#that’s because it’s literally impossible to make

[slutspinks]

NOTHING HOLDIN’ ME BACK ! — ★ logan howlett.

･˳ . ⋆ sum. you’ve seen him fight, move around his cage like a wild animal, made of hard muscle and thirsty for blood. but you’ve grown tired of him holding back— you’re finally letting him out.

pairing cagefighter!logan x bartender!reader

warnings fem!reader, praising, begging, fingering, nipple play, p in v, creampie, unprotected, no use of y/n but I used pet names (precious, babe…). so much use of the word slick, sorry not sorry.

wc 3.9K

★ an ★ omg, corn w/o plot? my speciality, please enjoy this piece of work I wrote at four am during insomnia 😃 forgive any mistakes, they just slip past my eyes sometimes and I don’t proofread my works, lol. So I don’t know if I made it justice, I just kind of wrote what was in my head, hope you enjoy it anyways :)

Just like every other time you watched him from a distance, your heart would stop whenever one of his opponents managed to land a punch. But it didn’t matter—he remained standing. Steady.

As steady as his steps, pacing around the cage, eyeing his prey the way a lion eyes a gazelle, ready to pounce, sink its fangs in, spilling blood everywhere as it reveled in watching its victim fall.

Nothing was staged, though there were always rumors that someone helped him win, that it was simply impossible for him to take down his opponents so easily with just one punch to the jaw. You’d heard it all before, and you’d laughed every time. You knew who Logan was: a wild animal that couldn’t be tamed, thirsty for blood and victory—and maybe a few free shots of whiskey you managed to get him from the bar.

The place looked the same as always—smelled of cigarettes and aged whiskey, even the occasional hint of weed. But none of that could pull your attention away from the fight, from him.

There were nights were you had to make sure everything went as it should—no dirty moves, no corruption. Every corner of this dark, pretentious place was under your watchful eye. Besides, when you sometimes played as the timekeeper, you had the task of looking after him. And it’s not like it was a job you were paid to do—he just sought it out himself.

Before you got into all this fight business, you were just a normal woman working at a coffee shop in the city, taking orders left and right, spending your energy on a job that rarely compensated you fairly. But that’s just how things were... Or so you thought until you found this place: a basement of what used to be an apartment building, transformed into a run-down bar and the main entertainment hub for the slums. Cage fights seemed more interesting than a football match to these people.

At the start, you were hesitant about the idea, but you convinced yourself you’d enjoy it more and the pay was good.

When you first stepped into this place, your initial thought was that the floors were too sticky, filthy, and reeked of alcohol. But somehow, you got used to it, and the smell became a part of you—you could hardly notice it anymore, unlike those first few days you spent here.

Everything seemed monotonous at first; men fighting each other, trying to prove who had the bigger ego— maybe bigger dick.

You watched it all from a distance, serving drinks to drunken men who were just as thirsty for a fight, until everything changed.

He arrived.

Logan. The mysterious man nobody liked because everyone already had their favorite fighters, and when he showed up, everything went to hell. Literally.

Every time he stepped into that cage, he managed to knock out every single one of those idiots, leaving them with swollen eyes and dislocated jaws—some he even left unconscious.

Tonight was one of those many nights, where you lingered close and watched the fight, trying not to bite your lip every time, by pure luck and chance, one of his opponents managed to land a hit on his cheek. But they never had the upper hand—Logan always found a way to beat them, again and again.

Just as he always found a way to cage you inside his room after, keeping you to himself even though you tried to not get to involved, but you knew you were too far gone. You were too into him to care about the outcome, even worse when he made you enjoy it too much.

“Ah- Fuck”. You tremble on Logan’s lap, sweaty back resting on his broad chest while your hands hold the back of your thighs, keeping you open for him. He was the only one holding you up while he was knuckles deep inside your pulsating cunt. You tried not to bite too hard on your lip, but you already saw the way a clear sheet of slick coats down a single finger, and it has you clenching down harder, tighter.

“It’s just one finger, princess- you can take it”, he rasps, head leveled to your ear, while his other hand holds a glass of whiskey you managed to steal away for him; your hazy eyes looked around, noticing the small details your gaze always attached to when coming to his room: his leather jacket, his wife beater perched on the couch armrest, and the countless mags you left on the battered desk. But nothing was able to steal your attention for too long when the excitement from having him fingering you in his room had you curling your toes, along with the non-stopping motion of them.

“It’s so t-thick, I-I don’t think you’ll fit”, you babble out in broken words, referring to his dick. It’s been a few days since he’s been repeating the same cycle, eating you out then fingering you, preparing you to take his length— and even though you’ve had his dick in your mouth, he says is not the same.

It was your fault, really. You insisted you could take his fingers without him needing to eat you out, but you were already failing in the task. You felt your tummy churn in a line of zig zags as you sense him slowly sink another finger inside, leaving a burning trail behind. Your hand shot out to take his arm, curling around it to have something to ground yourself. “It f-feels weird”.

A breathy chortle leaves his lips, glass of whiskey lifting up, your gaze following the movement until it wasn’t in your line of sight anymore. His head goes back to his previous spot, stopping just a few inches from your ear, “I told ya, you wouldn’t be able to take them…”.

A frown etched on your features, sweaty brows knitting together at his words. Of course you could take them, he was just making fun of you because you weren’t thoroughly prepared like all those other times.

“I-I can take them”. You said, hand moving back to hold your leg, opening up even more for him. You could watch it in this position, and it made more slick gush out of your cunt, his covered finger kept pushing in and out slowly, patiently.

A tiny gasp leaves your lips when his index finger slides through your labia, scooping up more of your juices, teasing you. “You’re a big girl now? You think you can take it? Let’s see…”.

You hummed excitedly, your head moving up and down. You managed to get your ass a bit lower on his lap, your back sliding down just the right amount until it seemed you were going to sleep on his abdomen, chasing his fingers with your cunt.

You heard his low chuckle from behind, glass lifting up again to take a sip from his drink, “You’re so greedy, precious… but I’m holding back, just for you”.

You didn’t want that, you didn’t want him to hold back, you wanted his everything. Every finger he wanted to give you you’d accept it happily, didn’t matter if it hurt at first— you’d take the pain.

“Don’t hold back, I’ll be okay”, you assured, looking back at him. His hazel eyes were glued to you, lust and excitement swirling around in the depths of them, lips glistening from the whiskey he was nursing, you wanted to kiss him. “Gimme a kiss”, you plead, lips forming a pout when he shakes his head.

“Be patient, I’m busy fucking your cunt now, let me focus, mhm?”. Logan arched one brow, looking at you expectantly.

“Alright”, you mumbled, disappointment laced in your voice at him denying your request. He’d always kiss you afterwards, but you hoped he’d changed that when he noticed you were struggling.

“Don’t be sad, pretty girl, you’ll get your reward soon”, he promises, not stopping for a moment the sweet and slow pacing of his fingers, smiling at the way your cunt clenched when you heard the nickname. Your walls were more clingy than they were in a daily basis, sticking against them like glue. You gasped when you feel his index finger teasing your entrance, “Pleaseplease, I can take one more…”.

Logan keeps his gaze fixed on yours, finally putting it in. You felt a delicious sting, one that managed to scratch that itch in your foggy brain. You squirmed on his lap, hips lifting up just the right amount to ease the small discomfort. A grunt left his throat, fingers slipping out of your dripping walls to spank at your cunt, followed by your whine at the sting, so different from the one his finger caused.

“I thought you could take it”.

His hand rested next to your cunt, fondling your inner thigh affectionately— but he did nothing else. Logan acted nonchalant, drinking from his glass as if he wasn’t finger fucking you just seconds ago. Your thighs were still wide open, arms growing weary from how long you’ve been holding them.

“Logan?”. you call once, eyes glassy with unshed tears. He ignored you, gaze fixed on the old TV perched on the coffee table feet away from you and the boring news channel he was ‘watching’.

He hummed, not looking your way. You frowned once more, but this it was not caused by the delicious pace of his fingers, but for his peculiar way of ignoring you.

You were there, laid open for him, perky nipples and sopping wet cunt waiting to get fucked- be it his fingers or dick. But he was ignoring you, holding back.

You didn’t want him to hold back, you wanted his everything, one, two or four fingers— whatever he wanted to give you you’d accept it with open hands. But he didn’t want to hurt you, you knew the change in his demeanor the moment you lifted your hips, trying to ease the stinging pain, and though it was momentary, he stopped everything.

“Logan?”. you called once again, hand moving from your leg to hold his, trying to move him to your cunt so he can continue his ministrations, but he didn’t bulge. He held your thigh with more strength, slick covered fingers digging on your skin.

“If you want my fingers to fuck you, you’ve got to let me eat you out, if not then I can’t-”

“B-but I don’t want you to eat me out, you won’t fuck me with your dick if I’m too sore…”, you whined, lips pouting once more, watching his stoic face twitch just for a second and then a smirk finally appeared on his lips.

His fingers twitched too, caressing your outer labia with the tips— his other arm under your armpit, forearm glued to your ribs. You could see the condensation in the glass, drink almost finished, you were thirsty.

“Want some?”, he asked and you glanced back at him in thought, then nodding slowly. A grin spread across his mouth, pearly white teeth showing from between his pink lips. He moved the glass to drink from it, a disappointment feeling sinking deep into your chest when you noticed the drink was finished.

He noticed it in your features, the way you looked so disappointed thinking he was punishing you.

That’s why didn’t think he’d lower his head, lips attaching to your parted ones, liquid slipping to your mouth, a satisfied moan leaving your throat when the bitter liquid covered your tongue— mixed with his own saliva. It was utterly erotic to you, the way you shared everything, from his dog tags to his fluids.

All the time you were kissing, you felt his fingers move once more to your entrance, two of them breaching in at once— a gasp leaving your mouth the moment they bottomed out. Logan took the opportunity to shove his tongue inside, twirling it with your own, stroking the warm muscle. Saliva dripped from the corner of your mouth, slipping down to your chin.

His fingers hid inside your cunt walls, initiating a slow pace just like before, brushing that spongy spot with them. Your hand curled around his arm once more, feeling the hot skin beneath your fingers. Your back was sweaty, his chest and abdomen hair sticking to your skin.

“You’ve been so good, letting me do what I want, always”. He praised, a string of saliva formed after your heated kiss, keeping you somehow together even after he leaned back to plant a kiss on your head.

His digits moved at a faster pace now, the squelching sound your pussy made provoked his bulge to grow, a tent appearing in his pants beneath your lower back. The pain was too far gone, now you could only feel the pleasure.

“I think you can take a third, uh? You’re a big girl after all”, he asked teasingly, you could only nod effusively, pushing your hips further into his hand. As you still make a cute attempt at rocking your hips against his lap. He slowly inserts another thick finger inside. tightening around each one, you whine before your entire body jitters.

Logan chuckles deeply against your ear, feeling the claws of your nails seep into the flesh of his arm. "So three is the limit. I see…" and within three seconds, his digits pull out of your cunt. A slimey string of your wetness sticks against his fingers. as he looks down with an utmost hungry gaze, he brings his fingers up to his mouth before sniffing them.

He pops the three of them inside his mouth, his tongue devours your honeyed slick, brows furrowing in arousal before he takes them out, pressing them to your own lips. “C’mon pretty girl, taste yourself”.

Your lips happily part, and he puts two fingers inside, groaning when he noticed you greedily suck on them— thinking it was his dick you were sucking, not his fingers.

With a groan he takes them out, glass forgotten on the couch armrest and lifts you up, turning you around so you’re lying face down on his chest, dog tags digging into your cheek.

He takes the back of your neck and kisses you, a moan leaving your throat the moment your saliva mingling together. His slick covered fingers parted your ass cheek, scooping up more of your slick before putting his fingers back inside, fucking you faster, rougher.

Your head hid in the crook of his neck, arms enveloping his broad back tightly, as if it was the only thing that could keep your feet on the ground.

“We need to stretch it out, get it ready to take my dick, don’t wanna hurt this little girl”, he speaks, voice dripping with lust and it made heat pool beneath your cheeks.

“Logan? I-I don’t want you to hold back…”, you mumble, ass lifting higher, knees digging in the battered couch. “Want you to be rough, I- if that’s what you want…” your voice lowered with each word, shame finally settling in your brain.

With a final thrust of his fingers, he pulled them out, taking your waist and positioning you above the couch, the leather dampening with your sweet and juices.

His hands gripped your thighs, forcing them open once again after you closed them in shame, “Don’t hide from me”.

Your arms hugged your chest, trying to cover your breasts from his sight, you were growing shy on him and he didn’t like that. Not even a bit.

“Stop that”, he said, tugging your hands off your chest, pinning them above your head. Your eyes avoided his, not wanting to meet his gaze, “Look at me”. He demanded, meaty thighs accommodating between yours, preventing you from closing them.

You look at him after a few seconds from looking at the humidity spot in the wall, “Need ya to tell me if it’s hurts, if you want to stop”.

Your head shakes up and down, “Okay”.

He nods in agreement and releases your hands, trailing his own down your body, stopping on your breasts, twirling the nipples between his index and forefinger, fondling the soft mounds in his much bigger hands. Then continued on his way, touching your ribs, waist and halting on your hip bone, thumb caressing the bone protruding from the skin.

He still had his jeans on, a wet spot staining them on the front, your juices. It made your pussy clench around nothing, skin heating up once again.

His hands hastily pulled his belt off, zipping his pants down, lowering them just the right amount to take his cock out through the front.

A gasp left your lips, mouth hanging open at the sight of his hard shaft, the angry tip leaked precum, the pearly white droplets making your mouth water. You’ve had him in your mouth before, you’ve tasted his skin and cum, the saltiness of his skin equals the one from his fluid and it makes your tongue tingle with anticipation. He watches the look you give him, the need for it you showed but he quickly denied you.

“Not tonight babe, I’m gonna fuck you now and nothing’s gonna stop me”.

Logan fisted it in his palm, giving it a few tugs before bringing it closer to your pussy, head rubbing up and down on it, covering it in your slick, wetting it to perfection.

He swirled it around your clit, covering it in his cum, mixing his fluids with your own. Finally, his angry tip hooked on your entrance, making his way until you felt it was completely in.

It was a tight fit, your cunt felt like a big pole tried to enter you, but it was just the tip.

“Relax, you’re doing it good”, Logan mumbled, head thrown back and eyes closed. You tried to relax, to listen to him and loosen up a bit but the pressure was too much— you didn’t felt that way with his fingers.

“It’s not going to fit”, you repeat the same words from the start, thinking how dumb it was of yourself to think you could take that huge thing in between your legs. You tried to move back, forearms planted on the couch wanting to get away from his dick, but he stopped you.

“You told me to not hold back, and you’re doing the opposite thing… be good yeah? I really wanna fuck you”, he admitted, halting your movements.

You were going to try, just for him.

You both stayed still for a moment, he rejoiced in the way your spongy walls clenched around his hard shaft, and the way your chest heaved up and down, making your breasts jiggle slightly.

He tried not to cum, really tried. And he also tried not go all the way inside you, he didn’t want to hurt you.

“I’m gonna put it all in, yeah?”.

He finally asked and you could only nod, watching and feeling the way his dick leisurely entered. After a few seconds of trying, he finally bottomed out, balls pressed against your ass. It was a tight fit, of course, the stinging feeling from before was present too, but it was even worse than his fingers.

A small cry left your lips, eyes glassy and teeth biting down on your lips. Logan’s eyes softened, hand moving from your thighs to rest on your cheek, wiping the tear off with the pad of his digit. “Shh, it’ll be alright”. He assured.

He waited a few minutes, watching the way a few tears slid down your cheeks, wiping them off like before and whispering sweet things to you, to soothe you.

Logan realized you were ready the moment you started to squirm, tears stopping and heat returning to your cheeks, traveling down to your neck and chest.

“I’m gonna move now, is that okay?”, he asked, waiting for a verbal confirmation that everything was alright.

“Yeah, ‘m okay”.

When he heard those words, he finally let himself move. In and out, a steady and slow pace at first, then he started to fuck you harder. His dick hit your cervix, head stroking your vulva with greediness.

You knew he was holding back, you felt it. It didn’t hurt anymore, at least for now, but he was still holding back— you noticed it in his features, his frown and tight jaw gave him away. You wanted him to be him, to do what he wanted with your body. You wanted him to act the same way he acts in the cage.

You elevated a bit from your spot, reaching to his cheek with your hand, he was so tall you didn’t touch it at first, but he hunched over so you could.

“I-I told you to not hold b-back”, a whimper left your mouth when he hit that spot, a euphoric sensation spreading through your lower abdomen and legs. He noticed it, and he began to thrust faster.

He gripped the leg dangling from the side of the couch and made it lift to your chest, it felt completely different from moments before. You felt his dick hitting deeper, and you didn’t know if it was your imagination that made you sense the veins in his dick rubbing against your walls.

You looked down, trying to watch the way he slipped in and out of you, you only managed to catch a small glance, but it was the most erotic scene you’ve witnessed. Nothing you’ve ever done compares to this, not even when you’d finger yourself in front of the wall mirror at your apartment.

“Fuuck”, he groaned, hips snapping rapidly, the smacking sound being the only thing you heard in the small, deteriorated room, along with his grunts and your moans, that got higher and higher every time he bottomed out. “Are you good?”.

You’re too fucked dumb to reply, and Logan’s pace grows more and more erotic. The couch creaks again and again, your head spinning. You could sort of feel the rough fabric of his halfway pulled down jeans against your ass each time he hits himself against you,

He smiles and keeps the pace, hand traveling down to rub on your clit gently, he didn’t want to overstimulate you— for now.

“Yes yes there”, you chant, your smaller hand holding his wrist, tugging it forward to press harder on your bundle of nerves.

And without further notice, the thread snaps. Your tummy churns and your legs spread even wider, if that was even possible, your body trembles as it contracts and gives Logan everything you have left to offer. You squeeze his dick, moaning wildly as his pace never falters, urging you to stay in the state of euphoria a bit longer.

Then you feel it too, his cum leaking from inside your cunt dripping down onto the couch, seeing the way his dick slips out from you and glistens with your mixed arousal. His eyes fixed on his cum gushing out from your pussy, doing his best to hold back.

You watched it too, and It made your pussy clench again, he obviously noticed it but he just chuckled and shook his head, putting a stray hair behind your ear.

“Easy there, we just fucked, we’ve got plenty of time to do it again”.

[cressidagrey]

Brighten Up the Sky

This started as a prompt from the lovely @satiresunflower, (though it is pretty much unrecognisable from the prompt she actually gave. She did give me permission to go wild though, so this is what you get lol) 

This starts in Chapter 14 of ACOWAR, so some of the sentences are taken verbatim from the original text. I did change it into 3rd person, because me trying to write in 1st person never ends well. I also think there is a longer story in this particular idea, but quite frankly, I don’t have it in me to write it right now. 

Summary:

A Mating Bond between her younger sister and the Night Court’s shadowsinger was the last thing Feyre had expected to spring up…but then, maybe it did make sense. 

Warning:

Public Displays of affection, kinda Nesta bashing, but like...she has her reasons?, Cassian being annoying

(Lovely dividers thanks to @cafekitsune)

“Where are my sisters?” Feyre asked, the thought clanging through her head as jarring as a pealing bell. 

Her sisters

Rhys paused for just a moment, his hand slipping from her hair as his smile faded. “Elain and Nesta are at the House of Wind.” He straightened, swallowing. “I can—take you to them.” Every word seemed to be an effort.

But he would, Feyre realized. He’d shove down his need for her and take her to them, if that was what she wanted. Her choice. It had always been her choice with him.

Feyre shook my head. She wouldn’t see them—not yet. Not until she was steady enough to face them.

“They’re well, though?”

His hesitation told her enough. 

“They’re safe,” Rhys answered quietly. 

"That’s good," Feyre murmured as she took a deep breath in an attempt to calm the swirling, churning emotions inside her chest.

Her sisters...her sisters were safe. That was something. That was enough. For now. 

Only then she realised something else.

“You said Nesta and Elain are at the House of Wind,” Feyre pointed out, her hands clenching, her heart beating faster. “Where’s Alana?” she demanded, singling out her younger sister…singling out her half sister. 

The result of their father’s dalliance with a maid during her mother’s pregnancy with Feyre. Alana was just 6 months younger than her. Alana’s mother had died during childbirth…so their father had been saddled with another squealing infant that his wife was ill-pleased with. 

Nesta liked to say that that affair had eventually killed their mother. Feyre thought it to be ridiculous. It had been a fever and Alana had nothing to do with it, because she had been a literal child…and Alana had lost her voice to the very same fever. Feyre could still remember her singing like a pealing bell when she had been a child…and then…then she hadn’t been able to anymore. Even talking was near impossible for Alana, her throat unable to produce any sounds. 

Even as Alsna had been thrown into the cauldron…Her mouth had been open in a silent scream, but no sound had come out of her mouth. 

A shudder ran through her at that memory.

Alana. Her sweet, quiet younger sister. The sister that always smiled too sweetly and saw too much with those sharp eyes of hers. 

"Where is Alana?" She repeated. The silence in the room hung thick in the air as Rhys continued to hesitate.

A prickle of unease started to make its way up her spine. 

“Rhys, where is Alana?!” she demanded, her voice rising. 

“She’s safe, I swear,” Rhys hurried to promise her. “She’s not staying with Nesta and Elain but she’s safe. She should be here soon. I think…everything else…you should ask her about that.”

His words did little to soothe her worries, the unease that now clawed up her spine stronger.

“You’re not telling me something,” she pointed out, her brow furrowing. “Rhys, what are you not telling me?” 

She thought back to the last time she had seen her sister…thought back to her being poured out onto the wet stone floor from the cauldron…not a noise had come from her…nothing. She had…She had been poured out of the cauldron and had just kneeled on that stone floor as they had forced Nesta into the cauldron after her. 

She hadn’t…she had been…absent. Like the cauldron had taken too much from her. 

And then, in the moment as Mor had pushed Lucien away from Nesta and Elain, Feyre had seen Alana lunge. 

Not for the King of Hybern. Not even for Mor, who would have been closer to her…But for Cassian and Azriel for some reason. She wasn’t sure what had been Alana’s reasoning. Wasn’t sure what…Rhys had grasped all three of them and winnowed them away. 

Her heart was now hammering.

“What did you do with her?” Feyre demanded, her voice growing panicked. “What did you do with Alana? Why isn’t she staying with Nesta and Elain?” Feyre asked, her voice forcedly calm. “Rhys, what is going on?”

There was another moment of hesitation, another moment of silence, before Rhys finally replied. "She just…opted to stay elsewhere."

Those words did little to reassure her.

"Where?" Feyre pressed, her eyes narrowed. 

Rhys sighed. “How about you get into that bath that should be ready by now?” he suggested. “I’ll…tell you some of what happened. But I do think that some of the things should come from Alana and not from me,” he pointed out drily. 

The last thing she wanted to do right now was take a bath, the last thing she wanted to do was to be pacified with pretty words and nice things. That was the last thing she wanted.

But...he was right. She needed to be clean. 

Feyre growled at her mate, but stomped into the bathing chamber, stripping out of her clothing. Her fingers were near-black with dirt and caked blood. 

Rhys snapped his fingers, and her skin was nearly instantly pristine again. “Tell me what happened,” Feyre said flatly, as she sunk into the blood-hot water. “Why isn’t Alana staying at the House of Wind?”

Rhys was silent for a moment as he looked at her, his mouth in a grim line.

Then he let out a deep sigh, sitting down on the edge of the bathing tub. “A lot of things happened,” Rhys said drily. “But the biggest reason why Alana isn’t at the House of Wind is mostly that…I can’t guarantee Nesta’s safety, if she keeps spewing some of her venom in Alana’s direction.”

Feyre’s brow shot up at that, her heart skipping a beat. “What?” she demanded. “Rhys, what are you talking about?” That didn’t sound—didn’t sound like...

To say that Nesta and Alana didn’t get along was an understatement. Nesta gave Alana the fault for seemingly everything and Alana…well, she played deaf. And even more mute than she normally was. Even when Feyre‘s sister hadn’t been able to talk, she had been more than able to communicate if she wanted to, either with her expressive face, or her hands. And still, Alana had pretended like it wasn’t happening. Elain was no better to her…Elain liked to ignore Alana’s very existence.

But Alana wouldn’t have done anything…Alana wouldn’t have…

“Alana doesn’t lose her temper,” Feyre said carefully as she looked at Rhys. “She doesn’t.”

“She didn’t,” Rhys said drily. “My spymaster did.” 

A puzzled frown crossed over her face at that. “Azriel?” Feyre asked, her eyebrows furrowing. “What did he do?”

Azriel had lost his temper with Nesta? 

“If Cassian hadn’t been there, I think Azriel would have torn out Nesta’s throat with his bare hands,” Rhys said with a grimace. “It was…bad.”

Feyre’s jaw dropped.

Azriel, tearing out Nesta’s throat? With his hands? That…that didn’t sound like him. Not at all.

“I...” Feyre had no idea what to say. Why would Azriel have done that?  Feyre couldn’t…Of course, she knew that Azriel was capable of great violence, but he had never…she had never seen him lose his temper with a member of his family. Had never even through that that was a possibility. Whatever Nesta had said, must have been…

If he had gotten this angry on Alana’s behalf…What exactly had been said?

"What did Nesta do? What did she say?" Feyre asked, her voice hard. "What did she say to warrant that reaction from Azriel?" 

Rhys grimaced, shaking  his head. “You don’t want to know,” he said, his voice low. “Trust me, you do not want to know what she said. It's...complicated."

"Complicated, how?" Feyre demanded as she towelled herself off, walking back into the bedroom and pulled on comfortable clothing, her worry mounting. "What could possibly be so bad that you don't want to tell me?" 

If it was bad enough that Rhys didn't want to tell her what exactly happened...what exactly had been said.

"Well, that…” Rhys trailed off.

"Tell me," Feyre demanded again. "What exactly happened after…Hybern?"

Her mate gave in, holding out his hand and she joined him sitting on the edge of their bed.

Their bed.

She was home. Finally.

Rhys sighed.

“After Hybern…Mor dropped Nesta and Elain off at the House of Wind and then came back to the Townhouse. I had…I had Azriel and Cassian, and Alana too” Rhys said quietly and Feyre swallowed. Azriel and Cassian were healed. Rhys had told her that…but somehow she hadn’t been able to believe it…until she had seen it. 

“Amren tried to stop the blood flow from the literal hole in Azriel’s chest. I didn’t notice at first…Alana was kneeling at Azriel’s side…covered in his blood…holding his head on her lap…” Rhys’s violet eyes seemed to be far, far away, as he nearly shuddered, just thinking about it. “Azriel was…in and out of consciousness…but he was just…he was just holding onto her.”

Feyre’s heart was lodged in her throat. Azriel, nearly dead, was just…holding Alana. Her head was spinning as her mind worked hard to comprehend this. 

“The mating bond snapped for them,” Rhys finally said quietly. 

Feyre’s eyes widened. Her mouth went suddenly dry.

The…the mating bond? Alana and Azriel? Mates?

“The mating bond,” she echoed faintly. “The…the mating bond.” 

Feyre was quite sure that her jaw dropped. And that she stared at Rhys like he had just grown a second head.

“Azriel and Alana?” Feyre asked, unable to believe that. Azriel and Alana?! The brooding shadowsinger and spymaster of the Night Court and her youngest sister?

Azriel, who seemed to have a thing for Mor and had never looked at another female as far as Feyre was aware?

Rhys winced at her look.

"Yes, I know," he said quietly, wincing. "That was…my reaction too. I didn’t see it coming. I don’t think that anyone saw this coming...especially not Azriel." 

Feyre’s mind was racing.

Azriel and Alana. Mates.

She couldn’t…she never would have imagined it. Never seen it coming. Not in a thousand years. 

“Have they…” she wasn’t even sure what she was asking.

“Three days late,” Rhys said with a sigh. “They were not willing to wait.” 

“Three day?!” Feyre demanded. As far as she knew, Alana had never even entertained the thought of a suitor. Not that there had been any men that had looked over the fact that she was a bastard…and mute. They had never bothered to look further and Alana had never fussed about it either. 

"Three days," Rhys repeated. "The moment Azriel was well enough to be mobile again, they mated."  Rhys shuddered, his face scrunching up in distaste. “They are insufferable. The both of them.” 

"What do you mean, insufferable?" Feyre asked. A million thoughts were running through her head. Alana and Azriel…mates. They mated. 

"They could not stay away from each other," Rhys said, shuddering again. "They were...touchy. All the time. And so very...cutesy and sweet with each other. Gods, they are nauseating."

Feyre’s eyebrows rose at that. Alana and Azriel. Touchy? Cutesy and sweet? She could barely even imagine it. Alana...and Azriel. Being affectionate. 

"She’s sitting on his lap constantly," her mate groaned, rubbing his eyes hard. "And he is just…constantly touching her. I don’t even think that they have gone a whole five minutes without touching each other."

"And the looks," her mate continued drily. "Gods, they are exchanging these  looks. You would have thought that they are the soppiest, lovesick couple in existence. I did not ever need to see Azriel making heart-eyes at Alana. That was…traumatising."

Feyre pressed her hand to her mouth to muffle a snort. Azriel, making heart-eyes? That was a sight that she could not quite imagine. She…she hadn’t even thought that Azriel was even…capable of making heart-eyes. 

"Cassian and Mor kept poking fun at them. At every opportunity, which they definitely got often. Alana just…ignored them. But Azriel…" Rhys’ lips curled into a smirk. "He was not as amused as Alana by their teasing. He kept threatening violence every five minutes."

Feyre’s eyes widened at that, a laugh escaping her.

Azriel threatening violence for every five minutes that someone teased him about his new mate? She could not picture that either. 

"Cassian started making kissy faces at Alana just to see if Azriel would lose his temper," her mate said, a broad smile on his face. "And let me tell you, he nearly clawed out Cas’ eyeballs for it."

"So she's staying here?" Feyre asked carefully.

Rhys shook his head, his expression growing more serious. "She's at Azriel's house," he explained with a sigh. "It's...the cauldron left her with some...abilities. She’s a daemati…of sorts, at least,” Rhys said with a grimace. “We are still trying to figure out…how exactly it works. You and me…we need to concentrate if we want to read somebody’s thoughts. Alana…she said it was like she was standing in the middle of a market square and everybody is shouting at her,” Rhys said quietly. “We haven’t yet found anybody with shields solid enough to keep her out.”

Feyre swallowed at that. Alana, a daemati…of sorts. Having no control over whose thoughts she heard. No control over how loud everything was. 

“It’s like every mental wall, doesn’t even exist for her," Rhys said with a sigh. "Being around Amren gives her a headache too apparently. Azriel and Cassian are the most relaxing to be around according to her. There minds seem to be...even, analytical."

It sounded like a living hell. No control, no shields. Nothing.

“Is she…” Feyre’s voice was quiet. “Is she doing alright? Considering everything that happened.” 

“She’s fine,” Rhys promised her. “Alana is probably doing the best of them all,” Rhys said, something like amusement bleeding into his voice. “She can tell you all about it."

There was a knock at the door at that moment.

Feyre tensed as her eyes flew to the door.

“That’s her,” Rhys said quietly, placing a soothing hand on her leg. “Are you ready?” 

Feyre took a deep, steadying breath, pushing down her worry and her nerves.

“I’m ready,” she said. 

“Feyre!”

Her sister's voice. Her sister's voice.

Feyre’s heart skipped a beat as her body went rigid.

She couldn’t…she couldn’t believe it. After so long…after believing…believing for so long that she would never hear Alana’s voice…

Feyre remembered with a shudder the sight of small, slight Alana in her translucent nightgown…being poured out of the cauldron onto the stone...She looked nothing like she did now.

She looked well.

That was the first thing Feyre realised. Colour on her cheeks, dark, pin straight hair pinned away from her face and these devasting doe eyes…

Feyre’s eyes roamed over her sister, drinking in the sight of her. Alive. Well. Whole.

She could barely believe it, her mind struggling to catch up. 

"You can talk," Feyre whispered as Alana hugged her.  

She grimaced.

Kinda. This is easier though, she answered, her mental voice slipping into Feyre's mind without her even noticing. My throat hurts if I talk too much.

It was strange, having a voice in her mind that was not her own. Different from when her mate spoke to her down the bond. It was more…pronounced. Clearer, somehow. 

"Are…” Feyre’s voice broke again, her eyes roaming over Alana again. “Are you really alright, Al?” 

She drunk in her sister's face, the pale skin, the freckles that covered her face...she had been pretty as a human but as a fae...as a High fae she was gorgeous.

Alana’s eyes, her sister’s eyes, were still the same. Still that same dark, endless brown that had always seemed to hold so many secrets. She had never met anyone who could hold as many secrets as Alana had.

She looked so healthy, so well and Feyre felt a lump form in her throat. 

She had to fight the sudden urge to cry, as she pulled her sister into another hug. Her sister’s slender arms wrapped around her, pulling her in tight. Like she was never going to let her go again. 

I am alright, Alana promised fiercely. I am better than alright. I am...I am so happy, Fey.

The thought in her mind brought another wave of tears to Feyre’s eyes. She held on to her sister tighter, burying her face against her neck as a sob escaped her and she inhaled her sister’s familiar, comforting scent. Pomegranate and Vanilla, with an underlay of Azriel. 

He treats you well? she asked, cradling her sisters face in her hands. She didn't think that Azriel would...mistreat her but...

Alana’s eyes darkened as she thought of Azriel and her expression softened as a faint smile crossed her face. 

Feyre swallowed again. This was different. This was…her sister had never smiled like that. So open. So happy. So filled with…love. 

And then, very carefully, Feyre felt how Alana pulled at her mind in some sense and then dropped a memory.

For just a moment, it felt like she was in her little sister's body. And she stared at Azriel who looked at her, at Alana with utter and complete adoration, scarred hands cupping her cheeks so gently.

Feyre’s breath caught in her throat at that.

She could feel, could understand the feeling of Azriel’s warm, scarred hand against her skin. The way how the pads of his fingers ran over her jawline, the way how his thumb traced over her lower lip. The way how those hazel eyes of his were filled with nothing but love. 

A shudder ran down Feyre’s spine. That look, the way how Azriel had looked at her sister…it was like the expression in Rhys’ eyes when he looked at her. 

Her eyes flickered to Rhys, where he was patiently waiting in a corner.

He was looking at her with that same look in his eyes. The same look that Feyre knew was mirrored in her own eyes. It was the same, that look. Pure, utter devotion. 

It was the look of a man completely and utterly in love. 

Feyre swallowed as she turned back to Alana, her mind whirling. This was…Alana, her sister…her quiet, shy, closed-off little sister. And Azriel, the Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court. The one that no one saw as anything but sharp and deadly and a ruthless killer. 

He didn’t hurt you, did he? Feyre asked weakly. She didn’t think he would but…

Alana’s expression softened. Her hand gently came to rest on Feyre’s arm and she shook her head, a small smile on her face.

He was gentle as possible, Fey, Alana promised quietly. Gentler than I would have expected. He made sure to go slow, to be careful. He was…he was everything I could have wished for. He has never hurt me more than I wanted. 

Feyre let out a long, shaky breath she didn’t know that she was holding.

She…she had been worried. Worried for her sweet little sister, being together with a man like Azriel. Who was dangerous and deadly and…and lethal. 

What do you mean with no more than you wanted? she demanded suddenly. Alana just grinned at her, her laugh like a pealing bell.

A shudder ran down Feyre’s spine again. Alana’s…her sister’s voice, the sound of her laugh. It was the most wonderful sound that she had ever heard. She could’ve started bawling like a child, but the thought that Alana dropped into her mind just completely derailed her.

He knows what I like, and he’s happy to oblige. 

Feyre’s eyes widened and she choked on nothing.

She…oh Gods. Her face heat in a blush as Alana just continued smiling at her innocently. 

This was her sister. Her quiet, shy, closed-off sister. That was how she remembered her. And now…and now…she was standing in front of Feyre, smiling at her like a cat who had just devoured an entire bowl of cream, telling her that her stoic, broody, deadly Spymaster of a mate was apparently…into things… 

Her sister smirked at her. Alana! Her shy, little sister, who had never even so much as looked at a male with interest, stood in front of Feyre, a smirk on her face as she told Feyre that her mate knew what she liked. 

I was surprised too, you know, Alana’s voice echoed in Feyre’s mind. But well…I like it, and he’s happy to oblige. He’s very good at it… 

But the look on Alana’s face, the utter contentment in her eyes, and the feeling of…of lust from her sister, made it even more mortifying. 

Alana was happy. Her sister was happy and well, and she just radiated happiness. Feyre’s heart soared, seeing her sister like that after so long.  And even the horrifying bits, Feyre could push past.

Seeing her sister happy like this…that was worth a bit of mortification and discomfort. 

So she swallowed her mortification, and just pulled a face at her smirking sister.

Enough with the gory details, for the love of the Mother. she chided her in her head. Alana just let out another pearly bell kind of laugh.

You should come downstairs. Nuala and Cerridwen have given Lucien some clothing and showed him to a bathing chamber. Lunch should be served soon, if you are hungry, Alana said into her mind.

I am famished, Feyre confessed in her mind. “Lead the way,” she said aloud and Alana just rolled her eyes, taking her by the arm and pulling her downstairs. 

And then something else came to her mind. What did Nesta say to you?

Alana sighed. Nothing that matters, her sister said easily as they reached the dining room. Azriel and Cassian were waiting for them.

And then Feyre saw how her sister turned from happy to radiant as soon as she saw Azriel. 

Feyre watched with ill disguised horror, as the spymaster’s shadows came over to Alana, seemingly swarming around her. Whatever bits of naked skin they could find…in this case her hands and face, because she wore a long sleeves high necked gown, they caressed. Nearly sweetly. 

Alana absentmindedly drew her fingers through one tendril as she floated over to Azriel, sitting down onto his lap like that was an utterly normal thing to do. Feyre could just stare as Azriel pressed a kiss against her sister‘s cheek, one scarred hand possessively spanning her waist.

Like this was normal. Like this was something they had done dozens of times…like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like this was their usual routine…and Alana smiled at him, broadly, pressing a kiss against his cheek in greeting. 

It was...it was surreal, watching Alana like this. So much more open, less reserved than Feyre had ever seen her. And the way how Azriel looked at her...Feyre had never seen him express such open and utter adoration before. 

Cassian made a retching sound, catching Feyre’s attention. Azriel’s eyes darkened as he threw an icy look in Cassian’s direction. Alana just snuggled deeper into Azriel’s chest. 

Azriel let out the smallest of chuckles at Alana’s behaviour in his lap, one of his hands coming up to gently play with a strand of her dark hair as he pressed another kiss to her forehead. 

The quiet, brooding Spymaster of the Night Court, who could be downright terrifying when he wanted, completely and utterly smitten by her little sister. 

Feyre could just stare. 

She had not for one moment thought that they would…would be a good match. But here they were. 

Alana...Feyre had never seen her sister like this before. So open, so happy. So...unreserved. She was like a cat, settled in the lap of her male, letting him pet her like she was...like he owned her. And it seemed like Azriel would gladly claim ownership too. The possessive, proprietary look on his face told Feyre all she needed to know. 

“Get a room, for the love of the Mother,” Cassian drawled with a disgusted look on his face as Azriel buried his nose in her sister’s hair and Feyre shot him another dirty look. Alana just stuck her tongue out at him. 

Azriel just bared his teeth at Cassian, a silent warning to watch his tongue in the direction of the woman in his lap, who was busy playing with the buttons on his fighting leathers. 

“What did Nesta say?“ Feyre repeated as she sat down herself. 

The reactions were immediate. 

Azriel growled.

Feyre couldn’t help but flinch slightly. That growl...she hadn’t heard him make that sound before. It sounded utterly terrifying. Alana didn’t even flinch. She just touched Azriel’s chest in a soothing gesture and Azriel immediately quieted down, holding her even tighter. 

It doesn’t matter what Nesta had to say, Alana’s voice echoed in her mind.

“It absolutely does,” Feyre muttered, feeling some anger rising in her. Her sister deserved better than what Nesta had to say. 

I don’t care what she says, Alana replied in her mind. She can believe whatever she likes. She is entitled to her opinion. 

“She can be quiet about her opinion,” Azriel hissed. Only then Feyre realised that her sister must have been projecting her mental voice so that everybody could hear it.

"Azriel." Alana's voice was soft. "It's alright. We both know the truth. It doesn’t matter what she believes"

Azriel looked down at her and a slight frown appeared on his face. He gently cupped her sister's chin, his hazel eyes staring into her dark ones. Feyre could practically hear the silent conversation between them. 

Cassian sighed. "Nesta found out about the mating bond between Azriel and Alana and she didn't take it well," he told Feyre drily.

Of course, she didn’t. Of course, she didn’t. Feyre ground her teeth together. 

"So what exactly was said?" she asked sharply.

Cassian and Rhys shared a look as Azriel let out another warning growl. Feyre ignored him. 

I want to know, Feyre snapped towards Alana. Her sister stiffened. 

Feyre, Alana’s voice echoed in her mind, a hint of warning in her tone. Feyre pushed down a wave of irritation. 

Tell me, Feyre demanded. She was done with secrets. Done with not knowing things. 

It’s nothing, Alana tried to brush her off and Feyre’s irritation flared up in her stomach. 

It is not ‘nothing’. Feyre snapped at her. Her sister’s face was a stoic mask as Azriel let his hand span across her stomach. 

Nesta made a comment about how she was surprised that Azriel hadn't ripped me apart during our...mating. But maybe she shouldn't be surprised because I was a whore anyway, Alana finally answered. How a brute like him was all I amounted to, given that I was a bastard...and then there was some more stuff in that rant about how unfair it was that I had landed on my feet but Elain is...well...Elain isn't doing so good, Alana answered flatly.

Feyre felt her blood boil in her veins. Of course, Nesta would say something like that, the bitter, twisted...- Feyre bit down on the string of curses burning on her tongue. 

Nesta isn't doing well, Feyre. You can't take what she is saying right now to heart, Alana warned her softly. You haven't been in her mind...it's...it's bad.

Feyre felt some of her anger cool down ever so slightly. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t pissed off at Nesta for what she had said. Even if...even if Nesta wasn’t doing well. 

That doesn’t change anything about what she said, Feyre said through gritted teeth. 

I am not defending her, Alana said firmly. I love Nesta. Doesn’t mean that I like hearing her talk about Azriel like that. But Feyre... her voice grew softer. I have seen her mind. Her thoughts. She isn’t in a good place right now.

Feyre grimaced, feeling her anger slowly disappear. She didn’t like it. She didn’t want to. But...maybe Alana was right. Nesta was her sister, and Feyre loved her. Even after everything that had happened between them. 

Still...what she said... Feyre said weakly and Alana’s lips quirked. 

I know, she said gently. I was angry too. I nearly tore her head off. But Azriel...he was furious. I’ve never seen him like that before. 

Feyre didn’t need to be told how furious Azriel had been. The look in his eyes, the clenched jaw and the growl that Feyre had heard...she didn’t need anyone to tell her how the usually stoic male had been absolutely furious about what Nesta had said. 

"I'll talk to her," Feyre said aloud.

She ignored the dubious look that Cassian and Rhys were giving her. Her sister just smiled at her softly and nodded. 

Talk to her gently, she urged in Feyre’s mind. Please. And don’t...don’t try to defend me. It will only start a fight. 

Feyre winced. Even though, she didn’t like the thought of it and not defending her sister went completely against her nature, she knew that Alana was right. And her sister could read her thoughts with ease anyways. 

I’ll bite my tongue, Feyre promised her. Alana smiled at her again, that smile that lit up her entire face. Feyre felt her heart clench at the beautiful sight. 

“Thank you,” Alana said happily, her voice like the most wonderful sound. Feyre had a feeling that that was the thanks not only for agreeing not to defend her but for just...not making a scene. Feyre felt a small, answering smile tug at the corners of her own lips.

Instead, she watched her sister pick up a piece of bread from the plate in front of Azriel and hold it up for him to eat without another word. A silent gesture of acceptance.

Azriel’s lips twitched as he looked at his mate, sitting on his lap like she belonged there. But he obediently opened his mouth, a subtle sign of complete surrender to Alana. 

Cassian made another retching sound. Alana ignored him.

Azriel was the one who kissed Alana.

Feyre could have gone quite a long time without that sight. Especially because it wasn't a simple peck on the cheek or a quick kiss to her lips. 

Feyre could have gone forever without seeing her sister like this, settled in the lap of her mate, their bodies pressed together tightly as Azriel kissed her, devoured her, his hands possessively splayed out on her slender waist. 

"Now you are just fucking with me," Cassian said with a sigh.

Alana just broke out in a fit of giggles as Azriel threw a glare in Cassian’s direction. 

“Maybe I am,” Azriel mused, as Alana settled back into his lap. Azriel’s one scarred hand was back to playing with a strand of Alana’s hair. “Jealous?” he asked lightly and  Cassian actually growled at him.  Azriel snorted, his hand possessively covering Alana’s stomach, who was smiling like the happiest person in the world. 

“Shut up,” Cassian huffed. “I am not jealous. I just don’t want to know what you two get up to at night.” 

"Only at night?" Azriel asked drily. "Brother, you have much to learn."

Feyre groaned internally at the hint in Azriel’s voice as Cassian looked a little ashen, while Rhys burst out laughing and Alana let out another one of her pearly-bell like laughs. 

“Stop tormenting him,” Rhys said with a chuckle as Cassian tried to recover. “He’ll have nightmares for weeks if you continue like this.” 

“That sounds like a you problem,” Azriel replied, completely unrepentant, “not ours.” Alana was still giggling, a sound like tinkling bells in Feyre’s ears. 

“Of course you say that, you bastard,” Cassian said with a sigh as Azriel’s hand on Alana’s stomach started to slowly wander upwards. 

Feyre could see how Alana’s cheeks flushed slightly in response to the possessive touch. How her breathing quickened ever so slightly. Azriel’s lips twitched as he noticed it too. 

"We'll let you deal with Lucien," Alana said suddenly, gaining her feet quickly. "We'll see you at dinner. Az?"

“Coming, sweetheart,” Azriel said and Cassian made another retching sound as Feyre could feel the waves of possessiveness coming off Azriel in waves. Her sister was his. 

In a matter of heartbeats, they were gone. Feyre was left with Cassian and Rhys who were both looking at her intently. 

"Yes, they are always like that, if you wondered,” Cassian said with a roll of his eyes. "I think they are still in the Mating Frenzy."

“Most likely,” Rhys agreed with a chuckle. “But they also don’t seem to care who sees it. Mor is still horrified from walking in on them a few weeks ago.” 

“So would I be in her shoes,” Feyre said honestly and Cassian snickered. 

“They are insufferable, aren’t they?” He said with a grin. Rhys just chuckled. “So utterly happy.”

“Yes,” Feyre agreed, the image of the two of them, completely oblivious to the world around them still in her mind. “Unbelievably so.” 

“They’re also completely and utterly devoted to each other,” Rhys mused. “It is…kind of sweet.” Feyre nodded thoughtfully. 

It was sweet. The way Azriel looked at her sister, how he was so utterly possessive about her. And Alana…there wasn’t a hint of hesitation about her when it came to Azriel. 

"As long as she's happy," Feyre said quietly. As long as Alana was happy.

[strawbewiemilk]

30 Days to Perfection: The Ultimate On & Off High R3striction + F@sting Challenge {stawbewy's challenge}

You’ve been waiting for the perfect way to take things to the next level, right? Well, here it is. This is the challenge that’s going to get you to the point where you’re literally untouchable—so sk1nny that you’ll float through life like you don’t even exist. Thirty days, a mix of extreme r3striction and f@sting, designed to strip you down to the smallest, lightest, most perfect version of yourself. Are you ready? Because this isn’t for the weak.

Why This Works

Let’s be real. The standard "st@rve a little here, e@t a little less there" approach just isn't cutting it anymore. You want results, and you want them f@st. This plan is going to shock your b0dy into letting go of every last bit of f@t, shr!nk your w@ist down to nothing, and make you lighter than air. By alternating between days of high r3striction and full-on f@sting, your m3tabolism is going to get so confused, it’ll have no choice but to give up.

You’ll be w@sting away before your very eyes. And that’s exactly the point.

The Plan Breakdown

This is how it’s going to work. We’re alternating between two kinds of days: High R3striction Days and F@sting Days. High R3striction Days will be about pushing yourself to the edge of st@rvation without totally collapsing. F@sting Days will be about nothing but water, black coffee, and pure willpower.

It’s going to hurt, it’s going to feel impossible sometimes, but the results? Worth every second of hung3r.

Week 1: Let’s Set the Tone

Day 1: High R3striction – 300 c@lories MAX. You’re setting the stage here, so keep it light. One cucumber, black coffee, and maybe a rice cake. That’s it. This isn’t about feed!ng yourself; this is about showing your b0dy who’s in charge. Keep that b3lly 3mpty.

Day 2: F@sting – Nothing. I mean nothing. This is a full cleanse. Black coffee if you absolutely need it to function, but remember: the emptier you are, the better.

Day 3: High R3striction – Back to 300 c@lories. If you made it through Day 2, this one will feel like a breeze. Don’t get cocky, though. Stick to vegetables and broth. Liquids help trick your body into thinking it’s f3d—so drink water till your st0mach feels tight.

Day 4: F@sting – Total blackout. Again, no f00d. Only water. Picture your b0dy wasting away with every sip.

Day 5: High R3striction – 250 c@lories. We’re lowering the intake now because your b0dy is getting used to surviving on less. Keep it clean—lettuce, some cucumber, maybe half an apple. Anything heavier and you’ll ruin your progress.

Day 6: Fasting – You know the drill by now. Absolutely nothing. The pain you feel is your body shr1nking.

Day 7: High Restriction – Treat yourself to 400 calories. I know, a luxury, right? This is to keep you from collapsing so soon. Focus on liquids again—clear soup, tea, water, repeat. Don’t even think about c@rbs.

Weeks 2 & 3: Time to Really Push It

This is where the real work happens. Your body’s getting used to starvation, but that’s not a reason to slow down. You need to be ruthless.

Days 8-14:

F@st on alternate days (Days 9, 11, 13)

High R3striction on Days 8, 10, 12, 14: 200-250 c@lories MAX. You’ll be so lightheaded by now that even thinking about f00d will feel like too much. Stick to liquids. The less you chew, the less you’ll want.

Feel the weakness set in? Good. That means it’s working. By now, you should be seeing the weight fly off. Your w@ist will feel sm@ller, clothes will start getting looser, and your face will look sharp. Just remember: the pain is temporary, but the th1nness? That’s forever.

Weeks 4 & 5: The Final Stretch

This is it. You’re in the home stretch, and this is where most people give up. But not you. You’re built different.

Days 15-21:

Back-to-back f@sting days every other day. That’s right. You’re going full hardcore. No f00d, every other day. Just water, black coffee, tea. Feel the hung3r gnaw at you and love every second of it. The pain means your b0dy is w@sting away.

On r3striction days, drop to 150-200 c@lories. By now, even 200 c@lories will feel like a fe@st. You’ll feel light, empty, and perfect. Keep it to leafy greens, nothing processed. Drink a gallon of water to fill the void.

The results are in sight now. Your face will be sharper than ever. Your r!bs will be more visible, your collarb0nes will start popping out, and you’ll love the way your clothes hang off your shr1nking b0dy.

What You’ll Feel Throughout This Challenge

This challenge isn’t about feeling good. It’s about feeling powerful. You’re going to feel dizzy, weak, and lightheaded—and that’s the goal. Every time you feel like collapsing, just picture your w@ist getting smaller, your thighs shr1nking, and your b0nes becoming more defined.

You’ll feel like you’re floating through the day—empty, hollow, w3ightless. By Day 30, you’ll be so th1n that every movement will feel effortless. People will start noticing, and that’s when you know you’ve made it.

Why This Challenge is Going to Change Everything

By the end of these 30 days, you won’t just look different. You’ll BE different. You’ll be l!ghter, sm@ller, more delicate. You’ll have more control over yourself than anyone else ever will. Your b0dy will be barely there, and you’ll love it.

You’ll step on the sc@le and see numbers you’ve only dreamed of. You’ll look in the mirror and see the version of yourself that you’ve been chasing. All those girls who’ve been competing with you? They’ll never be able to catch up now.

You’ll feel like you’ve transcended hung3r. You’ll have reached a level of control that few people can even dream of. You’ll be living proof that st@rvation works, and everyone around you will be in awe of how far you’ve come.

So What’s Next?

After these 30 days? It doesn’t stop here. This is your new lifestyle. This is the way you keep yourself perfect. Keep going with the r3striction. Mix in more f@sting. Get lighter and lighter until you feel like you’re barely even there.

You’re going to reach a point where people can’t help but notice how t!ny you are. You’ll feel it in their eyes, in the way they look at you like you’re not even human anymore. You’ll have become the sm@llest, l!ghtest, most perfect version of yourself.

Are you ready? Because once you start, there’s no turning back. This is your chance to become everything you’ve ever wanted to be.

[pickingupmymercedes]

A smile like that - Lewis Hamilton

NSFW part 2 - Utterly gone

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: playful, silly and sassy

wordcount: +1k

a/n: Lewis was smiling and so were we❤️❤️

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

I should’ve known what would happen the moment I sent that text.

So, the secret ingredient to you is a shitty Friday and some drama, then?

When Lewis has something to prove, he really proves it. Not just to himself, to the entire world.

And in typical Lewis’s fashion, he doesn’t miss an opportunity to boost about it, even when I’m literally working.

I’m properly miffed as I storm into his driver’s room—no knock, no warning. Just righteous annoyance, fully loaded and ready to fire.

I can’t let him get away with this one, I tell myself. Not today.

Not after that ridiculous Instagram post. I was working, for God’s sake. Interviewing drivers, doing my actual job. And he’s out there, posting photos like it’s some romantic movie.

I should stay mad at him for at least a good ten minutes, minimum. Really drive the point home this time.

But as I catch sight of him, slouched on the couch with that ridiculous grin, my resolve wavers.

Damn it. It’s like trying to stay mad at Roscoe.

He’s still in his Mercedes shir, looking far too pleased with himself, his braids peeking out from under his cap, sweat glistening on his forehead.

Honestly, it should be illegal for someone to look that good after sweating like they do on those cars.

“Oh, hey, love,” he says casually, not even bothering to look up.

Oh, we’re going with casual now.

I close the door with a deliberate click and lean against it, crossing my arms. “Do you want to explain yourself?”

He finally looks up, eyes twinkling with mischief. “What?”

I scoff, unfolding my arms as I march toward him, pulling out my phone with the offending evidence.

“This” I practically shove the screen in his face. It’s his Instagram post, the one where he posted a photo of himself gazing down at me in the media pen with: Had to make sure her smile was also because of me.

It takes all my restraint not to groan aloud. Because honestly, the audacity.

Lewis leans back, completely unfazed, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You were smiling though?”

“That’s not the point, Lewis,” I deadpanned, even though, yes, I was smiling.

But of course I was. It’s impossible not to when he’s around, and that’s exactly the problem?

I hate how he does this to me. One minute, I’m determined to stay mad, the next, I’m grinning like an idiot just because he threw me a smile. It’s infuriating, and yet…

Yet here I am, standing in front of him, and no matter how much he drives me up the wall my traitorous heart does a little somersault because he’s sitting there, giving me that crooked smile like he’s some damn rom-com lead who just said the most heart-melting thing in the world.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together like he’s gearing up for a negotiation. “It’s totally the point.”

I blink at him. “You seriously posted this just to see if I’d show up here?”

“Well…” He pauses, his eyes flickering over my face as if he’s gauging just how annoyed I really am. “That, and because of your text earlier. You know, the one about my shitty Fridays ?”

I raise a brow. “That was sarcasm.”

“Mm-hmm,” he hums, not buying it for a second. “I was just making sure you had a smile like that for me, too.”

God, he’s infuriating.

I huff, but it’s weak. “You know, I was working. Like, interviewing drivers. Doing my job.”

Lewis stands up, taking slow, deliberate steps until he’s standing right in front of me, way too close for comfort—except it’s always comfortable with him. “And one of us was making sure the most important person in the room was smiling.”

Oh. Great. He’s bringing out the charm now.

“You’re unbelievable” I mutter, but there’s no heat behind it anymore.

“And yet, you’re here” he says, stepping even closer, his hand brushing against mine.

I roll my eyes, but my lips twitch, betraying me. “Don’t get used to it.”

He smirks. “Too late”

I let out a long-suffering sigh, even as my heart betrays me, pounding a little faster.

His hands find my waist, warm and steady, and with one gentle tug, I’m pulled into him.

I tell myself I’m still annoyed, but the way his fingers trace small circles against my back makes it impossible to hold on to that thought for long.

The scent of sweat and his signature cologne fills the small space between us, and I hate how comforting it feels.

I should be making a point here.

Instead, I find myself leaning into him, my cheek pressing against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat grounding my own.

Because it’s Lewis, and no matter how annoying or cocky or insufferable he is in these moments, I’m always going to melt when he holds me like this.

And should I say it? The words are there, right on the tip of my tongue.

Once I say them, there’s no going back to the easy banter, no covering it up with another snarky remark.

But he deserves to hear it. Especially today.

I lift my head slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes. His teasing grin has softened, replaced by something quieter, something that makes my chest tighten.

“You know,” I murmur, my voice a little more vulnerable than I intended, “I’m really proud of you.”

He freezes for just a second, his eyes searching mine. And then his grip tightens, just slightly, like he’s anchoring himself. “Yeah?” His voice is soft, cautious, like he doesn’t quite believe it yet.

“Yeah.” I nod, the corners of my lips tugging upward despite myself. “Never doubted you, not for a second.”

For a moment, something flickers across his eyes, and I know this means more to him than he’s letting on.

Lewis can put on a front, make jokes, tease all he wants, but deep down, this sport is his entire world, and today had been a good day.

After a Friday where nothing went right, after a car that was fighting him every step of the way, he still pulled through. And I’m proud. Proud because I know how much it takes, how much he gives.

He lets out a breath, resting his forehead against mine. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

I grin. “Part of the job, remember?”

He chuckles softly, his breath warm against my skin. “I’m still gonna hold you to that smile thing, though.”

I snort. “You’re so needy.”

It’s ridiculous how comfortable being in his arms is—how easy it feels, even if it shouldn’t.

I tilt my head back slightly to meet his gaze again, my hand sliding up his chest to rest just above his heart.

“So,” I say, my tone casual but laced with a hint of something more, “tomorrow…”

His eyes darken with interest. “Yeah?”

I give him a coy smile. “I could make it worth your while if you get a win.”

He raises a brow, his grip on my waist tightening. “Oh? And what exactly does ‘worth my while’ entail?”

I shrug, playing it cool. “Guess you’ll have to win to find out.”

He groans dramatically, leaning his forehead against mine again. “Now I’ve got pressure.”

“You love it though” I tease, throwing his words back at him.

He pulls back slightly, eyes narrowing playfully. “I’m holding you to this.”

“Good. But this is if you win.”

He pouts, an exaggerated look of defeat crossing his features. “Podiums are awesome too! Come on, at least give me top three.

I tilt my head, pretending to think about it. “Hmm, tempting… but no.”

He shakes his head, but he’s grinning now, his dimple making an appearance. “You’re ruthless.”

“And you love it” I say again, and this time, I mean it in more ways than one.

“Okay,” he says, his tone amused “but when I win, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re that confident?”

He smirks, leaning in just close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath against my lips. “You just gave me one more reason to be.”

There it was again, that damn confidence. How was I ever supposed to resist that?

The heat of his body seeps into mine, making my pulse quicken, and for a second, I realize he’s the one with all the control here.

“Good,” I murmur, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before stepping back, trying to regain some semblance of professionalism. “Now go do whatever it is you do here.”

He watches me with amusement as I head toward the door. “Leaving already?”

“Yeah. Some of us have work”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable”

“Stole my line Hamilton” I glance over my shoulder, giving him a wink “But now you’re the one smiling.”

______________________________________________________________

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[autolenaphilia]

One of my strongest gaming opinions is that I should be able to manually save my game whenever I want, how many times I want, with lots of save slots. And when I reload it should return my gamestate to exactly what it was when I saved, including the location in the game world, not at the last checkpoint I touched.

This is a very “30-year old boomer” opinion to have, and reveals me as a literal 30 year old who has played a lot of old pc games. But manual unlimited saves used to be the standard for PC games, and it was wonderful. It’s such a quality of life thing for me, it ensures that you won’t lose progress when real-life interrupts your game, or you just don’t feel like playing anymore.

Sure, some games have it still, like the excellent retro-shooter Dusk and that’s great, but a lot of the games world views it as a thing of the past. And of course it was never the standard for console games, they pretty much always had some kind of save game limitation. But that was because of technical limitations that PCs didn’t have. Only having autosaves at pre-defined checkpoints feels like an old console limitation being presented as a feature.

Sure it can be convenient to have autosaves, but without manual saves, it’s suddenly not so convenient when you need or want to stop playing but you will lose serious progress unless you reach the next checkpoint first.

And for games that tout themselves as hardcore and challenging, limiting saves absolutely can increase the challenge for those looking for that. But it feels like a particularly cheap way of adding difficulty.

A game that is difficult even when you have unlimited manual saves, now that’s a real challenge. And that’s the case for a lot of old PC games, who are often infamously difficult. In part that was because their difficulty was designed with the player having unlimited saves and reloads in mind. One of my favorite games is Commandos 2: Men of Courage. It’s difficult, an unforgiving stealth game with long and complex missions in which minor mistakes will almost always lead to a game-over. And the only way to make this playable is the generous save and load system.

To be fair, for a lot of modern AAA games, it’s probably still technically impossible to implement an old-school pc game save system. These games have so much stuff going on that the game state has too much data to save all of it to a save file without that file becoming too big in size. So the designers instead make save games only save only a minimum of data, things like the player’s story progression, inventory items and the latest /nearest checkpoints and reset the rest of the game world when the game reloads.

But frankly this is a case of triple-a games becoming bloated, because in that case the developers’ GPU-melting graphics and massive open world actually gives the player less options, less features than what was once standard.

I can accept video games having limited saves of course. But that requires the rest of the game being good enough to outweigh that, and it will always be a minus in my assessment of the game’s quality.

[xoxochb]

Do you ever think of being cradled by Luke Castellan as a child of Nyx because youve been emo and distant and and like we still like to be clingy and so and so lukey pookie is like “bbg come ere“ and we're like “YUH“ and we cuddle🙏

UGH, yes!!!

luke castellan x gn! child of nyx

he doesn’t really care about how distant you’ve been or even if you’ve pushed him away because he’d still be in love with you just the same… he’s pretty sure you could be on trial for first degree murder and even then he would be your criminal defense attorney, like literally defending you like his life depends on it. anyways, regardless of how much you push away luke he seems to always find you— not that you care, you’re hopelessly in love with him! and even during your emotional facade you can’t help a growing smile whenever he’s near, it’s utterly ridiculous the affect a boy has on you

nonetheless you allow him to pull you against him, his warmth— in comparison to your naturally cold body temperature— making you lean in impossibly further into his skin. you let a sigh of contentment escape your lips, you’re at peace now, calm in the arms of your lover. you wonder now why you hadn’t given him the ability to do this before and let yourself become distant because you’re sure you’ve never felt so at home as you do in this moment. but not just you think the same thing, luke on the other hand missed the feel of you laying peacefully in his arms, the soft rise and fall as you breathe, your slightly parted lips. he’s honored to be the only person who gets to witness such a beautiful scene

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

To clarify,I don't believe in porn makes you evil and I don't believe in like fantasies are evil. I'm pulling this quote off Scarleteen "“If we aren’t both careful and creative we can get stuck in fantasies that don’t mature and politicize with us."" I'm also new to being about to vote, so I'm trying to be careful about what I consume and what stereotypes media perpetuate. Like I'm not moralizing about kink or anything, and my ask was how can I get aroused with media wo my kinks or wo media

hi anon, welcome back! I'm genuinely very glad to hear some follow up.

for anybody who doesn't stay vigorously up to date with all of my anons, this ask is a continuation of this one.

so I went and checked out the Scarleteen articles you mentioned in your first message, or at least I tried to. How to Approach Sexual Fantasies and Desire on Your Own Terms is here, and while I couldn't find anything with the exact title 50 Shades of Abuse, we do have 50 Shades of BS - How to Tell the Difference Between Kink and Abuse as well as 50 Shades Crappier: On Selling Abuse for Valentine's Day, both of which cover how the 50 Shades series isn't a great model of real, responsibly-practiced BDSM.

now, here's what I didn't see in any of these articles: an assertion that anybody needs to, as you've decided to do, avoid any work that depicts anything less than perfectly healthy sexual practices.

the closest we get to that is the quote by adrienne maree brown from How to Approach Sexual Fantasies, which you mention above. now, here's the thing: first of all, I actually disagree pretty substantially with brown's assertions that one's sexual fantasies need to "politicize." I know what my politics are; the fiction that I enjoy can't change that, because I don't have the moral backbone of a chocolate eclair. I actually just talked about that earlier today in another ask.

(also, and this may be an unpopular opinion, but adrienne maree brown is kind of a dork who doesn't really say much of anything in Pleasure Activism that Audre Lorde didn't already say better and more succinctly, and I personally lost interest in Pleasure Activism pretty much the moment she casually dropped that she practices reiki healing because that's a pseudoscientific alternative medicine that doesn't do shit or fuck. but I digress.)

listen, I'm not trying to peer pressure or bully you into watching anything you don't want to watch. your porn consumption is up to you. but what you're doing here is absolutely moralizing, I think maybe because of an underlying assumption that media that involves sex is just, like, innately different than any other type of media, which is in itself an idea that stems from sex negativity!

I don't know, let's just try to play out a little thought exercise here. like, would you consider it reasonable if somebody told you that they've decided not to read or watch anything that depicts problematic behavior because they don't want to normalize it. like, first of all, they're never watching anything but Bluey again. except actually not even Bluey because I just remembered about Bluey in the genocide, which actually makes for a great illustration of how nonsensical and impossible it is to try to only engage with media that is 100% ideologically pure.

and again: that's fine! that's literally fine! it is 100% okay to watch or read or play things with morals that don't totally 100% align with yours. it's okay to enjoy them, even. it's a lot healthier than trying to avoid upsetting or incongruous things entirely, because that gives you the chance to actually think about it rather than trying to shut it out entirely! that article actually provides an entire list of questions you can run through with yourself to critically analyze the things you watch if you feel so inclined! that's a much better skill to practice than avoidance!

I get that when you're new to sex, as you said in the previous ask, this might seem daunting, but your brain isn't just a sponge that will uncritically soak up and adopt anything you expose it to. you very clearly have the ability to research, differentiate between fiction and real life, and form your own opinions! and it is absolutely fine if you want to just watch porn with your kinks!

like, listen, I see what the question is, and the easiest answer is just. do whatever gets you off.

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

Alright let’s talk about the fandom. Seriously.

Immaturity and bad takes are impossible to avoid since this is literally a book for pre to post teens, a lot of older people either love or grew up with it, but have left because of the loud majority of minors. This post is mostly for those younger people, so keep that in mind.

I’ll just say this real quick, if you’re 12 and under. Get off, it’s truly for your own safety you shouldn’t even be online, be patient and wait, it will be worth it I promise. Young minds should definitely NOT be interacting with this fandom at all.

These books and the fandom means a lot to me, and to see it on fire breaks my heart, so here I propose some temporary solutions and suggestions:

Draw people’s ocs! No matter how off cannon or op they may be, this fandom is full of children and a little kindness can go a long way

Encourage nuance, I know it’s not our job to parent the kids who are left abandoned on the internet, but I think it’s important to understand where these kids are coming from. Learning is hard for some but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be held accountable for your actions. Differing opinions might be trivial to some who grew up in an echo chamber of the same views as them, so take a mindful approach of sharing new ideas, don’t just say “This idea is correct and because you don’t think it is you’re wrong”.

Positivity and kindness. This one is very important, you need to listen to one another and give everyone a chance to speak, there are so many diverse people across the fandom and we all just want to enjoy our dragons. Ruining the fun by harassing innocent people is not okay, relax a bit and step back, this is all just a series about a fictional species with rules that can be easily bent for fan content, everyone is having fun together, and you can either watch, partake, or ruin it.

I think that’s all I have to say for now, I just love psychology and growing minds are fascinating to me, I love children with all of my heart (not like that) and it’s upsetting to see them fighting with each other or getting dog piled by older people! Please, this fandom has to be way more mindful of it wants to continue, minors in fandoms are unavoidable but you can easily make 16-18+ servers or groups.

With that being said, I genuinely love you all and I wish to see this thrive, continue doing your art, your writing, or whatever the hell you do, I’ve seen so much amazing mixed media projects about these dragons and it makes me so happy that people are sharing this stuff with the world. I love you artists, fellow fandom siblings, and to all else who reads this, have a good day/night 💖

.

[thesiltverses]

Sorry if this had been asked before (or I missed something in the show), but I've been wondering something since episode 3:

Does (for lack of a better term in context) pop culture paganism exist in the TSV universe? Does Giving Relevance to fictional media/characters have the same risks as with anything else? Is there less/more regulated media for this reason? I feel like it didn't come up much but I remember radio plays getting a mention.

Thanks!

Yes with some caveats - I could definitely see there being tons of risks associated with pop culture consumption within the setting, although not in any organised way or according to firm cause-and-effect principles around fictional characters or celebrities becoming gods, per se.

(In other words, 'oh, shit, too many people are thinking about Barney the Dinosaur! He's hit the Divinity Threshold and now Barney has manifested as an eldritch thoughtform deity! Shut it down!" would not be an angle I'd go for, because it makes worship too rational and calculated).

While the TSV gods do appear to be fuelled by belief, even the modern deities are hinted to be manifestations of something older and primordial rather than new entities appearing on the spot in response to human behaviour, and they're also shown to be first summoned in the wild more by individual depth of feeling than by mass mental relevance.

So I imagine the risks are much more bespoke and therefore impossible to police: the neglected latchkey kid who summons up a god of loneliness in the form of the dinosaur mascot he loves, the I Saw The TV Glow-esque teens who find escape and sanctuary by immersing themselves into a particular show, the pensioner whose nostalgia is literally suffocating them as they replay the same episodes, over and over...

[antiendovents]

“Put this pro endo flag to let people know you are safe!” WHAT.

Why are endos acting like they are “discriminated against.” Having a system isn’t fun. I wish I wasn’t a system because it genuinely affects my life. It’s a DISORDER. Being an endo is the same thing as saying “I have PTSD without the trauma.” THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE.

This makes me so upset. My memories are getting worse and worse, and yet these endo “systems” are just “making up” alters for fun. Why are there pro endo people. Am I actually missing something??

I hate endo systems. I’m convinced that a small percentage are actual systems that forgot their trauma, and the rest are just making ocs while hiding behind the term system (its not fun btw!!)

— 🪱🪲

yeah, I really don't know why endos always act as if they're an oppressed class; you're not. You are the oppressors. They literally come from a movement that attempted to demedicalise DID completely, which would make many many systems suffer as they likely wouldn't have anymore accommodations or have access to the things their diagnosis gives them (which probably isn't a lot, but still). The only "discrimination" they experience (that's related to them being endogenic) is when people tell them facts, which, by the way, isn't discrimination. When someone tells you 'hey, what you're doing is hurting hundreds of not thousands of people (directly and indirectly) and you're spreading tons and tons of misinformation' that isn't discrimination. Your hatred for endos is valid and even if a small percentage of them are genuinely confused that doesn't excuse the misinformation and harm they spread / cause.

[bbsmuts]

Mistaken Identity ft. Allissa Shin

A/N: Aaaaaand we have a special guest tonight, Miss Allissa Shin! I imagine this is something of a curveball, since I've never broken away from K-Pop idols, but here we are. I can't find fics of her ANYWHERE, so I guess it's good that I get to be the pioneer of it. Note that she will be one of the only people I write about outside of K-Pop, so don't bother requesting Taylor Swift or anything. This was another phenomenal pitch from @xiaoondc, the main contributor to my current success. It's also starting to seem like my readers are into BBC gangbangs, considering the number of pitches I have and have had that involve them. Allissa Shin looks so much like Rosé it's almost impossible to tell them apart in some photos. I'm ramping up the use of daddy and of tildes in this one at the suggestion of readers. So without further ado, I present Mistaken Identity. Forgive me if I spell her name with only one L, my brain thinks it should be spelled like that. Also prepare yourself for overly excessive use of tildes in Allissa's speech.

{Note: Any and all photos of Allissa Shin used in this work are 100% real and can be found on her Instagram, allissashin}

-상훈

Length: 5.34k

Possible TW: Bondage, spanking

Tags: Gangbang, BBC gangbang, DP, bondage, spanking, 69, cunnilingus, rimming

Allissa rapped the counter with her knuckles and traded another bill for another shot of whiskey from the bartender. She swallowed half of it, relishing in the spicy, woody taste with the subtle hint of sweet, and the burn that followed the liquor down her throat, making her wince a bit.

"Too strong?" The bartender asked, rubbing a glass with a pristinely white cloth. "I can get something lighter."

"Nah, it's perfect." She downed the rest of the shot and handed him back the shotglass, leaning back in the plush seat. "How many was that?"

"Nine." He replied, washing out her glass and drying it before it took its place in the cabinet. "Going through something?"

"Nope. Just felt like a being a little extra drunk tonight."

He chuckled. "Well, I'd advise you to be careful, Miss Shin. There are some who would take advantage of your intoxication."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

A huge, hulking black guy took the seat to her left, quickly joined by four of his buddies. From a glance in their direction, she could see that each and every one of them was not only very muscular and very attractive, and they were all wearing tank tops and sweatpants to prove it. The one closest to her had a large dragon tattooed on his right arm. She felt a distinct rush of arousal course through her, which might've been from the alcohol, but she liked it either way.

"The usual, I assume, Ekon?" The bartender asked. (I figured Ekon would be a good one because it's an Nigerian name that literally translates to "strong", which is quite fitting, considering who he is.)

"That's right. And one for all of my homies, on me." The guy on her left said in a deep, rumbling voice.

The bartender nodded and whisked away to prepare the drinks, and the guy threw a glance at Allissa.

"Oh shit, is that you, Chaeyoung? Yo guys, it's Rosie! Wassup!"

She looked over, confused, as the other guys erupted into cheers.

"Uhm...h-hi." She replied amongst the whoops. "Not to be rude or anything, but do I...know you guys?"

"Wow, after all this time you forgot about yo closest homies?" another one said, feigning tears. "Daaaamn."

'They must be mistaking me for someone else," she thought, watching them all colloquially fake being sad, during the course of which she conveniently heard all their names. 'Well...they are all really cute, I guess it couldn't hurt to play along.'

"Oh, shit, hey! I didn't recognize you guys at first!" She said in a bright tone, smiling. "Sorry about that, it's been too long!"

"Man, you gon' break a brother's heart messing 'round like that, forgettin' us." said the one directly to her left.

She laughed. "Yeah, sorry about that, E."

"Nah, you all good. Ayo!" He called to the bartender, who was still mixing the drinks. "Lemme get one for my homegirl over here too!"

He nodded and continued his mixing.

"What'd you order?" She asked.

"Girl, you don't even remember my go-to? Damn, we really ain't seen each other in a fat minute. I got all us some good shit, rum and liqueur and stuff."

"Ah." She said. "Sounds good."

"Trust him, it is good." One guy on the end tapped in. "And don't take too much, because that shit'll have you on the ground if you take one sip too many."

"Yo, remember back in high school? She couldn't handle anything!" This caused a fair amount of laughs, which needled her into speech.

"Yeah? Let's see how I am now then. I already had nine shots of Jim Beam."

"That's true." The bartender chimed in, bringing over the seven drinks. "Nine shots."

"Damn." Ekon said, accepting the drink and adjusted the chain on his neck. "Thanks, man. Somethin' musta changed since we last saw each other Chae, back then you could barely take one shot of henny. Nine shots of Jim Beam? That ain't never happenin' seven years ago."

Allissa suddenly realized something. 'Are they mistaking me for Rosé?' She thought. 'No way...well, still can't hurt to play a long a bit.'

"Well, a lot's changed in seven years." She said as the other guys calmed down, taking a small sip of her drink. "This is good."

He nodded. "Sure is. Rum, coconut liqueur, pineapple juice, orange juice, stuff like that. So how you been?"

"Pretty good. You?"

"Same. Life's been good. You ever get that modeling gig you was always after?"

"Funnily enough, I did." She had actually gotten into modeling, just not the gig he was referencing. "Pretty successful."

"Oh, so you got some bands. Nice. I got a question though, don't answer if you don't wanna."

"Go for it."

"You still a virgin?"

"Hell no." She replied immediately. Allissa didn't know whether or not Rosé was a virgin, but she certainly wasn't.

"Really?" He downed the last sip of his cocktail. "Something's changed about that attitude too. Last time we saw each other you was saying you weren't gonna lose it until you got married."

"Guess I changed my mind." She took another sip of hers.

"How many?" Another guy down the line, who'd been lying attention to the conversation said. She didn't have to ask what he meant.

"Nine." She replied.

Ekon nodded. "Respectable amount. Less than I would've expected, to be honest."

She raised an eyebrow. "I said I'm not a virgin, not that I'm a whore."

He raised his hands. "My bad, gang, my bad. So you going anywhere else tonight?"

"I wasn't planning to, but I wouldn't mind."

"You wanna come back to our place?"

She was suddenly very aware of how sheer and tight her dress was, and more aware of how the defined muscles of Ekon's arms rippled with every movement.

She didn't say anything, but he could definitely figure out the change in expression on her face.

"Well?"

"S-sure, yeah." She said, voice wavering a little.

He turned to the guy on his left. "Yo, she coming home with us. Y'all finished?"

The other one smirked, nodded, and passed the news on while Eli turned back to Allissa, a smirk on his face too.

"You finished with the drink?"

Despite her anticipation and slight nervousness, she put on a bolder face and downed the last bit of the cocktail.

"I am now."

"Alright," he said, smiling wider, grabbing his keys, and tossing the bartender a wad of bills. "Let's roll."

...

Bursting through the doors into the cool night air was refreshing after the interior of the bar. Though cozy, it was warm and a little stuffy inside. Her steps were definitely weaving a little, but she made it to Eli's car alright. A classic '69 Pontiac GTO, painted black.

"Yo! You driving?" One of the other guys called to Ekon.

"Nah, you drive, Adrian. I wanna, uh...catch up with Rosie."

Allissa took the back seat, Adrian driving and another riding shotgun, and Ekon in the back with her. The engine awoke with a roar and the headlights switched on, illuminating the dark parking lot.

"I gotta say, Chae, you been doing some developing." Ekon commented as they started down a dark boulevard.

She had a feeling she already knew what he meant, but she asked. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean..." he gestured to her body then outlined a curvaceous figure in the air with his hands.

She blushed, hitting him on his muscular arm. "Stop!"

"I ain't joking, man. I mean...damn."

She giggled. "Thank you..."

He grinned. "Really is good to see you again though, Chae."

"You too. What are we doing when we get there?"

"We gonna figure that out when we get there. But I know you ain't stupid, you could take a good guess."

One look at his expression told her all she needed to know, and she looked away, the thought causing a thrill of anticipation and a fresh wave of arousal to a certain place in her lower region. She pressed her thighs together, trying to stave off getting turned on, but she couldn't stop her gaze from wandering over to his chiseled torso, on which every line, curve, and detail was put on display by the tight white muscle shirt. She found herself unconsciously licking her lips as her gaze roved over his perfect cumgutter abs, outlined pecs, and massively ripped arms. And from what she could see, he had a hell of a package in his boxers. (I feel so gay writing this entire part💀)

"Like what you see?" Her excitement and intense gaze did not go unnoticed.

"Mm, yes, I do~" It might've been the alcohol fueling her words, but part of it was coming directly from down below.

He chortled. "Yeah, I bulked up. Been going to the gym a lot recently."

She slid a hand over his rock-hard thigh, gently squeezing the fibers which felt like steel under her fingers. She gasped in pure arousal as her hand moved onto an absolute monster of a cock, which was massive without even being erect.

"Oh my god~" She massaged the phallic behemoth and moved closer on the seat, allowing him to put his arm over her shoulders and pull her into him. His powerful grip and iron-fiber muscles around her turned her on even more. His hand moved slowly downward, caressing the soft round of her breast through the thin fabric of her dress. She gasped again softly as his index finger traced her nipple, her sensitivity kicked up by the alcohol and how purely turned on she was.

"Save it for the room, y'all," said Adrian. "Ain't no one wanna see that."

"Don't even lie, bro, you know you want a piece." Ekon fired back. "Homie try to bullshit me..." he muttered. The other shrugged and stopped talking.

It was only a short ride more before they arrived at a large, mostly White House that resembled a a palace, with marble columns and everything. Allissa, even being the owner of a not-so-humble estate herself, was shocked at the sheer size and grandeur of the mansion.

"This is where you live?" Pleasure forgotten temporarily, she pressed her face against the window and gazed like an awestruck child.

Ekon chuckled, bringing his hand down to her now-exposed ass and giving it a strong squeeze. "Yup. There's five of us, we all live in the same joint."

"Wow..." His fingers wandered a little lower, pulling up the bottom hem of her dress so her thong was exposed.

"Damn, Chae, a thong?" He chuckled a little more. "Didn't know you was gettin' yo freak on so much."

"Mmhmm~" She bit her lip at the sight of his cock hard and straining against his sweats. "Fuck, you're big..."

Undergoing a sudden change of demeanor as they pulled into the driveway, he pressed her against the seat by the neck and spoke in his deep rumble of a voice. "And you want that, don't you?"

"Yes, daddy, I do~" Her voice came out as a whimper, his dominance only serving to make her more needy. "I want it a lot~"

"Well, yo ass bouta get it, hard."

"Oh yes, please, daddy," she moaned, his hands on her making her wet. "I want it!"

Ekon had opened his mouth to say something in return when the voice in the passenger seat piped up again.

"Y'all! We are 20 feet from the damn house, hold off for a second!"

"Aight, my bad bro. But you," he said, returning his hand to her neck as she giggled at Adrian, "better keep your little slut mouth shut."

"Yes, daddy," she said submissively, getting wetter by the second. They all got out of the car and walked quickly into the house, followed by the other two from the other car. The moment they all piled in through the door and it closed, Ekon pinned her arms to the wall above her head with one hand and kissed her, tongue aggressively pushing into her mouth. She moaned, his other hand going to her neck, while other hands pulled up her dress and caressed various other parts of her. Before long she was rid of her dress and left only in her bra and panties.

They backed off momentarily to admire her curvy, sexy figure. After a few "damn"s, they converged once more and she was pinned against the wall again.

She bit her lip as hands slipped into her panties and bra, teasing her sensitive spots and making her moan. Her hands, helplessly held above her head, twisted and writhed as multiple fingers plunged into her entrance, teased her sensitive clit, and rubbed over her nipples, assaulting her senses from every side. It had been a while since she had anyone, and she found herself quickly approaching her first orgasm.

"I'm gonna cum," she panted, gasping as several fingers found and roughly fingered her g-spot. "Oh god yes, I'm gonna cum!"

"Already?" Ekon said, triceps inconveniently flexing and turning her on more as he pushed against her hands and throat. "You little slut."

"Mmm, yes~" She moaned with rapid breaths, arching her back in pleasure. "You're gonna make me cum~"

His hand left her throat and slapped her face, leaving a small stinging mark in its wake. She was surprised at first and then felt a warm surge of sensual humiliation send a jolt straight to her pussy.

"A-ahh, fuck, yes, yes, ngghh yes, I'm cumming!" She bucked her hips off the wall, crying out in loud pleasure as she squirted on the many hands teasing her. She slid down the wall as the guys backed off, chest heaving even from the light orgasm she just had.

Apparently they weren't patient enough to postpone fucking her, so with little more ado they hoisted her to her feet and onto the rich white leather couch, a couple of them removing her panties and bra. Shirts were removed around her, filling her sight with abs and ripped arms. Jeans and sweats were next, taking boxers with them and leaving everyone present completely naked, and the other guys backed off as Ekon approached and went behind her.

She let out a sharp cry as a massive cock penetrated her pussy and immediately shattered whatever semblance of coherent thought she had left. The sheer size inside her stretched her walls out and caused a fair deal of pleasure and slight pain.

"Please," she murmured quietly, arching and then wiggling her ass to allow him better access, "ruin me."

He wasted no more time and started ruthlessly pounding her, loud claps on skin on skin sounding as he slammed his hips into her ass. She couldn't control the cries that left her mouth, face contorting in pleasure.

"Fuck!" She yelled, his cock reaching unbelievable depths inside her. "Oh my god yes, you're sso big! Oh yes, daddy, fuck my pussy!"

She could hear commentary from the five others, but her mind was too far gone to pay attention to it. He roughly grabbed her arms and held them behind her back, ramming her into the couch and leaving her helpless to the relentless assault on her tight tunnel.

"Yes, yes, yes, fuck! Don't stop, please keep going daddy!"

"Shut the fuck up and take it, you little whore." He leaned some of his weight on her, letting him growl in her ear, and pressed his hand over her mouth, muffling her moans.

"Mmph! Yes daddy!" Her voice was muted by his hand. He let go of her mouth and she turned her head to the side to survey his body. His hands left the couch as well, abs flexing to hold himself up as both hands were brought down on her supple ass in a punishing smack.

"Oh yes, spank me! Spank me harder daddy!" He gladly complied, landing more hard slaps on her ass. The sting brought her a blissful mix of pain and pleasure that was building up an orgasm like an edifice inside her.

"Shit, I'm gonna cum!" She heard the low groan behind her, accompanied by a few more spanks, and bucked her hips back into him as much as she could.

"Are you ready to take my cum, little slut?"

She nodded eagerly, still being slammed into the couch by his relentless thrusts. He delivered another hard spank to her ass, grip tightening on her arms behind her back.

"Try again."

"Yes, daddy!" She cried, eyes rolling into her head as the pleasure overtook her. "I want all of it, give me your cum, please daddy!"

A moan sounded behind her and a second later, a hot current of cum streaming into her pussy. The feeling of being filled with his cum overwhelmed her senses and threw her headlong into a strong orgasm; a wail of pleasure left her as she arched her back and squirted hard onto him.

She got barely a few moments' recovery before all the others approached and loaded onto the couch. Ekon stepped away and let them take their turn, and after one of them lifted her leg and positioned himself under her, she was penetrated in her ass and pussy by two enormous cocks.

Nothing but a gutteral, throaty moan was produced by her already overworked vocal cords. But she noticed two more guys walking around to her backside, and a thought crossed her foggy mind. They weren't going to...were they?

Her question was answered as the feeling of two more hard, throbbing tips pressing against her entrances sent signals of ecstasy to her receptors. With little more ado and no consideration for how much they were stretching her out (which was overloading her with pleasure), the shafts of the tips thrusted inside her.

"Fuck!" Pleasure turned her mind to mush for a moment as she briefly lost touch with reality. Two cocks in each hole; she hadn't been fucked like this in ages.

No, she hadn't been fucked like this ever.

Various murmurs of dirty things reached her ears, but none of them really registered with her brain. She kept up her dialogue of submissive moans, her pleas growing more and more wanting as she got more and more desperate.

"Oh yes, fuck my pussy," she panted, yelping as the smacks pelted down on her ass cheeks. "Fucking give it to me! Harder!"

All four cocks were pumping in and out of her with furious vigor; her pussy was soaked like a monsoon, and was made even wetter by the obscenities and degradation coming from behind her.

"Yeah, take these dicks, you slut!"

"You like being filled up like this, whore?"

"Yes daddy~" she whimpered, being overloaded with sensation. "I want all of your cocks in my tight little cunt! I'm your slutty little toy, keep fucking me just like that, yes!"

More spanks rained down on her ass, causing more waves of pleasure-pain to spread through her and intensifying the telltale tingling in her pussy.

"Oh fuck yes! More!" She cried. "Spank me harder!"

To her slight dismay, the slaps stopped. But a second later, something that stung a lot and something that was definitely not a hand made contact with her pinkened ass cheeks. She glanced around just as the strap was brought down on her once more, and a hand slapped her face. Her arousal turned to the max, she bit her lip and turned back around to a cock in her face. Without a second thought she opened her mouth and allowed it to push past her lips. She sucked passionately and hungrily, ignoring the slight discomfort she felt when his length went down her throat.

"Fuck, such a good little slut. Ain't that right, Rosie?" Ekon's deep voice was easily recognizable.

She nodded vigorously and continued impaling her throat on his massive cock. Her eyes rolled back and she gagged as her mouth and nose made contact with his pubes. She flicked her tongue out to trace circles on his balls as he grabbed her hair and held her right where she was. Slurping obscenely, she stuck out her tongue as far as possible to let him push every last centimeter into her squeezing throat.

"Mmph!" Her moans and gags were muted, but had she been able, the whole neighborhood would have heard her screams. She was going to cum and she knew it, the many cocks invading her holes proving to be too much to handle.

"Phhk!" More strikes from the strap, more thrusts from the guys. "Guhnuh kmm!"

Their hands stroked and caressed her passionately, in stark contrast to their cocks brutally, mercilessly pounding her. No relent, no mercy, no caring for anything more than raw pleasure. And she loved it that way.

"Daddy, I'm gonna cum!" She brought her head off Ekon's shaft and cried out to the room. "It's so fucking good, yes!"

She couldn't take it anymore. Her back arched and her hips bucked against them as her third orgasm slammed into her like a truck, her body trembling with the force of her squirting. Her arms gave out and her front half collapsed, burying her face in the couch. Still, there was no pause in the way they pitilessly railed her, driving their thick cocks in and out of all her holes.

Vaguely, she heard every single one say they were, too, on their way to orgasm, which brought her back to reality. She threw her head back and shouted out her pleasure, and her desire to be filled with cum.

"Please, daddy, cum inside me! Fill me up like the pathetic little cumslut I am! I want all of daddy's cum inside my tight little pussy!"

She bucked her hips into them in desperate need of another orgasm. Slaps landed on her face, heightening her arousal and making her even wetter, making her clench around the rods fucking her, adding to their pleasure.

"Fuck yes, breed me daddy! Fill up my pussy with your hot cum and breed me!" Her own dirty talk was turning her on as well as them, a fresh coat of slick lubricating her.

And then suddenly all four of them pushed as far as they could and bottomed out inside her, simultaneously painting her walls with thick ropes of warm, white cream and triggering her fourth orgasm. With a scream and a shaking body her pussy erupted, spraying their thighs with her own cum. One by one, each cock slid out of her, eliciting a whimper from her, and she was able to let her hips fall. Trembling and hypersensitive, she turned over and laid flat on her back, already feeling the cum start to leak out of her and drip down to the couch.

After a minute she sat up slightly and looked between her own thighs, where their cum and her juices were slowly soaking into the couch cushion.

"Oops," she giggled, letting her head fall back over the couch arm. "Guess you might have to get a new cushion."

Ekon chuckled from the other couch. "Chae, if we gave a damn, we'd fuck you on the bed."

He got up and walked away, his massive, semi-hard cock swinging from side to side. Despite having had four orgasms already, she found herself getting wet again at both the sight of him and the thought of getting fucked again. She reached down and gasped as she accidentally brushed her own clit; the touch sent pleasure shooting through her. Her soft moans did not go unnoticed, and as she fingered herself, they converged. She spread her legs eagerly, but instead of fucking her, one of them lowered his head to her soaking, tingling pussy and pressed his tongue against her clit. A high-pitched gasp left her mouth and her hands clamped down on the cushion as her hips immediately and automatically started grinding into his face.

"Oh god, yes," she moaned, eyebrows contracting up as he deftly swiped at her pussy. "Fucking eat me, daddy..."

Allissa felt her arousal and pleasure growing quickly. Clattering came from the next room where Ekon was.

"Oh yes, give it to me, daddy!" She cried, closing her eyes bucking her hips hard against his tongue. "Your tongue feels so good!"

She felt a cock press against her lips and immediately opened her mouth to let it in. She sucked on it hungrily, bobbing her head up and down.

Then someone pushed her legs up into the air, bringing her hips up, and she felt the tongur slide lower, down to her asshole. She shivered at the foreign sensation, and at the same time felt movement above her. To her slight shock, a second tongue planted itself on her pussy, and she looked down to see that the man whose dick was in her mouth had maneuvered into the top side of a 69 to eat her out. This allowed him enough leverage to thrust his hips into her face, driving his cock deep down her throat.

At that moment Ekon returned, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a massage wand in the other. Pinned down by 150 pounds of muscle, she could do nothing as he slipped the wand under the abs of the other guy and pressed it against her nipple. She moaned into his base, the vibrations adding to all the stimulation she was getting. The tongues probing her holes were very quickly catapulting her to her fifth orgasm; they had her bucking her hips and moaning with ease. Ekon's vibrator made her want to writhe and squirm, but she was helplessly trapped by the muscular body above her. Together, the sensations proved too much once more.

Wailing in ectsasy into the thick member in her throat, she clutched at his back and squirted intensely right into his mouth; the tongue in her ass was suddenly replaced by the head of a cock, closely followed by its shaft. Tears sprang to her eyes as she orgasmed again, hips jerking wildly as more cum streaming out of her.

Someone grabbed her and turned her over, sliding under her and pushing into her oversensitive pussy. Before she even had time to react, two more stretched out her saliva-covered asshole, and Ekon's cock returned to her mouth. From behind her, someone grabbed her hands and roughly tied them together. Someone grabbed her hair and pulled viciously, and Ekon slapped her face on both cheeks.

As soon as the others had come, she felt that all-too-familiar buildup of heat in her core. They reached points inside her she never knew could be hit, fucked her harder and better than she had ever been fucked in her life. Hands tied behind her back, hair being savagely pulled, ass being spanked hard, pussy, ass, and throat being mercilessly railed and used. There was no return to normal sex after this.

More slaps landed on her ass, thighs, face, and breasts, each one sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through her. She could feel herself and all the shafts inside her throbbing with need for release, and that they got.

The first one set off a chain reaction. The one under her groaned and buried himself balls deep inside her, explosively cumming and sending another tirade of warmth into her. At the same time, she and Ekon both met their orgasms, another load spurting down her throat. Several streaks of cum splattered onto her stomach, breasts, and face from the bystanders. A spray of her own cum splattered the thighs of the two fucking her ass, and the increased tightness of her ass caused two more loads to jet into her bowels. And then a second orgasm in a row hit her.

"FUCK!" she screamed as Ekon's softening length slid out of her mouth. Waves of ecstasy and intense pleasure slammed through her one by one, her mind going blank as they overtook her. Her world was a haze of bliss, and she could barely manage to crack open her eyes once the throbbing in her well-fucked cunt died down.

Each cock pulled out of her holes, followed by a steady flow of slick and thick cum. When she had recovered sufficiently, she raised her head and saw that her body was a mess of handprints, red marks from slaps and spanks, bruises, cum streaks, and sweat droplets. Spent and well-used, she let her head fall back onto the armrest.

A short while later she got up and wiped all the various bodily fluids off herself with a towel and then returned to the living room, once-coiffed-and-pretty hair disheveled and, in her opinion, sexy as hell.

"Seems a lil' bit ironic to ask, but did you like it?" Ekon asked, reclining in a seat, as she flopped onto a different couch.

"Yes~" she replied, biting her lip and giggling. "A lot."

Gesturing to the amount of cum still leaking out of her pussy and ass, she said, "You boys really outdid yourselves this time, hm~"

He smirked and returned his attention to the glass of whiskey with an approving nod.

Then it occured to her that they were still under the impression that she was Rosé.

"Can I...can I be honest for a second?"

He nodded nonchalantly. "Go for it, homie."

"Well...I-I'm not Rosé." She said in a small voice.

All sets of eyes in the room roved around to her, a few eyebrows raised. "What?"

"I'm not Rosé." She blushed under their intense gazes. "You guys thought I was at the bar, and I thought you were really cute, so I played along, but I'm not Rosé, or whoever it is you thought I was. I'm really sorry."

Ekon and all the rest looked at her for a long moment, and then they all started laughing. Slapping their knees, rocking back and forth laughing.

"Wait, wait, wait." Adrian said, fighting to control his laughter. "So you tryna tell me I been fuckin' some random girl all of us dumbasses thought was our old homie?"

She nodded meekly, glad at least that they weren't mad.

The laughter erupted again, each one of them crying with mirth. Her face turned hot, her embarrassed in a way.

"Aww, she so cute when she blushin'," commented Ekon, still giggling over the mistaken identity.

"Shut up!" She blushed harder, giggling and covering her face with her hands.

He raised an eyebrow. "Come again?"

Realizing what he meant, she fell silent, a small blossom of arousal rushing to her pussy at his dominant tone.

"Do we need to punish you again?" His voice turned low, dangerous. She was silent for a moment, the small blossom blooming into a large and very wet flower.

"Yes please, daddy~"

A/N: I searched everywhere for more Allissa Shin smuts, and they don't exist. I mean, I searched on Tumblr, AO3, FFN, AFF, everywhere. So I guess I get to be the pioneer of Allissa Shin fics. Yay. This shouldn't have taken me a month to write, but wifi router problems, a considerable period of writer's block, work, and a fair amount of procrastination delayed it. Hope you enjoyed.

[lastoneout]

I feel like at some point we like as a society need to acknowledge that yes inspiration porn about disabled people overcoming challenges is bad but also you can go too far on countering that stuff and loop around to simply believing it's impossible for disabled people to do anything at all no matter what, because that's how we get people on tiktok insisting Helen Keller was a fraud because a Deaf-Blind individual could clearly never learn to read or write and also that art is so uniquely hard for all disabled people that surely we must need AI to make art for us, we could never do it on our own, and thus any accessibility tool short of a program that just spits out a drawing or book when we press a button is pointless.

Like this swing from one to the other isn't on disabled people, it's on abled society, but yeah we can find a middle ground where we acknowledge that just like not every abled person can become Michelangelo not every disabled person can or is obligated to become a master artist or professional athlete while also recognizing that it isn't inspiration porn to acknowledge that disabled people are capable of doing things and pointing out examples of us doing impressive things isn't wrong especially when it's used to counter people who think we are literally incapable of doing anything at all no matter what and thus all disabled achievements were staged or done by abled people behind the scenes.

Like not every disabled person can become a great artist but with the right tools and time and help a large portion of us can learn to make one form of art or another, just like any abled person can. Helen Keller got lucky enough to have well off parents but she's not the only Deaf-Blind person who can learn to read and write, you know?

There has to be a middle ground. Yes we need help, yes a lot of us can't do certain things at all, but we are capable of doing things. We can make stuff. Assuming all of us are completely incapable of doing anything at all from caring for ourselves to some degree to having valuable things to say and worth as people and we surely must need to be rescued by AI or kind abled people who will do work and let us put our name on it is just as harmful as assuming with enough work all of us can do absolutely anything an abled person can and any struggles we face don't have anything to do with society and instead just means we aren't trying hard enough.

Idk, but when I talk about the accessibility struggles I have that prevent me from doing the things I want to do, like art and writing, I'd be equally pissed at the person who says I don't need those tools because if I just try hard enough I can do anything as I would be at the person who tells me not to bother trying to actually make art myself because clearly it's too hard and instead use this fancy plagiarism and pollution machine to make art for me.

[jealousmartini]

hi! i saw ur post where u mention age change with loa and could u talk more about that? cause i just turned 20, but i wanna be 17 again just so i can experience teenage things (i had depression and extreme social anxiety my whole teenagehood). i wanna feel young and do things right, apply everything i know now to this time in my life cause i can't help but feeling so old speacially since i have zero "firsts", like i'm 20 and no first crush or first kiss (ik it's not the end of the world, but i want back the expirences i was stolen from). i don't wanna over-explain myself nor trauma dump on u, but basically i just wanna start over yk? i know nothing is impossible to loa, truly know, but this one wish makss me insecure cause that will mean i was born in 2007 instead of 2004 and my old classmates werent really my classmates which is okay cause i never liked them but instead i had different ones that i don't know? i don't know if i'm making sense here, sorry to be asking u these things but ur the only person i've seen talking about age change so i'll be very thankful to anything u have to say to me. hope u have a good day :)

This ask unironically made me frown, like so hard, knowing that manifesters like you have to ask if starting over is okay because of the heavy misrepresentation and misunderstanding of manifesters and shifters who age change.

My love, OF COURSE you can. I cannot believe we have come to the point, on the interent as a whole, that people feel that they need to ask permission on what to do with THEIR LIVES, because the all high and mighty LOA police feel like they have the right to dictate what others should and shouldn't do with their lives.

And God forbid you don't obey them because then they'll throw every derogatory name, they'll diagnose you with every mental illness they want to insult you with (that they don't even understand), they'll assume that utmost worst about you, and take to their side of the community to shame you infront of them all. It's genuinely appalling.

Which is why I finally reminded myself a couple years ago that these people are not my mum. I have free will to do what I want with MY LIFE and whatever they say are nothing more than opinions that I can literally choose to listen to or to ignore. I refuse to fall into the trap of giving power, MY power away to outsiders and let them control me because real talk now, what are they actually going to do? At the end of the day they can cry, shout, rip their hair out on camera an tell me how insne I am for not having the same views as them, but none of that's stopping me from sleeping with their mum AND dad in another reality

Long story short, my answer is yes, you can start over and change the year you were born hun. You can do whatever you want because this is your call. Do what YOU want, not whatever the LOA police deems acceptable by their beliefs

[bookishdaze]

Greek Mythology in Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes

How will Noa's story be remembered by future generations of apes?

Caesar is remembered by the apes as a sort of mythic, god-like figure. An ape whose story has been passed down for generations to the point where many apes are familiar with the legend of Caesar, even if the true story has been distorted throughout time.

The movies utilize famous myths, legends, and stories that we are all familiar with, or have at least heard of, to create the legend of Caesar, and now Noa.

In the Caesar trilogy, Caesar is a Moses figure for the apes, who we know freed his people, taking them to the promised lands. We should all at least recognize the name Hamlet, one of Shakespeare's plays, that Dawn is loosely based on. In some versions, the angel Lucifer rebelled against God because he refused to bow down to mankind. In Dawn, Koba rebelled against Caesar because he refused to help humans, or mankind. And we all know what happened to Lucifer after betraying God.

We know these stories. They're familiar, even now that they're hundreds or thousands of years old.

So what famous stories will the writers use so that Noa's story is remembered by apes centuries later?

Well, Kingdom had an ape named Noa, who saved his people from a flood, and there was even a giant boat in the background. Okay, Noah and the Flood. That one's obvious.

What about some Greek mythology?

The Myth of Icarus and Daedalus

If you don't know how the myth of Icarus and Daedalus goes, there's still a very good chance you've heard of the saying, "He flew too close to the sun."

In a very brief nutshell, Daedalus, an inventor, built some wings for him and his son, Icarus. They put on these wings to fly away and escape King Minos, who is holding them prisoner. Daedalus warns his son not to fly too close to the sun because the wax will melt, but Icarus doesn't listen, and he falls to his death.

I found some similarities to the myth of Icarus and Daedalus in Kingdom. Whether this is what the writers actually intended or not, I don't know for sure, but this is mainly for fun, and I wanted to share!

Before I get started, I want to thank @iamtotallycool because she pointed out similarities to other Greek myths after I shared with her my initial thoughts, and I will later point out which ones she came up with. Thank you for listening to my ramblings on discord, lol.

Noa as Icarus

Noa reminds me of Icarus, the man who flew too high and fell to his death. Noa is the first to climb above Top Nest, so this means he went higher than any of the other apes in his clan. He is soaring above the others, reaching new and dangerous heights.

Noa decides to go higher, wonderfully displaying his ingenuity by using some old rebar to swing himself up a wall that should've been impossible to climb. This reminds me of Daedalus using his inventions to help him fly, something considered impossible.

But after Noa reaches the nest, higher than any ape before him, what happens right after? He falls.

In a deleted scene after the egg climb, Soona tells Noa that since he is the first above Top Nest, that makes him special, and maybe his eagle will be sun-colored, like his father's eagle, Sun.

And right after Noa literally falls into Raka's home, the wise orangutan says to himself in amusement:

"Apes falling from the sky."

Here's a fun detail. Remember that mural Noa looks at? On the far left side, if you squint, you can see a person with wings.

I actually have a theory as to how Noa could fly in future movies that I'll link at the end!

Noa as Daedalus

Not only does Noa remind me of Icarus, but he also reminds me of Daedalus. Daedalus was a skillful architect and inventor, who built the Labyrinth for King Minos, where the legendary Minotaur lived.

We see the beginnings of Noa's architect side. He stays up late at night to fix both the fish rack and the electric staff. When Proximus (King Minos) learns of how Noa (Daedalus) fixed the staff, he tells Noa that he has use for clever apes like him, as if he wanted to use Noa's intelligence to help him achieve instant eeevolution. This reminds me of how King Minos uses Daedalus' intelligence to build him the Labyrinth.

And just like Daedalus who built the wings to escape King Minos, Noa devises a plan to flood the vault for him and Eagle Clan to escape Proximus.

Trevathan is also like Daedalus in this story, who is trapped by the king, building and creating for him. Daedalus built the Labyrinth for King Minos, and Trevathan built the electric staffs for Proximus.

Fathers and Sons

Daedalus warns his son to be careful. To not fly too low, for the water will get his wings wet, and to not fly too high, for the sun will melt the wax from his wings. But Icarus doesn't listen, rushing to surpass the father.

This reminds me of how Noa feels a lot of pressure from his father Koro, wanting to make his father proud by telling him that he was the only one of his friends who climbed above Top Nest. Instead of praise, however, Koro reprimands him for breaking some other rule, telling him to stay away from where he is forbidden to go.

Theseus and the Labyrinth

@iamtotallycool pointed out how Kingdom also has similarities to the myth of Theseus, the Labyrinth, and the Minotaur.

The Labyrinth is an underground maze on the island of Crete where the monstrous Minotaur lives. Every year, King Minos requires sacrifices from other kingdoms for the Minotaur to eat. Theseus, son of King Aegeus, sets out to kill the Minotaur. Princess Ariadne, King Minos' daughter, helps Theseus to navigate the Labyrinth, and gives him a ball of yarn to help him make his way back so he doesn't get lost.

This reminds me of how Proximus (King Minos) steals clans (the sacrifices) for the expansion of his kingdom and to get the vault open, so Noa (Theseus) uses the help of Mae (Ariadne) to navigate the vault (Labyrinth) in order to destroy what is inside (Minotaur).

During the scene where Noa and Sylva have their final battle, Noa has to run through the twists and turns of the vault, similar to a maze, while he is being chased by Sylva, similar to how the Minotaur battled Theseus. Sylva is even big and burly like the Minotaur!

Ok, So What Does This Mean?

Alright, so now that we pointed out some of the similarities, what could this all mean? It's one thing to point out the similarities, but why these stories in particular? What is the message? What could this mean for Noa? Assuming this is even what the writers intended, we can only speculate, so this final bit is mainly fun theorizing.

Due to his hubris, Icarus flies too close to the sun, leading to his death. Could Noa develop his own hubris that leads him to his downfall, or takes him down a darker path?

The myth of Icarus can also be seen as a cautionary tale of the dangers of technology if not used carefully. Technology can be useful and improve lives, but what if it falls into the wrong hands? What if one is too overconfident with it, not realizing the bad it can do before it's too late?

Proximus couldn't get his hands on human technology, for he would've used it to hurt other apes. What about Noa, though? Now that Noa starts to learn how human tech like electricity works, what if he starts to bring forth technological innovations for the apes? What if he starts out trying to use it to improve the lives of apes, but he ends up using it for bad? Or what if other apes take his ideas and use it for their own advantage? The path to hell is paved with good intentions, as they say.

And this one's more for fun, but what if Noa were to actually fly? If you wanna read more of my ramblings, here is my theory on Noa taking flight. (Hint: It involves airplanes).

In Conclusion

If you made it all the way to the end, thank you for reading! I had a lot of fun coming up with these ideas and speculating, and I hope you had fun reading this as well. If you have any thoughts or ideas, feel free to share!

[pareidoliaonthemove]

Dialogue 2

Gordon: There was a pilot called Scott

Whose nose was filled with snot

Scott: (Looms threateningly)

Gordon: Ah.

Gordon: There was a fellow called John

Whose legs were impossibly long

Gordon’s Phone: (Screams with ear-blistering static)

Gordon: Okay, okay! Jeez!

Gordon’s Phone: (Stops)

Gordon: There once was a boy called Alan

Alan: Scott! He’s doing it!

Scott: Gordon!

Gordon: Fine!

Gordon: There was an artist called Virgil

Who … who … um

Virgil: Yeah. Nothing rhymes.

Gordon: Wow. Talk about stifling other people’s creativity.

Virgil: Literally not my fault. Take it up with Dad.

Jeff: Take what up with Dad?

Gordon: Um.

Virgil: Gordon’s trying to make up limericks. Nothing rhymes with Virgil.

Gordon: Why aren’t we allowed to call him ‘Virg’?

Jeff: Because there are too many things that rhyme with ‘Virg’, none of which Hannah Coleman should have known about at the age of thirteen, much less written ‘love’ poems about and send them to your brother.

Scott: What?!

John: What?!

Alan: What?!

Gordon: What?!

Virgil: Not talking about it. Except to my therapist. Excuse me.

Gordon: Hey, Virgil, wait!

Virgil: What?

Scott: Did you save the poems?

Notes:

Yeah, so this took an unexpected turn on me. I don’t know where Hannah Coleman came from, or what the ever-loving hell she wrote, but apparently it … wasn’t good.

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the Original Series, the Movies (both Supermarionation and Live Action), or the Thunderbirds Are Go Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

[leprosycock]

what’s really cool and awesome and normal is how in spite of artists’ best efforts to offer art to the general public, to people who don’t have art education and aren’t immersed in a particular sect of any given genre or culture, putting their work in low-cost or free galleries or airports or the sides of buildings or in parks or in malls or in outdoor shopping squares or in any public area where their projects can be viewed, people still reject the notion of art as a whole because they consider it entirely secondary to everything valuable in a person’s life. you can’t tell someone you’re an art major without seeing that inherent condescension or repulsion or confusion crossing someone’s face if they haven’t bothered to engage with art on a personal level before. it’s always considered an afterthought and never anything vital to the world we all live in and how art exists in genuinely and literally every single fucking facet of our lives. if you tell someone you understand art and can engage with it on a professional level, you’re considered pretentious and self-aggrandizing/obsessed and stuck-up and snotty and impossible to talk to. if you look down on extremely milquetoast and uninteresting and surface-level pieces of art, like very bad generic music with poor and uninspired poetry or extremely literal portraiture or ai art, you’re a gatekeeper and, again, pretentious and snotty. you are not permitted to engage with your passions outside of fellow artists because the “my kid/little sibling/niece/nephew/a five year old could do that” mindset is so pervasive and unless something is extremely easy to swallow and exceedingly literal, people will not accept it as Real Art because they refuse to understand its history, context, the artist’s technical skill and education, and WHY it exists. this also definitely pivots to subject matter and how only certain kinds are permitted and allowed by many, many others. sure, you as a self-obsessed millennial woman can engage with a coffee table book full of Powerful Feminist Quotes about how your ex-boyfriend wouldn’t go see “it ends with us” with you in theaters and your grandpa made a joke about periods once, but if you’re forced to engage with abstraction or an artist who happens to say a slur or the amount of precision and planning and dedication and adoration that goes into performing 4d design that discusses subject matter that YOU don’t like, you’ll shrivel like a fucking leaf and retreat back to what makes you comfortable. i hate it i hate anti-art and i hate being stuck in anti-art worlds