✨Violet✨

this edit is getting taken down from tiktok every time someone reuploads it, its straight up censorship at this point

Im not even american but im having a great time with this

DONT LET THIS DIE

This month people have been tearing Flock cameras off their poles. Perched above public streets, they are birdlike things, weatherproof, and they photograph every passing car and file it in a searchable national database. Somebody cut two of them in half at Washington Avenue and Westcott in Houston, spray-painted the wreckage, and left an American flag on one of them. Police were notified on the morning of the Fourth of July. Somebody severed a camera in Rutherfordton, North Carolina. The police department posted the photograph itself and collected more than twenty thousand comments. “Not all heroes wear capes.” “Give them a medal.” Here is what the cameras do when nobody cuts them down. Cops use them to hunt immigrants and to follow ICE targets across state lines and to find women who ended pregnancies in states where that is a crime and to watch exes and to watch women they want, without a warrant and without a judge. A cop types a reason in a box and the box does not check. A man in Burleson, Texas, told deputies his girlfriend had taken abortion pills. He showed them the photographs, the FedEx envelope, the instructions. Deputies opened a death investigation into a non-viable fetus, and the district attorney told them the state could not charge her, and they searched anyway: 83,345 cameras across 6,809 networks, a month of everywhere she had been. The reason they typed was had an abortion, search for female. The search reached Illinois and Washington, where what she did was legal. They found her in Dallas. She came into the sheriff’s office a week later, and they thought she had come to explain the fetus, and she had come to report that the man who called them had put a gun to her head. A sheriff in Jerome County, Idaho ran his wife’s plate more than seven hundred times in three months. He typed the same reason every time. Test. The attorney general found nothing to charge him with. He retired in April. The Institute for Justice counts at least twenty-two officers who used the system to track people they were romantically interested in, and calls that almost certainly an undercount. And the cameras keep falling.

"Pretty Pretty Please I Don't Want to be a Magical Girl" is a series that follows Aika, a reluctant magical girl, her new friend, Zira and magical mascot, Hoshi. These days, all Aika wants is to be a normal girl but with her "nemesis" Eclipse and the all powerful Lady DeVoid causing trouble, that dream seems to be unlikely.

More under the cut!

DC's Hawk-Girl Summer #1 - "Idle Hands" (2026)

DC's Hawk-Girl Summer #1 - "Idle Hands" (2026)

CALEB and ZAYNE -> Parallels & Antiparallels 2.0

tw | smut. grinding. subleb

You were fucking ruined. You knew it. Caleb knew it. Heck, maybe your neighbors knew it too!

The way you screamed that night, cursing his name into the walls of your apartment without a care in the world. The way you arched into the bed every time he kissed your cervix. You were pretty damn sure that everyone within the vicinity heard you, and soon the whole building would know his name. You don’t know how you were still walking the next day, because that man was a menace to your pussy.

Caleb was the kind of person to overindulge in his meals, you may have only allowed him a taste, but the moment the sweet juices of your cunt caressed his aching red cock—well, to say his mind left to another world was simply an understatement.

You had wanted to try out a new ‘sexy move’ that was guaranteed to have a man cum in an instant, and who was a better subject to test than Caleb; that way you could try it on your date later. His bulky back laid along the couch, not completely fitting his physique, so the rest of his legs dangled at the end; his pants and boxers pulled just enough for his cock to whip out, angry against his stomach already leaking precum in excitement.

Your thighs straddled his waist, panties discarded on the floor, your folds dripping with lust. Caleb had to fight every urge to not rut into your pussy like a dog in heat.

“Mmm ‘kay, are you ready?” Hovering right above his boner, he could feel your heat radiating; he just nodded enthusiastically to your question, desperate to feel you on him, “Yeah–yeah, whenever you are, pips.”

He saw the light from the pearly gates when your soft pudginess touched his length, head laid back in a groan, if you ended it there with yourself sat on his dick, he truly wouldn’t complain. The vibrations of your muscle pulsing atop his girth forced him to inhale sharply, you were so hot, the tips of your clit licking the veins along his length, gently rocking your hips in a rhythm, you could feel every twitch as you traced along him.

It was actual fucking torture, he wasn’t allowed to do anything, he couldn’t pin you to the cushion and fuck you stupid, neither could he slide into your sweet hot pussy while you rode him. He was merely a test subject for your sex ideas, and as a test subject he had to lay there and look pretty while you tried to make him cum at the feeling of your warm sinful wet cunt pulsating on top of him.

You kept your movements slow and steady, sliding his foreskin back and forth, precum mixing in with your arousal acting as a lubricant for the rest of his thickness. “That feel good, ‘leb?” Humming out the question, while your hips circled around his tip, hands pressed against Caleb’s big chest as you found a good rhythm.

His pathetic groans were your only answer and it wasn’t long before he began to spill his entire load on his t-shirt. Grey cloth stained with spurts of white goo, and the poor man making this mess was completely out of it. Breath freshly gone from his lungs, burnt like a tomato, and hips jerking from overstimulation.

But he forgot you weren’t completely his yet. Just a fuck-toy. A test buddy. He was alone with his sticky left-overs while you made your way to the shower. Cleaning up before you went to your blind date, giggling to yourself of the image that would be your date when you finished with them. Breathless and creamed all over. Just like your Caleb.

tags | @lavielavigne @killa-mermaid @pearlescenthoney @viperify @cloverbbun @hayatoseyepatch

𝜗𝜚 CALEB let's you use him in his sleep.

He’s barely awake, sprawled on his back, shirtless and warm, breathing slow and deep with one arm draped lazily across your body. His hair is tousled, his mouth parted just slightly, pink lips glistening with sleep. He smells like shampoo and fresh sheets, like home.

You’ve been laying on top of him for an hour now, your cheek squished against his thick pec, his steady heartbeat lulling you into a daze. But there’s one big, big problem.

Your core has been throbbing the entire time.

“Caleb~” you whisper, pouting as you wiggle a little against him. Your voice comes out sticky sweet, nearly a whine, lips brushing his skin as you press soft kisses to his chest.

He groans softly, barely shifting, palm massaging your thigh without thinking. “I know, pipsqueak…” he mumbles sleepily, “but mmmh… too tired…”

His voice is gravelly, thick with exhaustion, but the way his fingers squeeze your thigh—slow, deliberate—sends heat shooting straight to your core. You clench around nothing, breath catching at the dull ache between your legs.

But then…

“Use me, baby…” he whispers suddenly, not even opening his eyes. His voice drops low and broken, just shy of a whimper. “Mmmhh… wanna feel you too…”

You blink, stunned. “Wha—?” He just nods, still half-asleep, his arm falling limply back to the bed as he slips further into slumber. And now? Now your pussy’s practically drooling.

Your breath trembles as you slowly slide down his body, nuzzling lower, lower, until your nose presses into the warm bulge in his sweatpants. You inhale shakily—he smells like sweat and skin and him—and you press the softest kiss through the fabric. He stirs, a low whine escaping his throat, and you swear you see his hips shift the tiniest bit. So you do it again.

Another soft kiss. Another nuzzle. Your tongue darts out and licks a little stripe through the cotton, and he moans. A sweet, sleepy sound, head tipping back on the pillow, brows furrowed like he’s dreaming of exactly what’s happening.

You slide his waistband down just enough to free his cock—heavy, flushed, already twitching even in sleep—and your lips part in awe. Your tongue presses flat against the underside of it, licking slowly from base to tip before wrapping your mouth around the head.

He gasps, breath hitching, hips twitching weakly. “Mmhhnn… baby… yeah…” he breathes, not fully conscious but feeling everything. You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as your saliva drips down his shaft. You moan around him, the vibration making his cock jerk in your mouth, his abs tightening beneath your palm. But he never opens his eyes—too tired, too wrecked.

When you climb back up and sink down onto him minutes later, he lets out the prettiest, broken sigh in his sleep, like you just made all his dreams come true.

You move slowly, grinding your hips down as you bite into his shoulder to muffle your sounds, tears pooling in your eyes at the stretch. His cock fits perfectly inside you even when he’s completely still, even when you’re the one doing all the work.

And Caleb? Still half-asleep. Still moaning. Still letting you use him.

You feel like a goddamn pervert riding your boyfriend’s dick while he’s drifting in and out of sleep, but when his arms weakly wrap around you and he breathes out, "so warm… feel so good, pipsqueak…"—

mornings are spent with you hanging off his back as he moves around the kitchen, making breakfast for the two of you. most times, you don’t even make it to the dining room because caleb just drops you onto the counter, slots himself between your legs, and feeds you toast while your arms are wrapped around his neck.

lunch is spent in the living room. caleb’s famous braised pork belly sits at the center, with a lot of side dishes spread out across the coffee table as the two of you sit beside each other on the floor, shoulders touching. he watches you with eyes full of love as you enjoy the food he prepared wholeheartedly. the little hums you let out after each bite are enough to make his heart flutter. once you’re done eating, cleanup is spent with him washing the dishes while you stay beside him, drying them off with a towel.

afternoons mean nap time—caleb’s second favorite time of day. naps are taken on the couch, not exactly ideal for his height, but he bears with it because cuddling with you makes up for the back pain he’s sure to have later. you’re laid on top of him as he lies flat on his back, your face tucked between his pecs. his arms slip around you, one resting on your waist and the other grabbing your thigh, dragging it up along his hip.

affection at nighttime varies from innocent cuddles and pampering to more intense activities that involve more than just skin-to-skin contact. but it all ends the same way—caleb, shirtless and in only his boxers, lying on his side and hugging you. you’re dressed in just your underwear and his old daa shirt, tucked close to his chest. one of your legs is hiked up over his side, your arms somehow looped around his neck despite the awkward angle.

caleb loves your clinginess because it makes him feel better about his own need to be close to you at all times. he feels validated, knowing that you accept whatever he has to offer—and that you even initiate, instead of leaving everything up to him.