#asphyxiation hazard
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Jfjgjkdkskncksk after Sam gets technoorganified, he gets electric when he gets excited. His mouth gets full of electricity like one of those plasma balls when he laughs manicly and his hair gets all staticky when he takes off his hat Zckfukfbarhyjryj
just like, Sam totally gets more side effects of the infection than just the eye thing, but 100% doesn't realize
#This opens up even more opportunities for inappropriate jokes XD#Sam: *vibrating* I'm going to overload from excitement!#Whiplash: *chokes*#Lmao Sam's like “POV you get so excited it's a health hazard” while Whiplash is desperately trying not to asphyxiate#oc#transformers oc#transformers#the goofy transformers road trip#human tf#the goofy transformer space adventure
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Me: I’m going to be using a Lab Equipmentᵀᴹ that is on the older side and is listed as one of your legacy products. The manual for it appears to be missing. Your website says I can request one. Can I have a manual so I can operate Lab Equipmentᵀᴹ safely?
Company: ...
Company: ...
Company: [two weeks worth of ...]
Me: I’d like to purchase Partᵀᴹ for Lab Equipmentᵀᴹ. Can I have a manual with my Partᵀᴹ so that I may operate Lab Equipmentᵀᴹ safely?
Company: [in five seconds] HERE’S A QUOTE FOR PARTᵀᴹ AS WELL AS TEN OTHER RELATED PRODUCTS! oh yeah you can have a manual I guess...
#I feel like most of the emails I send get dumped in the void to never be read again#my dad gets the same thing for telescope parts#like the equipment that is missing a manual has three buttons#but it's also the box that controls the INERT GAS#and mishandling can cause an asphyxiation hazard#is it too much to ask to have a pdf on how to work it#lab equipment#science
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Space Themed Whump Prompt List
Whump for the space and horror lovers
Whumpee's protective facial wear cracked during a quick moment of violence. Slowly the outer world is seeping in. Maybe whumpee is slowly losing their breathable air, maybe something hazardous is creeping in.
The space ship turned smaller and smaller as whumpee drifted away from it. They pressed the mayday button of their suit, but instead watched the silhouettes of their crew start the ship and head the opposite direction.
Alien whumpee has become a specimen to observe aboard the ship. They spend their days watching astronauts pass by, slowly learning to tell the difference between the suits. Caretaker has that strange scratch on their "face", and whumper's "hands" are blue instead of blinding white.
Whumper gives whumpee tainted oxygen, slowly poisoning and asphyxiating them. An enemy astronaut notices whumpee's loopy behavior.
Alien whumper won't let astronaut whumpee leave. Whumper's taken to murdering other astronauts to keep whumpee's oxygen going, and suit repaired.
Whumper and whumpee become abandoned on a dangerous alien planet. They're forced to work together if they want to survive, but whumper's violent behavior fails to stop.
After their ship is beaten and battered multiple whumpees are forced to land in dangerous territory that holds other intelligent creatures. Alien caretaker is very confused by these bulky and injured crashlanders, but they can't let these strange creatures suffer.
#whump#whump prompts#whump prompt list#whump prompt#space whump#nonhuman whumpee#human whumpee#nonhuman caretaker#nonhuman whumper
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Fire breather**
pairing: young!Din Djarin x f!reader
summary: he knows that even being around you is dangerous, forbidden even. But he can't fight against it for the life of him, not when you lure him with the most innocent of moves that throw you both into an intoxicatingly erotic game.
word count: 6k
WARNINGS: mini crisis of faith; virgin!Din, mutual pining, blowjob, piv, praise kink, cum play, first time shenanigans.
AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!
gif: @manny-jacinto
read on AO3
It started out tentatively. Teasing to an almost ridiculous degree.
As a new bounty hunter, Din sought work. And for a beginner, Nevarro isn’t the worst place to be: plenty of questionable thieves, seemingly charitable folk on the street with dark pasts—a truly varied pool of work for someone like him. He almost-too-eagerly joined Greef Karga’s parsec of bounty hunters, and quickly learned the hazards of the job.
But he also learned there was beauty to it.
Whenever he had spare time, he liked to sit in the local cantina. Not necessarily for the food, but for the people. Simply watching them as they walked by, enjoying a warm meal, a good drink and a polite conversation. For the most part, it was a radiating canvas for young Din Djarin—most of the time unsoiled by the dark desires and past times that possessed so many creatures.
Then he saw you.
He watched your cat-like movements from behind the bar, serving those who stopped by, always with a smile. The more he dared to gaze in your direction, never forgetting to look away just as you sensed his visor upon you, the more he felt a certain fascination for you. Something about you exuded warmth, a rather mysterious sensuality, that of a foreigner, which Din knew had the ravishing possibility of getting him in trouble if he got too close.
So he didn’t. He observed you from afar, never uttering more than a grumbled “thank you” when you serviced him.
He meets with Karga to discuss business. It’s always business; nothing more, nothing less. He sneaks a glance at you, so quick it nearly makes his head spin. He finds himself lost in your smile, your politeness with even the rudest customers, your agility. His helmet suddenly feels constricting.
“Mando? Are you okay under there?”
Even Karga seems to notice. Din gulps, nodding his head ever so stoic, and resumes the conversation about the puck he’s taking today. But today is different. Today, you catch his visor, eyes big and radiant, and you smile at him.
You fucking smile at him.
“Be sure to finish this mission before the heatwave hits Nevarro,” Karga warns. “Seems it’ll be quite a hot season this year.”
Din finishes the mission a few days after said heatwave hit Nevarro. And it sure as hell was hot.
It was one of the rare circumstances when he wishes to done his tunic and beskar and jump into a body of water. It seldom happens, and yet now, he finds himself craving some release from that asphyxiating sensation.
“You’re back.”
The voice, soft and sweet like honey slowly drizzling on skin, startles him. He turns to meet your radiant face welcoming him back on the planet and into the cantina, and he gulps. His throat is so dry it’s itchy.
“You’ve been gone some time,” you say politely.
“Tricky mission.”
“Bounty hunter, right?”
“Yes. You keep tabs on all your clients?”
You chuckle, and the sound is playful, crystal clear, almost causing him to gasp.
“Only the most interesting ones,” you smile. “Can I get you anything?”
His mind feels scrambled, emptied of all other wishes. All except for one, clear and concise, and yet so terribly frightening to even think, let alone voice.
“I’m okay, thank you,” he replies.
“Some water at least. This heat is no joke.”
Eventually he nods, his eyes glued to your figure from the second you depart until you return with a tall cup of ice water.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” you tell him.
Din feels astounded at your understanding. Unlike others, you don’t question his armor or his habits, you simply… understand. You have enough respect for him already to know when to walk away.
And that awakens something else in him.
In the twisted and explosive world Din had voluntarily stepped in, his infatuation for you unfolds agonizingly slow, and yet far too fast for him to catch up and attempt to understand it.
The manifestation of Eros happens in increments, over long weeks of heat and simple words exchanged: from the lingering, curious gaze you began to return, to the mouth-watering way he longed to touch you. Just once, just a light touch over your arm, nothing more.
A lot more, actually. But Din forbids himself from thinking that far.
It is an erotic and mystical experience, unknown to him. He hasn’t felt the touch of another being, ever, but this he can learn to recognize that he ardently wants. There are moments of insecurity that go beyond his Creed and everything he had sworn himself to. Moments of jealousy of the infatuated man beneath the Mandalorian armor, failing to understand how someone can just touch another’s arm so innocently, so tenderly, and awaken such animalistic instincts in another.
He sees the guy at the bar, shamelessly smiling at you, at one point even laughing. Din’s heart stills, his breaths barely there. He watches the guy touch your hand, hold it for a few seconds longer than he has to, and Din finds his fist curled into a fit of rage. He does and says nothing. What could he say or do? Besides, he has no right to intervene. You aren't his to be had, and he isn't anything more but another client.
“Is everything okay?”
Din is taken aback by the fact that you take a seat right in front of him. You seem to be able to read him easily, and that thought alone is as surprising as it is scary.
“Yes,” Din almost groans.
“Are you sure? Because it looks like you’re about to rip your own gloves.”
He glances down at his hands, both curled into fists so tight he fails to acknowledge that they feel bothersome. He instantly relaxes them, taking a deep breath as you smile reassuringly at him.
“Long day,” he retorts, trying to appear as careless as possible.
Then, the unthinkable happens. You reach and touch his hand, stroking the glove gently, with the same kind and understanding smile on your face.
You touched his hand. It burned his skin through the fabric, his cheeks turning crimson under the weight of flattery and desire.
What is happening to me? Din can't help but ask himself.
“If you need some company, a conversation or… anything, really… you know where to find me.”
As you say so, you stroke his hand one last time and return behind the bar, glancing at him on occasion. Din gulps, struggling to manage for the rest of the day. Had his jealousy been that obvious that you had to come over to soothe him?
No, it couldn’t have been that.
He likes to think of himself as a smart man. Not possessing a superior intellect, but definitely smart, quick to come up with solutions when needed, even impulsively so.
And so he knows that the basis of this attraction he carries for you is nothing but physical. No other explanation for it. It’s pure biology; he can’t really help the way his body sweats and aches for you, let alone the way he just stiffened when his eyes met yours and when you touched him. He felt confined in his own armor, in his own pants, like he couldn’t breathe.
And you only just touched his hand.
It’s simple biology. Action and reaction; excessive nervousness, a celibacy record of twenty four years and counting, internal restlessness and a horrid fear of what the future might look like should he succumb to—whatever this is. He grows more and more fearful of the day he’ll finally snap and his body will take the reins of his feelings and needs, but the precarious situation actually thrills him, and he can’t explain himself. Not anymore.
Din knows he’s a moral man—or so he tries to be—but the demon inside, acting on biological, needy grounds, tempted and proved him the opposite with each moment he spent in your presence. You’ve barely lived, much like him, and yet there lives a refined sensuality and confidence about you, as well as a perplexing innocence inside of you.
He’s used to a different type of feminine behavior, and everything about you thoroughly confuses and excites him.
As the heat thrives in Nevarro, Din feels like he’s falling apart with each day.
No other woman has ever troubled him this much. He’s never been disrupted from his job by anyone, much less a woman. The sensual suffering you unknowingly put him through is beginning to feel like a curse, and this weather isn’t helping either.
He thinks about you when he’s chasing down his targets. He thinks about you when he carbon-freezes them. He thinks about you when he can’t sleep, then he gets so hard it actually feels like he’s being strangled. He thinks about you when he washes the day’s exhaustion off, and his hand seems to act of its own accord and curls itself around his erection, mindlessly stroking in hopes of some release. He seldom feels his own flesh in times like these; if he would’ve cut himself right now, he wouldn’t feel a fucking thing. And yet, what he does feel are his own nerves like a fishnet of beskar, weighing heavily upon him. He’s practically trembling as he rushes to finish himself in the shower, his ragged breath like molten lava. Even after he spills his seed, ashamed of such specific thoughts, you do not leave his mind.
Is it the mystery of your body, the curiosity that comes attached whenever you’re nearby?
He doesn’t know, and he certainly doesn’t care.
After his parents’ demise, Din was raised in a tough environment, one meant for a warrior. And that’s what he became: a hunter of beskar, cold and calculated, sharp. Yet there you are in that cantina, drawing him into a complicated, decisively erotic and unpredictable game. A lingering gaze from either of you is a code that must be deciphered; a touch of the hands is an act of bravery and a betrayal of one’s ways of thinking.
What of the Creed? What of everything I sworn myself too? I can’t fall in this trap, I can’t abandon my family.
But if it’s wrong, why does he ache for you with his whole being?
When you intentionally touched his leg one time as he sat at a table with Karga, it meant a big promise to him, an invitation. The promise was later fortified by a tea that you made especially for him to help with his restlessness.
And it fucking worked.
Din slept the best he had in months, thinking of you as he drifted into a peaceful sleep.
The next day, he brought you flowers as a thank you, but most importantly, as a little gesture to mean “I accept your invitation”. You smiled and thanked him.
Plenty of the customers around noticed you received flattery from the Mandalorian and plenty teased you about it, but you didn’t care. You felt like he could trust you, and being offered the trust of such a skilled warrior was more flattering than anything else.
Of course, there was the issue of attraction. There was no denying that over the months you had developed a rather carnal desire for the covered man. His modulated voice was softer when he spoke to you, almost shy; his movements, usually harsh and brutal, were tender and careful, hesitant as if he were afraid to not break you—or perhaps he was afraid of breaking himself. You began to fear that the physical attraction was too powerful to be contained and that one day you’ll snap, revealing or doing something that’ll put him off.
That was the last thing that you wanted. And, unbeknownst to you, it was the last thing Din wanted, too.
The situation is twisted, to put it mildly; Din, more simplistic in his all-too-new desires, lets himself be tempted by the potential of an affair that could end in tragedy. He’s become obsessed by myths, tearing them down, and new sensations. The observations he makes about body language in particular and the suggestion of foreign sensuality, with its heavy moments of infatuation, are stronger.
The erotic myth that Din finds himself drawn to is unfolding in the most unusual situations: when you smile at him during a busy day in the cantina, when you welcome him after a mission, when he accidentally touches your arm or your leg and his whole body trembles with fear and excitement alike. The now love he carries for you awakens raw, animalistic feelings inside of him, and the inevitable sin happens one evening when he seeks you.
The cantina is empty by this hour, except for one drunken Mythrol in a chair somewhere in the back. Although Din’s pulse is through the roof and he hears his own thrumming in his ears, burning auburn at this point, he inches closer to you.
“Mando, hi,” you smile, pleasantly surprised to see him. “What can I get ya?”
He hesitates, gulping. The heat wave hasn’t retreated from Nevarro, and it does not help with the way his body sweats right now.
“Spotchka. Please,” he clears his throat, insecure.
He’s never had the beverage before, but it’s the one thing that crossed his mind. Because the question that unveils itself at the back of his mind as he approaches the bar is… what is he doing here tonight? Just for the drink? He can’t drink with anyone around. So what the hell is his plan, why is he here with limp legs, barely able to breathe—
“Here we are,” you say, pouring the blue liquid in a glass and putting it in front of him.
“Thank you.”
“So what brings you here tonight?”
Gloved hand curled around the glass, Din falls prey to a deep silence. What can he tell you? He doesn’t know himself.
“Uh—“
“Are you okay?”
“How can you tell if there’s something—“
“Well, for one thing, I know Mandalorians don’t eat or drink in front of others, even if I can turn around and that guy in the back is drunk under the table. And you do seem a bit nervous.”
Kriffing hell, how are you so damn good at reading him? How can you even be so understanding and kind?
Would you be so understanding if he’d told you he can’t stop thinking about you? That he thinks about you even when he shouldn’t?
“Tell you what,” you lean over the counter and get so close to his visor he could pass out. “I have to close up soon anyway. How about I take this”, you smile and take the whole bottle of spotchka, “and we go somewhere more private?”
“Are you—is that okay? Closing early, I mean.”
You sneak a look back to notice the Mythrol still under the table and refrain yourself from giggling. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I might need some help cleaning around here.”
Din carries the Mythrol out the cantina all the way till he passes out somewhere on the street, near the garbage cans. Neither you nor Din care enough to keep tabs on him, and honestly, Din is far too lost in your scent to pick up on anything else around him.
“Where we going?” he asks eventually.
“My place.”
Din stops, gulping and staring at you in awe. He knows what this means, the implications and everything else, and suddenly he’s fearful.
Fearful for not being enough for you and not living up to whatever expectations you may have.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you immediately apologize, noticing his stiff stance. “I didn’t mean—I just thought you’d like it better if you were in a more intimate setting. I mean not intimate, but—not a public space, you know?”
“Yes.”
“You just seem like the type of guy who likes to be mostly by himself, so if that’s okay with you—“
“It’s—fine.”
Suddenly his mind is plagued by the possibilities: are you nervous too because of him? Could that even be possible? No, how could it? He’s a Mandalorian, sworn to the Creed and a lifetime of solitude. He never lost his head like this—or at all, really.
How could you foster any sort of interest in him when you barely know him? When you haven’t even seen him?
But he finds himself following you blindly, his heart’s desire and curiosity exceeding his brain’s rationality. Although he knows that you won’t hurt him in any way—he supposed infatuation does that to someone’s logic—he cannot help the nervousness that seeps through its every pore. The surrounding environment slowly fades with each step he takes in proximity to your place, and suddenly, all Din is capable of focusing on is you.
You’re all he sees, all he’s curious about, and all he wants. Though not versed in the ways of relationships and feelings and such, he does know what he feels. He knows that he aches for you, deeply, and—perhaps delusion is part of the deal because he’s foolish enough to think that maybe you might be interested in him as well.
For why else would you invite him to your private quarters?
“Here we are,” you announce with a sweet smile.
Din suddenly realizes that he is finally in your private quarters. He glances around at the neat space, very much in tone with you. He’s nervous still, but much more content to be in such a space.
“If you feel like having a drink, I can give you some privacy.”
Din feels struck by your politeness; more so by you respecting boundaries he hasn’t even set.
“I know Mandalorians don’t show their faces in front of—strangers,” you smile.
“You do?”
“Yeah. My father was a Mandalorian.”
Underneath the helmet, Din raises his brows, almost shook at the realization.
“He was?”
“Yes. He fought in the war, defending Mandalore. And… he passed away.”
“This is the Way.”
Din nods somberly, hoping you understand. And you do. Of course you do.
But this explains why you’ve been so understanding and respectful. And it explains why you’ve been gravitating around him. Perhaps Din’s presence was a faint reminder of that former Mandalorian in your life.
“Anyway, I uh—I’ll leave you to your drink if—“
“Stay. Please.”
His please sounds throated and shaky, and it blindsides you. You figured he was nervous, maybe because he’s unaccustomed to being alone with someone, and you didn’t want to scare him off.
You pour spotchka for the two of you, polite enough to look away whenever Din lifts his helmet in the slightest to take a sip. The liquid is intense, going down to his stomach like a fire rapidly spreading throughout his whole body.
Once he takes the first few sips—and albeit their small quantity, they still relax him and make him feel more at ease and slightly sweaty—Din asks about your father and your past. You share gladly, openly, as if you are talking to an old friend. And so he finds out about your childhood and about you, soaking up the knowledge like a sponge.
In return, he tells you about him and his past, how he came to be the warrior standing now before you, and to say you are mesmerized is an understatement.
You are beyond touched by his life story, his perseverance and his bravery to carry on and find himself a new purpose even after suffering the loss of his parents. You could relate to that as well; losing your father in the Great Purge when you were very young could’ve easily let you to become a train wreck, but instead you were determined to provide for yourself and your mother. She took it the hardest, and while she always made sure you had everything you needed and was enough mother and father for you, you knew that she missed him terribly all the time.
As the stories come to an end, Din finds himself craving again. Now that he’s getting to know you, his craving only surges, and, like never before, he feels that his armor is constricting him.
“Are you okay?” you ask after a while.
He swallows harshly, his throat dry whereas his mouth was watering with each second he spends looking at you. What an odd phenomenon, he thinks.
“Why?” he foolishly asks.
“You just seem to be very nervous.”
“I—am. You make me nervous.”
You raise your brows, visibly surprised at the confession. Though if you have to admit to yourself, you’re quite nervous too; your heart’s thrumming in your ears, beating so fast inside your chest you can feel it.
“I do?” you ask just as foolishly.
Din nods. “Why? I’m just—me.”
He can’t even begin to tell you just how wonderful you seem to him. Frankly, he doubts he has the words for it anyway.
You think the same about him. There’s an aura of mystery surrounding him, a lot of things you still don’t know about him, and yet you feel as if you’ve known him for months, if not years. And, though it may seem crazy, the more you stare at him, the more you can imagine the face of the man behind the armor. You can imagine his eyes, kind and warm, plush lips, perhaps some facial hair making him distinguishable.
And suddenly heat spreads throughout your whole body, settling dangerously low in your belly and between your legs.
You want to ask what happens now; you drank, you shared stories, and now all you’re left with is a yearning that doesn’t seem to subside. Din doesn’t know how to continue the conversation, either. He’s too struck by you, too smitten to verbalize his feelings, which are those of desire, he’s concluded.
But how to say this aloud? “I want you”? That just sounds crass. Instead, he coos your name, gulping afterwards, and you hold your breath, waiting.
“What is it?” you ask.
“You make me nervous.”
“So you’ve said.”
“You make me nervous because… I want you.”
Oh, dank farrik. He should not have said that. He should not have said it like that—or at all, really.
“I meant—I want… to be with you. No, I—“
Then he hears you giggle, and his heart flutters in his chest. Laughter is a good sign, right? That he didn’t yet make a complete fool of himself? He can only hope.
“That’s okay,” you smile at him. “I have to admit, I… I want to be with you too.”
If he was unsure whether he was sweating before, Din is now convinced he’s sweating buckets underneath the armor and the tunic.
“You—you do?” he asks, completely dumbfounded.
“Yes. Is that bad?”
Maybe it should be, he thinks. Maybe it should because he’s a Mandalorian and he has taken the Creed and he is loyal to his family and his beliefs, but… why does it feel so good to stand here before you, so vulnerable?
“No,” he replies.
You stand up, extending your hand to him, and Din gulps again as his gloved hand takes yours into his. He struggles to regulate his breaths while you guide him to what he can assume is your bedroom, but fails to do so. Anticipation is nearly asphyxiating him, and he’s so hard by this point it’s a miracle you didn’t somehow notice it.
Or you did and were too polite to mention it.
Either way, once he’s in your bedroom, Din stills, and so do you.
“Have you done this before?” you ask, and boy is he grateful for your consideration. Since you’ve had a Mandalorian father, he can only assume you know some things about the culture that make you more attentive to details. “Have you ever been with someone?”
“I have not.”
“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”
All the blood flow is basically in his pants so he can’t think of a decent thing to say.
“I do want to,” he replies.
“Okay, then we take things slow, and… if there’s anything you feel uncomfortable with, we stop. Does that sound good?”
“Yes.”
You turn off the main light, allowing only some lights from the street to shine in, thus granting the minimum visualization, for which Din is beyond thankful.
“Is it okay if I—take this off?”
He assumes you mean the armor, and he agrees with a shaky yes. You move closer to him, removing his armor bit by bit, all while his heart’s about to burst out of his chest and his pants on the verge of explosion. You don’t reach for the helmet; you leave that up to him. Once the armor is removed, Din is standing in his tunic, and he takes it upon himself to remove the clothing, mostly because he’d be embarrassed if you were to discover how hard he is right now.
Though he supposes you will find out soon enough.
Since it’s dark enough to not actually see anything but forms, Din feels comfortable enough to remove the helmet. You hear the faint click and you gasp.
“You took off the helmet?” you ask.
“Yes.”
Gods, his voice sounds so rich and smooth even without the modulator.
“I thought you’re not supposed to.”
He doesn’t reply; yes, he’s not supposed to, but technically, you can’t see him, so there is no danger. Then it hits him that you’re probably naked by now, too, and his nervousness returns.
“Alright then,” you say, though your voice is shaky with emotion too. “Is it okay if I kiss you? To… you know, get us started?”
“Yes.”
He couldn’t have answered that fast enough. You can easily deduce that this is his first time kissing someone too, so you make a mental note to be extra tender.
“Can I touch your face?”
“Y-Yes.”
He feels your warm breath on his lips and he shudders. Then you cup his cheeks, grazing them gently and pulling him in. You can tell he’s new at this, as well as rigid, so you kiss him sweetly, slowly, patient and eager for his reaction.
Reaction which does not fail to arise.
Din grows needier within seconds; he’s roaming his hands over the small of your back, then to your shoulders and hair, opening his mouth in order to explore more of yours. You gladly reciprocate, but do so just as tenderly, as if showing him the way around your mouth. The thing you didn’t realize about Din, he’s a fast learner. He rapidly learns how you like to be kissed, thus learning how he likes it, too, and he lets himself go. He lets himself get lost in the moment, in your sweet scent and taste, and by Gods, it is heavenly.
When you break the kiss, he’s almost sad. But then you say something that makes his heart jump right into his throat.
“Lay on the bed, and let me take care of you.”
The saccharine request has him weak—and questioning things he doesn’t dare question aloud. Take care of him how?
Soon he finds out; the moment you see his rather broad shape lounging on the bed, you move atop of him, kissing a hot trail from his cheeks to his jaw, neck, chest, belly…
Then Din gasps.
You reach his neediest part and he twitches just as you wrap your arm around his cock, the strokes slow and steady.
“Is this okay?” you check with him. “Does it feel good?”
“Mhm—yes—“
Unbeknownst to him, you smile, continuing to stroke him. You listen in to his grunts, and you can only think of the sounds he’d make once you’d take him in your mouth. Or the sounds he’d make being inside you.
Dank fucking farrik, you’re growing wetter as your imagination is running wilder. With your hand at the base of his cock, you take the rest of him in your mouth.
“F-Fuck—“Din moans brokenly, his breaths shallow and rapid. “Fuck, you’re s-so—so good—“
You hum in appreciation, and the vibration sends tingles down his spine. He’s not sure he’s going to keep going like this. His whole body burns and aches and he doesn’t want to come like this, not when you have him in your mouth. It feels… inappropriate. Like you deserve better than something purely filthy.
“Wait, stop,” he wails.
Instantly your eyes go to where his face would be, taking him out of your mouth and ceasing your strokes. Though still hard, Din no longer feels the need to come—at least the need isn’t that urgent.
“Did I hurt you somehow?” you ask. “I’m so sorry!”
“No, it’s—I didn’t want to come yet.”
“Why not?”
Maybe it’s more than just lust. How can he explain how enamored he is with your whole image, how drunk he is on your presence, and that he thinks you deserve only the kindest and best things in this life and him coming down your throat feels cheap?
“I want to feel you,” he mutters. “Can I?”
Breathless, you whisper a desperate yes and make your way to his face, kissing him again. His lips are soft and plush, like you’ve imagined, but if you move too much you fear he’d hear how shamefully wet you are.
The kiss, though innocent in the beginning, turns rather sloppy, betraying both your eagerness. Din moves so that he’s on top of you, one of his hands boldly parting your thighs to make room for him. He brushes against your folds, almost grunting upon feeling the slick heat. The mere idea that you want him this much and that your body is so responsive to his hesitant, clumsy touches is mind-boggling to him.
“Can I go inside you?” he asks.
You feels his shallow breaths on your face and you can’t believe how overstimulated you are just from light touching and undressing.
But you know that for a Mandalorian, the undressing part at least was erotic in and of itself. What follows is merely an enhancement of that longing, one that Din feels more than lucky to get to share it with someone like you.
“Yes,” you respond.
Din grunts as he wraps his hand around his cock, painful to the touch. He fails to see you sneak a hand in between your legs and rub your clit while you wait. The anticipation is overwhelming you too, and it’s so surprising to want someone you barely know so damn much.
But here you are, wet as you could possibly be, legs spread for him, waiting.
“Remember, if you want to stop—“
“I don’t want to stop.”
Almost out of breath, everything around Din fades once he pushes the head of his cock past your lips. You gasp and moan as he keeps pushing in, making you feel every inch of him. The sting is a bit painful, on account of his size and girth, but you welcome it gladly. Once he’s fully sheathed inside you, Din exhales. You’re warm and tight around him, and it’s making him dizzy.
“Are you okay?” you ask.
Gods, how can you be so considerate even when you’re just as deprived of proper touch as he is?
“You just feel… so tight and warm,” he replies. His voice sounds like it doesn’t even belong to him. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. Everyone’s nervous and clumsy during their first time. I’m thankful you wanted to share this with me.”
“I can’t imagine this with anyone else.”
It’s then that you find the strength to cup his cheeks and kiss him again, which prompts Din in return to move at last. You groan into his mouth when you feel his languid thrusts inside, both of you starved. Little by little, Din builds a pace, one that works for both you and him. He’s in awe at the sounds you make, the way your body feels around him and even enamored by the squelching sounds emerging in between your legs where your bodies are joined together. Everything about you is inebriating.
In this moment, when everything feels so much more heightened, he knows he’d do anything for you. Anything you want, he’ll give you.
Despite his prior nervousness and lack of experience, just like with the kiss, Din learns fast. He quickly learns which angle feels good for you and which motion drives the sultriest moan from your side, and sticks to that. His thrusts are tender, much like him, and frankly, it surprises you to notice the imbalance between the fierce Mandalorian you’ve seen in the cantina and the man behind the armor, naked above and stealing moans and sloppy kisses from you. He stretches you wide with each thrust, growing a bit too eager and thus speeding up—which you do not mind one bit. It’s the ideal combination of tender and rough, getting you just where you need to be.
He kisses you as he buries himself inside you to the hilt, making you feel every inch of him. His head falls in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, closely listening to the sounds you make for and because of him. One hand sneaks at the back of his head, caressing his hair as sweat begins to prickle your skin—and his too, it seems.
“You’re so good,” you whisper to him. “You’re doing—so good.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm—so good for me—that’s it.”
You wish you’d know his name so you can call it out when you come, but you don’t think to ask of that right now. Not when you’re so full of him you could scream throughout the galaxy.
So instead, you keep muttering sweet nothings to him, encouragements to get him going and build his pleasure further. You simply have the feeling that this is a man who needs the praise, someone who thrives on validation though he may not admit to it. so you keep doing that, for both your pleasure, and then you start to feel it: the familiar burn in your lower belly that’s threatening to explode.
And Din feels it, too.
“I’m gonna come,” he warns, sucking in a sharp breath. “Shit, I’m—where?”
“What?”
“Tell me—where to come.”
You peck his lips. “Anywhere you want.”
You don’t have the patience or the time to tell him that you’re safe and clean, and it doesn’t really matter right now. This moment is far too precious and important to not enjoy it to its fullest.
Din pulls out, stroking himself to completion over your folds and lower belly in thick, hot spurts. You follow suit and you rub your clit fast, reaching your own orgasm. You close your eyes, relishing into the blissful sensation. You can still hear Din catching his breath, so again you pull him down to your face to kiss him. Oddly enough, that seems to steady him.
“Was that good?” he asks shyly afterwards, and Gods, you’re just so enamored with him you could cry.
Instead, you chuckle lightly as he falls to your side. “It was wonderful.”
You feel him shifting towards you, his breath over your face. “If you’ll have me… I’m yours.”
Though he can’t see you, you smile so wide you fear you might overstretch your whole face.
“There’s no ‘if’,” you whisper him reassuringly. “I do want you. But I do hope you know this means I’m yours, too.”
Din smiles, nodding in the darkness. He smiles for the first time in a long time. There’s a calm happiness about him, yet a violent one at the same time. A tumultuous happiness which his heart cannot possibly resist. He’s in this euphoric state, having discovered the pleasures of the flesh, as well as those of the heart; he grazes your arm as you retreat at his chest, and in this moment, there is no fear.
tags: @groguspawbeans
#din djarin#din djarin x reader#din djarin fic#din djarin smut#din djarin x you#din djarin x y/n#din djarin fanfiction#the mandalorian#the mandalorian fanfiction#the mandalorian fic#the mandalorian smut#the mandalorian x reader#the mandalorian x you#the mandalorian x y/n#the mandalorian x f!reader#the mandalorian x female reader#din djarin x female reader#din djarin x f!reader#mando x reader#mando x you#mando fanfiction#mando fic#mando smut#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal smut#eros series
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Walked into my cousin’s house (he’s a firefighter) to find everyone trying to find out what it means when the firemen say, “A Collyer’s Mansion Situation.” No need to look, I knew it referred to the Collyer Brothers of New York City- the code for fire in a hoarder’s house. The picture above is of the police knocking down their door w/an axe.
It usually means it’s not safe to enter the building. In 1947, it took police 5 hours to plow thru the junk and find the first brother’s body. It took them 3 weeks to find the 2nd brother just 10 feet away, buried under a collapsed junk tunnel.
History’s worst hoarders, the tragic but fascinating tale of the Collyer brothers can speak to anyone with a penchant for collecting or thrifting. How did 2 prominent members of society end up sealing themselves off from the outside world, fiercely reclusive and entombed by over 140 tons of collected items?
Homer and Langley were both educated at Columbia University. Homer had a degree in law and Langley studied engineering and also became an accomplished concert pianist who performed at Carnegie Hall.
They had a normal childhood. They never married or lived on their own, & chose to remain at the family’s Harlem brownstone with their mother. When their parents died, everything was left to them..
In 1933, Homer went blind from eye hemorrhages. His younger brother quit his job to care for him full-time, which is when their withdrawal from society began. Langley began keeping years of newspapers so his brother could read them when his sight was restored.
In the midst of the Great Depression, the brothers became increasingly fearful of their own neighborhood, which was shifting from the upper-class area they had known to an area synonymous with poverty and crime.
People became curious, local kids threw rocks at the windows, increasing their paranoia. Langley boarded up the windows, removed the doorbell and wired the doors shut.
Several people attempted to burgle the home, which prompted Langley to construct booby traps and elaborate tunnel systems made of junk all around the house.
Langley ventured out only after midnight for food runs. He would collect countless unwanted and abandoned items on the street that caught his eye along the way.
When Homer became paralyzed due to rheumatism, the brothers refused to seek medical treatment. Even though their father was a Dr., they didn’t trust them. Instead, they decided to use their fathers medical library in the house.
Langley believed his brother’s sight could be restored with a diet high in vitamin C so he fed Homer 100 oranges a week. He adapted a Model T Ford to generate electricity after their power was cut off, along with their water and gas, due to unpaid bills.
When the bank came to evict them, police found Langley in a clearing he had made in the walls of junk. Without a word, he wrote a check for the equivalent of nearly $100,000 today to pay off the mortgage and ordered everyone off the property.
The next time authorities returned, it would be to search for the bodies of the Collyers. To enter the sealed brownstone, an officer broke a window on the second floor and climbed through.
Unable to get past the solid walls of junk, a squad of men began making their way through the debris by throwing out everything blocking their way onto the street. The spectacle drew a crowd of thousands.
After several hours, they found Homer’s body. Medical examiners later determined he had died of starvation and heart disease.
When they couldn’t find Langley, they thought he fled and launched a search. Finally, a workman found his decomposing body. He was buried in one of his 2ft. wide tunnels lined with rusty bed springs and a chest of drawers. He had died of asphyxiation after he accidentally tripped one of the booby traps and was crushed. Police believe that he was bringing food to his brother.
The house was deemed an unsafe fire hazard and was razed later that month in 1947. Some of their stuff went to museums and the rest was sold at auction. Since the 1960s, the site of the former Collyer house has been a pocket park, named for them.
messynesschic.com
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Something popped into my mind and ofc now I have to ask about it!
The kneeling position is almost identical to one you would take when giving head to someone, yes? Is there a change of an omega to accidentally slip into that trance like state while, you know, doing the old suck and slurp?
Also, could that be risky? I mean, I don't think it's the best of times to turn your brain offline while your teeth are that close to someone's private parts. Also could that be a chocking hazard for the omega? Since you wouldn't really be able to tell your partner that you're running out of air 👀
Hopefully this isn't too weird of a thing to ask xD And I hope you have a wonderful day 🖤🖤🖤
Definitely not a weird thing to ask!! (I've gotten worse 👀 lmaoo)
So, there's a couple things that go into play with an omega kneeling. You've got the omega sort of easing into that head space, and then the alpha giving the support with the hand on the back of the neck. So, an omega can take a kneeling position on the floor and not slip into that headspace because there really needs to be the active effort to get to that point.
So, that being said, it's pretty low risk. An alpha could scruff an omega in that position, but that would be dangerous for both involved (ow). It would be pretty obvious, though I suppose there could be the risk for choking or asphyxiation on the omega's part if the alpha didn't really care.
So yeah, it could happen, but it would be very rare that it would happen. It would be more likely to be a case of scruffing while it was happening, which is still bad.
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Paradigm; side by side
˙✧˖ March 7th: Fight or Flight
Main Masterlist | Paradigm; side by side Masterlist |
SYNOPSIS: Burning, inside and out.
WORDCOUNT: 1.3K
WARNINGS: Cursing, horny Aelin and Rowan, Welding inaccuracies (I am not a welder lol)
Huge thank you to @throneofglassmicrofics for organizing! Make sure to check out other works over on their account!
Drool was beginning to spill.
Hypothetically, that is. Not in a lascivious way, more of an disconnect between mind and body. But then again, who could blame her? Her hands were tightening and pulling, seizing up with tension from the penning. Beginning to ache in a way she would regret days after if pushed. With what she had scrawled along pages, decorated margins in curves, it was time for a break. Resting where she was would work just fine.
Just outside the open pane of glass, sat above the antiquely built desk she had practically defiled with her belongings, was a sight worth said drool.
Aelin’s eyes were stuck everywhere. And it felt incriminating, to be so openly ogling her roommate. Sturdy against the stronger winds off the water of the day. Tall; imposing to what crossed his path. White sand hair, slicked in hazard stripes. Moisture gathering on his brow – enough she cold see its collection from her spot. The small curls at the base of his neck, violently contrasting his skin. Skin she would suffer to touch. A hue of bronze that seemed painted, so exact she could imagine the paintings depicting his structure. All shirtless and sweaty-
She was getting warm.
It was undeniable that something had changed between the two of them, some ripple effect. A slingshot off axis, removing their celestial existences off course. Invigorating in a way that scared her. She was toeing a line that demanded something from her. Forfeit of nothing, compromise on everything, sacrificing herself.
But his voice lived in her head. Good girl. Stupid woman. Burning hands, grating stares. She would be in the kitchen some evenings, taking care of a meal – sans Rowan; he never stayed in a room with her for long – when she felt daggers placed between vertebrae. They scratched at more than grey matter, electrifying bones from their marrow. Dripping out tension, removed without her conscious.
The kitchen was an overlap. A moment where her life had no course but to find his. Magnetic, always coming back to the poles of whatever connection had her hands shaking and her heart squeezing. It only intensified with his actions. He was helpful in the kitchen; competent and assured. Albeit limited, knowing enough recipes to cover the days of the week. Pragmatic when planning, efficient when in action. It was flustering.
They spoke – less after yesterday evening, strained at the table this morning – in small bites. Never more than what could be swallowed whole. Exchanging conversation like trading cards. Parameters and conditions. She took care to keep her voice even when speaking, her flush sometimes translating to a breathlessness. He never seemed to notice when her pitch jumped. Simply going back to his spot and carrying on. Immune to the heady weight of unsaid words.
Peeling back skin from her fingertips, crusted and flaying from the saltwater, Aelin continued to watch Rowan. For all the man was; blunt and unfettered, he had a spirituality to him. Some divination that seeped from pores, asphyxiating with proximity. She had no ability to rid him from her mind. The sailboat portraits mocking in all their glory.
She could be concerned with the safety of his afternoon hobby… but she was gaining a verdant entertainment from the display. Muscles highlighted by the light of the setting sun. In rare cases, framed with sparks of condensed heat. Close enough to pinprick a constellation of scars. And the mask. It was doing things to her that the vibrator she had tossed when leaving the city couldnt even conceive. Fucking bastard.
Welding inane bits of metal without any protection over ones chest seemed like a recipe for absolute disaster. Some sort of dance with pain, a jump and run with each swing. Battling back and forth simply for the trouble of it. But he had been doing it for the past few hours, and all the willpower summoned to her being could not strengthen her against looking. Looking, thats all.
Piece by piece, he worked through a pile of metal. Bending near to get a closer look, flipping the mask up for observation, slamming it down. Gloves tucked on, off. Brushing off sparks from collarbones.
Aelin was up and out of the room before she really had time to consider the outcomes of her next actions.
-
“What’s that you’ve got there,” she called. Sunshine and gentle waves. Currents that drowned. A shiver of pleasure racked his body.
Looking up, Rowan knew where she would be. Had been waiting, hoping, for her to just look in his direction. Breath his way. It meant everything and nothing at once. But god, it meant a hell of a lot right now.
“Just a project. ‘ve been needing to finish it up.” He had to cough, some choking feeling straining words.
“Huh,” she hummed, wrapping slender arms around her middle. She was light, beaming and radiating in muted metals and shining reflections. Stunning in a way that would not hurt your eyes to stare at. “What does that do?”
It was unfortunate, having to pull his gaze from her to whatever she was pointing at.
He hummed, “the electrode holder. See the cord?” His gaze was back on her, waiting for the acknowledgement she had heard him. “This,” pointing at the piece on the table, “is what… brings the metal together, yeah? That is what supplies the power.”
Her eyes followed where he pointed, and it felt like holding a opportunity in roughened hands. Fragile and breakable. But she just smiled, giving a small nod of her head, hair shifting and falling. His hand stretched out to touch it, curtain it behind jewelry adorned ears and away from vibrant eyes. He wanted nothing in the way of her face.
He pulled it back, snapping out of the daze when she stepped closer.
“Why?” Tension weighed heavy, his tongue dry. He could feel the places where he was bare, shifting slightly to readjust. Her closeness was tempting. But, why– why what?
“Why what?”
“Well, why are you doing this?” She was interested. “I mean, and I am no expert or anything, but I feel like not having the proper protective gear is toying with stupidity…” She cares. “... And, I mean, not too long ago you were digging holes, and now its-”
His hand landed on her shoulder, firm and electrifying. It was unconscious, psychic and meant to be. Drifting the spot on the peak on bone, fingers reaching down far enough that he could dig into the base of her shoulder blade if he wanted too. Push into muscle and fat, under bone. Worm his way into her being like she had his.
She paused, mouth parted in a breath of indecision. He could see the indecisive and curious waves rolling through ocean blue irises. Dancing around that ring of gold that burned so bright. He wanted to find ore like that, find some proof of her reality in his surroundings. Present it to her like a gift of ardency. Tug her close and feel the heat under cotton thin t-shirts and canvas pants. Feel her.
He didnt. Instead, turning her around, he pointed over the shoulder his hand wasnt occupying. Indecently brushing it against cheekbones and the thin membrane of her neck. Itching over the closeness. “See that?” He whispered, eyes shifting from the dancing upsurge of colours as they erupted over waves. “I like it. So, I want another view.” He watched the gooseflesh rise on her neck.
She shuddered. “What about the deck?” Murmured, so low he had to lean closer.
“I like right here fine.”
Taglist: @mariaofdoranelle , @leiawritesstories , @renxzs
Let me know if you would like to join the taglist :)
#throne of glass microfics#throne of glass#throne of glass au#throne of glass fanart#rowaelin#rowaelin fanfiction#rowan whitethorn#aelin x rowan#aelin galythinius#rowaelin au#rowan x aelin#aelin and rowan#aelin galathynius#aelin ashryver galathynius#aelin fireheart#sarah j maas#sjm books#sjm#sjmaas#aelinschild
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July 14: National Motorcycle Day
As any good Kingly Parent would do, Bowser had long since commissioned a private racetrack and personalized Karts for his kids to use.
In fact, it was an early Wintertime Present- something intentionally early to both provide the opportunity for his kids to ride their Karts without snow-related hazards and to stave off their explorations for the other gifts he had hidden.
Even now, he had a variety of extra parts in the event their tastes changed, their Karts break, or (before Luigi was in the picture) that Peach could customize her own to race against the kids.
The first two happened less than he anticipated, but he was the least disappointed with how the third possibility changed.
While he never expected Luigi to want to do anything more than cheer on the sidelines, he is pleasantly surprised to have his husband be eager to ride alongside them.
He is also surprised to see him craft his own Kart- a motorcycle, to be precise.
It was different from his husband’s usual selections in Kart races- lacking any logo or mimicry, and apparently modeled after earth-based motorcycles.
He would have teased Luigi over its plainness (seriously, he could at least add some flames), but…
The Kart ran faster than anything the Koopa Kingdom had ever produced, and seeing it run the track for the first time had left him and the kids staring after Luigi in shock.
And when he came back in record time?
Iggy was the first to bombard him with questions, with Junior and Larry a close second and third before his human was swarmed with giddy questions and requests to ride the Kart.
(To this day, Bowser still doesn’t know how Luigi was able to deny their puppy eyes.)
So, when Luigi requested to race him on the track, one on one, Bowser hadn’t thought much of the look in his eyes when he teased about eating dust before he even started.
Coming from the same person who has rigged the whole castle with a stereo just to share some music? He really should have seen it coming when he opened up the Royal Garage-
And was faced with a black, flame-painted motorcycle.
In his size.
He swears that he hadn’t made some weird noise in surprise, but the amusement shining in Luigi’s eyes told him otherwise.
"Do you like it?"
Yes- yes, he did. And if his brain would work enough to let him say that, everything would be great.
"I know it might be a bit plain for your tastes-"
What is he talking about- it had flames!
"But I think the late-night tinkering on the improved acceleration makes up for it!"
He- he did all that? On top of his work in the castle?
"I- I’m not sure if the seat is comfy enough- it’s a bit hard to craft one that will support your shell-"
'Support his'- screw words when his mouth can do better than talking!
Like a good husband, he takes Luigi by the hips- pulling him closer with one hand as the other tilts his wonderful husband's head up and he leans down-
And it's criminally easy to melt into the softness behind his lips, easy to pull him even closer as he feels a gentle hand caress his jaw, trace under his horn, and lightly grip his hair and tug him closer-
But they have to breathe, and while Bowser is willing to part for a moment, the way Luigi came back flushed and panting nearly made him risk asphyxiation just to kiss him longer.
"I... I guess that's a 'yes'?"
"Luigi, love," Bowser lets their noses press together, torn between peering into his eyes and the urge to smother his husband with kisses- "My smart, thoughtful light-of-my-life. Of course it's a 'yes'."
#bowuigi#NATIONAL HOLIDAY#in which there is more bowuigi than motorcycles#which is fine honestly#I still don't know how kissing works#but I'm satisfied with this
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Strawberries and Cigarettes
His love for you was like Strawberry - pure, innocent, sweet. The one that anyone would kill to experience in their lives. The perfect blend, always has you craving for more.
Your love for him tasted like Cigarettes- dark, addictive, bitter. A bad influence. The one that is insatiable, you just can't shake away the craving. The toxic mix, that can asphyxiate the life out of them.
It's no secret to mankind how excessive saccharine and obsessive addiction are both hazardous to one's health.
He is just waiting like a fool(he knows it), hoping things would change, that it's worth the wait while continuously being sucked in your games, from where he neither can nor ever wants to be freed.
You are being indecisive. Should you leave it on fate and let him and yourself get caught in this whirlpool? Would you really be able to let him go for good? All the feelings just keep on going in a circle, an endless loop of leaving and coming back.
If someone were to ask you both - How would you describe their love?
The answer would be: Strawberries/ Cigarettes always taste like them!
BAJI KEISUKE, MITSUYA TAKASHI, HAITANI RAN, HAITANI RINDOU, SANO MANJIRO, SANZU HARUCHIYO, KOKONOI HAJIME, KAKUCHO or your favourite character
#tokyo revengers#baji keisuke#anime#mitsuya takashi#keisuke baji#mikey#tokyo revengers x reader#ran haitani#tokrev#haitani rindou#kokonoi#kakucho hitto#kakucho#sanzu haruchiyo
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Can Guardians technically get sick like the Lightless or would the Light through their ghosts protect them from mundane ailments?
It's not entirely clear how that would work, but it's most likely that they would be able to get sick. Guardians can still suffer from mundane causes, but it's not much of a danger to them because their Ghosts can heal them. Or, failing to heal them, they can just be rezed. But they can still experience these things.
An interesting point about this is raised with thanatonauts, in this lore tab:
The sudden deaths—live fire, through every type of round and range imaginable. The gradual—asphyxiation from force, liquid, vacuum. The biological—super bugs, hazardous materials, radiation.
Various ways a thanatonaut used to die. Biological causes are listed as well, and although it lists stuff that isn't exactly just mundane illnesses, it's still biological causes. Which means that stuff like that does have an effect on Guardians, even to the point of death.
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Then Kill Me... [Tokyo Revengers]
(Almost follows the canon storyline of TR & is up-to-date with the manga.)
Genre: Romance, Fluff, Slight smut.
Pairings: Keisuke Baji X OC.
Status: Completed.
Note: A small snippet from my original Tokyo Revengers fanfic "A Condition Called Love". I know this is an xOC fic but you can read it as self-insert if you want.
TR masterlist
Intimate moments with Keisuke were always very passionate, romantic, wild, and fun; exactly just like how he was as a romantic partner. Moments with him were intense and vibrant, they were fiery hot. Keisuke always gave the best passionate kisses ever, with a lot of biting and grabbing. I remember during our first time together, he tried to be subtle and even delicate, but his aggressive nature eventually came out when he was desperate to consume the act. He wasn’t violent, nor a savage, but he would act mildly desperate and needy. I sometimes felt his eagerness but he always respected my limitations.
On the winter of my 17th birthday, when I slept with Keisuke for the first time and we lost our virginity to each other, I was so happy that I thought I was in a dream. It didn't seem real at all. The person I loved also loved me back with the same amount of intensity and passion. This was a miracle to me. It was destiny that brought us together.
While in the relationship, our love for each other was like a strawberry fruit – it was pure, innocent, and sweet; the one that anyone would kill to experience in their lives, the perfect blend, always had me craving for more. It was a flavor that danced on my heart like sunlight and left me intoxicated with its simplicity. Each glance, each touch, a ripened offering that whispered promises of forever. A taste that left me feeling alive and invited. A flavor that was as enchanting as a field of blossoms. An exquisite blend of passion and tenderness.
But at the same time, our love also tasted like the enigmatic allure of the Black Stone cherry-flavored cigarettes – it was dark, addictive, bitter but also sweet at the same time; the one that was insatiable and just couldn't shake away the craving, the toxic mix that could asphyxiate the life out of me. It was a sensation that I knew was both my escape and my downfall, a whirlwind of emotions that consumed me entirely. A paradox of pleasure and pain. A tantalizing mixture of craving and caution, of fire and fragility. A complexity that drew us deeper into the abyss. A taste that left scars as much as it left memories. An intertwining of hearts that defied understanding. A sultry dance with danger, where each inhale was a forbidden indulgence, and every exhale released a cloud of complex emotions that hung heavy in the air.
Like the fruit, our love was ripe with dreams and innocence, a delicate sweetness that wrapped around us like a warm embrace. And like the cigarettes, our love carried both darkness and light, a blend of cravings and regrets that defined our journey. In the tapestry of our time together, our love's essence was a strawberry's purity and a cherry's complexity. Each taste held a story, a chapter of us, written in the language of flavors. We were the architects of our own flavors, crafting a story that alternated between the tender embrace of sweetness and the intense collision of contrasting tastes. The contrast of these sensations painted the portrait of our connection – a masterpiece of contradictions, just as love itself often is and our souls became the canvas. In those moments of tenderness, we felt the innocence of a first taste, while in the depth of our passions, the darkness of the cherry flavor lingered, a reminder that love's journey wasn't always linear. And just as life's tastes are multifaceted, so too was our love – a composition of moments that evoked passion, nostalgia, and a hint of bittersweet yearning.
It was no secret to mankind how excessive saccharine and obsessive addiction were both hazardous to one's health. But we were addicted. We were in love. That’s how I described our connection to one another.
It was late at night when we finally reached our home after coming back from a dinner we were having with Chifuyu and Kazutora that evening. With the door closed behind us, everything fell apart as soon as Keisuke pinned me to the walls and slammed his lips on mine. Every kiss had a raw intensity - breathing fast, heart rated faster. Then before I knew how it happened we were completely naked and our skin was moving softly together, like the finest of silk.
His fingers danced all over my bare body while he continued kissing me from my inner thighs upward, slowly, his hands on my hips, always just a little higher than the kisses. My back arched in anticipation, knowing where his fingers would soon reach. My head rocked back against the pillow as he did, the first moan escaping my lips.
“Mine...” Keisuke growled out in a possessive tone, rough and sweet, placing kisses on my neck before traveling up my jaw and then kissing the edge of my lips.
The air around us was tantalizingly warm. It caused my head to spin and my body to grow limp but yet it felt good in its own way.
In that split second before his touch, every nerve in my body and brain was electrified. It was the anticipation of being together in a way that was more than words, in a way that was so completely tangible.
One touch from Keisuke was all over for me; it had always been that way with me. I felt electricity in my skin, hormones shutting down my higher brain, and the rise of my animal self. From there on in it was all passion, intense, intoxicating. It was my release, my escape, my drug. Not that I was easy. I knew well enough to avoid letting a man lay his hands on me. But Keisuke wasn’t just any other man; he was Keisuke Baji, my lover, my soulmate. With chemistry and real love, too many of my switches were flicked for a reverse gear to be possible. If I was smitten, then all I could do was go along for the ride and pray my instincts were right.
I had always been a one-man woman, always united in soul and body and so for me, sex was an expression of love, of the bond, an intimacy that stretched gracefully into the thoughts, dreams, and wishes. Once we were in love, everything we wanted to do is fun, it was the right kind of play and my imagination was wild.
Keisuke was my personal drug, my own brand of heroin. One touch and the intoxication were instant. Whatever he wanted to do was what we would do and there wasn't a thing I could do to stop him; not that I wanted him to. Just his scent was enough to send me into a heady trance, one that didn't end until our bodies were still once more, just warm and snuggled in as close as two souls could be.
In the quiet embrace of a moonlit chamber, our souls danced to a rhythm only we could hear. Our fingers brushed like whispered secrets, tracing constellations of longing across each other's skin. In his eyes, I was the embodiment of grace, my eyes a universe of unspoken desires, while to me, he stood as a pillar of strength, his touch a symphony of tenderness.
The room was adorned with the fragrance of vanilla and roses, an aromatic tapestry that mingled with our breaths as we drew even closer than before. The flickering candlelight cast a warm, golden glow, playing with shadows that painted our silhouettes on the walls. The air was charged with anticipation, an unspoken promise of vulnerability and shared passion.
Once again our lips met in a slow, tantalizing dance, a delicate exploration of the depths of affection we held for one another. Every kiss was a chapter in a story written by our hearts, a journey that unveiled our souls layer by layer. We undressed our souls, baring our vulnerabilities as we shed layers of doubt and inhibition. Our bodies moved with an intuitive rhythm, a dance of intimacy guided by the symphony of our heartbeats.
He traced the contours of my collarbone with feather-light touches, igniting a cascade of sensations that traveled through my body like a gentle tide. I responded with a subtle arch of my back, inviting him to explore the landscape of my skin, a canvas that held the traces of our shared history. His hands wandered, gentle yet confident, as if they were composing an ode to the beauty that lay before him.
As I felt his hands parting my legs for him to enter, our tongues entwined in a kiss, and then he was inside, changing my breathing with every movement, hearing my moans timed to his body. Then all at once he stopped moving and began to kiss from my lips to my stomach, his hands light like a feather; then he was licking and using his fingers all at once, watching my reaction, feeling how my legs moved, watching my body writhe away. He told me he was going to make me beg for it and I just let out a moan, unable to articulate a response. I couldn't move even if I tried like his fingers had short-circuited my mind in the best possible way. In seconds he was on me again, moving harder inward, just long enough to intoxicate my mind once again.
Our skin was amber in the streetlight. The orange glow flooded through the unguarded window, yet without a light on in here, we were quite safe from prying eyes. Keisuke always made our sex so much deeper and sensual like how his hands gently alighted on my face, moving down past my collarbones and my brain was already on fire; he was my devil with fingertips of hell flame.
In these moments, Keisuke loved me with his eyes as much as he did with his body, our souls mingling in the quiet moments between action and stillness. The cool room already felt warm. It was hard to hold back, to make the moment last. Wasn't it always the way, so caught between the intoxication of the climax and extending a moment we never want to end?
As our bodies intertwined, a symphony of sighs and whispers filled the air, harmonizing with the melody of our love. Time seemed to stand still, the world outside fading into insignificance as our souls merged in a delicate ballet of affection. Each caress was a sonnet, every touch a verse, and our union an exquisite masterpiece of connection.
Keisuke’s fingertips were electric, they must be, for wherever they touched my skin tingled in a frenzy of static. As his hands moved over my skin, my body had a transitory paralysis, my mind unable to process the pleasure so fast. His head moved around to my left ear and he whispered what was coming next. Suddenly my body was off pause mode and I pulled back for a kiss that was both soft and hard. Hungry and passionate; his tongue pushed into my mouth as he kissed me back, desperate and needy. Both of us were moving in an intoxicated dance of limbs, never making the exact same moves twice. He was my cat nip while I was his whiskey on ice.
Our fingers caressed each other's skin as if afraid a heavier touch would break the heady magic. We became one, one mind with one goal and purpose, each utterly drunk with love for the other. There was something about him that lit me up from the inside. There was something about me that melted his confidence to nothing at all. Touching him was like being handed the holy grail like my heart was mended even though I never knew it was broken.
Keisuke Baji was the only man on earth for me, the only one who could breathe fire into me even when I was cold.
As the night deepened, our bodies found solace in each other's embrace, a symphony of sighs and gasps resonating in the hushed darkness. Our movements were now unhurried in comparison to before, a seamless ebb and flow of energy that built and receded like the gentle waves of an ocean. In this intimate choreography, time became an abstract concept, no longer tethered to the ticking of a clock. We were lost in a world of sensation, of heightened awareness, where every touch ignited a fire that blazed and flickered, casting shadows that danced upon the walls, a celestial ballet of hearts and souls, culminating in a crescendo of emotion that left us breathless and complete.
In the aftermath, as we lay tangled in each other's arms, the world outside seemed distant and insignificant. Our gaze held a depth of understanding that surpassed any words that could be spoken. And in that quiet moment, we knew that they had experienced a love that transcended the physical once again, a love that had painted our souls with the colors of eternity.
Our souls intertwined, they surrendered to the tender passion that enveloped us, a fusion of hearts and bodies that transcended mere physicality. It was a symphony of love written in the language of touch, a harmonious blend of yearning and fulfillment that left us breathless, sated, and forever bound by an unspoken bond that would forever grace the corridors of our souls.
In the room that was twilight and shadow, Keisuke’s bare body hovering over my own one was close enough for me to breathe in his scent and sweat. His arms were wrapped around me and in one gentle pull, our skin touched. I felt his hand in my hair, how he loved the softness, before pulling me into another searing kiss. Then his hand gently moved down my cheekbones to my jaw and that was when the kissing started to get even more intense. Our movements were like the partners in a dance that was written in our DNA. Our bodies fit together as if we were made just for this, to fall into one another, to feel this natural rhythm. With a small chuckle, he pulled away from the kiss and we locked eyes for just a moment, just enough for us to feel safe with one another.
“What do you say, Nana? Wanna do it?” Keisuke asked, kissing down my neck, biting softly in between the pecks.
Pulling away, his bronze-colored eyes stared down at me with love and lust while his long, wavy raven locks dangled on my face, tickling my skin. At that moment, Keisuke smelled like sandalwood, sweat, and sex and yet managed to look like a Greek God. I reached out and pushed away his hair from his face, giving him an amused look.
“Again? Are you some kind of pervert? This is problematic.” I replied with a small sigh.
“I am not talking about that.” He snapped with a small frown. “I'm talking about us getting married.”
Hearing that my eyes widened in surprise. For some reason, Keisuke had been asking me to marry him soon after we graduated from high school but I brushed it away to the side, not giving too much of an intention. Keisuke had always been an impulsive and reckless man and this whole marriage idea of his was just proof of that.
“Impossible.” I scoffed, looking away with sass and he scoffed back at me before softly grabbing my face with his right hand, giving my cheeks a light squeeze.
“If you don't marry me, I'm gonna die!” he fired out.
“If you wanna die, then die and go to hell!” I shot back.
In response, he moved his right hand from my face and wrapped it around my throat. Leaning down to my face, his lips hovered over mine, barely touching as his eyes sharpened at my sight.
“If I die, then I'll bring you along with me to hell.” He growled out, feeling his male part pressed against my sore lady part.
He moved his left hand and intertwined it with my right one, his love-lust-blown pupils gazing down into my own ones, challenging me, teasing me, testing me. At that moment, my heart stopped and my mind went blank. Keisuke always had this effect on me and I hated him for that. I was so in love with him that I didn’t know how to say no to him, ever.
“Then kill me...” I whispered back into his lips.
Keisuke Baji was the only one who knew how to take my breath away. And he always took it away roughly yet lovingly. I hated him for that but I couldn’t stop myself from falling for him even more than before.
Pleased with my response, Keisuke wasted no time and shoved himself inside me once again, moving hard and swallowing my whimpers and whines of pleasure with his kisses, his plush lips sucking and licking my own ones. Our body chemistry was off the charts and somehow we had both lit TNT and a fine bottle of wine to savor.
Both of us were almost about to die from suffocation and about to reach heaven together. Maybe I was also a pervert myself after all.
Read the entire fanfic on Quotev and Wattpad -
#baji#keisuke baji#baji keisuke#baji smut#baji keisuke smut#keisuke baji smut#baji fluff#keisuke baji fluff#baji keisuke fluff#keisuke baji x y/n#keisuke baji x you#keisuke baji x reader#baji x y/n#baji x reader#baji x you#baji x female reader#keisuke baji x oc#baji x oc#tokyo revengers#tokrev baji keisuke#tokrev baji#toman baji keisuke#toman baji#baji keisuke x oc#baji keisuke x you#baji keisuke x y/n#baji keisuke x reader
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For the third time in five weeks, a 16-year-old boy has died after sustaining on-the-job injuries at an industrial site, as lawmakers in several states advocate loosening child labor laws that protect minors from hazardous work.
The latest teen death was Friday night at the Mar-Jac Poultry plant in Hattiesburg, Mississippi, authorities said. It’s the third worker death at the plant since December 2020.
Duvan Tomas Perez, who NBC News reported moved to the U.S. from Guatemala six years ago, was cleaning machinery as part of a sanitation crew when he became trapped in equipment on a conveyor belt. He died at the scene, police and the poultry company said.
The company said that it appears that the child “should not have been hired” and that his age and identity were misrepresented on his hiring paperwork with an outside staffing company.
“We are devastated at the loss of life and deeply regret that an underage individual was hired without our knowledge. The company is undertaking a thorough audit with the staffing companies to ensure that this kind of error never happens again,” it said in a statement Thursday to HuffPost.
His death follows two other teens’ deaths in Wisconsin and Missouri.
Michael Schuls, 16, died on June 29 after sustaining injuries at the Florence Hardwoods logging company in Florence, Wisconsin. Michael was attempting to unjam a wood-stacking machine when he became pinned under machinery on a conveyor belt, resulting in what the coroner identified as traumatic asphyxiation, The Associated Press reported.
Will Hampton, 16, died on June 8 in Lee’s Summit, Missouri, after becoming injured while working at the Lee’s Summit Resource Recovery Park landfill. The high school sophomore became pinned between a tractor-trailer rig and its trailer, resulting in his death, police said in a statement.
The Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) is investigating all three deaths, a Labor Department spokesperson confirmed to HuffPost.
OSHA has also made a referral to the Department of Labor’s Wage and Hour Division for possible child labor violations concerning hazardous occupations in the Wisconsin case and a separate referral in the Missouri case to determine if the child was legally employed.
Federal labor laws allow children 16 and older to be employed in all occupations as long as the jobs are not declared hazardous by the Secretary of Labor. The Labor Department’s website features a list of such hazardous occupations and specifies that “most jobs” in meat and poultry plants ― including equipment cleaning ― are banned.
Minors are also prohibited from being employed “inside and outside of places of businesses that use machinery to process wood products,” with a few exceptions, including if an adult relative supervises the child.
The Wisconsin teen’s father also worked at the sawmill and was at the site that day, Green Bay station WBAY reported, though the child was alone in the building when the incident happened, and he wasn’t found until 17 minutes later, The AP reported.
In the case of the Mississippi teen killed, the child wasn’t working directly for Mar-Jac Poultry as he had been hired by an outside agency. “These hiring companies often aren’t the most reliable when it comes to finding qualified, legal workers,” said Jordan Barab, former deputy assistant secretary of labor at OSHA from 2009 to 2017.
“These temp agencies don’t have any scruples at all. They don’t have any national reputation to uphold. They’re just trying to sell workers, basically,” he told HuffPost. “And then the main company claims they had no idea, the temp agency [says it] was ‘fooled by false certifications.’ Well, obviously this kid did not look 18.”
OSHA has been going after this “to a certain extent,” he said, with the administration citing both the place of employment and the hiring company when a regulation is broken.
Barab partially blamed the nation’s ongoing shortage of labor for the hiring of children because employers are trying to avoid paying more for qualified workers.
“You have some employers who are basically going after the most vulnerable workers, the workers with the least ability to fight back or question anything. Who could be more vulnerable than (A) children and (B) immigrant children?” Barab said.
The COVID-19 pandemic, affordable child care, a rise in remote work and retiring workers are among the reasons cited for the labor shortage.
Regardless of the risks, lawmakers in several states have proposed weakening child labor protections in a bid to expand the workforce with low-paying labor.
In Wisconsin, where one of the three children died, lawmakers are advocating for lowering the age to serve alcohol in bars and restaurants to 14. It would be a nationwide first if approved, according to the National Institutes of Health.
Another bill introduced in Minnesota proposes allowing 16- and 17-year-olds to work in or around construction sites.
In Iowa, the state Senate in April passed a bill that would allow children to work more days and longer hours, but in conflict with the current limits set by federal law, as Iowa State Daily reported.
The Biden administration back in April urged U.S. meat companies to ensure they are not unknowingly or knowingly hiring children illegally. This followed revelations that more than 100 children were working for a company that cleans slaughterhouses. The children’s work included handling hazardous equipment, like razor-sharp bone saws.
An estimated 160,000 children are injured annually in the U.S. while working. Of these injuries, 54,800 warrant emergency room treatment, according to the National Institute for Occupational Safety and Health.
The number of minors employed in violation of child labor laws has increased by 37% within the last year, according to a March report by the left-leaning Economic Policy Institute in Washington. The report identified 10 states that have introduced or passed bills within the last two years that would weaken child labor standards.
#us politics#news#huffington post#2023#child labor#child labor laws#workplace deaths#working class#workers#worker's rights#workplace injuries#Duvan Tomas Perez#Mississippi#Mar-Jac Poultry#Michael Schuls#Florence Hardwoods#Wisconsin#Will Hampton#Missouri#Lee’s Summit Resource Recovery Park landfill#Occupational Safety and Health Administration#department of labor#biden administration#Jordan Barab#child labour#unfair labor practices#labor shortage#National Institute for Occupational Safety and Health#Economic Policy Institute
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The regions known as the Osteo Wastes (or Bone Deserts) are arid lands of scorching sun and bleached bone. Here, the countless skeletons of ancient corpses were left to the ravages of time, slowly eroding away into dust. Now what exists are large regions where this dust has accumulated into endless desert. What exists here are bone dust dunes, broken up by chunks of ancient broken bone that act as rocks, spires and islands in this unending waste. Life here is sparse and rough, vegetation being rare and small, and the animals that exist in this realm are hardy and unforgiving. The sun beats down upon the land, and the dry wind that howls across it kicks up storms and twisters of bone dust. It is a merciless ecosystem, with many dangers. But even then, people live in these Osteo Wastes, building settlements upon the massive chunks of surviving bone. They know the perils that come from the harsh sun, ravaging dust storms and the creatures that dwell amongst it all. One beast, in particular, strikes incredible fear in the hearts of the locals, for they are terrors that lurk beneath the dunes.
To the locals, these creatures are simply referred to as "leviathans," though outsiders typically go for "Bone Dust Leviathans" to separate them from the ocean dwelling creatures. These massive beasts swim through the bone dust, hiding from the heat and prey, waiting for their chance to feed. When they detect the presence of fitting prey, they are quick to give chase below the dust, churning their serpentine bodies to build up speed. When they draw close, they rise to the surface of the desert, their bony spines breaking the dunes like a shark's fin. Their beaked heads yawn open to make a cavernous maw, looking to swallow prey whole. Their size and speed makes them difficult to avoid, and the loose terrain of bone dust makes fleeing difficult. These leviathans burst from the dunes, swallowing prey in one go and then diving back down. Slits within their huge pouch expels any swallowed dust, while prey remains trapped inside. Their end will either be through asphyxiation or being crushed by its muscular throat. The leviathan will settle down in the deep of the desert to digest its meal, though it will still be listening for the sound of prey, for food is rare in this land and no chance for a meal should be ignored.
Any who travel the Osteo Wastes should be mindful of these great leviathans, as they can swallow entire caravans in their gluttony. Walking on foot is not advised, as it is difficult to mask one's presence. There is no safety in numbers, for their maws are gaping and their hunger great. This is why the people of this land travel upon bone ships, using the wind to carry their vessels across the dust, where their speed can outrun the leviathan and their sharpened shapes can prevent them from being swallowed. Even then, precautions are taken to ward off these beasts. Harpoons and other weapons are always ready to attack one on sight, often annoying them enough to leave. In a pinch, the ships will use pots of Blood to summon forth crimson lightning, a very effective element in the Bone Deserts. This electricity causes the dust to fuse together, hardening into brittle chunks of mock bone. While the lightning is capable of harming the leviathan, it is found to be just as effective as using this electricity to harden the earth and trip up the beast. A chunk of fused bone dust cannot be easily expelled from its pouch causing it to choke, thus forcing it to break off the chase in order to vomit it out. The strategy is to lob a pot of charged Blood in front of the open maw of the charging leviathan, thus creating these hazards. While the beast struggles to expel these hardened pieces, the people may easily escape.
For those who chose to travel on foot, the same strategy is recommended. Use the lightning to trip up the attacker, and use the time to find solid ground. These beasts cannot consume the huge chunks of real bone that break up the landscape, so safety can be found there. While Blood lightning is very effective at warding them off, the locals warn of overuse. This weapon should be used sparingly, only in real emergency. Blood is an energizing fluid, and the wastes are filled with ancient dust that once knew life. There is no telling what can rise when the spark of life is reignited....
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"Bone Dust Leviathans"
What, what else do you put in a desert? Pfft, sandworms? Oh that's not how we do things around here! Gimme a pelican and I'll show you how its done!
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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤
Sorry it took so long😭
Here's a list of my, in my opinion, 5 best fics!
Exhaustion
Relationship: Gladius & Donquixote "Corazon" Rosinante
Characters, Gladius, Donquixote "Corazon" Rosinante
Tags, Sleep Deprivation, Sleepiness, First time writing the clown man!!!, Takes place about a years after Law joined, Couldn't think of a summary for this one
Summary: (Even after all this time I still haven't come up with a summary😅)
Out of everything I've ever written this is my number one fic! It was my first time writing something involving Rosi and it turned out better than I could ever imagine! I really like how I characterized Rosi and his opinions on Gladius, as well as having drawn a few comparisons between the two of them which gave it a little more depth.
This was also the first fic in which I went more in depth about Gladius' mental well being and in which way being part of the family has effected him, which is something I'm definitely going to be doing more often!
Also, sleepy Gladius is best Gladius!
Alleviate
Relationships: Baby 5 & Gladius
Characters: Baby 5, Gladius
Tags: Donquixote Pirates (One Piece), Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Dressrosa
Summary: Gladius helps take care of Baby 5's wound before she leaves for Punk Hazard.
This is my favourite Gladius & Baby 5 fic I've ever written! Although it doesn't contain as much angst as the rest of my stories, it does encapsulate how I imagine the relationship between the two of them in my head, and in a little over 1k shows you exactly how I prefer to write them!
Asphyxiation
Relationships: Baby 5 & Gladius
Characters: Baby 5, Gladius
Tags: Donquixote Pirates (One Piece), Drowning, Ocean, Hurt, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Angst And Tragedy
Summary: On a rainy day, one of the worst thing that could happen to a devil fruit user happened, causing nothing but panic and distress.
This fic was the start of me spiraling into an obsession with making Baby 5 suffer as well, after this I just couldn't stop thinking of ideas to make the poor girl go through hell and back, mostly mentally😅
Though aside from that, this fic was so fun to write! I've never written anything like this before so it had been somewhat of a challenge to turn the idea into a good story, and I think I did a good job doing so!
I also really like the part of the fic in which Gladius immediately tried to jump into the ocean without even a second thought just to save Baby 5, which could be interpreted as him him not thinking logically in a very hight stress situation, or him just being so ready to almost throw away his life like it was nothing, which is very fun to think about.
The only downside to it is that I made Gladius a bit ooc, but who cares! We didn't get to see a large range of emotions from him in the serie so I have the freedom to make it all up!
Sprauchle
Relationship: Viola/Suffering
Characters: Viola
Tags: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Dancing, Pre-Dressrosa
Summary: Viola loves dancing.
Although I don't like a whole lot of the wording I used in this fic, I did like how I portrayed Viola as a character and all the pain she had to go through and her complicated relationship with dancing, so it deserves a spot on this list!
Duplicity
Relationship: Gladius/Viola
Characters: Gladius, Viola
Tags: Sexual Content, Flirting, Public Display Of Affection, Making Out, Kissing, Firts Kiss, French Kissing, Sloppy Makeouts, Rough Kissing, Neck Kissing, Biting
Summary: Ever since the tragedy that had taken everything from her and the people she cared about, Viola has been living a new life as Violet, the cruel assassin from the Donquixote family, and she'll continue keeping up this masquerade for as long as he has to if it meant she could keep her father alive, even if she had ended up letting herself be seduced by one of the families executives because of it.
Now don't get me wrong, this fic is completely self indulgent and cringe in every which way(Just like every other sexual fic I've ever written😅) But despite the fact that I can't write anything even slightly sexual even if my life depended on it, I just can't get myself to hate this fic, there's just something about how I wrote their interections and how I wrote them in general that I just like about it for some reason.
Though that could also just be because I have a obvious fondness for the two of them being together, doesn't matter in what way, they're my otp and I love them💖😭
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*waves*
I tried to do this earlier but I couldn’t find the emojis on my laptop lol
😶🖕🌟 for victoria :3
Thank you :D !!!
😶 A random headcanon!
She absolutely loves soft and fluffy things. Pillows, blankets, stuffed animals, clothes, whether human AU or Cats as cats she loves the feeling of just running her hands/paws over smooth fabric and nuzzling her face into it. Her bed is completely covered in soft things, almost to the point where it might be an asphyxiation hazard, but it’s Worth It. Whenever she’s really upset she will just cocoon herself in her mountain of soft fluffy goodness until she feels better. A lot of the items are also sentimental to her, mostly gifts from people she cares a lot about, and she treats them like her most prized possessions, ranked even above her beautiful sparkly pink collar
🖕 A headcanon relating to anger
I think she tries to avoid being angry for several reasons. Partially because she doesn’t like the idea of accidentally hurting people if she loses control of her emotions, partially because she feels like she has a type of “image” to uphold, and partially because she’s afraid of not being taken seriously. Like, she’s short, cute, has a bubbly personality and is very much a girly girl, so she probably has a lot of experience with people not taking her emotions seriously, especially her anger. So she just. Avoids being angry. Cause if she gets angry if front of someone who doesn’t take her seriously she knows she’ll just get more frustrated and upset and it’ll just be this awful negative spiral and she hates that so much. When she does get angry it’s explosive and sudden, but blows over pretty fast, she doesn’t like to linger on negative emotions. She also has a tendency to cry when angry which adds to the “not being taken seriously” fear. The people she’s close to of course take her seriously but some people are just assholes
🌟 A headcanon about their desires/wishes
I think she is, in general, pretty content with her life, but she also has a deep desire to be liked by everyone. Both in the “wow she’s so nice I wanna be her friend” type of way and in the “wow she’s so good at dancing that’s so cool” type of way. She’s surrounded by people who love her and think she’s amazing so it’s usually not that apparent, but negative comments tend to strike her harder than they would for most people and she has a hard time accepting the fact that she can’t make everyone like her. She has a great support system though, and as she gets older she comes to terms with the fact that there will always be some people who just don’t like you
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the most realistic danger you're likely to encounter in a NMR/MRI facility if you're not a total idiot is quenching, where the magnet overheats (for various reasons) and the liquid helium and nitrogen evaporate. inert gas asphyxiation hazard plus two million dollars of facility damage. granted you do need to be a moderate idiot to not monitor shim coil temperature but that's inattentiveness rather than ignoring three giant red and black signs saying DANGER HIGH MAGNETIC FIELD.
#this does not GENERALLY happen but it can happen to non-morons#whereas metal projectiles only happen to people who refuse to read#nmr
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