#nor his feet the pedals

[haley-design]

Happy (late) birthday Max Katstappen 🎂

[idesofrevolution]

Cult of Personality

The blistering New Mexico heat bared down on Douglas' '99 Chevrolet Cavalier. The small blue coupe meandered up I-25, enroute from Las Cruces to Santa Fe. The old man quietly sighed to himself, fruitlessly trying to think of a better pitch to sell his Solar Panels to the rich folks up in Albuquerque. Las Cruces ended up being a bust, just as much as Tucson: the damn things were just too expensive up front. Not that the company gave a single damn, quotas are quotas. Thus, still empty handed, he passed the exit sign for Socorro- still an hour until he'd reach his destination.

As he passed the exit, he noticed a bright red glint a bit further up the road. Douglas adjusted his glasses, squinting his eyes to see. He slowed down on the empty highway as the sight became clearer. It was a car. In fact, it was a bright red '67 Mustang; it's owner leaned on the hood as black smoke bellowed from the tailpipe. Douglas looked down at his watch, knowing fully well that he needed to be in Albuquerque before sundown. Though, as he approached the broken down muscle car, the sweltering heat of the Chihuahuan Desert at high noon would be a killer. The young man leaning on the car turned his head, not even sweating a single drop, and stared blankfaced at Douglas as he pulled up.

Douglas hit the brakes, stopping his car right alongside the young man. He strode up to the old man's car, leaning in and resting his elbows onto window ledge. His stoic expression slowly melted into a wide grin, licking his lips before he spoke.

"You headed toward Albuquerque?" A thick Texan accent flowed from the man's lips, his dark brown eyes nearly black even in the blinding light of the sun. Douglas felt an odd twinge of nervousness as the grinning young man casually smiled; it felt off. Behind that handsome visage, something was brewing within.

"I'm headed to Santa Fe, but I can call you a mechanic from Socorro, he'd be here in a jiffy!" The young man's smile didn't fade, he simply shook his head 'no.'

"Phone's got no service out here, brother. I sure would appreciate a ride. It's just a mile or so up the road." He turned, pointing down the seemingly endless highway. Before Douglas could deny the young man his request, the hitchhiker leaned in closely. It may have been the heat, or it may have been his exhaustion, but for no more than two seconds, he thought he'd heard whispers blowing in the wind. Douglas said nothing, and the young man's grin grew wider. "Thank you, brother. I'll hop in the back."

As he strode back to his car, grabbing a duffel bag from the trunk of his car, Douglas wanted to slam on the gas and blitz out of there. An air of menace surrounded this man, despite his magnetic charisma; yet his foot did not press down on the pedal. The passenger side door opened, as the man hopped into the back seat of his coupe. Too late. The door slammed by itself, evidently thanks to a gust of wind he neither felt nor heard. He pulled the car out of park, and off the duo went. He glanced into his rearview mirror, taking in the sight of his hitchhiker.

He nearly took up the entire backseat. The duffel bag sat next to him, his muscular arms tightly holding it against his side. He was easily above six feet tall, likely even more than six and a half. He threw his arms behind his head, kicking his large feet onto Douglas' armrest. Outwardly, he seemed like just another good looking guy- one he'd likely see on his granddaughter's TikTok. But his guard remained on high alert.

"Just keep driving, brother. I'll tell ya when to turn off." His velvety voice was disarming, a carefree confidence just wafted from him alongside the strange heat which seemed to emanate from his muscular body. For about an hour, the two sat in silence as they rocketed down the highway. Each glance he shot into his mirror, Douglas would see the man smirking- his gaze never meeting the old man's. Thus, as the road veered to the left in the distance, their silence was broken. "Don't turn, just keep going straight." He carried a tone of authority in his voice, a natural command that would be highly unlikely to be ignored.

"There isn't a road straight ahead..." The hitchhiker finally stared into the mirror, his eyes locked on Douglas' reflection.

"Go straight."

As if of their own accord, the old man's hands kept steadfast on their trajectory. As the road began to curve, the Cavalier shot in the commanded direction, straight into the sands of the desert. They swerved, avoiding large rocks and towering Saguaros, before the foothills of the mountains started to come into view. Through the mirage before them, Douglas could see what looked like a campsite ahead, just beyond the thicket of green brambles. A crowd of maybe 50-70 people had gathered in the bowels of the desert. For what purpose, Douglas did not yet know. But as he slowly began his approach, the entire crowd had turned their eyes toward the car. Like the parting of the Red Sea, the crowd split in two; leaving a clear straight shot toward a makeshift platform right at the base of the mountain.

"Thank you for the lift, brother. Do me a favor, will ya? Stick around. I have a feeling you'd love what we have going on today." Again, his timbre was less of a request- and far more of a demand. The tone was never raised, nor was it ever aggressive. However, he felt as if one would be wise to heed his instructions. Douglas simply nodded, turning the car off, and opening the door.

The crowd was filled with a diverse cast of people, all of which were fit, energetic, and young. Not a single soul had seen a day over 30, no less than 21. They stared with vacant expressions in silence until the hitchhiker exited the backseat, at which point they erupted in cheers and applause. Douglas watched with confusion and shock as the young man walked toward the platform, shaking hands, playfully punching shoulders, giving out high fives like condoms at a clinic. Who the hell had he picked up? Where the hell was he? As he hopped atop the wooden structure in one single leap, easily five feet off the ground, he shucked the grey tank top and tossed it into the crowd. A young woman caught it, tenderly holding it against her chest as the onlookers admired his chiseled build. Raising his arms, the crowd went silent.

"Brothers and Sisters, today is the day! Are you ready? Are you rearing? Tell me!" The crowd erupted, Douglas stared around the transfixed athletes, feeling entirely out of place- as if he wasn't meant to be there. "For one full year, you have trusted me to build your bodies into machines: daily training, nightly runs, some of y'all are out there doing some of the hardest workouts we have to offer. Look at you now!" More cheers. "When I told you that your bodies were temples, to treat them as such, each and every one of you took my words seriously. I said that each of you had the potential to become something incredible. You said, but Cameron, I can't ever get to where you're at! But guess what? You followed the regimen, you became part of our family, you became a part of something so much bigger than you even knew. And we are here today, your induction into our movement, the final hoo-rah!" Mimicking the leader, every single one of the parroting people began to chant hoo-rah, once... twice... thrice... like a warcry on the battlefield. Douglas turned, searching through the sea of people to find an escape route. Instead, he only saw five men of the same jacked physique of the leader handing out what looked to be bottles of water. Peering closely, the unlabeled bottles carried a milky white liquid.

"What sort of Jonestown shit is this..." The bottles were disperse quickly amongst the crowd, the cheery if not dim young men had seemingly finished in minutes as the leader droned on. Douglas took the opportunity to make his way back toward the car, only for a moment of dread to wash over him. It was gone. In it's place, a line of tire tracks came to an abrupt end, no vehicle in sight. The old man felt a hand on his shoulder, turning quickly to be face to face once again with 'Cameron' himself.

"I wanted to thank you for helping me, Douglas. I'm more than happy to reimburse you, you've saved the day." Whispers again started to rise around him, incoherently babbling a language far outside of his own knowledge. "Today, my friend, your journey begins." Douglas tried to pry his eyes away from Cameron to no avail. The deep brown eyes seemed to swallow any thought, any desire, any need. Cameron's pupils started to pulse, mimicking the old man's heartbeat, growing larger and larger, until the inky blackness had swallowed his entire iris & sclera. Cameron smirked as he watched the old man's posture fall forward, his shoulders drooping and his jaw hanging loosely. "Mmmmmmm. Good, fall deep, vessel. For your assistance today, your reward is to be one with me, just as all in my inner circle have done."

The black-eyed stud gently guided Douglas away from the crowd, who were busy downing the contents of their respective bottles just as moans and groans started ringing out from the poor fools. The five members of Cameron's inner circle followed suit, their eyes flooding black and mouths curling into devilish grins. The group soon arrived in a clearing of the thicket, circling around a pile of filthy clothes strewn across the dirt. Douglas was slowly guided to them, entirely unwavering in his stonefaced obedience.

"Well, my children. You continue to serve me well. I admit, this body must be hard to say no to. He is a joy to wear." The five goons chuckled menacingly, one or two of them groping at their bulges through their running shorts. "Today, as you all did before him, Douglas aided me in my time of need. On a momentous day as this, such acts must be rewarded. Today, you welcome your new brother." With a swipe of his hand, Douglas' corporate clothing dissolved into thin air, burnt ash flying into the desert wind. He stood there in the nude, the group watching in anticipation as Cameron simply pointed down to the pile of reeking clothes, and Douglas could do nothing but obey.

One by one the articles began to tremble, before sliding across the sand toward their soon-to-be owner. Cameron snickered, snapping his finger. A sweaty jockstrap quickly flew into the air, levitating for a moment before shooting toward the old man's groin. Like a liquid hitting a solid, the grimy fabric collided with Douglas, warping and wrapping around his legs and package until it had settled into it's new home. The brothers grinned, as they watched the old man's admittedly humble bulge swell rapidly. It expanded outward, his balls dropping like ten pound weights as they grew, and his cock elongated and widened until it peeked it's head out from the bottom of the sweat stained pouch. Douglas moaned as his ass swelled thick and bulbous, the formerly wrinkled and smooth skin sprouting dark brown hairs as his bush followed suit. Cameron grinned, strutting over to cup his hand over the musky horsecock and balls that had sprang from his jock.

Another snap of his fingers, and the shorts shot upward, wrapping around Douglas' legs, quickly inflating them with thick mass. His hamstrings widened, his quads becoming hard as iron while his calves tightened. The chicken legs he used to possess now were two massive slabs of hard meat. Cameron continued to grope and massage his prey's bulge, the fabric of the jockstrap growing sticky with his pre as he moaned. The five grunts slowly lowered their own shorts and jockstraps, releasing their sweaty dicks into their waiting palms.

"You humans are so... simple." *snap* The socks slithered like snakes across the ground, surrounding Douglas' toes and sliding around his heel and fastening around his ankle. "All it takes is slipping into some attractive male, and you'll be worshipping at my feet. As will you." The old man's feet cracked and stretched wide, his soles growing soft and sweaty as the stinking running shoes melted around his gigantic feet. The rubber and fabric contorted and stretched, the funk of a thousand runs in the desert heat wafting from within their confines as they reformed into a perfect fit. The group started to stroke their cocks, small droplets of black sludge seeping from their slits. Cameron grinned, sliding his hand into Douglas' jockstrap and wrapping it around his throbbing member. "You, however, will be a prince among men."

*snap* The pot belly which had plagued Douglas for 30 some odd years slowly receded, fading into obscurity as if it had never been there to begin with. His abs tightened, his pecs became lean, his waist slimmed quickly with powerful obliques and cum gutters pointing toward his hose. Whispers started to echo in the wind as the five cultists stroked their cocks, streams of black, tar-like slime coalescing into pools at their feet.

"You will be a father of my spawn, a carrier of my seed." Cameron continued to pump the massive dick, watching with malicious glee as his arms grew sinewy and lean, his hands large and wide, his fingers long and slender. "Today, our army is founded." The possessed stud placed his hand on the balding head of the former salesman, pushing him to his knees; his mind blank as his master's shorts slid down to his thighs, releasing a grotesque sight. Whatever his host's member used to be was long gone, now corrupted with demonic seed. It stood upright, intricate black symbols wrapping around the foot long shaft all the way to his foreskin. "Receive my blessing, mortal. Be one with me." The ripe rod inched forward, dripping thick globules of the black sludge onto Douglas' thighs as it pressed against his face. His mouth opened, and it was over.

In a single thrust, the monstrous cock pushed past his lips and deep into his throat as Cameron began to face fuck the old man. The pools of black sludge from his minions writhed toward him, engulfing his legs in their glistening form before slinking toward his tight hole. Cameron threw his head back in ecstasy, howling a thunderous and unnatural roar as his underling's seed seeped into Douglas' rear. The sounds of squelching, cracking, suction rang out as the roars began to grow louder. Each slap of his face against Cameron's bush reformed his aged face. New hairs sprouted on his scalp, a thick forest of black spreading across his head. His lips plumped as they slurped on the smelly cock, his skin tanning and all wrinkles disappearing. The last vestiges of the black sludge squeezed into his hole, and with a wicked, fiendish grin the possessed stud cursed out into the open desert air:

"WE... ARE... ONE!" 'Cameron' released his gift down into his new son's throats, a torrent of black seed rushing out of his length and into Douglas' transformed body. His veins started to flush dark, until an inky blackness had sprawled across his lean, taut figure. Whatever remained of Douglas sunk into a void of darkness, only to be encompassed by the viscous corruption. 'Cameron' grinned, his will quickly overwhelming the spirit of the old man before slipping his demonic essence within it. More and more of him flooded into the body, squeezing into the soul, until it was unclear where Douglas began and 'Cameron' ended. Dismounting his new creation, he watched with glee as the convulsions died down, and it's eyes opened, revealing an endless inky black as it grinned.

"Yes, my master, this vessel shall fit our needs quite nicely." As his eyes slowly started to return to their normal hazel, the corruptive sludge within his veins reformed, pushing upward through the capillaries and into the skin, now little more than tattoos to the naked eye. 'Cameron' grinned, another human ensnared into his dark consciousness, little more than a husk to house his essence.

'Dougie' smirked as he pulled up his fetid shorts, quickly masking his cock dripping the black sludge of his master and brothers as he threw his sweaty arms around his new family, walking toward their new army.

---

"Alright, Santa Fe! Are we ready to get fit?" The crowd erupted as Cameron stood before them, his arms raised on the roof of the building, grinning over the 200 new disciples he was prepared to imbue with his gift. Those who had been with him at Socorro stood silently amongst the unsuspecting enthusiasts, ready to 'assist' their 'ascension' should the need arise. Just beside the building, his sons had gathered behind the truck in a circle, chanting words beyond our most vivid imagination as they stroked eachother's musky cocks into the large vat of water. 'Dougie', now a favorite of Cameron, devilishly grinned as he felt the first torrent of his corruption spew into the clear water, the thick black sludge slithering about before dissolving into the liquid as if it were never there. Round after round, they shot their father's seed into water, until there was more of the seed than there was of the water.

"Alright, brothers. I think that should do it." His deep, bellowing voice brought each of his brothers attention on him as they put their cocks back into their shorts. "Hah, and not a minute too soon." The crowd of feckless initiates began to line up, in desperate need of hydration, of which 'Dougie' was more than happy to provide. He hopped up onto the bed of the truck, as his brothers ladled their refreshment into individual bottles. Snatching one, 'Dougie' snickered. "Who's thirsty?"

[anystalker707]

Let me help you

Pairing: Gerard x [gender neutral] Reader Word count: ~ 3 400 Genre: Smut / Comfort Summary: Gerard finds comfort in you, for some reason. No one more than a last-minute stage manager.

Requested by anon "Gerard comfort sex x reader?? Where he’s sad/insecure and gets comforted by very loving (...)"

not proofread

MASTERLIST

          You weren't part of the band nor someone that'd been around for longer than Mikey’s new bass, only a last-moment stage manager Brian had fixed for that leg of the tour, so it was an easy valve of escape for Gerard. It was easy to tell you stuff knowing you wouldn’t do a lot more than warm smiles and hearty comments carefully made since you didn’t know how far to go due to the lack of proximity. He was able to talk to you without receiving a merciless lecture like Ray’s nor did you give it much attention when he came around in an absolutely deplorable state.

If it was pity or anything else, Gerard didn’t know, but it didn’t matter either; he was content enough with the occasional cuddling or how you’d ruffle his hair when he was sitting on the couch and you passed by. You’d talk to him a lot when he was sober, so it was sort of a motivation for him to keep himself sane for a little longer even with this itching under his skin.

That day, Mikey and Ray had spent a long time lecturing Gerard during the day—thankfully away from you, after the concert—because his drunk inconsequence had not just himself but the whole band in risk with the beer carelessly left near the pedal board, aside from what he’d spilled on Frank’s guitar and never warned anyone about. Why were they so annoying with him? He didn’t tell anyone exactly to avoid that; a little beer on the guitar wouldn’t kill anyone with a small shock, would it?

Gerard had already sobered up a little by the time they needed to head back to their hotel rooms—unable to do anything when practically forced by Ray, Mikey, Frank and Brian to stay back and help put things back, and he couldn’t help but to do as said since you were there helping as well yet again. He stood outside the hotel thinking, his gaze averting between the hotel and the way the guys from the opening band had gone to have fun. The idea that he would calm down the itch under his skin, that urge he had within himself, was really nice, but he would be all gross afterwards all over again, need to hear it from Ray all over again, and feel like the worst person on the universe when seeing you shift and try not to look at him too much.

There wasn’t a lot of thought when Gerard stepped back into the hotel and didn’t even bother to wait for the elevator, just climbing the stairs. He didn’t know when the last time had been, but he took a shower tonight, making sure he was presentable enough so you would maybe feel proud of him when he stood outside your door. It took him a couple of minutes with his thoughts, thinking and rethinking even if messily, then he finally knocked.

“Gerard!” You smiled warmly once opening the door, eyeing him from head to feet discreetly. “Do you need anything?”

His breath caught in his throat at the same time his eyes fell to the ground. “I...” How would he say it without being too direct? Convince you? Fuck it. “Um, can we hang out? Can I come in?”

You raised an eyebrow and paused, glancing back at your room for a quick check before you nodded and stepped aside. “So, what’s up, hm?” The door was closed behind both of you with a soft click.

“Um, I just wanted to hang out. I don’t want to be alone,” Gerard mumbled, standing there fumbling with his thumbs until you took some of the stuff on the bed away and motioned for him to sit down. “The guys are off to their own things and I... I don’t want to go to a bar or anything tonight.” He scratched the back of his head—immediately taking his hand away when he remembered his hair was still wet from the shower—, waiting for your answer as someone waits for a bomb to go off.

“I see.” You stood in the corner, fumbling with your phone and the charger until it was charging and you moved to sit down next to him. “I mean, I got nothing else to do as well so it’s fine. Do you want to talk about it, or...”

Gerard looked down at the carpet of the hotel. Wow, it had a carpet, and a good one. Revenge’s success was really doing things to them. “Well,” he mumbled, voice sounding louder than it should in that room, “I would like to apologize, y’know? Sometimes I’m all gross and stuff, and I keep pushing myself on other people. I don’t like being like this, I can’t help. Well, I know that just saying ‘I can’t help’ isn’t a fair excuse and it’s not going to change things, but it’s also so hard—”

“Hey, hey, it’s fine,” you interrupted once he started running out of air, your hand landing on his shoulder comfortingly. “I mean, we have our ups and downs, highs and lows, and it’s good that you’re aware of what’s going on and you’re trying to change. Focus on living each day at once first. Get better then make it up for everyone.”

Gerard didn’t know how to react. There was something about you since you came around that always had him going weak, growing infatuated. He didn’t want to be that mess of a person for you. He swallowed as he slowly turned to look at you; it felt like his cheeks were on fire and his heartbeat could be heard in the whole room.

“Gee, are you okay?” You frowned at the prolonged silence. “Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry if I did.”

No! No way you’d said something wrong—it was actually wise and he’d keep those words in his mind, but right now, all that talk felt useless. Gerard couldn’t keep his eyes off his lips for too long and he was afraid it would be weird.

“I like you a lot,” he mumbled almost involuntarily and hoped he would just disappear at the moment your gaze softened; your lips curled into yet another smile. “Sorry, I—”

“Can I kiss you?”

A ringing sound filled his ears as Gerard’s eyes averted to you, but all he could do was breathe an ‘eh?’, trying to identify whether he was going crazy or not. Maybe the lack of using anything had him going crazy.

You shrugged a little, a smile still lingering on your face as you scooted closer to Gerard, your touch feeling like fire when you cupped his cheek. “I like you a lot too,” you mumbled, always careful—you couldn’t afford what you’d seen as signals being instead just Gerard being nice to you. “Let me show you how much?” Your eyes averted to his lips in a wordless encouragement.

Gerard opened his mouth and closed it a couple of times, his thoughts not nearly organized enough for him to voice them. “I... Yes, please.”

Despite being breathed as softly as possible, Gerard’s words reached your ears, and it was just a matter of seconds before the distance between the two of you started to dissipate. At first, it was just your lips grazing his, experimental, then you finally locked your lips properly in a way he couldn’t help but to hum. The tension that gripped onto his shoulders slowly wore out into something softer, gentler, that had him leaning in to deepen the kiss and have more of your touch, more of you, which you gladly gave.

A shiver ran down Gerard’s spine with how you caressed his cheek before holding onto the back of his head, leaning his head a little so you could deepen the kiss. Just that alone made him go weak, in a way he would’ve fallen if he weren’t sitting already in the first place. The kiss was over once your lungs protested for oxygen, but there were just seconds before Gerard pulled you close again by your shoulders. This time, the kisses were slow this time, open mouthed and with little tugs.

Gerard’s lips were bright red when you pulled away truly, his eyes wide, but not lost like earlier, instead warm and carrying another feeling in those dilated pupils. That was a nice sight. He cleaned his throat and wet his lips, not knowing where to look.

“Was that okay?” You questioned softly, caressing the side of his neck.

“Very,” Gerard whispered in response, but it sounded like there was something missing—not words, just something—, but it was easy to solve this with another kiss. This time, he was the one leaning in and connecting your lips in a slow kiss he used to nibble on your bottom lip. Whether it was to attempt dominance or not, it wasn’t exactly clear, but it still didn’t stop you from taking his bottom lips between your teeth instead, leaning closer on reflex.

The red color that took over Gerard’s face was brighter than earlier, going down to his neck and probably to his chest. He blinked a couple of times before he placed a hand on your chest with a gulp. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

Gerard shrugged a little, pressing his lips together. “I— Dealing with me, in general! It must be inconvenient and all, and you don’t need to do this! I’m not completely powerless over my actions, you don’t need to feel pity—”

You paused, trying to fit into his perspective, but all you did was to scoff. You could go deep into it, try to convince otherwise, but you could only scoff as you shook your head. “I— Gerard, better not think about it right now, like...” It was hard to find the words that described what you wanted to say without prolonging it a lot. “A thing is not a burden if you decide to deal with it. In this case, a person. So just... let it go.”

Whatever he thought, it wasn’t very clear—Gerard furrowed his eyebrows and his fingers twitched as his eyes fell to the ground. He then nodded, sighing, mumbling apologies until he caught himself and pressed his lips shut as he shook his head. Words died at his tongue despite how he opened and closed his mouth in useless attempts of saying something then decided to just press his lips against yours this time. The pressure on your chest had you lying back down, against the bed slowly, but it was just a matter of time until the positions were swatched and you straddled Gerard’s thighs.

Hands tugged you closer, holding onto the back of your head and onto your shirt so you’d be pressed to Gerard. As much as you wanted to give in to it, this feeling kept hammering in your chest until you pulled away.

“If you keep pushing me like this, I’ll just—”

“Do it,” Gerard mumbled against your lips in response, “I don’t care. I like you.”

Gerard seemed and smelled sober, his lips didn’t taste as anything aside from the far hint of toothpaste and the almost permanent notes of cigarettes in the background, so you didn’t hesitate and just let your lips travel down his neck, leaving behind kisses and nibbles on the soft skin that snatched such soft pretty sounds from him.

“You’re so pretty, Gerard...” Your words were whispered against his skin softly, making it rise under your touch. He grumbled something in response, but you couldn’t quite identify it, instead just letting your fingers peek under the hem of his shirt until he started tugging it up by himself and it was discarded to the ground of the room.

A small smile sketched on your face before you could let your lips wander down to Gerard’s chest and adjust your position on your lap, already feeling something against the inside of your thigh according to how you shifted. It was easy to feel this want also rising inside you seeing how he wanted you just the same.

You only pulled away so your shirt could also be discarded, thrown to the ground with the same care as Gerard’s, followed by your bra, all for you to come to a pause. Your legs still hung uncomfortably from the bed, hence you needed to move away for a moment, allowing him to kick away his shoes and socks before moving further up the bed to make himself comfortable among the pillows.

“Can I?” You asked with your fingers hooked around the waistband of his sweatpants.

A quiet and small ‘yes’ came in response before you could start pulling it down, only really taking your time to undress him when it came to his boxers. Soft sounds came from him when your lips traced the skin right above the waistband at the same proportion his breath became heavier. Your thumbs sunk into his hips to rub circles into it and his legs twitched around you, tensing up completely once your mouth pressed to the bulge in his underwear, nuzzling his crotch until he gasped and threw his hips up against your face.

Gerard had his eyes shut when you looked at him again, blushing all the way down to his chest, though his calmness only lasted until he came back to reality and he almost curled up into himself out of reflex.

“I—”

“You’re so pretty, y’know?” You commented as if it were random; it was a futile attempt to take the pressure away, but worth a try. He couldn’t react, only blushing profusely as you pressed more kisses to his chest and down his torso as you pried his arms away from around his torso.

The sharp and uncertain atmosphere that the room had so far slowly melted into something more comfortable and thick that completely took over when all of your clothes were now tossed to the ground. Gerard sat against the headboard as you straddled his thighs, guiding his hands to your hips without breaking the kiss as you ground your hips against his.

It was a little mindless at first, messy movements that only snatched a proper moan from both of you once his cock slipped between your folds, coating with your wetness and running against your clit just right. You couldn’t help but repeat the motion, moaning against Gerard’s lips as your fingers tightened around his shoulders; not more than his hands tightened around your hips, nails sinking into the skin and leaving crescent marks.

“P—Please,” Gerard mumbled breathlessly. Hard to refuse.

“Okay,” you answered just as loud, brushing your nose against his softly and enjoying him for just a little longer before you could get up and rummage through your stuff until you found a condom, thanking yourself for never taking it off your bag in the first place. You ripped the wrapper yourself, making sure to receive at least a little nod from Gerard before you could help him out with the condom—he gasped quietly, hips shifting while you ran your hand up and down his cock. “Is this alright?”

“Yes.” Gerard nodded with a hum, running his tongue between his lips. “Don’t you need to prepare...”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You shook your head and pressed a soft kiss to his lips to soothe his worries before you could finally do it, letting his cock run between your folds and then press it to your entrance, holding it in place until it was about halfway in.

Despite the initial usual weird feeling of a new intrusion, the burning of the way you stretched around Gerard could easily send chills up your spine, allowing the arousal to start pooling in your lower stomach as your thighs quivered. Gerard moaned into the kiss, never stopping to hold onto you ever since you moved back onto his lap.

“Fuck,” you cursed longly through a hiss, finally allowing yourself to let your weight down onto his lap and the sensation had you take a moment from the kiss, breathing heavily and holding him tighting. Whatever he mumbled under his breath, you couldn’t make it out, but it didn’t feel like it mattered, though, so you just cupped his neck to bring him for a kiss as you shifted your lips.

Gerard, however, broke the kiss himself this time, pressing kisses down your neck and then reaching your chest. A couple marks were left behind before he could actually start mouthing at your breasts, earning himself praises he would bask on while you ran your fingers through his hair, somethings tugging onto the strands a little to pull him closer.

His tongue was warm, leaving behind a trail of saliva that, when hit by the cold air, made you shiver and shift more under his touch, and it didn’t take long for you to start moving your hips and fuck yourself with his cock, letting him work his lips around your nipple while his opposite hand fondled your opposide breast.

Gerard’s name left your lips in an obscene tone that cut through the heavy silence of the room, mixed with the loud panting and sound of skin against skin that just contributed to the intense atmosphere.

“Yeah,” you breathed mindlessly when the right shift of your hips matched how his teeth ran against your nipple. It was so fucking good, but still needed you taking a pause to adjust your position and roll your hips properly, reaching all the nice spots easier and giving Gerard more space to pamper your chest.

“You feel...” Gerard groaned, voice still shy. “You feel so good.” His eyes never met yours, not only because they were busy with your body instead, though also because of his shyness.

You sought a sensation each time better, and Gerard seemed willing to give you the best he could, one hand strong around your thigh and the other accompanying his mouth on your breasts until he took a pause and his hand slipped between the two of you instead. Maybe he was uncertain, letting his touch linger hesitantly, but then his thumb was pressed to your clit and your movements faltered.

“Gerard,” you gasped at the feeling, pulling him closer; given how pale he was, it wouldn’t be a surprise if his back ended up all marked after that, already littered with bright red lines that followed your nails.

It was a burst of confidence that had Gerard changing positions as gently as possible so you had your back against the mattress and him on top of you, thankfully giving a break for your thighs that you didn’t know you needed until now. A string of louder moans escaped your lips with the new angles and how his fingers ran against your clit, gaining speed with the ‘harder, Gee’ encouragements that spilled from your lips until he obliged. His face has been buried in your chest until the way you tugged the hair on the back of his hair made him focus on your breasts again.

“Jus’...” You mumbled, arching your back. “Jus’ a little more...” The works practically ran into one another, slurred to the same proportion your mind felt fuzzy with the pleasure that just intensified with the far sensation that only grew closer with every movement. “Fuck,” you groaned, arching your back again and holding him tighter until the knot in your lower stomach grew tighter, to a proportion the pleasure spreaded through your body in a nice tingling sensation before going down to your core at once in a way your toes curled, slowly dissipating and being ridden through with his fingers still playing with you until all that lasted behind was a throbbing sensation.

Gerard gasped with it, the way you reached your climax having his thrusts faltering until they grew longer and harder, at the same time his breath was caught in his throat, and it was just a matter of time until he laid down on top of you.

The few moments you spent holding onto each other and trying to catch your breath were just mere minutes that felt like forever before Gerard pulled himself away, getting rid of the condom before he collapsed on the mattress this time. You were next to him before he could notice, pressed to his side and up on an elbow while you cupped his face to cover it in kisses, nuzzling him and kissing his lips at last.

“Thank you, sugar,” you mumbled to his shy form, receiving a small smile in response as he leaned in for another kiss.

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

[cherubispunk]

CHERUB (PART I) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: your uncle can’t pay for his weed, joel finds another form of payment.

a note from Lucy: SHEEE'S BAAACK! im sorry but someone had to do it. I took it into my own hands. Hate myself...but I love this. When fleabag said ‘I am a bad feminist’>>>.

playlist | alternate banner by THE cherub @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

wc: 3377 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! no outbreak (but Sarah still dies sorry), no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ‘Cherub’, porn with little plot, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20's and Joel is in his late 50s), Smut, dubcon, P in V sex (unprotected), Creampie, Cumplay, dom!Joel sub!reader dynamic, sex as payment for drugs, allusions to oral - m receiving, Fingering, ever so slight assplay, Choking, gagging (not on his d tho *sigh*), panty sniffing and stealing, Light Spanking, mentions of using drugs such as weed, alcohol consumption, Smoking, use of pet names (baby, cherub, angel, good girl...etc), Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk, spitting, spit play. Some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile porn I have written thus far...with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

series m.list | m.list

It was no delicate whisper, or hushed uttering that Joel Miller was now everywhere in you. Scraping the backs of your teeth, festering like a virus in your bloodstream. Melding to the marrow of your bones. The walls of your cunt. 

He had a devastating habit of seeping through the cracks of your closed lids. Ready to pillage and plunder his way through your head in its numbed state of sleep. When you could have finally— finally stopped and not felt. But he ebbs deeper.

He did not belong there.

He would not belong there. You’d not give him closure to live and breathe in intimate parts of your anatomy. The only place he would be from now on was between your legs. And maybe in your bed until the wee hours of the dry morning. 

That is where you would let him sit.

That is where he would stay. 

You hate him. You hate his face. You hate his voice. Hate his fucking temper. But worst of all— the cataclysmic catalyst in your small world of four bedroom walls—you hate how you don’t hate him at all. Not really. Your heart wouldn’t let you. It would break your own ribs clean in two to lurch from your flayed chest and into his palms. If only he’d open them. 

Joel Miller gnashed you between his teeth to let you splatter past his lips on the sun cracked dirt. He circled you like a wild cat. His pretty gazelle. Graceful, light on her feet. You felt the splintering distraction of him in the base of your skull. Dull and aching. Still there to rot into earth.

You came for the pleasure but you stayed for the pain. 

Distraught with him, you contemplated desertion. Something akin to treason for his tyranny. Cowardice churning at your gut. The pleasure you would draw from the curling scowl of his coarse brows. The thin line you’d make of his lips and dark mist of hickory that would cloud his eye and better judgement. 

But then what? You soon learned  that if it wasn’t devastating, reaping its agony in your silly little fractured chest— you didn’t dare need, nor crave it. Joel Miller was harrowing. 

Broken. Broken, broken, broken — Maimed, shattered, blistered to burst like waterlogged paint. He made you all, and nothing. Made you shrivel into your own shell at the phantom of his thought. Baring your teeth at the need to divulge in feeling deeper than satiation. 

—

You’d cycled back home, hair damp and lank with rare Austin rain. Slow circles of the pedals around a pivot, swerving gently from one side of the empty road to the other. Eyes ahead of you. It was like you were floating in a daze under the yellow saturation of the streetlamps. Past shabby housing estates back to the trailer park you called home. Tips from tonight tucked into the pocket of your apron, ready to be stored under the mattress in the moth bitten pillowcase. Ready to find your flight out of this town. 

You skidded to a halt in the pebble speckled dirt outside your trailer, brakes squealing in protest. Standing to lock up your bike to the railing by your uncles beat up, busted down truck. A heavy thunder cracked above, a swollen storm cloud rolling in to send the summer out on its departure with a bang. September was here. And the air smelled acidic with the promise of downpour. 

Glancing at the trailer next door, you came to realise your neighbour was in. Lights on, music rattling aluminium walls of his shabby home. You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes at him as he caught your eye in his window. Watching, thumb swiping over his lower lip as he eyed you in your uniform. A stupid yellow dress and pinafore, scuffed mary janes, frilly white socks. Ketchup stains. Doe eyes glued to him, you saw a swallow pass down the thick column of his throat. His deep hickory eyes were dark black in this light, pupils blown to devour the colour.  

Before the heat licking up your cheeks could pull to your centre, you moved one foot in front of the other, crashing through the door. The TV was on, a barbaric film of screams drowned out the thunder outside, rattling in your ears. Jarring? No. The regular. Your uncle, ever the washed up cop out he was, was on his fifth beer, no doubt would send a nightcap of whiskey down his throat before lugging himself off to bed. The bottle hung limp in his drunken hand, loosely dangled over the armrest of the leather couch.

He did not spare you a glance. 

“I’m home.” You called out to him, waving out a hand in his direction. His sunken stoner eyes didn't drift from the box television in front of him. Merely garbled grunt, followed by a beer burp passed his lips. You sighed through your nose, teeth set on edge. “You had dinner?” 

Another grunt. One you took as ‘the fuck do you think?’

You sighed, “Okay, i’ll throw somethin’ in the oven, yeah?” This time he did not spare an answer. 

You took it as a blessing. Could have been worse. He could have struck you for being late, taking on overtime for Dee, the young mother who worked alongside you on friday evenings. You needed the money. Uncle Luke got laid off last month, turning up to the impound lot drunk, reeking of hard liquor and staggering around machinery. 

So you left it at that, disappeared to hide your money, counting out the bills into piles of ten. Just shy of ninety six dollars. All gathered and stuffed under your mattress. Next was dinner. Nothing much in the fridge, a box of frostbitten waffle fries, out of date in the back of the freezer. Or leftover pizza from the night before. Why not both. ‘Have a feast!’ you humoured yourself dryly. 

It was an hour or so later into the evening when your uncle finally spoke up, empty plate resting on his beer belly, another belch to punctuate the first words he said to you all evening.

“Do me a favour and drop by Joel's will ya, doll?” You sat up, looking at him from the lazyboy seat you perched in, feet kicking down from the coffee table. 

“Joel’s? Why?” He looked over to see your brow furrowed in question. 

“Usual dealer is outta town. Joel’s hookin’ me up with some in the meantime.” 

“Come on,” You sighed, tilting your head at him the way a parent would do with a child in pity, “I thought you were clean.”

“It’s just weed.” He snapped, voice gruff in his thick drawl, slurred. “Aint gonna fuckin’ kill me. But you might. Expensive brat.” 

The thought flickered across your mind to argue. Fight back. Tell him you were fighting tooth and nail for the rent due next month. But the bruise of his handprint and the simmering burn of his slap to your face the night before stopped your words dry in your throat. 

“Fine.” You sighed. 

And so, with heavy feet and a grudge in your tight chest, you ambled on over to the next door, knuckles rapping on his door three times quickly. 

Joel Miller opened the door with a puff of air out his nose, cigarette hanging loose from his lips. A barrel chested man in a tight wife beater and low slung dirty jeans, brow set in stone. The corner of his lip curled into a sneer of a smirk, taking no shame in the fact he was eyeing you head to toe. The devil down smirk. It made something disgusting tug at your insides, pool deeper in the thick of tension. 

“What can I do for you?” He asked in a drawl, crossing great oaks of arms over his chest. The neck of his tank let tease a smattering of salt and pepper hair over the top of his chest. Bristly, wiry. You ignored the urge to feel it catch in your nails. Do the same with the scruff, scant over his jaw. The same gradient. Just as coarse. 

“Um,” You eyes dropped from their ogling to the step your feet were planted on, head hung with them, “Uncle Luke said you had somethin’ for ‘im.” You mumbled after clearing your throat. 

“I do.” He nodded, pinching his cig between his thick thumb and forefinger, taking a drag and parting it with his lips. He squinted as he exhaled, the stench of the cigarette catching bitter in your nose. “He sent you over here to get it? A sweet lil’ thing like you.” 

You nodded hesitantly, still not daring to look at the man in front of you. Above you. He chuckled inwardly at your display of subservience, cock twitching behind the zipper and denim of his jeans. “Look’t ya.” He mused, tossing his dying cigarette onto the gravel, hooking his tobacco stained fingers under your chin to lift it. While your head tilted up at his touch, your eyes strained to stay on the floor. He watched as the stretch of your neck struggled to accommodate a nervous swallow, skin rippling deliciously under his hold. “Lil’ angel aint ya?” He thumbed your head to the side, eyes relishing in the sight of more skin, the wash of yellow light over your profile. “A Cherub.”  Cherub. That’s what he named you. His little Cherub who was defiled and taken in a heated, frantic assembly of limbs. Pulled to fire at hell's mouth. Joel Miller's mouth.

Still you looked down. “Look at me, Cherub.” And with a heavy sigh you did. That was what was so easy about Joel. It took nothing to obey. Nothing to give in and keel over at his side. “That's better.” He mumbled under his breath, watching the rise of your chest. You could feel the pert tips of your breasts pebble at the meeting of his eyes, mixed with his touch. How delicate it was now. How deranged it would be later. “Come on in…Cherub.” He practically crooned the pet name, stepping aside. 

You passed the threshold, a mistake for the best and words parts of you. Because stepping across that line was the damning event in your experience of Joel Miller. Pandora’s box had been opened, left to decay in the woods somewhere as evil poured guilt free from it.

He rummaged around for a second, pulling a clear plastic ziplock bag from a duffel in the corner, dangling it in front of your face. A dirt green, clustered in form. You reached to take it, but he snatched it back with a cruel smile, making the walls of your stomach curl in dread, jaw clamp shut. 

“Luke’s gotta pay up, first. He give you money for me?” You shook your head. His eyes clouded darker.  “No?” He raised an amused brow, “How you gonna pay for it, Cherub?” 

You're stumped. “I– I…” Your voice died in your throat. But Joel can seemingly peer inside you to your own mind, part it like a page of a book or your own legs. 

“I don’t want your money, baby.” 

“Woulda been mine, anyway.” You sigh. And he narrows his eyes at you, tutting in disappointment. 

“I can think ’f one thing that’ll make it up to me.”

And that's how you ended up here. His thick, intruding fingers hooking into your mouth, unhinging your jaw as he speared you on his cock. Everything about him was larger than life. Even the way he breathed was domineering. Fucking you with flared nostrils that gave way to a billowing a breath. The other hand at your neck, revelling at the feeling of your pulse hammering under his splayed palm. Worming your way though cracks in his thick ribs while took you.

He had folded you in half, pressed the knobbles of your knees up to the sides of your head as tears ran thick, hot and slow down your temples. He made it hurt. But you loved it. Needed him to evaporate into air so you inhale him. Devour him. 

He grunted, watching in furrowed brow amusement while his thumb pressed into the soft flesh under your jaw, middle and forefinger coated in your slick form earlier and now your own saliva. 

It was a primal image. One some may find disgusting. To see him bent over you and ravaging your cunt raw. Bleeding you dry of a semblance of sanity. It was so easy when the tip of his hot, angry cock nipped at the mouth of your cervix with vigour like that. His hand is at your throat, pressing a purple bruise into your flesh over the old one made by another man. For you to marvel at later when he once again staggers from bed to refresh himself with a cool beer, clutching the ache that curled at the base of his spine. 

In his eyes, you needed a big god. A man to keep you to yourself. Never have you stray. Ground you with the slamming of his pelvis into your hips. Legs parted for him to eye the very core of you. The seam he would part with two fingers, hot, needly, wet for him. Aching and pinching and shuddering around his digits, tongue, dick. Letting him invade you like the good girl he told you you were, crooning into your ear with hot damp breaths. 

Joel dredged up an ache of humanity in you that felt numb so long before. Lay dormant in the chasm of your stomach. Swallowed like a peach pit to choke on later. After the sin had dried like the sweat on your skin.

“Fucking easy, ain’t ya, Cherub.” He would say as he penetrated your walls, invaded your mouth with his fingers. His lips draw open mouthed, wet kisses to the delicate column of your throat, down the bone between your breasts. Then he leans back, watching intently as his hips slow to grind, dragging the slick of your walls to drench the base of his cock. Ready for you to take down your throat later if he wished to meld you into that position. A hand let free the grip on your throat, instead watched with fascination as he slapped your tit, took the swell of it in his palm, cupping it, tugging at your pearled nipple. “Gonna take all of it for me, Cherub.” 

You garbled out a yes, a cry of submission to him. Before, Joel never felt the acidic aftertaste of guilt for being selfish. Since he lost Sarah, he took it upon himself to have what he wanted and when he wanted it, without a damn for the rest of humanity.

The only time he felt a shred of remorse was when he stole you; Hid you away from the warm, nurturing touch of others' more loving, less brutal hands. But you were his Cherub. All that was pretty a beautiful and to be desired in the world.

With his lip between his teeth, his thumb swiped tight circles over your swollen clit, slick aiding him in the fluidity of his strokes, heavy balls drizzled in your arousal as they slap wetly against your ass. A nod and his fingers slip further into your mouth, opening your jaw wider to peer inside. A glob of his spit drooled past his lips, splattering thick and warm upon your clit. It slid down to your entrance, where he punctures moans out of you, shaft stretching you, fucking you out, and thrusting with the intent to break you. You can feel the curve of it, the vein that runs steady on the underside of it. Heavy, full. You remember the slap it sounded out when you reached to pull it free. Before he parted your legs wide and sheathed himself in your pussy with one swift wane of his hips.

Joel smiles when you sob and break down for him, pull back a layer for him to slip into you. The walls of you drag him down into a grounding. A centre of a universe. Gravity strong enough to implode, create dark matter, compress tightly into a black hole. The centre of his universe. 

“Does my baby want it?” He crooned, and you yelped a yes, strangled by his being. The scent of him clinging to you, your sex. It gnarled at your skin. Scratched marks into flesh. “Does she want to come for me?” 

You didn't have to nod, he made you with his grip on your jaw. It was going to be your answer anyway. “Want you to say it for me too, Cherub.” 

“Yea, Joel!” You yelp, voice shrill, and cracked like the callus on the heel of his hand. “Yes!” 

He grins, wicked and wrapped with the inter to tear you apart from the inside with the jackhammering of his cock inside you, The delicious, toe curling numbness of it inside you. 

“Come on, Cherub, sing f’me.” 

“Yes-” It's a shriek, a quick, frenzied shriek. One that filled the hollow of your chest and then deflated it. “Yes! Please, please, please- Please!” 

Your begging melts in his ears, the sight of eyes rolled back, mouth open for him. And he needs to feel, reaching between where the two of you join with your own hand. The base of his cock now between your middle and ring fingers, his length swiping your fingers in combined precum and slick as he bucks his hips violently. The headboard shakes and trembles beneath his frantic movement. And he presses the heel of your hand into your clit, having you seeing stars. Crying to the heavens you fell from. 

His little Cherub. Plush skin and plump curves for his teeth to sink into and mark his territory. Whenever he may please now. 

“Come.” 

And you do, screaming his name to him as a numb weight fills the pit of your core, has your pussy pulsing in waves, ebbs and flows. It sucks him deeper, a lew squelch gaining his attention when his lower abdomen and balls tighten. He lets out a strangled groan, filling you with one final push upon your cervix. 

It has you gasping for air, chest heaving when he looks down between you, the white sticky ooze of his come seeping from your walls, softening cock still sheathed inside of you. Not ready to pull from the warmth your cunt hugs him with. 

“That’s it, angel, down you come.” He coos, before sifting his hips, leaving you to whine as your gaping hole fluttered furiously around nothing.  

He stands, pulls his jeans on, fly still undone, belt buckle loose and clinking at his sides. He swipes your underwear from the scattering of your clothes over the musty carpet, bringing it to his nose to inhale. “Part of the payment.” He mumbles, not that you’re listening, mind still swimming in its pool of oxytocin. And he slips the lace into his jean pocket, baby pink peeking out from denim. 

“Better get back, Cherub.” Joel said plainly, fingers dancing over your used hole, as cum dribbles gluttonously from it, down your crack to your puckered asshole. He thumbs it gently and you squeal, squirming away. His hand clamps down upon your thigh, dragging you back down the mattress to his unyielding touch. 

“Don’t be ungrateful now.” He growls, collecting the creamy spend with two fingers, scooping it back inside you. Your body jolts from the intrusion, but gathers itself again and desire swims low in the swell of your belly. “Want it all in ya’. Fillin’ you nice and good for me, Cherub. There we are, that’s it.” He smiles, eyes unmoving from your cunt as his fingers disappear inside and stretch it out, scissoring you to overstimulation. “Maybe one day i’ll get to use this one too…” And you feel his thumb once more at your butt, adding the smallest tease of pressure.

Joel pulled back, clapping a hand down on the plush, malleable skin of your thigh. 

“Up ‘n out, Cherub, ‘fore your uncle gets suspicious.” 

You know Uncle Luke won’t know any different. He’s passed out on the sofa when you get in, legs trembling with an ache weighing the marrow of your bones. You shut the door with your back and a shaking huff, tossing the weed onto the coffee table, retiring to your room, sobbing to nothing and no one but your grimy pillow, licking your wounds like the wounded bitch you had now become.

[hoeforhao]

may i request “How do you feel about two at once?” w/ joshua and vernon 😩

this american duo concept has been tickling the right parts of my brain for real! That is the sole reason why I want to make it into a full blown oneshot and not just a drabble!!!

۫ 𓈒 ✸ Whipped Cream Cloud ✸ ۫ 𓈒

✸pairing: joshua × fem!reader x vernon

✸warnings: filthy smut, minors dni 🔞, threesome, sub vernon, dom joshua, oral (both f and m), edging, overstimulation, double penetration, ass fuck. I'll add more if I miss any in the main fic!

✸author's note: am not very sure about the concept I've tried this time so releasing just the trailer to test the grounds.

Enjoy the teaser hehe ;))

"Wanna join us tonight Sol?" putting your feet to the gas pedal, you peek your head slightly out through the rolled down glass, to flash Vernon with a inviting smirk who was standing like a npc on the porch of your boyfriend's house.

Your eyes could only manage to register a nod from the side view mirror as you drive off to your place, leaving the youngest stationary on the grass, his cheeks heating up from the mere thought of all the wishes you two were about to grant him.

Vernon Chwe or as he liked to call himself, Hansol Vernon Chwe was your boyfriend Joshua's younger brother, more appropriately his stepbrother ; someone who has recently experienced the worst heartbreak he could've ever imagined when his 7 year long girlfriend broke up with him. Now everyone would normally think that one must be completely out of their mind to leave this perfect of a man - be it the greek godlike features or his absolute gentle and sweet demeanor, he was the best dessert platter a girl could ever lay their eyes on. Except...

You have always been quite close with Vernon, trying to be that 'your brother's girlfriend who's now your bestfriend' type, so when he broke the news to you first, you were quite taken aback as to what did he lack for her to cut it off. But when he spilled out the actual reason why he had to dust his hands off of such a longtime relationship, the first thing that came to your mind was " There's no way a boy with such a well built and tempting body IS BAD IN BED "

The question constantly kept on eating your brains out as you literally refused to believe that JOSHUA'S BROTHER, YOUR OWN BESTFRIEND, was a loser when it came to taking action between a woman's legs. It was a matter of family reputation afterall and there was no way you were gonna let such a small solvable thing taint it. So when you started noticing Vernon's lingering gazes on you whenever his brother was being touchy with you or his eyes travelling down your cleavage everytime you wore a deep cut blouse around the boys or when that time you accidentally overheard him moaning your name while trying to get himself off in the washroom after you came to the Chwe's family dinner in the most eliciting maroon slip dress he has ever seen a lady in...you decided to talk to your boyfriend about an all benefited way out.

But Joshua was one step ahead as always. Not being ignorant of his younger brother's continous dotings on you, nor of all the flirty teasing looks you gave the boy while slyly grinding your body on his, making it look like a mere accident always...he has already deviced something that would cater to the needs of all three.

"Baby?" Joshua calls out to you while being was fully drowned into your sweet pheromones, mouth and lips too busy in lapping up each and every bend of your slicked folds to give out full sentences. "Hmm?" is all that leaves your throat as you were too occupied with taking in the pleasure your pussy drunk boyfriend was giving.

"How do you feel about two at once baby? Do you think it would be a bad idea if we umm you know teach Sol the ways with women's pleasure, so that the poor boy's heart is never broken just because his dick doesn't know how to navigate through the walls of a needy cunt?

Joshua's face slowly emerges up from between your thighs, chin coated with the already leaking juices as he finally settles himself comfortably on the bed, fingers refusing to leave the warmth of your core yet, while his bambi eyes look at you like a child pleading for his wish to be granted.

"Have you ever had any bad idea, baby!"you mentally rejoiced over the fact that your boyfriend kept front the proposal you were yourself waiting to bring up but shying away from as it had sort of a sibling pride attached to it.

A low chuckle is all that is heard from Joshua on your acceptive reply as he instantly dives back into his abode, back to riling up your insides to the very edge , while a scheming smile creeps up on your face at the thought of everything you were gonna do to that vulnerable boy.

[jlawchamberlain]

Roberto Canessa and his horse, Alfin.

I love the sheer amount of chaos that every anecdote of these two seem to carry, so I’ve put a couple under the cut.

Nando uses these antics to introduce Roberto’s personality to reader in his book, because it does seem to sum up what he was like at that time quite well.

From Nando’s book:

Roberto had always been hard to handle. The son of a renowned cardiologist in Montevideo, he was brilliant, self-confident, egotistical, and interested in following no one’s rules but his own. Because of his contrary nature, he was constantly in trouble at school, and it seemed his mother was always being called into the headmaster’s office to endure another conference about Roberto’s transgressions. He simply refused to be told what to do. For example, Roberto had a horse that he would ride to school each morning, even though the Christian Brothers repeatedly forbade him to bring the animal onto school grounds. Roberto simply ignored them. He would tie the horse to the bicycle rack, it would work its tether free, and an hour or so later the Brothers would find it wandering in the garden, munching their prized shrubs and flowers. He also spurred the big animal through the crowded streets of Carrasco, galloping along sidewalks and through busy intersections so fast that the horse’s shoes struck sparks on the pavement. Drivers swerved and pedestrians lurched out of his way. Our neighbors constantly complained, and once or twice the police spoke to Roberto’s father, but Roberto continued to ride.

Lauri (Roberto’s wife) has also told the story of how he would terrorize her and the other girls of neighborhood on Alfin:

Laura Surraco met Roberto Canessa as a child. They were childhood friends and lived nearby. While she was riding her bike with her friends, Roberto would chase her on horseback and pull the lasso to catch a pedal and make her fall.

-Here comes Canessa!

The cry was one of panic, of alert, to get out of Roberto's mischief in time. The girls would be 12, 13 years old. They were all neighbors and friends. Many went to Stella Maris School. It was a different era, the late 1960s. You could play, run, race in the streets.

And finally Roberto:

Eventually I started to feel a new emotion—shame. Shame at the way I let Alfin clip-clop over neighbors’ gardens or tear up people’s lawns. One day when I tied him to a sprinkler spigot and he got spooked at a loud noise, he tore off down the road dragging forty feet of plumbing behind him. I became ashamed at being such a rambunctious student. I wanted to be more—more disciplined and less rebellious—and I decided I wanted to go to medical school when I turned eighteen. I began by training my horse to be less feral—and Lauri started training me. Although neither my horse nor I would ever change who we were, we became on friendlier terms with the world around us.

[monoclesnapple]

Can't Stand (in) These Waters!

Bungo Stray Dogs Chuuya Nakahara X Gender Neutral Reader Summary: While on vacation and in a cave exploration, Chuuya isn't able to avoid getting soaked from head to toe in the waters. Word Count: 691 (Fluff/Crack)

After a long time of trying to get a few days off, Chuuya happily came to you one day to tell you that he can have five days off. The two of you had been wanting to go to Mexico to have a relaxing time and enjoy some of the parks at the resort you were staying in. After the tiring process of booking the flights, rooms, getting there, etc, both of you arrived at the resort and were able to relax once your room was ready.

Although the climate was very hot and humid, the water would help to cool you off. In the evening, you two went to a buffet restaurant that was located in some caves, having a nice date. They had some wine, and you had to ensure Chuuya wouldn't cause too much trouble after he had a glass or two.

The next day, you were going to one of the water parks, so you got everything ready and entered the bus. It was nice to see the different environment. It was certainly different than Yokohama. There were random foot pedals on the back of the seat in front of you, which Chuuya noticed.

While you could comfortably lower them and rest your feet on the pedals, Chuuya had to adjust his position just for the tips of his toes to reach the plastic. He was mumbling curses beneath his breath as you tried to contain your chuckles. In the end, he just lifted them back up and let his feet hang a centimeter from the ground.

There were a few activities in the park, but they were very fun and fulfilling. One of the first ones you went to was a walk through some caves and water. As the guide was instructing you about the safety and what to expect, he held a hand around the height of his shoulder and said, “The highest the water will go will be around shoulder height. It’s not too deep, nor is there an excessive amount of deep areas.”

Chuuya’s brows were furrowed and his eyes widened a little. The instructor was fairly tall, probably a few inches before reaching six feet. The only short people were teens, and even they were around his height, maybe taller.

He turned to you and muttered, “I don’t think his shoulder height is the same as my own…” You chuckled and reassured him he’d be okay and that you'd make sure he didn't drown.

Throughout the walk, the lowest the water was for him was around his waist. He was in front of you, a little fast, but you were able to keep up with him. You carefully stepped to keep your footing. Some of the rocks had hit your shin, and it wasn’t delightful. You might have some bruises and some scrapes.

“C’mon, you’re so slow, (Name).” He turned his head to the side so one eye could look at you. As soon as he said that, he immediately fell under the water. He came up, coughing and leaning against you since you sped to him.

“You alright, Chu?” You laughed. “Bet you’re regretting saying that, huh?”

“Fuck,” he coughed, “you. How was I supposed to know there would be a big ass crack?! Now my hair is soaking, I can’t see shit, and my shins and knees are scraped!” He brushed away his bangs to clear his visibility.

“Might as well swim the whole way to avoid that,” you jokingly suggested.

He grumbled to himself as he got into position and started swimming. You didn’t expect him to do so, but decided to not say anything. 

“It’s too small to do actual swimming, damn it. ‘M just doggy paddling at this point.” Indeed he was.

“I guess you can’t exactly do any of the ‘proper’ techniques. Well, whatever floats your boat,” you shrugged.

At the end, Chuuya was soaked from head to toe, whereas you were only wet from around your shoulders and lower. He squeezed the water from his hair as he walked beside you.

“At least I’m not suffering from the heat, I guess,” he commented to himself.

[midoriima]

road racer

warnings: cyclist!reader x shiratorizawa (platonic), angst, reader is basically an aomine kinnie but with a little twist.

You thought you swore the day you started hating cycling would be the day the world ended, but look at where you stand now.

You closed the gap of opposing cyclists and widened it by 60 meters. Victory was at the pedal of your feet and everyone in the venue expected that you would stand on the 1st podium. When you only needed a few more pedals to the finish line and attain another medal and trophy to litter your house and room with, you stopped.

You slowed down, making spectators wonder why, it could have been fatigue and leg cramps, to which they let out disappointed sighs. You purposely slowed down, took a deep breath before letting out a long sigh.

"What are you doing?! The finish line's right here!"

"You can do it!!!"

People were yelling left to right, it started getting annoying. It no longer felt exciting to hear praises or "go for it" and "you can do it" cheers, nor did the look of the finish line getting nearer give you an adrenaline rush.

This was just pitiful. In the middle of a race, too!

The cyclist you sprinted your heart out with just a few minutes ago, whom you'd surpassed, passed by you instead. They didn't have their head up with a wide grin etched on their face, no, they had it turned to you as they finished first with a frown, out of seeming frustration but also worry.

As other cyclists pass by you, it no longer seemed exciting for them to stand before the stage to hear the awards ceremony. They felt insulted by your little show, like what, were you that great that you decided you didn't need another few medals and trophies because your house is basically filled with them?

Fortunately, they didn't hate you too much. Okay, maybe one did.

The three new faces who stand at the stage don't have a smile. They wanted to win fair and square, not be spared by you stopping just at two meters or three away from the finish line. It wouldn't have too much of a negative effect if you won either way, a huge grin etched on your face as you show off to the public, but no, neither happened. You didn't even look sad about losing, but I mean, you lost on purpose. So there's no point in acting sad about that.

"There are a few clubs and sports teams which still accept second and third years," Wakatoshi, your brother, said. Hoping that you would ask about Shiratorizawa's cycling team and announce that you would join.

"That's great but I know what you're thinking. I'm going to quit cycling anyway. Or, well, I have already quit. I'm going to spend my third year studying and getting into a good college." Stretching your long limbs, ultimately hitting his, and stood from the dining area.

"Is that really what you want?" He asked, a little worried about your statement. With the way you nodded so surely, he thought something bad was going to follow that his head started aching and his gut started twisting. Something was definitely going to happen.

Is it a storm? What if the house burns down? Even worse, what if he ends up quitting volleyball because he stopped loving it too? That thought scared him badly and he shook his head, making the ache worsen.

You soon disappeared from the ground floor of the house, now possibly in your room. Wakatoshi continued arranging a few papers before cooking dinner, as it is his turn this week.

"The gym is near the baseball field. You can barge inside, just try not to make a scene with any of the girls, especially, in the court." Wakatoshi reminded you again before you two separated ways. With him heading to his class and with you heading to yours, which was a few classrooms after his.

Your first day at Shiratorizawa went by rather quick. With absolutely nothing relating to cycling coming up, it didn't feel so long. For the first time, you weren't reeking of sweat and your peers weren't complaining about you and your love for your bike. Nobody was trying to assume weird shit like, "You're definitely in love, like romantically, with your bike. I bet you–" Yeah, things like that. But that just shows how much you loved your sport. Probably.

For the first time, you didn't come back from lunch with any tire marks. You weren't dirty and you still smelled fresh, like you had just gotten out of the shower.

Now that you think about it, it did hurt a little not to have any friends who would talk as passionately as you with cycling. You made a few friends in your class, but none of them made comments about how much you grew over the course of two weeks all because of your intense workout and how long you cycle a day, but of course, there's no way for them to make such comments.

They did ask about your height, how you reached 6' and if you were related to Wakatoshi.

"I used to cycle back then, had this crazy intense workout routine that I follow every single day, I also cycled every day. I swam a bit, as well, which helped me increase my height. And yes, Wakatoshi is my brother."

They errupted in ohh's and ahh's but nobody asked further.

Soon, it was the end of the day at school. You helped clean up the classroom and the halls before wandering around the school, making it your mission to memorize everything before walking to the volleyball gym Wakatoshi allowed you to loiter at.

But before you could enter, you caught a glimpse of the baseball field and after the baseball field was a track course for cyclists. Of course, you still loved cycling, you just stopped for a little while, and of course, you had to check it out.

@midoriima this was written about a year and a half ago maybe? i regret not putting the dates 😭 i started getting back into yowamushi pedal and became obsessed so i integrated that new passion with my all time faves: haikyuu.

also, go check out more on my masterlists cos these partial works are open for any continuation or derivatives, etc. but on one condition: ask permission 🤗 that's allll

[voraciousvore]

The Half-Blood Giant (38/51)

***Contains soft, safe, unwilling vore***

Chapter 38: Unhealthy Obsession

Hannah was worried. Hector was supposed to meet her after school, like he always did, but he never showed up. She couldn’t locate him in the cafeteria, or anywhere else for that matter, nor would he answer his phone. Hector wasn’t the type to ignore her or play petty games, even if she had upset him for some inscrutable reason. She sensed, deep down, that something was wrong. When she biked over to the boy’s dormitory on the other side of campus, he wasn’t there either. None of the boys had seen him since class ended. 

Hannah didn’t sleep well that night. She kept checking her phone periodically, hoping for a text or call. There was nothing. She decided, if he didn’t show up for breakfast tomorrow morning, she would go straight to Principal Henderson and report him missing. She couldn’t think of any other place he would be. If he had gone home, or there had been some sort of emergency, she figured he would’ve at least contacted her to let her know what happened.  

The morning came, and she woke up cranky and groggy. She rolled out of bed, donned her uniform, and packed up her school supplies in her bag. Labored with fatigue, Hannah pulled her bike from the rack outside and crawled on, then slowly pedaled forward. She hardly paid any attention to her surroundings as she went into autopilot, thinking about her beloved. She was entirely unaware of the sinister colossus stalking her, following her intoxicating scent, ready to strike. 

The world unexpectedly went dark as a shadow blocked out the light of the rising sun. Hannah almost toppled off her bike as she halted in place and the ground swooped away below her. The rapid ascension into the sky was dizzying; she held onto her handlebars with a death grip, her knuckles white from tension. Her sides were pinched by the enormous tips of two giant fingers and she was forcibly ripped from her bike, her strength no match for the giant who grabbed her. She gasped from the pressure on her torso, almost breathless. She plopped into the landscape of a massive hand and her bike was scooped up into the fingers of the other hand, disappearing from her sight. 

Hannah, panting for breath, slowly turned around to face the giant who snatched her. Her worst fears were confirmed when she saw Hunter’s mountainous visage leering down at her. He grinned, revealing a wall of blocky white teeth. Hannah quivered and scooted back into the arch of his fingers, but she had nowhere to go. 

“Hi there,” Hunter rumbled, releasing a puff of warm breath over her that ruffled her hair. 

“W-what do you want?” Hannah stammered. “Make it quick.” 

Hunter regarded her for a long, uncomfortable moment without speaking. He brushed her tenderly with his thumb, making her flinch. “Hector wanted me to pass on a message,” he lied. Hannah’s demeanor changed on a dime as she jerked to attention with the surprising turn of events. “He said he’d meet you at the cafeteria. I’ll take you there.” 

“No need, I can bike there myself,” Hannah asserted, glancing around the platform of skin carrying her. Her bike was nowhere to be seen. 

“No. I’ll take you,” Hunter responded. He did not give her a choice. She relented, realizing she had no power in the situation. She didn’t want to raise a fuss and make the monster of a man angry. The sooner she was conveyed to Hector, the safer she’d feel, and the sooner she could get away from Hunter. 

“Hey, Hannah?” She didn’t want to talk to him, but being held mere feet from his expansive countenance, she couldn’t exactly ignore him. 

“What is it?” she asked listlessly, drooping into the curve of his fingers. His strides rocked her back and forth in his hand like a cradle. 

“Um...” A flicker of anxiety flickered across the giant’s features, barely distinguishable if not for the fact that he was so large. “I was just wondering... theoretically... if Hector wasn’t around anymore, would you ever consider... um... like... hanging out with me?” 

Hannah wasn’t sure how to answer without hurting his feelings, but she thought the question odd. “Hector isn’t going anywhere, so there’s no use speculating about a fictional scenario,” she reasoned, maintaining a neutral tone. 

“Ah.” Hunter seemed to deflate a bit, but Hannah was past the point of feeling empathy for him. As long as he didn’t hurt or threaten her, she didn’t particularly care about his volatile feelings. She just wanted him to be gone. 

Without warning, Hunter lifted his hand to his chest and dumped Hannah into his breast pocket. She tumbled down his palm into the pouch of soft fabric with a yelp. His shirt was stretched taut against the protruding muscles of his pectorals, squeezing Hannah slightly. 

“Hey!” she cried out, but he covered his pocket with his hand, squishing her softly with fingers as thick as tree trunks. Hannah went quiet as she recognized how insignificant she was, how easily he could smash her like an insect. His formidable mass was looming all around her, surrounding her. She suppressed her protests, hoping that she’d be reunited with her human lover soon. She just had to hold out a little longer. 

Hunter entered the cafeteria and got in line for his food. Hannah heard the loud cadence of voices and familiar sounds of the lunchroom and struggled to climb up the inside of the pocket. She peeked her head out of the top, searching for Hector. Hunter, perceiving her movements, shoved her back down with his finger. She cursed at him in response, but her small voice was lost in the roar of giant voices from her much larger peers. Hunter smirked as he collected his food. He grabbed himself a modest breakfast, much less than usual. His belly was still digesting the girl from this morning. 

He sat down in his usual secluded spot, where he could shield Hannah with his huge body and nobody would be able to see her. He reached into his pocket with his fingers, encircling the reluctant girl, and set her on the table, close to him in front of his tray. He placed his arms on either side of her like barriers so she couldn’t run away. Hannah shook with agitation as she gazed at the towering behemoth above her. 

“A-aren’t you going to take me to Hector?” she squeaked. 

“That can wait a moment,” Hunter boomed, waving his hand dismissively. He leaned down over Hannah, hunching his shoulders a bit and bringing his face in so he could be nearer to her. He brought his hands together and cupped them around her reverently. As he collapsed around her, Hannah lost her nerve and her legs buckled underneath her as if they had turned into globs of gelatin. 

“Hunter, you’re scaring me,” she whined. “Please, just let me see Hector.” 

“No.” The authoritarian word bludgeoned her harshly. She sank further under the giant’s impossible gravity. 

“W-what do you want from m-me? L-let’s get this over with already so I can go,” Hannah whimpered. Her eyes began to well up with tears. 

“I want you,” Hunter confessed, his deep voice resounding around her. “Your whole being, in your entirety. Forget Hector. Be with me instead.” 

Hannah was so shocked, she didn’t respond right away and just gaped at the giant dumbly. She scrambled to find words and choked out, “N-never!” 

Hunter’s green eyes flashed with baleful rage, and Hannah flinched at the terrifying sight. “So that’s how it’s going to be,” he snarled, baring his teeth. “Fine. I’ll give you some time to think it over. Perhaps you’ll come around.” Hannah didn’t get a chance to ponder the significance of his words before she was hoisted up by the back of her shirt. She squealed with fright as she was plopped into a thick, creamy substance. By the smell and taste, she realized with disgust that she was bathing in yogurt. 

Hunter grabbed a spoon and gleefully stirred her around in the yogurt, humming to himself. Hannah flailed and floundered, trying to grab the edges of the cup to pull herself out, but Hunter didn’t give her the chance. It all happened so fast, Hannah didn’t fully comprehend why Hunter would cover her in yogurt, until the plastic spoon dipped beneath her and lifted her out. Hannah fit neatly into the curved end, the perfect size for a bite of food. Horror exploded inside her as she found herself facing a titanic pair of lips. 

“No, Hunter, you wouldn’t...” Hannah gasped, appalled. She refused to believe it. He couldn’t possibly do... what she was thinking he was about to do. The lips turned up into a mocking grin, and separated to reveal wet, white teeth and ominous darkness beyond. Hunter’s gigantic tongue emerged, and the fleshy appendage dragged across her yogurt-covered body, from her toes to her forehead. Hannah recoiled and shrieked, throwing up her hands reflexively to protect herself. She felt the slimy bumps of his oversized taste buds slide across her palms. She was repulsed as a thick layer of saliva covered her body. 

“Mmmmmm,” Hunter hummed, licking his lips hungrily. “You taste even better than you smell. Just like a fresh-picked blueberry.” Hannah was speechless with raw terror. She froze up. She had no idea what to do, had no way to escape when she was hovering a deadly distance above the table. She didn’t have to do anything but be a delectable snack, however, as the giant mouth yawned open in front of her. She caught a glimpse of a fortress of huge teeth, a gaping gullet, and a mass of tongue and red flesh before the whole display encompassed her on all sides. The spoon slid out from beneath her, disappeared into the fresh air of freedom outside before the colossal jaws closed around her, sealing her fate.  

Hannah screamed, but nobody could hear her except the giant who was eating her. Oh God. He was eating her! She clawed at her fleshy, wet, bony prison and fought against the overwhelming power of the tongue as it flung her around and tasted her. She slammed against the molars, the roof of the mouth, the soft hot tissue beneath the tongue, as it rolled over her, toyed with her, smothered her. The yogurt dissolved off her body and she was soaked in filthy slobber instead. Her struggles were futile; she was helpless against the desires of the hungry mouth. 

Hunter savored her for a long time before he finally decided it was time to swallow her. Hannah cried out as the tongue beneath her reared up, and she slid down the slippery surface headfirst like a slide, toward the dark void of the gullet. She scrambled to grab something, anything, to halt her descent, but the mouth was streamlined for food, designed for her to be consumed. She even tried to grab his uvula, but it was too high above her to reach. Her head dropped down into the abyss of the throat, and the muscles crushed around her, forcing her down in a rippling wave. 

Hannah couldn’t move much as she strained against the unbearable pressure of the throat dragging her down. As she sank into the giant’s chest, his heartbeat banged loudly in her ears, the vibrations coursing through her entire frame. She could hear a tremendous amount of air swelling in his lungs, pressing into the flesh around her, before racing out with every exhale. She plummeted further, deeper into the giant’s core, farther away from freedom. She was done for. A heavy dread settled into her as she realized the terrible, agonizing end that faced her, her ultimate destination: the stomach. 

Her face was shoved into a ring of muscle, and she was forced through with a revolted grimace. She plunged into the giant’s stomach and splashed into a boiling pool of rancid fluids. Hyped up on adrenaline, she howled and thrashed, pounding the throbbing walls desperately. Her tiny fists and feet bounced harmlessly off the folds of stomach lining, failing to make the slightest dent. The stomach shifted around her, and she slipped and fell into a heap, sobbing. She hoped her inevitable death wouldn’t be too excruciating.  

A foreign object that was firm and solid bumped into her as it stirred in the acid. Hannah hesitantly touched it with her fingers in the pitch-black darkness, trying to distinguish what it was. It was long and hard, about half the length of her leg, with a big ball on the end sticking out at an angle. Hannah abruptly recognized the object with an abhorrence that made her physically ill and threw it away from her. It was a bone—a human femur. She wasn’t the first person that Hunter had ingested. She was swimming alongside the remains of at least one other half-digested human. Who else did he eat? Hannah didn’t ruminate much on the question in her panic, focusing instead on her immediate predicament. 

“Spare me, Hunter, please!” she screamed. She had no idea if he would hear her, or deign to respond, but to her surprise he actually answered. 

“Be quiet in there,” his bass voice resounded around her. “And maybe then I’ll let you out.” He paused before continuing, “I won’t digest you. I’ve cast a magic spell over you, to protect you. You’re precious to me, after all.” The stomach rumbled and groaned, as if complaining about being denied its prey. 

“Then why? Why did you eat me?” Hannah cried. 

“Because you’re mine now.” Despite the infernal heat, Hannah felt a cold chill at his words, uttered with such supercilious confidence. “I’ll do whatever I want with you. Protest, and I’ll kill you and Hector.” Hannah covered her mouth with horror. She didn’t want Hunter going after Hector; she’d do anything to protect him, even if that meant sacrificing herself. Her will to resist drained out of her and she slumped dejectedly into a squishy wall. She didn’t bother to get up, or yell. She realized how futile her efforts would be, when she was already eaten. 

The digestive organ churned and bubbled and grumbled noisily. She could hear the consistent rhythm of Hunter’s throbbing heart and lungs. She was sickened when bones, leftover clothing, and ambiguous soft chunks bobbing around in the gastric fluids collided with her. As Hunter finished eating his breakfast, mushy food squelched down through the esophageal opening above and splattered into the gurgling cavern. Hannah cringed and crawled around inside, trying to avoid the slop. She cried pitifully. She was in an unimaginable hell. 

Hunter glanced around the lunchroom, to make sure nobody had witnessed him devouring his classmate. Not a soul had noticed, the ignorant fools. He turned back to his breakfast and smiled to himself. Hannah tasted even better than he dared to imagine in his most honeyed fantasies. He could feel her small, comforting weight settled in his belly. He loved having her inside him. He wanted to keep her forever. He stroked his belly lovingly, kneading his fingers into the skin. He felt a mild guilt about what he did—eating her against her will and lying about Hector—but the emotion was superseded by how right he felt to have her within, how whole and alive and content he was. For once, he could even believe he was happy. 

Chapter 39

Chapter 1

[gaijin-fujin-resonance]

夢遊猫 SLEEP WALK - Muyubyo SLEEP WALK

Another song I managed to hear before the official release - albeit through slightly more illegal means. But after downloading a Japanese radio rip, this was the song that got stuck in my head for days afterwards. My last fm account tells me I’ve listened to it over 60 times this week alone. Why is it so damn catchy? Well, to explore that, I’d have to explain a little musical trick called Pedal Points.

Pedal Points are a kind of drone. Their name comes from early Christian Church music played on an organ. While playing a melody with the dominant hand, and chords or a counterpoint with the other, skilled organists would use their feet to hold down a continuous bass note on a pedal to keep the key steady for harmonising, while the tune circled around it. But as any bassist worth their salt soon discovered, you don’t have to hold down the root note of the song’s chords - in fact, it can be more exciting if you don’t. You can create a sense of movement or tension by holding down a different pedal note - because the brain’s natural habit is to want to resolve the chord back to the root note. So the brain finds unresolved pedal points exciting, sticky, deeply earwormy.

SLEEP WALK is written all in fourths. Fourths are one of the loveliest harmonic intervals, because they create a “slightly suspended, mysterious, ‘to be continued…’ feeling”. They’re used a lot in folk music, because they are neither major nor minor (major thirds, for example, generally sound upbeat and cheerful, while minor thirds sound rather sad) but instead create an open, bell-like tone that feels very propulsive.

The song is in the key of E Major. But when the singing starts, at 0:23, Imai comes in with a B (a perfect fourth) and then slides up another fourth from that, to the eighth, the high E (the octave eighth is most perfect harmony at all, providing a tiny burst of relief for the brain) but then quickly slides back down to his unresolved B. The brain immediately goes “mmm, so, so good - give me that E again!” but Imai’s voice teases, just rocking back and forth between resolved E and unresolved B, always landing on the unresolved B, so you are left constantly anticipating that next beat.

As if that wasn’t moreish enough, there’s another harmony on top of that. Someone (is it Hide? The background harmonies are usually Hide.) is singing the other half of the fourth. The first time, it’s a higher harmony above, the second time, it’s a lower harmony below. So every time Imai hits that satisfying resolved E, there’s a hint of the unresolved B in the background. And every time he moves back to an unresolved B, there’s still an E hanging out in the harmonies, promising resolution and pulling you forward.

The vocal melody constantly stays between these same notes, while the bass and the guitar provide the song’s tune. Listen as the bass’s root note changes at 0:32 - the vocals stay on the same notes with the same intervals, but with a different root note, the harmony changes to feel minor and slightly wistful, even though it’s still an open 4th. The whole IV-VIII-IV phrase functions as a pedal point. And that’s the beauty of pedal points, that sense of drone, or things staying the same; and melody, of movement, at the same time.

And that’s why the beautiful “Huuuuuuu!”s on the chorus feel so satisfying - you get root and perfect octave, with a tiny taste of the unresolved B that then slides back down with the “All night lon-GUH” bit. (With that tiny piano ding adding extra zing on the octave.) That’s why the hard Manchester G hits with such a whack. (It’s very marmite; you love it or you hate it. But whacking the root note like that, it’s impossible to ignore.)

The rest of the song is quite simple in musical structure. It’s based around almost percussive, heavily gated blasts of noise on the guitar. (It might even be MIDI guitar, as Yokoyama-san’s screengrabs are full of intriguing sounds called things like ‘Warm embers’, ‘Drowning pool’, ‘Rainy day requiem’ and ‘Daylight piano’.) As described above, the melody is carried in Yuta’s jaunty little bassline, hopping lightly between the roots like the strolling cat of the Kanji-punning title, while all the fireworks happen in the interplay between live drums and loops. Toll is really happily bashing away, to the super-distorted accompaniment of a loop that sounds like a tambourine (or even a chain of scrap metal) run through an overdrive pedal. The feeling is one of speed, of propulsion, that perfectly matches the cycling fourths.

There’s a fabulous NOIZE break in the middle around 2:02 that is absolutely CRYING OUT for some live theremin action (RIP the Moog Theremini) - but maybe the live synths will provide some fun knob-twiddling action? One can only hope? But the best bit about the break isn’t actually the noises themselves, it’s the use of silence and ominous filter sweeps which make the noises sound so fantastic.

Best bit: just after the tune comes back in from the noise break, there is a sharp intake of breath and a split second of TOTAL SILENCE between 2:57 and 2:58 before the vocals kick back in. That split second of silence makes the sudden vocals seem louder, and the guitar seem crunchier and the whole final verse feels so much more satisfying! This is what I mean about the band’s arrangements and their production values. 

Visual Kei as a genre is for the most part about piling on more and more excessive layers of sound: operatic vocals, virtuoso million-notes-a-minute guitar solos, pummelling double kick drums that fill every single moment with an excess of sonic interest. What separates Buck-Tick from Visual Kei - and IMHO lifts them far above the bands they inspired - is that Buck-Tick understand that to make a listener really pay attention to a specific sound, it’s best to remove other sounds. Their soundscapes are often busy, chattering with electronics and guitar effects - but their most effective tool is knowing when to deploy SILENCE. Judicious use of silence is the key to making such a noisy track as this one sound even louder and more punchy.

[script-a-world]

Submitted via Google Form:

Hi, I'm trying to figure out how effective would species with multiple arms can use them at the same time. I mean, say for fighting, it's well known that dual wielding is very much just a trope and while it's been done, research says it's less as effective. So yeah if I have an alien with 6 arms it doesn't mean I should put a weapon in all of them. I get that. But how about other things. Can they like, drive a car with controls that need all 6 hands? Would that perhaps be even more effective since they don't need to take their hands off something to move toward something else. Maybe this species handles the pedals with hands instead of feet. Then two extra hands for changing gear and other things. Maybe it's a different kind of transportation system too that isn't comparable to us. Or maybe it's more dangerous because there's too many moving parts. Or say, a waiter using 6 hands to hold 6 trays, dangerous or more useful? Obviously there are a lot of other aspects but these are just a few examples.

Licorice: It’s not just about the limbs; it’s about the brain. Apparently an octopus has a mini-brain in each of its eight arms, so the arms are able to act independently of each other. It also has a central brain for when the arms need to be coordinated.  An octopus could probably octo-wield eight different weapons if it had to! Natural History Museum: Octopuses Keep Surprising Us

A human who suddenly grew four extra arms might become a clumsy menace, but a creature that’s had six arms since it was born probably wouldn’t have any trouble juggling six trays. That would be its normal. 

Since you’re designing this creature from the ground up, you’re free to decide whether it’s more octopus-like or more human-like when it comes to limb movements - or perhaps neither human nor octopus, but something else altogether. 

Addy: Limbs exist for a reason: to fulfill a purpose. As humans, we do foot stuff with our feet and hand stuff with our hands. A creature with more than four limbs would have a brain set up for using those limbs in an effective manner to fulfill their purpose. Like a centaur would be able to walk and do stuff with its hands at the same time - we generally don't question that.

It's really a matter of focus, in my opinion. Could someone with four arms play two different songs on two pianos at the same time? Probably not, much like how most human people can't play two different songs on two pianos at the same time – we focus on one thing at a time, regardless of how many hands we're using on that task. That's part of the problem with dual-wielding – not only are you messing with the momentum of your swings, you're also splitting your focus between two weapons.

For reference, imagine that humans only came with one arm by default, and someone asked if a two-armed creature would be able to use both limbs effectively. As humans, we know the answer is yes! Sure, we have a side that we favor, but we're able to use both of our arms at the same time. We're just generally limited to doing one thing with those two arms – laundry, driving (steering wheel + changing the volume, etc), knitting, whittling, texting, etc. There are some mindless things that we can do with one hand (holding a pet while talking on the phone), but we don't really multitask. I imagine that the same set of ideas can be extended to whatever creature you've got in your head.

Feral: Have you ever had to turn the radio down while driving in order to read the signs on the highway? It's a pretty common thing, and it has to do with our brain’s ability to switch attention between different sensory inputs. Using both your hands and your feet while attending to one specific task - say shifting gears in manual transmission - is something we are pretty capable of doing. It’s when we’re trying to split our focus to different tasks simultaneously that we begin to have trouble. 

So, let’s break down each specific example-

Driving a car with only hands and no feet involved. My paraplegic great-uncle did this actually. He had a specialty steering column with the gas and brake pedal. He had to use both hands at all times, obviously, but there’s nothing that says this can’t be done as a normal convention even with two hands.

Using all six hands to drive. We are able to effectively drive with between three and four limbs (or two limbs as previously stated) depending on the type of transmission we have, so it just seems superfluous to require six, unless is some kind of scifi tech that travels in different dimensions like a fly car. At that point, the question becomes, how much attention switching is needed? The more attention switching, the more dangerous.

Can a waiter carry more with six hands rather than two? Having worked in food service and knowing people in food service, stacking is actually the great skill of a waiter. I can carry as much food stacked properly in one arm as I can spread out between two and be much safer doing so because I am therefore taking up less space, which means there is less likelihood someone would bump into me.

So, when are more limbs actually better?

Consider monkeys with prehensile tails (essentially a fifth limb) or insects, arachnids, and other anthropods, What can they do better than animals with only four limbs? 

[brooklynislandgirl]

Lola hurtles across the Arizona desert like she’s a reflection of a comet streaking across the night sky. Her treads belch orange flame, though the burning tires seem never to melt away, nor produce any toxic fume to endanger her occupants, as she speeds well in excess of any limit a vehicle of her type and capacity is bound by law – perhaps also by physics – to travel. Her interior is the least offensive feature she expresses, a housing that while pitch black does not retain the heat which it ought capture and suffocate its occupants with. The air within is clean and warm, bearing the oddest combination of scents for being a vehicle on fire: the salty bite of sea breeze, the soothing scent of massage oils, and… if one’s nose were sensitive enough… the sweetness of citrus, berries, and tropical flowers.

But occasionally, that calming bouquet is abruptly pierced by the acrid punctuation of antiseptic cleansers.

The driver is aflame, though he doesn’t cry out as his skull burns endlessly. His empty-eyed gaze is fixed on his destination, perhaps not even seeing that Lola is not astride a path… or not caring. His means is as the crow flies. He has a death grip on the wheel, as though willing his scorched chariot to remain steady for the rail-thin passenger across the backseat, huddled beneath the blanket he had draped across her. And Lola obeys that bid, her shock absorbers bearing every burden beneath her wheels without so much as transmitting a single stone’s intrusion upon their improvised road.

His foot depresses the brake pedal, and that application seems to not just slow their velocity, but also the intensity of the flame surrounding both the vehicle and himself. Within moments, Lola is slowed to a speed more customary to highways, and a nudging course correction brings her onto the shoulder of a road cutting across the dark waste. By the time she aligns fully with the westbound lane, she bears no trace of flame or soot… and neither does her driver, whose features return to him beneath the cold light of the moon.

Five minutes later, when a cherry red 1962 Chevrolet Corvette arrives at a nondescript motel smack in the middle of nowhere, not a soul on Earth could rightly say where the car had come from… nor that the bored and exhausted owner of the establishment cared one whit, as long as they were paying customers. A handful of cash identifies those customers as Mr. and Mrs. Smith, though the proprietor never lays eyes on the missus. Neither will he lay eyes on the mister again after giving him the room key.

Phil returns to Lola moments later, opening the driver’s door and leaning in. His voice is no more ravaged by the flame that had consumed his head than his features are. “We’re here. I’m going to carry you inside now.”

He does exactly that, bearing Beth up in his arms with no effort whatsoever… considering her obvious malnourishment, by this point, the suppressing collar about her neck might weigh more than she herself does. And he carries her to the door of their room, on the other side of the lot from the attendant’s station.

It’s the closest he has ever come, in his entire existence, to performing the bridal carry. A tradition of questionable morality – ancient Roman, because of course – but one of its inspirations seems especially pertinent now. Perhaps evil spirits will be disinterested in crossing this threshold if they’re forbidden from entering through Beth’s bare feet… though she need only be released from that damnable collar to attend to that matter herself.

When the door closes behind them, he shifts his hold about her, bringing her to the edge of the bed – of course there’s only one, because for a mister and missus, why should there be two? Are they Ricky and Lucy? – so that he can set her down.

But it’s in that moment that her arms snake about his neck and constrict him like a boa. He can feel the hiccupping breaths she draws, her chest stuttering against his as much as her breath issues in staccato against his ear.

He can do nothing but wrap his arms about her in turn. If they are all they have now… then this is more important than anything in the world. And he gives her perhaps the last iota of comfort he has left to give.

“I’ve got you. I’m not letting go.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The last hours have been a series of blurry snap-shots. Fire consuming down to the bone but encapsulating her with warmth. Something cracking open inside of her chest after incredible atrophy and the pained relief comes pouring out of her in tears. In terror. In clinging like a frail vine on a trellis. Her ears ring occasionally, alternating between piercing shrieks and emptiness, more pressure than sound that she can only associate with the sensation of numbness. Light and dark and abruptly cut off screams, shearing metal, burning...flesh, sickening her further with a sense of hunger. All stitched together with lancing pain and waves of nausea, ameliorated with the mercy of silent darkness that comes when she drifts to unconsciousness. She doesn't know how she arrives in the car, nor is she fully awake to register the sharper visuals of Lola's race through the night. She breathes in shallowly at first then deeper drafts when there's a noticible lack of sterile, desiccated air. Now and again she thinks she might be hallucinating in an attempt to self soothe from the misery of her new reality. Of course it would explain Phil in such a monstrous guise. His protective nature, his willingness to give up everything he holds dear to protect someone he considers his own. Her mind filters in the smell of hibiscus and plumeria, pikake,  but also paper flower, orchid, and ginger. Scents common in her islands but also... They don't talk about that place, she doesn't know it and Phil never really wanted to dredge up that particular point of his past. It was the first steps toward truly learning to trust one another. She clings to the trade-wind brine. Slowly she registers the futility of this fantasy but still finds herself needing to hold onto it, to let it provide a buffer for what she will suffer when the dream ends. That moment comes sooner than she would like it to though at first its only the second hand sensory input that dulls until it fades into obscurity. Other noises that don't belong in her carefully spun delusion grab her and drag her toward wakefulness systematically even when she fights and fails. Eventually she gives up trying, she doesn't have the stamina for it. The first thing that comes to mind is a shock of shivering cold. Goose-flesh ~chicken skin, as she's always know it to be called~ prickles her skin and jars her body with the slightest movement. Beth groans into the dark but the sound doesn't reach anyone's ears but her own. She doesn't try to lift her head. It feels too heavy and in danger of floating away if she does, a dichotomy she cannot resolve in her current state.  Then that calm, familiar voice sweeps in around her. She pries her eyes open and her lashes are spiky with dried tears and dusts. The darkness she's always been afraid of is suddenly soothing while her throat, stiff and raw from lack of regular use and liquids, seems to crack when she gasps. "Phil? Are you....real?" She isn't sure if he's putting off answering that or if he didn't actually hear her when he scoops her up into his arms. His familiar scent envelopes her. As does the sound of his heartbeat. The aura of calm that she's rarely seen ruffled feels like a salve to sun ravaged skin. She murmurs slurred apologies about being a burden even as she presses her face to the side of his neck, feeling a faint hint of stubble against the tip of her nose. Otherwise she remains surprisingly docile as he carries her into a room. It isn't the dated Seventies decor, and cut off from her spheres, Beth is spared the knowledge of what might live in the carpet ~orange, patterned but clean enough looking~ or what fluids might have irrevocably stained the covers on the bed, that truly snares her attention. It's the solid feel of him, the cumulative reward of her faith that though the world might have ended, Phil would still survive it. It means that in spite of everything she didn't betray him. Arms wrapped around his neck, she shakes as tears spill freely down her cheeks. Her breath hitches and she swallows against the cold, heavy weight around her throat. She tries to pull herself together. "You've got to be so tired. Tell me you're not hurt. That the monster didn't find you and hurt you."

[bphantom01]

ARC V MONTH DAY 17 - A Salad of Heavenly Proportions

Bumper-Cars & the Yu's!

A/N: yeah ik I haven't posted anything (plus haven't been active for like 2 days) & I apologize for that. I've just been feeling rather burnt out (& this one was written in advance. I just had to tweak it here & there). This is set post-canon btw

Also, this is one of the shortest pieces ive written only at 2009 words.

Relationship/s: only platonic

Warnings: the usual cuss words & OOCness, prolly

—

“Guys, come on! Fasterrr!” Yuya yelled eagerly to the other three boys behind him. “Come on, come on!”

“Yeah, guys? Why're you all so slow?” Yuri said as he casually ran beside Yuya.

Yugo got kind of infuriated by that, and while yelling out “RrrrrrrRRAAAAAAAAUUUGHHHH!” with metaphorical but evident rage in his ocean blue eyes, he jogged faster and caught up with the other two.

Meanwhile, Yuto just rolled his eyes and continued walking in the pace and speed he already had.

Yuya groaned at this and he actually ran to his back and pushed him forward.

“Hey! I'm good!” Yuto protested, trying to move out of Yuya’s way.

“Nah-uh, Yuri's right: you're slow! C’mon!”

Yuri and Yugo were already near the booth, the one to the classic Bumper-Cars.

The aforementioned duo were currently racing to it now, just a few more feet for their outstretched arms to reach.

“I'm first…!” Yugo exclaimed, reaching out.

“Pff, nah.” In a blink of an eye, Yuri instantaneously just. Overtook him and ran wayyy faster than anyone expected.

Yugo gawked at Yuri's sudden burst of speed and slowed down until he just… Stopped out of sheer bewilderment.

“Ha-haha!” They heard Yuri shout cheerfully as he finally got to the counter and talked to the person in the booth.

Somehow, he didn't even look like he broke a sweat running. In fact, he looked like he was breathing… Fine.

“How-How in the freaking shadow realm did he just—!?” Yugo said, shaking his head.

“I guess that's what growing up in Academia does to ya,” Yuto shrugged, as he just casually let Yuya push him forward.

“I guess…” Yugo followed them.

—

“Yes, there's four of us,” Yuri said, nodding and motioning to the other boys behind him.

They finally got to him.

After a little while more of arguments, they were finally let in.

“I’ll get the blue one!” Yugo yelled, hopping straight into a blue bumper car with a big orange ‘777’ on it.

Yuya went and sat in a red-colored one with little and big yellow stars on it. “I'm taking the red!” He also put his goggles to his neck, as there was the possibility of them falling off.

“Ooh yeah.” Yuri jumped into a purple-almost-pink gradient one.

And Yuto went to a dark violet with a zig-zagged yellow lightning on it. “Nice…”

A countdown started, and the four got ready.

3,

Yuri's grin increased wildly, and his eyes shone much eagerness to just ᵈᵉᶜⁱᵐᵃᵗᵉ and ᶜʳᵘˢʰ them all.

2,

Yuto gripped the steering wheel tighter, and his right foot was on the pedal—ready to press down on it any time.

1,

Yugo fumbled with whatever the seatbelt system the car had. He doesn't know how it works nor how to put it on.

GO!

And that was it. The smell of some rubber and burnt electricity filled the air around them, and Yuya reveled in it, as it was a sign that bumper cars…

Had officially begun.

He pressed down hard on the pedal, and the bumper car shot straight forward.

“Ah!” he managed to squeal before bumping into Yuri.

Oh, no. Oh no oh no oh no…

Yuri turned to him, bloodlust in his eyes.

Yuya gulped. He was now Yuri's main target.

He quickly turned his wheel to the left and drove as quickly and as far away from the psychopathic cabbage as possible.

“Yuuuya-kun!” he heard Yuri say creepily, somehow managing to dodge and counter anyone who dares to go in his way.

“Ahhhhh!” Yuya continued to leave his wheel turning left, and for the next minute the two spent it by chasing each other around the whole area.

“AH HAW HAW HAW!” Yuri laughed maniacally, twisting and turning his wheel and boosting forward just to catch up to Yuya.

…that was, until Yugo hit him straight at the center, and because of that, Yuri got himself delayed.

“Quick, Yuya! Go now while you caannnn!” Yugo said, motioning him to move away.

“Oh, yeah!” Yuya drove away from the sight as soon as he could. “Good luck with him, Yugo!”

“Don't worry! He's no match for me… I hope!”

Yuya smiled at him gratefully.

It was fun for the next ten—probably—seconds, as he then got bumped by Yuto at the back. “Haha! Gotcha, Yuya!”

“Oh-hoho, you're next!” Yuya warned happily, turning his wheel and speeding up to go after Yuto.

“Whoops! Oh no!” Yuto laughed, driving away. “Ohhh yea—ACK!”

…he got hit by Yugo wayyy too hard.

“Ah! Sorry, Yuto! Yuri's after me and I can't escape him!” Yugo apologized as he desperately moved backwards and turned to the right.

Then, for some reason, Yuto decided to go after Yuri.

He spotted the damned cabbage at a corner across from him.

Wait… Yuya was after him, so… Hmm… Maybe he could make out this plan that formed in his head.

Smirking, Yuto drove to the side and bumped and moved across everyone until he was chasing right behind Yuri.

He looked to his back and saw Yuya chasing him madly.

Yuto smiled. Then, with a swift and sudden turn to the right when no one else was there, he watched as chaos unfolded.

Just as he expected, Yuya, with a face full of regret, slammed right onto Yuri's back, driving the latter straight forward to a random person who…

Hit another. And just like a domino effect, they hit the person in front of them which caused them to hit Yugo just a few feet away and made his car crash into a corner.

The eggplant couldn't help but laugh at his triumphant accomplishment—he just found it too hilarious.

From the other side, Yuri noticed this, and he whispered to Yuya. “Tomato-kun, look at him, laughing at us.”

“Yeah… What he did was pretty hysterical in my opinion,” Yuya reasoned, chuckling at himself.

“Nah… Why don't we get Fusion and team up to take him down?” Yuri suggested, chasing another random poor person.

Yuya thought of it as he tried to catch up to someone he himself was chasing. “Good idea!” he yelled. “I’ll tell Yugo!”

“Go on!”

When Yuya bumped into the person, he went beside Yugo and quickly told him how he wanted to foil Yuri's plan by telling Yuto to team up with him and Yugo to take him—Yuri, of course—down.

And that's it. Yugo told Yuto and he agreed.

With their three common, singular, stupid brain cells somehow working together without much supervision, the three managed to surround Yuri.

“Give up, Yuto!” Yuri started. “We have you surrounded!”

“I wonder about that,” Yuto grinned, pulling off the classic ‘Sore wa dou kana’ meme on Yuri, only this time it's not with cards.

Yuri tched. What does he mean by that? He had the advantage, Yugo and Yuya were on his side…

Or were they…?

Ah. Those traitors.

Shit's about to go down, right here, right now.

He looked to his left and saw Yugo get ready. To his right, he found Yuya.

And of course, to his front: Yuto.

The atmosphere was so thick, one could try to cut it and end up successful.

Even the other people just straight-up avoided them and went on with themselves a bit further away.

And in a flash, all three zoomed in on Yuri.

He tried to swivel away but still ended up crashing onto Yugo.

Of course, the other two slammed to them as well, and now they're just a group of cars spinning into each other like some hurtling hurricane or typhoon.

“HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE THE VICTIM NOW, YURI? HUH?!” Yugo screamed, a little too much enthusiasm in his voice. One could guess that he seemed to want to murder the Academian boy.

“I'll never know,” Yuri countered nonchalantly while trying to think of a way to get himself out of the pickle.

“Grr, I'll get you…!”

“Don't you three already have me though?” Yuri asked. “Or are you blind?”

“Face it, Yuri,” Yuto began, “you've lost!”

Yuya already sensed that something was… Off, though; Yuri was too calm.

“Yuto,” Yuri said, scoffing a bit condescendingly. “Where there's a will…” he looked behind him to make sure the coast was clear then grinned, “there's a way!”

He turned his wheel until he knew it faced backwards and pressed onto the pedal, making him charge backwards while laughing evilly.

He watched, amused, as they now just crushed into each other, with Yugo even hurling onto a random person.

“HAH! Fools—OOMPH!”

As he was not looking at where his car was racing backwards off too, Yuri smashed straight to the side, and that somehow almost sent the air out of him.

“DESERRRVE!” Yugo bellowed as another car plummeted behind him. “Oi! Watch it!”

The whole bumper car ordeal went on for another minute before they all finally came to a stop.

“Hm? Why am I not moving anymore?” Yuri asked, stepping on the pedal repeatedly.

“Relax, Yuri, that's just what happens when the Bump Cars ends—the electricity cuts off and you can't move anymore,” Yuya explained as he got out of his car.

“Ah, thanks for telling me that.” Yuri unbuckled and went out himself. “Was fun while it lasted…”

“No prob.”

“That was so AWESOME!”

They looked behind them and saw Yuto and Yugo walking towards them.

“Yeah, but it's time to go now,” Yuto sighed. “Hey, guys.”

“Hi, Yuto!” Yuya greeted, waving his hand high up in the air. “Where to next?”

“Ooh ooh! I wanna do bump cars again!”

“For once, I agree with Fusion-kun. Let's do it again,” Yuri proclaimed, for some reason while grinning wildly.

Noticing this, Yugo seemed to reconsider his suggestion. “Maybe we should just leave him out of it…”

“That's not fair now, I was the source of fun the whole time!”

“Yuri, to be honest, you spent most of it ‘bullying’ us and a bunch of other people in there.” Yuto had to face-palm at this. “So I second Yugo if we're ever to go in again.”

Yuya sighed as his counterparts—now turned brothers, actually; I forgot to mention that—continued their argument. “Hey, I think we should try something else.”

Yuto looked at him and nodded. “Yuya has a point, you know!” He meant to direct that to the other two.

“Yeah, Yugo. Yuya indeed has a point—I never should've listened to you,” Yuri said, ending their argument.

“And now you're just bullying me,” Yugo groaned, rolling his eyes. “But yeah! Yuya, why don't you decide?”

The pendulum user smiled at this, happy that for once they finally acknowledged him. “I was thinking of going for the swing ride next, actually!”

“Is that the thing that's like a carousel except there's chairs at the bottom chained to the ceiling and you spin high up in the air?” Yugo burbled, excitement clear on his hyperactive expression. ‘Please please please!’

“Yeah, that's the one,” Yuto was the one to confirm. “It will give you headaches if you use it more than once, tho—"

“Then that's great! Last one there has to feed one of Yuri’s hideous plants!” Yugo declared as he ran off to the direction of said ride.

“My Predaps are not hideous, and they're beautiful! You take that back!” Yuri shouted and quickly bolted after the blueberry-banana head.

“Well,” Yuya chuckled, “we don't want to touch Yuri's plants now, do we?”

“Absolutely fucking not,” Yuto said, disgust made evident in his monotonous but somehow still excited voice. “Let's go!”

Laughing, the two ran after the others, and finally they reached the other ride.

If anyone's wondering, it was poor Yuto who was last. He was dared to feed Yuri's Chlamydosundew (which Yuri simply calls 'Chlamy') when they got home. It was an idea he absolutely hated, but he knew he couldn't do anything about it, so he just accepted.

Otherwise, it was a fun day for the boys. They got into more rides, with food following soon after (which is a bad idea, I think? The Internet sadly doesn't have exact answers for this).

—

Ending A/N: aaand done! Oh and bump cars usually last only abt 10-15 mins where I am, so let's pretend they don't here. but if where u r its longer, just disregard this ig. And im not sure if this is late lol...

[salchat]

Dean had a rule that he applied to anything he didn’t know how to do - he just went ahead and did it anyway. Because if no one had told you what might go wrong, or how hard something was, or that you weren’t old enough to do that, then you didn’t have to worry, did you? You just got on with it and did the best you could.

Things like fixing a table he’d found in an old house they stayed in once - though its condition barely qualified it as a house. It turned out the solution had been plenty of nails and plenty of force - applied randomly but with enough commitment to get the job done. The same applied when it started raining and it seemed like most of the rain was on the inside of the house instead of out in the muddy yard where it belonged. The same solution had proven effective that time, with the addition of a few scraps of plastic sheeting - except that climbing on the roof, especially in the middle of a rainstorm, had been a challenge, even for Dean. He hadn’t fallen though, and had got the roof patched well enough so that he and Sammy had only needed a couple of buckets to catch the water and they’d kept mostly dry.

Then there’d been the bike he’d found that time - had that been at that same old wreck of a house or somewhere else? Anyway, Dean had come across a bike, sticking out of a heap of rubbish - rusty, the chain hanging off, wheels bent, pedals missing. And he’d known nothing about bikes, even though he’d had one, once, before - but they’d left that behind. Or maybe it’d burnt up in the fire. And anyway, a bike wouldn’t fit in the Impala, so neither he nor Sammy had ever had another.

Dean had studied the bike. He’d moved the pedal crank around and watched what happened. He’d looked at the parts that moved. He'd looked at the parts that didn’t move. He’d counted the sticky-out bits on the rings and how, if they worked, they’d make the wheel go around at different speeds. He’d looked at the brake handles and the lines that led from them to the little blocks that were supposed to press against the wheel rims. He’d looked at the rust and the torn saddle.

And then he’d made it work. He’d had to beg a few bits and pieces from the garage down the road - because Dad had the tool box in the trunk of the Impala, and he’d been away on a hunt. But eventually, the bike worked, mostly. The pedals were bits of wood bound around with string. He hadn’t been able to fix the bit which moved the chain from one ring to another, so it only had one gear. And he couldn’t afford to buy new lines for the brakes - so it didn’t have any. But he’d got rid of the rust and greased up all the moving bits and roughly stitched the torn saddle. It had been rideable.

Dean hadn’t known if could remember how to ride a bike - so he’d just gone ahead and done it anyway. He’d fallen off and skinned his knees and elbows, and then got back on again, then repeated the whole process quite a few times until, pretty quickly, he’d progressed from wobbling up and down the rough track in front of the house, to speeding recklessly, planting a foot in the dirt and doing a kind of handbrake turn around it in order to stop. Then he’d grown bold and pulled wheelies and set up stunts with a bit of old board and a few bricks. And then Sammy had wanted to learn, so Dean had lowered the saddle right down and held the back of it while his brother had ridden along, his feet on the crossbar because his legs had been too short for him to reach the pedals.

They’d had a lot of fun with that old bike. But they’d had to leave it behind when Dad came back to get them.

“No room for that,” Dad had said. “Leave it.” And Sammy had whined and Dean had said, “Yes, sir,” and they’d gone on their way.

But Dean knew. He’d grown up knowing, because he’d had to - that broken or messed-up things could be fixed if you just thought the job through and worked real hard. And also, that if you had to, you could make something useful, or sometimes fun, out of virtually nothing.

Read on AO3

Read on ffn

[deathsbestgirl]

3.13 syzygy

(had to include 3.13 cuz that’s my anniversary <3)

under a cut cuz ofc this is longer than it needs to be

oh right that’s ryan reynolds !!!

i love these two actresses, i think they’re so good. but i think their characters’ names should have been switched 😂

*also* am i supposed to believe they’re straight? i only see gay activity

it’s the way mulder & scully are bickering the first moment we see them. why are they on each other’s nerves already lmaooo

scully looking *so* annoyed when mulder explains her skepticism to white — top notch.

scully judging a woman for her hair?? so ooc. only acceptable in this episode because it’s the whole point.

it’s my opinion that all of the annoyances are very real & in character — but every single one of their actions & reactions regarding it is what’s out of character. they hide their feelings better when ~emotions are involved, and professional disagreements is what their entire working partnership is based on. and only when they hit boiling points do they have real arguments about their difference of opinion.

i love scully poking holes in detective white’s theories is beautiful. and she’s literally so right. like. they have no evidence of what these girls are saying?? nor have they identified anyone.

“look, we’ve been working together for what, two years now? we have differing opinions, but i didn’t expect you to ditch me.”

SCULLY IS SO RIGHT. mulder trying to claim he didn’t ditch her specifically because he was annoyed with her *correct* assessment that this isn’t the work of satanists??

it’s funny though, because it is like him to ditch her, or maybe from his perspective, to pursue his hunches, try to prove his theories. but he usually only ~ditches her when he thinks it’s necessary. and it just is not necessary here. to give her no option or heads up? also weird of him to badly defend her to det. white.

and like i know scully’s jealous BUT she just feels more in the right. unsurprising for me to think/feel that lol

what i love though is how ambiguous her reaction & emotions are. it would be very easy to believe what she said about his behavior & thinking it’s about his professionalism — but when she’s smoking in her motel room, muttering to herself?? a little more difficult. could still say that she’s professionally annoyed because he’s trusting this detective he doesn’t know & has no rapport with. meanwhile they’ve been partners more than two years now, she has proven herself an asset, gained his trust & trusted him in that time — and with det. white, she doesn’t have to do anything.

the whole scene in mulder’s motel room weirds me out. it makes me so uncomfortable. like i know he’s trying to see if she was the one wearing his “favorite perfume” but touching intimately like that, and not just standing close to her? WEIRD. drinking, slightly ooc. he’s all messed up cuz him & scully are off so i don’t think it’s out of the question.

DRIVING WHEN HE WAS DRINKING?! no. NO. nope. i hate it.

(honestly this whole episode just cracks me up but that really bothers me, cuz he’s so not inconsiderate in that way. he can be in a lot of other ways, but something that could endanger others and not because of their line of work. it’s a hard ooc moment for me to swallow.)

the ~big macho man~ and ~little feet/pedals~ comments are absolutely hilarious. mulder having white drive with scully — hysterical. and so so interesting that this is when they finally get some answers. even if those answers are scientifically unexplainable for fbi purposes.

was the doctor crossdressing out of character for him? the paranoia in the small town? believing the murders are the work of satanists? what are these people really like?

their conversation about margi & terri is hilarious. it’s the only one so far where they seem to be properly communicating and then scully says ~sure. fine. whatever.~ for the second time.

OH and the movie 😂😂😂

“hey girlfriend” queer activity !!!

all of the guns firing and the desks moving — literally how does scully explain this to herself? does she think it was like a fever dream lollll

also mulder dragging & throwing margi into a room is so fucking comical. and scully throwing terri in too? and then they just wait it out??

the paranoid town folks come with their pitchforks l, ready to exact their own justice and then as soon as they see the girls, POOF. but they still insist it was the devil 😭😭 even mulder is exasperated at that point lmao

and literally what the heck was detective white doing? opening the door with a mob right there?! she’s kind of really dumb…

scully driving like a lunatic, ignoring him, running a stop sign — hilarious. i fucking love it. “shut up mulder” “sure fine whatever”

this is a very special unhinged episode. cuz like. sure they’re a little ooc but it still very much feels like them. like the worst thing is actually their choice of substances and the disregard they show each other.

and still i just think — they’re so good at communicating about their work and i don’t understand why that doesn’t cross over into the more personal. like the way scully actually goes at mulder for his behavior with detective white is crazy, so unlike how she behaved when it was phoebe, bambi, or fowley. the differences in her behavior from p > b > f is actually kinda sweet. i think it reflects the stage of their partnership & her (internalized) recognition of her feelings. but detective white? her reactions are a little over the top for where they currently are. even if the undercurrent has been there since the beginning.

and now i’m just thinking of squeeze 😩😩 because mulder was pretty territorial but still pretty lowkey. and he’s acting surprised at this point that she feels territorial of him and protective of their trust & partnership. what an idiot

[m0mmat0rtle]

FANCY FNAF MOVIE ➵ Ch. 18

Fire.

Pure heat. It burned so brightly in the darkness, the entire cabin consumed by the flames. There would be nothing left by morning. Fancy sniffed as she watched it, the fire, the end. Finally full circle. Finally her personal nightmare was over. Finished. Won. But the war wasn't over, just her battle.

"C'mon." Mike said as he turned, the flames to his back, walking to the car he took here. "We've got to go." He said and Fancy turned to follow him. "This isn't your car." She said slowly. "Mike who-" "It's Vanessa's. Fancy we seriously have to go." He said.

"What's going on?" "Abby's in danger." He said. Then Fancy remembered, Afton was still on the loose. He was dangerous. And Abby was in danger. The battle was won, her battle, but not the war. And this was the finale, the last battle, the final stretch.

Fancy gathered some things she had pulled from Mr. Patrick's cabin, tools that would help her later, and placed them in the backseat of the cop car. She hoped in the passenger seat and turned to Mike who turned the keys in the ignition and the car roared to life, headlights pooling in front of them, though they were powerless against the mighty light of the flames ten feet away.

They had to get out of here anyways, someone would see the fire. Someone would alert the police. She couldn't be there when that happened. "Lets go." She said and Mike put the car in reverse, his arm swinging to grip the passenger seat as he turned around to look out the back window as he turned the car around. Once the wheels were aligned with the road he punched it, his foot slamming down on the gas pedal and the car bolted forward.

"So a few things," Mike began as he drove through the darkness of the night.

"William Afton is Vanessa's father." "I know." "You know?" Mike's brows knit together as he drove, confusion clear on his face. "Yeah I know." "Well, the children's body's are in the animatronic suits, that's why they've never been found." "I know that too." She added. "Afton killed them." "Obviously." "Jesus, Fancy is there anything you don't know?" "This stuff isn't hard to find out if you do your homework, Mike." She replied.

"Well, the ghosts of the children posses the animatronics." "Okay that I didn't know. What the fuck." She looked at him with a baffled expression. "I'm not lying." Mike said. "I wish... I wish I was. They want to make Abby like them. She's in danger." He added. Fancy shivered.

"Okay we have officially passed unnerving and have made our way straight to creepy." "And one more thing." Mike continued. "Afton didn't just kill those five kids." He said as he took the turn into the parking lot of Freddy's. "He killed my brother." Wow. tonight was just full of full circle moments for everyone. Mike included.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Seen but not heard. Seen but not heard? Well how about, for right now at least, it was neither. Neither seen nor heard. Not seen not heard. Obsolete. Silent. Invisible. That was the goal now. Mike had told her to wait in the car. Fancy couldn't believe it. Wait? In the car? After what she had gone through?

"Mike you aren't serious." She had told him. "I'm coming with you." "No you're not." Mike had told her. She scoffed. "Are you seriously going to argue with me right now?" Mike began to reply, to try to reason with her. She cut him off. "Think about this, arguing with the senior pre law student?" he glared at her. His brown eyes burned holes in her ocean blue eyes.

He wasn't arguing with her. He was telling her. A commandment. "I'm not arguing with you on this, Francine." "Neither am I, Michael." silence. They had both pulled out the full name on each other. The government names. God forbid.

"Listen, Francine, you've been in harms way enough for one evening please just do this one thing, if nothing else, do it for me." He said. "I am begging you." He added. "To just stay here and wait." she clenched her jaw.

She wanted to argue, oh how she wanted to argue her point to him. But the way Mike was looking at her stopped her. The way his eyes, brown and soft pleaded with her to stay put. Those eyes that had once looked so tired, well they still did, but they held emotion in them now too. All he wanted was to save his sister. And to keep Fancy safe, out of harms way.

"Fine."

She finally agreed. Mike let out a breath. "Thank you." He uttered. He reached for her, his fingers, grasped the back of her head and tangled in her blood soaked messy hair. He pulled her foreword and gently tilted her head down. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'll be right back." He said.

"Wait for me?" "I will."

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

But she never promised how long she would wait. After nearly half an hour with no sign from Mike she couldn't stand it anymore. Fancy had made her own decision. She grabbed her things from the back of the cop car and crept into the abandoned pizzeria.

Heavy metal footsteps echoed through the halls. And could she be mistaken or was that laughter? Wickedly distorted laughter, but still. Laughter nonetheless. She moved forward, creeping slowly and- what was that thing? That didn't look like one of the animatronics she had seen during her last visit. It stood over Mike, laughing that hideous wicked sound. Crackling like static and churning, moving through the air, reverberating straight through her bones. A shiver went up her spine. Whatever it was, it was evil. There was no doubt about it.

And Mike? Oh god. Mike wasn't moving. No. nononono. Where was Abby? What had happened here?

"Wake up children!"

That voice. That voice was horrid. It was evil. It was the worst thing Fancy had ever heard.

"I have something for you to play with!"

A whirl of electronic and mechanical parts moving and stomping along the floor, marching to their master. The end. Could it be? No. couldn't

"This is gonna be so much fun."

That thing- was it a yellow rabbit? Marched around Mike's body like he were stalking his pray.

"The little ones tell me you have a sister.... She will love it here!"

Oh god, Abby.

"You, however, are finished."

Do something, Fancy.

"Farewell,"

Fancy, do something,

"Michael Schmidt."

DO SOMETHING NOW!

"HEY!"

The rabbit turned. He looked at her with glowing eyes that burned right into her soul.

"You're supposed to be dead." The yellow rabbit croaked. "Yeah well, I came back from the dead. I do it all the time, now." she sneered. "Funny." The rabbit replied. "But you know what they say, Francine, if you want something done right," He slipped a knife through his gloved fingers, "You gotta do it yourself."

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