#<- tag for me

[malwarechips]

rain world modern au ragequit

[faededaway]

[𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕠 𝕄𝕒𝕟𝕛𝕚𝕣𝕠 𝕩 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣]

[warning: exhibitionism, pvp, fem reader, bike race mention, cumshot] [inspiration]

Manijo, Manjiro

After everything in his life, he wishes he could say he's calmed down a bit. But, he picked the life of midnight races and adrenaline, and you.

You, the other adrenaline rush in his life. The one who keeps him high at all times. You, who like him for what he's got. His dirty mouth and worse mannerism doesn't bother you one bit. If anything, it keeps pulling you to him.

He saw you at one of street races he'd gone to watch. He'd gone just to get a scope of the competition of an upcoming race. But you caught his eye with your jeans shorts and flag wrapped around your chest.

"She's the flag girl, dude. She'll take it off to wave it! You can see her tits when the race starts!" He was surprised to hear more whispers about you than any about the racers. But that meant no one here was worth watching than you were.

Maybe I'll give you something worth watching.

He'd strolled over to you with hands in his pockets, "is it true?"

You'd barely spared him a glance before he continued, "that everyone here sucks so bad, the showrunners stole your clothes?"

You'd glared at him but kept your eyes on the racers who were taking their positions.

"How much are they paying you? I could pay you double and give you some clothes," he leaned on pole you were standing next to, wearing his signature grin.

"Why don't you fuck off instead? Shut up and watch like the other bozos who've never touched a bike but talk like they're Steve McQueen or something."

He laughed off your remark and proposed, "wanna ride with me? Be the flag girl that wins the race?"

You finally looked at him to tell him off again, but the confidence in his eyes stopped you. Your eyes wandered over to the memorabilia on his jacket, you recognized him then. He's the guys everyone's been talking about. The one who wins every race.

"What's someone like you doing here?"

"What's someone like you doing here?" He parroted the question back to you.

You glared at him and looked away. The digital timer on the side was counting down to the start of the race. 30 seconds to start.

“Okay,” he laughed, “'m here to see how much I'll need to hold back to save these guys from embarrassing themselves in their next race.”

You sighed at that. It was embarrassing working here. It doesn't help that he was right on the money about the show runner situation too.

He laughed again, pissing you off further. 20 seconds to start.

“If you agree to ride with me, I'll enter the race. That's bound to make you some money, right?” 10 seconds to start.

That's not how this works but it would help your brother the show runner make some much needed cash. 5 seconds.

“You better win.” Go.

He'd won, of course. He's not sure if there was a prize involved in this race. To him, you were the prize. You'd laughed and cheered the whole way of the race. Your arms were wrapped tightly around his waist. Your flimsy top(that you did not wave as a flag) let him feel the warmth of your body over his leather. You'd even asked him to speed up at times. You loved speed just like he did. He loved hearing your giggles in his ear with the song of the wind. He knew this could not be a one time thing.

"Don't stop, I know a spot nearby," you whispered in his ear when he crossed the finished line. He followed as if it was a command.

The spot you spoke of was a rundown gas station with a back alley that seemed to be a popular place for a different kind of ride. "This was so we don't do the whole 'my place or yours' or the 'who pays?' thing."

"I wouldn't mind taking you on the streets, an alleyway seems fancy." His hands ran down your body as you giggled in reply.

He pulled off your clothes in one pull, "if this is what they saw before the race began, they'd be crashing into things." His lips sucked on your chest ravenously. Red and purple lined his touch on your skin.

His leather jacket hung on your shoulders, your back pressed to the wall of the alleyway that anyone could walk into. Even if no one walked over, they'd hear your mewls and whines for sure. Mikey didn't seem to care and neither did you.

His hands didn't leave your body even for a second. One hand played with you chest, while the other did the same to your pussy. His fingers would ghost over your stiff buds right after he'd pinched and pulled at them. His mouth followed the same 'soft one moment, hard the other' pace - pecking you one moment, sucking your skin the other.

Your legs wrapped around his waist. You felt his hardness on your stomach. You would have touched him if his touch relented, but his pace only let you cling onto him harder. A hand deep in his hair, the other clutching his shirt. He hadn't even put it in yet and you'd already scratched his back.

"Mikey, c'mon!"

He only stopped when you begged him for it. Laughter bubbled in his chest and you felt it in yours too. He's unlike any man you had previously. Any other man would've stuffed your face already but he touched you to please you.

"Put it in, baby." His hands moved to your waist, finally giving you a moment to do what you'd been wanting to do since getting on his bike.

You palmed him over his leather to get a feel for him before revealing the real package. Hot. Hard as fuck. Pulsating and hot.

He rolled his hips into your palm, rubbing himself into the warmth of your hands. "Ah, fuck!"

Mikey's whining wasn't any quieter than yours. You let in sooner than him. A moment's grace before you undo his buttons and look down at him.

Sticky wetness dripped from his pretty pink tip. You thumbed some of it and brought it to your lips. "Someone's keeping you well fed. Wouldn't mind throat-"

A deep thrust interrupted your dirty words. "Want your pussy today, baby."

Your hands returned to his neck, holding on for dear life. His thrusts choked the breathe out of your lungs. Each one as deep as the first one, but like his ride, he didn't do slow.

He'd avoided fingering you earlier, teasing your clit relentlessly. Your aching pussy throbbed with him in it. It loved the filling it was receiving. Slick dripped down your lips and made a mess on his blacks.

"Fuck, Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, slow down!" you weren't sure if you'd be able to keep up anymore before losing it.

"Are we nearing a curve, baby? Are we losing it? Hm? Are we gonna cum?" he slowed down like you asked but just a moment later, "let it lose, baby. Cum with me."

He groaned as he thrust in you for the last time, his dick throbbed in you before filling you with his warm sticky cum. Your body attuned to his play, came as asked.

A cacophony of your moans and whines filled the alleyway as the two of you came off of your high.

"Whew, someone call the janitor. Clean up in the cum-alley."

Your noise attracted some people, but with your back to the wall and Mikey before you, they couldn't see you.

"You look like you'd like to clean it up yourself." Mikey wrapped his jacket on your chest before taking out your shorts from his pocket.

"Nah, we're good. Hearing y'all was good enough for me. Just wanted to come over and see the goods f'myself, that's all."

Lucky for you, they'd walked away as you got dressed. But being caught with Mikey in your pussy felt -

"Felt you throb around me when they caught us, baby. Maybe next time, I really will take you on the streets." He'd tucked himself back in and was wiping your slick off his crotch with your flag top. His eyes bore into yours, a sly grin on his lips.

You'd laughed as you walked out of the alley and to his bike. "I felt you, too."

And that is how Mikey became your ride for life.

[laiosynth]

dunmeshi oc time??

she is today years old, created like no more than 2 or 3 hours ago. i love them dearly already

everyone meet Snowben Tims, chilchuck's estranged transgender punk rock sister. they/she pronouns

obsessed iwth her... currently thinking up scenarios in my head where they meet chilchuck again and have a reunion . they would bond over unions, half-foot rights and liberation, activism, and probably alcohol.

i recognize that she is not at all time-period-accurate or appropriate. i find myself not caring somehow.

reblog to pay for another round of drinks for her and chil. or osmething /silly

[sasdavvero]

uh

but also

Im not sorry

[emchovy]

working on the boys.

it's been kinda fun figuring out what uniform designs to give them. The Starfleet uniform redesigns are pretty fun to track through the timeline, (I was torn between Lower Decks and DS9, but I decided to go DS9) and for Jono I can kinda just do what I want.

I do think it's interesting how there's no, like, visible armor other than the helmets in the Talarian designs, which kinda contrasts with the Cardassians or Klingons. I like it, though, they've got a fun tunic-y thing going on that really works for me.

[kvothes]

so true

[mobgoblin]

Queued right up for it

[yumenikkii]

just another average day in gravity falls

[daisyofwaterdeep]

had a dream I went to a hozier concert and mr. hozier stopped singing and pointed to me in the crowd and asked me to go get him some extra crispy tofu and a blueberry shake for after the show and then the crowd passed his debit card to me and when I got it I could see his real legal name was Horace Bob-omb

[atinymexicanbird]

Ark siblings in all universes 🪐

[chiimeramanticore]

compilation of this type of post

edit: idk how much this is gonna do but since making this post i got covid and need some help, please consider it

[azvhaalk]

glorious evolution

[shadesofmauve]

I want to step away from the art-vs-artist side of the Gaiman issue for a bit, and talk about, well, the rest of it. Because those emotions you're feeling would be the same without the art; the art just adds another layer.

Source: I worked with a guy who turned out to be heavily involved in an international, multi-state sex-slavery/trafficking ring.

He was really nice.

Yeah.

It hits like a dumptruck of shit. You don't feel stable in your world anymore. How could someone you interacted with, liked, also be a truly horrible person? How could your judgement be that bad? How can real people, not stylized cartoon bogeymen, be actually doing this shit?

You have to sit with the fact that you couldn't, or probably couldn't, have known. You should have no guilt as part of this horror — but guilt is almost certainly part of that mess you're feeling, because our brains do this associative thing, and somehow "I liked [the version of] the guy [that I knew]", or his creations, becomes "I made a horrible mistake and should feel guilty."

You didn't, loves, you didn't.

We're human, and we can only go by the information we have. And the information we have is only the smallest glimpse into someone else's life.

I didn't work closely with the guy I knew at work, but we chatted. He wasn't just nice; he was one of the only people outside my tiny department who seemed genuinely nice in a workplace that was rapidly becoming incredibly toxic. He loaned me a bike trainer. Occasionally he'd see me at the bus stop and give me a lift home.

Yup. I was a young woman in my twenties and rode in this guy's car. More than once.

When I tell this story that part usually makes people gasp. "You must feel so scared about what could have happened to you!" "You're so lucky nothing happened!"

No, that's not how it worked. I was never in danger. This guy targeted Korean women with little-to-no English who were coerced and powerless. A white, fluent, US citizen coworker wasn't a potential victim. I got to be a person, not prey.

Y'know that little warning bell that goes off, when you're around someone who might be a danger to you? That animal sense that says "Something is off here, watch out"?

Yeah, that doesn't ping if the preferred prey isn't around.

That's what rattled me the most about this. I liked to think of myself as willing to stand up for people with less power than me. I worked with Japanese exchange students in college and put myself bodily between them and creeps, and I sure as hell got that little alarm when some asian-schoolgirl fetishist schmoozed on them. But we were all there.

I had to learn that the alarm won't go off when the hunter isn't hunting. That it's not the solid indicator I might've thought it was. That sometimes this is what the privilege of not being prey does; it completely masks your ability to detect the horrors that are going on.

A lot of people point out that 'people like that' have amazing charisma and ability to lie and manipulate, and that's true. Anyone who's gotten away with this shit for decades is going to be way smoother than the pathetic little hangers-on I dealt with in university. But it's not just that. I seriously, deeply believe that he saw me as a person, and he did not extend personhood to his victims. We didn't have a fake coworker relationship. We had a real one. And just like I don't know the ins-and-outs of most of my coworkers lives, I had no idea that what he did on his down time was perpetrate horrors.

I know this is getting off the topic, but it's so very important. Especially as a message to cis guys: please understand that you won't recognize a creep the way you might think you will. If you're not the preferred prey, the hind-brain alarm won't go off. You have to listen to victims, not your gut feeling that the person seems perfectly nice and normal. It doesn't mean there's never a false accusation, but face the fact that it's usually real, and you don't have enough information to say otherwise.

So, yeah. It fucking sucks. Writing about this twists my insides into tense knots, and it was almost a decade ago. I was never in danger. No one I knew was hurt!

Just countless, powerless women, horrifically abused by someone who was nice to me.

You don't trust your own judgement quite the same way, after. And as utterly shitty as it is, as twisted up and unstead-in-the-world as I felt the day I found out — I don't actually think that's a bad thing.

I think we all need to question our own judgement. It makes us better people.

I don't see villains around every corner just because I knew one, once. But I do own the fact that I can't know, really know, about anyone except those closest to me. They have their own full lives. They'll go from the pinnacles of kindness to the depths of depravity — and I won't know.

It's not a failing. It's just being human. Something to remember before you slap labels on people, before you condemn them or idolize them. Think about how much you can't know, and how flawed our judgement always is.

Grieve for victims, and the feeling of betrayal. But maybe let yourself off the hook, and be a bit slower to skewer others on it.

[so-many-ocs]

[on the verge of having a complete breakdown] i need to make some kind of list or perhaps sort things into categories

[blueeblurb]

a helping hand