protruding tongue

I’ve been reading up on different types of lisps (yes, for fun), mostly because I couldn’t put a word to the way that Emma Stone talks.  I like Emma Stone (and I loved La La Land), but I just really needed a name for whatever she has going on. I’ve noticed this with others in my life - a former boss, another colleague, something with their /s/ sounds is just…off. I kept thinking it was like a lisp, but when you think of a lisp you think, “I’m tho thorry you didn’t like the prethent I got you for Chrithmith.”

So here’s what I found (taken from Wikipedia, though there were several other sources on this that provided an interesting read):

  • A frontal lisp occurs when the tongue is placed anterior of the target. Interdental lisping is produced when the tip of the tongue protrudes between the front teeth and dentalised lisping is produced when the tip of the tongue just touches the front teeth. The transcription in the International Phonetic Alphabet for interdental sibilants is [s̪͆] and [z̪͆] and for simple dental sibilants is [s̟] and [z̟]. When a fronted lisp does not have a sibilant quality, due to placing the lack of a grooved articulation, the IPA transcription would be [θ, ð] or variants thereof.
  • A lateral lisp is where the [s] and [z] sounds are produced with air-flow over the sides of the tongue. It is also called “slushy ess” or a “slushy lisp” due to its wet, spitty sound. The symbols for these lateralised sounds in the extensions to the International Phonetic Alphabet for disordered speech are [ʪ] and [ʫ].
  • A nasal lisp occurs when part or the entire air stream is directed through the nasal cavity. The transcription for sibilants with nasal frication in the extensions to the IPA is [s͋] and [z͋]; simple nasal fricatives are [s̃] and [z̃].
  • A strident lisp results in a high-frequency whistle of hissing sound caused by stream passing between the tongue and the hard surface. In the extensions to the IPA, whistled sibilants are transcribed [s͎] and [z͎].
  • A palatal lisp is where the speaker attempts to make a sibilant while the middle of the tongue is in contact with the soft palate,[1] or with a posterior articulation of the sibilant. The latter may be transcribed [s̠] and [z̠], [ʃ] and [ʒ], or the like.

Who knew there were so many types? I believe, from reading and from what I remember of IPA, Emma Stone has either a dental lisp or a palatal lisp. I can’t decide exactly where her tongue is falling. I’m leaning toward the dental lisp.  The example I gave above (the Chrithmith prethent) is the standard interdental lisp, interdental being “between the teeth” and dental being actually on the teeth.

Aaaand…that’s what’s on my mind today. Carry on, Internet.


Bactrian “Master of Animals” Vase, 2nd ML BC

See it in 360°

A carved serpentine vase, conical in profile with flared rim; frieze of a standing kilted god or hero with horned headdress and hatched hair, grasping in each hand the neck of a rearing serpent, each with gaping mouth and slender protruding tongue, elliptical panels in two lines to the body; supplied with a laminated card clarifying the design.

Items such as this were produced on the island of Tarut in the Gulf, close to the Arabian coast. The carving is known as the Intercultural Style and combines stylistic elements that are paralleled in eastern Iran and western Central Asia with iconography that derives from, and mingles, those of Mesopotamia, Iran and Harappa. The figure is most commonly described as the ‘Master of Animals,’ a hero figure that is associated with the control of the chaotic forces of nature as represented by wild animals. vessels such as this have been found at religious sites, such as the temple of the moon god Sin at Khafajah.

His Naughty Girl (M) // Kim Yugyeom

Originally posted by polarbeom

Pairing: Yugyeom x Reader

Genre: Smut

Summary/Request: You and Yugyeom get up to no good in the shower (need I say more?)

Please note that this scenario is rated M for MATURE as it contains smut, face sitting, oral etc

“I’m off for a shower babe” you chimed to Yugyeom as he sat on your bed, leafing through one of your celebrity magazines you bought a few weeks ago.

“Uhhuh” he murmured incoherently back at you, being too engrossed in one of the gossip columns to respond properly. You raised your eyebrow and shook your head sarcastically at how dopey he could act sometimes, but ultimately loving him nonetheless. “I know how to fix that” you smiled to yourself as you stepped in front of your mirrored wardrobe and dropped your dressing gown on the floor, letting it pool around your ankles with a light thud before you began rummaging for your bra and knickers to bring into the bathroom. Hearing the small commotion, Yugyeom raised his eyes to the very lovely sight of your bare derrière as you stood up straight and wrapped a towel around you. He licked his lips subconsciously at the sight of your womanly curves, feeling the all too familiar sensation of his bulge growing just that little bit larger in his pants as your twirled around and smiled at him – full of playful seductiveness before winking at him and making your way into the shower.

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Breathe like a pug.

Pugs and their brachycephalic brethren have a long list of problems, but lets just talk about their airway for a second.

Pugs and other flat-faced dogs have, to varying extents, brachycephalic syndrome. The short version is that these dogs breathe REALLY badly. The long version is that they have up to half a dozen things wrong with their airway that narrows it.

Try this experiment: find yourself a straw, any will do, and breathe through it.
Only breathe through the straw. Try breathing quicker or slower and see how that feels.

How long does it take to become uncomfortable? Do you feel that instant relief when you finally breathe normally?

This is what it feels like for brachycephalic dogs to breathe. This is their reality. Their airway is narrowed, like yours was with the straw. They live like this. We breed them like this.

The sensation you were feeling is called air hunger. It’s beginning to be discussed more often as a welfare issue.

Brachycephalic syndrome consists of a number of abnormalities. Stenotic nares (closed nostrils) can be improved surgically, and affected dogs can still breathe through the mouth. A long soft palate reduces the diameter of the airway, and again can be improved surgically. The everted saccules, which may reduce the diameter of the airway by 50%, can also be removed surgically.

But you cannot fix the hypoplastic trachea. The dog’s windpipe may only be a fifth of the diameter it should be, perpetually restricting the dog’s breathing. They are forever forced to breathe through that straw. There’s nothing you can do about it.

A dog should have a nose. The disturbing trend of breeding flatter faced dogs has reduced the size if the skull, but hasn’t reduced the size of the tongue and soft tissues of the head. This flesh has nowhere to go, except to crowd the airway. Some pugs have so little nasal space that their nasal turbinates, the fine bones inside the nose responsible for the dog’s sense of smell, actually protrude backwards into the pharynx. Up to 30% of pugs were affected in one study.

Look at these skulls, one pug and one airedale terrier. 

The pug’s bones are smaller, and there’s less space within the skull, but both dogs will have the same amount of flesh on the head. On the terrier it will be fairly normal. On the pug it’s packed in like a sleeping bag.

Consider how far their tongue protrudes. That’s how long their skull should really be to be ‘normal’. That’s how much nose is missing.

A dog needs a nose. These free spirits deserve to be able to breathe freely. We should not be breeding dogs to have flat faces because we like the look of it.

If you think we should, then go breathe through a straw.

For twelve years.


This ficlet is part of the Jamie Through the Stones AU which starts with Third Time’s the Charm.

This ficlet is a direct continuation from The Birth Certificate

My Fanfiction Master List

Available on AO3 as Written in the Stones

This is an Outlander canon divergence AU ficlet.

Let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: I did not have time to do research on how divorce proceedings in Scotland in 1958/1959 would have unfolded so this is almost certainly in no way historically accurate. I also don’t care that it’s not.

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The kasa-obake is perhaps the most famous of the tsukumogami. It is depicted as an umbrella-like creature with one leg and one eye. They are also often illustrated with a long, protruding tongue.

Like all tsukumogami, kasa-obake are born when an umbrella is used for a hundred years. Some, however, believe that kasa-obake are not actually tsukumogami at all, but are a separate type of yōkai that happen to look like umbrellas.

Image source.

Monster master list.

Suggest a spook.

Fixer-Upper [h.s.]



The situation Y/N had found herself in was very rare and unnatural considering she was normally very mindful and cautious of these types of circumstances, especially now during class. It was odd and uncomfortable– boy, was it uncomfortable– and it made her feel hollowly awkward and flustered with anxiety.

It had happened to her a handful of times because, naturally, thinking about Harry can get her wound up pretty tight if just the right explicit thoughts managed to wriggle themselves in from the recesses of her mind. Thoughts that she wouldn’t allow herself to dwell on too much while in public because making herself horny in front of her peers was utterly stupid. But this time, Y/N wasn’t really able to control it. It snuck up on her and when set into motion, she just couldn’t make it stop. It was like trying to halt a neutral FedEx truck from rolling down a hill only by pulling it with bare hands– hopeless and blatantly impossible.

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Seventeen : Colour My Emotions Part 1 - S.Coups / Choi Seungcheol - Lust

Red, a deep, lustrous red, the color of passion, of love, of intense hunger for someone that takes over your body and repels sense. The feeling starts sparks in your heart, growing into a fire that consumes your entire being, hot and longing and suddenly you can’t think straight, your thoughts are clouded, you’re so filled with want and desire you’ll do anything to get what you suspire so badly. Blinded by love, not hate, an emotional so negatively positive it’s confusing, and he, he makes it worse. He who moves so fluidly on stage, crimson light spilling over him and defining all his features to the point it should be illegal, he who raps with a clear passion in his husky voice, he whose eyes are focused and dark and he who’s hidden in shadows yet revealed enough by that dark carmine that draws you in so and makes you crave him - you want to touch him, feel him near you, feel his lips on yours as they had been mere minutes ago before he’d gone up onto the stage and as this vivacious need courses through your veins as if a permanent part of your bloodstream the dark eyes meet yours and you just. Know.

Seungcheol is also filled with lust, filled to the very brim, and he knows his expression shows it, his body language shows it, his voice shows it. His tongue protruding from between his lips, his eyebrows fanning over his half lidded eyes, his imagination running wild unbeknownst to the crowd as he channels the feeling into energy and throws it into the performance; he needs a proper release of his intense hunger but he knows that from here he can’t do anything, can’t get to you and let his desire take over his body and soul. Though as he looks out into the roaring crowd he sees you at the front looking up at him and your eyes lock and there’s this similar, darkened look to them and he smirks, he smirks and he throws his head back with the naturalistic attitude the dancer should possess.

Blood red, the satin of sheets and the raw heat, the flames that rage and refuse to die out - your favourite color seemed to change to red after he came along. Choi Seungcheol, he awoke you, he made you feel alive, your own feeling… of cerise.

It burns, doesn’t it? [Pt. 7]

Genre: Mafia!au (Mature) Fluff? Angst…so much angst. Violence and all that good mafia stuff.

Members: Jungkook x Yoongi x Namjoon x Jin  x Hoseok x Jimin x Taehyung  Feat. Got7

Summary: Why am I hurting alone? Why am I in love alone?

Originally posted by berry852

Prologue I Pt. 1 I Pt. 2 I Pt. 3 I Pt. 4 I Pt. 5 I Pt. 6 I Pt. 7 I Pt. 8 

Yoongis POV

I walked in through the back door and caught eye of the flickering tv in the living room. You could hear the try hard show host make a crappy joke and the crowd would force exaggerated laughter. Coming home late hours of the night wasn’t abnormal to me. I glanced over at the couch, cutting my eyes to the brunette sprawled careless on the sofa. She brought a cigarette to her lips and inhaled deeply before exhaling it slowly. She wore her usual lounging attire, a flimsy slip dress that rode up noticeably as she shifted her thighs. 

“Yoongi…” She cooed when she heard footsteps coming from behind her, knowing exactly who it was.She got up and prowled over with a drunken gait. She cracked a promiscuous smirk, by her eyes I could tell she was tipsy. Wrapping her arms around my neck she fixated her eyes on mine. Boy did she love his eyes, she gawked at them every chance she got.

“You shouldn’t stay out so late, where have you been baby…" She twisted her index fingers in the black locks and I rested my hand on her side.

"Why the fuck would I tell you?" She pouted at the harsh reply, as if I’d never talked to her like that before.

"Now, is that anyway to talk to your mother?" She began peppering kisses on my jaw and I let her play her little game.

Mother?“ I scoffed. "You’re not my mother. You’re drunk…”

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Stop; Don’t Stop (M) // Im Jaebum

Originally posted by defsouljb

Pairing: Jaebum x Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff

Summary//Request: It’s your first time with Jaebum - but the pleasure proves too much for you. Jaebum stops but still feels incredibly sexually frustrated - you notice, so you help him out.

This scenario is rated M for MATURE as it contains smut and first time sex.

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Unedited : Calum AU

Description: I feel like Calum’s been hella artistic lately so enjoy some quick photographer!Calum

Word Count: 985

A long shower greets you as you and Calum return from your evening ocean side walk. Calum, being the dedicated photographer that he is, couldn’t resist the particularly colorful sunset that painted tonight’s sky, and insisted that you join him on his quest to capture new material for his landscape portfolio. You obliged enthusiastically, always honored to watch Calum at work. He has such an eye for photogenic moments, many of them framed and hung around the walls of the home you two have enjoyed personalizing over the years. You never tire of walking into a room covered in his artistic talents, and you don’t think you ever will.

After your shower you expect to find Calum waiting for you, warming up the sheets of your bed, but he’s not there when you walk in. You dress in your favorite t-shirt of his and a comfortable pair of cheekies, then wander toward the only other room he might possibly be. It’s not much of a studio, just a bit of open space with a computer desk and a drafting table (because the boy can draw, too), with prints of his pictures yet to be suspended lined up around the floorboards. Sure enough, you find him sat at the desk, his opened laptop holding his complete attention.

The door isn’t closed all the way so you knock softly on the frame, letting your presence be known. With the turn of his head Calum peeks at you, a smile instantly running across his handsome face.

“Come ‘ere, angel,” he says as he leans back in his chair, offering his lap as a seat.

You take a few barefooted steps to meet him, hugging his neck as you sit. One of his strong arms wraps around your waist while the other allows him control of the wireless mouse. The laptop screen displays the pictures from earlier, different shades of yellow and orange being the primary sight. It really was a camera worthy sunset, and you can’t wait to see the masterpieces that Calum has turned it into.

“What do you think?” he asks, scrolling through edited and unedited versions of similar pictures. Flipping through all of them almost acts as a timeline, like you’re watching the sun set all over again.

“They’re really good,” you praise, painfully aware of your bland vocabulary. Calum is better with words as well, something you discovered in an apology letter he left you after one of your first serious fights.

He smiles again and gives your shoulder an innocent kiss, thanking you for the compliment.

“My favorite one’s coming up.”

You watch patiently as he continues to go from photo to photo, each shot somehow impressing you more than the last. It doesn’t take long for the one he was talking about to make its debut appearance, and your heart lurches when you see it.

It slipped your mind that there was a moment when Calum attempted to sneak you into frame while you weren’t paying attention. You thought you managed to catch on in time before he was able to accomplish a task that you’ve repeatedly told him you want to be no part of, but apparently that wasn’t the case. In front of you is a picture of yourself, a moment before you told Calum to stop pointing his camera at you. In it you’re seemingly reaching for the lens, on a mission to cover it with your palm, but your expression betrays you with a small smirk breaking free of its suppression. Instead of looking into the lens, your gaze is focused slightly above it where Calum’s eyes would be meeting yours. Your skin looks especially bronze as you stand in the direct path of the sun’s setting light, flattering your complexion into looking oddly flawless while highlighting the lighter shades of your hair.  

You lean forward as you’re introduced to the picture, baffled by your own face. You don’t usually like having your picture taken by someone else, Calum included, but this one is something close to a miracle.

“You edited this,” you declare, brushing his hand off of the wireless mouse so you can use it.

“Nope,” Calum says proudly.



“Well I look… weird.”

He curls his other arm around you now that he’s lost his rights to the mouse, takes your free hand in his, and raises it to his lips.

“You look like you’re in love with me,” he says.

His observation awakens the butterflies nesting in your stomach. Another glance at the picture gives you the same impression. The half-smiling face you’re making is one of not only annoyance but acceptance, two emotions that only Calum could make you feel simultaneously.  

“Huh,” you huff, leaning further into Calum’s body, “Camera must be broken.”

He laughs and squeezes you tighter, attacking your neck with take-it-back kisses. You swing your legs over his to make yourself more comfortable on his lap. He runs his fingers down the bare skin of your thigh, raising goosebumps in their path. His mouth gradually works its way toward yours, pressing multiple kisses to the lips he can never seem to get enough of.

The way every thought that doesn’t involve Calum disappears from your mind, leaving you lightheaded and consumed by him, is sufficient evidence to prove your little joke false. As you kiss him you’re reminded of the admiration you felt by the ocean while you witnessed him in action. You can clearly visualize the tip of his tongue protruding his teeth as he analyzes his surroundings for the best scenery, and the cute lines that crease near his right eye when he squints into the view finder. You adore all there is to adore about him: his commitment, his passion, his raw capability, and although you hate being made the subject of his artwork, you know damn well there’s nothing broken about that camera at all.  


Bold Girl (Sometimes), Chapter 2

A/N: @my-little-yellowbird noted that “Shelagh always seems most bold after she’s come through the fire”, which gave me the idea for this next fic. We all know that Patrick lurves that nurse’s uniform ;). Serious kettles ahead, guys.

Patrick had expected to come home and find his wife fast asleep. Alternately, she might wake from him entering, and give him a kiss – maybe a quick snog if he was lucky–before nodding off again. Maybe she would ask him how his day went, and curl up against him as he assured her that everything was fine. He was only recently recovered from his breakdown, and Shelagh kept a close eye on him ever since, making sure he was not biting off more than he could chew.

Patrick did not expect to find her fully awake, and dressed in her nurse’s uniform.

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American Gods Alphabet: Kali / Mama-Ji

I really love American Gods and mythology so I made an alphabetic list of every reference made in the novel.

Read the whole encyclopedia here

Kali / Mama-Ji (124)

Kali / Mama-Ji (Hindu) Hindu Mother Goddess. Despite being a mother-figure, Kali is commonly associated with sexuality and violence. Kali is the slayer of demons. She is a menacing figure, with a necklace made of severed heads, and skirt made of severed arms, and often is seen holding a bloody sword. She is a reincarnation of Parvati, the wife of Shiva. She has four arms and a protruding tongue and is commonly depicted as having black or blue skin. Her dark skin represents the potential for destruction or creation.

All names/terms are depicted with the page in which they first appear in the American Gods Tenth Anniversary Edition of the author’s preferred text.

Read the whole encyclopedia here


Summary: Two boys are always better than one.

Characters: Yoongi (BTS) x Jihoon (Seventeen) x reader

Length: 7,101 words 

Type: smut, fluff, idk lmao

A/N: anyways, i fucking love polyamorous fics cause im a constant hoe, im turning this relationship into a series n next time, u bet ur ass there will be double penetration gbye, 

Originally posted by syubbie

Originally posted by camera-seventeen

“Mom’s home!” You chuckled out, kicking the door open as you clutched a bag of snacks in one of your arms, your feet shuffling inside as you giggled lightly to yourself, feeling a pair of footsteps walk towards you before you could even fully open the door, and a gruff, sleepy voice bark at you.

“Took you long enough, did you get my chips?”

You rolled your eyes, coming face to face with Jihoon as he stared at you expectantly, your cheeks involuntarily heating up after a few seconds.

“Duh, I got them. You want me to feed them to you too?” You mumbled sarcastically, laughing lightly at the way he attacked the bag in your hands, taking the load off of you as you brushed off some of the leaves that had fallen onto you from outside.

“If you’re gonna feed anyone, feed me.” Smiling, your vision looked towards the sound of the voice and connected with Yoongi as he coolly strode to where you were standing, narrowly missing a shuffling Jihoon, oblivious to anything but his snacks.

“Ah, we talked about this Min Yoongi, no more feeding until you learn to stop nipping at my fingers.” Ticking your tongue at him, you breezed past his rolling eyes as you made your way towards the younger and smaller boy, watching in amusement as he pulled out some donuts and stared at them before he looked back up at you, mouth agape. 

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gnomer-denois  asked:

A series that I read talked about cats having scent sacs and that they can draw air in through their mouth in a kind of "skree" sound over the roof of their mouth and scent sacs to get a better sense of what smells they are encountering. I have a cat character in one of my books and I need to describe them scenting something. Would this be an accurate way to describe it? Or what would be better?

If you talk about ‘scent sacs’ to many people, they are going to assume you’re writing about anal glands, which are definitely not what you’re referring to.

I think the behavior that series is trying to describe is the Flehmen Response, which many mammals, including cats, perform when investigating particularly interesting scents. Mostly this is used when investigating urine or other pheromone rich signals.

Domestic cats typically look like the following:

  • Open mouth
  • Sometimes tongue protrudes a little
  • Upper lips moderately lifted
  • Sometimes short, sharp breaths
  • Sometimes lick the smelly thing of interest

The most common example of when this occurs is when a tomcat is investigating scents from a queen on heat.

Cats (and other mammals) do this to encourage pheromones to contact their vomeronasal organ, which I unfortunately can’t find a good diagram for you. All the pictures I can find of it are from cat dissections, which I understand many readers may not want to look at.

It basically looks like a little swelling on the roof of the mouth, behind the front teeth. It’s easy to overlook.

So you could describe it many ways, but it’s basically open mouth breathing with curled upper lips over the scent of interest.


In The Belly Of The Bate-Hole (1)

Deep in the belly of the bate-hole, it is dark.  In its degenerate depths, I luxuriate in my goon.  

So sexual; so sensual; naked; masturbating - I writhe in my mindlessness, stripped of all inhibition and shame.  I know only the pleasures of the Penis as it consumes me.   It releases its primordial perversions into my brain; pure, primal perversions.  I indulge these dark depravities.  My tongue protrudes from my drooling mouth as I bray like a beast.  I am transformed into the divine Demon.

Filthy images overwhelm my popper-retarded brain – a glut of forbidden fruits upon which I gorge my lust.  

I see young, smooth flesh, helpless before me.  Serpent-like, I slither over its creamy skin, drooling, licking, tasting, smelling.  I feed upon its innocence, as I sully its virginal purity with the stink of my man-sex. The Penis probes its holes, preparing the youngling for its perversion.

The Penis penetrates, poisoning the youngling’s purity, infecting it’s innocence with my foul fucking filth.   The Penis is a weapon in my hands – a dagger of depravity, degrading its victim with its disgusting degeneracy.  Semen soils the supplicant’s insides, corrupting the flesh; forever spoiling the meat.  Innocence is corrupted, turned toxic with the sepsis of the demon-seed inside it.

I goon with naked bestiality, grunting, groaning and grinding as I imagine it – this lewd violation.  The Demon in the darkness is depraved, his desires are disgusting and degenerate. But in my deep goon-state; in the belly of the bate-hole, all I can feel is the pleasure – the pleasure in the violation of the flesh; in the corruption of the innocent.  

So dark, the Goon of Man!



I’ve Missed You

A/N: An anon request for a Spencer x Reader where Spencer is in the (hospital, the requester said for schizophrenia, but I went with a rehab for drug addiction instead). One day, the reader goes to visit him, and they really REALLY miss each other, so some smut goes down in the rehab center, basically a conjugal visit. @coveofmemories @sweetg


Seventy-five days into a 90-day rehab stay. 

You were almost there.

Dilaudid addiction was brutal and Spencer had struggled with it time and time again after he was taken by Tobias Henkel. He’d come up against cravings before, but hadn’t gone back to it until a recent case came across his desk involving the rape and murder of young girls. He didn’t want to drench you in the awfulness of his job, so he’d kept the case from you and turned to the drugs instead.

They day you found him, a needle hanging out of his arm, you insisted he go to rehab - inpatient - or you were done. You didn’t want to be done - you loved him with all your heart, but he needed an impetus to kick the habit for good, and you knew that you were it. Although he had to disclose his problem to work, they gave him the necessary time and insisted that if he were clean on the back end of this stint, he could return to work, with supervision for an extended period of time.

Three times a week, you would travel the 15 minutes to the rehab center in order to attend therapy with him. Today was one of those days, and he was so much better than he was when you’d found him. He was off the drugs and working through his issues, deciding whether or not he could continue to do his job without turning to drugs. You knew he wanted to, but in order for that to happen, he needed to be open, completely and totally open, with you regarding his cases. That was what you were working on in therapy now. 

While previously it was difficult for you to walk into the center, a heavy, hazy feeling permeating your every step, now it was different. Now, you walked in feeling lighter - hopeful. You had been telling the psychiatrist that you didn’t think Spencer truly dealt with his abduction all those years ago, but now you felt like he was actually examining it.

Today, you were going a little extra early to spend some time together outside of therapy. Although 90 days was only three months, it felt like so much longer - and you missed him. He was your everything; sticking with him through this wasn’t even a question, as long as he was dedicated to recovery. He was.

“Hi honey,” you said, as you walked into his room. At this particular facility, after the 60th day, if you had no marks on your record, you could get your own room instead of sharing one with another patient. Spencer had been truly working towards recovery, so for the past two weeks he’d had his own room. You walked into his arms, wrapping your hands around his waist. “I’ve missed you,” you whispered.

“You just saw me two days ago,” he laughed, trying to bring some levity to the situation. “You can’t have missed me that much.”

Slowly, you grazed your lips against the skin of his neck. “I have. I used to see you every day. And I didn’t just mean like that.” A small smile crept across his face as his eyes darted to the door of his room. “Do we have any time? Can we do that in here?”

After more than 80 days without physical closeness, you could see Spencer really didn’t care if you did get caught. He walked to the door and peeked his head out. Sufficiently pleased with the lack of people around, he closed the door and grabbed your hand, pulling you toward him. When you walked into his arms, he backed you into the wall, craning you neck to the side so he could graze his teeth against the spot he knew drove you crazy. 

Staring off into the distance, the feel of his scruff against you skin, you whimpered, unaware of how loud you were. “Shhhh…” he mumbled. “We don’t want to get caught.” Chuckling, you turned your head back toward him, pushing his scrub pants around his ankles. That was one of the many stipulations of this facility - no personal clothes allowed. Everything was supposed to be streamlined in order for the patient to focus on recovery. 

Frantically, he nibbled at your earlobe as he undid your belt, throwing it across the room with a loud clack. “Quickly, baby,” you breathed, grabbing his chin in your hand and swallowing his grunt. With your pants down on the floor, he used his foot to step on them, allowing you to discard the dark denim. “Take me.”

He had a limited range of movement given the restriction of his pants, but nothing would stop you after such an extended time apart. As you breathed each other in, he placed himself at your entrance. Instead of wrapping your legs around him, you remained standing on the floor. At this angle, his pelvis rubbed against yours - the friction was incredible. This would be the definition of a quickie.

With all of his pent up need, he thrusted inside you, the slickness from your center already running down the columns of your thighs. “I have missed you,” he mumbled against your skin, his tongue leaving moisture in its wake. As he thrust upward, you could feel your legs beginning to tremble. This was the problem with standing while having sex, when your legs began to tremble, it took every muscle in your body to remain upright. “Fifteen more days and we don’t have to do this against the wall anymore,” he laughed.

“We don’t have to,” you chuckled, your teeth grazing against the sharpness of his jaw, “But we could if you wanted to…go from the wall, to the couch, to the kitchen floor…”

“You really have missed me,” he muttered. He moved his hand between your writhing bodies, pressing on the bundle of nerves at your core and stilling your movements. His slightly protruding tongue licked at your upper lip. Any modicum of control you had flew out the window as he took your mouth in his. Jumping up, you wrapped your legs as tightly around his waist as was physically possible. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck so that both of your heads were buried in the neck of the other. As the tremors began to roll through you, you bit down lightly on the straining muscle in his neck. “Fuck, baby, please,” you cried. “Fuu…..”

With one final thrust, he released himself inside you as your muscles contracted tightly. “Oh my god, I’ve definitely missed you,” he mumbled. The sweet smell of the sweat on your bodies hung in the air as you released your legs from him. “Unfortunately, I think we have to go to therapy now.”

“Yea, we do,” you replied. “You think they’ll be able to tell we fucked like rabbits before we got there?”

“Probably,” he laughed. “But in a little more than two weeks we don’t have to care.”

My dad wanted me to sign up for the Men’s Health challenge during the start of my next fall semester at college.  "But I am healthy!“ I countered.

"Jacob – Jake – I don’t want my son turning into one of those spoiled academics who looks like he’s into pot and slacking off.  You’ve already picked up an attitude at school and I don’t like it.

We fought and fought and when he told me tuition wouldn’t be covered unless I just shut up and did it, I caved.  Five days a week, and I pushed myself further than I expected to go at first.  It got easier as it went on, I guess, plus my dad was so psychology manipulative about it, and being mad at him about the whole thing just got me fired up.  See how he likes it when I’m in way better shape than him, I thought.  It made me feel cocky to see myself start to take on a more athletic look.

My arms and shoulders were swelling out, getting that football shape and veins popping out that I had never really noticed before.  My pecs filled in as I worked on that six pack.  My neck really thickened up and it felt like my nips, hell, even my dick were more sensitive to the touch than they used to be – in a good way.  I loved stepping on the scale and watching red the numbers go up.  That was the only reward I needed.

"Yeah Jake!” my dad said, wanting a high five – I just smirked and gave it to him.  Ok, I had to admit it felt good to be in shape.  I just looked more handsome and felt more energetic and cooler than I used to.  Really, I wouldn’t want to go back to being the hippie guy I had been turning into a bit.  He wasn’t as motivated and didn’t have this energy.  My voice sounds manlier now – really, there’s been all sorts of changes I didn’t expect.  I never really got why folks work out before, but I’m so glad I went through it.

My beard actually comes in a little thicker; I’ve always got a 5 o'clock shadow, but I have to shave daily, my dad told me, just so I don’t go back to looking like the scruffy loser I was.  I kind of think of beards a lot now, though, just because shaving draws your attention to it.  I liked the hair, you know?  I don’t want to look like some slob though.  I think it’s making me a little weird.  Like I’m always seeing guys with beards and getting a little jealous.  The odd thing is I’m always scoping out hair on a guy, like any sort of hair – legs, pits – I could just shove my face into a guy’s hairy pits or groin, you know?  I think about that a lot, shoving my face into some guy’s body hair.

Sorry, haha, I know that’s kind of fucked up, it’s just that my sex drive has amped way higher since they did this to me.  I mean, I kind of like it.  Ok, I like being like this.  Physical activity really gets your blood pumping and floods you with hormones you didn’t even know you had before.

Truth is, I’m thinking of dick all day now.  Like this body wants to hook up, it’s making me a total perv.  Like a guy slapping his thick meat on my protruded tongue as I sit on my knees and drool, looking up at him…that makes me so fucking hard just thinking about it.  Or me strapping up in a singlet and wrestling another dude down as our cocks start leaking pre and I rip his singlet off and fuck him, like really ram that ass good, until he comes all over the mat and licks it up just to look hot to me.  Yeah man.

So I started hookin up with dudes on my phone.  Couldn’t help it, and man it feels so fuckin good.  Jock dudes only, cut and buff at first but I’m startin to get crazier and hornier thoughts all the time.  Love sayin some sick shit in a frat gut’s ear about how I want to lick his asshole all night and rape the shit out of it, and I might just end up doing it as it really turns me to think that kind of stuff.

Of course I don’t tell my family that I’m hooking up with men now because they’d freak.  But trying to keep it all in just makes me even hornier, I think.  More twisted in this hot ass way.  On weekends especially I’m so ready to get down on my knees with some real jocks and let out this body, man.  I mean they made me work out until all I can think of is my body and sex, right, so I might as well enjoy it.  I love flexin for dudes and feeling up a real jock’s muscle bod.  It’s like I’m becoming addicted to men.  Unleashing the beast, you know?

Even thinking of hooking up with dudes these days me sweat a little and get hard, so I’ll do some pushups to distract myself but that just makes me even harder, you know?  Before you know it I’m either jacking off or hunting for dick.  I go to parties now all the time and am always wondering what other dudes there might be hungry for men.  Love flexing, having fun and showing off.

Fuck, I can’t believe I’m talking like this – only that’s who I am now, dudes.  Like I love this new body so much that you know, I don’t really give a fuck if I’m acting like a cocky fucker who thinks about twisted shit and raping some hot wrestler ass now.  I love it, actually.  Yeah boys.  You know you want to get down on all fours for this and lick this body all over.  If you beg I might allow that.

k-sunrael  asked:

22: Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

The rogue worked tirelessly on a notepad and sketch pen. Completely consumed in the seemingly furious etching. His tongue protruded from the side of his mouth as the pen curved oh so subtly, one could practically see the beads of sweat on his forehead as he tried to get it perfect.

While the duelist was often quick in almost everything he did, he clearly approached the canvas with great care and patients. Finishing, he would muttering to himself, “My masterpiece is complete….” Soon he was checking his watch to be sure of the time, before disappearing with what could be described as a dastardly smile on his face.

Somewhere in Silvermoons Command headquarters, a certain Commander herself was in the middle of the boring proceedings following a court martial. Truly she didn’t want to be there, she had no stock in the trial or vetted interest in the offense. No, she was just an objective voice for the hearing.

As Kelz sighed, something soon caught her eye. What appeared to be a hand waved before a paper was shoved against the window into view. Squinting the blonde haired warrior would try and catch a better look. What she saw produced a loud gasp, leaving the other members of the panel looking at her for clarity.

“Is everything alright Commander Sunwhisper?” One of the others said.

“O-oh uh, yes. Yes everything’s fine, sorry. Please continue.” And as they did, she let out a sigh of relief.

Though when the Commander looked back to the window, that big, veiny, hairy, extremely detailed sketch of a phallus had disappeared from sight.

{Thanks @k-sunrael and sorry @kelzthalassunwhisper it just popped into my head <3}


And other borrowed things.

“Pass me the powder. No – the vial. Yeah. Right there. That one.”

Levi’s hand, which hovered over a shelf filled to the fucking brim with vials that all frankly looked alike, plucked one up under her direction.

Focused on the subject of her experimentation, a spear-like contraption, Hange held out a hand. Her hair was wild (she hadn’t bothered to brush it in days) and she wore a pair of scuffed goggles, which when they shifted, left smudged oily outlines on her cheeks.

Hange, the centerpiece of the controlled chaos that was her lab, looked every part the mad scientist that those who didn’t know any better, thought her to be.  

Levi knew better.

He passed her the vial of grey powder without a word.

“If this works, it will change everything,” she said.

He didn’t doubt it. Hange had a proclivity for such things. For better or worse, the world changed under her hand.

Tongue protruding between her lips, she poured the powder into a canister within the contraption.

Hunched over the device, she muttered, coaxing the cold metal with words of whispered encouragement. “You’ll work. This time, you’ll ignite.”

Levi took back the empty vial when she blindly offered it. Before he could place it back with the others, she made a small noise of dissent. Pushing oily bangs behind her ear, she nodded toward the rear of the lab. “I keep a barrel of the stuff in a secure closet. Refill it for me?”

That she’d purposely sent him away didn’t cross his mind.

The explosion rocked the closet. It was thunder in the confined lab. The barrel from which he’d been scooping tipped and black powder poured over the floor, engulfing tiny, sharp shards of glass. He’d dropped the vial.

Bilious smoke choked the lab. Drawing his cravat over his mouth, he plunged into the disaster. If she’d fucking gone and blown herself up

Two strong hands latched over his shoulders. Hange. Her face was black with powder and one eyebrow appeared to be partially singed. She bared her teeth in a wide, almost manic grin. Roughly shaking his shoulders, she laughed, crowing her victory. “It worked!”

And for a second, he couldn’t see, so profound was his anger.

She’d nearly blown herself up.

He pried her blackened fingers from his arms and said stiffly, “Are you done for today?”

“Aw, Levi. Don’t be mad. I was using a fraction of the gunpowder the spear can hold. It was an almost completely controlled explosion,” she said, and lifted the goggles from her eyes. “And yes. I’m done.”

“Good. I’m leaving.”

If she’d protested he would have left without pause. But she didn’t. Goggles in her hands, she watched him go.

He was halfway across the ruined room before he turned on his heel and marched straight back. Reaching for the front of her shirt, he pulled her toward him. Pressing up on his toes, he tangled his fingers in her singed, messy hair, and dragged her into a rough, fleeting kiss.

“You’re too fucking reckless.”

“I know.”

His fingers slipped from her hair. He pressed a slower, more careful kiss against her lips.

Now I’m leaving.”

He was still angry. But after a few hours spent hacking at Titan dummies, his frustration would lose it’s edge - he knew. She knew it too.

She smiled. “Alright. See you at dinner.”


Shoving the lab door open, he let it swing behind him, ajar. He could only hope the smoke cleared out before she fucked up her lungs.

Hange Zoe was reckless and brilliant and she was going to change the world. 

And it was undeniable: he loved her too fucking much for his own good. In this world, loving anyone was a risky venture. To love a woman like Hange was to court grief. It was addicting, exhilarating, and the aching, bittersweet promise of pain.

He refused to regret it.