#just fancied writing this one

[jadecantcreate]

i wanted to write a quick 3-chapter fic for day 4 of loa shiptober (how they met i think) and i (a fool) was like. yeah. i could totally write 3 chapters in a few hours. i was wrong. SO wrong. haven’t even finished kremy’s (the first one).

so instead have a maybe-past-kremy design that im conflicted about compared to his current design, as a peace offering

[aristoteliancomplacency]

I present to you the work of another painter of fish plates. Y’know how you use ‘scare quotes’ for various purposes, including indicating that you’re not actually sure about The Thing?

Well, this guy was so bad at whatever he was painting that we call him…

The ‘tadpole’ painter:

Here’s another example:

This one was sold as part of the Graham Geddes collection at Bonham’s auction house in 2008 for £2,040.

They describe it as ‘three fish including a wrasse with dorsal spines, an angler-fish, the rounded body with multiple black dots, two large round eyes with pupils, an open mouth with teeth bared, and a ray with pointed face, the body with multiple black dots’.

Which like… bold fucking move missing out the fact that they have legs. Though I can’t say I envy whoever had to write the description.

[river-of-wine]

The way Hosea talks about Bessie is genuinely one of the sweetest things ever I just. How fondly he still reminisces about her, how dearly he holds her memory. From areas that remind him of her to little things like playing dominoes with Arthur, she’s always on his mind. The last thing he thinks about when he goes to sleep and the first thing he things about when he wakes up. “How a wretched sinner like me could be given someone so perfect, so beautiful to take care of for once in my wretched life, do my best”. God he loved her. He loves her. He cannot rationalise her death, he cannot see any fairness in how she has died and he is still alive. He left the gang for her and it didn’t last but he did leave, he tried to live a normal life for her, and she understood when he drifted back into things. Even with his approaching death, he’s worried that he won’t get to see her again, that she’s gone to heaven and he won’t end up there with her, and even still he says he’s ready for his own death. He loved her and he still loves her and he loves her until his death does find him. Every time he talks about her you can just feel all of that love he still has for her and it makes me so emotional. Old man loves his wife

[viperwhispered]

Indulgence

Jamil finds out his sweet, loving girlfriend is totally capable of absolutely ruining him.

Pure smut, written with fem reader in mind and utterly self-indulgent (basically, a birthday treat to myself).

Ngl, this kinda feels like a femdom love letter to Jamil.

You'd thought you were joking - partially, at least - when you told Jamil you’d be happy to have him all for yourself to do with him as you wished for your birthday. Yet Jamil, the perceptive partner he was, soon was teasing out the truth of that statement from you.

So, after some rather in-depth discussions, here you are, filled with anticipation and excitement - and, you have to admit, more than a bit of nerves. Wanting something and actually going through with it always are two very different things.

“Come on, love. Just enjoy yourself, however you wish,” Jamil coaxes you, cupping your cheeks as he peppers your face with soft kisses. He’s looking at you with such openness - eagerness, even - which makes it difficult for you to get lost in your own head.

So, instead you wrap your arms around Jamil's shoulders and nuzzle your face to his, a soft smile rising to your lips.

“Someone certainly seems intent on treating me today,” you say, your own lips seeking contact with Jamil’s skin.

“Knowing how excited you are by the idea… Can you blame me?” Jamil replies with a cheeky grin. All you can do is chuckle in response, a smirk of your own forming on your lips.

“Well… Let’s hope you won't regret enabling me,” you say playfully.

Your lips finally find Jamil’s, meeting his with a soft, building pressure. You tug him closer by his hoodie, your tongue pushing between Jamil's lips and one of your hands seeking his hair. Jamil eagerly reciprocates your actions, the softness giving way to something more eager as you both deepen the kiss, your bodies pressing closer together and hands exploring.

Your eyes flutter closed as you breathe in through your nose, enjoying the way Jamil's mouth moves with yours, how your bodies are already fitting together. After a while, however, you begin to nudge Jamil backwards towards the bed, your lips still lingering against his.

It’s delightful how easily he complies, letting you guide his steps until his shins hit the edge of the bed. A gentle press of your palms onto his shoulders and Jamil’s eyes widen with momentary surprise as he falls back with a breathy oomph.

Still, Jamil’s quick to pull you down with him, grinning as you climb onto his lap and straddle his hips. Jamil’s hands slide up along your waist, your dress bunched up around your legs.

You brace yourself with one arm, your palm on the mattress right above Jamil’s shoulder, and you lean over him. You brush your fingers along his jaw, slowly tracing the contours of Jamil’s face.

“So you’re mine to enjoy as I wish tonight, huh?” you say in a low, almost contemplative tone, your thumb tracing the outline of Jamil’s lower lip.

“Yes.” There’s a slight breathlessness to Jamil’s tone, his eyes a little darker than usual, and you relish the sight of him already being affected.

Of course, this is just the beginning - but a good beginning, nonetheless, easily helping you feel more bold.

“Hmm, I suppose then the question is… Just what do I want to do with you first?” you murmur, your tone lowering to a more sensual, husky register.

You slide your thumb up, over the plumpness of Jamil’s lower lip, and press down gently. After the briefest moment of surprised hesitation he parts his lips for you and wraps his tongue around the digit, sucking on it lightly.

You’re not quite expecting the rush of warmth that shoots to your core. Jamil beneath you, his hair spilled over the bed, those gray eyes so intently trained on you as he obediently sucks on your thumb… Oh, it’s already so heady, making your mind and heart race.

“Mmm, look at you, being so good for me,” you purr. You keep your thumb in his mouth for a moment longer, enjoying the darkening of Jamil’s cheeks and the way his eyes flick over to the side even as his mouth slowly continues working.

Soon you drag your thumb out by the corner of his mouth, smearing his saliva over Jamil’s cheek. You slide your hand further until cup the corner of his jaw, your thumb coming to rest right before Jamil’s ear while the rest of your fingers slip into his hair.

You lean down further, and your lips meet in a slow, sensual kiss. Your tongue tangles with Jamil’s as you take your time tasting and enjoying him. You more feel than hear the soft moan that Jamil makes against your lips, lighting yet another fire within you. With a groan you press your body more firmly against his, wanting to feel every bit of him against you, your bodies undulating together.

You feel the firm pressure of Jamil’s hands sliding up along your back, pulling you closer, his fingers digging into your skin as the kiss becomes more fervent.

You nip on Jamil’s lower lip, his gasp sending another shiver of pleasure down your spine. You move your hand to his ponytail, your tug eliciting another sharp inhale from him. With your urging Jamil soon tilts his head back, exposing his neck to you.

You can feel the unevenness of Jamil’s breaths beneath you, soft, delightful noises catching in his throat.

“Mmm, aren’t you such a compliant treat tonight,” you tease Jamil, hearing him huff in response.

“The things I do for you,” he muses, not a hint of bite in his words.

You chuckle and trail your lips along his jaw, planting a line of soft kisses until you’re below his ear. There you tug Jamil’s earlobe with your teeth, delighting in the way you can feel him squirm beneath you. You trace the tip of your tongue along the shell of his ear, making Jamil hiss and tense.

You chuckle, your warm breath fanning Jamil’s ear and the moisture left behind by your lips and tongue.

“Already twitching, are we?” you tease him - as if you weren't purposefully targeting the weak spots you're well aware of.

“Shush,” Jamil says, swatting you lightly.

You chuckle and move your lips lower from his ear, slowly kissing your way down along Jamil’s neck. You keep your grip on his hair, urging him to keep still as you continue teasing him with your mouth. You place warm, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin, only changing your course when you come to the neckline of his shirt.

You feel the way Jamil tenses beneath you when you move up the column of his throat, even if you keep your kisses light on such a vulnerable spot. Yet, when you notice the way his Adam’s apple bobs under your lips, you can’t resist softly wrapping your lips around it. The action earns you a strangled sound from Jamil, who tries to pull back but is unable to quite do so.

“Uncomfortable?” you ask softly, peppering soft, almost apologetic kisses to his jaw.

“A bit,” Jamil breathes out, his chest noticeably rising and falling.

“Noted,” you murmur.

You move to the other side of his neck - you loosen your hold on Jamil’s hair, yet he tilts his head aside just the same, taking in a deep breath as he does so. You smirk against his skin, satisfied to see him so pliant.

There’s definitely a part of you that would love to see him like this more often.

This time you don’t settle for just soft kisses. You let your teeth graze Jamil’s skin, a shiver of delight going down your spine when you hear him hiss in response.

And when you get to that particular spot where his neck meets his shoulder you basically latch on, sucking on the skin. Jamil inhales sharply, grasping onto you tighter, his neck arching and tensing beneath you.

“Ahh-” It’s a soft, barely audible sound, yet hearing the cry escape Jamil’s lips fills you with warm satisfaction. You bite harder, feeling the way Jamil jolts beneath you, before you allow him reprieve and soothe your tongue over the spot.

“You’re not usually this… aggressive,” Jamil breathes out.

“You know you can stop me if you need me to,” you say, sticking to the softer kisses for the moment.

“No need,” Jamil says, letting out a shaky breath. You can practically feel the way he’s trying to relax, at least a little, even as he’s trying to anticipate your next move.

You tug on Jamil’s neckline, teasing as far down his shoulders and collarbones as you comfortably can with your kisses and licks.

Yet, as much as you’re loving the reactions you’ve gotten out of Jamil so far, it’s becoming more and more apparent that just teasing his neck is not enough for you.

You lean back, sitting up on Jamil’s lap. Your hands slowly trail down from Jamil’s shoulders along his body, your eyes half-lidded as you regard him.

There’s a delightfully flustered look on Jamil’s features, his lips slightly parted as he looks at you intently.

“You know… I think we’re going to have to get you undressed,” you murmur, smirking when you see the effect your words have on Jamil.

“Are we now?” he asks with a grin.

“Mhmm. I mean, I can hardly enjoy you to my heart’s content otherwise, now can I.”

You lean down for one more kiss, your hand lingering on Jamil’s side, your hips slightly rocking into his. You’re both making soft noises into the kiss, momentarily distracted by each other, before you finally pull yourself off Jamil’s lap and sit down on the edge of the bed.

“So… Lose those clothes for me, now would you?” you say with a grin, giving Jamil an expectant look.

There’s barely any hesitation when Jamil gets up from the bed. You can tell he’s feeling a little awkward with you looking at him like this, waiting for him to undress for you, yet there’s also a part of him reveling in being the center of your attention.

So, Jamil pulls off his hoodie by the neck, slowly revealing his body for your greedy eyes. His movements are fluid, deliberate, despite the mixture of embarrassment and excitement that’s evident on his features. The flex and curl of his body entrances you, your eyes drinking in every little movement and the dancer’s grace he displays.

His shirt thrown aside Jamil moves to his trousers, slowly pulling them down along his legs and revealing the way his cock is already tenting his underwear. You find yourself leaning forward, taking in all the wonders of his body - a sight you never seem to tire of. Jamil’s hair cascades over his shoulder when he bends down and he pulls one leg free, then the other, until he’s left in just his underwear, his fingers hooked under the waistband.

“Careful, you might start drooling,” Jamil teases you, clearly satisfied with your rapt attention.

“Oh, but can you blame me?” you respond playfully, feeling the flush on your cheeks.

You slide your palms down your legs, gripping your knees, as Jamil removes that last piece of clothing.

“There we go,” you say huskily, your eyes raking over Jamil’s exposed body. The planes of his chest, the softness of his stomach, the patch of dark, curly hair surrounding the cock that’s slowly stirring to life under your eyes, the lean limbs and that lovely brown skin...

“Come here,” you say, lifting a hand.

Once again, Jamil complies, and when he’s within your reach you pull him to stand between your legs, running your palms over him. Just a sliver of exposed skin always has you itching to touch - or to kiss, as it may be - so the sight of Jamil fully bare before you like this is as irresistible as ever. You press soft kisses to his stomach, your hands following the curve of his back until you can grip his rear.

“For all we discussed, I did not think you being in charge would involve you being this adoring,” Jamil says, trying to hide his fluster behind playful words.

You chuckle against his skin, squeezing his ass in response.

“All part of enjoying you, you know,” you say, looking up at Jamil with a playful, loving smile.

“Is that so,” Jamil murmurs, cupping your cheek.

“Mhmm,” you nod. “Now… Lay down on the bed for me. In the middle of it, on your back,” you say, giving Jamil’s hip a playful nudge to get him moving.

While Jamil settles down, you pull off your tights and underwear, dropping them on the pile of Jamil’s clothes. Then you walk around the bed, admiring the sight of Jamil sprawled on the bed - all for you. He’s folded his hands behind his head, his gaze following you. It feels like you’re trying to devour all of him at once with your eyes, not knowing where to settle when all of him is calling to you so.

You grab the cuffs you set aside earlier and crawl over to Jamil on your hands and knees.

Sure, it would be easier to just sit next to Jamil while you tie up his wrists. But where’s the fun in that? So you straddle his chest instead, your bare groin against his skin, and lean over to capture his hands.

“Cheeky. Are you keeping the rest on?” Jamil asks, pushing his chest against you.

“For now, at least,” you say lightly.

You trace your palms over Jamil's arms, guiding his hands above his head. After looping the cuffs around the headboard you fasten them around Jamil's wrists, making sure they're snug but not too tight.

“How’s that?” you ask, running your fingers over the cuffs.

Jamil flexes his fingers, shifts his arms, testing the feel of the bindings.

“Feels fine.”

“Good. Let me know if that changes,” you murmur.

You caress Jamil’s face, tracing his features. Your thumb brushes his cheek, and with a soft breath he nuzzles into the touch.

Gently, you guide Jamil to tilt his head to the side. You pull loose his ponytail, running your fingers through his hair.

Soon, Jamil’s hair is spilled around him on the bed, yet another lovely addition to the scene unfolding before you. Jamil, bound and bare beneath you, his cheeks darkened and eyes trained on you.

Not often do you get Jamil looking at you with such vulnerability, and the sight of it makes your heart flutter. He’s clearly filled with anticipation, too, with the trepidation of surrender. Yet, there is trust in him as well, trust in the way he’s yielding to you and all but urging you to continue.

Oh, you’d love to take a picture of him like this, commit the sight to memory and never let go of it.

Slowly, you drag your body down along Jamil’s, some of the wetness of your pussy leaking onto his skin. You feel Jamil’s tension beneath you, his breaths uneven and his hands flexing.

You only stop your movement when your pussy is right over Jamil’s hardening cock. You let your weight settle on him, pinning him down and holding him still under your warmth.

There’s a definite sharpness to Jamil’s inhale. He wriggles beneath you, what little he can, testing your control over him, and you press yourself down more firmly on him.

“Behave yourself, won’t you,” you say playfully, pushing down onto his shoulders.

“Or you’ll make me?” Jamil asks, humor and challenge evident.

“Indeed. Glad you understand,” you grin.

You draw your hands down over Jamil’s body, this time without the barrier of his clothes. From his shoulders across his chest and stomach your fingers dig into him, his skin pushed into ridges and divots under your touch.

Jamil’s body flexes beneath your touch, muscles rippling with tension and the release of it as your hands make their way. His eyes are trained on you, so intently, his palpable anticipation and the responsiveness of his body filling you with triumph.

You lean down again, your hair falling down over your shoulder and spilling over Jamil’s bare chest.

“Mmm… You really are such a delight, my dear,” you murmur, your lips brushing the shell of his ear.

You return your mouth to Jamil’s skin, trailing kisses and nips from his jaw down along his neck and collarbones. When you make your way down to his chest, you twirl your tongue around a nipple, Jamil’s body jolting in response.

Yet, that reaction is nothing compared to when you bring in your teeth, enclosing that sensitive point of Jamil’s chest in your mouth but not directly biting the nipple. You slowly increase the pressure of your bite until Jamil’s breaths turn into hisses, body writhing.

Oh, he’s actually whimpering.

You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to keep some rein over your baser instincts. Oh, how you want to push harder, grip tighter. How you want those sweet noises to increase in volume and pitch until neither of you would know anything else.

Once again, you soothe over the spot with soft kisses and kitten licks, a dark part of you hoping you’ve left a mark that might stay for a while. It is not like you to hurt or mark just for the sake of it, but Jamil’s reactions, the thought of the evidence of your dominance lingering on his skin… Oh, it is most tempting indeed.

“Was that too much?” you ask lowly, just in case, still feeling Jamil’s tension beneath you.

“Nhnh… I told you. You can let go tonight.”

You laugh in response, a mischievous grin on your lips as your eyes meet Jamil’s. Oh, you can tell he means it, despite the heaving of his chest. There’s that shine in his eyes, such a vivid spark of desire. A desire for more, a desire to see how much you can do and how much he can take.

“If you say so,” you say with smug satisfaction.

You return to your task, your mouth - your lips, your tongue, your teeth - traversing Jamil’s body, taking your time to enjoy every inch of skin as you slowly move lower. The dips of his chest, the ridges of his ribs, the softness of his stomach… You take your time savoring - and marking - it all.

With your actions Jamil’s getting increasingly restless, drawing in sharp hisses of breath, tugging on his restraints, squirming beneath you.

Yet, not once has he asked you to stop, or to go easier on him.

You’ve slid down far enough for you to feel the twitch of Jamil’s cock against your breasts, his hips wriggling beneath you. You press your hands on him more firmly, keeping him still, nipping on the skin of his stomach both to warn him to behave and to urge him to react even more.

Moving lower again, your tongue follows the line of his hip towards his groin, teasing and tantalizing. Yet when you feel the coarse curls against your cheek you change course, moving to kiss your way down Jamil’s thigh instead.

Jamil hisses out your name, his hips bucking, and there’s no hiding your smug, satisfied look.

“Something the matter, my dear?” you ask, as innocently as you can muster. You grip Jamil’s hips tighter while you suck the soft skin of his inner thigh between your teeth.

“Ahh!” Jamil cries out, his leg twitching.

“You’re such a tease,” he huffs, nearly panting.

You let out another satisfied laugh and drag your nails down the outside of his thigh, loving each and every one of Jamil’s reactions.

“You’re the one who told me to enjoy myself and not hold back,” you say with a smirk.

“Please. At least…” Jamil’s words trail off, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“You’re going to have to ask for it to get what you want, you know,” you say, your words low and sultry. You caress a splayed palm up along the top of Jamil’s thigh, your thumb just brushing the edge of his pubes.

“Please. I’m aching for you,” Jamil pleads, emphasizing his words with a twitch of his hips, his heavy cock bobbing with the movement.

Oh, that plea was one of the sweetest things you had ever heard from him, your core throbbing just with the sound of it.

You tilt your head, as if thinking over his words.

“Asking for relief, are you, my love?” you ask. You brush your fingers over his hardened cock, the lightest of touches on the velvety skin, yet that is enough to make Jamil inhale sharply.

“Yes,” Jamil breathes out, his eyes wide, expectant, when he looks up at you.

There are a few different options on your mind - a few different temptations, calling to you, as you wonder just how much you should push Jamil.

Then again, he had been the one telling you to not hold back. That he could take it.

You reach over to the bedside table and pull out a vibrator from the drawer. You keep it concealed from Jamil, just to prolong the tension - though he does know well enough what sort of things have been stashed away there.

A pump of lube from the bottle on the nightstand, smeared against the tip of the toy with your palm. You wipe your hand mostly clean against Jamil's thigh and bring the vibrator to the underside of his cock. For now, you keep it turned off, just slowly moving it along his sensitive parts in circular motions.

Even like this, there are a few spots that make Jamil's cock twitch or body tense.

Then you turn on the vibration, and Jamil actually gasps.

“How's that?” you ask in a low tone.

“It's…” Jamil pauses, as if considering the sensation. “It… feels good.”

“Well, my dear… If there’s something you like in particular, I’d love to hear it,” you purr.

At this point, Jamil’s responsive enough that it’s not difficult for you to tell what the most sensitive spots are just by judging his reactions. Yet, hearing him admit it, too, telling you what he likes, what he wants more of… oh, it’s absolutely delicious. So, whenever he does admit to something feeling good, you gladly reward him by giving special attention to that particular spot.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” you say with a satisfied smirk, pressing the vibrator more firmly down against the sensitive spot right under the head of his cock, your other hand cradling his hardness to keep it still.

“Yes, nghh…” Jamil groans in response. You can tell he wants to buck and twitch, yet he’s trying to keep still with you touching such sensitive parts.

You press down, ease up the pressure, time and time again, until Jamil is quivering, his legs twitching and body curling with the intensity of it all. You can see his arousal, impatience and tension building, his whole body pulled taut as a wire, only for you to ease up once again and switch to gentle caresses.

If you’d enjoyed his whimpers before, now Jamil’s noises and reactions were absolutely delightful. Whimpers, hisses, groans and breathy words… Oh, it was driving you wild, seeing him like this.

“Please…. How long do you plan on just teasing me?” Jamil whines, a mess of longing and frustration.

“Well… I could listen to those sweet noises you’re making for quite some time, you know,” you say casually, flipping the vibrator to life once again.

A strangled, indignant noise catches in Jamil’s throat, the color of his cheeks quickly darkening further. You can’t help laughing in response, even as you lean down to press a greedy kiss to his lips.

“I mean… You are so wonderfully responsive right now, and it’s just absolutely delicious seeing you like this,” you murmur, your lips brushing Jamil’s cheek.

“You’re tormenting me,” Jamil huffs.

You can see how taut the bindings on his hands are, how tense his body is as he practically trembles to do something instead of just having to take what you have to give.

“And do you dislike it?” you ask with a smirk, pressing the buzzing vibrator against Jamil and pulling another wide-eyed gasp out of him.

Jamil swallows thickly enough that you can see the bobbing of his throat.

“...No. I don’t,” he sighs.

Jamil takes a deep breath, visibly steeling himself.

“Please… Let me have more of you,” he begs, looking over the dress you’re still wearing.

Perhaps you could grant him a little more. He’s been such a delight, after all.

“Hmm… Maybe I can give you that,” you murmur, once again weighing your options.

You settle the vibrator down to a spot you know gets to Jamil, drinking in his reactions as you slip your hand under your dress. You slide your fingers between your pussy lips, fondling your clit. You know Jamil can't quite see what you were doing, the hem of your dress covering it up, yet you’re sure he can guess. 

The way he looks at you, eyes burning as his bindings keep his hands away, certainly suggests so.

“Patience, my dear,” you say teasingly.

The buzzing of the vibrator and Jamil’s shaky noises are joined by the lewd sound of your fingers finding your wetness, the shuddering breath you take when you find just the right angle. Your eyes don’t leave each other, both of you watching the other get lost in the pleasure - all of it by your hand.

Then, finally, you move, pressing your wet cunt right against Jamil’s aching cock. Jamil’s hips buck, a low, needy noise falling from his lips. You rock yourself against him, coating him in your juices as you prepare yourself to take him.

“Won’t you let me see you?” Jamil groans, his eyes brimming with desire, his voice ready to break at any moment.

“Maybe if you ask me sweetly enough,” you say, reveling in the power you have over him.

Yet, before Jamil has the chance to consider begging, you take his cock into your hand and guide him to your entrance, rubbing the tip along your folds. Your dress is still pooled around you, covering the way you’re joined, the hem gathered over Jamil’s belly.

Jamil’s moan is pure music to your ears, your core throbbing as you slowly ease him in. It’s a delicious feeling of fullness, his hard, straining cock stretching you open, settling snugly within you.

Once Jamil's fully enveloped by your welcoming cunt, you settle down more comfortably on his lap. You grab the vibrator you just used on Jamil and slip it under your dress to bring it to your clit. With a soft gasp you lean your head back, a jolt shooting through your nerves when you find just the right spot to tease with the toy. 

You keep mostly still on Jamil, the faint reverberations of the vibrator and the flutter of your pussy around Jamil’s cock all the stimulation you grant him. It’s always particularly wonderful, combining such stimulation with the sensation of having your pussy filled - and even more delicious now, when it’s Jamil inside you, when you get to enjoy his every reaction to your actions.

Jamil growls, his hips bucking up to you nigh uselessly. Your name on his lips is somewhere between a plea and an admonishment, your continued teasing and denial driving him towards his breaking point.

“Love… Please, please, I need you to move, I need you to milk me with this perfect pussy of yours, please…” Jamil whines, another desperate thrust of his hips finding enough purchase to nearly topple you forwards.

You click your tongue and give Jamil a warning look.

“Keep still, my dear.”

“I can’t help it when I want you so much. Do you even know what you’ve done to me?”

Jamil seems so sincere, all his pretenses fallen, yet you can recognize the part of him that likes to rely on honeyed words to get what he wants. Still, his desperate desire is undeniable, his body quivering beneath you, all of him full of wanton need that only feeds your own arousal.

“Why don’t you enlighten me, then?” you goad Jamil, still pleasuring yourself with the toy, feeling the warm pleasure fill you as your body tenses.

Jamil pauses, his tongue darting out from the corner of his mouth.

“You… You have such power over me, driving me completely wild with the way you’ve been teasing me… Please, won’t you have some mercy on me? I need you, need to feel you properly, need both of us to feel good..”

The genuine need in Jamil’s tone makes you groan, a shudder running down your spine all the way to your cunt.

So you drop the vibrator to the bed and place your hands on either side of Jamil, bracing yourself as you begin to move.

“Ahh, yes!” Jamil moans, his head tilted back, his hips quickly moving to match your rhythm.

You’re tempted to remind him to keep still, but at this point you can’t resist, either. In fact, you love feeling his eagerness, the desperate way he’s rutting into you from below.

You lean back, pulling your dress over your head and tossing it away. Your bra soon gets the same treatment, finally leaving you bare for Jamil’s eyes to devour.

“Better?” you ask with a playful smile as you lean down again, beginning to ride Jamil in earnest.

“Yes,” he breathes out, bracing his feet against the bed so that he can move with you with more force.

Soon, you’re both panting and moaning, all the buildup leaving you both on the verge of release. Your bodies meet time and again, a forceful smack of your hips as you take Jamil’s cock deep within you over and over. It’s so delicious, the way his cock is dragging along your insides, the way Jamil’s fully let go and just chasing more of you. You lean lower, your lips meeting in a sloppy, delirious kiss that’s muffling both of your moans.

“Gonna come for me, aren’t you? Gonna fill me with your cum?” you murmur hotly against Jamil’s mouth, a moan falling from his lips in response.

“Mhmm, I’d love to drive you into the mattress right now, smother you with kisses, touch you all over…” Jamil groans, his hands clenched into fists in the cuffs.

You can’t help your breathless laugh in response. “Well, turns out that’s my privilege tonight,” you tease him, adjusting your position so that you can tug on Jamil’s hair before giving him another fierce, hungry kiss.

Jamil’s eyes scrunch closed, his breathing uneven, his thrusts faltering. You pick up the pace, sliding up and down on his cock, until you see the bliss of his orgasm overtake Jamil. He groans, spilling his load inside you, face contorted in pleasure as his body trembles.

“There you go,” you breathe out, giving Jamil another deep, passionate kiss, stealing the last of his breath away.

Your hips slow, settling down against Jamil’s again, his cock and cum swallowed by your cunt. You grab the toy again, leaning back, gasping when you feel the buzz on your clit.

“Mmm, let me see you come, let me feel you squeeze around my cock,” Jamil urges you, even breathless as he is from his own release.

It does not take you long to follow after Jamil. The tension has your legs trembling, the pleasure building in your core until you can’t contain it anymore. The burning bliss takes you under, both of you gasping when your pussy clenches around Jamil’s cock in a tight squeeze. Your back arches, body jolting, as you ride the waves of pleasure.

Eventually, you toss the toy aside and slump against Jamil, your lips fumbling against his, both of your breaths ragged and chests heaving. You remain there for a moment, savoring your afterglow and the feel of Jamil’s body against yours.

“I swear, love, if you don’t let me touch you soon…” Jamil says in a low, breathy tone.

You chuckle, pecking Jamil’s cheek quickly.

“I suppose I should,” you mumble, lazily moving to undo Jamil’s hands despite the languidness that’s taken over your body.

You kiss over Jamil’s wrists as you release them, making sure he’s fine. There’s some indentations on his skin, presumably from the way he pulled against the restraints, but nothing for you to worry over.

As soon as he can, Jamil pulls you close, feeling you up as if making up for lost time. You chuckle, gladly enjoying the touches and the skin to skin contact.

“Mhmm… How are you feeling, my dear?” you ask softly, still a little out of breath.

“Oh, love… You really are something else,” Jamil mumbles, his face nuzzled into your neck.

You smile, feeling the warm satisfaction settle within you.

“Glad you enjoyed yourself, then,” you murmur, settling more comfortably against Jamil.

“Who knew my sweet girlfriend had such a side to her,” Jamil says, his tone teasing - though you suspect he’s also trying to cover up just how affected he is.

“Who knew my stubborn boyfriend would be so willing to go along with it,” you tease back.

You take in a soft breath, enjoying the feel of Jamil's body against yours. It was always particularly sweet, feeling Jamil’s body against yours after sex, and you found yourself practically soaking in Jamil's presence. 

Jamil's lips lock with yours, the kiss languid and tender, yet tinged with the remains of your passion. 

Happily, you sink into the softness of the moment, the heady satisfaction of your lovemaking mixing with the warm comfort of the current moment.

“So…” you murmur, your fingers trailing on Jamil’s skin. “Do you think you’ll let me do this again sometime?”

Jamil chuckles, giving you an amused, affectionate look.

“Hmm… I think you could persuade me, yes,” he says teasingly. “Though I will definitely have to pay back the favor sometime, too.”

You chuckle.

“Maybe I could be persuaded, too,” you grin and move in for another soft kiss.

Hopefully y'all enjoyed this (and this doesn't have just the target audience of me personally). As always, would love to hear your thoughts!

Also I wrote this on an awkward loan laptop instead of my own PC so please, if there's any mistakes, do let me know so I can sort them out.

This line sure was telling of my whole writing process: "There are a few different options on your mind - a few different temptations, calling to you, as you wonder just how much you should push Jamil." So many places I could've gone with this, but this is where we ended up (this time).

If you'd like to be tagged for my future works, let me know and I'll be happy to do so!

Tag list:

@colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist

@perilous-pasta @twstgo

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

My study partner and I got to weigh our rainbow trout, and wow have they grown! They came to us weighing an average of 10 grams, and only in a month’s time even the smallest fish have doubled in weight! There were some very hefty guys too, from a randomly selected group of fish the biggest weighed 81 grams, a massive amount of growth considering how small they were before! We’re aiming for an average weight of 100-150 grams, so we’re well on our way there.

To weigh the fish, we put them under anaesthesia so they wouldn’t be too stressed about the situation or thrash around in the weighing bucket. Here’s a picture I took of some rainbow trouts still coming to from said anaesthesia, absolutely zonked:

You can see some drastic size differences between different rainbow trout individuals. Not to worry, every fish recovered and was swimming normally with their buddies after a few minutes!

[riiviir]

hi tumblr sorry I disappeared I am back with lamb

[peaches2217]

How about 90 and 85 for Mario and Luigi for the prompt challenge?

90: “Remember when we were little?” + 85: “Take my jacket. It’s cold outside.”

"Hey'ey'ey," Mario called from the kitchen before Luigi had so much as touched the doorknob, "it's cold outside! Take my jacket."

He had a second set of eyes, Luigi was convinced, embedded into the back of his head and cleverly camouflaged within his thicket of unruly curls. He scoffed affectionately. "Okay, Mamma."

"Was that supposed to be some kind of a burn? It's an honor to be like Mamma!" Mario stepped out of the kitchen to join his brother in the foyer as he spoke, his sleeves still rolled to his elbows and an apron stained with sauce still tied around his waist. He hardly even looked at Luigi as he nabbed his faded red jacket from the coat hanger, and, without another word, tossed it over the taller brother's shoulders.

Luigi could fit into Mario's clothes just fine, if not perfectly; they were both too short and too large, swallowing him whole despite barely even reaching his hips. It wasn't too cold tonight. He wouldn't protest. "Nah," he laughed, letting Mario guide his arms into the jacket's arm holes, "you're worse than Mamma."

"As if that's my fault," Mario teased right back, hands flecked with odd spices fumbling at the jacket's zipper. "Remember when we were little? You wore my jacket more than I did!"

"And you'd think at least one of us never grew up. Still treating your baby bro like a helpless lil' bambino all these years later, honestly."

Mario's head snapped up and his hands fell from the half-zipped jacket, and Luigi realized, looking into his widened eyes, that he thought he was being serious. Mario's hovering didn't come from a place of distrust or infantilization. That was just how he was. That was how he showed love.

Luigi's grin brightened as he zipped the rest of the way up. He wouldn't trade that quirk for the world. "Oh, quit looking guilty and get back to making dinner. We're both gonna wither away standing around here."

Mario's uncertainty melted away, and he grinned right back, reaching up to ruffle Luigi's hair. "I'll have your plate ready by the time you get back."

"You'd better!" With a quiet laugh and an exchange of Ti voglio benes, Luigi tugged the jacket's hood over his head and stepped out into the darkness of the evening.

[sealrock]

01. steer

cw: graphics depictions of injury and death word court: 744 words

The droning blare of the car horn seeped into the darkness of his waking mind. Slowly, the boy registered intense, blooming pain throughout his body. His left eye, or what remained of it, was nothing more than an orifice for free-flowing blood, the sticky warmth caking onto his mangled, cold face.

His tongue was heavy, the taste of copper staining his teeth. A shard of glass, most likely from the windshield, flew directly at him during impact, his jerking frame landing sideways for the shard to strike him on the left side of his face, embedding itself within his young flesh. The boy could only cry out in pain the more he wiggled about, unable to free himself from this prison of metal and burning ceruleum.

It was freezing outside, the silent snowfall of the night drifting into the gaps of what was once the humble and somewhat rickety family car, a "fine piece of homemade Garlean steel," his father once quipped, meaning it was all he could afford on his meager salary. Where was he going… He couldn't remember. His nose picked up a scent of growing decay, and the boy realized he wasn't alone. In the dimly lit interior, thanks to the soft glow of blue flames from the engine, he could see silhouettes of his mother and father—their bodies frozen in place. His father, once a tall and proud man who loved to carry him atop his shoulders, lay wrapped around the steering wheel, his torso halfway through the windshield. The boy smelt the tinge of burning hair. His mother's crumpled body was stuck on the dashboard, her unbound russet locks stiff like she was.

Try as he might, the boy couldn't manage a single word that wasn't choked with pain. The right side door was busted, the lock jammed and he had not the strength to force it open. With great effort, he wriggled out of his seatbelt, not taking a moment to realize he was crawling on top of the bloodied corpse of his younger brother, the weight of his hand pressing into his pale face decorated with cuts and bruises. He looked as if he was sleeping, his dark hair tousled and spattered with blood.

His ears were ringing. His ears were bleeding. He couldn't breathe. His neck hurt. He was partially blind. He had no feeling in his legs. How long did he stay there unconscious? Why was he the only one to survive?

Falling out of the car door, the snow-covered ditch met his bruised hands first as he braced himself. Images flashed through his head then: panicked screams from his parents, the screech of the car tires as they braced for impact, the sight of the large oak tree in front of the headlights, and the explosion of glass and the sickening crunch of metal before he blacked out came rushing back to him.

On this desolate stretch of road, cloaked in darkness and blanketed in white, the boy could only stand there in shock, gripping onto his torn overcoat gifted to him by his mother as a lifeline. He caught a glimpse of his father's lacerated face, a snapshot of terror in his final moments. Eyes wide and unblinking, his jaw locked open in a perpetual scream, arms splayed atop the hood of the car. The boy couldn't look away. He wanted to. But he couldn't. Something compelled him to continue staring at the last remnants of his family, knowing that he'd never see them whole and hale again. No boy his age, just ten winters old, should witness this.

His ears picked up sounds from the main road, shuffling footsteps crunching the gravel above and the slam of car doors. Torches shone down on the wreckage, blinding his one good eye as he tried to gain his bearings. Shielding his face, he could only see outlines of bodies covered with insulated coats, the light obscuring their faces. One made his way down the ditch with little effort, and the boy could see he was a soldier. What would the military be doing out here?

Without warning, the man grabbed his arm and began leading him back to the others. Unable to form words, panicked shouts and whines fell from his mouth. He walked into the light, but it had no warmth. It wasn't gentle, it was harsh and judging. He came to fear the light since then, for all he experienced was pain.

[misiahasahardname]

they may have built a super advanced robot replica of their dead classmate, but they’re still teenagers!

i put a little too much effort into their matching pfps… so this is testtube and fan at a new year’s party (which may or may not have lead to bot’s creation)

[cuubism]

Okay but AFTER Dream dramatically storms into Desire's realm yelling "WTF did you do to Hob" I can't imagine Desire just...ignored that. They 100% had to go check out this human and see what is so interesting that Dream is all twisted up in knots over him. Can very much picture Desire swanning into the New Inn in their craziest Lady Gaga outfit already drinking a cosmopolitan and introducing themselves to Hob. Because Desire realises that rather than plotting Dream's downfall they can fuck with Dream INFINITELY more by bothering his immortal crush. It's the sibling instinct.

oh. they DEFINITELY will. and like. eventually dream explains his whole thought process, and the fact that desire has fucked with him in the past (hob: dear god why is your family so fucked up), and dream is basically like: DO NOT. ENGAGE WITH DESIRE. IF THEY TRY TO TALK TO YOU. just call me (he still does not have a phone so unclear how this will work) and i'll kick their ass.

critical point: dream did not in any way tell hob how to IDENTIFY DESIRE.

---

The person who struts -- it's really the only word Hob can think of -- over to the bar at the New Inn makes him uneasy, though he can't say why. Hob is not made uncomfortable easily, he's lived too long and been in too many scrapes to feel intimidated in his own pub, of all places.

But something about them makes his hackles rise. The eyes, maybe. They're too cunning.

But he's not in the habit of throwing people out on looks so he just offers a tight smile and says, "Get you something?"

He's tending bar himself, today. Gives him something to do between terms. And he finds himself strangely grateful to have the bar between him and his strange customer as they slide onto one of the bar stools.

"Cosmo, please," they say, voice like sugar halfway to caramelizing, a bit of pop and smoke in the smooth glide.

This is a bit of an odd drink selection for eleven in the morning, but Hob has, at various points in his life though thankfully no longer, done lines of cocaine before even having breakfast, so he really has no pedestal from which to judge.

"Coming right up."

The bar at the New Inn is well-stocked nowadays. Used to be, they served mainly beer and wine, nothing fancy. Then Hob made the horrible mistake of promising his students an end of term cocktail-making class if they came to all the exam review sessions -- because he does actually know how to make drinks, he's been alive for six centuries, thanks very much -- and now it's become a thing and he's stuck doing it forever.

Then Dream took to his drinks, and alcohol is no substitute for food but getting Dream to eat or drink anything is a bloody miracle, so if that anything is the bougiest mixture of alcohols Hob can come up with, well--

Actually. Actually that might be worse than nothing at all.

Makes Dream happy though, so what is Hob to do? Keep ordering luxardo cherries and elderflower liqueur until he outlives them, that's what.

He finishes shaking the drink under the heavy gaze of his guest and pours, sliding it across the table to them.

Hob feels like he's being sized up by a predator as they take a long, delicate sip. The color of the drink matches the pink of their blazer. Hob is struggling to recall if said blazer was actually pink when they arrived.

"Ah. You mix a good drink, Hob Gadling," they say, propping their head on their hand, looking a him from under their lashes, and, ah, so that's what this is.

Hob leans on the bar. "What sort of... entity are you, then?"

Their whole face brightens in what Hob thinks is delight. "Oh! So you are a perceptive one. Get a lot of entities in here, do you, Robert?"

"'Bout as many as can be expected. That's not an answer."

They pout. "Neither is yours. And can't a being just pop by the local speakeasy for a drink without being interrogated?"

"Seems a little unfair that you know my name, and I don't know yours," Hob points out. "Names have power, and so on, isn't that the thing?"

His guest studies him. "You are both far more normal and far less normal than I'd been expecting. Fascinating."

Um.

Before Hob is forced to respond to that, the door swings open to reveal Dream, shrouded in darkness and nighttime and vibrating with electrical fury. Shadows crawl up the windows. All the lights in the inn flicker out.

Oh boy.

"I," Dream says, each word a thunderclap, shining gaze fixed on Hob's guest at the bar, "Explicitly. Forbade. You. From. Interfering."

"What are you going to do, hit me?" taunts the other entity, leaning back on their stool, drink balanced in one hand.

Hob looks back and forth between them, wondering if he should fetch a weapon. He keeps a cricket bat here somewhere, surely...

"Dream, love," he says, once he's decided it's better to try to deescalate the situation rather than introducing further weaponry, "your usual?"

Dream nods, stalking over to the bar. His gaze flits briefly to Hob, softening, before snapping right back to the other being.

"I see you remain incapable of heeding a warning," he says, all ice.

"It's not really part of my nature," they say. "I see it, I like it... well, you get it."

Oh. Oh no.

Cautiously, Hob slides his drink over to Dream. Without breaking eye contact with... Desire? it must be, and thanks, Dream, for the complete lack of description, Dream picks up his drink and downs the whole thing in one long swallow.

Ooooooh boy.

"Desire," Hob says, and they perk up at his realization of their name, looking over at him, "might be better if you were going now."

Desire lets out a frustrated huff. "Ugh, of course. I certainly don't want to upset 'ole Nightmare here."

"You certainly don't want my fist in your jaw," Hob says, more audible threat in it than he intends -- but he remembers Dream's halting confession, about how often love had turned out to be manipulation, and he thinks he should be congratulated on his restraint, actually.

Desire just laughs, and-- ah, Hob is starting to see that there's no winning with this one. Even and especially when you haven't agreed to the game.

"I suppose I'll be going then, before the fists start flying." They slide out of their seat and glide towards the door, waving. "Nice meeting you, Robert! I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again, soon."

I don't doubt it, Hob thinks.

They take their drink with them. Hob's not feeling particularly inclined to chase down that glass.

Dream still hasn't moved. He stares after Desire, empty glass about to crack in his grip.

"Dream?"

"I said that you should call for me," Dream says, the ghost of words.

With what means, exactly? Hob thinks. Damned enigmatic shadow of a man. "You didn't tell me who to look out for."

"Oh." Dream finally snaps out of his daze. "Yes. I apologize."

"Come sit down."

Hob fetches a glass of water and drags Dream over to their usual booth, pushing the water into his hands. "Drink that."

Dream stares down at it. "Why?"

"Because you just chugged a drink you usually sip for hours. Drink."

"I will not get drunk unless I choose to," Dream says.

"Have you tested that?" Hob asks.

Dream's brows furrow. "...No."

"Then let's not do that now. Drink. Come on."

Dream sips at the water. "I am sorry," he says, slowly, "about Desire."

"And I'm sorry I didn't actually punch them," Hob says, making Dream look up at him in surprise. "Well. Sort of. Wouldn't want to make it worse."

A smile tugs at Dream's lips. "You would... defend my honor?"

"Always," Hob vows. "I'd defend you. Don't care if the devil himself has it out for you."

"That may well happen," Dream says.

Hob stares at Dream. Dream stares back.

"Oh," Hob says, or maybe just hopes, "you're making a joke."

"No," says Dream. "Lucifer and I are on poor terms at the moment. She may seek revenge."

Hob keeps staring at him. Dream meets his gaze evenly.

Hob scrubs his hands through his hair. "Lucifer and you..."

Why was it always like this?

When he looks up again, Dream is smirking at him. "You're a menace," Hob tells him. "One day, you're going to give me the full rundown of everyone who has beef with you so I can be prepared."

"That will be a long list," Dream says.

"Of course it is," Hob sighs.

Dream takes his hand as if he can comfort Hob through all of the insane interactions he's sure to have with strange beings in the near future. The worst thing is, it works. Hob squeezes his hand and immediately remembers why he's willing to do anything for him.

"I'd go to Hell for you," he says. "I'd prefer not to, though, if it's all the same."

"That is my preference as well," says Dream.

There's a lot Hob would do for Dream. It's probably unhealthy. But what's the point of living six hundred years if you're going to spend it all being healthy, anyway.

"Why do so many people have problems with you, anyway?" Hob asks.

Hob knows. Hob fucking knows why.

Dream pouts. "Matthew tells me my social skills are 'less than adequate.'"

That's one way to phrase 'you act like an arrogant dick 85% of the time.' Matthew should receive a medal for his tact.

Hob loves that arrogant dick, though, God fucking damn him.

"All the more reason to get me that list, then," Hob says. "Maybe we can prevent you from creating an interdimensional incident."

"Will you accomplish this by threatening to punch them in the face?" Dream asks, completely neutral.

"Okay, you know what? Fair," Hob admits, and Dream chuckles. "Perhaps neither of us is cut out for diplomacy. The point, though, is: of course I'd defend you. I love you."

Dream kisses the back of his hand. As if he's only just now realized what he's done to Hob's pub, the lights all flicker back on.

"Thank Christ, I thought I was going to have to replace all those bulbs."

"Do you think I would do that to you?" Dream says with a tiny smile, Hob's hand still pressed to his lips.

You've done worse than that to me, Hob thinks. Better, too. So much better.

"No, love," he says, "I know you wouldn't."

[aria0fgold]

Seared like a songbird flying to the sun

A belated birthday gift for @misty-wisp ! Tried to combine references for both Swan Lake and Cendrillon >:3 (Linked the English cover I took the lyrics from for the title!)

[crow-caller]

good angel turns 7 goddamn years old on the 22nd I'm going to lose my head. did you know bad end is 6.5 years old. Did you know Angel radio is 8.5. Did you know I'm 27. did you know time continues ceaselessly forward and so do i

[carpisuns]

@lollytea you have been a good sport about my teasing so I figured I owed you this lol

from her amazing fic There’s Sunshine in Your Smile, which changed my brain chemistry!!!! i know people have already drawn this scene a hundred times but…here is 101, as a treat:)

[funkyplantguy]

hello if you're a writer and you have adhd i am gripping you by the throat and begging on my hands and knees for the secret to being consistent with writing.........i get like random bursts of motivation where i write like 50-70k in a single week and then 2 days later the thought of jotting down even a single word fills me with Dread. how do you do it. sobbing

[raineandsky]

For Old Time's Sake

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

“It’ll take a few days to ease the pain,” Skat says with a light smile. “A few weeks to heal entirely.”

Skat’s home—or so the prince assumes—is nothing like he’s used to. Wooden floors, slatted roof, bed of straw. Is this really how the majority live? How the hell do they do this? As much as the thought of home makes him sick, he does miss his luxurious quilts.

“Thank you,” the prince says not entirely genuinely. If the old knight has a time frame on his recovery, his chances of slipping away unnoticed are slim. Unfairly so. “I appreciate you not trying to sell me or anything.”

Skat laughs, the sound flattened by the dull walls. A laugh like that probably echoed in the walls of the castle, back in the day. “I still have to hold Gvette off yet,” he says brightly. He unrolls a slice of bandage, popping a bottle open from the bedside table. “She’ll warm up to you, though, I’ve no doubt.”

Gvette disappeared into the woods yesterday to wash the prince’s bloodstained clothes. Not voluntarily, mind—Skat had had to ask her to help several times before she begrudgingly grabbed them and made a show of dragging them along the floor on the way out.

The prince tries and fails to hold back a wince as Skat goes about carefully changing the bandage. The clean fabric, cooled by whatever the healing stuff is from that bottle, is what he imagines heaven must feel like. The old knight sighs in relief as he tosses the old bandage into the bin.

“Can’t help but ask, if you don’t mind it,” he starts slowly, “why’d you leave?”

The prince rolls the edge of the blanket between his fingers, his gaze fixed on the way it waves back and forth under his control like the ocean. “Why did you?”

There’s a moment of silence where the prince risks glancing up at Skat. He gives the boy a blank stare, blinking absently, before breaking into another laugh.

“Yeah, a’ight, touché.” He shakes his head, adjusting idly on his little bedside stool. “Don’t think you’d like my answer much, though.”

“I doubt you'd like mine either.”

“Well,” the man says with a grin, “how abouts this—I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours. I assume we’re somewhat in the same boat to both be out here, huh?”

It makes sense. Whyever the old man is out here can’t be too different from the prince, right? They both ran from the throne. Both escaped into the wilderness. Both– well, whether Skat ended up in a bear trap as well is a mystery.

“I’ll admit, your father made some poor choices,” he continues. He snivels shortly, dropping his gaze to the floor by the bed. “I couldn’t find it within myself to support a king I didn’t share beliefs with. They were big differences too—it wasn’t just a disagreement on the colour of the curtains. I couldn’t work knowing that what I did brought about terrible things.”

The king isn’t known for his kindness. His entire family isn’t. The prince knows this the best of anyone.

“That’s me,” Skat says with a deep sigh, like it’s a relief to be off his chest. “Your turn, kid.”

The prince opens his mouth, but words refuse to come out. It feels like he’s confessing some great sin to a priest—too much to the wrong person. Easy information to put in the wrong hands.

“It’s a’ight lad,” the old knight adds after a moment. His voice is soft, gentle. “I won’t tell a soul.”

That feeling, that lingering it’s dangerous to show dissent still rings at the back of the prince’s mind. But the man won’t tell anyone. Of course he won’t. They’re a world away from the dangers of the palace here.

So the prince sucks in a deep breath, steels his nerves, and recounts his story.

(next part)

Taglist: @bushfairy

[fugitivehues]

Whumptober 02. Delirium