#and i should be able to focus on one thing and get it done! these things shouldn’t be hard! they’re even meant to be enjoyable! but i can’t
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beetlethebug · 1 day ago
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hello today my thoughts are consumed by Spite flirting with Emmrich and Lucanis to rile up Rook. Even better with a Rook without Spirit Sense, so they can only gauge what's going from the occasional lapse of Lucanis' control over Spite and the blushing, near-stuttering messes they become. Especially during meals with the whole Veil Guard. Spite learning some sense of subtlety through osmosis, so he starts with compliments. Granted, Spite's "subtle" compliments are typically ones without expletives, so they are still intense and heated and, if they catch Emmrich at the right time, enough to make his voice stutter.
He starts by stating the things Lucanis already likes about Emmrich. Things that they both hold in high on the list of things they appreciate about Emmrich. Flirting on Lucanis' behalf, if you would. "Lucanis loves your hands, professor," paired with just enough power exerted to force Lucanis' head to tilt in the direction of Emmrich's hands, baring his throat just enough that Emmrich can see it bob in a swallow as Emmrich finishes cutting himself a bite. "He would very much like to see those hands wrapped around something else. He made a new set of choking cords just for you. Did you know that? He made them in Mourn Watch colors."
Spite letting Lucanis retreat into his coffee, purring lowly as Emmrich's face starts to flush. Waiting until Lucanis is almost done with his drink to say, "He likes your boots better, though. He would very much like to be under them." Emmrich and Lucanis having to wave off concerns of the other Veil Guard members as they both choke, Rook glancing between the two curiously. They might not be able to hear what's going on, but they've seen the signs before. They settle more comfortably to watch the display like a sporting match.
And when Spite starts complimenting Lucanis, oh, the man nearly has to excuse himself to run his head under water, he's burning up so badly. "I like how I can feel every muscle working when we're in combat together. I like seeing your blood bead on the little cuts I make for you. I love the thudding of your heart, the feeling of your adrenaline. I like the way your brows scrunch and then get soft whenever you smell coffee for the first time. I like when you eat sweet things for me."
Spite having a little tally going, one on each thigh, for every time that he makes Lucanis and Emmrich stutter or pause during the initial flirting phase. Low little murmurs of, "That's another one," and "Oh, that one got Emmrich good." Emmrich realizes what the count is for soon enough and tries to focus more on paying attention to conversation at the dinner table, but if Spite hates anything, it's to be ignored (though he does appreciate the set of the professor's jaw, and the thudding pulse of Lucanis' heart, the heat in his blood).
If Emmrich is going to ignore him, then he'll simply up the ante. If Emmrich doesn't want to listen to all the things that he and Lucanis want him to do to them, then they'll talk about their collective favorite subject: Rook. "Look at their mouth--isn't it pretty? It'd look better full of our fingers. You should let me take over, Lucanis--I'd have them begging for it faster than you could blink. Do you think they'd lay in our lap again? I liked when we did that. Oh, maybe they'll sit in it. You liked that idea, I felt it. Emmrich, what do you think? What position do you like Rook best in? We like the sight of them on top of you. We want to see it again. Don't you want to see it again?"
Lucanis and Emmrich slamming their hands on the table, the same conclusion reached in equally frantic manners. Neve asking with a teasing smile if something is the matter, or did their conversation about Dalish alchemy really bore them to tears? Emmrich and Lucanis gritting out in the same breath, "It's Spite."
"Just tell him it's not his turn. Works for us." Taash comments, though they're grinning. They can smell how worked up these two are, and was placing bets with Davrin and Harding about which one would crack first.
"Spite," Rook scolds, but it's all grins. Their eyes are shinning, leg bouncing underneath the table. "You know you can always talk to me if you want something. No need to bully poor Emmrich and Lucanis."
"Do not encourage him," Lucanis begs, knuckles going pale from where they grip the table. Emmrich is truly struggling to regain his composure, trying to assemble anything resembling a calm front. But Spite takes the opportunity to take over, forcing Lucanis' body to relax. Digging his hands into his thighs instead, feeling Lucanis' body shudder with the ache. "I was simply telling Lucanis and Emmrich how much I appreciated them." Deceptively coy, but the sharpness in his grin gives it all away. "How much we appreciate you."
"Get a room already," Taash yells, sweeping the pile of coin she earned towards her plate.
"Well, Rook? Shall we get a room?"
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changbinsboobs · 2 days ago
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plz Queen drop new reading
U ask - and the queen will deliver
Husband Series: Lee Know
First, i see him being very overwhelmed with responsibilities and just giving very stressed vibes, like going left and right, doing this and that and being just very hyper focus on whats on his mind and what should get done and i see him getting a bit lost in that feeling. I don't see it being a permanent thing tho maybe just in the beginning he'll habe a transitioning phase where he is a bit all over the place until he finds his place in his new family.
I see him being a provider and being the main breadwinner in the family. He likes it like that actually. Its a bit of a subtle energy, so maybe he wont talk about it or actively show that he likes it but i think its something he feels should be that way and he feels proud being able to properly provide for his family and be of importance and use to his loved ones.
I don't see him being very communicative or romantic tho, im sensing loneliness from his partner. The thing is, i don't see him necessarily being cold or dry, but rather he's difficult to enter and gwt to know on a deeper level and that lack of emotional intimacy will probably be a problem in his marriage. I also see his communication style being very sharp, short and to the point with not much sugarcoating or flare - so i guess his marriage may be more of a task or a transactional thing for him. Like "i give u money you give me kids, we keep each other company." Thats just about it. I think his fun and playful side will be more for his friends rather for his marriage, especially when responsibilities like house, kids etc come. Why is that such a theme with so many men that think life stops when they get married and now everything gets serious and its all about responsibilities and why on earth do men lose interest in their wife's once they get married😭 im seeing this with lee know i saw similar energy with chan as well.
Anyways im seeing him being passionate in bed tho, probably the only times he's playful with his partner and shows passion and emotion. I believe those are the times his spouse gets reminded that lee know actually loves them.
And lastly - a very lovely card - he is gonna be very involved with the kids later on if they have them, if not they'll probably have pets, and he'll be very involved in that then. Or if they have both than with both😂. So im seeing him being a good dad and also taking a lot of the responsibilities from his spouse when it comes to this, so despite him being the breadwinner i think the child-duty will be more or less evenly distributed among them which is a huge bonus i think cuz sadly, thats not a given🥲
Overall im seeing him being a great support for his spouse, maybe not so much in the emotional department but still overall he looks very stable, responsible and rational, some passion, fun and romance lacking here and there but even then he's still a good person to vent to or as for advice or emotional support once u get used to his style.
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citrus-moonlight · 1 day ago
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Tara, I love this chapter so much!!! The way that you manage to create such a tangible desire between the two of them even though she doesn't even know what he looks like (and as far as she knows hasn't met him yet 😏) is incredible.
Reader being able to have a different type of release first when she blocks her mother's number was so satisfying. I love how she's finally able to let go of that part of her as she realizes that it isn't worth it anymore, that she is worth so much more than someone who didn't and doesn't want her, now that she knows what it's like to have someone who does.
"You smile at your phone. Your eyes are watery, your cheeks are warm, and your lips are lopsided and trembling. You can blame all of that on the wine, but the way your heart is battering against your ribcage? You've got it bad for some words on a screen, a hand, a pair of shoes, and a ghost."
I love how gone she already is, how everything is building so intensely and she doesn't even know what he looks like yet. And then when she finally lets herself go to the thought of him, and the realization that the relief barely lasts because now the floodgates are open and she only wants more?? LORD. The tension is so good, and I love how delicious it feels as he metes out little details in pictures and words and how they're all so precious to her as she tries to form a picture in her head to focus her desire on (and I am forever screaming at "I'm not going to describe my cock to you" 😂).
"Well then. I'll keep that in mind. I really liked the maroon silk one, personally. I bet it would feel nice on my skin." >I agree, it would feel very nice on your skin.
Good lord, that man is so smooth. And I am also enjoying that she picks out a maroon one (because now I am thinking about that silk robe, and how they would go so well together 😏).
You're done hesitating. Of course you are. But when you take that step, it's going to be on your terms. You know, instinctively, that you should never give up too much power to him. Both because it would be so easy to lose yourself in him—which you don't want to do now that you've finally found yourself—and because he would delight in never giving it back.
The duality that of him that you show is so good, how he swings from >I could have you however I wanted, couldn't I? to the vulnerability admitting that he wants her to touch his face, the "but I think I will if you do it." I love that contrast between the predatory part of him, the part that's truly so dangerous (and yet so intriguing), but then you continue to show how needy he is underneath that, something he's trying to hide under his own mask (he's so pathetic and touch starved, I need him).
And then of course the smut is always so incredible, the way he talks I am just 🥵🫠😵‍💫. The >Only me. Only I can see you like this and >That's right. I'm going to make you sob my name. He's so possessive and demanding I'm going to lose it.
>It's all I've been able to think about for months. It's going to feel so fucking good to finally get to fuck you and come with my cock buried inside of you. And I'm going to do it over and over again until I physically can't anymore. >Do you understand? I NEED you. Fuck!
Ok, knowing it's speech to text makes this is so fucking hot, imagining how desperate his voice must sound, and then THE FUCKING PICTURE?? EXCUSE ME???? And her almost tipping and that feeling of freefall adding to everything when she comes, oh my god that was such a perfect parallel to this whole experience with him, LIKE JESUS CHRIST TARA THIS IS SO GOOD.
Seriously, I am always beside myself when I come back to this chapter, your dialogue and all of the interactions are always so dynamic even when their just talking and exploring. I am so excited to see where things are going to develop and evolve once she finally meets him! (truly I am gnawing on the walls, your slow burns are always so amazing, it drives me crazy and I love every minute of it!) 💖
Seriously, I am always beside myself when I come back to this chapter, your dialogue and all of the interactions are always so dynamic even when they're just talking and exploring. I am so excited to see where things are going to develop and evolve once she finally meets him! Truly I am gnawing on the walls, the way you write and and slowly ratchet up the need and tension is always so mind meltingly good, that slow burn drives me crazy and I love every minute of it! 💖💖💖
The Devil Makes Us Sin
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Fandom: Luther, Luther: The Fallen Sun
Pairing: David Robey/F!Reader
Chapter 4/? (12.8k words)
->start at chapter 1<-
<- Chapter 3
AO3 Link
Summary: Your life isn't perfect, and you don't enjoy moonlighting as a camgirl for so many repulsive men, but you need the money and it's yours. You're getting by just fine. You're content.
At least you thought you were. Then you get a strange text message. And you aren't sure if you're horrified or intrigued.
Warnings: Explicit rating, smut, stalking, spying, blackmail, manipulation, dubcon, dubious consent, Dom/sub, sadism, masochism, unprotected sex, oral sex, masturbation, mutual masturbation, choking, dirty talk, praise, humiliation, possessive love, yandere, minor description of gore, minor description of violence, murder, discussion of murder, shame involving sex work, light shaming of sex work, emotionally abusive mother, troubled mother/daughter relationship, sexual harassment, workplace sexual harassment, alcohol consumption, religious trauma
A/N: To all of my fellow readers with mother issues, this chapter is for us 💖 Because those troubled mother/daughter relationship and emotionally abusive mother tags hit real hard this chapter (I'm not projecting, you're projecting). But I eventually make it up to you, I promise. (As a reminder from my notes last chapter, David uses voice to text when they're chatting 😏) Also, I changed the formatting for texting conversations because eventually there will be texting while there is external dialogue, and I don't want it to be confusing. So his texts continue to be in italics and Reader's are in italics AND quotes.
Work title is from "Paradise Circus" by Massive Attack. Chapter title is from Tanaka Mhishi's poem in Literary Sexts II. Text divider 1 is from Francisco de Goya's Witches Flight. Text divider 2 is from Caravaggio's Sacrifice of Isaac.
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Chapter 4 - I am fragile and unholy. Open. Ravage. Eat.
That night, after calming down from your conversation with David, you finally do the thing that you've been putting off for far too long. The thing that causes panic to swell in your chest and your mind to recoil whenever you start to examine it. 
You think about your mother.
So you pour a glass of wine, set your phone off to the side, flop down on your couch, and you begin to metaphorically unpack.
You've always prided yourself on being an intelligent woman. You know, logically, this will help you feel better in the long run. It will help you heal. Help you grow. And right now that's what you yearn for—to know and embrace yourself as you truly are, not who you pretended to be for so long that you almost believed it. Not your mask.
The mask that you built because of her, you think. One crafted out of fear and shame. Other people may have honed it, but she laid the foundation.
You also know she's the reason you have so many hang ups and difficulties forming connections with people. You know it's part of the reason you've been miserable for so long. You know this needs to be done. You know that.
It still…well, it hurts.
You learned at a young age to be fiercely independent because you couldn't count on her for support. Or encouragement. Or warmth. Her answer was always the same: "Pray or go to confession." As if all of your problems were your own fault or stemmed from a lack of faith.
And the message was clear—The only love you'll ever get is God's love. Maybe he can fix you.
You wanted it, though. God, did you want her to gather you in her arms and tell you, just once, that she was proud of you. That she truly loved you. You did everything you could to please and placate and impress her, hoping if you were good enough or hid well enough, you might finally get all of that. You got good grades, you were well-behaved, and you went to church, even when you stopped believing. You gave up your dream of being an artist for her, for christsake!
Sure, a part of that was because she tainted the piece of yourself you turned to for expression and escape. But since you're already unpacking every horrible bit of this, you can finally admit to yourself that you also gave it up for her.
For nothing.
Because it didn't work. Getting a business degree and an office job didn't make her proud, it only created a new direction in which you were lacking. You lost a part of yourself and got nothing in return. The thought of it makes you so angry that hot tears prick your eyes.
You get up to pour yourself another glass of wine.
You don't even know why your mother treated you the way she did. You think that if you could at least know why it might be easier to stomach. Then you wouldn't feel so confused and lost. Sure, it would hurt, but it would be something solid you could sit with.
Perhaps she saw that you weren't what she would call normal, and she hated it—wanted to spurn you into changing and hiding. It's ironic, then, that her disgust just fueled that darkness within you. Gave it the sustenance it needed to grow, devoid of warmth, in the corners of your heart and mind.
Maybe all of this would have turned out differently, if only she had loved you.
Or perhaps that's just who she is, and, even if you had been everything she wanted, it still wouldn't have made a difference. Still wouldn't have been good enough. You got it from somewhere, after all.
You'll never know either way.
What you do know is this: If you couldn't count on your own mother, then why would you ever think you could count on or trust anyone else?
Why wouldn't they brush you aside eventually as well? Why bother getting close to anyone—assuming they didn't bore you in the first place? Why wouldn't they see the real you and look just as disgusted as the one person that should have loved you unconditionally? 
And people continuously proved you right by walking away when you didn't thaw under their attention or they caught a glimpse of that darkness—until David. Until he looked and saw the real you, and it only made him want you more.
Well, you're thawing now.
No.
You're melting.
You wonder what your mother would think of you if she could see you at this very moment. On one hand, you've laid waste to the life you built for yourself for a man that stalked you. She'd have a few choice words for you there, such as disappointment and embarrassment. "What will people think?" But on the other hand, you finally have someone and he's rich, which would go a long way towards forgiveness. Because, even though she prides herself on her piety, pride is her greatest sin. She would tell everyone she knew, as if it were her achievement, while conveniently leaving out the rest of it. Like the fact that you're happy.
As you're pouring your third glass of wine, you debate calling her. It's not too late. She should still be awake. You can finally ask her why. Why nothing you've done has ever been good enough. Why she cared about God and what everyone else thought more than her own daughter. 
You can ask her why you can't remember the last time she hugged you or told you she loved you. Because a daughter should be able to recall that, shouldn't she? Oh, she said it plenty in front of other people. She gave you scraps with no meaning behind the words or warmth in her eyes. But in private, where no one else was watching her performance? You got nothing. You starved for affection. Maybe you can ask her why.
But you know that's the alcohol talking.
And it wouldn't do any good anyway. You won't get the answers you seek or the apology you need. You won't get promises to do better. You won't get a mom.
This was all for nothing.
Instead, you pick up your phone and block her number.
No contact. A clean cut. Never again.
You expect that to hurt, too, but for the first time since you started this, you feel lighter. Because you're finally done looking for hope where there isn't any to be found. You're also finally acknowledging that you deserved everything she never gave you. And that isn't a failing on your part—it never was. It's her failure. Another one of her sins. Now it's her loss.
Maybe you should have done that years ago, but you're doing it now. You're moving forward and letting go, and that's what's important.
While your phone is in your hand, you check your messages to confirm that David hasn't sent you anything. You aren't surprised. You hadn't expected him to. But that doesn't mean you didn't want him to.
You want it all the time now, you realize. It's only been a couple of hours since you ended the call, but you'd still love nothing more than to get back on and talk to him again until the early hours of the morning.
You may have been able to stop yourself from angrily calling your mother, but the combination of wine and your already weakening grasp on your self-control when it comes to him means you're typing before you even realize it.
"Thank you. For everything. I can never say it enough, David, because you've done more for me than any person in my life EVER has. I mean it. Truly. I'm so grateful."
"Also, for the record, I'm certain I could pick you out of a crowd now."
You're welcome. Always.
And I'll keep that in mind the next time I need coffee.
You smile at your phone. Your eyes are watery, your cheeks are warm, and your lips are lopsided and trembling. You can blame all of that on the wine, but the way your heart is battering against your ribcage?
You've got it bad for some words on a screen, a hand, a pair of shoes, and a ghost.
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The next morning, you sleep in until a gloriously late hour. Just because you can. And because last night was emotionally exhausting—you're certain the wine didn't help either. Even when you're no longer tired, you lie in bed, wrapped in the warmth of your blankets, and bask in the knowledge that you never have to go back to that office ever again.
Or speak to your mother, you think with a contented sigh.
You feel untethered, but not adrift. No, you know exactly which direction you're headed, and now you have the freedom to do so.
Eventually you resume your search for a new bed on your phone as well because you start to think about how blissful this lounging would have been on a comfortable mattress. With silk sheets. And a new nightgown... Oh, now there's an interesting thought. You could get something new and sexy. Maybe something with lace. Or more silk. Or, even better, something sheer that barely covers your ass.
You also think about how much David would enjoy all of those things.
You start off looking at sleepwear that leans more sensible than sexy, but as you begin to wonder what he would think of each one, you quickly find yourself clicking on more and more revealing pieces.
It's when you're looking at a see through, drapey number that comes off with only a clasp between your breasts that your phone buzzes with a new text message.
You grin. You wondered how long it would be before he reached out to you. Now you're absolutely certain he's keeping tabs on you and saw how racy your searches were getting. Part of you was doing it on purpose—baiting him until he couldn't resist any longer. Even if it gave him away. You know better than to trust a coincidence.
Are you enjoying your first day of freedom?
"Immensely. I haven't even gotten out of bed yet." You're smug as you hit send because now you've added the thought of you in bed to his mental image of the lingerie.
Is that so? Sounds as though you're having a lovely morning.
Any other exciting plans for the day?
"Not unless you count a date with a book on my nightstand."
Depends on what kind of book.
"Well, there are two of them for me to choose from. One is a murder mystery. The other is a steamy romance novel." It's a lie. You have two art history books and an Amedeo Modigliani biography on your nightstand.
I see. Two very different types of thrilling.
"Exactly. On one hand, the murder mystery would stimulate my brain."
It takes a minute longer for you to get a response to that.
And what would the romance novel stimulate?
"My heart, David. What else?" You bite your lip in excitement as you continue to type.
"Now tell me which one you would like best."
If I had to choose between the two, I would prefer the murder mystery.
"Of course you would. But I meant which of the lingerie you would like best. Because I know you were watching me."
There's another pause.
All of them.
"All of them?! But there were so many!"
I'm certain. I liked all of them.
Especially since you'd be the one wearing them.
A pleasant heat unfurls in your chest and creeps up your neck at the thought of him sitting there, watching you browse, picturing you in every outfit…and maybe even saving a few of the links for later.
"Well then. I'll keep that in mind. I really liked the maroon silk one, personally. I bet it would feel nice on my skin."
I agree, it would feel very nice on your skin.
Fuck.
The mental image of his hand trailing up your thigh—pushing the hem of the nightgown higher and higher while the fabric and his palm slide over your quivering flesh—flashes vividly through your mind.
You had been enjoying a morning of relaxation and contentment just a few minutes ago. Even with a bit of light teasing about the lingerie, it had been peaceful. Now? Now that feeling has been reshaped and is nothing more than a memory. Now a slick heat has ignited in your core, and you're left nearly panting and writhing in your blankets from the intensity of it.
How quickly he can send you reeling.
God, you're definitely buying that one. Later. Right now, however, you finally have the chance to flirt with him—really flirt—and you're going to take it. Because you know where this is headed. You know where it could have resolved yesterday but didn't because you were at work.
And you're so glad you're not at work right now, stuck squirming and struggling at your desk as you try to ignore the swollen ache between your legs. Instead, you're squirming in the privacy of your bed, and you no longer have to ignore anything. Now you have no intention of stopping.
This is how you want to respond to him.
You're also really enjoying feigning innocence, and you're curious to see how much longer he'll play along. Because you have no illusions that he's buying a second of it.
"I don't think I'll be getting the black one with the sheer lace top, though. It didn't look very comfortable. I wouldn't be able to wear it for long."
Before he can reply, you quickly type out, "Wait. You're not busy, are you? I should have asked first before carrying on about my online shopping. That was rude of me."
I'm not anymore.
"Just get out of a meeting?"
I just canceled my last meeting because I've suddenly found something much better to do.
"Is helping me pick out pajamas really that thrilling?"
You can stop playing dumb now. You and I both know exactly what you're doing.
"What am I doing?" You straighten up and hold your breath in anticipation. You must be getting to him. You expected him to hold out just a little bit longer. Not that you're complaining. Not when you know you have his full attention.
You're trying to get me bothered as payback for yesterday.
"Is it working?"
You know it is.
"And just how bothered are you?"
Very.
You let out a shaky breath as you sink back into your pillows and begin to settle in. "Good. But that's not the only reason I'm doing this, David."
Is that so? What other reason do you have?
"Because I want to. Because I'm enjoying having the freedom to respond to you the way that I want."
Intriguing. And how are you doing that?
"I'm sure you'll find out soon enough." You shift your phone to your dominant hand to keep it steady. Then your other hand disappears beneath your covers and continues traveling down to the waistband of your panties.
Will I?
"You will. As long as you continue to please me." You nudge the fabric out of the way to give yourself the access you need and eagerly slip your hand inside. When your fingers finally brush over your arousal, you groan with relief.
There's nothing I want more than to please you.
"Is that so? How are you going to do that?" You repeat his words back to him as you rub a little harder along your damp folds. The added pressure makes your eyelids go heavy with lust. You spread your legs wider, seeking even more of that friction.
By giving you what you need.
God, you want that. From him. The thought of it makes you ache. Your fingers move to circle over your clit, dragging some of your wetness with them, and you moan into your empty bedroom. You shakily type out, "And what do I need?"
Me.
Shit. You had planned to go slow and tease yourself. You wanted to draw out the banter so you could savor your first time touching yourself to him. Because, despite the fact that he's turned you into a horny wreck several times already, you've held off until now. But as you read his text—that single word—it's as if your body has been doused in kerosene and lit on fire. Your hand speeds up.
"You seem awfully sure of that."
I'm very sure.
Are you going to tell me that I'm wrong? Or are you going to be honest?
You quickly debate finding a way to deny it. To get him to push harder because his arrogant confidence is stoking the flame in your belly and you want more. But every response you come up with sounds so flimsy. You know it won't work. He'll just call out the lie. He knows exactly how you're responding to him now, and he won't let it go, like a shark sensing blood in the water.
Well, if he wants to circle, then you'll give him prey instead—something he can't resist.
"Honest."
There's a good girl. Then be honest for me. Tell me what you need.
You cry out and your hips roll to meet the rhythm of your fingers. Your other hand is still gripping your cell phone, holding onto it for dear life so you don't drop it and miss a single word. "You."
That's right. And are you thinking about me right now?
"Yes." You are. You're thinking about his hands all over you, driving you wild and breathless and working needy little whimpers from your throat.
Very good. I hope you're thinking about all of the things I plan to do to you when I finally get my hands on you.
"Tell me. Please." More, you think. God, you need more.
And spoil the surprise? You'll have to use your imagination for now.
You grunt in frustration. "That's a little difficult when I don't know what you look like."
That is unfortunate, isn't it?
He's so god-damned smug! Jesus, it's infuriating!
There's a responding surge of wetness beneath your fingers, and the slick sound becomes obscene in your quiet bedroom.
"I've told you, it's unfair."
Nothing about this is supposed to be fair.
Your grip weakens and your phone nearly slips from your grasp, but you frantically right it. You're getting so close… "David, please!"
I promise when we move forward, you'll find out for yourself. But only when you're ready.
Unless you're done hesitating?
You know he's dangling that in front of you, tempting you with what you want so you'll say yes. You want to say yes. You want to call him right now and let him hear you say it as you moan and beg into the phone.
But that's giving him too much.
You're done hesitating. Of course you are. But when you take that step, it's going to be on your terms. You know, instinctively, that you should never give up too much power to him. Both because it would be so easy to lose yourself in him—which you don't want to do now that you've finally found yourself—and because he would delight in never giving it back.
"I suppose we'll see, won't we? I would hate to ruin the surprise."
Now who's being unfair?
"I'm only playing by your rules."
Clever.
My clever, beautiful girl. I can't wait to see you like this. I bet you look so good for me right now. Don't you?
"Yes!"
That's right. So fucking good and needy for me. God, I want you so much.
Your grip goes slack again, and this time you do drop your phone onto the bed. But you don't stop to pick it up. You're too far gone now, and you couldn't type even if you wanted to. Instead, you redouble your effort and greedily chase your orgasm, your hand moving in rapid strokes against your clit.
It's fast and messy and desperate. You haven't masturbated like this in years, but the tension has been building inside of you. It's grown under all of his teasing, his suggestive comments, his perceptive observations, and his unrevealing photos until you couldn't ignore it any longer. Now you need to release it at last—to immolate yourself in your desire.
For him.
"David," you moan. His name rolls off your tongue for the first time in ecstasy. It happens so naturally, as if you've said it that way a hundred times before. As if your mouth knows the way to give shape to your longing.
Hearing his name, when you're already poised on that edge, is your undoing.
You throw your head back into the pillow and arch off the bed with a cry as that tension finally snaps, sending a white hot fission through your veins in its place. Your toes curl and your newly freed hand bunches a fistful of your sheets, pulling them taut while your whole body shudders with every violent swell of pleasure.
As you come, all you can think about is him. "Fuck!" The movement of your fingers over your clit becomes jerky, but never slows. You're determined to make every second of this feel so fucking good. "David!" It rolls and rolls and rolls through you, weakening and yet seemingly without end as you work every last bit of rapture from your sensitive flesh—
Until, finally, you collapse against the bed with a whimper, and your hand flops weakly down onto the mattress next to you. You lay there, gasping for breath, your eyes closed, and your limbs and your brain and your belly humming in the heady afterglow of your release.
By all accounts, this should bring you a bone deep satisfaction. It should have quelled the fire that burns for him, even if only temporarily.
But as your mind clears, you feel quite the opposite. As if something has awakened inside of you, stirring from a deep slumber in that same way he roused your darkness.
And it's ravenous.
You grope along the bedspread for your phone.
When you pick it back up, your hands are still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm.
"I think I'm rather enjoying my new freedom."
So am I.
A groan is wrenched from your chest as you glance up at his previous messages and wonder just how much he was enjoying it. You have a pretty good guess.
"God, David. I miss you."
I miss you, too. But not for much longer.
"Would you like to chat now?" There's a renewed flutter of interest from your swollen sex as you think about doing this again, but for him.
There's nothing I want more. Unfortunately, I have some important personal matters to take care of this afternoon, but I promise the evening is yours. How does 6 o'clock sound?
There's a pang of disappointment in your chest. That's hours from now! But before you can pout, you remind yourself that you're an adult. You can control and entertain yourself until then, for christsake. Besides, he said the evening was yours. You'll have plenty of time to talk to him later.
You also really want to ask what sort of personal matters because you're curious about what they could be, and about him in general, but he would have elaborated if he wanted you to know. The word personal also denotes a certain level of privacy. So you leave it be. For now.
"That sounds lovely. I'm looking forward to it."
Me too. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy your date with the book on your nightstand.
"I've changed my mind there, actually. I have a lot more shopping to do instead." You give your phone a little grin.
Oh?
"Yes. It's been so productive and satisfying thus far. Who knows what other wonderful things might result from it?"
I see.
"I hope you enjoy your afternoon."
I'm certain I will. Enjoy your shopping.
You end up purchasing some of the lingerie that gets you particularly worked up whenever you think about him—especially the maroon one. Then you spend the rest of your day purging your wardrobe of your boring work clothes and whatever else reminds you too much of your old life. The result is a sparse apartment and an even barer closet, but you like it. It's a reflection of where you are in life and of all the room you have to grow and rebuild the way you want.
You may occasionally take breaks from downsizing to browse for new outfits and dresses, but it's to figure out what you like so you can eventually replace what you're getting rid of. It's definitely not to keep David intrigued throughout the day and looking forward to talking to you again. Not when he's so busy. That would be cruel.
You can't remember ever smiling this much.
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You log on several minutes early. You don't care that it's probably a little pathetic. You don't even care if it lets him know exactly how eager you are for this. You've been checking the clock since five and you were getting impatient. You can only pace so many circles in your living room before you lose your mind. Not that sitting there and staring at your own face is any better, but at least it gets you closer to him.
To your relief, he logs on a few minutes early, too. Possibly because he knows you're already here, but you hope it’s because he was impatient as well. The electronic chime makes your heart swell in your chest.
"Hello, David."
Hello, darling.
The image of you on the screen practically swoons at his greeting. There's no other way to describe the gentle tilting of your head, your dreamy smile, or how your eyes soften with affection.
You barely recognize this woman.
You're not sure you've ever made that face before now. Or if you have, it was when the National Gallery rotated Cornelius van Haarlem's Two Followers of Cadmus devoured by a Dragon back into display after you hadn't seen it in a while. Never for another person. Certainly not for a black square not even three centimeters wide.
This man is dangerous.
Getting impatient, were you?
"I knew you were going to say something," you grumble as you fight off a sudden wave of embarrassment.
How could I not? You have no idea how lovely this feeling is. It's gratifying to have such a beautiful woman wanting to talk to you.
You lean in close and lower your voice. "In that case, I was very impatient."
Hmm. I'm so very pleased to hear it.
Did you have a productive afternoon?
"I did, actually. I accomplished quite a bit."
Good. And did you have fun shopping?
"You know I did." You give the camera a heated smile. While it wasn't as risque as the lingerie, the clothes you were looking at—low cut silky blouses, high slit skirts, backless tops, skin tight pants—were still sexy, just in a more subtle way.
Do I?
You roll your eyes and ignore the obvious bait—something that would have irritated a response from you just a few days ago. "How was your afternoon?"
Also productive, despite the circumstances.
"Circumstances?" You cock an eyebrow, no longer able to ignore it. He really does know how to push your buttons, after all, much to your chagrin. "Do you mean with your personal matters or do you mean spying on me?"
Both, but I wouldn't call it spying.
"Well, I would! So it serves you right." Despite your fake outrage, you're thrilled he was still paying attention, even when he was busy.
Do you want me to stop?
You pause to consider your answer. You think you should probably be unsettled that he's monitoring all of your activity. If any other man did that, you would be furious and horrified, but he's not any other man. He's also not holding it over you, making you feel bad, or controlling what you're doing. So far—your answer would change if he were. He's simply looking.
And you enjoy knowing that he's looking. In a strange way, it makes you feel connected to him, even when you aren't chatting, as if it's just another aspect of your relationship. It also makes you feel like you're the most important and interesting thing in his life—you'll admit that particular feeling has become quite addictive. You enjoy being able to take advantage of it as well, like you did this afternoon.
However, there may be times when you do want privacy for a specific reason. He certainly doesn't need to know every detail about your hygiene purchases or your embarrassing Google searches. Well, future embarrassing searches, anyway. It also makes it very difficult to surprise him if he can see what you're up to.
"No, I don't want you to stop." Your lips curl into a seductive smile. "I like it quite a bit, in fact. I just have one condition."
What's that?
"If I do ever ask for privacy, you give it to me. No questions asked and no looking."
Of course. Then you'll have it.
"I mean it," you say seriously. "I need to trust you'll respect my wishes."
You have my word that I will give you privacy whenever you request it. You only ever need to ask.
"Alright." You relax in your chair, mollified by his response. Because you believe him. "Thank you, David."
You're welcome.
Now tell me about your productivity.
"That's not a very exciting topic of conversation, I'm afraid. In fact, most of it was quite boring."
Tell me anyway.
"Well, I went through my flat and got rid of everything that felt like it belonged to the person I was pretending to be and not me."
I see. That doesn't sound boring. You shed another one of your layers.
I bet it felt good.
"It did! It felt freeing. I didn't realize before how much my place felt like a stage. As if the performance didn't stop, even when I was alone. And when I had a roommate? God, no wonder I was always so miserable."
It's also probably why you grew to resent every roommate you've ever had, no matter how much you didn't mind or tolerated them when they moved in. It didn't matter if they were quiet or cleaned up after themselves. Their presence meant the only place you could truly let your guard down was your bedroom. It was exhausting.
"But now the set dressings are gone. No more calf length pencil skirts or tacky lingerie. No more gifted kitchen gadgets and holiday candles. No more cheap art prints of pieces that I don't even like.” Then you grumble, “God, I swear I had like, half a dozen versions of Irises.”
No more mask.
"No more mask," you repeat out loud with a sigh of relief. Even saying it feels incredible. "Speaking of, you'll be pleased to hear I've also been doing some reflecting since we talked yesterday." You can't help the smug grin that creeps onto your face.
Oh?
"Yes. I've figured out where my reflex to apologize when I think I've upset or inconvenienced someone comes from."
Have you? Does that mean you're ready to talk about your mother?
You huff out a laugh and shake your head. Of course. You should have seen that coming. "You're frighteningly good at that."
It's a gift.
You can feel his smirk through your screen. "So it is. And I'm glad to know that I'm predictable."
I never used that word.
"It's true, though." You shrug, unbothered by your own statement. "It's a behavior that's usually learned in childhood. In this instance, I'm not particularly unique."
I disagree.
"I just meant that a lot of people have troubled relationships with their parents." A lot of them developed the same issues from it as well, you think to yourself. Granted, the cliche is that women in the sex work industry have daddy issues, not mommy issues. So perhaps you're not entirely predictable.
And yet, they're not you. They didn't become what you are.
"And just what am I?" That's another thing you haven't looked at too closely. You've been so consumed with the "who," you haven't really considered the "what."
You're something entirely different. Something more like me.
"That's not an answer."
I assure you, it is.
"It's not, David," you insist. "I still don't fully know what that means!"
If you're expecting me to pathologize you instead, I'm not going to.
"Why not?" You tilt your head curiously. You weren't actually expecting him to, but now you're intrigued as to why he won't.
Because that's not an answer to your question either. Those terms and labels are just more costumes that don't suit you. You're far more than that.
Before you can object that you disagree and that it might actually help you understand yourself better, he continues on. As if he anticipated what you were going to say.
It would also imply there's something wrong with you. But there's nothing wrong with you, despite what anyone may have told you in the past.
"You really do have me all figured out, don't you?" There's more affection in your voice than you intended.
I told you. I see you.
"You do. And I'm guessing you see my text message history, too." You raise an eyebrow at the camera in challenge, daring him to deny it.
You thought a lot about what else he would have access to after he blindsided you with the knowledge of your side bank account. Reading your texts would be absurdly easy in comparison, so of course he knows about your relationship with your mother. It's also how he knew that threatening to tell her your secret would be so effective.
That as well.
"I think that's the first thing I know you've seen that I feel embarrassed about."
Why?
"Because it means you've seen the worst of my mask," you say quietly.
I wouldn't say that. I saw a daughter desperate for her mother's affection and approval.
"Oh, god," you groan as you rub a hand over your face, completely mortified by his phrasing, but unable to find fault in it. "That's exactly what I mean!"
You're not the one who should be embarrassed by those messages.
"I'm the only one that is. Or will be. Trust me, she thinks everything she's ever said to me was righteous and justified, and you can't get blood from a stone." You flop your hand back onto the desk—a little harder than you meant to—and it makes your webcam shake.
You can already feel that mixture of hurt and anger rising in your throat and threatening to spill out. You quickly swallow it down and take a deep breath to regain control over your emotions. You're not going to have a breakdown on camera because of her. You're done letting her hurt you.
It's not righteous or justified, but I'm guessing you know that already.
"I do, but I appreciate the reassurance anyway." You give him a soft, grateful smile. Then your face falls as you glance back down to your keyboard. "What else did you see?"
Most of your text conversations with her are arguments. I suspect your phone conversations are similar.
"They are," you confirm without hesitation. "I don't think we know how to communicate any other way."
But you're not the instigator, are you?
"No," you sigh heavily. "I do everything I can to avoid an argument because I'm just so tired of it, but it usually doesn't matter. She can always find fault with my tone or something I've said. And of course there's also the fact that I don't go to church, don't have an important career, haven't gotten married, and don't have or want children. You can imagine her disappointment."
I shudder to think.
What an exhausting, horrible woman.
"That she is," you can't help but laugh. Despite the heavy topic of conversation, his irritation on your behalf is endearing. "I hate calling her or answering the phone. And God forbid I need something! You'll note that when I needed money to keep my flat, I became a camgirl before I even thought about asking her for help."
I had noticed you never considered doing anything else. Then I read your messages and it wasn't difficult to understand why.
You try not to feel mortified once again at the reminder that he's seen those. Instead, you tell yourself that he saw them and he kept looking. They didn't disgust him or scare him off—from you anyway. Even after reading them, he still wanted you.
You truly understand now what he's always meant when he says he sees you. It's a very assuring, lovely thought.
"It turned out to be a wonderful decision, at least." You give the camera a coy smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.
I would have to agree. A very wonderful decision.
"She wouldn't have helped me anyway, so I knew it was pointless. The few times she did, she lorded it over me constantly. As if I should be forever in her debt because she paid for my university textbooks years ago."
Is that another reason you were so afraid to take my money? Or why you were worried about feeling as though you owed me?
"Huh…" You lean back in your chair as you mull THAT one over. You hadn't quite connected those dots yet, but now that he's pointed it out, you have always been bad at accepting any help or gifts. Every single one felt like it came with an unspoken expectation or debt of some kind that would be called upon later. Now you know why.
You briefly wonder what other sort of connections you'll make in the future. Because you're starting to realize there are still plenty of them left to be uncovered.
"I think that was part of it, certainly, but you have to admit, the circumstances were also a very big factor as to why I didn't want your money."
Of course. You thought I was trying to buy you.
"I absolutely did! And in a way, you were," you tease. "It was just my attention you were paying for."
I made no attempt to hide that what I wanted was you, but it really was a gift. I knew the money would give you the freedom to think about everything I said, and once you did, you could no longer ignore your mask. Then maybe you would finally rid yourself of it. I wanted that for you.
And I wanted to see what would become of you when your strings were cut.
"Well, are you pleased with your handiwork?"
Quite pleased. I'm enjoying seeing the real you and how beautifully you've flourished in the light, now that you're no longer hiding.
"I have flourished, haven't I? I feel at home in my own skin for the first time in my life." You arch your shoulders, stretching lazily as if to savor the truth of your statement, before resting your forearms on the desk. You look quite pleased with yourself as well. "For so long I've been afraid to peel back all those layers and confront what's underneath, but now that I'm finally realizing who I am and what I want, I can't stop picking. I like what's underneath."
So do I.
You deserve to be proud. You've been working very hard to find your truth.
A warmth radiates through your chest at his praise.
"I have." Then you smile sadly. "Unfortunately, the truth hasn't always been painless."
No. It's never that.
"But every second has been worth it to have this." You glance up at the camera and let the double meaning hang in the air.
I'm glad. And I would have to agree. Wholeheartedly.
After a hesitation, you say, "One of those painful truths was realizing that my mother probably had a big hand in making me what I am."
Darling, NO.
The only thing she had a hand in was making you feel ashamed of yourself or like you had to hide what you are. She tried to destroy something exquisite and she failed. You are what you are despite her.
Do you know why? It's because you're better than her. You always have been and she knows it. Why do you think she treats you the way she does? That woman is a monster and she doesn't deserve any part of you.
Your eyes immediately fill with tears as you read the chat box. No one's ever told you that before. You may have come to the same conclusion last night, but you had no idea how much you needed to hear it from someone else, so to speak. Now hearing it from him?
"God, David. I've never…" you trail off, your voice choked with emotion. It takes you a second to get control over yourself enough to continue. "Thank you. And you're right." You sniffle and quickly try to blink away the tears. Then with more force, you say, "I've endured her for too long. Thankfully, I never have to again. I blocked her number last night and I'm cutting her out of my life."
You did?
"I did. Once I realized there was nothing good there to hold onto, even the idea of removing her from my life brought me more peace and happiness than having her in it ever did."
Good. I hope it does.
"So far, so good." You give him a teary smile.
I'm sure that couldn't have been easy.
"It wasn't. Or at least the process of coming to that conclusion wasn't, but it was all far more anticlimactic than I thought it would be."
Is that why you sent me that message?
"Oh, god." Your face begins to burn with embarrassment as you remember texting him while more than a little tipsy. "Yes," you finally answer sheepishly while you glance up at the ceiling. 
Why are you embarrassed by that?
"Because, if I'm being honest, I was two and a half glasses of wine in when I sent that."
Were you now?
"I was. I knew it was the only way I would be able to cope with that whole process."
And did it help?
"I think it did. I got through it, anyway. I'm just glad that I didn't call or text her. God, that would have been a trainwreck." You glance suggestively up at the camera and lower your voice. "I have far less self-control when it comes to you, apparently."
You have no idea how much I enjoy hearing that.
"But we should both be grateful that I didn't send you anything messier than I already did."
I don't know, sounds intriguing.
"See, you're thinking about me sending you something sexy, but I'm worried about sending you something frantic and emotional," you laugh. "Which would have been far more likely given the circumstances."
Hmm. I see your point.
"So anticlimactic really was for the best all around. And it's done now."
Good riddance.
"Do you want to know the worst part, though?" This time there's a bitterness to your smile, and it doesn't meet your eyes. "Through all of this, I never stopped wanting her to love me. I tried so hard. I never stopped trying, but she did. A long time ago. She'll never be the mom that I want, just like I was never the daughter she wanted. I know that now and I've finally made peace with that reality. Plus, realizing I would never understand or get any sort of closure was another big catalyst for me to finally pull that trigger the way I did." Your face finally softens. "But I never would have confronted any of that if not for you."
You would have gotten there on your own. Eventually.
“Possibly. I was getting exhausted from it. To the point that everytime my phone rang, I considered tossing it out the window rather than answer it.”
I could make her life miserable, you know.
If you asked it of me.
"Tempting." You let out a chuckle and wipe away the remnants of a tear drying on your cheek. "But I'd rather her not be in my life at all, even through you. I'm making a clean cut so she can no longer use me to build herself up, and for her that will be a worse punishment than anything you could think of."
I don't know. I have a very vivid imagination.
But I will leave it be unless you change your mind.
"I do appreciate the offer." You smile gratefully. "That's twice now you've given me the opportunity for vengeance."
It won't be the last, should you ever feel the need for it.
"Is it strange that I find the thought of you wanting to make someone miserable for hurting me sweet and endearing?"
No.
I would hurt anyone you asked me to, even if all they did was annoy you.
"You would?"
I would. Without hesitation. For you.
"Fuck," you gasp as you squirm in your seat, suddenly very turned on. "I really like the thought of that."
Do you?
"I do." 
How much?
"This much." You bite your lip as you bring your hands to your top. Then you begin to slowly unbutton your blouse. The heat that started between your thighs rises to your belly. This is finally happening.
There's a pause.
You're sure?
"Yes. I'm so sure you didn't even have to ask." Your fingers continue to methodically work each loop as you speak, driven on by determination. "I'm done hesitating. I want this, David. I wanted it last night before I got interrupted, and I wanted it this afternoon."
You’ve found closure for so much of your past—all the ties to your old life, your social media, your friends, your job, your mother—and you're done looking back. All you want now is to move forward. After all the emotional turmoil you went through to get to this point, all you want is to fall into him.
Once you’ve finished, your top spills open, revealing the cups of your bra and your bare stomach on the screen. The chat box sits, unmoving, and you realize he must be watching very carefully. So you slide the fabric down your arms, seductively arching your chest towards the camera to make a show of it, until it comes free. You toss it to the side without looking. Then you're left in nothing but your bra and skirt.
"I want you to see me. All of me. I want to show you what you're missing, hiding from me behind that screen. You could be here with your hands and your mouth on me, instead, you know. I want you to think about that, and I want you to touch yourself while you do." You look directly into the webcam with all of the desire, need, and heat that has been building up inside of you for the past week. "Because I plan to as well. Again."
You have no idea how much I’ve resisted doing all of that. It's taken every ounce of my self-control to resist you.
"Why can't we just give in then?" You beg for the camera. "Why can't we just skip this part? Come here now. Tonight. Touch me instead."
You aren't ready for that yet.
"I strongly disagree!" You scoff, almost offended at the implication that you don't know what you want.
Besides, I get to see you like this first, remember? I get to see you in a way no one else ever has. I've earned it.
"You have," you sigh in acceptance. You knew it was a long shot, but it was worth a try. "Don't worry, I'll give it to you. Not just because I'm too fucking horny to argue with you properly right now, but also because I said I would, and I'm still going to enjoy letting go for you. Just know that it's a poor substitute for you. Because what I really want is to hear your voice as you tell me how good it feels to fuck me. I want to hear the way you moan and gasp when you lose control of yourself inside of me. I want to know your face when you do. Because I want you, David."
It takes a moment for him to reply. You're aware you'll never get to know exactly how he responded to you. You'll never get to see the look on his face or hear the sounds he made as you said those things to him. But, you think with no small amount of smugness, you can take a very good guess.
Then you'll have me. Soon.
Until then, show me what I'll have.
Take off the rest of your clothes. I want to see you.
You stand up from your chair to do as he instructed. The angle of the camera means your face is no longer in view, and it reminds you so much of your streams that it's momentarily jarring. But once you unzip your skirt, you bend forward to push it down your hips, and the sight of your own face brings you back to the moment.
The one where you're stripping for your stalker slash blackmailer, and it's the sexiest, most romantic thing that's ever happened to you.
Your skirt hits the floor with a soft thump, and you step out of it as you nudge it to the side with your foot. If you remove one more thing, it will be the most he's ever seen of you. Now each step forward is not only new, but is one step closer to getting what you really want: Him.
The thought is thrilling.
So thrilling that you waste no time. You hook your thumbs into the thin elastic of your panties and slip them—slowly, inch by inch to continue teasing him—to your knees, baring your lower half to him.
You stand there for a few seconds, letting him take it all in. That's what he wanted, after all. To see all of you. For you to show him all of you. Every moment between you has been leading to this, and you won't deny him now.
When you sit back down, you slide your panties the rest of the way off. They get thoughtlessly added to the growing, scattered pile. Then you stay there on your repurposed dining room chair, bare skin on wood, and you wait.
As you do, you're very careful to keep your legs closed. It wouldn't do to rush this and give everything away all at once. Especially not when you currently hold all of the power. He may have earned this, but so have you. And you’re going to relish it for as long as you can.
Except there's still nothing new in the chat box. You tell yourself he's probably just settling in and enjoying the view, but the silence is unnerving. You have no way of knowing what he's thinking right now, if he's even enjoying it, and that makes you feel exposed. You’ve gotten so comfortable with the back and forth—of getting some feedback—that not getting it is a sobering reminder that you can't read his expressions or hear the tone of his voice. All he really is to you is text on a screen.
“David?” You call out hesitantly.
Another minute passes and you start to wonder if he's intentionally trying to make you squirm. He does enjoy it, after all. Or perhaps he recognizes how the balance of power has shifted, and he's trying to take some back for himself. It does seem like a very David thing to do.
Then, without warning, your mind offers up the possibility that he's disappointed. That you aren't what he was expecting and now he’s—
God, you’re beautiful. I knew you would be.
Relief courses through you, alleviating the weight that was settling in your chest.
Or maybe he was just taking his pants off, too.
I want to see the rest of you.
That's all the reassurance you need to banish that momentary doubt completely.
You reach behind yourself to undo the clasp of your bra. Rather than remove it, you hug the material loosely to your chest and give the camera a coy glance.
“You mean like this?” You tease as your fingers play with the straps.
Yes.
Take it off.
You slowly lower your arms, letting it fall away from your breasts. And just like that, you're naked on screen—something you never thought would happen. Something you swore would never happen. But there you are, running the tips of your fingers enticingly up the tops of your thighs and over your bare hips. For him.
Seeing you like this was worth every second of waiting. You're stunning. Just perfect.
“Thank you, David,” you say softly, touched by his compliments. It’s sweet, but if he keeps this up, you’ll be feeling more affectionate than horny.
You have no idea how much I want to be the one touching you right now.
That's better.
"Oh, but I think I know exactly what it's like to want you to be the one touching me. Do you have any idea how much I've fantasized about your hands on me since you sent me that picture? God, if I hadn't been at work, I would have made myself come so many times."
That's why I didn't want you distracted.
"I wasn't distracted this afternoon," you say in a husky voice.
No you weren't. 
Did it feel good to finally give in?
"Yes." You bite your lip as you remember the way that growing tension in your belly finally gave when you moaned his name. "It felt so good to respond to you."
Did you think about me touching you like you wanted?
"God, yes. In every way I could think of."
Where did you imagine me touching you? Show me where you like to be touched.
You run a finger from your jaw, down the column of your neck, and then trace along your collarbone. "If you kiss me here, I'll be weak in your arms. But if I feel your tongue here, you'll have me begging."
Then I'll have you weak and begging.
Is that all?
"I was getting there." You smile playfully. “So impatient.”
You continue to run your fingers down your sternum, letting your knuckles skim against the swell of your breasts. You stop and move to cup the soft flesh with your hands.
“I want your lips and your hands here,” you moan as you start to gently massage yourself. Your nipples harden under your palms as you rub over them, causing a pleasant shiver to snake its way through you. Then you arch into your own hands as you think about what it would be like to have his hands here instead. Whether his touch would be gentle like this, or harsh as he wrenches a shudder from the sensitive peaks.
I'm going to enjoy doing just that. Especially if you'll be this responsive for me.
“More so,” you vow, breathlessly, "because it would be you. Are you touching yourself now?"
Yes.
“Fuck,” you hiss. "Are you imagining that it's me instead?"
You know I am.
"Good because I want it to be me. I'm aching to put my hands on you, too.” Your hands lower from your breasts to brush across your stomach. “Where do you like to be touched, David?"
By you? There's nowhere I wouldn't want your hands.
Intriguing, but you know he can give you more than that. "Then where should I start?"
There’s a brief pause that almost feels like hesitation.
My face.
"Your face?” You blink in mild surprise. You weren't expecting that answer, but now you understand the hesitation. He was preparing to admit something vulnerable to you. “That's very intimate."
Is it? Maybe that's why I've never liked it before, but I think I will if you do it.
Despite how sexy all of this is, your heart flutters at the sweetness of that line. He wants intimacy with you, not just the sex. You're reminded of what he said to you yesterday: ‘I want you to be mine in every way it's possible to want someone.’
“I like the thought of that.” You lean in towards the camera, letting your eyelids go heavy as you lower your voice to something both seductive and tender. "Do you want me to cup your cheeks and stroke my fingers over you as we kiss?"
Yes.
"Then maybe I could…” You drop to a half whisper, “kiss along your jaw as well."
It's like you read my mind.
There's a pleased flush in your chest that creeps onto your face as the hint of a smile. "Do you have facial hair?"
No.
"Good to know." You imagine your lips moving over smooth, tanned skin. You wonder if it will be soft, or a little rough with age.
Do you prefer beards?
"I don't have a preference. What looks good depends on the person." You tilt your head curiously. “Have you ever tried growing a beard?”
Once. It didn't suit me.
“Then I'd prefer you without one.”
You're assembling these new, small pieces together with your existing mental image of him. It's like staring at a magic eye puzzle—if you look hard enough, you can almost swear you see the shape of him. But then you blink and it's gone.
You need more.
“Where would I touch you next?”
My chest.
"Is that so?"
Yes.
"Please tell me you don't shave your chest, too. Promise me you have chest hair."
I promise I have chest hair.
"Oh, thank god,” you sigh with relief. “Because you have hair on the backs of your hands and wrists and it's so fucking sexy. I can only imagine how sexy the rest of it is."
You like that, do you?
“Yes.”
Then I think you’ll be pleased.
"Christ, I like the sound of that.” You squirm a bit in your seat. “Where else do you like to be touched?"
My cock.
You nearly choke on a whimper. 
Up till now, this felt like an exploration—or as much as it could be with only you on the screen. You were expecting a buildup of teasing and touching and sharing before you both truly let go. Instead, he sent you reeling. Again. He must be getting impatient.
As you stare at that line, there's a painful ache of arousal between your legs. You unconsciously grind yourself down onto your chair to alleviate some of it. The seat is going to be a mess by the time you're done, you think.
"I plan to touch you there a lot."
Yes you will.
"Are you circumcised?" You can't help the curiosity that seeps into your voice.
I'm not going to describe my cock to you.
"David!" You pout at your screen. "I'm not asking for numbers, here. I just want to know what it would be like to stroke you."
And you'll find out eventually.
“That's not fair.” You are completely naked, after all.
I already told you it's not supposed to be fair.
“Yes, yes, you’re very mysterious,” you huff in disappointment.
Like I said, you’ll find out eventually.
“Soon, I hope.”
Soon.
Now I want you to go back to showing me where you want my hands.
“Do you?” You lean back in your chair. “You want more to think about while you're touching yourself?”
That's exactly what I want.
“Hmm, how can I ever say no to that?” Then you lean even further back so you can caress over the curve of your hips. “You can run your hands along here as you feel your way over my body. It will feel lovely, but I'll enjoy it even more if you grab me instead. Because I want to feel how much you need me.”
That's good because I want to grab you by the hips to hold you still as I slam my cock into you.
“Fuck, David!” You cry out. Your hands reflexively grip and squeeze your own hips at the mental image, your fingers digging almost painfully into the bone. Your sex clenches in anticipation, hoping you’ll get what he said would come next.
If he was there with you and not still on the other end of the call. God, you wish he was there.
After that, you also know the teasing and buildup has come to an end. You can't hold back any longer, and he's made it very clear that neither can he.
"Do you know where else I liked to be touched?" Before he can reply, you finally tilt your hips and spread your legs wide, exposing your sex for the camera. You settle your knees on either side of the seat of the chair with your calves tucked against the wooden legs.
You like to think, if he were there in person, he would have been opening his mouth to answer as the words died on his lips. Instead, you imagine his fingers frozen over his keyboard as he gets to see the part of you he's been waiting for. You're certain he's been going slow—stroking himself enough for it to feel good, but not so much that he loses control. Not until he gets what he wants. Not until he's gotten this.
You end the exploration of your body by reaching between your thighs. Then you cup your mound and begin teasing your fingers along your folds. God, you're already so wet. "Right here. Especially by a hand that knows what I need."
Show me what you need.
You plunge a finger into your entrance and moan at the intrusion. You can't remember the last time you did this. Usually you focus on just your clit with your fingers or your vibrator, eager for the release and not caring much about indulging in the process. You didn't have a reason for it other than getting off to relieve some tension.
Now, as you slide your finger out and draw it over that sensitive nub, you want it back inside of you. You want to be full as you think of him. So you press two inside of you instead.
"I want to know what you look like so badly," you gasp as your fingers begin to work your cunt.
Do you?
"I do. And I want to know what you feel like."
You will, that I promise you.
"God," you whine and slip a third finger into your opening. "This feels so good. I haven't fingered myself in a while."
Why not?
"I haven't wanted to. I just wanted a quick orgasm."
Then I continue to keep my promise, don't I? I made you want to.
"Yes! Christ, I want to," you gasp and rock your hips up to meet your hand. "I want to touch myself like this for you. I love knowing that you're watching me, David, and that you're getting off to it. But more than that, I love pretending that it's you."
If you're pretending that it's me, you need to go deeper because I intend to fuck you properly.
You slam your fingers into yourself as far as they will go, and your head falls back with a cry. “God, I want you to fuck me. Please!”
While I grab your pretty hips and make you take every bit of me?
“Fuck! Yes, exactly like that!” You whine. “I can't believe you're going to make us wait for this! Because you don't have to. You could have me now."
I could.
I could have you however I wanted, couldn't I?
You glance down at the camera, your eyes heavy with lust. "Would you like that?"
You're not answering the question.
"That's because I know better than to say yes," you pant. Your fingers are still working inside of you, stretching you in a way that is both satisfying and not nearly enough. It's driving you crazy.
What does that mean?
"We both know that if I bare my throat to you, you won't be able to resist ripping it out."
I would never hurt you unless you wanted it.
"I believe that you would never want to, but I see you, too. You couldn't help it.” Your hand slows, and you tilt your head as you consider your computer screen. “Could you?"
There's a moment of stillness from the chat box, and you briefly wonder if you've upset him, even though you know you're right. You know there's something about him that’s dangerous and predatory. He admitted as much himself. And it’s not like you feel the need to be overly careful or afraid of him. The thought doesn't bother you. You simply know that you can never tempt him by actually offering yourself up as helpless prey. Or he might just get a taste for it. 
Because you can love a predator as long as you never forget, for even a second, that it's still a predator—no matter how much it shows you its belly and loves you back.
You know all of that. Instinctively. Logically.
And yet.
You do so love being his favorite little prey.
"It doesn't scare me, David," you say quietly to break the silence.
No?
"No. Quite the opposite." You draw your fingers out of yourself to rub over your clit with a moan. "It intrigues me."
I know it does.
Why do you think I’ve done all of this? I knew, from the moment I saw you, that you could want what I am.
“And what are you, David?”
Darling, did you really think I would answer that question? Where's the fun in that?
“But I want to know.” Your fingers speed back up against your bundle of nerves. “I want to know everything about you.”
You will.
“And I want to know every secret you keep from the rest of the world.”
Don't worry, you’ll know me completely.
Eventually.
His words feel like a promise and a threat. You shiver with pleasure.
You shift down far enough in your chair to get a better angle. Then you bring your knees up and plant your feet wide against the edge of your desk. You know this has the added bonus of giving him an even better view of your opening. It also gives him a hint of what it might look like when you finally lay back and spread your legs for him.
"Can you see how wet I am?" You drag your fingers over your clit with a gasp. “Can you see how much I want you?”
Yes. I can see exactly how eager you are.
"Good. As you're stroking yourself, I want you to think about burying your cock right here.” You move your other hand between your thighs. Without hesitation, you plunge your fingers into your entrance again. Now you’re pleasuring your clit while also getting that enticing fullness you ache for, and it feels fucking incredible. The sight of both of your hands moving on your screen only adds to the indulgence.
As if I could think about anything else.
"I wish I was watching you right now instead of myself."
You want to watch me stroke my cock to you?
Your whole body shudders, and you bite your lip to stifle a whimper. "Yes! I want to watch the way your hand slides over your cock and how it throbs and twitches in your fist. I want to see what I do to you."
What you do to me…
You drive me insane. I've never needed to fuck someone like I need to fuck you.
"Jesus!" You wail as your hips jerk forward, and your knees start to shake. “David!”
That's right. I'm going to make you sob my name.
"If you keep talking like that, I'm not going to last long,” you pant.
Good. I want to see you let go for me.
“But I want you to enjoy this!”
You think I'm not enjoying this?
I finally got to see how responsive you are to my words and hear the sounds you make when you're like this. This is everything I wanted. Better, even. Now I can't imagine how much better it will be in person.
When you're full of my cock instead of your fingers.
“Fuck!” You’re driving those fingers in and out of your cunt with purpose now. You're no longer giving him a show. This is you feeling your orgasm closing in on you and scrambling for it, desperate and needy.
Fuck, that's good. Look at you. You're so god-damned beautiful as you fuck yourself for me.
"God, yes!" You gasp as you arch in your chair. "For you."
Only me. Only I can see you like this.
Say it.
"Only you, David."
That's my girl.
Now you're going to come for me.
“I'm so close,” you whine.
And I'm going to come as I imagine your tight little cunt.
“David,” you gasp, barely able to speak now through your ragged breathing. “Please.”
It's all I've been able to think about for months. It's going to feel so fucking good to finally get to fuck you and come with my cock buried inside of you. And I'm going to do it over and over again until I physically can't anymore.
Do you understand? I NEED you. Fuck!
“Yes,” you barely whisper. You're not even sure the microphone picked it up, but you have nothing more to give. The tension building inside of you is becoming nearly suffocating as you read every word. You feel you might drown in it before you ever find release.
As you continue seeking your own satisfaction, a photo pops up in the chat.
At the top of the photo, there’s the edge of a laptop keyboard, which is sat on top of a very ornate and expensive looking wooden desk. But that's not the point of the photo. No. That's not what strangles your breath in your throat or sets a flame in your chest that licks at your cheeks.
The polished surface of the desk is streaked and splattered with come. His come.
You imagine him standing in front of his computer, urgently stroking himself until he's shuddering out his orgasm and spending himself across the surface. All while his eyes never leave you on the screen.
You made him do that.
Your hand speeds up—the circles your fingers are rubbing over your clit are becoming almost brutal and painful, even as pleasure rakes up your belly and your whole body starts to tense. You're so close. So fucking close. You didn't know it was possible to balance on that edge for so long without falling in either direction.
You can't tear your eyes away from that ruined surface or get the thought of him fucking his own fist out of your head as you keep chasing oblivion and—
This is what you do to me.
Oh.
You bury your fingers into your cunt just as your walls clench down around them, and you come undone for the second time that day. To him.
You open your mouth to cry out, to wail his name as part of your release, but it gets choked to nothing more than a thought as your climax slams into you so hard that it knocks the wind out of you. You throw your head back from the force of it. As you try to ride each pulse of ecstasy out against your fingers, the muscles in your legs tense. Then you're involuntarily pushing against your desk with your feet.
The front two legs of the chair lift off the floor.
For a brief moment, your stomach lurches and you think you're going to topple backwards. Instead, you stay like that, hovering between stability and free fall, letting a wave of fear and adrenaline wash over you. Perhaps that should have ruined this, but the additional sensations only heighten and sharpen every breathless shudder until all of your nerve endings thrum. You’ve never felt so painfully, blissfully, alive.
Once you're fully spent, you carefully let the chair fall forward, returning to its proper position on all four legs. Then you bring one of your own legs down to plant a foot onto the carpet to ground yourself and stop that feeling of weightlessness still lingering within you.
God, you're stunning. The most exquisite thing I've ever seen. You were wonderful for me.
You sit there, bonelessly draped back in your seat, sweaty, your arms hanging at your sides, with your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. And you try to smile for him anyway because, between his praise and your orgasm, you swear you’re glowing.
But you didn't scream my name.
You let out a breathless sound of protest. “Couldn't. I tried. Seeing what I do to you…it was too good, holy shit." You swallow hard and shift forward into a more comfortable position in the chair. "But I thought it, David. You were the only thing I knew while I came for you."
Mmmm, that's very good. But you're still going to do better next time. I’ll make sure of it.
"With you?" You ask hopefully.
With me.
FOR me.
Your face burns, and there's a weak twinge of arousal between your legs. Even though it's a mere shadow of what you’ve already experienced today, you’re amazed it's even possible after that.
…You still don't even know what he looks like, you think.
God, he's dangerous.
Won't you?
"Yes," you moan. "I promise I will scream your name until my voice gives out, as long as you're the one coaxing it out of me."
Yes you will.
You whimper. "When?"
Soon.
There are some things I need to take care of first. Then I will send for you.
Your heart begins to pound with nerves and anticipation. This is really happening. "How long?"
Only a few days.
A grunt of shock is ripped from your throat. "Days?!"
Now who's eager?
"I can't help it," you purr, softening at his teasing as you run your hand along your still trembling inner thigh. "I want to see you. And I want you inside of me."
You'll have that.
I'LL have that.
"How many days?" You're almost afraid to ask.
I'll have a car pick you up Monday evening.
There's a heavy drop of disappointment in your stomach. "That's three days…" 
Enough time to have all of my obligations done and taken care of. I want to be able to focus entirely on you once I have you. Like you deserve.
“But that's so long!” It's taking everything in you not to pout. You realize now you’ve been interpreting “soon” to mean you might finally get to see him, say, tomorrow. Or maybe even still tonight. It never occurred to you that it might be longer and that you’d have to wait for him.
I know, darling. I don't like it anymore than you do. And I would never make you wait if it wasn't important, but I have promises to keep.
“Alright,” you sigh. You find that you're, once again, reminding yourself that you're an adult. You can be patient.
And now that you're thinking about it, this gives you plenty of time to prepare as well. You don't have promises to keep, but you can certainly think of a few appointments you should make. When the time comes, you want everything to be perfect.
Besides, after that you’ll never have to wait again. Will you?
“No, David.” You lean forward as you stare into the camera. “Once I have you, I intend to never wait again. Because once I have you, you’re mine.”
That's my girl.
Later that night, when you go to sleep, you take your laptop with you and leave it open on your dresser, facing the bed. On your side table, you prop your phone up into its charging stand and make sure it's positioned just right as well. You want to give him two angles to enjoy this time. Then you sprawl out on top of your covers, still completely naked.
On your phone, you carefully type out, “I hope you didn't think the show was over. Because I still have more I can give you, and it would be such a shame to waste it. Enjoy, David. X”
As you hit send, you reach into the top drawer of your nightstand and pull out your vibrator. Then you settle back, and—with a desire that feels nearly insatiable now—you work several more orgasms from your clit while you gasp and moan and scream his name.
All while you know he's watching.
A/N: See? Who needs therapy when you have fanfiction?? 😌 (Christine please ignore the 🚩��) I debated about whether or not to write a phone call with her mom, but I realized I don't actually want to give her a voice. Because this story isn't about her or even the reader's past. It's about healing from trauma, moving forward as the worst version of yourself, and falling in fucked up love with a stalker/serial killer. 😌
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reineydraws · 6 months ago
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i have this fic series i'm still working on where mihawk sort of becomes rayleigh's kid and spends ages 11-17ish on the oro jackson.
shanks and buggy imprint on him (bugs considers him a sort of older brother figure/sparring inspiration and shanks has a crush that eventually turns into full-blown love) and this is how i imagine they're like on the day mihawk sets off on his own haha.
#fic recs#dracule mihawk#akataka#mishanks#buggy#buggy the clown#shanks#akagami no shanks#red haired shanks#one piece#one piece fanart#op fanart#clearly my workaround to 'i should be working on my deadlines instead of doodling mishanks' is to finger-draw on my phone instead#on the plus side i'll never be tempted to go and fully render what was supposed to be a sketch#on the minus side i'm wondering if drawing with my finger takes up the same amount of time anyways.........#smh#anyways in this au i have this part planned where after shankd and buggy get into a fight over the chop chop#shanks comes crying to mihawk all devastated and annoyed and mihawk who is 16 and absolutely doesnt want to deal with a crying 12 year old#decides to fix things himself by showing buggy the pros of his devil fruit via forceful and incredibly harrowing sparring session LOL.#makes him see right away how much of a boon it is to never be able to get cut by a blade. it turns into an actually fun sesh#'cuz mihawk starts enjoying the challenge and the creativity and control and buggy starts wielding his knives in flying hands.#ends with mihawk berating him on how he treats his brother and how mihawk never wants to have to deal with shanks like that again#and also lowkey encouraging buggy by saying he's a resourceful kid and he's got people if he cant do things himself.#at this point in time shanks kind of wants mihawk to be his knight in shining armour so he's happy to hear what mihawk did#but mihawk is Fully Over bunking with two 12 year olds. ray please can he just set out on his own now. he's done it before. come on.#he is not a babysitter!!!!!!#tho these fics will focus mostly on hawk & ray jsyk#i digress
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cadaverousdecay · 1 year ago
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i’m so overwhelmed by things that shouldn’t be overwhelming...
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adore-gregor · 4 days ago
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Lol I keep on doing this, saying I'd come back to tumblr to only disappear again 😂😭
#and i hate it bc i miss being on here#but also i don't have to force myself or feel guilty for it#bc if i'm fr being on social media is just so time consuming and also not what is good for my mental health often#and that includes tumblr#it's not even that it's a toxic place (at least not the content i'm consuming) but sometimes i just rather spend my time with people irl#meeting someone than on social media and like focus on my life#the last month or so was just really difficult for me and i haven't been feeling so bad mentally in forever#i mean it always is like that that time of the year but i feel like i was worse this year#whenever autumn comes around with the darkness and cold i seem to hit a low mentally#when i tell you how much better my mood is in summer spring how much better i feel everyday regardless of everything else#i get people like autumn but for me its literally the worst and winter too altough at some point it gets better#maybe i adapt and maybe because i spend more time outside around christmas when i go home that's usually a turning point#and ig also the lights of december make it a bit better#but mid october to november is awful#this year the weather was much worse beginning of october was much worse#i feel like i lowkey have this seasonal mood disorder idk#but i barely managed to go to classes and i had no motivation#usually i always make myself study and do the things i have to atleast altough i often terribly procrastinate#but now i was barely able to do this and i had things to do but i couldn't make myself i missed a deadline closely#luckily my professors are the best but i felt so horrible for it how i was unable to get it done#sunlight is just so good for my mood and ik how doctors say how you should avoid it because you can get skincancer#but like i'd rather than my mental health being this bad (not that i want either)#i already miss summer so much and being happier#but tbh i haven't felt this good as I do today in weeks and even this whole week was better#i exercised more than usual altough i tried to in the last weeks i couldn't as often as i normally do so maybe this actually helps a lot#and i studied yesterday today and i will tomorrow i finally feel motivation again#besides i also tried to break up with my bf so that was also tough but i couldn't lol#i tried talking to him and tell him in the nicest way but he didn't get what i was trying to do and i couldn't say more bc i felt horrible#but maybe that's for the better altough i had these thoughts for a while that he just isn't the one for me and that we're too different...#i do really like him as a person the way he treats me and i'm still into him but i just felt like it wouldn't work
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48787 · 8 months ago
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New Transmission The fucking Scientific Instrument Class Pseudocons apparently developed what they're calling "Hetero Sapience" and are corrupting the brainmodules of the non-Pseudo 'cons around them by using annoying xenophilosophy words. Soundwave tells me they're 'Greek' and 'Latin' words, apparently. Cool, I guess? Anyway, if you see any SI Class 'cons causing... issues, just try your hardest to turn your brainmodule off before you start getting infected with their weird lingo, alongside all the other issues pertaining to letting the SI Pseudocons transmit data into your brainmodule in their own weird ways. Thundercracker, on a bet with Starscream, tried to get into an argument with one of them and his head literally exploded when it started talking about Alpha Trion's "Mythological Origins" in its weird dialect. He's mostly fine, CR Pods are working at 'peak' efficiency, but the facial reconstruction is apparently impossible due to some kind of corruption. I thought it was just some weird prank but there weren't even any scorch marks or anything. Just exploded. So yeah, just avoid optical contact and auditory contact to the best of your ability and you should be fine. Otherwise, try to force-shutdown your brainmodule if you can. Shockwave is working on a cure right now, mostly because I know he had something to do with this in the first place so he's going to be the one to fix it. He probably wanted a greater justification to do that weird data-transfer idea he mentioned previously. But it also explains the weird Thunderwing hypotheticals he's been asking me lately... Can I go one fucking cycle without someone trying to "Perfect Thunderwing's Work" or whatever other idiotic drivel that I keep finding our limited energon reserves siphoned into?? It's not even a Shockwave thing, it's like every damn Cybertronian these days thinks they have the "Missing piece of the puzzle" or whatever. In fact, Shockwave might be doing this as a weird threat against the other R&D 'cons to cement himself as the one and only Decepticon "Allowed" to have resources wasted on projects like that. Ugh, now that I think about it, that's probably a correct assumption and he's probably gonna expect me to thank him for it later. Ugh, and he's probably literally right. Ugh. At least his repairs both to himself and to his lab seem to be mostly complete so further research into the SI project should hopefully come along a little faster. Both Shockwave and Soundwave think the SIs could potentially be used as some kind of specialty weapon, but we'll have to see how they work on sparkless lifeforms, like biological lifeforms or xenomechanical lifeforms. The SIs don't seem to corrupt each other, but Shockwave keeps reaffirming that they're not "Sparkless Lifeforms" because they "were never lifeforms to begin with"... but I think he's trying to hide something. Usually Soundwave is the one to pick up on that kind of technological obfuscation, but he actually agreed with Shockwave and offered to send Ratbat to try to work out exactly what each "sapient" SI is now capable of on a personal level. We could have just had regular Cybertronians aboard to fill the role SIs fill. I would've preferred K Class to fill any role an SI could fill in all honesty!! But no, constructing cold wasn't enough, we just had to try to learn how to "Construct Frozen" and the "Absolute Zeroes" just had to be put on my ship. Whatever. I've probably said too much already. This was supposed to be a warning for my ship crew, but it's looking like it'll end up being transcribed on the golden disk as well so when this new Scientific Instruments of Destruction project backfires in some absurdly bombastic way there will at least be something remaining that says I was right. End of Transmission
New Transmission Okay so I was right, but so was Shockwave and Soundwave. Or, well, they were right just enough to make sure the backfire is postponed for at least another handful of cycles. Ratbat is still in CR from the investigation, but the cure Shockwave developed seems to be effective and Thundercracker is out and aiding the repair effort. Shockwave is now in contact with one of the SIs digitally and the other few are... integrating due to the personal efforts of Soundwave. I suppose now would be pertinent to mention not all the SIs developed the "Hetero Sapience" condition, many of them are safe for interaction. Soundwave is also currently monitoring their presence, Ravage is tasked with the regular SIs and Laserbeak is tasked with the "Sapient" SIs. Shockwave probably knows exactly what caused this event but he is preoccupied with the one he no doubt is either indoctrinating or ruthlessly interrogating. Report to Soundwave if you see any suspicious behavior, he has been working very hard to ensure the SIs have their purpose clearly defined (And closely monitored). And, Starscream, stop trying to convince the SIs that you are the leader of this ship. Not only have the majority of your efforts been wasted on subsentient automata, the only one you have actually found who possesses the ability to truly listen to you immediately came to the bridge to complain about you. They were the first sapient SI I communicated with directly and it was because they felt the need to complain about you. I almost feel embarrassed for you. Come back to the bridge so you can apologize to it or so I can teach it how to laugh at you. It's practicing right now actually! This moment of chaos should hopefully be largely under control now, the actual "population" of Scientific Instrument Class Pseudocons was actually quite fewer than initially expected due to an indexing error incorrectly labeling certain shells as SI class. At the very least, we have some more specialty warriors because of it all. End of Transmission EOF
#yippie peace through tyranny!!#nemesis posting#Decepticon High Command Slice of Life rambles#Matrix Visions#I like this “chat” font I think it's cool#spacebridge still needs more time in the oven unfortunately#I'm also procrastinating on that because I can't seem to wrap my head around guestmount but do not want to send backup files one at a time#wegh. It'll get done. Eventually.#I'll have so much more bullshit once I actually finish the damn comic my wife radically altered my life with hehehe#I cannot wait to start posting about Alpharius Trionicon. He's the fucking worst if you couldn't tell by name alone and I love him so much#Anyway I just had a very specific joke/pun in my head in the shower then it turned into a whole *thing* like it usually does.#I usually don't explain shit but the shower idea centered around getting the SI acronym to work for hyper specific jokes.#Still can't decide if I want to lock in on “Scientific Instrument” because it fits *so well* for *so many reasons*#But “Synthetic Intelligence” is more generic in a more understandable way... Eeh.. It's a little *too* generic. “Instrument” is cooler.#Once my wife helps me understand her lil fucker more I'll come up with an even shitter joke using “Y/N” so I can do Y/N x SI x SI bullshit!#Oh! The matrix triune project is coming along slowly as well!! I think I mentioned that microphone project once or twice now hehe#I'm gonna make so many shitty covers of songs once I get the soundproofing to start focusing on vocal training stuff#It's been quite a fun time aboard the nemesis!! There's so much to “Blog” about that it's hard to really know when to start *or* stop hehe!#And the fact that all these projects are all interwoven is so fucking wonderful!! I FINALLY feel able to fully grasp my own focus!!#My brain is like a particle collider for certain interests now. I can reliably just.. Spit things out and tie it into the other interests!#It's sometimes exhausting but in such a new way. Like a relieving exhaustion?#Still figuring that part out!!#Anyway that's enough personal project vagueposting I should really be getting back to work hehe this was fun
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arrowpunk · 9 months ago
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Well I got a job
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stupid-lemon-eater · 2 years ago
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i read fantine's descent for the first time last night - i had fallen behind on les mis by 10 days so i read it all in one go when i was meant to be going to sleep, and at several points i just had to Stop and stare across my dark bedroom at the mirror and the faint outline of my face lit up by my ipad and just Breathe for a second.
the thing i found most interesting while reading it was just how horrifying it was. as mentioned in the post i just reblogged, fantine had to choose every single time to carve herself away, to give up more and more of herself until she was unrecognisable, and she did it all out of hope and love for her daughter who she doesn't even know was being mistreated, that all her sacrifice was doing was lining thernardier's pockets while cosette still suffered.
and that would be interesting enough as is, but the thing that struck me the most while reading is how all of the actual horror of fantine's fate is stripped from her in adaptations (or at least in the musical/movie) in favour of the lurid idea of her having to go into sex work. the book itself treats fantine going into sex work as another tragic loss on effectively the same level as cutting off her hair, learning how to live in winter with no heat nor light, losing her modest lodgings for an uncomfortable attic with no bedding, her persistent illness or removing her front teeth — it's, "Let us sell what is left!" — what's one more loss on top of everything else, right?
(one could even make an argument that the tooth removal was treated as the most horrifying part of fantine's descent - it certainly was for me, as someone who had two wisdom teeth removed recently! the imagery of her bloody smile with the hole where her front teeth should be lit up by candlelight is definitely one that's going to haunt me.)
but in adaptations, we don't see that slow chipping away of personhood, of identity, of belongings and comfort. it's kicked out of the workhouse - hair cut off - prostitute - dead. bamatabois is changed from an arrogant, wealthy asshole with nothing better to do with his time than torment those less fortunate than him for the crime of merely existing to a potential customer who gets angry when fantine turns him down. by adding that dynamic to their interaction it softens bamatabois' cruelty, makes it less about an act of completely unprovoked dehumanisation and, well, cruelty against someone vulnerable that was answered by that person snapping and lashing out.
bamatabois in the book did not just target fantine because she was a sex worker, but also because her hair was cut, because she had no front teeth, because of how she dressed, how she behaved - in short, she was an acceptable target.
it feels as though the people adapting the novel don't understand that the tragedy and horror of fantine's fate was not the fact that she had to sell sex for money, but the fact that she had to give up everything of herself to the point where she was an unrecognisable wretch drinking brandy to keep the misery at bay with the only thing keeping her alive being her love for cosette. even the tooth removal, when it is adapted, is changed to her back teeth, making fantine's loss less visible and more palatable, and is oft ignored in favour of focusing on fantine's work as a sex worker in a way the book never does, not realising that the sex work was a symptom, not the disease.
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coquelicoq · 2 years ago
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one specific thing that i'd like to get better at w/r/t crossword theme generation is identifying not just words that contain a specific set of letters but phrases that contain a specific set of letters. for instance. i'm working on a theme right now in which types of shoes are going to be hidden within the long answers. for some, there are longer single words that contain those letters (e.g., toolBOOTh, MOCha, conFLATe), but for others i'm going to have to go over a word boundary, which takes me out of the territory of Things That Can Eventually Be Found If You Read The Dictionary For Long Enough (my usual strategy lol). the problem is i have absolutely no idea how to get better at this. but in good news, today i came up with both "muscle atrophy" and "oracle at delphi" for "cleat" and "warts and all" for "sandal" almost right away. so...i just need to keep doing that? somehow? how are other constructors doing this all the time??
#and how was anybody doing this before the 'contains' search function on thefreedictionary.com existed??#cruciverbs#my posts#i went on my crossword theme generation walk today and came up with nine theme ideas. NINE.#and i would have done more but i had to stop just bc if i came up with any more i wouldn't be able to hold them in working memory#long enough to get home and write them down#i should really take my phone with me on these walks lol#turns out one of the nine is an idea i've come up with before but haven't followed through on yet. maybe i should do that one next#i gotta focus on the shoe one first though and unfortunately i won't be able to use 'warts and all' unless i can come up with a second#answer containing sandal. because 'sandal' will be in a rebus square which means it'll be part of both an Across and a Down answer#but i really want to use warts and all :(#and i kind of think the second answer shouldn't include 'and' because that feels repetitive#so what are my options? '_s andal_' are there any common english expressions containing the word andalusia? i don't think so#'_sa ndal_' illegal word-initial consonant cluster so that's out. '_san dal_' are there any spanish saints with names beginning in dal-?#'_sand al_' or '_sand a l_' sand something. thousand something. ampersand something. hm.#'_sanda l_' sanda at the end of a word is not super promising#i think '_sand al_' is my best bet so now i gotta think of things related to sand that start in al-. or things that start with al- that#there are a thousand of#sand alloy. sand aluminum. sand algae. terrible. painfully bad.#this is what i need to get better at but idek where to start
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opens-up-4-nobody · 2 years ago
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...
#ay ay ay. my head feels like its stuffed completely full of cotton. bulging at the seems#its just that wrung out ive been crying too much feel. i just had to do a bunch of application stuff yesterday night#and there were way too many tears so i work up out of focus with salt in my eyelashes. so i wasnt that productive despite the fact i really#need to b rn. and i met with my boss for our weekly meeting and its just so many things i have to do#like theres this procedure for some new equipment we have and im testing it out but like she wants to see it in action and im like treading#close to dangerously unstable so the chances i burst into tears in public is quite high which is why i hide in my apartment and only go to#the lab when no ones there. but no im prob gonna have to go in Thursday and have to go drive like and hr away next week so we can hopefully#have all the equipment we need for another project thats gonna kill me. plus we got contacted by a group we were gonna work with last year#who wanna work with us again. which is objectively good like itll look real good on a cv to b involved and like even non science ppl would#prob find it cool. but i csnt feel any of that bc i dont kno how im gonna be able to go back and forth contacting the other lab group i#have to work with in order to do everything. which its like itll b fine#ive done it before. 2 of the 3 things i have done before so itll be fine. it just doesn't feel like it#it feels like im dissolving into pieces and everythings spinning too fast. theres a film between myself and everything else so i cant touch#anything and it cant touch me.#and its weird bc i know that burning myself out is what got me here but i still cant detatch myself from the soul crushing guilt of not#making every second productive. its disorienting bc my brain will b like: u should just stay here over break and get stuff done#and like no. thats objectively the worst thing i could possibly do. i just feel like a wet glob of paper towels. ive already committed#myself to only 13 days being gone. only have to trudge through like 21 days 1st. how? no idea#like im sure itll b fine but somethings gotta give before my brain implodes beyond repair. if were not there already#ay everytime my boss says something nice abt me to someone it just feels like a knife in the gut. like shes not lying but i just feel like#ive fallen so far that shes talking abt a past verson of me and it makes me sad. like idk how obvious it is but im sure i have terrible#vibes irl lol like the sort of pained twisted up little smiles u make when u dont wanna lie but u dont wanna b honest ay#itll b fine. i can feel the floorboards giving way so somethings close to giving just have to see where and in what form the metaphor#actulizes. hopefully it does so quickly bc im bored and tired of living like this. and i dont really wanna go home and explode into tears#like a child and have my parents deal with me. which they would bc theyre great. i just dont wanna worry them sigh...#unrelated#i should sleep bc i gotta get up and burn my brain out being a scribe tomorrow morning. at least i get to hang out with someone cool
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lovelyisadora · 2 years ago
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ok this post I’ll delete later but—
i have to be kind to me. i have to stop being so harsh. i have to stop internalizing ableism and hating myself for being unable to do something that used to be easy. i have to stop telling myself im faking and manipulating those around me because it isn’t true, and those helping me are doing so because they want to.
it’s going to be ok, I have to be kind to me.
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merkerlerspeaks · 4 months ago
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Zodi/Celeste/Raine is somehow both my baby and also the girl my inner little weird girl looks up to so much she adopts parts of her as her personality
#Making Zodi so into entomology got ME into it enough that I got over my phobia of bees#And now things that I think first that she would like I end up liking myself a bit more than I have in the past#like green apple and coconut smells#Instead of basing your OC off your personality....base your personality off your OC LOL#I'm kidding but seriously the adult version of her I have planned would be the absolute coolest friend to have I think#I think creating her I just took a lot of traits I admire and smashed them into one character#She loves being feminine but she's also super tomboyish#She's wicked smart both in street smarts and academics#She has an ambiguous enough tragic backstory and affliction that anyone with a chronic illness#mental health issues#or has done something horrible and regrets it so so much#would be able to relate to her (symbolically at least)#She's a weird girl with weird interests#She's loyal near to a fault#She can treat most afflictions because her ADHD butt has a special interests in medivial/magic medicine#But she is also far from perfect because she does things WRONG and suffers for it#and tries to right it#And suffers with a lot of jealousy problems and some anxieties#She gets angry and bottles up that anger sometimes till she lashes out#But she's also super forgiving because she KNOWS how doing things you regret feels all to well#Idk I just love her#Im thinking about her and she is by far my favourite girl#I've seriously considered taking her and using her in another story#Like she would still be a Tangled OC but at the same time....I'd also take the exact same character#and build a nice story for her to star in bc she is my baby and something I like this much really should have its own thing#Oh I forgot to mention too that I just really like that she doesn't have much focus on things like kids and romance#Like yeah she COULD she has nothing against it but....why tho?#She could take it or leave it. She doesn't need it so she focuses on her own things.#And I also love that I can like her so much and not be trying to ship her with anyone#that's one of my favourite features about her
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honeypiehotchner · 3 months ago
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Juno (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- one shot
Hello again! This goes from zero to 100 in two seconds flat don't @ me!! Sabrina's new album came out and reawakened something in me (everyone say thank you Sabrina) (also this is not beta'd I wrote this in a short n' sweet haze)
Summary: Aaron is working from home but what paperwork he needs to do is the absolute last thing on your mind.
Warnings: smut! 18+ only! this is so filthy! in no particular order: multiple orgasms, cockwarming, choking, brat tendencies, stoplight system, unprotected sex, breeding kink (briefly), face fucking, overstimulation
WC: like 3,400 I lost my damn mind clearly
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You’re not sure what’s gotten into you. Blame it on period hormones (probably) or the fact that Aaron looks absolutely delicious right now in his tight black t-shirt (most likely), but you’re going to go insane if either of you have clothes on for another five minutes. 
The problem is, Aaron is trying to focus. It’s one of his days where he works from home, an idea you gave him when you realized how easy it would be for him to do the same paperwork just from the comfort of your living room. It was a brilliant idea at first. You got to see him more, and were able to do your own thing around the house while he did his work. You got to have lunch together, and offer a genuine mental break in between his mountain of paperwork. 
Now, though, you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck about whatever needs to be signed, who needs to clear what, and what phone calls he still needs to make. 
“Honey,” you call sweetly from the kitchen. You watch him from over the island, your thoughts going all sorts of ways -- namely, deep into the gutter. “Want to break for lunch?”
You see Aaron shake his head, still typing furiously on his laptop. “It’s not even noon yet.”
“Brunch?” you try again, walking out of the kitchen. You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms over your chest in the way you know he loves because of the view it gives him of your cleavage. And you’re wearing a v-neck shirt today for that exact reason, too.
Aaron still doesn’t look up. “I’m sorry honey, maybe in an hour?”
You let out a huff that you know he hears because he finally looks up, eyebrows raised just so. It’s a look that you love. Curious, veering toward that playful annoyance that you can’t seem to go a few hours without his undivided attention. 
Which, you can, by the way. You’re more than capable. It’s just that right now, it’s a crime that his eyes have been looking at paperwork when they should be looking at you.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and there’s some hesitation in his voice. You know he’s assuming the worst. That you’re not okay mentally, and that’s why you need him to take his lunch break now or maybe for the rest of the day. He’s done it before on your darker days.
But you’re okay. You’re perfectly fine. You’d just be even better if he put the damn laptop away and put his fingers to use somewhere else.
Which is exactly why you come to a stop in front of him and reach forward, tilting his screen down and down until it closes. He lets you.
He lets you take his laptop and put it on the table beside the couch. He watches you, his fiery brown eyes taking in every second. He lets you straddle his hips, your arms circling his neck.
“I see now,” he smirks, his hands finding their rightful place on your waist and squeezing lovingly. “By ‘lunch break’ you mean…”
“Put a baby in me,” you blurt, rocking your hips against his.
He stills, his hands making you stop your movements, too. His eyes are darker now in a way you haven’t seen in a while. “What?”
“Please,” you say, leaning your forehead down onto his, trying to move your hips again. “Need you.”
“Honey, we can’t have--”
“Yes I know the semantics, Aaron,” you mutter, now annoyed and lifting your head to glare at him. He has a vasectomy, you get that. “I mean fuck me like you’re putting a baby in me.”
His hands squeeze again. “I see.”
You frown. “Don’t tease me.”
“I’m not,” he smirks, one hand leaving your waist to stroke your cheek. “You’re adorable when you’re horny.”
You roll your eyes, peeling yourself off his lap. He lets you go, albeit with a curious look. You turn and head for the bedroom.
“Where are you going?” he calls out after you, still with that damn smirk lacing his words.
“To get myself off,” you reply in a deadpan. “Since someone--”
You don’t have a chance to finish your sentence before Aaron is right behind you, hands on your hips, spinning you around to face him. That look full of fire is back again, stern this time.
“Did I say you could do that?” he says in a low tone.
“Did I ask?” you retort, backing out of his grasp and darting into the bedroom. 
Now there’s a smirk on your lips. It’s quickly approaching shit-eating grin territory, which you know will only egg Aaron on further. This little game of cat and mouse happens to be your favorite, and he knows it.
You’re barely two steps into the bedroom when Aaron is attached to your back yet again, this time wrapping his arms around your waist, locking you in.
“Color?” he whispers, his lips right at your ear, sending shivers straight down your spine.
You groan. “Green. Neon green. So green, I need you to--”
He spins you again, this time backing you into the wall and attacking your lips. Finally, you think, though you know you’re in for it now. The thought has a grin crawling up your lips, and you’re unable to stop it.
“What’s so funny, hm?” he scolds, moving his lips to your neck instead, to the exact spot he knows makes you weak in the knees. Like clockwork, he has to wrap an arm around your waist to keep you upright, your knees buckling when he bites down just so.
“Nothing,” you manage through a moan, tipping your head back onto the wall. “Shit.”
“You’re ridiculous sometimes, you know,” he says, but he’s smiling against your skin. “Can’t let me focus on work because you need me to fuck you.”
“In my defense,” you try, your hands scrambling for his shoulders, for something to ground you. “You didn’t fuck me this morning.”
“I fucked you last night,” he reminds you, as if you needed the reminder. It’s the reason you slept so soundly. “Was that not enough?”
You can’t help it; you laugh. 
He lifts his head, raising an eyebrow at you. The same question as before on his lips.
“Sorry, I thought you were joking,” you say. 
“You’re insatiable.” 
“Guilty,” you grin, grabbing his face and pulling him back in for another kiss.
You make out against the wall for too long like two teenagers behind the bleachers at school. You hook one leg around his hips, pulling him in and grinding against his obvious erection. It’s enough to have him groaning into your mouth, pressing you against the wall with renowned vigor. 
You can feel how wet you’re becoming and fuck, neither of you have even taken a single article of clothing off yet.
Aaron notices, one hand traveling south without you paying attention, too busy relishing the way he licks into your mouth, stealing your every breath. The kissing becomes increasingly sloppy when he works his hand into your leggings, under the waistband of your underwear, and into you.
“Oh my god,” your back arches against the wall, pushing his fingers deeper. He doesn’t bother with one, starting right away with two, curling them when you grind harder.
“You’re soaking my hand,” he practically growls into the next kiss, adding a third finger after only a few thrusts. Your body accepts it willingly, always ready for him. “Jesus.”
“More,” you gasp, pushing him deeper. “Aaron, more, I’m serious--” Your words break off as he scissors his fingers, making your eyes roll back instantly.
“I can feel you already,” he smirks against your cheek, pressing a kiss there, an action so sweet and gentle compared to what the rest of him is doing. “Come on, honey. You’re cumming as many times as you want.”
That makes you inch closer to the edge at a frightening speed. He says you can cum as many times as you want, but what he means is he’s going to force as many orgasms out of you as he can. Until you tell him to stop or he decides you need a break. 
The thought of being an overstimulated mess in his embrace later has you climaxing against his fingers, your head falling onto his shoulder as his movements never cease, milking every last wave out of you. 
You lift your head in search of his lips again, which he willingly gives to you, his fingers slowing to soothing strokes as you whimper into his mouth. You’ve only had one orgasm and you already feel ruined. He can tell the way you tremble against him, so he checks in once more.
“Green?” he whispers, kissing your forehead.
You nod. “Green. You?”
He smirks. “Absolutely.”
He picks you up into his arms, inelegantly tossing you onto the bed behind you. You giggle as you bounce on the mattress, tugging your shirt over your head as he does the same to his. His hands move for his belt and you practically jump to the end of the bed, swatting his hands away.
“Since when is that your job?” you frown up at him, unbuckling his belt without looking.
He laughs, petting your head gently. “So sorry, you’re right.”
“What was that?” you tease. “I don’t think I heard you.”
“Don’t push it.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” you smirk, pulling his belt out of the loops and tossing it somewhere. You don’t wait for him to reply before you unbutton his jeans, yanking them down with his boxers.
There’s just something about his dick. You hate that you love it, or maybe you don’t hate it at all. All you know is you need it in your mouth right now.
So, you do that, without any warning. Aaron thrusts forward into your mouth on pure instinct, not expecting you to wrap your lips around him so soon. You slide down the edge of the bed onto your knees, pulling him back to you by his thighs. 
You take your time, pushing his jeans and boxers down further. When you pull back for air, he steps out of them and kicks them elsewhere, returning to you quickly, knowing better than to keep you waiting. 
You swallow him down again, moaning around him in the way you know he loves. It takes all of two seconds before he gently holds the back of your head, asking silently for permission that you were already about to grant. You look up at him, batting your eyelashes as you squeeze his thigh twice. Go ahead.
The thing about Aaron fucking your face is that it took a while for him to do it as hard as you really wanted. He’s always so gentle, a quality that drew you to him initially. You love how gentle he can be. But you love it equally as much when he is rougher with you.
Like now, when he has you pinned against the bed, one hand on the back of your head as he fucks into your throat. It’s blissful, quite frankly, the way he feels, and you thank the universe every time for your lack of a gag reflex. 
He holds you there with a deep groan, and you feel him twitch in your throat once before he pulls you off entirely. You frown up at him, once again not getting what you wanted, but he doesn’t have any time for that.
He picks you up by your armpits, hauling you back onto the bed. Your leggings and underwear are gone in a single second, along with your bra. He’s crawling up your body and crowding your space before you have a second to protest that he wasn’t down your throat for near as long as you wanted him to be. 
All frustrations leave your mind the second he pushes inside of you, immediately sliding home, his hips flush against yours. 
It’s a feeling you’ve grown to love, the way he hits you so deep. Another thing it took him a while to be comfortable doing.
He’s not average sized by any means, and you’re the first to admit it made you salivate the first time you saw. The first time he fed himself into you and worried that he was hurting you, meanwhile you were clawing his back because you wanted more. It hurt for a moment, only an uncomfortable pressure because he was bigger than your vibrator, but as soon as you were used to the size of him, you wanted all of him.
He stays there, deep in you without moving for a moment, grinding against you. His lips attack yours again before he pauses to lean his forehead on yours, trying to catch his breath.
“You drive me crazy,” he says on a shaky exhale.
You wrap your legs around him, thrusting your hips up to take him a little more. His hips stutter, pushing in the way you wanted him to, the way you know you can make him do involuntarily.
“Fuck,” he bites out, turning his attention to your neck again.
You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging. “Exactly. So why aren’t you moving?”
He nips at your neck. “Because if I move, I will cum right away.”
“Who said I only want you to cum inside me once?”
He groans again, fingers digging into your hips as you circle them, though he doesn’t try to stop you. “Greedy” is all he says, but he finally moves.
The thrusts are slow at first, Aaron clearly trying to pace himself. You can’t say you’re doing the same, already chasing your second high as he slams his hips into yours. Your hand reaches down to rub your clit, but is promptly smacked away by Aaron’s hand as he glares at you.
“Since when is that your job?” he echoes you from earlier, only this time, there’s more heat to it. He grabs both of your wrists, pinning them above your head to stop any other temptation. “Not this time.”
His thrusts pick up speed and depth, his body moving against yours in the exact way that makes you fall apart. It’s not often that he doesn’t let you cum from added clit stimulation -- not that you can’t without it; it just makes the high feel that much better -- but sometimes he does. It’s an ego trip for him as much as it is for you.
It also adds an unpredictable nature to it, which is why your second orgasm takes you by such surprise. You seize against him, your hands doing all sorts of squirming to try to break free of his grasp, but he doesn’t let you, and he doesn’t let up. You don’t realize why until you feel the warmth spreading into you as he reaches his own peak. 
You’ve clearly worked him up as much as you worked yourself up because his thrusts barely slow down, and he doesn’t soften inside of you. 
Instead, he pulls out only to flip you on your side, sliding in behind you and pulling your leg up and back over his hips. The action causes some of his cum to spill out of you, but you don’t have any time to focus on that before he fucks back into you. 
You’ve ceased to have any coherent thoughts as Aaron whispers dirty nothings into your ear, one arm wrapped around your body to keep you pinned against him. The pleasure doesn’t stop and at one point, you question if your second orgasm stopped at all or if it has continued this entire time.
Aaron reaches underneath the pillow where he knows he’ll find one of your vibrators because he heard you using it this morning. No, he didn’t fuck you this morning, but you fucked yourself, and truly, at 8am, he should’ve known you’d end up like this by eleven. 
Your mind doesn’t register what the sound means until the vibrator is pressed against your clit. Your body jerks, scrambling for some grounding, your hands finding it in wrapping them around his arm. 
He switches hands on the vibrator, so one hand is free to wrap around your throat. Your eyes roll back as soon as you feel the gentle pressure, your body practically going limp against him. 
“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmurs directly into your ear, his thrusts slowing to deep strokes. “You’ve got a couple more in you.”
“A couple?” is all you manage to say, your hand squeezing his wrist so he knows to squeeze your throat a little more.
“Mhm,” his voice rumbles in your ear, sending goosebumps all over your body. “Is it too much?” His question is laced with just the right amount of pity that makes you shake your head against him. “I thought so,” he replies, switching the vibrator to a higher setting.
It sends you into your third orgasm instantly, squirming violently against him as he pushes into you deeper. He knows how much you love that, and loves how much you squeeze around him as he slides inside, fighting against your muscles that threaten to force him out. You’ve done it before, a mesmerized look on his face and yours when you both realized what happened. Since then, you told him you liked it more when he fought to stay inside. 
He takes the vibrator away as you calm down, his hips also pausing, keeping himself deep inside you. The pressure is soothing, and you take a moment to take a deep breath. His palm falls away from your throat, instead propping underneath your cheek.
It takes a few seconds before you feel yourself spasming around him. He chuckles against your back, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Still?”
You nod dumbly, rocking your hips again. “Yeah. I don’t know, I just-- Need more.”
“I’ve got you,” he soothes, pulling out again to roll you onto your stomach instead, one of your favorite positions.
You’re floating as you settle into the pillows, letting Aaron manhandle you wherever you need to be. You groan in your happy, blissed out state as he slides home again, draping himself over your back.
He is gentler now, knowing that’s exactly what you need at this point. The last orgasm he pulls from you is just as gentle, and he pushes deeper into you, letting you ride it out. 
He pulls your hips up and thrusts once, twice before he’s spilling into you. You didn’t realize he was that close again. The warmth is soothing this time as it spreads through you. 
Aaron leaves you only to settle behind you, spooning you once again. Your hand reaches behind you to find him, and he catches your wrist. 
“You need to rest,” he chides softly.
“I know,” you whimper. “Need you inside me.”
“Okay, okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your neck as he slides in again, still half-hard, but it’s enough. You settle down as soon as the weight of him is tucked inside you again. “Better?”
“Mhm,” you sleepily nod, pushing back into him so he holds you tighter. “Do you have to go back to work?”
He chuckles against you, sighing. “No, I’m done for the day, I think,” he says. “I’ll tell them you weren’t feeling well.”
That makes you laugh. “We need a better excuse.”
“Or I need to go back to working in the office.”
You roll your eyes. “Like that’ll make a difference.”
He shakes his head, his mind remembering the same memories that you are. The many lunch hours when you went to eat with him, and ended up with your back pressed into the couch, his tie stuffed in your mouth to keep you quiet.
“Go to sleep,” he says, pulling you impossibly closer. “I’ll make us lunch when we wake up.”
“Perfect,” you smile, nuzzling into him. “Love you.”
“Love you too, honey,” he says, pressing little kisses to your neck and cheeks, wherever he can reach. “Now sleep.”
You’re already halfway there. The combination of him nestled inside of you and the post-orgasm exhaustion is enough to lull you into a restful sleep.
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pocket-deer-boy · 1 year ago
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This is just a personal pet peeve of mine but i feel like a lot of online art tutorials overstate the importance of stuff like guidelines to get “correct” anatomy every single time and while those are typically really good handgrips for beginners we should also tell beginners about gesture drawing. Like maybe i’m being too animatorbrained here but being able to pump out a pose in anywhere from 15 seconds to 2 minutes and quickly move onto the next drawing without lingering on every little mistake is a really really good way at getting good at drawing people proportions quickly. If you make mistakes fast you learn from them fast. So here’s a little exercise:
Sit down, grab some reference images, draw ten poses in twenty minutes (or do ten poses in ten minutes if you’re feeling adventurous or confident) and take a step back and look at your work after the fact. Be sure to move from drawing to drawing quickly once your timer is done. Pretend you’re in a model drawing class and the model has already changed pose whenever your timer hits - finish up whatever lines you were drawing, move on to looking at what the model is doing now.
You will make a lot of shitty drawings, of course, but that’s not so bad. You only spent a minute or two making each one. Focus on the drawings you do like, and look at them as a whole.
Look at all the drawings together and how they fit together on the page. Look at little details and lines you’re proud of. Take note of things you found difficult to get right in such a short time. Take note of the things you liked doing. Do the exercise again, and focus in on the things you want to improve or explore.
Maybe you want to focus on how the torso conveys its weight on the legs. Maybe you want to focus on how shoulders and arms bend around the neck. Maybe you want to focus on how to convey depth on the torso. Maybe you can learn something more about how to draw a body if you only draw using sharp lines and angles. Maybe you can learn something more if you only draw using squiggly, overlapping lines. Maybe you can learn more about how to draw a body if you only fill out the shadows with thick, quick lines. Congratulations! You’re not just learning how to draw a body, but you’re now also exploring your tastes!
This is a fine exercise to do alone, but it’s a lot more fun to do as an activity with a small group so you get to discuss the art you made together.
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miraculouslbcnreactions · 2 months ago
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Since you've mentioned Scarlet Lady in one of your posts, what's your opinion on it?
I've mentioned before that I'm a big Scarlet Lady fan, which is the only reason that I'm comfortable answering asks like this one. I don't publicly criticize the content of hobby creators. That's wildly inappropriate! Punch up, not down.
The linked post was a general discussion of the adaptation process and how @zoe-oneesama did a fantastic job, so for this one, I'm just going to do some general gushing because I do actually like praising and enjoying things!
Scarlet Lady's chosen format (comic) allows it to have this wonderful conversation with canon where it can rely on the framework of canon to tell it's own story while also using canon for jokes and meta commentary. This means that Scarlet Lady is about as close as fan content can get to a direct reboot because it's able to have moments like this one from the comic's first post:
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[Image description: Adrien standing in his room after transforming into Chat Noir for the first time. He is beaming and his eyes are shining with excitement as he exclaims, "This is gonna be awesome!"]
A single picture that communicates everything we need to know about Adrien getting his miraculous. When I've done this same thing in fanfic, I had to write out the full scene because that's how novels work. You have to give the full picture. With a comic, you can just quickly acknowledge this thing that we all already know and then move on to the new stuff. A picture really is worth a thousand words! (Or, in my case, more like two thousand...)
This allows Zoe to keep the same akumas that we get in canon without her story feeling like a boring rehash because she can focus on what's different in her version. A novelization of the same content would have to show both the stuff that stays the same and the stuff that changes for it to be coherent. That's a lot less fun to read and write. It's why I basically never revisit canon akumas in my own stuff. It's just too derivative for the written word.
This is one of the big reasons that I loved Scarlet Lady. Because it was able to have that more directly conversation with canon, it was able to take canon and say, "hey, why don't we embrace the tone that you established in season one and retell the story with that vibe?" That's something that I desperately wanted to see, but that is totally unsuited to my chosen artistic form. It couldn't be a novel. It had to be a comic.
If you want to know what a true formula show version of Miraculous would look like, Scarlet Lady is it. It does everything that Miraculous should have done:
Sticks to a lighthearted tone where nothing is ever super serious
Keeps Gabriel entirely unsympathetic
Has slow character development and background hints at a bigger plot as the only serial elements, allowing the individual episodes to be their own story while never feeling incomplete or rushed
Allows characters other than Marinette to shine while keeping Marinette as the clear main character
Makes Adrien narratively important
MAKES THE LOVE SQUARE CUTE SO I CAN ACTUALLY SHIP IT
Understands that Lila and Chloe can't coexist as antagonists
Reverses the love square, which is the best way to tell their story. Yes, I will die on my "love diamond" hill. It's a good hill. Come join me. I'll bring cookies.
I could keep going, but you hopefully get my point. While Scarlet Lady is certainly not the only way to do a formula version of canon, it's proof that a formula version does work! You don't have to go the serious route for Miraculous to be successful.
I want to take some time to gush about the ending, but I don't want to spoil it, so I'll put that gushing under a "read more" in case anyone hasn't seen it. I'll finish out this less spoilerish section with this:
I feel like some people are surprised when they learn that I love Scarlet Lady because - as some of you have probably picked up - it is quite different from my ideal version of canon. I'm not sure why that would stop me from enjoying a thing, though. It's important to remember that our personal ideals are not the only way to tell a good story. There are lots of ways to take what canon gave us and make something wonderful! It's part of the reason that I enjoy being in a fandom.
If I only wanted to see my ideal take on canon, then I'd stick to writing/imagining my own stories. But I don't want that! I like seeing alternate takes, too. Scarlet Lady is one of my personal favorites. It's completely different from anything that I'd ever think to write and that's why I'm so glad that it exists! I like being entertained just as much as I like creating my own entertainment and I don't want to only read stories that look like something I'd write. That's boring!
Spoilers below:
I've mentioned before that there are many, many ways to properly handle Chloe's character and Zoe did such a good job with her take on that! Chloe isn't absolved of all the things she did wrong, but she's also treated as a young woman with the ability to change.
While the comic bares the name of Chloe's alter ego, she was the never the main character. She never went on a journey. The story kept her to her shallow season-one self: a petty brat who just wanted attention. It did this because that's who Chloe was in canon and who Chloe needed to be for the comic to work.
The first time we see any complexity from Chloe is in the comic's final few episodes, which was absolutely the right call for Zoe to make! In a recent post, I talked about how the end of a formula show is the only time when you can break the formula in catastrophic ways and that's what Zoe did. She kept Chloe static until it was time to end the story and that's when the formula breaks. That's when Chloe gets depth because, once she has depth, the formula doesn't work.
That depth is not used to redeem Chloe, but to show us that there's hope for Chloe. That this petty brat who we've been dealing with has some serious issues and needs help. Help that she's going to get far away from the people that she's hurt because her issues aren't an excuse for what she's done. They don't erase the harm that she caused. At the same time, understanding her issues makes us hope that she can be better now and Scarlet Lady took a moment to give us that hope. To show us the START of Chloe's true story.
That is the kind of ending that I have wanted to see in so many properties!!! It was so wonderful to finally get one that did this right. A story that understood that full redemption to the team and damnation to death/suffering are extremes on a scale of possibilities. You don't have to go to extremes! You can fall in the middle and the middle is a perfect, natural place for Chloe to land in this kind of story. Fully redeeming or even fully damning Chloe simply doesn't work in lighthearted formula content. It's too big a lift as canon has already demonstrated.
I also loved Zoe's take on Emilie. I've mentioned that I don't like evil Emilie in part because it makes her revival feel like the start of a new story. She's back and she'd bad, so we have to take her down now! But I don't want that. I want the story to end when Gabriel is stopped. Zoe does this by giving us an Emilie that is another perfect middle ground. She matches canon's uncomfortable implications without feeling like a true villain who is a threat to society.
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