#Cotton quality control

[scottbiffin]

Cotton Trading Chronicles- Life on the Road Between Singapore and Australia

Cotton is one of the world’s oldest and most traded commodities, with a history that spans centuries and crosses continents. The modern cotton trade is an industry rooted in tradition yet heavily influenced by the latest in global supply chain innovations, market analytics, and sustainable practices. The life of a cotton trader is dynamic, involving not just the daily hustle of navigating prices and contracts, but also a significant amount of travel between key trading hubs like Singapore and Australia.

For many in this industry, cotton trading is not just a job—it’s a lifestyle. Traders are constantly on the road, meeting suppliers, coordinating logistics, and ensuring quality. This post will take you inside the journey of a cotton trader as they travel between Singapore and Australia, giving you a closer look at the life, challenges, and unique experiences of those who keep the global cotton supply chain running.

Understanding Cotton Trading

Cotton trading involves buying and selling cotton as a raw material, and prices can vary significantly based on quality, origin, and global market trends. Cotton is not only a major commodity in textiles but is also used in a range of products, from medical supplies to paper.

Cotton trading is a global business with primary markets in the United States, India, Australia, and Central Asia, while trading hubs like Singapore serve as critical points for negotiation, financing, and coordination. Traders balance these demands, working with everyone from farmers to manufacturers, navigating various regulations, market pressures, and sometimes even extreme weather conditions that can impact production.

A Cotton Trader's Journey Between Singapore and Australia

In the modern cotton trade, travel is an essential part of the job. While virtual meetings are convenient, nothing replaces the value of face-to-face interactions when inspecting quality, negotiating contracts, or building relationships with suppliers. This journey often takes cotton traders between Singapore, a major financial and trading hub, and Australia, a key cotton-producing region known for its high-quality output.

The Role of Singapore in Cotton Trading

Singapore has become a global hub for commodities trading, and cotton is no exception. The country’s strategic location, strong legal framework, and world-class infrastructure make it an ideal base for traders. In Singapore, cotton traders manage operations and finances, secure contracts with buyers, and monitor the futures market. They work closely with analysts and other professionals who help them keep track of market trends, price fluctuations, and global news that could impact cotton prices.

Singapore’s role as a trading hub also means that traders have access to cutting-edge technology and resources. Advanced software and market analysis tools allow them to make data-driven decisions, optimize their contracts, and anticipate trends.

The Cotton Fields of Australia

Australia is one of the world’s most reliable cotton producers, known for its high-quality fiber. Australian cotton farms, primarily located in New South Wales and Queensland, are known for adopting sustainable farming practices and leveraging technology to maximize efficiency. As such, many international traders travel to Australia to source premium cotton for their clients.

When traders visit Australia, they don’t just spend time in boardrooms; they head to the farms. Meeting with cotton growers face-to-face is essential to understanding the quality of the crop, building trust, and discussing future orders. These trips also allow traders to better understand the challenges farmers face, including water availability, weather patterns, and labor issues. This knowledge is crucial for traders as it helps them make better-informed decisions and manage risks associated with supply disruptions.

A Day in the Life: On the Road as a Cotton Trader

Traveling between Singapore and Australia, cotton traders lead a fast-paced, demanding lifestyle. Here’s a closer look at a typical day for a trader on the road.

5:30 AM – Morning Market Updates

For a cotton trader, the day often starts early with a cup of coffee and a thorough review of the market. This is the time to check cotton futures, review recent reports, and analyze any overnight market movements. A drop in futures or a sudden change in currency exchange rates can significantly impact profit margins.

The early hours are crucial for making quick decisions, particularly if there's a need to lock in prices or hedge against market risks. Traders use a variety of tools to stay on top of market data, including proprietary analytics software and news from global commodity exchanges.

7:00 AM – Calls with Singapore Headquarters

Before setting off, traders usually touch base with their teams back in Singapore. This call often involves discussing the current market, reviewing client contracts, and identifying any updates or adjustments needed to meet targets. If any pressing issues arise—such as a delay in a shipment or an unexpected price change—traders collaborate with their team to create a solution.

9:00 AM – Meeting with Cotton Producers

In Australia, visiting cotton farms is a vital part of a trader's trip. Meeting producers allows traders to see the crop quality firsthand and discuss production forecasts. This face-to-face interaction builds trust and strengthens partnerships with suppliers, which is essential for securing high-quality cotton at competitive rates.

On the farm, traders engage in detailed conversations with farmers about everything from weather conditions to anticipated yields. This helps traders evaluate the quality of the cotton and assess potential challenges in the supply chain. They may even participate in quality inspections, examining cotton samples to ensure they meet the standards required by their clients.

12:00 PM – Lunch with Local Suppliers

Networking is an essential aspect of a trader’s job, and lunch is often a time to connect with local suppliers, logistics partners, and other traders. These lunches are more than just meals—they’re a chance to build relationships, discuss the latest trends, and explore potential collaborations. In the trading business, trust is everything, and taking the time to nurture relationships is crucial for success.

2:00 PM – Quality Inspections and Documentation

After lunch, traders often conduct a more thorough quality inspection of the cotton. They examine samples for fiber length, color, strength, and consistency. Cotton buyers and manufacturers have high standards, and any inconsistencies could lead to dissatisfaction or financial losses. Documenting these inspections is essential, as it provides a record that can be shared with clients and helps establish quality assurance for each batch.

4:00 PM – Negotiating Contracts

Afternoons are usually reserved for the negotiation process. Cotton prices can be volatile, influenced by everything from exchange rates to environmental factors, so pricing discussions require careful consideration. Traders must balance the price demands of their suppliers with the budgets of their clients, ensuring everyone benefits from the transaction.

Negotiations also include discussions about logistics, timelines, and any special requirements from the client. For example, a client might request organic cotton or cotton certified by a sustainability program, which could affect the price and availability of the product.

6:00 PM – End-of-Day Wrap-Up and Planning

After a day spent on the road and in meetings, traders finally get a chance to wrap up and organize their notes. They check in with their Singapore headquarters, sharing insights gained from the day and making any necessary adjustments to contracts or orders. This wrap-up session allows traders to review their goals, prepare for the next day, and ensure all details are in place for a smooth transaction.

Challenges in Cotton Trading

The life of a cotton trader is demanding, and the industry comes with its own set of challenges:

Market Volatility: Cotton prices are influenced by a wide range of factors, from weather conditions and currency exchange rates to trade policies and global demand. Traders must constantly monitor these factors to make timely decisions.

Sustainability Concerns: Modern consumers demand eco-friendly and sustainable products, putting pressure on traders to source cotton that meets these standards. This can limit options and impact profit margins, especially as sustainable cotton production is often more costly.

Supply Chain Disruptions: Natural disasters, transportation delays, and political changes can all disrupt the cotton supply chain, affecting traders' ability to meet client needs on time.

Client Demands: Clients may have specific requirements regarding the quality, origin, or sustainability of cotton, which can make sourcing more challenging and time-consuming.

Despite these challenges, many traders are passionate about their work. The cotton trade is an exciting and rewarding field that requires adaptability, strong negotiation skills, and a deep understanding of both the product and the market.

Reflections on a Unique Lifestyle

The life of a cotton trader, particularly one who travels between Singapore and Australia, is marked by long hours, constant learning, and a unique blend of challenges and rewards. Each day offers something different, whether it's negotiating with a new supplier, analyzing market trends, or inspecting a batch of cotton in the Australian sun.

For those drawn to this career, it’s more than just a job; it’s a lifestyle. Cotton trading requires a passion for the product, a willingness to navigate complex challenges, and the drive to bridge the gap between producers and consumers. It’s a journey filled with purpose, where every negotiation and inspection brings the trader one step closer to delivering high-quality cotton to the world.

So next time you see a cotton garment, remember the intricate journey that brought it to you. Behind that piece of fabric is a trader who has spent hours on the road, balancing markets, building relationships, and ensuring quality—all to bring you the best cotton possible.

[thehaberdasheress]

IT'S HERE I HAVE IT

A look at the sample Mariner's Star blanket

This blanket is 100% cotton, with moderate drape. Its texture is a bit rough, but sturdy. And it looks very unlike the crisp dramatic lines of a pattern printed onto polyester fabric.

The pattern isn't printed at all. It's woven.

Every shade of the blanket is the result of a specific colour crossing at the top with a shade or tint. Like an ancient tapestry, its coloured threads take turns, each coming to the fore at its specific time in the story.

I am so happy to find a quality product that's really unique. I tend to design things I'd personally like to own, and I am so looking forward to replacing my fraying Value Village special with this instead.

Also, Emily, complaints department chief and deputy inspector for quality control, says the blanket is 100% hers. So that's encouraging.

This blanket and many other offerings available at my Kickstarter campaign, which has 4 days to go before it ends.

[artist-issues]

You know what’s great about Dr. Facilier?

He’s the perfect villain opposite both Tiana and Naveen.

He’s not exactly like Jafar or Ursula, who know they’re evil and delight in it as like, a lifestyle. He’s more like Scar. He’s introduced getting money on the street through cons and feeling satisfied…until Big Daddy LeBouf drives by with all his money and makes him feel insignificant.

You get the idea that something in life made him this way—there was a beginning to his villainy. You don’t get that sense from like, Clayton or Gaston.

So he’s a relatable character with flaws, to an extent.

But those flaws specifically play off of Tiana and Naveen’s characterizations.

Tiana has no real respect from her peers—she is in a position to be jealous of Lottie the same way Facilier is jealous of the Cotton King. But where Tiana simply works hard and refuses to let others make her bitter, Facilier has clearly taken shortcuts. Or…”the easy way.”

Then there’s Naveen.

Naveen has no thought beyond the present; he thinks they’re “on this earth to have some fun,” and frequently jumps without looking at the consequences. Leaps without looking! Doesn’t stop to find out if the girl he’s kissing is a real princess even though he knew his original invitation was to a costume party, forgets that he’s supposed to be getting married and plans on continuing his playboy lifestyle, wanders into a shadow-man’s shop. But eventually he learns to open his eyes to what’s important, and what will last, in Tiana. And he takes that seriously; if he marries her instead of Charlotte, he has to get three jobs.

Facilier, on the other hand? He not only does the opposite of Tiana and has taken shortcuts to get where he is—but he also suffers from Naveen’s flaw; he keeps making what are basically get-rich-quick schemes with his “friends on the other side.” When we meet him, he’s stressed and certainly on edge about failing—but that doesn’t stop him from asking for more and more debt from the demons, and he basically goes to his grave still making promises he can’t keep…like Naveen’s promise he couldn’t keep to pay Tiana for kissing him.

He’s got Tiana’s focus and Naveen’s charisma. He’s got Tiana’s lofty goals and Naveen’s dependence on others to do his dirty work.

He’s exactly like Tiana and Naveen put together, aged about twenty years, but with none of their good qualities. Perfect villain for those two main characters.

But he’s also the opposite of Mama Odie.

He entices innocents with what they want while she lights their way by explaining what they need.

He wants total control, while she’s satisfied with simply giving advice and sending people on their way.

He directly transforms his victims, while Mama Odie shows Tiana and Naveen how to work toward their transformation on their own. I mean, you guys noticed that she could have done it for them, right?

But she doesn’t, because she’s the symbol of that Disney Faith-Based morals: you act on what you know is true instead of taking the easy way to what you want. Facilier does the opposite: he promises to give you the easy way to what you want, and tries to tell you why you should accept his deals—but his reasons are all lies.

That’s how you write a villain, ladies and gentlemen.

[teaboot]

Yo I haven't done it in forever so I forgot that working at a sex shop gives you superpowers

1. The We-Vibe Tango is a low frequency and fully waterproof rechargeable bullet vibrator that we used to sell for about $150. A new model came out about a year ago so it's on sale now online for $47. Can confirm that shipping is discreet and they have a really good warranty, just keep the packaging.

*(I'm not sponsored to say that and nobody is paying me rn, it's just a legit good deal.)

2. There are essentially three bases used for lube: Water, Oil, and Silicone. Oil breaks down any materials other than glass or metal, and Silicone breaks down Silicone toys and sometimes condoms. Water is safe for everything but tends to dry out, so people don't like it- but if you add water or spit, drying water-based lube will slick right back up.

3. If your water-based lube has given you any itching, tightening, or burning sensations, you probably have a chemical sensitivity. Obviously everyone has different preferences, but my number one recommendation is Water Slide- it's a super reasonable price compared to other lubes, it feels natural, it's incredibly gentle on the skin, and it doesn't stain sheets.

**(Again, I'm not being paid for this. By anyone. At all. I'm just sick of hearing people come in and tell me they don't use lube cause it hurts, or that they're using fucking coconut oil in their vagina. Please, God, don't put coconut oil in your vagina.)

4. A lot of massage oils use almond oil to suspend other ingredients, and warming products sometimes use cinnamon. Always, always, always check people's allergies.

5. You can buy toys off cheap sites if you want, just be wary of quality and ALWAYS read the product description. I personally wouldn't buy anything that isn't Silicone, stainless steel, or glass, because unlike jelly, plastic, "fantaflesh", and Silicon, (which is NOT Silicone!!!) They are non-porous, sterile, and don't melt in contact with each other. This means that as long as you clean them properly and don't use the wrong lubes, they will not hold bacteria or break down, which makes them safe for both you to reuse and your partner/s to share. (And to switch between front door/back door, so long as you wash before going back to front.)

6. Cotton and polyester bondage rope are cheap and great to practice with. Silk sounds fancy and is very strong but be advised that a lot of silk rope is "Silk(TM)", not actual silk. Read the product description. (I personally am reluctant to spend more than about $2 per foot for mass-produced synthetic rope, but could be persuaded to pay more for ACTUAL silk, nylon, handmade ropes, or especially attractive colors/patterns/textures.) You want your rope to be at least as thick as your thumb and layered to avoid lacerations, and taut (not stretchy) to be sure you're in control of how much pressure you're putting on.

7. Choking someone by pressing on the windpipe is painful and inefficient. If you want to, stay very, very light, as it's a very delicate area. If you want a head rush, press down on the sides of the windpipe, just below the corners of their lower jaw. You will feel a pulse there. That's the carotid artery. It carries oxygen to the brain. Pressing there will allow them to breathe, but will still "choke" the air going to their head. It's faster and painless. Only hold this for 3-4 seconds if you lack experience. It takes just under 15 seconds to make someone pass out from a blood choke, and after that you risk causing *permanent brain damage*. If your partner passes out, release pressure immediately and keep their airways clear. If you're the one being choked, know that your only warning will be spotty vision and a dizzy sensation. Communicate with your partner/s and for the love of God, do your research first. I'm not a doctor. Please God, please do your research.

8. Don't reduce blood flow to any part of the body for more than 20 minutes. This includes cock rings. Take a break for an hour between uses.

9. Most 'dick pills' are just a stimulant, a mild vasodilator, and a placebo. Usually mostly caffeine. They are not worth $20 apiece. Take a minute to meditate, have a hot shower, drink some black tea, have a coffee, go for a run, whatever- you'll get the same effect. And no, there is not a single ethical and legal sex shop in the country that can sell you viagra. You would have better luck on Facebook. Do not buy viagra on Facebook.

10. There are no "male toys" and "female toys". Your only limitations are safety and creativity. If youre sticking something into something else, just make sure everything is clean, not too big, not sharp or abrasive, and can be taken back out.

11. If something "goes missing" in your vagina and you panic, you muscles will tense up and it'll it'll harder to get back. Relax and stand up. Wait a minute. Chill. Calm down. Jump a couple times. There's nowhere for it to go and worst case scenario, I promise the emergency walk-in has seen something weirder or worse in the past hour or so.

12. You cannot return toys that you buy and don't like and I swear to God if you come into my store with an opened product and try to give it back I will lose my shit

13. Actually while I'm at it, people who work at sex shops are more often than not not sex workers and even if they were, it would still not be appropriate to flash or grope them or ask them "what they use", I will run you over in the fucking parking lot

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Word List: Will Graham

Adjuvant - serving to aid or contribute; auxiliary

Advertency - the quality or state of being advertent; heedfulness

Anamnesis - a recalling to mind; reminiscence

Complaisant - tending to consent to others' wishes

Conniption - a fit of rage, hysteria, or alarm

Conversance - the quality or state of being conversant (i.e., having knowledge or experience—used with "with"; archaic: having frequent or familiar association)

Copacetic - very satisfactory

Cotton - to take a liking—used with "to"; to come to understand—used with "to" or "on to"

Design - to conceive and plan out in the mind

Dolce - soft, smooth—used as a direction in music

Dulcet - sweet to the taste; generally pleasing or agreeable

Edifying - instructive or informative in a way that improves the mind or character

Emprise - an adventurous, daring, or chivalric enterprise

Farouche - marked by shyness and lack of social graces

Finagle - to obtain (something) by indirect or involved means

Habitude - archaic: native or essential character

Inhesion - the condition of being inherent in something

Kaiseki - a highly ritual Japanese meal characterized by small portions, subtle flavors, artful presentation, and an emphasis on fresh seasonal ingredients

Lamb - a gentle or weak person; dear

Moonstruck - affected by or as if by the moon: such as romantically sentimental

Ornery - difficult to deal with or control

Radicate - to cause to take root; plant deeply and firmly

Rapt - lifted up and carried away; transported with emotion; enraptured

Saturnine - cold and steady in mood; slow to act or change

Stilly - in a calm manner; quietly

More: Word Lists

[venusandsaturnsrings]

every time someone normal seeming likes one of my tame posts i feel the need to post something deranged… like firing off warning shots to keep rent down… anyways…

did he like getting rough in bed? yes, most definitely, but boothill had never delved into anything further than smacking you around, choking you, or getting a bit mean with his thrusts and words. anything more… serious, for lack of better words, hadn’t been on his plate before mainly due to him not previously having a real relationship and not being super into little flings; something insecure still nibbled at his body. yet he still wanted to try something new and exciting that would let him have real control over you in a way he hadn’t before so, he began scrolling through forums and sites with his phones volume silenced as he perused different kinks and ideas for something that would scratch that itch. then he found it, just the kind of thing he’d been looking for.

preparation was nothing more than a couple minutes of thinking and testing the scrappy motels stability before he sat himself on the edge of the bed, hat thrown on the table that was missing something that made it rattle obnoxiously. he waited, metal and silicone uncomfortably strained and needing your touch in his stupidly tight pants, for your arrival. when you walked in, boothill was immediately on his feet wrapping his iron arms around you while cooing something about a surprise that made your gut stir. he kissed you sweet and gentle before taking you further into the room where in a neat row atop the bed sat an array of weapons you didn’t think he’d even be able to carry. some you couldn’t even identify with the sharp edges and complex triggers seeming to contradict each other. yet stood behind you chattering about testing, ‘all these beauty’s out on my beauty,’ was boothill who somehow procured all twenty-two; you counted. with a thick swallow, you asked what exactly he’d be doing to which he smiled all sharp teeth and practically demanded you strip.

naked and admittedly nervous, you watched as he plucked a long and slender knife from his charcuterie of weaponry. the blade was at least six inches and when he dragged it across the poor quality cotton and something trashy sheets, it made a clean slice through. even boothill seemed surprised, whistling quickly before bringing the blade to sit firm against your throat. he seemed eager and giddy and he hadn’t hurt you before so you doubted he would now but then he slide it across and you felt the bite of metal split your skin. ruby beaded and slipped down your chest as your eyes stung and he pushed you back to lap up every drop that threatened to slip down and away from sight.

he brought the blade across your whole body, silver nipping at every place he deemed appropriate until you were shaking and hazy beneath him. boothill hummed to himself more than anything as he finally brought himself between your legs for his prize.

“ya’ trust me a bit too much, sugar, but don’t cha’ worry,” he slipped himself through your wetness admiring the crystalline tears travelling your lashes, “gon’ take good care of this lil hole now. once ya’ wake up, we’ll have a nice big talk ‘bout yer silly head bein too dumb to understand danger. then, maybe, have a go at this with my gun. not gon’ blow yer brains out, promise. my darlin’s too pretty to be splattered on the wall…”

[a-whispering-echo]

Princess Killer of Velegore

(yes, i know i spelt it wrong on the image. the text version is written correctly!)

Killer is quick-witted, flirty, and sly, with a dark sense of humour and a tendency to push boundaries. He as a habit of pushing and pushing people until they snap; Nightmare doesn’t know if he doesn’t realise does he this, or its its some kind of sadism. He often tells jokes, and though many may seem dark or cynical, there’s an undertone of genuine humour in them he’s even got CROSS with the odd good one!. He gents bored VERY easily, cant sit still, cant pay attention to CERTAIN things, and has a love of telling jokes -

Initially, Nightmare is intrigued and a bit wary of Killer’s flirtatious and teasing nature, unsure if he’s being genuine or manipulative. But as time goes on, Nightmare realizes that Killer’s provocative behaviour is a shield against vulnerability. Nightmare finds himself growing fond of Killer’s sharp wit and his loyalty beneath the teasing exterior.

Killer’s relentless teasing sometimes bothers Cross, who takes things seriously, but he learns to use humour to deflect Killer’s jabs. Killer is drawn to Dust’s odd behaviour, possibly both fascinated and disturbed by his hallucinations, which he sometimes finds darkly humorous, though he never laughs at Dust directly. With Horror, Killer has a unique bond - Horror’s straightforward sweetness balances Killer’s intensity, and Killer finds himself inexplicably protective of him.

Killer, on hearing what his potential partner was like, found him quite sexy. He quite liked the idea of being bossed about by this man with all the power, and was keen to work with him. He wouldn’t say he’s DISAPPOINTED when he met Nightmare for real, but he isn’t what he was expecting.

-

Velegore is a mysterious kingdom famous for its dark, intricate art, masterful weapon craftsmanship, and elite assassins’ guilds. Its people are known for their strength and wit, excelling in strategy and subterfuge. Velegore exports high-quality armour and rare gemstones found in its extensive mines.

Customs & Culture: Velegore has a tradition of intense, often theatrical displays of strength and wit, where challenges and contests are common among nobles. The kingdom celebrates the Night of Masks, a midwinter festival where everyone, from peasants to royalty, wears masks and mingles anonymously, embracing a night of freedom and mischief.

Religion: Velegore worships the Umbral Pantheon, a group of deities representing darkness, shadows, and hidden knowledge. It’s believed that these deities protect secrets and grant wisdom to those who can navigate the shadows.

Royalty: The King of Velegore, King Sable, is known for his pragmatism and ruthlessness. His reign is secure through careful, almost paranoid control, making him wary of threats even from within his family. Killer, being one of several siblings, is the second-born son, raised in a family with many potential heirs due to the kingdom’s hazardous political landscape. Having many siblings indicates the kingdom’s need for a secure line, as heirs are occasionally lost in the internal conflicts that arise among Velegore’s cut-throat nobility.

Architecture: Velegore is known for its dramatic, imposing architecture, with squat, angular buildings that seem to meld into the shadowy landscape and slanted roofing. The buildings are constructed from dark wood and iron, with narrow, barred windows and tall, thin watchtowers that cast ominous shadows. The kingdom values defensive structures, with walls and gates hidden by thickets of thorns and barbed plants.

Clothing: Clothing in Velegore tends toward black, red, and gray, often adorned with silver. Silks and cotton are rare, so most fabrics are thick wool, leather, or flax, providing some protection while remaining lightweight for quick movement. Jewellery often includes polished iron, rubies, or garnets, and some choose to wear protective talismans made from animal bones or metal.

Climate: Velegore’s climate is cooler, with harsh, misty mornings and short, dim days. The overcast skies give the kingdom an eerie quality, with rolling fog that suits its dark forests and murky marshes.

Diet: The people of Velegore rely on game, preserved meats, root vegetables, and foraged berries.. Meals are basic but intensely flavoured, with heavy seasoning to balance the somewhat meagre diet available. Fresh food is often scarce, as they lack the agricultural bounty of other kingdoms. Killer himself is fond of strong spices, though they all come from trade, and are VERY expensive.

Fauna & Flora: Velegore’s wildlife includes nocturnal creatures like bats, wolves, and owls, all of which are symbols of strength and stealth. Local plants include wolfsbane, nightshade, and thorn bushes, often used in Velegore’s folk remedies and warding charms. Dyes from local berries and plants are used to create deep crimson and midnight hues for their clothing. All ‘black’ dye is actually a very dark blue.

this is gonna be the last post for a few days, cus like, busy time and al that lololol

[owlcomics101]

”Clever Y/N…” Task force 141 x Velociraptor hybrid!reader Head cannons

Warnings: SFW (I am a minor), fluff, blood, language (cussing), mentions of animal abuse/violence (I do not condone), reader is gender neutral

gif credits: @Deshi Basara

Writers note: If this gets 100 notes I’ll make a series out of this like my fox hybrid one

Context/backstory: Jurassic world AU; The park had been long lost abandoned for over a decade now. What was once a park full of creatures of old was now the ruins to a new world. You were an experiment. A human with the qualities and characteristics of a Raptor. You had the raptor feet, legs, tail. Claws, eyes, and teeth. The task force was sent to Isla Nublar. Back to the old run down park to retrieve a weapon, but little did they know that the weapon was you.

Price: You see Price as your Alpha. The moment you two met you knew who was in control. Price. He’s the only man you will ever willingly take orders to. The only man you’re afraid of. A muzzle was a common occurrence for you. You were notorious for biting and teething anything you could get your jaws upon. Especially the task force members. Price is the most patient with you about this but this is a problem that needs to be fixed. He either muzzles you or distracts you with a bone like you would do for dogs.

“Ay!” Price pulls you away from his arm sleeve.

“What did we say about biting Y/N?” He glares at you. You immediately stop what you were doing and turn your attention to something else. “No biting ya muppet.”

Soap:

Soap was the one to break through to you. He never saw you as a weapon, you were just someone trying to survive. Find your place in the food chain. Soap always kept you calm and grounded even in times of danger or a threat to you and the others. Not even Price could calm you like Soap can. He was pretty laid back with you and let you do about whatever you wanted. He didn’t mind the nipping and teething as long as you were gentle. He was the one to help clean you after missions, including your teeth.

“Oi let’s see those pearly white’s.” Soap says as he gestures for you to open your mouth. You do as asked and he rests his hands on his hip proud of his work.

“Now there’s a smile!”

Gaz: Gaz is your trainer. Price thought it would be good practice for Gaz if he was your trainer. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two about teaching and be in Price’s shoes for once. You obeyed, but only when food was involved, otherwise Price would have to come down to motivate you to listen to Gaz. The training did well, you were a massive help on the field, but Gaz can’t help but feel bad about it all. You being a ‘weapon’ of massive destruction that he was in trusted to train. It held quite the pressure on him. He’s afraid he’ll turn you into the monster everyone thought you were.

Gaz watches you tear into one of the punching bags, he couldn’t help but picture the stuffing as intestines and flesh being tore out. He could see the cotton stuck in your teeth as blood dripping down and running off your chins

“Y/N! I think that’s enough for today…”

Ghost: You see Ghost as a beta. You sometimes take orders from him but only if you feel like it. The more irritated he gets with you and more and more you resist his commands and his attempts of control over you. You always snuck up behind him and he didn’t even need to call out to you because you were always there…He wasn’t sure what Gaz has been teaching you but the cold look in your eyes tells him that Gaz wasn’t the first to train you…You wear a head set around your head and neck so he could see out of you and see what your doing. Soap likes to call it Ghost’s “Nanny Cam.”

Price walks into the common room. “Has anyone seen Y/N? I told you all Y/N is not aloud outside unaccompanied!”

Ghost looks over to Price. “Y/N is eating Soap’s cookie stash.”

Soap jumps up wide eyed. “My cookie stash!? Ghost why didn’t you look at your nanny can sooner!?

“ITS NOT A NANNY CAM JONHHY-“

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Fall Wardrobe Essentials

Staple Tees:

**Purchase in Modal, Pima cotton, or a cotton-cashmere blend**

Fitted crewneck tees (long-sleeves/tees & tanks for layering)

Relaxed fit long-sleeve tees

Turtleneck long-sleeve top (fitted & relaxed fit options)

Contour bodysuits

Blouses/Shirting:

Silk button-down blouse

Cotton button-down blouse

Silk shell top/t-shirts/camis (for layering)

Sculpt knit top(s)

Self-tie wrap blouse

Shirred boatneck, mock neck, or cowlneck silk blouse(s)

Leather button-down

Knitwear:

Thin cashmere/wool crewneck sweater (fitted/relaxed fit)

Thin cashmere/wool turtleneck sweater

Chunky relaxed-fit cable knit sweater

Knit polo-neck sweater

Cashmere sweater vest (crewneck, v-neck, and/or turtleneck)

Mockneck cashmere/wool sweater

Cashmere long-sleeve sweater dress

Cashmere/knit skirt (mini, midi, or maxi - depending on your personal preferences)

Sophisticated coordinating knit set (top/pants or skirt of your choice)

Casual knit set (top/pullover and relaxed fit pants)

Cashmere cardigan

Cable knit cardigan (doubles as a light jacket)

Bottoms:

Black straight-leg jeans

Black bootcut/flared jeans

Black straight/bootcut trousers

Wide-leg trousers (I love a solid black, black pinstripe, and black with lace-up detail selection)

High-waisted leather pants

Split hem trousers

Stretch jersey/cashmere pants (straight-leg or flared)

Quilted leather/tweed mini skirt

Knit/wool mini and/pencil skirt

Leather skirt (mini or midi)

Silk midi skirt

Dresses/Jumpsuits:

Knit/sweater dress

Little black dress (shift dress/A-line cuts are great)

Blazer dress/jumpsuit

Slip dress (for layering)

Minimal black jumpsuit ("LBJ")

Leather and/or denim dress or jumpsuit

Jackets & Outerwear:

Black tailored blazer

Leather blazer

Tweed jacket

Trench coat

Leather moto/cropped/bomber jacket

Black wool coat

Raincoat ( I like Rains for high-quality options on the affordable side that are still built to last for several seasons)

Statement jacket/coat

Footwear:

Sleek flat/low-heel black boots with a pointed-toe or square-toe silhouette (I love Vagabond, Jeffrey Campbell, Vince Camuto, and Sam Edelman for more affordable, high-quality options)

Black loafers/sleek black flats

Black lace-up boots

Black heeled boots

Black pumps

White sneakers

Rain boots (I recommend the Melissa Shoes Welly/Grip/Step boots or a stylish, sustainable, and more affordable option)

Accessories:

White/black ankle & crew socks

Black control top tights

High-waisted shapewear shorts

Chunky/small chain necklaces & bracelets

Simple pendant necklace(s)

Pearl necklace

Simple diamond studs

Crystal drop earrings

Minimalist bangles

Stackable rings

A sleek, minimalist black tote (can fit a laptop for work/travel)

Black shoulder bag

Small black bag (top handle, crossbody, etc.)

Statement bag/evening bag

Cashmere scarf

Silk/decorative scarf

Fingerless/touch-screen friendly, lightweight gloves

Lingerie/Loungewear:

Seamless bra/underwear

Lace bra/underwear

Matching pullover cotton sweatshirt/sweatpants

Knit or jersey cotton top/lounge pants set

Luxurious pajama set (silk, Tencel, cashmere, etc.)

A to-die-for piece of lingerie like a lace slip/silk teddy

Silk or cozy robe

Cozy open-back slippers

[a-not-so-clean-blog]

Venom

Miguel O'Hara x addicted gn reader

Warnings: Blowjob (Miguel reviving), rough, withdrawal symptoms. Drug use (venom), no beta we die like men. "Pretty" used once but not in a gendered way.

2250 words

It was an accident; becoming addicted to him was never part of either of your plans, but yet, here you were. Sitting patiently on a plush chair, looking up at him like he was your whole world. At This point he might as well be, considering his venom was the only thing keeping you going.

Funny to think it was an accident that got you both into this situation, but we should probably start at the beginning.

You were your world's spider. Strong, smart, and fiercely impulsive. Good at getting out of a bad situation because you were prone to getting into bad situations. Great qualities for a hero, but this time they really got you in trouble.

Miguel was an amazing hero. Strong, stoic, and a heart of gold, even if he didn't like showing it. He was also the only spider that doesn't have a spidey sense. Not that you knew that when you were silently approaching him from behind.

His back heaved, and his breathing was labored. Clutching his shoulder like a wounded animal, complete with claws half extended. You stopped when you were close enough to see the slight tremble in his whole body. Every muscle tensed and ready to spring at a moment's notice.

“You okay?” Your voice was soft as you reached a hand out to check on him. The next thing you saw was a flash of red eyes and white fangs so fast you didn't even have time to react. He was too fast for you to even feel the pain of his fangs sinking into your shoulder. One of his hands tightly gripped your outstretched wrist while his other hand clutched the nape of your neck. From an outside perspective one could mistake the pose for a tango.

A cool tingling sensation spreads through your veins almost instantly, completely paralyzing you. Yet still even in such a vulnerable position your spidey sense never rang. Slowly his eyes faded from that unnatural glowing red to his normal rich brown. He released you the moment he realized what he had done.

“Lo siento mucho, no fue mi intención-” Panicked and rambling through what you assume is an apology you simply stood there; paralyzed and helpless. His eyes were locked on to where your neck meets your shoulder, never looking away from his crime, and never looking you in the eye.

You should have been scared. Worried or intimidated would have also been appropriate, but all you felt… was excitement.

The venom felt like pure euphoria under your skin. The bite felt hot but each heartbeat sent a cool rush of endorphins deeper into your body. Filling every vein, every muscle, just everything with that beautiful menthol chill. There were no thoughts because it felt like someone stuffed your head with cotton. Was this what his villains felt? This was far too good for them. You silently slipped into your own thoughts; becoming completely oblivious to anything but your own heartbeat.

By the time you regained consciousness and control of your body you had been left in a secluded area of the spider society. A to-go container was left on a stool with a water bottle. This was too little to be a bribe, maybe an apology? Slowly your head started to clear. You wish it hadn't. As the feelings of the venom had worn off, and the physical effects were starting to fade you were left feeling like hot garbage. This just left you alone with a throbbing pain in your shoulder and a strange sense of emptiness.

You hissed in pain when you absentmindedly touched the bite. “Ow! …” Even now your movements were sluggish. Like a marinette fighting against its strings. It's dangerous for a spider to be slow, that makes them easy to squish. Dangerous; that was definitely the look in his eyes. It was stupid to want to see them again, but yet…

You needed to talk to him.

He's been avoiding you. It's been almost two weeks and every time you caught sight of him he seemingly vanished into thin air. The only problem with trying to track another spider is that you are all notoriously slippery.

“Miguel.” He continues to walk away from you, never even sparing you a glance. “Miguel!” You yelled, gaining glances from the other spiders in the hallway, and finally making him stop. “We need to talk.”

His head dipped slightly as he grumbled out a “Fine.” before continuing forward. His pace was swift, not even caring if you kept up with him, and he only stopped when the two of you were in a secluded room. Free from any prying eyes he finally turned to face you, but it felt more like he was looking through you. “Talk.”

His voice was colder than his venom. Low and dark, but you couldn't feel any real malice behind it. “I need a favor…”

His eyes cast over you, looking for any sign of what you were about to ask. He looked almost like he was on edge. Understandable considering how much he does to keep the multiverse intact.

After a deep breath you finally spoke again. “I… I need another hit. I can't even shoot a web straight! God, if Hobie wasn't there on my last mission I would be a pavement pancake right now!” Your hands started shaking. No, your whole body started trembling. Withdrawal had been slowly eating away at you since the incident.

His brown eyes narrowed as he watched you struggle to keep yourself together, slowly working yourself up to a near breakdown. “I never meant to bite you. I'm sorry, but I won't do it again.”

“But-”

“That's final!” He snapped at you with a slight snarl. He let out a sigh when he saw the despair fall on your face. “I can find something else to help you. I'll make something if I have to, but my venom is too dangerous for even one bite.” You nodded slowly, not wanting to anger him again. With that he walked past you and out the door. “I'll call you when I get something.”

…But it didn't work.

Trial after trial, and batch after batch, but nothing helped. The withdrawal symptoms only got worse. Until finally you were bedridden with a fever and sweating bullets, completely unable to move without wanting to throw up.

Miguel entered your medical room. A range of emotions; hurt, disbelief, anger, and hopelessness, all flashed across your face in an instant before you pleaded. All he did was put his hand up and you stopped. He looked…hurt, but finally he gave in. You needed this, and he was the only one who could help you.

It was finally time for him to take responsibility.

He pulled up a chair next to your bed. “Give me your arm.” His voice was low and hesitant, and you eagerly complied. After a moment of contemplation he opened his mouth wide enough for you to glimpse those glorious fangs before they sank into your forearm.

Your eyes all but rolled back in your head as that long awaited rush of euphoria flooded your veins. “Nnnmm~” it was only a moment before he pulled himself away, but it was enough.

“...When I first bit you I had just taken a dose of my spider stimulant. Think of it like a steroid, but radioactive. This should be less potent than that.” You half listened to his explanation, not really caring what he said but loving the sound of his voice. It's not like you could respond because of the paralytic effect so he continues “I will take responsibility for this. I'll help you wean off of it.” You moved your eyes slightly towards him as he stood up. “Call me when you can.” And again he left you alone; paralyzed, but delighted.

After about a week your symptoms returned. Shaky hands and difficulty focusing being the first red flags prompting you to seek him out. Without question he followed through with his promise to help you. Every time he sunk his teeth into you felt just as good as the last.

This quickly became routine. Every week, weather your symptoms returned yet or not, the two of you would meet like this. Alone together, hidden away from curious spiders. The rush you got never faded but the physical effects lessened gradually. You could move a little now, maybe even give single word responses if he asked.

His attitude also changed from a broken melancholy to something more enticed but conflicted. It soon became apparent that both of you were enjoying this, yet neither of you spoke of the palpable change in expression. That was, until you took that first step farther.

Now what used to be more akin to a medical procedure was more like a carnal rendezvous. It became rare to see his contemplation now, and the weekly sessions left no time for your withdrawal to return.

The sessions definitely helped with the physical withdrawal, but your desire only grew. Desire for his venom; desire for him. No, desire wasn't the right word. This was stronger.

Need

Slowly you reached out to his waist; muscles fighting every inch against the venom induced atrophy. Suddenly but gently he grabs your wrist before you can reach him. You shakily lift your chin enough to see him; his nostrils slightly flaring as he takes deep breath, his eyes completely locked on to yours, and his lips pursed together in a flat line.

Your mouth opened and closed fruitlessly, like a fish gasping desperately for water. Miguel felt a little pity but he couldn't ignore the butterflies in his stomach as you looked up at him hungrily. His own hunger only grew as the next words barely fell from your mouth.

“Please?”

“I'm not going to take advantage of your situation.” His heart squeezed as he denied your advances. His heart was beating rapidly, and it's been getting harder for him to control himself during these sessions. He could feel his will crumble as you looked up at him with begging puppy dog eyes. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. “...but just this once I'll make an exception.” He released your wrist, and as he opened his eyes his stomach fluttered as the delight spread across your face.

Your movements were stiff and choppy as you staggered to kneel before him. His chest swelled with pride as you looked up at him with that eager doe eyed expression. Each movement was a fight against the venom that made you feel alive, and you were fighting for him.

“Still…hard…to…move…” Your words came slowly, and he patiently waited for each one; his red brown eyes never leaving your lips.

“Would you like some help?” His voice came out like a choked purr. Every passing moment you could see how excited he was getting. His now crimson eyes were a dead giveaway; as was the growing bulge in his suit.

You tried your best to nod; head barely moving an inch up and down, but the message was clear. Gently he cupped your face, thumb running across your bottom lip before sliding back towards your jaw line.

His suit receded to reveal his beautiful fat cock. He helped you open your mouth wide and pulled out your tongue. Once satisfied with your position his hand slid into your hair. His claws barely scraping your scalp sending a shiver rippling through you.

He took his sweet time placing his cock on your tongue. He wanted to give you a moment to back out before you lost the use of your words as well as your body. He let out a shaky sigh as he slid all the way into your throat. Your muscles were too relaxed to trigger any gag reflex and he had no issue going as deep as he pleased.

Slow movement shortly turned into a rough face fucking. His clawed hands roughly gripped your hair for leverage as he buried his bush into your nose with each thrust. It was heavenly.

His grunts were just as delicious as his cock as he picked up the pace once more. Any pathetic little noises you tried to make only gave his cock more pleasure. Your eyes rolled back as your head went fuzzy. The slight lack of oxygen and the effects of the venom making every sensation that much more potent and delightful.

“Merda-” His hips stuttered, and with a pained grunt he pulled himself away from your hot wet mouth. His cock twitched twice before erupting thick ropes of cum across your face. He had to take a few deep breaths until he was able to get control of himself again.

You looked like a dream. Kneeling pretty at his feet covered in his cum. You were all but ensnared in his web, and he loved it.

“When you're able to move more I may let you drink it.” He used his thumb to swipe some of his cum over your tongue so you can have a taste. “Right now I can't risk you choking because of the paralysis.” The taste was exquisite. It only made the euphoria of his venom still in your system that much stronger. If that's the boost a taste could do you were already drooling at the thought of a full dose.

Miguel was very easy to get addicted to.

Translation

Lo siento mucho, no fue mi intención: I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to

Merda: shit

[javiscigarette]

Just Focus on My Love

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: Frankie just thinks there are better things to do than play a silly video game called Stardew Valley (or a very self-indulgent sweet baby boy Frankie fic)

Warnings: NSFW 18+ only!! No use of Y/N smut duh, oral (f receiving), a bit of body/pussy worship, fingering, squirting, spitting, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, he adds a finger just for funsies, creampie, cum play, frankie loves to run his mouth when he's horny, also I know this man has killed people but he is just a baby

Word count: 4k

A/N: Inspired by Focus by miss Charli xcx!! Also this is dedicated to all the real gamers out there who play Stardew. May your crops flourish. Also this may secretly be the first part of a lil series I'm cookin up but you didn't hear that from me!

Frankie finds you on the sectional in the basement in full veg mode. You’re sitting in the corner of the couch with your legs stretched out on the cushions in front of you with the lights down low.

You’re playing the same game you’ve been playing for months now, the game Frankie is slowly starting to despise. He had actually been the one to suggest finishing the basement and creating this little sanctuary for you to play video games.

But he didn't think about how if you started spending more time curled up playing your games, that would be less time spent with him.

“Babyyy” Frankie whines from where he’s standing near the foot of the couch, at the end of your outstretched legs. 

“Hi, Francisco” you reply calmly, not taking your eyes off the screen.

Frankie takes that as an invitation. 

You pause the game and giggle as he climbs on the couch before ungraciously collapsing on top of you. He rests his head on your chest that’s covered with one of his t-shirts. 

“Don’t distract me, Frankie” you say firmly between little giggles while he gets comfy. 

“No promises.”

He snakes his arms around you, trapping his forearms between your waist and the couch cushion You roll your eyes and wrap your arms around his neck to hold your control behind his head. You unpause and go back to the game and Frankie gives you almost five whole minute before he sighs again. 

“You’ve been down here for hours, bebita. What even is this game? Skyblue Valley? ” Frankie groans. 

“Stardew Valley. And I told you I’m so close to finishing the community center and I want it done this weekend” 

Frankie grumbles again and turns his head to look at you straight on, his chin resting on your chest, his face inches away from your’s. 

“But I’m bored and we should be spending time together. Strengthening our bond, yanno” 

You snort at that. 

“Strength of our bond?” 

“Yeah! Quality time! One of the love languages.” 

“Frankie, baby, we spent the whole day together. And as soon as I’m done with this we’ll spend the rest of the night together”

“C’mon, cariño.” Frankie whines.

He shifts around again until suddenly there’s some pressing hard against the front of your hip. It’s not surprising - Frankie can’t keep his hands off of you. He’s needy too, requiring almost the same amount of your attention that a 3-month old puppy would.

“Not gonna work, Francisco. You’ve gotta try harder than that” you say plainly, keeping your eyes glued to the screen. 

You should’ve just kept your mouth shut. 

Frankie immediately sees the challenge and lunges at it like a rabid dog. He narrows his eyes at you, his lips curling up in a mischievous smirk. 

“Frankie…” you try to warn him, already seeing exactly where this is going.

“Just keep playing your game, hermosa” Frankie says calmly, turning his head to rest his cheek on your chest again. 

He moves to unpin his arm from underneath you and starts to fiddle with the hem of your (his) shirt. The cotton is soft and worn, just like all the other shirts and sweaters that you’ve stolen from him.

He never complains, not even when half of his clothes end up on your side of the closet. He loves seeing you in them, seeing how they fit on your body, how they smell like you at the end of the day. He can never get enough. 

He slips his fingers under the hem and traces the pads of his fingers over the smooth skin of your stomach and your hips. It’s mindless, the way his hands roam your body, tracing paths that he’s traced millions of times before. 

He gets lost in it for a few minutes. He shuts his eyes and lets his hand drift all over you like he’s trying to memorize the way you feel under his fingers and his palms. It’s soothing for him too. Grounds him and reminds him that you’re real and you’re here. 

His palm is hot on your skin, leaving a burning trail as it roams your body, sliding over every square inch of skin that he can reach. It’s a simple and fairly innocent gesture, but you already feel something swirling in your tummy. 

Eventually Frankie remembers his mission and gets back to work. 

He slowly slides his palm from your rib cage down the front of you until just his fingertips dip under the elastic waistband of your sweatpants. He doesn’t stay there for long before sliding his hand back up to where he started at your rib cage. He repeats the process a few times, his fingers sliding further and further under your waistband. 

He looks up at you but you’re still unbothered, completely focused on your game. Internally, it's a completely different story. You’ve been wet since the moment he laid down and you can feel the damp cotton of your panties sticking to your core. He always gets you going like that. But you genuinely did want to finish this. And more importantly, you wanted to see what Frankie has up his sleeve. 

He pushes himself up until he’s sitting between your legs with enough room to slide your pants off, pulling your underwear down too in the same motion. Frankie parts your knees, slowly spreading you open and revealing your wet seam. His cock lurches almost painfully and he whispers “Jesus christ” to himself at the sight of your pussy already swollen and glistening without him even properly touching you. 

He settles between your legs once again, laying on his abdomen with your dripping cunt inches from his face. 

He takes his sweet time though and scatters sweet kisses on your inner thighs. He can’t help but stop every so often to nibble and suck at the smooth skin, leaving fresh red marks among the fading ones that he gave you yesterday and the day before and the day before that. 

He feels your muscles twitch under his lip and he glances up at you, but you’re still focused on your game. Damned and determined, he slowly kisses his way up your thigh and stops when his face is inches away from your burning core. 

With no further preamble, and because he can’t wait any longer, he dives right in. 

And he’s fucking ravenous with it. 

He flattens his tongue and groans into you as soon as the taste of you touches his tongue. He licks you from your leaking hole up to your clit before taking the swollen nub between his lips. He takes his time, sucking on your clit and flicking it with the tip of his tongue before letting go and licking back down to your hole where he dips his tongue inside, his head going dizzy when he feels you clench around his tongue. And the sound of it is crude, the sucking and slurping and his ragged gasps for air as he dinks you down and feasts on you. 

He’s greedy too. He spreads your lips open with his thumb and forefinger, holding you open so he can plunge his tongue inside of you as far as he possibly can with his nose bumping against your clit and he groans deeply into you again when he feels you clench around his tongue. 

Your eyelids flutter and your eyebrows draw together while your eyes roll back a bit. With a quick sideways glance, you see him with his eyes closed as he loses himself in you. Every bone in your body wants to sing but you bite back your moans, determined not to give in so easily.

Frankie takes his mouth off of you with a wet pop. He’s breathing heavily, delightfully out of breath. You haven’t paused your game yet, but your hands are motionless on the controller. Your chest is heaving with quick breaths and your bottom lip is red and puffy from you gnawing at it while you try to bite back your moans. 

He’s almost there. 

Frankie knows what makes you tick. He has spent hours and hours between your legs mapping out every inch of you and carefully studying your reaction to his every touch until he memorized every single little thing that made you shake and squirm and scream. 

So that’s why he uses both thumbs to spread you open before spitting onto your already dripping seam and listens happily to the groan he knew you would let out. He doesn't even bother looking up at you when you make a noise. He’s too enamored with watching the way his spit glides down your cunt before settling around your pulsating hole. With his mouth watering, he latches back onto you. 

And he’s messy with it. He buries his face in your pussy, overindulging in the way your slick leaks out onto his tongue and drips down his chin, moving his face side to side and smearing it all over his beard and your inner thighs until you’re both a mess.   

You’re quickly losing this battle and like clockwork, your thighs start to tremble just slightly. 

He’s got you right where he wants you.

He unwraps an arm from where it’s locked around your thigh and brings his hand up between your legs. With no warning, he sinks two thick fingers inside of you. He moans loudly against you when you gasp, your back reflexively arching and your hips grinding up against his face. 

Finally, you surrender and toss your controller to the side and grip onto Frankie’s fluffy curls instead. 

You moan his name, the sweetest sound on Earth Frankie thinks, as you tangle your fingers in his hair and pull his face impossibly closer into you and hold him in place there. Frankie doesn't miss a beat and sucks your clit in between his lips as he steady pumps his fingers in and out of you. He hums in delight, tingles running from his scalp down his spine and to his toes as you start to rock your hips against his face. The vibrations of his sounds against your core cause hot flames to start licking at the base of your spine. 

Despite your fingers tugging harshly in his hair, he pulls back from you just enough to mumble “Ride it, cariño. Ride my fuckin’ face,” his voice raspy and breathless before latching back onto your aching core. 

You listen to him because why the fuck would you not. You tighten your grip in his hair, and his jaw goes slack as you start to rock your hips up off the couch and back down again, sliding your dripping cunt up and down his awaiting tongue. 

Frankie could die happy right now. He moans when your thighs squeeze either side of his head while your hand on the back of his head keeps his face pressed into you so firmly he can't get a good breath. But he’d rather pass out than move an inch away from you right now. And the sounds he’s making are obscene, his muffled grunts and groans and whimpers going straight to your lower abdomen where the pressure of your impending orgasm is quickly multiplying. 

Everything feels so perfect, his fingers rhythmically sliding in and out of your pulsating hole, expertly stretching you out and filling you up as you hold onto his hair for dear life and ride his tongue, letting his scruffy beard scrape deliciously against your inner thighs. 

Frankie knows you’re close, he can hear the way your moans are quickly growing more and more desperate and can feel you clamping down around his fingers.  It’s time for his final move.

He pushes his fingers inside of you as deep as he can get and instead of pulling them out again, he keeps them in place and curls them upward. The sound you make is angelic and Frankie’s cock twitches hard from where it’s pinned against the couch cushion. He hasn’t paid a single ounce of attention to his throbbing length. And he doesn’t want to. He wants to, needs to devote himself entirely to your pleasure, so fucking desperate to feel you come underdone under his tongue. 

He breathes heavily through his nose as your hips start building up speed as you grind against his mouth. He keeps working his tongue while repeatedly pressing the tips of his fingers into your g-spot until there’s no more air in your lungs and your head is fucking spinning.  

It starts in your hips, the way your pace falters lets Frankie know what’s about to happen. He doubles down on his efforts and his eyes roll back when your thighs start shaking violently on either side of his head. 

“Frankieee” you whine, your nails starting to scrape against his scalp. He gives you a low and throaty growl a nonverbal way of saying “I’ve got you, let go for me. Give it to me, please baby�� 

And you do. 

Your orgasm crashes down on you, knocking all the air out of your lungs as every muscle tenses in your body. Frankie doesn’t stop, not for one second, even when you start to gush around his fingers. The groan he lets out is animalistic, as you squirt against his face, your juices pouring down his hands and dripping down his face and chin onto the couch below him. 

You buck your hips and squirm underneath him as your pussy clenches with each wave of pleasure but he keeps his mouth glued to you, drinking you down. He can’t get enough. He keeps lapping at you, trying not to waste a single drop but it’s impossible with how hard you came. 

He keeps going as you ride it out, just basking in the noises you’re making and the feeling of your fingers tugging sharply at his hair, never wanting this to end. 

But your intense pleasure is fading away and sensitivity is starting to quickly replace it. You let him have his fill for a few more seconds as he desperately laps up everything you gave him. But it quickly becomes too much and you start to push him away. With a pitiful whine, he pulls back reluctantly and rests his head on your thigh. 

But you’re an absolute sight to behold in front of him. Your inner thighs and your puffy cunt are drenched, so messy and wet with a small wet spotunder the couch from your juices that Frankie couldn't lick up. Your inner thighs are rubbed red from his beard and there are crescent marks on the top of your thigh where Frankie was gripping you. 

“You’re so fucking sexy” Frankie whispers, watching your cunt clench weakly around his fingers as he slowly slides them out of you, moaning quietly as a small amount of liquid dribbles out of you and onto the couch. 

He tries to give you a break so you can catch your breath. But you’re just as impatient as he is. So you card your fingers through his hair before tugging slightly, a small mewl slipping past your lips. 

Frankie looks up to meet your gaze and raises an eyebrow when he sees the desperation still clouding your eyes. You just look back at him and whine pathetically but he knows exactly what you want. 

He doesn't tease you, doesn’t even mention the fact that your game is unpaused on the TV. Because he’s fucking needy too. And there’s a wet spot on the front of his briefs from where he was leaking precum while he was grinding mindlessly against the couch as he ate you out to prove it. 

And now, with you looking like this, he needs you bad. 

Without saying anything and keeping his eyes fixed on you, Frankie wipes his mouth with the back of his hand like he just finished eating a fucking 5 course meal and stands up from the couch to quickly shed off all his clothes. But he moves too fast though and hits his shin on the coffee table. You hiss and grimace at the sight but he barely reacts to the pain before kneeling back down on the couch between your legs again. 

Your mouth waters when you see his cock, impossibly hard and angry red, the tip wet and shiny with precum as it bobs between his legs, thick and heavy. 

“Gonna let me have you, cariño?” Frankie asks through a gravelly grumble before spitting in his hand and coating his cock in it as if you needed any more lubrication. It can’t hurt though, Frankie is thick and no matter how wet you are or how many times you take him, he stretches you out with a delicious burn. Every. Single. Time. 

“Yes Frankie, I’m please I need it, fuck” you whine. 

Frankie shushes you and lines himself up at your entrance, his fat tip pressing against your aching hole. You try to roll your hips up but he brings his free hand down to your hip, effectively pinning you in place with one broad palm. 

“Just take it, baby,” Frankie whispers. “Let me give it to you.” 

With a heavy sigh, Frankie pushes into you. He tries to go slowly, but you’re so wet that he sinks in with ease and it doesn’t help that your greedy cunt is practically sucking him in. He bottoms out with a broken moan and brings his other hand to grip your hip. 

You’re a mess underneath him, keening and moaning freely as your walls clench wildly around him. You know he’s not going to last long and being so close to the tailend of your last orgasm, there’s not much hope for you either. 

But Frankie is going to take as much as he possibly can from you. 

He gives you a few moments to adjust to his size and the feeling of being stuffed full of him. The stretch burns pleasantly as your walls flutter around him. 

“F-Frankie, fuck you feel so good s-so fucking deep, baby” you babble in between moans and gasps for air. 

He tightens his grip on your hips as he pulls out halfway and drives back into you. His cock throbs inside of you at the sound of your moan. 

“I know, baby.” Frankie sighs. “But you take it so well. Always take it so well. Letting me stretch your perfect little pussy out, huh? Such a good girl making room inside in that sweet cunt for my thick fuckin cock, letting me fill you up. Your fucking perfect, cariño. So fucking good, I’m so lucky”  

Sweet, sweet Frankie. The human embodiment of a basket of puppies that runs his mouth and fills your head with filthy words behind closed doors.

Frankie knows he should give you more time to adjust to his size, but he can’t help himself. He starts to build up a steady pace, not wanting to waste a single second of being inside you, grunting at every beautiful sound you make. 

You just lay there and take it, moaning at the feeling of him splitting you in half as he pounds into you, desperately chasing after his own orgasm. 

He slides his hands down from your hips to your inner thighs before prying them apart and pinning your legs to the couch, leaving your pussy on full display for him. He lets out a strained moan when he sees the way your lips are gripping him as he pulls out and sucking back in as he slams back into you. 

“M’not gonna last long, baby” Frankie pants with his eyes glued to where your bodies are connected. You’re already hurtling towards your second orgasm but you manage to fight the overwhelming pleasure that’s rooting itself in your bones again to open your eyes and look up at him. You’re presented with the most gorgeous sight of Frankie fucking  you with no regard. His curls are flopping down in front of his eyes as he stares at where he’s disappearing inside of you, his jaw is slack and hanging open, and his heaving chest is starting to glisten with sweat. 

“Mmmm cum inside, Frankie. I wanna feel it” you moan when you feel his hips stutter.

He grunts before dragging his eyes up your body from your wet pussy to your blown out pupils. He stares into your eyes for just a few seconds as he keeps fucking into you. 

Then he winks at you. 

Knowing that can only mean trouble, you watch him with bated breath. He drops his gaze back to where he’s pounding into you. His eyes twinkle with curiosity as he moves one hand from your thigh and brings it to your mouth. 

He gives you just one finger, slips his index finger past your lips and watches intently as you swirl your tongue around his digit, getting it wet with your spit. When he’s satisfied, he pulls it out and brings it back down to your core. 

He slows down a bit and you gasp when he traces where he’s stretching you out with his wet finger. 

“Think you can take a little more?” Frankie asks, looking up at you while continuing to prod at your stretched entrance. 

“Yes” you moan, not giving it a second thought because if Frankie thinks you can, then you know you can. 

“Thank you, cariño” Frankie whispers.

You give him a weak nod and try to suppress the whimper that’s bubbling up in your throat when he stops moving until he’s still inside of you. 

You do whimper, well more of a strangled moan, when he starts to work his finger covered in your saliva into you, right alongside his thick cock. 

“Holy shit” you cry out, one of your hands flying up to claw at his bicep. 

“Is it too much?” Frankie asks, his eyebrows drawn together in concern as he tries to read your facial expressions and your body language. 

You shake your head fervently and squeeze your eyes shut. 

“N-no, keep going” you pant. “Feels so good, Frankie, please keep going.” 

And because Frankie is trained to follow commands so well, he keeps pushing his finger inside of you, cursing under his breath as you squeeze around his finger and his cock. 

“Jesus christ, baby” Frankie hisses as he starts fucking into you again. 

With the added thickness of his finger (which is ridiculously thick by itself), you genuinely feel like his ripping you open in the best way possible. You can’t hold on for much longer and the sounds he’s pulling out of you are insane and as he delivers you into the awaiting arms of your second orgasm. 

“C’mon, baby. Can feel every fucking inch of you squeezing me” Frankie huffs as he continues to plow into you. “Soak my cock, baby please. I wanna see it this time.” 

There's a long moan of his name and the sound of it bounces around in his head before traveling as a tingle down his spine. He watches you in amazement as you lift your hips off the couch as you start to gush around him again. He doesn’t stop pounding into you though. And the sensation of your slick leaking out around his finger and his cock and sliding down his to his palm and his balls as you clench around him is too fucking much. 

His own body takes him by surprise, his hips faltering as he starts to cum inside you with no warning. He grunts loudly as he empties himself inside of you and it’s so much that he can’t remember the last time he came this hard. 

The two of you stay there for a minute, just trying to catch your breath. Frankie starts to go soft and once the stretch isn’t so much, he slowly slides his cock and and finger out of you. He groans softly in his throat and watches with heavy eyelids as his cum, mixed with your own release, starts to leak out of you, adding to the dark spot on the couch from earlier.

As if he’s on autopilot, Frankie mindlessly gathers his cum that’s seeping out of you on two of his fingers before he pushes them back inside of you. He slowly pumps his fingers in and out of you, marveling at the way your hole leaks around them until you whimper and squirm at the overstimulation. 

He carefully removes his fingers and slides them into his own mouth because he can never get enough of you. Never ever. You watch with hooded eyes and a dopey smile as he licks your slick and his cum off his fingers, closing his eyes and making a small noise in his throat as he does so. 

He takes his fingers out of his mouth with a strand of saliva briefly and obscenely connecting his tongue to his fingers. He opens his eyes and gives you a goofy grin, too entirely pleased with himself. He leans down and presses his lips against yours. He laughs through his nose when you eagerly lick into his mouth in an attempt to get a second hand taste. 

After a playful bite to your bottom lip, he pulls back to look at you. 

“You’re greedy” Frankie teases with a smirk. “And messy” he adds when he looks down to the wet spot on the couch. 

The same couch that the two of you bought a couple months ago because ironically, your old couch was starting to collect some stubborn stains. Frankie knows you’ll give him shit about it later and will probably be the one on his knees cleaning the cushion in a few minutes, but he doesn’t care one bit. 

“Don’t even try, Morales” you say with a chuckle and an eye roll. 

Frankie giggles sweetly before ducking down to give you another quick kiss. He then straightens up and turns his head to look over his shoulder at the TV. He turns back to look at you with a shiteating grin. 

“You left it unpaused” he tries to say plainly, but the glee is evident in his voice.

He won. 

Your face drops from sated to stressed as you look over at the TV screen and see that the game has advanced three more days while Frankie was playing with you. 

“Francisco Morales!” you shout, reaching behind you to grab a pillow and throw it at him. He scrambles off the couch and runs away cackling before you can hit him.

[candyistoosweet]

Olivia Becker Henderson

(Please click for a better quality)

Full Birth Name:

Olivia Becker Henderson

Mostly used name:

Olivia, The girl with red tears

Species:

Vengeful spirit // Ghost

Age:

Locked in 9

Birth Date:

1950 October 1th

Death Date:

1959 October 31th

Cause of Death:

Strangled to death & Choked

Gender:

Cis-woman, hertrosexual. She/Her

Height:

133cm (4'4)

Weight:

21kg (46.3lb)

Appearance:

She has bright red, wavy hair that barely reaches her shoulders. Her skin is completely white and pale, making her look almost lifeless, with no freckles unlike most red-haired people. Her eyes are a dark olive color, and red blood flows from both her eyes, her neck, and her lower body.

She wears light cyan pajama-style dress with dark green accents along the neckline, on her slippers, and on the large bow in her hair. Blood stains cover the outfit, giving her an eerie, zombie-like appearance.

She also always carries her comfort bunny doll, 'Toffy.' Toffy is a light yellow bunny with blood stains on it, a ripped-off right leg with cotton spilling out, and a missing button eye on the right side.

Ethnicity:

Born in Germany, but immigrated to America.

Place of Birth:

Berlin // Germany

Where is she?

She usually hides inside the family’s house, staying in her invisible form. She only reveals herself to the children her age or younger, appearing in their rooms to play with them. She mostly avoids the parents, especially the father, but when they catch her, her playful and harmless behavior shifts to a wicked and eerie presence. The setting is primarily in Los Angeles, America.

Notable features:

Blood flows down on her eyes, neck, and lower body, running down her legs. This causes her to leave bloodstains on the ground? but they disappear in a few minuites due to her ghostly form.

Her voice is high pitched, honeyed childlike, which makes her voice seems like a voice of girl character in disney shows. It lifts up people's feelings, but she can make her voice low and dead, which can stir a protective instinct in others.

She often floats around. Since she’s a ghost, it isn’t difficult for her, and she even claims it’s more comfortable.

Her face is usually emotionless. Whether she’s happy or sad, she doesn’t show her feelings on her face.

Personality:

Before her death -

Kind

Caring

Vurnerable

Obsessive

Lonely

Deeply sad, numb

Submissive

Talkative

Friendly

Clever

Giving

After her death -

Aggressive

Stubborn

Lonely

Extremely obsessive

Anxious

Clever

Intelligent

Capable of being friendly and nice to others who she's close with in a rare occasions

Very quiet

Attention seeker (Therefore, she usually enjoys appearing to the adults and scaring them.)

Low patience

Impulsive

Family Members:

Carl Becker - Olivia's dad (Dead)

Harley Becker - Olivia's mom (Dead)

Anton Becker - Oldest sibling (Dead)

Felix Becker - Second oldest sibling (Dead)

Sophia Becker - Third oldest sibling (Dead)

Joseph Becker - Last oldest sibling (Dead)

Henry Henderson - Stepfather (Killed)

Maria Henderson - Stepmother (Dead)

Weapons of Choices:

A small pocket knife hanging around her pajamas' waistband

Her ghost ability

Abilities:

Possession

Floating

Moving through an object

Invisibility

Mind reading

Psychokenisis

Methods of murder:

Possession is her main ability, which she uses to kill or harm anyone she targets. She essentially inhabits the victim’s body and steals their physical control, manipulating their movements to make it appear like a suicide or self-harm. This is her way of eliminating victims in the least suspicious manner. When she successfully kills her victims, their souls immediately shatter along with their corpses.

When she's overwhelmed by the urge to possess someone and play with their body, she resorts to using a pocket knife to stab them to death. Although it's a rare occurrence for her to kill this way, she'll do so if she's extremely angered or in a necessary situation.

Weaknesses:

Her physical strength isn’t very strong; it’s comparable to that of an average 9-year-old boy. While she may be stronger than children her age, a child's strength can’t match that of an adult.

She also has multiple mental illnesses, including OCD and PTSD, primarily related to feelings of being alone or neglected. Her mental state is quite vulnerable.

Likes:

Soft, fluffy fabric (Animal furs, minks, silks, blanket and pillows, etc.)

Being spoiled

Getting lots of attention

Affection

Friends (What mostly other children her aged would like)

Fairy tales

Toffy

Sweets, desserts

Playing games (Childish ones. As playing with dolls and toys, hide and seek, eye spy, etcs)

Singing

Revenging over someone hurted her

Hurting the parents who've caught her in their eye

Floating around

Animals

Chatting (Mostly means only with minors)

Dislikes:

Loud noises

Being left alone, lonely

Younger child than her (It scares her what if she gets cared more or be treated more precious and steal some attentions from her. But there can still be some exceptions.)

Anything that triggers her trauma

Adult men (She doesn't dislike ALL OF THEM, but it's true that she always feels small amount of disgust and wariness against them.)

Being isolated

Sticky things

Bugs

Too big foods (She loves eating, but too large foods to chew or swallow makes her feel sick and disgusted.)

Feisty behaviors

Bitter tastes (Coffee, some kinds of teas, etcs)

Catchphrase:

"May I join?"

Backstory:

Olivia Becker Henderson was the youngest child in the Becker family in Berlin, Germany. The family had five children, and Olivia grew up with them until she was about three. However, the household was abusive, and the children were neglected. As a result, Olivia grew up without a close bond with her parents, leading her to develop anxiety and obsessive behaviors at a young age.

After her parents were killed in a mysterious accident, Olivia and her four siblings were sent to a large orphanage connected to the church. There, she faced the discriminatory looks from the kids who were not orphans, feeling lonely in the orphanage due to the lack of affection from the teachers, just as she had in her previous home. The orphanage was filled with the noises of children, but those sounds were usually just the cries of young children desperately hoping to escape their abusive cages. Nonetheless, Olivia remained a cheerful child with a talkative personality, often chirping, "May I join?" whenever adults spoke to try to connect with them. Yet, all she heard in return was "Be quiet," "I'm busy," and other soft but lethal neglects. Many people there didn't care for her or the other orphans in a meaningful way, which continually triggered her trauma of being left behind.

After about two years, a man named Henry and his wife, Maria, decided to adopt Olivia on her fifth birthday in October. Unlike the windy, cold weather outside, Olivia's heart quickly bloomed like spring flowers in the warmth of their love. After she was sent to America with this couple, she began to grow up in a wealthy, caring household. For her adoption gift, she received a cute bunny plushie, which she named "Toffy." With no siblings around, she formed a very close bond with Toffy, treating her like a sister—washing with her, eating with her, and sharing all her feelings day after day. This affection grew bigger and bigger, resembling the bond that real sisters would have.

But happiness didn’t last forever. Her dad, Henry, and mom, Maria, suddenly divorced due to Henry’s gambling addiction. Maria left the household, and Olivia began to live only with Henry when she was seven. After two years, her normal life, which had shielded her from the discriminatory stares of her peers, came crashing down for reasons Olivia found unacceptable. However, Henry remained a responsive father who claimed to love his stepdaughter, so Olivia never doubted his words and tried not to feel sad about her mom leaving. She felt pressured to maintain her happy, confident life, just as she had for the past two years.

Even though Olivia was a strong kid, after the divorce, she felt extremely vulnerable and scared by her mother’s departure. She couldn’t help but internalize it as being thrown away and wasted, which triggered her trauma of neglect and lack of care. Her stepdad Henry exhibited similar symptoms, but his behavior stemmed from his gambling failures rather than sorrow over the divorce. This caused him to become increasingly stressed and harsh towards Olivia, a stark contrast to how he used to treat her. These conditions gradually led to a pattern of child abuse, including sexual assaults. With Henry’s wife gone, he had no other outlet for his lustful instincts, tragically directing them towards Olivia. She felt utterly betrayed and sank into a puddle of shame and deep disappointment.

After her ninth birthday, on Halloween, Olivia had one last fun experience before returning to her abusive, complicated home—no longer a sweet and caring household. When Henry grew irritated by her antics, a simple tussle escalated into a harsh scuffle. He brandished a small pocket knife to threaten Olivia, attempting to make her comply. In the struggle, she was cut by the knife, her voice growing louder and stronger in desperation. Ultimately, in a fit of rage, Henry strangled Olivia to death on her bed, leaving her lifeless.

But after a few days, Olivia rose from her cold, lifeless body to become a ghost, just as she appeared in life. She wasn’t happy about feeling conscious again, but was instead filled with rage and a desire for revenge against Henry. For those curious about what happened to her and Henry in the end, it was Olivia who laughed last. At least she achieved a form of a happy ending—except that she didn’t stop after getting her revenge on Henry and continued to haunt humans until now.

After Olivia transformed into a poor yet aggressive spirit, some say they can still hear the faint, childish whisper of a girl asking, "May I join?" echoing through the soundless, lightless home. The whisper becomes more vivid and pronounced as the anniversary of her death approaches. But don’t worry! She might give you some time to enjoy your last holiday moments, just as she once did...Don’t you think?

Theme song:

Dark Paradise - Lena Del Rey

Extra Art works:

(First design plannings)

Deathtime-

Lifetime-

TMI:

Olivia's zodiac sign is Scorpio.

Her favorite color is green / cyan just like how you can see in her dress design, and her favorate aesthetic is noble & cottage core.

She secretly enjoys collecting child's lost accessories on the ground such as a pink ribbon pin, hairbands, their comfort toys and everything. It brings her nostalgia and comfort. She uses them to redesign them and keep them as her own stuffs.

She even sometimes steals some toys in her victim child's room, whenever she feels jealous about the thing she wants.

Her eyes glow in the dark when her emotions are strong or intense. As it gets stronger, the more her eyes glow.

She's gifted with drawing & writing skills. Her hobbies are almost all what she's especially good at such as drawing, singing, and writings. She likes to create her imaginary characters in her head and express out their storyline when she's bored, or been slightly inspirated.

Her examples of being obsessive is quite simple. She just dossn't want someone who approuched to her to leave her. If the kid wants to go back to their parents instead of playing with her anymore, she'll get mad and hurt the kid. She becomes extremely self-centered when it comes to relationships, and this only makes her to get even more lonely and aggressive.

Not quite sure if it's surprising, but Olivia used to be very curious about what would happen after the death at her lifetime. This curiousity started since she was in the orphanage, and kept questioning the teachers, nuns and priest about what happens after the death.

Now that she knew what happened at least to her, she thinks being dead is something fun to do. She didn't know at first because of the overwhelmed thinking of revenging Henry, but as slowly she became more sane, she started to have a quite positive opinions towards death, which may seem relieving yet eerie at the same time.

Olivia's strength grows strongest at her birth date and death date. So this basically means that the October is the period she's the most active. Her ghost abilities gets harsher and stronger, which can inflict a bigger damage to the victims. But of course it all ends up dead either way.

Her favorite fairy tale is cutely Peter Pan. She's obsessed with the settings of neverland, never getting old. Especially considering Peter Pan's released period is 1950s, Olivia could easily encounter the movie/cartoon.

Her MBTI is INTP.

Her favorite dessert is cookie dough.

[oliversrarebooks]

roger, whats it like being fitz's thrall? (aka how does it feel to be living my dream... im not jealous... totally not living vicariously through you...)

Masterlist

January 1922

TW: mind control, conditioning, blood drinking mentions of past abuse, fear of death

"You have to get up, sir." 

Roger gently shook the lump of tangled blankets and sheets that most likely contained a vampire at its core. The only real indication that his master was within was the soft groan from inside, a mumble that sounded a lot like "leave me alone."

"I can't leave you alone, sir. You have a show at 7, remember? If you don't rise and shine soon, you won't have enough time to do your hair and makeup and make it to the theater."

"Uggggggh. Why'd I schedule a show so goddamned early? What is wrong with me?" The pile of blankets huddled in on itself more tightly.

"...I suspect there may be several things, sir," said Roger, unable to resist the obvious opening and knowing that a bit of banter might put his master in a better mood. "Regardless, you did schedule the show, and you do need to leave the house for it."

"Horrible. Torturous. Excruciating." The bedclothes rustled, and Fitz poked his head out just enough to take a look. "It's so early that the sun is leaking around the curtains! The sun could kill me, Roger, you can't expect me to get up in those conditions. I could die."

"I believe that's what the curtains are for, sir. To prevent you from dying when you're unjustly forced to wake up during the day." Roger sat down on the side of the bed. He'd done this often enough to know when he was in for the long haul, and he was quite capable of patience -- a good quality to have when serving Fitz. "You were looking forward to this show, weren't you? It's a large venue, and you have your new rotating box trick."

"Mmm."

"I'm sure it will go over splendidly, sir, and you'll be afforded all the praise and applause you deserve," he said. Cheap flattery rarely failed to soften his master's mood. "Aren't you looking forward to seeing the looks of delight on your audience's faces when you perform your new trick? And besides that, aren't you looking forward to being paid?"

Fitz seemed to be lowering both his blankets and his guard. "I suppose so..."

"Excellent. Then forgive me for this, sir." Roger grabbed the covers and pulled them away, as his master produced a sound not unlike a dying cat.

With lightning fast reflexes, the blankets were wrenched from Roger's grasp, and Fitz was clutching them to himself and huddling in the middle of the bed. "How could you? How could my own thrall do such a thing? Heartless, you're simply heartless." He curled up under the blankets and stubbornly closed his eyes as if to go back to sleep.

"Of the two of us, sir, it's technically you who is heartless." Roger sighed. It was always most difficult to wake Fitz in the dead of winter. The long nights enticed his master to stay out too late sampling the city's nightlife, and the cold made him especially reluctant to leave his chambers, which, thanks to the radiators, were as hot as a furnace.

He reached down to the blankets, intending to tug on them again. This time, despite Fitz pretending to sleep, he was faster than Roger, and grasped his wrist.

Roger felt a delicious, drowsy warmth coming from his master's touch, filling his mind with cotton candy haze. It was blissfully dreamy and intoxicating, and, most dangerously, it was sleep-inducing, enticing him to shut his weary eyes and rest.

"Go back to sleep, Roger," Fitz lulled. "Curl up here. Keep me warm..."

Roger was swaying on the spot, eyelids drooping, rapidly losing himself to enchanted slumber -- but he'd been caught by this trap on plenty of occasions, and each time it ended with Fitz regretful that he'd overslept and missed his obligations. It was that memory that kept Roger just awake enough to wrench his arm away and mostly free himself from his master's dangerous temptation. Fitz was making sad little grabbing motions as Roger moved out of range of his hands.

"I'm afraid that if you wish to use your powers on me, you'll have to leave your bed to do so, sir," said Roger, standing several feet away. "The sooner you get it over with, the sooner you can get to the pleasant business of washing up." They both knew that it was a bluff. Roger had been under Fitz's thrall for many years now, and his master didn't need hypnotic touch to compel him, body and soul. But it was a bluff that usually worked.

"Fine, fine, you win." With one final dramatic groan, Fitz threw off the covers and sat up. "I'll take my shower, then. But I expect you to attend to me when I'm finished."

"Of course, sir." Roger watched as his master stumbled into the bathroom, and in a moment he could hear the sound of running water and upbeat humming. Fitz loved long, warm showers as much as he loved rolling around lazily in bed. He'd spend at least a half-hour relaxing in the steamy waters and performing his elaborate and ever-changing skin care routine, one which involved enough distinct products as to cover most of the vanity table.

This gave Roger plenty of time to make the perpetually disheveled bed, the foot-high pile of blankets, and the mountain of pillows in every shape and size. He made quick work of it, picked up the dirty clothes that had been tossed on the floor yesterday morning. 

Housekeeping was Roger's primary responsibility apart from providing blood and humoring Fitz's varied whims. With only the two of them in a reasonably sized flat, it wasn't especially difficult or time-consuming compared to when he'd lived on his own, before he'd been snatched off the street by a vampire. He'd even come to enjoy the simple chores. He wasn't sure how much of that was due to his own feelings or to Fitz's coercion -- his master grasping his shoulders and softening Roger's mind, whispering to him how much he loved to serve.

Really, it hardly mattered any more.

When he'd finished tidying up, Roger got down to the business of setting out his master's clothes. Serving Fitz was really about anticipating his moods more than anything else. With a large venue, he'd want something particularly flashy -- something on the warmer side for a chill day -- deep blue, perhaps?

The door to the bathroom cracked open, Roger's signal to enter.

The steam was blinding, mixed with the almost overwhelming scent of flowers, as Roger entered. Fitz was fussing with his hair, as usual, despite not being able to see it in the mirror. "You simply must help me out with this," he said.

"Of course, sir," said Roger, taking the comb from him. This was a ritual they performed nearly every night Fitz went out. Even as the years went by and Fitz grew from a young vampire to a seasoned one, he still seemed so irritated at not being able to see himself in the mirror, sometimes requiring excessive reassurance from Roger that he was still handsome.

Tonight, though, his master seemed deep in his own head as Roger ran the comb through his hair, taking some pomade in hand to smooth it back. He pulled the longer hair into a neat tail, the sort of style usually reserved for unsavory sorts, but then, Fitz didn't mind presenting himself as a bit unsavory. Roger's tense shoulders relaxed as faint hypnotic power flowed from his master's proximity, fogging his mind at the same time it increased his desire to help fix Fitz's brooding.

"Is everything all right, sir?"

Fitz seemed startled back into the waking world by the question. "Of course," he said with his fake smile plastered firmly to his face. "Just running through the show in my head. If I'm going to be dragged out of my bed and into the cold this early, it had better be worth it."

"I'm sure it will be, sir. You're looking quite handsome this evening."

"Obviously," he said, lacking the usual cheer that punctuated their banter.

With Fitz's hair squared away, the two then left the bathroom for Roger to assist dressing him. "While the rest of this outfit is acceptable, this bowtie is just not..." Fitz seemed to be fishing around, thinking of what could be wrong with the bowtie, clearly eager to find some minor fault to distract himself from his own worries. "It's blue, isn't it? You can't have blue on a night that's already cold and gloomy, that won't do. It must be red. The color of excitement and passion!"

"I don't know what I was thinking, sir," Roger deadpanned, picking up the blue bowtie that Fitz had tossed aside and fetching one of his half-a-dozen red ones.

Fitz allowed Roger to fit him with the new selection. "That's why you should leave the thinking to me."

"I'm not so sure about that, sir."

That got a genuine smile from his master. "Come now, when has that ever not worked out?" he said. "With this outfit and your expert attention to my hair, I'm sure tonight's show will be an absolute triumph."

"There's not a single doubt in my mind, sir."

As Roger adjusted his master's cummerbund, Fitz leaned in a bit more, in an unsubtle fashion. The undercurrent of tension Roger had felt all night bloomed into something more recognizable: hunger. His master desired his blood, and, as always, Roger felt himself falling into a pleasurable daze, one where all thoughts fled from his mind apart from offering himself to his master.

"I think I'll need to feed from you when I return. You don't mind, do you?" Fitz whispered in his ear.

"No, master," said Roger, shivering involuntarily. "It's my pleasure to serve you."

"And it's my pleasure to feed," he said, grinning with his fangs bared. "Yes, I think that'll be just the thing to lift my spirits. Something to look forward to after the show."

"Yes, sir. I'll also look forward it." He meant that -- he had long since given up being troubled by his desire for vampiric feedings. He'd felt that desire even for his previous master's painful, harsh feedings, and it was far easier to accept Fitz's gentle trance of bliss.

A few minutes later and Roger had wrangled a semi-unwilling vampire into two layers of winter coat and sent him on his way. Sometimes Roger went along with Fitz to the theater, to help with makeup or hair or just for support purposes, but just as often he was left behind to his own devices. 

He didn't mind either way. It was nice to have a few hours to himself. He often spent the bulk of the time painting, something he'd never gotten to do much of even before he was taken by vampires. He wanted to eat breakfast first, though, especially given that his master might be feeding later.

Roger did hope he was. Sometimes he instead chose to feed on his volunteer from the audience, and that was always a bit of a disappointment, denying Roger the opportunity to fulfill his primary purpose in life. But Fitz seemed interested in feeding at home, and if he was going to do that, it would behoove Roger to be well-fed.

Soon enough, a generous portion of ham and eggs was sizzling on the stove. Fitz had made a promise early on that he'd always keep Roger fed, and although he forgot and broke promises all the time, he hadn't broken that one. Unlike his previous master, he never punished Roger with starvation -- a particularly spiteful punishment, since it also seemed to lower the quality of Roger's blood. His previous master did seem to enjoy punishment more than feedings.

When Roger's former master had been destroyed in a duel, Roger had assumed he was going from bad to worse. That feeling had grown stronger when he'd been dragged to a secondhand thrall appraiser and his worth was assessed at far lower than it had been when he'd first been bought. At the time, Roger had been little better than a beaten dog, cringing at every sound, barely daring to speak or think. He'd lost hope for anything better.

And, well, Fitz was far from the savior he'd often imagined during those days. He was still a vampiric master, a dramatic one whose moods changed like the wind. He could still effortlessly control Roger's mind, and he made Roger do all the chores in the house. Roger still wasn't free.

But rather than beatings and torture, Fitz's "punishments" generally amounted to snippy words and extra chores. There was always food, and he was allowed to paint and read and relax. His master might have a terrible habit of tossing out every piece of clothing in his closet when choosing what to wear and then telling Roger to clean it all up, but compared to what life had been like...

He hoped that Fitz came home safe. He'd strongly prefer to not change hands again, even if it meant dragging a protesting vampire out of bed each night for the rest of his life.

Roger had busied himself painting a bird from an illustration in a nature book when he heard the front door creak. "It's goddamn cold out there! Windy, too."

"Welcome home, sir," said Roger, helping his master out of his frigid coats. He was pleased to see Fitz in a better mood than when he'd left. "I take it your show went well?"

"Of course! Didn't you say there wasn't a single doubt in your mind?" he said with a grin as he kicked off his shoes, leaving Roger to line them up neatly in the shoe rack. "The crowd loved it! The spinning box trick is a real winner -- I just need to think of some ways to jazz it up further -- perhaps doing up the box in spangles to really dazzle them..." 

He shook himself out of his train of thought, seeming to remember Roger was there. "All of that applause did have me work up an appetite, though," he said, stepping close and brushing his hand against Roger's. Roger could feel the influence flowing through him, stoking his need for the feeding. "Why don't you go start the fire? That and your blood will provide me with some warmth tonight, I think."

So he was going to feed. Roger tried to keep his face neutral to preserve a scrap of dignity. "Very good, sir."

Roger allowed himself to hum a bit of a jaunty tune as he stacked wood in the fireplace and lit the kindling, using the bellows to raise the fire higher. He could hear his master making a commotion in the bathroom, likely getting out of his fine clothes and washing off the stage makeup. By the time Fitz arrived in the parlor, the fire was crackling merrily.

"Ahhhhh," said Fitz, sprawling out onto the old leather couch and beckoning Roger close. "This is the life, isn't it, Roger?"

"It certainly is, sir."

"Well, I suppose I'm not technically alive. The point still stands."

His master put his hand to Roger's cheek, and Roger sank into the mind-numbing bliss that came from his power, the familiar sense of captivation and contentment. As always, he could feel his master's desire to feed, and as he dropped deeper into a trance, his hands came up to unbutton his shirt and pull his collar away.

"You really are an excellent thrall," said Fitz, and Roger soaked in both the praise and the sense of security that came from pleasing his master. "Now just relax and let me have what I need."

Sharp fangs punctured the old scars that would never heal, and Roger's pliable mind slipped further as his master began to drink. There was nothing but bliss and contentment and hunger and need --

-- and, as always when his master was anxious, the sound of ticking clocks and the undercurrent of a lonely void.

Perhaps the good reception to his show hadn't brightened his mood as much as Roger had thought.

Fitz drank hungrily as if to fill that void with his thrall's blood, and Roger could feel his senses buckling, his vision tunneling and his eyelids growing heavy. His master was overdrinking again. "Sir," Roger managed to say as he fought to stay awake. "Sir -- sir, you're --"

"Oh!" His master mercifully stopped. "Damn it, I'm sorry, Roger. I don't mean to do that, you know I don't."

"I know you don't," Roger parroted in a dazed voice, slumping against his master's shoulder, allowing his eyes to close now that the danger had passed.

Someday, his master was probably going to kill him. He'd drink too much blood, and Roger would fail to stop him in time, collapsing into his master's arms and closing his eyes for the last time.

But tonight was not that night, and Roger was glad of it.

Masterlist

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot @cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

[living-dead-author]

Kinktober day 13: Lingerie with Lestat De Lioncourt

I flipped a coin to decide which Lestat I would write this for and I got Lestat from the IWTV show. I'm still early on in the series, only on episode four as of writing this, but I could be further along when this gets posted, so my apologies if this is ooc for him. This work is 18+ minors and ageless accounts dni

Content includes: Reader showing off sexually to Lestat, GN reader with very vague physical descriptions (assigned sex at birth not mentioned), Google translated French, very suggestive

"Oh come on mon chéri, I want to see your lovely self in those pretty clothes I got for you." Lestat says, adjusting his seated position on his couch. A couple of nights ago Lestat gave you a sort of ‘allowance’ to go get yourself some lingerie. Of course it’s not just for you to enjoy, but you couldn’t deny the opportunity to get some new fancy underthings.

You're standing in just the other room, wearing the first set of fancy lingerie that he bought for you. An off white silky set with intricate embroidery. Something that you’re deeply in love with, but also felt bad buying because of how expensive it is.

You step out and shyly stand in front of him, holding your arms out slightly to fully show off what you’re wearing. He smiles, his eyes twinkling with clear attraction. “Do I look good?” You ask softly, a small smile creeping on your face. 

“Oh mon amour, you look divine.” He says, that French accent lacing his words, making them sound even sweeter. “Do a spin, go on.” He says, moving his hand to signal for you to spin. You do as he requests and smile wider, turning to face him again.

“I feel like I’m going to ruin these clothes. They’re just so…expensive. I don’t want to accidentally do something to them.” You say, running your hands over the high quality fabric. 

“Oh you’re not going to ruin it, that’s my job.” Lestat teases, his tongue running over his teeth, clearly savoring your current state of dress. 

“I’ll go try on one of the other ones.” You say, stepping back into the room, looking out at the other lingerie sets laid out for you to try on. Your eyes gravitate towards a sheer, wine red set.

“Don’t leave me waiting for too long chéri~” Lestat calls out, smiling a little to himself as you disappear again. You carefully take off your current set and put on another one, stepping back out to show Lestat. He grins like a cheshire cat, his already light eyes sparkling even more. “Oh I am truly the luckiest man in New Orleans tonight.” 

You chuckle and hold your hands behind your back, looking at him with that still slightly shy expression, but it’s slowly falling down at his praise.

“You keep talking to me like this and I’m not going to be able to function for the rest of the night.” You say in an equally teasing tone slowly moving your body from side to side. His eyes slide down your body, his hands twitching for a moment.

“You have no idea what you do to me mon amour. I can hardly keep myself sitting here and not picking you up right this second.” He says, and by the look in his eyes, you know he’s telling the truth.

“I don’t know if I should keep dragging this out or just get it over as quickly as possible.” You tease, putting your hands above your head, posing yourself in a sexy manner. Lestat chuckles and his fingers dance over the top of the couch.

“Be careful now, cher. I can only control myself for so long, like I said.” Lestat moves his finger again and you do another spin before disappearing to put on another set of the lingerie he bought for you. The third set is made of cotton and lace, a clean white color. You slide it on and step back out for him to see. 

“Oh I spent my money well.” Lestat teases, moving his hand to adjust himself through his pants, a bulge clear through his clothes. “I can’t wait to take every one of these sets off with my teeth later on tonight mon chéri~”

You chuckle and turn to the side, posing against the entryway of the room he’s in, arching your back and posing yourself in a way you know is going to drive him wild. You hear him make some kind of noise as you pose. 

“I have one more set after this. I have to say that I can’t wait to wear these later on. Just for your eyes to see.” You say, changing your position and raising your eyebrows, a full toothed smile aimed at him. Lestat smiles right back at you, nodding his head. 

“I can’t wait for that either. I’ll never get tired of seeing that divine body of yours. He says, his hand adjusting himself through his pants again. 

“I feel like I’m taking advantage of you for letting you pay for these pretty little sets Lestat.” You say, adjusting the bottoms of the set as you go back to standing normally. “I mean these were very expensive.” Lestat scoffs and shakes his head.

“Nothing is too expensive for my dear bien-aimé. I would slaughter everyone in this town if you so much as asked.” He says, putting his own little morbid twist on his loving phrase. You smile brightly and do another slow spin for him, showing off that lacey white set you’re currently wearing.

“You truly make me feel like royalty. I don’t deserve you Lestat.” You praise, facing him again, moving to rest your hands behind your back.

“Je suis heureux de vivre éternellement tant que tu es à mes côtés tout le temps mon amour.” He recites in French, you know that he’s talking about the two of you, but you don’t know the specifics of it all. You smile and bite the inside of your cheek, reminding yourself to learn what he said means later on.

“I have one more set after this.” You say with a cherry tone and walk back over to the last piece left. It’s a long, fancy house robe in your favorite color, one that matches Lestat’s. You take off the last set of lingerie and put the robe on over your naked body. 

Stepping back out to show Lestat your last piece, he smiles at the robe, moving his finger again to have you spin for him. You oblige and smile wider at him. 

“I can’t wait to wear this around the house.” You say, smiling at him as you give another pose. He looks at you with adoring eyes, still trying to keep himself in check. He knows he has to wait, and the longer he waits, the sweeter that reward is. 

“I think this is one of my favorites.” He comments, his fingers tracing over the top of the couch again. You spin one more time before facing him fully. 

“This is one of your favorites?” You ask, slowly untying the belt of the robe. Lestat notices quickly but he doesn’t comment on it. 

“Yes it is chéri. One of my very favorites.” He says. You slowly pull back the robe, exposing your naked form. 

“What about this one? Do you like this one better or should I try on a different one?” You ask in a teasing tone. Lestat stands up and walks over towards you. You drop the robe and he picks you up. You let out a laugh as he carries you towards the couch. 

“You’ve teased me long enough mon amour. Now it’s my turn to tease you~”

[dolljunk]

Even though I am very happy to own him due to how sought after he is, he is unfortunately suffering from a few issues I felt I needed to express.

First off, his clothing is not worth the $90 price tag, let alone whatever is going on in the secondary market. Having laser-cut single-sided printed cheap satin for the majority of his outfit is not it, especially since it isn't even separated, unlike other Skullector dolls. I'm genuinely shocked at how low-quality his clothes are since they should have a minimum level of quality. His sleeves aren't tailored correctly; they bunch up a lot, and with the cheap satin, they're heavily wrinkled.

For the price, his waistcoat should have been removable as it was an extraneous design element, and it added bulk to his outfit that shouldn't needed to be added. Mattel's use of the cheap-looking shiny satin is ridiculous as they could use an equally cheap matte cotton fabric instead, which would improve the appearance. Also, the fact it's black print on white fabric means the underside of the coat looks really unfinished, whereas I think a black fabric with white print would have looked much better and suited the animated style better.

With the plastic form to go over his skeleton torso, it isn't shaped like a torso piece, unlike G1 Skelita's plastic piece. Rather, it's an ill-fitting rectangle of plastic that floats about and doesn't sit flush with the torso, so it actually deforms his clothes to the point his pants don't cover his behind. This is just a really poor toy design, plain and simple.

I also do hate that his bowtie clips aren't sculpted to go around far enough around his neck; there isn't enough grip on the neck, so you're dependent on an elastic band to keep the thing in place.

Also, randomly, his torso plate unclips off. There is no glue; nothing attaches it together. There's nothing I can see why this design is here aside from saving money on a manufacturing level, as having it glued together would require more labour costs and more room for error for quality control.

And the most irritating thing is the fact that Jack's head is so squatly shaped that his long neck peg actually deforms the top of his head if you pose it too weirdly, so I ended up having to clip it off before boiling his head to get it to be undeformed.

Like, if I didn't have a very random set of circumstances that led me to own him, I would be very upset at how poorly designed this doll is and that I'm going to have to make my own outfit that meets a level of care that is lacking in this doll.

[yuri-badiner]

Duplo Space Shuttle Mission

Four years ago, sets from the Duplo series came into my hands for the first time in my life. I really liked the 10944 Space Shuttle Mission set. It's small, if that word can even be applied to Duplo, and it has amazing playability! There is everything here: a space shuttle with a launch pad, a couple of astronauts and a rover with some important gear. If I had this set as a child, it would definitely have been a favorite.

It was very interesting for me to try shooting Duplo and feel the colossal contrast with System. This was a real departure from my comfort zone, because none of my processes and habits that I had developed while shooting small minifigures worked here at all. A completely different scale, requiring different approaches to light and environment. Working on some of the photographs was a real pleasure, but I also had to suffer.

Here I have a takeoff from the launch pad, repairs in outer space, and landing on an unknown planet. I myself am not happy with all the pictures, but I’m posting everything as it is, because you can’t erase words from a song.

Behind The Scenes

Special effects made with your own hands from scrap materials, without using photo editors - it's always interesting. Often such effects are not too difficult to perform, but in the photo they look realistic and beautiful. Next, I will tell you how I made a column of smoke and fire bursting out of the shuttle engine nozzles.

First, I rolled a sheet of plain white A4 paper into a cone and stapled the top (narrow) part. Then I glued pre-rolled pieces of cotton wool to the paper cone. This is what I got: a funny fluffy… tree. I put a flash under the cone and took a test shot. It seems that the desired effect has been achieved.

The basis of the whole design was, of course, a flash, since I needed illumination from below.

Using rubber bands, I attached an orange filter to the flash to achieve a warm yellow-orange shade of light. I placed a glass (upside down) on top of the flash. The rubber bands holding the filter on the flash very successfully played the role of a sealant, thanks to which the glass did not dangle and stood quite firmly and securely. I placed two 2x2 trans-yellow Duplo bricks on the glass and, to complete my vertical construction, the shuttle itself. I put a paper cone with cotton wool on the glass and the subject is ready!

The presence of dark spots on the smoke column, which add volume, depends on the brightness of the flash and is easily adjusted during shooting.

I plan to shoot the shuttle from above, so it's time to move to the floor. The large piece of white foam board under the shuttle in the photo below has no practical significance for the shoot, I just forgot to remove it :)

Around the shuttle I placed dry moss and tree bark to represent the ground. The background will be quite blurred, the green-brown relief looks good.

Quality control is a mandatory step. The mustachioed inspector is right there!

I rarely shoot from this angle, from top to bottom, and the subject itself is one of the largest in my practice, it was quite an interesting experience and a real way out of my comfort zone.

Paper, cotton wool, glass, moss and bark. I sincerely hope that I managed to inspire you or at least show you something new.