#Barrier Tape

[bstrading]

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[aidenknow]

Thought I might share this over here too. Here’s a lovely and silly art of Lily Barriere for someone for @idvcreators on Twitter/X 🍉

[re-discover-communication]

It was a week ago

[hxroic-wxlls-fxrever]

“ A Blood Moon? But how can Cheese Bleed? “

Cirno…

[the-starlight-papers]

Finished the blade detailing for my 3D printed Guardian Sword++

Now on to the much scarier part, the clear parts that make up the structure of the blade and house the LED strip to make it glow.

File source

[dhalumalpackaging]

High-Quality Packaging Solutions: Milk in a Bag and Safety Adhesive Tapes

The companies that deal with modern packaging solutions must follow the rules and guidelines to keep the products safe and ensure compliance. The right food-grade packaging for Filled Form Milk Sugar Packaging products or industrial safety solutions such as Caution Tapes and Barrier Tapes are critical to efficiency, durability, and branding.

Packed Product Milk Sugar Nutrition pack product

The food industry needs specific packaging that preserves the quality of the product and prolongs its shelf life. Filled Form Milk Sugar Packaging is a top-notch packing solution used to safeguard dairy base sugar items, ensuring we remain fresh, uncontaminated, and simple to carry.

READ MORE

[sharkspez]

Badge: 🏛️ 🏛️ 🏛️

When I got out of the ⚔️ Army, they didn't want to give me my GI Bill 💰 payments because I'd not registered for Selective Service.

[clinical-space-podcast]

I also love how audio fiction has always been a highly experimental medium, and likely always will be.

Financially, it has a low barrier for entry, a low point of diminishing returns, and a relatively small potential market. It's basically impervious to being taken over by giant studios - even the "big" networks like RQ would be considered indie in the film or game dev industries. With the exception of the BBC, they tend to dip their toes into audio fiction, figure out quickly that, although it's beloved by its fans, there isn't that kind of money in it, and proceed to leave us alone forever.

Then there's the fact that it propagates largely by word of mouth. Audio dramas owe everything to obsessive nerds forcing nearly everyone they know to listen to that podcast they just discovered.

So it's more about the thing being actually good, plus a decent amount of luck and persistence.

There's no optimally marketable success formula being relentlessly enforced by gatekeeping jellybean-counters because they don't exist here. So people make whatever they want. So it draws people to it who are looking for something different. And the cycle feeds itself, and the medium gets weirder (in a good way).

It may very well ALWAYS remain the wild west of storytelling.

So listeners tell your friends about that podcast!

And creators, make the weird thing! There are no rules! It can be an hour long or Breaker Whiskey short, or Re:Dracula all over the place length. It can be another tape recorder framing or another voicemail framing or basically just an audiobook. It can be any genre or blend of genres. This creative space gives us the opportunity to be our own target audience in a way rarely found elsewhere.

If you enjoy the thing you're making, odds are somone else out there will enjoy it too. I've already found this to be true, and my time as an audio fiction creator is still just beginning.

Peace and love on every planet, y'all!

[tawneybee]

Honestly obsessed with the "Humans are the cats of space" corner of the whole trope.

We may be seen as objectively adorable. We're tiny predators, vicious and mighty with teeth and nails, but also easy to pick up and hold and swing around while saying "Babyyyy"

We're quiet and sneaky in the wild, hard to catch and contain, very effective hunters and climbers. But when domesticated who wouldn't just lounge around if we're given free food, unlimited sleep, and constant enrichment?

And same with cats, there's a variety of how humans act and feel about these huge creatures taking care of us. Some of us might be very chatty, very affectionate, some probably clingy if we trust our Alien enough. While others don't screw with their personal space, would scratch and bite if you do something they don't like. The affection is at their pace cause otherwise you'll come out with a few scars.

As small as we are, the more wild independent humans have the strength and means to take down predators so much bigger than us when the situation becomes dire enough. There's been cats who've gotten dogs, wolves, and bears singlehandedly.

A human that's been in an alien family long enough would probably chase off a huge threatening space creature to protect the alien young, just as cats have done for human children.

Imagine after a few years of integration with aliens, some humans don't get by well with taking care of their children so they find an alien that looks responsible and careful enough and they leave their young on their doorstep so they can grow up with all the food and shelter they could ever need.

Maybe they have a human distribution system where a person who's just tired of the human world picks a ship to stay on, and the aliens on board just accept it because that's how humans are. Maybe they help provide pest control for those space creatures small enough to hide in hard-to-reach areas of the ship.

And even amongst all this agility and predatory instinct, humans can still be pretty dumb and airhead and ridiculous. Imagine how hilarious aliens would find it when we get jumpscared or sneeze or feel the random need to stim and run around. Alien puts a long sticky parchment on that crevice of our backs that's hard to reach and watches as we struggle to reach and take it off cause it's annoying, same way we might put tape on a cat's head. Maybe they find the funky way a human mom tries to carry her too-big baby funny the same way a mom cat dragging her too-big baby by the scruff is funny.

Maybe there's a language barrier, but Aliens notice our odd human sounds and mimic them to get our attention, but they struggle with the different sound and pronunciation we just hear random gargled calls of "Molasses!" "Tree!" "税金!" when they're just trying to greet us. And you learn to recognize the pattern of noises that mean whatever name they gave you in their language.

Humans really are just big cats.

[today-i-am-thinking-about]

eyelashes

[yazmarina]

walk me through it

for the love circuit series

—you're used to being flirted with in front of the camera. but something about franco is really doing you in.

franco colapinto (f1) x fem!reporter reader

warnings/notes: smut, unprotected sex (no condom, yes birth control), guided masturbation, lewd photography, lots of flirting, franco is shameless (naturally), some Spanish sentences and phrases

a/n: will resume hit play for a bit after this one! enjoy franco girlies mwa

Your job was simple enough. Well, for today, at least.

Stand in the media pen, gather statements, and piece together a couple of stories later that evening for publishing first thing tomorrow morning. All in a day's work, like all the other days before.

You've grown immune to the charms of rich, adrenaline-seeking men. Didn't take you too long, the illusion breaking as soon as any one of them opened their mouths. Some you tolerate more than others, but some you'd rather steer clear of completely.

This isn't to say that you've brushed all of them off. You might have agreed to a date here and there but nothing ever stuck, the nature of your jobs a bit too similar and all too different at the same time. You've given up on the prospect that you'll somehow end up with one of the many Formula 1 drivers you've interviewed and spoken to. And you've spoken to a lot. You've had this gig since you were shipped off fresh from uni and one too many 'What happened there?'s and 'Tell me about qualifying's can put a damper on the romantic side of things.

But someone new's in town. Well, er, new in the paddock. And you'd be lying if you said you weren't even a little bit excited.

He's charming, that much you can already tell. He walks into the media pen like he's done it thousands of times before and you have to actively suppress a smile as he walks over. Confidence is always a plus. For the interview, of course.

"Hola, Franco. Antes que nada, enhorabuena," you greet warmly, extending your arm over the barrier to place the microphone nearer to him. Hi, Franco. First of all, congratulations.

Franc's eyebrows shoot up, a wolfish grin settling on his face. "Oh. I thought this was an English interview?"

You smile back. "It is, but I know my way around Spanish, as well."

"Ah," Franco nods. "Gracias, _______."

"You know my name?" You ask, momentarily forgetting that you're being taped and recorded. You clear your throat, ignoring the quiet snicker from your cameraman.

"Yeah, I've seen you around and watched some of your other interviews," Franco confirms, a hand settling on his hip as he leans against the barrier, closer to you.

You can smell his perfume from where you stand.

"Thank you, I've heard and seen a lot about you as well," you respond, trying to return to your original train of thought.

"Which is why I want to ask you how it feels on your first day as a Formula 1 driver," you quickly follow. "Have you done anything special to prepare for this weekend? Other than the obvious, of course."

Another easy smile spreads across Franco's lips. "I've definitely added to my training and done some new things to prepare. I haven't done a full F1 weekend before so everything will be new."

"We definitely don't have reporters like you in the lower Formulas," he adds.

You feel a violent blush rip up through your neck all the way to your cheeks. As if the Monza heat wasn't enough.

"Well, I'm glad you could meet me here," you manage to get out.

The thing is, Franco isn't even the most attractive driver you've met. He's definitely up there, but not the most.

That's a discussion you have with yourself semi-weekly: ranking the drivers in terms of attractiveness, factoring in personalities and general attitudes towards the people around them, specifically the media.

Look, people love to shit on the media and press, calling journalism all sorts of derogatory words, but you're just here to do your job, like anyone else. And it gets pretty fucking hard when your boss is ringing your phone every five minutes demanding four stories by tomorrow and drivers are sassing you out as if you asked them if they've murdered their whole family.

So, naturally, the way they treat you determines a big chunk of how you think your day is going to pan out.

And right now, Franco seems to be lifting your spirits just fine.

"What are your goals for this weekend? Are points on the horizon for you at your first F1 race?" You continue, trying not to stare at the way Franco starts to rub at the back of his neck, bashful all of a sudden.

"We'll try," Franco begins. He plants both his hands on the barrier and leans even closer. You have to physically take a step back.

You gulp. Franco smiles.

"Anything is possible this weekend."

-

"You broke the internet last night."

You scoff, sending your cameraman a vicious side-eye. It's crowded in the paddock today, everyone wanting to get a glimpse of the new rookie, it seems. Such is the eagerness for this young driver that even that 30-second clip of your interview with him blew right up in your face. Your inboxes at capacity, your own voice speaking back to you with every other swipe on your TikTok.

It's not all bad, though. A tweet with one of your Instagram photos attached to it captioned 'TE ENTIENDO MUCHO FRANCO ES MUY LINDA PERIODISTA' did weasel out a chuckle from you.

Your cameraman shrugs, gesturing with a jerk of his head in front of you.

"There he is. I'm sure he knows all about it."

You look over to where he's pointing and lo and behold, Franco is right there, chatting with a few Williams team members, his race suit hanging undone around his waist. He turns to you even before you can fully register that it's him you're looking at.

But your training kicks in even faster. A megawatt smile appears on your lips and you wave enthusiastically at Franco.

"Hi."

"_______," Franco says, face lighting up at the sight of you. Your name seems to fall even more effortlessly off his lips.

You reach over and pull him into a half-hug with one arm, but both his arms wind around you and you have no choice but to squeeze back.

"You saw?" Franco asks, a gleam in his eye as he pulls away. His hand remains casually on the small of your back.

"Saw what?" You know what it is he's asking but you'd like to hear it from him.

"We went viral, no?" Franco says with a laugh, reaching further around you and squeezing your waist. You lean into his touch, heart jumping as his fingers graze just underneath your cropped top.

"That's all because of you," you reason, pointing an accusatory finger at Franco. "I bet you say that to all the other reporters."

The Williams team members standing nearby burst out laughing and even your cameraman affords a snicker. A deep blush spreads across Franco's face as he rubs your side reassuringly.

"No, no, I don't. Just you," Franco admits with another lighthearted laugh.

"Sure," you say with exaggerated skepticism. You pull away from his touch, catching his hand before he slips it fully off of you.

"I'll talk to you later," you say. And it's fully intentional, the words you choose to say. I'll talk to you later. Not 'I'll catch you later' or 'I'll see you later'.

I will talk to you later.

Franco understands, giving your hand a squeeze.

-

Later that day, you pray that no one catches you grinning behind your hand as Franco takes the chequered flag at qualifying.

P11.

Almost there.

-

"Hi. Come in."

Franco beams at you from across the threshold, stepping into your room with slow, measured steps.

"Great qualifying," you compliment, eyes traveling down Franco's body, noting the way his team kit hugs his frame just right, his hands shoved into his pockets, exposing just his arms, veins and all.

Your eyes snap back up to his face when you hear the door shut in place.

"Q2 on your debut. Not bad," you go on, taking a step back. Franco takes one toward you.

"You're just repeating what you said at the media pen earlier," Franco points out. He reaches out and gently circles an arm around your waist.

Always straight to the point.

Like this morning.

You tried not to make it so obvious when you ran into Franco earlier, but all you could think about was The Message.

You were doing your cursory social media checks a few minutes after you had woken up, still snug in your bed and unwilling to get up just yet. A message in your Instagram inbox caught your attention, sitting at the very top of your 'verified followers' tab.

Franco Colapinto: hola, hermosa 😉

It took a minute for your motor functions to return, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you pored over what to reply. You settled on a nonchalant greeting, asking if Franco needed anything.

You realized rather belatedly that this was looking a little familiar. You wished he wouldn't say the dreaded answer, the more-than-predictable response that every man liked to use.

Franco Colapinto: you, maybe?

You groaned into your pillow, not because you were repulsed by his answer, but because you liked it. If you were easy, then so was he.

You: i finish work at 9 pm tonight...? 👀

It's 9 PM now. Franco's in the room and your hand is running up his chest.

Easy.

"It's such an honor," Franco teases, backing you up further into the room. His hands feel heavy on your waist and your heart hammers against your chest.

"I get to work with people like you now," Franco continues, stopping right in front of the bed.

The kiss comes as a shock more so because of how good Franco kisses. One of his hands is now cradling the back of your head, keeping you in place while he licks into your mouth, groaning with every pucker of your lips.

You pull away for barely a second to get both of your tops off before you dive back in, seemingly too desperate and too starved for each other's mouths. Franco's hands are everywhere; they run down your arms, paw at your waist, tugging at the belt loops of your jeans.

You giggle as he pulls you even closer, your bare chests pressed against each other. Franco pulls back and peers down at you, reaching behind to unclasp your bra. You let it fall, already guiding one of his hands to your tits.

"Couldn't stop staring at them?" You ask, your voice rising with an innocent lilt.

Franco kneads at the mound beneath his hand, eliciting a moan from you. He grins.

"I wanted you to notice," Franco admits simply, kissing you again.

"Perv," you mumble against his lips. Franco laughs, already undoing his trousers.

You wiggle your own way out of your jeans, letting Franco get the shortest of glimpses at your baby pink underwear before you discard them off to the side.

"Mierda, you're so sexy," Franco compliments as you crawl backward onto the bed, laying back and letting your hair splay out beneath you.

Franco pounces on you like a man starved, bare atop your own naked body, his arms caging you in.

"Big moves from somebody so new," you whisper, carding your fingers through Franco's soft locks.

"I like to make a statement," Franco says with a shrug. He glances up momentarily, something piquing his interest off to the side.

"Is that your camera?"

You crane your neck to see where he's looking and sure enough, your personal DSLR is right there on the bedside drawer. You look back at Franco, an eyebrow raised.

"You wanna use it?" You ask, not expecting him to actually say yes. But a mischievous grin settles on Franco's face and you feel your heart skip several beats.

"Knock yourself out," you say.

Franco reaches for the camera and fiddles with it for a few seconds. His eyes scan over your body and you suddenly feel the urge to hide away with how hard he's looking.

"May I?" Franco asks, brandishing the camera. Your mouth falls open as you realize what he's asking.

"You can keep them for yourself. For your eyes only," Franco hurriedly adds, planting his knees firmly on either side of you.

You stare up at him, a million thoughts running through your mind.

"Just...touch yourself."

You gasp, stunned at his proposal. Franco watches through the LCD monitor, glancing up at you through his lashes. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth, and as if on instinct, your hand inches down slowly between your legs.

"You're in front of cameras all the time," Franco reminds with a smirk. "This should be easy for you."

You suppress a whimper at his words, your fingertips swiping through your slick folds. You're already soaked and you start to wonder if it started even before Franco got here.

The shutter clicks and the lens whirs, sharp against the soft breaths you're letting out. Franco is concentrated, snapping photo after photo as you rub yourself closer to release. But it's not enough. You need more.

"Franco...," you implore, peering up with bright, begging eyes.

"Slowly, mi amor," Franco coos. "Just where you like it. Right there."

Click.

"Harder now, but still slow. Yes? Feels good?"

You whine, eyes fluttering shut as your pleasure picks up again. Several clicks. You're panting now, the tendrils of release wrapping themselves around you.

"Faster, yes, like that," Franco eggs on. Your fingers speed up against your sensitive clit and a litany of Franco's name spills from your lips. Before you know it, he's putting the camera away. You reach for him, gripping the back of his neck as he smashes his lips into yours.

Franco bites down on your lip and you cry out, your orgasm washing over you like a tide. You arch against Franco, feeling his own stiffness heavy on your thigh.

You blink, Franco's face coming into focus, barely an inch from yours. He watches you closely, pupils blown wide and plump lips even redder. You hook your legs around his waist, letting him know that you're not done yet.

Franco is quick to pick up, smiling as lines himself up with you. The groan that escapes him is nothing short of delicious as he pushes himself in. You gasp along, the stretch a welcome sensation.

Franco wastes no time and pounds right into you, catching you by surprise. You let your head fall back against the mattress, a long, drawn-out whine erupting from deep within your chest as Franco licks a stripe up your neck.

Your whole body quakes with how hard he's thrusting into you but you're clearly enjoying it if your wanton moans are anything to go by. Franco meets your eyes and you pull him down, wanting nothing more than to drown in those lips of his.

It's feral and it's unrestrained, spurred on by the knowledge that this is more than unprofessional in your line of work. Not illegal by any means, but risky enough to warrant warnings from your coworkers. Never sleep with a driver unless you're committed.

Oh, well.

Franco groans loudly in your ear, movements losing their rhythm as he speeds up. You're clinging to him as if he'd disappear if you let go, your own belly tightening once more with that familiar feeling.

Franco. Franco. Franco.

He kisses you just as he finishes. Passionate, eager, heady. You feel him inside you, a different kind of elation filling you as you release all over him.

Franco pulls away to allow yourselves to breathe. He pulls out, rolling over to your side. You hug your folded knees to your chest, too lazy to get up and find something to deal with the mess.

"No hagas eso. Eso es demasiado doméstico," Franco jokes, moving closer and planting a kiss to your shoulder. Don't do that. That's too domestic.

"Relájate, estoy usando anticonceptiva," you reassure with a lighthearted roll of your eyes. Relax, I'm on birth control.

Franco hums, laying an arm over you. He pulls you close and you face him, reaching up to brush away some of his unruly hair.

He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Happy that you're a Formula 1 driver?" You ask, grinning.

Franco chuckles. "Very."

[kedreeva]

Silly question but how would you rate different gamebird chicks on a scale of "no brain cells, head empty" to "wait! I think I just saw a thought happen?!"?

You've mentioned before that turkey poults have the survival instinct of a chicken nugget, and I've raised coturnix chicks before which are like...death seeking missiles. Are other gamebird chicks as dumb? Are any recognisably better suited to not immediately kamikaze-ing into the nearest water fountain/single square millimetre of loose tape/one cold spot they can find in the brooder?

Peafowl chicks rate the highest. I know I talk a lot of shit about them, but outside of not eating unless shown the food (which IS a valid survival behavior, for avoiding toxic things in their native environment), they're not prone to doing anything actively stupid. They have great eye sight, they tend to look before they leap (and can fly if they do get into trouble). They have a sense of time ("bedtime" is a concept they have! Every hand raised baby I've ever had has had a strict idea of when they think it's time to go to bed and will scream at me until I agree). They will return themselves to the heat when it's time, I've never had one fail to do this or start screaming because they're on the cold side of the brooder and don't know how to move 1 foot to the left to get warm. I've never had one drown in the water dish even though they get a bowl or are raised outside with a pond/big water bowl. They can coexist with just about any other bird, which is great because their only flaw is they need to be shown food for the first few weeks, and adding something like a chicken will cause the chicken to show them where to eat. And because peafowl are large, all the other babies will follow them around for everything else. For creatures who grew up in an environment where very little (predator wise) can kill them, they're surprisingly adapted to not dying in really stupid ways in captivity. They ARE fragile in other ways (pick up parasites easily), but that's not a matter of stupidity.

Coturnix are so far the worst, and I am including Turkeys in this metric. Turkeys are at least hardy in a brooder setup, even if they are very stupid outside with mom. Coturnix on the other hand have to have a tiny lip to their water dish so they don't get into it and drown or chill (and they still do their level best to get into it, even with the tiny lip where they can barely reach the water, I sometimes check on them and find one Mystery Sopping Wet.... how..... and why...... and also HOW). I have watched one grab a drink of water, throw its head back to swallow, choke, and die immediately. There is NOTHING you can do for them if they fail at drinking water, by the way. If you pick them up too soon after they drink, or any other time, there's a non-zero chance that they immediately panic-vomit any water in their system, choke on it, and suffocate/die instantly so you have to be careful about handling them while they're doing their very best to make that as difficult as possible (and this lovely trait persists into adulthood). They cannot have access to anything they can get caught in/under, I have to put barriers in their cage and not give them a cold spot in the brooder until they're a few days old because they will CHARGE to it and sit there until they die screaming about how cold they are while 1 foot away from the heat. They still throw themselves at this barrier because they can see through a 1mm gap to either side that cold death awaits them with open arms and they desire it so badly. It's why they always look like this:

If you have them standing on your hand they WILL just walk off - nay, run full tilt off - without regard for if there is anything below them to fall ONTO, and they are fully capable of beaning themselves so hard upon impact that they die. I had to find a stuffie that was very light and a stuffie that was very heavy, because a medium weight is just light enough for them to shove themselves into the shavings beneath it and suffocate because they can't get out again, and they will also actively seek to do this. They have to have a solid-sided brooder because if they can stick their head through a gap a) they can probably get out of it if it's just a little bigger than their head and b) they will get stuck in it and break their necks if it's just a little too small.

The vast majority, 99% of them, are extremely easy to raise, and doing a minimal amount of guardianship in their brooder will protect them from themselves, but they do have a deep and abiding desire to be dead, I think, and there will be some you cannot save from themselves. No other game birds/fowl I've raised are like this- not peafowl, not turkeys, not pheasants, not chickens, not bobwhite quail, not even guinea keets... the closest would be button quail and even they are not death-seeking missiles until they're a bit older.

[reignpage]

Tailor!Nanami considers the cutting table an altar. Every precise cut of fabric laid out in perfect symmetry whispers of meticulous care, gentle hands, guiding and soothing. Chalk lines drawn and respected along the finest of materials, pincushions standing proud to serve to his right, and needles organised neatly in rows in their wooden drawers by his legs, hidden along with the sharpest of scissors and the longest of measuring tapes — a place for everything and everything in its place. 

Indeed, the way he moves, with grace, urged by muscle memory and not his senses, speaks of countless stories, amalgamations, of his time spent dedicating himself to the craft. From sweeping the floors as a boy to being a stand-in mannequin as a teenager, and then now, to owning his very own temple, cleaned and dusted only with the most loving of hands, he is a man in his elements, born again, tethered to a noble calling, serving a purpose beyond himself.

This is more than a profession; it is a way of life. 

Professions could be learned through textbooks and seminars. What he does is a skill, a talent, bestowed upon by the Heavens and cultivated only through years of hard work, defined by pricked fingers, of late nights, calluses, of exploring the shape, size, feel, scent and sound of every part of a suit until he saw each one he birthed not as mere items of clothing, but rather as armour. 

Barriers to the skin, the weak flesh beneath, and covering the fragile soul from the chilling cruelty of the world, he rebukes the thought that a suit is a luxury, a thing reserved for the wealthy or something to be hidden away, deep in closets. 

It is a necessity.

Of course, he thinks not of himself as an artist. Only a vessel. The sacred ideas course through his veins, fuelling him with life. His eyes do not see what could be, only what should be. Those long, nimble fingers do not yearn to feel anything but wool, cotton and linen. It is the rhythmic sounds of a mechanical heartbeat, whirring as it threads fabric together, that he hears and would only ever want to hear. 

Tailor!Nanami does not want for more than he believes great powers have designed for him. 

That is, until he hears the chime of the bell and his eyes dart from the plaid trousers he’s sewing to a new customer. An utterly foreign creature. One that so very clearly does not belong amongst the items of a time long past that it forces a laugh out of him. 

Your curious gaze meets his. His heart stops. 

An angel visits him. 

And Tailor!Nanami dares not to ignore the calling of the gods for a new purpose. 

[san8ny]

PRISONER! ELLIE HCS!

an: she’s so ughhh..wanna be her babymama so bad

Jailbird! Ellie who’s got a picture of you taped poorly on the top of her bunkbed so when she’s laid down tiredly at night, she has you to look at,

Jailbird! Ellie who finds it to be both a blessing and a curse because if she looks at it at the wrong time, it can stir something wrong in her.

Jailbird! Ellie who’s only got you and her dad as motivation to get out, even going as far as to not retaliate when others pick fights with her.

Jailbird! Ellie who watches you, as she lifts weights in the courtyard, be escorted by other officers to the conference room, giving her a small wave through the gates.

You’re such a sweetheart :(

Jailbird!Ellie who sits across from you on the otherside of the reinforced panel, smirking as she lifts the phone up to her lips when you immediately begin speaking

Jailbird!Ellie who listens to you talk about what’s been happening since she got locked up, mentioning how you miss her so much at home, how lonely you’ve been

Jailbird!Ellie who sighs, bringing a hand to meet yours with the window as a barrier between you two from actually making contact, promising as soon as she gets out, she’s all yours.

Jailbird!Ellie who for the first time in all her years of delinquency, regrets her actions of being in here when she could be making a life out with you

Jailbird!Ellie who shortly gets out a few months later on good behavior, clad in a wife beater and some sweats as you lead her out of the quarters to your car, ecstatic and beaming beyond excitement that your girlfriend was finally out

Jailbird!Ellie who can’t help but fuck you in that same car, moaning into your pussy about how she’s missed her sweet girl and that she hopes you never make her same mistakes, suckling on it like a starved woman

Jailbird!Ellie who’s unsatiable, going multiple rounds and dirtying the vehicle seats, claiming she’s got all this pent up energy from not having you in months, referring to you more as if you were a guilty dessert one has been abstaining from.

Jailbird!Ellie who whispers in your ear as she slots her legs inbetween yours about the times how she’d have nothing else to do but fuck herself with her long fingers to your picture and how it’s gotten her through sooo many similar nights, not even caring about her bunkmate hearing her.

Jailbird!Ellie who promises she’ll have a cleaner track record now, never wanting to be away from you that long anymore.

[demonic0angel]

DcxDp

Tim was kidnapped while heading to his favorite coffee shop and was held hostage as a sacrifice to the Ghost King. The Bats are frantic trying to reach the ritual site in time. Unfortunately, they're a second too late, and Tim is sent into the Infinite Realms. The ritual the cultists used was a marriage ritual that was mistranslated, which caused Tim to be sent directly to the King's keep.

Danny was working on his ghost king paperwork and was actually making good progress when he felt a slight tug on his core. He looked up just in time as a boy his age with his wrists zip tied and his mouth taped shut was thrown into his office knocking over a finished stack of paperwork.

After getting the tape off and an explanation, Danny and Tim now have to figure out how to break the effects of the ritual before the Bats get a hold of Constantine to storm the Ghost Zone

Could be slow burn dead tired

Danny coughed.

“Uh. Sorry for my sister. She gets… excited.”

Tim looked down at himself, where he was dressed in extravagant clothes with embedded jewels and silvery embroidery. Everything was high quality and looked like he just stepped out of a royal portrait as the subject.

“…. I can tell.”

Danny blushed. Tim stared at him with half lidded eyes as the young King avoided his gaze. Tim wasn’t really sure how to feel with an nonconsensual marriage, but Danny at least looked apologetic and it honestly wasn’t too bad. His sister, Jazz though, seemed extremely excited, evident by the way she had ambushed Tim in the hallways and dragged him to be dressed up as a royal consort.

“Sorry about her again. She’s pretty happy to get a brother-in-law, and she’s always telling me about getting a boyfriend or a girlfriend so the Observants get off my back about continuing the family line.”

Tim blinked again. “… wouldn’t it be worse since we’re both boys?”

Danny waved it off, “Don’t worry about it.” Now Tim was even more worried.

Danny continued, “My friends and I are still finding a way to get rid of the marriage bond, so thank you for your patience. Besides Jazz, how’s everything else treating you?”

Tim felt the urge to defend the overexcited and extremely friendly woman, “Jazz is pretty cool. And everyone else has been very polite to me, but I’d like to get back to my world soon. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Danny shook his head. “No, we’re handling it. Have you eaten yet?”

Tim also shook his head. Danny smiled at that and stood up from his desk. “Shall I lead you to the dining room?” Tim nodded and Danny rounded the table to slip his hand into Tim’s elbow. His skin was cold, but his touch was warm, like there was a chilly barrier around him to deter anyone close. However, his fingers radiated heat like a normal person, making it feel both strange and interesting.

Tim shivered at the feeling and Danny looked at him questioningly. His bright green eyes seemed to glow and Tim couldn’t help the way his face flushed as the Ghost King’s gaze settled on him heavily.

There were quite literally stars in his eyes.

“Something wrong?”

Tim cleared his throat. “Uh. No, it’s nothing. Where to?”

Danny tilted his head but then shook his head, as if to wave away his thoughts. “I’ll take you there. Wanna have dinner together?”

Like a date?!

Tim did not voice this. He pursed his lips together, eying Danny’s casual and oblivious expression before he sighed a little and gave a small smile.

“Yes, let’s.”

Danny beamed, and Tim couldn’t help but inwardly wish for the solution to their marriage bond to take a little longer to be found.