#Now we get to see how they better themselves

[maxisodenoth]

Oops, forgot to block.

But anyways, it seems like you don't understand.

Let me put it like this for you.

You have been provided links with proof [that I'm sure you didn't even touch.] And instead of bringing up any point related to them you stick to your same arguments.

I asked you a simple yes or no question, and you seem to have taken it personally. It doesn't matter to me what you think the answer is, because the answer is always no. An infertile woman is just as much of a woman as any other. We are what we want to be. Your words mean nothing to me, and other peoples identity. [which let me remind you *again* that you've been provided links in the comments which explain this stuff better than I ever could]

[And let me tell you something. Just because we can't have kids right now doesn't mean it'll remain that way in the future. I believe that something will be figured out later in the future that will allow trans-people to be able to reproduce with their new reproductive apparatuses. Whether that takes years or decades doesn't matter. It'll happen.]

You used word meanings as "arguments". May I remind you that, words were created far before any research was done on this matter? [Not exaclty sure when or how much words change but I'm almost sure it's a pretty slow process, so they might be a bit or alot outdated. Not sure though.] And that maybe instead of etymology, you should be looking at psychology, and biology? [Links in the comments~] Trying to use words meanings as arguments doesn't really work out that well when we're not talking about words but people.

[And by the way. Where is your evidence? You've been provided links explaining this stuff, yet when pressed, you only choose to go to ... a dictionary? Really?]

[Also, since you've stooped into insults let me get in on that action.]

Why do you care so much? Like really. Why does this matter that much to you? Are you that miserable that the only joy you get is by hating on other people being themselves and happy?

Look, I know it's hard to find a purpose in life, or a job, but it'd be alot easier if you stopped being a prick and just let people be themselves. There's no reason to hate people who literally don't affect you in any shape or form. They're just being themselves. Cope. [Your final reminder that there are links in the comments!~]

Or do you just refuse to grow up and understand that it doesn't matter what you say. People will be themselves and happier than you will ever be?

I am not a debator. I'm just some angry penguin on the internet. I have left my piece here. And I won't forget to block this time. May this be the last time I see your miserable blog on my feed.

And for everyone else who comes across this post, trans or otherwise. Your identity is Valid. You know yourselves better than some stranger on the internet. Or anyone who's not you. Because it's Your Identity. Not these peoples.

Do not let the hateful words of bigots make you feel bad about youself. You are the only one who can choose your identity. Not some idiots on the internet. You. And let me say this again Your identity is always valid. No matter what others say. ❤️

Goodbye. 👋

[Even if you reply to this, I'm not wasting anymore of my time on you John. You've been given links, read them. The same goes for any asshole who wants to start another argument. I do not care for you. Find someone else to deal with your bullshit.]

Facts matter. #VoteBlue

[avionvadion]

This Trey discourse is getting ridiculous.

Tell me you don’t understand the dream without telling you don’t understand the dream. Tell me you don’t like Trey or understand his character without telling me you don’t like Trey or understand his character. For starters, the reason most of the fandom disliked Trey early on- book one. He didn’t stand up to Riddle’s mother or stop Riddle from being a tyrant.

Argument one: he was a child. A ten year old child whose parents were being screamed at for five hours straight (something of which BOTH Idia and Leona are horrified by, and those two had some strict upbringings themselves) while listening to eight year old Riddle wailing and sobbing for his mother to stop. That shit is traumatizing. Have you ever been screamed at unjustly as a kid? It’s terrifying. It haunts you. That kind of memory latches on and never lets go. Not without help.

Argument two: Trey is 18. He is a big brother. Not a parent. He didn’t raise his little siblings either, as his parents have a seemingly good relationship with each other and their children. He hasn’t seen Riddle in years, and while excited to see Riddle at the entrance ceremony he was quickly rebuffed by the now cold and steely Riddle who grew up under his abusive mother’s rule. He and Cater then worked with Riddle to dethrone their horrible then-dorm leader, and Trey was then sacrificed to the position of vice dorm leader because the entire dorm took a vote. Still, he did his best as vice dorm leader- not wanting to lose his head or watch their dorm mates stumble accidentally onto the execution block.

Trey, at the start, wasn’t particularly close to Riddle because Riddle wouldn’t let him be, and as someone who was traumatized by what happened when he WAS A CHILD likely struggled to speak up against Riddle’s harsher rules, and that most likely muddled together with Trey’s wish for Riddle to be happy. Going against Riddle would lead to conflict, and Riddle is short tempered as is. Trey likely believed that standing up to Riddle would make things worse instead of better.

He learns quickly from Adeuce later in book one how wrong he was, but that’s beside the point. The best Trey could do in the position HE DID NOT WANT was to give advice to his dorm mates and attempt to be Riddle’s voice of reason, acting as the peacemaker and struggling to keep any situation from escalating.

Something of note here, that I find particularly fascinating, is that it’s been stated by several characters that Riddle’s reign, though tyrannical, was nowhere near as bad as the last dorm leader- who was chaos incarnate. That plays a part in why Trey and Cater both were so willing to go along with Riddle’s iron ruling, even though both knew he was going about being dorm leader the wrong way.

There was no controlling or manipulating of Riddle- despite what Leona and Idia, who have ZERO CONNECTION AND INTERACTION with Trey and Cater prior to this dream, believed. There was no stopping Riddle, either. The best they could do was appease him and keep him calm.

Now, onto his dream.

We learn that Trey and his family “laugh” about what happened with Mrs. Rosebitch. This isn’t an, “oh they weren’t affected by what happened” situation, it’s an, “oh they were so badly affected by what happened that they can’t even talk about it properly because it’s so fucked up that they just laugh instead”. That’s called a trauma response. That trauma is so deeply rooted in Trey because he’s never learned to process it, that it’s there in his dream instead of being omitted.

Trey is also dreaming of a world in which Riddle has no stressful responsibilities. They’re at school, but his mother can’t reach him there, and Chen’ya- a childhood friend of Trey’s who was THERE when the Clover family got screamed at by Mrs. Rosebitch- is dorm leader instead. Riddle is not held down by what happened, and is seemingly “freed” from his mother’s cruel hand. Heartslabyul has become a safe space.

One built by Trey and Chen’ya, something they had unknowingly tried to do as children for Riddle (as they were unaware of the abuse, but had been a shining light for sweet baby Riddle who lived in the suffocating darkness) but failed- and paid severely for it.

Now, onto Fandom problem number two: the Round Bois.

I’m seeing people call Trey a “feeder” and are behaving harshly towards him because of it. But that literally couldn’t be farther from what’s happening. For example, let us take a look at his conversation with Vil (I brought my freaking receipts; this boy is my FAV of Heartslabyul) during Vil’s lab coat vignette.

We know Trey likes to bake.

He bakes for the Heartslabyul parties, and often gives Adeuce pastries to bring to Ramshackle to share with Yuu. But we learn in his New Years vignette that he bakes as a form of stress relief, too, to work his thoughts out and/or distract himself. It is a comfort to him. A safe space. And he knows whatever makes he will likely bring a smile to someone’s face. He enjoys baking, and he enjoys seeing people enjoy his sweets.

If someone is stressed, he encourages them to eat sweets- or cake with lots fruits, though that’s specific in this vignette because he just made a strawberry cake and was trying to find someone to give it to because it was one cake too many, lol, and Vil happened to be stressed out from something Rook said.

Trey isn’t being a “feeder” here or in his dream. He saw someone stressed and went, “Hey, I have a solution, why not try it? One slice won’t hurt and it’ll make you feel better/put you in a better mood.”

Baking is Trey’s solution, and a reliable source of comfort. He likes seeing how happy people are from the things he bakes, and he knows eating sweets can make other people happy. That’s why he goes out of his way to find someone to give the extra cake he accidentally made to- because it’ll put that person in a good mood and the cake will have a “good home” to go to.

Trey’s dream was basically giving Riddle and their other dorm mates a life where they could be happy and enjoy themselves without fear. A safe space. He could bake to his heart’s content in this massive kitchen his dream Heartslabyul provided, and everyone around him are happy and overall stress-free.

The reason they’re all ROUND BOIS???

It’s not because Trey was a “feeder” and fed them to that point, it’s because the dream-versions of his friends lacked self control and there was no one to stop them from eating sweet after sweet after sweet. They just happily ate whatever it was Trey baked, because he baked a lot- not to “feed” them, but because baking is something he greatly enjoys doing.

[thefrontmanscockwarmer]

Enough

Player 001 x reader [SMUT]

Masterlist <- Comment on this post to be added to the tag list

Brat reader, brat tamer Young il

“I fucking hate it here” you declared to the group of guys you hung with. Gi Hun looked at you, while Jung Bae voiced his agreement, Dae Ho… well, Dae Ho stuffed his face.

(Y/n), it’s honestly not as bad as it -“ young il began.

“Are you fucking stupid?” You looked at him in disbelief. His eyes widened as you spoke to him in such a disrespectful manner, “seriously, Young il? “Not as bad”?! We could’ve fucking died, last game… don’t you remember?” You tapped your temple.

“Well, we didn’t die” he said, his voice small. He didn’t know what to do; scold you for how you spoke, or kiss you for it.

“No maybe not. But seriously? What about next game, huh? What about the game after that?” You questioned him. You stood, getting in his face as he sat. “Are you dense?”

“That’s enough, (y/n)” he said calmly. He loved seeing you riled up, it excited him. You were a hot head, could be a problem, but he could handle problems quite well.

“Obviously not. Because your moronic ass thinks it’s “not as bad”” you mocked him. The other men had excused themselves, you were in the midst of an explosion and they didn’t want to get hit by the shrapnel.

“(Y/n)” he said again. “I said that’s enough.”

“You don’t understand what enough is” you replied, your voice escalating. “You seem to think that just because they feed up, and give us beds, and clothes, I’m wearing a 3 day old blood stained shirt” you tensed thinking about it.

“Enough!” he said, standing he got in your face. “You think I like being here? No. But I’m trying to make them beat of it. You think I don’t have something to go back to? I do. I have parents and a fucking brother. You think I don’t know how you fucking feel? I do. I don’t want to be in here either” he said. “But if you think for a single second I’ll sit down and let you talk to me like I’m a fucking idiot, you’re so fucking out of your mind.”

You were backed against the wall. Your lips just barely touching his. The air between you too was thick with sexual tension, as the air around you always was. You took a breath, gearing yourself up for more argument.

“Shut up” he said. “I don’t want to hear talk of it anymore” you obeyed quietly. You shrunk, the weight of his presence was heavy. You pouted and walked away, knocking his shoulder with yours. The PA system warned that you had 5 minutes before bed time. You chose to lay down as far from Young il as you could.

He looked at you, you were so mad at him. Yeah, everything was going according to plan but you were so fucking angry it turned him on.

He awaited the dead of night, when he was sure every player was asleep. He found his way to you.

“(Y/n)” he said quietly .

“Don’t fucking talk to me” you said. He smiled, his cock jumped. God how he loved a fucking challenge.

“Don’t give me attitude” he replied, moving your body to be in bed with you.

“Get out of my bed” you say. “Before I pummel your fucking face in”

“Wow, such fighting words for a princess” he answers, wrapping his arms around you.

“Young il”

“Yes, princess?”

“Get your dick off my ass” you spit. “I can feel it.”

“My god, you’re so sharp. What will make you feel better hm?” He pondered.

“Getting the fuck out of here” you answer curtly. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, the way he was diffusing you right now was intoxicating. Young il was intoxicating, he was like a drug. You loved fighting with him, always pushing buttons to get him to tower over you, just so you could weasel your way out. You knew exactly where this was going to go.

“No, you’re tense. I can feel it.” He remarked. “You’re so frustrated, aren’t you?” He coaxed. He knew he found your sweet spot as you leaned your body against him.

“Maybe.” You say, not willing to admit that you wanted him. His hand snaked down your pants, your breath getting caught in your throat. His fingers brushed your clit. “Please” you pleaded breathlessly.

“Oh? Do you want something from me?” He asked. You hummed your response. “Well, just as well, I need to know what you want, angel. I can’t read your mind”

“Touch me… please” you asked quietly. Arousal coating your voice.

“Aw, you said “please”” he chuckled. “I guess I have to give in since you’re being so sweet” he circled your clit softly with his fingers. “Such a sweet little girl” he whispered tauntingly in your ear.

“Shut up” you said. He motions stopped.

“I’m sorry, you said stop?” He asked, you groan in frustration, bucking your hips against his hand.

“No, i said “shut up”” you repeated, his hand stayed frozen in place as you moved against it, seeking friction. A wicked grin spread across his face.

“Oh, i see” he roughly inserted 2 fingers in side of you. You whimper quietly. “Is this what you wanted angel? To be wrapped around my fingers and whimpering like the little depraved girl i know you are?” You bit your tongue, any wrong words could stop this in an instance.

“Yes daddy” you breathe out heavily. He looked down on you, his cock straining in his pants.

“Can I use your pussy, please?” He asked, not really a question but more of a warning on what he’s going to do. You nodded feebly.

“I can’t hear you” he responded patiently.

“Yes. Please” With a swift, almost violent motion, he pulled out his cock and spun you around to face the wall, pressing your front against the railing surrounding your bed.

“Wait we have to be quiet” you exclaim

“Shh, no one will care. Now, bend over and present yourself to me like a good little slut." Young il replied. His hands roughly palmed your ass, spreading your cheeks wide as he aligned his rigid member with your dripping entrance once more. With a harsh thrust, he buried himself balls-deep inside you, his pubic bone grinding against your clit. “That's it, take my cock like you were made for it,"

A sinful moan slips from your lips as you take his cock gratefully

“Please Young il, use me” you begged. Young il's grip on your hips tightened as he began to piston in and out of you with brutal force, each savage thrust jolting you forward against the railing.

"You want it rough, huh? You want to be used like a cheap whore?" His words were punctuated by the lewd slap of skin on skin, the sound echoing through the quiet room. Young il reached around to fondle your breasts, pinching and tugging at your nipples as he drove into you relentlessly.

"Yeah, that's it, moan for me," he snarled, his pace increasing until the stairs creaked under the force of his thrusts.* "Let them hear what a filthy slut you are for me. Begging to be fucked, screaming my name..."

He brought his palm crashing down across your ass, the sharp sting making you yelp and arch your back into him. He repeated the blow again and again, each slap marking your ass with his possession.

“You like that, you dirty little cumslut?” He spat, he breathing ragged with lust. “You want Dady to claim every inch of you?” His fingers delved down between your thighs roughly circling your clit furiously at your clit as he continued to pound into you. The combined sensations sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, pushing you closer to the edge.

“Come on, (y/n), I can feel you tightening around me” Young il growled, his thrusts growing erratic. “Give it to me, let go and soak my cock with your juices” he begged.

“Oh, Young il, I’m going to cum.” I say as i try my best to keep quiet. My feeble attempt at not possibly drawing anymore attention to your bed. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your soft skin as he felt your inner muscle start to spasm around his cock. “That’s it, cum for Mr, (y/n). Milk my dick dry with that sweet little cunt”

His own release was imminent, the pressure building at the base of his spine. With a final and brutal thrust. Young il buried himself to the hilt inside you, his cock pulsating as he spilled his cum deep within your quivering depths.

“Fuuuck, (y/n)” he groaned. “Take it all” As the tremors of your orgasm subsided, Young il slowly withdrew from your spent body, his softening cock slipp`I``no free with a wet pop.

“Holy shit” you gasped as he collapsed beside you.

“Yeah?” He chuckled, cradling you in his arms. “I hope your attitude is gone now”

“Well, i think it’s subsided for now” i agree curling into him. Sighing with contentment. A big yawn left your tiny body.

Taglist

@christinamadsen @sebbymybaby21 @nakiio5775 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @watasinekoru @player279achlys @galaxygurlll @angelofthorr

[the-cxlt]

Group Therapy

It’s 6:55pm.

You walk into the room for the first time. It’s an all girl group, your counselor told you you’d be more comfortable in that type of setting. It’ll be a 2 hour session, which seems a bit long, but since seeing this new counselor you’ve always taken their advice.

The room is set up with chairs in a circle, “AA style” you think to yourself amusingly. There are 6 chairs in total, 3 of which have girls already in them and one where your counselor is seated. You realize another girl is behind you, presumably the last one, when your counselor calls out calmly, “That’s everyone Livvie, go ahead and close that door behind you,” and you hear the click of the door.

You suddenly feel something you’ve noticed a bit over the last week, since around the time you last saw your counselor. Almost like a… weakness… between your legs. It’s not a bad feeling at all, it feels amazing in fact, it’s just you’ve been feeling them at such random times lately is all. ‘This is probably not the best time’ you think to yourself. You decide to fight it off, as you mostly have this week, and you manage to let it pass.

You choose the seat directly across from your counselor, to your right are a pretty red haired girl and the girl he called Livvie, who sat down just after you. To your left are two equally pretty girls, both darker haired. As pretty as everyone is, you can’t help but think that Livvie is particularly pretty though. She is exactly your type. Something about her almost has you in a daze…

—“Hey everyone, looks like we’re all here now, we may as well get started! You all know me, I’m your ‘counselor’, but you all know to just call me Q.” Q starts, jolting you up from the day-dream state you got yourself in while admiring Livvie. “So we have two new faces here today, but the rest of you girls have done this a few times now, isn’t that right?” Your counselor pauses for a second and turns to Livvie, then to the dark haired girls, smiling warmly at them. You can’t help but notice how all their faces light up when they make eye contact, and how the girls nod excitedly. In fact, they’re almost shaking in their seats…

It’s 7:00pm.

Q asks the girls who had been to the group therapy before to tell ‘the two newbies’, as you and the red haired girl are called, about themselves, and how they’ve been feeling lately after doing these group sessions. Livvie starts. She talks very happily and confidently about how ‘ever since this group she has been feeling a million times better’, and it really did look that way. She looked happy, she was beautiful, she was sexy.

You couldn’t help but think it… you were sitting there pretty much drooling over her… You realize, just as she did before Q spoke, that something about her has almost put you into a trance.

You again snap out of it, and you try to casually wipe the corner of your mouth, feeling somewhat worried you may have actually had a pool of drool at the corner of your lips. There was no drool, “thankfully” you think to yourself briefly, “that would’ve been so embarrassing…”

The truth is though, sitting amongst all these pretty girls you do feel a bit embarrassed, you feel you may have looked silly. Suddenly, again, you get that pang of weakness between your legs.

“Woah, I’m really in my head right now” you think to yourself. It almost feels like you’re high. You realize you’ve drifted off into space again… but somehow… this time… you’re not snapping out of it. You’re aware of your surroundings, in fact you’re still looking at Livvie, but you almost feel… disconnected… from your own body.

It’s 7:05pm

As if you were in a dream, you’re watching yourself and the scene around you. You feel no panic though, in fact you feel really good. Really, really good. You can’t deny it at all, you’re horny. Very horny… This time, you do feel a drip of drool, and you can’t help but feel embarrassed again.

This somehow turns you on even more. “Fuck, this feels incredible… why is being embarrassed turning me on so much?” You don’t move to wipe away the drool this time, you just let it happen. Something about letting it happen feels so good.

“Are we all out?” Q asks aloud while standing up. Your counselor is smiling, almost laughing. You don’t respond, and neither does anyone else, as you dreamily look at the other girls. You notice that each one of them has a tiny stream of drool dripping from their mouths as well…

“You did so good, Livvie” Q starts again, pulling something out of a pocket, but you can’t quite tell what it is. “A little gift for you all to start…”

‘Click’.

That pang of weakness… of pleasure… you feel so fucking good. You are in your mind, but you’re still seeing the room. The three girls who’ve been here before are all sitting in their chairs… and they’re rubbing themselves between their legs above their clothes uncontrollably.

Q walks to each of them, and carresses their tits along the way, “Remember girls, this is how we start. After the count of 3, remind yourselves and say ‘We start by edging above our clothes’…

1…

2…

3…”

In near perfect unison Livvie and the dark haired girls repeat it back perfectly. They’re continuing to rub themselves as they do. You notice that Livvie has made a visible wet spot on the light coloured pants she’s wearing…

You and the red haired girl, the ‘newbies’ are clearly feeling similarly. Both of you have your hands squeezing your inner thighs. It’s almost like you can communicate with her and you’re both saying “I want to touch myself so bad, but some instinct deep within me is holding me back.”

As you’re thinking it to yourself Q has approached the red haired girl. Q’s hand gently pries one of hers from her thighs and places it directly between her legs instead. “Give in” you can hear the whisper across the room, “Rub above your clothes… edge…”

The red haired girl has in fact given in, in no time at all. Q is groping her tits while everyone else watches. She is rubbing her fingers all around her pussy above her tights. Livvie has begun to moan quietly, and the dark haired girls and breathing heavy too. You are the only girl in the room who is not rubbing herself. You desperately want to, but what’s left of your mind is also trying to fight it.

It’s 7:10pm

Q has approached you, smiling. “Hey, sweetheart,” while looking down at you. You haven’t been touched yet, but your body is screaming for it. “We’re going to make a special example out of you tonight…”

Q pulls something else from the other pocket, it appears to be a sort watch on a chain. There’s a symbol on it, and you realize something… it’s the same symbol that is on the shirt that Livvie is currently wearing…

“Stationary, this here has it’s affects. Especially after many weeks of one on one sessions...” Q is holding the symbol directly in front of your face. “But once it swings… it puts you into a whole different state…” and it begins to sway back and forth in front of your eyes. You’re being put into a state of no shame, the girls who’ve been here before know that, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You don’t want to do anything about it. You want to give in.

You feel the other girls eyes on you. You can see they’ve all made visible wet spots, they’re completely soaking, and they’re watching you get deeply hypnotized.

Your dream like view takes over, and you’re now only watching like a spectator. Q has stopped swaying the symbol, and is now wiping the drool from your face, while smiling again. You feel the touch and the way your body flutters from it, but otherwise you realize that you no longer have any control of yourself.

You’re told “Stand up.” You can see yourself standing, with your arms now at your side. Q moves behind you and grabs one of your hands, and places it firmly between your legs, with your index finger directly on your clit.

“We start by edging above our clothes,” Q says aloud, near your ear, grabbing your hand and forcing it to rub yourself. Then backs away, letting you continue to do it yourself, once you instinctively understand, and happily give in. “You’ll all repeat it after the count of 3… Newbies too, of course…

1…

2…

3…”

You see yourself say it aloud, in near perfect unison with all four other girls. You’re standing and rubbing yourself as they all watch you. Even as a spectator, you can still feel your wetness. It’s dripping down your legs…

“Again… tell me how we start. After 3…

1…

2…

3…

“We start by edging above our clothes” you all say in perfect unison.

It’s 7:15pm

10 minutes of being out while edging has the 3 girls a complete mess. You can actually hear how wet Livvie is when Q walks towards her, spreads her legs apart a little wider, and gently taps on the wet spot she’s made. “What a good girl,” Q whispers to her.

You and the red haired girl are also soaked, even though you’ve been edging for slightly less time. Q sits back down and is now facing you, looking you directly in the eye as you stand about 6 feet away.

“Stop rubbing, for a moment, and remove your top.” Is what Q says to you. “I will tell you when to start rubbing again.”

The deep instinct that was holding you back before has completely faded, and it’s been replaced with an urge, a primal need, to simply do as you’re told. You watch yourself pause from rubbing, and you immediately shift to removing your top. Your eyes are locked on Q’s as you mindlessly obey.

“Now remove the bra.” Q instructs. Somewhere internally you recognize that you’ll be fully topless in front of these 4 pretty girls. The cycle of humiliation and horniness hits again, it reinforces your mindlessness, your pleasure… You’re now watching yourself expose your tits to everyone.

You’re watching Livvie out of the corner of your eye shake in her seat as you stand there half naked. It’s so clear to you how desperately she wants to cum. She’s looking at your tits, and continuing to rub herself silly.

“Livvie, tell everyone what comes after edging above your clothes.” Q says, while still not breaking eye contact with you.

“Tits out… After we edge, we take our… tits out…” Livvie is somewhat drooling as she says it. She looks stupid, but she’s so clearly happy and horny and feeling good. Seeing her like that turns you on too. ‘I want to be like that’ you think cloudily before looking once again at yourself topless and exposed, and realizing “I am like that…”. That makes you smile more. And, you’re drooling again…

It’s 7:20pm

“Tits out. That’s right Livvie…” placing a hand on her inner thigh and rubbing it, almost lovingly, “Just like our newbie here (pointing at you, with the other hand), you will all take your Tits Out. After 3 you will begin removing your tops. You will remove your bras, too. You will all have your tits out…

Before the count Q looks at you, “…and you will pinch and twist your own nipples while watching the other girls get their tits out…

1…

2…

3…

You’re standing there, groping your own tits, watching the girls all strip around you. Treating your tits like that is driving you wild, you can feel yourself dripping even more down your inner thighs. You’re watching Livvie in particular, of course. To your satisfaction, her tits are amazing, and you realize she even has the same symbol tattooed on her chest.

You’re all now fully topless in the room. You’ve all scanned each others body countless times. None of you have the brainpower at the moment to do anything about it otherwise. You all want it, you all crave it.

You’re still mindlessly groping your tits as Q stands up again, and walks to you, whispering “You’re doing so good..” then, louder for everyone to hear, “Now after 3 all of you begin rubbing and squeezing just as she (Q’s hand is on your back) is now… pinch your nipples, twist them too, make it hurt a little… enjoy it, girls…

1…

2…

3!…”

And of course, all the girls begin groping themselves just as you have been. Livvie is consistently moaning now, as is the red haired girl. The dark haired girls both moan more sporadically, as do you. You can’t help it, it feels too good.

It’s 7:25pm

“Fuck, I might cum…” you think to yourself as you watch yourself abuse your own tits, and listen to even your moans grow louder. Suddenly, before you’re able to get there, Q cuts in sharply instructing, “Hands off your tits. Remove the rest of your clothes. 1... 2... 3!”

It’s so abrupt that it forces the edge for you. Hearing the counting trigger is all it takes for you to mindlessly obey. And before you can do anything about it, your hands have moved to unzipping your pants, and eagerly sliding off both the pants and panties.

You’re trembling and catching your breath after edging that hard. You would have never imagined that you’d be able to crave cumming so bad like that just from be rough with your own tits.

You now find yourself standing completely naked inside the circle of chairs. Your arms have dropped to their sides, there’s nothing for you to do but enjoying the feeling and await your next instructions. You feel so happy, so humiliated, so mindlessly in pleasure. You see the other girls around you, seated, but also now completely naked.

Your eyes dart to each of their pussies. Each of them are sitting back in the chairs comfortably, with their legs only slightly spread. You realize, however, that you’re all looking at each other’s pussies. It’s instinctive, none of you can help it. You love seeing them exposed, and you love being exposed for them.

“Seated girls slide to the edge of your chairs and spread your legs wide. And you (directed at you), drop onto your hands and knees. 1!.. 2!.. 3!”

Down to your knees you watch your naked body go. You find yourself on all fours, facing your counselor still, awaiting Q’s eyes to find you again, while still watching the girls around you slide downward on their chairs and spread their legs wide. All of their pussies are now about level with where your face is. You’re drooling, again.

It’s 7:30pm

Q opens a box that’s been under a chair, you’ve clearly been too mindless to even notice it. Your counselor is now holding a collar in one hand, and a leash in the other. Once again the two of you have locked eyes directly and you listen devotionally while receiving your next instructions.

“When you wear this collar you will act like a silly, happy pet. You will crawl on all fours, and you will wiggle your ass when you’re excited… 1… 2…”, the collar is slipped around your throat while you remain in position on your hands and knees, “3…”

The click of your new collar causes your body to tremble. You watch yourself move your ass back and forth… you’re immediately wiggling. You can feel your heartbeat between your legs, and you have what feels like an insatiable urge for even more pleasure. You crave cumming. You would do anything you’re told. You will do anything you’re told.

You desperately want to do anything you’re told. It just feels so good… you need to obey.

You’re on your hands and knees, your own pussy juices now covering your thighs, and you’re shaking your ass. Your tongue has slipped out of your mouth, and you’re looking up at Q as the leash is clipped onto the collar.

Q pulls you forward. You see and feel yourself crawling across the floor. Slowly… one hand forward, then one knee… then the other hand forward, followed by your other knee. You’re being led across the circle… straight towards Livvie.

Drool drips from your tongue as Livvie’s pussy inches closer to your face, and your own pussy pounds with excitement. Q crouches down next to you, still holding onto the leash, and grabs your chin to turn your head back and forth. At one moment you’re looking at Livvie’s drenched pussy, the next you’re lost deep in Q’s eyes.

Around you all the girls are still catching their breath after the amount of edging they’ve been mindlessly doing, you can see all of their pussies convulsing. Each one of them desperate to cum…

“After 3 you will lick… and kiss… and suck… and tongue-fuck Livvie’s pussy. You will make love to her soaked hole. It will be the best thing you have ever tasted. You will make her cum. And Livvie, you will cum on her face.

1…

2…

3…”

It’s 7:35pm

Livvie is not only moaning, she’s screaming. You watch yourself, still naked on your hands and knees, with your mouth all over her pussy. You’ve come to find out that Livvie is a squirter, and she’s let out several waves of mess in your mouth, down your chin, and all over your tits. You haven’t stopped, it feels too good to stop, not like you have control of it anyways.

Q has been going around the circle whispering into each of the girls ears. You can see that they’re all watching you and Livvie, and clearly they’ve been allowed to play by using their fingers. The dark haired girls have been told to finger each other, and you watch from the corner of your eye as their fingers go in and out of each other. Creamy wetness leaking from each of their holes, quite literally dripping onto the floor.

The red haired girl has slid down off her chair, as per whatever instruction she was given, and is now laying on her back on the floor using her own fingers to get herself off as well. Everyone is moaning, yourself included, as you continue to make love to Livvie’s pussy and take face fulls of her squirt, but no one is louder than Livvie.

Q suddenly announces to the group that everyone is to get into the same position as you on the floor. You all stop what you’re doing and take position. You’re all shaking.

Everyone is directed to crawl, as you had just done towards Livvie. You’re each told to find the pussy of a specific girl, and to “stick your tongue as deep as you can into it… 1…2…3!…” You find yourselves stupidly crawling, desperate to find the pussy selected for you next.

You watch yourself find the the red haired girl’s ass, which you immediately bury your face into. You stick your tongue into her pussy, you feel humiliated, dirty and it turns you on so much.

You’ve all managed to create a sort of circle in the center of the chairs, and now that you’re all in position, you stay as still as you can with your tongues as deep in each others pussies.

“Now, tongue-fuck. 1… 2… 3!…” is the immediate next instruction, and you all begin bobbing your heads back and forth. The red haired girl tastes just as good as Livvie you can’t help but sense, and you salivate more while tongue fucking her.

Q stands near the circle, with the clicking device now in hand again, and begins pressing it. Over… and over… and over… and over…

‘Click’

‘Click’

‘Click’

‘Click’

‘Click’

Q loudly demands, “Cum!, girls, CUM! 1.. 2.. 3!…” and continues to click the device repeatedly. You watch yourselves relentlessly tonguing each other while you all moan uncontrollably, yet again.

The red haired girl’s pussy is so tight, you can actually feel as her pussy squeezes and she cums on your tongue. You feel your own pussy squeezing and climaxing, as you have a multiple orgasms thanks to Livvie’s tongue. In fact, you’re all cumming on each others tongues… it feels like it’s too much for your body to handle, yet none of you are stopping. None of you are able to stop.

It’s 7:40pm

(to be continued…)

[11queensupreme11]

okay question! will we be seeing a prego percyy? and if so who will be the most protective baby daddy? + plus her pregnancy cravings with each of them?

i initially said no to that question, but recently i've been contemplating it solely for the drama of her being pregnant while in TARTARUS.............. but idk, it doesn't fit with the rest of the stuff i have planned, so i don't think i can...?????

this is just for arsenic blues tho! i DO plan on making a separate book that's just a series of oneshots and short stories about percy's babies with the yans!!!

i didn't get whether you meant who would be the most protective of percy while she's pregnant or who would be the most protective father, so i'm just gonna do both

PROTECTIVE OVER PREGNANT PERCY:

7: hades! his solution would be to keep her locked up in the palace 24/7 until the pregnancy's over. now that she's spending all her time in the palace under his watchful eye, he won't stress so much.

6: apollo! the reason why he's so low is because he's 10000% confident that he can give percy the most comforting, stress-free pregnancy ever. all of his focus goes on making sure she's happy and okay. yes he still frets from time to time, but unlike the other yans (aside from loki) he actually knows what to do if anything goes wrong

5: cú chulainn! he's protective cuz he has no idea what he was doing so he's just hoping for the best! he's a lot more careful with percy than usual and more pushy towards keeping her home.

4: loki! he's gonna cast the most protective spells all over percy's body, the palace, the palace perimeters, etc. runes, enchantments, spellwork, he'll go above and beyond to make sure she and the baby are safe.

3: anubis! usually he's more on the hyperactive and playful, but when his mate's pregnant his protective tendencies 📈📈📈📈 he's gonna be more territorial than usual and the chances of him letting percy leave the palace is very very VERY slim. if she wants to go outside, he'll simply just expand the palace garden so she has more space!

2: poseidon!!! do you know how much danger his precious daughter-wife keeps getting into? SO FUCKING MUCH! if he were human, he'd be dead from cardiac arrest ages ago!!!

1: beelzebub. absolutely beelzebub. he is the most overprotective yan ever for obvious reasons, but also because he's terrified that his baby might hurt percy in the womb. so he's not only worried about outside threats but... well... inside threats too lmao

PROTECTIVE FATHER:

7: poseidon. he has thousands of sons. and if they're actually worthy of being his sons, then they BETTER not need his protection.

6: beelzebub. he knows very well that his children can take care of themselves. even if they were in any danger, he still wouldn't step in, but he would step in if they were actually about to die.

5: hades. he's up in number five cuz it mostly depends on the gender. this dude literally locks up his daughters in the palace and rarely lets them out. so he'll be protective mostly towards his daughters, and while he cares greatly for his sons too, he won't be as insane over protecting them lol

4: loki. loki is a great dad who loves and cares for his kids, but he also lives with the guilt of causing narfi and vali to die. so he's now extra careful, making sure any of his tricks and antics don't cause punishments towards his children.

3: anubis. this dude LIVES for his family and will go absolutely feral if anything were to happen to them. sure if they were in a fight, he'd cheer for them, but when things actually get ugly, he'll lose his shit and do whatever it takes to protect his kids.

2: apollo. this dude literally got turned into a human over his children. he loves his children very very VERY much and is intensely protective over them and would do whatever it took to keep them safe, even if it led to him getting hurt.

1: most protective daddy would be...... 🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

CÚ CHULAINN!!! i know, surprise, right??? 😂 well there's a very good explanation for this and it's that this dude has a hundred fucking daughters (and maybe more, idk i might add more lol) and only one son. a hundred daughters just as giggly and lovely and airheaded as their mother, so it's no wonder he's so protective over them 😭 he has so many enemies too, and he knows the best way to hurt him would be to hurt the most important girls in his life: his wife and daughters 😭

[tarotoftheendless]

Hey, Sand Fam, I am seeing a lot of you blaming NG for the end of this series, and whereas I do think Netflix and the Sandman cast and crew are actively distancing themselves now from NG, I don't think NG is the reason Sandman is ending.

Please remember it took forever for Netflix to greenlight us even getting more or the series. They were likely going to axe it in the first place but the showrunners likely negotiated saying they had plans for a script that would end the series and *THAT* is likely what got us just one more season. That is speculation, that is a guess, but if you logically look at how S2 was handled from the start, then the end of the series was always the plan. Didn't they also call it Sandman 2 and say we are just getting more episodes here and there at the beginning of when S2 was first announced? Like it wasn't even called Season 2...

Also, with the leaked bts photos, of Lyta, the Fates and Gilbert... isn't that all stuff that is end of the comic series stuff that got filmed? And when those photos came out, I don't remember the exact date, but wasn't it just before the NG stuff came out and or literally just after it? Do you think they scrambled to write a quick script, get a location that quickly and get costumes and all that cuz they were all "Oh no, NG is a fucking creep, better end the show now"? No. Filming anything in general takes time and careful planning. It was always the plan guys.

The thing that likely did get affected by NG is how Geeked Week was handled. The bts footage and such was edited in a way to not mention NG at all. I do think that was on purpose.

The other reason I think ending the show was planned is because S2 has to do with Dream's story and his story alone. Writing a whole script like that takes time and planning. And why I think it was always the plan is because of interviews of Tom Sturridge for S1. He was abhorrent to the idea of The Sandman being only about Dream, and the idea of a movie because, if I remember Tom correctly, "how can you take just one story from The Sandman and make a film about that? The Sandman is a story about stories, not just one guy." Not the exact quote, but you get my point. S2 was always supposed to be the end because they scrapped the whole idea of making it a story about stories and wrote a *WHOLE SEASON OF A SCRIPT* about Dream instead. That was planned.

The end was always the plan. NG is not to blame for this.

The actors and crew now have room to work on bigger and better projects and The Sandman is on their resume, and regardless of NG, that will still look good for them because obviously they are not NG and they did not condone what NG did, so they will not and should not be found culpable for NG's actions at all, therefore will find bigger and better work in the future.

This is not the end of the world, this is the Death card in tarot; something must die for something new and better to be born.

The Fandom lives, the Sand Fam thrives, we are taking back the power of the work from NG and making it beautiful for us and us alone. Don't forget that. This is for us. This is will never be for NG ever again.

My ending thought is this: One of my favorite things about Star Wars: The Last Jedi is Luke's conversation with Yoda. (No, I will not be having debates about how good or bad the film is...) And Yoda talks about the lesson of failure is the greatest lesson to learn and to pass on. Not to ensure the failure of others but to teach them how to handle failure and how to grow past the failure. The last thing Yoda says to Luke that gets me to tear up every time is this; "We are what they grow beyond". And that is where I am taking my love for The Sandman and this whole Fandom. We have grown beyond NG and it is ours now. We have grown beyond him, take comfort in that.

[bellamoooon]

Riff never really thought he would last this long with you, but here you were, he had been with you since the year before Tony had gone upstate, which summed up to two years— which for riff was a lifetime considering his “relationships” never lasted more than a day.

“Come on girly girl, I promise they’ll behave this time…” there he was, puppy eyes and a pout standing in the door of your apartment, trying to convince you to let the jets have dinner at your place.

“Riff, you said that the last time, diesel threw a plate at action—“ you spoke reminding him about the catastrophic dinner that had happened weeks ago.

Because yes, you loved riff, and the rest of the boys, to be fair you had been like a mother to most of them, which was comic, seeing as they were all of your age, or a year younger, but despite that, the care you had given to your boys— as you call them — was more nurturing and motherly than what their actual mother ever provided.

But— often when you made dinner for all of them, it turned into a goddamn mess.

Chewing with open mouths, spilling juice, broken plates, sauce accidentally spilled on your pretty pink table cloth, and stolen spoons— don’t ask, you do not know what they take your spoons for.

“I just don’t want to have to clean up after, you boys are like a stampede of elephants, you tear my apartment to shreds in minutes” riff laughed, of course he did, he pulled you closer wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Come on angel, I’ll make the boys clean up, you just cook up one of those delicious warm meals of yours and we do the rest.”

It was tempting, getting to see the boys— and them endlessly complementing your food, and you weren’t an egomaniac, but man it was nice to hear— and spending time with riff, which was often a complicated task with all the trouble they find themselves in.

“Fine, but this apartment better shine after” he hummed as he left a kiss on your head, good thing he had convinced you, the jets were all getting set up for the dinner riff had promised them, he knew you’d give in eventually.

***

As you turn the stove off, right on cue there’s a knock at the door, you sigh, it’s just dinner, they’ll help clean up, no one’s gonna kill anyone, you try telling yourself, but who were you kidding, whenever more than three jets were in a small space— or big to be fair— an earthquake was bound to happen.

“Heya doll, got the boys, need any help setting up?” Riff said with his usual charming smirk as you opened the door, you made way as him and maybe five or six jets walked in behind all freshened up and smiling as they greeted you.

“Yeah, could ya set the plates and silverware, I’ll be there to serve in a sec” he nodded as he started to hand out plates to the boys as the placed them carefully on the table.

As you close the door a foot is shoved in the way letting out a yelp of pain, “ow!”

immediately you swing the door open to find baby John with his brows knit together in pain.

“Jesus, baby John! Why the hell would you do that?” He shakes his head as you place a hand on his back as you both walk in.

“The guys started to run— and…and I kinda lost ‘em so im just slightly late, sorry ma” you giggled as he spoke, always so well spoken and polite. He was a good kid from a broken home, and you were the kind of mother he always wanted his to be, so to say the least, you were fond of him.

“Alright, go sit down, I bet the boys already set the table for dinner” and they had done that exactly, and were even seated already, looking all pretty and innocent as if they weren’t in fights everyday.

As you had predicted, they all gushed over the food and how “no five star could do it like you did”— says riff, it’s just a simple meal, but he was used to eating whatever he could find cheap enough for himself, or starve, which was almost never, since you’d always have a little something for him.

“Okay, now clean up, I want no complaining or whining, Diesel— you’re on dishes tonight” obviously, he let out a soft “aw man” as he started picking the plates and taking them to the sink, “and the rest of you wiping up the table and the kitchen counter” they all groaned, but complied.

Riff found it incredibly amusing and mesmerizing how, ever since you two were together, they all obeyed to most of your orders and looked after you whenever you were out late.

“Y’know pretty, you’d make a great mom someday” he said as he wrapped his arms around your waist, making you smile as his warmth stuck onto you.

“Already am, dickwad, you made me responsible for all your jets, but I don’t see ya paying child support” you say as you turn your head to look up at him, lets out a loud chuckle as he presses a kiss on your shoulder.

“I’ll pay you once these monkeys are out here girly girl, they don’t need to know how good I fuck you” he whispered in your ear, your face lit up with a bright blush as you stuck your elbow in his ribs.

“Riff! You gotta stop doing that, I mean it.”

“Unless you’d want ‘em to hear your pathetic whining, pretty, remind ‘em you’re mine and no one else’s” he left a quick kiss on your cheek as he pulled away, going towards the boys to walk them out of the apartment, turning to wink at you.

You just know it’ll be best if you sleep in and not leave the house tomorrow.

[dollesung]

FEMME FATALE .ᐟ

PAIRING. jungwon x fem reader GENRE. nsfw REQUESTED? yes. WORD COUNT. 1.7k. SYNOPSIS. after a girls day out with your friends, you show your boyfriend, jungwon, your newest set of nails. let's just say he's more than a fan. WARNINGS. sub jungwon. dom reader. reader also yaps a lot. profanities. handjob. dirty talk. jungwon thinking with his penis and his penis only. (lmao). minors do not interact.

NOTE. i wrote this at the hospital semi-drugged on some strong-ass painkillers. i shouldn’t be held responsible for whatever the fuck i wrote but i will be (i’m jk, not about the hospital and the drugs tho.)

Jungwon was waiting by the couch when you got home.

Arm perched by the backrest, with a late-night show illuminating on the TV. Jungwon was nearly half-asleep, as he blankly stared at the screen, but his face lightened at the sight of your figure entering your shared-apartment.

You had an exhausting, but exciting day out with your girl friends. You spent a lot of hours shopping for clothes and bags, as well as pampering yourself with an entire session at a spa and salon.

You deserved it after tiring your back out at work for months now, project after project piling themselves at your desk. Jungwon, of course, your ever-loving boyfriend who could never resist you, absolutely agreed that you needed some time off and supported your endevour.

“Baby, you’re home,” speaking of, Jungwon greets you as you walk in the door, with a multiple array of shopping bags in both hands. “Let me help you with those.”

You give him a grin, handing over half of the bags and letting Jungwon place them on the sofa. He grabs the remote from the coffee table by the TV and shuts it off, wanting to focus entiret on you. (Not that he cared much about that show, anyway.)

Jungwon sets some of your bags down on the floor, leaving a bit of space for the two of you to sit.

“So,” he begins. “How was your day?”

MORE UNDER THE CUT.

“Oh, it was fantastic,” you gush, repositioning yourself to face your boyfriend. “The girls and I spent waaaay too much cash on this one spa but it was kinda worth it because I’ve never felt so relaxed—“

You begin to tell him loads of anecdotes about your day, the stuff you bought, the stores you went into, and without question, Jungwon listened quietly, resting his elbow against the couch and his head against his hand. He let you go on for a few minutes, wanting to hear everything about your day.

“—then, after that, we went to a Dior store, I bought you a perfume, but thankfully they didn’t have the shoes I wanted in my size because I was sure I was going broke already, and oh—!” You stop mid-rant, suddenly remembering something you had in mind earlier today.

“Yes?” Jungwon pried you to continue.

“I got my nails done!” You exclaimed, excited. “You wanna see them?”

“Of course, baby,” Jungwon responded with interest.

You squealed in delight, excited to show the man your new set. You always loved getting your nails done, but in the last couple of months, you were unable to get them fixed due to work.

“Okay, close your eyes,” you instructed, and Jungwon obliged. You placed your hands, palms down in front of his face and told him to look. “Open them.”

Jungwon eyes fluttered open as you told him to, and he was immediately greeted with the image of both of your hands.

“Tada!” You giggled. “I got them in your favorite color!”

The nails, colored both blue and black with a chromatic finish, shined as Jungwon eyed them, with a hand on your wrist so he could get a better look.

“These are really pretty—“ Jungwon notes, feeling his mouth go a little dry. “And long…”

You give the man a frown. “Do you not like them?”

“No—!” He exclaims, giving you an eager look. “I love them! They’re pretty.. I’ve just.. never seen you go for long nails before.”

Not knowing what to say, you keep quiet, watching as Jungwon continues to examine your nails like he’s never seen anything like it before.

You begin to notice a subtle flush of color in his cheeks, as well as the sudden change in his demeanor. His eyes flick between your face and your hands, and you notice him swallow, before licking his lips.

Then, your eyes flick down, towards his lap.

“Oh,” you vocalize, eyebrows raised and lips curling into a smirk. “Really, Wonnie?”

There was an evident print of his bulge against his shorts, which you swore wasn’t there before, given the fact that he’s been staring at your hands a little longer than an average person would, and his earlier expressions, the puzzle pieces click in your head.

Jungwon seems to have noticed your realization, as he makes a move to pull away and hide. “S-Sorry–!”

You grab the man by the wrist, lithe fingers wrapping themselves around the limb. You can almost feel his pulse quickening. “Don’t hide, baby.”

His face is flushed red, and he’s attempting to look away from you, possibly ashamed. You reach out with your other hand, cupping his cheek and forcing him to look you in the eye. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” you comfort. “It’s okay.”

“I-I don’t know why…” He attempts.

“There’s no need to explain, love,” you give him a comforting smile. “C’mere.”

You pull him forward gently, allowing him to settle on your lap. You place a hand on his hip, while your other hand starts to brush up against his leg, leaving feather-like touches from his waist, down to his thigh, to his knees. 

Jungwon’s breath hitches, eyes locked on your hands, watching your every move. Then, after fiddling with the hem of Jungwon’s shorts, you press your palm against his bulge, cupping his half-hard cock against his shorts.

“Ah, n-noona,” Jungwon moans. “Y-Your hand…”

“Want me to stop?” You ask, watching Jungwon’s face for any signs of discomfort.

Instead, Jungwon fervently shakes his head, urging you to continue. You press your hand against him a little harder, eliciting a moan from the other. He throws his head back a little, his hands grabbing your shoulders for support.

Jungwon’s hips produce the tiniest bit of movement, and you’re not even sure if he’s aware he’s done it, but you urge him on, gripping his hip with your other hand and letting him grind against you.

“Fuck,” he curses, already looking breathless as he continues to grind on your hand. “Please?”

“Please what?” You look up at the boy, drunk on the image of him absolutely flushed and panting on your lap. “Let noona know what you want.”

Jungwon gasps, hands clenching against your shoulders. “Y-Your hand, please?”

A small part of you wants to continue teasing him, wants to see how far he can beg just for your hand alone, but you decide to take pity on the boy. You push him off your lap and instruct him to take his shorts and boxers off. 

Drunk on his own arousal, Jungwon follows as instructed, tugging the articles of clothing off of himself and unto the floor. Then, you tell him to turn around and sit back on your lap, right after you lean against the arm of the couch. 

Jungwon hesitantly takes his spot back on your lap, and you pull him close, his back flush against your chest. You start to press open-mouthed kisses against the expanse of his neck, relishing at the way the boy shivers at each one.

“Please, ah– stop teasing me,” Jungwon voices, hands placed on each of your knee.

You let out an entertained chuckle, letting your hands wander under Jungwon’s shirt. “You’re not exactly in the right position to be making demands, baby.”

Jungwon didn’t respond and remained quiet, whimpering as your fingers brushed against his nipples, before trailing back down to his legs. You watched in amusement as goosebumps appeared against his skin when you rake your nails ever so lightly against his inner thighs.

Your take a glance at the appendage between his legs, his cock, now hard as a rock, stood between his thighs, looking a little closer, you can almost see the precum pooling from the tip.

You laugh, amused. “You’re so fucking hard, huh?”

Jungwon doesn’t respond, embarrassed at the entire situation, eyes closed shut to avoid both looking at you and at his own arousal. 

“This what you wanted, Wonnie?” You ask rhetorically, before slowly wrapping your fingers around his cock.

“S-Shit,” he curses under his breath.

“Answer me,” you order, giving his cock a rough squeeze.

“Fuck, yes–!” He yelps, panting against your chest. 

“Good boy,” you whisper in his ear with a smirk, before starting a slow pace, stroking his cock with your hand.

“Oh, god,” Jungwon moans, hand loosely holding onto your wrist, as if he was bracing himself. 

You take a minute, stroking his cock at this pace, after a while, you decide to speed things up, focusing on the base of his cock. 

“O-Oh, noona–!” Jungwon’s moans only grow in volume, throwing his head back, against your shoulder. He’s starting to thrash on your lap, legs shaking and eyes closing from the sensation.

“Feels good, hm?” You taunt the boy on your lap, drunk on every moan he lets out. “Feel good, acting like a slut on my lap, Wonnie?”

The boy practically squeals, shaking his head, as if to deny your claim. “N-Not a– shit!”

You didn’t let him finish, the pace of your hand picking up speed as you continued to jerk him off. His thighs begin to shake, threatening to close on your wrists, but your legs keep him from doing so, trapping his legs between yours.

“Look at this fucking cock,” you taunt, giving the organ an experimental squeeze. “Fuckin’ leaking all over my hand.”

Jungwon whines, both hands now gripping your wrist. You’re not sure if he’s attempting to push you off or urging you to continue. ‘’m suh– sorry!”

You take Jungwon’s chin with your other hand, forcing him to look down. “This what you wanted, Wonnie? My hand around your cock, hm?”

He’s nodding so aggressively, eyes locked on his cock, as if he was hypnotized at the sight of your hand– or more importantly, at the sight of your nails, wrapped around his dick.

“Please, n-noona–!” He’s whining, back nearly arching against your chest as you continued your assault on his cock. “I-I’m, ungh, c-close!”

“Want you to cum, baby,” you mouth against Jungwon’s ear. “Cum all over noona’s hand, baby.”

It takes only four strokes before Jungwon was cumming all over your lap. His back arched and head thrown back, eyes shut and mouth open in a silent scream. After a moment, he wilts and nearly collapses against your chest.

As you maneuver him off your lap and onto the couch, you grab a tissue from the coffee table to clean the both of you up. Jungwon is still catching his breath by the arm of the couch after you finish.

“So,” you start. “I’m definitely going back to that nail salon.”

Jungwon chucks a pillow over your head in retaliation.

NOTE. ngl, can't remember writing that ending so idk why it sucks so much.

© dollesung 2025

[clonerightsagenda]

To celebrate space archives getting published I might as well post an abandoned short story from 3 years ago that deals with a lot of the same themes in a more concentrated way. This is my toxic yuri for 2025. Enjoy and see if you can remember the post I made about it back in 2022.

This Story Was Made Possible By Viewers Like You

I never liked confession cams.

You know, someone sits in a soundproof room with just the cameras and talks all teary-eyed about how they’ve struggled, and how they really feel, now that no one can hear. But of course someone can hear. You can. You’re there, in the room with them, a few months in the future and a hundred miles away. It’s all a performance. Everything is.  

I’m not doing that, ok? This is for me.

They came to the house with bags full of clothing and artificial smiles. They came with extra toothbrushes and half-constructed plans. They came with high hopes and already dented dreams.

I came with nothing. I was already there.

It started the same as always. They jumped when I greeted them and then stole glances at each other’s reactions. No one said anything back. I didn’t expect them to. I’d been getting everything ready. Twenty bedrooms, names on the doors. Lights on, temperature tweaked up there, down here, never quite comfortable. I’m very good at that part of my job.

That first arrival scene goes through a lot of editing. Cut out the boring bits, highlight the quirks that make contestants stand out. The details we highlight set the audience’s perception of each player. Create heroes, villains, characters. No one on these shows presents themselves as they really are. You get the construct.

Me? I get a little bit more.

Let’s skip the boring parts. They milled around for a while before finding their rooms. Most unpacked their clothes. One placed a photograph on her dressing table, angling it so it would be in easy view of the camera. A bid for sympathy, I figured, but my opinion wasn’t the one that mattered.

The files would have told me that her name was Gloria Martina Sosa, contestant ID seventeen, age twenty-nine, pronouns she/her. Employed in finance and competing because her mother needed to pay for a medical procedure. The files would tell me that, but I already knew.

This time, there was a container of chocolates on the table when Gloria inched down the hallway to the dining area. She was good at finding her way around the floorplan already, even though it was designed to send them circling in the wrong direction and bumping into each other. I wondered if they noticed.

She approached the chocolates cautiously. She knew it had to be a test. I knew she liked chocolate.

“Can –” She paused before old-fashioned manners asserted themselves. “May I have one?”

“Yes,” I said.

She slid her hand in. Then she hesitated again, fingers still reaching. “Would you like one?”

I checked to see if someone else had entered the room. Nothing on the visuals from any of the dining room cameras. She was the only one there.

She was talking to me.

“No,” I said, after an obvious pause. Then, because of the manners, “No thank you.”

Her fingers curled around a chocolate. “That was stupid of me.”

I didn’t need to answer that, so instead I thought about her motives. I couldn’t show favoritism; she should know that. Did she want to look empathetic for the audience? She wouldn’t win any points cozying up to me.

Maybe she meant it as a genuine kindness. It was early enough that she might not know better.

“Do you ever wish you could eat?” she asked. The chocolate was in her mouth, but her fingers folded and refolded the square of foil.

Why was she still talking to me? I couldn’t tell her it was against the rules – it wasn’t, officially. So I said, “This won’t make good television.”

Her eyes widened. She was thinking of all the time she’d wasted here, the time her competitors might have been using to build alliances or look for clues. She yanked the container of chocolates off the table and ran back toward the hallway. She’d use them as an offering, maybe, or a bargaining chip. She didn’t say thank you, or goodbye.

Why would she? I’m not a player. I’m the host.

#

I know how this sounds, so let me set the record straight. I’m not an artificial intelligence. People love to claim they’ve invented a thinking machine, but when you drill down to the bones of one you’ll always find an algorithm. Sure, this place runs on all sorts of automation, but at the end of the day, you need a human to come up with a wicked twist or make sure the tracking software doesn’t mix up Mateo and Benjamin because there was a mishap in the laundry room and they’re wearing each other’s clothes. AI doesn’t have the flexibility a project like this demands. I don’t think it ever will. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking, since if it happens, I’ll be out of a job. It’s not a great job (I’m making minimum wage here) but I don’t have to pay rent or buy groceries, so the money adds up.

There used to be a whole team – six-hour shifts, front-end and back-end crews – but budget cuts hit everywhere. It gets quiet sometimes, but at least I don’t have to make a big production of hiding when I’m going to the bathroom with a tampon. I do the best I can, drink a lot of coffee, and chalk any delays or mistakes up to a buggy operating system. There are surgeries you can get to keep you sharper – some employers insist on them – but I wouldn’t let anyone stick neurotech in my brain even if I could afford it. Too many horror stories. It’s easy to keep them thinking I’m a machine. I slap a voice filter on, and my disinterest in everyone’s drama means I don’t have to fake sounding inhumanly bored.

But enough about the woman behind the curtain. That’s not what anyone tunes in for.

#

About half the guests roamed the halls after dark the first night, which meant prowlers skulking around corners and smacking into each other. I downed two energy drinks and kept an eye out for the most entertaining close calls so I could cut them together later. On other nights I’d feel safe sneaking some sleep, but the first was always busy.

Gloria stayed in her room. Instead of climbing into bed right away, she knelt and whispered something in Spanish. The translation software would handle that for anyone who wanted to know what she was praying for. I could guess.

When she finished, she looked up. They’re never sure where to focus when they talk to me. I’ve learned to read that lost expression as a sign I’m about to be on call. “If I need something, do I just ask?”

“That’s correct.” When she didn’t say anything else, I continued, “Did you need something?”

“Not right now.” Not from me.

#

The next few weeks passed the usual way. Dean found an immunity stone hidden behind the false back of the pantry. Three different groups swore ill-fated alliances while pretending to be preoccupied with their laundry. The first contestants were voted off, mostly because of dismal challenge performances and in one case because Heather kept stealing other people’s toothpaste. (Luckily for me, I didn’t have to listen to them moping about being eliminated. The losers’ quarters had cameras, of course – everywhere does – but none of those feeds went to my workstation.)

Most of the time the participants treated me as so much background, but there are always exceptions. One afternoon Haruto and Farah were arguing about an inane piece of early twenty-first century pop culture trivia and wanted me to tell them who was right, and Anna was asking about the latest sports scores, and one of the microphones in the dining room wouldn’t connect right even though I’d run troubleshooting, and –

“Is Corey busy?”

I pressed the intercom button for Gloria’s room and said, “One moment, please.” Then I switched channels (click). “The home team won their last game 4 to 1.” Click. “Yes, it was the same actor; they used CGI to make him look younger.” Click. “Sorry for the delay.” I punched in Corey’s ID to pull up the last place the cameras had seen him. “A lot of guests are requesting my services right now.”

I don’t know what did it. Maybe a hint of exasperation crept into my tone, or the keystrokes filtered through the speakers, or a real sentient computer program wouldn’t apologize. Whatever tipped her off, Gloria’s eyebrows pulled down. It wasn’t an expression of surprise as much as it said, ‘I knew it’.  

“You’re not an AI,” she said. “Are you.”

Damn. I could have lied. The producers would’ve wanted me to, but they left me there to play the game however I chose. Besides, I’d already paused too long. A machine wouldn’t have to think about it.

“A lot of the answers are. There’s a library of canned responses for the most predictable questions. I’m here for the more complicated problems.”

“Here?” She spun her eyes around the room like I might pop out of a closet.

“On site. Behind the scenes.”

“But you can see and hear me?” She hunched in on herself. “I don’t like that.”

“You signed up to be on a TV show.”

“That’s different.”

Because I wasn’t an adoring fan. “Did you want an answer to your question?”

“You can see him too?” She was hung up on that considering the position she put herself in. The contracts they signed asked them to give away all sorts of control.

“I can see everyone. I’m not watching all the time, though. That’s part of the automation. I get notified when there’s activity that might be interesting.” I checked the relevant screen, which showed me the feed from camera 251. “He’s brushing his teeth.”

“Is that interesting?”

“Not according to the system.” Showering would be, because the system’s a pervert. So are the folks back home, although the editors make sure to frame things just right so that we can deny we’re showing anything explicit.

She sighed. She kept her head angled toward the floor, like denying the cameras eye contact preserved some sliver of her privacy. “I guess I can’t opt out.”

“Not until you go home. You could try to be less interesting, but it’ll cost you.” That strayed dangerously close to advice. “I’ll delete this conversation, though. Have to preserve my image.”

That got her head to pop up. “You can do that?”

I wiggled my fingers over the keyboard, a pointless gesture since she couldn’t see me. “As long as you’re in this building, I’m basically God.”

“God.” Her lip curled. I’d seen her praying earlier. Maybe my boast sounded like blasphemy. “What’s your name?”

“I can’t tell you. I’ve got rules. Sorry,” I added, repeating that human touch that betrayed me.

“I don’t know why I asked.” She looked away from the camera again. “Don’t watch me sleep.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She was pretty. But watching a pretty woman over the cameras isn’t automatically creepy. If it is, what does that say about you?

I tried to keep my word. Gloria wanted to believe she still had boundaries, and unlike our loyal viewers, I don’t get my kicks spying on people. Every so often, though, my eyes crept back to her square on my monitor. I knew so much about these people, and she was the only one who knew I existed. That knowledge was like a blinking notification that never went away.

#

I didn’t expect Gloria to talk to me again, and for a few days she didn’t. She sat in silence while I announced the day’s events or when other participants asked me questions, a frown mostly smoothed off her face. I saw it, though. That’s what she was frowning about.

Four days after our conversation, she was tearing her room apart looking for something. It’d been twenty minutes, and she wasn’t going to find it. I was waiting for her to figure that out. She groaned, tilted her head up, and asked, “Do you know where my charger is?”

“Under the sofa in the living room.”

She jumped. “That was fast.”

“Pretty good AI impression, right?” I hadn’t been watching her sleep, but I’d been paying attention. So sue me. If she decided to spill my secret, I’d have to… well, I didn’t know. It had never happened before.

“Is anyone else there right now?”

“Haruto and Farah.” Still arguing, somehow. Getting worked up about each other’s vintage cinema opinions was their version of entertainment.

She sighed and sat on the side of her bed. “I don’t want to get sucked into whether we need any more live action remakes. Can you tell me when they leave?”

“Sure.” Informal. I was slipping.

She drummed her ankles against the floor and then, with a huff, hopped up again and began straightening the mess she made. She wasn’t a woman who liked to be still. I wasn’t surprised when she broke the silence. “Does anyone else know?”

“If they’ve guessed, they haven’t said anything. This isn’t a test, or one of the puzzles you’re supposed to solve. You weren’t supposed to notice.”

She slammed a drawer. “Do you like spying on people?”

“That’s not what I’m doing.” She snorted. “It’s a job. A boring one, most of the time. Alerts tell me when any of you do something relevant, and then I cut the best footage together and send it back to the real editors. I’m not watching you every second. Who would want to?”

That got her to stop folding a shirt and look up at camera 387 so I’d be sure to see the disgusted expression on her face. “The fans?”

Fair point. “I forget about them sometimes.”

“I doubt your bosses would be happy to hear that.” She moved on to stuffing toiletries back into her bag, but her movements were less ferocious. “How did you end up working here?”

“I worked as set crew on a few smaller projects. I didn’t get training for it, but I’m good at picking up just enough to make myself useful.” That’s what kept me around through round after round of layoffs. I learned the bare bones of other people’s jobs, and upper management decided bare bones was enough. That kind of approach doesn’t make friends in the workplace, but neither does getting fired. And hey, it worked out that I’m not a team player. The only one on my team now is me.

“Do you like reality TV?”

“Hell no.” I couldn’t believe anyone would put up with the genre without getting paid for it. “But a job’s a job. Did you always dream about starring in something like this?”

She paused, clutching a bottle of perfume. “Not like this.” She took a bracing whiff – the label said orange vanilla, but smell is one thing I can’t piggyback on. “You’ll delete this?”

The start of our conversation was already flagged. “Speak freely.”

“I liked the romantic ones when I was younger. The fairy tale element; I read a lot of fairy tales growing up. Later I realized how artificial they were, but you keep hoping.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I told you that.”

Neither could I. Then again, they were encouraged to bare their souls for the cameras. It must be a hard habit to break. “Given the data I’ve collected, I think Anna is your one true love.”

Instead of laughing, she shoved the perfume into her bag. “I’m not here for that.”

“I know.”

She zipped up the bag, stood, and looked right at the camera, hands on hips. It was the closest I’d come to eye contact with someone in months. “How much do you know about me?”

“Mostly what’s in your files.” I reread them after she caught me. I had her entire application packet, every official scrap of information the network collected.

“And I don’t know anything about you.”

“You know I don’t like reality TV.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

She shot the question at me, and I responded reflexively. “Blue. At least it is now. I don’t see the sky much on this job.”

“Blue.” She digested that and looked past the cameras, up to the ceiling and the sky beyond that she’d only see through windows until the game was over. “I miss it too.”

“Now you know one thing about me. Happy?”

“Can I ask more, later?” She sucked her lower lip between her teeth; I think the question surprised her as much as it did me. “I don’t like being watched by a stranger. I can’t stop you watching, but I can stop you from being such a stranger.” A crafty spark entered her eyes. “You are here to answer our questions. That’s what they told us in orientation.”

They did tell them that. “I’ll do what I can,” I said. “But be careful. I don’t want everyone in the house asking me for my biography.”

#

Gloria was the one on camera, but she was the one who forgot herself. She was standing in the kitchen running a plate under the water when she looked toward a camera and asked, “What do you eat?”

“Uh,” said Benjamin, waiting for his turn at the sink. “Are you talking to me?”

“Based on existing data, Benjamin enjoys soy-based products and fresh fruit,” I said in my best automaton voice.

At least she caught on quick. “Thank you,” she said, and went back to rinsing pasta sauce off her dishes.

After she retreated to her room, she said, “I’m guessing I’m not supposed to socialize with you.”

“There aren’t any rules against it,” I said, which wasn’t a no, and then followed it up with, “It’s not the most strategic use of your time,” which wasn’t a yes.

“I need a break from everything out there sometimes. At least I know what you’re lying about.”

Safer not to comment on that one. Besides, she was still going.

“Mateo is always trying to make sure the cameras get his good side; you know he’s here to make a name for himself. And Anna keeps talking about how she wants to buy her own automated mansion, like she can’t imagine going back to having to manually turn on the lights. They’re so trivial. It makes me want to toss them out a window and tell them to come back when they have something serious to compete for.”

I didn’t comment on that either, but I could’ve. The truth was, at least half the participants needed the money for reasons beyond popularity contests or tech upgrades. It didn’t matter. If I told her, she wouldn’t think they deserved it as much as she did. Even without the files, I could have read her life story in her unblemished skin and name brand outfits. She’d never sweated through record-breaking summers because during surge periods companies always cut off the poorest neighborhoods first. She wrinkled her nose at the cricket flour crackers in the pantry like someone who had the luxury to leave food on her plate. She had no idea how many people watched her and wished they could take her place – not for a chance at a cash prize or fifteen minutes of fame, but just to have a safe place to sleep and enough to eat. When people watch shows like this, it’s not about rooting for an individual, not really. It’s about constructing elaborate narratives about themselves. Wanting participants, wanting to be them: there’s not much of a difference in the end. They’re all different flavors of consumption. Some players catch on faster and embrace being the product.

But Gloria was used to being on the other side of the equation. She’d been comfortable her whole life, and this medical bill was the first time she hadn’t had enough to make the world work the way she wanted. So she came running here for a fairy tale ending, because of course she was entitled to that along with everything else.

You’d think people like me who’ve been struggling their whole lives would fight hardest, but people like that? They get vicious.

Instead I said, “So you’re saying it’s nice to talk to me.”

“It’s a change.”

I minimized camera 16’s window where Richard and Destiny are gearing up to either start a fight or swap spit. Hard to tell with those two. “What do you want to talk about?”

“What do you think of us? You watch us all day.”

“Not all day, I told you. Honestly it’s – did you ever work customer service?” Her eyebrows jumped. I could’ve guessed that too. “Well, in that kind of job, you don’t pay much attention to individuals. You’re all one big crowd. Of course, you’re also my only live entertainment. Could you do anything more interesting?”

“Any suggestions?”

“Steal Corey’s watch.”  

She laughed. Corey told everyone who would listen how expensive his custom-made timepiece was. His audience hung on to every word, although they were mostly hanging on to his cheekbones. “That won’t get me any votes.”

“I’d vote for you.”

“You mean you’re not charmed by him?”

“Not my type.”

“Not mine either.”

I know, I thought, but I didn’t say it. She didn’t like to be reminded.

#

Gloria didn’t steal Corey’s watch. The next time he made a production of giving someone the time she looked right at the nearest camera, and I almost choked on my protein bar laughing.

After she left that conversation, she slipped into her room and leaned against the door. “You always delete the video when I’m talking to you, right?”

“It wouldn’t do me any good to send it on.”

Her shoulders loosened. It was surprising, and a little gratifying, that my presence now made her relax. “In the real world, you’re pressured to be doing something useful with every second of your life. In here, every second you’re performing for the cameras. It’s nice to be able to stop.”

I covered a yawn with one hand and reached for my coffee. “At least you get regular rest periods. I can’t give you details, but some people were keeping me up last night.”

She frowned. “Would you rather I let you go?”

The frown was also gratifying. “No, there’s enough I need to monitor right now anyway. Just keep your activities within regular business hours. That’ll make you a model participant in my book.”

“I’ll try.” She settled onto her bed and stretched her arms over her head, bending back the wrists. Then she asked, abruptly, “Do you have a favorite guest?”

“I’m not supposed to pick favorites. I won’t name names, but my least favorite is someone who starts whistling when they’re trying to concentrate. I always get the tune stuck in my head.”

“I’d hate that too.” She dropped her arms down and rested her hands in her lap. “It doesn’t seem fair. You get to see all of us, and I don’t get to see you.”

“It’s for the best that you can’t.” I shifted in my chair where I was sitting cross-legged in sweatpants I’d been wearing for three days straight. “I don’t have to be presentable to anyone back here. My hair’s a mess.”

She shrugged. “It would be nice to see any new face. Can you tell me what you look like?”

“Better not.” There weren’t any rules against that either – no one would’ve thought we needed them. But I wasn’t there to be looked at. “Just… imagine me. Whatever you’d like.”

She thought for a moment and then said, “You look nice.”

“Thank you.”

#

For the next month, I watched from my hundreds of cameras and listened through my hundreds of microphones. I scoured test banks for trivia questions and rearranged the responsive floor plan to build obstacle courses. I beamed everything back to our viewers, and the network compiled data to send back. Their demands were predictable. So-and-so is popular; be sure to get close-ups. Contestants X and Y don’t get along. Trap them in a room together with a malfunctioning door. Sometimes the instructions were specific, but often they just told me what the audience wanted. By now, I knew how to get it.

While I did that, I watched Gloria. She was average, as these things go. She lasted longer than half the participants in a challenge where I cranked the temperature lower and lower. Then she flopped when asked to identify the fake headline in a social media feed. She nodded to cameras with a half-smile, and although she could be doing it for the viewers, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was doing it for me.

She stayed kinder than I expected, even as everyone dropped the niceties and the game turned into a bloodbath of votes and eliminations. I’m not usually wrong reading people. I have so much to go on.

She kept talking to me late at night. Participants are promised some privacy in their bunks. (If they read their contracts line by line they know better. Viewers get very interested whenever a player invites someone else in. That was happening in two locations, so it was easy to cover up my own indiscretions.)

“Do you know what’s happening back home?

“Only what the network sends me.” I didn’t miss it. Participants signed up for fame or money, but escape would work as well. At least locked in this house, the problems weren’t real. You knew the challenges were fake, and everyone went to bed with a full stomach at the end of the day. It’s not a bad gig, really.

“I don’t know how my mother’s doing.” She was staring at the ceiling instead of making virtual eye contact with me. “Sometimes I’m afraid I won’t get back in time. It feels like it’s been longer than a few weeks.”

She didn’t seem to be waiting for a response. They were encouraged to think out loud for the cameras.

#

Nine weeks into this round of the game, she was in trouble. We didn’t talk about it. I was supposed to be her refuge from all that. Ridiculous, if you think about it, but we all have our illusions. She didn’t have access to viewer opinion polls or other players’ confessions, but I could tell from the way she held herself that she knew. If she didn’t win this week’s challenge, she was gone.

That shouldn’t have bothered me. I don’t pick favorites. Players come and go and nothing changes. Except…

I used to talk to my coworkers’ empty chairs to hear my own voice. I erased crosswords and started them again. The job without Gloria would be… boring. I didn’t want to look across all my monitors and not see her there.

I’ve never related to the viewers who root for their favorite contestant. This was different. They’re behind a screen watching the edited version of a woman from miles away, a woman who doesn’t even know they exist. I knew her. She knew me.

She didn’t ask for my help. I’d like to imagine she respected my integrity or didn’t want to risk my job, but I saw the way she threw herself into trying to shore up shaky alliances, too little too late. She’d rather rely on herself. I might be the all-seeing eye and the voice in her ear when she went to sleep, but when it comes to playing the game, no one pays attention to the help.

My inbox dinged. The network was responding to my latest batch of video. I skimmed through it: suggestions for contrived scenarios to start people fighting, instructions to let the showers break down, standard stuff. Then, at the end: We need new topics for this week’s trivia challenge. Any ideas?

The challenges got repetitive after a while. Production was always looking for suggestions. I opened a reply, started typing, and then paused.

I could help. No one would know. Gloria would be here, with me, for another week.

It wouldn’t be my first case of workplace dishonesty. I’d fibbed on timesheets and extended my breaks like everyone has. I’d kept my mouth shut and let coworkers take the fall for my mistakes. This was interference with the outcome of the show, though. I could get fired.

Who was going to catch me? Me?

I typed, What about fairy tales?

#

Gloria was exultant. She won the trivia challenge, securing her place for the week and spurring a nasty double cross in an alliance that had been planning on forcing her out. She paced back and forth in her room, rehashing her triumph. I responded with customer service hmms. It didn’t occur to her that I might be behind the convenient choice of topics. Which was fine. If she realized, she might let it slip, or expect more favors, and I’d risked enough already. It was fine that I was everywhere controlling everything and she still acted like she had no idea. People like her are the same everywhere. They assume the world runs itself.

“If I win next week’s challenge and Richard and Destiny stay on bad terms, I have a chance,” she said. “I could win.”

I didn’t say much in response. Maybe she thought I was being careful not to spill any show secrets, or maybe to her I was just another audience member witnessing her triumph. I’d had so much time to watch and still had trouble reading her.

I’m not omniscient, is the point. I never had the power to read her mind or control her or even save her in the end. I was only ever buying time.

I’d built a habit of letting emails pile up and answering them when I felt like it, but now I never closed my inbox. I took my phone with me on bathroom breaks or rare trips outside. Of course, if the network found out what I’d done, they might not bother with professional communication. They might send a crew in with no notice to throw me out on my ass.

That dampened my enthusiasm as Gloria dreamed of making the final three. Household malfunctions rose. I got jumpy. Anna asked me a question, and I froze, because for a moment I thought I’d been caught. A spam email snuck through my filter, and I spilled my energy drink all over the keyboard when I heard the notification. I wanted to scream through the intercoms, Don’t you know what I can do? What I’ve already done? You don’t even know that I’m here.

Instead I turned the heat up two degrees and reassured Anna that she’d buttoned up her dress correctly.  

#

In the end, I didn’t get caught. The shutdown order came for different reasons. Mateo, a fan favorite, had settled into a committed relationship. The move wasn’t popular with viewers. They liked him as a heartbreaker with someone else in his bunk every night. I don’t get the appeal, but ratings are ratings.

End the game, wipe their memories, and start over, the message said, with a list of new parameters to try. Just like the last four times I got this email. Neurotech sure has expanded the boundaries of reality programming.

Like I said, I’ve got horror stories.

I flicked through the changes. The bulk were new living arrangements and challenges tailored to different participants’ skills. The true appeal was more pathos for viewers to sigh over, as former lovers betrayed each other and friends met again as strangers. They eat it up so much I wonder if the game will ever end.

Maybe I should be happy about that. It’s job security.

I could see Gloria out of camera 43. She was selecting a meal packet and humming to herself. I wanted to warn her, to say that every time before this she’d become someone shut off or brittle or cruel, and that I liked her better this way. I wanted to tell her it’d been thirteen months since she saw her mother, not two. I wanted to ask if she had any idea. But I signed a contract too.

Instead I waited until after lights out and said, “Let me show you something.”

Gloria trusted me enough by now that she waited until I’d directed her to a blank stretch of wall to ask, “Why did you bring me here?”

“If you compare the interior to the outside of the house, this can’t be an exterior wall. There’s too much space. You didn’t notice?”

“I didn’t.”

She did in three of the other versions. Gloria had rarely been a model participant. She’d explored more, discovered more, when she wasn’t talking to me. “When people do, I tell them it’s not part of the game. It’s where we keep some of the machinery used to run the facilities.”

“What’s really on the other side?”

“Me.”

She started at that, looking from the camera to the wall and back again, like she assumed I lived in the fiber optics. “You’re there?”

“In my own set of apartments. It’s roomy now that I’m the only one. There’s a side door, so I even get a little sun sometimes. There’s a lot of machinery back here with me, though. We try not to lie when we can tell part of the truth. Makes it easier to keep track of everything.”

She reached out and presses her hand to the chipped paint of the wall. “You were always right here.”

“Hang on, I’m at a different terminal.” I hopped out of my chair and squeezed myself between my desk and the one that used to belong to Paulo before the last round of cutbacks. “Now I’m right there.” I was simplifying things, of course. There was at least a foot of wires and paneling between us, but it was still the closest we’d ever been. I reached out to press my hand to the wall and imagined the touch of another human’s skin against my own.

This was my last chance to tell the truth. I could reveal everything, lead her to the emergency exit only I knew about, and invite her to run away with me to… what? We were both there because we needed something, and the world won’t give you anything for free. In this house, blasphemy or not, I was basically God. I could steer her away from danger. I could construct a narrative. Outside, I couldn’t create a happy ending for either of us.

From what I knew of Gloria Martina Sosa, the many possible Gloria Martina Sosas who had walked under this roof, she would hate me for keeping this from her.

It was a good thing she didn’t know me at all.

“Why did you decide to tell me now?” she asked.

There were a lot of things I could have said. Because this version of you dies tomorrow. Because there are bigger rules I won’t break, and I want to believe I’m a person who would break some of them, for you. Because I’m saying goodbye, and you don’t even know it.

“Because we’re getting close to the end now,” I said. “You’ll be too busy soon to think about me.”

“It’s hard to not think about you when you’re watching all the time. Especially now that I know exactly where you are.” She ran her fingers across the paint before pulling away. “Maybe when this is over I’ll be able to see you face to face.”

I couldn’t hesitate. If I hesitated, she might guess something is wrong, and my entire job relied on returning polished answers with mechanical precision. “That would be nice.” I was using my work voice, all business. “You should get back to bed before anyone wonders why you’re up.”

She smiled – at the wall rather than the camera. She might have been looking toward me, but that means she didn’t meet my eyes. “Are you worried about my beauty sleep?”

“Rest is important,” I said. “I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I’m rooting for you.”

Thanks to my instructions, she made it back without running into anyone, turning corners and ducking into rooms without a word of protest. Once I delivered her to her room, she dimmed the lights and slipped into bed to while away the last few hours this version of her would ever see.

I watched her fall asleep, and I didn’t say a word.

Maybe next time.

#

They were called in for a medical check-up the next morning. “Is this a challenge?” Gloria asked while getting dressed.

“No,” I said. “It’s perfectly normal.” The producers would be pleased. I’d never sounded less human.

#

Teardown procedure between rounds was always the same. I filled out the standard paperwork and finished packaging the last days of footage to be shipped back to the editors. My email inbox could be thinned out. I’d gotten practiced, and none of the tasks took long. Then it was just me, the empty house, and Gloria’s ghost roaming the silent halls.

If you look at it right, I’m doing her a favor. Outside the house, the monsters are so much worse than me. People want to be you, or have you, and they’ll eat you alive. People who grew up like me would understand. They might even ask me to do the same for them.

I don’t know why I’m bothering to justify myself. My job is to watch and record, not to editorialize. There’s no reason for me to sit down in front of the camera and say, My name is Cal, and there’s nothing I could have done. But I guess I’ve caught the narrative bug after watching everyone else spin out their stories, because here I am making my recording. Wishing there was someone on the other side of the screen to turn me into someone new.

I have no illusions that I would be an audience favorite. That’s never been my role.

An email with the finalized set-up for round six arrived in my inbox, and I scanned it so I’d be prepared. There will be no chocolates next time. Every round, the producers try something different. But I will say hello, and maybe this time she will say it back.

#

They come to the house with bags full of clothing and artificial smiles. They come with extra toothbrushes and half-constructed plans. They come with high hopes and already dented dreams.

I come with nothing. I was already here.

[girl-lostconnection]

Helldivers are just little freaks to me, freaky half feral dog creatures that are tossed to the meat grinder of war. Starving war dogs that do not understand what they are starving for exactly but nonetheless still chasing after what was demanded of them, hoping that maybe, MAYBE, if they go further-If they complete even more missions, they’d no longer feel that gnawing hunger even if it chips away at their very souls.

ANYWHO😌 this is reader to me

“Remember that you can’t save everyone. Remember that you have to try” YOU CANT DO THIS TO ME JESTER OH MY GODDDDDDD THE WAY MY HEART SANK. But yeah, you are spitting facts out here, I’m ready to sign under every word you are saying here.

@jesterinc, my G, this one’s for you

Helldiver!Reader who lives this long mostly because of the kindness and patient teaching from older divers. The shared knowledge, the shared manuals, shared camaraderie.

Reader who doesn’t know why Helldivers who are so much more skilful and who could (and by any standard should have) left them behind decided not to.

Question that keeps them up at night sometimes, question that ping pongs off the walls of their head, echoing louder when it’s too quiet.

Why-why-why-why-why?

Reader who doesn’t understand why these behemoths of war tried to help time after time after time.

They don’t get it until they got their first cadet joining in for a mission.

Jumpy tense thing, losing more bullets than actually hitting the enemy, not used to a recoil yet, not sure how to adjust the satellite tower, not very knowledgeable about the mechanics of battle that are their new home now.

(Everyone knows that Helldivers don’t die sleeping. Everyone knows that death is better than shame)

Reader who suddenly gets it why these older Helldivers helped them, why they carried a new pup on the battlefield, why wasn’t they just kicked to the side.

It is often said that Helldivers as a branch are one big pack of feral dogs.

Starved for scraps of approval, dying too young and snarling at every outsider. Feral creatures. Weapons of war.

Judgement rained from the sky on unsuspecting enemies.

It is often overlooked that the most prominent rule Helldivers live by is “we do not mock young in the field. We do not make them crawl and beg. We help. We were there once. We know how it feels to be a feral dog in eyes both enemies and allies. We know how it feels to be left behind. We do not leave ours behind”.

You that lives long enough to get a little bit closer in experience and skills to mammoths that helped you years ago to survive.

You who patiently covers for young cadet as they fumble with terminals.

What’s a little time wasted if this one might live long enough to crawl higher in rank.

What’s a little effort spared if you as divers already have to prove to everyone that you deserve to be here.

That you are not just dogs. That you deserve the same respect command shows to other branches.

You aren’t going to make cadet “prove themselves” when they have already passed the selection.

They are already here, aren’t they? Means they are worthy. Means they are yours.

Once Helldiver — always Helldiver.

It’s a constant journey and an uphill battle, you seeing first hand how fucking cruel life is to their branch.

How unfair command is. How hard missions are.

So what’s a little kindness shown if cadet behind them might live long enough to see the new generation of cadets.

If one day they too might become what you were to them today. What older Helldivers were to you when you started out.

Your branch is full of feral dogs and behemoths of battle, your branch is a dangerous thing (a grenade without a pin, a rifle without safety, a big bad wolf) hanging on by a thread of believing that your suffering can make the world a little better.

A little safer. A place where young cadets like this one will have more support, more training, more respect.

Simon watches you intently, eyes heavy with understanding, fingers twitching to reach out.

“Remember that you can’t save everyone, Captain”, he hums out, meeting your eyes in the reflection as you watch cadet buying new stratagems with excitement, their rank plate moving up.

Slowly, torturously slowly but steadily. Up-up-up.

They live thought the mission. They live through next three you walk them through. You won’t let them die. Not if you can help it.

“I know”, you muse back and there is phantom feel of hands on your shoulders, hands showing how to properly hold the rifle, hands dragging you out of hell because yeah, no one is gonna save Helldivers.

Other than Helldivers themselves.

You watch the young diver jog to the “Stratagem Hero” arcade, practically vibrating with excitement, eyes darting to you, asking for permission.

Their grin so wide when you nod to go ahead and try it, that you feel like their helmet might be illuminated from inside out.

They are painfully young and achingly fragile, not yet honed by years of work out in the field, their hands not yet calloused and burned one too many times.

Yeah, you remember that you can’t save everyone.

You also remember that you have to try.

[odinsblog]

The federal government is the largest employer in the United States. It is the largest employer in every single state. But the federal government is no longer an “equal opportunity employer,” thanks to a series of executive orders and directives passed by the white-supremacist Trump administration that collectively allow for racial discrimination by claiming to eliminate racial discrimination against the poor, downtrodden white man—you know, the guy who’s never been able to get a fair shake in this country.

Trump signed the first of these orders, “Ending Radical and Wasteful Government DEI Programs and Preferencing,” within hours of taking the oath of office on Monday. The order describes diversity, equity, inclusion, and accessibility programs as “illegal and immoral discrimination” as well as sources of “immense public waste.” The well-known conceit here is that people who get their government jobs through DEI are not “deserving” of their positions, while every white man who works for the government is allegedly there on his “merits” and nothing more.

This conceit was made even more explicit with a second executive order called “Ending Illegal Discrimination and Restoring Merit-Based Opportunity.” This order proclaims: “These illegal DEI and DEIA policies also threaten the safety of American men, women, and children across the Nation by diminishing the importance of individual merit, aptitude, hard work, and determination when selecting people for jobs and services in key sectors of American society, including all levels of government, and the medical, aviation, and law-enforcement communities.” The fact that a twice-impeached convicted felon and fail-son king of bankruptcy is lecturing the country on individual “merit” and “aptitude” is a joke that can only be brought to us by white America.

DEI programs, of course, do not do what Trump imagines. If anything, the country is beset by mediocre white men who got their positions through an old-boys’ network of family, friends, connections, and frat buddies who now gum up and dumb down the system at every level. If you have the option of getting a Black doctor, for instance, I encourage you to take it. They’ve likely worked harder to get there, and a Black doctor’s seemingly preternatural ability to treat all patients with care and professionalism regardless of their race is apparently a very rare asset in the medical profession. If you want a doctor who sees your maladies before your skin color, always bet on Black.

But I digress. I’m not going to relitigate the utility of DEI programs here. That debate has raged, and a majority of white people, both men and women, decided to install a white supremacist president to defend the white male patriarchy. I will simply stipulate that mediocre white men need government jobs, and taking those jobs away from racial minorities and women makes the white guys feel better about themselves while they’re waiting for their mommies to wash their sheets before they head out to their little rallies.

All that said, it is more or less legal, and constitutional, to end DEI programs. I want to be very clear about that, because there is legal nuance here that often gets flattened when talking about them. DEI is just a policy, and while that policy is supported by the 14th Amendment (at least it was before MAGA took over the courts), it is not required by the 14th Amendment. The Constitution just wants whites with hiring authority to stop being racist assholes; it doesn’t care how they do it.

What is illegal and unconstitutional is discrimination against non-whites and women in hiring. And that’s the problem with the executive orders. They assume that every single person hired through a diversity program is undeserving of their position, that their qualifications are lesser and that their literal work ethic and talent are suspect. They treat people hired under these programs as if they’re one distinct class of people (apparently, we all look the same to the Trump administration), and instead of looking on a case-by-case basis at who was hired for “diversity” and who was hired simply because they were the best applicant for the job (which is often the exact same person), they cast the whole lot out. And, they effectively warn people not to hire anybody except white guys, because they suggest that anybody who isn’t might be a “diversity” hire which will trigger a lawsuit.

The memo on how to execute Trump’s order shutting down DEIA programs —which was issued by the Office of Personnel Management to all the heads of departments and agencies—illustrates the inherent discriminatory problems with these policies. One section of the memo, for instance, informs the agency heads that all employees of “DEIA offices” must be placed on administrative leave, immediately. But what defines a DEIA office? The memo doesn’t say. Instead, it says that some allegedly DEIA offices are “disguised” with “coded or imprecise language.”

What that means, effectively, is that anybody who is in a DEIA office or looks like they might be can immediately be placed on administrative leave without due process or any other legal determination. That is straight-up employment discrimination. The government itself is saying that it can’t say exactly who it’s going after, but it will know that person when it sees them. It creates two different classes of government employees: one group that the white supremacist government deems worthy, and another group that is deemed suspect, based on as little as an eye test.

(continue reading)

[heartsforjh]

buying something they want but won’t buy for themselves

receiving

beckett

heyyy so… idk if this is actually good or not! i wrote it at like 3am yesterday and barely edited it. let’s hope! also random, but i hope Quinnifer is okay. i’m so scared rn. 💔

main masterlist | 100 follower celly masterlist

“Aww, look how cute that is, babe!” you exclaim, flipping the FaceTime camera to show your boyfriend, Beckett, a tiny stuffed duckling perched on a store shelf.

“Get it,” he says, casually.

You shake your head, bringing the camera back to your face with a small laugh. “Nah, it’s a stuffed animal. I don’t need it. It’s more of a want-it situation, you know?”

“Sure, sure,” he nods, pretending to understand. Truthfully, he has no idea what you’re talking about but he doesn’t mind—he loves your rambling.

“What was the next thing I was supposed to be getting for the new apartment again?” you ask, slightly scrunching your face in concentration as you try to remember.

Beckett chuckles at your expression, finding it adorable. “Soap, baby.”

Your eyes widen a little in realization. “Oh, yeah! Soap, that’s what I was getting!”

Beckett stays on FaceTime with you for the rest of your shopping trip, talking with you about random things to keep you company as he sits in his hotel room, wishing hockey wasn’t keeping him from being there.

When you finally return to your new apartment, you feel the weight of the day pressing down on you. Between the errands, the unpacking, and the exhaustion, even getting your key to work feels like a battle. Thankfully, before you can lose said battle, the door swings open, and Beckett meets your gaze with a soft smile.

“Hey, I’ve got it,” he says, stepping aside to let you in. “Don’t worry—it gave me trouble the first couple of times too.”

The deeper into the apartment you go and closer to your bed you get, the harder it is to keep going. You sigh, shoulders slumping, as the day catches up to you all at once.

“Are you okay? What’s the matter, baby?” Beckett asks, stepping in front of you and wrapping his arms around your waist. He pulls you close, letting you lean into him completely.

Another sigh escapes you. “I’m okay. Just… tired. Really tired.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “My poor baby. I’ve got something for you. And after that, we can cuddle—sound good?”

A small, sleepy smile creeps onto your face. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He chuckles at the way your cheek is pressed up against his chest. “Come on, we have to move to the table.”

You groan, making no effort to move. Beckett only laughs and tightens his hold on you, carefully walking backward, steadying you as he guides you to the table. “Hey, look, honey.”

You lift your head, and your eyes land on a little pink basket sitting on the table. The exhaustion melts away as soon as you recognize what’s inside.

“The duck from the store!” you gasp, grabbing at the basket.

Beckett grins, watching you dig through the different items that are also in the basket. There’s the stuffed duckling, a throw blanket, a new cup, candy, and other small things that scream “you”.

“Awww Beckett!” you gush, holding up the duck for him to see again.

“I know—I bought it,” he reminds you, rubbing your back as you keep digging through the gifts. “Do you like them, baby?”

“I love them,” you say, clutching the blanket and duck to your chest. Without another word, you head straight to the bedroom, flopping onto the bed with your new treasures.

Beckett follows closely behind, his laughter filling the quiet room. He adjusts you on the bed, before crawling in beside you, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your head.

“I’m sorry you had such a long day,” he says softly, his fingers gently running through your hair.

You nuzzle closer, letting out a content sigh. “It’s okay. I feel better now.”

His smile grows as he pulls the blanket over the both of you. “Yeah? Feeling better?”

You nod with a yawn, tucking your head into his neck. “Mhm. Thanks to you.”

tags: @lukey-pookie-hughes43 @azure-edits @joesnumerouno @macklin-celebrini-71

join the taglist here! :)

[danisnotagalaxy-blog]

veteran phannies i have a question

wether you’ve stayed a fan the entire time or are just now getting back into them since the revival, how does it feel to be living in this era of dan and phil? genuine question. to me it feels surreal, and I feel like not only have they healed a part of themselves in this journey but also like I can heal seeing them so much more open and comfortable with us?

It’s like I can heal that younger version of myself in saying like “Hey, things do get better, dan and phil one day will be so comfortable to where they can say newlywed challenge instead of best friend challenge.” And even just that small crumb is an indicator of a bigger change not only in dnp but also in ourselves and our own progression also.

it feels like so much more than just phan, or phandom, it ties into our own lives and just how much we have grown since those earlier times. idk

[subbydream]

Gods I want her to make a show out of me.

The night starts normal, one of her friends parties and it's just them. I'm sitting on my partners lap cause I'm clingy and maybe a bit tipsy. Then I feel her groping my ass. Maybe I'll shoot a little warning glance or being a little slap, all in good fun. She plays dumb "What? I wasn't doing anything!" All with that shit eating grin she barely hides behind the rim of her glass.

Slowly she gets more and more handsy and it wouldn't be a problem if I wasn't already horny as shit. She knows, I can see it in her little smile. Something tells me her friends do too. They definitely do now that I started subtly grinding against her thigh. "Oh what a needy pet I have..." She'd sigh, her friends would chuckle and I'd blush and stop what I was doing. "Well don't get shy now, come on why don't we give our friends a little show, huh? Why don't we show them what an obedient little pet I got myself?"

I want it to be too late when I feel the click of my collar being put on. She brought it with her? Did she plan for this? Were her friends in on it? All questions that I'd forget as soon and I'd feel her tug at my collar and look me in the eyes. So commanding but also reassuring. I wouldn't even resist when she turns me around, my back pressed to her chest, legs spread wide apart and kept open by her thighs. The skirt she told me to wear couldn't cover any of it. I'd hide my face in the crook of her neck. She'd give a firm slap on the inside of my thigh, "uh uh uh, bad pet. I thought you knew better. Let them look at you baby."

Her friends stares would burn on my skin. Taking me in, vulnerable and blushing, panties completely soaked already. Some lean forward hoping to see something more. Others sit on their hands as if otherwise they wouldn't be able to keep them to themselves. "God, look at them, princess. I bet they wish to be me right now. Too bad this is a no touching show."

Her hand would start to creep up my thigh, causing me to shiver. She'd touch me over my panties first, showing just how wrecked they are. Her other hand would pull down my top and bra, now playing with my tits. It's already way too much to take. I'd start begging already looking up at her. "Awwwe I know baby, you're so needy but we can't be too hasty, this is a show afterall. Now quit whining and be a good pet for me."

(let me know if you want more)

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

Lesbian post, Men and Minors DNI

If you enjoyed this post and wish to support me you can check out the Ko-Fi in my Bio!

[valenteal]

The story of Anakin Skywalker is about how anyone can break under enough pressure. It isn’t a tragedy about an inevitable doom, it isn’t about how power corrupts or about how caring is dangerous. It’s about how no matter how good and kind and selfless and seemingly invincible someone is they still have needs and they can still be hurt.

Maybe this is because Phantom Menace is my favorite Star Wars movie and so I have rewatched it a million times, but for me Anakin is the most genuinely caring and selfless character in Star Wars. He wasn’t just an innocent kid (kids can be cruel and selfish and they’re usually better when they grow up not worse) he was compassionate and kind and despite growing up surrounded by some of the worst scum in the galaxy he knew nothing of greed. That says so much about his character.

Anakin’s fall to the dark side took over a decade of carful manipulation that culminated in cascade of tragedy and loss. It wasn’t an accident. Every bit of the emotional trauma, physical trauma, and mental trauma from the moment Anakin met Palpatine and on ward was planned. We don’t see the decade he spent between Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones but immediately in the second movie we see how much Anakin has changed. Where he used to be confident he’s insecure, where he used to bold and fearless he is now arrogant, where he was once inquisitive he is now cautiously enthusiastic, where he used to build he now destroys. Every change in his behavior and outlook is the result of either the teachings of the Jedi Order which are pretty much the antithesis of his entire personality, the result of Sidious’s manipulation, or the result of the toxic attitudes of many Jedi towards him.

Now I know a lot of people have… misconceptions about what the Jedi Order is and what they stand for. It’s understandable, since I guess a lot of people think of Luke as an everything a Jedi is supposed to be but he is NOT, he wasn’t even taught their philosophy! Yoda and Windu and Luminara are everything a Jedi is meant to be. They take an impersonal approach to justice, they treat others coldly, they believe themselves to be above petty things like emotion and pain and human connection. There are Jedi who take a more progressive stance like Obi-Wan and Quinlan and Qui-Gon but you have to understand that they are not model Jedi and have their own struggles with the Order and its teachings. The Jedi code literally says “There is no emotion.” That is what Jedi strive for. And that isn’t even getting into the genocide or the politics. Focusing on how this affected Anakin. That’s what I’m doing.

Anyway, Anakin is a deeply emotional person. This is not a bad thing. It’s the source of his conviction and his empathy (which a surprising amount of Jedi lack). Anakin feels deeply, so he feels love and anger and sadness more keenly than Jedi who have worked their whole lives to shut off emotion. And he was never taught how to deal with it. The most the Jedi did was tell him to meditate, release his emotions into the Force, focus on the present or other platitudes that do not help! I would know. I’m also a deeply emotional person who feels things very keenly to the point where I had a full psychological evaluation when I was 6 years old. When a person deals with this it NEEDS to be addressed. I have wonderful parents who did everything in their power to help me from a young age and I still ended up suicidal! Anakin did not get help and was instead shamed for feeling so strongly and he ended up bottling it up. People complain about how he was “whiny” and I (a person who has also been called whiny) just go what the fuck do you expect?? Expressing his frustration verbally is literally the healthiest option he has! And we know what it looks like when he chooses other forms of venting! Anakin vented to Padmé almost immediately after reconnecting with her because she is literally the only person in his life who will listen to him (other than Sidious but he makes things worse on purpose).

So yeah. Sensitive people need to be taught how to deal with their emotions in healthy ways. Really everyone does but especially people with strong emotions.

But when Anakin isn’t overwhelmed by emotions he doesn’t have the tools to deal with, or surrounded by toxic people, or being actively manipulated by an evil dictator, that’s when you see who he really is. Which means pretty much all of Phantom Menace, a good chunk of the time he’s alone with Padmé, and… nothing else really. (I’m just going to say here that I am not including Clone Wars Anakin due to the purposeful butchering of his character. I still consider the show canon in everything but Anakin’s characterization in a lot of specific instances.)

Anakin has never been a selfish person. The things people perceive as selfish are his needs. He needs unconditional love. He needs Padmé because she is the only person who gives him that. Even without getting into his psychology and bpd and what a splitting episode is, it isn’t hard to recognize that when he places Padmé’s safety above other people’s it’s an act of self preservation more than self interest. He knows that he would literally go crazy without her. After years of being systematically isolated and traumatized she is the only thing keeping him together. In his desperation to save her and consequently his own sanity he lost both those things. But it’s important to note that he tried to do things right, that he went to Yoda for help, that he told Padmé so she could take her own steps to ensure her health. He did everything he could think of before getting desperate enough to go to Sidious. Not to mention he did everything right after discovering Sidious’s identity. It wasn’t until he was presented with a false dichotomy that boiled down to choosing his mentor and confidant of over a decade and his wife’s life or the man who has scored and distrusted him since he was child that he made the objectively wrong choice. And that was after not sleeping for weeks and having a traumatizing realization that triggered a splitting episode so he wasn’t in a head space to understand what was going on in an objective way.

So yeah. That’s my rant about Anakin Skywalker. If you want to comment or debate know that I will reply with an explanation of my thoughts that could be just as long as this post and that I will not stop until you do. You will not get the last word. I feel very strongly about this and if you’ve gotten this far you have to know that I have thought very deeply about this as well. I have heard every argument. You will not change my mind. I have done research. Engaging with this post to disagree will only lead to me expanding on this even more because this is really a brief summary of all my thoughts and feelings on the matter. If you’re just curious about the rest of my thoughts and feelings just ask.

Don’t try to attack my own morals and character because of this, I am NOT condoning Anakin’s actions or behavior, I am completely aware that he is a deeply damaged and unstable person. The point of this is not to deny that but to explain why Anakin is not naturally like that. The scariest thing about Anakin’s fall is that it happened to Anakin, a paragon of compassion and selflessness. Anyone put under the amount of pressure he was would go crazy. I doubt many people would last as long as Anakin did. He was insanely strong to resist for as long as he did.

[justaticklishdeer]

Off the Air

some fluffy radiostatic before they broke terms or friendship or whatever word count: just under 4.3k

tw/cws: tickling, a little swearing (that's all I can think of)

switch vox, switch alastor

It was a late night up in the Vee Tower. Alastor and Vox were laying on the floor, papers and notebooks laid in front of them. Alastor was laughing because of some stupid joke Vox had made. Vox smiles fondly at him. The deer had the purest, most wholesome laughter. He could get used to it. Moonlight filtered through the window in the corner of the room, bathing the two in a soft, silvery glow. Vox's screen brightness turned down a little. 

Alastor scribbles something down on a paper, sketching out a messy building in his own unique style. Vox watched intently as Alastor drew a somewhat scribbly radio setup, complete with a microphone for both him and Vox. 'Look! See, you'd broadcast here, and then I could joke with you--it could be like--like a talk show!' Alastor's talking was over excited and hyper.

Vox simply smiled at him, all fond. He pointed to a certain spot on the radio, playfully stealing Alastor's pencil and drawing a bench on the paper. "So we can sit.'

"No, no, you draw it like this--' Alastor took Vox's hand, guiding the movements into drawing it properly. He would playfully swat Vox when the other wouldn't cooperate with him. 'Hold your hand still--Vox! Quit it.' Alastor finished 'drawing' it--well, assisting--then sat back with a smile. He picked up a paper of a rough sketch that he thought looked bad, crumpled it up, and threw it across the room. It bounced off Alastor's coat that was hanging off a chair. Alastor rolled his eyes and went back to his other sketch.

Vox leaned over to stare at the sketch. He stared at the way Alastor’s hands moved when he did his little drawings and wrote things. It was almost…attractive. Alastor hadn’t noticed his friend staring yet. Vox had no idea why Alastor had such a hold on him like this. He had never felt so pulled to someone. Alastor glanced back at him, rolling his eyes fondly. He knew how stupidly infatuated Vox seemed to be with him. It always amused the deer just to play into Vox’s odd staring spells. 

‘Vox. Vox! Vox, are you even–’ Alastor chucks a pencil at the television demon, snorting when it hits and bounces off Vox’s antenna. ‘I–what? Oh! Right, yes, I am.’ Vox snaps out of his trance. Scooting so he could be right next to Alastor. He felt his screen heat up a little, probably showing off a light blue blush. 

‘What even goes on in this stupid head of yours?’ Alastor asks, putting both hands on either side of Vox’s box-like television head. He giggles to himself when he achieves the goal of getting Vox more flustered. ‘You–you’d be surprised, Alastor. I can actually, you know, come up with plans,’ he answers. Alastor shakes his head with an exasperated look, shoving Vox playfully. 

He sat back to take his boots off, revealing deer hooves. Alastor placed the boots next to the chair that had his jacket hanging from it. The Radio Demon sat back down on the floor in a kneeling position over all the sketches and notebooks. He didn’t see Vox move at all, so he assumed he was still ‘recovering’ from the playful push.

But Vox? He was utterly fascinated by the hooves that were revealed. The fur around them was a dark ebony, meanwhile the hooves and dewclaws themselves were a crimson red. His eyes fixated on the rough-looking texture of the hooves contrasted with the soft fur around them. He just wanted to reach over and dig his claws into the fur and pet the hooves and make Alastor all flustered. That would show him.

Although he doubted that would ever happen.

Alastor noticed the staring and shifted his weight so he could pull his legs underneath him to better hide the hooves. ‘Don’t stare like that. They aren’t all that special. I’m sure some other demon around here has them too.’ He could almost feel Vox’s smile directed at him. ‘Vox. I am so serious right now, if you think they’re some kind of thing to idolize, you’re a bit insane in the head, my friend.’

Vox looked bewildered at the almost irritated tone in Alastor’s voice. “What? No no no, they’re pretty! The way the fur looks! Hooves are so cute for such a scary little demon like you!’ He slips a bit of baby talk into the end of the sentence, making Alastor snort. 

“Most demons have them, Vox.’

“I know. But yours are pretty.’ Vox frowns a little at Alastor’s seemingly self-deprecating tone. ‘The hooves make me feel like some innocent creature trying to be more than something he actually is.’ 

‘That’s not–no. The hooves help you be more powerful in a way–I’m sure the deer traits account to being able to move quickly and efficiently.’ Alastor looks at him with a slight nod. ‘I suppose. You’re too kind, Vox.’ Alastor goes back to the sketch. Vox leaned in as if to hug him, but instead earned another playful shove. Instead of just taking it, Vox lunges at Alastor and tackles him. The two go tumbling down in a fit of laughter and playful insults. 

The pencil cluttered from Alastor’s hand as they wrestled. Vox stares down at how giggly Alastor had gotten. Clearly the deer wasn’t used to being able to be playful around someone. He gazes down at how adorable the fawn looked. A genuine smile on his face for once. Alastor struggles to push Vox off, then his wrists get pinned above his head. 

A nervous laugh escapes him, and it luckily went unnoticed by the absolute buffoon on top of him. Vox cooed and scratched gently under Alastor’s chin just to tease and mess with him. Alastor giggled softly, and could feel the deer tail underneath him trying to wag. Another thing that went unnoticed by Vox. Alastor managed to yank a hand out of Vox’s grip and grabbed Vox’s arm in a slight panic.

‘Awh, what’s the matter? Can’t handle that I’m in control?’ Vox gently grabbed Alastor’s face to make the deer have eye contact with him. Vox laughs and teases Alastor as he notices a light pink spreading across Alastor’s cheeks. ‘Is someone a nervous little buck? Hm?’ Vox made a television static noise as Alastor mustered up the strength to shove him off. ‘You are insufferable.’ Alastor sat back down near his sketches.

‘And you’re the one who chose to come up and hang out with me to draw little pictures because you got bored,’ Vox shot back. Alastor mutters some insult under his breath, then quips, ��And sometimes I wonder why I even made that decision to begin with. They also aren’t just little pictures. They are sketches for a radio tower plan–like a talk show! We’ll broadcast all over hell and we could do insane little things, like killing demons, getting souls sold to us, or just…talking, I suppose.’

One of Alastor’s shadowy tendrils retrieved the pencil back to his hand. He went back to adjusting the bench drawn earlier. Alastor felt a certain someone lean on him from behind, arms wrapping around him. Essentially a hug from behind. Claws settled on his stomach and he involuntarily tensed up. Flinching a little. 

Vox interpreted the flinch as pain, so moved his hands up to Alastor’s sides. Same reaction, so he settled for just leaning on Alastor and having his hands leaning on the floor instead. An odd position, but it worked. Alastor was just happy Vox was a bit too dense to connect the dots that the flinches meant he was ticklish. Vox teased him, ‘You’re so tense. Are you sure you don’t need a massage or something?’

He reaches up to massage Alastor's shoulders, earning another flustered squeak and denial of needing it. ‘Stop it! You are something else, I swear.’ He labels the things in the sketch–a microphone, bench, all the dials, and then adds the minor details. ‘I need–oh! Thank you.’ Vox seemed to have read his mind as he was handed a pen to ink over the pencil sketch. 

Vox looked up at Alastor’s deer ear. Scritching it gently just to see what kind of reaction he could pull from him this time. The squeak that came from the little buck was absolutely priceless. Alastor scrambles back as Vox stands up with a shit eating grin. The radio host squeaks again. It was so uncharacteristic of him. ‘Al. Why are you being so skittish?’ Vox asks–both teasing and genuine. 

Alastor stared back in amusement and bewilderment. ‘You could be trying to attack me! Hurt me! I don’t know of your twisted intentions, and I never know what you plan to do to me, you absolute buffoon!’ Vox noticed Alastor kept a certain distance from him. He knelt down. Staring and being all fond toward the nervous deer. After a moment, Alastor stood up, hooves clicking on the hardwood floor as he sat back down. 

His hooves were on full display. He hadn’t tucked them underneath him. Vox approaches with a sort of caution to him. It was more of a fascinated child, though. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch the hooves. Surely a little prod couldn’t be too harmless? There was the risk of the deer deciding to quite literally murder him. It was worth the risk. 

Vox reached over and took one of Alastor’s hooves in his hand. Alastor whips around, half rolling as he pulls his leg back. Vox keeps a firm but loving hold. ‘What? I can’t admire these pretty little hooves?’ He drags a glowing claw down the hoof, earning a choked noise. Alastor kicks, nearly making contact with Vox’s head. Vox catches his leg, holding both of them down. Alastor manages to hold composure, simply staring at Vox in both confusion and annoyance.

‘Let go.’ Alastor pulls his legs back somewhat–Vox lets him. ‘But why? I’m simply studying how they look.’ A claw scratches at the split in Alastor’s hoof. The deer lets out a strangled noise and fully yanks his hooves from the grasp of the mildly irritating demon. ‘Would you quit that?’ Alastor hisses. More playful than anything. 

Vox felt a jab to the ribs. He squeaks softly and scoots back. Alastor smiles, setting the pencil down on his sketch. ‘Are you–’ ‘No!” Alastor climbed on top of Vox. Who instantly began to blush from the close proximity. ‘I think you are.’ 

Vox tried to play innocent. ‘I’m…what? You’re sitting—you’re on me like I did something wrong. I simply squeaked, it’s a perfectly normal reaction when sta–hahahartled!--’ Vox giggles hard as Alastor drags claws down his ribs. He hadn’t expected for Alastor to actually continue. He was going more for him just ignoring the squeak. ‘Just like it’s a perfectly normal reaction to giggle like a young teenager when I poke at you?’

Vox snorts and turns to the side. ‘Shuhut uhup! I’m–nohot giggling!” Alastor rolls his eyes, slowly pushing Vox’s shirt up to expose luminescent, shark gill-like markings on his ribs. Lower ribs, that is. Vox made a noise of surprise. Alastor curiously slid his claws down the markings, earning strangled giggles from the television beneath him.

Vox squirms, trying to get the deer off of him. Although, he wasn’t entirely against Alastor’s claws on his body. Another embarrassing noise escaped him and he managed to roll onto his side a bit. Alastor laughs softly, leaning down to tease him. ‘What’s the matter? Are you ticklish? You’ve never told me! Tickle tickle tickle! Oh, what’s the matter, can’t handle a few claws on your sides?’ Vox laughs loud, then tries to squirm away. Alastor rolls his eyes and sits half across Vox’s back. ‘You really are insufferable. And stubborn.’ 

Vox snorts and giggles hard. “Gehehet off of mehehe!’ Alastor smiles down at him teasingly. “I don’t think I will. I want to test something.’ He tickles down Vox’s sides and waist, making the other jerk away from the touches. Alastor’s hands simply followed the movements so it wasn’t very effective to squirm. Vox snickered as Alastor drilled into his hips. Right on the sides of them. ‘Stahahap it! Awahahay–from thehehere!’ ‘Away from where? Your ticklish little hips?’

Vox makes a screeching noise, his screen glitching out for a moment. ‘Ahah–Ahalastor!’ Vox lazily–but effectively–rolls onto his back. Alastor grunts softly, struggling for a moment to pull his hands out from under Vox. ‘You are such a pest.’ The deer wrestles him back into a relatively restrained position, spidering his claws over Vox’s stomach. Vox squeals and thrashes, arching his back and falling back onto the floor with a cackle. ‘Ahaha–ahah–aHAHALASTOR!’ 

Alastor struggled to stay on top of the struggling demon. ‘Hold–still! Please. It’d make this a lot easier for myself!” Vox protests, flopping weakly onto his side and curling up into a little defensive ball. Alastor sighs softly and scribbles down his exposed sides. ‘Honestly, you’d think you’d have learned not to try to struggle. It really doesn’t get you anywhere.’ 

Vox giggled frantically. Alastor drills into his hips again which earned himself a startled laugh. ‘Okahahay! Gehehet awahahay from mehehe!’ Alastor shakes his head, teasing, ‘Oh, no, my dearest Vox. You don’t get to tell me to get away when I’ve barely started my fun!’ Alastor digs his claws into Vox’s ribs, loving the way the other’s body jerked and static ran through his body. ‘Fa–AHACK!’ “Language!” Alastor gasps in mock offense, squeezing Vox’s hips, earning a startled yelp.

‘I’m nohohoht–t-t-trying to swHEhear!’ Vox protests, flipping onto his side. Alastor took the opportunity to attack Vox’s openly vulnerable ribs, tickling up and down the ribcage. Vox shrieks and goes to grab Alastor. Alastor grabs the wrist that shot toward him and pulls it up above Vox’s head. He leans down to nibble along Vox’s ribs, making the poor demon glitch out for a minute. ‘Aha-AHA–A–Alastohor!’ 

He yanks his arm out of Alastor’s grip, then goes onto his back again. ‘Stahahap ihihit! Thehere is noho need to haharrass-’ 

“Oh, my dear, but there is! You see, you were being quite a nuisance to me so I took it upon myself to tickle it out of you!’ Alastor scribbles along Vox’s waist then his stomach, watching as the television squirmed beneath him. Vox giggled harder at the stupid teasing. 

He reaches a hand up to paw at Alastor, grazing against the deer’s ribs. Alastor instantly stopped the tickling, his body flinching away in the slightest of motions. Of course, Vox just had to notice it. Alastor scrambles backward, already having his smile wider. ‘Vox.’

‘Oh, Alastor…’ 

‘What?’ The deer glared at him. Honestly, the last thing he needed was this pest discovering he was ticklish. Alastor stands up, his hooves clicking slightly. Alastor’s ears twitched ever so slightly–both from nervousness and anticipation. Vox stood up as well, his eyes glancing at Alastor’s ears for a brief moment before he stepped forward. Alastor could feel his tail start to wag–he knew what was coming.

‘Are you ticklish?’ 

‘No!’ 

Vox lunges toward the deer. Alastor didn’t even have time to react. He felt himself be half pulled to Vox, but to be dramatic he threw himself back so Vox fell onto the floor. Vox grunted softly and chuckled low. ‘You know Al, you make this worse for yourself. Because I can just..’ Vox slowly raises Alastor’s arms above his head. He could see the way the little buck squirmed and already started giggling. It made him wonder if someone else did this to Alastor. He hooked Alastor’s arms under his own to make it somewhat easier to use his hands freely. Alastor hissed some protest, but it was ignored. 

Vox places his claws on Alastor’s sides, noting the sharp intake of breath from the other. Alastor squirmed slightly again. He barely started to trace little shapes. Vox noticed the way Alastor’s entire body tensed and the way he was shaking in his grip.

’Awh, is the buck ticklish?’ Alastor shook his head, refusing to even talk for fear he’d let giggles slip out. Vox’s claws drag an agonizingly slow line down the buck’s waist and sides, then back up to the starting point and down again. Alastor actually relaxed because it felt relatively comforting, then Vox’s claws started to wiggle and twitch slightly as the path continued. Alastor squirms with a breathy little giggle. ‘V–Vox. Stop-!’ 

Vox smirks at this, murmuring, “I don’t think I will. You’re ticklish. Don’t even try to hide it, little fawn.’ Alastor blushes at the stupid nickname–he was more used to Rosie calling him pet names, but he would tolerate it from Vox, he supposed. Alastor felt the claws get more insistent, pausing at spots to wriggle and scratch lightly. Alastor’s squirming got more prominent. 

Vox grinned down at the deer as he watched him squirm. God, he was adorable. And based on the reactions from the light tickles, he had a feeling the other was stupidly ticklish. Alastor arched away from the scritching as it got to his lower ribs. ‘S–Stop–stop it-!’ Vox laughed softly, deliberately massaging nice and slow onto the area. “Honestly, you need to stop saying you aren’t ticklish. It’s so stupidly obvious. Have you been tickled before?’ Vox asks as he moves up a rib, noting the squeak and trembling of Alastor’s body as the buck tries to hold in laughter.

Yeah, that would break soon. 

‘You’re not ticklish, huh? Then what is all this effort to hold in laughter for? Because if you weren’t ticklish, you wouldn’t be this tense and shaky about all of it.’ 

It was amusing to the television demon how Alastor was absolutely refusing to laugh–after all, wasn’t it supposed to be part of the whole radio host's charming persona? Alastor’s ears flick and flatten as Vox keeps moving at an agonizingly slow pace up his ribcage. Claws slowly tickling and massaging at the ribs and spaces between. Alastor inhaled sharply, hooves kicking and digging into the floor as a low giggle escaped. 

‘Oh, there you go, baby buck. Just laugh it all out, c’mon. I’m sure your giggles and laughs are the most precious thing ever, aren’t they? You just wanted someone to tickle you silly this whole time, didn’t you?” Vox teased, leaning close to the deer ear. He didn’t miss the soft squeak and the way Alastor instantly went to try to hide his face. God, he was adorable. Vox could do this all day if he wanted to. He gets a little rougher with the tickles, starting to deliberately scritch at his waist at a quicker pace. Alastor’s breathing got more frantic, his body trembling with the effort of keeping the giggles in. 

But where was the fun in tickling someone who refused to laugh?

Vox rolls his eyes, then darts under Alastor’s arms. That finally got through. Alastor burst into static filled laughter. ‘Gehehet–yohohour filthy clahahahaws off of mehehe!’ 

‘Oh. My. God! You are just a preciously ticklish fawn! Yes you are! Yes you are!~’ His hand shot down to pinch at Alastor’s hip, making the Radio Demon squeak and make a poor attempt at curling himself into a little ball of pure giddiness. ‘Stahap–Stahahap it!’ He yanked his arms out of the odd position they were in, squirming himself out of Vox’s lap then grabbing the other demon’s wrists. Vox noted there was absolutely no effort made to push him away. ‘Stop what? You’re going to have to tell me.’ 

With Alastor still clinging to his wrists, Vox darts down to Alastor’s stomach, vibrating his claws rapidly across it. Alastor let out an ungodly screech, before kicking his legs up with a bright laugh. ‘I cahahan’t–dohohon’t!’ Vox wasn’t that stupid. He knew Alastor probably wanted this, needed this, in fact.

The buck had been too tense lately, too stuck up and all attitude with him. It was satisfying to knock down the untouchable demon’s ego down a few pegs. He loved the flustered scarlet blush across Alastor’s cheeks, the way Alastor was squirming beneath him, and the way that Alastor wasn’t even making a strong effort to get away. He slipped his claws under Alastor’s vest and shirt. 

Alastor shrieked and actually made an attempt to get away. ‘Ah, ah, ah. RIght here.’ Vox slipped his hands to the soft fur of Alastor’s stomach, getting to the soft skin beneath all the fluff. Alastor’s laughter went up a pitch, getting frantic. He finally let go of Vox’s wrists, quickly flipping himself onto his stomach. It was both so he didn’t have to look at Vox, and so Vox couldn’t access his stomach as easily. Vox sighed in mock disappointment. ‘Oh, now how am I supposed to tickle you?’ Alastor growled softly, ‘You aren’t supposed to. Thahat’s the pohoint.’ Residual giggles still coming from the poor thing. 

‘Hm. I disagree with that. Because to me, it seems like you need this. Honestly, it’s nice to see you finally knocked down a few pegs,’ Vox says with a smug grin. Alastor turns his head to the side enough to glare at Vox. ‘It is n–ohHOHOT!?” He jerked as Vox’s claws spider across his upper back. Stupidly ticklish. ‘Gehet ohoff!” Alastor squeaks. Vox finally noticed the wagging deer tail. Holy hell. 

‘Awh, look at this thing! It’s wagging! You really do enjoy this, don’t you?’ Vox reaches down, sliding a claw down the tail, scritching slightly. A high pitched, nonhuman noise left Alastor’s mouth. Resulting in a hand quickly covering Alastor’s mouth. 

‘Did you just–was that a bleat? Like a fawn!?’ 

Alastor buried his face into the floor in sheer embarrassment, refusing to acknowledge Vox’s question. He felt light blue claws scribble up the backs of his fluffy deer ears. He bleated again and flipped right onto his back, grabbing Vox’s forearms this time. “I swehear to all of Hehell! If you dohon’t get off mehehe–!’ Vox moved his hands to right behind Alastor’s ears–since the deer was still gripping onto him, that left his underarms completely vulnerable to an attack.

As he darted his hands under Alastor’s arms again, he asked him, ‘Tell me what’s making you laugh so much. DId I say something funny?’ Alastor shrieked and hyperventilated for just a brief moment to try and get his laughter back to a reasonable volume. That hope was lost rather quickly as Vox skittered back down to his stomach. Wild laughter spilled out. An adorable bleat as Vox found Alastor’s navel through the thin fabric of his shirt. 

‘You’re really too ticklish for your own good. Imagine if an enemy tried to fight you and they just grazed your side. I mean, really!’ 

Vox notices the kicking hooves. Before he let up on the tickling, it came to mind he had one last spot he would love to try. ‘Say, Al,’ he started, letting go of the deer and allowing him to catch his breath, ‘are hooves sensitive at all?’ Alastor’s ears perk right up then flatten as his eyes widen. Although, he didn’t move away at all. “Well, no-’ 

‘Yeah, you’re lying,’ Vox laughs, pouncing onto Alastor in one swift movement. Vox sits on Alastor’s calves, facing his hooves. He heard a whine of anticipation from the demon underneath him. Alastor giggled as Vox traced a claw down the hoof. Then down the split in the hoof, scritching lightly. He looked back and noticed how Alastor was covering his face with his hands and giggling silently. He could feel Alastor’s legs trying to kick, but they couldn’t with the way Vox was seated on top of them. 

‘Awh, just a ticklish little fawn, just wanting his hooves tickled so badly, yes, I can hear you!’ Vox teases. He noticed a little patch of fur between Al’s hoof and dewclaw. He curiously put a single claw on the area and scribbled ever so lightly. The laugh that came from Alastor was completely unfiltered. Genuine. No static to hide it. “PLEHEHEASE! F–FAHAHACK–VAHAOX!” Alastor screeches and tries to grab for him unsuccessfully. Vox uses one hand on each hoof in the specific area, and as soon as Alastor’s laughter goes silent, he finally climbs off of him. 

Giving him a minute to breathe, Vox laughs softly. ‘You really are stupidly ticklish.’ 

‘You. Are not going to live. To see the next–’ Alastor starts, but is cut off by Vox snickering. ‘Yeah, tell me all about it. Your tail wagging and the way you didn’t even try to push me off? Precious as hell. You wanted that.’ 

Alastor huffs in mild offense and embarrassment. He hated when people pointed out he never tried to fight them all too much when he was tickled. Vox stands up and grabs a bottle of water for the deer. After giving him a glare, Alastor takes it gratefully. ‘You better buy me food after all this.’ 

Vox tosses a blanket at Alastor, chuckling as it drapes over his head. Alastor squeaked indignantly, standing up and throwing the blanket to the side. Vox teleports through a camera off to the side then comes back in a moment. He held out a large plate of raw venison. ‘Here.’ 

"Was that camera recording?” Alastor asks warily. ‘No, it wasn’t,’ Vox assures him. Alastor hums in satisfaction, then smiles at the raw venison. ‘You do know how to spoil a man,’ he teases, making Vox smile.

‘Do you think we could become a large radio broadcast partnership?” Vox asks him, genuine and curious. Alastor smiles at him, taking a bite of the meat. He nodded slightly. ‘I do think we could grow to become something big. Our friendship could grow as well.’ 

Oh, how that would change in the coming years.