#my wrist is cramping lmao

[timethehobo]

A quick scribble for the fun of it! Based on this photo on Twitter of the VAs at SDCC.

[mordremrose]

March VS art party!!!!

I totally forgot to get tags this time around so no @‘ing for anyone today my bad LMAO Nakiya Taneri is mine, drew her as a warm up for the EU side of things :3c

Remember to parallel park your jackals and water your strawberries!!

[possiblyfunny]

What’s up with me posting Art all of a sudden???

ASTER: THE FALLEN CHAMPION

This is Aster. He’s the Red from my own Blue Tears AU. I’ve never actually drawn him before, he’s just kinda lingered in my mind for two or so years—so this is the first pass of his design! Aster is a free-roaming spirit that, while missing his own tangible body, uses his new ghostly form to try and spread a little joy. Leaving nice messages and gifts of flowers for those he thinks need a reason to smile.

(Hey! Psst! @creatively-cosmic! You said you wanted to see him—so here he is!)

Other Versions of the art below the cut.

And yes: he has eyes. They’re just covered by the shadow of his cap.

[zhongrin]

stupid hormones

© zhongrin | 2024  ✼  no repost・translations・plagiarism of any kind・ai data mining. rebloggers get a free cup of tea ♡

✼ characters ┈ zhongli, al haitham, wriothesley, neuvillette

✼ tags ┈ minors dni, fem!pronouns + fem!bodied reader, period, period blood, reader wears reusable pads (zhongli), cyom2c / choose your own method to cum (lmao) (zhongli), fingering (al haitham), p -> v (wriothesley), oral (neuvillette)

✼ a/n ┈ disclaimer: my period hormones wrote this, i am innocent 😇 

ᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴍᴇɴᴜ (ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ)  ✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ)

the scent of your blood was strong, but the scent of your arousal was even stronger.

fresh out of his shift at the wangsheng funeral parlor, zhongli silently closed the front door behind him and soundlessly walked towards your bedroom. he leaned onto the doorway as he observed you sitting on your favorite recliner sofa, gasping as your hips grounded against your knuckles above the clothing, the soft surface of the pads providing minimal stimulation to your swollen clit.

your breath hitched when you felt his gaze, and the whimper leaving your throat made the corner of zhongli’s lips twitch.

“oh, darling….,” he crooned, slowly stalking closer towards your needy form.

“it’s the hormones,” you whined, and his corresponding chuckle made you paw on his pants, “help me…”

“if you ask nicely,” your husband's hand cradled the back of your head, lightly scratching your scalp, the tips slowly trailing down your nape.

“please help me cum…”

“there you go. good girl…,” a smile and a pleased huff later, you were pushed back onto your favorite chair, and you thanked your past self for having enough sense to lay a towel under you beforehand. you watched eagerly as he kneeled and carefully slipped your panties away, eyes drooping in adoration at the sight of his feast, “tongue or finger, sweetheart?”

you breathed your answer in a half moan, and you thought you saw zhongli smirk before he started his second shift — pleasing the wife is his primary job as a husband, and he never failed to take it seriously.

“you’re a lot more sensitive when you’re in such a vulnerable state. i suppose some of those erotica novels of yours has a speck of informative value.”

al haitham fully understood that it was one of your weakness when he talked like that, in that slightly condescending baritone, all the while his fingers are so deep inside your cunt, hitting that specific spot. hence, the way your walls spasm right after and the way your slick gushed along with the dark red liquid didn’t faze him.

with a hum and slow, careful movements of his fingers, he helped you ride down your climax, before placing a soft kiss on your forehead, waiting for bliss to clear out of your glazed eyes.

your period hormones sometimes made you a lot more insatiable than usual, and al haitham preferred to keep you sated and not groaning every five seconds due to cramps, so this two-birds-with-one-stone solution was a routine he didn’t mind integrating into his life. your period calendar was equally memorized along with the akademiya’s meetings, events, and deadlines in his head.

“…. more,” you mumbled with a pout, and he held back the urge to snort.

“of course you want more,” the words slipped out of his lips just as his fingers got back to work, but he stopped his movements when you grabbed his wrists, “what now?”

“not that… i want…,” your gaze strayed to the bulge pressing against your side, and he smirked in approval.

three birds with one stone. how outstandingly efficient.

wriothesley had always thought you would eventually drive him insane one day.

maybe that day was today.

“just one round, please?” you mewled, dainty fingers rubbing against his abs under his rumpled dress shirt before tracing a vein up his aching cock, trying to guide him into your needy pussy.

“sweetheart, you sure about this?” his breathing came out in short pants, icy blue eyes narrowed and shimmering with lust. the hand palming your thigh gently grabbed your wrist, halting your movements temporarily, “you’re not hurting, are you?”

“it’ll hurt less when you fuck me properly!” you huffed, “or what, are you turned off by all the blood-”

his hands loosened his hold over yours, an amused grin showing his slightly crooked left fang stretching his lips, “of course not.”

a few shuffles and guiding murmurs later, you whine and keen as your arms shook against the dining table of your shared home, one of your beloved’s hands palming your sensitive mounds as the other supported himself against the furniture, his hips sensually moving as he bullied your sweetest spots. rather than disgusted, the way your slick and blood coated his skin seemed to make him snarl in excitement, like a wolf on a hunt.

“you see, love,” he panted right against your ear, savoring the debauched noises falling off your lips, “dunno why… maybe my brain has associated blood with the adrenaline rush in a pankration match…”

his calloused fingers rolled your nipple, pinching lightly before his whole hand palmed the plushness, the gentleness a contrast with how his shaft rutted into you, your hips desperately pushing back against him in turn.

“but the sight of them really…,” a grunt, a hard thrust that made you momentarily see stars, and you felt yourself inch steadily closer and closer into that euphoric release, “… really gets me going.”

“ー ah, no worries, when you get too sore tonight, i’ll make sure to massage you thoroughly…”

you had a feeling you just fed this man a forbidden fruit.

whenever he was faced with an unexpected situation, neuvillette always tried to be as calm and sensible, his mind inwardly telling himself to control his emotions.

unfortunately, no matter how much his willpower was, there was no way his dragonhoods wouldn’t rear their heads when faced with so many stimuli at once.

“mmm, neuvi, please, oh please- i n-need you so so bad-”

he grunted at the desperate murmurs whispered against his lips. the iudex’s gloved fingers gripped the scandalous exposure of your thighs as you hovered above him. your needy pheromones nearly made his eyes roll and goaded a moan out of him; so much so that his fangs poked against the bottom of his lips, his draconic features glowing. you were bloodied, and he knew that you were uncomfortable, yet you were clearly so turned on and ready for him.

you were delectable, that's what you were.

“you smell so good, my dewdrop."

he hummed, guttural and deep as he kissed your cheek, before flipping your position so he was the one on top. deep purrs rumbled in his chest as he took his coat and let them crumple onto the floor, before his arms locked around your thighs to spread them open and his tongue wasted no time to delve into the creamy mess of your cunt. with how pale he was, the blood stood prominent against his skin and his dress shirt, but just for this once the gentleman’s decorum was the last thing he had in mind.

he had a meal to savor and a wife to care for.

✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ) ┈ @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sunnshineflxwer | @yuutasbabe | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @marina-and-the-memes | @mixed-kester | @lordbugs | @anonymousficreader | @shizunxie | @ansy-tea | @irethepotato | @sassy-cat-in-town | @syrenkitsune | @smokipoki | @cakeboxie | @crystalflygeo | @ciexuvia | @illaasya | @celestewritestoomuch | @pams-comfortzone | @spidermanluvr444 | @ourstrawberryclouds | @ryuryuryuyurboat | @hrts4hanniehae | @fiannee | @jingyuansbird | @florapocalypses | @genshin-impacts-me | @scarasmood

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Criminal minds team reaction to a super tall muscular agent with tattoos/piercings?

Um, yes? But like, gotta project a little bit so he's insecure lmao

You were a new agent, working for the BAU, finally getting the transfer from organised crime you had practically been begging for for the last two years. You had met Agent Hotchner (or Hotch as you had been told to call him) and Agent Rossi (or Rossi), both respectable men who seemed pleased to have you on the team. But today was your first official day working for them.

You weren't allowed to have the majority of your piercings in whilst at work, only the three in your ears and your septum, provided you took that one out should you need to talk to members of the public. Your tattoos started at the base of your neck and stopped just above your wrists, enough that a long sleeved shirt with a collar hid them.

You stepped out of the elevator, taking a small moment to try and gather yourself before you walked into the ballpen.

"Well who is this hunk of handsome?!" Penelope asked, jaw dropping as you walked into the room. Your shoulders curled inwards with embarrassment as you rubbed your neck, cheeks dotting with red.

"Er, I'm (Y/N)," You answered, "I'm looking for Hotch or Rossi?"

"(Y/N)," Rossi grinned as he walked up to you, patting your arm when he reached you. "Glad to see you made it okay,"

"Thank you sir," You nodded.

"What have I told you?" Rossi sighed.

"Sorry, Rossi." You correct yourself, Rossi gave a small nod as Hotch approached the group.

"(Y/N), nice to see you again."

"You too, s-" You cut yourself off, "Hotch."

Hotch turned to Garcia, "Garcia, play nice, he's joining the team."

"Oh really?" Garcia asked, seeing the unimpressed look on Hotch's face she sighed. "I'm Penelope Garcia, Knower of All."

"I'm (Y/N) (L/N), Agent of America?" You offer, unsure.

"I like you," Penelope grinned before she turned to Hotch, "We've got a case."

"Gather the team," Hotch said. Penelope nodded, before rushing off. When she left, he turned back to you, "You get used to her, she means well," He said fondly.

You nodded slightly, unsure of what exactly to say. "Come on, kid, you need to meet the rest of the team." Rossi said, patting your arm once more.

Derek's eyes widen as you walk into the room, when Garcia had told him that the new team member was tall and muscular he had been expecting maybe someone six foot, but you stood at about six foot five, built well (to say the least), with a septum piercing, stretchers in your ear lobe, a helix piercing, and an industrial piercing. And, based on the darker tones that showed through your shirt, you were inked too.

You all made quick introductions before you sat down, immediately turning your attention to Penelope before heading off to the case.

After the case was finished, Rossi had decided to hold a family dinner at his (with instructions to bring swimwear - apparently, he had recently had a pool installed). You agreed to go, despite feeling slightly out of place, making sure to wear the trunks under your jeans as it was easier and made sure that you brought clothes in your rucksack.

An hour after dinner (you didn't want to get cramp in the pool because you weren't sure whether or not that was a myth and you weren't about to embarrass yourself in front of your team just yet), you all went into separate rooms to get dressed. You kept your t-shirt on for a bit, planning on only taking it off when you went into the water.

Walking out into the garden, you plopped yourself on a chair, tuning in to the conversation. "I'm just saying that statistically speaking, the most common birthday in the US is September 9th,"

"Really?" You asked, "That's my birthday,"

"Seriously?" Morgan asked, you nodded.

"Yep," You said, "What can I say? I'm a Basic Bitch,"

When JJ and Emily joined the group, Emily grinned, "Pool time?"

Morgan grinned as he and Emily both cannon-balled in, when he resurfaced, he turned to you all, "You joining us?"

You stood up after the others, pausing for a moment before taking your shirt off and leaping into the pool.

"Oh my God, he has a nipple piercing?! Are you guys seeing this?!" Penelope exclaims, slapping her hand against Emily and JJ's arms.

"I did not see that coming..." Emily muttered, JJ nodding in agreement.

"Do you... do you reckon down there is...?" Penelope asked, giving them both raised eyebrows and a smirk. Emily and JJ both rolled their eyes.

"For God's sake, Penelope, focus," JJ laughed.

"I can't, he's too dreamy."

[vaporwavebeach-writes]

Kinktober Day 14 (Orgasm Denial)

Jackson Rippner x Reader (NSFW)

(1,064 Words)

Summary: you refuse to give Jackson his phone call, so he refuses to let you come

Warnings/Tags: 18+, gender neutral reader, hostage situation, threats, airplane bathroom sex (woooo mile high club), little bit of hair pulling, Jackson being forceful, orgasm denial (duh)

Notes: ok, so I meant to write a fic for this movie WAAAAAAAY back in April but hey, better late than never LMAO enjoy the fic!!!

-

Never in a million years did you think you’d find yourself in a hostage situation, but here you are.

One moment, you’re sharing a drink with the charming man you met at the bar in the airport, then next thing you know, you’re forty thousand feet in the air, staring out the window, by that same charming man, keeping you trapped to your seat.

His plan to you was easy: call the hotel, and switch the room. That’s it. The way he had described it to you was exceedingly simple. He specifically told you, it’s simple. But if it was so simple, why would he threaten to kill your family? Why was he so hellbent on getting you to switch the room? Why would he shoot down your every single, rightful attempt to escape? If it was so simple, why couldn’t he do it? What was he really hiding from you?

“Jackson, this is fucking insane,” you hiss. “Sooner or later I was eventually going to have to go to the bathroom, it’s an eight hour flight for Christ sake.”

He holds up an empty water bottle. “Best I can do.”

“Oh, you think you’re funny?” You let out a soft chuckle, laced with annoyance. “You think you’re fucking funny? You’re not funny, Jackson.”

“Look, if you just made-”

“No, no, what would be funny, was if you let me piss myself, making a scene on this fucking plane, which I’m sure you wouldn’t want, right?”

Jackson sits there silently as you continue to go on your whispered tirade.

“And if I get taken away, you’ll never get that call.”

“Your family will die.”

“How bad do you want it, Jackson? Fucking try me. You want me to make that call? Then please, let me go.”

Jackson stares at you for a moment, completely dumbfounded. His icy eyes soon narrow into an amused gaze. He lets out an entertained sigh, and gets up from his seat.

You cock your head, confused. At first you think it’s some sort of trick until he motions for you to go. As you make your way down the aisle, you feel a tight grip on your wrist, holding you back.

“Don’t get cute.”

He lets you go, and you find yourself in the cramped space. After locking the door, you make the attempt to collect yourself, taking in a deep breath and exhaling a groan of pure rage. You curse yourself at the situation you found yourself in. You curse yourself for the possible danger you’ve landed your family and possibly innocent people in. You stare at yourself in the mirror, angry that you even let yourself fall for him back at the bar before all this even happened. At this point, you would like for nothing more than to punch the mirror, cracking and shattering it into shards.

Wait. The mirror?

Glancing at the soap dispenser, you frantically pump out some of the soap, forming suds on your hands. By the time you’re finished writing your message, you let out a laugh of relief. Cleaning off the evidence, satisfied with your plan to escape, the pride suddenly drops into the pits of your stomach as you find Jackson, waiting outside the door.

Before either of you can get a word out, you feel his hand covering your mouth. The back of your head hits the wall as he slams the bathroom door shut. You feel woozy, from the quick motion quickly halting to a stop. You can hardly pick up what he’s saying until you find your consciousness has faded back into place.

“If that little, by-the-book stewardess saw that, the plane would be safely landed, I wouldn’t be able to relay my command to the man outside your house, and your family will be dead.” His hand grips the sides of your cheeks, forcing your gaze to meet his. His eyes, glacial, look at you fixedly. “It would be wise of you to stop gambling with their lives.”

Due to the cramped space you two currently find yourselves in, you feel his body on top of yours, impossibly close. The room starts to grow heated. Breathing heavily, adrenaline flows through you, ready to escape by any means necessary. Without thinking, you press your lips to his.

He opens his mouth slightly, allowing you to feel one another’s tongues in your mouth. He nips at your lip as he pulls away, eliciting a soft mewl to escape your lips. You gaze into each other’s eyes, deeply, before diving back into one another.

The kisses grow more heated. You can feel him gripping at every curve and crevice of your body. Your hands make their way up to his head, fingers raking through his hair, giving it a soft tug. You note that this seems to spur him on, as he grinds himself against you. Feeling the sudden friction to your groan, you let out a hushed moan.

You soon find yourself being propped up on the sink. The sound of heavy breathing and Jackson unzipping his pants fills the cramped cubicle of a room. You can feel a growing dampness from within you sex. Arousal spikes within you, once Jackson’s throbbing cock is whipped out from his pants.

A hand drops in between your sex. You bite back a moan as Jackson gathers your pooling arousal, swiping over the spots that make you squirm. He lets out a smooth chuckle, pleased with himself. Positioning himself with your entrance, you feel his cock slide into you roughly. His other hand warps into your scalp, yanking you closer to him as he fucks into you.

His pace is slow, but exponentially rough. You can feel him splitting you open deliciously, fighting the urge to let out whimpers of pleasure escape, which would compromise both your position. It’s when he speeds up his pace, which has you getting more vocal as you beg for your release.

“Jackson, please,” you pant. Your back hits the wall with each thrust, feeling yourself come more and more undone.

“N-not until, fuck, you make, the call,” he grunts, pounding into you.

“Mmm, you know, I-I can’t do that.”

“Then I guess, you won’t be coming anytime soon,” he teases, cruelty staining his voice. He slows down his pace, significantly, forcing your approaching peak to cease. “It’s your choice, how bad do you want it?”

[everythingne]

out of the woods, 5 (ls2)

With clear favoritism boosting all of Ferrari's tactics, Dhanishka makes a difficult decision after a crash causes her to see the true colors of her team. Logan sweeps in to save the day.

series masterlist

warnings/notes: mistreatment of Dhanishka by Ferrari, car accidents with very minor injuries, this chapter was originally twice the length.... i had to cut half of it for next chapter LMAO, wrote this instead of doing my finals !

(ch4) (ch6)

--

The little room they've shoved us all into for media is more crowded than I want it to be. The Chinese GP was off to a rocky start already, with downpour rains all day on Thursday. I'm looking for Charles, turned in on myself even in the room full of flashing lights as I try to hide from the world. I want nothing to do with media. I know its going to be a shit show, and my stomach churns and knots until I make eye contact with Logan across the room. A weird wave of calm hits me, before its also sprinkled with anixety.

We haven't spoke since he kicked me out.

I swallow my pride and smile at him, and though I note his smile isn't full, he does still return one. I can tell he senses my apprehension as he nods, and he excuses himself from Oscar and Alex's sides to cross the small, cramped room. I manage to slip through a wall of reporters surrounding Max, nearly being shoved aside before I'm grabbed and pulled and into the firm protective hold of Logan. Instinctively, his arm wraps tight around my waist as he brings me to his chest. My hands find his shoulders and slide across in a hug as he leans his head down to whisper,

"You look terrified, Isa." His hand squeezes my waist and leaves the skin tingly, as if he's shocked it with little electrodes hidden in his finger tips. All his lingering touches feel like that, they have since I was seventeen.

"I am." I say back to him as I pull back from the hug just enough for us to look at eachother, "It's first media day after we announced this whole... thing."

Logan nods and then sighs, bringing the hand thats not still clutching my waist up to comb through his hair, "This is probably the worst possible time to bring that up, but I'm sorry for just..."

He trails off and before he can finish, I shake my head softly and give him the tiniest reassuring smile I can muster. He quiets at the soft expression on my face as I bring one hand down from his shoulders to pat his forearm, before squeezing it as I speak,

"No, Logan. I should've told you from the beginning what I wanted. It was wrong of me to string you along like that," and I hesitate before adding, "I don't regret it, if you're scared about that, too."

He seems taken aback by my apology, but before we can say more, we're split apart by media duties. I try to turn back to say something when he grabs my wrist to pull me back to him and from Charles, who turns back with a confused look. Even I'm confused, before I'm laughing as Logan's planting a goodbye kiss on my cheek with a softy murmur of 'keeping up the look.' And no matter how hard I try, I can't find a logical defense for my blush.

So of course, Charles teases me about it, which is caught on nearly every camera in our direction as we're brought to the little media pen this time. Luckily out of the grabbing range of asshole reporters and the people who want a headline.

And the first reporter for me is luckily The Ophelia Piastri.

"Danny..!" She sings, handing me a microphone labeled 'VOGUE' as she steps in, ever so elegantly, next to me.

"Hi, Ophie." I smile, leaning in to give her a tight hug. Luckily during media I didn't have to wear my team uniform, so I had been dressed to the nines in the white and red Ferrari dress-jacket-thing, with the little cape thing on the back. I knew I looked good, which is why I assumed Ophelia had grabbed me before she went off to find Lewis.

"Since we last spoke, quite a bit has happened, but lets talk about this outfit?"

"So, this is Ferrari, of course. I cannot remember the name of the jacket for the life of me. It's a white leather trench coat with a red silk trim, Ferrari's black boots with, of course, the red trim, and a black Ferrari purse. I am completely Ferrari today."

"You look stunning, the red of the Ferrari suits has always looked good on your but this pop? Stunning, brilliant, we love to see it."

Her interview is a bit longer than I'm expecting, mostly because we keep getting off track, and then I'm pulled away and into the mass of the boring, normal interviews.

It's Sky News who comes to be annoying, some reporter I don’t recognize. I glance over to Logan, who is on my left side down a bit in the media pen and find him staring. He looks away quickly and I bite back a laugh as Charles knocks my shoulder with his to keep me paying attention. I miss the reporter introducing himself but don’t miss the way Charles tightens his grip on my wrist.

“Any specific reason you were spotted in London last weekend?” The man asks me, holding the microphone towards me and I shrug with a tiny smile.

“Just making some visits to my friends, is all. I also had some media responsibilities.” I reply calmly and catch Logan’s eye again, this time my look lingers long enough to see him try to mouth something to me before the reporter talking pulls me away again.

“A certain driver seems to have caught your eye, though, are we correct to assume there’s some heat between you and a certain Williams driver?” The man smiles almost predatory and Charles taps the back of my arm to signal me to move back as he eyes the reporter with a confused look. As I fall back, I let a soft laugh tumble out of my lips as I realize it’s fucking Anthony Davis and that’s why both Logan and Charles have stopped to watch.

“Thought my instagram post was pretty clear,” I chime once I find my footing and push my emotions back, “if that hallway stuff you released to press as blackmail against Logan to do that interview with you wasn’t already enough.”

Charles is staring like I’ve just cursed this man out, I think I can hear Lando laughing somewhere off to the side.

“We’re done with you, thanks sir, make sure to tell David I said hi.” I grin forcibly, watching as Anthony’s face grows in anger. Charles steps between us, asking Anthony to leave and I allow myself a reprieve here to look around. Logan gives me a little smile and an appreciative nod, which I return, before I’m being pulled away by PR.

-

Qualifying brings back Ferrari’s curse.

Charles tires go and he nearly crashes out right before the end and my back wing is broken by the time I’m done. With the challenges we faced, we both do qualify higher than expected which does make me feel a bit better.

After standing and talking about the car and strategy for way too long, I’m let loose to the solstice of my drivers room. The pristine and almost shockingly tidy room is a safe haven as most the chaos of this weekend and I allow myself to relax as I slowly get myself undone from the race.

I change and take my hair out of its now frizzy braid, taking the time to brush it as I stick my head under the sink faucet to wet my hair. I’m wringing it out as I hear a knock on my door.

“Come in!” I call, grabbing a towel to place over my shoulders as the door pops open and I’m greeted with the soon to be Norris’ couple.

I gawk, “How did you both get in here?”

“Charles owed me a favor for all the times I’ve snuck him into Red Bull.” Olivia shrugs as she pops her purse down next to me on the couch, “and Lando doesn’t like me walking the paddocks by myself anymore.”

“That fucking reporter.”

“Don’t.” Olivia points at Lando, who huffs, and she then crosses the room to sit next to me on the couch before Lando can snag the seat. Olivia continues to speak after pausing to sip her drink, “good take down of Anthony today, little debutante."

“Ah. Thank you.” I laugh softly, brushing my hair with the same red brush, eyes glancing over to Lando and Olivia as I try to keep my blush to a minimum. Olivia's soft compliment made my heart skip, as any praise did. It was hard to come by it in this sport and I was honestly happy it was Olivia who was supporting me like this.

“How’re you feeling? You did pretty good for a busted car. I saw how fucked that rear wing was when I was pulling in the pits after Q1.” Lando continues the conversation and I shrug, turning at Olivia's cue so she can start to braid my hair for me. It's weirdly like having my mom or sister do it, I hate how much it makes me miss home.

“It sucks I’m not higher. Wallahi, I'm so tired of this." I complain, rolling my eyes back as I try and keep myself calm. Frustration wouldn't get me anywhere here, "they’ve been harping on me all season about getting back to the level I was at in Bahrain. And they're acting as if every race since, I haven’t had terrible car issues! Sorry you guys fucked up my car!"

"Sounds like Ferrari." Olivia hums, "I think I've heard both Charles and Carlos say this same thing over the years."

"Maybe talk to Charles about it, he'd know Ferrari better than I would." Lando suggests, watching his fiance as she finishes off my braid and then squeezes my shoulders and pulling me back to rest on her chest as she lazily wraps her arms around me. Lando kicking his legs up to rest on my lap as he yawns into the back of his hand.

"I have been, he's been a huge help, but it's still ridiculous." I complain, smushed against Olivia's Red Bull tee as I close my eyes to fight off the stress migraine forming. I complain for a bit longer, Olivia convincing me to talk to Charles about my frustrations once again. But by the time I've gone off to find him, I notice his attention being held by Fred and some of the engineers. Even when I try to get him away, he's continuously pulled back with soft sorry's thrown over his red clad shoulders.

I go to bed that night with a migraine. The next day I nearly crash twice when my tires are too worn but they won't box me, and sulk in my drivers room after due to losing my podium position. Sure, I finished a lucky P9 for my car issues... but I was fighting with Max in P2 when my rear tires decided they hated me.

I ask so many times to be boxed. It’s not the first time they refuse to pull me into the pits, but it’s the most dangerous. I have no grip, I have nothing but prayers and maybe a bit of luck because I don’t crash out.

And when Aakash is not supportive over the radio, maybe I lose my cool, and maybe that’s what causes half the garage to give me the cold shoulder as I get out of the car. I do what’s needed, barely speak, don’t smile, and then retreat to my room with the hope of my anger dissipating.

When my frustrations don't wear off, even after I snag the treadmill to sprint until my legs are jello, I go to try and find Charles for our little private post-race debrief. I need him in this moment like a fish needs water, the debriefs we have been having being the only thing keeping me from losing my mind in Ferrari. I spot him in the garage still, but he's being held captive by the team. They engross themselves in deep plans for his racing, smiling and waving hands in excitement. I notice no one had come to grab me and swallow the sick feeling in my gut.

"What about Dhanishka?" Charles asks, eyes flickering over to meet mine and I feel the pull to enter the conversation until Fred shakes his head and squeezes his golden boys shoulder, saying,

"Dhanishka comes second to you, Charles. You are more important than some girl. We'll use her to help you..."

Fred's voice fades out as I swallow hard, my hands shaking immediately in a mix of rage and embarrassment. How could I have been so stupid?

And when Charles snaps his head up to meet my eyes after a moment, I've already turned to rush down the hall. Tears prick in my eyes at my own stupidity, that I felt like I belonged in this red building. Sure, it was something off hand, maybe he didn't mean it the way he said it, but it was enough to frustrate me to tears.

If I cry one more time before the end of May, someone might get strangled.

I retire to my hotel room early that night. Even when all I wanna do it party, I choose not to join anyone in the festivities, and ignore the mass amounts of messages blowing up my phone asking why I'm not at the after party. I ignore the world, let the sun set into black skies as I stay tucked in my bed--still in my fireproofs. I can't bring myself to move, a mix of anxiety in my gut and genuine pain in my body keeping me in the plush blankets. My parents call to congratulate me, I humor them with a tired smile and blame it on the time zones. I pretend I'm asleep when I see Anya tries to call me twice. I can't lie to her.

I have to ignore her so they think I'm doing fine. I can't worry them about me turning into the monster I had been after Trident again. But that monster claws at the restraints and slowly breaks them.

Hours later, not that I would know the time, someone knocks at my door. I ignore it, even as the muffled voices call for me and ask if I'm alright. I just stay still, tucked up to my chin in blankets, until someone scans a card in the door and begins to let themselves in. I jump, preparing to throw my phone in defense, when it's Danny who pops his head in.

"Just checking to see if you're alive, mini-me." He smiles, opening the door a bit more so from my vantage on the bed, I can see Charles and Logan behind him. I know they all see I'm still wearing everything I had on at the track, and I see remorse in Charles' eyes when he sees my state, but I shake it off.

"I have a bad migraine, but I'm alive." I say, choosing for that to be the reason as to why I was laying in the dark. Not because I felt too tired to get up to turn the light on, or that I felt my seventeen year old rage returning.

"Need anything?" Logan asks, feather soft, before the others can. I hate how I can see him noticing all my soft lines turning hard. I just sit there, then I shrug when I realize they're expecting an answer.

"Just some sleep. I'll see you guys next race weekend." I wave them off, yawning into the back of my hand. Logan steps into the door frame, welcoming himself in. I don't argue as he crosses the room to sit on the edge of my bed, pressing his hand to my temple.

"You're not sick." He murmurs, "just a stress migraine this time, then?"

"You--huh?" I blink and Logan smiles party, a soft blush on his cheeks only illuminated by the light in the hallway.

"You always get migraines when you're stressed or when you've got a fever, Isa." He squeezes my wrist, watching my face carefully, "If you don't feel hot when you have a migraine, it's just stress."

“It’s just… it’s been a rough weekend and I kinda snapped after the race ‘cause this migraine won’t go away.” I lie half now, Logan seems to buy it a bit more as he leans forward and gently pulls some of my stray hairs back behind my ears—settling them how he knows I like it.

“You did really well for all the issues you were having. Can’t beat yourself up over something you can’t control, Danny.” Daniel says from the doorway where he and Charles lean, I squint when I look towards them in the light and see while Danny looks full of concern—Charles looks sick.

“I know. It’s just been a hard adjustment.” I shrug and Logan nods.

“Adjustings a bitch.” he says and I laugh. About twenty minutes later they leave, after Charles runs down to grab a Doordash they force me to order. Logan calls me much later, telling me to sleep so I don’t feel like shit tomorrow.

We talk on the phone for so long he ends up sleeping in the same bed as me, arm wrapped loosely around my waist as my head is tucked in the crook of his neck. It’s safe. It’s definitely not platonic, but it’s safe, and it’s what I need.

--

-

So far it's been:

Bahrain, P3,

Saudi, P5,

Australia, P8,

Japan, P4,

China, P7,

and now it's Miami, where I land a solid P10 after Carlos clearly attempts to knock me off the track entirely and runs me into the gravel. I have to fight for my way back up from P20. I'm impressed with the run some of the back drivers give me (especially Haas and Alpine) but I'm frustrated in general with my finish.

Because what could've been more is fucked over when Carlos in P9 swings purposefully wide and damages my front wing.

"It's not fair!" I complain to Charles as I pace the length of my tiny drivers room, "I don't know what he has against me!"

"Isa," Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair, "Be proud of what you did accomplish, a wonderful ten place overtake in only seven or so laps! You did amazing tonight, even with that fuck up!"

"You've been podium every race except for Australia when Oscar beat you and Max." I snip, whipping around so hard my braid whacks the side of my face, "What I would do to be able to get up there... its just annoying some drivers have made it their agenda to get me off the track! Carlos has no reason to nearly knock me off the track multiple times today!"

"Carlos is frustrated Ferrari dropped him for you. He'll pretend to be amicable over at Mercedes but he's fucking miserable." Charles sighs, "Ferrari's been no help either, they've yet to pay him the rest of his contract."

"Well how is that my fault, Charles!" I ask, groaning softly as I bury my head in my hands and come to sit next to him. It's not like I had told Ferrari to pick me, it had been a huge surprise they had. Charles has no answer and I just huff and lean back into the couch's plush surface and hide my face.

"I'm miserable too." I complain into the air, and it's frustrating to admit it. Charles can tell I don't wanna talk about it, so he just pulls me to his side and lets me curl up there. I feel like a child, but I feel safe.

—

Miami proves to be more difficult than I expected.

I had qualified really well, starting in P4 with Max, Charles, and Lando ahead of me. I was holding my own during the race, but Ferrari wasn't clearing me to pass Charles to try and take P2. Which is honestly the least of my worries right now. Aakash has been non-exsistant on the radio today, barely answering as per usual. I was basically using my own strategy at this point, pulling off of tips I had been given by Charles for this track.

And everything is surprisingly going well.

“Woah!” I shout, turning clear of whoever is in the Alpine that’s stuck half off the gravel, I make some sort of contact but not enough to deter me, “Alpine is down on the track, hit him, I think front damage? Rear wing is still locked in DRS.”

“Understood. Possible red flag coming up, use these last seconds to try and secure position.” Aakash says into my headset and I reply back with a soft ‘copy’ as I go to turn normally but for some reason I find that I whip to the side—under steering hard. Luckily, by pure coincidence, it keeps Oscar behind me and secures a place in P3 behind Charles. But the car isn’t driveable in this state, extremely dangerous, and my hands shake as I struggle to press down my radio button while holding the wheel steady.

“My steering is going out!” I curse, trying to stabilize myself—waiting for a red flag or a safety or something. Where the fuck is this safety car for the crash?

“How bad is it?” Aakash asks and I grit my teeth as I pull into the next turn. I curse softly, breaking a bit harder than I need to but managing somehow to keep Oscar behind me. I think he knows to stay back, that something is clearly wrong,

“Terrible, terrible! I can’t fight like this!” I snap, groaning as we move now to a straightaway. Oscar comes to my left and I steer towards, Aakash is calling that the flag is flying and the safety car has been deployed, but my eyes are on Oscar as he tries to maneuver around the other side but I cut him off again—or try to.

I steer too hard, clipping the front of Oscar’s tire on the slick of the still drying Florida rain and spinning out. I feel the gravel as the car spins and then the world rocks when I hit the wall. I can't breathe for a moment, breath caught in my chest as I grip my seatbelts. No one calls over the radio for a moment, and then,

"Dhanishka, is the car okay?"

"Fuck you." Is my reply as I grab my restraints and slowly unclick them. It's agony to move as I take out my steering wheel and pop it on the top of the car, hoisting myself up and nearly buckling back down into the car in pure pain. I manage to get myself out by the time medics arrive, they take me to medical to get checked and it's like I'm not even worried about. No one from Ferrari comes to check on me.

I limp myself back to the paddock, guarded by McLaren employees and followed closely by Lando and Olivia--who is softly scolding the FIA in her phone. Her voice thick in frustration over Ferrari's dismissal of me, her hand on my lower back supporting me as I walk. Once they get me back to Ferrari, Olivia forces her way in to escort me to my drivers room.

"I'm gonna get them fined for this bullshit." Olivia mutters, helping me sit down on my bed. I don't reply as she hands me a change of clothes and then gives me a soft hug, the painkillers slowly kicking in and making my dull pain fade. Once I feel a bit better, I wave her off to go home and she reluctantly does.

And my migraine flares when Aakash knocks, entering my room. He's still got his headphones on, and I bite back about thirty insults as he crosses his arms.

"Feel better?"

"No." I huff, "and your precious car is fine."

"Listen, we're pushing you because we need you to be a better driver." The mechanic looks at me, arms taught over his chest and I wish it was still Ami in charge of my comms.

"I don't understand what you want from me!" I shout in frustration, my hand itching to throw my helmet across the room at him. I’m not violent, I never have been, I don’t understand why I’m so short of breath. It feels like the rage in my belly fights to be fed by all the oxygen in my lungs, my hands shaking as he slam my helmet down and punch the plush surface of my bedding.

“Dhanishka—“ Aakash tries and I whip around, pointing at him and watching his face fill with shock as I finally snap under the pressure of the weekend.

“No, listen to me! [You all love Charles, treat him like your golden child! He coughs and you all run to get medicine, but when I am out there and I am struggling and nearly dying, you do nothing! I fought with a broken wing and a fucked up steering wheel and what help did I get?!]” I snap at him in my mother tongue, watching his face fill with something like horror as I step even closer, “[None of you were there for me! You all went to coddle poor Charlie—he was fine! I was the one who suffered for you! Where is my help? You have all done this the whole season!]”

“[Charles was frustrated—]”

I cut Aakash off, screaming, “[And I nearly killed myself out there because none of you would help! Do you think I wasn’t also frustrated?!]”

“Listen, I—“

“Get the fuck out of my room! I’m not doing media! I’m going the fuck back to my hotel.” I snap and Aakash listens, quickly ducking out of the room. I rip off my suit and throw it in my bag and I get changed into my street clothing, only pausing to touch up my makeup. I pass by Charles coming back from podium with a cold shoulder and shove through the crowd to my car, digging out my keys and getting in. I sit there, hands tight on the wheel for a while, and my fingers start to go numb as I feel like my brain is shutting off and going into autopilot.

I just sit back and watch, like a movie goer, as the world around me fades in my mind.

I come back to my senses sharply, knees digging into the tile as I’m sitting on the floor in the bathroom. I can feel the remenants of a panic attack shaking off my limbs, leaving them staticky. My hands shaking at the slamming at the door to my hotel room.

“Isa!”

There’s only one man who calls me that.

I try to shout that I’m gonna let him in but the words are caught in my throat, and I hear him echo and think I’m going crazy as I whine into the bathroom air. Then I realize I’m clutching my phone tight enough to shatter the screen and Logan’s contact is up—blazing bright into my face.

“Lo…?” I wheeze and I hear him pause mid knock before he shuffles and—

“Isa?” He crackles into the phone screen and I nearly sob at the familiarity of his voice.

“I-Give me a second. I’m coming to the door.” I whisper, slowly raising to my feet and stumbling out into the hall as my senses fight to try and come back to me in full. My hands are numb when I un-deadbolt the door and I barely have enough time to step back after I pop the door open. In a flash, Logan is everything around me, tucking me against his chest, his hand carding through my hair, kicking the door shut behind us and sighing softly.

“Oh, Isa—“ He murmurs into my hair and I feel the numbness snap away in favor of tears as I bury into his grasp and sob. I have cried more since starting F1 than I have in my entire life.

“Oh, Isa, I’m so sorry they’ve turned you into me.” Logan presses his hands to either side of my face, lifting me back so I can look at him. I remember how a week ago I was afraid of loving him, how I was terrified I'd lose him, and yet here he was as stubborn and comforting as always.

"I can't do this Logan." I hiccup, letting him bring me into his arms once more, kisses trailing my forehead as he keeps me locked in tight, "I can't take another day of this comparing bullshit! They hate me, all of them in Ferrari. I don't even know if I still have Charles."

"Charles aactually spoke to me this morning about getting you out of Ferrari." Logan murmurs into my hair and I step back, wiping my face as I blink at him.

"What?"

"Ferrari is using you as a way to push Charles up and he hates it. He was seeing who is staying in what teams for next season. Alex might be moving, Williams might have an open seat, and I might've helped to convince them to write 'Dubey' on it." Logan wipes some tears I missed and smiles, kissing my forehead again and I lean into every soft touch of his, "Obviously, they still need to talk to you, but I can set up that meeting if you need help with that."

When I don't reply with words, but rather the quick press of my red lips to his, his eyes widen in shock and a giggle erupts from the back of my throat.

"Have I ever told you that you're amazing?" I whisper, watching blush peek on his cheeks as he wipes a few more tears from my splotchy face and grins.

"A few times, but I don't mind hearing it over and over again.” he grins.

--

f1 made a new post!

liked by oscarpiastri, anyadubey, logansargeant, and 697k others...

f1: hours after it was announced that @ scuderiaferrari is being investigated for mistreatment of @ dhanishkadubey, Dubey announced her departure from the team in the next season, citing 'differing opinions' as the reason for the split.

dhanishkadubey: love u tifosi thank u for an incredible rookie year so far <3

logansargeant: 👀

user1: run girl run

user2: that didn't take long.

charlesleclerc: je te souhaite le meilleur pour ton avenir, petite étoile xx

user3: WAIT?? IS SHE CONTRACTED FOR 2025 BC IT DOESNT SAY SHES LEAVING ENTIRELY??

user4: WHO IS TAKING MY POOKIE.

--

taglist (open, and thank you to those on it now!)

@chasing-liberosis @justsomejess @struggling-with-delia

[whump-in-the-closet]

I thoroughly enjoyed your medic story! Always a fan when the whole team gets a piece 😂 Do you think you might continue it someday?

Also, if you have the motivation, I beg of you to please write the western one! I feel like there's never quite enough outlaw whump

Have a great day today!

Hey thanks! I'd probably continue it if someone specifically requested it...I just have issues with pacing in a story if I'm being honest lmao

Anyway, western whump! I was very excited about this ask >:)

cw: branding, gun wound, pistol whipping, western whump, death mention, captivity, manhandling

It wasn't supposed to end this way.

With the malignant, rose-colored sun setting behind the shredded trees.

With the blood pooling out around him, staining the red clay.

With the butt of his gun glinting just out of his aching fingers' reach.

With the sheriff's men picking their way towards him.

He was supposed to get away.

They circled him, spurs cutting through the tall grass. They towered over the outlaw, smiling with satisfied confidence. The outlaw had seen vultures with that same expression in their beady eyes.

The sheriff crouched down, pushing his hat back to look at the outlaw. He smelled strongly of cigarettes and leather.

"Well, well," his toothpick shifted between his coffee-stained teeth, "Evenin' sunshine."

The outlaw grunted, keeping pressure on his injured arm. His fingers were slick with blood. His head buzzed, and he could suddenly see two of the sheriff.

It wasn't a pretty thing to see two of.

"You ain't talkin' so proud now," he said, hooking a calloused hand under the outlaw's arm and hauling him to his feet. He tied the outlaw's hands in front of him with quick movements, giving the outlaw no time to protest. "Should have put a bullet in your arm a long time back."

The rope was thick and the sheriff cinched it mercilessly.

The outlaw cursed through gritted teeth, his wrists turning an irritated red beneath the rawhide. "My-- my arm--"

The sheriff slapped him lightly. "None of that bitchin'." He gave the rope to one of his men and picked up the outlaw's gun.

The sheriff spun the outlaw's gun, letting him get a good look at the weapon.

A murderous glint flashed in the outlaw's eyes as the rope was tied to a horse's saddle. "That's mine," he spat.

I'll kill you.

The sheriff laughed. The toothpick jumped inside his mouth. "No, it ain't. Not anymore. The only thing that's yours is a date with the gallows." He stepped in close, too close, and pressed the still-warm muzzle of the gun to the outlaw's forehead. "You got that?"

The outlaw held his gaze, then dropped it. He said nothing, setting his mouth in a thin line.

The pressure increased. "Say, 'yes sir'."

The outlaw's mouth twitched.

"Say it."

Those two words brought the outlaw more pain than the bullets lodged in his shoulder. "Yes...sir."

Somehow, he made it sound like fuck you. He worked his jaw in a tight circle, swirling the tobacco and blood out from between his teeth. Wasting no time, he spat in the sheriff's face.

The sheriff didn't waste any time either. He swung the butt of the gun across the outlaw's forehead.

The outlaw crumpled-- hot pain spiking behind his eyes.

A thin line of blood traced away down his shirt collar.

His hat was knocked off his dusty hair and when they rode away, it was the only thing to mark that they were ever there at all.

A cowboy hat, discarded in a muddy pool of blood and trampled grass.

They dragged him for miles.

Stumbling, coughing, arm ripped at jarring angles. Until his legs turned to lead, and every breath made his ribs ache. His jeans were shredded where he'd fallen, knees bruised and raw.

When they arrived at the camp, they tied him to a low-lying tree. They left him alone as they built up a fire, but his cramped muscles hardly let him stretch and every movement felt like his last.

The young moon shone with a tired glimmer, highlighting the sandy patch of earth with a watery glow.

The fire snapped, sending up sparks into the grey night.

Somewhere, a coyote yipped, and another joined in, then another. The chorus became a long, drawn-out howl.

The outlaw watched as they ate.

His stomach growled. He had been on the run for weeks, and the smell of venison made the starved realization crash down harshly.

The sheriff stood up with a long stretch. He bent over the fire, adjusting a metal prong. He turned towards the outlaw with a slow smile.

The outlaw snarled. "What the fuck are you looking at?"

The sheriff approached him, nodding to two of his men.

A straw-haired man put out a cigarette on the heel of his boot and walked towards the outlaw. Another man, with a greasy mustache and striped shirt, followed.

The outlaw glared at both of them, straining against the ropes. "Fuck--" Too much pressure on his arm. Hurt. He inhaled deeply. "Fuck off."

The sheriff looked down. He spat at the outlaw.

Tobacco-stained spit dribbled down the outlaw's face, and he couldn't wipe it away. He squinted up at the sheriff.

"Do y'know how long I've waited for this?" drawled the sheriff. "A long time. A long, long time."

The straw-haired man grinned. He was missing his front teeth. "We always knew you were gonna git him, sir."

"Shut up, Barney," said the man with the greasy mustache. "Kissass."

The sheriff ignored both of them. "I reckon," he said to the outlaw. "You know how many men you killed when you stole those cattle?"

Three.

"I dunno."

"Three," the sheriff confirmed. "Three good, hard-workin' ranch hands, you cattle-lovin' bastard." The sheriff spoke in a low, harsh voice. "Now the ways I see it, you're about to get what you deserve."

A cold dread filled the outlaw. "The gallows?"

The sheriff smiled. "That. And this." He waved his two men forward and turned back to the fire. "Death is too kind for the likes of you."

The straw-haired man flicked open a knife, and the other pinned the outlaw against the tree. They cut off his shirt, leaving the fire to cast shadows on his bare skin.

The outlaw cursed them, cursed the sheriff, and cursed their mothers.

The greasy-mustached man grabbed him by his hair and yanked his head back until he shut up.

The sheriff's spurs clicked to a stop beside him.

Out of the corner of his eye, the outlaw could make out the red-iron of a cattle brand.

His breaths quickened, rising and falling at a sharp, frantic pace. "No--"

"Yes. A cattle brand for a cattle thief. Only fair."

A new terror blossomed, wrapping around the outlaw's ribcage and rising up his throat as the brand loomed over him.

He could feel the heat before it even touched. He shrank back, incomprehensible swearing cutting through the night. Like his words were the only thing protecting him from the burning touch.

The sheriff pressed the brand down on the outlaw's chest.

The pain was instantaneous and brilliant, a fiery throbbing that made him scream until his voice was raw. He ripped away, back arching in a futile attempt to escape. Raw tears burned their way down his face, blurring his vision until the world narrowed to two things: the smell of burning flesh and the sheriff's veiny hand.

He collapsed as soon as the sheriff's men let go of him, spine curved in the moonlight as he doubled over.

The agony was new and fresh and throbbing, throbbing, throbbing.

The coyotes paused their chorus, then started up again. This time, the outlaw's crying joined them.

[not-poignant]

For t/f: I assume you’re a huge advocate for physical books over ebooks??

False!

~

Ebooks are hugely accessible, and as someone with massive RSI issues in my wrists (partly from writing), holding heavy books and the repetition of turning pages can be literally agonising, and can even lead to me needing surgery one day for tendon release.

I do love physical books, and I have a large collection that I'm very proud of, and weed on a yearly basis. But I absolutely am not an advocate for them over ebooks, let alone a huge one. Ebooks have been such a game-changer for anyone with accessibility issues.

Readers no longer have to rely on publishers being grudgingly generous enough to offer books in large fonts if they have visual processing issues. They can change the font (most of the time) on an e-reader. Readers no longer have to lug around extremely heavy nonfiction books, and can save their backs and wrists. Readers who live in very small or cramped spaces because of poverty or other reasons no longer have to deal with 'where do I keep all these books' because some of them (or all of them) can be ebooks. Also, almost always - with mostly the exception of some university texts - they're cheaper. What a win!

On an accessibility level, ebooks win every time, especially now that we have so many lighting options so that people don't have to put up with backlight etc. anymore. They highlight just how previously ableist the publishing industry has been around visual accessibility and joint strain accessibility.

So I'm mostly a hardcore advocate of people reading how they want to read. A hybrid mix. Only audio. Only ebook. Only paperbacks. Only hardbacks. Some combination of the four.

I love the smell of books, but I don't love the dust. I love having them organised in my library, but I don't love the eternal problem of never really having enough room. I love my ebook collection, but I sometimes forget to check into it. I love that I can get very large nonfiction tomes in ebook form, but sometimes I find them harder to highlight etc. because there's something visceral to me about dragging a highlighter or pencil across a page. Everything has its pros and cons.

But ebooks beat out literally everything else except audio for accessibility (though I can't do audio ironically because of accessibility, lmao, my auditory processing for language isn't great).

[finniestoncrane]

request but... a-anything icky creepy yucky for audio adventures scarecrow? i want him to eat MY brain like a delicacy lmao. he's so oddly hot lmao.

All Tied Up and Nowhere To Go

BTAA!Scarecrow x Female!Reader, word count: 800 ok i. really was selfish with this one and it gets kinda fuck nasty and literally made me drool 🎃🧡 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: dubcon, crying, bondage, punishment, restraints, sub/dom dynamics, knife play, blood, fear play, drugs

The ropes, smooth, silky, professional, shuffled against themselves as you pulled your wrists up gently from the wall and settled them back down. Your ankles were in much the same situation, all four limbs spread up and out from your body, in a strange homage to a star. Stuck there, weak and vulnerable. So prepared was Jonathan, that the moment you agreed to let him test your fears, to make you ultimately submissive, he had offered you one of his pills, already in his hand ready to pass to you. The hallucinatory properties only now receding, revealing to you that you were now captive in... his home? His office? Yet another property he owned for the purposes of who knew what? Your chest hitched, rising and falling in a shuddering motion as you considered what this all meant.

"You agreed to this. I mean, I don't want to make this into a big deal, but I record everything that goes on in my office. I'm hoping I don't Nixon myself, but so far... it's served its purpose well."

Jonathan's voice carried over to you, loud, growing louder as he stepped out from behind the wall and walked towards you. A grim smile covered his face, eyes piercing you from behind his glasses, slender fingers tented as he menacingly closed the gap between your bodies. His free to move and covered in his usual sleek and neat suit that he wore for his appointments under the guise of Doctor Crane. Yours, trussed up, vulnerable, and covered only in long, loose fitting shirt.

When he stood still, observing you, his eyes tracing over every inch fo your body, he let out a wry chuckle. The sound turned your blood cold, skin prickling in bumps as your hair stood on edge.

"I hate to reiterate a point, but you did agree to be tied up. Left to my devices. You're not changing your mind now, are you?"

Before you could respond, Jonathan raised his hand, holding your face still, tight. His fingers pressed against your cheeks, teeth cutting against the flesh on the inside of your mouth as he pushed both side of your face inwards.

"I asked you a question."

You tried to shake your head, but he was holding you too tight. And when you tried to say no, you were all the more aware of how tight the gag around you was, the ball forcing your lips out, saliva dripping from the opened corners of your mouth.

"Hurry up, clock's ticking."

A mumbled 'no' squeezed past the gag. Not clear, but good enough for Jonathan.

"Good girl. Now..."

He reached behind his back, pulling a knife from a sheath you hadn't noticed.

"...I sense that you might need a bit of... coercion... to keep you behaving."

You could feel your eyes straining, pupils blown wide as you kept your focus on the glinting blade attached to the handle that Jonathan held so flimsily.

"See, the fear in this room is palpable, has been since you came to. But I need a little bit more.I need to be able to taste it on my tongue."

He was so close to you now, teasing the fabric of the shirt, before pushing it in a little. The move so quick, so dependent on the belief that you would shift your body back, flat against the wall, which luckily you did. And with a cruel giggle, he brought the blade up swiftly, tearing each button off as he dragged the knife towards your chin. Exposed, entirely, your nipples hardening in the cool air, your legs trying desperately to press themselves together, to preserve your modesty.

Unwillingly, unknowing even at first, you tensed your body so tight that your muscles began to cramp, and a tear dropped from the corner of your eye onto your cheek. Jonathan laughed, loud and long, before he stopped abruptly, his nose pressed against your face as he ran his tongue up and along the trail of the tear, savouring it with his eyes closed, a low moan rumbling in his throat.

You whimpered at his joy, at his delight in your apparent terror, but it still wasn't enough. Because when you turned your face from him, daring to deny him the pleasure of the salt, the taste of your fear, he picked the knife up and held it to your throat.

"Ah, ah, ah... that doesn't seem like something a good girl would do, does it?"

You shook your head, careful to avoid the point of knife. And while you settled yourself again, focusing on your breathing, reminding yourself that this is what you wanted, what you agreed to, after all, you could see Jonathan from your peripheral, unbuckling his belt and undoing the fly of his pants with one hand, preparing himself for the next step.

[apoptoses]

hello would you be so kind as to grace us with a sneak peek of your fic for queens of the damned 👉👈

HELLO yes!!! anything for you for making such a cool event!! 🥹 it's just like 5k of armand eating daniel out on her period in a drug store bathroom lmao but i hope you're into what i have so far!!

__________________________________________________________

Look.

Daniel is helpless against the command. She holds her breath, opens her eyes just a crack. She catches sight of Armand’s eyes first but it’s her mouth that captures her fascination, the blood on her teeth.  Armand licks the red from her fangs and Daniel shudders at how flat her expression is. Unreadable. No reaction to the taste at all and Daniel can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not.

It’s a distraction, though. A different track for her mind to run down and it dulls the ache just a little when her uterus contracts. Her fingers contract on Armand’s wrists with it but her focus is on the lips brushing over her thigh. They’re pale when she’s underfed, Daniel knows that, but that’s hidden beneath her frosty pink lipstick, the red smears of Daniel’s blood. Daniel wants them between her legs so bad she pushes her hips forward against Armand’s hands.

You’re surprisingly eager for this, considering how mortifying you found it to remove your clothing.

“Shut up,” Daniel says behind gritted teeth. It’s taking everything in her not to groan when Armand’s fangs graze her flesh. “It helps sometimes. Getting off. It makes the cramps go away for a bit.”

A huff of tepid breath hits her thigh. Armand squeezes her hip hard enough her thumb-print will be bruised in Daniel’s skin after, and Daniel looks forward to that. In the morning she’ll dig her fingers into the mark and revel in the hurt. She’ll probably reach down between her legs and rub herself off to the memory of this, maybe she’ll even stick her fingers under the tap so they’re cool as Armand’s lips.

Is that all that appeals to you about the act? My serving as a temporary analgesic?

Armand kisses the tender spot where her stomach meets her hip. She licks cold (so fucking cold, technically she’s a corpse isn’t she-) right above her public hair and just when Daniel is soaked so wet she’s afraid she’s going to start dripping with it, Armand nuzzles her face into her curls. She locks eyes with Daniel and for the first time that night breathes in.

Armand can’t transmit scent with her mind, just images, but Daniel can picture what she smells. Heat and salt and the metallic tang of her blood. The sweet, animalistic note of arousal. Daniel knows it well. Armand has shoved her fingers deep inside her and then made her suck them clean enough times she knows the scent and taste of her own pheromones by heart.

“What appeals to you about this, Daniel? Tell me,” Armand demands.

Her nose is pressed to Daniel’s pubic bone. Her mouth is so close to her clit Daniel swears she can feel her lips brush against it with her words.

Inside her abdomen it feels as if her organs are stitched together, one giant web of pain. It doesn’t stop her from burning with want, though. Increases the need, maybe, overwhelming her with the desire for a distraction, something, anything to take her mind off the ache. Daniel thrusts her hips forward uselessly. She works her tongue against the roof of her mouth and tries to find an answer to Armand’s question. It’s damn near impossible when her brain can’t focus on anything above her waist.

“It’s just-“ Daniel begins. Her heart hammers against her ribs. “You’re so fucking perfect. And I’m-“

Mortal. Messy. Not feminine enough to be called beautiful, not masculine enough to be one of the guys. Someone stuck in between and not fitting in anywhere, with her boys’ briefs and her full and aching tits hidden beneath a sweatshirt that’s two sizes too big. Not short haired like Liza Minelli but like she’s fresh from the barber. Un-womanly as they come but still suffering from the same shit every month, the blood and the cramps and the blemishes at the edge of her jaw.

Daniel thinks it all but she doesn’t say it. And she fucking prays that for once Armand has the good grace not to repeat her own thoughts right back to her face. If she does Daniel thinks she’ll crumble and break right here in the drug store toilet.

Armand tips her head back so that her auburn curls fall behind her shoulders. She sits back on her heels, parts her lips. Sticks her tongue out so Daniel can see it, so she can’t miss it when Armand gets in close and licks into her folds.

��God, oh god,” is all Daniel can gasp as she clutches at the back of Armand’s head.

[tauforged]

I understand health can be personal, so feel free to disregard this ask if you'd rather not talk about it publicly. But asking as one person with bad knees to another, and as one person working in an aquarium/zoo to another: do your knees often give you trouble in your line of work? Do you do anything special to take care of them and the rest of your body between shifts? I do a few different things at our facility but working with the aquarists is always what ends up having the most potential to hurt my knees/other joints. (I have RA, for context)

it can depend, honestly. the things that give me the most trouble are going up and down stairs (my department has its office and lab on the fourth floor, and we collect samples from the basement pump room daily, so days where the elevator is out of operation or too busy can be real tough) and kneeling down. usually i don’t have to kneel down for more than a minute or two while filling sample bottles or adding buffer to a system, but the feed yesterday was an exception as i was entirely at the whims of the turtle and she was taking her sweet time eating, so i was out there for a good half hour or so. the best i could do was stop every now and then to adjust how i was sitting, but if i get the opportunity to help with a feed again i’ll probably elect to feed from a different position on the dive platform and sit on one of the steps so my legs don’t cramp up as bad.

im lucky in that i usually do lab work, so i spend a lot of time standing/walking which is a lot easier on my joints than sitting or kneeling, and when i do sit at my desk i’ve got plenty of opportunity to get up and stretch whenever i can feel anything starting to lock up on me. i also sometimes bypass the employee stairwell and go up to the office via the main exhibit area, which is almost entirely gradual sloping ramps as opposed to the steep and tight spiral staircase — it’s less efficient, and can be a pain if we’re busy, especially since the fourth floor itself is inaccessible via ramp (our floorplan is a little fucky wucky) so im hitting the stairs either way, but one flight is much more manageable than five LMAO

thankfully for me, the position i work isn’t as labor intensive as stuff i’ve done previously (im never touching retail again as long as i live — stocking heavy ass bags of dog food and aquarium gravel used to knock me OUT) and what little heavy lifting / climbing around that i am doing is few and far between — but i’d imagine that’s different depending on what you do. someone who spends a lot of time physically in the exhibits and climbing up and down off the rocks in the penguin area to scrub it down will probably be faring a lot worse than a lab tech. honestly what’s been getting me the most lately has been my hands 😖 i love data entry and playing with spreadsheets but my wrists and fingers do NOT

[r0b0t1me]

oh yes before i forget. who wants some rough drafts and scraps from The Comic

so! fun fact!! the prologue was originally only going to be 2 pages long. but then i looked at the composition of the first page and went Damn This Is Fucking Boring and also did NOT have the lead up that i wanted (it was very important to me that this entire fight felt earned since im showing the tail end of a years long conflict)

+the original writing for this second page too. interesting to see what survived. there was also going to be something at the top that went something like “mikey’s back. it doesn’t feel like it though/he hasnt said a word.” 

very early concept after leo slashes through the bus (which was the first page for this that i drew)

first draft of mikey winding up to punch leo. its funny how here he still has some confidence vs the final where hes fighting for his fucking life LMAO. anyway very weak pose here. this dialogue feels cheap to me now (they both know deep down mikey isnt really going to kill him. i dont need to tell you that. but just for a moment leo (and the reader!) feels that fear of the “what if”, thats the most important part)

oh page 3.. poor page 3. everything was going so well but i just had too many problems with this argument memory. it felt too much like The Breaking Point when it isnt at all (donnies death is the breaking point). it was meant to show their brotherhood degrading, but i changed it in the final to really emphasize the time

first draft of page 13.. middle panels were way too cramped

first draft of pages 15 + 16

bottom left panel was mikeys eye, iirc i wanted him to be shocked that leo was still going. why, though, i have no idea. of course he would be its leo. also showing mikeys face (specifically his eyes) was something i very deliberately Did Not Do up until the end. because of the tears hes holding back. its not all just blind rage fueling him. theres a hurt and a loneliness and a “i want my big brother back” wish in there too

i still actually like these poses but i think the overall composition came out better in the final page. though i like the flick of mikeys wrist and then BOOM immediate upper hand to show off how unevenly matched they are

i have to end this post off by bringing back a classic

[depravity-disposed]

I keep thinking about unconventional verbiage ( + gerunds + participles + nouns + adjectives LMAO) for tummy kink that evokes unique imagery and a boner (/gender neutral)... 0~0"""""

He swallowed reluctantly at her command, knowing the way ice cream pillages his guts and already dreading its impending siege. As if on cue, a whiny cramp garbled through the spot under his ribs.

You stare as they wince and squirm against the straps, back arching in a meek effort to push their taut torso toward you, as lust pools hotter and hotter between your legs. Their ankles and wrists are rubbed raw from all the tugging and straining. "Nngh... please help my tummy,," they rasp, jaw slack. "My- mnrgh!..." They buckle as a sullen grmolurmoluormlourr.. lurches through their belly and you just can't help yourself anymore. Your chest heaves as you fall to your knees and sieze the burgling bulge with rough fingers.

Their aching belly dangled down and she slid lower to position her head below it, clutching the pouch of their lower gut. "ah...- ooh!..." they moaned as she groped at the flesh and pressed her lips up into it. They arched their back with a gasp to sink her face deeper into their belly. Gurgles rippled and rolled all around her. "Oh... aw..." she huffed between the thrusts of her hips and her mouthy kisses. "Your tummy's sure hard at work huh?"

She shuffled away awkwardly only for a thick churn to chew its way through her angry stomach and leave her balled up on the bean bag chair all over again. "Hey,," they murmured gently, resting their fingertips on her shoulder. "It's okay."

Holy fuck. That was so good, they thought to themself-- the purring in the pit of their belly seemed to agree. After pausing and marveling and their rounded, gurgling middle jutting in the air, they couldn't help fondling it. "Oafff..." they groaned as a slosh glorped from one side to the other. Their handiwork seemed to be brewing up a vat of noise in their big gut... and spilling some molten pleasure a little further down. They pushed and prodded and jabbed at their stomach until it was a squirming, chortling mess, its contents swirling noisily within. Mmph... ah!- oh my god... A snarl thundered through their whole system and cut off with a squelch deep down in their bloated gut, eliciting a moan and sending the fingers of one hand sliding down curve to the seam of their pants. The other hand kept mashing and pressing at their middle. Shivers shot up their spine from how much pleasure was splashing through them, gurgles and sloshes loudly percolating through their full belly as it made wall-slammin love to the feast within.

She kept on infodumping, but he couldn't focus. Something was icky starting to curdle up from the depths of his heavy belly. Sweat started beading his flesh and his hand flew beneath the table. Oh no... he thought nervously, squirming in his seat. Not now... please not now! But it was no use. To his horror, a deluge of sickly burbles spilled from his quivering belly all at once. He nearly doubled over, scarcely able sense anything beyond the sharp cramps brawling through his middle... and her astonished gaze.

With a sigh, you concede. Averting your gaze, you slip out of your shirt to reveal your flushed, swollen tummy moiling miserably under the waistline of your pants. In a swift motion you snap the button apart, and your tummy blimps toward her with a slosh and a cascade of grumbles. She always gets you with that gentle look of worry; that frown pricking at the corners of her mouth, eyes swimming with concern-- no amount of pride nor embarrassment can surmount your weakness for her compassion. You slide your hands to your face to hide your humiliation as she squirts the lotion and begins to butter up your burning belly. You can only lie helplessly under her soothing hands as your stomach defeatedly murmurs its appreciation.

"Don't worry," he purred into her ear as he wrapped his burly arms around her, drawing her

~ 💚💛 sprite slosher anon 0~0""

Mmmm verbiage~

[buggerzz]

any product recs/stuff that makes ur life easier for a struggling disabled artist ? orz

I dont have much money so i have not bought a lot of things-

With my joint issues, it helps to wear compression stuff. Especially gloves. Trust me. Its worth it.

Generally bracing, i usually do my knees and wrist if needed. If i know im going to be standing or walking a lot, ill brace my knees. (I need to get new knee braces bc the ones i have currently are not doing what they need to)

ARTIST WISE- definitely compression gloves. If u use a tablet they are also good drawing gloves to protect the tablet from oils! If u crochet or knit or craft, theyre very helpful in preventing carpal tunnel aswell!

Always keep note of ur body! "Do my wrists need a break? Is this position ok on my knees? Am i subluxating my shoulder rn????" And other questions about breaks and positioning help me to. I also currently have my tablet and most crafts next to my bed, so if it gets especially bad i can lay down or move. Also nearby my meds lmao. Its also WAY easier to prop up my shoulders, knees, etc. And keep them from hyperextending in bed.

Also also, i have that all set up on a medical table like this. I got mine from my mom after her surgeries, but i reccomend getting a much bigger one because mine is a balancing act. Not good. GET ONE WITH WHEELS!!!! my one also pivots so i dont need to sleep with it over me or mess with it much.

I have a pain chart to assess where im at, if i pass an 8 i take a break or at LEAST grab my heat pad/pain meds.

I also keep water handy!! If i need meds or if im cramping/spasming it helps me to drink water.

Other tips i have are getting a stool to sit on in the shower! A shower chair would be better, but i share my bathroom with 3 other people and also. Money. So i dont have one currently. Also for showers- if it's harder for you to do hygeine because of your physical OR mental state, you can brush your teeth in the shower. Do it before washing, but like. Its better than not brushing, and when thats all you can do, do it. Also also, having something IN the shower to hold on to- sitting or standing, can also help. I have water guards and those have saved my skull TOO MANY TIMES. also showers help my brain and my body! The water temperature can act as an all over heating pad or ice pack and help with pain.

I love showers they are my best friend. Sad? Get in the shower. Hurt? Into the shower!!!

Heat pads help me, other people react well to heat. See if pain meds can help, but i only really take mine when im at an 8-10 because im paranoid about medicines.

Physical therapy ofc, its been helping me a bit. My place is pretty affordable too! Got lucky with that.

The only other thing I recommend is a rolling chair. If you have mobility issues or your knees hurt too bad to walk, but wheelchairs/mobility aids are too expensive, a rolling chair can work in the house. It's hard to go over bumps, but it's possible. My chair is ALSO broken !!! The back broke off because we've had it for 6+ years. Generally stools and chairs are good. Also just recognizing that you can do a decent amount of stuff while sitting helps. Just ,, sit.

Obv actual mobility aids are BETTER, but I dont have access to them so I make do!!!

Food wise, it can be SOO much easier to eat convenience meals (microwave stuff, sandwiches, etc) and if thats all u have to work with, its better than nothing! But i do reccomend having leftovers when you cook. Microwave that and its usually healthier and tastier and just as easy and non-physically taxing.

I also like to work ahead whemever possible. On good days i will prepare EVERYTHING needed for any physically hard task i have coming up. If i need a checklist or tasklist or a bag of items or to find something i lost, ill do that when its easiest.

ANYWAYS THAT WAS LONG. TLDR: rolly chairs, bed tables,compression gloves & other compression stuff, joint braces, topical treatments, pain meds, stools for the shower & other items for shower safety. HEAT PADS /ice packs

Actions: regular physical checkins, sit down more, do pt if possible, roll around the house, shower more, keep water handy, make extra leftovers for later, shower more, do what u can WHEN u can, prop up/support any loose joints with pillows.

[the-woild-is-y-erster]

sorry hello very random question lol but i saw your recent cosplay photo post and was wondering if your cane was a knob cane? and if so, how does it feel to like- hold it? like is it uncomfortable on your wrist or anything hkshsdjkeh i looked into them a while back but heard they were more for fashion than mobility. unless you are using it solely for fashion in which case, feel free to disregard this lol.

howdy!

yes my cane is a knob cane, i got it at an antique store, yes it is super uncomfortable on your hand, and yes i am using it for mobility!!

i have a shitton of knee and leg pain like. all the time. something something i have plica syndrome in both knees, and the rest of my legs just hurt.

i went to the doctor to see why tf my legs were hurting and she literally just told me it was because i was doing too much choreo in theater and that it would go away over the summer: spoiler alert! it didnt and there actually something wrong with me.

but i dont think its just the plica syndrome, because that mostly only affects the knee area, and i get shooting pains through my shins and thighs whenever i stand or crouch or move. at all.

if i could i would get forearm crutches, but alas, the ableism runs strong in this family.

im planning on finding an actual cane sometime soon, or crutches if i can.

i am realizing now that because of the cosplay im wearing in that photo, it really does look like im just using it for fashion, but i promise i do actually have something wrong with me lmao

i picked that one out of the giant bucket of canes at that antique store because it looked like spot conlons lmao and i needed a cane, but if you have the option i would say to not get a knob cane unless youre only using it for short periods of time.

for instance, i used it with that cosplay on friday walking around the zoo for four hours straight, and yeah it helped my knees not hurt like a bitch but it cramped my hand a ton and my wrist is still sore.