#thank you for digitally experting

[artfromthevoid]

What's your Etsy store link? I feel it should be up

I thought for sure it was in my bio already, but I must have missed tumblr when I was adding the link on my socials. Thanks for catching that :)

[itexpertakib]

Thank you to everyone who got me to 50 likes!

Stay with me.

[submalevolentgrace]

Hi! I'm very interested in attempting to write a disabled character (not for this blog, I assure, for an book I'm writing) in which the story doesn't fetishize/objectify her prosthetic limb. I'm in many writing circles and have been for a long while, but I've never seen this issue brought to light which I realise is a very important one. I have much to change in my thought process, and thank you for bringing this issue to attention.

I'm curious, and I apologise if this has been asked before, but what sort of design could you see for a functional prosthetic that doesn't go for a plainly aesthetic appearance, or is soully to please others? I do note that you said prosthetics are generally... not that helpful. So is there a way that it could be? Or do you think it would always generally be better to not use a prosthetic, as its mostly for aesthetic purposes, as you said?

I apologise if this ask is too outright or anything, and I don't mean to intrude. Thank you for your time and have a beautiful day!

okay, i want to answer this as in depth as possible, because whenever i talk about having a prosthesis, someone will always tag some variation of "#writing reference" and i do wonder what message they're taking away, and i want to get as much of my experience out as possible to maybe help shape how this is all portrayed in the future. and yeah… this is gonna be one of those rambly smg posts that the expand feature was invented for, so i'll start with the very abridged TL;DR:

if you're writing a character with an upper limb prosthesis; don't. arm amputees are unicorn level rare even compared to leg amputees, and i've never interacted with or even heard of an upper limb amputee that regularly uses a prosthesis, let alone relies on one. fiction has lied to you for the sake of cool aesthetics, don't repeat the cycle. more in depth writing advice including nuance and "but i waaaant to" will follow.

that said, grab your donning parachute and let's get started...

context for everyone involved: i am an upper limb amputee that rants a lot about how prostheses suck, i lost my right hand roughly five years ago at roughly the age of 30 after a very rough decline in health… it was pretty rough. this question is being asked in the context of a previous rant post of mine, and i checked that the ask is about an upper limb prosthesis in particular.

the situation regarding the usefulness of lower limb prostheses is totally different; i am definitely no expert, but by all accounts, prosthetic legs are incredibly useful for many people. getting a good leg can be absolutely life changing and more or less necessary for day to day life for some; mostly because infrastructure and society is just so fucking hostile to wheelchair users. being able to walk - at the cost of pressure sores and rashes and increased residual limb pain - is a preferable option to many people than being unable to fit through a doorway or in a bathroom stall or find out that the key to unlock the only elevator is in the admin office up three flights of stairs (true story).

but upper limb prostheses… see, the thing is, hands are incredibly complex organs that rely on a lot of immediate haptic feedback to work at all. hand dexterity is all about control, you need fine granular movements of the digits yes, but you also need the subtle sensations of pressure and proprioception in order to adjust your movements on the fly. i speak from experience, in the years leading up to the full loss of my hand, i was slowly losing function of it, usually swinging between numbness that made it clumsy at best, or screaming overstimulation from moving it at all resulting in unpredictable spasms… and let me tell you, a half working hand is infuriating to try and deal with. you can never know if you have a good grip on something or if it's slipping because of the wrong amount of pressure, and there's only so many smashed bottles of pickles on the floor before you give up using it all together… so amputation wasn't a great loss there, i had time to adapt.

a prosthetic hand of any kind has all of those issues and more. they're heavy and bulky, the cosmetic faux fingers or gripping claw have crude movement at best, and there's zero feedback (put a pin in this). 100% of the time you're using a prosthetic hand you have to keep your eyes on the grip and visually guesstimate whether or not the thing you're carrying is held tight enough but not too tight, that is if your "heavy duty" prosthesis can even support the weight without the servos disengaging or the wrist attachment socket just busting loose. i dropped a whippersnipper on my foot last week when my socket couldn't take the weight and i think that was the final straw in me desperately trying to prove to myself that there is a single task my prosthesis actually helps with.

this is usually where fully two handed people start talking about bleeding edge DARPA tech, and how we just need to invest more,research more, develop more. better tech, more tech, neural integration, more more more. okay i promise the writing advice is coming! for starters on tech, my experience is already with a mid-to-high end ottobock terminal device: i've got a myoelectric nerve-signal operated proportional control heavy duty greifer; about the only upgrade left for me to get would be a rotating wrist joint if i could coflex. it's not military, it's not "rockclimber that owns a prosthetic company", but it's quality tech. it still fucking sucks. secondly, that high level military tech exists primary for PR purposes so they can say they treat their discarded casualties well, "we can rebuild him, we have the technology" style. every war vet i've read about or heard from that's been gifted that high level tech also abandons it for the same reasons; it's imprecise, there's no feedback (or the haptic interface has to be fully recalibrated every time they put it on), but mostly they're more capable without one.

okay, the transhumanist ableds say (i should know, i used to be one), what if we did more ~research and development~ and got that neural feedback working? then we could have fireproof superhumanly strong robot arms to fix up everyone! here's where i take out that pin we put up before and i tell you that a class of prosthetic arms/hands already exists that has perfect proportional control, fine motor control, and physics perfect pressure feedback piped directly into the patients' existing sensory systems! they're called body-powered prostheses, and they were invented in like the 1600s. you strap a whole bunch of stuff to your arm and shoulders shoulders, and control the operation of the terminal device and elbow through cable tension by flexing your shoulders. they do take a considerable amount of training to operate - though hell i spent 18 months training to use my myo - but based on everything i've read, body-powered prostheses are the best option if you're an upper limb amputee and absolutely need a second hand for some reason.

but they don't look cool and futuristic, and according to my prosthetist, most people give up on using them too. we all give up on our prostheses, no matter the type. my rehab OT was impressed i lasted the 18 months of my training. towards the end, they even asked if the clinic director could drop in to one of my sessions to see my progress; he expressed genuine amazement at me casually using my bulky robot claw to use a brush and dustpan, and made an offhanded (hah) comment about what someone can achieve "if they stick it out to the end", implying it was somewhat of a rarity for me to have done so. several years on, and yesterday i wedged the dustpan between my ankles to sweep up into it, awkward but exponentially less effort than putting my dusty robot arm on. which, by the way, is a whole thing. look up some videos, they're all awful to don. i don't actually know the official technical name of what my clinic calls a "parachute" but it's a bitch to use! have you ever tried to pull back with your arm whilst also pushing it forwards at the same time, and simultaneously lean in to and away from an external force pulling on you? that's how you get a myo socket on.

bare with me, i promise writing advice is coming, and i promise it's more than the tl;dr. but. remember when i said a half working hand is infuriating to deal with? any prosthesis, from fancy myo tech to pirate-era body powered, will only ever be half as good as a working hand, and being juuuust within capability to do something but not quite able to is maddening! but you know what works way better than a half working hand? no hand at all. using whatever residual/vestigial limb you have - whatever "stump" you have, i hate that word - is pretty much always better than trying to use a prosthesis. i can use the inside of my elbow to grip and carry things, i can use the nub of my arm to apply pressure to hold things, open doors, use a computer mouse, turn on taps and lights, if i put a glove over it i can use it to prep for cooking. i have full proprioception and pressure feedback with skin contact, i don't think i've ever dropped and broken anything from my elbow, unlike countless things slipped from my greifer - which, by the way, absolutely will start clenching as tight as it can if i get even slightly too sweaty around the electrodes, which has both broken things i'm holding and also injured me, because surprise surprise but servo operated robot claws have pinch points on them right near the "emergency disengage" lever for some reason!

but i am exponentially more capable without it on than with it. no, i'm not fully independent, i rely on housemates and loved ones to help me out with some tasks that simply just need two handed dexterity, but none of those tasks are things a prosthesis makes me able to do anyway. i used to imagine my prosthesis would be like a bra; a bit awkward and uncomfortable, but i'd wear it throughout the day because it's helpful and take it off in the evening to decompress. in reality it's actually exactly like a bra: an absolute bitch to put on one handed, unbearably uncomfortable because it never sits right, ugly af unless you're a millionaire, and absolutely useless except for the fact that i get gawked at and judged by strangers if i leave the house without it on.

and if you really want to discover how far "no hand is better than a half working hand" goes, brace yourself, and look up the patient's stories (not medical system stories) of people that have had hand transplants. the first man to receive one hated it, he was promised a return to normal function, and what he got was a nightmare worse than being one handed; he wanted it removed again but the doctors refused because it would undermine their grand achievement of the first hand transplant. the doctors and society wanted him to be fixed, they wanted him to be normal, they wanted him to be abled. they failed. they made him less able to do things, denied his autonomy, and left him with someone else's hand slowly rotting on him, prioritising the idea of "scientific progress" and "two hands good" over the physical health, mental health, and ability to function of this man.

he's not alone; every story from the patients' perspective about hand transplants that i've read goes this way, including a woman who was born quad limb different and was promised hands would improve her life, pressured into a double hand transplant, only to find herself after the surgery essentially experiencing disability for the first time ever, because she had lived her whole life getting by just fine with her 'underdeveloped' limbs, but half working hands are worse than useless. you can try to find these stories yourself, but i'm not going looking for sources on any of these cases, because if you look back through enough of my posts you'll get a glimpse of the horrors and abuses that i too was put through by doctors who prioritised trying to "fix" me at any cost, rather than providing me the best quality of life, and in turn traumatised me and left me more broken than any loss of limb on its own could. dear goddess, i promise the writing advice is coming.

so. why do upper limb prostheses exist at all? if they're so terrible and useless, what is their function? i want to borrow something someone else left in the tags of a previous rant here, from someone who i believe works in prosthetics and/or rehab, cleaned up and anonymised at their request:

"upper limb functions are wildly more complex than: 1) bear weight static, and 2) bear weight moving. but every single upper limb amputee i know has a fancy expensive prosthetic just gathering dust in the closet because there is literally nothing it can do like a few years of adjustment and if needed non-dominant hand retraining can't do. the existence of forquarter prosthetics to begin with is just kind of silly and useless and entirely to make OTHER people feel comfortable, especially considering they universally are UNcomfortable for the amputee. i hate the notion that as soon as you get the amputation the prosthetic is The Thing That Will Fix You And Make You Feel Normal again because it universally isn't! but every forequarter person i know had like this ideal of Being Fixed By Magic Prosthetic that they were then obviously wildly disappointed by and had to do yet another grieving process with, versus if the dominant narrative were just one of: yeah. it'll take time, there is no magic fix."

and i think that really nails down what the actual purpose of upper limb prostheses is: they're not for the user, they're for the sake of other people. and not just their comfort when looking at our bodies, although based on the pressure for both amputees and people born limb different to get functionless cosmetic plastic hands, there is a lot of that. but it's not just that.

i fully believe that the reason prosthetic hands exists is to comfort the fears of the two handed. "don't worry", they say, "we can fix you again. you don't have to fear becoming Disabled, you don't have to worry about adapting or your life changing. we can make you Normal™ again."

you would not believe the number of people that have approached me to shower me with pity, to tell me how horrific my life is, how they can't imagine it. people have told me, apropos of nothing, that they'd kill themselves if they lost a hand. indirectly, that my life isn't worth living. unless, of course, i happen to be wearing my cool as fuck looking robot prosthesis! then they tell me how wonderful it is, how lucky i am, how glad they are that we have the technology to fix me. that's what a prosthetic hand says, what all the happy fishing photos on limbs4life posters at the rehab clinic say: don't worry, we can fix you. that's what the bleeding edge DARPA flexi-whatever fully articulated neuro-feedback hands say: don't worry if you get IED'd while hunting civilians for us to drone bomb, if you get hurt, we will fix you, we will fix the fuck out of you, we will motherfucking adam jensen you into a cool as fuck cyborg that your son will idolise; come on boys, don't you wanna enlist just for the chance at being as cool as this? join the bomb squad for a ticket to the upgrade lottery.

and so we arrive at fiction. as much as his dialogue options protest, adam jensen loves his robot arms, they punch through walls, turn into fucking swords! they make him the most special man in the world. what would he do without them? learn to cope? grieve? practice acceptance? take up poetry? just, be disabled? there's no power fantasy for ableds in that.

in fact, can you think of a single fictional character that's an upper limb amputee that's, well, just an amputee? they all have robot arms. not realistic prostheses, not medical devices; robot arms. sleek or bulky, top of the line or broken down self built, steampunk or nanomachines or magitech automail; they're never without them. never just an amputee. never born limb different either! there's always that element of tragedy to overcome, always suffering and misery porn, always focus on the pain and the helplessness without the absolutely vital robot arm that makes them Normal and Whole. the closest amputee example i can think of is furiosa from mad max, who iirc fucking punches max in the face with her residual limb like a motherfucking badass! i can barely lean on mine wrong and she punches a guy! but she still apparently needs a dieselpunk robot hand to drive a truck, something you can do one handed so easily most drivers don't even notice they're doing it! please don't, by the way

and so many disabled fans love to point to robot armed characters as disability representation; the winter soldier, luke skywalker, edward elric, misty knight, that genderswapped furry girl from ratchet and clank, jet cowboybebop, finn the human, and yes, adam jensen…. these are all characters that someone disabled i know has told me they love because they "represent disabled bodies"…. and i know nobody wants to hear this, because i've been screamed at for saying it before, but… they do not. they are not disabled, functionally or within fiction. they are either perfectly able bodied Normal people with chrome paint on an arm, or tortured misery porn we are supposed to pity and feel lucky we're not them. sometimes both!

also you ever notice how it's basically always arms? lower limb amputations are orders of magnitude more common than upper, my prosthetist said i was probably only the 4th or 5th upper limb she'd worked with in her career, with literally hundreds of lower limb fits. but fiction doesn't seem to reflect that, huh? or any other part of the reality of disability. it's always cool as fuck robot arms, never cool as fuck wheelchairs or crutches or dialysis machines or colostomy bags. a fair few "i was blind but now i can see with Robot Eyes and also infrared and xray" around, which again, plays into that "we can fix you and make you cooler" propaganda.

by the way, up above when i was describing body powered arms, if you wondered to yourself why i went with a myoelectric one instead when i clearly believe body powered is better… yeah. i am not immune to propaganda! i too wanted to be cool as fuck. i spent years with deteriorating function in my hand for reasons that are still unknown, was misdiagnosed and medically neglected to the point that removing my hand seemed to be the only option left to offer some relief, and even that was a clusterfuck that left me worse than ever… of course i wanted to believe in the power and prestige of a cool robot arm that fiction promised me.

but fiction promises fantastical lies. and so.

we get to the writing advice portion of the novella that is this post. you asked for advice on how to write a disabled character with an upper limb prosthesis. you've read the tl;dr, you've read everything above i assume, you know i don't want you to do it. the obvious twist is that it's been writing advice all along, me trying to share my perspective on what it's like being an amp with a robot arm and how shitty it is, implying how almost any fully realised and realistic character that's missing an upper limb would give up on a prosthesis at all. you can already tell that every value judgement in me says "don't give her a prosthesis, no matter how functional or cool you make it. don't try to make the tech better to justify it, just let her be one armed, one handed. just let her be disabled, but not helpless. let her show off her elbow or underarm carry strength. let her love interest appreciate how soft and squishy her residual limb is in a moment of tenderness. let her natural disabled body be respected and valued."

but that's a personal value judgement from me, and you are the author of your own work. i know it's trite to say, but you are! even the act of deferring to someone with lived experience in the hope of doing a better job at representation is a value judgement, a good choice in my opinion, but one you needn't necessarily take. maybe you do want to write a character that has a cool as fuck unrealistic robot arm as a power fantasy, or a comfort blanket… i did.

i've been slowly writing my own probably terrible scifi epic for over a decade now, and when my arm was giving me hell back then, i'd take great comfort in this fantasy of my protagonist with her chunky robot arm, the terrible traumatic suffering of her loss, overcoming, the power and ability her advanced prosthesis gives her over others, that she alone has access to, because others are not willing to make the sacrifices required. inspiration porn. awful stuff to me now, but empowering to me then. as i grew and gained direct experience, i slowly reimagined her, rewrote her, ship of theseus'd her into an entirely new character; a reflection of me now, bitter at the whole thing, spiteful that her natural flesh arm evokes fear and distrust, but unwilling to suffer the pain and frustration of her unnatural prosthesis just to make others comfortable and respect her as "whole", however artificial that whole is. and as with the ship of theseus being two ships, once i realised the transformation, i re-added the old protagonist back in whole cloth as a separate character; proud of her robot arm and its power, but in new context, as a foil and antagonist, an in-universe military prosthesis propaganda figure to reflect how i now feel characters like her exist to us, the readers.

i'm not just sharing that as egotistical self promotion, but to highlight that, even if i sit here begging you all up and down not to write characters with robot arms for how bad and unrealistic they are; there's still something genuine and true that their inclusion can say. the great thing about the story that you're writing is that only you can write it, as they say. but i whole heartedly believe that to write to your best, you have to be aware of what you're writing and why. as tempting as it is to feel these characters form naturally in us and therefore we're averse to changing traits about them that feel organic and self evident; as authors we have omnipotent control over the text, every trait and detail is a reflection on us, so we'd sure as hell better understand why we're choosing to write a character with this trait. because anything you write without being aware of intent will take on its own meaning in the space between.

and on that note, if i don't say this, i'm leaving it to be inferred: i definitely don't want to appear to come down on the side of saying "you cannot write an amputee unless you are one", because we are rarer than single young bisexual unicorns! and it would be a tragedy if anyone read through all this and then turned away in fear, deciding to never write an amputee character (with or without robot arm) because they feel they can't do it justice… believe me, no matter what anyone says, some hack writer somewhere is going to keep writing adam jensens and winter soldiers. don't let them be the only voices in fiction! just try to do your best.

so my ultimate advice on the topic of writing a character with a prosthetic limb is to ask yourself one question in two different frameworks, and meditate on what you feel the answer is:

why does she have a prosthesis?

from a doylelist perspective as the kids say, as an author with omnipotent control, why are you choosing to write about this topic? why are you choosing to give this trait to this character? what does it say about how you view ability and disability, what makes a person normal, and what our society values? will you let her be in her natural body? or will you give her a prosthesis, force her to wear it by authorial fiat, or author her a meaningful reason to choose to? if yes, be sure you know; why did you give her a prosthesis?

and from a wastonian perspective, diegetically, inside the story, why does she choose to wear a prosthesis? what does it say about her inner character, and how she interacts with the world? how does she feel about doing it, is she prideful and loves the attention she gets, or does she resent whatever necessitates its use? how do people in this world view ability and disability, what does this society value? and above all, whatever the answer to these questions, whether or not she uses a prosthesis or is badass without one, how does she deal with the eternal freezing cold that every amputee ever feels constantly in their residual limb and why does nobody make a heat pack that fits over a nub without drafty gaps???

i can't outright tell you how to write a good upper limb amputee, but if you at least know why you're writing one and for what purpose, you're on track to write the best character that you can. that's the best advice i can give… other than, like, this whole rambly mess.

and, as a reward for reading this far, please have a very blurry cryptid photo of my cat doing his old man sit:

[shiningclown69]

I actually love the idea of Brandon having scars.. its smth I've thought abt before

I feel like he probably has scars on his back, from battle damage, whipping/caning torture methods, and knocking his back against sharp rocks in rapid rivers (since he saved both Stella and Shilly in a similar way).

I also thought about him having a small scar on his shoulder where brainwashed Sky shot him with an arrow in S3 (unlikely since Brandon said he wasn't hurt, but you never know)

Since Erakylon and Red Fountain both have dragons, he might have had some burn scars from handling them too.

This also reminds me that Flora might have gotten bad burn scars on her back from getting hit directly with a dragon's flame by Sky in S3

Non battle scars aside, since I hc that he knows how to cook, I jokingly thought that Brandon could have some v minor scars on his fingers from accidentally cutting himself with a kitchen knife or minor burn scars from forgetting to wear gloves

Simultaneously, I feel like Brandon is too vain to get scars...I imagine him as someone who is obsessed with having his skin be smooth and flawless.

He would probably be more careful esp with regard to hurting his face. Even if he did get physical scars, he might seek out someone with healing magic to get them removed (I assume that healing/therapeutic technology and magic is advanced in the winx universe)

If Brandon couldn't get rid of the scar, I feel like he would actively hide it/not address it. If someone mentioned it he would frame it as a "funny story" (regardless of it was funny or not)

Thinking thinking 🤔🤔

What scar do you think each of the girls would have? I'm doing doodles and I was thinking about how they'd collect scars as they got older and such and I'm curious what attacks y'all think should of left a mark

[a-roguish-gambit]

I made a turn of the century x men evolution au

Hey everyone so a big special interest of mine is the period from 1900 to about 1928 so I decided what if I took the kids from the X-Men evolution cartoon from their point at the turn of the 21st century and put them at the turn of the 20th century instead...and also added a few characters. I hope you enjoy this. I have a lot for this au, and I'm gonna put it all under the read more.

So Au thoughts

 The year is 1912. Xavier has started his institute a few years prior with scott summers and jean grey as students. Scott was adopted by Xavier after his parents died in a train crash and jean comes from a family of doctors and scientists Xavier is friends with. 

Because no computers yet, as the microprocessor  has yet to be invented, Forge didn't get stuck in a pocket dimention and got to grow up he works for xavier. He helps design and build a modified danger room that's more steam punk/dieselpunk. Lots of things are gear powered and Holograms are projections onto steam curtians. Because no computers, no cerebro. But jean and Xavier have trained themselves to be able to sense those with mutant powers around them and have been working with a network of underground individuals, some cases literally like the morlocks, to find out about new strange individuals popping up in the states. The morlocks are much more involved in this. they are good friends with Xavier and frequently helps young morlocks train their powers. 

One of those individuals is Gambit. Gambit is 17 in this and does various jobs for xavier. One is listening through the grape vine for odd individuals popping up. The other is essentially working the danger room with forge. As The danger room  is more steampunk/dieselpunk in this, with storm's help as well it can simulate weather events, earth quakes, fires, unstable ground, flooding, (bb gun based) old west shootouts, explosions (thanks to Gambit), search and rescue, avalanche / rock fall settings, and much more. 

Gambit helps set up the room and make the mechanisms work.  it functions well with automatons, steam engines, pistons, and a lot of theater special effect tricks. Gambit helps forge scrap hunt for machinery to repurpose for it. He has befriended the local street children and finds out from them wherever a factory tosses out a machine. 

Speaking of theater though, we have morph as well as a staff member. Kevin is well known fairy(period equivalent  to someone who does not fit into either gender) and drag expert from New York where they worked on broadway and a very close friend of Logan. So close they share a bedroom....;)

Morph is there to help with tailoring as well as helping kids who need disguises to pass in public cause of their time in broadway and avoid harassment, like Kurt. 

They also help simulate battles in the danger room with foes they have faced off against before.

Kurt doesn't have an image modifier in this obviously. No computers, no digital holograms. But with forge and morph they are able to help him pass. Morph designs pants for him that have a  special pocket for his tail to tuck away, as well as boots with  special braces that help disguise his digitigrade feet. Morph also helps him with makeup and hair in the morning to hide his blue face and pointed ears. 

For his hands forge has built some prothstetic fingers that are controlled by the other fingers in his hand like a puppet, so it appears he has five fingers on each hand covered by riding gloves, as well as colored contact lenses for his eyes to disguise them as brown. 

Kurt's parents came to America from Germany with him as a toddler. People found out about their adopted son and they had to flee. They settled in a small German speaking community in the middle of nowhere Iowa where they could be safe. They would have a priest visit Kurt to give him mass in private for his own safety and had a nun come to tutor him. Xavier found out about Kurt through gambits grapevine. 

Ororo came from Africa as a citizen of  British colony egypt to Jamaica where she met Charles she has family living in the states via her sister who do  are wealthy merchants.  they were british colony  expats that moved to the states to control British imports to the states easier. Thus how we get Evan. Skateboard hasn't been invented yet so he is big into the turn of the century cycling craze as well as roller skates. 

 Rogue is still a goth. A very very classic goth. Victorian goth. She still dresses like it's the 1800s to in part keep others from touching her skin but also she is just a great appreciator of Poe and Shelly and stoker. 

One thing that is different for Scott is that on top of the train crash his brother havoc is still with him at this time. His parents are very, very dead tho. No alien rescues. (Forgot to draw Alex tho but he's there as are the minor character students)

Beast is also there more from the begining as a teacher he helps take care of the kids medical needs. He got kicked out of his scientific circle, not cause of his mutant ness that came later, but because he insisted doctors must wash their hands before interacting with patients. 

Jean grey is a highly educated absolute Gibson girl. She and Kitty sneak out to do suffragette stuff regularly.  Speaking of, kitty is definitely a girl of the new century. Wants to go to college one day with Jean. Insists on wearing riding/sports pants wherever she goes. She is girly in certain ways, but defs is a very modern young woman. She likes helping Forge out with his projects. 

Magneto's hatred for humanity in this case comes from his survival of the pogroms of eastern Europe only to see there is still antisemitism once escaping them. And mystique has a boarding house where the brotherhood kids live, but she wasn't principal of the bayview school. 

Wolverine is a cowboy in this au yes. He has a horse, but he's also toying with some of the very few motorcycles. They are more of dirt bikes at this point tho, so his horse his still his go too. It's a deep black mare named Blackbird. He does not have an adimantium skeleton but his claws have been capped with silver to help protect them. 

No x jet but they do have a few biplanes they are training with. Forge is modifying them to be able to cary more people. So far he's made one that can vary five. 

 Gambit introduces everyone to jazz cause it hasn't left Louisiana yet. He brought his Grammaphone and all hell broke loose from there. 

Also rogue having a bit more of a high society upbringing thanks to irene. Gambit hasn't had a day of real school as public school wants universally established until the 1910s. He knows his reading, writing, and arithmetic from Sunday school and such and whatever jean luc  had him taught, but he's excited to learn about what the kids are learning about in their normal school. 

Rogue brings him her study material and teaches it to him and in return he teaches her the various crafts and skills he learned in the bayou and as a member of the theives guild. 

Hope you guys enjoy all this!!! Please feel free to share your thoughts!

Tried to keep things period accurate outfits wise.

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 187 }

not a want but a need.

jinwoo sung x fem.reader

warnings: an unedited, 18+ thirst post / drabble

by choosing to interact with this 18+ content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings.

anonymous said: Yandere... Jinwoo who keeps kissing reader's clit after making her cum for the nth time just to see her squirm and cry. I'm so sorry +thrusting his dick inside her slowly but harshly that you hear it slap because he likes seeing the wonderful effect he has on her, how she cries and shake, but keeps herself silent bc she likes it I'm so sorry again 😭😆

your mind was already hazy the moment sung jinwoo slides another one of his thick fingers into your wet heat, swirling the digit around as his hot mouth was felt sucking at your swollen bundle of nerves.

your body was a mess for him, with a symphony of moans falling from your parted lips as jinwoo continued his onslaught of pleasure on your sensitive form.

as if addicted to the mere taste of you, you felt the way jinwoo’s tongue carefully explored your pussy lips, drinking up your honeyed arousal while letting out a guttural groan of satisfaction. even when he lazily thrust his finger in and out of your core, never once quickening his pace, your sensitive body still reacted as you came for what seemed like the millionth time.

the sheets were utterly ruined thanks to the sheer amount of times you had came throughout the night, and you could feel the droplets of your tears clinging to your lashes as you struggled to even breathe.

“jinwoo jinwoo jinwoo…!” your voice was in a drunken haze, shivering when you could hear jinwoo gulping up all your had to offer, your hands weakly tugging at his hair as his face remained buried between your spread legs.

“fuck, you taste so damn good, sarang. better than all the sweets in the world.” jinwoo finally removes himself from the spot between your legs, lips still shining with the evidence of your release as the sight of it was enough to make you bite down harshly against your lip.

“jinwoo-“

you were cut off by jinwoo when he takes a hold of your ankles, pressing your naked body against his. you could feel the outline of his muscles pressing against your form, making you let out a shaky moan in response. along with his muscles, you could feel the way his cock became painfully hard for you, its mushroom tip appearing almost an angry red in color as droplets of a cloudy fluid was seen escaping from its tip.

“look at what my pretty girl did to me… you feel that? i’m practically throbbing and oozing for you.” as if to prove his point, jinwoo proceeds to run the length of his dick up and down your silken walls, collecting the prior evidence of your release against his shaft. you gasp upon feeling every inch of him, with his cock’s prominent veins felt pulsating against your swollen cunt. your mouth goes dry upon feeling such friction, and it was enough to make you toss your head in response, back already arching against the bed as jinwoo kept teasing you.

“fuck… i can’t wait to sink into you… i fucking need you.”

with those whispered words as your final warning, jinwoo angles his cock and thrusts into you with an expert precision, the mushroom tip of his cock already hitting that spongy spot deep inside of you. you were already seeing stars as jinwoo proceeded to make love to you, his pace slow, but powerful. the squelching sound of his cock sliding in and out of you was enough to make your face heat up and head spin, clinging to the sheets with such force that you swore you nearly ripped the fabric.

he takes his time sliding his thick and long cock in and out of you, seeming to become hypnotized by the wet sounds that emits from your cunt each time his hips meet with yours. a hazy expression was seen on his face when he suddenly keeps your hips still before pistoning his cock in and out of you at a breakneck pace.

you could feel your breasts bouncing along with his movements, a dark chuckle filling at the air as he keeps up with his passionate speed and thrusts, never once slowing down even when you fell apart for him.

you felt him slam into that soft spot once more and knew that you were a goner, your cries and moans of his name echoing throughout the area as you felt your warm, love juices escape out of you.

“oh gods, jinwoo!” even with your walls clenching so sweetly around him, jinwoo doesn’t cease his movements, seeming to grow even bigger inside of my before laying back on the bed, grabbing a hold of your waist while proceeding to literally bounce you up and down his cock (completely and utterly using you as his own personal fleshlight.)

“i’ll never got tired of this… just feeling you surrounding me so sweetly like this-“ he cuts himself off, letting out another dark chuckle. “this is better than heaven. me sheathing my cock inside you hasn’t become a want at this point, but a need.”

he continues bouncing you up and down his massive length, licking his lips upon seeing the outline of his dick hidden within your abdomen as he kept you in this position, making sure that you came for a second time before shoving your body on its back once more.

with both of your legs being held by jinwoo, he continues to drill himself into you. by now, you lost count of the sheer amount of times you came, with jinwoo never once stopping or softening his cock. in fact, it seemed as though the more you came, the harder he felt while buried deep inside of you.

“fuck, jinwoo… you haven’t even came once… y-you’re a fucking monster- ah!”

your boyfriend continues to let out a rich chuckle, finally leaning down as you felt his toned chest lay across your breasts that still bounced in tune with his unhinged thrusts. “i must be blessed with a massive amount of stamina with this s-rank body. you should just sit back and enjoy it, my love. use me as your own personal dildo if you must.”

upon hearing his dark words, you couldn’t stop yourself from climaxing once more, eyes rolling near the back of your head at the intense sensation while the tears practically stained at your damp cheeks. basking in such pleasure, you simply allowed jinwoo to play your body like his own personal instrument while begging for him to never stop.

a.n. - thirsty, so damn thirsty for my man… i love him so much please 🫠

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[eph3merall]

i LOVE LOVE LOVE your writing and was wondering if you could make a fic or blurb of dealer!chris based on the song hotel by montell fish please 😊

hi lovey, thank u so much !!! ive actually never written something based off a song before so constructive criticism is always welcome for these prompts. had a few ideas for this but i ran with this one. let me know if this was okay/if u arent the biggest fan of my writing like this :)

cw ; small lil mentions of drugs

not proofread ...

when i met you in that hotel room,

i could tell that you were so bad news.

but i keep messin' with ya, messin' with ya,

and now you're messin' with me, messin' with me.

—

chris' hands roam your body, the same expert fingers you saw just earlier rolling a few joints. adorned in rings that are cold to your skin, they tug at your hair as little huffs come from his lips with every little kiss passed between the two of you. stumbling feet tripping over one another, hastily removing any articles of clothing the both of you deem to be in the way.

—

i keep goin' back to this hotel room,

i just don't know what the hell to just tell you.

but i love messin' with ya, messin' with you,

girl, are you messin' with me, messin' with me?

—

his hips snap forwards, rough hands gripping the underside of your thighs. the burn in your muscles is starting to become unbearable in the squished position you two are in, but the way chris shoves himself down to the hilt back inside you with each deep thrust compensates for it. your neck is littered with hickeys and small little bruises as you take in gasping breaths of air. the scent of weed is heavily noticeable on chris.

—

this hotel room,

you put me in, my love.

ohh, i, i love you.

you know me, girl,

better than i know myself, my love.

hotel hell.

ooh, you.

—

you lost track of how many rounds chris has gone, if it's even been more than a few. his dick is cramming itself inside your cunt, stuffed full of his cum already. bits of it leak down from your hole, a milky white ring formed around his cock from how you were suctioning him in. his tip hit those spots deep inside your own fingers aren't able to reach, making your head spin.

—

when i met you in that hotel room,

i could tell that you were so bad news.

but i keep messin' with ya, messin' with ya,

and now you're messin' with me, messin' with me.

—

chris sinks his fingers deep in you, the same ones you saw earlier place a pill on a pretty girl's tongue. the same long fingers you eyed sorting crisp bills curled inside you, a long moan coming from your lips which only prompted a groan from the dealer. his eyes were heavy as he watched your pussy suck his fingers in, feeling your gummy walls clench around his digits. maybe it's his way of repaying you, after you drooled around his cock so prettily earlier.

—

i keep goin' back to this hotel room,

i just don't know what the hell to just tell you.

but i love messin' with ya, messin' with you,

girl, are you messin' with me, messin' with me?

—

it was just a one night stand. there wasn't much going on besides sex, the aftercare chris gave you was incredibly underwhelming—if it could even be called that. chris made you cum. you made chris cum. it wasn't exactly intimate. not like you were clasping hands with him, intertwining your fingers sensually. it wasn't like there were any soft-spoken words uttered that night. a singular "i love you" had fallen from the dealer's lips, except not in the way a man would tell her girlfriend or wife. it wasn't sweet or soft, there wasn't much of anything besides lust.

—

©eph3merall 2024

[princess-tulip-writes]

How I think the bat boys eat it

a/n: yes, I caved and set aside all of my requests and drafts to write this. no, I am not sorry.

Azriel is a fucking god at this shit, okay? Anything pussy related this man is a pro at and you can’t tell me any different. Fingering? Amazing. Fucking? Absolutely beautiful. Eating? A damn expert. This male doesn’t eat it, no he makes out with it. If you were wet before he dove in, you’re going to be drenched when he’s finished because he gets messy too, no fucks given about his saliva or your arousal. It’s coated on his lips, chin and even nose when he comes up to kiss you. He kitten licks at first, but then goes all in; sucking, nibbling softly, spitting on it, shoving his face in it deep, rubbing his nose on your clit while he tongue fucks you—

Rhysand is more of a tease about it more often than not. He uses pussy eating as a foreplay, a way to warm you up before he makes love to you. He’d lap up all of your juices slowly, taking his sweet ass time tasting you before taking your clit between his lips and sucking very softly. He’s careful about how much you feel, and it always leaves you wanting so much more— which he always provides later on when his cock is inside of you. But, if he simply just wants to eat your pussy for the fuck of it, he’s anything but teasing. He’s all in, sucking on your clit harshly, licking up your folds while looking into your eyes, fucking you with his tongue. He doesn’t get as messy as Azriel, but his lips and chin are glistening when he comes up with a smirk.

Cassian is a clit sucker through and through. The second he crawls down there, his lips capture the little bud and just go from there. His tongue flicks at it, softly at first then harder as it progresses. He’d release you with a ‘pop’ after a minute or two to lap at the dripping arousal leaking out of your hole, then go right back to suckling on that bundle of nerves until your clawing at him to stop. His chin is covered, but he wears the goofiest grin as he kisses your cunt as a ‘thank you’ after.

Bonus: cum coated fingers

When Azriel fingers you, he sucks your cum off of them then shoves his spit coated digits in your mouth to taste. Omg he’d coo at you too, telling you how pretty you are while sucking on his fingers.

Rhysand looks into your eyes while popping them into his mouth and sucking your cum off, slipping into your fucked out mind to show you how sexy you look.

Cassian sucks your cum off his big ass fingers then wipes the saliva on your nipples, calling you his pretty girl before sliding his cock inside.

[estellan0vella]

Wouldn't Want To Be Anywhere Else ❀Megumi Masterlist HFBU

You’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room is dim, the only light coming from the digital clock on the nightstand. Megumi lies next to you, his steady breathing the only sound breaking the silence. His presence is comforting, a warm anchor in the cool, quiet night. You turn your head slightly, looking at his relaxed face, his dark hair tousled against the pillow. You feel a surge of affection and a hint of anxiety, the latter always lurking in the background since your diagnosis.

Living with epilepsy is a constant balance of caution and normalcy, and having Megumi by your side has made it easier. He’s calm, reliable, and incredibly understanding. He never makes you feel like a burden, which is something you’ve feared with previous partners. Instead, he treats your condition with a practical matter-of-factness that helps you feel safe.

You remember the first time you told him about your epilepsy. It was early in your relationship, a time when revealing such personal details felt like peeling back layers of vulnerability. You’d been at a small café, the buzz of conversation and the clinking of cups creating a cozy backdrop. Megumi had listened intently, his eyes never leaving yours, and when you were done, he’d simply nodded.

“I understand,” he’d said. “We’ll handle it together.”

And you have. From keeping track of your medication schedule to learning the best ways to support you during and after a seizure, Megumi has become an expert on the intricacies of your condition. He’s attended appointments with you, asked the right questions, and even researched new treatments and support groups. His dedication is unwavering, and it fills you with gratitude and love.

Tonight, though, you’re restless. You shift slightly, trying not to disturb him, but Megumi is a light sleeper. His eyes flutter open, and he turns his head to look at you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just can’t sleep,” you whisper back, trying to keep your voice steady.

He reaches out and gently squeezes your hand. “Want to talk about it?”

You hesitate, then nod. “I’m just… worried, I guess. About the future. About having another seizure.”

Megumi shifts closer, his presence a solid, reassuring weight beside you. “I know it’s hard,” he says softly. “But we’re in this together. You’re not alone.”

You smile, feeling a little better. His words, simple as they are, hold a lot of weight. You turn on your side to face him, taking comfort in his familiar features. His eyes, usually sharp and focused, are soft in the dim light, full of concern and love.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly.

He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “You don’t have to thank me. I love you, and that means being here for you, no matter what.”

You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but they’re the good kind—tears of relief, of gratitude. You lean in, and he meets you halfway, your lips brushing in a tender kiss. It’s a reminder that you’re not facing this alone, that Megumi is right there with you, every step of the way.

The next day, you’re at the park, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your face. Megumi is next to you, his hand entwined with yours as you stroll along the path. It’s a beautiful day, the kind that makes you forget about your worries, even if just for a little while. You’re both quiet, content to just be in each other’s company.

As you walk, you see a group of children playing nearby, their laughter ringing out across the park. You watch them for a moment, feeling a pang of longing. You’d love to have a family someday, but the thought of raising children with your condition is daunting.

Megumi seems to sense your shift in mood. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “What’s on your mind?”

You glance at him, considering how to put your feelings into words. “I was just thinking about the future,” you say slowly. “About having a family. It feels… complicated.”

Megumi nods, his expression thoughtful. “It’s something we’d have to plan for, sure. But I don’t think it’s impossible. We’d just need to be careful and make sure we have the right support in place.”

His words are reassuring, and you find yourself relaxing a little. “You’re right. I guess I just worry about the ‘what ifs’ sometimes.”

“We all do,” Megumi says quietly. “But we can’t let them stop us from living our lives. We’ll figure it out, together.”

You smile, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. You know that with Megumi by your side, you can face whatever challenges come your way.

Later that evening, you’re at home, preparing dinner together. Megumi is chopping vegetables while you stir a pot on the stove. It’s a simple, domestic scene, but it’s moments like these that you cherish the most. The comfortable routine, the easy conversation, the way you move around each other in perfect sync.

As you set the table, you feel a familiar aura begin to settle over you. It’s a sensation you’ve come to recognize all too well—the onset of a seizure. Your heart starts to race, and you clutch the edge of the table, trying to steady yourself.

“Megumi,” you manage to say, your voice strained.

He’s at your side in an instant, his eyes sharp with concern. “It’s happening?”

You nod, and he gently guides you to the couch, helping you to lie down on your side. He moves quickly and efficiently, making sure the area around you is safe. He’s done this so many times, and his calmness helps to ground you.

“I’m here,” he says softly, holding your hand. “I’m right here.”

The seizure takes hold, and everything becomes a blur. But through it all, you’re aware of Megumi’s presence, his steady voice, and the comforting feel of his hand in yours. It’s over relatively quickly, but it leaves you exhausted and disoriented.

When it’s over, Megumi helps you sit up, his eyes full of concern. “Are you okay?”

You nod weakly, leaning against him for support. “Yeah, I think so. Just tired.”

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close. “Rest for a bit. I’ll finish up dinner.”

You’re too tired to argue, so you let him take care of everything. As you rest on the couch, you watch him move around the kitchen, marveling at how effortlessly he seems to handle everything. His quiet competence and unwavering support make you feel incredibly lucky.

After a while, he brings over a plate of food and sits down next to you. You eat together in companionable silence, the simple act of sharing a meal grounding you after the seizure. Megumi’s presence is a constant reminder that you’re not alone, that you have someone who loves you and will always be there for you.

As you lie in bed that night, you think about the future again. This time, though, it doesn’t seem quite so daunting. With Megumi by your side, you know you can face whatever comes your way. You reach out and take his hand, feeling a sense of peace settle over you.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice full of emotion.

He turns to you, his eyes soft and full of love. “For what?”

“For being here. For everything.”

He smiles, squeezing your hand gently. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

You drift off to sleep, feeling safe and loved. And as you do, you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them together.

[robin-evry]

HII i'm loving your works omg! could i ask you to make a bronya!yuu or silverwolf!yuu? (you can choose just one if you want). take care or yourself and do your work at your time, no need to rush! :D

I decided to do two but sorry if bronya is so short , aww thank you.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅!𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓🐺👾

A member of the Stellaron Hunters and a genius hacker. She sees the universe as a massive immersive simulation game and has fun with it. She's mastered the skill known as "aether editing," which can be used to tamper with the data of reality.

Silver wolf!yuu is rarely known in nrc, they prefer to stay behind the scenes only a few students know about their existence.

Rarely appear in public, mostly using their holograms to go to school. It's pretty rare to see them actually outside of the ramshackle dorm.

Has a habit of disappearing and appearing, imagine your standing there and suddenly a hologram or game particles appear and silver wolf!yuu appear beside you.

Every time Crowley manages to piss them off, silver wolf!yuu would choose an area to vandalize at school, and some students manage to learn when you take a photo of it you can get a hidden message from silver wolf!yuu about Crowley.

silver wolf!yuu has a habit of collecting data about students, they have a database about their past, quirks, strength and weakness.

A very famous gamer in twst known to beat unbeatable levels of any game in twst and they use a fake alias. They hear about idia ranting towards Ortho about their game persona and find it funny. And join many game tournaments and win them easily and they gained money for this.

The ignihyde dorm is their second home, the dorm has good wifi for gaming. And manage to get close to idia and Ortho and talk about games with each other.

Their uniform has technology imbued to it. allowing them to access and project holographic screens on command. These are mainly used for quick data checks, sending encrypted messages, or pulling up maps and files in real-time without needing a handheld device.

They possessed a higher advanced technology than anything in twst. Also they use their aether hacking to change the ramshackle to their liking.

In battle, they would dominate due to having a lot hex on their side, they can hack into reality and get in the students file and remove the overblot. Or use it to discover and apply weakness towards the enemy.

They also have a mysterious job, operated as a freelancer, known for taking on jobs that require skill, secrecy, and the ability to circumvent the most complex security systems. Their reputation was built on their expertise in digital infiltration, information gathering, and high-stakes hacking, often working for those willing to pay for their skills without asking too many questions. most of their clients seem to be suspicious or not morally good.

Notorious for being a phone addict always playing their game outside or inside of class and when they were asked a question they immediately answered it correctly.

They also have a talent of engineering zoning out imagining about creating new tech ideas, mods and strategies for games.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐀!𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓 ❄️🌬️

Heir apparent to the Supreme Guardian of Belobog. She possesses pride befitting of a princess, but also the determination and integrity of a soldier.

Bronya!yuu is the embodiment of what a leader and an heir should be. Their charisma is able to encourage people and lead them towards the right path.

As well a dignified soldier bronya!yuu may look weak but are by far one of the most efficient in hand to hand combat, able to pin down a student who is bigger than them.

Has a tendency to reminisce about their mother and would just sit there and reminisce about them and grim would always be there to comfort them.

An expert marksman, rook and them once a week have a contest with each other who ever is the better marksman.

They are by far one of vil favorite, they are dignified, elegant and strong like a soldier and a princess should be, they also inspired epel to be more like them he admired them and have lessons with him where they tutor him.

They are patient and calm in the heeds of battle always believing as being one in harmony they could work together and forge a more successful path, as well being the back bone of a battle planning and helping them behind the scenes by shooting at the enemy

Them and Lilia would usually trade military tactics to each other over a cup of tea and also discussing other topics

They usually get burned out and they don't know when to rest, since they always have to keep a princess like dignity many of the first years notice and comfort them during hard times.

Bronya!yuu abilities allow them to enhance their comrade ability extremely towards its potential, as well to summon winter soldiers to help them but it takes a lot of energy.

Have a love and interest in history, usually seen in the library studying about twst long history and enjoy talking about them to their friends.

As well being a top student, always studying and getting good grades without any issue and always be respectful towards people

By far have a good reputation at school for being a capable leader, many students admire their discipline, while others have some sort of a sense of rivalry with them.

[thessalian]

Sometimes I think Tumblr shows some of the best of humanity. Not everywhere, obviously - there are always assholes - but ... I mean, come on. Our daily lives demand that we be ... flat. Incurious, unmoved by anything but the need to survive. To those who run the world, we're cogs in a machine and the only time we should appreciate anything that isn't "I have a job so I won't starve this month" is when they want to sell us something, and we should appreciate that without question. It's the worst bits of Brave New World and the worst bits of 1984, all in one.

But here? Here we tell each other stories. We create art just because. We watch the wonders of the natural world through digital windows, and we are awed and fascinated and our brains are alive for a minute. The adorable, the desirable, the awe-inspiring, the sexy - they're what we decide they are, not what someone wants to sell us.

We teach each other. We entertain each other. We inspire each other. We cheer each other on. We remind people all over the world to take their meds, to hydrate, to hang in there because there is beauty in the world. We live in a world where there are adorable little octopi and baby horseshoe crabs and little frogs that sleep in flowers. We live in a world where someone in another country wants to teach us how to crochet, or cook, or do home improvement stuff. We have experts - qualified or not - in every field, willing to teach us what school systems won't.

Yeah, of course there are assholes. Unfortunately, there always are. But I read through your posts, all of you, and I see a world that doesn't just want me to work until I die. I see a world that wants me to live, and most of all to enjoy living. I honestly hope the weird and funny and beautiful things I fill my own queue with help you all do the same. Everyone deserves to remember that the world is more than work-eat-sleep.

So thank you for the beautiful art, and the awesome writing, and the flowers, and the "It's Gonna Be Okay" posts, and all the trivia (even the kangaroo penis thing). Thanks for reminding me how much bigger the world is than some people want us to realise.

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒐𝒏 ║ ⓞⓝⓔ๏ⓞⓕⓕⓢ

Held by the Moon | fic masterlist | PAIRING(s): Daddy!Dave York x Baby Boy!Dieter Bravo

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT:  5k | CONTENT: dommy daddy subby baby vibes, "is somebody gonna match my freak?" is the main theme here, drugs/sobriety, Dave is uptight, Dieter is a silly goose, brief film industry stuff, heavy flirting, Dieter is on some Esmerelda shit and Dave is lusting bad like Frollo but without the attempted murder and self-righteous religious stuff, drug testing but make it erotic, this pairing made me insanely horny | SYNOPSIS: Dieter is determined to prove his dedication to the film consultant on his latest project. Dave is determined to not cross any professional boundaries. Only one has the mental fortitude to see their intentions through.

“𝙸𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚞𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚐𝚘.” ― 𝘕𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘔𝘰𝘶𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘥

Dieter’s agent had all but threatened her resignation if he didn’t show up to this meeting on time. As the co-lead in an upcoming CIA operative film, Dieter had his career comeback riding on this role, and his agent, like many of the people in his inner circle, was growing frustrated with his antics. After a series of box office blunders and an outright refusal to “downgrade” to television or digital programming, his name in the tabloids was no longer paired with prestigious acclaim but rather unflattering paparazzi snapshots of benders and partying. The years of sacrifice and dedication to his craft lay in the shadow of this new reputation: a fading star who was more known for snorting lines than learning them.

A few favors called in and a desperate plea for a shot at this film, and Dieter found himself with a shiny new opportunity to get back into the good days where he had some sort of direction and purpose. He’d stumbled out of bed this morning, bleary eyed and unrested, and smoked a bowl to calm his nerves and center his thoughts. The film was still in pre-production, so there was always a chance his part could be recast or significantly reduced. The former CIA operative hired as a consultant for the film sounded like a complete pain in the ass to work with based on what the casting director had said, but Dave York was experienced, available, and affordable.

The ding of the elevator as it rose up a few dozen levels made him feel irritable and nervous all over again, like that tightly packed morning piece was a beginner strain nowhere near capable of hanging around his system long enough to deal with this meeting. The cabin came to a smooth halt, and the etched gold doors parted. Dieter mumbled a half-hearted thanks to the floor attendant who directed him towards the conference room he was supposed to be in 10 minutes ago. Before he could even knock, the door swung open to reveal the impatient casting director and the broad outline of a man with his hands in his pockets, watching nothing in particular outside the window. He glanced at his watch and placed the hand back into his pocket.

“You’re late,” the casting director hissed under her breath.

“Hit a little traffic on the way over,” Dieter lied. “You know how that stupid arena construction project messes with the light cycles sometimes.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t press him about it further. “Ah, Mr. York. I’d like to introduce you to our other lead, Dieter Bravo. Dieter, this is Dave York. He’ll be a resource for you during pre-production and throughout filming as you take on this character.”

“Mr. York” turned around, and a little gasp escaped Dieter’s lips before he could contain it. This consultant was far more handsome than what he was used to dealing with. Usually these types were experts in their field who helped give depth and realism to projects, but, being that they weren’t camera facing talent, there wasn’t much concern with how easy they were on the eyes. It was less distracting that way, anyway.

“Mr. Bravo,” Dave greeted curtly. “Pleasure to meet you.”

His firm handshake was all too brief. Dieter had only just been made aware of how much bigger and warmer Dave’s hands were than his own when he tucked them back into his pockets.

“Yeah. Uh. Nice to meet you.”

Dave didn’t respond, instead gesturing to the empty conference table in the center of the room. “Shall we get started? I know we’re already running a little behind.”

Dieter resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Dave might be a strikingly handsome man with an aggravatingly biteable set of lips, but the hardass stickler thing was like a bucket of ice cold water dousing all that giddy electric charge. All those good looks and commanding presence had made Dieter entirely forget that this was exactly the sort of personality he’d been informed about. What else would you expect from a former CIA operative?

Dieter was more handsome in person, that was certain. Any photos Dave had seen of him had always given Adam-Sandler-making-a-trip-to-Whole-Foods adjacent vibes, but Dieter made an otherwise unkempt look almost purposefully careless, which was as aggravating as it was attractive. His disheveled hair was barely brushed through, but that didn’t matter anyway when he constantly ran his hands through it, mussing it into every configuration of sultry bedhead imaginable. His natural charm and magnetism were undeniable, and it wasn’t any wonder how he’d manage to stay on good terms with so many people in the industry despite some of his less palatable aspects.

He reeked of weed the very first meeting on top of showing up late and making some bullshit excuse for his tardiness. Where others might miss the slight uptick in tone and muffled answer through a hand rubbing against lips, Dave clocked the lie immediately. It was such a simple thing to lie about. Why not just admit you left the house late? Typically people who lied about such minor things would be dishonest about pretty much anything, almost like a nervous habit or narcissistic hobby. By the end of that first meeting, Dave wasn’t sure which of those categories Dieter belonged to. Drug use sometimes made it harder to pin people’s dispositions and intentions.

With the next several meetings planned over the coming weeks, Dave was interested to see just how many Dieter actually showed up on time for – if at all. The morning of the second meeting was going pretty much how he’d expected. While he had been ready 15 minutes prior to the scheduled time, Dieter was now approaching 35 minutes late. The conference room connected to his hotel suite was lit up, stocked with pens and pads of paper, and carefully arranged for optimal workflow. He sipped his black coffee leisurely but felt his patience running thin. By the time Dieter’s haphazard knock on the door came, Dave was officially irritated.

The heavy aroma of weed wafted into the office space when Dave yanked the door open. He wrinkled his nose, half at the odor and half at the unprofessionalism, and sidestepped as Dieter ambled into the room with breezy excuses and apologies for “running a little behind.” Dave wondered if he’d ever had an actual consequence for these types of behaviors in his entire career, just one person to tell him no or reprimand him in any way.

“It’s one thing to be nearly 45 minutes late. It’s another thing entirely to try to bullshit me about it,” Dave snipped.

Dieter’s mouth curved into a grin, single eyebrow raising in an impudent show of amusement, and huffed a little laugh. “I wouldn’t dream of bullshitting you, Dave,” he cooed, all coy and unbothered.

The eye watering cloud of scent that blanketed his entire body. The bloodshot eyes. The lax facial muscles. The fluid, dancelike way he moved about. Dieter was high as a kite.

“It’s clear you don’t respect yourself, Mr. Bravo, but that doesn’t mean I will tolerate a lack of respect for myself and my work,” he tersely responded. “You can see yourself out.”

Without another word, Dave turned on his heel and strolled through the doors leading into his hotel suite. 

At first Dieter thought he was imagining the sharp cut of Dave’s eyes as somehow harsher than he remembered, but then there was no denying he was angry when he all but kicked Dieter out of the conference room and left through some door Dieter hadn’t even noticed before. He scurried after him in a haze of curiosity and placation. If word got back to production or the director that Dieter wasn’t taking this seriously, his slot was in peril. He needed to convince Dave – and fast – that he deserved a little grace.

He darted after him into what looked like a lower end luxury hotel suite and called his name, but he didn’t pay Dieter any mind. He finally chased him down in a living room area and put his arms out in a feeble barricade to keep him from ignoring him further.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Dieter rushed to explain.

Dave snorted and rolled his eyes. “Oh, is that all it is? Just some ‘misunderstanding’?”

His words pierced, all sharp edges and caustic barb, but Dieter pushed past it. “Listen, whatever I did to get on your bad side, I’m sure we can find a way to smooth it over, alright?”

“You’re pretty well spoken for somebody that’s high outta their mind, I’ll give you that,” Dave huffed in a humorless laugh. “But you can still fuck off until you show some sort of commitment to this process.”

The accusation stung like a slap across the face, but Dieter did his best to play it off. “Can we have a conversation about— I mean, can you even tell me what commitment looks like to you? Because I’m serious about this film. I am. I just— Tell me what would make you happy. Tell me what you need for me to do to show you.”

Dave turned to evaluate the suddenly vulnerable, honest man in front of him. For Dave, Dieter was a classic “heart on your sleeve” type subject. Easy to read. Easier to manipulate. And yet, there was a constant thread of surprise that was woven into every bit of conversation and movement. He wasn’t all that he seemed, and there was certainly more to discover beneath it all. Letting curiosity lead the way, Dave decided to throw Dieter a bone.

“You show up here late and strung out, and it’s a waste of both our time. I’m not in the business of indulging and coddling some wannabe rockstar, so sober up or consider this affiliation severed.”

This was worse than when people straight up called him a junkie. Dave addressed him like he believed there was still a glimmer of decorum buried underneath Dieter’s bedraggled exterior, and he swore it almost sounded like he was equal parts angry and disappointed. It felt like being called into the school office by a principal you actually respected.

“I-I can–Listen,” he stuttered. “I–You’re right. You’re right, okay? I–I’m…. It’s not fair to you to show up late and, um, ‘clouded’.”

“That’s really fucking downplaying it, but, yeah, I’m right.”

“So what if I show up without a morning pre-sesh next time? Would that– I mean, that would be what you’d say was showing my commitment to this?”

“What the fuck is a ‘pre-sesh’?”

“Oh, like a little morning pick-me-up. You know, a little smoke session or, er, whatever else to make me feel chill.”

Dave took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling for a moment as though he was reevaluating his willingness to give Dieter another shot. Before he could talk himself out of it, Dieter piped up again.

“So, what do you say? Deal? I swear I’ll skip all the fun stuff on meeting days. I’ll be here on time. Okay? Deal?”

Despite looking like he felt he would regret the decision, Dave agreed.

It shouldn’t have made Dave so hard to learn how obedient Dieter was. True to his word, he’d showed up roughly on time but definitely not under the influence of anything for the next few meetings. Watching Dieter lock onto details and take a real interest in the materials Dave had produced for pre-production stirred something weighty in his chest. He had a knack for catching onto things and incorporating it into his craft. Perhaps most intoxicating was Dieter’s legitimate desire to appease and impress Dave. It made him think that perhaps the party boy persona just needed a firm hand to keep it in check.

Unfortunately for Dave, a sober Dieter meant sharpened mental faculties and a quicker tongue. The sizzling air of attraction flared into full on flirtation on Dieter’s end, and Dave did his damndest to pretend otherwise. In Dave’s past experience, keeping cool under pressure meant conducting high stake stings or carrying out a hit, but nowadays it was more along the lines of not signaling his physical interest at Dieter’s intentionally handsy conduct or resisting the urge to bend him over the desk and swat his ass raw for being so shameless and taunting.

Dave could see it in his mind’s eye. Dieter sweating and writhing, a thank you, sir spilling from his lips with each strike, and after taking his punishment he’d hold that plump ass open for Dave to wreck. It was driving him crazy how badly he wanted him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had set his nerves ablaze like this, and he hated that out of everyone it just had to be Dieter fucking Bravo.

As much as he tried to will it away, the want and the attraction persisted. Watching Dieter sit and scribble something into the ledger and glance back and forth between his notes and the whiteboard Dave had filled up that morning, he couldn’t help but drink in the dedication and focus. Seeing someone so unruly and blithe morph into this pensive artist was captivating. Despite his best efforts, his failure to resist Dieter was inevitable. 

Dieter was delighted when he felt the continued weight of Dave’s gaze pinned on him, more and more with each meeting. He’d been suggestive and impish and outright bold with his interest in Dave, but there was still some line he wasn’t willing to cross. Dieter was determined to push and push and push until he figured out what that line was and how to tear it down. Having been completely sober for a few weeks now, there was so much raw mental energy to be wielded, and a good chunk of it was going towards wearing Dave down.

When he makes a passing statement about Dieter “staying off things before their meetings,” Dieter is appalled to learn that Dave is unaware of just how dedicated he’s actually been. He wanted the praise and recognition for his efforts. He deserved that much from Dave. When Dieter corrects him and says he’s been off everything since the day that Dave asked, he’s met with a dubious smirk.

“You really expect me to believe you not only stay sober for these meetings but that you’ve also cut everything out completely?”

For the first time, Dieter got genuinely annoyed with him.

“Yeah, actually. I do,” he bit back. “You said me being sober was what you would take as a sign I was serious about this project, so that’s what I did. Not just for our meetings, but for the whole project.”

Dave is quiet and still. Dieter wants to deck him right in his stupid, unreadable face.

He gives Dieter a thoughtful once over, eyes gliding at a glacial pace and making no attempt to hide it. He resists the urge to squirm under such patent scrutiny. Seemingly satisfied with his inspection, Dave nods to himself and leans back against the edge of the table with crossed arms.

“You know, you’re much more tolerable like this. Not so … sloppy,” he noted. He pins Dieter with a probing gaze as if to unearth some other tell. “Works a whole lot better for the film and your character, too. The CIA doesn’t do sloppy.”

While he should’ve just taken the rare compliment and basked in it, Dieter found himself entirely incapable of not pushing the edge of this charged back and forth to see what it would take to get the stoic veneer to splinter. That and the fact that Dave’s lack of trust in him made him want to get under his skin.

“And how about you, Dave? Do you do sloppy?”

It came out far breathier than intended, but that didn’t much matter when the intended effect played out. Dave’s cheeks visibly pinked at the not so subtle question, jaw clicking to the side before he drew himself up to full sitting height on the edge of the table. He obviously hadn’t expected Dieter to be so forward out of nowhere, but he quickly regained his composure.

Dave stood and dipped his hands into his pockets, making his broad shoulders appear all the more strong and wide, as he casually walked up to Dieter until their chests nearly touched. Dieter jutted his chin out proudly at the taller man and resisted the urge to haul him into a kiss. Dave’s head tilted just so to the side, eyes drifting up and down Dieter’s face for a moment, before responding in a deep, firm tone.

“I never make a mess that can’t clean itself up.”

Dave had to know if it was true. He had to know if Dieter really craved his approval so much that he’d go above and beyond with his sobriety agreement. If he was willing to do that just to prove himself, Dave would really lose all professional resolve. Someone as attractive as Dieter also being that obedient wasn’t something he could resist. 

He’d make him crawl around the entire hotel suite stark naked. He’d have him cockwarm while Dave prepared documents. He’d come all over his face and have him sit in it until it dried and crusted to his facial hair. He’d make him recite his movie lines and belt his bare ass if he made a mistake. He’d tie him to a chair and edge him until he was crying.

Dieter would do so fucking well for him. Dave just knew he would. But first, he had to see if Dieter was telling the truth.

He looked a little surprised when Dave swung the door open and gestured for him to come inside.

“Excited to see me, huh?” Dieter teased.

“Yes, actually,” Dave conceded. “I’m eager to get to the bottom of something. Follow me.”

He didn’t stop to see if Dieter would follow. He knew he would. The echo of his footsteps carried throughout Dave’s attached hotel suite and stopped when they reached the primary bathroom.

“I’m sure you’ve done this before. Don’t think you need to be walked through the steps.”

Dieter stared at the empty specimen cup and then at Dave. “You’re not serious.”

“Humor me.”

Dieter scoffed, a little indignant at the proposition. “You really don’t believe me, do you? A fucking piss test?”

“I find that believing someone doesn’t get you quite as far as irrefutable, objective proof.”

Dieter’s eyes narrowed as he focused on the cup again. Something in his initial irritation fluctuated into a prideful resolution. “You know what? Fine. Fuckin’ uptight prick.”

He snatched the cup from the counter and made his way to the toilet. His mouth hangs in disbelief when Dave directs him to do it right in the middle of the bathroom. When it’s clear he isn’t joking, Dieter swallows hard and shimmies up to the counter. The mirror in front of him reflects his movements, so there’s no hiding his soft dick as he pulls it over the waistband of his pants and braces it above the rim of the cup.

He can feel the warmth of Dave’s body before it hovers against his back, so close he can feel his steady breaths clouding on the nape of his neck. Whatever this game was, Dieter was going to play it. He steadied himself and tried to get over the nerves of being watched so intimately. Being observed was certainly not a new phenomenon for Dieter, but this was beyond filming a scene or walking a red carpet or waving off paparazzi. An audible gulp wrapped in a whimper leapt from his throat when Dave propped himself forward, forearms braced beside Dieter’s hips and bracketing him against the counter.

By some miracle, he’s able to fill the cup all the way up to the line. Dave no sooner scoops it up, hand grazing Dieter’s thickening length and making him gasp, and swishes a testing strip into the liquid. The moment he steps away, Dieter feels like he can breathe again. His body slumps at the reprieve, although he hadn’t been aware that his shoulders had been inching their way to his earlobes. He can feel his heartbeat in his dick as the blood pools between his thighs. The white testing strip begins to bloom little square colors along its edges.

Dave lifts an eyebrow as he reads it, eyes darting to find Dieter’s. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Dieter ignored his insistent cock because that’s what Dave appeared to be doing. Whatever this game was, Dieter was going to play it, too.

“Told you, you smug bastard.”

Dave smiled warmly at this as though it were some affectionate pet name. Dieter turned to face him so he could see it directly rather than through the reflection. It was even more breathtaking face to face.

“Yes, Dieter, you’ve been a very good boy,” Dave drawled, each word dripping in condescension.

Dieter shivered and squeezed his eyes shut at the praising ridicule, his dick standing at full attention now and needing desperately to be touched. The sound of Dave’s fading footsteps brought him back to the present, and he shuffled after him yet again. He followed his movements to the end of a long hallway, and the heavy tingle of exhilaration stirred in his gut when he realized that he’d be led to the bedroom. A plush armchair sits out of place towards the end of the bed.

“Have a seat, Dieter,” Dave instructed calmly.

He doesn’t hesitate to plop down into the chair and wait expectantly. Dave rolled his sleeves up a few times as he strolled lazily across the room to where Dieter sat waiting. He stood right between Dieter’s legs, his own pushing them open wider. He looked up at Dave with big, eager eyes, hands gripping the plush armrests.

“You fucked around with anybody since your last STI panel a few weeks ago?”

Dieter didn’t bother to ask how Dave had gotten access to his medical records. He shook his head no, and Dave leaned in, planting his hands on the armrest beside Dieter’s shoulders.

“Good,” he replied flatly.

Dieter’s mouth was so dry he couldn’t form the words to ask the same of Dave. He knew regardless. Dave was selective and methodical. Dieter had spent the last few weeks breaking down his resolve, and he knew it wasn’t just anybody who got to have Dave in this sort of setting.

“You know what I like about you, Dieter? You’re so damn easy to read,” Dave said in a charged hush, not waiting for him to answer the question before continuing. “I’ve got all your little tells catalogued right up here—” he paused to point at his temple “—and yet I know there’s so much more to unearth.”

“Anybody ever tell you that your interrogation style feels a lot like foreplay?” Dieter murmured with a devious grin.

“Careful now,” Dave feigned in warning. “Wouldn’t want you thinking you’ve got a handle on what sort of things guys like me get up to.”

Dieter raised an eyebrow and leaned back into the seat with Dave leaning in after him. “Wouldn’t want you thinking I couldn’t keep up with you,” he shot back.

“Might get in over your head trying to keep up with guys like me. Strange things happen in this line of work. Might find yourself in a sticky situation,” Dave husked, barely hiding a grin at Dieter’s hips involuntarily canting upwards at the suggestive wording. “On the receiving end of some electromagnetic frequency that no crystal or sage burning can protect you from.”

“Fuck off,” Dieter panted at the taunting jab. Dave’s eyes followed the curved swipe of Dieter’s tongue flicking across his lips.

“You seem a little nervous licking your lips like that. Or is that just you subconsciously begging for something to be inside it?” 

“Oh fuck,” Dieter groaned as his hand instinctively reached for his aching cock.

Dave snatched the wandering hand and braced his own along the curve of Dieter’s neck.“You don’t touch yourself until you’re given permission, is that clear?”

A hazy, ecstatic grin spread across Dieter’s features as Dave’s grip tightened around his neck. “God I was hoping your control freak bullshit carried over to the bedroom.”

The flare of Dave’s nostrils punctuated his stony expression of want. He stood upright, giving Dieter an eye level view of a substantial tent. “Take it out,” he growled.

Dieter quickly unfastened the belt and unzipped the slacks. When he moved to unbutton them, Dave stopped him.

“I said ‘take it out,’ not ‘undress me.’”

Dieter nodded and worked his hand through the fly and carefully extracted Dave’s erection.

“Get the rest of it,” he commanded.

Dieter gingerly worked the heavy sack through the metal teeth of the zipper, careful to not let them snag. The sight of Dave fully dressed, save for his cock and balls hanging lewdly out of the crotch of his pants, had Dieter squirming and dribbling precum. He moaned when Dave snatched his head forward by a fistful of hair and pressed it against his clothed hip. With his free hand, Dave began slowly stroking himself.

“You wanna play with somebody’s cock, it’s gonna be mine.”

Dieter nodded emphatically in agreement. Dave looked down at him with unbridled amusement.

“I knew underneath all that party monster facade was just a good little boy waiting to be told what to do.”

Dieter squeezed his eyes shut and nodded with a throaty moan before staring up at Dave with big, pleading eyes.

“You like being a good boy, huh?” Dave continued.

“Yes, Daddy,” Dieter breathed. “I love being Daddy’s good boy.”

Dave inhaled sharply at the title, his entire body wracked with electric desire. “Yeah? Then show Daddy how good you take a cock down your throat.”

Dieter doesn’t need any further incentive, immediately tugging against Dave’s hold and mouthing at his length. He licks at the slight curve of it and flicks on the underside of the tip. Dave eventually sees fit to let go, and Dieter sinks his hot, wet mouth over the cockhead and suckles.

Despite letting out a long groan of pleasure, Dave snapped, “I said throat.”

Dieter’s eyes flick up to see the impatient, needy man he’d been working so tirelessly to unravel all these weeks. He smiled as much as he could around the thickness and held eye contact as he slowly inched his way to the base. Just as the tip settled into the narrowing entrance, Dieter made several swallowing movements and held his jaw lax a little more than necessary so the wet gurgling sounds were amplified.

“Fuck yeah, that’s it. There you go.”

He bobbed steadily back and forth to let the fat head slip down his throat over and over again until spit started to drip and bubble from the corners of his mouth. Dave stood with his legs in a wide stance, hands clasped loosely behind his back, as he watched Dieter take him. When Dieter popped off to gulp down some much needed deep breaths, Dave instructed him to strip down naked, which he readily obliged to. Dave hissed when Dieter dragged his teeth up his cock with a giggle, but the sound was cut short when Dave held Dieter’s head in place and began thrusting into it with a hastened pace.

“Too–busy–laughing–when–you–should–be–choking,” Dave grunted, each word paired with a harsh drive of his hips.

Dieter was reduced to a slobbery, gagging mess, all moans and whines as Dave fucked his throat. When he pulled off the rigid cock, his voice was hoarse from the onslaught.

“I need to touch my dick, Daddy,” he choked.

“Lemme see it, baby boy. Jerk us both off.”

Dieter let out an almost pained sound as his spit coated hand gripped around his own erection. He stroked them both in a steady, firm hold with Dave’s cock positioned over his face.

“Can I come?” he begged. “Please can I come, Daddy? I have so much cum for you, Daddy.”

Dave’s balls started to draw up at the sight of a completely wrecked and desperate Dieter on his knees and pleading for release.

“I’m gonna come all over that pathetic face, and when I do, I want you to show me how much cum Daddy’s good boy has for him.”

Dieter panted and hastened his strokes, mouth parting to receive his reward.

“You can be sloppy for Daddy just this once. Make a mess for Daddy,” he ordered.

Dieter went silent as his face contorted into a blissed out exhaustion, spurts of cum jetting out as he pumped himself hurriedly. Dave gasped loudly when Dieter’s skilled motions drew out his own release and moaned as he watched heavy bands of pearly white flood Dieter’s face. He grabbed the sides of his head and fucked gently into his mouth while he softened.

“Clean it up,” he rasped. “Suck Daddy clean.”

Dieter’s half-lidded eyes drooped contentedly while he did as he was told.

“Fuck you’re so good,” Dave choked.

Dieter smiled up at him with the full knowledge that Dave was never going to let him go now that he had him.

special shout out to @guiltyasdave who started the Dave York brainrot and to @bonezone44 for using reverse psychology on me and basically forcing my hand in writing these two 💜

tagging people who showed interest

@angiewatson @galaxyedging @bubble-pop-eclectic @for-a-longlongtime @perotovar

@clawdee @sp00kymulderr @amanitacowboy @katw474 @for-everhalloween

@magneticecstasy @yorksgirl @ghoulzsstuff @drunk-and-capable @tammythr

[two-white-butterflies]

the most beautiful girl | k7

Description: After a decade long hiatus - everyone expects you to return around the arm of some billionaire. To their surprise, Kimi Raikkonen is your husband.

yourusername: Love and Laughter ❤️💞✨

liked by kimimatiasraikkonen and 1,293,012 others

comments

darlingstormborn22: UM?? SEVEN YEARS OF NOT POSTING ANYTHING THEN THIS...?

scandanaviandollslova9: oh fashion is about to return

sebastianvettel: Beautiful Family! - yourusername: Thank you, Seb...!

yourusername: I've been gone for so very long - and privacy has been really nice! But I think it's finally time to introduce my family :) 💞✨ I met my husband when I was filming 'Fast and Furious 2'...which is basically 20 years ago? Hmm, time seems to pass easily when you are having fun ❤️ He was one of the people that we interviewed to make sure that the driving was accurate in the movie. I CAN'T BELIEVE THAT WE FELL IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER AFTER THAT! Now we have three beautiful children. Malena, Katrina and Keanu 💞✨

liked by sebastianvettel, bellahadid and 2,192,012 others

comments

f1multistan: Anyone else think that her husband is an F1 Driver? - watcheaaa2: yeah probs Fernando or Hamilton - hemeheme54: @f1multistan it's probably a billionaire or engineer expert 🤷🏻‍♀️ I think she's too beautiful and precious for the 8 digits club 😁

harabean: ELON MUSK? OR ONE OF THE ARNAULTS?

estiebestiesuperfan: Bill Gates just got divorced guys

yourusername: the story of when i fucked my driver 🤣

tagged: @kimimatiasraikkonen

liked by sebastianvettel and 2,192,100 others

comments

kimimatiasraikkonen: You married him too. 🤣

hollarosaaa: EXCUSE ME? KIMI FUCKING RAIKKONEN?

ynsupporter: Her name...her name is Y/N motherfucking L/N-Raikkonen. 🔥

liked by yourusername and 12,911 others

comments

hatemenow6: The way that she probably wins the arguments - richieriveroo: Mom: "You're fucking wrong." Kimi: "Yes."

bucketfullasunshine8: Malena Raikkonen, Katrina Raikkonen, Keanu Raikkonen. SHE ATE WITH THE NAMES 😭

kimimatiasraikkonen: My beautiful family. 💞✨

liked by sebastianvettel and 242,192 others

comments

iloveyn: The way that Y/N Probably wrote this 😭

yourusername: I love you. ❤️

@h-c-u @shouq @fdl305 @iloveyou3000morgan @lpab @ietss

[mollyjimbly]

🚨🚨ATTENTION🚨🚨

Another Disgusting anti-LGBT bill, planning to censor queer content online.

Yet again another law that infringes on privacy. and anonymity.

The bill is KOSA

https://www.congress.gov/bill/118th-congress/senate-bill/1409

KOSA is a threat to LGBTQ+ youth.

It allows right-wing AGs to censor LGBTQ+ content in the name of "protecting kids".

This doesn't protect kids. This actually hurts kids even more.

It will snuff out LGBTQ+ spaces and makes the internet more of a dangerous place for them, more or less...

"Of course, like so many of these “bipartisan” anti-internet bills that have bipartisan support, the support on each side of the aisle is based on a very different view of how the bill will be used in practice. We went through this last year with the AICOA antitrust bill. Democrats supported it (falsely) believing that it would magically increase competition, while Republicans were gleefully talking about how they were going to use it to force websites to host their propaganda."

"Now, with KOSA, again you have Democrats naively (and incorrectly) believing that because it’s called the “Kids Online Safety Bill” it will magically protect children, even though tons of experts have made it clear it will actually put them at greater risk."

https://www.techdirt.com/2023/05/24/heritage-foundation-says-that-of-course-gop-will-use-kosa-to-censor-lgbtq-content/

KOSA will also undermine privacy in the name of "protecting children".

"This bill would effectively place many internet services behind an age verification wall, prevent anonymous surfing, and would require all users – adults or teens – to verify their age before they can access information or content.

The Computer & Communications Industry Association supports the enactment of comprehensive privacy legislation at the federal level, but has concerns about KOSA’s duty of care, vague requirements that would prevent teens from accessing critical information, and compliance provisions that conflict with current trends toward data minimization."

https://ccianet.org/news/2023/05/ccia-statement-on-unintended-consequences-of-kosa-legislation-would-place-most-internet-services-behind-age-verification-wall/

Age verification technology is just not secure enough for usage at the moment, leaks are likely to happen, it will be especially dangerous if the leaked Age verification information has a government ID linked to it. That would mean that malicious individuals may get a hold of personal addresses, bank details, basically you'll get doxxed by the government...

You may be asking, "well is there anything to do about it?"

Of course there is, but we really need your help spreading awareness around, because the bill is most likely to pass this July!

This website was put together by Fight for the Future. It has everything, from petitions to calls scripts. It's very easy to understand and use and one of the best links to spread. I urge you to use this when calling your members of congress. All you need to do is put in your phone number once and read off the script provided and it does the rest for you.

https://www.badinternetbills.com/

Signable petitions and open letters;

If you live in the states, call your state representatives;

Joinable Discord server;

More information;

I have to say again and I am not exaggerating, this is URGENT the bill could be passed THIS MONTH!

I am begging you, please OPPOSE KOSA!!

[pinkanonwrites]

The human kink realization got me thinking. Would this unlock anything in Jazz or hound? Bc I know jazz is very infatuated with human culture hehehe and hound lowkey wishes he was human. Would they be inspired to any new kinks after meeting humans? Your the expert ur word is law

*Putting on my grad cap for my scholarly seminar* Why thank you, anon! Hopefully these headcanons will suffice.~

I think both Jazz and Hound have a particular fondness (obsession) with just how soft humans are, especially in comparison to Cybertronians. I've waxed poetic about it before, but there really is nothing that soft on Cybertron. Both of them are pretty open about it with their partners, but where Jazz is mostly just appreciative and affectionate Hound is about full-on body worship. He's enamored with every part of you, trailing over your body with exceedingly gentle digits.

I also think while Jazz is more of a switch, Hound prefers to be the submissive one when it comes to humans. He doesn't realize it's a kink (and probably never will unless someone points it out to him) but there's something deeply and primally appealing to him when he's being dominated by someone significantly smaller than he is. He could never be physically overpowered by you, but your demands are more than enough to have him bending to your will. You tell him how and where you want him and he's ecstatic to oblige. Besides, he's not the type to want to resist you anyway.

Jazz may have a slight dacryphilia kink? I don't think he enjoys making you cry, but seeing you so overwhelmed with pleasure that the tears beading in the corners of your eyes start rolling down your cheeks? Yeah, that has some appeal to him. He's not particularly sadistic, but he loves knowing his partner is feeling good.

[ronearoundblindly]

ransom + a kiss on a falling tear? 🥺

*evil cackling*

Ransom Drysdale x reader [can be enjoyed as a one-shot or as a piece of The Root of All Ransom series]

The Ransomizer

Warning for filth and so many f-bombs. I'm sorry, but they make *him* and they make it way funnier. MINORS DNI. There is plenty for younger readers on my Light Masterlist, but this one is not for you! WC 1023

There’s an app, and at this particular moment, Ran might destroy any phone on the fucking planet that has it downloaded.

Fucking traitor.

Fucking mathematical bullshit.

He trusted that fucking thing, but this? Ran’s gonna expire before night’s end because of that piece of fucking shit.

No, Ran tenses and slows down, too close, too close, not yet. Fuuuuuuuuuck.

He squeezes his eyes shut, heaving in a breath and growling the air back out.

See, the app is called the ‘Randomizer.’ All it does is generate a single digit number—1 through 9. That’s it. That’s all it does.

You and he use it for chores or choosing between equally-favored options of things. It’s always been super helpful since that’s the kind of decision making Ransom can’t fucking stand to waste time on. It became a fun game of who does what how many times before switching.

Tonight, Ran decided to make it choose…something else, namely how many times you’d each come on Valentine’s Day.

Then that fucking piece of donkey-ass, hurl-fodder went and did this.

Orgasms for you: NINE.

Orgasms for him: ONE.

Cocksucker!

Or, he guesses, ZERO COCKSUCKING.

The mere thought of you on your kn—nope. Breathe. Hold it together. He can do this.

It’s been a marathon. He has walked away—pulled out and gotten off the bed—to cool down several times. If blue balls were a real condition, he’d be dangling two setts of lapis lazuli.

Once, he even took a pillow with him to scream into, he’s so (sincerely) fucking frustrated.

You came on his fingers twice, with his mouth another, with his mouth and a finger in the ass another, him fucking you while you wore this dainty heart buttplug once more, and (thank god) three times while riding him. It’s finally about to be his turn. He just has to get you there one last time.

The night’s gone on so long that it’s early.

You two have been running on fumes and hastily-grabbed water for the last half hour.

“Come on. Come on, sweetheart. You can do it. One more for me.”

He’s got you folded in half beneath him on the very damp bed, cockhead pumping (albeit slightly slower in his fatigue) over your g-spot with expert, torturous precision.

He can feel you climbing back toward a peak, but if he doesn’t seal this fucking deal he will literally, metaphorically, and physically die. Holy shit, don’t lose it. Don’t fucking lose it.

He has one last, completely desperate play to make, and when he weighs his options based on the inferno deep in his thigh muscles, the near-hallucination level of oxygen deprivation to his brain, and the magnet-like pull of pleasure between his pelvis and yours, he can’t see a choice.

At this point, you’re so fucked out, you might not even notice, so he releases one of your legs to let it lazily flop with his thrusts, the flat of your foot weakly kicking his ass without a care in the fucking world except for fuck’s sake come, woman.

Ran grasps your throat gently, palm hot on your clammy skin, tilting your face to the side for better control while the situation feels excruciatingly out of control. He gives the tiniest squeeze as he grinds his hips to yours, the most friction he can offer until the chaffing starts—and it will start soon since he ran out of lube when you rode him.

He watches your shining eyes cross in bliss before you close them.

Tears escape, and he hastily curls forward to catch one with his lips as it rolls to your hairline.

You taste like sweat and sex. That’s no fucking surprise. One shower ain’t gonna wash this stink off.

Fuck, he’s so close.

After staving off his end for so long, he almost can’t believe it. There’s a euphoric haze that blurs the edge of his existence and a dull ringing in his ears that won’t stop. Good, because he can’t stop either.

“You want it. I know you want to. You wan’ cum, don’t you?” At this point, he’s…not sure who he’s actually referencing, but fuck if he’s thinking anything at all.

He’s startled—full-blown, jerks-to-a-stop startled—by your end.

Your hands, which had long since turned to jello, spring to life and claw at his chest, so he instantly lets go and props himself up. Holy shit, he’s never heard you mewl like that. And the force with which you writhe beneath him? Well, he could maybe sorta kinda consider doing this again for another ticket to see that show.

You grip at his sides and keep punching your hips up. You’re fucking him mid-air, legs lolling hap hazardously behind his back and thighs, possessed to move by the sheer potency of your spasming core, and it—it—oh fuck.

Like a house of cards, Ran’s resolve crumbles to leave him nothing but a puddle atop you.

Stamina in absentia, mouth stretched open where it landed over your collarbone, he sobs curses in relief, emptying everything he has regardless of how pinned and tangled you two are.

The flood recedes. Tidal currents return to normal in his body very, very slowly.

He dimly realizes he’s too heavy to stay like that, but he can’t roll away or let go.

Ran tucks his arms beneath you, shifting the burden to his forearms, veins screaming in protest, but he doesn’t fucking care. He bends his knees to hold up his lower half, a warm trickle of cum, dislodged from you, making its way down his balls, but he doesn’t fucking care. He becomes the least effective cage imaginable because he’s not meant to keep you like this.

He just needs a minute, just one fucking minute after this very long night.

He looks up to your face, tracing his nose up your throat and pressing his lips against your lax jaw.

“You’re doing the fucking dishes this week,” he groans. “I don’t give a shit what the app said.”

You pat a hand to his sweaty ass.

“Yeah.”

He just needs a fucking minute, but he'll take nine if he god damn pleases.

Steve Rogers and a kiss on a scar ⬅️ ➡️ Bucky Barnes and a kiss as encouragement

[Main Masterlist; Valentine's 2024 Fics; Ko-Fi]

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