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frantic-fiction · 1 year ago

Text

Tension 18+

Pic: littlelovelore

Astarion x f!reader

Summary: During a solo mission, Astarion takes the opportunity to indulge in some "depraved carnal lust".

Warnings: 18+ MDNI Slight enemies to lovers, sex bent over a desk, sex with clothes on, mild choking, rough sex, reader handles her crush like a fifth grader (by being mean) Astarion is his smug self

Word Count: 3.2k

Masterlist

Back-to-back posts brought to you by Bree's insomnia...Enjoy!

"Do you want me to do it?" Astarion smugly asks, flicking his wrist sharply, sending a dagger into the wood beam before him. He's leaning against the cracked wall of the tunnel. A condescending smile stretches across his pale lips.

"Shut the fuck up!" You snap, twisting the lockpick violently, it's stuck on something, and it is pissing you off.

"My my, someone's testy today." The Vampire pushes off the wall to retrieve his dagger, only for you to hear the same thud of the knife hitting the abused beam once again.

You clench your jaw, wanting nothing more than to drown the bastard in the small stream of gray water. See him try to be a smartass when he's choking on sewage.

No! Just breathe.

As soon as you get this damn door open, all you need is to grab the stolen lease for the damn butcher, and the party will have a nice payout. Then Astarion's snarky comments and teasing jabs can be ignored behind a glass of ale and a nice meal.

Well, if you don't kill him first.

The relationship between you and the Vampire is a complex one, to say the least. Astarion is an arrogant, pompous dick. You're a temperamental stubborn asshole. It made for a messy mix of harsh insults and constant attempts to belittle the other.

It would have been so easy to hate him completely, but Astarion can be sweet under the cloak of night, and you could almost pretend he's a tolerable person when he speaks those honey-coated words. And when you let him feed from you, everything became so much more complicated.

The pick snaps, and you drop your head, groaning in frustration. You stand up and kick hard against a crate; the decayed wood breaks against your boot. Sighing in defeat, you motion to the rogue.

Astarion laughs smoothly, tucking the knife away, and exchanges it for his thieves' tools. Giving you a wink, he bends down to examine the lock. You pretend not to admire the swell of his ass, but who are you kidding Astarion is extremely attractive.

With little to no fanfare, the lock turns over, and Astarion opens the door. "After you."

"I fucking hate you." You grumble, pushing past, making a point to shove your shoulder hard into the rouge.

"Keep telling yourself that Darling,"

You flip him off.

The sewer system is a winding path of tunnels leading to various places. The two of you walk in silence for a few minutes.

"Are you sure we are going the right way?" Astarion asks, breaking the peace.

"Of course, this is the right way." You hiss, glaring over your shoulder. "I can read a map."

"Just like you could pick a lock, yes?"

You don't think you've ever seen a more punchable face. You're almost tempted to smack him just to see his reaction. Instead, you practice a semblance of self-control and ignore him.

After a few more turns, you hit a dead end. It's nothing but a damp brick wall. Scanning the map, you're sure you followed all the proper steps; there should be an entrance. Stowing the stupid paper away, you begin feeling the brick for any invisible button, unwilling to admit defeat in front of Astarion. All hideouts have secret levers. Right?

"Well, sweetheart, I think you've gotten us lost."

"No, I didn't, jackass, now be useful for once and help me." You bend down and begin trailing your fingertips against the rough bricks near the floor.

"I don't think I will. I'm quite enjoying the view from here."

You look back towards the rogue, "What are you talking about–" you choke on your words.

Astarion is shamelessly eyeing your form. A fang tugs at his bottom lip, hunger darkening his eyes. You swallow hard, and a flame ignites low in your stomach. You have a sudden urge to press him against the wall. That thought startles you. This is Astarion. The obnoxious, arrogant, attractive–no, stop that. You stand up and shake your head, willing your thoughts to clear.

"You're ridiculous," you sigh and dig through your bag.

Retrieving the knock scroll, Gale scribed for you. Repeating the steps he told you to do, you mumbled the incantation, and soon enough, what was once a solid brick wall cracked open to reveal a hidden path.

"Told you I knew where I was going," you boast, sticking your tongue out childishly.

Astarion smirks, "Yes, a broken clock is right twice a day."

Scoffing, you shove him hard, causing him to take a few steps to correct his footing. The entrance leads to a broken-down ladder and a worn wooden hatch. Astarion steps up to pick the lock and lifts the hatch barely to survey the room. He pushes the trapdoor open and enters.

Following suit, you find yourself in a dusty broom closet. Astarion is already at the door to the hallway, a sliver of light pouring through the crack. Closing the trapdoor, you cross your arms and wait for Astarion to turn back to you.

"It's abandoned."

"Are you sure?"

Scoffing, Astarion doesn't answer. He pushes the door open and begins down the hall. You follow after him.

The small hideout is plainly decorated, the common room has a dingy sofa and a coffee table. The fireplace is dead; not even embers remain. Good. In the corner, there looks to be an unfinished game of cards. The faded carpet runner leads down the hall to a large ornate door.

Astarion is already opening the door by the time you reach him. By the looks of it, this is the boss's office. A large oak desk sat in the middle room. A plush chair pulled slightly away as if someone hadn't bothered to move it back. Bookshelves line the back wall.

"Secure the door," you say as you move to the window to the left of the door. You hear Astarion mumble something but don't quite catch his words.

The window is a short drop good for a quick escape if needed.

You move to the desk and begin rifling through the papers on the desk. Tax documents, random notes, crappy doodles, and a cringey love letter, but not what you're looking for. You rip open the first drawer. Nothing. Second drawer. Nothing. Third, nothing.

"Astarion, did you find anything?"

"Nothing important." His sultry voice is deep and so very close to your ear.

Your heart drops, but you suppress any other signs of distress, knowing that is exactly what he's looking for. Sighing In annoyance, you turn around to face Astarion and cross your arms over your chest.

"Are you even trying to look for the damn paper? We need to get what we're here for and get the fuck out!"

Astarion's mouth cracks into a cheeky grin, and he closes in on you. You back against the desk instinctually, reaching a hand up that lands on his firm chest. Astarion has you caged against the desk, each hand on either side of your hips. You know Astarion can hear the thrumming of your heart and the shaky inhalation of your breath, and you curse your body for betraying you.

He bends his head down to press his mouth against your ear. "What if I'm looking for something else?"

You freeze. What did he mea–

The thought is forgotten because he's slamming his lips onto yours. You gasp in surprise, and Astarion wastes no time, delving his tongue into your mouth and claiming it as his.

The slight metallic taste of blood that lingers on his tongue should repulse you but has you moaning desperately for more. You grip your fist tightly into the fabric of Astarion's armor. His body is flush against yours, but you need more. You scratch your nails up his neck and tangle your fingers into his hair. Astarion groans into your mouth, biting at your bottom lip.

Everything is hazy, and you're lost in the kiss. Your thoughts are slow to catch up with the situation, too consumed by the taste of his lips. Astarion's lips. Astarion.

You push him away, chest heaving in rapid breaths. "What are you doing?"

"I'd hope my intentions would be obvious by now." He grins and dives back to kiss down your neck, dragging his teeth against your skin. "I could be more obvious if that would clear things up."

A sharp bite of his mouth at your throat drags a choked gargle from your swollen lips. You feel dizzy from the scent of rosemary and bergamot invading your nose. Lightheaded from the sudden turn of events. Astarion presses a knee between your legs, applying firm pressure against your burning arousal.

Gods, what was he doing to you?

Needing to gain any form of control, you tug sharply at the roots of his silver curls, drawing a hiss from the man.

You finally manage to gasp out, "We hate each other." As if that would somehow clear up your raging thoughts.

Except, could you hate someone who is making you feel so good?

Cold fingers trail against the skin between your leather armor and trousers. Astarion's deft hands start pulling at the lace of your pants. Another wave of arousal warms your body, and you feel drunk on the pale elf.

"You say that, yet I don't think you want me to stop." He purrs, halting his movements, and meets your eyes. "Do you want me to stop?"

You shake your head, desperate for more. Your dignity couldn't live with letting Astarion reduce you to a begging mess. However, if you were honest with yourself, you're already halfway there. Reaching out, you grab for his belt.

Astarion was having none of that. He's quick to twirl you around and press your torso flush against the top of the desk. A stack of paper flies off and scatters to the ground, but neither of you put much care into it. Astarion grinds his front roughly against your ass, and you moan at the feeling of his hardening cock against you.

"No, no, no, my dear, use your words."

"Gods, are you always so fucking annoying?" You whine pressing back and rolling your ass against him. Astarion grunts, gripping your hips tightly. "Are you going to fuck me, or should I just take care of myself?"

Astarion groans, rocking against each roll of your hips. "There's my spitfire."

"I'm not yours."

Astarion tugs at your pants and underwear, pulling them over your rear and letting them pool around your ankles. You kick off your boots and free yourself, leaving your lower half bare to the open air. A shiver rushes up your spine as the cold air hits your dripping heat.

Astarion's slim fingers trail down your folds, and you bite your lips to stifle a cry. Tilting your head back, you see the rogue admiring the slick coating his fingers.

"You might not be mine, darling." Astarion slips his drenched fingers into his mouth, and you watch, mouth agape, as he swirls his tongue to clean each digit. "But who else has seen you bent over a desk looking as desperate and delicious as you do now?"

"I could name a few," you say cheekily, earning you a smack on the flesh of your backside.

Astarion gropes the reddened skin and bends down, blanketing you with his body. You feel the soft pants of his breath cascade over your neck as Astarion brings his lips to your ear.

"Then it seems I'm just going to have to ruin you for anyone else." Astarion practically growls and licks along the shell of your ear before taking the lobe in between his mouth and teasing it with his teeth. You don't recall hearing Astarion unclasp his belt, but when you feel his bare cock rub against your back, all you can do is arch your back and moan.

"Astarion," you part your legs more in silent invitation.

"Yes, my dear," His voice is smug as he rocks against you. He knows what you want but wants to hear you say it.

The head of his cock parts your folds and moves to tease your desperate clit; a collective moan fills the room, but it is not enough for either of you. And knowing that the two of you are currently in the middle of dangerous territory means there is no time to play.

"Stop being a prick and fuck me."

"Have I ever told you, you always have such a way with words." Astarion chuckles before plunging deep into your cunt.

A shaky cry leaves your lips, all air seemingly ripped from your lungs. Astarion is bigger than most men you've slept with prior - though you wouldn't dare voice that out loud in case it inflates his already-inflated ego. The stretch holds a delicious sting, and you feel the beginning of the burn of tears at the corner of your eyes.

Astarion's still his hips for a moment, letting you collect yourself. His thumbs are rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back and peppering kisses across your neck. Once the sting of his initial entrance simmers to a stirring heat, you tell him to move.

"Hells you're so tight." Astarion groans as he sets a teasing pace, dragging the rugged ridges of his cock out before plunging back in at the same agonizing pace.

A pace you could imagine sharing intimately with Astarion all night somewhere secluded. Perhaps your tent or an isolated clearing, not a random gang's currently empty hideout. And since you're not one to play nice, you decide to play with fire instead.

Pushing up on your elbows, you move your head to look back at Astarion, a playful smirk on your lips. "You say you're going to ruin me, but I think Gale could be doing a better job of it right now."

Astarion's body freezes just as you hoped he would react. He shoots you a look full of daggers and bares his teeth in annoyance. Without comprehending entirely what's happening, Astarion pulls out of you and, with a strength you have not seen from the Vampire (the same Vampire who asks others on multiple occasions to carry his pack because it's too heavy), flips you over and has you seated firmly back on the desk leaving you dizzy but feeling giddy as a schoolgirl.

"Oh darling, you're going to regret that."

Astarion rams back into your pussy and begins to thrust quick and brutally deep into your body. His cold hand is wrapped around your throat, holding it firmly enough to keep your eyes locked onto him.

Your legs link around his lean hips, pulling him deeper into you. Moaning desperately, you run one of your hands up under his leather armor, splaying it across his stomach. You grab his face and pull him into a kiss, all tongue and teeth and perfection.

The desk is groaning under the movement of your bodies. Random knick-knacks are clanging to the floor. A bottle of whiskey shatters, and the pungent aroma wafts into the air, mingling with the scent of sweat and slick.

"You and that mouth of yours." He breathes deep into your ear. "Always so confident, so snarky, so bratty."

"M-more…" you choke, clenching around his length, desperate for anything and everything he will give you.

"Do you think the wizard could handle you?" The hand not firmly holding your neck snakes between your legs and begins to play with your clit.

"Gods A-star.." You gasp, eyes rolling back.

"Could he or anyone else make you feel this good?" Astarion's hand tightens slightly against your neck, and the lack of oxygen leaves you feeling dizzy and euphoric.

"N-no…please."

"After me, no one will ever be able to satisfy you." His thumb is now rubbing fast, tight circles against your clit. "Fuck, that's it, squeeze me just like that."

Gripping onto the desk, you shift your hips, and Astarion is now hitting deeper into your abused cunt. You tighten your legs around his waist, urging him to go faster. That delicious coil is beginning to burn deep in your stomach, and you know you won't last much longer.

"Tell me, who's making you feel this good," Astarion demands, voice husky.

"Y-you,"

"And when you come on my cock, I want you to scream my name." He grunts, and the thrust of his hips is beginning to become sloppier. "I want to hear just how good I make you feel."

Everything is too much. Astarion's sinful words, the harsh thrust of his hips combined with the tight circles of his thumb on your clit, the musky smell of Astarion's sweat mingling with yours, and the intense fragrance of the spilled whiskey.

You don't remember the details, just the wave of euphoria as the coil snaps and your orgasm washes over you. The words that spill from your lips hold no meaning in your clouded mind. The only thing that holds context is the feeling of Astarion stuttering thrusts of his hips as he chases his release from your spent body.

And when he stills, and the world falls silent apart for your combined pants of breath, all you do is brush the curls off his forehead and kiss his cheek. Why? You're not sure, but that's something you'll ask yourself later.

Once you return to relatively normal breathing, Astarion moves from his slumped position against your body. He stares at you in astonishment.

"Well, that happened." You offer because what else were you supposed to say?

Astarion breaks out into a genuine laugh, full belly and joyful as he tucks himself away. You couldn't help but join in as you move to put your clothes on.

"Yes, my sweet, I suppose that did happen."

"So where-"

The two of you jump at a commotion coming from the hall. Someone is jingling the doorknob, trying to open it; when it doesn't budge, there is a loud bang followed by an even louder shout of anger.

"Fuck!" You quickly finish tying your boots and collect your gear.

"Seems like our friends are back from their trip. I believe it's time to go." Astarion says as he moves to the window and opens it. Without waiting for you to respond, he gives you a devilish smirk and jumps out.

"Shit, the paper." You sigh, knowing you'll never hear the end of it.

By the time you make it to the window, the door is being busted in, and a very angry-looking dwarf is storming into the room. You smile at him and give him a salute before diving out the window, knowing Astarion will be there to catch you.

***Later at camp***

"What do you mean you didn't get the document?" Gale yells, the others equally baffled by you and Astarion's failure. "That was the only thing you needed to get!"

You shrink in on yourself looking to Astarion for help. "I...I don"

Astarion rolls his eyes. "Stealing objects from heavily populated hideouts is harder than you might think, wizard."

"That's why we sent you two!"

"Then perhaps next time-"

"HOLY SHIT!" Karlach interrupts, drawing everyone's attention. She's pointing straight at you with a look of bafflement. "Soldier's got a fucking hickey."

You clamp a hand over the spot Astarion was biting at earlier, wishing for the ground to swallow you whole.

Shadowheart's face scrunches up in disgust. "Please don't tell me, we're not getting paid because you two idiots decided to fuck?"

"Darling, it would seem the cat's out of the bag." The bastard has the audacity to look proud.

"I hate you all." You groan and storm off to your tent, contemplating just how bad it would be to join the Absolute.

Feedback always makes my day so let me know what you guys thought. And if you're looking for something sweet to balance out the spice check out my last post right here.

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literaryvein-reblogs · 3 months ago

Note

tips on writing physically disabled (wheelchair bound) characters?

Writing Notes: Characters Using a Wheelchair

"Wheelchair/wheelchair-bound/confined to a wheelchair"

People who use mobility equipment such as a wheelchair, scooter or cane consider the equipment part of their personal space, according to the United Spinal Association.

People who use wheelchairs have widely different disabilities and varying abilities.

National Center on Disability and Journalism Recommendation: It is acceptable to describe a person as “someone who uses a wheelchair,” followed by an explanation of why the equipment is required. Avoid “confined to a wheelchair” or “wheelchair-bound” as these terms describe a person only in relationship to a piece of equipment. The terms also are misleading, as wheelchairs can liberate people, allowing them to move about, and they are inaccurate, as people who use wheelchairs are not permanently confined to them but are transferred to sleep, sit in chairs, drive cars, etc.

Other terms to use: “wheelchair user” or “person who uses a wheelchair.”

Wheelchair

A chair with wheels to help people move around.

Used by individuals who have impairments that limit their ability to walk.

Typically consists of a seat supported on two large wheels attached towards the back of the seat and two small wheels (castors) in front near the feet, a good braking system, footrests and a cushion. There are often small additional features to prevent toppling or to assist in mounting curbs.

The user moves by pushing with his/her hands circular bars on the outside of the large wheels, known as the hand-rim or push rings.

Types of Wheelchairs

Based on variations in the basic design, there are many types of wheelchairs, with being highly customized to suit individual needs.

Manual wheelchairs are mostly propelled by the user. Other features such as foot/leg rests, front caster outriggers, adjustable backrests and controls can be added to the basic model. The seat size (width and depth), seat-to-floor height, seat angle (also called seat dump or squeeze) relative to the horizontal plane can be modified. Users who have specialized needs may opt for a custom-built wheelchair.

Attendant-propelled chairs are designed to be propelled by an attendant using the handles, and thus the back wheels are often rimless and smaller. These chairs are often used as ‘transfer chairs’ possibly within a hospital or airport to move a mobility-impaired person when a better alternative or a user’s standard chair is unavailable.

A rigid frame wheelchair is usually a non-folding type with a base of support on which the person sits. In some models, the backrest of the chair can be folded down, and the wheels have a quick release mechanism to enable easy transportation and storage.

A folding frame wheelchair is one whose frame is collapsible sideways by the use of an “X” mechanism in the frame. This mechanism is lockable, and the wheelchair folds on release of two locking levers on the chair.

A motorized wheelchair, power chair, electric wheelchair or electric-powered wheelchair is propelled by means of an electric motor rather than manual power. Motorized wheelchairs are useful for those unable to propel a manual wheelchair or who may need to use a wheelchair for distances or over terrain which would be fatiguing in a manual wheelchair. They may also be used by people with cardiovascular and fatigue-based conditions.

Interacting with People with Mobility Disabilities

Do not push or touch a person’s wheelchair/scooter without their permission – a wheelchair is part of the personal body space of the person.

Try to ensure there is space in your waiting room and your office for someone in a wheelchair or scooter to comfortably wait in their chair.

If you are speaking with a person who uses a wheelchair or a person who uses a mobility device for more than a few minutes, place yourself at eye level in front of the person to facilitate the conversation.

Writing about People with Disabilities

Words are powerful. The words we use and the way we portray individuals with disabilities matters. Below is a guide for portraying individuals with disabilities in a respectful and balanced way by using language that is accurate, neutral and objective.

Emphasize abilities, not limitations. Choosing language that emphasizes what people can do instead of what they can’t do is empowering.

Use language that emphasizes the need for accessibility rather than the presence of a disability. Examples: "Accessible" not "handicapped" parking; "Accessible" not "disabled" restroom

Portray successful people with disabilities in a balanced way, not as heroic or superhuman. Do not make assumptions by saying a person with a disability is heroic or inspiring because they are simply living their lives. Stereotypes may raise false expectations that everyone with a disability is or should be an inspiration. People may be inspired by them just as they may be inspired by anyone else. Everyone faces challenges in life.

Do not mention someone’s disability unless it is essential to the story It is okay to identify a person’s disability when it is necessary for clarity or provides important information. For instance, “Virali, who uses a wheelchair, spoke about her experience with using accessible transportation” is totally fine, since it adds a new layer to the story. In other instances, the disability may be irrelevant. For example, do not say, “Charles, who has a congenital disability, wants more sugar in his caramel espresso.”

Create balanced human-interest stories instead of tear-jerking stories. Tearjerkers about incurable diseases, congenital disabilities or severe injury that are intended to elicit pity perpetuate negative stereotypes.

In the 1990s, some health care and disability activists introduced the term “differently abled” as a substitute for the term “disabled.” While well-meaning, this term is euphemistic and works to avoid talking about a person’s disability in honest and specific terms (critics point out that in a pure dictionary definition, everyone is “differently abled”). Use of the term waned in the mid-2000s, and now many individuals in the disability community consider this term condescending or offensive.

Best Practices around Terminology for Disabilities

A foundational part of disability rights is using the right language and terminology to be respectful to members of the disability community. Here are a few best practices:

Avoid outdated terms. There are a number of terms for people with disabilities that are outdated, ableist, and potentially offensive to members of the disability community—terms include “differently abled” (and “the differently abled”), “handicapped”, “special needs” or “special education”, “wheelchair-bound” (as opposed to “is a wheelchair user”), and “cripple.” All of these terms have negative connotations, either because they serve as euphemisms or because they suggest that people with disabilities have a worse quality of life than people without; avoid these terms and replace them with more appropriate terms.

Consider how you describe nondisabled people. In addition to appropriate terms for people with disabilities, there are appropriate terms to use when describing people without disabilities. Avoid words like “normal,” “able,” “abled people,” or “able-bodied,” since these inappropriately suggest that those with disabilities are abnormal or do not have able bodies; instead, use language like “people without disabilities,” “nondisabled,” or “enabled.”

Learn whether to use “people-first” or “identity-first” language. Just as with any other group, people with disabilities are not a monolith. When talking about people with disabilities, remember that they are multifaceted human beings rather than an easily categorized group. To reflect this, opt to use person-first language whenever possible—for example, “a person with epilepsy” rather than “an epileptic person,” or “a person with blindness” rather than “a blind person”—to emphasize the individual and avoid letting their disability serve as their only defining quality. However, some communities prefer identity-first language over people-first language—for example, many people in the deaf community who use sign language prefer the term “deaf person” to the term “person who is hard of hearing,” and many people with autism prefer the term “autistic person.” Always use the individual’s preferred terms.

Refer to a person’s specific disability. Where relevant, avoid referring to people with disabilities as a homogenous group—the range of disabilities varies wildly, and individuals with disabilities have very different experiences depending on their condition and other factors. In addition, avoid the phrase “the disabled” and be careful when using broad terms like “cognitive disability” or “learning disability” when it would be more specific and appropriate to mention their exact condition. Instead, when discussing a person’s disability, use words that refer to their specific condition—for instance, as a person with ADHD—to respect their unique experience and needs.

Respect individual preferences. Individuals have different preferences when it comes to discussing their disabilities, and some people prefer particular terms over others—for example, many people with dwarfism prefer the term “person of short stature” or “little person.” Learn the individual preferences of the people around you to use their preferred terms.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

Thanks for the question, learned some new things from these notes as well. Hope this helps with your writing!

EDIT 1:

Ambulatory wheelchair users

Individuals who, despite having the ability to walk short distances, rely on wheelchairs for mobility due to various health conditions.

Can walk but need wheelchairs for longer distances or when experiencing fatigue. Conditions like multiple sclerosis, arthritis, or other mobility-impairing diseases often necessitate this dual mobility approach.

Many ambulatory wheelchair users report being judged, stigmatised or accused of faking their disabilities to cheat their way into support.

EDIT 2:

"Helping me without permission is disrespectful. I understand how to stay safe, and I am not a pawn to advance the agenda of others."

"I’ve discovered that the greatest fear that keeps people from traveling is the thought of a damaged wheelchair"

"The earlier you inform airlines of your plans to travel with a power wheelchair, the more time they will have to prepare."

Wheelchair Assistance at the Airport and on the Aircraft

Building a Wheelchair Accessible Carriage

Thanks so much @anumberofhobbies for sharing additional information and your experiences on this topic. And please give the two orange helpers each a pet (and maybe a little treat) from me <3

#writing notes #writing reference #writeblr #spilled ink #dark academia #fiction #creative writing #novel #light academia #literature #character development #writers on tumblr #writing prompt #writing tips #writing advice #writing resources

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thespnreferencedesk · 1 month ago

Text

A Fic Writer's Guide to the 1967 Impala

Part 1 | Part 2: Interior

Click for the full-size, annotated versions of images! Unlabeled screenshots here; full user manual available here

Due to the number of different Impalas used for the show, Baby will have some minor differences between appearances. This guide points out a few of them. Luckily, these differences are minor and will likely never come up in any written works but fan-artists should still keep an eye out.

Now, buckle up. There's a lot to cover.

Baby’s interior color is SEM Color Coat #15093 “Lt Buckskin.” In real life, this color was not an option on the 1967 Impala and was achieved by spraying the existing interior vinyl with vinyl dye. However, 5.22 shows that this is the Impala’s original interior in the show’s universe, so Dean would have only had to use the vinyl dye to touch up during one of his rebuilds. In addition to the buckskin vinyl, Baby also has black bench seats, tan carpeting, chrome trim, and black accents on the wheel and dash.

Baby doesn’t have grab handles or a center dome light, though it does have two rectangular cabin lights over the backseat windows, each next to a hook. Whether or not these interior lights work depends in the episode. The headliner has horizontal stitching that breaks it up into six panels. Sam and Dean rarely use the sun visors, but we do see in 11.04 that they are mirrorless and can swivel up and down and pivot to shade the side windows.

Both the front and back seats are black vinyl (not leather) bench seats with no center consoles. The front bench is manually adjustable via a lever on the driver's side. The seat can slide forward and backward (seen in 10.12) and recline (seen in 1.01). Adjusting the front seat moves the entire bench, including the passenger.

Fun fact: One of the options available for the 1967 Impala was power operated front seats, something I didn't even have on my '07 Hyundai. Power windows were also available, but Baby has neither of these features.

Both the front and back benches are wide if not a bit short length-wise (note that Dean’s hips are basically the same width as the seat). A child could easily lay down completely, a small adult like Claire or Charlie would be a bit curled up, and Sam and Dean can lay out with their knees bent. It is also possible to crawl over the front seat into the backseat or pull someone from the front into the back as we see in 10.04. That said, the cabin roof is not very high (just barely clearing Sam’s head) so expect to hit your head on the roof while in someone’s lap or flailing around in a fight.

Despite seating up to six, there appear to only be four total seat belts. The Impala has adjustable lap belts in the front and back seat rather than modern three-point seatbelts, but Sam and Dean don’t wear them.

The lap belts consist of two parts, a belt with a buckle that sits in the middle of the front seat and a belt with an “eye” piece that retracts into a retractor on the side of the front seat bench. To fasten the seat belts, pull the eye belt all the way out of the retractor before clicking it into the buckle. Adjust the belt by pulling on the excess strap to tighten it, and lift on the buckle then pull the other section of the strap to loosen it. Unfasten the seat belt by pressing the button on top of the buckle.

Up front, Baby has a steering wheel, a black instrument cluster, chrome ignition and other switches, an ashtray, chrome mirror, aftermarket tape deck, Four Seasons factory air conditioner, glove box, adjustable air vents, and padded dashboard (to smack your head on since there are no airbags).

Two different types of door lock buttons are used in the cars on the show. The first are shaped like golf tees while the second are straight anti-theft locks. The anti-theft locks don't have a cap that allows the door to be unlocked with a coat hanger or something similar. Push down on the button to lock the doors and pull up to unlock.

All four doors have a vinyl armrest with a chrome door lever, but the front seat rests do not have ashtrays. There are two different window cranks. The smaller one on top controls the small triangular front window that swivels side to side while the larger one on bottom rolls the main window up and down. Clockwise is up, counter-clockwise is down. Sometimes the knobs on the cranks are buckskin and sometimes they are black which would have been the original color.

In the driver's footwell is a long rectangular gas pedal, short rectangular brake pedal, square parking brake pedal, and labeled parking release lever. The switch for the high beams is on the floor near the driver's right foot and is controlled by tapping. There are also tan rubber floor mats that vary in style but appear in 11.04 as two individual mats with diagonal grooves.

The glove box comes with a lock, and the key for this is separate from the key that opens the door and starts the ignition. When not locked, the glove box can be opened by pressing the button built into the lock cylinder.

Baby's steering wheel is stock with an aftermarket vinyl wrap cover. The correct center horn button for the Impala has a chrome outer ring, gold center ring, and silver inner circle with the Impala logo. Sometimes, such as in 11.04, it’s shown with a Caprice horn.

While the '67 Impala was available as a manual, Baby is an automatic (so no "shifting gears"). Its gear shift/PRNDL is mounted onto the right side of the steering column rather than in the center of the footwell. The indicator (reading "Park RNDL") is mounted at the base of the steering column, below the instrument cluster. To shift from Park to Drive, push down on the brakes then pull the shift lever towards you and pull it down three notches. Press down on the brakes then pull towards you and push up to go from Drive to Neutral (one notch), Reverse (two notches), and back to Park (three notches). To shift from Drive to Low, pull the lever towards you again and pull it down one notch.

For anyone who has not driven a car with a shift lever like this, I can only describe it as feeling alarmingly similar to an old-school lawn mower. Whenever Dean is made to drive another car, he might instinctively reach behind the wheel for the gearshift and find it's not there. Someone used to cars with a center console gear shift might do the same while driving Baby, just reaching for the space below the radio instead.

Also on the steering column are a hazard lights button below the gearshift and a turning signal lever on the left. To turn on the flashing hazard lights, push in the button and pull it back out to turn them off. Lift the turn signal lever to signal right and lower it for the left. Using light pressure causes the blinker to turn off and return to neutral when you release it. Pushing the lever all the way into one position or the other leaves the turn signal on until you turn the wheel back to neutral or manually move the lever.

On either side of the steering column, below the instrument cluster, are four knobs. From left to right, these are for the lights, wipers and washer fluid, the ignition, and a cigarette lighter.

All of the lights on the Impala are controlled by a single light switch knob (below, left). This knob has three different positions: pushed in, pulled out to the first click, and pulled all the way out to the third click. When the knob is pushed in, all lights in the car are off. Pulling the knob out to the first click turns on the parking lights. Pulling all the way out to the second click turns on the low beam (your "normal" brightness). While the knob is pulled out to either the first or second click, turn the knob to adjust the instrument and tail lights for driving in the dark.

The windshield wipers knob is to the right of the light switch. To turn on the wipers, twist the knob clockwise. The first notch is "low" and all the way to the right is "high." Press the knob once to dispense a measured amount of washer fluid or hold it down to keep dispensing until you let go. Pressing the washer button simultaneously turns the knob, so you'll need to turn the wipers back off after.

The ignition key switch is just to the right of the steering column. Once it's inserted, turn the key to the left while pushing in to turn on just the accessories like lights and the radio. To start the car, push down the brake pedal and turn it all the way to the right. As soon as the engine starts up, let go of the key. You don't need to have your foot on the brakes to start the engine. Once it's running, you can press the gas pedal to help prime the carburetor with an additional shot of fuel. Don't pump the gas pedal or you risk flooding the engine.

People born after 2000 might be unfamiliar with how to use a car's lighter. The knob is part of a removable piece, about two inches long. First, push the button in and hold it to heat it. After a few seconds, pull the whole piece out. Yes, it can easily get lost. Touch whatever you wish to burn to the glowing orange heating element inside the cylinder. The removable piece is what gets hot, not the plug. This is also where you plug in things like car chargers or Sam's iPod jack.

A recessed instrument cluster sits behind the wheel. The panel consists of three main displays with the left and right sides each having two smaller displays. From left to right, the three main displays are the fuel gauge, the speedometer, and an analog clock.

The fuel gauge does not default back to "E" when the engine is off and instead may land randomly somewhere on the dial. The speedometer has a listed top speed of 120 and also features the high beam indicator light as well as the mileage. The analog clock is set by pulling out the knob at the bottom of the clock, turning to set the correct time, and pushing the knob back in.

Of the smaller displays, the upper two are the left and right turn signal lights. The bottom left are the brake system warning light and the engine temperature light. The brake warning light lights up red when the parking brake is applied or while the brake pedal is pressed if there is low brake pressure. The engine temperature light comes on if the engine overheats. On the bottom right are the oil pressure light and the generator indicator light. The oil light comes on if the oil pressure is low, and the generator light comes on if there is an issue with the generating system. All four of these lights come on when starting the car, but should quickly go back out.

The air conditioning and vents are where a few more discrepancies between screen-used cars show up. The 1967 Impala came with several different heat and air options: nothing, a heater only, an optional AC unit mounted under the dash, a Four Seasons air conditioning system, or a fancy climate-controlled option.

Baby has the Four Seasons system, but many of the cars used for filming were not. Only the Impalas with the Four Seasons or the climate control came with the center dashboard vent and the circular air vents near the doors. For visual continuity on the show, production added fake vents to non-AC cars. What gives these cars away as being non-AC cars, however, is that these cars have kick panel air vents and two mounted silver knobs that control them. As a Four Seasons car, Baby should not have these vents or knobs but ultimately does on occasion.

The center dash vent is able to be adjusted up and down by the ridged wheels on the sides. The spherical vents are a ball style and can be turned to position them or spun like a globe to change the style of the vent opening (see below). Two leg vents are hidden underneath the dash and can be opened or closed by turning the outlet like a dial. So if Dean wanted cold air blown on his legs but not on his face while Sam wanted cold air on his legs but not his face, both brothers could open or close their own vents.

The vertical switch on the left of the AC control panel controls the fan. Up is low, the middle is medium, and down is high. There is no way to turn it off unless the entire system is off. To turn the entire system off, push the topmost horizontal lever all the way to the left. Turning this lever to "Vent" blows outside air without changing the temperature. Moving to "Cold" blows cold recirculated air, moving further right blows cooled outside air, warmer outside air, and then full heat.

The outlets lever controls airflow to the vents mentioned previously. Moving the lever to "Upper" sends air through the dash vents only, moving to "Lower" sends air to the hidden leg vents only, and setting it in between sends air through both.

To use the defrost to clear up foggy windows, make sure the outlets lever is set to "Lower" or somewhere in the middle then move the bottommost lever towards "De-Ice" until it's blowing as hard as you want. To really crank the defrost or for ice, set the outlets to "Lower" only then blast the fan and push the temperature all the way to "Hot."

Dean's tape deck is an Audiovox Rampage AV 2000 from the 1990s. The '67 Impala came standard with either an AM or AM/FM transistor radio. The AM had a rear adjustable antenna, but the fixed AM/FM antenna was on the front. Looking at Baby, we can gather that it originally had the AM/FM radio. To switch between AM and FM, you would slide the switch at the top of the radio. The push buttons could be used to set favorite stations. Note that Dean's tape deck does not have this feature, so he would have to memorize his favorite stations in certain regions or just search until he finds something.

The original radio was switched out at some point for the Audiovox, either by John or Dean. The knob on the left turns it on and controls the volume, and the knob on the left is tuning. The button on the top left switches between AM/FM, the button on the top right lets you switch between local and longer-distance stations, and the bottom button is both the eject and fast-forward Press in part-way to fast forward and all the way to eject. There is no rewind button. To rewind, flip the tape over, fast forward, then flip it back around.

Fun fact: The shot in 11.04 of Dean putting in the tape is re-used from 5.22, so both “Night Moves” and “Rock of Ages” are on Dean’s Kick It In The Ass mixtape.

Two aftermarket Hertz speakers are mounted in the rear package tray (though a different speaker can be seen in 4.06). Underneath the tray’s black carpet is where Sam and Dean carved their initials as children. The rear footwell is nearly flush with the rear bench, meaning there is no “underneath the backseat”. There is room, however, underneath the front bench for things to get lost. The rear footwell also has a tan rubber floor mat, and the one seen in 11.04 is one single piece rather than two.

Unlike the ones in the front seat, the rear door armrests each have a lidded ashtray. The rear doors each have a door lock button and a main window crank like the front seat doors. There are no air vents in the backseat, so the AC would need to be cranked to reach anyone back there, potentially freezing anyone up front in the process.

Some of the most important things inside of the Impala are the little personal touches it's accumulated over the years. There's the tape deck, of course, but also the initials carved into the package tray, the Lego bricks in the air vent, and Sam's plastic rifleman wedged in the ashtray. These elements are first seen in 5.22 where Chuck mentions that Dean puts them back every time he's had to rebuild the Impala. Seeing the army man through the window in 5.22 is also what allows Sam to take control of his body back from Lucifer, so both brothers are well aware that Baby's supposed "defects" actually make her even better.

#my guides #art refs #car talk #baby #1967 impala

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cuntphoric · 1 month ago

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CLOSED

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nickeverdeen · 8 days ago

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Solved | Platonic!Caitlyn Kiramman x fem!reader

Pairings: Caitlyn x reader (platonic)

Type of fic: Action, Comfort

Warnings: Gas, Fighting

Summary: After someone else passed you a dangerous case and it didn’t emd up ideally, Caitlyn is quick to take care of her favourite enforcer newbie.

—————————

The day had started like any other. As a newbie enforcer, you were eager to prove yourself, eager to help however you could. Since joining the force, Caitlyn Kiramman had taken you under her wing. Her sharp instincts and unshakable integrity had made her a figure you admired and quietly considered the older sister you never had. For reasons unknown to you, Caitlyn had chosen to watch over you, always subtly stepping in when needed.

You remembered the incident with that one enforcer—his crude remarks about your uniform skirt, the way he cornered you in the break room with a sleazy grin. Before you could even gather the courage to report him, Caitlyn had already taken action. She publicly fired him in the most humiliating way possible, her voice cutting through the precinct like a blade. Afterward, she had quietly offered you the option of wearing pants or shorts to work if that made you more comfortable.

“Your comfort is your choice,” she had said, her voice softer, her hand resting reassuringly on your shoulder.

Today, Caitlyn was out handling a case elsewhere when a group of enforcers approached you.

“Hey, newbie,” one of them said, leaning casually against your desk. “There’s a case in the undercity that needs attention. Some shimmer operation.”

Your interest piqued immediately. “Really? What’s the lead?”

They shared the details in vague terms—a warehouse suspected of being a shimmer lab. It didn’t sound too complicated, and they’d made it clear they didn’t want the assignment. You, ever the eager helper, volunteered to take it.

“Thanks,” one of them said with a smirk you didn’t quite catch. “We owe you one.”

It wasn’t until you were deep in the undercity, the dim green glow of chem-lights illuminating your path, that you began to feel uneasy. The warehouse looked abandoned, its windows shattered and its door hanging loosely on its hinges. Still, you pressed on.

Inside, the air was thick and stale. You found signs of recent activity—shimmer vials scattered on tables, tools hastily abandoned. The sound of footsteps behind you made you whirl around, only to be met by a group of hostile figures.

The fight was quick and chaotic. You managed to disarm one of them and incapacitate another, but the odds were against you. Before you could regroup, a figure on the second floor pulled a lever.

A hiss filled the air, and a sickly-sweet smell quickly overwhelmed your senses.

Gas.

Panic surged through you as you realized the trap. The remaining attackers fled, locking the door behind them. Your limbs felt heavy as you tried to move, the gas already clouding your mind. You stumbled, coughing violently, before collapsing to the ground.

When you woke, your body felt like lead, your head spinning. The faint scent of lavender and cedar reached your nose. Blinking, you recognized the room—it was Caitlyn’s. You were lying on her bed, the soft fabric of the sheets foreign compared to the sterile cots of the infirmary.

The door creaked open, and Caitlyn stepped inside, her usually composed demeanor tinged with concern. She carried a tray with a glass of water and some medicine.

“You’re awake,” she said softly, setting the tray down on the nightstand.

“What… happened?” you croaked, your voice raspy from the gas.

Caitlyn sat down in the chair beside the bed, her expression serious. “You were trapped in a warehouse filled with carbon monoxide. It was supposed to be a job for more than one enforcer.” She paused, her brows furrowing. “I found you barely in time.”

You winced at her words, guilt gnawing at your chest. “I… I thought I could handle it. The others said—”

“They said?” Caitlyn interrupted, her tone sharp. “Do you mean the ones who handed this off to you?”

You nodded hesitantly.

Her jaw tightened. “They’ve been fired. Effective immediately.”

Your eyes widened. “You didn’t have to do that…”

“Yes, I did,” Caitlyn said firmly. “What they did was irresponsible and reckless. You could have died.”

You looked down, feeling the weight of her words. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I just wanted to help.”

Caitlyn’s expression softened. She reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I know. And I admire your dedication. But you can’t let people take advantage of your kindness. You have to value your own safety too.”

There was a brief silence before she added, “You’re not a child, and I won’t treat you like one. But I need you to promise me you’ll think twice before taking risks like this again.”

You nodded, the sincerity in her voice making it impossible to argue. “I promise.”

Caitlyn gave a small, relieved smile. “Good. Now, rest. You need to recover.”

As she stood to leave, you reached out and grabbed her hand. “Thank you, Cait. For everything.”

She squeezed your hand gently. “Always.”

As she left the room, you lay back, your mind swirling with the events of the day. You might have made a mistake, but Caitlyn’s unwavering support reminded you that you weren’t alone. You were part of something bigger—a family, even if it wasn’t by blood.

#imagine #arcane #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn arcane season 2 #arcane x reader #arcane season 2

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jiaminlocks · 3 months ago

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dluxdekor1 · 8 months ago

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The Truth About Luxury Lever Door Handles: What You Need to Know Before You Buy

In the world of interior design, every detail counts. From the color of the walls to the furnishings, each element contributes to the overall ambiance and aesthetic appeal of a space. One often overlooked aspect is door hardware, particularly when it comes to luxury options. While they may seem like a minor detail, the type of handles you choose can make a significant difference in the look and feel of your home. In recent years, there has been a growing demand for luxury lever door handles, but what exactly sets them apart from their standard counterparts? In this article, we uncover the truth about luxury handles and provide you with essential information to consider before making a purchase.

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In conclusion, luxury lever door handles are more than just functional hardware; they are investment pieces that can elevate the look and feel of your home. With their superior craftsmanship, aesthetic appeal, and customizable options, luxury handles offer a level of sophistication and elegance that standard handles simply cannot match. However, it is essential to consider factors such as budget, style, and quality before making a purchase. By taking the time to research and choose the right handles for your space, you can enhance the overall ambiance and create a lasting impression with premium door handles.

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lokicraft · 9 months ago

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Self indulgent idea about task force 141 rescuing a wrongly-kidnapped scientist/researcher reader. Gender neutral reader, implied American reader implied violence and torture, implications about the reader looking young (I imagine the reader being between 20 and 30 years old). I see it as future tf141xreader, but feel free to imagine otherwise and/or take this idea and run with it as you please. MDNI.

————

Imagine you are a government researcher. Technically a government employee but you are pretty low on the ladder, just starting out at a research laboratory on a small military base. You are so excited to start working with your supervisor/PI, a very influential scientist who has their fingers in a lot of research pies (some more secret than others).

But you have nothing to do with the secret stuff. You’re more interested in environmental research (of which the military does have to pay at least a little bit of attention to, so you work with what you get).

You’re getting out of the lab late one evening, having to stay even after your PI left to clean glassware (your least favorite task). You lock the door to the research building and walk to your car, only to see someone else parked next to you. The hood of their car is open and they look distressed. You don’t recognize them but it’s not like you know everyone on base. So when they ask you for a jump start you agree and start rooting around your car to pop the hood. You just got your hand around that pesky lever when you feel a sharp pain in the back of your head and everything goes dark.

————

You wake up in a dingy concrete room with your arms and legs tied to an equally dingy chair. You are shocked, panicking and in pain, but through the ringing in your ears you hear shouting from outside the room.

“What do you mean that’s not Dr. Scaffer?” An angry accented voice shouts.

“It was bad intel!” Another voice insists, same accent as far as your fuzzy brain can register, “we did not get any physical description, only that they would be the last one out!”

“A head research scientist with top secret clearance won’t look like a kid who just got out of college!” You hear a muffled bang - your heart stops beating in your chest - but the voice continues, dismissive, “I have to do everything myself.”

He enters the room.

————

Two hours later, not that you can really keep track, you are left alone again. Significantly more injured from what you just went through (your brain cannot even ponder the word “torture” through the unceasing static of your thoughts), you realize that you are going to die. Whoever kidnapped you grabbed the wrong person, and unless they want to know about the water quality of the watershed around base you don’t have any information they want. You are no use as a hostage, and you are going to die. You can only hope it will be quick and painless—

You can’t breathe, you were never good at handling stress.

At least when you’re unconscious it doesn’t hurt anymore.

————

Recovering VIPs is well within their capabilities, Gaz thought to himself as he recounted the brief they were given a short two hours ago. But usually if it was a researcher they were rescuing then their area of expertise would be weapons technology, or infectious diseases, or something that’s not water chemistry. It’s not his job to judge, it’s his job to get you back home where you belong. However the judgmental voice in the back of his mind can’t help but kick in, remembering the profile photo they were provided of you.

“They’re quite a cutie, no?”

Gaz is knocked out of his thoughts when Soap catches up to him, both fully geared up and heading to airstrip. Wheels up is in 15 minutes, and Gaz is sure their Captain and Lieutenant are already in the transport. While Ghost is probably just sitting and “brooding” as Gaz likes to call it, he gives Price a 50/50 on being on the phone with Laswell. Their Captain probably wants to know how a young researcher got kidnapped from an American military base only to end up as a hostage in Russia. Hell, Laswell probably wants to know that too.

“Time ta go save us a bonnie researcher!” Soap proclaims picking up the pace and rushing in front of Gaz. It’s obvious Johnny shares the same thoughts as Kyle when it comes to your appearance, only one is better at keeping those thoughts to themselves.

“Yeah let’s make sure we get them back alive” Gaz responds, his sharp mind working overtime to calculate how long your captors will keep you alive once realizing you are not a spring of top secret information nor a high profile bargaining chip.

“Of course we will mate,” Soap declares, his sober tone almost catching Gaz off guard, “with LT back on the roster we’re at full strength again, n’one left behind.”

Gaz agrees with the sentiment, and taps Soap on the chest lightly as they approach the transport.

“No one left behind”

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Thanks so much for reading, this is my first time writing something like this so I’m still trying to get the character’s ‘voices’ right and all that. If you decide to build off this idea please tag me! I appreciate y’all 💚

#cod mwii #task force 141 #tf 141 x reader #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #fic idea #text post #LC writes

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slyandthefamilybook · 10 months ago

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I know we all like to joke about tzfardei'a like "how can frogs be a plague? it's just a bunch of frogs!" But I think we're going about it the wrong way. So imagine, if you will, this:

You're at home when you find a frog. It's sitting in your living room. That's not so bad. You might even make a TikTok about it. What a silly little guy! But eventually it has to go, right? You don't want a pet frog. So you hold out your hand and the frog hops on and you take it outside. You stand up, go inside, close the door, turn around, and there's a frog.

Okay, that's weird. It must have just jumped through your legs when you stood up. But no worries. You hold out your hand and the frog hops on and you take it outside. You stand up, go inside, close the door, turn around.

There are two frogs.

Okay that's definitely weird. This time you don't try to pick them up. You just use your hands to gently push them out the door. You stand up, go inside, close the door, turn around, aaaaaand one of the frogs had peed on your floor. Great.

You go into the kitchen and open the cabinet under the sink. You reach in and pull out a cleaning spray. Sitting on the nozzle is another frog. Okay, what is going on?

You take the spray bottle outside and gently encourage the frog off. You stand up, go inside, close the door, turn around, and there's another frog. It's standing in the puddle of piss. It croaks at you. Okay, this is fine, you're fine. It's just a frog. You gently but firmly push the frog outside. You stand up, go inside—

There's seven frogs.

In frustration you spray the cleaning spray at one of the frogs. You didn't think it was that much, but the frog's eyes bulge and it croaks and hops around in circles. You watch, horrified, as it lands on its back and its legs stretch out and then it stops moving. The other frogs stare at you in silent judgment. Another one pees on your floor. You gently tap the overturned frog with the toe of your boot. It doesn't move, and it's starting to smell. You reach down and touch one of its feet. It doesn't respond. You go back to your kitchen and get your broom. You start to shoo the frogs out of the door. You get them all out. You close the door and, perhaps irrationally, lock it. You return the broom to the kitchen. There's a frog clinging to the handle. You shout and shake the broom and the frog flies off. It hits the floor with a wet thud and does not move. You pick the dead thing up by a foot and drop it in the trash can. It lands on 10 more frogs, sitting at the bottom, all peeing.

You go to your room and slam the door. Behind you you hear a croak. You turn, very very slowly, and look at your room. Every surface has at least one frog. They all just sit there, staring at you, peeing on your belongings. Several of them, implausibly, are already dead. Their overturned bodies create a stench you wonder how you could have missed. You don't even know what to do with this many frogs. Where do you begin? You go to the bathroom. There are frogs in your toilet. You spitefully go to flush it, but there's a frog clinging to the lever. You try to wash your face in the sink, but it's full of frogs. You leave the bathroom and feel something soft and small crunch beneath your foot...

Everything seems to freeze and you sense dozens of pairs of baleful black eyes turn toward you......

You feel something brush the back of your neck and you swat at it, but your hand meets empty air. You feel something wet and you look down at your hand to see a frog sticking to it, peeing. You shake it off and it lands on the floor, already dead. You trample several more frogs as you sprint to the kitchen. You throw open the fridge, crushing the frog on the handle against the wall, and pull out a brewski. You pop open the cap and raise the bottle. There's a frog already inside your brewski. You throw the bottle down and it shatters, sending tens of tiny frogs scattering every which way. You feel something on the back of your neck again, and again you swat and again hit nothing but air, but this time it's because the frog has already made it down your shirt. You shriek and shout and twist about and a frog jumps inside your mouth. It's one of the tiny ones, and when you talk about this with your therapist later you won't feel confident that you didn't swallow it.

The frogs are everywhere now. Your house is more frog than house. Your kitchen is more frog than kitchen. There are frogs on your fresh fruit, and frogs in your sink and frogs in your sourdough starter. Frogs stick to the ceiling and jump inside the extractor fan above the stove where they make a horrible slicing noise. This can't be happening. There aren't this many frogs in the world, probably! You hear a click and turn, horrified, to see your oven preheating. It's set to 700°. Does your oven even go that high? Inside there are crisp frogs, and frogs waiting to crisp. The smell is unbearable.

You wade through a sea of frogs: frogs piled up on top of other frogs, all shapes and sizes and colors and all peeing and dying and smelling. You burst through your front door and take a deep breath of the fresh, clean air. What you see makes your head spin.

A mass of frogs in the approximate shape of your car sits where you're pretty sure your car used to be. A thing that looks like a dog but made of frogs runs past, screaming. Your neighbor's house writhes under a coat of green and red and yellow. You don't even want to imagine what your neighbor looks like. Frogs inundate your herb garden. They're eating all your herbs. You feel them creeping up your shins, but you can no longer move. You fall to your knees, squashing more frogs as you do. The frogs are all croaking. It's so loud it makes your ears bleed. Their voices all blend together, becoming a persistant hum. And oh g-d. You think you can hear words.

#atlas entry #cosmic frog horror. frogror if you will #passover #pesach #the prince of egypt #plague of frogs #ten plagues #פסח #jew #Jewish #judaism #jumblr

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eaterofman · 1 year ago

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Stuck in The Dark Alone... or Not. (Monster x F!Human) 1.8k

An unlucky adventurer, you find yourself once again the victim of fate as you become locked in a dungeon room... with something else inside.

Content warning: Dub-con bordering strongly on non-con, non-con touching, mentions of death (but no actual character death), overstimulation, yandere monster.

This was supposed to be a quick first foray into writing on tumblr... and ended up being an almost 2k long beast. Oops.

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'Another adventure gone wrong'

You find yourself thinking, head leaning against the cold, stone wall as you gaze into the darkness. The room was rather small, but spacious enough that the candle you had lit did not light up the entire room, causing shadows to gather at the far corners of the room. Finding the candles had been your only stroke of luck today, without it, you'd be trapped in complete darkness.

'When I manage to get out-'

You stop yourself in your thoughts, as the very real possibility that this is where your journey ends sinks into you. You had already exhausted yourself looking for a lever, a button, a switch, any possible escape from this dungeon trap. The walls, while craggy with the ancient stone they were made of, were completely barren of any and all features. You'd been tempted by the chest on the far side of the room. Looking back, you should've known better. Too obvious, too perfectly placed... but that didn't matter now. Nothing really mattered now. You doubt that the small party you had been adventuring with would even notice your disappearance. You were just another temporary member in yet another party. Your unlucky nature, your tendency to seem to just fall right into traps, made you an undesirable companion. This hadn't been your first, second, or even third party, but it may very well be your last. The chest hadn't even had anything in it, clearly a set up by the people who had built this place hundreds of years ago.

Your stomach grumbling distracts you from your spiraling thoughts. Thankfully, you had been carrying your pack with you when you walked into the trap. Within it, you estimated that you had a few weeks of food and water, enchanted to stay fresh longer. Aside from that, you had your sword, shield, and a few other miscellaneous trinkets you had picked up on your adventures. You dug around inside, pulling out a piece of bread and a piece of smoked meat.

Tearing into your small meal, you almost don't notice the movement in the dark corner of the room. It's the slightest shift of a shadow, you'd think it was just a flicker of the candlelight... but it seemed different, somehow. Intentional. You startle, moving to pick up your sword. You stand up, sword in hand, a slight tremor in your body.

You never had been very good at fighting.

Your specialties had always leaned more towards enchantment, healing, and potion making. A good skill to have, but not the most useful when adventuring alone... or trapped alone in a room with something more than likely very undead, and not very friendly. You steady yourself, a single undead or ghoul you could handle. You'd fought many on the way deeper into the dungeon.

As you stare at the wall, minutes pass by... and nothing happens. As time passes by, and the sound of your own breathing begins to wear on you, you find yourself relaxing. Maybe it had just been a figment of your imagination. An attempt at a panicked, overstimulated brain attempting to distract itself. Still weary, you fall back onto the floor, eyes still locked onto the dark edges of the room.

‘... had they gotten darker?’

You brush off the thought, there was no way. The enchantment you had cast onto the candles should keep the candles lit for weeks. You remember the fear you felt as you had fumbled around in the dark, until you’d quite literally fallen right on top of the candles in the corner of the room. They sat on one of the strange, short stone pillars that decorated the room, the only things in the room besides the chest. It seemed like there may be more candles in the other corners, but you can barely make out the vague outlines of the other pillars from where you are, let alone whether they had more candles. You’d go over to check, but you can’t help but feel an echo of the fear you’d felt early when you were completely submerged in the dark when you consider traversing it again.

It had almost been like there was… something in there with you. You were not a stranger to darkness, an adventurer who goes into as many dungeons as you’ve been into learns to get over their fear of the dark rather quickly. There was something… different about the shadows here. A sort of dreadful feeling like they were staring back at you, waiting for you to make a move.

You shudder, trying to expel the thoughts in your mind as weariness pulls at your eyes. You were not only mentally exhausted, but your body was sore and tired from a week’s worth of adventuring, fighting, and your frantic searching for a way out earlier. You close your eyes, despite your instincts telling you not to, and lean against the stone pillar hosting your only lightsource. As your eyes close, you make out the faint details of hundreds of inhuman arms carved into the stone, branching up towards the top of the pillar, seeming to grasp desperately at the sun imprinted at the very top of the pillar.

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You awake from a dreamless slumber to the ever so faint sound of whispers. You jolt awake, a small ounce of hope welling inside you that your party had come to save you, only to be met with an empty room. The same empty room as you’d fallen asleep too except-

Your heart races.

The shadows were so, so much closer than they should be.

You couldn’t even make out the vague pillars in the other corners of the room anymore. You had maybe enough room to stretch your legs out now. You spare a panicked glance to the candles, wondering if maybe you’d screwed up again, been unlucky enough to mess up an otherwise easy enchantment on your only source of light… but the candle is still as tall as it was when you closed your eyes. There had been no mistake in your enchantment, you realize as dread takes hold of you.

The light wasn’t getting weaker… the shadows were getting stronger.

You feel a sob rise out of your chest. You really were shit out of luck. Everything you’d done in life, culminating in getting trapped in a small, cold room in a dungeon, abandoned by your party and left to the whims of whatever the fuck was in the room with you.

You yank your foot back with a scream, startled by what felt like fingers dragging across the sole of your adventure-worn sandals. You curl your limbs up to your body, getting as small as possible as the darkness continues to approach you. You don’t even bother with your sword, instead grabbing your shield and cowering behind it. You doubt whatever was in the dark could be hit with the basic, cheap steel sword you’d bought for 2 gold from a small town blacksmith. Your shitty luck had not made getting gold, or stumbling upon legendary weapons, as easy for you as it seemed to be for other adventurers. But that didn’t matter now, whatever was surrounding you was closing in fast… and it had obviously lost its patience. You try to steady yourself, holding onto your shield tighter as the shadows close in one you. Any moment now, they’d be-

And just like that, the darkness engulfs you.

You sobbed, shaking so hard your shield rattles against the stone floor. For a moment, the only sound in the room is the shaking of your shield and your frantic breaths. Until the thing speaks.

“It’s been….. so long… since we’ve…..”

You freeze in fear, as a thousand voices seem to echo around you, somehow both a whisper and deafeningly loud at the same time. You can’t seem to concentrate on any one voice, the voices sounding both masculine and feminine, shy and bold, warm and cold, and all variations therein. It’s both the most soothing thing you’ve ever heard, and the most unnerving.

You whimper as what seems to be a hand strokes your arm, trying to pull away from the touch. You don’t get very far, as what seems like dozens of other arms join the first in exploring your body. The touch everywhere, some weak, like a faint whisper on your skin, while others roughly pinch and pull at you without any care of their claws scratching you. You cry out as they start to wander closer to between your legs. Your shield is jerked out of your grasp and lands with a clang somewhere in the dark. As one particularly bold one slides against your crotch, the voices continue.

“... had someone to play with.”

You try to get up, to move away, but you only run into more hands, grasping you firmly to keep you in place. They begin to tear at your leather armor, the clawed hands surging underneath to stroke at your bare skin. The pressure between your legs grows stronger as more hands join the first bold one. You can’t help the gasp that escapes you as they descend on your pussy. Surprisingly warm fingers circle your clit while others begin to pry you open. Your fear turns to confusion and arousal as the hands work you over, never staying in one place for long enough to get used to the sensation.

Your experience before this would be considered limited at best, so there was nothing to prepare you for the feeling of dozens, maybe hundreds, or even thousands of hands caressing, pinching, and prodding at you. You're lost in overstimulation as you quickly reach your peak, much too fast, crashing over you as you scream. The hands work you through it, never letting up on your clit, continuing to shove desperately into your pussy as you shake around them… and they don’t let up afterwards either. They’re relentless.

How many fingers are inside you? You can’t focus enough to count as they continue to mercilessly finger you to another climax. More fingers impatiently push into your mouth, prying your mouth open for them to explore. Your sounds are muffled as fingers play with your tongue, rub against your teeth, and choke you until saliva is running down your chin into the valley of your breasts. Your chest is squeezed and kneaded, saliva rubbed into your skin and nipples by yet another set of hands.

Your eyes roll back into your head as you reach your peak again.. how many has that been? How many more will there be? Your thoughts begin to slip as you’re ruthlessly overstimulated. Voices follow you as you begin to black out.

“We are going… to take such good care of you.”

#monster fucker #shadow monster #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #hand monster #that's such a stupid tag but idk how to explain the monster lmao #monster x reader #reader insert #minors dni

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