#It was like a massive reality check

[lyxthen]

The Book of Bill approached me, held a mirror to my face and told me, "Take a look at yourself. You are not an uwu smol bean. You are not a silly little guy. You are no longer 'neurodivergent and a minor.' You are a whole 20 year old ass man, so act like it. You can't keep living life subjected to the whims of own impulses like you did as a child. You have to take responsibility for your actions; your actions have consequences, and you are suffering them. Your desire for endless freedom is a snake eating its own tail: you are a member of society, and being unable to fit in or being abused and victimized because of things you can't control is no justification to be an asshole. You pretend to be small and more helpless than you actually are so people will do your bidding, then laugh about it when they look away, and frankly, that's pathetic. Stop lying to people, stop lying to yourself. Stop justifying your actions or pretending they aren't serious. Some day, you are going to mess up, really mess up, and 'Your honor, I just couldn't help myself, and if you think about it they deserved it because they made me angry, so really it's their fault!' is not an admissible legal defense in criminal court. Are you seriously going to wait until a judge mandates it to go to therapy? Your adamant refusal to seek help out of resentment and arrogance is laughable. Do you want to be dragged into the psych ward kicking and screaming, again? Do you want to go to jail? Because living as you are, that's where you are going to end up. And changing will be hard, and it will be torture, and you will hate it, but you have to do it anyway. You have to be willing to try.

So, Lyxthen, are you an immortal dorito-shaped, banana-colored cartoon, with a bowtie and a tophat, incapable of learning and growing, or are you a human being?"

Then it hit me in the head with a metal pole and left me bleeding and crying on the floor. I stayed there, unable or unwilling to get up, I do not know, until a friend held my hand, helped me to get back on my feet, and said to me, "hey, that wound seems pretty severe, do you think you should get a doctor to get a look at it?" to which I replied "Yes. Yes I do." And I made an appointment with a therapist.

[lastoneout]

(And, of course; real, living people stating outright that they are straight is not an invitation for you to continue obsessively speculating on if they're lying or not AND it's also absolutely not queerbaiting. Famous or not, we shouldn't normalize this behavior. You are not owed personal information about a stranger. Someone's gender and sexuality is their business, and they get to decide if and when they come out, and they hold absolutely no responsibility for you refusing to listen, coming up with an idea of who they "really" are in your own head, and then getting pissed at them when it doesn't line up with reality. That's a you problem.)

[sonicaspeed123]

I was dreaming and tried to google a picture of an antlion because I was dealing with a bug in the dream and wanted to know what it was but google wasnt working because I was dreaming and don't know what an antlion looks like

[10diamondz]

FAMILY COMES FIRST

Summary: Capitano brings his daughter to a Harbinger meeting because you are currently sick. The Harbingers are surprised, and Alina(daughter) was in awe about the 11th harbinger’s eyes, calling them "water eyes." Her innocence softens everyone in the room, even making Childe smile.

The Fatui headquarters in Snezhnaya had never felt more stunning to you than on this cold, dull day. The wind howled through the snow-covered streets, rattling against the windows of your shared home as you lay beneath the blankets, your skin warm and flushed with fever. Your body ached, and the weight of exhaustion pressed heavily upon you.

The usually soothing presence of your husband, Capitano, was missing, and your mind couldn't help but wander to where he was at that moment. You knew exactly where: in a meeting with the other Harbingers. Normally, your little family was kept separate from such matters, and you were more than happy with that arrangement. However, this time was different. Your husband had left for his duties this morning, leaving you alone with your lively, energetic child—your precious two-year-old daughter, Alina.

Normally, handling her joyful spirit was a joy you cherished, but in your current state, every giggle and playful grab for your attention felt like a backbreaking task.

You hadn’t expected to fall ill, and you certainly hadn’t expected Capitano to be needed at a Harbinger meeting so urgently.

As Alina toddled toward you, her tiny hands reaching for your cheek, you smiled weakly. "Mama's okay, sweetheart," you whispered, though you barely had the strength to lift your hand to stroke her hair.

In the midst of your thoughts, the sound of heavy footsteps approached the door. Capitano returned. His dark armor and massive frame filled the doorway, but his expression softened the moment he saw your state. He quickly approached the bed, his voice low with concern.

"You should’ve called for me sooner," he murmured, kneeling beside you and placing a large, gloved hand on your forehead to check your temperature.

"I didn’t want to bother you…" you whispered. "Besides, I thought I could manage…"Capitano’s frown deepened, his brows furrowing behind his mask. “You and Alina come first, always.

”Alina, who had been playing with one of her father’s gloves, immediately perked up at the sight of him, toddling over to tug at his cloak. “Papa!”

His stern expression softened as he scooped up his daughter in one arm, effortlessly holding her tiny body against his broad chest. The sight made your heart swell. For a man feared across nations, Capitano had always been gentle with his family.

But his position's reality was drawing near. There was no way to skip today's meeting because Capitano was still a Harbinger. He stood with Alina still in his arms, his gaze lingering on you as if weighing a decision.

“You’re too ill to take care of Alina alone,” he finally said. “I’ll take her with me.

”You blinked in surprise, a small laugh escaping your lips despite the ache in your body. "To… to the Harbinger meeting?" Capitano’s eyes flashed with resolve. “Yes. There is no safer place for her than by my side.” The thought of your two-year-old daughter sitting among the most fearsome figures in Teyvat—Dottore, Pantalone, Arlecchino, Pierro—was both amusing and absurd. Yet, you trusted Capitano implicitly. If anyone could protect her, it was him. With a weak nod, you relented.

“Alright, but… keep her out of trouble.” Capitano’s lips twitched upward in the faintest hint of a smile behind his mask. "Of course."

The grand meeting room in the Fatui’s main fortress(?) was as intimidating as ever, filled with the cold air and tension. The Harbingers were standing around a long table.

As he readied himself to address the group, Pierro, the Director, stood at the head of the table, his gaze calculating and sharp. It was a rare occasion for all the Harbingers to gather, and naturally, it came with an air of importance.

But this time, something was… different.

As the grand doors creaked open, every Harbinger turned their attention toward the figure that entered. Capitano, the fearsome 1st Harbinger, marched into the room as usual, his broad figure cloaked in black, his presence as intimidating as ever.

But then they saw it. Perched in his arm, clinging to his cloak, was a tiny child. Her bright, curious eyes scanned the room as she pointed at various Harbingers, muttering incoherently in the way only toddlers could. Silence fell over the room. Pantalone, was the first to break the stunned quiet, his lips quirking into an amused smirk.

"Well, well, Capitano. I didn’t realize our meeting was so… casual today." Dottore’s eyes gleamed with interest behind his mask, Already figuring out the numerous of questions he wanted to ask about this new “subject.” "A curious specimen," he muttered to himself, though loud enough for everyone to hear. Arlecchino’s sharp gaze flickered between the child and Capitano. "You’ve brought a child to a Harbinger meeting?" Capitano remained unbothered by their reactions. He walked calmly to his position, his daughter still sitting comfortably on his arm.

As he took his place at the table, Alina immediately started fiddling with a piece of his armor, completely unaware of the danger and power surrounding her. "Her mother is unwell," Capitano stated simply, his voice firm and leaving no room for argument. "I will take responsibility for her here."Pierro, merely raised an eyebrow. "I trust this will not interfere with the proceedings?"

"Not at all," Capitano replied. He glanced down at Alina, who was now inspecting his gauntlets with great interest. The tension slowly lifted as the meeting proceeded, though more than a few of the Harbingers kept stealing glances at the toddler on Capitano’s arm. Occasionally, she would giggle or reach for something on the table, and each time, Capitano would gently redirect her attention with a soft murmur. The sight of the mighty Captain doting on his daughter in the middle of such a grim meeting was a scene none of the Harbingers had ever imagined.

Even the rigid Pierro seemed slightly amused, though he hid it well behind his usual stoicism. As the discussion deepened, Alina's attention wandered to the other Harbingers. She stared at each of them in turn, her tiny fingers still gripping her father’s cloak. But it was when her gaze landed on the 11th Harbinger, Childe, that she froze.

She simply *stared* at him, her wide eyes fixed on his face, in particular his bright, ocean-colored eyes. Childe, who had been following the meeting intently, slowly noticed the unwavering stare of the tiny girl. 

A mischievous smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "What’s this? Have I caught the little one’s attention?" Alina didn’t blink. Her mouth parted slightly in wonder as she continued to gaze at him, transfixed. In her short life, she had never seen eyes like Childe’s. They reminded her of the stories you would tell her about the ocean—vast and blue, endless and beautiful. To her, Childe’s eyes seemed like a whole world she wanted to explore. "Papa," she whispered, pointing at Childe. "Eyes like water…"A murmur of surprise rippled through the room.

Even Arlecchino, normally one to show little emotion, blinked and softened at the innocent awe in Alina’s voice. Childe, too, was caught off guard.

His usual cocky demeanor faltered for a moment as he looked at the small child, her innocent wonder disarming him completely. "Well, I suppose that’s one way to describe them," he said, his smile gentler than before. "Didn’t expect to be admired by such a little lady today. "Capitano’s hand rested protectively on Alina’s back, but he said nothing, his eyes shifting toward Childe. Alina, however, was too young to understand. She simply continued to stare, still fascinated by Childe’s eyes. When the meeting finally came to a close, she tugged at Capitano’s cloak and whispered again, “Papa… can I have water eyes too?”

Arlecchino allowed herself a rare, fleeting smile, her eyes softening as she watched the child’s pure, unfiltered curiosity. As he prepared to leave, he looked down at his daughter and whispered gently, “You have eyes far more beautiful than the ocean, little one.”

- 10Diamondz, Reblog w/comments are appreciated!

[clockwayswrites]

Oh Birb Part 11

Masterpost

Next Thursday. Alright, Danny could do next Thursday. He still didn’t know how he had gotten invited to Cassandra Wayne’s dance recital, but sure enough there was a link to a ticket and the event information in his email the next morning.

He was just checking in on work real quickly before he left for the Far Frozen. Or maybe he was putting off the trip for as long as he could. Danny knew that he had to go see Frostbite, but he was afraid of what answers the yeti might have. Or, worse, the answers that Frostbite didn’t have.

Danny didn’t know what would really be worse.

‘You are on vacation, Mr. Fenton.’ Popped up in Danny’s Slack and he rolled his eyes. Of course Lucius was keeping an eye on him.

‘Just checking on things before I leave.’ Danny replied. ‘I’ll be off for the next five days, promise.’

‘That better be true.’

He would have much choice, his current phone wouldn’t work in the zone.

Danny refreshed his inbox one last time before he turned his tablet off and tucked away in the basket next to the couch. Fridge emptied of anything that would spoil, trash taken out, far too many plants watered… Danny was out of excuses.

“Going ghost,” he grumbled with a sigh. He didn’t really need to say that part out loud anymore, not after all these years, but sometimes it just made it easier. A sense of bitter, binding cold washed over him. It was like breathing ice. The shards stabbed at his lungs, choked his air, killed him— and then it was gone. It was all gone. His breath, his heart beat, the pull of gravity, the ache in his bones… his life.

Danny breathed out a breath he didn’t have and let himself drift up a few inches into the air. At least he didn’t hurt. For now. Returning to his body after this trip was going to be miserable. That was a later him problem, right then Danny just enjoyed being weightless. He breathed in and out, letting his body relax from the top of his head to his toes and all the way out to the tips of his wings.

Wait. His what now?

Danny’s fit hit the ground hard. He scrambled his way over to the long mirror titled against the wall by the door. And froze.

Wings.

Those were… those were wings.

Massive black wings with spots of white on the outside and more white on the inside. There was a slightly iridescent sheen to them as he twisted and turned to try and get a look at them.

They were. He had… okay. He had wings as Phantom now. Wings that were definitely like he had seen in the videos when he was that bird thing. Danny ran his fingers over his face, wincing as his finger tips caught a little. His taloned fingertips. That’s great he was turning into a bird.

Cheep cheep, motherfucker, Danny thought hysterically.

He had been expecting a midlife crisis as he approached forty, but turning into a bird wasn’t how he thought it would go!

He needed to get to the Far Frozen. He needed answers. He needed Frostbite to have answers. Focusing on the concept of the Far Frozen, Danny dragged a clawed finger through the air, tearing a hole in reality.

The portal glowed a noxious green.

Danny took a breath and flew through it.

---

AN: I polled the HH discord if Phantom should have wings or not and it was unanimously 'yes' so! Poor Danny, having such a panic!

Can you believe we're up to 4 chapters now for this silliness?

Stay delightful, darlings.

[lizardsfromspace]

There was lots of concern about AI and deepfakes spreading misinformation this election cycle, so let's check in on that!

A lot of right-wing accounts are trying to prove that Kamala Harris' crowds are fake - that all the photos of them are generated with AI. We'll get to that, but let's look at the most...amusing example first.

There's lots of people pointing at an image of a crowd that's obviously been generated with AI, due to extra arms and gibberish writing.

So obviously someone generated this image with AI. Who was it and why? Well, we can actually find the origin pretty easily. It was...

A right-wing satire account. Who put "unexcited Kamala Harris crowd" into a AI image generator to make a "wow, crowds are electric!" joke.

An image their own side generated as satire is now being spread by the right as something Harris/Walz created as proof they're doing the thing they're doing. Incredible. Just a masterclass

Now let's look at the dark stuff.

By and large, AI isn't being used for hoaxes. AI is being used as a excuse: people aren't being tricked by AI images, they're being tricked by accusations real images are AI.

So this hoax went around recently...

This image is old. It spread in 2017, it spread in 2020, and now it's spread in 2024. The Harris/Walz rally wasn't even in the Phoenix Convention Center, or in Phoenix. But it's now a core part of the "no one's attending their rallies!" campaign going on now

This may seem strange if you experience the news by non-conservative media, where you can't escape stories of Kamala Harris filling up massive stadiums & of Trump rallies full of empty seats. All evidence in reality points to Kamala Harris being extremely popular and to Trump's campaign faltering.

But in MAGA land, Kamala Harris' crowds were generated with AI.

Their claims: the crowd isn't in the reflection, and uh, the arms look weird. But also that there "aren't any other images".

But? There are? There was a livestream of that very plane landing (starting at 25)!

They're subjecting what they think is The Only Image of this rally in long Youtube videos and on Twitter and TikTok, and just...don't realize there's full, uncut, commentary-free video of it that was broadcast live. So why don't they realize that?

Well, I did a search for this rally on Fox News' website and guess what? They reported it exactly twice: once a interview with her while leaving that slammed her for "not taking press questions" enough, and a few clips of the Palestinian protestors at it, but not many, bc if you don't follow the far right they're trying to frame Kamala Harris as, like, a radical pro-Palestinian (or, as they say, "pro-Hamas") activist who wants to destroy Israel which, uhhhhhhhh

But another thread I found debunking this, by a former Trump-voting evangelical conservative turned critic of the same, gets at the heart of it

People who said AI and deepfakes would be used to mislead the right were missing how misinformation actually works. Fox News et al don't suppress information by confusing the audience with misinformation; they suppress information by never letting them see it in the first place. They know that they have a captive audience who doesn't watch non-right-wing news (unlike the left, who are constantly aware of what's going on over at Fox).

They can just never mention or show Kamala Harris' rallies, or do so only in close-up, and they can frame Trump to only show shots where a crowd has gathered & make it seem like that's the norm, and their audience just has no chance to find out the truth. They're so propagandized that they just accept that there are no other images of that Kamala Harris rally, because, well, they were told there weren't, and would the news personalities they trust really lie to them?

And if any stray bits of reality float into the bubble, well, it was just AI. You know, how they have AI these days? AI's most important role in all this isn't as a vector for misinformation, it's as a rhetorical device for claiming real images and video are misinformation. You don't have to make images full of people with weird hands if you can get people circling real people's hands in red and pointing at it to prove reality was made in a computer.

These people don't know how popular Kamala Harris is. They don't know she's polling eight points higher than Trump. They don't know Harris is leading in right-wing biased polls. They're being told she's hiring actors at rallies, that her crowd photos are generated by AI, that Trump rallies are popular and hers are desolate.

This only likely to increase as we near the election because, well, Trump '24 is a shitshow. His campaign started out less popular than '16 or even '20, he picked maybe the worst VP pick in history, and he hasn't made a single effective attack on Harris/Walz. They were banking on facing Biden, and then on a chaotic open convention, but instead everyone closed ranks around Harris, and she instantly became the most popular Democratic candidate since 2008. We are cruising towards Trump/Vance not only losing, but losing in the closest thing to a landslide that's possible in our current system.

They're already laying the groundwork for, in the likely case of defeat, playing the "she stole the election!" card. Last time it was ad-hoc, because Trump thought he'd win. This time, they're already making "all her rallies are fake, all of her supporters are AI, they've already rigged it against Trump" a key strategy, and, I have to assume, their primary strategy as it gets closer to election day and the polls get worse. They've always lived in a bubble, but now it's a bubble designed explicitly to cause another January 6th. By claiming real photos have weird hands, and must totally be AI

[purplealmonds]

This is my tribute to the late Technoblade. I'm well over a week late to the anniversary of his passing, but I think it was worth the wait. I wanted to get this right.

The story I want to tell is of time's passage after his passing, and the set dressing of this space is a symbolic amalgamation of various aspects of his life depicting that concept.

I have a lot more to say about this painting - three pages just for the symbolism alone. If you're interested, please let me know and I'll share my analysis on a separate post! Edit: I caved. Aight, prepare for a massive info dump below the cut!

DISCLAIMERS:

Although I put a lot of research into this piece, my knowledge is likely flawed and incomplete. If I missed or misinterpreted a reference, it’s because I’m new to the Technoblade community. If I got a symbolism thing wrong, it’s because I relied on Google search for answers. I fact checked where I could. And with this analysis, I hope I can clear up any misinterpretations! 

—

OVERVIEW:

There’s lots of imagery to unpack so I’ll try parsing it in a structured manner. Let’s first examine it holistically. 

The story I want to tell here is of time’s passage after Technoblade’s passing. As such,the set dressing of this space is a symbolic amalgamation of that concept.

Prominently featured are the various medical equipments - a nod to the grim reality of his cancer. But let’s not linger upon that aspect of his story.

Of equal importance are the more mundane objects - his gaming setup, the couch and pillow which Floof sat upon in that one photo, the plethora of paraphernalia of branded merchandise, and references to his exploits in Minecraft. These are relics and mementos of his legacy.

All of these elements intermingle in flooded, lushly overgrown room looking out to a rose-tinted exterior. Is it dawn? Dusk? I’ll leave that interpretation up to the viewers.  

The third and final component is the plant life representing his community -us. We beautify this metaphorical space with where it was once laden with tragedy. Yet, despite these riotous blooms, we never quite encroach on the bed - the empty space left behind by him.

—

SET DRESSING:

Much care was taken in selecting the blossoms and placing them in symbolically significant locations.  And this neatly transitions us into the analysis individual details.

Foreground: 

In the foreground, ivy crawls through a lamp and white clovers thrive atop a pile of pillboxes. The lamp base, once a shining bronze-like finish, is heavily tarnished. The lampshade is overgrown with moss and ivy. Even if the greenery has yet to damage the electric wiring, the damp surely has finished the job. Even if the bulb is replaced, the body is too far gone. The light’s never coming on again. 

I was initially put out that my painstakingly 3D modeled pillboxes became entirely obscured, but I think it works in favor of the piece’s overarching theme: the beautiful wilds overtaking a space that once reeked of the desperate fight to prolong life. 

White clover blossoms meaning “thinking of you” is paired with the ivy meaning “everlasting devotion”.  It’s an apt combination. It has been over a year since his passing, and we still remember and carry on his legacy. 

Nestled amongst the foliage is Techno’s compass. It was once used to hunt him down in the Dream SMP. But now, it’s an odd comfort. Even though he’s no longer with us, he’s still somewhere far, far away– or is he? The original idea was for the needle to point heavenwards, but it is currently pointing…sideways?  I’ll get to the reasoning a bit later. 

The Flood:

Moving deeper into the space, we hit the floodwaters. These once turbulent currents are now tranquil enough to nourish this verdant place. The thriving plant life hides much of this darkness. It is beautiful, hopeful, even. But always bittersweet, because everything that grows here is laced with an old sorrow.

White lotus rise from the murky depths. That is us, overcoming our grief. Breaching the surface, we gain a new vantage point to contemplate this loss. Perhaps we can also find a more comforting perspective of it.

Submerged amongst the blossoms is a rusted oxygen machine. I wanted to decorate the machine with stickers, much like one would personalize a plaster cast for a broken limb. It is deliberate that the “Technoblade Never Dies” sticker is in shadow, while the “So Long, Nerds" is in light. 

Immediately to the right was meant to be a box of assorted Technoblade apparel.  But then I flooded the space for narrative reasons, rendering that idea unusable. I eventually converted it into a Welch’s Fruit Snacks box, because apparently Technoblade liked them? It’s one of the shallower references here but it is what it is.

And finally, there is a little cameo floating somewhere in the waters. An Easter egg, if you will. I wonder if you can find it? 

Furnishings from Home:

I found the couch and Technoblade’s gaming setup during my trawl through the Technoblade Reddit page for reference photos. Balancing this space full of impersonal medical equipment with more personalized belongings is grounding. These areas insert familiarity in this strange environment.

Gaming Setup:

The gaming setup is bare bones - just the monitor, keyboard, and mouse. There was no space to add more iconic elements like his Blue Yeti microphone or the steering wheel from that Minecraft challenge. Hanging above but heavily obscured by overgrowth are two framed pictures of Technoblade’s cabin and a potato minion. It is a blink-and-you-miss-it detail, placed in a dim space and requiring close examining to notice. Without the context of the rest of this environment, it is easily mistaken as generic set dressing. 

That’s the point, though. This was a space where he streamed and created videos much beloved by his community. This space was the means of creation, not the creations themselves. Without the creator at the helm, this setup becomes insignificant. Does one dote over the easel on which paintings were created, or the paintings themselves? So now it sits in darkness, a footnote of Technoblade’s legacy. 

Nostalgia Corner:

On the other end, we have the sold out Youtooz plushies and the Agro Pig plush from the recent merch drop sat atop the couch.  If you look closely, you’ll see a Skeppy coin leaning against one of the plushies. Behind the couch is a shelf. A generic shelf, but the important bits here are the sellout bell, Youtube plaque, and vinyl figurines. 

This corner of the room is nostalgic and soft. Everything is bathed in rosy pink light, and it is filled with things that are comfortingly familiar. All across the world, people in his community have these pieces of merch to remember him by. 

The red poppies that also grow here have multiple meanings. It represents the battle - one against sarcoma - which was fought here. It symbolizes death, but also resilience in the face of grueling conditions. It is said that they grow in former battlefields where of fallen warriors. I believe of all the flowers here, this one best represents Technoblade.

The Hanging Mobile:

Strung up above it is a rather last minute addition to the environment - a hanging mobile fabricated from totems representing each member of the Sleepy Bois Inc. friend group. First and foremost is Technoblade’s iconic MCC crown, aptly placed at the top. Although it is untouched by the greenery, the gold and jewelry are somewhat muted and tarnished by time.

This is not the case for the objects below. TommyInnit’s music disc shines iridiscent green and purple - Cat and Mellohi merged into one. To is right is a sky-blue guitar pick with the LoveJoy logo engraved onto it for Wilbur Soot. And finally, below it all is Philza’s Friendship Emerald - sparkling and refracting light - with Elytra feathers fastened at the bottom. They, suspended and isolated from everything, maintain a pristine vibrancy which strongly contrasts against everything else in this space. 

IV Stand:

Next to the computer setup is the IV stand. It sustains life which is incapable of continuing on without intervention. The butterfly milkweed growing on it, in contrast, says “let me go.” The latter, overtaking the tangle of tubes and powered off patient monitor, is victorious. The hooks stand rusted, and the IV bag empty from disuse.

Sat atop the patient monitor but almost blending into the walls is a pig figurine featured in Dream’s latest music video. It stands on a high perch, yet is unassuming as to direct focus on Technoblade, or rather, his absence. 

Hanging from the wired basket is an air freshener tag. If you look on the official website, this is one of the only products which has what I can only call interesting flavor text. Most are merely descriptions and specs of the product. To quote it verbatim:

“Yes, this is a real product. And no, this ‘air freshener’ has no discernible fragrance. ‘Why’ you ask? Because Mr. Technodad and our team agreed this was exactly the sort of air freshener Alex would have found hilarious.”

As morbid as it sounds, I feel like this air freshener tag would not have existed before Technoblade’s passing. It is so unlike any other merchandise I’ve seen in any other branded merchandise store. It’s like an inside joke, secretly shared within the descriptions for the world to eventually discover. 

Window:

Unlit candles line the window sill - the aftermath of a candlelight vigil. It is a versatile symbol. It raises awareness of a disease or illness. It pays tribute the dead. Judging from the melted wax dribbling down the candle shafts and the wall below (the opacity was reduced so it looks less like bloodstains), this has been done many times over. But there is so much more candle to burn, representing the people still continuing this ceremony, albeit in the privacy of their own homes.

Above the candles are some broken blinds. When grieving, it would have been so easy for Mr. Technodad to hide away from the world in his grief. It’s understandable, to give into that primal urge to flee from prying eyes when he’s at his most vulnerable. He had the difficult task of reading out his son’s final farewell to us. This barrier between him and us dismantled by this gesture so we can remember Technoblade together. 

Coincidentally, the window frame itself somewhat resembles the kitchen window featured in Technoblade and Technodad's cooking videos. Completely unintentional on my end, but fitting in a way since in both those videos they're pulling back the metaphorical curtains for the audience to peer into a small aspect of their private lives.

To the right of the window is a nondescript clock, forever stopped at the 6:30 as a nod to the date when the "So Long, Nerds" video was published. The minute hand is accidentally left out removed to signify that time will no longer move forward for Technoblade. In contrast, the rest of the world - represented by this space - continues to grow and change around his absence.

A wind chime hangs just outside the window. It is said that the soothing sounds produced by them is a healing balm during tumultuous times. Where there is wind there is stirred up emotions, but it is motionless on this calm, breezeless day. A rare respite, where remembrance overrides grief. 

On a more amusing note, there is an interesting looking moth perched on the window glass. Upon closer inspection, the wing pattern may look somewhat familiar. In Chinese culture, when a huge moth visiting your home is the embodiment of your recently deceased loved one checking on you. Remember the compass in the foreground? Well, here’s why it is pointed sideways instead of upwards. This idea came up rather organically during a VC session in the R/Technoblade Discord server. My handful of viewers and myself affectionately dubbed this doofy looking moth TechnoMoff!

Venturing further beyond the windows, ferns grow with wild abandon. They represent eternal youth, and from a certain point of view, he will remain youthful forever at the age of 23. He lives on through us carrying on his legacy and spreading his story. 

Everything outside is tinged with pink. After someone dies, we start seeing them less as a person and more as a legacy. It is the natural course of things to start seeing the deceased through rose-tinted lenses - hence the artificially pink hue of the outside contrasting with the more grounded color palette of the inside. 

Bed:

And now we circle back to the centerpiece of this entire composition: the bed and the things that surround it. 

In front of the bed is an over-bed table with a single object: an incense bowl filled to the brim with burnt sticks of incense. A simple shrine for Technoblade. In Chinese culture, we light incense at the altar to honor our loved ones. We may live separate lives and not cross paths often, but we all come together to leave our marks through this ritual. It is proof that he is still very much loved and missed by us all.

The bariatric bed frame is typically seen in hospitals. It allows the patient to comfortably sit up or recline without expending valuable energy. Encased in this frame is something more personal - the mattress and cushions which Technoblade laid upon in his photo with the Youtube plaque. Their unique patterning is a foil for the impersonal receptacle it is caged in. It is spotlit by the window light, emphasizing its emptiness. Not a single blossom dares to encroach upon this space, because to do so would be to erase the space where Technoblade last resided. Like I mentioned before, this is story is about the space around him as much as it is about him. 

Cradling this bed frame are several flowers. Rosemary and forget-me-not’s for remembrance. Appropriate, given its proximity to the bed. Morning glories, for resilience. That’s us, again. For a while, we meander and spread in the upper walls of this space, avoiding the floodwaters which symbolize grief. But eventually, we gather the strength to meander down to the bed, where grief was the strongest.

—

CONCLUSION:

There is that cheesy quote from that one Marvel TV show – “What is grief, but love persevering?” While this reframes our perception of dealing with loss, grief is not some thing that should linger. The absence of grief does not equate to the lack of love. Instead, I would like you to consider this: remembrance is love persevering. And with our combined perseverance, Technoblade will never truly die. 

[cakelitter]

A+

Prof! Leon x Fem! Reader

warnings: p in v, age gap, forbidden relationship, mentions of cheating (not on reader)

summary: Leon is your physics professor; Leon is also in between your thighs eating you out like a man starved because you were “such a good girl for sucking him off so well yesterday”. His words not yours.

He’s too good at this, too good at dirty talking, too good at sucking your clit, and too good at fucking you stupid. You’d be damned if you sleep with another college guy again.

words: 1.4k

a/n: this one is pretty short, I kinda wanted it be nastier, but maybe next time. Like always, typos don't exist and you're imagining things. Enjoy!!!

Life fucks hard, but professor Kennedy fucks harder.

Slamming into you like there is no tomorrow, letting out all of the pent-up frustration he experienced since the last time he was in you. You just know that you’re not going to be walking straight for the next couple of days.

Your friends think that you’re in a situationship with a guy you’re talking to. Fawning over the gifts he sends you and the attention you get; begging you to drop his name or at least show a picture of him.

Reality is, they sit in his class at ten every Mondays and Wednesdays, drooling over the sight of him and forgetting to pay attention to the material he’s explaining.

You did the same back when you first met him, heart eyes and your jaw on the floor. But instead of letting your mind wander off like they did, resulting in them failing his class. You averted your attention to not letting a word slip out of his mouth without burning it into your mind.

Spending hours upon hours studying for his tests to make sure to ace them, asking him questions after class as if you couldn’t recite word for word each law and theory he discussed. Sitting front and center in his class to make sure the two of you have plenty of eye contact.

It’s often that you came back home frustrated from the sight of another student hitting on him; jealousy coursing through your veins causing you blood to boil. Word got around pretty quickly that there is a new hot professor; girls overriding his course and wishing they were riding something else.

He had plenty of fan girls, not sure if he picked that up though. Even though he’s a fucking genius, he’s a bit dense. Bless him.

Validation and attention were your fuel, running on them like your life depended on it. And he fed you them, each time without fail. Praising you “dedication” and “passion” for physics. While you couldn’t give less of a fuck what color newton’s underwear was, of what Bohr thought was the right way to solve an equation.

You wanted him.

How is it your fault if he had the body that no physics professor should have. Massive biceps, and puff chest filling out the white button up shirt he was wearing; genuinely feared that one of the buttons might break loose one day and hit you right in the eye.

He was hot, and disgustingly smart; rambling on and on about a some of the nerdiest things ever. It was cute, your eyes drinking up that small smile that would form on his lips whenever he’d get carried away.

God bless the day you decided to sign up for his class; it wasn’t luck, or a coincidence, it was fate. A reward and a compensation for all the hellish days you went through before.

You still remember the day you first met him; god, you looked so stupid. Forgetting how to talk, walk and breathe when you realized you were the first to walk into his class. His bewitching blue eyes moving over to the door that you just walked through.

He flashed you a smile, greeting you, and you almost came on the spot. Staring at him like a deer in head lights, double checking the room number incase you walked into the wrong class. Making sure your voice doesn’t break when you greeted him back.

Ever since then, you made extra effort to look good whenever you had his class. Wearing the shirts that make your boobs look perkier, and the skirts that make your ass look irresistible. You’d twirl with your hair, give him bedroom eyes and participated in class.

Truthfully, in this situation there was no chance of losing. If you didn’t succeed romantically, you sure as hell gave you GPA a boost. Not to mention, the outfits that you wore were pretty attention grabbing, gravitating some other men towards you.

Luckily though, all that effort paid off.

Day after day, week after week, you started noticing him reciprocating your attention. Looking at you for a little too long, making conversation with you after class, even dropping his eyes over to your lips every now and then.

Leon is your physics professor; Leon is also in between your thighs eating you out like a man starved because you were “such a good girl for sucking him off so well yesterday”. His words not yours.

He’s too good at this, too good at dirty talking, too good at sucking your clit, and too good at fucking you stupid. You’d be damned if you sleep with another college guy again.

Fucking you in ways you’ll never mentally recover from, and giving you all of his sweet sweet attention.

However, the ring wrapped around his finger single handedly shatters the fucked-up fantasy that you’re living, serving as a ball and chain around your ankle, or is it his?

Aside from Leon being your professor who’s dick you’ve seen more than you can count. He’s a husband to a woman he married ten years ago. One that he never likes to talk about or mention, changing the topic each time you try to bring it up.

But from what you pieced together; they don’t seem to have the strongest bond.

Once, one of the students was making conversation with him and brought up his marriage. His mood soured; knots formed between his brows as if a feeling of disappointment rose from the mention of it.

Honestly, you feel guilty as fuck. Nausea and anger taking over you each time you remember the reality of the situation.

If people found out, you’d get stoned to death by everyone you know, and rightfully so.

Whether Leon’s wife fucks him as good as you do or not, or if she loves him this much or not, or if she gives him the amount of the attention you give him or not, it doesn’t matter.

As much as guilt is a heavy feeling; lust is way heavier.

Tasted his poison and got hooked, letting it travel through your veins and up to your mind, blinding your vision and leaving you begging for more.

Love is blind, but lust is deaf. Unable to hear the sound of common sense knocking on your door as you lean in to kiss him more, silencing your conscience as his hand travels beneath the waist band of your panties.

He gives you his back as he pours you a glass of wine, and leaving the silver band behind as he makes his way back to you.

The advantages of sleeping with your professor sure do out way the disadvantages. You get to be late for class as much as you’d like, homework is optional, and tests are always a guaranteed A+. Obviously, Leon appreciates it way more when you work hard for that though, but instead of getting some tame praise like you used to; he gets to reward you in more creative ways now.

Leon loves it when you mention how much you care for him, how much he means to you, how much you crave for him. Drinking up your words like he’s never heard them before, like you just said something he’s been dying to hear for decades now.

Leon loves it when you dress up for him, when you put in effort to look good, when you call for his attention.

Whispering sweet nothings into your skin as post sex sleepiness starts to overtake your senses, his large hands holding you close against him as he stares into your heavy-lidded eyes like you just saved his life.

Cherishing every moment with you like he can’t believe you’re here. Placing his head on your chest as he falls asleep in your arms, your hands tangled in his hair, scratching his scalp gingerly. His rough stubble juxtaposing your silky skin, hot breath fanning out on it.

You told yourself that was the last time you’ll feel his skin on yours, that this has to end, cause it’s no good for you, cause it’s not who you are, cause it’s wrong.

Yet, here you are standing in front of the hotel room he always books. Hand reaching up and knocking on the hard wood, as the knob twists revealing his handsome face before he steps aside to let you in.

Stepping into the space, he hugs you from behind, dropping his head on your shoulder, arms wrapped around you tightly. His perfume enveloping you, with a gentle kiss being placed on the crook of your neck.

“Missed you so much, baby.”

divider by @/chilumitos

[fullfriendnerdclutch]

Artie grinned mischievously as his friends profile started to appear one by one. The app linked to the saved contacts in his phone and somehow they managed to extract a fairly accurate profile of Artie's friends, resulting in a couple avatars that Artie can choose and tweak to his likings. The app, called Chronivac, not only changed Artie's physique to look like a 30+ years old hairy muscle hunk, it also molded the reality in accordance to the final prompt Artie typed in, turning the 20 years old college dropout into a bonafide hunk living life lavishly from workout courses and OF, and he's about to spice things up in the life of his dear friends.

He started from Randall.

He started very methodically as he put Randy as the new name. Then, when the profile options opened, he started his work. Get rid of the glasses. Get rid of that acne scar and blackspot. Retain the face but make the jaw angular. Styling the hair so it's no longer greasy and moppy. Face done, now the body

Randall is quite a perv and his biggest turn-on is big titties, but well, most untouched virgin are perv anyway so maybe he should make Randy turned on with himself by giving him this large pair of muscle tits? Lol, that's hilarious, he thought to himself. Humh.....so maybe keep Randy as a 255 lbs fuckers? Well, turn all the fat into muscle and click "Optimize" because he can't be bothered to perfect Randy's muscle distribution.....hot damn that's one massive unit! Finalize the whole change with the short prompt

"Randy is a gym junkie and absolute freak of nature. He's probably the biggest 20 years old in the entire Americas. He's one of my mentee and he looked up to me as his inspiration, he even will not hesitate to take my cock if I instruct him to do so to get bigger, quite the dumb oaf he is,"

Click Save and then Process. Several seconds later, a transformed Randy appeared in the room that Artie booked for this holiday. Randy appeared to be sleeping while he got altered earlier, Artie just realized it's night time in the States so no wonder Randy is asleep. He will check him out later as he still have several more profile to go

Andy. Oh, yeah, the profile arrangement is based on surnames. Coleman, Randall. Garcia, Andy. Andy is Artie's bestfriend from childhood so Artie knows very well what Andy really wanted to look like.

Keep the name and lineage. A little tweak in his testosterone to boost that facial hair growth and make that balls pumped full faster with mini Garcias. Andy admired his hotter, older brother, Juan, so badass and clearly a true symbolism of what Latin American community deemed as macho, so Randall ensured that whatever feature Juan possessed, Andy is going to make that even better. Thicker hair, more defined abs, bigger biceps, bigger triceps, rounder delts, voice that trembles anyone that hear it, obviously bigger uncut piece of meat, more tattoos, all lodged in as part of the new Andy's persona. The avatar is looking quite a looker already so Artie just added a bit of simple prompt, click the Save button and then Process the changes. Andy suddenly appeared in the day bed next to Artie, still sleeping soundly and Artie just smirked as he continued his work

He tweaked Ollie's profile right after, making the pale and lanky 6'5" Norwegian-Lebanese former ballet dancer to be closer to his Lebanese roots as he shrunk him to a 6'1" muscle daddy. Ollie, or Olaf, quickly turned into Ali, and just like Andy, appeared in the same resort where Artie stayed

Michael is supposedly next on the list, but James is already quite distracting for Artie so he decided to work on James first. He's really not that close to James and to be honest, if it's not because James is Andy's college roommate, Artie probably would have 0 interest to befriend him. He might be clouded with jealousy because Andy seemingly enjoyed James company, and even worse, a little crush on him, but well, with a reality-changing app in the palm of his hands, why should he accept things as it is when he can change it? So, rather than focusing on the physical aspect, Artie simply turned his focus to James mental part. He smirked devilishly as he turned the pretty-much straight James into a horny, lustful bottom. Artie practically emasculated James and he felt zero remorse whatsoever as he then added to the prompt that James tagged along to this trip as he's a clingy cum dump that Michael fucked once in the seedy bar that he and Andy frequented. Yup, that's the plot of his change to the innocent Michael.

Artie quickly tweaked Michael profile, the smallest and shiest one in the friend group is now the horny beast who needs to fuck a hole in daily basis. Artie based all of them in the same city, the same apartment building even and then created this whole backstory of their ascendancy to the top of OF and independent adult industry in Michael's prompt space. When he clicked Process, the sound of James moaning in delight echoed all the way to the swimming pool, Michael is basically fucking the shit out of James

The noise also managed to wake Andy's up. Despite seemingly confused at first, Andy quickly find his senses and instead of freaking out or reacted in surprise, he seems to be very much comfortable and at home. Artie sighed with relief, thrilled that his little handiwork resulted nicely.

It seems like that Andy is totally not aware that his life has been dramatically altered by his own best friend that just whipped out his cock from the swimming shorts he's wearing. With a grin while his right hand started pumping his meaty cock and the phone flipped and locked in the table, Artie said

"Care to help a friend here? We can drench Ali to wake the fucker's up when we are close,"

[bigwishes]

Was It Something You Ate?

Devon had always had it easy, born the son of a billionaire to one of the best pharmaceutical companies in the world he never truly had to work for anything. His dad had paid his way through all of his schooling turning Fs into As with nothing but a pen and a check book. University was even easier, Devon spent a majority of his time in other countries whilst or partying, it was only when he failed every class and was barred from graduation did his dad offer to build a new research facility for the school and suddenly Devon was graduating with honours. Devon never even experienced what it was to deal with shame, as an only child both his parents showered him with praise. Even when he got drunk and crashed the family boat his parents commended his bravery in such a frightening event. Life was easy as a gay man too, his family never cared and once his dad bought Devon his own house and allowed him to hire his own help he was constantly surrounded by masculine buff men who he paid extra to walk around shirtless.

Once Devon even went as far as to give his gardener a $4000 dollar tip just to let Devon film him drinking from the hose on his hands and knees. Of course Devon leaves out the part where he threatened to fire his gardener unless he allowed himself to be filmed.

A few months ago, Devon got the worst news of his life. His dad had told him he had to work for his weekly allowance of 1 million. If he didn't then his allowance would be slashed to a pitiful $400k. He couldn't bare to live like a peasant on such a pathetic amount of money so he agreed to his dad's outrageous terms. Devon had to work 1 hour a day for 4 days each week. Like some disgusting labour mule.

Devon had been working at the head office for 3 weeks and every day he called his dad begging to quit. A man like him wasn't meant for such things.

Devon stood on the stairs in front of the massive corporate building adjusting his suit readying for another day of hard labour. He checked his watch. 11:30am. Devon let out a tired sigh as he jogged up the stairs towards the door.

His dad had told him he had to come in any time before 12pm, Monday - Thursday. Devon had been given the role of "Team Motivator" and his job was to come in and hype up the employees.

Devon's elevator arrived at his office floor, already he needed his 15 minute break for the day, looking around seeing all these unattractive people. He never understood why the poor never took their looks more seriously or why there was always a terrible odour around people like them.

Devon stood in the elevator and raised his hand above his head. He swiped his hand down slowly and inch away from his face, he narrowed his tired eyes, cocked a toothy fuck boy smile and began to walk in-between the cubicles with the swagger only a rich fuck boy could have.

"hey hey hey team, how are those numbers looking? we got the advertisements out this morning? if not make sure you get it done by lunch, hey carol what's goin on with the boys in the lab? we got that new drug ready to roll out by friday"

A few people looked up from their desks at his peacocking and parading.

Devon clapped his hands together as he got closer to his office door. "Come on Come on people!! we got work to do, lets have a great day."

Devon slipped into his office and slammed the door shut. Inside he leant his back against it and let out an exhausted heavy sigh. He had no idea how he was going to go clubbing tonight after working so hard, but a wave of pride hit him as he heard the sounds of muttering out amongst the workers, he had done his job, inspired them.

Of course in reality Devon had done nothing at all. Most of the people on his floor had been working in the office since 7am and everyone ignored his morning speech as it was the exact same rehearsed scripted speech he had been saying each morning since his first day.

Numbers weren't part of their department,

There were no advertisements due this morning,

The boys in the lab didn't have any upcoming deadline,

There was no Carol.

Devon waltzed over to his break area at the back of his office. Originally meant for small intimate meetings, Devon had decked it out with a plasma screen TV and all his streaming services. Not that he got to use it much, he only got to be in his office for 45 minutes of his working day and that really only meant he got to watch an episode of something if he was lucky. Currently he was watching a new fitness challenge show where 20 jacked dudes were pitted against each other in different fitness challenges.

Devon threw himself back on the couch in a cocky man spread and rested his hand on his crotch. Whilst he respected the fact that he couldn't jerk off in the office, it didn't mean he couldn't enjoy how his dick felt hard whilst he watched a handful of jacked men compete for money.

30 minutes into his show and Devon saw a guy in a lab coat walking past his office window. The guy was wearing a blue button down shirt that was slightly loose in the front. He let out a loud sigh and got up from his couch walking over to his office door. Devon swung the door open and called out to the man in the lab coat before gesturing him to come into his officer by curling his index finger repeatedly.

The guy in the lab coat walked into Devon's office

"shut the door behind you bro,"

The man in the lab coat shut the door and turned to Devon all confused

"What is your name man?"

"John"

"Do you know what my job here is John?"

"Ill be honest with you Devon, nobody really knows what you do here" John replied with a cheeky smirk

Devon laughed loudly whilst slapping his desk with one hand,

"Ya know man, my dad had given me the important mantis of motivating our team"

"M-mantis? do you mean mantle?" John lowered his eyebrows confused at how this guy had somehow convinced his dad to give him the biggest office in the building.

"not important. my job is to make sure the people who work at our company are the best they can be"

The thought that maybe Devon did know what he was talking about entered John's mind, he thought maybe he was trained in motivation speaking and would talk to people one on one to help them better manage their work life balance

"look buddy, I can tell, with the way that shirt of yours is sagging in the front, your shoulders not filling out giving you that hot V shape, no pec cleavage on display and that ugly as fuck white coat, you are not living your best life" Devon gestured his hands either side with a big smirk on his face like he had seen his dad do when he was talking to other business men.

The benefit of the doubt dropped out of John's mind. "Nope, this guys a fucking moron" he thought to himself.

"Devon, I appreciate the concern, but I think I'm fine"

"I'll let you in on a little secret man, if a gay stud like me doesn't want to see you on your back, you're fat.."

"WOAH, DEVON THAT IS INSANELY NOT OKAY"

"bro, I'm just trying to be the nice guy and tell you what other people won't" Devon cockily dropped down into his nice leather chair behind his desk. "ya know, my pool guy had a kid and 2 weeks after his abs started to fade and do you know what I did?"

John wanted to say something clever but it would probably go over Devon's head, or worse, if he understood it he might lose his job.

"I fired him John, I don't want some fatty in a speedo working on my pool, and I don't want fat guys working here either"

John was too caught off guard by the first part of Devon's statement

"You make your staff work in speedo's? I think that might be illegal?"

"Look, dude, don't you wanna look like me I mean, check me out. biceps hugging my shirt, shoulders pulling it apart, my chest popping out catching everyone's attention, my abs so fucking tight you can see them through my shirt. I look HOT, you look FAT Johnny"

"Okay, I'm not even chubby though? I'm 6.2 and 85kg. I'm not exactly overweight"

"Buddy you still don't get it so let me spell it out for you, a fit body is hot, a 2 pack means you are fat, no abs showing at all? you're overweight!"

John fluttered his eyes, stunned by Devon's view of the world.

"I thank you for, whatever the hell this was Devon but I have a job to actually get back to"

John began to walk out of the office before Devon called out to him, a tone of desperation in his voice.

"WAIT....can you get me a coffee, almond milk, iced, NO WHIPPED CREAM, I want a drop that weighs exactly one quarter of a gram of caramel mixed in counter clock wise with a bamboo spoon. AND NO PLASTIC OR PAPER CUPS make sure you get it put in one of those little metal ones, no lid.

"No, Devon that isn't my job"

"You work for my dad, so if you want to keep working for my dad you'll do it"

John gritted his teeth. He unfortunately couldn't call out the rich boy on any of his bullshit without risking his entire career, But maybe there was something else he could do.

A few minutes past and John returned to Devon walking out of his office.

"Ah, great timing John, I'm just leaving"

Devon snatched the coffee out of John's hand and noticed something strange. A purple swirl drifting and dispersing into the coffee.

"What's this?" Devon said raising the corner of his lip in disgust.

"oh, its purple caramel, less calories" John quickly blurted out.

All concern dropped from Devon's mind as he took a sip of his drink.

"great call man, its that kind of intimidation we want to encourage here"

John had to stop himself from slamming the palm of his hand into his forehead, clearly Devon meant initiative.

"Ya know, man you might wanna switch to this low calorie caramel I told you about, because when I take over from my dad, first thing I'll do, anyone without a six pack is being let go"

John just gritted his teeth and smiled, "great idea, I'll have to give it a try"

Devon had already left before John could finish his sentence, but John didn't care, in fact he was hoping that coffee would keep Devon away for at least a few months.

--------------

Devon stepped out of his car throwing the metal coffee cup on the back seat behind him. He didn't even bother to say goodbye to his driver and he began jogging up the stone stairs to the front door of his mansion.

As Devon jogged up the stairs he felt something strange. His ass felt heavier, tighter against his carefully tailored pants. He felt it bounce and jiggle on his way up and once he got to his front door he had to stop and massage it briefly. It hurt worse than that time he was grounded and had to fly to take a 12 hour flight in business class.

He entered his house and instantly unbuttoned his pants, after a long hard day at the office he just wanted to get his work clothes off and wash the smell of poor people out of his hair. Devon undressed himself as he walked down the hallway, throwing his clothes on the ground behind him. Someone would be by to pick them up later, he was never sure of exactly who picked up his clothes but it was someone on his staff. He walked into his elegant bathroom covered in tiles and stone work imported all the way from Italy, his bathroom alone cost more than some peoples houses, of course when he moved out and had his house built his dad forked out for all the costs so he wasn't even sure how much everything really cost.

Devon pulled his hair out from his short pony tail and let it hang down. He flexed his broad shoulders in the mirror, his perfectly defined muscles. He wasn't a bodybuilder by any means but he still had a much better body than most people he came across.

His pecs were the main attraction and he often experienced men he brought home squeezing them as he bounced them. His flowing locks drove men wild, being a billionaire helped to prevent any thinning so often the men he slept with were not only turned on by his angelic looks but there was also a hint of jealousy when they ran their hands through his hair, which did nothing but turn Devon on more.

But something was different about him today, his abs were wrong. Normally a beautiful and cut six pack but now he was only seeing 4, and barely 4.

He felt his stomach, the bottom towards his pelvis felt like it was sticking out, ever so slightly.

"oh well, probably bloated from the caramel" he thought to himself

Devon pressed a button on the wall and instantly the water began to flow at the perfect temperature, no need to wait or pathetically dangle his hand in the water like a peasant, he just pressed a button and stepped in. As he went to step in the shower something else caught his eye, something behind him.

"Was my ass always this big?" he asked himself allowed.

Reaching down he grabbed handful of his own ass, it was still firm but it wasn't as hard as stone like he was used to, there was a new squeeze to it, like trying to work with cold clay. Devon took his finger and placed it under his ass cheek, flicking upwards he watched as his whole ass rippled and bounced more than he was used to.

*sigh* "maybe I'll only train legs once a week for a bit, don't want anyone thinking I'm a bottom"

Devon stepped into the water, instantly he felt relaxed as the warm water washed over his face and ran down his body. He squeezed out a decent amount of his tropical scented soap into the palm of his hand and began to work it over his entire body. Washing himself but also taking the time to feel himself. He got hard as he pictured his own perfection, his own brilliance.

Using the lotion he worked his way down to his pelvis, and then to his dick. Devon closed his eyes and bit his lip as he faced into the water, using both hands to rub and pleasure his 12 inches. He couldn't help it, he loved himself so much, he loved his body. He often fantasied about cloning himself just so he could have the experience so many others had been graced with, sleeping with the perfect man.

Devon moaned feeling the water on his lips and the pleasure he brought to himself. He was so close but something started to bother him. He felt hungry, which was unusual because he had such a strict diet routine and always ate at the perfect time every day. He tried to supress the feeling instead focusing on the building pleasure, but it became harder to do so the longer he lasted. The only downside to lasting an hour was it was easy for him to accidentally edge himself if he got too distracted. Unfortunately this was one of those time.

Devon's stomach let out a loud audible groan and he started to feel not just a little peckish, but he felt starved, like he had forgotten breakfast and all his morning snacks.

"uuugggh" He moaned as he let go of himself and turned his attention to finishing his shower routine.

He started pulling out small bottles from a small alcove build into the marble walls of his shower. Starting his multi-step face routine, ignoring the pain in his stomach. It was only when he started his hair routine that he all became a bit much and his stomach tenses letting out an audible grumble.

Devon's hands dropped from his hair to his stomach as he grabbed it from the hunger pains. It felt, almost plump as he rubbed it trying to soothe it. He quickly washed the conditioner out of his hair and got out of the shower.

Pressing a button on the wall an intense heat kicked in as the light above started radiating heat into the room instantly helping the water dry up on his skin. Devon closed his eyes and looked up at the roof letting the water droplets dry up, but the noises from his stomach didn't stop, it got worse. Every few seconds his stomach would let out a loud grumble.

"fuuuuckk, who knew one coffee would get me so bloated..."

Reaching into a small draw Devon pulled out a paid of white underwear which he slipped on. As he did he felt the back struggle to fit. Everything was perfectly tailored to his body to make him look his best but this pair felt weird on him. He felt his ass jiggle as the fabric slide over. He felt the meat of his ass cheeks spilling out of the sides and he could feel the fabric tightly stretch across his behind. As he took his first steps the underwear only felt more uncomfortable, like it was three sizes too small. He walked around the small corner in the bathroom back to the mirror so he could get a better look.

"WHAT THE FUCK" Devon screamed in shock as he stared at the reflection before him.

Devon stood there in shock as he looked at the chubby man before himself.

"I-I- OH GOD, I-I'M FAT"

His stomach loudly grumbled, almost like it was responding too him

"uuuuggghhh, oh god" Devon moaned as he grabbed his new chubby belly with both hands desperately hoping he could push it back in.

His body felt like it wasn't his. He could still feel all the muscle tone it was just buried under a layer of blubber. Taking a step forward he watched as his stomach jiggled. He grabbed his phone off the counter top as he started to panic. He sent out a mass message to everyone on his staff.

"EVERYONE GO HOME AND TAKE THE WEEK OFF, GOING ON MY TRIP EARLY"

Instantly Devon's stomach grumbled. He tossed his phone down on the bench, closed his eyes and grabbed his stomach as a reaction to the pain. The pain got worse as his stomach's grumbling turned to gurgling.

Devon began taking in deep breaths, with each breath his stomach expanded, and with each exhale it deflated, but not all the way. Devon began to itch all over. With on hand already on his stomach he took his one free and desperately began to itch his chest and arms.

He watched as his thin layer of hair darkened and grew longer, slowly making him look like he had never waxed in his life. After a few minutes the itchiness began to die down and Devon's second hand moved down to help massage his complaining gut.

"wh-what's happening to me" Devon cried out, tears starting to well in his eyes.

Suddenly his stomach let out an insatiably loud groan, followed by a noise he had never heard before.

"AAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUGGGGG"

Devon yelled out in pain and watched in the mirror as his chubby belly rapidly expanded into a big round gut within an instant. It took him a minute to recover and adjust to the pain. He thought his skin had surely just split open, but it hadn't, what he saw in the mirror was so much worse than anything he could have imagined.

Devon was greeted by a large hairy bouncing gut.

"OH MY GOD, W-WHAT HAPPENED TO ME, I LOOK LIKE SOME FUCKING PIG"

Devon bounced his gut with his hands and watched it shake like jelly.

Within a matter of minutes, Devon had gone from sexy billionaire who was on magazines around the world, to a fat greasy pig.

He couldn't help but bounce his gelatinous belly in shock, he almost burst into tears at what a fat freak he had become. He was disgusted by himself, he couldn't go to work like this, he couldn't let his staff see him like this, but the worst part about becoming a fat pig.

He was starving.

-------------

Two weeks went by and Devon's mansion had started to become a mess after he sent all his staff away telling them he was off on his trip. His towels and clothes scattered all over the floor. Take out bags and food containers were all around his house. Without someone to pick up after him, Devon was disgusting.

He sat on his couch taking a multiple food containers out of two paper bags that had just been delivered to his door. His stomach loudly groaned. Devon picked up his phone off the coffee table and opened Instagram. The first post was that of a friend who had actually gone on the trip he had planned to take.

It was a photo of his friend Todd standing next to a tall black bodybuilder on a tropical island, with the caption 'I think I found love out here in the sun'

Devon's stomped his feet causing his meaty thighs to tremble.

"ITS NOT FAIIIRRRR, I SHOULD BE OUT THERE, THAT BIG HUNK OF MEAT SHOULD BE DATING ME, M E, NOT TODD"

tears started welling up in his eyes Devon flicked open a white food box on his coffee table revealing a beautifully decorated white chocolate mud cake which he instantly destroyed by digging his hands into it and stuffing it in his face.

between in monstrous and obnoxious chewing he stuff grabbing his belly and jiggling it with one hand.

"WHEN WILL YOU GO AWAY" Devon cried as he shovelled more expensive food in his mouth and washed it down with a bottle of lemonade like a spoilt pig.

BUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPP

sooner or later he'd realise if he wanted it gone, he was going to have to work for it...

---------

NOTE: hope you all enjoyed this, my inbox has a bunch of requests begging for a weight gain story and whilst I don't tend to write this sort of thing too often I thought I'd feed the hunger so to speak and write one for those wishing for one.

[thesilmarillionblog]

A Sweet Distraction

Summary: When you're in a club, you have to make sure Soldier Boy stays out of trouble and doesn't draw attention of other people while Butcher and the boys look for Payback members. Whatever it takes, you have to keep him busy and distracted.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: Language, Soldier Boy being a dick, violence

Word Count: 1704

A/N: English is not my first language.

You put on modest makeup, adjusted your outfit, and gave Butcher a brief glance in the mirror as you prepared to go out with the most dangerous and unpredictable supe alive to keep him distracted. Although he was aware of your fear of Soldier Boy and your lack of desire to spend as little time as possible with him, Butcher believed that you were the only person fit for this dreadful task. You already felt bad about accepting Butcher's suggestion after learning about Soldier Boy's outburst and everything.

“Hey, I know you're new here, but while we're away, it might be best if a lady kept him in check. Don't misunderstand me, lovely.” Butcher remarked, placing his hand on your shoulder to encourage confidence in you. You sighed with acceptance at that. 

You reluctantly said, “Fine,” as if you had the option to say ‘no.’

“Oi, I'm not making any sort of suggestion, you know. I just ask that you keep your eyes on him.” 

“I know, I know,” you quickly answered as your cheeks started to blush. 

You were assigned your first job, but it seemed like your last mission because Butcher, who called you "his boys" only a week prior, forced you to join his team. Being aware of Solider Boy's reputation for uncontrollable explosions, you made every effort to stay away from him during your first week. There didn't seem to be any way to get in touch with him, though. Either Soldier Boy himself would be the cause of your death, or Butcher.

“Don't misjudge him; as long as he drinks and fucking sniffs his cocaine, he won't cause a scene. You'll be alright, I promise. He's not all that miserable.”

Even if you had doubts about Butcher's belief in his own remarks, you nonetheless nodded to him.

“Alright. Yes, indeed, I understand.” You muttered to Butcher. “I can handle this,” but in reality, you were talking to yourself.

“Excellent!” he exclaimed while clapping his hands. He was glad you avoided arguing with him. “My car is yours, and we'll get the van. Let's not keep Soldier Boy waiting around much longer.”

As you looked at yourself in the mirror one more time, your heart raced, and you took a sip of whiskey from the closest table.

You entered Soldier Boy's room, where a massive amount of cocaine was on his table, and he was already getting high. You did your best to avoid staring at his massive, well-muscled chest while he was somewhat naked. You were afraid that weed use would increase his nervousness levels or something, or worse, cause him to become even more unstable. You were waiting quietly beside Butcher, wanting to say something about the current state of things, yet you uttered nothing. 

“Hey, are you prepared to enjoy yourself in the modern world?” Butcher inquired in a lighthearted manner.

You retreated a step as he approached you, asking, "With her?" with a grin on his face as he examined you from head to toe after standing up from his chair. 

“Buddy, don't be harsh on her; she's already scared of you.” Butcher spoke firmly, and he added, “Y/N will just be your company tonight while me and my boys look for your most devoted teammates. She is one of us.”

You turned your back as your cheeks became red while Soldier Boy raised his eyebrows and turned back to Butcher. He proceeded to smoke while pulling down his sweatpants suddenly and putting on a shirt over his bare chest. 

“I wouldn’t try,” Soldier Boy said as he changed his clothes. “She better take me to a good fucking place. I’m sick of staying in this fucking room.”

“That is not anything to worry about for you.” You all left the room as Butcher murmured.

You and Soldier Boy arrived at one of the most well-known and weird clubs, which was primarily packed with supes, after having nothing at all to talk about while driving. Soldier Boy's mouth curled into a satisfied smile as you became extremely nervous.

As soon as you two walked into the club, he said, “Not bad.”

If you were a supe, you would find it much easier to adjust to the environment and everything, but you weren't, and if you pissed someone off, they could kill you in a second. That's why you got a drink right away and followed Soldier Boy everywhere.

He removed the drug from one of his pockets and said, “I wonder if there is a fine chick to fuck,” before turning to face you. “All the sperm feels heavy in my balls though I jerked off at least five times, fuck.”

You said to yourself, "Oh, god," as he continued to spit filthy words.

He turned to face you, licked his lips, and gave you a smile that was so inviting that it stopped you in a moment.

He asked, “What happened now?” as if you were exaggerating. “I thought you all wanted to take away my attention.”

As you were going to say something unpleasant about his actions, you remembered what Butcher had said and changed your mind.

“It is not important.” You sipped your drink and kept an eye on the folks in the crowd who were getting wild, intoxicated, and dancing, and you added, “Everything's fine.”

Soldier Boy smirked as he saw your shy demeanor and chose to focus on you briefly before giving someone a hard and deep fuck. He may even attempt to get you to open you spread your legs for him so he can give you a satisfying fuck. Your bashful demeanor made him wonder if your pussy was as tight as he thought it was.

“You don’t need to be scared of me, you know,” Soldier Boy said and he gave you another inviting look.

You muttered, “How is that even possible? After all, you are a supe on cocaine with PTSD.”

Even though you felt bad right away for speaking out loud, he only laughed at your harsh remarks and replied, “Touche.”

You asked him with an uneasy smile, “Are you having fun?”

"Well, sweet thing, I'll start having fun as soon as my dick disappear into some really tight pussy.”

You muttered, “Okay, okay,” cutting him off from continuing. You took a deep breath, muttered, “You keep having fun, I will be around,” and hurriedly moved away from his side.

You just hoped that the night would end soon enough for you as you faded into the crowd. Should you get through this night without injury, you vowed to spit hate in Butcher's face. 

You chose to watch Soldier Boy from a distance, so you made some space between you and tried not to pay attention to the bizarre and frightening behaviors of the people around you. It appeared to be a massive freak show. You couldn't determine which club was worse, Herogasm or this one. 

As you locked eyes with Soldier Boy, you noticed that his lethal green eyes were already bound to you, as though you were some kind of prey to be pursued. He frowned as he moved to approach you through the chaotic crowd, and you gasped. Perhaps you were just making things up in your thoughts, and he was just staring at someone else. You tried pushing some people and finding a quieter place to avoid him.

But the person you might have shoved hard turned around and yelled, “Why the fuck are you pushing my fucking back?” to you. He became increasingly enraged after you muttered an apology, saying, “Why do they even let ordinary people get in here? You only bring difficulty upon yourselves, fuck.”

Once more, you pleaded, hoping to get out of there without stirring up any more tension. “I sincerely apologize.”

You moaned in agony as the supe's large hands gripped your arm tightly. It was not as if he would give up. You should never have accepted Butcher's suggestion in the first place.

But happily, Soldier Boy's stronger hands grabbed the strangers tightly, saving them from a terrifying situation in an instant and giving them a sense of happiness. If not, it appeared unlikely that you would survive to escape this strange club. As Soldier Boy turned to face the supe stranger and shot you a glare, you touched your arm with a painful moan.

“Is it that, you fuckface, your micropenis gets hard for the weak? You wanna play the big bad tough guy?” Soldier Boy asked angrily as his hands tightened a rough, quick grip around the other man's throat. He wasn't allowing the other supe to say anything. With feeble mutterings, he was urgently attempting to free himself from Soldier Boy's brutal hold.

“Please, don't cause any trouble,” you urged, touching Soldier Boy's big arm. Despite your attempts to calm him down, he continued to tighten his hold even after the supe kept apologizing. 

“No,” he angrily said. “I found a way to have fun. This fucking cocksucker is going to die.”

You tried to get him to move by saying, “Please, stop,” but it was obviously impossible. You panickedly muttered, “Oh, no,” as you noticed his chest suddenly glowing. 

He clinched his mouth, trying to control his chest and halt what was about to happen, but Soldier Boy threw him between the crowd and he growled, “Stay away.”

 You knew that you wouldn't make it to the exit between all the chaos and supes before Soldier Boy exploded, so you disregarded his warnings, softly cupped his neck, and placed your cold lips on his warm ones, hoping to surprise him with your unexpected move and calm him down a little.

Next Chapter

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A/N: Comments and reblogs are very appreciated.

-`♡´-

[llamagoddessofficial]

Llama, could you share any datemate Fae!Dream you may have please 🥺

What a lovely, silly, complicated guy.

We know he's got... issues. His whole life he's been surrounded by yes-men and people who think the sun shines out of his ass. He really, genuinely believes that his worth as a person is directly tied to how 'good' of a King he is; hence his habit of hyper-focusing on a new partner, then gradually drifting away from them as his need to continually prove his 'goodness' begins to rear its head again.

I think Dream, deep down, really wants someone who doesn't think he's all that. Someone who doesn't admire him, or get swept up in his power and prestige. Someone who actually sees him.

He would really like someone blunt. Someone who sees through him. Someone who will say "Dream, I feel really abandoned, you're being a shitty partner." or "I'm hurt that you keep sending gifts as apologies for not spending time with me, it feels like you don't care enough to actually come apologise."

He wants someone who'll talk with him for hours. But if not more, he wants someone who will stay even when he's silent. Someone who'll sit with him by the lakeside, his head in their lap, doing nothing. Saying nothing. Reading together is one of his favourite activities.

He wants someone who won't rush to 'fix' that he isn't happy.

Someone who doesn't need a performance.

Being with Dream means understanding that he's the King of a massive, sprawling realm. He will be busy. You won't always have his time.

He's much more perceptive than he lets on. He'll remember if you expressed interest in something.

He has taken many lovers to the most beautiful areas of the Summer realm. But he has a place that's 'his', where no one else is allowed to go. It has a small pond, not as pretty as the big lakes. A tree, old and wizened but still bearing fruit. A tiny garden with flowers he planted himself.

He'll take you there. He wants you to see it.

You'd probably constantly be surprised that he keeps coming back to you. Everyone else in his life says exactly what he wants to hear, why does he always refuse to dismiss you from his side, even though you're the only one who dares to tell him what you really think? All the other fae look at you like you're insane when you plainly tell him your thoughts. Yet he still brings you everywhere.

He deeply craves that kind of reality check. You're always calling him out, but never in a malicious way. It's just honesty. And even when you do tell him he'd being a (pardon my British coming through) massive git, you still treat him with kindness and stay by his side. You see his flaws but remain anyway.

He's surprisingly not overly physically affectionate. He shows physical love in more restrained ways - taking off his gloves to help you down from a horse, seeing you for the first time in a while and spinning you when you jump into his arms, quietly resting his head on your shoulder when he's so tired but the day isn't over yet, letting the kiss on your hand linger that fraction longer.

When it's just the two of you, he doesn't smile as much. You come to realise just how much that means he loves you.

[miodiodavinci]

My standing artwork for ZOLA V6 has been released!!

In a twist that feels like a dream turned reality, I received the opportunity to create official artwork for the ZOLAs!! You can download the full artwork alongside more than 30 alternate expressions from the ZOLAs character page on the SoundUD website. Please be sure to check it out!!

Also, once again, a massive thanks to @ricedeity for their input on the designs!! I'll reblog this post shortly with a copy of our behind-the-scenes design tour w

[sunflowerwinds]

kiss it better [h.c]

summary: after receiving one too many hits in the fight club, hazel tends to your cuts. you test to see if kissing a cut really makes it heal faster.

pairing: hazel callahan x fem!reader

contains: mature language, slight violence and blood, hazel being a little cocky flirt, making out, extremely light choking if you squint, reader is smitten.

word count: 1.5K

a/n: based on this request, i wrote a little oneshot for you guys. i’m obsessed with this. also thank you guys for over 100 followers and for all the support and kind words. i hope you all enjoy <3

When you heard about this women empowering fight club, you didn’t expect to actually get beat up. Hazel had approached you in the hallway randomly asking if you wanted to join. Having the most insanely massive crush on Hazel, you agreed like a pathetic idiot. You thought it was going to be practicing on some dummies or punching bags. Not actually throwing punches, kicking and wrestling your friends and peers.

It was the third day and you and Sylvie were in the circle. You had already fought against Isabel and PJ and that had gotten some pretty good punches to your stomach and jaw. You were nervous beyond belief as Sylvie scared you in some ways but all the girls were encouraging the both of you to just take a swing. You shake your hands out and crack your neck as you prepare for anything.

If it was Hazel, at least you could have her hands on you. Sure, it might be a slap or punch but it’ll be from her and not Sylvie.

“C’mon guys. Someone has to punch first,” you heard PJ shout.

Sucking in a long breath and clenching your fist, not wanting to stretch out the tension for much longer. You swung at Sylvies cheek. The contact burned throughout your knuckles all the way to your elbow, muttering curses to yourself. Sylvie held her cheek where you punched, everyone gasping at the sudden blow.

You freeze, waiting for some sort of rebuttal. Sylvie then quickly bops her fist three times to your bottom lip and then the apple of your left cheek. You jerk back at the punches that were thrown. The entire group cheers with a mixture of ‘oohs’ at you tripping over your own shoe-laces, falling to the ground.

You scrunch up your face to in some way ease the pain that was flooding from cheek to cheek. You feel someone kneel down next to you and you look up to see Hazel checking on you.

You raise a hand to feel over your bottom lip to see the deep crimson dripping down the length of your features. Suddenly, everyone was clamoring around your laid out body.

“Shit, are you okay?” Hazel was the first to ask.

You nod and glance at the way she was merely inches from your face. You tense up and sit up slowly, everyone backing up from you except for Hazel.

“God, Sylvie, it was light punching today.” PJ sighed, rubbing at her temple. “You almost knocked her fucking teeth out.”

“Shit, I-I’m sorry. Light punching,” she slowly nodded, glancing over at you. “Got it.”

“I’m alright, guys. Don’t worry about it,” you nod but as soon as you stand up on your feet, your head begins to throb.

Hazel seemed to notice your discomfort and placed a hand on your clothed shoulder.

“I’ll take her to the restroom to, uh, get cleaned up. Someone else go.” Hazel motioned towards the group with her black spiral notebook before jerking her head towards the bathroom.

PJ and Josie seemed to glance at each other knowingly before shouting for someone else to fight against Sylvie. You followed Hazel to the girls locker room in the gym, rolling your bloody lip into your mouth. The metallic taste made you wince.

For a moment, you felt Hazel’s palm on your lower back as she led you to the sink. She grabbed a small hand towel and ran it under the tap. You could hear the echoing of everyone’s shoes squeaking and bodies hitting the ground.

“Hazel, you don’t have to do this. I can clean up this on my own,” you protest but in reality, you knew the second she put her hands on your face, you would flush an embarrassingly deep red.

“I know but I don’t know, you had already taken some blows from fucking Brittany and Josie so I wanted to help.” Hazel confessed, lifting her head up from the running water. “To make sure you’re okay.”

She cares about me? You didn’t even think that Hazel saw you as a friend, let alone someone she cared about. You had only spoken very few words outside of the club in the one shared class.

“I’m a big girl, you know? I just got thrown off guard. Sylvie wasn’t joking with those punches.” You force out a nervous chuckle, fiddling with your bitten nails.

“Still, I wanna help you.” She emphasized, clutching onto the damp towel to ring a majority of the water out. “Can you sit on that bench, please?”

You looked down to attempt to hide your blush. You push your body off the wall to walk over to the red bench, sitting down as you were told. You were thanking all the Gods above that Hazel could not see you shamelessly checking her out from behind. How was her even back profile hot?

You hear her turn off the tap, removing your stare from her beck side and glancing down at your shoes. You feel her hand grab the underside of your jaw, her thumb accidentally pressing into the bruise that was forming from Josie’s swing. You wince and she whispers a soft ‘sorry’, readjusting her hold.

She began to dab the towel onto your puffy and bleeding lip, her face centimeters from yours now. Your eyes stared at the furrow in between her brows as she focused on not pressing too harshly onto the open wound.

“Are you, like, my nurse now?” You break the silence, your words forming a lisp as she was pressing onto your lip.

Hazel cracked a small grin, eyes locking with yours. She shrugged her shoulders, sucking in a deep breath.

“I do have experience of tending to wounds when I would get my ass kicked when I sparred,” Hazel released your face, the now bloodied-towel in her other hand.

“Ah, okay, gotcha,” you nod, reaching a hand up to touch your lip but Hazel was quick to snatch your wrist.

“Don’t touch it. You haven’t washed your hands.” Hazel lightly chuckled.

You blushed, embarrassment flooding through your veins.

“You can’t risk that pretty lip of yours to get even more fucked up with an infection,” Hazel continued to dab at the area for a couple more seconds.

Your eyes widened at what she had just said, trying to keep your cool. Your hand gripped onto the bench, your knuckles turning white. She just said it so nonchalantly. It caught you off guard.

“You think my lips are pretty?” You whisper, your eyes flickering from each of her pretty eyes.

Hazel set the towel on the bench, looking at you with a small smile.

“Yeah,” she nodded as she sat down next to you now, your shoulders brushing. “I think everything about you is pretty.”

Your hands are twiddling with each other as you take in the compliment. You hadn’t said anything yet as you didn’t know what to say to her. Compliments didn’t come your way as often as you desired so when that rare occasion came around, it made you awkward beyond belief.

Hazel whispers your name to get your attention and you lift your head up, turning your neck to face her. In the blink of an eye, her hands are cupping your cheeks and pulling you into a delicate kiss. You gasp but move your lips against hers, a hand holding at her elbow.

You pulled back to whisper, “I thought I wasn’t supposed to touch my cut.”

“Do you want me to stop?” Hazel hummed, her thumb brushing against your cheek the forming bruise from where Sylvie had punched you.

“No,” you press your lips back onto yours, eager and inhaling at the feeling of her hand cupping your neck.

You let out the faintest of sounds as she squeezed lightly. Your hands caress at her arms as she continues to just rest her hand at your navel. The soft sounds of your panting and your lips connecting and disconnecting every once in a while was all your thoughts were filled with. Hazel smiles onto your lips before slipping her tongue past your bottom lip, a slightly metallic undertone from your cut lip.

“Wow,” you jumped away from Hazel’s lips at the sound of PJ’s voice.

Embarrassment floods through your system as the entire group was standing there in the locker room, a variation of reactions on everyone’s faces. Hazel wipes at her own lips, seeing a hint of red on her fingertips. She smiled to herself and looked up at everyone else.

“If you guys wanted to tongue fuck each other, you should’ve told us,” Josie stated with a grimace.

You groaned and rested your head on Hazel’s shoulder. “Alright, leave. We’ll be there in a second,” you tell everyone who scurried out of the locker room.

“Did you wanna… make-out some more or?” Hazel offered with a cheeky grin.

You chuckle and place a kiss on her cheek. “Take me out on a date and then we can.”

“We can do that.” Hazel nodded, her tongue prodding into her cheek.

Maybe you should get beat up more often.

taglist: @matchamilkislover @curiousshifter101 @imjustapearl @seethesin <33

[warping-realities]

Online Scam - An OnlyFags Story

Inspired by the concept created by @johnbrand and @boysmentfs

Henry wasn’t having a good day; hell, it wasn’t even a good week or month. He had been stoked for college, ready to hit up new places and live it up, but the truth was that everything was turning into a total shitshow. His roommate was barely tolerable and he hadn’t made a single friend yet. All of this was messing with his head. But what really got to him was being totally broke, not having a dime to his name. His dad sent him a bit of cash, still stuck between being proud of having a son in college and feeling ashamed that son was openly gay. Henry, a name picked by his late mother, who passed down her delicate traits both physically and mentally, knew his dad earned that money busting his ass as a mechanic at a big car shop, and it didn’t come in large amounts, but surely he could send more than the pathetic little sum he was sending. The young man wondered if he’d get more cash if he had a sports scholarship instead of one for his grades.

While hunting for a side gig that could hook him up with some cash, Henry got blindsided by a new message alert on his computer screen. It wasn’t just the message itself; it was who it was from. Larry Thomas was in charge of the more complex systems at the car company where Henry’s dad worked. He was a relatively new hire, and Henry’s dad didn’t get along with the guy at all, with Henry only knowing him from the last company holiday party, since Henry’s dad didn’t want a “degenerate faggot” near his son. The irony of the situation was lost on the old man.

“Hey, kid, I heard your dad telling the guys he cut your funds to force you to man up or whatever. Maybe this will help you scrape together some cash!” the message from the man said, along with a link. Feeling like he had nothing to lose and pissed off at his dad, who he was now sure was punishing him for being gay, Henry clicked the link, which immediately started downloading some kind of app.

“Shit, I hope this ain’t a virus,” he muttered in front of the computer screen.

After loading, a logo popped up at the top: OnlyFags. What the hell was that? Some kind of joke from Larry? Did he team up with Henry’s dad just to humiliate him? Nah, that didn’t make sense; they hated each other. Still, Henry had caught a few looks from Larry directed at his dad that made him think there was some kinda unrequited attraction there… Before he could do anything, a text box popped up asking “Are you a creator or a user?” followed by two more boxes for a username and password. Henry’s computer acted on its own, typing in a sequence so fast he couldn’t read anything that was written or checked. The screen froze for a moment, a spinning circle indicating something was loading, and soon a bunch of boxes appeared on the screen with various profiles.

A massive shock hit Henry with what those profiles showed. He stared in horror and disgust at what they displayed. Mostly dudes between twenty and forty years old with their bodies on full display, playing with pierced nipples, licking feet, or even getting off in plain sight! He moved the mouse, intending to close that crap and delete that app from his computer ASAP.

But fear took over as, instead of shutting down that damn app, the mouse pointer moved on its own to click the profile button in the opposite corner of the screen. The screen loaded again, and there was a profile filled out for him— name, age, height, weight, shoe size, and even dick size. All of it wildly different from reality. A warning popped up quickly: “Your profile picture is outdated! Would you like to take a new one?”

A sudden wave of even greater horror washed over Henry as his hand clicked “yes.” The front camera opened, and his hand set the timer for twenty seconds before propping it against the headboard of the bed, moving to the other side. Almost robotically, he took off his shirt and tossed it on the floor before adjusting his pose for the camera. He moved, trying to get his foot in the shot while flexing one arm, not realizing he’d gained a bunch of pounds of pure muscle and that his delicate size 7 feet had ballooned to a more robust size 10.

Paralyzed and unable to move, he saw a message pop up on the computer screen. “New photo uploaded! Error!!! Photo does not match profile. Correcting parameters!” Scared, he quickly summoned the last bit of willpower he had and tried to get up and shut that app down once and for all, only to be shoved back by an invisible wall, with all the impact you’d expect from a high-speed crash. Dizzy and confused, he felt his face and body go through a sensation of distortion, and suddenly… nothing! The most complete emptiness reigned in his mind. He didn’t know who he was or even his own name. And he stayed like that for several seconds, staring into the inner void.

Until a new notification appeared on the screen, grabbing his attention. “Success! Parameters corrected; new profile picture published!” Immediately, likes started flooding in on his photo and profile, making him focus on the computer screen just as the computer camera turned on again and a live stream began.

He quickly, almost automatically, repositioned himself, flexing one of the powerful arms he’d just acquired. A notification on the app pinged: “New donation from DirtyFaggotMike.”

The app, once again on its own, opened a list of donations from various users with similar and usernames, ranging from small amounts to hundreds of dollars. Henry felt a rush of pride inside him as memories of all the degrading content about that kind of people and the outrageous amounts of cash received for it flooded his mind!

A new comment appeared in at the top of the page with a $100 donation. “Master, your giant hands turn me on; I’d love to be smothered by them.” Henry found himself talking automatically to the screen: “Keep dreaming, faggot. You’re lucky enough to be able to worship them from a distance!” he replied, grinning arrogantly as he admired his own flexed arm.

A part of Henry still intact, lost in the gigantic void that his memories had become, managed to feel mortified; he didn’t want any of those horrible messages to be received by him, let alone responded to that way. That little remaining fraction tried again to regain control, only to be shoved back as the being occupying his body massaged his powerful pecs and spoke laughing arrogantly while getting up: “Where’s my money, you fags? You won’t get shit from me if this account doesn’t start filling up!”

The next message he received was the reply he’d been waiting for—a private message from LickLuckyLarry. “Master Hunter, I’ve been one of your loyal followers for months and I want to pay a good amount to see you jerk off if it’s not too much audacity on my part.”

Henry… Hunter smiled at that message. With a smirk on his face, he replied, “Disgusting faggot. Of course, it’s a hell of a lot of audacity for a worm like you to ask me that! But it’s you pathetic beings that keep my wallet full. I’m willing to accept, but it’ll depend on how much you’re willing to pay for all this!” he replied, grinning wickedly as his hands roamed over his abs and thighs, tentatively close to his cock.

“Master, please,” the guy replied, “I’d do anything to see you work that giant cock until it explodes with your alpha jizz.”

“Great, let’s talk privately; don’t turn on the camera! I don’t wanna see that faggot face of yours, it’ll be hard enough to jerk off knowing a worm like you is watching! And as for the rest of you, take note, faggots, you should all aspire to be like him.”

He leaned forward and closed the live window, before before lying down in his bed and focusing on talking privately in his smartphone with the guy willing to pay to see him play with his own cock. “I said I didn’t wanna see that pathetic face of yours, faggot,” he said upon seeing the man’s face appear on the app chat screen.

“Sorry, Master Hunter, I couldn’t help it; I promise to pay you a much bigger sum, but I wanted to know if you remember me?”

“And why the hell would I remember a pathetic faggot like you?” Hunter asked with a wicked grin.

“Because I work with your dad and… you… you let me suck your cock at the last company holiday party!”

“And? You’re not the first little bitch I’ve let do that! There’s no shame in showing off a bit or even letting one of you kind pay for a blowjob in the absence of something better. And that whore secretary didn’t want to give me any… Anyway, don’t think you’ll get a discount just because you know my old man, and if you try to blackmail me, I’ll use these weapons to smother you in a way way different from what that other faggot wanted!”

“No, Master Hunter… it’s not that… it’s just that you look so much like your dad! You’re a twenty-years-younger copy of him… I… I’ll pay you a bigger sum… but can you refer to yourself as Master Rusty while you jerk off?”

“So you have a fetish for my old man, huh? You sick fuck! But I’m cool with that! Just keep that ugly mug off the screen and don’t you dare talk to me while I do what needs to be done!”

“Thanks, Master Rusty… just one more thing, that mustache you’re growing makes you look even more like your dad… if I may be so bold, I’d say you should keep it.”

“I’ve allowed too much boldness, you worm. Now let’s wrap this up. Camera off,” Hunter said as he laid back on the bed, the camera aimed at him.

“So you want a piece of old Rusty, huh? You little shit?” Hunter teased, while Henry’s little voice tried to fight against the wave of mockery and arrogance filling his mind.

“A new chance to suck that cock? Only in your dreams.” He continued, with vivid memories of orgies with various women and dozens of live streams and videos for desperate gay guys into humiliation flooding his mind.

“You can look and admire, you can worship me from a distance, but this here, this here you’ll never have again pathetic faggot,” he concluded before exploding with a huge load that covered his entire abdomen.

“Thanks for the grand, loser.”

He ended the call and saved a copy of the video showing only the upper part of his body, teasing the release the full presentation for his fans after they donated a good chunk of cash.

As he lay back down, distracted, thinking about the bizarre situation with a coworker of his dad’s and what Old Rusty would think if he found out where the money supporting his son extravagant lifestyle and his monthly allowances was coming from. In that moment of distraction what remained of Henry inside him made one last attempt to surface, somehow managing to miraculously regain a bit of control. Thinking about how to fix this, Henry looked at his body; however, he seemed… normal. His enormous size 15 feet were giving off a potent funk as always. His well-developed calves giving way to tree trunk thighs, while hanging between them was his pride, his massive 10-inch cock, with which he toyed a bit before continuing his investigation. His abs were chiseled like an 8-brick wall, and just above them were the two slabs of flesh that were his pecs. He grabbed his phone and opened the camera, seeing his face; indeed, a near-exact copy of his dad’s face, square and masculine. The overall impression was one of arrogance and disdain, which precisely defined his personality.

He dropped the phone and smiled, satisfied, as he rested his head on his powerful arms. “Damn, Hunter, you’re one hot piece of ass,” he said to himself. “These faggots will never get tired of you,” he concluded, knowing that with a body and a cock like his, money would never be a problem.

Hundreds of miles away from Hunter’s dorm, Larry was finishing up his third or fourth jerk-off session, this time looking at the gif that served as Hunter’s profile picture on the app. That, he thought, was the best decision he’d ever made, seeing the perfect copy of Rusty that Hunter had become, a copy willing to treat him in the degrading way he’d dreamed for months that his dad would do. As he reached orgasm, remembering all the insults and humiliations, he wondered to himself if there was a chance that the son of one of the other coworkers would fall into the same trap; well, it wouldn’t hurt to try, especially if the reward was as delicious as Hunter.

[gxr25256]

A Flicker of Connection - Thundercraker x reader

🌵 He simply wanted someone to talk to.

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The first thing Thundercracker felt was betrayal—sharp, physical betrayal that seared across his faceplate, the blast striking him with a fury he should’ve anticipated. But he hadn’t expected Skywarp, of all mechs, to lash out like that. Perhaps he’d thought their years as trine, their shared battles and triumphs, would mean something.

But he was wrong. The mark of Skywarp’s anger, of his belief in Thundercracker’s failure, still scarred his metal plating. Now, in this forgotten building, far from the battle’s aftermath, he hid in silence. An old, crumbling structure on the outskirts of a city teeming with humans—the very beings he had risked everything to save. The glow of static from the Earth televisions he��d cobbled together washed over him, throwing flickering blue light across his frame as he replayed those events.

The scene from that day felt carved into his processor. Autobots and Decepticons, locked in vicious combat, and there he’d been, caught in between, feeling a gnawing sense of disgust for the very cause he’d once fought for. He remembered the humans’ faces, the terror etched into their expressions, and it had struck something deep within him. They were small, fragile—but there was something else he couldn't name that seemed... worth saving.

Thundercracker’s red optics dimmed as he watched the images on the screen shift to a romance film. Two humans, laughing, leaning close, as if their world consisted only of each other. It made no sense, these seemingly trivial displays. But he was drawn to it, this softer side of Earth culture, an escape from his own reality.

He didn't know how long he’d been hiding. Days, weeks? Time slipped by unnoticed, blending into one unbroken stretch of isolation. The world he knew was fractured, his purpose hazy, and it was only through these screens that he found fleeting distractions.

Suddenly, a faint noise made him freeze. There was a crunching of gravel outside, the slow approach of someone—or something—tiptoeing toward him. Thundercracker immediately straightened, readying his blaster, though his energy levels were low, and he doubted he could manage more than a warning shot.

When he saw who stepped into the doorway, his optic shutters clicked open in surprise. A human. Young, wide-eyed, and staring at him as if he were some strange, unimaginable creature.

You froze as soon as you spotted him. For a second, you just stood there, wide-eyed, mouth half-open, trying to process what you were seeing: a massive, mechanical creature, battered and worn, watching you intently. You could feel your heartbeat thunder in your chest, but something kept you rooted in place, as if curiosity outweighed fear, just barely.

Thundercracker didn’t move, watching you with equal surprise. He raised a hand slowly, almost in a placating gesture, and you flinched, nerves tense.

“…You’re…you’re real?” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

Thundercracker’s gaze softened slightly, though his tone remained guarded. “Last I checked,” he replied, the rumble of his voice reverberating through the empty space. The deep, almost gentle tone surprised you.

Your eyes flicked around nervously, your shoulders tense. “I, uh… I’ve heard of you guys in the news… seen the damage you can do, but I never thought—” You stopped yourself, swallowing visibly. “Never thought I’d see one of you here.” Your voice was shaky, and you struggled to hold his gaze, feeling as though he could see right through you.

“Most wouldn’t expect to.” He glanced at the floor, his optics narrowing slightly. “You’re not…scared?”

“Uh…” You glanced at his scarred faceplate, the mangled remnants of what was once a proud Seeker helm. “Maybe a little.”

Thundercracker frowned at your answer but not in annoyance, just in confusion. “Maybe?”

You chuckled awkwardly, rubbing your neck. “Okay, a lot,” you admitted. “But… I mean, if you wanted to hurt me, you would’ve done it by now, right?”

Thundercracker tilted his head slightly, surprised by your audacity. Most humans would have run by now. But this one…this one was staying, even as their pulse quickened with obvious anxiety. “What are you doing here, then? Humans don’t exactly wander into places like this without reason.”

You shrugged, trying to look casual though your nerves were clear. “I guess… I’m just curious.”

Thundercracker raised a brow. "Curious?”

"About… you. Cybertronians.” You cast a sidelong glance at him. “Everyone’s always talking about you all like you’re… some kind of monsters or gods. But here you are, sitting in an abandoned building, watching TV like… like a person.”

“TV?” His optics brightened, and you couldn’t help but notice the way they flickered with interest. “You call it TV?”

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by the shift in his tone. “Uh, yeah. TV. Television?”

“Interesting.” Thundercracker looked back at the screen, where a couple danced slowly under a wash of soft lights. “Humans put a lot of effort into these… emotional displays. It’s fascinating, how two individuals act as though they mean everything to each other.”

You cracked a small, hesitant smile. “Watching human movies, huh?” you teased softly, your fear melting into curiosity. “Didn’t think giant robots were into romance films.”

He felt a strange spark at the teasing, something he hadn’t felt in a long time—almost a sense of camaraderie, ridiculous as it was. “Although it is interesting, it is still… confusing,” he admitted, looking back at the screen. “Humans… they spend so much time on these things. I don’t understand why.”

You laughed softly, surprised at yourself for feeling so at ease with him. “Yeah, well, romance and emotions are kinda complicated.” The sound of your laughter caught him off guard. It was small but oddly comforting.

After a beat, you continued, “It’s about… connection, I guess. People want to feel close to someone else, to feel understood.” You looked at him, your expression softening. “It probably sounds strange to you.”

Thundercracker was quiet for a moment, letting your words sink in. “Connection…” he murmured. You saw a flicker of something in his optics—thoughtfulness, maybe? He looked so different from the images you’d seen of his kind.

He shifted slightly, his optics meeting yours. “And humans… how do they know when they have this… connection? What makes it worth the risk?”

The question hung in the air, heavier than you’d expected. You looked away, thinking hard. “It’s hard to explain,” you said finally, your voice thoughtful. “I guess… it’s when you meet someone who makes you feel less alone. Someone who cares even if they don’t really have to. And even if it’s risky or scary, it’s worth it because… well, life’s kinda empty without it.”

Thundercracker absorbed this, his gaze softening as he tried to imagine it. It reminded him of his trine bond. It was bittersweet to think about their relationship now compared to before the war. They might argue but not to the extent of conflict like this. His wings drooped at the thought.

Seeing that, you felt a pang of sympathy. Without even thinking, you found yourself asking, “Are you okay?” Maybe it was too real, the way he expressed his emotions through his wings, the way his optics dimmed slightly. It wasn’t anything like what you’d seen of Cybertronians before—the images were always of emotionless machines, destructive and relentless.

Thundercracker was surprised by your question, realizing how vulnerable he must have looked. Slightly embarrassed, he coughed. "Why do you ask?"

You looked back at him, and for a moment, your gazes held. In that quiet space, you murmured, “Never mind.” Something shifted between you, a flicker of understanding that you couldn’t quite name. For some reason, you felt a strange warmth toward him—a feeling that was both alarming and oddly comforting.

“So… what’s your favorite movie so far?” you asked, trying to break the intensity with a small smile.

His optics brightened slightly. "Movie?" .He grinned, looking back at the screen. “There was this one… a detective story. The human tracked down his lost partner. Saved him in the end. A victory without killing. There are only adventures that the man must go through on his way to save his partner.He is not even physically strong but he never gives up. That tenacity is interesting.” Thundercracker's voice grew more excited as he talked about the movie.

You nodded, eyes bright with interest. “Detective dramas, huh? You like the mystery?”

Thundercracker let out a low chuckle. “I like the parts where they show their strengths without… violence. Where they find other ways.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, feeling a warmth in your chest. “Sometimes strength isn’t about fighting. It’s about… being there for someone, even if you’re scared or unsure.” You looked back at him, feeling something deeper, something that felt real. “I think that’s something anyone can respect.”

Thundercracker considered that, his optics glowing dimly in the low light. Maybe he was more like these humans than he’d ever allowed himself to consider. Maybe, in a way, he’d been fighting the wrong battles for too long. The thought felt heavy, but at the same time, it lifted something in him.

The conversation ebbed into a gentle silence, the two of you just sitting there—him, a towering Cybertronian, and you, a small, fragile human. Both talked together, shared about movies, and sometimes made fun of silly things on tv.

You glanced at the screen, where another movie had started—a comedy this time—and chuckled softly. Then, checking your watch, you realized it was getting late. Talking to him made you lose track of time; the conversation felt like something you didn’t want to break away from.

“I should probably get going,” you murmured, looking a little hesitant. “It’s getting late, and…I don’t want anyone to find out I’ve been here.”

Thundercracker’s optics brightened slightly as he processed your words. “Leaving already?” There was a touch of disappointment in his tone, something he hadn’t intended to show.

His optics narrowed, the faintest glint of disappointment flashing across them. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to enjoy this conversation, this connection, however small.

“Are you…going to come back?” His question slipped out before he had a chance to think about it. He quickly looked away, trying to mask the hint of eagerness in his voice.

You turned back, looking up at him with a bit of surprise and maybe even a touch of sympathy. “I…I could, yeah,” you said softly, your eyes thoughtful. “I mean…if you’d like that.”

Thundercracker gave a small nod, attempting to appear casual though his gaze was intently focused on you. “I suppose…having someone around to explain this…‘TV’…would be useful.” There was a faint hint of a smirk in his tone, an attempt to lighten the moment. But there was a sincerity there.

Your lips quirked into a smile. “Alright, then,” you said, your tone soft but genuine. “I’ll come by when I can. Show you a few more human classics. Who knows? Maybe you’ll end up with a favorite.”

Thundercracker’s optics softened. He could feel a glimmer of something he hadn’t himself to feel in a long time—hope. “I look forward to it,” he said, voice almost a murmur.

Thundercracker watched as you slipped out of the doorway, your form disappearing into the deepening shadows. He stayed there for a long time, his gaze fixed on the spot where you had stood, the quiet hum of the TV filling the empty space.

In that moment, he realized that for the first time in a long while, he had something to look forward to—however small, however fragile. A connection, as you had called it.

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