#Local search platform

[nagpur-dail]

Long-term business benefits

[mostlysignssomeportents]

This is your brain on fraud apologetics

In 1998, two Stanford students published a paper in Computer Networks entitled “The Anatomy of a Large-Scale Hypertextual Web Search Engine,” in which they wrote, “Advertising funded search engines will be inherently biased towards the advertisers and away from the needs of consumers.”

https://research.google/pubs/pub334/

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

The co-authors were Lawrence Page and Sergey Brin, and the “large-scale hypertextual web search-engine” they were describing was their new project, which they called “Google.” They were 100% correct — prescient, even!

On Wednesday night, a friend came over to watch some TV with us. We ordered out. We got scammed. We searched for a great local Thai place we like called Kiin and clicked a sponsored link for a Wix site called “Kiinthaila.com.” We should have clicked the third link down (kiinthaiburbank.com).

We got scammed. The Wix site was a lookalike for Kiin Thai, which marked up their prices by 15% and relayed the order to our local, mom-and-pop, one-branch restaurant. The restaurant knew it, too — they called us and told us they were canceling the order, and said we could still come get our food, but we’d have to call Amex to reverse the charge.

As it turned out, the scammers double-billed us for our order. I called Amex, who advised us to call back in a couple days when the charge posted to cancel it — in other words, they were treating it as a regular customer dispute, and not a systemic, widespread fraud (there’s no way this scammer is just doing this for one restaurant).

In the grand scheme of things, this is a minor hassle, but boy, it’s haunting to watch the quarter-century old prophecy of Brin and Page coming true. Search Google for carpenters, plumbers, gas-stations, locksmiths, concert tickets, entry visas, jobs at the US Post Office or (not making this up) tech support for Google products, and the top result will be a paid ad for a scam. Sometimes it’s several of the top ads.

This kind of “intermediation” business is actually revered in business-schools. As Douglas Rushkoff has written, the modern business wisdom reveres “going meta” — not doing anything useful, but rather, creating a chokepoint between people who do useful things and people who want to pay for those things, and squatting there, collecting rent:

https://rushkoff.medium.com/going-meta-d42c6a09225e

It’s the ultimate passive income/rise and grind side-hustle: It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to discover a whole festering nest of creeps on Tiktok talking about how they pay Mechanical Turks to produce these lookalike sites at scale.

This mindset is so pervasive that people running companies with billions in revenue and massive hoards of venture capital run exactly the same scam. During lockdown, companies like Doordash, Grubhub and Uber Eats stood up predatory lookalike websites for local restaurants, without their consent, and played monster-in-the-middle, tricking diners into ordering through them:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/19/we-are-beautiful/#man-in-the-middle

These delivery app companies were playing a classic enshittification game: first they directed surpluses to customers to lock them in (heavily discounting food), then they directed surplus to restaurants (preferential search results, free delivery, low commissions) — then, having locked in both consumers and producers, they harvested the surplus for themselves.

Today, delivery apps charge massive premiums to both eaters and restaurants, load up every order with junk fees, and clone the most successful restaurants out of ghost kitchens — shipping containers in parking lots crammed with low-waged workers cranking out orders for 15 different fake “virtual restaurants”:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/01/autophagic-buckeyes/#subsidized-autophagia

Delivery apps speedran the enshittification cycle, but Google took a slower path to get there. The company has locked in billions of users (e.g. by paying billions to be the default search on Safari and Firefox and using legal bullying to block third party Android device-makers from pre-installing browsers other than Chrome). For years, it’s been leveraging our lock-in to prey on small businesses, getting them to set up Google Business Profiles.

These profiles are supposed to help Google distinguish between real sellers and scammers. But Kiin Thai has a Google Business Profile, and searching for “kiin thai burbank” brings up a “Knowledge Panel” with the correct website address — on a page that is headed with a link to a scam website for the same business. Google, in other words, has everything it needs to flag lookalike sites and confirm them with their registered owners. It would cost Google money to do this — engineer-time to build and maintain the system, content moderator time to manually check flagged listings, and lost ad-revenue from scammers — but letting the scams flourish makes Google money, at the expense of Google users and Google business customers.

Now, Google has an answer for this: they tell merchants who are being impersonated by ad-buying scammers that all they need to do is outbid them for the top ad-spot. This is a common approach — Amazon has a $31b/year “ad business” that’s mostly its own platform sellers bidding against each other to show you fake results for your query. The first five screens of Amazon search results are 50% ads:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

This is “going meta,” so naturally, Meta is doing it too: Facebook and Instagram have announced a $12/month “verification” badge that will let you report impersonation and tweak the algorithm to make it more likely that the posts you make are shown to the people who explicitly asked to see them:

https://www.vox.com/recode/2023/2/21/23609375/meta-verified-twitter-blue-checkmark-badge-instagram-facebook

The corollary of this, of course, is that if you don’t pay, they won’t police your impersonators, and they won’t show your posts to the people who asked to see them. This is pure enshittification — the surplus from users and business customers is harvested for the benefit of the platform owners:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

The idea that merchants should master the platforms as a means of keeping us safe from their impersonators is a hollow joke. For one thing, the rules change all the time, as the platforms endlessly twiddle the knobs that determine what gets shown to whom:

https://doctorow.medium.com/twiddler-1b5c9690cce6

And they refuse to tell anyone what the rules are, because if they told you what the rules were, you’d be able to bypass them. Content moderation is the only infosec domain where “security through obscurity” doesn’t get laughed out of the room:

https://doctorow.medium.com/como-is-infosec-307f87004563

Worse: the one thing the platforms do hunt down and exterminate with extreme prejudice is anything that users or business-customers use to twiddle back — add-ons and plugins and jailbreaks that override their poor choices with better ones:

https://www.theverge.com/2022/9/29/23378541/the-og-app-instagram-clone-pulled-from-app-store

As I was submitting complaints about the fake Kiin scam-site (and Amex’s handling of my fraud call) to the FTC, the California Attorney General, the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau and Wix, I wrote a little Twitter thread about what a gross scam this is:

https://twitter.com/doctorow/status/1628948906657878016

The thread got more than two million reads and got picked up by Hacker News and other sites. While most of the responses evinced solidarity and frustration and recounted similar incidents in other domains, a significant plurality of the replies were scam apologetics — messages from people who wanted to explain why this wasn’t a problem after all.

The most common of these was victim-blaming: “you should have used an adblocker” or “never click the sponsored link.” Of course, I do use an ad-blocker — but this order was placed with a mobile browser, after an absentminded query into the Google search-box permanently placed on the home screen, which opens results in Chrome (where I don’t have an ad-blocker, so I can see material behind an ad-blocker-blocker), not Firefox (which does have an ad-blocker).

Now, I also have a PiHole on my home LAN, which blocks most ads even in a default browser — but earlier this day, I’d been on a public wifi network that was erroneously blocking a website (the always excellent superpunch.net) so I’d turned my wifi off, which meant the connection came over my phone’s 5G connection, bypassing the PiHole:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/28/shut-yer-pi-hole/

“Don’t click a sponsored link” — well, the irony here is that if you habitually use a browser with an ad-blocker, and you backstop it with a PiHole, you never see sponsored links, so it’s easy to miss the tiny “Sponsored” notification beside the search result. That goes double if you’re relaxing with a dinner guest on the sofa and ordering dinner while chatting.

There’s a name for this kind of security failure: the Swiss Cheese Model. We all have multiple defenses (in my case: foreknowledge of Google’s ad-scam problem, an ad-blocker in my browser, LAN-wide ad sinkholing). We also have multiple vulnerabilities (in my case: forgetting I was on 5G, being distracted by conversation, using a mobile device with a permanent insecure search bar on the homescreen, and being so accustomed to ad-blocked results that I got out of the habit of checking whether a result was an ad).

If you think you aren’t vulnerable to scams, you’re wrong — and your confidence in your invulnerability actually increases your risk. This isn’t the first time I’ve been scammed, and it won’t be the last — and every time, it’s been a Swiss Cheese failure, where all the holes in all my defenses lined up for a brief instant and left me vulnerable:

https://locusmag.com/2010/05/cory-doctorow-persistence-pays-parasites/

Other apologetics: “just call the restaurant rather than using its website.” Look, I know the people who say this don’t think I have a time-machine I can use to travel back to the 1980s and retrieve a Yellow Pages, but it’s hard not to snark at them, just the same. Scammers don’t just set up fake websites for your local businesses — they staff them with fake call-centers, too. The same search that takes you to a fake website will also take you to a fake phone number.

Finally, there’s “What do you expect Google to do? They can’t possibly detect this kind of scam.” But they can. Indeed, they are better situated to discover these scams than anyone else, because they have their business profiles, with verified contact information for the merchants being impersonated. When they get an ad that seems to be for the same business but to a different website, they could interrupt the ad process to confirm it with their verified contact info.

Instead, they choose to avoid the expense, and pocket the ad revenue. If a company promises to “to organize the world’s information and make it universally accessible and useful,” I think we have the right to demand these kinds of basic countermeasures:

https://www.google.com/search/howsearchworks/our-approach/

The same goes for Amex: when a merchant is scamming customers, they shouldn’t treat complaints as “chargebacks” — they should treat them as reports of a crime in progress. Amex has the bird’s eye view of their transaction flow and when a customer reports a scam, they can backtrack it to see if the same scammer is doing this with other merchants — but the credit card companies make money by not chasing down fraud:

https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/rosalindadams/mastercard-visa-fraud

Wix also has platform-scale analytics that they could use to detect and interdict this kind of fraud — when a scammer creates a hundred lookalike websites for restaurants and uses Wix’s merchant services to process payments for them, that could trigger human review — but it didn’t.

Where do all of these apologetics come from? Why are people so eager to leap to the defense of scammers and their adtech and fintech enablers? Why is there such an impulse to victim-blame?

I think it’s fear: in their hearts, people — especially techies — know that they, too, are vulnerable to these ripoffs, but they don’t want to admit it. They want to convince themselves that the person who got scammed made an easily avoidable mistake, and that they themselves will never make a similar mistake.

This is doubly true for readerships on tech-heavy forums like Twitter or (especially) Hacker News. These readers know just how many vulnerabilities there are — how many holes are in their Swiss cheese — and they are also overexposed to rise-and-grind/passive income rhetoric.

This produces a powerful cognitive dissonance: “If all the ‘entrepreneurs’ I worship are just laying traps for the unwary, and if I am sometimes unwary, then I’m cheering on the authors of my future enduring misery.” The only way to resolve this dissonance — short of re-evaluating your view of platform capitalism or questioning your own immunity to scams — is to blame the victim.

The median Hacker News reader has to somehow resolve the tension between “just install an adblocker” and “Chrome’s extension sandbox is a dumpster fire and it’s basically impossible to know whether any add-on you install can steal every keystroke and all your other data”:

https://mattfrisbie.substack.com/p/spy-chrome-extension

In my Twitter thread, I called this “the worst of all possible timelines.” Everything we do is mediated by gigantic, surveillant monopolists that spy on us comprehensively from asshole to appetite — but none of them, not a 20th century payment giant nor a 21st century search giant — can bestir itself to use that data to keep us safe from scams.

Next Thu (Mar 2) I'll be in Brussels for Antitrust, Regulation and the Political Economy, along with a who's-who of European and US trustbusters. It's livestreamed, and both in-person and virtual attendance are free:

https://www.brusselsconference.com/registration

On Fri (Mar 3), I'll be in Graz for the Elevate Festival:

https://elevate.at/diskurs/programm/event/e23doctorow/

[Image ID: A modified version of Hieronymus Bosch's painting 'The Conjurer,' which depicts a scam artist playing a shell-game for a group of gawking rubes. The image has been modified so that the scam artist's table has a Google logo and the pea he is triumphantly holding aloft bears the 'Sponsored' wordmark that appears alongside Google search results.]

[jefffrose24]

winning moment

[johnwilliamm]

Pizza Restaurant in Epping - Snappy's Pizza and Pide

 I apologize for any confusion, but as of my last knowledge update in September 2021, I do not have information about a specific pizza restaurant called "Snappy's Pizza and Pide" in Epping or any other location. It's possible that this restaurant is either new or not widely recognized in my database.

To find the most current information about this restaurant, including its location, menu, and contact details, I recommend conducting an online search, checking local business directories, or asking local residents in Epping for recommendations. You may also want to check popular review websites or social media platforms for additional information and customer reviews.

[abukarhaji]

Foods to eat on a ketogenic diet

If you're considering starting a ketogenic diet, one of the most important things to know is what you should and shouldn't be eating. The goal of the ketogenic diet is to enter a state of ketosis, which is when your body switches from burning carbohydrates for energy to burning fat. In order to do this, you need to drastically reduce your carbohydrate intake and increase your fat intake. Here are some foods to focus on when following a ketogenic diet:1. Meat: Beef, chicken, pork, lamb, and other types of meat are all great sources of protein and healthy fats.2. Fish: Fatty fish like salmon, mackerel, and sardines are rich in omega-3

[disabled-dragoon]

Information regarding the UK riots

If you're worried about the riots right now and are concerned for your safety, the safety of friends and loved ones or the safety of other members of your local community, here are a few posts, organisations and social medias that may help. Feel free to add any others that you know of in the notes.

Posts:

This post by @lovelysakuryay with information on what to do if you are the victim of an attack, as well some information on helplines, mental health services and some charities you can reach out to and/or donate to (which will be listed in the section below)

A list of fundraisers for people and communities impacted by the Southport attack and far-right riots. Post by @octarineblues

Post by @northern-punk-lad listing the times and locations of riots on Wednesday 7th August.

Organisations:

Exit Hate: Helping people and their family to walk away from extremism.

Stop Hate UK: 24 hour hate-crime reporting hotline

Migrant Voice: A charity that helps migrants advocate for themselves.

Refugee Action: Helps refugees to rebuild their lives.

North East Anarchist Group: Some information regarding locations of planned far-right riots on their social media, as well information regarding the location of counter protests in the north east of England.

Green and Black Cross: A "grassroots activist legal support group". They offer "know your rights" training courses, as well as information on your rights as a protester and interacting with the police and staying safe. Find them on instagram as well under @gbclegal.

Netpol: Or, the Network for Police Monitoring. A good organisation to look into regarding protest rights and legal resources.

Migrants Organise: Provides a platform for migrants to organise. Offers advice and support, as well as access to grassroots organising, research, advocacy and campaigning.

The Anthony Walker Foundation: Local anti-hate group in Merseyside.

Note from @octarineblues:

"This is a bit more useful for larger towns/cities, but: a local BLM group will also have up to date info! Antifacist or anti-raids group as well - they will often have access to good info and they are already used to reacting quickly."

Social Medias:

It's worth checking your town/local area's social media pages (if they exist) for information regarding possible planned riots and destruction. There may also be one or more pages regarding news in your county/constituency.

Additional social media pages:

@ukisnotinnocent on Instagram. A group "mobilising against fascism" across the UK, providing updates on the riots as well as information on the locations of planned violence and staying safe while counter protesting. CW: There are some shocking videos and images on here which depict some of the violent scenes seen lately.

@monitoringgroupne_n on Instagram. A group that shares updates, information and concerns regarding the policing and fascism in the North and North East of England. Including sharing information on the location of planned riots, some information on counter protests and staying safe while protesting.

@standuptoracismuk on Instagram. A good resource for riot times and locations, as well as counter protest times, locations, information and footage.

@ukfactcheckpolitics on Instagram. A page dedicated to "exposing government corruption". Great for quick news and updates regarding both riots and counter protests. Like @ukisnotinnocent, they do share videos and images as well, the contents of which can be shocking.

Also, I've noticed that a lot of groups protesting the ongoing genocide in gaza have been very vocally against the far-right riots and have been sharing some information alongside their usual stuff. If you know of a local encampment/group, it's worth searching for their social media.

It's worth checking the lists of people that the listed groups follow on social media as well for more information regarding riots across the country.

Please, please share any more that you know of/find, and I'll update this as and when I can.

Stay safe everyone <3

[sugdenlovesdingle]

118 group chat (AO3)

---

The thing they don't tell you about being a first responder, Tommy thought, is how much waiting around is involved.

He and Donato had just transported a guy of barely 20 who'd gotten badly injured in a heavy motorcycle accident to hospital, and were waiting around to see if any of the doctors needed to be flown back to the site.

Tommy hadn't seen much from his chopper, but what he had seen hadn't been pretty.

He really hated motorcycles and was still relieved he hadn't personally witnessed Evan getting on one to clear the highway so Athena could land the plane.

A quick search around local news stations after texts from both Evan and Eddie had filled in the blanks for him, but no matter how sexy Evan had looked on the bike, Tommy really hoped it hadn't given his boyfriend the idea of getting one of his own.

"I'm getting a coffee, do you want anything?" Lucy asked, getting up from the seat next to him. "There is no quicker way to make everyone here make up their mind than sitting down with hot coffee."

Tommy chuckled knowing she was right.

"Nah I'm good."

She nodded and went in search for her caffeine boost, leaving Tommy alone with his thoughts and the muted local news playing on the TV on the wall.

Thankfully Evan had the day off so the chances of him appearing on there were slim.

Suddenly he felt his phone buzz against his leg in the pocket of his flight suit.

There was only one person who would text him in the middle of his shift and he smiled as he pulled it out and unlocked it.

Evan ❤️ added you to 118 fam

Evan ❤️: Surprise baby 😘

Hen: You did not just call a grown man baby

Evan ❤️: Why not? It's cute. He's cute!

Hen: 🙄

Hen: Hi @.Tommy by the way.

Eddie: I wish I'd only heard them call each other baby. You're getting way too comfortable around me!

Evan ❤️: Not my fault my boyfriend is so cute and hot and sexy and really good in bed.

Eddie: See???

Evan ❤️: He can sleep for days 😂😉

Howie: Hey look who has finally joined the party! Welcome to the club @.Tommy

Cptn Nash: welcome to the family @.Tommy I hope you can make it to the first 118 dinner in mine and Athena's new place next Sunday.

Eddie: He'll be there cap, Buck will make him.

Evan ❤️: We'll bring dessert. There is an Italian ice cream parlour near Tommy's house. We'll get gelato!

Cptn Nash: Just bring yourselves, that's plenty.

“What's got you smiling like that at your phone? What sappy shit did Buckley say this time?" Lucy asked, coming back with her coffee.

"Nothing you need to know about." Tommy just said, sending a quick "Thanks guys" to the group chat and a ❤️ to Evan and pocketed his phone again when he saw one of the doctors from before make their way over with a heavy bag of medical supplies slung over their shoulder.

"Duty calls" he said to Lucy who swore under her breath and tried to finish her coffee without burning her mouth.

"Every damn time" she muttered but Tommy just laughed and made his way to the elevator up to the helicopter platform, feeling like one of those cartoon characters with the heart eyes floating through air thinking about their love.

Donato would call him a sap if she knew what he was smiling about, but he didn't care. It felt good to belong.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

How To Adapt To Fire (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.4k

WARNINGS: Fire(s), intended harm, mentions of death, murder, crime, corruption, arsonist mystery plot, pining, protective!Johnny, flirting, intense banter, etc.

A/N: This is based off of US Firemen just because that's what I'm most familiar with!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There was an arsonist in the city, and you were going to catch them.

Getting out of your car, you slap the door closed behind you and rush out, heels clicking over the concrete as the roaring flames continue violently—orange and red going high into the air, all centered around an abandoned warehouse building. Through the darkness of night, everything was lit up like hell.

Your satchel hits against your thigh one fast step at a time, arms pumping as your eyes find the flashing lights beyond the glare, squinting. 

“MacTavish!” You shout, jogging to the line of yellow tape and slipping under it through a small crowd of locals who call to you sharply. Voices going in one ear and out the other, you only search for that familiar helmeted head and the Scottish accent that accompanies it.

“What is she doing?”

“How come she gets to go closer!?”

“Stop that woman!” 

Your white blouse does little to push back the gusts of molten heat on the roaring airwaves, and neither do your dress pants. You push on with stubborn righteousness, even as the mulling firefighters groan under their breaths when they catch sight of you, all pausing in their various duties and panic of grabbing the hoses and getting the water going. 

The iconic red trucks sit stationary, but the man beside one of the three vehicles has his head nearly snapped off when he darts it over to you in a fast instant. 

“MacTavish!” You call out again, locking onto wide blue eyes that blink rapidly at your appearance. 

An under-the-breath curse is leveled out, heard in between shouts and the spray of water, droplets hitting your hard face.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus. Not again.” Heavy boots jog over, tan and yellow uniform loose beside the places where the straps of his gear attach various items and tools to his body. “What in the hell are you doin’ here, Pencils?” 

“My job,” you call stiffly, your finger going out to tap at the small plastic card attached to your blouse. 

‘PRESS PASS’

“So be a good informant and tell me how much damage this is going to cause,” your hand is already inside of your satchel, flicking on a hand-held recorder, as your eyes scan about. “The fire was bigger here,” you begin without wasting any time, and the firefighter in front of you sighs in exasperation, clenching his jaw. “Was it because this place was abandoned unlike the last four scenes, or because there was a different accelerant used.” 

“I’ve told you, Hen,” MacTavish’s hand moves out in appeasement gestures, glancing at the fire and the rest of the teams that rush to get the rest of the hoses going. “Ya can’t be here when the fucking fire is still ongoing. Do you want to get burnt to a damn crisp?”

“I need answers,” you level, gaze darting back to stare into cerulean blues.

John MacTavish, who everyone just calls Johnny or Soap, for some reason, had been a familiar face to you for upwards of two months. In that time, there had been an alarming amount of suspected arson cases—twelve, counting this one. There was an unprecedented spark-up, most taking place in older neighborhoods and abandoned buildings barring the previous four, of which two people had been seriously injured, and three had died. 

But now, it was back to out-of-the-way properties, and you wanted to know why. You needed to. 

Such an escalation just to suddenly drop back down to no casualties? It didn’t make sense. If it wasn’t for your career as a journalist, then it was for your morbid curiosity of which Johnny was intently familiar with.

 The Scot clenches his jaw, dark eyebrows under his helmet stuck into a line. Around him, the others were getting the blaze under control the best they could—there was no need to go inside to search for anyone and all that had to be done was keep the fire from spreading. So, he had no trouble trying to get you to see sense yet again.

“Do you ever give it a rest,” he asks gruffly, accent thick. “Christ, I’ll be gray before you learn to stop sticking your hands where they don’t belong.” 

“You’re not my mother, MacTavish,” you speak, lowering the recorder. “Do you have anything for me?”

Johnny moves up a hand and runs it over his face, groaning. A smirk flickers to your lips. 

“You’re worse than a fly,” he breathes, unimpressed eyes opening to stick to you. “I can’t say much right now, most of it is left for forensics. Just from the blaze alone,” he glances over, taking it in. “I’d make a guess that an accelerant was used. Especially with how fast it popped up and the intensity of it. I’d have to get the dogs down here for a sniff, but it’s likely.”

“Do you think it’s—”

“Connected?” Johnny interrupts, lips twitching at the annotated gimmer in your eye. “Aye. This was man-made. There was nothing here that could start a blaze like this.” 

You click the recorder’s button and move back with a sigh. 

“Lovely.” 

The Scot raises a slow brow, looking you up and down, confused. “That’s it?”

“It’s all you can give me right now,” you mutter, sliding a look at him as your eyes squint at the rabid flames. Pieces of screeching metal fall into a heap, a loud boom of spreading smoke and lifeless coughing of material in the air. 

“Fucking hell,” you murmur to yourself. “This had to be one of the biggest ones so far.”

It was getting held back from the surrounding buildings—slowly but surely in the morning, the entire place would be a smoldering pile of ash and metal, only more questions left behind. 

Johnny sets his hands on the collar of his gear, sighing. “Won’t be the deadliest, though, will it? I’m just glad there won’t be bodies to drag out.”

You send a side-eye his way, feet shuffling. “That, I can agree with. But the pattern doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Well, sorry, Hen, but you’ll catch me a bit more concerned about the potential next targets than the pattern.” He grunts, rolling his shoulders. “We need to catch this prick. Soon. Resources are stretched thin.”

“It’s like the guy completely switched his M.O.,” you ignore him, eyes narrowing. “Abandoned buildings, then to taking people's lives, then right back to where he started? That doesn’t happen overnight.”

Johnny grunts. “‘Cept here.”  

You sigh, tapping your fingers against your bag. The man at your side looks over, shrugging as he takes in the firmness of your expression—the same that he usually wears to any scene he gets called to. Determination. 

“I’ll get the report to you soon as I get it,” Johnny breathes, tilting his head. “Figured with all of your connections, you’ll have a better chance at piecing it all together.” 

“Thank you,” you nod. The man hums. 

“Now, get the hell out of here, yeah? Makin’ me nervous. Tape’s there for a reason Dearie.”

Scoffing, you toss up a hand and shake your head. “I live to make people nervous, MacTavish. You don’t help bust criminals and not make people nervous.” 

You begin backing back up, studying the land one more time. Johnny’s lips are thin, and he shifts his legs to stare after you. 

“Just be careful,” he calls, fingers tightening at his collar, strong jaw moving as he fixes it. His heart stutters in its course. “Don’t stick your neck where it doesn’t belong, Hen.”

You wave a hand, and then you’re off again, disappearing into the crowd with flames rising high behind you. 

The fireman watches tightly, licking his lips before shouting, “I’m serious!”

—

Your list of enemies was seemingly endless. 

Drug busts, criminal enterprises, hitmen—there was no shortage of stories you’d broken and your name being printed into the papers; you weren’t at all unknown to the city or the various police or fire stations. Many described you as a public nuisance, but…you were viewed with a modicum of respect as well—even if it was kept under breath. 

Yet, where there was respect, there was also the less savory emotion of contempt from the related individuals of those whom you’d landed into the eyes of the law and behind bars.

Perhaps you’d taken this arsonist for a disorganized fool…but you were about to get a very violent reality shift. 

“This is the report?” You ask, Johnny sipping from his coffee cup as you both sit in the park three days later, the bench stiff as your fingers play over the manila folder you’d been passed. 

“The public one.” Soap huffs when you slide him a look, his finger pointing at you as he holds his drink. “What? Pencils, I don’t care who you think you are, I’m not about to risk my career for something I can just tell you first-hand.”

You sigh, muttering before your hand pushes open the papers. “Go on, then.” 

Johnny smugly smirks, chuckling as his free hand goes up to fix the backward ballcap on his head. Under the tight hold of his athletic shirt, gray sweatpants sharply contract your put-together and professional appearance—like night and day. He still smells of smoke and metal. 

“You’re bein’ more snappy than usual. Publisher still on your arse, Bonnie?”

“Telling me I need to drop this goose chase,” you grumble, scoffing, eyes skimming down the printed words ahead of you. “As if.”

“Ah, he’ll come round,” Johnny’s lips flicker, flesh crinkling under that stubble of his. An overgrown mohawk leaks from the sides of his hat. “C’mon, tell me what ya need. I’ve got it all up here,” he goes to tap his head, taking another gulp of his coffee. 

The morning air is cold all around you, and people pass pushing strollers or jogging—Saturday just beginning to spread over minds and wake those who’ve slept in. Johnny and you weren’t quite like that. 

“Our theory about the accelerant?”

“My theory,” Soap grumbles but nods. “Gasoline. Dogs found traces all over—there was a damn lot.” 

You tilt your head, glancing at him. “Fits the profile from the other cases except the ones involving casualties.” Your lips pull into a frown, Johnny’s face going more serious. “Weren’t those all started with matches to the curtains in the living rooms?”

“Aye,” Johnny tips his chin to you. “Couldn’t figure that out until—”

“Until you found the matchbox out in the lawn at one of the crime scenes, plus the busted locks on the front doors. All exactly the same.”

The fireman grunts, lips flickering as his face goes a bit red. “Know my job better than I do.” 

You pause, a small heat coming to your cheeks, eyes pausing in their search for new information. “I’m not the one who willingly goes into burning buildings, give yourself more credit.”

Johnny leans closer, chuckling. “Was that a compliment, Pencils?”

“No,” you slide out. 

He hums a sound of amusement, moving back as his form slouches into the bench. A bird darts past overhead, chirping. “Goin’ soft on me. ‘Bout time—I've been waiting.” 

You roll your eyes heavily, closing the manila folder and shifting it into your satchel. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” You face Soap head-on, taking in the deep blue of his eyes and the tease hidden in them. “The station? Home?” Your brow raises. “Animal shelter—I heard they take in strays.”

“Ah,” Johnny flinches, hand raising to his chest as he feigns hurt. “This how you thank your favorite public servant?” 

“You’ll live,” you grumble, standing and flattening out your long black coat. “Come on. Seeing as you’re not entirely lost to me, I’m getting breakfast today.”

Johnny’s beaming grin makes your lips pull in a low smile.

“And just like that,” he chuckles, standing up so that his boots hit the ground and his hand falls into his pocket. The empty cup in his hand is tossed into the trash. “I’m a picture-perfect specimen. Not that I wasn’t already, eh?”

“Oh, fuck off,” you breathe, voice exasperated even as your smile breeds along the lines of your face. 

The both of you take off side by side, legs mirroring the others’ pace one slow movement at a time. Throughout your meetings for information, Johnny and yourself have grown close to one another—Violet’s Dinner one of the many places that was the unfortunate hub for your intel swapping. However, it was only unfortunate for the patrons, not you.

Soap gave what he knows about the fires and the ways they were started, and you gave over potential next targets based on whatever you can piece together from your police informants as well as others. 

You hum as you both walk the trail, slowly weaving away from the bench and down to the gated entrance of the park, slipping past the black iron as John holds it open for you. 

“Besides the ol’ fire-freak, then,” Johnny begins, smiling over at you as he itches at his neck, large arm reaching up and flexing. “Any other big breaks?”

Head turning his way, you speak easily. “In which article—the multi-generational money laundering bust at Warren’s Electrical or the murders near Fifth Ave? Or even the drug smuggling near the docks?” 

Blue eyes blink. “...Eh…any of ‘em?”

You snort, turning back to the sidewalk and shrugging. 

“You asked.” You slyly begin, before getting into the mental paper that you still had to type and send into editing. “Roy Laurence committed the murders near Fifth Avenue—my informant with the SWAT team says he was arrested and booked within an hour of the green light. DNA and fingerprints found at the scene of the last victim.” You raise a hand. “Now, I just have to try and get a spot in the courtroom when a trial date is released.”

“Well,” Johnny breathes, sending you a veiled look after a moment. “Don’t mean to brag, Pencils, but I got to help an old lady cross the street yesterday.”

You laugh, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as Soap chuckles. The sidewalk continues, men and women passing at their slow paces as cars zip past; the fireman taking the chivalrous stance of the person beside the street unconsciously.

“And I’m sure she was very pleased, MacTavish,” you push out, shifting closer to him as an individual passes by, bumping your arm into his. 

“Aye, she was,” the man huffs proudly, puffing his chest. “Called me a handsome bloke and kissed my cheek. Blushed a bit.”

“Playboy,” you tease, eyes narrowed over at him. “Cheating on the mutts back at the station?”

Johnny gasps, putting on a serious face. “Don’t you call Mr. Spots a mutt, Dearie—that’s too far.”

“Christ,” you breathe, and an arm settles over your shoulders, shaking you a bit and squeezing your flesh before chuckles follow. 

Trying not to sink into the feeling of heat and the promise of fire, you live in this moment of nearly something. There was the close sensation of borderline affection—just brushing the sense of care and…pining. 

You knew the Scot was interested in you, or, at the very least, knew he had some modicum of attraction to you. Hell, the way he’d flirted with you when you’d propositioned him to be your link to the fire department was nearly laughable even today. All smirks and glinting eyes.

John was funny, no one was denying it. 

There was that firm push and pull between the two of you, a string attached to your wrists that wouldn’t snap—that had seemingly only grown stronger over the months of mystery. But the arsonist took precedence. 

Play can only come after work, and you were the picture of professionalism. Or maybe just stubbornness.

“The regular?” Johnny asks, letting you go as he pushes open the front door of Violet’s with his shoulder, keeping it there as you move inside and nod. 

“Sure. Same seats?” 

The fireman smirks. “Always.” 

You smile, walking off to the corner booth as John goes up to the front, waving down the familiar face of the waitress to let her know that the both of you are here. The two exchange pleasantries as you sigh and lean back into the red-cushioned seats, letting your satchel drop near your feet. Sending a text to your editor, you tell him that you’ll have an article written up about one of your ongoing fixations by Monday.

Johnny’s broad shadow soon graces you once more, carrying a plate of fresh bread with butter on it. 

“Lady’s a fuckin’ lifesaver,” he breathes. “Gave us free bread today.”

Your eyes dart over to Tammy, the waitress, who winks at you before disappearing to help another customer. Hiding the twitch of your lips, you raise a brow at John. 

“Don’t you usually get pancakes, too? Your stomach will explode,” you huff. 

“Ah,” his face scrunches in dismissal. “There’s always room for fresh bread.”

His large fingers are already around the body of a knife, slathering gooey butter on a steaming piece of the carb, chomping down and swallowing before he speaks—reaching for another.

 “So, spill it on me.”

Your fingers reach out, grasping some bread and bringing it to your lips. You chew, swallow, and ease out, “I think there are two arsonists.” 

Johnny pauses, wide eyes stuck on you as he stops his hand from bringing up the next piece of food. He blinks, his face tightens as he wonders over the information that you have, and then the groans out a long, “Fucking hell… one who’s doing it for kicks, the other who’s settling scores.”

“Precisely,” you shrug. “It explains the complete break in character, and we have enough fires to show that not only is the way the flames started different, but for different reasons as well. One wants to kill, the other can’t control it. Impulse.” 

“Makes sense,” Johnny grumbles, amused mood for the moment dropping to one of flashing anger. He taps his knuckles slowly on the table, thinking. “You tell the police this theory?”

“Nah,” you shake your head as your legs shift along the seat. “You know how the chief gets about me—I need to do some of my own leg-work. Get more evidence.”

The Fireman is already shaking his head with a chuckle that has no ounce of tease or jest in it. “Nah ah, no fuckin’ way am I letting you get involved with two arsonists—certainly not one that kills people, Hen.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not asking permission,” you smirk as your breakfast plates are brought over. Johnny’s is full of eggs, bacon, and pancakes, and you, your regular. You thank Tammy with a nod and take a sip of your small drink. “There has to be a connection between the victims. I’ve written about them before, my notes have the answers, I’m sure. I need to focus on one at a time—”

“Bonnie—”

“A possible Revenge-Motivated Arsonist is a far bigger threat than one that only has an impulse to light fires and not harm others. I’ll leave the ladder to you—”

A hand grabs at your own, grasping it firmly. Head snapping up to the square jaw ahead of you, which is tight, the stubble moving the scar along his chin one frown line at a time, you pause your quick rant. Face steadily heating as callouses run along your flesh like un-cut granite, your heart stutters.

“You’ll do nothing without me.” Johnny’s expression leaves no room for discussion. 

Mouth slightly parted, your eyelids blink before a squeeze is leveled out on your hand, and the Fireman shifts back. Your eyes follow, stuck on how his shirt hugs his large biceps and the gentleness of how he held you—how he always held you. 

Focus.

“You’re not getting dragged into this,” you chuckle, tilting your head seriously. “It could cost you your job.”

Johnny shrugs. “Only if I’m caught. If you're half as stubborn, as I already know you to be, Pencils,” he sighs, low smile coming to his lips. “Then I know you’ll be needing my level head.” Cobalt eyes twinkle.

You stare at him, blinking. Ignoring that skip in your pulse. As hard as you would like to try, you can’t say no to that face of his—that open expectation and firm choice.

“As level as a steep decline,” your grumble meets Soap’s ears, and the man’s face twists with an ingrained amusement that breeds the closer you are to him. It was easy to bounce jokes with you—like a pair of birds, squawking and puffing feathers, only stopping at strange intervals to preen one another before the loud chatter started anew. 

“And stop it with the dumb nickname already,” you glare. “It happened once.”

John drags his plate closer, picking up a piece of bacon and taking a bite out of it. “It isn’t every day you see a bonnie Hen with seven pencils in her breast pocket, is it? Hell of a first meeting with that serious face of yours and the sight of fabric practically ripping open.”

“I was in a rush,” your face burns, jaw rotating. “At least I was prepared, MacTavish.”

“Well, who’s sayin’ I wasn’t prepared?”

“Me!” Your fingers grab at your fork, pointing it at him. “You were practically covered head-to-toe in ashes!”

Red cheeks on his part, but always that adorning sheen to his expression.

“I was just in from a damn fire!”

Breakfast went as it usually did—good food and better company—but there was a deeper level to it now; a sharp edge of purpose. By the time the both of you were done, you’d already made up your mind to make it back to your apartment and gather the intel that you had. Find a starting point.

But, as mysteries like these always go, the good times came to a rapid cliff-drop. Johnny was muttering about his work schedule back on the sidewalk when he got the call. 

Phone to ear, you’d seen his face tighten—feet going completely still as you have to halt and look back at him, confused. A breeze goes by on the air, and your nose twitches to a sharp tang that leaves your fingers twitching.

“What do you mean, ‘fire on third street?’” Your body locks up, and Johnny’s face becomes devoid of pigment, watching yours closely. It was a strange emotion on his face; a hard and hesitant thing all at once. He was staring, brows pulled in as your lungs seemingly went to concrete inside of your ribs.

Third street? Fire? 

Soap’s voice goes even lower. Spine even more straight. “...Stillview apartments?” 

You’re already running before you can understand the severity of the revelation—dashing as Johnny yells after you to stop. 

That was your apartment building.

“Dearie!” The fireman shouts, his boots pounding after, but you had a head start, shoving through the crowds, dodging strollers and trash cans—bags and thrown curses. “Fucking hell, stop!”

Your form darts fast, heart hammering. Already your mind is running through every possibility and explanation. How could this be happening? Why? Has one of the arsonists found you out? But even then, it could only be the one intent on murder—countless others lived in your building; this was more than intent…it was a massacre.

Fires don’t just spark at a time like this to not be called connected.

Even over the air, you could hear sirens above Johnny’s loud pleas to slow down, moving as well as he could through the rush of people. 

He’s still on the phone, barking questions and the will of his legs to take him in the direction of the department building. But you. The back of your head in his black-sided vision. 

The man knows that if he doesn’t catch you, you’ll run straight into that blaze not only for the principal but your evidence. Your cork boards and their red strings—your pictures and printed articles. Johnny knew you had them, he wasn’t an idiot. 

You were too smart for your own good.

He was nearly there—just a few more steps and he could grab the back of your jacket like some stray cat, pull you back until you were in his arms. A fireman, yes, but he’d never get used to the inferno that was you; you consumed him utterly. It was an instant feeling for him, and even with the initial flirting, the immediate latching of his attention held fast. A bird to a wire. Hopeless, he was. Johnny was afraid at how much you trapped him in your ways—your looks and your…you-ness.

And you were only making him more afraid at this very instant. 

Soap was the only person ever supposed to be walking into fire.

“Hen!” The fireman barks, sharp and visceral. But you only take the next corner faster, satchel slapping against your thigh. 

“No,” you pant, legs dashing. “No, no, no. I left everything I need for this case in my filing cabinet!” 

This is what you get for trying to be organized for once.

You smell the smoke before you see it, and feel the heavy hand on your coat collar not a moment after you lock on it.

“MacTavish!” Your angered voice moves out, but it’s all strangled away in a fast moment of the screaming of sirens and the visible fire from your tall apartment building strikes you. Watching blankly, your face falls as strong arms reel you back into a chest. 

“Fuck,” Johnny growls, eyes wide as he looks on, phone clenched tightly in one hand. His jaw writhes with tension, vision darting from one fire truck to another and the men available to help. People were doing a myriad of things—screaming, running, watching—but through it all, there was the presence of fear coupled with a static anticipation. 

Panting heavily, you watch your life’s work go up in flames, and feel the tight arms of your informant keep you close.

You learn that if you don’t adapt to this fire sooner or later, it’s going to consume you. And still, you can’t understand if you’re talking about Johnny, who murmurs quick words of comfort into your ear, or the case that just locked you in with chains of commitment and rage.

The real work had just begun as ashes fell like snow to the street; the spray of the firetruck’s water flew with sure aim. Your face hardens, and you feel that worried grip tighten, bringing you into a ramshackle hug.

You have an arsonist to catch, and not a single person would stop you now.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[runaeveena]

Your dashboard if you were in a d&d fantasy world still involved in fictional erotica discourse part 2

⛰️ berenicesblade Follow

now that the new Mountain Angel volume has come out can we please tag spoilers, some of us are still waiting for our pigeon mail

🦚 faeynadaughter Follow

you can access the volume in full on TomePlane!

🎭 bardcampistrash Follow

until TomePlane acknowledges that its interplanar storage is made possible by binding aboleths to the plane and killing them then we are going to continue not using that platform, thanks

🦚 faeynadaughter Follow

aboleths killed my cousin who was a royal cleric. ill never understand why theres a whole movement to protect abyssal creatures when theyve caused so much damage to our kingdoms. and disliking a pocket dimension which provides thousands of people access to books? your attitude reeks of anti literaturism and mal-aligned virtue signaling and im not sure which is worse

🫒 tenthday237 Follow

Aliizya gets pregnant on page 62

⛰️ berenicesblade Follow

banished

620 Notes

🏰 finchtruther Follow

okay but the way that faelor finch writes every song that perfectly fits pennbiel liiike its giving closet fangirl

🧭 waywardwarlock

seriouslyy!! like what else is "give me your unmarked hand / in the shadowfell we won't be a secret" supposed to be about if not pennipher and corabiel

16 Notes

🌫️ cloudgiant-snailboy Follow

yall please dont fill up the unseen servant tag with your super fucking weird smut posts im just looking for tips on how to find my unseen servant

🪡 scç-writer

the search function on tomeblr does need to be updated but we dont have to kinkshame :)

🌫️ cloudgiant-snailboy Follow

the site is being overrun by virgin degenerates

🍯 treebarkhookhandwagondoor

sounds like you need Wilam the Wizard with Wandering Hands to help you summon the unseen stick in your ass

290 Notes

🗝️ crypt-princess Follow

so whose going to be the first to commission a painting of that scene with Aliizya and the beholder 👀

🍎 bloodmaledickening Follow

i already asked my local artisan he said he's gotten two other commissions for the same scene lmao

🐁 softbarbarian

girl i commissioned a tapestry

45 Notes

🕯️ andersfirelight Follow

friendly reminder that devil deals are a real thing that a lot of people fall victim too and that demons are malicious and do destroy peoples lives if theyre not careful so please be careful when consuming works like Hellionfinity which romanticizes devil deals and fiendish soul contracts

🌾entangled-farmer Follow

imo any work of fiction that involves a romance between any type of fiend is not just problematic but harmful

🕯️ andersfirelight Follow

i used to be indifferent to books that had devil romance interests because like thats their whole thing theyre seducing people to get their souls and the mc overcomes it, but reading through the replies i see that Hellionfinity actually ends with the devil character as the main romantic lead which is super problematic in terms of power imbalance and the fact that he has a redemption arc is so out of touch especially since our military is finally recovering from the azgurian assault

🧚🏻‍♂️arms-of-faelor

helliofinity also has a scene where the main character uses a soul coin that an imprisoned mortal gave him and he uses it to bring the devil out of avernus so he doesnt fully die and no one in the book mentions it or talks about how messed up it is to use soul coins and we never see the now bound to hell prisoner ever again

🕯️ andersfirelight Follow

hellionfinity officially cancelled on my end!

88 Notes

☘️ celest-ial Follow

moment of silence for all the customers waiting on drink orders while the tavern wench gets her back blown out by a new guy every night ✊😔

🦁 king-killa Follow

the gods work hard but Girthy Gladys gets worked harder

57,022 Notes

🎲 beholdersbeholdingme

paladin and warlock romances are OUT! cleric and necromancer romances are IN!

🪭 royalcoinpurse Follow

the only thing a cleric should do to a necromancer is beat him to death so she can revive him and kill him again

🎲 beholdersbeholdingme

❇️ arch-dryad Follow

i think we need to analyze why we're so quick to place women in categories of devious seductress or healer in romance novels as if that hasnt been the pervasive trope that holds magic-touched women back in our actual society

🍯 treebarkhookhandwagondoor

why do you assume these fictional tropes are mf couples only? can a gay cleric not beat his gay necromancer boyfriend to death?

🎲 beholdersbeholdingme

and off! beat him off cmon guys

5,275 Notes

🧀 weremouse Follow

yall ever be talking or whatnot and feel like no one understands you

🪨 sebrenenogdon Follow

ᛄᚠ ᛡᚢ ᚳᚪᚾ ᚱᛁᛞ ᚦᛄᛋ ᛡᚢ ᚺᚪᚠ ᛏᚢ ᚱᛁᛒᛚᚪᚷ ᚦᛄᛋ

🧀 weremouse Follow

say that shit fr (<- looking around clueless)

🪨 sebrenenogdon Follow

ᛋᛁᚱᛁᚪᛋᛚᛁ

60 Notes

🌠 crownofstars

remember when that person made a call out post for the author of ilairepeler for using a ghost writer and it turned out the author was an actual ghost. writing. like a literal ghost writer. like.

🍄gnomestool Follow

arent you the dwarf that fucked a slaad

🌠 crownofstars

how would you like to become a ghost so you can write more witty comments like this for eternity

301 Notes

[lindenforest]

i reiterate for like the third time that i do not treat it as shameful and dirty. things dont have to be shameful and dirty to keep them private! like, if you dont want to talk about your job on the internet, it doesnt actually mean you earn your living by trafficking babies! if you dont want to talk about an opinion on the internet, it doesnt mean youre actually ashamed of it, it just might mean youre not in the mood to have people argue with it about you or something!

(case in point. should have kept this private too. just wanted someone like me to see and know theyre not alone, i guess.)

would you demand to go through someones phone and say they must be hiding something bad or else theyd let you? hopefully, if youre a decent human being, no! same principle. why does privacy automatically equal dirty to you?

“my blog is blank because i have nothing to post” bestie reblog those fics you’ve been serial liking

[chaos-in-deepspace]

LADS Zayne: Shades of Jade | NSFW

Okay so I legit wrote this weeks ago but I never got around to fully editing it, and at this rate I never would. Had @zayne-li check for typos so here we go. No crazy fic edits but I mean...I think it's still good without it. Anyway, this is the pegging Shifu fic.

❧ Pairings: Zayne x Reader ❧ Warnings: Pegging, Bottom Zayne, Top Reader, Gender Neutral Terms, AFAB Reader, Oral Sex (M Receiving), Anal Fingering ❧ Synopsis: You adored Zayne so much, and while intimacy was still new to you, there was something you were dying to try on him. Something you had found out when you had gone out to town and talked with some of the ladies there. So you worked hard on a piece of jade you found, too embarrassed to ask a craftsman to make it for you. Your only hope was that Shifu would be willing to let you try it on him. ❧ Word Count: 7.5k

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Zayne

Shade of Jade

Living alongside Shifu…Zayne had been a different experience. It was a simple routine you guys had fallen into after almost two years in the mountains. You knew him, knew his reactions, and you thrived off of it. You loved the man so much that sometimes it physically hurt. 

Routines, though, could sometimes get dull. It’s why you found yourself finding new hobbies whenever you could. Zayne had mentioned two months back that he had seen some jade in the nearby lake, which meant you had spent an entire week there. Ankle deep and searching for some jade. While you had procured a fair bit of jade, the piece you had found near the end of your hunt had been something else.

Even Zayne had been impressed when he saw the large chunk of jade in your arms. The length of it was almost the size of your entire forearm. At first, you debated going into town and seeing if the local jade carver could make something out of it, but then an idea popped into your head. It wasn’t anything terrible, but you had plans and couldn’t find it in you to ask someone else to carve it.

It led to you at least seeking out the artisan in town and asking for a rundown. It had been a little old lady who had taken up the mantle after her husband had passed away. The woman had been more than happy to help you out, especially after admitting it was a present for your lover. So, you practiced on a few of the smaller pieces you found until you had enough confidence to make what you needed.

You had spent literal weeks on end with the project, smoothing things out and focusing on its details. Anytime Zayne was out working on charms, you were in the back with your project. He had only asked you about it once, and after telling him it was a surprise, he had let it go.

Sadly, you couldn’t make absolutely everything you needed from scratch. You had gone ahead and asked a leather maker to create some items as well, but you planned on assembling it yourself. The last thing you wanted was to be the talk of the town, for everyone to know exactly what you were working on.

You swore today would be the final day. You were so close to being done with the jade piece. The harness was finished as well, tucked away in a safe location for the time being. A homemade jar of boiled red seaweed was under the sink at the house, hidden away from Zayne’s eyes.

You could hear his footsteps as he approached you, and you hid the item underneath a blanket you kept on your lap, “Are you still working on that?” Zayne’s voice broke through as he leaned down over you. He knew whatever you were making was with jade, so you didn’t have to bother hiding the tools, at least.

“It’s a very…big project, mister,” You said while reaching up to pinch his cheeks, “However, it’s almost done. I should have it finished by late this evening.”

You felt his lips against your cheek as he gave you a small peck, “Then should I prepare myself to receive it later today?” he asked, pressing another kiss to your cheek. You giggled as you looked up at him, taking his face between your hands and dragging him down for a kiss.

“Yes, sir,” You finally said, and you could see his shoulders sagging in relief. He had been curious, of course, but knew better than to pry when it was something this important to you. Still, he had to stop himself many times from looking into it, finding out exactly what you had been spending weeks doing.

Zayne took your hand, now marred in shallow cuts, and brought them to his lips to kiss them, “I think I’ll be most excited that you’ll no longer be hurting yourself on my behalf,” he said, not letting go of your hand.

“It’s just part of carving jade; it’s fine. It’s not like they’re serious, and I haven’t nicked myself in almost two weeks. Look, they’re basically healed over now.” You said, and he let out a sigh.

“I suppose you’re right. I’ll be out-. “

“By the sacred tree, making charms, I know,” you had finished his sentence for him. He gave you a small smile before walking away, his robes flowing gently as he left you. You let out a small sigh as soon as he was gone and took out the object once more.

You just wanted to define one of the grooves near the bottom of the shaft. You had managed to turn a large chunk of jade into a toy, careful with how you carved it so you’d be able to fit it into your leather harness. It was only about five inches in length, which was plenty for what you wanted to use it for. Your hand went over its blunt tip.

You had done your best to make it look like a dick but did deviate to make some grooves and to accommodate the original shape of the jade. The very tip of it was curved, and depending on how you put it in the harness, it would be either up or down. 

The idea itself had come to you almost the moment you had looked at the raw chunk of jade. You read up on male anatomy, and after finding out about the prostate and males having sex with one another, you wanted to be the one to fuck Zayne. You had no idea how he would receive the request, though. It was taboo, and you hadn’t really heard a lot of others talk about it before. You guys were still getting used to casual sexual intimacy, after all.

When you first slept with Zayne, it was the first time either of you had done anything like it. Ever since then, you were in a constant state of wanting to jump the man, to feel him inside of you. Oftentimes, he’d be doing most of the work, so you wanted to return the favor.

It took another hour before the final touches were done. The smooth jade didn’t have any harsh edges that might hurt Zayne, and it looked perfect. You searched around, pulled out the leather harness you had assembled, and slotted it inside. It fit perfectly, which you had hoped. It was literally made for it, after all.

You took the jade out of the harness and placed it in a small satchel. You then undid your robes after looking around to make sure Zayne wasn’t nearby, then began fastening the harness around your hips. You made sure it was snug around your hips and thighs, not able to move much.

The final step was going into the kitchen and finding the lubricant you had made. The sweet old jade lady had taught you how to make it after you had casually asked her. She had an almost knowing look in her eyes when she explained how to make it from the red seaweed that could be purchased in town. You had the oddest feeling that she knew what you were up to, but you had done your best to remain calm and neutral about the situation.

You looked over the small jar, then placed it into the satchel as well. You secured it together and checked to make sure your robes covered the harness. You opted to just wear the first layer of clothing, knowing that the current weather outside wouldn’t be too cold at this time of year. The less you had to take off, the better. After all, you’d have to disrobe Zayne, which in itself was going to be difficult. The god wore far too many layers.

You left the sanctuary of your home and made your way outside. The sacred tree was right there, and you could see Zayne sitting at the table outside, working on the charms just like he said he would. Your strides were fast as you quickly closed the distance between you two.

Zayne didn’t even look up; instead, he focused on his brush strokes as he spoke. “Have you finished your project?” he asked as you looked down at his hands. They were always so elegant, and you wondered how he never got the ink over the white of his gloves. You assumed centuries of doing calligraphy would make it easier not to make mistakes.

“I did,” you said while placing the satchel on the table. He finished what he was doing and put the charm to the side with the growing pile of them. He looked at the satchel curiously, then back up at you.

“It looks larger than I expected,” He admitted to you, causing you to smirk. You wondered if he even knew what he was talking about as your head went to the gutter for a second.

“How about we clean some of this up before you open it, hm?” you asked as you went to take the dried charms. He had a large box next to him on the ground, where he’d put the slips of paper after they were finished.

Zayne helped you as he delicately picked up the still-wet pieces, careful not to allow any smudges, “Will you be helping me make these later? It’s been a while since we were last able to make charms side by side; I can’t lie and say I haven’t missed it.” His words were sweet, and you blushed a bit.

“We can tomorrow. I think we’re going to be a bit preoccupied tonight.” You said as the table was finally cleared. Zayne was now looking at you with confusion. The sun wouldn’t be setting for another two hours, and he doubted opening a present would take that much time.

“If you say so,” He went to gingerly take the bag, but you stopped him quickly and cleared your throat.

“Um, a little bit of context for this present…I wanted to try something new with you if that’s alright.” You finally got out, and you could see the cogs in his head turning. He blinked owlishly, trying to understand exactly what you were implying, “I want to try something new with…sex,” you clarified.

His mouth opened in a small ‘o’, “So you made something for that?” while Zayne wasn’t terribly well versed in a lot of things humans did in the bedroom, he did know about toys. You had, after all, explained it to him a few times. You even used a rope at one point, but you guys hadn’t tried anything too out there yet.

He finally went and opened the gift, his hands carefully pulling out the well-made jade dildo. He turned it in his hands, fingers running over the edges for a moment as he admired your handiwork. “You made this yourself.” There was no judgment there; if anything, you could hear a little bit of pride in his tone.

“Ya, I didn’t exactly know how to ask a little old lady to…make a phallic object like this.” You admitted to him, and his eyes sparkled with a sense of amusement.

“You did a wonderful job,” he complimented, as though he weren’t holding an artificial dick and instead held something fancy like an accessory. Well, in a sense, it was going to be an accessory for you to wear.

You watched as he then placed the item onto the table, and pulled out the jar of lube next. He turned that in his hand as well before uncapping in. He could see the liquid inside and smelled it. It was familiar to him, and he could hazard a guess as to what it was.

“So, did you want me to use these objects on you?” He wasn’t sure why you’d want to use a toy. It was very well made, but you didn’t need one. He had told you in the past that he would always be available if you had urges. He wouldn’t lie and say his thoughts on you were always pure, either. He was almost a little…resentful that you’d prefer using a toy rather than himself.

“Well, actually, I wanted to use it…on you.” You finally said, waiting to see his reaction. His eyes snapped open, then looked over towards the toy, then back at you. It was like something finally clicked in his head, and you could see how the tips of his ears were now a bright red tone.

“Why would you…I mean,” he didn’t even know how to respond to that. The thought of an object going inside of him was certainly something he hadn’t even entertained the possibility of.

“So I mean, I’ve read up on some scrolls. And while it’s frowned upon for men to be with one another, there’s still a lot of…if you know how to find it…writings on it.” You admitted. You had at one point been speaking to a few ladies at the local bathhouse, and one of them had mentioned it before. After getting to know the group they had…let you read a few scrolls of men making love to one another. They always seemed to really enjoy it, and while you didn’t have a dick yourself, you figured making one would be fine.

“You won’t be able to feel anything though. Is the way we do it currently not to your liking?” he almost seemed upset when he posed this question.

You walked up to him and cupped his cheeks, “Don’t ever think I don’t enjoy being with you. I love the feeling of you, the connection, the intimacy. I love everything about it. I just wanted to be the one giving this time around. It should feel good.” You said, “And I have a good idea as to what needs to be done, so it does feel nice.”

Zayne seemed to think about it before nodding, “Could you explain then? I think I’d like to have a good idea as to what exactly you’d like to do.” He said, and you felt your shoulders sag. He seemed a little more open to the idea now, and you nodded.

“Well I made some lubricant to help coat the toy and…your entrance,” Zayne seemed to flush and avoid eye contact at that bit, “As long as I properly stretch you open with my fingers first, it should just…slide in without much issue. You’ll have to relax first…then there’s the uh…cleaning that would need to be done to avoid…” you didn’t exactly know how to word the next part. Zayne seemed to have gotten the hint, however, with how he nodded.

“That…shouldn’t be an issue. I’m not a human, so…” he said, and now it was your turn to flush. Not what you had been expecting, but it was better. You had read up on cleaning methods, and while you would be there to support your partner, you’d doubt he’d want you there for it.

“Well then…that makes things easier. So…would you be okay with me making love to you?” you finally said. His breath caught in his throat at the way you phrased it.

He finally nodded and gave you a small smile, albeit a little embarrassed, “If you’d truly like to, I’d be willing to try at least once. Besides, it would be a shame if the jade implement you created wasn’t ever used. I know how hard you worked on it.” He said, and you let out a happy noise from the back of your throat.

“Alright, then, let’s prepare you,” you said as you stepped closer. Your hands were placed carefully on either side of him as he found himself caged between you and the table behind him.

“You’d like to do this here?” he said, and you nodded. You cupped the back of his neck as you dragged him down to your level. Your lips ghosted over one another as you breathed in one another’s air.

“It’s not like we haven’t done things in nature before. Nobody can find this place, after all. It’s just the two of us right now.” You said before leaning up to kiss him. Zayne always melted into your lips the moment they were on his. Closing his eyes and just enjoying the feel of you. His hands went to your waist, dragging you closer to his body as your lips melded together.

He let out a small moan as you bit his bottom lip, getting access to his mouth as your tongue pressed against his own. He let you guide the kiss this time, shivering when he felt one of your hands on his hip. It rested there for a moment before it began traveling to the front. You moved your body slightly away from his own so you’d have a better angle to work with.

Your hand went to cup him through the layers of clothing he had. Despite all the fabric, you could feel him. The faint warmth and the subtle twitch of his cock underneath his trousers. He groaned into the kiss, his hips moving on their own as your tongue went to the roof of his mouth. It was always so easy to rile him up; just from kissing and talking about sex, he was already rock hard.

Your mouth finally left his own as your lips attached to where his earlobe was, taking it between your lips and sucking it. He let out a gasp, feeling your hand moving from his crotch to his arms. Your fingers danced on his forearm until you found one of the clasps that held his gloves to his robe. With deft hands, you unclasped one of them and used your hand to trail down to his palm, playing there for a moment before taking his glove off.

You did the same with his other, taking it off with almost a practiced ease. This time, you took his hand in your own, squeezing it as you savored being able to feel his without anything in the way. The warmth seeping from his palm into your own had you let out a small moan. Your kisses had trailed to his jawline, sucking a small mark there as well.

Your hand slipped from his and went up to his front, working the clasps of his cloak off. “I know I’ve told you this before, but…” you trailed as you pushed off the bands around his shoulders, “Your outfit is really pretty, but it’s a nightmare to take off, especially when I want to see you naked beneath me.”

He let out a moan from your words, allowing you to work the cape off of him. It fell gracefully onto the ground, and he was left in his robes and pants, “Now do me a favor and remove your boots for me.”

Zayne lifted his leg up enough for him to work the clasps off his boots, all while watching as you undid the bottom of your robes and pushed them to the side. His eyes widened when he noticed the leather straps around you. He was now understanding what you meant when you said you wanted to make love to him. He had thought you’d be using the toy with your hands, not like this.

He swallowed the lump in his throat as he felt you come close to him again. Your lips were now able to attach to his neck as you peppered it in kisses. His hands went down to his pants, intent on taking those off as well, but you were already working on something else, your hands starting to undo the ties of his robe and letting the garment fall off his shoulders.

Your hands went down, playing with the hem of his pants before tugging them down his waist. With all the layers he wore, it was always shocking to you to find out he didn’t wear underwear. Not that you’d ever complain about such a thing. You watched as Zayne kicked away the pants around his ankles, leaving him bare from the waist down.

You didn’t hesitate in dropping down to your knees, your mouth pressing kisses to his inner thighs. He twitched the moment he felt the heat of your lips kissing him. He was always so bashful when you went down on him, assuring you it wasn’t necessary, but you loved it. Loved watching him crumble in front of you from how good it all felt. It was your favorite activity.

His cock was already leaking as you wrapped a hand around the shaft, giving it a few small pumps and watching as his eyes almost rolled back. You pushed down the foreskin and licked at the slit; a groan erupted from the back of Zayne’s throat as he looked down, watching your every move.

Zayne’s hands were fisting the edge of the table, his nails scraping it every so slightly as he focused on his breathing. He felt how you wrapped your mouth around the head, slowly sliding down on his length as you hummed at the taste. Oddly enough, you had found Zayne to be on the sweeter end of flavors. You had heard women discuss it before, talking about their partner being bitter and salty. While that held true, it wasn’t bad at all. You would often have him cum in your mouth and swallow it happily, never gagging from the taste.

You took your mouth off of him with a pop and began stroking him again, “Can you open that jar and hand it to me?” you asked, smirking once you saw him snap back to what was going on. He had been so zoned out while you worked on his dick that he almost didn’t hear you.

With slightly shaky hands, you watched him go and grab the tub of lube. He opened the jar and held it out for you to dip your fingers inside of it. The substance was slippery and a bit more on the watery end of the spectrum. It would certainly work with what you had planned, though, as you adjusted your position between his legs.

Your finger came up, prodding at his entrance, and you could feel how he tensed up. He let out another groan as he looked down at you with hesitant eyes. Even as you prodded, your finger wouldn’t slip in easily. He was so damn tight that, for a moment, you wondered if this would even work.

“You need to calm down, love,” you said, pressing a kiss to his thigh. You heard the little gasp leaving him as his legs opened up more for you.

“I’m trying, but it’s…different,” He didn’t know how to put it into words. He never thought about putting anything inside of him like this, so his entire body was being held taut. The tension in him not wanting to snap as all his muscles clenched up.

Your finger continued to circle his entrance before realizing it wouldn’t do you any good until you managed to calm him down some. A distraction of some kind was certainly needed at the moment, and you trailed your eyes over to the table and spotted something that could be used.

“My heart, can you hand me the calligraphy brush with a bit of ink?” you finally asked, pressing another kiss on the opposite side of his thigh. Zayne’s eyes followed your gaze and noticed what you were referring to, realizing that it hadn’t been taken off the table in your little moment of cleaning earlier.

“Might I ask…what for?” he said, not knowing what you had planned. You laughed in response as you bit down on his thigh. He grunted and bit down on his lower lip before going to grab you the item.

“It’s not for anything bad, I promise,” you assured him. As he handed you the brush, you leaned back. Your hand, still slick with lube, made it a little hard to hold, but it would be fine. It wasn’t like you were about to paint a piece of artwork on the man, after all.

Instead, you slowly took the brush over his thigh and drew a heart shape on it. Zayne shivered in response to the cool ink touching his skin, and he looked down at your little project. Next to the heart, you began drawing a small jasmine flower, and he sighed.

“What are you doing? Painting on my thighs?” he asked, not knowing why you were stopping like this. You chuckled as you began writing your name on his thigh next, deliberate with every brush stroke.

“I’m giving you a break,” you said as you finished writing your name, “You looked like you needed some time to calm down.”

You handed the brush back to him, and he couldn’t help himself. He ran the brush gently over your cheek, drawing some unknown design onto your face. You gave him a little smile as you kissed the drawings you had done, pressing right underneath them to not taint your mouth with the fresh ink.

“I thank you for your consideration,” he said as he placed the brush back where it belonged. In that moment, he felt your finger back against him, now pressing into his entrance. He let out a loud, surprised groan as your finger was finally able to slip inside of him.

Your mouth was back on his cock, sucking him down and licking at the veins that went up his shaft. Your finger slowly fucking into him the entire time as Zayne closed his eyes.

He wasn’t sure how he should feel or react. It didn’t feel particularly nice, and it was a strange, foreign sensation. It didn’t feel bad either, though, which confused him. Perhaps it was due to you sucking his dick at the same time that made him so confused with how this all felt. He just knew that he was finding himself enjoying the process.

He let out a long, drawn-out moan as he felt another finger slipping inside his entrance. You began scissoring your fingers, intent on stretching him out as much as you could. He was grunting, letting out small moans, and even a whine managed to escape him as you worked him.

Your free hand went to grab onto his thigh, smearing a bit of your handiwork and leaving a hand-print. Zayne’s hand went to thread into your hair, pushing it out of your way as you began hollowing your cheeks out. You hummed around his shaft, feeling how his fingernails were gently scraping against your head. Your eyes were closed as you focused on the task at hand.

More of his pre cum began sliding down your throat, and you could feel his dick twitching. He was already so close, but you wanted him to cum from the strap. You didn’t want to tire him out so quickly, so you slowly withdrew your mouth and fingers from him. He had loosened up a decent amount from all the stimulation you had been giving him, and you were pretty sure he’d be able to take your cock now.

Zayne held back a whine after you left him; instead, your mouth now pressed sloppy, wet kisses to his thighs as you allowed him to calm down. You slowly rose back up until you were able to drag him down for another quick kiss. He moaned when he could taste himself on your lips, his tongue darting out to lick at you.

You couldn’t deny him anything, allowing him to explore your mouth for a moment as he rolled his hips into your stomach, seeking something to help him feel good. When you parted, you leaned forward to suck at his Adam’s apple, watching as he whined before you spoke against his skin.

“Alright, baby boy, did you want me to lay you on your back against the table, or would you prefer to be standing and bent over, facing away from me?” you decided to give him the option. Both sounded good; you’d be able to watch his facial expressions if he was on his back. If he were bent over, it would be easier to watch the artificial dick sliding into his entrance.

“I’m…unsure,” he finally got out, his voice coming out a bit huskier right now, “Which position is easier for the first time?” he said the last part, quieter, hesitant in his wording.

“I’ve heard being bent over is a bit easier, but whatever you’re comfortable with,” you said, letting him get the final say in the situation.

He took another moment to debate before he nodded, “Alright, then that’s how we’ll do it,” he said, and you smiled. You kissed him again, this time chaste and kick. You then worked on moving the bottom of your robes out of the way as they had fallen in front of you again.

You grabbed the jade dildo from next to him and began working into the harness—the tiny o-ring allowed it to be secure against your pelvis so it wouldn’t be moving around. Zayne couldn’t help himself, now opting to stare at you with the phallic object strapped to you.

He couldn’t help the way his cock twitched at the sight, realizing he might like this more than he anticipated. You looked stunning like this, and he wanted more. He wanted to see more, to feel more; he wanted everything. Even if it was embarrassing to be so vulnerable, he knew you’d never judge him. You two always took things one step at a time, something he adored about you.

As soon as everything was secure, you looked at him, “Alright, turn around,” you instructed. Zayne took one final moment to admire you before doing what he was told. He turned around so he was facing the table, and before he could do anything, he felt your hand on his back, pushing him down so he was resting on his forearms. It wasn’t a position he ever thought he’d be in with you, and he was realizing how you must feel at times with how exposing this was.

He felt your foot nudging at his own, signaling for him to part his feet a little more. He adjusted accordingly, and then he felt your hands on his ass. You squeezed down on the plumpness of his butt for a moment, admiring how firm yet squishy it still was. You knew he had a nice ass, but it was always hidden by about ten layers of clothing, so you could never admire it. Now, you had every intention of watching it jiggle with every thrust of your hips.

He watched your hand reach next to him, dipping back into the already open jar of lube. You grabbed a decent amount this time, enough for some to slip between your fingers and onto the desk. While Zayne couldn’t see what you were doing, he could hear it. The wet squelching noises as you coated the fake cock in the slippery fluid to help it go into his ass without resistance. 

“Are you ready?” your voice broke the quiet of the moment. Zayne looked behind him to see you towering over him, one hand on the dildo and the other parting one of his cheeks so you’d have an easier time seeing it. His ears and cheeks were painted in a pretty, vibrant red hue.

“Yes,” it was all he could really think to say at that moment. He watched as your face turned into a gentle smile at his words.

“Alright, let me know if you need me to stop at any time. Just say the word jasmines, alright?” you said, and he nodded.

He took in a shaky breath, “Okay, just please…put it in already,” the longer he waited, the more time he had to second guess if this was what he really wanted.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his words; you pressed the tip of the artificial dick against his entrance and watched as the tip managed to breach the tight ring of muscle. He let out a gasp, his body instinctively leaning away from the intrusion. 

You cooed, rubbing at his ass as you slid a little more into him. You could feel the resistance as he clamped down on it, not allowing you to push in any further, “Calm down, baby boy,” you said gently. You didn’t want it to sound like scolding, but you knew if he kept tensing up, then this wouldn’t be a fun experience for either of you.

He pressed his face into the sleeves of his robes, his shoulders bare from how it had slid down. He let out a slight nod in confirmation, too flustered to even look back at you. You watched as he took in a few shaky breaths, willing his body to relax for you. As soon as you felt the resistance faltering, you pushed more of the toy into him.

You heard him whine as you took a moment to pull out a bit and thrust in, getting a little bit deeper this time. His body jolted forward, and his legs parted a little more as he arched his back. He dared to look over at you, his lidded eyes staring you down as you repeated the motion.

It still felt odd to him, and without something touching his cock it wasn’t as good as before. He wondered if it would even be possible for him to get off like this. If he wasn’t going to cum, he would let you know. Perhaps ask if you could at least play with his body a bit so he could get released, then finish off by spreading your thighs around his face so he could repay the favor.

His inner musings were cut short; however, when he felt the rest slip inside of him. He suddenly felt so complete as he balled his fists up and closed his eyes. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before, and everything was almost too much for him to handle.

His hand reached behind him, grabbing onto your thigh in an almost bruising grasp. It was desperate and needy as he cleared his throat, “G-give me a moment,” he said through clenched teeth, “Need to ah-adjust,” he said. His heart felt like it was pounding right out of his chest in the moment.

“Alright, let me know when I can move,” you said, running your hands down his back. He shivered at the contact, but the touch was grounding for him. He was trying to focus on everything but the intense pressure building in his stomach and the fullness he currently felt.

It was…pleasant. To be stuffed like this was something he had never entertained, but now that he was experiencing it firsthand, he realized it wasn’t a bad sensation. It still wasn’t incredibly arousing, but it was something else. He felt a little sentimental, realizing that this was yet another first experience you two were sharing. Your first kiss, first time having sex, first time cuddling with someone to bed, everything with you was so new.

“So pretty…” you couldn’t help but admire as you waited. You weren’t in a rush, wanting him just to feel good. You were aiming for him to cum from the cock alone, and you were confident you could achieve it if you got the angle right, “So beautiful, all for my eyes and my eyes only,” you muttered, and Zayne let out a content sigh.

“I’m ready,” he finally got out, ready to allow you to properly begin fucking into him. With his consent, you slowly took the dick out until it was about halfway in there, then you rolled your hips back in. The little mewl he let out was like music to your ears as you repeated the motion.

Now that you were moving, it was starting to feel better for Zayne. It wasn’t uncomfortable with the stretch anymore, and he could feel the grooves of the implement scraping gently on his insides. It had him wanting to whimper, but instead, he opted to sink his teeth into the fabric of his robe’s sleeve. He could feel your pace begin to pick up, a steady rhythm coming from you.

Every thrust punched the air out of his lungs as he tried to focus on not making too many noises. If it were the usual moaning or grunting, it would be fine. Instead, he felt the tiny little wails threatening to escape his throat as he clenched his fists until his nails were digging into his palms.

“Zayne, I want to hear you,” you managed to get out, sliding one hand up to his hair. You knew he liked hair pulling; you had done it several times to him in the past. It was never too harsh, but you were tempted right in that moment. With the angle you had him in and how he was focusing on hiding all his pretty noises, damn, were you tempted.

Zayne made no move in extracting the sleeve from his mouth, still working on being silent as you fucked into his ass. You let out a small sigh, deciding just to try it out. He had the safe word if he felt uncomfortable with something you did, after all.

While your thrusting began picking up, the hand that was on his back was wrapped around the base of where his hair was tied. You let a few locks slip out until you were right under it, and then you tugged hard. He cried out as his head snapped back from the movement, a pitiful whimper escaping him.

His mouth now hung open as he let his moans out freely. He began adjusting his position, trying to get more comfortable now that you were holding onto his ponytail like this. His hands were flat against the table as his arms straightened up to help him up a touch.

“Good boy, just like that,” you managed to say between breaths, the constant movement of your hips as you angled the fake cock getting to you. You never realized how much of a workout this could be, but the sight of the jade dildo disappearing in his ass had you transfixed, as well as the loud moans and whines he was letting out.

Zayne’s breathing was coming out as pants now; he could feel that familiar coil building up. He had doubts he’d be able to cum like this, but now he was sure it was not only possible but inevitable. He was getting closer with every thrust of your hips as his cock began sliding against the table underneath him.

With the new position Zayne was in, you could angle your hips just right. You knew you finally found what you were looking for when he keened, the high-pitched noise mixing with the sounds of slapping.

“W-wait,” Zayne managed to get out. He hadn’t expected the feeling inside of him. Whatever you had managed to graze with the dick had done something to him. It felt so fucking good that he couldn’t even form a coherent thought as the tip of the dildo slammed right back into it.

His cock was drooling onto the table, leaving a small puddle underneath him. He wanted to hide his face, hide from you, but he couldn’t. The feeling of your hand still tugging at his ponytail kept his face upright, so he was looking up at the sky. The multi-colored light blurred in his vision as the sun started to set.

Zayne’s body now shook, and you had to release his ponytail to grab onto his hips and make sure he didn’t collapse in on himself. He was unsteady as his eyes went unfocused, “N-need a, feel mhm p-plea ah differ-ah haaaa,” he couldn’t even get the words out through the cloud of lust engulfing him. The thrusting left him breathless as you continued abusing that sweet spot inside of him.

You could see how his hands were clawing at the table underneath him, leaving physical marks of his pleasure on the wood. You were certain any time the man was working; he’d see those and get hard off the memory of what you did. You watched as drool began forming in the corner of his mouth, his face being just barely visible enough for you to see what was happening.

You then watch as his cheek is pressed against his arm, laying his upper body back down onto the table as he couldn’t hold himself up. It looked like he was going to try and say something, but the words were lost on his lips. Not that you needed him to speak; after all, his body’s reaction was enough to tell you what he wanted to say.

You watched his cock jump, painting the table in his cum. The pearly white substance smeared where his cock was, getting onto some of his robes as it joined the puddle of pre underneath him. He was utterly debauched at this moment, unable to form a coherent thought as you milked his prostate, getting an orgasm to roll off of him in waves.

It had been like nothing he experienced thus far. He knew that an orgasm felt amazing, but this time, it was like it had gone through his entire body and left his head feeling a bit fuzzy. You smiled as you continued holding him up, rolling your hips into his sweet spot gently until his dick stopped leaking.

There were tears in the corners of his eyes as he shook from exertion, the climax draining him and leaving him feeling completely boneless in the moment. The only thing he could think about was being held by you, to hear your voice gently coax him back to reality.

It was something you wanted as well, as you slowly pulled the fake cock out of him. He let out a pitiful whimper, almost missing the full feeling of your strap inside of him. He looked back at you with a hazy expression, not knowing if he needed to speak at the moment.

“You did so good, my love,” you said as you began working the straps off of your hips. You placed the now dirty toy off to the side, knowing you could clean it at a later date. You then looked around and grabbed the nearby chair. You dragged it over to you two and sat down on it, then spun your lover around and made him sit on your lap.

Despite his size, he was curling up into you. His face tucked into the crook of your neck as he nuzzled into you. He breathed in your scent and savored the moment of closeness. He could hear your voice whispering gentle praises to him as your hands were placed with his hair for a moment, before running down his hips and soothing them with your caress.

You pressed a kiss to his exposed shoulder, and it was enough to get him to come back to you finally. The haze in his eyes cleared up as he continued nuzzling into your neck, not wanting to leave just yet.

“I think…I’m better now,” his voice came out hoarse as he spoke to you. You stopped your kisses for a moment as you nudged him off your shoulder so you could look at him properly. Your hands cupped his face as you took in his appearance.

His cheeks and ears still held a flush, and his bangs messily stuck to his forehead. Unshed tears were still in his eyes, and you swiped your thumb over the corner of his mouth to clean up the wet mess from his drool.

“You’re so pretty,” you murmured, leaning forward to kiss him. He closed his eyes and basked in the moment with you, kissing you back lazily as your lips melded with his own. When you parted, you spoke up, “Are you feeling better now?”

He nodded his head, “Yes, a bit,” he said as he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against your own. You looked up at him, admiring every part you could see.

“We should head to the river soon, get you properly cleaned up…” Despite your words, neither of you made a move to get up and break the moment.

“Perhaps later; I’m unsure I can walk at the moment,” he sighed, “My legs are shaking still,” when you placed your hands over his thighs, you could feel the slight tremble.

“Take your time then; we’ll go when you’re ready,” you assured him, “I love you; I hope you know that,” 

He smiled as he opened his eyes, “I’m aware; I love you as well,” it was sappy, it was sweet, but honestly, it fits with how he was. Soft, gentle, and completely yours in whatever way you could have him.

[ninii-winchester]

Trust In Ashes

Pairing : Dean Winchester X Reader

Word count : 2.7k

Warnings : angst, alot of angst, demons, blood, violence, slight spoilers but not exactly following plot, language, mentions of injuries, dean(?) I’m sure he’ll never do anything like this but wtv, not proofread.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

The fluorescent lights of the cramped motel room flickered as Sam sat hunched over his laptop, the glow illuminating his focused expression. His fingers danced across the keyboard, searching for any leads on unusual supernatural activity. It had been a slow week for the Winchesters, but something was nagging at the back of Sam's mind.

After a few moments of scanning through local news sites, he stumbled upon a small article dated just a couple of days ago. The headline sent a chill down his spine: "Strange Occurrences in Willow Creek: Locals Report Electrical Disturbances and Missing Pets." He clicked on the link, his eyes darting over the text.

He glanced at the couple snoozing in bed, Y/n leans back against Dean, who wraps his arms around her in a protective embrace. The warm glow of a nearby lamp casts a gentle light over them, highlighting the content look on their faces. Their legs are tangled together, and they shift slightly to find the perfect position. Dean buries his face into her soft hair, breathing in the familiar scent, while the she relaxes into his embrace. 

Sam knew the news definitely had something to do with demons, the omens were there, he just wanted to wait for the couple to have a good sleep before they got on the road. Things have been tense with the apocalypse looming and the two angelic brothers wanting to jump Sam and Dean. The thought of being a vessel to Satan himself was something that made Sam uneasy. He almost never wanted to think of the repercussions of him saying yes to him, sometimes he felt his resolve waver but Dean and Y/n kept him grounded, even he was ever going to lose himself and say yes to Lucifer he was sure Dean would never allow Michael to take over his body and cause the end of the world.

As he shifted in his chair, the mattress creaked under Dean's weight. Sam turned slightly, watching them. Dean's brow furrowed in sleep, his protective instincts still active even in slumber. Y/n's hair fell across her face like a curtain, shielding her from the worries that had plagued them for weeks. Suddenly, a soft rustling from the bed drew his attention. Y/n stirred, her eyes fluttering open. "Sam? What's going on?" she asked taking in his distraught expression, her voice laced with sleep but edged with concern.

"Just some strange happenings in Willow Creek," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "Electrical issues and missing pets. I think it's connected to something... supernatural."

"Demons." Dean quipped waking up, his eyes fluttering open as he stretched. Sam nods in agreement as he was thinking the same.

“Willow Creek’s not far from here, actually. If we leave soon, we can get there by nightfall,” Sam replied, glancing over at Dean and Y/n. He knew they needed rest, but time was of the essence.

Dean’s hand found Y/n’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. “What do you think, sweetheart. You up for a little demon hunting?” His smirk was faint, but the affection in his eyes was unmistakable. His first instinct was to keep her out of danger but he would never ask her to stay back. Y/n offered a sleepy smile and nodded, though she couldn’t ignore the knot forming in her stomach.

Sam quickly packed up his laptop, his expression hardening as he prepared for the road ahead. The looming apocalypse was a weight that hung over them all, a constant reminder of what was at stake. But now all their focus was on whatever that was waiting for them in Willow Creek.

The drive to Willow Creek felt fairly short with Dean behind the wheel. Sam took a nap in the backseat while Y/n accompanied Dean in the front. The Impala rumbled to a stop outside a rundown motel on the outskirts of Willow Creek. They walked into the lobby, where a tired-looking receptionist barely lifted her eyes from the old TV on the counter. Dean leaned forward, flashing a charming smile. They got themselves a room with two beds and turned in for the night.

The next morning the trio decided to talk with the townspeople for more information on the unnatural occurrences around the town. They went to see the girl who had reported her pet cat missing. She was teenager named, Alice. She told them that Alice has been missing for days and she had last seen the in her room. Upon investigating the room, Y/n found traces of sulfur on the window sill and even caught a trail. She gestured her head to the boys to follow her. The trio moved through the dense woods just outside Willow Creek.

Y/n clutched a small iron knife, glancing around with cautious eyes, while Dean kept his shotgun at the ready, salt rounds loaded. Sam walked slightly ahead, scanning their surroundings for any signs of demons.

“This place is giving me the creeps,” Y/n murmured, shivering slightly as a cold wind passed through the trees.

“Yeah, something doesn’t feel right,” Dean agreed, his voice low. Just as Sam was about to speak, a few people came out of the trees, ambushing the trio.

“Well well well, look who we have here.” A female said inching closer to the three. “The Winchesters.” Dean narrowed his eyes at the woman and then Sam spoke.

“Meg?” He questioned looking at her curiously. She beamed at him sarcastically and tilted her head to look up at him.

“You recognised me, though i must say this suit is prettier than the last.” She said running her hands through her raven hair.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean growled aiming his gun at her. But she laughed at him, holding out her hand.

“Please Dean, don’t even try.” She closed her hand cutting off Dean’s air supply and making him drop the gun and clutch his neck. Y/n immediately moved to his side trying to help him. Meg quickly released him and he coughed up a bit before she spoke again. “Had to create hell lot of ruckus to get you guys here. But I just need Sam.” She said looking up at the tall man.

“Why?” Sam glared at her, clenching his jaw.

“Oh nothing serious, just need you to say yes to Lucifer.” She replied nonchalantly making the trio rage.

“Like hell we’re letting you take him. Even if you do he won’t say yes.” Y/n snapped.

“You know what, I’m tired of this conversation.” Meg gestured her goons to capture Sam but Dean quickly killed of the demons with the demon blade, while Sam was fighting off other demons, Y/n started to chant the exorcism. “Can’t let you do that, honey.” Meg slapped Y/n making her stop and the latter punched her back.

Dean watched Meg slap Y/n and was distracted momentarily which gave the demon, he was fighting, an upper hand, getting him stabbed in the side. Amidst all chaos, Meg and Demons managed to take Sam and Y/n away. Dean screamed and yelled but they disappeared right in front of his eyes and he leaned against the three holding his wounded side.

Dean managed to go back to the motel and patch himself up. He grabbed a beer bottle from the fridge and gulped it down before thrashing the room. He quickly pulled out his phone and called Bobby. The man answered the call almost immediately.

“Bobby,” Dean breathed. The old man urged him to speak before he lost his mind. “We were on a hunt, me, Sammy and Y/n, it was ploy to get us here. Fucking demons.” Dean growled pulling at his hair as he paced the room. He filled Bobby in on everything that Meg said, and that he was going to lose his mind if he couldn’t find either of them.

“Dean, I think you should call for Castiel. He might be able to locate them.” Bobby suggested and Dean nodded vehemently. He was glad he called Bobby as his brain had completely shut down.

After ending the call Dean continued to pace the room as he called for Castiel. He prayed with his whole chest so the angel would hear him. He desperately needed his help.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel appeared in front of him. The blue eyed man was looking at him curiously as to why he’d called, since he was sure Dean would never change his mind about saying ‘Yes’.

“Castiel, man i need your help. I know I’ve cursed you a bit too much but you gotta forget it all help me.” Dean spoke way to fast for it be coherent but the angel somehow managed. He nodded and asked Dean how he could help. Dean told him everything that’s happened and waited for the angel’s response.

“I would love to help you Dean,…” Castiel spoke and Dean felt like there was a ‘but’ coming in and he was right. “But if Sam says yes then it’s over. You’re gonna have to say yes to Michael.”

“My brother would never say yes to him.” Dean glowered grabbing the angel by the lapels of his trench coat.

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice was harsh. “Lucifer’s Demons have got him. You can’t even begin fathom the horrors they could inflict on him to get him to say yes.” Dean gritted his teeth at the mental image that flashed into his mind, he didn’t even want to think of it.

“You’re wasting time, Castiel.” A heavy silence settled in the motel room as Dean shoved his weapons into a duffel bag. Holy water, shotguns with salt, his regular gun and of course the demon blade. If Castiel isn’t going to help him then he’s not going to sit around waiting for a miracle. Two of the most important people in his life have been abducted by demons and he’d be damned if he didn’t do anything about it.

“Dean, I can’t locate them.” Castiel commented after a while and Dean stopped in his tracks.

“What do you mean?” He questioned, his brain already filling with the worst case scenarios.

“They’re probably under sigils, the demons must’ve painted the place to keep them hidden from me. They’re blocking me.” The angel explained and the hunter nodded.

“I’ll find them on my own.” Dean said leaving the motel room and getting into the Impala. He drove around like a madman trying to see anything that resembles a demon’s hideout. It must probably be a warehouse or an abandoned building. Castiel appeared beside Dean in the Impala, scaring him. Dean gave him a curious look.

“I’ll know when my powers are being blocked that way it’ll narrow it down for you.”

Dean gripped the steering wheel of the Impala, the engine roaring in protest as he sped down the winding road, his mind racing with thoughts of Sam and Y/n. Castiel sat in the passenger seat, his expression focused, eyes scanning the landscape as they searched for any sign of the hidden demons.

A few moments later, Castiel pointed out the window. “That abandoned warehouse—there’s a disturbance in the air around it. I can sense the darkness.”

Dean slammed on the brakes, the Impala skidding to a stop in front of the dilapidated building. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “You sure?” And Castiel nodded.

“I’m afraid I can’t go any further.”

Dean looked back at Castiel but nodded, he appreciated him coming along but he wouldn’t waste any more time. Without saying another word he loaded his shotgun and went inside. The walked further inside the dark warehouse and saw Y/n and Sam, tied to chairs and they were both in bad condition. Sam worse than Y/n. All Dean saw was pure rage.

Sam’s whole face was bloodied, the crimson liquid poured from the side of his head, his chest was covered in bruises, while wide gashes ran along his arms. Dean’s heart clenched in his chest as his gaze fell onto Y/n. Her lip was swollen and gashes were visible on her arms as well, he could see a faint fingerprints around her neck, and her forehead had a split, dripping blood onto her cheek. While Sam still wasn’t completely unconscious, Y/n’s head lolled to the side as she succumbed to the darkness.

“Sweetheart,” Dean kneeled in front of her tapping her cheeks lightly. She fluttered her eyes open and he sighed in relief.

“Dean,” she choked smiling painfully but then she remembered, “Sam.” She mumbled looking the side. “Help him.” Dean nodded at her.

“I’ll help him, I’ll help you both.” Dean said moving to untie her hands when he heard footsteps approaching.

“Ooh the hero is here to save the day, huh.” Meg taunted walking towards the trio. Dean turned to glare at her and she smiled.

“A few more hits and he’ll be begging to say yes.” She spoke evilly and Dean shot at her but she dodged it.

“Get him out of here.” Y/n mumbled to Dean. In that moment Dean’s mind was troubled but he knew if he left Sam with them they’d probably torture him enough to say ‘yes’, which will result in the end of the world. His mind kept chanting, ‘Save Sam’ and he knew he had to save his brother.

Dean stood up to his feet and punched Meg, knocking her unconscious, he quickly untied Sam and supported his weight on his shoulder. “I’ll be back for you sweetheart, I promise.” He said to her and she nodded weakly.

“I trust you, Dean.” Was the last thing he heard before he went outside. He quickly threw sat Sam in the backseat of the Impala.

“Castiel heal him.” Dean commanded and Castiel put his fingers over Sam’s forehead but nothing happened.

“I..I can’t.” The man in the trench coat said looking half ashamed and half perplexed. “I think this is some sort of dark magic that I can’t undo. He needs medical help.”

In that moment Dean forgot what else he was supposed to do, who else needed him. His brain kept telling him his brother was dying and he couldn’t let that happen. He forgot that he was supposed to go back inside and save the woman he claimed to love. But in that moment nothing mattered except for the fact that his brother was on the verge of dying and he had to save him. He got into the driver’s seat and drove off towards the hospital.

An hour later, Sam was out of the ER and shifted into a private room, while he slept Dean paced the hallway when Castiel approached him.

“Dean,” he placed a hand on the hunter’s shoulder. The green eyed man turned to the angel who had a sombre look on his face. “I heard Y/n.” All the color drained off of Dean’s face when he heard her name and he realised that he’d abandoned her. “She was calling out my name, even yours, she seemed anguished, pained.” Dean’s breath caught in his throat as Castiel’s words sunk in. Y/n was calling for them—calling for him—and he hadn’t been there to answer. The weight of that realization pressed down on him like a heavy shroud, threatening to suffocate him.

“I can’t hear her anymore,” Castiel continued, his tone grave, eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and concern. “I’m sorry.” The apology felt like a dagger twisting in Dean’s heart. He staggered backward, trying to process the implication of Castiel’s words. He had left Y/n, left her in the hands of demons. Despair washed over him in waves, threatening to pull him under. His mind raced with images of Y/n, her smile, her laughter, now replaced by fear and pain. He had failed her when she needed him most.

He sunk to his knees, the weight of the world crashing down around him. The cold concrete floor felt like a punishment beneath him, a stark reminder of his failures. His breath came in shaky gasps as he struggled to hold back the tide of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. This is something he would regret for the rest of his life. “I’m so sorry, Y/n,” he whispered into the emptiness, feeling as though his heart was breaking into a thousand pieces.

Tags:

@spnfamily-j2 @galway-girlatwork @deangirl96 @queensilber

@s0urw00lf @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deans-baby-momma @fullbelieverheart

@riah1606 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @hobby27

@starkleila @suckitands33 @m3ntally-unstable @kanekilovelove-blog @candy-coated-misery0731

@blackcherrywhiskey @ladysparkles78 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @graywrites5567

@thelittlelightinthedarkess @enamoredwithbella @winchesterwild78 @myuhh8

@10ava01 @n-o-p-e-never @itsdesiree86

@kr804573

[6okuto]

gn!reader | before your first valentine’s together as a couple, atsumu would not think to ask you to be his valentine. his thought process is that since you're dating, of course he'd be your valentine, and he expects you to be his! his head has already skipped to the step of what to get you, his valentine, as a gift, and where you'd like to go. you basically turn his world upside down when it comes up (albeit as a bit of a joke.)

“why do they put valentine’s stuff out so early anyway?” he mumbles while pushing the shopping cart down the aisle.

you open your phone to check the grocery list and hum beside him. “i’m pretty sure they do that with like, every holiday. it’s to maximize profit or whatever with people buying things early.”

“that’s stupid.” he stops in front of the cereals and rests his head against yours. there’s accomplishment?—smug affection, maybe, as he speaks, “at least we have valentines this year.”

but your reply topples down the podium he’s built in seconds. “and who are our valentines?”

atsumu freezes, the only thing to move being his jaw, dropping at your words. “babe.”

“as far as i can remember, nobody’s asked me to be their valentine,” you tease while reaching for his favourite cereal.

“wh—they better not?! you’re my valentine.”

“woah, really? since when?”

your eyes flicker down to the price. “hey, there’s a 2 for 1 deal right now, ‘tsum. an early gift for you.” you point out, ignoring the blatant betrayal on his face.

and you know atsumu. he takes it as a challenge. he wishes this conversation happened earlier, so he had more time to think of a valentine’s proposal, but with the help of his teammates and searching cute/best/aesthetic valentines proposals on every social media platform he’s on, he gets it all done!

he’s got the bouquet with the flowers prepared properly—dead petals and leaves picked off, twirled upside down to open them up, stems cut at the bottom, a vase ready at home.

a poster with “will you be my valentine?” written in cursive (with the help of his teammates and anyone he thought had good handwriting), and drawing of you two dressed up on the bottom, surrounded by his lipstick stains (he went out and bought a cheap one that he's not sure what to do with now.)

there’s even a basket with a ribbon tied on top, filled with snacks you like hanging from his arm when he gets home two days later, hair done, a dress shirt on, and a big grin on his face when you laugh and say yes.

he whines only a little, only after you hold his face between your palms and plant a kiss to his nose and reassure him you did not, in fact, plan to have anyone else be your valentine, but that you really, really appreciate and love him for asking anyway.

so the real problem comes after, atsumu realizes when you cheekily mention your own plans: how’s he gonna top it for the actual day?

(dedicated 2 my local atsumu fan @reverie-starlight . YAAAAY!)

[wip]

just how many official tumblr blogs are there? i just recently found out that this one and changes exists which seems less than ideal

Hey, @limelocked!

Great question! We have, we hope, a great answer for you. First up is a comprehensive list of all of current active staff blogs.

You can find ’em by simply searching each name, + @, in the search bar. (i.e., @action)

@action: Highlighting Tumblr’s long-standing social justice priorities of racial justice, mental health, equality, and beyond.

@art Exploring and featuring original artists on Tumblr.

@artistalley: Supporting local artists on Tumblr by buying directly from their storefronts.

@artistpicks: Monthly curated experience by artists and creators on Tumblr.

@best-of-reblogs: A curated collection of some of the best reblog threads on Tumblr.

@bigweekon: Tumblr’s beloved podcast highlighting recent trends, memes, and more.

@blackexcellence: A showcase of things all Black, all excellent, past and present—literature, fashion, music, historical spotlights, and beyond.

@books: Exclusive interviews and curated content from authors, publishers, and book fans.

@changes: Your go-to for new Tumblr launches, bug fixes, and updates on platform.

@creatrs: A network that connects artists, makers, and builders with brands.

@emporium: The Official Blog of the Tumblr Shop™, run by Brick Whartley back from the Island.

@entertainment: Exclusive content and features from across TV, film, and streaming.

@engineering: Behind-the-scenes work on how Tumblr engineers build Tumblr.

@fandom: Home of Fandometrics, Tumblr’s weekly ranking of entertainment properties.

@fashion: Runways to streetwear and every style in between.

@featured: Featuring exclusive content from Tumblr’s many good, good blogs.

@gaming: Exclusive and curated content across mainstream and indie games.

@getloudr An in-kind ad donation program dedicated to amplifying marginalized voices.

@happytuesday: A blog dedicated to all our Tumblr Tuesdays, posts featuring users based on a weekly theme.

@humans: A blog we use so we can reply in the notes of various posts.

@kpop: Exclusive content and a curated experience of K-Pop on Tumblr.

@labs: A way for engineers at Tumblr to experiment in public.

@music: Exclusive content and features on all your favorite musical artists.

@postitforward: Supporting the community with resources for mental health, self-care, and wellness.

@prideplus: Your home for all things LGBTQIA+ on Tumblr.

@radar: Sharing four pieces of original posts from Tumblr artists per day, hand-curated by our team from across the globe.

@staff: The ultimate source for big news, platform updates, and everything that makes Tumblr, Tumblr.

@support: News, tips, and nerdy details from Tumblr Support.

@tee: A blog from your friendly neighborhood Tumblr user, Tee.

@todayontumblr: Daily curated content around trending topics on Tumblr.

@wip: Dedicated to feedback and questions from Tumblr users to Tumblr staff.

There’s more. For our global audiences, you can find all the localized Staff blogs. They’re linked here!

We also have a carousel in the feed somewhere called “Official Blogs,” but it might be that we need to make that more obvious or provide a dedicated feed or page somewhere.

Leave that last point with us, but we hope that helps! Thanks for your question, and have a good day.

(And a tip of the hat to you, @lizzieonka! Consider them tagged)

Best,

—Caragh, Cates, and Cyle

[thepinkdreamganjaqueen]

Subway Obsessions Arthur's POV ch.1

Arthur Fleck POV x Fem!Reader  

Masterlist 🩷

Summary: From Arthurs POV. It's just another night on the subway. A typical ride on the Gotham train on his way home from a long day of running errands and away from his tedious depressive thoughts. Perhaps he would catch a glimpse of the woman he could only seem to catch in passing, the woman he’d been secretly watching, following, fantasizing about nightly. Perhaps the unending misery that is the city above had him thinking of change, of something new to obsess about. Something to draw his mind away from the blistering and the mundane. Would he finally get the courage to talk to her? 

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, public exhibitionism, subway cruising, swearing, stalking, obsession, mentions of violence, fem!reader, romantic smut, fluff

A/N: Beginning to a series? Who knows. May add things later. First fic, btw! I'm hyper fixated now, so expect more. This is something I've been mulling around with for a while. I've done this story from both the readers' POV and from Arthur's because I can't get enough!! So, make sure to read both! I loved writing from this perspective so much, btw! Literally! Send ideas, edits, etc. my way!! And be nice please. The first chapter is mostly fluff/ descriptive plot/character building. Cheers! Enjoyyy!

Word Count: 3.9k

SERIES: Subway Obsessions 

CHAPTER 1: Chance Meeting 

Today was another mundane day. Arthur had been out earlier in the evening running errands for his mother. Picking up T.V. dinners at the grocer and medications for him and her at the local pharmacy. Still, getting around the city was a chore in of itself. He figured the subway would be the easiest and quickest way home. It was nearing 10 o'clock pm. His mother would be worried, and it was getting late. He knew the dangers of roaming Gotham city at these hours. His mother used to say, "That's when the colorful people come out." A way to make something serious, completely unserious. Still, he knew the dangers and tried as hard as he might to keep his wits about him. Easier said than done when you're a man with a neurological disorder, apparently so many people hate you for. He wished they’d understood or tried at least.  

He always pondered why the people of Gotham were so... well so mean! Everyone he encountered save for the very, very few were just assholes to him. Perhaps it was the political climate? With Thomas Wayne running for government placement, it probably didn't help. Make the rich richer and the poor poorer he thought. Perhaps it was the state of the city itself, the infrastructure, the lack of resources. He sure has been on the wrong end of that stick one too many times. "Good people suffer Happy," his mother would say. But he never understood why it had to be that way. Life was circumstantial. He didn't ask to have what little he did. He didn't even ask to be born and thought life was the real joke.

It doesn't have to make sense to be funny! He jested internally. Because its fucked! And there lies the comedy for those broken enough to see, yet perhaps healed enough to laugh at the pain. Because, what else can you do?  

His mind wandered through these endless fields of thought when a train car stopped in front of him. He had been standing on the platform disassociating for some time. Perhaps he even forgot where he was for a moment, ruminating over the wrongs of life and playing them out differently in his head. The things he didn't say or do, what he could have done differently... 

The brisk hiss and click of the air brakes as they screeched to a halt brought him back to reality. He blinked a couple of times, waiting for the doors to open. As he did, a disheveled looking figure pushed past him while exiting. He burst out in a cry of compulsory laughter and stepped on the train. He was in the last car and immediately noticed it was bearable, as bearable as riding the subway can be he postulated. 

In his search for a seat towards the end of the train car, he noticed a large putrid looking spill in the back. It melted off the seats and slid across the aisle. It looked sticky. Best to avoid that then, he thought. He opted for a bench seat away from the offending area and sat down, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back, arm outstretched on the head of the seat next to him. No one was in this car except for him. He found a moment of solace and drank it in, filling himself with the noiseless satisfaction of silence and peace when a warbled voice broke over the loud speaker. He couldn't really understand it, but the semblance of words spoke what sounded like “platform 19”. It was all he could understand through the robot whine. He felt anticipation rising within him. 

At approximately 10:15 p.m., the doors of the subway train broke open with a gush of cold night air. At the other end of the subway, he watched as a woman stepped onto the train like a fawn. Scared and unsure of where to go or sit. She was bright and colorful; she immediately caught his eye. Was this what his mother meant by colorful people? He thought to himself. He quickly realized it was her! The girl he had fantasized about daily and nightly, hoping to catch her on the train but only seeming to in his thoughts and dreams, remembering her face, her scent that penetrated her surroundings. He had tirelessly followed her the first time he saw her. She was the only person to smile at him that day. He had to know more and had to know why. But she wasn't always on the same train. He always hoped to run into her and had almost given up, thinking she must have been some sort of hallucination he created for himself to lessen his own pain. But there she was.  

She looked different tonight. She looked like a predator, displaying colors brightly in the face of possible danger. She was a force; he felt the atmosphere change as soon as she stepped in through the steel doors, a thickness lifted in the air and he could feel himself tense in his seat. His clothes were suddenly uncomfortable, his collar too tight, his hands, sweaty. She always looked beautiful when he saw her, she always looked content and comfortable. Hair in a messy bun with strands falling about her face swayed by the wind that surged through the train car. Sweats he could still make out her figure through, leaving him wanting more every time, it drove him crazy! But today she looked like she was straight out of the films on the TV! He thought to himself. She made him think of glamour, it's the only word that truly fit, like the old films he would watch with his mom. Wow! Was she a sight to see, a cool pristine liquid flowing over his burning eyes. A soothing image of pure proclivity. An unknown sense of calm swept over him. 

He watched, frozen, as she cautiously observed the train car searching for a seat. He looked at her from top to bottom. She was significantly smaller than him, petite, probably around five feet three he gauged. Fuzzy black boots, blue jeans tightly hugging her figure, full thick thighs, his mouth began to water - he thirsted for her, wanted to drink in her every essence. He felt a lump in his throat as he tried to choke it down. A tight black shirt under a small cropped pink sweater with red hearts all over. It perfectly displayed her large soft breasts. Brown curls bounced about her shoulders as she walked, strands of them fell daintily on her face and cheeks. As she walked, she would flick it away with a quick movement of her head. The way she did that, moving her hair out of her face without using her hands. It made him tingle in all the right places. His mind raced. What else can she do without using her hands? he thought.  

There was something pink in her hair too, he saw as she walked past. She didn't notice him at first. Most people don't he thought to himself. Although this thought disappointed him, he didn't fault her for it. He had the urge to make her notice him. To be a presence and to be objectified by her, he only wished he could hold that kind of power.  

As she passed, the scent he had come to know as her- wafted past him, he sucked in through his teeth sharply. It was heaven on earth. Stimulating. He would follow that scent hoping to find her, mercilessly searching. It was like a drug, an aphrodisiac, and he felt his cock spasm. She was eyeing the seats towards the back where that odd spill was. A butterfly he thought. It's a pink butterfly in her hair. He immediately felt like a school boy again, fawning over and wanting to get the attention of the pretty girl and for her to return it.  

"This one's fine!" He blurted out, not really knowing what he was saying. She turned around, her beauty, dark, striking, and he found it hard to speak again. He stammered and was able to get the lump out of his throat to follow up with; "I don't know what that is back there but these are not so bad" his voice felt cracked but he tried to contain his composure, he didn't want to scare her off. He was the only other person on the train, and it must have jolted her since she didn't see him at first. Plus, she probably thinks I'm some kind of creep or weirdo, he thought to himself. There was some truth behind those thoughts, but that didn't make him a bad person, he thought. All day, he spends trying to have a nice day to make himself and others happy, trying to think good thoughts, trying not to let the bad influence the good he can salvage. 

"Oh, thank you!" A sweet voice broke the monotony of thought, and immediately he was flung back into the present. She made her way to the seats laid out in front of him. A row of sideways seating. He watched her sit gracefully, slowly, like a calculated ballet dancer, he thought. Every move fluid, every move perfect. When she sat, she arranged her things on the seat next to her and settled in. He wondered to himself where she was going. Why she had so many bags, why she was riding the subway so late, as a woman, she should be terrified. This city is not safe, especially for someone as strikingly beautiful as her. She was like a beacon of light, too bright to stare at, but he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame and simply couldn't resist the allure. 

She actually sat next to me! He thought. Only one seat away, actually next to me. But that wasn't all. She saw him, noticed him, heard him, and listened to him. The weight of these simple gestures made his hands sweaty, and he tried his best to remain aloof. The doors of the train opened on the other side of her, and a breeze blew her hair behind her and over her face. He couldn't help but see her, every aspect of her. He studied her every move, every inch of her body. He wanted this to last, for this image to never leave his mind.  

The wind that blew past her carried on it her scent. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the sweet alluring scent of peach? No. Some kind of berry? No. When the doors shut and the pressure created another breeze, the scent wafted to him again. Taking it all in, he identified the smell as watermelon. Some kind of fruity smell filled his senses with the feeling of euphoria. It was intoxicating. He wondered what it would be like to be pressed up against her, inhaling her deeply. He looked down with a deep sigh when he looked back over. She was moving a strand of hair out of her face and caught a glimpse of her looking at him as well. Her cheeks flushed instantly, and she broke her gaze. She was fire, burning too hot near him, and he wanted so badly to play, to burn himself, engulf himself in her flames breathlessly.  

He tried to come up with something to say, anything. How do I talk to her? What would I even say without sounding stupid? He thought. He watched on as the florescent lights above her flickered. It lit up parts of her he hadn't seen upon first observation. Glitter decorated her collar bones and cheeks. Her sweater was slightly unzipped. He could see the peeking out of her cleavage. Sparkling with glitter, so pretty, she reminded him of the stars of the night sky. Unmistakably beautiful, yet so. Far. Away. He had been working up the courage to say something to her, to hear her voice again, he didn't want to forget it. A symphony replayed in his mind. He needed more.  

He stumbled over his words, "Sorry, I-it's hard for me to talk, I meant to introduce myself. I'm Arthur, " he said in the kindest, most unassuming voice he could muster. She looked up and locked eyes. They burned his insides like hot coals. He anticipated her reply, not knowing if she would even engage in conversation with him. "No worries!" She spoke in a reassuring way that made his heart flutter. "I know how it can be, trust me!" She sounded genuine. Kind. There was something underneath her voice, though he couldn't quite conceptualize. Fear? Doubt, maybe? He wanted to take it away.  

"I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you, Arthur!" Again, her voice beaming so light and so lifting. She reached out to shake his hand that he had offered. Her hand was small and was practically swallowed by his. Her fingers were warm, sweeping softly over his palm as she grasped his hand in hers. It's a simple thing, he thought. It was a small touch, but it was enough to make him crumble inside. She felt so nice! "Y/N," he said. "I like that." He lamented. Such a beautiful name. But everything about her was beautiful. Her presence was wholesome and welcoming. Is this real? he pondered. Thoughts took over again, and not knowing how to continue the conversation, they sat in silence for a moment as he worked up the courage to speak again. 

Moments passed that felt like a lifetime, but he was content in her presence, soaking up her aura. As he went to ask her a question, she moved to speak as well. Catching each other off guard, Arthur profusely apologized "No it's okay, go ahead," he said, not wanting to interrupt her. "No, no, that's okay, what were you going to say?" She insisted back. Her voice was small and mousey, she seemed so shy. Why would she be? She screams confidence and power. Even in her apprehensive movements, she seems calculated, he thought to himself. He stole another glance at her. Her eyes sparkled reminiscent of a smokey quartz gem in a bracelet he once saw in a shop window. A thought of her adorned in nothing but gems crossed his mind. He tried to hold onto the image before it left his mind's eye. He felt a flush in his cheeks again, and his eyes darted. He couldn't look her in the eyes for too long. It made him nervous. He was working up the urge to speak again, to say something, anything.  

He broke the silence and asked, "So what brings you to ride the subway so late at night? Aren't you scared?" He uttered jokingly. After saying it, he felt immediate stupidity. Why would I say that? He thought and started an inner spiral. As if seeing his reaction to his own question and wanting to ease the tension building within him, Y/N said, " Well, I work at the Gotham shelter overnight. So, having to ride the train every night, I guess, I've gotten used to it for the most part. But, yeah, I do get scared sometimes. The city can be super sketchy, and I've been attacked twice already, so I had to buy mace and stuff to try and protect myself."  

The words spilled out of her mouth like a wave of glass, he couldn't fathom her ever saying this of all things, it was jolting for him and triggered something within him he had tried so long to hide. His mind raced. He felt anger and rage well up inside of him it hardened his sternum and burned in his throat. He became stiff but was unaware. The spiraling began to start again. This city was ruining people, hurting people, good people! He thought. She helps people, and then people hurt her?! Pieces of shit! He screamed internally. The emotions he felt were at war within himself. He felt rage for her pain and suffering at the hands of this city's denizens, he felt fear for her life knowing she rides the train every night, he felt regret, why couldn't he have been there to help, to do something? He all but took the pain on as his own, it soaked through to his core. He too had been at the mercy of some of the worst people he has ever had the displeasure of encountering in this god forsaken city, he too had been attacked, hurt, mercilessly tortured by these fucking terrible people.  

Lost in his train of thought and looking straight ahead he couldn't help but sternly say in sympathy "These people are just fucking terrible!" She must have noticed his change in demeanor at this declaration. He suddenly felt a warmth cross his leg, and lightly squeeze. It was smooth and comforting. His concentration broke completely. Pulled out of a trance by her as if the thoughts were just zapped out of his brain. His eyes quickly darted back to her where they followed the length of her shoulder, to her arm, and from her arm to her hand that rested upon his thigh. He felt the muscles in his face relax, his shoulders dropped, jaw unclenched. The sheer power she had over him he thought. The warmth emanating off of her palm was like security, a blanket of nostalgia. He couldn't remember the last time he felt what felt like love, like connection, or attachment. He couldn't help but see flashes of images in his mind, her moving her hand closer to his cock which had began to throb. He tried to brush away those thoughts but they plagued him. She was touching him. Something that never happens to him. He immediately craved her touch, he wanted more, he wondered how that would be possible. He thought this couldn't be real. Not this time.  

Once again, breaking his thought pattern she spoke, and he gave her his full attention. "Yeah, but I'm ok now!" She said in a reassuring tone. Her voice, like petals on velvet. Soft, gentle. "You're here now! And so, I feel safe." Safe? He thought, with me? Like she trusts me? He could feel the negative thoughts start to brim to the surface of his mind but quelled them by responding instead. He needed clarification. The words she spoke just didn't make sense to him. He couldn't see why she would or should trust him, although he so badly wanted her to, for this to be true, he needed it to be. He suddenly felt the urge to never leave her, to always be by her side. He would watch, he would follow, and he would do anything for her.  

He only imagined what it would be like to know her both romantically and intimately. "You feel safe? W-with me?" He spoke haphazardly, unsure of the answer he wanted to hear, hoped to hear. "I do." She looked into his eyes sincerely. His heart leapt into his throat; he couldn't breathe. She was so fucking beautiful. He wanted to grab her, to feel her against him. He shifted his legs at the thought. Looking up at him like that weakened him in so many ways. Most noticeably, in his pants, where he tried to conceal the results of his dirty thoughts. "Then I will protect you Y/N" he proclaimed proudly. A shy smile touched her lips and she continued to gaze into his eyes. He smiled back. I make her feel safe, he thought. She is comfortable in my presence. No one even bothers talking to me, no one ever wants to talk to me. He had the urge to speak once more but couldn't find the words.  

Before either of them could speak, the subway speaker rang out once again in that barely audible robotic toned voice announcing the next stop as the harsh brakes squeaked heavily to a stop. As if anticipating her to leave, he just as quickly stood up and offered out his hand. "Thank you," her voice sang. She turned to face him, her small stature looking up at him once more. He held his composure but felt the heat well up inside him. "It was so nice having someone to ride the train with tonight for a change!" She cheerfully exclaimed with a smile.  

She had grabbed her things and had let go of his hand. What sweet bliss it was for the few seconds he had held it. Her fingers, so dainty and soft. The train screeched to a halt, and he instinctively grabbed her hand again and put his other hand at the small of her back to steady her. He could feel the soft curve of her spine. He slowly moved a pinky closer, hoping she wouldn't notice, tracing the line of her jeans as he did, feeling the line of her panty through the fabric. He quickly pulled away as she exited the train. He had held back. He wanted to do so much more. He wanted to turn her around, grab her face and kiss her, shove her onto the subway seats, and have his way with her, make her cry out. He wanted her to miss work. He wanted her to quit! He wanted her all to himself.  

This moment was too perfect. It felt like a dream. As she stepped off the platform and began to walk away, he stood as the doors shut, helplessly watching her as she slowly walked. Unable to stop time. As the train brakes hissed and cranked, he saw her stop and turn around. She had stepped to the doors, but it was too late. He watched on as her figure shrunk into the distance as the train traveled once again into the dark tunnel. He waved. He would see her again. He would make sure of that. Platform 19. He thought, I'll remember this time. 

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Olivia Reingold

On October 7, 2024—one year after Hamas invaded Israel, murdering 1,200 people—The New York Times published an episode of its flagship podcast, The Daily. It featured two men on opposite sides of the conflict: an Israeli man who’s moved from hotel to hotel after Hamas destroyed his community, and a father trying to survive in Gaza. 

But while the Israeli man was described in full—as a “liberal” 44-year-old father named Golan Abitbul, born and raised on Kibbutz Be’eri, the Palestinian man’s identity was shrouded in secrecy. The New York Times simply referred to him as “Hussein, a Palestinian man living in Gaza.” The host, Sabrina Tavernise, did not ask Hussein any follow-up questions when he revealed that, unlike most Gazans right now, he has “a good income” and is able to pay about $1,000 a month for rent. And she let him explain—uninterrupted—about why, a year later, the war ravages on.

“I’m surprised that there is humans doing this force,” Hussein said of Israeli soldiers, in broken English. “How could human became this evil, killing others, imposing collective punishment on over two million people with no reason? What are they going to gain? Why they are doing this?”

But what Tavernise did not say is that “Hussein” is Hussein Owda, whose name is listed in the show notes on audio platforms that host the podcast, including Spotify and Apple Podcasts. And what The New York Times does not reveal is that Owda’s background suggests links to Hamas. A simple Google search turns up his LinkedIn page, where he publicly lists an eight-year stretch working for the Municipality of Gaza, which sources told me is controlled by Hamas; a new job at the controversy-riddled United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East (also known as UNRWA); and an eight-month stint at Muslim Hands, a nonprofit exposed by the UK’s Telegraph in 2014 for having “close ties to the Muslim Brotherhood.” Hamas was originally established in the 1980s as the local Palestinian branch of the Muslim Brotherhood.Hussein Owda (via LinkedIn)

From September 2015 until August 2023, Owda lists his job as the head of public relations for the Municipality of Gaza. “Every government structure in Gaza was run by Hamas,” Jon Schanzer, a former terrorism analyst at the U.S. Department of the Treasury, told me. “The people that were paying his salary ultimately would’ve gone up the chain to Hamas itself.” Schanzer added that Owda, as the former head of public relations for the Municipality of Gaza, likely was “providing propaganda” to advance the mission of Hamas.

Meanwhile, three on-the-ground sources in Gaza—two of whom were provided through The Center for Peace Communications, which has a network of sources in the region—all confirmed to The Free Press that Owda has links to Hamas. One Gazan man who has met Owda said that “Employment at the municipality requires approval from the internal security, the local mosque’s emir, and Qassam Brigades intelligence,” referring to Al-Qassam Brigades, the militant wing of Hamas behind the group’s October 7 attack. Another Palestinian source in Gaza told The Free Press, “It’s impossible to get a job in the municipality unless you’re with Hamas.” (All sources in Gaza asked to withhold their names to protect them from possible retaliation by the terrorist group.)