, balancing on that precipice where her pussy is strangling the fuck out of your cock so perfectly.

There’s only one word for someone who’s loving this kind of treatment, someone who’s this fucking filthy and vulgar and dying for more.

“Slut,” you bite into her ear, and the gasp that rises from her throat confirms it. The second word, “Cocksleeve," nearly shatters her completely.

You could never imagine someone like her, someone that could live in the torture if only because it brings out so much joy.

You know it, she knows it, but you still let her know, “You’re going to cum for me.”

And she whimpers and bucks against you because she sees it for what it is. A promise. And it’s all because she’s so fucking responsive, so eager for it, so fucking reactive. A pinwheel in a tornado, spinning and spinning until it’s just a blur of colour and motion and all you can do is watch in amazement.

“I will,” she promises back, and fuck you’re not far behind. “I'll cum for you. All over your beautiful fucking cock.”

It keeps you going, makes your strokes erratic, wild, just harsh, punishing thrusts into the depths of her cunt. And she keeps taking it, walls gripping around your cock with unreal pressure, like she’s trying to keep you there forever. Like she’s afraid you’ll pull out and leave her unsated.

But she’s wrong.

You let her know with your next spank. The hardest one yet.

“Fuck you’re—” and it’s your name, and curses, and filth, and begging and just “yes, yes, yes” again and again. Screaming it into your ear, crying it into your neck; she’s baring the deepest, darkest part of her soul.

Locked in place, cumming.

Unable to move, because her back’s to your chest, and she’s up against a wall so all she can really do is tremble and shiver and shake until she’s completely dissolved.

And it’s somewhere in all this that you come to terms with the fact that it’s not enough. You’ve crossed the line and you don’t even dream of settling. You’re going to make her cum again. And again. And again.

She’s spent all this time offering herself up to you, crafting herself into this toy for your amusement, a fuckdoll for you to play with; as if you were only going to take this one taste and let her go.

But you do give her a break, if only for a moment.

You massage her ass; soothe the sting with your fingertips. A little tenderness amidst the storm.

“Good girl,” you catch yourself kissing into her, and the words are like a password to some hidden part of her, something that makes her nearly collapse onto the shower floor.

Her cunt pulses, once, twice, milking you. Her muscles start to give out, and you need to wrap your hand around her body to keep upright. Fingers at her tits, squeezing, twisting her nipples because you’ve always wanted to and you know she loves it. Because she needs the sensation to keep her on her feet.

“Mine,” you grit out, and there’s no disagreement from Danielle. No, her eyes are too glassy, glazed over and not even looking at you anymore. Just feeling you, feeling what you’re doing to her.

There’s tears in her eyes too; it’s not just the water raining down overhead. She’s sobbing well and truly, because you’ve fucked her so thoroughly that it’s all she can do. It’s all her pretty eyes can show you to tell you just how fucking good it feels for her. So perfect. So much more than she ever hoped for.

Letting you see every bit of her. Every tear that falls down her face, every quiver in her legs. Every time she chokes out your name.

“Mine,” you repeat, kissing it into her shoulder.

Her response is a nod. She’s caught her breath. “Always have been.”

She’s just so soft, even as she’s still quivering. Legs somehow still holding her upright, even when the architecture's been threatening to crumble and collapse this entire time.

So you start to move again. Slower, gentler, almost apologetic.

Danielle ends all ideas of that very quickly. “Hey,” she kisses your cheek. Aiming for your lips, but misses entirely. You don’t mind much.

“Dani,” you groan, because God, even when you’re trying to take it slow, a little easy, it’s still so fucking agonising. So dangerous. Like you’re the first to ever get his hands on her. You’ve discovered fire, now you just can’t keep your hands off it.

“Don’t you dare go taking it easy on me now. Not after you just made me cum my fucking brains out,” is what Danielle rasps, “Remember, I’m yours.”

She kisses you again, gets your mouth this time, tongue pushes in. Convinces you with the sweetness of it that it’s far from over. Not until you’ve done exactly as you’ve promised to her—fucked her so hard, so deep, until she couldn’t move, until she’d feel empty without your cock inside her.

“Your slut,” she slides down you, until it’s only the tip of your cock that remains nestled at her entrance, “your cocksleeve,” her hips snap back, a rush of air exits your lungs and fuck, you’re in deep again, “and you still haven’t pulled my hair yet.”

Yeah.

Grab a fistful of chestnut silk, yank back, and she’s yours. Back to speed, fucking her open and raw, having this effect on her.

Seeing it blossom from her thighs, up her abs, her ribs, her tits, around her throat until it’s bubbling out of lips and the corner of her eyes. This girl is yours. This petite, perfect, fuckable body is yours to do as you wish—to use, to pleasure, to ruin.

You tell her to take it—she takes it. You tell her to beg for it—and she cries and pleas and makes it seem like the only thing that could settle her soul is your cock.

And when you command her to scream your name, and it's just so fucking soul-destroying—the loveliest noise from the filthiest tongue, and everything that comes with it. The ‘just like this’, the barely coherent ‘your slut, Daddy, I’m your slut’, and these encouraging quivers from her lips that take the shape of ‘give your good little girl all of your hot fucking cum and—”

“Fuck, this pussy is incredible,” you breathe into her, and your grip is tightening into a fist, tugging her back even further until she’s leaning into it, her back arched so beautifully like some mathematical wonder.

Head tipped back, throat bared, and she’s trapped. Trapped underneath your weight, trapped in your hands, trapped against the wall with nowhere to go but further down your cock.

It only seems right. After all she’s put you through; the mind games, the seduction, the fucking audacity. You’ll give it right back. Fuck her as hard as she’s been fucking with you. Roughness as penance, finding forgiveness in the soaked and messy and now red and swollen recesses of her cunt.

Fingers drift higher, two past her plump lips, into her mouth. She bites down. You don’t even care anymore. Pulling harder on her hair, fixing her body to yours, and God, even like this, wrapping her up in your body, having her as close to you as possible, being as deep as you are in her. It’s not enough.

She chokes on your digits, collapsing. “Fuck. Too good. Fuck!”

Getting wetter and wetter, messier and messier, thank God you’re already in the shower.

Telling you these things with every whimper, with every twitch of her body, every squeeze of her cunt around your cock. Find out, is what you’re getting. Find out how good she is at being a slut. Where her limits are—how much she can take. Find out how quickly she can make you cum.

“You want this, don’t you?” Danielle reads your mind. Had your number since the beginning, figured you out before you knew. “You don’t need someone nice. Someone sweet, someone good for you. You need someone who’ll—fuck—push you to the edge and then—and then—fucking kick you off. Someone who’ll let you do the same to her.”

Yeah, you’re fucked. Never had someone lay it out so bluntly. So perfectly.

“Daddy wants to cum so bad,” Danielle’s being whiny, slutty, drooling down your fingers, because there’s nothing else she can do. Just taunt and tease and be fucked senselessly. Helpless to take it—harder, deeper—faster, faster, faster. “Daddy needs to fill his slut’s cunt, doesn’t he?”

“I will,” you growl into her ear, and the quivers around your cock are nothing short of rapturous.

It’s all coming to a head—the shower’s a steamy mess around you; water’s cold now, but Danielle’s getting even hotter around you. Can’t stop moving; don’t you dare give her a moment to catch her breath. Not when she’s this close. Not when you’re this fucking close.

Her nails dig into your arms, you’re leaving bruises on her hips. You know it. You can feel them. She’s thanking you for them.

And then a glimpse, the light hits the glass walls of the shower just right and you’re seeing it. Danielle, grace and elegance in a package so tight and wet and perfect and it's all going to hell. Your hand in her hair, the water running over your fingers, splashing onto her back, hitting the gorgeous, sweet pink of her well-spanked ass.

You’re just fucking her. Like it’s all you can do. Like it’s all she’s good for.

Eyes fastened shut. Mouth—beautiful, kissable lips frozen into an even circle, letting out these wails. Danielle’s perfect. So flawless it hurts to look at her. And you’re ruining it all. Dumping a bucket of paint on a priceless work of art, watching the colours run down the canvas.

“God, just—“ Danielle tries, but it takes several attempts until she can piece together the words she really wants you to hear, loud and clear: “Just fuck your cum deep into me. Daddy, I’ve earned it, haven’t I?”

You’re not sure what noise you make as a reply. It’s very likely not something nice.

“Please, please, Daddy,” Danielle’s pouting, and there’s the brat again. The girl that gets what she wants with just the jutting of her lower lip and a voice so sweet it’s undoubtedly terrible for your blood-sugar levels. Just pleading for you to let her bring all your filthiest fantasies to life—fuck her deeper, fill her with all the cum you have, spank her, pull her hair, choke her, even. Letting you know there’s no limit to what she’ll do just to have her cunt spilling out your cum. “It’s what I need right now. It’s my reward for being such a good girl. That’s what good girls get, right? Their Daddy’s cum?”

Christ, this is going to become a problem.

You can never go back.

Not to anything less than fucking to incoherence; to cumming as gratitude. To using someone so pretty, so God-damn lovely, the embodiment of everything wholesome and good in the world; with all the angelic hopes and dreams and aspirations, and reducing it to a simple dumpster for your cum.

To destroying someone with just your cock, and being thanked for the privilege.

“Fuck you, Dani,” you spit at her, and you mean it. “You’re too fucking perfect. Too good of a slut, too needy of a cocksleeve. I’ll give you everything. Fill you with it. Every tight, needy hole, paint every inch of your body. Fuck you against every single surface in this apartment. Fuck.”

“Good,” and it’s fucked up how she blushes, only seeing the praise, the compliments in your words. Yeah, she’ll be all those things, and then some. She’ll be every pornographic fantasy you can think of and then show you even more you could never imagine. She’ll make sure to drain you dry and then drill deep inside you to get out every last drop. “All of those things. Do all of those things. But now—just—cum!”

Your hips meet, you nearly fuck her off her feet.

She cums, or you do, or you both do, it all gets lost in this noise. A wave of sound that could wake the fucking dead—you’re not sure who jumps first, no point in trying to figure it out. Just a blur of sensation and release, crashing through your veins and you’re going to tear her in half, or she’s going to swallow you whole; it’s two and one and fuck.

You try to hold on—her hands around your neck and then your thigh, yours straight to her tits; more of her, you need more of her.

But your knees are buckling. Your breaths are haggard. You’re pushing her into the wall, her cheek is squished against the tile and she’s slurring things that get lost in the water like God, fuck, this is so perfect and if you were paying more attention you might catch it when she says it’s all I’ve ever wanted.

You do hear your name.

“Thank you, thank you, it’s so fucking good, just fucking thank you—”

She’s on her tiptoes when you feel the rush down her thighs, when her cunt makes its final effort around your cock, and it’s all coming out in whispers and prayers and unholy verbal contracts to never let this end.

Her body jerks, hips slamming back into you, and the wall's cold on her face, but it's the heat from your chest that’s all she needs to soothe her shivering; her chattering teeth repeating, "Fill me, fill me, fill me, Daddy!"

Fuck, you’ve lost count how many times now, but you’re spurting inside her. Unbearable pressure, blissful release. You can’t see the end of it, but you don’t want to escape—only sink into the feeling of her cunt around your cock, the gasps of her breath in your ear, the pleas and overtures for you to keep going. And you do, because this is now your heaven, and you’re feeling more religious by the second.

Shot after shot into her, feeling it fill her up, pool inside her pussy. She tells you it’s not enough, her cunt tries to milk every single drop out. You’re okay with that. You’ll give her everything you’ve got. Just to see her stumble out of this bathroom with your cum leaking out of her. Witness her waddling down the hall, globs of it dripping down her thighs. That’s the power play right there.

And somewhere in all this obscene debauchery, she says, “I love this,” and there’s a kiss that follows.

Suddenly tender; still sloppy, and yet—gentle. Softer than any of the bruises you’ve left on her skin.

Danielle’s still holding onto your neck, your fingers are glued to her tits, but for the first time you give her the space to breathe.

Her body relaxes, the fight leaves her legs and she’s just a ragdoll in your arms. And you hold her. Just hold her there, still inside her, cum leaking out of her and running down her thighs, mixing with the shower water and going down the drain.

And you’re unwilling to let her go, you might never, because maybe if you pull out, she’ll vanish. Maybe you’re dreaming. Maybe it’s all some sick, twisted, fucked up fantasy spurred by every thought she’s filled your head with over the past month.

But when you blink your eyes, she’s still there. Real and present and just as fucked up as you are. And she’s smiling.

You lean into her, catching your breath. Danielle’s panting too, happy to let you carry her weight, and so content. Back to being so smug. Another round of fucking might fix that.

“Told you we’d be perfect together.”

“You told me a lot of things.”

Danielle's lips meet the back of your hand. Your wrist, up your forearm. Says, “I also told you that I’d have you screaming my name so loud you wouldn’t be able to speak.”

"I said that."

"And yet here I am, voice still intact."

You roll your eyes, take a slow, careful step back. Your cock slips out, accompanied by a groan and a splash of cum hitting the floor between your feet. Danielle’s laughing, still shivering in your arms, body still quaking with aftershocks. You kiss her back, her neck, her shoulder, her ear.

Anything to keep her here.

Finally, the taps are turned off, and Danielle shifts in your arms. Cheeks flushed, eyes half-open, but undoubtedly—satisfied.

You manage a weak chuckle. “What now?”

Danielle takes you by the chin, plants a kiss on your lips and yeah, this feels right, this feels like providence, and this is going to last until the universe says otherwise, and even then. “Now?” She says, and another kiss, on your chin, on your cheek, down your chest and lower and lower and, “Now, I go back to your room, and you come with me, and we do this all over until we pass out.”

—

Again, there’s the kiss.

Only you’re both on your bed, and it’s peppered down the underside of your cock. Then her tongue's dragging along your shaft, staining it in her glossy saliva. Slow and languid. More occupied with enjoying her new favourite toy than your pleasure. It’s the simple things, you guess.

And as she’s doing it, she’s talking. Planning out the rest of your day, your lives, you realise, and you’re just nodding along like you’re listening, but all you’re hearing is the wet smack of her lips around your cock, her tongue lolling and swiping around the head.

You look down at her, and she’s smiling, so goddamn happy, your heart fucking splits in half.

She’s curled up against your thigh, and she kisses into your cock, "God, I could never get tired of this."

"Really?"

Danielle pulls away, a sad pout on her lips, and you realise you may have offended her. Repeats, with emphasis, "Your slut."

And it's funny how easily that assuages you. You probably should be worried. Maybe deal with the very likely outcome that this will not end well—reality tends to have complications that the simplicity of just lying in bed with an impossibly beautiful woman cannot anticipate.

Yet, it's okay to just believe for a second that things will be alright. It's okay to lean back into the pillows and let her have her way. Let her suck you until you're seeing stars, and then climb on top of you again and fuck you until you've forgotten how to function and you can't even see past your nose, let alone whatever comes the morning after.

"Of course, I'll remember that."

"And here I am doing my best to make you never forget, Daddy."

Only, one final, stupid, silly little question—"I never asked, how did you know the code to my apartment?"

Danielle laughs, letting your cock pop out from her lips, stifling her giggles against your thigh. "My sister's birthday. Got it first try."

"Ah," you answer, and then, "Fuck. Probably should get that changed."

"Definitely should get it changed," she answers, then tacking on, "Especially if I'm going to be spending more time here."

"Even more than you already are?"

Danielle just grabs her hair in her fist, loops it around and tightens it into a makeshift ponytail. Lifts her chin and looks up at you. Defiant. "Where else would I go?"

And for now, it'll have to be enough, because really, all you can think of, as she sinks her lips back down onto your cock, takes you deep into her throat, and her eyes start to water and you're already throbbing and ready to release, is that she's claimed total victory over you, and for that alone you'll let her have it all.

To the winner, goes the spoils.

Everything she wants, everything she needs.

With a gasp, Danielle lifts her head up; pre-cum, saliva, drool falling off her lips and grins so fucking adorably that you're already thinking of rushing towards words that she’ll never let you take back.

She reads it on your face, sees it take shape on your lips and stops you. Her hand reaches up to cover your mouth, her eyes wide and gleaming.

“At least let a girl earn it first.”

And so you let it rest, because right now you’re exactly where you should be—in your bed, nearly reduced to a puddle of basic needs, with Danielle in your sweatshirt with all her otherworldly beauty and loveliness straddled right on top of you.

Her mouth full of you, your heart full of her.

“Then don’t ever stop,” you tell her, knowing full well that she never had any dreams of slowing down. Your thumb pads her cheek. She leans into your touch. “Keep going, just like this.”

[capn-atlas]

Introduction :3 (Please read this before following)

[disclaimer- this post is not screenreader friendly. here is the link to the screenreader friendly one]

collective names--- Captain, Atlas, Anna, Cheshire, Saffron, and moots can use Atty/Addy

collective pronouns--- he/she/they/xe/any

collective genders--- genderfluid, non-binary

quick alter intros---

Anna/Atlas, she/xe/he/they/star/ze/any, *bodily age*, host, no full intro, this post is mainly written by me and is basically my full intro, I am an age regressor and I regress to around 3-4 years old Lennon, he/they/star/xe, 16, big brother of the system, new intro currently in prorgress, in an in-sys relationship with Maddelleine Eva, she + any neos, 6, syskid, full intro 1 (by Eva), full intro 2 (by Anna) Riko, he/him, 8, syskid/"Eva regulator", full intro (by Riko) Enzo, he/him, 7, syskid, full intro 1 (by Enzo), full intro 2 (by Anna) Maddelleine, she/her/him, 16-20 (age slider), protector//syskid caretaker, full intro (by Anna), in an in-sys relationship with Lennon Starwork, she/it/xe, age unknown, no role, no full intro Athena, she/her, age unknown, no role, no full intro Bella, she/her/they, 10, no role, no full intro Arley, she/they/bun/he, 3-5 (age slider), syskid, full intro (by Arley/unknown cofronter) Maxie/Bingo, he/they, 3, syskid, full intro (by Maxie and Anna)

we are an endogenic system. Anti-endos will not be tolerated on this blog. If you are anti-endo, please DNI. Endo-neutrals are okay.

I am very done with labels but uh girl pretty and no sex woohoo (basically lesbian/neptunic asexual or some shit idk man)

theriotypes--- brown wolf (Anna), black cat (Anna), brown rat (Anna), moth (not sure what type) (Anna), red fox (Lennon), meerkat (Enzo), prairie dog (Enzo), border collie (Riko), t-rex (Eva), tabby cat (Maddelleine)

fictionkin-types--- Cheshire Cat (Alice in Wonderland) (Anna), Mabel (Gravity Falls) (Eva)

otherkin-types--- alien (Anna, Riko, and Eva), deer cryptid (Anna), angel (Anna and Athena), winged cat (Bella)

objectkin-types--- doll (Anna), puppet (Anna)

current interests--- Only Murders in the Building, Wednesday (the show), Wicked (the musical, movie, and book), My Little Pony (Friendship is Magic, and we're on season two), botulism (a disease), Sweet Tooth, Arcane, Chicago (the musical)

currently watching--- MLP- FIM (season three), Call the Midwife (ITS A GOOD SHOW) (season nine)

favourite shows--- GLEE!!!!,Only Murders in the Building, The Owl House, Gravity Falls, MLP, Call the Midwife (I watch it with my mom it's actually a good show don't make fun of us), Wednesday, Bob's Burgers, My So-Called Life, A Series of Unfortunate Events, Sweet Tooth, Arcane

favourite movies--- Nimona, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, The Princess Bride, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Tangled, Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid,

favourite musicals/movie musicals--- Wicked, Rent, Hairspray, The Greatest Showman (Ik Barnum was actually like. A horrible guy but The Other Side is so good that I don’t care actually), Come From Away, Chicago

poetry we've written care for some really depressing words?

our art request blog: @capn-atlas-art-requests

BEFORE YOU FOLLOW:

We are bodily, and mostly collectively, minors. 18+ can follow us, but NO DMs if you are over 18.

We do not like to swear. We will occasionally, such as when we are very upset or excited, and Maddelleine swears sometimes, but for the most part we do not. If you know you are interacting with one of the littles, please do not swear. Otherwise, go crazy.

DNI:

anti-therians/furries

TERFS

queerphobes (e.g. homophobes, transphobes, biphobes)

pedos

zoos

radqueers

any explicitly NSFW blogs

anti-endos

people that sexualize age-regressors

people that sexualize therians/furries

and just general assholes (basic DNI)

other than that, be respectful to us and we'll be respectful to you.

REQUESTS:

Alterhuman pfps (include the 'type/animal, what symbol (if any) you'd like me to put on the forehead, and if possible include a photo of the 'type so I don't get mixed up, and if you’d like a pride flag or two or three)

Name requests! (moots only) you may request a name/nickname from us if you are a moot. (examples)

beloved moots--- @mxmorbidmidnight @pocketsizedking @specss00 @thelab-experiment @but-aint-this-texas

@andromeda-flipss is my beautiful queer-platonic partner ❤️❤️❤️❤️

dividers by @kodaswrld Userboxes (first five by @kthecritter, goose one by @but-aint-this-texas, comfort one by @ghosting-plural-userboxes, and last three by @goldtouchuserboxes [base by @ghosting-plural-userboxes]) under the cut!

guys be nice. ^ as you can see, a morbid goose protects this blog. @mxmorbidmidnight is that morbid goose. ze will come for your head. (if ur not nice)

[holylulusworld]

Flowers (5) - Honeysuckle

Summary: Honeysuckle flowers represent true happiness, romantic love, good fortune, and sweetness towards one another.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: angry Bucky, fluff, love confessions

Flowers (4) - Daisy

Flowers masterlist

For the next few days, you barely left your apartment. Bucky and you spent the time talking about all the things you never dared to bring up.

Your relationship, his feelings for you, and the woman almost ruining your relationship. Dolores. 

At first, you wanted to go ballistic and beat the shit out of that woman. Bucky had to hold you back and calm you. He promised over and over again that Dolores didn’t stand a chance.

You are the only woman he wants, and the one he needs. He confessed his love and sniffled when you confessed your feelings for him.

One week later you finally leave the apartment to grab a few things for your upcoming trip to your uncle’s cabin. You want to get out of the tower for a while to spend some well-needed alone time with Bucky.

“You look pretty today, doll,” he complimented while holding your hand in his gloved one. “I mean…uh—you always look pretty. But today, you glow.”

“Aw, someone wants to get laid,” you giggled and pecked his cheek. “I thought last night was enough to tame the python in your pants, Sergeant Barnes.”

“You know how I get when you are close,” he smirked. “I lose all control and need to get my hands on you, doll.”

“You’re insatiable,” you retorted, but mirrored his smirk. “Maybe after our shopping trip. We will take my car today.”

“No bike,” he sighed and looked at the list in your hands. “I bet I can store everything on my bike.”

“I bet you’ll lose half of the things we will need, and there is no space left for me,” you pointed out, sticking your tongue out.

“Fine, no bike today.”

“We should go to Maria first. I want to tell her that she can pair me up with you for missions again. And,” you cleared your throat, “to make sure she knows that we won’t work with that red-haired bitch.”

“Did I hear my name?” Natasha poked her head around the corner, one brow furrowed.

“Nope,” you grinned at the redhead. “There is only one red-haired bitch I hate. And that’s not you.”

She winked at you and chuckled. “So, you’re good? No more fighting or rom-com drama?” 

“Shut up,” you grinned at her. “We had the best reunion sex ever.” You narrowed your eyes the moment Dot stepped out of one of the offices. “We almost broke the bed, the couch, and the shower.”

“Do you want me to hate you?” Natasha sighed deeply. It’s been too long since she had animalistic and crazy sex. “You win. I’m jealous.”

“Sergeant Barnes,” Dolores cooed, acting like she didn’t lie to you to steal your boyfriend. “How have you been? We have missed you during training.”

“He had better things to do than listening to your lies,” you bit back, and gritted your teeth. 

She chuckled, still believing there was a chance Bucky would leave you for good and find solace in her arms. “I asked Sergeant Barnes, not you.”

“Careful,” Bucky’s features darkened, and her disrespectful tone. “You caused enough trouble. Don’t believe for one second I will forget that you lied to me.”

“I-I don’t know what you are talking about, Sergeant,” she tried to smile her way out of the situation. 

“I’m not the man I used to be,” Bucky let go of your hand for a moment to tower over Dolores. She shrank into herself. No one faces the former Winter Soldier and doesn’t pee their pants. “But don’t think for one second that I will let you get in between me and my girlfriend. Get it in your head,” he pointed his index finger at Dolores, “I only love her.”

He slung one arm around your shoulders and guided you away from Dolores and her boring looks. “Buck, I think you made her pee her pants.”

“Good.” He said. “She deserves that much and more.”

“What is that?” You pointed at the cat Bucky carried in his jacket. He wanted to grab more things for your trip, only to bring nothing but a small white furball home. “Bucky?”

“That punk kinda followed me,” he sheepishly said. “It began to snow, and I had to stop my bike. I got off my bike, to wait for the snowfall to stop and then,” he looked at the cat poking its head out of his jacket, “I heard this guy meow loudly.”

“Where did you find him?” You pat the cat’s head. “Bucky?” You looked him in the eyes. “You didn’t steal the cat, right?”

“What? No! Someone locked him in a box and threw it in a dumpster. I fished the box out and freed him,” Bucky pleadingly looked at you. “Can we keep him?”

You looked at the cat, and then at your smiling boyfriend, already knowing the answer. 

“Do you already have a name for him?” You laughed as Bucky nodded eagerly. “How’d you name the poor cat? I hope it’s not snowball.”

“Alpine,” he said while patting the cat’s head. “He’s a fighter. A survivor and…he’s white.” Bucky wouldn’t stop smiling. He allowed you to carefully take the cat out of his jacket but followed you hot on your heels to keep an eye on Alpine.

“We will need cat food, and toys, a bed, a toilet,” you hummed to yourself. “Maybe we can cancel the trip? We need to take care of him first.”

“You sure?” Bucky asked while watching you play with the cat on your shared bed. “I guess there is a new man in town, huh?”

“We should order all the things we will need for Alpine online.” You watched the cat curl into a ball on the bed. He was still shivering, but he meowed happily when Bucky sat down on the bed. 

“Hey punk,” Bucky patted the cat’s head, but his eyes were glued to you moving closer to sit next to him. “How do you feel?”

“We can ask a vet to check on him,” you put your hand on Bucky’s lightly squeezing it. “I guess we now have a kid, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Maybe we can work on putting on into you too?” He smirked at your shocked expression. “Or at least try? I like trying…”

The End...

Tags in reblog.

[fandom-is-my-drug]

I’ve read a lot of fanfics in my time, but it’s been a while since I’ve done a full read through of Uncle Rick’s series, and the only book I don’t have is The Sun and Star (I think) so if I leave anything out let me know.

One of the most interesting things I noticed in Uncle Rick’s stories is the power levels of different demigods. Most demigods in old myths never stepped foot in the Underworld, much less hoped to survive it, beyond a few who had pretty massive amounts of godly help (Hermes with Orpheus, Herakles with Hera, etc.) to get through the journey.

And yet multiple people not only survived the journey, but also did it multiple times, including but not limited to:

Percy (twice, once with pearls and once with Nico)

Grover (with pearls)

Annabeth (with pearls)

Nico (an undisclosed amount of time including with a ghostly half-sister in tow)

Hazel (with help as one of the undead)

Sally (as a kidnapping victim)

A good list of demigods who likely died and came back all on their own while Thanatos was chained

Thalia (while with Nico and Percy)

And while, yes, all of these examples are either because of massive problems on the godly side, or because they are/were accompanied by a Big Three kid (which is BS that Hestia, Hera, and Demeter aren’t included in “they have super crazy powerful kids” despite only Demeter having kids), it doesn’t take away from the fact that it’s happening more often.

“But Nick, like you said, those are major influences that’s helping these guys get out of the Underworld. It’s just relevant to the plot!”

Fair enough, but now here’s the next point: Tartarus.

Basically, Rick’s Greek world essentially functions as such:

While I don’t think Eris is confirmed to exist in Tartarus (again I haven’t read The Sun and Star), Nyx is, and since Nyx is darkness and Eris is light, it makes sense they exist on the same plane (either beneath Tartarus or coexisting with it) despite both being a concept for all planes except arguably Chaos, which is why I put it on the same level as well.

There are various creation myths, but the overarching plot is: There is Something, that Something creates Others, and this Others become known as Primordials, which make their own Others, such as Titans, Giants, Gods, etc. The creations make essentially layers on Earth, similar to the actual layers of the Earth.

Think of it like this:

And when new beings are made that take over for the last generation (like Helios and Apollo), then those layers get kinda funky.

So, back to Tartarus. Obviously you have 3 separate “Underworlds”, one for deities (like with Python in Trials of Apollo), one for monsters, and one for mortals. Each of these places is built to recycle beings, similar to the idea of Conservation of Energy and Conservation of Matter. Not only that, but upper level beings can’t (or at least shouldn’t) go below their respective underworld, but lower level beings can’t go up, which is why monsters can go up to the Underworld and Gaea but a human can’t go down into the Underworld or Tartarus without dying.

So this is why demigods surviving Tartarus is crazy work. Sure, there are demigods that can become monsters or gods and survive the trip, but just your average demigod? They’re dead on sight. Between the poison air, the aggressive terrain, no food, no water, monsters being reborn in every direction, etc., survival is slim to none.

Except now we have instances of people surviving the fall and the climb back up, with a questionable amount of sanity intact. Will, Nico (twice), Annabeth, and Percy (you can include Apollo if you like) all survived the fall and came back still kicking, and noticeably not monsters.

So what’s my point?

There’s a common repetition of myth for the Greeks, and that’s the death of the father by their son. Ouranos was killed by Kronos and his siblings. Kronos was killed by Zeus and his siblings. The point is that Rick’s version of the Greeks is approaching the death of Zeus, and the crowning of a new King (if we’re following by patriarchal standards). It’s definitely not going to happen anytime soon, but Big Three kids like Percy and Nico and just your average demigod like the Seven is proof of this. And do you want to know WHY demigods are only going to get more powerful from here?

Because the gods are slowly and indirectly creating their own demise, as had their predecessors. But unlike their predecessors, their downfall will come from not looking in the right direction, instead of thinking they have complete control. Zeus isn’t stupid, and he knows his shit. He’s well aware that he only survived being swallowed because Rhea gave Kronos a rock, because he wasn’t paying attention. Kronos was prideful and believed that he was loved enough that no one would dare defy him, because he wasn’t paying attention the one who saved them. Zeus knows that being ignorant of who is and isn’t against him would be his downfall, so he locks the fuck in. Kronos, while well known for his ability to control time, ruled over the Harvest as well, making him a more Gaea-bound deity. So Zeus chooses the sky. Instead of simply believing in people, he overlooks them, watching them, judging them. He is the God of Justice, after all, so the job title includes the role of “Judge, Jury, and Executioner”.

“But isn’t Olympus a democracy, Nick? Athens was a democracy too, so Zeus wouldn’t be the one in sole power!”

Nope! Well, yes, it is a democracy, but just not a democracy in the way it’s supposed to be. In Athens, they were technically a democracy, but only for those who were rich, powerful, and close to the inner circle of politicians. The building that housed the voting in Athens let people in on a first-come-first-serve basis, so only people who had the time to include themselves and the money to live so close to the place where votes are casted had the power, and on top of that, their politics were wild. One person got a vote, obviously, but it’s like goddamn Survival over there. They made groups and all discussed what went down and who to fucking vote off the island. I’m not joking, they actually did that.

So Zeus consolidated power into a small group of 12, playing it as a “democracy” when in reality those who do not follow him are punished or replaced. Hestia was kicked out for Dionysus, for example, and Apollo was made human, for another. So yeah, it’s a “democracy” in the same way someone gets cohersed into giving consent: it’s not actually real, just driven by fear.

On top of that, they literally have Hephestus TV! They watch their subjects for fun. You cannot tell me Zeus didn’t set up that particularly entertaining baby cam for no reason. He ate Leto! He’s not above being the magical version of the Chaos Council from Sonic Prime.

So in order to create a being capable of overthrowing Zeus, you have to do it slowly, subtly, and have his gaze averted. He has to be focusing on something else. That’s how Luke managed to nearly overthrow him, because he was so focused on 12-year-old Percy Jackson, Son of Poseidon, then someone so minuscule as Luke Castellan, Son of Hermes. He likes to think he’s got it all figured out, thinking that the one who chooses whether Olympus is going to survive or fall must be one of the Big Three’s children. He ignores bigger details and problems in favor of focusing on one small thing. Percy’s birthday was a prophecized stopwatch, and really nothing more.

How would the gods be able to manufacture such a danger to Zeus’s reign when he supervises everything? They don’t manufacture anything at all, at least not on purpose.

“Nick, what the fuck? You’re making no sense.”

HEAR ME OUT.

Our first example of this is our lovely Frank Zhang. Both a demigod and a Legacy, he has power like we haven’t seen unless provided by a shape-shifting god (such as Loki with Alex). Despite being a Son of Mars, who, alongside Ares, have children who’s main god-given skill is “fights good”, he has the ability to shapeshifting and keep up with powerhouses like Percy, Hazel, and Jason. Sure, you could argue that Clarisse can keep up with Percy well enough, but not to the extent of Frank. He has the blood of multiple gods stacked onto one another, helping him have the power to survive the quest to stop Gaea.

Another is Leo Valdez. Poor boy got the attention of a literal Primordal being at a young age, and also managed to kill said Primordal being with his own fire powers, and lived to tell the tale. In the past, that required an elaborate plot to lure the Primordal away from their domain and slice them to pieces, but Leo just did it with a dragon and two other demigods, and incinerated Gaea. Please tell me you understand how absolutely insane that is!

Piper McClean managed to break down Charmspeak into its basic concepts, and understood how it worked well enough to gaslight a Primordal, and before that she had the strongest charmspeak in the room alongside her siblings.

Jason Grace took down a Giant more or less on his own with little to no help from a god, and can take control of wind spirits that don’t even belong to his father’s domain. He’s Hera’s (or Juno, I guess) champion, and she could have chosen Thalia, but she didn’t. She chose Jason. Jason is a full-sibling to Thalia, only divided by pantheons. Having full-siblings is almost entirely unheard of, with only a handful of mortals able to seduce powerful gods not once, but twice, like with Bianca and Nico. That takes INSANE work.

Hazel has the power not only detect precious metals, but also curse them, and channel that power into raising a whole Giant, something that can only happen in Tartarus. She escaped the Underworld after having already died and lost her memories.

Percy is, I’m just going to say it, absolutely insane. He beat The God of WAR in a fight. At 12. He set off a volcano summoning water out of seashells and a stupid idea. He held up the Sky, something that was purposely held up by 4 pillars and later the Titan of Strength for a reason. He survived Tartarus and Polybotes and stole the domain of another goddess. It’s one thing to utilize the abilities bestowed on you by your parent and make them your own, but he stole another bitch’s domain! And used it against her! And probably would have killed her too if Annabeth hadn’t snapped him out of it! You CAN’T tell me that this man isn’t the beginning of the end for the gods.

And my MOST POWERFUL POINT HERE: goddamn Annabeth Chase. Yeah, you know all that batshit insane stuff Percy did? Annabeth was right there next to him. Holding the sky, Tartarus, the Athena Parthenos (which is known to be killing off Athena kids since forever) etc. What’s even more insane is that Athena doesn’t give her kids powers. Athena kids’ abilities are “smart”, and wtf does that mean??? It makes everything Annabeth does all the more impressive and terrifying. The rest of the Seven are powerhouses so strong they can take on Giants, and then you have Annabeth with her knife and spite, and she not only keeps up, but she’s a role model. The other demigods look to her for guidance!

But it gets crazier. You know how I said the gods are creating their own demise hidden in plain sight? Yeah, Annabeth is that “plain sight”. Percy, for all his power and abilities, is the distraction. People like Annabeth are who Zeus really has to look out for. Remember how I said that full-blooded siblings are rare and crazy to even fathom? The Chase Family makes it worse.

How the flying fuck did they manage to bag not one, not two, but three different deities attentions?! What are those Chases on to get so much godly attention?! Not to mention it’s cross pantheon! Frey, Loki, and Athena, we’re drawn in by something, and it’s not your normal godly infatuation.

In a small blurb of a story, Percy and Annabeth meet the Kanes, and while I haven’t read Kane Chronicles (I have the series just haven’t gotten to it yet), they say that cross-pantheon magic is quite literally the strongest way to K.O. your enemies. So the four of them swap items, with Percy getting possessed by a vulture goddess. Why am I bring this up? Because these very points are why the Chases are terrifying.

They’re an active site of cross-pantheon activity, which is why Magnus and Annabeth are so powerful all on their own. Magnus has been watched over for years because of his role in Ragnarok, and was specifically requested by Odin himself to be taken to Valhalla despite being a nature demigod. And not only does Magnus survive there as a nature demigod in an entire afterlife full of war demigods, he thrives. He’s never held a sword in his life, and his main powers are healing and trying to convince plants to grow, and yet he manages to delay Ragnarok for a long, long time.

People like Annabeth, Magnus, and Frank are obvious points in this evolution of power, and they fly under Zeus’s radar almost entirely.

So that’s my Rant. Something that’s been bubbling in my head for a long time really, but I never had a place for it until now. It’s likely that we have such powerful demigods now compared to the old myths because of godly blood mixing in with humans after so long, and then that godly blood, especially when enhanced by other pantheons, starts to draw deities in more and more. So that’s how Zeus gets his ass kicked.

[nothankyoudear]

London book shop recommendations?

Summary: A.Z. Fell and Co. is recommended as a local London bookshop on a Reddit post. Chaos ensues when someone actually takes the recommendation and goes there, only to find that: 1. They don't get to buy books 2. The gentle bookshop owner apparently owns a giant python And 3. The bookshop owner is 100% in love with his best friend with the sunglasses OR Ineffable Husbands told through Reddit posts.

stupid little fic i wrote. thought it'd be funny to post on tumblr bc its formatted like reddit... social mediaception?

anyways, also on my ao3, nothankyoudear.

Enjoy!

r/books

Posted by u/SadLittleJay 2 years ago

London book shop recommendations?

Hi everyone! Not sure if this is the right subreddit for this, but I just moved to London and I'd like to support some of the more local book shops that are around here! Any good suggestions?

EDIT: Thank you for all the suggestions! I will definitely be checking them out :)

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buttscotchzzz · 2 yrs. ago Are you looking to actually take home the books?    

       SadLittleJay OP · 2 yrs. ago        yes... I think that's the purpose of bookshops?

             buttscotchzzz · 2 yrs. ago               Yes, obviously, sorry. I just live close to this book store called A.Z. Fell & Co, and it's the loveliest place. It's very cosy and the collection of books there is honestly unbelievable (I think  there are some texts dating back to the 16th century? Not sure why those are in a book shop instead of a museum). The owner is a lovely man too, but he refuses to sell his books. Not sure why.

              Yeah so, for looking around and sitting?? Fantastic place. Actually purchasing books?? Probably not so much.

                   SadLittleJay OP · 2 yrs. ago                     No apology needed, sorry if I came off too harsh :) Sounds wonderfully strange!! I'll make sure to check it out (even if I won't get to take any of the books back home lol)

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r/London

Posted by u/SadLittleJay 2 years ago

Strange soho bookshop that doesn't sell books?

Hello! I've recently been recommended this bookshop called "A.Z. Fell & Co" in Soho. It's quite nice but also... Kinda weird? Not sure how to describe it. So I know it might be quite niche, but I just wanted to know if anyone knows anything about it? 

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DollieDollie · 2 yrs. ago Lived in Soho all my life. The shop is kinda infamous with the locals because nobody knows what the hell is going on with it. Weird as hell opening and closing hours too.

       Miriiriram · 2 yrs. ago        I live in Covent Garden and I've also heard some stuff about the bookshop. Never been able to figure out how the man keeps his shop open in central Soho since there's no way he's turning a profit - It's been here for as long as I can remember though. 

             SadLittleJay OP · 2 yrs. ago              Huh, how weird. Well, the shop owner seems nice so I'll keep digging! 

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r/London

Posted by u/SadLittleJay 2 years ago

Update on strange soho bookshop that doesn't sell books

Hi everyone! Me again. Not sure if anyone is still keeping up, but I've had a few more trips to "A.Z. Fell & Co" and here are my experiences:

- I've had some people mention weird opening and closing hours, and from what I can tell that is 100% true. The sign at the front door almost melted my brain, but I've figured out the timings pretty good by now.

- The books kept there are very very strange. From what I can tell, most of them are published before the 1930s, and I swear I've seen some ancient texts around... I did find this one book with some pictures of earth and space though, so that's pretty cool.

- Nearly no one comes into the shop! Foot traffic outside is crazy, but every time I've been inside, I'm always the only one there. I understand that bookshops aren't the most interesting things around, but it's still a shop in the smack dab middle of Soho, so the pure emptiness of it is a little weird (take a shot every time I say weird or strange in this post lol)

- Mr Fell, the shop owner, is very very lovely!! There was this one time when I just sat and read for what must be hours, and he didn't even bat an eye - even offered me tea! We sat down, had a little chat about Jane Austen, and I could really tell that he is really passionate about his books - couldn't stop smiling and everything.

He did mumble something weird about Jane Austen being a spy, however, so still quite a weird fellow.

- Mr Fell still doesn't sell books. I asked him the first time I came into the store for some books and he said no, but I just assumed it was maybe because I didn't know him well enough? Anyways I asked him again and he just stared at me like I just asked to take his firstborn. So no luck on that yet.

- I think Mr Fell has a partner but I'm not quite sure about it. There's this man called Crowley that seems to be the only other person that comes into the bookshop, and he's got what is possibly the coolest sense of fashion in the world - I'm talking full two-piece suit, sunglasses on indoors, and bright red hair. Not ginger hair, RED hair. 

Mr Fell calls Crowley "My dear" and Crowley calls him "Angel". They act like an old married couple, bickering and everything, but I really don't wanna assume so... 

That's pretty much all I can think of off the top of my head, I think. I'll keep you guys updated (if anyone is still reading lol) if I find something new!

PS. unrelated but there's this coffee shop that's really nice - "Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death", just across the street from the bookshop. Really good coffee if anyone is looking for a drink!

EDIT: Okay well, this post blew up more than I expected. Good to see that other people are also strangely obsessed with this little bookshop lol! Thanks for the awards and I'll definitely keep you guys updated!!!

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

r/snakes

Posted by u/SadLittleJay 1 year ago

Does anyone know what this snake is?

Found this GIANT snake on the floor of a bookshop!!! Does anyone know the species or anything?? 

[Attachment: 1]

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SSssssBoys· 1 yr. agoOh my god that thing is huge! You found it on the floor of a BOOKSHOP?

       SadLittleJay OP · 1 yr. ago        Yes!!! Crazy right?? I think it must've snuck in or smth because I'm a regular at the shop and I've never seen it before. Is it venomous????

             liveweire837· 1 yr. ago              Purely based on the size it has to be a ball python or an anaconda - Can't really tell from the photo quality. Neither are venomous but are still dangerous. Call animal control ASAP.

                   SadLittleJay OP · 1 yr. ago                      Sorry for the quality - I was a little busy screaming lol. But the store owner just came out and told me that it's apparently his pet? I knew some people keep snakes for pets but I've never seen them in real life, so huge too! Anyways thank you for the advice! :D ---------------

r/London

Posted by u/SadLittleJay 1 year ago

Update on "A.Z. Fell & Co"

Hello, I'm back with some more news! 

- First news: Mr Fell has given me his first name! I asked him what A. Z. stood for, and he thought for a while like he doesn't know his first name? Anyways his name is Azira, which I think is quite a cool name.

I tried looking him up on Google but nothing came up, so I tried asking him for his middle name and he got this weirdly panicked look on his face. I didn't push it further because he was turning a little red trying to think. 

- Mr Fell owns a giant snake. I think he's some sort of Python? Not quite sure about it yet. His name is Crawly (ha, like Crowley) and I found him on the floor one morning - gave me the fright of my life! Anyways, he's cute but he has this weirdly human look in his eyes sometimes. He also really likes curling himself next to or just on Mr Fell - didn't know snakes could be clingy lol. Sometimes I feel like I'm intruding on the two of them, which is kinda crazy because one of them is literally a snake.

- Crowley is still coming into the shop fairly often, and he's still just as intimidating as ever. He does, however, do this thing where he kinda melts when he talks to Mr Fell. Kinda hard to explain but you can really tell the difference in his body language. I can't see his eyes because of the sunglasses, but I swear they go soft and everything.

Maybe they're dating, maybe they're not. All I know is that when I ask Mr Fell about Crowley, he talks about him like how he talks about Jane Austen books.

- I've finally managed to lend (heavy focus on the word LEND) a book!! Returned in perfect condition :)

That's all I have for now! Will continue to update if anything else interesting comes up.

EDIT 1: Some people didn't believe in the whole snake shenanigan, which I completely understand (sounds ridiculous to myself too), but I've attached a picture of Crawly just as proof. You can see him curled up next to Mr Fell, which I still think is pretty cute.

[Attachment: 1]

EDIT 2: I've asked Mr Fell (in a very awkward conversation), and Crowley is in fact not his partner. I know people have been debating in the comments but Mr Fell says they're just best friends. Will investigate further on the matter.

EDIT 3: I've asked Mr Fell and Crowley if they mind me posting about them, and I am proud to say that I now have the official go ahead from the both of them to post updates. I've also made a subreddit since I feel bad spamming r/London with nothing but A.Z. Fell & Co content lol. I'll be posting future updates at r/AZFellAndCo :)

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PollyPirate · 1 yr. agoEveryone in agreement that there's definitely some HEAVY pining going on between Mr Fell and Crowley say aye

       WonderfulWorld· 1 yr. ago        aye

             cooliosoolio23 · 1 yr. ago              AYE

                  nothankyou845 · 1 yr. ago                   aye > 56 more replies

peanutbutternnut · 1 yr. ago a bookseller named azira w/ a fucking python sounds like a video game character. badass as hell

       SadLittleJay OP · 1 yr. ago        He's actually kind of the opposite of badass - dresses like he just stepped out of the Victorian era. He's got a bowtie and everything! 

                peanutbutternnut · 1 yr. ago                  even MORE badass

                         Lilypadwfrog · 1 yr. ago                           wait so mr fell is dressed like a gentleman from the victorian era, and crowley is dressed like an 80s fashion icon??? literally the most blatant example of opposites attract i've ever seen. next thing i know you'll be telling me that they have contrasting colour palettes LMAO                                  SadLittleJay OP · 1 yr. ago                                   You're not gonna believe this lol

HmmmmMMmM· 1 yr. ago "He talks about him like how he talks about Jane Austen books." BRO ---------------

r/AZFellAndCo

Posted by u/Mimimeow 1 year ago

Has anyone actually visited A. Z. Fell & Co. ?

Basically just the title. I keep seeing posts about people trying to visit the store but always getting 'interrupted' by one thing or another. Has anyone actually managed to visit the place other than SadLittleJay?

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mirandapanda · 1 yr ago I was one of the people who got 'interrupted' on their way there. I found a little kitten on the side of the road and just couldn't leave her there, so I took her to the vet instead. Not too fussed about it though, since now it helped me meet the absolute love of my life, Luna.

[Link]

      Mimimeow OP · 1 yr ago       oh my god SHE'S SO CUTE 😭 Maybe I'll try visiting the bookshop so I can get a cat

      Edit: Holy fucking shit ---------------

r/AZFellAndCo

Posted by u/AnthonyJC 9 months ago

Why do people think they're in love It's all people are talking about. Can someone explain this. 

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Sort By: Best MillieRockers96· 9 mo ago well i mean,,, mr fell talks about crowley like he talks about books (which i think r basically his life and soul), and from the last update we got crowley was literally giving mr fell houseplants in what i can only say is domestic hell. if u see some videos of them u can also see that they look at each other like the other one's the sun when the other not watching, so yeah we're pretty sure they're in love just INCREDIBLY oblivious

                Lilypadwfrog ·9 mo ago                 100% in love. also talking about the whole "he talks about crowley like he talks about books", its lowkey crazy how much mr fell talks about crowley. like that man NEVER stops i think. but honestly just give the pinned post a look and you'll get it. 

                           AnthonyJC OP· 9 mo ago                             Oh ---------------

r/AskReddit 

Posted by u/porlrlrlr 2 months ago What are some of the weirdest things that you've seen on reddit?

Very broad and basic question, but I'm bored and need temporary fulfilment

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yeahsolikeuhh · 2 mo ago A while back there was this bookshop that blew up because of a reddit post. Apparently the shop's been around for three hundred years or something, and apparently had shit like the first edition of the Great Gatsby and stuff trailing back to the 16th century or something - But that's not even the weird part.

People tried to visit the bookshop because of the popularity obviously, but every time they try, stuff just happens at random and it never happens. Everyone knows the bookshop is there, but no one except OP for that first reddit post has ever actually managed to get in. Sometimes they find a stray cat and get distracted, sometimes a giant storm just instantaneously starts, but literally ZERO people have gotten into that book shop except for OP.

The bookshop owner is called AZIRA (not fucking kidding), with a pet python (also not fucking kidding), who is also apparently dressed like he came out of the Victorian era (still not fucking kidding). Now I'm not saying he's a wizard, but I'm pretty damn sure he's a fucking wizard.

Also apparently he's also in love with his best friend and there's this huge pining thing happening the last time I checked, but I think OP stopped updating a while back so yeah. 

        Cauliflourpanfried· 2 mo ago         Holy shit I completely forgot about that. Genuinely the weirdest shit. Hope they finally got their shit sorted and at least kissed or smth tho. ---------------

r/IAmA

Posted by u/MrAziraFell 6 days ago

I am Azira Fell, the owner of A.Z. Fell & Co. A sk Me Anything!

Hello everyone! I hope you all are doing well. I am Azira Fell and I happen to own A.Z. Fell & Co. I've recently been informed of just how popular my bookshop has become, so here I am! Here is a picture of me, Crawly, and this sign I made for proof.

I'm still not very good at technology, so I truly do apologise for the slow responses. I will try my best :)

- AZF

Edit: Thank you for all your questions! As much as I'd love to just sit and chat with all of you, I still have the calls of thousands of wonderful books to tend to. I hope you all have a lovely day :)

- AZF

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monsteriaLoe· 6 days ago Are you aware of the weird phenomenon where, when someone tries to come to your shop, they always seem to get distracted or pulled away by another thing? And, being completely honest, were you involved in any of these? I understand the question sounds silly, but it's just so strange that I have to ask.

        MrAziraFell OP · 6 days ago         Thank you for the question! And it's not silly at all. I actually was not aware of this until today! And if I had the ability to summon stray cats at will, my bookshop would already be overwhelmed with kittens.

        I suppose it must just simply be some sort of magic, or maybe even a miracle ;) - AZF

PollyPirate · 6 days ago Are you and Crowley finally together???? (feel free to not answer if it really is too personal or anything like that)

        MrAziraFell OP · 6 days ago         Hello, Polly! Thank you for being so considerate. In short, yes we are together now. Now looking back on it, I suppose it was a little silly that we waited that long to be together. Well, that's all over now, and Crowley and I are as happy as ever - AZF

              PollyPirate· 6 days ago              OMG

                     JooolyRancher· 6 days ago                      Congratulations! What made you guys take the last step, if I may ask?

                                MrAziraFell OP · 6 days ago                                 Well, it's actually quite funny since apparently Crowley had found the subreddit (I believe that is what it's called) that Jay had made while looking for the bookshop on the Internet, saw the posts that all of you made about us being obliviously in love with the other, and finally decided to tell me how he truly felt. So, if I have to be honest, it was all of you that helped us take the last step, and I am very grateful for that :) - AZF

                                        cooliosoolio23· 6 days ago                                        ok well now im crying

wormieboyyyyyy · 6 days ago Why don't you sell your books? Also do you have a favourite? (a favourite book I mean)         MrAziraFell OP · 6 days ago         Well those two questions actually are quite interlinked, if I do say so myself. My answer to the first is because I simply love them all too much, and can't bear to part with them. My answer to the second is also I simply love them all too much, so I cannot pick just one. I do, however, especially adore the work of Terry Pratchett. - AZF

                wormieboyyyyyy · 6 days ago                 Ain't that the truth. Have you ever thought of selling a book, tho? Like ever? You do run a bookshop.

                        MrAziraFell OP · 6 days ago                         Well.... I suppose I could sell just one. - AZF ---------------

r/AZFellAndCo

Posted by u/SadLittleJay 1 day ago

Oh my god

MR FELL SOLD ME A BOOK!!!!!!! 

[Attachment: 1]

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[sophelisticated]

Me when… the brain rot

If Bapple likes this I will cry tears of joy

Fanfic of a fanfic about The Therapist by @bapple117 !! GO READ IT NEOW ❤️

This is not proofread and I am thundercunting this at you at maximum speeds

I made this half asleep if it’s bad blame it on the hat man

This is me and my mom meeting Birch, yes I included my mom she’s so cool

SPOILERS!

EAT THIS SIGMA MEAL

1750 words is crazy

Reference for what my mom and I look like vvv

Me My mom

You thought you were gonna have another normal summer, full of mysteries and surprises like the usual from the Pine’s family.

And today wouldn’t disappoint.

An excited tug on your sleeve makes you look up from a particularly interesting book you picked up in Ford’s library. Mabel’s bright eyes greet you when you look over, and you find a soft smile curving your lips at her excited expression. She clearly can’t hold in her excitement as she speaks. “I… I made a new friend!! She lives here in Gravity Falls and she’s super cool she has a snake and she says it’s a ball python and she always wears these really wacky-“ “Mabel, remember to breathe.” You remind with amused laughter bubbling in your throat. Mabel makes a comically loud inhale, her chest puffing up before continuing, “-And she’s coming over today and we have to make sure everything is PRETTY!” She shouts the last words with determination, gesturing outward towards the living room enthusiastically prove her point. You laugh, why was she so determined to make a good impression? You wonder if she was like this when making friends with Candy and Grenda.

“Mabel, come on. I’m sure your friend won’t mind at all.” You try to say, using a book to, very gently, bonk her on head for her silliness. Mabel huffs and crosses her arms, looking a little miffed that you weren’t immediately in on her idea. “Come on! She’s friends with Wendy, and she’s like, super cool! Impressions are everything.” Mabel unfolded her arms to make a rainbow motion with her hands, and your eyebrows raise in realization. Ah. She wants to get along with the older kids and not look bad. A bit like Dipper would be. But there’s something you’re wondering that doesn’t add up.

“Mabel, you’ve never been like this with Wendy. What’s the difference?” You say with a concerned look, worried that Mabel wasn’t acting like herself. She looked away, and gently rubbed at her arm in clear anxiety. “I don’t know… her mom’s coming over too, and I just want things to look good, cause she’s really cool.” She muttered in a solemn way. You purse your lips in understanding and gently put a hand on her shoulder, empathetic and friendly. “Hey, I’m sure that if they didn’t like you, they wouldn’t be your friend right now. They’re still sticking around, and I’m sure they’ll stick around for an only slightly messy house.” You booped her nose to try and cheer her up, and it seemed to work, a small smile on her face. Mabel nodded. “Yeah… I guess you’re right. Thanks, Birch.” You smile back at her and with her excitement back, she skipped into the hallway before stopping to say something she must’ve forgot. “They’re coming in like, 5 minutes, by the way.” She grinned cheekily. You startle, not prepared to meet a 16 year old and their mother so suddenly. But you get up and close the book, leaving it on the table with a laugh. “And you wanted to clean the whole house in five minutes?” You splutter, laughing from her nonsense. Mabel blushed in slight embarrassment before they both heard a knock on the door. “I’ll get it!!” She practically screamed in enthusiasm as she bounded down the hallway.

Meeting the Rubins wasn’t as bad as you thought it might’ve went. It was a 16 year old girl with anxiety and ADHD clear as day, from observing how she slightly stuttered and looked at anything that would minorly divert her attention. She introduced herself as Sophia. She was a 5’7 girl with short and fluffy dirty brown hair, in a short shaggy haircut that went to her shoulders. She wore a casual white baggy t-shirt and some low-rise black jeans with a black hoodie to add. And you were slightly startled to find that, yes, she did have a ball python, a brown and red one, because it was wrapped lazily around her neck the entire introduction. She wore fingerless gloves that went all the way up to her elbow, which was an odd fashion choice, but you didn’t question it.

Her mother was striking for her old age, 43. She introduced herself as Dana. A 5’9 woman with beautiful brown hair so dark you could say it’s black, her eyes also an earthy brown. She wore a causal blue t-shirt and tight blue jeans, with some wolf earrings and a pomegranate necklace. When you complimented it, she had thanked you and explained it was a reminder of Persephone, the Greek goddess. You didn’t mind, humans had their own ideologies that you found fascinating, which is why you would never tell anyone about the Axolotl.

You invited them in politely, inviting them to sit at the table in the living room. Ford and Stan were out having lunch together, having some bonding time, but they would be back soon. You hoped they wouldn’t mind the new company in their house. You, kindly, made some tea for both Sophia and Dana—black tea for Dana and some vanilla for Sophia. Sophia originally wanted black, but Dana shushed her, gently reminding ‘you can’t have coffee, baby’ to her, and she asked for Vanilla instead without argument.

So now you all sat together, making idle chatter with the mother. The subject had just shifted to working, and Dana spoke dutifully, sipping her tea. “I work as a grief recovery specialist, though I did work as a nurse for a long time.” she explained, and waited to see if you would respond with your own job, if not, she seemed to be ready to continue for you. But thankfully, you replied. “Oh! I used to work as a therapist myself for inmates. And… a lot of other jobs.” You say simply, trying not to be too cryptic. You don’t want to scare off Mabel’s friend and her mother by spilling the beans that you’re actually not human, and worked as a therapist in a universe where dimensional criminals go, Mabel would never forgive you. Dana’s eyes lit up, and she tilted her head to the side a bit in curiosity, leaning forward, fully invested now. “Oh, how wonderful! Where did you work at, if it’s okay to ask?” She smiled kindly. You were prepared for this, since you know that people might want to ask about your work. “Zendo Health. It wasn’t the best place, but, I made it work.” You nod fondly, as if remembering your time there. Your lying seemed to work, and Dana hummed in reply. “Hm! I’m glad you liked to work there. Sophia used to want to become a therapist.” Dana turned to her daughter, which was gently picking at the wood on the table as a fidget.

Dana wanted to include her daughter in the conversation, how sweet, you thought.

Sophia looked up, slightly flushed in surprise before she responded with a shy grin. “Oh, yeah! I um… wanted to be a therapist. But then I realized I’m a bit too emotional for that kind of work, so I decided to want to go for reptile care work.” Sophia’s eyes lit up a bit as she mentioned reptile work, and you notice with a start the snake isn’t around her neck anymore. But you notice her hands shifting to her pockets, so you assume her snake is in there. You weren’t squeamish about snakes, you’ve never seen one, but you’ve heard tales about snakes, which gave you just the slightest anxiety about them.

“Oh! You’re into snakes, Mabel told me all about it. And I see you brought yours, would I be able to see him? Her?” You question, trying to be polite, but curiosity for the unknown was eating at you. Sophia smiled softly and gently pulled her snake out of her pocket.

It was a 3 foot long ball python, an adolescent, because its head was still a bit big. It curled around her hands anxiously as she gently set the snake on the table, and it slowly unfurled, curious about its surroundings. “This is Goober.” You almost laugh at the name. “Goober? You named it?” You ask with an amused smile. Sophia smiled back shyly. “Yeah, I thought it was a silly name I liked. He doesn’t bite, by the way. Not unless you’re feeding him.” She seemed to wince at a memory, but relaxed soon after. You very gently and tenderly scoop up the noodle, watching it tense in your grip, the new human smell making him antsy. But Goober relaxed soon after, finding you as not a threat, and began to excitedly curl around your forearm and start to reach up towards your chest. You feel a touch of warmth in your chest at such a cute little face. “Hi, little guy.” You coo quietly, smiling. But the moment you try to lean forwards, Goober hastily retracted in the blink of an eye, almost hurting himself from the recoil. Sophia winced at this, and Dana looked a little disappointed. “Yeah, he’s a little touchy. Don’t worry, that’s normal.” Sophia reassured your slightly surprised and concerned face. Before you could respond, there was a squeal from the doorway. When all three of you turned, an excited Mabel and a shy Dipper were in the hall.

“Goober!!” Mabel exclaimed, bounding over to sit next to Sophia and look in awe at Goober in your hands. She practically had sparkles in her eyes. Dipper sat quietly next to you, waving with a slight flush towards Dana, and Dana smiled kindly at Dipper, which caused him to flush more. You tried not to smile at his shyness, as you gave Mabel the snake, which she looked absolutely ecstatic to be holding Goober. Despite her excitement, she was super gentle and slow with her movements, and Goober seemed to appreciate that. Sophia nodded approvingly and leaned over to give Mabel a side hug, and began to chat with her, but occasionally moving to speak with Dipper to make sure he wasn’t lonely in the conversation. You and Dana continued to chat, bonding over therapy work and taking care of the little ones that sat next to you.

You easily felt that this family was kind, and Dana was a fun partner to chatter with. You decide to schedule another day to meet up, and maybe look some more into their history. You were nosy, because you were a therapist. Definitely because you were a therapist.

[pansexualkiba]

more smt demons i wanna see at some point:

Imugi, either a Snake or a Dragon. I think we need more Korean mythology in smt and Imugi is always a good start. i kinda see them as a python going through dragon puberty and its my bestest friend :)

Carabosse, either Femme or Fairy, but probably Femme. the evil fairy from fairy tales who curses princesses to die from spindle-related accidents! we all know who she is, and we need more old crone femmes.

Kotobuki, of the Avatar race, entirely because i'm in love with this idea of Kotobuki wanting to have another zodiac race and making you go around and fight the Shinshou demons from SMT2.

Hound of Tindalos, Foul race. it's time. I think them being from a square time compared to our round one could be a fun exercise in animation, even if they only just sorta move like a tim burton character. honestly genuinely surprised one hasn't shown up yet.

Hera. Megami. i know Juno's a persona but that doesn't count that's just Fuuka in a wig we need the ORIGINAL kill bill.

Sutoku. not sure what his race would be, but he would absolutely be a superboss. the third baddie with Michizane and Masakado. with these three on your side whoever the final boss is this time is having a MISERABLE time. genuinely i think the only reason he ISN'T in yet is cause he's still causing problems in real life /j.

i wanted to put in Olorun (Deity) cause Anansi, Nyami Nyami, and Onyankopon made me crave more African mythology in general (Mwindo as a Hero would go crazy) but i genuinely don't know how to implement a god that is omnipresent and yet completely distant without just making them YHVH 2, and missionaries did enough of that already, so it's like. :/.

however, i still want SOMETHING from the african continent, so I'm giving Catoblepas a friend. Raptor Impundulu is here and has a unique Zio phys spell that drains health :).

[simlicious]

Am I a programmer?

I've spent the last weeks developing an actual little app using Python...

It all started with a Let's Play of Subnautica I saw on YouTube. Since Subnautica is one of my all-time favorite games, I got the itch to dive back in (pun intended). I play with tons of mods, so I had to check for a lot of updates and also juggle different versions since the last Subnautica update broke a lot of the older mods. So after some back and forth, I decided to remain on the older version for now. Great! But then I noticed that because of that back and forth and uninstalling mods, all my mods were reinitialized, and that meant trouble for one of my favorite mods, Autosort Lockers. The mod adds automatic resource sorting inside the game, which is super handy. But it was built to only work with the game's resources, not modded items. It does offer config files though. So when I last used the mod, I painstakingly edited the configs and added all modded items, which took hours. And now, I accidentally messed them up and was supposed to redo all of that. The thought filled me with dread. So I asked ChatGPT, which I have grown quite fond of recently, to help me. Why did I ask ChatGPT? Well, I need to go a bit further back in time to explain that.

One day, not too long ago, I asked ChatGPT to reformat a long list. ChatGPT said, "Apologies, I cannot process such a long list. Here's a Python script, here's how to install Python, copy the script, run it and it will do what you want." I thought ChatGPT was crazy, surely that would never work!? Nut I was curious and also a little desperate so I did install Python and ran the script and ... it did what I wanted. I was stunned. Could I use ChatGPT to write code for me? Apparently, the answer was yes. So I spent a lot of time directing it, add this, add that, and I noticed that it was not at all as easy as I thought. ChatGPT removed code when it felt like it, and the longer it got the more it messed up. But also the more time I spent copying/pasting Python code, the more I understood. Sometimes, I would just ask "What exactly does this bit do?", and ChatGPT patiently gave me answers. Running the Python code from the command prompt got tedious very quickly though. I asked: "Can't you make a button for me that I can click??" To my surprise, ChatGPT said: "Sure, let's make a gui." And that was it, the moment I fell in love with Python. So I made a few attempts at this and that, most only half-finished because the project got too ambitious for the little knowledge I had.

I heard about an AI especially made for writing code: Github's Copilot. I decided I had to try that. Since it only worked in real programmer's tools, I installed Visual Studio Code. Now I really felt like a programmer, using fancy tools! And Copilot made things easier, much easier. It did not delete all kinds of code like regular ChatGPT. It was even more helpful. I was super motivated and got to work on my "Autosort Lockers Filter Update Helper" since Python is very well suited for automating stuff. Because several config files were involved, and several values needed to be loaded, converted, compared, merged, loooked up, reformatted, and saved into multiple files, it was quite the undertaking, but I am at a point where most of the logic actually works and I have a real program with real buttons that I can click on. I made a program that actually works with my very limited coding knowledge! It would not have been possible without the help of AI. My patience and long hours paid off. Can I call myself a programmer yet? I'm not sure, since the code was written mostly by AI, not me personally. But I can confidently call myself the director and mastermind behind it 😎 and I actually want to learn more about Python so I can one-day code stuff myself without needing AI to do it for me. Here is a picture of it (I am proud of those blue buttons 😊): I've spent the last weeks developing an actual little app using Python. It all started with a Let's Play of Subnautica I saw on YouTube. Since Subnautica is one of my all-time favorite games, I got the itch to dive back in (pun intended). I play with tons of mods, so I had to check for a lot of updates and also juggle different versions since the last Subnautica update broke a lot of the older mods. So after some back and forth, I decided to remain on the older version for now. But then I noticed that because of that back and forth and uninstalling mods, all my mods were reinitialized, and that meant trouble for one of my favorite mods, Autosort Lockers. The mod adds automatic resource sorting inside the game, which is super handy. But it was built to only work with the game's resources, not modded items. It does offer config files though. So when I last used the mod, I painstakingly edited the configs and added all modded items, which took hours. And now, I accidentally messed them up and was supposed to redo all of that. The thought filled me with dread. So I asked ChatGPT, which I have grown quite fond of recently, to help me. Why did I ask ChatGPT? Well, I need to go a bit further back in time to explain that.

One day, not too long ago, I asked ChatGPT to reformat a long list. ChatGPT said, "Apologies, I cannot process such a long list. Here's a Python script, here's how to install Python, copy the script, run it and it will do what you want." I thought ChatGPT was crazy, surely that would never work!? Nut I was curious and also a little desperate so I did install Python and ran the script and ... it did what I wanted. I was stunned. Could I use ChatGPT to write code for me? Apparently, the answer was yes. So I spent a lot of time directing it, add this, add that, and I noticed that it was not at all as easy as I thought. ChatGPT removed code when it felt like it, and the longer it got the more it messed up. But also the more time I spent copying/pasting Python code, the more I understood. Sometimes, I would just ask "What exactly does this bit do?", and ChatGPT patiently gave me answers. Running the Python code from the command prompt got tedious very quickly though. I asked: "Can't you make a button for me that I can click??" To my surprise, ChatGPT said: "Sure, let's make a gui." And that was it, the moment I fell in love with Python. So I made a few attempts at this and that, most only half-finished because the project got too ambitious for the little knowledge I had. I heard about an AI especially made for writing code: Github's Copilot. I decided I had to try that. Since it only worked in real programmer's tools, I installed Visual Studio Code. Now I really felt like a programmer, using fancy tools! And Copilot made things easier, much easier. It did not delete all kinds of code like regular ChatGPT. It was even more helpful. I was super motivated and got to work on my "Autosort Lockers Filter Update Helper" since Python is very well suited for automating stuff. Because several config files were involved, and several values needed to be loaded, converted, compared, merged, loooked up, reformatted, and saved into multiple files, it was quite the undertaking, but I am at a point where most of the logic actually works and I have a real program with real buttons that I can click on. I made a program that actually works with my very limited coding knowledge! It would not have been possible without the help of AI. My patience and long hours paid off. Can I call myself a programmer yet? I'm not sure, since the code was written mostly by AI, not me personally. But I can confidently call myself the director and mastermind behind it 😎 and I actually want to learn more about Python so I can one-day code stuff myself without needing AI to do it for me. Here is a picture of it (I am proud of those blue buttons 😊):

...and the configs the app updated:

The app is not in a publishable state and I guess I would need to do far more tests and let someone who can actually code Python look it over before I would feel comfortable sharing it with anyone else, but it feels incredible to have pulled off something like this. I just wanted to share this accomplishment with someone!

[aaliyg]

hey alz!! how have you been recently?? i’m currently trying to avoid thinking abt going back to school☹️

also are you also a comp sci major cuz i swear i saw you mention it one time but i might be going crazy idk😭😭

but if so what’s your fav programming lang? 😜

plssss don't remind me about school bro 😭

but yesh i am a compsci major 😝 (specifically forensics) and i guess i would say my fav language is java (because that's deadass all they taught us like- 😒)

But honestly java is fun imo. Python is fine too but ive had alot more time with java

C is...*sigh* i hate it actually, but it's probably because i felt like i was fighting it the whole damn time 💀 like reading the code makes perfect sense. Actually typing it tho...shoot me.

Idk man java just makes sense to me the most u know 😭

[kunosoura]

kinda crazy how even with the fact that I'm going to a very liberal arts-y liberal arts college, I feel like most of what college is doing to me is getting me better at being a student. or more aptly at getting good grades. I'm a little better at drafting, gathering sources for and writing an essay maybe, I've learned a little bit of python for a physics course, I could hold my own if you asked me to lead a waltz now I guess. but as far as my ability to think critically or navigate the world I don't particularly feel I've developed beyond what I could do before college, and I don't feel I have that much practical chemistry knowledge other than like being generally more comfortable in a lab. idk. part of me worries I've never really been smart, just good at sounding smart and good at getting a good grade and for all the college's talk about how liberal arts makes you more well rounded, I fear it's just given me surface experiences I can use to seem more well rounded.

[virtualgirladvance]

hi! im applying to college soon and ive always wanted to do human sciences, but recently ive switched one of my subjects to CS and decided i want to do something more objective and math-y. i think having a degree related to computers will give me more time to think about the field i want to work in. this decision was a bit impulsive and tbh you played a big role in sparking my interest and making computing seem accessible. in general i feel like ive always been interested in it (my dad knows a lot), but ive just never considered it a real opportunity that i would ever be able to do. Rn i feel like all cis guys built their own computers since they were 11 and would have an advantage over me (in this country unis require you to show personal engagement and skill relating to the course you apply for). i wonder if you have any opinions on whether its even worth to do computer-related stuff in uni if i dont have any real knowledge about it besides "useful in life", how poorly will i be treated in the field as a trans guy, and if you have some suggestions on the topics and materials i can study to improve my knowledge

honestly even if you dont go fully into CS just having a course or two will help you get started in doing really useful things in whatever direction you end up going. the amount of times i hear someone becoming crazy useful just because they know some basic scripting or something is amazing.

i put my own computer together in highschool and beyond know what parts are in a pc and how to install an operating system it didnt really help at all in uni. if you have time and the interest look into maybe doing a basic programming course or a bridging course. having a few basic projects to show youre interested and willing to work on it looks really good to applications i imagine(schools here are just entrance on grades so I dont for sure but ive heard good things)

honestly uni is most just exploring stuff to help you figure out what you vibe with enough to peruse, its really common to change degrees part way through cause locking into a field of study in your teens is just not fun

as for the cis dude dominance yeah i got nothing, i know plenty of not cis guys doing well and some putting up with bs for it. if you enjoy the field then do it, going to be putting up with shitty people regardless so might as well do something you enjoy/are interested in.

ive been out of the loop on what are good starting resources but honestly finding an intro course/tutorial on C or python seems like a good way to get a taste for it. hopefully others can add some recommendations

hope you have luck and fun in whatever choice you make, i know its a tough decision to make so props to you for reaching out

[luxuryandlilacs]

APRIL RESET

So in January I created some New Year’s resolutions. I just went a little crazy with it just for the fun of it. Next I created my first quarter goals for the first three months. So basically I have resolutions for the three months. Due to circumstances and events, to avoid feeling overwhelmed and like a failure, I wanted to break those goals down into daily habits.

Goal - Have my dream body:

Habits: booty/legs three times a week, upper body and abs two times a week, incorporate more protein in my meals, actually go out of my way to cook more meals instead of eating lazy meals.

Goal - Read at least 12 books

Habit: Read everyday, finish a book or two per week.

These are a few examples I have. For the month of April, I want to reflect on my first quarter goals and see how much I’ve accomplished and note any improvements I can make for the next quarter.

I actually accomplished reading 13 books for the first quarter which is actually surprising lol. I’ve been pretty consistent with my work outs. I had a few lazy weeks but I haven’t had a week where I didn’t work out at all! Pats myself on the back.

For the next three months, I want to work on these areas of my life:

Finances

My Home Environment

My Mental Health

I would usually use ChatGPT to give me some ideas on habits I can try to incorporate in my day to help with bettering these areas. However, it would just give basic ideas, oh well lol.

I create a habit tracker for each week and then do a week review to see how I did and how I can improve for the next week. Some habits I can have on my habit tracker in order to accomplish better outcomes in the three areas above are:

Educate myself on interior designing

Educate myself on Feng Shui

Meditate or do EFT tapping most days of the week

Take my Magneisum Glycinate supplement every night

Journal most days of the week

Complete the gratitude practice from The Magic by Rhonda Byrne

Practice Python and any other statistical programming language a few days of the week.

These are just a few I have on my mind but as the weeks go, I’ll probably come up with more and slowly incorporate them into my day.

Here’s to a WONDERFUL second quarter!

[moviehealthcommunity]

One of our Patrons, specifically Peter from the $5 tier, came up with an excellent idea for Movie Health Community that I'd like to make happen right here and now: a curated list of movies that are safe for photosensitive audiences to watch! Out of the 1074 movies we've evaluated so far, 130 of them have a Flashing Lights score of 0 or 1, so here is that list of 130 titles, in alphabetical order.

The 40-Year-Old Virgin 80 for Brady Abominable Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret Away From Her A Bad Moms Christmas The Ballad of Buster Scruggs The Beguiled The Big Sick Billy Madison Book Club: The Next Chapter The Breakfast Club Casablanca Cheaper by the Dozen (2022) The Christmas Chronicles A Christmas Story Christmas Christopher Robin Cinderella (2015) Clerks Cocaine Bear Coco Coming to America Crazy Rich Asians Crimson Peak Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon Cyrano Daddy's Home Daddy's Home 2 Dear Evan Hansen Dirty Dancing Dogma Dolores Claiborne Downhill Downton Abbey Drive My Car Eight Crazy Nights Elemental Elf Enemy Ever After: A Cinderella Story Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile The Fighting Preacher Five Feet Apart Gladiator Going in Style The Goldfinch Good Will Hunting Green Book The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug The Hurt Locker The Hustle I Don't Know How She Does It The Ice Age Adventures of Buck Wild In Bruges Inglourious Basterds Instant Family Interview with the Vampire It's a Wonderful Life Jojo Rabbit Kimi Knives Out Last Christmas The Laundromat Little Women (2019) Lizzie Logan Lucky The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring Luca Lying and Stealing Ma Rainey's Black Bottom A Madea Christmas Madea's Family Reunion Madea's Witness Protection Maleficent: Mistress of Evil Mallrats A Man Called Otto The Many Saints of Newark Marriage Story Mary Poppins Returns Mary Queen of Scots The Menu Miracle on 34th Street (1994) Misery Monty Python's Life of Brian Mrs. Doubtfire The Muppet Christmas Carol Muppet Treasure Island Murder Mystery Night at the Museum Office Space On the Basis of Sex Pan's Labyrinth The Perfection The Polar Express The Power of the Dog A Prayer Before Dawn Psycho (1960) Psycho (1998) Pulp Fiction The Report The Rhythm Section Rise of the Planet of the Apes Roma The Room Rudy The Santa Clause The Santa Clause 3: The Escape Clause Seven Psychopaths The Shallows Shanghai Noon Shaun the Sheep Movie The Shining Shrek the Third Smokey and the Bandit Son In Law Spencer The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974) Three Thousand Years of Longing Ticket to Paradise Uncut Gems United 93 West Side Story (1961) The Whale Windfall The Wizard of Oz Women Talking Won't You Be My Neighbor? Worth Zombieland: Double Tap

[run-aled]

RED VALLEY: WHILE YOU WERE HYPERSLEEPING‘Part Three’

[transcript]

SCENE 1

GORDON IS IN THE MESS ROOM, PLAYING HIMSELF AT POOL. MUSIC PLAYING FROM THE JUKEBOX IN THE DISTANCE. HE LEAVES THE TAPE ROLLING A LITTLE WHILE.

GORDON: Hello. It's umm… day 13. I'm in the mess. I am playing myself at pool and winning. Oh… I fixed the jukebox. Just another easy fix by Gordon Porlock...Warden of the Valley.

HITS A SHOT. POCKETS IT.

GORDON: Ahh… Boom. Warden of the Valley. That deserves a badge. Hey Blue, that deserves a badge, right?

BLUE SKY: I didn't quite catch that.

GORDON: That's what she says when I deserve a badge.

TAKES ANOTHER SHOT.

CUT.

GORDON: I thought I better take some of these duties seriously. The caretaking duties I mean. I remembered what the manager of the Overlook Hotel said to Jack Nicholson. Not the bit about the guy who went crazy and murdered his family, the boring stuff about going around the hotel and warming different parts of it, making sure the pipes don't freeze. So I've done that. I've systematically gone through all the radiators, and checked all the light switches, and most of them work, and when I find one that doesn't, I make a little note of it, and then I remember I have no idea what to do about any of that stuff so I just shut the door to that room and don't go in there again.

CUT TO GORDON IN THE TOILET AND READING A BIRD BOOK.

GORDON: I'm reading more too. The pink footed goose, or Anser Brachyrhynchus, doesn't breed in the UK but, probably Iceland or Greenland, and is just wintering here. Anyway, if they're going to shit on me every day, I thought I should at least be able to address them by their full scientific names.

HE GETS UP AND FLUSHES.CUT TO: GORDON WASHING UP IN THE FARMHOUSE. IN THE BACKGROUND AN ANCIENT RECORDING OF A CHRISTMAS CHOIR.

GORDON: Well I've really come to love this farmhouse. It's so peaceful. There's a.. a record player and lots of old Christmas records. And it's November so seems appropriate. Hey Blue, tell me something interesting about Christmas.

BLUE SKY: Hi Gordon, did you know that not only did Oliver Cromwell ban Christmas pudding and mince pies in the 17th century, the law was never officially rescinded, so technically it's still illegal to eat them.

GORDON: Awesome.

CUT TO: GORDON IN THE CORRIDOR UPSTAIRS IN THE BASE, MOVING BOXES.

GORDON: So, a lot of the archiving I think is just literally moving boxes of tapes. I mean, sure, I'll need to go through them some time, but there's no rush.

SUDDENLY A PHONE STARTS RINGING, SOME DISTANCE AWAY. GORDON STOPS IN HIS TRACKS.

GORDON: What the hell is that?

BEAT AS HE THINKS.

GORDON: Hmm.

BLUE SKY: The phone is ringing.

GORDON: I mean I'm really busy, with these-

BEAT. THE RINGING IS INCESSANT.

BLUE SKY: The phone is ringing.

GORDON: For God's sake.

BLUE SKY: The phone is ringing.

HE PICKS IT UP. SOMEONE IS EATING ON THE OTHER END OF THE LINE.

GORDON: Hello?

CLIVE: Alright sugartits.

GORDON: Clive? Oh… Um., Bryony isn't here right now…

CLIVE: I know. Just wanted to check in on you.

GORDON: Oh er… Normally Grace or Pam would do a check in-

CLIVE: I know that too Gordon. Cos they work for me. Like you do.

GORDON: Of course, yeah, sure.

CLIVE: So how are you, Gordon?

GORDON: Oh, I'm great. Yeah… Great.

CLIVE: You doing what we're paying you to do, right?

GORDON: What do you mean?

CLIVE: Bryony asked you to look after the place and sort out the archives, didn't she? You know, the archives of the work we do at Red Valley. The world-changing, potentially limitlessly lucrative work that, frankly, is the only reason that gloomy little shithole hasn't been flattened by a giant Monty Python foot.

GORDON: Yes, yes, I'm on it.

CLIVE: You're on it.

GORDON: I'm on it.

CLIVE: You're sure you're on it? You're not just playing yourself at pool and listening to power ballads on the jukebox you repaired?

GORDON SCOFFS IN EMBARRASSED CONFUSION.

CLIVE: You know a Blue Sky unit is a microphone as well as a virtual assistant right?

BLUE SKY: Hello.

GORDON: I, uh. I did not know that actually.

HE PUTS HIS HAND OVER THE SPEAKER AND HISSES TO THE BLUE SKY UNIT.

GORDON: I thought we were friends!

CLIVE: I mean. It's kind of...I've already turned up on your doorstep once before after spying on you...

BLUE SKY: I found this on Friends. Friends is a situation comedy-

GORDON: Oh, don't even get me started on that.

CLIVE: What are you doing, Gordon?

GORDON: Oh er… Nothing, nothing, I'm just...I'm here.

CLIVE: That's just it. You see, I need you to do more than just be there, Gordon. I need you to work through those archives, mate. In fact- that's not even true. I don't give a liquid shit about the archives actually, I just need you to get everything on Warren Godby looking ship fucking shape. Because he's the ticket. For me, for you, for everything. If I find out you've been leaning back enjoying that ex-rental copy of Passion of the Christ, we're going to have a problem.

GORDON: I'll get on it, Clive. Right away.

CLIVE: Adda boy. Off you trot then.

GORDON: Yeah. Oh, Clive?

CLIVE: What?

GORDON: There's no one...else, around here, is there?

CLIVE: What do you mean?

GORDON: No one else around, any neighbours? Or Overhead people, who might want to visit, you know, in the middle of the night, then change their mind and drive away?

CLIVE SIGHS.

CLIVE: I don't give a shit if you're haunted by local sprites or some Highland bumpkin is plucking up the courage to invite you to the next caber tossing festival, keep your eyes on the cryonically preserved prize.

CLIVE HANGS UP.

PAUSE.

BLUE SKY: Is there anything I can help you with, Gordon?

GORDON: You and me are done professionally.

CUT.

MUSIC BREAK.

CUT TO: WARREN TURNS ON THE RECORDER AND PUTS IT DOWN. HE IS EXTREMELY OUT OF BREATH.

WARREN: Hi. Warren Godby here. Just got… back from a run. 8 o'clock in the morning, already done a run. Haven't even had breakfast. All 6 of us, along with umm…what’s his name Doctor umm… Doctor Mister Motivator. I don’t know. Do you know what, I started this too soon, give me a minute.

CUT.

GORDON: Blue Sky, save the project.

BLUE SKY: Remember you can call me Blue?

GORDON: We're not on first name terms anymore, Ms Sky.

BLUE SKY: Project saved. Would you like to play the next recording?

GORDON: Have you checked it already for my muted words and phrases?

BLUE SKY: There are no mentions of specific crimes or details relating to the sentence of Godby, Warren.

GORDON: Okay, go ahead.

THE NEXT RECORDING.

WARREN: Hello, hi. So I don't need to be so sycophantic. Apparently, there are no bonus points for obsequious behaviour or indeed, brown nosing, as Dr Halbech calls it, of any kind.

WARREN: Now that I'm in my little bedroom, and I've got my three minutes, erm… I do have a few thoughts about the induction day, you know that I could share. This is clearly a second hand induction pack. The main clue is the massive cock and balls that have been doodled over the contents page. Unless that’s your new Overhead watermark or something.

WARREN PULLS THE BLURB FROM HIS INDUCTION PACK.

WARREN: Right let's look at this. 'Congratulations from everyone at Overhead Industries! Here at Red Valley, our state of the art facility, you're about to join our team of expert clinicians and researchers, supported by our humm…caring, dedicated and highly qualified hospitality team that will make this experience closer to a rural retreat than a scientific study!'

WARREN: I take issue with the term 'state of the art', I suppose. My expectations for Red Valley were quite high. Er… I knewit was a laboratory underneath a military station in the wilderness, so of course I imagined, not unreasonably I think, Area 51 from Independence Day. White lab coats, stuttering science nerds played by Star Trek actors, maybe something like that crossed with the Dolph Lundgren training montage from Rocky IV, I don't know.Now, disappointment I can handle. I'm used to that. But I guess I was expecting, as a minimum, the kind of security that one might find in a highly guarded penal institution, like the one I just left, because, at the end of the day, all the new guests are hardened, violent convicted criminals after all. So when, at the end of today's induction session, Harry Reed decides to brain Stephens over the head with a fucking metal chair for making eye contact with him, I was somewhat surprised when absolutely fucking nothing happened, apart from Stephens being dragged by the feet out of the room leaving behind an oil slick of blood coming out of his head and Harry staring at us all with a look that could cut diamonds while folding and unfolding his arms every 3 seconds like a fucking maniac, which is exactly what he is.

WARREN: I think there are literally only 3 people working here. And there are six of us. That is bananas. This is going to end like Straw fucking Dogs. Goodnight.

CUT.

GORDON: Right. Well then.

BLUE SKY: There is a short addendum.

GORDON: Oh. Er… Go ahead.

PLAYS.

WARREN: Quick update. Little group meeting just now to inform us that Stephens and Reed are leaving the programme. Infact, they've apparently already left. Which is weird, cos there's only one way in or out of this valley and no one’s come or gone all day. So that's definitely not disconcerting whatsoever. I'm going to go and stare at the ceiling for the rest of the night. Bye.

CUT.

FOOTSTEPS ALONG THE CORRIDOR IN THE LOWER LEVEL, REACHING A DOOR. GORDON OPENS IT AND WALKS INTO A ROOM- THE CRYO SUITE. EVENTUALLY HE REACHES HIS DESTINATION.

GORDON: Evening Warren.

GORDON PLACES HIS RECORDER ON THE METALLIC CRYO POD.

GORDON: Apologies I haven't been down to see you much. You look well. I can't actually see you. I thought they would've put windows in a cryopod. So people could see you floating about. But, I guess it's nice to have privacy, isn't it?

PAUSE.

GORDON: I've been struggling Warren. With what's going on here. The truth is I have to make a choice. To be a friend to you or not. I'm going to keep listening to your tapes. But I'm not going to find out what you did. I'd like to say it's because I'm respecting your privacy, but the truth is I recognise the guys on these recordings. He doesn't sound too different to me. He's scared, he's lonely, he hates exercise. Look… maybe you're not who I think you are. But given the company we keep, you might still be the least awful person I currently work with. So, let’s be friends. I'll be back tomorrow. And maybe I’ll bring Top Trumps or something.

END.