#Custom Neutral Links

[pralinesims]

WATERDROP OCCULTS - Maxis-Match Eyes

Making occult (replacement) eyes always stresses me out a lot, so that's one project group I usually procrastinate on, but the recent 2 weeks I found some motivation to finish all the occults for my Waterdrop eyes and well, here they are! I tweaked them a lot and finally am satisfied with their looks. In combination with the human eye set they're now a full, proper match to all of the occult categories, hope you enjoy ♥

Things you should know:

For fem + masc frames, infant-elder.

Features a clear, gameplay-friendly sclera.

Alien = 9 colors (+ an evil clone swatch) Vampire = 1 neutral, 8 glowy colors with a custom emission map Mermaid = 9 colors Wolf = 13 neutral, 4 glowy colors with a custom emission map

Available as default, non default & facepaint variations. The facepaint versions are compatible with the basegame.

Compatible with HQ mod, pics taken without it.

Additional info can be found at the download link, please read everything if you're unsure about pack dependencies!

Thanks so much everyone for liking the Waterdrop eyes, I hope you'll enjoy the new occult addons as much as I do! 💋

➔ DOWNLOAD (Patreon FREE)

If you like, please consider to support my work 🖤 ● ALL MY CC DOWNLOADS

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Canonical enshittification

This is the Facebook playbook: you lure in publishers by promising them a traffic funnel ("post excerpts and links and we'll show them to people, including people who never asked to see them"), and then the rug-pull: "Post everything here, don't link to your own site. Become a commodity supplier to our platform. Abandon all your own ways of making money. Become entirely subject to the whims of our recommendation system."

Next will be: "We block links to other sites because they might be malicious."

Then some kind of "pivot to video."

Probably not video (though who knows?) but some other feature that a major rival has, which Twitter will attempt to defraud its captive, commodified suppliers into financing an entry into.

In case you were wondering, yes, this is canonical enshittification. Lure in business customers (publishers) by offering surpluses (algorithmic recommendation and an ensuing traffic funnel). Lock them in (by capturing their audience and blocking interop and logged-out reading).

Then rug the publishers, clawing back all the surpluses you gave them and more, draining them of all available capital and any margins they have, until they die or bite the bullet and leave.

I would also give good odds on this leading to a revivification of the "Pay us tens of thousands of dollars a month for a platinum checkmark and we'll actually show what you post to the people who asked to see it."

That will be pitched as the answer to publishers' complaints about not wanting to turn themselves into commodity Twitter inputs. It will be priced at the same (or more) as the revenues publishers expect to lose from being commodified, making it a wash.

All of this seems to me to be an "unfair and deceptive business practice" under Sec 5 of the FTC Act.

If I sign up to follow you because I want to see what you post, and Twitter shadowbans your posts unless they are formatted to maximize your dependence on Twitter, they have deceived me, and are being unfair to you.

This is *very* analogous to the Net Neutrality debate, where a platform blocks or deprioritizes the things its users ask to see, based on whether the suppliers of those things are its competitors.

I've written about how an end-to-end principle for social media could be enforced under Sec 5 of the FTCA, how it would address this kind of sleazy practice, how it would be easy to administer, and wouldn't form a barrier to entry for new market entrants:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/10/e2e/#the-censors-pen

[pforestsims]

✨🎁Sparkle Sparkle✨

Clothing recolors with shiny patterns require Extended SimStandardMaterial by @crispsandkerosene

⭐recolors of Platasp 4t2 Sentate Messina dress AF

based on snake skin texture by @sentate , plus mesh edit with my classic pumps /optional/ . Polycount: 4679. S4 original is here. /Dress conversion by @platinumaspiration came with lots of nice 4t2 recolors btw/.

⭐Hourglass Dress Separated AF plus recolors

& Hourglass Dress Short Classic Pumps AF (repo)

New meshes based on my shape edit of Celebrations SP wedding gown, with dress subset separate from skin - in 8 glittery shades. Polycount: 2049 & 2500.

⭐recolors of 4t2 Nell Disheveled Suit conv. by @kurimas

plus my mesh edit - minor fixes and TS2 'block' hands & added "fat" morph. Polycount: 6078. S4 original by @nell-le is here .

Download all: SFS | BOX

/updated 24.12.2024 - fixed morphs in HourglassDressSeparated/

And a little bonus:

⭐Sparkler accessory default

Download: SFS | BOX

This will replace original chunky mesh with the same one but made much thinner, and two textures used for spark effects with larger ones (48x384 px).

✨ ✨ ✨

I wish Everybody a Happy New Year!

✨ ✨ ✨

Recolor swatches and my notes on adding envcube masks to clothing under the cut:

*This is for The Sims 2

Recolor number 00 in each set contains envcube mask and is required by other recolors.

Metallic Messina dress recolors all use one envcube mask texture and one grey clothing texture, colors are added with TXMT settings only.

Same with dark shades of Disheveled suit - four recolors, only two textures.

Hourglass Dress Short mesh contains two shoe textures: black and beige, I've also included TXMT setting files ready to be imported into recolors, so you can easily swap those if you wish.

BTW I also included TXMT settings that you can merge with 4t2 Messina recolors converted by Platasp. This will add a snakeskin envcube/mask (from my recolor).

When adding shine to custom clothing, remember that shiny subset has to be separate from skin and that TXMT Type (cMaterialDefinition tab) has to be set to SimStandardMaterial !

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes on recolouring clothes with envcubemask:

SimPe is required.

Here's a tutorial on adding shine to clothes - but the quickest way is to simply import TXMT settings with shine and mask from recolor that already has those, and edit texture names (& cMaterialDefinition TXMT type, if it's set to SimSkin).

Bodyshop breaks envcube masks - when you make a new recolor of shiny outfit it will turn the mask to transparent DXT3

borked texture has to be replaced with ExtRaw8bit texture, or you can remove it and link TXMT to envcube mask texture name from another package (stdMatEnvCubeMaskTextureName line). I recommend removing custom envcube texture that Bodyshop creates and using TS2 envcube (stdMatEnvCubeTextureName line).

I find that reflectionsilver-envcube is the best for neutral and colorized shiny patterns on clothing, unless you want bright gold shine - then reflectiongold-envcube works best, with stdMatEnvCubeCoef set to pure white.

Envcubes often used for objects, like reflectionsparking-envcube, will look quite mirror-y and dark in envcube blend mode.

stdMatEnvCubeMode: blend mode works best for medium / dark textures, while diffuseRadiance mode works best for light clothing textures. There's also standard Reflection mode, which is quite subtle, probably best if you'd like to make patches of clothing look like satin or plastic.

To achieve nice glitter / sparkle effect, Envcube mask has to be crisp, high contrast, black and white. Make sure you have 100% black on parts that are not supposed to be shiny.

stdMatEnvCubeCoef line is the reflection color / brightness. Envcubes have their own colors already, so your reflection color settings will be affected by it. Reflectionsilver-envcube texture is neutral with greyish-blue shadows, no dark spots.

Reflection with mask can be previewed in Bodyshop. Have in mind that reflections look quite bright when camera is in front of a Sim, but when you open the game and look at the same outfit at an angle, it won't be as bright. /Also - unlike shiny object recolors, these don't become extra shiny outdoors./

In this vid you can see reflectionkitchenhighcontrast-envcube used for silver dress - looked great but when I put that dress on my Sim, and looked at it from above, reflections were barely visible.

[unidentifiedsim]

Hedonist Tattoo - FREE

☆ 2 Colours ☆ 5 Shades ☆ Found in Tattoo Upper Back ☆ Gender Neutral (fits female best) ☆ Teen - Elder ☆ HQ Compatible ☆ Disallowed for Random ☆ Custom Thumbnail ☆ Works for both Alpha and MM Skins ☆ Base Game Only

Tag me on Bluesky, Instagram, TikTok, Tumblr and Twitter. I'd love to see your pictures

www.patreon.com/posts/hedonist-tattoo-116127750

Terms of Use Please Respect Them x All of my CC will be made public within 2-3 weeks. Depending on the creation. x Do not edit my mesh in anyway for your own use, whether personal or commercial. x Do not re-upload my cc! x Do not include my cc in your sim dumps, whether free or paid for. Please link back to me. x Do not claim my creations as your own and do not reupload them. x Recolouring my CC is not allowed unless stated otherwise. x Do not use a*fly or any link shortener. x Do not use my cc for patreon exclusive or early access benefits. x Do not convert my cc to other platforms such as Second Life, GTA etc.

Tag me on Bluesky, Instagram, TikTok, Tumblr and Twitter. I'd love to see your pictures

[felassan]

New today on DA:TV from Game Informer:

"A Deep Dive Into Dragon Age: The Veilguard’s Expansive Character Creator by Wesley LeBlanc on Jun 27, 2024 at 02:00 PM As BioWare prepared to show me the character creator for Dragon Age: The Veilguard in its Edmonton, Canada, offices, I expected something robust – it's 2024, character creators have come a long way, and Bioware has a rich history of good customization. Despite my expectations, I was not prepared for how robust it actually is in Veilguard. Robust enough, even, that BioWare used it to create most of the NPCs in the game, save for mainline characters like companions. Setting hyperbole aside, it is a staggeringly rich creation system, and I look forward to seeing player-created near-replicas of celebrities and monstrous creations that'd be more at home in a horror game.  But I'm also looking forward to the community's reaction to the Dragon Age series' best character creator yet. At the heart of it is inclusivity, Veilguard game director Corinne Busche tells me before letting me guide her through creating my own character."

"As is usual, there are four races to choose from: Elves, Qunari, Humans, and Dwarves. After selecting Qunari, Busche pages through various presets, explaining the game allows for more detailed looks at each and the ability to choose pronouns with she/her, he/him, and they/them separately from gender, select different body types, and more. You can view your character, referred to as Rook in-game, in four different lighting scenes at any time, including The Veilguard's keynote purple hue, a bright and sunny tropical day, and a gothic night.  I joke with the team that after spending upwards of an hour creating my Dragon Age: Inquisition character in 2014, I immediately restarted the game after seeing him in the first cutscene; the in-game lighting made my hair color look terrible amongst other issues I had with my Inquisitor. Veilguard creative director John Epler says the team is aware of countless stories like that with Inquisition and its green-hued character creator, adding BioWare worked hard to squash that concern in Veilguard.  Head and body presets can be selected individually and customized to your liking with 40 different complexions that include smooth, rugged, youthful, and freckled skin tones, skin hues ranging from cool to neutral to warm, undertones to those skin tones, and even a melanin slider. Busche tells me BioWare relied on consultation to represent all people authentically. There's a Vitiligo slider (where you can adjust the intensity and amount of it) and sliders for your forehead, brow, cheeks, jaw, chin, larynx, and scalp. You can select your undergarments, with nudity as well because "this is a mature RPG," Busche adds, and use the "Body Morpher" to select three presets for each corner of a triangle and then move a cursor within it to morph your body or head into a mix of these presets. It's an impressive technology I'd like to see adopted in other games. [link to embedded DA:TV gameplay reveal video]"

"I can keep going: You can adjust height, shoulder width, chest size, glute and bulge size, hip width, how bloodshot your eyes are, how visible cataracts are, the sclera color, how crooked your nose is, how big its bridge is, the size of nostrils and the nose tip, and there are as many sliders, if not more, for things like Rook's mouth and ears. On ears alone, I see you can adjust asymmetry, depth, rotation, earlobe size, and even add cauliflower ear to your Rook. Busche says makeup blends modern stylings with the fantasy of Dragon Age with more than 30 options, including eyeliner intensity, color, glitter, eye shadow, lips, and blush. Tattoos are just as customizable alongside options for scars and paint. Tattoos, scars, and paint are very culturally relevant to some lineages, BioWare tells me, with unique tattoos for elves, for example. You can add tattoos to Rook's face, body, arms, and legs, and you can adjust things like intensity, too.  Im most impressed, however, by the hair options on display; there are a ton, and as someone with long hair, I'm especially excited about the fun selections I can make. You can finally dye your hair with non-traditional colors, and it's gorgeous. EA's Frostbite engine uses the Strand system to render each style fully with physics. "The technology has finally caught up to our ambition," Dragon Age series art director Matt Rhodes says. After customizing all of that and selecting our Qunari's horn type and material (of which there are more than 40 options to choose from), it's time to pick a class out of the Rogue, Mage, and Warrior – read more about Veilguard's classes here. Since we built a Qunari, we went with Warrior. For the penultimate step of the character creator, at least during the demo BioWare shows me, we select a faction. Out of the six options, we select the pirate-themed Lords of Fortune."

"Rook ascends because of competency, not because of a magical McGuffin," BioWare core lead and Mass Effect executive producer Michael Gamble tells me in contrast to Inquisition's destiny-has-chosen-you-characterization. "Rook is here because they choose to be and that speaks to the kind of character that we've built," Busche adds. "Someone needs to stop this, and Rook says, 'I guess that’s me.'" Ready to begin our Rook's journey, we select a first and last name and one of four voices out of English masculine, English feminine, American masculine, or American feminine options. There's a pitch shifter for each voice, too, allowing you to tweak it to your liking further. Don't stress too much about locking in your character creations before beginning the game – the Mirror of Transformation, which is found in Veilguard's main hub, The Lighthouse, allows you to change your physical appearance at any time. However, class, lineage, and identity are locked in and cannot be changed after you select them in the game's character creator.  From here, we're off to Minrathous, and you can read more about that famed city in our cover story, which is available here. For more about the game, including exclusive details, interviews, video features, and more, click the Dragon Age: The Veilguard hub button below."

[source]

[bump1nthen1ght]

Between the Neon (Male!Android x AFAB!Reader)

Pairing: AFAB!Reader x Male!Robot

Genre: Sci-fi, CyberPunk, Prostitute!Reader, Fluffy Smut

Word Count: 1714 words

Warning: Explicit Content Ahead (18+ ONLY)

Summary: After leaving his last appointment completely satisfied, Axel wasted no time in coming back to request more of your services.

Request: Anything with Axel please! (From kinktober)

A/N: Soooo I totally forgot that the original drabble with Axel (Which you can find here) was gender neutral, and didn’t realize until I had fully written out the fic 🤦‍♀️. Soo I decided to write two versions, one with an AFAB!Reader and one with an AMAB!Reader, with the reader still using they/them pronouns. Hope y’all enjoy!

Link to AMAB!Reader is Here!

After many years of working, you’ve grown a good sense for customers; Who will tip well, who’s going to cause problems, and the special few who will become your favorites.

You knew immediately that Axel was going to go in the latter category. But what you hadn’t expected was for him to jump to your #1 patron within a month of your first rendezvous. Man was eager and had some money to spend, that was for sure.

“Hmm, good bot.” Your thumb rubs across his smooth skull-plating, moaning as his synthetic tongue fucks against your g-spot. His vents exhale hot steam, like a heating pad between your legs. He had gotten that body mod after three sessions together, something to prevent him  from overheating amidst the countless orgasms. The nodes of textured tongue send shivers down your spine, making you sink into your plush work bed. “Fuck, your getting good at this, Axel.”

Axel had learned on his second visit that your pussy was his favorite flavor, always begging for a taste at the beginning of every session. He had been slightly clumsy at first, but once he learned your biology, he took it up like a dedicated scholar. You had even caught him looking at extensive diagrams of the human vulva after one session, making notes on what made you specifically shiver and cum.

“I’m close, baby.” Axel moans into your mound, face lit in bright blue blush. Machinery whirrs as your thighs press into the sides of his head, his own personal heaven. Your toes curl behind his neck, orgasm striking quick and hard “Fuck~” You pant, hips jerking and humping into Axel’s jaw, your juices running down his chin. He laps them up like a dog, always desperate for another taste.

You have to pull him away from your cunt, slightly overstimulated and eager for the next part of your session. Axel has a stupid wide grin on his face, his digital pupils turned into glitchy hearts.

What a cutie.

You kiss Axel’s cheek as he crawls up your body, letting him snuggle into your neck and hug you with sticky hands.

“I wanna try something new today.” You whisper in his audial port. Axel whimpers.

“Yes p-please.” He lets you pull away from the embrace, obediently following orders to sit on the edge of the bed. Axel is always quick to try new things, desperately excited to explore your body and all its new sensations.

You remember the first time you rode him, how his glitchy voice echoed across your apartment. 

“O-o-oh stars!”

His hands had struggled choosing between gripping your hips and fondling your tits, watching all of you bounce in his dick. That dilemma was solved when you flipped into reverse cowgirl and he was able to palm your jiggling ass cheeks.

“You’re incredible! Incredible!” He had yelped as he overloaded inside you, licking your thighs clean of cum right after. He then spent the next 20 minutes caressing your butt, watching the way it wiggled with every hip movement.

That's what inspired you tonight.

You flip around to your stomach, holding your weight on your elbows and shimmying your hips. Your fingers come down to your pussy lips and spread them wide open. 

“Come here, baby.”

Axel scrambles up the bed, aching cock in his grip, lemon-lime coolant dripping down the shaft. He’s quick to line up with your hole, but doesn’t sink in just yet. He never does without permission.

Good boy.

“Now put your hands on my hips.” Your voice guides him along, shaky digits glancing across your pelvis. His leaking tip pressed against your entrance, so close to just slipping inside you. Another burst of air comes from his vents.

“Now's the fun part.” Settling into your knees, you throw your ass back onto Axel, cock sliding in like a hot knife through butter. His digits leave indents on your love handles, his voice glitching.

“Fu-uck!” He pants, his eyes going cross from the sudden grip on his dick. Your velvety walls hold him tight, his nodes rubbing as he his hips jump a little. You smirk, swiveling your hips.

“You gotta good grip back there?” Your voice purrs, and you take Axel’s lusty moans as a definite ‘yes’. 

Axel’s voice melts into whines as you slide him out till the tip, only to shriek and glitch when you throw your ass back on to him. You give him little time to recover, using his hands for stability to throw it back and over and over onto his cock. Streams of coolant run down his cock and between your pussy lips, sloshing together with skin and wiring.

“Oh, stars and galaxies~” Axel moans, leaning his torso forward to help his balance. “You feel so go-od.” Axel's tongue lolls out in a pant, more steam pumping from his vents. “That ass.” His voice teeters off, hands wandering down to your jiggling backside.

“You wanna slap it, Axel?” You swivel your hips again, core clenching as you put an extra shimmy in your hips.

“Y-yes. Will that h-hurt you-ungh!” 

Your pussy walls clench onto Axel’s cock, bottom lip bitten between your teeth at the idea.

“No, baby. I want it.”

A mixture between a delighted giggle and a ravenous moan squeal from Axel’s audial ports. One hand moves from your hips to your ass, never leaving the skin. He gives a tentative squeeze, mindful of his robotic strength, before giving you a soft tap. It’s sweet, but you crave more. 

“You can do it harder, Axel. In fact….”

You pause your bouncing, craving to see Axel’s expression. His cheeks grow bright with his coolant, his pupils flickering back and forth between the arch of your back and your face.

“Why’d you stop?”

“Patience, sweet thing.” You grip onto the bedspread below, adjusting your knees upward into proper doggy style. “Here, grab onto my hips again.” Axel follows your instructions dutifully, finding his palace on your pelvis. His plating shudders as you rock forward, pulling his cock out to the tip. Axel rushes to follow, hands still in place, but resists. “Okay, now pull me back. Like I was doing before.”

There’s an audible click as Axel turns his head, slightly confused. But as always he’s an obedient boy, and does as he’s told.

He goes slow, still timid and unsure. But a crackling groan from his chest tells you he’s catching on quickly as pulls you back onto his cock.

“Ok, now pull out a bit.”

Big globs of coolant drop down your pussy and onto Axel’s shaft as he does, another shudder. His digits shale against your skin.

“Now, pull me back and push your hips up.”

Axel increases his pace a bit, impatience finally getting to him, chasing your warmth. A texture head bumps against your g-spot, and you make sure to emphasize your moan.

“Again.” 

Axel, ever the fast learner, humps into you again, nodes scraping along your inner walls with a little more force. You bite your lip.

“Again, faster.”

Your right hand spreads forward, knuckles clenching into the fabric. Axel, ever the quick learner, thrusts again with more gusto. Another crackling moan from behind you. He doesn’t wait for your instruction, following the unspoken and humping into you.

“Yes, just like that.”

Axel is quick in finding his rhythm, engines whirring as his hips speed up. Your cheap mattress squeaks, bed frame now hitting the wall as Axel throws his weight into you.

“Oh, yes.” Axel moans, eyes transfixed by you jiggling ass, jiggling because of him.

“Ungh, right there!” Your neck arches backward, mouth open wide with your tongue sticking out. Axel’s head easily find your g-spot with every hit, even as Axel himself grows more frantic. Mechanical parts that you’ve never heard from him before kick into gear, helping him move with more and more force.

“Ooo-oh!” Axel digits grow slick on your sweat, struggling to find a grip. But he doesn’t care, clawing into the fat and chasing the high of your cunt on his cock. Cum and fluids spatter onto your ass cheeks, even reach your lower back as Axel fucks you hard and fast.

“Slap my ass!”

This time the mix of adrenaline and lust are too much, overloading Axel’s more gentler sensibilities, and he gives you a proper spank. The noise echoes across the room.

“Fuck!” Your pussy milks him for all his worth. Axels digits rub across the handprint do doubt on your skin, right before slapping the other side just as hard. “Yes! Yes!”

Your headboard crashes into your wall now, shaking the very foundations of your shitty apartment. The gears in Axel’s legs work overtime, and you're sure the only thing that could stop him now would be his own orgasm, not any kind of exhaustion.

Speaking of which-

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. W-where do you want-”

“Inside, creampie me!”

It’s like a password, sending Axel into a whole new mode of fucking. His cockhead pounds the very end of your pussy, hands knotting into your ass. You feel a buzzing running up your stomach and down your legs. Your skin feels like it's on fire.

“So good, so good, so good.” Axel’s voice babbles, no amount of steam for  his vents preventing the rising heat in his wiring. “Oh, stars”

An explosion of cum bursts in your cunt, filling you up like a sex toy, spurting out of the sides. You reach your high at that moment, toes curling and pussy flexing onto Axel’s cock.

The poor bot nearly collapses after he pulls out, his modesty plate shuddering to close as his temperature warning beep goes off. He falls onto his side, arm thrown over his face. 

It takes you a while to catch your breath, trying to remember the last time a client left you this cock-drunk. Once you do, you sidle up to Axel, enjoying the excess warmth of his body, like a giant heating pad.

“That was….awesome.”

Axel pants, arm slipping under your hips to pull you closer. His system beeps again, no doubt sending him advisories to push your hot, warm-blooded body away. But those are quickly deflected, Axel nuzzling his face into your hair.

Yup, definitely one of your favorites.

[shellseaisms]

burlywood colonial home.

not entirely confident this is what a colonial style house is supposed to look like, but I've named it that anyway because it looks close enough and it sounds groovy. this is a smaller home with 2 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, lots of neutral colours and an unfinished backyard :~) I'm pretty fond of this one, hope you like it too!

custom content used: find all cc links for this build here.

§112,253 furnished, §63,833 unfurnished

2 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms

30 x 30 lot size

custom content included with package file

built in rosewood hills

‣ ‎ ‎ download below.

download (furnished)

package // sims3pack

place the file ending in '_library' in your library folder (documents/electronic arts/the sims 3/library) regardless of what version you choose to install. for package downloaders, the file ending in '_mods' goes in your mods folder.

note: custom content is not included with the sims3pack.

unfurnished (sims3pack + library file) // library file only (furnished, cc not included)

[stellewriites]

master list,, 18+ mdni

⟡ - smut ✷ - multi chapter

✿ - fluff ⊠ - dark fic

john price

toxic ex!john ⊠ ao3 link

john doesn't take no for an answer.

autistic!reader x john thoughts ✿ ao3 link

little snippets about what john would be like with an autistic partner.

already spoken for ⟡ ✷ ✿ ao3 link

when john gets an unexpected invite to his ex-wife’s wedding, he scrambles to find a suitable date to take with him to ward off old ghosts from his past.

john’s wife ao3 link

john’s wife isn’t common knowledge around base.

retainers aren’t so bad ✿

you forget to take you retainer out when you got to the pub

simon ‘ghost’ riley

online seller ⊠ ao3 link

you buy a second-hand sweatshirt online and the seller seems so sweet.

morning breath ✿

you’ve been dating butch!ghost for a while now

by the edge of the sun ✿ ao3 link

it’s easier said than done trying not to catch feelings for your new roommate, butch!simon

johnny ‘soap’ mactavish

cbf!johnny

its cold, you should help a guy out.

trans!soap

soap asks for a favour from his lt.

2xl shirt (plus original post) ⟡ ✿ ao3 link

you put your foot in it during work one day when a customer sends in a complaint regarding your gym’s workwear sizes.

you keep johnny happy however when he comes in to make the return.

western horror ⊠ ao3 link fanvid by serastonins

a marriage of convenience becomes the complete opposite one fateful night.

kyle ‘gaz’ garrick

firefighter!gaz ✿ ao3 link

after being tasked with looking after your neighbour's cat, you're left with no choice but to ring for help when the sneaky furball gets himself stuck up a tree - you can't complain at who comes to save the day however.

trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns ✿ ao3 link

After seeing your ex with his new partner in your local pub, you go outside for a smoke to distract yourself.

You bump into Kyle who manages to wipe the memory of your ex away completely.

‘nice guy’ kyle, part 2 ⊠ ao3 link

the lengths he'd go to to get in your favour.

poly141

choices made in anger ⊠ ao3 link

Not one to often back down, you feel your shitty day get even worse when you spot a group of guys hovering around your car in the pub car park and storm over without a second thought.

It's far from your best idea and it certainly doesn't go how you'd planned.

poly141 summer thoughts ✿ ao3 link

the boys have a bbq and simon feels well-loved.

ghoap

the outsider to an inside joke ⟡ ⊠ ao3 link

You finally get your shit together and take that trip to Scotland that you’d always wanted. Finding a cheap shared apartment in the heart of Edinburgh was lucky, the host - Johnny - being such a sweetheart was just the cherry on top.

Johnny double booking the spare room, was a bit of a snag in your plans however, especially when the guy - Simon - was reluctant to go anywhere any time soon. Looks like you’d be sharing a room for the week.

ghost tattoo thoughts ao3 link

thoughts on what other tattoos simon might have and why.

tiger bread ✿ ao3 link

cuddling with your boyfriends never gets old.

soapgaz

dog meat ⟡ ✷ ⊠ ao3 link

by chance you and your emotionally unavailable husband meet a friendly couple that invite you stay at their farmhouse in scotland. however the time spent there with johnny & kyle has you questioning if there’s a dark side to them you didn’t see before.

speak no evil au

miscellaneous

a helping hand (cali’s nameless challenge) ✿ ao3 link

in class you get stumped by a word puzzle, but the handsome man behind you helps you out.

firefighter!laswell ✿ ao3 link

after setting off the fire alarm in your apartment too many times, you gain the attention of a hot firefighter.

keeping warm in winter ✿

a little thought about what the boys wear in winter at home.

[note: i write with mid/plus size readers in mind, some fics have this explicitly stated/described whereas others keep reader's appearance body neutral. there are no other descriptors of reader made evident in the fics.]

[starrgirlella]

Lurking for love? More like lurking for LORE

Hi everyone! Just two days ago, I made some interesting discoveries about LFL by just digging around the website

I'm not sure if anyone else found this out so that's why I'm going to be sharing what I found because it's very interesting

This post is going to be pretty long lol and full of my rambling. If you're interested, please take a read! Do note that English isn't my first language so I may express myself a bit weird 😭

Also IK the screenshots are pretty shitty but I'm lazy oops

To start, I have a habit of checking the sinistershrike website along with the LFL itch.io game page. Why? Well I just like looking if there are any new updates (and its my hyperfixtation so I'm constantly looking for new content)-

And I noticed that on the sinistershrike website there was a new update which some of you may or may not saw.

In summary, the game is getting custom music, prounouns are getting removed so MC is going to be gender neutral and getting called only by their name and most interesting of all: a new main character is getting added, and they're going to be dateable!

Pretty interesting, right? I immediately got curious on who that character might be since they're going to cause drama and more mysteries.

But wait! I'm still not done, hehe

Afterwards, I was just randomly looking at Jacob Alden pics thru google. Again, why? Well, I don't know either lol. It's just a habit that I do when I'm bored and sometimes when I'm lucky, I come across new things.

And this time I was lucky!

So I scrolled down to the end of the results and I saw this post which caught my eye:

What's so interesting about it? Well the fact that the creators website is linked to it. Curious, I clicked on the link and was suprised at what I saw.

(Mind you I still dont know if I'm an idiot just finding this out or not...)

Basically, it's a site containing all info about Jacob! I got really excited when I saw it bc I LOVE learning all the facts about my favourite characters and finding new official content!

When I finished looking through it I noticed two things:

1. The website adress (is that what it's called? Im sorry english isn't my first language)

So when you look at the website adress you can notice how it's linked (basically an extension) to the creators webiste which is: sinistershrike.neocities.org

The thing is; you can't open Jacobs page on the creators site. Like yes, there is a tab which says CHARACTERS but if you click on it you'll get nothing but a scary looking Jacob. Which means to get to this page you have to type the adress in yourself.

So I'm assuming the creator is purposefully hiding this Jacob page (maybe because he wants to finish pages for all characters and more)

And here's the link if you want to take a look for yourself:

https://sinistershrike.neocities.org/character/jacob

2. At the end of the page, you have links to other characters made by the creator.

Not just lurking for love, but other ocs made by him!

Though, if you click on them, you'll get nothing. Maybe they're still being made? I'm not sure.

Now, when you look at the characters for LFL, it's very interesting because we now have info on Sarah's last name AND... an unknown character? Noah Vega.

At first, I was stunned. Who could this character be? Then I went back to the creators website and remembered the mention of a new character, can you see where I'm going?

Noah Vega must be the new character! He was never mentioned before; neither in the game nor in the creators deleted blogs.

And pretty quickly I found proof which helped my theory (I SOUND SO DUMB OMG)

Now going back to the website adress thing.

So I concluded that the Jacob website is hidden from the main website for an reason, hence you can only acess it by finding it yourself. I decided to mess around with the website adress a bit, to see if I could find any more extensions/links.

I started by putting different names in the adress. I tried out: Austin, Sarah, Cedric and Alfred but they didn't lead or anything.

BUT

The only name which lead to an extension was Noah. And holy shit-

I'm finding it hard to express how shocked I was at this discovery

This is a pretty big lore drop imo! So his website shows a pinboard with various notes.

And with these notes we can conclude two things:

1. He has an gambling addiction

2. He is investigating Jacob

He definitely an detective trying to solve an old murder case involved with Jacob. Hence why the mention that the new character will add more drama and mystery to the game.

The three murdered highschoolers must be his old friends mentioned in the game: Steve, Monty and Kenny. Which he claims that they haven't talked since highschool. In reality, they were murdered by him for reasons that are unknown for now.

The website link:

https://sinistershrike.neocities.org/character/noah

And that's about it! I had fun digging around finding this new info and writing this post. I hope to see more of interesting secrets like this in the future because it's fun finding them!

I hope this post was of interest to you :)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

A Democratic media strategy to save journalism and the nation

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/12/the-view-from-somewhere/#abolish-rogan

As unbearably cringe as the hunt for a "leftist Joe Rogan" is, it is (to use a shopworn phrase), "directionally correct." Democrats suck at getting their message out, and that exacts a high electoral cost.

The right has an extremely well-funded media ecosystem of high-paid bullshitters backed by algorithm-gaming SEO dickheads. This system isn't necessarily supposed to turn a profit or even break even: the point of Prageru isn't to score ad revenue, it's to ensure that anyone who googles "what the fuck causes inflation" gets 25 minutes of relatable, upbeat, cheerfully sociopathic Austrian economics jammed into their eyeballs. Far right news isn't a for-profit concern, it's a loss-leader for oligarch-friendly policies. It's a steal: a million bucks' worth of news buys America's ultra-rich a billion dollars' worth of tax-cuts and the right to maim their workers and poison their customers for profit.

Meanwhile, the Democrats have historically relied on the "traditional media" to carry their messages, on the ground that reality has a well-known leftist bias, so any news outlet that hews to "journalistic ethics" will publish the truth, and the truth will weigh in favor of Democratic positions: trans people are humans, racism is real, abortion isn't murder, housing is a market failure, the planet is on fire, etc, etc, etc.

This is a stupid policy, and it has failed. The "respectable" news media hews to a self-imposed code of "balance" and "neutrality" that is easily gamed: "some people say that Hatians don't eat pet dogs, some people do, let's report both sides!" This is called "the view from nowhere" and it gets Democrats precisely nowhere:

http://archive.pressthink.org/2008/03/14/pincus_neutrality.html

Balance and neutrality are bullshit, an excuse that has been so thoroughly weaponized by billionaires and their lickspittles that anyone who takes it seriously demonstrates comprehensively that they, themselves, are deeply unserious:

https://www.techdirt.com/2024/12/10/la-times-billionaire-owner-hilariously-thinks-he-can-solve-media-bias-with-ai/

Press neutrality – the view from nowhere – isn't some eternal verity. In terms of the history of the press, it's an idea that's about ten seconds old. The glory days of the news were dominated by papers with names like The Smallville Democrat and The Ruling Class Republican. Most of the world boggles at the idea that a news outlet wouldn't declare its political posture. Britons know that the Telegraph is the Torygraph; that the Guardian is in the tank for Labour (and specifically, committed to enabling Blairite/Starmerite purges of the left); the Mirror is a leftist tabloid; and the Mail is so far right that its editorial board considers Attila the Hun "woke."

Writing for The American Prospect – an excellent leftist news outlet – Ryan Cooper proposes a solution to the Democratic media gap that's way better than the hunt for the elusive "leftist Joe Rogan": sponsoring explicitly Democrat news outlets:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-12-12-democrats-lost-propaganda-war/

The country is a bleak landscape of news deserts where voters literally didn't hear about what Trump was saying he would do, and, if they heard about it, they didn't hear from anyone who could explain what it meant. The average normie voter doesn't know what a "tariff" is, and chances are they think it's a tax that other countries inexplicably pay for the privilege of selling very cheap things to Americans.

Ironically, this news desert is also a crowded field of hungry, unemployed, talented journalists. What if Dems funded free newsgathering and publication in news deserts that told the truth? What if these news outlets, by dint of being an explicitly partisan, party-subsidized project, refused to adopt all the anti-reader practices of other websites, like disgusting surveillance, intrusive advertising, AI slop, email-soliciting pop-ups, and all the other crap that makes the news worse and worse every day?

Cooper recounts how this was actually tried on a small scale, to modest good effect, when the Center for American Progress subsidized Thinkprogress, an explicitly leftist news outlet. This was going great until 2019, when corporate Dems and their megadonors killed it because Thinkprogress had the temerity to report on their corrupt dealings:

https://www.thedailybeast.com/thinkprogress-a-top-progressive-news-site-is-shutting-down/

And, Cooper points out, this isn't what happens with far-right subsidy news. Right wing influencers, personalities and writers can stray pretty far from the party line without getting shut down.

I love the idea of a disenshittified, explicitly political leftist Democratic news media. Imagine a newsroom whose purpose is to get its message repeated as widely as possible. It wouldn't have a paywall – it would be Creative Commons Attribution-only, allowing for commercial republication by anyone who wants to reprint it, so long as they link back to it. It wouldn't wring its hands over AI ingestion or whether a slop site that rewrote its articles got to the top of Google News. That's fine! If the point is to get people to understand your point of view – and not to attract clicks or eyeballs – other people repackaging your content and finding ways to spread it is a feature, not a bug.

Back in the Napster Wars, entertainment industry shills – like Hillary Rosen, who oversaw a campaign to sue tens of thousands of children before becoming a major Democratic Party power-broker – used to tell us that "you can't compete with free." That's not entirely true, but it's not entirely false, either. If your news is a loss-leader for a democratic society that addresses human flourishing and a habitable planet, then you can make that news free-as-in-speech and free-as-in-beer, and avoid all the suckitude that makes reading "real" news so fucking garbage.

For the past five years, I've been publishing a newsletter – this thing you're reading now – that has no analytics, ads, tracking, pop-ups, or other trash. As a writer, it's profoundly satisfying and liberating, because all I have to care about is whether people engage with my ideas. I literally have no idea how many people read this, but I know everything people say about it.

That's how the news worked back in the good old days that everyone says we need to return to. Writers and editors measured the success of a story based on how the public reacted to it, not based on clicks or metrics that told you how far someone scrolled before they gave up on it. The supposed benefits of "data-driven" editorial policy have not materialized – the "data-driven" part is the search for an equilibrium between how surveillant and obnoxious a website can be and your decision to stop reading it forever.

Outlets like Propublica have done well by adopting much of this program, albeit without any explicit leftist agenda (the fact that they seem leftist reflects nothing more than their commitment to reporting the truth, e.g., Clarence Thomas is a lavishly corrupt puppet of billionaires who've showered him with riches).

The fact that they've been as successful as they are on a national beat – and partnering with the scant few regional papers to do some local coverage – just proves the point. The Democratic Party doesn't need its own Joe Rogan – they need a nationwide network of local outlets, sponsored by the party, committed to never enshittifying, bringing relevant, timely news to a nation in desperate need of it.

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

I'm BACK, my Darlings!

Link to full AO3 fic

Tags and CW for this chapter: murder; rigged gladiator matches; the Baron being the fucking worst; mentions of child abuse/CSA/incest; the Bene Gesserit; mentions of smut/exhibitionism (no actual smut in this one, sorry there will be soon) early pregnancy; Feyd's mommy AND daddy issues; I take a couple of minor liberties with Feyd's birthday arena fight; blink-and-you'll-miss-it implied sexual assault; implied/references sex trafficking; Geidi Prime's culture; mentions of matricide

CHAPTER ELEVEN: HAPPY BIRTHDAY

You reach the box, noting that the more obscure sisters have sat in one section, while Margot and the Reverend Mother sit in the other booth, with room for you in between them.  All stand and turn to you when Idrisa announces your arrival.

Behind her veil you can see the Reverend Mother’s eyebrows raise at your dress, your painted-black lips.

“I imagine the na-Baron had a hand in your outfit?” she asks as you all sit down.

“He had an idea for how he wanted me to look on his birthday, your Reverence,” you say.  

“Have you spoken with him?”

“A little, your Reverence,” you tell her.  “I just finished helping him prepare.”

It’s safe to assume that she’ll be observing you as well as Feyd.  You wonder if she wonders how much leverage you’ve truly gotten with him.  You wonder if she’ll want the graphic details when the two of you speak in private later.  

“How did he seem?” she asks.

“While we haven’t discussed it much, he’s pleased about my recent development.  He seemed indifferent to the prospect of the match, however; he’s participated in so many since he turned eighteen I think it’s somewhat routine for him.”

“It’s reckless, sending the na-Baron into the arena when he’s only just secured the bloodline,” one of Bene Gesserit sisters says.

Both her Reverence and Margot glance your way in a silent invitation to explain your husband’s people’s customs.

“He’s in no danger, Sister,” you say.  “The na-Baron’s matches aren’t traditional matches so much as they’re executions.  His opponents aren’t fighting at full capacity, so it’s impossible for them to have the upper hand.”

“And you’ve seen these executions in practice?” she asks.

“Yes, Sister.  Just once, the night before my wedding,” you tell her.  It was ostensibly a gift, but meant to serve more as a warning .

“But these other matches…?” she starts.

“Are real,” you finish for her.  “The victor gains their freedom, should they survive.”

You explain the figures clad all in black, their faces obscured with headpieces resembling curved horns and armed with long hooks, as Picadors.  “They essentially act like sporting referees,” you tell them.  “But by and large they don’t interfere in any of these matches; just about everything is allowed.”

And then the festivities, as they were, begin.  The announcer’s voice is amplified so loud the echoes of it reverberate in your chest and nearly make your teeth rattle as he gives the name of not each individual fighter but their Houses and planets, succinct enough that anyone can understand, accompanied by the sound of drums. You can sense the distaste from some of the Sisters, the ones who sound younger, as the first match commences.  For your part you try to give nothing away, face schooled into a mask of neutrality, and keep silent other than to answer polite questions about your home world and how the cultural differences between it and Geidi Prime.  ( “Oh, there are many, Sister.  Our culture’s also militaristic and public executions aren’t uncommon but we don’t have arena fights like these.” ) There’s little audience bias from the crowd; they just want to see two men trying to kill each other.  The closest it gets is when a non-Harkonnen who’s nonetheless from Lankiveil is pitted against another fighter.  For a brief moment you assume that the crowd will favor the Lankiveil fighter.

That moment passes, because throughout the crowd many start shouting something that you’re pretty sure means “ traitor. ”  You shouldn’t be surprised that here, Abulurd Rabban’s defection hasn’t been forgiven, and neither has anyone who’s refused to fall in line with Harkonnen governorship in their claimed territories.  You wonder what Feyd thinks about that and watch as the Lankiveil man puts in some good offense–before one of the Picadors shuffles closer and catches him in either side of his neck with both hooks, leaving his opponent to finish the job.  As the man gurgles, blood spilling from his throat, you hear the loudest cheers so far.

Time narrows down to Feyd’s showing.  He’ll be armored by now, dressed, ready to make his first proper public appearance in a month, and even as the cheers die down from the past match and the blood is swept to the ends of the arena, the audience can feel it.  Horns sound, and you gasp as you notice what look like bursts of black plasma exploding in the air with splattering noises.  Fireworks, or the closest thing Geidi Prime has to it, stark against the plain white sky.

You’ve been practicing the Harkonnen language every day, but you’re far from fluent yet.  Not even conversational.  You understand only bits and pieces as the excitement in the announcer’s voice ramps up, booming throughout the colosseum. 

"Under sljdgkjo our ghiel black sun, we welcome iwelkgnle sljeifgwaln our beloved leader Baron Vladimir Harkonnen,” the voice booms. “His lwkejlw jkslanlwe fjldklwel of blood and honor, pwoerl the holy birthday of our beloved na-Baron, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen!"

You hadn’t realized what the word for blood was a month ago when you saw your first arena match, or that that’s what the crowd was chanting for.  You feel a chill run down your spine as you keep your posture straight, your face impassive.  

“Do you know what they’re saying?” her Reverence asks.  You wonder if she knows the language and just wants to know how much you understand.

“Some, your Reverence,” you say.  “They’re introducing him now as the main attraction.”

And when the cheers get even louder, chanting Feyd’s name, you look down and there he is, moving in long-legged, purposeful strides with a blade in each hand.

You take a breath as you pull up your binoculars and watch as Feyd-Rautha takes to one knee, bowing deep in the direction of the Baron.

“He doesn’t bow to you?” one of the Sisters asks.  “You’re his wife.  You’re carrying his child.”

You shake your head.  “He wouldn’t.  That’s not how they do things here,” you tell her as you can’t look away from Feyd, who raises his head for a moment, trying to focus in on his face.  He looks up not at you, but at his uncle with a cold glare before rising and getting into stance.

As Feyd activates his shields, and you can’t help but think he looks reptilian under the Geidi Prime sun.  

“In celebration of our Na-Baron Feyd Rautha, we slheo a lwehfoew tueigh , the alsg three lsgjwoq of House Atreides.”

Atreides .  Geidi Prime managed to drag the last of the Atreides military into their dungeons, their fate to be drugged and killed in front of the House that caused their destruction.  A straightforward execution would be more dignified than this pretense of a match.

You can’t help the unease, even growing disgust brewing as you watch three doors slide open to reveal three men, all shirtless and wincing against the harshness of the infrared sun, and as Feyd’s eyes slide towards each door with a detached, calculating look.

You can sense the Bene Gesserit Sisters watching you, wondering what you actually think of your brute animal of a husband as you try your best to keep a straight face.

Two of the men are broader and bulkier than Feyd, not like it will make any kind of difference as they trudge forward, stumbling, trying to adjust their grips on their blades.

“Do you… like seeing this?”

You force yourself to stare ahead.  “It doesn’t matter if I like it or not, Sister,” you say.  “I’m expected to support my husband in this.”

Of course you don’t like seeing this.  But from the way Feyd paces, swift in his execution, gnashing his teeth and snarling like a beast desperate for a challenge and still riled up with pent-up energy, it doesn’t seem like he takes any satisfaction in doing this. 

He’d seemed like he was getting some amusement out of his last arena showing, playing with his opponents and taking as much time with them as he felt would be entertaining for the thousands of fans in the audience and disturbing for you and your family.  

He appears to get no such amusement now as he prowls, frustrated at the utter lack of challenge.  Maybe it’s because the chance to slaughter the greatest of his House’s enemies is hollow and unearned this way.  He’s an adult and yet the Baron’s been so quick to keep him safe from any real danger other than himself.  Maybe it’s finally getting to him that he���s not even expected to be able to beat members of the Atreides army in a fair fight, especially since it looks like the dungeon-masters selected burly, powerful-looking men for the spectacle even as the drugs render them weak and sluggish.

But then there’s the third man.  Although he’s leaner and, from what you can tell, older than the first two, as soon as he gets his bearings of the unforgiving Geidi Prime sun he strides forward confidently and with purpose.

That can’t be right , you think.

“That last fighter isn’t drugged,” Margot says, gaze sliding over to you as if to ask, Did you know about this?

“No, it would appear that he isn’t,” you tell her as your heart speeds up and you can feel yourself blanche.  “They must’ve been keeping him healthy for this.”

“Do you know why?” another woman asks.

“I do not,” you admit.  Maybe Feyd wanted a proper challenge.  Maybe he wanted to grace his audience with a real fight this time to show his own merits.

But then you zero in on Feyd and the flash of open incredulity on his face as he tilts his head and seems to realize the situation, when the soldier swipes and evades him with far more ease than the others, gets in a strike to the chest that would’ve killed him without his shield.  You’re pretty sure that had he not been distracted with the first two soldiers he would’ve noticed the difference immediately.

Feyd didn’t plan this .

You look, horrified, across the arena into the Baron’s stadium box.  The Baron doesn’t notice you, of course, but he smirks as he glances down into the arena.

What’s the purpose of this, you sick, awful man? you want to ask him.  Are you trying to get him killed?

You look back down at Feyd, who you realize must’ve been looking at his uncle thinking the same thing before he looks back at his opponent, who he fixes with a smile.  The monochrome landscape makes his black teeth look nonexistent within the cavern of his mouth as he acknowledges the Atreides fighter, turns off his shield, and unclips it from his armor for everyone to see before tossing it and his second blade to the ground.

You want a fair and honest fight, you’ll get a fair and honest fight, he seems to tell his opponent, the Baron, everyone in the audience.  The two begin to circle one another, reevaluating each other and the best way to strike.  The Picadors step in closer. 

You inhale, exhale, in the second before their match starts in earnest.  He’s been training since he was a little boy; he spars every day.   He’ll be fine, you think, as Feyd and the Atreides soldier look each other in the eye.  You’ve seen him do drills before; he’s well-coordinated.

You’ve never seen him like this.

He’s fast.  He’s good .  You’d taken it for granted that of course, he’d be competent with a weapon, but you’ve never seen him properly fight before.  You hadn’t realized how graceful and swift he is, a good match for the lean and limber soldier he’s fighting, who goes on offense with the hatred and desperation of a man with nothing left to lose but the chance to take one last Harkonnen down with him.

Feyd looks like he’s having the time of his life.  

The smile never quite leaves his face as he counters every move, and you’re sure there’s an excited gleam in his eye that your binoculars can’t quite pick up.  He smirks and winks at the other fighter, like this is a fun, improvised dance rather than a fight to the death.  Almost like he’s flirting.

Your heart pounds.  The Atreides fighter’s undeniably skilled, has all the same strengths as Feyd, and has adjusted quickly to the unpleasant atmosphere and harsh light of the Geidi Prime sun, not to mention the Picadors taunting him with their prowling.  No other opponent would do to make Feyd seem like a genuinely credible fighter.  You watch as Feyd sweeps the legs out from under the Atreides soldier and go in for the kill, only for his opponent to evade him and get back up to resume fighting.

You wince as one of the Picadors pierces the Atreides soldier’s shoulder blade with their hook, thinking, That will make Feyd look weak.   Feyd must be thinking the same thing, because the moment the soldier cries out in pain Feyd snarls and bellows at the Picadors for their interference. Like cockroaches they recoil and scatter, releasing the soldier and leaving just a small piece of metal lodged there, presumably to keep the man from bleeding out before Feyd has the chance to kill him.  No interference, no cheating, no advantages.  Man to Man .

It’s not lost on you how inhuman Feyd looks, especially against his opponent.  You also don’t care; you just need him to win, you think as Feyd disarms the Atreides soldier, only for the ensuing scuffle to land them both in the sandy ground, grappling for the remaining blade.

For a moment they’re both flat on their backs, and in that moment, you realize that the soldier has the blade and the upper hand as they both slowly get up, locking in, equal force and resistance in a perverse embrace. 

The blade’s so close to Feyd’s eye; the Picadors encircle them but don’t dare get any closer as he keeps the tip mere centimeters away.  You can’t breathe, your sweaty hands shaking as you clench one fist in the skirt of your dress and force yourself to hold the binoculars with the other as you watch Feyd, from his coiled frame to his narrow face and can hardly believe what you see as you flutter the setting in closer.

He’s laughing .

And then he stops laughing as he pulls the knife to the side, past his head, turns it around in their combined grip and plunges it into the other man’s stomach.

The moment lasts for what feels like years, the Atreides soldier’s expression turning from shock to disbelief to growing horror as the light starts to fade from his eyes.  You think Feyd says something to him as he gently cradles the man’s face with one hand, as if he’s trying to reassure him even as his other hand has a blade wedged in him, and you’d give anything to know what he’s saying.

And then the other soldier’s dead, finally going limp, and Feyd pulls the knife out, getting up and showing it to all of the arena.  The crowd erupts into elated, blood-thirsty cheers that don’t let up as he silently strides away, one arm still raised in victory.  The fireworks go into a frenzy as the crowd chants Feyd-Rauth-A! like the beat of a war-drum.

It’s not until Feyd’s returned to the Colosseum's underbelly like a monster that was summoned from it only to return from the bowels of the underworld from whence he came, that anyone in your booth finally speaks.

“Your husband is impressive, indeed” Lady Margot says.

You won’t see Feyd for a while; apparently he is to bathe and change before having a private meeting with the Baron, while you are to speak privately with her Reverence, at least according to the attendant who leads the other Bene Gesserit back to the guest wings to rest before the upcoming celebrations.

Maybe the Baron will provide a decent explanation for surprising his nephew with an opponent who actually stood a shot at killing him .

Idrisa trails behind you and the Reverend Mother as house servants lead you to a room with expansive floor-to-ceiling windows offering an excellent view of the black sun and sky that from the interior resembles a sickly gray.  More servants come in with herbal tea with lemon for the two of you and you sit in silence for a moment, the Reverend Mother ignoring her tea as she watches you and you let her, wondering what information you’re giving her in your fixed posture and delicate sip from your cup.  You glance over at Idrisa, who stands in the corner with her head bowed.  

“Your husband’s showing in the arena was quite revealing,” her Reverence finally says.  Even more than your dress .

“I apologize.  I had no say or knowledge of the fight.   I don’t believe the na-Baron did, either,” you tell her.

“The Baron acted in an unorthodox manner,” her Reverence says.

“I’m sure he must have been confident in the na-Baron’s odds of winning in a fair fight, even if it was...a high risk,” you say, trying to sound diplomatic and keep the anger and desperation out of your voice, “to put him in such a situation.  Surely he must know how important the na-Baron’s role is both for the sake of Geidi Prime and for his service to you.”

Her Reverence almost smiles.  “We’d prefer to keep the na-Baron alive as long as we reasonably can; he has the markings of a Great House leader, and of course your safety is more intact with his protection, but our main requirement of him is securing a son, and he’s accomplished that.”

Were her words supposed to be comforting?  Your hands feel clammy and sweaty as you try not to wring them in your skirt.

“Yes, of course, your Reverence.  I agree, I’m safer with him, much as I found that hard to believe at first.  We’re,” you hesitate, “more compatible than I think either of us anticipated.”  You try not to blush as you say it, can’t quite look her in the eye.  

“Even powerful men are malleable,” the Reverend Mother says.

“He and I spend time together outside of the marriage bed as well, so I think he likes my company well enough,” you add.  

You can hear your mother’s voice clear as day in your own head, warning you, Think very carefully about what you’re going to say and who you’re saying it to .

You find the words as if sounding them out, “Still, I cannot help but be concerned,” you say, “about the role the Baron will play in my children’s lives, especially any sons I’ll have.” 

You realize that she knows what you mean without you having to say it as she hardly blinks.  “The Baron’s health has been declining steadily over the years,” she says.  “It appears that as of late he hasn’t quite had the stamina to indulge in some of his baser inclinations.”

So you also knew and let it happen?  Did Feyd not have a single adult in his life actually looking out for him?  Revulsion swirls in the pit of your stomach.  “All the same, I don’t want to take that risk,” you tell her.  

The Reverend Mother’s gaze grows sharper.  “Walls have ears, young one,” she says, and you recoil, briefly.  For a woman who must be at least seventy, even without using the Voice on you she intimidates you more than most men you’ve met. 

“I understand, your Reverence,” you say quickly.  “But if I’m to provide my firstborn son everything he needs to grow into the man he’s meant to be, everything you need for him to serve you and the Empire, then he’ll need a safer upbringing than that of his father.”

The Reverend Mother purses her lips for a moment, and you try not to wince, realizing how transparent and sophomoric your attempt at manipulation is.  Still, you’re desperate.  She can sense it, and lets you stew in your own juices for a moment.

“Feyd-Rautha’s father was and remains reviled on Geidi Prime,” she says eventually.  “Elsewhere he’s seen as a decent man brave enough to distance himself from a cruel House and forge his own path.  And yet he was still cut down in his forties, his legacy erased.  Much like the Duke of Atreides recently.”

Why are you telling me this? you want to ask.  Are you implying that it’s better that Feyd was raised by a pedophile than by a pacifist?

“Tell me this, do you honestly feel you have his devotion?” she asks.

You want to say a definitive yes.  You think about how he holds you close at night, remember him nestled against you.  You think about how diligently he trains you, insists on eating with you, encourages you learning to speak his language with him when he could ignore you except to come inside of you whenever he so chooses.  “I…I think so?” is what you manage, though, when you think of his fervent loyalty to an uncle you’re pretty sure he despises.  “I think I’m getting there, earning it,” you add.  “I know part of his wedding vows was to keep me safe and I think he intends to keep it.  But he is still Harkonnen.”  And the Harkonnen who taught him all about politics has devotion to no one but himself .

You expect the Reverend Mother to berate you for your only middling success for a moment.  Instead, and whether it’s to comfort you or for her own purpose, she picks her tea up, considering it but never lifting her veil to actually drink it.  “The Baron did everything in his power to mold Feyd-Rautha exactly to him.  In the mind, anyway.  And in some ways he succeeded.”  He took a seven-year-old boy and turned him into a bloodthirsty sociopath like him , she doesn’t need to say.  “But I’ve heard and now have finally seen it for myself that despite all this, he has a sense of honor.  And that comes from Abulurd Rabban, a decent man who loved the family he chose and forged for himself.” 

Your throat feels dry as you think about how this woman has shared more about Feyd’s father than Feyd ever has, and yet your tea sits forgotten on the table in front of you.  Your heart beats faster.  You try and find the words.

“So…if my husband had to make the choice between mine and my children’s safety…and his uncle’s demands…”

“I think you know,” the Reverend Mother says.  “The Baron’s time is coming to a close, once he’s served his purpose.”

“And what,” you clear your throat.  “What is that, exactly?”  

“Laying the groundwork for his nephew’s success,” her Reverence says.  “Lady Fenring told you about how we tested your husband.”

“Yes, your Reverence,” you tell her.

Her gaze pierces through her veil as she looks at you.  “It’s not just a test to determine pain tolerance, or self-control.  It’s a test to determine if someone has elevated themselves above their animal nature.  Neither the Baron nor Rabban have ever taken such a test,” she says.  “Neither of them would survive.”

You look at each other, an understanding settling in between the two of you.

There’s a knock at the door and you both look towards the door, which opens to reveal two guards and Feyd, who’s changed into long robes that cover him from his Adam’s apple to his boots.

He inclines his head towards the Reverend Mother.  “Your Reverence,” he says, the gesture polite but his tone clipped.

“I trust your meeting with your uncle was enlightening?” she asks as you both rise to stand.

“It certainly was, your Reverence,” he says, and you can sense an unspoken topic simmering under the surface, something you’re not yet privy to.  Something they haven’t shared with you yet .  But you’ll find out.  If you’re to play a part in their greater schemes, all the plans within plans that they make, you need to know what you’re in for.

“I understand your festivities are imminent,” the Reverend Mother says.  “So I’ll take my leave.”  She practically glides past the servants on her way out.

Before she leaves, though, she turns to Feyd once more.  “Oh, and congratulations on winning your match,” she adds.  

Feyd shakes his head when a servant wordlessly offers him a fresh cup of tea and looks back at you.

“It’s a shame we won’t be alone for long,” he says.  “Uncle wants us in the banquet hall soon for my celebration dinner.”

“Did he provide an explanation for what he did earlier?” you ask him.  

Feyd says nothing for a moment, compressing his lips into a thin line.  “I saw the look on both your faces,” you tell him.  “No one told you about the undrugged soldier; your uncle ambushed you.”

“He claimed it was a birthday gift, the chance to prove to my people that I’m a warrior and not an entertainer.”  He seems to hesitate before adding, “It’s far from the worst gift he’s ever given.”

That I very much believe.  “You accomplished it,” you tell him.

And then he adds, “The other gift is governorship of Arrakis.”  

You do a double take, hoping you heard wrong.  “You’re replacing Rabban?” you ask.  

“They’ll announce it soon,” he says.  “He’s been hemorrhaging both spice and soldiers.  It’s embarrassing.”

“Does he know?” you ask.

“He’ll find out soon enough,” Feyd says.  

Then you’ll be gone , you think, heart sinking.  I don’t want to be left alone with the Baron here .  “I’m coming with you.”

“You’re to do no such thing,” he says.  “I won’t bring you and our son into enemy territory in the middle of war; it’s too dangerous.”

“The Reverend Mother said herself that I’m safer with you,” you tell him.  You feel yourself flush, desperate and angry.  I need help.  I need protection.  Everyone says they’re looking out for my and my child’s safety and yet they deprive me of what I really need .  You can hear yourself raising your voice as you say, “No offense, husband, but you’re the only Harkonnen man that I trust.”

Feyd reaches out and you flinch before he can cup your face in one hand, his eyes darting across your face.  Your breath comes faster, straining against the straps that barely cover your breasts.  You think about the Litany Against Fear and think, no.  He needs to know that I’m scared .

“No harm will come to you,” he says.  “Not here, especially not after your pregnancy’s announced.  The people will be overjoyed to know we’ve succeeded in continuing the Harkonnen line.  The first royal birth on Geidi Prime in over sixty-five years.”  His hands move to your waist.  “You’ll have the best medical care the planet has to offer.  I’ll keep in correspondence with you whenever I have the time.”

He leans in closer, gently presses his forehead against yours.  “Make no mistake, Y/N Harkonnen,” he says.  “I wouldn’t be separated from you if I didn’t think there was a risk.”  You exhale, closing your eyes.  

“Ever since I’ve come of age I’ve been used for spectacle, ornamentation.  Fighting rigged matches with no real risk, used as a mascot and an image and not for what I was made to do.

“But now I get to live my purpose; I get to extend the Harkonnen line, I get to lead my men into battle.  For the first time I have real responsibilities and I’m going to fulfill them.”

You listen to his words, hear the conviction in his voice, and think about how there’s a part of Feyd not molded by the most cruel and depraved parts of this planet; an albeit twisted honor code, a sense of loyalty.  Perhaps the Reverend Mother was right in thinking it comes from his father, because it’s not his uncle or brother.

“Will I see you again before our son is born?” you ask.

He moves his hands to yours, taking them in his grasp.  “I swear it,” he says.  “And I swear I’ll never allow any harm to come to you and our children.”

Would you kill the Baron for us? you want to ask, knowing you can’t.  Not here, not now.  But soon.  

Do you have his devotion? 

Yes.  I’m certain.

“Now,” he says, pulling away.  “Tonight, we make our first public appearance as husband and wife since the wedding.  You said something last night about your years of training for the political aspects of marriage?”

“We wish to thank you all for attending my dear nephew’s twenty-sixth birthday,” the Baron says, hovering in a manner that makes him loom over even the tallest of heads as all stand, him at the seat of honor and his nephew on his right side and you beside his nephew.  Of all the Bene Gesserit guests, only the Reverend Mother and Margot are here for the banquet.  You imagine the always-veiled Sisters have to eat in the privacy of their quest quarters.  You notice Count Fenring as one of the distinguished guests–he must’ve only arrived today.  The age difference between him and his wife is all the more noticeable when you see them together.  There are other non-Harkonnen guests--it is a prominent birthday for a member of a prominent House, after all, but for the most part it remains, like in the arena, a sea of bald heads and black fabric.

Before anyone is permitted to sit down and eat, the Baron calls for a toast.  Everyone else has wine, and the ruby-red juice in your own wine glass looks enough like the real thing that people won’t ask questions yet.  We’ll give it a few weeks time, you think.  Stagger the news in between this and when Feyd’s officially given governorship of Arrakis.  Wait until a test from a Harkonnen doctor can confirm it and then we can announce it to all of Harko .

“To the na-Baron, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, and to his prosperous future!” the Baron says, raising his glass and taking one long sip as everyone cheers Feyd, and finishes his sip with a flourish before passing his glass to a servant to set down on the table for him.  His thin lips are already tinged red as he turns to his nephew, takes Feyd’s face in one hand, holding his chin, and presses a quick kiss to his lips.  Feyd doesn’t react beyond a slight twitch of his jaw.  You look down to stifle a flinch.

“Now, let us truly celebrate,” the Baron adds, and people cheer again in response.

When you all sit down Feyd turns to you, takes two fingers under your chin and raises your lips to his.  It’s not a passionate kiss, probably won’t even smear your lipstick, but it’s a slightly longer kiss than the one he just had from his uncle.

Maybe it’s for show; he wants to pass on the image of obedience.  Maybe he wanted to get the taste of his uncle off his lips.  You see the Baron look at you with a brief look of distaste before the food and drink can distract him and the courses can start flowing.

Either weddings by design are much more formal and quieter on Geidi Prime than birthday parties or the Baron wanted to show as much decorum as possible towards your House for the one occasion.

The banquet makes up for a small portion of the evening, quickly giving way to drinks and more food passed around as people disperse from tables to either stand around in the middle of the room or lounge on chaises and oversized armchairs that line the walls.  The fireworks continue in earnest outside, while inside people feed on delicacies passed around on trays and drink wine out of goblets and harsher liquors out of metal tumblers.  You make do with distilled water and sips of the same wine-colored juice from dinner.

Generals and off-world politicians alike toast Feyd both in the Imperial Standard and Harkonnen Battle Language.  Once again Feyd stiffens in the presence of Margot Fenring perhaps even worse with the Count present, his interactions with both of them polite but tense on his own end.  He never directly looks at her, you notice.  Funny thing, she doesn’t seem surprised or uncomfortable at his coldness.  Neither does her husband.

( “Isn’t it strange,” you overhear one of the Harkonnen captains say to another, “That they have three daughters together and I hear none of them look like him.” )  

You try to file away the growing discomfort of it.  I’ll unpack it later, you think, as today’s discoveries have been pretty illuminating towards why your husband claims to dislike the Bene Gesserit.  You try not to dwell on it for now, just trying to act the part of the demure and effortlessly poised political wife.  With Harkonnens you stay silent, to the side and slightly behind Feyd.  With other Houses you engage a bit more, agreeing with the compliments people give Feyd, who for his part plays the statesman rather well.  The Baron has, much as you hate to admit it, a level of wit that if he were another man you might occasionally find charming, but it’s always clearly manufactured.  While he still carries an intimidating presence, Feyd uses his combination of quick-thinking and brevity to his advantage.  He offers the occasional wry quip among the required pleasantries.  You think to yourself that, despite superficial appearances, the two of you make a decent-looking couple.

That said, you do catch a few people frowning at your hair, clearly wondering why Feyd hasn’t insisted on shaving it all off.

Yeah, well, not that it’s any of your business, but he happens to love my hair and can’t keep his hands off of me , you think, offering a polite smile and raised brow at one such bewildered-looking Harkonnen man, who quickly looks away to avoid being caught staring at the na-Baron’s wife.

Through it all slaves either mill around or weave in and out silently bearing trays either to serve food and drink or to take away used glasses.  They’re discreet, as they’re meant to be, but you can’t help but notice a couple of differences, things you’re certain hadn’t been present at your wedding reception.

Some of the slave girls who stand against the wall are in transparent dresses under which they’re all nude.  A few don’t look like some of the attendants you’ve seen; they’re curvier, with distinct markings you can see under the gauzy fabric.  There are also a few men, young and fit, wearing only loincloths.  Their body types also range in size, some slight and lean, some built with thicker, denser muscle.  You glance over as a Harkonnen soldier approaches one of the men with his wife trailing behind him.  It doesn’t surprise you that the higher-ranking women only ever approach any of them in the company of their husbands, but that when they do it’s not for one specific type.  Women, men, both appear to get used.  You glance at Feyd, who seems indifferent to it all; politely accepting congratulations on his arena match and happy birthday wishes.  He must be used to the implied debauchery of it all.

After a while it starts becoming uncomfortable, standing around in boots meant more for ornamentation than practicality, and Feyd senses it.

“Come now, wife, I think we’ve earned a bit of a sit-down,” he says, as if you also fought in the arena earlier instead of just standing for a while, and gives you his arm to guide you to an armchair wide enough to serve as a couch.

“Thank you,” you whisper in his ear as you sit down, before he sits down beside you and wordlessly pulls you into his lap.  In your surprise you shift, trying to make sure that you don’t expose any more skin than you already have, pulling the skirt of your dress over the slit along your thigh and hoping your breasts don’t fall out of the scraps of fabric meant to cover them.  Feyd doesn’t seem to care in the slightest, his hand coming to rest over your ribcage.

You weren’t entirely sure how he’d present you, but weren’t expecting him to have you front and center, silently demanding that all who approach him show their respects to you as well.  Maybe if things were different he'd have you kneeling on the floor beside the chair like an obedient dog.  Maybe the thought occurred to him; probably, if it occurred to you.  You shake the thought loose, wondering something else.

“What’s the informal term for ‘ father ’ in your language?  I haven’t been able to find it.”  Not that you can quite picture Feyd ever actually playing with any of his children, but the idea of it, the idea of all of you in a reasonably normal family, is a nice one you’d like to keep with you.

“There isn’t one,” Feyd says.  “It’s just ‘vasta. ’”

You frown.  “Nothing more casual than that?  Something a child would use?”

“Nothing,” he says.  “It’s either ‘vasta’ or ‘ father .’”

You consider this.  “So there’s no equivalent to something like ‘ Papa? ’ That’s what I called my father almost exclusively until I was four or five.”

“So did I,” Feyd says.  “But Lankiveil’s different from Geidi Prime.  Or it was until Rabban took over and started using it as a Harkonnen outpost.”

You pull back to get a better look at his face.  He’s never talked about his father, nor Lankiveil other than the once, and that had been at your prompting.  “You did?”

He looks at you as if he isn’t sharing something more intimate about his childhood than anything he’s ever discussed with you.  “That surprises you?”

“A little,” you admit.  “It’s easy to forget you had such a different life from this once.”

“It is, after enough years of separation,” he says.

You’re not sure quite what to say to that.  You think about how reviled the name of his father is on Geidi Prime, how begrudgingly respected he is on other planets.  You think about what the Reverend Mother told you, the information she gave you that Feyd never has and wonder if he ever will, or if like in matters of the bedroom, he needs to get to know you better before he shows you that kind of vulnerability.

But then he nuzzles against your hair, the shell of your ear, and you notice that in certain corners, seemingly unnoticed, some couples are getting closer and there are fewer of what you must assume are Fortress pleasure slaves than there were before.  Feyd has a tumbler glass of a harsh-smelling amber liquid that might be one of your parents’ birthday gifts in one hand, but the other holds you to him.

You think about that one morning in the Training Halls when he’d fucked you against the wall as everyone had been dismissed but aware of what the two of you were up to.  You doubt he will, but it also wouldn’t surprise you if he’s thought about pulling his cock out and having you sit on him for the entire party to see.

Maybe after he’s crowned you’ll do it–not in front of an audience, but in private after the throne’s been thoroughly disinfected you’ll take him inside of you while he sits on it.

He sets his glass down on the side table and lays his hand on your stomach, low on your belly, just where the tight bodice ends.  He brushes his thumb along the material.

“I’m glad to finally show you off,” he says, voice quiet enough that no one will hear except anyone foolish enough to try and eavesdrop on him.  “The picture of a Harkonnen bride.”

“Even with the hair and eyebrows?” you ask.

“Anyone who has a problem with it has to answer to me,” Feyd says.  “You are exactly as I want you; poised, capable, carrying my child.”  He slides a hand under the slit in your dress.  “Just curious, what sort of undergarment are you wearing under this?”

You feel yourself flush, a nervous laugh escaping you.  “About that…” you start, leaving the implication clear.  There’s another reason you’ve been sitting and standing so carefully all day.

Feyd’s eyes blaze.  “Because you want me to be a gentleman, I’ll wait until we’re in private before I rip this off of you and leave you in nothing but your necklace.”

“Trying to be a gentleman?  Is that the only reason why?” you ask, still flustered, trying to keep up.  The other bodies inhabiting this vast space are far easier to ignore this way.

“No,” he says simply.  “None of these people deserve to see you moaning as you take my cock like the beautiful, desperate cockslut that you are.  It’s only a twenty-minute walk to get back to my bedroom.  Fifteen if we walk briskly, and that’s about how long I’ll be able to last without being inside of you.”  He shifts you in his arms like he means to carry you and another giggle escapes you.  

“Leaving your own birthday party?” you ask.

“The party’s become a full Bacchanalia,” Feyd says, the Cupid’s bow of his upper lip turned up in a coy smile.  “I hardly think anyone will notice if we slip away.”

You smile back, arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders, picturing all the positions you’ll only be able to fuck in for another few months, before you start to swell.  You think about your breasts crushed against his solid chest, his abdomen against yours when he kneels and pulls you on top of him.  

“Alright,” you tell him.  “For the sake of propriety–”

“My apologies, my lord and lady na-Baron and na-Baroness, for the interruption,” a voice says, and you startle away, jerking your head towards an embarrassed-looking man in gray robes–a servant, to be sure, but a higher-ranking one.  He keeps his head inclined, eyes on the floor, and you’re certain it’s out of awkwardness just as much as respect.  “I have a message from the Baron.”

“What,” Feyd says, looking like he wants to rise from his seat and sucker-punch the messenger in the stomach.

“The Baron requires a private audience with the na-Baroness.”

Why? Your mouth opens in silent question and you furrow your brow.  You look at Feyd, whose expression is thunderous.  A muscle feathers in his jaw.  You turn to look back at the servant, knowing that no matter how much you don’t want to, there’s only one acceptable response.  “I accept.  When?”

“Presently, Na-Baroness,” he says.  

Feyd holds you tighter for a moment.  “What was his reason?” he demands.

“To congratulate her on her success so far and inquire about her health,” the messenger says.

You sigh and disentangle yourself from Feyd.  The mood had soured the moment the messenger showed up and mentioned your uncle-in-law; Feyd will be able to wait a little longer.  

The Baron’s lounging in his private throne room, with what looks like a hookah in one hand and a large goblet of wine in the other.  Two guards flank him, their heads downturned, but other than them you’re alone.  You curtsy as discreetly as your dress will allow as you acknowledge him and keep your head down.  Ostensibly it’s out of respect but you’re honestly grateful to not have to look at him any more than required.

“Congratulations on your new development, young Y/N,” he says after your show of deference.  “The Bene Gesserit are most pleased with you.” 

“Thank you, Baron,” you say, keeping your gaze on the floor.

“You’ve satisfied my nephew,” the Baron adds, setting both the wine and hookah down on either side of him.

“That pleases me to hear, Baron,” you say, trying to feel proud of how you’re not taking the bait even though you know he’s enjoying his ability to embarrass a woman from a Greater House.  You wish you could control the heat burning in your cheeks and ears.  I hate you, you think.

“As your condition progresses and after you bear the child, I’m sure he’ll do his best to temper his…biases…against mothers for your sake,” the Baron adds.  “Although it runs deep within him.”

You can’t help but look up at him in confusion.  What biases?  Feyd’s never mentioned his mother once.  Never mentioned any of what he’s been through.  

The Baron sees your confusion and his smile when he realizes the added power he has over you is truly awful to look at.

“Did my nephew not tell you about his mother?  I suppose I can’t be surprised.  He must not have wanted to upset your delicate sensibilities.”

You had her killed so you could keep him isolated.  So you could keep molesting him without interference.  I know you, you sick bastard .  And if you’re threatening me I swear on my family’s legacy I will find a way to make you suffer for it .

“He has not, Baron,” you tell him.  “He doesn’t speak of her.”  

The Baron tilts his head as much as his jowls will allow.  “So you know nothing of her?” he asks.

“I know she was a member of the Bene Gesserit,” you tell him.  “I know my husband and Rabban were the only children she produced with your brother.  I know she took your brother’s surname and was known as Emmi Rabban.  I know she’s been dead for nearly twelve years.”

The Baron straightens up a little, eyes glinting.  “So you did some research, and yet you don’t understand my comment about Feyd’s issue with mothers.”

“I can imagine the separation from her at such a young age must have taken a toll on him,” you say.  Maybe created some attachment issues, you don’t say.  You don’t want to offer up any more vulnerability, especially not on Feyd’s part.

“So you know she died when Feyd was fourteen,” he says.

“Yes, Baron.  Shortly after his attempt on your life.”  

“And what,” he asks, “based on what you’ve read, do you think her cause of death was?”

Your mouth feels dry.  He’s trying to provoke you.  Try not to let it show that it’s working .  “She was killed by Harkonnens,” you manage.

The Baron sits forward as much as his bulk will allow, looking happier than perhaps you’ve ever seen him before.  “ A Harkonnen, some claim.  One who was young and impulsive and carrying a grudge against his mother for sending him away.  But we cannot prove that, since no culprit was ever convicted, so we’ll never truly know, will we?”

You hear your own gasp as if it’s happening from outside of your body.  Pressure builds behind your eyes.  The words, I don’t believe you , die before they can reach your lips.

The Baron looks downright gleeful now.  “I can see why my dear nephew finds you so amusing.  You really had no idea?”

You lower your head, mouth opening and closing.  

Do not cry.  Under no circumstances are you to ever cry in front of this man .

It’s awful.  It’s so horrifying it never occurred to you and yet it also makes a sick kind of sense that makes you wish you could vomit out the information the Baron’s just given you, purge it from your mind and go back to several minutes ago, when even with such unexplored territory ahead of you at least you felt a level of safety, even optimism.

“The coroners say she was stabbed in the neck four times,” he adds and that’s the moment he wins and you feel yourself begin to double over, letting out a sob before covering your mouth and belatedly realizing that you’ve wrapped one arm around your belly.  Stop.  Please just stop, you want to say, and no words come out but tears do.

The door opens and the Baron’s eyes flicker to something behind you.  

“Feyd!” he calls out.  “What excellent timing.  We were just talking about you.”

You slowly turn, not wanting to look at either of them and needing to know.  Tell me it’s not true, Feyd.  Please tell me that it’s a sick joke .

Feyd inhales sharply when he sees the look on your face and glares back at his uncle.  His expression, looking stricken and then quietly furious, is his admission of guilt.

“I must say I’m a little surprised, nephew,” the Baron says and your ears ring as you see that beyond the now-opened door the servant who’d brought you here now lays motionless, bleeding out on the floor.  “I’d assumed you’d want to be honest with your delicate wife about your history, even the less savory bits.”

“You try to poison my own wife against me,” Feyd snaps.

“I’m not doing anything that wouldn’t have happened anyway, nephew,” the Baron says, reaching for his hookah again.  “She’s not stupid; she was bound to figure it out eventually, even if you were never going to tell her.”

He wasn’t , you think.  Would he have lied if I’d bothered to ask?  Or just hoped that I’d never be curious?  

Feyd looks at you.  Neither of you speak.  What is there to say?  You can’t think of anything.  You turn and start walking, needing air, needing to get away.  Feyd reaches for your arm as you pass him and you wish you were Bene Gesserit so you could properly use the Voice on him when you scream, “ No! ”  All the same he drops his hand, flinching, silent, as you leave the room with tears streaming down your cheeks.

Behind you, distantly, you hear the Baron chuckle.  “Make sure you’ve properly tamed your pet before you tame Arrakis, Feyd.  Oh, and happy birthday again.”

That is all for now but I am very much back and at close to 100k words.

Tagged: @alexandrainlove @richardslady121 @wo-ming-bai @blazeflays @cavillandevanssandwhich

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[hbyrde36]

Chapter 1: Under My Skin

Written for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang

Art (coming soon!) by @glitterfang

Beta'd by @penny00dreadful

Rating: E | WC: 5937 | Chapters: 1/2 | AO3 Link

Not for the first time, Eddie was really regretting his decision to book a client on a Friday night, and a new client at that. 

It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do, exactly. There were no dates on his calendar, and going out to random bars and clubs on the weekends to look for quick hookups had begun losing its appeal lately.

But it’d been a long week, and he’d much rather have been getting ready to plop down on the couch with Chrissy to split a bottle of red wine while they watched Drag Race, than preparing to do a cover up for some idiot who’d gotten his girlfriend’s name tattooed on his body, only to fall victim to—The Curse. 

Ask any tattoo artist and they’d be the first to tell you, there was no surer way to guarantee a breakup than to ink your significant other’s name on your body forever. 

And yeah, it probably wasn’t fair to judge the guy before they’d even met, but there were only two kinds of people who tended to make that particular mistake—dumbasses, and hopeless romantics. He just kind of assumed his client fell into the former camp, rather than the latter.

Eddie had just started wiping down the front desk counter, which doubled as a display case for the various accessories and body jewelry they carried trying to kill some time between his last appointment and cover-up-guy, when Chrissy came walking out of her studio.

It was one of the biggest perks, in his opinion, of owning their own shop. Not only did each of them finally have their own work spaces—no more having to listen to other client conversations or fighting over a single bluetooth speaker—but being their own bosses also meant they could decorate and customize their own studios to their heart’s content. 

The main area of the shop was a bit of a catch-all, much like his and Chrissy’s shared apartment. It featured neutral walls lined with a mishmash of all the things they loved, sprinkled in and amongst odd antiques, knick-knacks, and various pieces of unique artwork. There was everything from vintage vinyl record jackets tacked to the wall, to faux taxidermy mountings of creatures that had never existed in real life. 

Entering Chrissy’s studio was a little like stepping inside a Lisa Frank notebook cover. All vibrant rainbow colors and aggressive animal print. Eddie had painted the walls himself, color matching the exact shade of fuchsia as the adjustable chair he’d custom ordered just for her. He was no interior designer so she’d taken it from there, and though the finished product was a little too bright for his tastes, even he had to admit it was still pretty fucking metal. 

Eddie’s space was the polar opposite, featuring dark stained wood furniture and a style of decor that could be best described as a slightly more grown up version of a teenage boy's bedroom. Band and movie posters lined three of the walls, but instead of being held up with thumbtacks, or scotch tape, they were neatly laid in matching frames with thick black edging. The remaining wall held a gallery of photos. Him and Wayne from their last fishing trip, one from when he and Chrissy had received the keys to the parlor unlocking its doors on the first day that it was theirs, and an old snap of him and his high school bandmates standing in front of their homemade banner, among many others.

It wasn’t until Chrissy came up to lean on the counter with her jacket zipped-up and her purse slung over her shoulder that he realized something was up.

“Don’t forget to lock up when you're done.” She said, tapping her nails on the glass. “Oh! And can you stop and pick up some oat milk on your way home? We’re out.” 

“Wait, where are you going? Didn’t you have a client booked tonight too? I thought we were in this together, Cunningham!”

“Not anymore.” She said cheerfully, leaning across the counter to rest her elbows on the glass, leaving an ink smudge on the exact spot he had just finished cleaning. He swatted at her with the damp rag and she jerked back with a giggling-gasp.

“Mine had to cancel.”

Eddie groaned. “I hate when clients do that.”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. It’s like a free night off I wasn’t expecting.”

“Not exactly free, since canceling means not paying in full.” He grumbled.

“Oh lighten up! It’s not like we’re that behind on bills or anything.”

“Tell that to the electric company.” He said, mostly to tease her, though he couldn't help glancing up at the excessively large and kitschy skull chandelier he’d found on Amazon that definitely didn’t use high efficiency light bulbs, but he had sworn at the time was worth it for The Aesthetic™.

“Why are you always so grumpy?” Chrissy asked, jutting her lip out in a dramatic reenactment of him pouting. 

Not that he was one to pout. 

“I’m not!”

“Look at your face, you're grumpy right now!”

“That's because y- you’re…” He cut himself off with a sigh. 

He couldn't begrudge her the time off, he’d be hightailing it out of there just the same if it had been him. 

“Just get out of here.” He said, conceding defeat.

She beamed. “Okay! See you later!” She said, all but sprinting to the front doors. “Don’t forget about the milk!”

“Wait, why can’t you–” He started to ask, but she was on the other side of the door before he could get the words out.

“Oh forget it.” He mumbled, stashing the glass cleaner away where it belonged. 

About fifteen minutes later the bell above the door chimed, signaling the arrival of what Eddie assumed to be his last customer of the day. 

Except, it couldn't be.

It couldn’t possibly be because the Adonis that had just entered his humble tattoo parlor was, quite frankly, bonkers hot. There was no way, absolutely no way someone had this guy—this guy—so obsessed with them that he went and got their name tattooed on his perfect body and then just… let him go. 

It was unthinkable.

“Hi, you must be Eddie. I recognized you from your Instagram.” Pretty-boy said with a shy smile.

“Steve?” Eddie asked, blinking hard, completely unable to mask the tone of disbelief.

The other man nodded.

Shit, okay.

So this was him—Steeeeeeve Harrington. This was the guy. 

Maybe there was something wrong with him? There had to be a catch, a series of very red flags or something because all Eddie could think about at that moment was, if he ever got a chance with Steve? He’d never let him go. 

Get it together, Munson!

The bright side, of a sort, was that Steve smacked of straight guy energy, so it was unlikely Eddie would even be in the running for a chance anyway. Better to just put it out of his mind.

Though, he supposed he could still… look. It's not like looking ever hurt anyone. Not that he made a habit out of ogling the clientele. Of course, none of his other customers had ever come in wearing vintage Levi’s that fit their ass like a glove, not to mention the way they fit around his–

“Eddie?”

Fuck. 

Had Steve been talking this whole time while he’d been off daydreaming about what those sinfully tight jeans might look like on his bedroom floor?

“Yeah.” A soft chuckle fell from Eddie’s lips as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “S- sorry, man. Spaced out for a second there I guess.” 

What the fuck was wrong with him today?!

“It’s okay. I was just asking if the plan was still the same? In your last email you suggested we should do this over two appointments.”

Work question… yes, good. Focus on the job! 

“Right. With what we talked about I'd like to concentrate on just the outline today, maybe a little shading, and then in six weeks or so once that’s healed have you come back for the color. If you’re still alright with that?”

Eddie could do the whole thing in one shot if Steve really wanted to sit that long, but with something like this he didn't want to feel rushed. He’d done a few concept sketches after emailing back and forth with Steve about what he was looking for, and honestly what they’d come up with wasn’t really his usual style. He could do it, he was more than capable, but he had to wonder why Steve had picked him, out of all the tattoo artists in the city. He’d seen Eddie’s Instagram, so he knew the kind of work he usually churned out. Hell, Chrissy would have been the more obvious choice for this.

Of course, now that he’d gotten an eye-full of Steve in person he was glad he hadn’t tried to pawn him off on her. He was also really hoping Steve would agree to the split sessions, it would give them an excuse to see each other again.

“Whatever you think is best. I’m putting myself in your expert hands.” Steve said, a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks.

That was… interesting. 

Maybe Eddie had been a little bit hasty in his initial straight assessment?

Steve’s deposit had been paid, and they’d already gone over pricing through email so there wasn't much to discuss as far as that was concerned, After signing some paperwork and getting the other man’s ID scanned into the system there was nothing left to do but walk Steve back to his studio and get this show on the road.

“You can go ahead and take your shirt off, get comfortable. I’ll show you the stencil I drew up and if it looks good we can put it on and get started.” Eddie said, gesturing to his client chair.

He leaned over his desk while Steve got situated, taking a second to gather his thoughts, as well as add a small finishing touch to the transfer sketch before turning back to his client. The sight made his throat go dry. 

It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was. 

At Eddie's direction, in preparation, Steve had shaved his chest. More specifically, Steve had shaved half of his chest. The side Eddie would be working on, that sported the existing tattoo, was bare—smooth as a baby's bottom. The other side was… 

It was…

Jesus Christ.

It should have looked ridiculous actually, and it was a little funny, but honestly all Eddie could think when he stared at the untrimmed side of Steve's upper body, resplendent with the most glorious chest hair, was that it was a travesty, a crime even, that he’d never get to see the whole thing grown out in its full glory. 

The lack of a shirt also highlighted the fact that Steve was incredibly toned, much more so than he had initially appeared even through his slim fit henley. 

Eddie shook his head, praying it had suddenly become an etch-a-sketch and he could clear out his thoughts by sheer force. 

He truly didn’t know what had gotten into him. It was hardly the first time he’d worked on someone he found attractive, but usually he didn’t notice it quite this much. When you pierce and tattoo for a living you get used to seeing a lot of bare skin, including occasionally, areas typically reserved for romantic partners. Professional hazzard, but it’d never been a problem for him before. He was an artist, this was his craft, and bare skin was just another kind of canvas.

He blamed it on his current dry spell, self-imposed as it was. 

It was easy enough to go out on a Saturday and find a guy or girl to bring home for the night, but he was so tired of one night stands and meaningless hookups in bar bathrooms. Where was the substance? He wanted companionship. He wanted a partner. He wanted to fall in love. 

Eddie cleared his throat and crossed the room to hand Steve the stencil, busying himself with raising up his stool to the proper height and pulling on a pair of thick black neoprene gloves while the other man looked it over.  

“It’s great.” Steve said. 

“Good.” Eddie quietly let out the breath he’d been holding. “Alright I'm gonna put this on and have you take a look at the placement, make sure you like it, then we can get started.”

Eddie squeezed out a dime sized amount of the stencil gel and rubbed it into Steve’s chest, laying the transfer paper down in just the right way so that the final design would sufficiently cover what was underneath, assuming he had scaled it right. 

It was perfect. After a quick check in the mirror, Steve agreed. 

While they waited for it to dry Eddie double checked his set up to make sure he had everything he would need for the session.

“Ready to get started?”

Steve took a deep breath and blew it out slow. “Yeah. I am.”

His reply felt heavy, like maybe he was talking about more than just the tattoo. Had they known each other at all Eddie might have asked about it, but they were basically strangers, and it wasn’t his job to pry. 

With steady hands he set the needle to Steve's skin and got to work. 

They weren’t at it for very long before Steve started to squirm. 

Eddie ignored it at first, he could tell the guy was trying hard to keep himself still, and he wasn’t really moving enough to actually disturb the work. Sometimes it took a bit for clients to sink into the feeling, to let the pain fade to the background enough that they could relax a little bit or at least be able to keep their body from trying to react to the odd sensation. But then he noticed the light sheen of sweat spreading over Steve's upper body, and would have sworn he could somehow feel the other man’s pulse quickening beneath the hand he had pressed so closely to his heart, even over the vibration of the tattoo machine.

He should probably stop and do a check-in, suggest a breather or some water. It wouldn't be the first time a seemingly tough muscle-bound guy had struggled to sit for him. 

He opened his mouth to say something about it, lifting the needle as he took a quick glance up at Steve’s face, but what he saw had the words dying on his tongue. Steve was staring back at him, face flushed, breath coming quick and shallow, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. 

That… did not look like a face that was in pain—or rather—it didn’t seem like the pain was unpleasant. 

Fuck.

Eddie flicked his gaze quickly back down to his hands, the needle, fighting the urge to look lower. 

He shouldn’t. 

It wasn’t right.

The professional thing to do would be to ignore the reaction completely. 

But Eddie was a weak, weak man.

He looked. 

Just a quick peek, less than a half-second that his eyes wandered south, and immediately he regretted it. 

Oh fuck, fuck, fuuuck.

Suspicion confirmed. Steve was hard. He was also huge if the unmistakable outline was any indication. Eddie bit his tongue, fighting back the groan that was trying to fight its way out of his throat. 

Those jeans should be fucking illegal. The only thing worse would’ve been a pair of gray sweatpants. Now he was the one sweating.

“Sorry.” Steve said, voice strained.

Eddie stilled, lifting the machine away from Steve's chest again before looking back up to meet his eyes. 

“For?”

Steve raised an eyebrow, challenging him to continue to pretend he hadn’t noticed. 

“It’s fine, really. It… happens. Everyone reacts differently to the pain.”

Steve let out a high pitched and breathy huff of laughter. “It wasn’t like this last time.” He muttered under his breath.

Eddie tried hard not to read into that, not to think about what the difference might be.

“Do you need to take a break?” 

“No,” Steve swallowed hard. Eddie watched, momentarily mesmerized by the bob of his adams apple. “But, uh, can we talk or something? To distract me?”

He sounded so vulnerable, and a little embarrassed. It was enough to snap Eddie out of his daze. The last thing he wanted was for the person in his chair to feel uncomfortable. Talking he could do, it was one of his best things. 

“Sure, what do you want to talk about?” Eddie asked casually, getting right back into his line work.

“You.” Steve answered quickly, pausing to clear his throat. “Um, I mean, did you always want to be a tattoo artist?”

Eddie chuckled. “Yeah, pretty much. I used to spend all my time, including the time I should have been using to study or do my homework, drawing, sketching, painting, you name it, and it just kinda developed from there. I gave myself my first stick-and-poke when I was about 15. My uncle was pissed. Not about the tattoo exactly, but he was worried I wasn't being safe enough about it—sanitary and stuff. Of course, he wasn’t wrong. So, Wayne took me out the next day and we got a book about it, and he bought me all the right materials. Even let me practice on him when I graduated to a tattoo machine.”

“He sounds like a really great guy.” Steve said.

“Yeah, he is.” Eddie could feel the wistful smile spreading across his own face. “Not just anyone could step in and raise someone else’s kid like that. Just wish I got to see him more. I go back to Indiana to visit him a few times a year, but it’s not the same.”

“I don’t see my family very much either, but we’re not close.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. My parents, they’re–” Steve trailed off as if looking for the right words. “Well, let's just say they're not as supportive of my—life choices, as your uncle was for you.”

“Oh?”

“I, uh, came out to them a while ago… as bisexual? They didn’t take it very well. Said I was just going through some kind of phase or crisis or something. Sorry, this is probably, like, way too much information to share with someone I just met.”

“No. it’s—Okay, maybe to a normal person it might be but I've never been what anyone would describe as normal. And… I get it.”

Eddie didn’t really have to say it. The outside of the shop sported every kind of pride flag you could think of. There were pictures right behind him on the wall of him and Chrissy at their first ever pride parade right here in the city. Not to mention his social media profiles, where he had a bi  flag right next to his age and pronouns in his bio. Steve knew, was the point, and Eddie was glad he’d felt safe enough in his shop—with him, to talk about it.

“Wayne was really good about that too.” Eddie said softly. “I’m sorry your parents weren’t.”

A comfortable silence settled between them after that and Eddie left it unbroken, better to let Steve decide which direction their conversation went from here—if he wanted to continue it. He seemed more relaxed already and his… predicament had mercifully gone down as they spoke. 

“When did you—how did you… know?“ Steve asked after a while.

“Junior High.” Eddie answered quickly, smiling to himself as he indulged in a little nostalgia. “Kinda the opposite of the usual story, I guess. I thought I was gay. I had such a crush on this boy a grade above me.  Nobody that would have given me the time of day mind you, I was a band geek and a huge nerd, but he was very nice to look at. Then he changed schools. I was heartbroken of course, which is my excuse for why I let this girl drag me under the bleachers during gym class. One second we were just sitting there talking and the next she was in my lap with her tongue down my throat.” 

“And?”

Eddie shrugged. “And I didn’t hate it. I reacted exactly the way a young boy reacts when a pretty girl is kissing them and grinding in their lap. Honestly, it blew my mind a little bit—had to reevaluate my whole world view.”

Steve hummed in understanding.

“It’s still mostly men for me but–” Eddie sighed wistfully, “Women.”

“Women,” Steve agreed reverently, letting out a soft laugh. “It was a bit more recent for me. A friend took me to a gay bar—dragged me there actually.” He started to shake his head, stopping instantly when he seemed to realize he might be moving too much.

Good boy.

Eddie smirked. “I bet you were popular.”

“You could say that. I’ve never had so many people offer to buy me a drink in my life.” As Steve went on he began to rub his hand along the chair's armrest, mindlessly drawing patterns into its surface with his long fingers.

“It’s funny, at 25 I didn’t think I had anything new to discover about myself, at least nothing big, but after that rather eye-opening evening I had to, like you said, reevaluate some things about myself. It wasn’t a huge shock I guess. Like, I had found guys attractive before—friends, celebrities, whatever, I just thought everyone felt that way.”

“Ah, the bisexual’s fallacy. Sure I think about other dudes sometimes, but only the normal amount.” Eddie said.

“How was I supposed to know it wasn’t!”

Eddie stopped tattooing as they held each other's gaze, both managing to keep a straight face for only a second before simultaneously dissolving into hysterical laughter. 

Figuring it was as good a time as any to take a short break, Eddie stripped his gloves off and slid across the room on his stool to a small mini-fridge he kept tucked under his desk, stocked with water and juice—something he always kept on hand in case a client got lightheaded.

As they sipped their drinks and both took an opportunity to stretch, Eddie decided it was finally time to put his foot in his mouth.

“So, how are you enjoying things on this side of the field? Someone as pretty as you, I'm sure you get asked out a lot.”

“No, uh, I don't know. I- I haven't really been out on any dates with guys.” Steve stuttered out nervously. “Kissed a few, but that’s all.” 

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Eddie said. He meant it too. Not only was Steve something special to look at, but he seemed like a nice enough guy. He deserved to be taken out and shown a good time. Maybe he was shy.

Steve laid back in the chair, puffing his chest out as he got back into position while Eddie slipped a new pair of gloves on. 

“Why, you offering to show me the ropes?” Steve asked, pointedly raising an eyebrow.

Eddie’s mouth went dry. 

Okay, not that shy then. Surely it was just fun friendly flirting though, right?

“Don’t tempt me.” Eddie teased back. Two could play this game.

“Why not?”

“First rule of the trade, or at least the Munson doctrine, no dating the clients.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Steve said, and without even looking up Eddie could hear the smile in his voice, a hint of–challenge accepted–in his tone.

The next hour flew by as they continued to chat, both remarking on the differences between small town life and city life, as well as lamenting how expensive it was, and how neither of them thought they’d still be living with roommates in their mid-to-late-20's.

For a while Eddie waxed poetic about Chrissy, who of course filled the roles of bestie, roommate, and business partner, which tickled Steve to no end. 

He told the other man how they’d met, apprenticing at the same tattoo parlor at around the same time. and wound up bonding for life almost immediately. They were total opposites on the surface but deep down they were remarkably similar. Eddie didn’t go into too much detail, as it wasn’t his story to tell, but alluded to the fact that he and Chrissy had the shared experience of being born to shitty parents, only to be raised by another family member. A grandmother in Chrissy’s case.

It meant that they understood each other more than most, and yeah, being around one another 24/7 also meant they got on each other’s nerves a lot, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

At some point Steve’s cell phone began to ring from where it was shoved in his front pocket. He apologized profusely for forgetting to switch it on silent before they’d gotten started, but Eddie assured him it wasn’t a big deal. 

Or—it wouldn't have been, except either it was some kind of emergency, or someone who was intent on reaching Steve immediately, and continued trying to call three more times. 

“We can take a break if you need to get that.” Eddie offered.

Truth be told he could use a little breather himself. All this time of being essentially face down in Steve’s incredible chest was getting to him a little bit, not to mention the way his forearm lightly brushed along Steve's stomach whenever he braced himself across the man’s body. The feel of their bare skin touching was almost too much, and more than once Eddie felt himself breaking out in goosebumps. 

“Yeah, I think we’d better. It’s gotta be my little brother and knowing him he won’t stop calling until I answer.”

Eddie busied himself removing his gloves and taking a long drink from his water bottle while he flipped through a few drawings on his side table, trying to look like he wasn’t hearing every word of Steve's side of the conversation. 

“Hey buddy, I'm a little busy right now. What’s going on?” 

Steve paused, listening attentively to the voice on the other end of the call. 

“Dustin, he’s not abandoning you. Just because he wants–”

Sighing as he was abruptly interrupted, Steve somehow made the huff of breath sound both annoyed and fond.

“Well, did he actually say he didn’t want to play D&D with you anymore?” 

Eddie’s head snapped up of its own volition. Did the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen in real life just say D&D?

“That’s what I thought.” Steve said with a satisfied tone. “It's gonna be fine. I’ll come see you tomorrow, okay? Tell your mom I said hi.”

“Sorry about that.” Steve said, addressing Eddie this time, rolling his eyes as he ended the call. “Teenagers.”

“Pretty cool little brother if he plays Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Oh no.” Steve groaned. “Not you too! He and all his little friends are obsessed with it.”

“I used to play all the time with a group back in high school. We still try and get together for a one-shot at the holidays when we’re all back home visiting.” Eddie paused, concentrating for a second on wiggling his fingers into yet another set of gloves. There wasn’t really all that much left to do, another 20 minutes or so and he’d be done with the outline. “Was he alright, your brother?”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine.” Steve replied as he sat back, getting into position. “We, uh, technically we’re not actually related—I'm an only child. But I used to babysit Dustin when he was younger and when he grew up I just sorta stuck around. It’s only him and his mom at home and I guess I thought… I dunno, like, maybe I could help? I drove him to his first school dance, taught him how to do his hair, shave, that kinda stuff.”

“That's… that’s really sweet, man. I’m sure he appreciates having you around.”

With every new thing he learned about Steve, Eddie felt like he was in deeper and deeper trouble. He’d been having a tough enough time keeping it together with simply lusting over a hot body, but now Steve was turning out to be this sweetheart of a guy and, client or not, Eddie thought he might just be worth breaking all the rules for. 

“He’s worried his friend group is falling apart because one of the guys is going out for the basketball team. He’s afraid if Lucas gets in good with the jocks he won’t want to play with them anymore.”

“As a former outcast and enemy to jocks everywhere, I can understand his concern.” 

“Are you saying we wouldn't have been friends in high school then?”

“Steve, Stevie, please. Please don’t tell me…” Eddie trailed off, stopping what he was doing and gasping for dramatic effect–hand over his heart. “Oh god, you were captain of the sportsball team weren’t you?” 

Steve giggled, his beautiful eyes sparkling with it. “Basketball, to be exact. I was the co-captain of the swim team too.”

“I knew it would never work between us.” Eddie tutted, shaking his head as he got back to tattooing. “Are you reformed, at least?”

“Once a jock, always a jock, I'm afraid. I’m a personal trainer now.”

It explained a lot, and the perks—pun absolutely intended—of Steve's day job were undeniable, but as hot as the mental image of him pumping iron was, the idea of Steve palling around with toxic gym bros all day was almost enough to have Eddie second guessing everything.

“Don’t worry though, I don’t like gym bros any more than the next guy.” Steve said conspiratorially. “My clients are mainly older women looking to maintain their strength and mobility as they age.”

Aaaaand Eddie stood corrected. “Lucky ladies.”

Jesus Christ, could this guy get any more perfect?

Steve shifted in his seat, starting to get antsy after keeeping still for so long. 

“Just a few more minutes, almost done.” Eddie murmured, tongue between his teeth as he concentrated on a spot near the curve of Steve’s collarbone.

“Do you do a lot of these? Cover-ups I mean?” Steve asked. “My roommate is the one who actually suggested it. For some reason I just never thought about it as an option.”

“I don’t know if i’d say a lot, but a fair few, yeah.”

“You, um. You can ask about it… If you want.”

Eddie glanced up in surprise. He would never have brought it up without being prompted, it just didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t deny he was curious, and if Steve was okay with it then–

“Okay, I'll bite. Who’s Nancy?”

“My fiance’. Well, ex-fiance’ now. We broke things off a little over a year ago.”

“That’s rough, I'm sorry.”

“It’s okay. Honestly, It’s… I should have probably seen it coming? We were high school sweethearts—got together before we really knew who we were on our own. But I was dumb and in love. I got the tattoo and proposed. I was so happy that day, but looking back it was so obvious that she’d only said yes out of pity or guilt, not because she really wanted to spend the rest of her life with me.”

The part of Eddie that believed in true love—and all that cheesy shit—was sad that a couple who had been together for so long, who had essentially grown up together, hadn’t been able to make it work. Selfishly though, a small piece of him was happy to learn that they’d been broken up for quite some time, lessening the chance that, if he did somehow gather the courage to ask Steve out when the tattoo was done, he wouldn’t be on the rebound.

“It was tough. I felt like a failure for a long time, like I was having to start my whole life over from scratch when I'd thought for so long that she was it for me, but it's actually been… good. We weren’t right for eachother, I can see that now. As much as it hurt, I'm grateful she had the courage to break things off when she did.”

“I’m glad you’ve been able to come to peace with it.”

“Getting this tattoo feels like the final step into letting that life go, y’know?”

Eddie nodded. Steve’s demeanor before they got started made so much sense now.

“Is there some significance to the design?” He asked, making his final line and setting the machine down. He wiped at the excess ink on Steve's skin, raising his head just in time to see the way the other man’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah, Robin. She–she’s everything to me. Like a best friend, but more somehow. I don’t think I really knew what unconditional love was before her. She’s like, another piece of my soul or something. I don’t know what I would do without her.”

Eddie froze. 

The tattoo design was a bird—a robin.

A robin.

For, Robin.

How could he have been so stupid! 

Of course, Steve was getting one girl’s name covered up with something to represent the new one. 

Jesus Christ, they were both idiots.

Eddie for getting his hopes up, and Steve for making the same mistake—twice. At least this time it was a symbol and not a name, so if he and the latest potential Mrs. Harrington didn’t work out, at least he wouldn't have to worry about covering it up.

“Everything alright?” Steve asked.

The question spurred Eddie back into action. He spread the foam soap over Steve’s chest continuing to clean the finished tattoo while his heart crawled up into his throat. 

“Yup. All good.” Eddie forced the words out.

That's what Steve must have meant about not going on dates, he already had someone at home. Why hadn’t he just said that before though? And why had he flirted with him? 

Maybe he’d felt funny at first about admitting to being with a woman after all the talk about being bisexual. Not that Eddie would have judged, but he knew a lot of people did—bi erasure was so real. He understood that, but it didn’t make it hurt any less that Steve had, inadvertently or not, lead him on. 

Eddie gently patted the newly cleaned skin dry with a paper towel and carefully applied a square of Saniderm over the area, smoothing it out as he gave Steve his usual spiel, albeit a little robotically, about how to care for the tattoo over the coming days and weeks.

He quickly turned his back when he was done, telling Steve he could get dressed, and feeling stupid as all hell for being this upset about a guy he barely knew. He’d felt something though, potential—a spark. It was more than he’d felt for anyone in a long time.

Steve got quiet, looking a little confused with the sudden 180° Eddie’s mood had pulled. He felt a little bad about that as he brought the guy back out to the counter, but it wasn’t as though he’d suddenly become unprofessional. He was just… no longer being overly friendly.

After confirming the date for his second session, Steve paid his balance and Eddie walked him to the door.  

“Have a good night, Steve. Call the shop if you have any concerns or questions about aftercare.”

Steve bit his lip. “Oh, I… okay. See you in six weeks then.”

Eddie forced a smile, waiting until Steve was out of sight around the corner to lock up, and slunk back to his studio to disinfect it so he could finally go home and sulk.

Chapter 2

All my thanks to @penny00dreadful for all of your wonderful beta work, and cheerleading, and support, and just generally being THE BEST 💜

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[the-timewatcher]

A disgruntled Tumblrina (gender-neutral) made a website and why you should too.

Or "reject social media, return to personal websites".

PART 1: THE PART WHERE I CONVINCE YOU TO MOVE TO PERSONAL WEBSITES

So, the Web 2.0 social media infested landscape seems to be crumbling before our very eyes. Reddit's leadership is increasingly greedy, Twitter is sinking under the weight of Elon's massive, yet increasingly fragile ego, Tumblr is slowly turning into another lifeless corpo-fest, complete with the layout, Instagram continues to be vapid and soulless and Facebook seems to be going the way of MySpace.

(feel free to check the alt text on these, btw)

In these troubling times, where everything looks the same and you're expected to be milked for every dollar you're worth, what is a disgruntled Internet surfer such as yourself to do? Move to an untested alternative that's bound to get overrun by fascists thanks to poor moderation? Stay the course on the sinking ships you're used to?

Well, what if I told you that we've solved this problem way back in the 90's and early 2000's and were merely duped by the Big Zuck into forgetting our legacy? What if there was a cure for the sanitized, dull social media hellscape?

It takes a bit of work, when compared to just using a social media site, but even if your particular use case makes switching difficult (ex. an artist looking to promote their work), it's still a good secondary option to consider.

The core appeal is the ability to customize and individualize, make a corner of cyberspace unabashedly yours,

It can also be an exciting avenue of creative expression, giving whatever you want to say a unique coat of paint,

Most website hosting services are a bit more lax about what you can do on them, due to changes in the profit structure (rather than depending on advertisers and investors, they either have a premium option to give supporters perks, have another product, or, in the case of paid services, you renting that space IS the product),

If you want your website to be more accomodating and accessible, you don't have to file tons of feedback - do it yourself,

If you'd like to connect with other webmasters and promote each other's websites, we have webrings - sets of circular links that connect websites with something in common, be it a topic, aesthetic or friend group,

You're less likely to have your stuff purged by an ill-advised change in policy (especially if you have a backup of your files somewhere),

The more people do it, the less power those massive social media corpos have over the internet,

It can be a load of fun!

If I have you convinced, keep reading into part 2. If you just wanna see what I did, skip to part 3. If neither, feel free to continue scrolling. I won't hold it against you. You'll be missing out, that's all.

PART 2: SO, YOU WANNA MAKE A WEBSITE!

Good choice, here's some resources!

sadgrl's absolute beginner's guide to Neocities - what it says on the tin!

W3Schools - a more in-depth tutorial site, a learning resource so excellent it substituted for what I was supposed to learn in technical highschool (because our teacher just told us to go on W3Schools instead of teaching us shit)

A list of free layouts for your website - whether to use as a base to learn from or to simply take for yourself,

Neocities - the posterchild for free website hosting for personal websites. Doesn't allow video or audio, but you can get around that by linking those files from elsewhere. Beginner-friendly to a fault - once you have an account just drag and drop your files in,

Gitlab (& Gitlab Pages) - a more advanced option, but it has a few advantages of its own. Gitlab is a website hoster second and a version control service first - which is programmer speak for "keeps track of changes in your code and stores a backup of it online". it helps a lot when working on multiple devices or co-writing with a friend. And secondly, you can use Gitlab Actions to automate putting your website up (even on Neocities, like I do!)

My askbox - I am not joking, if you have any questions about any of this, I'd love nothing more than to help you out!

But with most of my indie web propaganda out of the way, it's time.

PART 3: Welcome to Timewatcher OS.

Of course, because I couldn't be normal when it comes to making a website, I had to turn it into a fake operating system. Each subpage is an "app", opened in a separate embed window. It has unlockable wallpapers (no pay2win, prommy). There's bideo games on it! I even made a music player for it so I can share my incongruent music tastes!

Like I said in my Tumblr bio, if I ever go radio silent for more than a month, it means I've gotten fed up with this hellsite and moved to my own homepage permamently. And I highly advise you make an option like this for yourself too! Lastly, if any of y'all would like to start a webring, do let me know in the askbox - I'm down to manage it if I'm not alone in there.

Anyways, I hope I convinced you to make a website, or at least check out some of the cool sites you've been missing out on! Hope to see you on the Old Web!

[teecupangel]

Been holding a thought on my brain for too long abt putting Desmond in Situations: have you watched Dimension 20's The Unsleeping City? At least s1. Bc 1) watch it, it's so good & 2) I specifically in this situation think abt Bad Weather being the normal version of the bar in Broadway that Kingston & Misty go to. Pre-canon Desmond seeing past the Umbral Arcana & getting involved in magic shenanigans..... Yeah.

You know his latent Eagle Vision is peeling out & seeing the magic shit happening in New York City. You KNOWWWWW. Please tell me one of your followers has been thinking this too.

I have good news for you, nonny, because I have just started watching Dimension 20 this year but I am a slow watcher so I’ve only gotten as far as the first 3 episodes of Unsleeping City season 2 (atm, I think my fav D20 moment is with the Bad Kids’ “Spring Break, I believe in you!” XD). I’m one of those few people who’s pathway to D&D and TTRPG is Oxventure→No Rolls Barred/Chaotic Neutral→Mystery Quest so I am absolutely late to the party XD

Anyway, for this one, we need to do a bit of housekeeping.

I’m basing this on the title of the opening theme New York 2006 because I think that’s the year Season 1 was set (feel free to correct me though)

This means that Desmond would be 19 at that point and we can push it that he’s already working in Bad Weather.

Now, I like the idea that Bad Weather is the normal version of the bar that Kingston and Misty goes to but, may I suggest an alternative?

An earlier possible way to add Desmond to all these shenanigans is to make Bad Weather one of the bars Sofia and Kugrash go to for their ‘hairy baby free drinks scam’.

Towards the end, maybe the last bar they go to, Desmond walks up to Sofia and requested that they leave because the big rat pet she had would make other customers uncomfortable.

Sofia and Kugrash are already drunk at this moment but they hear Desmond call Kugrash a rat and are like “you can see him???”.

Kugrash immediately remembers Desmond as one of the homeless kids he helped when Desmond first moved into the city and had clocked him as ‘strange’ because there was something about him that felt... not exactly magical but almost magical-adjacent.

This ends with Sofia and Kugrash inviting Desmond to their new party as a recruit (with Sofia thinking both (1) this boy needs someone in his life to take care of him and now I’m trying not to cry because my cheating (as far as she knows) husband and I never had kids and (2) maybe he and Pete can get along as newbies with me)

And that is how our Intrepid Heroes managed to recruit an Assassin Rogue who may or may not multiclass to Gloom Stalker in a different playstyle to Liam Wilhelmina.

.

Unorganized Notes:

This is a Desmond who doesn’t know about his destiny or his ancestors but his training on the Farm is so ingrained into him that it makes him a Rogue.

Because of his lack of knowledge, we can argue that he could turn into a Thief Rogue instead of Assassin in this one because he had never assassinated anyone before.

In terms of playstyle, he’d actually be more a close combat attacker that uses some kind of switchknife with sneak attack being part of 'bonus action: hide -> main action: sneak attack')

Another suggestion I have is for Desmond to subclass as Phantom, more because of ‘Whisper of the Dead’ where every short or long rest, he can gain one skill or tool proficiency and the flavor text describes it as one of the ghostly presence shares its knowledge to the user. Desmond has no idea what this means because this is pre-canon but this is actually his ancestors managing to create a link to him in some form thanks to the Umbral Arcana mixing with his ‘destiny’.

If you want Desmond to be given the illusion of choice and not be a Rogue, we can make him a Warlock ‘worshiping’ an unknown Fathomless. In this setup, they don’t know who Desmond’s patron is and Desmond himself just shrugs because he can do magic so that’s nice. Part of his deal is that he receives messages from his patron in the form of texts on his phone. They all come from an unknown number he can’t call and the texts are always like ‘The Scholar is pleased with your desire to learn about the history of this place’ or ‘The Prophet is worried of your health and asks that you requests your companions for a rest’ or ‘The Hunter suggests you still find a weapon even if you are using magic’ and this is some weird shit even for Kingston because it seems like Desmond has multiple patrons or maybe even an entire pantheon of unknown gods/beings.

Abstergo is going to be so fucked in this one because, by the time they try to kidnap Desmond, he’d probably be around level 10~12 and maybe even living with Pete in his apartment.

And yes. Desmond absolutely knows Ricky as Mister March as well XD

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 08

PREVIOUS

FF knows that it might be possible to get a new flight and that the excuse of “Oh I found a flight so I could go spend the holiday with my Gran” would probably be unassailable even tot he great unknown of Andrew Minyard’s displeasure (FF has not yet figured out when the pin will drop and Andrew will come at him. The man is a stone wall but FF knows that Andrew doesn’t like him and that knowledge is confirmed every time Andrew and Captain Neil come into Nicky’s dorm and find FF there hanging out with Nicky and he sees both Andrew and Captain Neil frown at him.)

It’s just that it takes 7-10 business days for him to build up the nerve to have to call someone and deal with customer service and it would take more bravery than he currently has to press forward and actually get a flight that would WORK. He has a very limited window for when he can get to Washington. HIs Gran had called a friend to borrow a car to pick him up and that was only available during a 6 hour window on his arrival date.

He COULD get a taxi to his Gran’s house but… (“What if I get kidnapped, what if I get trafficked, how do I tell a normal taxi from a taxi that will take me to a place where I’ll wake up in an ice bath and down a kidney, what if the taxi driver doesn’t like me, what if the taxi driver wants to talk, I don’t have anything interesting to say! What if he says mean things about me in his native language on the phone and I have to pretend that I don’t know what he’s SAYING?)… he’d probably die during the hour long ride from the anxiety.

He tells his Gran and she promises to get a pie out to him A.S.A.P.

It almost makes him feel better until he remembers what he had agreed to when Andrew came at him at his WEAKEST MOMENT to get him to agree to spend an entire four days at the house in Columbia he has HEARD stories about.

FF, laying face down on the floor in Nicky’s dorm as Nicky pats his back: Nicky next time you see me about to agree to something that will result in me getting killed I NEED you to run up and just punch me in the jaw. I’m begging you. You know I’m a disaster.

Nicky thinking about how Andrew has gotten weirdly protective of FF since the whole step brother incident: I need you to understand that that will result in ME being killed which I am not a big fan of.

FF misunderstanding: My grandma’s not THAT strong Nicky. At most grandmothers from across the country will frown disapprovingly at you.

Nicky thinking about all the little old ladies who dote on FF for inexplicable reasons and how some of them know he’s FF’s friend and give Nicky the grandma experience he had lacked growing up: Somehow that’s even worse than what I was thinking :(

***

Nicky coming to check on FF hours later: Are…are you watching the Saw movies?

FF taking copious notes: I need to prepare myself to survive Columbia. Do you have a basement or will Andrew be moving me to a secondary location?

Nicky walking over and shutting off the TV: I think it’s time to go to bed champ.

FF: If I don’t sleep then Andrew can’t drag me to a secondary location. I bought a 20 pack of five hour energy because that is the most the CVS would sell me.

Nicky: They cut you off??

FF: Yeah the manager there said he’d sell it as a ‘favor’ to a ‘loyal customer’ but to destroy my receipt and I had to buy in cash in case I die from a heart attack so it’s not linked to them. So if I play my cards right I have around 4 days of energy right here. I have looked up all the foods that can make you sleepy and will be avoiding them to stack the deck.

Nicky guiding FF towards his bedroom: Y’know that includes turkey. Also those five hour energy shots will be murder on your tummy. :(

FF: I am willing to make some sacrifices so I can live to see 19 Nicky. Also I figure I can just drink an entire bottle of Pepto per bottle of five hour energy resulting in a net neutral situation in my stomach.

Nicky tucking FF into bed carefully: Or result in you going to the hospital for an overdose get some sleep Smith. Andrew is not planning on killing you.

FF already falling asleep because his stress energy is running out: You have no idea how much he dislikes me and how much pepto my body can handle but you’re right about going to sleep. I’ll need my strength to power through the reverse bear trap let alone a laser collar.

***

2 of Grandma Smith’s apple pies arrive in the early afternoon of Thanksgiving via a little old lady turning up at Abby’s house who is a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of Grandma Smith. The Foxes take a moment to marvel that somehow it is still warm despite apparently having been Granny expressed across the country despite the storm.

The delivering old lady pinches FF’s cheek and says not to be too disheartened and that his Grandma loves him and will see him for Christmas Break for SURE. She hands him a little note his Gran sent with the pies and he pointedly does not read it there.

This would make FF happy if he hadn’t been swearing up down left and right that he didn’t TALK to his grandma to Andrew whose eyes he can FEEL on him.

He manages a “THANKS.” In a perfectly normal tone. He has no memory that he already told Andrew and Captain Neil that he was spending the holiday with his grandma since he had blue screened at the offer last time and had rebooted in safe mode to power walk away from the situation.

“Your grandma is really nice.” Captain Neil says. “Those pies look good.”

FF, his anxiety momentarily overridden by a soul-deep love for his grandma, “My gran is the BEST and so are her pies.” And then he hears what he has said and walks back into Abby’s house to set out one pie for everyone else and goes and stress eats the second one on the living room couch after he promised Abby he’d clean up any mess.

He wonders if he’ll make it to Christmas Break as he sees Kevin Day staring at him in abject horror while Andrew stares straight at him.

Even with the attention on him he decides to check the note the other granny had given him from his Gran. It is in her native polish so he feels his shoulders relax since no one would be able to read it.

‘For my little Chicken, this isn’t your last meal like you texted me. I know you will be fine. I am thankful for you in my life every day.’

He tucks the note in his pocket and feels a little better.

NEXT

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