#an intellectual feral

[the-iron-lion]

I saw a hashtag saying that Lavellan is 90% of Solas’s impulse control and it made me snort but like…

Where is the lie?

[buttercupbuck]

x

[image description: 2 large gifs of evan buckley and eddie diaz.

gif 1: from season 3 episode 3. in buck's apartment, eddie places his hand on buck's shoulder as he tries to get buck to look at him.

gif 2: from season 7 episode 1. in the locker room, eddie pats his hand on buck's shoulder as he welcomes him back to the "world of the living."

gif 3: from season 3 episode 3. a close up of buck looking at eddie as eddie pats his shoulder reassuringly before leaving.

gif 4: from season 7 episode 1. eddie's hand lingers on buck's shoulder before eddie leaves the locker room. buck wears a soft smile.

/end ID]

[boxwinebaddie]

NINAAAAAAAAAAAA? DO YOU HAVE ANY MORE KYLEYB CONTENT? I LOVE HIM

nOOOOOOOOOOOONICA!

-- and do i EVA, dollface!

( edit: the spelling across the board is non-existent. so sorry. you are morally obligated to be nice to me; i have a tumor. also, my apologies for yesterdays post -- it is gone now *shudders at memory* --

i was very manic and upset and the jerseykyle in me that gets angry, really, really is convinced she can kill god...i do think that's still true, but it was very chaotic and embarassing to be like that on the dash.

but if you are worried about the tumor i am trying to have a ( bad ) sense of humor about, again, it’s benign, noncancerous, very, very small, to the point where it requires no surgery or radiation treatment at this time ( i do have a radiology appointment for another brain scan on the 26th so please keep me in ur thots if you can ) and i just have to cope with a lot of gnarly side effects.

i love you and hope you heal. <333 -the u.n.

so...i wrote this weird ~'thing'~ ( i'm not sure what else to call it ) because i was having a very loose and silly-goosed ( but as always, wonderfully and graciously soul-warming ) converslaytion in the dms

with dearest, darlingest teria ( whose work you should not only read and whose art is not only more immaculate than the piss-and-moan-a-lisa, but whose advice, council and conversation i enthusiastically urge you to enlist because she is truly, a little bit of heaven on earth )

and, i don't know, i was doing the silly kyley b voice for shits and giggles in my texts and...it never...left my brain ( is THAT what gave me the brain worms? ) and i had to write my weird ~'thing'~, which is my boy, THE BUOY, kyley bi-atch! talkin’ to the new kid and givin’ them some street-wise, beat-the-shit-out-of-you-poetic advice.

( if you want it...it's down at the VERY BOTTOM -- everyone say hoooola cuervostan ;) xxx -- of this post...i got weirdly passionate talking about kyley b and jersey in general, so you can read all of that if you WANT...but i'll leave the screenshots after everything, so you can scroll down easily and reach it; also...gender neutral, i promise, just girl-scout-squirrely-whirly nicknames, haha. )

cue a future me leaving this here where i left off:

*unfreezes tv screen and a feral past nina springs to life*

also, i am...so sorry in advance for this, bc, okay, look...

-- does he sound like ball bustin', good fa' nothing pauly d, soprano mobstaH? yeah...yeah he sure does, aND WHATTABOUTIT, BETCH?! ( i'm just kidding, you guys; mwah ) but like...is that not The Vibe?

like? he is not supposed to give your rough and tumble ol buddy nino down at the jewish-italian pizzeria who looks like he would rather fkn blow his brains out that take 'ya ordah' ( but loves his ma and his kid brother, and the counter guy got fkn shived, so there he is baby baby;

-- the worst man on planet earth...

…and The LUVH Of My Loife! )

...who repeatedly calls you 'toots', but he's not really hitting on you, he's just trying to size you up ( also, i love you pre-(ed)isordah jersey, the BIGGEST and the baddiest, baby! ah-baddabingbaddaBOOM! )

and he...( quite literally ) wants you to stay the fuck away from him and get the hell out of his shitty city, and, he is THE KYLEY B, BAY-BEE! he's the curliest, cuntiest, coppa'-ist ( do naaaught, howeva, group him in with the bootlickers, or he'll make you lick his...just so HE can call /YOU/ one...like...he is my BF, do you understA-- )

hooOOoo

( i am sorry; he is...my favorite mwob-buoy-bawhss xx )

but...on the inside, underneath it all, really is...just...a fine and truly beautiful specimen, the meaner he is to you, the more you like him...and...you accidentally fall in love with him ( oooY geVAULT! )

that is...in fact, what sweet, sweet stanley marsh did ( he is a genius and a visionary and I RESPECT THE FUCK OUT OF THAT SCARY BOY CRAZY CRUNCHY KALE SALAD KIIIIIIING; like, he really played The Long Game...AND WON!!! HE FUCKING WON, BABEY!!!! like

i have this pre-rm, childhood headcannon, that ( because he was trying not to say stan's name or acknowledge him -- very interesting to me because that is the Same strategy stan employed when he publicly gave kyle the jersey nickname, bc he knew he could not remain detached/unemotional if he said kyle's name --

that babyjk when he lived in south park regularly just called stan 'bambi' or 'sug' or 'masug'; short for 'masugganah' or crazy in yiddish

because rm!santanastan...

( which is what sharon called him, for the band and just to respect his chosen name, in spanish, without alerting randy's suspicions...i will start crying, i should talk abt the south park era of the rm fbs more )

was just this insane boy with gigantic fucking goldfish, cartoon dear eyes who would approach him when no one else would even DARE, was freshly obsessed with him and thought he was the bees knees.

so, because the reader, reminds him a lot of stan...he starts using those little nicknames and i wanted you to know the rm!origin. yes, he does still call stan 'bamb' and 'sug' ( which is cute, because as a nice pet name he likens it to 'sugar' sometimes, aw ) to this day

and i think, almost did it or actually one time with raven of crimson dawn and stan's gigantic fucking sugar glider eyeballs lit up and kyle was HORRIFIED because oh my god, that was a Stanley Marsh ONLY nickname and i used it on this fucking CELEBRITY MAN...like y'know actually bestie, you are a fucking genius…

— that's Your celebrity man.

BUT BACK TO BACK TO KYLEY B, BAAAAAAAAABEY!

who is the red-(H)ead-BIC of NUEW JOISEY, kid!

like my best description is that he's this fast-twalkin, street rat, night life, mortal ( but not really; he basically thinks he's god ) kombative, fucking feral, ruthless palooka-pummeling, curbstomping, pavement leveling, street-fighting piesa' literal gutta trash, or sort of like if luffy from one piece was a mad swole ( emphasis mad, he's pissed and humungous, holy shit ) scary freckled ginger new jersey pirate king

who ( bc i love a visual ) is typically out there, rocking:

a way too tight ( to the point of it almost being threadbare and rolling paper thin; he looks good tho; he's my lil diamond in da ruff ) worn out, extremely stretched out, skin-tight, faded/distressed

( that's fraying and unspooling in several along the mom-mended and barely held-together seams --sounds like a metaphor for something -- with the distracting curly font almost nearly peeled and cracked off ), probably heavily stained ( with blood...and whatever meager, worm-infested brain matta splattered on his shirt when he was bashing some bigshot's stupid head in with a tire iron -- rip; sorry ma -- sunbleached from scorching nj summers that it's almost...brown ) black affliction tank top

some huge, torn-up, baggy, aggresively rhinestone-studded, heavily sequined ( k.b, it's already so hard to see and street hardened, police siren, rough around the edges radiance is already blinding me, please have mercy [ never not once ] ) mike 'the situation' influenced, super quintessentially 2012 jersey shore adjacent ( in that they're very loud, vibrant, in your face, tacky and obnoxious ) faux americana, tattoo parlor-popularized, badly screenprinted, ed hardy jeans ( eyeconick! )

the M-o-s-t ( sigh ) hideous ( and i do mean fucking hideous, sheila broflovski is fashion blind; but she is so beautiful and kind, she is forgiven in every way ) men's size thirteen ( jersey has frighteningly large, monster-sized clown feet ) highlighter green-orange-purple basketball shoes you've ever seen

-- purchased, with love, from the sale rack of ross for dress for less ( where they were collecting dust; no one wanted those things ) and her widely amassment of store credit from...numerous previous returns ) by none other than, my favorite beehive-styling, cherry-red, new jersey hauswife, legendary broflovski matriarch ( she rlly runs that whole fkn house like the navy; choke gerald )

Miss Sheila Broflovski...

the only person who is not scared of the notorious k.m.b. kyley b and routinely, while they're out in public, ft. a baby-faced, mean-mugging kyley b jersey acting all big and bad, will pull him down by the tag of his tank top, go 'you've got some schmutz on your face, bubbula!'

hold down this gigantic, vicious, snarling, menacing, thick as brick, hard as titanium, six foot tall, juvenile detention center frequenting, frightening concrete wall of an eighteen year old boy who looks like he could gut you with his stare alone, like he's a cute, cuddly teddy bear, hawk the loudest, wettest, gnarliest lougie into a schmatta she fished out of her purse and proceed to volently scrub a tiny spot of 'sahwasce' her son's face while he squirms like a feral cat; i love her. )

and the crowning jewels ( or jewels really; not sure if they're real, but they're big and shiny, which is what matters ) duel-ery, which i call that because…

he literally weaves his way through the back-door inner-city system of crime in new jersey through info he mercilessly squeezed out of a coupla peabrained Gabbagoons, uses what little information he could decipher out of those fkn weasel's pathetic wheezes to deadpool square to wherever their bosses lair is…

makes them regret they were even born, beats them with in AN INCH of their sorry life, leaves them lying in a pool of their own gross blood, stamps a big, blingy 'B' on their forehead and browses the shattered, blood-soaked display case and five-finger discounts ( but really, if you just won a major battle or boss fight; clearly, you deserve kind of reward or compensation, right, guys? and by his logic...you're not rlly stealing what quite morally wrong, but rightfully...belongs to you )

...whatever the largest and most impressive ( or not, tbh, sometimes he's like 'ugh, really...a toe ring? that's your big come up?' ) piece of jewelry they're wearing is, sterlizes it, and flexes it it on his body and on the streets as a silent, but deadly warning to all other 'so-called' king pens and 'unstoppable' underground crime lords that

'oh, that guy YOU were scared of? i beat the piss outta him, he cried like a fucking baby, he bled like a stuck pig and is lying in the fucking sewer like a half-dead rat. and if you fuck with me; you'll be next ) and scare legit 60 y/o robert deniro level frightening men, who have been running the game since the crimson dawn of time…

-- Into SUBMISSION.

...at like...seventeen or eighteen years old.

LIKE HE IS A FUCKING LEGEND IN NEW JERSEY. they still whisper about him TO THIS DAY and have to look over their shoulders before they do...like he was that fucking Terrifying when he was out there.

and i need you to know that he is H-U-G-E. like the incredible hulk HUGE. he's not like, this scrawny, gangly, sniveling little ginger vanilla wafer cookie rolling up on you...he is like, this six foot two, gigantic size thirteen shoe wearing, slim-jim-ripping, gum and fist snacking,

NFL FOOTBALL FIELD PLAYER WIDE, like not just some measly, tiny-itsy bitsy football player -- oh, no; you wish -- he is STACKED AND JACKED, he is ten times wider than the widest receiver...he is the WHOLE DAMN FOOTBALL FIELD BITCH, fkn might-o-chrondia ( because he is the new jersey powerhouse of the concrete and hard titanium juvenille deliquient cell, which shakes when he walks, bro. )

tldr; KYLEY B IS FRECKLY, JEWISH, GINGER, NEW JERYSIAN 'THE THING' FROM THE FANTASTIC FOUR, COULD VERY EASILY BODY YOU, OR VIOLENTLY DISMEMBER AND KILL YOU AND MAKE THAT SHIT LOOK LIKE L-I-G-H-T WORK. AND I MEAN THAT.

but...he actually, believe it or not, does NOT...Kill People?

which, i honestly want to say, is stanley marsh's gentle 'post-mortem' pacifist influence still lingering around him like the sweetest ghost.

because, honestly, i think a lot of those people deserve to fucking die, not just for being extremely fucking cruel to jerseykyle for literally just existing, for how he looks of all things, his fucking APPERANCE!

( it's the teacher in me, but child and adolescent bullying, particularly in school settings, really makes me viciously angry and very, Very fucking sad because it causes soooo much psychological damage to the victim, who most likely did nothing to warrant such incessant and merciless taunting -- that was probably perpetrated because he was whip-smart, and therefore a fucking nerd, significantly larger than other boys, wore glasses, has a 'funny', loud, cartoonish voice...

( which is simply...a dialect and manner of speaking that he literally developed from growing up in new jersey and from his mother teaching him how to talk -- that shouldn't at all diminish the weigh his words carry or the meaning behind them; which, minus...a little...or a lot, of potty-mouthed sailor swearing -- which, again, only fucking happened because he was so viciously bullied, he had to adopt a harsh, slangy, malicious vernacular -- is often extremely profound, academic and reflects a very introspective perspective )

and because he's immunocompromised, had to report to the nurse's office frequently throughout the day to prick his finger and check his blood pressure for his diabetes and is often, very, very sick -- which i guess makes other kids view him as weak, but most damningly was that...he didn't fit into the mold ( or, uh, most traditional size ranges, sheila only bought him clothes from the 'big and tall' men's section of most department stores because he was so Large in stature,

like he could not squeeze into child-sized...anything; meanwhile ravenstan has itsy, bitsy baby feet and could probably slide his non-existent ass -- you are so sexy king, i love you, you needed a flaw -- into a pair of the largest sized black pair of skinny jeans they got on the racks of the junior girls section of target...like, he could and he would look damn Good too! like go AWHFF king!

HES SOOO BAD! i need to focus, but before i do~

btw; rs definitely sent jk a picture to laff. he was like damn, i am sorry it won't load; will you send five more from different angles? HELP )

but, anyways, my lifetime horny writer girl max security prison sentence aside ( and pending ), he just wasn't traditionally thin or tiny or conventionally attractive or healthy like most other boys or children and general were..so the other kids, probably ring-leaded by the most convention of the bunch, othered him, dedicated making every single day of his life miserable and made his life a living hell...

...just to have a little 'fun' at recess and laugh.

FUCK. THAT.

because, i don't know, bullying like that, creates what are usually painful lifelong feelings of self-inferiority, very difficult to remedialize through therapy and selfcare, social emotional issues with expressing yourself/emotions in healthy positive ways, militant self-isolation

and ALL of that happened to jerseykyle...and on top of just never hearing 'i love you' from his father, that hate he received from the outside world, forced him the keep everything inside and it's why he couldn't tell ravenstan he loved him, because basketball is just a game,

...but it never FUCKING ended and he could only alternate between being defensive or offensive, there was never a bell that sounded to tell him he could stop playing and that it was over, and return to 'normal', that was his normal, because, from all his overwhelming negative experiences with vulnerability, if he stopped treading water, every shark on planet earth would smell his blood in the water...

and spill it everywhere. :(

NINA, DID YOU HAVE A POINT? AND WERE YOU EVER GONNA GET THERE? i...think so? i think the point is that, these are bad people that kyley kg fucking b was putting the hurt on...and the point is that, because, like i said, he considers himself a 'debt collector' and appears villainous bc of his vicious disposition,

is really more like...

a misunderstood antihero than anything?

he's kind of like a red robin hoodie, if you will, because he goes after rapists, child molesters, guys who hurt women/animals/the weak, power-hungry bastards in suits who use that power for evil and take it out on those who are stricken with poverty, like, he is a violent criminal...but he takes out even More violent criminals.

hot boy shit!

and yeah, he does do it sort of vaingloriously sometimes, for street cred, to wear people's status symbols on his hand and placate that hurt place in himself by being scary and ferocious and making motherfuckers pay for what they did for him and how they treated him...and with all that blood in his eyes, he gets blind to the ethical portion of what he's doing...but, subconsciously...

he's doing it...

— For GOOD.

and killing people, the notion of it, not only made stanley marsh, punk rock pacifist prince, violently, violently sick, but it's also, one, too messy, a lot on his hands ( already quite heavy with his heisted and thieved jewels and video game loot ) but...i don't know? he really loves his mom, you know? batshit insane as that woman is, he loves her to death...and does spare bad-guys because of it. because everyone has a mom and not everyone's mom is kind and lovely like his, but they could...and he's sending their kid back home to them...

...in a [ BOX ].

it just...it didn't sit right with him ( he acts unbothered by the idea of murdering people...but, unless he had to, like if it was going to kill someone else and the only way to fix it would be to kill the thing about to kill them, he could do it, and again...he could do it easily. )

he also acts simultaneously above the 'laur' and studies it in school, but ultimately...what happens to this fuck-ups after he fucks them up...is not up to him. whether they live or die, that is. he gave them what was coming to them...and the rest is up to someone else.

and i won't get into it too much ( A LIE; but i have like 74937403 other blurbs about this in my drafts, i should not ferally release all that insanity in here ) but it's interesting...because rm!jersey, loses a lot of that subconscious 'good' in the process of being 'bad'.

because, after his drastic kyley b transformation into ivy league jersey, he, for the first time, is being noticed in a 'positive' way by people on the outside and he's getting 'positive' attention from them, and he feels...for once, powerful — even though, really, he's essentially rendered powerless and is chained to the approval of these people and destroys himself every moment of everyday...to be in a pretty, and small, and palatable package for them...

( yes, i want k*ll myself. )

but he BECOMES the very EVIL that he was hellbent on destroying and starts doing EXACTLY what those people did to him. and because he is so unhappy and morose and hurt and devastated, he finds outsiders, weak people, but mostly, just looks...happy? :((((

…unbothered, merely existing...and decides

to psychologically debase and torture every drop of happiness from that individual, to make his self esteem better and make him feel like, good, i am so much better than that miserable worm, squirming away, squinting at the light it once basked in...

now it can be as insufferable and small...

— As I Am. </3

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. BROTHERS, THIS SHIT MAKES ME SO SAD. I AM SOOOOO UPSET LOL.

NOOOOOO--

and they're both brutal, kyley b and jerseykyle ( who, really, do need that distinction because they are...VERY different ) jersey, one, is far worse than kyley b, i don't CARE if he could twist your intestined into rope and hang you with them...the things that jerseykyle can say, as the most beautiful man EVER, Using That Voice,

looking at you with the most disgust and contempt and unworthiness you've ever felt and completely debase you in a couple crisp, dififnued, academic words...and not touch you a single time, bc you're pathetic and beneath him...you can heal a broken bone in a couple weeks...but your mind? your heart? your self esteem?

your once…wealthy, healthy feelings of self worth?

when jerseykyle reduces you into ash with his eyes, when your body was a temple and he burns it down, like somehow, it will make his stronger where he feels weak and helpless or like it will some how vindicate stanley marsh...it is very, very, very difficult to make that rubble into a city again. like...that man will RUIN YOU LIFE.

( pleaaaAasee kiss me!!! pICK ME CHOOSE MESHSJ )

but jersey is scary in a very...bone-chilling, below-freezing, self-pleasing, self-destructive ( but in a more subtle, seemingly artistic, less 'unhand me, you big brute, ya no-good palooka' kind of way...

and, instead, it's this twisted, muted, shadowy…

...oh wow, you...really are the devil in a fresh pressed suit, college student siren who leads boys to their untimely demise, and drains them of their lifeforce in his bedroom they way he would a dry glass of wine or a cheap bodega cigarettes like in a tasteful, snake charmer kind of way...a dark academic, sleek, chic, fuck-and-succubus way )

like jerseykyle is a very pretentious, jane austenatcious, bond villian type of self-destructive...that revolves around mentally preying on the weak/innocent...because he hates himself and wants literally everyone to hate themselves more than him...so he can like himself.

and when he guts you its, in a mentally incapacitant, poisonous, cruel and insidious way, in a...classically trained, philosophical, fashionable, was...in the way a thorn on the most beautiful rose you've ever seen would gut you...or a delicate antique letter opener...might slash your palm open, gash you and bleed you dry...

whereas kyley b was a faaaar less tasteful or restrained ( in that sense but jersey is still unhinged ) destroyer of worlds...he was very hands on, ( jerseykyle will not touch you unless he has to, he'll only punch you if you will not shut the fuck up and touch you as little and impersonally as possible to sleep with you…which is ironic, i know )

kyley b is a very fast and loose, wild animal, loose canon, carnivorous 'i'll slice ya and dice ya and put ya on ice ya' and beat you until you are bloody and unrecognizable...but on the inside...

he's just this...Frightened Little Animal. :(

who hurts you because he is scared you will reach for him, and when you put food in your palm, bites it because he's scared it's a trick.

aaaaaaaaaaaaah....idk he is my special little man.

okay, shutting the fuck up now HERE IS YOUR SNIPPET:

( edit: LAMBORGHINI MERCY, ITS LONG; LO SIENTO! )

GOOD LUCK, BAMBI. </3 ;-;

( just a...branch in my eye. ) i also was worried about the nicknames being a little too...'fem...inine-ish?' which, i glawhSSED on earlier, but wrote this little extra dialogue as an example using all the little satana stan nicknames ( aw ) because i am gonna be honest, it's gender neutral and not personal, he'd tell you, straight up -- my man always keeps it one-hunna and 100% kosh, ketzele; --

something like:

'ya can throw daisy chains ova a pile of cowshit aaaaaalll you want, masug; but no matta how ya dress it up, when alls said and done; and all those pretty flowers keel ova' and die...all your fine exteria design... fuck: what's cityslicka for 'useless, fancy schmanchy holy crappola' uhhh...your...dainty lil'tle 'floral achootrama' or whateva';

gesundheit.

...means fuck awhll in new jersey, 'cause the freakin' se-wer systems! ( manure, really ) like all the people, are all totally wasted, loaded and gunked-up with broken needles, instant spray tan and crushed up cred cans; wow, golly gee whiz, dory. so...you mean to tell me...my whole life...is all a buncha crud, huh?

o-oh, no, shit i might cr--

HA! gotcha, sensodyne! cause one man's trash...is another man's treasure...and you better get comfy and rest your goddamn laurels on a street corner where a prostitute isn't going to give you freakin' hepatisis mauling ya for struting your stuff on her turf...

cause this, outta townie...

— is your new home sweet home. ;)

...wonderful little joint, ain't it? you should see when it's all lit up with gang violence...that'll really jumpstart your heart, sug. it's, uh, kinda like fireworks...if they were fucking HORRIBLE and KILLED YA.

so...and i'll talk real slow, because i'm not sure i speak malibu freakin' barbie: h-e-r-e....in...hoebroken, ( that's where we are...in case you forgot, bamb; don't look so scared, honey; the junkies will only give ya little nibble; not too many teeth there otherwise. or, uh, oxygen flowin' to the ole cranium, they're basically harmless! uh...not him. staaaaaaaaaay, the hell away away from him, sug. aY, YOUSE! SNAP CRACKLE POP! KEEP YOUR FKN DISTANCE OR I'LL CAP YA BI--

basically; v.i.p., between you...and me, there's crap...on crap...on --wait! could it be--oh no, just more CRAP lined from the rock bottom of nj all the way up to the ny-sea to shining sea skyline ( might be our fault, but the fuckin' big city biddies and hoity-freakin-toitys out there can hoof it a little; by that, i mean horse shit; fuck 'em. uh, no offense, bam. ) i shot that one outta the park a little,

ball-point is:

it's backed allllll the way...TA HELL. which, might even be kinda, uh, nice...well, compared to this fuckin' trash compacta. so take a good, long, whiff sweetheart; ‘cause here? everybody's shit stinks...

— even yours, princess.

which—OOH.

es-Specially, yours.

ever heard of a shower? you r-e-e-k."

hEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP THATS MY BOOOOOOOOOOOYFRIEND! look at him!!!! I MISS HIM EVERYDAY; KYLEY 'IF YOU AIN'T MAKIN' MONEY, TAKE! YA! BROKE! ASS! OUTTA! HOE(BOKEN)! BEFORE I BREAK IT SOMEMORE, BREAK IT SOMEMORE...(B)-I T C H!"

like and suuuuuuUUubSCRRIIIBE~

-uncle nina, the gay kyley lGBea(t)in'theshitouttayaBETCH agenda

[floralisolation]

i’m thinking about the bastardization of the word “deep” on the internet to generally just mean sad moody introspective depressing content i don’t want to engage with versus the way i’ve always thought about depth in media as a richness, a generous helping of nuance, a richness and fullness of meaning and intentionality.

like. there is so much romance, mystery, intrigue, flavor, and just ughhh everything with depth!! complexity my beloved!!!

[amoremagnificentbastard]

Pink (affectionately) & green 💖

(also I'm slow to respond (sorry!) but your comment on my fic made my week and I was so happy to see you on Discord! 💜)

If I could hug you, just know I'd be hugging you. With your enthusiastic consent, of course. 💜💛

[ionized-alpaca]

Hi, friendly neighborhood scientist here! I am also alarmed, but not by all of the same things and not for all the same reasons!

First thing:

And YOU STILL DON'T GET FOOD. YOU GET MOLECULES.

Depending on what is being fermented, you do in fact get food! The existing product cited in one of the first "precision agriculture" articles, Quorn, uses a fungus to grow mycoprotein (literally, "fungus protein") that is then bound together with egg- or potato-based binders to achieve a meat-like texture.[1] What comes out of the reactor is not yet a food product, but it's most of the way there and those downstream processing steps should all be happening in the same facility.

Is it highly processed? Yes. But it is food.

And they seem to have the process down pretty well, seeing as Quorn has a growing presence in US supermarkets.

A lot of the "fake meat" products out there right now are pretty junk-y, but if a theoretical highly processed, slightly dystopian-sounding alternative food could be nutritionally equivalent, taste similar, and have lower environmental impact? That should not be rejected just because it's "molecules" instead of food - your regular reminder that everything is made of chemicals if you break it down to component parts.

(I'm not saying that was OP's argument, but people in general have a kneejerk reaction to things that are "unnatural" that I wanted to get ahead of.)

Moving on to environmental impacts:

I'm going to pull a bit from this paper in Nature about beef specifically here[2], rather than "traditional agriculture" as a whole. Carbon footprint in general is really hard to nail down, but depending on what meat product you're replacing, cellular agriculture (umbrella term for producing traditional agricultural products using cells grown in a bioreactor; "precision fermentation" falls under the umbrella) can actually have an edge here.

Beef is the number one driver of deforestation in tropical forests[3], followed by soy - and at least in the US, most corn and soy is itself used as animal feed. Livestock require huge amounts of land, both to house the animals themselves and to feed them, not to mention additional facilities to slaughter and process the carcasses.

The Nature paper lays out scenarios in which 20%, 50%, and 80% of beef production are replaced with fungus-derived mycoprotein (e.g., the Quorn from earlier); the fungus is grown using sugar as feedstock instead of corn or soy. In the 20% scenario, deforestation is halved compared to a scenario in which growing global meat demand continues to be met using traditional agriculture, due to the decreased need for pasture land.

The authors also sum up an analysis for different environmental benchmarks in this frankly confusing graph I will attempt to break down for y'all:

(viewing it here will probably be easier)

The x-axis features their 4 scenarios: MP0 is no change, continuing to produce all beef using cows. MP20 is replacing 20% of beef with microbe-grown mycoprotein, MP50 is 50%, MP80 is 80%.

If we look at the most conservative scenario, MP20, the authors calculate only modest changes in water use, nitrogen fixation, nitrogen oxide emissions, and methane emissions. (However, it should be noted that methane emissions punch above their weight, with 1 kilogram of methane trapping as much heat as 84 kilograms of carbon dioxide, so 11% reduction can be significant!) The biggest claimed wins are in reducing carbon dioxide and deforestation, both down a whopping 56%.

HOWEVER, two GIANT caveats: 20% replacement is ambitious: plant-based meat in the US, a relatively affluent market with a pretty good level of cultural acceptance for plant-based meat, had a measly 2.5% market share of retail packaged meat in 2022.[4]

Second, this analysis was just on land use. Their CO2 number, infuriatingly, does not take into account the emissions from the process to produce the mycoprotein itself.

So what is the carbon footprint of the process?

For that, I found a life cycle analysis for mycoprotein production[5]. (My apologies if it's paywalled; I think this link should work?) And I'm also drawing on this literature review's interpretation; I am not an environmental scientist or statistician, so admittedly this part of the analysis is outside my wheelhouse.

Depressingly, 1 kg of mycoprotein meat substitute is about equivalent to 1 kg of chicken in terms of carbon footprint (measured as "warming potential" in units of kg of CO2), largely due to the energy demands of processing it. Seeing as Quorn, the only mainstream mycoprotein product I'm aware of, is imitation chicken, not beef, this is bad news on a carbon footprint front.

So does precision fermentation reduce environmental impacts? Kind of, but it's difficult to conclusively quantify and making a significant impact would require these cultured products to displace market share from traditional meat at a pace consumers are probably not willing to undertake in the near future.

The big question: is the science there yet?

Listen y'all, I have a STEM degree. I have taken a good number of courses on biotechnology. I spent a whole semester studying cultured meat, which is a related but even more nightmarishly complicated rabbithole I do not have time to address right now.

Forgive me if I stop pulling sources here: the "fermentation farm," download a food app and have a tiny factory custom make you a precisely tailored food? That is not right on the horizon. I would call that firmly within the realm of science fiction for the foreseeable future.

Keeping all of those strains of microbes alive and in optimal growth conditions would require so much energy and labor that I cannot see that being a facility anyone wants to run, let alone put in "every community."

The reactors these microbes grow in have to be kept sterile and maintained at specific temperatures, with the liquid media circulated and periodically cycled in/out to avoid the microbes from essentially choking on their own waste. Contamination happens, reactors have to go down for maintenance, piping networks have to be set up to pump your microbes from place to place - there are a million moving parts on every production line, so every additional line you create is going to snowball the cost, energy demands, and footprint of your facility. A highly complex facility that can make "any" molecule almost by definition cannot be small, or else you'll spend so much time flushing lines, cleaning reactors, and switching between microbes that you'll never get anything done.

Addressing the "Liberation Labs" facility: there's a reason large scale cellular fermentation facilities have been limited to pharmaceuticals so far: pharma can charge astronomical prices that will cover these facilities. (Admittedly pharmaceuticals are using trickier cells and have to uphold stricter sterility standards - but growing tons and tons of cells is never going to be cheap)

If they're going ahead with building a plant in 2024, I assume they have some kind of analysis that makes them think they can turn a profit selling powdered proteins.

But the specific proteins they're making - the CEO highlights lactoferrin, a protein in mammalian milk, in one article[6] - are for alternative dairy products that are not mainstream yet, targeting projected demand that may never exist. They're making a huge gamble by going straight to bulk scale on, and I cannot emphasize this enough, a product that might never have a market.

If we find the right combination of protein, product, process, and demand... I won't say precision fermentation is a dead end. But what's happening right now? Is a lot of startup hype, big swings from companies that might end up making nothing but giant dead factories, and "environmentally friendly" products that don't actually have a smaller carbon footprint than the meat they replace.

Sources:

Quorn

Projected environmental benefits of replacing beef with microbial protein. Nature, 4 May 2022

What are the biggest drivers of tropical deforestation?. World Wildlife Fund Magazine, Summer 2018.

U.S. retail market insights for the plant-based industry. Good Food Institute, 2023.

Meat alternatives: life cycle assessment of most known meat substitutes. The International Journal of Life Cycle Assessment, 2015. (Alternate link)

Liberation Labs bags $30m to kit out ‘first-of-a-kind’ biomanufacturing hub in Indiana. AgFunderNews, 12 April 2023.

I went down the internet rabbit hole trying to figure out wtf vegan cheese is made of and I found articles like this one speaking praises of new food tech startups creating vegan alternatives to cheese that Actually work like cheese in cooking so I was like huh that's neat and I looked up more stuff about 'precision fermentation' and. This is not good.

Basically these new biotech companies are pressuring governments to let them build a ton of new factories and pushing for governments to pay for them or to provide tax breaks and subsidies, and the factories are gonna cost hundreds of millions of dollars and require energy sources. Like, these things will have to be expensive and HUGE

I feel like I've just uncovered the tip of the "lab grown meat" iceberg. There are a bajillion of these companies (the one mentioned in the first article a $750 MILLION tech startup) that are trying to create "animal-free" animal products using biotech and want to build large factories to do it on a large scale

I'm trying to use google to find out about the energy requirements of such facilities and everything is really vague and hand-wavey about it like this article that's like "weeeeeell electricity can be produced using renewables" but it does take a lot of electricity, sugars, and human labor. Most of the claims about its sustainability appear to assume that we switch over to renewable electricity sources and/or use processes that don't fully exist yet.

I finally tracked down the source of some of the more radical claims about precision fermentation, and it comes from a think tank RethinkX that released a report claiming that the livestock industry will collapse by 2030, and be replaced by a system they're calling...

Food-as-Software, in which individual molecules engineered by scientists are uploaded to databases – molecular cookbooks that food engineers anywhere in the world can use to design products in the same way that software developers design apps.

I'm finding it hard to be excited about this for some odd reason

Where's the evidence for lower environmental impacts. That's literally what we're here for.

There will be an increase in the amount of electricity used in the new food system as the production facilities that underpin it rely on electricity to operate.

well that doesn't sound good.

This will, however, be offset by reductions in energy use elsewhere along the value chain. For example, since modern meat and dairy products will be produced in a sterile environment where the risk of contamination by pathogens is low, the need for refrigeration in storage and retail will decrease significantly.

Oh, so it will be better for the Earth because...we won't need to refrigerate. ????????

Oh Lord Jesus give me some numerical values.

Modern foods will be about 10 times more efficient than a cow at converting feed into end products because a cow needs energy via feed to maintain and build its body over time. Less feed consumed means less land required to grow it, which means less water is used and less waste is produced. The savings are dramatic – more than 10-25 times less feedstock, 10 times less water, five times less energy and 100 times less land.

There is nothing else in this report that I can find that provides evidence for a lower carbon footprint. Supposedly, an egg white protein produced through a similar process has been found to reduce environmental impacts, but mostly everything seems very speculative.

And crucially none of these estimations are taking into account the enormous cost and resource investment of constructing large factories that use this technology in the first place (existing use is mostly for pharmaceutical purposes)

It seems like there are more tech startups attempting to use this technology to create food than individual scientific papers investigating whether it's a good idea. Seriously, Google Scholar and JSTOR have almost nothing. The tech of the sort that RethinkX is describing barely exists.

Apparently Liberation Labs is planning to build the first large-scale precision fermentation facility in Richmond, Indiana come 2024 because of the presence of "a workforce experienced in manufacturing"

And I just looked up Richmond, Indiana and apparently, as of RIGHT NOW, the town is in the aftermath of a huge fire at a plastics recycling plant and is full of toxic debris containing asbestos and the air is full of toxic VOCs and hydrogen cyanide. ???????????? So that's how having a robust industrial sector is working out for them so far.

[evilminji]

You know what I think would be neat?

Loki, the Sky Walker himself, when he fell beyond the trees branches but before that Purple fucker could get him... felt A path, much like the hidden ones he'd wandered for YEARS, and franticly tries to catch himself.

After all, he let go in a moment of incredible emotional distress. But that moment passes. The fear kicks in. The natural, strategist's, "survival at all costs" primal drive starts SCREAMING. You grab for the ledge. Try to STOP your fall.

But~!

What if? What he was FEELING?

Was a Natural Fuckin Portal.

And Loki is no slouch! He manages to change his trajectory. His mind is still in shambles, he's an emotional wreck, mascara probably running, just? Having THE WORST month or so of his life. He's too pretty for this bullshit, he would insist, if he wasn't FALLING THROUGH THE VOID.

He's made some choices.

They may have been ill advised.

Possibly even terrible ideas, actually.

But he's come too far to die NOW. And if his brother's insane adventures and hare brained schemes haven't killed him, then THIS sure as shit won't be putting him in an graves. He refuses to allow it.

He expects to slam face first into alien dirt. At speed. It? Is going to HURT, he knows.

But that is not what happens.

He passes through a yawning portal, into Veridian skys, and slams face first into the back of passing youth. Knock BOTH of them from the sky and through several nearby floating islands.

He nearly gets punched for it.

The boy only stopping, fist merely moments from his faces, when he seems to finally register the state Loki is in. The next thing Loki knows? He's being rushed off Yeti healers. A FUSS is being made.

The youth is strong arming him into being a guest in his... frankly ALARMING home.

Loki likes the Gothic one. She seems like she bites. But the boy's parents BAFFLE him. The boy, "Danny" just? Showed up with him? And declared he was a "visiting Fenton Cousin"? SURELY that can not WORK! Boy, they are your PARENTS, they know better then YOU who is and is not rela-.....

How did that work.

No, HOW DID THAT WORK? Child answer me. And explain the violent cold meats.

Just? Loki, intellectually stimulated, like a cat in a fresh new environment. Removed from stressors. Not the strongest being around by far, but enjoying the challenge none the less. Fulfilling his life long trained role of "king's advisory" in an almost relaxed Highly Sarcastic Uncle On Vacation Who Is Also A Semi-Feral Cat sorta way to this new Child King he found.

Loved and respected for Being Loki. Just Loki. No preconceived notions to fulfill, no roles he must play, just... Be Loki.

Best part? Asgard and Thor and such? Irrelevant! Their own closed system far, far away. He's finally FREE of the shadow Asgard casts. He's taken "starting over in a new country to escape a toxic home life" to a whole new weight class unique just to him. The dude is THRIVING.

And? I bet he REALLY enjoys tormenting Vlad.

@ailithnight @hdgnj @hypewinter @lolottes @nerdpoe

[raekensluver]

glasses of desire

description: walking into the office and seeing your boyfriend spencer reid in his glasses for the first time ends in a night you both will never forget.

pairing: boyfriend!spencer reid x fem!!reader

contains: 18+, Minors DNI, unprotected sex, p in v, spencer with his glasses!!, reader and spencer flirting relentlessly, reader is feral.

song rec: 505 by arctic monkeys- "when you look at me like that, my darlin', what did you expect?"

w.c: 4.2k

an: first time writing smut?? thanks to all of the other smut writers' work i have read over the years to help me actually put this into words. this post is my official declaration of my love for spencer's glasses. also, pretend that it isn't always raining in my fics....i just love the rain.

the rain had stopped just as you stepped out of the car, leaving the sidewalks glistening with a fresh coat of water. you took a deep breath, filling your lungs with the sweet, clean scent that always followed a storm. it was a new day, a new chance to prove yourself. the bau building loomed ahead, a stark contrast to the serene quiet of the morning. you had been preparing for this moment for what felt like an eternity, and now it was finally here. the glass doors whispered open, inviting you into the bustling hub of the fbi's most elite team.

your heart raced as you stepped inside, the echo of your heels on the linoleum floor announcing your arrival. the hum of conversation and the click of keyboards grew louder as you approached the open area where the agents' desks were situated. you searched the sea of faces, looking for the one that would make your pulse quicken. and there he was, spencer reid, your boyfriend of a couple of whirlwind months. his eyes were focused on the documents in front of him, his brow furrowed in concentration. the sight of him in his element made your stomach flutter.

but something was different about him today. he was wearing glasses. it wasn't a dramatic change, but it was enough to make your legs feel a bit weaker. you had never seen him with glasses on before, and the intellectual aura they poured only served to amplify his already irresistible charm. you couldn't help the smile that spread across your face as you took in the sight of him, his brown eyes peeking over the black frames, making him look both scholarly and incredibly sexy.

your stride grew more purposeful as you approached his desk, your confidence brimming. you knew that glasses were a simple accessory, but on spencer, they were a declaration of his intelligence. you felt your own heart rate spike as you took in the way they sat on the bridge of his nose, the way they slightly magnified his eyes, making them seem even more intense than usual. it was as if the universe had conspired to make him more attractive just for you.

as you reached him, you leaned over his desk, placing your hands on either side of the keyboard and invading his personal space. "well, if it isn't dr. reid," you teased, your voice a low purr. he looked up, surprised by your sudden proximity, and you noticed the flicker of excitement in his gaze when he saw her. he was used to your flirting, but today it was more intense, more playful. "i see you're dressed to kill," you added, your eyes lingering on the glasses.

spencer blinked a few times, his cheeks flushing slightly. "just trying to see the bad guys more clearly," he quipped, trying to play it cool. but you could tell he was enjoying the attention. you leaned closer, your breath tickling his ear. "they're working for me," you murmured, before straightening up and giving him a wink. the other agents in the room had noticed the exchange, casting curious glances their way, but you didn't seem to care. the tension between you two was palpable, a silent dance of desire that had become a familiar routine.

his eyes followed you as you made your way to your own desk, the glasses perched on the edge of his nose as he watched. the rest of the team greeted you with nods and smiles, but you could feel his gaze like a warm hand on the small of your back. the nonchalance in his posture was a facade, a clever trick he played to hide the excitement bubbling beneath the surface.

once settled in your chair, you couldn't resist glancing over at him every few minutes. the way the light reflected off the lenses, the way they occasionally slipped down his nose only to be pushed back up with the tip of his finger. it was a small gesture, but it was oddly endearing. you felt your resolve to keep things professional wavering, but the thrill of the chase was too tantalizing to resist.

you decided to play it cool, burying yourself in paperwork and pretending not to notice the sly smiles that passed between the other agents. they knew about your relationship, of course, but the sight of you two flirting so openly was still a novelty. it didn't take long before the curiosity got the better of you. you stood up, stretching your legs, and made your way over to the coffee machine. as you poured yourself a cup, you felt his gaze on you. you turned and met his eyes, raising an eyebrow in question.

spencer's cheeks turned a deeper shade of red as he pretended to focus on his work. you knew you had him. the idea of you being attracted to his glasses was clearly flattering him, making him feel more confident than usual. it was a power dynamic you hadn't quite explored in your relationship, but one that seemed to be working in your favor today.

you sat back down at your desk, your eyes occasionally flicking back to him. every time you caught his gaze, he'd look away, only to find it drifting back to you moments later. it was a silent game of cat and mouse, and you were both enjoying the thrill of it. his shyness was adorable, a stark contrast to the fierce intellect that you knew lay behind those spectacles.

you bit your lip, trying to suppress a grin. his shyness was so endearing, it made you want to tease him even more. but you had a job to do, a place to prove yourself. so, you turned your attention to the stack of files that awaited you, but not before shooting him one more sultry glance over your shoulder.

the day passed in a blur of briefings and casework, but every so often, you'd catch spencer stealing glances at you. it was as if the glasses had unlocked a new side of him, one that was more open to your flirtations. every time he did, you'd reward him with a coy smile or a flutter of your eyelashes, keeping the tension simmering.

during a brief lull, you found yourself standing beside him, both of you pouring over a map of the city. "you know," you whispered, your voice a caress against his ear, "i've been thinking about taking you out for dinner tonight. someplace quiet where we can talk about…work."

spencer's hand paused over the map, his eyes widening slightly. "work?" he repeated, his voice a tad too high. you nodded, your smile wicked. "among other things," you added, your finger tracing a line along the edge of the frame. "like how much these glasses are turning me on."

his eyes darted around the room, making sure no one was listening in. "you're terrible," he murmured, but his mouth twitched upwards. "but also, yes. dinner sounds great."

you stepped back, giving him space, but the air between you remained charged. the rest of the day was a delicious dance of anticipation, every shared look and accidental brush of your hands sending a jolt of electricity through your body. you could feel the chemistry building, like a storm brewing on the horizon, ready to unleash its full force.

as the clock ticked closer to the end of your shift, you couldn't wait any longer. you leaned over his desk again, your hand brushing against his arm. "spencer," you said, your voice low and sultry, "i think it's time we called it a day." his eyes snapped to yours, the heat in them unmistakable. "i have a feeling tonight's going to be…enlightening," you added with a wink.

his gaze lingered on your lips before he nodded, standing up. "let's go," he said, his voice a whisper. the two of you gathered your things and made your way out of the bau, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife. the rain had returned, lightly misting the windows of the car as you drove to the restaurant. the soft patter against the glass created a cozy atmosphere inside, the perfect backdrop for your date.

dinner was a delicate dance of conversation and flirtation, your eyes never leaving his for long. every bite of food, every sip of wine, felt like a sensual invitation. you found yourself leaning in closer, your knees brushing under the table, as you discussed the intricacies of the latest case. spencer's eyes never left yours, his mind clearly racing with thoughts that had nothing to do with serial killers and crime scenes.

as the evening progressed, the conversation grew more personal. you shared stories from your past, the kind you had been saving for a moment just like this. stories that made him laugh, stories that made him lean in closer, his hand brushing yours as he listened intently. it was as if the glasses had given you a peek into a more vulnerable side of him, one that was eager to connect on a deeper level.

you noticed his eyes lingering on your lips as you spoke, and the urge to kiss him was almost overwhelming. the chemistry between you was palpable, a living, breathing entity that filled the small space of the restaurant booth. the air grew heavier with every shared smile, every meaningful glance.

dinner was delicious, but the real feast was the anticipation that simmered between you. the tension was so intense it was almost tangible, like a third person at the table. every touch, every shared laugh, only added fuel to the fire. by the time dessert arrived, you could hardly stand it anymore.

you leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. "spencer, can we get out of here?" you asked, your eyes pleading. he nodded, his own eyes dark with desire. the two of you paid the bill and practically sprinted to the car, the rain a gentle serenade to your escalating passion.

once inside, you didn't bother with the small talk. you reached over and cupped his cheek, pulling his face towards yours. your lips met in a fiery kiss, one that spoke of months of pent-up desire and the promise of what was to come. the rain grew heavier outside, the rhythm matching the beating of your hearts.

spencer's hand found the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. his glasses fogged slightly, but he didn't seem to care. if anything, it only added to the intensity of the moment. you could feel the heat radiating from his body, the way he leaned into you, eager to get closer.

you pulled away, both of you breathless. "we should go," you murmured, your voice thick with need. he nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. the drive to your apartment was a blur of desire, the windshield wipers slapping against the rain in a rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart.

once inside, you didn't waste any time. you led him to the bedroom, the heat between you growing with every step. you took his glasses off, setting them gently on the nightstand. the action was almost ceremonial, as if removing them was the final barrier between you and the passion you had been holding back all day.

his eyes searched yours, questioning and hopeful. you leaned in, your breath hot against his skin. "i've wanted to do this all day," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the rain. you kissed him again, this time slower, more deliberate. your hands roamed over his body, exploring every inch of him like you were learning him for the first time.

his hands followed suit, gently tracing the curves of your waist and hips, his touch setting your skin on fire. the fabric of your clothes felt like a prison, keeping you from feeling his warmth. you stepped back, breaking the kiss. "i need you," you said, your voice a hoarse whisper. without a word, spencer reached for the zipper at the back of your dress, his trembling hands a testament to his own desire.

the dress fell to the floor in a pool of fabric, revealing the matching lingerie you had chosen with him in mind. his eyes widened, taking in the sight of you. you stepped closer, placing your hands on his chest. "are you sure you're ready for this?" you asked, a playful smile dancing on your lips.

spencer swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving yours. "more than ready," he murmured, his voice a low growl. you reached up and kissed him again, your hands sliding up to his neck, his glasses once again forgotten. the rain outside had turned into a thunderstorm, the rumble of thunder echoing the passion building within the four walls of your apartment.

you led him to the bed, the anticipation in the air so thick it was almost suffocating. the lightning outside cast a strobe-like glow, illuminating your entwined bodies in brief, electric flashes. spencer's hands roamed over your skin, his touch gentle yet firm, as if he was afraid you'd disappear if he didn't hold on tight enough. you moaned into his mouth, the sound lost in the symphony of the storm.

his kisses grew more urgent, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as he pulled you closer. your hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin against yours. the fabric fell away, revealing the taut muscles that lay beneath, a testament to his dedication to his work and his mind. you traced the lines of his chest with your fingertips, memorizing every inch of him.

his hands found the hooks of your bra, deftly releasing them with the precision of a locksmith. the fabric fell away, revealing your breasts to the cool air of the room. he groaned, his eyes raking over you with a hunger that made you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. his mouth followed the path of your hands, kissing and nipping as he went.

you slid your own hands down to his belt, the leather whispering against the fabric of his pants as you unbuckled it. your heart raced as you lowered the zipper, his arousal pressing against the material. you pushed the pants down his hips, revealing his boxers, which did little to hide his desire for you. you stepped back, taking in the sight of him.

spencer's eyes never left yours, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. the thunder outside seemed to sync with the beating of your hearts, a natural crescendo to the passionate moment unfolding between you. you reached for him, your hands shaking slightly as you slid his boxers down, freeing him. the sight of him made your knees wobble, but you remained steadfast, eager to explore this newfound territory.

his eyes closed for a brief moment, his head falling back as you wrapped your hand around him. his skin was hot and smooth, a testament to the fire burning between you. you began to stroke him gently, feeling him pulse in your hand. he let out a low groan, his hips jerking forward. "you're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice strained with need. you felt a surge of power, knowing that you had this effect on him.

his hands found their way to your hips, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just above the band of your panties. you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as he pulled you closer, your bodies now aligned. the rain outside had become a cacophony, the sound of the drops hitting the windowpane in a frenzied rhythm that only served to heighten the tension in the room.

his mouth traveled down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that made you shiver. you could feel his breath, hot and moist, against your skin as he moved lower. your hands found his shoulders, gripping tightly as he kissed along your collarbone. the anticipation was almost too much, a sweet torture that had you begging for release.

his fingers found the waistband of your panties, sliding them down your legs with a gentle tug. you stepped out of them, leaving you both fully exposed to each other. the lightning flashed again, casting an eerie glow across the room, highlighting the intensity of the moment. you straddled him, his length pressing against your core. he reached up, cupping your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples into hard peaks.

you moaned, the sound mingling with the storm outside. "spencer," you breathed, your eyes searching his for any sign of hesitation. but all you found was a mirror of your own desire. he looked up at you, his expression a mix of awe and lust. "i want you," you whispered, positioning yourself over him.

his eyes never left yours as you slowly lowered yourself onto him, the feel of him filling you up sending waves of pleasure through your body. you gasped as he entered you, the sensation of being so completely connected to him making you feel alive in a way you hadn't in months. the thunder rumbled in the distance, the sound muffled by the pounding of your hearts.

his hands found your hips, guiding you as you began to move. the rhythm was slow at first, a gentle rocking that grew more urgent with every stroke. the lightning outside painted your bodies in stark relief, the shadows playing across your skin like a lover's caress. you leaned forward, your breasts brushing against his chest as you kissed him, your tongues dancing together.

spencer's breath hitched as you picked up the pace, his grip tightening on your hips. the storm outside was a cacophony of sound, the thunder a bass line to the symphony of your passion. the rain pounded against the windows, each drop a drumbeat that matched the rhythm of your bodies. your moans grew louder, mingling with the sounds of the tempest.

his thumbs found your clit, teasing it in a way that made your eyes roll back in your head. the pleasure was almost too much to bear, a sweet agony that had you gasping for breath. you leaned into the sensation, your hips grinding against his hand as he stroked you in time with your movements. the room was a whirlwind of sensation, the smell of rain and desire heavy in the air.

the storm outside seemed to crescendo with your passion, the thunder a thunderous applause to the intimate show unfolding between you. your nails dug into his shoulders as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge, your body tightening around him. "spencer," you moaned, his name a prayer on your lips.

his eyes remained locked on yours, the intensity of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. "i'm right here," he assured you, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate in every part of your being. you leaned down, capturing his mouth in a kiss that was both fierce and tender. the lightning flashed, casting a strobe effect over your intertwined bodies, a visual representation of the electricity that crackled between you.

his hands moved to your waist, helping to guide your movements as you rode him. every thrust sent bolts of pleasure shooting through your body, making it harder to hold back the orgasm that was building within you. the rain was a soothing lullaby, the perfect backdrop to the symphony of passion playing out in the bedroom.

you felt your climax approaching, the tension in your body coiling tighter with each stroke. your breathing grew ragged, matching the erratic beat of the storm outside. spencer's eyes never left yours, the love and desire in them making you feel seen in a way you hadn't felt in a long time. "i'm going to come," you warned him, your voice a breathless whisper.

his own eyes darkened with lust as he nodded, his hips pushing up to meet your movements. "me too," he managed to say, his voice strained. you could feel him swell inside of you, his arms tensing as he approached his peak.

you leaned back, bracing yourself on his chest, watching the play of emotions across his face. the way his eyes squeezed shut and his jaw clenched, the way his breath caught in his throat. it was a sight you would never grow tired of, one that fueled your own desire. your hips moved faster, chasing the release that was so close you could almost taste it.

spencer's hands slid up your body, his fingers digging into your skin as he felt himself get closer. "yes," he breathed, his voice a harsh whisper. "yes, like that." you bit your lip, the sensation of his body beneath yours, his every response to your touch, pushing you closer to the precipice.

you leaned back in, your breasts brushing against his chest, the sensation sending sparks through your body. "spencer," you moaned, his name a prayer on your lips. "i'm…i'm almost there." his eyes snapped open, the intensity in them making your heart race. "me too," he said, his voice strained.

his hips bucked upwards, meeting your own movements with an urgency that told you he was close as well. the storm outside seemed to peak with your passion, the thunder a crescendo to the symphony of moans and gasps filling the room. the lightning flashed, painting your sweat-slicked bodies in stark contrasts of light and shadow.

his thumbs circled your clit, the pressure building until you couldn't hold back anymore. you threw your head back, crying out his name as the orgasm crashed over you. the world around you faded to white-hot pleasure, your body trembling uncontrollably as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over you. spencer's own release followed quickly, his body tensing beneath you as he came with a shout that was lost in the cacophony of the storm.

you collapsed onto him, both of you panting and spent. the rain continued to fall outside, the sound a gentle reminder of the tumultuous passion that had just taken place. your heart hammered in your chest, the aftershocks of pleasure still pulsing through your body.

spencer wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly as if afraid to let you go. "wow," he murmured, his voice filled with wonder. "that was…" but he trailed off, unable to find the words. you giggled, pressing a kiss to his neck. "yeah," you agreed, your voice muffled against his skin. "that was something."

you lay there for a few moments, listening to the storm outside and the steady beat of his heart beneath you. the warmth of his body was a comfort, a stark contrast to the coolness of the rain-soaked world beyond the windows. the room was bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting a warm, intimate light over the two of you.

you pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes. they were still glazed with passion, but a hint of uncertainty had crept in. "are you okay?" you asked, stroking his cheek. he nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "more than okay," he replied, his voice still a little hoarse from your earlier passion. "i just…i didn't expect it to be like that."

you leaned down to kiss him softly, tasting the salt on his skin. "neither did i," you admitted. "but i wouldn't change a single second of it." spencer's arms tightened around you, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on your back. "me neither," he murmured. the storm outside had begun to die down, the rain now a gentle patter against the windows.

the moment was peaceful, a stark contrast to the passion that had just consumed you both. you felt a sense of belonging, of rightness, that you hadn't felt in a long time. it was as if the universe had conspired to bring you to this exact moment, with him.

spencer brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch tender and loving. "i love you," he said, his voice raw with emotion. you looked up at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears. "i love you too," you whispered back, the words feeling both inadequate and incredibly powerful.

his lips found yours again, the kiss gentle and reassuring. it was as if he was promising to be there, no matter what the future held for you both. the storm outside had become a gentle lullaby, the rain a comforting white noise that washed away the tension of the day.

you pulled away slightly, a smile playing on your lips. "you know," you began, your voice still a little shaky from the aftermath of your passion, "i think i'm going to enjoy seeing you in glasses a lot more often." spencer chuckled, a warm sound that rumbled through his chest. "i'll keep that in mind," he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

his fingers traced the curve of your hip, his touch feather-light and reverent. the room was still, the storm outside a distant memory. you could feel the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart beneath you. "i've never felt like this before," he admitted, his voice a soft whisper. "me neither," you said, your heart swelling with love for this complex, brilliant man.

you pulled the covers over you both, snuggling closer into his embrace. the bed was a cocoon of warmth and comfort, the perfect sanctuary from the chaos of the world outside. his hand found yours, his fingers lacing through yours in a silent promise. you closed your eyes, feeling more content than you had in a long time.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Need Steven with a freak. Let’s say he’s been dating this girl for a while and he’s ready to take it to the next step. He’s super worried he’ll make you all uncomfortable and stuff when he asks but the next thing he know he’s being ridden till the break of dawn

(I’m ovulating I am so sorry-)

OMG SAMESIES AND I. AM. ✨FERAL✨ RN

Please

Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Smut, just smut af, protected sex (implant), oral sex (m!receiving) creampie, overstimulation

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: This lil dress here is what I had in mind for the outfit in the start. (I'm a sucker for sunflower patterns)

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

It had to be tonight. He just couldn't take it anymore. None of them could.

But Steven was the worst about his urges. He felt awkward and worried it would chase you away, the first girlfriend he ever got to finally have; all the others didn't understand his... Problems.

Problems he later learned were triggered by Marc (and in some cases, Jake), but you? You took them in stride, like a duck to water.

The moment he first saw you, his breath had been sucked right out of him. Marc and Jake went dead silent, too.

It was a gloomy, dreary day; the rain coming down in heavy droplets, casting a grim light down on the London streets.

But there you were, walking around the museum, looking at exhibits and scribbling notes in your tiny notebook with oh, so many post-its sticking out, fattening the tiny book until it looked close to bursting.

You were the only ray of sunshine on that day, your yellow dress that hugged your body just right, little sunflowers covering the fabric. Your hair done just the right way to accentuate your face as your eyes studied each artifact and bauble you saw.

To say the boys were instantly smitten was an understatement.

It took weeks of bumping into you to work up the courage to talk to you, and it was only when you came in to buy a rather dinky looking scarab plushie in the gift shop. It's this conversation where he finds out you're in school, trying to become an archaeologist and historian.

Steven's dream girl, and he had hearts in his eyes at every word you spoke.

He couldn't help but blubber out a request for a date, and you agreed.

The rest... History in the making.

You'd been dating for two months, but already he could feel the pull of urges he didn't necessarily indulge in often.

Sure, he, Marc and Jake could indulge in it themselves, trying to take the edge off. But sometimes it felt like the more he indulged in it, the more intense his fantasies got.

He simply couldn't keep tugging his cock for momentary relief anymore, imagining it was your soft hand, your mouth, your tits or something else wrapped around his cock that had him practically drooling: your sweet cunt.

But tonight? Tonight was the night. He was afraid to bring it up because he didn't want you to feel like he was moving too fast; and he could barely function when you admitted you were a little surprised he waited so long. (And teased him a little for how sometimes he just wasn't stealthy when trying to conceal a surprise boner.)

You'd told him that you thought about him too, and that you were more than willing to let him indulge.

But it was from there that you found out that Steven had never actually been intimate with anyone. Jake and Marc had, yes. But poor Steven has just never had the luck.

And that's how Steven found himself in this precarious situation, you on your knees, your pretty little mouth wrapped around his cock as you bobbed your head so sweetly, tongue laving around his length, hollowing and sucking your cheeks with every drag, tracing the vein that ran up the side of him.

He couldn't stop with the babbling praises, the sweet petting in your hair.

Honestly, if you knew he was this weak? You'd have jumped his bones a lot sooner. Probably after the fourth or fifth date. It was rare you found someone who was intellectually a joy to talk to (not excluding Marc and Jake) who was so handsome and sweet to you.

One hand was thrust down into your panties, playing with yourself, dress hiked up so you could have better access as you continue sucking him off, the lewd sounds coming from both of you more suited to a pornography than the quiet air of his flat.

You could feel your orgasm cresting already, but you knew that you didn't want to just cum on your fingers like you had so many times before, you wanted to feel Steven inside of you and god did you want to drain him for everything he had.

Steven made a whine, babbling your name again.

"L-luv, I'm--I'm gonna--ugh--"

He couldn't even get the sentence out before you felt him spill down your throat, his hips bucking suddenly you gagged, carefully adjusting so you didn't choke as he pumped his load into your greedy mouth.

Well... you weren't surprised he didn't last very long...

He immediately started rattling off apologies that had you giggling.

God damn, you were going to enjoy draining him. Maybe Marc and Jake, too.

The blush that spread up to his ears made him look absolutely adorable.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--" He stammered out, covering his face. "In--in your mouth, I--"

With the fluid grace of a cat you climb into his lap, straddling him.

You cup his cheeks and kiss him softly, before pulling away.

"You're alright." You assure him, peppering his adorable face with kisses.

It's when he squeezes your thighs and ruts up into you, his face buried in your neck that you realize he's still hard.

You bite your lip and kiss his ear.

"Steven, do you want me to ride you?"

"Ohgodsyesplease." He breathes out on a whimper.

You hastily line his cock up with your hole and sink down, taking him in inch by delicious inch until you're stretched beautifully around him.

You tip your head back with a groan. He certainly had girth for days, that was for sure.

"I'm... Already close. Can you help me?" You say, giving him a sweet pout that makes his heart jump up into his throat.

"Y-yes, I can--"

The way he keeps cutting himself off makes you want to cuddle him and cover him with kisses, but at the same time fuck him until his legs go numb.

Maybe you'd do the former later.

You pull his fingers into your mouth and he makes a soft moan when you suck his fingers, swirling your tongue around his calloused digits until you deemed them wet enough.

Then, you guide his hand down your body to your throbbing clit, and show him the rhythm that'd work for you best.

"Try to keep it in time with me, m'kay?" You groan, grinding down on him in one slow, languid movement.

His eyes roll back, but he nods and keeps his fingers over your clit, massaging the bundle of nerves in time with each downward stroke of your hips.

Every bit of him had you aching, from his electric touches to his fat cock spearing you open and fucking your weeping pussy in the best way possible, you kicked yourself mentally again for not bringing up sex sooner.

Steven's cock felt far better inside of you than your fingers or your toys at home. He felt hot, he felt real. And real is what you'd been lacking lately.

Whatever Steven would give you, you planned on taking happily. You would--

Your eyes flutter open when Steven suddenly arches his back and hits you deeper than you expected him to; opening your mouth in a quiet cry, no sound escapes as your orgasm hits you and Steven continues swiping at your clit, fucking you from below as you shudder and collapse on top of him as he continues breathing on the hot embers of your orgasm to keep it going for as long as possible.

"Please." He whines in your ear.

"Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease."

"In-inside--" You whimper, biting down on his shoulder, earning a toe-curling moan from him.

"You can do it inside."

He grits his teeth and let's out a hissing cry, veins popping in his neck and forehead as he fucks his spend up into you, his orgasm burning and flaying his nerves raw as he pumps you full.

He drops back onto the cushions of the couch and sofa, breathing hard, desperately trying to drag oxygen back into his lungs.

Reality however, is a cruel mistress and he looks down at where you two were connected.

"Oh, b-bloody hell. I--I didn't--"

"Relax, hon." You giggle, leaning back with one hand braced on one of his knees for support, your other hand trailing lazily down to where his cock still split you open, his cum leaking out around his length. The sight of you sent a dizzying spiral through him.

"I'm safe, promise. I have an implant. Still good for another three years."

The thought that he could keep doing this for three years--

His mind went blank when you grind down on his lap, feeling his cock stir to life despite the fact he was now exhausted.

"L-luv, I... I don't think I can..." He panted desperately.

Your brace your hands on his chest and start bouncing on his lap, grinning wickedly the whole time.

"I'm gonna keep going until I drain you dry, sweetheart. Get comfortable."

The gulp he made was audible in the space you shared, as was the sinful slap of skin on skin.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ riding Ford and getting multiple orgasms out of him 

author note: a little request from ao3 “Reader (by the request of Bill) riding Ford and getting multiple orgasms out of him, basically typical overstimulation stuff? :]” 

tags: nsfw, p in v, riding, overstimulation, praise and degrading, triangle!Bill, tendrils

little bonus to this fic

It’s not just about the way he looks at you when you’re close, or how he touches you like he’s unsure if he deserves it. It’s the little things, those soft gasps he lets slip when you press your lips to his skin as you tease him, the way his hands tremble when you pull him closer, whispering praises in his ear. 

Tonight, though, you want more than just the sweetness. You want him broken, to see the desperation in his eyes, to hear him beg. You want to take your time, savour him, consume him whole. It’s not just about pleasure; it’s about watching Stanford fucking Pines fall apart, piece by piece, under your touch. 

He’s always been the reserved one, the serious one, always ready to protect you at all costs, the intellectual, the scientist who can’t seem to let go of his fears and doubts. But with you, Ford is different. He lets go of his mask, just a little, and it makes you want him even more. 

You start slow, leaning close, kissing his beautiful lips with a tenderness that quickly turns into something deeper as you climb into his lap. It takes Ford’s breath away, and you pull him closer, your hands caressing his chest, guiding him onto his back. 

“Relax,” you murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth, then trailing your lips along his jawline, the scratch of his stubble against your skin making you smile. His chest rises and falls sharply beneath your palms, and you can feel his heart racing, how it betrays his nerves.

“Darling. . .” dear god, his voice is already trembling, his nails digging into your skin just enough to show he’s trying to hold back. But you know it’s only a matter of time before he crumbles. Ford lets out a quiet sound as you kiss him again, this time deeper, your tongue coaxing his lips apart.

You move to his neck, lips pressing delicate kisses along the curve of his throat. He tilts his head back, letting you explore, giving you more space and skin to mark. “You’re so beautiful like this,” you whisper, dragging your tongue over the spot where his pulse thrums wildly captivating beneath his skin.

He shudders as you nip gently. “Darling, sweetheart. . .” Ford’s always-so-calm voice is now already broken with anticipation, and it makes you proud of yourself. “you’re. . . quite bold tonight, aren’t you?” he smiles awkwardly.

“Bold? Sweetheart’s not bold, IQ. She’s fucking feral. Look at her, climbing all over you like she’s about to eat you alive!” Bill’s voice cuts through Ford’s mind like a razor. 

Ford groans softly, tilting his head back, arching as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, flicking your tongue out to taste the sensitive skin there and lick the little bites you made. “Y-you don’t need to rush, love,” he stammers, though the way his cock throbs beneath you tells a different story. 

“Oh, Sixer, would you relax? You’ve got a total bombshell in your lap and you’re too busy being a nerd! Just sit back and let ’er take the reins, huh?”

You laugh softly, pressing your hips down just enough to make him gasp. “Rush? But I’ve been thinking about this all day.” 

“Christ, nerd, she’s fucking desperate! You’d better not disappoint her, though that’d be hilarious.”

Ford flinches, his hands tightening their hold on you, but you soothe him, threading your fingers into his graying hair. “Hey,” you say softly, calming him with a kiss to his temple. “It’s just us tonight, okay? Let me take care of you. I want to make you feel good.”

Ford knows you aren’t alone, but he nods, letting himself sink further into your warm touch. 

The kisses grow deeper, more demanding, your tongue sliding against his as you press your body closer, feeling him hard and throbbing beneath you, so needy already. You grind down against him, a slow roll of your hips that makes him gasp, his head tipping back into the pillows. 

“Darling,” he chokes out, “y-you don’t have to— ahh. . .”

“Shhh,” you soothe, your hands running down his chest, caressing his pretty scars gently, feeling the tension in his body. “let me love you, Ford.”

And with that, you kiss your way lower, down his collarbone, leaving marks as you go. Your fingers find his belt, and he stiffens beneath you.

“Don’t be nervous,” you giggle, kissing another scar on his chest as you slowly undo the buckle. “I’ll be gentle.” 

“That’s pathetic, Sixer. Don’t tell me you’ll cum before she even gets your pants off.” 

He can’t even speak, just nod and watch you with desperation written all over his face as you free his cock from the confines of his pants. Poor man squirms beneath you, all six fingers sliding over your body, unsure of what to do. But you feel like heaven and he could stay like this forever.

Ford’s cock springs free, and he exhales sharply at the sudden exposure. His painfully hot length makes contact with the cool air, and it’s all too much, too fast. He’s achingly hard, his shaft twitching against his stomach, already leaking from how worked up he is. The veins bulge slightly beneath his skin, a visual testament to his desperation. You bite your lip, unable to hide your smile as you run your thumb over the sensitive tip, spreading the bead of precum. His entire body jerks under your touch, hips bucking helplessly as a strangled cry escapes him. 

“Oh, come on, Stanford. You’re shaking already? She’s barely touched you!”

“Please, please don’t stop, I need more. . . ahh, ahnn. . .” Ford’s head falls back.

You give him what he wants. Ford's cock twitches helplessly in your grip as you wrap your fingers around his thickness, stroking him slowly from base to tip. Your thumb brushes over the sensitive, leaking tip again and you smirk. “You’re so hard,” you murmur, admiration lacing your voice as Ford’s moans fill the room. His hips buck upward, driven by desperate need.

“Oh, this is gonna be interesting. Place your bets, sweetheart! Two thrusts? One? How long before Sixer cums like the pathetic man he is?”

Ford whimpers, the sound breaking and soft, so damn apologetic. It only makes you want to ruin him more. And Ford wants it, he wants all of it, all of you.

He shudders, his hands gripping the sheets in a futile attempt to hold onto control. But it’s slipping away fast. “Darling, please, please—”you cut him off with a kiss, your lips crashing into his and swallowing his moans. Your hand continues stroking him, never relenting, only giving him more pleasure.

“God, Ford,” you whisper against his lips, pulling away just enough to watch his needy beautiful face. “You’re so big. . . I can’t wait to feel you inside me.”

Ford’s eyes flutter open, locking onto yours. God, he looks wrecked already, lips trembling, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide with desire.

“Aw, look at you two lovebirds. Makes me sick. No, really, keep going, I’m enjoying the show.”

You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Does that feel good?” you coo, your grip tightening around his aching cock.

“Y-yes,” he whines helplessly. “so good! oh goddd—” the proof of it lies in the way his whole body trembles, his thighs tense beneath you, and your hand slick with his leaking precum. He thrusts up into your grip and he’s losing it. 

But it’s not enough for you. You need more. Your free hand slides down to your own heat, tugging your panties aside. You spread yourself open for him, letting him see everything, how wet you are, how your pussy clenches on nothing, dripping and desperate. “Look at me, Ford. Look at what you do to me.” 

Ford’s eyes snap open at your words, and the sight nearly undoes him. His cock jerks in your hand, more precum spilling onto your fingers. “Honey, you’re s-so beautiful. I— I love you so much. . .” 

“Touch me,” you demand, though it comes out as a plea when you guide one of his six-fingered hands between your thighs. His fingers tremble as they slide against your wet folds. Another groan tears from his throat when he feels how soaked you are.

“Right here,” you beg, pressing his fingertips to your clit. A soft moan escapes you as he begins to circle it, biting his lip.

“At least pretend you know what you’re doing, Sixer. Fake it for her sake!”

Ford’s long fingers move tentatively at first, spreading your wetness. “You’re so wet,” he stutters in awe.

“For you, Ford, only for you,” you whisper, grinding against his hand. 

Ford’s touch grows bolder with every needy sound you make, his thumb finding just the right pressure on your puffy clit. Two fingers slide lower, teasing your dripping entrance. He swallows thickly, his gaze locked on yours as his long digits press into you. Ford curls his fingers inside, brushing that perfect spot that makes you cry out, your walls fluttering around him.

His cock throbs in your other hand, twitching, begging to feel your pussy around him. Pearls of cum drip down his length, making everything so deliciously messy. Your thumb rubs over the sensitive tip in rhythm with the way you ride his hand and it’s too much for him. 

“Darling, please. I— I need to be inside you. Pleasepleaseplease. . .”

You smile as another soft moan escapes your lips. Leaning down to kiss him again, swallowing his desperate mewls, you line his cock with your pussy. The thick, leaking tip presses against your dripping entrance, twitching there, so hot and ready to fill you.

“Do you want this?” you tease, letting the head of his cock slip just barely inside. 

“Ye-yes!” Ford gasps, his hips jerking upward. “Please, love! I’ll do anything. Just please—” 

You don’t make him wait any longer because yourself can’t too. Slowly, you lower yourself onto him, feeling the delicious stretch as you sink down, inch by inch. Your pussy takes him in, wetness welcoming him, the thickness of him stretching you in the most perfect way, leaving you breathless as you take all of him. Your walls flutter around his cock, gripping him tight and you both let out matching moans when he fills you completely.

Ford’s reaction is fucking beautiful. His hands fly to your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as his head falls back, a choked sob spilling from his lips. “Oh god! I can feel everything, fuck, love, you’re so tight, so warm. . .”

The moment you start to move, Ford’s entire body goes rigid, his breath breaking into soft, helpless gasps as he just lays there and lets you ride him. He tries to hold it together, but it’s useless. You’re too much, too perfect, too wet and tight for him, and he doesn’t even know what to do with himself anymore.

And then he’s coming. His hips buck uncontrollably, his cock throbbing as he spills inside you, a pathetic whine leaving his lips. 

You freeze, your eyes wide as you stare down at him, suddenly aware of his warm seed inside you. Ford. . . did he just. . .?

“Oh my fucking god, you actually came?! Holy shit, Sixer, I wasn’t serious about the two-thrust thing, but damn! You’re even more pathetic than I thought!” 

Ford’s face burns with shame as he buries it in his hands. “I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

“What’s wrong? Oh, nothing at all, Fordsy. Couldn’t even last five seconds, huh? That’s embarrassing.”

You can’t help but laugh, though it’s a soft, affectionate sound unlike Bill’s. “Ford,” you say gently, cupping his cute face and tilting it up to meet your gaze. “It’s okay. Really. It just means you felt really good, honey. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“Nah, you should be ashamed of yourself, IQ. But judging by that stupid look on your face, you’re too far gone to care.”

Oh, sweet heavens, he thinks, you’re too kind to him. Your hands slide up his chest, tangling in his hair as you kiss him again, your lips soft and loving, taking all his embarrassment away. His head is thrown back against the pillows, his eyes glassy, lips trembling like he’s trying to speak but can’t string a single coherent word together. 

“You feel— you feel, ahh. . . so fucking good, Ford,” you breathe as you bounce on him. Ford’s eyes roll back into his head, and he groans. You lean down, stroking his cheek with a tender hand, kissing him sweetly. “Shhh, you’re doing so good, baby,” you whisper, rolling your hips again, feeling his cock pulse as you grind down on him. 

“She’s fucking herself stupid on your cock, and you’re still useless. Can’t even thrust properly anymore, can you? Just lying there, letting her ride you like the limp little mess you are.”

Ford’s hands twitch at your waist like he wants to protest but can’t find the strength. “Pussy’s s-so good,” he mumbles, his words slurred as though he’s drunk. “so tight, so warm. . .”

“Jesus fucking Christ, listen to yourself,” Bill cackles. “You’re out here worshipping pussy like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen one. All that brainpower, and you’re fucking useless when there’s a pretty cunt on top of you!”

Ford only whimpers, his face burning from Bill’s cruel mocking, because himself knows its truth, his cock twitches inside you at the words. Despite the shame, he thrusts up helplessly, chasing more, trying to reach deeper, even though he’s so far gone. 

“Does it feel good, Ford?” you murmur, leaning down to kiss his nose.

“Yesyesyes! yes! so fucking good,” he gasps, bucking his hips whenever you pull yourself up. “I c-can’t, oh, love, I don’t think I can last—” 

“Look at you,” Bill sneers. “All it takes is a tight cunt and a few rolls of her hips. What happened to the big, smart scientist? Where’s Mr. Genius now, huh?”

“It’s okay, Ford. You don’t have to hold back.” 

He can’t stop the whining that spills from his lips, so damn loud, his head tipping back to expose his throat. You seize the opportunity, pressing your lips to his pulse, kissing and sucking until his gasps dissolve into desperate cries. His cock twitches violently inside you, and then his entire body shudders again when he cums inside you with a pleading moan. 

“Oh god,” he whimpers, the realisation hitting him hard. His hands tremble on your waist as he looks up at you, his vision blurry. “I-I’m sorry! I couldn’t—” 

You don’t bother with words. Instead, you kiss him deeply, your hips still moving. Ford lets out a sharp, choked sound as you continue to ride him, your pussy clenching greedily around his now oversensitive cock. 

“W-wait, I. . . oh, fuck, love, wait. . .” 

But you don’t stop. 

“That’s it, you can give me more, can’t you? I know you can, Ford. Please.” 

Ford cries out from the overstimulation, helpless and weak to the way how your pussy swallow all what he gives you. His hands fall uselessly to the bed as you take complete control, but his cock staying rock hard, buried deep inside you. Each slow roll of your hips makes his tip brush against your cervix, what also makes you moan loudly.

“Oh m-my god,” you grind harder, obsessed with how heavenly his cock fills you. “look at you, you’re such a mess. . .”

Ford can’t even respond. He’s too lost in the way your pretty pussy feels, pulling him deeper, clenching around him tight. His mouth hangs open, breathless, his trembling fingers dig into your hips, your ass, trying to pull you closer, but the effort is weak, desperate. 

“I. . . oh, I c-can’t,” he stutters your name. “I— I can’t hold on. . . please, please, I— I can’t, just. . .”

Bill chuckles. “My little slut is so goddamn desperate he can’t even form a fucking sentence.”

You smirk, pressing your body closer to Ford’s, grinding into him in time with his shallow thrusts. His cock twitches inside you again, his body practically begging for another release but he feels like nothing might come out.

“I love seeing you like this,” you purr. “all you can think about is cumming, isn’t it?” 

His eyes are glazed, he doesn’t try to answer, he just nods desperately, the sounds escaping his lips a garbled mess. 

“I. . . I need you, da-darling. Please, ahh, please! Don’t stop. God, don’t stop, please! Don’t stop. . . It feels so good, im so close!”

“Yes, let it all out, baby. Don’t hold back. You’re such a good boy for me, Ford.” 

“Yes, yes, please, too much!” his begging is broken, barely coherent, his words dissolving into needy little whimpers. “I need to. . . mhmm, need to cum inside you! nnghn, please, let me—” 

“Aw, isn’t that sweet? He’s so eager to fill you up, he doesn’t even care how pathetic he looks.”

“Yes,” you murmur, leaning down to capture Ford’s lips. “Please cum inside me, Ford, again. Please. . .”

And that’s how he comes again, so obedient. It slams into him like a tidal wave, his cock pulsing deep inside you, spilling into your womb again and again, filling you up, flooding your walls white. He’s not even sure if he has the strength left to moan, his throat is dry.

“Look at you. Shaking, crying, and cumming like it’s the only thing you know how to do. Now that’s the kind of Sixer I like.”

But you don’t stop. He can’t take much more, but you don’t give him a choice. You fuck him harder this time, harder than before, your body slapping against his with each thrust, the sounds of your bodies joining in perfect sync.

You feel his cum dripping out, pooling where your bodies are joined and it’s so dirty and messy there, but you keep moving, grinding against him, chasing your own release now, using Ford for your pleasure now. 

“Such a good boy,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss his temple. “You’re doing so well, Ford. I love you so much.” 

“Sweetheart,” Ford’s voice already hoarse. “I need you, I need you so bad, I— I can’t. . .”

Bill's triangular shape appears directly to Ford's left. “Told ya, two seconds and you’re already a fucking puddle. You’re sobbing and begging like a fucking whore. You like it, huh? You like being used like this?” 

Ford’s body is completely undone as he turns head to look at Cipher, his words barely intelligible. “Y-yes. . . yes. . . I’m a whore. . . love, please, I’m— I’m cumming again. . .”

Before he can finish, it hits him. His cock pulses inside you, spilling another load deep into your pussy. Ford cries out as you keep riding him, milking every last drop out of him. His hands weakly grip your hips, but his body is limp, overwhelmed by the force of his orgasm. 

You smile, feeling his warm liquid until it starts leaking out from how full you are. Leaning down, your lips brush his ear. “You like it, don’t you, Ford? Being so deep inside me, cumming inside me, filling me up. . . gosh, im so close too. . .”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bill interrupts. “You two are useless. Let me show you how it’s done.”

Before either of you can react, his awfully slick, dark tendrils shoot out, snaking around your bodies. You gasp as one wraps around your thighs, while another slithers up to your clit, teasing the sensitive bundle with agonizing flicks. Another tendril brushes over your breasts, curling around them tightly before twisting and tugging at your nipples in agonising rhythm.

Ford isn’t spared, either. Tendrils wrap around his wrists roughly, pulling his arms above his head and pinning him to the bed, so he’s pretty useless beneath you as he’s forced to stay still, another tendril cups his balls, rolling and kneading them. Dark limb wraps around his torso, circling his nipples before pinching them sharply, then caressing. Ford lets out a broken cry, tears springing to his eyes from the overstimulation. 

“Look at you both,” Bill sneers and his voice is filled with nothing, but pure mockery. “a mewling little slut and a pathetic, whining mess of a man. Poor little humans can’t handle a bit of attention, huh? You’re both so fucking needy. You don’t even deserve this.”

You try to respond, try to form words, but all that escapes your lips is a whimper. The tendril on your clit vibrates suddenly, the slick, wet sound of your soaked pussy taking Ford in only fuels Bill’s mocking tone as he forces you to ride his six-fingered toy faster.

You can’t answer, you can’t think. All that matters is that pathetic whining mess called Ford beneath you, twitching and moaning, his body held immobile by Bill’s tendrils as you ride him, taking him deeper and deeper, feeling yourself close.

“Your cunt? Your cock? Your orgasms? Mine. Every last bit of you belongs to me.”

Your back arches, hands clawing at Ford’s chest to stabilise yourself, but it’s no use. The sensations are too much, your body too sensitive and overstimulated to fight back.

“Oh, please, it’s too much, B-Bill,” you manage to choke out, but even as you beg, your hips buck helplessly into the tendril, chasing the overwhelming pleasure despite the way your thighs shake. 

“Remember this moment, freaks, because you’ll never be able to fuck without thinking of me again.”

Ford isn’t faring any better, ruined by every flick of the tendrils on his nipples and the painful stimulation of his balls.

“B-Bill, my muse, please, stop, I can’t, I c-can’t take it,” he’s breathless, his voice breaks on every syllable. His words are desperate, but his body betrays him, his cock twitching as the tendrils toy with him. “I’ll. . .I’ll cum again, im gonna. . .”

“Oh, you’ll cum again, alright,” demon laughs. “And again. And again. Don’t think I’m letting either of you off easy.”

Bill shifts his attention to you, the tendrils around your clit and breasts tightening, pulling your nipples painfully before switching to gentle, torturous strokes. Your cries fill the room and Bill’s laughter only grows louder. 

“And you, beautiful,” his glowing yellow form leans closer to your face. “You’re no better. Moaning like a bitch in heat while I play with you. Can’t even decide if you want me to stop or go harder, huh? You’re just a messy little thing like him, aren’t you?”

You try to glare at him, but your head falls back with a loud moan as the vibrations on your sensitive clit intensify. The pleasure so sharp it borders on pain. “I’m gonna! oh fuck, I’m gonna cum! Bill, just let me cum!”

“Already, baby? Does it feel that good, having me play with your little clit while poor Sixer can barely keep up?” Cipher appears right in front of you way and his tendrils slow their movements just enough to pull you back from the edge, leaving you trembling and whining in frustration, the orgasm just out of reach when you was so ready for it.

Ford sobs as he feels your cunt grip on him. “B-Bill, please, please, oh god, it’s too much, I c-can’t hold on, please, let me cum, I need to— please! It-it hurts!”

“‘Need to’? Oh, how cute! You need to cum, Sixer? But you wanted to be a pathetic, trembling mess, no? Then I’ll make sure you fucking stay one.” Ford cant believe he’s being denied to orgasm now, when his balls are so tight he might explode. The tendrils on his nipples twist sharply.

You’re no better as your body helpless against these Bill’s disgusting things that tease and torment you mercilessly too. “P-please, I can’t take it anymore, I need to cum, please, Bill, please!” you cry.

Bill leans back, materializing a glass of wine for himself, laughing loudly as he watches. “Listen to yourselves. Begging me like the pathetic little toys you are. God, you’re both so fucking easy to break, it’s even boring.” 

His glowing yellow form looms over you both when his voice lowers. 

“Don’t worry, freaks, I’m not stopping until I’ve ruined you completely.”

[noctuaism]

mixing my previous post about gojo with an intellectual kink and the one about him being a rich househusband. he’s living his best life watching you do some left over work at home. the focus on your face and he’s just hard all the time. at first you just think it’s because he’s got a high libido but the moment you catch on to the fact that the majority of the time he’s trying to start something is when you’re doing something work related. you definitely play into it a little bit, making eye contact while you’re working or biting your lip pretending to be incredibly focused. as time progresses, you can see the way he starts to become a little feral. You know you’re done for the moment you put your work down because he’s throwing you over his shoulder and locking the both of you in your bedroom. he’s all riled up and needy. the both of you can eat what he made for dinner afterwards, you’ll need the energy when he’s done with you.

[drdemonprince]

I remember a while back you did a fun ask game where people sent in kinks and you rated how good an investment they are and it keeps popping into my mind because of how chill you were about kinks that even kinky people tend to view really negatively in the sense of ethics. I was wondering if you had any advice on how to *feel* chill in terms of my own kink ethics. I intellectually believe that fantasies can’t be immoral and that kink with other adults is moral as long as there is consent (and appropriate risk awareness).

But I am still pretty triggered on the topic when it comes up. Eg, earlier a friend told me they are cutting someone they love off for being friends with someone who “sexualizes trauma”. And yeah, that is definitely where some of my darker kinks come from—though not all. They’re entitled to that opinion and action of course! But hearing all the things they said against this person triggered me, making me feel like I’m dangerous and that it is wrong of me to interact with them going forward even though this isn’t a topic I would discuss with them anyway. Until writing this I hadn’t even considered if they are still a person I *want* to interact with given this. Though I’m sort of unclear on whether it is actually wrong of me to interact with them still.

I am working with my therapist on this. And I know it will take some time to work through. I was just wondering if you had any words of wisdom on the topic.

My thoughts are that if I had a friend who cut people off for having problematic (or in this case, just like, unsettling?) kinks, I would not feel safe around that friend. It would seem to me that they were judgemental, moralizing, and had a completely different viewpoint on how the world operated than I did, and that sooner or later they would demonize me for things I thought, fantasized about, felt, and so on. I might have sympathy if the person was a trauma survivor early in their recovery, as it's quite common for people to think in very dogmatic, black-and-white ways about morality in order to protect themselves and to be highly reactive to perceived threat. But their feelings of safety are their own business to guard over, and mine are mine, and I just wouldn't be able to get along very intimately with someone like that. I'd have to give them a wide berth until they started to get over it, if they got over it.

Recently, a friend of mine was completely ostracized from their local queer community simply for writing a piece that touched on a taboo fantasy -- a taboo fantasy they had concocted as a way to cope with some really gnarly early childhood abuse. They lost performance gigs and friends, had hate campaigns erected against them, had mobs of people threatening all their remaining friends and colleages, all based on a rumor about a piece that they never even got to perform anywhere because someone had heard it was about a taboo subject and even the IDEA of what it might be made them uncomfortable, and so they assumed my friend was condoning abuse when they were literally just describing what had already happened to them and how they found healing from it. Shit like this sucks, and it comes down most heavily against queer people, especially trans femmes, and I've seen the fear mongering ruin enough lives that I try to steer really clear of it.

My life has been so blessed by inclusion of people with really intense, taboo, stigmatized kinks into my life. I was afraid to even breathe a word of my hypnosis fetish to anybody until I was in my late 20s, because I thought it was so freakish and evil. and now I routinely talk with people about really animalistic feral fantasies, harkness rule violating monsterfucking, rape play, necro fantasies, abdl, age regression, incest roleplaying, blood, eating bodily fluids, and everything else that freaks people out but harms no living being. Even when it's not my stuff, even when it's something I might personally find a little squicky to actually be in the room with, it makes me feel seen, safe, and free to express the depths within me. I think surrounding yourself with more people like that or just consuming their stories can help a lot. And trying to find some mental distance from the people who do fear monger and get triggered. They have their reasons for feeling as they do. But that doesn't mean we have to align with their values or actions.

[e-rated-beardo]

Please everyone you HAVE to read this fic

((Also @goodomensafterdark you need to rec this so everyone can see it))

“Really? They don’t look odd with the breeches?”

Sky Clear Blue, Chapter 9, “Only Waiting For You,” has been posted — in which Crowley leads his friend on a big new adventure and finds that he has a lot to think about.

SCB (rated E) is updated every Tuesday and Friday! Time-travel! Hijinks! Big Feelings™️! Come and join the fun!

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Vice President Kamala Harris walked onto the ABC News debate stage with a mission: trigger a Trump meltdown.

She succeeded.

Former President Donald Trump had a mission too: control yourself.

He failed.

Trump lost his cool over and over. Goaded by predictable provocations, he succumbed again and again.

Trump was pushed into broken-sentence monologues—and even an all-out attack on the 2020 election outcome. He repeated crazy stories about immigrants eating cats and dogs, and was backwards-looking, personal, emotional, defensive, and frequently incomprehensible.

Harris hit pain point after pain point: Trump’s bankruptcies, the disdain of generals who had served with him, the boredom and early exits of crowds at his shrinking rallies. Every hit was followed by an ouch. Trump’s counterpunches flailed and missed. Harris met them with smiling mockery and cool amusement. The debate was often a battle of eyelids: Harris’s opened wide, Trump’s squinting and tightening.

Harris’s debate prep seemed to have concentrated on psychology as much as on policy. She drove Trump and trapped him and baited him—and it worked every time.

Trump exited the stage leaving uncertain voters still uncertain about whether or not he’d sign a national abortion ban. He left them certain that he did not want Ukraine to win its war of self-defense. He accused Harris of hating Israel but then never bothered to say any words of his own in support of the Jewish state’s war of self-defense against Hamas terrorism. In his confusion and reactiveness, he seemed to have forgotten any debate strategy he might have had.

Something every woman watching the debate probably noticed: Trump could not bring himself to say the name of the serving vice president, his opponent for the presidency. For him, Harris was just a pronoun: a nameless, identity-less “she,” “her,” “you.” It’s said that narcissists cope with ego injury by refusing to acknowledge the existence of the person who inflicted the hurt. If so, that might explain Trump’s behavior. Harris bruised his feelings, and Trump reacted by shutting his eyes and pretending that Harris had no existence of her own independent of President Joe Biden, whose name Trump was somehow able to speak.

Hemmed, harried, and humiliated, Trump lost his footing and his grip. He never got around to making an affirmative case for himself. If any viewer was nostalgic for the early Trump economy before its collapse in his final year in office, that viewer must have been disappointed. If a viewer wanted a conservative policy message, any conservative policy message, that viewer must have been disappointed. When asked whether he had yet developed a health-care plan after a decade in politics, Trump could reply only that he had “concepts of a plan.”

Almost from the start, Harris was in control. She had better moments and worse ones, but she was human where Trump was feral. She had warm words for political opponents such as John McCain and Dick Cheney; Trump had warm words for nobody other than Viktor Orbán, the Hungarian strongman whom Trump praised for praising Trump. It was an all-points beatdown, and no less a beating because Trump inflicted so much of it on himself.

At a minimum, this display will put an end to the Trump claim that Harris is a witless nonentity unqualified to engage in debate. Harris met Trump face-to-face before tens of millions of witnesses. She dominated and crushed him, using as her principal tools her self-command and her shrewd insight into the ex-president’s psychic, moral, and intellectual weaknesses.

Will it matter that Harris so decisively won? How can it not? But it may matter more that Trump so abjectly lost to a competitor for whom he could not utter a syllable of respect.

David Frum is a staff writer at The Atlantic.

[secriden]

rewatching love sea and i've got some episode 1 mahasamut thoughts:

i'm so appreciative of how much we get to see of mahasamut being an important part of the island community in this episode. its character establishing/quick scenes but we see a consistent thread of kindness, gentle and good humoured interactions, and just overall helpfulness to others. you see him having fun with palm who is younger and clearly loves and respects mahasamut. you see how he knows and cares for different people in very personal ways.

another thing epsiode 1 does a good job of doing is establishing how intelligent mahasamut is both intellectually and emotionally.

he instantly clocks on that tongrak thinks the island/mahasamut is "beneath" him. tongrak is a jerk from the get go, acting as if his wealth (constantly referring to how expensive his suitcases are) allows him to treat mahasamut like crap. he assumes mahasamut can't speak/understand the central dialect and openly makes disparaging comments about his intelligence.

but rather than getting annoyed/offended, mahasamut weaponises the prejudice and leans into it to annoy tongrak. he doubles down on the Southern dialect (even after he reveals he can speak Central). when tongrak whines about not understanding him, mahasamut just repeats himself but slower (such a good allusion to when people yell at you slower and more loudly as if that will magically make you understand English better). he leans into the whole 'small town awed at the fair skin of the city boy' act (masterful depiction of someone weaponising the 'dumb country hick' stereotype).

mahasamut just has such a good handle on tongrak from the start and it really showcases how smart and intuitive he is; like he instinctively knows how to handle this feral cat of a human being that tongrak is (i say this with complete affection).

his handling of tongrak is so incredibly effective and it throws tongrak so off his game that he looses all cool and just blurts out how baffled he is by mahasamut's reactions to him. this tells us (and mahasamut) that not only is tongrak aware that he's being a jerk, he's doing it on purpose because this usually works to drive people away. but it doesn't and never will work on mahasamut and the show lays the foundations of this aspect of mahasamut's character right from the start.

but whilst mahasamut remains unfazed by tongrak's bitchiness (for lack of a better term), we also see that he is not going to be a pushover either (and i love that he never becomes that even after he falls in love; in this, mahasamut's character is wonderfully consistent). he isn't shy about calling out tongrak for his poor behaviour/rudeness. he specifically points out that tongrak's been acting like a spoiled pet (or child).

but also!! whilst all that is going on, mahasamut is also doing a really good job of taking care of tongrak. when he enters tongrak's room, he cleans up after the tornado of trash and beer bottles, puts away his clothes properly, then brings tongrak out to get some proper food in him (it's not his fault that tongrak only has a single lettuce leaf; he tried). mahasamut takes him out on the boat to relax him and give him inspiration for his novel. and when he realises that tongrak was genuinely scared and upset, mahasamut actually treats that with sincere care and concern, apologising and comforting him (in the novel, apparently tongrak slaps him and he still responds only with care and comfort). he's so incredibly gentle with tongrak here.

later in the series we see how much of their relationship development hinges on the the juxtaposition of words vs actions because neither of them put much stock by words (tongrak, because its the tools of his trade and he knows how they can be used to deceive; mahasamut because he never cares what people say about him) but episode 1 does a great job of establish just how good mahasamut is going to be at showing his love for tongrak once he gets there.

[mikuni14]

I re-watched Our Youth, all 3 eps, because why not (I have a feeling it's going to be one of those series I'll watch in its entirety, not just selected parts/episodes). A few comments:

Minase goes to the beach alone, and does so several times because he's shown in different clothes, which worries me a bit. I think I'll read the manga though, just to see how it ends… 😶

I love catching Haruki looking at Minase, especially when he don't see it. Staring, sneaking glances.. hell yeah, some of my favorite parts of romance 🥰

the conversations Minase has with his friends are about only 2 things: 1) exams, school, grades 2) one of his friends' love life. Minase lives in an intellectual, emotional and fun desert, if I had such friends at school with such limited topics to talk about, I would die. I'm not surprised at all that Haruki took over him like that, that poor boy probably felt for the first time that life has a taste, color and smell

I replaced the word "weird/strange" used often by Minsae and Haruki with the word "gay" and it was a very interesting experience 😎

Haruki being a mix of something adorable and dorky with something dark, feral and sexual, with his overwhelming, devastating honesty will drive me crazy before this series is over, I just know it, only 3 episodes and I'm hanging on to my sanity by a thread 💀