#the ladies are so tiny in comparison

[redhotarsenic]

Forgot to mention it but Lucille is 5’3

[sugarmeowe]

nsft ✰ mdni!

older bf! john price who catches his naive little girlfriend innocently and shamelessly talking to his soldiers on the day that he takes you to the base, privates that are in the same age group as you, clearly more appropriate for a sweet lady like you instead of the nasty old man you chose to be with instead

older bf! john price who’s eyes widen and patience finally snaps when he watches you sweetly feel one of his recruit’s biceps, after the young boy had instructed you to, finally having enough of the display as your man marches over to you and silently drags you away from the group by your arm, his firm, large hand fully wrapping around the naturally tiny limb of yours by comparison as he pulls you to his office

older bf! john price who isn’t having it at all, who’s already decided on your punishment(s) as soon as the door slams shut in the private room, immediately delivering a firm slap over your cheek when you confusedly try to reason with him by calling out his name— instead only reminding you that it’s “sir” or “captain” with him and nothing else when you’ve fucked up, during times like these

-

older bf! john price who has you bent over his work desk in the middle of the room with your trousers and panties bunched around your ankles, face down, pressed into the hard wooden surface covered with various paperwork and files scattered around as you begin to sob, while he lectures you with a firm hand pushed against your spine, on how a stupid little girl like you needs to know better next time, to not let his men take advantage of you like that, to not behave like a whore for hire in front of them and especially not in front of him (you genuinely did not know any better! •ᴖ•)

older bf! john price who decides to spank your bare, plush little ass still bent over his desk, maybe 20 or 30 times (depending on how much steam he still needs to blow after his lecture), using his belt, ordering you to cry out a meek little “thank you sir” even through the mess of tears and snot on your face after each hit, to ease you into your discipline for the evening, while he decides what else to do with you afterwards

older bf! john price who notices how much you’re sobbing and practically screaming by the time he reaches the final five blows, your plump behind shaking uncontrollably and so, sinfully reddened with little strips of purple bruises and welts already starting to form :( so once he’s done he coos and picks up your limp, trembling body effortlessly and pulls you into his lap while he sits down by his work desk, shushing you and even occasionally chuckling at your cries while he runs a big, warm hand down your back, your face buried into his neck as you continue to weep and even begin to weakly apologise

older bf! john price who stays like that, rocking you back and forth on his lap for a few minutes and letting his big, warm hands roam over your back and bare behind, trying to calm down the burn of his thick, leather belt and it’s blows as he shushes you and reassures you that it’s almost over. you’re doing so well <3

older bf! john price who was planning on fucking you senselessly after your spanking with your face pressed down into his desk, but decides to take it easy on you and have a little bit of mercy after seeing how sad and weepy you’re being, as well as how much you’ve even genuinely apologised for it all :( it’s not your fault that a naive, pretty thing like you was being approached and taken advantage of by his men! any soldier would have done the same to a girl who they had no clue already belonged to their captain

older bf! john price who instead gently lifts you off of his lap after a while, wiping your tears away with his calloused thumbs before softly pushing you down to your knees, making you kneel on the very same ass he’d just bruised and spanked senselessly as he spreads his legs a little further on his chair and begins to unzip his trousers — he wanted to take it easy on you, he truly did, but he’d also grown painfully hard after giving you that little spanking with his belt and now he still needed you to help relieve him, surely you’d understand!

[paperclip-skz]

First Play

fem*Reader x Bang Chan

*WARNING*

contains: kissing, secondhand embarrassment, "first time" in a sense, fingering, oral (fem receiving), not proofread; I'm sure I missed something; let me know in the comments.

WC: 1.8k

*****

You sit patiently in the waiting room. Your nails dig into your thighs as anxiety spikes through your spine. 

“ Ms. L/N, the doctor will see you now,” the pretty secretary sparkles at you. 

This is it—your first-ever scene. Your friend signed you up for this because she knows you’ve been wanting to do this forever. She’s listened to you rant about this for years! Finally, she put in a good word for you with the intimacy company she works with. 

You knew what she did for a living, and it never bothered you. Actually, you thought she was cooler because of it. She helped people achieve their utmost hidden desires safely, securely, and thoroughly. 

The blinding bright walls illuminate your way to the farthest door to the right. “Right through there, and the doctor will be with you shortly.” The lady opens the door for you. You walk in, but not before turning back and seeing the lady give you a wink before closing the door. You could hear the subtle click of her heels walking away from the door. 

Your throat closes in both fear and excitement. You take in your surroundings, noticing the “set” replicates a stereotypical doctor's room. It has a big foamy bed right in the middle, a counter with small gadgets and gloves organized right next to the sink, and a bright light right above the bed. The two things that stand out to you are the bright meddle poles with places for feet connected to the sides of the bed and the giant mirror plastered on the wall right in front of the bed. 

No one is in the room, so you assume the “doctor” is on his way. You told your friend you didn’t want to know who your instructor was; the last thing you wanted was someone you knew to see your most intimate sides of you. You slowly make your way to the bed, sitting down and crinkling the foam. You awkwardly fiddle with your hands as you wait patiently; you stare at yourself in the mirror, fiddling with your hair and how the top you chose to wear rests on your body. 

“Okay, so Ms. L/N, it says here. " Your head whips around to meet the eyes of your “doctor,” but you're surprised to find coffee-stained eyes parried with steel-rimmed glasses. His dimpled smile reaches his eyes, and his big hands grasp the clipboard. 

You feel a sudden drop in your heart as you see him. He's incredibly handsome, and his size is impressive. His broad shoulders and imposing frame make you feel tiny in comparison. Suddenly, you feel intimidated and nervous; the tingles of anxiety claw at your skin.

Chan’s eyes widen, seeing your discomfort. He’s quick to close the door behind him and turn his body to you. “Are you okay?” his voice is even sexier than he is. His intoxicatingly thick Australian accent captivates you as the dark strands of hair effortlessly fall against his handsome face.

You almost forget to answer him until he reaches out to touch your arm. “Yes…yes... yes, I’m okay. I'm just nervous,” you say weakly, still shaky with nerves. 

“There's nothing to be nervous about. You can stop this whenever you like, and you control how fast I go and every other aspect of this. All you need to do is trust me.” for whatever reason, you do. You do trust him; you trust him and his deep eyes that you could get lost in. 

You nod your head, not forgetting to answer him with a quiet “okay.” You read in the contract that verbal confirmation from both parties was a must. And with that, Chan snaps back into character. 

“Alright then, Ms. L/N. You're here because you had some complications with your canal?” Chan stretches the room around to reach a rolling stool. He grabs it to his at the end of the bed, right in front of you. 

“Y-yes. I tried masturbating, and I noticed the stretch stung,” you answer with as much confidence as you can. 

He nods his head in acknowledgment. “Well, my name is Doctor Chan, or you can call me Chris. Whichever you like works for me.” He flashes that wide smile at you one more time. “Shall we begin?” he asks, quirking his eyebrow. 

“Of course, doctor,” you whisper. You begin to lift your legs as Chan fixes the medal bars. 

“Oh, Ms. L/N., you’ll need to remove your pants.” Chan is trying to hold back his smirk, but you can still see his lips twitch. 

“Oh, right!” you giggle to yourself. You unbutton your jeans and start to shimmy your way out until two large hands stop you from lifting your hips. 

“May I help?” 

You swallow and slowly lay your back down. Chan makes a dramatic show of feeling out the fabric of your jeans, raking his hands up and down the sides of your thighs. Finally, he reaches the button and zipper of your jeans, irritatingly slow. His hands cascade the fabric down your legs, with the help of you lifting your hips, leaving you in just your innocent white panties. 

Chan bites his lower lip, seeing the little wet spot on your panties. His body rumbles with the idea that he created that little spot, that he’s the reason you're so wet right now. “I’m going to have to remove these as well.” You crane your head up, watching him stare at your covered sex. 

“Please do, doctor.” You rest your head back on the comforts of the bed. You can feel his fingers dance on the edge of the thin fabric. Eventually, Chan hooks his finger to pull your panties down your legs, leaving you bare for him. 

“You are stunning,” he says in a breath. It makes your skin heat and your core thump with need. 

“Doctor, I think we’ve gotten to a point where you can just call me Y/N.” 

“Very well. Y/N, will you kindly place your legs here?” Chan directs your attention to the perfectly placed feet rests on either side of your feet. You do as you are told, creating a perfect, open view for Chan. 

Chan sucks in a break at seeing your already-soaked cunt, perfectly on display for him. He can feel his cock twitch in his boxers. Every sheer nerve inside him wills not to lose control in front of you right now; he wills himself not to devour your leaking arousal or to take you here and now, raw and with no end in sight. 

“Chan?” 

Your soft voice shakes him out of his head, and back to the scene in front of him, with your lust-filled eyes and your dripping pussy staring at him. Chan clears his throat and easily slips on his “mask.” 

“I’ll start by warming you up and seeing if anything makes you uncomfortable. You will tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable.” He says this like a demand rather than a question, and the mix of authority and admiration in his tone fills your body with an unfamiliar feeling… a good feeling. 

You can feel his fingers explore the outskirts of your folds, teasing you before actually touching you. It makes you squirm slightly.  

"From your consultation, you've said that you notice your canal being too tight for masturbation, right?" he asked, sitting on the stool between your legs. You nodded, "Yes, I tried inserting two fingers like I normally do, but the stretch stung,"

“Alright… tell me if this is too much.” he rubs his fingers across your slik folds, coating his digits. Slowly he inserts his two fingers into your warm cunt. He can feel you clench at the stretch, which makes his jaw clench. 

“Does this hurt?” Chan looks up from between your legs only for his breath to get caught in his throat; your eyes are closed, and your lip is biting into your lip; your face is the definition of pleasure, and he’s not sure how long he can hold back.  

“No,” you respond with a whimper. 

“Okay then, I’ll begin to move.” with that, his finger starts to slide in and out of your walls. Your pussy is gushing with your arousal. As you breathe, your chest rises and falls in sync with Chan's fingers.

Your body squirms for more, and Chan is quick to pick up exactly what you want. He curls his finger every so slightly to reach that gummy spot inside you. Once he hears the low moan, you admit he continues to rub against that particular spot. 

Your moans blend with your whimpers and they become the only sound in the room. Chan’s fingers have picked up a slight rhythm, enough to make your arousal drip over his fingers and down the curve of your ass. Your body searches for more friction; your orgasm is so close you can feel it on the tips of your fingers. 

Chan can’t take it anymore, with how much you are gushing around his, how your moans sing around the room, and how much your body is craving to be touched. He shouldn’t; he knows he shouldn’t. You're here to get fucked into oblivion. You are not here for his pleasure…..but he needs to taste you. 

Your orgasm is hanging on the cliff, and your repeated “yes’s” are a sign of it until his fingers are gone. Your whine is cut off by an unfamiliar wet muscles pressing onto your clit. Your head snaps to look at the man eating you out like you are his last meal between your thighs. Your hand reaches out to tangle into his hair, and your hips lose all control, grinding against his tongue. 

Your moans are louder than you care to admit, but you couldn’t keep them quiet even if you wanted to, not with how Chan’s lips suck around your clit and how his tongue darts out to enter your wet walls. It's not long until you're screaming his name and coating his chin with your juices. 

Chan looks up at you, leaving gentle kisses along your thighs and gently on your folds. He can see your pussy clench at the overstimulation and his cock throbs in his pants. He has to hold himself back. He can’t overstimulate with his tongue….not yet, at least.

Looked fucked out already, your head leaned back on the chair, your bare chest heaving with every breath you take, your thighs slightly shaking. “Did that hurt at all?” 

You look down at Chan. His shining eyes sparkle with a newfound hunger. Slowly, you shake your head, unable to gather your scattered thoughts fully. Your met with a wide evil grin, “good,” he took a moment to step away from your thighs, only to tower over your small frame. “Then I guess we can continue”....

a/n: I have a long one ready to post next week; I just need to touch it up a little. The thing is, it's also Bang Chan. I'm debating whether to wait to post it since I'm posting this one or if I should just post it anyway. Please, please, please let me know in the comments if you all care if I post two Chan fics in a row or not. Love y'all.

[scourgeofmyownbrain]

Ladies and Gentlemen, Bitches and Bastards, Witches and Wizards, Mothers and Fuckers. Esteemed robot enjoyers, I present to you a semi-accurate height comparison of Bumblebee across the multiverse (as of July 2024). This really helps visualize the truly staggering differences between universes, at least height-wise. Also, three of these characters are Canonically the Same Guy; guess which ones.

I spent way too much time on the chart in the back it's not even funny. I will probably make more height charts for more TF characters and universes in the future. Don't expect it soon though, because when I make these, I am fueled by pure I-Got-Bored-At-Work-And-I-Have-Decided-To-Fool-Around-With-Robot-PNGs, and that fuel supply is inconsistent at best.

Hey Fun Fact, Did you know that Generation 1 Optimus Prime is around 19 Feet Tall? Bet some of you already knew that. I have no ulterior motives for bringing this fact up, what are you talking about.

My height explanations are below the cut, because you couldn't shut me up if you tried.

In an order:

Gen 1 - ~10 feet (the wiki says greater than 3 meters so I rounded up to the first whole number because round)

Netflix Cybertron Trilogy - ~10 feet (He looks identical to Gen 1 so... the reason his photo looks weird is because I couldn't find a good full body photo with him standing straight up facing the camera so I put two images together to make the worst looking photoshop job you have ever seen)

Earth Spark - 10 feet (There is no confirmed height yet but using a screen shot of him standing in front of a barn door I was able to make a reasonable guess.)

Animated - 12 feet (I have no genuine source for this, I think this info is just someone's guesstimate, but it seems reasonable. He's a tiny two door mini car, how big could he be)

New Live Action - 15 feet (The wiki hath declared. Also do we have a name for this universe because we need one I don't want to keep saying like 6 words to differentiate this one from bayverse)

Bayverse V1 - 16 feet (This is like the first 3 movies minimum, I don't remember when he hits his growth spurt. also wiki my love)

Cyberverse - 18 feet (I'm gonna be honest, the only info we have is from a really shitty screen shot of a magazine. SO if any one has a copy of this book from the video below, a high quality scan would be greatly appreciated and I will kiss the ground you walk upon. Yes I found the video where the screen shot comes from leave me alone)

Bayverse V2 - 18 feet (movie 4-5 I can't remember which one, I'm not re-looking this up. I fucking love the bayverse tho, this is the only universe with concrete and consistent this-character-is-this-height info)

Aligned Cont. WF/FOC - 20 feet (video game info screens you god send, kiss me sweetly)

Aligned Cont. TFP/RID15 - 21 feet (I do not know exactly where these numbers were found, but I fully fucking believe them. Just by looking at these characters on the show I can verify these numbers in my mind. They made specifically this universe to be full of freakishly tall robots for some fucking reason.)

And for any one who doesn't know, the three tallest are the same guy. Like the 20 feet tall one and the 21 feet tall ones, same guy. The ones in three wildly different art styles and designs. Let that sink in...

I fucking hate the aligned continuity why is that one my favorite.

[starogeorgina]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐧

Warnings: Incest

Pairing: Cregan Stark × reader, Aemond Targaryen × reader

1.02

Lord Stark’s mouth hangs slightly open; your comment seems to have shaken him. A moment passes, and you hold each other's gaze and only break eye contact when a young man of the night's watch approaches.

“My lord, princess.”

You avert your gaze as the man says something to Lord Stark quietly. In the distance, you hear Vermithor roaring; most would call you crazy, but you felt as if he was trying to tell you something. Licking at your cold, dry lips, you press your gloved hands against your cheeks.

“Yes, my lord.” The man quickly starts towards the lift to take him back down to the ground, “princess.”

You look back over and meet the Lord's eye; the gray in his eyes reminds you of clouds darkening while a storm brews. A drastic change has happened; all the softness in his face has gone and is replaced by a hardened expression.

Many men of the night's watch continue to walk by, yet it felt as if only the two of you stood atop the wall. You swallow thickly. “What is wrong?”

“Prince Jacaerys is on route to Castle Black on Dragonback.”

The sight of Vermax approaching will be what irks your own dragon. “I suppose I should go and allow my nephew the courtesy of speaking with you alone. I fear my presence will only distract him.”

Stepping closer to you, Lord Stark says, “Did it ever occur to you, princess, that when you came in support of the king they call a usurper, I might have you hanged or taken as a prisoner?”

“Did you think I might use my dragon to burn the north when you told me House Stark would remain loyal to Rhaenyra?”

His lips curl into a smile. “Vayon, the man of the watch I just spoke with, I asked him to send word to Winterfell for quarters to be made available to you if you choose to stay.”

“Thank you, my lord; that is very gracious of you. I will stay the night.”

“Mayhaps you can tell me how a princess who’s lived all her life in the south knows about the threats beyond our walls.”

—

You were grateful for the extra layers of clothing provided by one of House Stark’s ladies-in-waiting. You knew the North would be cold, but you hadn’t anticipated the ice… the ice. The strong winds that blew in your face while on dragonback were nothing compared to the feeling of ice touching your bare skin.

The guest house in Winterfell was beautiful; the thick, soft furs that covered the bed and fireplace gave the bedchamber a unique warmth that you’d never felt before. On one side of the guest house was the courtyard, and on the opposite side was the godswood.

Stepping out of the guest house, you face the courtyard and smile, watching children chasing each other. It was nice seeing them so free and happy.

You notice one young boy sitting alone on the wooden steps, resting his chin in his hands. Noticing what he’s staring so intensely at, you go and join him. His eyes widen when you sit next to him, “p-princess.”

You smile at him. “Mind if I join you?��

He shakes his head. There was no doubt he was Lord Stark’s son, Rickon; the resemblance was uncanny. Vermithor, Silverwing, and Vermax were now flying together, but occasionally, when your nephew's dragon would speed by, Vermithor would let out a roar. Jacaerys dragon looks tiny in comparison, yet it shows no signs of fear.

The boy looks back up at the sky and asks, “Is he angry, your dragon?”

The question makes you chuckle. “No, Vermithor is almost a hundred years old and gets irritated easily.”

“Like old people with children?”

“Precisely. In the south, my dragon is known as the bronze fury, but I don’t see him as a fearsome beast.”

“Most people are afraid of my direwolf, Thorn. She’s not bad, just protective.”

“Did you choose the wolf yourself?”

“No, my father found the pup while hunting; she was trying to feed from her dead mother. My father warned me the pup may not survive long, but she did.”

“I’m glad,” you smile. “Why did you name the direwolf thorn?”

You immediately regret asking when Rickon looks saddened by the question. “My mother was from House Norrey, and their words are ‘Sharp as thorns’.”

“I think you chose the perfect name.” His answer causes the already faint pain inside your chest to worsen. Poor boy, he was honoring the mother he never got to know. Feeling your bum becoming numb from the cold, you say, “It was a pleasure meeting you, my lord; if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the godswood.”

He suddenly perks up and says, “Princess, can I go with you to see the dragons?”

The look on his face reminds you of the one on Maitlands face whenever he gets excited. Your only doubt was if someone misunderstood and thought you were taking the boy over to them as a threat. “If Lord Stark agrees, I see no issue with it.”

—

The sound of snow being crushed under the weight of a footfall was something you’d heard many times in your dreams, but it never occurred to you that it was walking. Staring at the sap that resembles blood seeping from the weirwood tree, you clear your throat and say, “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it, nephew?”

Jacaerys says nothing.

“I can your anger from here.”

“I thought you were better than them,” he says. “But you’re not. You’re just as bad as Alicent, Otto, Aegon, and Aemond. Usurpers, all of you.”

“He doesn’t want it,” you turn to face a furious-looking Jacaerys. “Aegon has no taste for ruling or responsibility. He was content spending his days drinking, whoring, and dragon riding.”

“Then why does he call himself king and sit atop my mother's throne?”

The godswoods fall silent, birds can no longer be heard chirping, and all sounds of children laughing have stopped. How could you even begin to explain that Aegon had no choice? None of you did.

“Just because something is, does not mean it is right.”

He storms towards you, anger and grief threatening to spill from his eyes. “You could have refused, gone to Dragonstone, and bent the knee to the rightful heir.”

“And beg for mercy from your mother after my own has betrayed her? Do not take me for a fool, nephew.”

The sound of snow crackling in the distance alerts you to someone else approaching, but you don’t look back to see who it is. But you assume it's Lord Stark, which would explain the caution in his steps. Aegon once told you that a smart man observes dragons from a distance.

“The queen is merciful.”

“And Daemon?” You hold his stare. “Your stepfather has the same thirst for vengeance and blood as Aemond does. The moment your mother sits on the iron throne, all my family heads will be on spikes.”

“You have all committed treason.”

“I have no desire for war or to burn anyone, nor do Aegon, Helaena, or Daeron. Dragons are our house saviors; they should be cherished, not used as weapons.”

“And Aemond?”

You swallow thickly. “Each side has its own threat. There are only two ways this can end: Rhaenyra and Aegon reach an understanding before the first blood is spilled or we all die.”

He looks taken aback by your words.

“Surely, you must know that if our dragons go to war, then our house will tear itself apart.”

“If the hoary old bitch is the main threat—”

“Your dragon's teeth wouldn’t even prick a hole in Vhagar’s scales.”

“Not alone, but with multiple dragons, it would be possible.”

“I ride the second largest dragon in the world and would not dare go up against her or Aemond.” You scoff, “But ignore my words and take your sibling, mother, and stepfather and fly before her. Let your deaths be in vain; what difference will it make to me?”

“Do you expect me to do nothing but wait for one of your brothers to kill mine, or try to take my mother's head?” he snaps.

“The only dragon who could have gone against Vhagar and won was the black dread, and he is dead, as is his last rider.” The second the last word passes your lips, a pit forms in your stomach, and a sob escapes you. In the madness of everything, you hadn’t mourned your father's death. Pitying you, Jacaerys softens slightly and attempts to comfort you, but you back away from him. “I’m being ridiculous. Viserys doesn’t deserve my tears.”

He clears his throat. “What happens now?”

“Lord Stark is waiting on you; you should go.”

“Very well.”

“Jacaerys,” you squeeze your eyes shut, knowing very well what you were about to say would most likely suggest you will be rejected. “I know the word of a usurper means little and less to you, but if you’re willing, I’d like to try and find a way to help end this.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“If you believe anything, I say let it be my only goal to keep my boy safe.”

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Taking me higher

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember, week 1

Prompts: mile high club & service dom

Rated: E

Words: 1,232

Tags: Dom!Steve; Sub!Eddie; Fear of flying; Airplane sex; Semi-public sex

Before today, if anyone had asked Eddie what hell looked like, the answer would've come easy. Hell was a blood red sky, parched earth covered in vines, and monstrous creatures with flower-shaped maws prowling the decaying landscape. Obvious, right?

Wrong. 

Hell is a two-hundred-ton sardine can, shooting through the sky at five-hundred miles an hour, the ocean stretching forty-thousand feet below. No, scratch that, thirty-nine-thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine feet, because the goddamn thing just hit another air hole. 

“Eddie?” 

Next to him, Steve stirs. He looks infuriatingly at ease with his sleep mask pushed up into his hair and his neck pillow and the little fleece blanket with the airline’s logo on it. When he takes in the way Eddie’s fingers are white-knuckling their shared armrest, his brow furrows in concern. 

“Hey, everything okay?” 

“Fine,” Eddie grits out. “Peachy, don't you worry about- shit, what was that?” 

“Turbulences,” Steve shrugs. Like it's fine. Like it's not a big deal. Like they aren't locked in a steel and glass deathtrap moving faster and higher than anything has a right to. “It’s okay, they haven't even switched on the seatbelt signs.” 

“Okay, great,” Eddie babbles. “Perfect, I just- … shit, I didn't think it'd rattle so fucking much.”

“It gets a bit bumpy sometimes,” Steve's hand finds his, prying Eddie’s fingers from the armrest, ghosting soothing touches over his knuckles. “Just relax. Think of them as potholes.” 

“Potholes, right,” Eddie mumbles. “Brilliant comparison, Stevie, so helpful. You know what, if the potholes weren't ten fucking miles deep, that might actually-” 

“Baby.” 

Eddie barrels to a stop. For a second, he's convinced he must've heard wrong, because why would Steve call him that now? Steve only ever calls him that when they're playing, and there's no way-

“You with me, baby?” 

Steve’s voice has dropped to a low rumble, and fuck, all the training they've done must've finally stuck, because the answer is out before he even knows it. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Steve smiles, slow and pleased. His hand shifts to Eddie’s upper thigh. “There's my good boy.” 

And yeah, the training clearly stuck way better than Eddie is comfortable admitting, because the words go straight to his dick. Steve’s hand moves, brushing the shape of him through the fabric of his pants. Eddie gasps and squirms, and that smile goes smug. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Eddie hisses. He cranes his neck, casting frantic glances at the other passengers, but most of them are asleep in their seats. At the far end of the aisle, two stewardesses are talking and giggling at each other in hushed voices. 

“Shhhh,” Steve says. He cups Eddie’s cock in his palm, a firm and solid pressure. “They haven't noticed. You don't want that to change, do you?” 

“I- … no,” Eddie stammers. Steve’s grip tightens. “I mean … no, sir.” 

“That's what I thought,” Steve smiles, giving the bulge in his pants a good-natured pat. Eddie whines and rolls his hips in his seat, greedy for more friction, more pressure. Steve removes his hand. 

“Oh, come on,” Eddie groans. The lady in front of him grunts and stirs in her sleep. Eddie bites down on his own tongue.

“Now, here's what we're gonna do,” Steve says, lips tickling the shell of his ear, voice trickling down his spine like honey. “You're gonna go into the bathroom and get yourself ready for me. We'll need to be quick about it, so I'll give you … let's say three minutes before I join you.” 

“Wha-” Eddie wheezes. “You wanna-… Is there even room?” 

Steve chuckles. “Oh, we'll manage. I’ll just need to fuck you against the wall, nice and tight, huh?” 

Eddie gawks at him. Steve raises an eyebrow and checks his watch. “I’d hurry, if I were you. Your three minutes start now.” 

*

The bathroom is ridiculously tiny. For some reason, the movements of the plane are even more noticeable here, but Eddie doesn’t have time to dwell on that. Stumbling in on jelly-like legs, he pats his pockets until he finds what he’s been hoping for - a lonely, small package of lube. Ripping it open with his teeth, he yanks his pants down all the way to his ankles. When a few, awkward twists and turns reveal that this won’t do, he chucks off his right shoe and steps out of the pant leg entirely, propping one sock-clad foot up on the toilet bowl. 

He has hardly started preparing himself when the door opens behind him. For a panicked second, he’s afraid it’s a random passenger out for a midnight piss, now faced with the sight of him, two fingers knuckle-deep up his own ass. But it’s Steve. 

“Oh baby, look at you,” he whispers. Eddie hears the door lock, and then one large, strong hand caresses his hip. “So desperate for me? Tell me how bad you need it.”

Steve’s hand is casual and possessive as he cups his ass, the touch of a man taking what’s his. It makes Eddie feel owned in the best possible way. A prized possession, looked after and taken care of. 

“Need it so bad,” he whines, bucking back into the touch, knowing exactly what it is that Steve wants to hear. “So desperate for your cock sir, please-” 

He can’t turn, not crammed together in the tiny space as they are, but he hears how Steve’s belt and zipper come undone. That large, hard cock slaps free, hitting his ass with an obscene sound. 

“My poor, greedy boy,” Steve coos. “Asking for it so nicely. Of course you can have my cock, baby.” 

And then, without further preamble, he pushes in, all the way to the base. He sets a quick, relentless rhythm, not bothering to ease them into it slowly, and Eddie has to grip the toilet bowl with both hands or topple. It feels like his head being filled with fuzzy cotton. It feels the ground dropping out from under him, leaving him floating on clouds, but this time, it has nothing to do with the stupid plane.

It doesn’t take long. After a few hard thrusts, Steve moans and comes, hands digging into Eddie’s hips hard enough to bruise as he spills deep inside of him. Eddie is only seconds behind him, spilling his own release all over the toilet, and Steve shoves his fingers inside his mouth to muffle his scream.

*

“You good, baby?”

Eddie blinks back into reality. The ground and the walls are still rattling, but it doesn’t bother him as much, now that all of his bones have been replaced with warm jelly. Steve has pulled him out of his bent-over position and up against his chest, tucked his neck into the crook of his shoulder, and is peppering kisses over the side of his face and into his hairline. 

“Perfect,” Eddie slurs. “Thank you, sir. Could stay like this forever.” 

Steve laughs softly. “As much as I’d like to, I think we need to get back to our seats.” 

“Aw no,” Eddie pouts. “I thought everyone was asleep. Can’t we just-”

“You’re insatiable, huh?” Steve smacks a firm kiss to his cheek as he disentangles their shaky limbs, pressing a stack of paper towels into his hand as he goes. “C’mon now, be a good boy and clean yourself up. If you make it back in three minutes, I’ll consider doing this again. There’s always a return flight, y’know?” ✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️

More smutty September

[axailslink]

You must think me a fool

Dark!Shuri Udaku x Princess!Warrior FEM reader

Synopsis: Her people fear her she slaughtered a community just to save them but has she also lost her humanity? Can she force the image of a domesticated lifestyle with you who wants nothing to do with her? To do with a murderer?

"Marry? what reason do I need to marry?" Shuri doesn't take her eyes off of her past projects trying to find some sort of flaw something to update so that she doesn't let herself get completely drowned in her royal affairs. "They fear you Shuri. Do you not care?" Shuri rolls one of her kimoyo beads around in the palm of her hand "of course I care Okoye but I can't parade as if I am not upset my mother-" "your mother would want you to continue your life not sulk and-" "-you are not dora milaje anymore why do you insist on giving me guidance?" Okoye is silenced in this moment because she is right she's not Dora milaje "I am family that's why I persist but please keep acting the way you do and push the only family away you have left. To be the smartest woman I know you surely make the most idiotic decisions when you're upset. Umntwana (a child.)"

~

Shuri has a point to prove so here she sits in the middle of common folks equivalent to a living room but nothing in comparison four pillars on each corner of the room no doors but instead large arched paths that lead you to the next room or a hallway that leads to the next room. Candles light the room instead of lights so it's dimly lit not a lot but enough to see whoever resides in said room. You're nowhere in sight because this meeting as your mother said is "none of your concern" even though you're sure when you hear the truths behind it you'll disagree.

"You want my daughters hand in marriage?" The older lady sitting across from Shuri is astonished because what in the mother of above has possessed Shuri to ask for such a thing? "I don't understand you've disappeared from her life and now you want her hand?" "I'm begging for your daughter's hand I need to fool my people and she is one of the few women I've ever been interested in as a friend or as a potential queen." Shock reads the woman's face and the candles only deepen the creases on her face as she makes a contorted facial expression as she forces her next words "as much as I am willing to do so I don't think she's as willing as I." Shuri keeps her face straight unsure why a friend would not be willing to help her in such a time of need "could I speak to her?" The hesitation reaches the woman's voice before it even spills from her lips "she's... She's sparing maybe another time princess?" Shuri cocks her head at being called the wrong title but it's only momentarily "queen my title is "queen" it hasn't been "princess" in a very long time and I wish to speak with her." Before the conversation can continue and Shuri is given more time to disrespect your mother she goes to say her final piece to her "your people are dying from sickness, your animals too, your greenery can't be taken care of if the people who care for them can barely stand. My people are healthy and strong I wouldn't be opposed to lending you a hand if you lend me her hand." Your mother would never make a decision like this without your knowledge and Shuri knows it but it wouldn't hurt to tip the scale a bit in her favor before she spoke to you.

Shuri doesn't give her a chance to give a response before she wanders out of the dimly lit space into the dark hall feeling her bare feet on the rocks as she approaches the sparring room. She watches for a while as you seem to annihilate some kid with her own weapon when caught off guard you kick the tiny dagger out of the little girl's hand and Shuri is quick to grab it. "You must think yourself a worthy opponent Shuri" Shuri let's her eyes scan you and the white thin cloth that she can't believe you would call a dress "no hugs?" You smile "now why would I hug a murderer?"

"Using the common words I thought the term was a "warrior" I guess you no longer think me a friend?" You gently sign to the child to leave you both be and she does running off on the tips of her toes. "You slaughtered a community Shuri I don't think I can forgive you for that" Shuri nods as approaches you but you still your stance barely noticing the cuts lined upon your arms leaking blood onto the granite floor "it was my people or theirs I was sure you of all people would understand."

"We aged together but I would never murder you know this... You killed. Since when have we done that?" You both circle each other wondering who will pounce first? It could be you with your perfect stance ready to throw Shuri off if she does or it could be Shuri ready to attack if you so far as think to jump. "I was protecting my people!" You shake your head "you were looking for a reason to mask your revenge!" Shuri sighs the breath being the moment of letting her guard down that you just seemed to be waiting for because you grab Shuri by her neck and turn her so quickly she can't get a hold of you. Crouching behind you bring her down with you your knee pressed firmly into her back uncomfortably behind her spinal cord as the other hand stays firmly on her neck "What brings the murderer to my palace?" Shuri gasps carefully her Adams apple bobs beneath the feel of your rough fingers.

"Marry me" you grip loosens just for a moment at the shock of her words and she takes advantage sliding the dagger up your leg and breaking herself free "awukwazi ukuba serious (you can't be serious)" Shuri nods. "I simply need a favor and I shall give you one in return." You shake your head as you hold your leg "no whatever it is no. Absolutely not."

"Your people are dying"

"No"

"Yes"

"Your people are sick"

"No"

"Yes"

"Your people are vegetarian yet I see no greenery what are they eating?"

"Get out." Shuri sighs "let me help" "I don't want your help I don't even know who you are" "I am your friend" Shuri begs you with her eyes but you don't want to hear any words coming from her lips. "Marry me put on a facade and I will feed your people so well they'll be fat. I will help grow the greenery and get rid of the sickness that has consumed you all just fake this one thing for me. Don't be selfish." You sigh and stand up letting the blood drip down your leg "you move different Shuri Udaku..." Shuri says nothing now letting you get your turn to speak "it's not elegant it's not queenly you move like you care for nothing but yourself I'm sure that's true."

"I care about you..."

"You must think me a fool."

~

Within a few hours you're with Shuri on her way back to the kingdom you don't put up a fight after the conversation earlier. The faster you do this the faster your people get better it's sick of Shuri to cut a proposition like this really but it comes to surprise to you that she'd do something so evil. You're right she does move differently. She moves like a queen who doesn't deserve have her throne.

A/n: this took a big turn not even going to lie this was supposed to be some enemies to lovers y'all wasn't even supposed to know each other but once again I took a plot and ran with it. Also very unedited I have some military related stuff just wanted to give y'all something because it's been a very long time and I do apologize for that.

[fiendforbyler]

wait y’all i just realised something that is probably niche as fuck but anyway! if you know/have read the Keeper of the Lost Cities series in it’s entirety you will understand the relationship/love triangle between sophie, fitz and keefe. from the beginning fitz is set up at sophie’s love interest, even as young kids (i believe she is 12 in the first book? and he is maybe a year older? not 100% it’s been a while). she crushed on him for majority of the series and finally in book 7/8 they get together with a seemingly very romantic gesture from fitz, with many hints during the series that fitz liked her back. point is: we were all rooting for them. it is imprtant to note that it’s also always been hinted at but later in the series confirmed that keefe has major feelings for sophie as well. for me, this is representative of mike/el/will love triangle, with sophie being mike, keefe being will, and fitz being el. now, i don’t really like fitz but i LOVE el so yeah this isn’t a flawless comparison but ANYWAY back to my main point!! keefe (will) is so likeable with a tragic backstory, troubling plot line, has a lot of trauma AND a sorry crush on a girl (boy) who (supposedly) has eyes only for one person since the beginning- something that has been clearly set up and formed into a seemingly sweet relationship readers have been rooting for from the beginning. yeah this is sounding familiar? here’s the problem (or solution for sophkeefe/byler shippers like i): ITS NOT WHAT SOPHIE THOUGHT IT WOULD BE. fitz pressures her into trying to find her bio parents so they could be matched, he is aggressive and possessive over her (not in a good way) and she breaks up with him. during this, i’m pretty sure she begins to crush on keefe as well- keefe in permanent denial she could ever like him back of course- and feels terribly guilty about it, because she still has feeling for fitz. (yeah i told you, not the perfect comparison but you understand what i’m getting at right?) while things with fitz get worse, sophie starts genuinely discovering how she really feels about keefe, with lines like “if she was really really honest- and really really brave- she had to admit that the idea of being with keefe sounded… kind of amazing. Yes, it was scary. and yes there were risks. but wouldn’t it be worth trying?” wouldn’t it be worth trying? ladies and gents, we just discovered mikes inner monologue!!! scary, risky, but worth it? its what will is to him! mike has always been “too insecure to let (him)self see what’s right in front of (him)” (a line taken from the book!!!!!!) will is in front of him. he is being so distracted by his internalised homophobia that he has NOOO idea what he is missing!! “‘SERIOUSLY, STOP!’ she told herself again…/ adding those kind of feelings to a friendship pretty much ruined everything. ( talking about fitz)”

and it’s all oh so familiar…

BUT WAIT! THERES MORE! finally, FINALLY, during our long awaited kiss scene, she says this:

“some tiny part of her head had always wondered if kissing keefe could really be as great as everyone claimed. but kissing keefe was so. much. better.”

yeah. and then blah blah they get interrupted by who? of yes of course fitzy the ex boyfriend is here. and he says what when he finds out? OH YEAH. “you kissed him? you didn’t even kiss me!”

THAT SOUNDS A LOT LIKE “you never say it/i say it” AND “i didn’t say it/you didn’t have to” or pretty much the same way mike acts around will vs el.

you know what else? mikes inability to say i love you to el (hasn’t kissed fitz) but so clearly communicate it to will (kissing keefe)

if you haven’t read all this (and i don’t blame you!!) just read this next paragraph!

but back to my main MAIN point. sophitz was the ship EVERYONE (except maybe a select few) wanted right up until they got together!! it was perfect on paper, cute, with history and seemingly ‘connected’ character (as per the plot), and as soon as they got together, everything fell apart, as well as sophie closing herself off and beginning to lose fitz even before the downfall of their relationship due to her suppressed feelings about keefe. (cough cough MIKE) they need to break up for her to realise keefe was the better match all along. keefe, who never thought he as a chance. keefe, who loved her from the start. KEEFE, WHO LET HIS BEST FRIEND HAVE HER IF IT MEANT HAPPINESS TO THEM.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? please tell me i’m not crazy!! thank you for reading this it took me a long time to write but it also felt great to write this out even if no one reads this. hail to byler and a reminder we are one day closer to seeing them on screen. have a great day/night!

[mothiir]

No one asked for an elaborate list of petnames but here you are! This is what some of the 40k men would call their significant other/adored-but-definitely still a prisoner: 

The Lion  - Woman. You there. He does not believe in excessive displays of affection and considers overly effusive nicknames degenerate and unnecessary. He does not need to prove he cares for you by calling you something quaint; he proves it every day, by deigning to notice you.

Gulliman - more romantic than his brother (which isn’t difficult) but still quite practical. My dear. My lady. Darling. Quite formal when he refers to you in public -- in private, the emphasis will increasingly shift to the possessive. My lady. My dear. Mine. All mine. The one thing in the damn Imperium that is his. 

Konrad - you are going to spend a considerable amount of time worrying that Konrad is planning to eat you -- he constantly licks and smells you, and his petnames do not help this at all. Tasty mortal. Sweet thing. Little morsel. He also has no basis of comparison for what makes an acceptable term of endearment, given that he has never been shown affection in his life, and so will refer to you by things he finds appealing. Soft-fleshed dear. Warm-skinned treat. Most of the time these will be whispered right into your ear, like the world’s worst ASMR.

Big E - he never uses your actual name, to the point where you think he may well have forgotten it. You get called little human, little mortal, tiny little thing. He will deny having a size kink, but he just loves reminding you how small and frail you are next to him. Also will constantly compare you to prey animals. Little rabbit, little dove, tiny little mouse.  

Magnus -- as you might expect, he gets grandiose with his nicknames. Princess, star of my heart, song of my life. Darling dear, moon of the red wastes. He will list off increasingly elaborate titles, sometimes verging on writing poetry, getting more and more abstract the more amorous he is feeling. 

Cato - the man is besotted and not happy about it. That is why you will be referred to as woman, that one over there, the whore, or the slut whose name eludes me. Congrats, this is the highest accolade he can offer anyone.

[illmoraineakoi]

Friendly Reminder that the Vessel Eggs are Freaking Huge.

Also Obligatory Birthplace Egg is the only Egg Asset with Void Vines attached to it remark.

It was always strange to me how large Vessel eggs really are, especially because there really seems to be little need for it. Vessel hatchlings/nymphs are Tiny. Why are the eggs so big in comparison?

There seems to be waaaay too much unnecessary/excess space in each egg if there's only one Vessel per egg. Usually with eggs, by the end of the gestation period, the spawn is cramped in there with very little excess room. Extra unused space is wasteful, and biology hates being wasteful.

This is why I've personally always subscribed to the headcanon of Vessels eggs actually being more like Egg Sacs/Egg Cases than typical eggs. Both are when, for irl bugs, multiple larva/nymphs hatch from the same "egg"-like gestational container. Egg sacs are common for spiders (they make the actual sac itself with silk; here's a great video showing how one is made.) while cockroaches are know for egg cases (Here's a video of some hatching.)

Ghost's egg clearly isn't that much bigger than the other egg assets, it's just less destroyed, so it's size is a good reference for how big all of them would have been. And it's big enough for at least a handful of Vessel nymphs to have fit inside at once.

^ Case in point.

(You could probably squeeze a few more in there if you treat it more like a the sphere it's supposed to be and also depending on the horns. The main limiter are the heads/shells, since those are the hard parts* of a Vessel; Vessel nymph bodies seem to be quite squishy and flexible.)

(*= This is assuming that Vessel shells were hard during their gestation period. There is a chance they might not have been, since newly hatched nymph insects tend to have flimsy bodies for a while. The Birthplace memory shows that Vessels had hard shells at that point, and that seems really close to the point of hatching, so it seems likely that they hatched with hard shells rather than needing to wait a bit for them to harden up. Also, Vessel biology is weirdly wonky, so irl stuff doesn't really matter.)

Also, curiously, it seems Vessel eggs have two layers:

There's the outer shell, but there's very clearly a second, inner thing that has been broken out of. The different in the breaking look from the outer shell suggests this inner layer is made of a different material. The Pale King's egg lacks this, to it's at the very least unlikely to be a Wyrm thing, or at least not a Wyrm thing on it's own. It might be something unique to the union of Wyrm and Root and thus unique to the Vessels.

It could be a Root Thing, but we know jack shit about the White Lady and exactly how much she contributed to the Vessels.

I mean, we know literally nothing about how the Vessels were made besides Pale Babies Get Thrown Into The Liquid Shadow Pit To Get Stuffed With Black Goop, but that's besides the point.

There's also two alternative theories for why the eggs are so big that I'd like to touch upon: Void Swelling, and Stunted Development.

Let's go with Void Swelling first.

In snake eggs, the eggs tend to get a bit bigger by the time they hatch. Normally, it's not too much. Sometimes, however, the eggs really seem to swell up. Most people I've heard/seen talking about this think that the eggs are absorbing and retaining water from the humid incubation environment. Sometimes it's indicative of a problem; sometimes those swollen eggs start to rot, making it clear that that gestation has failed. Other times, the snake just hatches with a lot of egg goop.

It's possible that the Vessel eggs are so large because they've just been swollen up from the Void infusing into them.

Two problems with this theory: Vessels eggs are clearly hard-shelled, and hard-shelled eggs don't swell. At least, I've never heard of them doing that, but I'll admit I'm not a bird person. Perhaps some eggs got stuffed with way too much void and popped open before it was ready to hatch.

The second issue is that the Abyss is not what I would call a humid place (or, at least, it doesn't LOOK humid), and we don't see any liquid Void anywhere near where the eggs are in the Abyss. All the liquid Void we see is to the left of Vessel Corpses, and we see no egg assets anywhere on the way to and around the Lighthouse.. This makes it rather ambiguous how the Void even infused into the eggs at all, let alone if liquid Void was involved. Given how deep the Birthplace goes, it's impossible to tell what was at the bottom of that shaft before all of the corpses stuffed it up.

Unless ambient smoky environmental Void could have stuffed into the eggs enough to engorge them, which is also a possibility. Void is weird and we know little about how it works/behaves. Still unlikely due to the hard shells, but it's a theory.

The second theory is less about too much Void in the eggs and more about not enough Vessel.

It's possible that, at the time of Void infusion (and thus, death for the gestating Pale Children nymphs) the influence/corruption of the Void caused the Vessels to just stop developing. Dead things don't grow or develop after all.

Perhaps the eggs are so large because the original offspring that was supposed to hatch from those eggs were really supposed to be that large. They were supposed to be the spawn of a Wyrm and a Root combined. Even if the White Lady hadn't of been so big at the time of the Vessel Plan, she's shown she was always capable of eventually growing large. And if the offspring took aspects from PK's original Wyrm form over his dinky bugsona, which I would assume to be possible bc DNA and Genetics, then a larger size would also potentially be expected.

Or maybe some Pale Children would have gotten the Wyrm gene while others got the Bugsona gene, which is what Hornet got, and is absolutely hilarious to think about. Imagine getting riffed on by a twelve foot high sibling bc you got dad's Short Gene.

There's one issue with this theory, and that is of course, Broken Fucking Vessel. Broken Vessel always throws wrenches into Vessel theories, it's like their favorite past time.

Broken Vessel has aged. And, Hollow, more obviously, but BV is the main confusing one. Broken Vessel proves that Vessel can age on their own, without the potential influence/assistance of the King. BV proves that Vessel development isn't permanently stunted.

The most logical solution to this issue I've seen is exposure to the Void. Vessels, on a fundamental level, are made up of Void. It is intrinsically entwined with their very physiology. They're not just walking corpses stuffed full of Void and a Shade, their very flesh IS Void and that Shade.

Case in point:

BV, out of any other Vessel outside of Hollow, is the one who could have potentially come into contact with Void after leaving the Abyss. They're found in the Ancient Basin, which at the time of the game is heavily Void tainted (likely due to the Lighthouse being off and PK fucking off to Buzzsaw Land. That light had likely been the only thing keeping the Void suppressed underneath the Basin.)

PK could have used Void to supplement Hollow's growth into adulthood because Vessels probably literally cannot grow or age without it. Hence why Ghost and all the other escapee Vessels are stuck as nymphs while BV grew a tiny bit.

Of course, the solution to the BV issue also ruins the stunted embryonic development theory too. It's a rather poor and weak theory that I've included only because I though it was a bit interesting. Thinking about what the original Pale Spawn would have been like is always interesting to me.

With that, I have just one more thing to point out.

Ma'am, how the FU--

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter Map Twenty-Four

TW: NSFW, inappropriate use of handcuffs, angst

Tom picks you up from your shift, and you ride in silence. The uncomfortable, we need to talk, prickly silence that has your bones feeling weirdly placed and your teeth achy with unsaid words. His mouth and your mouth combined? Quiet between the two? Strange. You both know something’s up. Maybe even more than one something. 

When you get into your place, he goes to use the restroom, and you meander around cleaning a little bit—putting some dishes away and rearranging your coat rack and making sure your recently neglected plants aren’t dying dry deaths. 

“Sorry, guys,” you whisper, filling them up and eyeing the leaves for any browning spots, spraying the orchids’ tangled roots with water and a little plant food. You pause at the dark purple orchid from Julian, realizing there’s still a smear of your dried blood on the pot. Roses love to eat blood and bone. You’re not so sure about orchids. It’s hard not to think of Julian, when you look at the beautiful plant, but you can’t quite bring yourself to get rid of it yet. It’s not the orchid’s fault, after all.  

“You just keep getting cuter,” Tom says, smirking from the kitchen doorway. 

“They’re living things,” you reply, sticking your tongue out. 

“You know, I worked a case once where a lady had a lot of plants.”

You shoot him a raised brow. “Was she poisoning someone with one?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, that fast growing, uncut dark shag probably due for a haircut soon. Shame, you kinda like it a little longer. “See, it just makes me even more suspicious that you know that.” 

“Am I a suspect now, Officer Ludlow?” You ask, batting your eyelashes at him.

“Easy, Poison Ivy, don’t make me get the cuffs.” 

“Poison Ivy, really?” 

He shrugs. “What? She’s hot. You’re hot. You both love plants. Got that fiery temper.” Wink.

“And you’re what, Batman?” You crinkle your nose at the comparison. Bruce Wayne ain’t got nothin on Tom Ludlow. Plus, you were never a big fan. Now, Punisher, he’s someone you can admire.

“No. I’m a side character. Poison Ivy’s boyfriend.” 

Do not engage. Do not interact. Do not make eye contact. Did he just call himself… You haven’t had a boyfriend in what, years? Tom Ludlow? Boyfriend? Dating? Your brain might be short circuiting, a rattling tool box of metal getting zapped with a cattle prod, and you stand there, frozen, looking dumb for a good minute until you can compartmentalize and rationalize. 

Tom Ludlow hasn’t really left since that first night you invited him in. His clothes are in your dirty laundry, his shoes are sitting next to yours on the entryway rug, making your sneakers look like kids shoes in comparison, his amazing smell is on everything, his indent is on your bed. He’s just settled himself right in here, and you didn’t even notice. 

“What’s a throw down?” You ask, stupidly, suddenly, not sure why you pick that moment to inquire about this. 

To your credit, it does take him off guard and make him forget about the whole boyfriend thing… For now. “It’s a gun dirty cops carry. Something to throw away in case they shoot someone...unlawfully.”

“Is that…what you have on your ankle?” 

His frown is like a thunderhead, and he probably would have started yelling, if not for how tiny your voice sounded, and the big-eyed bunny look on your face. “No, baby. That’s my backup. In case I lose my other gun. Which, I have. Why are you asking me this?” 

Oh fuck, this was a bad, bad decision. Maybe you should mention the dating conversation again? You turn to face him, trying to seem less suspicious and probably just ranking yourself even higher on his list of suspects. “Brixton, that guy that interviewed me, said you fired it in the store.” 

Nice save—never mind, looks like you’ve personally signed Brixton’s death certificate yourself. You jump in to appease that hostile look curtaining over his face. “It's just..I feel like there’s something up, Tom. Something you’re not telling me?”

You’re such a hypocrite. 

“What does that have to do with my backup?” He asks, great fucking detective that he is, and you’re caught like a rabbit in a metal fox trap, ready to gnaw off its own leg just to get free. And maybe, judging by that suspicious look on his face, you should start digging in sooner rather than later.

“I don’t know, Tom.” You throw your hands in the air, maybe a little too dramatically. “I’m just trying to piece this whole thing together, y'know? And if you’re not telling me anything, how can I do that? I saw his face—the man who attempted to murder a cop in cold blood—and I’m scared.” None of that was particularly a lie, but you still feel bad for freaking out on him. 

You feel even worse, when his standoffish attitude melts immediately for you. “Shit. I’m sorry, baby, come here,” he says, holding out his arms to you. 

Once upon a time, with anyone else, you would be an ornery shit and refuse the respective olive branch. But with Tom…you melt too, and before you know it you’ve crossed the tiny kitchen to fill his arms. 

“You’ve taken this whole thing like such a champ, I fucking forget you’re not used to getting shot at,” he says to the top of your head. “M’sorry, baby. I’m working on figuring this all out. I promise you. I’ve got some leads. I gotta find a guy…” He shuts himself up out of habit, not used to sharing details of an ongoing investigation with a civilian. But then he seems to think better of it, considering you’re right in the fucking middle of it too. “I gotta find this guy who might know the shooters. I’m waiting on a call. Got a lead through an inmate in County.”

“Why would an inmate help you?” you mumble into the solid plane of his chest. 

“Because I put him there, and he’s not gettin’ out unless he gets me that name.”

You blink at that, craning your neck to look up at him. “Is that legal?” 

He looks down at you with that Come on look that makes you feel more than a little foolish. 

“Oh.”

You feel the rumble of his amusement from deep in his chest, more than hear it. 

“Is that…always how you really get things done?” you ask, at risk of being made to feel even dumber. “Like, are the official channels really that useless?”

“Pretty much, sweetheart. Learned it the hard way a long time ago. Too many bureaucrats in the LAPD. Not enough people actually willing to get the job done.”

With a long sigh you nod, utterly reluctant to vacate the depression between his pecs. You’re pretty sure it was made just for your head. 

You guess you're about to embark on some back channels of your own to keep him out of trouble. The thought of what Julian might have in store for you makes a shudder of revilement run through you. Tom cranes back to study you, those hawkish eyes narrowed. He knows something’s up. He’s too smart, and you can’t fathom how you’re going to trick him, even if it is for his own good.

You suppose your best bet is distracting him–so you stand on tip toe, and press your lips to his. 

***

He just will not drop it.

He drives you absolutely wild. To the edge of your sanity. To the brink of death. 

This man’s tongue should be considered a lethal weapon. It’s an absolute menace. 

It’s the best thing you’ve ever felt, yet you can’t help but think to yourself, this is how you die.

“Tom…” you beg. “It’s too much!”

You would have even tried to get up, to get away, to flee, you’re that desperate, but he’s been holding you down with those big beautiful hands, and you are just a quivering mess of a woman at his mercy. Plus, he’s got you cuffed to the post of your bed.

“You can cum anytime you want, sweet girl,” he tells you. “You know what I want to hear.”

“This is…interrogation…under duress.”

“Oooo, someone’s been studying up.”

“Hey, I know…stuff.”

He’s changed tactics, making slow, soft circles with his tongue, just shy of where you need him most. The keening whine it tears from your hoarse throat makes him chuckle against you; a deep, bone-melting sound that you think Satan could take some notes from. 

“You know what I want to hear.”

I’m yours.

“Torturing me into saying it won’t make it true.”

“I already know it’s true, sweetheart. Just want to hear you say it.”

You whimper, your head thrown back into the pillows. So keyed up yet exhausted, too stubborn for your own good. You sense Tom looking up at you, his cheek resting on the soft pillow of your inner thigh. 

“Scare you that much, baby?”

You have to try twice before you can find your voice, suddenly feeling like you downed a fat gulp of Mojave sand. “You don’t understand.”

“Then tell me.”

“Now?”

“No time like the present.”

He climbs your body, and you are relieved until he sheathes himself inside you, just like that, like this is the place where he belongs. You desperately try to grind against him, knowing you are so close to the edge, but he just pins you with his thick cock kissing your cervix and his elbows on either side of you. 

He kisses your forehead, and its all so tender you could cry.

“You know you’re safe with me?”

“I know.” You mean it, too, even if you sound pitiful.

He sweeps your hair from your face with gentle fingers, looking down at you with a little smile that wrecks your heart. It simply was not fair.

“Then tell me what’s going on.” You’re not sure if he means your neuroses in general, or your earlier almost-slip, or…who knows? Discussing any and all of it aloud terrifies you. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. Finally, you just frown, and fall back on your favorite word of all time.

“No.”

Miraculously, he doesn’t get mad, like every other man you’ve ever known would have. He just seems to think you’re cute. “You know what?” He muses, tracing your collarbones and making you shiver, “I think,” he follows the dip of your skin, down between your breasts, then under, slow and soft, over your rib cage as you make little strangled gasps, attempting unsuccessfully to writhe—get him frustrated enough to move. “I think you like it when I tease all your worries away.” 

Why does that infuriate you even more? “This isn’t teasing.” Your whining delights him and humiliates you. “This is tortu-ah.” 

He has your pert right nipple tugged between two fingers, rolling the sensitive flesh against rough calluses. The sensation swells into your pussy, and she clenches, exacting her own form of vengeance on Tom, for once on the same side as you—the cum or die side. 

A breath of air hisses from between his teeth, and you grin up at him in triumph. Sure, you’re the one handcuffed to the bed being edged out of your mind, but you know underneath all that cool, collected facade this affects him just as much as it does you. 

“You haven’t seen torture yet.” He says, his smile turning malicious.

“What?” You pant. “Can’t help it that my pussy loves your cock so much, baby.”

He turns peach again, skin absolutely betraying his attitude, and you let loose a sharp giggle that turns to a groaning snarl when he pumps inside of you, slow, not enough. The rhythm he adopts after a minute or two of equally frustrating practice is made for your destruction; more frustrating than just holding him inside, unmoving. 

That languid squelching rub, the slow strokes that make your cunt flood and fatten with plentiful cum, yield to and accommodate its bulky visitor like a good little host should—all of it gets both of you gnashing your teeth and growling like beasts.

In this feral, viscous slide of your bodies, Tom takes your mouth instead of talking, teeth and tongue and spit. None of it would be pretty from an onlooker's perspective, you think, as he swallows the bottom of your face into his big jaws, but fuck, it’s just what you need from him while he works your cunt to a slow, brutal end. 

La petite mort, your brain thinks, surfacing from the sluggish black haze for a moment before you lose it entirely again to a violent, slow orgasm on just his cock. You barely feel the scratchy tickle of his stubble as he buries his face into your neck, biting and licking at your collar, and ending right along with you. 

“Trickster,” he mumbles, hips twitching in finality, length already softening and settling inside you. 

“Who me?” You giggle. 

“Minx,” he growls. 

“Never,” you tease. 

“One of these days I’m gonna get you to say it baby. Might as well just get it over with.” 

“Say what?” You ask, now just trying to piss him off. 

He nibbles the skin of your neck, and you giggle-flinch away. 

“I have to tickle you?” He asks. 

“Swear to God, Tom, I will kill you.” Then, you pout. “These cuffs are kinda uncomfy.” 

He sighs and unlocks you from your metal, cold bondage, then rubs the blood and warmth back into your wrists. “Can I ask you something?” 

You flick your head at him, curious, and push the sweaty hair from his forehead. “Yeah, of course.”

“Will you take a little vacation with me? After I’m done with this case? I’d like to take you somewhere. Just us. Anywhere you want. Beach, mountains. I know we’re already right next to the beach, but maybe one with calmer water? They have some nice little bungalows in Florida.” He’s cute, when he’s all rambling and shy and flustered. 

You lean up to kiss him, halting his nerves. “Yeah, I will.” 

“Really?” He asks, grin big and goofy and only missing a long tongue hanging from the side. 

He makes you laugh. The dichotomy of this man. God, you want to eat him. “Yeah. I have unused vacation time anyway. As long as you promise not to secretly be a serial killer.” 

He snorts, probably thinking of the same image that you are: Bull-in-a-china-shop, brutish, forceful, loud Tom trying to be sneaky and malicious in any capacity? It’s just not believable. What you see is what you get with this long, bronze man currently walking butt ass naked to the bathroom and retrieving a damp, warm towel for you to clean up with. 

***

“So, where do you wanna go?” He asks, once you're settled in his arms with the blanket wrapping you up. You think it’s just way too adorable, how he fusses over you. Pushes your hair back from your face, makes sure you’re adjusted and comfortable, makes sure your toes are covered, kisses your forehead. 

“I’ve never been to the mountains,” you suggest, nuzzling your face into his chest and inhaling, trying to memorize him—this moment. 

“Mountains it is,” he grins. “We’ll go hiking.” 

“Do you think we’ll see woodland critters?” You ask hopefully. 

“Don’t worry,” he soothes, “I’ll protect you.”

You laugh into his skin. “Tom, I want to see them. I’m not scared.” 

“What about, I dunno, bears?” 

“Bears are cute.” 

He gives you an incredulous look, as if you’ve really caught him off guard with that one. “You’re something else.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“Am I gonna have to hold you back from trying to pet a 700 pound grizzly?” He asks, fingers playing with your shoulder blades. 

You pretend to think about it. “No, but maybe a raccoon….?” 

“Oh my god, go to bed,” he chuckles. “I’m rethinking the mountains.” 

“Oh c’mon!” 

It takes a good hour for you both to get tired enough to fall asleep. The witty banter keeps you awake, like you’re at a teenage slumber party with your best friend. It’s you that drifts off first, because if you don’t get your nine hours you emulate Grumpy from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. 

[purplekissinger]

hmm…hey, dear! I saw that your requests are open and I would like to know, can I get a fluffy (if that's possible) Voldemort, but as Voldy and not Tom (I mean with his snake form and not human) and wife fem reader (ambiguous appearance) in which he introduces her to his followers(with the right of him calling her his lady or queen or something like that) and despite the regrets and what everyone thinks, he is really devoted to her (even a little yan ) and the reaction of the diners seeing the way the dark lord treats his lovely wife (who is a magnificent witch, by the way) please? keep this wonderful fanart (https://www.tumblr.com/snake-queen7/730095728446291968?source=share) credits to the original author

Death and the Maiden

“why, I am growing quite sentimental... But look, Harry! My true family returns...”

Hiii anon!! Thanks for such a cool idea :3 Look, there is fluff here, Voldemort being nice with reader and all that, BUT!! I accidentally added some pretty dark themes. Like, really dark. Y/N uhhhhhh revives the Dark Lord, no less than that. There are not many details here, but the description of the ritual is sort of the same as in the fourth book. TW: blood, mention of cuts, morally grey reader, Voldemort and Y/N being a disaster couple.

Oddly enough, the most difficult part was finding the grave of Merope Riddle.

She died as Tom Riddle Sr's lawful wife, you now knew this for sure, because you rummaged through a thousand decayed documents in search of the name of the cemetery in the ground of which her poor bones lay. The archives of the hospital, the morgue, three Confunduses and one Imperio led you to Tottenham Park, to the old cemetery, where the poor were buried at that time, where on a tiny piece of land the unfortunate woman finally found peace. The peace that you were now about to disturb.

“Bone of the mother, taken with respect, you will renew your son!” you said in a whisper. And, looking at the ground that had parted under your feet, you thought that it’s good that they didn’t think of cremating Merope.

***

He has many names and so does Y/N.

“Y/N” — he’s the one who calls you that when no one can hear. This name is for him only, like a password, like a key on a chain hidden under a shirt, like a secret door in a solid wall. “Y/N.” "Tom".

“Mistress of the Riddle Manor” is a little cheesy, but you like it. It was you who persuaded him not to huddle at Malfoy’s, but to take the house that rightfully belonged to him, it was you who remade and altered everything here to your taste, it was you who turned an abandoned mansion into a cozy fortress on the border of the forest, it was you who caught a smile on his lips when he saw a tapestry with the Slytherin coat of arms on the wall. “My lady, you have impeccable taste,” he said then, and you bowed playfully.

“She Who Remained Faithful” is not something anyone among the Death Eaters actually calls you, but Voldemort likes to mention this epithet at meetings to emphasize what they should all strive for. When Bellatrix hears this, there are angry tears in her eyes. You are the eternal employee of the month. If there was an honor roll at Riddle Manor, it would have a full-length photo of you on it.

Newspapers are not so kind. In the headlines of the ‘Daily Prophet’ first pages, you are always “She Who Should Not Be Remembered.” The soft “should not be remembered” looks touching in comparison with the stern “must not be named.”

“You should call my wife “Mistress” or “My lady,” Voldemort says softly, looking around the room. “No other way. Although I do not recommend kissing her hand because it could cost your life”.

The Death Eaters gathered around the table nod uncertainly. You smile slightly, touching his palm under the table. His long boney fingers are cold, but only you know that they are also very, very gentle.

“Perhaps,” he adds thoughtfully, looking sideways at you, “such a kiss should be worth your whole life.”

At the wave of a pale hand, they rise from their seats, take turns approaching you and bowing at a respectful distance, and swear allegiance.

“Thank you for your invaluable help...” Snape says rotely. He is the only one who fully understands the incredible level of witchcraft you achieved by performing the ritual. He is the only one who understands how dangerous the mistress of Riddle Manor is, who has not a single murder to her name, but only one revival of the Dark Lord.

“... and I swear eternal fidelity...” Peter whispers. His small eyes sparkle and he tries not to look at you, but he can’t. Not even the fear of getting Crucio'd stops him.

“...my lady,” Bellatrix spits. In her eyes there is resentment, envy, longing... admiration?..

***

Tom Riddle had no friends. Voldemort neither. But, since you convinced him to do the most risky experiment in the world ever, to change the ritual of “Flesh, Bone and Blood”, then you had to go all the way.

You needed to sneak into Hogsmeade under the cover of darkness, which in itself is not an easy task, slip into the castle, find the Chamber of Secrets and allow Tom to possess you so that with your lips he could say the cherished “Open.” You had to jump into the cold darkness, you had to walk through the damp tunnels, you had to close your eyes when, rustling its scales, a huge creature approached you and, sniffing the air with its terrible nostrils, emited a bubbling hiss, in which any Parseltmouth would recognize the delight of a long-awaited meeting. “Why, you recognise me, after all,” Tom said tenderly, without leaving your body, and your arms wrapped around the thick snake neck. “Well, hello, Susie. Long time no see". A quiet, gentle hiss was the answer. "Thank you. Listen, there's something I really need you to do now...”

In one motion, you knocked over the fogged diamond vial over the cauldron. The blood of Susie the basilisk, the only creature in the world that Tom Riddle had ever considered a friend, turned the potion golden.

“Blood of the friend,” you said, breathing in, “given willingly, you will ressurect your ally!”

You understood Susie perfectly. Knowing Tom meant being willing to do anything for him.

***

“Do you want to celebrate our wedding at the Ministry or at Westminster Abbey?” Voldemort asks casually.

These quiet mornings are just for the two of you. When the fog over Little Hangleton had not yet cleared, and a cool freshness reigned in the garden, you, slowly, hand in hand, walked through the garden, and you proudly showed him the new flower beds, and he listened very carefully and admired both the flowers and you .

“We’re already married, Tom,” you reminded him and with a graceful gesture you raised your left hand, as if to show him a thin ring with an emerald. He quickly grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips.

“No,” he answered seriously. “It was a formality. I want a celebration for all of London, all of England. I want everyone to see you and know whose wife you are”.

Means a lot coming from someone who can throw the Cruciatus curse at any insolent person who dares to even look at you.

“Oh, aren’t you ambitious, my lord,” you laugh, running your finger along his pale cheek. “Is there anything else you might want?”.

“Of course there is,” Voldemort says with no hesitation, but for a brief moment you think that he’s trying to joke. “I want you to wear the crown of England.”

You hide your smile, turning away.

“Then we’d better get married in the London Tower.”

***

The potion hummed impatiently in the cauldron as you hurriedly unbuttoned your shirt with numb fingers. The third ingredient was too easy, a simple task. It has always been with you, from the day you and Tom looked into each other's eyes.

‘Flesh of the beloved!’ you gasped, breaking into a scream, when the dagger made the first cut on your left shoulder, ‘Given lovingly!.. You... will revive!..’ a little bit more, just a little! ‘Your loved one!"

Will is what is important. Intention is what is important. You don’t need to throw your entire arm from shoulder to hand into the cauldron, just a small piece of flesh is enough, which is worth more than thousands of Galleons, more than unicorn blood and basilisk venom. The will and intention of Her-Who-Remained-Faithful.

***

“You are the most precious thing I have,” Voldemort says quietly when the meeting is over and the two of you are sitting by the fireplace, hand in hand, your head on his shoulder. “I never expected to find such a treasure. And now it is not only with me, but also inside of me… Oh, how are you so loyal to me, my lady?”.

“I would throw my heart into the cauldron if necessary,” you say honestly.

“Don’t you ever say that,” he hisses angrily. “for it's mine”.

[lady-of-tearshed]

A promise

Eris Vanserra & Lucien Vanserra

Eris Vanserra week 2024

@erisweekofficial

Day 2 : Childhood

Summary: Eris, as usual, managed to get Lucien out of the house before one of their parents' fight got too explosive. Lucien had never questioned or doubted Eris sudden invitations to go out of the house, until now.

Warnings: angst, toxic household, mention of killing someone (Beron)

Word count: 641 words

Dividers made by @tsunami-of-tears 🤎

It was a particularly warm and sunny day in Autumn. The tenacious humidity had seemed to take its leave today, letting the sun embracing all Faes of this cruel court with comforting, and much needed, warmth.

“Ewis, bored!”

Eris growled, the sound far too similar to his oldest and grumpiness hound warning snarl, when tiny hands lifted his arm off of his eyes.

“Eris, Lu. Errrrris,” Eris exaggerated his mouth movement as he corrected Lucien's poor pronunciation for the hundredth time today, “Rrrrr,”

“Rrrrr! Rrrrr! Just like the sounds father makes when he's mad, right?”

The eldest Vanserra brows furrowed at Lucien's comparison. He might, or might not have, used that comparison to teach Lucien how to pronounce his “r"s… Eris hated how this little rascal had such a great memory.

“Don't repeat that in front of Father…”

Eris grumbled as he brought his arm back up to cover his eyes, determined to get some well needed uninterrupted rest. Well, as uninterrupted rest could be with a three years old brother wandering around you-

“Errrris!” Lucien was whining this time, the sound as unbearable as nails hissing on a chalkboard. Lucien's tiny hands were insistently tugging on the expensive fabric of his brother's black shirt sleeve. “I'm bored! Can we go home now?”

Eris sighed and sat up, the hound sleeping with one eye open beside him doing the same. The shadow hounds always followed their master’s every move, truly devoted beasts they were. Eris scratched the hound behind its ear appreciatively.

“Not now, Lu,”

“Because mother and father are still fighting?”

Eris’ hand halted on the dog's ear at Lucien's words. His hand curled into a fist.

“Why would you think that?”

“They always fight,” Lucien's small shoulders shrugged, his eyes darting away from Eris.

Eris' heart clenched. He hadn't wanted Lucien to see the atrocious toxicity of their household, not yet. He had wanted to prevent him from worrying about their parents fighting for at least a while longer.

But, just like when he had tried to protect his five other brothers' innocence, he had failed. Lucien was already dipped into the harsh truth of how brutal their father is.

Lucien broke the silence, getting Eris out of his dark thoughts and guilt momentarily. “That's not an okay way to treat a lady, right, Ewis?”

Eris shook his head, scooping Lucien’s warm cheeks with his palms. “No, Lucien. That is not an okay way to treat a lady,”

“Then why do you let him treat mom like that?”

Eris' throat tightened, his eyes felt suddenly more damp, but he kept his face hard. “I will,” He promised him solemnly, “One day, Lucien, I will stop him. I promise,”

He kissed Lucien's small forehead, sealing this promise in his heart, and held onto him tightly, knowing that from now on, everything would have to change. That he'd do anything to get closer to their father, so that he could fulfill his promise

To stop Beron, for good. To end him.

Even if it led Lucien, or anyone else in this world, to speak of Eris Vanserra as the villain in their stories.

“Okay,”

Eris' answer had been enough for Lucien, his young mind struggling to process Eris’ emotions. So he just wrapped his arms around his older brother’ neck, holding his face close to his heart, just like his mama did when he was having big emotions.

And Eris shed a tear, for the first time in the first century of his pathetic life, he allowed himself to cry. Silently, the tears rolled down Eris’ cheeks, out of Lucien’s sight. He kept his face hidden in the warmth of his little brother's embrace and cried, all while promising himself to gather up his strength to one day be able to end his father's reign of terror.

At whatever cost.

Acotar taglist: @lilah-asteria @acotar-lover @mybestfriendmademe

Eris Vanserra taglist:

General taglist:

[coochiequeens]

As your bones lose density, the only way you will protect them is by keeping your muscle mass; building strength in middle age is part of what will define the shape and tempo of your old age. “

When 50-year-old Anna Jenkins, the founder of We Are Fit Attitude (Wafa), a woman-only health and fitness club, looked online for images of older women exercising, she was irritated by the pitiful size of the weights: the stock image is of a woman with grey hair lifting a 1kg weight, as if doing so were some kind of milestone. My personal bugbears are the photos in which there is a personal trainer with an expression of infinite patience next to the older woman, as if the latter is weak and half witted.

Stock photos are the internet’s idea of what the world should look like, sets of generic images intended to illustrate articles and advertising, often revealing more worldview than they probably set out to. There are famously a lot of photos of white women laughing near salad, meant for healthy eating content, but also reinforcing inane cheer and self-denial as cornerstones of femininity. If fitness imagery of the young is all about aspiration – six packs, muscle definition and impossible body fat percentages – fitness imagery of older people is almost anti-aspirational. Its message is: “You probably can’t do anything at all, but look over here, there’s a lady managing this tiny thing.”

Jenkins runs the Wafa classes remotely and in person for women ranging from their late 30s to their mid-70s. One Saturday, at a class in Merton, south London, they decided to create a new set of photos, repopulate the ecosystem of stock photographs, so that when you search for “older women exercising”, you will be able to see what that really looks like. “These are proper weights,” says Annette Hinds, 60. “We’re not pussyfooting about.”

Jenkins went into group work and coaching from personal training because she had noticed that, in the gym: “Women would go straight to the cardio machine because they knew how it worked. It’s a frightening environment when you think you don’t belong, when you’re unhappy in your body shape. But they didn’t need more cardio – at 45-plus your body needs strength work. Especially during the menopause. It’s just a fact.”

As your bones lose density, the only way you will protect them is by keeping your muscle mass; building strength in middle age is part of what will define the shape and tempo of your old age. But as Glenda Cooper, 51, who usually does this class remotely five times a week, says, there is more to it than that. “Women at this time of life have parents we’re caring for. I’ve got two kids. You don’t want to take up too much space, you feel invisible anyway, you don’t make time for yourself. It’s so important to have a sense of your own strength, which I think is absent from the rest of our lives.”

The atmosphere is fierce: as Lorraine Turner, 59, says: “I never used to think I was competitive, but later in life, I’ve realised that I am. I get a lot out of it if I push myself more.” Karen Silvestri, 60, remarks archly: “My husband’s a chef so I eat a lot and drink a lot. I still manage to retain this normal shape.”

Palmer’s daughter paid her a compliment on her butt the other day: “She said it wasn’t flat like a lot of women my age.” Downward comparison is very motivating, and it is also fun to watch when people are so unabashed about it.

“We’re a funny bunch, women, aren’t we?” Teresa Klasener, 61, says. She was very active until she got rheumatoid arthritis, then it all hit the skids until she started with Wafa two years ago. “We have all these mental blocks, we don’t prioritise ourselves, but once we’re in a group, we’ll fly.”

Jenkins says: “When I first became a personal trainer, I’d see a lot of women who were yo-yo dieters, and it was often because they were trying to be skinnier than their bodies were meant to be. I think exercise makes you confident in your shape as it is.” That might be the ultimate break with the visual norms of the fitness industry, that these are images of strength and exertion for their own sake, not for how they’ll make you look in spaghetti straps.

“I never knew what people were talking about with the endorphin thing,” Redford says. “And now, I do feel a sense of joy and self-congratulation, knowing that I just fucking went for it.”

[bluesest]

A Followers Anecdote #2 "New year Accident"

It was new years eve and Dave was out celebrating with his boyfriend, Matt.

Having spent most of the night out drinking the pair made their way back to Matt's house and climbed into bed. Admittedly by this point both guys were rather drunk, but were both horny and it didn't take long before they were pumping eachother full of cum. Normally they would make the effort to clean up afterwards but being full of alcohol and now jizz they both passed out now being fully satisfied.

The next morning they got up still a little drunk so the hangovers didn't have time to kick in they went straight back to the pub to meet friend paul for breakfast. The pub was packed out but they managed to fill their bellys and get a drink. Suddenly Matt felt everything moving very quickly south, he needed to shit and he needed it now! Usually it was only the ladies toilet that had the queue but the gents was out of order so they all had to wait for the 1 disabled stall.

Matt knew he couldn't wait thankfully Paul only lived down the street Matt begged him to go back to his to use the toilet. They all got up and started to shuffle towards the exit, Matt had turned bright red and started sweating as the guys made it outside

Matt couldn't hold it anymore the steps at the front of the pub were too much for him he looked at Dave and groaned loudly as the contents of the night before started falling out of him a mixture of beers take away and daves thick load from the night before were filling his boxers and he couldn't stop it. Dave couldn't help but chuckle little did he know he would soon get his comeuppance too. Matt made it to Paul's house, although Dave was caring to Matt he knew if the tables turned Matt would laugh too.

Matt slammed his ass down on the toilet and exploded for 5 more minutes. The new Christmas boxers Dave had got him were destroyed. He borrowed some jeans and boxers from Paul then got straight back to the pub.

Having spent most of the day with Matt, Dave had sobered up enough to drive home. They said their farewells, Dave not letting Matt forget about his earlier incident, and Dave proceeds on the hours drive home.

He decided to call in to see a close friend on the way home and exchange Christmas gifts. Dave ended up staying for dinner and spending time with the family. After dinner, cups of tea were made, halfway through his cuppa Dave felt his stomach suddenly drop. He needed to shit and it felt like a messy one, but not wanting to destroy his friends toilet and probably whole house he decided to ignore it.

Dave stayed strong and after a while the feeling went away. He thought he was in the clear. As he got up to continue his journey home he said goodbye and made his way out to the car he unlocked his car and felt the urge again this time it felt like only a fart.

Having recovered from his cramps and hour or so had now passed and he assumed it was safe. He pushed slightly but before he knew it a torrent of wet mushy shit filled his boxers. He groaned and clenched trying to stop it, little did he know his little push to fart had opened the flood gates, as he clenched to stop the flow another sharp cramp hit him forcing him to let go he stood by his car helpless as the beers, take aways and Matt's thick load took their revenge on his system as it continued to flow out he groaned partly with relief and partly with horror as Matt's accident was tiny in comparison.

At this point Dave was in so much pain he had no choice but to completely let go a final explosion blasted out of him and it was all over he stood trying to compose himself wondering what to do next too embarrassed to go back to his friends house he desperately weighed up his options, his car was parked in a square overlooked by all the houses so he couldn't sort himself there and getting in the car wasn't an option his tight boxer briefs hadn't had enough elasticity to contain the explosion, lucky for Dave he had yesterday's boxers in his car he made his way into the woods round the corner ditched his trousers socks and boxers using them to clean up walked back to the car in Just his boxers and continued home.

Karma's a bitch!

[largemandrill]

Inherently funny to me that fan art always portrays Finlay as this tiny (in comparison) lil lady next to Malenia when that is not the case at all lol. Last I checked, the cleanrot knights are the same height as Malenia, if not taller due to their slouching position. I fully believe in doing whatever the hell you want in fan art, but they are not height difference core I’m so sorry