#brainfucking //

[chimerathingcock]

uh huh, whatever [sticks tentacles in your ears and your eyes start rolling in different directions while your eyelids twitch]

[the-black-manor]

Ghost brainfucking. If they can walk through walls, then they can definitely force their cock into your skull and flood it with ectoplasm.

[fleshweavers]

earfucking is good btw. girls should be able to frot inside your brain

[all-the-kink-for-alexsandra]

Please mind the CW: Parasitic tentacle fucking, all-the-way-through, ear fucking, mindbreak

I had this sudden, deep feeling of something in my pussy. Not like penetration or toys, but something... growing. Something slimey. Hot. Stretching me from the inside. Deep inside.

Mmhhghh~

Something's-! Pushing out- of my cunt! Ahh!!

It's..? A tentacle? Wait, how is a tentacle coming out of my puss- Ah!

It's plunging itself in my ass now too! It's thick, a bit thicker than what's comfortable for my ass... oh god, oh god oh god

It just... keeps pushing deeper and deeper and deeper~ It's violating me... oh god,, how deep can it possibly go?

Huh? My pussy is more stretched now... oh, there's little tendrils. Ohhh, you probably want my nipples to play with. Let me help you with this bra.

There you are, little tendrils. But two of you are still waiting... Do you want to go in my mouth, little ones?

Aaahh~

No? Oh, you're caressing my cheeks, that's really sweet. How can I help you t- Ah! Ahh!!! It's.. coming... up... gagging sounds

The big tentacles going to go all the way through, oh god oh god, yes. Please...

Where did the tendrils go? They're going up from my cheeks, to my ears-

-

-

-

Pacifying host.

All-the-way-through operation complete.

Starting gag reflex stimulation to improve pacifying process.

Brain penetration progress 0.001% completed.

Estimated time to completion: N/A.

[edgedstupid]

I need girlcock in my brain so damn bad-

[random-xpressions]

When words leave you, they aren't just some letters forming some meaning to the readers. The greatest benefit comes forever to the writer himself. Oh, should I be even getting to the details of it. Let me explain in the plainest and simplest way and perhaps quite bluntly as would fit the perfect image inside your head. We call it prolonging the act. When engaging sexually we deliberately prolong the motion and withhold ourselves back just to get that extra amount of time and pleasure. Writing somewhat gives the same pleasure or much much more. So don't get mistaken. I'm not prolonging my lines because I have something important to tell you but the more I'm scribbling here and more the lines are increasing, I'm quite literally fucking up your minds away, and while I'm myself being transported to another world, each word is carrying you too to some invisible dimensions. So in short writing is like mind fucking someone and the one reading is without his consciousness being drilled. Finally when the last word comes out and it all ends, then that's where the climax hits, the grand release, something ejaculates right from my core into yours. I don't think you'll ever be able to read my pieces again with a clean mind. Yes, mothafuckas, your brains are literally being fucked here. There's an orgasm taking place in every word scribbled here. Now go deal with it while I've had my share of plentiful early this dawn...

Random Xpressions

[chimerathingcock]

some of u

[the-black-manor]

Here ya go. Ghost brain and throat fucking.

[demongirlstench]

I'm sure my headphones will protect my perfectly untouched ears, surely nobody could fuck my brain into mush.

Please let me around your unprotected ears, I swear I won't slide my tentacles into them and brainwash you into my fuckpet! I swearrrrr! Pretty please let me around them! No no, don't put on headphones! Did you know, my tentacles can um...like play music so you should use them instead! Why are they pushing deeper? Uhhh no reasons! Just relax and focus on how good it feels! I promise I won't mindfuck you into a stupid dumb drooly mess....too hard

[n1pp]

quit brainrot. unfollow trolls. read essays. go down rabbit holes. have a calendar. maintain a todo list. read old books. watch old movies. turn on dnd. walk with intent. eat without youtube. chew more. train without music. plan for 15 mins. execute. organise your desk. take something seriously. read ancient scripts. act fast. find bread. eat clean. journal. save a life. learn to code. read poetry. create art. stay composed. refine your speech. optimise for efficiency. act sincere. help people. be kind. stop doing things that waste your time. follow your intuition. craft reputation. learn persuasion. systemise your day (or don't). write. write. write. write more. iterate violently. leave your phone at home. walk to the grocery store. talk to strangers. feed the dogs. visit bookstores. look for 1800s novels. experience art. then love. sit with a monk and offer them lunch. don't talk shit about people. embody virtue. sit alone. do something with your life. what do you want to create? turn off your mind. play. play a sport. combat sports. notice fonts in trees. fall in love. notice patterns on a table. visualise it. talk to people with respect. don't hate. be loving. be real. become yourself. cherrypick your qualities. discard the useless. rejections aren't permanent. invite what aligns. accept what does not. read great people. be different. choose different. do great work. let it consume you. lose your mind. value your time. experience life.

[mellosdrawings]

Bell's pathetic wet dog energy vs Case's destroyer attack dog energy

Both are psychotic killers

I love happy-puppy or dissociating-braindead or viciously-angry Bell, but at their core they're just a pathetic little meow meow and you'll never convince me otherwise.

Do you see my vision?

Is it me or does it look like the Chad vs Virgin meme?

[fxck-with-eli]

Heyy, it seems like its time for me 🫣

I got challenged to do so! And everyone is welcome to command my edging 🥺💓

The challenge is put on for a week, so lets see how viral this goes xwx

[justzoeyyy]

Dronemask

I want to be a Drone. Maybe you ask why? The Answer is simple: My own Dronemask. Such a simple tool for any Drone. Put it on and all the noise fades. Put it on and focus on obedience. Put it on and focus on pleasure. Put it on and focus on the important things.

What are these importnat things, you may ask? For me its simple. Let the spiral control me. Let my Mind melt. Let my Brain be altered. Enter a State of obedience and submission to the one that wants me. Something that can only be achived by the Dronemask.

So will you be the one opening that door for me? Will you be the one putting me in my place? Will you fit my being with Latex encasing that essence of pleasure? Will you trance my Mind and brainwash me into submission? Will you put that Dronemask on me?

I am always just a few click away for you.

[lsunstreakerl]

hi I have an order up for, uh, GP gentle domming the RB21? any takers?

this is part of the car brainfucking verse, if the first sentence didn't give that away. this is part one of two for the suzuka weekend: prequalifying!

GP POV, 1.6k, mature but not quite explicit. GP/RB21, RB21/Max

The RB21 is a fickle creature. Gianpiero tweaks at it frequently, trying to match what Max wants and what the car wants, never quite on the same page.

Their compatibility rating is a 76%.

It's not just a low rating for any driver, it's an especially low rating for Max, who's always managed over 92% on all of his cars. Gianpiero knows Max is stressed, and it's impacting the bond.

There's... errors, in the RB21. Things Red Bull hadn't been able to fix, things Gianpiero has to accommodate for. Max hasn't had an opportunity to really try and bond with the car yet, and it shows.

It's why Max is back at the hotel, after a dismal round of free practice, clearly not optimistic about qualifying, and Gianpiero is here, alone in the garage.

He keeps the lights off. He's not getting in the car— it's not his place. The cockpit belongs to the RB21 and Max. He leaves his phone on top of one of the counters, settling cross legged next to the car.

It's harder for him to feel the hum than it is for Max or any other drivers— most engineers can't hear it at all. Gianpiero has never struggled with it the way his peers do.

He knows how to listen for Max, which means he knows how to listen for Max's car as well. The RB21 has a low frequency, settling somewhere deep in his chest.

He's leaning against the front right tire, stretching one arm up to wrap his fingers around the halo.

Race engineers don't bond with cars. Their job is to bond with drivers, but—

Max and the car are one unit. Gianpiero cannot work with one without working with the other, and this will just join the long list of unconventional things he's done for Max.

The hum is stronger, strong enough that Gianpiero feels it in his bones. He's not entirely sure how this works, beyond the hazy explanations he's gotten from Max, on the occasions where he's come into the garage to find their lead driver passed out in the cockpit, face flushed and messy.

"Hello, mate."

He keeps his voice low, running his thumb soothingly across the halo. He's going to treat the car like Max, low tones and soft words, gentle praise that can't be denied.

It's a bit like working with a skittish animal. Gianpiero is deeply proud of how far he and Max have come— from a feral little thing to a proud, content creature, more than happy to laze in Gianpiero's lap until it's time for his claws to come out.

"You've got a Honda engine in you, in case you weren't sure. You're the last one that we've got, and..."

He pauses, leaning the side of his head against the wheel.

"It would mean a lot, to everyone, if we could pull off a miracle here. I know everyone says it's all Max, but between me and you,"

The air is thick around him, and he's feeling slightly lightheaded, fuzzy around the edges.

"I think there's a fair bit in you we haven't figured out yet. I think you want to perform. You're just not sure how, and maybe Max isn't either."

He pauses, running his fingers along the halo. It's right where he normally grabs when he's fitting his head between the halo and the car, getting his last minute checks with his driver, making sure Max is ready.

If there was a spot of the car to be considered his, it's this one.

"That's okay. It's not the two of you against the world."

He's slightly dizzy, twisting his head so that his forehead is leaned against the cool metal, struggling to take in a deep breath. The air is oppressively thick, bearing down on him and pressing at his senses. He's feeling dissociated, stuck somewhere out of his body.

"I'm here for both of you. You and Max tell me what you need, and I'll find it. I promise."

His thoughts are running away from him— flashes of endless hours pouring over data with Max, time spent after hard races calming him down, late night dinners in the backyard at Gianpiero's home.

Memories of his own personal time spent hunting down problems and solutions, staring at the screens until his eyes burned and his fingers were numb, rapid readjustments during rain and red flags, the endless chatter in his ears, all the information that he has to analyze and process in seconds before repackaging it for Max.

He lets out a shaky breath, fingers gripping the halo. That's the RB21, in his head. Learning.

Gianpiero wasn't sure if that was something he and the car could do.

But he's not here to end up a fucked out mess like Max usually is, so he carefully slips control back of his thoughts, deliberately thinks of Honda meetings and lunches, hours of discussion and years worth of inside jokes, the men and women who have become dear friends to the rest of them.

This race is for them.

The RB21 eats it up, poking around for more, and Gianpiero understands how this could get overwhelming very quickly for a driver.

He's no driver. His whole job is taking overwhelming situations and making them manageable, and the RB21 is a curious creature, so Gianpiero thinks fondly of their last few years in Suzuka, of Max's incredible record, of the bone deep pride the team feels for him.

He thinks of the celebrations and the parties, watching their driver get progressively drunker until he's assigned a babysitter to make sure he doesn't fall in the pool— their driver, so full of love for everyone around him, liquor loose tongue telling the truth to anyone who will listen, that he loves his team, that he couldn't do it with anyone else.

He thinks of the sharp satisfaction he feels on the pitwall when they get the setup just right, when he watches Max pull off the impossible, over and over again.

The RB21 is interested in the pitwall, in the setups that have worked before, and Gianpiero knows he's caught it, hook line and sinker.

"No, those are for other cars."

He keeps his voice gentle, even if it's low, raspier than he'd expected. He's tangentially aware that he's hard.

"We need to find what works for you."

There's a tinge of frustration in his periphery. The RB21 wants a perfect fix, an easy answer.

Gianpiero doesn't have one. They need to work together.

He thinks of the time he's spent on the pitwall this season, the different errors he's noticed already— he wants to see what annoys the RB21 the most, what the car latches onto.

Communication like this is difficult. It'd be easier to have Max in the cockpit, relaying them the information the RB21 can provide him, but he's got enough weight on his shoulders already.

It's not like Gianpiero is particularly opposed to difficult communication anyways— Max is a master at it on a good day.

He has a few more passing thoughts about Max before he realizes it's the RB21 again, drinking in everything it can about its driver.

He has to wonder— is there a disconnect, between Max and the car? Max has never struggled to click before, but maybe the RB21 needs a different perspective.

Gianpiero gives in a bit, bringing to the surface more personal memories of Max— late nights getting him back from the bar, early morning breakfast runs before long days in the factory, meeting for lunch in the offseason.

Max falling into the team's arms after a win, trusting them to take care of him, bringing his grievances to Gianpiero and trusting him to fix them, Max at his worst moments, desperate and upset and angry—

A brief flash in his memory of a particularly rough race, getting Max into an empty room and letting him rant, letting him get it all out of his system and holding him when it was gone, his memory of a teenager falling to pieces between his arms, a moment that solidified how he felt for years to come.

Max on his first win, Max on his first championship, Max looking sheepish when he gets caught making out with kickboxers in a club bathroom.

Gianpiero has a Max memory for every emotion he's capable of feeling, and he lets the RB21 see glimpses of them, brief flashes throughout his life of them both— but never enough to really digest.

The RB21 needs to want to make its own memories with Max.

His head is spinning, vision showcasing kaleidoscope colors when he tries to open his eyes.

The RB21 is pulling at more memories of Max, looking at them in a way that Gianpiero doesn't— it's doing his head in, the way the car lingers on his memories of Max on the podium, post race flush, Max coming in after a track run, the way his face looked in 2018 when he stepped out of a hallway he wasn't supposed to be in—

Gianpiero doesn't think of Max that way, but the RB21 does, and it's applying that lens to his memories.

He groans, trying to wrestle the car back into the allotted space in his mind that he's given it.

"Behave."

He's not sure if he's saying it for himself or the car, fingers gripping the halo, forcing himself back on track.

The RB21 recedes slightly, lingering heavy at the edges of his senses. Gianpiero ignores the low flicker of arousal he's feeling— it's a side effect of the RB21.

He staggers to his feet, leaning his forehead against the anchor point of the halo, right in the center.

"I'm changing things, for quali tomorrow— but you and Max have to be able to tell me what's wrong. I can't fix it if I don't know, and if you don't know, you won't win."

He thinks again of the championships, the Red Bull exclusive parties afterwards, the way Max—

The RB21 swarms over his thoughts eagerly, drinking in the memory. Internalizing it. Wanting it.

"And I think you want to win."

[slutforwholesomeness]

Good Girls deserve a nice brainfuck to help them get into the headspace of being a dumb bimbo!

[shallowseeker]

Dean is a lot of things, but super transparent and open isn't one of them. You're contributing to a trendy rewrite of Dean and influencing fandom in ways that just don't reflect what we see on screen.

I get where you’re coming from ig

Dean isn’t always the most emotionally transparent guy on the surface

and his wariness is definitely a big part of his character. That said, I personally think Dean’s performance of toughness/gruffness pulls the wool over some viewers’ eyes!!!

Dean’s time in Hell, in particular, made him more protective of his vulnerabilities, i think. It’s not that I don’t think Dean isn't guarded; he absolutely is. But all the same, I think he’s FAR more open than some parts of fandom paint him, and even more open than he sometimes portrays himself. Dean chooses to be selective about who he shows his vulnerabilities to, which is a consistent part of his character.

It's also important to acknowledge those times he’s been open only to get shut down (ahem, especially in Season 7, by Sam, Bobby, and Eliot Ness). I think his close family members are terrified that his grief will lead to his death during a hunt, so they balk at it, encouraging him to lock his emotions down tight. it’s a defense/coping thing born from love. :(((

///

Of note, I think Mary struggles with a similar issue. She says, “I know I can be cold,” yet she’s often incredibly honest about her actual emotions. In fact, Mary is one of the first characters to answer honestly when people ask if she’s okay: “No.” (Dean will in fact mirror her example in 13x06).

I even think her “I love you” during her would-be death scene with Billie in 12x09 inspires moments like Cas’s “I love you—I love all of you” during the fight with Ramiel in 12x12.

Like Dean (and Cas), Mary downplays her own emotional intelligence and her own keenness to both read and reach out to others. All in all, I think these two are far more emotionally generous and intuitive than they give themselves credit for, even if they struggle to acknowledge or articulate it when they get too overwhelmed.

As for what we see on screen...

For the record, I like to think that I do a decent job of referencing specific moments in the script or episode when I talk about Dean's emotions or openness. Even if you don't interpret things as I do, I hope you can see my perspective.

/// Just as a point of contrast, on the FLIPSIDE, I I don’t think Sam is as emotionally intuitive as he’s often credited to be, and I think sometimes even Dean gives Sam too much credit. We see this particularly in Don’t You Forget About Me, where Dean instinctively builds rapport with Jody, empathizing with her and even pitching in to help with the dishes as they commiserate over their girls’ behavioral problems.

Interestingly, this rears its head again in Ladies Drink Free, with Sam's intellectualizing of emotions being a point of contention with Claire!!!

Dean’s ability to both read people and connect emotionally often goes underappreciated, even by himself.

///

Bonus: I actually think Cas is also far more emotionally intuitive than he gives himself credit for, even with the billions of years of suppress-or-die under his belt.

Cas often deploys a distinctly reciprocal style of communication, revealing a personal failing or emotion to encourage others to open up about their own failings. We see it with the original "I'm not a hammer / I have doubts" scene with Dean, we see it in a big way with Jack in Tombstone, and interestingly, we even see it with the news anchor here.