Geriatric tumblr (30s) She/Her Demisexual P0rn b0ts, no age, and empty blogs will be blocked. I reblog whatever. Multi-fandom, but get hung up on one thing at a time. Lover of cats, dragons, dungeons and dragons, FFXIV, Baldur's Gate III
The pool of red continues to spread across the ice as the seal mer struggles. Your wet gloves can barely grip his slippery skin, so you resort to clamping his tail between your thighs and dropping your weight on him to pin him down. He hisses, then flops down on the ice, gasping for air.
"How on earth did you get tangled so badly?" You ask.
Most merfolk are feral and not used to human interaction, and usually don't even have the ability to form words. This one can't answer you with words, but he does give you another feisty hiss.
You try and fail to wedge your finger under the fishing net wrapped around his tail. It's cutting into his skin in multiple places, and that's why he's bleeding. It takes at least fifteen minutes to cut the net off, and he complains and wiggles the entire time. As soon as the last piece is removed, you get up and back away.
"You're free, shoo," you say, and walk back up the beach to where your little tent stands valiantly against the whipping wind.
The cold season is harsher than usual, and you almost find yourself regretting the decision to camp here. It's beautiful, though; you can't deny that. You eat a quick warm dinner, pack away the leftovers, and bundle yourself into your sleeping bag. You dream of the ocean, of the salty tide rolling in right next to your sleeping bag. You wake up with a start and find your tent is open. Not because the zip somehow gave out, but because of a large hole torn in the side. A hole that had been stoppered by the thick body of a familiar mer.
The cuts from the fishing line are healing fast, already turning into scabs. He's fast asleep with an assortment of wrappers and gnawed plastic around him. He's eaten your leftovers and half a bag of protein bars. Oat crumbs stick to his lips.
"Really?" You say. "This is what I get for helping you?"
His eyes flutter open, and he regards you for a moment before scooting over and lying on you with a groan of contentment. With his size and the fat he's stored up for winter, he's heavy. Somehow you manage to push him off to the side. He grabs you with one hand and drags you into him. You want to protest, but then you realize how toasty he is. You tuck yourself against his side, shivering in your sleeping bag.
"Don't think I'm letting you off the hook," you warn. "Tomorrow we're going to have a talk about breaking into people's tents."
When morning comes, you have another look at the hole in the tent and realize it's a little too precise to have been caused by the mer. You normally don't have run-ins with other humans thanks to how remote the beach is. You look at the hole and then at the seal mer.
"Were you protecting me?"
He doesn't give any indication that he understands you. Instead, he nips at your fingers, looking for food like a tame mer. He's well-behaved up until the point when you want to put some ointment on his scabs. Then he's hissing and wiggling down the beach like you're some stranger, until you figure out you can distract him with a can of tuna. Then it's all peace and love once again, and you've gained yourself a friend for the rest of your stay.
"when people ask how you're doing, they don't really care." most of them do, actually, the amount they care is just directly proportional to how well they know you. you're just mad you can't be the main character of the Twice Daily.
if i am doing shitty and the check out girl asks me, "how are you?" i will say,"man, i've been better." we are strangers to each other. she doesn't need to know my whole life story. she doesn't need to know about my credit score and my hemorrhoids or my uncle in the hospital. she just needs enough to respond "been there, buddy. hey, at least the day is almost over?" and then we part ways. i have been on both sides of thousands of exchanges like this, the only one making you do a little song and dance is you, my friend
me as a kid reading Dune: I appreciate the detailed world-building that justifies why everyone fights with swords and has mental powers, but the idea of a Butlerian Jihad against computers is pretty silly
me in 2025, trying desperately to find the three (3) places you need to go to to disable the latest helpful AI assistant that's inserted itself into my work chat and is advising me to do things that would be a breach of federal law: Oh Now I Get It
Not to sound like a decrepit, rambling corpse about it, but back in my day Word used to be a pre installed program that came with your computer, if you were running Windows.
No subscription. Just program.
On your computer. You got to use it forever and ever and never had to worry about it going away.
Because it was physically on your computer. As a program. That you actually owned. Not because you got it separately, but because it was a standard inclusion with your computer.
I'm sorry but I'll just never get over it. I remember when companies cared about their products being usable out of the box. I remember when our things belonged to us.
Old man shaking fist at cloud, wherein the cloud is the background of the Windows 98 logo.
“There are no female aliens in our game because we don’t know how to make a female version of this alien” You know that alien you just designed? That male alien? Give it a female voice actor and have characters refer to it as she. That’s it. That’s literally all you have to do
"You're too big," you whimper as he maneuvers you on top of him.
He squeezes your hips. "You wanted this. You wanted to be fucked until you cry, remember?"
"Yes, but–"
"Look at how wet you are." The sultry voice of the incubus teases you. "Leaking all over my cock."
You squirm with embarrassment, but all that does is rub your sensitive pussy against his shaft. He purrs at the sensation, giving your hips a lazy tug back and forth, grinding you against him. It's not just his cock that's big. He's almost twice your size, with hands that can manipulate you into any position he wants.
"Come on, princess. Ride me," he coaxes, giving your nipples a flick.
"S-stop." You shiver.
"Why? Are you embarrassed that I'm all you dream about? That every night you welcome me into your dreams just so I can fuck a couple orgasms out of you?" His voice is mocking, tender, and amused all at once.
You start moving to shut him up, bracing your hand on his belly to give yourself the leverage to rock your hips the way you want. He swallows hard, staring up at you.
"Am I the only one you come to?" You ask, panting.
"Why? Want to make this exclusive?" He smirks, the tip of his tail caressing your arm, then sneaking up to gently circle your neck.
You throw your head back, baring your neck to him.
"Yes, I'll sign a contract."
He growls at that. "You don't know what you're saying."
"I do. I like the way you make me cum, so I want to keep you forever."
His cock throbs inside you, and now you're the one teasing him.
"You'll do anything for me, won't you?" you coo. "Look at you, soft as putty in my hands."
The next sharp thrust of his hips reminds you that he's not all soft, and you topple bonelessly onto his chest.
"Fuck me," you moan, and he does. He knows exactly how to make you cry and beg.
The dream ends the way it always does, with you startling awake in the middle of the night with a mess between your legs. No matter how many nights in a row it happens, you always wake up feeling refreshed. Today is no different. After breakfast, you're getting ready for a morning walk when there's a knock at your door. You open it to find a familiar figure standing outside. He looks so normal in jeans and a cozy-looking sweater that you can almost overlook the horns and claws and sweeping tail. It's him. Your incubus.
Your eyes grow wide.
"Oh my–"
He scoops you into a hug and spins you in a circle.
"I brought the contract," he says.
You pull him inside and go scrounging for a pen to sign it, but before you can get one, he's throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you to the bedroom. You're laughing too hard to speak, but you're definitely not complaining.
Please tell me I'm not the only one who has to schedule lewd inspiration into the two days a month the well isn't parchment dry. Desire evaporates immediately afterwards. All unfinished content will have to wait until the next wave. :')
i just know there was a weird little girl in the middle ages out there stealing snake's eggs and putting them in her family's chicken coop in the hope of hatching a basilisk
god i love the internet because if i said shit like this to people irl they'd probably just stare at me blankly but when i post it online everyone in the notes reacts like this
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