#the more i look at this the more i can feel the liminality of public transit

[snackboyz]

We Played Hide And Seek Across Japan - Episode 5 (1/?)

"I was just sitting, feeling frustrated and sad, for like two hours on the train at that point"

[lady-phasma]

Fangtober Day 4 - Bondage

Dom!Armand x fem!reader (vampire)

Summary: Reader is a new addition to the Theater and Maître takes a particular interest in her and decides to show her the ropes take her to a private flat for a session, 3.3k words.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, it started out as bondage fluff but then turned into smut, tiny bit of blood play, unprotected sex but vampire sex so not risky.

a/n: Thank you so much to the moot who suggested actor vamp!reader new to the coven. However, I struggled with this one for a while - I finally just powered through it and here it is. fem!reader but reader not described.

So far the initiations and manual labor with the theater hadn’t been so bad. You slogged through your nights, cleaning the rows after the filthy humans left, helping with disposal after performances, whatever was needed. And you were rewarded with pre-dawn camaraderie, as you watched and listed to the elder vampires tell stories, rehearse, or just chat. Occasionally there were nights out among humans. The first few weeks had felt infinitely long, but now you had begun to adjust to a routine.

You began to nurture new and tentative friendships with Celeste and Estelle and even Sam. Even Santiago wasn’t always a cunt to you. As you had settled into the coven you had begun to notice Maître more and more. His eyes missed nothing. Constantly alert, constantly appraising, Armand watched his new addition. You felt an attraction to him that wasn’t there at first. You had been a little intimidated by Maître at the start of your tutelage. but now you wondered what exactly he was thinking about. Maybe it was all in your head.

As you swept the auditorium floor tonight you listened to the coven chatter and almost longed to join in. However, there was a small part of you that was glad to be alone with your chores. You didn’t feel like being seen this evening. Disappearing into the background suited you just fine. You were nearly finished, brushing the trash into the bin, when you heard footsteps behind you.

“Maître,” you bowed as soon as you turned to face him. Armand took a step toward you, slightly entering your personal space.

“Good evening, puce,” he let the words slide off his tongue, emphasizing your station. “Are you almost finished with your duties?”

“Yes, Sir,” you replied happily, almost but not quite looking into his eyes. “I only need to empty this.” You gestured to your trash can.

“Take it to the incinerator then meet me in the lobby. Don’t dally.” Armand left before you could reply.

You dusted off your clothes and ran a hand over your hair, smoothing it down, while you went to the lobby.

“Maître,” you greeted Armand as you entered.

“Walk with me.” He held the door open, allowing you to exit first. You stepped into the cool Autumn air of the city. Halos of mist hung around the street lamps as the evening’s rain slowly evaporated from the pavement. The emptying street had a quality that only late night city streets have, a liminal feeling left behind after the humans were nearly all tucked into their beds.

“Come,” Armand commanded from beside you. You walked in silence, waiting on him to explain or elucidate, but he did not. Not for many blocks. It wasn’t long before you had left the arrondissement and crossed the Seine. Vampire speed, even slowed for public viewing, was still surprisingly fast to you.

“I thought we could go somewhere with more privacy. I have a flat nearby,” he offered, apropos of nothing. He lit a cigarette, offered you one, and smoked for the rest of the walk. He dropped the butt on the pavement and ground it out with the toe of his show before opening the door to the apartment building.

You followed Armand through the doors and up the three flights of stairs to the flat. When you entered and Armand had locked the door behind you, a fire blazed in the fireplace. He took off his coat and hung it on a rack by the door. He tucked his hands in his pockets as he entered the small room. It was modest, a studio with a closet-sized bathroom in one corner, a table in the kitchen area, and a full size bed taking up much more space than the traditional twin bed these apartments usually housed. The only places to sit with the table or bed so you stood, waiting.

Armand strode to the fireplace and made a show of warming his hands over the fire. At first he didn’t turn to look at you when he spoke. You watched his face, lit by the fire, nearly mesmerized by the yellow and orange light in his hair.

“You are no doubt wondering why I brought you here tonight. You show potential, perhaps not to be center stage any time soon, but maybe one day. But you have something…” His voice trailed off as he turned to you and moved to stand directly in front of you. He lightly stroked your cheek.

“Interesting,” he murmured to himself as he appraised you. “You trust me as your Maître, yes?”

“Of course, Maître,” you nodded.

“So if I ask you to do something you would do it without question?” His nails ran down the side of your neck to your shirt collar.

“Yes, Maître.” You didn’t nod this time, something in his face had shifted and a nod felt too unserious.

“Well, puce, if I ask you to do something tonight that you find objectionable, simply say the word ‘aubergine’ and you won’t have to do it.” He smiled gently at the befuddled look on your face as he began to unbutton your blouse. “You can remember that word?”

“Yes, Maître.”

“Perfect.” He took his time opening your shirt while your heart hammered in your chest. You knew he could hear it and it would have embarrassed you, yet… Yet it seemed as if this wasn’t new to him at all.

Armand slipped your blouse off your shoulders. Then he began to work on the buttons of your slacks. You weren’t sure why you were doing this. It wasn’t entirely because he was your Maître. That was certainly part of it, but it felt like a very small part. You mostly felt like you would do anything for this ethereal creature. His hands moved deftly and barely touched your skin as he slid your pants to the floor. You stepped out of the pile of clothing without being told to. You stood still as Armand picked up the shirt and slacks and laid them over the back of a kitchen chair. You felt self-conscious standing in your undergarments, but Armand didn’t look at you in a way that made you uncomfortable. He led you to the bed and directed you to sit.

“You should know, this isn’t about the theater, darling,” he said. “This… is for my own enjoyment.”

You watched him with trepidation and excitement as he opened a drawer in the wardrobe and removed something. It looked like silk cord or rope and your heart raced in your chest again. He laid the bundle of cord on the bed and stepped next to you. He tilted your face up toward his with the lightest pressure of his fingertips.

“Lay down for me,” Armand whispered. You did so. Armand slowly began to unbutton his shirt, then placed it on the kitchen chair as well. He untied and toed off his shoes, placed them neatly beneath the chair, and walked to the bed in in his pants and socks. His movements were maddeningly slow as your mind raced with the possibilities. He untied the bundle of cord and it glistened in the dim light, it looked soft, but strong. He knelt on the bed near your feet as he spoke.

“Bend your knees, press your heels to your rear,” he instructed. You felt your face go hot, a very human response, but you did as you were told. He wrapped the cord around your thigh, then your shin, and tied your leg in a bent position. The cord was silky-smooth against your skin, but the knots were tight. Then he repeated the process on your other leg. You were exposed and vulnerable like this, even with your undergarments still on. You could have easily broken the bonds using your weak, fledgeling strength, but this was far more interesting. Armand took the remaining lengths of cord and moved them to your side.

“Hands above your head, palms together.” You pressed your hands together above your head. He leaned forward, between your legs, and bound your wrists together. Every sensation was more intense now: the fabric of his trousers rough against your inner thighs, the drag of his fingers over your camisole, grazing your hard nipples. He stood up and your eyes followed him as he walked to the table and sat in the empty chair. He tapped a cigarette from his pack, lit it, and smoked. He didn’t rush. You tried not to let your thoughts show on your face, but you knew you failed. Your brow was furrowed as you waited on him. The cords dug into your skin even though you had barely moved at all. Your normally shallow and slow vampire breathing sped up. Your cunt throbbed.

After an eternity, Armand stood and approached the bed. He trailed his fingers down one of your knees, down your shin to where the cord crossed your leg. You shivered. He moved to kneel on the bed, between your legs again. Slowly he slid a hand up your belly, under your camisole. His fingertips brushed against the undersides of your breasts. You gasped at his touch. As he moved his hand back down, he used both to gently press your thighs apart. Even that small movement caused the cord to shift against your skin. You sucked air sharply between your teeth. He let his fingers slide down the insides of your thighs and gently touched you over your panties. You could feel your wetness against the fabric and moaned. You tried to lift your hips to his touch, but it was nearly impossible in this position. The cords seemed to tighten as your legs shifted. You moaned as he pulled his fingers away, craving more of him.

Armand didn’t make you wait long. His long fingers slid up your buttocks to where the cord held you, then moved his hands up your hips. He leaned forward, almost hovering above you. He dipped his head and brushed his lips against your nipple through the thin fabric. He licked gently, leaving a damp spot above the hard point of your nipple. You involuntarily arched your back to get closer to his mouth and whined when your bonds prevented it.

“Maître, please,” you begged.

“Please what?” Armand quipped back, but his tone was patient.

“More please, Maître,” the sound of your voice was almost pathetic to your own ears, but you didn’t care. You watched him through half-closed eyes as he rubbed his hands gently up and down your sides. His thumbs occasionally grazing a nipple. He slid your camisole up over your breasts and sucked one of your nipples between his teeth. You could have cried out from the shock, but the pressure was so light that you could only pant. You still needed more. You wanted to touch him, run your fingers through his dark curls, down his neck, press yourself into his mouth.

Before you could beg again he sucked harder on your nipple and pressed his hips between your legs. You made an inhuman sound as the front of his pants rubbed against your panties and your sensitive lips. He sucked and licked your nipple with increased focus, getting caught up in the sensations and grinding his hips in slow circles. The pressure of his cock against you was a momentary relief. Then he pulled back.

“So needy,” Armand growled as he kissed down your stomach. He rose up to look at you as his fingers delved under the edge of your panties at the crease of your hips. Slowly, teasingly, he moved your panties to the side. He trailed his finger over you aching, swollen cunt, dipping just into your folds before leaving you wanting more.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispered as he looked into your heavily-lidded eyes. “So well for me.”

“Yes, Maître,” was all you could think to say, the words most likely inaudible to a human, but he heard.

Armand continued to hold your panties aside as he leaned down and kissed just above your slit. He flicked his tongue over your clit and you twitched, moaning and whining. He smiled and licked harder, his tongue sliding between your lips. He moaned and the vibration sent chills up your spine. He teased you, not offering you any satisfaction, over your clit, down to your entrance, and back up. You wanted to beg and plead, but tried to bite back the words. Whimpering moans escaped your mouth, incoherent sounds, as you shifted and pulled against the restraints. You made no effort to break free. You could have, but the need for him to touch you, to keep doing this, was nearly overwhelming.

When Armand sat up he let go of your panties and began to unbutton his pants. You groaned louder than you intended. The thought that he would reward you, give you what you craved, flew through your mind.

“Yes, a small reward for such good behavior,” he grinned. “Perhaps I’ll even give you a release.” He slid his pants and boxers off his hips. You stared unabashedly. He was gorgeous. His dark hair caught the low light of the room, his chest rippled as he moved his pants further down, the muscles of his stomach flexing tautly. He stroked his cock lightly as he moved closer to you. Your legs strained against the cord. You watched him watch as he lined up and pressed his cock against you. He looked up and met your gaze. Yes? he asked silently. You nodded. When he slid into you it felt as if all of your bonds tightened. Your hands itched to reach for him, but you kept them above your head. Your thighs and shins seemed to press against the cord as you widened your legs to make room for his hips.

“God,” he moaned as he sank all the way into you. He steadied himself with a hand on each of your knees as he began slow, long strokes. Every time he pressed into you, the cords binding you shifted and dug a little harder. His eyes nearly closed as he increased his pace, hands sliding down to grip your thighs, then hips. The combination of sensations was exquisite. Every movement, every thrust, intensified by your inability to move.

Armand moaned softly as he slid into you over and over. His eyes flicked between your face and watching himself disappear into your cunt. His fingers tightened on your hips slightly as he moved faster. You whimpered as you grew even more desperate to touch him. Just my hands, you thought. Armand looked up at you with a nearly compassionate expression and leaned forward. You lifted your hands, still bound, and ran your fingers through his hair. The new contact combined with the forward shift of his hips drew a groan from your throat. As you stroked his hair, he almost seemed to purr. His sounds were soft and deep. He kissed your neck and collarbone as he pounded into you.

The mingling of your voices, your need, filled the small apartment. You grazed your nails against Armand’s scalp. He moaned and cursed against your skin. You clenched tight around him, so close, so desperate. You tried rolling your hips again, despite your bonds, this time disregarding the pain. You continued to ignore the part of your mind that insisted you could break them and be free. He wanted this, needed this, and you wanted to give it to him.

“Oh Maître,” you whined into his dark curls. You felt a small shudder pass over his body and continued. “You feel so good. Harder. Please.” Your words came out as breathy whispers, a pleading note in your voice.

Armand shifted his weight to one hand on the bed and slid the other up behind your shoulder. He pulled you down onto his cock as he thrust up and you cried out. He lifted his head to look at you and you saw that he was almost smirking. Hearing you beg was exactly what he wanted. He licked his lips and leaned down, kissing your hungrily. His hips slammed into yours and you moaned and whined into his mouth. Lips and tongues and fangs collided. You tasted your own blood in your mouth and arched your back. Armand sucked at the wound on your bottom lip, his movements becoming slightly erratic. You tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled back, gasping.

“Please Maître,” you looked into his eyes. “I want you to come.” He nearly smiled before kissing you again, licking the remaining blood from your already-healed lip. You barely noticed when he freed your wrists, his movements were so quick, and before the cord had slid off he muttered against your mouth.

“Touch yourself, puce, now.” Armand’s command alone could almost have been enough to bring your climax. You groaned as you slid your hand between your bodies. You looked at his face as you circled your clit, watching his reaction to how you tightened around him. He closed his eyes in the most beautiful expression of peace and pleasure. His hips began to stutter just a bit and you increased the pressure of your fingers as you brought yourself closer. You both groaned and panted as your climaxes neared. You closed your eyes and inhaled as you focused on his body above you, the way he moved inside you, the way his balls hit your ass with each thrust, the way you squeezed your thighs against his hips, the way his breath was hot on your skin. Your orgasm seemed to tense in all your muscles, starting everywhere at once, then it rushed over you. Your thighs shook. Your hand slowed as your arms trembled.

Armand nearly growled into your ear as you came around him. He thrust a few more times and, nails digging into your shoulder to hold you against him, he came hard. Mumbled curses and praise floated past your ear, but you were too far gone to pick out single words. He lay on top of you for a moment, balls emptying, cock twitching and softening, before pressing himself up to kneel between your legs again. He gently stroked a finger around from your temple, to your cheek, and along your jaw. Then he slowly began to pull out and you groaned as you felt his cum move with him. It was a singular and delightful feeling, but stimulation was becoming overstimulation with your legs still bound.

Armand knew this and as he knelt he began to untie your legs. He didn’t move slowly, but he took his time. Even though you were no longer human, he rubbed the skin of your legs where the cord had been as gently as if you were. He helped you straighten out your legs, one at a time, slowly and with care, with expertise. He stayed kneeling between your legs for a bit longer as he massaged them until they were flat on the bed. You watched with a mixture of awe and adoration. You also couldn’t help but to notice that he was equally gorgeous, soft and spent, as he was when he had started. You looked at him between your legs and felt a deepening attraction. This was a side of Armand that a select few were allowed to see and you were now included among them. Deftly, he slid his clothes off the rest of the way and lay on the bed next to you.

“Come here, puce,” he said with a tone that was more of an invitation than a command. He circled an arm around you and pulled you next to him. You laid your head on his chest and rested your hand on his stomach. You rolled half onto your side, wanting as much contact with him as possible. You let your hand travel up his stomach to play with the hair on his chest as you lay in his arm.

“Thank you, Maître,” you whispered as you closed your eyes.

Fangtober 2024 prompt list • Main masterlist

[starwrighter]

1/?? Halloween prompt

I’ve got brain rot for creepy Deadserious content but only when it’s only seen as creepy by outsiders. (I know I’m writing a fic with a similar plot but it’s different I swear! Also my grammar is shit because I’m getting dental work done tomorrow and I’m nervous) Tw for stalker behavior

So Damian has a crush on Danny and immediately goes about acting on these feelings much to onlookers horror. Danny is swooning because someone made the effort to do a background check on him. Danny thinks Damian doing this is really smart because, he could be a serial killer for ancients sake why would you risk that? Others say this is a horrible invasion of privacy.

Damian not realizing he's being creepy (being liminal and being an ex assassin, turned vigilante wasn't doing him any favors) Plus Danny also not realizing it's creepy unless you relay Damian behavior towards him with different names.

Damian's just being a textbook stalker, breaking into his house and shit and Danny's all like "awwww he likes me" because this is just normal ghostly courting rituals! His dormroom isn't his lair so Damian breaking in doesn't feel like he's violating any sort of boundary. To him it's like a friend showing up at the coffee shop you work at to say hi.

Danny's had stalkers before, he's very cautious of his behavior to insure he never stalked anyone. Being stalked back in Amity was a horrific experience for him. From cameras in the locker rooms at school (wes) to cameras in his bathroom and bedroom at home (Vlad)! He couldn't feel safe anywhere! To Danny Damian's not a stalker, he's his protector. Nobody seems to understand when he tries to explain this though they just look at him like he's lost his mind.

Damian’s not subtle at all and Danny’s kicking his feet like a lovesick school girl who found out her crush likes her back. Overall it’s super cute from their points of view Damian’s planning an official confession to ask him on a date while Danny’s trying to figure out if Damian actually likes him or is just being nice. They’re just doing normal couple things but people just jump and attack Damian’s character while painting Danny as some kind of brainwashed victim.

The thing is… Danny’s become very good at appearing normal while Damian refuses to pretend to be a bumbling idiot like the rest of his family. He also refuses to dull down his personality for anything other than secret identity reasons. For these reasons since their relationship had become public, Damian had been painted by the media as a creepy possessive boyfriend who threatened Danny into a relationship. This infuriates Danny, the only one doing any kind of possession is him god damn it!

They want to be around each other all the time and that’s normal behavior for ghost/liminal couples! They live much longer than regular humans do they’re like elves, their perceptions of time are messed up. They still spend time apart they still have hobbies and an independent life, people just get hung up on the amount of time they do spend together. It’s normal behavior for them to know mountains of information about each others interests to the point they almost know more than each other. It’s normal to know each other’s schedules and background check the people they associate with. (The realms are very dangerous with shapeshifters and manipulators like spectra and Desiree who can ruin your afterlife in a matter of minutes) Their relationship is creepy to those who haven’t gone to extremes to survive.

Damian has taken to ignoring the reputation press has given him. He’s dealt with paparazzi and tabloids before it’s just frustrating to deal with. It’s when people start accusing him of hurting his beloved that really pisses him off.

(Bonus if Danny’s the one frothing at the mouth to maul a reporter while they try to paint him as a poor innocent victim)

I’mma end the prompt with this so everyone understands why Damian specifically being targeted by press. The more liminal you are the more creepy/uncanny you appear to other people and the more effort you have to put in to hide it. It’s why the bats are more believed to be Eldritch creatures than actual humans in suits. Surprisingly becoming a Halfa completely changes this effect to do the complete opposite. It’s easier for the human brain to look at a halfa and think “Innocent or normal,” Vlad and Danny were morons when it came to actually hiding their identity’s it was only their statuses as halfa’s that prevented people from comprehending them being anything other than normal.

In short Damian’s too dead to be perceived as normal while Danny’s too alive to be perceived as anything other than normal.

[asukiess]

I have this wip where nathalie wrestles with motherhood + the time she lost with Adrien and anyway. he encourages her to go back into the archaeology field, lectures or symposiums or public classes that might interest her, and. it got me thinking of adrien planning a first day back to school for nathalie 😭

like. he wakes up early, earlier than her even, careful to stay quiet in the kitchen while he packs her a lunch. fighting off horrible suggestions from plagg as he bounces between pantry and kitchen and on the balls of his feet as he assembles whatever lunch he thinks up for her. 

he resists the urge to play her, though the thought makes him laugh. knock on her door and politely let her know that she has an hour before she has to leave. does she have her bag? does she have her homework?

no, it’s better like this, catching her shocked expression at the foot of the stairs, her eyes fixed on the brown paper bag he’s clutching. 

Adrien, you didn’t have to—where did you—? 

Adrien shrugs. It’s almost hard to speak around his smile. He saw this in a movie. This is how first days go. It feels good to him to give this to her. 

To Nathalie, this is a mirror of how she failed him. This is what he never had. 

Outside, he’s practically bursting with excitement as placide pulls the car around and nathalie is laughing a little now, telling him he can start his day now—but wait, he says, grabbing his phone, she has to take a first day picture!! He ushers her against the door, but the lightning is too dim so he runs down the steps, calling after her to follow. yes, here, where the sun is shining against the ivy and roses—

“You always make that pose!” adrien laughs, waving his hand at her torso, which her hands are hid behind. 

she scoffs down at her feet, fighting a smile. what pose? she doesn’t pose.

“bring your hands forward, c’mon! we’re celebrating nathalie sancoeur’s 17th first day of school!!”

reluctantly, awkwardly, she lets her hand fall to her sides and resists quite terribly to make them into fists. is she holding them too far out to her side? Sweat beads at the nape of her neck. 

he tells her to smile, and she does. genuinely. After all, it’s hard not to mirror his. 

he keeps snapping pictures—she was blinking, the sun was on her glasses, oh, the dreaded smear frame!! 

(they’re all perfect pictures, he just wants a lot.)

adrien opens the car door for her. she says she wouldn’t have minded walking, it isn’t far. he clicks his tongue, looks out past the gates. no, the house isn’t far from a lot, and there is a kind of thrill to running to school—

Nathalie says okay, okay. Before she can say sorry, he’s ushering her inside, wishing her a fantastic first day. smiling, both at his joke and at her, like she’s something worth smiling at. like he enjoyed, more than anything, doing this for her. 

placide is silently wiping away tears at the stoplight. nathalie, a failed-stoic and blubbering mess in the backseat, playfully tells him to cut it out. they’re representing a brand, she jokes, echoing Gabriel’s words from over a decade ago now, have some decorum. someone honks behind them; they’re taken too long at the light. what a softie he’s turned into, she whispers. 

the trepidation she feels on the institute steps makes her all too aware of how alone, how scared he must have been to see her call after him that first day. a lifetime ago, she held her mother’s hand on the way into primary school. she squeezes her hand into a fist. adds it to the running list of things she should feel guilty about forever. 

Later: nathalie feeling incredibly liminal on campus, alone and frazzled with emotions on a lone bench. she opens the bag and sucks in a breath. 

he put in a little note. it’s hard to read through welling tears. 

With a mind thick with guilt, slow moving and stuck on one question, she struggles through eating the sandwich he packed. 

What has she done to deserve this? The question comes in stereo, her voice and the ghost of two others. Her lip quivers and the question throbs like a headache, pounding, the early onset dehydration. What has she done to deserve this? Food sticks in her throat and she forces herself not to cry with little success. What has she done to deserve this, exactly? 

Sobbing into hands that’ve killed what he is, one of the easiest things she’s done, admittedly; no mess like a deer, no wasted arrow, no missed shot. poof, done. for her, that’s the current sum of her motherhood.

hands that have given over death to his mother, hands that promised her that she’d protect him. hands that have notched an arrow at his father, hands that have warmed a ring for him. Hands that rejected Adrien at birth and for the burgeoning years after. Hands that only regretted that too late. 

The way people mark heights and ages on thresholds, there used to be a jamb with this history in the house but it was sanded down after Emilie died. There is nothing she can do to lessen what she’s done, not now. She feels every mistake as viscerally as the scars on her body. Maybe those have kept the score. 

How many years wasted? Observing him, loving him and never doing enough, never doing the right thing, you’re a series of choices and you’ll always pick the wrong one. What’s that choice now, Nathalie—loving him as your own or telling him the truth of who you are? 

A dog that keeps dropping rabbits at your door. Presents, people coo, it means like love you—but it always makes your gut twist a little at the morbidity. You can either punish it for trying or accept fragile things. 

She breathes out, solemnly and steadily trying to catch her breath. Bring them forward, he’d said, and the fresh memory tugs on her heart like pushing on a bruise. 

Well, they’re forward now. They’re different hands now. No, they’re the same, but what’s the difference, the similarity?

Wiping her hands on her dress pants she resolves: they’re forward now. that’s all she can do.

[gowerhardcastle]

Your Kiss on My List

How to describe a kiss? It comes up! And you have to write it, and you have to write it in such a way as to evoke something special.

Therefore, a list of ten kisses in all different moods, styles, tones, and genres--my ten favorites from my games. I hope you like at least one of them.

One: The Ankle Kiss

"Careful!" he says, as you try to twist around him. He starts to slip down a bit, and steadies himself, bracing himself and you against the sides of the well. Somehow you've gotten one leg hooked over his shoulder.

"See, this is extra challenging," he says, looking up.

"That was...that was the idea," you say. "A test of strength for you."

He laughs, turns his neck and kisses your ankle, which is what he can reach, and climbs. Even in this position, even though it is only your ankle receiving affection, there is something about the moment that thrills you with a certain unwonted pleasure.

"All right in that position? Not being torn in half? Hamstrings intact?"

"I...think so."

He kisses your ankle again and climbs.

You take a moment to think about how this--your first kiss with him--was an ankle kiss, and wonder if that really counts. It is difficult to say, and even more difficult to imagine whom you might consult to find out.

Two: Apples

Tabby sighs and settles languidly into the kiss for a moment, and then holds you firmly, kissing back with fervor. Her kiss is both exploratory and energetic, and she settles into it as if she had all the time in the world. She stands on tiptoes and pulls you towards her, and she kisses you with an excited fervor, like someone gathering ripe apples from an orchard, one by one, unable to believe that all of this is theirs for the harvesting.

Three: Kissing Your Own Hand

You press your lips lightly to her hand, or rather, you intend to, when she withdraws her hand, just as you go for the kiss. You end up kissing your own hand, which is a rather awkward thing to do in public. You do it again, though, as if to suggest you do that all the time, that it is just your way.

Four: Stop it.

Fitzie then puts one hand firmly on your arm and the other hand on the back of your neck and kisses you suddenly once, with either passion or anger. You feel teeth on your lower lip. "You should listen up, then. You never listen. That is what is wrong with you. You have a loose relationship with the way the world expects you to behave. So stop it."

Five: The Wick

Vyv kisses you once, just on the wick of your mouth. It feels as though Vyv has discovered some wholly new location on the face to kiss, neither the obvious pleasure of the mouth nor the more casual but still sweet cheek, but a place of Vyv's own invention, a liminal space between mouth and cheek.

Six: Goats Kiss

A kiss is a very strange thing to describe. The mechanics are generally the same regardless of time, person, or place. And yet, each one is different, explicable mainly in terms of figurative language.

And so the skillful author must try, if only to offer some small fragment of the emotional reality of the situation.

Picture a peaceful mountainside with some low scrub and dwarf pine. There are sheep, and sure-footed goats around, frolicking about the slope, looking for forage. Then, a small pebble falls. The sheep are not alarmed, nor are the goats.

There is a pause, and then the avalanche begins, building to a crescendo, filling the air with the sound of mighty boulders making their way down the steep slope, each rock heedless of obstacles, determined to yield to gravity after being imprisoned within the mountain for so long. The goats run and bleat, but the sheep stand and stare, even as they are overcome by the sheer power of the avalanche.

That, perhaps, gives you some small sense of your overwhelming passion in this kiss.

It is left as an exercise to the reader to determine whether you are the avalanche, the mountain itself, the wisely fleeing goats, or the overcome sheep, or perhaps even the serene dwarf pines.

Seven: Indelible

Just as your lips touch, a steady spray of ink is released from some pinhole in a reservoir upon both of your lips. And so the first taste of Tabby's lips is one of ink—linseed oil, soot, magnesium carbonate, et cetera, and a whiff of freesia perfume—the latter courtesy of Tabby, not the ink. But the two of you do not notice until later, so engrossing is the moment.

The moment is incredible, although, you hope, not indelible, and you part, the taste of Tabby and ink still lingering in your mouth.

Eight: Hitting the Spot

You make as if to bite Haze's neck, but instead kiss him at first softly, then passionately, up and down his neck while he touches your back and pulls you closer, his body arched, taut, like a bow about to fire.

"That hit the spot," you say, lifting your mouth away.

"Did it?" Haze says. "Did it indeed? I suppose it depends where you think the spot is."

Nine: Clogging up the Line

You take Rory's hand, but you do not stop there. Ignoring everyone around you, you kiss Rory, lightly. Just the once, but you do it.

"This is an important moment," Rory says. "We stand forth and say, this is what we feel, and our hearts shall be our guide." Rory gazes into your eyes even as dozens of people behind you in line start shouting for you to stop clogging up the line. "I could spend a thousand years telling you what you have meant—what you mean—to me," Rory says. "Five thousand."

"Oh, God!" shouts a woman behind you. "Spend the thousand years or five thousand years not in line!"

"Madam, might I recommend…"

"Recommend that I linger here for a moment and relish this time with you? Recommend that this is what is important rather than pursuing the peacocks?"

"Not…not exactly, madam."

Everyone starts yelling behind you and shaking their fists at you both.

"Do you hear that, madam? Those cheers are for love. They know it when they see it. True love is unmistakable."

Ten: Bees on a rooftop

You kiss her then, one of your hands on the back of her head, her hair twining around your fingers, your other hand on the small of her back. She twists towards you, melting into the embrace.

Both of your eyes close, which is a really bad idea when two people are sitting on the edge of a rooftop, and your head swims with the nearness of the drop and the way that it barely seems to matter, that if you fall, you fall, and you would hold onto each other, and that would be enough.

You hear bees around you, perhaps feeling as though there is something sweet and precious to be gathered here, or perhaps because they wish to artfully articulate some sort of metaphorical connotation about the lurking danger of a hidden sting behind the taste of honey. Bees are like that.

You may well enjoy this free snippet right here called "How To Kiss" in which I talk about way how to design a well-thought out kiss in an interactive game. It's a piece of a longer essay on kissing which is also there on the site.

If you like musing upon interactive literature which has a certain 1930s style, culture, romance, absurdly branching narrative, elegance, wit, and many, many, many words--might I tempt you to consider visiting the Noble Gases Club for essays on game design, writing, and an extraordinarily lengthy demo?

[tsatsked]

Lore details I've noticed: Farewell Rayashki event

As always that's mostly Russian/USSR/Slavic stuff and some translations, feel free to add anything. I've also made a post about Silver Knot lore details

Obviosly, spoiler warning

Alenka - a USSR chocolate type produced since 1965, they are quite soft and sweet and still popular among kids and adults

The playground is quite typical for the time period. The drawings and sunflowers might be Vila’s and kids’ work. It’s not very clear if the graffiti is made by someone inspired by hip-hop culture or is August’s failed attempt at scribbling out his name, judging by “А” and “Г” as 1st and 3rd letters. The only thing I’d add here is more scraped parts recycled into playground constructions

Ijirak, Kikituk, Qiqirn - creatures from Inuit folklore (as far as I know they are not known in native Siberian folklore). I haven’t found information about Hoituk

The Russian word for “most” means “best” in the phrase “the most “most”” (“самый-самый”)

“It was only by luck that we found the runium. For over 60 years, people here have worked together to make it what it is now” - Vila. If the events happen in 60s-80s (judging by the overall vibe), than the last time reverse was at 1977 and Rayashki started to grow from a village to a town at 1917 or later. It means the town exported runium for all the Soviet years.

⬆️ EDIT: Silver Knot (Windsong's story) confirms it actually happens in 80s-90s

Most of the sighs say “For Better Future”, “Welcome to Rayashki” and “Welcome Zeno’s Military Institute”

The room in which Windsong stays is Soviet af. There are an old TV with a lens, cool bookshelf and tiles that surprised me. They’re common for public and liminal spaces but not so much for the living ones. Maybe they’re chosen because they endure harsh Artic climate better that wood or linoleum

EDIT: the TV looks like KVN-49 model, produced in 1949—1962

“It must be Kikituk! But their closest habitat should be Kong Kalrs Land, hundreds of kilometres away”. Kong Karls Land - a group of island of Svalbard archipelago, Norway. As @vingler-mirror point out in their post, Rayashki is likely based on Pyramiden town owned by USSR on the same archipelago

Природа это числа и черты - “Nature is numbers and lines” Природа это мозаика цветов - “Nature is a mosaic of colours”

“Mutant Kikituk from Olga area! You should be at the Olga Strait, hunting for migrating salmon and whales, not here!” - excuse me OLGA STRAIT!? THE ONE NEAR JAPAN!?

Poneva/ponyova - an element of Russian (Eastern Slavic?) female clothing worn on top of the main skirt of the dress. I believe there was either a mistranslation in Needles and Loaves message where Raisa said “poneva dress”, either she meant the whole outfit

Samodiva - Their name is feminine and can be roughly translated as “self-wonder”, but that’s another word for vila the creature from Western and Southern Slavic mythology similar to Eastern Slavic rusalka/mavka

Other stuff I’ve noticed:

The town seems to have a big arcanist population, if not most of them are arcanists. An arcanist right is applicable to them and all Vila’s known students are arcanists (if the kids are arcanists, their parents and grandparents are arcanists too)

The people of Rayashki seem to come from different places, and it makes sense with Pyramiden's history (EDIT: the workers were mostly from a western region of Ukraine). Pasono’s first name seems to be obscure and I’ve found only a surname mostly known in America. Patrik’s name is more popular name in other countries, and it make me to believe his ancestors might be foreigners. Bogina’s name comes from Southern Slavic languages

Rayashki is very communistic compared to the rest of USSR. Maybe it’s the town’s history, citizens’ temperament, small town’s size, seclusion and big self sufficiency combined. EDIT: the town's athmosphere conctasts with the period of USSR where people start feel more positive about the world around and capitalism with it

[the-most-humble-blog]

🧠 🌹 💔

Between Boundaries: Revisiting the Underappreciated Anatomy (Pt. 2)

— A Loofah-Laced, Shame-Crushing, Gender-Neutral Awakening of Soft Satire

👋 Welcome back, you brave, slippery-souled, velvet-creviced pioneers.

You made it to Part Two.

That means one of three things:

You’re still processing Part One, spiritually exfoliated but emotionally confused.

You’ve looked in the mirror, whispered "Forgive me," and patted your gooch like a pet you forgot to feed.

Or… you’re new here. In which case—strap in, scrub up, and take your pants off metaphorically. Or literally. That’s between you and your office chair.

🧠 Let’s Recap:

You have a perineum. It’s not a “guy thing.” It’s not a “medical term.” It’s a biological border town between Heaven’s Gate and Devil’s Doorbell. And ignoring it doesn’t make you progressive. It makes you… crusty.

💀 Why Part Two Exists

Because one post wasn’t enough. Because your subconscious asked for more. Because when a thousand women reblogged Part One with confessions like:

“Why did this make me feel something?” “I didn’t expect to cry over my gooch today.” “No one ever told me I had one.”

…it was no longer satire. It became public service. Cultural CPR. An anatomical awakening.

And like all great awakenings?

It starts with discomfort… and ends with better soap.

🧽 The Spiritual Function of the Gooch

Let’s cut the mystic bullshit and break it down:

Your gooch is:

A tension valve

A nerve-dense shame sponge

A sensor of heat, wetness, and danger

A forgotten bridge between core and cavity

And most importantly?

A neurological trigger zone for grounding.

Yes. Grounding. As in: when you finally feel it, you’re forced to admit—

“Oh. This is real. This is me. This is my body.”

No ring light. No affirmations. No 9-step skincare routine. Just flesh. Damp. Vulnerable. Yours.

👃 The Feminine Funk: Why It Terrifies and Arouses

You ever notice how a woman can:

Light a candle with a “peony champagne” scent,

Mist herself in vanilla sugar,

Carry 12 crystals and a tote bag full of confidence…

…and still feel uncomfortable in her own scent?

That’s not body odor. That’s generational denial.

The gooch—the taint, the fleshbridge, the sin stripe—is where insecurity marinated during every tampon commercial.

Where your gym leggings collected secrets your therapist couldn’t extract.

🔬 Clinically Proven Gooch Phenomena

The “Silent Shriek” The body knows when you ignore it. Women who consciously acknowledge their perineum report lower shame, higher sexual confidence, and stronger boundaries. (See: PubMed Study 2339-DG-TNT: “Embodied Female Neutral Zones and Emotional Reclamation”)

Mirror Trauma Loop Most women zoom in on tits, hips, or ass in the mirror—but skip the strip between. That’s not feminism. That’s Photoshop syndrome.

Scent-Reality Dissonance If the smell of your gooch triggers more shame than curiosity, your self-love is curated—not authentic.

🩸 The Feminist Hypocrisy Nobody Talks About

You say you’re empowered. You reclaim words like "slut" and "bitch" and even wear them like a badge. But ask if women have a taint?

Watch the room get silent.

Watch her stutter. Watch her deflect. Watch her shame recoil faster than a conservative uncle at Pride.

✨ Psychosexual Reclamation: The Ritual You Didn’t Know You Needed

Tonight. No music. No bath bombs. Just you and a mirror.

Lift one leg.

Gaze into the space between pride and panic.

Say:

“You were never ugly. You were just undocumented. You are mine. You are not a secret. You are my sacred hallway. You are moist but mighty. You are enough.”

🧬 Gendered Terminology Be Gone: New Labels to Equalize the Flesh Frontier

Choose your fighter:

The Liminal Ridge

The Velvet Fold

Goochlight Sonata

Shame Dam #4

WAP Buffering Zone

No Man’s Land (But Yours)

The Pause Between Pokes™

The Rorschach Strip

The Whisper Mat

📉 Cultural Bias Breakdown

🧼 Hygiene As Resistance

You want to “reclaim your body?”

Don’t start with nipple pasties and protest slogans.

Start with a washcloth. Get under there. Lift. Swipe. Moisturize. Whisper its name. If your taint can’t trust you with a lather… how can your spirit?

🧘 Final Affirmation

You are not just legs and holes. You are not just tits and politics. You are a unified, weirdly moist, shame-defiant miracle of evolutionary persistence.

And your perineum is the eye of the storm.

Wash it. Own it. Whisper to it.

📩 DM if you didn’t expect your “middle zone” to spiritually wake up mid-scroll.

💬 Comment if you used the term “gooch” today for the first time in your life.

🔁 Reblog if you believe this is the final frontier of true gender equality.

👀 Tag the friend who still thinks “taint” is a guys-only thing.

✂️ Drop a ✂️ in the tags if Part 1 made you buy exfoliating gloves.

⚖️ Legal Disclaimer:

This post is satire, gender-neutral hygiene theology, and cultural parody. It is educational, spiritually protected, and constitutionally blessed under the First Amendment and the Unspoken Law of the Loofah.

If you're offended?

That’s not shame.

That’s your gooch waking up.

Welcome home.

[forbelladonna]

(The image depicts several plants and flowers, a detail from the Unicorn tapestries, La Chasse à la licorne, a series of seven medieval tapestries that can be seen in the MET)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen X Original Female Character

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI | Sex Pollen | Kissing | Oral Sex | PIV Sex | Female Soft Dom with Male Sub | Breath Play

Word count: Around 2500

Summary: Aemond's desire blooms under the influence of a sensual trap, he submits to a night of confortable dominance, vulnerability, and unexpected liberation in the arms of a woman whose strength and softness walk hand in hand.

Author's note: Hello! This is my very first smut fic experimentation, I had a lot of fun building it up. It's also my first fic here on tumblr, I hope you enjoy this. Written for the Big Fucking Stupid Sex Pollen Writing Challenge by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

English is not my first language. If you see something wrong please tell me. Thank you!

In her control

Whispers, murmurs and the clatter of hurried feet blended into a thread of noise in the servants’ alley of the Red Keep. A festivity, followed by a huge banquet, was to be held inside the castle. Cultures might differ, but coin is a common language spoken fluently everywhere. And with that, Dorne was invited to a dance as well. For the nobles, it was diplomacy and leisure, for the servants, backbreaking labor, made easy only by the possibility of leftover wine and gossip.

Among the foreign committee of Dorne there were two women, not kin by blood, but who always described themselves as something like sisters “in a celestial sense,” they would say. Their looks commanded a certain kind of attention. Myria and Valyna were not entertainers or courtesans, in fact, they seemed like liminal figures alive only in the floating world, one could not know for sure what they were.

 After the grand banquet, more loose festivities took place, inviting the freedom of looks, touch and movement. Myria sat by Aegon’s side, perhaps entertaining him with some of her stories about the sea, although the prince seemed way more entertained with her lips. Valyna sat to Prince Aemond’s left. A striking pair. This one was even more peculiar than Myria. She was quite tall for a maiden, her striking broad shoulders sculpted beneath her dress. When she turned around to fetch Aemond a glass, her dress showed an open back, a carved figure, like a butterfly of muscle and shadow. Her arms were toned and firm like stone, as a warrior. Aemond found his gaze drawn to her, unsure why and even ashamed of doing so—was it curiosity, was it desire, envy, perhaps judgment? Despite the appearance, there was a softness to Valyna, especially in her voice and manners. When she lifted her glass, the muscles of her bicep and triceps were evident, but when she talked it was soft as cotton. Aemond was unsure of what he was feeling, but one thing was certain: he couldn’t stop looking, and he was not the only one. However, the woman only looked at him, and that seemed to please his ego.

She spoke with gentleness, almost shyly, which contradicted her strong figure. She was not a woman of many words in public, even if kind and the prince was not much of a talker himself. When the dances began, neither of them took part. In time, Valyna was the one to question the prince: “Prince Aemond, do you wish to dance?” she smiled at him, as if she was content with any answer he would give.

Aemond gazed at her, unsure not of his answer but of how to say it. “Not particularly, I’m afraid. I am not much of a dancer.”

“I could tell, but it was worth the try.” As she finished, another man reached his hand to her, inviting her to dance, she politely refused. The prince smirked, satisfied that the woman was not interested in another and kept taking a sip at the glass she offered.

These guests were to remain in King’s Landing for another dozen of moons at least, and the prince was quite entertained with Valyna, in fact, something seemed to bloom between the two, but neither of them made a move. Some of the maids spread gossip that the pair was doing more than reading in the library of the Keep, but nothing more than the history of dragons was discussed inside those walls. The flesh, always covered, was a boundary they did not cross. The pair exchanged words, looks, perhaps a small touch, and moments in the training yard. In one of those instances, Aemond was practicing with Cole while Valyna was doing so with her entourages that came with her from Dorne. While doing so, one of the older knights decided to tease the prince, perhaps to embarrass him in front of the foreigners. He tried to strike, catching him unaware, on his blind side, while he was still dueling other young boys, but right before he was able to do it, he was the one embarrassing himself. Valyna pointed her sword at his neck. 

"It seems like you lost my lord," she said, smirking, while Aemond turned back and understood what happened. He wanted to say a word, perhaps to thank her, but before he was able to do it she went back to her people.

Myria watched the scenes develop, and all the tension and waiting was making her tense, she wanted her sister to be as pleased as she was. When Valyna was finished, she called her to her side. “Sister, the younger prince has such an intense aura, but he is scared to act, don’t you think?” she whispered beneath her red fan into her ear.

“Don’t say such things… The prince is a prince” Valyna said, trying to ignore what she was implying. 

"I see how you look at him, and how he looks at you with his one good eye that has the intensity of a dozen. The prince is a prince, but before that, he is just a man, and he is just your type.” Myria laughed, amused by the conversation, eager to help. 

Valyna laughed with her too, but then she looked away, watching Aemond's hair flowing while still training in the yard with Cole and her expression turned apathetic “ Maybe I am not his.” 

“Maybe you are. How could you not be…" she touched her face tenderly "Let me take care of that, you know I have my own ways of making it work, I can help you, and you can help him, and your happiness will be mine too.” She grabbed Valyna’s face by the jawline now giving her a small kiss.

“ Myria… don’t. It’s not proper, I don’t wish for that “ Valyna looked away and stepped back from her.

“Oh…a kiss from me is not proper?” she acted offended.

“No, not that...I mean the rest, about helping me make it work with the Targaryen.” 

“Shhh… say no word, my love. If it eases your mind, it won't work if he doesn't already want you, Valyna, it’s just a little help.” And with that, Myria departed, summoned by Prince Aegon, who was very much entertained by the Dornish woman. 

That evening, Myria sent a vase of exotic purple flowers to Prince Aemond’s chambers, they were alive and growing. She brought it with dozens of other things from Dorne. Some to offer, some to trade, some to use. The plant had vivid petals, heavy in scent. When he saw them, he leaned in, breathing deeply, but not yet feeling the effects of their nature. He left the room to return to his duties, but after a while his mind and body were slipping through his control. Unaware of the nature of what he was feeling, he started his way back to his chambers, mortified of crossing his path with someone else when Valyna showed up across his way.

His thoughts became fragmented, turbulent, his chest tightened, and his breathing grew ragged. He clutched his hand to his chest, feeling his heart beat erratically, and there she was, looking into him as if she could see his insides, as if he was an empty space ready to be filled up. She paused mid-step, her eyes, already a bit preoccupied, studied his figure.

“My prince, are you unwell?” her hand found his cheek, genuinely concerned, his skin flushed and warm to the touch.

“I… I don’t know,” Aemond rasped. His body betrayed him by the second, the thing is, he was hardening under her touch. “Something is not right as it should be…”

“Perhaps you should return to your chambers.” Valyna grabbed him by the arm and guided him back inside. Upon entering, she saw the flowers and immediately knew. “I see… this was Myria’s doing. I apologize on her behalf" she gave him a small bow and then proceeded "There are two ways to fix it for you. I can give you this” she showed him a small bag with a yellow powder inside “ It will make this feeling disappear from your body, it won’t take long. But perhaps I can also… take care of it in a more pleasurable way.” Valyna smiled and touched his arm.

After understanding the nature of what he was feeling, he pondered, walking around a small circle in his chamber, “I must… I… I can’t even talk. What is this... what is this feeling I can’t contain?”

"Desire, I would say... the flowers just make it harder to suppress what is already there.” 

“I should resist. I ought to... but I can’t.” he gazed at her, his chest rising and falling with intensity. 

“Why resist something you want so much? Something I want so much as well. Don’t. Let yourself be open by me.” She took his hand in hers and kissed it with small kisses. 

“Gods, please… have me. Have me now! I feel as if I might die if you don’t.”  Even as the words left his mouth, he was stunned by them. But Valyna only smiled. He wanted to consume her, or better yet, be consumed by her. He tried to grab her, only for her to hold his arm with a strength that fit her appearance.

“I will have you, but I will have you my way, for that way is the one you still don’t know you desire.” After kissing him passionately against the wall, she wrapped her arms around him—one behind his back, the other under his knees—and lifted him in her arms like a bride. His legs trembled, and he was in no position to protest, his eye wide in shock just like his mouth. He could not believe the woman was carrying him with such ease and that he was just letting it happen.

Valyna sat Aemond on his bed, legs parting as she moved between them, her hands tracing his jawline before tightening around his neck. Her grip restricted his breath, and he gasped under her kisses, not yet giving himself completely to the experience. 

“I see you, you know... how you are so anxious inside when they speak over you, when they listen to you, but just don’t care, you just want to be seen right, you want to be truly seen.” She undressed herself alone with him witnessing her long black hair hanging around to her hips now bare to his eye.

“Yes, yes...” That was all he was able to say, by now he was as hard as he could be. 

“Let go, my prince” she whispered against his lips. “ Let go of all control. I’ll take care of everything, you don’t need to think about anything, I am in charge now.” She undid his coat, then his chemise, layer by layer, until his sculpted pale chest was bare in the candlelight. “ Your chest, what a view…looks like marble carved by the masters themselves” She pressed kisses right there, to his nipples too, his pectorals, until he whimpered. His voice sounded way softer than what she was used to. She sucked on his nipples then she bit on him. When he tried to reciprocate, she pinned his hands gently but firmly to the bed.

“My prince, you don’t get to lead, tonight you receive what I have to offer” Aemond was unsure, but at the same time, this was all he had ever craved. All his life he tried to control everything, and yet control escaped him in so many crucial moments, making his insecurities bigger, barriers higher and thicker with each indignity. Even in intimacy, he felt he had something to prove, provide and control. He was mortified of shame, and yet, to be now at her mercy, in her hands, in her care, was liberating. He abandoned who he was, the expectations, and let her consume him and please him as she saw fit. He was blushing and moaning under her touch, unable to resist her power, her biceps and shoulders bigger than his own held him with the perfect balance of dominance and care. “Have me, have all of me, Valyna, see through me…”

“You are such a delicate, beautiful thing, blushing like a princess.” She kissed him again, deep and slow. After fully undressing the prince, she laid him, spreading his silver hairs across the bed, then she straddled his face, strangling him in her massive quads, his lips and nose reaching for her sex, and she reached for his manhood with her hand from behind her back.

He froze, shocked by the movement. The weight, the heat, it was undoing him. His breath grew even more shallow and desperate. And like that, she had him, licking and sucking on her with frantic need. When he was at his limit, almost suffocating, Valyna quickly released him, letting him breathe and sucked on him vigorously. Then she turned him over with ease, like a doll, pressing his chest to the bed. He moaned louder. She spread his legs in a V figure, trailing kisses down from his scalp to his spine and tailbone until she was licking him from behind.

“What are you doing to me…” he breathed heavily, shivering from pleasure but afraid of what would follow. He felt small, unable to fight anything that Valyna decided to do with him.  

“I am showing you another kind of pleasure, would you like me to…” she teased him from behind, playing with her finger there. She felt his body hardening at that moment, he didn’t want to experiment with that, not yet, and she respected that. “Hush, my sweetheart… I won’t do anything you don’t want, you can trust me". She turned him over again and saw the relief in his eye.

She caressed his face and kissed him, but then sat on his chest, pressing her weight into his ribs and sternum, her sex wet against his skin. “I can feel it, ” she said, rubbing against him. “Your heart… I feel it beating inside me. It’s time I feel something else inside me too.”

With that, she rode his cock slowly, savoring every twitch, every gasp and pulsating veins. He reached for her, to touch her, and this time the Dornish smiled, guiding his hands into her breast and hips. She kept kissing his neck and face and licking his nipples. Then, she reached for his clothes and strangled his neck with his own belt, riding him harder and harder while pushing the belt more with each movement without releasing the pressure until he came. He was moaning, vibrating under her with his back arching, helpless, his eye red and tearful, almost passing out. She released him from the belt immediately after, checking for bruises and kissing all over his skin, letting him finally breathe without restriction.

By the end, Aemond lay in her lap, still panting and trembling. She covered him with a blanket and caressed him until he relaxed his body over hers, feeling his breathing and heart find it's pace again. He felt that something inside himself had finally been undone, like a knot that is untied from the inside. He had fucked women many times, but it seemed like that was the first time he felt he was the one being fucked. His eye closed as Valyna ran her fingers through his hair, stroking his skin with reverence and care, her touch as dominant as tender, that was something he could never resist. 

“Such a beautiful boy you are" she murmured in his ear. “You are perfect.”

[lycandrophile]

a breakdown of my one week post-op appointment (after top surgery):

i came in wearing my mastectomy pillow around my chest because it makes walking more comfortable, and i was nervous about that because the social anxiety said it was weird to go out in public like that, even if it was just to the surgeon’s office. when the surgeon brought me into the exam room, though, she didn’t even mention it, so if you’re like me and get nervous about stuff like that, you can rest assured that they’re very used to seeing it.

i was also nervous about having my boyfriend record parts of the appointment, but she was super chill about that too. basically, whatever your social anxiety tells you is weird to do at these appointments to be comfortable or document it or whatever else, they’ve already seen it a million times and they don’t care at all.

for the past week, as we’ve been emptying my drains, we’ve been writing down how much fluid was in each bulb and when it was emptied on a sheet the hospital gave us. the first thing the surgeon did when we got in the office was look over those notes to see how much i’m draining and confirm that the fluid level is low enough to take my drains out.

the next thing she did was unwrap all the bandages and take all the padding off. she didn’t do the big reveal of my chest in front of a mirror that i’ve seen a lot of surgeons do, but i suspect that might be because she knew i already saw it when we had to send some pictures to her.

the only part of getting the drains out that i could feel at all was at the drain sites (the little incisions where the drains came out of my body). i felt a little bit of pain there when she cut the stitch on each side that keeps the drains in place, and a bit when she was bandaging the sites once they were out, but it was nothing bad. when the drains were actually getting taken out, i could feel some pulling on the drain sites, but i couldn’t feel the drains coming out at all. i thought she was still working on the stitches until i saw the full tube in her hand after. the pulling feeling wasn’t super comfortable and maybe hurt a little, but again, nothing nearly as bad as you’d think getting tubes pulled out of your chest would feel. the drain sites are definitely still sensitive now if something directly touches them, but i’m much more comfortable than when the drains were in.

once the drains were out she also peeled the steri strips off of my incisions, which was both the most painful part of the whole process and an incredibly weird feeling. the feeling of them peeling off my skin was decently painful, like a particularly stubborn bandaid coming off, but there was a band in the middle of that feeling where it was totally numb, because the skin around my incisions is super sensitive but the incisions themselves are numb. my boyfriend and dad were in the room with me and, as she was taking the strips off, i turned to them and said “that hurts but it also doesn’t?” that was the best way i could describe it in the moment. all in all, not awful, just like a bad bandaid with a weird strip of fuzzy nothing in the middle. the worst part was just that it caught me by surprise because i didn’t know they would be getting peeled off until she started doing it.

once the incisions were out in the open, she put some moisturizer on them, which felt even weirder. this time, instead of being strips of painful with a strip of non-painful, it was just a super weird liminal space where i was deeply uncomfortable and my brain reacted like i was in pain, but the only sensations i was actually feeling we’re super dull and barely there. doing that myself will definitely be…interesting.

up until this appointment, i had been wearing two ace bandages with two abd pads and gauze strips underneath. when she rewrapped me at the end, she just put the two pads over my incisions with no gauze around them and then put one ace bandage back on me. so my bandages are much lighter now, and it’s definitely more comfortable than before.

she had me make another appointment for two weeks from now (at 3 weeks post-op). she told me that, until then, i should limit my physical activity just as much as i have been so far, even if it feels like i can do more now. she also said that i can shower as long as the water doesn’t hit my chest directly, that i should change the pads every time i shower, and that i should switch to a clean ace bandage once a week (we didn’t have to buy extras, they were given to us). she recommended i get scar strips at some point between now and the next appointment, but said i shouldn’t start using them until she can take a look at my chest at 3 weeks and tell me if my skin is ready for them.

overall, it ended up being a much shorter appointment than i expected, although i’m honestly not sure what else i thought was going to happen. that being said, it didn’t feel rushed at all, and it was really nice to have her look at me and confirm that my chest is healing well.

[f4nd0m-fun]

So in a lot of these monster hunting fantasy webcomics, you have these things called monster cores. Imagine, if you will, an AU where the Justice League has always been in a world like this. Maybe an alternate earth, maybe the aliens are from different planes instead of planets, maybe you've got magic as the primary force and yet there's some who still manage to stick almost entirely to tech/magitech (like Bruce). These cores are essentially batteries, and the more powerful the monster the more energy you can draw. Also, I love the idea that, if you put it together right, you can technically recharge it.

Enter, the Phamily. Either they are from this world and the Fentons are monster hunters trying to find the origin place of the monsters, or this isn't their original world and they're trying to open a portal home.

Danny, Ellie, Dan, and Vlad if he's there, have cores. These can be considered batteries just looking at the way ectoplasm is used (imagine how much more potent the cores would be than the globs). Jazz, the parents, and Danny's friends if they're there too are liminal. This could mean that magic considers them part monster despite no cores, or maybe they're considered akin to warlocks or sorcerers, looked down upon but not actively hunted or something. Although the presence of the half monster kids and what seems to be a half monster dad... (yes this is probably a family breakfast ship, sue me if you dare) well, Vlad is gonna be determined to fight off the rumors with whatever he's got, there's no need for his darling Maddie to get worked up about idiots, aside from him and Jack of course. (I also love Vlad x Connie so this could either be Vlad is just an uncle or we get Connie in and call it Family Party or something - Party cause alcohol?)

Also not entirely sure on how I'm writing Bruce and Dick here, I want them to be able to access magic in some way, but sensing magic might be more of an Oracle/Barbara thing, I'm not sure, but also they can't do anything big or flashy with it, it's more tiny stuff which is why they rely on magitech. Also the idea that even if people can sense magic, usually they ignore changes aside from moving away from it if necessary cause usually it means a bunch of monsters are coming through a breach. Honestly, not sure how to run this but, eh.

The below segment is written with Native!JL and Isekai!DP in mind.

=====||=====||=====||======||=====||=====||=====

Bruce had been tinkering with his latest animaga, a monster core whose energy had been threaded through one if his favorite inventions, intended to allow him and his ward flight with the use of monster wings.

"B!"

He tensed but refuses to startle as his ward all but jumped on top of him. "Yes Dick?"

"The magic feels weird!"

Bruce paused, setting his tools down. He knew as a half elf, Richard was sensitive to magic, but wasn't nearly as strong with it as most full elves.

Of course, Bruce had always been considered... disabled in that regard, a full elf who could only feel the energy close to him, though it wasn't public knowledge that he knew of. "That's good to know, Chum, why don't you meditate on it and I'll investigate tonight?"

His ward seemed to understand the intent to leave him behind and started to protest.

"Chum, I was going out alone before you showed up, if the magic really has changed, it'll be safer for me to go out and use the radar."

Dick whined but didn't protest again.

Bruce hoped he wouldn't sneak out this time.

As night began to fall, a family of 9 was gutting a strange metallic ship. Well, the three elder ones were, while the younger ones worked together to scout out the area.

Bruce had just arrived to the location, but chose not to interfere just yet. Batman was the embodiment of night to many, a fearsome predator to others, and some even thought he was a monster himself. Reconnaissance was his strength, as was stealth.

"I don't know, Jazz, the energy here is weird. Muggy almost." His form gave off a soft glow, not unlike that of the whisps, though much larger in body.

The girl with red hair, Jazz he presumed, did not appear impressed. "Like you're the expert on energy. Maybe you should ask Sam when we get back to Mom and dad."

"And Vlad."

"Don't remind me."

The glowing one shuddered. "I know him and our parents have been buddy buddy again but why did he take you find along?"

"Because you're still in training, Daniel."

Both children shrieked.

"I see your core has accepted me into your Fraid."

Bruce froze a bit. Core? Thier energy was certainly strange but not entirely monstrous, hence his inactivity, but the presence of a core presented issues.

"Whatever, Fruitloop. Go back to camp."

"I don't think I will, you're being watched and I can't have my son or daughter being in harm's way."

"Give it a rest, Frootloop, we're not your kids." Despite their attitude, something about their reaction and stance suggested they were worried about being watched as well.

Bruce wondered how they knew about him, perhaps he should have asked Lucius for help with a dampening field to hide the energy of the animaga?

"Don't bother flying away, you'll be surrounded before you can think." Vlad placed a hand on Danny's shoulder.

Before Bruce could react, there was a flash of light that all but burned onto his retinas, but the light was all wrong, a deep black instead of a glowing hue. By the time he was back to his senses, Vlad was gone, and in his place was another strange Whisp. Batman didn't have to turn around to find there were identical ones behind him. Clearly, this was an opponent not to be underestimated.

[keiiaq]

⋮ NERV in my dr ₊˚🎧⊹

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ 　 anyone can start again.

not through love, but through revenge. 　 †

────────────────────

⌗ they hate when you serve conditioned to be a weapon who acts like it.

────────────────────

hey guys! im sosososo sorry that I havent posted in ages.. I do want to cram in something this week atleast. I'll try make another post this week too aside from this one. im currently working on my nge dr intro too, i've uploded it a few times but keep deleting it since I dont think its good enough 😖😖 anyways, lets start!

evangelion depicts a lot of religion and psychology, so I didn’t want to sugarcoat it to be a better place, because I feel like making it seem better just takes away what makes nerv nerv. so I decided to rewrite some of it, a lot less suffering but it still has the flair to it :)

I was inspired by abandoned airports, liminal spaces, alba aero and whatever aesthetic im using for this post - I have no clue what the name is but it captures perfectly what my nge dr is like. it’s not a lot but I pray I cooked in this as i've been trying to figure out how to go about it without making it too traumatizing.🤞🏻

† NERV

NERV is really mysterious, to put it lightly. the rabbit hole seems almost impossible to find the end of. its almost like theres no light at the end of the tunnel when there should be.

gendo and SEELE are pure evil, but I did make sure to script the second impact is the last impact to happen and that the instrumentality project never happens too - even though it is a huge plot point. no way am I experiencing that.

but just like the rabbit hole, the building seems to have no end. the more you walk around, the more bleak and empty everything is. when you think you've reached the other end, you're only a quarter through. the air is always heavy, sterile and its always cold. when you work as as a pilot, you know more happens in NERV than they let onto.

NERV is government funded by international bodies like UN. however, the money and power are being used for secretive, morally questionable ends that the public and many governments have no idea about - clones of rei, experimenting on both adam and lilith, and the dummy plug system.

sometimes when the pilots are required to come to NERV instead of school, I tend to use up my free time in NERV walking as far as possible and listening to music simultaneously. it definitely wouldnt help if my brain starts convincing me momo is behind me or something cause i'd likely take off running and hide in a corner. 😭😭

† EVA'S

as a quick summary of eva's, they're basically a giant, cybernetically modified humanoid entities created by the organizations gehirn and its successor nerv. they're used to fight angels and to protect humankind!!

they're kept pretty deep in nerv. they're also insanely tall too so its pretty daunting. I didnt change much here aside from the colour scheme, instead of reis being more blue than white I just swapped that around. mine eva is just beige, white, and black.

† OTHER

I dont know where to put other details of nerv so i'll add it here :)

— I didnt want to live with misato, shinji nd asuka so I just scripted that I get a penthouse to stay in thats near my school while having bills funded by nerv. because of this, I get paid by nerv so im able to afford trivial things so I can pay for food, clothes, furniture etc. (I scripted that my monthly salary is around ¥31,572,166 cause im not fighting angels for a measly 10k euros)

— I scripted that im not scared of the angels. i've minishifted to evangelion but havent managed to fight any angels. im assuming that they look like the biblically accurate angels so im gonna script they arent terrifying.

— the pilot list is confidential to the public, however it'll only be revealed if you tell someone. so through word of mouth essentially. nerv does have a strict qualification when it comes to recruiting pilots - 4 pilot slots, have to be 14, need to be born after the second impact, and to not have a biological mother.

— since juggling nerv and going to school is pretty difficult since you'll be in nerv 35% of the time doing tests, fighting angels, etcetc. I scripted that the pilots have tutors funded by nerv so we dont catch up on schoolwork and whatnot.

— I also did script that aside from having a funded private tutor, we also get a therapist too that come over nce a week and they do their job properly too !!

────────────────────

thanks for reading if you've made it down here !! im so sorry if this genuinely feels much more deeper than my other dr's i've mentioned. im just itching to have a psychological dr ^^ I do have a few parts of my nge dr I will share at some point too.

I also love this aesthetic too, if anyones seen my former nge drself design in december. this is such a stark contrast but I feel like this fits so much better. I love having drs like this so much.

thanks for reading my lovelies and happy shifting !! ♡♡

[hausofanya]

 ͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏ ͏ ͏ 9:30 PM ͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏ — ͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏ you have one new message from…

featuring cléo anya torell, mentions of the skz & hsk ensembles, and a new addition to the fray. word count 1k ( 1023 ) notes from june and with that, the unraveling begins.

everyone has been doing a lot of worrying recently.

she knows chan is squeezing in calls between stages, even when she’s told him he doesn’t have to. the apartment is lonely with moniqa working late and xavier gone. the kids seem to rotate in babysitting her when they can, but when the apartment is empty between the liminal hours she’s left alone with her thoughts, she’s just been floating from room to room, dazed as time flits by before she can blink.

her letter to the public was received well. xiomara had sent a few screenshots of comments off of twitter to their group chat earlier that week and it eased her heart a little bit. the others send their own comments of lighthearted support and condolences. xavier is still notably absent. nobody comments on his absence and she doesn’t ask.

she hasn’t seen him since moniqa had told her that he was behind why dowon looked roughed up–understatement–in his apology video. the bruising discoloration around his nose and face had sent a swooping feeling to sink her stomach. his stare had been a heavy burden throughout the trial. winning didn’t feel like the victory it was supposed to be.

it doesn’t erase the feeling of being trapped. the walls of her apartment feel like a cage, a prisoner of her own in his own doing. the scrutiny felt like an open sore.

her letter was genuine, yes, but how much of it was really just her being tired of being treated like glass? the hovering, the worried glances, the never ending suffocating feeling of pity. it sticks to her like thin film. a second skin refusing to shed. she’s already dreading the meetings, and if she was being completely honest with herself, if she had to hear jyp talk about the ‘importance of artist vulnerability’ one more time, she might just lose it.

her phone lights up one evening after yet another day stolen before her, finding herself standing in the kitchen when she becomes more aware of her surroundings. a dull pang sounds through her chest when she glances towards the shuttered window. it was already nighttime. her phone lights up again after fading to black, revealing the time as 9:30–moniqa was late again.

(of course she was. you’re the reason she had to take time off from work.)

teeth sink into her lower lips as she eyes the brightened screen. an unknown number marks the new message across the smooth surface. it would be harmless if she didn’t open it. if she waited when moniqa got back, she could go to the police with the message to have the person looked into. she should be wary of text messages from unknown numbers now, she knows. her personal number had been exposed one too many times already.

but. better to scratch the surface and find out if it's yet another death threat, right?

she unlocks her phone.

hi! i got your number from a coworker, so so sorry if this feels invasive…. i wouldn't answer this either if i were you. but your story hit really close to home and i was wondering if we could meet? if you’re comfortable!

she stares at her screen for a long pause. what coworker would be giving away her phone number? and now of all times?

you definitely don't sound suspicious at all.

her heartbeat quickens as she presses send, the guilt immediately hitting her as she tosses her phone onto the table with a loud clatter. moniqa had gone through her contacts and wiped her phone clean of anyone who wasn’t staff, close friends, or family. her hands begin to shake, wringing them nervously before lunging to just wipe the contact form her phone as if it was never there. she already doing so well, and now she’d gone and fucked it all up–

does it make me more credible if i told you i know dowon personally?

cléo chokes, breath lodging in her throat. she picks up her phone again before she loses the nerve. this isn’t funny. whoever is trying to play games with me, are you happy now?

a mixture of fear and anger swirls in her chest. she could just see the headlines now. ‘broken artist falls for message bait.’ ‘vulnerable idol lashes out in lieu of exposure of tumultuous relationship.’

moniqa would be so disappointed in her. hot tears brim over her waterline, squeezing her phone in her hands. would it ever be over? when will she finally have rest?

a sob breaks free before she can squash it. her chest hurts. she sniffles once before glancing down at her phone, prepared to just delete the entire conversation and go to bed pretending it never happened. with slightly blurred vision, she swipes her thumb to delete the conversation.

the first thing he said to you was that he needed to hide the relationship because his company was still too small, right?

her breath stills once again, thumb hovering over the red application.

i bet you asked yourself why he would even pursue a relationship despite wanting to keep his career afloat. ‘you know how fans are. they’ll skin you alive and i don’t want my pretty lady to suffer when she’s with me.’

cléo feels her entire body go cold. someone had to be feeding this person personal information. his exact words repeated back to her almost a year later, word for word. her chest gets tight, almost struggling to inhale properly as the texts continue to pour in.

i’m sorry if i’m bringing up bad memories. you’re not the only one he said those words to. i don’t know how you’re feeling right now, but i thought you could use some comfort from someone who knows exactly what he’s like.

she doesn’t know whether to laugh or throw up.

who are you? she finally texts back with trembling hands. her heart seizes again when the typing pops up and then disappears completely a couple times. when her screen lights up one final time, she drops her phone completely, barely registering the sound.

my name is jeong lia.

[broomsick]

Ways to incorporate music into deity work

Hi there, music enthusiasts! I'm here to help you blend what you're passionate about with what you're devoted to. After all, music has a particular, unique kind of divinity to it! It can dig deep into our souls and help us connect to our emotions in a way, I’m sure you'll agree, is nothing short of spiritual. And any historian will tell you that music is one of the oldest forms of art to have ever been performed by humans. Even back during the antiquity and through the eras that followed, it was very much one of the main mediums through which people would connect with religion. The homeric hymns were sung, galdr is generally considered to have been a musical practice involving ritual singing...

Now, I've learned with time that there are little offerings more rewarding than songs. Just like they can help us understand our own feelings, they're also a great way to communicate to other people the feelings we find hard to put into words. You'll know this if you've ever made a playlist for someone, or even written someone a song. Music is beautiful in that way. Offering a song to the Gods works in that same manner: if you're somebody who struggles with communicating their emotions, there's no reason you shouldn't be able to share a song with the Gods, like you would for a friend. You can play it and meditate on their image, or simply listen to it, eyes closed and fully focused on the music as an act of devotion. Even sing/play it, whatever feels right!

I personally like to assing certain songs to certain deities! That way, when a specific song seems to come up over and over on shuffle, I think that this or that deity might be trying to reach out to me! To associate a song with a God is to give this God an essence, an individual aura. The songs I associate with Freyja are generally confidence-boosters, those I associate with Baldr are most often peaceful and emotion-stirring... And this helps with picturing the Gods as separate entities, with their own, distinct spirits! Some might find it easier to connect with a deity during meditation or divination sessions when they play the deity's assinged song. In a way which is reminiscent of devotional candles, this might even become a means with which to invoke the God ("Hey there! I'm playing your song and thinking about you, you're invited to join me!")

And if, like me, you're an incurable nerd, you may go even further and practice this little exercise I love to engage in on public transport or during any other especially boring liminal times: stop looking at your phone, draw back into your imagination, play a song and imagine something. Is it a quiet forest? A vast expanse of snowy moutains? A night around a bonfire with friends? A bright day in a bustling city? Focus on whatever comes to mind. Do the feelings brought about by this image remind you of a deity you worship with? Two birds with one stone: enjoy a song, engage in deity work! It’s as simple as that.

I'm sure there are loads of other, more creative ways you all have found to connect with deity worship using music. Whatever these ideas are, feel free to share them! It’s always great to hear how other people practice, so let’s share!

[zh0nggucc1]

Drippin Desires 1/2

Word count: 1.6k

Pairings: Mingi x Gn!reader

Content: Mingi is Y/N’s boss and he’s running late…

Warning: NSFW, public indecency, fingering, degradation, pet names (darling), dom!mingi, sub!reader

Splash! Droplets of the liminal greys above my head secreted its condensed layers. People scavenged around for any form of shelter, some even using the tops of their hood-less jackets to protect their heads from the harmless liquid. There was one in particular who caught my eye, the only one that could come out of this waterfall looking like a Greek God. If he wasn’t a Greek God he was surely blessed with all the beauty Athena had to offer

Song Mingi, unfortunately my boss. His brown, slicked back locks were beginning to fall down onto his carefully and beautifully, sculpted face, due to the rain weakening the gel that held his most likely, soft and luscious hair in place. A slight look of frustration painted his face before he glanced my way, replacing that sour look with a half smile. He soon approached me. We didn’t often catch the train together as he usually took the earlier train. I’m assuming he woke up late, putting him in this position.

“Good morning Mr. Song, are you running late?” I gently and professionally spoke to him. The rain dripping down his face enhanced his beauty by 100x, I could barely focus on anything but his stunningly shaped, pink, plump lips. They looked like they were itching to be kissed, I couldn’t bare it. “No need to be so professional, we’re not at work yet, call me Mingi.” He sent me a friendly smile. I couldn’t be friendly with him, I could barely resist ripping his clothes off on the spot. “I would prefer to be professional around you, sir.” As I finished speaking, the train had arrived at the platform. The moment the doors had opened, I swiftly hopped on hoping he would take the hint and leave me alone. The train was rather crowded so we had both ended up in each other’s personal space. It was more than i could handle.

“Come on, you can loosen up around me Y/N, don’t have to be so tight~.” His comment caused a light pink to cover my cheeks. “I don’t think it is appropriate for you to be talking to me this way and please, call me ‘L/N’, we must remain professional, sir.” I remained calm. “What? You don’t like it when I call you Y/N?” He sent me a very subtle smirk. No, I fucking love it, that’s the problem…

“Please don’t call me that again.” I spoke in between a gulp. Mingi spoke up again. “But I like your name, Y/N.” That was it. “I said stop!” I snapped at him, just like an angry chihuahua. I immediately regretted it. I turned around, My back facing him, feeling slightly guilty for shouting at him. Seconds later, I felt something solid poke my backside. Was that what I thought it was? This can’t be happening, I won’t be able to resist much longer…

“S-Sorry…” He muttered, as he grazed his finger along my hip, his tone much less confident and much more timid. He held his head lower, the sensation of his rough breaths down my neck, sending chills down my spine. I know what he wanted and I wanted it too but it was so risky, especially here.

Fuck it. Any dignity I left was gone in an instant as I backed myself up onto his partially hardened erection. I could tell he enjoyed this as he had to clear his throat to hide any devilish sounds that were aching to leave his mouth. It was so undeniably sexy. I needed to hear more of his sinful vocals. They caused a familiar liquid to coat my panties. I pressed my thighs together, in attempts of creating some kind of friction to satisfy this unbearable desire to be touched by him.

I hurriedly, scanned around the crowded cart. Once I was sure no one was looking, I grabbed his abnormally long fingers from behind and placed them exactly where I wanted them, up my skirt, in between my thighs. Not a word, left my lips in shame. I was about to let my boss fondle me on a train.

I heard a scoff leave his mouth and felt the vibrations from his chest due to our close proximity. Gosh that was so sexy, I felt myself getting even wetter. I bit my bottom lip, my breath becoming shaky.

His head tilted, his lips grazing my earlobe. “What is it? You want my fingers, hm?” He suggested, his voice low and quiet. It turned me on more than anything. I gulped and nodded. “I want to hear your words, darling.” He stated, stubbornly. “Y-yes..” I quietly replied. “Yes what?” He smirked. “Yes please...” I desperately spoke. He let out a low chuckle, sending shivers down my spine.

His finger’s collided with my underwear using one gentle touch and with one rough pull, they had been ripped off of me. I gasped in disbelief. He muttered a careless ‘oops’ and placed lacy fabric in his other hand, so he was now able to give me what I had been desiring.

He swiped his middle finger across my dripping folds, causing me to let out a shaky breath. He soon located my clit, rubbing slow and gentle circles around it. It felt good, but i needed more. I whined quietly. “What? is it not enough for you? How about this?” He hastily shoved two digits inside of me, causing me to let out a loud gasp. My reaction brought a wider smirk to his face. It created a sloshing sound due to the wetness. His fingers were so long, they easily reached my g-spot. He pumped his fingers in and out, rapidly, hitting my g-spot every time. My body jolted every time he hit it. I bit down on my bottom lip to suppress my moans, hard enough to draw blood.

It satisfied him seeing me try so hard to keep my composure but failing miserably. “What a slut? taking my fingers so well.” He whispered, his lips, again grazing my earlobe. I wished those perfect lips of his could be all over my body. I wished for his tongue to replace his fingers ramming into my dripping cunt. Unfortunately, this was the most I could allow to happen. It was too risky.

His bulge rubbed against my ass as his fingers rammed into my clenching cunt. He used his thumb to circle my clit, rapid enough for an orgasm to be nearing. I couldn’t do that here… it would make a mess.

“Sir- I mean Mingi- I mean Mr. Song… you need to stop.. i’m c-close.” I stuttered, breathlessly. “So what? Why don’t we make a mess and let the whole world that you’re not as innocent as you make yourself out to be~.” He whispered seductively. As much as I loved this feeling, he had to be stopped. I grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand out of my skirt and just in time because our stop was approaching. Once the train had stopped, he leaned down to whisper in my ear again. “Meet me in my office on your lunch break, darling~” He got off of the train while I paused, almost forgetting to get off.

I hopped off and started making my way my usual coffee shop. I always stopped by there before work. As I walked in, I noticed a face i hadn’t seen before. I had grown quite fond of all of the employees, but this one I didn’t recognise. They must’ve hired someone knew. He was gorgeous, a little bit short, but nevertheless stunning. He had black, mid length hair, with a middle parting. He had a smile that could light up a whole room and quite a cute aura. I had been so focused staring at him, I didn’t notice that he was trying to take my order. “Ma’am, can I help you?” He gifted me a gentle smile, knocking me out of my trance. “Ah yes, so sorry! Could I get a caramel latte with extra cream?” I asked, He immediately typed it into the till. “Of course, is that all?” His voice was so soft and pretty, I could listen to it all day. “Yup that’s all, how much will that be?” I asked. “On the house… if I could get your number?” He flirted, looking me in the eye. He was confident, even more attractive. My cheek went a light shade of pink. “Eh sure why not?” I took my phone out of my pocket and opened up the keypad, handing my phone to him. He took it and swiftly typed his number in, saving his contact with the name ‘Joongie<3’. I read his name badge. His name was Hongjoong, what a pretty name. “thank you uhh-“ I cut him off. “Y/N, call me Y/N.” I smiled. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.” He passed my phone back to me. “Nice to meet you too, Hongjoong.” I replied. “Wait how did you- oh I forgot I wear a name badge.” He let out the cutest chuckle, to which I replied also with a chuckle.

After our conversation I waited, patiently for my latte. After it had been made, I bid Hongjoong a goodbye and made my way into my work building. There was nothing special about my job. It was a basic office job, nothing more to it, I sat at a computer all day and got paid to type. I can’t the pay was bad though, the pay was pretty good for what it was, it gave me enough to live on and that’s all that mattered. There was one thing I looked forward too everyday and that was eye fucking Song Mingi whenever he made a grand appearance however today I felt as if I had more than just eye fucking to look forward to.

I walked over to my computer, setting my coffee down on the table. I decided to take my phone out and message Hongjoong, just so my number would show up in his phone.

Hey! it’s Y/N, message me when you get the chance

Delivered

I knew, as he was at work, it would take a while for him to reply, so I just got straight on with my work.

TO BE CONTINUED…

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed!! please give me your opinion and/or requests!! thank you for reading <3

[entities-of-posts]

yknow i wish i could exaggerate this and say this isnt real but i keep ending up in liminal spaces. i feel like this is the best blog to discuss such things. i dont know why, just feel the need to share my strange experiences! i just found this blog, but it calls to me or something dramatic like that. i dont know, im pretty sure these liminal spaces keep finding me instead of me finding them.

heres a few pictures of the places i go! i kinda wonder how i get here. those first two was when i went to see a movie, and it was kinda full when we got there, but when we left there was no one! no cashiers, and the theater we were in was empty too. the whole town seemed kinda dead at that time, which was strange, cause it was only 8pm.

second one… not sure how i got that, to be honest. i just found a slide. i dont know how far it goes up, or where it leads. you cant see it, but it turns and spirals to some far off second floor.

the warehouse one was when i was trying to find something for someone! was sent to grab something from a warehouse. the warehouse was on the 6th story, strangely. never found what i was looking for.

ooh, that street. that was a strange seat. was trying to find the car after a long night. there was a lot of alleys. that was one of the alleys! no idea where the alleys went to. they simply existed. they are simply alleys.

the last one. i just.. found it like that. it was in an empty room in a church. i didnt really dwell on why it was like that.

theres a lot i didn’t get pictures of, either! that church i mentioned is really strange. me and my sister broke into a room below the chapel once, and the floor was covered in dead bugs. we didn’t get far past it. there were so, so many bugs. that church underground lead to a few other tunnels within it. I’ve gone through those tunnels many times, and I’ve gotten lost in them so many times too. Possibly more than I’ve entered have I gotten lost!

Oh, what else. Ah! I was in the backstage of a theater once. I don’t know what play they were performing. They werent playing it yet, It was a few months before the show. In fact, the show should happen soon! Regardless, I found strange things in the backstages. A lot of black, cardboard cutouts of human shapes. There was a large room, so large. There was some kind of mountain of props, with a stairwell leading up it.

i only have a blurry images of that theater. i don’t actually know why they’re blurry! they just turned out like that. better not to question, huh.

i hope you enjoyed reading this! all of this is real, to be as honest as possible. you can throw away this ask, i don’t mind! or publicize it. i don’t mind either! I just felt that, seeing as you are an archive, it was fitting to settle down my own ‘statement’ or whatever. have fun, and remember! there are liminal spaces around every corner. for some weird reason.

Oh I love those uncanny little corners of the world! I would have climbed up the inside of the slide 👁👁

Liminal spaces are generally in the Stranger/Spiral overlap. It may be an overused word, but nevertheless the feeling remains as strong.

[drivinmeinsane]

Draw Me In

※ Driver (Drive) x Ken (Barbie) ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: Ken's insatiable curiosity leads to a messy outcome when he fails to give Driver any semblance of personal space.

※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content.

�� Content/Tags: Semi-public sex, Frottage, Cumplay, Bruising, Ken has glittery cum (glizz), Gratuitous use of a semi-public space, Driver being Driver.

※ Word count: 3,366

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

※ Author's Notes: I really have nothing to say in defense of myself for this one other than this isn't the last you'll see of Driver and Ken from me. The edit I put together was… a choice. Special thanks to @danime25 for proofreading this for me!

It's that liminal time between night and morning, where the distinction between the two blends together into a sleepy haze. There are no last dregs of dusk and not yet the warming glow of a predawn sun. There's only the sterile hum of the parking garage lights. The darkness further beyond is hazy with the pollution of mankind's attempt to banish the night and what hides in its embrace

Sheltered below the metric tons of concrete and steel of the parking garage, Ken watches Driver work under the hood of his car. He's methodically removing tubing and cleaning the connection points before putting in fresh hoses. The function and purpose is beyond the blond man, but he still hovers nearby. He's insatiably curious about everything to do with the "real world".

He shuffles closer, peering over the working man's shoulder. He looks for something to comment on. He's yearning for his attention. "What's that part do?" He asks, mouth nearly against Driver's neck. He's rewarded by the man looking in the direction of his pointing finger. 

"Expansion valve. It turns the coolant into a vapor." His voice causes Ken's stomach to flip. He shivers a little at the feeling and instead focuses on trying to parse out what the words mean. He comes up with nothing and just stares blankly at the.... expanding value? He's already forgotten what the other man had called it. 

"So cool." He finally says. His tone is more confident than he feels.

Inexplicably, Driver's shoulders hitch and shake for a moment as though he let out a silent laugh. He frowns. He didn't think he said anything funny. He takes the step forward that bridges the miniscule gap between them. Ken hooks his chin over the other man's shoulder to get a better look at his hands. They're the same height which causes Ken to rise onto his tiptoes and fully press his body against him, leaning into him for support. He feels Driver tense, his hands go still on the material he is about to cut. He can feel the rise and fall of his back against his chest. He's so warm. Ken settles comfortably against him. He hears the click of the other man's throat and the wet parting of his lips, but no words come.

He rapturously watches Driver's hands while his fingers deftly work the freshly cut hose into the connection points. He gasps a little when he sees his thumb brush over the tip, his hand giving the material a firm tug to get it into place. His stomach swoops and heat floods his body. Pressure starts to build, and he rubs his crotch against the man in front of him. He whines a little at the sensation and repeats the motion over and over. Driver doesn't protest, doesn't say a word, only widens his stance to give him more access. Ken finds himself getting lost in the feeling building up inside him and he presses his face against the mechanic's back. He's making quiet noises. He can't stop them from breaking loose, he just feels so good. Driver feels so good. 

The minute shifts of Driver's body, the way he leans and twists away from Ken is too much. The indifference he's showing him sparks something furiously demanding in him. He needs to be closer, needs more more more more. He blindly fumbles for the other man's hip to pull him flush and hold him still. He wants to chase down the heated sensation, to use the man against him to get to the finish. 

Driver abruptly straightens and takes a step back from the '73 Malibu. Ken stumbles. The moment is shattered, and he's completely taken by surprise. His hand slides off of the man's hip. Embarrassment lances through him. "I'm sorry."

"Didn't do anything worth apologizing for." His voice is relaxed despite there being a rough, cracking edge to it that makes Ken inspect his face closely for any emotions when he turns around. Nothing, he's vague as always.

Ken stands there, hands clenching and struggling to stay at his sides while he watches Driver take a seat on the edge of the open car.  He's slightly damp with sweat, strong arms smeared with grease and grime. He looks so imperfectly human. Ken wants to touch all of his flaws. Memorize them. Marvel in everything that separates the man from being a doll. It's a sickening feeling to watch Driver's attention shift from him to their surroundings. Something akin to jealousy boils under his skin and he crowds in too close, nearly pressed against the seated man's knees. The heat of Driver's body attracts him like a moth to the destructive flame.

Driver starts to lean down towards him and for a deliciously, delirious second, Ken thinks that the other man is going to take him by the belt loops and pull him in close to lick a stripe up his exposed stomach. He doesn't, much to Ken's disappointment. He simply picks up a rag from the toolbox near their feet and proceeds to wipe his broad hands. It does little to clear away the grime stubbornly clinging to his skin. His hands are still smudged. Ken knows that if Driver were to touch him, his own perfect skin would be marred with ghostly impressions of his exploration. Black and gray handprints against tan skin. A police department's worth of fingerprint impressions.

Driver takes the toothpick out of his mouth and tucks it securely behind one ear. He stands up and calmly latches the car's hood. It clicks closed and the sound echoes in the silence populated only by the irregular hitches of Ken's breathing as he tries to keep himself in check. The mechanic regards him with one of his bland expressions before Ken spots a flash of hunger in his eyes that the impassive man can't quite hide. He perks up slightly at the direct attention and gives him a sheepish smile.

Driver returns it with one of his slow, crooked grins. The one that makes the skin around his eyes crinkle. With all the nonchalance in the world, he reaches out with calloused hands and grabs Ken by his denim vest. He pulls him heartbreakingly close before twisting and slamming him down onto his back on top of the Malibu's hood almost hard enough to put a dent in the decades old metal.

The resulting noise is like thunder in the enclosed space. Ken stares up at the man above him, mouth slightly agape. He's spread out over the hood of Driver's car. He chokes back a moan and arches his back, tilts his head to expose the thick column of his neck, spreads his legs... the whole nine yards. He gives the other man all the signals in the world to know that he's presenting himself for him. He's treated with the sight of Driver clenching his jaw and swallowing hard enough that Ken can see his Adam's apple bob. His pupils are blown wide. They're deep pools ringed with bright blue.

Suddenly, deliciously, Driver steps up between his spread legs and covers Ken's mouth with his own. He clenches his thighs around the mechanic's narrow hips. He reaches up to twist his fingers in the man's shirt, but his wandering hands are quickly captured by one of Driver's. They're pinned to the glossy metal above his head. He whimpers and gasps against the other man's mouth. The sounds seem to affect the man kissing him because he clenches his fingers and digs them hard into the delicate bones of his wrists. He, for his part, is silent even as he breaks the kiss and trails his nose along the curve of Ken's jaw and down into the crook of his neck. He pauses there, breath causing goosebumps to erupt on the prone man's skin.

"Please, please, please." Ken is not even sure what exactly he's begging for. Even to his own ears, he sounds raw and desperate for whatever the other blond man is willing to give him. He feels like he's so worked up with want that he could be sick from it all.

Driver cuts his pleading off by abruptly pressing his hand over his mouth. He holds Ken in place likes a specimen on a board, something worth keeping and studying. Ken's hips thrash and buck up against the man between his legs. He's writhing in desperate arousal. His jeans feel too tight, too constricting against his crotch. His tongue passes over his lips, inadvertently licking Driver's palm. The fingers tighten their grip and dig into the soft skin of his cheeks. He arches his back at the sensation and feels Driver's erection throb against him. Chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis, he wants Driver to grind against him until they are one being. Until they are merged together like some brand new creature.

His world is narrowed down to the smooth surface of the car and their two bodies moving under the harsh lighting. "Give me something." He begs, words smothered, barely audible.

Driver obeys and bites down on the juncture of Ken's neck and shoulder. A burst of pain, of pleasure, radiates through his body and he squeezes his eyes closed, savoring the sting. His shout of surprise is muffled underneath Driver's hand.  He feels him soothe the flesh with a wet swipe of his tongue. Ken's whining and whimpering in earnest now. His moans leak out from around the bruising grip Driver has on his jaw.

"Shhhh. Going to let go of you now. I need you to quiet down. Do you understand?" The other man's voice is rough and winded. It's thick with arousal. 

Ken nods frantically underneath his hand. He feels the grip loosen slowly. Driver removes his hand but keeps his thumb resting on Ken's bottom Iip. He's thoughtfully pressing into the pliant flesh and coaxing his mouth open. He parts his lips willingly for Driver, thoroughly enjoying the way he's looking at him. He licks the pad of his thumb, relishes the way the other blond inhales sharply. Ken grows a little bolder, taking his finger into the slick pinkness of his mouth. He sucks on it, tasting the saltiness of sweat and something dusty, a little chemical tang. 

Ken is throbbing and leaking uncomfortably. He can feel the other man's erection rubbing against his own through the layers of clothing they're both wearing. He can't take the pressure any more and impatiently rolls his hips. He's desperately seeking friction. Driver's hand clenches warningly on his wrists. He doesn't heed it and his feet scramble for purchase against the front bumper. He presses his heels into it and grinds up hard.

It seems like he's snapped something inside of the other man because he pulls back from him with the same abruptness he had displayed when he threw him down onto the hood of the Chevelle. Ken lets out a frustrated whine at the loss of chest to chest contact. The other man pulling away had felt akin to a rejection, but he's not given too long to feel unwanted because Driver trails both hands down his prone, trembling body. The wheelman pauses, lingering on his chest. He kneads the yielding skin there, almost experimentally grazing his thumbs over his nipples. The skin of his hands is rough against his sensitive skin. Ken thrashes against him like he's touched a live wire, he feels as though his body has turned into one pounding heart with each thrum of his pulse. The car creaks under him. He pushes his body into Driver's, seeking the contact that was withdrawn. The words that escape him are almost completely unintelligible.

"Please, need- need it." he keens.

Driver gives him a final squeeze before firmly sliding his hands down the rest of his body. Ken's muscles tense and tremble underneath the caressing touches. Ken feels how hard Driver is against the junction of his legs. He's not entirely sure all the moisture soaking through the denim is his. He has a strong suspicion that at least some of it is the other man's precum, not his.

Ken struggles to keep himself still and cooperative when the other man reaches his waistband and unceremoniously works his pants open. The release of the constrictive material causes him to gasp. Driver's hand pins his hip down firmly, keeping him still enough to pull down his thong to expose his cock. Ken moans as his twitching erection springs free and the head of it collides with Driver's abdomen. He barely has time to get used to the sensation before Drive is curled over his body and rutting against him. Humping him like both of their lives depend on it. and, given the way Ken feels on fire, they might. He sets a frantic pace, the denim is deliciously rough against Ken's flushed skin and it's all he can do to meet him thrust for thrust. The car is rocking and creaking from the force of their actions. Ken doesn't know much about cars, but he has a fleeting notion that this might not be the best thing for the automobile.

Driver's open mouthed panting over him. Drops of his sweat are falling on Ken's tan skin, but Ken is struck dumb by how intent and ravenous Driver's face is. Haloed by the florescent lights, he looks like he's going to devour him whole. Like the wolf Ken had seen on the TV relentlessly pursuing something called a bison. He remembers the wolf's mouth and its panting, toothy grin. It's echoed in the way Driver is looking at him. It thrills him to be the object of so much attention. His whole body is flushed with pleasure and he purposely presents himself a little more just to pull a reaction from the other man. It works. The parking garage is echoing with Ken's moans and the sound of the car struggling to hold its ground and not roll back.

He's so close to imploding like a dying star, but the soaked fabric of the jeans that the other man is still wearing is starting to chafe in a way that's painful. He makes a grab for Driver's belt. No motion is made to halt his efforts.. He sits up just enough to see what he's doing. Driver follows his gaze, and the blond man hears him give a harsh exhale.

"Oh," Ken breathes out, his movements stuttering as he takes in the scene. His hands are fighting with the belt, the silver buckle shining as brightly as the mess Ken's made on the front of the other man. His glittery precum is slicked all over the thin, white shirt and the dark wash jeans. Even the belt is slippery with the sparkling mess, causing Ken's fingers to slide off with each roll of Driver's hips. Ken's own clothing is not any better. His cock is still drooling the clear, glitter infused fluid. 

He manages to get the belt undone and winces as the buckle catches him in the thigh, he isn't dissuaded though and yanks Driver's pants open. He falls flat on his back again, overwhelmed at the sight of the mechanic's obvious arousal. He had done that to Driver. He is so very desperately wanted, needed even. They're skin to skin now. Driver is dripping and leaking, they're both slick with it. Ken reaches down and slides his hands into the man's back pockets, clamping down on his ass and pulling him in. His feet are still braced on the bumper and with Driver held in place right where he needs, he grinds against him. 

Driver kisses him again. He loses himself in the sensation of lips against his own, slippery, throbbing lengths gliding together with each of his motions. The stunt driver is anchored firmly over him and Ken is taking exactly what he wants. He starts to feel tears run down his cheeks from the ruinous sensations. It’s all so much. How could he have never existed somewhere that this pleasure doesn't exist?

"Don't stop, please, don't stop." Ken begs against his mouth, his voice is starting to sound raw. His vocal chords are overused.

"I won't." Driver responds. He sounds a little strangled.

He bites Ken's bottom lip, swollen from all the attention it's been getting, and pries a sweet moan from him in response. It's the final straw, Ken cums with a shout. He squeezes his eyes shut and about rips one of Driver's back pockets right off. Wetness coats them both in pulses. He feels the splatter against his stomach, against his chest. The wet sounds of their bodies moving together is grossly obscene.

Ken's eyes snap open as Driver drags a hand through the wetness between them. He whines as he feels the other man seek out the evidence of his release with those thick fingers. The hand is removed and Ken stares wide eyed as the wheelman looks consideringly at his fingers. They're liberally coated in Ken's glittery semen. It shines like a jewelry store's worth of diamonds under the fluorescents overhead. They make eye contact, and there's a small, crooked smile on Driver's face. It's the only warning he gets before those wet fingers are brushing over his lips, glossing them with his own release. Ken's throat works. The look on the other man's face has him breathless. He feels Driver's body shudder and his cock jerk as he looks down at him. 

"What are you thinking about?" He whispers. There's several heartbeats of silence before the man speaks, and when he does, it's more of an inner monologue than anything that would normally come out of his mouth if he were in his right mind.

"I'm thinking 'bout how I want to see you in some kinda lip gloss. Might feel sticky and gritty if I kissed you. Bet you would look pretty, just like now. All pink. Sparkly." 

Ken has just a moment to tell himself he's going to wear the product every single moment as long as it makes the other blond man look at him in this way before Driver finds the marks he had left behind earlier. His sturdy hand grips Ken's jaw hard enough to bruise all over again. He fucks himself up against Ken's softening cock and kisses him. He feels the mechanic's tongue swipe over his lips, tasting the salty release on them. Ken kisses back like it's his only tether to Earth. Driver finally cums. 

The other man tenses and shakes. He lets go of Ken's jaw and instead places the hand next to his head. He goes boneless on top of him and Ken gives his ass a reassuring squeeze before sliding his hands up under his rucked up shirt to rest on his lower back, warm skin under his hands.    

"That felt so good." Ken feels the other man's penis give a twitch and a weak spurt after his words. He hears him give a quiet groan. 

They lay there for a moment, stomach to stomach, slick wetness between them before Driver pushes himself onto his palms and peels himself from Ken. He sits up to watch the other man search for something to wipe them clean with. He finally locates a clean enough rag and Ken gets a front row seat to watch Driver wipe away the mess they had made together. The flexing of his arms as he cleans up captivates Ken and he has to grab his thighs to keep from reaching out and pulling the other man down on top of him again. He loses himself in the sight until he's startled a little by Driver handing the rag to him. He takes it and looks down at himself. His skin is covered in grease and grime marks in the shape of Driver's hands. Ripening bruises and a love bite mark his flawless skin, but most captivating of all;  he's painted in a mixture of his own glittery cum shot through with the milky swirls of Driver's. It reminds him of photos he had seen of space. He decides right then that it's beautiful.