#I have no answers its just interesting to think about

[prokopetz]

I apologise if you've already answered this, but I tried searching your blog and I'm unsure if you haven't or if it's another example of Tumblr's amazing search system.

I was talking with a friend recently about how much of a culture clash the Monk Class is compared to the rest of Dungeons & Dragons and was wondering if there is a coherent reason for their original inclusion. I'm aware that they're largely influenced by Shaolin monks as depicted in Hong Kong cinema in the 70's/80's as compared to the Sword and Sorcery stuff most of the rest of D&D takes influence from.

Basically, my question ultimately boils down to, "Is the Monk Class there purely because of an original player wanting to rule of cool their way into playing something wildly out of genre, or is there a stronger link between Sword and Sorcery and Hong Kong cinema that could have organically resulted in the Monk Class joining the rest of the classes?"

A lot of the link between the two was simply a matter of time and place. The kung fu craze hit North America at just about exactly the same time as the sword and sorcery revival that gave us films like Clash of the Titans and Beastmaster and The Sword and the Sorcerer and Dragonslayer and Krull – not to mention the Arnold Schwarzenegger Conan adaptation, which revived popular interest in first-wave sword and sorcery literature – so there was a lot of it going around. Analysis of early Dungeons & Dragons as a product of its media influences often overlooks that it was largely drawing on what was trendy in American popular media in the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s. Even the tonally incongruous Lord of the Rings references weren't a deep cut; while the books were originally published in the 1950s, they'd experienced a strong resurgence in the 1970s, putting them firmly in the popular consciousness at the time that D&D was being developed. All this being the case, it's not surprising that early D&D was also substantially influenced by Hong Kong action cinema.

That said, the reason the monk character class in particular (i.e., as opposed to kung fu media influences more generally) is there is allegedly because one specific guy in one of the game's early playtest groups really, really wanted to play as Remo Williams from Warren Murphy and Richard Sapir's The Destroyer; several of the class's signature abilities are direct references to powers Williams exhibits in the course of the novels. Remarks from folks who worked at TSR at the time have pointed the finger at Brian Blume as the Remo Williams fan in question, though accounts are conflicted whether Blume was actually an uncredited contributor to Dave Arneson's Blackmoor (1975), in which the class makes its first proper appearance, or whether Blume's interest merely prompted its inclusion.

This is the case for the character archetypes in a lot tabletop RPGs of that era; instead of trying to work out what classes "ought" be be present, authors would simply start with the types of characters their playtesters actually wanted to play, often based on specific popular media characters, then work backwards to derive an IC rationale for why those were the setting's standard adventuring professions. Other examples from D&D in particular most obviously include the Ranger (based on Tolkien's Aragon, naturally), but also the Paladin (principally inspired by Holger Carlsen from Poul Anderson's 1961 isekai novel Three Hearts and Three Lions, also the source of D&D's goofy regenerating trolls), the Assassin, back when it was still a separate character class (probably mainly based on the Assassin Caste from John Norman's Gor), and even the Wizard to a large extent (less Gandalf than you'd think: a large portion of D&D's iconic wizard spell list is lifted directly from the 1963 Vincent Price film The Raven).

(I often think that modern indie RPGs could benefit from reviving this approach. Like, fuck textual consistency – just pick half a dozen of your favourite popular media characters without regard for the compatibility of the source material and work backwards to explain why these six random assholes are your game's playable archetypes!)

[grison-in-space]

I keep thinking about this post in the context of my discipline, which is in the sciences. At this moment, I am in the process of applying to jobs in IT: I'm a postdoc, so my funding comes entirely and directly from federal funds. Which would end in May anyway. And the lab was low on its grant cycles to start, and its whole focus is on a number of topics that put us on a number of chopping blocks even if science as a whole starts getting funded again.

Fuck. I'm really sad. I have been avoiding talking about this decision because we're not telling the students or the lab as a whole for another month so they don't panic. I still intend to be available for them as a resource and if I'm very lucky, I'll land a position in the university IT and that will be part of my new job. I'm trying to get my core project into publication, too, before I go, and I don't have the time to soothe my students' emotions if I'm going to get that done. And I have to document the various things I have built the lab since I've been here so that it can go on using without them. That's gonna take time and work. If I stop to make anyone else feel good about it, I won't get it done. I am carrying a lot of grief right now.

So I'm looking at leaving science, at least for a while. I'm facing down the very real possibility that science, which has been funded far more aggressively than humanities for a very long time, might cease to exist outside of the private sector for some time to come. And I keep looking at myself internally, thinking what will I do now?

I find that my thoughts keep revolving around two things. One is the obvious: how do I make myself marketable enough to find a new job? I have some pretty terrifying giant data analysis skills, though, so that one isn't so frightening. The other one is really the one that keeps occupying my mind when I think about my immediate future: how am I going to Find Out without money for materials now? What's my next research project? What can I contribute to existing citizen science positions? What could I crowdfund a tiny budget for?

I don't know if that's what all the scholars facing down this gutting of our industry are thinking, but here's what I think: I think the National Endowments for Arts and Humanities have been shadows of themselves since 1996, and yet arts and history have not died. True, they're nothing like the flowering of knowledge we could have had with budgets that kept pace as a function of the (tiny) expenditures the Nation makes to fund generating new areas of human knowledge. Nevertheless, both yet live on, even under compromise.

I console myself by thinking: even if the current attempts to break the backs of knowledge workers and the university system succeed, there will still be questions to be asked and people working on answering them to the best of the resources available. Maybe it's just that I'm a cussed fucker who lost an entire chapter of my thesis once because my PI couldn't find me $2000, but I'm used to thinking about how to be rigorous about my work without the benefit of actual finances. I have... probably six scholarly projects I want to play with that could be accomplished without assistance from a university or significant startup funding. Sure, molecular techniques are out of reach right now and so are some of the toys I get at work. That doesn't mean I can't still collect data and build conclusions.

If we're going back to the days of the Victorian gentleman naturalists, goddammit, we could do worse than to learn from the likes of Mary Anning and Alfred Russell Wallace and George Washington Carver. Let's really lean into what we've learned from a decade of Citizen Science initiatives. If basic rather than applied science is going to become a hobby rather than a profession once more, let's make a really good hobby culture capable of turning out interesting data.

After all, there will always be science, just as there's always history. Let's stick around to see what kinds of things we find out next.

[claramelooo]

Woven Fates (7/???)

Well, well, well... I dunno what to say for this chapter hahahaha it was... Wow... To intense to write this.

I hope you can enjoy it! <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio X Fem Reader

Summary: Finally you seem to be finding your place.

Hey! Now I've a masterlist

Surrender

The silence of that morning seemed to have a life of its own—dense and enveloping, hanging like a veil over the breakfast table. You tried to focus on the slice of bread in your hands, but it was impossible to ignore their presence—Rio, relaxed as always, her eyes half-lidded as she took a lazy sip of coffee, and Agatha, meticulously stirring her drink with an almost lethargic air.

The world had changed, but only you seemed to know it. Since the night before, things between the three of you had taken on a different shade, charged with a meaning that made you blush at the smallest gesture. Words that once seemed banal now sounded like secrets wrapped in double meanings.

“You’re very quiet today.” Agatha’s voice cut through the air like a polished blade—smooth, yet sharp.

You lifted your eyes with effort, trying to force a smile. “Just thinking about some things from college.”

She tilted her head slightly, as if she had heard something interesting but didn’t want to show it openly. Her blue eyes—cutting and patient—swept over your face with uncomfortable precision.

“Something important?” Agatha questioned, her voice low, yet carrying an enigmatic tone.

“I think so,” you replied, your throat dry.

Rio let out a low, husky laugh but said nothing. She simply rested her coffee cup on the table with a soft sound, her long fingers lazily draped over the marble surface. There was something about her movements—something slow, too controlled to be innocent.

“You seem more… distracted than thoughtful, darling.” Rio finally broke the silence, her words light but dangerous. She didn’t look directly at you, just let the comment slip as she ran her tongue absentmindedly over her upper lip, as if savoring a taste that still lingered.

You tried to laugh, but the sound came out nervous, awkward. “I think I need better sleep.”

“Maybe.” Agatha smiled softly, though the smile didn’t reach her eyes. She lifted her coffee to her lips, taking a slow sip, as if savoring something beyond the drink. “But sometimes, sleep isn’t exactly what solves things.”

Your stomach turned. There was something in her words, something that slipped between meanings and left you in a state of uncomfortable alertness.

Rio leaned forward slightly, her posture relaxed but predatory, and spoke with her usual insolent calm. “It’s a shame, you know.”

“A shame?” you asked, not really wanting the answer.

She looked at you, finally. Her dark eyes gleamed with something that shouldn’t be there so early in the morning. “The best things happen while everyone’s asleep.”

You tried to focus on breathing, but it was as if the air in the room had suddenly grown too heavy. They were playing a game—one you didn’t fully understand yet but were undoubtedly a part of.

You were too focused on keeping your face from betraying the memory of what you had witnessed the night before—the desire you could still feel pulsing beneath your skin—when Rio broke the silence with such studied indifference that it only heightened your apprehension.

“So,” she began, leaning lazily into her chair, her fingers sliding over the cup’s handle with a touch so light it seemed almost absentminded, “who was the friend you met yesterday?”

Your heart jumped involuntarily. You blinked, surprised, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under her gaze. “Friend?”

Rio arched an elegant eyebrow, a subtle smile forming at the corner of her lips, as if she were amused by your reaction. “I thought you had gone out.” She paused, letting the silence stretch between you. “And didn’t even tell us.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Agatha intervened before any words could come out. Her tone was calm, controlled, but there was an undertone to her words that made your spine stiffen.

“She doesn’t have to tell us everything, my love.” Agatha’s smile was slight, almost casual, but her eyes were far too sharp for the gesture to seem innocent. “Everyone is entitled to secrets, aren’t they?”

Secrets.

The word hung in the air like a sweet, insidious poison. You felt the heat rise to your face—hot, betraying—exposing your failed attempt at indifference.

“Of course.” Rio murmured slowly, as if weighing the validity of Agatha’s argument. Her dark eyes drifted over you, assessing, measuring. But then, her tone softened, a dangerous sweetness slipping into every syllable: “I just hope you had fun. You seemed a little… desperate last night.”

The word flowed through the air, making you swallow hard. Desperate? You were. After Rio touched you, after Agatha watched every second of it; after they ignored you and fucked intensely, calling your name.

Frustration burned in your throat, your wounded pride pulsing like an exposed wound. They were older, powerful, women the whole world admired. And yet, it was them who made you lose control. That should have driven you away. Should have made you afraid. But it only made you want them even more.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I just went out with a friend.”

Agatha let out a low, drawn-out chuckle, as if she knew something you didn’t. Or worse—as if she knew exactly what you knew and was simply having fun with it. She rested her chin on her hand, her blue eyes piercing through you like blades. “And what did you do?”

The way she asked shouldn’t have made your skin burn, but it did. As if the answer didn’t matter, as if everything was already written and decided before you even opened your mouth.

“College work,” you replied, your voice weaker than you would’ve liked.

Rio laughed softly, her long fingers stirring the spoon inside her coffee cup. “College…” she repeated, savoring the word. “You’re so young, aren’t you, my sweet?”

Her laughter sounded almost affectionate, but it carried something dark, something that made your stomach twist. It wasn’t about youth. It was about you. About how, despite your age, despite your inexperience, you were already hopelessly entangled with them.

Your heart pounded, and you hated how your mind raced back to the feeling of Rio’s hand on your skin during the lecture, to Agatha’s possessive glances—to the overwhelming scene you had witnessed behind that slightly open door.

“Well, well…” Agatha’s murmur sliced through the air like a sharp blade. Her tone was soft, almost lazy, but the way her words dragged out felt like a warning. You felt the weight of her gaze settling on you, pulling your attention before you could even avoid it.

“Rio mentioned something about you wanting a job?”

Oh, not this again.

Your stomach twisted, and you lowered your head, feeling the heat rise to your face. The mere act of having to ask them for anything made an uncomfortable unease grow inside you. They were already so generous, so good. The last thing you wanted was to seem ungrateful. Or worse, a burden.

"Yes… Well…" Your voice came out hesitant, the words seeming too fragile to survive under the weight of that gaze.

Agatha tilted her head slightly, her eyes assessing you as if she were taking apart your intentions, piece by piece.

"Aren’t you satisfied with your internship at the studio, dear?" The way she said it made your stomach clench. The "dear" was sweet on the surface, but there was something sharp lurking just beneath. "Many young people would kill for this opportunity."

Your chest sank, a cold weight spreading through your ribs.

"I'm loving the experience, Agatha, really." The words came out rushed, an anxious attempt to reassure her. "But—"

"But…" Agatha narrowed her eyes, a calculated and relentless gleam dancing in them. It was an invitation to continue, but instead of encouraging, her expectation crushed any confidence you might have had.

Your body tensed. You averted your gaze to some random point behind her, trying to draw courage from the void.

"Come on, little girl." Her tone was almost bored, but the ice behind those words sent a chill down your spine. "I don’t have all the time in the world."

Little girl. Fuck. Damn words.

You took a deep breath.

"I—" Your voice faltered for a moment. Your eyes scanned the room, looking for something solid to anchor your mind. Finally, you exhaled and forced the words out. "Well… The internship isn’t paid. And like this, I’ll never be able to rent an apartment." You concluded, feeling proud for a moment.

Agatha remained silent for an instant, her eyes fixed on you, sharp as if she were dismantling you piece by piece. She tilted her head slightly to the side, her fingers idly sliding over her wrist, as if analyzing the situation before deciding how to act.

"Ah…" She finally murmured, the corner of her lips curling slightly, but without any real trace of a smile. "So that's it."

You felt a knot form in your throat as you nodded slowly.

Rio, beside you, let out a short sigh and crossed her arms, chocolate-colored eyes sliding over you in a way that made your chest tighten.

"You never told us you wanted to move out." Rio's voice was low, almost a casual reminder, but you could sense the underlying weight in those words.

You averted your gaze, your hands instinctively clenching into fists at your sides.

"I… thought it was obvious," you said hesitantly. "I can’t live on charity forever."

Agatha let out a low, dry laugh and tilted her head as if genuinely surprised by your response.

"Charity?" She repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Is that what you think we’re giving you?"

You opened your mouth but hesitated. There was something in her eyes—a cold gleam, something that seemed both challenging and slightly irritated.

Agatha sighed, as if growing tired of the conversation. She adjusted her blazer, her nails sliding over the dark fabric before raising her gaze to you again.

"Rio mentioned you seemed worried about money," she said slowly, as if choosing her words with surgical precision. "That’s why she suggested an allowance."

Your chest tightened painfully. You felt the heat rush to your face—not from shyness, but something closer to indignation.

Allowance.

The word sounded like a slap.

As if you were a child. As if you were being pampered, taken care of, as if you had no real autonomy.

You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to contain the wave of frustration.

"Wouldn’t that be special treatment?" Your voice came out firmer than expected, and you held Agatha’s gaze, despite the unease growing inside you. "Isn’t all of this already special treatment?"

The silence that followed was almost suffocating.

Agatha blinked slowly, as if savoring your words, as if she were about to dismantle them one by one.

Rio narrowed her eyes, her lips curving slightly in a half-smile that did nothing to ease the tension in the air.

"Watch your tone," Agatha said, her voice soft but as sharp as a blade. It wasn’t a shout, nor a suggestion. It was a warning—clear and precise—that made you shrink involuntarily. "You are here because we allow it. Because we saw something in you that might be worth shaping. But don’t be mistaken, dear. You are not irreplaceable."

Agatha's raw and cruel words sent a chill down your spine, but you didn’t back down. "I’m not asking to be irreplaceable. I just want to be treated like an adult."

Agatha laughed, a low, humorless sound, yet it carried a strange sweetness.

"Oh. An adult?" She leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, her eyes fixed on you as if dissecting your soul. "Adults don’t need allowances. Adults also don’t cry in the laps of strangers. But you did all that, didn’t you? What does that make you?"

The question reverberated in your mind like a cruel echo.

What does that make you?

A child.

Not because Agatha had said it out loud, but because she had made sure to show it. The way the word "adult" left her lips, laced with disdain, as if it were a fantasy you were trying to wear without deserving it. As if, at the slightest touch, that illusion would shatter, revealing what you really were.

Your body responded before your mind could catch up. The words died in your throat, and you felt a pang of embarrassment at how your posture wavered, almost imperceptibly.

Agatha didn’t wait for you to respond. Already out of patience and visibly irritated, she ran her tongue over her lips, as if tasting something invisible in the air. Then, she slightly pulled away from the table and adjusted the cuffs of her elegant coat.

"Unfortunately, I’m afraid our conversation must end here… I have things to handle at the studio. Saturday or not, there’s always work to do."

You sighed in defeat and nodded, not really knowing how to respond. The movement seemed to please her.

"Be a good girl for me, yes?" She added, her eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t fully decipher.

You swallowed hard. Asking what exactly she meant would sound ridiculous, so you remained silent. Your silence made her smile.

"See you later."

And then, Agatha was gone.

Leaving you alone with Rio.

The sound of the door closing echoed through the house. You realized you had been holding your breath and slowly let it out. Your eyes drifted to the woman in front of you, who absentmindedly spun the ring on her finger.

"Well," Rio murmured, leaning back in her chair like a satisfied feline, "looks like it’s just the two of us now."

Rio observed you for a moment, her eyes sliding over you with a kind of calculated tenderness. Then, as if wanting to ease the weight of the previous conversation, she smiled slightly and reached out, her cool fingers brushing your arm.

"You made Aggie mad." She said, almost amused, as if it were a small inconvenience rather than something still burning inside your chest.

You lowered your gaze, biting the inside of your cheek. It was obvious that you had. Agatha never bothered to hide when something upset her—and today, you were that something.

"But don’t worry," Rio continued, her voice a striking contrast to Agatha’s harshness. "She never stays mad for too long."

That should have comforted you. But somehow, the fact that Rio was trying to reassure you only made the weight on your chest grow. As if, instead of pulling you away from Agatha’s suffocating grip, she was simply wrapping you in another kind of chain—soft, welcoming, but still a chain.

Rio tilted her head slightly, her fingers tracing a gentle circle on your arm before pulling away.

"She only wants what’s best for you," she said, and the way the phrase was spoken sounded like an undeniable truth, something unquestionable.

"We do."

The we.

A shiver ran up your spine.

You swallowed dryly, still feeling the shadow of Agatha’s words circling your mind, still hearing the echo of that cruel question.

What does that make you?

Rio smiled, her dark eyes filled with something both soft and impenetrable at the same time.

"Don't be so tense, darling. Let's do something to distract you, shall we?" she suggested, standing up and extending her hand to you. "Come."

A shiver ran up your spine. You couldn’t tell if what you felt was discomfort or excitement. Maybe both.

Rio didn’t seem in a hurry to fill the silence. On the contrary, she seemed to savor it. Her dark eyes locked onto yours, and a small smile appeared at the corner of her lips.

“Something wrong, little bunny?”

You opened your mouth, but no immediate answer came. You didn’t know if you wanted to run away or get closer. If you wanted to lose yourself in this game or keep your distance. But maybe you had no choice.

Because Rio didn’t seem willing to let you escape so easily.

The afternoon moved lazily after lunch, soft light filtering through the curtains as the world outside seemed to fade away. Rio appeared with a generous tub of ice cream and two spoons, her smile a mixture of mischief and affection. She shook the tub in your direction like it was an irresistible offer.

“Pick a movie,” she said casually, but with a peculiar glint in her eyes. “Today, you're in charge.”

You chose something light and charming—My Neighbor Totoro. A movie that always brought you comfort with its sweet and magical tones, even if it was a little childish. Rio didn’t seem to mind; on the contrary, she shrugged with relaxed acceptance. She hummed, settling beside you on the couch.

She let out a satisfied chuckle, adjusting herself and casually pulling your legs over hers. “Good choice. Aggie would find it too soft…” She scooped some ice cream and, without warning, brought the spoon to your lips. “Come on, open up.”

You hesitated for a second, but the way her eyes sparkled with amusement made you part your lips, accepting the creamy sweetness. Rio smiled, running her thumb over the corner of your mouth to wipe away a stray drop of ice cream, then licked her own finger as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

With every new spoonful, your mind seemed to sink into a lazy haze, like sinking into cotton. Your shoulders relaxed against her, your eyelids grew heavier. You felt good, protected, pampered in a way that shouldn’t have pleased you so much. Rio seemed to notice this, because her mischievous smile returned as she whispered, “Our little secret, right?”

You only nodded, your heart beating a little faster when you felt her lips brush lightly against your cheek. It was soft at first, just a timid touch, but Rio soon lost any hesitation.

As the minutes passed, Rio moved closer, invading your space with an unsettling ease. She nudged you lightly with her shoulder, laughing when you murmured a small complaint while trying to balance the ice cream tub without spilling it.

"Everything okay there, silly girl?" she teased, her fingers grazing your waist to tickle you ever so slightly.

You tried to answer, but you were already so relaxed that you just laughed in response. There was something hypnotizing about the way Rio spoiled you without hesitation—as if she were discovering a new kind of affection she hadn’t realized she craved so much.

"Good girl," she said with a playful smile, her eyes dancing with a fiery spark.

The world seemed to slip through your fingers as Rio pulled you even closer. She inhaled your scent discreetly, her nose brushing against the sensitive curve between your neck and shoulder. The gesture shouldn’t have felt so intimate, but heat spread through your belly too quickly, making your breath hitch.

As if wanting to savor the moment, she pressed wet, lingering kisses along your jawline. Every slow and deliberate touch made your body pulse, leaving you softer, lighter, more willing to surrender to her.

“Are you always like this?” Her voice was a soft, low growl, teasingly close to your ear. “So... delicious?”

You tried to laugh at her blatant flirting, but the sound got stuck in your throat, turning into something close to a desperate sigh. Your body felt like it was about to crumble under her skilled touch.

Rio didn’t stop. Her hands glided along your sides with an almost cruel slowness, as if mapping every inch of you. Every gesture was careful but also filled with possession, as if you were something she hadn’t known she could have but now refused to let go.

The heavy sigh against your skin made your heart stumble in your chest. Her voice came out husky, almost broken. “I never get this chance with Aggie…”

For a moment, it felt like a stray thought, a confession she hadn’t meant to say out loud. “But you... you let me.”

Those words wrapped around you, drowning out any attempt at rational thought. Her warm breath grazed your slightly parted lips, as if her mere proximity was stealing the air you needed. The gentle caress she gave your hair felt like it had a direct connection to your nervous system, relaxing you completely.

“You let me do whatever I want with you, don’t you?”

Before you could respond—or even think about denying it—her tongue flicked over the pulsing spot on your neck, followed by a strong suction that tore a helpless moan from your lips.

Your head fell back, eyes shut tight, body arching in an involuntary surrender. The air grew thick, charged with something deeper, something beyond any physical touch could explain.

Giving yourself to Rio wasn’t just a carnal act; it was a kind of unraveling of your own will, as if every fiber of your being was crying out for the dominance she offered without asking.

Rio, with the precision of someone who knew exactly how to destroy someone for pleasure, didn’t waste the opportunity. Her mouth trailed along the exposed expanse of your neck with a hunger that made your skin burn, each kiss, lick, and bite leaving invisible marks that pulsed like a signature carved into your flesh.

She let out a low growl, satisfied, pressing her hips against yours. “Because you’re my good girl.”

Those damned words. Again.

They cut through you like a sharp blade, carving out space for something you could no longer contain.

You gasped in surprise, your body trembling under the corrosive intensity of that declaration. Because the unbearable truth was simple: yes, you wanted to be that. You wanted to be exactly what she said—and maybe something even worse.

Rio's hand trailed down your side with a light touch, almost as if testing the limits of your consent. You felt the fabric of your shirt slowly rise as her fingers advanced, each movement a calculated tease. And when her warm palm finally found the curve of your breast, your whole body shuddered in response.

The soft touch quickly became something bolder. Her fingers moved to your nipple, teasing it with slow, torturous circles that made you gasp. Your body stiffened, shocked by the intimate gesture.

"Rio, what—" Your voice came out weak, almost trembling, your mind desperately trying to regain some semblance of control.

But she only answered by pinching your nipple firmly, precisely, drawing a strangled sigh from your lips. Heat surged through your body in hot waves, pulsing intensely between your legs.

"You don’t want this, sweetheart?" she whispered in a low, husky voice, thick with a desire that seemed to consume her entirely. Her teeth grazed the delicate curve of your ear, sending another irresistible shiver down your spine.

Your skin felt electrified, every touch heightening your sensitivity. You tried to open your mouth to respond, but the words got lost in the haze of stimulation she inflicted on you without mercy.

Her lips traveled downward, leaving a trail of warm, wet kisses along the side of your neck, while her fingers continued to toy with your hardened nipple, sliding like soap between her fingers—pressing, pinching, teasing.

It was too much.

"You're squirming all over, sweetheart, and I wonder why." Rio mused, her voice like sweet poison dripping into your ears. "I hope it's not because you love this, is it?"

She turned her attention to your other breast, already taut from arousal. You heard her let out a small whimper with her mouth still against your neck. “Doing this with a married woman… That would be wrong, wouldn't it, little one?”

Her other hand guided you on top of her, making your ass press deliciously against her cunt. Rio moaned, pressing you down even harder.

And you were completely at her mercy, incapable of denying the intensity of the pleasure she pulled from you with meticulous touches, calculated to push you to the edge of desperation.

“I-I'm sorry,” you rasped, your voice thick with false regret.

You felt Rio’s smile against your neck, her warm lips sending shivers down your spine like an electric current. She let out a low, husky chuckle, the sound vibrating against your skin and making your heart race.

Her hands continued to explore your body with a mix of devotion and possessiveness, as if each touch was an affirmation that you belonged to her—at least in that moment.

"Are you apologizing for being such a naughty girl?" Rio whispered, her voice dripping with pleasure and taunting amusement. Her teeth grazed your nape, and you trembled involuntarily on top of her, as if every nerve in your body was waking up to her touch.

"Say it... Say it, little girl," she ordered, but the firmness in her voice faltered as her hands tightened on your waist, pulling you even closer.

You felt the heat of her body against yours, the press of her breasts against your own, and the aching need between your legs became unbearable.

"S-sorry for being such a naughty girl," you murmured, your voice shaky as you started grinding slowly on her lap.

Rio groaned, her hands gripping your waist as if trying to keep control, but you could tell she was losing the battle against her own desire.

Her hips rolled against yours, and even through the fabric, you could feel her wetness, which only heightened your own arousal.

"Fuck," she growled, yanking your hair back with a force that made you gasp. The pain was sharp, but laced with a pleasure that made you dizzy.

Her lips crashed against yours in a messy, desperate kiss—full of teeth and hunger. It was wild, reckless, and you could barely think.

The kiss was rough at first, clumsy, as if both of you were so eager that you couldn't quite align. Your lips moved with a frantic urgency that made your heart pound, and you felt her teeth scrape against yours, a mix of pain and pleasure that made you even weaker.

When you tried to take control, running your tongue along her lips, Rio let out a low growl, surrendering completely.

Your tongues met in a frenzied rhythm, exploring, fighting, dancing. Hers was hot, insistent, and you tasted her—a mix of wine and vanilla ice cream.

She dominated you but let you take charge for brief moments, as if testing you, pushing you to go deeper. You felt her breath quicken, her muffled moans against your mouth, and it only made you want more.

"You're so fucking perfect," she murmured against your lips, her hands slipping inside your shorts, finding the growing wetness between your thighs. Both of you moaned at the same time, the sound echoing through the room as the sexual tension reached an unbearable peak.

Her hand was firm yet gentle, as if she knew exactly how to touch you to bring you to the edge. Her fingers explored you with precision, making your body tremble, your legs weak as if they could no longer hold you up.

Rio noticed and held you tighter, her lips now on your neck, nibbling and sucking, leaving marks you knew would last.

She let out a deep, satisfied chuckle, almost like a purr. Her fingers moved with deliberate pressure, finding the slick heat between your thighs. "Ah, my gem…" she whispered against your ear, nibbling your lobe with delicious cruelty. "This wet for me?"

The sound of her husky laughter made your stomach tighten, while your mind struggled to process the overwhelming intensity of the moment.

You whimpered in desperation, gasping under her touch, which left a trail of fire in its wake. "Please…" You didn’t know if you were begging her to stop or to keep going.

Rio didn’t stop. She barely gave you time to catch your breath before crashing her lips onto yours again, this time even hungrier.

She tasted hot and electric, like every brush of her lips sent a shockwave through your body. You felt completely strung tight, every cell in your body pulsating with a need you never imagined feeling.

Her hand, already firm against your throbbing heat, now moved with a clear intention, rubbing with a pressure that made you choke on your own breath. Your panties were soaked, and Rio knew it; she felt it, controlled it, fed off your vulnerability.

"That’s it, kitten… Be good. Be good for me," she murmured against your lips, her voice deep and languid as if intoxicated by the moment.

Her other hand slid under your shirt without hesitation, finding the soft skin of your breast. Skilled fingers teased your nipple with a sharp pinch, dragging a loud moan from you, almost a sob.

Your body arched involuntarily, seeking more of her, as if you couldn’t exist without her touch anymore. "Rio…" you whispered, your voice breaking between pleasure and confusion, trying to say something coherent but failing miserably.

She didn’t answer. Instead, her lips trailed down to the curve of your neck, leaving wet kisses and soft bites, each one burning like embers.

Her scent—a mix of desire and something intoxicating—filled your senses, making it impossible to think about anything else but this, right here, right now.

When her fingers slipped under the damp fabric of your panties, touching your bare, pulsing heat, you lost all control. You moaned loudly, not caring about anything anymore, the sound filling the space around you.

"That’s it, sweetheart… Let me hear you," Rio growled, her voice thick with lust.

Your hips instinctively moved, grinding against her touch, seeking more friction, more contact.

Her fingers now pressed firm, yet teasing, tracing slow, deliberate circles. Every movement was calculated, as if she knew exactly how to make you moan louder, tremble harder.

You were burning, completely surrendered, while pleasure built up inside you, consuming every inch of your body. "I—Please…" you whimpered between incoherent moans, not even sure what you were begging for—only that you needed her, all of her, and even more.

Rio seemed just as consumed as you. Her movements were desperate, as if she too was being devoured by the same fire that raged inside you. Her moans mixed with yours as she guided you deeper into an abyss of intoxicating pleasure.

Rio seemed to be in a trance, lost between low moans and incoherent murmurs. "You have no idea… how long… I've wanted this..." Her voice was hoarse, every word laced with a long-repressed desire, as if she wasn’t fully aware of what she was saying. "This was killing me."

Before you could even process those erratic confessions, her fingers finally slipped inside your panties, finding your swollen, throbbing clit. The direct touch made you gasp violently, your entire body tensing as unbearable heat radiated from your core.

"Rio…" You tried to speak, but the sound came out more like a fragmented moan, barely recognizable even to yourself.

She pressed her fingers more firmly, rubbing in slow circles, as if wanting to prolong the moment until you completely lost control. Both of your bodies trembled at the same time—she felt every pulse of yours, and it only seemed to fuel the insatiable hunger burning in her half-lidded eyes.

"You were waiting for this, weren’t you?" Rio murmured against your neck, nipping at the already sensitive skin as she continued her skilled movements.

You had touched yourself before, exploring your own pleasure, but this was different. That wild intensity, the absolute dominance Rio had over you, made every touch devastating. Your hips started moving on their own, chasing more of that maddening friction.

But then, amid the whirlwind of sensations, a distant part of your mind tried to resist, to remember something—someone.

"Agatha…" The name slipped past your lips before you could stop it, but it didn’t come out as a warning or a rational reminder. No, it sounded more like a needy moan, filled with longing and confusion.

Rio froze for a second, and you feared she might stop. But instead, something dark awakened in her. Her brown eyes gleamed with a dangerous intensity as she smiled wickedly, her lips wet and slightly parted.

"Oh, sweetheart…" Rio growled, her voice dripping with something even deeper. "You're still thinking about her, aren’t you? You wanted her to be here?" She bit your shoulder hard, making you cry out in pain. "—Huh?"

She pressed, her fingers now firmer, faster, as if punishing you for mentioning her wife’s name. "Do you want her to see you in my lap like the perfect little baby you are?"

Guilt rooted itself inside you like a choking weed, suffocating, inevitable. It didn’t come as a sudden weight, but as a persistent whisper, sliding through your mind, your veins, your skin.

What does that make you?

Agatha’s voice echoed, low, cutting, numbing. You tried to push it away, but the truth was you didn’t want to. Because along with the shame, along with the crushing weight of the disappointment you knew you had caused her, came something else. Something even more overwhelming.

Need.

It burned in your core, throbbing and relentless. The need to see her. To apologize. To hear her voice telling you that everything was okay, that you were still good enough. That you were still theirs.

Rio knew. She always knew.

You tried to respond, but the words were lost amid the moans spilling from your mouth. Rio didn’t stop, her fingers now moving at an unrelenting pace, while her other hand gripped your hip, holding you in place.

Her fingers slid inside you, deep and firm, while her thumb continued stimulating your clit. The combination was almost too much, and you felt your legs tremble, your body writhing under her touch.

"It feels so tight in here, bunny," she groaned, voice strained as if she were holding back.

"Agatha…" The name escaped again, but this time it was a long, drawn-out moan, filled with desire and need.

Rio laughed, a low, husky sound, as she picked up the pace, her fingers moving in fast, insistent strokes.

"That’s it, moan her name," she ordered, her voice dripping with pleasure and possessiveness. "But know that it’s me making you feel this. Me pushing you over the edge."

And you were right there, every movement, every touch, every word dragging you closer to the breaking point. Rio knew it, and she used it to her advantage, her fingers and words pulling you into a state of bliss you could barely endure.

Rio leaned in, her breasts pressing against yours, and you inhaled her scent—woody, intense, just like Agatha’s. It was deliberate. Everything was deliberate.

"You think you can satisfy us both?" She whispered, her lips almost brushing yours. "Think you can handle it?"

Before you could answer, she increased the rhythm again, her fingers moving in precise, rapid circles, while her other hand wrapped around your throat, fingers pressing lightly against your pulse.

"We're not letting you out of this. Fuck. You're not getting out of this," she growled as you felt her grind her hips against your ass. "You’re ours. Mine. Hers. Got it?"

You didn’t get it. You couldn’t understand. Your body arched, muscles tense like violin strings about to snap.

"Agatha... Rio... Please—" You didn’t even know what you were begging for, but they knew.

"I’m right here," Rio moaned, her own hips moving against your leg, revealing that she was just as close. "I want to hear you scream our names when you come."

Her voice cracked, her mask of control fracturing for just a moment, and you realized how much she needed this—needed you, Agatha’s complicity, the corruption the three of you were weaving together.

And then you fell.

The orgasm ripped through your body like wildfire, violent and uncontrollable, your screams swallowed by Rio’s devouring kiss. She drank in every sound, every tremor, as if she wanted to steal even your breath. But you felt something else—her fingers trembling, her body shaking against yours.

Your limbs felt heavy, as if submerged in a thick, unknown ocean. Your breathing was short, uneven, and a strange exhaustion weighed on your chest—not just fatigue, but something deeper, something that made your body feel fragile and vulnerable in a way you couldn’t explain.

Rio noticed. Of course, she did.

She didn’t say anything immediately. She just slid her hands over your back in a slow, lazy caress, as if trying to soothe every fiber of your being. Her fingers traced slow circles over your skin, moving down to the curve of your waist and back up again, the touch warm and grounding.

"You were so good for me," Rio murmured, her voice low and satisfied. The tip of her nose brushed against your temple, and she pressed a soft kiss there. "But now you're exhausted, aren’t you, little girl?"

You tried to deny it, to open your mouth and respond, but all that came out was a trembling sigh, a small sound you barely recognized as your own.

Rio smiled. A slow, knowing smile, but there was something in her eyes—something different. A quiet pride mixed with… tenderness?

Before you could process anything, she was already moving. With almost irritating ease, Rio pulled you against her chest, adjusting your body effortlessly, as if taking care of you like this was second nature.

"Shh," she murmured, her fingers now gliding through your hair, untangling the strands with patience. "You don’t have to worry about anything right now. Just let go."

You wanted to protest, to say you were fine, but the truth was, the weight of exhaustion wrapped around you like a thick blanket, making your mind slow, your thoughts scattered.

Rio’s voice blended into your thoughts, as if she were somehow inside your head, whispering pretty words you didn’t even know the meaning of.

Her touch was a sedative. The warmth of her body, the safety of her arms, the lazy kisses she pressed to your forehead and cheek. Everything was an invitation to surrender.

Rio sighed against your hair, the warmth of her breath sending shivers down your spine. "Are you always this small, or do you only seem like it when you’re like this… giving yourself to me?"

You felt her laughter vibrate against you, as if she were amused at your expense, but there was something more. Something deeper, heavier.

Then you realized you were on top of her, part of your face buried in her breasts, while your arms held her tightly—like you were afraid she’d leave you.

That she’d abandon you.

“My perfect girl,” Rio repeated, silencing your thoughts with a warm kiss on your forehead. Her voice was lower this time, as if she were speaking to herself. “Don’t overthink.”

Sleep came before you could answer.

And Rio stayed there, holding you firmly, her hand lazily sliding over your back, her touch constant—persistent. As if making sure that every part of you still belonged to her.

[...]

You woke up with your body heavy, exhausted in a way you had never felt before. As if every part of you was drained, emptied. Your mind was hazy, your limbs lethargic. Your first instinct was to curl further into the sheets, to seek the warmth that had surrounded you before, but the space beside you was empty.

The scent was the first thing you noticed.

Dense, warm, familiar.

This wasn’t your room.

The mattress beneath you was softer, the sheets carried an intoxicating fragrance—something sophisticated and slightly sweet—a blend of amber, incense, and something that reminded you of leather. A scent that seeped into your mind, making you even dizzier.

Their room.

You woke up in their bed.

The shock washed over you slowly, like a tide rising. The space around you was larger than your own bedroom. A shiver ran through your body as you remembered what you had seen—how they loved each other wildly, the kisses exchanged, the looks filled with years of intimacy. It was like watching a forbidden film, something you were never meant to see, but now it was burned into your mind, impossible to erase.

And then, you remembered.

You and Rio, in the living room.

Rio touching you as if you belonged to her, as if you were an extension of her, something she could mold and control at will.

Your body still carried the echo of her touch, as if her fingers had left invisible marks on your skin. You turned in bed, feeling the weight of the sheet over you, and tried to organize your thoughts. But they were tangled, mixed with the scent of the room, with the memories that wouldn’t stop resurfacing, with the feeling that you had crossed a line from which there was no return.

You forced yourself up, feeling your muscles contract from the extreme fatigue. With light steps, you left the room, glancing around as the hallway light hit your eyes, making you blink against the discomfort.

Descending the stairs, you noticed how empty the mansion felt. What time was it, anyway? Had you really slept that long? You heard two familiar voices and approached with almost fearful steps.

“She thinks she can speak however she wants now?” Agatha’s voice was sharp, carrying a silent venom, as if she were still savoring the audacity you had shown earlier. “Seems like we’re being too generous.”

“You should’ve seen her, love,” Rio said, amused, her tone dripping with lazy pride. “She was so fragile afterward. So receptive. I think our little girl learned her lesson.”

Agatha’s silence was brief but noticeable.

“I tamed our little wild thing,” Rio continued, and you could almost see her bright smile, confident, basking in her victory. “Now you need to calm down too, huh?”

Agatha scoffed. “I am calm.”

“Oh, sure you are,” Rio teased, a playful lilt in her voice, as if she could see right through the other woman.

You closed your eyes, your face burning with shame.

They were talking about you. About what they had done to you.

Your chest rose and fell with a trembling breath. You should go in there, you should say something. But you stayed put.

“Oh. I can’t believe you’re going to be the mean mommy.”

The word lodged itself into your mind like a shard of glass.

Mommy.

Rio said it so casually, as if she hadn’t just turned your reality upside down. The silence that followed was so thick you could almost feel it pressing against your chest.

And then, Agatha responded—but her voice was lower this time, drawn out.

“Don’t start with that.”

Rio just laughed.

And you left the hallway almost stumbling over your own feet, the air caught in your lungs like you were suffocating. Their scent still clung to your skin, to your clothes, and Rio’s words echoed in your mind—the mean mommy.

What was that supposed to mean?

The kitchen was a silent refuge, a space where you could pretend, at least for a few minutes, that you had control over something. You grabbed a knife without thinking too much, your fingers tightening around the handle as you started cutting ingredients with quick, precise movements.

Cooking had always calmed you. A mechanical, logical process. Something you could control.

And you needed to feel in control.

But the illusion didn’t last long.

Soft footsteps echoed across the wooden floor, and soon, voices followed behind you.

“Hmm,” Rio murmured with an audible smile, holding Lucky in her arms, the cat completely unaware of the tension. “The little kitchen rat strikes again.”

You didn’t look at them, keeping your focus on what you were doing. But then came the dragged sound of a chair being pulled. And Agatha’s voice, low and slightly irritated.

“Put the knife in the sink.”

The command was firm, dry.

Your jaw tightened.

“I’m not a child,” you muttered, cutting the vegetables with more force than necessary. “I lived alone for years. I know how to cook, I know how to take care of myself.”

“Do you?” Agatha taunted. “Because what I see is a stubborn little girl playing with sharp objects.”

You turned abruptly to face her, the knife still in your hand, your eyes blazing.

“Why do you always do this?” Your voice trembled with frustration. “Treat me like I’m… small?”

Agatha didn’t answer immediately. She just observed you, her blue eyes analyzing every detail of your face, as if trying to decipher something even you didn’t understand. Then, she laughed. A low, humorless sound.

“Because you are small.”

The words burned your skin like a sting. Your fists clenched, anger mixing with something you couldn’t name.

“And little girls who disrespect their guardians need to be punished.”

That was the breaking point.

You lunged at Agatha, tears of fury spilling from your eyes.

"You are not my mother!" You lunged at her, pounding your fists against the woman's shoulders, sobbing uncontrollably.

Your fists hit her shoulders, weak and desperate, your whole body trembling. The tears fell uncontrollably, and you sobbed between the blows.

Agatha grabbed your wrists, firm but not hurting you. You tried to break free, tried to fight against her, but the weight of exhaustion and overstimulation made you crumble.

Your knees buckled.

And then you clung to her.

Your hands found the hem of her expensive linen shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tightly it wrinkled. You sobbed against her, your face pressed into her chest, the words slipping out between broken cries.

“You’re not her…” Your voice was weak, shattered.

Your arms wrapped around Agatha’s neck, your body seeking hers with a need you couldn’t understand. You held onto her tightly, almost desperately, your fingers clutching her blouse like she was the only solid thing in your unstable world.

You trembled.

The weakness that was once physical had now become emotional and mental.

Agatha froze for a moment. You felt it. As if even she hadn’t expected this.

But then, her hands found your body—firm and certain, holding you back.

And in that moment, in that safe and dominant warmth, the word slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

“…Mommy.”

It was a whisper. A thread of a voice so small that, for a moment, you weren’t sure if you had actually said it out loud.

The silence that followed was heavy, laden with a tension that felt almost tangible. You felt Agatha’s body tense, as if she were processing that word, that involuntary confession.

And then, slowly, her hands began to move. One slid up to your nape, fingers weaving into your hair, while the other trailed down to your back, pressing you even closer. The scent of white jasmine, so characteristic of her, wrapped around you, comforting you.

“Shh,” you felt Rio approach slowly, drawing large circles on your back. “Breathe for us, sweetheart.”

Rio’s voice was soft, almost melodic, as if she were trying to hypnotize you. You tried to obey, dragging in air with difficulty, feeling your chest burn with each inhale. But their hands were there, firm and steady, guiding you, keeping you anchored.

“That’s it,” Agatha murmured, her lips nearly brushing your ear. “Nice and slow. You’re safe now.”

You wanted to believe her. Wanted, more than anything, to believe that this was real, that you could surrender completely and that they would be there to catch you. But a part of you still resisted, still clung to that illusion of control.

“I… I don’t know…” you stammered, the words spilling out in fragments, as if your mind couldn’t form complete sentences.

“You don’t have to know, love,” Rio replied, her voice so close that you could feel the warmth of her breath against your nape. “You just have to trust.”

And then, without warning, you felt your feet leave the ground. Agatha lifted you with an ease that seemed almost supernatural, her strong arms cradling you as if you weighed nothing. Rio was beside you, one hand supporting your back, as the two carried you toward their bedroom.

You didn’t fight. You had no strength to. Instead, you let yourself be taken, your body limp and exhausted, your mind clouded by a haze of emotions you couldn’t name.

Their bedroom was a sanctuary of luxury and comfort, with a massive, plush bed at its center, covered in silk sheets that gleamed under the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Agatha placed you in the middle of the bed with care, as if you were something precious and fragile, while Rio pulled the blankets up to cover you.

“Here,” Rio murmured, sitting beside you and threading her fingers through your hair. “You’re exhausted, little one. Rest.”

You tried to respond, but the words came out as a meaningless murmur, as if your mind was too overloaded to form coherent thoughts.

“Shh,” Agatha whispered, settling on the other side of the bed and placing a hand on your face. “Don’t speak, darling.”

And you relaxed. Not because you wanted to, but because you had no choice. Her body was warm and solid beside you, and her touch was firm yet gentle, as if she knew exactly what you needed.

“We’ve got you, sweetheart.” Rio continued, her voice low but carrying an authority that left no room for question. “Let go.”

You felt the tears burning behind your eyelids, but this time, you didn’t try to hold them back. They fell freely, dampening the silk pillow as you clung to them like they were the only thing keeping you upright.

And deep down, you knew that maybe they were.

Rio lay down beside you, her arms sliding around your body in an embrace that was both comforting and oppressive. Her warmth pressed against you, her slow and steady breaths ghosting over your skin.

Her scent—cinnamon and sandalwood—mixed with Agatha’s jasmine, creating a dense and enveloping haze. You felt small between them. Small, exhausted… and, for the first time, safe.

Gradually, your sobs subsided, replaced by ragged breaths. Your body still trembled, but the weight of exhaustion was beginning to pull you into an irresistible lull.

Above you, Agatha took a deep breath, as if about to say something, but hesitated.

The silence stretched, and then…

“M-mommy will… will take care of everything.”

Her voice was hesitant, almost strained. As if the words had been ripped from a place deep inside her, a place she didn’t want to admit existed.

But there it was.

The arms around you tightened just a little more.

The scent, the warmth, the feeling of belonging to something, even just for a moment…

It was the last thing you felt before succumbing to sleep.

~*~

Where's your place?

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[sleepy-steve]

pt 3 of steve "dies but doesn't stay dead" harrington and eddie "ferryman of the river styx" munson // 2.5k // pt 1, pt 2 ♡

—

july 1985

Eddie’s not obsessed with Steve Harrington. He’s not. There’s just not much to think about between guiding souls to the boat. Not much in the way of entertainment in the Underworld. And Steve’s appearances—twice in as many years—were the most interesting things to happen to Eddie since his own death. And his returns to the living world are worth space in Eddie’s mind. At least that’s what he tells himself, to justify how much time he spends thinking about the guy.

Still not entirely convinced of the answer he was given by his superiors about souls that sometimes return to the living world, Eddie finds himself constantly thinking about the possibilities. So Eddie seeks out the last soul that held his position. The previous ferryman of his boat is more than happy to answer his questions. Turns out Eddie would eventually retire—after a 500 year tenure—so that’s something to look forward to. The older man tells Eddie that yes, some souls died and then returned to the living world, but what Steve was experiencing was something different. A curse. To die and never stay dead, it took its toll on the spirit. Chips away at it. Weakens the soul. Eddie thinks it sounds a bit dramatic, but still holds some apprehension as he wonders when Steve might return. Steve’s voice echoing in his mind long after he’s disappeared: I’ll see you next time.

This time it’s only eight months.

The spot that Eddie fixates on constantly between carting souls onward could be lit on fire by the intensity of his gaze. He stares and stares, part of him believing that if he stares long enough, he can force Steve to return through sheer force of will. The other part of him is ashamed for wanting that at all. What kind of guy wanted another guy—a good guy, a friend, even—to die again? How selfish was that? It’s just when Eddie is running down another thought spiral like this when Steve Harrington appears again.

Groaning, holding his head, Steve sits up slowly. Groggily. Eddie takes in just what he’s looking at. Steve looks the same, but different. The same in that his hair is still somehow perfect, his eyes are still hazel, and his face is once again bashed to hell and back. (Eddie wonders if he even remembers what Steve looks like without bruises on his face.) Different in that his hair is a bit longer, he looks so confused about where he is, and the outfit…

“Harrington?” Eddie ventures cautiously. “You alright, man?”

“Robin?” Steve asks, still dazed as he blinks repeatedly.

Who? “Uh, no, dude. Eddie, remember?”

Steve’s eyes focus on Eddie, who gives him a little two-finger wave, hoping that his face doesn’t give away just how concerned he is right now. The previous two times, Steve was never confused about where he was. Knew exactly what was going on. This time though…

“Oh, no…” Steve drops his head into his hands as he groans his… disappointment? Eddie tries hard not to take that personally. Watching as Steve continues to mumble curses and grievances under his breath, Eddie waits awkwardly on his boat.

“…Steve?” He finally offers. “You good?”

“Ugh, yeah, I mean…” Steve grumbles. “I know I’ll be fine. Just Robin, and the kids… I don’t know if they’re safe.” Eddie’s unbeating heart aches at how earnest Steve is about ensuring his friends’ safety. “And now I’m not there to make sure.”

Eddie nods sympathetically. “But… you’ll go back, right?” Steve glances up. It’s the first time Eddie’s verbally conceded to Steve’s ability to return to the living world. “I mean, you have every other time.”

“Yeah.” Steve nods distantly. “Yeah, I assume so.”

The guy looks so disappointed, so… distressed by his being here. It’s so unlike him. Steve has always been very casual about his deaths. There must be some real stakes at hand this time. More than monsters, which is crazy to think about.

“You, uh…” Eddie falters when Steve looks up at him, big hazel eyes shining. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

A little smile pulls at the corner of Steve’s mouth, and Eddie settles himself over the edge of the boat, crossing his arms. Steve slowly pulls himself closer, sitting right on the edge of the river, as close as he can get, and tells Eddie the whole story. Everything from Dustin Henderson—a middle schooler sounding oddly like he was Steve’s best friend—arriving at his workplace with a weird recording, to his coworker Robin Buckley translating it, to roping in Erica Sinclair—and god, Steve regretted that so much—to the elevator, to them finally getting caught.

Nodding along and only asking a few questions to clarify the story or who Steve was talking about, Eddie found himself wondering what the hell Steve Harrington’s life actually was. This didn’t even have anything to do with the monsters Steve had mentioned in his previous visits. A whole secret base of foreign soldiers hidden under a mall? It’s unbelievable. Were it not for how seriously Steve was telling the story, the fear in his eyes, the concern for his friends, Eddie would say he was making it up.

“…and they kept asking, y'know? Who do you work for? And they just wouldn’t believe me.” Steve sniffs, resting his chin on his bare knees, arms wrapped around his legs. “Last thing I remember is getting punched in the face.” He glances up at Eddie with a sad half-smile. “Again.”

“How does this keep happening to you, man?” Eddie asks, concern bleeding through his words.

“I blame Dustin.” Steve tilts his head to the side, joke falling flat. “Or maybe I’m just. Really, really unlucky.”

Eddie takes in Steve’s injuries. The horrifically bruised and swollen eye. The split lip. The dried blood under his nose. It wasn’t as bad as last time, but Eddie didn’t know how many injuries were hidden under that blue shirt. The previous ferryman’s words echo in his mind. A curse.

“Nah.” Eddie says. “I blame Dustin, too.” The kid sounded nice enough, maybe too smart for his own good, but Eddie hadn’t met him, so he didn’t feel too guilty about it. Steve gave him a look that said he knew exactly what Eddie was doing. “I’m sure they’re gonna be fine, Steve.”

“Hope so. Just don’t want them to go after Robin if I’m dead up there.”

Ah yes, Robin. Steve had spoken so highly of her. How smart she was. Brave, for joining them. Funny, though Steve didn’t want to admit it since most of her jokes were targeted at him. She sounded cool, but something about how he spoke about her made Eddie weirdly sad. Part of him wonders if, in another world, the three of them would have been friends.

“You think they will?”

“Hopefully I’ll get back before they do,” Steve says with a sigh. “Time works different here, anyway.”

Eddie frowns. “It does?”

“Yeah, it’s never as long up there. Much shorter.” Steve shrugs. “Probably a good thing.”

Brows pulled together, Eddie thinks back to the previous times Steve had visited. He was only around for thirty minutes tops. Less the first time, probably. What would that have translated to in the real world? Half that time? A few minutes? 

Silence settles over them, Steve staring into the middle distance with a look of worry etched into his face between the lacerations and bruises. Eddie fixates on the cut over his lip, swollen and red. When Steve notices him staring, Eddie clears his throat and quickly looks down, then back up.

“So, what’s up with the outfit, man?” The subject change is clunky at best, but Eddie’s curiosity was getting the better of him. And it was better than the staring.

Steve finally laughs. His good eye crinkles with it, the smile wide on his face. “I told you man, it’s an ice cream shop!”

“But why are you a sailor?” Eddie matches his grin.

“It’s called Scoops Ahoy, the whole thing is like, nautical themed.”

Eddie raises a brow. “Nautical?”

“Nautical,” Steve confirms with a nod. There’s a beat of silence before both of them dissolve into giggles. “You should see the stupid hat they make us wear.”

“Wish I could.” Eddie sighs, his laughter tapering off. His brain moves faster than he can stop it, and suddenly it’s presenting him with a scenario. Eddie waltzing into the ice cream parlor, with its weird little nautical theme, leaning over the counter and getting into Steve’s face as he asks for a free sample. Steve might blush, and say that usually they’d charge for that, but for Eddie it’s free. He might adjust the hat, which Eddie pictures as a little white thing, classic sailor costume, with a blue stripe. Eddie might say that he can think of a way to pay Steve for it, taking hold of that little red tie and pulling Steve closer over the counter.

“You picturing it?” Steve asks, head tilted and a bemused look on his face.

Eddie jolts out of his fantasy, feeling hot in his cheeks. “Mhm, yep, I’m picturing. Looks pretty stupid.”

Steve snorts in response. “It is.” He sighs. “But, y’know. S’not all bad. I met Robin there.”

Robin again. Eddie identifies a feeling rising up in his chest and forces it back down, pointedly not giving it any attention. “Yeah, she, uh. She sounds… pretty cool.”

“She is.” Steve smiles, looking down at the grass.

“You… like her?” Eddie tries. He’s torn between his desire to know more and his desire to never talk about her ever again.

“Hm?” Steve’s head snaps up. “Oh, uh, I mean. She’s… in… band.” He trails off, looking unsure.

“She’s in band?” Eddie clarifies with a raised brow. “Ah, so, not your type?” Hopefully. Eddie shoves that thought down and compartmentalises it into a neat little box alongside his weird feeling to deal with later.

Steve sighs. “I don’t know, man. She’s cool, and funny, and smart. Maybe too smart for me. I guess I’m trying to, y’know, let go of all that—stupid high school shit.” He waves his hand as he says it.

Eddie’s surprised by this response. He thought Steve would say he was into cheerleaders or something like that. “That’s… cool, man.” He pauses and takes in a low breath before continuing. “You should ask her out.” He says it before he can convince himself it’s a bad idea.

“You think?” Steve looks up at him and genuinely seems unsure. Seems to want Eddie’s honest opinion.

“Yeah. I don’t think she’d go through all this and follow you into danger if she didn’t like you as well.” Eddie swallows the thing inside him that’s clawing up his throat and begging him to stop talking. “Tell her how you feel.”

“Thanks, man,” Steve says, like he’s thanking Eddie for more than just his advice. “You’re a good friend.”

A pang hits Eddie right in his chest and he smiles despite it. “We aim to please, down here, Stevie. All Inclusive Underworld Service.” He tilts his head exaggeratedly and holds his arms out, leaning heavily into his joke.

“I mean it, Eddie,” Steve continues earnestly. “It’s… nice, y’know? Having you here when I die. Familiar face. Makes me feel like it’s all gonna be okay.”

Eddie softens at his words, letting his arms slowly fall to his sides. “It is, Steve.” Eddie leans one the edge of the boat again, arms folding under his chest. “I’m glad we’re friends.” And he does mean it, despite the other feelings fighting for attention inside him.

Steve grins back at him, wide and genuinely happy amongst the cuts and bruises on his face. A few moments pass and Eddie briefly wonders how much time they have left. How much time before Steve disappears before his eyes again and leaves for an unknown amount of time. Once again torn between his want for Steve to stop getting himself hurt and killed, and his extremely selfish desire for Steve to stay with him, Eddie silently argues with himself.

“Can I ask you something?” Steve’s question once again draws Eddie out of his own mind.

Eddie shrugs. “Sure, man.”

“How did you… die?” Steve looks unsure as he asks. “Is it okay if I ask that?” He quickly adds.

“Uh, yeah.” Eddie feels himself draw in a little, retreating into himself. “I mean. Kind of a shitty story. But it’s, y’know. Whatever.” His hands flick and wave around with his words. “Um, I was doing this job with my dad and it just. Went bad.”

“You don’t have to tell me if…” Steve trails off, eyes going unfocused, pausing for a moment before he looks up again. “Damn it!”

Eddie feels disappointment crawl across his chest, knowing before he asks. “What?”

“I’m going back. I can hear Robin on the other side.” Steve sighs, seeming genuinely upset. “I’m sorry, man.”

“Oh, it’s—it’s fine.” It doesn’t feel fine. Eddie hopes it doesn’t show on his face.

Steve gives him a half smile. “Tell me next time?”

Not wanting to get his hopes up, Eddie tries to force his expression into one of mild admonishment. “Don’t let there be a next time, Steve.”

His half smile turns to a full grin. “I’ll try not to.” Steve slowly pulls himself up, brushing dry grass off his blue shorts.

“Steve, wait.” It comes out before Eddie can stop himself. “Could you… do something? For me?” The words come out stilted, and even as he’s speaking, he wonders why he’s even asking.

“Sure, man. Anything.” Steve looks at him wide-eyed and attentive.

“Just, uh.” Eddie cringes at himself, forcing the words out before he can change his mind. “Could you, maybe, check on my uncle? See how he’s going? I just—I wanna know that he’s okay.”

A beat of silence sits between them before Steve responds. He sounds so determined. Like Eddie was entrusting him with something precious and important. “Of course, Eddie. I will.” 

Relief washes over him at Steve’s words. Eddie lets out a breath as the tightness in his chest fades. “Wayne Munson. He lives over at the Forest Hills trailer park.”

“Wayne Munson, Forest Hills” Steve repeats dutifully, giving a single nod. “Got it.”

“Thanks, man,” Eddie says with sincerity, looking up at Steve from the boat. “Means a lot to me.”

Steve looks at him for a moment, like he has something on his mind, but then jolts out of it. “Sorry, I gotta go now.”

“Yeah.” They continue looking at each other, somehow feeling closer now that Steve is standing, and Eddie feels the odd urge to reach out to him. Unsure what to do with that, he pushes that urge down into another compartment alongside the others to deal with later.

“Thank you, Eddie. Seriously.” Steve smiles at him, bright and sincere through the bruises and lacerations on his face.

“Anytime,” Eddie says, slightly breathlessly. And then Steve is gone, leaving Eddie with an unfamiliar emptiness inside him.

Why does Eddie suddenly miss this man he barely knows? This awful feeling inside him that begs for attention and demands that Steve return reaches through Eddie’s chest and rattles against his ribcage. A strange sadness resting within him, waiting to be dissected.

Hours later, when he’s still feeling weird and sad, a realisation hits him. Eddie didn’t even ask Steve to get in the boat.

[solkwan]

“Do you want a girl or a boy?”

The question was odd to you. No matter how many times you were asked, your answer remained the same. Why should you care for the sex of the baby? A baby is a baby. Regardless of being born a girl or boy, it’s going to keep you up all night with its cries. You’ll still raise the kid the same. Is one worse than the other? It was a mystery why so many people were obsessed with asking you the question. Was it better for your firstborn to be a boy? A strong, healthy boy who will bring honor to Wonwoo’s name. Then, is a girl perceived as less?

What you find most interesting is the person asking always has their own perception as to what you’ll choose.

“A girl, right? Oh, they’re just the sweetest,”

“Having a boy as your firstborn is a sign of good fortune and wealth!”

The skin around your eye twitches with either statement. The people who ask you never really do care. They only make small talk to avoid the fact you’ll be giving birth at the ripe age of 19. A teen parent, in their first year of college. The ladies in your neighborhood couldn’t get enough of it, chatting about you over tea. Funny, though, how they never refer to Wonwoo as a teen dad. Claps to his back and wide grins at the fact. Whereas you’re met with pitiful smiles and questions about your studies.

“I have no preference, really,”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” sadness seeps in their voice, “You’d look great with a daughter,”

There was never really a point in the question. Wonwoo always found a way to indulge them, though. Eager to please them.

“I think a girl would be wonderful,” a soft smile settling on his face. Looking at you in an attempt to settle the awkwardness.

He never really did mean anything he told them. You could tell by the way his eyes crinkled a little too deeply. He’d never get tired of pretending for others, you noted. That’s why, at 5 months pregnant, when the nurse first asks you if you’d like to know the sex of your baby, Wonwoo looks to you for answers. Your eyes stay indifferent.

“If you want to know, we can,” You tell him.

Wonwoo bites his cheek, turning back to the nurse, “I think we’d like for it to be a surprise,”

Wonwoo’s mother insists she knows—throws a reveal party.

“This way I’ll be able to buy clothes in advance,”

Wonwoo manages to sit down with her long enough to lecture her about gender roles and stereotypes. The next day, she ends up coming home with bags of purple, orange, pink, and blue one-pieces, all alike. Smile wide on her face as she boasts about how much she’ll spoil her grandchild. Though Wonwoo’s talked her out of throwing a party, she regularly asks for your opinion on it.

“You can throw one if you’d like,”

You’re searching your email for news on your temporary university leave for the coming Spring semester. Two months into your first post-secondary education semester and you’re already looking for ways out. This is not what you had imagined for yourself, but you figured out long ago that what you wanted for yourself and what the world destined for you were two very different things.

“Well, if you don’t want one it won’t be any fun at all,” Wonwoo’s mother eventually leaves the living room and you’re left alone wondering if you should have tried a little harder to satisfy her.

For the next 2 months of your pregnancy, the sex of the baby remains a secret. That is until you’re going in for your monthly check-up and the nurse with floral-patterned scrubs lets it slip.

“Everything looks good so far,” the nurse smiles as she looks over the screen, “You’re scheduled to have a beautiful baby girl in less than two months,”

Time slows as you and Wonwoo look up at one another. You’re quiet, it quickly fills the room. The look in Wonwoo’s eyes makes you want to have his babies for the rest of your life.

“A girl?” Wonwoo’s voice rings through the small room.

The nurse finally tears her eyes away from the screen. She’s appalled as if she wasn’t the one to let the cat out of the bag. She’s searching for answers in your eyes. All you can do is stare back.

“Did you not already know?” her voice squeaks, “Oh my god–I’m so sorry–I had no clue!”

Her apologies fall and stumble out of her lips. She looks near the verge of tears and you find it amusing. Before Wonwoo has the opportunity to comfort her, a full and true laugh is making its way out of you. Wonwoo turns to you, eyes wide. The nurse quiets down as your laughs settle down.

“We’re having a girl,” you’re whispering to Wonwoo.

Smiles tug at the ends of your lips. Happiness fills your chest. Your eyes are becoming blurry with tears. You’re having a baby girl and everything looks good so far. You’re scheduled to give birth in two months and you can’t bring yourself to care about the leave of absence you’re taking from school. At this moment, you have no regrets. You’re sure you’ll never feel joy quite like this for a while, so you bask in it while you still can. In the dark hospital room, propped up against the bed. Your hand has found Wonwoo’s and you’re holding on as tightly as you can. In the bliss of it all, you pull him close to your face and kiss him.

He reacts quickly, grabbing onto your face to touch your foreheads. It’s not anything especially explicit, no swiping tongues, no biting or dragging of lips. Just pressing your lips against his to feel one another. Salty tears staining his lips. He’s pulling away but not letting you go. He moves to peck the skin on your face. You’re giggling and you’re embarrassed at the fact. You don’t want him to stop.

You suddenly remember the other presence in the room and manage to push Wonwoo’s face off of you. The nurse has a smile on her face, her eyes full of relief. The three of you relish in the moment.

“Congratulations,”

here’s a wip I’m not sure I’ll ever finish LOL. I think sharing it gives me a sense of responsibility so here’s to hoping I finish writing this someday

[exormilion]

special find

abby anderson/reader

word count: 3,529

summary: abby found an interesting little thing while in patrol and she is hoping to use it on you. strap-on, explicit lesbian sex.

note: i fucking LOVE abby and i need to write more about her. really. expect a part two from this, i so plan to do it and as soon as possible <3 hope you like it :D

link to ao3

─୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ─

You and Abby were dating for a few months now, the room she previously shared with Manny now had your stuff scattered around comfortably, matching and mixing with Abby just like in every other sense, like it always meant to be there.

(Poor Manny didn't even have a choice. He walked on you both so many times and you were there so often that he himself decided to take the decision. Moved in with one of his many girls and took all his things with him. You apologized profusely for giving him all that work just because you couldn't keep it in your pants and he simply answered with a: "No te preocupes, chica. You are both in love and i'm happy for Abby really, so just enjoy, but maybe start locking the door, huh?")

Walking over to her with a curious expression, you sat in bed, tilting your head as she threw her backpack by your feet and mover to kick her outside clothes off until she was only in her discolored beige panties and the gray tank top. Your body was only dressed in one of her shirts and panties as well.

She sat close to you, pulling your body onto her lap as if it weighed nothing. A yelp leaves your mouth but you were used being manhandled by her, melting against her warm body, sweaty from the patrol and humidity outside. You could smell gunpowder, sweat and pine, it was all very Abby.

"What did you find?", you lean down to take the backpack. It was pretty heavy, but that wasn't out of the ordinary, so you were curious.

"Hmmm, this thing...", she says mysteriously, her raspy voice by your ear as she takes the backpack from your hands and unzips it, holding it closed with her thick, big hand and looking into your eyes with mirth, "Thought of you the moment i saw it."

Your mouth opens into a perfect 'o' when she takes a pink cock from her backpack, her thick fingers closing perfectly around it. It was around seven inches, not too thick and not too big, with a flat base and a thick, realistic mushroony head. Bringing your index finger, you pull on the head, watching the pink dildo bob in Abby's hand. You both let out a little laugh at the sigh, but still a bit breathless.

"Oh. That's...", biting your lower lip, you look back at her face, "Where did you find this?"

"There was a hidden store on the lower floors of a library, had a few of these things... place was clear so i managed to rummage around and found a few things during patrol", she puts the dildo in your hands, taking another thing out of the backpack. You look curiously, hand squeezing around the soft silicone experimentally. One of your eyebrows lift as she takes a mass off leather strips, like weird belts with a thicker triangle and a silver ring.

"What's this?", watching as she untangled the strips, you feel your lower belly warm. Whatever Abby was planning was making you curious and tingly.

"I didn't know as well", she laughed, and as everything was untangled she took the cock from your hand and pushed it through the silver ring, pushing on it to make sure it was firm. On its own the leather thing didn't make much sense, but with the dildo firm and standing proud against the ring and the strips free, you somehow started to understand the thing. Your cheeks burned up, and you squirmed. "There were a lot of pictures on the walls... and a few books. This thing is called a strap-on", Abby's cheeks were slightly red as well, but she had a silly smile on her face, "It's supposed to be worn like some sort belt, and, well, i think you alredy got how it works"

Yes, you did. You gulp, looking down at the strap and dildo she held, thumb caressing the pink head delicately, almost scared.

"You wanna use it on me?", voice soft and trembling, you chewed on your lower lip.

"It's okay if you don't want to, baby", her voice was soft and she gave your nape a kiss, nuzzling her nose on your hair, "We don't have to do anything today. Nor tomorrow, after that or ever."

You can't contain a soft smile, every tension in your body immediately melting. You awkwardly turn on her lap, sitting face to face now to peck her plump lips softly.

"I want to, Abs", sighing and closing your eyes, you lean your forehead onto hers, sharing breaths, "It's just that... I never took anything like that?...", you glance briefly at the cock, nervous.

She glances at it as well and puts it on the bed, both her hands now coming to hold your hips under the shirt, calloused thumbs circling the skin softly.

"Yeah, i know that, baby. It looks more intimidating than it feels, i promise", her lips find your jaw, nibbling softly and wetly on the skin. You tilt your head on the opposite direction to give her more space. "You take most of my fingers like a champ, i think it'd slide in pretty smoothly after i stretch you up and make you all wet... but then again, only if you want to", she pulls back to look into your eyes, sincere, "and even so, we can stop anytime. If it's uncomfortable, if it hurts, it you simply don't like it... Wanna make you feel good, that's all".

You wanted to cry.

Abby was always gentle with you - of course, sometimes you both fell into a more rough dynamic, but she was always mindful about how you were feeling and if your expression and demeanor changed a little too much to the other side. Always asking how you felt before going harder, if you wanted to try things again, if you wanted to stop.

For someone so big and strong, she was still the gentlest being you've ever met.

"Abby", you hitch, wraping your arms around her strong torso and hiding your face on her still a bit sweaty neck, "Okay. I trust you'll make me feel good, let's try it"

Abby gave you that sweet little smile of hers that made you melt, a small ray of sunshine you could call yours.

The first step was cleaning the dildo, and Abby took her sweet time doing that. Washed it, took some boiling water from the kitchen to disinfect (which led to people asking why she needed boiling water and Abby simply saying "Tea", but she didn't even like tea) and washing it again. By the time she was sure about it being clean and safe to use you both were impatient and needy, trying your best to keep your hands to yourselves. It was different, new, and she wanted to take it slow and do it right.

She put the clean stuff onto the bed, sighing nervously to herself. You both took a shower together and were now clean and fresh and with the lingering smell of soap, naked and flushed.

Walking closer, you turned her around with your hands on her sides, humming as you pecked her face and felt her hard, defined belly, trying to ease the nervousness that filled your bodies.

Pulling back to look at her, you let out a dreamy sigh; she was a little piece of heaven and you couldn't believe how lucky you were.

Her muscles were simply amazing, the strong neck followed by the thick trapezium, turning into her big, beefy arms that made you bite your lips to contain the need to bury your teeth there, same for her forearm. Her chest muscles were so well worked that in divided on her sternum, two pillows of pecs holding her small, perfect and perky tits and peachy nipples, begging for your hands to hold them. The abs you loved to grind on, the texture hard enough to make you cum and cream all over her skin. The happy trail... You squeeze your thighs together, whining softly, hands squeezing her hips. Her dark blonde curls slowly turning into a bush, still a bit dump from the shower and framed by her enormous thighs, her tense legs making her quadriceps jump tall, deliciously.

"Oh, Abs", you lean to take her lips roughly, moaning against her and pressing your tits together. Melting, you could alredy feel your pussy warm and getting wet, her bush against your skin almost making you combust on the spot. Her roughened hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer, the free one cupping your cheek.

You feared you would pass out one of these days with the amount of force your heart raced on your chest, making your head dizzy and foggy and your breath come out in curt huffs. She'd be the death of you.

"Can i eat you out?", she whispered against your mouth, slowly pushing you gently onto the bed and sitting between your legs while massaging your tongue with hers, "Let me get you ready, baby..."

No verbal answer was given, only your legs opening wider for her, your pussy twitching as the air made contact with the wetness. It was embarrassing how fast Abby makes you wet, how fast she can make you cum, how fast you had just turned into mush as she wrapped her perfect plump lips around your swollen, angry clit, suckled it into her mouth and-

"F-fuck-", your back arches by its own, your cunt trying to shove itself against her face. She didn't warm up nor start slow, she simply dugged in, sucking the clit against the flat of her tongue until it twitched in delicious agony, making your thigh tremble. She pulled with a wet, loud pop, licking her lips hungrily with her eyes glued to your pussy like a starved woman.

"Taste so fucking good", she spreads your labia with her thumbs, hissing as your clit pulled shyly and your drooling hole clenched, begging to be filled. Her right hand slipped lower, index now massaging your wet little hole carefully, rubbing against the wetness before slipping it in. It went all the way inside without any trouble, and she massaged your gripping walls with care before her middle finger follow inside.

In truth, you weren't a virgin. You loved being stretched, your pussy could take a lot - you've taken four of Abby's fingers and a bit of her palm before, grinding against her thumb and she fucked you, cumming so hard your vision went black for a few seconds. You loved it.

You've never taken a cock though, so you were a bit intimidated by the vision of the pink dildo forgotten by the end of the bed, but it was Abby's cock and that was enough comfort for you.

She curled her fingers up just right, rubbing that sensitive little spot inside your pussy that just made you tense, close to your bladder. You bring your hand to her head, tangling your fingers on her slightly damp hair on it's usual braid, her eyes leaving your cunt with the contact and finding yours, pupils blown and filled with love and want.

"Baby-", whining, you tried fucking yourself a bit deeper on her fingers, alredy starting to sweat. You pulled on her head softly, just hinting, spreading your shaky legs a bit more, "please"

She kissed one of your trembling thighs before sucking on your clit again. She was a messy, loud eater, the clicking of her tongue and the popping of her spit on skin while the suckled was almost too much by itself, enough to make you squirm.

By the time she had three thick fingers deep inside you your legs were almost cramping her legs and asphyxiation her against your cunt. She new where to thrust and how hard you liked it, hitting the limit of her hand against you every time, almost making you bounce.

"'M gonna put it on now, okay?", she sat up with a kiss to your clit, her fingers leaving your pussy empty and gaping before squeezing, your body all shaken up. Abby wasn't very different - her face was wet with sweat and your wetness, a flush going from the tip of her ears down to her chest, hiding her beautiful freckles under the redness. You watched as she got up and standed next to the bed, taking the strap and fiddled with the strips, confused. Laughing, you sit up, moving to stay in front of her and taking it from her hands to take a look.

"Here, let me see if i get it"

It took some time to get it right. It wasnt clipped at first so the whole process of Abby holding the crotch leather piece with her back turned to you while you adjusted the strips by her strong ass was a little confusing, but you both managed to. It sat firmly but comfortably, digging beautifully against her skin and you couldn't contain your hand coming down to slap and squeeze that delicious, jiggly meat.

"Ah!", she jumped, turning around to glare at you but it quickly melted into a smile. Cupping your face with her meaty hands, she pecked your lips, your taste and smell still lingering.

When you both parted, you stretched your arm to take the dildo from the end of the bed, cleaning your throat as you pulled the silver ring and pushed the cock through it, holding your breath with the image.

The pink cock was standing thick and proud, the pink was a beautiful contrast against her pale skin and the black strap. You close your fist around the head, giving an experimental stroke.

"That's actually so fucking hot", with Abby standing in front of you while you sat in bed, the dildo was close to your face. You looked at it and then up at Abby, her blown pupils hinting at the same thought even when she stayed silent - she didn't want you to do anything just because she asked you to, she wanted you to want it as well.

So when you gathered saliva in your mouth and gave the cock a drooling lick, your ears were rewarded with Abby's small grunt, her hand pushing your hair back gently to look at your face. It didn't taste like anything, but you couldn't hold the urge to chew lightly on the silicone head, playfully, the texture almost making you laugh.

You did your best even if you didn't exactly know what you were supposed to do. Opened your mouth as much as you could, rubbed your tongue everywhere it reached and bobbed gently, just a little, taking half the length and pulling back to spread your drool until every inch was shining and covered in spit.

Abby looked down at you in awe, breath curt, entranced. Her chest jumped when you leaned back on the bed and opened your legs, plopping your feet on the corner of the bed, your pussy as exposed as it could now and as reddened and wet as ever, visibly pulsing and clenching. Your gorgeous curls were also wet, sticky with your need, Abby's fingers pulling gently on it and resting her palm on your mound, sighing as she stepped foward and took a long look at your laying form.

She took the cock in hand and rubbed the tip over your pussy, gently against your clit and spreading wetness. When the head found your tight cunt and she forced a bit if the murshoony head in, she looked up to your face in question, your answer being a positive nod and your knees falling even more opened.

The thick head going in was the hardest part. It stinged, the hard silicone strange, but you managed to take it without trouble. Your natural resistance left at least two fingers of the cock out and your head fell back, eyes closing as you took the feeling.

It was deep, deeper than anything you've ever felt and very strange. It felt good - a good preassure, a different massage, but not quite it and Abby knew that just by your response. She was attentive to your face as she pulled back until the tip was the only thing inside and slowly pushed it in again, hand caressing the back of your thigh.

"Wait, let me just-", she reached to both of your pillows, trying her best to not move the cock inside you too much yet, "Let me put these under your butt, baby. The angle will feel better for you."

And fuck, it did. The simple act of her lifting you with one hand on your lower back as if you weighed nothing and shoving the pillows under you was enough to make you squirm, the head of the dildo massaging your insides the whole time, but the angle change was actually insane. Both of you knew your spot and how to find it, but the dildo found it so deeply and so much more intense that the first slow thrust on the new position made you actually let out a throaty groan, hand coming to your mouth.

"Oh, fuck", looking down at where you both met, you couldn't believe that much was inside of you.

"Good?", her eyes were glued to your pussy, obsessed with the way your lips sucked the cock inside, the length disappearing so easily like it was meant to fit there.

You only nod, one of your feet leaving the bed to lift it closer to your chest, opening more of yourself. Abby took the hint and the hand caressing the back of your thigh now pressed the back if your knee, forcing it against your chest.

Oh, God. She was going to kill you.

She started thrusting for good now, and it felt like it was pushing your breath out with each one. Never pulling all the way out, just pulling a few inches and slamming hard back inside, your hips now propped up on the pillows making the angle for the head to slot just right between the meaty bumps inside your cunt.

It would not be enough to make you cum, no, but you felt so much that your eyes watered up and made hiccups leave your throat, hand coming to grip at Abby's one holding your leg. It made your thigh and glute burn.

The increase in rhythm was making you insane. The squelching noise your pussy made while being pounded made your ears burn and the grunts Abby left out with every thrust had your cunt gripping hard on the cock. She leaned foward, her hand resting by your head now, skin to skin and burning up.

"Baby", you whine, trying to force your eyes to stay open and look at her flushed, sweaty face, "A-Abs, please, i- 's too much, please baby, make me cum-"

She didn't need for you to ask again. Her hand left your leg and squeezed itself between your bodies, the movement with being sandwiched but her fingers rubbed your full clit with little care, just needing you to feel, making you tense and claw at her beefy back.

"Cum for me, baby, milk my cock", her voice was raw, breath warm on your face and her lips found yours with an open mouthed kiss, your head somewhere else enough that you could barely kiss her back.

You wrap your legs around her as your orgasm approaches, making her thrust deep and grind inside of you instead of the open rhythm from before. Your teeth find her shoulder when, finally, your lower belly boils and it snaps hard, but you could still hear your own little moans scaping, every little muscle tense and cunt impossibly wetter with cum, clit twitching against the fingers tapping on her.

Everything went black for a second and when you found yourself again, Abby had taken her hand away from your pussy and kissed your cheeks wetly, whispering sweet nothings and praise. Your hands released their painful grip on her back, legs now falling to rest hanging from the side of the bed.

Everything cramped and tears still fell from your eyes to the bed, brain foggy. With Abby's weight crushing you and her cock resting inside you, you've never felt more well fucked and drunk on her.

Blinking the tears and fog away, you look at her face. She looked so beautiful like this, sweaty and flushed and so happy to make you feel good.

"I love you", you whispered breathlessly, cupping her face, "Fuck, it's so deep inside me, 'm so glad for this cock"

"I love you too", she laughed, sucking on your lower lip, "Maybe you can show me, next time. How good it feel."

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You closed your eyes, groaning, head against the bed. You, fucking Abby? Watching her bounce on the dildo in all her buff glory, looking down at you with heavy eyes and moaning deliciously as the silicone cock disappeared inside her wet little cunt, her fat clit peaking between her curly pubes and rubbing against your belly when she bottomed out?

"Gonna cum again, i swear to god"

[st-just]

as someone who mostly doesn’t read any fiction by sociology majors or queer people who like to construct things, I want to know more of what you think about Cobra Kai. It’s interesting to see someone with a more “academic” relationship to fiction watch and talk about silly pulp stuff that I like.

I admit it’s utterly corny and “non-prestigious” for lack of a better word, but it does somehow speak to me in it’s shameless ‘80s-ness, and I want to know about what this says about me.

(I do like more intelligent fiction as well, but mostly artsy movies. Prestige tv or literary fiction has historically been too much of a time commitment to stay philosophically focused the whole time. I was a voracious reader as a kid, and I’m trying to read Anna Karenina, but the internet has rotted my attention span. I can do a 100 minute art movie, but reading a book chunks at a time is somehow hard to stay engaged with.)

Sorry this has taken so long to answer - was waiting to finish season five and then just forgot

I mean mostly I think it's entertaining trash with some enjoyably scenery-chewing performances and surprisingly good fight choreography? I also respect the utter commitment to the bit, in this world where 'karate' is a pan-Asian marital art that does legitimately give low-level superpowers and also guns don't really seem to exist. The shameless '80s nostalgia bait clashing with the modern setting is also done with enough effort and self-awareness to mostly be really fun. But it's honestly more background noise than anything I'm actually watching with analytical intent.

That said the show's conception of and preoccupation with masculinity is just fascinating for how deeply held and also unselfaware it seems to be?

Like Johny is clearly a comic, pathetic figure, right? Especially in season one, he's a failure of what mature masculinity is supposed to be (deadbeat dad, shitty insecury housing, no steady work or marketable skills, embarrassing piece of shit car, neither a long term relationship nor success when he tries for something casual). His fetishistic attachment to the outward signifiers of '80s machismo is presented as something to laugh at, both because of how outdated they are and because he can't live up to them. But! The show also presents him as having a kind of Quixote-esque nobility about him, and the next five seasons of tv are a long sequence of him basically achieving all the things he was pathetic for lacking in the premier.

More broadly, the show has a very, very clear thesis that the vital core of being a Good Man is a) being able to deploy incredibly violence through personal strength and skill b) but choosing not to do so as a demonstration of restraint and virtue c) unless it's for a just cause or someone is really asking for it. Like, literally every male character with an arc is good at karate! Even the MIT-bound dweeb who was introduced to get shoved into lockers and the annoying brat Ipad baby younger son! The show simply does not care to waste screentime on a guy who can't punch you into a coma.

(There's something almost like, chivalric about the plot beat in season 5 where Daniel has dutifully chosen to give up his vendetta against Silver because protecting his wife and children is more important than abstract principle or glory, and then his wife needs to cajole and convince him to get back in the fight with her blessing. Warrior-aristocrat-ass gender role enactment

(Because it's the 2020s, a select number of women can be warriors too. As long as they're incredibly conventionally attractive, and also never defeat/emasculate any of the really important men. I did actually laugh when the only non-supermodel-hot major female character was written off between seasons with like a single line of explanation))

Besides all that - I mean it's kind of hilarious how the show is so studiously colorblind is filling its supporting cast and has a few relatively prominent asian characters whose race is just literally never important in any way, and then also portrays The Orient like it's 1980 and the closest anyone involved has ever come to Asia is watching a couple horribly dubbed wire-fu movies.

[getthembees]

Ok, follow up to my ‘who of the batkids have died’ question. Because the answers to that combined with a Death List Masterpost made by @avayarising have made me ponder another question: what needs to be included in a death to make it significant enough to carry through canon, or what makes it significant enough for you to count it as a death.

Because as I’ve noticed in the Masterpost, a lot of characters have died many times—but a lot of those deaths consist of the character dying very briefly and being resuscitated mere minutes later. And there are other deaths that people in the comments, who otherwise gave me niche examples, ignored or didn’t recall, which leads me to believe they are narratively insignificant.

Comics in general have a habit of killing off their characters as a way to raise stakes and then quickly reviving them, it can often read as cheap drama but it is just as likely to be genuine character work.

My personal opinion is that what a death needs for me to actually internalize it as canon is:

1. character impact (either the impact on other’s development or the character who’s died development)

2. narrative significance

3. continual reference.

It doesn’t have to contain all three but I feel like at least two is pretty vital.

For example: Jason’s first death impacted Bruce’s characterization for decades afterward. He haunted the narrative for years, was referenced in numerous runs, and now that he has been revived his death and revival are core parts of his character. It is impossible to separate Jason from this death. However, I have since learned he has died short deaths after this, which were so insignificant i had never even heard of them. So I wouldn’t really internalize them as canon because they had such little impact

Cass’s death against Shiva was the conclusion of one of her main internal character struggles (her death wish) and spanned nearly half her first solo, it resulted in significant character development for her, and has also since been referenced in other runs (batgirl 2024). Her death against Mad Dog was also imo great character work (she dies but she still doesn’t ‘lose’ because she gets Alpha to understand the heart of her no killing philosophy). It also forces Shiva to revive her which I find notable enough for their relationship and subsequent dynamic. Iirc it also gets referenced in Spirit World.

Steph’s death in War Games was a part of a major story arc, and is incredibly narratively significant to that entire storyline. I have not yet read all of War Games (mostly because i know it’s Bad) so I can’t get into the gnitty gritty about its effect on character development but it’s a major part of the latter half of Batgirl 2000. On the other hand, I don’t find her death in Batgirls 2021 to be at all narratively significant so i hesitate to canonize it in my brain.

Tim is an interesting one because ive never seen anyone talking about his !three! deaths. even in my initial post people were saying he had only been presumed dead! and, according to the death master list, even Robin War Tim says he’s never died. All of the deaths in the master list seem like very quick deaths, so i think that combined with them being non consequential makes people forget them. I’ve never read a Tim comic though, so i’m interested to see what people who are fans of him think.

On that note, i don’t know enough about the batboys specifically to actually give an opinion on their multitudes of deaths and whether they’re considered ‘canon’ (or, more accurately, important enough to retain canonical status). So any tim/dick/jason/damian fans who are crazy and insane about them the way i am for the girls please chime in! I want to know everyone’s thoughts on this.

[grammarpedant]

I've saved you the trouble by laying out evidence from the text and my reasoning in this reblog chain here. Short answer is that he does absolutely hypothesize that the Company is controlling their rogue SecUnit.

Second, I'm so delighted to hear someone else say they read Gurathin as treating Murderbot like an object in that scene- I had thought that kind of interpretation pushed out of the fandom by his stans tbh. And that is what you are arguing, of course. One does not throw away people on a mere 10% chance they might get violent. I, too, also enjoy the read of his behavior in that scene as arrantly dehumanizing, unpersoning; I like the read that his claim to see it "as a person- a dangerous person who has no reason to trust us" is a self-deception, a refusal to admit that he was both wrong (about the situation) and wrong (in the moral view of his own people) due to his received prejudices. I've watched plenty enough of e.g. White people twisting themselves into knots to justify a racist reaction to a POC to find this believable.

Not that this affects my point, of course. He was thinking and behaving irrationally, and his arguments reflect it- if he believed it was a tool then there was no need to taunt it with "We just need to keep you immobilized"; if he believed it was a tool then it made no sense to talk about what MB "believed" was true about its story about hacking its governor module; if he truly believed it was a dangerous tool then he shouldn't have stopped at merely ordering it to freeze, he should have ended its life and functioning with his own hands. As I go over in the above linked post. And frankly if he did believe it was merely a tool and not a person, then he is an unobservant or contrarian dumbass who neither noticed/cared that his colleagues clearly saw a person in their SecUnit, nor bothered to read the SecUnit's log as Volescu does and he claims to have done.

Honestly, laying it out for myself like this, I think there's a very compelling read that much of Gurathin's irrationality in this scene stems from his inability to commit to believing either that Murderbot is a tool or that it's a person. Why does he alternately insist that it's a rogue and also that the company is controlling it? Because he can't decide whether he's dealing with a mere machine trying to trick him into treating it like a person, or if he's dealing with a person trying to trick him for evil person reasons. Are his coworkers right about it being a person, or is he right about it being a threat? Well it's under his control, so he can cut a middle way, so he thinks. What a fascinatingly flawed person this interpretation produces!

Thank you ever so much for contributing to my post- you've really helped me go some interesting meta places :)

Gurathin is not only wrong, his argument is fundamentally irrational

Gurathin's argument in ASR:

We need to immobilize this SecUnit stat, because it's going to kill us.

I know it's going to kill us because its logs show that it's rogue. If there is no way to control it, then it is dangerous to us.

It is controlled by the Company to sabotage us. "The missing hazard report, the missing map sections. The SecUnit must be part of that." If it wasn't, that would be a coincidence, which is unbelievable.

This SecUnit has gone rogue and killed people in its charge before. It may do so again.

PresAux's counterargument:

It may be rogue, but that doesn't logically mean it will kill us. "The fact that the Unit has been acting to preserve our lives, to take care of us, while it was a free agent, gives us even more reason to trust it." (Volescu)

Someone may be sabotaging us, but that doesn't logically mean it's the Company or our SecUnit. "There were only three SecUnits for DeltFall in their specs, but there were five units in their habitat. Someone is sabotaging us, but I don’t think our SecUnit is part of it." (Ratthi)

If the SecUnit was trying to sabotage us, then why would it tell us about the combat module sabotage and shoot itself? (Bharadwaj, Overse)

The SecUnit believes it went rogue as a result of malfunction, and that hacking its governor module would prevent a repeat occurrence. Confirmation of its sincerity comes from the same logs that Gurathin accessed for his arguments. (Volescu)

Gurathin's counter-counterargument:

Well it gave itself an edgy nickname

[maximumzombiecreator]

Apart from the old trial-and-error method, are there resources that you would recommend for the aspiring megadungeon architect?

Either tools for the mapmaking or books/articles for guidance on the matter.

I talked a little bit about resources on the subject here, and I still feel like there's not a great single resource on how to build a megadungeon that I would recommend. There definitely are some good articles, though.

I'd say the most essential in my view, and one you're likely aware of, is Jacquaysing the Dungeon. This is a great reference on building non-linear dungeons that are interesting to navigate, which adds so much to a megadungeon. The Alexandrian's other stuff on dungeons are also worth reading for the most part. For example, his series on Re-Running the Megadungeon is a solid demonstration of megadungeon practice for new or unpersuaded GMs.

Most of the great articles I've read on dungeon design are from OSR blogs. Some of those have been lost, since so much of that was on Google+, and in general I'm reticent to link to OSR blogs because of the issues in that space. But I'll link a couple that I really like that serve as a good starting point, and its pretty easy to sort of navigate the web of blogs from there.

One I quite like is the dungeon checklist from goblin punch. At a glance I think it feels a little basic, but whenever I go back to it I find something I've missed in my current dungeon and that sparks my creativity for another round. Another is this article from false machine, which I find extremely evocative and great at getting me to think about the dungeon as a real, tactile place. Neither of these is essential, but I just think they're neat, and a good place to start wandering the webs of OSR blogs and seeing what speaks to you for anyone new to that space.

For mapmaking tools, I personally just use GNU IMP and some of Dyson Logos' photoshop brushes because I ain't got time for all that hashing. But I remain a big advocate of doing mashups of other maps, using geomorphs, or random generators if you don't want to sit there and tediously map stuff out personally.

Sorry, this ask took me forever to get to, and aside from personal reasons, the other reason it took so long is that the answer is kind of just "no, I don't know of many good megadungeon resources." I think part of why I've been so motivated to write on the subject in the past is that I think so much of the existing advice is vague, scattered, or kind of just sucks and misses the point. And I'm sure there's a lot of good stuff I just haven't found. But nearly all the good stuff is for making good dungeons, and then the megadungeon advice is "do that but bigger" which I think is actually bad advice. Like it's bad advice in the same way that you can't just extend techniques on how to run an engaging battle into techniques on how to run an engaging war.

So, consider this an open call for anyone in the comments or reblogs to link any megadungeon resources they think are useful. Hopefully other people have more than I do.

[girldriveroscar]

"not that i even Go Here but u Kinda have to consider in the landolore of it all how he imprinted on Carlos and Danny in those late stage pubescent gay chicken trials.. like they made him feel small and Cute. GIRL AND NEITHER WERE EVEN THAT BIG but the energy of " you're the small one, you're the runt of the pack who we pick on" actually altered the chemistry in lando's brain."-- i think lando just has a bit of a competence kink and likes being the inexperienced one lol i think that's why when oscar won the sprint in 2023 he was the one who kept mentioning it, sure it hurt because his rookie teammate wasn't supposed to win anything before him, but i bet he was obsessed with the fact that oscar is good enough that he had the experience of winning in f1 before him. i also think this is part of the reason why he likes verstappen and is very genuine with his praise for the drivers 😃 i also think he likes that oscar is smarter than him 😶

THIS IS AN INTERESTING PERSPECTIVE! honestly I could totally understand this from the POV that his praise for others competence developed as a weird form of self assurance. like if max is so good,,,, and im against max then no matter the doubts in my head, the concrete fact remains that I'm performing at a high level and I deserve to be here. I think there's also an element of that comfort that's self sabotaging however, as rewarding himself the comfort of "good but not good enough" gives him this third space to relax from the outside pressure. similar to like... staying in a depressed spiral because its familiar and comfortable- even if it is miserable and you know its bad for you. its like accepting second place because answering the question of am I even capable of more? and finding that no, im not. would be soul crushing. now that's kinda dramatic I fully get that, and im not saying I don't think landos determined/confident I just personally see a pattern in his self criticism when he does start hammering on about other peoples skill or his lack thereof. when he starts getting all self hating/pitying its.... pretty obvious he's there for a minute before recouping. (ie. his post race side we saw on max's stream, his lack of selfies (whole other tangent on how his selfies are contingent on his race wins) and me too yk and me too. im not trying to like shame him LMAO I don't think he's weak, I think that's just like the objective truth that we saw last season and the reality of his ability to cope.

I think where that comfort gets flipped on its head is in comparison to Oscar. or if not specifically with Oscar, then with his teammate (or at the suggestion of a peer outperforming him under the same conditions). Does that Make sense? specifically it makes me think of lewis commenting, oh your car is fast, and him snapping back well you had a fast car once too. its the insinuation that when held to the same standard as another person, if his performance regardless of circumstance is not the extra 1% that keeps him ahead, then his self assurance crumbles and he suddenly needs to deflect/defend/get moody.

which leads into why I think it reaaaally ticks him off when Oscar performs better than him. he's not desperate with max and yet he planned to do it since Brazil with Oscar. say all you want about not caring abt sprint races but holding onto one swap to come back and make a point that you're emotionally and skillfully on par with your younger teammate... sure says something...

there enough plausible deniability for max to perform better regardless of personal skill. he's on a diff team, his environment is diff there's no certainty that its on performance alone that max wins, the sliver of separation there is what keeps him capable of praising max, esp when media rains down on him bc internally he's self justified to say yes max is good (but we aren't running in the same race). a compliment to max does not carry the weight of degradation to himself. but with Oscar.... with Oscar... the conditions are the same. and every gap stings extra because Oscar is younger and less experienced. annnnd as I said I think landos a bit toxic and he likes to press on his bruises for fun hence why he brings it up repeatedly- reopening the wound in a way that brings him immense guilty pleasure.

me pathologizing lando Norris's made up kinks right... right. tldr I think his prefrontal cortex brain hates Oscar doing well but his lizard brain enjoys it: performance wise Oscar puts him in his place (which people struggled to do all his life for rsn outside of his stature) its like Oscar saying. yes im better and not because im bigger its because im more talented than you. n that strokes the degrading part of him that wants to be belittled for something nobody else can take away from him. like for a guy who was Raised on the precedent of "small but mighty" yea anyone could call him small, but not everyone can make him actually feel small. when Oscar places above him, he feels small, and the submissive worm in his brain that enjoys squirming in self pity and pain lights up and rolls around.

[blue-jisungs]

LEEHAN AND PEARLS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

( also, i woulf love to read something taesan & popcorn but you don't have to write it if you can't think of anything!)

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ PEARLFISH 🧸ྀི — a soft evening with your boy that takes a giggly turn ( wc 582 )

[ extras ] um., word ‘anus’ like twice XD + i proofchecked everything online but if theres sth thats not correct lmk (im no leehan sadly)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ! HELP IRA IM SO SORRY I PROMISE IT WAS MEANT TO BE CUTE BUT EVERYTIME I WRITE FOR IHAN I FIND OUR STH NEW AND THEN I JUST STRAYED OFF ELCOXIAIAJAJ I HOPE U WNJOY IT !!! 🙏🙏🙏🙏😭

@kstrucknet ˙ . ꒷ 🐠 . 𖦹˙— @onedoornet

donghyun was almost dozing off. he couldn’t help it. it was so pleasant and warm in the crook of your neck, the duvet pulled over you two bringing fuzzy comfort. the sounds of his friends playing video games in the living room were like background noise. on top of that, the cozy music from your nintendo was practically lulling him to sleep too. or when you would run your fingers through his soft locks from time to time.

his ebony irises were glued to the small screen, observing your animal crossing character running around. 

when he was more awake, you purposefully went fishing so he could show off his knowledge. each one you caught, he shared fun facts. who needed blathers - an owl in the game that knows everything about fish, bugs and art - when you had donghyun? you would later then go to the museum, of which blather was the director, and fact check leehan. your boyfriend would snicker at the owl on your screen, praising its knowledge.

you could feel him drifting away. his breath got softer, his occasional love bites coming to a halt. you swore you could even hear his small snores. 

your character changed into a wet suit and you dived into the sea in the search of some goodies. you got so focused on your task, looking for the deep sea creatures (and chasing them if they happened to be mischievous).

suddenly, your character swam up and showed off a pearl. 

“did you know pearls are the only gemstones that come from a living creature?” donghyun’s gentle voice startled you a bit. you just let out a hum, encouraging him to keep talking. “everything else comes from the earth, let’s say”

“that’s interesting” you nodded “i’m keeping pearls. they sell well but i want to create a mermaid set”

“i bet it’s cute. oh gosh, did you know there’s a fish called pearlfish? the way it got its name is really funny. one little fella was found inside an oyster. well, it was dead but embedded within the mother-of-pearl. so like, the substances that create the pearl. i read somewhere that it probably took five years for the oyster to fully cover the silly fish” donghyun was now fully awake, fingers coming up to excitedly tap on your hand. “but pearlfish usually live inside clams, sea cucumbers, and stuff. so one could call it an accident at work”

he suddenly started laughing, air tickling your neck. you just smiled, wondering what got him so giggly.

“they live in sea cucumbers’ butts. they sniff them out first and then they wait for the anu-”

“oh ew” you started laughing too. your switch fell out of your hands, getting lost somewhere in the comforter. 

donghyun was a bit shocked when you turned to wrap your arms around his neck, now hiding your face in his chest. your body was shaking with your laughter, triggering his own too.

“would you still love me if i was a pearlfish living in a sea cucumbers’ anus?” leehan asked, which resulted in your laughs growing even louder. 

“i love you, goofball” you managed to snicker. his smile got wider, pulling you even closer. he treasured those words, his heart overtaken by warmth. 

“hey, you didn’t answer my question!” he whined and you just chuckled. well, he had one option to get it out of you: tickles. 

soon enough only giggles and laughters were heard from the room, even making his friends hear.

masterlist <3

taglist. @slytherinshua ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @bbangbies ,, @jvkeslvr

[meyerlansky]

THE TAGS "gale cannot fuck" on your most recent post inspired me to ask a very important question. theoretically, which of the MOTA boys do you think is the best fuck? (I know you didn't ask for my opinion but my money is on Rosie).

You don't have to answer this if you think it'll get you in hot water with the MOTA fandom since that is a very hot take. no pressure.

sdknsdfnkdfsf listen at this point i’m pretty sure everyone who has an issue with the fact that i treat gale like a complex character who can be wrong sometimes already knows where i stand so it’s fine 😝

AS FOR THE QUESTION! tl;dr my answer is jack overall, and curt with a caveat.

i think gale and rosie are in the same category of "not experienced and therefore not GREAT off the bat” but rosie is EXTREMELY trainable. he’s inexperienced because he's a socially awkward workaholic but once someone gets him in bed he pays attention and takes instruction real well and learns real quick. so while i think in-canon rosie is maybe not the best fuck of the gang IN CANON TIME FRAMES, he has The most potential to be the best fuck.

gale is inexperienced because he's ~*waiting for marriage with marge*~ and what that really means is he's. so gay. just very into men. and absolutely REFUSES to look at it ever at all has it buried so deep it will neeever claw its way to the surface if he has anything to say about it. so he’s too repressed to fuck men and too gay to fuck women. i also think he is very vanilla. he is not daddy and he is not going to take you to the woodshed. he is, in fact, Kinkshamer Supreme, and WILL judge you for any weird shit you’re into.

bucky is skill-wise good with women but iffier with men, and vacillates WILDLY between "ridiculously eager to please" and "appallingly selfish" in bed. it depends how much he likes the person he's fucking and how forceful they are about bossing him around. paulina gets that good dick because she bosses him around. lil did not and that’s why she bailed for dye. bucky’s ability to fuck is directly correlated to the kink synchronicity—kinkchronicity, if you will—with his partner.

chick is also selfish in bed. not good.

croz is... fine. he's fine. he's cute if you like his vibe but his stroke game is not winning him any prizes. he gets some extra points for going down but i do not think he's GOOD at eating pussy so it's more of an A-for-effort kind of thing. most of the other guys with wives—blakely, douglass, brady, etc—are in this category. they’re fine. no three-pump-chumps but no standouts.

jack is one of those “beware the quiet ones” kinda dudes. he’s probably the best combo date-and-fuck because he’s very polite and interested in the conversation and then ALL that detail-oriented tight [ha] focus comes out FULL FORCE in the bedroom. his partner’s coming at least twice before he gets his and more if he can help it.

and i know saying curt is good in bed sounds like me playing favorites but curt is my favorite BECAUSE he has so much BDE to me. [see also: all my other short[er] top faves. i know it when i see it.] he is older than basically everyone except the brass and had his Slut Era in pre-war NYC before he enlisted, so he is settled in himself, he knows what he likes, he has PLENTY of experience, and he is game to try absolutely anything once. the caveat is he is gayer than gale and has zero interest in women whatsoever. so if you’ve got a dick you’re golden! otherwise, jack’s the best bet.

bonus: precious perfect babyangel kenny has never heard of sex and everyone in the 100th is DEDICATED to keeping it that way. all his attempts to remind them that he has a wife fall on deaf ears.

[moody-sunset]

A Poppy Playtime "Saving Everyone" AU

|Chapter Selection|

|<- Prologue|

An: The tag list is open, so if you want to be tagged in later updates, just lmk :)

-

PT 1 - Twisted Familiarity

The thick air of the damp night lay heavily in Eliza's lungs as the looming building finally came into view. Her body ached with anticipation and dread as it all started to creep back into memory. Now all that remained between her and answers was a beat-up and weather-worn front door and any amount of common sense. Perhaps it was the finality of it that drove the sudden confidence in her step, or maybe just some strange need to spite her own worry, but either way, she didn't hesitate to make her way over that final threshold. She had things to do after all and she didn't come this far to cower at the first step.

Walking into the building after all these years was an almost surreal experience: The colorful walls, the echoing steps, the stale smell of oil and machinery. Familiar enough to bring her back to all those years ago, but still so changed that the place felt entirely foreign to her. It was nothing but a pale image of what had been, the silence of the empty halls leaving a particular feeling of wrongness.

‘Looks better than I thought it would’ is all the reaction she can manage. Despite the eerie feel of the place she manages to continue forward. She tries to keep her mind on why she's here.

‘Get evidence, then get the hell out’ she reminds herself, letting the thought repeat. It only stops when she notices an old tape lying on the reception desk. She pauses in her tracks, taking a few tentative steps closer and noticing a rather convenient VCR. She doubted it would be that easy to find what she needed, but still she put the tape in with all the confidence and hope she could muster. 

“Hi, my name is Leith Pierre and I'm the head of innovation here at the Playtime Co. Toy Factory. If you're seeing this, then you're trespassing! Yeah, we play this little tape on loop-” she sighs, her hopes dashed instantly. It wasn’t too much of a letdown; she knew it wouldn't be that easy, but she had just hoped once in her life she'd get lucky. But there's no point in moping about it, so instead she leaves the tape running as she looks around for anything else of interest. She ignores that uptight tone of his rather easily, almost impressed by how even after all these years she manages to still have no interest in what that man has to say.

“-So, you got my warning, it's not too late to turn around” She rolls her eyes, not a big fan of his dramatic flares.

“I just hope that you're certain whatever you're doing is worth it” The tape ends with a loud click as the machine begins to rewind itself. She stops her search to pause it, not wanting to hear his rambling warning again. The last line was the only thing that got under her skin, the seriousness of the threat of this place finally solidifying.

‘It is…it has to be’ she steels her nerves before heading towards the next room. That's when a certain old friend of hers makes its presence known on the other side of a locked security door. 

“ If I know anything about this place I know I'm gonna need that Grab Pack ” she mutters in resigned acceptance of her fate as she wonders just how she's going to get to the other side. A pad next to the door holds a random assortment of colors that she couldn't begin to imagine the combination for. She considers it for a long moment before coming to the only conclusion she can think of. Turning around, her eyes scan the entrance room again. Not finding what she needs she goes to the next room over, once more disappointed when only soft plushies line the walls. That is until she looks up at the somehow still powered train.

“That’ll do just fine” She uses the shelves to climb her way close enough to reach out and grab the old train and is beyond thankful to feel its heavy weight in her hands. Without much time to waste she quickly makes her way back to the office, toy in hand. She readied herself, taking a deep breath and hoping that whatever security systems they had were too old to function anymore. A second later the train leaves her hand, the sound of shattering glass stopping her heart for just a moment. She does not move for a while longer even though as far as she knew no one was anywhere nearby. Yet still she only continued forward when she was sure the only sound was the beating of her heart in her ears. Annoyance begins to mount in her when faced with another pane of glass in her way. 

‘Not very secure, is it?’ she carefully grabs the toy train from the pile of broken glass and wastes no time ridding the inconvenience, grabbing what she needed from the wreckage and doing her best to avoid cutting herself on the fallen shards. It's only as she puts the old thing on that her eyes catch on a blue tape. This time she decides to read the label and promptly sets the thing back down at the sight of ‘Grab Pack safety’. She'd seen that video enough to draw it from memory even a decade later. So she continues on her way, only to be proven immediately correct about the necessity of the Grab Pack when she's met with a door locked behind a blue hand. She goes to unlock it, missing more times than she'd wish to admit as she tries to remember what used to be second nature. She gets it soon enough though, the metal door opening to a sight she remembered all too well.

“And here I had almost forgotten about you” She is genuinely surprised that the thing still stands, her steps slower as she makes her way forward. She whistles at the sight of the looming statue, surprised that the larger than life Huggy Wuggy has only managed a few bits of grime and dust on its blue fur.

“Long time no see, buddy” A faint bit of nostalgia bites the edges of her consciousness, the memories of her mornings all those years ago flooding back. Despite the disdain that tainted them, there were always a few shining lights here and there, things she couldn't ever fully hate. Her morning entrance into the room with the goofy stuffed doll towering over her was one of them. She holds fond memories of her co-workers ribbing her for how she'd treat the tall thing almost like one of them. With how much of a constant it had been in her life it almost was. She even swore that sometimes, if she looked close enough for long enough, it looked alive . 

“You haven't seen any weird papers lying around, have you? It'd be really helpful if you did” She almost laughs at the absurdity of it. How had she ever found herself back here? Thirty-five years old and talking to an oversized stuffed toy. She truly had lost the wheel, hadn't she?

“Good talk, good talk. Unfortunately, I do have places to be” she continues speaking to it, an odd sense of comfort coming from the old piece of her life creeping back in. Still, she knew she had far more important things at hand. She shakes her head in an attempt to focus her mind again.

“See you around then” She gave a nod to the tall creature before turning to power the only door she could. Her heart sinks when it immediately short circuits.

Kling Kling

The chiming sound has her snapping her head behind her, trying to find the source of the sudden noise. She is confused for a long moment, a bit of frustration mounting until she finally spots it. A set of keys left dangling in the statue's hand. She stares intently at it for a while, confusion almost beating out her frustration. In silence she takes the keys before turning to the locked power room.

‘Surely not’ She turns the key and is completely shocked when they work, her head slowly turning back to the still statue.

“Well…I'm going to take the victories where I can. Thanks bud” choosing not to question the absolute miracle, she continues forward. She isn't quite as familiar with the Grab Packs electrical capabilities but she picks it up quick enough, using the emergency power to finally bring some light to the place. Relieved that she'll now be able to actually see what she's doing, she gains a slight pep in her step-

She stops, her entire being brought to a halt at what lays before her- or, rather, what doesn't . Her breath gets stuck in her throat, her heart hardly even a flutter in her chest as her mind tries to wrap around the sudden disappearance. 

‘It’s…gone? That- no that can't…’ she tries to find some rationalization for it as she takes a few tentative steps beyond the hallway. Her eyes dart around trying to catch anything out of the ordinary. Every glint of light or shift of dust catches her attention, but in it she finds absolutely nothing. 

‘Okay. This doesn't make any sense’ she ponders perhaps uselessly to herself as she slowly steps even just a bit further. Her mind suddenly races for explanations, each making less sense than the last. She even considers that she might have finally lost it, but in the end comes to the horrifying possibility that the statue was maybe, probably, most definitely, not a statue. With that, whatever amount of comfort she had grown disappeared just as quickly as she'd found it. With her senses high and her adrenaline beginning to pump, she carefully makes her way out of the room and down the long and dark halls she hurries through, hoping beyond hope that what she saw wasn't real. She moves rather quickly now, finding very little of note for a while. Making her way from room to room she spots two more tapes, but the information in them tells her less than nothing. She does manage to find the right hand to her Grab Pack along the way, but as much as that might help her later it wasn't too important now.

It isn't too long until she is once more met by a closed door, this time shut behind the lock of one stuffed toy. Looking around the room the task didn't seem too difficult, given the machine for making them was right behind her. So she tries not to be too irritated by the inconvenience, instead focusing on keeping an eye over her shoulder to satiate her paranoia. She's developed this horrible sinking dread of being watched since Huggys sudden disappearance, something she isn't quite fond of. So she gets along with it quickly, making a suitable hybrid bee cat thing and lovingly placing the freshly made toy on its designated pedestal. After a moment the machine seems to find it a suitable enough offering as it takes it away and allows her entry. 

Just as suddenly as the door rolls open does she feel the hairs on her neck stand at attention, a shiver of shaken nerves making their way down her spine. She tries to blame it on her paranoia and hopes to calm it with a solid step forward. The entirety of her body screams in retaliation but she dares another, and another. Slow, steady, and at attention. But when the air around her stills just long enough she's finally able to hear something similar enough to breathing to make her regret ever speaking against her body's better judgment. But it's too little too late. When she finally reconsiders and takes a simple step back, she's met with voided black pools of gloss finally catching against the light, a creature now somehow taller than she'd ever seen slowly creeping its way forward in awkward but deliberate movement until it stood all blue fur and sharp teeth. There is a moment where they both stand completely still, a short standoff where she is left to consider the impossibility of what she's staring at. But it isn't too long before instincts kick in and she does so the only sensible thing.

She runs .

Alarms blare suddenly as an unholy screech pierces the once still air. Her eyes turn quickly to the conveyor belt, the small opening being all she has the time to consider when she hears the screeching grow closer. She books it, her boots stomping loudly against the tiled floor. The conveyer thunks and and creeks as her heavy feet jump carelessly onto it and she dives through the opening. Only then does she spare any glance behind her, eyes landing upon a creature that should not exist as it charges against the suddenly closing door.

WAM thunk thunk thunk

Whatever it is slams against it, seeming quite upset at the circumstances. Despite the creature being on the other side of a metal wall Eliza wastes absolutely no time in getting the hell out of there. It's only when there's silence again that she thinks to stop moving. Suddenly aware that it wasn't at the door anymore.

‘Did…Did it leave?’ she asks herself, ears open for the slightest bit of sound. Carefully she slides down the tall vent, the metal creaking under the shifting of her weight…or was that her? She freezes again, her breath catching at the shifting sound of a vent moving in the distance. Realizing she was far from safe she picked up the pace again hoping to find a way out of here before-

She locks eyes with the creature through slits in a vent, the thing twisting and moving in ways so unnatural it made her stomach spin. It screeched again upon catching even a glimpse of her and she knew she had to go . Once more moving at a speed unlike she ever had before she makes her way deeper in, all the while hearing it shifting somewhere far too close for comfort. 

Her heart nearly stops when the thing suddenly appears in front of her. Without any hesitation she twists back around and ducks into whatever would get her further out of here. It was far too close now, she could practically feel it’s presence over her shoulder. She flies down the catacombs of metal, heavy breath only steady enough to keep her running. She catches glimpses of writing on the walls warning against going further, getting more and more urgent with every turn she makes as she continues to ignore them. Every corner felt like she only lost ground on the thing even if she never once turned to check. 

Then suddenly a door in front of her is slammed, the one behind her following suit. When she turns she is once again met with the horrifying and twisted way the creature pulls itself through the vents. She prepares to fight, feet digging themselves securely into the ground when the doors suddenly opens again. She didn't waste a moment in turning to run again, not quite liking her chances against the meat shredder of a mouth the thing had.

The traction of the broken conveyor belts against her boots gives her a speed advantage, but when it starts to send her backward she knows she doesn't have long left. So she gives it her all, practically throwing herself forward with every step until she is able to slide deeper into the building. She only ever seems to go faster, adrenaline and fear fueling her. Without a second thought, she uses her body to slam the cover open and she goes cascading out with it. The echoing clank of the metal hitting the ground is promptly ignored when she slams heavily with it, though whatever pain she should have felt was far too numbed by her adrenaline. Without a second to lose she goes to stand and keep up the chase. 

That is until a sudden grip on her stops her. She falls hard against the ground again before quickly turning on her back. Her eyes widen when she realizes what had stopped her, the tight grip of the terrifying creature promising that it would not be letting go any time soon. She struggles, kicking, punching, and screaming as the thing brings its full body back out of the vent. The sudden screech as the creature's many sharp teeth get far too close for comfort is what shocks her still, mind still not having processed the true horror of the warped toy. With nothing left to do, she closed her eyes tightly, her hands holding the creature as far as she could keep it. She braces for some sort of pain or at the very least a struggle but…

Nothing

No screeches, no teeth digging into flesh, no tugging or pulling or even an attempt to get out of her grip. Just a complete and sudden stillness . Slowly, and with the most dread she's ever felt racking through every system in her body, she allows herself to peek through squinted eyes. What she sees in front of her is a completely different sight than before. The creature's teeth are put away behind its wide and seemingly permanent smile, its head tilting slightly as it stares at you. There was no menace, no attempt to scare, just some strange stare , almost as if it was observing her. The confusion of the sudden change leaves her heart still and her mind racing, fear she's never felt before still wrecking its way through her system as she dares to open her eyes fully. Then the creature finally moves again, the rise of its hand making her flinch when it reaches for her throat. She grabs it's arm too late to stop what it was trying to do and for a moment she was sure that she was as good as dead when it, with just the most gentle touch, takes her necklace into its fuzzy hand. Its eyes seem to consider the sunflower trinket for a long moment, holding it just far enough for the string to press against the back of her neck. She isn't sure what to make of the sight, frankly she was out of her depth the moment that thing first showed its face, but this? This made next to no sense. It only continued to get stranger when just as suddenly as the thing had chosen to chase her did it choose to let her go. Without so much as a sound or second glance it turns back around, slinking back into the vent as if nothing had ever happened. 

Eliza is left with not a single rational thought in her body. Her adrenaline plummets in every quick breath in her lungs, her entire body shaking with the drain. She somehow managed to bring herself to her feet again, her gaze glued to the vent as if any second that thing would come running back like a cat playing with its food. But when nothing comes she is forced to consider that she might have just experienced some twisted miracle. Her hands almost absentmindedly grab at the necklace, surprised to see it still there. She squeezes it tightly to gain the courage to finally turn away from the vent.

She looks around at the now oh-so-confining walls of the place she had willingly put herself in. Suddenly these already eerie halls have become something much more sinister, leaving only her imagination to conjure the other horrors a place like this could hold. But despite all of this she still had a goal, one that was only spurred on further when faced with the true horror this place had to offer. Not to mention that she is now quite thoroughly lost. 

There truly was no going back now.

Next chapter ->

[ask-thearchivists]

Speaking of color, do you like the color of the sky?

(Sorry everyone. I have to put anon in the ground. If you're on desktop press J)

The Coordinator: Yes, I very much enjoy the view of our galaxy outside the doorways behind us. The ambient color is always a lovely shade of purple here.

The Charmer: It's so nice, but I do miss the blue-green color of the Illusory Galaxy. I can't see myself leaving to found my own Archive anytime soon, but I sometimes imagine the beautiful color it will be.

The Cartographer: Since they're mortal, don't you think that what they meant by asking that is in reference to the view of the sky from the surface of a planet?

The Curator: Oh, that's a hard question that will probably require a lot of discussion before we remember all of our favorites.

The Cartographer: Once I went down to a planet and the sky was the pale blue of my body spots. That was striking, holding my hand in the air and seeing it vanish against the sky.

The Coordinator: Yes, it is striking when that happens. The first one that comes to mind is a blue sky I saw once, the exact same shade as half my skin, with white clouds like my hair.

The Charmer: Once I saw a world where their sky was a deeper blue like my skin during the day. Maybe worlds have blue skies by they are rarely ever such a dark shade of it, because of their suns.

The Curator: Wow, what boring answers. I like when planets have ammonia crystals in the upper atmosphere that make the skies look like the same pretty yellow shade as my skin.

The Charmer: Okay, but now you're just listing a sky that looks like your skin.

The Curator: Oh no, whatever shall I do? Maybe if you all think of more interesting colors for the sky to be, I will think of better colors too.

The Cartographer: Well, I remember a planet that we visited that had permanently orange skies from its incredibly dense atmosphere. They were the color of my eyes.

The Coordinator: Well, I do also recall a planet that had red skies. It was caused by smoke in the upper atmosphere because of the intense volcanic activity of the planet. The mortals were so interesting.

The Cartographer: I mean, you never see it on satellites capable of spontaneously creating life. But planets and moons with very thin atmospheres for one reason or another, their skies are pitch black in the day because there's nothing to catch and scatter the light. Though, I hate those skies.

The Charmer: Eugh!! Stop talking about that! You know those ones give me the creeps. It's like you're the last living creature in a dead universe where all the stars have gone out except one. It's like the only thing that is unsettling to us.

The Coordinator: Yes, I would like us to talk about different skies.

The Curator: Well, it's not the exact same but being in a mortal city and looking up at a black sky from light pollution is also interesting.

The Coordinator: Those skies are always so sad. When it gets to that point most mortals are not even aware that they are missing anything. The believe the sky to be unimpressive, typically unaware that they are no long able to see the stars.

The Charmer: Well, anything is better than those skies.

The Curator: One of my favorites skies that I've seen is one where the atmosphere had a lot of argon in it, so it was naturally purple. It's also really common for mortals to believe that their skies are blue when they're really purple because they didn't evolve the ability to see purple as well as other colors.

The Cartographer: There was one world I visited where the sky was a really pretty shade of blue-green.

The Charmer: The sky there was pretty, with its yellow clouds, but I would prefer not to compliment that terrible place.

The Coordinator: I agree. It is extremely rare but I like worlds with pink looking skies. It is typically just a washed out red but sometimes it looks more vibrant.

The Curator: The bright magenta sky worlds give ME the creeps, it's like a sky made of blood. Makes my skin crawl.

The Charmer: And then there's worlds with white skies. There's so many reasons the sky could be plain white.

The Coordinator: Oh! Do you recall that planet where the atmospheric conditions were so specific that the light from its star was pure white, and everything would appear grey-scale until there were fires or lightning strikes, or when it was overcast because the moisture of the clouds split the light and showed the colors of the world below? It was such a fascinating place.

The Charmer: Oh I almost forgot about that place! The sky there was so amazing.

The Coordinator: My favorite sky color is dark red.

The Charmer: After all this discussion I think I remember my favorite sky color to be vibrant magenta.

The Cartographer: I have to choose the golden orange permanent sunset skies.

The Curator: I'm going with purple. I love the rich royal purple skies on worlds with bacteriorhodopsin.

[agenericplaceholdername]

All very well said. In full disclosure, I wasn't super happy with Lloyd's arc in S2P1 and then the master role is forced on him in S2P2. By the end of the season, the narrative (through Sora and the SD of Motion) seems to commit to the idea that Lloyd is a successful master, which is questionable. However, I'm not sure this is because the show is trying to avoid its younger audience being exposed to one of its lead characters making mistakes. Arin is introduced as this audience surrogate, optimistic fan boy and he ends S2 having decided to join with the main villain of the series.

Rather, I think that the show is portraying a very real thing -- the decisions we make may seem right in the moment, but have unintended consequences. You mentioned

Even if season three shows us some actual flaws in Lloyd’s mentorship, it will be behaviors we see begin AFTER it has supposedly already driven Arin away

but we have seen those flaws in that we've seen the decisions Lloyd has made that started to push Arin away. The narrative doesn't tell us that these actions are definitely good or bad, it presents them and has some characters defend them but also shows how they hurt Arin. If Lloyd just outright made a bad call it would be easier to solve, but now I think there's the possibility of more depth because it is hard to find a right answer.

Lloyd has been the official leader of the Ninja team definitively since S5, and whatever your thoughts on that, I'm not holding the DR writers accountable for a decision made a decade ago, so the idea that, at least when it comes to saving the world-type decisions (e.g. going after Jay or not), he's probably not gonna make a bad call. If anything, he's too hesitant to make calls of any kind back in S2P1.

That's why the point I'm trying to make is not that there are specific flaws in Lloyd's teaching that can easily be excised. Rather, his entire view of trying to live up to Wu is flawed. We've seen examples of this already, so if the show goes in that direction, it would be after two seasons of buildup. Now, maybe the show won't go so far in this direction that it presents Ras as having some points. Yes, he's obviously very evil and has ulterior motives. That being said, we also have a group of villains who seem to be more "pure evil" than Ras: the Forbidden Five. I don't think it's unreasonable that while the FF serve as our main threats, Ras poses a more fundamental challenge to the Ninja's worldview. Just because Ninjago doesn't really do grey area doesn't mean they can't start now. I don't think the show would say that all of Wu's teachings are wrong, just that the way Lloyd has interpreted them through his desire to be like his uncle is wrong. We'll see what S3 says, especially with a certain returning character who has a history with Wu and his mistakes.

As for the objection that "Lloyd cracking under the pressure of his lineage isn't exactly new," I guess that's true but those stories are universally related to his dad being Garmadon, and typically center around his angst about having to fight his father -- they're his opposition to something. Here, Lloyd has an affirmative goal to be like his uncle.

I nearly entirely agree with your last paragraph. This would be a really subversive and unique for Ninjago character arc, and if executed well I think it would be really interesting. That being said - abandoning the role entirely does seem like needlessly throwing the baby out with bathwater when he does have a student who looks up to him and would probably be pretty hurt by him appearing to abandon her. I think it could still work though, framed as an appropriate move for Lloyd's mental health and that instead of replacing him with someone more capable (since much like Kai and Wyldfyre, I think Lloyd and Sora have their own bond), the whole original team are teachers. We already seem to be moving in that direction with Cole and Frak, but we don't need to separate students like this. Each original Ninja has something to offer the new ones, and can do it together. That can happen alongside a story where Lloyd a) learns he doesn't have to be like Wu and b) as you said, tying his self esteem to his success as a master.

On the stuff in the tags:

I do feel like you've given Kai a little too much credit with Wyldfyre. Yes, she should learn more control pre-learning Spinjitzu. But Kai wanted Wyldfyre to learn more precision back in S1, E11 in the Dragon Core Temple, starts to teach her it in S1, E20 back at the monastery when they're shooting at those cans, and yet in the ending of S2P1 Wyldfyre still lacks precision when she's removing the Wolf Mask helmets from Kai and Sora (when she burns Kai's hair) and in the start of S2P2 when she's fighting the Lava-Tides in Kreel's Junkyard. That's despite whatever time skip between S1 and S2 that made Arin so frustrated he hadn't learned Spinjitzu yet. And in the start of S2P2, she disagrees with the statement, "There's more to being a Ninja than Elemental Powers," so clearly Kai hasn't gotten to that part of her training (a lesson Kai has learned repeatedly).

I'm not sure how important the Green Ninja title is -- very few characters refer to Lloyd as the Green Ninja aside from as description (Kai is the Master of Fire, Jay is the Master of Lighting, Lloyd is the legendary Green Ninja) and that's really just because they can't call him the Master of [energy? life?] since no one (but Roby?) seems to know what his element is. Him being the leader of the team was established long ago semi-independently of his title (apparently everyone else is bad at it, or so S5 wants us to believe) and he started teaching Arin and Sora since he was the only Ninja at the monastery at the start of DRS1. Kai has already taken on a student, and Cole might be doing the same with Frak. Yes, Lloyd has plenty of focus and (unlike the other original Ninja) is one of the main protagonists. But is that because he's specifically the destined Green Ninja? I think Lloyd got some undue focus in the 11 minute era but I wouldn't blame that on him being the Green Ninja specifically, and at that point the show had him on equal footing with the other 5 ninja. DR is a new show where Lloyd is on unequal narrative footing with the original crew, but he doesn't have unfair focus over the other two protagonists, Arin and Sora. Yes, his family ties are relevant, but only insofar as they relate to his uncle, an important character in his own right and someone Lloyd was close to. Lloyd being the FSM's grandson is used as a gag, and his relationship with his dad hasn't even been mentioned after 40 episodes.

Maybe Lloyd just shouldn't be a master.

He's clearly not very good at it. He's been trying it since season 5, and his first real students both take FOREVER to make any progress. Sora takes a whole season to unlock her powers, but apparently isn't taught spinjitzu in any of that time- the literal first thing we see taught to any of our characters in the original show. Arin somehow makes backwards progress with Lloyd, and then after doing like three poses with his friend seems to get it instantly.

Like... seems like he's just not very good at teaching. Maybe he should hand the position over to Kai, he's got a natural knack for it, a lot more experience, and a much higher success rate as far as I'm concerned. Master Kai for the win.