#some perspective and framing practice

[dietmimo]

KDJ gets bored when HSY works from home.

Birb Daddy AU

[likesdoodling]

This is what happens if you listen to too much creepy/eerie music.

Specifically 'Neovaii- Heart shaped box'

Which sounds cool.

But is also kinda creepy.

So since I was listening to it for inspiration-

This is what I got.

My thought process was 'Rapunzel, but dark.'

:D

[hatikarat]

It's funny how people will shit on western empires and talk about how they ruined so many things and turn around and be like but this (non-western) empire would have handled it better. Then there's real discourse about how a colonial power stole land from this monarchy and since that colonial power ceded the land then the monarchy should get the land back when the land had become a state with a democratic process (albeit imperfect) and the majority inhabitants of that land are indigenous to that land with no loyalty to said monarchy

[jweekgoji]

I quite like Cybertronian!Reader, who can transform into a motorcycle. So Reader's size is just taller than a human. They can still stand in the palm of a larger Cybertronian's hand. What do you think?

TFO!Chars/Motorcycle!Reader [hcs]

tw: size difference, mentions of possessive/overprotective behavior. chars mentioned: D-16/Megatron, Orion Pax/Optimus Prime, Elita-1, B-127, Sentinel Prime, Darkwing, Airachnid. word count: ~2000 a/n: the size difference is sooo yummy  thank you for request anon

D-16/Megatron

One of the tallest from the miner gang. When D-16 finally gets his cog, be ready for a constant tease from him. I feel like cogless D-16 is the most respectful one, he understands how hard it is for you to fit in a society where physical differences play a huge role in how others would treat you. So every time you get into trouble, he will pick you up and like «my apologies!» before quickly walking away since he does NOT want to be punched for the second time this day. He is a total sweetheart, but please, don't be like Orion.

Cogged D-16 is more bold. He is happy he can finally transform, and he desperately wants to test the limits of his own powers. You might walk next to Orion and Elita-1 one moment, and then he quickly grabs you from behind, placing on his shoulder with a «here, let me help you» which is kinda sweet if you think about it.

He also has that tiny overprotective side in him, which is borders with possessiveness. If Orion tries to ask D-16 about it, he will get defensive. What is wrong with him, helping his fellow bot? He never means to disrespect you, his intentions are pure, it's just happens that he is taller and stronger than you. How ironic.

I still believe that, as Megatron, he never treats you as someone weak and unable to protect yourself. He admits that you're skilled, you are a capable warrior if necessary, but he'd rather keep you close than let you wander around others. His touch is careful, his whole servo covers most of your frame, and he loves it, but he's not sure about the others. He doesn't trust them with you. If other decepticons try to mumble even the slightest insult towards your size and alt-mode, he will act as if they dare to insult Megatron himself. [reader is hot enough to replace you whenever I choose, Starscream!]

Orion Pax/Optimus Prime

Cogless Orion is a huge troublemaker, and he is reckless, despite his good intentions. He constantly wants to prove himself, to Sentinel, to others and to you. He can see you struggle with everyday life, and he wants it to make it better for you. Orion often brings you some tiny energon cubes he stole during one of his secret visits to the archives, or maybe it's some pretty shiny thing he gets you because he knows you love it. When he sees your optics almost sparkling in amazement when he holds a trading card of Micronus Prime and you immediately go to reach it, he will be like «what's the magic wooord~?» playfully making you try and reach for it. He's not a bully, usually he quickly quits it and gives you it anyway, but he just adores that cute, tiny smile on your face.

The height difference between you and Orion once he gets his cog is even more noticeable. But after everything, there are noticeable changes in his behavior. He sees you from a little different perspective (no pun intended), and he practically looses that playful and teasing side of his now that he has many responsibilities on his shoulders.

If Megatron is a bot who prefers to hold you close to himself, standing on his shoulder, Optimus is the one who would kneel so he can look into your optics. Now that he's a Prime, a real, kind and caring one, it might feel a little different for you because with Sentinel everyone was used to looking up at him. What Prime would stand on his knees for a small bot for you? You're dear to him no matter what size you are, and he wants you to know that you're important to him.

^ a tiny addition, but he's the bot who probably would like having you on top of his alt-mode, a tiny bot on top of a truck. It gives more mobility during a fight, and he can be sure you're safe next to him. a cute sight for autobots, but a dangerous combo on the battlefield for others!

Elita-1

Elita doesn't really care if you're short or tall, she is more occupied with her own thoughts about how to deal with today's mission and get her promotion. If you do your job well and listen to her orders without being a trouble, she also has no trouble with you. She's not rude, just a busy woman who is thinking about her career, you know? But if you somehow are friends with her, she can spare a minute or two to have some rest.

I feel like she shares the overprotective trait with D-16 if you're much smaller compared to many other bots. Mines are already dangerous for everyone, so she has to keep her optics on you 24/7 so you wouldn't get in trouble, for example, if you accidentally got stuck by a rock or lost somewhere. She explains it like «I don't want to lose my chances of promotion because of you» but it is only a partially true.

Cogged Elita is as bossy and commanding as before, but now she's more open about her feelings about you. You two have some similarities between your alt-modes, you're both cybertronian motorcycles after all. << but the size difference between her and you are a little funny tbf. She might give you the same treatment as Orion with her «I am better than you» talk, but she quickly adds all your other unique abilities. You're fast, brave and strong despite your size, despite often being teased by others, you never give up and continue to fight. She's inspired, and she makes sure you know that she adores you for it. But when someone else tries to pick on you, she will punch them straight into their face.

B-127

You two are both short. Congratulations! But somehow...he's not the shortest on the squad? Bee doesn't see anything wrong with you being small, if anything, he will try to make it look like it's the coolest thing he has ever seen. He is just happy to have new friends, especially the ones who can talk back to him! like «what do you mean you can transform into a motorcycle? that's like super, mega, ultra AWESOME! can you drive while standing on your one wheel? can you do some cool trick??» he's your biggest fan.

B-127 is really touchy with you, mainly because he had never talked with other bots for cycles while being stuck on level 50. He likes to hug you, pull closer to himself, and nuzzle his cheek against your helm, sometimes even doing it without realizing it because he has so much energy and affection he has to release, and you're just around him...it's hard not to give you some love.

This guy probably makes you his victim of loooong, long talks. He will keep you close to himself, and you just HAVE to listen to him talking about Steve, how he struggles to pick a new nickname for himself, and how happy he is to have a cog and finally work for the government...! Bee is very enthusiastic, it doesn't hurt at all, but he has this death grip around your frame that you have no chance but to listen to him. He probably doesn't realize that he holds you, maybe he's unconsciously a little scared of being left all alone.

Sentinel Prime

That man is a bastard. And a huge prick. If he chooses to let you have your own cog, that's probably for his own amusement. I mean, with or without a cog, what difference would it make for him? If anything, he might accidentally kick or step on you if he wasn't careful enough, so consider yourself lucky because he was in a good mood to spare your life. Maybe with a cog, you would be more useful for him?

Personally, see him as a bot who would have you on his shoulder/palm while posing for some photo just because he wants to look like a very respectful guy. Look at him, some tiny two-wheeler and THE Sentinel Prime? Ohh he's so kind and caring for all of his citizens! But he just does this for a boost of confidence and support from other bots. Whatever helps him rule over Iacon and get energon faster?

In private, if you have a closer relationship with him, I can definitely see him loving your small frame the most. Other bots I mentioned before pay a little to no attention to it, for Sentinel this is a thing that makes him feel even more powerful.

He's careful around you, his touch is gentle and soothing, but in his mind, it's tempting and hot; one wrong move, and he can easily damage you, but he never does it because he is in control. You're lucky he likes you or just finds you amusing to keep around. He's a control freak.

^ definitely into holding you on his lap if he has a chance. you can mind your own business until he randomly picks you up and places you where he wants it.

Dakrwing

He is a jerk too, but at least he doesn't hide it. It really depends if you just got your cog recently or if you were with it all your life. If you were a cogless miner before, Darkwing has no mercy for you. He needs his work done and fast, after all, it is an order from Sentinel and he doesn't care if it's too hard for you to hold mining equipment that is almost as big as you. Do your job or he will report you, there's no other expectation. << but he might pick on you more than on anyone else just because of your size. Poor you.

If you were born with your cog and one of the elite cybertronians, might be a racer too, I can see him being softer. As a cogged bot you have a lot of free time, and most bots usually spend their time racing or minding their own business but let's say, you are popular enough to be noticed by him, who happens to be your biggest fan. If he spots you walking through the streets of Iacon he will awkwardly approach, holding his poster of you, shyly asking for you to sign it. His height and voice in intimidating but he acts like a total fanboy around you.

Airachnid

The spider lady is scary, intimidating and a little freaky. Most of the time she's really quiet next to you, whenever you are in the same room, listening Sentinel yapping about something unimportant as usual, you will notice her glancing at you. At first you might think it was an accident, the second one as just awkward, the third time she would not look away once you notice her staring. she has that little pleased smirk on her face whenever she sees you.

Airachnid is probably the second one of the tallest bots here. she's taller than Sentinel (but I'm not sure if she's bigger than Megatron with Megatronus cog), her spider-like appearance makes most bots uncomfortable and it will surprise her if you weren't at least a little scared of her. she's not the one to openly tell you that she enjoys the height difference between you and her but her silent interest tells you everything. her optics always focused on you and no matter how small and stealthy you are, you have no chance to make a move past her.

[the-lazy-cat-bakes-souffles]

The scene where Jackie hauls Shauna away from Van inside the burning plane wreckage is one of the most under-discussed relative to its impact, and gives us so much insight into the characters and wider themes of Yellowjackets.

In some respects, it was the first act of violence in the wilderness. Now, by violence I don’t mean something done with the intent to harm. Jackie was placed in an extremely stressful adrenaline-fuelled situation where she had to make a choice with seconds to spare. Practically speaking, it was also a logical choice: the fire was rapidly encroaching and there was every chance that freeing Van in time was impossible, so Shauna would be fruitlessly throwing her life away. After all, the rear of the plane does explode soon after they get out.

But that doesn’t change the fact that it was callous and violent in its impact. It was Jackie, in that moment of intense danger, choosing to leave Van to burn alive - and actively prevent her from receiving help - because there was a chance that she might lose Shauna too. “For the record, I was trying to save you.” True character is revealed under pressure, and this scene is the show’s way of signalling to the audience what Jackie values most, the thing that will cause her to abandon all other principles: Shauna.

This is enforced by her later saving Van from the plane propellor: it’s an act of atonement, but also a way to convey the hierarchy of Jackie’s priorities. She loves her teammates and would trade her life for theirs without hesitation, but she would trade any of their lives for Shauna’s if it came to it (it also speaks to how little Jackie values her own life and is further evidence of her suicidal ideation).

One of the things that strikes me most about the scene is how similar it is to when Javi drowns in the second season. In both cases, Van and Javi are in severe environmental peril and desperately cry out for help. Shauna and Nat respectively attempt to save them at great personal risk, but they’re pulled away by Jackie and Misty, who have determined that it’s better to sacrifice one if it means saving the other.

While the contexts are different, the theme is the same: “It chooses.” And ‘It’ is all of them. ‘It’ is all of us. When driven to the brink and placed in the most dire of extremes, any person, no matter how virtuous, can behave in base ways. It’s always baffled me that Jackie is often framed as an exception to this by the fandom when we’re presented with such a clear example through her character on day one, long before anyone had descended into savagery. I’ve no doubt that if she’d survived and mended her relationship with Shauna she would have gone to great lengths to keep her (and the baby) alive, even if it meant compromising her strongly held morals.

In spite of everything, Van did escape the wreckage, which means that she could have been saved. And she was left with deep trauma that lingers into the third season. However much we might be able to justify Jackie’s decision, it still came at Van’s expense. This isn’t to say that I think Jackie is deep down a cruel or violent person; she’s patently not, quite the opposite. But it’s compelling to explore what moves someone to act in ways counter to their nature, their moral pressure points, and how they account for their actions. It does a disservice to Jackie to downplay her complexities and flaws, just as it does a disservice to Shauna to regard her as an inherently sadistic person when her first instinct was to risk her life to help.

Then there’s how the scene informs Van’s character. Van is an optimist who is moulded by hardship into a pragmatist, and these two forces are constantly battling within her. Being left on the plane establishes this conflict: from her perspective, her life was easily discarded by someone she trusted. Van is confronted with the harshest of truths: that her survival is not guaranteed, nor is the support of her peers. It’s something hard fought for, and something she must fight for herself.

Her relationship with Tai mirrors the codependent bond of Jackie and Shauna. Their devotion to each other leads them to sentence Ben to death despite both holding doubts over his guilt. They rig the cards to protect each other from being chosen for the hunt, in doing so condemning someone else. Van comes to understand something of what drove Jackie to do what she did, because above all else, she cannot lose the person she holds most dear.

Once any real chance of rescue is out the window, Van fully internalises this survivalist mindset. She holds onto faith and narrativises their situation to imbue it all with some sort of meaning. But it’s ultimately a coping mechanism, a way to deal with the horror she knows they can’t escape. This is why the moment a glimmer of hope reappears in the form of the scientists, she sheds it. She doesn’t truly want it, she never did. Her final act is a culmination of that; she can’t find it in herself to kill for her own gain. ‘It’ chooses, and Van chose. As did Melissa.

What are we willing to do to survive? To protect ourselves and those we love? What are we willing to lose? How much of ourselves can we give up before the cost becomes too great? These are some of the thematic questions Yellowjackets poses, and this short scene is a fascinating microcosm of that.

[deadwtr]

“MY GIRL” multi

no thoughts, just frat boys with their girlfriends that they're absolutely enamored by

18+, mdni. frat parties, mentions of drinking, reader gets flirted with by some random person idk, character calls reader his girl, fem!reader, third person pov (reader's perspective)

content below cut

she felt the party long before she could see it—the bass pounding deep and steady, a pulse that rattled through her ribs as she walked. 2218 pine drive. even if she hadn’t double checked the address, she was sure she had the right place. the house was practically alive, front yard littered with red solo cups and twenty-something year olds, voices raised over the loud music. lights glowed from every window, shadows shifting inside, the air was thick with the unmistakable mix of cheap beer, sweat, and cologne that made her nose hurt.

despite dating the frat’s president for quite sometime now, she’d never been to any of his parties before. sure, he’d invited her more times that she could count, but she never took him up on it, always finding an excuse and brushing it off with a ‘maybe next time’—until tonight. now, standing in front of his house, seeing his letters displayed proudly above the door, she felt something stir in her chest. a strange mix of curiosity and hesitation. and judging by the sheer size of the crowd, she was beginning to understand just how much of a big deal he was in this world.

his world.

as she reached the front steps, a guy stood at the door; one hand gripping a red solo cup, the other brace lazily against the doorframe like he owned the place, holding a conversation with someone behind him. at her approaching footsteps, he turned to her. he looked at home here—dark hair a little messy, lips curled into a smirk like he’d seen this exact scenario play out multitudes of times. his sharp eyes flicked over her, slow and deliberate in a lazy, appreciative sweep, clearly taking his time.

“well, damn,” he said, slow and easy, dark eyebrows lifting in interest as he pushed off the frame to stand in front of her. “and here i was, thinking i’d already met every gorgeous girl on this campus.”

she rolled her eyes, “i doubt that.”

he smirked, stepping a little closer, just enough to invade her space.

“nah, i’d remember you,” his smirk grew wider. “you’re not a freshman, are you? ‘cause i feel like i should've met you by now.”

“i’m not.”

“even better.” he tilted his head, studying her. “you got a name, or do i just call you the most beautiful girl at this party?”

she sighed in response, “yeah okay, can you just let me through?”

he didn’t move. “you here alone? or is some lucky guy already calling dibs.”

before she could even think of responding, another, much more familiar voice cut through the night. sharp and unmistakable.

“yeah.” her boyfriend said, stepping up behind the dark haired guy, like he’d been watching the whole thing. “she’s my girl.”

the guy at the door immediately straightened, confidence flickering before he let out a slow chuckle.

“shit, man.” he said, lifting his hands in surrender. “didn’t know she was yours.”

he stepped to the side, just enough to her boyfriend slip through. her boyfriend didn’t spare him a second glance, his focus solely on her as he stepped in closer, curling his arm around her waist, fingers pressing warm against her hip. he smelled like laundry detergent and his citrus-y cologne, a faint trace of beer lingered on his skin, but regardless his presence was grounding. familiar.

“you should’ve told me you were coming,” he murmured, voice low as he leaned in, lips barely brushing her ear. “i would've met you outside.”

she tilted her chin up to meet his gaze, a smirk on her face as she whispered back. “and miss the warm welcome?”

his eyes darkened just slightly, grip tightening against her waist.

“funny. didn’t look like you were enjoying it.”

she huffed a quiet laugh. “are you jealous?”

he hummed in response, kissing the shell of her ear before pulling away slightly.

“not jealous,” he said smoothly, but the way his fingers flexed against her told a different story. “just wondering how long i should’ve let that go on before stepping in.”

“and?”

he studied her for a second, letting a smirk grow on his face. “figured you were about to shut him down anyway.”

she raised a brow, a smile forming on her own lips. his fingers traces slow circles against her waist, his voice dipping lower. “but i wasn’t gonna let him think he had a chance.”

“so dramatic.” she rolled her eyes, but the warmth curling in her chest and growing hot in her ears betrayed her.

“mm, i guess. only when it comes to you.”

before she could fire back, he gave her a light squeeze, chuckling under his breath. he tugged her just a little closer before nodding toward the inside of the house. “c’mon. let's have some fun.”

and just like that, with his arm wrapped securely around her, he led her inside, pulling her fully into his world.

touya todoroki, KEIGO TAKAMI, tomura shigaraki / OSAMU MIYA, toru oikawa, tetsuro kuroo, KOUTARO BOKUTO, hajime iwaizumi, KYOTANI KENTARO, atsumu miya, ryuunosuke tanaka, KEISHIN UKAI / dick grayson, JASON TODD, damian wayne, bruce wayne, OLIVER QUEEN / EREN YAEGER, jean kirstein, connie springer, levi ackerman, MICHE ZACHARIUS / suguru geto, SATORU GOJO, kento nanami, toji fushiguro / literally all of toman + your faves

@bokutoko

deadwtr, do not copy or repost

[glitchgh0sty]

🎵 if you’re ready for some lore and ya know it, clap your hands 🎶👏👏

Essentially, Decepticon!Prowlers got some, *cough* upgrades that I should probably mention,,

[Lots of exposition beneath cut 🫶TuŤ]

During Prowls earlier days as tactician for the Decepticons,, his superiors found that his tactical strategies tended to increase in accuracy when surveying the ongoing battles from a 1st person perspective,,

Close field monitoring made it easier for him to guesstimate percentages [and become desensitized to immediate battle brutality], The troops he was in charge of began to survive more and more frequently due to his input,, and because of this he was put in charge of more and more squadrons.

However, this comes as no surprise to us, Prowl is a powerful tactician after all. ✨

But Shockwaves understanding of his talent might be a little more, how to put it,, twisty?? Essentially, Shockwave noticed that Prowl’s accuracy increased the more integrated he was into the physical senses of the soldiers in the squandrant he was surveying. Up until that point Prowl had been receiving his data through the lens of a faulty camera located somewhere on a select infantry soldiers frame, and had become too valuable to send to the frontlines where all the most important data was being received,,

So?

Shockwave had a little idea ✨

Dedicate that infantry soldier to be Prowls eyes, modify that soldier so Prowl may see what they see, hear what they hear, feel what they feel. One frame practically living in another,, integrate it so that both Prowl and the soldier take on modifications, such as,,

Prowl: Split doorwings for more data collection / sensitivity, hooks pried between wrist plates for more immediate machine response, and plz just take your worst nightmare and put it right where the processor goes

Infantry / Soldier: Forced installation of heavy weaponry, optic replacement, and a series of wires installed throughout the frame to connect to every sensitivity nerve imaginable, like someone’s put a second layer over all of your 5 senses, but like, inside your body

Prowl would be able to access everything the soldier senses without the ability to physically interfere with whatever the soldier is doing.

Think of it this way. He is able to fully experience whatever that soldier is going through,, [though he often disables the inconvenience of pain], but he isn’t able to move the soldiers blaster or make that soldier walk. He is simply a spectator who analyzes the given data to be sent to the leaders of the troops as tactical command

Prowl is also highly adverse to the idea of being in direct contact with the foot soldiers over the course of the battle as it seems to negatively effect group cooperation when one dude is acting like their lowkey - high key possessed [because having Prowl communicate with them is less like a signal interception and more like someone is moving your mouth to make you hear things you don’t know yet]. Because of this Prowl is only able to [and only has the desire to] contact the Generals directly.

Even if that soldier is in danger, ESPECIALLY if that soldier is in danger,, Prowl would not interfere audibly with them due to the fact that the Autobots have been redoubling their efforts in discovering the significance of these [Ghost] soldiers as every time they get rid of one, another simply comes to take their place with eerily similar tactical style

If you’ve made it this far?? Please take this spoof as compensation cause ohmigosh that was a lot of words 🫶TuŤ:

[dilf-c0nn0isseur]

Guilty As Sin - Logan Howlett x fem!reader

WARNING! MDNI! includes: age gap(legal!), oral(fem!receiving), p in v penetration & ejaculation, just a lot of smut tbh

word count: 5,094

a/n: i imagined x-men 2000s logan while writing this, ik the timelines kinda fucked but i love writing him like that so.

You had heard of Logan, or what he was better known as, ‘Wolverine.’ Anything you knew of him though was what you had heard during your time at the mansion where you attended Xavier’s school for the gifted. Your studies were short, as you had only attended the year you were set to graduate. Your mutant genes had manifested themselves slightly later than others. Now, a few years graduated, you had found a permanent residence at the mansion as a member of the X-Men. 

You had not once met this man that everyone spoke of, but word amongst the mansion’s occupants suggested that he had gone off on his own for the last couple years. From what you’d gathered, he seemed to do just fine by himself.

After his rather drawn-out absence, Logan finally found himself back at the mansion. He was not troubled by the lack of company over his time away, but some part rooted deep down in him missed the sense of community this place provided. This was something he kept to himself. Vulnerability was not his style. His return was completely unannounced, but word quickly spread. Your curiosity to see Wolverine in the flesh was what brought you downstairs from your room, now leaning against a door frame to catch a glimpse of him without drawing attention towards yourself.

Your eyes focused on him as he pulled back from a welcome embrace with a member of the team, greeting his colleagues that he couldn’t have helped but missed while away. He sported an old, faded brown leather jacket that he unzipped to reveal a black t-shirt. You let your gaze wander to where his shirt was tucked into a pair of dark-wash bootcut jeans, a matching leather belt looped through the holes. 

Then you realized how tall he was in comparison to those that stood around him. He practically towered over the crowd that formed around him. Just his presence took up space. He brought up a large hand to his dark hair and ran his fingers through it.

God, his fingers are long.

From that moment forward, you were irrevocably captivated by him. 

No doubt he was much older than you. It was obvious in his appearance, the way he carried himself, his cadence. This fact did nothing but fuel your fixation. And so, you began on your attempts at his attention.

That afternoon, a few hours after his arrival, Logan had settled back in. He was content with returning back to his room, a space that was uniquely his. He got to work at unpacking the duffel bag that he had brought with him. There was not much to put away since he packed light. Everything he needed could often be easily found wherever he found himself escaping to. His travels had left him exhausted though, and he craved a glass of whiskey.

Logan made his way down to the kitchen, where unbeknownst to him, you had been waiting, expecting this to be the place that you two would be likely to cross paths for the first time. When his large frame appeared in the entrance to the kitchen, your eyes fluttered up, this time taking in his appearance much closer. Your stake-out at the table, however boring, was worth it. 

He didn’t notice you right away. He moved swiftly to the bar, set on getting his drink. You watched as the tall, burly man located the whiskey and poured the amber liquid into a small glass. The proportion of his hands around the drink really put it into perspective just how large he was. How much larger than you he was.

You had to get his attention before he retreated back to his room. Sure, you may have spared the dignity to sit and wait for him to coincidentally walk into the kitchen, but following him? Too much.

“Hey.”

Your voiced appeared suddenly from behind him and caused him to slam his glass against the counter. He whipped around to see you, sitting at the table, arms folded across the wood in front of you. 

“Shit, kid, can’t just sneak up on me like that,” he cursed. His fingers flew to the bridge of his nose and pinched it.

His use of the word ‘kid’ to address you should have annoyed you, but had the opposite effect. It reinforced that tempting age gap between the two of you.

“Sorry,” you apologized with a sheepish grin. “Logan, right?”

You had to play it off cool, casual, as if you didn’t know exactly who he was.

“That’s me.” He took a swig of his whiskey, the familiar burn against his throat soothing him from the surprise you just gave him. “Haven’t seen you around before,” he said after swallowing. “You are..?”

You introduced yourself. “I started here after you left. Heard a lot about you, though.”

“Oh, yeah?” Logan tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow. “Good things, I hope.”

You could tell he was more relaxed now, analyzing the way he leaned back against the counter, one hand propped behind him, the other holding his glass. “For sure. Heard all about your mutation. Pretty scary,” you said with a gesture to his hands. “But cool.”

As much as you were checking him out, Logan also examined you subtly, without you noticing. You looked young. Hell, a lot younger than him. But he could tell by the way you radiated comfort where you were that you were at least a couple years graduated. Most of the kids enrolled in classes were hesitant, not yet confident in their place at the mansion.

“Do they hurt?”

Your question brought him out of his thoughts. He nodded with his lips pressed to his glass again, setting it down as he finished it off. “Definitely took some getting used to.”

You were surprised at how casual he was. You didn’t really have an idea of how he was in person, but this wasn’t exactly what you expected. 

He caught you staring, noticing the slight look of confusion etched on your face. “Kid?,” he prompted. There it was, that nickname again.

“Shit, sorry. You’re just different than how I pictured you.”

A look of amusement appeared on Logan’s face. “Pictured me, huh?”

His words almost sounded suggestive. Was that how he meant to come across? Whatever the intention, you continued. 

“Kinda got the idea you were mean and scary,” you said in a teasing manner. “But you’re actually not too bad.”

“Mean and scary,” he repeated your words with a chuckle. “I guess there’s a time and place for that.”

His reciprocated banter made your confidence grow. He watched you carefully as you stood up from the table, closing the distance between the two of you and settling beside him against the counter. You reached for his hand that was placed against the cool countertop behind him, brushing your fingers against his knuckles. The difference between the sizes of your hands made your stomach turn. “Can you show me?,” your question insinuating his sheathed claws.

Logan was aware of the game you were playing now. His heightened sense of smell picked up the soft, aroused heat that now radiated off of you. The smell wafted up his nose and his grip on the countertop tightened below your hand that now rested on his. Your touch on his hand, your advancement, it turned him on in a way that made him feel almost perverted. You were so young, your experience had to be almost nothing compared to his. He had years- no, centuries on you. This was wrong. It was his job to stop it before it escalated. If someone were to walk in on the two of you right now, he could only imagine what they would think. 

Coming into his senses, Logan shifted away from you, reestablishing distance between your bodies. His hand slid out from under yours. 

“Another time,” he said, focusing his attention on turning to the sink and rinsing out his whiskey glass.

His change in demeanor puzzled you. You stared at his back, his muscles flexing underneath the white tank he was wearing as he placed the clean glass back into the cupboard above him. You wondered why his tone changed so suddenly. You pushed. “C’mon, just-“

“It’s getting late,” he interrupted you, now moving towards the hall to exit before this could go further. Before he let this go further. There was a tinge of annoyance lacing his words. “I’m heading to bed, and you should too.” 

His exit was abrupt, leaving you standing alone in the kitchen, replaying the interaction. You tried to understand his switch. If Logan was hesitant to make a move on you because of the gap between your ages, you were determined to convince him otherwise, show him that you yearned for a man like him. Someone who could really take care of you.

◆:*:◇:*:◆:*:◇:*:◆

The next day passed with no sign of Logan around the mansion. You had even repeated your camp out in the kitchen for a little while, but left only further disappointed when he never showed. At some point, you retreated to your room and took a nap out of pure boredom. This ‘nap’ turned into a 4 hour slumber that you awoke from feeling disoriented and groggy, surprised to see that the clock on your nightstand read 11:47 P.M. You forced yourself out of bed and into a change of comfier clothes than what you had fallen asleep in, and headed downstairs to the lounge for a change of scenery.

Expecting it to be empty because of the late hour, you were more than pleasantly surprised to see Logan sitting in one of the leather recliners, his arm draped lazily over the side with a half-smoked cigar dangling between his fingers. You paused in the doorway for a second as his attention was drawn to you.

“What’re you doing up?”

His question almost seemed accusatory. He narrowed his eyes at your shirt, some band he had never heard of. The collar was stretched and hung off one shoulder, revealing your prominent collarbone and bare neck. His eyes dragged slowly down your torso to your exposed legs. The shorts you were wearing were covered by the excessive length of the t-shirt. Were you even wearing shorts? Underwear? Wonder what color underwear. Logan’s mind clouded with questions that forced his gaze to the fireplace crackling in front of him, distracting himself with a long drag of his cigar.

You noticed the way he examined you. His prolonged stare, the way his eyes fell down, and then away in realization of his obvious staring. 

“Just woke up from a nap,” you admitted. 

His body tensed as you finally made your way in and sat on one of the couches next to him. “What are you doing up?”

He blew out one last trail of smoke and then put his cigar out on the ashtray that sat on the table in-between the couches you sat on. “Was just leaving.”

Logan’s rushed attempt at escape made you furrow your brow. You couldn’t let him slip away like he did the other night. 

“What’s with you?,” you confronted him. His face wrinkled, a look that portrayed his shock that you would question him like that. “Whad’ya mean ‘what’s with you’?,” he shot back. You rolled your eyes as you gestured to him, standing up and trying to make a break for the door. 

“You acted just fine yesterday, and now you’re being all stand-offish and weird.”

God, the nerve of this kid, he thought to himself. Logan was always astonished with the younger generation not having a problem speaking their mind. Instead of letting him answer, you pushed it yet again. “Can’t help but think I make you nervous.”

“Nervous? The fuck do you mean nervous?,” he spat, offended. His chest heaved underneath his snug black shirt. You stood up as a way to try and level with him. This was a silly move, because he still towered over your much smaller figure.

“I think,” you started, words insinuating, “that you don’t know what do with a girl, so much younger than you, hitting on you.”

Your blatant admittance of the situation made his eyes widen, momentarily stunned. He quickly regained his conscious and scoffed, still dancing around the accusation you just threw at him. “First off, you don’t make me nervous,” Logan said, staring down at you with his eyes slightly squinted in annoyance. “And second, kid, I know what I’m doing.”

His words were sharp, biting. His attempt to diminish you with youthful nicknames was mute. You took it as a challenge, and the insult went straight to your core, causing a wet pool to form between your legs.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” you snipped. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut and exhaled. “You’re too young.”

There it was. You had finally gotten him to voice his concern, the reason he had given you the cold shoulder.

“I’m an adult, Logan,” you said with a step forward, that gap between you getting smaller. His breath hitched in his throat at your new advancement. “You can argue with me all you want, but the bulge in you pants is very condescending.” Your eyes flicked down to his crotch and then back up to his, a playful ‘gotcha’ smirk now on your lips.

He was now fully aware of the growing hard-on against his thigh and choked on the breath he had just inhaled. You swear you could hear him mutter a ‘fuck’ under his breath. He wanted to give in, he wanted to throw you on the couch and take you right there, but he was still held back by some guilty conscious in his mind, convinced he was too old for a girl like you. “I’m too old for you, kid.” A final attempt at calling your bluff, seeing if you would suddenly realize your desire to get with him was just a silly fantasy. You could sense his guard coming down. 

“Am I gonna have to make a move on you first?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed in on yours and his lips pursed together. Your question was not answered with words, but with a tempting look, like he was daring you to act on your words. 

With one more step, you closed the gap between your bodies, a hand running up one of his muscular arms. You leaned up slightly on your tip-toes, your height difference still separating you from his lips. He didn’t move, expecting you to back out at any second, needing more reassurance that this is what you wanted.

Your hand found his shoulder, using it as leverage to lift yourself to meet his lips. They brushed softly and Logan struggled to maintain his self control. You felt a shaky breath escape his mouth and tickle yours. When he didn’t pull away, you pressed your lips firmly to his. This was the confirmation he needed and he gave in. 

His hands left their previous spot, frozen by his sides, and twisted around your back. He gripped your waist with his hands, pulling you tight against him. God, it felt so wrong, a woman as young as you wanting a man so far in age. His grip tightened and his tongue forced it’s way through your parted lips, running over your teeth and against your own tongue. When he felt a hand caress the bulge in his pants, he groaned into your mouth, the sound muffled by the fiery kiss. This felt so taboo. And maybe, that’s what he liked so much about it. 

Logan’s mouth left yours but quickly found your jaw, kissing it and licking a stripe all the way up to the spot just below your ear. He planted another sloppy kiss here before whispering, “my room?”

His invitation fueled the fire in your groin and you nodded desperately. “Yes, yes please,” you managed to gasp. 

The tall, burly man swooped you up in his arms with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist. He hoisted you up against him and you could feel his hard-on throbbing against your aching cunt. The contact made you grind your hips into him as he carried you to his room with urgent speed. You kissed his neck, his beard tickling your skin. The smell of whiskey and cigar smoke clouded your senses, paired with an underlying musk that was unique to only Logan.

One of Logan’s hands, still holding onto you, grabbed the door handle to his room and twisted it, kicking it all the way open with his boot. Once he spun the two of you inside, he rushed to kick it closed again. His room smelled even more like him. 

He found your lips again in desperation as he leaned down and placed you gently on his bed. He remained on the floor in front of you, kneeling slightly to trail kisses down your neck. One of his hands slid up your bare leg, creeping up your thigh until he was met with the hem of your way-too-short shorts.

“Wore these to get my attention, Bub?,” he muttered against your neck in-between wet kisses. He zoned in on one spot and sucked the soft skin between his teeth, a maroon bruise forming under his lips. You inhaled a sharp breath. “Walking around here in practically nothing, that’s how bad you wanted this?” His voice was carnal, a seductive growl.

“God, yes, so bad.” Your words were incoherent, your inability to form a complete sentence showing how much of a mess Logan had you already.

His curious hand continued it’s trek over your shorts, fingers curling under the waist band and tugging slightly. He waited for you to object, and when there was none, he pulled them down to where they pooled around your ankles. You hurriedly kicked them off to the floor next to him. Logan pulled back from your neck and took in the sight between your legs, the pair of lacy red panties that were damp with your arousal. You felt your face heat up as he drank you in. “Goddamn.”

He drew in a long breath through his nose to inhale your heated scent. He fell to his knees between your legs and began planting kisses against your thighs, inching up towards your center. “Logan, please,” you whimpered above him, entranced by the image of him between your legs. 

His eyes flicked up to meet yours as he placed a kiss against the fabric of your underwear. “You want this?”

“I want this so bad.”

Logan’s intense gaze never left yours as he pulled your panties to the side and let out a hot breath against your soaking wet core. “Holy shit doll,” he exclaimed at your arousal. Your bottom lip quivered with anticipation. 

When his lips made contact with your swollen clit, you threw your head back and moaned his name. Hearing his name on your lips sent waves of pleasure through his own body. Swiftly, he pulled your panties down and threw them to join your shorts on the floor. He reconnected with your clit quickly and sucked on it gently. You hissed through clenched teeth and your hand flew to the back of his head, gripping his hair in your fingers for support.

Logan’s hands found their way to your thighs and grabbed them, forcing them to stay apart for him despite your body’s instinct to close them due to the overwhelming feeling of pleasure between them. He licked a long, wet stripe up your folds back to your clit and lapped at it hungrily. Each flick of his tongue made your insides boil with arousal. His fingers dug into the soft, pillowy skin of your thighs and you were sure they were to leave bruises, a reminder of who was between them.

“Y’taste so good, sweetheart,” Logan mumbled against your pussy. The vibration of his words against you made goosebumps raise all over your body. 

“Wanted you so bad,” you rambled, “knew you could take care of me.”

“Is that right?”

His teasing remark made you clench around nothing. 

One of his calloused fingers traced intricate circles on the inside of your thigh, trailing down sensually before gliding back up. You felt his finger continue to dance softly around your upper thigh before you recognized the pattern. He was spelling out letters on your skin. 

‘M-I-N-E’

That act of claiming you, the writing it against your thigh, it made your stomach flip. “Oh my god,” you whispered.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, his fingers that were just marking claim on your thigh found their way to your dripping pussy. One finger circled slowly around your entrance, the natural lubricant you had produced letting it slip inside. You gasped and arched your back towards the ceiling. “Fuck, Logan!”

His lips still working at your clit, he began pumping his finger in and out of you. “Feel good?,” he asked in a hushed, gravelly voice. You answered an immediate yes, wanting more. He sensed your craving and slipped a second finger in, earning a content sigh from you. 

Logan’s long fingers curled inside of you and brushed against the soft, spongy spot that made you cry out his name, along with other incoherent profanities. When he felt you began to clench around him, your hips bucking up off of his bed, he pulled his fingers out slowly. The emptiness from where he once occupied made you ache. You sat up, disappointed. “Logan-“

“I wanna feel you cum around my cock,” he interrupted. You watched in awe as he stood up, biceps flexing as he unhooked the belt around his waist. He slipped it through the loops of his jeans and let it fall to the floor. Your jaw dropped when he grabbed at the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. His body was even better than you could ever possibly imagine. The definition of each of his abdominal muscles, toned and glistening. Your eyes followed the trail of dark hair that lead down under his jeans. Logan caught your shocked look. 

“Wait, kid, have you never-“

“Fuck, Logan, I’m not a virgin!” You almost laughed in surprise at his accusation.

“Y’sure?,” he cocked an eyebrow at you. “Cause you look lost.”

Your lips tilted in a downward smile, cheeks growing red. “I’m not a virgin. Just never been with anyone like you.”

His gaze softened and he shot you a small smile. “Ah,” he proclaimed. It was like he was self-aware of how perfect he was, you thought. “You wanna do this?”

You couldn’t believe he was asking again. “Trust me Logan,” you said slowly as you leaned forward, hands finding the button of his jeans. “I really wanna do this.”

His head fell back with a groan as you began pulling the zipper of his pants down, revealing the top of his boxers. You pulled them down to his thighs as he stepped out of his boots with a sharp stomp on the heel of each one. Once they were off, he let his jeans fall to his ankles and kicked them off to the side with the rest of your clothes. You tried not to show your astonishment at the size of his bulge, now even more prominent, tight against his thin boxers. 

‘How is that ever gonna fit inside of me?’

Logan smirked slightly at the look on your face and pulled down the last article of clothing that was separating him and nudity. 

You bit your lip as his cock sprung free, taking in the sight of it. It was fully erect, a single vein running along the underside where it met his soft pink tip that was leaking with pre-cum. Realizing that he was now fully nude, you pulled your shirt off slowly and let it fall off the bed. His eyes immediately dropped to your tits and his cock throbbed with need. His gaze swept up and down your whole body. “Fucking beautiful, sweetheart.”

His praise made you realize again how empty you felt without him inside of you. “I want you inside of me, Logan.”

He took his hard cock in his hand and pumped it softly, more pre-cum beading at the tip. “Lay down for me.”

You did exactly as he said and scooted up to the top of his bed, laying down with your head resting against his pillows. You could smell him even stronger here, the spot he sleeps every night. His scent flooded your senses and your eyes fluttered shut for a second, basking in it. You barely even noticed he was crawling atop of you until his hands were planted on either side of your head and his lips were back on your neck. Being caged underneath his much larger figure like this made you melt, a rag doll lying beneath him.

Logan nipped softly under your jaw, his sharp canines sending shock through your body. “Ready, Bub?,” he drawled against your skin. You nodded against the top of his head, your chest rising and falling with his.

He propped himself up above you with one muscular arm, the other moving to grip his cock and fix it against your entrance. You were practically leaking just at that. Your legs spread apart even further subconsciously, giving him more access. Both of your eyes were fixated on his cock as he began pushing inside of you, painfully slow. You gasped as you felt your walls stretch to accommodate him. A low groan fell from his lips as he continued pushing himself in, until he was halfway disappeared within your cunt. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered in his scratchy voice. 

Your hand snaked around the back of his neck, fingers brushing the hair at the nape of his neck. “I want all of you Logan, please,” you begged. He brought his hand that was wrapped around his cock back up to it’s spot beside your head. “I wanna give it all to you.”

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled as you felt him pushing all the way inside of you, just what you had asked for. He bottomed out inside of you just as you felt the tip of his cock press against the spot that his fingers had just been curling into. “Oh my god, you’re so fucking big.”

His cock twitched at your words and he pulled out slowly before sheathing himself back inside you, warming you up to his thrusts. “So tight,” he grunted. You bucked your hips up into him, desperate for more. You knew how much he had to offer. As if reading your mind, Logan began building up to a steady pace, his thrusts making you rock against the bed frame. He watched as your breasts bounced softly with each thrust. His hands gripped the pillow next to your head and an animalistic sound built up in his throat- a growl.

“This what you wanted?,” he asked as his pace quickened. “Someone older who could fuck you right?”

His words went straight to your core where he was pounding into you. “Yes, fuck,” you gasped with a particularly deep thrust, “exactly what I wanted.” Your other hand flew to his back and you dug your nails in, leaving dark red marks that quickly healed over due to his regenerative cells. A guttural moan left him and he lifted one of your legs over his hip, pounding even deeper into your cunt. A sudden pressure on your clit made you realize his thumb was rubbing circles around it, increasing the pleasure. You were practically seeing stars at this point. 

The pressure in your stomach built up and you could feel that familiar knot begin to tighten, threatening to release at any moment. Logan felt you clench around his cock and sensed your nearing orgasm. “Finish for me baby, wanna feel you cum around my cock,” he coaxed. His pleading words made you squirm beneath him, now not even sure what words were leaving your mouth. 

With a deep, calculated thrust, you came undone around him. Your back arched up, tits pressing up against his firm chest. He continued his thrusts, praising you and brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Good girl, such a good fucking girl,” he said gingerly. “Look so pretty cumming around my cock.”

Your tightened grip around his cock as you came made him lose control of his steady pace, thrusts becoming quicker and more urgent. As you rode out your orgasm, he began to chase his. “Fuck, stay just like that,” he commanded while he worked towards his climax. Your body buzzed with overstimulation, but you took each thrust, eager to please. You thrust your hips up against his and he cursed, your compliancy sending him over the edge. “Where do you want-,” 

“Inside. Cum inside of me.”

Logan moaned, the sound bordering on a whine as he spilled himself inside of you, each last thrust forcing his cum deeper inside of your pussy. You pulled his body down against yours, craving the closeness as he finished. With one final thrust, his cum dripping outside of you and down onto the bed, he let out a long groan and let his head collapse against your chest. 

“That was the best anybody has ever fucked me.”

Your sudden, slurred words made Logan chuckle. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He placed a soft kiss in-between your breasts before pushing himself off the bed, going to grab a towel from his bathroom. He came back and parted your legs gently, cleaning you up with such care that made you wanna stay here, in his bed with him, forever. “Trust me, it can get better.” His eyes met yours from between your legs, still cleaning the mess the two of you had made. Your stomach fluttered. The insinuation that this was just the first time between you and him. That there would be more.

“I guess we’ll just have to see.”

Logan smiled at you before getting up once more to throw the towel into the bathroom and grab a shirt from his dresser. He crawled back into the bed next to you and lifted your arms up, sliding his shirt over your body. “Thanks,” you said softly, the fluttering feeling returning in your stomach.

“Course, Bub.” He pulled you into his arms as he laid down, nestling his head into the back of your neck.

[bueckers]

𝓣𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐀 𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄 ━━━ 𝐏𝐁

summary: you’re always snarky in bed, but paige actually takes your advice this time.

warning(s): lowkey filth, paige is dominant as fuuuck, smut with little plot, drunk sex, strap use, overstimulation

pairing: paige bueckers x fem reader

Being in a situationship with a Division 1 athlete wasn’t always easy, especially during the peak of the season.

The demands of Paige’s schedule made it hard to find moments just for the two of you. She was constantly on the go, her life consisting purely of practices, games, and travel. She’d been on the road for weeks with back-to-back away games, and the few times she was home, she was either too exhausted to do anything more than collapse into bed or busy with yet another practice.

Tonight, however, promised a break from the relentless routine. Paige had invited you to join her and her teammates for a night out at a bar downtown. It was a rare opportunity to see her outside the confines of the court or the brief, stolen moments in between. When she first extended the invitation, you hesitated. The thought of being surrounded by her team, who knew nothing of your relationship made you a bit nervous. You both agreed to keep things under wraps, and that also included avoiding any speculations.

With that being said, Paige was quick to assure you some other friends of her teammates would be in attendance as well, so you showing up wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary. You complied, mostly because the prospect of finally spending time with her again was too enticing to pass up.

The bar was far from quiet when you arrived, the place filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses. As you pushed through the crowd, you spotted Paige at a table near the back, surrounded by her teammates. Her hair was pulled back into a bun with her signature braids in the front, a change of style from her usual ponytail. She was clad in some UConn gear, and her athletic frame actually looked relaxed for once.

Paige stood up as you approached, her eyes lighting up even more when she saw you. She was definitely drunk. “You made it!” she exclaimed, wrapping you in a quick but tight hug. You nearly jumped at her touch as if it made you reminisce on your past nights together before hugging her back, a bright smile gracing your face as well.

Introductions were made, and you found yourself in the midst of her friends, who welcomed you warmly. You could see why Paige liked them; they were absolutely hilarious and good at not making you feel out of place… because Paige had definitely lied when she told you other ‘friends’ would be there. The only other people in attendance were the significant others of her teammates.

You settled into the night and conversation the more you had to drink, so much so that Paige had to tell you to slow down. You couldn’t help it though—when lost in conversation, you weren’t paying much attention to how much you’d been ordering.

As the night wore on, you found moments to steal away with Paige. Little glances, brief touches, and you examining the way her tongue swarmed her mouth, or wet her bottom lip. Now, she leaned in close, her breath warm against your ear. “I missed you,” she whispered. Her hand had been gripping the back of your chair, and you could smell the faint scent of her perfume on her neck. That’s how close she was.

“Yeah? How much?” you asked her, turning her way with a cheeky smile on your face. Your eyes met hers. For a moment, it felt like you were the only two people in the room, the noise and bustle fading into the background. From anyone else’s perspective, the two of you looked extremely intimate.

Paige glanced at your lips, a slight grin tugging at the corners of hers as her eyebrows furrowed a bit. You were messing with her, but you also knew the impact of your words, and she knew that too. “You tryna’ find out?” her voice was low and husky, and although you let out a laugh, throwing your head back like it was the funniest thing ever, she was completely serious.

She watched you intently, her eyes following the movement of your face, and the alcohol only increasing her need for you. It’d been too long. She brought her arm back to her side, stretching a bit before you heard the sound of her chair screeching against the floor. She hopped down, standing next to you now as she moved both of your legs around towards her, motioning for you to follow her.

Tonight, there would be no interruptions, no constraints. Tonight, you would finally have each other, and the anticipation of what was to come made your pulse race.

You laid in front of Paige, the room dimly lit, casting shadows that danced across the walls. The heat between you two had built to a crescendo, every touch, every kiss, leading to this moment. Paige stood over you, strap on and her gaze intense and filled with hunger.

Your heart raced as you pulled off your shirt, tossing it aside carelessly. The cool air brushed against your bare skin, a visible contrast to the heat emanating from Paige’s body. She tilted her head to the side and watched you like a predator hunting its prey, her eyes tracing every curve, every line of your body. You could see how badly she wanted you just from the look in her eyes.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you said cockily, a smirk playing on your lips. The words hung in the air, a challenge and an invitation all at once.

Paige’s lips curled into a slow, confident smile, her eyes never leaving yours. She took a step closer, the mattress dipping under her weight as she positioned herself over you. Paige leaned in, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that was overly demanding. You could feel the strap pressing against your thigh, eliciting a small gasp from your lips.

Breaking the wet kiss, she pulled back slightly, her eyes moving towards your wet cunt. She brought her hand down, her slender fingers sliding tauntingly between your folds. You whined a bit, not expecting the noise to come out of you as you adjusted yourself a bit—nearly squirming. Paige glanced up at you through her eyelashes, smirking at how easy you were. You rolled your eyes playfully at her right before she gave you more of a reason to, sliding the plastic into your hole with all of the ease in the world, filling you up in one swift motion.

A gasp tore from your lips, your back arching as she began to move, setting a steady rhythm. The feeling of her inside you was intoxicating, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Paige watched you as intently as she always did, her lips falling agape as the strap did its job on the other end, moving against her clit at her own pace.

She leaned down, her breath hot against your ear. “Always so tight for me,” she murmured, her voice thick with arousal. Her words sent another jolt of pleasure through you, your body responding to every touch, every movement. You admired how she looked from beneath her, your head tilted. Every single time she rammed into you, your hair became more and more out of place.

You brought your hand up to your breasts, your fingers pinched and rolled your nipples, the sharp pleasure mingling with the deep, throbbing sensation between your legs. The added sensation was almost too much to bear, your body arching into her touch as you sought more relief.

Paige’s head tilted up as she watched you pleasure yourself, her movements becoming more purposeful, each thrust calculated to elicit the maximum response from you. “You look so fuckin’ good like this,” she groaned. You could hear the slight whine in her voice. The pure fucking admiration she held for you. “Touching yourself, taking me so well.”

Your breath hitched, the intensity of her words and actions making your head spin. “I need more,” you gasped, your voice trembling with the effort to keep control. You didn’t even know what you were saying, more would be too much. “Please, Paige, don’t stop.”

Her eyes glistened with satisfaction. “I’m not stopping ‘til you can’t take anymore,” she promised, although you knew it would be when she thought you couldn’t take anymore, not when you really couldn’t. She increased her pace, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. The overstimulation was dizzying, your mind struggling to process the sheer intensity of it all.

Paige’s pace quickened, her hips snapping against yours with a force that drove you wild. The room was filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, each moan, each gasp blending together in a symphony of desire as you let go. You were left panting, her movements coming to a halt so she could catch her breath herself, but Paige wasn’t done, she never was. There was a second orgasm following that, her fingers taking over as she lay next to you, sweet talking you up for your third. Now, she was fucking into you, ass up in the air as she pounded without a care in the world. This girl’s stamina was amazing.

“You’re doing s’good, baby,” she whispered, her strap working magic between your folds. “Just one more for me, okay? I know you can do it.” She’d been saying ‘just one more’ since your first orgasm, but each time you believed her, lost in the overwhelming pleasure she was giving you.

Your body trembled under her touch, the sensation of the strap’s movement and the building pressure making you feel deliriously close. Delirious in general. Suddenly, you heard a soft click. Opening your eyes, you were practically breaking your neck to see Paige behind you holding her phone, the camera pointed directly at you.

“What are you doing?” you managed to ask, your voice breathy and hoarse from the intensity of the moment. You dropped your head back into the mattress.

Paige smirked, her eyes equally as dark as they were from the beginning. “Making it last,” she replied, capturing another photo of you in your vulnerable state. Oh, how cocky she was.

The realization sent a shiver down your spine, and a loud moan from your lips. The heat between your legs intensified. Paige’s pace didn’t falter, each thrust sending a different feeling through you. She continued to snap photos, her body leaning back as she groaned, viewing everything through a camera lense. She then brought her hand up to your hip, flipping you over with a small grunt. She was back inside you just as fast, her thumb sliding across the screen to start video recording.

“You’re almost there,” she murmured, her voice a low, sultry purr. Your eyes flickered up to Paige’s watching as she admired your cunt and the way she so easily slid in and out of you. She would be having a field day with this video.

“Come with me, Paige, please,” you whined, gaining enough energy to move yourself with her.

Her words, the camera, combined with the skillful movements of her hips, sent you both spiraling toward another climax. You could barely think, your mind a haze of pleasure. Paige moved with precision, her thumb circling your clit while moving, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge.

She pushed you over the brink, and with a final cry, you came again, your body shaking for the third time that night. You collapsed against the bed, panting as Paige moved the hair out of your face. She dropped her phone next to the two of you, the purple case on display before reaching down and kissing your temple until she made it to your plump, pink lips, dragging her thumb across them and raising her body to hover over you. She stroked your lip for a brief moment, taking you in all breathless and fucked out.

“Making up for lost time, I see,” you breathed out. Paige could barely make out your words, and she loved it. She loved the sweat that trickled down your neck onto your tits. She loved the way your body glistened underneath the dimly lit room. She loved you.

She smiled herself, biting down on her lip. She then adjusted her strap, tapping the eight inches on your pussy as if she was knocking, waiting to be let in. You whimpered, knowing she was wanting to go for another round.

“Mm—can’t do anymore, P.”

“Oh, I think you can.”

[yourdandelionofthedeathknell]

The Theraprism: Good or bad?

Ya know, i've never been sure how to feel on the Theraprism, as shown in the Book of Bill. This is in large part because we get very little info on it, from any perspective other then BIll's own at least (and he is...Not a reliable narrator). Personally, I see three possible interpretations and I don't know which one is correct. To be clear, I think all of these are fairly valid: 1. Their methods seem insipid, but are actually quite effective. They seem to have been effective in the past (one of Bill's fellow patients is slated for release in the near-future apparently), and the Axolotl (who, while not exactly rich characterization himself, has, generally, been portrayed as wise and benevolent) referred to it as "what [Bill] needs the most", which would be weird if it doesn't have SOME merit. I, myself, honestly prefer this one, because I think it works better with the narrative of the Book of Bill (a book which, generally, does not encourage the reader to sympathize with Bill's plight. Pity, maybe, but the framing is very clearly that he kinda deserves this) and the schadenfreude the reader is encouraged to feel if Bill's hellish afterlife is, largely if not entirely, a self-inflicted one: That it wouldn't be particularly bad if not for his own combo of being unable to accept that he lost, that he shouldn't be allowed to do whatever he wants whenever he wants to anyone he wants, inability to form meaningful bonds with others, and, most of all, his total inability to admit to being wrong. He COULD leave at any time, if he would just actually repent, but...He's Bill, so...He won't. It just works best for me if his hell is largely self-inflicted. 2. They are harmful, possibly deliberately. This does have a fair bit of support textually. Mandatory therapy is already a pretty major ethical grey area at best (a major tenant of modern psychotherapy is that you can't make someone change unless they take the first step), they definitely engage in toxic positivity, and, of course, the "Solitary Wellness Void" is...Solitary confinement, which is a practice most modern medical institutions oppose and consider to be psychological torture. So, fair bit of support for this. 3. This is what I think was probably Alex's intent: They're a bunch of oblivious obnoxiously happy morons (as Bill himself would probably describe them) whose attempts to treat eons-old eldritch horror bad guys with puppet shows and arts and crafts is meant to be amusingly-inept rather then actively malicious, and whose effectiveness (such as it is) is down to having literally eternity to try. Kinda like what Mabel might do to rehabilitate someone. To use an analogy, think Charlie Morningstar from Hazbin, at least in the first couple episodes, where the fact that she's treating adult criminals like misbehaving children is the joke and is meant to indicate incompetence rather than malice. I get that isn't that much different from the proceeding (except in terms of "how seriously are we supposed to take this"), but still. I think all three of these have support, and, to be clear, I go with the first one not because I think it's the most supported (might be the least), but because it jives most with how I think about BIll's narrative IE as a character we're meant to, at best, pity, but not really sympathize with. I think the intent is "Bill is suffering a karmic self-inflicted punishment after all the pain and suffering he's caused", not "Bill is being medically abused and we should feel bad for him". The Book of Bill does invite readers to sympathize with Bill occasionally, but mostly past Bill, not current Bill. All viewpoints are valid, this is just trying to organized some thoughts on the subject. I sincerely hope I haven't said anything harmful here. Uh, cards on the table, I am neurodivergent, but i've never had therapy, forcefully or otherwise (although I did have an irrational fear of the possibility of institutionalization for a bit), so i'm sorta going off vibes here, sorry to say. If I said anything insensitive here, I apologize.

[what-the-floofin]

So how do baby taurs work for the equitaurs and cervitaurs in your stuff?

Oh that's a good one actually - lots to talk about! Too much for one post, but gotta start somewhere. Enjoy some messy micro scribbles peppered throughout. They were originally very very tiny so, pardon blurriness.

I've got my Taurs running overall pretty similar to equine cycles and gestations - meaning they are what you call 'long-day triggered' by the spring and summer seasons.

(Though they do cycle throughout the year, just at slower rates and less consistently over cooler seasons)

This goes for the cervitaurs too - rather than using the shorter gestation of their deer alikes - as they and their foals are a bit bigger and more complex to deal with. Which also goes to suggest that twins/multiples are not a frequent occurrence for cervitaurs in comparison to actual deer, and inherently poses as much danger as it does for equines instead. Possible, but high risk and incredibly demanding.

So, you're looking at an 11 month gestation on average, and typically starting in a mid-spring to late-summer window. Which places most taurs at being born early-spring to mid-summer. It's most uncommon to be winter born, but not weird tbh.

Foals are super awkward, there's no getting around that, and in the first year they have a ridiculous growth rate when compared to other sentient creatures of similar lifespans.

These things are weeds - the difference from one day old to three months old is phenomenal alone. They are, however, cooked a little further along than what you'd be comparing to for a newborn human. They're able to support themselves enough to avoid outright injury (think like a 3-4 month old baby), but gaining actual control of all those limbs takes a bit more time. The equine half however would be a touch undercooked for a horse. Just physically, in size. No worries about comparative internal developments, that's all good and ready to go.

So they're typically gonna spend shy of their first month feeding and sleeping, practicing rolling up, sitting and limb coordination to build strength for self-standing. If mama has places to be, that baby is getting carried.

I also absolutely subscribe to the idea of arms being naturally held close to torso prior to having balance and coordination. It would support them a lot! Then it becomes a self-soothing gesture seen in the anxious, and an instinctive positional response when badly startled. Tuck in!

By three months you can expect them to be racing on their little stilt legs - albeit still with the occasional wobble and spill. And wowee did that happen fast when you think about it.

While the zoomies are a lot, they're balanced out by the fact that so much oncoming growth means foals crash nap very frequently. These buggers sleep a lot. It's go hard and sleep hard on endless rotation. Play, snack, nap, rinse and repeat.

This accelerated growth races away throughout their first year, and then drops right back into something a bit more reasonable - at least when you're considering it from the human perspective!

Yet in comparison to how they first started out, it's practically snail paced.

I'm meaning, you look at the size of a 3 month old horse foal, and that's the closest comparison to a 2 year old taur foal in body. Every 'horse foal month' thereafter starts guiding the next 'taur foal year' visual until you hit that yearling horse look for a taur when they're 10-11 years old. Then by that point, they've reached most of their full leg length, and the next 10 years is focused on finishing the bulking out of their frame.

(click to enlarge I hope) - Featuring my lass Thalo here haha

By rule of thumb I just have both equid and humanoid aspects grow in relative balance to each other, lanky stages and all. From the human perspective, the humanoid half grows crazy fast at first and then becomes comparatively similar. From the horse perspective, the equine half is crazy slow and always is. It would also give credit to having a higher physical durability than their animal counterparts. More time was spent growing!

It's worth noting that a lot of perceived 'weirdness' only comes from trying to compare them purely 1 to 1 with either horse, deer or human kids. Taurs are their own thing though! And nature's most consistent attitude is to Find What Works and Do it. No matter how wack, if it works it's used.

So, a rapid starting growth tapered into a much slower rate once they're stabilised and running was just the path that worked best for this Taur survival. Keep it simple!

There's always more to cover, but this is chunky enough for now. Whew!

[honeyryewhiskey]

it's just a stupid holiday

abt, dean takes his cupid to a valentine's gala, where a rogue angel has been preying on adulterers. you're just excited to be part of the chaos, and dean is trying desperately to keep his focus on the mission and not on his bubbly lovebird wrapped in a little red dress. what could possibly go wrong with this situation?  cw, grumpyxsunshine go on a fake date  ! dean practicing restraint ! and failing bc this stupid cupid is just so sweet ! fluff !  mentions of violence but no gruesome details, mdni, 18+  3.9k words

“i still don’t get why it has to be me doing this crap,” dean groans, shifting uncomfortably in his usual seat behind the impala’s wheel. his fingers drum against it as he scowls out the windshield.

sam, sitting to his right, doesn’t bother looking up from the stack of papers he’s reviewing. “because you’re better at the whole…” he gestures vaguely, searching for the right words, “pretending-to-be-charming-with-women thing.”

dean snorts, tossing his brother a sideways glare. “gee, thanks, sammy. real boost to the ‘ol self-esteem.” he rolls his eyes and adjusts the rearview mirror—only to catch a glimpse of you in the backseat.

that stupid dress. that strappy, red, distracting dress. you’re busy fiddling with the silky hem, completely oblivious to the way it hugs you in all the right places.

dean clears his throat sharply. fidgeting with his suit tie, he forces his eyes back to the road. “hey, cupid,” he growls, trying to sound annoyed instead of flustered. “remember, this is a job. we’re not going to this thing to drink champagne and play house. we’re hunting. focus.”

you lean forward, resting your arms on the back of their seat. a playful grin spreads across your lips as you reach out to pinch his cheek. “oh, dean, don’t you worry,” you assure, ignoring his quick swat at your hand. “i’ll be the best hunting partner ever. all business. no play.”

you deepen your voice, mimicking his usual gruff tone. “just like you.”

dean groans louder this time, and sam smirks faintly without looking up.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

the plan for tonight? attend some high society valentine’s night gala as dean’s date, while sam kept watch of the perimeter. honestly all you really heard was sam and dean entrusting you to go undercover on a hunt with them—and you smiled so hard your cheeks ached (to which the brothers again started bickering about whether or not including you was a good idea). then they explained the holiday, humans practically worshipping cupids for a day, the excitement thrummed through you so hard you damn near passed out right there in the middle of the war room. 

sam and dean made it sound so straightforward, but as you walked into the venue—your arm looped through a stiff and uncomfortable dean’s—it became glaringly obvious this event would be anything but simple.  

red and pink heart shaped balloons spilled out from the entrance, framing a sleek red carpet scattered with rose petals that guided you into the heart of the party. the ballroom was enormous, yet nearly every inch of the room was drenched in lavish decor—flowers, jewels, endless shades of red and pink. a sizable crowd mingled beneath the dazzling display, their chatter blending harmoniously with the soft, elegant symphony flowing from the orchestra on stage. 

a small gasp left your painted lips as you took everything in, “this is incredible.”

dean, watching you carefully as your eyes darted from one dazzling detail to the next, murmured, “yeah, sure is.” his voice was barely audible in that soft tone. 

you peeled your gaze away from the galore, meeting his with that sugary sweet smile that makes his knees grow weak. “this is really all for cupids and love?” 

his brows cock as he considers your words, trying for once to not immediately destroy the innocence beaming from your eyes with his charmingly pessimistic perspective on, well, everything. “yeah,” he clears his throat, his arm slipped from yours, absentmindedly raising his hand to push the stray hairs that had fallen in your face, he hated when anything—anything at all—hid that view. “all of this exists because of what you lovebirds do to us.” 

you’ve gotten sharper in the weeks you’ve spent with the winchesters. picking up on what they call sarcasm and double meanings isn’t the easiest, but you’ve become so observant of dean you can almost feel it when he says one thing, and inside guards his true emotions. something in the way his face tightens, how deep of a breath he takes to release the stress, you’re not even sure if he’s aware of these tells but you know better than to clue him in on your cheat codes for decoding this ever-complicated man. 

dean sighs, slipping his hands into his dress pants as his eyes scanned the crowd, “alright little angel, let’s—”

you’re about ten feet away before he can finish his sentence, bee-lining to a side table overflowing with chocolate boxes, teddy bears, bouquets, flower-shaped ornaments, and so many little cherubs adorning nearly every item. 

a woman dressed in crisp black and white approached you with a polite smile, balancing a platter of dainty, bite-sized cakes. “please, help yourself to anything you’d like. mr. and mrs. nightingale donated all of these lovely trinkets for our guests.” 

“uh, we’re good on toys, thanks.” a gruff voice booms over your shoulder. dean snakes one arm around your waist as he reaches out with his free hand, swiping two mini cakes off the platter. the woman shot him a withering glare before turning away. 

“here.” he muttered, plopping one of the treats into your open palm, devouring the other in one bite. 

“but, dean,” you whine, dropping the cake onto the table and reaching for a plush brown bear sitting front and center. 

dean’s grip around your waist tightened, pulling you snug against his chest. the sudden shift made you wobble on the cherry-red heels you’d only recently learned to walk in.

“nuh uh.” he hums, low and firm. “business, lovebird. focus.” 

your pouted lips and narrowed eyes meet his steady squint—a silent warning for you to cut it out. 

“fine.” you whimper, giving the bear one last wistful glance before turning reluctantly back to the crowd. “what are we doing again?” 

“trying to figure out who the next victim is, while sam watches for the angel.” leaning down so only you could hear. his breath on your ear sends little sockwaves down your spine, his tone low to avoid drawing attention from the nearby guests. “think your cupid crap can sniff out any cheaters in the crowd?” 

your brows knit as you try to focus your energy on observing with your angel vision. you can’t necessarily see or smell infidelity, but there are glittering strings that exist between connected humans and only a cupid is capable of detecting them. 

slowly, the ballroom came alive before your eyes, dozens of ribbons in gold, red, white, and silver weaving through the spaces between bodies. each color represents a distinct bond woven in fate. but the sheer number of people packed so tightly together made it difficult to pinpoint who belonged to what thread. the tangled web shifted and shimmered, overwhelming your senses as you struggled to unravel it. 

“i can’t smell infidelity,” you state plainly, your tone clipped as you strain to focus on the red strings in particular. a throbbing begins in your head, growing sharper with each passing second. “There’s red, but—”

the throbbing quickly escalates into a pounding ache, forcing you to release the energy of the room. your vision shifts back to that of a mortal’s as your hands instinctively clutch dean’s arm for support.

he reacts instantly, turning you to face him as his strong hands steady your swaying form at the waist. “hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, voice low but firm, concern flashing in those jade-green eyes as they search your face for an answer.

“i can’t, dean, i’m not really strong enough to read this many people,” your eyes find the floor, feeling too embarrassed to meet his gaze, “the energy, it just kinda pushes me out.” 

when cas left you with the brothers, he failed to mention that you were a bit of a heaven reject. a cupid with faulty powers—and the whole issue with you not always wanting to follow heavenly orders. cas saw something in you, at least, and you hoped that the winchesters would, too. 

“c’mere.” dean huffs, locking your fingers in his as he guides you down another hall. you step into a smaller room where a few people are scattered about on lavish couches and chairs. standing slightly behind you he places a reassuring hand on the small of your back he leans over your shoulder, “try it in here.”

with a nod you focus again, dean’s thumb rubs against your back soothingly, his other hand tightly wrapped over the top of yours as he watches you with care. again the room is dancing with ribbons, but the power isn’t nearly as overwhelming. “there’s a lot of gold in here.” you speak without looking away from the crowd, a smile finding your lips as you notice the elderly couples bound in glittering gold. 

“what’s that mean?” 

“purity turned everlasting.” you release his hand to face him, unable to contain the smile on your lips as you describe the phenomenon that makes you most excited to be a cupid, “they were fated with white strings, or bonds, to have something sweet between them, a simple fling or a good marriage. but it could have easily turned red and fragile from something like cheating, and it didn’t. these souls will probably find themselves in the same heaven, now, because of their commitment to the bond.”  

dean grins down at you, catching the way your excitement practically vibrates through your body. truthfully, it all sounded like a load of crap to him. but then there’s you—with that unbound energy, one he’s certain no one else—angel or human—could ever replicate. the way your infatuation with love seems so genuine, so pure, it softens parts of him that have been hardened for years, wound tightly in cynicism for the very thing you embody.

before he can stop himself, his mind drifts. he’s already considering leaving sam to handle the case on his own, just for one night, so he can watch you explore this world with that wide-eyed wonder. to see you smile up at him like that a little longer.

and maybe—just maybe—to catch a few more glimpses of you prancing around in that little dress, oblivious to the way it rides up your thighs when you move, or how your bouncing excitement causes… other things to bounce right along with you.

dean clenches his jaw, mentally reprimanding himself as he forces his gaze away from you. focus, winchester. focus.

“so, you’re saying we need to find red bonds or whatever,” he mutters, working to keep his voice steady. “but you can’t see ’em with all those people in there.”

you nod, watching him closely as he weighs his options.

“uh-huh,” he breathes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “guess that means we’ll have to chat up some of the drunk old birds with loose lips.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

dean’s plan worked. after about an hour of mingling with the party guests, the two of you find yourselves on the edge of the crowd, watching a middle-aged married couple whom numerous women had whispered about. rumors swirled of the wife and her tennis coach, the husband and his secretary—long trips taken without the other, late nights at the office. all the signs of mutual betrayal.

the exact kind of relationship the rogue angel has been targeting. 

“classic,” dean mutters, eyes narrowing as he observes the couple, now mingling on opposite ends of the room. his stance is tall and stiff, locked in hunter mode.

you tilt your head, less focused on the case and more on the glittering display of treats and trinkets catching your eye a few tables away. a quick glance confirms dean is too busy scowling at the couple to notice you quietly slip off.

the desserts are as extravagant as the rest of the party, each treat adorned with ribbons and delicate designs. A small card catches your attention: cordial cherries. intrigued, you pop one into your mouth. the sugary red juice takes you by surprise, spilling down your chin and all over your fingertips. 

the flavor is sweet against your tongue, the chewy red center tart in contrast. you reach for another, taking it whole, and another for good measure, needing more of that sugary taste. you hadn’t heard dean approach, closing in on you with a confused scowl etched into his brows.

“love,” dean’s gruff voice startles you, his hand suddenly grasping your sticky chin to turn your face towards his, “you’re making a mess.”

embarrassed, you freeze, cheeks flushed as you glance up at him with cherry-stained lips. dean’s eyes darken slightly, flicking down to your mouth as he brushes his thumb along your sticky chin. without a second thought, he sucks the sugary residue off his thumb, his eyes never leaving yours. 

a strange, warm sensation blooms in your chest—and lower—making your eyes widen in surprise. that was a new feeling, and something about dean’s expression told you now probably wasn’t the time to ask him about it. 

dean looks over his shoulder toward the couple again, his expression unreadable. looking back to you, he sighs. “bathroom,” he nods to the corner, “now.” he orders, his voice a little rougher than usual. 

You pout but follow him obediently, weaving through the crowd until you slip into the lavishly decorated restroom. Dean locks the door behind you, the click of the latch oddly loud in the quiet space. In the mirror, you catch a glimpse of your reflection—smudged lipstick, syrupy streaks trailing down your chin, and little splotches on the swell of your breasts.

without a word dean is behind you, in the reflection his face is blank, barely hiding his agitation. he spins you to face him, his pupils eating away at the green of his eyes. his hands find your hips and in one motion you’re seated on top of the porcelain space between the sinks. 

“‘m sorry, dean.” you mumble, looking down at your hands in lap, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. he grunts a ‘mhm’ in response, making that warmth in your center morph into a ball of anxiety. the feeling you usually get after doing something terribly wrong, and dean gets that familiar scowl and grumpy tone. 

like he is now, except he usually isn’t this quiet. 

he comes back to you with a handful of wet paper towels. his eyes are focused on your lips as he wipes away the lipstick and sticky sugar. 

“stop pouting like that.” he grumbles, folding the paper before dragging it down your chin. his hand stops, eyes flicking between your chest and eyes for a moment before he’s handing the paper over to you, “you can get the rest.” 

as you dab at the mess on your chest, the silence stretches between you, weighted by unspoken thoughts. your mind drifts back to the couple in the ballroom, their entwined red strings sullied by betrayal.

“why do they do that?” you ask softly, breaking the quiet, “that couple, why do they do that to each other?” 

dean shrugs, standing between your legs with his arms crossed. “just what people do, lovebird. it’s not something i can really explain. everyone makes choices for their own reasons, hell, they probably don’t even know why they do that to each other.” 

you nod, mulling over his words. “i wouldn’t make those choices,” you say after a moment. “if I could be human, i wouldn’t waste it. What they have… it’s a gift.”

dean chuckles dryly, “and somehow i believe you, little angel. but being human isn’t all kittens and rainbows, mortality sucks. our emotions suck. and making the right choices, it—it’s hard.” 

“but you get to feel,” you say, your voice softening. “you get to fall in love. those emotions are what make humans so… special. sometimes i wish i could feel that.” you pause, suddenly shy. “maybe that’s why I’m not a very good cupid. i get too distracted by all these questions.”

Dean’s gaze softens, his arms uncrossing, planting his strong hands on either side of you, leaning closer. “You’re not a bad cupid,” he says gruffly, fighting with himself to sound more gentle than usual. “you care, a whole lot. if it were up to me, i’d say that’s not a bad thing.”

before you can respond, the ring of dean’s phone echos in the room, shattering the tension. he pulls away to retrieve it out of his pocket, scowling at the screen. “sam says the angel’s outside. we need to move.”

his hand finds yours, instinctively, tugging you out of the room and through the crowd. dean is locked into hunter mode again, his entire body on high alert as he’s practically dragging you across the ballroom.  

reaching the furthest wall, large windows give view to an expansive flower garden shimmering under the moonlight. a rather beautiful sight, where each bush is perfectly trimmed to line the weaving cobblestone paths. dean pauses at the door, looking back at you with a look that makes you wonder if he’s about to be sick.

before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s dropping your clasped hands, “just—stay in here. keep watch of the people while sam and i handle this.” 

“what?” you begin, flustered. sam and dean had spent days prepping you for whatever might happen. you learned how to actually use your own angel blade, the one you only carried around because it was an order but had never intended on using. dean taught you how to shoot his guns, and despite your distaste for their sharp sounds and harsh rebound—you sucked it up because the boys were trusting you. “no! i’m in this, too, remember? i can help—”

“no.” his voice is stern, his mind already made. he was giving you that look again, that made you feel like a helpless baby. it was comforting when it got him to ease up on you for little mistakes, but right now it was annoying. irritating, because you finally felt like you’d get to prove your worth with this hunt. 

“dean—” you start, but the door swings shut behind him before you can finish. with an exasperated groan, you rush to a near by window, heart pounding as you watch him dart down the shadowed path. 

the moment he’s out of sight, a sick twist of nerves coils in your stomach. seconds stretch into centuries, a burning lump rising in your throat as your imagination runs wild. then, movement catches your eye in the darkness.

dean’s body flies through the air, crashing hard into the ground like a ragdoll. 

your breath stutters. you’ve never witnessed a hunt before—not firsthand—but you’ve seen the aftermath. bruises, cuts, even broken bones you’d healed despite dean’s gruff protests against your divine touch helping him.

he struggles back to his feet, but he’s too slow. the angel—a tall, imposing figure in a crisp suit—stalks towards him with eerie precision, circling like a predator toying with its prey. from your vantage point, the angel’s back is turned to you. that’s all the opening you need.

without thinking, you dart for the door. the cool night air sends goosebumps rippling over your skin, the chill mixing with the nervous heat burning inside you. you catch sam out of the corner of your eye, lying on the ground further up the path and groggily coming back to consciousness as he sits up. 

stopping short, you kick off one of your cherry-red heels, gripping it tightly in your hand. it may not be a bow, but you’re still an archer—and this will have to do. with a flick of your wrist, you send the stiletto flying through the air.

the heel collides sharply with the back of the angel’s head. he stumbles slightly before spinning around, fury etched into his face as his silver blade flashes in the moonlight.

fear floods your system, making your knees weak. you’re not sure if it’s bravery or recklessness keeping you standing as he charges towards you. but your distraction is enough.

dean is on his feet again, blade in hand. with one swift motion, he drives it deep into the angel’s neck. the being’s body flickers with light before crumpling to the ground, lifeless.

for a moment, everything is still. to stand frozen, gawking at the scene before you as dean slowly staggers back, panting heavily. when his eyes find yours, they’re sharp with anger. with a huff he’s crossing the grass towards you, that grumpy scowl having taken over his pretty features. 

“dean, i—i’m sorry, but—”

he closes the distance in two long strides, hands cupping either side of your face. the firmness in his touch makes your breath catch in your throat. before you can say anything more, he gently tugs, pressing two rough kisses to your forehead.

you blink up at him, your thoughts a buzzing, tangled mess. 

“save it, lovebird. i know.” he sighs, dropping his hands. his voice is gruff but softer than you expect, his relief shining through the cracks of his frustration. “just never do that again.” 

sam slowly approaches, sporting a fresh bruise on his cheek. his expression wavers between amused and impressed. “nice shot, cupid. i told dean you’d come through.”

“shut it, sammy.” dean snaps back, his scowl deepening as he glances over his shoulder at the angel’s body. “let’s get rid of the angel’s body and get the hell out of here.” 

you bite back a sheepish grin, slipping your remaining shoe off to follow behind the brothers. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

back at the bunker…

you had tried, several times, to get out of the stupid red dress. the thin straps came loose from your shoulders easily enough. but the damn zipper in the back was just out of your reach, no matter how you twisted or stretched, it remained out of grasp. the nice lady at the dress shop who helped you get into the damn thing, wasn’t around to get you out of it. 

with an annoyed huff, you padded barefoot out of your room and down the hall, the hem of the dress swishing faintly with every step. you stopped in front of dean’s door, hesitating for a moment before knocking. 

there was a pause, followed by a muffled shuffling sound. the door swung open, dean took up most of the door frame clad in an old band shirt and sweats, his hair mussed from sleep and his expression distinctly unimpressed.

“what?” he grumbles, voice rough and gravelly, clearly annoyed at having been woken up. 

“i need help,” you whine, turning your back to him and gesturing over your shoulder. “i can’t get to the stupid zipper.”

he let out a long-suffering sigh, but his rough finger tips brush against your skin as he grips the top of your dress in one hand and tugged the zipper down with the other. 

you’re not really used to wearing dresses, and you’re too tired to think about how, y’know, gravity works. 

the silky red material drops to the floor, pooling over your feet. “oh.” you mumbled, looking down at the discarded dress. 

“jesus,” dean muttered, his voice strained. when you looked back at him, his eyes were fixed firmly on the ceiling, lips pressed tightly together as if trying to keep a lid on something. 

a wicked giggle bubbled up before you could stop it. “thanks, dean!” you chirp, abandoning the dress on the floor and darting down the hall in nothing but your pink underwear. 

the sound of his exasperated cursing followed you, echoing against the hall as your laughter trailed behind. 

[lvve-talks]

more on p☆rnstar!artrick !!!! . ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽

naturally, patrick introduced art to porn. he was never all that into it, not like pat who practically had an addiction

but then he went through this film phase where he discovered artsy erotica and secretly got hooked

in college, patrick had this on and off girlfriend. absolutely a toxic relationship, but she matched his freak perfectly and pretty soon his whole camera roll was filled with videos of the two of them

would hop up on art's bed like "wanna see somethin?" and then it's just a video of her bouncing on his dick and art's like what the fuck...

that was when patrick first started posting on twitter (with her permission of course)

even convinced art to help them film one time when they started gaining some traction and it ended up being the first of his posts to really blow up

art never really saw himself following that kind of career path, but when funds for school started running low, he discovered the niche for those audios of guys whimpering and moaning

he started a patreon and eventually got patrick to promote it for him on his twitter and he started gaining traction quick

that's how he was first discovered by director!tashi 🙂‍↕️

of course, recording yourself pretending to have sex alone in your room and actually having sex on camera are two very different beasts, but he had already heard of tashi's work

as a director, tashi is much more focused on the art of it all (no pun intended). she considers her videos closer to erotica, but doesn't deny that it is recognized as porn

directing from a female perspective, she knows what the ladies want to see. her works are always more intimate, never degrading. and that's exactly how she made art into an owen gray-esque female beloved star

patrick has since grown his following on twitter exponentially and also runs a successful onlyfans, working with essentially whoever is willing

while art's style is more service top, soft dom, even sub, patrick's content was always just straight up nasty

his most popular posts are always sloppy. either solo, shooting cum all over his chest, or face fucking with his partner's nose pressed all the way against that dark happy trail

anyway.... as for that collab....

tashi directs the professional film for art and patrick is getting cucked!!

he sits right on the bed, palming himself over his boxers while art teaches him how to treat a woman

and then patrick's content turns it right on its head with the messiest eiffel tower you've ever seen

a pretty, perfectly framed video of the dp that follows ends up being patrick's most popular post to date😁

[sunshine-jesse]

Control: The Strange Dynamics of Andy and Leyley or

The Incest End Is Not The Fucking Bad End, Stop Coping

EDIT:

Hey guys! This post is blowing the fuck up, but this was my first essay on this game, and I think I've had many more insightful things to say since then. Here's a link to a masterpost with all of my essays, which I'd definitely suggest reading after this one:

Anyways, without further adieu...

I heard a lot about this game going in. I knew the general story beats and the funny haha incest memes. I knew it was about a toxic codependent relationship where Ashley, the sister, acted like your standard overly-controlling person who used various abuse techniques to keep someone in line. I expected Ashley to be a yandere-type character where she was borderline psychotic, irrational, and had a skewed perception of reality. I expected her to be a crazy bitch, and I love me some crazy bitches.

But then I actually played through the game. ...That is not what I got.

The game advertises Andrew as a doormat extraordinaire who is strung along by his Very Not Good sister and has no agency of his own' that he's just a henpecked abuse victim. But in practice, that doesn't seem to be the case. One of their first exchanges that in the story is when the occultist played his music and Ashley wanted them to check it out. He says 'no', sure, but then he smirks and says 'but I'll come along if you do.'

That is not the dialogue of someone who has no will of their own, that's the dialogue of someone who willingly gives up their own agency.

This is not, on its own, a sign of anything out of the ordinary. What caught my attention with it, though, is how it flew in the face of the common narrative surrounding their relationship dynamic. But that's not the first time I noticed it, it's just the first time, in retrospect, that their actual dynamic begins to show. The first time I personally noticed it is in the choking scene.

There are a lot of ways to view this situation. But my own reading? This was not a crime of passion. This was not him trying to break free. This is him doing something he's thought about for a while. This is premeditated. In this scene, Andrew is done playing along with Ashley's shit. In this scene, I firmly believe Ashley is the victim.

Ashley is the more openly abusive of the two who seeks to do whatever she can to trap Andrew so he'll never leave her. That much is clear. But Andrew-

-clearly has these same tendencies. He says this shortly after Ashley mentions putting her name up on a call girl's wall for money. There's protective brotherly instincts, and then there's this. This is not something you'd threaten a sister with, this is something that a man would threaten his wife with, which is directly brought attention to in the story.

(hey look he accepts the framing of it being WIFE beating at face value, and says Ashley is the only one who makes him like that! HMMMMMMMMMM WONDER WHAT THAT IMPLIES???)

It also implies that this is not the first time physical force has been threatened! I mean, that much is obvious, because of the choking scene that happened before, but I more mean that this implies that Andrew either threatening or utilizing physical force is an established pattern of behavior. However, the Decay route implies that she never thought Andy would kill her (but Andrew would) which can either be for or against depending on one's perspective, so I don't hold to the idea that it's an established pattern too strongly.

Okay, so. Andrew has some controlling and possessive tendencies too. So what? Their relationship is codependent. It's advertised as such. What of it?

Well first of all, it pretty much blows the lid off of the idea that Ashley is the sole perpetrator of abuse in their relationship. I've seen a lot of people view Andrew's behavior as justified retaliation against abuse, but frankly, I don't believe that him threatening to strangle Ashley for violating boundaries by trying to hold him accountable for his actions (given the strangulation part happens after she brought up Nina's death and how Andrew was ultimately responsible) is justified. And I ESPECIALLY don't believe that him threatening to backhand Ashley for her transactional attitude towards sex is justified in ANY circumstance.

EDIT: This part was edited in from the original post for the sake of readability so they don't have to see the reblogs to see the updated version! This post gained more traction than I was expecting!

…But perhaps even more telling is what she DOESN'T do.

Pushing someone's boundaries until they lash out is a pretty common tactic in abusive relationships. It's easy to see why, too: It justifies prior behavior and paints them in a negative light to others. This can be an important aspect of using DARVO (deny, attack, and reverse victim and offender) against someone, although the two ideas aren't necessarily linked.

It's pretty easy to argue that this is what Ashley does, but if you look at the one time her boundary pushing DID go too far, when Andrew lashes out with physical violence… she doesn't do that. She doesn't blame him. She doesn't paint herself as the victim. She doesn't even try to give a reason as to why she shouldn't be killed outside of the comfort she gives him. Why is this notable?

Because the mom does, in fact, engage in what could be considered DARVO against Ashley:

(i will elaborate more on this screenshot in particular below)

Ashley is directly compared to Mrs. Graves by Andrew, and yet she crucially displays none of the habits that Mrs. Graves does. Mrs. Graves lays the blame on Ashley, but Ashley doesn't lay the blame on Andrew. Mrs. Graves tends to paint herself as the victim of Ashley, but Ashley does no such thing to Andrew. The mom denies her culpability at every turn; Ashley doesn't. Ashley tries to hold Andrew accountable for his role in Nina's death, which could be considered a kind of DARVO. But she never denies that she had a role to play in it. She just mentions that he was the one who pulled the trigger. And he was.

(and the point was more that she DIDN'T engage in it when threatened with physical violence; the perfect chance to)

In Mrs. Graves' mind, she is the victim of either Ashley, or society as a whole. In Ashley's mind, she knows what she is, what she does, and what she's about. The only thing she's oblivious to- or doesn't acknowledge, at least- is the threat Andrew poses to her. In her mind, she's the bad guy. In Andrew's mind, Ashley is the bad guy. In official art, she is the bad guy:

And yet, in the game itself, Andrew is the one holding the cleaver. Not her. Hm.

Ashley is the world's most convenient scapegoat. She allows people to mask their own worst habits and pretend they're better people than they are. She accepts this role. She embraces it. She doesn't try to deny it. But when that mask slips, people lash out at her. Both Mrs. Graves and Andy (NOT Andrew, crucially) predicate much of their self-perception on being what she's not.

But they're the ones who enabled her to become like this, every step of the way.

And that's what blew my fucking mind, and made me question just who the victim really is. She was never given a chance to be normal, because other people relied on her NOT being normal.

By the end of my second playthrough, I felt worse for Ashley than I did for Andrew, and I still do.

So. What am I getting at? What does this show me about the relationship between Ashley and Andrew?

(I also wanted to point out that Andrew does engage in DARVO too but I didn't want to distract from the behavior of the mother. Unlike what Andrew does, it doesn't require someone to reassess the narrative they have towards the game in order to realize the implications of it, whereas it's pretty easy to justify Andrew's words as not qualifying as DARVO if you buy into the narrative that he's the sole victim and/or that Ashley is the main perpetrator of abuse. A friend of mine pointed out that it's a pretty key part of the push/pull dynamic they have, and I completely agree.

However, the direct comparisons to the behavior of the mother can't be ignored no matter your narrative, so I felt as if I needed to highlight that more.)

EDIT OVER

It shows me that their relationship is all about control.

Specifically, the push and pull of who controls who in any given situation.

Andrew weaponizes his incompetence. He always looks to lay the blame on Ashley. This is drawn attention to several times, and said explicitly in the Decay route.

He is always surrendering control to her, and yet he never HAS to. He could always just say no. He could always refuse. What are the consequences? Her being upset? Well, unfortunately, it's not that easy. That's not how abuse dynamics work. He probably feels like he has to, or rather, feels like there's no other option. That he's in too deep, and stuck with her no matter what. But personally, I think it's pretty clear from his willingness to surrender control to Ashley that he still feels like he has it at points, because the moment he feels like he's about to lose it, he either considers violence, even as a child-

(the actual scene of slicing her finger is pretty sus too with this reading in mind)

-or resorts to it, outright, in both the choking scene and the vision in the Decay ending... when Ashley doesn't have enough bullets to defend herself (this will be important later!).

SO WHAT POINT AM I TRYING TO MAKE??? AM I JUST MAKING ABUSE APOLOGIA (the answer may surprise you)?

No. I don't think so.

Ashley is obviously very bad. She's controlling and uses pretty textbook abuse and entrapment tactics on Andrew whereas everything he does to her is inference, with Ashley too daft to realize just how much danger she's in until the vision in the Decay ending spells it out for her- and I don't know if a true abuse dynamic allows for one to be completely unaware of the consequences of breaking free. She could just let go of her desire for control and Andrew would be a much happier person.

And that's the point, because so would she.

I bring up control because that push and pull- that desire for control over each other- is exactly what's tearing their relationship apart, and this effect most obviously manifests in the two endings of episode 2. In the Decay ending, Ashley either tries to exert control over Andrew due to a lack of trust, or Andrew allows his feelings of entrapment to truly take root in his mind and guide his actions. In the Decay ending, Andrew becomes a true doormat with no will of his own, allowing his feelings of bitterness and resentment to fester and grow, eventually resulting in their deaths.

In the Burial ending, Andrew does the exact opposite. He takes control of the situation and does exactly what Ashley would do without much of a fuss. This eventually culminates in THAT scene (assuming you take the Questionable route), where his facial expression alone speaks volumes:

Look at how fucking confident this man is. This is not the face of someone who's unsure of himself; this is the face of someone who knows exactly what he wants and takes it. He is absolutely in control of this situation, and everyone is happier for it.

And what does Ashley have to do to get this ending?

Let's go back to Decay for a moment. If Ashley has bullets in her gun, she has control over the situation. She, at any point, could put an end to Andrew and survive. And yet, at the very end of it all, she could choose not to. She could choose to surrender control to Andrew, allowing herself to die. And that ending, I believe so much of his life and willpower will have decayed that there's nothing left for him to take control of, leaving him no choice- or rather, no use for the control he now has- but to die with her.

And in the Burial ending, she has to let him out of his cage before it's too late. She has to surrender control to him, and when she does-

-He will become everything she ever needed him to be.

It's all about her surrendering control, and it's all about him taking control. Because, no matter what, as long as that happens... the two of them will be together forever.

In life...

...or in death.

How romantic.

So no, the incest end is not the fucking bad end. They're going to be together forever in the end either way, so they might as well live through it.

[ghostyclay]

[Day 30]: TANUKI JOEL TANUKI JOEL TANUKI JOEL-

(Whenever i export animations, procreate sometimes messes up the colors a bit? It looks fine on my ipad, but the animation is desaturated on my phone, so here's what it should look like:)

Anyways, i thought it would be funny to draw Joel summoning Effo, inspired by Grian & Scar summoning mumbo during season 8. It turned out even sillier than i thought it would and i absolutely love it wkdhwjd

(explanation of the animation + sketch of the tail below!)

Also wanted to show off the sketch since it shows off the movement a lot better! I did end up changing a LOT (and even ended up adding some frames where i did lineart w/o a sketch inbetween... Oop-) but u can still kind of see the drag and offset?

So basically: since the tail isn't a stiff object like... A table or sth, it has multiple 'joints' (<-don't remember the proper term for it). Now, if u animated the tail just moving back and forth it would look v v stiff and wierd, since irl the tip of the tail would be "dragged along" with the bottom (<-aka the ACTUAL joint that the movement originates from). To create a more organic and realistic movement, you need to slightly delay the other parts of the tail. I usually use those lil circles to sketch this out at first, since its a lot easier to do without having to worry about shape and perspective and such.

(in theory i know wayyy too much about animation, but in practice im still struggling to do it bc i don't have much experience animating ekfhakdj- i do know the theory p well, which is why im hoping his lil explanation might help someone! Let me know if u guys want me to include some art theory lessons more often :D)

[willlic]

First piece of digital art I have ever done, finished. I started a brook Pic ages ago, realized I was being too literal with color, and too obsessed with textures and perfection. It's so weird trying out digital art. With traditional art, if you fuck up you can't really fix it. But because you *can* fix it in digital art, it takes me way longer because it's so easy to get obsessed with fine-tuning things. I realized that's what was happening with the brook one I started months ago, so I stopped and followed advice from other artists. I needed to practice limiting my color palette, making it a bit more fun by practicing some color theory, and being okay with messiness and minimalism. I decided the best way to do this was framing it in my head as trying out another style, so I wanted to try out a style similar to the jet set radio promotional art from the early 2000s. Messy linework, weird warping and perspective, interesting color schemes, with no additional texture. It was a lot of fun, even though I deleted whole layers repeatedly. I wanted to practice those skills rather than aim for a specific perfect outcome. I think I might do more egghead fan art, it's just so cool, and really gives heavy jet set radio vibes to me.