#skeletal condition | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shotmrmiller · 7 months ago

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Big man, Big mouth

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader (because demeaning girl usage) WC: 4.9k it's just gross smut and simon gets kinda mean sometimes nothing crazy :) ty to the brain to my pinky @xoxunhinged and precious beta @waves-against-a-cliff catching my errs

The smile you’d had on your face all morning is subsequently wiped once you’re told that you won’t, in fact, be spearheading a team meeting with air conditioning and a cup full of your favorite medium roast, but instead, you’re being sent somewhere where practical experience trumps theoretical, textbook knowledge. And alone, at that.

Guess your travel mug is about to make its big debut.

The construction site is alive with purpose— the buzzing of drills, raucous banter, and the low hum of music from a stereo. You run a hand down the back of your skirt that is more tourniquet than office attire you were forced into wearing, regretting not drawing the line at the heels pinching your toes. "Professional setting, professional appearance," your boss had said. Nothing here demands you to stand in ironed clothes with dust settling on your eyelashes and the taste of grit on your tongue.

You feel out of place, a white-collar worker surrounded by hard hats and steel-toe boots. Perhaps taking this job for a promotion was hasty on your part. But it’s too late now and the sun above you is wilting the starched collar of your blouse.

Best get this over and done with. (The bottle of barefoot wine at home will be your reward for your suffering.)

Walking to the home still in a semi-skeletal phase had been a bit uncomfortable, anxiety gnawing at your nerves and the polished shoes at the skin of your heel. But what made your shoulders tense and spine stiffen was the crew. You'd expected disgruntled workers, sure. A bit of grumbling here and there. No one likes to have someone with more authority and less experience trample all over your work, telling you what's what.

Not them eyeing you like you're a fish in a shark tank. A little minnow pulled out of her natural habitat and into the mix with dominant predators. The paper on your clipboard crinkles audibly as one of them— the leader, you gather— stops you before you can get any closer than he feels necessary. He plods over, hard hat tucked into his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sunbaked forearm, a few wood curls nestled into his beard.

"Ya lost?" he grunts.

There's a guy with a comb for hair and limpid blue eyes staring right at you from the back as he leans on a half-built wall with a smarmy grin on his thin lips.

"No! No, I, um—" you stammer, "I'm here as a temporary replacement for, um—"

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave, fingers thick as steel beams. "Right. Yeah, yeah." Bloody rude. "The inspector." His head tilts and spits on the cement, eyes giving you a once over, lingering on the bare skin of your calves. "John," he says then jerks his head behind him, to the shady inside of the home. "Let's get ya out this sun 'fore you melt like sugar on the driveway."

You keep your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down the retort sitting on your tongue with a hint of frustration, and follow him on swift feet. It is unforgivingly hot and at least there's a roof overhead. Most of the walls were still just wooden beams, the foundation concrete covered in dust. Rough-bristle brooms lean in corners, the stereo now sitting silently in the center of what’s to be the living room next to a man with a massive frame and a sweat-soaked wifebeater who didn't bother turning around as you made a beeline for the only fan feebly cutting through the muggy heat inside.

John from behind you grabs your attention. "So? What's the issue this time? We jus' had tha' muppet pass through a week ago." You turn around, the breeze now somewhat cooling the back of your neck.

"Just need to personally check what's left—" you clear your throat, giving the clipboard a waggle, "on this. Nothing too grand." The blonde one with shorn hair hasn't looked up once from the blue cooler between his legs.

John scratches his head. "Right." There's a drag of heavy boots behind you. "Temporary, eh?" His eyes are like cerulean rivets, pinning you in place.

Gruff Scottish cuts in, tone dripping with amusement. "Will ye look a' tha'," he mutters, accent thick and deliberate, "bosses up top sent a bonnie wee lass to keep an eye on things. Make sure ye pay good attention, aye?" The brute comes to stand in front of you, flexing one arm, bicep like a knotted tree trunk. "Would hate ye missin' the show."

Show ‘em your teeth, little fish. That promotion is already in your hands, don't let it slip through your fingers.

"Listen, you—" you snap back, cheeks burning hot but then his eyebrows raise to his hairline, the corner of his lip curling in challenge.

"It's Soap, hen."

“...Right.”

What the hell kind of name is Soap?

A third voice— crisp English just like John's— cuts through the air from the second floor. "Wipe the slobber off ya chin 'nd leave 'er alone, Soap! You still hav'ta sweep up 'ere!" A man with bronze skin and a cap adorned with the Union Jack in the center pokes his head out from over the wooden railing. His smile looks stiff.

"Miss." His eyes flash to Soap. "Move it. You can get your cock—" wow, mouth like a sailor, that one, "wet while on company's time." His gaze falls on you for a moment longer before disappearing back into the upper level.

Soap grumbles what sounds like a "fuckin' 'ell Kyle" but heads for the stairs anyway, steps creaking under his weight. "Ah'll be 'round if ye need me," he says with a wink.

Unlikely.

John absently shakes his head and turns to the grizzled, mountain of a man still hunched over that cursed cooler of his. "Simon." He suddenly moves then, rising smoothly to his feet for someone his size. He's a wall of muscle, a very clear force of nature, and he's now staring at your—

your shoes?

"Alrigh'," he gruffly says, "We'll get outta your way. The faster you can look for, whatever it is you're lookin' for, the faster you can get out o' my beard." He places his hard hat back on and gives Simon a nod. "To work, break time's over."

Simon walks past you without so much as a glance, his thick arm brushing roughly against your shoulder with enough strength to make you take a step back but then he speaks. "Don't trip on nothin', girl. I'd hate f'r our pretty mascot t'get injured on the," he emphasizes the last word, tone heavy with mockery, "job."

Your tongue is pressed firmly behind your clenched teeth as you straighten your skirt. Get this shit over with.

Their attitudes toward you had left some to be desired, but they had done their job seamlessly. Not a crack in place nor a bolt out of it meaning that ticking off the rest of the boxes on your clipboard had been a cinch, making the promotion even easier. By the time you were ready to go home— the thought of leaving behind the tangy scent of sweat and iron adding a pep to your painful step— the sun had already dipped, casting long shadows over the construction site.

Until John's unwelcome chivalrous gesture: sending one of his to accompany you to your car. "t's late out," he says, leaving no room for lip. Fine, whatever. The faster you get out of here the better. Saliva pools in your mouth at the thought of having a chilled glass of wine with chinese takeout for dinner.

Except the one waiting for you in the garage with a lit smoke between his chapped lips is Simon. He flicks it to the ground, smothering out the embers with the heel of his boot. "Move. Ain't got all day."

The last strand of your patience snaps and your mouth twists into a snarl. "Then leave off! I don't need a fucking chaperone. Believe it or not, I do know how to look both ways before crossing the street."

You'd only taken three irate, swift-footed steps away from him, clipboard trembling in your grip when the back of your shoe dug into raw skin; a sharp, sudden agony flaring out in a hot, thick wave and you stumble. The world spins for a second, colors blurring together until—

The relief is immediate. The hot needles on your raw nerves dulled down to a throb, vision blurring from the brief bite of intense pain. You breathe in a deep lungful of air, tasting salt and sawdust while you flex your feet, hissing when the blistered skin stretches. At least the damage to your toes is minimal.

But not to your pride. Tripping over your own feet, because the driveway while unfinished is still flat, now means you're being hauled over his shoulder, which is broad enough to be surprisingly comfortable, in the opposite direction of where your car is with your heels in hand. The fabric of his tank feels stiff under your sweaty palms.

"Is this kind of behavior normal for you? Or am I just lucky?" your voice is tinged with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. His arm tightens uncomfortably around the back of your bare thighs even though the office skirt you managed to squeeze into is knee-length.

"Only when I spot clumsy-footed birds like you. Can't 'ave ya splat on the concrete like a crime scene outline." A slow creeping flame spreads from your neck to the apple of your cheeks when you notice the guys staring at you from a window upstairs, Soap giving you a toothy smile. Even Kyle seems amused. Mortifying. Someone strike you down now. Actually, no. Then who'd feed your cat once you’re gone?

"'nd John would chew me out f'r lettin' ya break these," his long fingers circle your ankle, "in 'alf." You try to muster a response, but the words sit behind your teeth, your chagrin having tangled your tongue into knots.

Then he stops and the creaking of hinges reaches your ears. "Wait." Your eyes land on a black cargo bed, caked with dried mud. "Are you just going to sit me in your car?" He sets you down in the back seat anyway, tossing your shoes inside.

"Truck. I can drop ya on the patch of grass if ya like." Simon leaves you there, going to the driver's side rummaging through the middle compartment. His work truck is exactly what you'd expect from a man like him. The seats are covered in a thin layer of dust, you imagine he gives no one a ride, a well-worn visibility vest strewn about, an extra pair of work boots stained with splatters of white paint—the size difference of your shoes compared to his has you swallowing a lump the size of your fist down.

Simon pulls out a mid-sized red box and places it on the floor mat then props your leg up on his. His grip is firm but gentle as he inspects your open wounds and then sucks on his teeth. "A bit stupid, wearin' ankle breakers when out on a job." He prods around the inflamed skin, the pain making you tense.

"Don't worry about me and mi—" you hiss when he digs his thumb into the arch of your foot, "mine. Maybe I wanted to look nice." Fuck those shoes.

"'m sure ya did, though the skirt's all ya need." The warmth of his breath spreads through your toes and up your calf, raising gooseflesh.

You can't hold back a snort. "And now you're going to tell me that you prefer women in skirts and dresses?"

Simon switches legs, careful to not aggravate the blisters further. "I prefer my women with no clothes. But both of those make it f'r easier access. Like yours. Can see your knickers from 'ere." That has your heart skipping a beat, eyes widening with disbelief. Instinctively, you sit upright, back straightening with a pop.

"They're red."

You chuff out a breath. He's lying. You'd put on the only available pair you had at the time since you'd forgotten to dry your laundry the night prior. A simple, cotton grey. "You—! Fucking hell, I almost kicked you in the teeth." Simon's looking at you now, eyes dark and intense.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he says with a smirk, voice low. "White, then."

The first aid kit still lies on the floor mat. "Stop talking." Simon ignores you, instead grabbing your other leg and pulling you closer toward the edge of the seat. Toward him.

"Green," he rumbles, his hands cupping the bottom of your feet, thumb and pointer coming to gently tug on your toes before moving his way up. You feel like a young, dewy-eyed farm girl having her first tumble in the hay and he's only now stroking the protruding bone of your ankle. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tender caress that sends a shiver up your spine. Has it truly been that long since you've had your body shape imprinted into the mattress?

"How about," you swallow thickly, "you patch me up proper and I'll be on my way?" If anyone else had heard, they'd say you're trying to convince yourself that being here isn't what you really want. But the little garble in your voice gives you away.

Simon hums, a sound that vibrates in your chest, sinks into the marrow of your bones. "Little bird wants t’go home 'nd 'ave only a throw 'nd a cat t'warm 'er bed?" You feel a different kind of ache this time, pulsing sharp and deep in your core. "Eh? Y'wanna curl up on the couch with one o’ those sex books while playin’ with your pretty cunt?"

The idea of having to use the blue bullet sitting inside the nightstand drawer sounds unappealing. And it’s probably out of battery too. Damn.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and shake your head. He doesn’t accept that as your answer.

"Wha's tha'? You will speak when spoken to, pet. Do you," he emphasizes the last word as he begins to open your legs by the knees, "wanna go home with an empty pussy or let me fill it 'til you're leaking cum out ya ears?"

Can't say no to him serenading you like that. You clench around nothing, hesitance crumbling like sand. "B-but what about your job? Aren't you still working?"

Simon grabs you then, dinner plate-sized hands wrapping around the softer part of your waist. "'M on a break. I'd say I deserve it after all my 'ard work." He lifts you effortlessly, the hem of your skirt rolling as you widen your legs further.

He rolls his hips once, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against your sex, feather-light, and you bite on the thickest part of your tongue to keep from moaning like a cat in heat. "And what about us being in the open?" you ask though the question is redundant. Besides the crew's work vehicles, there's not another car in sight. If anyone else had been working nearby, they've long since left.

He seems to share your sentiment. "If tha's all? 'm tryin' t'see if I got it righ'."

No, that'll just about do it. "Okay. Alright." God knows you need this. Even if it comes from a stranger you'll probably never see again. Simon doesn't wait any longer, pushing up the rest of your skirt to pool above your thighs.

He hisses long and low through his teeth. "Tight little thing, innit?" Yeah, well. You were going to tell him that while putting on your skirt that morning had been an absolute nightmare, it wasn't that small on you until the tips of his fingers glided along your clothed slit. Oh. He's not talking about that.

"I guess grey's my new favorite colour. Especially this—" he thumbs the darkened wet spot on the fabric, "shade." When he adds more pressure, you can't help but let a gasp out as you buck your hips in want of more. "Easy. 'aven't even started with you." Simon opens the front of your blouse with a single hand, coming undone easily. He goes for the clip of your bra that's serendipitously placed on the front.

"Gotta let the girls breathe," he says. Whatever his reasoning doesn't matter because all there is, is relief. No more underwire digging into your skin, no more suffocating restraint. You only wore the blasted thing because all of your sports bras would've been visible through the blouse.

Simon rolls a hardened bud with one hand while unbuttoning the front of his jeans with the other. "Eatin' this," he gives the mound of your pussy a mean tap, "gonna 'ave t'wait. I'll get ya off though, don't worry tha' little head o' yours."

You wonder if he says that to everybody he fucks in the back of his truck. "What? Why?"

His length sits hot and heavy over your cunt. And it's big enough to kill. Death by cock. That'll be on your epitaph. "'m a big geezer," he mutters, fingers toying with the side of your panties, "lyin' down so you can sit your cunt on my face isn't gonna work righ' now."

Definitely says that to everybody. "Doesn't matter. I'll take care o'ya 'nother way." Simon pulls the dampened gusset to the side and lowers his head to— "Pretty like I thought it was." A fat glob of spit lands on the puffy lips of your pussy and he smears it around with his cock, tip sliding right along your clit. He uses his thumb to press himself down harder, more friction, more sensation, each slow roll of his hips pricking neglected nerves awake, alive, and it feels good. Surprisingly good.

The way the scar on his lip whitens as he bites it tells you it's just as good for him too. "Thought about it much, did you?" He goes lower this time, ruddy tip catching on your entrance momentarily before returning up.

"Since you walked inside a place you 'ave no business bein' in. Birds like you shouldn't be minglin' in the trenches with us grunts." The tips of your ears are hot as he stares down at you. "Should be sittin' nice 'nd pretty in a cubicle with air conditionin' 'nd an oversized mug o' watered-down coffee."

Simon cups the swell of your arse, canting your hips to glide himself better. Every bump and ridge on the underside of his cock is rubbing slowly on you and the thought of licking a slick stripe on the vein only tightens the white-hot coil below your navel.

"Or better yet, sittin' at home doin' wha'ever else while waitin' f'r a man like me to come back from work with a ribeye 'nd redskin potatoes in the oven." He lets your panties fall back into place; the sodden front almost transparent as he rubs against your swollen clit at the same time. God, he's fucking. your. panties! And you're bloody letting him.

What a way to break this year-long dry spell.

He bends your legs so that your feet are now being held flat on the thick of his chest with his hands as he picks up the pace. The suspension springs on the truck begin to groan. "I like mine medium rare."

Your back's come off the seat, spine bowed. You're close, so fucking close, you've got slick coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to your arse, probably staining his polyester material underneath. This is torture and your pussy feels tender, raw, yet he's barely touching the focal point of your desire. If he doesn't make you come in the next minute, you're breaking that thick neck of his.

It's like he read your mind because he uses his cock to tap on your clit firmly, hard enough to hear a wet thwack and he does it once, thrice and—

And then your body gives, an intense climax that steals the breath in your very lungs, has you your blunt nails biting into the muscle of his forearms, his groan drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears. Your face feels hot, probably is hot to the touch and there's a sting on the middle of your bottom lip and can taste iron on your tongue. Even the tips of your fingers tingle.

Through your half-lidded gaze, you see Simon holding onto the top of the truck while his breath comes in ragged gasps. Did he come? You curiously touch the expanse of your stomach. Not sticky.

"No. I didn't come. You," he takes in a deep, steadying breath then reaches to squeeze the sides of your face, cheeks plumping under the pressure. "You almost 'ad me, though. I don't remember the last time I 'ad to think tha' 'ard of London t'not finish. But I'm not done with you."

Simon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and takes them off with urgency only to stuff them in his back pocket. "Better with no clothes on, remember." You can feel his twitching cock leak onto your heated skin.

"If ya need, use this." A black bundle of fabric lands on your chest, what is— It's a mask? If he means to hide your identity from his coworkers, you're not sure this skull mask is going to work. He drags you to him roughly until your arse is hanging off the seat. And then there's a hot, dull pressure pushing against your entrance that's followed by a searing sting, and it, it's so much, it's too m-

"Tight fucking-, Ya need t-, fuck, to relax," he grunts, fingers dimpling your thighs. Simon's thrusts are jerky, short, as he wrenches your walls apart. Even with your creamy cum and his spit it's still a struggle. "'Alf way there," and a rattled breath escapes you. You're being split right down the middle and there's still some left?

For the next few moments only your squeaks and mewls can be heard as he makes room for him, your hand flat on his lower stomach— feeling the coarse, thick patch of hair on it— as if you're trying to keep him away, out, something but then he snarls and snaps his hips. You've heard of a ring of fire some women experience at some point in their life and you think this is yours. The thin skin of your entrance burns, most likely stretched to its limit, like a rubber band about to snap.

"Easy," he drawls out, "The worst's over. Took me like you're made f'r me. G'mme ya 'and." He takes your clammy hand and has you touch where the two of you meet. His eyes are glued to your fingers that are split into a v, pads feeling your cunt soaked in viscous slick.

The groan he lets out at the sight makes the world around you spin. "Stay jus' like tha'." Sure, not like you’ve got anywhere to go. Not with his hands tight around you like metal cuffs. Simon holds nothing back, not even in the very first minute. Doesn't warm you up to it, don't let you try to get used to him turning you inside out. His thrusts are long, firm, hungry— bottoming out every single time until he sits snugly at the plug of your womb. Grinds up when he meets resistance, eyeing your features in case there's discomfort.

The only ache you've got is the one he's fucking into you. (And you also might be partly lying on his tape measurer.)

But then he hitches your legs up, hands around the back of your thighs as they're pushed toward your chest and that pulls a whine out of you that you're sure John and the crew heard. "There she is, bird's got a healthy set o' lungs on 'er." He keeps the same, unforgiving angle and doubles down, using the bulk of his weight to pin you in place, forced to do nothing but take and take and take.

Until Simon's strikes the side of your arse with an open palm. "D'ya hear 'em?" Wha? What? Hear who?

And then you hear it. Him. The handsome one with the hat from upstairs. "Ghost?" he sounds right across the street and Simon hasn't stopped rocking the truck as he fucks you right through it. "Wha's tha' Kyle?" His voice is steady even though there are beads of sweat rolling down the side of his temple.

"I said good job on all your 'ard work 'nd we'll see ya tomorrow. You 'ave a good night too, Miss." There's a crude whistle followed by a pained grunt and a quick mumbled apology. Maybe if you don't respond they'll just get in their car and go home.

But then John calls out to you too.

"Simon must’ve missed you, sweetheart. “Wow. He barks out a laugh. " 'ave yourself a good night, Miss.” Then, sternly says, “Tomorrow at 6, Simon.”

Simon, though, has no intention of letting you take the easy way out. He smacks your arse again, right in the same— already tender— spot from just moments before. "Answer 'em, pet. Or 'ave I fucked all the manners outta ya?" He accentuates the last three words with thrusts so sharp that if he hadn't been holding you in place, you would've been sent sprawling back.

Whatever words you're supposed to say are snagged in your throat like hooks, only whimpers and high-pitched gasps falling past your trembling lips. He drags his thumb over your bottom one, the calloused pad of it tough. "Go on. Be good 'nd tell 'em to 'ave a good night too. And no names. Only one comin’ outta you should be mine."

When you open your mouth, he weaves a hand down to your clit, jerking it in fast little circles that have you forgetting where you even are. "Mf- g-good," he gives you just a second of respite to spit on it. "Good night-," his fingers are almost torture, and god, you're going to come in front of all of them. You warble out the words hastily, feeling your impending orgasm come at you with the speed of a freight train.

"Tha's a good bird, singin' when I tell ya to." There's no stopping this, not with all of his focus on the little bundle of nerves and every drag of his cock making your spine arch as if he were winding it. "Squeeze my cock, tha's it."

Your legs shake violently, toes curled, and you can feel a cramp begin in your calf but none of it matters, not when you're seeing bright lights behind your scrunched eyelids, not when you feel fingers in your mouth to stifle the scream that's viciously wrenched from your throat nor when Simon growls out a "Fuckin' 'ell."

"I told ya, if ya needed somethin' t'bite on, use tha'," he jerks his head toward the mask that's tight in your fist. Your soul is still floating adrift in the wind and he's already trying to make conversation. And he did not say to bite on it.

"I'm not puttin' this unwashed thing in my mouth." You languidly watch him inspect his hand, looking at the deep purple teeth imprints on his fingers. Whoops.

"But you'll 'ave me after sweatin' under the bloody sun for 'ours." His hand slides behind your nape, lifting your head a bit as he lowers his chest to meet your sweat-slick one. Your hands come to claw at the shifting muscles of his back when he begins anew, this time his pace is relentless, sharp, predatory. He's a shark that has scented blood and is now on the hunt.

The prickling bristles of his facial hair scratch against your temple. "This," the hand around your neck tightens, your rapid pulse now roaring in your ears, "is the best pussy I've ever had." His thrusts are jarring, make your teeth clack together hard enough to hurt, and after a dozen of them, he comes with a cruel bite to the junction of your shoulder, snarl animalistic.

Hopefully, the guys drove off a while ago otherwise you're re-dressing and driving home with that mask Simon tossed your way.

Your blouse is unfortunately beyond saving. Your skirt isn’t faring any better if that massive tear in the front has anything to say about it and your shoulder will require at least half a bottle of concealer plus a couple of bandaids, which the first aid kit is completely empty of. Not even the first aid guide is inside.

You sluggishly begin to button up one of Simon's spare flannel shirts when he asks you if you're hungry.

"No." Not really. Hard to feel much when most of your nerves from the ribs down are shot.

"Get in the front, I'd like t'eat my dinner soon." He's staring right at the apex of your legs, your cunt still throbbing from the abuse."'m 'ungry." There’s no tow car sign on the street, actually, there’s not even a simple stop sign here.

It better not get towed. You’re not paying a dime if it does.

(Are your feet still hurting or can he fuck those too? No? Next time, then.)

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley x f!reader #cod smut

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spacestationerysims · 2 years ago

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mitzi got assigned gardening again

#anyway thanks for reading the final update of nsb: mint condition. I'll be retiring now for a career in graphic design #[for tone tag purposes this is a joke however skeletal!meme!Mitzi is being turned into a cc wall poster as we speak. my magnum opus]#nsb: mint condition #notsoberry #ts4 gameplay

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botanicalsword · 6 months ago

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Saturn ✧ the challenges lead you to maturity?

Saturn in Natal Chart - In which areas do they face challenges that lead to maturity?

Where do they encounter obstacles and difficulties?

In what aspects of life are they likely to experience pressure and responsibility?

How do rules and regulations influence these areas?

What life dimensions must they confront under pressure, and what types of challenges do these dimensions present?

Saturn in the 1st House

often feel unattractive

tend to wear a mask of indifference, making it difficult for them to express their true selves

may experience a sense of lack during childhood, even if their family is not financially struggling

a strong sense of responsibility, making them reliable for important tasks

exhibit excessive defensiveness and materialism

might face issues related to their skin, bones, or chronic health conditions

Saturn in the 2nd House

have a deep fear of poverty

tightening their purse strings gives them a sense of security - leading to a stable financial foundation in their later years

can be seen as wealthy yet burdened

may come from a background of financial hardship / experience a sense of stinginess from their parents.

often find it challenging to earn money

sacrifice enjoyment in life in exchange for an irreplaceable sense of security

nothing is more important to them than feeling secure

Saturn in the 3rd House

may have experienced stuttering or speech difficulties in their early years

they might have been teased for their accents

remain silent unless absolutely necessary

do not have a speech impediment, when they choose to speak - their words carry significant weight

they are not inclined to engage in casual conversation

may be perceived as dull by adults or face criticism for their words - leading them to internalize their thoughts and feelings

may struggle to share their innermost thoughts with others

Saturn in the 4th House

have a strong sense of family identity - take on the responsibility of caring for their family from a young age

they may feel obligated to support their family or care for their father

may have had a strict or emotionally distant father during childhood - who was often absent or unapproachable, leading to feelings of fear or estrangement

find it difficult to share their emotions and may struggle to express care - but they are willing to shoulder family responsibilities, they may not engage in nurturing behaviors

often exhibit distrust towards emotional intimacy while yearning for security and permanence in their lives

Saturn in the 5th House

fewer romantic opportunities

often seen as the "unloved child" / either neglected - a loss of their own identity and significance

may find it difficult to connect with their children (challenging aspects)

tend to exhibit a noticeable shyness - waiting quietly on the sidelines

hoping to one day become the center of admiration and attention

Saturn in the 6th House

experience depression due to their intense focus on health issues - prompting them to engage in rigorous fitness / wellness routines

particularly concerned with their schedules - may experience anxiety in daily life, often resisting changes to their routines

they place immense pressure on themselves at work and continue to do so after hours - leading to more severe chronic fatigue

may encounter skeletal or joint issues - often linked to prolonged stress

feelings of pressure, pessimism, fear, distrust, or gloom

Saturn in the 7th House

may lead them to encounter serious partners who do not provide the intimacy they seek in marriage (challenging aspects)

making the institution feel burdensome

may find themselves in relationships with older partners / those who impose many restrictions

approach marriage with a serious and solemn attitude, placing great importance on marital contracts.

fear both marriage and the absence of it

experiencing loneliness, rejection, and disappointment in real -life marriages can prompt them to embark on an inward journey of self-exploration

Saturn in the 8th House

often struggle to confront the topic of death, exhibiting a greater fear of mortality than most - translates into a stronger will to survive

may face financial difficulties - lead to issues in their marriages / being taken advantage of financially by business partners

may encounter problems receiving inheritances / resources (challenging aspects)

have a deep interest in the subconscious - if they harness this interest wisely - become true masters of transformation

Saturn in the 9th House

possess strict moral values and a strong sense of conscience, making them hesitant to take risks and fearful of making mistakes

may engage in lifelong learning and continuously pursue certifications

often require written documentation or prior occurrences to believe in something - exhibiting a somewhat rigid mindset

resistance to traveling abroad (challenging aspects)

Saturn in the 10th House

appear remarkably youthful - growing younger in appearance as they age but their personality and style tend to be more seasoned and sophisticated

typically late bloomers - not the type to achieve success in their youth

eager to showcase their abilities - but once they do, they often find themselves burdened with greater responsibilities and pressures - lead to self-imposed stress

may struggle to express this pressure - making it essential for them to learn how to manage stress effectively

may also find themselves living out their unfulfilled inner needs through their partners - which can impact their intimate relationships

Saturn in the 11th House

withdraw from social interactions - feeling unable to fit into certain circles

tend to shy away from expanding their social networks

often showing little interest in socializing - prefer not to make friends casually and dislike superficial social interactions

or leaving little time for solitude - allows them to avoid confronting their inner selves

Saturn in the 12th House

often feel an overwhelming and be responsible for the suffering of others - accompanied by an inexplicable guilt

tend to care for those in need

may experience a state of self-isolation - avoiding external contact while grappling with a profound sense of loneliness and helplessness

a strong sense of duty within them - instinctive sacrifices - a feeling of being unable to cope with reality

need to learn to shed the heavy burdens they impose on themselves - avoid excessive responsibility and allowing themselves to move forward with greater ease

✧ >> Career ✧ What challenges will you encounter in your work? • Solar Returns >> Career • work a job or start a business? ✧ Natal Chart Observation >> Career • A Sudden Change - What Happens Next? ✧ Solar Return / Lunar Return >> Career • Indicators for your potential and talents (Part 1) >> Career • Indicators for your potential and talents (Part 2)

>> Back to Masterlist ✧ Explicit Content

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amnhnyc · 4 months ago

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With Halloween right around the corner, we’ve got a “spooky” fossil for you! This mummified arctic ground squirrel was frozen into the permafrost some 20,000 years ago. Usually, only hard skeletal parts of an animal, such as bones or teeth, are preserved as fossils. But the dry, frozen conditions within permafrost “freeze-dried” the squirrel and prevented its skin from decaying!

Photo: © AMNH

#science #amnh #museum #fossil #nature #natural history #animals #fact of the day #did you know #squirrel #spooky season #spooky #mummy #halloween

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ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral · 9 months ago

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I was going to post a different au idea tonight, but this idea caught me in a death-grip and would not let me go, so enjoy!

Note: You can find the translations for the old English at the end!

EDIT: You can find part two of this au here, and part three here!

In this au, Merlin dies at Camlann instead of Arthur, and his magic was diffused into the king and kingdom he so loved upon his death, making everyone in Camelot immortal. After a few centuries of thriving though, Merlin's magic starts to fade, and everyone falls into an almost comatose state. It keeps them all alive and protected the kingdom from intruders, but it could not keep them awake. However, the people of Camelot did not worry about this. Both the druids and the dragon had proclaimed that Merlin would return to the world of the living again one day. So, they were content to sleep peacefully and await the day of their friend's return. Slowly, the earth rose up to swallow Camelot, and the sleeping kingdom was buried underneath the earth.

Fast forward to modern day, and Merlin's been reincarnated without any of his memories or his magic. He winds up as an archeologist, and eventually is sent out to a promising dig site on the border between England and Wales. There, his team unearths a window into an old fortress. Their sonar equipment has revealed a full castle underneath their feet, and they have everything prepped for a preliminary excavation! They've already found coins and a few blades on the site, dating back to the 6th century!

Now, stories of the "immortal kingdom of Camelot" and its undying and legendary king Arthur were commonplace, and Merlin quite enjoyed those stories as a child. However, historians doubted if Camelot was ever a real kingdom at all, and no one past the age of six believed in an immortal kingdom! Merlin, deep down, was hoping that the dig site was indeed the historical kingdom Camelot itself, as much of the kingdom's history had been lost and buried under ridiculous myths about magic and dragons.

However, the issue is that the window that they discovered is pretty small. Merlin, as the skinniest out of all of them, would probably be the only one who could fit through it. Excitedly, Merlin puts on his safety harness and hard hat and descends through the window and into the castle.

Merlin explores for a bit, constantly telling the team on the surface all about the amazingly preserved artifacts in the castle. There's tapestries, suits of armor, furniture, even clothing still in wardrobes all in perfect condition! The entire team is besides themselves with excitement! They've just made the most important discovery of their careers!

Merlin spends a few more days exploring the castle by himself. Eventually, he comes to a rather impressive and ornately decorated door and decides to find out what's behind it. It must be something pretty important to warrant such an impressive door! Perhaps the throne room?

As he opens the door though, he lets out a loud gasp, shocked by two things in the room. First, the large round table in the middle of the room. He knew that he was near the supposed site of the lost kingdom of Camelot, but this confirmed it! All of the legends spoke about king Arthur's round table, and here it was before him, confirming the legends!

However, Merlin's elation was dashed by the second thing he noticed: bodies. There were bodies occupying the seats around the table, all of them slumped over or slouching in their seats with their eyes closed, but they were not skeletal remains that should have been there, seeing as how no one had set foot in those room for hundreds of years. No, these people looked like they had only been there for a day, with no signs of decay on them.

As Merlin's fear began to rise, he tried to reason with himself. Maybe this kingdom had surprisingly advanced embalming techniques and had unusual burial rituals? What other explanation could there possibly be?

As Merlin reported the bodies to his colleagues on the surface, they warned him to be careful is something didn't feel right, which it certainly didn't. Something about these bodies creeped Merlin out in a way that no other human remains had ever done. However, Merlin's unease lessened somewhat as he described the bodies to his colleagues, his excitement at such a well-preserved find started eclipsing his fear.

There were in total five male bodies and one female body, with four of the male bodies being clad in chainmail, surcoats, trousers, and long bright red capes with an insignia of a golden dragon sown into it. The other male body was similarly clad in chainmail and a cape, but wore a golden crown on his head. Lastly, the lone female body, who was sitting to the left of the crowned male body, was a dark-skinned woman wearing an ornate and richly decorated dress along with a small silver crown on her head.

Merlin's heart stuttered in his chest as he came to the natural conclusion of these observations: he had just found the perfectly-preserved bodies of a king, queen, and four knights. Forget making his career, Merlin was going to be put in the history books for this discovery! Quickly, he called his colleagues (who had finally found a way to safely widen the entrance at the window) to follow the line of his harness and join him in the room he had just found. They needed to see this!

Finally turning away from the bodies, Merlin let his gaze wander around the room. He takes note of the impressively high ceilings for the time period, the repetition of the dragon crest on decorations around the room, and the designs carved into the wood of the round table. However, one of the most intriguing elements of the room, was the lone empty chair sitting next to the king.

The fact that there was only one empty chair was strange enough, but there were a few even stranger elements to the chair. The chair was directly to the right of the king, presumably reserved for the king's right hand, his chief advisor. Why would such an important figure be missing here? Another puzzling feature of the chair was the scrap of red cloth that was tied around one of the arms of the chair.

Stepping closer to examine the little piece of cloth, he could see at first glance that the cloth was old, battered, and made with cheap material, unlike the richer cloth that made up the knights' and kings' capes. What was this random piece of cloth doing tied around the arm of this chair, which presumedly belonged to a powerful figure in the kingdom?

A sudden piercing shriek caused Merlin to jump into the air. He looked up and across the table, relieved to see that it was just four of his colleagues who had just entered the room. They must've been freaked out by the well-preserved bodies too! Merlin certainly couldn't blame them for such a reaction.

Merlin chuckled a bit and spoke to his frightened coworkers. "Well, what did I tell you? This is going to shock the world! We've just made the discovery of a lifetime!"

However, his colleagues were only getting paler by the second, not even looking at him, instead looking... past him? Merlin frowned a bit and turned to look over his left shoulder, at the body of the king, which was where his coworkers were staring. What could possibly...

His eyes were open. His eyes were definitely not open before.

As soon as his brain caught up with what his eyes were seeing, Merlin let out a panicked shriek and flung himself backwards, away from the king who he swore was dead just a second ago what the fuck was happening?!

Unfortunately, Merlin desperate attempt to get away from the maybe-undead king sent him sprawling to the ground, having tripped over the empty chair, and his shriek had jolted his colleagues into action. The four of them ran forwards and grabbed ahold of Merlin, dragging him back towards the entrance to the room while never taking their eyes off of the maybe-undead king.

As they made their way back to the entrance though, something truly horrifying happened. The king moved. He blinked and moved his neck to track their movements.

Oh god, that thing was awake and aware that they were here! They needed to get out of there!

Together, the group turned and ran as quickly as they could back towards the entrance. Horrifyingly, as soon as they were out of sight of the king, they could hear the screeching sound of a chair sliding against the stone floor. Each one of them could feel their hearts pounding with fear as they all realized at once: the king, whatever he was, was going to chase after them.

They nearly all have heart attacks when they hear a voice roaring after them, "Gripan híe! Híe syndon fandian to niman Myrddin!"

After a tense few minutes of running with the terrifying echo of boots chasing after them ringing in their ears, they finally reached the hallway connecting to their window entrance. They could see the light outside! They were almost free!

Fear gripped all of their chests, however, when a group of what should have been corpses blocked their path, cutting them off from the sight of the daylight. For a second, Merlin thought about making a break for it and attempts to run through them, but then the probably-undead knights unsheathed their swords (which were still somehow sharp and pristine after 1500 years, this was getting ridiculous!)

The group quickly turned around, hoping to run back and perhaps find another path towards their freedom, only to have their hopes dashed by the sight of the undead king storming towards them with his sword (why was it golden?) unsheathed and rage in his eyes.

Looking between them, the closest thing that they had to a weapon were a couple hard hats. They were doomed, and they could see their death marching towards them.

Getting closer, the king furiously shouted at them again with unfamiliar words. "Hū darrst þū āsceacan hine from mē! Iċ hæbbe bīdode ofer þūsend geara for þisne tīman, and þū ātēowedest tō nīefre hine from mē stelan! Þū scealt āgildan for þis!"

The group of five archeologists are shaking in their boots at this point, fearing for their lives. Each of them had reached the only logical conclusion about their ludicrous and possibly deadly situation: they must have woken the king and his knights from their eternal rest, and they were now angry at the archeologists for disturbing their final resting place.

As the knights close in on them and grab ahold of each of them, they're all prepared for the worst. As the king barks commands at the knights, all of the archeologists are prepared to be meet with some horrible death.

"Nimðað þa ungewelwieras to ðære cyrcan cwellan, wē magon dēmian mid him æfter. Gwaine, nim Myrddin to his geardas and hafa Gaius locian ofer hine. And be mildheort, he sceal hæbbe geferod eft fram Avalon and mæg swilc bēon in pinunge fram his wundum! Gecyða eft to mē mid Gaius's gemetungum þonne hē geendod hæfð."

At the king's commands, the knights nodded, and while Merlin was led down the hallway to the right, the others were led back down the dark hallway from which they had fled. Merlin tried to call out to his colleagues and to shove his way out of the knight's grip, but the knight responded by picking Merlin up and slinging him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, eliminating Merlin's ability to fight back.

Merlin tried to calm his mind and to avoid thoughts of what horrible fate would be in store for him at his destination. His treacherous mind spun up terrible theories as to why he had been separated from his group, each one more horrifying than the last.

Finally, the knight seemed to have arrived at his destination. As the knight pushed the door open, Merlin tried to brace himself for what horrible instruments of torture were surely inside.

However, there were no torture instruments at all. There were only sheets of paper strewn about, some herb bundles here and there, lots of little vials and pots scattered around, and an old man slowly walking towards them.

The old man blinked in what looked like surprise, followed by tears seeming to brim in his eyes. What the hell was going on?! The man spoke softly, "Is hit sōþlīce hē? Āh, mīn cniht, þū eart eft tō ūs āgēan cuman! Hēr, Hlāford Gwaine, sete hine dūn on þæt cot and hæbbe hine his scyrte āweg þæt ic mæg gesēon gif his wund is ēac þǣr."

The knight deposited Merlin gently on a nearby small bed and gave him some sort of smirk before speaking to him in a surprisingly gentle, almost teasing, voice, "Þu gehyrde þone wer, Myrddin! Of mid þinum scyrte nu. Ic wat þu maegst beon sceamful be þan, ac þises sio tid is swiðe aðele."

When Merlin could do nothing but stare at the knight, more bewildered than he's ever been in his life, the knight seemed to take offense to his inaction and began tugging at the bottom of Merlin's shirt, trying to pull it over his head. After a brief struggle, the knight emerged victorious, holding Merlin's shirt in his hands and grinning like a loon. Why on earth had the knight wanted his shirt of all things? What was he about to be subjected to?!

After a tense few minutes, the old man pottered over to where Merlin was sitting, bringing a small bag along with him. The man then began looking over Merlin's torso, paying particular attention to a certain to a spot underneath Merlin's ribs, prodding it repeatedly.

Merlin was quite uncomfortable being examined like this, but with an undead knight in the room still armed with a sword, there wasn't much Merlin could do to without risking getting stabbed. Well, at least the old man wasn't hurting him, so he supposed that he could look on the bright side and be grateful for that.

Eventually, the old man seemed satisfied with his examination of Merlin and addressed the knight again. "Hwæt, he þinceð tō bēon on sīðfæt hāl! Þū mæġst secgan Ārthūre þæt ic blīðe eom tō secgenne þæt ic ne mihte findan nān tācn his ǣrran lȳtlunge."

The knight nodded at the old man, looking pleased at whatever he had just been told. Then, the old man turned to him and handed him the small bag. "Min cniht, ic eom swiðe blīð tō gesēon þē eft. Þū eart swīðe þearle gewilnod! Hēr, wē hæfdon sume þīnra reafa gehealdene for þē! Ic trowe þæt þū þē beteran gefēlan wille þonne þū sum þing gelīclicre gescēawian."

Merlin gently took the bag from the old man and tentatively opened it and pulled out its contents. Inside the bag were a scratchy red tunic, a pair of old trousers, a brown jacket, a thin leather belt, and a scrap of blue cloth. Merlin looked up at the knight and the old man, unsure of what to make of these clothes.

The knight just rolled his eyes, snatched the tunic out of Merlin's hands, and started pulling the tunic over Merlin's head. Did they... did they want Merlin to put on the clothes? That seemed like the correct answer, as they looked happy when Merlin complied and put on the tunic, and they pushed Merlin towards a small room in the back of the chambers with the clothing still in his hands.

Alright, Merlin thought to himself, he would change clothes in this odd little broom closet if that kept him from being stabbed.

(And he did not acknowledge the part of his mind that swore that he knew this room, that this room was his. That was ridiculous, he had never seen this place before in his life!)

After putting on the trousers, belt, and jacket, all Merlin was left with was the scrap of blue cloth. What the hell was he supposed to do with this? Should he keep it in his pocket or something?

However, it seemed like his hands moved before his mind had a chance to catch up, as his hands, seemingly of their own accord, wrapped the blue cloth around his neck a couple time before typing it in the front. Huh, that was strange. Merlin normally didn't wear scarves, why did he know that this piece of cloth was a scarf?

It was... strange. However, there were more pressing matters at hand, namely not getting killed by undead medieval knights. After taking a deep, calming breath, Merlin opened the door and stepped back out into the main room, where the old man and the knight were waiting for him.

They both smiled at the sight of him, and the knight quickly slung an arm over Merlin's shoulders, said what was presumably a goodbye to the old man, and started leading Merlin back out they way they came.

At this point, Merlin started struggling again. If he could just escape from this knight, he could get back to the surface and gather a rescue team to save the others! But the knight's grip of him was tight, and after a certain amount of Merlin's struggling, the knight just sighed and threw Merlin over his shoulder again. Damn it!

Merlin tried to reference places that he had already seen as the knight dragged him deeper into the castle. An escape route would be essential if he was going to make it out of here alive. However, Merlin's hope was quickly running dry as he was carried further and further away from the only exit to this godforsaken castle and further away from any area that he had explored so far.

What's worse was that, as they went, Merlin could see more and more undead (maybe undead? what else could they be?) people throughout the castle. And it wasn't just knights either: there were guards, servants, and even what looked like noblemen and noblewomen running around the castle. What made all of this truly eerie for Merlin though, is that all of them would stop and stare as soon as they saw him. Even though he was dressed like one of them, they could still somehow tell that he was an outsider, not one of their number.

After what felt like an eternity, the knight finally stopped in front of a large door and put Merlin down. Merlin's dread skyrocketed as the guards opened the doors and the knight dragged him inside.

The room itself was richly decorated, with a dining table, a study, and a plush canopy bed. If looked like a room fit for... a king.

Oh no.

As if summoned by Merlin's thoughts, the king rounded a corner and appeared before them, thankfully looking less angry than before, but still sending Merlin's fear into overdrive. Merlin jumped at the sound of doors slamming shut behind him, leaving him trapped with the king.

Merlin was sure that he was shaking terribly, but he managed force his joint to work and took a step backwards as the king began to approach him. Merlin continued to back away from the king until his back met the cold, unyielding wood of the door. Slowly, the king stepped towards Merlin, his eyes never leaving Merlin's form.

In what was entirely too short of a time period in Merlin's opinion, the king had closed the distance between them and was within an arm's reach of Merlin. Merlin's eyes desperately darted around for a weapon, anything he could possibly use the defend himself with, but there was nothing that he could reach.

As the king took one last step closer to Merlin, Merlin closed his eyes and braced himself for pain, even death. However, to his shock, no pain came. Instead, the felt the king's warm hands on his shoulders, and without warning, he was roughly pulled into a hug. What the actual fuck?!

Through the king's ragged breathing, he could hear more of those unfamiliar words, this time spoken tenderly.

"Oh Myrddin, hwǣr eart þū bēon?"

TRANSLATIONS:

Gripan híe! Híe syndon fandian to niman Myrddin! = Catch them! They're trying to take Merlin!

Hū darrst þū āsceacan hine from mē! Iċ hæbbe bīdode ofer þūsend geara for þisne tīman, and þū ātēowedest tō nīefre hine from mē stelan! Þū scealt āgildan for þis! = How dare you try to take him from me! I have waited over a thousand years for this moment, and you've attempted to steal him from me! You must pay for this!

Nimðað þa ungewelwieras to ðære cyrcan cwellan, wē magon dēmian mid him æfter. Gwaine, nim Myrddin to his geardas and hafa Gaius locian ofer hine. And be mildheort, he sceal hæbbe geferod eft fram Avalon and mæg swilc bēon in pinunge fram his wundum! Gecyða eft to mē mid Gaius's gemetungum þonne hē geendod hæfð. = Take the intruders to the dungeon cells, we can deal with them later. Gwaine, take Merlin to his chambers and have Gaius look over him. And be gentle, he must have just come back from Avalon and could still be in pain from his wounds! Report back to me with Gaius's findings when he's done.

Is hit sōþlīce hē? Āh, mīn cniht, þū eart eft tō ūs āgēan cuman! Hēr, Hlāford Gwaine, sete hine dūn on þæt cot and hæbbe hine his scyrte āweg þæt ic mæg gesēon gif his wund is ēac þǣr. = Is it really him? Oh, my boy, you've returned to us! Here, Sir Gwaine, set him down on the cot and have him take his shirt off so I can see if his wound is still there.

Þu gehyrde þone wer, Myrddin! Of mid þinum scyrte nu. Ic wat þu maegst beon sceamful be þan, ac þises sio tid is swiðe aðele. = You heard the man, Merlin! Off with your shirt now. I know you can be shy about it, but this time it's pretty important.

Hwæt, he þinceð tō bēon on sīðfæt hāl! Þū mæġst secgan Ārthūre þæt ic blīðe eom tō secgenne þæt ic ne mihte findan nān tācn his ǣrran lȳtlunge. = Well, he seems to be in perfect health! You can tell Arthur that I am pleased to report that I could find no sign of his previous injury.

Min cniht, ic eom swiðe blīð tō gesēon þē eft. Þū eart swīðe þearle gewilnod! Hēr, wē hæfdon sume þīnra reafa gehealdene for þē! Ic trowe þæt þū þē beteran gefēlan wille þonne þū sum þing gelīclicre gescēawian. = My boy, I am so deeply glad to see you again. You have been dearly missed! Here, we've saved some of your clothes for you! I'm sure that you'll feel better wearing something familiar again.

Oh Myrddin, hwǣr eart þū bēon = Oh Merlin, where have you been?

Well, I hope you guys liked this au! What I originally planned to be a short little prompt turned into this beast of a post! I probably won't be able to post on Friday (since I'm planning on adding a new chapter to my fic on ao3 on Friday or Saturday), so hopefully this will tide you all over until the weekend!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

(And please let me know if you'd like a continuation of this au!)

EDIT: You can find a continuation of this au here!

#bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin bbc #merlin au #protective arthur #merthur #merlin prompts

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super-ion · 1 month ago

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The Engineer

Part 3

(Part 1 | Part 2)

I had jacked in. Unauthorized. Unbidden.

When I finally disconnected from Morrigan's tender embrace, the reality of my situation had come slamming into me.

I had used my access to a multi billion dollar war machine for my own personal ends. I had risked my job, my career, my fucking life maybe... and for what? A bad dream?

I returned to my quarters, mechanically showered and ate breakfast and reported to my station, all but certain that security would arrive at any minute to quietly escort me out of the facility to a hole somewhere no one would ever see me again.

But they never came.

Despite the anomalous access logs, they never came.

Burning the midnight oil? one of the techs had asked jokingly.

Fuck.

They all fucking knew I had been there, but it never crossed any of their minds what I was really doing.

Once that initial panic abated, a whole new kind of terror set in.

Command might be fooled. Security and the techs might be fooled. But there's one person who knows. There's one other person who has the kind of access to Morrigan that I do.

Fuck fuck fuck.

No. She doesn't have the same access I do. I'm the fucking interloper here. It's her fucking machine. She has deeper access than I ever could. Morrigan was tailor made for her pilot. All the while, the pilot was broken and remade to forge connections I could only ever dream of. They're two halves of a whole. They can't hide anything from each other even if they wanted to.

It takes three days before the moment I have been dreading finally crystallizes into sharp reality.

I sit alone in a corner of the cafeteria, as I always do. I poke listlessly at something that I think is supposed to be fruit cocktail. I have read the same paragraph on my datapad three times already. I have just started on my fourth attempt when a figure slides onto the bench across from me.

I know exactly who it is before I glance halfway up to see the long slender fingers, one hand tapping restlessly, the other clenching a spoon as she surveys the mess of nutrient gel that they serve pilots. The sleeves of her sweatshirt are rolled up, revealing the skinsuit over skeletal arms.

I can't bring myself to do more than that quick glance at her hands.

I remember those piercing ice blue eyes… jesus fuck, it's only been three weeks since that moment we passed in the access corridor, when those eyes had pinned me in place.

I imagine those eyes boring into me now.

I know she's been to see Morrigan. The two of them had a training sim yesterday. They have another one in a couple of hours.

Her spoon scrapes against the cheap plastic of the bowl. The nutrient paste makes a sickening wet sound as it rises.

I am frozen in place. I can't leave. I can't read my datapad. I can't even pretend to eat any more.

The thing they never reveal in the propaganda vids is just how frail pilots are. The training, the conditioning, the hours and hours jacked into the machine being pumped full of a cocktail of artificial stress and reward hormones, they all ravage the body. The figure seated across from me can't be more than half my weight. In a stand up fight, I could probably break her in half.

I'm fucking terrified of her. I can barely breath as she takes another spoonful of gel.

The skin around the ports on my rig itch. Like my rig itself knows how inadequate it is in comparison to hers.

The spoon comes to rest on the tray alongside her bowl. She says nothing. Even in silence, she's a creature of action, unable to remain still. Her leg bounces just slightly. Her fingers tap out a complicated rhythm.

I force myself to look up, to meet her gaze.

The eyes are sharp. Sharper and clearer than I remembered when they wheeled her past me. But it is that same intensity that I remember.

She isn't smiling. She isn't frowning either. Her expression isn't doing much of anything, like she's forgotten how to express like a human being. Beneath the restless energy, she looks tired, all sunken cheeks and shadowed eyes, with a sickly pallor to her skin.

She looks like a pilot. If I hadn't broken, if I hadn't washed out, it is what I would have looked like.

An image flashes through my mind unbidden. I see us swapped. Me: hard, broken, tired. Her: soft, muscular, healthy… lonely.

The feeling washes over me, that horrible familiar, desperate loneliness.

She twitches, head cocking slightly as she sees something in my expression.

Oh… oh fuck.

She knows.

I had been so fucking scared of being caught out that I never considered how much had actually been revealed, how much of my aching soul left its mark in that cockpit like so many greasy fingerprints.

I have dreamed Morrigan's dreams. I have caught myself humming snatches of her song.

Neural bleed.

It always comes back to fucking neural bleed. Limited as my rig is, Morrigan has been in my head just as I have been in hers… and Morrigan is half of a whole.

The woman sitting across from me doesn't just recognize my face, she has seen the very core of me.

I let out a ragged breath that I hadn't realized I had been holding.

When she finally does speak, her voice is husky murmur, hoarse from disuse.

“We should talk,” she says.

(Next)

I nod weakly.

#my writing #writers on tumblr #mechposting #mech #human x machine #science fiction #scifi

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cripplecharacters · 4 months ago

Note

I was wondering: I noticed that in art I almost always see limb stumps that are, for the lack of a better word, thick and with a rounded end. But observing amputees around me, what I noticed is that their stumps are more tapered, they also are often uneven instead of perfectly round, and the rest of the limb is often thinner as a result of less muscle mass.

Is this coincidental, or do you think stumps are represented in a way that is assumed to be more aesthetically pleasing to abled folk? How common is the "perfect round muscular stump" thing, if at all??

Hello!

As an artist that seeks out art of disabled characters, it's 100% trying to make the character look "less disabled and more pretty". It's usually not a conscious decision, most people just have pretty=good and disabled=ugly ingrained into them and don't think about it ever. Positive depictions of disabled people will do everything to portray them as conventionally attractive as possible, and there is no disability that is exempt from this.

This applies to everything. Most art showing disabled people will try to keep the disability to the absolute minimum - it's not coincidence that positive disabled characters have to be white, thin, young, if they use a prosthetic it has to be really cool and/or unrealistic, if they use a wheelchair it has to be a manual that has to be really cool and/or unrealistic, and they have to look as abled as possible; an abled model who just happened to be holding a cane is preferable since gait disorders are ugly. Good luck trying to find a drawing of a character using an ostomy bag, with congenital skeletal conditions, with severe spasticity, in one of these big powerchairs, I won't mention facial differences and how non-existent realistic representation of them is. Hell, it can be hard to find art of blind characters who aren't wearing blindfolds and eyepatches (since disabled body part ugly), let alone using an aid like a cane or a brailler (since that's Disability, and not just a quirky character trait).

With stumps, it's the same thing. Most often you don't see them, since they are Clearly Disabled. Usually they're behind a cool prosthetic that's called something else (cyborg bionic automail whatever...) that sounds less disabled. If they aren't, they're probably bandaged, since they are Surely Scary. If they aren't that, they will be perfectly round, scarless (or with that big "starburst" type scar for some reason), symmetrical to other limb, and essentially look like you just erased the rest of a model's leg or arm.

Again, I don't think this is done on purpose, I think artists just don't think enough about how they choose to portray minorities. No one is researching anything, everything is a game of telephone from how someone else draws it, who cares that that person didn't bother to check anything either.

[Disclaimer that we don't have amputee mods]

How common is the "perfect round muscular stump" thing?

Not very common, but someone with a disarticulation (much more rare than through-bone) will have their muscles still attached to something and thus may not have the kind of tissue atrophy like someone with an above the knee amputation will. Even weightlifters with an above/below amputation will have some degree of atrophy (you can look at guys like Max Okun, etc.) so it's not like you can just "exercise it out".

A residual limb can be fairly round, but it mostly depends on where it actually is. A lot of people will have excess skin from skin flaps + tissue atrophy which gives it a different shape, BE amputees can have the actual bone shapes visible on the stump, etc. And of course there is scar tissue (unless it's congenital) which can affect how the limb looks like beyond just the sew line being visible; it can leave the stump with an indent around it, etc.

But all of that is of course Disability and Different, so it gets omitted in art. It'd be cool if this wasn't the case, but what can you do.

mod Sasza

#mod sasza #anonymous #not writing advice #art reference

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jayaury · 2 months ago

Text

Hell of a Party

A short story from October! Tried to capture those autumn vibes. Plenty more you know where! https://www.patreon.com/JayAury

. . .

Sid squinted through the windshield at what could generously be called a road. Damn thing was more rut than gravel, and the trees were so overgrown he could hear them scraping at the roof and sides of his old Chevy like groping hands. All of which made the midnight drive a risky thing

“Chris, are you sure there’s a house out here?” he asked as he tried to peer through the blackness. “We’re well outside town.”

“Sure, man,” Chris said affably from the passenger seat. “Just keep on a little further.”

Sid glanced over at his friend. He did like Chris, no question of that. They’d met in Folklore 102, and surprisingly hit it off. Where Sid was more withdrawn, Chris had been a party animal, embracing college life like a typical frat boy. Recently, he’d been going to some special parties. He’d been a bit vague on details, but had been badgering Sid to come with him for over a week. Sid had finally agreed just to shut him up.

That said, Sid was curious about those late-night parties. Because Chris had changed since he’d started going to them. For one, he started wearing those stupid sunglasses all the time like he was perpetually hung over. And he’d also become…

Well, stupider, to be honest.

Not that Chris had been terribly brilliant before. There was a reason he was taking folklore 102, which was notoriously easy. Well, one of two reasons. The other was that the female to male ratio was three to one. Sid stole a glance at Chris again, who was grinning, leaning back in the seat, those strange tinted glasses masking his eyes, lumberjack-style plaid jacked undone.

Chris suddenly jerked forward, grabbing the dash and pointing. “There! There it is!”

Sid jumped and swung his attention back to the road, peering ahead.

It took him a moment, but then he saw it. Jutting out of the tangled forest was a large house. Classically Victorian, it crouched among trees stripped to skeletal limbs by autumn’s chill. Tiled roofs rose in minarets and bay windows pushed forward, spilling out a brilliant yellow glow. Shadows flickered against the panes, and he could faintly hear the thud of music beating through the night.

Yet something felt… off about the house. Out of place. Sid had a hard time believing a building like that would be out in the middle of the boonies. Especially with the road in this condition. Yet, the evidence was before his eyes.

“How did you even find this place?” he asked.

“Got invited,” Chris said, practically bouncing in his seat, grinning like an idiot. His hands slapped the dash in eager drumming. “Come on, man. Bring us in! They got started without us, and you don’t wanna miss the fun!”

Still puzzled, Sid cruised closer, gravel crunching under the wheels as he brought them up. He parked among several other cars and got out, scanning the building. Again, he found the place odd. If felt like it should be more overgrown with the treeline so close. Instead, it looked like someone had just… plopped the house down in the middle of the woods.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Chris said, bounding out of the car and towards the porch. Sid followed more slowly, walking up the creaking steps and to the door, the sound of music growing. Weird stuff. Felt very instrumental and vibey. Flutes and horns with a pulsing beat that seemed to vibrate in his gut and throb in his groin.

Chris rang the bell, the chime nearly lost in the music. A moment later the door flew open, yellow light spilling out and illuminating a woman that made Sid stare.

She was simply gorgeous. Full figured and wearing a tight red dress that hugged every aching curve, her hair was a frizz of red whose style probably went out of date in the 70’s. Those hoop earrings surely had, but her face and body made you forget about anything else. She radiated gleeful fun, and the way her breasts strained the red fabric with her every breath riveted Sid’s attention.

“Beezie!” Chris cried, throwing his arms open.

“Baby!” Beezie replied in a sonorous, throaty voice that made Sid shiver and flush. Her arms enfolded Chris, pulling him in against her expansive chest, her lush red lips planting a kiss on his cheek. “Look at you. It’s so late! And this must be your friend!”

“Uh, hi,” Sid said, feeling hot just from her look. “Sid. Nice to-”

“How silly! We greet like this,” she said, and before Sid could respond her arms had enveloped him, tugged him in, and mashed him against her chest. The feel of her breasts made him flash hot, and that’s when her lips met his.

Sid jolted, sucking in a breath ladened with her flowery perfume. He couldn’t quite suppress a soft moan as her tongue slid against his lips, barely asking permission before pushing into his mouth. He’d never had a kiss like that, which seemed to last forever yet end far too soon when she broke apart with an audible pop, leaning back and admiring him as he blinked, dazed.

“Mmm, lovely to meet you!” Beezie said merrily. “I just know you’re going to be a big hit. And thank you, Chris. We always need more boys at these things. Just can’t get enough!”

Chris grinned stupidly, nodding eagerly. “Yes, Beezie. I was a good boy.”

“You certainly are. Such a good boy,” Beezie cooed, patting his cheek fondly.

Chris bit his lip, practically quivering with delight, much to Sid’s amazement.

“But come in! Come in out of the cold,” Beezie exclaimed as she stepped aside, ushering the both of them into the foyer, giving Sid a slight pat on his ass that made him start. “It’s nice and warm in here.”

Warm was right. No sooner had Sid stepped over the threshold it felt like the temperature went up twenty degrees.

“Put your coat anywhere, sweetie. And go check out the party! Chris? I think I should give you your reward, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes Beezie,” Chris panted. “Good boy!”

“A very good boy,” Beezie cooed before giving Sid another pat to urge him into the house.

He found himself being shooed into the living room, where the party was certainly in full swing, and it quickly became apparent that they really did need more men around. The place was absolutely filled with women. Practically three to every man. He could tell because every guy in there had at least two beautiful, flirty girls hanging off him.

Sid hesitated, then sidled into the room, trying to avoid attention. He was surprised to see pretty much every guy from his folklore class, and definitely every girl too. But there were others he didn’t recognize, and no one he was friends with.

In search of something to do, he hit up a large table at the back of the room filled with beer kegs and solo cups. He filled one, then drifted through the room uncertainly, eventually making his way to an empty spot against the lacquered wood wall.

He sighed, leaning there, watching the party from a distance. He swirled the beer he’d nabbed and glanced at the suds. He was never good at socializing at these things. Too bland. Too boring. He’d hoped that Chris would at least have introduced him a bit, but clearly that wasn’t happening. He grimaced. He shouldn’t of come. Was it too early to just… go home?

“Mind if I join you?”

He looked up in surprise. A woman stood before him. Beautiful, in a tight white top and a pair of cut off jeans that showed off her thighs. Her hair was a rich, thick mane of black and her eyes sparkled green. A pair of large glasses sat on her lovely face. Glasses that stirred some memory he couldn’t quite place.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

She giggled. “You don’t recognize me, do you?” she asked teasingly.

Sid flushed. “I uh…”

“It’s Millie.”

“Millie!”

She laughed, cocking a hip and resting her hand on it. “Surprised?” she asked.

He was. The Millie he knew was a mousey young woman from class, whose fashion tended towards bulky sweaters. Fairly popular, she’d often strike up conversations with him. He’d suspected she was interested in him, but never really believed it.

Now though…

She giggled. “Didn’t recognize me, did you?” she asked.

“No,” he admitted, and that was true enough. He couldn’t help but stare at her chest, her breasts absolutely straining her tight top. So that’s what those frumpy sweaters had hid. God damn…

“I bet,” she said, her hips cocking, the movement making her chest bounce. “In class I tend to go a bit more model student. Around here though?” she said, smiling as she tucked some black hair behind her ear, eying him through lidded lashes. “I can be a bit more… honest about myself.”

“You can?” he said, swallowing thickly.

“Oh yeah,” she whispered, stepping closer, her hand playing onto his thigh. “Very honest.”

Sid’s pulse jumped and his pants grew tight at that touch. How her fingers slid along his jeans, the heat of her palm radiating through the denim. Alright, so, looked like she had been interested in him after all. Very interested! More the fool him for fumbling that. Had to play it cool now though.

“You uh, come to these often?” he asked, and immediately mentally kicked himself.

“Sometimes,” she murmured, sliding in closer. “Quite often, actually. I’ve been telling Chris to get you to come for ages. Finally had to ask Momma Beezie to make that magic happen…”

“Oh, well, it’s… not really my scene,” he admitted.

“True,” she murmured, pressing still closer, her breasts squishing against his chest. “Shall we change that?”

Sid sucked in a breath, his pulse pounding, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the pungent perfume that surrounded her. Something thick. Spicy. Something that seemed to rush up his nose and into his head like a puff of pink smoke.

“Ch-change it?” he gasped.

She winked, her hand lacing with his. “This way.”

He didn’t resist as she pulled him out of the room and towards the stairs. He was honestly eager to get away from the living room with all the noise and sight of horny just-adults discovering each other’s bodies. Especially when it sounded a hell of a lot like he was about to make some fascinating discoveries about Millie’s body. He climbed the creaking wooden steps, eyes riveted to her ass. Rooms lined the hall up there, and Sid heard distinct sounds of thumping and… were those moans?

Oh.

Oh wow.

Sid felt his face warm again as he realized what was happening, and he tried to hide his excited expression as Millie dragged him to a particular door. Play it cool, Sid. Nice and cool. He took a deep breath and sucked in more of her perfume. He felt himself flush further, his eyes again trailing to her plush ass.

She glanced back at him, winked, her hand turning the doorknob. “Hope you’re ready for some real oh for fuck’s sake!”

Sid barely heard her. He was too busy staring at what was happening in the room. A man had been tied spreadeagle on the bed, a blindfold over his eyes and what looked like birthday candles semi-melted on his naked chest. A blonde was crouched in front of him, her head bobbing, her naked ass bared to them in a full and glorious moon.

At the sound of Millie’s voice the woman on the bed paused and raised her head with a slurping sound that made Sid’s legs wobble with sympathetic excitement. Turning, the naked blonde looked at them with innocent baby blues, a playful smile alighting her ruby lips before her tongue slid over them suggestively.

“Hey Millie,” she said.

“Jezebel, you fucking whore!” Millie growled. “I told everyone my room was off limits tonight.”

“Mmm,” Jezebel whined, arching a little, her plump breasts bouncing playfully on her chest, nipples jutting proudly. “But you have the biggest bed. And I needed a big bed for what I wanted to do.”

“That’s not… is that my organic honey?”

“Is it?” Jezebel said innocently, glancing at an empty squeeze bottle on the side table. “I found it in a drawer. I thought you were done with it.”

“You…” Millie seethed, and Sid stared at the livid anger of his fellow Folklore student. Even her hair seemed to be writhing in rage.

As he took a wary step back, Millie seemed to remember him and turned a sharply sweet smile on him.

“Sid. Could you wait out here for just a minute,” she said with strained politeness. “Just need to have a quick chat with my… friend…”

“Uh, sure. No problem.”

“Great,” Millie cooed and shut the door on him.

No sooner had it closed than he heard Millie’s muffled shouting as she chewed out Jezebel, who sounded like she was just laughing.

Bouncing on his heels, Sid uncertainly looked around the hallway. Awkward didn’t begin to describe the situation, and he dearly didn’t want to be a part of it further. But he couldn’t drag himself away. His body still zinged from Millie’s touch, and his pulse was warm and hot with lust. He looked around the hall for some distraction. There were a few pictures on the walls, but inevitably and unsurprisingly, his attention was drawn to the other rooms.

He stepped closer to the first one and heard whispered giggles and a man moaning. The one beside that had little more than the frantic creaking of bed springs.

His face grew warmer with every sound, yet he felt oddly compelled to continue. It wasn’t doing his erection any favours, and just the thought of Millie’s affection once she finished her little… argument more than kept him from wandering too far.

Then he reached a particular door. One that was unusually quiet. Surprised, he listened closer. There was… something. He pressed his ear to the wood. He heard a groan. Not one in pleasure though. It sounded a little like pain.

Sid looked around nervously. Was someone in trouble? It wouldn’t surprise him. At a party like this, who would notice? Hell, he doubted someone screaming bloody murder could be heard with the music downstairs on so loud. He could practically feel the floor vibrate from the bass.

He looked again at the door. Considered getting someone, but who? And he didn’t even know if something was wrong. How stupid would he look then?

He bit his lip. Well… he should at least take a look.

Grasping the knob, almost hoping to find it locked, he held his breath as it turned easily. He looked again around again. Then opened the door just a sliver and peered through.

The scent of booze was thick in the air. So heavy he felt a little light-headed just from the fumes. He squinted and saw a number of kegs all gathered about a mattress slumped in the corner. And sprawled among them, draped over some pillows like some empress with the worst hangover ever, was the bustiest woman he’d ever seen.

She was dressed in stockings and nothing else, her plump breasts bared, heaving with her slow breaths. Her head was thrown back against the slope of pillows arranged around the floor, her hair done up in a pair of pink pigtails.

“Ohhhh,” she groaned again, shifting listlessly.

Sid hesitated a moment more, then eased the door open and tiptoed inside. “Hey?” he called.

No response.

He moved over her, the scent of alcohol so strong it made his head spin again. He found his eyes wandering once more to those impressive breasts. Huge. Soft. Squeezable…

He shook his head, which momentarily cleared it. “Excuse me?” he said, nudging her shoulder.

“Mrrrrr,” she groaned, head lolling.

“Are… are you okay?” he asked.

“Mrph…” She blinked blearily and looked up at him. “Oh,” she said, her voice slurred and lazy, but a smile lit up her face. “Ohhhh. You’re… kinda cute…”

“Uh, thanks,” Sid said. “I was just… are you okay?”

“Nooooo,” she groaned, head tilting again, her feet kicking grumpily. “Ugh. My sisters are… are such bitches, you know?”

“Your sisters?”

“Yeeaaaaah. They said… they said I had to stay in here for the party. Right? Because I… because I always go after the boys too… too hard. And I mean, I mean it’s not my fault, right? If you don’t… you know, train ‘em properly, of course you’ll lose ‘em. I mean… I mean look at these,” she said, cupping her immense breasts. Hefting them. “Who wouldn’t… wouldn’t get addicted to these babies?”

Sid stared. Her breasts were truly massive. And they looked soaked with something. The smell implied liquor. But… but was it just him? Or did it look a bit like her nipples were… well, dripping?

“I uh…”

“Hey,” she said, looking at him closer, a lazy smile turning her lips. “Did you come here because you were, like, worried about me?”

“...Kinda,” he admitted. “You sounded… not good.”

“Mmm. That’s because I’m noooot,” she drawled, rolling forward and onto her hands and knees. “Not at all.”

Sid wasn’t sure he liked the look in her eyes. The gleam of wicked amusement. The hazy heat that burned in those dark orbs as she began to crawl towards him. “O-oh? Why uh, why is that?” he asked, retreating, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Because I haven’t eaten in just… daaaaays. I’m soooo hungry,” she said, her lower lip pushed out in a pout. But still those eyes burned. Still they hungered.

“I uh, think there was a chip bowl downstairs,” Sid stammered. Then his back hit the wall with a thump. “I could probably…”

“That’s so sweeeeeet,” she cooed, stopping in front of him, pushing her plush bum onto her heels, her heavy breasts bouncing as she straightened, level with his crotch. “But I’m hungry for something special.”

“S-special?” Sid squeaked, his mind understanding what was happening, yet unwilling to quite believe it.

“Oh yeaaaah,” she breathed, her hand rising, finger sliding along the unsubtle bulging at the front of his jeans. “Mmm. And got a feast… fit for a queen right here.”

“I… uh… miss, I don’t…”

“Call me Brandy,” she said, the tips of her fingers pinching his zipper.

“Brandy, I ah!”

He gasped as she tugged, his fly sliding down, his cock fairly bursting into the open, throbbing lewdly. Brandy gasped, her eyes lighting up and her tongue stroking her lips. “Oh fuck yeah,” she breathed, leaning in, inhaling deeply as she lovingly nuzzled his cock. “Oh fuck yesssss. Soooo good.”

Sid gasped, stiffening as her tongue slid from her lips, teasing the tip of his manhood. “B-Brandy! I uh, I don’t think…”

“That’s good,” Brandy breathed, her tongue stroking his throbbing tip, teasing with every lap. “Men don’t need to think. Just gotta fuck. Gotta cum. And Brandy’s gonna get herself a good taste…”

Sid knew he should tell her no. Push her away. Especially with Millie around. What would she think? What would she say? What if someone walked in?

Then, Brandy’s plush lips parted.

Slid over his head.

Down his length.

And every other thought just flew out of his mind.

“O-oh fuuuuuck!” Sid groaned, head falling back.

“Mmmm,” Brandy replied, her lips gliding over his shaft, slow and gentle. Savouring it like he was a fine glass of wine. Her free hand came up, pulling more of him out into the open, her fingers cradling his balls, spoiling his manhood with affections he hadn’t even dreamed were possible.

“Hooooly fuck,” Sid gasped, his hands groping for something to hold onto and finding her pigtails. He grabbed them like a pair of handlebars, and for an instant he thought again of pushing her away. Pushing her off.

But then her lips slid up him again.

Then down.

And instead he started to thrust.

“Mmmmm,” Brandy moaned, letting him set the pace. Letting him fuck her face, her breasts slapping lewdly against her chest and his legs. Sid groaned, lost in the sensations consuming him as he fucked the gorgeous coed’s mouth. Fucking hell! No wonder she kept stealing boyfriends. Lips that good were an utter sin!

“Fuck,” Sid gasped, knowing it was wrong what he was doing, but knowing only made it all the sweeter. “Oh fuck yes. Take it… take it deep. Use your tongue more. I… nnnnn!”

He groaned, head falling back. Fuuuuuck. It was unreal how good it was! He was primed pretty much as soon as he’d walked into the house, and it only made the sensation that much sweeter. He was absolutely losing himself in those lips. In that mouth. The feeling of her hot tongue sliding around his shaft driving him towards the brink!

He was hammering her now, pounding into her mouth, and her exertions easily matched his. If anything, she seemed more desperate to make him cum. More eager to taste his seed. Her fingers stroked and massaged his balls. Tender. Encouraging. Insistent. Practically pumping them. Massaging them. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, he wasn’t going to last. He just wasn’t going to last! He… he was… he was…

“F-fuuuuuuuuck!” Sid cried, legs quivering, a cry of helpless surrender escaping his lips as he came, pumping into Brandy’s mouth, feeling her adoringly guzzle his hot seed, moaning happily.

The pleasure was unlike anything he’d felt before. Strong. Heavy. He felt his head spin as he fell against the wall, weakness radiating through him as he basked in the afterglow, Brandy’s lips caressing his cock, milking out the last few drops she could.

“Holy… holy shit,” Sid breathed. Then he looked down and saw what was sprouting from Brandy’s bare back. “Holy shit!”

He stared at the pair of leathery bat wings in dull incomprehension. For a moment he thought they were some strange cosplay or props. But then he saw them flutter. Flex.

And noticed too the spaded tail sprouting right above her luscious ass.

“Mmm?” Brandy hummed, lifting her head, revealing the pair of horns growing from her brow. Not to mention the slits of her pupils giving him bedroom eyes that sent his cock throbbing despite his horror.

He gaped at her, for a moment too shocked to do anything but stare. Then he saw her notice his cock, and a hungry grin lit up her face again.

“I… I g-gotta go,” he gasped, cramming his shaft back into his pants, holding them shut with one hand as he staggered back to the door.

“Wha… hey! Waaaait!” Brandy wailed.

Sid didn’t. Even though her plaintive cry pulled at him like a leash, he stumbled out the room and slammed the door shut behind him. His hands fumbled with his fly and zipper as he thudded down the stairs. Something was wrong in the house. Something was so very wrong!

He reached the landing and looked up, and had the second shock of his night.

The room was awash in a sea of red and blacks. The lamps had been turned down, their glow casting deep shadows over writhing bodies. He saw his entire class there, rutting like animals. The drunken making out had progressed much further. Not a man there had less than three women grinding on him.

But they were far more than women.

Everywhere he looked, bat-like wings were fluttered. Spaded tails lashed with delight and horns glistened in the glow of the lamps. Clothing had been abandoned, leaving curves of unearthly perfection and tantalizing seduction on full display as men were drowned in kisses of delight. As breasts were massaged and bodies arched, throats moaning in sultry pleasure. The slap of flesh thumped to the music. Fangs gleamed between ruby lips, and men moaned, their eyes lidded, but what looked like pink hearts throbbing in their pupils.

Sid staggered back a step. He looked across the room at the exit and knew that was a lost cause. He dared not cross that orgiastic trap. He retreated another and his back hit something with a hollow thunk.

A door!

He reflexively reached down, his searching hand finding a handle. He turned it, and fairly tumbled backwards into darkness.

Getting his feet back under him he shut the door quickly. Darkness enveloped him and he groped about the walls. A light switch. There had to be a light switch! He sighed in relief as his finger found one and he flicked it on.

The buzz of the bulb illuminated some sort of study. He looked around with bewilderment at the bookcases filled with rotting tomes. The scattered shelves filled with jars and strange artifacts.

“What in the…” he murmured, though really, he shouldn’t be surprised. An occult side room was far from the strangest thing he’d seen tonight. And honestly, fit the whole thing pretty well. Especially given the rather large bed occupying a far corner, the sheets rumpled. Not much of a mystery what that had been used for lately.

As he surveyed the room, he suddenly heard the door creak. “Sid?”

He whipped around to find Millie standing in the doorway, peering down at him through her large glasses. “There you are,” she sighed, stepping inside. “I told you not to wander off. Ah,” she added, looking at his face, a pout pushing out her lips. “And you saw something you shouldn’t have.”

Sid retreated several steps. “S-stay back, demon!”

Millie’s pout deepened. “Oh dammit,” she growled. “Which of those dumb bitches told you? No, wait. It was Brandy, wasn’t it? That stupid bimbo. Is it any wonder we lock her up when the party gets started?”

“I-I’m not kidding,” Sid said, looking around. His eyes locked on a long knife carved with runes on a shelf. He snatched it up, brandishing it before him. “Seriously! Don’t come any closer!”

Millie sighed, looking more exasperated than angry. “Honestly. Makes me wonder why I bother putting all this work into the disguises,” she mused, and snapped her fingers.

Sid’s eyes bugged as her clothes seemed to burn away in a flash of fire. Plump breasts bounced into the open. Dark horns curled from her brow and long legs climbed to sensual thighs. She stood at ease, one hand resting on a lush hip, her breasts giving a teasing bounce as she shifted her weight, her skin tinting a rich red before his eyes.

“Oh fuck,” he gasped.

“There,” Millie said with a smirk. “Now that’s the look I was aiming for.”

“S-stay away!” he yelped, taking another step back. “You won’t… won’t have my soul!”

Millie giggled. “Oh,” she purred, taking a lazy step forward, her wings giving a beat, wafting the sweetness of her perfume into him again. “Is that what you think I’m after?”

“A-aren’t you?” Sid demanded, retreating again, his body tingling as he inhaled her scent. His cock throbbing in his pants again.

She gave him a pitying look. “Poor Sid,” she crooned. “Such a silly boy. Sure, maybe I’d eat the souls of the rest of those dummies in there. But not you. I wanted to save you for something extra… special…”

“What… what do you mean?”

“Do you like my breasts?” she asked suddenly.

“Huh?”

“It’s not a hard question,” Millie asked, cupping those plump crimson orbs, hefting them teasingly. “Not hard like you are. Do you like them? Most do. They’re so big and soft and bouncy…”

Sid gaped, his eyes instantly riveted to those ample orbs as she gave them a teasing bounce. “I… I don’t…”

“They’re even bigger when I’m in my true form, aren’t they?” Millie crooned, squeezing them together, squishing them with another bounce. “So big and soft and bouncy. So firm. That’s the problem with playing human. You have to be more… realistic. More believable. But we all know what men really like, don’t we? They like them big. And soft. And bouncy!”

Catching himself staring, Sid jerked his attention back to her face. “Y-you won’t trick me!”

“Now Sid, don’t be silly,” Millie giggled, her eyes smoky, her smirk teasing. “I’m being more open with you than ever. I’m baring it all for you. My horns. My skin. My fat, bouncy tits.”

His gaze wavered. He was breathing hot and fast. Breathing in that perfume. That heavy, spicy perfume… “You… I…”

“Now now. Don’t pretend,” Millie cooed. “I know how much you love staring at them. I could feel you fighting not to look at them whenever we talked in the halls. So naughty of you trying to resist like that, Sid. Why, every time I took a deep breath, your eyes would just… pop!”

She gave her chest a sudden bounce. Sid felt his breath catch. His thoughts swirl and froth. He tried to shake it off, but his head felt strangely light. His hands shaking as they gripped the knife, its tip wavering.

“I… I don’t…”

“You were trying sooooo hard to be a good boy,” Millie cooed, stepping nearer. Nearer. Every movement punctuated by a swing of her hips. A flap of her wings. A bounce of her chest. “Being soooo polite. Soooo sweet. Sooooo caring. Never thinking that I wanted you to stare. That I wanted you to drool. That I wanted you to ask me out so I could ride that cock of yours and bury you under the tits you loved so much.”

Sid whimpered, his face burning hot. Flushed as she continued to lazily approach. Her wings fluttering, framing her, outlining her gorgeous figure, her hooves clicking on the floor.

Click.

“S-stay away,” Sid whimpered, suddenly recalling he should say that, yet the command lacked conviction. His head pounded with his pulse. Throbbing like his cock. His cock begging him to abandon reason. Abandon everything. Just fuck her. Touch her. Adore her. “I m-mean it!”

Millie smirked, and he knew she sensed his hesitation. Her eyes lidding in tantalizing hunger.

“You’re such a good boy,” Millie purred. “Always so sweet and nice. I’ve had my eye on you for weeks. But you just never seemed to come around. Always so shy and nervous around pretty girls. So I decided I’d better take the initiative. But not to date you. No no. I couldn’t stand that, Sid. Couldn’t stand you doing something silly like trying to be a gentleman and waiting for the fourth or fifth or sixth date before holding hands. I don’t have that kind of patience, Sid. I want you now. I want you to pound my pussy into pudding. To rut me like a fucking slut! To mold and squeeze my tits like dough and suck my nipples until I’m fucking putty!”

The fire in her eyes commanded Sid’s attention. Mostly. He still found it so hard to look away from her crimson breasts. How hard her nipples had become. How her fingers teased and rolled those buds in desperate arousal.

“I don’t just want your soul, Sid,” she continued, her words silken. Hot. Wrapping around him like the coils of a snake. Squeezing so sweetly. So lovingly. “I want you. I want to make you mine. All mine. Your silly mind. Your hot fucking body. And yeah,” she shrugged, her breasts again bouncing, “I want your soul too. But I want it all, Sid. I want you. I want to entrance you and love you and make you my adoring hunk of manmeat. I want to wrap you around my figure so we can make a whole new nest of hot succubi somewhere else.

“And I had the perfect evening set up for it,” she sighed dreamily. “A sweet little thing in my bedroom. Just you and me. We’d make out, and by the time I had you stripped and on my bed, you wouldn’t have noticed if I had two heads let alone wings and horns. But no,” she growled. “My idiot sisters had to ruin my evening. As always. So here we are.”

The back of his leg hit the bed frame, and Sid yelped as he toppled over and onto the sheets. The soft mattress bounced him, and he found Millie standing at the foot of the bed, smirking down at him, her golden eyes hungry and greedy.

“But then,” she purred. “There’s a certain appeal to this too.”

His hand flashed up belatedly, brandishing the knife. She glanced at it with amusement. “Oh Sid,” she hummed. “So defiant. So brave. But I have something I bet you’d much rather fill those hands with.”

His eyes returned to her breasts as she gave them another bounce. “I… I won’t,” he gasped.

“Just put it down, Sid,” she murmured, climbing onto the bed, straddling his legs, the heat of her body radiating through him and to his crotch. Her wings beat again, blasting his face with her perfume. His knife wavered as she loomed above him, smirking down, still cradling the plump orbs of her chest. “Just for a minute. Just to see if my big… soft… bouncy breasts are really as soft as they look. I promise,” she cooed, her hand stealing into his lap, opening his pants, “I’ll make it so… very… good…”

Sid wavered. Sweet fuck those breasts were so big. So soft. He inhaled deeply, and her perfume swam up his nose and into his head like pleasant pink clouds. Would it… would it really be so bad? Just for a bit? Those guys in the living room had seemed so happy.

Couldn’t he try?

Just for a moment?

“That’s it,” Millie murmured, her voice soothing, coaxing as the tip of the dagger dipped. “Just put it aside. Keep it close. You can snatch it up any time. I’m utterly at your mercy.”

That was a lie.

A bald faced lie.

But Sid slowly lowered his arm.

Set the knife down beside him.

“Such a good boy,” she said with a throaty, mocking note that made his cock twitch in his pants. Then she grabbed his belt, and hauled down both his pants and boxers.

His cock sprang up, twitching, thick and hard. Millie’s eyes flashed and a hungry smile worked onto her lips. “Finally,” she purred, sliding down him until her ass was lifted into the air, her tail winding above her bottom as she fairly drooled over his cock. She nuzzled his length, moaning, the feel of her tongue sliding up his manhood shooting through Sid like liquid lust.

“O-ohhhhh!” he groaned.

“Mmm. That’s… wait,” Millie said, a pout forming on her lips. “This tastes like… booze?” She gave him a sharp look. “Did that bitch Brandy already suck you off?”

“A… a bit” Sid whimpered.

Millie scowled. “Stupid slut,” she growled, her fingers wrapping around his length, starting to stroke him. “She’s always being such a brat! I swear, Beezie never should have brought her over.”

Sid failed to answer, only panting gasps escaping his lips as her fingers pumped him, sending aching pleasure throbbing to his balls.

“Guess that only choice is to thoroughly mark my territory,” Millie said with another playful smirk.

“Y-yeah?” Sid gasped.

“Oh yeah,” Millie purred, lifting her head to his cock and letting her tongue glide along his length.

Sid cried out in delight as her lips reached his tip, kissing the twitching head, her tongue lapping up the first drops of pre. She moaned at the taste, positively lavishing him with her affections before she began to slide down, down. Millie’s head dipping, taking more and more of him into her throat.

Sid’s eyes rolled back. A moan of pure, undiluted ecstasy escaping him as the possessive succubi’s head began to bob, those sinfully perfect lips gliding up and down his manhood, taking him deep into the warm tightness of her throat.

“Oh f-fuuuuuuck,” Sid moaned, his hands clutching the rumpled sheets as Millie did her work, masterfully sucking him off, her fingers stroking the twitching orbs of his balls. It was a world of difference from Brandy’s work. Soft, tender, adoring, he could feel her love for him in every movement of her lips. His whole body trembled with pleasure. Surged with ecstasy.

“Oh… oh… Oh f-fuck yesssss!” Sid cried out, arching on the bed, his balls tightening as he surrendered his load at last.

“Mmmm,” the succubus groaned as she gulped down his hot seed, her lips dragging off his cock with an audible pop. Millie arched up, smirking down at him with smoky, lidded eyes.

“Mmm. Delish,” she purred.

“Holy… holy fuck,” Sid gasped.

“See?” she said playfully as she crawled above him, her tail swirling above her, forming lazy hearts. “Told you it would be good, my sexy stud. And I’m going to make you so happy, my pretty boy. When I’m done, you are going to be so in love with me. So obsessed with me. You’ll never stop thinking about my tits. My ass. Never stop wanting to taste my lips and kiss my pussy.

“And then,” she purred, planting her hands on either side of his head, smirking down at him. “You and I are gonna go out there and make ourselves a love nest. We’re going to summon up more succubi. Conjure up even more cuties like me to enthrall some hot boys. But not you,” she cooed, kissing his cheek, the feel of her lips shooting through him like liquid fire. His mind squeezed in delight. “Not you, my pretty stud. Sure, I’ll let some of the girls have a taste if they’re very good. But you’re all mine, Sid. My pretty thrall. My sexy dumb stud. And doesn’t that sound nice?”

“I-”

Her hips rocked back, and Sid gasped as the soft heat and slickness of her pussy brushed his shaft, stirring him again to aching hardness.

“What’s that? Didn’t quite catch it,” Millie cooed as she swung forward.

Her breasts bouncing.

Bouncing.

“I um… I…”

“You want to be mine?” Millie cooed, her rocking hips going a little lower, the tip of his cock rubbing her slit. Her perfume surrounding him in pink softness. Loving submission. “You wanna be my stud? My brainless boytoy? My hot, sexy plaything for me to corrupt and fuck and play with for ever and ever? Is that what you want? More of this?” she breathed, her breasts swaying above him, her pussy rubbing against his twitching cock. “More of me? More… of… my… tits?”

Sid panted, whimpering, almost whining in animalistic need for more of the beautiful succubus. More of her pussy. More of her breasts. He couldn’t look away. They enthralled him. The bounce. The sway. He caught her eyes, glowing hot like fire. Her smile filled with lust and amusement and knowing exactly what he would decide. Exactly what he would admit. Exactly what he would do for her.

Anything.

Anything at all.

“Y-yeah,” he gasped. “Y-yesss! Sounds… sounds gooood.”

Millie giggled. “Sure does,” she purred. “And that means you’re mine!”

Her hips dropped, her velvety pussy devouring his cock in a single stroke. Sid cried out beneath her as her hips met his, Millie moaning in ecstasy as she began to bounce, riding his cock with slow, loving strokes.

“Ohhhhhh,” she moaned. “Oh fuuuuck! My breasts. Oh fuck, Sid, grab my breasts. Grab your nnn… grab your biiiiig priiiiize!”

As if his hands were magnetized, they shot up and cupped those impressive orbs. He groaned in delight as he felt how soft they were. How plump. How absolutely perfect. Everything he’d dreamed they were. Even better than he could have imagined.

And his.

All his.

And he was all hers.

“Yes!” Millie cried, her pace increasing, the bed creaking under them as she fucked him. “Oh hells yes! Squeeze my tits. Kiss them. Lick them! Oh Sid. Oh hells, Sid, yes! Good boy. Oh gooood stud! Keep nnnn… keep going. I’m gonna cum. Ah. Yes. Yes! Gonna cum! And you’re gonna… you’re gonna gimme that mind. Make yourself mine. Give it all up to be mine! Oh fuck. Oh fuck, Sid! You can’t… I won’t l-let you cum until you say it! Until you beg me! Beg me to m-make you my stud!”

Sid didn’t hesitate a second. Almost before she finished speaking he was moaning, “Please! Please, Millie!” he cried, voice muffled by her expansive titflesh. “N-need to be yours! Gotta be yours! T-take it! Take anything! Just… just… just let me cuuuuum!”

A squeal of delight escaped Millie as her arms wrapped around his head, pulled him deep into her breasts, smothering him in her enthralling bosom. “Yes! Yes! Yesssss!” she wailed.

Sid felt her inner walls clamp around him, squeeze him in a shudder of rippling ecstasy. He groaned in pathetic pleasure as she came, her own orgasm milking his out of him. White light seemed to burst in his eyes as his balls tightened, cock pulsing as he gave her his seed in great, throbbing bursts. As he surrendered to the joy of her. To her breasts. To her pleasure.

The dagger was forgotten. His fear was forgotten. Everything was forgotten, sucked away in that moment of hedonistic bliss. Drained away like his seed. Sucked away by the gorgeous succubus above him. Taking his will. His soul.

Everything but her.

Everything but love for Millie.

Gorgeous Millie.

His perfect, beautiful mistress…

#brainwashing #mind control #mindless #brainless #hypnosis #hypnotized #mind corruption #jay aury #brain drain #demon girls #demon girl #gentle fdom #gentle domination #ai artwork #short story

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sluttysanemi · 7 months ago

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ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

GENYA SHINAZUGAWA

a/n: ok this is sort of clunky ‘n all over the place but whatevaa. indulge in genya bein’ the teenage boy he is:((

c/w: non-sexual nudity, brief description of injury.

You and Genya travel together through the barren woods, beneath the moonlit sky. The trees are twisted and gnarled, with branches resembling skeletal fingers. The air is dense with the aroma of moist earth and decay, contributing to the forest's ominous aura.

The air periodically whistles about, among the distant chirping of crickets.

Upon concluding your session of patrol, you revert to your allocated, shared cabin.

However, as consequence of your negligence within combat, a fresh, piercing wound emerged across your stomach, concealed beneath your palm. Blood seeps through your fingertips and coats your apparel in a rich crimson.

You reflect serenely on your circumstance. You are reluctant, and perhaps humiliated to share your condition, but you consider it as the best approach. Overlooking the wound may result in infection.

You spoke.

“Sorry, I– bruised myself.”, you murmured. “Is there a river we could stop by? Jus’ to clean it.”

Genya seems troubled, frowning towards you. His eyes narrow as he evaluates your statement.

“What? Yeah… we can. There’s a riverbank, just over there.” He countered, diverting their path to a nearby stream.

–

As you drew near, the gurgle of running water broke the calm of the woodland.

Genya sits upon a smooth, broad stone near to the river's side.

You observe the crystal-like stream. The water rushes slowly across polished boulders, reflecting the moonlight in a vibrant array of colours.

Your fingers curl to your uniform, gradually lifting it upwards. You reveal the slender, freshly carved wound across your abdomen. Blood trickles along your flesh.

Genya averts his vision, appearing bashful and flustered as he observes the delicate skin of your abdomen. Attempting to preserve his composure.

Eventually, he perceives the long, newly formed injury. He grimaces

“Shit…”, he cursed, his brows furrowing. “How’d you get that?”

You direct your glance to him, flushing faintly in shame.

“...I sort of slacked. That’s all.”, You declared, attempting to explain yourself.

A brief pause.

“It’s… probably best if I undress.”, you began slowly. “Jus’ to let it clear beneath the stream. D’you mind if I?--”

Genya hesitates, biting his tongue. He senses his complexion reddening at the thought, but he encourages himself to remain composed.

“..yeah… sure… Go ahead," he grumbled quietly.

Your back to him, you cautiously unclothe, discarding the blood-stained uniform from your body. As you let the fabric fall to the ground, an easing sense of relief pours over you.

You steadily descend beneath the water, the scrape gradually clearing within the stream. The water envelopes you in its dark grasp.

Genya glances elsewhere awkwardly, attempting to preserve a stern demeanour. His body stiffens as numerous beads of sweat fall along the surface of his skin. His breath caught in his throat.

“Is… the water cold?”, he asks hestitantly, swallowing dryly.

You cast a glimpse at him, over your shoulder. “Slightly, but it is bearable.”, you reply quietly. “Almost soothing.”

You contemplate a proposal whilst listening to the night's critters. You remarked once more.

“Maybe you’d… like to join me?”, You inquired, peering intently towards him.

He blinks, his cheeks developing an ominous red. His fingers twitch faintly.

“...Are– Are you sure?”, He struggles with his speech. He lingers before swallowing, beginning to undress. He folds his uniform and lays it upon a nearby rock. A crisp breeze glides against his exposed skin.

“There’s a small bottle of disinfectant in the pocket of my uniform.”, you briskly recall. “I had bought it just in case. Could you bring it with you?” ,

“...Yeah,” He responded gently, stepping over to your clothing and retrieving a miniature glass bottle from the pocket.

He approaches you, seating near the shore of the river. The container is in his hand. He glances at you, somewhat hesitant and shy.

You peer between the glass and his expression. Your cheeks flushed once more.

“You… wouldn’t mind…”, you whisper, attempting to gather your sentence. “It’s just– if I do it, i’ll be too gentle with myself, ‘n won’t clear it properly.”

His cheeks heat with your query, and the notion of his hands contacting your flesh... His mind is conflicted, yearning to sustain his calm.

“Y–Yeah… I can do it…”, He responds, seizing the bottle and unscrewing its lid.

You situate yourself on the river's ledge, exhibiting your wound. The expanse of water below mirrors the moon's fragile light, creating an atmosphere of tranquilly.

Your fingers tread and trail through the greenery as you observe the firebugs dancing inelegantly. The flickering insects illuminate the gloom, culminating in a captivating show of lucency and movement. The crickets croak idly.

Genya's gaze is fixed on the wound, staring to it. He raises up the container and spills a small bit of the transparent liquid over his fingertips. The fluid feels frigid on his skin.

He slowly draws closer to you, shuddering slightly as a cold runs up his spine.

“..This might sting," he announced gently. He lays his hand upon your stomach, meticulously caressing and examining the injury. His touch is assertive, his demeanour attentive.

Exhale a hefty, pained breath through your lips, attempting to attain a sense of serenity.

Your hand skimmed along his bicep. A pleasant warmth brushes against your fingertips.

He feels your touch to his arm, and he promptly peers to your visage, his expression beaming scarlet. Your proximity ignited a surge of emotions in him.

He’s swift to shift his focus back to the wound, ignoring the sensation of her grasp upon his body. The warmth of your contact lingered on his flesh.

“Sorry,” He murmurs, as he pours an additional portion of the disinfectant, carefully cleaning the incision. The fragrance of antiseptic permeates the space, merging with the metallic tinge of blood.

Your fingertips trace easing patterns on his back in a bid to divert your focus.

“...’S alright. Thanks for doin’ this.”, you spoke tenderly.

He bites into his tongue once more, an almost strangled sound emerges from his lips. He tries to retain his poise, but your fingers sketching soft lines upon his body's surface renders it strenuous. His breathing quickens, his chest rising and sinking, putting out a considerable lot of effort to ignore your touch.

“...Yeah.”, he replied lowly, his voice almost strained.

Your fingertips continue to trace the crevices of his muscles, brushing his scars. You feel the coarse texture of his skin beneath your fingertips, your expression compassionate.

Genya shudders as your hands skim the ridges on his skin. He attempts to breathe steadily, but he can feel his composure sliding with each stroke of your fingers. His face is flushed with a deep scarlet, and his eyes are adhered to your open flesh, willfully avoiding your glance.

He finishes cleansing the wound, gently puncturing the region surrounding the injury. His expression almost relieved.

Your thumbs glide to his hair, caressing the dark curls. The delicate strands flow through your fingers, and you can feel the warmth of his temple beneath your touch.

“...’S it lookin’ okay?”, You enquire, your chest heaving.

Genya's gaze flickers to you momentarily before reverting to the body of water.

“Yeah… it’s lookin’ alright.”, he replied, his tone breathier. He took a deep breath, wiping sweat from his brow.

“You got a bandage then? Don’ wanna ruin your work.”, you continued. Your hands lay idly on your lap.

He nods, reaching over to his pile of garments. “..Yeah, I’ve got one.”, he says, rummaging through his uniform, before retrieving an unopened roll of fabric bandages.

You observe quietly, grateful for his attentive care. His presence exudes an appeasing warmth, his mannerisms unusually delicate.

Your gaze trailing to the crystalline ripples of the stream, savouring the serenity of the sight. The calm murmuring of the river soothes every sense.

Genya returns to you, unravelling the roll of gauze and gently encasing it around the wound. His fingers work carefully, taking care not to overtighten the fabric while still ensuring that it stays in place. His knuckles periodically brush against your skin, and his breathing is slow and deliberate, his heart thundering in his chest. The tension between them is apparent, an unspoken connection humming beneath the surface.

As he laboured, you renewed your focus on the numerous scars that adorned his body. The jagged lines and faded marks stood in sharp contrast to the compassion with which he now cared for your wound, exhibiting an element of tenderness that he rarely exhibited.

“..You’re too rough on yourself, y’know. You’ve got too many scars.”, you remarked, sympathetically.

He pauses for awhile following your comment, his gaze flickering up to your face. He exhales dryly as he continues to carefully wrap the bandage around the wound, his fingers working slower than before. The vicinity is filled with strained silence, punctuated by the erratic sound of fabric being pulled taut.

"..I'm fine.." is all he can say, his voice subdued and raspy.

You pause, observing him keenly. You grasp his hand and trace the scuffed skin.

“You promise?”, you persisted.

His breath jerks, your delicate touch renders it onerous to express himself clearly.

He swallows dryly and nods slightly, his cheeks flushing as he struggles to regulate his heartbeat, which is striking against his chest. He attempts to gather his words.

“Yeah… yeah, I promise…” He replies, his voice slightly hoarse.

You nod, acknowledging his words. “Okay.”, you whispered, glaring to his flustered expression.

As he concludes wrapping his bandage over your injuries, a sense of serenity emerges. Under the silvery sky, you appreciate the beauty of the present. The subtle rustling of foliage and distant chirping of crickets create an oasis of peace, allowing you to temporarily forget about the discomfort.

“...Genya?”

His gaze meets yours. He nods subtly, as he listens intently.

“...I meant what I said. This meant a lot to me.”, you said truthfully.

Genya pauses, his breath caught in his throat. His face rose a deeper shade of red, his entire body trembled and tensed. He briefly looks to you before hurriedly glancing aside and murmuring a response.

“...Y-Yeah..”, he chokes out, before clearing his throat. “...I-I’m glad I could help…”

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literaryvein-reblogs · 4 months ago

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Writing Notes: Some Causes of Death

There are certain causes of death, or conditions that prevail during the decomposition process, that may cause the body to take on an unusual appearance or to deviate from the expected state of decomposition. These can include:

Drowning

Fire (charring)

Mummification

Carbon monoxide poisoning

DROWNING

Can be accidental, murder, or suicide.

Dumping a body in water may be a murderer’s attempt to dispose of it in the hope that it will remain undiscovered or to degrade any tell-tale DNA or trace evidence.

It is possible for the pathologist to ascertain if death has been caused by drowning or if the person was already dead before entering the water.

The presence of diatoms in the body indicates that death was caused by drowning.

Diatoms - a type of single-celled algae unique to the body of water they are found in; this may be saltwater or freshwater, and from a specific lake or estuary.

They are not present in tap water as it is filtered, and therefore will not be present in somebody who has drowned in a bath, although water present in the stomach and lungs of the deceased is still indicative of death by drowning.

Diatoms can only enter the body by being ingested through the lungs or stomach of a living person while the heart is still beating. Their presence will then be discovered in the blood, bone marrow and brain of the deceased.

When attending water deaths, a water sample will be taken so the diatoms present in the source can be compared to those identified in the body.

In this way, investigators can ascertain whether the victim was drowned in the same body of water in which it was discovered.

Bodies that have been immersed in water for any length of time are likely to be discovered in a macerated form.

This is when the skin wrinkles and loosens to such an extent that it starts to become detached.

The skin may also appear adipocerous: this is when a wax-like coating progressively covers the body when it is overexposed to wet conditions.

Adipocere - caused by the reaction of body fat to water; hydrolysis occurs, resulting in the coagulation of fat, which spreads across the surface of exposed areas of the body.

Vagal drowning occurs when the vagus nerves become unintentionally over-stimulated, resulting in a cardiac arrest.

The vagus nerves serve the lungs, heart, chest and abdomen.

Cardiac arrest can occur when the body is suddenly exposed to cold water, which causes vagal inhibition, particularly when cold water suddenly enters the larynx or ears, or strikes the abdomen in the event of the person falling into water.

This instantaneous reaction leaves a person incapacitated, and is potentially the cause of many deaths of people who are under the influence of drink or drugs and behave without due care and attention when close to canals and waterways.

Inhibition of the vagal nerve can also occur during asphyxiation.

FIRE

This process can be an opportunity for murderers to dispose of cumbersome corpses before they succumb to the unpleasantness of decomposition.

Pathologists will be able to ascertain if the victim was dead before the fire by examining the lungs and airways to detect the presence of soot.

Even if the body is severely blackened through charring, it can still provide pathologists with much needed clues.

If a body has been assaulted prior to the fire, it is possible for pathologists to detect signs of an assault by examining the skeletal remains.

Another indication that a person has been assaulted prior to the fire is the lack of what is called ‘pugilistic pose’ in the body.

This is taken from a boxing stance where the fighter stands with clenched fists and arms, and legs flexed in a particular defensive position.

During a fire, the intense heat causes the hands, elbows and knees to flex and stiffen, drawing the body into this recognized position.

If, however, the victim was assaulted before the fire, then damage to the joints will prevent the body adopting the pugilist position.

MUMMIFICATION

A body may not decompose depending on certain circumstances.

Example: Bodies kept in extremely cold conditions will not succumb to bacteria or insect activity.

The Lindow Man is one of many preserved bodies recovered from peat bogs across the United Kingdom: his remains were discovered by peat cutters working on Lindow Moss, Cheshire in 1984. Experts have concluded that he died a violent death between 2 BC and 119AD and his body has been preserved for the ensuing centuries due to the cool temperature, low oxygenation and high acidity of the peat bog.

Following death, some bodies may not succumb to the decomposition process because they become mummified.

In order for this state to occur, the body must be exposed to a stable temperature (preferably warm) with a steady air current, which allows the body to dry out.

The desert is an ideal environment to promote mummification, but the right combination of elements nearer to home has also produced the same effect.

Example: In Germany in 1994, police discovered the mummified remains of a lady who they believe had died of natural causes 6 months earlier. She was discovered in her lounge in front of the television, and neighbours only thought to raise the alarm after noticing that her letterbox was overflowing with post. The lady’s body was most likely mummified due to the constant temperature of her room over such a long period of time.

CARBON MONOXIDE POISONING

The introduction of unleaded petrol and catalytic converters in cars has led to a decline in the typical suicide scenario of a desperate person sitting in their car with the engine running and a hosepipe threaded through the window.

Even so, carbon monoxide is still very much a killer due to faulty gas pipes and damaged heaters and fires.

The early symptoms of carbon monoxide poisoning can be similar to flu, but increased exposure to the gas, as well as old age and failing health, can prove fatal to the victim. One of the noticeable, distinct features of a person who has died as a result of carbon monoxide poisoning is cherry reddening of the skin.

In normal circumstances in the first stage of death, there is a noticeable paling of the skin due to algor mortis, therefore this distinctive reddening is an obvious sign that death has not occurred due to natural causes.

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Autopsy ⚜ Pain & Violence ⚜ Drowning Mummification & Cheating Death ⚜ Carbon Monoxide Poisoning

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muttren · 1 year ago

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i have a disability. more specifically, i have a rare genetic condition called camurati-engelmann’s disease, or CED. it is also known as progressive diaphyseal dysplasia (PDD). it is an extremely rare disorder and only around 300 cases have been reported worldwide.

i figured i would make a post talking about it, in an effort to not only educate others, but to possibly connect with others who suffer from it as well. i apologize for the longer post but please this moment to learn about my disorder.

CED is a skeletal condition that is characterized by abnormally thick bones (hyperostosis) in the arms, legs and skull. the overgrowth in bone causes bone pain, muscle weakness and extreme fatigue. the pain feels like an electric stabbing pain, an ever-increasing pressure sensation around the bones affected, or a constant aching. pain can also occur in joints and they will often lock-up, becoming immobile and stiff. the pain is especially severe during 'flare-ups', which can be unpredictable, exhausting and last anywhere from a few hours to several weeks. this is a common occurrence for us, often causing extensive sleep deprivation from the chronic, severe and disabling pain. when this happens, we are often bedridden or housebound for days or even weeks.

those affected also have an unsteady walk and limp. thickening of the skull can also lead to neurological problems, like hearing loss, vision issues, vertigo and tinnitus. symptoms vary in severity from person to person. there are treatments, however it cannot be cured. pain management is a large aspect of living with this chronic disease.

there is very little awareness and research for CED. rare diseases are severely neglected and overlooked, as are those who suffer and live with them. research is often not considered profitable due to their cost to develop and the limited patient population. major federal funding agencies give preference to research that is likely to have a direct impact on patients.

living with a rare disease is extremely difficult and isolating. it impacts the lives of millions of us and our loved ones worldwide. those of us suffering from rare medical conditions should be entitled to the same quality of treatment as other patients. i am disabled, but i am worth it.

#camurati engelmann’s disease #ced #progressive diaphyseal dysplasia #pdd #disability #chronic illness #chronic pain #disabled #chronic fatigue #chronically ill #rare disorder #rare disease

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basilbots · 7 months ago

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Quick ref of Mer Ruin Ruin suffers from a condition that leaves him chronically rotting, with evident fin rot, and most notably his skeletal hands (his scales/fins also are bruised/have purple discoloration, but I wanted to show off their base colors better). He is a small, thin, and very weak looking mer before meeting KC. With the help of his new companion Ruin goes from staving off the rot to improving and looking healthier.

#didn't rlly clean this up much just wanted a ref down #basil art #sun and moon show #tsams #sams mers #sams ruin

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queenimmadolla · 2 years ago

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𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

(Tattoo Artist!Eddie Munson x Apprentice!Reader)

Summary: . . . After deciding you were meant for more than what life had in store for you, you gave into the siren call of the city─well a city. But when city life finally eats away at your bank account and your main source of income isn't reliable, you take on an apprenticeship at a tattoo shop where your boss is the six-foot something, tattoo covered Eddie Munson who quickly and unwisely becomes intrigued by you. Nothing romantic can come from it, lest you risk it being torn apart by your past, his lover and yourself.

Entire Work Warnings: 18+ (smut will take place in later chapters), swearing, financial problems, mentions of loss, escorts/call girls, age gap (Eddie is 36, reader is 25), financial shaming, slut shaming, implied sexual harassment, bimbo!reader (she may not be book smart but she knows the score) angst, self-sabotage.

a/n: based on my initial post and elements of Breakfast at Tiffany's. next chapters will be significantly juicer, this was just something to get us going. this is dedicated to @munsonology, happy birthday and I hope this year was a good one! and a very gratitude filled thank you to my dear friend, @kitmon, for continuing to be an an amazing beta! hope you guys like it so far ♡ (attempting the keep reading feature, fingers crossed)

word count: 5k

“They don’t bite.” “Hmn?” Came your absent-minded reply, eyes cutting from the harpy, evil in her eyes and blood soaking her talons, to the man flipping through the red binder you’d been carrying around you in the Indianapolis heat.

Sweat evaporated off your skin, giving away to goosebumps in the air conditioned shop, a much welcome relief to the borderline unbearable heatwave settling over the city streets, something that can be found in every nook and cranny. You’d been navigating your way throughout the city since before dawn broke, eager to get your fill of it while the streets were quiet and a decent temperature. It had been almost chilly this morning, your thick strapped tank top and daisy dukes—that you normally wouldn’t allow yourself to be caught dead in—leaving most of your skin exposed, with no direct sunlight to warm it. Now that the sun was out, you were on fire out there.

“The artwork.” He glanced at the framed harpy drawing along the wall, the one you’d been staring at, one of many framed depictions of gruesome and mythical looking creatures. “I don’t blame you though, that one isn’t particularly my favorite. Pretty badass, though. Heh.” “Oh,” You shook your head, the oversized shades adorning your face sliding down the bridge of your nose, “No, I’m not afraid of it. I like it. It must have taken forever though.”

You turned your attention to her again, admiring how realistic her feathers appeared. Painstakingly detailed and whoever was walking around the city with her on their body surely endured a generous amount of pain to get her.

And a large hole in their wallet.

“It took a ton of sessions, for sure. My boy did it a couple years ago.” The man, Argyle, as he’d introduced himself when you’d first walked into the shop, flipped his long black hair over his shoulder before he flipped to the next page of your portfolio. He let out a sound of appreciation as he leaned his weight on his elbow, hand resting over his mouth.

“This is good! This is really good!”

You lifted your chin to peer at the drawing he was fascinated with. Ah.

It was a drawing of the skeletal Grim Reaper, cloaked in a black robe and scythe clutched in one hand while his boney middle fingers stretched his eye socket holes down in an obvious taunt. A tongue, black and tendril like, lulled out of his mouth.

You thought it was pretty good, too. The idea for it had struck you at a party, you’d been hiding from an annoying suitor and ducked into an office room, doodling to your heart's content once you grew past your boredom.

You grinned, a feeling of giddiness beginning to bubble inside you.

“Listen, the DM’s out right now, running some errands. He should be back soon, can I hold onto this?” Argyle asked, gripping the sides of the binder and raising it as if you didn’t already know he was referring to your portfolio, “I think he’ll be pretty impressed with your stuff.” You fidgeted with your fingers, giddiness giving away to nerves once more. “Really? You think so?” Hope was something you hadn’t felt in a while; you’d been through exactly fourteen tattoo shops throughout the city, most of which you’d been rebuffed from before they so much as flipped open your portfolio, having already decided your particular aesthetic didn’t fit their image. They hadn’t verbalized as much, but you knew. You glanced down at your pink boots, already such a stark contrast to the black beams beneath your feet.

It wouldn’t be a big deal if you hadn’t made a wager with yourself, you could only go home once you’d accomplished your task of getting one of the shop owners to actually look at your work. While Argyle had made it clear he wasn’t the head honcho, he’d be passing it along.

“Yeah, man! This is some pretty legit stuff! I’ve been tatting, myself, for a couple years now, and I’m good–don’t wanna flex or nothing but I’m really good. Only it took a couple of years for me to actually get this good, you know? And I’m not even talking about on skin. You haven’t tattooed anyone before, right?” You thought back to when you had mentioned your art skill to a brief...something, he’d been intoxicated enough on expensive wine and your sangria kisses to encourage you to use the tattoo kit one of your friends had re-gifted you after her interest in the subject waned. You’d never particularly imagined yourself etching into people’s skin before, not even when she’d given you the supplies because she’d seen some of your doodles.

Thanks to her, a suit and tie you no longer spoke to, who made more money than you’ll ever see, was walking around with a secret under his briefs: a pair of shiny cherries on his left ass cheek.

It was no loss to you. Sure, he made money. Just not nearly enough for you to tolerate how aggressive he’d been with his affections as soon as he was sloshed. You’d given him the tattoo with his drunk pals cheering him on, went out to a very high standard club, then promptly ditched him the moment you were out of his sight. You hadn’t answered the door when he came pounding on it the next morning and the morning after that.

You’d originally had no intentions of using the tattoo equipment, until that encounter. It had planted a seed, an idea that may get you out of what you had to do to survive. Tattooing hadn’t been a passion, and it still wasn’t quite one but you needed money and you had talent.

“No,” You lied with a shake of your head, “I haven’t.”

“That’ll change soon,” he laughed, closing your binder as he leaned further over the glass counter. Your gaze briefly flickered to the jewelry it housed.

“You got a number we can reach you at?”

You’d scrawled the number of your landline down on the back of one of their business cards before Argyle could rethink his decision to pass your work along.

“Hopefully, we’ll see you soon!” He called out as you retreated towards the door.

God, I hope so.

The thought of a somewhat stable job that could help the pitiful state of your checking and savings account was the only thing powering you through your long walk home. You couldn’t risk a cab, that would mean you’d have no fare money for tonight, and who knows if you’d have to make a speedy exit?

You’d learned. Eventually.

Forty-five minutes later, you entered your apartment, sagging back against the door as you dropped your bag and kicked your shoes off, unconcerned as to where exactly they’d landed.

Sweat glistened over your skin, and unlike in that last tattoo shop, there was no air conditioning to cool you. You and Sid saved that for special occasions.

Instead, you opened the large window to the fire escape, obnoxious sounds of the city you called home filling the apartment.

It wasn’t much, but it was better. Next came the matter of your clothes, stuck in the most uncomfortable of ways to your flesh. Your tank top was peeled off and thrown over the couch, daisy dukes abandoned near the entryway of the small kitchen on your way to the bathroom.

A quick glance was spared behind you, taking in the state of your shared home. It was a mess and not even remotely surprising. The place was barely furnished with the essentials, all of which were secondhand: a couch, a coffee table with a sheet over it to hide the stains, one shelving unit, a rug and tapestries hung artfully on the walls for deception. They made the place look more put together than it was, but you’d love it even if it were still barren. A roof over your head in the city meant you didn’t have to return to the past you’d clawed your way out of..

The only thing worth much was the framed photo on the kitchen counter, and that was only in sentimental value. You and Sid, arms around each other’s shoulders as you sat in a booth at a shitty diner you’d tried upon first moving to the city. They’d taken your photo for being the 600th customer and tacked it to the wall.

You’d stolen it and had no regrets because you got to keep your memory and ended up getting food poisoning.

With a shrug, you entered the bathroom for a much needed scrub down and some disassociating. Your mess could wait.

─

Eddie was not in a great mood when he walked into the shop.

His jacket was clutched in a sweaty palm, rings twisting around the flesh of his fingers and his bangs were beginning to stick to his forehead, all the result of the walk from his fucking car to the shop door.

“Grumpy?” Argyle asked, amused with the clear annoyance on his face.

Eddie sneered, standing under the vent for a minute to cool down, “Triple digits. Triple fucking digits out there, man. You could shove a thermometer up the devil’s asshole and it’d be cooler than that.”

Once he’d solidified, he stalked past the front desk, threw his jacket onto the counter and picked up a stack of mail.

“Did I miss anything?” Eddie asked as he flipped through the envelopes, mostly junk.

“A couple of walk-ins. Nothing too major there, handled them myself. Simple stuff, one wanted a goldfish. Not like a detailed one, like how you’d try and draw a goldfish cracker. We did have a few who wanted a couple of advance pieces, got ‘em booked for consultations with Johnny boy and Rob.”

“Nice,” Eddie chuckled under his breath at the mental image of the goldfish tattoo, most likely an act of affection. Tattooing people who wanted to permanently carry reminders of their children was one of Eddie’s favorites to do, partially because of the sentiment but mostly because the drawings were amusing.

He’d just finished tossing out the junk mail when he reached for his jacket to hang it up properly and discovered it had been concealing something.

“What’s this?” Eddie asked as he lifted the slim red binder. Looked relatively new.

“Huh?” Argyle glanced up from the sketch he was working on, recognition flashing across his face, “Oh, yeah! We got a prospective new hire, someone dropped off their portfolio.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and heaved out a heavy sigh as his jacket was tossed aside yet again. He had nothing against other tattoo artists, but the last one he’d hired that hadn’t come from his friend group ended up nearly destroying the group.

Henry had been charming, good at his job and charismatic. Turns out, he’d also been a master manipulator and had a particularly abhorrent temper. Tensions had been high, heads were butting and fights had occurred—with a permanent reminder in the wall near the front entrance where a large hole had been punched through. Henry had to go.

Eddie wasn’t looking to repeat the situation.

“I think we’re good on artists around here–and put a reminder on the calendar for me to patch that damn crater up.”

“Well, it’s a good thing the artist isn’t a tattoo artist. Yet. I’d look at that portfolio first before making any decisions, if I were you. I think you’re gonna see the beginnings of something goooooood, and dude, you’ll be killing our fun if you fix it. Do you know how many glory hole jokes we tell?” Eddie ignored the latter half of Argyle’s statement, reluctantly flipping the portfolio open to the first page and annoyance began to associate itself with him once more.

A body, in a state of decomposition greeted him. But it wasn’t maggots or rotting flesh involved. Flowers grew out of the crevices, with moss and mushrooms over her skin. A lot of fine line work.

The next page was home to a bird-like creature with the body of a lion, a Griffin. Done in American Traditional.

A skinny, demonic looking goat with horns and legs long enough to belong to a horse, clouded eyes and wyvern wings was on the page after that. The Jersey Devil. Someone knew their Cryptids.

The portfolio contained a vast amount of drawings from horror depictions to more aesthetically pleasing visions; the hydra, skeletons, dragons, goddesses, respectable attempts at the modern Renaissance pieces, and even a couple of Barbie references, ranging in a variety of tattoo styles.

Eddie closed the portfolio and drummed his fingertips across the countertop, scowling.

That long haired doofus was right. This was beyond good work. But if they weren’t a tattoo artist, there wasn’t much Eddie could do with them. Drawing on paper is a much more different experience than skin. Mistakes can be erased on paper, the sketch done over again. Can’t do the same on flesh.

It’s intimidating.

They’d have to start off slow, like he had. Trained under a watchful eye, an expert who’d guide them with experienced hands. He was sure Jonathan and Robin would be eager to have an apprentice.

But before Eddie would even begin to entertain the idea of an apprentice in his shop, he’d have to see exactly what it was he was working with.

“Leave a number?” He asked without looking at Argyle because he knew he’d see nothing but a smug expression.

“Yup.”

“See if you can get him back in the shop tomorrow.”

“Why not today?”

“Because I have a session for the rest of the day, remember?”

“Oh, yeah! I forgot.” Argyle’s grin was sheepish as he read off the calendar. “Stacy Peterson called. Car troubles. Unable to make it to appointment with Eddie. Rescheduled. Heh. So…you also missed that.”

“I’ll strangle you later, just get him in here then.”

Argyle opened his mouth, then closed it as an expression that said I know something you don’t crossed his strong features. “Righty-O, boss. I’ll give him a call.”

You’d been lounging in the bathtub, hair up and out of the way, eyeing the grooves of the shower tile. They were a permanent taunt, stained dark no matter how hard you and Sid scrubbed and you hated the sight of them.

People with money didn't have to stare at them, able to afford to have them professionally cleaned or the shower wall—the entire bathroom renovated.

Someday, that would be you.

You sunk further into the water, toeing at the faucet when the shrill sound of the landline filled your more than humble home. The thought of simply letting it ring played in your head until you remembered the tattoo shop you’d visited last.

Hastily rising from the tub, water was splashed along the floor while you did a terrible job of drying off and ran naked the rest of the way to the living room, almost slipping as you did.

The receiver was yanked off its post, “Hello?”

“What’s up, Dudette? Argyle calling, dunno if you remember me from earlier…”

“Yeah! From the tattoo shop, right?”

“Right-O! Listen, The Dungeon Master is in and he wants to see if you can get down here to show him what you got. Possible?”

“Yeah, it’ll be no problem!” You’d have to run most of the way but street traffic around this time wasn’t that bad so you wouldn’t have to fight your way through bodies.

“Cool, cool, cool. And between you and me, this is pretty much the interview process. Good luck, dudette, and may the force be with your tattie skills. I’ll see you when you get here!”

As soon as you’d hung up, you ran to your room to get dressed. You didn’t have much of a wardrobe, but it wasn’t high on your list of priorities considering you and Sid practically shared one. Another tank top was selected—to mitigate sweating on your way to your interview—along with a gifted pink thong and matching bra. You’d snagged your Daisy Dukes from the floor on your way out, shimmied them on, grabbed your small bag and keys and headed out.

The selection of attire was a good one, the heat was still stupidly unbearable and heavy. You’d need to wash off again tonight. You’d managed to make it to the shop in under twenty-five minutes, having ignored all the looks you’d received as you hurried along the streets and the feeling of the air conditioner on your skin was a welcome one when you made your way back into the shop.

Argyle greeted you with a bright grin from his place behind the counter, throwing up his hands, “You made it! One sec.”

Then he turned his upper body to call into an area you couldn’t quite see into, “Oh, Eddie boy! Your prospect has arrived.”

You hadn’t cared to entertain ideas on what your potential boss could look like, all you were concerned about was the position and getting your foot in the door. Even if you had tried to imagine him, nothing could have prepared you for the actual sight of him when he emerged.

He was big, tall and cloaked in black, despite the heat of the city. He wore what you figured had once been a black t-shirt but was now lacking sleeves and a proper neck hem to be considered a makeshift tank. His pants were shiny leather and also tight, hugging the muscles of his thighs, and he sported a dark pair of pointed boots.

He wasn’t particularly muscular enough to be the body builder type, but it looked like he could probably pick another grown man up with ease. His skin had a light tan to it, barely anything really, just like everyone else, he obviously couldn’t escape the sun. It was littered with intricate tattoos, weaving up his arms—a few you could tell disappeared under his shirt—and his neck.

The word freak was permanently etched in black ink along his temple and over his eyebrow. Two silver balls decorated his other eyebrow.

Leaning up against the back wall like that, arms crossed to make the muscles of his arms bulge slightly and oozing confidence, he looked like the personification of some really good sex.

But he wasn’t what you were seeking out and you didn’t like to mix business with pleasure.

Eddie was caught completely off guard, trying to school his shock and keep his composure.

When he’d seen that portfolio, he was expecting someone with jagged edges, piercings galore and more than just a couple of tattoos to be behind it and standing in the entryway of his shop.

Someone who looked like their art.

You…didn’t. With your little pink cowboy boots, tank top that accentuated your figure and shorts so small, they should’ve been considered a form of underwear, you didn’t look at all similar to what Eddie was expecting. Not even if he closed his eyes.

You didn’t waste time, quickly introducing yourself as you stepped up to the front desk and Eddie pulled himself from his stupor, closing the distance to shake your palm. Smaller than his (though most were) and slightly sweaty, no doubt due to that god forsaken heat outside.

Eddie could see bits of your hair sticking to your skin, little beads of sweat prickling over your exposed collarbone and trailing down, down between your─

“Thank you for taking the time to even look at my portfolio! I really appreciate it.”

Eddie blinked hard, clearing his throat before smirking to pretend he hadn’t been drawn in by your chest.

What the fuck was wrong with him all of a sudden?

He’d had plenty of beautiful clients, he’d tattooed nice asses, tits, pubic regions, thighs, all the beautiful areas. Now all of a sudden he was acting like he’d never seen a pair of tits before.

Hell, Eddie had been thoroughly busy with a pair, held them in his hands before he came into the shop.

Professionalism, he reminded himself.

“Not a problem, what I see—saw was pretty impressive,” Nice save, Eddie, you dick. He cursed himself, “You adapt well to different styles.”

“Thanks!” You chirped, excitement filling you at the praise. It was so nice to hear positive feedback about your work instead of being sent out of a shop before they so much as opened your binder. “I like to experiment with different styles, see what it is that people like so much about them and honestly, it’s mostly because I haven’t quite found my art style just yet.”

Hence your range, you were constantly expanding with your art because you hadn’t found one style you wanted to make yours yet. Or maybe you had and just didn’t know it yet. Whatever.

Eddie and Argyle exchanged a look before he stepped back and nodded in the direction he came, “Why don’t you follow me? Show me what you can do?”

You didn’t hesitate, stepping past the front desk.

There was more artwork lining the short hall he took you down until you arrived at another room, obviously one meant for actual tattooing as there was a tattoo chair in the middle of the room.

On one of the counters, was an area already prepped for you. A tattoo gun, some ink, and some obviously fake skin that rested on top of a disposable sheet cloth, along with some gloves.

“Argyle tells me you haven’t worked on skin before.”

Sure you haven’t.

“Not a whole lot of people lining up to get tattooed by someone with no experience,” you shrugged, following him over to the counter he was leaning up against.

“You’re hanging around the wrong crowd then.” He joked and you let out a small laugh.

He had no idea how right he was.

“The first tattoos I ever got were from inexperienced people. This one,” he gestured to a Wyvern on the back of his arm, “I got my junior year of high school from a waitress at a bar I always snuck into.”

“And this one,” he yanked the tattered collar of his shirt down to expose more ink, but the one he was referring to was a spider, “I got my first senior year from someone I did…business with.”

First senior year? Eddie was proving to be an interesting character.

“But enough about me,” Eddie released his shirt, allowing it to hide the artwork depicted on his chest, “let’s get down to business.”

Before he could even explain what everything was, you dropped your purse onto the counter nearby, pulling a small box of unopened gloves from it.

“You mind?” You asked, fingers poised to rip it open.

“Go for it,” He shrugged. Gloves were gloves, so long as they were uncontaminated he didn’t mind.

You tore into them and Eddie was still somehow surprised to see they were pink. Clearly his black ones weren’t your style.

“Can I ask you a question?” You asked as you pulled the gloves on. Eddie watched you, intrigued as you finished assembling the tattoo gun without his help and opened the ink pack.

“Sure,” He mused, eyeing you skeptically. Hadn’t tattooed anyone but you were clearly familiar with it. Interesting.

“Did your tattoos hurt?”

Eddie waited until after you’d started the tattoo gun and got into working on the fake flesh. Apparently you already had an idea in mind.

“A bit of an amateur question, you don’t have one?”

“Nope.” You confirmed, paying him no mind as you leaned forward, gaze focused solely on your task, “I kind of want one but I’m not in any particular rush, you know?”

Eddie made a sound of agreement, at a brief loss of words as you arched your back, ass sticking out and he became painfully aware you were wearing a hot pink thong, the tails of it peaking out past the top of your denim shorts. He should’ve offered you a seat but you didn’t seem all that bothered with standing.

No, that was apparently his foil, because he was incredibly bothered by you standing, especially with your ass out like that; when it made his pants tighten considerably in his crotch region.

He was getting hard.

Eddie was mortified, stiffening (go figure) as he attempted to calm himself, eyes darting away from your ass to stare at one of the cabinets. Of course this had to happen to him on the day he chose to wear a pair of pants that left little to the imagination should the boy downstairs start acting up.

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.

“Hurts, depending on the area, which I’m sure you already know. The tattoos on my back and my thighs hurt pretty bad. Forearms were a bitch, but nothing I couldn’t handle. The ones on my wrists and hands were the worst, pain wise, in my opinion. Obviously it didn't stop me, but those tend to be areas with a lot of bones, veins and very little muscle, so it’s expected.”

You hummed in response and his gaze briefly flittered over to you before his cock pulsed and he tore it away again, grateful your attention wasn’t on him.

The remainder of the ‘session’ was spent in relative silence with the music playing through the speakers installed throughout the shop, keeping it from being awkward. Eddie had just managed to will his erection away when you finished, setting down the gun before you pulled your gloves off.

“What do you think?” You asked, still admiring your work and Eddie peered around you to assess it.

A wyvern, similar to the one on his arm but done in a fine line style.

He chuckled, amused with your reference and you fought valiantly with yourself not to grin. You were trying to impress him, sticking with a subject he liked enough to make it a part of him permanently, but you hadn’t imitated the style of it to keep from downright copying and to showcase your ability to adapt.

“That’s pretty good,” And it was, not a whole lot of people could get lines that perfect or seem as confident in their abilities on their first try. Still, Eddie could tell you’d have some ways to go before you were ready to be on your own, “but you can do better.”

You tried not to frown, “Oh.”

Eddie smirked and you finally turned to face him, apprehension on your face.

“Don’t look so down. After some time around here, watching us work, you’ll be ready. The apprenticeship will fly by in no time.”

“Wait—you mean—you want me?!”

“I’d be stupid not to.”

You let out a squeal and threw yourself at him, giving him a quick squeeze before your brain caught up to your body and you pulled away.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m just so excited.”

Eddie cleared his throat, shifting his body away from you and rasped out, “Argyle will have the paperwork for you to fill out.”

“Got it,” You grabbed your bag and was just about to head out of the room when Eddie called your name, “Huh?”

“Be back at the same time tomorrow. You’ll be practicing on real skin.”

“But I thought you said—”

“Me.”

Something in you bubbled with excitement and nerves.

You nodded once and then left the room to see Argyle for your paperwork.

“So?????” Argyle asked once you’d approached him, a sullen look on your face.

You couldn’t keep the act up, beaming as you practically bounced, “I’ll be seeing you around more often now!”

He whooped, extending an arm out for a high-five which you reciprocated.

“You are gonna love it here, Dudette. Just wait until you meet everyone! First, we gotta start on your employment.”

Your brows furrowed as you watched him go through a filing cabinet.

“Wait—this is paid?”

“Yeah! We’re not big on slave labor here.”

Score for you! You had a feeling you wouldn’t be clocking a ton of hours but every single penny counted, especially considering how hard of a time you had actually building a savings account.

Argyle had walked you through the paperwork, where to sign, what things meant and since the shop was getting ready to close up you’d simply just bring the completed paperwork back with you tomorrow.

The door chimed behind you and you turned to see who could be coming in at the last minute, eyes widening at the voluptuous woman before you. Her hair was long and jet black, skin pale (apparently one person in this city was capable of defying the sun) and make-up done so elegantly it reminded you of actresses from the silver screen era. Her dress was simple, black and hugged her curves exceptionally well. You could tell it was worth more than everything in your apartment combined and you’d feel bad about it if you also couldn’t tell she was older than you.

You’d have time to get there.

“Hey, Deidre.”

“Hello, Argyle.” She gave the both of you a dazzling smile as she removed her sunglasses and walked right past Argyle, down the hall you’d come from.

He didn’t even look surprised and paid her no real attention.

“We’ll see you soon?”

“Damn straight.”

Argyle let out another cheer as you walked out the door with high spirits. Not even the nasty, hot air could get you down.

You’d climbed up the stone steps until you reached the sidewalk and glanced behind you at the neon sign depicting the name of the tattoo shop you’d now be working at.

“Welcome to The Dungeon,” You mumbled to yourself with a smile.

You turned back to the sidewalk, staring down at the pathway you’d have to take before you thought better of it, sticking your fingers into your mouth to give a sharp whistle.

It caught the attention of a cab driver down the street, and you gave him your address when he’d pulled up and you’d hopped in, ready to prepare for tonight's plans. You deserved a little break, after all, you were one step closer to securing the future of your dreams.

Eddie sagged against the counter once you’d left the room, scowling down at the bulge that had reappeared in his pants when you’d hugged him.

Why his body was suddenly acting like he was a horny teenager again, he had no idea.

He wasn’t about to do anything about it, though. Not when you’d be hanging around the shop for the foreseeable future. Eddie didn’t get involved with his employees. He’d worked in a couple of shops where he’d witnessed that occur and it always ended in a mess. Not a good kind.

He busied himself with cleaning up, tossing away the supplies you’d used and storing your first piece of work. It’d be nice for you to look back at once your apprenticeship was over. When Eddie had nothing else to clean, he sighed and rubbed at his eyelids.

Platonic. Professional. God, if he couldn’t keep his dick in check, he’d be in a world of trouble. You’d be trouble.

“Need a hand?”

Eddie snapped around, relieved to see it was just Deidre. Explaining why he had a boner to anyone else wasn’t something he was keen on doing. In fact, he probably wouldn’t be telling her exactly why, either.

Taking her up on her offer, however, was something he would eagerly do.

“Are you offering yours?”

She laughed, setting her purse down on the counter where your bag had been just a few minutes ago, and walked right up to Eddie, her body pressed against his and grinding onto him as the older woman slid her arms around his shoulders.

“Mmm, not just my hand.”

All Eddie knew next was the taste of her red lipstick.

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