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[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Part 2/2

By the time Stanley had realized he wasn't as alone as he believed himself to be entrapped in this ravenous abyss; he had honestly begun to suspect that he was finally starting to properly lose his mind.

In all the ceaseless miles that Stanley had journeyed during his apparent permanent residence within the dark devouring void, not once had he encountered another conscious, walking, talking being similar to himself. Every other formerly living creature that he had crossed paths with had been so... silent. Empty. Dead, in every sense of the word. It was as though the very essence of life itself had been sucked out of their bodies with a straw, their forms slowly falling apart piece by piece under the vicious gluttony of the darkness that surrounded them. They looked like they actually were supposed to be there, unmoving and comatose, unlike him.

So, when Stanley first began to encounter the twins, all of a sudden, he wasn't the only one in the dark.

When meeting the first pair of them, he found himself standing in a lake.

He hadn't even noticed the changes at first. It felt as though he had been walking for weeks on end, his body moving purely on autopilot and his aching legs leading him towards a destination only it knew. A thick fog of forgetfulness and flickering memories had descended upon his brain like a heavy blanket of numbing static as he had traveled. In this absentminded state, he hadn't even realized that the ever-present undulating, buzzing darkness surrounding him had begun to gradually shift and morph to form a horizon line; stretching into tall looming cliffsides that almost seemed to close in on him. Once the nonexistent floor beneath his soles abruptly began to ripple and warp, like the disturbed surface of a shallow puddle; only then did he finally notice his transformed environment.

The transition was seamless, almost dream-like. One moment, he was still surrounded by that filthy, overwhelming abyss; and the next, his boots were suddenly plunged deep into the cold, dark lake water.

The silence didn't leave, however. It still choked and stuffed its way into Stanley's ears to clog up his mind with thick cotton; the eerie quiet not quite matching the calm, almost serene scenery the void seemed to have abruptly transformed itself into. Like a movie with its sound cut off; leaving only the unsettling hum of the projector to fill the empty air.

It was odd. The lake was surely incredibly deep. He could obviously tell from how thin and pathetically small the shores appeared all the way from where he now unceremoniously stood in the middle of the lake. Stan could look down and see the darkness below his feet swallow what meager light that managed to break through the murky waters. The overwhelming black almost seemed to beckon him, gaping and haunting; a bottomless underwater pit of pitch black that never seemed to end.

And yet, he didn't sink. Stanley remained perfectly level, the almost ink like waters stopping just at ankle level, as though he were held up just above the surface by some invisible force. Even the writhing waves seemed small and low, as though the waters were shy to climb up his legs further than that. It was odd, so very odd.

However, it wasn't nowhere near as odd as the sight that greeted him when he finally lifted his eyes from the waters.

Stanley had crossed paths with truly unbelievable sights in this strange somewhere; from bursting, collapsing stars; to the imploding heat death of entire universes, but none of them seemed to hold the candle to what he saw then when he lifted his eyes:

Children.

Two, to be exact. Two, nearly identical looking children stood motionless before him; completely soaked through to the bone as though they had taken a plunge into the frigid water that pooled around their ankles. It was a girl and a boy, both adorned with twin expressions utterly devoid of emotion, their wide eyed stare seeming to burn holes into his thin jacket. Their drenched clothes sagged off of their scrawny frames; thin rivulets of water dirpping off of them and disturbing the glassy surface of the water at their feet. The little girl's hair had messily stuck to her face in thin sodden strands, her cheeks still full and round with youth just like the boy's. They looked young. Too young to be in a place such as this.

Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.

They burned with such anger; such injustice, brighter than any dying star or galaxies he had ever seen. Anger towards the world, to fate, to whatever cruel deity that had deemed them fit to be sent to this wretched place so prematurely. They were too young to be here; to be entrapped like he was amongst this hungry darkness. And yet, here they were, sheer denial against their own untimely deaths being the only thing keeping them awake and conscious amongst the dead and rotting. A show of juvenile defiance to nature itself so vehement even the all-consumign darkness seemed hesitant to devour them whole just yet.

It saddened him. It saddened him to know that they belonged there, that they were supposed to be there. He could see it, he could feel it; they were dead. No amount of determination could deny that universal fact.

When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:

Stan chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush him whole. "A lake monster? You kids and your imagination," he teased, hoping to somehow rid the poor kids of the haunted look that seemed to whirl in their glares. No child should have been burdened with such a knowing look; such eyes that looked like they had seen everything there was to see about the world, the horrid and the good.

Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to say, and Stanley's faux pas was rewarded with a scowl from the little boy. A world's worth of sour contempt etched into every contorted groove that his grimace seemed to dig into his much too young face. Stan suddenly felt guilt squeeze at his weary bones for having caused that.

"That's what they all said," the boy spat out, eyes shining with a sheen of wetness Stan wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.

Stan left that first interaction with the twins with the feeling of guilt and sorrow still clining to him.

He couldn't have known, at the time. He couldn't have known that this wouldn't be anywhere near the last time that he would meet the pair. He hadn't realised just how many of them there were. After that first pair, his endless journeying within the Abyss was hardly be spent alone anymore. Countless more times, he came face to face with the exact same two young and impossibly worn faces; forced to meet one pair of beaten and bruised kids after another.

Not one pair had died the same death as another. Some had gotten lost, prey to whatever threat that had snatched them up out in the open; some had fallen from high up; some had been crushed under an incredible weight; some had burned; some eaten alive; some zombified. Some didn't even seem physically harmed at all, body perfectly intact, and yet that same faraway, distrubed look in their eyes remained.

He thought the worst ones were the ones he found alone. A little girl or a little boy, left all lonesome without their other half there. Twins, he remembered a pair of them telling him once.

Once, he had come across a town full of silent, stone statues. It was a rustic, shabby, almost nostalgic looking town- odd and strangely familiar. The sight of it had tugged at an aged memory that had long since wasted away in the back of his mind. It was serene, almost deceptively so. The sun shone; the air smelled crisp and fresh; numerous waterfalls continued to crash down from the tall cliffsides; and a soft nonexistent breeze whistled through the thicket of pine trees that blanketed the outskirts of the town. None of it seemed to match the gruesome scene of the hundred wailing statues that littered every inch of the town.

He had found the boy's statue on the other side of town, deep within the green forest and toppled over the gnarled roots of a towering tree. Like the rest of the townsfolk, he too, was frozen mid-shriek; his stone face twisted and contorted into a mock impression of a silent scream as his body lay paused in a writhing struggle. He made sure to be gentle when he carried the boy's statue over to place it beside the girl's, whose statue stood far deeper into the forest, sporting the same rictus grimace of terror as her brother's. It somehow felt wrong for them to have been so far apart from one another, even in death.

He had come to dread meeting of the twins. He hated every second he had to confront yet another pair of dead children that did not belong here, but fate had decided they did. He despised having to listen to their tales of woe as they wept about the injustice of the world, of having died young; he despised himself for being unable to do more than weep with them.

"We don't belong here, Grunkle Stan," he would listen to the little girl weep, calling him a title he didn't recognize. He never remembered if they had ever told him their name, but they all seem to know his, without a fail. "If we're dead, then what about you? What about Grunkle Ford? Mom? Dad? What about them? We can't be dead, we can't be," they would say, confusion and frustration written all over their faces. They didn't understand. They didn't understand why they had come to the darkness so early, so unfairly.

He never knew what to say, he'd never been good with words.

All he could do was kneel down to their levels and engulf them in his arms, hoping he could somehow squeeze the pain straight out of their bodies in his embrace. He hugged them, because what else could he do?

[usagii-bun]

⭑.ᐟ 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌| 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗋 ! 𝖺𝗅𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗆 𝗑 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 — 𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗐 𝟣𝟪+

— (𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖻𝗒 𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗂𝗆𝗒𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝗑.)

part 1

𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒...in which you are a cam girl and he is your favorite viewer OR in which you are a final year college student and he is your new professor.

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌... smut, rough sex, oral sex (f and m),possessive sex, hair-pulling, vaginal fingering, spanking, masturbating( f and m), doggy style, mating press, language (these warnings are for all 5 parts)

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾... this is from my ao3, so enjoy <3

4.6k words

usagiibun2024🐇

Your half-open laptop sat forgotten on the couch, glowing with the low hum of an unfinished series you had tried to binge the night before. Eyes half-closed, you reached for your phone, fumbling to check the time.

8:30 a.m.

“Shit!”

You shot out of bed, tripping over the tangled sheets, heart pounding with the cold rush of adrenaline that only comes from missing something important. Today wasn’t just any day; it was the first lecture of the semester, and you were running late.

You quickly ran into the bathroom, throwing your clothes off and jumping into the shower. Your heart racing frnatucally as you quickly showered and turned it off almost slipping when you got out. The mirror offered you little comfort after you had tied your hair up messily, and threw on the first outfit you managed find—a crumpled sweater and jeans—looked less like ‘casual academic chic’ and more like ‘someone's given up.’ Still, it would have to do. You can go for the 'casual academic chic' tomorrow. Grabbing your bag, you bolted out the door, barely locking it behind you.

The world outside was already moving, buzzing with the noise of morning commuters and their routines. Your apartment building—an old, ivy-covered structure crammed between a café and a bookshop—seemed to blend into the city as you jogged down the street. The crisp autumn air clawed at your skin, urging you to move faster as the sounds of traffic and chatter filled the space around you.

The university campus wasn’t far, but today it felt like each step dragged you deeper into a sinking swamp. Your mind still swirled with the fog of sleep, your heart pounding as the towering lecture hall loomed ahead. A relic of academia, the stone building had seen its share of anxious students, no doubt making their way inside just like you. You could practically hear the ghost of every misstep made before you echoing off the ivy-covered walls.

You pushed open the heavy door, wincing as it creaked. The dim hallway was bathed in the dull yellow light of old fixtures, a stark contrast to the loud murmur of conversation from students filtering in. The quiet tap of your shoes on the worn wooden floor seemed deafening to your own ears.

Don’t be too late. Please.

Reaching the door to the lecture hall, you hesitated, already hearing the smooth, unhurried voice of the professor inside. His words were clear, deliberate, and somehow both calm and utterly dismissive. You slipped in quietly, praying no one would notice.

But then that voice, cool and laced with biting sarcasm, pierced through the room like a knife.

" Ah, nothing says commitment like showing up halfway through the lecture. Punctuality is, of course, the mark of true brilliance."

Your heart dropped. The entire class shifted uncomfortably, the air heavy with awkwardness. Your eyes flicked to the front of the room, but the professor hadn’t even glanced at you. His attention remained fixed on the screen, as if your tardiness was barely worth acknowledging beyond his cutting remark.

You ducked your head, praying you could melt into the crowd of students who were all pretending not to notice.

Settling into a seat at the back, you let out a slow breath. Great. First lecture of the semester, and already, you’d made an impression.

Alhaitham stood at the front, illuminated by the projector’s glow, a man who seemed entirely comfortable in the unyielding rigidity of academia. His pale skin stood out against the dark slate walls of the lecture hall, and his gray hair caught the light—silver at the tips with faint turquoise strands peeking through, subtle but noticeable. His eyes, those unnerving turquoise and gold-rimmed orbs, scanned the room without emotion, as if every student were a puzzle to be solved. His presence commanded attention without demanding it; there was an effortless authority about him, cold and unapologetic.

Everyone knew about him—the prodigy with an unrivalled intellect. But it was his pragmatism that made him infamous. He didn't mince words, nor did he soften his criticism. In his mind, academia was a battlefield, and if you weren’t equipped, you’d be left behind. At just 27, he was already regarded as one of the brightest minds in linguistics, with a list of publications and conference talks that read like someone twice his age. The department had celebrated his arrival like a prized acquisition after the sudden retirement of his predecessor.

As the lecture went on, his words became a blur, and your thoughts wandered. You’d heard the stories. Alhaitham had published papers before most people could finish their dissertations. He was already considered a leading figure in linguistics, and he’d barely been teaching for a year.

You looked around, catching glimpses of students furiously scribbling notes, trying to keep up. But you… you weren’t even processing his words. You were too busy stewing in your own frustration. He wasn’t just smart—he was smug. His entire demeanor screamed ‘I’m better than you,’ and somehow, that got under your skin.

The worst part? He was brilliant. There was no denying that. The ease with which he unraveled complex theories was almost infuriating. It wasn’t just knowledge; it was a performance of intellect, delivered with such cold precision that it made you feel small.

Your phone buzzed causing your eyes to widen as you quickly looked up towards Professor Alhaitham explaining something from a slide. You slide your phone on your desk as you glanced down briefly.

A request for a private session.

You rolled your eyes, stuffing the phone back into your pocket. The cam sessions weren’t supposed to interfere with your life like this. It was just supposed to be something you did on the side. Something that helped keep the bills paid.

When you’d started, it was out of desperation. You had needed to make money, and quickly. Your mother kicked you out due to a dispute —getting by was a struggle. At first, you had gotten a regular job at a coffee shop. But it wasn’t enough. Not even close.

Then a friend had suggested camming. At first, you’d been horrified by the idea. Sitting in front of a camera, doing… that? It felt disgusting, degrading. But after months of struggling, you’d caved. What was supposed to be a temporary fix had become part of your routine. Log in, entertain, log off. Now, it was less of a thrill and more of a chore. You hated to admit it, but it paid better than any job you could have found as a student.

Pushing those thoughts aside you tried to pay attention to professor Alhaitham but you ended up doodling inside your book and also ended up writing a grocery list.

Finally, the lights flickered back on as the lecture ended, and Professor Alhaitham’s voice broke the silence once more. "Chapters two through four by next week. We’ll see who’s keeping up."

He snapped his laptop shut, a final punctuation mark to the end of the lecture, and students began packing their bags. You sighed, stuffing your own notes away as you slung your bag over your shoulder, the door creaked open behind you.

“Hey, wait up!” Layla’s voice pierced through your haze.

You turned to see her weaving through the chairs, looking equally disheveled but far less bothered. She caught up to you with an apologetic grin, her messy hair bouncing with each step. “You okay? You looked pretty rattled back there.”

You huffed, running a hand through your own hair. “I was late. Professor Alhaitham made sure everyone knew. God, what a prick.”

Layla snorted, raising an eyebrow. “Oh no. What did he say? I was kind of zoned out”

“Something about ‘dedication’ and ‘showing up halfway through.’ Like he’s never been late to anything in his entire life.”

Layla chuckled, shaking her head. “I swear, that guy is an enigma. Alot of people dislike him for the way he behaves, but alot of people are desperate to be in his class.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“He’s a genius, obviously,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But it’s more than that. There’s something about him. He doesn’t care what people think, and he never panders. Some people like that kind of honesty.”

"Honesty, my ass. He’s just an asshole."

Layla laughed, nudging your arm. "Maybe, but also I've heard some people have joined his class just because of how hot he is, a bit ridiculous I do say." she says as a yawn escapes past her parted lips, her head gently resting against your shoulder as she tries to fight off fatigue.

You glanced back toward the front of the lecture hall. Alhaitham was still there, gathering his things with calm efficiency, his sharp features illuminated by the faint sunlight streaming in through the tall windows. His movements were deliberate, controlled, like everything in his world followed some intricate set of rules only he understood. You hated how Layla had a point. He was good-looking, in a detached, untouchable kind of way.

You noticed Layla almost falling off to sleep on your shoulder so you gently poked her nose causing her to wake up in shock.

"I think you need to lay off those thesis papers for awhile and get a good sleep" you said to her as she mumbles something and pouts.

You and Layla left the hall, your thoughts drifted again to the complicated web of your life outside these walls. The nights spent streaming, the chat boxes filled with faceless usernames, the anonymous attention that came with your side job. You pushed it to the back of your mind—this wasn’t the time. But still, that strange double life you led lingered like a shadow you couldn’t quite shake.

You slipped back into the comfort of your cluttered apartment, the memory of his sharp words lingered.

When you finally made it back to your apartment, the weight of the day clung to your shoulders. Dropping your bag by the door, you let out a heavy sigh and kicked off your shoes, the soft thud of them hitting the floor echoing in the quiet space. It had been a long day—longer than you expected.

You shuffled into the kitchen, deciding to fix yourself something simple. Your fridge wasn’t exactly stocked, but you managed to throw together a sandwich, something to take the edge off your hunger. As you ate, your thoughts wandered to your schedule for the evening, how it always followed the same routine, a strange comfort in the predictability of it.

After a quick meal, you headed into the bathroom. The warm water of the shower washed away the lingering stress of the day, soothing your muscles and easing your mind, if only for a little while. You stayed under the spray longer than necessary, letting the steam fill the room as you tried to clear your head.

But in the back of your mind, you knew what was coming. Once the clock hit nine, you would become someone else—someone confident, mysterious, and unattainable.

Toweling off, you took your time getting dressed, slipping into some comfortable clothes for the moment. You still had some work to finish before the night began.

As you sat at your desk, staring at the open notes on your laptop, your mind started drifting again. It wasn’t just the lingering tension from class that tugged at your thoughts. There was the constant reminder of why you were doing all of this in the first place.

Your mum hadn’t spoken to you in months, ever since she cut you off financially. Her voice echoed in your head, that final conversation where she’d made it clear—you were on your own. You weren’t doing things her way, and so she wasn’t going to help you anymore.

It had been hard to accept at first. The distance between you, the harshness of her words. But you had no choice now. You had to make things work, no matter what.

That was why you found yourself here, every night, doing things you never thought you’d do. Because you had to survive. This was the only way to keep your apartment, to stay in college. And you couldn’t afford to fail—not now, not with everything at stake.

Your eyes scrunched as you diverted your attention from those stressful thoughts to your notes, a few minutes past as you scrolled through the pages as the hours passed and the sky outside darkened, you checked the time. 8:45. Almost time.

You stood up, crossing the room to your closet. Opening the door, you rifled through the few pieces hanging there before finding what you were looking for—a delicate baby pink lingerie set. The fabric was soft, a stark contrast to the role you were about to step into.

Changing quickly, you adjusted the straps in front of the mirror, checking yourself from different angles. You pulled your hair up into a neat ponytail, a subtle touch that helped keep the two sides of your life separate. The girl in the mirror was confident, poised, ready to perform.

But it wasn’t quite 9:00 yet.

You walked over to your laptop and started setting up, adjusting the angle of your webcam, ensuring that it captured your body

By the time the platform loaded, it was exactly 9:00. Notifications immediately began popping up on your screen as you entered the chat. Regulars and new subscribers alike greeted you, their excitement palpable.

They asked about your day, how have you been as the night played out. After idle chatter with your subscribers, it was finally time for what they actually wanted to see.

The highest bidder requested you to use your pink dildo vibrator. A small smile graced your lips. "As you wish, master" you murmured, pulling out the vibrator. Your eyes darted to the chat window, scanning for familiar usernames, but a disappointed pout formed as you noticed he hadn't joined yet. 'He didn't join yet,' you thought, your mood dampening. The chat flared up with messages as viewers noticed your sulky expression.

You quickly plastered on a smile, bringing the dildo close to the camera, then to your face, smiling seductively.

"So, what do you want me to do first?" The next few minutes blurred into a haze of overstimulation. The bluetooth vibrator buzzed inside you, your fingers rubbing against your pussy lips as shudders coursed through you.

Your clit trembled with the constant intensity, and your body gleamed with a sheen of sweat. Your baby pink lingerie clung to your body as your hand found your nipple, pinching and playing until you came again.

The viewers paid extra to speed up the device, pushing you further and further.

Eyes fluttering open briefly, you scanned the chats again.

Your heart skipped a beat when a familiar username appeared User1102. Your thighs trembled as the vibrator reached its highest speed, your body shaking uncontrollably as you came, making a mess along your legs and lingerie. Breathing erratic, vision blurred, you were practically limp from the overstimulation.

User1102: Bunny... take a break. The chat was filled with other messages, people tipping for extra time or requesting private sessions. But your attention was glued to his message.

User1102: I'do like a private session.

[User1102 tipped $100!]

A soft smile formed on your lips despite your exhaustion. The other subscribers seemed annoyed, trying to out-tip him, but you already knew your choice.

"I'm super tired right now, so I'm only taking one private session! Thank you, guys, see you next week Tuesday~" You threw in a small finger heart, trying to ignore the love confessions and anger from you ending your live so soon.

After ending the public live stream, your heart raced as you adjusted your hair and lingerie, sending a private request to User1102. The request was accepted, and your body appeared on screen.

You smiled, head tilted slightly. "Hi, what can Ms. Bunny do for you tonight?" you asked, your voice low and sultry, though your heart pounded with nerves. You couldn’t stop the thoughts from racing in your head.

Why do I always get so excited for this particular subscriber? Why does he make my heart race faster and my cheeks flush pink?

The first time User1102 appeared in your live stream, someone had requested you to overstimulate yourself to the point of discomfort. Eyes glazed with tears, you tried to push through the discomfort, but your mind kept wandering. Rent was due, and the $400 being offered was something you couldn’t turn down. But you felt pathetic, disgusted even, for putting yourself through that pain.

That was when User1102 first message caught your attention.

User1102: Stop what you're doing. You're clearly uncomfortable.

The original requester got angry, but then

User1102: tipped $400.

User1102: End the live. I'd like a private session with you.

[User1102 tipped $200]

Your movements had stopped, stunned by the sudden change. The other subscribers were furious, but you nervously smiled and ended the stream. His private session that night had been different from any other. No requests for anything sexual just for you to drink water and change into something comfortable. He'd only stayed for a few minutes to make sure you felt better, then sent a simple message before leaving.

'Don't do things you feel uncomfortable doing.'

You were utterly confused, could the person have been someone who has mistakenly tumbled upon your stream from an ad?

You had'nt expected to see him again, but he came back for the next session. And the one after that. And eventually, you started looking forward to his presence, even if you didn't know what he looked like. --- You let out a soft sigh, your fingers shaking slightly as you adjusted your lingerie on screen.

User1102 message popped up again.

User1102 : are you okay bunny to do something small for me ?

You quickly nod your head eagerly, already ready to do whatever he asked (as long as it wasn't some weird ass kink).

User1102: okay, Bunny, grab the dildo you used earlier.

Your eyes widened slightly at the straightforward request. Hesitantly, you reached for the pink dildo that was still slick from earlier. You toyed with it in your hands for a moment, waiting for his next command.

User1102: Spit on it.

You froze for a second, processing his request. Sure, you'd done things like that before, but it was unexpected from him. Still, you complied.

Leaning forward, you let your saliva drip onto the tip of the dildo.

User1102: Now, Bunny, be a good girl and clean your mess up.

Your pussy throbbed at the words. Slowly, you began sucking at the dildo, cleaning off your spit with your tongue, trailing it down the length of the toy. As you worked, a notification flashed on the screen.

User1102: Play with yourself, Bunny.

Your hand left your breast, fingers finding your clit as you jolted on the bed. The added stimulation forced a moan out of you, louder than you'd intended, but you couldn't stop.

User1102: You're so pretty, making a mess all over.

The tension in your stomach tightened, your vision blurring as you angled your fingers just right. The coil in your stomach snapped, your body was trembling as the final wave of pleasure hit you, vision blurring as you came undone. The clear liquid dripped down your thighs, making a mess of your lingerie and the sheets beneath you. You lay there panting, catching your breath, feeling the heat slowly dissipate from your body.

User1102: You were amazing. Good girl.

Those two words sent another shiver down your spine. Your heart fluttered at the praise, and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out of your mouth, genuine and raw: "Anything for you..." Your cheeks flushed red immediately after.

You couldn’t believe you had said that out loud. Your mind was in a haze, the warmth of the afterglow still lingering, but a strange conflict bubbled up inside you.

A small part of you, buried deep down, wanted to scream at yourself for how you felt about this man, a random stranger hidden behind a username. It was foolish to feel like this. A ridiculous crush, on someone who could very well be as old as your father. You closed your eyes for a second, lost in your thoughts, but his next message broke through.

User1102: go clean up, just take it easy when you do so. maybe run a hot shower or bath to relax your muscles. you did really good today.

User1102: Rest now. Goodnight, Bunny.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you read the message. There was something so caring, so comforting about how he ended things.

He didn’t push for more, didn’t ask for anything beyond what you were comfortable with.

"Good night" you said sweetly, your eyes widening at the 400$ tip he left as he logs off. At this point you should just do private sessions with the amount of money he spends on you.

As the session ended, the room fell into a heavy silence. The screen of your laptop went dark, leaving you in the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You let out a tired sigh, rolling onto your back. It was late, and exhaustion was starting to weigh you down. You grabbed your phone to check the time, but instead, you noticed a notification from your email.

A familiar name caught your eye. Professor Alhaitham. The email had been sent before you even started your session. You clicked it open and skimmed through it, rolling your eyes the moment you saw what it was about: a pop quiz.

"Ugh, that asshole" you muttered under your breath, tossing the phone aside. The last thing you needed was a quiz first thing in the morning. And of course, he just had to schedule it for 8 AM. You groaned in frustration. Now, you'd definitely need a good night's rest.

You’d barely slept the night before, and it showed. Your body still ached from the public and private session you’d done, and your limbs felt heavy as you dragged yourself through the hall. Luckily you had awoken around 5:30 am and was at campus around 7. You still had a few more minutes to spare until your first lecture and the dreaded pop quiz.

You knew shit cause you didn't revise saying that you would do it in the morning. Well that was a lie.

'I'll just wing it' you thought as you walked into the café to grab some coffee. The café’s comforting warmth felt like a small refuge. You needed caffeine, something to drag you out of this groggy haze. The barista handed you the cup. The place was packed with students and lecturers as you squeezed through people. Distracted by your thoughts, you barely noticed where you were going.

And that’s when you collided into something hard.

You walked right into a firm, solid chest. The impact sent a jolt through your body, and for a second, the world seemed to stop. The smell of something clean—like freshly washed linen, with the faintest hint of sandalwood—filled your senses, grounding you even as the embarrassment flooded your face. Your nose twitched from pain as you let out a small 'ow'.

You looked up, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

It was him.

The devil himself, the man who thought it would be great to have a pop quiz in the morning.

Professor Alhaitham.

Oh and also the man who had humiliated you in front of the entire class just yesterday, his words sharp and cutting as if you were some lazy student who had rolled out of bed with no care. And here you were, nearly doing the same thing. You opened your mouth to apologize, but then your eyes met his, and something inside you froze.

He stared at you with a wide-eyed look, his usual unbothered, calm demeanor completely gone. For a moment, his face seemed to soften, surprise mixing with something else you couldn’t place. His light turquoise eyes were framed by long lashes, and you were momentarily struck by how striking his gaze was. His lips parted, as if to say something, but no sound came out.

What was his problem?

You shifted awkwardly, your body still brushing against his, and suddenly you became hyper-aware of how close you were. His chest was firm beneath his clothes, his body warm, and for a brief moment, you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath. His presence felt… overwhelming. The scent of him, the way his tall frame seemed to block out everything else.

And yet, there was something off. His reaction wasn’t what you’d expect from someone as stoic and composed as he had seemed in class. His eyes flickered with recognition—like he’d seen you somewhere before. But how could that be?

Before you could piece together what was happening, his eyes darted away, the strange look quickly masked by his usual indifference. He straightened, but his hands twitched, as if he were unsure of what to do with them.

You blinked, quickly stepping back, trying to find your voice. “I-I’m sorry,” you stammered, barely able to look at him. You felt like your face was on fire, and all you wanted to do was escape the situation.

He said nothing at first, still staring at you with that strange intensity. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he cleared his throat. “It’s fine,” he murmured, his voice deeper than you remembered from class. But there was something in his tone, something that almost felt… uncertain.

You mumbled another apology, your heart racing, and without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and rushed out of the café, the sound of your pounding footsteps drowning out the whirlwind of confusion in your head.

What the hell was that? You couldn’t shake the strange feeling his reaction had left you with. Was it embarrassment from the way he had insulted you in class? No—this was different. The way he looked at you wasn’t just surprise. There was something else in his eyes.

You shoved the thought out of your mind. It didn’t matter. He was just your professor, and you had to keep it that way, no matter how weird things got. Your eyes brighten when you noticed you didn't spill your coffee as you hurried down the cafe and took a right turn towards the lecture hall that Professor Al haitham's lecture will be held.

Unaware of the turmoil you had just left behind, Alhaitham stood frozen in place. His hands were still shaking, heart hammering in his chest, and he couldn’t stop replaying the moment over in his mind.

It was you.

The cam girl. The one he’d been watching for weeks. The one he had subscribed to under an anonymous name, indulging in those private sessions like they were his guilty pleasure. He had never planned on it becoming more than a fleeting escape—a place where he could admire you from afar, behind the safety of his screen.

But now, standing there, his chest still tingling from where you had bumped into him, the reality hit him with terrifying force.

He knew your body, your voice, the way you moved in front of the camera. But you… you had no idea who he was. To you, he was just the arrogant professor who had mocked you in class.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

His pulse quickened, his mind racing through the implications. His favorite cam girl was now his student, and she didn’t even know.

part 2

[goldsbitch]

Right? p3

summary: Y/N is a photographer for McLaren F1 team. Hard working, goal oriented professional who would never put her career in jeopardy for some stupid crush, right?

That is until a photoshoot gets out of hand and there is no way to go but forward.

part 1, part 2

"Y/n!"

You slowly turned. The plan was to leave with the rest of the team, not staying behind with Lando - alone.

"I just have few ideas for the next phoshoot, if you'd like to talk about it," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Professional. "Of course!" And with that, the last person left the room and closed the door.

The media meeting room was one of the few rooms without glass doors or windows. The only light present was from the projecting screen, still showing a big photo of Lando fucking Norris.

He was leaning on the table, light reflecting in his face while he was observing the picture.

"Narcissist much?" you teased and also leaned next to him. It's like his body was sending magnetic signals to yours.

"Always. " He paused for a moment. "If I recall correctly, these were all shot in the forest." You chose not to react. He gave you a questioning look. "Where is the rest?"

You should have expected this. Wishful thinking was not working in your favor. Or was it?

"I'm missing the car pictures, the ones where you stood above me and perhaps even those where you sat on me. Am I right?"

You turned and looked him straight to the eye. If tension was a fog in the room, you'd be able to see at arms-lenght only.

"I guess the battery gave out sooner than I noticed," you replied nonchalantly.

Lando stepped into the projector light. "Yes, that must be it...Or, there is a reason why you don't want to show them."

He was standing way too close. You had no defense for his charm. The damn scent again. The only thing you had on mind was burying your face in his neck and leaving your own mark on him. Would he be the one to moan? How would that sound?

"You know, I also like to take photos."

"Is that so?"

He was facing you directly. With a noticable hasitation, he put his finger on your chin, tracing the lines of your jaw. He ended up with him finger and his eyes on your lips.

"I would love to be on the other side of the lens. Take photo of you for once."

We are sorry to inform you, that all traces of professionality have left the room.

He slowly traced your lips with his finger and while remaining direct eye contact, you opened your mouth and licked it. It was slow, with a little pause and then suddenly the mouth that kissed yours, like he had once in real life and several times in your dreams. .

Almost as if he had read your mind, he proceeded to kiss your neck, softly not to leave a mark, but enough for him to find out you in fact do moan. His hand, wrapped around your hips, squeezed you as a direct response to the soft sounds coming out of your mouth.

"Lando," you whispered.

"Yes, baby?" his voice was shivering as well. This should not make you proud. You should stop now, anyone could walk in. You managed to break out of your paralysis, even if it was the last thing you wanted to do.

"Lando, stop."

He stopped kissing you promptly. Your foreheads pressed together.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. You almost laughed. The only thing he should feel sorry for was the fact his mouth was not exploring your body anymore.

With heavy heart, you pulled away. This was probably a silly game for him, one with potentially horrible consequences.

"I can't risk my job like this."

He nodded. "I understand. I guess. I mean, I think the times are changing a bit."

"Like having an affair with essentially your boss is not bad anymore?"

"I'm not your boss."

Oh maybe he should be.

"You know what I mean. For me it's not just a job."

He took a moment to think. "That's probably the hottest thing about you. The passion. I can understand that."

Your stomach spun. Lando called you hot?

"It's impossible for me to keep passing you around as if it's nothing. Been too long." You remained calm, knowing well enough you'll have many night to think about this sentence.

"Do you say this to all the female staff?" you joked, but tiny part of you had a legitimate worry. You were not going to be one of many, too proud for that.

"I'd have to quit if there were even only two like you, one is enough to handle."

This time you approached him and kissed him first. A little bit slower than you kissed before. It was quick, as you heard some steps on the hallway.

"Let's go on a date. Privately. So we can think clearly," he insisted.

"I don't think other people are the reason why I'm not thinking clearly."

"Come on, say yes."

"Yes, let's."

Lando stepped away, becoming more of his work self again. You went to turn on the lights again. "We can either go and take photos of you for this time, or you can show me the ones you hid from others."

The door opened and you were relieved it didn't happened a minute ago.

"Yes, let's do another photoshoot," you smirked at Lando.

part 4

______________________________________________________________

@i-wish-this-was-me

[takamiwife]

song quotes that remind me of you and keigo’s relationship

DISCLAIMER: i am not supporting/endorsing any artists on this list who may be problematic, nor am i trying to erase the original meaning of any songs

💌 if you’d like another one of these pls lmk!! <3 💌

—————————————

“good little girl

always picking a fight with me

you know that i’m bad, but you’re spending the night with me

what do you want from my world?

you’re a good little girl.”

- good little girl ; adventure time soundtrack

“i was all on my own

almost glad to be alone

until love came in on time, on time”

- loving is easy ; rex orange county

“spending the years together

growing older every day

(every day)

i feel at home when im around you

and i’ll gladly say again

i hope the encore lasts forever

now there’s time for us to spend”

—

“this right here still feels like the honeymoon

when you say my name,

nothings changed

i’m still a boy inside my thoughts

am i meant to understand my faults?”

- pluto projector ; rex orange county

“honey i belong with you and only you, baby

only you, my girl, only you, babe (you)

only you darling, only you babe (you)”

- dark red ; steve lacy

“oh, oh, oh, i, i was a city boy

right into danger’s where i’d

always run, a boy who had his fun

but i wouldn’t have done all the things that i have done

if i knew one day you’d come.”

- if i knew ; bruno mars

“when my time comes around

lay me gently in the cold dark earth

no grave can hold my body down

i’ll crawl home to her”

—-

“my babe would never fret none

about what my hands and my body done

if the lord don’t forgive me

i’d still have my baby and my babe would have me”

- work song ; hozier

“hey, hey, hey, lover

you don’t have to be a star

hey, hey, hey, lover

i love you just the way you are

for love is just the same

without fortune or fame

just give me true love and understanding

true love and understanding.”

- hey lover ; the daughters of eve

“my baby here on earth

showed me what my heart was worth

so, when it comes to be my turn

could you shine it down here for her

‘cause my love is mine, all mine

i love mine, mine, mine

nothing in the world belongs to me

but my love, mine, all mine

nothing in the world is mine for free

but my love, mine, all mine, all mine”

- my love mine all mine ; mitski

“all those days chasing down a daydream

all those years living in a blur

all that time, never truly seeing

things the way they were

now she's here, shining in the starlight

now she's here, suddenly I know

if she's here, it's crystal clear

i'm where I'm meant to go

and at last I see the light

and it's like the fog has lifted

and at last I see the light

and it's like the sky is new”

- i see the light ; tangled soundtrack

“and oh, we started

two hearts in one home

it's hard when we argue

we're both stubborn, I know

but oh

sweet creature, sweet creature

wherever I go, you bring me home

sweet creature, sweet creature

when I run out of road, you bring me home”

- sweet creature ; harry styles

“you’re making me crazy

really driving me mad

that’s alright with me

it’s really no fuss

as long as you’re next to me

just the two of us”

- my kind of woman ; mac demarco

“you're afraid to meet someone

'Cause you've been burned, you've been burned, you've been burned

love is good until it's gone

that's what you learned, what you've learned, what you've learned

you don't have to hide your love away and

i know that i'm gonna make mistakes, but

leaning on somebody isn't easy

i'll do what i can to make you see that

this is not a temporary love

this is not a temporary love

now your heart is in my hands, i won't give it up

this is not a temporary love”

- temporary love ; ben platt

“i will not ask you where you came from

i will not ask you, neither should you

honey just put your sweet lips on my lips

we should just kiss like real people do”

- like real people do ; hozier

“oh, won't you kiss me on the mouth and love me like a sailor?

and when you get a taste, can you tell me what's my flavor?

i don't believe in god, but i believe that you're my savior

my mom says that she's worried, but I'm covered in this favor

and when we're getting dirty, I forget all that is wrong

i sleep so I can see you 'cause I hate to wait so long”

- sailor song ; gigi perez

“she is the sweetest thing that i know

should see the way she holds me when the lights go low

shakes my soul like a pothole every time

took my heart upon a one way trip

guess she went wandering off with it

none like most women I know

this one will bring it back whole”

-

“that every night i'll kiss you, you'll say in my ear

oh we're in love, aren't we?

hands in your hair

fingers and thumbs, baby

i feel safe when you're holding me near

love the way that you conquer your fear

you know hearts don't break around here”

- hearts don’t break around here ; ed sheeran

[ebisul]

Sterile Mandalore and my issues with the New Mandalore we see

I want to preface this by saying a lot of what’s wrong with Mandalore and the Mandalorians is fully Filoni’s fault (among a variety of other people involved) for being a bad storyteller. Also between brain fog, ADHD, and a severe anxiety disorder, I’m brute forcing my way to coherency.

This is in no way a defense of Death Watch or the history of imperialism. I won’t tolerate anyone comparing me to a terrorist organization for not liking the depiction of Mandalore under New Mandalorian rule or any particular Mandalorian Character, yes that has happened before.

As an overview, I will be going over the setting of Mandalore we see visually, a few of the characters and what those characters say about Mandalorian culture visually, as well as briefly touching on the Clones, and finally how each of these contribute to the Mandalore we see in The Clone Wars.

Now I wanted to write this because I actually deeply enjoy the Mandalorians as a culture, I think everything from the language to the armor to the Resol’nare, uncertain if thats canon, is absolutely fascinating. However, what we see in The Clone Wars has next to none of that outside of Death Watch, the terrorist organization.

The Setting of Mandalore

Mandalore the planet is primarily composed of harsh, seemingly uninhabitable deserts created from centuries upon centuries of war. What we do see of the civilization on Mandalore is primarily within the domed capital city of Sundari. Now there are a few things I wanna touch on here, primarily certain locations, such as the schools, the palace, and the overall visuals of the city, and the people, as a whole as well as individuals.

Beginning with the Schools,

We see schools on Mandalore at least twice in TCW, once during the poisonings when we see a cafeteria and once during our stint with Korkie where we see classrooms and dorms, and i have always hated the way they look. I will say that you could very well interpret the Royal Academy of Government to be a sort of military school, though given the New Mandalorians are all about peace and pacifism it would be an odd choice to send your nephew there.

Visually speaking, the schools are beyond dull. In the classroom we see Ahsoka teaching in, the entire room is gray, with nothing but the desks and a projector. Look at the kid in the front row! Thats how I feel looking at this room!! These are presumably either teenagers or young adults at a boarding school. Im not expecting much for a classroom but a dull dark gray, empty room is not conducive to learning.

I also want to note that they wear uniforms. Its totally normal for a boarding school to require uniforms, that makes sense, however, these uniforms have one singular interesting component and thats the iron heart. I can’t find an exact meaning behind the symbol outside of reddit so im hesitant to define it here, however what we do know is that the symbol is absolutely ancient. A significant part of Mandalorian history.

The rest of the uniform is similarly a dull cool gray, or perhaps a dull blue. And there doesn’t seem to be much individuality in the uniforms, that is outside of hair and whatever gambit-style headwear those kids are wearing at least, but even then they’re mostly all very similar hairstyles.

Im also electing to ignore that there are seemingly two separate sets of triplets here. I know it’s an animation shortcut. Still, they are still there and I can’t ignore them now.

Now, on to what I’m presuming is either a dorm or some sort of recreation or break room, I don’t remember much of the context and frankly you can’t tell from looks alone. I’m leaning toward a dorm because that was my first interpretation.

Regardless of what this room serves as, be it dorm or break room, its still void of character. If this were a dorm, we would have no indication of whose it could possibly be.

It looks like the light behind Korkie is a map of some sort, or something similar its unclear, but that and the neon lights above Soniee are the only sources of color. The red and blue can mean a lot of things but I genuinely don’t think there is a major purpose behind it. We already saw the two sets of triplets.

However, lighting is meant to mean something. In particular, red can mean many things, but given the visual context it reads as stress inducing, as danger. Particularly surrounding Korkie as it does.

Now blue lighting needed a quick google search, but my results for the meaning of blue lighting where a little unexpected. Blue is a typical calming color, similar to green, though can also be interpreted as depressing and cold like grays, and blue lighting can be representative of isolation and passivity. Ironically, this scene is anything but passive. Again, im not putting much weight into it but I feel its worth noting.

Ultimately, its entirely impersonal, slightly stress-inducing, and only marginally better than the classroom only because it had color. Now onto my most egregious example from the schools we see and my most despised, the cafeteria.

Do you see this shit? Where do i even start? My best guess is that these are approximately middle schoolers. If i went to this school I would willingly drink the poison. Their lunch looks like three tomatoes, three mystery cubes, and debatably either a cracker or a slice of cheese. Horrendous lunch. How is this acceptable to feed to children for a whole meal? Enough complaining about their lunches, though.

The cafeteria itself is offputting to say the least. Pure white. The children, pale and blonde, all wearing the exact same gray uniforms with only variation for the girls, because girl = skirts. It’s the picture of uniformity. Its horrific. The only color outside of the pitiful lunch is the monstrous poison drink nearly all children have. Probably bc theyre lunches are terrible.

This scene has two interpretations in my mind. The first is that its meant to be creepy as all hell, which is unlikely because we’re supposed to support New Mandalore. The second interpretation is that it was meant to look like the epitome of peace and serenity and utterly fails because it takes more than an overuse of the color white to represent innocence, purity, and peace.

How do you manage to make an entire school look like a cloning facility? In fact, I’m certain the cloning facility has more diversity than all of mandalore.

Now the issue with all of these areas of the schools on Mandalore is that they look like no place to teach a child. There are certain things that are conducive to learning and color is one of them! So is fostering individuality! There are specific things that make an environment suitable for learning and these schools have very few of them.

Now onto the Palace,

This will be a shorter segment than the previous. Although I will be lightly critical of Satine here. So to begin, we primarily see the throne room. In fact, im not even sure we see much else in the Palace of Sundari. We do see Satine’s rooms or office but I can’t find a picture of it so i won’t use the example.

Both of these images share a few things in common. First is the dramatic lighting, the otherwise empty throne room save for the chairs that seem to have been brought in, and the only color present outside of gray is Satine and/or her throne. Even Padme, notable fashion icon, is or appears to be wearing gray in these scenes.

The dramatic lighting in the first image is an obvious “Hey! These are the good guys!” and I can’t piece out a relevent meaning behind the second image so Im choosing to move forward because I think it is just that, lighting.

Now the throne room being utterly void will be clearer in the next image I attach. The issue with it being so empty is that it feels almost lifeless, cold. It doesn’t feel like a throne room visually speaking. This ties into the last thing these images have in common. Satine and her throne.

Within the gray permeating what seems to be most of Mandalore at this rate, Satine is the only source of actual color. Her clothes are these vibrant, beautiful blues and greens and purples. Her throne is a glowing beacon above everyone.

What does that say, when every one of her people is dressed in grays, beiges, and pale blues? Or when they all dress the same?

This is a better view of just how empty the throne room is. Theres more of the iron heart design, though still no real idea of the meaning further than it is significant, as well as the portrait of Satine. The only things in this image with color other than gray or biege are indications of Satine. But the throne room itself is almost entirely barren.

Whether or not you think this is any indication of her character one way or another thats up to you. My read on what this shows of her is that she is blinded by her own ideals, she doesnt truly see her people as they are, be that through ignorance or arrogance, and that allows the corruption to seep.

I wanted to show the hospital because I think thats a Good environment design for mandalore but i lost the picture. It is ironic that my example of good design is the one thats meant to be clinical.

Therefore, I’m moving on to the city at large

The city itself is incredibly industrial. I’m torn because I know it has to be like that to a degree but it also doesnt have to be like that. That’s a choice the designers made. The city of Sundari exists within a dome due to the uninhabitable deserts from years of war, that doesnt mean it must look so cold.

It just feels so lifeless. Colorless even. Ive noticed by now, and you probably have too, that my main issue seems to be coloring. Well, I wouldn’t say its my main issue but it’s definitely up there.

We’re supposed to think that Satine’s New Mandalore is Good. That it’s this vision of peace and prosperity. But where do we see that visually? Through industrialization? Thats not good!

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that Satine’s peace is a clear facade for all of the shady bullshit going on behind her back, but we should be able to see that in the enviroment.

We should be able to see the idyllic peacefulness and people’s enjoyment of their city. We should see that face and the shady underside. We shouldn’t just see drab gray with a splash of corruption. It just makes Satine look like a bad ruler.

Characters and What They’re Telling Us

I’m actually not starting this with a particular character. I’m going to begin with the Mandalorian people as a whole.

What a surprise! Theyre all blond white people! See I have a huge issue with the lack of diversity among humans on Mandalore for a few reasons. The first reason is the obvious, it’s fucking WEIRD. The second reason is that we know there are people of color who are mandalorian.

And on the one hand this really demonstrates my point. Everyone looks the same, everything is dull and empty. This isn’t prosperity.

The first example they look like theyre dressed in uniform. Every single one of them is wearing the exact same color. Thats not normal. In the second image, while they aren’t dressed uniformly, they are all dressed in grays and beiges. These people are Satine’s governing council. They’re supposed to high standing officials.

And that brings us back to The Duchess herself

I’m choosing to use her main outfit design for this. There will be no more images from here onwards because there is no space but I’m trusting you all to know what these characters look like.

Satine’s Dress can only truly be described as opulent. She dresses in shades of blue, purple, and green and elaborate headwear and accessories. Her hair is styled in a way characteristic of Kalevala, similarly to Korkie’s friend Lagos but more extravagant. The colors she wears are chosen to appear soothing and to honor the history of Mandalore’s forests and lakes.

But this isn’t something you might pick up on naturally. Remember this is a show for children. You would have to do the research to learn that. Without that information you could interpret her appearance any number of ways.

Between her headress and the color scheme, I would have confidently said she was peacock-like, had I not known the nuances. Character design needs to be something people can infer from. Something that lines up with the environment to tell a story.

That being said what her design is meant to tell us is that she greatly values the less violent aspects of Mandalore’s past. That she is trying to preserve and honor their history and Mandalore’s beauty.

The issue is that (from memory at least) the honoring forests and lakes never really is relevant? We see Peace Park but we’re never shown much about any restoration or preservation efforts of the planet itself. Did they just give up because its a “wasteland”? Were there no other alternatives? We were never given enough context, explicitly or implicitly.

And without the knowledge of what her design is supposed to mean, what is stopping anyone from misinterpreting it. What is stopping anyone from thinking she is just this haughty, holier than thou politician? Especially when you put her next to civilians or even her own council when she is already sat above them on her throne?

Satine’s design is essentially meant to show us her value to peace and progression but we arent really shown much progressing. We’re meant to just believe what we’re told rather than showing us the progress in, yknow, progress.

Now, Bo Katan

I chose specifically to include the sisters in this because I wanted to compare them, also bc obviously they are the most relevant. Bo’s design also demonstrates her values, admittedly way clearer than Satine’s.

She’s a traditionalist, someone who values the warrior ways, and yes also a terrorist. Thats not super relevant. Because she’s a traditionalist, it makes sense that her character design is rather simple in comparison to her sister, but they both honor the history of Mandalore all the same.

Mandalorian armor is equally as historical and significant as the iron heart itself, even so far as to have the two intrinsically intertwined, having the Iron Heart as part of the armor. I think most Mandalorian fans know this already.

Now, I want to take the armor paint color meanings with a grain of salt. Im not certain how canon any of it actually is even if the meanings do seem to hold up withon canon. However, the thing about the armor paint is that it sets the mandalorians apart as individuals while simultaneously tying them together as Mandalorians.

Bo’s armor is painted primarily blue and gray with white detailing and owl imagery to signify her Nite-Owls. Now in the EU the colors have meaning. Blue and gray mean reliabilty and mourning respectively. I think it would be in the Mandalorian culture’s best interests to keep this canon and even expand upon this.

This is because these unique paint schemes allow for individuality, community, and notable artistic expression. I mean, just look at Sabine. This contrasts with the uniformity of New Mandalore which just makes New Mandalore look really bad. Like really, really bad.

Next I want to look at Almec

So, Almec has two designs I want to look at. First is his usual outfit as Satine’s right hand and the second is his own armor.

Pre-betrayal, Almec wears an almost solidly white outfit, with gray, beige, and a dash of gold detailing. This design actually has two iron heart designs, one in his clothes and one in his hair. Outside of the iron heart, the design is very plain. The overuse of white is likely meant to give an illusion of purity and peace again. It doesn’t really work when he looks so clinical, though.

In his armor, Almec’s design is a stark contrast to the previous. He wears a light green, maybe gray, flight suit with black and gold armor. The reason I wanted to include this design for a number of reasons but specifically, the shoulder cord.

The gold shoulder cord gives Almec a more militaristic appearance, even in comparison to other armored mandalorians. This is actually a design detail I really enjoy because the gold shoulder cord essentially means “service to another” in the US military.

The colors black and gold in mandalorian armor represent justice and vengeance. Again, take that with a grain of salt, but I think more importantly this change actually makes Almec a more recognizable character. The armor is more personal than his prior outfit working under Satine as a New Mandalorian. It tells us more about who he is as a person.

On to Jango

Yes he is Mandalorian. I will not debate this I dont give a shit what George Lucas intended with him. I don’t even care what was said in TCW. Jango was canonically a mandalorian foundling. And yes I know they never show up really in relation to Mandalore, but Its important I mention them, I think.

So, we know in TCW, Jango isn’t considered a mandalorian by the New Mandalorians. They insist that he must have stolen the armor, that there’s no conceivable way he could be mandalorian. Except that we now have canonical confirmation that he was in fact a foundling.

See, here’s the issue with this, because in retrospect they’re basically denying a dead man his own identity and creed.

Jangos armor isnt really what I wanted to talk about in relation to Jango himself. Mostly I wanted to talk about what his character means for the New Mandalorians. Jango amd Boba are quite literally The Blueprint for Mandalorians. Except now we get more Mandalorians and they fully deny Jango his Mando-ness.

What, because he doesn’t align with their ideology? Jango wasn’t a great person by any means but being Mandalorian isn’t just a nationality. It’s something you’re taught.

Again this isn’t about the armor, it’s about the fact that he’s played by a Maori man. The first Mandalorian face we see is a brown man and that gives a real bad impression when you have a planet of White People claiming he isn’t even Mandalorian, why? Because he’s adopted? Because he was a bounty hunter?

The Clones

This section isn’t totally relevant so feel free to skip to the next, but i can only go so long without talking about them.

The clones themselves don’t have a strong tie to Mandalore, narratively speaking. However, they do have ties built into their appearances. More than just being clones of Jango.

They don’t speak Mando’a in canon and we aren’t totally sure who exactly trained them before Jango died, but we do have little hints from their character designs that indicate some connection to Mandalore or the Mandalorian culture.

Rex specifically is one of the few with jaig eyes. Jaig eyes are a Mandalorian honor symbol. And he’s not the only clone with this symbol, Blackout also has Jaig eyes on his helmet. Which leads me to believe this symbol is fairly common for troopers since its not terribly common we see clones sharing symbols without a personal connection to eachother.

Further than just that, clone trooper armor, phase 1 at least and presumably onward, is also based on Mandalorian armor. This is primarily because of the armor jango wears, naturally his clones would be fitted with similar. But the clones have also picked up the armor painting. Could this simply be a coincidence? Sure if you wanna believe that. I don’t think I do though because its so significant to both cultures as a means of individuality.

What does all of this say about Mandalore?

And I mean that as what is this telling us visually. What conclusions can you draw from this with just images. Because it doesn’t look great for New Mandalore. And maybe that was the intent. I know my first impression of Satine was just how unprofessional she was acting.

Except we’re supposed to see New Mandalore as the good guys, essentially, right? Riddled with corruption but still Good. That doesn’t translate when the setting is dystopian-esque at best. Its cold and empty and clinical.

When you see an entire planet of people who all look almost exactly the same, wearing the same clothes, the same hair, the same face, the same color skin, it gets unsettling. Its a weird design choice because it’s an American cartoon and America is characteristically individualistic.

The Bad Guy, the literal terrorist organization, caters more towards that visual individuality than the peaceful, progressive Good Guys. It visually reads as a Safety vs Freedom story but thats not the story that they need to be telling. You can’t go telling people freedom is evil.

It makes it incredibly easy to misconstrue what New Mandalore is trying to do because the visuals aren’t supporting them. There’s a reason so many people genuinely think Satine has comitted some sort of cultural genocide against her people because we aren’t seeing any of the culture and when we do see it, its not supported by the narrative. They may have Mandalorian writing but they never speak Mando’a on screen outside of Death Watch. We dont really know what the iron heart means and its everywhere. They may talk about prosperity and progress but they aren’t showing us that.

What I Would Do To Improve

This is the last segment, I promise.

I want to start with what could improve the background. Because a lot of the issue stem from it being dull and lifeless, I think giving it some sort of life would really fix a lot of the issues. Namely, I would say to put more trees, real, lush trees not the tiny ones you’d find in a city. It would help give context to Satine’s homage to the forests of mandalore if we had a visual clue from Mandalore itself. This would also bring in some more color and take away from the industrial appearance. This is more of a personal thing because I grew up around farms, but I think we should have seen a farm or some sort of clue as to how Mandalore is feeding itself. How is it sustaining itself, if not for import?

Another thing I would change would be the overall coloring. Generally, I would push for more color but I’m mostly referring to the color of the buildings. I would replace the cold gray and blues with more of a bronze and maybe a warm orange or even just changed the undertone of the blue could add so much. I would also give the lighting more warmth. Overall I would just add more warmth.

Adding onto this, I would also bring in more color by adding more public art. More murals and statues and the like. We know they have murals and paintings in the Palace at least. We should see them in the city, too. Having more art around the city would also connect it to the same cultural roots that have the mandalorians painting their armor.

In the schools, the main issue is that there’s no color. That these spaces dont have anything that would bring a sense of comfort to a kid. The stark white of the cafeteria is more stress inducing than calming and it would be good to replace some of that with a splash of color to break it up, as well as with some background decorations. Slap a poster on them there walls.

The classroom we see could also use just more decoration, make it look like a classroom. Have posters of diagrams and models. The room is dark so I won’t say much of the coloring except just make it look less cold. The back of the room has a wide, empty space and I think if that space were filled with something it would change a lot of the energy it gives off.

As for the dorm, if that is a dorm, give is an idea of whose room it is. Make it look like someone lives there. If it’s not a dorm, why are these kids sitting in a dark room? The room itself shouldn’t exude this uncomfortable feeling, that should be the undertone.

Overall, I think the Palace is generally fine if only it werent so empty, and again, if there were more color. The detailing and the lighting both look nice but it just needs to feel more like a throne room.

As for the people of Mandalore, for fuck’s sake, diversity is not going to kill you. Again its insane that all of the mandalorians of color we see are either A.) terrorists B.) deemed not mandalorian or C.) future cultists. We should see more black, brown, and Asian mandalorians. Hell, we should see alien mandalorians too.

Furthermore, they should have more variety in their clothes. What society wears all of three colors when they definitely have access to others? On top of that we should see Mandalorians who still wear pieces of armor. Armor is defensive, it’s not inherently violent to protect yourself and it honors the history of Mandalore while still moving forward with progress.

This is of course just my personal vision. These visuals can be interpreted in a number of ways, if you want to think the designs are good and exhibit peacefulness more power to you, I simply can’t see it. I tried my best to keep it to the Clone Wars series with a strict focus on the appearance, though that was a difficult challenge for me.

Anyways, I hope this was somewhat coherent and enjoyable. I’ve likely missed some details but this took me multiple days to organize my thoughts properly so im not pressed about it. Let me know your thoughts! Just be kind and don’t call me a terrorist :)

[mara-xx217]

The Monsters' Favourite- Ch. 32 Date Night (Special Episode Starring the Unknown)

You know I had to have one with the newest freak of the Fog lol

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence and Death, Slight Voyeurism, Monster Fucking, Semi Public Masturbation, Fingering, Alien Biology, Dubcon/Noncon, Creampie

A sliver of Greenville was transported to the Entity's realm, a place that Mikaela and new girl Sable both grew up in. How strange for it to be here, of all places… You didn’t know if it was truly strange that it was here, being tied to two survivors that were rather to their peers in the Fog. They were strange individuals, strange but good natured. It was no surprise that something else found its way into the Entity’s embrace, especially something so infamous that its track record spanned decades, leading into the next century. 

Mikaela and Sable always believed in the Fog, even before they truly knew it or had any reason to do so. They believed in the dark, though Mikaela tried to find the light within it while Sable reveled in the pitch black. She was the first to believe in the things that could go bump in the night, though she was the last between the two of them to truly experience it. They were mixed upon seeing the square of their hometown in the Entity’s realm. It was nostalgic but sad. Disturbing. Sable warned of something incredibly dangerous that lurked in the darkest corners of Greenville, worse than the run of the mill killers that all survivors faced on a regular basis. Something that made people go mad and little girls rip their eyeballs out. It thoroughly disturbed everyone, everyone but you. 

A new killer…? A new companion? 

“Don’t go to that terrible place… It’s… not what Mikaela and I once knew it to be.” Sable looked tired whenever she gave this warning. Everyone dreaded the trial that they would be sent to it, where they would ultimately see whatever terrible thing lurked in the dark and spirited its victims away. 

Everyone but you. 

It was strange to see such a modern addition to the Fog… It was comforting, in a way, even in spite of how twisted everything was. Holes where they didn’t belong, ruin and destruction, flickering lights… At least the arcades and the projector in the movie theater still worked, you mused. That was a boon that you weren’t expecting, though it certainly was a pleasant surprise, especially since you found the arcade machines were actually functional. 

“Huh… When’s the last time I’ve played a game like this?” You don’t know why you were speaking aloud, fiddling with the bumpers of a worn down pinball machine as it ringed and beeped an obnoxious tune. You found yourself straining your ears as you looked over your shoulder. 

…a quick game or two wouldn’t hurt, would it? 

One game turned into seven, and you were kicking and tilting the machine by the time you got annoyed enough to stop. If this thing actually required money to function, you would have probably lost your mind by this point. You cursed it and kicked it once more, swearing as you hit it in just the right way so you really felt it underneath the nail of your big toe. You felt a flash of hot pain course through your foot and you shouted, hobbling over to a bench that you heavily plopped down upon with a sigh. 

Huh. Was this the most normalcy that you’ve had in a while? Maybe it was… but it didn’t change the fact that you were being watched from somewhere, by someone or, rather, by something. You felt the hairs on your body stand on end as you perceived something in the upstairs room of the movie theater. 

“...”

“...” 

Or maybe you were just being paranoid that you hadn’t seen your newest partner yet? It was unusual to go so long without being pounced on by a needy killer. Maybe it was stalking you? Fear and apprehension began to creep up the side of your neck, colouring your face slightly as you picked at the skirt of your yellow sundress. 

“...hello…?” 

Your ears perked up slightly.

“Hello? I-I… I need some help…” 

No, you definitely heard something, though it was so quiet that you thought your mind was playing tricks on you. Your instincts told you to run away and get the hell out of the realm but something greater bolted you in place, briefly soothing your fear into something still uncertain but far more manageable than blindly fearing the Unknown. 

“...hello?” Oh, why did you do that?! Sometimes your body still acts on its own, against your control and consent. Moments like this leave your heart racing and your blood pressure doubling, especially as you strain your ears against the ear-ringing silence and the barely audible whispers of the Entity. 

“...”

“...” 

…or maybe it really was nothing after all… You can’t deny the fact that a not so insignificant part of you was disappointed not seeing this new addition to the Fog. Where was it, anyway? Was it hiding from you…? That was a laughable thought, though you certainly wondered as you sat in place, distracted. 

“Hmph-” 

You left for the time being. Maybe it wasn't yet acclimated to this new place? You felt… disappointed. Were you truly so far gone that you felt disappointment in not meeting some decades old horror face to face? Yeah, actually, you were… This disappointment lingered until you were in your next trial, unsurprisingly in Greenville and more unsurprisingly against the Unknown. 

The feeling of being watched loomed over you again, and you hummed to yourself as you shook off the spine-tingling chill of fear that wracked your entire body. 

One survivor fell… 

Screaming hit your ears from across the small square. Someone ran past you, panicking as they ripped their hair out and tried to swat away something… Unknown. 

Two survivors fell… 

Distorted voices cried out, for help, for mercy… It wasn’t genuine but rather cold, calculated to cause discomfort and fear to rise in the already panicking survivors. It scared them to the point that it made even the most experienced out of them all fall to the Unknown’s basic but insidious tactics. 

Three survivors fell… 

You sat on the bench in the square, observing how scuffed up your shoes were. Was it over yet? Maybe you would be the next one anyway… Not knowing what would happen next was both terrifying and exciting. Would it kill you? Fuck you? Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw something peering at you from the corner of the theater building. 

��...oh…? What’s… -this?” The voice was hushed, barely audible from where you were seated but you could still hear it with startling quality. It sounded like a chorus of individuals speaking as one, but… no, not quite. There was a slight delay in the speech, as though not all the voices were matching one another. Not out of confusion, no, more like… the right words weren’t available to the creature that was using them to speak. 

“Huh?” You lean forward a little, straining your ears as you did so. In the moment it takes you to blink, whatever is hiding around the theater is gone. Oh. Everything is silent and your anxiety begins to rise slowly. 

“Mmm… I- like it…” 

The voice was spoken directly into your ear, breathless and unnaturally quiet. For a fraction of a second, your heart leapt into your throat and your vision was briefly clouded by stars, but the panic that you felt instantly evaporated and you were left with a warm feeling that blanketed your body and smothered into something far more useful and pliable for both the Unknown and the Entity.

“What would… -you like?” The question caught you off guard. What was it asking…? You could feel it looming just behind you, so close that you swear you could see it in your peripheral vision but it was just barely out of sight. A loud POP filled your ears as the Unknown settled behind you, waiting for your answer.

“I… don’t understand?” You were left genuinely confused by its question. What would you like…? That didn’t matter, or it never mattered to anyone else, it seemed. The Unknown shifted behind you, almost as if examining you from behind. 

“What would… -you like?” It repeated it again, only louder this time. You stared at the ground, at the twisting shadow that was casted from behind you. 

“I… don’t mind anything. You can do anything you want to me, I-” You were a little startled by an unsettling groaning sound. It wasn’t quite a growl, but it was something close, like something hard being ground against each other. 

“What. -would. You. -like?” Gnarled fingers grazed against your shoulder, brushing against the thin strap of your dress. 

“I…” You were left a little stumped. You didn’t fully understand what kind of question it was asking you. What did you want it to do to you? What did you want to do with it? …what did you want? 

What did you want…? 

“I… want-” You trailed off for a brief moment as your eyes landed on the movie theater. 

“-to see a movie with you.” It was a halfhearted attempt at a joke, really. You were nervous and didn’t know what else to say. And… yeah. You did want to go see a movie. You thought the Unknown would become annoyed at the very least, or even angry, but to your surprise you felt it place a broken, disjointed hand on your shoulder and gently urge you to stand up with a slight push from behind. 

“O-kay… Date -night?” Oh. …oh!

Well… that wasn’t what you were expecting, but it was certainly a pleasant surprise. You were led into the movie theater, the Unknown awkwardly shuffling in behind you. A part of you was going to jokingly ask if the two of you could get some popcorn or something, but then you remembered seeing a severed arm both in the machine and under the counter and your stomach decided against it. 

It’s not like you’re going to have much of an appetite soon enough… 

You weren’t sure exactly what you were expecting as you entered the dilapidated theater with the Unknown at your back. It was dark, as expected, but the large hole in the side of the room had completely distracted you from the fact that you were being sat down in one of the aisle seats. It was a little uncanny how the light from the outside lamp posts seemed to die before it entered the theater, leaving it shrouded in a darkness that was almost unnatural. Your heart began to pound in your chest as you waited to see the Unknown pass before you, so you could at least catch a look at its silhouette as it passed in front of the projection that was playing idly but to your surprise it instead took a seat behind you.

“H-Hmm…?” 

What… was it doing…? 

You don’t think you’ve ever had a killer do something like this before. Not even… No, not even Max, who was probably one of the shyest people you’ve ever met. Even more than Dwight… It made you blush a little as you thought of them both, which somehow felt wrong, given the circumstances. 

Even though this is your entire purpose… You’re nothing but a-

A symphony of POPS filled your ears and made you jump slightly. Damn.. does that hurt? A part of you felt sympathetic to the Unknown, even after catching only a few fleeting glimpses of it from afar. Would it allow you to touch it? Did it even want you so close to it? Was it keeping its distance, or was it merely observing you for now? All of these uncertainties made you antsy, and it made your already warming body heat up even more as you could feel the Unknown staring at you from over your shoulder. 

“H-HRRHMMM…~” 

The sound made your hairs stand on end as it vibrated through your body. The Unknown’s hand fell from your shoulder and onto the back of your chair, where it gripped it tightly. Your heart skips a beat and you ball up the skirt of your dress as you feel the old wood and plastic shift and creak under its vice grip.

You know a leering stare when you feel one, and you certainly felt it in spades. Was it staring at your chest…? You unconsciously crane your neck to the side, slightly pushing up your breasts with your upper arms as the Unknown shifted behind you. 

“...h-hot…~” 

Your face began to heat up as you felt a room temperature breath tickle the back of your partially exposed neck and ear. A thrill ran up and down your spine as you caught a glimpse of its face from the corner of your eye, far too low with a neck that was far too long and with an expression that both made your stomach churn with fear and excitement. Your body began to tremble as you heard the chair behind you creak, a soft, wet, squishing sound just barely audible over your breathing and racing heart.

SQUELCH

SLIP

SQUISH

The Unknown’s contorted body pressed against your back as it learned towards you. There was no mistaking the quiet sounds and noticeable rhythm of movement for anything else other than that, right? You rubbed your thighs together as your breathing picked up, hitching slightly as the urge to move and do… something, anything other than just sit there suddenly took hold of you. 

“What… -do you think? Like -this?” 

You were unable to stifle a gasp as the Unknown seemed to drape itself around you, at first what you thought was an arm was in fact its long, distorted neck practically wrapping around your shoulders like a scarf as the rest of its body slunk over the tops of the seats not unlike a snake would, though with far more limbs and more joints that needed to be popped in and out of place to achieve the shocking movement. 

“...heavy -p-petting…?~” 

Its voices were flat, not filled with the correct intention, but you didn’t need words to know what it wanted from you. 

With its left arm, the Unknown looped it around your waist, leaning its surprisingly heavy body mass against your side as its other hand was busy in between its legs moving in a gesture that was all too familiar to you. You squirmed in place as the Unknown rested its cheek against your chest, a disturbing, fixed smile on its face as its fingers tickled up the side of your inner thigh, pulling up the thin fabric of your skirt. A low, rumbling sound hits your ears as you begin to part your legs for the Unknown. You bite your lip and try to hold back a shudder but fail to do so as you feel crooked, broken fingers dig in between your thighs and clumsily press into the wet folds of your sex.

“O-Oh…”

The Unknown seemed to have a general idea of how ‘heavy petting’ works, but it likely has only observed from afar instead of partaking, itself. It was in the right area, doing all the right movements but it was unpracticed and jerky, as though it struggled to maintain its fine motor functions. It wasn’t unpleasant by any means, a little rough at times but not at all like how other killers treat you, purposefully trying to harm and humiliate you through the action. The Unknown was almost curious as to your reaction, maintaining full concentration on your face as you spread your legs open further and sank down into your chair with a shaky sigh. 

Every movement it made, your toes curled in response. The Unknown circled around your clit, briefly pushing it in before sliding down from it and pressing its thumb into the entrance of your vagina. T-This- This is so- O-OH!~ 

“M-MMM-!~” You moan and arch your back as the Unknown pushes its thumb up to the knuckle inside of you. I-It’s so long and feel so- O-OUUGH-!~ All of its fingers bent in ways that were physically impossible, or rather improbable, for a typical human being. Its thumb is bent the wrong way! Like it's the wrong way out, or- 

You blindly fumbled around until you grabbed the Unknown by its knobby wrist. It shuddered and groaned as it inserted its forefinger inside of you. So warm, so soft…~ It felt good to reciprocate that action back, on its own body. It felt even better that you were watching it, slightly wide eyed and slack jawed as you tried to make sense of its anatomy. You threw your other hand atop of its right, wrapping around it as it both stroked itself and occasionally dipped its fingers into itself just as it did with you, even mimicking the same ‘come here’ motion that had your hips bucking and your vision narrowing. 

“R-Right there-!~ Mmm-!~ I-I can’t-!” 

Your legs began to quake as the Unknown found and massaged your sweet spot over and over again. An embarrassing amount of liquid erupted from in between your legs, causing your eyes to go slightly cross and your back to arch. Your other hand was now wrapped around the Unknown’s slippery, inconsistent member, not anything like a human penis but nothing like anything else you’ve ever experienced in your time in the Fog either. Instead of pulling its fingers out, the Unknown shoved a third inside of you as you leaned over to the side, breathing heavily as you felt one of its legs push in between your own and prop it open so it had full access to your nethers. 

“More-?~ Next… -base?” 

It disturbed you how tightly its body was wound against your own, but it didn’t cool the raging arousal you felt as the sharply pointed head of its cock rubbed in between your folds and retreated into the warmth of your clenched fist. The Unknown pulled its fingers out of you and allowed you to guide it towards your entrance, shivering and gripping your thigh and hip tightly as it was instantly attracted to the warmth of your body.

“H-Ha… A-AHH-?!~” 

Your voice rose in pitch as you were suddenly filled. Shit-! That’s a lot- FUCK, IT’S A LOT-!!! It was reminiscent of the Demogorgon’s cock in how it seemed to fluidly change shape, both in length and girth. A garbled groan left the Unknown’s chest as its hips bucked into you, instantly putting pressure against the entrance to your womb. It’s squirming-! It’s so slipper and it’s TOO MUCH-!!!~ 

Your body was pretzeled into an awkward position, but the discomfort was nothing in comparison to the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that you felt as the Unknown began to slam and grind its hips against your own. No, it wasn’t quite its hips, or it was, but it wasn’t the part of the pelvis that the genitals typically rested at. Rather, it sat almost on top of its hips, near where its naval would be if it had one. 

You squeaked in surprise as you felt something pointed scrape against your sensitive bits. Instinctively, you tried to squirm away but you found yourself unable to move in the Unknown’s firm grasp, especially when you felt something all but clamp down onto the soft mounds of your pubic region. 

“W-WHA-?! O-OUUGHH!!!~” 

It was like something was biting you! Long ,thin, teeth-like appendages sprouted from the gaping hole of the Unknown’s abdomen, slightly blunted but still digging into your skin in such a way that blood could be drawn if you tried to pull away from its advances too hard. They twitch around your vulva and squeeze down on you whenever you try to squirm or your hips bucked too hard away from it. 

“Good…~ Baby…~ So wet~ -sexy…~” 

The Unknown was breathing against your heaving cleavage, its tongue snaked out of its twisted maw and down the front of your dress. Your vision was blurred with tears and you were lighthead and dizzy from having the air fucked out of your lungs. A wet SLAP accompanied every bump of its hips against your own, a thick, sticky fluid leaking out of the wound on its stomach and smearing all over your ass and your pussy. It was an excellent lubricant and made every subsequent orgasm that you had come swiftly and without warming.

“O-OHHH!!!~ M-MMM-!~ G-GUUUH!!!~” 

“H-Ha~ -c-coming…~” 

Its tongue slid up your neck as its lower abdomen began to twitch. You felt an uncomfortable pressure begin to swell inside of you, only for it to suddenly double in intensity so that your limbs were jerking and twitching erratically as you desperately tried to escape the unbearable stretch that threatened to tear you in half from the inside out. 

Painful, needle-like pricks dug into your sex as you felt a thick, room temperature liquid suddenly rush inside of you. Panicked gasps leave your mouth as you struggle to breathe. There’s so much-! Fuck, you’ll burst!!! Even though it hurt like hell, you were cumming again, and again… and again, until both you and the Unknown slipped into the floor, with you lying prone on your stomach as it was on top of you, with one of its legs wrapped around yours and its neck draping over your shoulders, so its head laid just in front of yours and it could look you in the eyes. 

“O-Ooouughh… P-Please…” Your voice was a quiet whisper as you squirmed against the pressure in your lower abdomen. The Unknown was shifting inside of you, its cock slowly sliding out of you with only the aid of gravity. The relief you felt was immeasurable, but your eyes snapped open wide and you screamed as it thrusted back inside of you with a confidence it didn’t have before. 

“-again. More- Shh- I’m almost done-” 

It repeated many phrases it learned during its time while stalking humans. It applied all the knowledge it learned from them onto you, to make you feel good, to make you squirm, to make you cry… The Unknown didn’t have a need to hurt you, not exactly a desire to cause harm nor to hunt you, but participating in something that it has seen countless times was exhilarating in a way, especially when you welcomed it all, even when it purposefully fucked you in ways that made you cry and scream for mercy...

@prettycutebunny, @infinitewhore, @kennbb, @cherrysodalite, @thanksatt, @pink-soft-shadow, @sinlessdesire, @hoemine, @memoryofheather @horny-3

[renlyslittlerose]

Things have been a little hectic as of late, and so I carved out a bit of time to write this little oneshot last night. Right now, thinking about these two boys being obsessed about each other is what is getting me through the dense fog of ~the holidays. Hope you enjoy!

Distracted (1.9k) Rating: E Content: Mentions of sexual situations; bottom Anakin; top Obi-Wan; obsessive obikin our beloved

---

The first reunion happened on the docking bay. Eyes were locked before bows were exchanged, relief flooding through their bond as three weeks of anxiety gave way to tranquility. They walked shoulder to shoulder to the debriefing room and stole glances across the holo-projector, the droning of reports passing into one ear and out the other as they marveled in each others’ presence. Smiles were shared, innocent and demure, but beneath it all lay an undercurrent of expectation.

The second reunion was had in Obi-Wan’s chambers. Robes and belts and boots were quickly cast aside, while hunger mouths devoured and calloused hands gripped and bruised. Breathy laughs mixed with guttural moans, muffled by the press of lips and the dense fabrics of the bedding. Obi-Wan pressed and Anakin pushed until there wasn’t an inch between them, the pair locked till it was skin against skin, hunger against hunger, before desperation finally gave way to satisfaction.

The third reunion was on the bed, the pair a tangle of limbs and satisfied smiles. The sun was setting, casting the room in yellows and pinks, while speeders and space craft drifted down below like fish in an ocean. Though Anakin was hot, his skin slick with sweat, thighs coated in spit, and his hole sore and wet with come, he didn’t dare move from his spot in Obi-Wan’s arms. Instead he stayed pressed in close, his leg hooked over Obi-Wan’s thigh as they shared a pillow, the smell of sex and incense thick in the muggy air.

Off in the distance Anakin could hear the call for dinner, but neither made move to join the rest of their fellows.

“How was your mission?” Anakin asked softly. He didn’t need to speak up, so close he was to Obi-Wan that he could count every lash and every freckle.

Obi-Wan smiled softly, the smallest of curves barely hidden by his beard. “Long, dull, but fruitful. I’m getting awfully tired of being sent on diplomatic missions, truth be told. This time I had to entertain the droll ramblings of a King who—”

Anakin liked when he could feel Obi-Wan’s voice against his chest - enjoyed the rumble of his cadence and the tenor of his intonation. And he liked following the way Obi-Wan’s mouth moved as he spoke, his perfect diction making his lips relax and then tighten, his tongue click and pop, and his sharp canines flash now and again. Anakin shifted slightly, feeling the bruises across his hip with an idle hand, relishing in the physical reminder Obi-Wan had left him of what it was like to feel his mouth upon his body - his kisses and his bites, how his lips stretched apart as he took Anakin in his mouth, spit pooling out the corners and dropping down Anakin’s length, thick like honey and just as sweet.

“—of course, he wasn’t satisfied with just an explanation, but wanted a full demonstration—”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flashed with something akin to annoyance, dragging Anakin’s attention back up to them. Obi-Wan’s eyes weren’t blue, nor were they grey, nor green. But instead they were a collection of hues and tones, layered and deep, pulling Anakin in like the current of a river. They would light up when he was excited, twinkled when intrigued, and darkened when angered. But there was always another meaning when trained on Anakin. Excitement and anger coalescing and twining until it turned into desire, just as deep as the darkest tones, and exhilarating as the lightest.

“—she was quite pleased with what I had to offer, of course, but her patron wasn’t as thrilled by the prospect. Which, I cannot fault her for, considering I could read her lady’s intentions through the Force. And they were not at all what I had expected from a—”

Anakin loved the slope of Obi-Wan’s nose. He liked how it felt pressed against the crook of his neck, or the inseam of his groin as he languished between Anakin’s legs, tongue broad across the base of Anakin’s length as he licked and sucked and breathed in deep. In one of his more relaxed moments he’d admitted to Anakin that he wished he could wear his musk like a perfume - coat himself in his ‘boy’s’ essence so that he could be reminded of how sweet Anakin smelled in the morning.

He also liked how Obi-Wan’s nose would burn in the sun; or how it got cold quickly, the tip of it pink as he breathed in deep, a grin on his features as he enjoyed the chilly weather. Anakin especially liked how Obi-Wan would warm his nose against his neck, broad hands snaking up Anakin’s shirt to take more of his desert warmth for his own, snatching what little of it that remained deep in Anakin’s veins.

“—I wasn’t very keen on the idea, mind you. Something about eating a creature that was still wiggling was unappetizing enough, but you know how I feel about eating anything that’s been alive. However, it was part of their custom, and I could practically hear Yoda’s voice as I—”

Obi-Wan’s grip tightened just a moment across Anakin’s low back, and Anakin arched further into his touch - close enough where Anakin could smell the come on Obi-Wan’s breath and their noses almost brushed. His hands were a favourite of Anakin’s - palms wide and hot, fingers long and dexterous, grip strong and yet also tender. The simplest of touches - a pat on the cheek or a grip across his forearm - made Anakin feel as if he’d been set ablaze, melting his insides and burning his heart.

But Anakin loved when Obi-Wan’s hands were other places too - less simple, less innocent, more base.

Like when he touched Anakin through his leggings, his palm hot against his length, grip firm as he held his hand still until Anakin was forced to move, rutting against him unabashed and unashamed, Obi-Wan’s voice slick like silver against Anakin’s ear as he poured filth into his body - calling him an ‘impatient boy’, an ‘overeager Padawan,’ or ‘such a shameless thing.’ Or when he’d grab handfuls of Anakin’s curls and tug - tight and quick - until Anakin’s toes curls and his back arched, electricity skittering through his body as pain mixed with pleasure while he was fucked into, mouth slack and hungry for more.

But nothing compared to when Obi-Wan’s fingers were inside of him. When they were pressing against his tongue or deep within his body, rubbing and pushing and stretching. Anakin adored the roughness of Obi-Wan’s calloused fingers against his hole, his tough tender and patient even when they were both trembling with need, Anakin begging for some sort of relief as Obi-Wan remained frustratingly fixated on the task at hand. He’d tease and rub, press before slipping back out, catching the rim before rubbing it once more. Occasionally he’d duck down and add his mouth to the proceedings, the slick heat of his tongue mixing with the roughness of his fingers, teasing Anakin until he popped like Daruvvian champagne.

“—then, when that was finally done with, we could actually engage in the diplomacy I’d arrived for—”

Of course, Anakin loved the rest of Obi-Wan’s body just as much as his hands. He loved his legs and how they carried him; how thick his thighs and sturdy his calves were. He loved his stomach - soft to the touch but with muscle corded just below. He loved his chest; broad and covered in a dense thatch of hairs that rubbed pleasantly across Anakin’s skin and along his tongue. Loved his nipples - pink and pert and a dusty rose coloured. Anakin especially loved how sensitive they were - how Obi-Wan would gasp and push into Anakin’s mouth, his hand cupping the back of his head as Anakin sucked and licked and bit.

And he loved the stretch of Obi-Wan’s neck and the indent of his collarbone; the broadness of his shoulders and the press of the clavical against freckled skin; the curve of his low back and the flex of his ribs as he stuttered and gasped; the swell of his ass and the juncture where thigh meets muscle, firm beneath Anakin’s hands and mouth and the press of his teeth. Anakin loved Obi-Wan’s skin; pale and criss-crossed with scars, and how with just a little pressure from his thumbs or teeth, rich purple blooms would blossom across Obi-Wan’s thighs and hips, stomach and chest.

Anakin loved the way Obi-Wan sounded when he was both near and far away; loved the sound of his footsteps both covered and bare; loved the rustle of his robes and the sound of sheets against his bare skin; loved the way he coughed and the gurgle of his stomach, the sniffing of his nose and the sound of his piss against the toilet bowl. Anakin loved the scent of of his sweat, the taste of it, the feel of it across his stomach and between his thighs, and of of his soaps that he used and how it clung to his sheets and discarded clothes, Anakin bundling them up and pressing his nose to them any time they were parted for too long.

Which was for any length of time, for any reason.

“—but we’ve made the first few steps. I feel good about it all.”

Anakin sighed and traced the streaks of grey across Obi-Wan’s temple with his eyes. Grey mixed with auburn; bright silver melting into thin streaks before being swallowed whole by copper in a forge. His hair was fine and soft like silk, slipping through Anakin’s fingers to rest across his brow. Rarely was Obi-Wan’s hair out of place save for moments like these, where his bangs rested across his brow and got into his eyes, the back tangled like a nest, strands of it splayed out across the pillow that would now smell of the both of them.

“Anakin…”

Anakin blinked back his admiration and locked eyes with the blues he loved so much. He was met with a look of annoyance that was tempered with mild amusement.

“What?” he mumbled.

Obi-Wan sighed, the sound and feel of it ensnaring Anakin further, locking him in his netting until he was powerless to escape.

Not that he wanted to.

“Have you been listening to a single thing I’ve said?” Obi-Wan asked. He started petting Anakin’s hip, thumb pressing into a bruise that made Anakin shudder.

“Nope,” Anakin said with a smile.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, but Anakin only felt fondness in their bond. “You never were good at listening.” He kissed Anakin deeply before bitting his bottom lip, tugging at it as he mumbled. “What ever will I do with you…”

Anakin moved with ease as Obi-Wan pushed him back down into the mattress. This he loved the best - Obi-Wan’s weight on top of him, his heat sinking into Anakin’s bones and marrow, their cocks pressed together. Here he felt safe, the voices in his mind and the pressures of his mantel lifted if just for a moment. Here he felt like just a man who was completely and utterly compromised by the person above him. Here he felt complete; cared for; loved.

Because Anakin loved Obi-Wan, completely and utterly and in all the ways that he could. And he knew Obi-Wan loved him just the same.

[putaposyinyourhair]

Slowly but Also Like All at Once

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

noah diaz x mirage (they’re def boyfriends)

warnings: goddamnit noah cheer up dude (also death/bodies mention)

mirage tones it down with the pet names but then comes in hot at the end with a big one + dad doesn’t seem to approve

“Is the rider part of Arcee?” Noah inquires, watching as the Ducati ahead navigates the curved exit ramp of the Sunrise Highway— Noah is kind of transfixed honestly, awed by the way the early morning light shines off of the pink and white finish of Arcee’s altmode.

“Nah, that’s holomatter,” Mirage reveals offhandedly.

“Holo-what?”

“It’s a projection,” the mech clarifies. “Can be light or solid. We use them to draw less attention to ourselves. Be kinda weird to see a bike drive itself, right?”

Noah nods. Definitely weird. His lips pout to one side, watching Arcee and mulling over the idea of hologram-like projections for a moment before he starts, wide gaze flashing down to Mirage’s radio.

“Wait, can you do that?” he questions pointedly.

“Yep,” Mirage pops the ‘p’ cheerfully, before his radio makes a small, muted buzzing sound. “Well… I used to.”

Noah stills.

“My projector was damaged pretty badly after Peru,” Mirage admits softly, kind of wistfully. “I can project light. I mean, sorta. It doesn’t last very long and it’s really buggy but…”

The mech trails off for a moment.

“I can’t do solid anymore,” he confesses finally, faintly.

Noah sinks into the seat, forced down by the sudden, all-encompassing guilt.

Shit.

“Ratchet tried to fix it but it’s just one of those things, y’know?” Mirage goes on, his pitch rising in volume as if in response to Noah’s physical reaction to his admission. “Bumblebee can’t talk. I can’t use holoforms. No biggie.”

The bot isn’t a very good liar, Noah realizes.

He has zero doubt in his mind that losing a piece of yourself like that has got to be terrible. But he’s not going to acknowledge that out loud though. Not when it’s probably his fault.

Damn it.

The inward confession makes his chest sting.

Noah shakes his head, not wanting to think on it anymore. He’s already cried once. He’s not about to do it again. Mirage is going to start thinking he’s some kind of giant wuss or something.

He sucks in a sharp breath and forces himself to lift and drop a shoulder.

“Who needs hologram—form…things,” he stammers out a bit awkwardly. “When you’re already cool as fuck anyway, dude.”

Mirage chuckles, the sound vibrating through the seat beneath Noah. The leather warms up for a moment and Noah realizes that comfort is exactly what that sensation is supposed to convey.

He’s just not sure it’s working this time around.

The seconds crawl by and neither of them moves to speak again and so they fall into a strange, sort of unsettling silence. Noah, for as much as he tries to not think about it, can only do just that; stew in the guilt.

Because it is his fault.

Mirage had almost died for him.

Mirage had to be rebuilt and repaired from practically the ground up because of him.

Mirage had lost parts of himself because of Noah.

Noah’s a walking, talking hazard around the mech.

He frowns, pulling his feet up onto the seat so he can wrap his arms around his legs and curl into himself— ignoring the way the seatbelt kind of digs into the skin of his neck. In the distance, amidst fog and cloud-cover, he can see Manhattan’s skyscrapers reaching for the heavens.

“Hey, Noah?”

He glances down at the radio— it’s backlight cycling through a few different colors; blue, yellow, green, and red, before it settles on its usual light blue.

“I’d do it all over again in a sparkbeat, y’know,” Mirage claims boldly. “If it meant keeping you safe.”

Noah’s eyes widen so quickly, he half expects his eyeballs to drop right out of his head for a moment. His breath catches in his throat and his chest heaves— his heart stuttering over a couple beats.

Oh, fuck.

Noah’s not one hundred percent sure, but he remembers Mirage once saying, ‘Cross my spark, hope to die,’ and so he assumes it to be the cybertronian version of a heart.

The declaration is… overwhelming, to say the least. In a good way.

But also in a way that Noah feels he is undeserving of.

It compels his own heart to keep pounding away, essentially doing somersaults underneath his ribcage. Which— under the recent revelation that Mirage can actually feel it thumping away— is embarrassing as all shit. But Noah can’t help it.

He’d do it all over again.

Noah doesn’t think Mirage even realizes how much that one sentence means. Or maybe he does. And he actually means it. Noah hopes that’s not true.

He never wants Mirage to do it again.

The radio warbles and Noah watches the backlight flicker again.

“Mirage,” Arcee’s voice comes through, clear and urgent. “We’re needed back at base-ops stat.”

Immediately, Mirage groans— in a long and suffering kind of way that reminds Noah of Kris every time he starts whining about how he still can’t get past Bowser.

“I’m gettin’ my aft chewed out for breems,” Mirage gripes with a sharp huff. “Fraggin’ Ratchet, man. Messin’ with my game. What a hater.”

Noah has no idea what half those words mean but he’s pretty sure he understands the gist of it all.

Which is why he isn’t all that surprised when, instead of driving back into Brooklyn, Arcee leads the way north into Queens and then across the East River into the Bronx.

Noah shifts quietly in his seat.

His ma’s gonna be so mad when he does eventually make his way home. He hasn’t checked in with her for hours, which is unlike him. And Breanna Diaz don’t play when it comes to her kids.

But at the same time, he thinks he can understand the sort of urgency a call from Optimus Prime himself might instill in the autobots.

Both he and Mirage are silent as they make their way into a neighborhood of the Bronx known as City Island— a fitting name. At this point, the sun has risen high up into the sky and the inhabitants of City Island are starting to slowly make their way outside in preparation for another day.

Arcee and Mirage pull into what looks like some kind of junkyard marina at the far end of the island, where old boats have been left to rust in every corner of the property, shadowed by dilapidated warehouses. At the water’s edge, a rickety dock bobs in response to the waves below it.

Noah reaches out and white-knuckles the Porsche’s door handle as Arcee and Mirage roll slowly over the surprisingly sturdy wooden slats of the dock. There’s an antiquated ferry at the end, and Noah does his best to hold in a frightened little yelp when both bots lift off the dock— only half-transforming for a second— so they can step onto the ferry.

Once they’re safely aboard, Arcee’s holoform swings her leg over the Ducati and heads off— Noah assumes to start up the ferry.

“You want out?” Mirage inquires, the driver side door popping open with a muted click.

Noah bites into his bottom lip, thinking for a moment. He thinks he knows exactly where they’re heading.

Hart Island is located just to the east of City Island. It’s a place that’s pretty much synonymous with death, with deserted buildings from different eras lying in an array of ruins all over it— the island having been left abandoned to its’ own destruction since the late seventies.

Honestly, it’s kind of the perfect place for the autobots to hide out.

Noah’s not going to lie and say that it doesn’t freak him out though. Supposedly, there’s thousands of bodies buried in the ground at Hart Island.

So he shakes his head and shimmies away from the open door— not ready to step out quite yet. Mirage quickly closes it with another soft click.

“Okay,” he acknowledges. “I gotchu.”

Noah decides he really needs his friend to stop reminding him of that fact.

He knows.

The ferry sputters to life beneath them and after a moment, it rocks forward— pulling away from the dock lazily.

Noah inhales deeply then blows it out through his nose. And forces himself to think about something else, anything else— aside from the fact that he’s currently on a rusting metal death trap headed towards a possibly haunted island to face alien life forms that probably don’t even like him.

His distraught gaze lands on the Ducati parked off to the Porsche’s right.

“Arcee help you sneak out?” he questions. If a holoform is needed to operate the ferry, it has to be the only explanation. Right?

“Yeah,” Mirage admits, but not like he’s shy about it— more like he’s proud of it. “She’s a real G.”

Noah can’t help the smile the words pull from him.

He’s glad that, despite what he thinks is a clear disdain for him on the part of Optimus, Arcee doesn’t seem to hold any negative opinions when it comes to Noah.

He knows Optimus sees him— them, humans— in a different light now. That the battle in Peru— and both Noah and Elena’s drive to fight for their planet— had changed the giant mech’s opinion of the human race.

But the surly leader of the autobots had only begrudgingly allowed Noah to try and fix Mirage, at first, at the behest of Arcee and Bumblebee. When he’d failed, Optimus had been quick to change his mind, quick to take Mirage away.

Leaving Noah wondering, for months, if he’d ever see his friend again. His best friend, probably.

He’s quickly starting to realize Mirage means that much to him.

“Aw, scrap,” Mirage grumbles suddenly, his altmode shuddering slightly around Noah.

Noah looks up from the steering wheel— from the spot he’d been staring at whilst in his head— to see another dock gradually approaching. Rusting, multi-colored shipping containers stacked at its edge, providing cover for the two autobots standing just beyond them; Optimus Prime and an unfamiliar blue and white autobot with a star of life insignia across his chest plates.

Noah assumes he must be the infamous hater; Ratchet. An immediate thought tickles at the back of Noah’s mind as he recalls his first contact with the autobots in that warehouse months ago.

He frowns.

“How’s Ratchet ‘round humans?” he asks warily, just as the ferry gently bumps into the edge of the dock, their short trip across the water coming to a, thankfully, safe end.

Mirage’s radio drones out a low buzzing sound and Noah takes it for exactly what it is: Ratchet is not a fan of Earth’s native species.

“It’s okay, though!” Mirage advises him cheerily as Noah watches Arcee’s holoform return. “I got your back, bro.”

Noah isn’t all that convinced. Not that he doesn’t trust Mirage or anything.

And it must show on his face because as soon as they’re off the ferry— Mirage gently pushing him out of the Porsche’s cabin, so he can transform into his natural rootmode, Arcee doing the same beside them— he leans down closer to Noah, who is staring up at the clear disapproval on the faces of both Optimus and Ratchet.

“He’s not as mean as he looks, I swear,” Mirage testifies in what Noah thinks is supposed to be a whisper but is clearly heard by the others, including Ratchet who scowls at Mirage. “I won’t let him mess witchu, cariño.”

Noah absolutely freezes.

… what.

[redpusea]

I’m not crying you’re crying

Okay I just want to take a closer look at things that are standing out for me and if anyone has their input I would love to hear that too

(Keep in mind they usually make things look different to how they will in the show to intentionally pull our attention away or make it more of a surprise when we watch the actual show so this is just for fun <3)

Dustin - overwhelmed

Mike - making a plan/decoding possibly

Will - curious about Lucus?

Lucas - concerned/focused

Definitely a group huddle, the gang is back together finally, coming back to season 1 dynamics

The props are a Dr. Pepper and a can of coke which are notable symbols throughout the series. Coke representing normativity/conformity. Dr.Pepper maybe this is more about the red colour or the idea of a Dr.

I can see Mike has an apple - “an apple a day keeps the doctor away” - for me this is another flag that Mike is going to end up in hospital.

Lots of white light with some shadow visible

If I were Dustin at this point I think I would be overwhelmed about the idea that Will could still be a spy for the Mind Flayer and if they are making a plan it will be for nothing

It looks like Will has eaten but Dustin, Lucas and Mike haven’t much - possibly depressed about Eddie as this looks like a very familiar place to where they were in season 4 on the D&D club table

NEXT

I’m assuming Holly has gone missing by this point or they are grouping together because someone targeted Dustin?

It is giving underground bunker hiding from the fog or the creatures?

I can’t tell who is in front of Will but (i don’t like this theory either) but maybe it is another romantic interest for Will (this is something that has happened in the show a few times (the girl at Will’s funeral, the girl at the Snowball and the girl in season 4 who tries to play footsies with Will) - I think the light behind Nancy’s head would be really interesting to play with in terms of her finally understanding Mike likes Will romantically and playing of the jealous energy another person could bring. - ACTUALLY I think it’s Robin NGL

It feels like collectively they are trying to figure something out or something isn’t making sense just yet.

The background to the left makes me feel something isn’t right, the cabinet without it’s door and the art is giving deep suffering

I think here they are watching something from the projector or setting up for the take.

I am so full and fed watching this video and will come back to do more soon <3

[aemiron-main]

A Cave System vs A Cave Automatic Virtual Environment

So, I was thinking about how TFS Brenner constantly refers to the cave in Nevada as a “cave system”:

And then that made me think of NINA and computer systems- and then THAT brought me to a CAVE system/the Cave Automatic Virtual Environment/a Computer Assisted Virtual Environment. But what IS the Cave Automatic Virtual Environment?

Well, it’s basically an immersive VR simulation invented in the 90s (staring at some of the 90s anachronisms in ST like “when it’s cold i’d like to die” being from 1995 and Vangelis’ Fields of Coral being from 1996, both of what are used in ST but also even anachronisms aside, regardless of when the CAVE system was invented, ST plays a ton with the sci-fi aspect of messing with when certain tech would’ve been available) and it’s based on using projections:

And specifically when it comes to the projector stuff with the Cave Automatic Virtual Environment, it has me staring at five key projector-related things:

1.) The projected environments etc in TFS- we have that weird projection of the Creel house:

And the weird projected Jesus picture/sculptute thing and projected glass window on the walls of the church in TFS:

And the weird WW2 projection when TFS Victor has his flashback:

And the projected red mindscape during the TFS Creel murders:

What's up with all the weird projected set elements?? And what's up with Victor's WW2 flashbacks being projected onto the environment around him??

2.) It also makes me think of Scott’s projector from S2 when he’s explaining Phineas Gage and Phineas Gage’s head injury vs TFS Henry’s head injury in the cave in Nevada, as well as TFS Henry’s other Phineas Gage parallels:

It’s also interesting that Scott’s use of the projector results in a larger, shadow version of his hand- much like another large shadow hand we’ve seen:

(which, I’m going to talk about the fog/white light more in a second in the context of projectors, but it’s interesting to me that they have that white fog there with the shadow hand vs the shadow hand being paralleled to a shadow that was created by a projection, especially considering the PROJECTED versions of the Mindflayer in TFS)

3.) The movie theatre scenes in ST/movie theatre projectors versus what I alluded to in this post and all of the weird “play vs movie,” stuff in TFS with Godzilla being Jim’s “favourite play”.

And during the S3 EP1 movie theatre scene, they make a point of showing us the projector repeatedly:

And during that same S3 movie theatre scene, there’s this shot of Day of the Dead playing which is setup to make it look EERILY similar to the white lab cube from TFS, especially with the way Sarah from Day of the Dead sits in the centre of the white room vs TFS Henry sitting in the centre of the lab cube:

And speaking of the theatre projector, that also has me staring at the weird white light and fog that’s always present during Vecna visions and was present during Will’s vanishing and also showed up from where the demogorgon was when Castle Byers was destroyed in S1 versus the S3 shot of the white light and “fog” coming from the theatre projector:

Which then also makes me think about the weird white light/fog with TFS Henry that gets projected onto the stage and shows up when he’s in the void, and during Virginia’s death and during the bridge scene:

Which, it’s interesting that the fog really moves around Henry, and by the end, it almost seems like he’s controlling it (or it’s controlling him), because it has me staring at the idea of Henry controlling projections (or again, projected stuff controlling him, esp in the context of someone being in a projected VR CAVE system-esque environment and being controlled by that) and all of the astral projection stuff with the CIA/the CIA’s Gateway Technique stuff (which I have a whole other old draft about) and how Henry popping up in the void/listening in on Brenner and Virginia’s conversation & it looking like he’s physically There even though he’s not/they can’t see him is very similar to astral projection/astral travelling.

And we also see very similar white fog lighting in TFS when the Creels are outside the Creel house for the first time:

And we even see a very similar white light/fog during the shot of TFS henry alone in the attic, with the visual of the white light/fog coming through the broken boards being very similar to the visual of the white light/fog coming through the boarded up Cunningham house boards during Chrissy’s vecna vision:

I’m also staring at all this projector stuff vs the projected Creel house I talked about earlier vs Bob referring to both the projected Creel house (and Henry in the attic of it) as “the source” but also seemingly breaking the fourth wall and referring to the projector itself as “the source” versus a VR CAVE system & the fact that the projections are the source in a CAVE system/the projections are what created the environment around a person who’s in the cave.

4.) There’s also the projector-esque footage of 7 year old Henry and what I just said re: movies and projectors & that 7 year old Henry footage as well as the other aerial scenes of Hawkins that are projected onto a screen in TFS (it’s kind of hard to see, but we go from an aerial shot of the Newby house being projected onto a screen vs the screen being pulled up & the projection continuing to be projected onto Bob/the wall behind Bob & they also projected video of 7 year old Henry onto a projection of the Creel house which them zoomed out into a projection of the lab & the screen lifted up the dame way it did with Bob & projected the lab onto the BG behind Henry):

5.) I’m also staring at all of this vs the Wizard’s projection in The Wizard of Oz & all of the parallels between TFS and Wizard of Oz & the way that the Wizard projects an image of a head (and pretends it’s what his own face looks like even though it isn’t) versus a.) Scott’s Phineas Gage projection of a head and b.) the projection of 7 year old Henry & how the shots tend to focus on Henry’s head & how the text surrounding him is also talking about his head injury during that clip and also the fact that the Wizard’s head projection in Wizard of Oz wasn’t what he actually looked like vs 7 year old Henry looking so different from TFS Henry/having dark brown hair instead of blonde:

(and also, the Wizard of Oz projection the fake/inaccurate face has me staring at all of the “you’re not a child” stuff & the idea of Brenner or someone pretending to be a child/projecting the image of themselves as a child/there’s just something tangentially rattling in my brain about it, especially considering Martin Brenner vs Martin Brundle from The Fly 2 & Martin Brundle simultaneously being an adult and a child/growing up into an adult in the span of 5 years/being a 5 year old adult)

And all of the CAVE system stuff also has me staring at what I talked about in this post re: TFS and The Descent and in this post and this post re: Henry’s ballgag at the end of TFS & how it parallels Will with the tentacle in the library “cave” in S1 & the idea that TFS Henry may have never actually left the cave (especially with the idea that the “cave” in question was some sort of NINA bunker or weird NINA simulation area, just like how the Cave Automatic Virtual Environment is a weird VR simulation area).

And on that note, here’s one of the biggest things re: this post and the CAVE system- because yknow what ELSE connects to all of this? That lab box from TFS- because it looks remarkably like a Cave Automatic Virtual Environment:

So, then THAT has me staring at what I just said re: wondering if TFS Henry ever actually left the cave and ballgag Henry’s parallel to Will when Will’s in the library cave, and the idea that TFS Henry ended up in some sort of simulation back when he went into that cave/that it may not have been a cave at all & may have been the NINA missile silo/bunker.

(And it also has me staring at Jim’s S3 letter about being “out of the cave” vs the way TFS Henry leaves the lab box sometimes/goes in and out of it & breaks the fourth wall when he’s outside of it by picking at the actual walls of the theatre vs the CAVE system box being paralleled to the lab box & the CAVE system box being a VR system/simulation & the idea of TFS Henry breaking the fourth wall once he leaves the simulation-paralleled lab box)

And also, re: the NINA missile silo vs cave vs TFS lab cube stuff, it’s also interesting to me that the door down to the NINA missile silo is this weird isolated rectangle- much like the weird isolated TFS lab cube (and also like, insane stretch moment but re: the NINA bunker & bunker door itself being paralleled to the TFS lab cube and to a VR CAVE system cube does make me wonder if somehow there’s a simulation that exists outside of the tank and within the bunker itself, sort of like an “el was in the simulation the “whole time”/before she got in the tank and didnt realize it” thing which may explain some of the stuff like her powers not fully working on Brenner vs Morpheus having the upper hand on Neo in the training simulation in The Matrix initially and the idea of Brenner being stronger in a programmed simulation than he is outside of it but again that’s a stretch/just a fun little thought):

And also, on a final note, re: the NINA missile silo, jumping back to Day of the Dead from earlier & the Day of the Dead theatre scenes in S3 & the projector stuff there & the parallels to TFS & the lab cube & the CAVE system, it’s interesting that in Day of the Dead, the characters are trapped in a missile silo, which would then reinforce what I’m saying re: TFS & a CAVE system simulation & the “cave” in Nevada being a missile silo/bunker instead.

(And there’s also a Captain Henry Rhodes in the movie which has me staring at what I’ve talked about re: all of the weird “Brenner is Henry and vice versa” stuff in TFS vs the “you have to be your dad” line in TFS in the context of Brenner Sr/Captain Brenner and Brenner Jr versus Captain Henry vs Captain Brenner & TFS Henry also wanting to be like Captain Midnight)

Anyway! Lots to think about.

[uglare1]

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[bajablastflavoredsaxreed]

i was lucky enough to manage to get crazy cheap tickets to a touring production of les mis and HOLY SHIT.

I’ve been peripherally interested in the show for a while (as is my theatre kid duty) but i was not expecting it to blow me out of the water like it did

all the actors KILLED IT

Grantaire behaved proportionately homosexual and was very tall and strutted around the stage in a way that was really funny but also impactful when it had to be

there was some sort of tension between javert and vanjean. like they were looking at each others lips. that was enjoyable

SPEAKING OF JAVERT OMG

during the scene where he dies i was like almost crying because the actor so beautifully portrayed the feeling of having your core ideals as a person being challenged and feeling directionless in life but then he jumped off the bridge AND HE FLEW INTO THE AIR. THE WIRES WERE SO WELL HIDDEN I DIDNT NOTICE. HE WAS FUCKING UP THERE.

and he was like kicking and moving his arms in slow motion like he was falling and he was slowly being brought back towards the projector screen thing in the back of the stage and it changed to water and they somehow made him like. go through the screen? the lights covered enough up where i couldn’t rly tell how they did it but it was so cool. i knew that he would fall into the water but i didn’t expect them to go so fucking hard with the visuals

the projector was used so well also? like they were in the sewers towards the end and they projected like an image of the inside of a sewer but it would like move as the actors did to really sell the location? and crazy amounts of fog and shit too it was rly immersive

and they had these MASSIVE set pieces for like every location. like buildings and carts and the barricade and everything. it was so well done idk how they had room for them backstage

and the Thénardiers were so funny jesus christ. they stole the show every time. my favorite murder couple i hate them so much. during cossete and marius’s wedding where they were dancing and during the line “this one’s a queer” Thénardier dipped a man and the entire audience applauded lmao. his stage presence was so campy and evil and hilarious

which was desperately needed because the rest of the show was fucking DEVASTATING oh my god

i never got empty chairs at empty tables before but like. holy shit. it was so fucking tragic. they all like lined up behind marius holding candles and then marius blew his candle out like YOU CANT DO THAT TO ME

also felt so bad for éponine someone give that girl a break. marius was too down bad to notice anything. like dude.

“you’re such a good friend éponine! i love you! please deliver this love letter to cossete for me please! thank you friend! :D”

and éponine is straight up passing away go dkdofoskrkrkdo

i have so many more thoughts but my fingers are getting tired

[lonelyslutavatar]

Hey! Love love love your Lonely Singer AU!

Interesting tidbit! Whenever you're working with a projector, you won't actually be able to see light beams UNLESS you're using some smoke machine or something similar!

Basically, what I'm saying is Martin can essentially create his own dramatic stage lights thanks to his lonely fog, thank you for coming to my Ted talk

Martin would just be extra enough to do this constantly

[ccaptain]

Noting that the abandoned amusement park and generally the deserted planet is H:SR Kaeya's personal ( and temporary ) all-in-one purposes hideout.

Inside the park, a small hut that seemed to have been an habitable space has been seized by him in case of heavy rain- he has brought in a coffee and pop-corn machine, a rice cooker and some pots and pans, along with a small four-ways stove. There's a small stack of instant noodles and rice to be cooked in the cupboards, as Kaeya only brings fresh food to cook when he has to stay a while, and the only bed present in the building has been decorated with his brand of nest-bed, with a couple more soft blankets thrown atop of it. There's a few books scattered across the pillow-circle that he has been reading, too. A projector of red and blue galaxies has been carried inside and is on the nightstand next to the bed, ready to be activated at all times.

On the table there's a couple of notebooks thickened with observations he made and intel he got from which sources to keep score of where he is with his progresses, a couple of planet maps with heavy scribbling across the edges, and photos that he took and printed. There's scattered origamis around the maps and papers filled with his elegant writing, a pair of his thermal gloves if he ever needs to change them.

In the small, pristine bathroom, there's a couple of products for extremely soft and silky hair and funny shaped soaps that have been consumed to the bone. And a plant named Margaret on the small fogged window looking outside.

Kaeya would rather avoid staying cooped inside, and he very much prefers staying in his light blue, giant teacup to watch the stars as he falls asleep. However, in case of heavy rain, he doesn't have much of a choice.

[edupunkn00b]

Meus ex Machina, Chapter 12: Working Out

Edited public domain image of two hands reaching for each other, lit in deep blue and neon green.

Prev - Working Out - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Logan is determined not to slow down the team again. It wouldn't be the first time he'd pushed his body to the limit.

Logan slipped through the locker room door just before it clanked shut, closing in three dozen or so students in the musky, humid air. "Watch it!" he warned a knot of augmented juniors as they chased past, jostling his safety glasses. His cry went unnoticed over their excited laughter.

He sidled close to the only other full Traditional he could spot, a tall, muscular sophomore. The boy may not have been born with Powers, but he’d certainly clutched a winning genetics lottery ticket on his way into the world.

“Hey, Lo, check it out!” Andrei cheered, lifting his shirt to reveal a translucent implant above his right hip. “Look what my parents got me for my birthday!” Nodding, Logan watched the lights flicker, micro-adjusting his hormone and electrolyte levels. “No more charley horses for me, huh?”

“Indeed,” he murmured. No more leg cramps, no more muscle fatigue. And with a daily boost of somatropin, he’d grow at least another foot and a half before he graduated. “Congratulations.” Logan forced a smile, adjusting his now-fogged eyeglasses. “You will certainly—”

“Alright boys, listen up!” The wrestling coach stepped up onto a nearby bench and whistled. Two freshmen with new hearing augments winced and covered their ears. He waited for the din to lessen and tapped his wrist, activating the ceiling's vid projector. Thanks to Title IV of the Powerds Integration Act, blah blah blah,” he rolled his eyes and two of the older Powerds glared at him. “We’re down to one boy’s team this year with space for five Traditionals.”

Five? Logan's stomach dropped to his feet. There had been fifteen Traditionals in last year’s team plus four alternates. He scanned the room as the coach called out the new team’s roster. Jake and Kirthi high fived behind the coach, reaching nearly his height now with the summer’s growth injections taking effect. Ben stood in the corner, dark shades covering new eyes.

Logan's mouth went dry when he realized he was the last of the Traditionals team who hadn’t yet been augmented. Tim wasn’t there, of course, though Logan saw him from time to time between classes, slouched in his motorized chair, waiting for the school’s singular elevator.

“And… Sanders,” the coach finished. Thirty four sets of eyes whipped over to him and Logan tried to stand a little taller. And tried to ignore the other student’s murmurs.

“It’ll be a good year, Coach,” he said.

Coach Roberts nodded, eyes fixed at a spot just above his head. “Suit up, boys. I want you all out and sparring in pairs in five.” 

Logan kept his eyes trained down and focused on his own preparations as the locker room exploded in activity. Laughter and slamming doors rattled his teeth, the usual scramble to shed street clothes and don stretchy singlets—or, in the case of several boys, trade in for the next size up—no longer lending him its usual energizing buzz.

The day wasn't finished with him yet. With an odd number of Traditionals on the team, it was a simple matter of the math not mathing to require a Traditional to that be paired with a Powered.

Coach Roberts patted Logan’s shoulder as he stepped up to his side of the mat. “Look, Sanders, do your best out there. No-one expects much more than that from you.”

Logan looked up into Coach Robert’s camera-ringed irises. “Y—yes, Coach,” he nodded and turned to face his opponent. The coach had at least tried to give him a chance, matching Logan with a Powered in the same weight class.

But how much did weight class really matter when your opponent’s muscles powered a skeleton stronger than titanium? When your opponent could sense your thoughts, predicting your every move?

He managed to stay on his feet for the first round. Until, at least, his sparring partner grew bored and stopped tamping down on his other abilities. In seconds, Logan was down, face jammed into the mat. He struggled but his opponent countered each twist, each desperate attempt to break free. Finally, Logan tapped out.

The Powered—a new student Logan hadn’t even learned his name—loomed over him. “Good job.” He tonelessly repeated the team’s end of match phrase and looked around for his next partner.

Logan pushed up to his feet and wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and shook his head. “Best two out of three.”

~

“Time?” Logan panted, controller shaking in his grip as he brought the mech's hands together in the ready signal. He’d boosted the suit’s stabilizers, so from the outside, at least, his durasteel arms moved smoothly. But Logan knew. 

“219.8 seconds. Better,” V smiled encouragingly but the flatness in his tone and the twitch in his eyebrow said it all. Logan still took entirely too long to properly suit up. 

He deflated, leaned to one side in the mech’s cavity. Logan pulled in a shaking breath, fighting to slow his panting, and nodded. “Indeed. Better.” Better but not enough.

"Get your bearings and we’ll go again,” V suggested, still smiling as he passed him a towel. It was only then Logan noticed he was drenched, sweat dripping from his hair and soaking through his shirt.

Logan smiled his thanks—tried to, at least, and V nodded again, a bottle of electrolyte ready. His smile grew, just a bit. He hadn't yet exhausted V's patience. Logan would keep going for as long as he was willing to help him.

V looked up when Patton approached from the kitchen, hugging a large crate to his burly chest. The scents of strawberries and fresh bread and chocolate chip cookies intermingled in the air as he stopped. He shifted the box to one arm to wave at them. “I’m headed, ah…” He waggled his head vaguely toward the hall and Logan’s brow furrowed before understanding struck.

“Is he…” V frowned and swiped across his tablet, searching. Trying not to be obvious, Logan peeked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of The Muse’s hallway on the screen.

“No, he—nothing’s wrong. Just…” Patton shrugged and looked down at the crate. “After yesterday, I…”

Hesper’s cryptic words from last night filled Logan’s mind. “What makes you think I didn’t trigger your alarms so I could have a little company… just like Re used to?”

“Can I help?” Logan blurted out before looking down at his useless half a hand, his broken body. His face burned, stomach knotted in shame at his utter uselessness.

Patton’s smile was gentle. “Um, that’s okay, Kiddo. I got this.” He didn’t bother to ask how precisely Logan thought he could help in a room he couldn’t reach in his mech. In a room he couldn’t even enter without assistance. Still holding the giant crate of food with one arm, he gently squeezed Logan’s—not the mech’s—shoulder. “But thanks. I’ll let you both get back to your drills.”

He gave them another little wave then headed down the hall. Listening to the elevator door open then swish closed, Logan finished his drink and passed V the empty bottle.

“Ready?” he asked, switching back to his timer.

“Yes.” Logan lowered the mech to a crouch and began to climb out. But Patton's arrival broke the dam on the flood of questions from last night. In his distraction, he nearly fell out of the cavity. “Well… wait.” He met V’s questioning glance. “What did Hesper mean… about The Prince as a little boy? Did he… Did Hesper know him back then?” V scowled down at his tablet but Logan pushed on. “Is that why he called The Muse, ‘Re?’”

Tapping at the screen, V started to speak, then his jaw clamped shut. He let out a slow breath before looking back at Logan. “It’s not really my story to tell. I…” He sighed again. 

For a moment, Logan feared V would try sending him to The Prince with his questions. “Yeah,” V said at last. “Yeah, there’s… there’s a history. You…” V winced and wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Maybe ask Silvertongue… um… later, though.” He nodded like it was obvious why he should wait. “You know?”

Was there more to Silvertongue’s outburst last night, too? “I’ll wait,” he promised. “Thank—thank you.” 

“Yeah.” V blew out a short breath and returned his attention to the tablet. “Ready for another go?”

Logan dropped the last foot or so, hitting the ground with a barely muffled groan. He climbed up into his chair, replicating his starting point. “I’m ready,” he said, looking up at the suit.

V stared at him for a long moment. “You know, maybe…” He looked away when Logan tried to meet his eyes, tugging at his sleeves.

“Maybe what?” Logan prompted, bracing himself for what passed for yet another bit of ‘constructive’ criticism.

“Maybe you just need to work on your strength a bit,” he said with a little shrug. “If you want, I could show you how to modify a couple of the machines in the fitness center to—”

“Show me.”

That was how Logan ended up strapped to the pull-up machine in the team’s fitness center, the bright automated trainer chirping out his reps into a sweat-proof earpiece. “And twenty. Good job! You’ve finished your workout—”

“Again!” Logan snapped, tugging at the bar as the platform lowered him to the floor.

“You have completed your recommended three sets of twenty, Logan,” the interface chirped back. Though its tone never changed, Logan couldn’t help but flinch at the sound of his own name. Constructed from heavily modded tech ‘borrowed’ from Abracadabra, the interface sounded just like the old assignment program back at the distribution center. 

“I don’t care. Again!” He batted at the controls with the end of his left stump but the panel went dark.

“I am unable to comply with your request.” The artificial voice switched over to the main speakers when it ended his session, like it wanted a witness. “Please try again tomorrow.”

“You’re better off arguing with the refridgerator, Tin Man,” the Prince chuckled from the corner.

“How long have you been watching me?” Logan snapped, face warm. While the automated trainer didn’t record his strained grunts during his workout, the Prince was the absolute last person he’d want to hear him struggling to do a simple pull-up.

The Prince lifted a barbell packed with 300 pounds on either side. The weight floated up to his chin, before he raised it up above his head and back down to the floor in one perfect, flowing motion.

The weights didn’t even clank when they touched the mat.

“Long enough to see you max out your reps,” he said, barely pausing for his own weight routine. “Hit the showers or something.”

“I’m not done,” Logan muttered, pushing himself off the platform. Fatigued muscles trembling under the strain, he dropped faster than he’d planned, landing with a pained grunt as his hip grazed the base of the pull up machine. 

“Don’t tell me it’s leg day for you.”

“Oh, ha, ha,” Logan muttered, hiding his face until he could control the shameful quiver in his chin. “With wit like that, it’s little wonder you’re the brains of the team. Oh, no, wait—You’re not.”

The Prince shrugged and spared him any further conversation, instead loading on another 100 pound plate to each side of his dumbbell. Shaking his head, Logan pulled himself into his chair and moved to the far corner of the fitness room, keeping as many weight machines between him and The Prince as he could.

When he’d found a suitable place, he lowered himself to the floor again, taking it slowly this time. Laying flat on his back with his chair in front of him, he wedged his thighs between the front and back wheels, bracing his lower body for crunches.

It worked well. For a while, at least. To remain steady, Logan had to tighten his abductors with each crunch, pushing against the wheels to keep them—and himself—from rocking with the movement.

He pushed on, the chair straining against its emergency brakes with each rep. Finally, the brake snapped free and the chair flipped back.

“Fuck.” Logan pounded his fist and the back of his head against the mat and lay back, eyes closed, as he gathered the strength to push the chair upright. With any luck, the Prince had already finished his strongman routine and left the gym.

Logan was not a lucky man.

“Need a hand?”

Logan glared up at him from the floor.

“Oh, shit, yeah…” He shuffled closer, ears tinged pink as he avoided looking at Logan’s stump. “I—I didn’t mean that one. I swear.” He gestured at the overturned wheelchair. “Can I help?”

“I’ve got it,” Logan muttered, pushing up and wiggling closer to the chair. He rolled onto his belly then wormed his way into the gap between the back of the chair and the floor. Once he’d gotten most of his body underneath it, he wedged his right hand under his chest and pushed up sharply.

It took two more tries but finally the chair tilted forward and Logan twisted with it, grabbing the strap criss-crossing the back of the chair to steady it before it tipped completely forward.

“Damn,” the Prince murmured.

“You’re still here?” Logan leaned against the seat back, panting, and in no way ready to either resume his crunches or climb into the chair.

The Prince shifted his weight from side to side, one foot pointed toward the door, the other toward him. Finally, he dropped to the floor and sat about two feet away. Jerking his chin toward the chair, he shrugged. “What were you even doing to knock over that beast?”

Logan eyed The Prince and considered ignoring his question. If he really was that nosy, he could just as easily pull up the security footage and that might be worse than simply hearing about it. Sighing, Logan let his eyes fall closed. “I was using it to brace my… legs for abdominal crunches. The other machine's not built for me.”

The Prince made a little choked sound in the back of his throat. Not a laugh, but…

Eyes still shut, Logan wiggled back into position and prepared himself for another set. If he could increase his core strength, maybe the one-armed pull-ups would get easier faster.

Logan’s eyes snapped open when he felt movement next to him. The Prince had moved closer, knelt on the floor only about a half-foot away, hands laying open on his lap. His expression was unreadable.

“Lay your legs against mine. I’ll brace you,” he said, patting the tops of his thighs and glancing down at where Logan’s legs ended. To the Prince’s credit, the usual mix of pity and disgust flashing over his features didn’t last long.

The Prince waited, holding his gaze until, finally, Logan nodded. He moved a little closer, but let Logan be the one to move close enough to touch and set his legs in place. “May I?” he asked, holding his hands over the tops of Logan’s thighs.

“Go—” Logan cleared his throat, the vulnerability of his position seizing the muscles in his neck. If he'd wanted to, The Prince could pick him up and fling him against the wall and not even break a sweat. “Go ahead,” he finally croaked out. With flat, open hands, The Prince pressed against his legs, holding him in place.

“I’ll let go the moment you tell me to,” the Prince said, then fell silent as Logan resumed his crunches.

He loathed to admit it, but focusing on only one set of muscles made the crunches almost enjoyable. Almost. “This helps,” Logan grunted. “Immensely.” He forced himself up for another two crunches. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” The Prince replied, repeating his own words back at him from last night's skirmish with Hesper.

Logan pushed out the last of the set and lay back, counting down a thirty second rest period. He lifted up again and silently worked through another set. He slowed as he neared the end, muscles screaming in protest. “Why…" The temptation to ask The Prince about his history with Hesper—and about Re—was great. He shifted to the next question bubbling in his mind instead. "What are you helping me, anyway? I thought… I thought you hated me.”

“I don’t—” The twitch in The Prince’s jaw told Logan he very much did. “We’re a team,” he shrugged at last. “If you’re stronger, we’re all stronger. C’mon, Iron Man, that all you got?" Did Logan only imagine a smile behind his eyes? "Gimme three more.”