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[milo-is-rambling]

I wonder how many factory line jobs shown in the early seasons of this show (Unwrapped) have been replaced (partially or fully) by machinery now. Hmm.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

What I Wouldn't Do

This fanfiction is a Valentine's Day exchange gift for the lovely @henderdads. Cass, Eddie absolutely hates Valentine's Day, but for Steve? Well. He's willing to make an exception. Have an amazing Valentine's Day, you deserve it so much!!

Sometimes, it is difficult to reconcile several different truths in our lives. 

Eddie currently has this dilemma. 

Truth A: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson’s boyfriend, allegedly loves sappy romantic things, Valentine's Day included.

Truth B: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington's boyfriend, feels like if the world ever has to end, it should do so on February 14th, for this is the worst day of all days, the day of heart-shaped chocolate that tastes like crap, couples exchanging sweet words and bodily fluids, sometimes even semi-publicly, and don't even get him started about that horrible romantic music. 

After swearing on the Munson doctrine he won’t sell his soul to consumerism for anything and anyone but Steve, Eddie Munson decides to ignore Truth B. Steve Harrington deserves the best Valentine's day in the history of this idiotic holiday and Eddie has a hunch, a massive, Everest-sized hunch, that in all of his previous Valentine's days, Steve was always the one to do all the work. His beautiful and brave people-pleasing boyfriend. 

Then Eddie realizes another very uncomfortable truth. He has no idea how to celebrate Valentine’s Day. He spent the twenty one-ish years of his existence avoiding the holiday, so now he has to do some research. 

He starts small. When they walk together in the Hawkins center, careful not to touch or hold hands because Hawkins still remains a backward hellhole, he notes what Steve looks at. If his eyes linger on a certain flower for a few seconds, he makes a mental note. A mental note means in Eddie's case that he repeats the name of the flower ad nauseum, quickly excuses himself and scribbles it onto his forearm not to forget. He even buys a permanent marker for this. He can't forget anything, not when it's important for Steve.

When Steve asks about the scribbles, he claims it's for the next campaign. He even draws a sword and a shield next to the notes to avoid suspicion.

He asks many questions, most of them under the pretense of helping Gareth with his dates. "I swear, Steve, when he's lovestruck, he gets completely stupid. Not stupid stupid, Gareth's smart, but he can't hold rhythm and we need him to hold it, he's our drummer! So save this suffering aspiring rockstar and tell me, what do you think is the best type of chocolate? Milk chocolate? Okay, and is that like, universal? Did your previous dates like it? I see, a majority then! Sooo...are you a part of that majority?" 

Very smooth. 

See, Eddie doesn't give a flying demobat about chocolate types, he's more into hard candy. He doesn't like cut flowers, they die anyways because you cut them, how is that fair to that flower, huh? To die for being pretty? And of course, he hates the whole EXPECTATION of Valentine's Day. 

But the more he asks, the more he finds out, he doesn't see it as participating in the mindless machinery of lovestruck idiots. Instead, he sees the flush on Steve's cheeks when he talks about dark chocolate with dried raspberries and how his parents once brought it back from dad's trade conference, how it was love at first taste. He scratches out the idea for a bouquet of flowers when Steve mentions he’s always hated them because the flowers are so beautiful and vibrant, but they’re cut for an obligation in their prime. “It sounds stupid when I say it,” he chuckles, “but I want them to live until they’re ugly and withered, you know? They’re worth way more than their looks.”

Eddie could kiss him right there and then. And he does. 

He brings it all together, prepares all of Steve’s favorites with a silly twist because it’s Eddie, and Eddie lives for silly things. It really needs to be his favorites because Steve once admitted to him that most people with the exception of Robin and Dustin don’t really know what he likes, they just assume. And Steve is happy that people even thought about him, he thanks them and treasures those things that don’t mean anything to him. To Steve, being thought about is enough. 

Well, not to Eddie Munson. 

He asks Steve not to plan anything for their Valentine's Day. Or more precisely, he asks him to stay free and available and not worry his beautifully hairy head. He knows that if he didn't say this, Steve would have gone above and beyond for him, he would have likely taken Eddie to a concert with music so loud he’d get a migraine, but he’d suffer through it. So Eddie has to stop that from happening.

On the actual day, Eddie prepares everything. He sends Gareth ("You owe me so much for this. SO MUCH, MUNSON. I actually wanted to watch this tonight!") to rent Steve's favorite movie and goes himself to get access to the Hawkins High with…almost completely legal means, just a little bit of bribing here, some promises for a lengthy D&D campaign there, and of course lots and lots of nougat. 

He gathers everything in his van, waits for the kids and the janitor to get out and then starts setting the scene. 

There are two more incompatible truths that Eddie Munson grapples with: 

Truth A: Eddie Munson fucking HATES the Hawkins High. He wants it to burn down in flames, with only the theater room staying intact. 

Truth B: Steve Harrington sometimes wistfully mentions how he wishes he could have dated Eddie Munson in high school. How they’d share lunches, trade secret kisses in the hallways. He wishes himself and the world had been different. 

And so Eddie Munson grits his teeth, walks those cursed hallways he only managed to escape a few months back and counts on Robin Buckley to deliver his invitation with flair. “Extra points if you get him a trumpet solo, Buckley!” 

Robin apparently delivers because only half an hour after the expected invite, as he is smoking his fifth cigarette - don’t blame the guy, he’s nervous! He’s got a big date! - Steve arrives with a smile that’s equally excited and nervous. He keeps running his fingers through his hair and overall looks just biteable. 

Steve walks up to him and brushes his fingers against Eddie’s wrist, discreetly as they have established. It’s their own version of a kiss. “I thought you hated Valentine’s Day?” he asks and he looks so apologetic that Eddie promises to base all villains in his new campaign on all the people who ever made Steve feel he wanted too much. 

Eddie glances around, deems it safe and pulls Steve into an actual kiss. "It might be Valentine's day for you, Steve. For me, it's the "Steve Harrington Appreciation Day." He winks at Steve and relishes in the slight blush that has crept into his cheeks. “The name is already registered and all. No changes possible or accepted. Follow me, big boy.” 

Steve laughs when he sees a set cafeteria table with something that brings back so many memories. How did Eddie get two portions of school lunch?! The man has to be magical, he decides. They eat together, chat about their day, and then Eddie decides feeding each other is off the table because they’re giggling so much he almost stabbed Steve with the fork. 

They walk the hallways together, hand in hand, and Eddie sometimes turns around, sticks his tongue out at an imaginary girl and sneers “back off! He’s mine!”. 

Steve turns after Eddie and nods. “What he said,” he whispers and squeezes Eddie’s waist. 

Eddie then hands Steve a sports bag he stashed in the changing rooms and winks at him. “What are you waiting for, Harrington? We have some balls to toss! Baskets to score. That.” And before Steve has a chance to protest, he gets his own bag and starts changing into those awfully familiar PE shorts in all their green and white glory. 

Steve just watches him, mouth hanging open. “Now I get why I never saw you in these,” he mumbles as he also starts changing. “I would have realized I’m bi like, at that moment.” 

But Eddie just laughs and pulls his hair into a loose bun. “Oh, Steve. You have no idea what those shorts on you did to the little closeted me. The thoughts they gave me.”

“Lucky for you, baby,” says Steve and pulls Eddie to his feet, “this time you’re allowed - and strongly encouraged - to both watch AND touch.” Then he cocks his head to the side and adds: “Well. If you score at least one point.” 

Eddie tries. Fails. Tries again, even with Steve helping him. Eventually, they settle for a quick game of tic-tac-toe which Eddie wins and happily squeezes Steve’s butt. 

Their final destination is the only class they ever shared, history. All desks are empty, except for one - the middle one in the second row, where Steve used to sit. There’s dark chocolate with dried raspberries, Steve’s favorite, and a pot of flowers. Yellow, another favorite. 

“The lady in the flower shop said they should live, like, really long,” shrugs Eddie and moves the chair for Steve so he can sit down. “I forgot their name the second I got them, but Buckley knows and she was asked to deliver a booklet with how to care for them.” 

Steve drags him down to his level and kisses Eddie, deep and long. He’s either crying or laughing into the kiss, maybe both. “I don’t know what to say,” he whispers into Eddie’s cheek. “All of this…is right. It’s me. You remembered.” 

“Eh…kinda. Tried to.” Eddie gives up and lets himself be seated on Steve’s lap. “Actually, I had a small…cheat sheet. Let me show you.”

Steve watches as Eddie takes off his bracelet and watch and sets both on the desk. He gasps as he sees a coiling pattern around Eddie’s wrist, something that looks like a dotted or scratched tattoo all around, but that’s not it. Because then Eddie moves his wrist closer and he can read all the words on Eddie’s skin. 

DARK CHOCOLATE WITH RASPBERRIES

NO CUT FLOWERS! YELLOW IS GOOD

COFFEE WITH ONE DROP OF MILK

NO ICE IN DRINKS - TRIGGERS MIGRAINES

BELTS AND SHOELACES - GOOD GIFTS TO WEAR

FREDDIE MERCURY

GOOD OLD FASHIONED LOVER BOY

NO KETCHUP! 

STRAWBERRY ICE CREAM

These and so much more. All of Steve’s favorites, all what made him feel like himself, forever preserved in Eddie’s skin. 

He buries his head in Eddie’s shoulder and holds him so tight Eddie has trouble breathing, but then he decides that oxygen is overrated. “You’re so crazy,” sobs Steve into his shoulder. 

Eddie laughs again into the quiet of their former school. “I know.”

“And I love you so much.” 

He kisses Steve’s forehead. “I know. And I love you too. That’s why I had to do this, you know. Because even when I’m old and ugly, just like these flowers will be one day, when I’m senile and can hardly remember my own name, I will look at my hand and I’ll know all that is important.” 

Steve holds him even tighter if that’s possible, but maybe oxygen is needed just a little. Eddie gently kisses Steve’s head again and whispers: “We’re not done yet, love. Can you let me go so I can play us a movie? Something nice.” 

The arms crushing him loosen their hold and Steve briefly turns away to wipe at his eyes. “Sure. Sorry, I just…this is new for me. But good. So good.” 

“You deserve the good. All of it.” Eddie means it. And if seeing Steve appreciated as he should have been all of his life is redeemed by something as mundane as ignoring some truths about himself? Eddie is ready and willing. 

As he puts Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom into the VHS player, he realizes something terrifying - he’s actually LOOKING FORWARD TO THE NEXT VALENTINE’S DAY. 

Oh well. Time to adjust the Munson doctrine. After all, it might become a Munson-Harrington doctrine one day, so it deserves some revision.

[canmom]

Do you think Hideaki Anno is right-wing or is it too difficult to tell from his works?

Haha that's a question.

I'll focus on nationalism rather than trying to get into, say, gender politics here, since that's the accusation that most seems to follow Anno around.

Anno's politics are... hard to pin down from his work alone, I think. He's like... a prototypical case of that generation of 'apolitical' otaku that followed after the Anpo generation, with Eva pretty much the definitive statement of the 90s psychological turn. But that said... I can definitely see the argument that there are nationalist themes in some of his works like Gunbuster, though I definitely don't buy every reading in this series (lots of dubious kanji reading). He definitely has that otaku fascination with war machinery and war media (apparently he's a big fan of The Battle for Okinawa and watched it over 100 times), which can easily blend into imperialist ideology.

But there's complications here. For example, the Animekritik series cites the setting of Gunbuster in Okinawa as something formative to the nationalist ideology they are trying to illustrate - in part in relation to the ongoing controversy over American military bases in Okinawa. Anno has at least been on record as saying he's disinterested in Western culture, and I can see the reading of Jung-Freud as an external Other who is shown up by the Japanese girls, somehow simultaneously representing the USSR, Europe and the States. But anti-Americanism in Japan can come in both left and right wing flavours (c.f. Anpo). Communists want the Americans out too! Portraying Okinawa as a military training camp in a Japan-led military coalition certainly comes across as a more nationalist take on that whole matter, but I feel like it's got about the same level of serious nationalist commitment as Doctor Who putting random British people all over space.

When Gainax has played around with nationalist imagery it's usually been in a kind of ironic sendup way - see Ash's writeup about the Aikoku Sentai Dai Nippon controversy, in which Daicon Film staff were disdainful at the accusation that their goofy toku film reflected a genuine nationalist sentiment. While Imaishi takes it further, a lot of Anno's work is also about playfully reappropriating past works. In Anno's case a lot of that is classic tokusatsu, Ultraman in particular, and also Leiji Matsumoto's scifi, notably Space Battleship Yamato, which, well... you know the deal there lol. But it's not so simple to go from that to 'Anno is a nationalist'.

Eva doesn't tend to attract these accusations, but I recall the controversy came back around with Shin Godzilla, though to my mind it's hard to find a straightforwardly nationalist reading of that movie. (It's a film about the experience of the earthquake and Fukushima nuclear plant meltdown, and it's critical of Japan's bureaucracy, but equally one where the JSDF repeatedly get their shit handed to them and civilian infrastructure is what actually stops Godzilla - not to mention Godzilla is painted as quite a tragic figure here!) It all feels pretty tenuous.

I haven't seen as many of Anno's live action films as I'd like, so I can't comment as much on the more recent Shin films, Love & Pop, Shiki-Jitsu etc. And it's always possible for subtler allusions to slip by the anglophone viewer. Still, I don't personally think Anno's post-Gunbuster work is particularly nationalist in outlook. I certainly haven't seen any evidence of him favouring, say, war crime denial, anti-Korean sentiment, remilitarisation, etc etc. - he's definitely not as dubious a figure as someone like Hajime Isayama. But it's not like, anti-nationalist either! It's just kind of hard to read in those terms.

So I lean towards your second option, I'm not convinced he's a nationalist or particularly right wing. He happily associates with Hayao Miyazaki, who's definitely not a right wing guy. But Anno'll also let hilariously cooked stuff like whatever On A Gloomy Night was supposed to be into the Animator Expo. So I don't think he's particularly left wing either, he's no Ikuni! But Anno's fiction is very individual focused, full of psychoanalytic themes and internal conflict. He can vividly portray trauma and complex power dynamics. There's a lot to appreciate in works like Eva from a left-wing angle. I don't really know why this association of nationalism follows him around.

Idk, maybe there's a bunch of interviews I'm missing! Presumably you have a reason for asking this question...

[torscrawls]

A Ghost by Any Other Name ch.3

You can read the whole story on AO3!

If you prefer tumblr: Chapter 1 can be found here. Chapter 2 can be found here.

---

Danny was big. Like seriously big, with a tall frame and wide shoulders, but Tim didn’t think he had been for very long. He still moved his body as if he wasn’t quite used to the size of it yet. Maybe Tim should have been intimidated, but he was too used to big enemies and siblings to really take notice. 

No, what he had taken notice of was the prosthesis making up the other's left arm. A prosthesis that Tim would bet his whole hidden stash of coffee in the Batcave was homemade, a fact that had spurred him to start talking with the guy when he had spotted him sitting alone at lunch.

A prosthesis that currently lay on the table between Tim and Danny where they sat in an otherwise empty room usually used for construction and prototype testing.

Tim hovered with his hands over the arm as he looked up at Danny and asked for the third time, “Are you sure?”

Danny nodded, straightening the liner covering his now exposed upper arm. “Yeah, man. I’ve been doing this solo ever since— well, since I got it. If you could help me work out some kinks that would be great!”

Tim let his hands fall to the prosthesis, tilting it this way and that to get a better look at it as he took in the patchwork of metal. He didn't have any trouble believing that no one else had worked on it as it was clearly cobbled together from whatever Danny had been able to find. The soldering was stable, but looked patchy from where it had been stretched thin to cover what it needed to.

It was an impressive piece of machinery to have been made by one person, even more so from what were clearly scrap-pieces, but if Tim was being honest the most impressive thing was that it moved at all.

Considering its weight, its many functions, and the length at which Danny could use it without charge, there was no known source that could possibly power it. 

Danny had given him some vague explanation of batteries, sustainable energy, self-sufficiency, and a whole lot of nonsensical buzzwords. Tim might not be an expert in prosthetics, but even he knew that it wasn't possible to have batteries big enough to sustain it for a whole day, and small enough to keep the arm as lightweight as it was.

“So,” Tim said as he placed the arm back on the table. “What do you need help with?”

Danny looked up from where he was fiddling with the fingers of the prosthesis. “I can’t get the thumb to move but I'm thinking of adding something to make the articulation of the fingers better, so if you have any ideas about that I would love to hear it.” He perked up, “Oh! I also need to make it lighter, I think, so that I can keep it on for the whole day. It’s starting to become too heavy for me.” Danny gave a strained laugh. “Not getting any younger, you know?”

Tim didn't buy the excuse of age, Danny wasn't old by any means and he certainly was big enough to be able to support the weight, but he had noted that Danny didn't use the arm every day. Which meant that there was another reason for it. 

“Is this related to your… Illness?” Tim asked carefully.

Danny didn’t answer. Which in itself was answer enough.

“Can I ask… What it is?”

He really didn’t want to pry, but maybe Danny didn’t seek out treatment because he lacked the money for it. If so, Tim found that he wanted to help. “If it’s a question of money, then I can—”

“It’s not,” Danny cut him off. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

“Alright.” Tim dropped the subject as he reached for a small, closed hatch at the underside of the arm. “What’s this part? The power source, right?”

He had just managed to get it open an inch, peeking inside to see something glowing green when Danny snapped the lid shut with a harsh, “Don't touch that.”

Tim held up his hand in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry.”

Danny kept his eyes narrowed and fixed on Tim a second longer, but then relaxed. “No, I'm sorry. I just—It feels personal, okay?”

“Hey, no worries. I get it,” Tim assured him, trying to curb his own curiosity by reminding himself to feel grateful that Danny had trusted him enough to let him work on the arm to begin with. “Thanks for letting me take a look at it.”

“I know it’s not much,” Danny said self-consciously.

It was, but Tim understood what he meant; understood the frustration of being restricted by material things. Tim would love to see what Danny could do with better materials, and there were some benefits to being the son of the richest guy in town. 

“I might have some materials lying around, if you're interested. And I might have an idea about that thumb.”

Danny's whole face lit up.

Tim realized that they were actually starting to become friends. Wish meant that there was only one thing he could do in this situation.

——

Tim scanned the results of the background check he had just completed on Danny.

He had come up clean. Almost too clean. But he also came from a small city in the middle of nowhere; maybe there hadn’t been that many opportunities to get into trouble in Amity Park.

Tim had found no signs that Danny was in any way out to get them, which was great since Tim really didn’t have the time and energy to fight some new villain pretending to be his work-friend and coffee-buddy. His heart wouldn’t be able to take it.

He did trust in Wayne Enterprise’s HR-department (and security department’s) ability to screen new employees but since he had started to run into Danny more often he wanted to investigate himself. But to his surprise, those accidental meetings seemed to just be actually accidental. So even if Tim had been burned one too many times, Danny was starting to look like an actually nice guy. No matter his big size, slightly uncanny looks, and cobbled together technology. The villains can’t get all the cool people, Tim thought smugly and found that he was more relieved than he wanted to admit that Danny had come up clean.

“A new friend?” Dick asked with a raised eyebrow and an infuriating smirk as he leaned over the back of Tim’s chair to get a better look at the screen.

“A colleague,” Tim corrected distractedly as he scanned the documents.

Danny almost seemed too perfect; a friend factory-made to suit Tim.

He liked coffee, he was witty, not afraid to tease him even though Tim was his boss, quick-witted, and had a big interest in technology and inventions. A fact that was proven in his work as well as his prosthetic arm.

In truth, Tim had already started to sneak Danny some projects under the table. Not bat-classed project, but… Maybe some personal things he had under development and would like a second pair of eyes on. And Danny’s insights had proven to be invaluable. Tim looked over his shoulder at the still-smirking Dick. Danny was also non-judgmental and non-infuriating, in contrast to certain other people that should not be named.

As if hearing his thoughts, Dick laughed and nudged his shoulder. “This is a thorough check for a colleague.”

Tim averted his eyes. Maybe it had been longer than he thought since he made a normal friend.

Dick smiled. “I’m glad it came up clean. You could really need some more friends.” 

Dick ignored Tim’s outraged “Hey!” as he scanned over the document before pausing with a frown. “Amity Park? Where's that?”

“No idea.” Tim clicked away on the computer. “Apparently a small town that mostly makes its living as a tourist trap. And their draw is…” Tim trailed off as he digested the last word before exclaiming, “Seriously?!”

Dick leaned in. “What?”

“Ghosts. The whole town claims to be haunted by ghosts.”

“Alright? That's eccentric, but it's not that strange.”

“No, it's just…” Tim dragged a hand through his hair. “It's the second time lately that ghosts have come up.”

And he really didn't want to associate Danny with the two lunatics from a couple of months ago.

“Well, maybe it’s a sign that you should change careers and become a ghost hunter! Can you imagine? A superhero ghosthunter!” Dick laughed and punched him in his shoulder.

Tim snorted and swatted at him. They were really lucky that ghosts weren't real.

——

Of course, after foolishly tempting fate, ghosts stayed not real for far shorter than Tim would have preferred. It wasn’t even a month later when his entire worldview reoriented itself (and really, he should be used to that by now) as that belief died and didn’t come back to life. Which seemed to be a rarity all of a sudden.

At first, they hadn't realized what they were; seemingly harmless and, most unsettlingly, impossible to catch. The blobby apparition had fazed through any and all containment devices they had tried to capture them in, and more often than not they hadn't even been able to touch them. None of their sensors worked, just spouting nonsense readings that fluctuated wildly.

The blobs were hard to handle but thankfully they weren't very destructive since they mostly caused confusion and some accidents brought on by gawking bystanders.They weren’t really attacking anyone—yet, the cynical part of Tim’s mind added—but they were causing enough of a panic to be a problem.

Thankfully, Gothamites generally knew to keep well away from new and unknown possible threats.

The real problem was that they had no idea what they were dealing with and no idea on how to make it go away, but overall Gotham’s green and glowing new decor didn’t really take president over all the daily attacks from both villains and normal criminals.

Tim had foolishly (once again, damn it Tim) believed that was it.

And then he got a message on his communicator masquerading as a cellphone summoning him to the cave for a new type of threat. Tim straightened up from where he had been sprawled over Danny's sagging armchair. “I'm sorry, I have to go. Something came up.”

“Oh?” Danny looked up, eyes immediately jumping from the video game on the TV to Tim. “You okay?”

Tim waved him off, feeling a bit guilty at the clear worry on his friend's face. “Yeah, yeah, nothing bad. Just… A family thing.”

Danny grimaced and Tim guessed he'd had his fair share of family things. He let go of the controller in his right hand, instead grabbing at his prosthetic left, rubbing at it as if in pain.

Tim got to his feet. “It was nice hanging out though. Same time next week?”

Danny's grimace immediately turned into a smile and even though it looked genuine, there was something strained at the corners. “Sure! Good luck with the family.”

There was real fear there, barely visible under the happiness. Tim reluctantly discarded the observation, reminding himself that his friend wasn't a mystery for him to solve. “Thanks. Good luck with the boss without me.”

Danny laughed and shucked a pillow at him. “As if your so-called skills make any difference.”

Tim ducked the soft projectile with a smile before leaving, mind already focusing on what new threat could have come up for him to be called in on one of his few nights off.

Said threat turned out to be an intangible, periodically invisible, glowing, and floating villain. All of those characteristics wouldn’t necessarily lead Tim to the conclusion that he was facing off against a ghost—Gotham was filled with a lot of weird people with even weirder powers—but what sealed the deal was the fact that this new villain just wouldn’t shut up about being one. The ghost of boxes, to be more specific.

Tim would say that he had higher hopes for his own afterlife, but who was he to judge?

And, sure, if that had been the end of it then maybe the easiest answer would have been that they were facing off against a man with very specific interests and an unfortunate chemical accident in his recent past (it had happened before, more than once) but now they were staring down a new villain every other week. All of them proudly proclaiming themselves to be ghosts, and all of them freaking every sensor and scan the Bats threw at them the fuck out.

So ghosts. Were apparently a thing.

Tim wished he was more surprised than he was.

So far, most ghost attacks would stop seemingly by themselves. The ghost in question would be mid-rant and mid-destruction, only for them to suddenly pause, eyes wide. Every time this happened, the ghost’s focus was directed at the group of innocent civilians unwisely trying to catch a glimpse of the action that always accumulated during attacks that weren't too destructive. Their leading theory was that the ghosts were simply scared of the living.

Which was lucky, because the ghosts were both frighteningly strong as well as too many for comfort. Tim was desperately looking for more dependable ways of combating them, but so far he had come up with nothing.

It was hard to fight an enemy you couldn't touch and they weren't used to feeling so powerless.

Which also meant that the small and round creatures that shared all the characteristics of the bigger ghosts, except for the fact that they were shaped more like jelly than people, were also—more than likely—ghosts. It had taken them a frankly embarrassing amount of time to reach that conclusion. Yes, Tim was well aware that Bruce was a world-known detective and that he himself was a genius. No, neither of them had mentioned this slow deduction to anyone.

All of this led up to Tim stumbling into work on a Wednesday, definitely late and definitely operating on way too little sleep. They had all stayed up late yesterday (or maybe it was today? It was hard to even think) facing off against a ghost that claimed to be able to control technology. Okay, facing off might have been an exaggeration. The truth of the matter was that they had ran. The risk of an unknown villain, someone with largely unknown powers and unknown motivations, getting into their tech had been enough of a threat to warrant a tactical retreat.

Which had proven to be a good choice since not even half an hour later there was an attack on their servers. And then another. And another. All of them seemingly from the same source. They had taken readings and scanned everything five times over, but the source of the attack seemed to adapt and change and move in a way that was almost… conscious.

Tim would swear off coffee forever if it turned out not to be the ghost that claimed to be able to control technology. They had been able to stay on top of the attacks but only barely, which was very worrying considering their top-of the line and frankly absurdly paranoid firewalls and assorted protections, as well as the fact that they had, well, Tim on their side.

He promised to never mock Bruce and his paranoid precautions again. At least for a week.

Thankfully they managed to contain the possible (probable) ghost in one of the computers stored in the basement by continuously upgrading and changing their fire walls. But this thing was learning and adapting faster than they could keep up with. It was only a matter of time before it broke out.

Too bad they had no idea who to reach out to. Or even where to start looking for a person who specialized in supernatural possession of computers. The science of ghost hunting didn’t exactly amass reputable scientists and inventors, or if it did, they were probably laying low so as to not get lumped in together with their more… eccentric colleagues. Understandably.

Which meant that trying to find a reputable expert on ghosts was as impossible as grabbing a hold of the ghosts themselves. But Tim knew that he would never be lucky enough for an expert to just stumble into his life, so they kept on searching.

So. No sleep. A whole work-day in front of him. If only he didn't have to keep up appearances. 

Tim tried to keep a brave face and go about his normal duties in his day job and nightly activities, but the threat hung heavy over his head. As well as the lack of sleep, but that didn’t feel as heroic.

Thankfully, his tiredness seemed to act as a homing beacon for his new friend and before he even sat down at his lunch table, Danny was there with two extra-large coffees.

Tim accepted one of them with teary eyes. “You’re a life-saver.”

Danny laughed. “At least I can keep you from joining me.”

And Danny did look tired. He always did.

He was holding his own coffee in his shaking right hand. Apparently the little tweaks and upgrades they had made on the arm hadn’t been enough to make it as reliable as he had wanted, if Danny chose not to use it. Instead it was hanging at his side, looking a little less cobbled together with a new top-plate and Tim felt happy knowing that Danny had taken him up on using the materials.

Tim had started to be able to anticipate what kind of day it was going to be just from how Danny held himself and today didn’t seem like a good one. He was still unsure of what exactly was wrong with his friend, but he was scared to ask again and risk offending him. Their relationship was still too new.

So Tim sipped his coffee and simply said, “I appreciate you keeping me alive.”

“We don’t need any more ghosts,” Danny muttered under his breath and took a sip from his own coffee.

The comment made Tim’s exhausted brain suddenly remember that Danny came from a town known for being haunted. It was a slim chance—since it probably was a cheap way of luring in tourists—but maybe Danny had some insights that could help them with the newly appeared ghosts. And especially the one trapped in the computer in the basement.

The only problem being that Danny had never revealed where he was from and Tim couldn't very well admit to doing a background check on him. That would probably ruin the mood since he was fairly certain that wasn't normal behavior between friends. Admittedly his perspective on what was normal or not was pretty skewed; something his siblings never hesitated to point out to him. Which was true, but they really didn't have a leg to stand on when it came to being normal. 

Tim made sure he sounded casual as he tapped the logo on his coffee cup and asked, “Hey, do they have Crabby Coffee where you’re from?”

Danny paused, something suspicious in his eyes. Then he smiled and asked in an almost casual tone of voice, “What, you don't believe I'm a local?”

Tim snorted. “You asked me if Arkham was an arcade just last week. Besides, you don’t have the right accent.”

“Fair,” Danny allowed with a shrug and a grin that was only slightly strained at the edges.

“So...?”

“I’m from Amity Park,” Danny said in a way that indicated that he didn’t like the fact, mumbling the last words as he looked away from Tim

Tim pretended to be surprised. “Amity? Never heard of it. Is it known for anything special?” And then he almost winced at his own clumsy and obvious fishing for information. Bruce would be so disappointed if he saw this. Okay, maybe he was more sleep-deprived than he thought.

It was lucky that Danny seemed distracted by some sort of inner conflict as he shuffled from foot to foot, not meeting Tim's gaze. “Well… It's a tourist thing…”

“Oh? Like what?” And now Tim was interested why Danny seemed so hesitant to share. Not a mystery, Tim reminded himself.

Danny deflated, looking defeated. “It's ghosts.” Then he switched to the overly-enthusiastic way of speaking inherent to all slogans, clearly mimicking some commercial, “Come on down to America's most haunted town! Guaranteed to scare the ghost right out of you!” and then in a fast paced mutter, “The city of Amity Park is not liable to retrieve any ghosts that decide to leave their bodies during your visit.”

Score.

“That's so cool!” Tim didn't even have to fake his interest as he asked, “Was it really? Haunted?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Danny hedged.

Tim gestured at Danny with his coffee cup. “I'm asking you.”

Danny paused with a worried frown on his face that he quickly tried to hide, looking at Tim intently as if he tried to work something out. Then he shook his head and simply said, “No.”

And it was the first time Tim had detected a lie from his new friend. Which meant that he did know something. Tim felt himself get excited at the prospect of a challenge, a mystery, and this time it was connected to their current problems which meant that it was fair game. He finally had a lead and he refused to let it go.

Why would Danny lie about his town being haunted? Was he scared of being made fun of? Didn’t he think that Tim would believe him? Ghosts was a rather eccentric thing for your town to be known for, maybe he had been ridiculed before.

Or maybe, a more jaded part of his brain supplied, he had been threatened to not say anything. Maybe he was hiding something.

Maybe Tim would have to show him some things related to ghosts and see how he reacted sooner rather than later.

“You sure?”

“Yes. It's not haunted.”

“Ah, so it's just a tourist trap, then? To make money?” Tim asked, trying to keep the excited interest out of his voice, trying to keep the conversation casual.

Danny wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Yeah, but it's nothing special. Just like any small town, you know?”

“Some people always take it a bit more seriously, right? There's always some believers,” Tim fished for more information. In every tourist attraction that claimed to be the home of Bigfoot or Mothman there was always someone who actually believed in what they were selling.

And if they believed, maybe they had some real information. Maybe even ways of combating them.

“Yeah, sure. There's those that believe and even—” Danny paused, swallowed, and then said, with real anger in his voice, “even some nut jobs that claim to study ghosts.”

Some people were studying ghosts? Tim made a mental note to look into them.

Danny cleared his throat as if embarrassed by his outburst and asked, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

Tim allowed the subject-change, not willing to push it and risk Danny suspecting him. “Haven’t you seen all the new villains on the news? They look kinda ghostly, don’t they?”

“Most newspapers write about them as if they’re a new kind of meta-humans.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Tim shrugged. “But I don’t think ghosts would be much stranger.”

“You’re not scared?” Danny asked, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Of course!” Tim laughed. “But I don’t see why they would be more dangerous just because they’re dead. If anything, that only shows that they’ve already been killed once!”

Danny smiled at that and Tim took it as a win. His new friend might not feel comfortable opening up about everything just yet, but at least he could show that he’s open to talking about it when he was.

[royaltysuite]

Sweet Taste... (w/ Karl Heisenberg)

Summary: Right after the meeting with Mother Miranda and the rest of the lords, Heisenberg seems to need his favorite vice in the form of you shivering and whimpering beneath before he faces off with Ethan Winters. You seem to have the same thought to surprise him when he returns home... As the saying goes, great minds think alike.

Warnings: Dom!Heisenberg, Sub!Reader, unprotected p-i-v, Heisenberg fucks you in his work room, fingering, oral (m/f receiving), degradation

Author's Note: Here it is folks, my very first Kinktober 2024 post. The one will fall under the Domination/Submission category. This does not mean it can't be requested again. Each category is open to be requested with different characters. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy it! Stay Classy~~~

Wanna Buy Me A Coffee?

When Karl was called away to an audience with Mother Miranda, I had already begun to suspect that he would return home highly upset. It was no secret that he hated being in her presence. After all, what she did to him was something he never wanted.

But, that didn't necessarily mean it didn't give him new gifts.

While Heisenberg was away, I began to prepare for his return. I made my way towards his main workshop which was connected to our bed chambers. The journey there was silent despite the sound of machinery clanging together.

It didn't take long for me to reach my destination and enter the room. Once inside, I quickly shut the door behind me and got to work clearing up some space. It didn't take long for me to get the area somewhat cleaned before I began to get myself ready.

Luckily, his workshop had a built-in shower room so I didn't have to walk too far to quickly shower and get dressed. Though, I did have to enter our shared room to grab my gift for Karl. It was a nice lingerie set that Alcina had gifted me despite Karl's protests.

Honestly those two argue like their true siblings. Besides the point...

I set the box aside on the bathroom counter before hopping underneath the stream of hot, steaming water. I stood under there for a good minute before actually scrubbing myself down with a jasmine infused oil, knowing it would be a welcome scent from the typical blood and grime he was used to.

I scrubbed for a good ten minutes before shutting off the water and drying off. Once dried, I then took the lingerie set and quickly got dressed. As I was in the middle ready, the phone in Karl's workshop began to rang. The loud ring startled me out of my skin and my hand went to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart.

The phone then rang three more times after the first. A sequence that only him and I knew in case we needed to contact one another. Once the ring finished, I immediately answered and was greeted by the gruff tone of my husband.

"Doll, you there?" His question pierced in my ear. "Yes, my love. I'm here. How did your audience go with Miranda?" I responded to him. "Not something I want to discuss over the phone. I'll be home soon, so be a good girl and wait for me alright?" The message was clear as day to me.

I knew exactly what he meant and it set the start to the fire in my stomach. Each second was agonizing to me when all I wanted was to feel his rough touch upon my body. But, I knew that if I started without him, I would be in for punishment instead of the pleasure I craved.

Five minutes had passed by in a blink of an eye and the doorknob to the workshop began to wiggle. 'He's here...' I thought, scrambling to make myself look presentable for him. My eyes never left from the door as it creaked open.

They soon landed on my husband's figure as he crossed the threshold into the room. He then saw my form spread out across his desk and he sucked in a sharp breath. "What's all this?" He questioned, his deep brown eyes darkening with lust as they roamed my plush, lingerie-clad figure.

"Just wanted to be a little...stress relief for you. After all, I know how much you hate being near that woman. So, why don't you come here and take what's yours?" That seemed to change something in him because as soon as I finished speaking, his lips immediately met with mine.

The kiss was heated and sloppy. It was like he was trying to devour me whole at that moment. My hands began to aimlessly wander, trying to reach his waistband. Though that didn't sit well with him. "Don't start acting like a brat. You'll get what you want soon enough..." He growled, taking my bottom lip in between his teeth and causing it to draw blood.

I winced softly but let out a whine, wanting nothing more but for him to hurry up and ravage me. Karl then pulled away and flipped me over, my stomach coming in contact with the cold feeling on the desk beneath me. His hands then began to move around my body, lingering along my waistband.

"Wearing such clothing...you must've been wanting to be treated like nothing. Is that what you want, Princess?" "Please, treat me like nothing but a dirty slut..." I moaned, trying to rub my ass against him in an attempt for him to get the hint.

Luckily, he did because as soon as I did, he delivered a swift smack against my right cheek and followed up with another. The sudden strike left me shocked and I gasped out a moan. Heisenberg then took the chance to finally rip off my panties, effectively tearing them to shreds. Well, there goes that pair...

Once the fabric was out of the way, he pulled my legs apart and the sight of my quivering pussy made him grunt as he took in my scent. I could feel his shaking breaths inching closer and closer before his lips attached themselves to my cunt.

Just like when he kissed me, that same passion and desire to devour me came back tenfold. Each flick of his tongue hitting my clit sent tiny sparks to my core. I tried my best to hold back my moans but was met with another strike to my ass. A silent way of him telling me 'Let me hear you...'

Though, I was never the best at keeping quiet when it came to sleeping with my beast of a husband.

Karl kept a solid, steady pace of eating me out - soon bringing me closer and closer to the edge of my first of many orgasms. "Close...i'm so close~" I whined, trying to pull him closer so that I could cum.

But my efforts proved futile as he pulled away, causing me to whine loudly due to my orgasm being ripped away from me. Though that of course didn't bother my husband. He then flipped me onto my back before working to remove his belt and pants.

The sight of his hands running down his body and palming himself through his boxers was one that I loved. Not wanting to lose my orgasm, I tried to finger myself but my hand was caught in his tight grip.

"Didn't I say to be a good little slut?" "P-please, I need-" "Shh, I know what you need, but you'll be digging yourself deeper into a hole if you continue to act up. Now, you wanna be my perfect little slut or a brat that gets nothing?" He questioned, his tone deep and sultry.

As much as I wanted to act out, the need to be fucked-out was much stronger. "I'll be good, I promise~~ Please fuck me!" I cried out, my cries soon turning into moans at the feeling of his length pushing past my entrance.

He fed me inch by inch until the entirety of his cock was nestled deep inside of me. Even without him moving, I could still feel him reach spots that I could never reach with any toy that I had. Not even with my fingers.

Karl, after giving me a few seconds to adjust, began thrusting at a steady pace. The slow drag of his cock against my walls was a feeling that could instantly send me into a euphoric bliss. No longer able to hold back, my moans echoed loudly in the room and if someone were to walk past, they'd know exactly what was happening behind these closed doors.

Pleased by my unspoken choice, Karl smirked and started to increase the pace. He pushed my legs closer to my head and began pounding away without any abandon. It caught me by surprise, but that was washed away completely and was replaced by pure and immense pleasure.

The lewd sound of his hips making contact with my ass. The smell of sweat, sex and ashes. And when he reached in between our bodies to start playing with my clit. It was like my senses went into overdrive and I came right then and there alongside my husband. Though really, I squirted all over his lower body.

This caught Karl by surprise and he chuckled under his breath. "Oh my...baby, how come you never told me you could do that?" "I-i didn't know I could even do that...this is so embarrassing." I stuttered in response, trying yet failing to shield my heated face from his gaze.

He then pulled my hands away from my face and planted a cheek on my cheek before whispering in my ear. "I hope you're ready for more because for the rest of the night, I'm making you do that over and over."

And with those words, he hoisted my naked form into an upright position. The sudden movement caused my legs to lock behind his back and my arms wrapped tightly around his neck, afraid that I would lose my grip and fall.

My husband let out a boisterous laugh before he made his way to the connecting room. Oh how long this night will be...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note: And there we have it guys, the first ever post for Kinktober 2024! It honestly took a lot longer than I wanted but that's only because I kept getting distracted by other Kinktober fics. On another note, as stated previously, if there's a topic you'd like to use in any requests/commissions, please let me know. The topics won't be removed so you can ask for any topic with a character you'd like to see written for it. Anyways, that's all and I hope you guys do enjoy reading this! Stay Classy~~

[deliciousangelfestival]

Tears In His Ferrari - 10

Character: Bucky Barnes x Farmer!Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes, used to a life of luxury, takes on farm challenges in a bet with his father. Mud-stained Ferraris and a rustic farmhouse lead to unexpected personal growth, guided by the stern mentorship of Y/N, a farmer making his city-boy life difficult.

Theme: Fluff, Slice of Life, Heart-Warming.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on: Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

Chapters: Chp 1, Chp 2,Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , Chp 6 , Chp 7 , Chp 8 , Chp 9 , Chp 10 , Chp 11 , Chp 12.

Bucky's heroic story of helping Toby's grandmother and bringing her to the hospital with his red Ferrari became the talk of the town.

The next day, he went to the fresh market with Y/N's parents to buy fruits and flowers.

He was planning to revisit Toby’s grandmother. He didn’t know why, but he felt a sense of melancholy toward elders, especially since his own grandparents had passed away before he was born.

As Bucky looked at the oranges, the locals greeted him warmly, especially the elders.

One grandfather said, “Thank you for helping Toby's grandma, young man. Here's some fresh corn and potatoes for you.”

Bucky smiled warmly and replied, “Oh, yes, we should help each other.”

Another grandmother approached him and said, “Are you the Barnes kid who helped my friend? Here's an orange for you.”

The kind old lady handed him baskets of oranges, her eyes twinkling with gratitude.

Then he felt someone tap his shoulder. He felt like a big shadow towering over him. It was Thor.

Thor exclaimed, "Buddy, you were a great help yesterday. Here, I'll give you my biggest catch today."

Bucky widened his eyes in surprise. "Oh no, it's alright. Urghh."

This was the first time in Bucky's life that he carried a heavy fish.

With each step he took, someone would greet him and give him something. He had never experienced this sense of community back in the city, and he appreciated how supportive the locals were of each other.

Samanta chuckled upon seeing Bucky looking clueless. “You've become the local celebrity.”

Bucky blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“Yup. Oh, my daughter just called. Some people are at your farm.”

“That's right. I have to go back.” Bucky clapped his hands excitedly. He suspected that what he requested from his dad had arrived.

He stepped on the gas and drove fast to his place. When he arrived, he saw a few teenagers and kids standing near his house.

Y/N was also there, looking a bit overwhelmed as she guarded the youngsters from entering the house.

The truck stopped, and Bucky got out of the car.

He greeted Y/N with a smile. "What's up?"

Y/N sighed in relief. "They want to see your car, but I thought they needed your permission first."

The group of youngsters looked at Bucky with puppy eyes. In a second, he remembered being a young kid, also interested in sports cars when his dad brought him to the F1 race car. The experience was amazing, and it made him fall in love with fast cars.

As a fellow car lover, Bucky welcomed them. "It's alright. Do you want to see what it looks like inside?"

"Yeah!!" The youngsters cheered in excitement.

Bucky showed them his Ferrari car and enthusiastically explained the engine and the machinery.

Y/N observed Bucky, who looked genuinely excited. She remarked, “You've become the celebrity.”

Bucky chuckled, unable to contain his enthusiasm. “I can't help it.”

“By the way,” Y/N continued, “your father sent a pick-up truck. I didn't know you needed another one.”

Bucky's eyes lit up. “It's here? Yes! And it's not for me.”

“Then for who?” Y/N inquired, curiosity piqued.

🏥

At the hospital, Toby was speechless when he saw the pick-up truck. It looked brand new and far superior to the old truck they had to sell to pay his father's debt.

He walked around the truck, inspecting it from front to back, then turned to Bucky and enveloped him in a grateful hug. “Thank you, bro,” he said earnestly.

Bucky returned the hug with a smile. “You're welcome, buddy.”

After Toby rushed back to the hospital to share the news with his grandfather, Y/N approached Bucky. “That was really nice of you,” she remarked.

Bucky nodded, a sense of fulfillment washing over him. “I realized how important a car is for Toby. He needs it to drive his grandma and carry boxes of honey.”

With the means to help, Bucky felt compelled to use it.

Y/N smiled warmly. Witnessing Bucky's generosity and compassion, she couldn't help but admire him even more.

Bucky's generous gift quickly spread throughout the town, making him the hottest topic of discussion. Suddenly, he found himself at the center of attention, not for his wealth or status, but for his kindness and willingness to help others.

The children in the town looked up to him as a cool role model, inspired by his actions to make a positive difference in the community.

With Toby's grandmother gradually improving, and Toby himself working diligently to sell honey at markets and to local households, the spirit of gratitude and determination seemed to infuse the air.

Despite initially finding farming challenging, Bucky began feeling accepted and belonging in his new life.

Though he still encountered difficulties, he realized that the rewards of helping others and being part of a close-knit community far outweighed any hardships he faced.

Bucky hadn't opened his social media for a while since he was already busy with farming.

******

His story has also spread widely on social media. However, it wasn't Bucky who initiated it.

But who did? Of course, it was Kate. She inserted herself into Bucky's story as if she were a part of the effort to help him.

During her live session, she recounted the events with a touch of theatricality, emphasizing her own role in the act of kindness.

"And that's when Bucky and I sprang into action," she exclaimed dramatically, her eyes sparkling with manufactured emotion. "Together, we rushed Toby's grandmother to the hospital, our hearts filled with determination to make a difference!"

Her viewers were quick to shower her with praise, captivated by her portrayal of a compassionate and selfless individual.

"You're such an inspiration, Kate!"

"Wow, I had no idea you were so involved in charity work. You're amazing!"

"Thank you for using your platform to spread awareness and help those in need. You're truly making a difference!"

With each compliment, Kate's smile widened, basking in her audience's admiration as she skillfully crafted her image as a philanthropic icon.

She kept smiling as she scrolled through the comments until she noticed someone mentioning "What about Y/N?"

Kate's smile faltered, and she let out a sigh.

"What's wrong?" inquired one of her viewers.

Kate sighed again. "Well, we only know what people choose to show us on the outside, not what's really going on behind the scenes."

The viewers were intrigued. "Is this about Y/N?"

Kate hesitated, then replied cryptically, "I don't want to name names, but let's just say there's someone who's been quite influential in Bucky's life, and it's had some unfortunate consequences for my brother."

"Your brother, the celebrity chef Paul?" another viewer asked.

"He can't cook anymore because of a car accident, right?"

The comments continued to pour in, each one adding to the speculation. It was precisely what Kate wanted. She leaned back in her chair, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of her lips as she watched her fans dissect the situation for her.

Glancing down at her ruined shoes, a reminder of her unexpected encounter with the mud earlier, Kate clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Never underestimate me," she murmured to herself, a hint of determination in her voice.

🏎️

Bucky, who had been feeling clueless, had just finished cleaning up the sheep's stable. He made his way back to his house to freshen up.

Archie, the puppy, had eagerly awaited his return, wagging his tail excitedly. "Woof."

"Hey, buddy, I missed you too," Bucky greeted, bending down to pet the eager pup.

Once inside, Bucky headed straight to the sink to wash his hands, feeling the grime of farm work clinging to his skin. As he scrubbed, he couldn't help but notice his phone incessantly buzzing with notifications.

"What's going on?" Bucky wondered aloud, setting down the soap to check his phone. He was met with a flood of messages and tags from various people. Among them was a tag that caught his attention: #Y/N and Paul.

Curious, he clicked on it, and his screen filled with photos of Y/N dressed in a chef's outfit, standing beside none other than Paul, the celebrity chef who also happened to be Kate's brother.

Bucky's heart sank as he read the accompanying captions and watched a reel detailing Paul's accident, along with rumors suggesting that it wasn't him driving the sports car, but rather a woman whose name was still unknown.

His thoughts racing, Bucky was startled when he heard a familiar voice behind him. "Here's the dinner."

He nearly jumped out of his skin, turning to find Y/N standing there, a concerned expression on her face as she looked at him. "What's wrong?" she asked, noticing his troubled demeanor.

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Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

[kinardsevan]

30 days of fluff challenge: day fifteen

(yeah I took yesterday off. July has 31 days lol)

"buying each other a book"

Evan bounces on his heels in front of Tommy as he holds the bag in his hands. They’d gone on a bookstore date (at two different stores because there was no way Evan would’ve refrained from cheating if they hadn’t) and now that they were back home, he didn’t know what he was more excited for: what Tommy was going to give him, or what he had picked out for Tommy.

For him, it had been a process. He knew Tommy liked machinery, but buying a book about car engines or helicopters felt too easy. It also felt too easy to go into the romance section and find something that would feed his interests in romantic comedies. So instead, Evan had found himself in the poetry section, flipping through books until he found one that he felt met the same ideals that he could relate to. After all, it was supposed to be a gift, right? Something that told Tommy that he was thinking about him? 

“You really can’t hold on to gifts for even a second, can you,” Tommy teases as he settles his bag on the table. 

Evan shakes his head, completely unabashed with the smile on his face. “Not with you,” he mutters back. 

Tommy tilts his head at him, a fond smile crossing his face before he leans across the space and kisses Evan softly. Evan sighs into it, lifts his free hand to Tommy’s shoulder, holding him close for a moment before they part back into their spaces. 

“Okay, well me first,” Tommy says when he’s managed to reign his thoughts back in. He nudges his bag forward on the table. “I, uh, I wasn’t sure what to get, but I found this and thought you might be interested.” 

Evan settles his own bag on the table and reaches for Tommy’s, pulling the stuffed tissue paper out. He pulls the book out afterwards, flipping it over and gazing at the summary. 

“I know you like reading about self-help and relationships,” Tommy says nervously. 

Evan shakes his head, looking back up at him a moment later with a smile still on his face. “No, this looks good. I want to read it.” 

Tommy nods then, albeit a bit nervously. 

Evan sets the book down after a moment of flipping through it, and reaches for the bag he brought. He presents it to Tommy like an offering. 

“I went a little off-script,” he admits, watching nervously as his boyfriend takes the bag and peers inside of it. After a tick, he reaches into the bag and pulls the book out, looking at the cover. It’s black and white with a line drawing on it, clearly not giving much more in the way of what the book is about. 

“I got a bookmark,” Evan says, gesturing the one sticking out of the book. “Marked what made me think of you.” 

Tommy glances up at him briefly, and then back down, opening the book up to where the bookmark is placed. As his eyes skim the first line, his free hand reaches for Evan’s, holding his fingers as he starts to read it out loud. 

“I never wanted to be your first choice being your first choice implies that there is a second choice I wanted to be your only choice

for once I wanted someone to be so sure of me  that everything else disappears” 

Tommy’s eyes keep skimming the words on the page, completely enamored by the level of thought put into the gift. 

“I saw that and I ju-, I…I don’t know. I related to it,” Evan tells him softly, nervously. “It made me think about all of our pillow talk. All the conversations in the dark and late night confessions, and I just…I-I felt like that was someone else finding a way to say it, in black and white, in a way that I could give to you.” 

Tommy nods wordlessly, finally closing the book a moment later as he looks up at Evan again. He doesn’t speak, and the nerves it leaves Evan with are exploding inside of him as he stands there, waiting. But then Tommy brings his free hand to Evan’s face, fingers curled around the back of his neck as he steps into the space between them once more and kisses him, open-mouthed and fully. Evan’s hand finds Tommy’s wrist, holding on tightly as he leans into him, presses his body flush against Tommy’s. 

When they finally break apart, Evan is breathless. He stares at Tommy with that same deer-in-headlights half-smlie, completely taken by the moment. 

Tommy shakes the book lightly in his hand, glancing down at it and then back up at Evan.

“This is everything,” he rasps, giving small nods. He drops another chaste kiss on Evan’s lips quickly before enveloping him in a warm, tight hug. “Thank you.” 

(Tommy's purchase for Evan was To Be Loved by Frank Anderson. I've never read it, but it feels like they would both enjoy it, based on the summary. Evan's purchase for Tommy is Whitney Hanson's Climate book of poetry.)

[topazadine]

Mistakes I Made When Self-Pubbing My First Book (Part 1: Mindset Edition)

Hello. Today, we are all going to dunk on me for my meteoric mistakes when self-publishing 9 Years Yearning so that you can do the opposite of these things.

This is going to be cut up into multiple posts because I just made so. many. mistakes. that I'm rectifying with my second book. Even Part 1 is extraordinarily long because damn am I a yapper, so keep an eye out for the equally long next parts.

And maybe console me by buying my book. (I promise it's not bad! My marketing strategy is!)

It's important to be transparent about this process. So many indie authors don't want to talk about their failures because it's uncomfy, and I get it. Yeah, it does suck to admit that you have failed and then expose your failures to other people. No one wants to feel bad about their efforts, especially something so personal like writing. Still, I think it can help anyway.

Can I give you actionable advice? No. I can't. I cannot give you a secret code to marketing success because I don't even know it.

BUT. I can tell you what I did wrong so you can figure out what to do right. (Then maybe tell me about it pls.)

Thinking being a good writer = book success

I am a good writer. Not the best writer on the entire planet, but more competent than your average squadron of monkeys armed with obsolete machinery. I could take at least 1,000 non-human primates in a writing fight - I'm sure of it.

However, this does not translate to immediate, life-changing results when self-publishing and marketing.

See, the unfortunate thing is that people actually have to know that your book exists, and they have to be tempted into purchasing it before they can see your remarkable writing skills.

This means that you need to have a good cover, an intriguing blurb and ... worst of all ... a marketing strategy.

Awful. But true.

Book writing and book marketing are two completely different skills. One of them is fun! And one of them makes me want to throw myself into a lake! But alas, if I want to enjoy some sort of compensation for the Fun Part, I have to do the Bad Part.

Being mad that I didn't get insta-results

I assumed that I would get my money back from my initial investment pretty quickly. After all, I wrote a very nice book. But I still have not broken even on 9 Years Yearning, and I will likely not do so until the third part of the Eirenic Verses series hits.

Actually, I may never break even at all. And I'm not even performing that poorly for a self-published author as of now.

The average self-published, digital-only book (like mine) sells only 250 copies during its entire lifetime, which can be literal decades. 250!! That's abysmal. Many self-published books sell ZERO copies. Ever.

That makes me feel a little better about saying that from June to October 2024, my first book has sold only 32 copies. That's about 12% of the expected lifetime sales in four months.

But 32 books is not, by any means, a best seller.

Though I will tell you a secret: some authors who make best seller lists actually buy their own books to artificially boost the numbers. Donald Trump did that actually! There are entire book laundering firms, like ResultSource, that are pay to play. And the NYT best seller list is heavily biased toward people with internal connections. So you can't even trust those best seller lists very much, and you shouldn't feel bad if you're only getting a handful of sales.

Regardless of whether other people lie their way to the top, the cold hard truth is that if I want to repay myself for my efforts on 9 Years Yearning, I need to sell about 1,500 copies (plus, oh, 20 extra for taxation).

That's a pretty scary number. 1,500 people have to like my book?! I don't even know that many people!

It's okay, though. My next book, Pride Before a Fall, will have a faster return on investment because it's priced a little higher at $2.99. So, for the second book, I only need to sell about 180 copies to break even. That is also because I didn't make as many dumb money mistakes, which I'll discuss in a later installment.

Very few self-published books gain instant attention and fame; many self-pubbed authors give up on advertising themselves at all because they didn't get a lot of success at first. But I'm not going to be deterred now that I realize I have to put the marketing work in.

It's up to you whether you're willing to keep grinding if you don't get immediate results.

Being lazy about learning marketing

I am still struggling with this, to be honest.

Look, I don't like marketing. The time I spend learning about marketing could be spent on something that does not make me want to tear my eyes out of their sockets. I could go rock climbing! I could watch a video on caving deaths! I could pet my dog!

So I've set a goal for myself that I just have to do one thing related to marketing a week. That could be creating visuals, reading other peoples' experiences, watching videos on it, taking courses, and so on.

It is not a lot of time spent per week, yes; perhaps about two hours. But it's about all I can stomach because it's just so boring and confusing to me.

After my first bitter disappointment, I have learned that it's okay to take a longer, more methodical approach, especially because The Eirenic Verses is a ten-part series. If I stay consistent, it will inevitably start to gain traction over time.

Ignoring the marketing potential in my friend group

I didn't really talk about my book with anyone but my family before publishing it. Didn't tell my friends, didn't post much about it on social media.

Instead, I dropped it like a dead squirrel on Facebook's feet a few days after it actually released. Thank god I didn't do the horrible Millennial "so ... I did a thing" bullshit, but I was almost too blithe about it.

I just don't want to feel like I'm bragging or making people feel obligated to purchase a copy. Which is kind of dumb of me, because people I know IRL have been super enthusiastic! I'm not even joking.

One of my newest friends purchased a copy directly in front of me and told their friends about it, so I got multiple sales just by mentioning it once. Old friends I've barely talked to in years reached out to tell me how much they loved my book and that they're so excited for me.

I learned that as long as I am not insufferable about it, most people are excited to hear that they are friends with a ~published author~. I've spent so long being immersed in Writing World that I kind of forget that to non-writers, publishing (even self-pub) is a big deal.

So I am learning to be more comfortable with talking about being an author as long as I don't act like I'm super special for clicking some keys.

Not celebrating my successes

This seems like a strange problem to have, but I can't be the only one who just kinda goes "meh" about their own achievements. Whether that's from poor self-esteem or Daddy Issues, idk, but I didn't really do anything when I released 9 Years Yearning. Didn't even get myself a cake.

I think this rubbed off on the people around me; after all, humans tend to follow one another's lead. Since I didn't treat it like a big deal at first, no one else did either. And this, of course, led to zero marketing juice because if even the author herself isn't pumped about the book, it must suck, right?

It doesn't suck. Again, I just suck at marketing myself.

So I'm forcing myself to be more enthusiastic about my next book, and to tell more people about it. I'm even getting a Bannain tattoo to celebrate the release.

Look at this stupid little idiot! I'm going to have him inked on me forever and ever <3

Given that I've gotten some decent pre-orders already (again, because I actually tried to fucking market this time), I think this more enthusiastic approach is going to serve me well.

The Thing I Did Right: Viewing my fiction writing as a money sink

Alright, so the one thing I have done correctly, which is that I did not make the fatal error of quitting my day job. I knew that my fiction writing was not going to be paying the bills any time soon. Instead, I view my job as a way to fund my Blorbo Factory.

It's not fatalistic to recognize that the odds are stacked against you as a self-pubbed author. It's realistic. You can either be delusionally confident that you will succeed, or you can be desperately demotivated and never bother.

Or you can be in the middle, see the risks, and decide that there is a deeper motivation than just making money that powers you.

Releasing the pressure of success actually makes it easier to succeed. If you are not hinging all your financial hopes and dreams on your books, then you don't see it as a loss to buy a nice book cover, pay for a good beta reader, and so on. You see it as an investment in your happiness and self-fulfillment, just like you spend money to go to the gym or buy a yourself an ice cream.

And, most importantly, you won't spend more money than you can afford to lose.

So many authors go into massive amounts of debt to fund their books and then are horrified to find that they make nothing back. A lot fall for vanity press scams and spend thousands only to have to do the same damn things I have to do as a self-pubbed author. And sometimes they never even see their book in print at all.

This could have been avoided if they had recognized that, just like when going to the casino, you shouldn't put yourself into debt in hopes of a big payday.

Anyway, now that I've told you about my marketing failures so you can avoid them, maybe you'll consider buying my book, 9 Years Yearning, which is very good despite my terrible marketing skills. It's got horses and cute boys!

And when you're done with that (it only takes about 2 hours to read, btw), be sure to pre-order the next book, Pride Before a Fall, which is arriving January 1, 2025!

Oh, and please don't forget to leave a review. Very important stuff.

I've been dodging calls from Amazon HQ who warn me that if I don't get more reviews, they'll place my children in a mushroomifier, whatever that means.

Oh ... oh no ....

[laugtherhyena]

At last, the updated ref post of the man who starte it all. I'm so glad me and the gang made a whole little funger cast, I'm enjoying John much more now that he has other people to hunt down interact with :]

Character story

The silent Bohemian night reigns with an underlying uneasiness to it. You can't help but feel as if something sinister lurks in the horizon, just beyond where your eyes can reach..

In an attempt to ignore the chill underneath your skin, you reminisce about what has led you to this point in life…

For your childhood and teenage years you worked in a large factory alongside many other children, the smoke of the machinery and cluttered atmosphere made you yearn for nature, running off to the woods in the middle of the night to marvel at its beauty under the comforting glow of the moon.

You admired the animals that made up its ecosystem, perhaps what you wanted was to be like them; living under Vinushka’s domain free from the shackles of society, hunting to survive…

It was a fun activity and you had a real knack for it, your boss would even give you some extra shillings for hunting down the pests that lurked in the shadows of the factory. But what enticed you wasn't the money but the thrill of the hunt, soon enough you became more and more convinced that this was what you were put on this earth to do.

You had a couple friends in the facility, four boys around your age that had each other's back through thick and thin. When you came of age you suggested to them the idea of robbing the boss’s office and escaping with the money in search of a brand new life. While some were skeptical, the heist was ultimately a success and you all embarked on the first train to Rondon, feeling the breeze against your long hair, you had the feeling your life was finally going to begin.

Of course, that money couldn't keep you all afloat forever, but you had a plan. It was time to finally dedicate your time into doing what you loved the most…

Buy a rifle (Gain gun proficiency, Gain Rifle .303 Mk I and ×6 .303 Ammo)

Buy a trench gun (Gain gun proficiency, 12-gauge Trench gun and ×6 12-gauge shells)

After much consideration you and the boys decided to put the money at hand into buying yourselves an old shack in the woods alongside the essentials and the remainder of the shillings was spent into tools to aid in your survival. While your friends went on to work on lumber, you opted for the path of a hunter.

You had a natural proficiency with firearms and the joy of the hunt made you feel as if you were exactly where you should be. The boys would spend the day chopping down trees and attempting to sell the wood in the city while you skinned and butchered the fruits of your labor, the meat became your everyday meals while the pelts were sold at a high price around the marketplace.

After a while your friends slowly switched gears as they asked you to teach them your ways, soon enough you became a fierce group of hunters and the income increased significantly. You had never thought of how fun it was to share your passion with the people you loved, surrounded by your closest friends, the hunt became even more glorious.

With financial stability being no longer an issue, you decided to dedicate your time into upgrading your hunting skills…

Learning more about traps (Gain trapcraft)

You went on to learn about tools that could aid in your hunts, traps that could hinder wild beasts much stronger than any man. Allowing you to aim for much more fearsome creatures than you could have only dream of shooting down.

That spring, you hunted down a bear and your best friend made a beautiful head mount out of the mighty beast.

Learning more about firearms (Gain gunslinger)

You studied your trusty weapon from top to bottom. Not only were you able to fix you and your friend's guns whenever they started malfunctioning but also became a much more fearsome hunter, capable of reloading a barrel in a matter of seconds and shooting down even the most wary of animals without making your presence known.

You began bringing a lot more kills back with you from the hunts.

Over time the small shack was revamped into a large cottage, decorated with head mounts and fur carpet, beautiful prizes from your many hunts. The place was cozy and full of life, a home that soon welcomed your best friend's wife and child. A healthy little boy you swore to care for as if you were family, an honorary uncle of sorts.

Joyful years went by before tragedy swooped in and steadily took away everything you treasured. Misery began during a hunt where you were far too cocky, underestimating the strength of the prey which led to your stomach being pierced by the startled deer’s antlers. Your injuries left you bedridden and far too injured to be drafted when the great war began.

A terrible curse disguised as a blessing as you watched your dear friends march to war, you hoped and prayed that their skills would be enough to keep them alive in the battlefield, but as the conflict worsened each and every single one of them returned to you in a wooden coffin.

You tried to remain strong for your late friend’s little boy, you brought him to the woods and taught him how to hunt just as you did for his father, but soon that spark of happiness was ripped from your grasp as well. His grieving mother figured the best for them would be to move away and start over. You loathe that woman for taking away the only thing you had left of your beloved friend, but you didn't blame her.

You gifted the boy his father's rifle and waved goodbye to them from the station before returning to the mausoleum you could no longer call home.

Haunted by the loss of the only people you ever cared for, you searched for ways to drown out the sound of your sorrows…

Leave the cottage (Gain bury the trauma)

With the savings you had in hand you decided to travel around the country to try getting your mind away from the pain, you visited museums, chapels, libraries and all kinds of tourist locations yet the source of your suffering never left your mind.

You longed to return home, but home was no longer the place you held fond memories of. A depressing shadow of what it once was, much like yourself.

Focus on the hunt (Gain killing intent)

You intended to silence the painful reminders with the sound of gunshots in the distance. Grief turned into anger you took out on the habitants of the forest, the carnage reigned long enough for the animals to begin avoiding you. The hunt was no longer fun, the woods became just as empty as the cottage that brought you so much pain.

At the end of the day, nothing worked. Your heart swelled in a constant burning pain fueled by the emptiness of the cottage and the memories of what it once was that haunted your every step. With no one by your side, you turned to religion in a last ditch effort to cope with all the loss you had suffered. Although you thrived in Vinushka's domain, you were drawn to the writings about the trickster moon good like a moth to a flame.

You swiftly became obsessed with the mysteries surrounding the old god's doings and dedicated all your time into devoting yourself to him, in the dead of the night, you prayed for guidance under his glistening light. To be given a new purpose in life, reborn under his gaze for something much greater.

Eventually, Rher answered your desperate calls. You were blessed with a vivid dream, a glimpse into his jubilee of cosmic proportions. Termina will soon be upon that wretched old town and you would not miss your chance of appeasing your beloved deity.

With a new hunt on the horizon, how did you prepare?

Pray to the moon god (Gain +3 Rher affinity)

Stock up on medical goods (Gain ×2 blue vial and cloth fragments)

Stock up on food (Gain ×2 dried meat and moldy bread)

You settled on the place your dream led you to, the rooms of the old hotel were small and tainted with the stench of mold, but none of that matters.

You're here, and soon will his servants, blessings and the god of the moon himself. It was challenging to fall asleep with all the excitement pumping through your veins…

Character skills

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[literary-motif]

could you make another Elias NSFW, THE FIRTS ONE WAS SOOOO GOOODDDD AND THANK YOU THANK YOUU, i personally think you got his character down perfectly ‼️‼️ I’ve been obsessed w him lately and there’s not many people that write about him. YOUR WRITING IS ALSO SOOO AMAZING AND TRULY OUT OF THIS WORLD AND I LOVE EVERY PEICE OF WORK THAT YOU DO <33

Thank you, anon <3 I hope you like this!

Cup of Coffee (NSFW)

Elias x Reader

Elias fucks you against the kitchen counter.

His eyes never left you, following your graceful movements in the kitchen — the half-spin you did as you dashed to the nearly overflowing milk, the sweater riding up against your skin as you stood on your tiptoes to get the large mugs from the shelf above your head — with a fondness in his eyes and a content little smile. Elias was happy to just watch you work your magic as you prepared a ‘special’ coffee for him, his head propped on his hand as he gazed at you dreamily. 

You were just perfect. 

“I could make this better,” you said with a huff as the foam refused to get as fluffy as you wanted it to. Maybe it was the milk, but as you eyed the pathetic milk foamer in your hand, which had given up halfway through doing its job, you had a creeping suspicion that it was the fault of the equipment you were forced to work with. “If I had the machines of the bar, I could make the most amazing coffee you have ever tasted in your life, trust me.”

Elias chuckled, taking a mental note to buy you your own bar once all this mess was over, or at the very least all the machinery you wanted to be a barista at home. Seeing you so passionate and excited over the work you missed to do, made his heart melt, and he could not wait to wipe the frown of annoyance from your face as you prepared a drink just the way you wanted to.

“Anything you do is amazing, barista,” he said, waiting patiently for the coffee you were preparing. He was curious about what you had come up with after promising him a special twist to his morning routine. 

You huffed again as you messed up the foam art, cursing under your breath. “Well, it’s not gonna be much to look at, I’m afraid,” you murmured, quelching your disappointment by spraying some whipped cream on top of it to hide the disaster and sprinkling it with a dash of cinnamon. “Last-minute changes had to be made because I royally fucked up. Do you like cinnamon?”

“You know I do,” he answered, still able to taste the cinnamon swirls you had baked together yesterday when he closed his eyes. “And don’t be so harsh on yourself, it’s just a coffee. Anything you do is perfect to me.” Elias added the last part in a whisper.

You heard his words perfectly, and they made your movements till for a second, the candid adoration in them causing your heart to skip a beat. “Cheesy,” you mumbled light-heartedly, the warmth spreading through your chest nearly stealing your breath. “Your coffee is ready.”

Elias beamed as you approached with his drink, setting it down on the counter he was resting against. “This looks wonderful,” he praised, looking at the cup of coffee with wide eyes. “You’re the best barista I have ever come across. Thank you so much.” 

“You haven’t even tried it yet,” you said sheepishly, biting your lips in nervousness as you wondered if his praise would hold up to the actual taste. “I hope you like it.” 

“I’m sure I will,” he said, hesitating to taste the masterpiece you had prepared for him. “But it’s so pretty, I kinda feel bad to just—” 

You burst out laughing, moving the cup closer to him. “It’s coffee, Elias. I prepared it just for you. It’s made to be drunk.”

He conceded, picking up a spoon and incorporating the whipped cream into the liquid, mixing the cinnamon as well. “It smells delicious, by the way,” he said, eyes fixed on the soft brown swirling in his cup, “I never knew coffee could smell this lovely.”

“Just because I made it, I’m sure,” you teased, picking up your own cup of coffee and stirring the containment. 

“How else?” Elias asked lightly, but there was not a hint of irony in his voice, making your eyes snap up to look at him just as he sat down his cup, humming at the taste. “It’s delicious,” he said, licking at his lips to disperse the milk foam clinging to him. “I love it.” 

You chuckled in relief, happy to have made something for him that he liked. “Good,” you said, raising your cup to your lips. Elias watched you with a fond smile which lightly faltered as he saw the milk sticking to your upper lip. “This is why I normally serve this with a straw,” you laughed, reaching your hand across the counter to grab a paper towel. Elias stopped you, taking hold of your hand and intertwining your fingers before moving to stand next to you. “What is it?” you asked, suddenly breathless at his intense gaze.

Instead of answering, he tilted his head, kissing the foam off of your lips before deepening the kiss, and backing you against the counter. “You’re so hot right now,” he whispered, one of his arms wrapping around your back while the other kept you pressed up against him, trapped. “I love it when you’re happy. You’re so fucking beautiful, I’ve been staring at you all morning.”

You exhaled shakily, his words against your ear making you shiver, the placement of his hands and his tickling breath on your neck — promising more, so much more — had desire coursing through you, longing for the man in front of you. 

“You’ve been staring?” you asked, feigning innocence as you wrapped your arms around his neck, nails gently scratching along his back. “What were you staring at?”

“You,” he breathed, groaning as he pressed his hips further against yours, making you feel the swelling of his cock, steadily hardening against you. “Your face, your hands, your back, your tummy, your ass,” he said, grinding against you slowly. “All of you, my perfect barista.”

His words made you moan, tightening your arms around him to pull him closer, reducing the space between you as you grind your hips against his, giving you both a taste of the friction you needed. “I think you’ve stared enough,” you gasped, trailing your hands down his back until they rested against his ass, pushing him more firmly against you.

“I want to have you,” Elias groaned, letting go of your body to slip his hands between you two, undoing your pants and letting them pool at your ankles before doing the same for himself, freeing his achingly hard cock. “I want to fuck you against the counter. Yeah? Shit, I need to feel my cock inside you so bad.”

“Fuck, yes,” you gasped after a moment as his hands trailed between your legs, stretching you out against his fingers briefly to prepare you for him. “You feel so good,” you moaned, whimpers falling from your lips as he angled them, brushing against the spot that made you buck your hips against his hand in desperation.

Elias removed his fingers, making you deflate for an instant before he angled his cock with your entrance and pushed it inside slowly, stretching you out inch by inch. “God, you’re tight,” he gasped as you mewled at the stretch, fingers digging into his back as he rested his forehead on your shoulder, a hand on your hip to keep you steady as he moved the other between your shoulder blades, keeping you securely against him.

“Fuck — ah — Elias,” you moaned as he started thrusting, filling you up so well it made your head spin. The rhythm he set in pumping his cock in and out of your tight hole had you bouncing with every thrust, lower back digging into the counter behind you as Elias fucked you so exquisitely against it. 

Your hands move from his neck to brace yourself against the surface behind you, keeping yourself steady as Elias thrust into you, groaning at your pleasured moans and murmuring your name over and over again as if it were a prayer. 

“You’re taking me so well,” he panted against your neck, placing hot open-mouthed kisses against your skin as his arms tightened around you, bending you over the counter further to ram his cock even deeper inside of you.

The new angle made your toes curl, the pleasure building in your lower belly increasing further until you could do nothing but cry out a broken choke of his name as it pulled you under, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you came. Elias held you through it, thrusting into your shuddering body a few more times until his cock twitched and he released inside of you with a groan, riding out his high. 

“Shit,” you cursed breathlessly, heart hammering against your chest as Elias continued kissing your neck softly. “I think the coffee’s cold now, Elias.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he murmured against your skin. “I like it cold, too. Take another sip, barista. I think I’m going to lick it off of you again. What do you say?”

[burnedwriter]

What type of lover they are pt.2

A/n:i hope everyone is having a wonderfull day this is the part 2 of the previous fic,i just realized that i put diluc and dottore in the same fic....if you know you know.as always english is not my native language if there are any mistakes let me know.

warnings:overstim,bondage,edging,bj,threesome,c*m swallowing,exhibitionism, fingering,!afab reader

A/n:im not responsible for what people read,ageless blogs and under 18 do not interact.

💧Ayato

💧Ayato will spoil you,whatever you ask for it will be at you disposal.from expensive clothes to home decor,he can get anything you ask for.

💧he takes you to expensive restaurants for dates and buy you gifts,when he has free time to make up for neglecting you.

💧He told Ayaka to keep an eye on you when he was away for bussiness,and you ended up becoming best friends,Ayato is extremely happy to see you both having a great relationship with eachother.

💧showing you off to people with expensive clothing he has bought you,that hug your curves perfectly,he cant help but always place a hand around your waist to show to people who you are married to.

nsfw

💧He is a fan of bondage,he will tie you hands behind your back just to see you beg for him to touch you.

💧His teasing continues to the bedroom activities too,he loves edging you,he wants to hear you whimper and whine as you get denied of your orgasm over and over again.Its music to his ears

💧finally giving you the sweet realise you were chasing after hours of edging you,what you didnt know was that this was not going to be the only orgasm that you would have for the night.

‘‘Ayato~please i cant do this anymore~’‘you beg desperetly feeling your body tired as you feel your what would be your 4th orgasm for the night

‘‘Oh come on darling,i know you have another one for me’‘he cooed ,his finger moving mercilesly in and out of you.

‘‘Ayato~,im close again~’‘you cried out,as your bosy started to tremble,feeling yourself close again.

Your body shaking as Ayato continued to finger fuck you,your walls squeezing his fingers,your mind going hazy as you reach your yet another climax.

💉Dottore

💉hes not the best person when it comes to relationships,He might be the worst out of everyone on this list,this man is mostly busy making new machinery and doing experiments,some could say hes married to his job instead of you

💉he will make small mechanisms for you to put on your desk,like small ruin guards that can move things around to help you with your chores and also remind you of his presence that a part of him will always be there watching you.

💉He likes talking to you about his experiments and asks for your opinion if you find possible mistakes that have been made or going to be made during his experiment.He always asks you for a second observasions.

nsfw

💉Dottore will make toys for you ,to occupy yourself when hes busy with work or gone in other nations for long period of time.He will also use them on you while he is fucking you too.

💉He has both taken and given you aphrodisiacs,just to see how it will affect the two of you during your spicy time.

💉He is merciless when it comes to intercourse,he refuses to go easy on you,you will be a moaning  shaking mess by the end hes done with you.

💉He has let one of his segments fuck you right infront of him,while he watches.

Holding the bedsheets for dear life,the segment pounding into your cunt while the real one was stationed a few meters away from you his legs spread stroking his cock.His eyes glued at your face watching your reactions closesly.

‘‘Ah~hmph~i’m cumming’‘you moaned loudly

You could see that he picked up the speed of his hand to match the pace of his segment,strocking his cock rapidly,his eyes never breaking eye contact from yours

Both of you reaching your orgasms,with one last pump dottore spilled all over his hand while you collapse tired on the matress.

Getting up from his chair he marched closer to you,lifting your head with his hand,softly squeezing your cheeks to open you mouth.

‘‘lick my fingers clean’‘he commanded,forcing his fingers inside your mouth,your tongue twirling around them cleaning his mess.

🔥Diluc

🔥The best out of everyone,hes loving and caring towards you at all times.Though grumpy at times,he cant help but melt at your presence.

🔥he invites you to the tavern to keep him company and help him with the customers,He loves seeing you happy interacting with everyone and how they are coming just to chat with you.

🔥late night horse backriding where the both of you get to clear your head after long hours at work,you two get to open up and chat about your problems without getting interupted.Thats when he confessed to you.

nsfw

🔥He puts your pleasure over his,he doesnt care if he hasnt finished as long as you are satisfied,he is satisfied.

🔥He is always taking things slow and gentle,taking his time with you.Touching your body softly like its made out of glass that is about to break at the simplest touch.The only time hes is being rough with you is when he has had a bad day at the tavern but still he will ask you at the end if you are ok and bring you anything you need.

🔥So you decided to repay him back after taking such good care of you in the bedroom.Kneeling before him,your hands moved to his belt unbuckling it.

‘‘You dont have to do this,i will be fi...’‘He said

‘‘shhh....let me take care of you diluc’‘you cut him off and reasured him

Pulling out his cock,you wrapped your lips around the head before you started taking him slowly deeper in your mouth,as he hit the back of your throat,earning a few goans from the man above you.

‘‘fuck~ your mouth is so warm’‘you heard diluc grunting,holding his hips still so he doesnt make you gag.

Looking in eachothers eyes you saw the lust that formed in dilucs eyes.Starting to bop your head up and down into a steady pace.

‘‘Ah~ngh~’‘diluc let out low breathy moans at your actions.

Picking up your your speed into a faster one,one of your hands,moved to massage his balls,making him throw his head back from the pleasure 

‘‘fuck~i’m close love’‘Diluc choked,feeling him pulse inside you mouth before realising,you removed his cock from your mouth,swallowing his orgasm.

[octuscle]

Hey there! A good friend of mine gets recently a wrong suitcase from the airport and suddenly disappeared. I never got a text from him anymore. It seems like he has forgotten his real life - I hope he's alive! My problem is that I get a strange suitcase too now. It's from SBH. Maybe I should bring it back?

Really a strange suitcase. You could have done more with a decent hard case from Samsonite. You've been wanting one of these for 30 years. But this? A pretty ugly bag for your taste…. Seems to be from France, the name has an accent on the second e in any case. No idea how to pronounce it now. You take a picture of the bag and let Google Lens see if you can get something for it on ebay….

WHAT THE HELL! 8.500 EURO! For a bag. You get out your reading glasses. You need to take a closer look. Okay. You've made a mistake. It's 85,000 euros. You're getting dizzy. Are the zippers and the lock made of white gold? What justifies this absolutely absurd price? For a company that nobody knows. At least you've never heard of it… Now you are curious about the contents. The lock hangs only decoratively on the bag. It is not locked. It would be better if it was. The contents are two sets of underwear, two pairs of silk boxer shorts, a couple of T-shirts, a toilet bag, which you assume costs a fortune… Everything is incidental… Most of the space is taken up by bundles of hot-off-the-press 200-euro bills. There must be several 100,000 euros in there. What the hell!

Take the bag and run? Seems like a shitty idea to you. The shipment went to your address. Whoever owns it (and it's not you) knows who you are and where you live. None of this makes any sense! You search the side pockets. An airline ticket. First class. From Paris back to Saint Barth via Saint Martin. And a booking confirmation for an overnight stay in a suite at the Pullman Paris Roissy CDG Airport. Tonight. All in your name. Fuck, you can't just fly to the Caribbean with some underwear and two swim shorts and an incredible amount of money. But if you do, you have to hurry. Shit, you'll regret it. But you buy a train ticket to Paris, put on your best suit. And you're on your way.

On the train, everything was still okay. But in the lobby of the airport hotel you get a lot of looks. Yes, first of all you don't fit into the elegant frame. Your suit is enough for a customer appointment as a representative of construction machinery. But here all the people are slimmer, more elegant, prettier…. You look like a slightly overweight piece of dirt. With a 15-carat diamond in your hand. At the reception, the lady smiles at you briefly. Then her eyes fall on the weekender. And just breathes a "How beautiful!" Then she apologizes that they can't offer you anything better than the Superior Suite. There were other VIPs here besides you who had received the very large suites. As an apology you would receive a bottle of champagne in your room. And they would be very grateful if they could invite you to dinner. Your luggage has already arrived, they were so kind to bring it to your room. If you need help unpacking, you can reach the butler service at extension 940.

You thank her and ask for a discreetly placed table at 8:30 pm. The champagne gladly with your meal. In fluent French. You beam at the young lady, she blushes and smiles back.

It's a good thing your suitcase wasn't checked in directly by the Air France service. You would like to change again for dinner. The suite is okay for one night. In the bathroom, you look in the mirror. Why did you put on that cheap suit? You must have been really mentally deranged. Were you trying to disguise yourself? Silly! You jump into the shower. While drying off, you think to yourself that you are actually quite firm for a man in his late 40s. Yes, a little more exercise would be okay. But otherwise… You open the Hermès suitcase, take out a black suit and a black shirt. And you change your clothes. You find the Royal Oak to match. And as a statement, the crocodile sandals. Let everyone see your freshly pedicured feet.

There's hardly a pair of eyes that don't turn to you when you enter the restaurant. If your ego wasn't bigger than the Eiffel Tower, you might be embarrassed that the entire staff looks after you first and then the other guests. You see people whispering. Everyone wonders who you are. The problem is: you don't know yourself… For a moment, you look at your manicured fingernails and wonder what's going on. Then you take a sip of champagne. Veuve Clicquot. Well… It's a gift… It's okay for that…

After dessert, the waiter asks if you would like to have coffee and digestif with a cigar at the bar. Normally you think this is a good idea. But not today. The flight to Martinique leaves quite early. Before that, you would like to get some sleep. So you decline with thanks and put a 100-euro bill on the table as a tip.

A message on your cell phone wakes you up at 4:00 in the morning. You are supposed to take some courier goods with you. You can get it at the hotel reception. Fuck! What is this again? Anyway, you are awake now. Then use the time at least. 100 situps, 100 pushups. You like the picture in the bathroom mirror afterwards. The hair on your chest is jet black. Just like your beard, there's not a gray hair to be seen. And sweat drips in the grooves between your six-pack. You get a hard-on like you haven't had in years. You can't help it. You have to jerk off. And boy, there was real pressure on your balls. Your cum runs off the mirror like someone threw a cup of yogurt at it. It's just before 6:00 now. You call 940 and ask Yves to pick up a package at the reception desk, which would be deposited there. Until he arrives, you do another 100 push-ups. When the knock comes and you open the door, your eyes fall on a turquoise package in Yves' hands. Yves' gaze falls on the package between your legs. Shit, you are naked. Yves asks if he can help you in any way. He still does not look into your eyes. You pull him into the room and throw him on your bed.

Two hours later Yves serves you breakfast in your room. You are ready for departure. Airfrance has already picked up your luggage with the package, which is probably not from Tiffany's, and your boarding pass is in an envelope on a silver tray on the breakfast table. In half an hour, someone will pick you up and take you directly to the plane. Security checks are something for people who have to travel in business class.

Flights with Air France are orgies of champagne and foie gras. The nine hours fly by. The fuck with the purser in the bathroom certainly played its part. The guy thought you were in your late 30s and asked if you were flying on your dad's credit card or your own. For the impudence he had to blow you unfortunately. Whereby he was not so wrong. Somehow you fly with daddy's credit card. But you still don't know who Daddy is. The pilot of the private plane who meets you in Saint Martin directly on the tarmac and flies with you to Saint Barth doesn't tell you that either. You have never been here before. But you feel right at home. This is how you always imagined the Caribbean. There is a Maybach on the tarmac. When you get off the plane, the driver comes to meet you, takes your suitcase and weekender and puts both in the trunk. Wordlessly. And just as wordlessly, he gets into the car and speeds away.

Shit! Now you're standing at the airport. You don't even have an ID card. You have the clothes you wear on your body. Okay, the watch you're wearing on your wrist could get you back home if need be and feed you for a year. That's where the Maybach comes back. The chauffeur gets out and asks you for the watch. Fuck!

At that moment, an open jeep rolls up to you. At the wheel is a young guy, maybe in his mid-20s, waving at you. Damn, you know that face… He reminds you of your lost buddy. Did he have a son who is a personal trainer in the Caribbean? That's definitely what the man looks like. The guy jumps out of the car, hugs you and welcomes you to Saint Barth. "Come on, get in! The boss wants to meet you!" You drive around the island for half an hour. Everything is incredibly beautiful! A gate opens in front of you at the end of a dead-end street. And your buddy steers the car through a tropical park. He parks the car in front of a palace, grins at you, says "Not bad, huh" and tells you to follow him. You walk through the house for what feels like a kilometer. There is a pleasant coolness here. Your buddy knocks on a door, waits a moment and opens it. A wave of autotity hits you. The whole room literally reeks with authority. You almost feel like falling to your knees and kissing the man's hand. "This is the boy from Paris?" Your buddy nods mutely. "Good job," says your boss. And extends his hand to you. With a dry mouth you say that you would do anything for him. He laughs and says that for now you should enjoy the island for a few days. And with a twitch of the corner of his mouth, he tells you that you can say goodbye.

You had hoped a little that you would be allowed to stay in the palace. But your buddy runs back to the jeep. And drives with you to a far less pompous house. But the beach is close. Your room is spacious. Your closet is well sorted. And you have a few days off on the island of the rich and beautiful.

03:30 the next morning. Message from the boss. Have you ever been to Abu Dhabi? Be at the airport in an hour!

[massivechildtidalwave]

Tim did not grow up with supervision. His parents called and checked in maybe once or twice by phone per year before continuing on their adventures, often leaving him completely alone in a too big mansion.

Tim is after all A very smart boy, he’ll figure it out, and he did.

He learned about how money worked and how computers worked and how everything else worked.

He would likely never need a job because his parents were loaded but…. But he could see how having his own separate account from his parents would be beneficial, in the event he truly displeased them enough for them to disown him like they used to threaten him with after eventful galas, he wouldn’t be out on the streets.

Tim found his calling in building custom technology and tracking people down. Turns out spying on the Bats for photography had been useful. No one would buy any product from a kid even if it was Drake Industry backed which was a non issue when nobody in his life even knew he was doing it.

(most of the stalking was just hunting down cheating partners and not the Criminal he would catch as Robin. It was as infuriating as it was a relief, to have a break from the good fight being just a regular kid with an internet account.)

(most people didn’t consider stalking people online normal behavior; most people aren’t named Tim Drake)

⭕️

The Drakes had planned a trip to Italy for a year and surprisingly, Tim had apparently been “old enough to be useful” for the trip. He didn’t have high hopes and being ditched at an apartment complex owned by the family for the next year shouldn’t have been such a betrayal. It felt like it was.

The only real good news was that the Big Bat had finally gotten help and therefore would not need Tim’s Robin anymore. He had Damian now. All the Wayne’s were in Gotham where they belonged, breathing. Tim had done his part perfectly!

Tim powered up his computer, set his equipment around his new stomping grounds and went back to work in order to chase away his boredom….. only the work seemed to be different then in Gotham.

Tim had started gaining requests to find “Traitors”, like Mafia Traitors…. He was Robin, he shouldn’t be helping the Mafia by tracking down their victims for them…. However he wasn’t truly Robin anymore, and on second look the Traitors had actually done horrible things.

Huh

Who knew most Mafia Families had themselves morals? Though it did depend on the group. He also gained an increase in orders for machinery. Guns and more guns and trackers and capture devices. Tim kind of felt like HE was the Drug dealer of the group. (“what can I get you” *dramatically unzips long jacket* “got the good guns, the great trackers, which ya want”)

⭕️

In Tims defense, it wasn’t his fault he figured out about Flames..

He had gotten jumped in the city, of course he had, and he may or may not had reacted badly to a gun being shoved in his face so far from home. Now his hands were glowing purple.

He needed information and who better to ask than the Mafia.( he hadn’t slept in two nights when he thought of this plan)

but he couldn’t just ask them. No! That would be risky, dangerous, he didn’t raise himself to be an idiot, so he broke into their computers. and damn was it protected! It took him two hours to break in instead of the thirty minutes he thought it would but he managed it.

With knowledge of Omertà and everything he could find about Flames, Tim decided he needed to find a group to hide in if it ever called for it…. His first choice. The Varia. But not just the Varia, the research and technical support wing of the Varia. It had originally been a “if I ever need it” but Tim had gotten bored again and now here he was, taking the tests needed to enter the organization.

it’s ok though, he’s smart. He’ll figure it out like he always did.

[issillage]

Childe x Y/n

“Is it possible to restore the shine of dead eyes?”

“1...2...5...” - a kid’s voice counted to ten so that he would open his eyes and see what kind of surprise his beloved brother had prepared for him.

You looked anxiously at Teucer, then at Childe, who’s being attacked by several huge, mechanical Ruin Drake. The sound of machinery and their heavy, loud footsteps echoed throughout Dottore's abandoned laboratory.

“Give me another ten seconds, Teucer...” - Said Tartaglia and met your gaze for an imaginary second.

The water was quickly replaced with electric charge by using delusion that denigrating his already impure heart. The tall figure of the man became even taller while lean body now seemed unnaturally muscular and handsome face was hidden behind a red mask.

Have you ever wondered what Tartaglia is like without a mask? Even if he’s not in the four legacy form, he wears a facade that hides not only intentions and the blackness of his soul, but a small child beaten by life that gave him to the bottomless abyss.

Before you could blink, the mechanical monsters fell to the ground with a prolonged sound — signaling that the gift for Teucer is ready.

“9….10! I'm opening my eyes, this time for sure!” - Teucer removed his hands from his face and joyfully ran towards the mechanical ruins. “Wow, a lot of Mr. Cyclops! My bro the best! The best toy seller in the world!"

If Tartaglia had been a seller, he’d have been selling sharp daggers or numerous stolen women's hearts, not toys. But, today you’re an accomplice in this performance, where Childe is a caring brother — not a bloodthirsty harbinger.

While Teucer was excitedly playing with toys, you looked around to find a hint of the presence of ‘Toy Seller’, who disappeared immediately after the score reached ten.

Going a little further, behind the iron wall, you heard a quiet, male groan. Walking towards the sound, a wounded Harbinger stuck to your gaze, sitting on the ground and holding his side, where blood is similar to red paint on a canvas. His breathing was labored, a couple of drops of sweat were dripping from his forehead down his manly cheekbones.

“Huh, I'm not in the best shape after using four legacy. But I'm fine, y/n, i’ve been worse.”

Of course, this has its price. It’s pox that may one day consume him completely, but blind loyalty to his homeland is stronger than fear.

Childe reached out and grabbed your wrist, forcing you to sit on his lap. He didn't care about your protests or attempts to escape — only squeezed your hips from both sides and burying himself in your neck.

“…I'm sorry. This is the first time someone's around when I'm in this state... not counting the doctors, of course.” - His voice trembled slightly, whether it was from external or internal wounds, no one knew. He inhaled your fragrance and ran his nose over the delicate skin of neck, raised one hand from your hips to your hair.

Tartaglia has always been alone, when his body is covered with cuts and his heart with arrows. Let him enjoy someone's presence a little. After all, before you is not the 11th harbinger, but the one who was once Ajax, whose eyes sparkled before falling into abyss.

“Just for now, sit on this evil-harbinger for a little longer.”

That's him, the ‘toy seller’ Childe. He has a wide range of products — from bloody extermination, to passionate and tender love.

What product do you want to buy, Y/n?

(It’s not going to be a bot. It seems to me that this is relevant only for such a sketch rather than for a full-fledged ai.)

art cr : jn6509040