#but no - my brain was like “render it bitch”

[iceclew]

I'm cracking up so much right now like....I really did it, wtf XD

First I wanted to go like "this is not my fault, this is @mechazushi's idea", but to be honest.. I had so much fcking fun with this.. ( ‾́ ◡ ‾́ )

The idea is just *glorious* and so fcking stupid, it's perfect again.. https://www.tumblr.com/mechazushi/754110618707066880/so-this-isnt-so-much-an-incorrect-quotes

So this was her original post, the idea sprouting, so to say :D

Credit on your brain rot, it's hilarious @mechazushi :D

The less I get done in RL - the more creative I get, it's such a horrible curse..

Should I do a split up version of this as well, I wonder..? Like..all of them in seperate pics? (¯―¯ ٥)

[brain-rot-hour]

[maareyas]

I've been trying to speedrun learning to use Blender! here's some stuff I've made with the help of tutorials on youtube :]

Hammer | Room | Space bottle

[endlessthxxghts]

Biology

“Uncle”!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 5.4k

Summary: Joel hurt his back at work, so you've been helping him around the house until he heals.

Content/Warnings: able-bodied, female sex anatomy, and inherently fem!reader. No description of reader, everything is neutral (ex. “your bottoms,” “the curve of you” — nothing is specific in the way “you” are described). Age gap (reader early 20s, Joel in 50s). EXPLICIT MATERIAL PRESENT. HEED THE WARNINGS. WEIRD boundaries are crossed…you're not blood-related to Joel, but you were raised like you were. You call him “uncle.” Pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart, etc.). Pussy pronouns (she). Innocent touches until it isn't. Sexual tension galore. Slight dub-con. Icky Joel. Icky reader. Pussy grinding. Dirty talk. Slight degradation (“bitch” is used only once). Multiple orgasms. P in V unprotected. Reader is on top. Lots of teasing about the nature of yours and Joel’s relationship. If there’s anything that should be up here but I missed or I made any improper tags, please let me know!

A/N: Hi, my loves! This is slightly different than what you’re used to coming from me… All I can say is, you’ve read the warnings! Don’t bite if it is not your flavor! But for those who do like, I really hope you enjoy! And to my love @strang3lov3, thank you for prompting this and encouraging this side of my brain to finally stop hiding in the shadows. And thank you for your eyes on this and the mood board as well. I love you.🩶

masterlist | notifs blog

“Hey, hon, when you headin’ over to uncle Joel’s?”

You glance at the timer on the oven. “In about ten minutes after these cookies cool. Need something from me?”

“Can ya grab my toolbox before ya leave? Forgot it there the other day,” he replies. “Figured you could get it since you’re already goin’ there today.”

“Sure thing. It’s not the heavy one, is it? Because I don’t know if that old man’s back is ready for a heavy lift like that yet.” The timer on the oven beeps. You slide on your oven mitts to pull the tray out. “Made two batches by the way. How many you want? I’m taking some to Uncle’s, too.” 

About a week ago, Joel had a contracting accident. Some newbie wasn’t watching the older man’s back as Joel climbed up a wobbly ladder, and the next moment, Joel’s footing slipped. He landed right on his lower back, a piece of wood perched on the ground, sitting at just the right spot on the floor to render him immobile. Tommy, Joel’s younger brother, and your father, his best friend since before you were born, are the only two Joel trusts to get the job done perfectly, so Joel put them two in charge until he heals. 

Bed rest, the doctor had ordered Joel, for at least three weeks. It’s been one so far, but with you offering to be his nurse — one that forces him to stay in bed unless he needs to eat or use the restroom — he thinks he just might be back to work by next week. If you’ll let him, that is. 

“No, it’s the small one, hon, you got it,” your father reassures you. He lovingly slaps his growing belly as the trays hit the kitchen counter. “Y’know, darlin’, ever since you moved back, I’ve been gainin’ some weight. Can’t imagine what you’re doin’ t’ Joel over there.”

Your lip pulls up in a smirk. “Joel is in good hands, y’know. And technically, I don’t have to leave you any,” you say with a challenging brow, pulling the cookie trays out of his reach. 

“No, no, I’m not sayin’ that,” your father’s eyebrows raise in worry. His daily cookie is very important to him. “You can leave me like… five… or six.” 

“I’m just gonna leave you a whole batch. The six are gonna be gone before I even leave the house,” you tell your father as his hand subconsciously reaches for the cookie tray. 

He scoffs, “Ya have no faith in me.”

“So what’s in your hand already?”

“Whatever,” he mumbles, walking away with a mouthful of warm cookie dough and melted milk chocolate chips. 

“Uh huh,” you yell back. “Gonna be leaving in just a sec. I’ll see you later.”

It takes less than ten minutes to get to your uncle’s house. You unlock the door using the spare key he gave you as a teenager, and immediately, nurse mode is activated. 

“Uncle Joel!” You yell, exasperated. He turns around from his place in the kitchen, painfully slow. He’s going to make his back worse. “What do you think you’re doing?” You place the fresh cookies on his dining table along with your keys. You cross your arms angrily for good measure. 

“My coffee’s cold. I was warmin’ it up,” he huffs, annoyed.

“Bed, please.” Your hands find his waist, and you guide him back to his room. “You know I’m here around this time. You didn’t wanna call me first to see where I was?”

You ease him in a sitting position at the edge of his bed. He grunts as his ass meets the mattress. He grumbles his response. “Need to start gettin’ back to everythin’ independently, y’know that, don’tcha?”

“Is your memory going with your back, too, unc?” 

“‘Scuse me?” He looks at you incredulously. 

“Three weeks were the doctor’s orders. Not one,” you tell him, putting your foot down. 

He lays himself down with another wince at the motion, no acknowledgement to your words. God, he’s so stubborn. 

“I’ll go make you a fresh cup,” you tell him, feeling sympathetic for the man. His work is his life, and it’s not going to get any easier with age. 

Making your way back to his kitchen, you wash out the coffee pitcher, replace the grounds and the filter, and do some light cleaning as you wait for the bitter, brown liquid to brew. 

It’s only been five minutes since you returned to the kitchen, and the painful moans and groans from his bedroom have only gotten louder. You search around the place and find the heat pack you bought a few days ago and pop it in the microwave. You grab some pain meds, fill up a glass of water, and just in time, the microwave sings to you, telling you your contents are ready. 

Ignoring the coffee for a moment, you make your way back to Joel’s bedroom. His eyes are closed, but his entire body is tensed up in pain. Poor guy. You knock at his door to catch his attention before entering. “Unc?”

One eye peels open. “Yes, nurse?”

“Funny.” A sarcastic laugh leaves your throat. “Come take these.”

He makes no move to get up. 

You set the painkillers and the water on his bedside table, the heat pack wedged underneath your armpit. You start to reach for Joel to help him up, but he stops you. “I got it,” he grunts. You let him have this win. 

You hand him the glass of water first, then the pills. He swallows the painkillers in one big gulp, swallowing down the rest of the water in another. He eyes the heat pack in your arm. 

“Do you want-”

“Yes,” he says immediately, reaching for the soft warmth. 

“Lay down first, I’ll put it underneath you.”

Without another word, he positions himself. His body jerks when your soft hand slips underneath his back, pushing him to lift a little while you slide the heat underneath. “This okay?”

“Mhm,” he forces out, eyes clamped shut. It’s not okay, you think. 

“How would you feel on your stomach?” you suggest. 

“Dunno. Never tried.”

“Well, then.” You set the heat pack down, and it’s your turn to crawl, uninvited, into his bed. You walk on your knees towards the opposite, unoccupied side, adjusting the pillows in a way you think might be the most comfortable. This isn’t your first rodeo dealing with an old man’s back; you’ve got your dad. This is, however, your first rodeo dealing with an old man more stubborn than a screaming goat not getting his way. “Come on.”

“No.” 

“What do you mean no?” 

“That ain’t gonna be comfortable.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath. “I swear to God. I will flip your ass over myself if I have to.”

“You’re bossy,” he spits.

“So you’ve said.” 

Not giving him a chance to prepare, you hook your one hand at his side and your other on his hip, and you pull him towards you. It doesn’t fully flip him over, but it does the trick in getting him to finish the rest of the action himself — albeit, with a very strained yelp from the back of his throat. 

He groans for a few minutes more as you adjust some flat pillows underneath his belly and then prop the lukewarm heating back right at the base of his spine. You’ll probably have to heat it up in ten minutes again, but it’ll do for now. You stay in your spot for a minute, and already his pained noises begin to subside. 

“Better?” You know it is. You just want him to admit it. 

And when a single huff with zero protests from the grumpy man reverberates around the room, you know you’ve won this round. 

“I’ll go get your coffee now,” you hum. 

A soft rasp of your name has you spinning back around as you reach the room’s threshold. 

“Hm?”

“Thanks,” he tells you. 

“It’s what I’m here for, unc.”

You put his fresh cup of coffee in a thermos this time. You can’t imagine how often he’ll get up being in this position, but at least the freshness will be there with every sip he does end up taking. 

“How’s it going?” You ask him as you set his coffee nearby. You feel the heat pack on his spine, and it’s as you called it to be by now: room temperature. “Want me to reheat it?” 

“‘M okay,” he replies, voice groggy. He must’ve fallen asleep. 

“Okay.” You stand there for a moment. You can tell the heat helped, but his body isn’t entirely relaxed. He’s still tense, as if a nerve or something is being pinched. 

You recall your memory from a while ago before you moved back with your dad. Your brother, who is a mixed martial arts athlete, had a sparring session that hurt his back, nearly in the same area as Joel. He had you running his massage gun over his muscles nearly every night for a month straight. “It needs to uncoil somehow,” he told you. An idea crosses your mind then. 

You saunter to Joel’s en suite bathroom in search of some type of lubricant. Sitting loud and proud on the center of the bathroom counter is a little bottle of Equate’s Personal Liquid Lubricant. Your brain falters for a second, the bottle of lube throwing you off your original plan. That is absolutely not the kind of lubricant you were looking for. Shaking away the image from your mind, you bend down to look in the cabinets underneath. Bingo, a bottle of Aveeno body lotion. This should do. 

You invite yourself onto his bed for the second time today. “Let me give you a massage.”

“What?” His head turns to you now, utterly confused. He definitely heard you wrong, he thinks. 

“Let me give you a massage,” you repeat. “It’ll help.”

A massage actually does sound nice right now. But you’ve been nothing but bossy this last week while Joel lays here helplessly. He’s bored. And he’s had enough. “It ain’t gonna help.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

Jesus. Haven’t you had this conversation before? You mentally slap your forehead. Again, leaving him no other options, you reach for his flannel atop his shoulders and begin to pull them down. 

“Hey, hey, wait, now what in the hell-” He tries to stifle back a laugh as he wriggles in your hold, trying to playfully push you off without hurting himself more in the process. 

You quickly release his clothes, hands up in surrender where he can see them. You’re just realizing now just how forward your action must’ve been. “How am I gonna massage you-” 

The embarrassment written all over your face has Joel tearing up as he tries to hold his wheezing laugh in. With his eyebrow quirked at you, he responds, “If you wanted me naked, kiddo-”

“Jesus, ew! Really?” An unbearable heat spreads across your cheeks. Your eyes are downcast, looking everywhere else but him. “It- it’ll be better if I can directly touch-”

Only then do you feel the bed shaking with his laughter. He’s fucking with you. And here you were, about to offer something that would relieve a whole lot of pain. “Oh, fuck you,” you scoff, pulling yourself up and making your way off of his bed. 

“No, okay, wait,” he laughs, trying to catch his breath. “Jus’ messin’ with you, who am I to deny a massage?” He raises his eyebrows once, twice. Still messing with you, seeing how far his taunting with you can go. 

“You’re disgusting,” you deadpan. 

“‘M not the one tryin’ t’ massage her uncle,” Joel says as he attempts to shrug his shoulders at you.

“I’m gonna leave now.” One foot makes it to the ground before Joel speaks again. 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, ya can’t take a joke? I’m only messin’ around. Come back. Gonna leave me hangin’? In pain? C’mon, nurse.” His tone falls softer, sweeter. You can hear the shit-eating grin in his words. And, fuck, why is it making you heat even further, in places beyond your face? In places you shouldn’t be?

“Fine,” you relent. “Stop saying weird shit then.” You still can’t look at him. Not after the way your body decided to react in the shift of energy. An abrupt shift of energy, as far as you can tell. 

He’s your dad’s best friend. Your uncle, for crying out loud. Not by blood, but still. There’s never been a feeling beyond that. Sure, you’ve had your silly little school girl crush on him during your young teenage years, but that was your hormones being your hormones. You grew out of them. Even your own father can’t deny the conventional attractiveness of his best friend. 

Plus, suggestive commentary is bound to make anyone feel hot. It’s basic biology. Your response is nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. At least, that’s what you convince yourself of when you climb back into your uncle’s— no, into Joel’s bed, trying to ignore the way your panties stick dutifully against your throbbing core.

Joel leans onto his side as you get yourself situated, unbuttoning the bottom half of his flannel, so you can flip up the bottom to reach his lower back. After the bottom half of the buttons are undone, he lays back on his front. “Here,” he calls your name. “Jus’ lift it up from the bottom.”

You scoot closer to him, standing on your knees, and you reach over to grab the hem of his flannel, pulling it up as gently as possible, exposing just enough to be able to reach the irritated areas. You frown at what you see. Inflamed skin, purples and yellows dancing all across his lower back, forcing him away from the very thing he lives for. He may have been a stubborn bitch this entire week, but that doesn’t stop the sympathy you feel for the man. 

You put some of the lotion in your hand, rubbing it between your two palms to warm it up a little. You place your hand on the side closest to you first, moving in circular motions and adjusting your pressure ever so often. “Let me know when the pressure is good.”

So far he hasn’t said much, a slight groan here, an exhale there. You feel a knot as you move lower, so you increase your pressure. You’re met with a literal moan, and you swear you have to bite back your own vocal response. “Fuck,” he sucks in a sharp breath. “Yeah, jus’ like that, ‘s perfect, darlin’.” 

“Okay,” you squeak, your thighs clenching together to attempt any kind of relief to the heat between your legs. 

After a few more passes over the area — and a few more indulgent, harder presses of your palm to pull more angelic sounds from him — you switch to the other side. Except, at this angle, you don’t really have as good an angle as you did before. Your leg swings over his ass, bracketing him in between your thighs, before you can even register the move your body just made. A soft gasp falls from your lips as you feel the new angle you’ve just given yourself. 

“Joel?” You call sweetly. Innocently.”I- I’m not hurting you or anything, am I?”

Hurting? No. Putting him through Hell? Close enough. 

Joel has done many questionable things in his lifetime. Getting involved with taken (married or otherwise) women, couples who wanted a third… Joel has lived through it all. Mainly in his younger years, but nevertheless. He has done and seen many things. But none of these things have ever included getting a fucking hard on for a girl — a woman? — he practically had a hand in raising. You call him uncle, for crying out loud. 

His physical response means nothing. It’s basic biology. The tender yet skilled touch of your warm hands directly against his even hotter skin, lighting every single nerve ending on fire, forcing the blood to course through his veins, to make its way down south— 

“Christ-” he snarls as you practically sit on him. His mouth shuts instantly as his eyes shoot open. He didn’t mean for that to come out. “Y-yeah,” he corrects. “‘M alright.” 

“Just- just let me know,” you tell him. He can hear the shake in your voice. He can tell biology is doing a number on you, too, based on your tone alone, if the heat engulfing his rear as you try your best not to make contact with it isn’t enough to go by. 

He focuses on his breathing as best he can as your hands push slightly past his jeans, getting underneath the seam of his boxers, and then immediately softening your touch as you run your fingers up his spine, awaking a chill he never knew was possible until now. You rub beyond the exposed area of his lower back, reaching his shoulder blades and entirely up to his shoulders, forcing the flannel to rise with your hands. He’s so broad and warm, and you would absolutely be drooling all over him by now if you weren’t so shocked at how tight his muscles really feel. How has this man not gotten any injuries sooner? How was he still doing all this heavy lifting? You dig the pads of your finger tips further into the thousands of tiny knots you feel, and his body jerks in actual pain this time. 

“God damn, girl,” he snaps. “What are you doin’?” 

“How the fuck do you even function?” You sound genuinely horrified. 

“What-”

“Your shoulders and neck are fucking covered in knots how do you even-” you cut yourself off with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You need to flip over.” 

Fuck. 

“Why?” He asks defensively. 

“I’m gonna break these knots. I need to start from the front.” 

“Ya ain’t gettin’ anywhere near my neck, I swear to God-”

“Quit being stubborn. What did I say earlier? I’m gonna flip you myself if you don’t-”

“Alright, fine, gimme a sec,” he bites. Joel takes a deep breath, at war with himself for how he’s going to handle his next course of action. 

Whatever happens next, there is no avoiding the fact that you will be made aware of the bulging erection between his legs. You can know about it, that’s fine, but the second you make contact, he doesn’t know if he’ll have the strength to control himself. Which is why he rips off the band aid quick. Flipping himself over with you still hovering over him, he tries his best not to touch you. Though, the second he’s comfortable, his focus is on your waist, grabbing you immediately and missing the way your eyes widen at the tenting fabric of his jeans. He pulls you higher up to sit on his lower tummy. 

You squeak out a little gasp as he adjusts you, and fuck it makes the pulsing between his legs even worse. He releases you, bringing his hands back to his sides. 

“Comfortable?” you whisper. You try so hard not to use your voice, worried that it’ll reveal just how turned on you are by this situation you’ve put yourself in. He gives you a single nod, and with that, you lean to grab more lotion. 

The angle you are at forces you to lean the front of your body onto Joel to be able to reach his shoulders. You can feel his body tense underneath you; you can hear his labored breathing as your hands further push away his flannel, working away at each knot. 

You lean forward further, giving yourself the ability to reach just below Joel’s neck. With this action, your hips shift, pressing down against Joel’s belly in a way that sends a sudden jolt of butterflies through your core. Your hands freeze in their movement, breath and fingertips stuttering as your entire face and neck heat up. You sneak a quick glance to Joel, and his eyes are still relaxed. He didn’t notice. 

It takes you a moment to start your movements back up again, but when you do, you can’t help the way you repeat exactly what you did before — allowing yourself another experimental roll of your hips against his soft abdomen. Only this time, you’re way less sly, for the whimper of pleasure you thought you could hide slips right out, right for his sharp ears to take note of. Shit. 

“Y’ alright there?” His eyes are trained on you now; he knows what you just did. Joel sports a quirked eyebrow as he waits for your response. 

“Mhm,” you rush out, ignoring his piercing gaze. 

It takes every ounce of willpower for you to run over the knots in his shoulder again without driving your hips into him, but even the push and pull of your arms is a full body movement, and you feel it. You feel the growing wetness in your core, the growing heartbeat that his bare tummy no doubt can feel now. 

Your body is splayed across him, the warmth of you leaking through your bottoms and onto his hot skin as you pathetically try to play off the fact that you aren’t grinding your wet cunt across him right now. With a rasp of your name, he takes a sharp breath in. “What are ya doin’?” He grunts, pained. Conflicted. 

This is so wrong. But it feels so good. Your arousal — how utterly desperate you are for the older man underneath you — is shone all over your face, brighter than any other feeling of disgust or wrongness you’re trying to convince yourself of. But the internal battle is still there, though, and it forces your hips to come to a full stop. It forces cries of apologies from your lips. It forces regret. 

“I- I’m sorry,” you choke back a sob. “Please, I- this is so wrong, I’m so stupid, uncle, I-” 

God damn it. Joel is too damn hard to deal with this shit now. “Oh, Jesus Christ, will you cut the fuckin’ uncle bullshit?” He finally snaps. His hands spring to life, finding their way up your thighs, tightening once they reach your hips. He forces you to move again. “Ya think I wanna hear that fuckin’ word while you fuckin’ soak me? Huh? While ya rub on me like a fuckin’ bitch in heat?”

“Shit,” you moan, the strength of his hand making the assault against your mound all the more intense. “Joel, please,” you cry, your fingers shaking as you hold onto his chest. 

Your thighs begin to tremble as he maintains a rough pace to your movements, his bed creaking with every shove of your hips against him. His grip on you is one of steel, the pads of his fingers digging into your flesh, no doubt leaving tiny bruises as a reminder of today’s actions. 

He is fucking covered in you — the slick of your desire pooling through your bottoms and into his skin, making each grind smoother. He licks his lips at this, his eyes dark as he drinks you in from above; your own eyes glossy and a sheen of sweat along your skin. “Look at ya, darlin’,” he murmurs, voice low enough to send a fresh wave of arousal pouring from your hole. “Fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby. Needed me that bad, did ya? Was tryin’ t’ tell ya earlier,” he grunts, “Y’know ya just had to ask.” A lazy smirk pulls across his lip. 

You let out a whimper at his words, your hips finally rolling alongside his own guidance, instinctively searching for more friction. “Atta girl,” he groans, “That’s it, fuck- makin’ a fuckin’ mess a’ me, darlin’.” 

You’re panting now, the rhythm and pressure mixed with the filth of his Southern drawl ignites every single nerve ending throughout your body. He watches you with a dark intensity, the brown of his eyes replaced with pure black lust, his eyes unable to stray away from the pleasurable desperation filling your features. 

“Gonna come like this, sweetheart?” He taunts, driving you into him even harder. 

“Mmm- my God, yeah- yes,” you cry out, eyes rolling back as the coil in your belly finally tightens, your breathing ragged as needy moans escape your lips. 

With a final roll of your hips and the utterance of a that’s my girl, the coil finally snaps, pleasure crashing over you, coursing through your veins as you come all over him, your slick unable to stay within the limits of your clothes, leaking and dripping down the sides of him and onto the mattress below. Your thighs convulse around his waist, his hold on you continuing your thrusts, dragging out your orgasm until your own hands find his and rip him away from you.

“Ya ain’t done yet, sugar,” Joel gruffs, grabbing the globes of your ass cheeks and dragging you down, letting you feel his ignored and now raging erection. 

“Never said I was,” you purr, a soft moan blessing his ears at the feel of his bulge against your ass. He can feel your smirk against his chest. 

Body still trembling, Joel lifts your ass in the air, sliding your bottoms down over the curve of your body. The stickiness of your panties pulls off with a wet squelch, the cool air of the room mingling with the wet warmth of your bare pussy, the stark contrast forcing chills to run through your veins. 

“God,” he murmurs as you give a little wiggle of your ass in the air. “Pretty as a peach, huh, darlin’?” He guides you lower, pushing you down onto his bulge. The hardness of him beneath you immediately sends a fiery need to your core. Your hands move on their own as you pull your body up, reaching for the buttons and zipper of his jeans, undoing them with ease despite the eager shake of your hand. You pull the jeans down just enough to let his cock spring free, thick and angry and leaking. 

“Oh, fuck,” you swallow your gasp. “God, I need you so bad,” you whine, already lifting up to line the tip of him to your swollen cunt. 

You sink down with a breathless moan, your head flying back as your hands grip onto his tummy to keep you from buckling. 

Joel’s breathing stutters, his moans filling the air as you practically choke his cock. “Shit- so fuckin- fuckin’ tight.” His hands find their home on the meat of your ass, holding you tight, grounding himself from coming like a damn teenager.

You move slowly at first, savoring the way he feels inside of you, how big he is. God, you don’t think you’ve ever taken anything quite as long and as thick as him. Your heart skips a beat at that, knowing that he’s ruined you for anyone else. 

It isn’t long before the raw need takes over, and you move faster, hips rolling back and forth as you ride him, the wet sound of skin against skin as you alternate to a bounce ever so often. 

Despite the risk of hurting his back even more, he can’t stop himself from gripping you tighter, his nails digging into your flesh as his hips buck up into you, starting their own rhythm, meeting every one of your thrusts. The sensation is overwhelming with the size of him; it’s a perfect mix of pleasure and pain, mixing sweet whines of ecstasy with whines of overstimulation, and it’s the best music to have ever graced his ears. 

“Look at ya,” he grunts. “Fuckin’ made for this, weren’t ya? Fuckin’ made for takin’ this cock, huh, sweetheart?” 

You nod weakly at his words. They send a flutter down your belly to your pussy, and his mouth is all it takes to send you to your second brink of collapse — your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you move, as he drives himself into you without abandon. 

Every thrust pushes you further to the edge, the sting of the stretch, the sensation of being so full — it’s almost too much to bear. He can hear it in the way your cries change. It’s becoming too much. 

“Y’ can take it, sweetheart, almost there,” he grunts. His hands take over in guiding your movements, urging you faster, harder, bringing you both to the cliff’s edge. 

“C’mon, baby, can feel her squeezin’ me, know she wanna come, baby. Breathe, doll, jus’ let go,” he rasps, his words coming in staggered.

The wet tightness of your walls, both the feel and the sound, causes Joel to fall first — a low, guttural groan filling the room as he fills you with his hot, thick spend.

The sensation of him pulsing inside you, unloading everything he’s worth, sends you over your edge, your pussy clenching around his cock as you come, the sensation rippling through you, shredding your vocal cords as you scream out in pleasure. 

Everything goes dark for you, nothing but the fuzzy sound of Joel’s sweet praises at the top of your head as he guides you through your come down. 

“Did so fuckin’ good f’ me, darlin’,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl.”

For an asshole, who knew he could be so sweet? 

You roll off of Joel as soon as your heart steadies, your entire body on fire from all the exertion. You can feel Joel’s body stiffen as you use him for support. His back is killing him right now.

A few moments pass as your eyes slowly start to close, but the deep gruff of your name stops you from dozing. 

You turn your head to the man beside you. “Yes?” 

For the first time today, it’s Joel who can’t make eye contact with you. “Can you, uh… can you-” he clears his throat, trying to rid himself of his awkwardness. “Can you warm up the heat pack again?” 

Your smirk lifts your cheek before you can even try to stop it. “Come again?” 

He lets out a frustrated huff. And he can’t turn away from you. His back is killing him right now. “My back-”

“Yeah, what about your back?” 

“You fuckin’ little shit-”

You giggle as you flip onto your side, your hand holding your head up to get a better look at him. “Your back is hurting, baby? Need me to get the heat pack for you, hm?” 

He doesn’t respond. He just has the deepest, most grumpiest scowl known to man on display. 

“Oh, come on. You need my help, is that it? Need to hear you say it, unc.” You emphasize the last syllable of your sentence, a belly laugh threatening to escape you. 

Oh, two can play at that game. “Yeah, baby, I need your help. I need the help from my beautiful, beautiful niece, hm? My beautiful, needy niece whose pussy gets all soaked jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout me, huh? Gets all wet and needy thinkin’ ‘bout her uncle-”

Your resolve finally snaps, your eyes clamping shut as you cover your ears, loud la la la’s coming from your mouth as you ungraciously roll yourself off of his bed. “Enough, fine! Fine! Fuckin’ nasty,” you groan as you make your way to the kitchen. 

“‘M not the one who started it, sweetheart,” Joel says, a triumphant smile plastered across his cocky face. 

“I made you cookies by the way,” you yell after a beat. “Want one?” 

Joel’s hand reaches for his belly. He doesn’t need one, that’s for sure. “Yeah,” he responds not a second later. 

You come back to his bedroom, heat pack in one hand, no cookie in the other. You hand him the heat pack. You make him adjust it himself. 

“Where’s the cookie?” He asks, a tinge of impatience on his tongue. 

“Oh, I thought you were gonna come down and get it.” 

He looks at you incredulously. 

“I just figured you wanted to start being more independent and all. Given how strenuous you were being a few moments ago,” you offer with a faux innocence.  

“I swear to fuckin’ God, when I get my hands on you-”

“Your hands on me? Yeah? When?” You start making your way out of his bedroom. “Come get me if you wanna show me a lesson. Know you been dying to all week.” 

If he can fuck you the way he did, maybe full-time bed rest isn’t what Joel needs. He needs to stretch and move around; he needs to activate his muscles, especially being on the older side. It really is basic biology.

I would absolutely love to hear what you guys thought of this! Any and all your love and commentary truly keeps me going and motivated even when the writer’s block is at its strongest. Wouldn’t be here without you all. I have so much love in my heart for you! Talk to y’all soon🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

Leaf divider by @saradika-graphics

[hysteria-things]

based off of this

BEREAL

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!nate x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the bereal notification goes off when you and your boyfriend are in an intimate situation.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: PURE FILTH, swearing, unprotected sex, p in v, choking, spanking, hair pulling, dumbification, breeding, ROUGH

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 631

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: DID NOT MEAN TO RELEASE THIS LATE BUT I HAD TO WAIT UNTIL MIDNIGHT SINCE I REACHED THE POST LIMIT AGAIN😭

but anyway matt/chris will be back tomorrow!

nate’s phone blows up with notifications on the nightstand from the DA BOYZ group chat with nick, matt, and chris — but he’s too busy to check it now.

moaning loudly, your hands clutch at the pillow your head is lying on. your knuckles are white, eyes rolling back so far in your head. it’s been forty-five minutes, and you came twice already.

you guys are making a fucking mess, but neither of you cares at this moment. his and your cum combined slap against your thighs, a string of arousal connecting and breaking each time he thrusts into you. you mumble something into the pillows, but it’s so incoherent that it sounds like a moan.

his hand is wrapped tightly around your neck, the other one running up and down the small of your back. he’s so deep inside your cunt that you seriously don’t know how he does it.

drool drips down your chin and onto the sheets below, body becoming rag doll-like when your grip starts to loosen and you start to rock violently to the speed of the way he’s plowing hard into you with no mercy. “there she is; getting fucked stupid on my cock because that’s all you have to fucking live for.”

only groaning in response, you start to see specks of white every time you blink. your pussy is so tight around his dick that it makes it hard for him to move. nate’s so balls deep that it feels like he’s in your throat.

silenced screams go past your lips as the headboard bangs rapidly against his bedroom wall, his tip brushing against your g-spot for the nth time tonight. he moans, grabbing your ass and jiggling it before slapping it. “might have to put my kid in ya.” he hisses, giving it another hit. “i need to breed this pussy full. you let me use it so well.”

catching a glimpse at his lit phone screen, he sees a specific notification pop up:

⚠️time to bereal⚠️

2 min left to capture a bereal to see what your friends are up to!

he smirks, grabbing his phone and opening the app. he points the camera to his face as the time counts down. eyes hooded and lips swollen, a handful of hickeys decorate his neck in red and purple, along with a few scratch marks on his chest.

pressing the white button at the bottom of the screen, he grips the top of your hair to yank your head off the pillow. he quickly turns his phone around, the back camera getting your face into view.

nate waits patiently a few seconds for the picture to render, letting go of your head so he can upload it. this is the first time he’s seen what you look like all night.

strands of hair are disheveled or stuck to your forehead from sweating, eyes crossed with your tongue sticking out like a dog. that poor brain of yours thinking only about nate’s cock fucking the shit out of you.

“i’m cu-mming.” you hiccup, shaking violently as you’re overstimulated from three hard orgasms. the boy behind you licks his lips, stopping deep before spurts of his hot cum fill your womb.

seconds later, reactions come flooding in on his post. some are from peers from high school, while the rest are from the crew.

madi’s eyes are wide, her hand covering her mouth.

nick looks disgusted, his face half out of the frame.

matt’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline, mouth hanging open in complete shock.

last but not least, chris smiles widely at the camera with a big thumbs up.

matthew.sturniolo: oh brother

nicolassturniolo: NATHAN DOE.

user: she’s living the dream, i’m afraid…

madifilipowicz: 😟

user: HE HAS BITCHES???

christophersturniolo: get that pussy bro😝

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @sturniolotriplettoplover @stars4matt @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @catalina-island @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @stellarsturns @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @bellasfavbisexual @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @crazychrisl0v3r @maggieflms @strtuniolo @mutualsafe @riasturns @sturniolowhore @antpile00 @ashley9282828 @stingerayyy2

[risuola]

▶ BOYFRIENDS — two is better than one.

contents: college+roommates!au, alcohol consumption, college party kind of situation, groping mentioned — wc. 845

a/n: you were voting in the poll and picked the stsg protecting the reader from the drunk so there we go! our boys making sure we're safe!

𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙈𝙀𝘿𝙇𝙀𝙔 | series masterlist

“C’mon cutie, it’s jus’ a dance.”

You’re far from being a mind reader. Sometimes you struggle with getting the point of something someone is telling you straight on, but this time you were sure it wasn’t a dance the man wanted from you.

A thick stench of alcohol saturated the air whenever he was leaning towards you, rendering the oxygen useless because you’d rather suffocate than introduce that toxic waste into your lungs. You were trapped, between the counter in a small, dorm kitchen and a guy you recognized from a sport’s team popular in your college. He’s not the top dog, average at most, but famous nonetheless and apparently such condition turned his ears deaf to any sort of refusal. The small of your back burned in the place where he glued his hand and it wasn’t a pleasant type of burn.

“I’m not gonna dance with you, get away, creep,” you scoffed, frowning upon the stubborn behavior and pressing the open palm of your hand against his chest, trying to put your strength against his own. No luck there, he didn’t budge the slightest.

“Hard to get, huh? I like that,” he grinned and next thing you noticed was a hand on your butt, squeezing the flesh like an orange. You flinched at the feeling, digging your nails into his forearm, doing about as much damage as a little kitten. That’s why you didn’t like college parties. “You sure are a feisty one, aren’t you?”

“Get. Off.” A groan left your throat and your fist clenched to your side. A knee itched to meet his crotch, a drink in your hand begged to be spilled over his stupid face and wash off his stupid smile, maybe even refresh his stinky breath a little.

You thought about violence, your body tensed and muscles contracted, getting ready for a strike, but then, you heard a hum. Soft, melodic, like a cotton and silk, soothing your nerves and making you relax. The sound made you stop; it made the drunk stop as well and your position shifted.

“Does my beautiful mochi have a problem here?”

You could physically feel how Satoru removed the unwanted hand from your rear and the wince on the boy’s face in front of you told you his grip was much heavier than the tone of his voice suggested. Then, your friend wrapped his arms around your waist, effectively pulling you out of the toxic orbit; your back met his wide chest and his chin dropped to rest on your shoulder. His bright blue eyes sized the guy in front of you from above the dark shades he wore that night and you noticed him smiling. It was confident, it was judging and so very challenging. You could tell he wished to get down and dirty with the drunk.

“And you are—?”

“Her boyfriend. Back off.”

“Boyfriend, huh? Bullshit,” the boy scoffed, clearly unable to comprehend the danger he put himself in. He hiccupped drunkenly and then found Suguru in the crowd, pointing at him. “That bitch told my friend her boyfriend is that guy.”

Satoru hummed again, amused, and then chuckled vividly. You felt his embrace tightening protectively around you and his fluffy hair tickling the side of your face. As if summoned, Geto made his way towards you and soon he joined your other side.

“Suguru, this guy over there called our girlfriend a bitch and dared to lay a hand over her ass,” Gojo painted the picture with a sweetly threatening tone and even pouted a little for the added effect.

“Oh yeah?” Brunette mused, raising an eyebrow and you heard a soft crack of his bones when he tilted his head to one side and then the other, stretching his neck. Oh, how menacing. “It can’t be.”

You watched as confusion washed over the features in front of you. The guy was drunk, but it seemed as if the dots were finally connecting in his brain, as if the message was reaching and realization was sinking in — very likely the sound of Suguru’s cracking knuckles made the process much more quick and efficient.

And he crumbled.

The boy shrunk under the set of gazes and tensed atmosphere. Mumbling something incoherent, he backed off, grabbing a can of beer on his way as if pretending to not be bothered when very visibly he was.

You sighed.

An exhale of relief made you wilt a little inside the protective embrace of Satoru’s arms. You felt your body relaxing.

“Thank you. He was damn persistent,” you addressed your friends, smoothing over the hands snaked around your waist and looking up at Suguru.

“Always,” brunette smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead, while Satoru nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck. Then he bit you, of course he did, but this time you let it slip.

“I’d be persistent too if I saw those tits unattended,” the snow-white mumbled, and Geto immediately nagged him, causing the dramatic roll of blue eyes.

You, on the other hand, laughed.

Those idiots.

taglist: @kibananya @r0ckst4rjk @rixo-19 @soraya-daydreams@hyun0200 @ilykii @roscpctals99 @mushkasstuff @siimp4youu @juicedcherry @themoreeviltwin @stevenknightmarc @ms5m1th @local-mr-frog @minimorale @lansy-4 @dancer545

[wherenymphsroam]

don’t say it’s unholy, if I let you come hold me (pt 1)

⟡ -- leon finds you drowning your grief in the back of a bar just outside of town. but don't worry, he won't blow your cover.

w/c: 2.1k

warnings: themes of coping with grief and depression, implied underage drinking and unhealthy coping mechanisms, vendetta leon, leon is just a wee bit morally grey here just due to the point in his life this is staged during, no sex but explicit language, leon is readers dad's coworker/friend, angst - eventual sex

a/n: okay, I've been sitting on this baby for a hot minute just because of how self indulgent it is iaqhdsiuwsjih. I wanted to make this longer before I released it, but I think I'm going to just continue this in parts (and even then, don't hold me to that lol judgwiuhd !!). again, please heed warnings, and if you are uncomfortable with any themes presented, please just don't read!

playlist: unholy (hey violet), disconnect (she wants revenge), discipline (nine inch nails), paralyzer (finger eleven)

You shouldn’t be here.

By all legal and ethical means, morality aside, you should be at the library, studying for a final you know damn well you won’t be passing. Or better yet, at home. Maybe poured over a mug of tea, that blend your mom has made you since you were a kid. Some shitty romcom playing in the background, ignored as you doze off surrounded by papers, scattered around the dining table like any other honorable, dutiful college student. Not some… dingy, shithole bar outside the parameters of your hometown.

(One you know your dad doesn’t frequent with colleagues. One you know is just outside the radius of people that would see you here, know you enough to know you shouldn’t be here.)

Maybe you would be back home right now, studying until you felt like your brain was going to melt out of your ears, if not for what happened. The “would’ve” “could’ve” and “should’ve”s are stacked high in your brain, like a mountain of now unattainable possibilities laid bare, slain by the events of recent nights. Something so chilling, so bone shattering and brain dissolving you just can’t manage to wrap your head around it. 

‘Shock’, right? 

That was the operative term for the numbness that has recently buzzed dully in your limbs, the heaviness of your own weight whenever you roll out of bed every day. The term itself is thrown around so flippantly, so easily outside the walls of a hospital, a clinic. General medical common knowledge be damned, everyone knows what shock is.

'Shock' is being betrayed by your child who marries someone of the same gender, rendering you and your paper thin beliefs meaningless. Generations passed down worth of indoctrination gone moot by one, unholy union. It’s coming home and finding your husband in bed with another woman, that blonde bitch at his front desk. The one he told you not to worry about? Yeah, that one. 

It’s the unspeakable, the unimaginable striking. It’s blinding, horrid in how it leaves you.. Empty. You’re compelled to apologize for its effects on your nervous system.

Sorry guys, I promise I’m sad. I know I don’t look it, I’m taking it out on all this- shit lying around. I’ve been meaning to throw this out for ages you know. Guess I finally have a reason now, huh? No, I don’t know how much sleep I’ve gotten the past week, it’s probably fine. I’m fine, don’t worry about me. That’ll make me feel worse. Now, if you would, let me go finish my manic episode in peace, will you-?

Could you blame this too as to why you finally dug out that fake ID your friends coerced you into agreeing to?

This wasn’t like you, not one bit. I mean, really, sitting in the back of some gnarly bar, surrounded with the sorts of people Daddy always warned you about? The sorts of people that only came out after dark, that hung around till dawn when they would then go back to dwell in whatever crevice of the city they called home until dusk? Maybe this was moms genes catching up with you – the predisposed ones you always knew would come to bite you in the ass. Maybe you should go check your eyes, don’t people's pupils dilate when they’re manic? “Crazy eyes'' those people on Tiktok would call them, right? 

“Unwidin’, huh?”

His voice calls through the air between you like he might’ve well been standing yards away. It takes you a moment longer than maybe appropriate to track his distance, his place at your side at the bartop. Glancing over, you first get a look at his hand, gesturing to the drink in front of you, the cigarette dangling between your fingers. The one that was currently beginning to slip in your weakened grip, speaking of. 

They’re long, nimble. Broad hands, worn at the tips, smooth along the meat of his palms. Even under the hazy atmosphere surrounding you, you can make out the glint of the watch up his sleeve – probably expensive, if the quality of the leather of his jacket sleeve has anything to say about it. Look at you. Even buzzed like this, you were spotting the finer details. A daddy’s girl with daddy’s tolerance.

Despite yourself, you nod numbly, head heavy on the bracket of your neck. A sign directly arguing with the idea of your tolerance – or rather, lack thereof – but it can't be as noticeable as your brain is attempting to trick you into believing, right?

Leon settles into the stool next to you, and you don’t so much as cast him a proper glance. Maybe that’s why he finds himself sitting down. You looked out of place, like a damn kicked puppy with your head drowning in a few shots worth in the back of this bar. It was a wonder no one else had approached you up till this point, especially given the time of night. It was hard not to feel like your guardian angel. 

“We both know this ain’t the healthiest way to do it.” He says as he flags the bartender down.

Touche, mystery man. 

Well, alright. Technically you knew the guy. You vaguely recognized him as one of Dad’s colleagues through the haze of your buzz. It was too sweet to interrupt, you find yourself completely unfazed in the face of the inevitable consequences that would come from your fathers colleague finding you here.

If anything, you couldn’t complain.

His voice was nice. Beyond “nice” actually. If you were any more wasted, you’d take him for a certain type of actor. More specifically, the ones you listen to late at night. The ones that speak to you behind pseudonyms and expensive microphones, nestled into crevices of the internet any mentally stable person wouldn’t dream of wandering into.  

You know better than to entertain that thought for more than a few seconds, even despite the dregs of nicotine floating through your blood coaxing you towards such a mental image. 

Finally, you brave a glance over your shoulder at him. He’s pretty. Real pretty. How are you only just noticing how sharp his eyes are? They look darker under this bar's lighting, that typically professional, almost playful glint in his gaze nowhere to be found. It had been a few years since you’d last seen him… maybe it was age finally starting to jade him.

Not that you knew the specifics. He was easily older than you by a decade and some change. And clearly all too happy to bypass all niceties in this situation. Damn. Did you look that bad? He was pretty enough to be an angel, but that didn’t mean he had to act like one. Maybe he felt bad for you. Maybe he had a better head sitting on his shoulders than a better half of the people in here. 

A huff of soft breath leaves through your nose, tendrils of smoke swirling out of your system with the action. Shaking your head, you dip it, taking another long drag from your quickly burning cigarette, an excuse to try and string together some sort of response that won’t make an ass out of you. Or actually, anything that didn’t scream “you’re hot and I don’t know how to conduct myself around good natured, attractive men” would do just fine. Those damn eyes of his… it was a mistake, letting your gazes lock. His eyes alone were enough to make your stomach flip. 

“Well,” you mutter, not daring to look back at him. “This is better than my plan b for the night.” 

You don’t so much as flinch when the bartender comes over, taking an order he murmurs in a tone you want spoken against the shell of your ear from behind. Your periphery catches the actions of the bartender pouring his order into a short glass, bronze in color.

Whiskey. Of course.

Reaching for the middle of the table, you stub your cigarette in a conveniently placed ashtray. Sure, you were a little fucked up in a way you’ve never been before tonight, but you had manners. 

Meanwhile, Leon is doing what he does best. Observing. He tries his best not to make it obvious how he watches your hand wobbles when you lift it. He watched the subtle change in your expression when he called to you, how your head bobbed when he sat down. Anyone else would be paying attention to how quickly you recoiled with the action, as if self conscious of your dragged reaction time. However, he had spotted the tension in your slouched shoulders. A reaction rooted in self preservation, a fear of judgment. It was enough to tell him just how many shots you probably had in your system. 

He was no stranger to girls like you, ‘situations’ such as the one he was currently sitting next to.

It was a familiar, cliche dance – the unspoken, drowning struggles of a near stranger on display, insecurities risen to the surface like hemorrhaged blood under thinned skin. It was written all over you. You were scrappy, worn paper, and he was the storm settling overhead. Baring your weariness and struggle and strife to his blind eye, painting you transparent. He could see right through you. You were running from something. Likely attempting to drown, bury it somewhere deep if not for just a night or so. 

“‘Plan B’?” he questions, tone calm, even almost lighthearted. It betrays his sharp gaze, perceptive and on guard as ever. As if he were approaching an injured doe in the wild. Not that he’s done much hunting lately. He’s found that meat off the streets bleeds more freely than the skin of doe’s and rabbits does in present times. 

A wry smile tugs at your lips, almost as if you figured he’d press the topic. It was already too much to ask that he didn’t mention your connection to his coworker, how Leon knew you were definitely not supposed to be somewhere like this, and he had managed to uphold that silent prayer.

Maybe your otherwise handicapped condition was blurring whatever lines that stood between you right now, the lines that constructed what he should be doing, finding you here without a legitimate ID.  He should be outing you to the bartender, dragging you out of this place by the scruff of your neck with your dad dialed into his phone.

He shouldn’t be… entertaining you, right? Could you go so far as to call his complacent presence.. Encouragement?

Taking a seat beside you, joining you in your mission to drown your ache, your pain. Keeping you calm under his gaze, as if a sedative rolled off him in gentle waves. His throat bobs around his sip of whiskey, and you can’t help how your gaze lingers on the action. 

“Plan B consisted of finding someone to fuck me into next week,” you mutter dryly, as if the admission of your half hearted ‘plans’ for tonight left a sour taste in even your mouth. It wasn’t who you were. This wasn’t what you did. For fucks sake, you weren’t even supposed to have gotten this far, knee deep in an actively self destructive decision. But life sure did have one hell of a way of knocking you one hundred eighty degrees in the other direction, didn’t it?

No. That’s an excuse. A shitty one, at that. It's an excuse you've heard your dad mutter under his breath when he slouches into the couch with a beer in hand.

This is a poor choice, and you knew this was a poor choice. And yet, that didn’t stop you from walking your happy ass into this bar, nose up and full of talked up confidence you poured into yourself in the parking lot. No amount of tugging and pulling and pleading your guilty conscience did on your brain would stop you, not this time. You knew that getting into an Uber to haul you outside the lines of town would seal your fate to the whims of this bar. How classy. 

If Leon was a worse man, he’d take your words at face value. (Or maybe he’s just damned with all that thorough training he’s been rung through. It’s practically impossible not to read people nowadays. Even alcohol has ceased to debilitate him of this begrudgingly equipped set of skills that was all but pummeled into him.) 

His gaze wavers. Flickers, almost with a wash of amusement for a moment. You were trying oh so hard, taking that clipped, short tone with him, all but puffing your chest with this aura of  mental toughness you likely wanted to think you had. It was cute, really. But oh, the lacing of desperation in your tone... The sweet vulnerability in your breath… every hairline fracture your already cracking front is bleeding. 

He doesn’t have to be a bloodhound to want to dig for more. He just can’t help himself. 

thank you for reading! I have emergency commissions open, so if you enjoyed this piece, please consider taking a look at my menu or rb’ing :^)

[lycancrow]

Ņ̴̻̰̼̼̘̃͊̓̿̍̉̌ͅÉ̴̻̹́̌͆̄̅̋̅̉O̸̢͔̰̱̠̫͔̮͕̾́N̷͙̥̊͝ ̴̨̪̺͋͂̍V̵̛̱̱̝͋̊̍̔̂̊͝O̸͔̻͓̟͙͉̗͌Ị̴̛̖̘̞̪̖͈̊̒͌͊͆̈D̷̰̟͙̏̇͒̿́̌

“You wanna F̷̬̒̒̃Ḯ̶͚̻̈́̆G̷̯̦̠͝H̶̙̯̖̠́͆̓̓T̵̨͕̗̙̈́̂?”

“The Neon Void” by sugarpastels on Ao3

ugh i have brain worms for this fic

notes about sketch:

gave him boots because i felt like his dramatic bitch ass would jump at any chance to wear big stompy boots (no matter how impractical they can be)

BIG EARS

red parts inside ears resemble demon horns, symbolizing how he’s seen as an almost “demonic” presence

this is just my silly little interpretation of void; several parts of the design don’t line up w/ the descriptions in the fic exactly. the changes were made for convenience and ✨aesthetics ✨

i don’t draw humanoids very often, but this was a fun challenge !!

i honestly expected to struggle with the flowy clothes, but they were surprisingly easy lol

i think i’ll try to render this, but i can’t guarantee that it’ll go well

thank you for your service @sugarpasteltmnt o7

[bryce-bucher]

500 CALIBER CONTRACTZ Post #16

WISHLIST IT PLZ!

Green Demon!!:

This whole post is gonna be about the green demon challenge that I implemented. For those unaware, the green demon challenge is something that originates from mario 64. It's a self imposed challenge in which you try to complete a level after spawning a 1up without letting it touch you. I love the concept so much, so I decided to add in a lil challenge on certain contracts where you summon a green demon and run around to grab 4 token pieces before it catches you.

The process of making the green demon's graphics was v fun. First, I made a sketch.

Then, I rendered out the head and hands in blender. (The animation is only 6 frames of the head and hands bobbin up n down.) Then, I brought those frames into csp and drew the same face on each frame.

After that, I shrunk that bitch down and dithered it with web colors like I had done with the environment textures.

The final result is something that feels like a geocities gif, and I'm really happy with it.

During playtesting I realized that players need to be able to figure out where the token pieces are gonna spawn before the demon is summoned, so I included these green token pieces to take their place before they spawn. Honestly, the only reason I'm mentioning this is because something in my lizard brain tells me to get very excited when I see floating green collectibles in games. I think it is because of how cool and special I thought the green stars were in Mario Galaxy when I was younger.

Conclusion:

I am aiming to have a demo of this game done with a couple contracts you can play by feb. We will see if this will happn... Other than that I don't got a lot 2 say. Next week u might be seeing some v cool ui if I manage to get it done.

[anisespice]

“ headshot ” || tokyo rev. 

synopsis: how the bonten execs. would react to a gun being pointed at you/your head. 

pairing: bonten x fem!reader

warnings: mature language, gun violence, reader cries in some, mentions of bodily harm (only on the antags), and i think that’s it

notes: thought of this while on a car ride, staring at trees…not sure what that says about me, but here she is lol i’m a little iffy on mikey’s since i think his was the shortest, but i liked keeping some of these open-ended. hope you enjoy!

manjiro ッ 

Wouldn’t react much on the outside, but on the inside that man could probably melt a building with his rage alone. It occurred during a small gathering amongst investors, corrupt and all. You had been by his side throughout the whole night until you left to go to the bathroom…that was several minutes ago. He’s already a paranoid man, so the moment the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, he gave Sanzu a pointed look—Find her.  

However, that wouldn’t be necessary. 

Before the cotton candy-haired gangster even had time to get excited about the potential hunt, some bootlicker came barreling through the crowd with you in a headlock, and a gun pressed into your temple. Both of you looked disheveled, no doubt your doing from putting up a good fight, he proudly noted. The fucker probably ambushed you in the bathroom, taking his opportunity when you left Mikey’s side—Pussy-ass bitch. He didn’t know if the guy was bold or just plain stupid standing smack-dab in the lion’s den, threatening the only life Mikey found precious. 

“Nobody moves! Or I’ll blow her goddamn brains out!”  

Didn’t matter, though. He’d surely pay with his. 

sanzu ッ

Over a game of poker, some guy whose luck just wasn’t on his side decided he deserved retribution—And you were unfortunately the one to pay it forward. You were perched on Sanzu’s lap, sitting prettily as you laughed at the silly men crying after taking a heavy loss from your man. For him, it was like nails on a chalkboard hearing you mock the table alongside that crackhead, his inferiority complex spewing venomous thoughts in his head that you needed to be taken down a couple notches. 

A death wish. That dumbass had a death wish. 

He abruptly stood, knocked the table over and aimed his sorry excuse of a gun right at you, rendering everyone else speechless. Sanzu barely reacted but felt you startle, cooing softly in your ear as he lovingly tapped you on the thigh in reassurance. You relaxed instantly, eyeing down the barrel of the gun with mirth as the guy began to shake. Blame it on the alcohol, blame it on the heat of the moment, or even the bottomless debt he just put himself in, but one thing was for certain—He fucked up big time, no rush. 

You couldn’t see it, but Sanzu had murderous intent hidden behind his calm exterior. And everyone at that table knew it as they scattered from the scene. Probably wasn't the smartest choice to bet his luck against yours, though. For someone who was already absolute dogshit at poker, Sanzu figured he’d be doing this guy a favor anyways. 

“How ballsy of you. Guess I’d better cut ‘em off.”

ran ッ

Not gonna lie, whoever decided to test his gangsta like that would surely need to evaporate IMMEDIATELY after because there’s absolutely no SHOT of them, they mama, they second cousin, or even that one neighbor who used to live by them, surviving this man’s wrath.

Especially if they tried it in his own home.

The poor guy didn’t even get to make his demands, Ran was on him so quick he damn near broke the laws of physics. You’d never seen a grown man beg for mercy to the point of literally pissing himself before, but it definitely lightened your mood. You even pointed and laughed, despite the tears still falling down your face from the unpleasant experience. Ran merely grinned adoringly at you as he twisted the assailant’s arm in three different ways.

“There’s my favorite smile ♡. I’ll make sure this fucker suffers for almost taking it away from me, angel.”

rindou ッ

It’s always the younger siblings that are the more unhinged. He already don’t play that bullshit when it comes to you, your safety becoming one of his main priorities the moment you agreed to be with him. Anyone who dared to compromise that would fuck around and find out.

And eventually, someone did.

To be fair, the guy who pulled the gun on you didn’t know any better. As far as he was concerned, he was doing his job in making sure unauthorized civilians in the building were to be eradicated immediately. Especially those who claim to know anyone from Bonten without some sort of proof.

Because your relationship was hush-hush to most, if not all staff, it was no wonder homie didn’t believe you. But, it didn’t matter. As soon as Rindou found out the commotion going on in the lobby had to do with you, and some dumbass subordinate holding a gun to your head???

That walking mullet made that guy’s trigger finger into a necklace and forced him to wear it as a reminder.

kakucho ッ

A wild card, truly. He can’t afford to be anything but mr. calm and collected, especially in hostile situations. On one hand, he knows that getting worked up will do neither of you any good. And on the other hand…

When he got the video of you being held for ransom by some backstreet lowlife, gun pressed to your temple as you’re forced to read out their petty demands, Kakucho wanted to set the whole city on fire. His entire being vibrated, teeth clenched so hard you’d need a crowbar to unhinge it. Even Mikey eyed him sideways for a moment before reassuring him that you would be found, and that those amateurs would be handled. Kakucho growled lowly, dual-colored eyes piercing through the souls of every subordinate in the room.

“If she doesn’t make it out of this alive, none of you will.”

© 2022-2023 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[ladydeath-vanserra]

Hello 👋

I love your thoughts on anti ic and the way you delve into everything and actually name the issues within them .

I have a rant about Feyre :

I liked her in Book 1 but book 2 onwards Mr SA melted her brain . There are lots of things that irk me about feyre : Her Hipocrasy first and foremost

The Hipocrasy is strong with this girl istg , like you're the one who does a free public porn show for the guy who SA you and then have the gall to compliment rhys when he uses his powers on keir for calling you a whore. Like wtf ? I am on kiers side in this , if your dictator ( because that's what rhysand is ) was fingering a fae in front of all of his court I'd be disgusted too .

The scene where feyre starts crying because of nestas expenditure ? Like bitch you have 5 houses and your "friend s" are always out drinking and fucking and you don't have a problem with that ? I actually think mor is an alcoholic and her relationship with cassian is incestuous.

Feyre locking Nesta in the HOW even after her trauma when tamlin locked her up in the manor like are you kidding me rn ? Seriously if I was nesta I would've verbally rendered feyre to a pile of dust .

Coming to that she also has no phycological damage from the 3 months rhysand SA her and made her do lap dances but when your sister is snarky and calls you for her decisions you have the gall to have trauma about that ? Be fr bro I call my brother whore for fun 💀( only children shouldn't be allowed to write sibling relationships - sjm )

Sorry if this got too long , I just wanted to rant to someone and I hope you understand ( you're one of the few people in this fandom with actual functioning neurons )

Thank you 💗

Yeah, I don't really get Rhysand's whole,,, well anything regarding politics tbh. He talks down and degrades the CoN and treat them as nothing more than oppressive misogynists' in front of them and then proceeds to perform sexual acts with the woman he then wants to be viewed in a professional, respectable and political light and when that doesn't happen, due to the whole sexual act and 'Rhysand's harlot' or whatever she called herself, thing, Rhysand then assaults Keir

So like.... he can assert authority and abuse power when it comes to disrespect to the girl he literally wanted to be his plaything in front of these people, but he can't assert authority when it comes to protecting the vulnerable populations of the CoN or to establish progressive laws. He says Keir is in charge of the CoN and that he can't use the Darkbringers without his permission but then he assaults the Steward of the CoN. High Lord or not that doesn't make a lick of sense if he ever wants to be viewed as a legitimate ruler. I would also be disgusted by such vulgar acts- besides these people did not consent to be witnesses to sexual acts of display

Feyre crying is... I dunno. Like I chalked it up to hormones, but I am more concerned with Rhysand's blatant manipulation and emotional and financial abuse of reading off expenses in front of every single member of the IC. That is a form of shame and humiliation in order for Feyre to 'get her sister under control'. But I also agree, I think it's completely unnecessary and hypocritical of Rhysand and Co to look down their noses at Nesta for spending money when Rhysand himself said that the IC bleed him dry with their flagrant spending on alcohol and parties- which is said in ACOMAF but then it gets played off for the Laugh

Feyre and Rhysand locking Nesta up in the HoW is just sooooo. guh. How is it that when Tamlin does it for *checks notes* five minutes it's the most egregious, unforgiveable sin but when Rhysand and Feyre not ONLY lock her up, they demolished her home, they had Elain pack up her belongings, they made her live with a man Nesta repeatedly, verbally said she wanted nowhere near her. Plus the humiliation factor of not only being talked at in front of the IC, but Rhysand, Feyre and Amren talking about Nesta via Mental Powers in front of Nesta. There was so, so much wrong with that entire scene and the fact that both the narrative and the fandom cannot see why that scene was so disgusting is quite frankly, alarming

Like I can get that Feyre could have emotional and internalized feelings of a bad self image via Nesta from childhood, but I am also aware of what can happen when children are forced into extremely small proximity with each other with a very toxic and unhealthy household. Nesta and Feyre both were at each other's throats. they were both awful to each other and there is a rather large amount of assumption by Feyre and a large amount of miscommunication with both the girls

Rhysand however, with all his abuses of Feyre UtM, just... being forgotten about, just like that, is very weird. Very weird, especially if Nesta is still paying for sins from before the first book even took place. Feyres not getting triggered from the Weavers cottage? shes not getting triggered with his "Feyre Darling"? She's not getting triggered being in the CoN where UtM was inspired by? She's not getting triggered wearing those scraps of clothes? She's not getting triggered when Rhys uses paint on Feyre in Chapter 55 or whatever chapter it was just like he did UtM in front of Tamlin??????

Feyre brings up UtM ONCE to Rhysand and he gets all hyperventilatey and says theyll 'talk about it later' and then guess what, it doesn't. It just gets explained that he just had to torture his mate and what it was doing to him

give me a break

[veryripebanana]

Yall know like "the indominable human spirit trend"? But like this one is from human perspective.

"Fuck... "

Wrath, Pain, Agony, Fear.

"Fuck this..."

My vision blurred, my leg limping, i feel blood crawling down my body from head to toe, mine and theirs. They kidnapped my family and I, and while i was sitting there, locked in forced paralysis but conscious enough to hear, see, and feel their pain as these fucking bastards do their wretched experiments on my family. My wife, FORCED TO BREED AND CARRY OUT SEVERAL DIFFRENT LIFEFORMS WITHING MINUTESALL WITHOUT EVEN A DROP OF ANESTHESIA! My children forced to live several thousand, even MILLIONS OF DIFFERENT LIVES in a short span of time just to see how it CHANGES THEIR MENTALITY...

EVERY NIGHT, THEY WERE CAGED IN WITH ME, I HEAR THEIR CRIES, THEIR WAILS, BEGGING, ASKING, TELLING ME TO HELP! But how can i? These demons injected something in my spine that rendered my entire body immovable...

"WHY? WHY ONLY ME? Why was i disregarded in these torture trials that my family had to go through? Put me in there instead! Let them go... please... i beg of you..."

I can't talk, but i hope my thoughs can go through to them all...

...

Days later, my family were killed. I guess the stress was too much for them... my children had their brains explode from the inside, my wife had her body so messed up she mutated and barely even looked human at the end...

The doors of the cage open.

It's my turn.

They dragged me out and put me in a chair, injected something in my spine again and moments later i gained control of my body once more. But i was restrained. Locked in place with braces on my hands and feet in the chair.

"The fuck is this shit? Medieval interrogation? All these goddamn tech you used to torture my family and now just this?! I didn't know even a superior lifeform's tech can only last a pathetic amount of time."

I wanted to anger them. I wanted them to want to kill me.

"Human, you are now named no.4 as the fourth and final testing on human species limitations and biology. In our next experime-"

i spat on its face.

"No.4, coordinate without resistance."

"Bitch please motherfucker, kill me. Do your best shot." Kill me.

"Precisely, your testing will revolve around the fragility of bare human body without external armour."

Fuck. Well, i wanted this.

Several carts go in the room, with racks filled with diffrent types of artillery, blunt weapons, and spears, all with diffrent abilities ranging from medieval spears to modern guns, from heat that can go against the core of a star to absolute zero temperatures, from bombs that condenses matter into nothingness to bombs that delivers an impact close to a meteor strike. All were tested and all wounds were healed.

Every. Single. Day.

I lasted for weeks, months even. In agony, hoping that they one day make a mistake and target my brain.

Unfortunately for me, they did, but i did not die. And fortunately for me, the shakles that bind me from the chair came loose, now i can stand.

Beaten, and tired, i tried to go for one of the guns and shoot myself on my own. When i finally got one, one of them saw, and they opened fire.

Lasers, or bullets, or projectiles i don't even know at this point peirce through my body one by one, i fell.

But i did not die, my body is littered with holes and blood gushing throughout them.

And i had a gun.

One thing i learned after all these time was, their weapons wasn't easy to reload and it takes time to fix 1 magazine into one artillery weapon. But mine is loaded, so i opened fire.

I shot one in their "head", they got up.

I shot one near the area of their "heart", they got up.

I shot one near the area of the neck, gotcha bitch.

One by one, i went through all 20 of them in the room, one shot kills to their "necks". Some finished reloading their guns and shot me and some managed to break one of my legs and arms but then again, it is only I who walked out of that room, alive.

And i took another reloaded gun just in case.

Now i wander this ship, it looks barren but I do not think so, there were 24 diffrent aliens here based from them all taking turns trying on the experiment with me and especially my family. And i took note of one, one special alien, one with the most colored garments out of them all. I assume it's the captain.

I wandered the ship for a few minuites before...

A message, on repeat, i couldn't understand hut i assume they already know where i am.

...

I walked for a few more minuites and hear footsteps, fuck yes.

I see one of them, a scout i presume being guarded, alert and alone.

It engages fire and i fire back in return, after a lengthy exchange we were both out of ammo, but now it's wounded. I rushed into it with my hand clenched into a fist, but i was fainting, loosing my hold on my body.

I was drifting in and out of consciousness.

"Finally" i thought to myself...

So what the fuck is this? Why am i engaging in brutal hand to hand wild fight with this bastard using both my arms and legs. My broken appendages flopping around but i do not feel pain from any of them. I fight, and in the end, i grabbed my gun and stabbed it into the fucker's neck.

"let me die"

Toughts racing through my head, begging, yearning for my demise. Yet my very own mind cages me in this flesh, for what?

it says "to fight."

I reach an open room, i went around and look what i saw, the last three motherfuckers hiding in the dark. Too bad my eyes have already adjusted to it.

1 of them attempt to shoot me, 1 of them rush to me, and the last, well it just sat there.

Again i was shot, grazed by bullets, beaten with the other one, but fuck, if i can't feel shit i will let them express pain for me.

I grabbed a nearby glass and shattered it, then stabbed the one near me with a piece of glass and used it'sbody as temporary shield as i walked towards the last two...

The other? Well it just ran out of bullets.

I stabbed it again in the "neck", i was now panting, i start to feel everything again, it's like something is wearing off...

I slowly dropped the glass and the alien to the ground, but i will not let the last one go.

I walked, to the best of my ability and through the pain of many broken bones, i walked.

Nearer and nearer i can see that shit shivering.

I slowly go near it, and it pushed something near its "head".

-translator on-

"Please, i am sorry. I beg of you let me go..." it said.

"Fucking cliché bitch", well we all know what the fuck I should do right?

But this time without breaking eye contact, in fact i widen them, let this shivering little cunt look into my bloodied unyielding eyes as i slowly, very very fucking slowly push that shard of glass into it's "neck" as i watch the light from its eyes wash away in blood.

"Finally..."

It only took a few steps away but, as expected i too fell and enjoyed my peace at last, in this drifting, lost, and soulless spacecraft that i pray never reach the sight of any living organism ever again.

[quinacridonered]

Rings of Power Recap - Season 2, Episode 2

Durin Jr.: I miss fancy food.

Disa: At least we are not eating rocks.

Earth: *quakes*

Crop Illumination System: *dies*

Durin Jr.: We are now.

--

Elf Principal: Commander Galadriel?

Galadriel: Huh? 

Elf Principal: You wouldn’t be tripping balls in the middle of a military strategy meeting, would you, Commander?

Galadriel: I was but it won’t stop me from rendering an opinion. 

Elf Principal: What did you see?

Galadriel: Sauron eating Celebrimbor for breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. And a series of mid-day snacks.

Elf Principal: Nah. Eregion security is the stuff of legend.

Galadriel: So is Celebrimbor’s insecurity.

Elf Principal: Should have invited him to the Rings launch party.

--

Celebrimbor: Wash-resistant human?

Assistant: Still here.

Celebrimbor: Party invitations from Lindon?

Assistant: Not here.

Celebrimbor: Surely ’tis but an oversight, but just in case I’m going to try and invent the telegraph.

Murdered Messengers from Lindon: You go, dude.

--

Bulgarian Folk Choir: We are here to indicate mysterious Eastern Otherness.

Probably Not Saruman: Consider it indicated. Any news?

Resurrected Acolyte: No. Homeless Wizard kicked my ass.

Probably Not Saruman: Perhaps I should unresurrect you.

Minion: Permission to slaughter his hobbit friends?

Probably Not Saruman: That would diminish their hostage value, but give it a whirl.

--

Dwarven Mountain Communication Choir: LAAAAAAA!

Mountain: Nope.

--

Galadriel: Come with us to check on Celebrimbor.

Elrond: You’re interrupting my occupational therapy.

Galadriel: Talk to me, friend.

Elrond: Considering your other friends, it is a moniker I no longer desire.

Elf Elder: Channel your rage by exerting control.

Galadriel: That sounds kind of Sauronian.

Elrond: Just to be contrary, I’ll go.

Elf Elder: Good call, but promise me you’ll try yoga and meditation.

--

Homeless Wizard: I found a stick. Should my name be Stick Man?

Minions: Come with us and we’ll sort it out.

Homeless Wizard: *swears in Quenya*

Minions: Wheeee!

Hobbits: Wheeee!

Homeless Wizard: Field notes. Swearing in Quenya raises a hurricane. Will try to swear in Sindarin going forward.

--

Celebrimbor: Please leave.

Sauron: I have ring intel.

Celebrimbor: Please stay.

Sauron: Eh. I gather I’m not wanted.

Celebrimbor: If you tell me about the rings, I’ll give you dinner.

Sauron: They worked.

Celebrimbor: Was there a party?

Sauron: Yes, but they didn’t invite you because nobody likes you except me.

Celebrimbor: My next move is to get drunk on ancient booze.

Sauron: Or you could make some rings for humans.

Celebrimbor: Don’t tell me what to make.

Sauron: Guess we’ll do this the hard way.

Forge: *bursts into flames*

Divine Light: *illuminates all*

Angelic Choir: Do we have to?

Sauron: Sing, bitches.

Angelic Choir: LAAAAAAA!

Sauron: Have you considered accepting me as your personal saviour?

Celebrimbor: Holy shit, you clean up well.

Sauron: How ‘bout them rings?

Celebrimbor: Sorry, did you say something?

Sauron: *snaps fingers*

Celebrimbor: Ah! Yes! Rings! Circular objects made of metal! 

Sauron: I better tone it down if I want his brain to work.

--

Letter to Dwarves: Lord Celebrimbor requests your presence.

Murdered Messengers from Lindon: Funny how that one went through.

------------------

Recap for Season 2, Episode 1

[rokishimizu4]

Nightwing’s Big Brother adventure

(Sorry for the long wait, I’m moving to a new place and starting a new job, so very busy with that. Also, I’m writing stories-BatFam, Yautjas, Undertale AUs, Homer (Odyssey) x Gods/Goddesses, Hetalia Nordic 5, etc.) This one is gonna be dialogue heavy, because I see Dick & Jason being chatty when especially nervous. (Aka there is a child that Jay told me threw up brains and powdered meth and it’s staring at me from across two buildings on top of a fucken roof) Enjoy!

Warning: Todd being Todd, foul language, in a bad mood Nightwing

The months leading up to Nightwing traveling back and forth from Blüdhaven to EVERYWHERE else was one of with a sharp decline in villain activity in his claimed city as he was not in the mood to be nice.

Especially when he learns that there may be a organization out there that’s probably experimenting on people that NO ONE can find and a child out there that Jay says “threw up a bunch of meth users’ brains and got so sick that I was ready to call dad and beg him for help”.

That shit does not fly by Dick Wayne Grayson, especially when it comes to children that might be experimented on.

So, cue Nightwing prowling across Blüdhaven from when the sun starts to go down to as soon as the sun is high in the sky with his team. He barely goes to bed before he decides to head over to Gotham to help out with whatever he can.

However, this night was far from his ‘normal’ routine as he was in route to a bank robbery when he notices that the next roof he was ready to jump onto had something strange sitting on the ledge, glowing purple in the flashing lights of the fuck ton of cop cars down below. (Dick let the cops have a head start cause he was feeling nice)

The thing reminds Nightwing of a being made of oil, slime, and water, and/or some type of clay. But, seeing the goop moving in the flashing lights like a living, breathing, human did something to his brain that reminded him of when he first met Jason Todd.

“Hello there, a lot of noise here huh? What are you doing out here so late at night? Do you need some help? Are you hungry? Thirsty?” He asks in a soft tone, trying not to scare the mysterious child, who was smaller than Jason before his death and maybe even smaller than Damien when he was dropped off at Wayne Manor.

However before Nightwing could ask anymore questions, a beeping from his com renders him speechless. He quickly puts a hand up towards the figure, while his other hand goes up to his ear and presses a small button.

“Go for Nightwing.” “Hey Wing, just heard from your girlfriend that you haven’t been fucken sleeping dick head!” “Hood, I really don’t have the time for this.” “Oh no, the famous Nightwing doesn’t have the time to take his own god damn advice! Fuck you Wing, I’m gonna come over there and beat your ass til you can’t get the fuck out of bed for a week.”

”Hood, I really need you to watch your language at the moment.” “Why, you gonna come over here and wash my mouth out with soap? Too bad, I had worse. So try me bitch!”

”Jay Bird,” Dick could tell that Jason was now actually listening, “I have a goop child sitting a full roof top away from me that is staring at me and tilting it’s head side to side like it can hear you and understand you. So please, little brother watch your language.”

”Please tell me you’re joking. Dick, please fucken tell me you’re joking.” “I wish I was, because there is currently a robbery in progress and while the cops are there already, the still flashing lights do NOT fill me with confidence. And, from what you told me about this child, I refuse to leave them alone.”

”Where are you? Please tell me where you are NOW.” Jason growls and Dick did not need to hear Jason to know that he was rushing through his house/hideout getting clothes on and tripping his own feet to make it to Dick’s location.

”Blüdhaven, the biggest bank. Please hurry, cause I don’t know what to do yet.”

”Do you have any chocolate or anything like that on you? Yes, I’m being serious, cause the kid ate a shit ton of chocolate once it got all that shit out of its stomach.”

”How the fuck…” Dick’s jaw threatens to drop in confusion as he remembers that the backpack he was carrying was full of different types of chocolates and candy to make up his absences from date nights with Kori.

“Don’t fuck tell me that you have chocolate on you.. Pfft!” Jason busts out laughing as he realizes that the kid probably followed Dick because he has fucken chocolate!

”Jay, please shut your mouth. I’m gonna give this kid some chocolate and if you’re not here in the next 10 minutes, I’m gonna convince Kori to adopt this kid with me.”

”Hey! Fuck off! I called dibs first!”

Dick cuts Jason off with a double beep, which closes the conversation, and places some chocolate bars on his combo sticks and balances it over to the building roof in between the two of them, and slides it onto the roof. Then retracts so the kid could grab and go if they wanted to.

Which, to the disappointment of Dick, and Jason, who just landed on the same roof of Dick’s building, is exactly what the child did.

In a blink of two pairs of eyes, the goopy child grabbed the small stack of chocolates bars with a pair of tentacles and then jumps off the FUCKEN BUILDING, only to disappear into the mass of flashing lights like mist.

“WTF?” “Did you?” Two coms beeps-“Wing/Hood to Oracle!”

[tot4llynotg4y]

Random post and first post but-

mommy fucking me brain dead with her strap for lying to her, the way she’d sweat and keep going as her body and muscles tenses, holding my waist with one hand and keeping my left arm up with the other. Her grip is painful but the pleasures so much that I can’t even render the pain. The way I pant like a fucking bitch as she convinces me “one more time prince, you’ve got this” as I struggled to speak in full words, just moaning helplessly.

[bambi-kinos]

McLennon male/female AU

So way back in June 2022, I was talking with some friends including @dovetailjoints about this Paul McCartney manip where his face was converted to a woman's:

I promptly lost my mind on account of being a huge d*ke so I started spinning up a McLennon m/f AU about it. I still think about it a lot but I also don't know if I'll ever write it or not. Looking at @erinarigby's beautiful rendering of John and Paula reminded me of it, so I am publishing these notes for the pleasure of the reading audience.

I might still return to it at some point but I am currently waist deep in my longfic and have different projects lined up after that.

John and Paula are at the fete together but Paula is being crowned the Rose Queen or whatever it was that was happening in the background. Her best friend is Dot and her closest guy friend is Ivan and she's too busy basking in the attention of winning a competition to give a single fuck about John Lennon. She already knows her worth so who gives a fuck about that guy? They do NOT have a fateful meeting at the church hall.

(The secret is that she quietly follows him on the bus and has his route memorized. Light stalking of the teenage girl kind and I bet Dot has been helping but they treat it as a big joke.)

Ivan and Len both know Paula from school before they went to gender segregated academies or whatever. Paula actually finishes her education here because her dad wants her to do it and I bet she would have been a daddy's girl through and through. Mike is still her little brother and she vacillates between doting on him and bullying him. (Older sisters can be really mean to their younger brothers, I've noticed.)

Ivan still sings her praises to John but John does not take this in the slightest bit seriously. He and the rest are convinced Paula is Ivan's secret girlfriend (it's actually platonic between them, George is the one who carries a torch for Paula) and that Ivan wants her around so that he doesn't feel lonely at Quarry Men practice.

Things finally come to a head when Paula helps Ivan carry his tea chest bass to a QM band practice. The mythical J. Paula McCartney! (She won't tell anyone what the J stands for because it's embarrassing.) Paula's face definitely catches some unwanted attention so she deliberately plays up being Ivan's girlfriend to escape it. I imagine she's pretty cold about this kind of thing and probably much more ruthless than AMAB Paul because she has to play for keeps to be taken seriously.

Then she notices John playing with banjo chords. She says something. This goes very, very poorly.

John could take direction from an AMAB Paul who showed off his skills but Paula just rocks up and makes fun of him to his face. "She doesn't even play! Ivan, muzzle your bitch and get her out of here." Doesn't help that John is immensely taken with her but he doesn't like this at all.

Years of slapslap (no kiss) ensue, Paula eventually does make her skills known to John in someway but he's able to put her down for being a girl and therefore not a threat. I have no idea how they would both develop musically but I imagine that any attempts at a collaboration between them would go immensely poorly at this stage. John would not be able to put aside the sexism and Paula would needle him mercilessly.

Eventually though they come to a sort of détente which means that their two social spheres get some measure of peace after some 2 odd years of them screaming at each other during house parties. Everyone else can tell they want to fuck each other's brains out but they both frequently declare their public loathing of each other. For some reason John makes it his business to know what the guitar girl from Allerton is doing with her time and who she is spending it with. As she gets older this might even become a more reasonable proposition as Liverpool is still a rough neighborhood and she insists on walking home by herself after dark. Eventually she and Ivan stage a public break up so that John realizes its "over" (lol) between them and stops bothering poor Ivan about it.

George is more territorial about Paula which is cute coming from a pipsqueak that John easily has 30 pounds over. Unfortunately Paula does not see George that way.

At some point Paula becomes a bit of a woman about town and starts seriously dating men. John muscles his way into this, for some god forsaken reason, and makes a nuisance of himself running off Paula's dates. More screaming matches ensue but John seems incredibly agitated about something that Paula doesn't understand.

At some point in the détente John makes it into art college. Paula makes sure to mock him to his face for being an academic failure and reminds him that he'll never graduate because he doesn't have the guts. To this end John does in fact buckle down out of pure spite. I don't know if he would actually finish but I think he'd actually develop as a painter and a sketch artist just to show her up. I don't think John Lennon of all people could bear a beautiful woman mocking him for his inadequacy.

John might go on two dates with Cynthia but I think she would be a little unsettled at how he manages to insert Paula McCartney into every single conversation, but not in a jealous way. Cynthia tracks down Paula at some public gathering and asks her if she's being bothered by John. A trio of Dot, Paula, and Cynthia forms. SLEEPOVERS etc. John settles down because Paula isn't actively dating anyone here, she has her galpals and they are extremely epic friends.

Something happens that triggers Paula and John running off on their own. I'm imagining John stealing a college teacher's keys and they drive out to get some lunch somewhere. It's an unexpectedly good gesture from John Lennon who Paula usually dismisses as a cad.

I think at some point during this conversation John would admit that he knows Paula is a good guitar player -- its just that he can't really own up to it in public. A unique moment of vulnerability from him and she responds in kind. She tells him she thinks he's the best singer she's ever heard. For the first time things are not shitty between them. John probably ruins this by honking her breasts.

Paula graduates secondary and has to decide what the fuck to do now. It is 1960, they're going to go to Hamburg eventually but not yet. John has managed to establish something with Stu and I think Paula sent George John's way because he needed support that he refused to accept from her because she's female. She's been a loner for all her life, it's not a big wrench now.

George has had a front row seat to John's Paula obsession for years now and he's both intrigued and weirded out and wants to date Paula himself.

I'm imagining some scenario where John finally goes…why not try it. What's stopping him. So he finds her at an outdoor market and he actually tries to be smooth. He catches her eye on the other side of the road and nicks a wildflower bouquet. He trips comically and almost goes down but then appears three stalls later. Paula is laughing, yes yes she thinks it's funny. He waits at the end of the strip and gives her the bouquet and they spend some quiet time together. Nothing sexual, John is just ready to try something he's never attempted before: treating a woman like a person.

Paula reciprocates and buys him something to eat probably. He really is very handsome and very intelligent. She likes him better without the quiff and says so. He succeeds in making her laugh. His hair is so red and he's still the beautiful boy she saw on the bus.

They're watching the sun set over the Mersey when she says "I was accepted to [university.] I'm leaving at the end of the week. I'm studying music."

John goes quiet but doesn't really react except to congratulate her. He knows she will do well.

He goes home and it goes poorly.

Cyn and Dot throw a big good bye party for Paula to celebrate her leaving home. Their pearl is escaping into the big wide world. Paula is deeply unhappy. Something is missing. She gets very very drunk. George shows up and tells her that John and Stu have secured a gig in Hamburg. They'll be leaving at the end of the week too. For some reason John was really, really intent on leaving all of a sudden. Paula definitely locks herself in her childhood bathroom and cries her eyes out.

John notably does not put in an appearance at the party even though Stu and his hot friend Pete Shotton definitely do along with George. Everyone knows that John and Paula have a thing so where the hell is he? Even if they don't like each other they've still been a big part of each other's lives -- John has an arrest record because he punched out the guy who spiked Paula's drink a few months ago and she screamed bloody murder in the police station until they let him go. What gives?

John still does not put in an appearance. Someone sees a creeper by the front door but he slides away before anyone can see him.

Around 4am Paula finally drags herself upstairs upset and wasted and not sure why she's unhappy. She hears the rocks clatter against her window and by the time she pokes her head out John is risking death by climbing up the drainpipe. She almost screams but helps him inside instead.

John is a MESSY PERSON and he promptly goes to pieces in her arms. What am I supposed to do without you, he sobs. Aren't you going to miss me? Aren't you going to think about me? Don't I matter to you at all?

They have another small argument but its not very serious and its clearly flirting at this point. They're both pretty bombed so they just end up stripping and holding each other.

Jim finds them the next morning. It goes poorly.

Paula decides she's going to Hamburg with John. He told her they need a fifth person and he gave her the eyes. She knows what he wants and she knows what she wants and she isn't wasting money on some stupid school. She doesn't want to be a music teacher anyway.

Jim informs her she is not going to Germany in the company of four randy boys much less with the town ne'er do well John Lennon. Paula bides her time and packs a bag and her guitar. She escapes out the window the morning that they're set to leave for Hamburg and shows up at the last second. John hugs her tightly and doesn't let go for several hours. She just blew her uni placement to be with him.

Hamburg happens. It goes poorly but also very well. John suddenly gets a lot more sensitive to their accommodations. If it was all blokes he wouldn't care but now that they're out of the cradle of Liverpool he's suddenly sharply aware of how many people are watching them, and watching Paula, and how vulnerable she actually is. Paula adjusts to the German catcalls and otherwise refuses to appear ruffled. Honestly don't know how to render this particular section except that John would get an early education on how a woman and a bandmate can be treated. This isn't Cynthia being pawed at by a German sailor, this is his bandmate Paula having to dance away from blokes trying to climb up the stage to get to her. "Alarmed" doesn't quite cover it.

For Paula its an education. She's never performed live in front of an audience before; this version of Paul never performed with the QM. Gelling with the band out of no where is a hell of a challenge but Hamburg still makes them. She surprises John by engaging in the loogie races and by being intrigued by the sex workers around town. I think that she and John still wouldn't be having sex at this point because John is still absorbing all the new experiences and it's easier to keep her on a shelf where he can admire her tits without actually trying to fuck her. In John's mind he's keeping the upper hand by not ruining Paula by having sex with her. In his mind he's protecting her from something; he doesn't feel worthy of her and if they get physical he's scared of making her "dirty."

Paula still has ways of unsettling him though. Imagining John's face if she shows him the underbust corset she bought without a shirt to go under it. He's only seen her nipples in the dark before so seeing her dressed up like one of the street girls makes him pretty feral and that's on top of the prellies.

Paula only performs dressed this way once which results in some mass chaos at whatever club they're performing at that night, kek.

Honestly Hamburg is still intensely deranged and Lennon and McCartney's fixations one each other becomes even more pronounced once they start writing songs together. I can't imagine how their music would change once they have access to Paula's vocal range. Probably something more Nightwish-esque as I think Paula being a woman would make John more tolerant or intrigued with operatic styles just because he wants to hear her belt it.

George still gets deported for being underage but I think John and Paula end up staying in Hamburg together because Paula doesn't light a condom on fire this time. She's too busy putting it on John. I like to think they spent Christmas in Germany performing and boning.

They finally make it home after New Year's. Paula is half dead and John is barely a person because he's full up on amphetamines and sex. Mimi won't let John into the house because he had the nerve to take off with a scarlet woman to Germany without asking permission which means…

Jim does not officially let John into the house so Paula sneaks him in through her window. The band recuperates through out January and John gets used to sleeping next to his lady. It's a quiet hibernation period that they think back on fondly later.

At this point Paula is somewhat disgraced for running off with John Lennon and once again John gets to see this up close and personal which is discomfiting for him since its his actions that are visiting these consequences back on Paula's head. He didn't quite understand how intense the judgment was before he saw it aimed her way. It forces him to grow up a little.

But he still takes her to Paris. Common expectation is that they're running away to get married. Neither of them want to get married yet but they're also doing the Lennon-McCartney dance with each other where they become screamingly jealous of anyone who looks at their partner.

Things progress to 1963. They meet Brian, shit happens idk. Beatlesmania kicks off. I have this idea that maybe Paula crossdresses as a man. She is beautiful but she still has a strong jaw and her breasts are small enough to bind without much effort. She is also still the tallest member of the Beatles and she easily has a full inch over John in height (which regularly leads to the best erections of John's entire life.) Being an Amazon has its advantages and this one means she can present herself as a man to secure a unified front with the other Beatles.

I am unable to render how Beatlemania would change if Paula was the single girl in the Fab Four but I can imagine how it would change their look -- 3 beautiful matching boys and the sole female. Lots of color play in my mind going on and of course there's the quiet understanding that Lennon and McCartney belong to each other.

Paula "accidentally" gets exposed as a woman when John loosens her undergarments as a prank and her breasts pop out during a performance. (I don't think anyone would see her nipples, it just be immediate cleavage and a button pops off her jacket.) I am unable to render how this would go, I can't imagine anything except a huge uproar that would send the Beatles into the stratosphere. This would become a moment that gets debated for decades, whether it was a prank from John or if John and Paula came up with it together.

Paula has incentive to do something like this: Brian won't let John and Paula get married because it would disrupt the Beatles image.

1965 - the big one, I think. Paula can be a woman in public now which results in the photoshoot that breaks the world. Referred to only as "the Beatles wedding." It's just too good to pass up.

Paula gets to model a few hundred different wedding gowns (most of these are separate from the boys just because there's so many and she looks good in everything) with various accoutrements anc accessories. There is a portion where the boys will be dressed up as grooms and they'll be getting special sessions with her each.

John is a complete and utter bastard leading up to and throughout the days of this shoot and its commonly conjectured in Beatles fandom circles for decades afterwards that he was seething with jealousy and humiliation -- he should have married her years ago so that this kind of spectacle couldn't come to pass, and he knows it, but he can't change it now and he's furious that she's dressing up as a bride when she's not even really his. And on top of it George and Ringo are getting to see her before he does and they won't tell him what she looks like.

"I hate you and I will never forgive you for as long as I live," is what George tells John when he asks how it went, what she wore, what it was like. John is hurt and confused.

"You're a lucky man John Lennon. Don't squander it," is what Ritchie tells John when he asks about it. "Make sure to brush your teeth and whatnot though."

John is nervous as hell even though its just some stupid photo shoot and they've done thousands of those already. Brian won't let him drink to calm down so John now has to face Paula in her wedding gown while completely sober.

There's a modern trend of "photos of grooms seeing their brides in their dresses for the first time" and I think all 3 of the boys would get these with Paula. It might even be enough to power several magazines, idk. Collectors items and whatnot. The McHarrison issue, the McStarr issue, the McLennon issue…

Photogs definitely capture the moments leading up to the reveal and then the seeing, the shock, the surprise, the awe. George started laughing and flung himself at her and danced her around, Ritchie did that presses-his-fist-to-his-face thing men do sometimes when they're overcome, yes, Paula is an absolute joy. She made sure to insist on having all different dresses per day because she didn't want repeats. Her boys deserve something brand new every time.

John though. Oh, John. Very nervous, trying not to be, clearly hating the camera, he doesn't turn when he's supposed to and he only reacts when she touches his shoulder and calls his name. Honestly I can see them leaning into a beauty and the beast angle with these two.

If there was any doubt before there isn't now. It's love. Everything else fades away and it's just John and Paula being themselves, except they were always in love, weren't they.

The world promptly goes completely insane upon the release of the Beatles wedding photographs. They got what they asked for and then some. Honestly John and Paula probably have one iconic photo spread of just the two of them that day and in that timeline, that portrait blots out pretty much anything else of cultural significance from 1965-1968. The world turns on but the wedding portraits from that day is what ends up being the most iconic part of Beatlemania.

after that IDK, I'm not really capable of thinking past that. I just like the idea of the wedding photoshoot and how John and Paula came from those humble beginnings. I think they'd definitely have children together but I don't know if they could manage a stable family unit or if they'd be able to save the band from the break up. But there wouldn't be any faffing around about "the Lennon and McCartney rivalry" or "they always hated each other." The wedding shoot was too real.

Notably, John and Paula did attend the premier of A Hard Day's Night with Paula in a white dress and John in a black tux. Symbolism.

I think by the time the Get Back sessions happen John and Paula have an almost three year old and Paula is heavily pregnant with their second or third child. Instead of the deadline being Ringo's acting job they're trying to get one last project in because the second baby is due in February.

I think with Paula's height (she would still be taller than John after all and this time she's wearing high heels to make the point) and her androgyny they would also get some mileage out of early boundary pushing by dressing her up in the boys clothes, so the Shea uniforms would definitely make an appearance unchanged except Paula's tits are out to here and John spends a lot of the stadium concert unbuttoning her jacket every time she buttons it back up.

Just occurred to me that Help! would be a much more straight Dr. No parody especially with Paula as the built in Bond girl. AHDN would be more similar as a documentary with surreal comedy elements but Help! would definitely be more ridiculous and Johnny gets his girl in the end haha

-----------------------

These are all my notes from last year. Thought you guys would appreciate. As I was writing this out last year, I remember being caught between two impulses: the "John and Paul would be a pregnant teenagers couple" idea (which I see many other based users have agreed with!) and then the "Beatlemania but if Paul was a woman" idea. In the end I went with the Beatlemania Paula because that's more interesting as a story especially with Paula having to exploit her androgyny for success. That being said I think Paula would absolutely be the Domme to John's sub, there's no way a Beatlemania Paula doesn't have John's balls in a cage and John liked being controlled by a strong woman. He's not allowed to finish until she tells him that he can.

I remember thinking that they would have their first child in 1965, with the idea being that Paula is pregnant during the Beatles Wedding Photoshoot, which would take place sometime in the winter so that the fashion designers could sell their wares with Paula advertising them. IMO Paula would make John wear condoms for years but once Ed Sullivan happens John makes a disturbingly sincere plea to trash them and Paula assents. Two months later she's pregnant after John's been climaxing inside her multiple times a day <3 But honestly, she's rewarding him for being so fucking brave all the time, he's unironically earned it.

I also think that a female Paula is still has full on baby rabies and by late 1964 she's desperate to get pregnant by John so they can finally start their family. There's an element of rebellion too because she'd be furious with Brian for not letting her and John get married and retaliates by having out of wedlock children.