#gist did not make something

[you-get-the-gist]

knock knock

who’s there

[you-get-the-gist]

People come into your inbox, say "trick or treat," and you'd hypothetically reply with a treat!

Please reblog if YES so your followers will know!

[loderlied]

sharing some thoughts about deactivating here because it’s been difficult pondering idk.

[darabeatha]

ㅤThen I heard your heart beating.ㅤ You were in the darkness too.ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ... So I stayed in the darkness with you.

[catastrxblues]

—

[trialsandtribble-ations]

The character arc lore could have had

[b-blushes]

26 minutes left of my show (i will finish it tomorrow while i have breakfast) possibly not the best 'choice' of show for the current state of me personally given its extremely tragic and conflict-ridden nature for practically uhhhh 3/4 if not more of the entire thing but i DID have a euphoric 2 days where i watched the first 4 episodes and was mentally twirling my hair kicking my feet as background thoughts for that entire 48 hours so that was pretty nice

[you-get-the-gist]

hi giiisttt

Hiiii

[huntunderironskies]

Actually. Sorry, I know I said I don't like talking about joseimuke on this account because it makes me sound deranged, but I have to share this (esp since I try to keep my sideblog more positive because God knows we need it.)

So one of the projects I like to keep up with is Cordgem, which. God how do I explain this. Uh, okay, so Cordgem takes place in steampunk alternate history Japan while there's a zombie apocalypse going on, which is only focused on some of the time because we need to think about the REAL drama which is the idol stage battles sorry, I've received a note from the writers the word I'm supposed to use is 歌仙衆 and not idol group, which means.... oh goddamnit how the fuck am i supposed to read this-- oh wait, there's furigana. That means Kasenshuu, of course. What's a Kasenshuu?

Uh, well, that's a great question. I am definitely not stalling for time while frantically tabbing through a kanji dictionary to tell you the answer. In this case, 歌仙 (kasen) is a term used to refer to particularly legendary poets of classical Japanese literature. I think this has been translated into English as "Immortal Poets" (the 仙 in it is used in other phrases to refer to Daoist immortals!) Then the 衆 (shuu) part is a large group of people, so...Immortal Poet Gang Battles. That's what they're having. Not idol stage battles. Important distinction.

Hey, note to my editor, I'm highlighting this so I can come back later and come up with a translation that's not awful. Absolutely willing to bounce ideas off you. Thanks.

You are probably starting to see why translator burnout is an issue and why I don't usually do it in text-heavy mediums. In fact I am absolutely positive I've gotten something wrong here in my research but I've spent like half the day going down rabbit holes trying to work out the worldbuilding here because I don't know that much about Meiji era Japan. In fact this could be Taisho era, I'm getting really thrown off by the fact that one unit seems to be wearing uniforms closer to Taisho fashion and I can't tell if I'm just massively overthinking it.

A final bit of background information: joseimuke fandom in EN-speaking countries survives largely on unpaid fan translators. The number of projects that get ported over to the US and translated properly has only recently exceeded numbers that can be counted on one hand. There are a lot of reasons why that's the case and most of it can be explained as corporate bullshit. Either way, fandoms in EN remain very small, grassroots affairs.

So there's been...an attempt to translate it. I generally avoid trying to do my own work on a project that's already been "claimed" by another translator. One, to avoid burnout because there's way more than you'd think out there that either got orphaned by their translators or haven't been touched yet, two, out of respect for the work of other people who are passionate about the same very niche things I am. I'd considered trying to translate it, saw that someone on a formerly blue bird site was working on character bios, and dropped the idea to focus on Executioner instead. A quick look showed they weren't just manually copying from Google Translate so I decided to leave it be and work on my own stuff.

Anyways, back to steampunk zombie Meiji (possibly Taisho, results unclear) era Japan. One of the groups who's dealing with the zombie apocalypse front is a duo unit of offbrand Catholic priests. Here they are.

Badly cropped screenshot of the site because I refuse to spend any more effort on this than I already have and ripping art assets takes a while. All I will say is, yes, your eyes do not deceive you, Agito (the guy on the left) isn't wearing pants. At least he managed to put on half a shirt.

Now, I can hear you through the computer screen, because I'm psychic. You're saying, "Why does the one priest look like the sole reason he can walk around without flashing people is prayer and an extensive amount of body tape?" This is a valid question, one that has yet to be answered by the writers. I hope such critical information will be addressed in their drama track, it will be very important for cosplayers to know. While often underappreciated, cosplayers are a valuable part of our community. You may also wonder, "Can you back up and explain literally anything about the world, like the Catholic Church We Have at Home who seem perfectly fine with their priests going around only about two-thirds dressed or the zombie apocalypse or the steampunk tech that apparently exists?" Also valid questions. I could but it's funnier if I don't. Besides, you saw how long I took trying to explain one kanji reading.

Anyways, I was very interested in them so I kept an eye for the translated version of their bios. Now, the translation that OP made for their title in the church was "Auror."

Yes, like in Harry Potter.

I was reasonably certain that Auror wasn't a real word, so a friend of mine checked, and it is indeed something that Jowling Kowling Rowling made up. So, how did this happen?

Well, checking back over their JP bios, the term used for their title is 闇���い (lit. yami-harai). This combines the kanji for yami/darkness with the kanji for harai/ritual purification. Not even close to "Auror." However, 闇祓い was the phrase that the official JP translation for Harry Potter used instead of Auror (I'm assuming because the closest you could get in JP as a literal translation is something like オーラル/ooraru and that sounds...weird? Maybe? I don't know.) This is the term that google will spit out at you if you plug in the two together.

But, you know. Exorcist. The word was supposed to be something close to exorcist in this context, just a lot fancier and using cooler phraseology. You could probably come up with a fun localization if you're smarter than me. But they aren't wizard cops. Free my boys, one of them is a trust fund kiddie and the other is a freak but they still don't deserve to be associated with Harry Potter.

Just. I get it. It uses so many rarely used/archaic kanji readings that a lot of the in-universe terms have to be written with furigana above them just so people know how it's supposed to be read despite being aimed at adults. I made a joke about it above. And translating is really hard. I'm not even opposed to people who are relative beginners to learning Japanese using translation as a way to improve their language skills, I think it's a good way to do it. Also I would be a huge hypocrite if I condemned it because I'm doing it.

But if you see kanji in a combination that you don't recognize or looks off when you throw it into a machine translator, please. Please just get a kanji dictionary. There's online ones to use. Jisho is incredibly detailed. There are even some where if you can't copy in a kanji, you can draw it in a little prompt box. You don't have to get the stroke order right. The detection is really sophisticated. I know it sucks because it slows down the translation process a lot and people can be incredibly entitled about getting translations ASAP at the cost of quality but a little wait is worth it for making something you're proud of and that shows the quality of the series you're working on.

And doesn't commit a plagarism on an extremely cantankerous transphobe too, which is also important.

[ilikecorndogs]

Random thought from earlier today: all, if not most, idiocy comes from dramatic irony

[dippingmytoesin]

The Realm's Greatest Actor

Danny didn't mean to lie. He really didn't. Or, well, he did. But he didn't want to! He had no choice.

He wasn't great at lying, but he was amazing at acting.

So that's what he did. He acted, playing the part of a thousand-year-old king stuck as a kid. It was easy because it wasn't fully an act.

Danny had died. When he died, he was fourteen. His ghost stayed fourteen forever. His human half stopped noticeably aging at 18 or 19-ish. He has been a ghost for... 240 years? 245? Maybe a little more. And he has been the Ghost King for 235.

So, he acted the part. When he was summoned, he pulled out the theatrics. Chill the room, frost the floor and walls, maybe a little of the ceiling. Fancy cape, fancy crown, fancy fantasy king clothes. Presentation of what most expect.

But he was forever fourteen, so he needed a little... something more, if you will. Floating around, randomly appearing behind people, the occasional echoing giggle. A fae-like trickster, if you will.

So was his act. He would get summoned, decide whether to do the thing or not, maybe have a mostly harmless twist. Like making people make him food, or he turning the big bad into a squirrel, or whatever. A childish trickster, with the powers of a god.

He set up some rules for himself he didn't actually have to follow.

Don't go into a room before invited, but after even the slightest invitation, he could go whenever he pleased for the rest of eternity.

Shake hands to 'seal a deal' or, if they're really gross, snap. And when you shake, do way too much; fast and eager.

Whenever someone asks him to do something, ask for something in return. If they say no to what he asked, just huff and do the thing they asked anyway.

Laugh at random comments, and make random comments that make no sense. i.e, "Wow. The walls are so hungry here! You should probably paint them blue.

Sprinkle a little ice on random things, and anything he eats or drinks. Don't explain it, and maybe do it for some people he likes.

Randomly stare at things, and tap/poke a door knob before opening the door.

There were a few smaller things, but that was the gist of it. Random rules to throw people off his scent. Leave them wondering and curious.

So, when Danny is summoned to help with a world-ending threat by a bunch of heroes that remind him of when he was a kid watching cartoons, he helps. And he stays. But how long can he keep up this charade?

(Prompt- you're here!) (part 1)

[seat-safety-switch]

When we were kids, we didn't have access to cool power tools. Every summer, when the soapbox derby race was coming, we'd break into my neighbour's garage while he was at work. Then, we'd use his drill press, lathe, table saw, all the fun tools. Over the course of a week, a race car was produced, which is more than the workshop ever made during the rest of the year.

Sure, we could have asked him if we could have borrowed his tools, but no doubt he would want to be there to supervise. And then he'd want to help. We'd never get done while we were busy indulging the suburb-tinged fantasies of someone who didn't take wood shop and chose instead to idly worship at the altar of Television Presents: The Fantasy of Bob Vila in adulthood.

One year, Old Man Garrett got a security system. Probably this was because Ted (fucking Ted) didn't clean up the sawdust that one time like we asked him to. The old man must have seen the footprint, and realized that he did not wear size-seven Nikes. Child thieves, casing his precious table saw! Now, our humble breaking-and-entering had become significantly more difficult than "reach a coat hanger under the door and pull the emergency release."

With the help of some of the high-school kids who were taking electronics class, we managed to defeat the security system. We did so using an ancient Japanese technique known as "distract Old Man Garrett while he's setting it, and then cut the wires to the panel." I think it loses something in translation, but you get the gist of it. That year's car was especially sweet.

In adulthood, I got drunk and bragged to some work buddies about our little scam. They responded in abject horror, because I was still occupying the weird hump in the middle of a normal distribution of "acceptable crimes." It was terrifying to them to see one of their own, one of the suburbanites, speak openly about largely-harmless property crimes. What if we had been hurt, they shrieked. Around the water cooler, I would become a pariah, unless I could make amends.

I did hunt down Old Man Garrett after that, still feeling the sting of rejection. He was still on the property, and he still had a beautiful collection of immaculate cabinet-making tools in the garage. I rang his doorbell and, when he answered, I told him the whole story. He laughed.

"I knew it was you dumb shits from the beginning," he bragged. "Fucking Ted -"

"Fucking Ted," I echoed, unconsciously.

"Fucking Ted left his library book on building race cars behind on the workbench that first year. You didn't let him drive, did you?"

I shook my head. "We ran the car into him if the hockey-stick brakes ever failed."

We had a good laugh about the whole thing that evening, and I returned to work with my soul cleansed. It's just a pity Ted didn't know how bad he actually was at crime, before he tried to knock over that liquor store and all.

[brucedefender4eva]

There was a tumblr post on here and I can’t remember who it was from but I do remember the general gist.

It was basically about Bruce going “Brucie mode” and therefore making it impossible for people to be or stay mad at him. Just flash those beautiful blue eyes at someone and they’re ready to do his bidding

——

Jason: You were monitoring me?! What the fuck Bruce! I told you-

Bruce: *zoning out and not in the mood to be yelled at*

Jason: -and… what are you doing? Hey! Don’t you dare go-

Bruce: *already in Brucie mode* Why are you yelling at me Jay? Did I do something wrong?

Jason: *unable to stay angry* Fuck you Dad

——

Dick: Stop that

Bruce: *not a single thought behind his eyes, smiling brightly* Stop what chum?

Dick: Fuck you!

Bruce: *smile faltering, eyes getting glassy as tears start to build up* W-what? What did I do Dickie? Why are you mad at me? *voice wobbling*

Dick: Fuckkkk *hugs Bruce, mentally cursing himself out* Nothing Dad, nothing at all

——

Tim: B, you need to sign this stack of papers for… the uh… investors…

Bruce: *holding up a steaming cup of Tim’s favorite coffee, smiling in that boyish way everyone loves* Timmy you work so hard! I made this for you *eyes sparkling earnestly*

Tim: *looking between the coffee and the paperwork Bruce has been putting off for the past week* I- Bruce you gotta sign these. The board is on my ass and you aren’t helping

Bruce: *frowning and slowly lowering the cup* Oh… sorry I thought we could hang out today…

Tim: *already giving in* Fuck it, let’s go watch a movie Dad

——

Alfred: Master Bruce

Bruce: *completely ignoring him and posting on Twitter or Instagram while lying on a cot in the Batcave*

Alfred: Master Bruce please. It is imperative that we clean your scrapes and bruises before you get an infection

Bruce: *whining and looking up at Alfred with puppy dog eyes* Alfie, can’t it wait? Can’t I have a sandwich first? Pretty please?

Alfred: *flashbacks to baby Bruce* I… I suppose. What would you like on your sandwich my boy?

——

Damian: …

Bruce: …

Damian: Why do you do this Baba?

Bruce: *shrugs* Why not? Sooner or later you’ll understand the great power I have over people.

Damian: I see… I shall study this method of manipulation more.

——

Bonus

Clark: M-mister Wayne this is really inappropriate *blushing bright red and trying to adjust his glasses*

Bruce: *currently seated on Clark’s lap, arms wrapped around his neck, titling his head like a lost puppy* What do ya mean reporter man? I thought that this was supposed to be a very… intimate interview. Do you want me to move?

Clark: No! Ehem… n-no mister Wayne. I’m simply… getting used to it *Clark’s hand flexes from where it’s gripping Bruce’s surprisingly small waist*

Bruce: *playing with the baby hairs on Clark’s neck, a seductive smile on his face as he drops his voice and leans in closer* Yeah? That’s good. I think I really like doing intimate interviews with you. But, the study isn’t the best place to have it. Why don’t we… go up to my bedroom for more privacy?

Clark: *throws Bruce over his shoulders and bounds up the stairs, Bruce is laughing loudly*

[catastrxblues]

the fact that i’m actually actually disappointed that i won’t have to go to school for chem classes this weekend :/// i’ve become WAY too fond of these people. it’s only february and we technically still have the rest of the semester but ahh i’m missing this and them already :(<3

[willyoubemycherryy]

“Isn’t it past your curfew?” (Salesman x reader)

Summary: What happens when you run into your father’s dark suited friend after dark? You get in trouble of course.

Contains: [deep breath]-> snacks and drinks because this one is LONGER, drinking, clubbing, panicking, choking, mouth spitting, everything IS consensual but it’s rough so, rough sex, spanking, kissing, pussy spanking, dacriphyllia, multiple orgasms, squirting, you suffer from ptw, that’s pvssy too wet, seriously, dom/sub dynamics, he’s still gross and fucked up, possessiveness, degradation, praise, he’s still mean :(((, manhandling, thigh riding, kinda in public for the first half, car sex, hair pulling, squirting, unprotected sex, one all expenses paid trip to poundtown, and cursing. There’s so much I probably forgot something but y’all get the gist.

A/N- enjoy the official second installment of the dad’sfriend au! ;)

Kisses for all starting with~ @dorayakissu @jae-mie @lcvsanaa @love2fangirl @jusferisnothere @dilfismz @mybahama @trentknd @reka13 @511rkive @gr-red

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ _ _

_ ➵ ✩ ◛ ° . +

The second time you and your father’s new friend meet, it’s not at all in the setting you thought it’d be.

No, awfully enough you’re mid-spin- throwing your ass in a club near the shadier part of the city, out way past your dads rules in a tight dress- cute manicured toes peeking out your heels; makeup laden eyes widening as you make eye contact with the same gorgeous man who wore you out almost 3 weeks ago. Leaving you with a card and legs that remained shaky for the next 2 days.

The morning after was a trip and you won’t even touch how you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face, smiling even as you went to pee; the stinging a pleasant reminder of the whole ordeal. And, true to your word, you indeed have been nicer to your dad. Kissing him on the cheek with a light “be back later dad, I love you”, whenever he was home and you were leaving just like you did when you were six and his happy smile was just the same. You also put a limit on the smart little quips where you could but not so much that it was obvious you had gotten a full body attitude adjustment.

You’d been so good.

Little did you know, he’d heard as much. Smirking inwardly like there was some in-joke whenever your father would be cheerier than normal sometimes on his early commute- telling him how you made breakfast, kissing him on the cheek with a sweet ‘bye daddy’ before you left for your day or how you were less snippy- instead you were pleasant. So now imagine his surprise seeing his friend’s perfectly pleasant young daughter in one of his clubs that you didn’t even know was his, in a snug dress so short that whenever you moved you were threatening to flash someone. The skimpy little thing didn’t even have a back.

He knows the exact moment you see him see you because the way your heart falls to your ass is written all over your face and it makes him grin even wider.

When he moves, his stride is perfect. Long limbs weaving seamlessly through the sea of bodies as he deliberately walks past you.

You who is internally panicking.

“Mmm he get to strokin’, ooh how I love when he chokin’ me! Bitch I’m a boss! I do what I want-!” Your friends yell the lyrics drunkenly as they move their ass against you and you wince, suddenly hyper aware of who’s watching. Even though you had been drinking, you weren’t drunk but that didn’t change the fact that you weren’t supposed to be here and now there was a witness who knew the reason why your fast ass wasn’t supposed to be here and could very well snitch to said reason.

You shout some nonsense excuse to your friends to where you’re going and they nod back before going back to partying. If they were less plastered you know they’d question you and insist on coming with so you thank your lucky stars they’re not because the last thing they needed to see was you getting slut out by a man twice your age while attempting to do damage control. Spinning on your heel you walk the same path he did but less gracefully as you try not to stumble in your heels or topple over anyone. Your heart beat is almost louder than the music as you look for the dark suited man and the further you walk the more intense it feels; flashbacks of devilish hands and a nasty mouth cloud your mind and you swallow harshly, willing away that heat with a shaky inhale before it can burn you.

Just as you turn, you’re yanked into a corner- the sound of your shriek swallowed by the music.

“Well if it isn’t daddy’s good. little. girl. Shouldn’t it be past your curfew?”

Fuck. His voice is just as deep as you remember and the name makes a shiver crawl up your spine, a familiar tingle settling in your cunt. Still, you refuse to give him the satisfaction, taunting him with your smart mouth even though he can see your (now hard) nipples poking through the colorful toss of glitter you called a dress.

“Shouldn’t you be in a bingo hall n’some retirement center near the exit of my damn business?” Fuck x2. Alcohol loosens your tongue something terrible on a good night so now the same alcohol coupled with adrenaline has you completely reckless- delayed sense of self preservation only loading at 34 percent. The looming realization of your fuck up comes in the form of a smile so wide that it creases his eyes as he begins to laugh. And laugh. And laugh until you’re giggling nervously too. It’s awkward sounding compared to the low timbre of his rich sounding one. You shuffle once and that’s as far as you go before his hand snaps around your throat; cutting off your oxygen, strong hold fastening as he gives a good squeeze, forcing you harder against the wall.

His grip is tight off the bat and just like last time you can’t keep your hand from flying up and gripping his hard forearm the same way you can’t help yourself from getting wet as blood rushes through your ears. He’s looking down at you like you’re nothing more than a thing- his little thing- as he watches you with a dark smile.

“Cute. And here I thought we fixed that smart ass mouth of yours.” He sneers in your face and you nod desperately because he really did fix it, you were just tipsy. You know for a fact that you can’t withstand another one of his attitude adjustments- especially somewhere so public- standing in uncomfortable shoes. Ignoring your pleading look completely, he slides his knee between your plush thighs, wedging it right up into your clit through your soaked panties, loosening his hold for his next trick.

“Let’s try again, okay princess?” The petname falls from his lips with the same condescension as all his other words but it doesn’t sound any less heavenly and you whine- blinking at him prettily through your lashes.

“..yes sir…”, The way you submit has his eyes fluttering shut for a second and the feeling that rolls through him is dangerous.

He truly is a sick man. He could ruin you beyond repair if he wasn’t careful.

“Why are you doing out so late in a place like this? Dressed like that too.”

“It’s the end of finals for the semester, m-me and the girls just wanted to have a little fun..” you sound so timid, like a brat caught drawing on the wall and he cooes at you.

“And the outfit?” You flush as you feel just how little you’re wearing- though the last time he saw you, you were wearing nothing at all. Even your face had been bare which was a hard contrast to now with your hair messy from dancing but lovely still, smokey eyeshadow that had flecks of glitter and pouty lips pretty and glossed. Bristling, you ask,

“What’s wrong with it?” There’s an undercurrent of more tone than he likes but he feels generous enough at the picture you paint not to make you pay for it as he smiles indulgently at you, raising a brow as he shakes his head.

“I suppose nothing besides the fact I almost missed it even when looking straight at you. Good thing it’s not any tighter or it’d be invisible.” He grinds his knee up into your pussy, catching you off guard with the sudden shockwaves of pleasure you’re subjected to at the expense of his taunting. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you for a second as you undulate your hips against his thigh in those messy circles you like so much, choked moans breaking through your every gasp.

You’re so lightheaded.

Nerves ultra sensitive from the lack of air and tequila buzz as you bite your lip, bringing your hands to your chest, pulling your bra and dress down to let your breasts spill out; pulling and tweaking the hard nubs shamelessly as you do. What was it about him that made you act this way?

You feel so good, you don’t even care to find the answer. Bathing in the heat of his stare, you rock your wet cunt back and forth over the hardness of his thigh, the fabric of his pants giving the most delicious friction against your throbbing clit. His brows furrow in arousal as he watches you fuck yourself on his leg, moaning like every bit of the slut you looked like with his hand around your throat. But you would get much louder than this- that he knew from experience.

Your attention gets bought back to the man you’re minutes away from coming on when his other hand wraps itself in your hair and pulls. It’s intense. White-hot pleasure that comes with the burning sting as you cry out, hips jerking as your legs shake at how close you are. He pulls again, moving your head farther back, exposing your neck as he licks a fat, wet stripe up the sensitive, sweat slick skin all the way to your mouth and you can’t stop moving your hips as your eyes roll back- heart racing from how much you’re feeling, soaked hole clenching around nothing. His voice clears some of the fog about to take you but his words cause the shame this time.

“Does your father know you’re here?” You pinch your lips together in embarrassment, because no- he didn’t know. You told him you’d be back before the set time but here you were almost 2 hours past. He jerks his thigh against your center harshly, cutting off your wail with a tight hand and you swear you see lights.

“Answer me, coherently. I want to hear those big girl words.” Fuck.

It’d be a lie to say you wish he wasn’t so mean. It was part of his charm, the edge that made him that more interesting and irresistible. You swallow as best you can, sniffling wetly through the water that’s already gathering in your eyes and the sight and sound make him so feral that he’s ready to take you on the floor, fucking you stupid on the glittering black marble.

“N-no..my dad doesn’t know-“, the faux shock on his face shifts into contemplation and you can not have that as you rush the words out,

“And you can’t tell him! Please! He’ll flip if he finds out..” He wasn’t a snitch but you didn’t know that, begging sweetly for him not to rat you out- even holding off your orgasm just for him and he’s filled with that same sick rush as before. You were so delectable. So sweet, so wet- your teary doe eyes too- and so pliant beneath him.

He shuts you up by bringing his face close to yours, smelling the flavor of your lip gloss while enjoying the suddenly shy look on your pretty face at him studying you so closely as he whispers,

“Open your mouth.”

Huh? He’s close enough to kiss you so is that it? Your heart threatens to give out at the thought of him kissing you. Kissing is so…intimate. So is sex but there’s something about both your eyes being closed as you lean in, trusting one to guide the other. Especially since you still hardly knew each other…

Would you like to know him?

You ignore the tear between your gut instincts and your feelings and open your mouth. The pleased hum he rewards you with makes you keen but as the hand around your windpipe tightens and your heart stops as you feel plush lips drag across your cheek…. Right before a warm wad of saliva hits the your tongue, sliding down the back of your throat. Did he just-

You swallow on instinct and only then does he kiss you on the mouth. It’s short but demanding and so, so good- your eyes fluttering shut, hips returning to their motions with more urgency than before as he absolutely devours your mouth, licking into it like he’s trying to find traces of him; pulling away with a mean suck of your bottom lip and you gasp wetly.

“Good girl.”

You bite your lip and the water that was already gathering in your eyes spills over, panting as you try not to be swept away by the consuming waves of crushing bliss but you can’t stop your fucking self from grinding your clit against his leg, humping it with pathetically watery sobs.

He knows you’re close, that familiar pained expression on your flushed face but instead of putting you out of your misery; he decides to- “Ah ah. No-“, but it’s too late and he knew that full well before he even started. He was already planning on you disobeying, that way your punishment would be that much more…satisfying.

He watches with lidded eyes as your orgasm rips through you, grabbing his wrist for stability, hips twitching out of their messy rhythm and you wail; coming so hard it hurts. The torrent of euphoria submerges you for what will go down as the longest minutes of your life and when you come down, you’re distantly grateful for his hand because you wouldn’t be able to hold your head up otherwise.

The spot beneath your pulsating cunt is wet and he leans his head back with a pleased sigh. He was going to fuck you up in the best ways. Your makeup is messier now thanks to your tears as you sniffle weakly, trying to catch your breath and he has to hold himself back from sliding your dazed self onto the ground and-

“Sorry…m’sor- I couldn’t hold it..”, you slur out as he moves his thigh, making you stand on wobbly legs; still lightheaded from your high. Mentally, he goes through all the things he can put your soft body through as he fixes your dress, pulling what little there is of it- down as he decides what to do with you.

“It’s ok. You’ll make it up to me.” He smiles at the way you nod almost dumbly, holding your hand- ready to take you with him before looking you over, eyes searching for something.

“Where’s your phone?”

You groan because the answer was embarrassing but one you were sure he’d get off on. Shifting uncomfortably, you mumble out; “it’s in the waistband…” Oh? His night just keeps getting more and more interesting. Your face warms more as his voice takes on a mocking sort of condescending.

“Waistband of what?” Your embarrassment is just as sweet as you are and he barely holds back his smirk.

“…my thong.”

It’s a good thing you’re not looking at him because the dark glint on his face would’ve sent you running for the hills. Moving closer, he takes his time running his hand down your side, making your breath hitch as he runs it smoothly into the side where your dress cuts to open back, feeling around near your hips where the soft skin gives to the pressure of fabric until he feels your phone- pulling it out.

He really needed to stop touching you so casually. It wasn’t good for your sanity. But, he doesn’t care as he squeezes your hand, making you focus up again.

“What’s your password?” You narrow your eyes but tell him anyway because you know if you don’t, he’ll make you. You wait anxiously as you watch him scroll for a bit before pressing something and typing some more before he locks it, sliding it into his suit pocket as he pulls you along with him.

“What-”

“Now your friends won’t come looking for you.” Your heart thumps, pumping heat through your veins at the many implications of his statement. He guides you down through the back corridor of the club and you notice the farther you get, the softer the music is until it’s quiet and your looking at a neon pink door before being pulled out of the building into the cool night air, walking towards a large, dark fancy car parked across from it.

He never breaks his stride as he walks you toward it, letting go of your hand to open the backseat door, turning to you with dark eyes and a grin softer than anything he’s going to do to you tonight.

“Get in.”

•

•

•

He doesn’t take you home.

Instead, you’re snatched into the open space of the back and he’s right behind you; slamming the door as he kneels behind you, grabbing you by the scruff of your neck, he manhandles you chest down to the leather seat, cheek flush against the cool surface with your ass up. There’s a deep groan that shakes you to your core as he drinks in your form with greedy eyes. You looked so appetizing that he’s tempted to keep you even after he’s done with you. Smooth ass up in the air, back arched nice and pretty for him, legs open as one balances on the seat and the other on the floor giving him a clear view of your wet pussy- their swollen lips being outlined by the scrap of wet fabric barely covering them.

The backseat of his car is plenty big enough but because of his height, he still has to maneuver a bit, taking off his suit jacket he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt before winding his hand back.

Your nerves are already on high alert, panting as you hear the rustling of his clothes then nothing. The concept of relaxing your body doesn’t even fully make it to your mind when a heavy slap has fire blooming across your ass and you choke.

The initial pain is just a prelude though as you hear a low laugh and your thong is ripped clean off you before more spanks rain down on your asscheeks. Each hit is hard, making the sensitive skin tint as it recoils from the strength behind the burning hits. You end up coughing, trying to gasp but it ends in a desperate sob as the sting begins to warm and the sting of his palm leaves shockwaves of pleasure that fester in your lower body, making your cunt pulse as he watches slick ooze from your tight hole, pupils blown.

“I know exactly what to do with you.”

You hear him but you don’t get to respond, eyes fluttering back in complete bliss as you’re suddenly stuffed with 3 of his perfectly thick fingers. All three immediately curl up like they’re trying to poke your bellybutton before thrusting in and out, brushing his thumb against your clit after every nasty squelch. Each mean swipe of his fingers sends you closer to oblivion as you feel yourself start to drift. You fog up his windows with your moans, lipgloss smeared against his seat but it’s all pointless because you’re going to cum. And when you cum, it’s gonna be your ass because you can’t catch your breath enough to ask him coherently if you were allowed to.

The fingers inside you curl completely, grinding against that sweet bundle of nerves inside you and your inner thighs spasm as you wail- hiccuping loudly, you cry in pleasure when the dam breaks and oh god you’re coming.

Your eyes snap shut as you try not to pass out from all the sensations. It’s like you’ve been dunked in lava- your orgasm blazing as it consumes you. You don’t even scream anymore, just crying and whining as you shake; cunt spasming from trying to withstand the waves. You usually never cum so hard and you worry that if this becomes a daily thing it’ll shorten your lifespan.

It’s cute. Watching you struggle not to be overwhelmed by him. You don’t even hear him unzip his pants, fat cock bobbing as it beads with precum, cooing as a certain realization finally creeps up on you. That his fingers were still fucking into your tight snatch, grinding away at your g-spot.

“Since you couldn’t stop yourself from coming…”

Oh no. Nononononono-

“I don’t want you to stop coming.” The broken sob that reaches his ears has a thick shiver of arousal run through him as wretches his hand out of your hole only to smack heavy wet spanks onto your erect clit.

Your heart stops and a few seconds later you can’t hear or see either as you cum for the third time that night, mouth dropping open in a silent scream as you squirt all over him and his luxury car, drool spilling into the space under your cheek. It’s almost miserable as your arch deepens, body trembling until consciousness returns to you in a flood of lights and you go boneless.

Even in the mess he’s made of you, he likes this look much better than the polished party princess from earlier. You looked pretty before but now your fucked out form looked good enough to eat, punched out gasps leaving your chest. Taking his fingers out, he cleans your cum off them, eyes fluttering at the taste as he runs his other hand up and down your back, settling on your deep arch when he feels your shaky hand reach back to grip his thigh.

“G’nna fuck me now?” Oh, poor thing. He was going to fuck you stupid. Shame that you already sounded so dazed when the fun was just getting started. Grabbing his cock with the hand that was covered in you, he slides it between your folds, groaning at the hot slick, moving back and forth- fat head bumping your clit.

“Yeah, baby. ‘M gonna fuck you but”, he pulls your head back by your hair, the burn brings you out of your haze a bit and you hum to let him know you’re listening,

“You better not pass out. Understand?” You bite your lip, moaning from your throat as you wiggle your hips, feeling the weight of his cock against your hole but not sliding in until you agree.

“Mhm, yes sir-” He cuts you off with a snap of his hips, thrusting into your sopping heat with chest thick groan, hissing through his teeth- tingles buzzing through him. You were still so wet and tight, pussy almost choking his length as he set to thrusting right away; fat cock battering your insides.

The stretch hurt. But it hurt so good and you find that you missed being stuffed so full, crying out with the grip on your hair tightening while he fucked you like he paid for you. Broken wails spill from your throat at the harsh way he pounds them out of you, front snapping against your ass. Watching the bounce with hungry eyes, veins on his forearms popping out from every time he pulled- eventually burying his hand deeper- holding you down as he goes harder, hips snapping nice ‘n deep against yours and you scream in bliss.

You feel so fucked up because even though you were so sensitive that it bordered on painful you can’t keep yourself from whining for more. He was just as fucked up though. Apparently being a facilitator of murder wasn’t enough, now he was fucking his friend’s daughter- that he was much older than- senseless at almost 2 in the morning but you looked damn good while he did.

Messy hair and tear streaked makeup, bite swollen lips with your pretty little dress yanked up, dark handprints bruised all over your backside while you get railed with your ass up. Yeah. If you were fucked up for this then it was fine; he was beyond fucked up too.

Slick runs down the inside of your thighs and you groan, muscles spasming as you feel your impending orgasm get closer, bleating screams rising in pitch when you feel him grind filthily at the gooey bundle of nerves inside you and you don’t have the presence of mind to be embarrassed at the way your cunt leaks like a ruptured faucet, ruining his pants again.

His rakes his fingers firmly through your scalp and the sound that comes from you is nothing short of pathetic- making his smirk positively wolffish when he leans down close; licking a wet stripe from your cheek to your ear. It’s primal and he revels in your shudder, voice rasp with heady arousal as he purrs out,

“Cum. Squirt yourself to a headache f’me, princess. You earned it.”

You’re sure that in the moments that follow, you pass away. Unlike your previous orgasms that only ripped through you, this one rips you apart and it’s devastating. Chest burning, you black out. Molten hot euphoria makes every synapse inside of you sizzle until your nerves light off as liquid shoots from your cunt that’s tightened around his fat cock like a vice; milking him in the wake of your bliss. His own eyes roll back as he fucks you through both of your highs, cursing at the mind numbing pleasure.

He turns you over without pulling out, hissing at your wrecked appearance before leaning down to catch you in a deep kiss, moving your head with the force as your lips smack against each other. You jerk when you feel him tongue along the inseam of your cheek before he pulls away with a short gasp, pulling out with a sigh. Letting you watch him as he fixes his pants but not his hair, leaving the strands that had fallen in his face when he was inside you.

You sigh at the relief of pressure finally off your back, leaning into his touch when he moves to grasp your chin. All he has to do is raise an eyebrow for you to get it, making his chest roll in satisfaction.

“Thank you for making me cum, sir.” Your voice is still scratchy from the work he put your vocal cords through and he huffs out a breath, smiling gracefully down at you.

“Of course, baby.” The petname brings another surge of heat to your face as you look away from him. You’re cute. How you’re shy after everything you’ve done together. He moves his hand and shuffles back, long arm reaching behind him to open the door and you slam your legs shut, which did nothing since your little dress never covered a damn thing even when it was pulled down.

Getting out, he swipes his suit jacket off the back of a seat, dropping it over your near naked form with a chuckle before closing the door as he walks through the night air to the drivers side, starting his car the second he gets in before he listens to the thoughts telling him to just take you.

“…soooo- what now?” You ask shyly because you’re still unsure about whatever dynamic you two had; even though it was very fun, there was still the age gap and the fact that he was buddies with your dad. The soreness was already starting to set in and you’re tired.

“We are going to a store- so you can clean up and get something that actually functions as clothing before I take you home.” Huh?

“You’re not gonna tell?” The confusion in your voice makes him laugh as he flicks his eyes up at you through the mirror.

“No. I got something out of it too, remember?” You hear the teasing in his voice and it makes you jittery, nodding in response as he speeds up. He honestly had no business looking that sexy while driving, pouting until his voice breaks you out of your reverie; his next words send your heart racing.

“I’ll keep your secrets if you keep being a good little thing. Deal?”

You’re silent as you mull it over. You already have secrets so what’s one more? Biting your lip, you think of just how much fun this could be. A little series (😉) of rendezvous with a forbidden man. Your dad never had to know.

And since you know he’ll never tell….

“Deal.”

He smiles, dark eyes brimming with something unsettling. He couldn’t wait to turn you out.

You still had no idea who he was and for your sake, he hopes on your behalf that it stays that way.

Part 3…

[3liza]

i said this YEARS ago when the 'vibes based literacy" discussion started because i had been reading about dyslexia to try to help my partner at the time, who was undiagnosed: the book about dyslexia that i was reading described precisely the techniques used in the "contextual guessing" reading education system, but as dysfunctional adaptations by dyslexic children. the contect guessing and memorization thing is a way of teaching entire generations of children to be functionally dyslexic, a profound and devastating disability, when they do not have dyslexia and do not need to have it. it's horrifying. it was how my partner read things, and watching him try to read something out loud was extremely demonstrative of the struggle he was having.

ken goodman probably had dyslexia and didn't know it, it's the most common learning disability in the world, an estimated 20% of all humans on earth have some degree of it.

In the paper, Goodman rejected the idea that reading is a precise process that involves exact or detailed perception of letters or words. Instead, he argued that as people read, they make predictions about the words on the page using these three cues: 1. graphic cues (what do the letters tell you about what the word might be?) 2. syntactic cues (what kind of word could it be, for example, a noun or a verb?) 3. semantic cues (what word would make sense here, based on the context?) Goodman concluded that: Skill in reading involves not greater precision, but more accurate first guesses based on better sampling techniques, greater control over language structure, broadened experiences and increased conceptual development. As the child develops reading skill and speed, he uses increasingly fewer graphic cues.

he's completely wrong, this not how fully literate people read. this is how dyslexic people read. fully literate people are using phonics and the alphabet all the time, that's how we read so fast and so easily, even texts that we're unfamiliar with or that aren't in our native language. i can scan a page of italian, french or norwegian and get the gist of it even though i don't speak the languages. i can sound out those words and pronounce them, even if im pronouncing them incorrectly, just by reading the actual letters and phonemes.

relying on context to predict which word comes next is what leads to the kind of aphasia dyslexics often exhibit not only while reading, but when speaking aloud. my partner would swap words that were contextually correct but not what he actually meant all the time. for example if he wanted me to hand him a blue comb lying nearby on a table, he would say "could you please hand me the green brush?" or if he was describing a cat he saw, he would often swap in another contextually-related word, one that sounded the same, like "bat", or one that was conceptually related but incorrect, like "dog". as a result i had to ask him to clarify or repeat himself many times to figure out what he was trying to say. it created profound problems for him and separated him from me and everyone else. the worst part is that he was barely aware of this. when he was driving it was extremely difficult for him to follow or give directions because he would swap out "left" and 'right" randomly.

you cant actually read like this.

She thinks the students who learned three cueing were actually harmed by the approach. "I did lasting damage to these kids. It was so hard to ever get them to stop looking at a picture to guess what a word would be. It was so hard to ever get them to slow down and sound a word out because they had had this experience of knowing that you predict what you read before you read it."