#Used Stainless Steel Tanks

[geocyclist]

Thrifting for the kitchen, Vollrath mixing bowl and vintage Lodge skillet. These are some of the higher quality cookware that I keep an eye out for.

Vollrath still makes high quality stainless steel cookware in Sheboygan, WI, and will almost always be well marked.

The skillet is a No. 8 Lodge from about the 1940s. These were ‘unmarked’, as in no manufacturer’s label, had a heat ring with three notches, and were ground smooth on the cooking surface.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

#that washing machine was more emotionally present in my childhood than my actual parents

"smart appliances" fuck u i want them dumb as a brick and incidentally as sturdy and enduring

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1930 Ford Highboy Coupe

There’s always lots of detail work with any build and this ’30 Ford highboy coupe is no exception. Look closely and you will find Craftworks Fabrication handmade steel motor mounts. The license plate and valve covers were painted by Jeremy Seanor of Luckystrike Designs. He also painted all the accompanying engine and tranny parts. The powdercoat was handled by Pittsburgh Powder Coat while the chrome plating was conducted by Jon Wright’s Custom Chrome Plating.

The chassis is comprised of a Roadster Shop custom frame that was stepped, stretched, and features contoured ’32 Ford-style framerails. It was also then boxed, capped, and has hole punch flared front framehorns. From here the frame is outfitted with a Super Bell 4-inch drop, drilled and plated I-beam axle, low-profile monoleaf spring with Ridetech tubular shocks paired to custom-made drilled billet radius rods from Johnson’s Hot Rod Shop. Steering falls to the Flaming River box and a LimeWorks Hot Rod column topped with a four-spoke Billet Specialties Sprint Car–style leather-wrapped wheel. In back there’s a Currie 9-inch rearend outfitted with 3.70 gears, 31-spline axles, QA1 coilovers, a Pete & Jakes Panhard bar, and a parallel four-link setup. Braking is a combination of disc/drum front to rear. The forward braking dark gray–painted Wilwood Dynalite calipers are neatly hidden behind the Pete & Jakes finned backing plates. While in back the 9-inch is outfitted with 11-inch brakes, this time hidden beneath the SO-CAL Speed Shop finned drums all the while the chassis rides on a full set of 16-inch Dayton wire wheels wrapped with Coker/Excelsior rubber measuring 5.50R16 in front and 7.00R18 in the back.

All hot rods have something fun settled between the ’rails and beneath the hood (well if they have a hood). In the case of our ’30 Ford highboy coupe it sure appears to be a vintage Ford Y-block but after more than a cursory look we begin to see the telltale signs that there’s something more. Indeed, while it may look like a Ford it truly is a 376-inch LSX iron block, with aluminum heads and ARP studs, plus adapter-equipped small-block Ford (Windsor) valve covers all from Don Hardy Race Cars and then assembled by Talik and Marc Mullin. The intake is an Edelbrock LS dual quad with a pair of Thunder AVS EnduraShine carbs dressed in OTB air cleaners. Delivering the gas from the Tanks stainless reservoir is an Earl’s Performance billet fuel pump. More engine accessories include an MSD 6AL box to go along with the MSD billet Ford small-block distributor that functions through a timing cover adapter from Chevrolet Performance all the while using an MSD coil and Lokar vintage plug wires. Powermaster also supplied the alternator and starter, the battery is an XS Power AGM, and a Wegner Motorsports water pump is used as well as a Wegner front accessory drive unit. This 500-plus hp V-8 utilizes custom headers made at Craftworks Fabrication based on Ultimate Headers LS header flanges. The pseudo-Ford small-block is backed up to a TCI StreetFighter 700-R4 with a 2,800-stall speed converter operated by a Lokar shifter. The trans cooler comes by way of Derale Performance and moves the power through a 3-inch-diameter custom-made driveshaft.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Today, we have a bunker for sale. It's not as interesting as a decommissioned missile tower. "Originally constructed in the 1960s at a cost of $4.5 million, an equivalent value today exceeding $34 million, this bunker represents the pinnacle of security and resilience." Located in Polo, Missouri, 35 min. from Kansas City, it has 4bds, 2ba, $2M.

The entrance hall has an industrial look, but they tired to make the home look elegant.

It has 2 massive 3,000 pound blast doors, 2.5-foot-thick concrete walls, additional layers of earth & EMP-resistant copper shielding, plus an emergency escape hatch and a towering 177-ft communication tower.

it's roomy- look at the size of the living room. One must wonder why people decorate these with traditional furniture. It needs colorful, modern stuff.

There's a bar for entertaining.

One of the bathrooms.

This is a soundproof room- it's not as if there are any neighbors around, though.

They have a home office here.

Laundry and stuff. The self-sufficient home has a private water well, a pump, and a 10,000-gallon stainless steel water storage tank, all connected to a Water Filtration System.

And, here's your new hobby- it's a glass blowing studio. I wonder if the owner would teach the new owner how to use it.

Looks like a massive air system.

Above the workshop is a large loft area.

There's a family room- notice the windows above, they are for some of the bedrooms. There's also supposed to be a home theater room, but it's not shown.

On the 2nd fl. is the 2nd bath. Not liking the hole in the wall behind the toilet.

This is the kitchen.

This is an odd place to locate the kitchen w/all this other equipment.

Through the kitchen you can see the upstairs living room.

You can see that the kitchen is on the other side.

The bedrooms are off a hall off of the living room.

The bedrooms.

This area serves as a closet.

The plot of land is 10.5 acres and the real estate description suggests that you can built your dream home on it, over the bunker.

[usafphantom2]

There is nothing that amuses me more than a secret inside of a secret.

Here’s an article that I wrote that my friend Dario Leone owner of Aviation Geek Club shared about the YF 12 and the secret SR 71 tail number 951.

Most people when they think of the YF 12 think of it as an experimental airplane that never really flew, but that is wrong. It did fly for many years. The last flight was in 1979 when it was flown to the Air Force Museum near Dayton, Ohio you can find it next to the XB-70.

The so-called YF-12C was really the SR-71A 61-7951, modified with a bogus tail number 06937 belonging to an A-12.

Taken in 1975, the interesting photos in this post show NASA Blackbirds carrying the ” Cold wall” heat transfer pod on a pylon beneath the forward fuselage.

The Blackbirds portrayed in these photos are usually referred to as YF-12s, but actually one of them was an SR-71 as Linda Sheffield Miller (Col Richard (Butch) Sheffield’s daughter, Col. Sheffield was an SR-71 Reconnaissance Systems Officer), who runs Born into the Wild Blue Yonder Habubrats Facebook page, told to The Aviation Geek Club: ‘In case anybody asked the pictures with the two NASA Blackbirds the one on the top is a YF-12 but the one on the bottom is an SR-71!

‘Another interesting thing about those pictures is that NASA was not allowed to have an SR-71 but they did and they passed it off as a YF-12!

In fact, the “YF-12C” was a then-secret SR-71A (serial no. 64-17951, the second production SR-71A) given the NASA tail no. 60-6937. The reason for this bit of subterfuge lay in the fact that NASA while flying the YF-12A interceptor version of the aircraft, was not allowed to possess the strategic reconnaissance version for some time. The bogus tail number actually belonged to a Lockheed A-12 (serial no. 60-6937), but the existence of the A-12 remained classified until 1982. The tail number 06937 was selected because it followed the sequence of tail numbers assigned to the three existing YF-12A aircraft: 06934, 06935, and 06936. Isn’t that amazing?’

The Coldwell project, supported by Langley Research Center, consisted of a stainless steel tube equipped with thermocouples and pressure sensors. A special insulating coating covered the tube, which was chilled with liquid nitrogen.

Given that the US Air Force (USAF) needed technical assistance to get the latest reconnaissance version of the A-12 family, the SR-71A, fully operational, the service offered NASA the use of two YF-12A aircraft, 60-6935 and 60-6936.

Eventually, with 146 flights between Dec. 11, 1969, and Nov. 7, 1979, 935 became the workhorse of the program while the second YF-12A, 936, made 62 flights. Given that this aircraft was lost in a non-fatal crash on Jun. 24, 1971, it was replaced by the so-called YF-12C SR-71A 61-7951, modified with YF-12A inlets and engines and a bogus tail number 06937.

The SR-71 differed from the YF-12A in that the YF-12A had a round nose while the SR-71 had its chine carried forward to the nose of the airplane. The SR-71 was longer, nearly 8 feet longer as it had an extra fuel tank that the YF 12 didn’t have. There were other differences in internal and external configuration, but the two aircraft shared common inlet designs, structural concepts, and subsystems. Also of note the SR 71C is really a combination of a static display of the SR 71 for the front half and the back half is the crashed YF-12!

In my study of all the Blackbirds, I have found other secrets inside of secrets. Such as the test SR-71 plane the 955. Everyone was told often that this airplane never left the United States, but that is not true.

When it comes to reconnaissance airplanes and War, even if it was a Cold War, Rearranging the facts is fair.

There will always be mystery in the SR 71 program.

Don’t believe that all of the secrets have been told.

I know that is not true.

Linda Sheffield, Daughter of a Habu

@Habubrats71 via X

Tap Title bar to view👇

[drugsorgasmsandcheese]

shut me up | f. castle

frank castle x fem!reader

summary: you get on frank’s nerves too much, and he’s finally found a way to shut you up.

warnings: reader has nipple piercings LOL that’s the only description, fem!reader, reader curses (she’s so me), reader annoys frank, age gap(?), touching, frank loves reader’s thighs bc i said so, making out, suggestive themes x

“oh my god, it’s raggedy-anne.” you say as you open the door. frank castle is stood behind it, beaten and bloody from whatever activity he got himself into earlier that night. frank ignores your comment and walks straight past you, and your eyes dart to him. “did raggedy-anne get shot in the ass or something?” you ask as you notice the way he limps to the couch.

“has anyone ever told you you talk too much?” frank groans, slowly sitting on the couch, unzipping his black hoodie to reveal his bare chest.

“all the time.” you quirk, pulling the first aid kit out of one of your cupboards. you never owned a first aid kit until you stumbled across frank castle. and i mean literally stumbled. you bumped into him late at night, too drunk to see the danger that lurks around him despite the bruises and cuts across his skin. you offered to help clean him up, only to realise you didn’t have a first aid kit and had to borrow one from your roommate at the time. even in a drunken state, you still did a damn good job at fixing him up.

it’s been like this ever since.

“and you don’t listen?”

“why would i listen to other people?” you smirk, taking your place next to frank on the couch as you start to unpack the necessities you’d need to clean him up. you can feel his watchful gaze on you the entire time, and when you look up at him, his eyebrows a furrowed and are looking directly at your tits: specifically, your nipples.

“what? i wasn’t expecting you to get in a fucking fight tonight. excuse me for wanting to dress comfy in my own fucking home.” your words are followed by a huff.

“when’d you get them done?” you found yourself looking down to where his gaze is cast. the white tank top you’re wearing reveals your nipples, but not only that, the stainless steel bar that passes through them.

you chuckle. “awhile ago, when i turned 18. best decision i ever made, my sex life has never been better.” you wink, causing frank to roll his eyes. “don’t be jealous, frankie, they’re always here for you.”

“you’re a pain in the ass.”

“no, that bullet wound you took up your ass is a pain. not me, never me.”

“i didn’t get shot in the ass.”

“whatever you say.” you grab the rubbing alcohol and place it on the wounds on his stomach using a few cotton pads. under your hand, you feel frank take a deep breath in and you watch him do so. “how’d this even happen, anyway?” you don’t receive an answer, causing you to huff. “fine, stay silent.”

and he does.

whilst you stitch him up, frank can sense the agitation gravitating off of you at the silence in the room. he’s always been a man of few words, but since he’s known you, you’ve always been the type of woman who had something to say no matter the situation. a snarky reply, an intelligent comment, it didn’t matter, because you truly didn’t know how and when to shut up.

“frank.” you say, and you’re met with no reply.

“frankie.” no reply.

“if you don’t reply i’ll sing careless whisper.” that causes frank to raise his eyebrows at you. he’s tempting you, his look saying do it, see what happens.

and so you gave in, because how would one not give into temptation when the devil himself is sat before you?

“tonight the music seems so loud, i wish that we could lose this crowd. maybe it’s better this way, we’d hurt each other with the things we want to sa-”

your singing is interrupted by something, but it takes you awhile to register what until you feel his tongue slip past your lips and a moan leaving your mouth for you to realise that frank castle is kissing you. you feel his hands reach up to cup your face, and you find yourself shuffling closer to be engulfed in the warmth and the feel that is him.

a hand reached out to grasp your left thigh, tugging it over his own until you’re completely situated on frank’s lap. the damage to his skin is long forgotten. his hand remains on your thigh, but it grabs and slides up and down in a way that has you completely at his mercy. his other hand soon joins on your other thigh, they’re in sync with the way they touch you: grabbing, squeezing, stroking them in a way that makes you feel appreciated.

your hands soon cup frank’s face, his jawline sharp and with your hands on his cheeks you find yourself digging deeper into the kiss, digging deeper into frank castle; his heart, his mind, his soul.

you’re not paying attention to the movement of his hands, too invested in the heavy make out session to even realise that his left hand had moved to cup your breast, pulling at your pierced nipple in a way that evokes a hot and breathy moan from you. you’re growing greedy, you want him to do it again and it’s like he’s a mind reader because he does, and you feel him smirk against your lips at another moan that escapes you.

you’ve pulled away from the kiss now, but your hands are still on frank’s cheeks and he’s still playing with your nipple. you’re both breathing heavily, lips just an inch apart as you stare into each other. he’s smirking at you, and you giggle.

“guess you found a way to shut me up.” you laugh breathlessly. “but i think i know a few other ways.” it’s the wink that you give him that frank knows he’s in for a long night. but who is he to complain?

taglist:

(if you want to be added or removed from my taglist, please feel free to message me!!)

@theeblackmedusa

[okaybooner]

Little do they know that Dinky has been transformed, piece by piece, like the Ship of Theseus, into a mech armed with 120 mm High Explosive Anti-Tank laser-guided missiles with semi-combustible cartridges, as well as a X-25 Gatling laser and other anti-materiel guns, one in each claw. The claws in themselves are deadly as well, having been replaced with twelve-inch Nitro-V stainless steel swords.

The shielding capabilities of Dinky - both practical blast shields and highly experimental zero-point energy and EMP fields - make long-range ballistic strikes impractical, yet Dinky's outer armor seems impenetrable, made of some kind of carbon-fiber reinforced polymer coated with carbon nanotube-reinforced epoxy. Painted green, obviously, as Dinky is still a dinosaur. Its shielding capabilities don't stop at deflecting munitions or direct attack, either; stealth technologies have been implemented which make it impossible to trace Dinky on any radar detector, or even Vault Tec apparatus such as the Pip-Boy.

The mech flares to life with a roar, its jaws snapping shut, cocooning its pilot in safety. Attuned to Boone's movements via neurolink technology and a thermal suit, its arms move in tandem with its tail, which, in one precise swish, sends the mines surrounding it flying. A laser guided by precise assisted targeting detonates the mines that don't detonate themselves.

Dinky rears up from the sands of Novac and begins to make its way out of the town, using high-tech armaments to mow down enemies in its path.

[emiplayzmc]

Finished making a ref sheet for how I want to draw the Addisons from Deltarune!

I'm a sucker for robotic interpretations of the Addisons! Under the cut are the headcanons! Will probably make a part 2 to this ref sheet in the future, with personal interpretations of Spamton, SNEO, and the Addisons he was friends with ^^

Part 2: Random Headcanons

Part 3: Main 4 Designs

-Addisons have a charging port in the back of their necks, plus a literal blue tooth in their teeth.

-Inside their endoskeletons, Addisons have a tank of magic that's the same colour as the Addison themselves - blue, yellow, orange, and pink (and white, in Spamton's case). This magic tank has tubes throughout the endoskeleton that reach to most areas in the upper body, but the most magic tubes are focused on reaching towards whichever hand the Addisons wear their ring on.

-Also inside their endoskeletons are their [Heart-Shaped Object]s, which are their motherboards. They can extend out of their endoskeleton and outer casing for repairs (or for attacks, in SNEO's case).

-An Addison's hair is made of stainless steel fibres!

-All Addisons are elemental magic users, and can use their magic in self defense - Blues use water, Yellows use electricity, Oranges use fire, Pinks use ice, and Spamton / Glitched White Addisons use plant magic.

-Water magic rings are called Shell Rings. Electric magic rings are called Thunder Rings. Fire magic rings are called Flame Rings. Ice magic rings, of course, are called Freeze Rings. Plant magic rings are called Rose Rings.

-All Addison rings can corrupt if their host's code is tampered with - it's how Spamton's Rose Ring turned into the Thorn Ring. When corrupted, the rings change appearance and, of course, start causing significant damage to their user - never outright killing them, but weakening them enough to where the ring can use the host's lifeforce for extra energy. I'd like to draw to corrupted versions of all the rings eventually!

-Also a sucker for the headcanon that Addisons can glow, ^^ The magic inside their tanks causes a bioluminescence to their outer casing that makes them glow in the dark - it grows dim and flickers when they're weak, and being brighter and more solid when they're at full health.

[liyawritesss]

ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ

Characters: MCU!Riri Williams x Shy!Black!Fem!Reader

Type: Fic

Word Count: 5.3k

Synopsis: You’ve always been the type to let your mind run frantic. But when a certain girl asks you out for a day on the town, you find yourself slowing down and taking in the beauty of living in the moment. 

Warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of drug use (cannabis), one of reader’s exes was a guy

A/N: Just something cute inspired by the song “Slow Down” by Skip Marley and H.E.R. It’s been stuck in my head for the longest and the music video just SCREAMS Riri so I had to do a lil sumn sumn for my girlfriend. Hope yall enjoy! Suggested songs to listen to when reading: “Slow Down” by Skip Marley ft. H.E.R., “Right Track” by Syd ft. Smino, “oui” by Jeremih.

Tags: @inmyheadimobsessed @badass-dora-milaje @babyboiboyega @verachii @heartsforjojo @letitias-fav @kingstormpostsshit @shurismainbxtch @zayswriting @rxcently @nzia-writes @writingintheshadowsforever @hufflehans @kokichiis7 @xxmilli @typicalme13 @zestgodtj @generallysapphic @ziayamikaelson @shuriszn @percsane @justariellove @n7cje @mbakuetshurisprincess

You knew you would regret coming to this party.

This kind of scene was never your cup of tea. You weren’t a fan of dancing, or loud music, or getting so drunk that the only thing on your mind was finding someone to grind with on the dance floor. You’d barely drunk the heavily diluted liquor in your red solo cup, finding the watered down burn of the beverage displeasing to your throat. The dim green lights that danced across the numerous bodies on the dance floor did you more of a favor by obscuring your position against the wall, as you didn’t want to be disturbed by anyone. You were comfortable against the wall, away from sweaty bodies and the heavy stench of alcohol and the mingling perfumes, colongues and pheromones that danced in the air.

You were here for a friend, but as you watched them get swept away by another party goer to continue their more than inappropriate grinding in secret, you were left virtually alone, made to endure the loud, bass-heavy music and overwhelming amount of people by yourself.

You ran a hand through your faux locs, some of them adorned with gold ornaments, brushing the long locks of hair to rest over your left shoulder, leaving the right one bare and shining underneath the green lighting. Your outfit wasn’t extravagant or eye catching, as you didn't want to be quite noticeable at this sort of engagement. A simple black crop top covers your chest and ends just under your rib cage, and just under your belly button is the elastic band of your leggings, which are black as well. An oversized white sweater rests around your frame, much of the material bunched up on your arms with your hands barely peeking out of the sleeves, and matching white Air Force One’s decorate your feet. The hands that hold your red solo cup are adorned with a variety of silver rings, your nails a simple coffin shaped, matte brown color, and on your neck rests a stainless steel chain that could be mistaken for that of a cuban link chain at first glance.

You’d seemingly done everything in your power to concoct an outfit that would not get you noticed, but there’s a pair of eyes from across the room that challenges that theory. And it's in one of your scans of the room that you make contact with those eyes, and for a moment, your breath stills as you realize that this person is staring right at you. They’re staring right at you, and it looks like they have been for a while.

She’s standing on the opposite end of the room, and you can just barely see her as she stands on some elevated part of the floor, her body visible from the torso up, the rest being obscured by the many dancing bodies. She, too, has a red solo cup in hand, and she’s holding her firm gaze while she takes a sip from it. Her hair is done in neat cornrows, a few of them laying over her shoulders. She has on a white cropped tank that fits tight on her chest, and from what you can tell through the dancing heads that hide the rest of her body, blue ripped jeans that are high waisted and fit her curves just right.

She was very pretty, you had to admit, but the thought of her eyes finding you of all people is what caused your mind to start racing. Did she know you? Did you know her? Did she know your friend, and in extension, you? You cast your eyes aside as your mind began to come up with so many different questions and rationalizations to explain why she could have been eying you down, how long had she been doing so. You’d gotten so caught up in your head that you hadn’t noticed that the girl from across the room disappeared from her spot on the adjacent wall. Instead, she was coming to take up a spot next to you. 

Out of your peripheral vision, you watch her walk towards you.  It’s not  a pace out of haste, but not one of caution either. She seems skillful in her approach, as if she had done the same many times before. It has you questioning the exclusivity of the occurrence, but seeing as you don’t know much about her, other than the fact that she’s extremely attractive and seems to have taken some sort of interest in you, you decide to push that thought into the back of your mind. You watch carefully as as she comes closer to you, eventually stopping next to you, and the sheepish grin that graces her lips makes your breath hitch in the slightest.

“Hey,” she says, just loud enough for you to hear her above the thundering music, “you looked lonely over here. Want some company?”

Perhaps there was a time a few moments ago when you would have rather been left alone, but now that she’s right in front of you, the resolve to say ‘no’ gets caught in your throat. Instead, you allow her to make herself comfortable next to you on the wall, and she’s so close that you can feel the heat of her caramel-toned skin against your own. There’s a sense of bashfulness building up in your body that you can’t push down, no matter how hard you try to remain calm and collected with this beauty that stands next to you.

“There a reason why you holdin’ up the wall?” She questions, and you realize that fuck, she’s talking to you, and you have to answer her in a normal tone, and not the high-pitched, childlike one that normally comes out when your shyness taks over.

“Just not used to this whole thing,” you admit, taking while releasing the breath you had been holding, “I was originally here with a friend, but they, um…went somewhere else.”

The mystery-pretty-girl catches on quickly to what you’re insinuating, her head bobbing up and down with a nod of understanding. “Well, that ain’t no good friend. No dick is worth leavin’ yo homegirl out to dry like that.”

She’s right, and you know she is, but you still find a way to rationalize your friend’s behavior, “Could be worse. They could’ve left completely and left me here.”

“Can’t imagine why anyone would leave someone as cute as you alone,”  and for the third time tonight, you feel your breath get caught in your throat, and for the first time, there’s an intense heat that’s creeping up your neck and flooding your face. The dim lighting and the depths of your melanated skin are a blessing, because you’re sure that without either, you’d be as bright as a strawberry. The suddenness of her flirtation brings from you a sheepish chuckle, and despite the current setting, it’s almost as if the world is beginning to fade away, slowly but surely, the more that this myster-pretty-girl is in your presence. 

For a moment, the mystery-pretty-girl pauses in thought. She brings her bottom lip between her teeth for a split second, before letting it go, and instead raising her free hand to yours. “Name’s Riri.” She introduces, and you take her hand hesitantly. They’re the same size, not counting the additional centimeters added on by your acrylics, and they’re soft with a gentle scent of shea butter on them.

“(Y/N).” You reply, and it causes Riri to smile again. 

“Pretty girl with a pretty name. That checks out, I guess.” She says, and you find yourself giggling again, abashed. 

“You say this ain’t your scene?” Riri questions.

You nod in response, your finger tapping against the red solo cup in an attempt to ground yourself as you’re being forced to hold Riri’s intense eye contact. 

“No. I came as a favor,” you clarify, “I’d rather be at home. In my bed. Reading or watching TV. But I owed my friend a favor, so here I am.”

“Yeah, and they ain’t,” Riri reiterates, “but I am. I’on know about your friend, but I ain’t gon’ let nothin’ happen to you, ma,” and it’s when she calls you that very dangerous pet name that you feel an insatiable pool of butterflies begin to violently flutter in your stomach. Riri is making it hard to stay calm and collected, and even hard to keep down the smile that is so insistent on making a home on your lips.

“That’s very sweet of you,” you commend, and it is, but you believe that there’s a hidden agenda behind those sweet words. You were no stranger to flirting, despite not having been flirted with yourself or you flirt with anyone, but you know when someone is applying pressure. And Riri was doing just that, leaving your question to be ‘why?’

“So you were so worried about my safety that you were staring at me for a good minute across the room?” You question the other, a sudden sense of confidence surging through your veins. Maybe it’s the heavily diluted alcohol finally catching up to you, or maybe it’s because you find your body relaxing in the presence of Riri. “So worried that you came up to talk to me?”

“Damn, you makin’ it seem like I’m a creep or somethin,” Riri laughs, and it’s such a sweet sound that fills the air around you, drowning out loud music, “I just thought you were cute. Wanted to shoot my shot.” 

Oh.

You didn’t expect that. Neither the confession, nor the bluntness of it. It causes the same raging heat from before to make its way back to your face, burning your ears and making your breath hitch. It’s futile to even try to come up with a witty retort, because the moment you open your mouth, you begin to stutter out incoherent noises. Your bashful nature causes Riri to laugh, this time it's a bit louder, even drawing the attention of some nearby partygoers. You try to shield yourself by raising the red solo cup to your lips, reluctantly downing a gulp of the watery alcohol and letting the dull sting of it trickle down your throat as a wake-up call to what was happening.

“Okay, that was funny-”

“It definitely was not-”

“-and cute as hell-”

“-also definitely was not-”

Your little back and forward ceases when Riri brings her red solo cup to her own lips, downing a gulp, and once she’s done, the faint smell of something fruity wafts through the air. It smells way better than the diluted dark liquor you acquired hours ago, and you wonder if it tastes any better. You find yourself looking at Riri’s lips as you think this, which she takes every opportunity to point out.

“You ain’t gotta be shy about kissing me,” the brown-haired girl said, and her lips curled into this shit eating grin as she watched you realize that she picked up on where your eyes were. You were sure that she was also catching on to your timid nature and just the right buttons to push to turn you into a spluttering mess. And you couldn’t tell if you despised just how easy she was able to read you, or if you were enjoying that she was learning you.

“That is the last thing I want to do right now.” You retort, a slight tone of amusement in your voice. It was a slight fib. Her lips did look very kissable right now, but you were not about to give in to her temptation. 

“Okay, fair. You’re a ‘kiss after the first date’ type of girl. I can get with that.” 

“You’re really laying it down, aren’t you?”

“What can I say? When I see what I like, I apply the pressure accordingly.”

And the proof was in the way she had you pressed against the wall, her arm propped to the side of your head, holding her at just the perfect distance from your face, one that made you want to close the gap, but refuse to be the first to do so.

“And do you say that to all girls you come across at parties like this?” You respond, biting your lip in curiosity. There was absolutely no way that someone like her was so smooth with words just on the first go. Riri had to have spoken like this to other girls, otherwise, how could she have learned this so easily?

“Nope,” Riri answers, which causes you to frown slightly, “cuz ain’t no girl got me so sprung I went up to them to shoot my shot.”

“I don’t think I believe that,” you retorted, a bit of sass in your voice.

“Aight, then, lemme take you out,” Riri proposes, “and I’ll show you better than what I can tell you.”

You weren’t sure where your friend was now, and you would feel bad about not caring in the morning. Right now, the world of the party you were at had just died around you, and in its place, the mystical that was Riri Williams took its place.

You were starting to regret agreeing to this date with Riri Williams.

You'd been waiting inside the train terminal for thirty minutes passed the original meet up time. At 10 minutes, you chalked it up to the shitty transportation that was the Chicago Transit Authority. The trains never ran on time these days, and when they did, there were always unnecessary pauses for CTA police personnel to have their German shepherds sniff in each car to catch an unsuspecting dealer switching through cars with their signature chants. At 20 minutes, you checked your phone for any response to your messages, and you were becoming less and less shocked that the messages would have 'ready displayed underneath them, or an appearance of the three dots signifying she was typing, but a response never came in. It was now at the 30 minute mark, and you were beginning to think the worst. 

Was this a joke? Some inhumane prank she thought was funny to play? A huff leaves your lips, the puff of air blowing away your faux loc from in front of your eyes to the side of your face. You could feel yourself getting emotional from the thought of being stood up. You were no stranger to the feeling of rejection, it was an emotion you had become quite familiar with in high school, but you’d allowed yourself to give Riri Williams, some random girl from South Shore, a chance to woo you because you thought you felt something when she spoke those words to you at that party last night. Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, you rationalize. Perhaps it was being under the influence that provoked the other girl to strike up a conversation with you, to speak smooth words and sweet nothings in your words over the loud bass of the music that still left rhythm in your veins, even after a good night’s rest. 

You checked your phone once again - still radio-silence from the other woman’s end. You closed your eyes, heaving another sigh of defeat. 

The sound of rushing commuters echoed throughout the terminal hall, people brushing by, exiting and entering the toll thresholds as they paid their fare in a rush for the train. The loud footsteps and voices clouded your thoughts, you didn’t even hear Riri approaching. It was her touch that brought you back to reality - it shocked you a bit, given the current place you were standing, one just doesn’t touch someone on the CTA without announcing their presence first.

“Yo, hey, chill, it’s just me!” Riri rushes out as you come down from preparing your defenses when you realize who had come up to you. While you returned to your dormant position, your face still held disappointment, and Riri caught on to it instantly.

“I’m sorry I’m late, the trains have been shit today,” she says, “and then the bus to even get to the 79th train station was delayed.”

You were, at the most, glad it was nothing too serious, but your face was still in a frown. “You could have texted me back, you know,” you respond, “it’s not good date etiquette to leave the girl you asked out on read. Have her thinkin’ you stood her up ‘nd shit.”

“I know. That’s my fault, that’s all on me,” Riri owns, and it’s here that you’re able to finally take in her appearance. She’s got on this oversized sweatshirt that’s a pretty forest green color that compliments her skin. It’s paired with a pair of baggy blue jeans with various rips in the fabric, and a pair of green kicks to match. A gold chain rests on her chest, drawing the outfit together. It’s simple, but on her, she makes it look like it’s a part of some fashion designer's latest collection.

The heat that rushes up your body makes your own sweater seemingly unbearable. If your skin tone had been anywhere near the cream color of your sweater, your shyness would have been given away instantly. It seems you aren’t the only one who has taken the time to admire your shared choice of clothing, as Riri steals a once-over of your attire, stopping briefly at the rips in the jeans on your thighs, revealing the plush skin, and smile.

“You look cute,” she compliments.

You swallow the squeal that begs to leave your throat, “s-so do you.”

“Look at us, already cute together.” Riri hums, and the shiver that makes its way up your spine is unavoidable, because her subtle insinuation and the tone of her voice has you thinking about how the date would end before it could even begin.

Riri takes your hand into hers and leads you up the stairs and out of the train terminal, the crisp spring air revitalizing your lungs from the stuffy stench of trash and filth that clings to the underground terminal. You notice a few notable stores the minute the two of you break view - the gothic Target that’s directly to your right with two floors ready to be explored, the Jacks off 5th that’s across the street, the Zumiez that is also across the street and a little ways behind you, and a Foot Locker next to the Jacks. 

You were no stranger to these stores, having eyed them every time you’d come downtown with your friends just to walk around and window shop. You were broke highschool kids, who’s only fun was walking aimlessly along State Street, eying the window displays and imagining yourself having the money to buy the things you wanted. You would’ve been happy window shopping like all the times before, but it seems that Riri has other plans.

“I’on know about you,” she begins, as the two of you cross the ever-busy street, “but I need me a new pair of shoes. So first stop is Foot Locker.”

You barely get a chance to resist, because before you know if, you’re in the store, and the associates greet Riri as if she’s a regular. You stiffen a little, your hold on her hand tightening at the new environment you found yourself in.

“Hey, you alright?” Riri whispers as she drags you along with her to one of the wall displays, thankfully one that seems to be isolated.

“Yeah,” you fib, biting your lip, “I mean - I don’t exactly have Foot Locker money, but-” yet the moment you see the look on Riri’s face, your words trail off, and the feeling of embarrassment begins to fill you.

“If I remember correctly, I was the one taking you out, right?” Riri asks. 

“Yeah, but-”

“-and if I asked you out, what kind of date would I be if I let you spend your own money?”

“Riri,” you whisper-yell, her words beginning to hit you, “you are not spending hundreds of dollars on me for a pair of shoes!”

“What was that?” The other woman hummed in response, feigning cluelessness, furthering your frustration, “You said this pair of shoes is cute?”

She picks up a pair of black high-tops, one that has a big white tag on it that reads two hundred-fifty dollars, and your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. “I swear to god, Riri-”

“-y’know, these do look nice as hell,” she comments, completely ignoring you at this point, and there’s a whine that’s pushing against your throat, begging to be released, but you suppress it with all your strength, “now are you gonna keep arguing with me, or are you gonna let me actually date you?”

In the short amount of time you’ve talked to her, you’ve come to realize that arguing with Riri Williams was futile in every attempt. She would win every single time, in some way, shape, or form, and to refute her would cause you your own headache. Remembering your observation, you all but sigh, giving in to her antics, and Riri’s lips carry a smile of victory. 

She asks for your size and you give it to her, with no resistance. Almost an hour later, and the two of you leave the store with a bag each - you having the one pair of high tops Riri had brought your attention to earlier, and her two pairs of shoes she said were new additions to her collection. She’s a sneakerhead, you deduce, and imprint this new information into your brain for recollection later.

After Foot Locker, the inevitable rumble of your stomachs leads you to a nearby Subway, of which the two of you bunker down for a moment to eat and get to know each other.

“So you’re an engineer?” You question after taking a bite of your sandwich. “Anything specific?”

“Nothin’ much, really,” Riri replies, speaking through the mush of food in her mouth, covered by her hand. She continues after swallowing, “I do some robotics here and there. I be buildin’ people’s shit for classes, it’s a good side gig. Honestly, though, I just make whatever comes to mind.”

You were indifferent to the world of math and science and technology, but the way Riri speaks about it, it sounds like STEM became her saving grace. She has a passion for it, and you admire it. You admire her.

“That’s fuckin’ amazing,” you murmur in response, “I mean, I can’t tell an expression from an equation, but I can tell that you talk like you love it. Not just for the money, but you actually love what you do. A lot of people can’t say that.”

Riri shrugs, chugging down a sip of her drink before she speaks again, “I been doin’ it since I was a baby; if it ain’t love for this shit, I can’t tell you what it would be that drives me. That money do be a good motivator though.” And the both of you laugh, and it is deep and boisterous and genuine.

The next stop on your day on the town is to Block 37 - a five story mall building with various shops, food spots, and a cinema on the top floor. Riri takes you to Banana Republic, and tells you to look around  to your heart's content. As much as you want to fight her on it, the look in her eyes immediately shoots you down, and so, the pair of you begin to look around at the various racks and shelves of items.

“You don’t go on many dates, do you?” Riri suddenly asks. You could reply with some witty remark, but the fact of the matter is that Riri’s words are true.

“Not really,” you admit, “I’m not exactly the first option for people.”

Your experience within the dating field is very limited. You weren’t as outspoken, confident, and alluring as some of your friends. You were the wallflower, the shy, quiet girl who never caught the eyes of the people you wanted. You were content with that label, as you had come to accept your position a long time ago. So to say you were a bit shocked that Riri even asked you out, and actually meant it, was a little bit of an understatement. 

Riri saves her next question for when the two of you find refuge on a bench in Millenium Park. It’s a slightly secluded area, with the bushes obscuring the both of you and giving you a sense of privacy. 

“Okay, now I’m curious,” she begins, and you can already tell she’s about to ask something absurd, “have you ever had another girlfriend?”

“I’ve had other partners,” you answer, “doesn’t mean they were necessarily good, though.”

You lean back into the wooden seat, eyes directed upwards to the blue sky, puffy white clouds slowly floating by. “Before I was out, I dated a guy. Horrible experience, zero out of ten, would not recommend. Then during my phase of questioning, I was talking to this one girl, and she practically led me on for the entire time we were talking. And aside from them, I haven't had any other experiences.”

The first guy you dated was during your freshman year. Thinking back on it, you probably couldn’t consider the engagement a relationship, as he never claimed you, and entertained other girls during the time you were supposed to be together. You’d been the one to ask him out, and you’d been the one to break things off.

The second girl you dated during the summer of your sophomore year of college - not too long ago, actually - was the person to help you realize your sexuality. That was the only thing that came out of that situationship. Perhaps it was the aura, the appearance, the smooth words or her demeanor that drew you to her. You couldn’t confidently say that the emotion you felt for her was love, but it was something closely akin to it. Which made it all the more painful when you ended the engagement after a long period of consideration, because while it killed you to hate her for the way she toyed with your feelings, loving her would have truly murdered you.

Riri takes notice of the somber look on your face. It makes her wonder just how wrongful were you treated by these prior suitors, how they had fumbled your heart and left you as this timid, weary person, nervous at the idea of someone genuinely finding interest in you.

“Well, they sound like assholes,” she remarks, and you snort at her conclusion, “and that they don’t know something good when it’s in front of them.”

“And what, you do?” You shoot back playfully, and although your words were supposed to come off as a joke, Riri’s face displays a seriousness you hadn’t seen until now.

“I wouldn’t have asked you out if I was just tryna fool around, ma.” she confesses. It takes you slightly by surprise - this is the second time she has expressed her interest in you. 

“Then what are your intentions?” You question, fiddling with the sleeves of your own sweater. Did you have doubts that Riri was taking you seriously? Of course. You met at a house party, of all places. What percentage of couples who met at house parties actually stay together for the long term? You were sure it wasn’t a large number. What could she have possibly seen in you in less than twenty-four hours that captivated her so intensely?

“I wanna date you,” Riri says, matter of factly, “wanna make you mine. Ain’t that the purpose of dating? To get to know each other and see if we’re compatible?” And for the second time since you’ve met her, Riri Williams has you completely speechless with her straightforwardness.

“I mean, yeah, when I saw you at that party, I saw a pretty face standing alone on the wall; I had to come shoot my shot,” the engineer confesses, “but I’m vibin’ with you. You’re cute, you’re funny, and we match energies. You’re down to earth and you’ve got a mind of your own. I like that, and I like you.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were being cooked in an oven by the way the intense heat from your bashful nature took over your being. You had never experienced a confession of this caliber before - much less one at all. You shy up instantly, your voice getting lost in the incoherent noises that were begging to be released from your throat. Riri Williams has yet to not amaze you.

“Th-That’s nice and all,” you begin, pursing your lips together, darting your eyes away, “but that’s hardly a decision I can make just off one date.”

“Then lemme take you on some more,” Riri chirps, finding the solution to your faux dilemma easily, “I’m not asking you to make a split second decision right now. I’m just saying - gimme a shot, and I’ll show you that you ain’t gotta overthink about how I feel about you. Let me get to know you.”

You turn your gaze back to the girl sitting next to you, and for the third time since you’ve met her, Riri Williams has you speechless. But as you think about the initial proposal, the idea that Riri took her time to observe you, and would continue to learn you voluntarily, because she did like you, makes your heart flutter in a way it hadn’t done so in years. Perhaps it’s a proposition you could entertain, you think, as a small smile makes its way to your lips.

“What kind of dates would you take me on?” You ask, your voice a bit lower, and you don’t even notice that your body begins to leave in to the space between the two of you. It a cute act of flirting, Riri deduces, and she reciprocates your movements, leaning closer into you as she responds.

“Whatever you wanna do, ma,” She murmurs to you, “I’on think you’re the party kind of girl. I can tell you like lowkey shit…at home dates, that kinda stuff.”

“I do like me a good movie marathon,” you chuckle, and due to some unknown burst of confidence, you’re able to hold her intense eye contact, chocolate brown irises staring into each other. You catch Riri’s eyes darting from your eyes to your lips in a swift motion. The sudden burst of confidence grows in you, taking your bottom lip between your teeth, a little bit of mischief climbing its way up your throat.

“You ain’t gotta be shy about kissing me,” you mutter, recalling the use of those very words by her the night prior. 

Your words cause Riri to chuckle as her eyes dart to your lips again. She sucks her teeth, “Got a nigga to confess to you and now you actin’ bold.”

But she’s not complaining, not in the slightest, and neither do you when she leans in a little bit more, closing the gap between the two of you. It’s a dangerous near touch, your lips barely ghosting against each other. She’s holding back, you think; her hesitancy asking you for permission to proceed. But instead of giving her a signal, you take the leap - reaching up in the slightest manner to close the centimeter gap between the two of you, locking your lips together in a kiss that sends your stomach into a frenzy. Riri’s hand travels to the side of your neck, holding you there and erasing anything thoughts you had of pulling away. It’s mind numbing, the way the pads of her fingers press so gently against your skin, pressing more of you into her, and the way she tastes of cherry carmax and mint.

The world slows around you, and for the first time, your mind isn’t racing with doubts or questions. And you quite like this feeling. Perhaps with Riri, you’ll get to enjoy it more.

[froggibus]

Lemon Flavoured Chapstick - Mercy

Pairing: Mercy x gn! reader

Genre: smut/NSFW

Word Count: 2k

Summary: Angela's been working so hard in her lab lately, you know just the thing to take her mind off of it

CW: porn w plot, dom! reader, sub! Mercy, fingering, oral, face sitting/face riding, overstimulation, use of a vibrator, semi-public sex

i have so many gay thoughts abt this woman it isnt even funny lol. also have had this fantasy but like reversed ever since I saw TGM and wanted Rooster to give me a mustache ride <3 anyways lol

“Dr. Ziegler?” You tilt your head at her as you enter her office, the smell of lemon disinfectant filling your nostrils.

She offers you a glance of acknowledgement, blue eyes peering at you through thick rimmed glasses. Her blonde hair is piled messily on her head, strands falling in her face before she tucks them behind her ears. You can just barely see the hem of a black tank top under her lab coat. 

She goes back to examining something under her microscope before jotting down notes on a clipboard. You sigh—she’s been working on this research for days. She hasn’t left her lab, and though she’s expertly hidden her tiredness with skillfully applied makeup, you can tell she hasn’t slept much over the past few days.

You wait until she covers up her microscope and returns her sample to the laboratory refrigerator before coming up behind her and wrapping your arms around her. 

You rest your chin on her shoulder. “Angela,” you tsk, “you’ve been working yourself too hard lately.”

“There’s no such thing as too much hard work.” She lets out a puff of air, blowing a loose honeyed strand out of her face. “I am this close to making a breakthrough.”

“Your breakthrough will be here tomorrow.”

She breaks free from your grip, making her way over to the stainless steel table she just sterilized. She props herself up on it, dangling her feet over the side. You come and stand between her knees, leaning your face into hers and planting a gentle kiss to her lips.

She’s wearing her lemon flavored lip balm again and she tastes amazing. You lace your fingers through her hair, tugging her closer to get a better taste. Her soft hands trail up and down your back, grabbing your shoulders for support and pulling you even closer. You can feel the warmth of her chest against yours, feel the slight race in her heart and hitch in her breathing.

She pulls back with red cheeks, looking away bashfully. “I should get back to my work.”

She tries to sit up but you push her back down, laying her on the table and climbing on top of her to straddle her hips. You lean in close to her, hands resting on the peaks of her breasts. She gasps at the contact, biting her lip. 

You groan at the sight of her like this. You’ve seen her like this more times than you can count, but she gets prettier every single time. That cute, shy look on her face only makes you want her more—only makes you want to ruin her.

“Are you sure that’s what you want, Angie?” You emphasize your words by harshly squeezing her chest, forcing a moan from her lips.

“I-I think–” she licks her lips, her words seeming to fail her.

“Aw, that’s okay baby,” you coo at the scientist beneath you. “You don’t need to think, hm?”

You lean in to kiss her again, unbuttoning her lab coat and snaking your hands under her tank top. Her skin is so soft, so nice under your fingertips. She squirms the closer you get to her chest, desperate for any sort of relief. She’s been pent up in the lab for days, and didn’t realize how needy she was until you showed up.

You make quick work of discarding her coat and tank top and bra, letting them pile up on the floor next to you. You move your lips down to her jaw, sucking harsh marks on your way down to her neck. The pressure makes her whine and arch her back, shoving her tits in your face. 

You pull away from her neck, trailing your mouth down to her chest. The sight of her perfect pink nipples just waiting to be toyed with has you licking your lips. You toy with her nipples, fingers brushing over them, rubbing them with just enough pressure to make her moan. You pinch one of them and she lets out a soft yelp. Finally, you move your mouth downwards and plant a wet kiss to where you just pinched.

Angela sighs in relief. The room is cold but your mouth is warm, and the sensation on her poor, sensitive nipples is enough to make her body warm ten degrees. She tries to wrap her legs around your thigh, desperate for anything that will bring relief to her throbbing core. 

You oblige her, shoving your knee between her legs so she can rub herself against you. You graze your teeth against her nipple and she whines even louder now, hands tangling in your hair. Slowly, you trail kisses down her stomach and to the waistband of the gray pencil skirt she’s wearing. 

She holds her breath in anticipation, watching you plant kisses where her waistband meets her skin. She can’t help but clench her thighs together, desperate for any sort of contact. Finally, you free her from the polyester, discarding it with her other clothes. 

You leave her in just her drenched panties, dragging your index finger down to tease her through the lace fabric. You can feel how wet she is, how warm she is, only making you want her more. She whines when the tip of your finger just barely grazes her clit, going down to trail the outline of her entrance before making the circuit back up. 

The motion has her going crazy. She has her eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, her breathing labored and desperate. You know she wants more, but you taught her to be more patient than this. You pull your hand away, landing a harsh smack to one of her milky thighs.

She gasps, clenching them together as if she’s in pain, but the sparkle in her eyes tells you the opposite. She likes this. 

“I have something for you,” you climb off of her legs, digging through your bag until you find what you wanted.

You pull it out and watch the blood rush to her face, the tips of her ears burning red at the sight of the magic wand in your hand. You smile at her reaction. She's used this dozens of times—the thought that just the sight of it now is enough to get her riled up is cute enough to make you laugh and shake your head at her. 

You climb back up on the table with her. You push her knees and spread her legs until she’s grabbing the back of her knees with her hands, giving you a perfect view of her aching pussy. She’s already glistening wet, looking at you pleadingly from between her legs. 

You flick the switch, setting it on the lowest setting and lowering the tip to her clit. The second the vibrator makes contact, she’s gasping harshly and attempting to pull away. You press a hand to her lower stomach, forcing her to lay flat on the table for you. 

You press the vibrator in harsher, angling it to push up on her clit. The action has her whimpering and shutting her eyes, losing herself in the pleasure you’re providing. You turn it up a setting, letting it sit still for a minute before dragging it through her folds and back up again, applying more pressure with every moment.

She arches her back, trying to press her hips farther into the vibe. You pull it away, shaking your head at her. She stills her movements, whining in disappointment. You wait a minute before turning it up to the highest setting and pushing it back against her clit.

She cries out and desperately tries to hold herself still. You move your hand down from her stomach, through her folds and down to her soaking wet opening. She’s already so wet and ready, your finger slips right in. The combination of the vibrator and your fingers is enough to have her throwing her head back, legs starting to shake.

“I think—I think I’m gonna—”

“Silly Angie,” you coo, slipping another finger inside of her and smiling innocently. “You’ve been thinking too much recently. That’s why I’m going to fuck all those thoughts from your pretty little head, hm?”

Your words are what sends her over the edge. Her pussy clenches your fingers, her juices soaking down to your wrist. You lower the setting of the vibrator, letting her ride out her orgasm on it. 

She’s left gasping, tears in her eyes. You move back to press a kiss to her lips, wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes. Seeing her this disheveled, just from one orgasm, only makes you want to give her more. Keep giving them to her until it’s too much. Anything to keep her like she is now.

You pull away, grabbing her hips and flipping her over so that she’s straddling you. You keep your hands on her lips, “come here, baby. Sit on my face.”

Her cheeks heat up at that, a cute blush falling over her cheeks and nose. Still, she obliges you. She moves so that her thighs on either side of your head, her soaking wet pussy just above your mouth. You wrap your arms around her thighs and tug her down, diving straight into her sensitive folds.

She cries out for you, clenching her thighs around your head. You moan at the taste of her pussy. She’s so sweet it makes you dizzy, and all you want is more. Every suck of her clit, every lick through her folds, she comes undone for you, desperately trying to rub against your face for more friction.

You hold her tighter to your face, fingertips digging into her sensitive skin. The feeling of your tongue working on her and the slight pain from your nails digging into her is too much. She’s already so sensitive—she’s so close. Angela grabs your hair, using it as friction to fuck your face.

You let her use you, happy you’re the one she’s using. She tastes fucking divine and you could die right here between her thighs and always be happy. You hold her close to you, letting her ride out her orgasm on your face. Her pussy absolutely gushes, juices soaking your face and neck. You try to catch some in your mouth, desperate to taste more of her.

Angela is left gasping for breath, thighs trembling. Her pussy is so sensitive that even the slight breaths leaving your lips is enough to make her whine. She goes to pull away but your grip on her thighs doesn’t loosen.

“You can do one more baby” you mumble into the skin of her thigh. “One more, right? Be a good girl for me.”

She shakes her head, “t-too much.”

“Are you sure?” You lick a stripe up her pussy.

She instantly melts. “I–okay.”

You laugh, tugging her back to your face and diving back into her swollen, pink pussy. You can feel her thighs shaking on your cheeks, feel her clench up with every touch. She’s already so sensitive, you know she won’t last very long this time, but she tastes so amazing that you don’t care. You’ll give her everything she needs and then a little more, and watch her fall apart.

Angela’s next orgasm rushes over her quicker than the first two, heat waves flooding her system. Her whole body convulses, legs shaking wildly as she comes undone on your face for the second time in a row. You hold her through it, being more gentle with your touches while she rides it out. 

Finally, you let her pull away. Her legs feel like jelly, and her pussy is aching but satisfied. You sit up, wiping your face on the hem of your t-shirt. You put the magic wand back in your bag and pass her your water bottle instead.

She takes it, gulping down the water gratefully. 

You can’t help but admire her right now. Messy hair and rosy skin, tears running down her cheeks, looking absolutely fucked out. It brings a smile to your face.

You plant a gentle kiss on her lips. “Come home with me?”

She nods, “how could I not?”

[bills-pokedex]

To whom it may concern (Bebe and Cassius):

I'm sure we'll all well aware of the current event surrounding a certain Unovan(?) entrepreneur who stylizes himself as a genius. It is therefore unnecessary to show me news about his latest "innovative endeavors" for the express purpose of "watching [me], an inventor, age about ten years every time."

So to get it out of the way for the thirteenth and hopefully final time:

Yes, I'm aware.

No, I don't know how he got a stainless steel tank, a rocket cobbled together from spare parts, a self-driving car that occasionally ignites into a ball of flames while trapping its driver in thanks to multiple design flaws, or the brain chip past an ethics committee.

Yes, I am "salty" that I made one mistake with one of my inventions, and now I'm constantly scrutinized by the Pokémon Cutting-Edge Technology Research Institute's ethics committee.

No, I do not want the brain chip.

Yes, I want to study the brain chip.

The fifth point is out of morbid curiosity as to how it got past an ethics committee, not respect.

Hopefully, this clears things up.

Best, Bill

-

{From the Mun:

I found this in the drafts, and I thought it would be hilarious to bring this out and tack on an update post while I'm at it.

But the biggest thing is, I'm . . . actually leaving Tumblr. Now, the main reason for that is my main got super borked up. I've been told by my followers over there it's not shadowbanning, but I'm pretty sure it's random-ass shadowbanning. I cannot receive asks, I can't tag people, I don't have DMs, and I don't show up in notes. As for why, I can't fathom. For the most part, I've kept my nose pretty clean on that account, other than that one time somebody in the writeblr community kinda lost it and tried to use a bunch of random people as a scapegoat for drama reasons. Yeah, idk.

Anyway, the point is, I've submitted a ticket a few months ago and then . . . never heard back. And honestly, for personal reasons, I'm not really inclined on remaking.

Personal reasons being I'm gunning for writing an actual book, as you might know from my last-ish post? Like, non-Pokémon book. Though I'll admit some bits might be familiar to those of you who've hung around the blog for a while. Here's a hint: take powerverse, gender swap it, role swap it, and then stick it into FFXIV and add more steampunk. It's been cooking for the past year you haven't seen me, and I'm aiming to start pitching it to agents by the end of the year. If you'd like to follow along, if you're also a writer who would like to make more writing friends, or if you just like my writing for some reason and want to keep up with me, you can find me at jaxwolffwrites on both Bluesky and Twitter. Bsky moreso, but you'll get progress on this project on either of those other platforms.

Now, I will say this: just to be fair, I'm doing three things:

Closing the askbox. Admittedly, if you've been sending me asks for the past three months, I haven't seen them anyway. Sooooo I probably should've done that ages ago. Sorry about that.

Answering any ask I've saved to the drafts. Any ask. Please note that I don't know if the borking I've described above extends to this blog as well, so Bill won't be replying to replies or reblogs/tags. Apologies for that in advance. There are 49 posts in the drafts, and these will come out fairly slowly as I continue to keep up with my writing schedule on the other project.

Leaving this blog up as an archive. Assuming Tumblr doesn't nuke the main and the backup account that was created in an effort to avoid total nuking, and assuming Tumblr doesn't nuke this blog itself, I really want to leave this up so you can enjoy this pretty much forever onward. You all are the reason why this blog has gone on for so long, and I want to preserve this blog as a thank you for following me for so long.

So yes, after I clear the drafts, you'll likely see one last farewell from Bill and Lanette, and then that will be that. To everyone who's followed, thank you so much for following and supporting this blog over the years. As many ups and downs as running this had, I still look back on every moment as one fun adventure.

So thank you, and take care.}

[extra-stout-stories]

The Weight Clinic

A fat man who's unsure about losing weight signs up for a very unusual treatment program led by a dominant doctor with an agenda of her own. (SSBHM feedee, SSBBW feeder, implicit XWG. CW: Dubious consent, drugs, medical and deathfeedist elements.)

This story was written swiftly in response to an ask on my old blog: "A man signs up for a blind study of a weight loss drug (he doesn't want to lose weight, but you know how society is.) Unfortunately for him, it's run by a less than honest BBW scientist who decides to fatten him up instead." When I read that, I had to immediately sit down and transcribe the thunderbolt of inspiration before it passed. This could easily turn into a much longer story, and now that I've created this little fictional universe, I might come back to it some day. The dubcon is because I wanted to write a dommy mad scientist feeder, but if the story continued, our protagonist would definitely come to enjoy it and realize that she was right all along.

(April 2024: This is by far the most popular story I've written, and I'm moving it here so I can centralize likes/reblogs and deactivate my defunct account. I'm slowly working on a sequel as the inspiration strikes me.)

Please read the content warnings. If dubcon and medical/deathfeedist themes upset you, please don't click.

If you like it, on the other hand, please reblog.

--

He sighed inwardly as the receptionist led him past the double doors and into the medical suite of the clinic.

He didn't want to be doing this. Being fat had never bothered him. He had been fat since childhood, and as an adult he embraced the freedom of eating whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. In fact, there were times when he secretly enjoyed being fat. There was something profoundly satisfying about the way his belly was soft and heavy in his lap when he sat, the way his double chin was like a cushion when he tilted his head. Lately it seemed like he was inching closer and closer to 400 pounds whenever he stepped on the scale, and sometimes a part of him even looked forward to it.

But he was getting sick of how the rest of the world treated him. At Thanksgiving dinner, after he had gone back to the side table for a fourth helping of mashed potatoes, his parents had given him a fierce tag-team lecture about how his weight was out of control and he was overdue for a diet. Buying new clothes was getting expensive. And while the thought of 400 seemed strangely intriguing sometimes -- that's only a hundred pounds away from a quarter ton, he thought to himself -- he worried that if he got any bigger, he'd become one of those fat guys who was so big that they had trouble walking and had to use a scooter or wheelchair to get around.

There was a wheelchair in the corner of the room that the receptionist led him into. He couldn't help notice its gigantic width. "This is the suite where you'll be staying." The room looked like it was outfitted for a patient much bigger than he was. The king-sized bed was equipped with a bariatric Hoyer lift, and in addition to the usual IV bags and oxygen tanks, there were all sorts of medical machines he didn't recognize. The door to the bathroom and shower was only a few steps away from the edge of the bed, and he noticed a stainless steel railing to allow someone to steady themselves as they walked.

Noticing his expression, the receptionist continued. "You'll be staying here in the regular suite, since you don't have any serious mobility issues. Further down the hallway there's a second suite for larger patients. Both rooms will be kept operational during your stay in case there are any complications. As we discussed earlier, you'll be forbidden to leave the premises for the duration of the study. We can't have you going out to eat and breaking your diet."

He sighed inwardly again. He was already thinking of his usual Friday night meal, nachos and mozzarella sticks followed by a hamburger and fries at his favorite diner, washed down with a milkshake or two with each course. I guess I am a binge eater, he thought to himself sadly. This isn't going to be fun, but if I don't get myself under control, I really am going to end up weighing 400.

As if reading his mind, the receptionist gave a prim smile. "I hope you'll find the results of the study to be satisfactory. Dr. Moore is excited to be taking you on as a patient. Come back to the front desk with me and we'll get your paperwork finalized."

They returned to the waiting room through the double doors and he sat down on a double-wide chair to review the clipboard full of paperwork. HIPAA, check. Records release form, check. Insurance card, check.

After several more signatures, he came to the final document on the clipboard. Consent to Experimental Treatment, the header read. He skimmed through the legal verbiage, trying his best to take note of anything significant. The clinic was a private enterprise, he read. Dr. Moore had affiliations with several prestigious universities, but he waived his right to hold them liable for treatment outcomes. No guarantees were made as to results. "The Moore Clinic program is designed to help patients reach a satisfactory body weight through the application of both physiological and cognitive-emotional treatments. To ensure accurate data collection and clinical efficacy, all care will be taken by the clinic staff to prevent external influences from interfering with treatment. Patients acknowledge that for the duration of the study they will be under the exclusive supervision of Dr. Moore. Her permission will be required before patients can contact outside parties via phone or Internet."

He thought to himself for a moment. Well, I'm no good at sticking to a diet on my own. I might as well give this a shot. He signed his name on the last page of the form.

"Congratulations." The receptionist smiled as he turned over the stack of forms. "We're glad to have you here. I'm sorry Dr. Moore couldn't be here to welcome you to the first night of the study, but she had another engagement. These are our nurses, Sandra and Kevin. They'll help you get settled."

Soon he was being ushered into the hospital suite by the two nurses. Sandra was short and curvaceous, Kevin tall and stocky, and he couldn't help notice that neither of them was skinny. Both of them were chubby, in fact. Chubby verging on fat. They gave him a hospital gown and a plastic bin to store his belongings in, then drew a curtain around the bed and waited patiently while he changed.

Naked beneath the loose-fitting hospital gown, he couldn't help being aware of how fat he was as the two nurses drew the curtain aside and began to prep him for the treatment. He could feel the softness of his belly against his thighs, the subtle motion of his rolls quivering, as Kevin attached electrodes to his moobs and belly. A fold of his fat upper arm brushed against his elbow as Sandra straightened his arm and swabbed to insert an IV. I'm going to miss all this, he thought to himself. If this works, I'll be just another skinny guy in a size M. I might even have abs. And I'll probably never eat mozzarella sticks again. As the drugs in the IV began to take hold, making him woozy and disoriented and sleepy, he couldn't help wondering if waking up skinny was going to feel like a nightmare.

--

"Well, well. My patient has finally come to."

From the slant of the light in the hospital suite, it was late afternoon. He lay in bed, still naked beneath his hospital gown, the IV tube still in his arm, the electrodes still on his chest. Staring down at him from the foot of the bed, an appraising smile on her face, was a fat woman. A very fat woman.

She wore a crisp white coat over a snug set of scrubs that did little to conceal how gigantic she was. Her stethoscope bounced against her enormous belly as she stepped around to the bedside and lowered herself onto a double-wide chair next to the IV bags. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, and her triple chins swayed and quivered as she craned her neck slightly to take a readout from one of the machines beside the bed, then bent her head down to type some notes on a tablet.

"Welcome to the clinic. I'm Dr. Moore."

He couldn't help but be baffled by her size. A private clinic specializing in weight loss, and she was the doctor in charge? She must have read the expression on his face, because she immediately burst out laughing. "Yes, I'm really Dr. Moore. And I'm very excited to have you as my patient." She scrolled through the tablet, her eyes moving rapidly as she reviewed his case file. "You're here for morbid obesity. You say you struggle with binge eating. And you're concerned that your weight is continuing to rise."

He nodded, feeling suddenly hazy. The anesthetic had worn off, but whatever else was in the IV was still taking effect.

"Tell me." Dr. Moore's voice was suddenly stern. "Did you come here to lose weight?"

"Yes." His throat went dry as he began to speak. He realized with a start that he was dreadfully thirsty, and something in Dr. Moore's tone made him nervous. "My primary care doctor says my goal weight is 180 pounds. I've tried a couple of different diets, but nothing worked."

"One hundred and eighty pounds?" Her voice was full of disbelief. "Oh, no, no, no. That won't do at all. I'm going to write you a new prescription."

His heart was suddenly pounding. He didn't like the way she was talking to him. "I think your goal weight should be… five hundred and eighty pounds. For a start."

He tried to speak but no words came out. His throat was terribly dry. Dr. Moore turned the tablet to face him. "See? Goal weight five hundred and eighty pounds." There it was on his patient chart, as clear as day. She smiled. "I think you must be disoriented. Did you know you've been under anesthesia for four days? The treatment takes time to take effect. I'm going to get you something to drink." Without rising from her chair, she reached to open a refrigerator by the side of the bed. He had seen it during his tour and had assumed it was full of syringes and dry ice, but it was full of… cups? Giant cardboard cups with straws, the kind a fast food restaurant might use for a soda or a milkshake. She reached out and grabbed two.

"Drink. This will help settle you down." He wrapped his lips around the straw and sucked eagerly, feeling a cool, sweet, creamy liquid flow down his throat, soothing the dryness. It was a milkshake, he realized. Then he realized that he was ravenously hungry.

"Yes, that's your appetite coming back. Or rather, coming to. It never left, but you've been getting your nutrients intravenously while you were under. We call that one the 'feedbag.'" She gestured to one of the IV bags that fed into the tube leading to his wrist. In the color scheme he had already come to recognize as the Moore Clinic's branding, it was stamped with the words: "HIGH CALORIE FORMULA."

His heart was still pounding, but he was feeling more relaxed now. He heard a rustling behind him and realized that Sandra, the nurse, was busy adjusting the proportions of the IV bags.

"Yes, that's a sedative." Dr. Moore smiled. "I thought it might help put you at ease while I explain the details of my treatment program." Her voice took on a firm and didactic tone, as if she were giving a lecture to an auditorium full of med students, but underneath it he felt that he could hear something almost… flirtatious?

"The Moore Clinic takes an unorthodox approach to the treatment of obesity. As a dual-certified endocrinologist and psychiatrist, I bring a unique perspective to both the metabolic and biosocial components of extreme weight gain." She paused. "Sandra, another high-calorie bag. Thank you." As the nurse replaced the now empty bag of formula, Dr. Moore continued. "Many of my patients arrive with deeply disordered cognitive attitudes towards body weight. They are unduly susceptible to social influences, preventing their full psychological individuation as a mentally well, hedonically satisfied obese person. They regard themselves as suffering from morbid obesity instead of enjoying it." She reached out to pat his belly. "I'm afraid you're a textbook case."

He could feel himself getting hazier and hazier until the world seemed to shrink to himself, the milkshakes and Dr. Moore. He couldn't tear himself away from her gaze as she continued to speak, her triple chins and dimpled fat cheeks quivering hypnotically as her eyes seemed to pierce right into him. "This is why the use of psychotropic drugs is a key component of my program. To fully undo the traumatic effects of societal fatphobia on my patients, I must be prepared to use the entire arsenal of modern psychopharmacology."

Sandra laughed, catching a hint of the shock on his face. "It's a real cocktail in these IV bags, honey. If Dr. Moore tried to sell this stuff at a nightclub, she'd be arrested."

The doctor smiled at her nurse. "That's right. Some of these are experimental drugs, and Federally scheduled. I'm fortunate to have a license, and a substantial research grant which pays for high-grade laboratory synthesis. And the same is true for my metabolic work."

She reached out and slipped a hand under his hospital gown, grabbing ahold of the fold of one of his moobs and squeezing playfully. Even through the increasingly powerful haze of the drug cocktail, he could feel himself blushing. "The other vector of cure," she continued, "is to address the body itself. Too many patients labor under the delusion that the unfortunate medical side effects of morbid obesity are somehow a reason they must lose weight." Her voice grew stern. "Nothing could be further from the truth. Obesity is not a disease. It's a lifestyle. And it's beautiful."

"But sometimes," she continued, a frown on her face, "my patients resist. This is why I require a minimum of four weeks' supervised stay at the clinic. The setting here accustoms my patients to the possibility of living with bariatric equipment as a full-time lifestyle." He looked around the room, suddenly seeing it with new eyes. "And while my patients get used to the pace and challenges of their new lifestyle, my metabolic treatment can do its work."

Despite the sedatives, his heart was pounding faster than ever. Her words seemed to move as slowly as molasses, her chins swaying back and forth like a pendulum, as her eyes gazed into his. "There's more than just calories and party drugs in those bags, you know. There's drugs to shock your system, break down your metabolism, destroy your body's resistance to gaining ever more weight. Even if you left the clinic right now, all the diets in the world couldn't fix your metabolism. My treatment has taken you to the point of no return."

Just barely, as if fighting his way through a slowly moving fog, he managed to gasp out a single word. "When?"

"When?" Dr. Moore threw her head back in laughter, exposing a beautiful smile, her cheeks and chins quivering with mirth. "Darling, I told you -- you were under anesthesia for four days, and my treatment works quickly. It's already happened."

He tried to protest, but before he could speak another word, the fog seemed to close around him and he drifted into a deep anesthetic sleep. When he dreamed, he dreamed of being fatter than ever.

[afeelgoodblog]

These are The Best News of Last Week

🎼 — Meet the Grammy of the Grammys 😊

1. Man gives $12,000 worth of classroom supplies to 150 middle school teachers

Bryan Tsiliacos has the goal of completing 30 acts of kindness before his 30th birthday, and he just completed his third on Wednesday.

2. Lab-grown meat cleared for human consumption by U.S. regulator

The U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) for the first time cleared a meat product grown from animal cells for human consumption.

UPSIDE Foods, a company that makes cell-cultured chicken by harvesting cells from live animals and using the cells to grow meat in stainless-steel tanks, will be able to bring its products to market once it has been inspected by the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA)

Reduces emissions, reduces food and water consumption, greatly reduces the risk of foodborne illness, potentially cheaper for consumers, prevents the raising and killing of animals — this is a win all-around.

3. Police dog finds lost Michigan hunter, 80, who fell in river

An 80-year-old Michigan hunter who got lost and repeatedly fell into a river was rescued by canoe after a police dog tracked down the soaked man.

The man’s wife called Michigan State Police on Wednesday evening after her husband, failed to return home after three hours. State police said her concerns grew when she heard her husband shooting several shots, which meant he was lost, MLive.com reported. The hunter was unharmed, but cold and wet due to falling into the river three times, police said.

4. Researchers Rediscover the Black-Naped Pheasant-Pigeon, a Bird Lost to Science for 140 Years

The camera’s display was tiny, but there was no mistaking the creature it showed: the Black-naped Pheasant-Pigeon, a species that hasn’t been documented by scientists since it was first described in 1882.

“To find something that’s been gone for that long, that you’re thinking is almost extinct, and then to figure out that it’s not extinct, it feels like finding a unicorn or a Bigfoot,” says John C. Mittermeier, director of the lost birds program at American Bird Conservancy

5. Puppy Mill Rescue Dog Becomes ‘Helper Dog’ for Dogs Overcoming Trauma

Lolly was one of the over 500 under-socialized, scared dogs that the ASPCA rescued from neglectful conditions at an Iowa puppy mill in Nov. 2021, and now the canine is helping other pups.

Lolly’s journey from “nervous” puppy mill rescue to hero helper dog started last year after the ASPCA pulled Lolly from the Iowa breeding facility. Following her rescue, Lolly went to an emergency shelter operated by the ASPCA for initial exams and treatment.

6. Angela Álvarez crowned best new artist at Latin Grammys — aged 95

Cuban American, who started recording career at 90 after decades of performing for family and friends, says ‘it’s never too late’.

The Cuban American musician’s crowning moment came after decades of writing songs but performing them only for friends and family — until, at the age of 90, she went to the Avalon, the historic Hollywood nightclub, and gave her first concert.

7. Lost dog hands itself in at Loughborough Police Station

A lost dog has been reunited with its owners after walking into a police station.

CCTV footage from Loughborough Police Station captured the moment the border collie arrived and took a seat in the waiting room. Leicestershire Police staff fetched some water and gave her a fuss before calling the number on her ID tag.

Good reminder to keep a collar on your dog.

. . .

That’s it for this week. If you liked this post you can support this newsletter with a small kofi donation:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Have a great week ahead :)

[mehoymalloy]

Soft fic prompt, 6, maybe Lis x Tilda? 🥺

Took a bit, but here we are; hope ya like it!

This is for the prompt 'coffee in bed' from this prompt list. Thanks to @mr-jaybird for betaing this!

~

Lis stood in an exceedingly clean, blindingly white kitchen, stainless steel appliances gleaming in the soft morning sunlight. She shifted back and forth on the balls of her bare feet, trying to fight off the insidious chill sinking into her skin from the tile floor—also white, naturally. She begrudgingly glared at the shiny, silver espresso machine in front of her for a long moment, tracing her gaze over its many buttons, screens, and meters. Then she cast one last tired, wistful look at the classic drip machine off to the side. It was the only black appliance Tilda had in her kitchen—just for Lis.

Tilda had warned Lis last night that her preferred coffee hadn't come in yet—'shipment delays, darling; it's bound to happen eventually when you only order from a very select lab in Canada'—and Lis was fine with that, she really was. She wasn't one of those snobbish types who insisted on buying only the highest quality coffee beans sourced from a small, three-hundred-year-old farm in some lesser-known country of the world's remaining-but-steadily-dwindling coffee belt. All Lis wanted was her ethical, affordable, sustainable coffee. And a lab in Canada (creatively called EAS Coffee Lab) provided just that. But then shipping delays happened, so now here Lis was—awake first, unfortunately—being a good girlfriend and making coffee Tilda's way.

She knew how to do this—she was an engineer, for God's sake, she knew how to work a machine. Simple steps: Fill up the water tank (filtered, of course), pre-heat the water, grab the bag of fancy, specialty-grade beans from the aforementioned three-hundred-year-old farm, weigh out exactly 18 grams, grind extra finely, pop the single wall (not the double wall, even though this was a double shot) basket into the portafilter, tap the filter on the counter, tamp down the grounds, lock it into the machine and...

Why Tilda insisted on using a semi-automatic machine rather than a fully automatic one, Lis would never understand. (That was a lie; even she could admit there was a certain appeal in the ritual of it all, as opposed to dumping the grounds in and pressing a button). She supposed she should be grateful that Tilda hadn't gotten it in her head to buy a fully manual one—Lis didn't think she could handle waking up and pumping a damn lever just for her morning stim.

She should probably also be grateful that Tilda had programmed one of the buttons specifically for when Lis needed to use the machine—no fuss about measuring out the perfect amount of water or reaching the correct temperature or ensuring the OPV never exceeded 8 bars of pressure (Tilda's preference).

As Lis waited for the machine to do its job, she grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge, pouring enough into the little metal cup for each of them. She even used the thermostat to ensure she got the right temperature rather than eyeballing it. The process wasn't complex by any means—it just seemed an unnecessary amount of work for a cup of coffee.

But as Lis padded back to the bedroom with two cups in tow to find Tilda bleary-eyed but sporting a surprised smile, Lis guessed it was worth it.

"You made coffee?" Tilda asked as she sat up. Silk sheets slid down her nude frame like water, pooling in her lap and exposing her skin to the warm sunlight slanting through the blinds.

"You think I could get through the day without it?" Lis shot her a wry smirk as she sat down her own cup on the nightstand.

Tilda gave her a lazy smirk as she lifted the sheets for Lis to scoot in. "I suppose not," she murmured, turning away to stifle a yawn into her shoulder.

Lis leaned in to place a quick peck on the opposite shoulder, gingerly passing Tilda her cup once she had turned back to face Lis.

Tilda's eyes glimmered with warmth rivaling the morning sunlight, and a sleep-soft smile played at her lips as she lifted the mug up to her face. Closing her eyes, she took a slow, deep breath, shoulders curling forward to settle around the cradled cup. Steam wafted upward, carrying the scent to Lis' nose as well—she could admit it smelled way better than her usual coffee. Turning to grab her own cup, she took a sip that singed her tongue, shooting Tilda a rueful smile when she saw the other woman raise a brow at her impatience.

Tilda rolled her eyes as she leaned over, briefly pressing her face into the skin of Lis's neck, offering a quick kiss. "Thank you for the coffee, love," she murmured, still not quite awake.

"You're welcome," Lis said softly, careful to blow before she took another sip.

[murdafact]

PROXY, ticci toby. (pt 3)

summary: tobys obsession with a girl becomes something different

cw: toby breakin into ur dorm room, reader is 19 & in college

word count: 3.1k

───────────────────────────────────────────

the last few months have been total shit. you've been stuck in a mental hospital for god knows how long.

being stuck in a place where you're deemed mentally ill is terrible, especially when you know the truth.

but thank god you were getting out today. you had to move into the school dorms, but it was better than being in the hospital.

as you stepped outside, you took a deep breath of the fresh air and felt relief wash over your body. you were finally out, and on top of that, slenderman's goons were gone now too. for now at least...you knew they'd be back soon enough. but for now, you wanted to just enjoy your freedom and the little bit of peace that came with it.

you finally reached the dorms after what felt like an eternity of walking, the cold air washing over you as you used your key to open the door.

the kitchen was comfortably modern and cozy, with wood cabinets and monochrome tiles along the walls. somehow, it managed to combine a professional look; chef-quality stainless steel appliances with an old wooden table. in the living room a plush sofa was nestled in front of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the field across from where the dorms were held. seems decent enough, right? no. the bedroom was a mess. dirty clothes were strewn about, along with the occasional beer can or food wrapper. the bed was unmade and wrinkled sheets hung off of it in disarray. a desk leaned against one wall, its surface cluttered with papers and other random items that had been shoved there in haste instead of being put away properly. you sighed as you saw someone inside.

"hey, you're (y/n), right? im sabrina. sorry its a mess, i didn't expect you here this early.. let me help you get settled." she smiled, taking the bags. inspecting sabrina, she was a pretty redhead with her hair done up in a messy bun. her pale skin and face had been covered with dark makeup, her blood red lipstick slightly smeared off her lips. she was wearing a simple black tank and some grey sweats, the faint smell of a victorias secret perfume lingering on her body.

slightly taken aback by the stranger, you hesitantly accepted her offer and followed her further inside. she started picking up clothes off of the floor and making the bed across from hers while talking to herself about how it was good that someone had finally moved in since it had been empty for a while now. once she was done cleaning, sabrina stood back and smiled. "there you go." with a grateful smile, you thanked her for her help and she left the room to go about her own activities. as the door closed behind sabrina, you looked around your new living space with relief. everything seemed so much better now, at least for a while it would be.

weeks have passed, you and sabrina had become friends ever since you moved in. she went out to a party with some other people and you just finished studying. as you went to the kitchen, you heard a strange noise coming from the hallway and turned to see him standing in the doorway. he stood there like an ominous shadow, his face unreadable underneath that trademark hoodie and mask. his eyes seemed to burn with the need for something. you shivered at the sight of him, feeling a chill run through you like lightning in my veins as he stepped closer without saying anything. he moved slowly but steadily towards you until you were mere inches apart and you could feel his breath on your skin - cold and metallic against your flesh; it felt oddly calming yet terrifying all at once. your heart was pounding and your hands were shaking, you felt an unseen force pushing you against the wall. suddenly i heard a clink of metal, feeling a cold blade resting on your neck as he pressed in closer. with every passing second his knife edged nearer to puncturing through your fragile skin. in despair, you could only muster up one thought; what do i do now?

you looked up at him, your voice shaking. tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you begged for your life, pleading for him to spare you. your words tumbled out in a jumble – desperate pleas and half-sentences interrupted by sobs that shook through you like an earthquake, rattling every fiber of your being until all that was left was fear and desperation.

you finally thought you were free— safe from him. but here you are, toby's hatchet on the edge of your neck, threatening to draw blood.

pulling down his mask, he laughed maniacally. an awful sound that sent a chill through your body. his laughter was merciless and relentless, as if he were mocking you for your own suffering and weakness. you pleaded with him to stop, begging for mercy but seemingly unheard in the depths of his uncontrollable mirth. his face contorted in glee even as tears rolled down your cheeks; his joy only intensified the desperation and dread you felt at that moment so acutely it seemed like time had frozen around us both forever.

"i-ive been waiting so fucking l-long for this. for you.." toby's words were punctuated by each gasp of breath he took in between his laughter, and you shrank further back against the wall. your heart was pounding so hard i thought it would burst out of my throat, the terror within me obviously noticeable now. "tell me, why do you need anyone else w-when you have me?"

at this, i felt something inside me break. years of fear and trauma were now made manifest in the form of a broken sob that escaped my throat. i wanted to scream at him, to beg for mercy once more, but instead found myself silently shaking my head as tears streamed down my face. toby seemed taken aback by this display, his laughter slowly dying away. he rolled his eyes, "if you w-wont answer me, i'll make you."

toby quickly lifted up his hatchet, hitting you on the head with the back of it. your head was spinning, and then all went black. you felt a sudden shock in your skull that reverberated down through to the tips of your toes. you could no longer feel what was happening, consciousness slowly fading away like smoke in the wind.

he dragged her body through the woods, he was surprised she hadn't woken up by now from her head hitting the uneven ground. when he reached the mansion, it was empty and quiet. slender probably sent everyone on a mission. walking into his room, he threw her onto the bed. tying her hands and legs together in and leaving the room.

he had more important matters to attend to. he wanted her for so long, and finally got her where he wanted her.

toby went and got some rope from the basement, finding some old furniture he could use as a makeshift gag. going to the room, he tied her feet together, then tangled the ropes around her wrists, pulling them tightly behind her back. he stuffed a rag in her mouth and gagged it with tape before securing it in place.

toby hurried back to the basement, where bloody painter and ej had stored their strange experiments. he peered into the glass tanks filled with murky liquids as he hummed a tune. as toby continued to inspect the lab concoctions, something stirred in the back of his mind. (y/n) .. you were so.. perfect.. he thought. he picked up a syringe and a small vial full of clear liquid, ghb, and carefully stuck it into his pocket.

ghb was a popular drug. it was able to completely erase the persons memories once they took it or got it injected into their veins.

perfect..

he made way back to the bedroom, where he had left (y/n). his hands shook with anticipation as he walked closer and closer. he opened the door, to which he saw you still knocked out on the bed. his eyebrows furrowed into a frown, looking at your figure. you still had your pajamas on from the previous hours, your tank and plaid pants along with your dirty socks. he sighed, suddenly feeling a wave of guilt over him. maybe he should just kill you right then and there, just to get it over with. but he couldn't.

god, no. he loved you too much. even though you were just an average teenage girl, he was obsessed. too much to kill you.

just then, he watched as you woke up, your lashes fluttering at him. your eyes widened, seeing his unmasked face. you attempted to scream, until you realized your mouth was stuffed with a gag. "mmmf!" you said, confused. toby just chuckled,

he was about to respond but then suddenly remembered something more important- a plan he had been thinking of for a while. a way for you to forget everything. a way for him to make it seem like he was yours– or like you were his. a dumb, naive girl again. someone who would go under his every command. he pulled out the syringe from his pocket, nearing closer and closer to your neck. you tried pulling away, "stop s-struggling. you'll just make this harder." he said, his voice deep. the cold, pointy metal of the syringe poking at your neck. you felt him slowly stabbing your neck, the metal piercing through your fragile skin he stuck it in deeper, you felt yourself forming tears in the corners of your eyes. "don't cry. it'll be be-better this way." he said, caressing your soft skins, admiring.

you felt the liquid seep into your veins, going through your blood. soon enough, you fell back asleep.

hours have passed. you woke up, noticing you were laid in a bed, being covered by striped blankets. you looked around the room, only being lit by a small desk lamp . you turned your head to the wall and saw a bunch of pictures, seeing a girl in most of them. she looked unsuspected, seeing as she looked like she didn't even know she was being photographed. one was her in a park just reading a book, another while another was while she was sleeping. feeling creeped out, you backed away. you stepped down from the bed, your now bare feet hitting the cold hardwood floor. the wood creaked under you as you stepped, walking to the door. you opened the door, slightly peeking your head out and hearing small chatter. "what? what do you mean you just brought her in? do you know how much trouble we'll be in?!" a man yelled. "i already told him. i h-had this plan for months. and now i can finally go through with it." another spoke.

you backed away into the room, closing the door. you were confused. you felt like you didn't belong, like this wasn't your home. what plan was he talking about? did it include you?

toby and masky were in the kitchen. masky was yelling at toby for bringing someone in, a human girl to be exact. "why the hell is there a girl in your bedroom?" masky asked. "i brought her in. her name is—" "what? what do you mean you just brought her in? do you know how much trouble we'll be in?!" masky yelled. toby sighed, "i already told him. i h-had this plan for months. and now i can finally go through with it."

masky sighed, "you better hope this stupid ass plan works. if it doesn't, boss will kill you and her." he said, looking at him with contempt, then shaking his head and walked away, leaving toby alone.

toby sighed and headed back to the room. opening the door, he saw you cowering in the corner of the bedroom. he sighed. "you're awake." he ran his hand through his hair and sat at the foot of the bed "you don't need t-to be scared anymore. i-i'm safe." he lied. he was a danger to society and he knew it, but he didn't want you attacking and possibly running off. besides, how would you react if he told you he's a wanted serial killer?

you stayed in the corner, trying to decide whether or not you should trust him. you stayed silent for a while, desperately trying to remember him, hell if you even knew him. he could possibly be someone you don't even know. he sighed, turning his head and rolling his eyes. he figured that dealing with someone who lost their memories would be hard.

he started to think of a story, one that would be somewhat believable. "i'm your friend. you remember me, right? my name is t-toby." he said, to which you shook your head. "well, either way, we.. you, um, got into an accident. s-so i took you in!" he lied. you seemed to believe it. "b-but, how..?" you said, your puppy eyes looking at him. "it's a story for another day, are you hungry?" he asked, to which you nodded. you felt drained, mentally and physically.

he walked out the room, to which he was met face to face with hoodie. "tim told me about your little plan. is it going well? is she okay?" he asked. "s-she's none of your concern." he said, walking to the kitchen. "hm." hoodie hummed.

toby prepared a simple meal, and when it was done, he served you. you ate hungrily, finishing the meal in under a minute . "thank you .. " you said, voice calm but soft and quiet. he nodded, taking the plate and going to the kitchen to put it into the sink. he leaned against the marbled counter, wondering how he would deal with you. should he teach you how to be a killer like him, or keep your innocence ?

he decided on the first option. he would rather you to be like him instead of trying to hide you from everything. but, first he would have to make you get comfortable with him first. he sighed, he walked down the hall to clockwork's room, since she was the only one he really spoke to and wouldnt be weirded out from his question.

knocking on the door, he waited a few seconds before she opened the door, her green and clocked eye looking at him. "what?" she spat out, "calm down. i'm just asking for a favour." he asked, "do you have any extra clothes?" he sighed. "uh, yeah. for what?" she asked, walking to her closet and pulling out some shirts and pants from her drawer, "it's for uh.. a girl. dont worry about it." he said, walking inside but looking down at the floor.

clockwork dumped the clothes into his arms, "thanks c." toby said, walking to his room, carefully opening the door so he doesn't drop anything. he walked into you laying on the bed, bored out of your mind. "i'm surprised you didn't leave." he said, dropping the clothes on the bed. "i got you clothes so you can change." you sat up, going through the clothes. you decided on a pair of ripped jeans, a simple burgundy tee shirt and a black zip up jacket. he left the room so you could get changed.

when he left, you swiftly changed into the new clothes, and looked at yourself in a mirror he had nearby. looking at your features, you look exactly like the girl in those pictures. you got chills, but honestly thought nothing of it. he was your friend, right? maybe those pictures were consensual, although you had 0 memory of it. but then again, you had no memories.. you couldn't remember anything.

what a shame.

you shook off the thought and exited his room. were those pictures really you? you thought, walking down the empty halls into a living room, to which you met 2 new people, talking to toby in the dining room.

the first person you noticed was a tall, pale guy, with a slitten smiling face and jet black hair. although the scars were scabbed and seemed to be healing, it was like he was continuing to cut them fresh to keep the smile from healing fully. he was wearing a bloody white hoodie with black jeans and black vans. the other was a short, blonde, elf kid who was bleeding from his dark eye sockets . your head fuzzed, you felt like you could remember him, but you can't place your finger on where.

the pale guy suddenly spoke to toby, looking your figure up and down. "your little girlfriends here." he teased, chucking darkly. you tilted your head, confused. toby walked up to you, "we need to go, i have to train you." "for what?" you asked. "er, for.. fighting. yeah, fighting." he completely lied. you shrugged your shoulders and followed him outside and into an open field behind the house. "here." he gave you a fake knife, since he didn't want to hurt you since you're still a beginner. "i thought you meant fist fighting." you said, looking at the dull blade the knife had. "nope." he said. "try to dodge me." he said, lunging at you quickly, to which you dodged from reflexes and made him miss. "good job, but this is just a start." he smirked under his mask.

oh boy..

eventually, weeks turned into months and you got more comfortable with everyone in the mansion. sure, you made your frenemies, like jeff, or your best friends, like toby, jane and clockwork. you even got little sisters you never had, like sally and lazari.

but, that also means you had to change yourself to fit in with the others. your original (h/c) hair has now been dyed to a (d/h/c). you changed the way you did your makeup, your fashion, you got tattoos from a nearby tattoo shop and scars on your body from previous training with toby or clockwork,and overall changed your personality. you went from a naive girl to an independent woman, you didn't need a man.

although you had that mindset, you and toby started dating a while after you joined him in the mansion.

you were happy with him, and he was happy with you. now he doesn't have to sneak and take pictures of you, he can finally get them consensually whenever he wanted, and he didn't have to hide himself from you. you two went on missions together all the time, killing anyone you saw, and everyone who judged your relationship with him.

the end. ♡

─── 2023 MURDAFACT, do NOT repost as your own.

[myloveforhergoeson]

tw: discussion of scars + childhood injury

“woah… what’s this?”

gingerly, roxy caught james’ left wrist between her calloused fingers, turning his forearm to face her direction as they cuddled on one of the many lounge chairs by the pool. with his well maintained tan from hours spent in the los angeles sun, the thin white line was almost impossible to spot; she’d certainly never noticed it before today.

thumb swiping over the scarred area, she felt james slightly flinch at her touch. “it’s nothing… old injury.”

removing the right arm slung around her waist, he shifted to the left a bit, dark sunglasses obscuring the look on his face. he covered the mark with his hand for a moment, palm over the area like a bandaid, before taking a breath and gathering his girlfriend in his arms once more.

with her ear to his chest, she could hear his heart race. though that might be due to their proximity, the feeling of his palms growing clammy on her bare skin told her otherwise.

she silently praised her choice of a red crop top for the day.

“i’ve got one on the back of my leg,” she said in response to the chill, moving her right foot into the air and wiggling it a bit to ease the tension she could sense radiating off of him in waves. “one of dani’s dogs didn’t like me very much. i got too close to her one day and she really decided to let me know… god, that shit hurt like hell.”

one of his brows raised, signifying she’d caught his attention. “you had to know that she didn’t like you. dogs are super vocal about that type of thing aren’t they? like, missy really hates logan. we think she can sense he’s more of a cat person.”

“i know you’re not blaming me for being viciously bit by a crazy animal right now. everybody else loves me! why should i assume bear felt any different?”

air shot out of his nostrils in a silent chuckle, tickling the top of her head, almost going unheard against the chatter of other hotel patrons on the deck around them. “the dog was named bear?! baby, you were totally asking for it!”

visions of the black labradoodle ran through her mind, much like how bear loved to run through dani’s family’s large, open property. “she was a total sweetheart when mag and dani were around her… maybe she doesn’t like gorgeous, talented women or something.”

james’ nose exhale turned into full on laughter, roxy practically bouncing off his chest as his body shook at her words.

from the table beside their lounger, roxy reached out to take a drink of the lemonade she’d picked up from the cafe, offering the cup out to her boyfriend as well.

after a long, slow sip, james’ free hand set it down before sinking into her long hair. instinctively, her arm draped around his waist. “i forgot to put the blade guards on my skates after practice one night. coach worked us so hard that day i was just happy to get off the ice and get home; too distracted by what my mom might be making for dinner to think straight. walked out of the arena with my bag in one hand and my stick and skates in the other, hit a patch of black ice before i reached her car, and ended up cutting myself up pretty darn good.”

just the thought of the sharp, stainless steel of an ice skate anywhere near her skin caused a shiver to crawl down the girl’s spine. “that must have been awful…”

“well a trip to the er, sixteen stitches, and a bunch of ibuprofen later i was feeling just fine. i think my ego was more bruised than anything. my mom was super freaked though.”

“well yeah,” roxy nodded, finger rising to trace the lines of the soft black tank top james wore, “any mom would be worried about such a substantial injury. i’ve never had stitches but i imagine sixteen means it was very big and very deep.”

closing his eyes, james took another breath. “deep? yes. big? eh. nothing like the time carlos got a metal plate put in his head.”

“jesus christ. i’m going to pass out just thinking of it…” her hand curled into a fist, taking the smooth fabric with it.

a few kids from their class were starting up a game of volleyball in the pool in front of them, sounds of shouting and splashing water distracting the writer from their conversation momentarily.

“but you’re right,” james continued. “my mom was worried - just not about me. more about the mark it would leave than anything… she even called an emergency meeting for her product development team to start work on a scar cream. i still use it to this day.”

roxy chose not to comment on the success of the cream if she was still able to see the mark that remained on her boyfriend’s skin, though her heart panged at his words. clearly, brooke’s concern had reached him, just for the wrong reasons. she saw it in the way he instinctively covered the area when she’d mentioned it, in the solemn way he discussed the product he still used, months, maybe years, after his accident.

without thinking, her fingers caught his wrist again from where they tangled in her locks and pulled his forearm to the sun once more. the scar stood out more prominently to her now, and now she couldn’t even remember what he looked like without it. it was part of what made james james. “she shouldn’t have made you feel that way... it was an accident; you were seriously hurt. who cares what it would look like in the future? what should have mattered was your safety in that moment and beyond.”

he didn’t respond to her, gaze somewhere off in the distance behind the tint of his shades. this time, when roxy swiped her thumb over the area, he didn’t jump.

“we all show concern in our own way i suppose,” he whispered into her hair, placing a kiss on her crown before resting his chin there.

as they cuddled by the pool, james hugged roxy just a little bit tighter.