#the river below

[its-haughty]

hey. are you guys also super obsessed with zagreus' blood symbolism. Cuz i sure am!

[khruschevshoe]

The Haunting of Amy Pond

Amy Pond, Doctor Who | aletterinthenameofsanity, there are lessons in life no one should have to learn (pretty little things wilt away)

(In which I read @aletterinthenameofsanity's Amy Pond character study and I just had to pull out my favorite lines and put them to images from the show because the imagery kicked me in the nuts.)

[once-upon-a-time-a-crow]

Feel free to nominate more! 🎨 ✨

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

River Below 8

Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, bullying, illnes, and other possible triggers. Warnings are not exhaustive and will not include plot devices/elements.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Life in the Banks is tough but one man can make it worse.

Characters: Rafe Cameron

Note: Slight change in the monday plans.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Lord Farquaad loves unnecessary vowels. Take care. 💖

You shudder in the dirt, dry heaving as you try to see straight. You don’t know if it’s whatever he gave you or what he’s just done but you feel sick. Your stomach squeezes cruelly as your shoulders rack. You roll your eyes up as heat tingles behind them. Don’t. You’re not a child, don’t cry.

“Get your ass up, shrimp girl,” Rafe kicks you with the toe of his sandal, “what’re you doin’ down there in the dirt?”

You drag your hand away from the puddle of spit and cum. You tremble as you brace your legs and search for an ounce of strength. You try to stand and he huffs impatiently. He grabs your arm and hauls you up, making you stagger.

“Still actin’ shy when I just had my dick down your throat,” he scoffs, “come on.”

He turns you down the path and shoves you ahead of him. You stumble and find your balance. You look around, uncertain. He scoops up your bag and follows you, letting it dangle close to the ground.

“Where–”

“I wanna see that shit shack you share with the whale,” he taunts, “whatever little mouse hole you crawl outta each day.”

“Sir,” you sniff and hug yourself, “please, my mama–”

“You keep your mouth shut and she won’t even know I’m there,” he snarls. “Keep movin’ before I find a new hole.”

You lower your head and keep on. The humiliation erupts into your chest, your heart beating loud behind your ears. You don’t want your mama to know he’s bothering you, she’d worry. The thought that he might hurt her makes you stop short of the tree line.

“Hey,” he collides with you from behind, “what’re ya doing?”

“I… are you going to hurt her?”

He snorts and hurls your bag into the dirt, “take your shit and keep goin’. I don’t got time to be hunting for blubber.”

You take your bag from the ground and he follows you onto the porch. You glance back at him uncertain as you pull back the screen door. He catches it behind you, looming close as you twist the handle of the peeling front door.

You’re embarrassed as you lead him inside. It’s a small place, old, not in the best shape. You’ve seen where he lives, the Cameron place with its column and white wash. A sparkling pool that’s the envy of even the kookiest in the banks.

“Least there’s a roof,” he kids in a low grumble.

“Honey, that you?” Your mama calls from her bedroom.

Your eyes widen and you turn to face Rafe. You try to shake away the fuzziness behind your nose. You blink heavily, squeezing your eyes shut several times. You don’t know why he’s come here. He’s had his fun.

“Please,” you beg.

He smirks and puts his finger to his lips, a gesture that promises silence. You know better than to trust him. He angles his hand to point down the hall as your mama calls again.

You stare at him as you back away. Finally, you turn down the hall and rush down to your mama’s room. You hear Rafe’s weight creak in the floor but the blare of the television gives you hope that she doesn’t.

“Sorry, mama, I was just gettin’ in the door,” your voice quavers thinly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything from the shop today. Fryers were still heatin’ when I left.”

“That’s alright, baby,” she rubs her large stomach, “I’m not feelin’ too good.”

“Oh? Can I get you some water or something?”

“I think I’m good. I took some Tums,” she groans, “you wanna watch somethin’.”

“I…” you peek back down the hall, “I’m gonna get some cleaning done but maybe later.”

“Ah, okay, honey,” she lets her disappointment show, “I just been lonely is all.”

“I know, mama, but it shouldn’t take me long.”

She acquiesces with a grumble. You feel bad for lying but you can’t let her know that you brought Rafe home. She’d freak out.

You pull her door shut behind you, leaving it open only an inch. You go to hurry back down the hall but nearly shriek as Rafe pokes his head out your bedroom door. You quickly wave him inside. You put your bag by the wall as you step in after him.

“What’re you do–”

“Don’t be asking me questions,” he warns as he turns to the table of chipped figurines, “how’s the old cow? Still grazin’?”

“Please,” you squeak as you ease your bedroom door shut, terrified she’ll overhear. “She doesn’t know you’re here. She’d be so upset–”

“Yeah, yeah, mama doesn’t want anyone to see the inside of the barn, got it,” he picks up the pig with the bow around its neck, “this supposed to be her.”

You pout as your eyes flood. Why is he so mean? Your blood surges and you feel a jitter in your muscles. You start to pace as he calmly peruses your space. You chew your thumb as you stand by the window and watch him. You want him to go but if you say as much, you know he’ll only stay longer.

He turns and struts up to the bed. He gives a thoughtful gaze to the patchwork quilt. He tilts his head and clicks his tongue. He bends to touch it and pushes down on the mattress.

“Take your clothes off,” he says without looking up.

You jolt, a squeak escaping you in surprise. You can’t believe he’s said that. The concept makes your bones rattle.

“What?” You bring your hands to your throat as if you’re choking.

“You hear me, pogue,” he stands straight and puts his hands on his hips.

You hesitate and clutch the collar of your uniform shirt. He can’t mean that. You already…

“You do what I say when I say or I’ll make sure your mama hears every single thing I do to you. We both know she won’t be able to drag her lard far enough to stop me.”

You clasp your hands tight and teeter on your feet. Naked. In front of him. You never… before him, you never even saw a man’s… parts. A new wave of nausea brews as you think of what you’ve done.

You wince as suddenly he’s stomping towards you. You put your hands up to shield yourself as he grabs the front of your shirt. You hush him as you glance at the wall nervously. She’s going to hear him!

“Get this off,” he snarls and tugs your hem up. 

You hold back a yelp as he tears the fabric higher, forcing your arms up as he rips it roughly over your head. He whips the shirt away and stands back on his heel. He tilts his head until his neck cracks. You hug your bare stomach and look down at your bra.

“Shit, I need…” his voice trails off as he marches around the tight space. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the little bag of powder. “Get fucking naked,” sprinkles some onto the narrow desk as he faces away from you, “I swear, by the time I’m done…”

He reaches into his back pocket and takes out his wallet. You spin away from him and stare at the bed. You want to scream and shriek and cry and run away. You peek over your shoulder as you rub your arms.

“If you’re not worried about what I’ll do to you, you should thinka what I’ll do to your mama if you don’t fucking listen!” He snaps as he taps a card on the table. “Make me tell you again, Pogue.”

You don’t doubt him. You know he’ll do it. You couldn’t let your mother go through the same humiliation. It’s hard enough for her. People are so cruel to her, they just see how big she is and think she must be lazy and horrible. She’s your mama and she’s the nicest person you’ve ever known. She’s done so much for you, you can do this for her.

You bend down to slip out of your shoes and socks. Your hands shake as your blood courses hot and cold. You feel hollow, almost like you’re outside your own body. You stand straight and undo the top of your fly. It’s not supposed to be like this, this isn’t what the movies show.

You pull down your pants and step out of them. Your fingers are clumsy as you struggle with the back of your bra. You can’t latch onto it. Your body is beyond your control. Finally you get a grip and free the hooks. The fabric slackens and you fold your arms across your chest before slowly dragging it away.

You drop it to the floor. Just one more piece. You put your hands against your stomach, just above the trim of your panties.

You squeak as Rafe comes up behind you and bunches the sides of your panties. He tears them down, jolting you violently as he sniffs loudly. He shoves your panties to your ankles and nudges you forward. He coughs and clears his throat.

“Lay down,” he hacks and chokes on his own spit. 

He prowls along the bottom of the bed as you climb onto the mattress. You crawl to the top and turn to sit on your butt, bending your legs to hide behind. He huffs and shakes his head, shoving a finger into his mouth and tearing it out again.

“I said on you’re fucking back,” he growls as he grips the top of his shorts.

Your throat constricts as your fingers curl. Your nails dig into your palms as you move to lay flat. The humid air feels chilly on your skin. Fabric rustles as he looms closer and the bottom of the mattress dips.

Rafe jostles you as he gets on the bed, walking on his knees as you lay staring at the ceiling. He pushes your legs apart and moves between them. He pinches your thigh meanly as he sits back on his legs, fumbling below your vision.

His arm pumps as he puffs out through his nose. He grunts and groans, cursing under his breath. Your hands stay balled at your sides as you focus on the bubbling white paint of the ceiling. The bed shakes with his furious motion.

“Fuck,” he grits out, “pogue pussy don’t look too bad.”

You twitch as he swipes his fingers along your cunt. You’re just a shell, you can’t feel it, don’t feel it. He toys with you, scratching you as he rubs harder and harder. He swears again and rips his hand back.

You look down, just for a moment as he cradles his balls, still pumping himself. He’s soft. His tip flops as he tries to work himself up. Another fiery tide washes over you. Shouldn’t it be hard by now?

You flick your eyes back up and the bed lurches. You bounce as his weight shifts back heavily and you hear a slap. He shoves your leg away and retreats. You don’t move a single finger the bed jolts at the sudden release of springs.

“Close your fucking legs,” he barks as he paces around, “fuck. Fuck!”

“Please, don’t…” you sit up and cover yourself with a pillow, “you’re being too loud.”

“Don’t tell me what I am,” he snarls as he zips up his shorts. “Shut the fuck up.”

He goes back to the desk and bends over. He sniffs again and sweeps off the wood with his hand as he straightens. He pinches his nose and wiggles his. He snorts and coughs once more.

“Dumb fucking pogue,” he mutters, “you’re fucking fault… laying there like a goddamn plank of wood…” he comes towards the bed and you squeeze the pillow tight as you cower, “what the fuck is wrong with you? Ain’t even wet.”

“I’m sorry, I…”

“Enough!” He turns his hand flat to punctuate his order, “little fucking bitch.”

He waves his hand at you dismissively and heads for the door. You just sit and watch him, paralysed as your worst fears trail after him. You hold your breath as he turns away from your mama’s room and shortly after, you hear the front door clatter. He’s gone but you know not for good.

[firep0wder]

The Starry Night, Vincent Van Gogh//Hermitcraft 9: a minute to reflect, Joe Hills//Hermitcraft Season 8 Finale Animation - How Far We've Come, Chrisrin//The Starry Night, Wikipedia page//Hermitcraft VIII 1035 Final Impact, Xisumavoid////Hermitcraft S8: I Joined Hermitcraft! | Episode 1, PearlescentMoon//HermitCraft 8 ep 20 - End Times With Scar!, Joe Hills

[valfeathers]

blue

[the-starry-lycan]

Subnautica Headcanons 04

The reason Sea Dragon Leviathans live so exclusively in the Lava Zones is because their bodies are so large that they require an incredible amount of underwater pressure to keep themselves from falling apart (and also because their eggs need to be kept very warm to be incubated properly).

If a Sea Dragon Leviathan were to roam to the upper zones (Lost River and above) for too long, they'd die from depressurization, the way some deep-sea animals do when brought up.

Reaper Leviathans, however, have bodies dense enough that they can enter deeper pressure zones for some time - and they certainly do this, given they have competition for food from other Reapers, as well as the Ghosties.

So.. some of them will venture the Lost River in hopes of finding more prey in the form of Crabsquids and River Prowlers. Which, overall.. makes them an easy, nutritious target for hungry Sea Dragons who sometimes find them at these more comfortable depths.

Sea Dragons will also prey on very young Ghost Leviathans that are foolish enough to enter the Lava Zones to sate their appetites.. but leave the more grown ones alone since they're too tough to consume, and don't want to incur the wrath of these pack predators. The reason no remains of Ghost Leviathans are found is because they have no true skeleton - and Sea Dragons will eat every part of this leviathan.

[shewhoeatssand]

I want to befriend Kaneki and meet with him and email him forever

[doktorvelociraptor]

Games are fun actually

[fanofspooky]

Scream King - Bruce Greenwood

[sillymarillly]

Today october 24,2024 - the campaign is 😭

215$/55,000$

Hello dear! Iam Nuha from Gaza-Palestine. Thank you for looking at us with compassion and I ask you to support my campaign to help me achieve my goal. I am in dire need of your support now to help my family survive and be safe. Gaza is a very dangerous place both in terms of living and life. I need your financial support to enable me to get the basic needs for my family until the Rafah crossing is reopened to transport my family to safety and peace. Please help a family survive through 🙏🌹

Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #157 )

.

[khruschevshoe]

You know what really gets me about Eleven’s run? Is that it starts off with an amazing thesis statement in the Beast Below which I think sums up the Doctor as a character more than any other line ever has. "What if you were really old, and really kind, and the last of your kind?...All of that pain and misery and loneliness, and it just made it kind."

Yes, sometimes the Doctor needs to be reminded of that fact, as when Amy has Liz 10 hit the abdication button, but the Doctor is kind. He is the man that cheered that "just this once, everyone lives" and was a "coward not killer anyday" and flung away a gun and even after the Time Lord Victorious arc, died to save a single man from dying from radiation. The Doctor and his companions bring out the worst in each other, yes, but they also bring out the best.

And then comes along The Girl Who Waited and the God Complex, which are just an extension of Let's Kill Hitler and eventually Angels Take Manhattan, which are all about how the Doctor takes people as companions because he needs someone to worship him, that he can't bear to see them age and would rather see them young and beautiful, that he is vain, that he is cruel, that he is a god, and I get that interpretation but at the end of the day, the Doctor has never been about vanity or worship or needing someone to keep him in check.

Because yes, companions have reminded him the importance of being kind as part of what is "necessary." The importance of having hope. But it's just that: a reminder. The Doctor is unlike the Master and unlike the rest of the Time Lords because he is compassionate. Because he hates to see children cry. Because he is a coward who is nonetheless brave enough to keep caring, over and over again, no matter how many people die in front of him, no matter how many times he loses those he loves, because the Doctor is a love story as much as it is a ghost story at the end of the day.

And it kills me that the main themes/character arcs of Eleven’s era boil down the Doctor to someone who is not that. Someone who, as the Power of Three ending/Angels Take Manhattan imply, had to have the Ponds to keep him in check. That he could not let them go, could not respect them and their choices like Ten did with Martha. That an entire religion formed itself, kidnapping a child and making her into an assassin, just to stop him from ruining the universe, because he is a god more than a man. That he is a god just like the minotaur, feeding off of people's faith in him, taking children and companions so that he can be nourished, so that he can feel important.

Because even at the Doctor's worst in the Time Lord Victorious Arc, it has never been about worship. It was about grief and loss and love and compassion, because the Doctor has two hearts because he has too much love to fill just one, because that is the kind of person that the Doctor is.

All of that pain and misery and loneliness, and it just made him kind.

[salineroses-two-point-oh]

‏I am mohammed Ayyad, I am 17 years old, high school student, I have 7 brothers, including 4 girls and 3 boys and my mother.

‏Since the beginning of the war, my family and I have been displaced 4 times, each time more severe than the other.

‏The first is from Gaza City to Khan Yunis, and the second is from Khan Yunis to the shores of Bahr Khan Yunis, then to the city of Rafah, and then to an area called Al Qarara .

‏My house was completely destroyed , everything is under the rubble my childhood, my memories, my books, and my ambition and Many relatives and friends were killed and life was completely destroyed.

‏ so l please you to help me and help my family collect donations to evacuation the war zone, get out of Gaza safely, and complete my school studies, via my donation link.

‏‎

hoping you and your family get the resources that you need ❤️🖤🤍💚

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

River Below 7

Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, bullying, illnes, and other possible triggers. Warnings are not exhaustive and will not include plot devices/elements.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Life in the Banks is tough but one man can make it worse.

Characters: Rafe Cameron

Note: Hi!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Lord Farquaad loves unnecessary vowels. Take care. 💖

You stare up at the ramshackle of your mother’s house. You stop in the shadow of the leaning trees that divide your property from the shore. You feel like you’ve been knocked over the head. The pungent flavour on your tongue lingers, stirring your stomach rottenly.

You barely remember the walk behind you. The time between the beach and home is lost. You gag and fold over, spitting into the dirt as you think of what happened. Of what Rafe did.

You stand, dizzy, and step over the bile on the ground. You drag your feet up the beaten walk to the front door and let yourself into the darkness of the interior. The crickets hum and the night breeze rustles the leaves and long grasses outside. You shut the door quietly, a long creak whining through the old hinges.

Your mouth is dry and pasty. A saltiness sears down your throat as you remember the taste and the slimy sensation. He hammered the wetness into your mouth until it spilled over, smearing across your lips, chin and cheeks. Your face is still raw from scrubbing in the frigid water, your tears washed away with the tides.

“Hon,” your mother’s sleepy voice drifts through the hall as your sandals scrape on the worn wooden slats, “you home?”

You stay hidden in darkness as you continue through and stop in the doorway of your mother’s room. Her TV sends up a spectrum of hues around the room as it drones lowly. You keep your face down. If she sees your eyes, she’ll know.

“Mama,” you croak and resist the urge to touch your neck. 

“You’re out late,” she yawns. She’s been asleep, you can tell.

“Yeah, I… ran into Arlene. My friend…” you lie, a warble in your voice, “I’m tired.”

“You sound like it, don’t you gotta work tomorrow, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you grumble, “I… I should go to bed.”

She’s quiet as the bed groans under her weight. She pulls a pillow down and shifts as she nestles in and flicks the channel with the remote. You back away as hot streams flow down your nose.

“Night, mama.”

You leave her and enter your room as your throat clenches with your fiery tears. You can barely stand as your legs shake and you fall to your knees. You crawl to your bed and lean against the headboard as you turn and sit on your ass. You cross your arms over your bent legs and heave.

You don’t know what to do. You don’t understand why he did what he did. Why he hates you so deeply. What did you do to deserve this?

You crumple onto your side and hug yourself. You shudder and close your eyes. You have no choice, you have to work, you have to take care of your mama. He knows that. That’s why he knows he can hurt you. 

He can hurt you and you can’t stop him.

☀️

The next day comes too quickly even as the night drags by in your restlessness. You lay awake, listening to the wilderness outside your window and the creaking of the old house. It feels like any other day. It is. You have to get up and get ready for work.

You bring your mother her coffee and a bowl of instant oatmeal flooded with milk, just how she likes it. She flips on the television and the news blares through the speakers. You say goodbye as she’s already enraptured by the cooking segment with a guest chef. You’re happy. She doesn’t suspect a thing. She can never know.

You leave, taking your usual path parallel to the ragged shores. You enter through the back as you do every morning and hang your crochet bag on the hook. You tie your apron at the waist and begin the opening routine. Fryers on, coffee brewing, grate rolled up.

The only thing that’s changed is you. You just can’t wipe what Rafe did from your mind or the grimy feeling it left you with. The first customer of the day comes and tears you from your thoughts.

You serve them, working off habit, and smile as they walk away with their hashbrown and coffee. Your cheeks twitch and your eyes sting. How can you pretend? How can you lie to these people when you feel as if they see right through you. As if what he did isn’t written across your face.

Chelsey shows up just as you’re sweeping, trying to distract yourself with the menial task. She’s quiet as she hooks her apron over her neck and steals a cup of coffee from the machine. She sips from the paper brim and yawns.

“Didn’t I see you at the shore last night?” She asks.

“The shore?”

“Yeah, I was at the bonfire,” she suppresses another yawn, “swore I saw you wanderin’.”

You swallow and look down, pushing the bristles across the floor, “n-no,” you don’t know why you lie. Maybe because if you don’t, you might tell her everything. If she knows, she’ll think you’re easy. That you like Rafe. You don’t, you fear him. “I don’t go down there.”

“Better you don’t. Nothin’ good goes on there. Better off staying home with your ma.”

“Yeah,” you agree as you collect the dirt in the pan and dump it in the bin, “she needs me.”

“I couldn’t do it,” she scoffs, “my mama’s such a bitch, I’d let her rot. And pa, well he can fuck off too.” You flinch as you look at her. She laughs. “Ain’t a big deal, some of us don’t got that type of feelin’ in the family. They’d say the same of me, I’m sure.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m fine. I got a job, I pay for a room to myself, and I do what I want,” she shrugs. “Boss here, yet?”

“Hmm?” You tilt your head as you place the broom against the wall.

“Rafe, he here? Bit early for the bugger but–”

“I haven’t seen him,” you answer as you tuck your hands down the pockets of your apron.

“Definitely saw him last night,” she chuckles, “with his dumbass buddies. Talkin’ bout how some girl– well, you don’t care about all that. He’s a nasty fella.”

“He’s… not nice,” you agree.

“You said it,” she chuckles, “but you don’t gotta be so polite about it. He’s an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you turn and lean against the counter, looking out at the docks.

“His daddy will sell this place when he fucks up, don’t you worry,” she stands beside you as she swirls her coffee, “and Rafe Cameron always fucks up.”

☀️

The day goes by quicker than most. You clock out as Cash shows up for his closing shift. Still no Rafe. You don’t know if it’s luck or something else but you don’t worry for it. 

You’ll go home and make dinner for your mom. You have enough bread left for some grilled cheese. You’re not very hungry, you haven’t eaten all day. You have no appetite, only a churning revulsion in your chest.

Home isn’t far when you’ve walked the path a thousand times. You dawdle on the path, watching a critter in the branches as the sun glares over the gleaming waters. You stare up at the sky as you stroll along, almost dazed as you let your feet carry you without thought.

You collide with something. Your soles slip on the dirt as you take a step back and lower your chin. You’ve either veered off track or a new tree sprouted magically from the earth. You’re wrong. Neither.

You gape at Rafe as he smirks down at you. You’re in disbelief as you struggle to find words. What can you say? All you can think about is last night, the pain in your throat, the humiliation scalding in your cheeks. Your eyes glitter with tears, rising at the very sight of him.

“Miss me today?” He drawls.

You shake your head once and stop yourself. You don’t want to make him mad. You fold your hands in front of you and cower away from him.

“Oh, I’m sure you did. You were up all night dreamin’ of me, weren’t you, girl?”

You sniffle and wipe your eyes before the tears can trickle out, “no. What do you want from me?”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind another suck job,” he says crassly.

“I–”

“Ah, I get it shrimpy, you probably mad. I mean, what kinda guy just fucks a girl’s mouth then sends her off. Not even callin’ her in the morning,” he snickers, “I been busy today.”

“Okay,” you say as you glance around in confusion, “why are you here?”

“Aren’t you gettin’ fucking bold?” His grin falls, “asking me what? Why? How?”

“N-no, sir, I only… thought you didn’t like it out here. You said it’s dirty.”

“I know what I said so why don’t you stop pushing me?” He hisses as brow furrows meanly, “because I came around here, wastin’ my time, because I had the dumb idea to do something for you.”

You don’t like what he says or how he says it. He wouldn’t just do anything nice. Arlene warned you, Chelsey too, and Rafe proved them both right. You have no doubt he’ll continue to do so.

“Thank you but I gotta–” you try to step past him and he blocks your way as he mirrors you.

“You don’t gotta do anything except what I say,” he snarls, “you understand that. I’m being nice. Generous, so you’re gonna accept my gift. Be a good girl and say thank you.”

“I did, but–”

“You don’t even know what it is yet,” he snaps, “so shut up and listen.”

You gulp and watch him. You nod and hug yourself. He sighs and shakes his head as he reaches into his shorts pocket. You wonder what cruel trick he has planned.

“You know Barry. You know what he does?” He asks.

You stare. He told you to shut up so you just nod. Everyone knows what Barry does. He’s a dealer. That’s why no one bothers him. You don’t bring it up because he’s nice to you and your mother.

“Right,” he takes his hand out of his pocket and presents a small bag, “you know how much this costs?”

You frown. No. You gesture but keep your mouth shut.

“Of course you don’t, but let me tell you, shrimp girl, it’s enough to feed your cow mama for a week,” he taunts, “and I’m… gonna give you a taste.”

You blanch and bite your lip. Your heart pounds and you clutch your arms as you keep your arms crossed. “No thank you, sir. I don’t want–”

“I’m not asking,” he opens the bag, “that’s not how this works. You’re gonna have a bump, then you’re gonna have a suck.”

You squeak, “why?”

“Why? You ask me another question and I’m gonna do something real bad, girl.”

You wince and tuck your chin down. He sighs and shakes out a dusting on his finger as he holds his hand steady. He steps closer as you stare at his striped tank top. He pushes his knuckle towards you face.

“Take a nice deep whiff, shrimp girl.”

“I don’t know–”

“Fucking snort it. You waste my goddamn coke and I’ll fuck you up.”

You close your eyes and force your nose down to touch his finger. You inhale deep and choke as the powder shoots up your nose. You reel back dizzily, a pastiness in the back of your throat as a buzzing numbness fills your face. You clutch your head and groan.

“Mmmm, I don’t like it,” you whimper.

You shake your head violently and cry out as he grabs a hank of your hair. He yanks you, tilting your chin up as he draws you close. He chuckles as he shoves the bag back in his pocket. He frames your chin as you blink, your veins coursing into your heart as it pumps furiously.

“Rafe, Rafe,” you pants, “Rafe, I’m scared. I feel— weird—”

“Shut the fuck up and get on your knees, shrimp girl,” he barks as he tugs you around, his hand fumbling down to his shorts again, “and don’t you be tryna chatter around my dick. I know you’re probably dyin’ to spill all your girlhood dreams to me now.”

“Rafe, please,” you grasp the front of his shirt, “please, no–”

“You call me sir and get down and suck my dick,” he snarls.

You twitch and whimper. You feel jittery, like you can’t sit still. He grabs your shoulder and pushes. You fight him for just a moment then let your legs fold. You drop to your knees as he lets go of your hair and pets your head.

“Don’t you wanna be a good girl?” He asks.

“Y-yes,” you murmur.

“Then open your mouth and take my dick out.”

He pulls his hand away from his shorts, his fly already open and you clasp on, trying to steady yourself. You bat your lashes. You look around, craning to see around you. 

“Someone will see–”

“They won’t if you hurry up,” he taps your cheek, “so go on.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and blow out. You push your hand into his boxers and squeak as you feel him between your fingers. You hold him, frightened at first by the firm shape in your hand, then curious. You tug down the elastic and look, letting out a pathetic noise of shock at the sight of him.

“Whatsa matter, girl, you ain’t never seen a dick this pretty?”

You shudder and push your tongue against your top lip, swallowing around the trickle behind your throat. He cradles your head and steps closer.

“I know you remember what to do, little pussy,” he goads, “now get your mouth on me. I wanna cum before I come down.”

[nhi-theuserof-this]

I think that watching episode 52 of ninjago activated a whump neuron as a child because I can specifically remember just rewatching that episode all the time specifically to see the scene at the end where lloyd is just going though it and almost fucking drowns