#Tableau definition

[amtexsystemsblogs]

Unfolding Tableau: Your Comprehensive Guide to Mastering Data Visualization

From global business giants to growing start-ups, the need for effective data visualization is something that unifies them all. This is where Tableau steps in. But what is Tableau? How can we harness its power on our desktop or in the cloud? Is Tableau free or do you need to pay for it? By reading this piece, you'll get answers to these and much more.

Understanding the World of Tableau:

Defining Tableau:

Tableau is a powerful data visualization tool that simplifies raw data into a very easily understandable format. The tableau definition is simple: it gathers your data and turns it into valuable information through visualization.

Tableau Software:

The dynamic tableau software allows users to visualize their data using dashboards and worksheets. The features of tableau online and Tableau for Desktop include real-time data analysis, data blending, and a collaborative environment that enables sharing among peers and colleagues.

Tableau Desktop and Tableau Online:

You can use Tableau Desktop for data visualization while being offline and then publish your work on Tableau Public or Tableau Online, the cloud platform for sharing dashboards across your organization.

Tableau Desktop Download & Installation:

You can conveniently download tableau desktop to visualize your data with ease. Download Tableau desktop for Mac or PC, as per your specifications, and enjoy a seamless data analysis experience.

Tableau Cloud:

Tableau Cloud is designed for individuals and businesses who prefer the convenience of a 100% cloud-based service. Enjoy viewing dashboards anywhere, anytime as Tableau cloud is accessible from a browser or mobile app.

Free and Certification Aspects of Tableau:

Is Tableau Free?

Tableau Public is free for anyone to use. You can download it, create visualizations, and share your content with the world. Tableau also offers a free trial for other products, like Tableau Desktop and Tableau Prep.

Certification in Tableau:

Tableau certification is a great way to enhance your professional profile and showcase your expertise. You can get certified in Tableau through various tableau certifications, including Tableau Desktop Specialist, Certified Associate, and Certified Professional.

Exploring Tableau Public:

Tableau Public:

Tableau Public offers an extensive range of stunning public tableau dashboards from authors worldwide. It is a platform that encourages users to publish interactive data online.

Tableau Public Download:

You can easily download tableau public from the official website. Once you've downloaded and installed this version, it's possible to publish your findings to the public and share them with your network.

Advantages of Tableau Vs Power Bi: 

Tableau Vs Power Bi:

When comparing Tableau Vs Power Bi, both are powerful Business Intelligence tools. However, Tableau is often lauded for its visually pleasing interface, intuitive design, and advanced calculation functions, although Power BI appeals to organizations already heavily invested in Microsoft products.

Advanced Features - Tableau Prep & More:

Tableau Prep:

Tableau prep is used for combining, shaping, and cleaning data. By using tableau prep builder, you can ensure that your data is ready and in a suitable format for visualization and analysis.

Tableau Prep Builder:

What is Tableau prep builder? It offers a user-friendly way to clean or manipulate your data and prepare it for analysis. A great tool to have in your data prep for tableau toolkit. 

On your journey to mastering data visualization, remember that Tableau is not just software. It's a new language for telling stories with your data. Whether it's through Tableau online for your organization, using Tableau public to share your insights with the world, or simply working with Tableau desktop, the power of data is at your fingertips. You can also deepen your understanding through a tableau certificate, or dining in New Orleans at the famous Tableau restaurant and soaking up the inspirational surroundings! Let your tableau journey start today.

[sprinklecipher]

How Much Dialogue there is in Dual Destinies (in Graphs)

Made some more Ace Attorney graphs--these ones are about Dual Destinies ~

Total Dialogue by Episode:

Total Dialogue by Character:

(Character graphs broken out by episode and additional details below the cut)

Overall, there's around 240,000 words of dialogue in the main game, which jumps up to about 311,000 if you include the DLC case.

Data source: I’m using a dataset that I put together pulling from the episode transcripts on the Ace Attorney wiki (which I did almost entirely via Python, but with a bit of manual cleanup). There’s bound to be some error resulting from that process, but the numbers should be pretty close.

Other graphs: I made similar graphs for the AA trilogy here (for dialogue by character) and here (for the dialogue by episode), for AA4/Apollo Justice here, and for the Investigations duology here

[eggsnatcheskneecaps]

You'd think entering a house and seeing a framed collage containing family pictures that has a shitton of religious images sticked in-between the frame and the glass in such a manner that it partly obscures the family prints would be a way too bold metaphor for Christianity slowly suffocating and taking over the priorities the family should actually have but it's just how my parents chose to decorate our flat

[spacedace]

It’s been a busy day for Elle by the time she rounds the corner and sees the unattended Batmobile parked in the alley she usually cuts through to go home. But not so busy that she’s willing to ignore the prime opportunity that she’s just stumbled upon.

Bats in the Bowery is always something that gets people’s heckles up - this is Hood’s turf and the people that live there are just as territorial over that as their violent vigilante. Batman himself being in the Bowery might as well be a declaration of war. Sure, when the heavy hitters are out causing shit things are a bit more flexible, but even then the Bats are there with Red Hood. Obviously and clearly tolerated for the time being.

Elle would put good money on Hood not being in the loop that the big Bat himself is currently parked three blocks away from Crime Alley. Which means that the Batmobile, tucked away in the shadows and entirely unattended, is free game.

Fuck it, she decides. 

Jay had asked her and Danny about what kind of rings Jazz likes. He’s on all their emergency contact lists, and he’s offered to officially adopt her and Danny to lighten Jazz’s load a little. He’s put in the time to figure out how to incorporate ectoplasm into his amazing home cooked meals in such a way that it doesn’t cause the food to come back to life just so they can have something tasty and nutritious. 

He’s family.

Which means it’s only right that she honors his place as family, by following in his footsteps.

Even without any of the proper equipment for the job, it’s a lot easier for her to remove the tires than it had been for her soon-to-be brother-in-law all those years ago. All it takes is five minutes, some intangibility and some increased strength and she has a pile of tires wider than her body stacked up behind her. She doesn’t even get any grease on her in the process. It takes more effort to find a pencil in her blackhole of a backpack to write the note she leaves behind tucked under one of the windshield wipers.

Getting the tires home is another story but she eventually manages to scrounge up enough blob ghosts to help her haul them back with her unseen. The little dudes like a little mischief - and like Hood even more - and they need the exercise. She’s not sure exactly what she’s going to do with the tires when she gets home though. One is definitely going to Jay as a present, maybe she could get Skulker to help her mount it on a plaque like one of his hunting trophies? Other than that though, they’re largely just going to take up space in the apartment.

Bill would probably know a guy. Hell, Bill may even want in on the trophy idea as a gift for Hood, he’d been saying that the anniversary of the crime lord taking out Black Mask was coming up. Maybe she could get the goon to help her get the last two tires to a couple of the more fun rogues as gifts? Harley for sure would get a laugh out of it. Ivy would probably be upset over the ecological impact of the creation of the tire, but maybe she could sell the last one to Penguin?

-

Tim blinks at the stack of - very familiar - tires taking up the corner of the Nightingales’ living room. Elle has them arranged in an approximation of a throne with a couple of pillows set down so she can sit more comfortably as she lounges. She barely even glances up at them as Danny leads them inside, slurping at a bright green smoothie as she taps away on her phone.

Danny looks as thrown by the tableau as Tim is. It’s nice to see that Danny isn’t as totally immune to Elle’s shenanigans as he pretends. Though, it’s also mildly terrifying to consider his boyfriend’s little sister is capable of chaos that not even Danny “Danger Twink” Nightingale can come up with.

“Uh…what you got there, Elle?”

Elle, pointedly, takes a long, loud slurp from her smooth as she looks up to meet her brother’s gaze. “New family tradition.” She says, unblinking.

Danny stands there for a long moment before giving a final shrug. “Yeah, sure. Jay will get a kick out of it.”

Tim pulls his phone out and snaps some pictures. Danny is right, of course, Jason is going to love it. But so will everyone else in the group chat.

[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Gambled On Red And The Price Was Paid

Your best friend, unable to bear your post-breakup malaise, decides to take action. Despite your deep emotional pain following the betrayal by your ex-girlfriend, and your subsequent withdrawal from life, she believes it's time for you to move on. She suggests a night out to reinvigorate your social life. At the bar, your attention is drawn to a redhead and her brunette partner, whose infectious laughter and captivating dance moves stir feelings of attraction.

TW: smut, intersex r, wandanat, mommy/daddy kink... uhhh yeah

A/N: Definitely my first time writning a threesome, let alone an intersex threesome. Let me know what you think!

Word Count: 5.8k

The evening had settled into a quiet rhythm, the city's heartbeat a distant murmur beyond the condominium's thick windows. Inside, the living room was a tableau of shadows and stale air, punctuated by the flicker of a TV playing to an empty couch. You hadn't moved from your spot in days, a testament to the relentless grip of heartache. Your eyes were glued to the screen, but the images dancing across it were as indiscernible as the path ahead of you. The area around you was littered with wrappers, empty dishes, and take-out containers, as you continued to wallow in what once was.

But you should know better. Your best friend won't let this continue. You deserve better. Sarah always told you that your ex, Ali was trouble walking. There had been signs, signs you had ignored for years. But finally, walking into her apartment when you were supposed to have a dinner date, to find her fucking some random chick- that was the final straw. You'd been together since college, so it's no wonder you felt like your soul had been ripped out. You had been planning on proposing that night, after being together for the better part of 7 years. But seeing the lack of remorse in her eyes sent you into a spiral.

Sarah enters the room, her footsteps firm and deliberate. She's carrying something that smells faintly of mint and leather. It's a freshly ironed shirt. "You're coming out with me tonight," she says, her voice brooking no argument. She's been worried about you, her best friend since childhood, and she knows that sitting around isn't going to fix you. "You're going to shower, change, and we're going to hit the town. No more of this fucking nonsense." She holds out the shirt like a banner of hope, a symbol of your impending return to the land of the living.

"But," you start, and she quickly shushes you.

"You've moped around long enough," she says firmly, placing the shirt on your lap. "It's time to get out, clear your head, and maybe, just maybe, find someone who deserves you."

Her words hit like a slap to the face but in a good way. With a heavy sigh, you sit up, the shirt's fabric feeling foreign against your skin. You hadn't realized how much you've missed the feeling of being clean and dressed. You bumble your way to your bedroom, tossing the shirt to the side.

"I'll be waiting. Don't you dare think about trying to lock yourself in here. I'll kick your damn door down." Sarah's voice echoes through the hallway as you enter the bathroom. You turn on the shower, the sound of the water gradually increasing from a whisper to a roar. You stand there for a moment, the heat beckoning, before you step in, letting the water wash over you, carrying the grime of the past few days down the drain along with your despair.

As you scrub away the layers of defeat clinging to your body, you begin to feel a glimmer of something akin to hope. Maybe, just maybe, she's right. Maybe you do need to get out of here, breathe in some fresh air, and remind yourself that there's more to life than the woman who so callously tossed you aside. You let the woody, fresh scent of the body wash fill your nostrils, a stark contrast to the stale scent of the room you've been living in. The warm water cascades down your back as you let the shampoo lather in your hair, a sensation that feels both cleansing and cathartic. As you rinse, you can almost feel the weight of the past week sluicing away with the soapy water, swirling down the drain and leaving you feeling lighter than you have in days.

Slipping into a black lace bra, the black button-up, and a pair of slim black jeans, you get yourself as ready as you can be for a night out. The shirt fits like a glove, the fabric brushing against your skin as you move. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and for a brief moment, the reflection staring back at you seems like a stranger. But then your eyes harden, and you nod. You're ready. You need to get over her. And what better way, than to try and get someone under you?

When you emerge from your bedroom, Sarah's smile is immediate. "Look at you," she says, clapping her hands together. "I knew there was a woman in there, somewhere." She's dressed to kill, her hair curled and makeup on point. "Let's go," she says, grabbing her purse and opening the door. You both stood at the curb, waiting for your Uber to arrive, Sarah chatting animatedly about the vacation her and her boyfriend just went on. You nod along, your thoughts still cloudy and depressed, but you're starting to feel the beginnings of excitement.

The car pulls up, and you slide into the cool leather seats, the scent of pine air freshener filling the cabin. You let the city lights play across your face as you drive, the music playing softly in the background. It's a stark contrast to the dark, claustrophobic atmosphere you've been living in, and you feel your shoulders relaxing.

The bar is bustling with life, a cacophony of laughter and chatter that fills your ears like a symphony. Sarah guides you through the crowd, her hand firm in yours until you reach the bar. The bartender, a burly man with a twinkle in his eye, greets you with a nod. "What can I get you?"

Sarah immediately pipes up, ordering her usual vodka soda, and turning to you. "You can get whatever, tonight babe. It's on me." You mull over the drinks menu, your eyes scanning over the rows of bottles lined up like soldiers ready for battle, their colorful labels glinting under the bar lights. You decide on a double whiskey neat, something to burn away the last remnants of the day's melancholy.

As the drinks are placed in front of you, the smoothness of the whiskey glass feels surprisingly good in your hand. You take a sip, letting the liquid warmth spread through your chest. The burn is comforting, a reminder that you're alive and feeling. You look around the bar, taking in the faces of the people around you. The air is thick with the scent of cologne and perfume, the hum of flirtation, and the occasional shout of a sports fan. It's a world you've been absent from for too long, and it's both overwhelming and invigorating.

"Now, we need to find you someone to dance with," Sarah starts. You send her a warning glance, trying to convey to her that she needs to take it easy tonight. You're not ready to jump into the dating pool just yet. But she's on a mission, and nothing is going to stop her. She grabs your hand and pulls you to the dance floor, the strobe lights painting the room in a disco-infused haze. The music is a pulsing bass line that you can feel in your chest, the kind that makes you want to move even when you're feeling your lowest.

Sarah started dancing with you before she was whisked away by someone she worked with, leaving you to fend for yourself for a while. You knocked back the rest of your drink, beginning to worm your way back through the crowd towards the bar. Standing at the bartop, you order another whiskey neat, feeling a familiar burn of eyes on the back of your head. Assuming it was probably Sarah, you ignored the feeling, patiently waiting for your drink. The barkeep slid the drink your way, winking as he turned to tend to some more people, and you turned, leaning back against the bar to observe the throng of people on the dance floor.

That's when you saw her. A woman with fiery red hair, dressed in a green dress that shimmered like emeralds under the disco lights. She was laughing with her friends, her eyes lighting up with every beat of the music. You couldn't help but stare. It had been so long since you had felt that kind of attraction, the kind that made your heart flutter and your stomach drop. You watched her for a moment longer, sipping your whiskey, before you felt a gentle nudge.

"What are you waiting for?" Sarah asked, grinning mischievously. "Go talk to her. I would even tap that, she's hot as hell." You shake your head and laugh at her antics, but as you look over at the redhead, you notice her dancing with a stunning brunette. They both looked amazing, and your stomach was definitely tumbling at the vision they created. You sat yourself at the bar to watch this power couple move with the music, seemingly in thier own little world.

The brunette looked over at you and for a second, your eyes locked. She had the most amazing green eyes, a piercing emerald that stood out even in the flashing lights. You felt a pull, something that hadn't happened since the first time you had seen Ali. She looked away and back at her partner, but not before giving you a coy smile that made your heart skip a beat. You downed your drink, and the bartender slid you another, leaning over the counter toward you.

"I wouldn't stare too much if I were you."

"It's kinda hard not to if I'm being honest," you respond, keeping your eyes locked on the dance floor, tilting your head back as you spoke to the man.

"That's what Wanda wants," he started. This was beyond confusing to you, you wheeled around on your barstool.

"What do you mean? You know them?" You ask, trying to keep your voice steady despite the sudden spike in your interest. You simply wanted to know who this power couple was. The pair were both so attractive separately, that being together should be illegal. He laughed at your enthusiasm.

"You could say that," he began. "They're my bosses. They own this place. The brunette is Wanda Maximoff, the redhead is Natasha Romanoff." he finished as he was quickly called to the other end of the bar.

Turning back around, you quickly found the couple on the floor, Wanda dressed to the nines in an all-black suit, towering over Natasha. Natasha pressed her back against Wanda, as they danced to the sultry beat emanating throughout the club.

The whiskey had loosened your nerves, so you took a deep breath and approached the dance floor. The strobe lights painted you in a frenetic pattern of color, each flash revealing Natasha's eyes on you. She leaned in to whisper something to Wanda, and Wanda looked over her shoulder, catching your gaze. You felt like you'd been caught in the headlights of a car, frozen in place.

But instead of looking away, Wanda smirked and nodded slightly, as if giving you an unspoken invitation. You felt a strange mix of excitement and terror. This wasn't like you at all, but something propelled you forward. Before you knew it, you were standing in front of them, the bass thumping in your chest like a second heartbeat. Wanda stepped aside, and Natasha moved closer, her hands reaching out to lock around your neck.

"We've had our eyes on you all night, detka," Natasha leaned in, whispering into the shell of your ear. Her Russian accent was thick and alluring, sending shivers down your spine. Wanda's eyes gleamed with amusement, her hand resting possessively on Natasha's hip as she watched you try to compose yourself. The three of you swayed to the beat, your eyes darting between both the pairs of green eyes before you.

The song switched to something slower, and Natasha's grip tightened, pulling you closer. Your hands found their way to her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin even through the fabric of her dress. You could smell the faint scent of jasmine on her, mingling with the sweetness of her perfume. Wanda stepped up behind Natasha, her hands grasping firmly around her waist, pressing Natasha closer to you, creating a sandwich of passion and power that was hard to resist.

"You've been staring all night, krasotka," Wanda chimed in, her chin coming to rest on the shoulder of the woman before you. "Would you like to dance with Natasha, or do you just enjoy watching?" Her words were playful, but you could sense the challenge beneath the surface. You took a deep breath and stepped closer, your hand sliding around Natasha's waist.

Natasha's smile grew wider as you led the dance, moving in a way that had her captivated. Her hips swayed to the rhythm, and her eyes never left yours. It was as if you were in a trance, the world around you fading into the background as the music played on. You felt a hand on your shoulder, and suddenly Wanda was there, spinning Natasha away and taking her place. "Let's see if you can keep up," she said, her voice low and sultry.

Wanda's moves were more aggressive, her hands stronger, and her gaze more intense. You found yourself matching her step for step, the whiskey buzz enhancing the thrill of the moment. The air was electric, and you could feel the heat from her body as she leaned in, her breath hot against your ear. "You're doing well," she murmured, a hint of approval in her voice. You weren't sure if she was talking about your dancing or something else entirely.

Her hand slid down to the small of your back, guiding you closer until your bodies were almost touching. You felt your heart racing, and it wasn't just from the exertion of the dance. This was uncharted territory for you, and yet it felt surprisingly natural. You could feel Natasha's eyes on you, watching from the sidelines with a knowing smile. Natasha soon rejoined you both on the dance floor, her hand dragging across your shoulders before she looped around and stood next to Wanda.

The music grew slower, the lights dimming as the two of them moved in perfect synchrony around you. Their movements were fluid, almost predatory, and you found yourself unable to look away. They whispered to each other, their eyes never leaving yours, and you felt a thrill run down your spine. You didn't know what was happening, but you were definitely into it.

Wanda leaned in closer, her breath hot on your neck as she whispered, "You have our attention, detka, not many can say that." Her words were a challenge, a promise, and a question all rolled into one. Natasha stepped in front of you, her hands framing your face as she searched your eyes for an answer. The intimacy of the moment was stifling, but you found yourself nodding.

The two of them shared a knowing glance, and Natasha's hand slid down to your wrist, guiding you towards a roped-off VIP section of the bar. You felt like you were being led into a lion's den, but instead of fear, all you felt was a thrilling rush of excitement. As you approached, the bouncer nodded, the velvet rope parting like the Red Sea for Moses at their unspoken command.

Suddenly, Natasha pushed you back, the backs of your knees hitting the booth and causing you to fall backward. She climbed up, straddling your waist as Wanda slid in the other side, a wry smile on her face.

"So, tell us, what's a beautiful woman like you doing out here all alone?" Wanda's voice was like velvet, her fingers tracing patterns on your forearm as you both leaned closer. You stuttered out something about a breakup, and Sarah bringing you while trying to keep your cool while Natasha's thighs tightened around yours.

Natasha leaned in, her breath a sweet whisper against your cheek. "A breakup, hmm? Maybe we can help you forget all about her." Her fingers played with the buttons of your shirt, and your breath hitched as one popped open, revealing a sliver of skin. You felt your body responding, a heat building that had nothing to do with the crowded dance floor. You hear Wanda hum behind you as she leans down to your level.

"Well, someone who would break up with someone like you... they must be stupid," she said, her voice a seductive purr. "It just so happens to be your lucky night." Wanda's hand trailed down your neck, sending a shiver through your body. Her touch was firm, yet gentle, and the way she spoke made it clear that she was in charge. "We have been wanting to add to our mix if you will." you groaned as Wanda slid her hand underneath your shirt, dragging her fingernails up your chest. Natasha was a wiggling mess on your lap, your buddy downstairs definitely waking up to the stimulation.

"Wands," Natasha mewled, and confirming your suspicion, when the redhead directed the brunette’s attention to the area below your waist, they both saw the now present erection straining in your pants.

"Looks like someone's eager to join the party," Natasha teased, her voice dropping to a sultry growl. Her hand trailed down your stomach and caressed the bulge in your jeans, making you squirm with pleasure. Wanda's eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned in to kiss you, her lips warm and insistent. You tasted whiskey and the promise of something wild as your mouths melded together.

Your skin felt like it was on fire, the feeling of both women running thier hands all over your body, Natasha teasing your member while Wanda took your breath away. Your hands found their way to Natasha's hips, guiding her movements, and she responded with a low, throaty growl. You felt like you were in a dream, one that you never wanted to wake up from. You whined as Wanda pulled away, stopping your movements and Natashas.

"Lyubov," Wanda directed to her partner. "I need her to answer us first, be a good girl and mommy will give you what you need." Natasha's hand stilled, but her eyes never left yours, hunger burning in them that mirrored the one building in your core. "Are you interested," she hesitated as she realized they still didn't know your name.

"Y/N," you gasped out, nodding your head vehemently. You weren't sure if it was the lust-filled state you were in, or the two women raking thier hands all over you, but you couldn't put together a coherent sentence. "Words, Y/N," she growled in your ear, causing your eyes to roll back in your head.

"Fuck yes."

"Good," Wanda smirked.

Her hand slid down to the base of your neck, her grip firm and reassuring. "But you must be clear about what you want, krasotka," she said, her eyes searching yours. "We don't play games."Wanda pulled away, done with the teasing as she pulled the curtain to the room back, signaling to the bouncer at the entrance. "Now, let's get home." Wanda stood, straightening her suit as she stuck her hand back for Natasha to grab. You sat there, bewildered at what just happened.

Natasha smirked as she saw your expression, hopping off your lap. "You're coming with us, yes?" she asked, her hand outstretched. You nodded, unable to find your voice, and took Natasha's hand, allowing her to pull you to your feet. The walk to the exit was a blur, your senses overwhelmed by the smells of sweat and perfume from the other patrons, the lights flashing by in a dizzying array of color. The cool night air hit you like a slap in the face, and you realized you hadn't even asked where 'home' was.

Wanda and Natasha led you to a sleek black car parked out front, the engine purring like a contented cat. The driver opened the back door, and Natasha's eyes never left yours as you slid in. The leather seats were cold against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat that still lingered from the dance floor. Wanda got in after you two, her eyes meeting yours with a knowing smile. Natasha climbed on your lap, her hand immediately finding its way back to your neck, sending sparks of desire shooting through your body.

The drive was short, but it felt like an eternity. The tension in the car was thick enough to cut with a knife, and the anticipation was almost unbearable. Natasha's mouth grazed your jawline, her teeth nipping at your earlobe. You could feel her breath, hot and erratic, and your body responded in kind. You didn't know what was waiting for you at their place, but you were eager to find out. The car pulled up to a modern townhouse, the lights inside casting a warm glow onto the sidewalk.

As you entered the townhouse, the vibe was immediately different from the chaotic energy of the bar. The walls were adorned with abstract art, the floorboards gleaming in the soft light of the pendant lights hanging above. The scent of vanilla and sandalwood filled the air, a comforting aroma that somehow made you feel both at ease and incredibly aroused. Wanda led the way upstairs, her hips swaying with purpose, and Natasha followed closely behind, her hand never leaving your neck.

You were guided into a dimly lit room, the centerpiece being a king-sized bed draped in dark red satin sheets. The sight alone was enough to make your heart race faster. Wanda took Natasha's hand, pulling her close for a deep, passionate kiss. The raw desire between them was palpable, and you couldn't help but feel like you were about to witness something incredibly intimate.

Wanda stuck her hand out, beckoning you to come closer. You couldn't resist the magnetic pull, stepping towards them as they broke their kiss. Natasha's eyes never left yours, the fire in them growing with each step you took. Wanda wrapped her hand around the back of your neck, drawing you in for an equally passionate kiss. Your body responded on instinct, your hands finding their way to her waist, pulling her closer. The kiss was demanding, a declaration of intent that left no room for doubt. You pulled away, grabbing hold of Natasha and pulling her in for a searing kiss, causing Wanda to moan beside you.

"There she is," Wanda mumbled, sliding behind Natasha and kissing the woman's neck. The silk of Natasha's dress slid against your skin, her hands already working to remove your shirt. Wanda's lips trailed down your neck, her teeth grazing your collarbone, sending a shiver down your spine. You felt Natasha's fingers deftly unbuckling your belt, her eyes never leaving yours as she slid your jeans down. You were now in your boxers, and she was dressed to kill, her dress riding up to reveal the lacy black thong she wore underneath.

The room was a whirlwind of sensations: the soft kisses from Natasha, the possessive grip of Wanda's hand, the scent of their combined desire. You had never felt so alive, so desired, so...needed. Natasha's mouth found yours again, her tongue demanding entry as she began to grind against you, her own need evident. Wanda's hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of your bare chest, her nails scraping along your abs. Finally, you couldn't bear the tension any more, your dominant side suddenly awake to the desire that was so palpable around you.

With a growl, you pushed Natasha onto the bed, her legs spreading in invitation. She was the picture of temptation, her eyes hooded and her lips swollen from your kisses. Wanda took this as a cue to move closer, her hands sliding down to cup your ass as she whispered sweet nothings in your ear, urging you on. You could feel Natasha's eyes on you, watching, waiting. You leaned down, capturing one of her nipples in your mouth, feeling it harden beneath your tongue. Her moan was music to your ears, and you knew you had to give her more.

You slid Natasha's dress up over her hips, revealing the damp fabric of her thong. You could feel the heat emanating from her, and you knew she was ready. Wanda's hands were now at the back of your neck, her nails digging in as she pushed you down further. You slipped Natasha's thong to the side, feeling the slickness of her arousal against your fingertips. You slid one digit inside her, and she arched her back, her nails digging into the bed. Wanda stepped back, watching you with a predatory gaze, her own desire clear as she began to undo the buttons of her shirt.

Watching Wanda out of the corner of your eye, you reached out, and grabbed the collar of her shirt with your free hand pulling her towards you. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as the fabric fell open, revealing her matching black lace bra. You kissed Wanda deeply, your tongue dancing with hers as your finger continued to explore Natasha's wetness. Wanda stepped closer as she undid the clasp of her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts were perfect, the pale skin a stark contrast to Natasha's olive complexion.

Natasha's legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as you slid another finger inside her. She was so wet, her walls clenching around you, begging for more. You felt Wanda's hand at the back of your neck, her thumb brushing against your earlobe as she whispered sweet nothings in Russian. The sound of the fabric tearing was almost as erotic as the moment itself as Natasha tore your boxers off. You felt the warmth of her skin against yours, and it was all you could do not to explode right then and there.

You wrapped your arm around Wanda's waist, throwing her to the bed next to her wife. You continued to pound your fingers into Natasha's heat, using your other hand to deftly undo the button on Wanda's slacks, pulling them down with a swift tug. She gasped at the sudden exposure, her eyes flashing with desire. Natasha's hips were moving in rhythm with your hand, her breathing shallow and erratic. You began to tease Wanda, her arousal ever present in her lace panties. You began to slowly rub her clit through the fabric, her mewls becoming more fervent as she continued to kiss Natasha.

Wanda's hand snaked down, sliding them aside to reveal her glistening pussy. She guided your hand to her, her hips bucking against your palm. You felt Natasha's orgasm building, her muscles tightening around your fingers. You leaned down, capturing Natasha's mouth with yours as she broke away from Wanda, her cries muffled by your kiss as she came.

Wanda's body quivered next to you, the view before her almost too much to bear. Natasha recovered slowly, climbing down onto the floor as she got on her knees before you, you watching with bated breath as your other hand was knuckle-deep in Wanda's pussy.

"Take me," Natasha whispered, her eyes locked onto yours, a hunger in them that was almost feral. "Take us both." You groaned, and Natasha began to stroke your length, gathering the precum that was running down your shaft before taking your entire length in her mouth. You carded your fingers through the red locks, gripping her hair tightly as your other hand worked Wanda open, the brunette squirming and moaning on the bed before you.

Wanda watched intently, her hand gliding over her own breasts, her eyes never leaving yours. The sight was too much for her to handle, so she adjusted, and straddled your hand, grinding against your knuckles as Natasha's mouth worked you to the edge. The two of them were a symphony of pleasure, each movement, each gasp and moan a note that played in perfect harmony.

With Natasha still worshipping your cock, Wanda leaned in, her breath hot against your ear. "I want you inside me," she whispered, her Sokovian accent thick with desire. You nodded, the need to claim her was too intense to ignore. You gripped Natasha's hair, pulling her back away from your throbbing member. She looked up at you with her doe eyes, yelping as you pulled her up by her chin and directed her back to the bed.

"Be a good girl for me, princess," you whispered in the redhead's ear, kissing her deeply before directing your attention to the waiting brunette.

Wanda slithered closer, her legs straddling yours, her wetness coating your thighs. She reached down and guided you inside her, her warmth enveloping you like a glove. You groaned, leaning your head back and exposing your throat to the brunette beneath you. The tightness was too much to bear, and so you firmly grasped the milky thighs of the woman before you, leaning down and kissing Wanda with such passion and lust that it made her head spin. You pulled away, growling in her ear. "You ready to find out who is really in charge here, baby?" your voice was thick with desire, your hands gripping her hips. Her piercing green eyes shot open, a challenging stare being shot your way. "Daddy is about to put you in your place." you purr into her ear, a deep moan coming from her as her back arched towards you. You leaned back, pushing yourself as deep as you could within the Sokovian, wiggling just enough to cause her to mewl. "Isn't that right, princess? Daddy is about to make Mommy feel so, so good."

Natasha, not one to be left out, positioned herself at the side of the bed, her breasts heaving as she watched the scene unfold. Her hand slipped down her, her eyes glazed over as she began to touch herself. The sight was almost too much, and you had to fight the urge to abandon Wanda and take Natasha's mouth again. But you had promised to make Wanda feel good. You began to thrust, slow and deep at first, feeling Wanda's walls tighten around you with each stroke. She began to move with you, her hips rising to meet yours, her nails digging into your shoulders. You could feel Natasha's eyes on you, her breathing growing heavier as she watched. Suddenly, Wanda gasped as you changed your pace, thrusting into her hard and fast, the sinful sound of her and Natasha's moans combining with your skin slapping Wanda's wetness, her eyes rolling back into her head as she ran her fingernails down your back.

Wanda's legs began to quiver, her orgasm approaching like a storm on the horizon. Natasha reached out, her hand sliding up Wanda's thigh, her thumb circling the brunette's clit. Wanda's eyes shot open, meeting Natasha's as she felt the pressure building. With a final, powerful thrust, she came, her body tightening around you like a vice, her cries echoing through the room. You leaned down, kissing her neck, her collarbone, her breasts, feeling her pulse race beneath your lips.

Natasha, now standing beside the bed, her hand a blur between her legs, was close to the edge. She looked at you with a wildness in her eyes that was intoxicating. You pulled out of Wanda and stood, your cock still rock-hard and gleaming with her juices. Wanda's breathing was ragged, her body limp with satisfaction, but she managed to give Natasha a knowing smile, urging her to continue. You grabbed the redhead's ankles, pulling her towards you, she squeaked at the shift as you batted her hand away from her glistening heat.

With a smirk, Natasha wiggled closer, her hand moving for yours. She wrapped her hand around your length, stroking you with the same hunger she had shown earlier. You groaned, the pleasure intense as she worked you with the perfect amount of pressure. Wanda's eyes followed the movement, her desire rekindling as she watched Natasha's hand glide up and down your shaft. "It's your turn," Wanda murmured, her voice thick with lust. You snapped out of the daze Natasha had worked you into, and pushed her back, positioning yourself between her toned thighs, your head prodding her entrance.

Natasha's eyes widened with excitement as you began to push inside her, her walls stretching around your cock. She was so wet, so ready, and the feeling was indescribable. You watched as her breasts bounced with every thrust, her red hair a fiery halo around her flushed face. Her eyes never left yours, the connection between you two electric. Wanda leaned in, her tongue tracing Natasha's collarbone, her teeth biting down gently as she watched your bodies come together. Natasha's moans grew louder, her breath coming in gasps as she reached for Wanda's hand, lacing their fingers together.

The room was a symphony of desire, the slap of skin against skin echoing off the walls, the scent of sex filling the air. You felt Natasha's muscles tighten around you, her back arching as she came, her cry of pleasure music to your ears. Wanda leaned down, capturing Natasha's mouth in a kiss, sharing in her wife's climax. Your own orgasm was building, the pressure in your balls becoming unbearable. You pulled Natasha's legs over your shoulders, going deeper, the feeling of her coming around you too much to handle.

Natasha's moans grew louder, her nails scratching at the bed as she reached for Wanda's breasts, her own nipples hard and sensitive. Wanda's hand slid down Natasha's body, her fingers finding Natasha's clit, rubbing it in tight circles. You watched, entranced, as Natasha's eyes rolled back in her head, her body shuddering with another orgasm. You couldn't hold back any longer, and with a roar, you went to pull out, but Natasha wrapped her legs around you tightly. You buried yourself deep within her, painting her walls white with your cum, the intensity of your release leaving you momentarily blind.

The three of you collapsed onto the bed, a tangled mess of limbs and sweat. Wanda chuckled softly, her hand caressing Natasha's cheek. "Looks like you enjoyed yourself," she said, her voice filled with satisfaction. Natasha giggled, her eyes shining with mischief. "I think we all did," she murmured, looking between you and Wanda. You couldn't help but smile, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. For the first time since Ali, you felt alive again.

Wanda looked over at you, a knowing smile on her features. "I think we found ourselves a keeper, Nat."

Natasha, still trying to catch her breath, nodded her head. "Oh, yes," she murmured, her eyes fluttering closed as you pulled out of her. She was deliciously messy, your cum spilling out of her as she lay there, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure.

This breakup wasn’t going to be so bad after all. 

READ PT 2 HERE

[bhaalble]

Insane about Orin again. What makes me nuts (/pos) is the wildly different impressions you get of her on a Tav run vs a Durge run. On a Tav run Orin is functionally murder royalty. Her assassins are kept well in-line, she bears the mantle of slayer. Sarevok tells you about her lineage of Bhaalspawn and how early on she was singled out as special. She was the youngest ever Unholy Assassin and a literal mouthpiece of Bhaal as a child. Gortash definitely views her as unstable and plans to sever the alliance regardless, but it feels much more like a concern for his own safety than anything else.

Contrast this to a Durge run where she's talked about as the perpetual upstart. Scleritas of course contributes to this in a big way, needling at her sheltered Temple existence as opposed to Durge's experience of the outside world. Sarevok is MUCH more dismissive of her and her accomplishments, all but saying he's rooting for you to take her down a peg. You find journal entries from Durge calling her murder tableaus a waste of not only her time, but Bhaal's. Its up for debate how much Gortash MEANS anything he says to Durge but his clear preference seems to be something even she's aware of. I haven't yet found any dialogue that indicates whether or not the incident when she killed her mother where Bhaal used her as a mouthpiece still happened in a Durge run. Assuming it did, how must that feel to have all that happen and yet your father still passes his favor to someone else! His Chosen, not you but some purer incarnation of his blood. His Slayer, not you who have killed even your own kin in his name, but the lobotomized wreck of your half-sibling who may even be working against him. There's so much you can reflect off of how Bhaal treats the Durge if they lose the duel, the way his favor (or lack thereof) can dominate the whole of your existence. The sibling trauma is DEEP and visceral

[ariellebobbwillis]

Arielle Bobb-Willis: Keep the Kid Alive Photo Book

Keep the Kid Alive, Arielle Bobb-Willis’s first book, invites audiences into a brightly imaginative world, filled with dynamic colors, gestures, and unusual poses of the artist’s own creation. Transforming the streets of New Orleans, New York, and Los Angeles into lush backdrops for her wonderfully surreal tableaus, Bobb-Willis makes unforgettable images that expand the genres of fashion and art photography. “I love the idea of seeing Black people represented in an abstract way,” Bobb-Willis says. “It’s important to me to continue to reject the notion that Black expression is limited—or limiting.” With a conversation between Bobb-Willis and a dynamic range of artists, stylists, and creatives who speak about keeping their “inner kid” alive, this book captures a definitive young artist’s unconventional world building.

[dhampling]

oh, mother fem!reader, 3.3k

A whimper at your feet as you nurse. The way he ebbs at the corner of your maternal tableau. The flit of an incalescent glaze before he nestles into your houseskirt as if a child caught mid-swindle seeking some kind of sanctuary. - It's the mummy fic. cw: lactation, breeding mentions, age regression (?), smut, astarion as a content warning, humping, feeding, afab reader, MUMMY, dadstarion, cockwarming w/c: 3.3k

Astarion looks over his shoulder from the homespun carpet, book limp in hand. 

Like the written word could hold any comparable weight whilst you’re there decalescent and milk-swollen above him.

A whimper at your feet as you nurse. The way he ebbs at the corner of your maternal tableau.

The flit of an incalescent glaze before he nestles into your houseskirt as if a child caught mid-swindle seeking some kind of sanctuary. The way he strokes something so very gentle at your swollen shin, head stirring as he searches for purchase atop an aching thigh. 

Your eyes leisurely as they cut between the infant latched to your heavy breast and the restless chit by your legs on the ground.

“Hm?”

The youngling gurgles in sleepy succour.

Astarion rolls his head forward with a lazy smile, saccharine in holding his tongue between teeth.

“This. All of this. Dreamy, isn’t it?”

His voice is silken against the low crackle of the fire. The shallow suckling breaths at your chest. 

“Mhm.” 

Your fatigue is wholly joyous in its maudlin haze, your agreement a free and light hum. 

The man at your heel, the child he gave you; the wonder as he watches on - her little face scrunching as she swallows, the hint of a cough as you lightly adjust where she lies in the crook of your arm. A small coo.  

There’s a strange look in his eye. Not the reverent fatherly gaze you’d come to expect from your husband in the months since you’d become a mother. Instead he seems fallible. 

Round-eyed, gentle;- 

Lamblike. The restless sheepling. Marvelling and timid. 

“You’re a vision.” 

Your eyes meet and you dare him to hold the stare in his yielding state. 

You’ve become somewhat of a recluse in spending time with your daughter, and she certainly isn’t begrudging of the tangle of hair atop your head, nor the span of your torso kept so soft and warm on which for her to lie. The heavy swell of your breasts, the intermittent spotting where milk bleeds through your tailored house clothes. 

It’s not that you necessarily feel any certain way about your physical attributes at present but you’ve definitely felt cleaner. Been better presented.

Mother.

Astarion’s face is pure butter, muddled and waxen as his brows draw together. Quietly roused in a moment of recondite.

Whatever runs through his head is new.

Lashings of fresh rain hammer the windowpane. The claw of winter, dark streets; seeping stone. The umber flickers of the fire on the wall. Heat licks the side of your face closest.

Glowing.

She groans a gentle burble. Her lips smack together softly as she finishes and you lift her from your chest, tucking your breast back into your slip and bringing her into the crook of your arm. 

There’s a moment where his head tilts as if to speak.

“She’s tired.” You whisper whilst running a finger along her cheek. Small eyes of glimmering ruby, lids lulling open and closed. More quiet gurgling as she fidgets. 

“I’ll take her. Rest, love.’

Astarion stands from crossed legs, twirling around to lean over the little one; over you. Runs his wiggling fingers over her small frame in little taps. 

‘My darling girl! Princess of the Kingdom Sleep.’

Large hands lift her from your chest into his. A gentle rock as he does so. 

‘This simply won’t do, will it? Let’s take you upstairs.”

He taps her nose on ‘you’. She sneezes violently.

You watch them both from the lounger as he steps through the arch and round the corner, up the spiral staircase and padding softly to your shared chamber. Balmy quiet. More rain. 

Your first Lover’s Day as three feels poignant. 

Despite keeping from the sun - and therefore sleeping the actual day away - in the stormy night your home brims sweet with ardour. A bubble of somnolence; a barge at sea. 

A year of calm. Stillness. Establishing yourselves in your respective newfound freedoms and figuring out who you are; both alone and together. A conscious effort and one rewarded just months earlier with her.

“You’re so… soft with her.’

You don’t hear him reenter the room as he comes behind you and closes the door to the den with two chalices in hand, a bottle in the other. He doesn’t miss the brow quirk.

‘Dealcholised. Don’t worry’ 

The top uncorked.

‘I fail to see the fun in it myself, but ‘needs must’ and all that.”

A hint of the player’s tone. You laze back as he returns to his place at your heel, handing you a glass of honey mead. 

“I’m her mother. Of course I’m soft with her.” 

You take a large sip and recline. 

Astarion snakes an arm around your leg, leaning in and planting a gentle kiss to the flushed skin. 

“You. Her mother.’

He takes a large gulp and swills the sweet tincture around his teeth.

‘I still can’t quite believe it. The baby part, that is -’

A shake of his head. A brief grimace, puzzled yet pleased. Wholly adorative and you can see the retrospective of recent memories fly through his head.  

‘You as a mother on the other hand. As if it were meant -’

Kiss.

‘To’

Kiss.

‘Be.”

His lips close on your shin, habitual breath fanning cool over the hot flesh. 

“Mhm?” 

He looks up at you with those big round eyes once more, a reticent smile. Head tilting to you coyly.

“You. You’re a vision. An absolute vision.” 

“You like it?”

“It’s-’

He falters in that moment of recondite from before. Seeks avail. 

‘I watch you care for her and it makes me weak at the knees. Your little love.’ 

The last words whispered in fond awe. His hands wave around his face in a considered manner. 

‘You provide for her, hells. Nurture her. Hold her close to you in this beautiful,  unconditional love; no matter the hour.’  

Your love for him. He wonders if it will stretch to the words on the tip of his tongue, but he’d be a fool not to try.

‘And I-”

“You think you might want it too?” 

He sags. Still round-eyed, but the corners of his mouth noticeably dip.

“Yes. I- I suppose I do.”

You’re not surprised, though you’re impressed that he voices it so plainly. In your mind every instance he’s retreated into you plays in vivid colour. Each time he’s held you close, so innocently; as a child may a parent. Not often. Not boldly. But the want is there. 

Maybe it’s the taste of the mead, despite the lack of alcohol. Fizzy and heady.

But no. You want this. You want to show him you care in the most innate way you’re able; unearthed in the way you care for her. 

Your darling. The Rogue of the Gate. Brittle-boned and weak following years on years of isolation and hurt but here; eyes aflame, wide open at your heel and healing. 

He runs his hand absentmindedly up and down your leg as you ponder.

“What do you want, my love? Tell me.”

Your voice is pure honey as you keen into his touch a little further. Yielding. Relishing the pads of his cool fingers; a salve to your inflamed limbs. 

The whine from earlier. You remember it. The bridled snare of his tense coil, watching you mothering his child and aching for you to cosset him too. The soft mindless touches. The way you feed her from your breast as you do him from your neck. His knee-jerk rutting against your leg.

He sits in sullen silence for a moment.

Then, his eyes meet yours once more. A wary hand slips up to your thigh; deft fingers circling the doughy inner skin. You part your legs at his touch. 

“It’s okay, darling boy.’

You lean forward from your slouch and hold his head in your hands, legs open; back arched as your thighs remain open. Low and soft as you bring your mouth down.

‘It’s okay. What do you need?’

Astarion shivers. Guttural. Frozen in sheer terror. Lust as you cradle his head close to your aching breasts. Real, unfettered lust. Every sprawling emotion, each moment spent searching for someone to see him with comfort in their eyes in those early hours two hundred years ago. 

He sometimes forgets he’s allowed to feel anything remotely desirable when he’s like this. Forgets he’s with you. Forgets he can covet you and still keep you past dawn.

Old habits die hard. 

‘Come back to me now, sweetheart.’ You whisper, tongue ghosting over the outer contour of his ear as he continues his ministrations at the inner skin of your thigh. Tips flushed red.

‘Come to mummy.”

The groan spilling from his lips is inhuman. The hesitant hand diving between your legs turns to an iron grasp in record time.

Pliable. Ass pert on the sofa cushions. 

“Can I?” He whispers, clutching feverishly at the pillowy skin.

“Use your words, Astarion. Come on.” 

His ear is his soft spot. Tender, sensitive; flushed with blood from waking bites. 

“Can I?”

Your eyes are featherlight as they roll into your skull. Burning cheek, thighs strong.

“Please.’ 

His head lifts from the crease of your knee as he braces himself to stand - eyes meeting yours in a sheer devotion that wracks every inch of your scalding frame. 

‘Come to me.”

You shuffle so there’s room for him atop the cushions, and he crawls into the space between you legs as you hold his arms. Your angel. Forlorn with a lack of direction akin to that on his face when you first met. His eyes weary; heavy in their low-lidded gaze.

The parting of your legs once more. The way he inhales.

“Mother. Mother.”

“I’m here, love. My darling. I’m here.”

Astarion queries the break in your thighs once more with a desperate hand. Leans in closer with a small choked sob.

“What do you need, my love? What can I give you?”

Your ability to provide for him. Enough to make him hard each time - the fact you offer it freely in his home, atop his embroidered cushions; the primal need to comfort him with your body. He resonates with it. Yearns for it. Freely given and given free.

“Can I touch you, please?”

Thighs part as bullrushes in wading season. You think about his pale prick, standing alert in his trousers. 

“Come here.”

You expect his hand to resume the agonising crawl up your thigh, but instead it moves to palm at your wetness quicker than you think. His leaky bride. He searches for evidence of your desire and he finds it in abundance through the cloth of your undergarments, and instead of the typical smarmy response you’d come to anticipate-

He simply gasps. 

Mouth heavy with spit. Thick with joy, lust; ripe having seen the proof of your need for him. To take care of his ruined body and learning mind.

Your hands move to your chest as he looms over you, peeling the slip down from your breasts so you can relieve the ache that wracks them. Heavy. Painful in their retention, nipples distended as wholly engorged with milk.

“Fuck.”

“Swearing in front of mummy? Rather unbecoming, no?” 

His eyes roll back into his skull, this time from jovial relief. He’s still in there. No disassociation, no hurt as you sigh, as your hands move to relieve the ache from your teats; rolling your nipples in practised tandem and riding the air with the subsequent high.

He groans once more. Straddles your lap as his hips move to hump the air by your soft belly. Desperate thrusts. Wanting. Needing more and more of your validation.

It’s not until your aching nipples do something most unexpected that you moan alongside him. Longing. Your lover - his face now spattered with your drips. Forehead, cheekbones; the space between his nose and lips; all adrip with the sweetest fluid he’s ever been baptised with. Milk dribbles from each of your teats and flows into the one neat pearl hanging from each. 

Astarion’s eyes meet yours, and in that moment you feel it deep in your abdomen. 

“You want to taste?’

A meek nod. A solemn promise. Those lips of a charlatan. 

“Can I do something first? Please?”

You wonder how many silken lies have spilled from that tongue in some desperate sense of bravado over the years. How the performance has no audience here any longer.

“Tell me. What do you want?”

You struggle against the moan desperate to spill from your lips. You want nothing more than to become clay in his capable hands, and yet you know you must remain as you are. Stoic. Liberal with a chiding tongue should he need it.

“Will you warm me while I do?”

“Are you hard, my love?”

“Please, mother.’

He lifts your wrist from your chest to the apex of his thighs, manoeuvring your palm by the back of your hand so it presses deep on his aching cock. Hard. Pulsing. Searching for somewhere to bury deep inside and be warm in comfort.

‘Mummy. Please.”

His use of ‘mummy’ throws you a million miles off course on a wayward comet of pure desire, hurtling through a new sky in hearing it in his downy timbre. A mere whisper. You see for a brief moment the small elven boy he once was as he seeks comfort in you, ears out at a point, eyes folded something crestfallen.

Your tits ache as you reach down to free your cunt, rolling the linen down your legs in a sweat-laden stupor and throwing the piece aside as Astarion strokes his cock. 

“Fill me, sweet one. Let me look after you.”

Whatever remaining crumbs of resolve he has dissipate at the sound of your voice, rolling to pull you onto his lap and holding you in a hover above his fat head, slit leaking clear as it rests against his shirt.

There’s a moment where you look at him fondly, as an equal.

Then as you sink onto the pointedly hard length of his weeping cock you see the softening of his face and you want nothing more in all the realms than to baby him like he wants of you. To hold him close, soothe his aching need for your body; for your guidance and wit, for your humour and want. For the way you smell warm, like domestic heaven; so much like someone who cares for him as if he were born directly from you.

A part of him was. The part of him now alive and breathing, asleep upstairs in the cot beside your shared bed.

This part of him however now feels it close. Feels the way your spongy walls yield to him. The way you want to please him and be pleased.

You allow yourself one roll of your hips as you shift to accommodate his sharp length, holding a moan in the back of your throat and wriggling so you sit comfortably above him. This isn’t about the fervent dance to reach a peak. It’s for him.

Leaking teats now at eye level, large droplets of milk freed in your shifting. He pulses inside you as he asks with big round eyes. A taste - and who are you to deny your favourite boy?

With a nod from you, his lids flutter shut and his tongue brushes sharp fangs to lick softly at your nipple. The sweet cloud of nectar dissipates on the surface and his whimper rocks you straight to your core, the brief wince as you feel the kick of his cock inside you.

Hungry. The only way you can describe the sound biting at his throat. 

“So good! So good.”

He nods softly at your encouragement, looking to you once more; seeking permission to take a wholly distended nipple into his waiting mouth. 

You arch forward in response. A gentle ‘yes’.

The veiny flesh of your breast forms a lightning-visceral halo of blues and greens around his soft curls as you look down. Wet kitten licks, soft suckling; coaxing the warmth from within as you card a steady hand through his hair.

His hips begin to roll a little. Your other hand moves to anchor him. 

“Ah-ah. Rest now. My beautiful boy. You’re doing so well. You don’t need to move, do you?”

He shakes his head frantically around your nipple. A furious refute.

“Good. Good boy. Do this for you.”

There’s a moment where he loses himself fully in the taste of you. The sheer mass of your newly-fattened nipples, the way they feel as he pushes against; over them with his cool wet tongue. Soft yet aching. Rubbery. Abundant. Listens to the rain hammering the window.

Then a hand reaches out. Grabs at your clothed waist, palm basking in the body heat; lifting your skirt just a little further up your thighs to gain access to the bud of your swollen clit and smooth the hood up and over. Exposed. Curious as to how far he can go.

When he starts to circle the white-hot flesh you know you have to focus.

This isn’t about you. 

And yet he murmurs something under his breath. You aren’t sure if you’ve heard properly at first.

“Want to feel you cum around me.”

Astarion can’t meet your eyes as he says it. All sense of grandiloquence he’s ever shown anyone lost behind flush cheeks. Vulnerability. 

“Say it again.”

“I want to give to you.”

“You want to give to me, or you want me to give it to you?”

He stops. Looks at you with a bewildered furrow.

“I want you to stop touching me and focus on yourself. Use me, sweetheart. Take your pleasure.”

The furrow remains for a moment or two as he stews in blank thought.

“Talk to me. I can do it, I’m so close already.” He laughs shyly with an eager pulse of his cock.

“You want to spill in me again? Make mummy round once more, sweet one?’

A brisk nod. Desperation deep set as he looks you over.

“It’s okay! You’re allowed to want this, to take it.’ You lean in to his ear once more and bite calmly at the tip.

His eyes screw shut and his lips purse together.

‘I want you to do this.”

And he cums. Hard.

Tries to bounce you on his lap in order to gain some friction in the waves of brutal frustration biting at his core, grunting and wailing as he grabs at whatever of you he can. Hips, ass, thighs; terse and hot.

And you simply coo. 

Refusing to let him move you, nor take solace in the friction you so willingly often provide. His abdomen tenses something staccato as he takes what little purchase he can and tries to push into you further.

And then, he begins to weep. 

Your hand moves to his hair once more, bringing him in to your chest as he attempts to hump you through his climax.

“There now. Good boy.”

Tears as he finishes. Cold-heavy sobs. Mouth absentmindedly searching for the soft of your neck in the rolling haze and biting. Gnawing. Looking for the pulse point now permanently marked by two bloody spots. 

He feels the nod you so freely give and sinks his fangs deep past the skin. 

Ruts up with his now softened cock, suckles like a small lamb. The sluice of his spend pooling on his pelvis. 

“Good boy. Take what you need, always. I’ve got you.”

The haze passes with each sip from you, blood puddling under his tongue and down his perfect throat. The frustration melts into sheer joy as he hugs you close in small peals of laughter. 

“Gods. That was -’ 

He pauses for one last sip before tilting his head to look at yours.

‘That was phenomenal, love.’

You take a moment to look him over for any signs of discomfort, anything that might indicate he’s putting on a front for you; and there’s nothing. No veil. His eyes are empty in post-orgasmic bliss and he looks so incredibly beautiful in such joy.

‘I’m wholly spent. I really am.”

You laugh at his breathy shakes.

“Mummy is here whenever the urge should strike, darling. You know this.”

He rolls his eyes and grins. 

“Oh mother. How could I forget?”

[madam-o]

Nosferatu (2024)

Ok. So Robert Eggers has either just made the ultimate monsterfucker film OR the ultimate criticism of that genre. Not all monsterfucker films are created the same, but I think it's safe to say that the majority of them strongly romanticize the human/monster relationship to make it erotic and appealing to a mainstream audience. But no beautiful, sparkly, eternally young and fashionable creatures inhabit this film.

Oh no, on the contrary, only a waxy, twisted corpse with reflective, demonic eyes stalks the protagonists from the shadows. It most resembles a giant, undulating leech while in naked, monstrous action, and in most other shots, it can only be dimly perceived as a hulking, disfigured form with elongated features covered in fur. Unlike every other version of Count Orlok, we never see his full face or the trademark, rat-like fangs, but their presence is definitely felt through the gruesome sounds he makes while feeding and the diseased marks he leaves on his prey. This Orlok is definitely animalistic in every sense of the word, an amalgamation of rat, bat, and wolf. He's a literal plague. Bill Skarsgaard pulls off a miracle of acting by disappearing completely and creating a completely unearthly performance behind his impressive makeup with an equally impressive voice that sounds as large and demonic as he looks. He's also sexual, but in a completely unnerving way. More animal than human, desperate and violent.

Lily Rose Depp has impressed me in the past, but she's surpassed herself here. She's fearless and transcendent, throwing her whole body and soul into her portayal of a solemn, pale waif of a heroine. Her character is fragile and pure and yet also spiritually powerful, drawing the darkness to her with her own insatiability.

And guys, let me just again point out that it's been a pretty amazing era of women in horror for the last several years. We've got legends in the making like Lily Rose Depp, Florence Pugh, Maika Monroe, Margaret Qualley, Sophie Thatcher, and many other young female actors making serious waves in this genre, not to mention all the women filmmakers working in horror.

But I digress.

What Eggers and his top tier cast of performers achieves here is almost the final, definitive word on the classic vampire tale of a monster stalking a girl from leagues of time and space away. It removes the modern stylization and sexiness we're used to from films like Coppola's Dracula, and breaks the story down to Reason vs superstition, the seen vs the unseen.

I love the sense of authentic folklore Eggers gives to his creatures, and it feels especially rich and historically accurate here. As always, Eggers is spotlighting the fears and concerns of a specific place and time from the past. 19th century Germany has many great scientific advances being made in it, and yet bubonic plague is still very much a concern, bringing along with it ancient, primal fears and beliefs. The lesson of the Dracula/Nosferatu story has always been that we modern folk neglect spiritual matters and scoff at superstition to our own peril, and the stubbornness of rational men pretty much dooms everyone in the cast in this version.

But make no mistake, there's still definitely erotic elements in this film, they're just more brutal and terrifying than titillating. You're not going to see Gary Oldman as a wolf creature humping a girl in a red fringe corset nightie here, is what I'm saying. In fact, this vampire might be the most nasty, corpsey one I've ever seen. Necrophilia is a recurring theme here, as well as many orgasmic fits of possession. Bodies are violated repeatedly and in various ways. The final, naked shot of the film inspired uncomfortable laughter from a woman in my audience because of how grotesque a tableau it was. So how much this turns you on will depend on how hardcore you are into the monster thing.

It's a movie that sticks with you, even if you're not sure if it's hot or horrific. I give it 10 screaming demonic fits out of 10.

[localwhiskeyuncle]

ok so in the books one of Hannibal's art forms is flower arranging; it's one of the first things Murasaki does with him when he arrives in France in Hannibal Rising and is one of the first activities where he feels a connection to someone since his family died. He does this from like 12 years old all the way up through the end of the events of Hannibal (he makes some bouquets for Clarice after their escape from Muskrat Farm) but I would argue that NBC!Hannibal's stunning food displays are the equivalent of his flower arrangements in the novels.

I'd say making a (good) flower arrangement and staging a beautiful, well balanced plate/table display are fairly similar in terms of artistic outlook. You need to be able to start with nothing and see the bigger picture of how all the components will complement each other, what would look good in contrast with each other, how texture and color impact the overall tableau, etc.

While NBC!Hannibal definitely uses bouquets as part of the set design in Hannibal's home (and I'm certain he would have designed them himself), they are not the focus of the scene. And while book!Hannibal is very into fine food and drink and a nice table setting (in fact, his taste in food/wine/tableware/cars is exactly how Clarice found him post-Florence) there is little focus on the display of the food (you could argue that in the dinner scene with Krendler, display is very important, with the abundance of flowers and the tableside show, but its one of the only times Harris made it the focus of a scene and it was honestly still more about the flowers and making it a positive experience for Clarice than it was about the plating).

Anyway TLDR Hannibal's food displays in the show are the equivalent of his flower displays in the books and I think that was a nice way of reimagining the character for the purposes of the show.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 3720

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

4. Cake Doughnuts (shitty non-doughnuts)

This is not the way Mary expected her life to go. Divorced at 29, probably unemployed, and now declared mentally incompetent and legally attached to some stranger? Ew.

At least when the cops had dragged her into the ER, she’d been drunk still. But she’s sobered up a lot since then, and ever more so during the drive from the hospital to back to Brooklyn. It’s the most awkward car ride of her life. Steve’s the one who drives. Mary doesn’t know why that surprises her, but it does. And he’s the one who leads the way into their building and up the stairs. It’s an older building with character but no elevator, so they make the three story climb on foot. Another resounding Ew.

Mary walks silently around Bucky’s (and Steve’s—because of course he’s gay and married) apartment, feeling shy and hesitant and all the things she just really doesn’t want to be feeling right now. She stops when she gets to the second bedroom, stares at its pristinely tucked-in sheets and neutral tableau.

“You can bring over any stuff you need from your place,” Steve is saying gently from behind her, where he and Bucky are lingering in the hallway. “It’ll be your room. We won’t bother you in there.”

She whips around. “How long do I have to stay here?” Better to figure it out now. Make a plan. She glares at Bucky, since he’s the one in charge of this disaster. “I’m not staying here forever.” Steve looks even sadder at her words than Bucky does, kind of like a kicked puppy. It’s disconcerting, so Mary keeps her attention on Bucky instead, forcing herself to make eye contact. “Well?”

“Until I feel like it’s safe and healthy for you to be on your own,” he says, not a hint of sympathy in his tone. That’s disappointing, and it pisses Mary the hell off.

“Screw you,” she says, not particularly loudly, but definitely full of all the contempt she feels for this guy. “You think you can just—”

He’s got her pushed up against the wall faster than she can track with her eyes. One second she’s standing feet away from him, and the next she just … isn’t. He’s in her space and against her body, one hand at the base of her throat and a thigh pressing forward, holding her to the wall. It’s terrifying and shocking and …

“Oh I know ‘I can just’,” he says darkly.

… She’d rather eat glass than tell him what else it is. “Let go of me,” she grits out.

Disappointingly, he does. Steve is just standing there like a big idiot, blinking wide eyes at the scene. Bucky takes a full step back from her and says, “Don’t curse at me, Mary. It’s disrespectful.”

She wants to ask him exactly what he’s done to earn any respect from her. She grinds the words into her teeth instead while Bucky watches her knowingly. She hates that look almost as much as she hates the way he says her name, as if he’s known her for years rather than a millisecond.

“House rules,” he says calmly. “The practicalities of what’s going to happen. We should discuss that, don’t you think?”

Steve places a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, comes up beside him and wraps an arm around his waist in a way that reminds Mary that the two are a couple. “Hey,” he says softly, speaking in Bucky’s ear. “Why don’t we let her get some rest before you go asserting your dominance, huh?” Mary wrinkles her nose at the word, and Steve regards her kindly. “You’ve gotta be tired,” he says. “You want to sleep?”

Bucky looks like he’ll protest, so Mary nods quickly. “Yeah. Yeah I’m tired.”

She watches as Steve squeezes his husband’s shoulder. “Come on, Babe. Let’s leave her to get some rest. She’s been up all night.”

Suddenly, Mary realizes that she has been up all night, and it’s almost comical, how fast the exhaustion hits her. Her throat starts to ache with a yawn that she fights not to let out in front of them. “Yeah,” she says again, this time thinking less about Bucky and what he wants or doesn’t want, and more about the bed that Steve said was reserved for her. She remembers that she feels like absolute shit, and probably looks it, too. “M’gonna sleep,” she says, turning away from both of them and heading for the bed.

The door ‘snicks’ shut softly behind her, and she assumes it was Steve who closed it. The two men's muffled voices fade off down the hallway, and even though it’s probably naïve to trust them so easily, Mary believes what Steve said about them not bothering her in this room.

She collapses on the bed that is exactly as soft as it looks. The sheets are tucked with military precision and smell like no one’s ever used them before. Mary grinds her face into the cool pillows and briefly wonders if Steve and Bucky have never had any company over to use this bed, before falling into one of the deadest sleeps of her life.

She wakes up feeling much, much better. Steve and Bucky’s guest bedroom has an en-suite, so she goes in and does her best to freshen up with the toiletries she finds stocked there.

There are three Advil Liqui-gel capsules sitting on the bedside table when she comes out. Mary regards them sharply and glances back to the door, but it’s still closed, no sign of life heard from outside in the hallway. Either the pills were there earlier and she just didn’t notice them, or else Steve is a lot stealthier than he looks. Twisting her lips, she scoops the pills up and tosses them back to fend off the headache she can already feel brewing behind her temples. 

A quick search of the room’s dresser drawers yields nothing, and she’s forced to face the fact that she’s going to have to do this confrontation dressed in only her huge tee shirt from the night before. No matter, she thinks, squaring her shoulders and reaching for the doorknob. She’s got a new strategy in mind.

“I’m sorry,” she says, when she ventures out to find Bucky and Steve sitting in the living room.

Steve reaches for the remote to mute the tv, and Bucky sits back with a doughnut that he’s just plucked from a box on the coffee table. He bites into it, looking only vaguely interested "Want one?"

She spares a glance at the box. "Are they yeasted?"

"What's that mean?" Steve asks.

Another glance reveals that they're not, and Mary turns her nose up at them. "It means you're eating shitty, overbaked cake, not a doughnut," she says snottily.

Steve just blinks and looks back at the box with a little frown. Bucky takes another huge bite of his doughnut and chews it, maintaining eye contact with her and speaking around his mouthful, "Weren't you sorry for something?"

Mary purses her lips and starts over with her contrition act. “Yes. Look, I know you guys are just trying to help me. And I know I probably seem like such a hot mess to you right now.”

“Cause you are,” Bucky drawls.

Mary quells the urge to go over there and slap the doughnut straight out of his hands. That won’t help her with this new strategy she’s decided on. ‘Honey versus vinegar’, and all that. “Yeah,” she says instead. “So I’ll admit, my life hasn’t been going very well lately. And I really did need some help.” She forces herself to give Bucky a friendly smile. “So I’m glad you were willing to step in and help me. Thank you.” Bucky is looking at her way, way too unimpressed, and Mary squirms in place, thinking that he should be looking happier at what she’s just said. “Well?” she says.

He chews another bite of doughnut for a solid five seconds, swallows, then says, “How much did it hurt you to spit that out?”

She scowls. “I was trying to be nice.”

“Mm hm.” He pats the couch beside himself in a clear invitation. “Come sit down. Have a doughnut.”

She’s obeying before she even thinks about it, though at least she has the sense to take a seat on Steve’s side of the L-shaped sectional, and not Bucky’s. “I’m not hungry,” she says, just as her stomach gives a small growl.

“Well clearly that’s a lie,” Steve chuckles. 

Mary glances over at him, peeved, but decidedly less so than she is at Bucky. Steve just seems less … threatening, maybe. Whatever it is, Mary pushes it from her mind.

“Look, I’ll stick around for a few hours or something if you really want to make sure I’m okay,” she says, attention back on Bucky, because she can already tell that he’s the one she’s got to convince. “But then I have to get back to my apartment.” She sees Bucky’s expression shutter at this and quickly adds, “I understand that you’re responsible for me, temporarily, technically. And I appreciate what you’ve done. I don’t want to cause you guys any more trouble than I already have. I’m going to take steps to take better care of myself now. And we can … we can keep in touch if you want. Just so you don’t ... you know … worry.” By the end of her speech she’s lost confidence, as she can see from Bucky’s expression that this is not being received well.

"Is that all?" he asks, eyebrow arched.

“Bucky,” she complains, floundering. “Come on. This isn’t … I mean you can’t just, adopt me, or whatever. I’m not some stray dog. You don’t even know me!"

He nods. “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t.”

For one brief, overly-optimistic moment, she thinks that she’s actually going to get out of it that easy.

“But I’ll get to know you. Because you’re not leaving here anytime soon, Honey.”

All of that optimism tanks straight into a sour pit of disappointment. Mary shoots up to standing, startling Steve a bit where he's reaching for the doughnut box. “Don’t call me that,” she snaps.

Bucky takes another smug fucking bite out of his doughnut. “What?” he asks. “‘Honey’?”

“Yes! I’m not your ‘Honey’. I’m not your anything.”

He licks the sugar off his lips and stares her down. “You like it when I call you that.”

“No, I hate it,” she sneers. “Just like I hate your smug, self-satisfied face. I hate men like you.”

Bucky relaxes further back into the sofa, gesturing at her with the last of the doughnut before he stuffs it in his mouth and eats it. “Men like me, huh?” he asks once he’s swallowed, infuriating in his nonchalance. 

“Yes.”

He chuckles and starts sucking his fingers clean one by one. “And what would that be?” he drawls, letting his legs splay wide on the couch cushions, thigh muscles straining against the denim of his jeans. He sees her getting distracted and hums. “Hm? Pray tell, Little girl. Do enlighten me. What are 'men like me' like?” 

For one, airless second, all Mary wants in the world is to drop to her knees right between his legs, put her face at the seam of his jeans and rub her cheek against his thigh, against his … 

Her thoughts go unfocused, fuzzy at the edges, static in her brain. She licks her lips absentmindedly, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of how he’s positioned himself …

“Mary.”

The sound of her own name draws her out of it, like a slap. She meets his eyes and juts her chin out, half dizzy from the effort. “Men like you think they know everything,” she grits. “Think that they’re the end-all-be-all. Men like you don’t feel any compunction about stepping on everyone around them. Men like you think you’re so fucking smart, that you can’t even fathom the likely alternative.”

“And what would that be?”

“That you’re actually just a cocksure moron,” she hisses.

Bucky tips his head at Steve. “Stevie tells me I’m a moron every other Tuesday, don’t you Babe?”

Steve shrugs a little from where he's leaning forward, holding the lid of the doughnut box open while he tries to choose a flavor. “Well, yeah.”

Bucky smirks, so unaffected that Mary just wants to scream. “So," he says. "You ‘hate men like me’, huh?”

“Yes. I do."

“That’s why you’ve spent your whole life around them, then?”

“I …" She falters. "What?”

Bucky glances over to Steve, and the two of them have some sort of silent exchange overtop the lid of the doughnut box, wordlessly communicating in a way that evidences a years’ long relationship. When they both look back to her, it’s Steve who speaks first.

“We got to read up on you a little, while you were asleep,” he says. He nods to the laptop and packet of papers on the coffee table. “Did some research. Learned about what led up to this.”

“'This'? What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been under the control of domineering men your entire life,” Bucky says, interjecting more forcefully over Steve’s gentler tone—Mary feels like she’s getting whiplash between the two of them. “First it was your father, out in Bumfuck, Nowhereville,”

“Indiana,” Steve mutters.

“Whatever,” Bucky snaps, zeroing back in on Mary with glinting eyes. “And he was ‘that sort of man’, wasn’t he?”

Mary feels a little like she’s been punched in the gut. “So what?” she says. “So you looked me up? Hospital gave you info on me and now you think you know me? You don’t know shit.”

“Your whole life, he said jump and you said how high, right?” Bucky asks, clearly not wanting or needing an answer to the question. Maybe Mary’s expression is answer enough. She’s not quite sure what she must look like right now. Horrified maybe. Or furious. “And then you latched onto the first jerk who’d give you a ride out of town.”

“Shut up.”

“Married him, too. And that worked for you alright ... Until it didn’t.”’

The backs of her eyes are starting to feel hot. “I said: shut up,” she whispers.

Bucky nods and leans forward on the couch, as if her anger and humiliation mean nothing to him. And damn him, maybe they don’t. Maybe he likes this, the sick bastard. “If he hadn’t hit you so bad, you would’ve stayed. Right? He met your needs in every other way.”

Mary shudders. “What are you talking about?”

"I'm talking about self-medicating, Honey. It's what you've been doing. Probably since you were a little girl."

She's disgusted with herself for the tears that break through, unmoored by how Bucky knows all of these things about her, and that he's able to fill in the gaps so easily. “What the hell is your problem, huh?” She swipes angrily at her eyes. “What does any of that have to do with anything? Except for that it’s none of your goddamn business?!”

Bucky softens a little. He glances at Steve, who gives him a warning look. “Sweetheart,” he says, looking back at Mary plaintively. “The drinking and the cutting, the feeling miserable and being sad all the time; that all started after your divorce, yeah?”

That … is not what Mary expected him to say. She’d been expecting more insults, more heartless jabs at her past. “I … What?”

“Answer the question,” Steve urges gently. He looks like he’s in on some secret with Bucky, something only Mary doesn’t know. 

“Yeah,” she admits warily. “I mean, divorce is … well it’s divorce. It sucks. Of course I wasn’t happy about it.” She scowls and crosses her arms. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that, dysfunctional as they were, you had very specific relationships with very specific types of men, until what, like a year ago?”

“... Year and a half,” she mutters, unease creeping up her spine at where she thinks this is going.

“Right. And that’s when all your troubles started. Because let's be real: you weren't hurting yourself before then." He tilts his head, feigning curiosity. "Why do you think that is, Mary? Why weren't you falling apart before? When you had a father touching you wrong, or a husband putting holes in your drywall?"

"Stop," she breathes.

He nods sadly. "It was was after, when you didn’t have those people in your life anymore, structuring it, telling you what to do. Once you were alone, that’s when you started to fall apart.” He levels her with a pitying gaze. "Now why do you think that is?"

Oh, hell no. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mary says. She actually takes a physical step back from where she’s standing. “You think what? I was using my douche ex-husband as some sort of a … a dom? My freaking father?!”

“Mary, calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” She jabs her finger at Steve, who’s spoken. If she thought she’d been angry at these two before, well now she’s just … she’s just … “You’re fucked up,” she tells them, voice full of quiet fury. “And you,” she points at Bucky. “You might be diagnosed with some freaking mental disorder or whatever, but that doesn’t give you the right to put that fucked up psychology onto everyone else!” She jabs her thumb at her own chest. “I’m normal! I’m not like you. I don't–I don’t have …”

“Mary,”

“No! I don’t. I–I didn’t …” Vaguely, she starts to recognize that her pulse is pounding in her ears, that it’s getting harder to draw breaths. “My f-fa, my, my f-father…”

Bucky stands up and comes towards her. “Mary,”

“No!” She makes to push away, to leave the room, but he closes in too fast and before she knows it, he has one hand on her throat and one at the base of her skull, gripping her hair. And it’s not mean, the way he’s holding her, but when she jerks away it tugs her hair unpleasantly and she whines and stills. “Let go,” she gasps, terrified by the way his hands make her feel.

“Steve, a little help?”

Her heart lurches as she hears Steve move, sees him getting up off the couch and coming over. “Wait,” she whispers, afraid and not understanding why. Not understanding why she’s even whispering in the first place, instead of screaming like she should be. “No, wait, wait—”

Steve is behind her, and even though he’s hardly even doing anything, just has his hands resting on her lightly, Mary still feels a tremor run through her whole body. She feels so trapped. Fixed in place and terrified, but not because she thinks they’ll hurt her.

Because suddenly she can draw a deep breath again.

And she can see the look in Bucky’s eyes, can see how he knows that. “Please,” she whispers, closing her eyes when tears well to the surface. “Please, just, I just need to …”

“You’re okay,” Bucky soothes. “You’re okay, Mary. Just breathe against my hand. Breath against me, against Steve.”

She shakes her head, even though she knows what he means. With her eyes squeezed shut like this, she can feel both him and Steve so solidly, can feel the points where their bodies connect with hers. When she inhales, she feels them there. “What the hell?” she winds up whispering, more to herself than to them.

“You were starting to have a panic attack,” Steve murmurs. He hugs her from behind, and Mary shivers but doesn’t try to shrug him off.

“I don’t have those,” she says. Even to her own ears, it sounds weak. “I don’t,” she insists.

“First time for everything,” Bucky says.

They stand there for a long minute or two. Hell, maybe it’s more. As long as Mary keeps her eyes shut, she can at least pretend that it’s only a minute. It’s only once she opens her eyes that she has to face reality. When she does, she sees that Bucky’s watching her keenly. He looks … sad.

The thought that the man with one hand fisted in her hair and another wrapped around her throat is concerned for her strikes Mary as almost comical. She doesn’t laugh, but she also doesn’t feel close to crying anymore. “I’m okay,” she rasps, swallowing thickly. “I’m okay now.” Shaky maybe, but better. She can breathe again. “Really, I–I am.”

“Yeah?”

She nods, and the motion makes her all the more aware of his hand on her throat. She has to fight back a pleasured sigh at the feeling of it, fight to keep her eyes from fluttering closed. 

Bucky shifts in, sandwiching her even closer between their bodies. “So what?” he murmurs. “You want me to let go of you now?”

“Yeah,” she says, not feeling like she wants that at all. “Please.”

He hums. “You’re very good at saying ‘please’,” he observes. “And at telling me you’re not submissive.”

“M’not,” she insists, trying harder to make her voice firm, or at least more than a pathetic, breathy whimper. She looks him in the eyes again.

When had she stopped looking him in the eyes? She can’t remember. She feels like she’s watching this all happen through the lightest sort of fog, or maybe in slow motion, like a videotape playing at only 70% speed. Something like that, she thinks dazedly. She doesn’t feel like she has to worry about it, though. It's warm and heavy and nice here; like being under bathwater.

Bucky’s not looking at her in concern anymore. He looks more relaxed now, nicer, his eyes softer around the edges. And he hasn't let go of her, either. 

“She down?” 

That’s Steve’s voice, coming from right behind. Mary likes the way she can feel the quiet rumble of it where he’s pressed to her back.

“Mmhm. Waay down.” 

“Is it normally that easy?”

Bucky chuckles, it's a nice sound that Mary likes, the richness of it making her want more, like how chocolate makes you want more.

“No, it’s not. This is deprivation, right here. Poor thing.” 

“Is she gonna be okay?”

“Oh, sure. We’ll just stay like this for a minute. She needs the contact."

Something about the two of them talking about her like she’s not there is … well it multiplies the bathwater feeling. She hears Steve asking a question, and Bucky making an unhappy noise and answering,

“It should never be this easy. Right now she’d go down for anyone, for even the smallest thing.”

“And she was working in the service industry?” A huff of breath hits Mary’s ear. “Jesus.”

“... Hey,” Mary says, sure that she should protest somehow.

But Bucky’s hand tightens just the barest bit on her throat, and he shushes her sweetly, tells her she’s a “good girl,” and kisses the top of her head.

And Mary pretty much forgets what she was going to say, after that.

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@badthingshappenbingo

card: sarah-writes-stucky / sarahyellow

Square N5: childhood trauma

[stagicide]

okay so, i know that most people go into NBC Hannibal knowing that Hannibal is the main killer. But one thing i don’t see people talk about is the immediate foreshadowing we get that Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper, aka the person who created the wound man tableau, before we even knew that he MADE the wound man tableau.

i haven’t seen anyone talk about this by the way, like not a single soul do so much as acknowledge it. so i don’t know if this is common knowledge throughout the fandom??? or if it’s something most people don’t notice (to be fair, i didn’t notice it either on my first watch) but i’ll point it out for people who didn’t realize it nonetheless.

in episode 1 season 1, Apéritif, when we first see Jack Crawford meet Hannibal, there is a scene where Jack goes over and looks at Hannibal’s artwork. There is a piece of paper underneath the artwork.

what is this piece of paper, you may ask? It’s LITERALLY the wound man LMFAO.

i find this really funny because it’s a direct parallel to the scene with Miriam Lass, where she is sifting through Hannibal’s art and notices another image of the wound man.

it’s yet another portrayal of just how unobservant Jack Crawford is to who Hannibal Lecter truly is, despite it being right in front of his eyes. Because Hannibal isn’t even truly hiding it. It’s literally right there and Jack, a man who is both Chief of the BAU and the man who lead the Chesapeake Ripper case, doesn’t notice it. And Jack clearly doesn’t have an issue with overstepping boundaries, because he literally gets all up in Will’s face in the same episode, so he definitely COULD’VE moved the paper LOL

this isn’t even Jack hate btw. I literally love that guy. I just find this SO HUMOROUS considering that he was so defensive about Hannibal not being the Chesapeake Ripper when Will approached him with it when it was RIGHT THERE!!!

[msbigredmachine]

Voyeur (Jimmy Uso/OC) *Seven Paragraph Challenge*

A/N: Thanks to my girl @harmshake for another challenge! I know I'm supposed to be prepping for interviews but I needed a stress reliever.

By the way, it's my first Jimmy fic! 😁 He's a bit different to write and I'm a little nervous. I hope I did him justice.

Click here if you want to be on my tag list. If I’ve forgotten anyone please let me know so I can add you.

Word Count: 725

Warning: Smut

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One wrong turn led you here. Dragged you down the unfamiliar, winding maze of the massive arena and unearthed a sight you should never have seen. But here you stood in the empty hallway, the sole witness to the sleazy tableau mere feet away. Only one month into your new job, you were convinced you had seen all of the wild antics of the wrestlers you were in charge of. But this…definitely took the cake.

Slumped against an equipment crate with an unknown woman kneeling between his spread legs, Jimmy Uso groaned. You stood frozen as you watched him watch her, his big paw cupping the back of her head as it bobbed back and forth, his grunts of pleasure mingling with the slobbers of her mouth around his cock. A voice in your head screamed at you to get out of there, that you shouldn't be watching this, but you just couldn't move. It was like you were mesmerized, unable to turn away from the erotic show. More interestingly, a powerful wave of jealousy washed over you, seeing the object of your affection being pleasured by someone else. You watched his mouth fall open and marveled at the beauty of his features; his full, parted lips, the thick healthy beard, the sheen of sweat lining the edges of his neat braids. As his head tipped backwards and his big body shivered in a telltale sign of an orgasm, you longed to be the one to do that to him, to bring him to that state of blood-pumping, soul-shaking euphoria. He let out a deep, satisfied exhale afterwards, gathering the woman’s hair in his fist and pulling her off him abruptly. Zeroing in on his exposed dick, your mouth watered. Fuck, it looked so good...

It was then that both parties finally sensed the intruding presence in the air. Looking up, Jimmy locked eyes with you before you even realized that you'd been caught. He grinned unashamedly, like the cat that got the canary, making your stomach lurch from a mix of horror and lust. The woman jumped to her feet, her expression emblazoned with embarrassment as she hurriedly wiped her mouth with her sleeve. You didn’t recognise her, but your hands itched to throttle her for even touching him. She yelped as Jimmy slapped her ass right before scurrying past you with no eye contact whatsoever. Jimmy zipped his pants back up and approached you, a smirk lining his gorgeous features as he eyed you up and down. 

"Ay, new girl…didn’t your mama teach you not to stare?" His dark gaze was penetrating and seemed to strip you down to your bare bones. Feeling naked, you instinctively crossed your arms over your chest, your face warming as he licked his lips and loomed over you, like a predator closing in on its prey. He looked so good in that red jacket; his cologne was sweet and wafted through your nostrils, causing your heart to pound and your pussy to flutter with desire.

"You liked that, didn’t you? Watchin’ her suck me off, huh?” he purred, cupping your chin with his fingers, smiling as the answer twinkled in your eyes. "I seen the way your fine ass been lookin’ at me since your first day here.” His thumb brushed over your mouth, teasing the seam that parted your lips. “You want me, baby? It's just us now, you can tell me. Don’t be shy.”

You couldn’t help yourself. His words were hypnotizing, seductive and laden with carnal promise that you ached for. Your response was to scoop his thumb into your mouth, staring into his dark, beautiful irises as you sucked it with intent, showing him that you were far more talented than that bitch could ever be. The soft groan that sounded from his throat stroked your ego, and you sucked it for a little longer, licking at the thick digit one last time before slipping it out of your mouth. The air between you crackled, hot and tense and fierce. Without taking his eyes off you, Jimmy dipped his hand into your pocket and took out your phone. He tapped in his phone number, sent a quick text message, and grinned as his own device beeped seconds later, confirming he now had your number too. 

“I just sent you my hotel info. Come over after the show. And bring your things. You stayin’ with me tonight,” he instructed, handing you your phone back. You regarded each other one final time, for now, both your bodies blazing with hunger and anticipation as he turned and walked away without another word.

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A/N: Ok I'm going back to studying. I'll be back in full tumblr action next week!

Please leave comments! I love comments!

Credit to the owners of the gif and pic.

Tagging everyone else:  @jxtina-86 @wrestlingprincess80 @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @alyyaanna @squishyguishy @jstarr86 @murrylove @thewarlordsworld @mzv11 @cozyaliensuperstar7 @nayys-world @hunnidmilly @cyberdejos2 @papireigns-05 @niknakbucks92 @captainwithoutmakingitlove @sovereigngoth @aisharmi @kennedi0818 @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @herwickedlittlesins @harmshake @questionable-behaviour @tribalchiefreigns @2-muchsauce @thatbxtchsblog @raya-hunter01 @marchi36753 @lovelysuccess @christinabae @wooahmiri @thatonecarebear @tabletheofhead @rheaanddamianfan @vebner37 @hanley1577 @princessesareforsuckers @-naturally @joannasteez @bbygirlky18 @lilucey @theninthwonder @melaninsugababy @chocovibesonly @msbluehaz3 @scarlettnoir01 @heerah34 @empressdede @tbmotw @darkangelchronicles @visionarymode @marasdeathnote @aintnorainbows @meggylynnloves @shantinextdoor @harlemblipster @trc-punzel @afterdarkprincess @nbanenefrmdao @sassginaswanmills @purplehairgawdess @holisticcoach @girlwhogaf @royalkay23 @heyitsnajabrinee @stoner2k @reci1996 @catxo @iamimanim @lookmais @ts1mp0ne @shonny09 @lizzyd1ish @gomussy @m3llowww @skyesthebomb @final1miya

[ayylovley]

can i get number 7 and 9 with eli jang 🥺

7. They start developing dirty thoughts about you 9. They’re obsessed after their first time with you

Once alone in his room, Eli made sure his door was locked. He just needed a few minutes, he needs to do something to himself right he just met you at the dinner party Vasco was throwing. It wasn’t his fault he found you so, enchanting. The fact that you could’ve talked to anyone else at that party and it was him that you seemed to not be able to leave alone.

But Eli definitely didn’t mind it, quite the opposite actually. He lets out a low groan and collapses onto the bed, thoughts consumed by the intoxicating vixen that he found you were. “(Y/N)… what are you doing to me?" He murmurs into the darkness, imagining all the desires he needs to explore with you.

Within left in his thoughts, the image of you just began appearing, with every shift of himself, the noise of his mattress creaking creating this imagination of how it'd sound if he had you underneath him.

Crying out for him, and making the bed creak so much louder.

Eli feels that phantom sensation of your body against his own as his mind runs wild, the creaking of the bed amplifying the vivid fantasy "Fuck..." He rasps out, hand slipping under the waistband of his shorts at the thought of feeling every inch of your surrender to him.

In this moment alone Eli succumbs fully to the desire burning within - stroking faster, lost in daydreams of your moans and the scent of your skin. Everyone oblivious to his self pleasure when his hand holds his girthy cock so hard his arms flexes. Picturing those eyes rolling back in ecstasy as he drives himself into you over and over, it spurs him on relentlessly

"Oh yes...just like that..." Eli groans aloud, the imagination of your imagined bodies colliding echoing through the quiet night air

It isn't long before his own climax hits hard, a throaty growl escaping him as he paints his chest white with release “Mmm, I'll have you screaming for more.” He promises the empty room, basking briefly in the afterglow before cleaning up and drifting into a satisfied sleep.

—

After Eli finally had you, he thinks about you a lot. Especially when he’s laying in his bed where he pounded you dumb. That night of made hardcore love did a number on him and it's left him slowly obsessed and longing.

Over the lonely nights spent without your warmth by his side, Eli finds himself increasingly consumed by thoughts - recounting every curve, touch and moan in vivid detail as he strokes his own yearning need beneath the sheets. Your ghostly presence seems to permeate every fiber of his being - an intoxicating obsession that has taken root deep within; each day stretching into the next until only the anticipation of seeing you again keeps him tethered to sanity.

He just knows that when he does, you’ll be back on your face down against his pillow and prepped with that ass up. Begging for more of him again, and again. It’s become his addiction.

The image conjured stirs an animalistic hunger within Eli; he can picture it all too vividly - he has you completely between his sheets - and the possessive protectiveness that grips him intensifies tenfold.

"Mine..."

He growls low under his breath at this mental tableau - a silent vow swirling through the stifling air of his room as day melts into night once more amidst their shared absence.

[sithfox]

Today's snippet is from my Omegaverse!Empires AU again, but this time it's CodyWan's turn to shine. Obi-Wan can be a necromancer. As a treat 💀

Cody stops dead in the door, startled by the tableau before him.

Kenobi's mouth is dripping with blood, his eyes glowing bright yellow as he smirks down at the two Mando corpses at his feet. His eyes flash to Cody's and the smirk just widens. "Jag'havur Fett. Apologies for the mess. It seems someone wished to make an attempt on my life. I was just about to get answers."

Now that the initial shock has passed, Cody can take in details of the scene. The bodies don't fit in their armor; on closer inspection he's pretty sure that armor belongs to Kad Viszla, who'd been reported MIA before Sideous' death. Cody comes forward and carefully removes the helmet to confirm that this is definitely not Kad—this armor has been stolen, desecrated, and he growls under his breath. "Please do. I want to know who's dirtying our armor."

Kenobi looks a bit shocked but acquiesces. He squats over the corpse at his feet and presses his hand to their throat, a strange mimicry of choking the dead assassin, and Cody curses when the shadows distort as Kenobi chants something under his breath.

"Tsaiwinokka Hoyakut," the Sith murmurs, grip growing tighter, until the corpse gasps back to life.

[bethanydelleman]

what your thoughts on impact on Pride & Prejudice (2005)

So on the one hand, it probably brought a lot of new fans to Austen, something I assume because I was one of them. Always nice to see a new generation appreciating an excellent female writer, so that's a nice impact.

On the other hand, I blame 2005 for Darcy Shyboi (he ain't shy) and Bingley the Himbo (he's not stupid). This was a change from 1995 which had a very broody Darcy and an everyman Bingley. It's definitely had an impact on how people view those characters, even after reading the novel, and it has influenced depictions in fan fiction. I personally see this as negative, because it's not consistent with canon. Also, I feel like it's maligned my boy Bingles.

I don't know if this is an "impact" but it's certainly become a meme:

Neutral impact for that. Appreciate the hand flex all you want (though Elizabeth should have been wearing gloves...)

As an aside, the cinematography is very good and I appreciate the attempt to humanize some of the characters, specifically Mr. Collins, Mary Bennet, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. I love how everyone stands around as if they are in a tableau. But, the costumes are a mess, the characterization is wrong (especially Darcy, Georgiana, and Mr. Collins), and the movie format probably isn't long enough to do the story justice.