#Gazelle of Death

[altamontpt]

Sakha Punk Fleet Benefit || Little Chelsea: Keep on rocking in the not so free world!

Se é verdade que o Rock salva, mais verdade será que ainda há muito mundo que ainda não viu o poder da guitarra elétrica. Denis Alekseev, na sua Gazelle of Death, tem espalhado a palavra por quase todas as repúblicas russas (e por uma boa parte da Ásia Central). Como há locais onde a estrada não chega, a solução é navegar.

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text] Se é verdade que o Rock salva, mais verdade será que ainda há muito mundo que ainda não viu o poder da guitarra elétrica. Denis Alekseev, na sua Gazelle of Death, tem espalhado a palavra por quase todas as repúblicas russas (e por uma boa parte da Ásia Central). Como há locais onde a estrada não chega, a solução é navegar. Por esse mundo fora, e para bem da…

[littlecrittereli]

enjoy this compilation I made of Chris succumbing to the instincts of the creature power suit

[al-kol-eleh]

Gazelle

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

brainwave is realizing Lonan is NOT the fallen angel (Harrison is)

[bookwyrminspiration]

it’s been days and I can’t stop thinking about dorian gray but specifically from the 2003 movie the league of extraordinary gentlemen. who let that man be so flamboyantly melodramatic and where can I get one I want to study him as he says funny little quips at me

[tenth-sentence]

Archaeologists love gazelles' teeth, which have the wonderful property of producing different-colored enamel in summer and winter, making it easy to tell what time of year an animal died.

"Why the West Rules – For Now: The patterns of history and what they reveal about the future" - Ian Morris

[yasniger]

DAYS ARE NUMBERED

[daytonasand]

one one hand i work on the 23rd. too close to christmas. on the other hand it’s from 5-10 pm. so it hopefully shouldn’t be too busy.

[toki-toro]

Sombra and Radiant Hope redesigns !!

My au includes gazelles with the mix of ponies in Equestria, former of which is the primary species in the crystal empire. Aaand that is what Radiant Hope is. Cute little crystal gazelle. They too have the same magical abilities that unicorns possess

Her and Sombra’s backstory pretty much follows what’s shown in the comics, with a few alterations . After Sombra stole the crystal heart and turned Princess Amore to stone, he took over the crystal empire as per usual. Although, Hope is by his side this time. I shrimply didn’t like the idea of her abandoning him and tattling.

Obv Hope was initially kind of shook with the princess basically being dead by her friend’s own hands (hooves!?). But she decided to take Sombra’s side after learning the purpose of the crystal heart.

Hope was planned to become queen alongside Sombra, yet things took a turn for the worst once Celestia and Luna decided to take back the empire. Sombra had come back to reclaim his kingdom after a millennia yaddayadda. But Hope was hiding outside of the area for her own safety, so faced a natural death bc animals can only live for so long lol.

I’m not including her discovering the Umbrum bc that eventually leads to Chrysalis and other antagonists grouping up to screw with the mane six. And I don’t rlly like that plot point. So we’re ignoring allthat for my sake pretty please

That’s a really bare bones summary of what transpired. May come back to revise everythang but that’s basically it for now

[hisui-dreamer]

Hi, congratulations on 1k followers! I love your writing a lot and I was hoping you could do Villainess AUs with Malleus? Like isekai manhwa style? Thank you!!

the gazelle's sweet briar

Pairing: Malleus Draconia x f!reader

Synopsis: your first objective was to avoid the main characters, but it's not easy when you only have the memories of your friend's ramblings to work off of

Tags: cliché isekai plot, reincarnation, fluff, arranged marriage, tw (mentioned): bad parenting, patriarchal society, death

Word count: 1.6k+

Notes: @coralinnii has an amazing series based on isekai villainesses, so i definitely recommend you check out her work too! im so in love with it (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Masterlist

Once upon a time, there lived a villainess of exceptional allure, her visage as enchanting as a moonlit night. However, this bewitching beauty concealed a heart blackened by a singular obsession with appearances.

From the earliest days of her upbringing, her mother, a woman who had managed to step into aristocracy by charming a noble, had instilled in her a cruel belief: that those who were not blessed with physical perfection were destined for lives of relentless mockery and eternal solitude. This twisted ideology consumed the villainess' every thought, blinding her to the virtues of education and morality. She became nothing more than a porcelain doll, admired solely for her aesthetic charm.

The King arranged a marriage between her and Duke Draconia, the enigmatic descendant of the dragons who ruled the northern lands, believing that such a striking bride would surely please the reclusive Duke.

However, the King remained oblivious to the swirling rumours that pervaded the courtly circles. Whispers spoke of the Duke as a hideous man who had never once revealed his face, perpetually concealed behind a forbidding black mask. When the rumours reached the villainess' ears, she threw tantrum after tantrum, vehemently refusing to wed a man whose appearance couldn't possibly match her own.

Yet, a royal decree could not be denied. Reluctantly, the villainess embarked on her journey to the northern realm in bitter acceptance. It had rained the moment she arrived, the castle dark and uninviting, with thorns crawling onto the obsidian walls. The Duke, an oblivious and shy man, did not greet her at the grand entrance. Instead, she was met by the Duke's advisor, a man with a curiously boyish features.

Humiliation welled up within the villainess' heart, for she felt as if she were being played the fool by the entire duchy. On the eve of her arrival, anxiety gnawed at her like a relentless spectre.

As night descended, the Duke, mustering his courage, attempted to approach the vexed lady.

But when the villainess beheld his masked face, terror seized her like a vice. "Stay back! You hideous beast!" she cried out, her voice trembling with fear, and she recoiled, her steps faltering as she retreated from him.

The Duke, wounded by her cruel words, attempted to console her, his outstretched hand beseeching understanding. Yet, her irrational dread overcame her, and she continued her backward retreat until, with a heart-stopping scream, she slipped from an open window.

That was how the villainess' life ended.

you hadn't actually read the book, but it wasn't difficult identifying who you got reincarnated as

especially with how your best friend obsessed over this villainess because, and i quote, "if pretty, why evil, huh???"

you woke up a week before the villainess would depart for the North, but that week alone was enough to make you understand the way she acted

every day, you were fed portions fitting of a child, had your skin rubbed raw as you were bathed, and not a moment of your mother's nitpicking about a sudden imperfection she found in you

in truth, you were more than glad to leave for the North, even if that's where your life would be on the line

the survival plan was simple: maintain an amicable relationship with the duchy until the night the heroine stumbles in to ask for a night of shelter, to which the heroine would heal the emotional wounds of the Duke, and share with him the beauty of love, bringing warmth into his heart

and so, you arrived at the estate, the castle tall and intimidating with the clouds dark and foreboding

still, you stepped out of your carriage (with wobbly legs) and met the advisor (your friend's favourite character, in fact)

the advisor, lilia, though seemed young, was actually the very man who raised the duke in the absence of his parents

he welcomed you as the lady of the duchy, and led you to your quarters

by nightfall, you were quite comfortable with living in the estate

everyone was polite, the food was delicious (and properly sized), and you had no doubt you'd settle nicely here

as a precaution to the death sequence, you decided to take a stroll in the rose garden after dinner

if you were already on the ground floor, you couldn't fall to your death, right?

but unexpectedly, you encountered a lone figure in the centre of the garden

he was incredibly tall, dressed simply, his emerald eyes fixated on the estate

upon closer inspection, you noticed he had long horns as well, perhaps he was a gazelle beastman?

either way, you were curious about what it was that held his attention so strongly that he couldn't notice your presence

"Excuse me, sir? May I ask what is so interesting about the building?" you timidly break the silence of the night.

The man turns to you, his eyes widening in surprise. "... Do you not know who I am?"

You blinked in confusion at his words. His words filled you with a sense of foreboding. You wondered if this person matched any of the characters your friend had so fervently described, but all you could recall was the beautiful villainess and the enigmatic advisor to the Duke.

"My apologies, I'm afraid I do not... May I know your name, sir?"

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he considered your question. "No... If that is the case, you may call me whatever you wish."

Perplexed by his response, you tried to come up with a suitable name. "Then... May I call you Mr. Gazelle?"

Upon hearing your words, he burst out in laughter. "Hahaha! What an interesting choice. Very well, I accept the name," he said. "In response to your first question, I was observing the gargoyles of the building."

on that night, not only did you learn more about the fascinating functions gargoyles serve, you also made your first friend in this life

strangely enough, you didn't meet the duke at all unlike the novel, which though strange, you greatly welcomed

if you didn't have any ties with him, then it'd be so much easier to just divorce him, get the money, and live a comfortable luxurious life far away from the main characters

though as you say that, you find yourself wanting to spend more and more time with "Mr Gazelle"

despite his intimidating appearance, he turned out to be a very generous person, frequently gifting you little trinkets he's made or bouquets he's arranged

he's started calling you "Briar", after the roses in the garden where he met you

you greatly appreciated the nickname, it felt better to be called that than the name of the villainess, that you could just be yourself and not play the role of a villainess avoiding ruin

you also find that whatever musings you've mentioned to him, they somehow manifest themselves

oh? you wish you could learn about embroidery? the next day there's a basket full of the highest quality threads and fabrics, with a gentle tutor to help you learn

(you still remember how cute "Mr Gazelle" looked when you gave him your first finished product, a handkerchief with an embroidered gargoyle)

what's this? you'd like to try more desserts from the capital you were never allowed to try? say no more! the next day the chef presents you with 10 different choices!

so you assumed he was an advisor of sorts to the Duke, because how else could your requests be granted so easily?

but one day, around two months after you started living in the duchy, "Mr Gazelle" asked you questions about the duke, whether you were afraid of him, would you prefer to meet him, curious questions like that

though surprised by the topic, you answered honestly, saying you don't really believe in the rumours (because you know from your friend he's an ethereal beauty) and yes, you would like to meet your husband

and what do you know? lilia informs you the duke wants to share dinner with you. what a coincidence!! :)

Nervousness held you in its grasp as you stepped into the room. Your gaze remained fixed on the carpet beneath your feet, and your knees bent gracefully as you executed the perfect curtsey.

"Your Grace."

You could hear sounds of shuffling, and then a pair of black boots entered your field of vision. Familiar hands found yours, guiding you to rise and stand upright. "Rise, my Briar," he murmured gently.

With hesitant anticipation, you finally looked up, taking in the obsidian mask that concealed his face. That voice, that nickname, and those enchanting eyes—it was all too familiar.

"Mr Gazelle..." you whispered in disbelief.

His eyes narrowed in mirth as he chuckled. "Although I hold great fondness for that name, I do wish you could call your husband by his name," he said as he began to remove his mask.

"Malleus..." you breathed.

A tender smile graced his lips, and his eyes sparkled with affection as he delicately brushed a stray lock of hair from your face—a gesture he had done countless times before. "My sweet Briar, I implore you to forgive me for deceiving you. I wished nothing more but to know you," he pleaded.

Oh, with how loud your heart was pounding in your chest, you realized that you were irrevocably and hopelessly ensnared in a love story that had deviated far from the original story.

But you didn't feel a single ounce of regret.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[odo-apologist]

Every ENT character is the most character ever. Archer is a bitch he plays a fundamental role in the creation of the Federation he brings his dog on away missions which once causes a diplomatic incident he likes water polo he commits war crimes he saw a gazelle giving birth and implements it into his rousing speeches he had a wet dream about his first officer that included his dog's funeral he had to carry the soul of the creator of the main tenets of Vulcan philosophy in his head he gives a lecture on Tycho Brahe while getting his ass beaten during an interrogation scene. T'Pol is strict in her Vulcan beliefs she doesn't believe in time travel even as she's presented with irrefutable evidence and remains somewhat skeptical after experiencing it firsthand she is the funniest person on Enterprise she is more emotional than average Vulcans to the point that she had to have memories erased for causing her too much distress she could canonically pick up any of her crewmates and carry them bridal style she has Vulcan HIV she has it cured by the woman that later watches Spock and Kirk roll around in the sand in Amok Time she is technically canonically trans she is a recovering drug addict. Trip is a perfect gentleman he undergoes incredible emotional losses his favorite movies are Frankenstein Bride of Frankenstein and Son of Frankenstein he gets pregnant five episodes in he dies in the worst episode of the entire series (and the entire franchise) only to have that death retconned in the following tie-in novels he ran around the ship in his underwear he leaves the ship for a couple weeks only to come back after one person had been kidnapped another thrown in jail and the engines are on the verge of destruction and reacts like :/. Malcolm is gay he has 50 ex-girlfriends he has only had one friend in his life his own sister barely knows anything about him he dies alone he likes pineapple even though he's allergic to it he gets spacesick he worked as an agent for a top secret organization he's afraid of drowning he whined about getting a cold he had a spike driven through his leg and didn't complain at all he has a psychosexual obsession with a man he thinks is after his job and grows to respect once they had a homoerotic fight scene before witnessing him die. Hoshi is a linguistic prodigy she's the greatest contributor to the universal translator she has a panic attack on one of her first missions she ran a gambling ring she has a black belt in aikido and broke her superior's arm she has never been to the principal's office in her life she is afraid to use the transporter she became an empress in an alternate universe she is the only one who gets laid on Risa making her the first human to do so she reacted to the threat of getting worms injected into her brain to make her reveal secret information by spitting in her interrogator's face. Travis is the sweetest man ever he loves rock climbing he gets injured whenever he tries to use those skills he's a fan of ghost stories he grew up on a small freighter he gets neglected by the narrative his counterpart helps Hoshi become empress he works out when he's horny he dies in a alternate future where Earth is destroyed he's a movie buff who would probably love the Criterion Collection he likes to chill in a part of the ship with zero gravity which he calls "the sweet spot." Phlox grins like the Cheshire Cat he breaks doctor patient confidentiality to help figure out Malcolm's favorite food he goes crazy when the rest of the crew have to sleep through part of space because of how social his species is he has three wives who in turn have three husbands he responds to the news of one of his wives propositioning a crew member by being like "cool! have fun :]" he once nearly vivisects Travis because he's being affected by radiation and gets obsessed with knowing why the guy has a simple headache he has a menagerie in the middle of his sickbay. And they're all my best friends.

[velvetvexations]

you’ll see a trans boy be like “i dont personally have the power to oppress you” and then later the same day 3 of their little trans boy friends will start calling you out for making the first trans boy cry so hard he almost died (by disagreeing with him) and then all the cis women in the space will instantly side with the fragile little boys against the scary big [t-slur] who uses intimidating words like “transmisogyny” and thats how the whisper network against you starts, leading to far reaching professional and social consequences that never leave you

This didn’t happen.

Not this way, at least. All marginalized people are at all times at risk of being canceled unfairly. Their marginalization tends to play a major part in that, obviously. Trans women get hit with it a lot and that fucking sucks, and some transmascs are in TERF-y circles and can theoretically use that against transfems should they feel the need to.

This that I’m quoting, however, is a fantasy. It’s a page from a dream journal. People are giddily imagining things like this happening because they live in a world where trans women are feared and have their reputations ruined by lies, and they want to exploit that for their own benefit. The best way of doing this is putting themselves above other trans people, because cis people don’t give enough of a fuck to care or get involved with these bullshit arguments, but if you whine about other marganalized people they will actually be affected by it and forced into the conversation you created out of thin air. It’s not so much a victimization complex as it is a death cult fascination with the misery of transfemininity identical to the TERF obsession with fymyl suffering, defining ‘trans woman’ as 'the thing that feels pain always and forever.’

It’s disgusting and I can’t imagine identifying with such a sniveling and pathetic vision of what being a trans woman is like. It’s so undignified it makes my skin crawl. It’s embarrassing. There’s nothing in this crying little effigy covered in pins and needles I can relate to. I can’t tell if these people need more self-esteem or less. I’m so fucking tired of this wounded gazelle shit.

But for the TRF, transfemininity is all about the abuse. Just look at the beyond absurd assertion, made over and over again, that trans women are maliciously called the t-slur by other trans people. That’s just. No? No. But in claiming that the t-slur can only ever refer to trans women, and that transfeminine suffering takes priority above all else because everyone forever at all times hates trans women more than anyone else, it again becomes necessary to construct this false vision of intercommunity dynamics where “scary big t-slur” is a stereotype that exists within the community in the first place, and which trans men are constantly using against trans women.

It’s just so blatantly selfish for one to act like a transfeminist when all one does every single day is bitch about other trans people. We’re all about to get fucked harder than ever and there are people who profess to sincerely believe they’re fighting the revolution by making up lies about their siblings. I’m easily triggered by transphobia outside of the community and yet even I manage to engage with actual transphobes and make them considerably less transphobic, yet people who don’t even know enough about what TERFs believe to understand they hate men too will fritter the day away on how they could theoretically be canceled if they did something bad ,and wouldn’t that be the worst thing ever? Oh, what if I broke up with someone and our mutual friends believed I was the jerk, because that’s a situation that exclusively happens to poor helpwess twans women and the mere suggestion I could possibly be a jerk in the first place is unthinkable? Hate to keep saying this, but trans women are being actually murdered and this obsessive fixation on “social murder” within the trans community exists purely to spice things up with a feeling of danger because the spaces we’ve managed to carve out for ourselves are otherwise a little too safe and it feels more authentic to the Laura Palmer Ultimate Victim narrative. Massively popular transfems with over ten thousand followers will happily sic them on people for the most upsettingly asinine reasons and then cry-type about how they’re the underdogs in every possible social situation.

But most obnoxious of all is the implication here that, because this can only happen to trans women, gossip and slander does not happen to other trans people, or other marginalized people in general.

That’s fucked, considering how much this discourse has attacked specific targets. It’s most maddening to see that “the coiner of the word transandrophobia has dykebreaking+detransitioning-of-transfems kink” has evolved to “most people who believe in transandrophobia have those kinks” because I constantly see TERFs making huge compilations of transfem blogs engaging in cis dykebreaking kink from the dom perspective. Just transfem dom blog after transfem dom blog enthusiastically into cis dykebreaking, which TERFs use to paint us in a way that fits their narrative.

Literally the only example they can ever give of a transandrophobia-connected person* being a dom for dykebreaking with transfem subs is someone who was being paid by a transfem. Detrans kink is overwhelmingly non-transfems, but almost exclusively as subs to either transfems or cis men, and those transfems aren’t getting paid for it, they actually are just in it for the love of the game. There’s nothing wrong with that, but people want to act like there is when it’s anyone else, and that’s not only weird but also setting up a bear trap to step in later.

Which gets to the point that, hey, wow, I’ve noticed a lot of cis women in particular who self-identify as TME are super into anti-shipping. You cannot possibly imagine you’re safe for trans women if your big issue with trans men articulating their oppression is “they masturbate evilly.” Popular transfem blogs will talk at length about how you shouldn’t judge transfems for their kinks but cis women are so eager to kinkshame transmascs that they not only make shit up out of thin air, but specifically copy and paste kinks almost entirely made up of transfems onto transmascs. Someday very soon a TERF is going to show them it’s much more convenient to be a general transphobe and not make special exceptions for the ones that use the same pronouns as you. They’re going to show your anti-ship cis lesbian friend one of those transfem dykebreaking blog compilations and she’ll take Trans Rights Are Human Rights out of her bio within the hour.

Like, even if you didn’t care about being monstrously inhumane to others, all of this is so against transfem self-interests in the long run, but people who consider themselves the most transfeminist transfeminists there are, of a radical nature, one might say, care more about notes than helping anyone, least of all the transfems they’re feeding into a grinder of paranoia and isolation. Especially the isolation.

It’s a little hard to take it seriously when I get accused of calling all trans women groomers for thinking it’s bad when people talk about “curing” other trans women’s “comphet,” how “TMEs” are obligated to bottom for them to compensate for transmisogyny, and writing long treatises on why it’s one’s moral responsibility to throw forcefem kink at random men because they may like it. Like, am I saying trans women are groomers, or am I saying some people use being members of a marginalized community to be kinna gross? People somehow find it in them to be angry at gay men who cross boundaries in spite of the messaging that they’re all sex abusers for the past two hundred years. Especially since 90% of the concern is for other trans women.Like, sorry, but I care enough about trans women that I’m going to say something if I think you’re putting them in a bad situation, and someone being a trans woman doesn’t make them immune to that. But oh, it does if you assume that this is all just common sense transfeminism, and I am in fact making this accusation of most trans women instead of an extremely niche group.

Never mind that in the screencap people use to accuse me of calling trans women “rapists” I was saying something a self-identified TME said was coercive, and whose identity as a Not a Trans Woman I explicitly noted.** Never mind that I’m the not the one telling people to name their blogs after the original transbian separatist group that famously fell apart after resulting in heavy sexual abuse. Never mind that I have said over and over again that TRFs act no more entitled to people’s bodies than lesbian TERFs who treat people they perceive as women the same way.

But I’m supposed to believe that those cis anti-shippers who post things like “every time someone says kinks are fine they’re just protecting predators in the LGBT community” is a great ally and I’m a traitor because they hate men and I don’t?

Sorry, no, not a traitor. A “pickme begging to be beaten to death with hammers.” Who’s probably not even actually a trans woman. Great transfeminism, yall. You’re really fighting transmisogyny.

It’s especially galling now that TRFs have taken to calling transandrophobia “reactionary,” the most bullshit possible way to call a group that includes a huge number of PoC, who they constantly accuse of tokenization, a pack of Nazis. What is transandrophobia reacting to? Bigotry? Golly gee, I guess so! Or maybe it’s “reacting” to transmisogyny as part of the completely absurd idea that trasnmascs steal everything from transfems. Like, yeah, sure girliepop, and we stole misogyny from cis women, right? Sorry you failed to not sound exactly like a TERF yet again but maybe try again tomorrow and you’ll finally earn not being called a radfem.

But isn’t it sooooo mean of me to compare a small amount of trans women to radfems? Like their oppressors? Well, first of all, they regularly refer to Jewish people as Nazis, discourse aside that they do that is simply a true fact which shows they indeed think it’s possible to justify comparisons like that, although in their case it’s just because it feels like getting off a sick burn and rhetorical W to go “ah, but what if this Jewish person…was a Nazi? Checkmate, Zionists.”

Secondly, for as much as TRFs want to claim TERFs only hate them, that’s simply not true and I have conclusively proven this with basic use of Tumblr’s search function and the tag “radblr.” Twice. If you believe they love transmascs and only want what’s best for them, congratulations dipshit, you fell for their propaganda so hard I’m surprised they haven’t managed to convince you you’re not a woman. Or is it only an obvious lie when it’s about you?

Most annoyingly, just on a personal level, is the way TRFs get pissed off at non-transfem feminine AMAB people for daring to exist. The idea that femboy is a slur for trans women would be laughable if it weren’t grotesque in it’s ignorance. The things I’ve read people say about how transmisogynistic it is for an anime character to be a crossdressing man instead of a trans woman are just infuriatingly racist. Not everything is about you and it’s not actually a big deal if people talk about others once in blue moon.

The constant posts about how non-transfems are evil for not making more transfem headcanons, or for headcanoning the TRF’s favorite canonically male character wrong, are particularly childish. I can’t even go into MY favorite blorbo’s tag without seeing people call transmasc headcanons of him inferior literary analysis completely without irony, and every single time they shit like this, they do it while making up the most convoluted and nonsensical explanations for why the character can only be transfem instead, as though the hostility is defensiveness born out of their particular blorbo requiring a lot of creativity to headcanon that way, necessitating going to war to prove they can’t really be a man to assert it as The One Truth. Then they’ll complain until the fucking heat death of the universe about how everyone loves transmasc headcanons because of transmisogyny.

It’s the same unbearable on-sight hostility as when a TERF sees a child on the subway and goes home to type up a novel of a post on how he had the eyes of a future wife-beater, and it’s so irritating to see it spread from one corner to another. Literally, TRFs say that trans men will always turn on trans women and eventually detransition to wield their wymbnly power against us, and I’m expected to not see that as having severe hang-ups about people born into what they want to transition into and have denied to them by society’s transphobia?

What about the fact that they constantly mock AFAB trans people in ways specifically targeting that trait, calling non-binary people “theyfabs,” joking it’s easy to misgender trans men when they have large breasts, and reduce transmasc stereotypes to feminine “soft bois?” Like, yeah, okay, you’re not projecting any gaping insecurities you may have about assigned sex and gender roles when you say transmasc music is ukuleles and transfem music is heavy metal, next tell me about how transmascs all enjoy tea parties and transfems all go to football games.

But it’s not even mostly trans women who keep this shit alive in the first place. A higher percentage of total trans women on this site are into this framework, but the total number of non-transfem trans people and cis women so outweighs them in the first place that it cancels that out. Like, if x is higher than y, and x% of trans women on Tumblr agree but only y% of “TME” people do, that’s still a movement mostly consisting of “TME” people. The full separatist angle would very quickly reveal how little air it has to burn if trans women truly only had themselves to watch out for each other. Unfortunately, self-identified TMEs are much more likely to get TERFier rather than simply less TRF-y when the spell breaks and they realize how fucked up this shit is, while the people who’ve been batted at continue to exercise the patience of a saint and continue to fight for trans women anyway.

And that! Is what hurts! The most! The fact that people do not care about transmascs and in particular the ones who believe in transandrophobia are constantly tripping over themselves to defend and help trans women as much as they possibly can. I wish people saw that. I wish that mattered. It’s like watching a black hole suck up an endless font of goodwill and love. And then going “lol reactionary transandrobros hate trans women.”

That’s it, though, the great irony of it all is that if it were true, it’d never have become popular in the first place. It’s kept aloft by self-identified TMEs who are well-meaning if not especially good at critical thinking, except for the the contingent that are convinced trans men are all misogynistic because they personally are, or even outright seem to get gender euphoria from the idea they have male privilege. But for whatever reason, if “TME” folks didn’t care? The people making up elaborate tales of their potential (social) murder would have to find some other way to get attention.

I suggest throwing on a big red nose and joining a circus.

*and I specify “transandrophobia-connected” but you’d have a hard time rustling up transmasc doms in general from those scenes

**also, despite it being something I saw with my own eyes, I notably did not even feel it hit the level of needing to directly name someone as being who I was basing my assessment of sexual coercive behavior on as being sexually coercive, because I think it's much more a prevalent attitude of pressure in sexual contexts than individual behavior

[moonlight-prose]

Maybe I need Gabriel to chase me thru the woods as a wolf only to find and tackle me in his human form 🤭

note: i love that you sent me three delicious fucking asks. these have been living in my head rent free for days and i need to basically live in all of them. this one especially. fuck if it isn't just the scenario with him.

warnings: 18+ ONLY!! stalking, chasing, he's a werewolf it's freaky deal with it, dry humping, biting, marking/bruising.

He's faster than you anticipated. A predator who became consumed with the thought of hunting down someone innocent. A helpless prey that didn't know they were about to become his meal. His sacrifice for the devout God above that damned him to live this way.

Moving with a swiftness that is relentless enough to thread terror through your veins, crawling its way up your throat, he plays a game. Cat and mouse. Wolf and gazelle. The pretty little thing running past trees and ripping the skirts of their dress on fallen branches - their feet cracking the dead leaves with each step.

He can smell your fear like a deep saturated wine that fills his senses. The adrenaline that sweetly courses up and down your body, pushing you further than you needed to go. There was no use in fleeing from the big bad wolf. Not when he had you in his sights - ready to pounce when you made the next move.

Danger was an easy thing to come by in a forest this haunted.

The screams of the innocent punctured the air like a knife, carving free the stench of death that seeped up from the damp ground. You began to wonder how many bones were lost to the soil beneath you. Only to realize that's what he wanted. He yearned for you to fall into his wayward trap - his clever fucking ruse.

"Not this time," you muttered, gasping for air as you took off to the right.

His clawed feet pounded against the floor, the sharp growl of irritation at your change in course rumbling loudly. He made his presence known. Perhaps that's what sent a thrill of fear down your spine, curling right at the base and trickling into your bloodstream. You understood the feeling well - cherished it like a companion that would remain with you. Till death did you part with the timeless horror that trekked beside you in this dense forest.

A sharp piercing snarl cracked like a whip along your skin, prickling at your heart and nearly forcing it to stop. You pushed your legs faster, hands gripping the heavy weight of your dress as you sprinted for your life.

The edge of the treeline was within reach. Only a bit further to go. But one simple mistake hung over your head like the strands of a puppet, pulling you to and fro in this deranged frantic escape he liked to call fun.

You turned right. Not left.

You ran right towards a path he knew well, the shortcut too now facing directly beside your right shoulder. And in a quick attempt to rectify your error, you slipped and nearly fell to the ground. Sharply crying out in pain, you gave away the spot where you started to run towards - dooming you to the only consequence that remained.

A mass of black fur barreled in your direction, leaping through the air with a harsh bitten out growl that vibrated the very breath in your lungs. Shouting in fear, you felt him knock you the ground - a searing pain shooting up your thigh - before clambering atop your writhing body.

"I almost won you fur faced bastard!" you hissed, clawing your way to freedom.

Only for a very warm and very human hand to wrap around your ankle, dragging you back. He straddled your thighs, pressed his face into the back of your neck, and moaned like a pitiful animal who finally got to claim his prize. You lay on the ground in silence, hoping the heat between your legs went unnoticed by him.

It didn't.

"You never win love," he chuckled, turning you onto your back - face pressed gently into the side of your neck. "I could have let you."

"Cheating," you retorted, fingers carding through his hair in an attempt to drag him closer.

Though the forest was thick with humidity, the air still held a chill. One that would bring death to your doorstep if you stayed out in it for longer than necessary. He shuffled down your body, hooking your knees over his bare hips to encase you in the heat that poured off his skin. Later by a fire he'd strip you of the layers that kept you from him, but right now he only sought to keep you safe.

"I could smell you," he muttered, nose nudging along the curve of your jaw. "Sweet like the flowers in your garden."

"That's an unfair advantage Gabriel."

"Mm." Lips trailed down to your throat, his hips nudging up to where your skirts gaped across your waist - the dripping heat of your cunt close off for what he wanted most.

"You said you wanted to-"

"Fuck what I said," he gasped, rutting his cock into your thigh, teeth scraping against the jugular that pulsed sporadically beneath his tongue. "I wanted to catch you. To own you."

"Oh." Feeling him unravel above you - his hands grasping for any part of you he could reach - caused a wash of dizziness to settle in your head. "You already do."

A whine broke past his parted mouth and before you could drag his lips to yours, his teeth latched onto the juncture of your shoulder. Clamping down hard enough to shove pain along your chest. Gripping his hair, you canted your hips up to meet his desperate thrusts - a cry breaking free to echo in the empty forest.

He was feral as he humped you. Borderline obscene in how he bit down hard enough to leave an indent of his teeth - a mark of the animal who you belonged to. A glob of drool leaked down into your hair, spilling across the dirt beneath you, and if you were to catch a glimpse of his face you'd see the glazed expressed. The eyes that flashed gold as he leaked over your skirts in an attempt to stain you with his scent.

One final harsh yank of his hair dragged him over the edge with a pitiful muffled cry. He spurted onto your skirts, hips rolling with a speed that you could practically feel inside of you. You knew a second bite mark would be set beside the first once he got you inside.

Another claim in the confines of your shared home, where he could take you properly.

The string of mumbled Latin words were too soft for you to hear, but their sentiment remained the same.

I love you. I belong to you. I'll die for you.

"Take me home Gabriel," you whispered, catching his spit covered lips in a soft kiss.

He rumbled an agreement with his tongue halfway down your throat, his hands shifting to lift you as he stood. The daunting beast in the forest now placated with his prize - his prey to be devoured.

[tallulah477]

Fill Me Up

Kinktober Day 15: Size Difference

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Neteyam, Oral (female receiving), P in V, Size Difference, Belly bulge, Creampie, Mention of free hanging over a tall height (not sex related), Very brief mention of possibly falling to one’s death

Word Count: 3.1K

A/N: Guess who has full use of her account again babyyyyyy! Now no one's comment sections or asks are safe. Thank you, tumblr, for finally fixing the glitch after a week. Anywho~ fic is late (again), but I hope you enjoy it <3

Summary: There’s plenty of things Neteyam loves about how tiny you are, but none of them can compare to how you feel wrapped around his cock. 

Translations:

Tewgn - Loincloth

Yerik - Animal resembling a gazelle or antelope

Tawtute - Human

Palulukan/Thanator - Apex predator resembling a lion or panther

Nantang - Hyena/wolf-like animal

Tanhì - Star, bioluminescent freckle

Neteyam’s favorite thing about you is how tiny you are compared to him. 

When he first saw you, you captured his attention completely. He had been hunting a yerik near the human outpost, his body hidden in the foliage behind the cover of some nearby plants, bow drawn at the ready to take his shot. 

A rustle on the opposite side of the small clearing grabbed his attention, halting his movements, and the yerik lifted its head slightly from where it had been nibbling on some bits of tree bark. 

You slowly walked through the brush, tiny hands lifted up to show that you meant no harm as your eyes stayed glued on the yerik. Neteyam watched in curiosity as you slowly approached the animal, moving cautiously, careful not to startle it as you moved closer. To his surprise, the animal let you. Deeming you no threat, the animal went back to its snack and didn’t move an inch when you reached out to place a delicate hand on its blue striped skin. 

Your smile, even through your mask, was blinding and Neteyam’s eyes widened as the sound of your giggle hit his eardrums. He thinks that was the moment he fell for you completely - just watching you admire your small hands on the larger animal’s back. He watched you the rest of the afternoon, leaving his hunt behind and stalking you through the forest as you studied various plants, taking samples and shoving them in a small backpack slung over your shoulder. 

He learned you worked closely with the human scientists, were one of them actually - ‘a very smart xenobotanist’ his father had told him when he asked. He had never seen you before, always choosing to avoid the cramped and all too chemical smelling lab and making sure to stay outside when he would be sent to get Lo’ak and Kiri during their visits with Spider and Kiri’s mom. 

What a mistake that was, he had thought. 

When he finally got the courage to meet you face to face, he was worried you were going to panic about the size difference. He stands at a respectable 9 feet tall, towering over your smaller frame at nearly twice your height. His build is even bigger than most Na’vi as well, a benefit from having some human genes courtesy of his once human father. His body is lean and long like a Na’vi, and there’s no denying that the average Na’vi is incredibly strong, especially compared to humans. But the muscles in his shoulders, arms, and back are much more visible than the average Na’vi, his thighs bulkier in their strength, and he knows the look makes him seem even more intimidating than he actually is. 

But you don’t react the way he thinks you might, and is shocked even more when he presents you with the small woven bracelet adorned with polished beads that he made you as a courting gift and you don’t immediately throw it back at him. 

Instead, you take the gift graciously, holding it to your chest like it’s something precious. He watches with wide eyes as your own scan down his body, slowly taking in the angles of his face, the dip of his collarbones, the hard canvas of his chest and down the flat plane of his belly. They hover a bit longer around his tewng, your tongue poking out to wet your lips, and when your eyes flick back up to meet his, they’re completely blown - only a small sliver of color left around the darks of your pupils. 

The smirk gracing your beautiful, plump lips is absolutely wicked. 

Being with you comes with different expectations than being with a Na’vi woman. You need help, a lot - your tiny tawtute body is not equipped to handle the extreme environment that Pandora throws at you. Neteyam can navigate the terrain just fine, stepping over fallen branches or large growths of shrubbery, jumping large rocks and creeks like it doesn’t even phase him to do so. Because it doesn’t, his body was made for it. Yours, on the other hand, was not.

So Neteyam does his best to help you out. He’d carry you around all the time, if it were up to him. He doesn’t mind. Loves it even - loves the feel of your soft body against his as you cling to him. So small and easy to carry, arms wrapping around his neck while his big hands support your thighs as you hang on him like the small backpack you were wearing the first day he saw you. 

But you’re a stubborn woman. An ‘I can do it myself’ kind of woman, and, even though each journey without him carrying you takes significantly longer than when he does, he doesn’t mind, enjoying every additional second he has in your presence. He’ll hold your hand, or give you a supportive hand on your butt to lift you up and over any obstacle, because you’re just so beautiful with that proud grin on your face when you’ve accomplished something hard. 

He likes to tease you, using his height to his advantage. You’re notorious for stealing the last few bites of Neteyam’s yovo fruit. Your excuse is that since you’re the one that cut it, you should be able to have some too. Neteyam always agrees with this fact, but you knock back bite after bite with the desperation of a hungry thanator, and when it comes to the end of the bowl and he’s only had a few pieces himself - he knows exactly how to put a stop to your yovo fruit destruction. 

“Neteyam,” You whine, jumping up and trying to reach his arm to pull the bowl back down. His arm stays solid where it is as he pops another bite of fruit in his mouth. “Give it back! I want some,”

“You ate the whole thing already,” He laughs, grabbing your reaching hand with the one not currently holding the bowl and pressing it back against your chest. “My little hungry palulukan, let me eat some, yes?”

He makes up for his ‘inexcusable use of his gargantuan height’ by cuddling you after, wrapping his entire body around yours as he pulls you close. You feel so safe in his embrace, protected from everyone and everything who could ever try to hurt you. Just let them try to come and grab you from his unwavering hold - your big, strong teddy bear who’s flat nose presses against your neck, docile and sweet with his shielding hold around his love, turning fierce and wild at the first hint of any danger. 

He loves your curves, loves how soft and squishy you are compared to everyone else. The Na’vi women are all lean, hard muscle, beautiful in their own right - but you, your hips that mold under his fingers, plump chest that feels so good under his head when he rests on it, small fingers playing with his braids that lull him to sleep. No one can compare to you. 

And he loses his breath when he thinks about how much you trust him. He’s your protector, he knows that more than anyone. He would lay down his life for you in a heartbeat, fight tooth and nail to keep you safe from anything - but you have these . . . adrenaline rushes. Moments where you can’t help but want to feel a sense of excitement and the feeling of complete freedom that comes with it from doing something daring. You're able to contain it mostly - it’s not like you’re jumping off mountains or cliff diving into the freezing water. 

You like to test him, try to catch him off guard by climbing on tall rocks or on the lower tree branches and throwing yourself at Neteyam giggling like a nantang about to attack. He always catches you, arms wrapping safely around your smaller frame and never letting you hit the ground. The antics used to scare him, prompting him to give you long, frustrated lectures about how he’s responsible for your safety and you shouldn’t purposefully put yourself in dangerous situations. But you would just shrug him off, heart still beating faster in your excitement and tell him that he should just always be there to catch you then. 

Now, he helps you get your fill - laying on his stomach on a high tree limb as he slowly lowers you over the side, large hand wrapped securely around your forearm while your own hand wraps around his wrist. He lets you dangle there, suspended in the air over nothing but what would be a long drop and a rather nasty death if you actually fell. But he would never drop you, and the look of pure thrill and happiness on your face as you hang there overlooking the vast expanse of forest and feeling like you’re invincible always makes his chest flood with warmth. He especially loves it when you look up at him and grin, reaching up to grab his wrist with your other hand, too, and playfully kicking your feet, swinging slightly and using his arm like your very own personal swingset. 

But his favorite thing about your size is how tight you feel wrapped around him. 

You look so gorgeous, laying on the forest floor and spread out for him like the delicious feast you are. Your back arches, breasts jiggling with each movement as you grind harder against his face. He sucks savagely at your clit, two fingers curling just so inside of you, pressing against that special spot that makes you see stars.

“Neteyam, please,” You whine, leg lifting up to drape over his shoulder, trying to pull him closer. 

“What’s wrong, tanhì?” He murmurs, voice sending vibrations through the sensitive nub between your thighs. His eyes are dark with desire as he looks up at you through hooded lids, the usual amber of his irises nearly completely overtaken by the darks of his pupils.

“Stop teasing,” You breathe, walls clamping down tightly around his fingers. His head looks so big between your thighs, his fingers thick and long where they’re thrusting inside you. “Just put it in already. Want you to fill me up.”

“You’re not ready,” He says, sounding drunk as he breathes in your arousal. “Need to stretch you out more.”

“I’m not an amateur,” You grunt, glaring down at him. “I’m stretched out enough,” 

His eyes stay locked on yours, unamused at your little tantrum even as he gives your clit another firm lick, textured tongue swiping across the swollen nub as pushes his last finger into your drenched cunt. You whimper at the stretch, humping his fingers and face as you chase your orgasm. You feel so full already, so full with only three fingers and it's not enough. Not enough when you know just how full you’ll really feel with his cock inside you. His long, hard, thick, beautiful cock that he’s currently pressing into the ground but that should be pushing into you instead. 

The coil in your belly tightens, and your fingers grip onto his hair, pulling the braids tightly as the pressure bursts and you cum, squirting all over his face and thrusting fingers. He works you through your orgasm, fingers digging into your sopping hole and lips attaching to your clit as you ride it out. Wave after wave of pleasure rushing through your body as you scream. 

When your orgasm subsides, he pulls his fingers from you, ears perking at the wet noise your pussy makes as it tries desperately to stay clinged to him. You pant, pushing yourself up on your elbows as you watch him kneel in front of you - large body blocking the setting sun behind him and you watch in awe at how he can look so beautiful in his orange glowing halo. 

His skilled fingers untie his tewng, pulling it from his body and letting his hard cock slap against his belly. Your mouth waters at the sight. It stands proudly, tall and thick and nearly the size of your forearm - dark blue stripes and sparkling tanhì decorating the shaft all the way up to the lilac tip that’s already dripping with precum. 

You want it inside you so badly. 

He moves to crawl over you, lips pressing reverently against your neck before you pull back, mischievous smirk on your face as you crawl backwards away from him. 

His hairless brows furrow at your distance. “Ma y/n, what is wrong?”

“You’re so mean to me,” You tell him, scooting back even further as he tries to get closer to you. 

He rolls his eyes. “I’m mean to you?”

“Mhm,” You hum. He moves closer again, faster this time as he tries to cage you under him, but you scramble away again. “I beg and beg for your cock, and all you do is deny me.”

“I’m trying to give it to you now,” He huffs.

“Well, what if I don’t want it now?” You say with all the attitude you can muster, and your heart pounds in excitement at his dark glare.

“Woman,” He growls, a wicked grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Come here,”

With lightning quickness, he grabs your ankles and pulls your body towards him. You squeal at the sudden movement, giggling as your body flops when he manhandles you into the position he wants. He flips you over onto your stomach, gripping your hips and dragging your lower half up so they’re flush against his. One of his hands finds your upper back, pushing you down further into the moss covered ground and pinning you against the forest floor. 

You moan when you feel his cock slide through your slick folds, gathering your wetness on his length as his tip bumps rhythmically against your clit. 

“You don’t have to be a brat, tanhì,” He says, his grin audible in his voice as he rocks his hips, and your breathing hitches when the head of his cock catches on your entrance. “You know I’ll always give you what you want.”

You whimper desperately as he starts to push inside of you, large cock bullying its way into your tight pussy. The stretch is glorious, your body molding to take his length, and the burn making your mouth fall open in a silent scream as he pushes in further, inch by inch - and it feels so good, so fucking good and you cry for more, cry for faster despite the fact that you feel like you might split in half.

He ignores you, pushing into you at the pace that he wants, not you. And you both let out satisfied moans when he’s finally buried deep inside you. You feel like he’s in your guts and a large dopey smile graces your lips at the thought of your body being completely used by him, any and all important body parts and organs pushed to the side to make space for his even more important cock. 

You can feel yourself dripping on the ground beneath you, long lines of slick dripping from off your clit and onto the moss below. The burn has subsided into a dull pleasure, and your eyelashes flutter as Neteyam adjusts his stance behind you, leveraging himself onto one knee with one foot planted on the ground. Your pussy clings to him as he pulls halfway out, not wanting to let even an inch of him leave your tight heat, and you gasp when he slams back in.

“What happened, baby?” Neteyam teases, pulling back out and pushing in again, your eyes crossing when you feel his tip kiss your cervix. “You had so much to say earlier.”

“Nughh, f-fuck,” You whine. 

You can do nothing but take it as he thrusts into you, fingers so tight on your hips that you know there’s going to be bruises afterwards. His cock drags against your walls, balls slapping against your clit with each thrust, and sparks of pleasure shoot up your spine. Your hands try to find purchase on the ground but can’t find anything to grab onto, and your fingernails dig into the dirt just to do something. 

Your second orgasm is quickly approaching, the intense stretch and constant battering against your cervix combined with Neteyam’s husky voice in your ear grunting ‘you feel so tight, baby. Feel so good. Fuck,” pushing you closer and closer to that sweet edge of bliss that you’ve been craving ever since you dragged Neteyam out here. 

“Teyam, g-gonna c-cum,” You whimper, and in an instant he drags you up by the back of your neck, hand sliding around to the front of your throat to keep you pressed against his sternum. 

“Yeah, you’re gonna cum?” He asks, huge hand moving to caress the large bulge now visible in your belly. “Gonna cum for me, tanhì?”

You whimper at the contact and your hand drops to massage at your throbbing clit. “Please! Please, I’m so close. So fucking close,”

“Shh,” He says, hand gently rubbing the jumping bulge as he continues to rock into you. “Cum for me, baby,”

You scream, pleasure ripping through you when his hand presses down hard on the bulge. Your orgasm rips through you like a freight train, your hand rubbing furiously over your clit as you squirt all over the ground below you. He roars as your pussy clenches and pulses around him, drenching him in your essence, and with only a few extra thrusts he’s cumming too, spilling into your warm, tight, tawtute body and filling you up to the brim with his release. 

It’s too much for you, too much and too hot as he paints your insides white. He’s still cumming even when you're full - his release spilling out of you from around his cock and mixing with your squirt in a puddle. You shake and twitch in his hold, a long hum of satisfaction ripping from your throat as your eyes roll back into your head. 

You can hear him panting into your ear behind you, trying to recover from his own explosive orgasm, but he’s ready all the same when your body goes limp in his hold. He picks you up, carefully pulling your exhausted body off of his cock, and his strong arms cradle you to his chest. 

“Just sleep now, ma y/n,” He says, gently brushing a strand of sweaty hair away from where it's stuck to your mask. “I’ll take care of you,”

A sleepy smile graces your lips and you let yourself fall asleep without argument. You know he’ll take care of you. He’ll always take care of you. Neteyam Sully - fierce Omatikaya warrior, eldest son of Toruk Makto, your protector, your lover.

And the man who can fill you up like no other.

**Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!

Taglist: @eywaite @teyamshuman

[master-muffinn]

That time i got reincarnated as a slime

When someone walking in on them when they making love (gender neutral)

Warning: nsfw, but there's no descriptions and barely any sex talk

These people are a true gentleman/gentlewoman. The moment they notice that the door are opening they cover up your body with either their own body or with anything in their surroundings like a blanket. They don’t want anyone else to see your beautiful naked body but them. They will make it clear to the intruder, whoever they are, to leave quickly with a threatening tone and a serious expression.

Afterwards they ask if you are alright and if you want to continue or not. If you do, they will give you a little extra attention to get you ‘back in the mood’.

^ DIABLO, SOUEI, Velzard, Hakurou, Treyni, Albis, Frey, Hiiro ^

These people are sensitive and can’t handle it very well. They become sooo embarrassed that their body and mind go blank for a moment. The longer the stranger takes to get out of the room, the more red and shaky they get. Please s/o, you have to calm your baby down and reassure them! They probably won't be able to continue after the ‘accident’ and if you’re unlucky, you probably won't have sex in some time because they are scared that the same accident were to repeat. Maybe with extra love and support the process will go faster. 

^ BENIMARU, SOUKA ^

They get embarrassed and SCREAM. “GET THE F**K OUT!! HAVE YOU NEVER LEARNED TO KNOCK!!” Which hopefully won't make you deaf, unless you already are after dating these people. They will try to lower their voice for you, since they don’t wish to make you uncomfortable and worsen everything. They will however complain and/or mutter swearwords of irritation under their breath. They will need some time to calm them self down before continue, unless you say otherwise. 

^ VELDORA, MELLIM, Gobta, Ranga, Shion, Gabiru, Ramiris, Rigurd ^

If the stranger takes too long to get out they are like: “Um..can you… please leave..” They are awkward, embarrassed of course but mostly awkward. They don’t really know what they should do. This is just..weird. They try to not make it a big deal, like..this can happen to everybody right? But shouldn't the person have heard you two? Or did they do it on purpose? No that can’t be right? They would be fine to continue but their mind will go back to the ‘accident’ and you will soon lose interest so you end up cuddling and talking about it instead and you probably would laugh about it.

^ RIGUR, RIMURU, Shuna, Geld ^

All they do is stop what they are doing and stare the intruder straight in their soul with death. How DARE they interfere in their precious intimate time with their s/o. When the person leaves they apologize for not locking the door properly and then  ask if you are alright. After that they continued with what they were doing like nothing ever happened. Plotting murder later.

^ LEON, Gazel, Luminous, Clayman? ^

Getting caught mid sex? They found this really interesting and kinky. They totally leave the door unlocked on purpose so this would happen often. Might ask the person to come and join or watch them depending on who they are, but will of course change their mind if their s/o slaps them complains. They will continue your time together without problems, maybe even a little more horny. ;)

^ GUY CRIMSON, yuuki, Diablo? ^

Thank you for reading! I hope you like it! ❤ Likes, reblogs and criticism are very much appreciated! 🥰

[carmyberzattosjournal]

S2 Entry 4: Gleeful Harassment

Image credit: Pinterest

Summary: Carmy’s girlfriend (who he calls Darling) tempts him with pink lace again while he’s attending a conference, and it makes him feral. (2094 Words) SMUT.

Warnings: Swearing, fem reader/lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), Darling is a brat, sugar mama!Darling (sort of?), dword use, sir kink, feral Carmy, this man is pathetic

Notes: Thank you for reading and sharing! This is a work in CB Journals Season 2 and will be tagged with #cb journals s2.

Sideblog for commentary and social stuff: @m-z-shoroi

Prompt: Fireplace

Darling sometimes scares me.

New York again. Chef conference. Again. This time, Darling scheduled some time off at work to come with, which was nice, because when our hotel (different one, never trusted the first again) fucked up our booking again, it meant that instead of cramming Syd and me into a room together and telling us to figure it out, the staff had to listen to Nat and a pissed off Darling read them the Riot Act. I had to admit, it was wildly entertaining—not to watch the poor desk clerk scramble around with all the grace of a gazelle that’d been shot in the leg; that was uncomfortable—but watching Syd and Richie back away from the desk inch by inch as Darling’s voice got friendlier and friendlier, as she cracked jokes at the sweating clerk? As she then giggled at the manager on site who looked much too concerned about nothing to be bothered by some rando Chicagoan fucks who also, to be fair to him, looked like they’d rather be anywhere else?

Cinema.

Half an hour of gleeful harassment later, it was sorted. Three rooms, two suites so Nat’s snoring didn’t keep Syd awake.

“The fuck is a Presidential Suite?” I asked Darling after Richie had shuffled off the elevator onto his floor.

She smiled. Stroked my cheek as the elevator door closed. “Consider it a treat for starting therapy.”

A presidential suite, it turns out, is an entire fucking penthouse. Living room, fireplace, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom with a big tub, balcony (which was useless in December). For once on these stupid fucking conferences, I slept well.

Having Darling to snuggle up with probably helped.

Anyway.

I’m an hour into a panel of some asshat full-of-themselves chefs on day one, right—and I’m so ready to leave, okay? Like I’m ready to just get up and walk because I fucking can’t with this bullshit anymore. I’m tired, my head is killing me, my eyes are stinging, my back might as well have fucking knives in it from under my shoulder blades all the way to my tailbone, I’m boiling in my fucking suit. You don’t understand; I’m going to be cooked to death if I need to be here another ten minutes. I’m gonna fucking hurl or something. This day has been a million years long, and Darling had to leave in a rush because one of her patients had an emergency and she needed to get on a conference call right that second or the poor man was gonna die or explode or melt or whatever the fuck. Fuck me, I just need to get out of this room. There are too many people, I’m sardine canned in a corner between Richie and Nat, the doors are clear on the other side of the hall, and I can’t get out without walking across the front, and I’m Carmen fucking Berzatto—people are gonna notice if I get up and walk out. That’ll bite me in the ass.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I reached for it, but Sug nudged me in the elbow. Don’t get distracted.

It buzzed again.

I grabbed it anyway. Two text messages from Darling.

Darling: Patient is stable.

Darling: You okay?

Me: I’m dying.

Darling: Can you step out and take a break?

Nat nudged me again.

Fuck you, everyone here understands that sometimes you have important shit come up. Besides, how much of a fuck should I be giving to a bunch of self-centered sons of bitches big on social media who think their Cajun-inspired take of a Biryani even needs to exist, let alone is some revolutionary new frontier in food? Do your fucking fundamentals well. Do something actually inspiring.

Wait, that actually sounds pretty good.

Fuck.

Photo from Darling. Selfie. She’s lying on her stomach in the bed and has her lip caught between her teeth. She’d been pulling shit like that since yesterday; lip bite, lipstick print on my neck that I had to wipe off before the wider public saw it (turns out I’m still a shy bitch, who would’ve guessed), ghosting her fingers up the inside of my forearm, hugging my arm, wearing those fucking pink fucking heels and that fucking short pink dress, this bright, cheerful color exactly the hue of a split ripe guava, that I didn’t even know I liked until she dared to send me the one photo of her in the pink lacy panties on the one night I got compulsively stuck at the restaurant.

I went back to pretending to pay attention to the panel. Something about leadership in a kitchen. It would’ve been useful for me to hear if I wasn’t getting distracted repeatedly by my phone buzzing.

Darling: You look so good in a suit, Carm.

Darling: I want to bite you.

Darling: I need to buy you nice jewelry, Carm. You’d look like a daydream and a half with a couple more necklaces and a bracelet.

My face flooded hot. Fuck. Fuck me. Shit. How the shit was I supposed to focus now? And since when did Darling want to buy me jewelry?

Me: You’re acting like a brat again.

Darling: You said the panel wasn’t important!

That was true. I did say that. I’m an asshole, though, so I suppose we should keep that in mind.

Darling: Sweetheart?

Darling: Baby, I can’t stop thinking about you.

Me: You keep acting like a fucking brat, and I’m gonna fuck your day up, you understand me?

And I didn’t want to be there at all. But like half the people here know who the fuck I am, and I need to at least keep up the appearance of giving a shit if I’m gonna not be a minnow in this fucking shark tank, okay? My career was hanging on by a thread, my restaurant failed to get a star, my reviews were mostly good but had some glaring bad ones thrown in, my relationship with the kitchen staff was in some perilous fucking limbo, it was damn-near 5 pm on a random fucking Tuesday in Fuck-Off, New York, and my head was fucking killing me and I was being cooked to death.

Another photo from her, this one showing off a pink lace bra that matched those panties I almost tore off her the last time. Even more heat pooled in the pit of my stomach, flooded my face. She doesn’t know when to fucking quit, does she? Is she trying to kill me?

Darling: Well, maybe you should fuck my day up then, sir.

…..

“Carmy, please,” she whined, wriggled, tugged my hair. “Please, sir…”

I tightened my grip on her thighs to stop her squirming and spoke into her cunt. “You did this to yourself, baby girl.”

“But you-you’re being mean, Daddy.” She didn’t even have teeth behind that one.

She was a gorgeous mess. Unruly hair, smudged lipstick, swollen lips, red and purple blooms all over her neck and chest, teeth marks on her breast, just under her nipple. Fuck me, she was stunning. She was fucking delicious lying under me, whimpering as I worked her over, begging for release.

She could wait until I got my fill.

I found her after the panel (which I survived by biting the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper) lounging in front of the fireplace in nothing but that pink lingerie and her fuzzy night robe, glass of champagne in hand, pager and laptop discarded on the coffee table nearby. Orange-yellow glow lit up her legs and the curve of her breasts like ethereal things. I should’ve taken a photo of her. I don’t think about this kind of shit; I don’t think through the screen, I wrap myself around them (or maybe I wrap them around me?), absorb them, fight through the fog to plant them in my memory, take in every little detail with my own eyeballs in real time. Maybe it made me a better cook, made me better at picking up details.

At least it made me better at picking up her details.

Her eyeliner was smudged, and she looked exhausted. She looked the kind of exhausted that I did when I had a long day of fighting Richie or Syd at the restaurant. The kind of tired that can’t find words or form coherent thoughts, that responds to everything with “I’m tired” because that’s the truth of all matters. It’s this fucking exhaustion that drapes over you like a wet blanket, that makes a coma seem like it might be a vacation. I know I should’ve asked her how she was doing. Having a patient take a downturn like that usually fucks her up pretty bad, but I was screaming in my head to get at her. I needed to sink my teeth into her skin, lick the bite better, suck a hickey onto her pulse, delve my tongue into the wet heat of her mouth, the soft, wet sweetness of her cunt.

Not that she complained.

Well, now she was complaining.

“Yeah? Whose fault is that, hm?”

She whined again.

“You had to go acting like a fuckin’ brat, baby girl.”

“’m sorry. Please, Carmy. Please, Daddy, I’ll be good for the rest of the trip...”

“You better be,” I murmured, tossed her leg over my shoulder, “because I haven’t even started with you.”

“Lemme cum, please…”

“You can wait,” I growled.

She huffed and arched her back, tried to rock against my mouth to get any more friction, but I tightened my grip on her to hold her still. You got yourself into this situation, pretty thing, you’re gonna have to deal with the consequences. I’m going to eat you out, I’m going to make a fucking meal out of you, and you’re gonna lay there and take it. You’re gonna take it and beg me for more, do you understand? Do you understand what you do to me? Do you even know how bad you fuck me up? Do you know how hard you make it to think under normal circumstances? And you had to tempt me with pink lace? Again? Play stupid games, win stupid prizes; is that how the phrase goes?

Her fingertips ghosted along my neck, curled down to pet a line up my throat, hook under my chain.

“Let-let me buy you something nice, Daddy.”

I glanced up at her from between her legs and gave her clit a particularly aggressive suck. She swore and bucked against me. We really doing this? You want to try throwing me off? You want to challenge me? I’ll admit, it almost got me. I don’t get things from people. Gift-giving was something of an artifice in my family, it was a thinly veiled assertion of favors, alignments of loyalties, negotiation tactics. Gifts were weapons of war. Some bitchy part of me that I wanted to crush under my boot-heel wanted to fire back with “why?” Why do you want to get something nice for me? What do you want from me? What are your ulterior motives?

She swept that hand through my hair. Wicked twinkle in her eye. Maybe it was reflections from the fireplace. Maybe I’m getting better at figuring her out. When did she turn into a brat? When did I start to like it?

I responded by pressing two fingers into her cunt, and she rewarded me with the prettiest moan I’ve ever heard. Fuck, it went straight to the pit of my stomach, coiled this sweltering heat into an unforgiving pressure that threatened to turn me inside out. Her cunt was so wet and hot, offered no resistance, welcomed my fingers. One hand seized my hair in a vice grip; the other shot up and kneaded her breast, afforded me a glorious sight of her in the throes of pleasure, back arched, nipple pinched between her fingers, firelight bathing half her form in flickering yellows and oranges, while the other half of her form receded under the ink of winter nightfall, twinkles around her neck from her gold necklace catching the light, and flashes of white, pink, blue, and green from her mother of pearl necklace shifting through its hues. She’s not human, I swear to you. She’s a mythological creature. Not of this realm. A fairy, a spirit, an angel—something distant from the grit and grime that is humanity, another plane of beautiful that escapes the grips of this disastrous world.

I revise my statement on God.

Sometimes he gets it right.

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