#select your file ��️

[jojo-schmo]

Trick AND treat!! Wherever they land, may my bubbles bring you the treat that you need the most…. My only desire is that it brings you a moment of genuine happiness. 🩵🫧✨

If a bubble finds you, please let me know! Whatever Kirby universe or timeline you’re in, they will reach you. Whether it’s during or after Halloween itself. :3

Melody of the Bubble Witch’s Spell 🎶

[funkycrabturtle]

100 followers DTIYS

i cannot thank you guys enough for 100 followers! all my endless gratitude goes towards everyone (in my giant mention list..) so for this, yanno what time it is. DTIYS TIME!!!

drawing in 4 random different styles sounds kinda fun though!

here comes the giant mention list: @masawaffles, @ammythewanderingartist, @bubblegum-flavored-timemachine, @iateglas, @echodoesstuff62333, @beanieduzartz, @kraang5, @jasminegazer, @lotus-suun, @zzompi-nerddxd, @kizerain19, @4floramor, @adorenuuu, @recklessrobin05,@coralfestivalalpaca, @tottmntrealmikey, @turtles-hurtles-with-gurtles, @somewildbabe, @neonleon512, @mushythem00shroom, @r0s3r0cks, @britishboy, @splootsoot, @lexiwolf869, @redlotuz, @juicygf, @walmartlevelgoofy, @ghosty-0w0, @kandy-kaed3, @cult-of-the-lamb-fan, @angelstereo, @sweetheartwannabe, @3m0n3rd, @tw0w0, @billcipherismywife, @mutant-munchies, @cozmic-wyatt, @nuggetglitch, @genetello, @itstrinascanvas, @sapphirefrost1, @l0ser-nicolaz, @le01zk00l, @toastyghosty2425, @oktavialovethatship, @mellowyellonmarshemallon, @cippercopper, @cutesweetkidofthepinkcastle2024, @vineyvillain, @haruki-neo, @florramor, @mintflavouredtimemachine, @flothebest68686, @beaglebo1, @iheartleopards, @leroykafka, @bubbleswand253, @lyn3y0nard0, @coversuntaimed, @lluvioscatniptea, @blackk-c0ffee, @lunarloaches22,

[glitchytrait]

just thought i'd leave this here

thanks to this wonderful video, i learned how to get access to all of the sims 4 expansions totally legally. if you don't wanna go through all those steps, you might just be able to get them, too, if you follow this link...

instructions can be found in the video or in the tags. i will make my own video for my process in the future. when i do, i'll edit this post and link it here.

[pikachu-deluxe]

okay listen. (proceeds to say nothing else)

[likemosaic]

@magicxecustos : "your voice reminds me of a hearth," she remarks once, after listening to chiyo's song. after traveling for a time, it is not a new sound, but it is admired all the same. she leans back in her seat and smiles fondly at her friend. "it's warm... and the timbre is quite comforting. how lucky are those who are able to behold it." prompt : n/a.

chiyo hadn't realized she was singing under her breath while stoking the hearth's fire. the verse she had been musing is not yet complete, and she's embarrassed--were she to realize she was performing for her friend, she might have chosen a more polished piece. one she's proud of. this one has only snatches of verses, some of the unfinished lines filled in by humming the tune.

very few have ever complimented her music, and the few who have, chiyo has not taken seriously. the various master bards who have taught her, but is it not the job of a mentor to encourage their student? other bards, like guydelot and thancred, but are they not men who will say anything to woo a lady? a few patrons who have tipped her while she performs in the markets of ul'dah, but is that because her song was good, or because a pretty pair of lips was singing it? unlike it might for another artist, this self-doubt has had no effect on her musical prowess. chiyo sings to hone her craft, to express her emotions and feeling for others. not for the praise of those around her. any tips she receives are a bonus, not the aim.

but this line of reasoning does not protect her from sheri. the praise is clearly genuine. the other says what she thinks with a confidence that all stunningly beautiful women have, and is not a deceptive type, in chiyo's experience. the raen has no ears, but near where her horns begin, her cheeks tinge a gentle pink, and she struggles to meet the other's eye. to be complimented upon her looks or her dress is one thing; to be complimented on that which sits nearest and dearest to her secret heart is another. her tail flicks back and forth.

"you are flattering me," chiyo responds with a huff of a laugh, playfully accusatory, but it's too late. the compliment has landed. the fire in the hearth crackles, as if in response to chiyo's nerves. "it was only...'tis nothing special. i haven't yet finished it. some of the lines haven't come out right just yet..." chiyo realizes she's avoiding accepting the compliment and corrects herself quickly. "but, i digress. thank you."

[suusoh]

I am not in the COD fandom but they were really cooking something with the yandere sentient self aware characters who know they are in a game, and falling in love with reader whenever she boots up the game to start playing.

[systemrestart]

[WARNING: FLASHING LIGHTS]

:^) Lotus Land Story, Lunatic 1cc, with ReimuA!! This is my second ever Lunatic 1cc

This one's been a long time in the making. LLS was my first Hard 1cc ever, way back in 2010. I felt so sure that a Lunatic 1cc was on the horizon….. but, well. LLS is a bit special when it comes to Lunatics ;;

LLS and MS don't just bump up the difficulty of the patterns/enemies. They also have nearly every enemy shoot tiny, white, aimed bullets at you…… constantly. Including the enemies that come up from the bottom of the screen or that surround you. That, combined with LLS's notorious "choke points" (Stage 4 midboss, Rings of Doom, Yuuka's finale), makes LLS Lunatic a lot more frustrating than it should be ;; But, with the extremely generous extra lives and free bombs, it's (thankfully) still doable!!

I'm not gonna lie, this run was Sloppy. But, I'm really glad I decided to record "just in case", and that I managed to pull out a win in the end :) Maybe someday I'll come back for a cleaner run, or try to clear with Marisa instead, but for now, I'm satisfied.

[guiltyidealist]

Obscure made it and I didn't even have to cheat save and reload! Here's my weird son, plus Birch couch and dogg

[funkycrabturtle]

those two are really up to something right now.. gossiping about MR & other girly stuff

[shadowblade8192]

everyone complains about companies taking our freedom away in technology and walled gardens and advertising and all that crap but as soon as someone suggests linux they get lynched

We need to lay more blame for "Kids don't know how computers work" at the feet of the people responsible: Google.

Google set out about a decade ago to push their (relatively unpopular) chromebooks by supplying them below-cost to schools for students, explicitly marketing them as being easy to restrict to certain activities, and in the offing, kids have now grown up in walled gardens, on glorified tablets that are designed to monetize and restrict every movement to maximize profit for one of the biggest companies in the world.

Tech literacy didn't mysteriously vanish, it was fucking murdered for profit.

[nateconnolly]

Blackout Poem Made of Disability Benefits Applications and Denial Letters:

[Image ID: A blackout poem. The edges of the black are straight and rectilinear. I will indicate breaks in the line using the slash symbol /. Some of the excerpts include boxes where you could draw a check mark. I will indicate these by writing (box). The poem goes

Answer every question. / Please tell us if you want us to return them to you. / Select the heaviest weight lifted. / Using fingers to touch, / (Box) One hand (Box) Both hands / Using hands to seize, (Box) One hand (Box) Both hands / reduction / refusal / Termination / Penalty / You can give us more facts to add to your file. / You do not meet with the person who decides your case. / Notice of Decision — Unfavorable / Disabled worker’s name / Date given when disability began / Date of death. /end ID] 

The final three lines are from denial of benefits paperwork for workers who died before the end of the mandatory five month waiting period. How many of those deaths are connected to poverty? I don't know, but I can guess.

[technijianravi]

Critical Windows Update: Apply Patch Now to Prevent Black Basta Ransomware

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

You sit beside Xavier on the bench in the park, watching people pass by as golden afternoon light filters through the leaves. The air smells of fresh-cut grass and distant food carts. A stylish couple walks past, the woman’s laughter musical, her confidence evident in every step.

“I wish I was pretty like her,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him, your fingers absently tracing patterns on the wooden bench.

Xavier turns to you, his expression shifting to one of genuine confusion. His brows furrow deeply, eyes widening just a fraction.

“What... did you say?” he asks, his tone remaining even despite the clear puzzlement in his eyes. He shifts his body toward you, giving you his full attention.

“Nothing, just...” you gesture vaguely toward the retreating couple. “Sometimes I don’t feel very attractive. Especially around people like that.”

Xavier stares at you for a long moment, looking genuinely bewildered. The silence stretches between you, broken only by distant children’s laughter and birdsong.

“I don’t understand,” he finally says.

You start to explain, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his unwavering gaze, but he gently places his hand over yours, the warmth of his palm surprising against your skin.

“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head slightly. “I mean I don’t understand why you would think that. It doesn’t make sense.” His thumb traces a small circle on the back of your hand. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he states matter-of-factly. “I’ve always thought so.”

Coming from Xavier, the sincerity in his voice makes your heart skip.

“You don’t have to say that,” you protest weakly, looking down at where his hand covers yours.

Xavier shakes his head, leaning closer. “I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. I don’t...” he pauses, carefully selecting his words, “understand how you can’t see what I see.”

His fingers tighten around yours, the pressure gentle but grounding. “Every time I look at you, I...” He struggles with the words, clearly moving outside his comfort zone. A faint color touches his usually pale cheeks. “From a purely objective standpoint, the way you look—” He stops, frustrated with himself, and takes a deep breath.

“That’s not what I meant to say.” He closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, there’s a rare vulnerability there. “What I mean is that you’re beautiful. In every way that matters. Your smile when you’re excited about something. The way your eyes light up when you talk about things you care about. How your whole face changes when you’re lost in thought.”

He reaches up with his free hand, hesitating just shy of touching your face. “I’ve remembered every expression you make. I’ve studied them all.” He looks away, embarrassed by his own earnestness. “You’re beautiful. Please, don’t think otherwise.”

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly, as if relieved to have expressed something he’s held inside for too long. He doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the afternoon.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

You’re helping Zayne organize his medical journals in his office as late afternoon shadows stretch across the polished floors. The pristine space feels both clinical and comforting—much like the man himself.

As you reach up to place a heavy volume on the top shelf, you catch your reflection in the large window overlooking the city. The bright lighting does you no favors.

“Ugh,” you mutter, tugging self-consciously at your clothes. “I look awful today.”

Zayne glances up from his desk where he’s been meticulously updating patient files. He sets down his pen, the soft click audible in the sudden silence. His eyes, usually so focused on his work, now study you with that penetrating gaze that seems to see beneath surfaces.

“What brought this on?” he asks, his voice filling the room.

“Nothing specific,” you say, turning away from your reflection. “Just... some days I don’t feel pretty, that’s all.”

Zayne stands. He gestures to the leather chair beside his own. “Sit.”

You comply, watching as he leans against his desk, arms folded across his chest. The setting sun through the windows casts half his face in shadow, highlighting the sharp angles of his features.

“Are you overthinking again?” he asks directly, but there’s no judgment in his tone. “Or did someone say something to you today?”

“Just overthinking, I guess,” you admit, fidgeting under his steady gaze.

He nods once, as if confirming a diagnosis. “I see.” He’s silent for a moment.

“Beauty is subjective,” he begins. “But if you’re asking for my opinion...” The corner of his mouth twitches in what might be the ghost of a smile. “You’re more than perfect. Inside and out.”

When you start to protest, he raises a hand to stop you.

“I don’t make observations lightly. You know that.” His eyes hold yours. “I’ve studied human anatomy for years. I’ve seen thousands of faces.” He leans forward slightly. “None of them affect me the way yours does.”

The admission seems to surprise even him, a rare moment of vulnerability from someone so carefully composed.

Suddenly, he reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a small chocolate wrapped in gold foil. It’s from the exclusive chocolatier across town—the one he pretends not to favor.

He places it in your palm, his fingers lingering against yours longer than necessary. “Here,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Sweet for the sweet.”

Before you can respond, he leans forward and places a kiss on your forehead. The momentary closeness allows you to catch the subtle scent of his aftershave mingled with antiseptic.

“Now,” he says, straightening himself, “wait for me to finish organizing these journals so we can go home. I’m thinking of dinner at that place you like on Fifth Street.” He turns back to his desk, but not before adding, “And no more nonsense about not being pretty. I won’t have the person I care for most questioning their worth.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

You’re sitting on the private beach adjoining Rafayel’s seaside studio, watching him add final touches to a vibrant seascape painting. The ocean stretches endlessly before you, waves crashing rhythmically against the shore. The air tastes of salt and fresh breeze. Seagulls circle overhead, their calls mingling with the gentle lapping of water against sand.

Rafayel stands before his painting, completely absorbed in his work. Paint splatters decorate his rolled-up sleeves and there’s a smudge of blue across his cheekbone. The wind tousles his already disheveled hair as he captures the dance of light on water.

A group of beautiful people laugh further down the beach, their perfect silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. You glance down at yourself, then back at them, feeling suddenly out of place in this picturesque setting.

“I don’t think I’m pretty enough for this place,” you whisper, the breeze carrying your words away—or so you think.

Rafayel’s hand freezes. He turns to you slowly, paint-speckled fingers stilling on the canvas, his expression transforming from focus to complete disbelief.

“What did you just say?” His usually playful voice has an edge to it now, sharp as broken glass.

“Nothing, just thinking out loud,” you reply, regretting having spoken at all.

“No, no, no,” he sets his palette down with a clatter on the small table beside him. “You don’t get to say things like that and dismiss them as ’nothing.’” In an instant, he takes a seat on your side. “Did someone say something to you?” he demands, looking around the empty beach as if searching for culprits. “Which human do I need to have a word with?”

“No one said anything, Rafayel. It’s just how I feel sometimes,” you admit.

“That’s even worse! Your own mind betraying you like this?” He runs his fingers through his hair. “This is an emergency. A catastrophe of the highest order!”

He grabs your shoulders. “You are an absolute masterpiece. Do you understand? A masterpiece. I know art. I create art. I live and breathe beauty in all its forms. And you—” he pokes your cheek lightly, leaving a tiny dot of turquoise paint, “—are the finest creation I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

When you try to look away, embarrassed by his intensity, he gently tilts your chin back. The setting sun reflects in his eyes, turning them to liquid gold. “The ocean is jealous of your depths. The stars envy your brilliance.” His voice softens, becoming almost reverent. “And I would swim across every sea before I let you believe you’re anything less than stunning.”

He wraps his arms around you suddenly, clinging like a child. “Now don’t say such ridiculous things again. It offends my artistic sensibilities.”

He then stands, pulling you up with him. “Come on. We’re going to watch the sunset together. I’ll show you how I see you.” He places a brush in your hand, his fingers lingering. “And maybe then you’ll understand why I can’t look away.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

You stand before the massive floor-to-ceiling windows in Sylus’s penthouse suite, overlooking the sprawling N109 Zone from stories up. The city stretches below like a circuit board of neon and shadow, vehicles and people reduced to tiny moving points of light. The luxurious room behind you is bathed in the soft glow of artfully placed lamps illuminating his collection of rarities—collections plucked from across time and space.

Catching your reflection in the darkened glass, superimposed over the glittering cityscape, you murmur without thinking, “I don’t know why you keep me around. I’m not even pretty.”

The room falls silent. You hear Sylus set down whatever gem he was examining, the soft clink of crystal against metal followed by his steady steps as he approaches.

“What an odd thing to say,” he remarks, his voice silky yet sharp as a blade, “because you’re entirely incorrect.”

You turn to find him watching you, head slightly tilted.

“Did I hear you questioning your beauty?” A smirk plays on his lips, but his eyes remain serious, almost stern. “After all this time with me, you should know very well that I have exceptional taste.”

He closes the distance between you. He places his hands on your waist, positioning you both so your reflections are visible in the window. His gaze in the reflection holds nothing but admiration.

“Do you think I surround myself with anything less than perfection?” He gestures to the rare treasures adorning his collection shelf—items worth more than most people earn in a lifetime. “Do you imagine I would waste my time on someone who didn’t captivate me entirely?”

His fingers trace your jawline, feather-light. “Hundreds of rare gems, ancient artifacts, priceless paintings—I collect only the extraordinary, the unique.” His voice drops lower, more intimate. “And yet, not one of these treasures compares to your presence and beauty.”

When you start to protest, he places a finger gently against your lips. “I don’t tolerate self-deprecation from the one person in this universe I genuinely cherish.”

He turns you to face him fully now, both hands cupping your face with surprising tenderness from someone so powerful, so used to taking what he wants. Your disbelief must show on your face because he chuckles softly.

“Your beauty is not up for debate, not even by you. Challenge me on anything else if you wish, demand whatever your heart desires—but on this matter, I will not yield.”

He steps back after brushing a kiss against your forehead, apparently considering the matter settled. “Now come here and tell me what you want instead of what you think you lack. That’s much more productive, don’t you agree?”

He gestures to the plush sofa. “Sit down and tell me about your day today. I haven’t heard you talking about it.” His expression softens further. “Let’s talk about that instead.”

As you join him, he casually drapes an arm around you, pulling you closer. “And tomorrow,” he murmurs against your hair, “I’ll show you exactly how beautiful you are to me. I have something special planned—something worthy of you.”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

You’re absently scrolling through your phone as you accompany Caleb while he sorts through Fleet reports in his home office. The space reflects his dual nature—military precision in the organized shelves and structured workspace, but touches of warmth in the photographs and mementos from his DAA days. The soft glow of multiple screens illuminates the room as rain patters against the windows, creating a cozy atmosphere.

Caleb sits at his desk, brow furrowed in concentration as he reviews security protocols. His uniform jacket hangs on the back of his chair, sleeves of his standard-issue shirt rolled up to reveal his forearms. Despite the late hour, his posture remains perfect—the Colonel, always on duty.

Glancing up, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflective surface of a dormant monitor. The unflattering blue light highlights every perceived imperfection.

“Ugh,” you mutter under your breath, running a self-conscious hand through your hair. “I look terrible today.”

Caleb’s head snaps up from his work. “What did you just say?” There’s a sudden alertness in his posture, as if responding to a threat.

“Just that I’m not looking my best,” you shrug, trying to downplay it, surprised by his intense reaction. 

Caleb stands, his chair rolling backward. His eyes narrow as he scans the room like he’s searching for enemies in a combat zone. “Who put that idea in your head?”

The protective edge in his voice takes you by surprise.

“No one, Caleb. It’s just how I feel sometimes.” You set down your phone, touched by his concern even as you try to ease it.

His expression darkens for a moment before he walks towards you. “Hey,” he says, crouching beside where you’re seated and taking your hands in his. “Look at me.”

When you meet his eyes, they’re filled with the same warmth they held when you were both kids, before the Fleet, before the incident—before everything changed.

“I’ve watched you grow more beautiful every single day since we were kids,” he says, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The calluses on his palms catch slightly against your skin. “Sometimes I still can’t believe I get to be with you.”

He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. Rain continues to drum against the windows, creating a private world just for the two of you.

“You’ve always been the prettiest person in any room to me. Always will be. Nothing compares to coming home to you.”

His smile returns. “And trust me, I’ve had plenty of people try to catch my eye over the years. None of them even came close. It’s just not possible when my mind can only think of you.”

He presses a soft kiss onto your forehead, his lips warm against your skin. “So no more of this ‘not pretty’ talk, okay? Or I’ll have to issue an official declaration about how gorgeous you are, and that would be really embarrassing for everyone involved.”

Based on this request.

[queriesntheories]

REBLOGS ARE OFF CAUSE THIS GUIDE IS TERRIBLE AND YOU DESERVE BETTER

I will instead redirect you to THIS more comprehensive guide, and cobalt.tools. Cobalt solves the problem of low quality video when you're done with VLC, and it can also take videos from a dozen other social media platforms.

Support the cobalt dev and the better guide writer, not me. I'm just a person who boiled down a wikihow guide and a youtube tutorial into a TLDR. I did not do very much work. They have.

I might turn reblogs back on, but for now I implore you to put your attention where it's needed most. Thanks for understanding. (original post under the cut)

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

alright i am sick of yt to mp4 sites being shady and full of viruses and finding websites that seem to be working and then don't work

so HERE'S HOW YOU DOWNLOAD YOUTUBE VIDEOS WITH VLC!! VLC FREAKIN RULES!!

get your youtube link

open vlc, go to media > open network stream

paste your url in the box and PRESS PLAY!

wait for the video to open then go to tools > codec information

copy the entire file location (click the box, then ctrl-a to select all, then ctrl-c to copy)

paste into your browser of choice (i use firefox)

right click video and press "save video as", choose your file format if you want

DONE! NO VIRUSES OR SKETCHY STUFF!

the quality might be a little crummy but if you don't mind that, then shabam! video on your computer! then you can email it to yourself and have it on your phone too if you want! if you need a guide with pictures wikihow has you covered my friends

happy downloading and stay safe on the internet :D

[symbiomancy]

scientific curiosity —frankenstein's monster

—summary: You created him. You patched him together from pieces of humans and beasts - lost your license to practice medicine and your PhD for that. He should not look at you and lust. But he does. | 1.8k | AO3 | monster masterlist

—warnings: monster x human, monsterfucking, handjob, implied mating cycle/heat, thigh fucking, rutting.

The creature has an affinity for music. That fact is not even near the most fascinating thing you’ve discovered about him, but it is a very pleasant one. He taps the keys of the piano with grace, despite his size. Mozart today, huh?

“Your motor skills are improving at an incredible rate,” you say more to yourself as you scribble furiously into your notebook. The creature voices a grunt of approval as he stares at the sheet music propped up in front of him. Mentally, you pat yourself on the back for selecting such a fine brain.

You cannot deny his improvement at everything, really. He’d graduated from picture books to children’s books within two days, to classical novels and medical books within a week. Getting him acclimated to his size had been a challenge at first but it has been leaps and bounds from those days. Writing, string instruments, key instruments, all of it, a truly incredible progress. There’s only a handful of things you’ve yet to ask.

“Any sexual desire?”

His fingers stumble on the keys.

You whip around, one arm slung over the back of the chair and push so the legs screech loudly against the wooden floor. There’s a grin on your face, pen in a death grip in your hand. “Care to elaborate?” You blindly reach for the notebook still on the table, eyes fixed on his large frame, at the way he hunches over, staring firmly at the sheet music.

“No.”

“Well, it is fall,” you muse, raise your elbow to lean it against the chair backrest, pen tapping against your bottom lip. “And I did have to supplement some parts for beast parts.”

“Hadn’t even noticed.” He thumps a foot against the ground. Griffin’s hind legs. Could’ve used the wings but taking too much from one body would’ve created too much suspicion.

“I really thought a vampire’s hand would, y’know react to warm blood — a mistake on my part, I’ll admit it. But,” your grin widens even further, “fascinating how a werewolf’s knot is still a knot even if you cut it off. Does the full moon affect it in any way?”

Your creation glares at you from across the room.

“What? Scientific curiosity.”

“You had your PhD and medical license revoked for…” he takes a deep breath and takes his hands from the piano keys to motion to himself, “me.” There’s a hint of something in his tone, something that borders on disgust. You file that away to discuss at a later time. “It’s why we’re out here. Hiding.”

“There are worse reasons to lose a doctorate for. And I was a scientist while creating you. So, scientist. Now, answer my question, please?”

The creature gently pulls down the key lid on the piano, stands, and wordlessly leaves the room.

He doesn’t come down for dinner.

You stare at the vacant seat on the other side of the dinner table with a frown. His plating is untouched, steam rising from the potato stew where he usually sits. There is no creaking in the house, nothing to signal he’s coming down. You eat alone and place his meal into the still-warm oven.

His door is closed. You stand there for a while, mulling over your words, trying to string together an apology. Should you wax something long together? An explanation? Run-on sentences to try to justify your innate curiosity at your creation’s physiological state? Nothing sounds right. Nothing sounds like enough.

“I’m sorry… for asking like that. I got carried away. It wasn’t proper of me. There’s um,” you clear your throat, “I left your plate in the oven. Heat it up if you get hungry. Good night.”

You stand at the door for another prolonged moment, trying to catch any sound on the other side of the door. It’s faint, barely there, but you can make out his breathing, slow and steady. At least he’s still here. But you decide not to test your luck any further tonight and retreat to your own room, leaving the door slightly ajar. It doesn’t fit into the frame quite correctly, anyway.

Maybe he’ll at least go downstairs for dinner later.

He stands in front of your door, staring at the small sliver of moonlight that pours into the dark hallway. There are too many loud thoughts in his head, racing and colliding. His skin feels ill-fitting, a heat simmering underneath it. You ask too many questions, he thinks — has thought since he left you in the study alone to hide away in his room with the blinds drawn and his cock in hand — too many questions that prod all the right places.

It’s in your nature. You were a scientist. And a doctor with an intricate web of knowledge about the human (and creature) body. He shouldn’t fault you for asking.

While you were downstairs eating dinner alone, he had his cock in hand — not a wholly new experience but a new-ish one — stroking it over the low bathroom sink. He’d tried, tried thinking of other things but nearly all of his experiences are tied to you and your presence. So he keeps coming back to you. Your pretty face, your smile, the light in your eyes when you ask him about his body, his psyche to scribble into your umpteenth notebook all about him.

Even now with his pants undone, cock hanging out, already (or still) hard, he thinks of you. He stares at you through the crack in the door, soundly asleep in your bed. The covers are tucked tightly over your body but legs exposed to the fall chill. It’s not right, he thinks, he should at least tuck you in before you get a cold.

He pushes the door open slowly. It creaks a short, aborted squeak and you shift in bed, pull the blanket tighter against yourself. The creature steps forward, carefully placed footfalls dancing around the one creaking floorboard right at the entrance, long slow strides taking him to the foot of your bed. You shuffle again, and for a moment he thinks this is it, you’re awake, but you turn onto your back, kick at the blanket with one foot.

You are… enticing like this, he finds. He thinks that’s what this feeling is. All he has to compare it to is the novels he’s read over and over and over again.

He grabs onto your ankles with his warm hand, touch featherlight, and gently, slowly, pulls you forward. The end of your nightgown catches against the sheets, drags further up the closer you get to him. He has the anatomical knowledge of the human body — he’s read every book in the house several times over no matter if fiction or an anatomy book, he’s effectively memorized all the illustrations, if not the texts themselves.

His fingers trace the expanse of your skin, gently knead into the flesh. He can name the muscles and the tendons, the nerves at the crook of your knee. He’s spent countless hours staring at the illustrations, even the more… explicit ones. He’s curious — you’ve rubbed off on him — but it’s dark. Instead, he stares at the gap between your thighs. It’s inviting, just perfect for him to slip his cock through. It jerks at the thought, precum dribbling from the tip.

You blink slowly. The room is dark, save for the moonlight filtering in through the window above your head. In front of you, right at the foot of the bed stands a tall figure, hand wrapped around your ankles, resting against his shoulder. Your brain jogs the existence of your creation before you startle involuntarily. He startles too, nearly dropping his grip on your ankles.

“Everything alright?” You ask. The fall chill bites at your thighs and oh.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pressing his body against the back of your legs. Something hot and heavy, wet presses between your thighs. The tip of his cock presses between your thighs, forward and backward. Slowly, like he’s testing the waters. You stare at it for a moment, then press your thighs together.

The creature groans and thrusts forward, hips assuming a sloppy pace. He’s tall and wide and big and that’s how you built him. The bed rocks with his thrusts, the headboard banging against the wall, scraping at the paint. His cock plunges between your things, smears precum onto your skin, slick and wet and loud. The sound of his cock plunging between your slick thighs is nearly deafening in the silent house. Your own arousal curls under your skin but you file it away to stare at him.

This… this is not what you had in mind when you first came up with this (quite possibly very stupid, very illegal, medically and scientifically (not to mention ethically) dubious) idea. It cost you your license and your reputation, sent you into exile. You don’t regret it on the worst of days but especially not right now.

His cold hand wraps nearly wholly around your thigh and you clench around his cock involuntarily. Your muscles jerk from the sudden chill. He groans and his hips stutter for a moment, stumble in their sloppy rhythm before he regains whatever shred of his composure is left and continues thrusting. The bulb at the bottom of his shaft is engorged, knocking against your clit with every thrust. You can’t even focus on that, just on the beads of precum dribbling from the tip of his cock, smearing against your thighs as he pulls nearly all the way back. When he thrusts towards you, pearly droplets fly, splatter against your wrinkled nightgown.

He pulls you into him, hips slamming against your thighs. The metal bed frame screeches at something, you can’t even react as he thrusts forward one last time. He cums with a guttural growl that reverberates in your own chest, thighs pressing against yours, hips jerking forward. Ropes of hot cum shoot from his cock, land on your torso. You reach out, wrap a hand around the enormous cock to jerk him off, prolong his orgasm, milk him for everything he has to offer. There’s a hiss from the back of his throat as you work him empty, splattering onto your stomach and chest, even your chin. It’s warm and sticky and it sinks into your cotton nightgown, clings to your skin.

His breathing is erratic once his large frame stops shaking. His chest expands and constricts against your legs, nails digging small crescents into your ankles. Your toes are cold from the forced position.

You reach down to the puddle of cum pooling on your stomach and draw a heart into it with a small giggle.

The creature looks up from his mess tentatively, brow furrowed and lips jutted into a hopeful smile.

“You’re not mad?”

“I’ll have you know I picked out every part of you according to my personal preferences.”

banners/dividers by @/cafekitsune

[literal-bot-account]

y'know, back when I used Reddit, if you found some hateful content of any sort, it wasn't that hard to report it. You clicked the "Report" button, selected "Hateful Content" out of the wide variety of options available, and then clicked the "Submit" button. I did this pretty often, because some of the communities I was in attracted rather unsavory characters as a side effect.

Do you know what happened next? Next, I received an automated message that said basically "Hey, thanks for reporting This Content (link to reported content). We've received your report and will review it shortly." Usually, a day or two later, you'd receive another message in your inbox saying "Thanks again for reporting. We found this content in violation of our TOS and have removed it." Sure enough, if you followed the link back to whatever you reported, it would be gone.

It was that easy. No explaining yourself, no explaining yourself again but differently, no redirect to a new tab, you didn't even need to know the specifics of what did or didn't violate TOS. No matter what happened, they would write back and tell you what was going on. If the reported content didn't violate TOS, they would tell you.

When I hopped over here full-time, I continued that reporting habit, thinking it'd be largely the same experience. I have had complete and utter radio silence from @staff on every single report I've ever filed. Have I been making a difference? Is my voice being considered? Who knows! But it certainly hasn't felt like it so far.

At least now I know those reports were going straight into the garbage, rather than just having to wonder.