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[age736]

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[eyesxxyou]

Cybersex

★‧₊˚ 💋⋅ hobie brown x camgirl!reader

rating. m

word count. 4k

synopsis. after a scandal, hobie decides he needs a change in his career. that's where you come in, a camgirl he plans to make a sextape with.

🍓・．❕warnings. mentions of cocaine usage, recording sex, p in v sex, protected sex heavily advised, oral (f & m receiving), doggy style, hair pulling, spitting, dirty talking, ass slapping, ass grabbing, degrading praise, condom taken off

Hobie really fucked up according to his manager. If you asked him, he did nothing wrong. It was perfectly normal for a rockstar to be doing coke in the bathroom of a venue in his opinion but for some reason it had caused a lot of controversy. It’s not like he was addicted or anything, that time being only the second time he’s ever done it but his manager put out a statement that he would be taking a break from his tour in order to attend rehab. Which he did and it sucked. He was in for 2 months, “working on himself” supposedly.

“Why’d ya do it?” His manager asked him as they sat side by side in the back of his car, his driver taking him home from rehab after 2 of the longest months of his life. “I mean– you have all anyone could ever want. So why?”

It was such a stupid question that deserved the half-assed answer Hobie gave. He just shrugged and grunted. Why did he do it? To escape this fad of a life. This was never what he wanted, all of this. This expensive car, a designated driver, a manager. This was never what he fucking wanted. Somehow, in his pursuit for success, he lost everything that made him who he was, lost his initial values. He was nothing but a poser now.

He was done being a poser. He’d get back to his original self somehow, some way.

So the moment they got back to his boat, Hobie fired his manager as well as his chauffeur. “Take the car wit’cha.” It was the best decision he could have made for himself, for his dwindling career. He had to get back to his roots, just him making music on his boat with his guitar and his mates.

He needed something to reignite his career, to appeal to the crowd who once supported him for being a voice against authority and establishment. The coke incident had riled people up, weeded out the posers from the real deal. He needed something more.

That’s where you came in.

“So you need my help to get your career back on track…how exactly? By having sex with me?” You sat across from Hobie inside a bar you two agreed to meet at. You were a pretty girl, gorgeous actually, with make up that told him “I put in effort, just not for this” and a pretty, delicate, white dress, black shawl, platform, leather boots, and a long rosary around your neck, though something told him you weren’t catholic. It could be the extensive history of porn you have online.

You were a camgirl. And he was a fan. Turns out, you were a fan of his too.

Hobie bought you a drink and a couple shots for you to share. You teased a cherry between your faded glossed lips and used your tongue to tie the stem into a knot. He liked you, liked you a lot. You were perfect for the job.

“By leakin’ mw own sex tape.” Hobie corrected you. “‘M jus’ tryna stir the pot. Drum up some interest, y’know?” You of all people would know better than the rest. Your entire career was built on this. You were a master at it. He was right to come to you.

“Bu’, Ion wan ya to think ya haf’ to. The offer’s on the table.”

“I know I don’ have to do anything.” He liked your attitude, the twang of your accent in your pretty voice. He understood why you had so many fans, you were borderline perfect, pretty lips, pretty eyes. He’s watched some of your videos, with partners and alone, you’re so captivating. He was an instant fan. “I just want to make sure I understand before I agree to anything.”

You leaned in with your chin resting upon your hand with your elbow on the splintering wood of the bar counter. “I’ll do it, just ‘cause I think you’re pretty.” You stood up, even while sitting down, his abnormally tall body towered over your. “I’ve got rules though, strict rules, not even a pretty boy like you can pass them.” Your hands were on his thighs as you looked up at him. He could kiss you now if he wanted to, but he waited to hear these rules of yours.

“You have to use a condom.”

“Done, already got one.” Hobie assured you. He always carried one with him just in case.

You chuckled a bit, “Good for you. We also have to do it at a hotel, you pay. I don’t wanna be at your place and I don’t want you at mine.” Hobie also liked how serious you were, how you didn’t play about your business. He appreciated it, found it a little hot too. How in the world was he supposed to keep his hands off of you until then? “FIne by me.”

“FInally, no catching feelings.”

Hobie began to laugh, a snarky grin growing across his full, pierced lips. “Confident, are ya? You don’ haf’ta worry about nothin’ like tha’, luv. I’m just attracted to you.” He reached out and pushed some of your hair back behind your ear. He leaned in close, his breath fanning your lips until he touched his lips with yours and kissed you softly. You didn’t kiss him back.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, Brown but I’m not with it. Text me the details when you get them.” You pulled away from him with a scoff and tapped his cheek softly with your hand before grabbing a shot, tossing it back down your throat before walking off to take your leave.

Hobie set everything up for the following week, a nice hotel where the two of you could hook up for the night and leave it at that. It didn’t have to be anything more. Hobie was out to jumpstart his career while you were in it for the followers you would gain from all of this. It didn’t have to be anything more than just this.

“Hobie, open the damn door, I’m not waiting out here all night!” Your fist met the door for the third time since you’ve been standing here. You were just about ready to leave when the door finally swung open and Hobie was standing there without the slightest look of apology on his face. “Sorry, luv. Come on in.”

You waltzed in past him, wearing a black dress, black, distressed stockings that clipped onto a garter around your thighs, thick, mary jane shoes, and a leopard print, fur jacket that all fit together with your locs tied into a ponytail with hair clips that matched your coat. Your lips were full and glossy, eyes framed in dark makeup that made your gaze all the more mysterious. You were adorned in hanging necklaces and large rings, the prettiest person he’s ever seen. “Nice setup. We just recording on your phone?” There was no camera but you supposed that it wouldn’t be that believable of a leaked sex tape if it was on a professional camera. You two weren’t exactly Kim K and Ray J.

“Unless you brought a camera.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You waved your hand and set down your bag before beginning to remove your jewelry and set them down on the bedside table with a small ‘clack’. “Pretty ingenious idea you got here. How’d you come up with it?” You began to remove your necklaces one by one and placed them beside your rings, glancing over at Hobie who sat on the bed beside you.

“I was horny and tired, luv. Le’s cut the small talk ‘n get on wit’ i’, yeah?” Hobie reached out for you, pulling you in between his legs while holding the slope of your waist, stroking and caressing until his hands slid down your thighs then by up under your dress. There was nothing but your panties, small and lacy.

Your lips curled into a smirk. “I thought you’d never ask.” You climbed into his lap, straddling his hips with your thighs as you pressed your lips to his. It was a curt matter, a nicety you offered him. There was passion but nothing behind it except lust, feverish, violent, tearing lust that had you rolling your body against his and your pussy pressed against the growing bulge in his pants.

Hobie placed his hands on the underside of your thighs and lifted you up, your legs automatically coming around his narrow waist. He held you with a surprising amount of strength for someone so lean. He pushed you up against the wall, your hands pulling at each other's clothes in a fervorous attempt to get the other naked. He tore your stockings while you pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the side. He helped you remove your shoes between kisses and you helped him remove his.

Hobie licked down your body, the warm, smooth skin of your naval all the way down to the waistband of your thong where he kissed and licked, his hands grabbing at his pockets to find his phone before handing it off to you so you could record.

You gazed at him through the camera, moaning softly as he pulled down your underwear and you stepped out of them. You lifted one leg over his shoulder, soon followed by the other, your entire weight supported against the wall, your pussy on display for him to devour with his eyes and soon, his tongue.

You were already wet, your lips nice and slick, your pretty cunt slightly gaping and ready to be filled. Hobie licked his lips and looked up at you, nodding to signal you to start recording. You kept a firm grip on his phone with one hand while your other grasped at the hair closest to his scalp. You pulled him in, forced his lips to kiss your cunt, to praise and worship.

You tasted like fruits and berries as he dipped his tongue between the gates of heaven and teased at your cunt with the warmth of his tongue teasing at the underside of your clit. His fingers played in your creamy juices, coating them before he eased a single digit into your aching hole.

“Ah~ fuck– Hobie. Mmh.” You ground your hips against his face, the friction of his hot tongue and long finger drove you crazy. You bit your lip, made sure the camera was on him, and pulled him in further. “Add another finger.” It was a plea for kindness, you needed another finger or you’d go crazy. His tongue worked you in a way you had never experience before, it was fluid yet stiff and so precise against your swollen bud. His lips latched and suckled and his tongue swirled.

Hobie eased another finger into your cunt inch by inch, curling in search of the soft ridge that would send you into ecstasy. He spat on your pussy, ate it with the eagerness of a starved dog while looking up at the camera with those pretty, deep-set eyes of his.

You cried out for him,“God, Hobie– pl–ease.” He slid his tongue into your cunt with his fingers, stretching you just a little further while the bulb of his nose nudged your clit. You would have collapsed then and there if not for the fact he was the only thing holding you up, on his knees with his face in your pussy, devouring.

“Ya gonna cum fa me, luv?” Hobie spoke against your core, making you thrash and moan his name in something of a pornographic sound of pleasure. You reacted to every flick of his tongue, your back arching from the wall and your pussy aching, pulsing, squeezing around his fingers that have finally found your sweet stop and is now playing it like a fiddle.

Your grasp on the phone became shaky as your orgasm threatened to grasp you and hold you in a grip so tight you’d cease to breathe. Never before have you come upon your climax so quickly. Hobie was skilled at this. He’s made more people come with just his mouth and fingers than he can count on said fingers. He left them bleary-eyed and pleading for more, all of them dreaming of just another chance with him.

“Hobie, Hobie, Hobiehobiehobie.” His name was on your lips like a prayer to a god who did not exist in this room. Hobie had the face of angel but the mouth of a demon and how much you praised whatever high power above for it.

He chuckled against your pussy as you gasped, all your muscles tensing then relaxing at once, an orgasm seizing your body like a demonic possession. You held his face against your core and let him taste the product of his work. You worked hard to make sure you tasted good for your partners and Hobie appreciated it, adored it.

He slipped his fingers from your cunt and lapped at the creamy juices you excreted in the midst of your orgasm. Hobie moaned at the taste of you on his tongue, licked you clean until the taste of you stained his tongue. He smiled up at the camera with his wet lips and grabbed it from you, pausing the video before helping you down from his shoulders.

His hands were on your waist again, pulling you into his body before kissing you again. He forced his tongue against yours, sliding and lapping, caressing every portion of yoru mouth he could reach. You could taste yourself in him, your cum still wet on his tongue. You liked it, you liked the taste of his mouth and you intermingled.

Your hands soothed over the sides of his face, one sliding behind his neck to pull him closer while his large, slender hands grasped handfuls of your ass. He was so much bigger than you, so much taller, he was so easily able to toss you onto the bed. You landed on your stomach, looking back at him as he removed the rest of his clothing and remained just as naked as you were.

God, his cock was so fucking beautiful. It was perfectly fitting, nice and long with a good amount of girth but not two much and a few veins here and there. The tip weeped with precum, begging to sink into a nice, tight, warm hole, preferably yours. Your pussy fluttered at the sight of it, at the way he came over and forced you face down ass up with him kneeling behind you.

Hobie rubbed his length against your ass, his precum smearing against your pussy every time his tip teased against your entrance.

"Condom." You reminded him firmly, pulling away from him until he complied. You'd get up and leave right now if he didn't abide by your rules.

Hobie got up and searched through his discarded pants for his the condom he made sure to bring with him. Once he found it, he tore it open and placed it against the tip, rolling it down the length of his dick until he reached the base of his cock.

He took up his phone and began to record again as you whined and pushed your hips back, begging for him to fill you up and finish you out. You spread your legs wider, arched your back, anything to entice him to fuck you the way you needed.

"Aww, the pretty slut wan's my cock." Hobie brought his free hand back and spanked your ass with a sharp swing of his hand as it met the flesh of your behind. He ran a soothing hand against the burning mark he left. "Go 'head 'n beg fo i' then."

Your pride wouldn't let you, your lips remained sealed but they parted with another slap to your ass. You gasped again and whimpered out something pathetic as your ass ached in pain and your back arched. "Please."

"Say i' louda fo tha' camera, luv."

"Please fuck me, Hobie."

He scoffed and chuckled behind you, lining up his tip and easing it into your wonton cunt. "I knew you wan'ed me to slut ya pretty pussy out." You let out something of a squeal as he sunk into your hole, his cock stretching out your walls unused for months now. You were tight, your pussy lips parted to accommodate his size. Hobie let out a hiss then a moan of pleasure, his hand grasped at your hip and ass almost to assure himself you were real. "Fuck, doll. Oh my– shit."

He wished he could feel you, just skin to skin, flesh to flesh, your silky, wet walls against his bare cock. He might have came right then and there if not for the condom as a slight barrier keeping his from absolute euphoria.

Hobie fucked you like it was the end of the world, pounding, borderline abusing your poor pussy all while you squealed and moaned and choked beneath him. Yours hands grasps at the sheets, neatly made by maids who had no clue what their hard work would later be used for.

Hobie recorded it, the way his cock dove into your pussy like he'd die if he didn't fuck you with everything he had. His dick touched places you weren't even sure existed within you, caressed parts that haven't been touched in many, many years. It's been a long time since you've had a good, thorough dicking down and you had forgotten how good it felt.

"Right there! Please…Hobie, please!" You moaned into the pillow beneath you. Cohesive sentences evaded you, all you could think about was how his cock was stirring your guts and how you didn't mind at all.

Clapping filled the room, the sticking of skin to skin from sweat and slick made it hard to distinguish where you ended and he began. It ran down your thighs, your arousal, the way he pushed it out of you and smeared it along your inner thighs and the base of his cock.

Hobie was obsessed with the way your ass jiggled against his hips, the way your back arched, how you seemed to be fucking him back with each other this thrusts, meeting him in the middle. Your makeup was smeared against the pillow, messy against your eyes and lips as you turned your head to the side to look at him with those pretty eyes of yours.

Now he understood why you had that last rule. A pussy like this could make him catch feelings. It was so tight and creamy and good god, the way you moved was so perfect. He was losing breath, losing sanity.

Hobie grabbed you by the hair and pulled you up to hear your moans better, your neck craned back. He leaned over and pressed his body into yours. "Say hi, dove." He put the camera in your face, only to see you all fucked out and drooling. You could only whimper, your gaze meeting the camera with teary eyes before closing. "Fuuuck." You cried you as he sat back up, his hand readjusting his grip on your hair, and fucked you harder.

"Yah makin' me lose it, luv." Hobie let out a huff. His hand grabbing the round of your ass and squeezing the meat there before sliding up to the small of your waist where his hand settled so he could pull you back on his cock. “Go ‘head ‘n take wha’ ya wan’, pretty slut.” He paused his hips, let you do all the fucking since you were such a pro. “Put on a good show.” He adjusted his hold on his phone camera and watched through the screen as your spread your legs a little further and pushed yourself back onto his length.

You started with just the tip first, just playing with that before taking the whole of his length. You were a professional at this. Looking back, biting your lip, working his cock like it was your last night alive. His mouth fell open with a moan, pussy so tight Hobie was scared the condom was gonna come off.

Hobie shuddered with the beginnings of an orgasm. “Jus’ like tha’, doll. ‘M so close.” He let out in a breathless moan. He watched your greedy cunt take him fully, down to the hilt, the grip of your walls sending him overboard.

"Take off the condom, cum on my ass. It'll look good for the camera." You were a pro at this. You knew what got the most clicks and a cumshot on the ass was only second best to a creampie. Hobie held no objections as he pulled off the condom quickly and wrapped his hand around his member to jerk himself off.

It didn't take much. Hobie muttered incoherently under his breath profanities and obscenities as he came hard. His balls tightened as he came against the round of your ass. "Fuck!" He barked and squeezed out all he had to give, coating your plush flesh in white, dripping in wet globs down your trembling thighs.

You rocked back and forth against his cock, milking him for everything he was worth, another ribbon came and dribbled down the slope of your back. There was just so much, nice and creamy, all over you. The fans would eat this up.

You stretched out much like a cat, even purred a little as you groaned and looked back at him, a little dazed, completely starstruck. He stopped the recording and put down his phone in the middle of the bed. His hands grasped your waist as he bent over you and began to kiss down the slope of your back, his gorgeous lips peppering butterfly kisses against your shoulder blades.

"What did I tell you, Hobie? No feelings."

"Nothin' felt, jus' needed to appreciate ya a little. Lemme clean ya up." Hobie gave you one more firm slap to your ass. He went to go grab one of the fancy, white washcloths hanging in the bathroom to clean you up with. He wet it, wrung it out, and came back to run it down your back in long, gentle strokes, folded it over, then got the rest of your behind.

“I guess I should return the favor, huh?” You said, getting up, sitting down before his kneeling figure. His cock was still half hard and dripping wet with the remnants of your juices and his cum. You look up at him with those eyes that could make a person fall in love, biting your lip to hide a smirk as you wrapped a hand around him to guide his cock into your mouth.

You wrapped your lips around him and lavish your tongue across the expanse of his member. He was so sensitive, shivering as your tongue passed over the salty tip. “Fuck, doll. You’re a masta’piece.” He stroked the side of your jaw with the tips of his fingers before reaching for his phone to record a little more.

He recorded you lazily sucking him off, the outline of his cock inside your cheek. The sink there was so soft, so wet, so good. “Look a’ the camera, luv.” He lightly slapped your cheek when you averted your gaze. You looked up at the camera, sloppily sucking before hollowing out your cheek and letting him go. It was a bit of a power play.

“Nice and clean, no?”

“You’re such a tease.”

You watched the video back when Hobie posted it a few days later, smiling as you bit your nails and watched the shaky, unprofessional camera work. It looked pretty authentic, just two people fucking and the video getting purposely "leaked" by him. It worked perfectly. Hobie was slowly returning back to his controversial, anti-establishment roots and your account was swarming with new followers.

As you watched, Hobie's contact popped up as a drop down notification at the top of your screen.

Wanna do it again?

[alabasterwasps]

The only solid birth year we get from ANYONE is Tim, who was born in 1988.

We get this info from the doxed records, and he shares a birthday/year with his actor. So it’s safe to assume everyone else also does, at least the year.

Alex’s birthday is April 4th but his Joseph’s is May 21, 1988.

Jay’s actor Troy was born May 17th 1988.

Brian’s actor Brian was born April 17th, 1989.

(Collected info from online, idk how correct they are).

According to Jay, Alex started working on MH in 2006. The extent of what had started we don’t know. I would guess either script writing or early filming.

They were all only 18-19 in 2006, and depending on how old they were when they left highschool only one or two years into college.

Alex is technically the oldest with Jay following only a few weeks later, I would imagine they probably have gone to college the fall after graduating so they could’ve started as early as 17, maybe 18, entering college in 2005.

Tim is complicated because he didn’t go to highschool. According to his records his last year of school was 2nd grade when he was 7/8 years old. So he would’ve been schooled in the care hospital he was placed in until he turned 18. If he was a year ahead of Brian, it probably wouldn’t have mattered because they probably schooled him longer?

So they entered college at the same time in 2006.

Depending on course requirements, assigned student films are given a semester or school year to complete. However it isn’t unheard of, if someone is taking an extensive film major that may take a couple years, to have a larger film due at an end of the course which could be 2 to 4 years. It’s not common but not unheard of.

If this is the case for Alex, it’d make sense. In 2005, He’d have been given maybe a semester of learning how to direct and film and write, then come spring of 2006 be given the project. He writes the script over summer break and by fall he does casting and he has all year to film. Filming starts late Winter 2006 and runs into Spring, it’s why the earliest shots seem to have mostly dead woods.

Back tracking just a bit, Brian enters, seems like he knows Alex. It’s possible they went to highschool together, honestly very likely the town they are in is a small one. Maybe they were even in a drama/theater club together but that’s totally speculation. They knew each other before college.

Brian knows Tim at this point, presumably having several classes with him and them having their slowly growing friendship. It’s possible they were roommates. It is possible Brian met Tim earlier but we don’t know how strict Tim’s hospital care was as a teenager and how much he would’ve been allowed out but it could be possible they’ve known each other a few years too. But whatever is the case, he knows Tim. So, when invited to the auditions he brings Tim.

Alex’s film has a year of work time, starting in the cross over of 2006/2007. It is due by the first class of the following fall/start of school year, 2007. He gets all year and all summer to film.

But then stuff with the Operator starts happening. It also means that Seth, Sarah, and Brian are all missing or presumed dead in 2007.

Alex either never turns in the film or he edits it together like we see glimpses of and something not finished to his vision is turned in, it doesn’t matter.

Months go by, after Alex stopped inviting people over, stopped talking to people, plans on moving, is when Jay calls him about the tapes, about wanting to preserve them or finish them, or just have them. I would again guess by what little we see of outside this is fall/winter of 2008. This is that scene we see with Jay at his house getting bags of tapes. Jay is the last person Alex has contact with other than Amy, but we don’t hear much about her during this time as she likely lives with her roommate Jessica here.

That’s when Alex shoves the tapes into Jay’s arms and tells him to leave (and then beats the snot out of him after).

It’s a couple months later, after Alex totally goes MIA, that Jay starts watching the videos, compiling them, and that’s when he starts posting in 2009. The events roll out as we know them there.

[peppermintmagicianlynn]

TimBer Week 2024: Twenty-Questions

TimBer Week 2024 Day #1: Twenty-Questions/Party Games

Set in high school years, after Bernard meets the Drakes. Tim is kind of a try-hard at party games. Bernard is a dirty cheater.

Study sessions were Tim's most common after-school activity these days. He, Bernard, and sometimes Darla would hang out and yet never accomplish any real studying. Since Darla was unavailable today, the boys had forgone the library to instead hang out at Tim's house. His parents wouldn't be back until later, so they were free to take over the living room.

Textbooks were spread out on the coffee table, the Xbox was stashed in the hall closet, and Tim had already threatened to duct tape a pencil to Bernard's hand if he didn't stop trying to derail their efforts with his bigfoot-sighting videos…when the electricity cut off.

"Should have seen that coming," Bernard remarked as Tim brought the emergency lamp in from his bedroom, enough to cast a small glow over Tim’s armchair and Bernard’s spot on the coach. "Power outages always get bad on this side of town during the winter months. I meant to warn you about that."

Tim waved him away, settling back into his seat with a sigh. "I guess study group is over. Were you going to head home now?"

Bernard draped himself over the couch pillow, holding a dainty wrist to his forehead as if the very thought made him weak. "And leave you in the dark, all on your own, with just your crazy elevator boy to look out for you? It’s like you don’t know me at all, Drake!"

Tim scoffed. "Bernard, of all the guys I've been friends with, I'd say you’re the least cryptic of them all." Tim had run an extensive background check on Bernard after their week of knowing each other, paranoid about any more surprises from the people he made friends with. He’d found no vigilante affiliations, no alcoholism or online gambling addictions, and no evidence of him being the secret heir to a terrorist cult. Bernard was as regular a teen boy as Gotham ever saw.

Bernard turned his face so that their eyes met across the dim lamp light, watching Tim with a disbelieving smirk. Tim cocked an eyebrow, daring him to claim otherwise.

"Well then, how about we put that assertion to the test?" The blond reached for the abandoned notebook and pen between them, quickly scribbled something across the sheet of paper. He then tore it out of the book, made a grand display of folding in half and tucked it behind his back. "Time to put your money where your mouth is, Drake. Twenty-Questions! You're B+ average self against my own astounding genius!"

Tim was not a stranger to challenges, neither in his vigilante teams nor among his civilian friends. Oftentimes, he felt they were completely unnecessary, just wasting energy to prove something that he already knew himself capable of. As long as he wasn’t humiliated in front of someone he really respected, he didn't rise at just anyone's baiting.

However, since becoming friends with Bernard Dowd, he'd found himself prone to showing off quite a lot lately. Any time the other boy said "I bet I could do this better than you", Tim fell right into his trap with little thought to his ex-secret identity. So far, the only things he had never beaten the other at were video game related.

Bernard was challenging him, Robin (retired though he may be), to a game of deduction. Tim felt his grin turning feral at the thought. God, he wouldn't even know what hit him. "You're on." 

Let the Game Begin!

Question 1: Was it a living thing?

Bernard groaned. "You are so boring, Drake. No one starts out that specifically."

But the answer was yes.

Question 2: Was it a person Tim knew?

"Come on!" Now the other boy was whining, throwing out his arms in exasperation. "Humor me a little here, or it won't be any fun!"

But yes.

Tim opened his mouth to ask the gender of the person, his sharpened mind knowing exactly what questions would break through any potential traps…but then he actually looked at Bernard's face. He was hard to read sometimes, always determined to keep his calm-and-cool act in full force, but the façade could crack now and then. And right now, something like disappointment was screaming from the set of his shoulders, the twist of his mouth.

Tim felt suddenly like a bad friend, being so try-hard over what was really just a game. Bernard was being silly, just as always; so maybe Tim could afford to be silly, too.

Question 3: Was it a famous person?

That vague inquiry brought Bernard back up to his previous energy, a genuine smile growing on his face before he forced it into the usually laid-back grin. "Yes."

Hmmm, that was not quite where Tim had thought this would go, but that definitely made the game more fun.

Question 4: Did the person live in America?

Bernard paused to think for a moment, stroking his chin dramatically. "Yes?" The hesitance in his tone was slipped into Tim's growing data set as "Origin Unknown".

Question 5: Did this person currently live in Gotham?

Now Bernard was the one with a crazed smile. "Yes. For now."

Were sentences like that allowed in Twenty-Questions? Tim was pretty sure they weren't, but it did give him a bit more information to use, so he would allow it. Bernard’s chatty nature was going to be his undoing.

Question 6: Was the person dangerous?

"No."

Damn it. There went Tim’s theory it was going to be a cryptid or urban legend. Bernard would definitely use a game like this to segway into more of his conspiracy theories. And that answer also meant it wasn't going to be any of the common Gotham villains, either.

Question 7: Was this person a hero?

“I think so, personally." Bernard threw his arms behind his head as he lounged against the cushions, a picture of ease. Tim smirked at his blatant confidence, feeling even more excited to take him down.

Question 8: Did that person wear a cape?

"No."

Oh, okay then, not a vigilante. So…maybe a public servant? Commissioner Gordon was pretty famous and he was definitely heroic.

Question 9: Did the person wear a badge?

"No."

Question 10: Did the person wear a uniform?

"No."

Tim propped his chin on his wrist, turning his gaze to the side as he reconfigured his mental schematics. They were already halfway through the game but he felt even more in the dark than when they started. He tried not to sink into serious mode, reminding himself he wasn't in work-mode and this wasn't a case with someone’s life on the line. It was just a game with his goofy friend.

Still, if he wanted to win, he might have to start getting his questioning back on track. He'd already humored Bernard enough.

Question 11: Was the person female?

Bernard shrugged. "Maybe."

Tim wanted to jump over the coffee table and strangle him. "Wha- that is not how this works! You have to give me an actual answer."

"Au contraire, mon ami. If you'd ever played one of those digital versions of this game, you'd know that they always include a ‘Maybe’ option. Don't get mad at me if you jumped into this while uninformed.”

Tim growled, ready to call this whole thing off if Bernard was just going to be an ass about it. This game was his idea.

Bernard grinned his way, radiating smug energy. "Hey, you don’t have to play the game. But you would have to concede that you didn't win it, either. Sherlock Holmes wouldn't have given up that fast, I bet."

They kept going.

Question 12: Was the person old?

"No."

Question 13: Was the person still alive?

"Yes."

Question 14: Was Bernard acquainted with that person?

"Very well," Bernard said, his smile slipping into something a bit softer than before. Until he caught himself and turned his face to the side. "Uh, I mean, yes."

Tim wasn't deflected, staring at his friend who was determined to stare into the dark corner of the room. He couldn't hide the sudden redness of his ears, though.

Darla. He was talking about Darla.

With that realized, Tim felt his shoulders slump, all the tension and energy gone in a flash. God, this guy was so predictable. Even after months of just being friends with her, he still had a crush on their classmate. It was so annoying. 

No point in dragging this out any further. Tim would rather just sit in silence.

Question 15: Did the person go to their school?

"Not all the time. Uh, I mean, maybe."

Tim's brain exploded.

"Did I stump you?" the blond laughed at the obvious shock on his face.

Tim ignored his taunts, cycling all of this data over and over, scattered by both this strange answer that just didn’t fit with his previous conclusion and the weird rush of relief that battled for his attention. He shoved both of them away and focused. If he was turning into a try-hard again, sue him.

So, objectively, Bernard was cheating. Not just his bullshit "maybe's" but also all these additional sentences he was "accidentally" slipping in. No, that was intentional, made to confuse Tim with unnecessary information. Could he even be outright lying? Nah, Bernard liked to win too and getting caught with deliberate falsehoods would make him a bad sport. He wasn't lying, just keeping it all vague for the sake of his punchline.

Tim was running out of questions now, but he still had to throw out one more test. A dangerous gamble.

Question 16: Did this person have dark hair?

"Yes."

A straight answer, said with full confidence, that cut his list of potential suspects in half.

Data Currently Collected: a person whose hair was publicly known (cut out a portion of the vigilantes in Gotham) and was dark colored, heroic, famous, no cape, young, possibly goes to their school. That "not always" comment might still keep Darla in the game, since she sometimes missed classes for "family things". Other possibles would be students known to cut classes which wasn't an insignificant number. Even Tim would sometimes…

His eyes widened, train of thought grinding to a halt even as his analytical mind kept spinning, weaving the data into a new theory against his wishes.

Skipped classes, dark-haired young, famous…

Did his name still circulate through envious mouths, months after the lockdown? Were there still videos online of him meeting the president? Forgotten posters with his face on it tossed aside in street gutters?

And what Bernard had looked like when he answered Question 14, that quiet but obvious happiness at just the thought of that person….

Tim swallowed, not sure why the idea of that look being for him made his hands suddenly clammy.

Question 18: Did Bernard spend a lot of time with the person?

"Yes."

Question 17: Was Bernard friends with them?

"Yes." Bernard grinned hard, no smugness in that look at all, though he quickly turned away again. Like he had to be embarrassed about his own enthusiasm.

Oh shit.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

"Three questions left, Drake. Better make them count."

"Are you gonna use another ‘maybe’ answer?" If he said yes, Tim would quit this game in protest and never have to think about this ever again.

Bernard turned to look at him, scanning his face. Then quietly, "No. I'll be honest."

And that terrified Tim even more.

Question 18: …Did Bernard like the person?

"Yes." The flood of red on Bernard's cheeks sent a rush of confused emotions through Tim. He couldn't tell if they were good or bad. "Two more questions, Drake."

Question 19: …

"Or do you want to just take a guess?"

A part of Tim was scared to say it out loud, the very idea of what Bernard could mean by all of this…it would be like opening Pandora's Box. Nothing would be the same anymore. Forget about winning, Tim didn't know if he could survive making the right guess. If he could even process what it would mean for him just for guessing it right.

So, like a coward, he offered, "Darla Aquista?"

And in that instant, the tension broke, leaving jagged edges between them.

Bernard looked away, his smile turned melancholy. "Wow, Drake, I guess…I guess you do know me pretty well." He pulled the paper out from behind his back, though Tim could see how his fingers trembled. Tim was shaking too, not sure if he was ready for what was written on it. If he should play being pompous about his win and tell Bernard he didn't need to show him the proof. If he could just…

"However…I guess you don't know me quite that well!"

In two quick moves, Bernard slammed the paper down on the dimly-lit coffee table and with a laugh that the Joker would envy, flipped over the back of the couch. Tim, shocked, glanced down at the paper which had been left writing up.

Dana (Pre-Dye job)

Outrage like he had never known flooded through Tim, ripping a scream from his throat that was as thunderous as a war cry. He cleared the table, lamp, and coach back in one summersault, then ran after his absolute asshole of a classmate.

"You piece of shit! You freaking lying garbage heap!"

"There were no lies involved. Only slanted truths!"

"That is not how this game works!"

"Excuses of the outwitted!"

Some days later, Jack would be cleaning around the house and find a piece of paper slipped between the cushions of his couch. He would ask his wife about it, but she wouldn't have an explanation for why their son's name was written on it.

----

Bernard is a troll who had no intention to play this game fairly from the start. If Tim thought he would and let his guard down, that was on him!

Why yes, I am a fan of Kaguya-Sama: Love is War. How could you tell?

[ashen-vulture]

A Vulture In Therapy (wip)

It's been a while since I've posted anything because the next pages of The Appointment are taking a while, so have a sneak peak of some planned future events in the meantime

--- THE FUTURE FLYER'S CLUB ---

"Maybe it's just because I'm going back through the hormonal teenage phase," I sighed. I looked at myself in the mirror. The changes were happening, but very slowly. My body was covered in puffy white down feathers, and my skin had gone grey. The bone morphics were coming along nicely.

"I don't regret it, but there is this hollowness in me, some new need that isn't being fulfilled. Even though I have friends, a partner, a support system, I still feel so heavy and alone."

"Perhaps it would help you to meet more therians of your 'theriotype'?" The mirror said.

"You know I'm bad at meeting people..."

"~That's bullshit~ <3"

"W-"

"Middle school. You joined band even though you were afraid. You gathered a group of outcasts and made them friends. Highschool, you put together an Acapella group to perform in the talent show. You gathered more outcasts and made more friends. Online, you took risks with a bunch of strangers and made friends for life. College you opened up again and again to people you never met. You are not bad at meeting people, you're scared and one day soon you will decide you want it more than you fear it."

... I walked away from the mirror. She was right. Maybe. Maybe I needed to create my own happiness. Maybe I was ready to take the initiative. I went to my tablet and drafted my first sketch of a club poster.

"Future... Flyer's... Club. A club for bird Therians (or any winged creature) that wants to work together to teach each other how to fly. Yeah. I think this is something we need. But am I good enough to make it? I don't know."

"But you want it more than you fear it. So take the leap."

Maybe I'll print a few test copies tomorrow. Maybe I'll bring them to my check-in with Erian next month and ask if I can leave some in his office. Maybe I'll ask Madam Mabel if I can leave a couple at The Roost.

Maybe it'll start small, and maybe it'll grow from there. My flock.

Flight isn't just an instinct, it's a skill.

No mother bird to show us how.

Lets show each other.

Welcome to the Future Flyers' Club! We have Posture Practice, which is just a scaffolding with a harness rig and a large fan (it took so many extension cords to get that fan all the way out here) but hey, it'll get you used to flapping and to the soaring position!

And if your legs are feeling stable, you might try out our long jump launch! It's a bunch of haybales stacked up with some distance markers on the ground.

I've also got a tape measure in my pocket if you want to check your wingspan or tail length!

I know it's not much to look at yet, but it'll get there. Just like us!

[haveyouseenthishorrormovie]

before this goes any further, I want it on the record that you all asked for this.

my first and most petty point: Midnight Mass gets basic details about Catholicism wrong, such that even I (not a Catholic) twigged them. The big one is that Catholics DON'T HAVE MIDNIGHT MASS FOR EASTER - it's a Christmas thing - but since the priest holding the mass is also a vampire, I can accept that he's going off-book. I have a harder time with them holding a PICNIC for ASH WEDNESDAY, aka THE DAY LENT STARTS, aka the day everyone starts fasting and are therefore not snacking on a potluck. It's a minor thing, and normally I wouldn't pick at it, but since this show ostensibly revolves around Catholic doctrine, it bears mentioning.

on a writing level, not one single character in this show talks like a human being. or acts like one. I couldn't give you any information about who these characters are as people, because they're not people, they're mouthpieces for Flanagan to impart his ideas to the audience. He is both deeply in love with his own writing and entirely unconvinced that his audience is smart enough to Get It, so he has his actors turn to the audience and lay it all out. Not only is this bad writing on a character level, it brings all plot and tension to a screeching halt whenever it happens. The most unintentionally hilarious instance of this has to be when Annabeth Gish comes to the sheriff to tell him that the church is being run by a vampire and her mother is aging in reverse, and his response is to start rambling about where he was on 9/11. Like. Nothing about this makes sense, and also why should we care when it has fuckall to do with the story?

(as regards the sheriff character: I, a white Quaker, am not the person to critique this show's handling of Islam. But I will say that Flanagan doesn't seem to have a clear idea what he wants to communicate: the overarching plot is antitheistic, in a very r/atheism sort of way ("WHAT IF THE SACRAMENT WAS VAMPIRE BLOOD" ooh wow didja cut yourself on that edge there, buddy) but Flanagan has no idea how to balance that with the precepts of any religion that isn't Christianity while also maintaining his broadly liberal bona fides, so it all sits very uneasily next to the church plot. I'm not advocating for the show to go full Christopher Hitchens, but I am saying that if Flanagan wants to posit that faith is a mass delusion and a net detriment to any community formed around it . . . he needs to either focus only on Christian characters or be willing to engage with how other religions function in society, because as is, the storyline with the sheriff and his son just peters out into nothing.)

but the thing that made me angriest - that took me from "this is so boring and pretentious and badly written" to "oh FUCK this guy and the horse he rode in on -" was the titular midnight mass. It is very overtly inspired by the Jonestown massacre, which a lot of horror media does, but what it fails to account for is that the members of the People's Temple did not voluntarily kill themselves. I know "drink the kool-aid" has entered the popular lexicon as shorthand for "blindly following a leader," but extensive testimony from Jonestown survivors - not to mention the death tape, which is available online if you really want to ruin your day - all confirms that the people who died that day were forced to drink poison at gunpoint, after years of brutal abuse from Jones and his inner circle. And even after all of that, people fought back. And not outsiders - people who had been in the Temple for years and wholeheartedly believed in the mission that had lead them to Guyana in the first place. (Christine Miller was a fucking hero and she deserves to be remembered for it.) Jonestown was not lemmings going off a cliff, and any serious take on the story would involve reckoning with that - that these people believed in a higher power and also believed that they had a right to live despite what Jones told them. But that would contradict Flanagan's point of "religion is dumb, WAKE UP SHEEPLE," so instead he borrows the iconography of a truly horrific tragedy and disrespects the victims by implicitly representing them as dumb, brainwashed cult members who eagerly toss back poison because they think sky daddy wants them to. He has so little respect for the subjects he's portraying, and the real people whose deaths he is copying for shock value, that he doesn't care about the inner lives of anyone whose beliefs might demonstrate that faith is more nuanced than his screed would have you believe.

There are good horror properties out there that are critical of religion and society - The Medium, which we posted about a few days ago, is one. The Witch is another. So is The Sudbury Devil. Hell, you could go back to the sixties with Witchfinder General. Religion - especially socially dominant religions like Christianity in the west - can and should be critiqued. But Midnight Mass is too sloppily written to be a critique of anything besides, accidentally, how far Mike Flanagan's head is shoved up his ass.

Anyway, that's why mod L doesn't like Midnight Mass. I did warn you.

[commiepinkofag]

Saving Houston’s LGBTQ history through thousands of hours of radio archives

1984 Houston Pride Parade 📷 JD Doyle

For years, hundreds of fragile cassette tapes sat quietly aging in a storage locker in Houston, Texas. Each plastic case contained hours of radio shows, made for and by LGBTQ people. The first shows aired in the mid-1970s. They continued, off and on, for more than 30 years -- a period that included the AIDS crisis, the women’s liberation movement and the rise of LGBT civil rights. A pair of archivists, Emily Vinson and Bethany Scott, have been working on preserving the programs, thousands of hours of them, online. … The shows aired on KPFT (90.1), Houston’s Pacifica station. One of them, Wilde ‘n’ Stein (named for Oscar Wilde and Gertrude Stein) started in 1975 and ran through the early 1990s. A late night show, After Hours, ran from 1987 until the early 2000s. … Over the years, the producers and hosts of these radio shows brought their listeners live street coverage of Pride parades, music that celebrated LGBTQ experiences and interviews with city council members, activists, local arts luminaries, and public health officials. Because it was on the radio, often late at night, closeted people could listen quietly and discreetly, without the fear of discovery that printed material might bring. Carl Han, a young Vietnamese-American, listened to the station’s LGBT programming at the lowest possible volume, as he told the radio show After Hours in 1992. “That’s how I discovered the Montrose [LGBT] community,” he said. “At the age of 15, I hit upon KPFT one night and turned it down real low so no one can hear.” He would go on to be a leading local activist, who at the time of the broadcast was the secretary of Asians and Friends, a community group serving Houston’s LGBTQ Asian Americans. Such content came as a revelation to 20-year-old Andrea Hoang. As an undergraduate at the University of Houston, one of her campus jobs was to help digitize and transcribe the shows. Hoang, who identifies as queer, was thrilled to discover the voices of Asian-American activists, including Han and After Hours host Vivian Lee, in broadcasts from before she was born. “They had so many people of color coming onto this show and spearheading these local movements,” she marvels, adding that she also loved learning about the vibrant LGBT music played on the programs so much, she made this Spotify playlist honoring it. The digitization of this audio history, says Vinson, would not be possible without three Houstonians who safeguarded the cassettes for so many years. Judy Reeves co-founded the Gulf Coast Archive and Museum of Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgender History. JD Doyle maintains an extensive website documenting local LGBT history. Jimmy Carper was a longtime host and producer of After Hours. …

Neda Ulaby | NPR | June 4, 2024

More On NPR >

Listen to Andrea Hoang's archive-inspired Spotify Playlist

[halhys]

I don't usually post pictures of me online but two days before halloween I realized I could do a closet cosplay of Laudna and ended up being pretty happy with the result!!! So I got to work xD just had to get the wig, extensions and collar, that I will definitely wear in my everyday life!

I made the ears with decoration butterflies that I got to adorn some of my frames and bookshelves, it also has moths and beetles in the package hehe. Cut them up, painted golden and glued them on me with eyelash glue!

Made the bones out of aluminum, painters tape, covered with mod podge that I then quicky painted!

Super happy of the result!! Even though I realized too late I did the look flipped, cause I obviously don't understand how mirrors work xDDD

[feral-ferrule]

Charity and Decadence

Chapter 3

word count 5060ish

Clone Wars Echo x Earthling f!Reader OC

Fic Masterlist

warnings: angst, guilt, slavery, lactation, nothing too much yet, more flashbacks,

You figured there were a few ways to go about this. The med bay didn’t seem to have anything in the way of an NG tube which you could put in place if his swallow function was really gone. You just didn’t trust your ability with the force to manipulate the milk down his throat and into his stomach. So you just had to hope for the best and prepare the other two solutions you could find supplies for. One was simply a syringe and the other was a sponge you taped to a tongue depressor. 

You knew that you’d have to take it slow so he didn’t suffer from refeeding syndrome, a complication of starvation treatment. As his body switched from consuming its own fats and muscle and started using carbohydrates again he could develop a whole list of problems including seizures.  You found some bags of iv electrolyte fluids to administer to the implanted port on his arm you noticed yesterday. 

The schedule the med droid had left for you on a data pad showed a window of time coming up in which the man would not be online being used for their secret endeavors, so you decided to fully unhook him and bring him into the med bay. 

You went out to the control panels below the stasis chamber and could see the lights indicating whether the man was online were off so you elevated the gurney’s tilt bed into position. Then initiated the sequence of button pushing and lever pulling to safely disengage the man from the stasis life supports. For the neural anesthesia program step you had noticed a dial above its button turned all the way to full power. You dialed it back to half, grateful that this didn’t involve typing code. You hoped that would make him groggy but able to respond and swallow. Pressing the button you sent out a plea to the force for success. 

You initiated the release sequence and could hear the tubes and wiring decoupling. The chamber doors swung open with a hiss and the lift bed moved in closer which magnetized points on his metal implants to itself. You lowered the bed down out of the billowing gasses to lay flat and checked his positioning. Then you turned his head gently so his nose wasn’t smushed. He felt so cold and had spots of ice crystals scattered over him. You left the bed’s magnetization on in case he woke up and tried rolling off, but you didn’t strap him down with the restraints you had seen earlier.  You directed the bed to the med bay. 

When you got there and locked the bed to stay stationary  you realized that you hadn’t planned how to get him sat up to help swallow. So you demagnetized the surface, pressed the switch for the extension to slide out along one side of the bed and rolled him as gently as possible onto his back. Once on his back you positioned him back over onto the main surface and retracted the extension. Despite his emaciation he was still pretty solid and you had quite the work out wrangling his body into place as carefully and tenderly as possible. Fortunately his prosthetic legs were no heavier than natural legs. They must be made with advanced materials, you figured. You remagnetized the bed and slowly raised the top half so he was elevated and couldn’t slump over.  You hooked up a bag of fluids to his port on his arm and started the drip.  

You sat on a stool and took a deep breath, coughing and feeling a burning in your eyes. The air filters in this facility must not be working very well. Next time you’d for sure wear your gear. This was your first proper look at him. Despite his sunken cheeks and eyes, his features were all clone, but he was so very pale. You had seen a few clones during your time with the Union. They were easy to come by, not considered real people, and preferred experimental victims. But this was the closest you’d been to one since Dantooine when you helped search for wounded among the dead. 

His color was much too close to death. 

You noticed the bag of fluids was empty so you removed it from the port and tossed it in the disposal chute. The man stirred. His eyes blinking and scrunching shut. Then he started flinching and squirming a bit, clearly growing agitated.  ‘Oops,’ you thought, ‘guess I woke him up too much.’ You thought he must not like the brighter light so you dashed over to the switch and turned off all the lights except for the ones under the cabinets. You went back over to him and touched his hand. 

“Hi, my name is Choy, I’m here to help you, please don’t be afraid,” you soothed. 

This seemed to calm him and he tried looking at you but he didn’t seem able to open his eyes all the way or focus. So you continued talking to him in a soft voice and stroking the back of his hand.

“I was hoping you could try drinking something.”

This was it. As weird as you felt about this, you kept reminding yourself that there wasn’t any other thing you could try to save him from starvation. 

“I’m going to put something in your mouth, if that’s ok, do you think you can suck on it?”  You dipped the surgical sponge in the milk and soaked some up. Your other hand reached for his face, “I am going to touch your face if that’s ok.” Your fingertips brushed his cheek and down his jaw. He leaned into your touch as much as he could with the magnetic hold the bed had on his head. You brought the sponge up to his lips and pressed his jaw down a bit, “Open up, please.”  He did and tasted the milk on the sponge. “It’s.. milk. Try sucking it out of the sponge.”  He swallowed and you let out the breath you were holding. This was going to work.  He was doing so well. 

You soothed his cheek with your hand, “Ok open up and I’ll get more, alright?” He stopped sucking and pushed the sponge out with his tongue. You dipped the sponge back in the milk and brought it to his mouth again. He opened on his own this time and drained the sponge again, swallowing. There was enough for one more sponge-full but you wanted to try the syringe, he seemed to be doing really well swallowing. You drew up the rest into the syringe and turned back to him. He was trying to watch you through heavy lidded eyes. His hand trying to move and grasp. 

“Hey, I’m here,” you said with a smile. 

He rasped a sound trying to talk. 

“I have a little more, this time it’s in a syringe. I can put a small amount in your mouth for you to swallow.”

You held up the syringe of milk in his line of sight. His eyes widened and he tried to lean away from it, “No nononono,” he was panicking and managed to free his hand from the magnet which he brought up and smacked at the syringe sending it flying. You hopped back from him scared he’d continue to strike out at you. But he settled down mumbling “no, not again, no no no.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry, I won’t use the syringe,” he peeked up at you at the fear in your eyes and he completely deflated, a tear falling down his cheek. Dammit your heart was breaking for him, but you were also thinking now this might be a really dangerous situation. He was a clone, a trained soldier and even if he was drugged and starved he might be able to hurt you. 

He put his hand back down on the table next to him and blinked at you, more tears tracked down his cheek.  Then he passed out. The window of time you had was closing so it was just as well. You quickly rolled him onto his stomach, took him back out to the stasis room, hooking up the long lines to his head, dried his tears with your sleeve and replaced him back in the awful chamber. 

“Well that could have gone better.” You said out loud and heaved a sigh, headed back into the med bay and started cleaning up. You gathered the cup, sponge on a stick, and found the syringe still full of milk. The whole thing played over in your mind, the look of terror and pain on the man’s face, his strength and fast reflexes, your fear, his regret and then him begging for more milk. Damn, you felt so awful. As you threw the items down the chute that led to an incinerator you felt a gloom of despair and shame settle over you. Why did you think it was a good idea? Just another absurdity of your existence in this universe. This place was cruel and cold and grimey and callous. Your tears mixed with the antiseptic as you wiped down all the surfaces that you had touched in the med bay and then the repulsor lift bed. You ran the cleaning cloth over the controls for good measure and threw out the cloth. 

By then you had settled down and remembered you really didn’t have many options with the situation. The man was starving, your life may even depend on his survival. You’d seen plenty of poor job performances or accidents lead to the worker being fined and sent to even worse “assignments” to spend the rest of their lives working off the debt. That’s not far off from your current situation. Except, when you were done with this, it was off to the devil you didn’t know, but also did know- at least the movie and tv version. Which had all turned out to be tame compared to this reality so far. 

It was late, you checked the man’s vitals on the controls and left the stasis room to go down the lift to your quarters. The droids stationed at the lift scanned you and stepped aside to let you through. Back on the residential level you passed those droids and made your way to the storage in the mess, picked out a ration pack and choked it down with a water. At least the air was better on this level and your eyes and lungs weren’t irritated. 

You had a long hot shower and felt slightly better. Went through the monotony of getting ready for bed. The collar’s battery was almost dead so you took the opportunity to reach out in the force to not feel so lonely. First you felt the tower- all metal and tubing and electricity. And the man, who felt so very lonely and sad like last time, only now he also felt a glimmer of something in his heart. It was like hope-sadness-ache, you couldn’t put your finger on exactly what. Stretching further you felt a village of people who had such a strange feeling in the force you knew they were very much not human. Then you cast out as far as you could go, letting the whole of the force wash through you as much as the dying collar would let it. You sent out all your heartache and need into the force and begged for someone to come help you and help this man. “Please. If you can feel this,  we need help,” you whispered. 

And it whispered back.

[[Help you will have. For the clone you must care. In the meantime]]

 A knock came at the door and you fell on the cot. Were you floating??  

“Ma’am we are here to service your collar. Please open up and let us in.”

”Ok, hold on,” you called out, finding your footing on the floor. You hit the door switch and it slid open. The two security droids from earlier entering. 

“This won’t take long.” The one said. Then turned to the other,  “Now what did they say to do?” A thought suddenly came to you. If you could get them to depower it completely you could get full access to the force. If you came up with a plan to escape, you’d need all your abilities, especially if you were going to take the clone with you.

“You take the old one out and throw it in the garbage chute then slide the new one in place. It’s right here,” you pointed at the battery pack on the right side of the collar. As you pointed your mind slid along the droid’s circuitry and found its central processing unit. You used the force to flood its memory center with repeats of what you just said. With the collar still operational that was as good as you could do. 

“Oh yeah that sounds familiar.” Said the droid with the battery.

“Are you sure about that? I thought there was another step,” said the second droid.

“Oh that’s just you need to check the light that it’s fully charged and good to go. Last step,” you smiled, “ thank you for helping me with this.” You gave them both your most innocent and sweetest smile.

“See I told you she’s nice, not like the rest of them,” said the first one. He slid the old battery out and tossed it in the garbage and the force hit you full throttle. It had been a long time since you felt this. There were actually two power ports in the collar and the procedure was to put a fresh one in the empty side before sliding the spent one out of the other. So you hadn’t experienced the force like this since your brief time with Master Windu. You could feel exactly where in the droids’ circuitry that one little snap of metal would essentially kill them. 

*Click. Deadness, quiet. Two droids looking at your glazed expression. Oh yeah. “All good guys! Do you have names?” Droids were so easy to redirect.

“I’m RO-GR562390072-“

“No, I mean like nicknames people have given you.”

They looked at eachother and shook their heads, “No, no one’s ever given us a name,” the first one said. 

“Alright then I’ll give you names,” you clasped your hands in front of yourself and bounced on your toes looking delighted. “Now what should they be?” You thought of pairs of amusing names that you could call them to their faces. “How about Lenny and Squiggy?” 

“I call Lenny,” said the first one “You can be Squiggy.” The second droid nodded, “Wow none of the other biologicals ever gave us anything, huh, Lenny? You were right about this one. Ok ma’am see you tomorrow.”  And they left chattering about their new nicknames.

Now you could breathe and process what you had just felt in the force before those two clankers came. You had for sure felt a connection with someone out there, someone kind and powerful. Not Master Windu but not unlike him, another Jedi you hoped. What did they say? It sounded like how yoda talks. You’d have help and you had to take care of the clone. Alright. You’d do things differently tomorrow. Perhaps try again with a sponge. And you’d think of a plan to escape with the clone as soon as you got him stronger. But now you needed to try to sleep. 

Laying down, the day’s events played themselves over and over. A jumble of older memories, too. You thought about the droids. Youd need to work fast o dispatch them is the moment you had now battery in the collar. It seemed almost sad considering their odd moments of individuality and how they liked their silly names you gave them.  You haven't used your real name since you had remembered it, having gotten used to the nickname the clones on Dantooine gave you.

********

You were bundled in the thin military issue kind of blanket, your back pressed up against the wall behind the cot. The 3D video, holovid, Splint called it, was playing a segment about how to hold a baby for feeding. But you weren’t watching it. You were processing what Splint had told you about himself and all the soldier clones basically being property and enslaved to a war they were created for.  You had pressed him for more details, “What do you mean you're not even paid??” “What will happen after the war?” Splint had gone back over to the injured soldier, his identical clone brother, to give him a shot of something blue.  They both emerged, Splint telling him that it would heal overnight and to come by in the morning for a checkup.  The soldier he had shooed out came back and the two talked and you heard them talking from behind your partition, the words “daleesh” and “echoy-la” repeated a couple times.  

Splint came back over to you and you asked, “What were they saying, the earpiece wasn’t translating everything?”

He sat on the stool and took the towel and tablet. “Word has gone around about you, the ‘echoy’la dalyc’ the lost woman.”  

“Not something you see every day?”

“Well, we do encounter civilians regularly, but not one who appeared out of a force storm in a ruined Jedi temple.”  

“That’s what Master Windu is, right? A Jedi? Are there more like him? What are they exactly?” 

“There are many more Jedi, yes.” He smiled at your wide eyed rapid fire questions. “They are people like you, who can feel a power called the Force. The Jedi serve the Republic as Generals, commanding legions and battalions of troops. General Windu will tell you all about them later. Right now you should get cleaned up and rest.” He set the tablet on the counter nearby and threw the towel in a bin. You heard a knock at the door and some voices. He got up and went around the partition. Your device was once again not translating but you could feel hopefulness and curiosity off the newcomers and then disappointment when Splint thanked and dismissed them. 

“I’ve had the guys scrounge up some supplies for you. There’s a ‘fresher through that door over there where you can get cleaned up and changed. I’m sorry the only change of clothing we have for you are our uniform blacks.” He set the box on the cot and added a fresh towel on top. 

"But before that let's get you your inoculations." He disappeared again and when he came back he had a black stick-like device. "This won't hurt, but your arm may be sore later, which side?"

You turned your closer shoulder to him and said, "Either one really."

He wiped the site with a small antiseptic spongy thing and then supported your arm with that hand. His energy and feelings flooded you with strong arms, lips on your neck and- before you slammed the barrier down more. He zapped the spot with the stick. It felt weird but it was quick. His outward appearance belied nothing of what you felt in his mind. But he was avoiding your eyes.

There were booms and rumbling in the distance. The ground shook after the sounds. A light flashed on the armor on his forearm. Splint set a grim look on his face and stalked away. You could hear his voice coming through his helmet as he left the building. 

More booms in the distance.

You felt a new amped up tension around you and let the guard down that Master Windu had guided you to create. Out in the distance was something big like a huge swarm of something lifeless but active. Lots of things with goals but no hearts. Disturbed, you slammed the barrier back up, shook your head and took a look in the box. There were leggings and a long sleeve shirt, both a black ribbed material, a comb and some soap and a washcloth.  And a flower. And a piece of paper-like material with a strange language hand-written on it. Your heart softened a little, these were little tokens of care these soldiers included for you. 

Well you really had to get out of this cot now. You took the box to the door in the back of the room and looked for the handle. Noticing a flat panel to the side of it you touched it. The door slid open and revealed a fairly standard bathroom. Toilet, sink, and a shower head. You quickly undressed, noticing sand in the bottoms of the bikini you were wearing. You used the shower scrubbing off sand and dirt and milk with the washcloth and soap. The soap was really small and hard to keep a grip on and it slipped out of your grasp and you fumbled for it to stop it from falling to the floor. 

It hung there in the air between your hands.

Staring at it you could feel a sensation around it and your hands and inside your head like the push pull of magnets.  Carefully you pushed the soap higher up till it was right in front of your eyes.  You grabbed it out of the air with one hand and held up the washcloth with the other.  Focusing on it you felt for its magnetyness and raised it up in the air a little.  Then the water suddenly ran cold and you lost the contact.  It splatted to the floor as you rinsed off quickly. You were just not going to get used to the constant strangeness to everything, you thought, and that was definitely something you could never do before, you were sure of that. 

Toweling off you considered your options for dressing and decided to wash the swimsuit and just go commando till it was dry. After fixing your hair as best you could with the little comb you emerged from the fresher in the black outfit. It was too long so you had rolled up the cuffs, but it fit you ok and seemed to cling to you and support your curves like a second skin. The little flower you tucked behind your ear. You just needed shoes. 

“Hello?” You nearly jumped at the sudden voice. Over by the door there was a shy looking trooper holding his helmet in his hands. When his eyes landed on you he breathed in, almost gasped. You walked over to him across the cool smooth floor stopping a few paces away. 

“Hi, can I help you?” you said. His face was smoother than the other clones you’d seen so far. Probably a new one, younger by, what, months? 

“Oh,” he fumbled with a small object, hooking it over his ear. “Splint gave me this so I can talk to you,- or so you can talk to me- I mean you can talk just fine, it’s so I can understand-“ 

You held up your hand smiling at his flusteredness. “I have one too,” you pointed at your ear. 

He smiled and huffed a laugh at himself, “Oh right yeah well ok. I have to take you to your quarters,” he looked down at his feet and then up at your bemused face. “Oh I’m sorry I’m CT-6397, you can call me Sprout.” He held his hand out toward the door and you followed him outside. He walked across the trampled grass in the direction of a huge ship with a large cargo hold, now empty. There were not nearly as many troops around but there were still many, busy doing various things and marching in formation. The storm had cleared away, fragments of sunset skies lighting up the grounds and what looked like billowing clouds of smoke in the direction of the booming. 

He was endearingly managing his awkwardness, you thought, “Nice to meet you, Sprout.” His eyes lit up a little at his name. “I don’t know what my name is, though.”

“Well we’ve been calling you ‘Choy.’ If -if you don’t mind.” His brow wrinkled with worry and he looked at you and the ground and the building. 

“We?” You tried catching his eye with a reassuring smile.

“All the guys- in my unit anyway. It’s short for ‘echoy’la’ which means lost or searching in Mando’a.”  He looked up at you again. 

You smiled and said, “I like it, oh could you help me with something.” You pulled the folded note out of your rolled up sleeve cuff and held it up to him. “Can you read this for me?” 

He took the note and you watched his expression as he held it up to the dimming light and read its words. He swallowed and read, “a pretty flower for a pretty girl. Signed, Slick.”  His face darkened a little.  “He saw you in the med bay earlier. His hand was injured during the offloading. He and his squad were supposed to be reassigned to a different battalion, but that was delayed.”  He sounded a little bitter.  You got the distinct impression that he didn’t care for Slick.

Inside the huge cargo bay of the ship you made your way to the far wall and through a sealed doorway. Down a long hall of doors that were all open to largish rooms of rows of bunk beds.

“Choy?” a voice called from a bunk room.  You looked and saw several troopers in various states of undress. Blocking your view one came over to the door with his hand held to his chest, wrapped in a bandage. 

Sprout bristled a little behind you as the soldier you recognized as the one from the med bay walked over. Slick looked over your head and his eyes narrowed the tiniest fraction of an inch, then they softened as he looked back at you, “You're wearing the flower I picked for you,” Slick was now close enough for you to sense all the conflicting emotions you’d felt off of him before.  But he spoke with a calm and gentle voice. 

You reached up to the flower in your hair, “Thank you, it was very sweet of you to think of me.” You scanned his face and tried to get a read on him. 

“I can show Choy to her quarters from here, Sprout,” he said over your head. You turned to look at Sprout, unsure of how you felt about this since Sprout was clearly uncomfortable around him. 

“Sir, I have orders from Lieutenant Splint, I don't want to get in trouble.”  Sprout shifted back and forth on his feet.  

“No problem there, soldier, I'm giving you new ones,” Slick reasoned, “You're dismissed.” His tone left no room for argument.  

You looked at Sprout and said, “Thank you, Sprout, I'll be ok.” Sprout looked at you not quite in the eye and glanced at Slick.  

“Yes sir,” and he turned on his heel and walked back down the hallway. He was worried.

“The word around here is that the General thinks you're like a Jedi.  Are you one of them?” the way he said ‘them’ made your ears prick up and the tendons in the back of your neck stiffen a little.  

You looked away from the now distant figure of Sprout to Slick and leveled him with a steady gaze and said, “I don't even know what a Jedi is really.” This seemed to ease his tension which made our neck relax. (You really needed to figure out how to stop internalizing others’ emotions) 

He tilted his head a little, “But you can talk with the General with your mind.” 

“Well, I can. And I don't understand why, or how.” 

“That must be very confusing, you've had an awfully long day from the sound of it,” He indicated with his hand which way to go, “let's get you to your quarters so you can rest.”  You noticed the bandage on his hand he held out had a stain of bright red on it.  

“Is your hand bleeding again?” you asked him.

He looked at it, “Oh yes, it seems that the injury will require more time to heal.  We march out tomorrow to join the slaughter at the front lines and it will need to be better before then.”

You really didn't feel the same single minded valor off of him as the other clones.  And you wondered about his injury. “How did you hurt it?”

“It was a piece of equipment that fell on it.  Purely accidental. Here we are, your quarters, ma’am.” He pressed a button on a panel by a door and it opened to a small single bunk room with a fresher door just to the side.  “You get an officer’s room of course, very private.”

You nodded, “Thank you, Slick, I appreciate your help.  See you tomorrow?”

“I certainly hope so,” he said and took your hand in his good one and kissed the back of it.  You felt your face flush deeply.  Even through your strengthened mental barrier you could feel something like curiosity and calculation. He released your hand and stepped back, giving you a small bow.  “If it's not me, someone will be by in the morning to give you more assistance.” He looked down at your feet, “I think some boots are the next step for you.” He smirked at his lame pun.

You huffed a laugh, “Alright, take care of that hand, good night.”

You stepped into the room and he stalked off.  You were glad he didn't hover at the door and make it weird. What a strange interaction. As soon as you closed the door, set your still damp swimsuit down on the little table and laid down on the bed you were asleep.   

**************

Laying in your cot your memories played themselves out and you finally fell asleep, but had a terrible dream. One of the ones that frequently haunted your sleep. 

Screaming and agony all around you. The friendly, handsome face turning wicked. Something dark covering your head and something heavy clamped around your neck. Your new name being shouted, but you couldn’t see him, couldn’t feel him. You were rising fast in the darkness, awful claws grabbing you and a buzzing. Then deep and arrogant voices talking about you and how they wanted to use you.

Chapter 4

[chandrahairextension]

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Neon Dreams: How to Decorate Your Space with Indie Sleaze Aesthetics 🌙

Hey babe! Ready to transform your space into the ultimate indie sleaze sanctuary? 🖤✨ We’re talking neon lights, vintage posters, and all the grungy vibes that make you feel like you’ve stepped right into a 2000s house party or an underground gig. Whether you’re sprucing up your room or going all out on your entire apartment, I’ve got the tips you need to nail that effortlessly cool, lived-in look that screams indie sleaze. Let’s dive in and get your space looking as iconic as you are! 🎸

1. Neon Lights: The Glow-Up Your Space Needs

First things first, neon lights are an absolute must. They’re the ultimate statement piece that instantly gives your room that edgy, retro vibe. Think neon pinks, electric blues, and bright purples that make your space feel like a moody club or a cool dive bar.

How to Use Them: String them up along your walls, frame your bed, or create a focal point above your desk. For a more dramatic effect, mix and match colors to create a neon oasis that feels both chaotic and cozy.

Pro Tip: If you want to keep things extra nostalgic, opt for neon signs with phrases or symbols that capture the essence of indie sleaze—like a heart, lightning bolt, or a cheeky “open late” sign.

2. Vintage Posters: A Time Machine for Your Walls

Nothing says indie sleaze like a wall covered in vintage band posters and old-school art prints. These are the perfect way to pay homage to the era and showcase your music taste.

How to Style Them: Go for a collage look by mixing different sizes, colors, and textures. Layer posters of your favorite 2000s bands, grungy movie posters, and abstract art prints to create a visually chaotic but totally intentional wall display.

Where to Find Them: Hit up thrift stores, online vintage shops, or even print out high-res images and DIY your own posters. The more eclectic, the better!

3. Grungy Décor: Embrace the Messy, Lived-In Look

Indie sleaze is all about that perfectly imperfect vibe, so don’t be afraid to let your space feel a little messy and lived-in. Think worn-out furniture, scattered records, and cozy textiles that feel like they’ve been collected over time.

Furniture: Look for distressed leather chairs, velvet couches, and vintage coffee tables. Mix and match different styles and eras to create a space that feels authentically yours.

Accessories: Throw in some mismatched pillows, cozy blankets, and a record player with your favorite vinyls stacked nearby. The goal is to make your space feel like a creative haven where anything goes.

4. DIY Elements: Add Your Personal Touch

One of the coolest things about indie sleaze is how DIY it feels. Get crafty and add some personal touches to your space with DIY décor that reflects your style.

Ideas: Try painting an old mirror with neon accents, creating your own art with spray paint and stencils, or even making a wall hanging from thrifted fabrics. The possibilities are endless, and it’s all about making your space feel like an extension of your personality.

Pro Tip: Use washi tape to create geometric designs on your walls, or to frame your posters for an extra pop of color. It’s easy, affordable, and totally customizable!

5. Lighting: Set the Mood with Layers

Lighting is everything when it comes to capturing that indie sleaze vibe. Beyond neon lights, you’ll want to layer different types of lighting to create a moody, intimate atmosphere.

Ideas: String lights, lava lamps, and old-school lampshades are perfect for adding that grungy glow to your space. Drape string lights around your bed or hang them above your window for that dreamy, low-lit effect.

Pro Tip: Mix warm and cool tones to create depth and make your space feel cozy yet edgy. The key is to keep things a little dim and mysterious, like the after-hours vibe of a dive bar.

6. Textures & Layers: Cozy Meets Cool

To truly nail the indie sleaze aesthetic, it’s all about layering different textures and materials. Think leather, velvet, faux fur, and distressed wood—all working together to create a space that’s as cozy as it is cool.

How to Style: Layer a faux fur throw over a velvet chair, or toss some leather pillows on a worn-out sofa. Add a shag rug or a vintage Persian carpet to bring everything together. The goal is to create a space that’s inviting but also has that rock-and-roll edge.

Pro Tip: Don’t be afraid to mix and match patterns and textures. Indie sleaze is all about breaking the rules, so go wild with your décor choices!

7. Finishing Touches: The Devil’s in the Details

Finally, it’s all about those little details that bring the whole look together. Think quirky knick-knacks, old cameras, stacks of vinyl records, and ashtrays full of faux cigarette butts for that authentic grunge feel (without the smell, of course).

Ideas: Add some polaroid pictures on the wall, scatter some vintage magazines on the coffee table, or even display your favorite old sneakers as part of the décor. It’s all about making the space feel lived-in and loved.

Pro Tip: Incorporate elements that reflect your hobbies and passions—like a guitar in the corner, a stack of your favorite books, or a shelf full of vinyl records. Make your space a true reflection of who you are.

Final Vibes, Babe: Your Indie Sleaze Haven Awaits

And there you have it, your ultimate guide to transforming your space into an indie sleaze paradise! 🌙 Whether you’re going all out or just adding a few key pieces, the goal is to create a space that feels authentic, cool, and full of personality. So go ahead, get creative, and let your inner indie sleaze queen shine through your décor.

What’s the first thing you’re going to add to your space? Let me know in the comments, and don’t forget to share pics of your indie sleaze-inspired rooms! Happy decorating, babe! ✨

[o-ddel]

Tape Hair Extensions UK – Oddel Guide to Luxurious Hair

Tape hair extensions have revolutionized the world of hairstyling. Known for their seamless blend, lightweight feel, and long-lasting results, these extensions have become a favorite among beauty enthusiasts. If you're in the UK and searching for the perfect tape hair extensions, this guide will introduce you to everything you need to know, including why they’re a game-changer and how to find the best options on the market.

What Are Tape Hair Extensions?

Tape hair extensions uk are pre-taped wefts of hair that are applied to your natural hair using a medical-grade adhesive. They lie flat against the scalp, creating a natural and discreet look. These extensions are versatile, reusable, and perfect for anyone looking for a quick yet professional hair transformation.

Benefits of Tape Hair Extensions

Natural Appearance Tape extensions are virtually undetectable when installed correctly. The thin wefts blend seamlessly with your natural hair, making them a popular choice for a polished look.

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Quick Application The installation process is fast and hassle-free, typically taking less than an hour, making it ideal for those with busy schedules.

Low Maintenance These extensions require minimal upkeep, making them a convenient option for everyday use.

Why Tape Hair Extensions Are Popular in the UK

In the UK, tape hair extensions have gained massive popularity due to their versatility and high-quality results. Whether you’re attending a special event or simply enhancing your daily look, tape extensions offer a reliable solution.

UK salons and online retailers have embraced this trend, offering a wide variety of colors, lengths, and textures to cater to every preference.

How to Choose the Best Tape Hair Extensions in the UK

Hair Quality Opt for 100% Remy human hair extensions, as they offer a natural look, soft texture, and durability. This ensures the hair cuticles are intact and aligned, preventing tangling and promoting a smooth finish.

Length and Volume Choose extensions that complement your desired length and volume. Popular lengths in the UK range from 16 inches for a natural look to 24 inches for a dramatic effect.

Color Matching Ensure the extensions match your natural hair color for a seamless blend. Many UK retailers offer color-matching services to help you find the perfect shade.

Adhesive Quality Look for tape extensions with strong, medical-grade adhesive to ensure a secure and long-lasting bond.

Trusted Retailers Purchase from reputable UK-based retailers or salons with positive customer reviews. Popular options include both in-store and online platforms specializing in premium hair extensions.

Top Places to Buy Tape Hair Extensions in the UK

Online Retailers Oddel: Known for high-quality Remy tape hair extensions, Oddel offers a variety of lengths, textures, and colors at competitive prices. Oddel Offers an extensive range of tape extensions with fast UK-wide delivery.

Salons Many professional salons across the UK specialize in tape hair extensions. A stylist can provide personalized recommendations and ensure a flawless application.

How to Apply Tape Hair Extensions

Prepare Your Hair: Wash and dry your hair thoroughly to remove any oils or residues that might affect the adhesive. Section Your Hair: Divide your hair into small sections for easier application. Apply the Extensions: Peel off the adhesive backing and place the tape extension close to the scalp. Secure it by sandwiching a section of natural hair between two tape wefts. Press and Secure: Use gentle pressure to ensure the tapes stick firmly. Style as Desired: Once all extensions are applied, style your hair to blend the extensions seamlessly.

How to Care for Tape Hair Extensions

Proper maintenance will extend the lifespan of your tape hair extensions. Follow these tips:

Washing Use sulfate-free shampoos and conditioners to protect the adhesive and hair quality. Wash your hair gently, avoiding excessive scrubbing near the tapes.

Styling Minimize heat styling to prevent damage. If necessary, use a heat protectant spray. Avoid applying products like oils or serums directly to the adhesive area.

Brushing Use a wide-tooth comb or an extension-friendly brush. Start detangling from the ends and work your way up.

Re-Taping After 6–8 weeks, the extensions may need to be re-taped due to hair growth. Many salons in the UK offer affordable re-taping services.

Tape hair extensions uk are the perfect choice for anyone looking to achieve a natural, voluminous, and stylish look with minimal effort. Their versatility, durability, and lightweight feel make them a popular option in the UK.

Oddel stands out as a trusted provider of premium tape hair extensions, offering a wide variety of options to suit every style and need. Whether you’re new to extensions or a seasoned user, tape extensions are a worthwhile investment for your beauty routine.

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Cybersex (Teaser)

★‧₊˚ 💋⋅ hobie brown x camgirl!reader

rating. m

word count. n/a

synopsis. hobie decides he needs a change in his career. that's where you come in, a camgirl he plans to make a sextape with.

🍓・．❕warnings. mentions of cocaine usage, mentions of making a sex tape, more to (cum)e

Hobie really fucked up according to his manager. If you asked him, he did nothing wrong. It was perfectly normal for a rockstar to be doing coke in the bathroom of a venue in his opinion but for some reason it had caused a lot of controversy. It’s not like he was addicted or anything, that time being only the second time he’s ever done it but his manager put out a statement that he would be taking a break from his tour in order to attend rehab. Which he did and it sucked. He was in for 2 months, “working on himself” supposedly.

“Why’d ya do it?” His manager asked him as they sat side by side in the back of his car, his driver taking him home from rehab after 2 of the longest months of his life. “I mean– you have all anyone could ever want. So why?”

It was such a stupid question that deserved the half-assed answer Hobie gave. He just shrugged and grunted. Why did he do it? To escape this fad of a life. This was never what he wanted, all of this. This expensive car, a designated driver, a manager. This was never what he fucking wanted. Somehow, in his pursuit for success, he lost everything that made him who he was, lost his initial values. He was nothing but a poser now.

He was done being a poser. He’d get back to his original self somehow, some way.

So the moment they got back to his boat, Hobie fired his manager as well as his chauffeur. “Take the car wit’cha.” It was the best decision he could have made for himself, for his dwindling career. He had to get back to his roots, just him making music on his boat with his guitar and his mates.

He needed something to reignite his career, to appeal to the crowd who once supported him for being a voice against authority and establishment. The coke incident had riled people up, weeded out the posers from the real deal. He needed something more.

That’s where you came in.

“So you need my help to get your career back on track…how exactly? By having sex with me?” You sat across from Hobie inside a bar you two agreed to meet at. You were a pretty girl, gorgeous actually, with make up that told him “I put in effort, just not for this” and a pretty, delicate, white dress, black shawl, platform, leather boots, and a long rosary around your neck, though something told him you weren’t catholic. It could be the extensive history of porn you have online.

You were a camgirl. And he was a fan. Turns out, you were a fan of his too.

Hobie bought you a drink and a couple shots for you to share. You teased a cherry between your faded glossed lips and used your tongue to tie the stem into a knot. He liked you, liked you a lot. You were perfect for the job.

“By leakin’ mw own sex tape.” Hobie corrected you. “‘M jus’ tryna stir the pot. Drum up some interest, y’know?” You of all people would know better than the rest. Your entire career was built on this. You were a master at it. He was right to come to you.

“Bu’, Ion wan ya to think ya haf’ to. The offer’s on the table.”

“I know I don’ have to do anything.” He liked your attitude, the twang of your accent in your pretty voice. He understood why you had so many fans, you were borderline perfect, pretty lips, pretty eyes. He’s watched some of your videos, with partners and alone, you’re so captivating. He was an instant fan. “I just want to make sure I understand before I agree to anything.”

You leaned in with your chin resting upon your hand with your elbow on the splintering wood of the bar counter. “I’ll do it, just ‘cause I think you’re pretty.” You stood up, even while sitting down, his abnormally tall body towered over your. “I’ve got rules though, strict rules, not even a pretty boy like you can pass them.” Your hands were on his thighs as you looked up at him. He could kiss you now if he wanted to, but he waited to hear these rules of yours.

“You have to use a condom.”

“Done, already got one.” Hobie assured you. He always carried one with him just in case.

You chuckled a bit, “Good for you. We also have to do it at a hotel, you pay. I don’t wanna be at your place and I don’t want you at mine.” Hobie also liked how serious you were, how you didn’t play about your business. He appreciated it, found it a little hot too. How in the world was he supposed to keep his hands off of you until then? “FIne by me.”

“FInally, no catching feelings.”

Hobie began to laugh, a snarky grin growing across his full, pierced lips. “Confident, are ya? You don’ haf’ta worry about nothin’ like tha’, luv. I’m just attracted to you.” He reached out and pushed some of your hair back behind your ear. He leaned in close, his breath fanning your lips until he touched his lips with yours and kissed you softly. You didn’t kiss him back.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, Brown but I’m not with it. Text me the details when you get them.” You pulled away from him with a scoff and tapped his cheek softly with your hand before grabbing a shot, tossing it back down your throat before walking off to take your leave.

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