#intersections socks

[icterid-rubus]

I cast off the intersections socks a while ago, but couldn’t photograph them because the house fell down around my ears. But with a fresh blanket of snow, I could finally do the ravelry thing and photograph my knits outdoors haha.

At first, I really disliked these socks. The pattern as it is in the book only offers two sizes, and the smallest was too large for my toes. So I modded them by not fully increasing the toe, and instead sprinkling the rest of the increases along the sole. At the heel turn, I followed the advice of other knitters and upped my needle size—but only for the cable section—then downsized for the leg. This pattern is not ideal for a tight sock, which is my preference, but I think I made it work.

The only change I’d make is shortening the foot by maybe 1/4”-1/2”. Others noted the heel turn started too early, and as this is a new heel construction for me, I couldn’t tell if the heel was situated properly on my foot while knitting. I believe now it’s a little high, but it’s just a little nitpick.

[bookishluna]

52 Weeks of Socks | Week 01: Intersections

Hello and welcome! Todays post is going to be a little walk through in my experience in knitting my first pair of socks from 52 Weeks of Socks published by Laine. For this first week I ended up actually picking the first pattern in the book, who would have thought? When I first brought up this series in my post, 52 Weeks of Socks | Series Introduction, I said I was going to pick pattern from a…

[lovelybucky1]

Little Red

warnings: dubcon, fem!reader, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, age gap, breeding, 18+ minors dni // divider by @strangergraphics

You know it isn’t safe to walk alone in the forest. The trees are dense, the paths are windy, and dangerous animals lurk in the underbrush, stalking their prey. You convince yourself that you’ll be fine; you’re only taking a short walk to your grandmother’s house with a basket of treats. Technically you’ve never made the trek by yourself before, but it can’t be that hard, can it?

You were overly confident when you walked into the woods, but you were quickly humbled when you got turned around. You came to an intersection of paths and you couldn’t remember which to take, so you took your best guess. Unfortunately, you chose the wrong one. As luck would have it, it started to rain during your walk, leaving your cloak, dress, and shoes soaked. You’re cold, uncomfortable, and lost.

After a mile or so more of walking in your wet socks, you stumble across a house. It isn’t your grandmother’s cottage with the lush garden in the front, but a log cabin with an overgrown lawn. You figure that someone inside must be able to give you directions, so you walk up to the door and knock.

At first, there’s no answer, so you try again. You can hear some shuffling from inside and you nervously squeeze some water out of your cloak as you wait for the person to greet you. When the door opens, a large man appears, blocking your view inside the house.

“What do you want?” the man asks with a gruff, slightly irritated voice.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but I got lost on the way to my grandmother’s house. Could you point me in the right direction?” you ask. You feel intimidated by the man’s intense eyes, but you hope your nerves don’t come across in your voice.

The man opens the door wider and steps out, allowing you a better look at him. He is in a flannel shirt and jeans, and his face is scruffy like he hasn’t shaved in a week. His hair is a little wild, along with the look in his eyes. He’s undeniably handsome, in a rugged, lumberjack kind of way. You can tell even from under his shirt that he has muscles, and you have to stop your mind from picturing them.

The man raises a thick eyebrow at you as he takes in your appearance. You’re too distracted to notice the way he licks his lips.

“A little girl like you shouldn’t be out here by yourself,” he says.

“I know, sir, but I thought I knew where I was going,” you say, feeling embarrassed to explain your lack of direction to a stranger.

He sighs through his nose and opens the door wide enough for you to squeeze past. “Get out of the rain ‘fore you catch a cold.”

Accepting the kind invite, you walk inside the cabin. It’s cozy inside, with not much more than a bed in the corner, a wood stove, and a dining table. Books, candles, and bottles were strewn around, making the place look well-lived.

The man pulls out a chair at the table for you and you sit down. Wordlessly, he pulls your cloak over your head and drapes it near the woodstove to dry. The cabin is thankfully warm, and your frozen hands start to thaw. You quietly thank him, then introduce yourself. In return, he tells you his name is Logan, but he doesn’t offer any more information than that.

“You want some tea to warm you up?” he asks, and that rough voice is music to your ears.

“That would be great.”

He pours you a cup of hot tea from the kettle on the woodstove and you accept it gratefully. The tea is a bit too hot and burns your tongue, but the warmth inside your belly is still welcome. He watches you intently as you drink it, but you pretend you don’t notice.

“Thank you for the tea, Logan.” He doesn’t smile, but he gives you a soft kind of look. “It’s nice in here,” you say, looking around at the cabin’s interior.

“Don’t get many visitors,” he says.

“I doubt you get lost girls on your doorstep very often,” you joke.

“Guess it’s my lucky day,” he says, finally cracking a smile. “Been a long time since I’ve had something as sweet as you.”

The comment strikes you as odd, but before you can think too much about it, he sits down next to you. You get a closer look at his scruffy facial hair, his slightly wild eyes, and his teeth. When he opens his mouth to place his cigar inside, you catch a glimpse of his sharp canine teeth. They’re a lot sharper than your own, sharper than any you’ve ever seen on a person before. They intrigue you, and you want to get a closer look but your view is blocked by the end of his cigar being put into his mouth.

He must catch you staring at his mouth, because he gives you a small smirk around the cigar as he lights it.

“I really should get going,” you say, putting your empty mug down on the table.

“You only just got here,” he says. He places his hand on your wrist, gently pinning it to the table. “You’re still cold.”

You shiver at the feeling of his large, warm hand on your still-clammy skin but you try to brush it off. “My grandmother’s expecting me. I don’t want her to think anything bad happened to me.”

Through a puff of smoke, Logan says, “but something bad did happen to you.” You furrow your brows in confusion. “You got lost in the woods and wandered into a stranger’s house for safety.”

His grip on your wrist tightens and fear starts to build in your stomach. He grins at you, but it’s not a kind look. It’s sharp and predatory, like he’s about to eat you whole.

“Please let go,” you whisper.

“You’re mine now, dollface. I’m not lettin’ you get away.” You try to tug your arm back, but he’s too strong. “Even if you did run, you don’t know where you’re going. There’s monsters a lot worse than me out there, y’know.”

You chew on your bottom lip as your mind races to figure out how to get out of this situation. You’re in the middle of nowhere, well and truly lost, and the only person around is the man currently bruising your arm.

“Monsters that would rip a pretty thing like you to pieces. Not me, though. I know how to appreciate a delicate little flower.”

Logan stands up and tugs you to your feet. He moves his hands to your waist and holds you in front of him. You don’t bother trying to move because you know your efforts will be futile and likely will anger him. He looks down at you hungrily, and this time, you can’t help the words that come out of your mouth.

“Your teeth are so sharp,” you whisper.

Logan grins. “You like ‘em, sweetheart?” As afraid as you are, you do like them. “You wanna feel ‘em?”

Hesitantly and with a trembling hand, you reach up and touch the point of his tooth with the pad of your finger. The tooth is blunt enough not to pierce your skin, but you’re certain that if he bit down, he’d have no trouble drawing blood.

“You’re shaking,” he points out, as if you weren’t well aware of that fact.

Logan grasps your wrist and brings your hand back down to your side, pinning it there. He holds eye contact with you for a moment before leaning in close to you. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck and you can feel his hot breath on your skin.

His lips touch before his teeth, but the feeling is unmistakable. It’s a hot, painful pinch but he’s obviously restraining himself because you don’t feel a trickle of blood running down your neck.

You gasp and try to move away from him, but his hold on you is too strong. He chuckles against your skin and you can feel the smile on his lips.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs.

Logan’s hands wander from your waist to underneath your skirt. He pushes it up around your middle and he leans back so he can catch a glimpse of your panties. He growls low in his throat when he sees the scrap of pink cotton between your thighs.

He’s not even holding you anymore, but you’re frozen in place. You know you should be afraid. You are afraid of the man who's been threatening to eat you, but your body doesn’t seem to be on the same page as your mind. Fear and a strange sense of arousal mix in your stomach, and the feeling is only strengthened by the hungry look in Logan’s eyes. He sniffs the air, and a smirk forms on his lips.

His fingers toy at the elastic band of your panties before they slip beneath them. Your pussy is traitorously wet and Logan is delighted to learn this.

“You got a needy cunt, huh, doll?” he asks. You shake your head, but there’s really no use denying it. “Seems to me like you do.”

He pushes the fabric of your panties entirely to the side, exposing you to the air. He strokes over your lips with his fingers, and he slowly pushes his middle finger in. You take a shaky inhale at the feeling, and you pray your knees don’t give out.

“She takes me so easy. This isn’t why you came here, is it? Put on this whole act just to get this pussy played with?”

“No!” you whine. “My grandmother really is waiting for me.”

“Forget about her. Just you ‘nd me now.”

He pulls his finger out of you and wipes your wetness on the side of your thigh. He then bends down to lift you off the ground. He’s so strong and you’re powerless to do anything to stop him from carrying you over to the mattress in the corner of the cabin.

He lays you down and covers your body with his own before you can attempt to crawl away. He grabs your ankles and bends your legs so your pussy is presented to him. His finger returns inside of you, thrusting and stroking your inner walls.

You cover your mouth with your hand to stifle your moans, not wanting him to hear how much you’re enjoying this. You don’t want to be enjoying this, but he knows all the right places to touch you.

He works a second, then third finger inside you. Your arousal makes the slide easy, but this is the widest you’ve ever been stretched before. If he thinks you need three of his thick fingers to be open enough for his cock, you’re nervous for what’s to come.

“This ain’t your first time, is it, kid?” he asks fondly as he brushes his thumb on your clit, just enough to tease.

You’re afraid to answer his question. If you lie and say it isn’t, then he might go rougher on you. If you tell him you’re a virgin, however, it might awaken a different kind of beast.

“Pussy’s so fuckin’ tight, bet no one’s been in here before. That right, baby? You can tell me.”. You squeeze your eyes shut and nod, your belly burning with shame and desperation. “Fuck,” he growls. “‘Course you fuckin’ are.”

He removes his fingers from your cunt and works open his fly, not caring that your wetness is getting on the denim of his jeans. He pushes them down far enough to free his cock from his boxers. Your fears have come true, and he is fucking huge.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take it slow,” he says as he grasps his dick and strokes it. “You’ve been so good for me.”

He positions himself at your entrance and hits his cock on your clit a few times. You jolt at the contact, but the stretch of it inside of you is more shocking. Luckily, he stops once the tip of it is inside, allowing you to prepare yourself for the rest of the length.

“How’s it feel, dollface?” he asks.

“Good,” you squeak out. It does feel good, but it’s not enough. You’ve felt empty since he pulled his fingers out of you and you need to be full again.

“Can you take the rest or do I need to fuck you like this?” he says, pulling the tip out just to push it back in. You let out an involuntary moan which encourages him to do it again. He gives you shallow little thrusts which don’t do much for him, but have you whining pathetically. “All this just for the tip? The whole thing’s gonna blow your fuckin’ mind.”

“Please give it to me,” you say hurriedly, before the humiliation can catch up with you.

“Yeah?” he asks, cocky. “You were so scared before, but now you’re beggin’ for it?”

He slowly pushes in further, feeding your hungry pussy the rest of his cock. His tip hits your cervix before he bottoms out, and you whimper at the contact.

“Little puss can’t take all of me. Fuckin’ adorable,” he says as if he’s talking to himself.

He begins to fuck you, making sure not to go too deep and hurt you. If your mind wasn’t so clouded with pleasure, you’d find it odd that this monster is making an effort to be careful with you. You expect him to push in without any prep or worry for your comfort.

“Squeezin’ the fucking life outta me,” he growls. His hands grip your hips possessively and he uses them to control his thrusts. “Virgin cunt’s always been my favorite.”

You wonder how many times he’s done this; taken a lost girl’s virginity just because she wandered up to his door. You wonder what kind of state he’s going to leave you in, if you’ll be able to walk away or if you’ll have to stay in his bed while you recover.

“Fuck,” you curse, accidentally letting it slip when he bumps you cervix.

“That’s a dirty word, sweetheart. Am I making you feel that good?”

He’s making your fucking head spin, that’s how good he is. You don’t have more than your fingers to compare him to, but having someone else bully their way into you is so much better than your own fingers that can’t reach deep enough.

“Yes, fuck, Logan.”

“Keep fuckin’ begging for me, angel. I’ll give it to you good.”

He moves his hand onto the mattress next to your head and he braces himself on it. The new position gives him leverage to fuck into you, rutting quick and hard. The slap of skin against skin sounds like thunder in your head, and the flash of his white teeth is the lightning.

His cock is reshaping your pussy, making room for him to sit comfortably inside of you. He is claiming you in every sense of the word, and you’re happy to surrender yourself to him as long as he keeps making you feel this way.

“You were fucking made for me. My little girl, feelin’ so fucking good around me,” he mutters.

Logan’s pace gets progressively quicker and rougher, and he’s getting more animalistic. He’s growling and panting above you, and that wild look in his eyes is back. Like this, he looks exactly like the monsters from the stories you were told as a kid. Feral, aggressive, preying on innocent girls, taking virgins from their families. You’re not scared anymore, though. You’re being throughly fucked by the big bad wolf, and you’re feeling the best you’ve ever felt in your life.

Logan moves so his elbows are bracketing your head and his chest is flush against yours. He fucks you hard and fast, chasing his orgasm. You manage to slip your hand between your bodies to rub at your clit, and it only takes a few touches to have you cumming around him. Your pussy clenches down on his cock and he curses under his breath at the feeling.

“Good girl, keep cumming for me,” he praises. “Knew you were gonna be the perfect mate.”

His words don’t register in your hazy mind until it’s too late. He’s grunting, growling out your name as he shoots his seed as deep inside of you as it’ll go. Your over-sensitive, aching pussy twitches at the feeling of his hot cum inside of you.

He rides out the waves of pleasure, but he doesn’t pull out of you even when he’s finished. He’s still on top of you, pinning you down but having enough mind not to crush you under his weight. His cum is plugged inside you, prevented from spilling out.

For the first time since arriving at the cabin, there is silence. The rain outside has stopped, and the only sound from inside is the mix of your breathing, both quickened from exertion.

You’re not sure how long it is until Logan sits up and pulls out of you, but it feels like ages. You’re boneless and tired, having had every bit of energy and pleasure drained from your body.

“You did so good for me, doll,” he smiles down at you. He moves to lay next to you on the bed, turning your body so he can slot himself behind you. He pulls you flush to his chest and you allow yourself to relax in his arms.

“So good,” you attempt to say, but it comes out a slurred mess.

He chuckles softly at that. “Get some sleep. You’re gonna need your energy.”

You don’t know what he means by that, but you decide you don’t care right now. You fall asleep listening to the loud, steady beat of his heart.

And what a stupid little lamb you are, turning your back on the wolf who’s wanted to eat you since he first laid eyes on you.

[noneorother]

I broke down the hilarious amount of "Aziraphale tartans" so you don't have to.

I've been slowly going bonkers collecting the amount of times members of the cast/creators and fans of Good Omens over the years have referred to various things as "Aziraphale's tartan". Even on merchandise, I've seen wildly varying opinons about what pattern Aziraphale's tartan actually is. Your resident graphic designer has decided to sit down and just do the damned thing*. Exhibit A) Tartan Origin

Sarah Arnett posted this image to her instagram in 2019, having created "Heaven's dress tartan for the character Aziraphale". However, the only time I've actually seen this pattern used in good omens is in the season 2 announcement poster made by Mickey, and maybe on a pair of socks Aziraphale wears in season 1, (but I'm not convinced).

So here's what that looks like. Note I've rotated the original pattern 90 degrees clockwise in my final pattern (far right) for reasons that will become clear shortly.

Exhibit B) Aziraphale's Bowtie, Thermos, Notebook etc.

This is the tartan that Aziraphale actually wears for most of seasons 1 & 2.** It's a recoloured version of the Exhibit A), and has been rotated 90 degrees on it's bowtie application so that the darker bars run vertical, and not horizontal. The problem is, while the direction of the pattern on his accessories doesn't change, it does on the bowtie. You can see examples of the tartan going right OR left in both season 1 and 2.

Exhibit C) Aziraphale's Brown Bowtie...

This Tartan isn't just a trick of the light. For the first park bench scene in season 1, Aziraphale is wearing a version of his regular bowtie, recoloured in brown and rotated 90 degrees, so that it fits with the direction of the original Exhibit A) Tartan, but not with the direction of the tartan on his Exhibit B) regular bowties. This bowtie was made special, from cloth cut in the opposite direction.

Exhibit D) Aziraphale's Magical Cravat!

Now this is where it starts to get interesting! I haven't seen many people discuss Aziraphale's magician disguise from season 1, but his cravat actually has both Exhibit B) and Exhibit C) tartans to create a contrasting double sided tartan: the outward facing brown, and the hidden, inward facing blue (according to costumer, because of lack of enough brown).

Exhibit E) Saraqael's and Muriel's Tartan

Don't be fooled, Saraqael's and Muriel's tartan may look similar in colour to Aziraphale's, but when you pick it apart, it's got inverse colours, and mildly squished horizontal striping. If you note the orange boxes in each picture, you can see the ratio of the blue stripe to the vertical stripes in each tartan is different, while keeping the overall pattern and ratio in each direction the same. Exhibit E) has a square intersection. It's also usually woven much larger. This tartan also introduces a small sliver of hunter green into the beige/blue/purple palette that's been seen so far.

Exhibit F) Gabriel's Tartan Blanket

Like the others, Gabriel's S2E1 blanket is a variation on the original Heaven's Dress Tartan. It's got very squished horizontal striping though, and is woven even larger than the Saraqael Tartan. Most noticeably though, while it has the same grey vertical striping as Exhibit E) it's now got even more green in it, and the purple is gone almost entirely (save one line).

Exhibit F) Have a bonus Crowlee Tartan from the Season 1 body swap miracle that matches none of these.

It's silver silk though. Can I get a wahoo....?

__________________________________________ *Disclaimer: I am not Scottish, and definitely not an expert in tartan, just a tired graphic designer. If you want tartan expertise, you can go here (although I don't really agree with what they say about the main colour pattern) https://livebloggingmydescentintomadness.tumblr.com/post/189300035060/a-discourse-on-tartan

**In order to deduce colours, I've used high quality BTS footage or photography in neutral lighting whenever possible. Especially in season 2, colour grading and post processing of the final show make colour matching between scenes and/or seasons impossible.

[razorblade180]

9 days of Lancaster Day 6: Hoodie Thief

Jaune:C’mon where is it? I couldn’t have thrown it far last night.

The young man paces around the apartment, checking under couches for the tenth time and his clothes hamper. Socks are one thing, but how does someone lose an entire hoodie!? Just as he was about to give up and put on a different shirt, his front door unlocked.

Ruby came casually walking in with a grocery bag in one hand and a cold drink in another. More importantly, her choice of attire was sneakers and his missing hoodie! On her it was practically a dress that stopped just above her knees.

Jaune:Aha! I’m not crazy!

Ruby:I don’t know what’s happening but saying that is never a good sign. Sleep well?

Jaune:Yeah until I woke up missing clothes!

Ruby:My bad. I thought you’d still be asleep and I wanted to make a quick trip to the convenient store.

Jaune:….

Ruby:What? Are you mad? I didn’t think you’d-

Jaune:Are you wearing anything under that?

Ruby:…Of course.

Jaune:Why’d you hesitate?

Ruby:Because I was lying.

Jaune:*red* You went out like that!?

Ruby:If I wanted to wear clothes I would be in my corset. The store is up the street. Not like I went far. Plus it’s long enough. Not to mention I can turn into literal petals.

Jaune:Yeah but…people might start thinking things. Especially if they’ve scene me wear it.

Ruby:Jaune, at least two floors of this building know your name after last night. The early morning joggers seeing me like this already know what’s going on.

Jaune:It’s still pretty bold. Anyways I need to grab something from home, which is why I’m up in the first place.

Ruby:Okay. *raises arms* You need your hoodie right? I’m done with it for now.

Jaune:…..

Ruby:…..*smiles*

Jaune:I’ll just grab a regular shirt. *turns away*

Ruby:Boooooo

Jaune:Someone slept well. You’re extra playful.

Ruby:I’m in a good mood. Seriously, you can have it if want~

Jaune:The best way to avoid temptations is not to entertain them, and I have to turn in a few papers before they’re late.

Ruby:*red*…Did you call me tempting?

Jaune:Of course! You’re like the perfect intersection of cute and sexy. *puts on yellow shirt* I will be back in an hour*

He kisses the girl’s cheek and rushes out, leaving her blushing and playing with strands of hair as she swayed. Ruby couldn’t help but giggle to herself.

Ruby:(Hehe, he thinks I can be sexy? Good to know)

[fredwkong]

Virgo Season: Vincent

As soon as the elevator doors opened, Vincent slammed the button to close them.

Just down the hall from the elevator, he’d been able to see the door to his room, surrounded by a bunch of the freaks. Men in leather and rubber, or just rainbow underwear, all standing around casually, as if it was normal for degenerates to congregate at the door to a normal man’s room.

Vincent knew he was one of the last. Almost every man in the Astra Hotel had joined the freakshow. It was too bad Vincent’d had to fly down from Colorado, or he would have brought some of the guns from his bunker. At least then he’d be able to defend himself properly.

As a keen survivalist and doomsday prepper, Vincent had always known this day would come. The freaks and commy liberals were probably using some technology to assimilate everyone. That was why none of Vincent’s stuff was in his room. As soon as the weirdos had shown up, Vincent had put it all in his rental car for his own safety.

It was definitely time to go now. Vincent would go jump in his car, drive to some motel a hundred miles away, and wait until his flight home. While he was there, he could warn people. Post on one of the forums, tell people to stay far away from the Astra Hotel and all the men who had once been pillars of their communities.

All he had to do was get out of the lobby.

As the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, Vincent looked up and down the hall carefully. No one to be seen. The freaks were probably busy with some kind of orgy. He stepped out cautiously, keeping his scrawny middle-aged body as small as possible.

He came to a T intersection. He could have sworn that the way to the foyer was a straight hallway from the elevator. Still, Vincent picked the turn that he was pretty sure led in the direction of the doors.

He came to another T. Picked another direction. A third. A fourth. Even though he had turned a different way each time, Vincent found himself back in front of the elevator again, in an identical hallway.

As he continued to walk down indistinguishable hallways, losing his sense of place for the first time in decades, Vincent began to hyperventilate. They’d gotten him. When could it have happened? He hadn’t been eating in the dining hall for weeks, concerned there might be chemicals in the food. He’d never so much as touched one of the freaks. He couldn’t think of anything they could have done that would have induced this kind of mental break.

But then, he thought, maybe it wasn’t a recent event. Weird shit had been happening since the first day of the conference. That was it! The commies must have known Vincent was a threat months ago. Maybe the whole conference had been a sham, just to get him. He might have been pumped full of hallucinogens for a month or more now, being triggered into seeing all these freaks every day to break his spirit.

But then how could he escape? Vincent turned yet another one of the infinite corners and finally saw something different. A few stiff foyer chairs sat in a small alcove in the hallway, and across one of the chairs was some abandoned gear. Pleather chaps, a jockstrap, sweaty socks.

Under any other circumstances, Vincent would have been disgusted at the idea that flashed across his head, but he was desperate. Obviously, whoever had caught him could influence his brainwaves to make him see all this disgusting, horny shit. He should pretend to have been brainwashed like everyone else. If he could act the part right, maybe his captors would let him free and he could go home!

But he had to play the part. As if transfixed, Vincent stared theatrically at the gear for a moment, then started to edge towards it. He had to pretend that he was just a bit intrigued.

Getting a little closer, Vincent started to strip off his shirt, careful to make it seem as if he hadn’t realised what he was doing. The cold air of the lobby was chilly on his scrawny chest, but Vincent resisted the urge to shiver. Anyway, his lower body was feeling uncomfortably warm. He stripped off his pants. Much better.

He had edged all the way up to the chair now. With a start, Vincent realised that he was naked. He was better at this acting shit than he’d thought. Gingerly, he picked up the jockstrap. He’d never worn anything like this in his life. Slowly, with careful and deliberate movements, as if he was in a trance, Vincent stepped into one strap, and then the other.

When he pulled it up his legs, Vincent felt a sudden rush. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, pushing past the dizziness. He opened his eyes and looked down at the jock, fit snugly over his cock and balls as if it was made for them. It made him look… good.

Vincent wasn’t used to looking good, but he realised as he looked down at his body that he had a bit of a tan. The skinny look was working for him. And despite his age, nothing was saggy.

It wasn’t hard for Vincent to make a show of checking himself out and feeling up his body. He was almost feeling excited to pull up the pants, but he knew it was just that he was really into character.

The feel of the shiny pleather chaps was incredible. Vincent didn’t know why he’d spent decades focussing on hard-wearing, cheap clothes when this stuff was available. He was careful to act it out, but it wasn’t too hard to moan a bit at the sound of the zipper, to shudder as he slipped them on his toned legs. He felt his cock chub up, starting to create a wet spot in his jock.

As he tucked his feet into the stirrups and zipped up the pants, Vincent took a moment to appreciate his lithe young body. He was never gonna be a huge guy, and he didn’t want to be. He was happy with his modest, lickable muscles and flexible joints.

Lickable? Vincent didn’t know why he’d thought that. He didn’t want anyone licking his muscles. His cock pulsed at the thought, though, and he gasped.

It was just that he was getting really into character, he reasoned. It was like having a different persona. It was just until he was out of this simulation, and then he’d go back to normal. Maybe he could call this new guy Vinny, to separate him better.

Yeah, Vinny thought. Just for now, he would really embrace being Vinny. Vinny was one of the freaks, down to fuck like a gay rabbit. Vinny was the kind of guy who wore chaps and leaked precum from his thick Latin cock into a slutty jockstrap. Vinny didn’t think about government conspiracies or any of that shit. Vinny didn’t think much at all.

Vinny paused halfway through sniffing his unwashed armpit. There was still a pair of someone’s sweaty socks left on the chair, and Vinny knew that his character would be kind of a stink pig. If he wanted to really prove that he was corrupted, like all the other guys in the Astra Hotel, he would have to prove that he really loved to sniff another man’s smelly socks.

Was it still acting when Vinny greedily snatched the socks and sat down on the carpeted floor? From the first sniff, Vinny was in heaven. The socks were ripe, like they had been worn for a couple of days, and Vinny’s mouth watered at the scent. He felt himself getting harder and harder as he sniffed and sucked, feeling the sweat drip down his body.

Had there been another reason he’d been doing this? Vinny felt like he was forgetting something. No, it was pretty normal for him to lie down in public and rub his cock through his jock, especially at the Astra. Vinny felt another guy running his hands through Vinny’s perfect brown curls, so Vinny opened his pretty mouth and let the man slip his cock between Vinny’s lips.

It was a revelation to smell and taste a cheesy cock and sweaty balls, fresh from the source. Vinny ran his tongue under the man’s foreskin, moaning around him. The guy thrust deeper, and the sensation of a big cock forcing its way into his throat had Vinny cumming right through his jock. He knew that there would be a pearly stain forming on it.

As he took the cock even deeper, Vinny felt whoever was throatfucking him lean over further and start to lick up his load. Vinny felt his spent cock struggling to get hard.

Then the cock in his throat pulsed once, twice, and Vinny felt the load flow into his stomach. It felt different than all the others he’d taken. Thick, syrupy. It made Vinny feel warm inside. As the man pulled out, Vinny watched a drop of thick amber cum spill from his Black cock.

“Dan,” the hulking Black man introduced himself, spitting Vinny’s cum into his own mouth. The taste was good, but not as good as Dan’s load had been. Vinny wanted more.

“I’m Vinny. Can I lick your feet, Sir?” Vinny's mouth was watering.

Dan chuckled. “I think you’ll make a good addition to the group, Vinny,” he rumbled.

Click here to see all of Virgo Season.

If you feel inspired, write a story set at the Astra Hotel and post it @ me to join in. Help me celebrate my birthday by turning more conference attendees into geared up gay kinksters.

[mothmansbanker]

Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap- Prologue

Mammon x Human! Reader

It was a wild night for you. It was only Wednesday and you were dead tired, having to work the next morning for the broadcasting station you recently applied for. Why did you feel so drained? So so tired and ready to drop, yet your roommate didn't care! Instead she dragged you out and about to her coffee shop friend's house 30 ish or so miles out of town and towards the more foresty areas of your small town. So…here you were.

With your head against the hot window that had your skin drenched with humid sweat and a gross icky feeling that made your skin itch adn want to crawl out of. "Hey uh,Gwen. Where exactly are you taking me? This seems..a bit far." You gulped down the gathering spit in your mouth, a feeling of uneasiness washing over you as you sat up a bit more in the passenger seat. The blonde woman glanced over before looking back at the road, a somewhat dorky grin tugging at her lips. "Oh come on, are you really that worried about it? Trust me! I'm not an axe murderer or something." Gwen rolled her eyes as she came to an intersection and singaled right…which lead into an even darker part of the forested area. There did seem to be some light, a small dull glow seemed to coat some of the lower branches of the trees.

The car crept closer to this decently well kept cabin that seemed spacious. Two other cars were parked in the front, the quiet noise filling your head with dred as the leaves crunched under the tires before Gwen parked terribly beside the two other vehicles. "Alright," she clapped her hands together before removing her seat belt and kicking open the car door, "Cmon! Out out. We're just going to head inside that front door kay?" She gave you her usually dorky grin before shutting the car door, heaving out a sigh you unbuckle yourself and take a deep breath in…to mentally prepare. Opening the card door you grab your bag and hurry out, slinging your bag over your shoulder and slamming the door shut. This felt like a bad idea.. Your stomach was rolling in its grave. Clenching and twisting in ways to make you wince. Was this a good idea? Going to a complete strangers house with your roommate to do who knows what! Remember your breathing exercises..

…1…and 2…1…and 2… You were okay for now. Until this was over and you can go back home and become your true slug self. Wrapped in blankets and binging some trashy reality tv. An uneasy feeling filled your stomach like lead as you walked into the crickety cabin, the wooden walls looking rustic and ready to blow down if someone even blew on them. Moss and vines kissed the stone path and the wooden logged walls, the door rickety and thumping against the doorframe slightly from the gusts of wind that pulled and pushed the wooden rectangle. You gulped down that residing fear, trailing behind your roommate who hurried up the three crickety steps and knocked obnoxiously. "BeccaaaaAAAaaaAA! Cmonnnn, open up, bitch." It was obvious Gwen and Becca's relationship was like that. Playful with mean comments and names, but honestly it was probably the best friendship anybody could ask for. Or even want! As you waited there on the first step while Gwen was on the first you could hear a quick patter of footsteps and then a thud and a loud meow that sounded like a smug cat...those smug bastards. Opening the door was a tall woman who looked like she had just woken up. Basket ball shorts, some overly baggy and ratted up shirt that had a cat on it, cozy socks with crocs...which was a crime in your opinion, but you decided to ignore that part. She had her hair in space buns atop her head, a bit damp but neatly placed. You stood there now on the second step watching as the two exchanged hugs and smiles, Gwen motioning you inside as she stepped inside, a overly chunky cat making it's way towards you. At least there was a cat! A orange tabby with no thoughts behind its eyes, eager to flick its tail and rub against your leg as if demanding for treats or pets. A tired smile made its way to your lips as you squat down to rub the cat and give it scratches...before it bit you half way through. Scurrying off to who knows where while you stand back up and look at the nibble mark left upon the crook of your hand.

"So....What are we doing? My plans for tonight were just gonna be to chill maybe..and well a new episode of The Girls is on and I was gonna finish that season-" Your rambling was quickly interrupted by the two other girls laughing, Becca wiping a fake tear from her eye.

"Holy shit, Gwen, you didn't tell me your roomie was a riot! God I love you already." Becca had a smile still on her face, but in a cute dorky way. As she wrapped an arm around your shoulder she brought you in close so you were nose to nose now.

"Listen. You're cute, but you seem VERRYYY boring. Have some fun! Ever try those shitty cringe challenges from middleschool?" Before you could even THINK about answering her question she placed both her manicured hands on your cheeks and squished them, "Gwen and I found one and we wanted to try! buuutttt...we needed a third person! Which is youuuu~ Isn't that fun?" The feeling of being overwhelmed washed over you as you just furrowed your eyebrows and looked confused as she was rambling about some 'spooky challenge' and it probably not going to work. What were they even talking abou- your swirling thoughts were quickly and once again interrupted as she started wrapping a piece of deep green fabric around your eyes.

"Wait- hold on!" Your frustration grew as you tried to get away from Becca's touches and grabs, "You haven't even told me what I'M doing!-" You felt a set of hands on the sides of your face, holding your cheeks as the scent of mint and cigarettes wafted over. "Cmonnn, babes! Just trust us! You trust me right? I'm your best friend!" "Gwen, you're my only friend." Was your only reply as you felt the same frustration, but diluted a little bit now. As the blindfold was snugly tightened against your face and blocking your vision, it felt as if your other sense were heightened. You could hear the slight creaking of the house and the small giggles between the two girls. You could smell the minty and menthol scented breath still of Gwen, and the light airy perfume that Becca wore that reminded you of an old woman at a thrift store. Suddenly you were pushed further into the room, the sound of a rug dragging along the wooden floor was loud in the depths of silence that was cascaded down on you. Shivers spiked along your spine as you tried to be calm, hearing the click and flicker of a lighter somewhere to the side of you as one of the girls sat you down on your knees, locking your knees and elbows together.

Trust them right? Trust Gwen? You knew Gwen since freshman year of highschool..So why shouldn't you trust her? But there was that feeling of doubt and uneasiness planting itself in the pit of your stomach, its seed sprouting and its roots planting itself inside of you more permanently. Your breath quickened as you tried to steady it, panic washing over you as a low hum was heard form the two. Then it began. The softly low mumbling of the two girls as a pouring sound was heard to the left of you, a liquid hitting the cusp of metal. A smell lingered, a burning smell. With a hint of rotten eggs and the smell of some burnt meat... An acidic feeling rose within the back of your throat before a weird smoke began spreading through out the room, filling your nose with a acidic putrid smell that was thick. Scrunching your nose the distinct sound of...a cash register was filling the air for a split moment? Then you heard it. The rough whiny sound of some angry Australian.

"Now which one of you fucking cunts summoned THE Prince of GREED to this SHIT HOLE?!"

[phantom-mizero]

You know, Bill Cipher's plan to start Weirdmageddon 2.0 is one of the most ill-conceived ideas I have probably ever heard. From thisisnotawebsitedotcom we know that Ford threw The Book of Bill into the Bottomless Pit, just like he did with the journals - which is the canonical reason we have them. This is also substantiated by all the fourth wall breaks Bill makes in his book. The Book of Bill reads you as much as you read it - which is how Bill knows he is talking to someone that knows he is just an idea. This is interesting, because it implies that there is a place somewhere in the Oregon forests where there is an entrance that leads to the Bottomless Pit in Gravity Falls. So, let's say the book gets to a Reader in our reality who actually agrees to it. They then need to travel to Oregon and find that place that intersects different realities. Good luck with that! Let's say Reader actually manages to find it and gets spit out of the Bottomless Pit just outside the Mystery Shack, they actually manage to find Bill's statue and shake hands with him. Bill said that he and whoever shook hands with him would trade places, but is that true? I mean in Sock Opera Bill did not put Dipper's mind into the Nightmare Realm, he just landed in the Mindscape. Would Bill even have enough power for that, or would Reader's mind just land in the Mindscape? But that isn't even the most pressing question, as Mabel and Ford also put around his statue as many wards against him as possible. There are already so many maybes, but let's say that Bill manages to puppeteer someone. Could he even step out of Gravity Falls? Ford would not, under any circumstances, get rid of the bubble that contained Bill and Weirdmageddon. If that is still there, that could be another roadblock for Bill. Bill said that he needs to activate another portal to assemble his scattered molecules, but good luck with that! Most of them were either not built at all, destroyed, disassembled or simply not working. The only ones we know worked were Ford's portal, which he took down, and that of the unpronounceable wizard aka the dark ages one aka the one that had to be somewhere in England, because the book mentions news spreading about "The Bastard Triangle of England" after Bill's anger induced tantrum. Which is funny in retrospect, because if he had kept his cool for a bit longer and chose his words carefully, he could have started Weeirdmageddon hundreds of years earlier. So, if Bill can get through the bubble surrounding Gravity Falls that means he would need to get to England, but there are two problems. 1) Bill is banned from most of the eastern hemisphere by various curses and 2) he would need to get the body he is possessing over there, which costs not just money, but if they are from another reality they also don't exist there, which is its own problem. All of that is also banking on the fact that the portal that Xgqrthx build is still in one piece, functional and accessible to some random person, who also has to find it first. It makes my head hurt by how many maybes and what ifs there are, but more so that Bill even acknowledges them to a degree himself as he says: "Maybe that dark ages one still works!". He himself isn't even entirely sure that at least one of his old portals is still working! Bill Cipher is just banking it all on so many maybes, while simultaneously being the definition of "trust me, bro", like we're already one of his henchmaniacs that he is pulling along for the long game, not caring about how improbably his plans sound or if there are even going to work.

[windvexer]

I really want to crochet socks, but the venn diagram of when I want to do a lot of math, and when I want to start a crochet project, never intersect.

[familyvideostevie]

thoughts on Steve coming home to his girl just existing in his space, in his clothes, cooking dinner for the both of them, and he just has this like "man I'm so lucky how tf did I get here kinda moments?"

i had thoughts!! here's a wee blurb of them <3 | fem!reader, fluff, 0.9k

The streets are practically empty even though it's not that late. Steve drives through town, stopping at a red light. He's the only car at the intersection. Just a few more turns and he'll be back, he'll be pulling into his parking space and running up the stairs to his place, the bags from errands in hand. He's pretty sure you're going to be there already and he wishes he had just spent all day with you but life got in the way, as it so often does. 

But it's fine. Really, it is. He'd take mere minutes with you if that's all he got, but for reasons he still doesn't totally understand you're willing to be around him all of the time. Well, he knows one of the reasons. You love him. He smiles to himself at the thought. Who knew it would feel this good to be loved and to love in return? 

The remainder of the drive goes quickly. He imagines your smile, the creases at the corners of your eyes. The way you look at him with your full attention whenever he talks, the way you are always reaching for him without realizing it. Fingers circling his wrist, toying with the edge of his shirt. The way you lean into him when he's near like you're two magnets coming back together. 

When he unlocks the door with full hands he hears the radio and then your voice before he's crossed the threshold.

"Steve?" you call. 

"Hi, baby," he calls, mouth stretching into a smile. He toes off his shoes next to a few pairs of yours. There are traces of you everywhere. Your jackets on the rack, your books on his shelves. You brought over a blanket you love weeks and weeks ago and it's still thrown over the side of his couch. His shower has your shampoo and his sink has your face wash. There's a drawer of your clothes in his room and he knows that pretty soon he's just going to ask you to move in.

But for now, an evening together will do just fine. He pads to the kitchen, bags in hand, to find you facing the stove as you stir something. "Did you finish your errands?" you call, clearly thinking he's still at the front door. 

"Took forever, but yeah," he says. You look over your shoulder, a little startled, and break into a grin when you see him. His heart does something funny in his chest as he looks at you. You're in your own sweatpants but an old sweatshirt of his that seems to travel between the two of you. "Smells great."

He sets the bags on the counter and before he can start to unload them you slide into his space on socked feet and wrap your arms around his waist for a quick squeeze. Your lips press lightly to his and before he can lean into it you're back at the stove. "It's just pasta, Steve," you tell him. He debates pulling you back into him so he can hold you for a little longer, but he figures there will be plenty of time for that after dinner. 

"Best pasta I've ever had, I'm sure," he says. He pulls out the groceries, the movies for you two this weekend, the soap and paper towels. It's all so domestic, him unloading the bags and you cooking, humming to yourself, that his heart does that thing again. It's like someone is squeezing it, like he can feel the love and the peace of your life together clog all of his senses so that it's all he can think about. He's happy. 

"Are you okay?" you ask. "Is something wrong?" Steve realizes he's staring at the open fridge. He shuts it, runs a hand through his hair before holding out his palm. You move to him without hesitation, folding his hand in yours. 

"Yeah," he says and means it. "I'm great." You don't seem to be convinced.

"You're quiet," you say softly. Not that it's a bad thing, and Steve knows you're not accusing him of anything. He loves you for it. 

He smoothes your eyebrows with his thumb. "I guess I just wanted to hold you," he says. You duck your chin and blow a raspberry. 

"Steve."

He tilts his head and taps your chin with his knuckle. "What's wrong with me wanting to hug my girl when she's cooking dinner in my kitchen? Looking like a million bucks, might I add?" You roll your eyes at him but reach up to frame his face with your hands. You tilt his head back and forth, inspecting him, eyes warm and hands gentle. He allows it. This close, he can see every single one of your lashes, every mark on your face, every spec in your iris. 

"Nothing, other than being a sap." 

He grins, leaning into one palm. "Does something look wrong with me?"

You sigh like the most put-upon girl in the world. "No. You're just as handsome as ever, Steve." He laughs and feels himself blush. 

"You say it like it's a bad thing." 

You lean in close, so close that he closes his eyes, expecting a kiss. "Not a bad thing," you say, kissing his cheeks. "Just a distracting thing." You pull away again and he whines. God, he loves you.

"Oh, so I'm a distraction?" He starts to pull out plates to do something with his hands so he doesn't pull you back to him.

"A welcome one," you clarify. "A lovely one." Steve feels his cheeks heat again.

You finish up your work at the stove and bring the pot over to spoon pasta onto the plates he's set out on the counter. Your tongue pokes out and your brow furrows as you keep a grip on the pot and Steve loves you so much he feels like he might explode. He waits until you're no longer holding anything to cup your elbow.

"I just feel lucky, you know?" You look confused, so he slide his palm up your arm to cradle your jaw. "Coming home to you. I get to do that. I come home and you're here and I feel like I don't tell you how lucky that makes me feel."

"Steve," you say softly, food forgotten for the moment. "I--. Steve."

"You don't have to say anything," he says. He means it. He knows you love him, he knows you feel the intensity of this, the potential for forever between you. He just can't keep it in right here, in his kitchen, with you in his sweatshirt. "I guess what I'm saying is I love you." He says it like it's obvious, which he hopes it is, since he tries to tell you all the time. It's just a fundamental truth. He likes root beer. He sneezes at least twice, always. And he loves you.

"I know," you say. You kiss the corner of his mouth. He turns his head and captures your lips properly, finally, trapping your bottom lip between his. "I love you," you say into the kiss and he swallows it, feels it travel down to his heart, feels it flow through his veins. Steve is pretty sure it's magic.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here!

[cordeliawhohung]

The fucking ‘miss my mom’ has broken me beyond all hope of repair I hope u know

Like. That’s me. I would miss my momma. I’d want to send her a message and tell her I’m alright and not to look for me. I’d want to hug her one last time before Simon and Johnny eat me whole. I’d at least want her to die thinking I was safe.

And I would miss my sweaters. My cozy pajamas that I wear to bed and the stuffed animals who help me sleep. And I’d miss ice cream, the good stuff momma always gets at Aldi’s.

What’s that one adage? Don’t write about the horrors of war, write about a lone child-sized sock covered in blood lying in a shattered ruin? That’s what I’m feeling rn.

oh i'm about to ramble and sob under the cut

this, for me, is why a lot of horror movies/stories/etc don't really do it for me. someone can die and it can be brutal and it can be gory and scary and you can show it on screen but for me there is always something missing when it's just boiled down to death and pain.

a lot of what Bonnie has been doing lately is just... yearn. for freedom, mostly. staring out at the tree in the yard and watching the birds and wanting to morph into a creature with wings. but something i guess i don't really see too often is the little moments when the brain fractures.

when does the pain stop coming from the gash in your side and instead begins to flow in a puddle in your brain?

are you still laying in the center of the intersection, staring up at the sky and seeing it? or are you laying there with a twisted leg worried about what your mom will say when you make it home? are you still stuck in that basement listening to radio chatter? are you making sense of the boots hitting the floor above you or are you just wishing they would turn the lights back on?

missing your mom hurts worse than a gunshot wound. sometimes the scariest thing about horror isn't the pulling of a trigger but the yearning to return to the blood that once bathed you.

the scariest part of Bonnie's whole situation isn't that she's trapped. isn't that she's used as a toy. it's that she knows her mother can't say her name anymore without her stomach twisting. it's that she can go home and wrap herself tight in her old blankets and hug her childhood items close and it will never be the same because she is no longer the same.

Bonnie's been dead since the very moment she entered that house and all she'll ever be is a corpse. some things you can't undo. escaping won't clean the rot. corpses don't get better.

Hereditary does a really good job at capturing this feeling, imo. I've watched it once and can't watch it again because of it lmao. triggers my ptsd too bad.

anyway thanks for coming to my incoherent ted talk.

[kani-miso]

self indulgent essomnia

i feel left out being the only one thinking of insomnia as es instead of mikoto. i know it does fit for mikoto, but hear me out.

ramble under the cut

there's actually a lot of reasons on why i think about es insomnia !!

i made this before the new official lyrics came oh my god i needed to update it.

the whole motif of everyone around them being balloon headed people remind me of the es covers album. they're both covered and still have the distinct features of the person (balloon heads still having stuff like glasses and hats, and es covers having each characters character color).

mr creepypasta watching over sunao really radiates panopticon vibes. i've always seen mr creepypasta similiar to jackalope since they're basically the all seeing eye. the way that mr creepypasta takes care of sunao reminds me of how jackalope (more exactly, milgram as a whole) takes care of es, especially if you connect it with the ca theory (we'll get to that later). the difference is that mr creepypasta is actually caring (i think?) and milgram is harsh, the system is just messed up. you can also count the novel jackalopes, they really don't care about their wardens well being (novel jacka (almost) cutting of one of their wardens breath, mv jackalope being absent and verbally abusive).

"what day of the week is today?" "surviving days are too painful" every month, every week, each day, their schedule is packed with work. because they have been working mindlessly they would forget what day it is (also i'm pretty sure you can't really track time in milgram). everyday would be painful for them since there's really nothing to do except work, interrogations are also tiring.

"my smirk is more recognizeable" *bang* each interrogation, their "apatheticness" becomes more visible because the prisoners become more unbearable (ex: fuuta t2 vd ). since they've gotten enough of it, they lash out to the prisoners (ex: fuuta and es' argument).

"even when transmitted in words, they wont intersect" even when es explains the verdicts through words, the prisoners (guilty) wont understand.

"even chant for disagreements, huh, whether those are justice or evil" this line fits perfectly with the guilty 4 (and maybe some innos). the guilties are chanting their disagreement towards their verdict, but es wouldn't listen even if they're right (justice/justifiable reasons) or wrong (evil/malicious reasons).

"as long as we can only be judged subjectively" basically judging the prisoners according to personal biases. they rely on those biased opinions because the viewers technically have more authority than es. the original milgram experiment proves that people(es) will listen to commands even if they're Immoral as long as those commands are sent/told by those above them(us).

"this is the place where i can be myself" this line plays while the mv shows sunao with mr creepypasta behind him. i like incorproting this as milgram being the place where they can be "themself" (even though jackalope is still watching).

"don't mix yourself up" there's many mini sunao's everywhere. it reminds me of how the voices in es' head probably makes them confused on which thought is actually theirs. also, that part of the mv, all of those posters (?) of mini sunao's are like self promoting the song by putting 'insomnia' in every poster. it reminds me of how milgram self promotes in the prisoners mvs (ex: the perfume bottle in weakness, fuuta's phone in bio, yuno's socks having the word 'umbilical' on it, etc).

"don't lose sight of your heart" not sure if this makes sense but es' heart is just feelings of their duty being warden.

"i want to know you, and cross the borderline where neither good nor evil exists" literally the es line ever. they want to know the prisoners and their sins without personal biases (since morality differs from person to person). it really fits with one of the lines in undercover (Is it really ok to be done with deciding with just your EGO?).

"here's the night we can't return anymore, but let me go beyond that with you" isn't the kidnapping of the prisoners and es the night where they can't return no more? the prisoners are trying to make es is tag along with the prisoners to go "beyond" it (ex: some of the prisoners saying how they're both on the same boat (something like that)) milgram is the place where you can't exactly return (in the novels, there's only one person who succesfully left milgram (torch/touchi) but only because he rebelled against the rules).

"one day, we will see each other in the proper world" *mr creepypasta leaving sunao* idk it really just feels like how jackalope is absent and not caring for es 90% of the time.

↑new lyrics: "i hope we can meet in the world i envisioned" this line fits more with es and the prisoners instead of es woth milgram.

"everything will stay vacant if this continues" i actually didn't want to add this but hey. what if the "this" is milgram. everything will stay empty if es chooses to continue along milgram. i hope you understood. also the scene fits as well. the scene is mini sunao looking at balloon headed people with one eye. it's similiar to how es' whole life is broadcasted worldwide til other people can see their immature and childish acts/behaviors.

↑ new lyrics: "at this rate, i'll keep being empty in this unfufilling city".

"i intentionally threw away my longing" "it makes me sigh" "in front of my blurred future" i don't really want to talk about the lyrics, i want to talk about the mv but wtv. they threw away their personal desires (autonomy and their free will) making their future inconsistent (blurred future). ok the mv. the mv scene shows sunao being led by mr creepypasta, since nobody can see mr creepypasta, sunao looks like he's holding onto nothing. it's similiar to how es talks to jackalope. since only es can hear jackalope, they look like they're talking to themselves. (pointed out by muu)

"honestly, i'm evil with a rotten soul. i wish for misfortunes to happen." es knows what they're doing "is sort of" wrong at some point iirc ("I get that this is painful for you, but I'm telling you my own thoughts.") and ("Yet I've been dealing with it this whole time! I've been desperately thinking about all of the prisoners, including you! So I don't think I was ever wrong. No matter what hell I make this place to be, I will not run away! I won't make someone else deal with it!") <not really but they do emphasize that they could make milgram a living hell. they also technically wish for "misfortunes" to happen via guilty verdicts although they're not the one that chooses ("Shut your mouth…! I am the one casting the judgements here!").

"i even don't know about myself" "but i know my fate, riddled with misfortune, is at a dead end" *sunao sleepwalking (?) while holding mr creepypasta's hand* *sunao getting recorded live and people laughing at him* this fits so well i'm going insane. since es has weird habits (ex : mumbling to themselves alot, talking to nothing/themselves) that the prisoners can't understand, some of them just laughs at them and tell them they're weird (ex: muu). (the text on the phone filming: "♪ im rambling", 'ha?", "filming/recording something?", "dangerous wwwww", "seriously, stop filming and run away", "this guy's dangerous", "report")

"those pierced words that strike my heart" "they still haunt my memory" it fits one of the vds but i forgot which one (…This is bad for my heart. Stop it. Besides, that’s what I’d like to know as well…)

i didn't put this in bc of the image limit (on mobile rn) but i want to talk about the chorus lyrics too.

"from the depths of hell, i've been climbing up my whole life. but perhaps i can look at this ruined future and lay a flower of hope upon it's grave, even now i'm still praying. we're still connected, i saw this day in my dreams" guys this line is just so es coded idk how to word it. "i've been climbing up for my whole life" feels similiar to how es bears to keep on going with 10 troublesome prisoners ("Yet I've been dealing with it this whole time! I've been desperately thinking about all of the prisoners, including you!") and ("I am watching over ten troublesome prisoners, after all. Even if I don’t want to, I’m being relied on.").

the scene is just like what i said before, their childish actions/behaviors are broadcasted to the world (in this scene it's on a big screen). also es fighting their own instincitual/childish desires is so real, they force themselves to put that wardenly facade and repress their childishness. (also the 'pray' on top is interesting). not talking about the lyrics since it really isn't important for now.

ok this is where we talk about the ca theory. the reason es trusts milgram so much is maybe because milgram supposedly "saved" them from their abusive household. how would you know they have an abusive household? you can see by how they react to physical touch and other stuff ("Don’t touch me like we’re friends.") and ("Hah? Stop staring at me so openly. It’s disgusting."). you can assume that they went through csa too. the fear of being touched and looked at does not come out of nowhere, it comes from previous traumatic events that made them uncomfortable with it. also, more stuff to add up to the csa theory ("It's a personal dislike of mine. People who acts based on their sexual urges like that, that is"). if we do use the ca theory, this whole scene fits so well. mr creepypasta literally saved sunao from his abuser.

for the last two scenes, no matter how hurt es is, they would still be focusing on milgram instead of themselves.

there's probably more things i want to talk about but i can't talk about it properly. anyways omg the new lyrics are so cool i love the way they gave effects on it.

i'm relatively new to eve lore so i probably made mistakes about these two characters (mr creepypasta and sunao) so im really just basing it off of the insomnia mv only. (i love mr creepypasta (for now)!!! (fun fact: i thought on one of the scenes, the hand was pouring boiling water on sunao was mr creepypasta and then i disliked them, i just realized after a few days that it's not them (and now i love them)) (i also really like sunao,,, the mipy ever (i dont know much about tobi but they're cool))

[westlightning]

Anton x gn!Reader WIP

This is just a scrap piece of writing I made a while ago where the reader delivers milk door to door. In the moments in between hits when Anton is home, he and the reader have some interesting run ins. It’s pretty rough, so be kind to me. Also nothing explicitly sexual happens here but Anton treats the reader like a dog, so primal play is pretty central to what’s happening here.

—

You open the fridge and kneel, wary of the man out of the corner of your eye as his warning from the previous day rings in your head.

You shouldn’t turn your back on me.

Still don’t know what it means. You’ve given up trying to find out. Beyond being purely intimidating, it’s hard to understand his intentions. Not like there’s much you can do otherwise in the moment. You’re here to perform a duty, and you shouldn’t forget that.

Shakily you pull the empty bottle from its spot and replace it. When you’re done you stand, turning as casually as you can to face him.

He’s sitting in a chair at the table, legs spread. His eyes are dull and beady as they watch you, glittering like blue ice. The dismissal of yourself dies on pallid lips when you meet them.

He lifts a foot, “Would you take off my boots?” Then, as an afterthought, “Please.”

You look at the cast on his arm and swallow a denial. Clearly he is hurt, that’s why he’s asking for your help. Clearly he is hurt, that’s why you obey without thinking twice. You just want to be good at your job, that’s all.

You sink to your knees in front of him, setting down the empty bottle out of the way to your left. The wood is harsher than the linoleum beneath bone, but it doesn’t hurry your movements. When he puts the polished end of a red boot on your thigh you carefully take it by the heel and pull it off.

He sighs in content, the sound taking you off guard. You look up at him, still looking unerringly at you. A flush crawls up your neck. You turn back to his other foot and ease the boot off, setting them both neatly to the side. When you’re done you stare at his socked feet, the toes wriggling in plain gray cotton.

“What are you doing with your life?”

You flinch. Can’t help it. His voice is so deep it catches you off guard. You look back up to him with a million words on your tongue. None come out.

He repeats himself, patient to the point of concern. “What are you doing with your life?”

“Not much, sir. I mean, I work.” You struggle around your words, “I—I provide a service.”

He nods slightly. He seems entirely uninterested in what you have to say, and you’d think that was the case if it weren’t for the questions. Somehow you knew he wouldn’t be asking them if it was true. He’s never struck you as the type to dally on what didn’t intrigue him, even if only just in passing.

“What service do you provide?”

“I deliver things.”

He blinks, “That’s not what you’re doing now,” he says, quiet as death. “You’re kneeling. How did you get here?”

It’s a simple thing. It shouldn’t be so hard to answer.

“Because…” you lick your lips, finding steel in your voice. “Because you asked me to.”

“No,” he smiles faintly, but it’s not a real smile. Not the kind that fills you with any semblance of comfort. “I asked if you would take off my boots. And you did. I asked you, what are you doing with your life—does that question make sense to you?”

You shake your head. Your hands are clammy, wet as they grip the front of your pants. The blush is irrefutable now. It tracks up your neck, around to your face and all the way up to your ears. Red with some form of shame.

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t.”

He seems frustrated. Almost. But also, not. It’s an odd intersection, and you’re there kneeling watching the gears turn in his head. Slow and steady. And you want to leave. You want to get out. But you can’t move.

“I can leave,” you offer quietly.

He hums, nearly laughing. “You won’t. I didn’t say you could go.”

You breathe out shakily then, audibly so. He tracks the movement of it lazily in your throat, bobbing with baited breath. His eyes are sharper when they meet yours. More hooded.

“I told you not to turn your back on me, is this not as vulnerable?” He pokes you with the toe of a foot. “It’s not in your nature, yet you do it anyways.”

You sit there for a while, staring at him and feeling seen in a way you never have before, like his eyes are stripping back layers of your skin to look at the bone. Like he’s watching you under a microscope, seeing what you’re made of.

Then he stands. You stare at him, forgetting to move back until he is so close your nose nearly knocks a thigh.

You fall back. He watches, smiling again. It makes the blood inside you curdle.

He walks away, stopping only when he is in the doorway to turn to you. Still on the ground.

“Back to work.” He says. “I will see you tomorrow.”

You do see him tomorrow. It’s nothing odd that he’d say that. You see him every day. But your feet drag through your route as you approach the last house on the street, because you’ve seen him out front. Waiting on his porch.

Waiting for you.

You’ve felt him watching the whole time you deliver to neighbors. You feel his eyes as you start the truck and round it to his mailbox, turning off the ignition and climbing out.

You won’t go inside today. You’ve told yourself this since you left the afternoon prior. You won’t. It’s not professional. You could get in a lot of trouble. Could get fired if you’re late returning your vehicle again. Someone oughta notice eventually.

He is standing next to the vacant rocking chair when you approach with no boots on and in another pair of the same gray socks. His milk bottle isn’t in sight. You don’t meet his eyes until he says, “Come.”

He means inside. You stop just shy of the steps.

It takes you a full minute to get the words out even though you practiced them endlessly the night before in your bed, doing that instead of sleeping. Surely he could see in your face how much you needed to do this.

“I’m not allowed to come inside, sir. I shouldn’t have before. And I’m sorry for misleading you like that.”

He walks inside, opens the door. “Come.”

You shake your head minutely.

He blinks, then with a bit more force, “Come.”

The tone scares you in some deep, innately primal way.

Your legs move before you can tell them not to. It’s like you’re in a trance. You take off your shoes when you enter like you’ve done before. He waits. Then you follow him deeper into the lifeless home.

Pulls out the same chair and sits. You hover in a haze. Watching him.

He gestures to the fridge, “You’re here to do a job. Do it.”

You do your job, quicker than before. You can leave after. He can’t keep you. It’d be illegal for him to. You could report him.

Somehow it doesn’t appear like he’s worried about that possibility. Maybe because you’ve given him too much slack. When you’re done you stand in front of him.

I’m going to leave now.

Words you don’t say. You think he can see them in your eyes. You think maybe he’s stealing them from your head.

“Sit.”

That’s… not what you expected. You stand entirely too still for a moment and try to process the words, but you don’t want to make him repeat himself like you did before.

There’s only one other chair and it’s too close to him. You reach for it anyways when you feel something on your ankle. The toe of his foot hooks around it, stopping you in your tracks.

You look to him for guidance. He smiles, gentle and foreign. It doesn’t calm you in any sort of way.

“On the floor.”

You really, really shouldn’t. But you do.

This time you sit criss cross, feeling like a child. It’s easier on your joints, but it’s just as heavy on your pride. His, though, seems to be glowing, if only in amusement. Like he’s testing something out for fun.

You pick at the fabric of your sleeve, still not looking at him. The silence stretches on and it makes you feel sick.

“Have you thought about the question I asked you?”

“Which one?” You bite your lip, “I just mean—no offense, sir, but you ask a lot of questions.”

“I have only asked one important question. What are you doing with your life?”

Apparently your prior answers didn’t appease him, but it leaves you entirely blank. What else are you supposed to say to something like that? He doesn’t care about your feelings or your failures. What’s the point of asking when he wants a specific answer you’re not privy to? Anxious tears well in your eyes unbidden at being caught again. Caught in this trap you’ve let yourself be led into.

“You’re a bit simple, aren’t you? Like a dog… “He says it so casually it almost doesn’t register, as though he’s commenting on the weather.

You balk. It’s real but it’s also performative. You should be offended by what he’s saying. “I’m not—“ your voice is wet, you gulp through it. “I’m not a dog.”

He pulls in a long, deep breath. You get the feeling he anticipated this answer but isn’t impressed by it.

“You’re sitting on my floor because I told you to. When I tell you to come, you do. Is that not what a dog does?”

He seems genuinely curious. He seems genuinely gentle, but you know it’s not in his nature to be. There’s nothing gentle or curious about what he’s saying, it’s only mean.

You look at him and can’t hide the tears this time. He sees them, you watch the observation register in some way on his face, and then he’s reaching out. A broad, calloused palm ghosts across your cheek, skirting through your hair displaced by taking on and off the hat in the humidity. He pushes it back, petting ever so softly.

“It’s alright,” he says, “you’re a good dog.”

[mybeingthere]

My favourite national attire - The Hanbok

Song Seonmin, Freelance Fashion Editor, explains: "What completes a hanbok is not the person who makes it, but the person who wears it. Clothes that are kept close to you and worn for a long time rather than being an object of reverence or appreciation. This clothing, which exists on a two-dimensional surface, comes to life the moment it becomes one with our three-dimensional body. The closer you look, the quieter the chorus of lines and planes that permeates your eyes and mind.

The most important action in wearing hanbok is 'fastening' . It becomes the most beautiful piece of clothing when the front length with pus and the back length on the back meet and fit properly to the body. The structure of clothing also changes depending on how it is fastened. The doryeon, which refers to the bottom of the jeogori, is naturally misaligned, but when the outer layer is properly fastened, it finally takes on a neat appearance. Although they are born through flat cutting, this is because they take into account that their bodies are three-dimensional.

The basic shape of the skirt.

Hanbok follows the upper and lower back. It is a virtue to wear a jeogori that fits tightly and a skirt that is loose. Therefore, you must wear the inner part properly to properly reveal the unique bulging lines of the hanbok skirt.

Unlike Western clothing, the Hanbok skirt can create new silhouettes from time to time, and it is different each time depending on how the back hem is held and wrapped around the body. This is an aesthetic that only a hanbok skirt can express.

Dongdong, collar, and pus.

Hanbok is a clothing in which straight lines and curves freely intersect. You can tell by looking at the harmony between the sharp straight lines of the feather and the collar that gently surrounds it. Also, pus is originally rectangular, but once it is boiled, it creates an infinitely soft curve.

Danghye, a flower shoe, is a shoe worn by women from Yanggat households. It is made by wrapping silk on leather and embroidering arabesque patterns on the toe and heel. These days, they are often called flower shoes. Just like the beoseon, the slightly raised front nose that looks like it will fly is lovely.

Baerae refers to the lower part of the sleeves of a jeogori, and the subtle curves of the hanbok reach their peak. During the Joseon Dynasty, the shape of Baerae differed depending on fashion and social status. In modern times, as the width of the sleeves becomes narrower, a more gently curved back line becomes the trend.

When wearing a skirt-shaped hanbok, you should press the chest area to make it as flat as possible to create a proper shape. The skirt, which has the function of tightening the chest, is sometimes hidden inside a jeogori, but as seen in Shin Yun-bok's 'Beautiful Island', the skirt can be worn with a short jeogori to fully expose the skirt. This is where the understated sensuality of Hanbok is revealed.

The beoseon wrapped around the width of the beoseon

skirt creates a more dizzying and voluptuous curve than any other element of hanbok. In particular, the beoseonko that rises brightly into the sky has an elegance that can never be felt in Western socks or stockings that clearly show the shape of the foot.

By Song Seonmin, Freelance Fashion Editor

Model Kim Wonkyoung

Hair by Han Jisun

Makeup by Ryu Hyunjung

http://www.dongbangyuhaeng.com/easterntrends/view.asp...

[conchoronzon]

So, in my time so far playing the role of Connor, the submissive prey who writes a lot of vore erotica both on here and on Smashwords, I've mostly made a point to avoid connecting Connor to the other parts of myself. You won't find selfies or any of the like on my tumblr. It's mostly reblogs with added captions or photos other people send me. There was less risk there. And the world is scary.

Micky is a different role I play. The other day I was a bit silly and I linked Micky's twitter here. I got some vore followers on my non-vore account. When I sobered up, I thought about regretting that... but I didn't.

So while I will continue to mostly post vore captions on the Connor blog, I think I might sometimes share Micky here, too. Especially when the two might intersect. For instance, Micky made a 26-ish minute video where I transformed someone into a pair of socks that I cum inside. This brief preview (forgive the robot voice) comes from that video. Micky has plans to shoot a bunch of TF stuff. Next on my list is cock TF, jerking off and telling the viewer how good they feel as my cock, stuff like that.

Anywho, you can totally ignore Micky's existence and continue with purely viewing this as the blog of Connor Choronzon, the prey slut who should be churning away inside you already.

Or... well: here are all my links excluding Voreplay/discord (Micky, Connor, Luca, Dante)

The TF videos will go up on the OnlyFans and JFF

And feel free to hit up Micky's twitter (as your vore or non-vore self) and maybe use my posts there for vore fodder if you want - in my DMs, on twitter, as pics to caption on here or elsewhere (link/tag Micky if you do?), comment lewd things at me.

https://x.com/goodboymicky

Okay! Back to the sexy work :p can't wait to be churning away inside you all

[hologramcowboy]

Debunking fandom rumors: Erin and Jensen

It has come to my attention that someone is creating multiple accounts and posing as ITK while claiming that Erin and Jensen have hooked up or have a love story. It seems some bloggers and users actually adopted this person's narrative without digging deeper and asking for evidence. My reason for this post is I have received asks and dms from people actually falling for these rumors and the stories behind them make absolutely no sense and there is zero evidence. I have also received warnings from the people who have, thankfully, not fallen for them and had things to share about the person responsible. There is a huge difference between speculating about your fav celeb and full on gaslighting people with made-up stories.

The story seems to vary a bit from person to person as it gets passed down by the people who have been misinformed. The web is so spun some have adopted these claims as truth. Let's debunk a few of those versions. Please note that I don't know them by heart and so they aren't super precise but the claim behind them is the same:

You may have heard that Erin posted about Austin and then deleted the post. - An actress going to Austin could be about an infinite number of events, from art to auditions to modeling etc. There is absolutely nothing out of the ordinary there because Austin is bustling with entertainment industry opportunities. Jensen was in the process of moving to Connecticut, moving involves preparing everything not just the actual move. If someone keeps insisting Erin was there for Jensen then please ask them for clear evidence and you will soon find there is none.

You may have been told that some woman who worked on set for the Boys caught Erin and Jensen in the act. - First off, Erin and Jensen barely intersected each other on set. Secondly, on-set crew signs NDAs. Thirdly, no professional actor would risk getting fired over flirting or anything related, that's a super fast way to get fired. A set is a professional environment. Most of all, people who are a part of the crew don't have so much access to the stars. They may get to interact and be around them when doing make-up, costume and other set-related situations but actors have their own designated areas and security is tight. Aside from this, rumors on a set travel at lightning speed and yet no such rumors about the cast ever surfaced. I can also add the fact that actors are trained to create chemistry and so they use various exercises to achieve this. Often, people end up believing they are in love precisely due to the powerful chemistry those exercises generate. Don't believe me? Cool, have a look here.

Some friend of a friend saw Erin in Jensen's lap in some social media post. All that was visible was the beard. 🤣🤦🏼‍♀- The beard belonged to Jai Courtney. No Jensen was involved.

Erin and Jensen got matching tattoos - In reality, Jai tattooed Erin's ankle, which had zero to do with Jensen. Here's a pic:

These are just a few examples, in some cases, the person sharing these rumors claims to be Jensen's hookup and that Jensen confided to her that he is involved with Erin. The person responsible for sharing these stories has multiple sock accounts and is posing as multiple people. The person has even resorted to stealing someone's online pictures to pose as that friend so as to differentiate one of her sock accounts from her original one.

Aside from this, this person has also taken to SM to harass the actors in their comment sections, in an attempt to make it seem as if the rumors have taken off. They have not.

Neither Jensen nor Danneel nor Erin deserved to be harassed over made-up stories. To avoid doxxing anyone involved, I have made this a general post to bring you awareness and give the person responsible a chance to reassess their actions and do the right thing. As mentioned in my disclaimer, I want to strongly remind everyone that anything you read online or on my blog or any other blog should be taken with a huge grain of salt. Just as when people contact you claiming they are Misha, Jensen etc. ask them for evidence and once they fail to provide it report and block. If someone contacts you to share gossip, stay grounded, ask questions, ask for supporting evidence and details, and make your own decision rather than adopting someone's idea of the truth. It's one thing to entertain a rumor and quite another to harass real-life people over adopting these rumors as truth. Gossip can be fun and entertaining but it should never, ever cross the line into slander, impersonation and other violations. Let's keep in mind that there are teenagers with naive perspectives, fans who suffer from erotomania or other mental disorders or people who simply lack information who might all fall victim to these machinations and suffer consequences. We all play a part in keeping fandom safe so let's exercise caution. Please stay safe online and help others do the same. I am feeling kinda tired so I apologize for not being able to compose this post as clearly as I wanted, feel free to DM me if anything is unclear.