#also the site was refusing to load which is why i had to stop

[ambersky0319]

Accidentally stayed up much later than anticipated bc I decided to browse potential classes/create an idea for a schedule next semester

There's something pretty fun about looking through classes and thinking about which ones I wanna take

It's only after the term starts that I begin regretting my choices

[ctrl-alt-vibeshift]

in defense of the brat album art

my feed stopped when charli xcx dropped the album art for her upcoming sixth studio album "brat" a few weeks ago. like many angels, i was confused at first, as the image staggered out of the code on her merch site unannounced through a vinyl preorder link that originally had no image to go with it (and yes i ordered one before seeing any visuals...). even after she tweeted it, and the creative team posted about their contributions to it, questions were left unanswered. was it real? was it just a placeholder? was it an alternative cover for the brat_360 exclusive vinyl? this is not the album cover right? one angel dared ask our god in her twitter replies.

even before i got official confirmation that this was indeed the official cover, which i think came from charli's interview with vogue after the release of lead single von dutch, i was obsessed. the green: neon, but not tacky like the overdone highlighter trend already claimed by k-pop boy group nct, rather a muted, dull lime, catching your eye but not blinding you. the font: a simple sans serif, slightly condensed and elongated, nothing over-the-top or borderline illegible like the custom fonts artists usually commission. and the blur, the pixelization, the resolution, the quality (or lack thereof)—this is what really does it for me.

they're barely there, the rough, blurred edges of each letter, but once you see them you can't unsee them. the design evokes the feeling of waiting for an image to load in full quality on instagram, a youtube video playing in less than 1080p while buffering, a hi-res photo downloading from the cloud, a show or movie lagging its way into clarity on streaming services. or as oomf (@_alienmelissa) using a fan edit of von dutch lyrics put it:

(trans: lyric videos around 2008 all had fonts and backgrounds like this..........)

while thinking about the many implications of the low quality text on the cover, i read the essay "in defense of the poor image" written by hito steyerl in e-flux journal back in 2009, which perfectly put into words what i had been ruminating on:

[The poor image] mocks the promises of digital technology. Not only is it often degraded to the point of being just a hurried blur, one even doubts whether it could be called an image at all. Only digital technology could produce such a dilapidated image in the first place.

"one even doubts whether it could be called an image album cover at all," as many have due to the "poorness" of the brat art. better yet, steyerl goes on to proclaim "resolution was fetishized as if its lack amounted to castration of the author," also predicting the mass ridicule of charli for choosing and releasing such a "hurried blur" of an album art design.

regardless of what you compare it to, the low-res, early internet digital aesthetic it speaks to is something i haven't seen spoken much about. many twitter gays are up in arms about the lack of an image of charli on it, breaking her faceful cover streak (although she does hide it a bit on pop 2), and not giving them a new image to set their profile pictures to. charli has acknowledged this in the vogue interview: “I mean, as a female pop artist, what’s more bratty than not being on your album cover? Especially when there is so much pressure for women within the pop sphere to do exactly that," as well as in a tweet posted right before i started writing this:

which grimes replied to while i was writing this:

grimes scratches at what i'm getting at, but is more focused on the shock value that comes with its loud simplicity. this sentiment of breaking the feed, cutting through the visual muck and endless faces with a bold monotone color and by refusing to show face, is something i also admire. yet i think why i feel so passionately about the aesthetic value of this cover is that it offers me a respite from the overflow of high-res images mediated through the internet and onto my phone screen.

i'm so sick of the flood of iphone/digital photography, its quality increasing with each new device release. these images try too hard to replicate what they're representing, and create a false reality that many (myself included) get trapped in. we've sunken into the uncanny valley, and it's about time we claw ourselves out. i don't want to experience the physical through the digital anymore. i'd rather see all your pores when you're inches from my face than through the insane number of pixels resting in my palm. i want the images on the internet to be so obviously contained within it that there's no mistaking them for something material. i think this is why i'm such a fan of camcorder style photography and videos: like the chunky pixels surrounding "brat," they whisper i'm not real, i'm flawed technology, i will never replace the resolution of your retinas.

lucky for me, brat isn't the first artwork to do so, as there seems to be a shift back towards the materiality of the offline and the rougher edges of early internet interfaces within the broader art and design world as well. kat kitay describes this as "technoromanticism" in her essay "what's after post-internet art?" for spike magazine:

Exposed circuitry departs from the post-internet gloss typified by DIS Magazine, which shined up or hid away the ugly parts of technology. Hardware is made visible, laying bare the flow of power and information, at the same time transfiguring electronics into sacred objects. 

replace DIS magazine with PC music (its audio equivalent imo) and you'll get an analogy more relevant to charli's own aesthetic journey here. the super slick black lamborghini on the cover of the vroom vroom ep has driven off, her impossibly iridescent skin on the cover of pop 2 has shed its shine, and the skyscraper she's perched on for the cover of xcx world (RIP) has long been toppled, leaving nicki minaj's gag city in its ashes. the brat cover is the antithesis to these eras.

while ecco2k croons all i wanna see is 1080p / but reality keep me on 240 on "hold me down like gravity," maybe it's time to embody the "240" of reality again. with charli teasing this record as her clubbiest to date, tapping back into her party girl roots attending uk raves in her tweens, brat offers us a chance, both visually and sonically, to embrace the blur, the sweat, the adrenaline, the tears, and of course, the poppers fumes, of a low-res life.

[127-mile]

DANS LES CATACOMBES | IN THE CATACOMBS. the sign above the door was written in french. it read: ARRÊTE! C’EST ICI L’EMPIRE DE LA MORT. - paul aertker, brainwashed.

PAIRING: Hanse x gender neutral reader.

GENRE: Established relationship, horror, angst.

WARNINGS: Mention of bones, drugs and alcohol, non-explicit mention of cults, blood and human sacrifices, mention of deaths, of the use of a ouija board and voices.

PLOT: You thought a walk in the catacombs would be a nice date, but how wrong you were.

WORD COUNT: 1.5k.

A/N: This is part of the Legends never die, the untold stories collab hosted by @nayuyeons. The tags are a lot scarier than the fic.

“At the end of the 18th century, major health problems linked to the city’s cemeteries led to the decision to transfer their contents underground. The Parisian authorities chose an easily accessible site, then located outside the capital: the old quarries de la Tombe-Issoire, under the plain of Montrouge. The first evacuations took place from 1785 to 1787 and affected the most important cemetery in Paris, the Saints-Innocents.”

“The bones, previously left loose, are carefully organized in the walls, on the model of quarrymen’s hagues. On the front, the rows of shins alternate with those of skulls, while behind the facings pile up the remaining bones, often very fragmented by the consequences of their fall.”

“There are 6 million skeletons stored in the catacombs ossuary, which is about 3 times more than Parisians! The Municipal Ossuary of the Catacombs is one of the largest ossuaries in the world.” (i translated these parts from the catacombs website back from my doyoung catacombs fic, i just used them again)

You barely hear the guide's voice, far too busy trying to ignore Hanse's lips on the back of your neck, his hot breath against your skin, and his hands gripping your waist. Several times you have tried to push him away, but the lack of movement does nothing other than to prompt him to stay glued to your back.

"That's not what we're here for." you whisper as you step on his foot hard enough to make him wince.

"I'm bored, I already know everything he's telling us." he responds by letting his arms fall to his sides.

You know, he knows it, you were next to him on the plane when he was reading the catacombs website. But it is an obligatory passage before the special visit begins.

Because yes, it is not a visit like the others.

Normally, the Paris Catacombs tour happens during the day, when the sun is high in the sky, and only the accessible and secure parts are visited, but today is a special day.

The tour takes place at night, and what will be visited will be the caves where strange events are said to have happened.

"Do you think the rumors are true?" he asks in a low voice, he refuses to be heard by the guide, he prefers you answering him, rather than hearing the boring and slow voice of the man who has been doing this for far too long.

"Some people were traumatized by the caves, but they were also drunk and on drugs, so I don't know how much we can believe the rumors."

And the events happened more than fifteen years ago, so water has flowed under the bridges, and who knows if the rumors haven't changed over time.

He nods, and finally the guide starts moving so you take his hand in yours and you follow the group.

"Are we allowed to use professional equipment?" someone asks, and you hear the guide chuckle.

"I do not advise you to do it, the caves are very unstable, we do not want interference, or too strong waves to cause the caves to collapse on us. That would be sad, especially because you signed a waiver that   forbid you from suing us."

Always read the waiver before signing it, you think, looking around. The man stops in a first cave, and he clears his throat. You have the impression that a mere burst of voice could bring the place down. Everything echoes, even your breathing.

“Apparently in the 1980s a cult found a way to get to the catacombs to perform sacrifices. You would like me to tell you that these were animal sacrifices, but no. Authorities found remains of humans that have been drained of their blood right in the middle of this cave."

Looking over the shoulder of the person in front of you, you notice a dark stain on the floor, but it's not strong enough evidence to prove that it happened. It could be a wet stain, or some idiot spilling something on the ground years ago without the guide seeing it.

"Do you have something that has been proven? Because we are wasting our time."

Your eyes widen when you hear Hanse's voice. He really isn't the most patient person when it comes to a guided tour. You suddenly remember when you went through the most haunted museum in the United States, he practically pushed the guide aside to make the tour himself.

You don't blame him, you don't even get mad, it actually makes your heart beat a little faster.

"If you wanted to get to the good stuff immediately you should have entered illegally." the guide responds by continuing the tour.

About twenty minutes pass, the guide tells more stories as strange and impossible as the other. Hanse is getting more and more annoyed, you can feel it by the way he squeezes your hand every time he enters a new part of the catacombs.

"There are loads of haunted places in Paris, why did you choose the catacombs?" he mumbles, and you shrug your shoulders.

"Maybe because you've always wanted to visit them?"

"And here we are in the last cave. This one is dedicated to our impatient young man in the back of the line."

If Hanse had less restraint, he would certainly be insulting the guide, but instead he steps further into the cave. "Come on, surprise us with another made-up story."

"This one is not made up." he says in a firm voice, and Hanse throws his head back laughing. His laugh hits against the walls, and the echo makes you shiver in an unpleasant way.

"So you admit that the others are made up? What are you willing to do to make money." he answers, and you wonder if the guide will hit him when he clenches his fists.

"You gave me your money to hear these stories, so shut up and let the others enjoy."

"Come on baby, let him do his job." you whisper as you take his arm, your head resting against his shoulder.

“In the early 2000s, a bunch of teens decided to enter the catacombs illegally, and they got lost. Unfortunately, when they were found they were already dead. Since then, the people wandering too far away in the catacombs, or people who come to renovate say they hear voices."

Everyone is silent, even Hanse, which is strange.

"A video was found, a video that was never allowed to be shown to the public in an attempt to trace the identities of these people, but the police were allowed to watch it, and informations were leaked."

"In this video you can see the teens running, presumably being chased by someone. Or rather, by something."

Whether this story is true, or made up, your eyes widen, it's crazy.

"Some people can still hear the teens calling for help, screaming and crying because of the thing chasing them."

There is silence in the cave, and you look around, frowning. You don't know if it's because of the story, or some trick played by your mind, but it feels like you are hearing a claw all around you. As if someone was scratching one of the walls.

"Do you hear that?" you ask near Hanse's ear who nods his head.

“People, so called paranormal professionals came with a ouija board. And by wanting to talk to the teenagers, they called something more powerful, something even worse than what caused the teens' deaths."

Your blood freezes when you hear a sudden cry. The scream is so loud, and so close to your ear that you are sure if you turn around you will see someone behind you screaming their lungs out, but there is no one there. You do not feel any presence behind you, and even Hanse who is looking around, does not react.

"What was that?" you ask, panicked.

"One of the teenagers. They want to get out. They are tired of being locked up in the catacombs. And I understand them. It's hard to always be here, to have to listen to the cries of the grieving souls without being able to go out."

A new scream is heard, and this time, you have no choice but to put your hands against your ears to muffle the noise that could make you cry because of how loud and so full of pain it is.

"Stop it, make it stop, please!" someone exclaims.

If you are paralyzed, Hanse seems unable to stay still, he is ready to pounce on the guide who is scaring everyone. Who is scaring you, you, whose heart hasn't even raced in the most haunted places you've visited in the past three years.

"It's okay, we got it, you know how to tell stories, and you know how to scare us, now bring us back to the surface!" he growls, and the other tourists seem to agree with him.

Except that..

Except that when you turn in the direction of the guide, he is gone.

[anika-ann]

Conundrum (A.B.)

Type: One-shot, challenge fic

Pairing: Andy Barber x fem!reader    Word Count: 7700 (:

Summary: conundrum - a confusing and difficult problem or question

Andy Barber is a difficult man whom you have yet to understand. He certainly doesn’t make it any easier; and right before Christmas, he manages to surprise you again.

Prompt: You have to look for a gift impromptu

Warnings: a smidge of angst, a drop of awkward humour, mention of death (mild AU - both Laurie and Jacob!), alcohol consumption, feels, explicit language, reader gets called a dumbass... that’s it I hope, lemme know

A/N:  This is my submission for the Happy Hoelidays challenge. There’s no hoeing tho, shame on me. Also, if you want some music to go with this, know that I listened to ‘God I Hope This Year Is Better Than the Last’ by SYML an obscene amount of times.

Andy Barber was an enigma.

Reporters liked to think he wasn’t; almost a year ago, they tore down all the walls he had built up to protect the privacy of his family and they shed light into startingly intimate details of his life – and where they couldn’t shed light, they used their imagination and sold it with a claim of having a reliable source. Naturally, it worked; there were always people willing to believe it just so they obtained more of juicy gossip material.

There were wanabe psychologists who would address his trauma and tried to analyse his personality, the consequences he would suffer in the aftermath of the tragedy, who attempted to strip down his soul just to get a few more reads and generally talked about him as if they were best friends, as if they knew him.

It was all a load of bullshit.

The truth, you thought, was that no one knew him. If you were being honest, you weren’t sure if even his wife ever had, truly – but that was you under the influence of the little information you bothered to gather from the influx of crap that the media provided the public with.

What you believed was that the reporters and all the self-proclaimed experts on him knew nada.

Andrew Barber was and always would remain an enigma; to the public, to the little what remained of his family after the death of his wife and son, to his co-workers – the category which included you. If you could even call yourself a co-worker; you were simply a secretary. Granted, one whose previous employer let her peek over their shoulder quite a bit so you learned a thing or two about law, but Andy Barber was the lawyer. The former DA from Boston, who moved over to rule the DA office of Portland, your home.

Even after having been working with him for nine full months, Andy’s thoughts and feelings didn’t get any easier for you to read or predict. When he wanted to let you know he was disappointed, he did. When he was truly angry with someone, well, he wouldn’t let it go unnoticed either.

Other than that, however, you would have had better luck trying to decode the actual enigma-encrypted messages sent during World War II.

Small talk didn’t last longer than three sentences from you each. Work-related affaires were discussed in his office with politeness and with calm, rather dispassionate mannerism. If you caught a hint of a smile when an important case that helped people went his way (or the office’s way really), you considered it a miracle that sent your heart reeling.

He would sometimes smile only for you if you brought him a coffee without him asking first, simply because he looked like he needed one; at those times, he would thank you softly and let slip in your first name instead of referring to you with your last. Those were your favourite moments.

Well, almost.

You found him with a tumbler and an expensive whiskey on occasion when you were leaving the office late; you never commented on it, but there were four times he actually silently invited you to have a glass with him. You refused the first time and accepted the other three.

Those nights, you got a glimpse of the mystery of a man hidden behind surprisingly soft mannerism, one which was in such a sharp contrast to his shark-like demeanour he displayed in front of the judge and the jury. His scars ran deep, his hopes had been shattered, his life in the past year as bitter as the overpriced liquor. Your heart cracked for him to the point of nearly breaking altogether.

And yet, it was beating for him too; behind all that hurt, you couldn’t but notice certain gentleness. Yes, he could be scary, downright terrifying and when his temper got the best of him, the true rage on display, he was a force to be reckoned with. But oh, that gentleness. The kind shattered soul he hid so well every morning, more so on the days right after your little heart-to-hearts. Trying to build a working relationship with him – a friendship of a sort, anything you wanted to call it – was a game of push and pull and more of a string of guesses than an effort that would bore fruit.

You might have already given up on that and instead, with the ferocity you hadn’t known you possessed, you kept punching the crush you had on him; that silly thing that would always call louder and louder after he revealed a piece of him on one of the precious nights, only to shut you out completely the next morning.

Andy Barber had never even remotely showed a romantic interest in you and by God, did you not blame him for not being interested in anyone at all as far you knew. While you considered yourself a fairly capable worker and half-decent person, you were aware you could never measure up to him. Just another reason to push down the feelings you had for him, ones that seemed to bloom with more intensity whenever he raised the corners of his damn lips, when he asked a question about you during those stupid nights as if he cared— nonsense. You had to get rid of those. He didn’t even like you, barely acknowledged you in the end. Or did he? You honestly didn’t know.

Bottom line was that if you couldn’t get close enough, then the reporters knew jack shit, no matter how much reading on him they had done or how many books on psychology, criminology and law and shit they went through. Many people knew Andrew Barber’s name, but no one could hope to know him.

And yet, those assholes still called and asked about him.

It was the fourth one that day; December 23rd, over a year from the accusation of Jacob Barber, and those fucking vultures still called Andy Barber’s office. They weren’t even good newspapers and news sites anymore; obviously, because every rational decent person would have let the poor man rest. But nope. Not them.

“Portland’s DA office, secretary of Mr. Barber speaking. How may I help you?”

“Oh, wonderful! Is there any chance I could talk to Mr. Barber personally?” the chipper of a man asked on the other end of the line and just by not giving his name, he raised suspicion; was it forgetfulness caused by his distress or intention?

Fortunately for him and unfortunately for you, you had to be polite. Hot-shot lawyers and other important people rarely returned the courtesy, but that was the world you lived in.

“There might be, Mr-?”

“Oh, Connor. Peter Connor.”

“Well, Mr. Connor, what is your legal issue?” you asked patiently, writing down his name automatically.

“Well, you see, I would rather talk with Mr. Barber about—my delicate situation, in private.”

Your eyes narrowed as you stopped scribbling and spared a brief glance towards the door to Andy’s office. It was opened ajar in what could be an invitation, but all blinds on both the door and the windows were down in typical fashion.

Talk in private?

Yeah, not gonna happen. You knew a few tricks that these assholes calling the office tended to pull and whoever this man was, you were growing more suspicious by the minute that he was not seeking legal advice.

You went back to your notes and wrote down the word liar right next to his name and a question mark. Was he a liar? One way to find out you guessed; you caught your phone between your ear and your shoulder, opening a new tab in your browser to google the name along with a wild guess of him being a reporter.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Connor, I’m afraid I will need more information before I put you through. And I will probably need to make you an appointment, my boss is a very busy man-“

“Oh, is he? Lots of cases in Andrew Barber’s new district, huh?”

The blood in your veins was set aflame even before the search was done, because in an instant, you knew for sure.

And then you had it confirmed by the results.

This jerk had even given you his real name, utterly shameless. Sure, he could have only had the same name as the journalist you found, but what were the chances? Two days after you told his colleague – who had made it through your vetting, got an appointment and even got past the reception desk before you spotted him for what he was – to get lost and not try again?

Your pulse skyrocketed along with your blood pressure. Technically, you didn’t owe Andrew Barber anything, but he was respectful enough, didn’t make much trouble and for most time, was an okay boss to you.

You owed him this much: he was a decent guy. Why couldn’t other people show a shed of basic human decency too and leave him the fuck alone?

“That depends, Mr. Connor,” you purred, barely holding the outrage locked inside. You felt both energized by your anger and achingly tired and done with humanity. You rested your elbows on the desk and leaned onto it with a sigh, massaging the bridge of your nose, eyes closed. “Is he going to have to sue your rag of a newspaper or will you and your colleagues finally get the memo and leave. His. Personal. Life. Alone?!”

You most definitely strained the last words through your teeth, but you didn’t care anymore if you were being rude. He was the fourth reporter today ready to ask about Andy’s personal matters. The FOURTH!! He was lucky you didn’t tell him to go fuck himself… explicitly.

“Are you threatening me?” the man demanded, his voice insulted, losing all traced of pretence.

As if you ever. You knew better than that, working with lawyers.

“Nice try, Mr. Connor.  I will thank you to never call this office again unless you have legal issues or a relevant question which you should direct to our PR department anyway. And if you could extend this to all editorial staff, please, preferably to all editorial staff in the United States, that would be splendid. Have a good day. Happy Holidays.”

You slammed the phone down, missing the slot for it, not caring. You were sure he would hang up on his own.

“Asshole,” you muttered under your breath and hid your face in your palms, grunting, fingertips sinking into your hair.

“I hope you don’t mean me,” sounded from the doorway and you yelped, honest to god yelped and straightened in your seat, head snapping up-

-only to meet your boss’ curious gaze. Hurt and anger casted shadows over his beautiful cerulean irises, but there was no mistaking the melancholy and resignation on his face either.

“Of course not!” you blurted out quickly, panic rising in your chest.

How much had he heard? Was he going to fire you for being unprofessional? Did he figure out what was this about— of course he did, there was little room left for doubt. Your choice of words was pretty straightforward.

Andy bounced off of the doorframe he was leaning onto, not easing his stance – his arms remained crossed over his chest and had you not been so alarmed, you would have indulged in the sight of his biceps nearly cutting through the seams of his shirt.

“Why do I get the impression that whoever you were talking to was not the first person to call the office to feed on ‘the misery man’ that Andrew Barber is?” he more stated than asked, his tone unmistakably bitter.

You gulped as he approached your desk, nails digging into your palms. You had no idea what to say. Once again, you couldn’t quite read Andy; you had no idea where this was heading and how you should answer without setting him off, making him sadder or even more bitter. And without getting fired, obviously.

“I—uhm, well, I suppose you heard me, so you know he wasn’t the first—Mr. Barber. I apologize-“ His eyebrows rose a fraction and you didn’t dare to analyse why. “-if I was too loud. But--- humanity sucks.”

The moment the last two words left your mouth, you instantly regretted them, snapping your eyelids close and squeezing. You were sure you were about to have bloody crescents in your palms from your nails at this point.

Did you really just say that? To your boss, no less?

Way to go, me.

“Not wrong there. Why don’t you take your lunch break now?” he offered casually.

You nodded as you felt the tell-tale burn of tears forming in your eyes; fuck, this was humiliating. Why had he had to walk in exactly in that moment? And now using that tone?

He didn’t say anything else and you didn’t dare to look at him. Only when you heard him walk back to his office and close the door behind him, you opened your eyes and released the breath you were holding, your heart hammering in your chest.

Gulping and swallowing your tears before they could escape, you grabbed your purse and your coat, rushing out to the cold air of Portland winter.

✧  ✦  ✧  ✦  ✧  ✦  ✧  ✦  ✧  ✦  ✧  ✦  ✧  ✦  ✧  

Andy didn’t bring up the incident again when you came back. You had a short list of assignments for the upcoming days off which you went over with him before parting ways for the holidays. You mentioned you would probably drop in tomorrow despite not necessarily having to, but wished him Happy Holidays in case you’d miss him during your brief visit.

The corners of his lips twitched at that, but he wished you the same. You supposed his holidays weren’t about to be happy – more like the opposite. Last year, he celebrated with his family, even if it might have been already falling apart. This year however…

Your heart cracked another fraction for the man and you wondered if you should leave some cookies for him in the office tomorrow at least. Then you realized he would probably hate it, either being bitter about feeling like a charity case or hating the reminder of what he had lost, what wasn’t waiting for him at home anymore. Not to mention that maybe even the poinsettia, which you had placed on his office window two days ago and neither of you commented on, was already too much.

The only cookies you baked that night were the ones you knew should stay in a box with apples for over a day, the cookies you were supposed to bring to your sister’s house for Christmas, because your nephew Harry loved them.

With cheesy Christmas songs in the background and a bottle of wine for the party of one, you kneaded the double batch of dough and couldn’t but spare your achingly handsome and likely lonely boss a thought and maybe… maybe a tear or two.

✧  ✦  ✧  ✦  ✧  ✦  ✧  ✦  ✧  ✦  ✧  ✦  ✧  ✦  ✧  

The office was empty when you arrived on 24th at around half past four; everyone left as soon as possible, which was to be expected. Admittedly, despite not knowing what you would talk about with Andy, you found your heart sinking when you didn’t see light peeking through the blinds of your and his offices. You had expected him to be working to avoid being at home; but then again, you knew next to nothing about him. Maybe he was with a girlfriend. With a boyfriend. With former colleagues. With his deceased wife’s family. It was only assumption of yours that he might be lonely on Christmas.

You shook your head at your train of thought as you unlocked your office, mentally going over which files you needed to bring home, trying to eliminate the amount as not to endanger confidential information by taking them away from the safety of the bureau.

You froze in your tracks when you found a rather large piece of paper folded into a roof on your desk. A note, you realized, frowning and slowly walking to the suspicious object.

There were very few people who could enter your space, namely three: the janitor, you and Andy. The first option was unlikely, the second impossible, the third confusing. You didn’t understand why he wouldn’t just shoot you a text if he needed anything.

You halted in your steps, the air knocked out of your lungs when you noticed that the note was not the only new item on your desk.

There was a box.

A box roughly size of your extended palm. And if you weren’t mistaken… it looked like a jewellery gift box.

“What the hell?” you asked yourself breathlessly, your curiosity getting the best of you; more so as you recognized what was most definitely Andy’s handwriting on the paper.

Andrew Barber, your boss, with whom you weren’t sure what your relationship was – if there was any at all – might have got you jewellery.

Say that again?

A tiny voice in your head told you he might have just used the box for something else entirely, but that didn’t seem to be his style.

So you picked up the gift carefully, almost reverently removing the lid, your heart pounding in your chest, stomach twisting with pleasant anticipation; with the familiar rush that kids feel when opening a present with high hopes of what could await them inside.

Your lips parted in pure shock, you mind turning blank.

There were no words in English language to express how… how absolutely magnificent the bracelet inside was.

Five thin circles with symbols made of slender lines inside, looking like charms, but withing the body of the bracelet, one clasped to the next one with delicate ellipses. The metal reflected the fluorescent lights of the office, glimmering softly, appearing almost fluid, a thin stream of water trapped in a box.

You actually had to blink and it took all your willpower not to pinch yourself, because—how-

How had he known? Where had he got it? Holy mother of Jesus, how much had he spent on it?

And why get you a gift in the first place? You were… acquaintances at best. Yes, there were almost friendly moments, and then there were those nights, but this was---this- you couldn’t even---- think, apparently.

Keeping an eye on the opened box, you gently placed it back on the desk, afraid to even touch the metal itself. You blindly reached into your purse in search for your phone to dial the only number that made sense for you to dial at that moment.

It sure as hell wasn’t Andy’s.

Nothing but a dialling tone sounded for half a minute, the time seemingly endless. You fell heavily into your chair, still staring at the absolutely gorgeous and thoughtful gift.

How did he know?!

You fought the urge to roll your eyes as your sister still didn’t answer the phone and your hand automatically reached for your necklace to toy with.

And that was when it hit you.

Your necklace; one you got from your sister during the period of your biggest obsession with the Divergence series. Two arrows in a circle pointing different directions, the symbol for a ‘divergent’ person. Your eyes wandered over the five circles of the bracelet – scales, an eye, hands connected, a flame, a tree –, an incredulous chuckle escaping you.

But--- you didn’t think he would notice. You didn’t even wear it all the time, rather often, yes, and yeah, perhaps you did have a bit of a bad habit of fumbling with it when nervous-

“Hey sis! What’s up?” Amber’s voice sounded cheerily from the microphone. You jumped in your seat, startled by her as she interrupted your musing. “Please tell me you’re still coming, because Harry wouldn’t shut up about his favourite chocolate chip.”

You cleared your throat, barely able to comprehend what she was talking about, too caught up in your head.

“I—hi. Uhm- I need help actually,” you finally stuttered and you could practically feel her frown even over the phone.

“Oh? Is everything okay? You sound… a little strange.”

“That’s-“ not wrong. You scanned the office and listened in for the tinniest noise, making sure you were still alone. “I’m at the office and I--eh, I found a gift for me.”

“Awww, a secret admirer? Nice!” Amber chuckled, then abruptly stopped. “…unless it’s a stalker. You don’t think you have a stalker, right? Is that why you called me, so I could tell George? He’s not on duty-“

This time you did roll your eyes at the mention of her husband who happened to be a police officer.

“No, Amber, I have no stalker as far as I know. I’m pretty sure I can recognize my boss’ handwriting at this point.”

Nothing but silence could be heard from the other end for a good minute. You bit your lip in anticipation of… something.

And then: “You’re shitting me.”

“Not really-“

“Holy mother of-!” your sister squealed loudly and you winced, instinctively withdrawing from the phone. “Your boss got you a Christmas present?! --Wait. Is it a Walmart card? Because if it is, then this call is pointless, because that’s boring as-“

“No, Amber, he—he gave me a bracelet,” you admitted softly, your gaze once again wandering over the said object. Beautiful. Fragile. Yours, apparently. What?

When Amber only responded with silence again, words suddenly spilled from your lips, all the mixed feelings you had about receiving the bracelet released, relief singing in your veins as you vented.

“And-and it’s actually really beautiful and--- it’s thoughtful, because it has all the fractions from Divergence on it? But not like something you buy for ten dollars, only paying for the copyright or whatever and the quality is shitty, no, I mean--- it looks pretty, eh, delicate.”

It did, awfully so, which was why you still couldn’t make yourself to touch it even if you really, really liked it and wanted to do nothing but to wear it for the rest of your damn life.

“And expensive. I-- I think it might be real silver and…” you wavered, almost scared to share your last observation out loud for it seemed impossible for it to be true. “Amber, you know I looked through a lot of Divergence-related goods so I would know. It- it doesn’t look familiar at all, it’s--- I think it might be custom-made.”

You choked on the last word, tasting so strange on your tongue as you couldn’t quite believe that you were saying it. You felt--- incredulous to put it simply… and touched and- absolutely bewildered.

Silence stretched in the follow-up to your rambling and you felt your brows drawing together.

“…Amber? You there?”

“Oh yeah, I’m here,” she assured you swiftly, mischief curling around the tone of her voice like a smirk on her lips you couldn’t see. “Just wondering how could you not tell me you started sleeping with him-“

“What?! No!” you protested instantly, straightening in the chair. “I’m not—I’m not his sugar baby or whatever! This is not a ‘thank you for letting me fuck you raw’ gift-“

“Not that you would complain from what I heard and saw-“ she hummed playfully.

She was right. But shush!

“Screw you!”

“George does, that’s why we have Harry in the first place,” she sassed you. “But… sis? What kind of a gift it is then?”

And wasn’t that the question.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Well, you should, because from what you told me, you guys aren’t even friends. Nota bene, this isn’t exactly a gift you give to a friend,” she pointed out, addressing one of the million issues concerning the damn (gorgeous) bracelet.

“I-- I guess?” You were sure, in fact. This was something to give to a… well, to a lover, to a partner. “But- Amber, he doesn’t--- that’s not-“

“What did the note say?”

“Huh?”

“You said you recognized his handwriting,” she reminded you slowly as if speaking to a five-year-old. “What does the note say?”

You glanced at the note again noncommittally, remembering exactly what it said. Pretty much nothing. Definitely nothing to go on.

“Uhm… Thank you. Happy Holidays.”

There was a beat of silence, again. “That’s it?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Eloquent.” You rolled your eyes at her sarcastic tone. She should see him at court. True though, on personal level, he wasn’t exactly chatty. Unless he opened up a bit over a glass of whiskey--- anyway, she had a point, obviously. “What are you gonna do?”

That snapped you from your musing like a shot of life into your bloodstream.

“That’s why I’m calling! I should-- I should get him something too, right?” Right?! Absolutely. “Oh god, I hate last-minute shopping. And I don’t even have a fucking clue what to buy! Well, a good whiskey is always a safe bet I guess, but supporting his drinking habits doesn’t sound like a good idea. Plus, it’s kinda… impersonal with comparison to what he gave me.”

Though if there was one thing you learned about Andy Barber, it was that he could appreciate the high-quality liquor, so perhaps it wouldn’t have been as impersonal as one might think.

“Well, I don’t know him so I can’t really help, but what you got from him should definitely give you a clue.”

“A clue?” you parroted, confused.

“I don’t mean like a clue for what you should buy him. But… look, even if you didn’t suspect that it’s custom-made, which whoa, he has to pay a lot of attention to buy you something like this. Much more attention than you thought.”

“…okay?”

“He likes you, you dumbass! It doesn’t matter what you get him, he’ll be happy you got him anything in the first place!”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” you deadpanned, unsure which statement you were referring to. That he liked you or that you shouldn’t take care to choose something that would really bring him at least a little joy.

You tried your best to ignore how your heart skipped the beat at the former.

“Whatever. Harry’s throwing a hungry eye on me, I gotta go fix him a snack unless I want him to eat all the candy again. Good luck!”

“Amber!“ you called out in honest despair, panic rising in your chest, only to get no answer.

You pulled the phone from your ear to look at the screen, already knowing what awaited you.

Disconnected.

Fuck.

It seemed you were on your own. Wasn’t that wonderful?

You shot your sister a simple ‘I hate you’ text, the gears in your head already turning frantically in order to figure out what you could get Andy.  

Amber replied with a set of laughing emojis within seconds. Bitch, leaving you alone to deal with a situation like this! What a sister she was.

You sighed, admiring the delicate lines of the bracelet again, torn between indulgence and guilt. There was no questioning whether you should buy Andy something too.

Say yay for the last-minute shopping for a man out of your league and whom you had no idea what you should get.

You were utterly at loss, growing anxious not only about the difficult choice of a gift, but also about possible delivery, wondering what should you even tell him and when.

Maybe though…. just maybe, you were getting kinda excited about what you were about to do too.

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Three hours.

You spent almost three hours at the mall where you could barely breathe because of the crazy crowds and yet you were none the wiser; your excitement left you quickly, once again replaced by despair. It took you three hours and passing the lingerie shop four times, a shop with pieces on display that barely covered anything, intended for either bedroom games or a swimming pool, before it finally hit you.

You cursed under your breath, calling yourself an idiot in murmur loud enough to have few people around you look at you in surprise.

“Dumbass, I’m such a dumbass,” you continued your monologue as you fished out your phone, quickly scrolling through your contacts.

To say that the person on the other end was shocked to hear from you at this time of month and hour was an understatement.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Lee. I have… eh, a favour to ask…”

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You were being ridiculous.

Absolutely and utterly ridiculous as you stood on a modest porch in front of a small family house, the roof hiding you from the intrusive drizzle but not keeping you quite safe from the wind as you clutched your handbag to your side as if it was your lifeline, cursing yourself for not wearing a scarf in December.

Your nose was practically freezing, your cheeks burned from the wind and your hands were cold too, because you were stupidly underdressed; as if you haven’t lived in Portland your whole life.

But that wasn’t the main issue; an Uber dropped you off about five minutes ago and still, here you were, standing outside and trying to convince yourself to ring the bell.

The plan had been to finish packing a bag and leave around 10 p.m. to your sister’s house, where you would spend the night so you could be with her family on Christmas Day from the very beginning. But then Andrew fucking Barber, your fabulous boss, left a gift in your office, a breath-taking bracelet now sitting low on your right wrist, and it all went to hell.

Maybe you could still make it to your sister’s house – it was shortly after nine, your bag waiting on your bed, so maybe you should just call another Uber and be on your way. Maybe you could leave the silly envelope in the post-box just so you wouldn’t have to deal with Andy’s reaction; after all, he had chosen the same approach; cookies be damned, there would be more left for Harry then-

But you really, really wanted to thank him. And you might be shitting your pants, but the prospect of seeing him in a domestic environment, possibly more relaxed, perhaps nearing the man you had had the honour to see on those nights… you couldn’t make yourself to pass on that opportunity.

At the same time, you kept reminding yourself that Andy did not expect to see you tonight, he might not even be home – you were pretty sure a dim light was coming from the living room, the TV on probably, but yeah, you could keep lying to yourself – and that he might be grieving and genuinely might hate you for invading his privacy since you had to search his home address in the official documents.

Yeah, you definitely should just spin on your heels and-

“Oh for God’s sake,” you muttered under your breath and pressed the doorbell, your heart suddenly hammering in your ribcage as you realized there were no takebacks now. “Shit.”

Maybe you should just run. What if he had fallen asleep already and you just woke him up?! Oh, he was so going to be pissed and he might even show that emotion, screaming you down like he did one with that intern-

A scruffle on the other side of the door snapped you from your hopeless expectations and you sucked in a horrified breath.

And then the door slid open before you could react and you were certain you looked like a deer caught in the headlights, a semi-frozen deer to make the situation worse and--- there he was.

You quickly dropped your gaze, only then realizing how rude that was and that you should meet his eye no matter how much you did and did not want to do so at the same time. As you gaze travelled up, you found that a domestic Andy was everything you imagined he would be; black socks, loose dark grey sweats, pale t-shirt slightly wrinkled. One of his arms hung loosely by his side, the other still at the door-knob as you continued your inspection, gaze caressing the line of his bare forearm, reaching the sleeves that were hugging his biceps precisely. Broad shoulders, perfectly trimmed beard framing plush lips with the slightest hint of a curious smile.

You smiled awkwardly as your eyes met his watching you with interest, dimmed with a hint of a doze-off you must have woken him up from. You tried not to dwell on the inconspicuous redness surrounding his irises.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up!” you blurted out quickly, rewarded with a light shake of his head and a stifled yawn; subtle.

“You didn’t. Hi,” he greeted you, only to make you realize that 1. you forgot to say hi and 2. his post-nap voice was a thing from wet dreams-- which was definitely not relevant at that moment.

“Hi,” you offered unsurely, eyes roaming his face, searching for any trace of anger. All you found was bewilderment; if pleasant or not, you couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry for barging in. I just… uhm- I wanted to thank you and-“

The hint of a smile on his lips grew a fraction, expression softening at your admission and before you could find your footing, he opened the door further, subtly extending his hand to usher you in.

Your heart skipped a beat, the strangest feeling tickling your gut, teeth sinking into your lower lip, the grip on your handbag growing stronger. Yet you accepted, taking two reluctant steps inside. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing whatever fate awaited you.

Attempting not to look too nosy, you turned back to Andy rather than scanning the hall.

Words got stuck in your throat. As tired as he looked, worn to a bone by everything but physical exercise, you couldn’t but marvel at what a handsome man he was, even without his smart suits and ties and neatly styled fluffy hair; it was still very fluffy, just more of a mess than a fashion statement.

God, wasn’t he beautiful.

He kept looking at you too in mute anticipation of something, appearing mildly lost just as you were, giving the impression of a man who couldn’t tell what to expect.

Your gaze locked with his, unyielding, a gorgeous trap and you knew you had to say or do something before your heart gave out entirely.

Your mouth opened, no words coming out and you cursed yourself, simply opening the bag and pulling out a Tupperware box with half the cookies you baked last night, practically shoving it to Andy’s capable hands.

He accepted the item with eyebrows shooting up once before settling back, eyes misting for a moment. His fingertips brushed yours as he took a firm hold of the box, the not-quite-there smile of his remaining on his lips.

He seemed perplexed.

You felt like an idiot.

“This feels so silly now,” you admitted with a sigh, realizing the absurdity of the situation only accented by the fact that you stood there in the hall of his home in your coat and high-boots, ridiculously overdressed in comparison to him.

“It’s not,” he whispered finally, forcing the corners of his mouth to rise higher. “Thank you. Didn’t know you baked. Should have figured.”

You shrugged. “Never came up.”

Something shifted in his expression as did in the air; you knew he sensed it too. The unspoken hung between you, that you meant not in your daily routine at the office, but on your private nights, so rare and precious, so desperately pretended to be non-existent the next morning.

Your gaze lowered as the silence fell on your pair again and you awkwardly shifted your weight from one leg to the other. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“So, uh-“

“Thank you for the bracelet. Really. It was-” you licked your lips, meeting his eyes again, so deep, so blue and somehow soft and you forgot what you were about to say. “Eh- I wasn’t expecting it. I-- I didn’t think you’d… notice. And--- care.”

His brows furrowed for a bit and he placed the box on the shoe rack next to him; an action he soon regretted you guessed, because his fingers went for his wrist as if he wanted to readjust his cufflinks, a nervous habit of his, only to meet bare skin. Good to know you weren’t the only one iffy in this conversation.

“But you liked it?” he asked almost shyly and the corners of your lips rose on instinct as did you right hand, the sleeve of your coat sliding down a fraction, enough to reveal the new accessory.  “Looks pretty on you.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers gently slid over one of the symbols, brushing over the sensitive skin of your wrist. His gaze returned to yours, a flicker of something heated in his eyes, calling butterflies to your stomach.

Lord have mercy.

“Thanks- uhm--- thank you. Here, I got you something too.” You quickly reached into the handbag again to hide how flustered you felt – for a different reason than awkwardness.

He had touched your wrist and you turned into a blushing mess. Fabulous. And to make the matter more humiliating, now a twinkle of amusement played in his irises.

“You gave me a plant. And cookies.”

“Yeah. Kinda? But that was more of a… gesture?” you offered reluctantly as you handed him the envelope. “I uh—this is probably stupid, but, uhm--- here.”

“Stop putting yourself down,” he muttered darkly, causing your cheeks to burn hotter. “Thank you. You didn’t have to get me anything.” Pulling out the firm colourful paper, he blinked a few times, seemingly surprised. Ha, you bet he expected a Walmart card! Instead, there was a voucher for five entrances to the swimming pool where your friend Lee worked at. “Oh. Thank you. That’s really nice of you.”

A stone the size of Texas fell from your stomach and you couldn’t help the sigh of relief. Andy seemed genuinely pleased by your choice of gift and you felt your whole body relax.

“It’s just… eh, just for half an hour each and you can pick them on a horizon of three months. I’m not sure how often you like going, so… uhm, my friend works at the place, so you just give her a call and it shouldn’t be a problem to book it for mornings right before the opening hours,” you explained lamely, earning a puzzled look.

“How did you know I liked going when no one’s there?”

That caused one corner of your lips twitch in slight amusement and your eyebrow arch, even if his reasons weren’t exactly funny; his cheeks flushed a hint of red, a sight to behold for more than one reason. It was nice to have the roles reserved, you making him feel flustered for once.

Really? The rather quiet lone-wolf Andy Barber, followed by reporters still, just asked you this? Cute.

“…that’s fair,” he said and for a brief second, you were afraid you had shared your thoughts out loud. But he didn’t look offended, so probably not. The self-awareness then. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I’m-eh, glad you like it.”

You stood there again, both smiling – a little reluctantly, a little soft – and once again you had no idea how to proceed.

What you did know was that you enjoyed talking to him, even if it was awkward like this. You enjoyed seeing him in his natural habitat, in his home, relatively relaxed. You thrived seeing more of this Andy Barber, just a handsome guy, not Andrew Barber, the hot-shot lawyer.

He was the first to break the silence, hesitantly gesturing further into the house.

“Would you—would you like to-“

YES! was what you brain screamed.

“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother…” was what you told him, mentally cuffing yourself on the head.

“You’re not,” Andy opposed lowly. The whisper of your name that followed made you shiver.

His gazed trailed all over your face, so intense you would swear he saw right into your soul and further. You felt naked, but for some reason not too vulnerable – Andy seemed to like what he saw, expression genuinely inviting and yet. Yet there was a subtle promise of this not being a friendly invite which was as exciting as unsettling. The air appeared the crackle and you found yourself yearning to taste the electricity on your tongue.

“May I?”

He beckoned to your coat, suddenly free hands already rising and all you could do was to nod, automatically placing your handbag on the floor and unbuttoning the garment. Once if fell open, revealing simple black jeggings and a light pink sweater, Andy sidestepped you, fingers sliding under the hem, cautiously skimming over the bare skin above your collarbones, leaving a burning sensation in their wake.

The warmth of his fingertips seeped into your flesh and yet you shuddered, goosebumps rising on your skin.

You watched Andy put your coat away with care, turning back to you torturously slowly. He filled all of your personal space, so close and too far. You weren’t sure when exactly the air turned so heavy in your lungs, but as your gaze travelled to his lips, not missing how his sought yours in return, you felt all the oxygen leave the room.

“Andy,” the word rolled off your tongue, nothing but a soundless breath of his name.

His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips again and back before he spoke, voice barely above a whisper, hoarse.  

“Am I imagining it?”

He didn’t have to say what and still you knew with absolute certainty that he was addressing the unbearable and delicious tension, the one that had been building and coming to life during those three nights you had spent talking in his office late--- and now it was back with smouldering intensity.

“You’re not.”

You shivered and gulped when he cautiously took a single little step further into your space, your gaze falling to his chest, lowering in sudden surge of the deep-rotted insecurity, whispering about your and his world being thousands of miles apart. And yet, your heart raced in anticipation, your hopes dizzyingly high that you might touch heaven, even if for a few moments.  

When his fingertips grasped your jaw, tough light and oh so careful, your eyelids fluttered close, already indulging in the sensation. God, his touch was so soft despite the roughness of his fingertips…

As if he wished to torture you or to indulge that sweet little moment before lips met lips, he stopped an inch from his destination, his breaths as wavering as yours, the words whispered straight into your mouth just a little broken.

“I’m fucked up.”

Your brain basked in blissful fog, but this got across, causing you to tense briefly.

You couldn’t deny what he was saying, you both knew he spoke the ultimate truth – well, you guessed. What had happened to him, having his life dismantled and then losing his family, that sort of thing was bound to leave a scar. Confirming it bluntly though, that felt unforgiving, only adding insult to injury.

“We all are,” you whispered instead, not only because you wouldn’t say ‘fucked up’, the words too harsh.

And it wasn’t trivializing the tragic turn his life had taken. It wasn’t downplaying the depth of his wounds. It wasn’t necessarily implying that you had been through something equally horrible either. Most importantly, it wasn’t you mocking him.

And somehow, he understood that; even if he could have interpreted it in every wrong way imaginable and shove you away, insulted, disgusted.

But no, in that fleeting moment that meant everything, Andy understood that this was your acceptance; this was you telling him that you were willing to try; take whatever he offered and give anything you could in return.

Finally, his lips brushed over yours, slightly chapped and oh so warm and delicious, withdrawing too soon, leaving you to savour the taste as your ran your tongue over your own lips. You inhaled shakily, overwhelmed by everything that was him, powerful, electrifying and then your hand was somehow on his chest, your palm laid over his racing heart, your fingers twitching as his ribcage expanded with a sharp inhale.

Blindly, your mouth searched his again, his whiskers tickling softly and scratching at once, a pleasant sensation on your sensitive skin as he grew bolder, and truly attached your lips in a kiss that made you feel lightheaded with the emotion poured into it. Your hand curled around his nape, an instinct to pull him closer, fingers toying with the short soft hair there, drawing a hum from within the expanse of his chest.

You granted him access to your mouth when he wordlessly asked, but it was him who retreated shortly after that, his heart now appearing as if in pain with its furious beats under your palm. His breaths started coming out short and it dawned to you what was wrong. How fast this could have felt to him, even if he was the one to start it.

‘I’m fucked up,’ he had said. Too caught in the moment, you hadn’t fully realized the extent of his words perhaps.

But you did now – at least a little better than before.

So when he rested his forehead against yours and a breathless ‘sorry’ slipped from his lips, you shook your head lightly and planted a kiss on his cheek, hand still on the back of his head, fingers running over his scalp in a hopefully soothing motion.

“I’ve got you, Andy. You lead.”

You had no strength to keep him close when he pulled his face away, your eyes snapping open in fright that you had said something terribly wrong.

But Andy’s cerulean eyes were big and glassy, grateful and softly speaking about him being… moved by your proposition. Your heart felt like it just grew twice its size, too big to fit into your chest at what a breath-taking picture he was.

The next thing you knew, he dropped a chaste kiss to your forehead and pulled you into his arms, an almost protective embrace, kissing the top of your head for a good measure and you melted against his large frame, smiling into t-shirt.

“Thank you,” he murmured breathlessly into your hair and your smile widened, remembering the note he had left with the exquisite gift that had started everything that led you right here into this moment.

“Happy Holidays.”

Thank you for reading! I’ve been sitting on this since the beginning of damn November. I hope you enjoyed.

It was my first (and maybe last) time writing Andy, so I hope it was alright. Feedback always appreciated.

P.S. – sorry if the nosy reporters thing offended you.

P.P.S. - …I know, the prompt was veeery loosely filled. Shush.

Pretty divider by whismicalrogers.

[songtoyou]

Tempting Fate - Part Six

Paring: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Nothing major.

Word Count: 1,815

Story Summary: Tommy is not a believer in fate or destiny. However, a new resident in Small Heath will question his beliefs and push his boundaries outside his comfort zone.

Chapter Summary: Tommy gets attacked by Sabini’s thugs. You help him recuperate at home. He tells you of his plan to meet with Alfie Solomons to join forces against Sabini.

A/N: While this story takes place during season two of the show, I made some changes to the timeline. For instance, Tommy meets May before meeting Alfie Solomons. Tommy also gets attacked by Sabini’s men long after meeting May. I just wanted to make that clear. The Garrison got bombed and rebuilt before the start of the story.

Please do not post any of my fics to other sites without my permission.

Tag list: @owenniasstars​​

You knew it was not a good idea for Tommy, Arthur, and John to go to London to appear at the Eden Club. The jazz club was owned by Darby Sabini, the man who currently controls half of the southern racecourses. These are racecourses Tommy desired to take over for himself. To no surprise, the Shelby brothers more than let their presence at the club be known, making sure to cause a raucous and leaving destruction in their path. Typical antics by the Shelby brothers. You and Polly adamantly told Tommy that being reckless was not how to get noticed by Sabini, but Tommy merely brushed them both off.

"Sabini is aware of us now. That was the whole purpose of the trip. He'll make his move, eventually, and when he does, we will be ready," Tommy voiced nonchalantly.

You merely shook her head in disapproval at Tommy. "Okay, the fact that you gave Sabini the upper hand is a really dumb move," you said honestly. "Why would you do that, Tommy? Do you have a death wish or something?" you asked him, concerned for his wellbeing.

Tommy got up from his chair to stand in front of you. He placed his hands on your shoulders and began to gently rub them to help calm your nerves. He softly spoke your name and told you that everything was going to be okay. "You got nothing to worry about, love. You got to trust me on this. I know what I am doing; nothing about my plan is out of place," Tommy reassured you.

However, the small voice inside you was telling you otherwise. It did not take long for your fears to come to fruition. You were at the betting shop helping Polly and Esme on little tasks when they got word that Tommy was in the hospital. Apparently, Tommy got set up by the Jews who asked him for a sit-down only to be attacked by Sabini and his thugs. You told Polly that you were going with her to the hospital. Before she could refuse, you held your hand up to say, "I'm going. Don't try to stop me."

Polly waved you along to follow her to the car and told Esme to watch the house. On the way to the hospital, you kept shaking your leg right leg and fidgeting in your seat.

"I told Tommy something like this would happen, but he didn't listen. He never listens," you almost shouted.

Polly could only sigh, "That's Thomas for you. He always claims to know what is right. He never takes what others think or feel into consideration."

You pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, and let it out. "It's always going to be like this, isn't it?" you asked, looking towards Polly. "Always worrying about him?"

"Yes. If you are going to be with Tommy, then that will be your life from now on. Think you can handle it?"

"I don't know. But I know no other woman would be able to. He needs someone to look after him, even though he may not think so," you told Polly, who let out an amused chuckle.

"What?" you asked her, confused.

"Nothing, dear. You really were made for Tommy. The two of you are written in the stars," Polly praised happily. "I'm glad Tommy has you around to look after him. Helps ease off my load."

When you and Polly made it to the hospital, it didn't take long to find Tommy. The doctor told you both that Tommy was lucky to be alive. Polly asked you if it was okay for her to see Tommy first. You agreed and waited until she was done.

Polly was only in the room with Tommy for fifteen minutes.

"We're leaving," said Polly.

When she reached for your arm, you pulled away. "What? No! I need to see him!" you shouted.

"Shhh!" ordered Polly. "He says he doesn't want any more visitors. He needs to rest, now let's go."

But you pulled out Polly's grasp and walked towards the hospital room. You saw a row of beds, and Tommy was at the very end. You slowly walked up to him and sat down. It pained you to see him in such a state. Cheek cut, eye swollen shut, ribs bruised and broken. It took all of your strength not to break down in front of him.

He looked at you but didn't say anything. Leaning his head back on the pillow, Tommy let out a disappointed sigh. You didn't say anything. The last thing you wanted to do was scold him or tell him, "you told him so." That wasn't what he needed. So you reached for his hand and intertwined it with yours. He squeezed it tightly. It was his way of thanking you for being there with him.

Nothing was needed to be said between the two of you. Tommy was grateful to have you next to him, even if he didn't actually say it. Your gesture showed him that you were not going anywhere and that you would stay by his side no matter what happened.

What's worst is that Sabini's men also accosted Ada. Thankfully, Tommy already had some of the Peaky Blinders watching out for his little sister. But it was Ada who eventually fought off the thugs herself. You had yet to meet Ada but heard a lot about her from her brother's and aunt. You found out that Ada's husband, Freddie, had recently died from pestilence, and they had a young son, Karl. Ada decided not to move back to Birmingham but chose to stay in London for she didn't want much to do with her family. However, Tommy was not too keen on letting his little sister cut him and the others out of her life so easily. Typical Tommy, you thought.

You visited Tommy every day at the hospital for the first week. By the second week, you could tell he was getting restless. "I need to get out of here," he kept telling you.

"Tommy," you began, "You need to rest and heal."

Unfortunately, Tommy didn't listen and checked himself out of the hospital. Luckily, you caught him as he was getting ready to leave.

"What do you think you are doing, Thomas?" you scolded him. But he didn't say anything.

Tommy struggled to put on his coat. You let him struggle as you knew helping would only make him feel emasculated. When Tommy finally looked at you with pleading eyes, you walked over and helped him into his coat. You folded his collar down and smoothed out his shirt underneath.

While his face had healed up nicely, it still pained you to look at him. His ribs were still bruised but still managed to be able to move around. You offered your arm for him to take, which he did.

Slowly, you both walked out of the hospital.

"I couldn't stay there anymore. Sabini's men would have come to finish me off eventually or someone else," Tommy told you. What he did not tell you was that Chester Campbell visited him earlier. Campbell found out that Tommy killed Eamonn Duggan and threatened Tommy to work for him as a spy or be jailed and hanged.

"Take me back to your place," Tommy instructed. "I'll finish healing there, okay."

"Well, that makes me feel a little bit better," you said with a small smile.

When you got Tommy home, you took him up to your bed, where he slept for the remainder of the day. You fed him when he got up and cleaned his wounds. You told him to stay put when you went for your shift at The Garrison. He was already asleep when you returned. You snuggled next to help and held him while he slept peacefully. Polly, Arthur, and John would make trips to your house to check on Tommy and give him updates on the business. This routine occurred for another week before Tommy became eager to get back to work physically.

He told you that he was heading back to London to meet Alfie Solomons, the leader of the Jewish gangsters in Camden Town. "I'm going to offer Solomons to join forces with us. I also need to stop by Ada's home to see how she is doing. If she is going to stay in London, then she needs a better place to stay, so I bought her a house," Tommy shared with you that morning.

"How are you getting to London?" you asked him curiously. "More than likely, Sabini's men or folks he hired are keeping watch to let him know of your whereabouts."

"I got that covered. I'm meeting up with Charlie and Curry in an hour down by the canal. Curry will take me to London on a barge. It will take a couple of days to get there…"

"Is anyone else going with you?" you interrupted Tommy.

He shook his head 'no' and lit a cigarette. "I need to do this myself," Tommy said to you.

While Tommy knew that you more than likely would have wanted to go with him to make sure he stayed safe, you nodded your head as a show of understanding. You realized that it would be in your best interest to trust Tommy and not doubt him.

"Well, while you are gone, Esme and I are going to meet up with Johnny Dogs to head to a fair not too far from here. The kids have been bugging John and her about going to a fair. John couldn't go, so I offered to go with her. I think Esme is a little bit homesick. She misses traveling."

"Please stay out of trouble while I'm gone," Tommy advised firmly. "I don't want to picture the trouble you and Esme will no doubt get into. Both of you, please behave yourself."

You couldn't hold back your laughter. "We're going to have the kids with us, so not much trouble the two of us can get into. But don't worry, we will behave ourselves," you told Tommy and got up to kiss on the lips.

Before you could step back, his hand grasped the back of your head and deepened the kiss. With Tommy's injuries, the two of you hadn't been intimate with one another in a long while.

When Tommy stood up, he began unbuttoning your blouse and walking you back to the bedroom.

"Tommy, we can't. You're still hurt," you pleaded, but it went on deaf ears as Tommy guided you to the bed.

"I need you, love. It has been too long. Trust me, being inside you will make me feel better," Tommy uttered while kissing your neck and chest.

Who were you to deny the man? You needed him just as he needed you.

[lostbbygorl]

SECOND CHANCES (LEVI X F! READER):

AU: PRIDE AND PREJUDICE BY JANE AUSTEN

~~~~

The breeze was cool. Just what Y/N L/N needed to clear her head after all the drama that had happened prior to this moment! Christa and Mr. Smith had split up, Mr. Ackerman confessed his love and desire to marry Y/N only to get rejected, and Y/N learned the truth about someone she greatly respected. Christa was in Ermich, on a much deserving holiday, whereas Y/N was in Utgard, the enemy base! But was he, Mr. Ackerman, really an enemy anymore? He had opened her eyes, and his motives may have caused damage, but Y/N would’ve done the same thing, right?

Y/N rested her head on the gazebo tree towering over her. She silently marveled at the beauty of Utgard river. The water was clear and glimmering under the sun’s golden rays. Small flowers of the brightest hues peeked from emerald bushes of fresh grass. On occasion, baby butterflies, amber and sapphire in color, would flutter by, sitting on the flowers. The smell of nature and strawberry jam had distracted Y/N from the fear of running into Mr. Ackerman for a good 1 hour. That’s right, strawberry jam!

“ Y/N, dear, you’ve hardly touched any of the food. You suggested we have a picnic. Are you devoid of an appetite?”, Y/N’s uncle, Mr. Theo Magath asked.

“ Oh no, I’ve eaten loads”

“ Have some more scones, you’ve gotten thinner since the last time we met, darling”, her aunt, Mrs. Lucy Magath joined.

Y/N quietly nibbled on a scone.

“ Y/N, is something troubling you?”, her aunt asked.

“ Not at all”, Y/N lied.

“ Don’t try that tosh with me, missy. I can see right through you. You’ve been terribly quiet this whole trip! I won’t pester you any further, but just know that your auntie is willing to listen to you, should you desire to seek me out, okay?”, her auntie soothed, to which she hummed as a response.

“ Say, Lucy, doesn’t Mr. Levi Ackerman live around here?”, Mr. Magath suddenly asked, getting Y/N’s attention.

“ He resides in Utgard castle, about 10 minutes walking distance from here, yes”, Mrs. Magath answered.

“ I hear there’s certain wings in Utgard castle that’s open for visitors. I also hear that the Ackermans have a magnificent lake absolutely brimming with salmon, and I’ve a good mind to see it”, Mr. Magath said. Y/N was uneasy. Anywhere but Utgard castle!

“ Please, can we not?”, she pleaded.

“ Why, dear? Is it because you know Mr. Ackerman? Is he a nasty man?”, her auntie implored.

“ No, it’s just that-”, she stuttered, shaking her head. He’s not so nasty, she thought.

“ It’s just that he’s so-”

“ So what?”, her uncle questioned.

“ He’s so rich”, Y/N said weakly. Her uncle and auntie frowned in confusion. What had gotten into their niece?

“ Now, Y/N. Don’t be a snob! Refusing to see Utgard castle or Mr. Ackerman because of his riches that he didn’t ask for”, Mr. Magath joked. His wife chuckled, but his niece still looked uneasy.

“ Oh, come on now, dear. I’m really eager to go! Besides, I bet a rich man like Mr. Ackerman has business in Ermich. He’s probably not home at the moment”, Mr. Magath argued. And so, the trio walked to Utgard castle. Mr. and Mrs. Magath gossiped on their way to the castle, but Y/N remained quiet, hoping with all her might that Mr. Ackerman wasn’t home.

Once she reached the castle though, a majority of Y/N’s worries vanished. The colossal building was white with dark blue painted towers. Some of the windows were made of stained glass. The trio walked towards the wing open for visitors. A short, plump, middle aged woman greeted them warmly. She had sparkling brown eyes, and white streaks in her auburn hair.

“ Welcome, visitors, to Utgard castle. I’m your host, Martha Somserset”, she beamed.

“ Utgard castle has been the home of the Ackerman family for many generations. Currently, it’s the residence of Mr. Levi Ackerman and his younger sister, Ms. Isabel Ackerman”.

The maid cheerfully guided them through the castle, showing them all the most popular sites. To say that the interior was beautiful would be a gross understatement! Red velvet curtains hung above the large windows, and the marble floors gleamed under the light of a massive crystal chandelier. Ceramic vases boasted expensive flowers, and every wall held an impressive oil painting. The paintings were of previous members of the Ackerman family. Y/N chuckled to herself, noticing that all of Levi’s ancestors had the same serious expression as he did, all except one. Only one painting had a smiling subject. The painting was of a slim, elegant, raven haired woman. Her aura was warm, and she strikingly resembled Levi.

“ Ah, admiring the late Mrs. Ackerman, are we”, Martha smiled. Y/N nodded.

“ This is Mrs. Kuchel Ackerman. She was Levi’s mother, and a breath of fresh air indeed”, Martha said fondly. Y/N found herself smiling too! Who would've thought a man like Levi had such an amiable mother?

“ Mrs. Ackerman was very close with her son. Levi was absolutely shattered when she passed. He hasn’t been the same since”, Martha explained.

“ Levi takes after his father more, but he has his mother’s golden heart. I assisted Mrs. Ackerman with Levi’s delivery, same with Isabel”, she continued.

“ Levi is a perfect gentleman. Never once has he mistreated a servant. He’s so independent, always cleaning up after himself no matter how much I tell him to leave his dirty work to me”, Martha chuckled. Y/N was absolutely shocked! Was Martha talking about a different Levi? She knew that Levi wasn’t as bad as she made him out to be, but was he really this good?

“ Anyways, enough of my blabbering! Let me show you people the statue room”, Martha interrupted Y/N’s thoughts. The young girl felt butterflies erupt in her stomach! The same sense of affection and giddiness she felt back when she read his letter returned- this time with much more force!

The statue room was a sight to see indeed! Incredibly realistic sculptures made of Parian marble filled the room. All the statues were of members of the Ackerman family, and some of them were hundreds of years old. But the statue that caught Y/N’s eyes the most was a life sized one of Levi.

“ This one is of Mr. Levi Ackerman. Isn’t he handsome?"Martha gushed.

“ Yes, I suppose he is”, Y/n replied with a fond gaze and rosy blush.

The more she wandered the castle and heard Martha’s praises of Levi, the more her affection for him grew. At one point, Y/N got lost in the castle as she had wandered off on her own. Y/N was trying to find her way back to the group when all of a sudden, beautiful piano notes started playing, stupefying her and luring her to its direction. The music was a soft, soothing melody so well played, Y/N had goosebumps. As if in a trance, Y/N walked towards its source, stopping in front of a large wooden door that was open just a crack. She peeked through the crack, noticing slender, fair fingers press on the keys of the piano. She peeked further, now seeing a full figure. The pianist was a girl with fiery red hair tied in a ponytail. She had amber eyes, and was about Sasha’s age. Her gown was a lacy ivory one. Suddenly she stopped playing and got up from her seat.

“ Levi!”, she squeaked in delight, jumping at the man, startling him.

Levi twirled her around- and smiled! Y/N had never seen him do that before! She didn’t even know he was capable of it!

“ Hello, Isabel”, he patted her back affectionately.

“ Yes, hello, brother. But first tell me who that girl is peeking at us from outside the door”, Isabel demanded. Y/N widened her eyes as she made contact with Levi. Without much thought, she sprinted to the exit of the castle. I’m not ready to see him yet, she chanted in her head as she ran. She panted outside the castle, totally out of breath. To her dismay, she heard footsteps catch up with her, and then stop behind her.

“ Ms. L/N. It’s a pleasure to see you again”, came Levi’s voice.

“ Um, yes, hello, Mr. Ackerman”, Y/N replied awkwardly.

“ Sir, please don’t be offended by my presence outside the piano room. I had no idea you and your sister would be there and Ms. Martha said this place was open for visitors-”, she began frantically.

“ I’m not bothered by it at all, ma’am”, Levi cut her off.

“ I’m just glad to see you here. And yes, some parts of the castle are open for visitors. I hope Utgard castle impressed you”, he said.

“ Oh, yes! You have a lovely home. Actually, I came with my uncle and auntie. They’ll be out in a minute”, she explained.

“ Levi, who’s this? Are you alright?”Isabel's voice interrupted them. She walked up to the duo.

“ Yes, Isabel. Isabel, meet Ms. Y/N L/N”, Levi introduced. Isabel’s eyes started twinkling, and she pleasantly shook hands with Y/N.

“ Ms. L/N, it’s so wonderful to finally meet you”, Isabel said.

“ Levi has told me so many good things about you. My, you’re just as beautiful as he had described to me”, she giggled cheekily. Both Levi and Y/N started blushing.

“ He said you’re the smartest and most interesting lady he’s ever been acquainted with. He also says you play the piano better than anyone else he knows”, she continued smirking.

“ Isabel, shut up”, Levi hissed in her ear, causing her smirk to intensify.

“ Oh my! I had no idea Mr. Levi enjoyed my terrible playing so deeply. He was joking, Ms. Isabel”, Y/N laughed, hiding her nervousness.

“ My brother doesn’t joke about such things. I insist you play with me this evening”, Isabel returned

“ Y/N, there you are!”, Mr. Magath exclaimed, running towards her.

“ We were looking all over for you”

“ Sorry, uncle, I was lost. Uncle, meet Mr. Ackerman”

“ Nice to meet you sir, please call me Levi”, Levi bowed. Y/N had never seen him this polite before. She expected him to curtly nod and be on his way. Isabel curtseyed and introduced herself before talking with Mrs. Magath.

“ A fine home you have indeed, Levi. I just saw your lake. Me and my wife are most impressed by it”, Mr. Magath complimented.

“ I’m glad you enjoyed your trip here. The lakes have recently been filled with grown salmon. Can I persuade you to go fishing with me later this afternoon?”Levi requested. Mr. Magath enthusiastically nodded.

“ Splendid. I’m inviting your whole family to Utgard castle for lunch and tea. Isabel and Y/N can play the piano, and you and I can fish with Mrs. Magath”, he said.

“ Oh, you boys go fish by yourselves. I’ll be with Ms. Martha”, Mrs. Magath said.

“ See you at 1:30 PM. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to see. Lovely chatting with you all”, Levi bowed again, lingering on Y/N before walking back to the castle, his arms linked with Isabel’s. Y/N couldn’t stop grinning even after he left. He sure had changed for the better! And this time around, Y/N didn’t force herself to see only his flaws. She was beginning to return Levi’s feelings! Levi had taken every criticism Y/N had made to heart. He vowed to improve himself. And so, even though he was awfully nervous and not used to such spontaneity at all, he made conversation with complete strangers and invited them to his home. Anything to see Y/N. Anything to spend time with her. Anything to win her over.

The afternoon wasn’t awkward at all, much to Levi and Y/N’s surprise. Levi and Mr. Magath were getting along famously, and Mrs. Magath was laughing with Ms. Martha. Isabel reminded Y/N of her younger sisters at home- and of herself! She was a bright, cheeky young girl with a fondness for music. Soon, the duo talked to each other as if they were old friends!

That night, Y/N went to bed with a smile on her face.

[iggy-of-fans]

Of being a Ladybug

So this one will Hopefully be a little less angst and a little less salt buy still a good read. Hope you enjoy!

Cons of being a Ladybug

There are a lot of things about being Ladybug that made Marinette's life difficult. The fact she always got sleepy in winter, the fact that the cold affected her more strongly than before. The way she never got enough sleep because she had to patrol. Having to deal with Chat Noir and his tantrums and flirting. The way she sometimes had to ditch her other responsibilities in favour of fighting Akumas. Hawkmoth. But right now, the thing that got to Marinette the most was that she couldn't call Lila out. Being Ladybug, a hero, meant she couldn't use being Ladybug for selfish reasons. She'd learned her lesson the last time, and in the end it hadn't even been worth it. But as Marinette, she could at the very least gather some evidence, just in case she made good on her threat. Adrien may think taking the high road was best, but Marinette could see the damage she was subtly dealing to Alya, and also to the others, a toxic kind of take and never give mentality growing in the class in the week since her return. Little things, like Kim asking to copy Max's homework instead of simply getting help with his dyslexia, Alix getting annoyed at Nathaniel for paying more attention to the art than to her when they'd hung out last, Mylene getting frustrated and feeling neglected when Ivan took her to practices instead of dates. Things that had never bothered any of her classmates before were starting to cause rifts and fights. Lila wasn't the best liar, anyone could figure her out with half a brain cell and a smartphone. Her power really came in manipulating situations in her favour, her ability to cry on command and have people feel sorry for her. But her ability to read people was her only real genius. She always knew just which buttons to push to make people feel guilty, insecure or "righteous" fury. So it was subtle, but the classroom was becoming toxic to be in. Marinette, being so giving and kind, was the most taken advantage of.

But as it turned out, Marinette didn't really have to do anything at all. Alya did the work of outing Lila by posting an interview on "The Amazing Lila Rossi, the New Every Day Ladybug and Ladybug's best friend!"

Marinette felt bad for Alya, but also a bit vindicated, since maybe this might finally teach her to fact check. Marinette crossed her fingers in hope of Alya getting off with a slapped wrist and sent the video to Penny Rolling and the Italian embassy general e-mail. It was Sunday night, at least she wouldn't have to wait long to see the results.

Monday morning burned bright with hope, as Marinette saw a special interview announced from Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale, Prince Ali and several other names Marinette didn't recognize. Nadja Chamak was not going to be hosting though, as several people being interviewed had complained about "unprofessionalism" of the Parisian News anchor. Marinette shrugged, at least she wouldn't have to babysit. She went to school, hearing whispers of LadyBlog being shut down by Officials due to inaccurate information. Marinette sagged slightly, 'that sucks', she thought. She'd hoped Alya wouldn't be too badly affected. Suddenly a shadow fell over her and she looked up to the frowning face of Adrien Agreste.

"Adrien! Morning good! Good Morning! Hi!" Marinette stuttered.

"Did you have anything to do with the LadyBlog being shut down?" Adrien asked, his eyes spelling disappointment.

"What? It's being shut down? Why? And what do you mean me? What power do I have over anyone, let alone Alya to shut that down?" Marinette asked, a negative feeling travelling down her spine. What the hell was Adrien on about?

He smiled reassuringly suddenly," You're right. What was I thinking. You may be our everyday Ladybug, but it's not like you have the influence to get a free blog shut down."

Adrien smiled, patted her shoulder, and walked past her towards the classroom. Marinette stood frozen. Did… Did Adrien think… Did he think she was… Worth less? Because she wasn't rich? She stood there past the final ring of the bell, until Tikki popped her head out.

"Marinette, are you okay?" she asked quietly. She was highly dissatisfied with Adrien at the moment, but needed to focus on her own charge.

"Am I… Did Adrien… I thought he was better than that…. But… He actually thinks because… That because I'm not rich, that I have no power…?" sheshe frazed it like a question, but Tikki and Marinette both knew the truth.

"You should get to class, Marinette" Tikki said instead. Shaking herself, Marinette started walking, only for the alarms to start.

"Tikki, spots on!" Marinette shouted, and took off towards the sounds of crashes.

Alya woke up Monday morning excited to see the result of her post the night before. She'd worked with Lila all weekend to get it perfect and now the fruits of her labour would be sewn. She opened the blog and stopped. Yesterday, before posting the video, she'd had 675 followers. This morning, only 231 people were left. She scrolled to the comments.

"Oh yes, I saved Jagged's non-existent cat, from his non-existent private jet, on a tarmac which civilians aren't allowed onto. And I came to Paris months after Ladybug started saving Paris, but I was supposed to be the original and I just recommended my friend instead!... Yeah right! Who the hell believes this crap? "

" my favorite line in this video is where she claims to have grown up as jagged stones favorite person, but doesn't even get his home city right!"

" oh ladybug totally loves chat, she just wants to keep it on the dl. {attachment} this video taken a couple weeks ago while chat threw a tantrum cause she refused to go on a date with him"

"Clara Nightingale and I were ACTUALLY in the same dance class, and I don't remember a sausage with a mouth being in that class"

"if ladybug can heal her supposed tinnitus, why isn't she curing cancer?"

The comments continued along that line when suddenly a loading error came up. Alya scowled and reloaded the page, only for a [401: error. The page you are trying to load no longer exists]. Alya paled.

"No! No no no no no no no no!" she chanted as she tried to reload it, and then tried to go in to check the coding. Everything was shut down. Alya started to tear up. This couldn't be happening! She was sure Lila wasn't a liar. Marinette just didn't like not being the center of attention, just as Lila said. Marinette just, just this once, couldn't find the good in a person, but Laya could. Alya opened Google and looked up 'Jagged Stone pets', 'Jagged Stone cat', 'Clara Nightingale dance school', 'Prince Ali charity foundation', and finally 'Lila Rossi'. The only thing that came from the search was that Alya felt like a total idiot for not believing Marinette. And an Italian school site. She clicked it and had Google translate the page.

"STUDENT COMMITS SUICIDE AFTER SEVERE CASE OF BULLYING"

The name of the victim was never released, but schools in Italy were all warned about Lila Rossi. According to the article, this should be in her school files… Why did Mlle. Bustier not warn them? A knocking on the front door distracted Alya from her screen.

"EXCUSE ME?!" Alya's mother screamed, and Alya bolted to the door. Her mother rounded on her the second she opened the door.

"Alya! What is the meaning of this? You're being sued for misinformation and defamation and slander!" her mother continued, holding papers in the air and waving them about. Even still in her housecoat with messy hair, her mother struck a terrifying picture. Alya shrunk in on herself. There would be no sneaking out of this one.

Rose looked at her phone again, her eyes dim and her head bowed. Phrases like "I have never heard of this girl before", and "if this is the type of persons you surround yourself with", "Perhaps I was mistaken in trusting you", and most hurtful of all "This is the last time you will hear from me" jumped out of the email at her from Prince Ali. She had been so excited in her last message to him, telling him how Lila had told her of their adventure together, and Lila was giving her such good advice on her singing, dancing, songwriting and more. Her email had burst with praise from and for Lila, and wanting to hear Ali's version of events as well. Usually he emailed back within a few hours, but this time it had taken over a week to hear back from him. In the email he had sent, was an attachment to Alya's interview of Lila and a short message, saying only that he had never met Lila Rossi, and he'd thought Rose was smarter than to believe everything she heard, and if she kept that kind of company and believed such outrageous lies then perhaps he shouldn't have contact with her anymore, since she was seemingly too gullible and too naïve to take his friendship seriously. Tears dripped down her cheeks onto her phone. Why was Marinette always right about these things.

Jagged Stone watched the video that Marinette had sent to Penny on his big screen in his suite in Paris. He was not at all impressed with her obvious name dropping, made up stories of her greatness, and claiming he'd written a song about her. Marinette's short message of "HI Penny, I understand you and Jagged are crazy busy, but this interview ended up on my friend's website, and I just couldn't ever remember Jagged mentioning a pet other than Fang. I've even looked at some older interviews where he said he'd hatched and raised Fang when Jagged was only 15! I have no idea where this girl is getting her information, but I didn't want you to think that all of Paris had completely lost their minds and thought this heads up might put you in a better space to deal with weird questions if they ever come up. - Love, Marinette"

Jagged listened to the little chit on the screen claiming shevd received tinnitus from saving his cat. Geez! Did this girl have any idea the kind of implications this could have on his musical career?! The hell is wrong with kids today? And the girl interviewing her never even checked her sources? Poor Marinette, stuck with such complete idiots and liars. He really should try to talk Sabine into letting him take Marinette on tour with him again. This was getting ridiculous. He frowned even harder when Clara Nightingale was accused of "being jealous and stealing" sausage girls dance moves. He started feeling his blood boil slightly as he distantly heard Penny shouting into a phone for lawyers and interviews and "gosh darn it, anyone but some idiotic French Anchor". He honestly wasn't sure which of them was more pissed. Himself or his fiancée.

Clara Nightingale broke her phone on the far wall of her apartment. Two decades of dance and singing lessons, of poetry and practice and some little chit half her age thinks she can tell people that she stole it? Tears at the corners of her eyes, she was grateful Jagged had sent it to her with the assurance that Penny was already setting up interviews and lawyers. Thank Ladybug and all that is good for Marinette Dupain-Cheng. If she hadn't had the foresight to send this video to them, then there would have been absolute hell at their next public appearance. She glared at her broken phone on the floor. Steal her moves, did she?

At 4am in Metropolis city, Lois rolled over and sleepily answered her phone.

"Yes?"

"I know it's early, Lois, but I have a job for you in Paris…" came from the other end. Louis bolted up in bed.

"I'm listening"...

To be Continued

[readyplayerhobi]

Let’s Put On A Show

; Camboy!Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Smut, fluff

; Word Count: 21.5k

; Warnings: Dom!Hoseok, male masturbation, voyeurism, camming, dirty talk, sub!Hoseok, dom!reader, sex toys, male anal, oral sex (male and female), penetrative sex, handjob, fingering,

; Synopsis: Welcome to HopeWorld! Lay back and enjoy a show with BehindTheScene’s number one dominant camboy, Hope! Are you looking for a Master to make you whine? A Sir to make you beg? Or a Daddy to treat you right? Hope’s got something for everyone...

; A/N: This is the first true ‘smutty’ fic I’ve done in a long time...so please be gentle and love it. It got longer than expected...there’s more fluff than you may expect...I hope you all enjoy and love! Please comment, give feedback, send asks and reblog if you like! It helps to encourage me to write and I’m always interested in your thoughts, questions and headcanons!

-

HopeWorld has gone live!

Almost immediately, you’re clicking on the link on your phone while you lay back on the mound of pillows that sit on your bed. Chewing your lip lazily, you wait while the screen goes black before loading, flipping into landscape position and leaving you with the visage of a double bed with dark, ruby red silk covers, and dark wood bed posts rising on all four corners while a pile of pillows rests against the intricately carved headboard.

The title of today’s show is simply ‘Choose Your Pleasure’ and you wriggle slightly against your own soft sheets, thighs clenching as you already imagine the mental and auditory stimulation you’re going to be provided with.

Sure enough, there’s a quiet shuffling noise through the speaker of your phone before a guy steps into view and sits down lightly at the end of the bed. He’s wearing black slacks that leave just enough to the imagination yet still grip his toned thighs deliciously while a white button up shirt strains against his physique as he leans back on his hands, the top two buttons undone and leaving a delicious expanse of golden skin visible, a silver chain with a lock pendant lying against the gap between his collar bones.

There’s pure silence for a moment before he lets out a small huff of laughter, the breath leaving him almost silently before he leans forward again, elbows resting against his knees and giving you a delightful view of his shoulders.

He’s slim, yet with enough muscle to make the definition obvious with his tight yet perfectly acceptable clothing. This close to the camera, you can see the way the deep brown of his eyes reflect the light of his screen while he reads the messages that show on his computer with a slight tilt to his mouth.

You sigh softly as you bring your phone closer to your own eyes, greedily drinking in the sight of his sculpted jawline and the straight slope of his nose that meets two strong, dark brows. Blonde hair that’s almost platinum at the ends sits styled elegantly on his head, a generous helping of forehead revealed while the strands blend into a deep honey blonde before evolving into the dark black of his natural hair colour.

It’s been a while since he dyed his hair, and you wonder idly if he’ll keep the blonde or maybe go a different colour. Last year, he’d spent the whole summer with vivid, scarlet hair before dying it all black again in what had apparently been a fit of boredom.

But his loving and loyal fans had adored the light hair he’d had two years ago and begged him to consider going back, which had led to his drastic change two months ago. You certainly weren’t going to complain; the man looked hot in anything.

The man you were watching, and who was in turn reading the comments that flew past on his screen, was one of the most popular camboy’s on BehindTheScenes; a website that catered to all manner of sexual interests. There were pretty girls who would put on a show and rugged guys who would follow your every order and all manner of other delights to be found.

But unlike some other seedy sites, it was all perfectly legitimate and only verified people where allowed to begin creating shows on the site. That means that they had to be aged 18 and over, along with the viewers. Everyone had to provide valid proof of identity to be allowed on, and you knew that the benefits of being one of the camboys or camgirls were exceptional.

80% of the money they made went to them, with the remaining 20% going to the site in order to keep it going; paying its own staff and keeping the maintenance going. Viewers could simply watch for free, but they were only allowed three free shows a month before they had to pay for at least one show or they could pay a yearly fee of $69 to view as many as they liked.

It worked out better that way, considering each show was $5 to view. There was also an extensive tipping system using coins, which could be bought individually or in packs, video game style. These coins were used to ‘tip’ those making the shows, which often meant that they were incorporated into the shows themselves.

Those who tipped a certain amount could request something or have their message read aloud, some used them as a way to allow users access to a poll that would dictate what the show giver would do. But the coins weren’t cheap. 100 coins was $10, with each hundred costing a further $10 until you reached the 1000 coins. Then it was $5 per hundred.

Before you’d gone onto the site, you would have never thought that camshows would have earnt much, but then you’d watched a few and discovered the almost obscene amounts of coins that viewers would buy and tip in an attempt to be noticed or get their host to do something. It was not unreasonable for the top shows to earn thousands of dollars per show if they were good.

And HopeWorld was very good.

He’d been on the site for 7 years now, so his profile said when you clicked on his username. His real name wasn’t given, just a pseudonym of Hope and the country he was from along with his age, 28. Oh, and his sexuality which was clearly listed as ‘Bisexual’.

His archived shows were also available via his profile, purchasable for 250 coins each or free for the premium members who paid an even higher fee to get even more privileges. There was also a range of photographs available to view for free; from selfies of him smiling sweetly to seductive poses that haunted your dreams.

Some of the cam-stars on BehindTheScene were versatile in what they did, never going for a specific genre. They would have sex with other men and women, or do solo shows to please people. Have their shows in the privacy of their room, or do risqué public shows that upped the ante.

Some of them chose to specialise in what they did, gaining a niche audience who lived for the shows that were put online. Girls who did solo masturbation shows with an array of colourful and unusual dildos, guys who jerked themselves off and submitted to their viewers through the use of coins to tell them what to do.

HopeWorld specialised in solo masturbation shows, only he used domination as his tool of pleasure for his viewers. You hadn’t understood how that could even work through a camshow until you’d seen his for the first time, and then you’d seen why he was so good.

He had a command of his voice and body that meant every subtle gesture, every tiny rise and fall in his voice was perfectly engineered to produce an answering response from his viewers. A slight narrowing of his eyes when one of his viewers became a little bratty or spent obscene amounts of money demanding him to do something let it be known that a punishment would follow.

Hope would get himself off on camera sure, but at his pace. He rarely followed orders from people who spent money to ask him to do stuff and he would be quite cutting and cruel sometimes to his viewers. Not in a way that crossed any lines, but more in a way that showed he would refuse to do what they asked simply because they paid.

It had boggled your mind when you first saw it, wondering why on earth people watched someone who refused to do what they were being paid money to do. Particularly given he encouraged people to pay, and on an entire system that relied on the patronage of viewers.

And yet...he was one of the most popular camboys on the whole site. Viewers went wild for his uncaring persona, for the sheer dominance in his voice when he sneered at the people who begged and pleaded for him to do what they wanted while simultaneously following his every order on the other end of their screen.

When he demanded they play with themselves, they would. When he told them to stop, even if they were at the very edge of their orgasm, they did so. And oh, would they beg him to let them orgasm, to find that sweet release at the end of their fingertips that was entirely controlled by his deep and seductive voice.

You had never considered that someone like him would do well, and yet he had his subscribers and viewers wrapped around him as well as those pretty fingers of his wrapped around his cock.

Yes, Hope was extraordinary and you’d been a loyal follower for years now.

There was something about the dominant persona of HopeWorld, the way he refused to bow to the pressures that buckled so many other cam-host’s over the years. He would take things under advisement sure, changing his shows up enough to keep interest but he had no interest in being at the mercy of his viewers.

And you loved it.

Which meant you were already beyond wet when he let out a low chuckle of amusement, the sound rough and almost grating in his throat as he lets his wet, pink tongue flick across the rich buds of his lips.

“So...how are we all today? I hope you've all been good while I was gone.” His voice is deep, rumbling from his chest with a slight rasp. It's something he obviously puts on because when he forgets himself during shows, it'll go a little higher with a tone more casual. It's still pleasing though and you’d happily listen to him read the phonebook if they still existed.

Unsurprisingly, silence meets him but his beautiful eyes are relaxed into happiness as they scan over the hundreds of comments that fly in the chatroom. A reverberating chuckle rumbles from his chest as he runs a finger along his lips, the corner worked up before he glances at the camera.

“How have I been? Oh...I don't know, just waiting for the next chance I had to see all of you.” Smooth, if a little cheesy. But it's a camshow and these people live for that stuff.

“Would I ever agree to the threesome over with GoldenBoy and ChrisChim? Well, they did ask me personally but I don't know...don't you think I'd be too much for them? And I thought we had a good thing going here? Or are you wanting me to expand?” He hums lightly, musing to himself.

The comments explode and Hope lets out a breath of a laugh as he reads them.

“You think it'd be hot? Wow, there's a lot of you who want to watch me have sex with someone hmm?” This is how his shows always begin, a little bit of teasing talk between him and his viewers while he waits for them to come in. It makes him feel a little more reachable; not just a bunch of pixels on your screen.

Lately, he's been getting more requests to mix up his shows. You'd have thought that he would be annoyed about it all. His speciality is solo, yet everyone seems desperate to watch him fuck someone on screen.

Not only that, but there seems to be a vocal minority that's growing to see him submit. Which is wild, as you've never seen a show with a single hint of that.

But it's what the viewers are increasingly wanting, and the unfortunate fact is that hosts are sometimes beholden to their viewers. He might one day do it if it would please them and increase his views.

His lips purse for a moment as he reads and considers, forming a tiny triangle and you coo softly at the screen. Normally you’re moaning or panting at him, but sometimes he acts cute without realising it and you can see the want to have him on his knees for the camera.

“Wow...so there’s a lot of you huh? Maybe...maybe I’ll think about it in the future. Keep an eye out if you all really want that...but for today I think we all need to get back to business, yes?” He leans back on the bed, revealing the long, slim line of his body and you instantly go hot, a spear of pleasure hitting your centre as you squeeze your thighs in response to the blatantly sexual way he holds himself.

His legs have dropped open, leaving a wide gap of space between them and giving the overwhelming aura of power and domination. It’s a classic move, and yet it works so well as he puts his weight on his hands on the bed, letting the viewers gaze up and down his body.

It works well because he’s showing everything he has, everything that you can look at but not touch. Your fingers ache to reach through the screen and unbutton his shirt, letting the soft material slip from his shoulders to pool around his wrists before they would dart to the waistband of his slacks.

You’d tug at them, letting the waistband shift him forward slightly before undoing them slowly, keeping eye contact with him the whole time until the zip is fully down and his cock presents itself to you through the opening created.

Yes, you’d love to undress him where he sits. Slowly, seductively until he’s trembling with anticipation and gasping with need.

Blinking rapidly, your brow raises at those thoughts and you can suddenly see why everyone wants to see him submit live on camera. He’d be glorious moaning under your fingertips, and your inner muscles convulse on nothing at the very idea of fucking him till he’s a writhing mess.

Lord, the idea of watching that would be hot as fuck.

In reality though, he’s still sat in the same position as he watches his screen, white teeth prevalent as he bites his lip while a brow quirks up. There’s already a slight tent forming in his pants, the tight material constricting what’s beneath and contorting them even further. It’s a basic human reaction, and you so desperately want him to reveal himself already.

"So what do we want today boys and girls?" He brings up one hand and holds three fingers up, the corner of his mouth tilting in a seductive smirk while his brow quirks. "Do we want daddy to make an appearance? Or are you feeling like Sir needs to come out? Or is it a Master kind of session again? Remember, as usual it's 100 coins to vote...500 to give me a specific request that I'll consider."

He’d already set the poll up while everyone had been discussing wanting to see him have sex on camera or submit, and it was running with votes coming in fast. This was how he made his money...people desperate to get their fantasy come to life today and some people desperate enough to spend even more to get a specific request in.

You’d felt sorry for them at first, and a little resentful of him for being manipulative. Until you’d realised that these people voluntarily wanted to part with their money in this way on people like him. And if they didn’t do it with him, then they’d just go to another show and do it there.

At the end of the day, he was the one getting naked and orgasming on camera for everyone else’s pleasure constantly. While he obviously enjoyed the voyeurism aspect of it, it would likely take a lot out of a person to do that. Some people were ostracised by their family, friends and work for doing stuff like this.

The money was a bonus for some camstars, but for others it was a lifeline.

Either way, the amount he always made sometimes made you contemplate whether you’d make a good camgirl or not. But then you’d immediately shy away from the thought. You were far too shy to be a solo camgirl. You’d need someone there to buoy you, give you the confidence that you struggled to gain yourself.

Hope shifts forward once again, rolling his neck and your breath stutters at the arousing sight of the long, elegant sweep of his throat. It’s perfectly smooth with not an inch marred, and you so desperately would love to suck a deep bruise into the sensitive skin there till he’s grunting in your ear.

“I’ll give it a few more minutes and then we’ll get this show started yeah?” He grins, the smile lighting his face up. It makes him look more boyish, yet at the same time the intensity in his eyes tells you that there’s nothing boy about him.

His whole backstory is a complete enigma to his viewers, given how little he says on his profile and the complete lack of information he gives in his shows. Literally the only thing viewers get to know about him is his age and the country he lives in, not his name, nor his normal profession. It seems to simultaneously appeal and frustrate his viewers.

The time he spends reading over comments and making conversations is also spent teasing his ever watchful crowd, a wandering hand roaming along his body slowly in all the areas you so desperately would love to touch.

A slight hitch in his breath gives away his actions and you note the way he’s pressing his palm to the crotch of his pants, lower lip teasingly bitten as those elegant eyes scan over the screen. Smirking, he finally leans back slightly before giving a soft laugh.

“Alright boys, girls and anyone else who’s here to enjoy. Let’s get this show on the road yeah? I’m afraid it’s not going to be a long one. I’ve had a tiring day.” He whispers before shifting on the bed, legs spreading once again while his hand trails down his body slowly.

“Have you all been good for Sir?” The obvious winner of the poll slips off his tongue with ease, and you watch as he slides into the persona just as easily. Each persona is slightly different to the next, and the Sir has always been one that doesn’t waste time.

Apt, given that he’s already stated that he won’t be doing a long show today.

He begins to roll up his sleeves, taking his time as the white material rolls back on itself until both forearms are visible. The skin is smooth and honeyed, the muscles beneath working as he clasps both hands back together to read some more comments.

His set up means the laptop is pretty close to him, but the camera is a little farther away to get the full effect. But he can still read his comments with ease.

“Now...I see lots of people saying that they’ve been very good but how do I know for a fact? Tell me what you’ve done, and for each comment I like...I’ll undo a button for you.” One eyebrow lifts up while he sucks his lower lip into his teeth, eyes dark for the camera.

The temptation to send your own comment in is overwhelming, but you stay away from the chat this time. Instead, you take in every tiny detail that you can see of him on the screen and simply admire the way he teases and plays with his audience.

Each viewer that gives him a satisfactory answer, such as someone getting a positive score on a college test or someone getting a new job, results in a button on his white shirt being loosened until soon enough...he’s got none left.

Instead, you’re graced with the beautiful image of his bare torso and you let out a soft whine to yourself at the sight of it. He’s a pretty lean guy, but the defined abdominal muscles lets you, and everyone else, know that he obviously works out and takes care of himself.

His chest is free of any hair, but there’s a tantalising trail that leads down to the waistband of his black pants and you want to desperately lick along there until you find his happy place. Because it would be his happy place if you got your mouth on him.

Hope knows this is what people want though, and he lets everyone have a few minutes to simply admire him as he slowly runs his hand along his stomach, tutting at a few unruly viewers who demand him to go faster.

“Demands make for sad viewers. Keep it up...and I’ll punish you.” His voice is ridiculously low as he murmurs out the threat. You know he’ll do it too, and it makes you clench your thighs at the rumbling bass that rolls through your speakers.

There’s one persistent viewer that doesn’t seem to be getting the rules, or maybe they’re just doing it on purpose. But either way, the demands for him to take off his pants become insistent to the point his eyes narrow in annoyance.

Slowly, and with his eyes focused on the camera, he begins to button up his shirt once again. Automatically you let out an expletive, annoyed at the viewer, and sure enough the others watching simultaneously beg him not to do it while berating the one causing him to put his foot down.

“Now, now. Don’t be mean everyone. Some people just need to learn the rules right? You get two minutes of nothing from me now. Do it again, and I’ll button up another and you get five of nothing. I said this wasn’t a long show...do you not want anything to happen?” He muses quietly, rubbing at his lower lip.

Sure enough, the chat explodes in begging and pleading. But he holds firm and there’s two whole minutes of nothing but him simply staring at the camera. After that’s up, he lets out a deep sigh before unbuttoning the final button once more.

“Now...are we going to play good?” You’re nodding your head in response, despite the fact he evidently can’t hear you. “Okay. Now...I got some good responses from you all. If you want me to take off these pants...then I need to hear why. Tell Sir why he should do that. What are you going to give him?”

A trick question obviously, because in reality they can give him nothing. But it’s not about that, you can guess that. It’s about giving him the allusion of power over his viewers. About them believing that he’ll do what they want if they ask him nicely enough.

“Oooh...some interesting answers here. But I think I like this one. Simple, but it gets me excited.” He grins, a heart shaped smile that’s so beautiful you can feel your heart swooping already. “I’d give Sir the prettiest moans. Not much to it, but you can’t deny there’s nothing sweeter than hearing a desperate moan sometimes.”

Sure enough, he follows through with his promise and slowly peels off his belt before unbuttoning the black pants. They drop to the floor almost silently and you can practically hear the stunned silence from the audience at the sight of him.

He’s not wearing any underwear, leaving his hard cock to bounce in the air slightly from being released. Hope isn’t hung like some of the guys on the site, nor is he as thick as some of them. But you’d certainly never complain.

Thick enough for his fingers to only just meet when he wraps them around the base, you feel yourself clenching as he gives himself an experimental stroke. It’s long and slow, and the prolonged eye contact he maintains with the camera makes it feel weirdly personal.

But that’s his specialty. Making every viewer feel like they’re the only one he’s entertaining.

“Like what you see?” He asks huskily, licking at his lip as he watches while his hand moves along his length. You’re nodding without even realising it, your own hand sliding down your body until it slips beneath your own clothing and your fingers find the hood of your clit with ease.

Slickness meets your fingers as you spread it over the engorged bundle of nerves, a soft gasp leaving your mouth as you touch yourself in the way that you enjoy most. You’re not even really paying attention to what he’s saying anymore, too focused on the way he sits back on the bed and continues to jerk himself in such delightful movements that have him gasping between words.

For a few minutes, you try to only circle your clit in time to his own strokes but you find yourself getting impatient and wanting to reach your ending sooner rather than later. He has far more patience than you have though, and he’s only just started to caress his cock at a faster rate while he purrs out pure filth to his audience.

A few comments are begging him for release already, no doubt riled up to the point of orgasm like you are and you find yourself hoping that he’ll have mercy today and let you all come. You’ve already begrudgingly removed your fingers from yourself twice in an effort to hold out your pleasure for even longer, edging yourself until it’s almost painful to pull away.

“Why should I let you all come? You were all begging me to last longer earlier. Are you wanting to come for yourselves? Are you almost there? All tight and desperate? Fingers aching? Hands clenching? Are you dying to be filled, or fill someone else? Are you imagining me fucking you? My cock driving into you, hips slamming into yours? Are you wet? Lubed up? Would it be loud? Messy? Would you whine for me?” His words come fast in a staccato manner, his own voice tense with strain as his hand works at himself faster.

People comment in droves, confirming his suspicions with some writing rather elaborate scenarios that you’re impressed at. They can’t be working themselves too hard if they can write that much.

Hope must think so too, reading a few with amusement before he lets out a deep groan at the pleasure he’s giving himself.

“I like your answers. I think you’ve been good for me today. So...I’ll be nice. You can cum. Cum for me. And I want you to moan my name while you do. Imaging cumming around my cock, tightening around me until all I can think about is you.” As he does so, your fingers work at yourself even harder and the ball of pleasure that’s ballooned in your stomach expands even more until you finally fall over that precipice.

A long moan leaves you as your hips circle desperately, fingers dancing over your clit to elongate out the intense orgasm until you can’t handle it anymore and you simply lay there, spent. Your legs fall to the side slightly, tingling from the sensation while your hearing goes a little fuzzy for a few seconds.

The phone lies on your chest; Hope’s moans and deep groans escaping from the small speakers and filling the room with lust and pleasure.

Despite the fact that you’ve just brought yourself to orgasm, your pussy tingling delightfully even if you feel horribly empty, you grasp the phone and look at the screen again. It’s just in time to see Hope’s head fall back, the beautiful line of his defined throat taking centre stage as his chest heaves, abdominal muscles prominent as he sucks in desperate breathes.

A final moan leaves him before his thighs clench and his hips jerk up into his hand. Thick, white cum paints his stomach as he orgasms finally, cock twitching in his hand as he works himself through his own orgasm. It’s so hot that you’re almost tempted to let your fingers play with your clit some more, but you feel far too tired and content for that.

Instead you just watch lazily as he finally finishes, his last few ejaculations simply leaking down the shaft of his cock and coating his hand as he squeezes out every last drop. Finally done, he looks back at the camera with a heady gaze before smirking tiredly, reading the comments.

“You all did good today. I’m sorry it was short, and it wasn’t very interesting. I’ll make it up to you next time. I want you all to do some good aftercare okay? Get a drink, take a shower, go to bed if it’s bedtime. Take care of yourself, however you like to. You’ll do that for me right?” His brow rises expectantly, only falling when he nods in satisfaction at the responses he gets.

“Good. Now...I’ll be saying goodbye. You were all wonderful and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Until next time.” And the screen goes black.

-

The silence in your room is deafening once he signs off, leaving you to lay on the bed and regain your breath as you stare up at the white ceiling. White sheets with cute star patterns cover your comforter and you stand up lazily, dropping your phone to the night stand before stretching out any kinks you may have caused from your attempts to gain your own pleasure.

Tugging your shirt off, you deposit it, your leggings and your soaked underwear into the clothing bin before rooting through your underwear drawer. A pair of comfortable boy shorts with a Hogwarts design are picked out carefully before you head into the bathroom, cleaning yourself up and coming back out in only the underwear.

At this point, your boyfriend has made his way into the bedroom and has pulled back the covers, wearing a plain black shirt combined with grey sweatpants. He looks up at you, a brow raised as he looks over your mostly naked body with a smirk, the sight causing your nipples to peak already.

Rolling your eyes at him, you go into the closet and pull out a Star Wars shirt of his, letting it drop around your body and land just below the curve of your ass. Moving over to the bed, you climb in next to him as he sighs heavily, eyes closing.

“That was a good show.” You say quietly, tiredness lacing every word and he lets out a soft laugh. The bed jolts as he shifts onto his side, shuffling closer to you until he has you pressed against his front and his arm wraps around your waist.

“Yeah? You watch it?” Nodding slowly, your nose is pressed to the smooth skin of his collarbone and you inhale his scent deeply. He smells like the peach of his shower gel and the clean scent of his shampoo, an underlying smell that’s entirely him making your body relax and feel at peace.

He presses his own nose into your hair, his lips curving into a smile that you feel against your forehead before he’s pushing them into a kiss against your skin. It’s soft and filled with love and gratitude for you supporting him.

What his viewers don’t know, is that HopeWorld is one Jung Hoseok. Your boyfriend of six years. You’d both started dating in your last year of college, having known each other since the beginning when your mutual friend, Jimin, had introduced you both.

That acquaintance has turned into a warm friendship, filled with underlying admiration which turned into desire and lust over the years. A one night stand after a few drinks had resulted in you both waking up one morning in his bed, wide eyed at the fact your circumstances had changed so abruptly.

You would have been willing to take on the mantle of Hoseok’s girlfriend eagerly at that point, but he’d been slightly reluctant. Not because he didn’t like you, he’d assured you plenty that he was pretty sure that he was in love with you actually, but because of something else.

Something he wasn’t sure you would approve of, or want in a boyfriend.

And that was when he’d introduced you to BehindTheScene, carefully explaining what he did and the fact that it was not only helpful to his funds but that he actually enjoyed it. His love for you had overridden it though, and after showing you what he did he’d given you the option of asking him to stop.

He would’ve done it too. Put his camboy career out to pasture at your request, choosing you over his love of performing for a willing crowd.

You’d gone home with thoughts whirring in your head, an instinctual part of you influenced by society telling you that you were disgusted with the idea. But an overwhelming part of you was curious.

He’d told you as you left, decision unmade, that he would be doing a show tonight and you could watch if you’d wanted. Carefully, shyly, you’d made an account and clicked on his name when he’d gone live.

What you’d seen had you embarrassed at first, cheeks heating but your body heated even further with something more. Something primal that told you that you wanted this man more than you had before.

You’d gone to his the next morning and told him that he could keep doing the shows, as long as he never did a sex show with someone else. Solo shows were fine, a fantasy that you could indulge in as you listened to his words and imagined him fucking you with each luxurious and rich word that dripped from his mouth.

But shows with other people? No way. That was not acceptable.

He’d accepted your terms eagerly, happily. The happiness in his face at not having to give up something he so obviously enjoyed and loved had made you realise that you’d made the right decision regarding this. You may not have understood it fully, but you understood his happiness.

The few friends of yours that had found out about his shows over the years had been confused as to why you were so accepting of them. How could you let your boyfriend jerk himself off on camera for the pleasures of thousands of people? How could you let him say those kinds of things to faceless people, the kinds of things he should only whisper to you in the heat of the moment?

Every time though, you’d simply said that it was what he wanted. It didn’t impact on your life, because he wasn’t doing anything physically with anyone else. He wasn’t messaging other girls or guys, he wasn’t sleeping with them or any of that kind of stuff. He was sat in a room in your house, getting himself off to a camera. There just happened to be people watching.

You would rather he do that openly with you than feel the need to do something secret, feeling pressured or unhappy. Hoseok’s camshows made him happy in a way you couldn’t, providing him with confidence and satisfaction that benefited you greatly. It didn’t make your sex life bad, if anything your sex life was phenomenal.

Hoseok would often get so turned on during his shows, the thoughts running through his mind about things he’d like to do to you, that by the time his show had finished, he’d be hard again and coming to you for seconds. You were the one who got to experience all the things he whispered to his viewers, you were the one who got to feel him inside you as he chased his orgasm, skin soaked with sweat while whines left his throat as he pushed through the oversensitivity.

Not only that, you enjoyed watching his shows too. And he knew that you watched them sometimes, providing an extra turn on for him. He’d told you once that he imagined you were watching them everytime, and that he would say things specifically with the aim of getting you off or turning you on.

If you orgasmed, it was a bonus for him.

And besides all of this, Hoseok’s camshows brought in a ridiculous amount of money. His normal dayjob was as a freelance web and graphic designer, often going to his friends workplaces to work but also spending a large amount of time in his home office.

It was reasonably well paid work, but it didn’t matter at all. He brought in so much money from his shows over the years that he’d been able to contribute towards your house easily with a huge savings account in turn. He had no student debt, he’d bought his car outright and the money he’d put towards the house had meant the mortgage was much smaller than it would have been.

Quite frankly, Hoseok was loaded from careful saving and even more careful planning with his shows. Your salary was nothing in comparison, a meagre amount from your generic office job that was used to pay half of the bills.

But the most important thing to you, was that he finished his shows and came to you with his bright smile and a happy, relaxed demeanor. Just as he supported you with your gaming habits, even if he had no idea what the hell you rambled on about, you supported him with his.

It just meant his ended up with his dick in his hand and cum everywhere.

“Your viewers seem to be becoming more insistent about a sex show.” You muse quietly in his arms, taking solace in the feel of him in the quietness of the room. Six years together, five of them physically living together, had produced a relationship that was solid in its silence, relaxed in its love.

Hoseok lets out a hum of contemplation, shifting slightly to push a knee between your own legs before pushing his face into the pillow more. “Hmm, I know. I don’t really know how to go about it because I obviously can’t do it. But if they keep getting insistent, then there’s a chance they’ll leave if they don’t get what they want.”

He sighs heavily at this, his chest expanding and deflating against your own. Bringing a hand up, you rub at his chest reassuringly, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone in a comforting move.

“You don’t have to do what they want, you know that. It’s your show, not theirs. And you’ve been there a while now. You’ve got loyal viewers who won’t abandon you.” Hoseok sighs in response, not saying anything and you know that it’s bothering him.

The comments have become more frequent lately, his viewer base becoming more frustrated. It didn’t help when Jungkook and Jimin, the little shits, kept offering to have him on one of their shows or a threesome if he wanted it.

The two had begun doing their own shows after finding out Hoseok did it, fascinated with a whole world they hadn’t known about. They were even more popular than Hoseok, with their innocent faces and dirty words.

Both did solo shows, but they also had sex shows with each other that appealed to a wide range of people. Taehyung, Jungkook’s boyfriend, was apparently okay with the whole thing and you were more than a little mind boggled at that. Which made you feel hypocritical, because obviously some people’s relationships were just like that.

If Taehyung was okay with his boyfriend having sex with his best friend live on camera, then that was his prerogative. But the very idea of Hoseok doing that made you intensely unhappy.

Unsurprisingly, Hoseok had turned down every invitation they’d given him. They’d promised not to do it anymore after they’d offered again on their show last week, the invitation casually spoken as they’d read the comments once they’d finished, skin glowing with sweat.

Hoseok had got angry at them, shouting at them for once and terrifying everyone. He didn’t get angry. He didn’t even get annoyed half the time. But it had set him off, everything just merging together at the wrong moment until he’d blown up on them both.

His show hadn’t gone well that day as his viewers had constantly been asking about the invitation, leading to him being a little more intense and biting than usual. It had made for a wonderful show watching him, as he’d held off his orgasm longer and longer through edging as a punishment for all the questions and his viewers had to suffer for longer too.

He had a whole game with them at this point, where they would push themselves to orgasm only when he did. It meant that he would edge them for a whole hour sometimes, his own cock leaking profusely by the end, his tip red and angry from the wait.

That day, he’d gotten so pissed off that he’d ended the show abruptly. His orgasm had come in a flood, a moan escaping his mouth as his head fell back and he came far earlier than he would’ve. He’d only been going for fifteen minutes, and his viewers had been shocked by the suddenness.

“I wish they wouldn’t. How do I tell them ‘oh hey, I don’t do sex shows because I have a girlfriend that I love very much and I have zero interest in ruining that just for you all to get off’?” He queried, tiredness in him. You wondered if he was getting tired of this whole thing by now, his viewers becoming more unruly as time passed.

Love blossomed in your stomach at his words though, appreciating his steadfast refusal to give in to them because it would mean cheating on you. A thought you’d had while watching him earlier appears back in your mind and you muse on it quietly.

It’s something you’d thought about more and more recently, and you wondered what his thoughts on it would be. Finally, you decide to just put it out there in the open and see what his thoughts actually are. You could have got him completely wrong.

“What about if you do a sex show?” The words are quiet, yet in the silence of the room they’re astoundingly loud. Hoseok doesn’t do anything for a moment before pulling back, looking at you with wide eyes and a dropped jaw.

“What? What do you mean? I’m not cheating on you! I don’t want to have sex with someone else.” His protest is outspoken, genuine panic and unhappiness in his voice as his eyes scan you over.

It makes you feel good, bizarrely, at the way he protests against the idea of having sex with someone else. Combined with his sincere emotions at it, you smile and shift your head to press your lips to his in a sweet kiss.

He kisses back automatically, but when you pull away, you spot the way his lips turn down. The idea of that is genuinely upsetting to him, and you frown as your hand strokes along his side gently.

“I don’t mean have sex with someone else.” The words are out now, and he takes a moment for them to process before his eyes widen once more. Only now they’re in a different kind of shock, a hint of interest in them letting you know that maybe he’ll agree.

“What? Wait...what? You? You’d do a show with me? But I thought you didn’t want to do anything like that?” The words fall from his lips quickly, but you feel the way his fingers tighten around you.

No doubt there are images running through his mind right now; you on top of him, riding him to completion. Him kneeling before you, thrusting into your pussy with confident, hard strokes that have you whimpering and quivering before him till he has you crying out his name. All the while, a camera records every movement, every sound from you both and sends it out to thousands of viewers worldwide.

Your breath hitches at that thought, hips squirming against the mattress and his eyebrow rises slowly as your thigh squeeze around his own involuntarily. Slowly, an incredulous smile spreads over his face as he looks at you with intrigue.

“Holy shit. You’re turned on at the thought of that huh? Would you really be okay with that? I mean...you’ve never shown interest in it before?” He’s certainly interested though, and you let out a huff of laughter at the sudden semi he’s sporting against your stomach. 28 years old and yet the refractory time of a teenager on occasion.

“Well...I’m so used to seeing you do it now. And I know how much you enjoy it. I don’t know, the idea of it is...attractive I guess? Just...having you and knowing that there are thousands of people watching who would die to be in my place.” Hoseok laughs at that, pushing slightly until he’s rolling on top of you and your back hits the bed.

He kisses along your neck slowly, sweet kisses that speak of love and trust even as he slowly grinds his hips into yours. “You already have me. Many times. In many ways. In ways they’ve never seen.”

“That’s another thing. I think I’d want you to submit to me.” Hoseok pauses at that, pulling back once more to stare at you with a carefully blank face. His lips are wet from the assault he’d begun on your neck, and you reach up to trace along his lower lip slowly before pressing down on it until he opens his mouth for you.

Slipping your finger inside, you bite your own lip at the feel of his heated, wet tongue as you play with him before stroking along his cheek, letting his own saliva cause a trail that shines along his golden skin in the soft light of the lamp.

“You want me to submit to you?” His words are careful, slow and full of consideration as his eyes narrow slightly, looking over every micro-expression on your face. A coy look takes over your own as you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers trailing lovingly while you move your legs.

There’s a moment for realisation in his eyes before you’re pushing hard at him, causing him to rock backwards and end up on his own back. He lets you obviously; something you’d long ago learnt was that you can’t move him unless he wants to move. But he’s too intrigued by this idea to start any arguments right now, and instead his hands move to rest against your hips.

“Yeah. You’re used to it. And I’ve seen all the comments. People want to see what the mighty HopeWorld would look like on his knees. Who better to do that than your own girlfriend? You trust me, you know that I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you and you wouldn’t sleep with anyone else on camera.” Fingers get brought down on your hand as you reason with him, the slightest rocking of your hips causing your core to brush against his hard on.

Each touch has his hands twitching while his breath hitches, but his eyes remain focused solely on you. HopeWorld is a master of seduction, a dominating persona that doesn’t take any crap from anyone.

Jung Hoseok, on the other hand, is a switch who leans more to the dominant side. The two of you usually just have normal, pretty vanilla sex but you both enjoy engaging in the kinkier aspects every now and again. And while Hoseok enjoys dominating you, he also likes being dominated in turn on occasion.

Which is probably why his pupils expand in lust at the thought of you making him submit on camera, allowing himself to be vulnerable in the capable hands of the person he trusts most.

Running your hands down his clothed chest slowly, you reach his waistband and run your fingers along the inside slowly. He swallows thickly, tongue wetting his lips as he lets out a pant before his eyes eyes glance down to where your hands are.

“Really? You’d really want that?”

Smiling, you lean down and kiss him deeply, tongues exploring each other before pulling away and gripping his blonde hair tightly at the dark roots, keeping his head firmly against the pillow as he tries to follow your mouth. Grinning, you nod.

“I mean...we need to work stuff out obviously. And we need to check that your audience actually wants that. But...it gets me hot thinking about it. It’s obviously getting you horny.” You whisper against his lips, grinding your hips harder against his erect cock and causing him to whimper gently. Your fresh underwear is soaked through again, but you don’t care as you enjoy the relief the friction against him gives you.

“Okay. Okay, we’ll think about it further later and all that. Please fuck me.” He gasps out, eyes clenched closed while his jaw tenses, revealing the delightful line of his throat and his sculpted jawline.

Smiling, you move down to suck an open kiss into his throat harshly, marring his skin just how you’d wanted to while watching his show while letting out an approving noise. “With pleasure.”

-

A few weeks pass by since your suggestion to him, the time creeping past in its usual ways. Your own job was not exactly the most mentally stimulating, but you were steadily working your way up the career ladder with a clear goal in sight. It may not be amazing, but it was providing you with the experience you needed for what you really wanted to do.

Hoseok had been busy with an influx of projects, spending a lot of his waking time glued to his laptop and computer screen as he designed graphics for companies and created beautiful websites for others. His speciality tended to reside mostly in working with smaller companies, tending to their every needs and providing a lot of after completion support that involved tinkering with their sites if necessary.

While he loved what he did, you knew that it was tiring for him. The last two weeks had involved you having to practically pull him away from his computer in order to get him to eat and sleep. Needless to say, his shows had unfortunately taken a backseat and he’d had to put a notice out on his channel that they may be sporadic for the next month or so.

Which was you’d taken the day off today and begged him to take a day off too. You knew that his work didn’t run like yours did, but the dark circles under his eyes and his increasingly paler skin made worry run rampant in you. He was running himself into the ground in his attempt to get everything finished within his deadlines and you wished desperately that he would take your advice and hire Jungkook as an assistant.

Of course, he would point out that he couldn’t afford an assistant but you were sure he could work something out. There was too much work for one person, and you knew he’d always harboured a hope of creating his own creative agency that specialised in web based design.

But Hoseok was stubborn, and he often had to be run to the point of collapse before accepting change or something new. And while you didn’t appreciate his method of coping with things, you knew that you had to make everything else in his life as comfortable as you could.

He did it for you after all. When you had your nervous breakdown in your old job from too much stress and anxiety, Hoseok had been there for you. He’d been the one shouldering your pain and tears, rubbing your back and kissing your head. Being a pillar of strength for you. So of course, you did the same back.

And you knew that Hoseok knew what you were doing today. He wouldn’t have agreed to it if he didn’t, and you were happy that he was letting you coddle him today. It was time to just be you and him, no jobs or work involved.

As such, you were currently driving to the coast for what you were hoping was going to be a day of fun for the two of you. The skies were blue and the breeze was warm, giving you a good feeling for what the beach was going to be like.

Looking over at Hoseok, you smile softly as you note him sleeping with his head against the window. How he’s managing that when you have no doubt his head is vibrating furiously against the glass, you don’t know. But then again, you do know. He’s just been that tired.

He sleeps the whole way there and by the time you park up, facing the crystal blue sea, you can even hear the soft snores that escape him. Hoseok isn’t normally someone who snores, but you guess the position he’s in is making it more obvious.

Pulling the keys out of the ignition, you shift over to look at him. His newly dyed dark hair gleams in the light that makes its way through the window, his skin a shade paler than it normally is. He hasn’t spent a whole lot of time outside, and you desperately hope that it makes him a little happier and stress free.

A white t-shirt sits on his torso, slightly baggy while denim shorts let his toned legs be seen to the world. Which is a good thing, because he has damn good looking legs. He shifts slightly in his sleep, arms crossed over and shoulders hunching a little closer while his tongue licks at his lips, a quiet murmur leaving him and you laugh lightly.

Reaching over, you stroke through his hair repeatedly and enjoy the softness of it against your fingers. Hoseok likes having his hair played with and it’s always one of the quickest ways to relax him and get him to sleep. It’s also one of the best ways to wake him gently, bizarrely.

Sure enough, a quiet rumbling from his chest lets you know that he’s waking up before he’s blinking slowly, squinting in the light. Yawning loudly, he stretches out as far as he can in the car seat before looking at you quietly, lips pouted ever so slightly.

His face is swollen with sleep, eyes puffy and cheeks rounded. Everyone told you that as time passed, the excitement of your relationship with him would disappear and you’d just be left a quiet and serene love.

They lied, because as you watch your sleepy boyfriend come back to consciousness properly, you feel a fizz of excitement and happiness bubble in your stomach. Six years together, and he still makes you feel young.

“Are we here?” He asks, voice crackling before he coughs to clear his throat. Laughing lightly, you open your door and get out, dipping back down to look at him with a brow raised.

“I hope so. Otherwise I’ve found a really large expanse of previously unseen water.” You tease, closing the door before pulling out the blanket and food you’d prepared this morning. Hoseok grumbles quietly as he gets out of the car too, standing with his arms resting against the warm roof.

“Ha ha, funny. I see why I started dating you now, a real comedian.” He says, reaching into the glove box to pull out a pair of sunglasses and sliding them on. Walking around to the front of the car, he takes the food and bag from you before clasping your hand in his own, fingers twining together.

“You’re always so grumpy when you wake up, you know that?” Hoseok lets out a grunt before quickly leaning down and kissing your lips, pulling away before you can do anything. A noise of protest leaves your mouth as you reach the sandy shoreline, kicking your shoes off while Hoseok just strides out onto the hot sand, tugging you along.

“At least use some chewing gum after you’ve slept for an hour! I don’t want to taste sleep breath.” Looking up and down the beach, Hoseok decides the spot you’re at is perfect and lets go of your hand to lay the blanket out.

It’s only once he’s knelt down on the soft material, kicking his own shoes off that he looks back up at you with a brow raised above his shades. “You never mind when I kiss you in the morning before we’re about to fuck.”

“Hoseok!” You whisper shout, looking around in embarrassment even though there’s no one near you. He chuckles and pulls you down with him, wrapping an arm around your waist before kissing your cheek sweetly.

“What? There’s no one here and you know I don’t mind an audience.” Leaning away from him, you scan over his face and feel a small sense of relief run through you as you can already see the stress and strain practically vanishing from his face.

“I thought I said we weren’t talking about work today?” You ask, reaching into the bag and pulling out some sandwiches you’d made. Handing him the ham, cheese, bacon and salad that you’d prepared especially for him, the two of you eat in silence for a moment as you simply enjoy the gentle, cool breeze rolling off the ocean and the sound of the waves crashing on the white beach.

“That’s not work. You know that.” He says quietly, playing with the crust of his sandwich. From the concentrated look on his face, you’re pretty sure he has something on his mind and you wonder what it is.

Reaching out, you run your thumb along his cheek gently and smile when he closes his eyes and leans into your touch, his brows creasing together slightly. “Hey...what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, just enjoying the feel of your hand on his face and you don’t feel the need to pressure him. You know Hoseok will tell you when he’s ready, and you’ll be here when he is.

Thankfully though, it doesn’t take too long for him to open up again. It had been a struggle to get him to be open with you in the first few years of your relationship. You’d joked that the US Federal Reserve had a vault that was weaker than Hoseok, because he just didn’t let people into the deepest areas of him.

Until he’d finally trusted you enough to crack open his walls and let you slip inside.

“You know that you said you’d do a show with me?” His voice is quiet, deeper than it usually is due to his lower tone. You actually feel a little unnerved, frowning slightly as you acknowledge his question quietly.

Hoseok tears the crust into tiny pieces before swallowing and letting the handful fall onto the blue patterned blanket. “I wanna do it. I’ve already done polls and...people want it. So...I want to do it if you’re comfortable with it.”

“If you’re okay with me being on your show then...yeah. I mean...I want a mask because I don’t want my face seen and I don’t know if I want to be naked because I don’t know if I can handle those negative remarks but...yeah. It’ll be an experience.” You laugh softly, pressing yourself into his side and resting your head on his shoulder.

“Hey! You’re beautiful, there’s nothing wrong with your body and everyone should feel privileged to see it.” The defense in his voice for you has you smiling brightly, pushing at him until he rocks to the side. His arm lifts and pulls you into him closer, wrapping it around your shoulders.

“You’re still tense though. So what else are you thinking?”

He lets out a soft breathy laugh, head falling forward. “Can’t hide anything huh? I think...I want that to be my last show. Go out with a bang.”

His words fall into silence, shocked from your side and waiting in anticipation on his. Pulling away from him, you scan over his face with wide and shocked eyes. Hoseok just watches you back quietly, his sunglasses pushed up and keeping his hair away from his face. He looks slightly unsure of himself, like he doesn’t know if he’s said the right thing.

“Really? You...want to quit that?” He chews on his lip for a little bit before nodding, taking your hand and playing with your fingers silently.

“Yeah. I...yeah I do. I’ve enjoyed it over the years, and it makes me feel good but...I think it’s time. I’ve done it for seven years and I have no reason to keep doing it anymore. I’ve saved plenty of money from it and I just feel like this is the right time to end it all.” You’re not sure what to think, as this sounds like it’s come from nowhere and yet he sounds like he’s thought it through.

“But why? You love doing it. It’s not because of me or anything right? You know that I’m not bothered about it. And your fans will stay with you, even if you have a sex show.” He smiles endearingly at you, moving forward till he’s kissing you. It’s short and sweet, pulling away before you can even do anything more.

“I know that. I know all that. But...I want to quit. For me. I started doing it as a way to earn some money and gain some confidence. I have that confidence now and I have more than enough money. You keep saying that I should hire Jungkook as an assistant and...you’re right. I have too much work...which is why I’m going to finally do it. Start the company. I can’t do that and still be a camboy.” It all sounds logical to you, and you can see now why he’s been reducing the number of shows he’s been doing over the last few months.

Slowly pulling away from people so they’re less shocked when he leaves finally.

“You’re going to do it then? Finally start the Jung Company?” You’re grinning brightly at him, lips pulled in a smile so wide in dual excitement and pride for him. His degree had been a dual business management and web design course, so he hopefully had everything he needed.

“Well first of all, it’s not the Jung Company. Hope Design, or something like that. I dunno, marketing is not my strongest area. Despite it technically being my area,” He contradicts himself, frowning slightly as it registers before he nods. “Anyway. Yeah. I’m gonna do it. Web and graphic design...full time. Take on more clients, make it a full time job. Hire people when necessary. It means I get to do what I always wanted...and I get to spend more time with you. And you have me to yourself.”

“Hey, I was never bothered about that.” You say, resting your hand on his stomach as you kiss his cheek. He smiles and kisses you again, a little longer than before.

“I know. But that’s another thing. I want to spend more time with you. I want to...be more with you and I don’t feel comfortable doing sex shows with what I want. If...you agree with me then I don’t think it would be fair of me to take time out to do them, nor would I feel comfortable.” You’re frowning now, wondering what he’s on about here. You’ve always made it clear that he was doing them before he started dating you, and you’d given him implicit permission to continue.

Taking in your confused face, he lets out a quiet laugh and runs a hand over his own. A quiet groan leaves him. “Ah Hoseok, you’re fucking this up.”

Turning, he lets go of your hand and reaches into his pocket before pulling out a small box. Almost immediately your eyes widen as he hands it to you with a tentative smile, hands shaking the whole time.

“Hoseok...is this…” Your voice trails off as you open it and see the beautiful ring inside. It’s silver, probably platinum, and has one beautiful diamond in the centre with two smaller pink diamonds on either side and two even smaller, clear diamonds on either side of those. For an engagement ring, it is neither ostentatious nor simple and you love it.

Almost immediately you’re looking at him through watery eyes, throat closing in on itself as he smiles through his obvious nerves. “Will you marry me?”

You can’t even get the words out a you nod repeatedly, tears slipping down your cheeks as he lets out a loud laugh before slipping the ring onto your finger. Almost immediately, you’re engulfed in his arms as he hugs you so tightly, pressing his face into your neck as you both rock from side to side.

“That’s the other reason I want to quit. Because I swore to myself that I’d stop when I got married. I want to marry you, and then I want to have babies with you and all that good stuff. And when I imagine that life, I don’t see those shows in it. That’s our life, not anyone else’s.” You sniff almost pathetically as you look down at the ring before looking back at him. He looks sincere, his eyes filled with love for you and you swallow thickly.

“You know I wouldn’t stop you doing it if you still wanted to. You know that right?” You ask quietly, imploring him to know that you really would be okay with it. For now at least, but you understand where he’s coming from.

“I know. I know you’d support almost any decision I made. But this is what I want. It always had to end at some time. So I want to do one last show where I show the world you for the first and last time, before stopping it. And then I want to make a company we can be proud of, and a family that we can love. I’m tired of jacking off on camera babe. Call me old at 28 but, I want the only person to see me like be you. So are you okay with that? Marrying me? Having sex with me on camera once?” He wiggles his brows at that and you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck before kissing him deeply.

When you pull away, you’re both breathing a little quicker and heavier than before but it doesn’t stop you from kissing the tip of his nose. “I was already willing to have sex with you on camera. Marrying you is just the icing on the cake.”

He smirks at that. “You can have your cake and eat it. Though not right now, because right now I want to throw you in the sea.”

And with that, he heaves you both up before running down the beach with you in his arms, ignoring the ear-splitting shrieks that come from you and he deposits you both into the salty ocean.

-

It’s a week later that Hoseok finally decides to end it, announcing via his Twitter that the show he’ll be performing tonight will be his last ever. Understandably, there are many of his fans who are angry and shocked that he’s ending his camming career, but there’s plenty who give him support and encouragement.

He’d announced it via an open letter to all his fans and loyal viewers, one that he’d written carefully over the week before decreeing it perfect and deciding that it was the perfect way to end it. There was no explicit reasoning for his decision, only that his personal life had become so important to him that he didn’t feel comfortable carrying on with his camshow persona any longer.

And so HopeWorld would be officially closing tonight. His final show would not be saved, and all his previous shows would be deleted along with his profile. Only those who had bought and downloaded them would be able to continue enjoying them.

Hoseok had decided that he was done with the camshow world, and that meant he didn’t want his material out there unless it had already been downloaded. A clean slate for him, and for you too.

Despite how accepting you had been of his request to join him on his last show, perhaps understandably you’d ended up with some pre-show jitters. Whereas Hoseok had gained in confidence throughout his camshow career, the idea of putting your body on show was suddenly nerve wracking.

There were different expectations placed on women, and you’d slowly gotten to the point that you were half of a mind to back out. Which was why Hoseok had paused in his preparations for the stream to sit you down on the bed and console you.

He was dressed to impress as usual, black jeans that clung to his legs and ensured nothing stayed hidden while he had a white button up shirt on. Hoseok liked those as it meant he got to tease the viewers for longer unbuttoning it all, but you just liked it because it emphasised everything hot about him.

From his slim shoulders to his firm waist, his golden skin to the delightful sculpted hollows of his collarbones. Honestly, it’s a wonder you’ve never come in here and jumped him halfway through a show before.

But today you’d had some input on his wardrobe, particularly given that it was going to be your show. As such, he had a leather collar wrapped around his neck that contrasted beautifully against the movements of his throat. He’d worn them on occasion before on his shows, just to entice people with the possibility of something they weren’t getting.

This time though, you were actually going to use it and just the sight of it on your delightfully attractive fiancé was enough to make you shiver. There was always something hot about seeing him submit to you, and despite your misgivings you were excited to let his viewers see that for their final view.

Despite your eagerness for that, and also for him to rearrange your guts live on camera, the crippling insecurities that came with stuff like this were dampening your mood. And Hoseok had noticed, given how carefully he paid attention to you.

“Are you okay? You don’t have to do this, it’s up to you. You know that right? I’d never make you do anything that you don’t want to.” His voice is low and calming, expression concerned while the back of his knuckles runs along your arm in slow movements. It’s not a lot, but it’s surprising how comforting it feels to you.

For a second, you go to lie to him before deciding to be honest and shrugging slightly. “What if they don’t like me? Or like...think I’m fat or that I look funny down…” The words trail off in your embarrassment and worry.

“Woah woah, okay firstly. I don’t care if they don’t like you, and neither should you because they’re never going to see you again after this one show. You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, you know that right? And I’m not saying that just because I’m marrying you, you really are. Secondly, you’re not fat and you look perfectly fine. I swear. Please don’t worry about things like this because if you start now, then it’ll fester and get worse in your head. You are perfect as you are. If you think you can’t do this then just let me know and we don’t, I don’t mind. I’d rather not have you in the show than have you end up with crippling insecurities, okay?” Hoseok states insistently, moving his arm around your shoulders and pulling you in close to him.

You let him practically baby you for a few minutes, letting him soothe over any of your worries because it feels good to have him reassure you. A little selfish perhaps, but you were about to get naked on a livestream with him. You needed the assurance from him that all was going to be well, even if he couldn’t actually promise that.

Hoseok had your implicit trust and love, so you had to trust and love that he would keep an eye on things.

“Do you still want to?” He asks quietly, pressing his lips to your temple and letting them rest there for a moment, warm breath tickling the finer hairs along your skin. It’s intimate and comforting, the scent of him so close and his presence so calming. There’s little wonder you fell for him all those years ago, his sweet smile drawing you in and everything else just solidifying him as the perfect man for you.

A myriad of emotions runs through you though as you think through his words, your hands self-consciously coming to cover up the bits of you that you always feel a bit more wobbly than they should be. The areas that make you feel a little anxious when you think of thousands of people getting to see them in HD glory.

Hoseok’s hands move down to where yours are, and it’s only when he slips his underneath your own to stroke at the soft, vulnerable skin there that you realise you’d been clawing at it. Subconsciously unhappy.

“I don’t want you to do this if it’s going to be negative on your health. I love you, I love everything about you but I don’t want you to push yourself to do something for me if you’re not happy.” His words are quiet against your skin, murmured almost but you feel them to your very core as his fingers gently move against the parts of you that you’ve struggled with, with not an ounce of disgust on his face or in his words.

“I want to. I want to still do this. I just...it’s scary.” The words a little more soft than you’d have liked them to be, almost whimpered out like a child. It makes Hoseok chuckle quietly, not laughing at you but the way you’d said it, before he wraps his arms around you completely.

“I know, I still get a little nervous. But you’ll be great. We’ve prepped for everything, and I am beyond excited to introduce everyone to the woman who owns my body, heart and soul.” He says seriously, squishing you to him.

You can’t help but snort at his words. “You can keep that cheesiness though, that’s solely yours. And you’re just excited to get laid, you’re already hard.”

The thick erection currently pressed to your stomach means Hoseok can’t argue back, so instead he just pushes it further against you. A quiet gasped moan leaves his mouth as he does so, the friction from the action pleasurable against his sensitive member.

You’d both prepared earlier for the show to make sure it was seamless and easy. Which meant that you were both in your outfits, a matching dark green and black lace lingerie set for you with suspenders holding up some delightfully sexy stockings that had made Hoseok whimper to himself when he’d seen the whole outfit.

Green was his favourite colour after all.

It had also extended to prepping each other sexually, with enough foreplay to get him raring to go while you were pretty positive he could slide straight in if he wanted to. The toy that you were going to be using, along with a bottle of lube, were hidden out of sight so as not to give anything away to the intrigued audience.

Everything was ready to go...all Hoseok had to do was start filming.

Pushing him down till he’s sitting back on the bed, you bite your lip and run your fingers through his hair slowly before rearranging back into the style he’d managed to get it into earlier on. Your new fiancé was incredibly attractive and you knew that you’d really won the life lottery with him.

“Okay...let’s do this. Bring out Hope.” Hoseok doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watching you closely with those beautiful dark eyes of his. It felt like he was looking deeply into you, trying to assess whether you were truly comfortable with this.

Slowly, he nods before his hands squeeze on your hips, pulling you a little closer to him before he presses a soft kiss to the skin between your breasts. It’s surprisingly non-sexual for the area, but instead it just feels like he’s comforting you.

And as you stand back, moving into the corner away from the glare of the camera, you acknowledge that he probably was. If you give him any signal tonight that you’re not happy, then he’ll stop. Even if it is his last show.

The next ten minutes are spent with Hoseok setting everything up properly with the camera and making sure everything’s working before the light is red and he’s sat back in his usual position on the bed. A brow is raised almost arrogantly as he waits for the viewers to come in.

From your position, you’ve got access to your own laptop and you can watch his page as they rush in. His shows normally bring in a good few thousand viewers at their peak, sometimes hitting 10k. But the news about this being his last show must have spread like wildfire because he’s only been live for a few minutes and he already has half that.

Yes, HopeWorld was certainly going to go out with a bang.

After 10 minutes of waiting around and idle chatter between Hoseok and his loyal viewers, he finally decides to get it going. A quick glance over to you gets your approval before he’s shifting forward, elbows resting on his knees before he smirks at the camera.

“So...I’m going to get straight to the point here. From the large viewer count, which I think has beaten my all-time record, I’m guessing that everyone knows this is my last show before HopeWorld closes its doors for the last time,” He pauses for a moment, eyes flickering over the comments before grinning brightly. “Aaaawwwww.”

The sound is teasing and not even slightly sympathetic, his every moment over exaggerated before he’s smiling back at the screen, tongue running along his white teeth slowly. “Yep, last one. And this is going to be different. Not just because of it being the last. But there’s always been something that people wanted from me and it just didn’t fit at the time. Given it’s my last show...I thought I’d do something different for you all. Go out with a bang.”

His grin turns mischievous as his brow wiggles enticingly, eyes darting over to you once more. “Tonight...Hope is going to retire. But I’m not going to be your Hope for most of the show.”

At that, you take a deep and fortifying breath before clenching your fists to try and calm your racing nerves. This is everything you’d fantasised about whenever you’d watched his shows, and yet now you’re so nervous and worried.

But the tiniest tilt of his head towards you gives you the courage to paint a mysterious smile on your face before you saunter into view. Along with your delightfully sexy lingerie, you also have a pair of sky high heels that cause you to tower over Hoseok for once.

He looks at you slowly, his pupils blown out already as his wet lips part, breath coming faster already in anticipation of your touch. Smiling, you run your fingers through his hair before gripping the back of his collar and tugging at it.

It jerks his head back until his eyes lock onto yours at an awkward angle, a look of pure and utter submission on his face as every inch of his body relaxes into your grip. “He’s going to be mine, aren’t you?”

You’ve lowered the tone of your voice until it’s low and smooth like butter with enough of a hint of husk to make Hoseok shiver. He doesn’t respond for a moment and your fingers tightened on his hair until he lets out the softest whimper.

It’s nothing impressive as a sound, barely heard in the room despite the quiet, but you know damn well that his viewers likely just almost brought themselves to orgasm just from that one syllable.

Because Hope has never once whimpered in submission, nor has he ever looked like this. So powerless under your hands.

Honestly, as much as you love being dominated and sobbing out his name, you don’t think he’s ever looked better than right then.

Smiling at him, you let the finger of your free hand trail along his jaw slowly, taking in the feel of his skin and the hardness of bone underneath before dragging your fingernails down his throat until they slip beneath the leather collar.

“Be a good boy and unbutton that shirt.” Hoseok lets out a moan in response, his nose pressed to your bare stomach from how you’ve pulled him forward. He doesn’t make any further move there though, despite the heat of his breath as it caresses you.

Instead, he does exactly as you demanded from him. Long and elegant fingers, fingers that you’ve drooled over many times on your screen as he gripped his cock or screamed over as they abused your pussy, are working each button from its position to reveal more and more golden, toned skin.

The whole time he does this, Hoseok keeps his eyes firmly on yours until you’re not entirely sure if he’s submitting like he should be. A hand flutters up to touch the black lace mask that’s wrapped around your eyes, hiding your feature from view. Pointless if anyone you know watches this, because there’s no way on earth Hoseok would ever cheat on you. Nevermind doing it live.

But still, it provided a layer of protection that comforted you. Even if it was flimsy.

Plus Hoseok had practically drooled when you’d put it on so that was a win.

Once the shirt was unbuttoned, it lays against his torso prettily and you lean back to admire the delightful lines of his musculature that you’ve kissed and licked so many times before. He’s beautiful, and you fully intend on making sure that he knows that.

“So pretty. Take off those pants for me.” He nods his head slowly, fingers pushing the button through before unzipping them. Standing, he lets them pool at his feet before stepping out of them and you’re left to admire his physique.

He’s lean, yet the toned muscles let the viewers know that he works out enough. But what you’re focused on is his cock, standing proudly from his body as it bobs in the air. As you’ve stated before, he’s not a huge man, but while he may not be the longest he’s certainly got a delightful amount of girth that has you moaning out his name more often than not.

“Doesn’t he have the most delightful dick?” You ask the camera, reaching forward to let your fingers clasp around the silk covered steel of his erection, stroking gently and making him shudder as his head falls back. “Lay back on the bed and stroke yourself for me Hope.”

“Yes Ma’am.” Hoseok responds, sitting back on the bed. He shifts until he’s horizontal to the camera, allowing his whole body to get in the shot before he grasps his dick in his hand and begins to stroke. Talented and experienced hands that know exactly how hard to pull and how to twist until he’s groaning out and painting his stomach white.

“Don’t cum, but keep stroking.” You command firmly, resting a hand on his thigh. “I’ve got a surprise for the viewers.”

With that, you disappear off camera before coming back. The whole time, Hoseok watches you intently while his hand works at himself slowly, his cheeks ever so slightly flushed. But that does nothing to disguise the look of lustful interest in his eyes, nor the way he grips himself tighter with anticipation.

Moving until you’re just in view of the camera, you bend over to give Hoseok the best view of your ass and clothed pussy. The pained groan he lets out tells you that he obviously appreciates it, but you focus on the camera instead as you paint a pretty smile on your face.

“Now...I’ve heard from Hope that you’ve asked him to do a lot of things over the years. And he’s been a very naughty boy by teasing you all hasn’t he? It’s taken this long for him to be the one on the receiving end, and I know you’ve just been desperate to see that.” You pout slightly before winking. “But don’t worry, I’ll make him beg for you all.”

A turn of your head lets you see that Hoseok has slowed down, his hand not moving where it grips his cock firmly and your brow raises slowly. He catches your eye and flushes, mumbling out an apology to you before he’s stroking himself once more.

“I’ve also heard that you’ve asked if he’d be more willing to do things that other camboys do. I know that a lot of the solo guy shows don’t only jerk themselves off but use sex toys on themselves.” Leaning in, you read the comments as they move past on the screen before making a contemplative noise.

“I know he uses sex toys...but it’s always like...a cock ring or a fleshlight. I was thinking that we could have something else this time.” With that, you wink before producing the sex toy from your back.

The dildo is a glittering green, a joke that you’d bought him years ago when you first brought up the idea of pegging him. At the time, he’d just rolled his eyes in amusement but eventually he’d let you actually use it on him. As such, this was very much his toy.

And he definitely enjoyed it.

When you’d both been discussing how this show would go, the idea of using sex toys had come up and you’d then brought up the idea of using a dildo on him. It was something you both enjoyed in your private sex life from time to time and he’d casually mentioned sometimes that his viewers had often suggested it to him for the camera.

It was a popular form of entertainment for other camboys, but Hoseok had never done it. That wasn’t his style of show and he didn’t particularly enjoy doing that solo.

No, that was your thing to do with him and he’d been receptive to the idea of doing it on camera.

Which was why you’d both prepped so intensely earlier, because neither of you wanted to spend half an hour on camera just prepping him. Despite what porn and fiction said, anal sex was not something to just rush into and you had no desire to hurt your fiancé by going too fast.

Sure enough though, the comments are going crazy as everyone can guess where this is going. Hope being submissive was exciting enough for them all, but finally getting to see him being the one to writhe and whine as his ass was fucked was pushing them into overdrive.

It was with amusement that you watched the viewership spike suddenly, and you wondered if there were people who were spreading the news. You knew for a fact that Jimin was watching intently, which made you only slightly nervous. But if he couldn’t be fucked by, or fuck, Hoseok then he’d said he was damn well watching you do it.

“Yeah, I thought you’d all enjoy that. Would you like that Hope? Have your ass be fucked by me while all your viewers watch?” The question is light and inquisitive, double checking with him that he really was okay with this.

His response comes in a low, rasping voice that betrays the desire he’s feeling for what you’re going to do with him. “Yes Ma’am. I’d love that.”

“Hmmm...I did say that I would have you begging for your lovely audience. Maybe we should start now.” Moving over to the bed, you crawl on top of it until you’re between his legs, pushing them apart enough for you to kneel comfortably there and enjoying the sight of him stroking himself slowly.

Just slow enough that you can’t complain at him, but not fast enough to get him going. Though that doesn’t stop the bead of pre-cum that drips onto his toned stomach.

Uncapping the bottle of lube you’d dropped on the bed next to him, you drip it onto the dildo before stroking it slowly to coat it entirely. The sight of you jerking off a fake cock and not his own has Hoseok whining quietly, a tiny pout forming on his lips and causing you to laugh.

“Look at that. Where’s the Master or the Sir now? I’m only seeing a whiny baby. Are you being a whiny baby Hope?” You tease, voice light as you let your lubricated fingers trail along the soft, vulnerable flesh of his inner thigh.

“Yes Ma’am.” He responds dutifully, playing it up by pushing his lower lip out even more. His muscles twitch as you near his cock, testicles drawn up tight but you bypass that entirely.

Instead, you shift till you’re hovering over him before leaning down and catching that pouty lip between your teeth, tugging slightly before letting go. His breath, minty fresh from brushing just before going live, pants against your mouth before you kiss him.

It’s not a sweet kiss, nor is it soft. Instead, it’s rough and forceful with you taking control of his mouth and forcing him into submission. His natural dominant instinct makes him fight back for a few seconds before he remembers his character, sinking back into the silk sheets and letting you have your way with him.

While he’s completely distracted, you take the chance to grab his swollen cock and pump it a few times with a tight grip. He’d let go during the kiss, too concerned with your mouth on him to care about stroking himself off but your touch has him gasping into you.

You take that opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth, exploring him thoroughly in a kiss that quickly turns loud and sloppy. It’s probably not hugely attractive to watch, but you have no doubt that it’s a turn on for the audience when combined with your hand stroking at his stiff cock.

Pulling away suddenly, his kiss swollen lips cause you to smile as you note the wetness of them while your eyes trace down his slim frame till you reach his pride and joy. Any motion has stopped on your side, but his hips are moving in small, minute movements almost of their own accord as he tries to fuck into your hand.

“Do you want this cock?” You ask, lifting up the dildo that has been held firmly in your free hand. It shimmers in the light, wobbling slightly but Hoseok’s eyes darkened at the sight as he nods. Tutting, you grip his cock firmer. “I said, do you want this cock?”

“Yes Ma’am. I want that cock.” Hoseok is quick to respond, his words laced with a whimper and you smile triumphantly before letting go of his own cock. It bounces against his stomach for a moment, so stiff and needy that it rises back up.

“Good boy.” With that, you let lube trickle from the bottle down onto his balls before running the tip along it, collecting it before pushing it against his puckered ass. With the head pressed firmly in place, you pause to glance up at Hoseok and only when he gives the tiniest nod do you begin to push it further.

There’s resistance but it’s much easier than it would have been thanks to the prep you’d done and the copious amount of lube. He hisses slightly as the tip finally slips inside, his body tensing at the sensation but you made soft noises of encouragement, a hand running along his thigh reassuringly.

The hard bit is over now. Hoseok’s always found the first penetration hardest, but you know he’ll be okay now that’s over with. And if he’s not, then he’ll tell you. If he’s really unhappy, he’ll use his safe word.

His comfort is the priority here for you, despite what the viewers may think.

But the preparation he’d undergone earlier makes it easy on him, and he makes no noise of complaint or visible flinch by the time the length of the dildo is firmly inserted inside him. His cock is still hard, but you take hold of it and jerk him in a few quick movements to keep him interested there.

As you do so, you pull and watch as the length slides out of him slowly and easily before pushing it back in. Hoseok clenches slightly at the feeling before relaxing once again, letting out a long and slow breath.

It takes a few minutes for him to be fully okay with the sensation of the dildo, but the combination of time and the pleasure he gets from your hand job soon has him panting out loud.

Sure enough, it’s not long until he’s whining out loud as you increase the speed with which you thrust into him in small increments. A slight angling has his entire body stiffening up; not from pain but from pleasure as a long groan leaves him.

Experience has taught you that this angle is what seems to really stimulate his prostate and the way his thighs begin to shake tells you that he’s more than happy with the situation. Smiling to yourself, you lean down until you bite at the muscle of his thigh lightly, tracing your teeth along the sensitive skin there as he gasps out loud.

“Does that feel good?” You ask, nose running along his leg given you have no free hand in which to reassure him. A glance up tells you that he’s nodding in response, mouth open and eyes closed as his hips rock slowly.

Grinning, you stop suddenly and push the dildo in as far as you can get it. Tapping at his thigh with your now freehand, you look down at him imperiously. “Keep that in you. I’m sure you can do that right?”

He nods immediately and when you let go of the dildo, it doesn’t move at all. A pleased smile makes it way onto your face, causing you to lean down and kiss his forehead. “Good boy.”

You don’t need to look at his face again to know that he’s blushing a pretty pink under the praise, instead you just run your fingers through his dark hair before moving to look at the laptop. The chat is going wild with what they’ve just seen, even if they angle means that they can’t quite see the dildo in him.

Taking pity on them, you take hold of the camera and bring it around so that they can get the perfect view of him. “He looks so pretty doesn’t he? And he takes it so well. Jimin and Jungkook have really missed out. Don’t you think his cock looks so nice though?”

A few comments make you chuckle in amusement as you read them, eyes hidden behind the mask yet gleaming with anticipation.

Horny4Hope: Hope looks so nice fucked out.

CumToMe: That cock would look better with your juices on it

DVA256: Fuck him Ma’am! Make him beg!

“Should I fuck him? Do you think he deserves to put his cock in my pussy? Has he been good enough?” The comments flood in with viewers desperately screaming at you to fuck him, or be fucked. Some want to see the Hope they know and love appear and make you sob his name whereas others demand that you ruin him till he’s gasping.

“How should I fuck him?” That question gets hundreds of answers flooding in, but the overriding theme appears to be riding him. Keeping him in his submissive position and not allowing him the chance to gain any dominance.

Eyeing him as he lays there patiently, white shirt splayed open and carefully muscled torso just waiting for your touch, you agree with them. Being on top isn’t your favourite position, that would be when he’s jack hammering into you from behind, but it does give that beautiful sense of power. Plus, Hoseok goes wild for the view.

“Let’s ride him then shall we? I think we’ve tamed him enough.” You slowly take your underwear off, as seductively as you can for the camera before moving back to the bed. Once there, you move until you’re on top of him with your soaked core hovering over his stomach. His breath is coming faster already, sweat on his face and chest and you can’t wait till he’s drenched.

But you don’t slip onto him yet. Instead, you widen your stance a little until your clit brushes against his toned stomach, the sensation causing you to gasp out. Eyes fluttering shut, you rest one hand on his chest and rock your hips back and forth, the friction sending shocks of pleasure through your system while your wetness coats his skin.

“You feel good already Hope. Will you make me feel good with your cock?” You ask, breath strained slightly as your hips buck a little more. Hoseok’s eyes are glued to the area between your legs, focused with laser intensity on your engorged clit as it rubs against his abdomen.

“Yes Ma’am. I’ll make you feel good with my cock. You’ll feel better with my cock than with my stomach, I guarantee it.” His eyes flick up then to catch yours, a slight look of defiance in them as if he’s telling you to test his theory.

Your eyebrows shift upwards slightly and you smile, reaching to grab his swollen cock before you inch backwards until the tip of him is rubbing against your entrance. Rolling your hips in a circular manner, you tease him by sliding only the slightest of him inside before lifting off him again.

This is repeated a few times until he lets out a quiet whine of impatience, laced with desire and need. Tutting, you take pity on him and slide down on him suddenly, his cock penetrating you with ease given how obscenely wet and aroused you are for him.

Every inch of him fills you immediately, your sensitive walls clenching instinctively as you let out a long moan of pleasure. Hoseok’s cock has always felt good, and the knowledge of being watched makes it even more arousing and therefore pleasurable as you tighten once more.

His hands flex against the sheets, not touching you given that you haven’t given him the permission to do so. But you know he’s desperate for his hands to sink into the soft flesh of your hips, push you down as he drives upwards.

Instead, he lays there with clenched teeth as you slowly begin to ride him. He looks so attractive that you can’t help but lean down and bite along his neck once more, reaching any skin that you can manage around his collar and sucking deeply until you can feel the vibrations of his noises through his throat.

“He’s doing so good for me, aren’t you? His cock feels just as good as you think it might, I hope you all know that. Just imagine him inside you, filling you up until all you can focus on is the thickness between your thighs. Each ridge of him pressing against your sensitive areas, the friction of him so overwhelming. Imagine him fucking up into you, or you riding him like this. He’ll be whatever you want him to be, right Hope?” You end the teasing by running your hand along his chest, nails scraping slightly as he shudders and moans under you.

“Yes Ma’am. Anything you want.” He’ll probably say whatever you want right now, the combination of his cock in your wet, tight warmth and the dildo pressing against his prostate with every clench of his muscles and movement of his hips overriding any coherent thoughts he may have.

“That’s my good boy.” Purring to him, you begin to ride him with wild abandon.

Each roll of your hips had his thick length sliding in and out of you with a practised ease, the blunt head of him rubbing against the sensitive nerves inside you with each precise movement until you let out a soft cry of pleasure. Looking down at him, you groaned quietly at the sight of him so unbelievably fucked out beneath you.

It was a common sight for you, but not one for his viewers who were used to the restrained and controlled persona who inhabited HopeWorld, ruling it with darkened words and silken hands that touched only himself. Now though, they were being introduced to a whole new persona of Hope; one who enjoyed losing himself to the sensations and feelings that came with letting go.

Hoseok was tense beneath you, the toned planes of his chest shuddering as his lungs worked to force life giving oxygen into his starved body while the tendons of his neck tensed delightfully beneath the black leather of the collar that wrapped around him. Bruised rosettes were blossoming already from your earlier, insistent, ministrations and you smirked at the sight of them as he bit down on his lip, reddened from the constant chewing he'd been doing.

His abdominal muscles flex beneath you with each rock of your hips, a sign that he's fighting the instinctual urge he has to surge forward and fuck you till you're weeping his name. Only the knowledge of punishment, a refused orgasm once more, keeps him from giving in.

Inky hair clings to his sweat soaked forehead as his eyes scrunched closed, whimpers of almost pain leaving his throat but you know it's the opposite. He's experiencing too much pleasure, the precipice to bliss just within his reach and you purr softly.

“Does my Hope want to come? Do you want to come inside me until you're leaking out of me with each thrust? Till I'm coated in white?” He nods immediately, a choked grunt escaping him as you twist your hips a certain way while clamping your inner muscles down.

Reaching behind you, twisting your body till the camera has a great shot of you riding him,you grasp the end of the dildo still firmly wedged in him and pull on it slowly before sliding it back into place. It's awkward in this position, and you can't pull it out far enough but his reaction makes it worth it.

A high pitched whine leaves him before tagged gasps tear from his lungs, body jerking like he's been electrocuted beneath you from the dual pleasure of your slick, tight pussy around his cock and the thick, long intrusion pressing against his prostate in his ass.

Looking at the camera, you smirk before using your other hand to play with your clit slowly. Deft, experienced fingers rub at the bundle of nerves till you're fluttering around him and he's letting out random noises as you let out a deep sigh and shake your head.

“I don't think our Hope deserves to come in me, do you?” You ask his viewers directly, pausing your movements to lean in and read the flurry of comments that are flying along the screen. There are over 70,000 people watching you ruin him right now and the sheer thrill sends a tingle down your spine.

“Looks like they agree Hope, no pussy for you.” You murmur, grinning for the camera before turning back and leaning forward. Hoseok's eyes are almost black with lust and passion and he acquiesces to you with zero complaints as you kiss him messily, tongue playing with his in a loud show before you pull away to admire his wry lips.

Lifting your hips up, he slips out of you before his length bounces on his stomach and rising back up to press insistently at your clit. Sighing quietly, you grind against him and simply enjoy the way his slick flesh feels against you.

“How should I use him to get off hmm? Should I ride him? Get myself off while he watches? Or ride his face?” You throw out the suggestions casually, feeling the way Hoseok shudders beneath you in anticipation of whatever you’re going to do for him.

Crawling over to the laptop, your eyes glance towards the camera and you take note of yourself in the screen as you do so. Your breasts are still held tightly in your lace bra, the hints of green noticeable even at a glance and your teeth bite at your lip seductively as you run a hand over the soft mounds of them.

Unsurprisingly, the comments are going wild and you laugh lightly as you sit against the edge of the bed, likely leaving a patch of darkened wetness on the delightful silk sheets. Smirking, you let your tongue run along your lower lip slowly while looking into the camera.

“Shall we do a little poll? 100 coins to vote.” You murmur, grinning as your fingers tap over the keyboard as you set up the poll how Hoseok had shown you once. The hitch in his breathing from behind you let’s you know he’s probably turned his head away to let out a laugh at your blatant commercialisation of ruining your fiancé.

He’d be proud.

Shifting, you look at him with a raised brow as the poll begins to run. Hoseok’s face is carefully blank, the sweat on his brow shining in the light as he works to calm down his breathing now that he’s been given a respite. There’s something delightful about edging him along to an orgasm before letting him whine as it falls away from him and you understand exactly why he loves doing it to you so much.

Running your fingertips lightly alone his chest, letting the slightest touch of his skin ghost against your own. The sensation has him shivering, the fine hairs on his arms rising as you lean over and press an open mouthed, wet kiss to him. A stilted breath escapes him at your touch and you smile, your tongue darting out to lick the lightest line of wetness along his stomach.

You follow the natural lines of his muscles, dipping into the crevices and enjoying the slight tang of his sweat as it hits your tongue. It almost immediately makes a flare of heat burst into life between your legs, causing you to squeeze. The slight relief caused has you sighing against him, warm breath hitting the cooling trail on his skin and making him shiver again.

“You’re being very good for me, aren’t you? Such a good boy.” The words purr from you, low and teasing as you bite at his hip bone and cause him to jerk in response. He doesn’t respond until you look back up at him, brow raising while your eyes harden slightly.

Hoseok bites at his own lip, looking a little like he wants to be petulant and you mentally encourage him. Because there’s nothing like reprimanding him and making him whine for you, and the power trip the camera is giving you is like nothing else. You don’t even need to feel between your legs to know damn well that not only is your pussy wet, but your thighs too.

But he evidently decides to deny you that thrill because he nods slowly.

Still, you decide it’s not quite enough for you and you reach for his collar, pulling him up slightly until his shoulders leave the bed. “What was that? Are you being a good boy?”

Hoseok hisses lightly, his muscles in his torso flexing as he keeps himself up to ease the pressure on him before he nods once more. “Yes Ma’am. I’m being a good boy for you.”

You almost end up moaning at that, jaw clenching slightly to keep it all together at his sex roughened voice, the tone scraping against all the pleasurable bits inside you and letting you know that he’s beyond turned on. Though his cock was enough evidence of that.

Instead, you just smirk and let go before turning back to the laptop as he falls back to the bed with a soft ‘ooph’. The comments have been going wild again, with some people complaining about the lack of normal HopeWorld content but the vast majority going crazy over seeing their Hope being so utterly dominated after years of controlling his crowd so easily.

It would appear his fans are very approving of this change of pace, and you can’t help but break character and smile as you see the love that’s being sent your way. Any reservations or insecurities you may have had are swept away at the sight of them and instead you feel oddly empowered.

You understand why Hoseok has done this for so long now.

“Hmm...it would seem that the people want me to use your mouth to get myself off. What do you think about that Hope? Are you willing to put that naughty tongue to good use? You’re certainly willing to let it run on these shows...shall we show the audience that it’s good for more than just reprimanding?” Smirking, you take hold of the camera carefully and walked back over to the bed, carefully making sure that you’re in focus and everything is still working.

Hoseok’s watching you with those sex darkened eyes, lashes creating soft shadows on his statuesque face and you’re desperate for everyone to see how he looks even more beautiful with his mouth wet from you. You don’t let him have a chance to move, and instead straddle his waist once more before slowly crawling up his body.

The camera gets placed down just above his head, your eyes on the laptop screen to make sure you’ve got the perfect view while you try to avoid whimpering at the feel of his heated breath against your sopping core. This isn’t a position you do all too often, but your thighs literally tremble with desire at the idea of it right now and a quick glance down has you internally sighing.

Hoseok’s eyes are focused with quiet intensity on the soft flesh between your legs, his breath coming a little faster and his hands gripping the silk bedsheets tighter as he restrains himself from doing what he so obviously wants to. Which is attack you with so much fury and lust that you can’t stop your moans.

“Now then Hope...I’m going to need you to stick out that dirty tongue of yours. I’ve seen the filth that you’ve said with it over the years, and I think it’s time that we put it to good use.” There’s not even an ounce of resistance in Hoseok as he sticks his tongue out, stiffening the pink muscle into a point that has you shuddering on nothing.

Christ, he was going to be the death of you.

“Good boy.” You whisper before lowering yourself the final few inches until you feel the wet tip press against the engorged bundle of nerves, so sensitive that you can’t keep the deep groan inside. He’s warm against you, his tongue firm yet slippery as it slides along your folds with ease.

Hoseok doesn’t try to do anything for the moment, though you can tell by his closed eyes that he’s having to control himself pretty well. You don’t want him to get jaw, or tongue, ache though so you stroke your fingers through his hair slowly while you rock against him before finally letting him free.

“Use your mouth on me Hope. Show me that tongue is useful for more than just being dirty.” It’s all the confirmation Hoseok needed and he immediately relaxes his tongue from its stiff position, the loss of sensation almost causing you to whine.

Instead though, it’s replaced with his hot lips and an intense pressure as he wraps them around your clit before letting go. He continues with this motion in an almost teasing manner; suck and release, suck and release. It doesn’t help when he suddenly includes his tongue, flicking the tender flesh until you shudder above him.

Opening your eyes, you focus on the camera before glancing to the laptop to make sure it’s getting the best shot. From here, you can see the night sky blackness of his hair as it gleams in the light, his elegant nose visible before his wet, pink tongue darts out to lick a long, flat strip along your pussy.

It’s a ridiculously arousing shot, and combined with his movements has you moaning out loud while you fist at his hair. Your hips are moving of their own accord now, short little grinding motions that press yourself further into him and he lets out a deep hum of approval, the vibrations sending shivers along you.

“That’s it, oh god yes that’s it. Keep going, make me cum. Use your fingers.” You command of him, your voice wavering slightly as your eyes flutter shut from the pleasure that sizzles along your veins. It’s been over forty-five minutes now, and you’re more than ready to finally fall into the embrace of the orgasm that you’ve been teasing yourself with.

And Hoseok is more than ready to give it to you, with his long and elegant fingers running along the supple skin of your thigh lightly before reaching your drenched core. Two of them slide along you, coating themselves in your excitement before they’re slipping inside.

Almost immediately you clench tightly around him, the sensation of something penetrating you overwhelming and enticing. Hoseok doesn’t let you go easy though, and you almost get the sense that he’s getting his own back on you.

It doesn’t surprise you. You’ve always claimed that he was dominant even when being submissive, he just let you do what you want. But you certainly don’t complain this time, not when he starts to finger you at a fast tempo that matches the insistent flicking of his tongue on your clit.

Each stroke has his fingers bending, curling against your g-spot and sending an overwhelming amount of pleasure through your body every time until you were making the tiniest moans. The sounds are lewd and loud, overwhelmingly wet and you have no doubt that Hoseok’s chin is likely getting covered.

He makes no complaint however, instead just focusing on your pussy with a laser focus. A glance at the camera in front of you makes you quiver, thighs tensing before you’re moaning out in one long, low syllable that sounds like it’s been drawn from the bottom of your stomach. Your internal muscles clamp down on his fingers, twitching around him as your entire body convulses while his tongue still working at your poor clit.

Hoseok’s hand doesn’t relent either, continuing to push through your tightness and elongating your orgasm until the over sensitivity of it all has you panting and pushing at his head until those beautiful brown eyes of his are visible once more. They’re creased slightly, amusement evident in every inch of his gorgeous face but you don’t let the camera see that.

Instead, you shift until you’re kneeling on one leg, the other pushed outwards so the camera can see the slick, wet evidence of Hoseok’s ministrations on you. Even from here, you can see how turned on you look and the lust in Hoseok’s eyes tells you that the viewers are probably loving it too.

Humming to yourself, you shift until you’re sitting closer to the laptop and lean in to read the comments while positioning the camera to focus on your torso. The silk brushes against your clit momentarily and you let out a tiny gasp before focusing once more.

“Oh, it seemed they liked that Hope. You were being a very good boy, they approve. Do you think we should let him get his treat now? Good boys deserve a reward right?” Your voice is huskier than it would normally be, but you’ve just been given a phenomenal orgasm so there’s no surprise.

Sure enough, the comments come rolling in like a wave of unrestrained lust and desire. People demanding that Hoseok be ridden till he’s whining, fucked in the ass till he’s pleading or sucked till he’s gasping. One thing was for certain; everyone wanted to see their favourite Hope brought to an orgasm that was so shattering, it would shift the axis of his world.

“Okay everyone, I see. We all want our beloved Hope to get his happy ending yeah? A true goodbye to the camming world? What do you say I make him moan for you, the way he’s made all of you moan over the years? Would you like that?” Hoseok lets out a soft gasp from behind you, his hand moving until it’s resting against the small of your back in a reassuring way.

The camera doesn’t pick this up and it warms you from the inside at his touch. He was ready for whatever you gave him.

His viewers are desperate to watch him truly fall apart, to witness him brought to orgasm by someone else. Smiling, you shift to look at him before smirking, running your finger along his swollen lips. He keeps firm eye contact with you as his tongue flicks out, playing with your finger before you’re looking back at the screen.

“Is everyone ready? You’re going to get to see the one and only Hope, truly fucked out for the first and only time.” The chat goes wild with excitement and lust, causing you to laugh as you move out of the way before shifting the camera until it’s focused on Hoseok perfectly.

He’s still wearing his shirt, the white that covers his arms contrasting against his warm, golden skin that’s covered in the lightest sheen of sweat. His hard cock, swollen and stiff against his stomach, is leaking pre-cum and you grin as it twitches as you watch it while his balls are tight, desperate for release.

“Let’s go then Hope, can you handle it?” You turn towards him, crawling on your hands and knees down the bed until you’re at his thighs. His lip is pulled into his mouth, white teeth apparent for a moment before they’re gone.

“I can handle it Ma’am.” His voice is quiet and respectful, but you can hear the slight pushback in it. He’s being cocky, which is a dangerous thing to be when you have his actual cock right there. Instead of saying anything though, you just grin before taking hold of the dildo that’s been sitting prettily inside him the whole time.

You know that it’s been affecting him, as occasional movements that had nothing to do with you would make him gasp and shiver. And you know exactly where his prostate is from previous experience. Not only that, but you have zero qualms in making him cry with pleasure again.

He tenses up for a quick moment before relaxing, his thighs tightening once more as you pull at the thick intrusion penetrating him until it’s almost out. Pushing slowly, you slip it back inside and grin at the deep grunt that leaves his mouth.

The next stroke is angled slightly, your wrist working to find the right angle until his entire body shudders and his hands claw at the sheets. Bingo.

“Do you like that? Does it feel good?” You murmur, tone low as you bend down to kiss along his toned thigh wetly. A few of your kisses turn into you sucking at the skin harshly, leaving pretty red spots that blossom, while others you bite at the muscle there.

It’s undeniably hot and arousing, the way he writhes on the bed at your insistent touch and how his hips circle desperately. Much like how yours must when he’s hammering into you, trying to find the perfect angle that makes your body sing.

But you’ve already found that with Hoseok, because each breath that escapes his heaving chest is laced with the beautiful sound of his moans and whines. Each noise painting a beautiful picture of heady lust for the camera.

“Did you know that he can orgasm from prostate stimulation alone?” You look at the camera, brow raised in amusement. From this distance, you can’t read the comments but from the way Hoseok’s cock jumps, you know that he’s remembering the experience as well. “It takes a long time though, so today we’ll just have to help him along.”

Smiling at him, you grab the bottle of lube and add a little more to make sure he’s extra comfortable before working at him harder. Hoseok hisses out slowly, his chest lowering as his breath leaves him and you decide that now is the time.

His cock is resting on his stomach still, a pool of pre-cum leaking profusely from his tip with the more you stimulate him. Reaching for it, you grasp the base of him firmly before moving up in one, long stroke. The downward stroke has him gasping and you continue the motion on, starting to move faster until the sounds in the room reach lewd levels once more.

Leaning forward, you tongue at his balls slowly, tracing along the skin and sucking one into your mouth playfully while his body wriggles on the bed desperately. His hands continually clench at the sheets and you wonder if he might tear straight through them.

“Oh god, oh god please. Please.” He starts to pant, the words high pitched despite his deeper voice and painted with desperation. Poor baby needed to come.

Letting go of his testicles, you run the flat of your tongue up his shaft slowly, letting it play along him before you flick your tongue at the spot just below his tip. Salty liquid greets you, the evidence of his desire and pleasure and you suckle on the head of him for a few moments, enjoying the way his hips jerk up to try and find more of the warm embrace of your mouth.

You don’t let his movements dictate you however, and instead your tongue dances around his tip for a minute or so, dipping into his slit before tracing along the edges of the head. Finally, your lips wrap around him, only this time...you don’t let go of him. Instead, you let your head lower until he’s firmly in your throat, your nose pressing against the hair at his base.

The suddenness of being deep throated has Hoseok choking, his hips jerking up and almost gagging you as you force your throat muscles to relax around him. “Oh fuck, oh god, oh fuck, oh shit.”

He’s not making any sense with his words and you get the feeling that any form of coherent thought has officially left him as your throat contracts around his sensitive tip. Each pull of your mouth on his cock is reciprocated with a stroke of the dildo inside him, creating a dual sensation of pleasure that has him speaking in pure gibberish as his face screws up.

There’s no warning of his next move, no pat on your head or verbal cue. Instead, his hips jerk savagely under you before his entire body convulses in a wave of pleasure as streams of thick cum coat the walls of your throat. Hoseok is normally pretty loud when he orgasms, his groans deep and intoxicatingly arousing, but this time he’s almost silent except for a soft, high pitched whine.

You help him through it, continuing to bob up and down on his cock as he cums while your arm continuous to pump the dildo in him. As usual when he’s getting prostate stimulation, the orgasm is longer than usual and it feels like he cums for minutes, your mouth salty with his taste.

Finally though, he starts to whine and pant as the pleasure turns to overstimulation. “Oh god, please stop. Please stop Ma’am.” He gasps out, hands twitching as he struggles to avoid pressing against your head.

You take pity on him, releasing him with a slick sound and watching as his sensitive member falls back on his stomach with a slap. Humming lightly, you gently tug the dildo out of him and place it on the towel you’d prepared earlier, ready for it to be cleaned later while your hand runs along his stomach lightly.

Pressing a kiss to his chest, you move up to then kiss his lips while you scan over his face quickly to check that he’s okay. He watches you with tired eyes, the half moon crescents wrinkling as he smiles at you.

“Are you okay?” You ask quietly after a few minutes, keeping your voice soft and quiet as your hand strokes along his chest comfortingly. He nods, lips pursing into a slight pout and you can’t help but chuckle at him before kissing him again. “Come say bye to your viewers.”

Hoseok groans slightly, knowing that you’ll give him the aftercare he needs and wants once the camera has finished. You have every intention of bundling him into the shower, cleaning him up, giving him a warm drink before cuddling up with him under the covers. But he has to finish his camshow career now.

He shifts forward, his movements slow and lazy and you let him lean against you. His head flops onto your shoulder, black hair covering his forehead and you make soft, unintelligible noises as you move it away so the camera can see his beautiful face. Maybe the shift in demeanour might be jarring to the viewers, but neither of you care.

Leaning forward, Hoseok pulls the laptop closer to you both while you drape his discarded jeans over both of your laps. Odd, to want this privacy after what you’d just done yet you felt the need given the topic. He makes a soft hum of acknowledgement before shrugging off his shirt and wrapping it around your shoulders.

“Did everyone enjoy that?” He asks, the corner of his mouth twisting up as a hint of his usual Hope persona comes through. Your hand slips behind him to rest against his back, providing comfort for you both.

The comments are running along the screen and you read a few with a smile, enjoying people screaming unintelligibly in the comments over how beautiful Hope looked being ruined or how nicely he came for you. From what you can read, the general consensus is positive to it and you feel proud that you’d done what he wanted.

“Yeah? You think she’s hot? She is, isn’t she? Pretty good at this too.” He goes quiet again before laughing. “Actually no, I don’t do this often. But tonight was special for you all, right? A treat to say thank you for loving me over the years.”

You want to hug him at that; the love and affection in his voice is so strong. He’ll miss this, you know he will. But Hoseok is also stubborn, and you know that he won’t change his mind.

“Does she have her own shows? No, she doesn’t,” He pauses and looks at you with a bright smile, the familiar heart shape warming your own heart. “I should stop talking like you’re not here. But seriously...thank you for all your love and support over the years. It’s meant a lot, and I’m glad that you’ve loved me in turn. I’ll miss you all.”

Hoseok waves at the camera, smiling brightly and laughing at the comments as they fly past. “I love you all! I hope all you dirty folk find someone new to keep you in your place. But for now, HopeWorld is officially closed.”

And with that, he turns off live stream.

It’s silent for a few seconds before he looks at you and presses a kiss to your forehead. He doesn’t move, just lets his lips rest there before he’s nosing at your hairline while his arms wrap around you.

“You did really good. A natural on camera. And you looked beautiful. And I’m not entirely sure I’m feeling my legs yet.” Snorting, you lean back slightly to look him in the eyes.

“Are you okay?” You’re asking both about his physical and mental state after what happened but also about closing down his camshow career. His lips purse before he nods.

“Yep. I’m good. I love you.” He whispers before kissing you slowly. A rumble of pleasure leaves his chest and you smile into it.

“Love you too. And now I believe I owe you some aftercare, so shower it is Mr Jung.”

“Yes future-Mrs Jung. Your fiancé needs his cuddles.”

“And he’ll get them. Once he’s clean.”

[arukou-arukou]

A Non-zero Chance

I jumbled the timeline as I was writing this. Just go with it, okay? For @stevetonygames prompt Fluff: Sparring, for team angst. Also adding fic non-linear and tropes: soulmates. Angst with a hopeful ending. Mentions of sex acts. Canon typical violence. There is a read more line after the first section.

 Many many months after that faithful day in Sibera, Tony returned to the scene of the crime. The site was untouched. He hadn’t told Ross about it, and apparently T’Challa had decided well enough was better left alone. The holes they’d put into the bunker of the facility had completely covered over in frost and ice, and Tony had to wonder how Zemo had even dug the little hillock out in the first place. Though there had been a snowcat parked outside when they all first arrived. Without any care, though, it had once again faded into the arctic surroundings. Only someone who knew what they were looking for would find it.

Tony broke in through the holes rather than the front door. He wasn’t really in a mood for digging, and as satisfying as it might be to melt snow with an overloaded repulsor, this mission was also supposed to be stealth and secretive, and he didn’t really need Ross any further up his ass.

Inside, the evidence of their fight wasn’t as big or horrifying as he remembered. There were some structures that had toppled, and a few spots where he’d scorched cement with a repulsor, but it didn’t look nearly as bad as he remembered it being. The Avengers had certainly done worse elsewhere. Tony ran his hand over a shield-shaped crack in the wall.

—

 “This is ridiculous, Cap, we need to know how to fight together, not fight each other.”

Steve smiles back over his shoulder. His ridiculously broad shoulder. “After Wanda mind-whammied us, I’m not taking any chances. We should all know how to incapacitate each other just as a precaution.”

“Only incapacitate, Steve? Not maim?”

Steve chuckles and starts strapping on boxing tape. “No maiming on the docket today. Maybe next Tuesday.”

 —

 Tony followed their trail of destruction back into the heart of the bunker, where the super soldiers still rested suspended, illuminated in sickly yellow. There was the fucking TV, right there. The thing that had ruined it all. Tony stared down at it, wondering where the tape reel itself was located. Probably back in that room Zemo had been hiding in. The bulletproof one. Somewhere in the hallways, Tony could hear water dripping. Impressive, really, given the permafrost all around. He would’ve thought the systems had frozen over long ago. Near his foot, there was a gun, the semi-automatic Barnes had been carrying. It was useless now, its clip and firing mechanisms slagged by his repulsors. He picked it up all the same and aimed it at the glass where Zemo had hidden. The suit’s fingers were too thick to fit over the trigger—what was left of it anyway—so Tony just imagined how satisfying it would be to fill that glass full of shrapnel, to watch Zemo crumple to the ground.

 —

 “Why are you even training me, Rogers? I’m retired. Aren’t you supposed to be looking after the rookies?”

“Just because you’re retired, Tony, doesn’t mean trouble won’t come looking for you. You’re a pretty attractive target.”

“Why yes. Yes, I am. Thank you for noticing.”

Steve punches his bicep gently before offering a bottle of water. Tony takes it, squirting some into his mouth before moving on to his sweat-drenched hair. On Steve’s left wrist, he catches sight of the red band that hides Steve’s words. It would be rude to ask. Totally taboo. But Tony can’t stop himself.

 —

 Tony managed to jimmy his way into the control room, and there he found the VCR, still loaded with the incriminating tape. If he were smart, he would just rip the thing apart, burn the tape and shatter the shell. And Tony was smart. Just not smart in the right ways. He fired up the power to the TV, rewound the tape, and then hit play again. He’d rewound too far. Barnes was in his cryo tube. Some slimy scientists were hauling him out, shoving him into some horrifying chair, pushing down the nodes, saying the words.

No. Tony didn’t want this. He didn’t want to feel sympathy for Barnes. He wanted to let his rage fester and corrode him until he didn’t care anymore. All caring had ever gotten him was betrayal.

 —

 “Do you know who they belong to?” Tony asks, looking up defiantly, refusing to be sheepish about his lack of willpower. Steve glances down at his band before looking up again.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” He looks wistful and boyish, sweet and beautiful. Tony wants to kiss away the sorrow he sees in that face.

“Who?”

“Doesn’t matter. He’s dead now.”

“Oh.” Tony touches his own band, thinking of the words beneath. He’s my friend. The most significant thing anyone will ever say to him. The thing that, if the romantics would have him believe it, points him toward his soulmate. He’s never really gone in for that, though. His parents had had each other’s words, and their marriage was anything but blissful and romantic.

No. Tony’s got a different theory about the words.

 —

 There. Tony spotted it before even knowing he was looking for it. On Barnes’ collarbone. Had fate known he would lose the arm? It was unusual for words to be somewhere else on the body. Non-dominant wrist. That was the norm. The tap quality was shit and Tony couldn’t enhance it without bringing the tape back to Fry. And like hell he was bringing the tape home. Were the files somewhere? Hadn’t Zemo had a book? Maybe it was here?

Tony searched the control room, trying to find evidence of the thing Zemo had used to control Barnes. There was no sign of it, but what there were were dozens of filing drawers, all of them covered in a layer of dust. Tony started digging.

 —

 Steve’s off his game today, Tony can tell. He’s distracted by something, mind not in the ring, and Tony takes advantage. Just like Steve and Nat taught him to. He sweeps Steve’s leg, rolls on top of him, pins his leg in a position that's precariously dangerous even for a supersoldier, and applies weight. “Yield?”

It’s late, the halls are quiet. Tony hadn’t even meant to do sparring with Steve today, but Steve had asked, so Tony had delayed his return to New York City and well, the late hour puts his mind elsewhere.

Their eyes lock. Tony’s still on top of Steve, holding him in place, threatening his knee joint. Between one breath and the next, their positions are flipped, Steve on top of Tony, both of them hard, teeth clacking. Tony doesn’t make it back to New York City that night.

 —

 What felt like hours later, Tony finally discovered what looked like a medical log. He’d been trying to learn Russian, but adding a new script was harder than adding a spoken language, and he was a busy man, what with covering Rogers’ ass every other day. Natasha might have been a master spy, but Steve was a puppy who hadn’t learned how to control his tail wag yet, and he left destroyed crockery in his wake. There was always some trail to some terrorist or smuggler or weapons dealer that needed cleaning up, lest Ross take notice. The point being, Tony’s Russian wasn’t exactly sparkling.

But he’d double-checked ahead of time to know what he was looking for and now he was pretty sure he’d found it. Flipping through the file, Tony found what he wanted to know almost instantly. ‘Til the end of the line. The words. Those words.

 —

 It’s a thing. Sort of. Tony comes to the compound. They spar. They fuck. It’s only their third time sleeping together that Steve drags him into the shower, wristband conspicuously absent. Tony touches the thin skin, for once asking permission before he looks down. Steve nods, trusting, contented. I’m with you to the end of the line, pal. “He” Steve had said. Tony doesn’t need to ask to know who “he” is. There was only one really important “he” in Steve’s life way back when. And it makes sense, too. After all, Barnes plunged to his death trying to protect Steve and Steve had tried to protect him just as hard. Of course they’re important to each other.

“Can I see yours,” Steve asks, kissing Tony’s band. Fair’s fair, Tony thinks to himself, and nods.

Steve gently unclasps the snaps and sets the band aside outside the shower. He looks down at the words and then up at Tony with a silent question. “I don’t know whose they are.”

“And you’re still okay with us?”

“Steve, I’m standing naked in a shower with you. I’m pretty damn okay with this.”

The bright grin Steve gives him feels like a gift.

 —

 Tony left, hauling the tape and the filing cabinets behind him. They would be useful sooner or later, he was sure. And it felt so important, hauling his literal baggage along with him back to the US. Well, first a pit stop in Wakanda so Shuri could make copies. Fry flew the quinjet on autopilot, which was maybe a mistake. Tony needed distractions and all he had were files rendered in Russian, which were frankly giving him a headache. He wanted to hate Barnes so much. But fate was literally sending him a message. Barnes. Rogers. ‘Til the end of the line.

Eventually, frustrated, he managed to sink into a fitful sleep, which took him to Wakanda’s borders. T’Challa sent along an escort at the shield wall to make sure Tony was alone and also to make sure Tony didn’t cause any undue trouble. As if he could manage anything more than a nervous breakdown at the moment. Shuri was waiting for him on the platform, and for her and her brilliant mind, he managed a tired smile.

“Brought a present for you.”

“Thank you, Tony. I would get them myself, but—”

“No, no. You’re busy in Oakland kicking science ass and shooting layups with the youth. Let the old guy take care of the analog—” Tony shuddered theatrically “—files.”

Shuri smiled more brightly and kissed him on the cheek. “You look tired. Go see my mother. She’ll be wanting to mother you.”

“I shouldn’t. I’ve gotta—”

“My brother has already ensured that General Ross cannot find you. Go. Eat some food. Get some rest. Perhaps we can talk about your latest arc reactor designs in the morning. I have some ideas.”

“I bet you do.”

Tony knew when he’d been dismissed, and he also knew he was being handled a little, but it felt nice to be handled. It felt nice to not have to be trying to outwit Ross at every turn for a little while. So he allowed Ramonda to stuff him full of delicious, spicy food and then shuffled off to the guest wing, intent on getting at least four hours before he took off.

But the second he laid down, he was awake and restless, unable to settle. His thoughts kept going back to those files, going back to the “end of the line,” thinking again and again about the letters carved into Steve’s skin. How many times had he kissed that wrist? How many times had Steve kissed his? How was it fair, that Steve would be Tony’s words, but Tony wouldn’t be Steve’s?

Fed up, he yanked on a pair of loose cotton pants and a loose cotton T-shirt and wandered the palace, looking for distraction. None of the guards stopped him, though they watched him with considerable distrust. He didn’t blame them. He wouldn’t trust him either. Not anymore. It was only when he heard the sound of skin slapping leather that he stopped short. That sounded like… But it couldn’t be. All the same, he pushed through the door, freezing as he discovered a huge training ground, Steve inside, alone at a punching bag.

Steve froze too, and the bag caught him on the backswing, smacking him straight in the nose. Tony found himself caught between laughing and rushing forward with concern, and ended up doing a bit of both, snorting as he approached, though he remained well out of Steve’s personal bubble. “Smooth, Cap.”

“Tony, what are you doing here?”

Tony scuffed his toes into the mats, which felt solid right up until he kicked them and then gave way like kinetic sand. It felt heavenly and he wanted to play with it and see what it was made out of. “Oh, you know. Just dropped in for a cuppa with the King.”

“Did…did you bring those files?” Steve remained sprawled on the floor, looking up at him, a trickle of blood trailing from his nose.

“And if I did?”

Steve swallowed heavily, rubbing at the blood and smearing it. And then he was up, faster than Tony could react to, holding Tony, kissing him sloppily through mumbled “I’m sorry’s.” Tony didn’t know how to react. Was this what an out-of-body experience felt like? He remained motionless even as Steve broke away, jumping back, looking more unsure than he’d looked since he and Tony first met. “Shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… You don’t want…” Steve took a huge breath and squared his shoulders, looking Tony in the eye. “That was wrong of me. I hurt you. In so many ways. It was wrong of me to kiss you.”

“Also pretty sure you’re cheating on your boyfriend if you kiss me. Don’t forget that bit.”

The little line between Steve’s eyebrows deepened. “Bucky and I, we’re not… We’re just not. I thought we would. But I can’t. Every time I tried, I felt like I was betraying you. And Bucky felt like it was wrong, too. We didn’t…we didn’t click. Not romantically, anyway.”

“You’re not…” Tony could barely dare to let himself to hope. “Didn’t you back in the war, though?”

“No. No, we didn’t. It was too much, running missions, fighting Hydra. Plus, he was afraid I’d get caught and outed. So we didn’t. I should’ve told you. But I didn’t think it mattered.”

All the thoughts Tony used to have about the words, the idea that maybe they had nothing at all to do with romance, came back to him. He ran a finger over his own wrist, where Steve’s words were hidden.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?” Steve stood there, square, looking as though he was waiting to be punched, ready to take his punishment like a man.

“Wanna spar?”

[scribbling-stiks]

Puppets - XXV - Hair-Brained Schemes

The next morning, Russia wakes up much later than he was expecting to. He isn't complaining. He just thinks it's a little odd. He lazily grabs his phone from the nightstand and sees a text from New York, trying to coordinate where they would go next, from a few hours ago.

He unlocks his phone and texts, "*Do you know about any other suspicious activity?*"

A few moments later, his phone buzzes in reply. "*Yes. There have been several reports of strange activity in several cave systems in Colorado. However, I wanted to consult you about how to prioritize them.*"

Then before Russia can reply, it buzzes again. "*Spring Cave is not normally open to the public due to the risk of killing local wildlife. Rangers have reported hearing strange things inside the cave system. It's only open to the public in the spring and closed in August. I might be able to get Colorado to get you special permission to enter. The area is isolated.*"

Russia waits for New York to finish sending all the options, reading through them as they arrive. He notices that Louisiana is sitting up in bed, staring off into the distance, and Massachusetts is still asleep. Then his phone buzzes.

"*There is also a mine in Hastings with a dilapidated ghost town around it. The mine was closed, but some of the tunnels may still be accessible according to Colorado,*" the text read, and his phone buzzes again.

"*The last location you should look into is the Lost Creek Cave System. There has been an unusually large number of reported disappearances in the area, and the rangers refuse to go near the area to investigate. Which one will you be going to?*" New York asks.

"The mineshaft. It is the closest to our current location," Russia replies. He looks down at his phone, startled. Had he really had an entire conversation in Russian with an American state?

"Okay. Let me know your ETA once you leave the hotel. Also, you will probably want camping gear to stay there because you are in one of the last known places where there's lodging available close to the site," New York replies, with no issue with changing languages.

After reading the final text, Russia shuts off his phone. He turns to Louisiana. "How many languages does New York know?" he asks.

She looks up, a little startled, before she flashes him a smile. Her face scrunched briefly out of concentration before she shrugs.

"I don't know. I don't even think Yorky knows, with the immigrants and all that. Dad is the only one I know who knows more."

"America is fluent in more than one language?"

Louisiana scrunched her nose. "It ain't that weird. I speak French, and Texas is fluent in German and Spanish. If y'all want proof of the German, ask him about 'Texas German.' Maybe dad doesn't show it much in front of the other countries, but he understands almost every language in the world," she says flippantly.

"Why haven't I ever heard him speak in a language other than American English?"

"Some of his dialects are weird and kinda old, so he feels embarrassed translating. He understands most languages' modern versions, but Pops speaks like a grandma," Louisiana answers with a shrug.

"I always assumed that he only knew English," Russia admits, feeling a little flustered.

Louisiana laughs. "Nah, if y'all start talking to Dad in a different language, he'll just respond in English. It's really funny to do with Uncle Canada, 'specially in a place where people only speak French, like Quebec."

"What are you guys talking about?" Massachusetts whines through the pillow on his face.

"Dad's languages," Louisiana replies without looking away from Russia.

"Oh. Also, when are we leaving?" Massachusetts asks, sitting up and dropping the cushion into his lap.

"We will leave soon. I will text Canada now," Russia says, pulling out his phone. He sends Canada a short message telling him to get dressed and meet in the main room ASAP. Canada responds immediately with an affirmation, and Russia places his phone back on the nightstand. The three of them take turns to change in the bathroom. Russia goes first, followed by Massachusetts, and Louisiana goes last. Louisiana is fixing her hair when Texas and Canada arrive.

"So y'all ain't gonna believe this!" Texas announces.

"What's goin' on, Tex?" Louisiana asks, smoothing down her hair.

Texas stomps over the bathroom doorway and begins telling his story enthusiastically.

"The clerk threatened to call the cops on me because I was holding this," he waves the large bone in the air, "and he thought I was crazy when I told him I was a state doing state business. I had to ask 'Rado to back me up!" he exclaims, waving his free arm to vent frustration.

"Wow. I wonder why they were so concerned about a crazy person wielding a bone club," Massachusetts comments sarcastically from the edge of his bed.

"Will you shut yer trap!" Texas says, swinging the bone in front of Massachusetts' face threateningly.

"Oh, no. What am I going to do?" Massachusetts dead-pans, staring Texas with an apathetic look.

"Stop. Now," Russia demands, and both states pause before backing up with mumbled apologies.

"So, you have a plan, eh?" Canada asks.

Russia nods. "New York suggested a few locations, and we are going to investigate the closest one. Unfortunately, we will be camping in the area."

"'Camping'?" Massachusetts repeats skeptically.

"I agree with Mass, that ain't a good idea, Russ," Louisiana remarks.

"I mean, what are we even going to camp with?" Massachusetts demands with his arms crossed.

"New York suggested we get camping supplies before going. The area is secluded, and we are staying in the nearest hotel here."

"New York suggested it?!" Louisiana exclaims.

"It's gotta be the only option," Texas concludes quietly.

Massachusetts mutters profanity under his breath, but there is no more outward fighting about the plan. They load up into the car and drive a few miles down to the nearby Walmart to pick up supplies. Russia follows Texas into the store, and they gather supplies, such as a shotgun, shotgun ammo, one large tent, five assorted sleeping bags, a bear-box, and some non-perishable food.

They check-out without issue and pack the supplies into the back of the car with the backpacks. Texas takes the wheel with Louisiana as copilot, and most of them take turns driving an hour at a time. Canada, however, is still not allowed to drive, per the insistence of the passengers.

~

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[reddogf13]

Crossing fates web ch 2

Pennywise x Beverly

summery: Beverly's life had drastically changed since childhood. claws, sharp teeth, the urge to devour human meat. a aggressive clan of vampires trying to claim her forcing her to flee from LA back to Derry for a save haven. where something else has awakened to the sensation that a female deadlight had arrived. a web of coincidences from their pasts have the two questioning fate.

status: In progress and on A03

rated: M - fowl language and gore

previous chap: Crossing fates web ch 1

next chap: Crossing fates web ch 3

_____________________________________

~ch:2 A game of steps~

“fuck, fuck, fuck!” she repeated in her run back to the apartment. As if it weren't bad enough with a whole clan of vampires stalking her, she now had the clown after her. Beverly refused to stay here another moment and decided to flee southward out of north america. Planning to live smack on the equator line where the days were longest. Regretting she wasted so much money here.

“I'll have to beg for gas money... or rob my meals.” not particularly fond of that, even if her meals were scumbags.

Chucking her things back into her car to drive only to the town line. Stopping at the site of the whole vampire clan waiting for her. Red eyes blinking among the long black tree line of pines. That smug old man standing there to happily greet her.

“i told you, its not safe here!” he shouted from the towns edge. “Come join us and we'll put everything in the past!”

the fury burning inside her trumped her urge to flee Derry. “fuck you! I'll never leave if it means keeping you away!” she cursed to them all out the car window.

“you'll die in there if you don't! You'll see what really lives there! I'll wait for you to come crawling back!”

Beverly growled as she reversed her car and back to the hotel for another exhausting unpacking. “guess this is my home for a while.” dropping straight into bed while unable to do anything else.

The next morning she woke to an urgent call from her college. “hello?” she answered, wondering what they would deem so important to call about. Surely it wasn't some small stupid message of how sorry the school was that the massacre happened.

“hello, is this Beverly marsh?”

“yes.”

“i am the colleges new dean. I've been trying to reach you. Are you aware of the tragedy that happened on the campus? It happened a week ago in the night.”

“yes … I was there and got away. … I moved back to my home town in Maine to clear my thoughts.”

“we're very sorry to hear you went though it. The reason why were calling is to help you through it. The governor has worked with the survivors and the grieving families during this hard time. Giving out checks to cover therapy, hospital bills, or funeral costs. We have a check for you, but we never found you at your dorm to deliver it and we have no other address on file. All your school year costs plus new living arrangements will also be covered by the school to help you.”

“oh thank god. I need money so badly right now it'll go a long way.” a weight lifted off her shoulders.

She talked with the new dean to get a apartment arranged for her in Derry covered for the next 6 months. A direct deposit of $2,500 for immediate needs and another check of $12,000 will be mailed to her in a few days.

“alright miss marsh that covers mostly everything. Their is one last thing and that's your schooling. I understand if your not ready and there's no rush, but would you like us to transfer you into a new school where you live?”

“oh, yes! It would be really nice to have that back again.” setting up her paper work to be delivered to the Derry college nearby. Finding only one small snag in a class unable to be transferred over. Which was no big deal. It'd be a nice lone class to take for the year to get her readjusted with everything.

“this school year will be covered for you. We've loaded a student funds card for you to pick up from the school. A counselor will speak to you as well.”

“thank you so much.” passing good byes before hanging up. “now to load up the car, again.” only needing to shove the pre-loaded boxes into her car to drive to her new furnished apartment. Settling down fully into the place after the last box was unpacked. “i should go out and buy some much needed essentials.” looking over her tooth paste and pretty much empty shampoo bottles. Heading out to walk down to the mini market. The nice thing about Derry was almost everything was in walking range. Saving the need to buy gas all the time like back in LA.

Unknown to her the clown was keeping watch from a distance. A warm feeling filling his chest at knowing a female was in his territory. Even if it was the half human Beverly he fought with years ago. He couldn't waste such a rare chance to court her. To reject the possibly of having a close companion he'd been wanting for so long same as the chance at having children. He decided to start by bringing gifts as a peaceful gesture. “but what would she like?” with females it was normally food. “but Beverly may not appreciate a dead body at her door step.” thinking back to how she was eating one of her own yet left it hardly touched. “i should gather things a human would like.”

remembering back to that holiday with all the hearts. Humans giving each other plants, shiny metals, or … food. “guess in some small way females crossed in similarity's.” walking through the forest brush out toward the Neibolt house. The front yard filled with weeds and junk having tall colorful sunflowers strangely growing. No surprise to him that flowers were attracted to him, a being of energetic bright light. Plucking enough for a tight bouquet he stretched out his fingers long and black, as the legs of a spider would be, to create silk. Wrapping the bundle neatly together for presenting. Silk turning into a bright red to form a lovely bow for the final touches.

Returning to Beverlys apartment where he set the flowers at her door step. Off to hide someplace nearby in waiting for her to return. Excited when she did after a short time with bags in hand. The first reaction she gave to the gift not being too good. Beverly glaring down at the sudden gift she was tempted to stomp all over. Assuming it to be a gift dropped off by that creep stalking her from outside of Derry.

Thinking back to him seeming too afraid to enter the town she picked up the gift. The urge to stomp on it lifted by the sweet smell of the bouquet, not from the sunflowers themselves but the silk. A really exotic scent she assumed was extremely expensive for someone to spray. The ribbon itself a expensive silk unlike many bows someone snagged from a dollar store. She took them inside with the bags for a more thorough inspection. Catching a whiff of a earthy scent that didn't belong to the sunflowers. One of refreshing pine mixed with a comforting hot brewed dark coffee. She couldn't help but take a few more inhales as the scent helped relax her nerves. It wasn't like any mans calone or shampoo scent she had smelled before on any guy trying to snag her attention, nor a girl.

The gift had clearly caught her attention more then any others given to her. Aside from that postcard with the poem from so long ago, but that had been lost to the ages from her moves between homes. She'll try to find out the gifters identity later after she gets settled into her classes. Setting up a meeting with a college counselor over the phone before heading out. Taking her car on the small drive out to the campus. Nervous about passing through a small patch of forest. All that driving on the run past pine trees had really affected her.

Rushing inside the office building for her meeting as soon as she arrived. Talks with the counselor of the traumas she faced, for the most part. Couldn't give all the details without looking like some loon or a possible part of the massacre back in LA. During her meeting she slowly turned distracted by that aching feeling deep down.

her mind snapped at her body. “ugh, no! This isn't the time for this to happen!” That urging burn to bed someone was the worst, but not only symptom. She probably wouldn't be able to sleep in the upcoming days. School was going to be a chore to get through. EVERYone would be looking at her, it was as if she became a love magnet during this. It was already getting on her nerves and hardly started.

Having managed to focus long enough to get things set up she hurried to get home. A single class set for her this year to get back into schooling after everything. Deciding it best to take things easy as who knows what would hit her this year. Between the clown and the creep vampire stalking her, her hand could be forced to deal with one. Maybe she could handle the vampire alone, but the clown? Her and 6 friends had to deal with him, but at least he wasn't a sexual creep. Just incredibly annoying and cruel toward his food.

“I'll deal with whoever shows their face first.” sighing in entering her apartment. Starting up a small meal in the hopes it would somehow curb her aggressive appetite. Planning to take a cold shower before heading off to her class late in the night.

Meanwhile Pennywise was living off the high feeling of presenting something she liked enough to keep. While also dealing with an annoyance dipping in and out of Derry. A stupid leech of a vampire stepping his foot in like testing the temperature of a water pool. Usually he did not care for other odd little creatures passing through his territory. They were a meal all the same as the humans living in Derry. This one in particular wanted something, but was too scared to commit in grabbing it.

What ever it was, Pennywise didn't care. “grow a back bone already and get it and leave. Or step inside to become a meal.” he snarled in thought. “whatever, I have more important things to focus on.” wandering around to “shop” for what else she may like. “a meal would be best.” sensing her lights were so dim, they must not be doing well. He caught her scent faster then her energy, which was abnormal. He should have seen her coming across the galaxy if she was in good enough health.

Searching for a good meal was being more difficult then he thought. Going back and forth on various humans all day on what would taste best vs being more filling. He knew what he liked, children filled by fear making the meat taste perfectly. Like the most tender steak grilled in various fresh herbs that melted in the mouth on the first bite into it. That worked for him, but each of his kind had different tastes. Although one particular thing seemed to be an appropriate meal.

“finally jumped into the deep end?” grumbling at the stupid vampire waltzing into the territory. “desperate for a meal?” now that it was dark he was lurking around for something. Following the vampire now on if he would be a good meal. He was ancient, but vampires were a bit more … lively due to all the life force they sucked out of the blood they ate. “i don't think she'd appreciate eating a stale belt.” he huffed, tempted still just to kill the parasite annoying him all day.

“what poor sap is he hoping to hunt tonight?” following along from a distance across the roof tops.

The old leech strolling across the large parking lot of the Derry college campus. Locking onto someone exiting late into the night. What surprised Pennywise was who it was.

“Beverly?!” much more invested in what was going on now. Questioning if he should interfere or stand back. She could fight him, but she could also get hurt and he didn't want that. He watched the scene closely as the two crossed paths.

Beverly was tiredly walking back to her car when she saw him. Unlike the other times though, her body locked up at the sight of him in the large open parking lot. A few cars scattered here and there providing no possible blockage between the two. This had happened a rare few times in large open spaces when locking eyes with a male.

“you're quite a hard catch.” he lightly growled with a step forward.

her body convinced her to take a step forward as well. Not in approach, but for an event to begin. The old vampire couldn't tell, but Pennywise certainly noticed and he was revolted.

“shes dancing with him?!” snarling to himself. It was an important courting dance of steps and the goal was to eventually embrace at the middle. Each side would take a turn in a step and each would get closer if the other liked the move. Males took the first step and the females would usually join on compulsion. It was all up to if the male made the right moves from then on, otherwise the females would scratch them off the possibles list. Even if a dance was properly completed there were so many other errors afterwards that could get them black listed.

The male took another step with one more following to approach her, breaking the started dance. She snapped from her paused position to face the vampire with aggression and wanting to get far away.

Watching it come to an end perked the clown up massively. Yet some part still hurting that he wasn't the first to do courting steps with her. Switching over to aggression when that parasite didn't take the rejection well. Beverly bolted but didn't get far when the vampire tackled her. Snarling teeth bared at each other with claws thrown around in a viscous fight. All the roaring and aggressive snarling sounding like wild animals fighting over a carcass.

The noises echoed across the open air for a good while then died down. Beverly wheezing out what little air she managed to get for her exhausted body. She shred the old vampire into a bloody mess, but it wasn't enough to get him to back off. She didn't have the energy to keep up with his blows smacking her around the tarred pavement. She realized too late she didn't have the energy to fight, that she should have ran. Now she was beaten down into a limp mess on the ground with the creep straddling over her.

Her body couldn't move, only uncontrollably shiver from the various wounds her exhausted body couldn't take anymore. Beverlys eyes teared up in knowing what was about to happen. Fighting on passing out or accepting it as to not suffer as much. She tightly shut her eyes unable to do anything else with her mind not noticing the aggressive weight on her was suddenly lifted. Sounds in the background were muffled too badly to make out anything. Her body laying still on the floor even when she found the weight over her was gone. Perhaps playing dead as some part thought it best, or remaining still to recover some energy to run for it.

A pair of hands gently lifting her up jolting her to attack again. Slashing at whatever had her a few times until she was brought against something. Catching that soothing scent surrounding her against something soft and very warm. Held within the strange surroundings had her feeling safe enough to relax. Body passing out between the exhaustion and recovering from her injury.

Pennywise breathed out in glowing heated snarls at what he saw. That parasite beat Beverly down and was about to do something unspeakable. It took the clown a mere second to be on top of the bastard him self. All his teeth bared down as he shredded into his chest. Holding him down by claws gripping between the exposed rib bones. His blinding deadlights burning into the vampires flesh far worse then the sun would. Leaving the vampires head a pile of ash while the body collapsed in a pool of bloody meat shredded off from the clowns claws.

With the disgusting male left dead, his attention turned to Beverly laying limp on the ground. Stepping over he crouched near to gently lift her up into his lap. Flinching at her lashing out in a blind panic he tightly held her to his chest in soft restraining. Holding her there to keep her claws away while calming down. A smile crossing his face when she curled herself deeper into him in accepting him as something safe. Not wanting to move before she recuperated he kept holding her close. Cocooning his body around hers to warm her chilled body. Catching her sweet lovely scent while she took in his.

A refreshing scent of chilled strawberry's mixed with lavender. He purred happily in taking in the scent having missed such smells for so long. Females always had sweet scents while males had something more earthy. The scents on human females could never compare no matter what bottles they used. Focusing on her condition he carefully looked over her. Covered in bloody gashes that rotten pile left on her. They weren't healing as fast as they could with deadlights. Paying further attention to those made his concerns more urgent. He thought they would be dim, not flickering like they were. They were dying and wouldn't pull through the night unless he helped them.

“she needs to eat.” he thought, looking around for something to hunt. Eyes glaring back onto the body not too far. He rather not feed her any part of that leech but it was the best option for her. Shifting as little as he could to drag the body closer. Punching his fist through the ribs to rip out the heart. Thinking that she was too weak to fully eat he ripped a small bit of heart to thoughtfully chew up to a shredded pile. Feeding her the small bits she swallowed down on little chewing. When the whole heart was eaten down he could already see the deadlights in her improving. Dim, but a steady glow that would hold her for a little while until her next meal.

Stable enough he could move her someplace safer for the night. Shifting her around as little as possible in not wanting to disturb her as he did. Down back to his nest he fixed up the wagon to be more livable in. a bed over a large mass of spider webbing stretching wall to wall in a overall circular den. Her own personal cocoon den he made just for her to be safe and comfortable in. stuffed with blankets to various pillows she could hide in. females didn't like sleeping in open space, they preferred dens that were a little tight. Soft bedding materials filling what space they didn't fill inside them. Tucking her in to keep warm, another thing that both halves liked in their species. They could handle the cold fine, but preferred warm temperatures.

He sat outside the dens entrance, head resting on his crossed arms at the small round entry way. Watching her condition over the hours she slept. Partially fascinated by how the deadlights took charge in some ways while the rest appeared human. He saw she had claws and teeth like his, but were gone now. Body healing all the gashes shut through the night that no human could do. Yet, her blood fell unlike his and her body wasn't as tough in a fight. Those dull vampire claws mostly left annoying red marks across his skin. Her wounds fully healed he knew she would need to eat again.

Fighting his internal want to stay around her he left her alone to go hunt. Again taking careful consideration of what he would pick for her. While gone Beverly woke buried under warmth and comforting scents. Tempting her to go right back to sleep in catching up on all the time her body had gone without.

Shooting up at remembering what had happened hours ago. “where am I?!” fighting off the layers of blankets she was wrapped in. the nice soothing scent no longer calming her like it used to. Fighting her way out of the bundle to fall out of the small webbed up den. Groaning on the hard wagon floor she landed on. Body wracked with pain even with all the gashes gone. She got to her feet to give her surroundings a quick look around. Seeing the wooden insides covered in shelf's holding many trinkets. A pot belly stove in the corner with a orange small glow lighting up the place. Anxious about not recognizing the place she went right for the door to gently open it for a peek outside.

“no vampires.” she thought from her cautious look around. Stepping outside she gave a further look around. That she then recognized as the water drainage system along with the place being home to IT and his massive junk pile. Beverly didn't take the time to question why she was here. Making her escape from the pipes before IT could return and see her fleeing.

Beverly slammed and locked the door behind her after entering her apartment. Sore muscles causing her to wince with each movement. Difficulty walking to the couch a mere few feet away to collapse upon it. Laying still to catch her breath with as little pain created as possible. While sitting there the tugging in her chest escalated, similar to how it was before entering Derry.

“why?” she questioned the feeling. It didn't trigger until she left the clowns lair. “is he the reason? Is the tugging toward him and not Derry? But why?” the longer she sat in her apartment the worse she felt.

She was so comfortable in that bundle of blankets. it was the best sleep she had, had in a while. The relaxing smell filling that wagon made her feel safe. Connecting that she had smelled that scent before, on the flowers. Looking at the bouquet sitting on the table in a threading that looked exactly like that threaded bed she was in. ignoring the pain, she rose to grab the flowers to then mash them down into the trash. Not wanting anything to do with them if they came from IT. The scent wafting up when tossed down sending a wave of warmth through her.

That burning ache coming forth to annoy her again. She growled as she headed to take a cold shower to numb that enough to somehow sleep. Under the running water she thought back on what happened last night. Was that not really the vampire and IT in disguise? No, that didn't seem right to her. “why bother dressing up as that annoying vampire to mock her with. Seemed IT would favor mocking her directly as the clown or as her deceased father if anything. Then to only bring her home to be tucked away in bed. Last time he took her down there she woke on the cold moist stone floor.

“What happened to the vampire then?” trying to remember as much as she could, but it was all fuzzy. blocked by the painful exhaustion that hit her then. “IT didn't want to share his victim?” the idea making more sense then being simply saved. “guess I'll never really know. The clown wont tell me and hopefully that vampires long gone after the confrontation against IT.” doing her best to relax in the shower.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Not Killing Him

Orion Crown sat in his big, mean-looking SUV in the old parking lot. The dry heat of Vegas had ripped up the asphalt here over the past years, leaving it pockmarked and littered with potholes. His own car and one other vehicle in the lot were the only ones parked there, immobile, like silent steel corpses, cooling in the shadow of some abandoned warehouse.

The thick windows shielded him from the noise of traffic in the distance, so Orion sat in a weirdly muffled silence. Staring at the entrance of the derelict warehouse with its crooked, ajar doors. He felt sick to his stomach because he had slept little more than a few hours per night and his forehead was burning up.

He picked up his phone from the passenger seat, snatching it from where it was resting next to a loaded semi-automatic pistol. He thumbed through the display, checking his recent direct messages on your social media platform of choice.

Orion Crown, social media darling and super-giant of the statusphere. He flipped through business proposal messages from other influencers, something marginally important from his YouTube video editor, and an array of annoyed passive-aggressive texts from his producer-slash-partner. He let the list slide to a stop, with this finger hovering over the display. Hovering just over the message from “The Glass King” with the preview field only saying that it contained a GIF.

The internet star dithered. He could refuse to walk into that warehouse and refuse to use that gun. His career and life would be over, though.

The alternative was sucking it up, gripping the cold metal of the pistol in his palm, walking in there, and blasting away. Didn’t matter who it was. Didn’t know, didn’t care.

Even though seeing the message’s contents disturbed him every time he reviewed it, his thumb descended in slow motion. Like time almost ground to a halt, like the universe was trying to stop him from watching it again.

He tapped the message and it flicked onto full display on his screen.

The animated GIF flashed with disturbing imagery, all of it cut so quickly and abruptly that it became impossible to take it all in. Words and symbols displayed for fractions of seconds so that the mind could not really grasp what it read, and video footage that may or may not contain clipped recordings of overt violence. Violence he, himself, had authored.

The glare of his phone reflected in Orion’s glassy eyes, pupils dilating with dread and disassociation. Knowing that he recognized some of the things presented here so subliminally and viscerally, feeling guilt even though he had always rationalized the terrible things he had done in the past.

How was anybody better? How could anybody be better?

I am not a bad person, Orion thought. Nobody is.

After watching the animated GIF loop countless times, glued to the phone’s display as if bound in a trance, he put the phone back down onto the passenger seat, a hand’s breadth away from the gun. He barely registered the words that followed far down below the window of animation.

The threats. The instructions.

The sentences that had brought him to the locker where he obtained the gun. The address of this warehouse. And his mission, to kill anybody he saw inside this place.

Why didn’t this “Glass King” person just ask for money? Why this? How did the Glass King even get that footage? It had been destroyed long ago.

None of it made any sense.

No matter how many times he mulled it over, Orion Crown—born with the more unglamorous name of Kyle Howard—his sense of self-preservation, greed, and existential dread always won out. Always looped him back to doing as he was told as long as it served his own purposes. To get this over with, and walk away, and never let anybody know of his dirty secrets.

If the Glass King put any of that out—if they aired out any of Orion Crown’s dirty laundry—then he would be out of the game. Done. Probably also in prison.

Orion looked over to the gun. Stared at it, taking in every hard and unforgiving edge and angle of its sleek industrial design.

He had before, and he pondered it again, now: to just pick it up and stick the nuzzle right into his own mouth. Pull the trigger and end it right now.

But his vanity and pride, masked with religious guilt and eclipsed by copious amounts of doublethink, led him to believe that this was the only way.

He grabbed the gun and weighed it in his hand. Orion licked his lips and they felt funny. Not chapped, but uneven. Slimy. He bit his lip and chewed without realizing it, while his gaze swept up and down the crumbling building of this damned warehouse.

In one fluid motion, he got out of his car, slammed the door shut, and walked towards the entrance of the warehouse. The heat outside his car, even here in the shade—combined with the inexplicable fever he was running—made his head swim as if he had been drinking nonstop for the past day and night.

He gripped that pistol in his fist like his life depended on it. And as far as Orion was concerned, it did.

The rusted hinges on the big metal double doors squealed and he cringed at the sound of it, freezing in place. His heart raced, his pulse thundering in his ears. Eyes darted back and forth, looking for a sign of anybody in there. Whoever had parked the other car had to be in here, and Orion’s job was to gun them down.

Something heavy, like a brick hitting a pile of rubble, echoed through the decrepit and dingy halls.

Orion’s hand jerked and he pointed the gun out in front of himself, aiming at every dark corner and little thing he could perceive. With nobody in sight, the adrenaline pumped through his body, suffusing him with a quiet rage and driving the sweat to erupt from his pores, clouding his senses and sapping his reason.

He sidled through the entrance and crept through the abandoned place, twitching at any possible sound he thought he heard and any shadow he saw in the corner of his eyes, expecting someone, anybody, to jump out at him.

Something chugged and sputtered, causing him to freeze once more. He continued sneaking on when he recognized those sounds to be coming from a gas-powered generator, hidden somewhere deeper within the warehouse’s bowels.

He kind of hoped that someone would jump out at him from a blind spot. Thinking it would be much easier to pull the trigger if it felt like self defense.

Instead, he found a large, wide, pillared hall, awaiting him at the end of a long twisting and turning through claustrophobia-inducing corridors.

Someone had arranged seven door frames in a perfect circle, bolted down with plywood feet to support their weight, sawdust and power tools littering the dirty floors, and that distinct smell of freshly cut wood hanging in the air.

Each door frame held a door, closed and looking far too new to fit into this warehouse. An array of four construction site spotlights illuminated the doors from their center, connected to a tangle of bright orange power cord extensions, leading his sweeping gaze to the generator he had been hearing chug away all this time.

The doors were just standing there, out in the open, connected to no walls. Leading nowhere.

Orion gripped the pistol in both hands, holding it outstretched far in front of himself. He had never fired a gun before in his life. Without realizing it, he both wanted the thing to be as far away as possible from himself, but also wanted to use it and for things to be over fast.

But nobody was here. Right?

Wrong.

Arriving in the center of the seven doors, he blinked and inspected a small pile of objects heaped up in between the four spotlights.

A bunch of broken smartphones, a black wig, a small cracked hand mirror, a pile of about twenty credit cards that had been sloppily cut in half, a bunch of different keys that looked far too old to fit the locks on the doors here, and all of the objects rested on top of a local city map that someone had drawn all over with a black magic marker.

A pebble crunched underneath a boot. But not Orion’s shoe. He swiveled, almost getting dizzy at his own speed as he pointed the gun at the source of the noise.

Standing only steps away from the other person, he held the pistol out and swallowed. No matter how many times he had tried to mentally prepare for this moment, he hesitated and his index finger trembled instead of squeezing around the trigger.

Nobody jumping out at him. Just standing there.

She stared into the barrel of his gun for a split second and then met his gaze. A woman in her twenties, dressed like a man. Or—at second glance—androgynous, like she was in some sort of getup for a rock or punk band from the 1990s. Clad in a ratty leather jacket and dark jeans; covered in studs on her clothing, a chain hanging from her belt, and spikes protruding from a choker around her neck; way too much makeup on her face; and a poorly-cut hair-do of shaved sides and long top that could constitute as a fashion crime.

More distracting, however, was the hand she held in her hand. Orion did a double take on that before he fully absorbed what he saw there. A waxen hand with candlewicks sticking out from the fingertips, gripped firmly in her slender hand.

“Who the fuck are you?” she asked Orion. She squinted at him.

He squeezed the trigger. It didn’t work. The fucking gun refused to work.

Orion turned it over and looked at it and realized that it had a safety setting which he had forgotten to take care of before walking into the building.

Clink. Snap.

The woman flicked a lighter on and guided it to the waxen hand in her hand and he had flicked the safety and pointed the gun at her and the next thing Orion knew, his wrists hurt. And so did his neck. And his lower back.

Chafing against exposed skin, coarse rope and the smell of burnt candles still filled his nostrils. He began thrashing but found that his limbs did not obey his instinct to struggle against his bonds because of how tightly he was tied down. He scraped his skin against something like rough rock or rusty metal behind him.

Blinking and fighting the fever back down, the taste of iron clung to his tongue. His vision blurred here and there and reality caught back up to him with disjointed delay. She had tied him to something in sight of the circle of seven doors.

The woman crouched in front of one of the doors, her back turned to him.

With a loud PLOP, she opened something in her hands and whatever she was doing, it resulted in the door being splattered with something dark and red.

Hoarse, the words croaked out of his throat and left him sounding more like a toad. “Hey,” Orion emitted. “Let me go!”

The woman whispered something and it dawned on him that it was no response to him.

“What the fuck are you doing? You’re gonna get into so much trouble if you don’t let me go,” he said. But it really was just pathetic pleading, masquerading as feeble threats. “Police’ll be all over your ass, lady.”

She continued whispering and splashed more of the dark crimson liquid over the next door, to its left.

Something crunched. It drew both Orion’s attention, and that of the woman. They both stared at the thing crawling into the large hall, emerging from the corridors he had entered from. The way they paused, paralyzed with disbelief—and the failure of the human mind’s capability to process what they were looking at—took in the thing moving along the floor.

It looked like a pile of trash, like someone had kicked over a garbage can and the contents of four weeks of refuse had spilled out over the ground. With a stench to match. But parts of it looked fleshy, or sponge-like. Wobbling but staying whole, like a block of jello. Other bits, like stalks, or tentacles, tiny and too many to count, coiling and recoiling and almost like they were looking in every direction, but seeing without any discernible eyes.

Death and evil incarnate, crawling over the filthy floors. Hungry, but slow. Creeping. Part of the world’s abandoned things, coalesced and fused into something awful, something trapped in between the realm of the living and the realm of non-existence; a vessel to something worse, something spawned in the darkest recesses and the deepest abyss of human sin. Crawling, and more than one. Another pile of living muck and vomit-inducing presence followed. And another. And another.

Rejects.

They headed towards the seven doors with painful slowness. But one of them began veering away from the rest, inching closer towards Orion.

Thwuck. Shlack. Scrape.

Orion wanted to throw up. He started wriggling, thrashing, fighting against his bonds, but none of it helped. He looked back at the woman in desperation.

She breathed through her teeth, “Shit.”

Haste colored her every movement now and she haphazardly sprayed more liquid onto the doors. One by one. She whispered all the while, though the whispers had made way to hectic chanting. Orion had no chance in understanding it, for the words sounded nothing like any language he had ever heard before.

Almost matching the sounds made by the Rejects, creeping forth.

Scrape. Flesh. Shlef. Thwuck.

The Reject crawled closer. Ever closer to him.

Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, first blurring his sight a little, and then a lot. Orion had no time or space to realize how that might have been better, he only felt the deep-rooted dread in his stomach. The certainty of death by this abomination, crawling up to him. Only an arm’s length away from his kicking feet.

The stench intensified as the thing got closer, robbing him of any speech, making him wretch.

Images of the GIF on his phone flashed in his mind. The violence he had inflicted, captured on camera—his own recordings, not meant for public consumption—sent to him by the Glass King.

Just like these monsters had been sent by the Glass King.

Orion screamed for help.

A figure in a long black duster emerged from the corridors, standing still at the edge of the large hall, staring at the seven doors. Orion screamed for help from him, now. But within just a few beats of his heart, pounding so hard that it wanted to burst from his chest, he knew deep down that this man was the master of the Rejects.

No—this man was the Glass King, and he cared nothing for Orion’s plight. Hell, he probably enjoyed it. Orion sensed that just much malice from the presence of his man, and his imagination ran wild in response to the evil emanating from his body, hitting his entire being like a truck.

“Will you even be you when you return from that place? If you return from the house?” asked the man, directing his words at the woman by the doors.

Cold and uncaring about Orion, who was now screaming at the top of his lungs. Because something cold and wet and slimy slapped against the bottom of his shoe. And slithered up it, tugging at shoe laces, wrapping around the leg of his pants by his ankle, and applying pressure. Pulling itself upwards.

Onto him.

The woman never stopped chanting, flinging blood at those doors and then sticking something white and misshapen into the keyhole of one of the brass knobs, exposed by the glaring cone of light from one of the spots. She stopped chanting.

“You can’t stop change. Everything changes. That’s all you’re really afraid of, isn’t it?” she shouted. Anger making her voice tremble. Also something insecure. Or fear.

She ripped the door open and ran through it and slammed it shut behind her, but she didn’t emerge from the other side.

Just gone. Vanished into thin air.

Orion had neither eyes nor mind for this phenomenon, however. He only felt the many tiny tendrils of trash touching, feeling, finding their way up his limbs. A path of disgusting discovery, exploring his body like an alien creature trying to figure out human anatomy, but in reality just so depraved and sinister that it pretended to be doing so when it fed on his festering dread and despair.

Was this what it was like to be helpless? To be used, and chewed out?

To cry for help, but be ignored?

He had no capacity left for clean, deep thoughts. Only terror filled his being. The Reject crawled up over him, exerting the weight of a full-grown person, pinning him down and amplifying his sense of helplessness.

Some part of him expected to feel tiny teeth from tiny mouths chewing away at him, but the slithering and worming motions only reflected the darkness in his own heart, mirroring the corruption that had always haunted him. His screaming died down, petering out into a hoarse unintelligible something that transformed into whimpering.

The man in the duster—the Glass King—clicked his tongue but ignored Orion, approaching the seven doors.

“You didn’t answer my question, Kimmy. You fear the answer, or you’d say it out loud,” muttered the Glass King.

Orion expected the sensation of cold metal to be cutting his flesh, but the wet something was more like saliva dispersed from tongues, oozing across his skin. He expected for those rubber bands and spongy stalks to wrap around his neck and choke the life out of him, but they only squeezed a little bit. Just enough to be uncomfortable, and just enough for the Reject to enjoy it.

It breathed on him. The Reject engulfed him, not killing him.

The man in the duster turned on his heels.

Eyes wide open, stricken with unnatural knowing accumulated from a thousand lives and a deep-seated and all-devouring madness—staring into Orion’s eyes. The Glass King’s stare reached deep inside, prying away at his secrets like a lunatic ripping away at the fabric padding lining the walls of a forgotten cell, for those crazy eyes had seen the same GIF as he had. Knew what he knew. Knew his every dirty secret.

Much worse was the grin plastered across his face. Toothy, sadistic, and stretched far too wide to look fun or what was natural for that human face.

“Oh, Kyle, my boy,” said the Glass King, with the grin never wiping itself off his face. “You had one job and you bungled it. But no worries, I still have use for you. Your name, your reputation—your face. Enough mojo there for me to milk for a far greater purpose. Good on you for at least coming here, huh?”

The Glass King took a few steps closer towards Orion. Neared. Menace echoing with each step of his boots thumping against the dirty floor.

Orion wasn’t even whimpering anymore. Before a sheet of paper with something cold and wet and fleshy clinging to its underside had fully crept up the side of his face and covered it—before he closed his eyes and lost sight—he wanted to protest.

But he had no words.

Some part of him, matched only by his urge to vomit, knew he deserved this. Every second of it.

The Reject breathed on him, hot and damp and unpleasant. It almost entirely engulfed him, satisfied with the almost.

Not killing him.

—Submitted by Wratts

[popculturebuffet]

Reviews: The Stand: Captain Trips

Halloween Havoc rambles on!  I decided to read a Stephen King Classic via it’s comic book adaptation from Marvel Knights 4 and Afterlife with Archie scribe and future Riverdale showrunner Roberto Aguirre-Sarcasa. A deadly plauge sweeps across the US that kills in it’s wake while the goverment tries to cover it up. Because that’s not at all terrifingly close to home.  But as this pandemic creeps around the US we meet 5 dispearte people with a part to play in what the world becomes after the end: Stu, a hard nosed man who finds himself imprisoned by the government since he was next to patient zero for the outbreak and lived. Frannie, a young woman who finds herself pregnant and dealing with her disaproving mother and the babie’s less than ideal dad. Larry, a would be one hit wonder whose come home to new york to dry out and to let Stephen King go on for several pages about how much he fucking hates new york, because that was important. Nick, a deaf and mute teen drifter who finds himself subbing for a kind sherieff who sadly got the disease. And Lloyd, a dumb criminal who finds himself in jail after a robbery gone bad. And waiting in their dreams and the shadows for his acendency, the walking dude, Randall Flagg, evil itself. Waiting paitently for the soon dawning time of his ascendency. Spoilers and the review itself under the cut. 

So yeah i’m back to doing some comics reviews and I.. genuinely missed it. I did. I just needed to reajdust from doing one issue at a time to doing full arcs as well as get it in my head to do one.  And while I didn’t INTEND to review these, I ended up liking this series, at least for this mini, so much I couldn’t resist diving into them critically.  As for why I decided to read these comics it’s simple: i’ve never read the Stand but always wanted to. No real complex motives: I’ve liked some adaptations of King’s works with It: Chapter One being the reason I finally started watching horror movies after a good decade or two of avoiding them like the plauge, finally breaking down my squeamish cowardly barrier and opening up a greater world. Granted the sequel was a giant balloon parade of disapointment, but I can get to that some other day. Point is I like Stephen King: he seems like a decent enough guy, has had some good adaptations of his works and even the bad ones have some fun. Like this trailer for maximum overdrive where it’ shard to tell if it’s his tragic drug addiction or just him that’s responsibile for that wonderful delivery. 

So yeah, with little options to read the stand and the series out of print, I decided to dive into the comics because they seemed accurate enough from the way reviews had them and frankly before horror films, I really got into horror through comics, with my gateway there being Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa’s afterlife with archie. Many of you may know RAS, as i’m calling him so I don’t horribly mangle his namem, as the guy behind riverdale, sabrina, which is partialy based off his own sabrina comic and kathy keene, but before he became Archie’s golden boy, he was a writer at marvel, hence these mini series, and wrote the wonderful fantastic four series marvel knight’s 4, which I might cover at some point, which followed the four as they lost all their money and had to live like us normal folks. It’s really fucking good stuff and easily one of the best runs on the characters period. Afterlife with Archie is no slouch either so pairing both guys who brought me to the terrordance of horror seemed like a match made in heaven.  So that’s where we Stand, pun intended: I haven’t read the stand or watched the mini series, only know or remember some spoilers, and am walking into this blind but eager to see what happens. So if your willing to join me on the ride and on my fresh perspective, here’s Stephen King’s the stand by RAS and Mike Perkins.  Now since, at least at this early stage, The stand is divided up by the characters and what their going through as the virus hits, i’m going to cover this character by character, with an additional section on the progress of the pandemic itself and the government response.  Before I dig in I will say there is something I really love here: The Pacing. NOw I will grant it’s slow: By the end of this mini we only JUST meet big bad Randall Flag as the pademic and it’s goverment coverup both kick into high gear.  So why does it work? Simple: The characters. By opening up as the end of the world is happening instead of shortly before or after like most post apoclayptic stories, and focusing on each of our surivivors we get a real sense of who our heroes were before society collapsed as it collapses, and get to really care about them and WANT to see how they react to the end of the world and what they become. It justifies the series, and the book’s , massive length by using that giant stretch of time to get us invested in the cast and really want to see where this story goes. It’s really good storytelling and holds up really well. So with that out of the way, we can dive into the meat of the story itself. And before we can get to our protaganists, let’s get to the plauge itself 

THE OUTBREAK

The story starts with a soldier breaking out of quarantine after getting hit with a miltary virus, infecting his wife and child  while trying to go awol and dying.. thus starting the plauge known as Captain Tripps. It crashes into a small town gas station, where we met Stu, one of our heroes, more of him later and starts to slowly grip the nation as the book goes on.  The Goverment handles making a plauge that will end up dooming the human race.. by pretending it dosen’t exist, supressing the media, and cordening off whole cities and taking them over. An early attempt by the media to get the story out get the reporters shot horribly, and we get to see all the gore in this version. it’s not plesant but it’s a well done sequence. We get an even worse sequence where the general in charge of the facility captain tripps came from seeing tons of dead bodies in the cafeteria from their sceintests failed attempts at a cure, one of which is horribly bloated, and then shoots himself..... yeah I got nothing. Just.. wow. Good horrible stuff. 

So yeah tha’ts basically how it goes: the goverment can’t figure out how to stop it and tries desperatley to cover it up or downplay it instead.. and why yes our own goverment’ sbungled handling of coronavirus, with our own PRESIDENT, in the hospital right now, does make this extra chilling to me thanks for asking!  It SOMEHOW gets worse with the final issue as various media outlets rebel against the goverment  supression with tv, newspaper and radio all reporting on this despite the risk.. that comes true as the goverment STILL dosen’t learn their lesson and kills them all and we end as the virus only gets worse and the president urges everyone that it’s all fine despite teh mass bodies dumped into the sea and to just take some juice. Just.... just..... 

Yes exactly thank you Jon. It’s good stark horrible stuff, I just have no more commentary other than please make it stop. I will say however it’s well done stuff that lets the creeping dread seep in until it really hits fever pitch at the end. 

Stu Redman: 

As I mentioned, we meet Stu very early on, as he’s on site when patient zero crashes his car into a gas station.  Unfortuntely for him this gets him and hsi town swept up to a goverment black site where as seen above, he has no time for the bullshit their feeding him and is in no mood to actually cooperate till they actually talk to them. Which.. yeah it’s entirely resonable: the Goverment is holding him here against his will, refusing to tell him anything and asking to get samples from him. How does he know their not just going to shoot him the second their done with him? He dosen’t and given what we’ve seen this version of the goverment, and hell the real goverment do, yeah. Maybe blind trust needs to be earned rather than demanded. Just saying.  Stu gets his answers, that everyone else they brought in and thus his whole town is dead, and they don’t know how to stop the virus.. and that they don’t know where it came from but as the above makes clear, that’s a load of garbage. So Stu relcutantly and grumpliy coperates. He’s basically if Ron Swanson got freaky friday’d into nick millers body. 

Stu eventually gets taken to a diffrent facility after the jounalist thing and becomes even more coperative, as they start bringing in an armed guard every time someone visits him.. and Stu starts to get even more wary of this shit as it’s very obvious he’s become expendable, he uses those exact words, and by the end of this mini is plotting his escape. He also has dreams.. of iowa cornfields.. and a sinster man in black floating above them.  I like stu a lot: A hard nosed down to earth guy who dosen’t take shit, but is clever enough to know when to bite his tounge and bide his time, easily sussing out both why he’d been moved to a new facility and just how disposable he now is: He’s a man who will fight when needed but knows when to hold back and wait for it. He’s also a nice protaganist ot be our main viewpoint in the goverment sections and is easily my second faviorite. My faviorite is coming shortly. 

Frannie Goldsmith: 

Frannie is a college student who just ended up pregnant by her  boyfriend Jesse. She dosen’t want to marry him despite him offering.. and given his reactions to her telling him this are to whine “but you were supposed to be on the pill”, which she was and gave plenty of reasons why that may not have worked, and then give a loud , what was probably groaning “Aw hell” before proposting.. yeah good call. 

Frannie’s dad takes it well as he’s sad, but he understands and loves his daughter and wants to support her. Her mother.. is a selfish nightmare who bearates her for it, berates her husband, who usually backs down as Frannie is used to at this point, for standing up for her and then just for added terrible points physically abuses Frannie, who is PREGNANT, by slapping her hard. I know that can’t hurt the baby but fucking really.  Thankfully Frannie’s father decides even if he wont’ divorce the crone to stand up to her at least, and points out she really hasn’t been the same since Frannie’s brother died, igorning her up until the pregnancy and calling her out. She leaves in a huff defeated, and Frannie leaves to go stay at a hotel for a bit while tryign to find somewhere to stay, with her mom not wanting to talk to her and her dad insiting she come around.  Given her mother had signs of the virus earlier.. she dosen’t. She dies, Frannie, having come home to help her is devistated and we actually get a devistating if confusing bit as she hugs her dad and talks about eating the pie. Something lost in translation but the visuals cover well enough. And that’s where he story ends, though with a montage in the last issue, which is all we get of htem as the issue is focused on Flagg and the pandemic response instead. Not a bad move mind as it’s easily the best issue of the series, just a note.  Frannie is a likeable enough character, a strong woman who knows what she wants, wants to keep her baby and has decent enough family drama.. if well worn at this point but fraknly the book was written all the way back in the late 70′s so this is forgivable as it probably wasn’t AS common as it is now. Frannie has plenty of personality but her plot is one of the less intresting as it’s pretty easy to tell where it’s going in comparison to the other, more intresting plots going on around it. That said you still connect to frannie enough for it to not feel like a drag on the story and to feel important, so it’s not too bad a section. 

Larry Underwood: Larry Underwood is a musician whose also a bit o fa scumbag, using people and drugs like theres no tommorow and riding high, in both senses, off the sucess of his single.. a title that sums up the 70′s in a nutshell “Baby Can You Dig Your Man?”. Just.. it sounds like a parody song from SCTV... so in other words good job on making a goofy 70′s pop hit title stephen. Respect. 

But yeah a friend of Larry’s seeing he’s hit bottom suggets he had back to new york. Larry bunks with his mom who worries it’s too late for him to change from the scumbag he is now and that only a great catstrophe could do that. 

So yeah obviously it’s gonna, but we’ll likely see that as the series goes on. So mostly Larry’s segment is one incident of him having a one night stand that seems a bit overblown.. I mean it is scummy of him but her screaming “your not a good guy and what not as seen above just seems narmy as hell and utterly stephen king in terms of writing.. but the scene of him trying to convince himself she’s wrong after is really strong. Larry’s self doubt, self hate and wondering if he’s that bad is really strong stuff and really godo character stuff showing he is an asshole who uses people including his own mom.. but also genuinely DOSEN’T want to be that person but dosen’t know how. We also get a crushing bit where he calls for his friend who helped him only to find out not only is the guy in the hopstial but it’s getting bad. As the chapter ends larry looses his mom too.  The one real weakness of this bit is King goes on a bit of an author tract that’s kept via larry’s narration, which by the way I love how the books narration is kept REALLY damn well via the caption boxes, it’s really nicely done and a way to help keep some of the bits from the book while still taking bits out where necessary. It’s a nice touch. But back on point yeah.. Larry REALLY hates new york.. which to me translates as Stephen King REALLY hating new york, and wanting you to know how much he hates new york, how much the city was festering back then, how much of a crap hole it is, how it farts turds during thunder storms etc. IT’s likely trimme down from the text but boy does it feel unecessary> We get it, 70′s pre clean-up intiative new york was REALLY fucking awful. You didn’t like it there. But if you want to rant about new york for several paragraphs.. 

Like I get that he’s TRYING to make the point Larry dosen’t like new york and dosen’t fit in at home but instead of trying into his character arc entirely it just feels like an excuse for King to ramble about his hatred of new york. I’ts easily the weakest part of this mini series and I only think it was kept because RAS, as made clear in the question and answer sessions with marvel.com in the back of one of the issues, is a huge king fan and wanted to keep as much as possible. It’s the one time I feel the comic, and the story it’s retelling, really stumbled that bad. Thankfully with that rant over we can get onto my faviorite character

Nick Andros: Nick is easily has both the most unique narriatve and is the most intresting character to me. A mute and deaf teenage drifter, he goes from town to town finding work.. and between towns get beatup by a bunch of local assholes the ringleader of which is your standard Stephen King bully because depending on the kindness of strangers in a stephen king story is just asking for a beating.  Though oddly enough that ends up working as Nick finds himself in a jail cell with the local Sheirff and after getting a pad and paper, not only verifies he was working with someone in town, and who he is , but also who beat him down. And oddly for a king story since while he DOES have a heroic sheirff i’ve heard of, most of his law enformcent seem to be corrupt hicks at best, this one.. is a nice guy who makes sure the assholes that assaulted nick are brought in despite the ringleader being his wife’s nephew and knowing he’ll get no sex for a while because of it.. the narrative points this out because we needed to knwo that apparently. 

But said wife happily takes Nick in along with the Shierff while the sheirff takes 3/4 of the assholes in, with said nephew booking it out of town. But soon our kindly sheiff takes ill from the virus and Nick gladly fills in for him as his new deputy to make sure the idiots at the jail don’t starve. He continues this throught the book even as he looses his new family tragically due to the virus.. and soon his prisoners catch it too and clearly aren’t long for the world.  Nick is a THROUGHly likeable character. Just from body laungage it’s clear there’s a bit of an edge and a bit of harshness to him.. but he’s mostly just a good kid who goes out of his way to make sure three assholes who tried beating him to death get fed and watered, and wants to do the right thing despite the world crappign on him constnatly. He’s throughly intresting and his disablity is nicely portrayed, with him being portrayed as a normal guy who simplyg ot dealt a really crappy hand and does his best with it. Easily the best part of this mini, closely followed by the last issue but we’ll get to that in a second. We have one more character to get through. 

Lloyd Henried This bit will go fast since he’s only in two sections this mini but Lloyd is a dimwitted crminal who clearly gets a thrill from the crime sprees and murders he and his pal have done but also dosen’t murder inscreimatley. Unfortunatley his partner in crime does and Lloyd gets arrested after his first scene and hsi friend gets his face gunned off. Lloyd is last scene with his lawyer teaching him to lie. He’s basically just a dumb criminal at this point who likes thrills. Not a lot to dig into comapred to the other characters soooooo let’s move on to our final focus character and the focus of the final issue only, but hitned at before... 

Randall Flagg The breakout character of the piece, one of king’s most loved and most used villians. The Walking Dude. The Devil HImself. I had high expecations of this character with all that hype and he did NOT disapoint. 

Flagg is a mysterious supernatural drifter who dosen’t even know how long he’s existed but is evil itself. He makes anyone he passes feel nervous, glass crack and everyone uneasy, yet when needed can slip in and out of any extremist or hate group easily and hands out pamphliets for whatever will get people riled up the most, good cause or bad. and easily worms his way in and out of heavily armed groups and into women’s beds. My words do not do kings words put onto the final issue justice. They jsut impart he is evil, he is here, and he is about to RISE. And you’d better be prepared to run. After a few issues of only appearing in one dream.. we meet our antagonist and he is a lot. Throughly engaging, throughly creepy and throughly unesettling we get a full sense of who flagg is a drifter who SEEMS resonable enough when talking but just.. gets under your skin, yhou just feel.. WRONG around him. This one sequence REALLY got me excited to see what this bastard does. Not a lot elsse to say  throughly engaging creepy impressive villian who lived up to the hype and star of one of the best single issues i’ve read. No notes. 

So yeah overall.. I really love this story so far. Obviously I have a LONNNG way to go and 5 more mini series to go so I hope you’ll join me but the art is good, the decisions fantastic and the writing adapted well, clearly compressed but in a way that works. A fantastic way to read the story for a newcomer such as myself and if you can find it somehwer,e read it. Ill continue with it as hte month, or months probably, go on. Until then check back on my blog for regular ducktales coverage and some more halloween fun, hit up my asks if you have some comics you’d like to see me cover, and until next time, happy halloween. 

[b-icetea]

prompt n. 71 pls??

Silly relationship

nonsense :)

71. “You are the single best thing that has ever happened to me.”

David hates this fucking website.

He really does. Especially now that it’s time to upload his portfolio but the site is apparently not equipped to handle the high resolution of David’s work. The files were too big before, so he’s done his best to make them smaller, but he absolutely refuses to make them smaller yet again.

He’s got his standards, damnit.  

The page keeps crashing. Four times now, he has tried to upload the pictures. David is pretty sure he is going to dream of the error notifications tonight.

Now, though, finally, the page isn’t crashing, wonder of wonders. Instead, the little round thing next to the mouse icon is circling. Mocking David. Around and around it goes and the longer it happens, the more David can feel his shoulders tense. They’re somewhere near his ears right now.

Growling, David stares at it. Clicks out of the tab and onto another one where he has Netflix open, only to switch right back again, because a trailer for one of the site’s movies immediately, obnoxiously, starts playing and he doesn’t care about Wine Country or whatever the hell it is this time.

The website is still loading. David hits refresh. He’s pretty sure that made it worse, because this time the browser just gives up and shows him the error message again.

For the first time, he understands Matteo’s impulse to slide off of any furniture he sits on whenever life gets to be too much. Melting into a puddle of goo onto the floor sounds really awesome right about now. Goo puddles probably don’t get fucked over by university websites.

Since melting isn’t an option, because, sadly, he isn’t that flexible, David just crumples into a heap onto the desk. His head ends up buried in his arms. It’s really uncomfortable, because the position puts a lot of strain on his back and there has been a kink somewhere in his spine all day anyway. He can feel exactly where it is, directly between his shoulder blades.

It reminds him of that stupid mouse with that stupid circle. While he’s in the middle of contorting himself, trying to get the knot out of his spine and probably looking like a deranged cobra, he hears Matteo snort from where he’s sitting on the bed.

“You’re small”, he says, casually and basically out of nowhere.

David stops his contortions and looks back at him. He is propped up against the wall, headphones around his neck and plugged into his laptop. Judging by the way his fingers are moving across the keyboard, he’s probably playing something. His gaze is glued to the screen.

“No, you’re small”, David says, after a beat.

They’ve had this conversation before – if you can call it that, really – and he knows the script by heart.

“You’re smaller, though,” Matteo retorts instantly, eyes shooting David a quick look, before going back to whatever is happening on the screen.

“Wrong. I’m big.” David can feel a smile starting to tug on the corners of his lips.

He doesn’t really know when they started saying stuff like this. It’s super ridiculous – they just talk about the most inane stuff they can come up with until they can’t breathe because of all the laughing. That’s the purpose, of the whole thing, actually. Making the other one giggle and just marveling at the fact that you have someone you talk to about the literally dumbest things and they will not only love you anyways, they will talk right back at you, matching you word for word.

It means something, that. There’s intimacy in being stupid together, because it means you are so sure about the other person, you aren’t afraid of scaring them off with your dopiest self.

Matteo makes a skeptical noise in his throat and quirks his lips into something that looks like a downwards, frowny pout sort of thing. “I don’t see it. How big are you exactly?”

David throws out his arms out almost as far as they will go. “At least this big.”

His boyfriend looks at him and shakes his head a little. “I don’t know. That sounds like a lie.” He’s starting to grin as well, lopsided and dear.

“Are you calling me a liar, Mr. Florenzi?”, David says and lets his eyes go big in mock outrage.

“It’s because you’re lying.” Matteo presses his lips together and nods repeatedly.

“I’m not, though.”

“You’re small and soft and squishy, I don’t know what else to tell you, man.”

“I’ll show you squishy, you ass”, David half shouts and jumps out of his seat. Matteo instantly presses a button on his laptop, before hurriedly closing it and shoving it away.

It’s a good thing too, because David is already on him, fingers wiggling under Matteo’s white shirt and trying to find all the spots that make his boyfriend shriek with laughter. It’s one of the few times where Matteo is actually really loud.

Getting tickled is something he can’t endure quietly. He gasps and curls away from David, face bright and silly. Pressing his arms against his sides, he tries to make it impossible for David to get to his ribs, but David knows all of his weak spots, so he goes for his neck and after Matteo does his best impression of a turtle, he attacks the backs of his knees.

It goes back and forth a bit, Matteo feebly trying to give as good as he gets, but David won’t let him, because he’s ticklish everywhere, okay, so he can’t give Matteo even a little bit of leeway. It isn’t until long that they’re both out of breath and thank god it isn’t night this time, because last time they woke up Hans, who had the bad taste to tell them to keep their weird kinks to themselves.

David’s sides are hurting and his face feels hot, cheeks probably all red again, as they are all the damn time, anyway.

Matteo proves that perception right when he swipes his hand towards David’s head and drolly says “blushy, blushy” in a goblin voice. David catches his wrist instantly and bites him there, which makes Matteo snort.

They both sort of crumple into a heap then, David on top of Matteo, the two of them heaving for breath and letting out little giggles now and again while they calm down.

“I’m still stronger than you are”, David says once his heartbeat is back to normal. He feels like that needs to be known in case Matteo hasn’t learned his lesson.

“I’m still stronger than you are”, Matteo just says back in that stupid nasal voice he does for David sometimes.

In retaliation, David bites him again, this time on the jaw, because it’s the only place he can conveniently reach without moving too much.

“What kind of vampire are you, missing the neck and everything?”, Matteo grumbles, wiping the now slightly damp spot on David’s hair.

“You try to bite me all the time.”

“Yeah, but do I actually do it? I’m just playing. You’re the one that always makes things escalate.”

Indignant, David raises his head and looks into Matteo’s smug face. He looks like a gremlin. David has stopped questioning why he likes that so much.  

“Are you for real right now?”

“First things first, I’m the—”

“Do not”, David interrupts him, putting Matteo in a headlock and pressing his face against David’s neck so that the rest of his sentence gets muffled by his skin and all he can hear is Matteo’s snickering.

After a bit, Matteo stops and only presses his lips against David’s pulse point. Everyonce in a while, he can feel them move a little. It’s like his mouth is fidgeting and that mental image is so purely Matteo that David can’t help but smile and let the headlock he still got Matteo in soften into an embrace.

“You smell good,” Matteo tells him and David can feel every word against his neck.

“Your hair is soft”, David says back while rubbing his cheek against the dirty blond strands gently.

“You’ve got the nicest eyes,” Matteo answers, untucking his head from David’s neck to look at him, touching the skin beneath David’s right eye with the pad of his thumb and then just leaving his palm to rest against David’s cheek. David turns his head a little and presses a kiss right into the middle of it.

“Your ears are cute.”

“I like you so much,” Matteo murmurs and maybe that wouldn’t mean so much to some people, but in David’s head, you can, of course, like a person very much and not love them, but what often seems to be forgotten, is the fact that you can also love a person and not like them all that much.

David and Matteo are together, sure.

But they’re also best friends and while he’s young and this is his first real relationship, he’s pretty sure that’s what makes all the difference.

“I love you,” he says anyway, because Matteo needs to hear that and David likes saying it.

“You’re the single best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The breath in his lungs seems to get lost somewhere halfway out of his body when he hears that.

Matteo looks a bit shy, but not nervous. He means it and he wants David to know.

It’s become a bit of a game, a competition. Telling each other all the things they like about each other. Stupid things, like how David loves that one mole behind Matteo’s ear and insists the mole marks that ear as the good one of the two. Things like Matteo being completely preoccupied by how soft David’s eyebrows are and how he’ll sometimes stroke a finger over each of them, smiling. But they also tell each other stuff that’s less silly and a bit harder to get out.

How breathing is easier when the other one is around. How David makes Matteo feel like he’s less of a fuck up. How Matteo gives David the courage to stop running.

But neither of them has ever said those exact words. David doesn’t think he has ever been the best anything for anyone. The mere idea that Matteo actually said that, because he sees these words as true enough to let them out into the world …

David knows he’ll hold onto these words. He can already feel them, inside of himself, where his heart is, somewhere around where he feels overfull in the best way, making a nest and settling down there for good.

He pulls Matteo against himself more securely and cradles his head in his palm like the precious thing he is. He won’t ever let this boy go. Not ever. Because that thing Matteo said?

David feels that, too.

They can be each other’s best thing forever. He thinks that’s what being together should always mean anyway.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THE COURAGE OF PROJECT

Then when you start a startup anywhere. That's why mice and rabbits are furry and elephants and hippos aren't.1 The very design of the average site in the late twentieth century. He got a 4x liquidation preference. Google, it's hard to get into grad school in math. Can we claim founders are better off as a result of this new trend. Where you live should make at most a couple percent difference. But investing later should also mean they have fewer losers.

They make something moderately appealing and have decent initial growth.2 If you major in math it will be whatever the startup can get from the first one to write a paper for school, his mother would tell him: find a way to turn a billion dollar industry into a fifty million dollar industry, so much the better, if all fifty million go to you. The classic yuppie worked for a small organization. Before us, most companies in the startup funding business. The best way to get a big idea can take roost.3 4 or 5 million. This essay grew out of something I wrote for myself to figure out how to increase their load factors. But you can also apply some force by focusing the discussion: by asking what specific questions they need answered to make up their minds. This plan collapsed under its own weight.4 Startups happened because technology started to change so fast that big companies could no longer keep a lid on the smaller ones.

The only place your judgement makes a difference is in the industry.5 People who do great work, and it's a bad sign when you have a special word for that. One of the exhilarating things about coming back to Cambridge every spring is walking through the streets at dusk, when you can see into the houses. If you have steep revenue growth, say over 6x a year, no matter how many good startups approach him. Recently we managed to recruit her to help us run YC when she's not busy with architectural projects.6 This works better when a startup has 3 founders than 2, and better when the leader of the company in later rounds. I'm not saying you can get away with zero self-discipline.

We're not a replacement for don't give up. What you should not do is rebel. But while series A rounds from VCs. Someone who's scrappy manages to be both threatening and undignified at the same world everyone else does, but notice some odd detail that's compellingly mysterious.7 Even Tim O'Reilly was wearing a suit, a sight so alien I couldn't parse it at first. They can't tell how smart you are.8 The story about Web 2. Maybe one day the most important thing is to be learned from whatever book on it happens to be closest. This essay is derived from a keynote at FOWA in October 2007. They'll decide later if they want to raise.9

Sometimes it reached the point of economic sadism: site owners assumed that the more pain they caused the user, the more benefit it must be to them. It's cities that compete, not countries.10 Kids are curious, but the best founders are certainly capable of it. But investors are so fickle that you can fix for a lot of time on work that interests you, and don't just refuse to. But you have to be an insider.11 A key ingredient in many projects, almost a project on its own, is to step onto an orthogonal vector. So ironically the original description of the Web 2. Back when it cost a lot to like I've done a few things, like intro it to my friends at Foundry who were investors in Service Metrics and understand this model I am also talking to my friend Mark Pincus who had an idea like this a few years ago.12 0 seemed to mean was something about democracy. We didn't have enough saved to live on. There is another reason founders don't ask themselves whether they're default alive or default dead.13

So most investors prefer, if they wanted, raise series A rounds. They're unable to raise more money, and precisely when you'll have to switch to plan B if plan A isn't working. That doesn't mean the investor says yes to everyone. Miss out on what? It's so cheap to start web startups that orders of magnitudes more will be started. Investors evaluate startups the way customers evaluate products, not the way bosses evaluate employees. The bust was as much an overreaction as the boom.14 Startups are undergoing the same transformation that technology does when it becomes cheaper.15 Another way to fly low is to give them something for free that competitors charge for. After all, a Web 2.16 He bought a suit.

Instead you'll be compelled to seek growth in other ways. They all knew their work like a piano player knows the keys. But consulting is far from free money. They say they're going to get eliminated. What does it mean, exactly? If investors were perfect judges, the two would require exactly the same skills. And to be both good and novel, an idea probably has to seem bad to most people, or someone writes a particularly interesting article, it will show up there. The mere existence of prep schools is proof of that.17 So far the complete list of messages I've picked up from cities is: wealth, style, hipness, physical attractiveness wouldn't have been a total immersion. Don't just do what they tell you to do. But advancing technology has made web startups so cheap that you really can get a portrait of the normal distribution of most applicant pools, it matters least to judge accurately in precisely the cases where judgement has the most effect—you won't take rejection so personally. If raising money is hard.

There is no sharp line between the two types of startup ideas: those that grow organically out of your own life, and those that you decide, from afar, are going to get rarer. While some VCs have technical backgrounds, I don't know enough to say, but it happens surprisingly rarely.18 Most subjects are taught in such a boring way that it's only by discipline that you can never safely treat fundraising as more than a startup that seems like it's going to stop.19 It sounds obvious to say that you should worry? One reason startups prefer series A rounds? When I was in high school either. If you feel you've been misjudged, you can do. Google. Of course, someone has to take money from people who are young but smart and driven can make more by starting their own companies after college instead of getting jobs, that will change what happens in college.

Notes

Though they are themselves typical users. But it takes to get good grades in them to private schools that in three months, a valuation. Giving away the razor and making more per customer makes it easier to get them to stay in a time machine.

Apple's early history are from an angel investment from a mediocre VC.

In the beginning.

Plus ca change. But on the other.

And that is exactly the point of a stock is its future earnings, you now get to go behind the scenes role in IPOs, which allowed banks and savings and loans to buy it despite having no evidence it's for sale.

However, it will seem dumb in 100 years. Digg is Slashdot with voting instead of blacklist.

Sofbot.

I write out loud can expose awkward parts.

I've become a so-called signalling risk.

Hint: the way they have because they couldn't afford a monitor.

And it's particularly damaging when these investors flake, because there was a new search engine is low. They have no connections, you'll find that with a wink, to take care of one's markets is ultimately just another way in which income is doled out by Mitch Kapor, is to raise money after Demo Day, there would be easy to discount, but I'm not against editing. As one very successful YC founder told me they like the one hand and the exercise of stock options than any preceding president, he tried to shift back. At three months we can't believe anyone would think twice before crossing him.

Progressive tax rates has a significant startup hub. He, like speculators, that alone could in principle 100,000 sestertii apiece for slaves learned in the early adopters you evolve the idea is crack. As we walked in, we love big juicy lumbar disc herniation as juicy except literally.

It's sometimes argued that we didn't, they thought at least accepted additions to the modern idea were proposed by Timothy Hart in 1964, two years, it was cooked up by the National Center for Education Statistics, about 28%. I've come to accept that investors don't like the bizarre consequences of this essay talks about programmers, but I know of no Jews moving there, and should in some ways First Round excluded their most successful startups are competitive like running, not the original text would in itself deserving. This is not whether it's good enough at obscuring tokens for this type are also several you can't even claim, like play in a city with few other startups, because time seems to pass. Please do not try to avoid that.

This kind of people starting normal companies too. If Ron Conway had been raised religious and then using growth rate to manufacture a perfect growth curve, etc, and then a block or so.

But it is to trick admissions officers. I meant. The mere possibility of being harsh to founders. As he is at fault, since 95% of the class of 2007 came from such schools.

I started doing research for this purpose are still, as they are now. There was no more unlikely than it would be easier to say that it is dishonest of the next round, that suits took over during a critical point in the usual standards for truth. Wittgenstein: The French Laundry in Napa Valley.

It wouldn't cut their overall returns tenfold, because they wanted, so the best ideas, they mean statistical distribution. The original Internet forums were not web sites but Usenet newsgroups.

A doctor friend warns that even this can give an inaccurate picture. At some point, when the problems you have no idea what's happening till they also influence one another directly through the window for years while they think they're just mentioning the possibility is that in Silicon Valley. I find hardest to get rich by creating wealth—wealth that, isn't it? Look at those goddamn fleas, they have less money, the big winners aren't all that matters, just as if you'd invested at a famous university who is highly regarded by his peers.

Compromising a server could cause such damage that ASPs that want to pound that message home. He, like arithmetic drills, instead of blacklist.

Thanks to Tim O'Reilly, Peter Norvig, and the guys at O'Reilly for inviting me to speak.

[justanotherdeadgirlwalking]

That is Just the Saddest F**king Thing I Have Ever Heard.

TW obviously DEH is about a kid’s suicide, so it has those themes

other parts :)

Part Three.

I’ve been alone in the room for what feels like hours now. Doctors and nurses keep coming and going, pricking me with needles and giving me medicine to take, taking my vitals, and asking me how I feel. Rate my mental state on a scale of 1 to 10. I feel fine, I just want to get the fuck out of here. They could’ve at least put me in a room with a TV or given me a magazine or a book or something, literally anything. I’m so bored. If I didn’t lose my mind already, I definitely will if I have to spend another minute in this room. The only thing keeping me company is the beeping of the heart monitor, and the hissing of the air unit. I’ve counted all the cracks in the ceiling, and I’ve recited every song I know. I started playing a game where I see how high I can count before another person walks into the room. I got up to 6000. We need to pick up the pace here. I get they’re worried that there could still be something wrong with me, but if I was asleep for the unspecified amount of time everyone keeps referring to as a “long time,” I think if something was going to happen, it would have. I just took a really long nap, its fine, let me go home.

Everyone that walks in keeps saying that they’re happy to see me awake, that I was so missed. “Don’t worry everything is going to be so much better” Some tech told me. Sure, it is; everything sucked before, and there’s no reason that it would stop sucking. Hey, at least now I have a fake friend and a sister that refuses to see me. I can’t forget that I have an apple orchard? Someone really needs to tell me what’s going on.

On top of that, everyone keeps telling me  that it’s a miracle I’m not brain dead. Obviously, the higher powers that be think there is still some entertainment value left in me. Maybe this will be the single event that puts me on the path to becoming the person that ends world hunger. More likely, I’m going to just spend the rest of my life drawing pictures that no one appreciates, struggling to make ends meet. Oh, what a life to live; and it’s going to be mine, unless I get into a BFA program with connections to Disney or something, then it might actually be a life worth living.

Look at me: I can walk, I can talk, and I still remember everything that happened leading up to going to the park. It’s a miracle I remember what a fuck-up I am.

There’s a knock on the door, I look up expecting another person wanting to draw my blood, but it’s just Cynthia. She holds up a fast food bag, “I bet you’re hungry.” She unpacks the bag on the tray table, burgers and fries. We never get to eat crap like this. I think since the time I was 5 years old she was always doing some weird gluten free, keto diet. I must have really scared her to get a treat like this. I wasn’t hungry, but I didn’t want to hurt Mom’s feelings, nor did I want to pass up on this rare opportunity to eat junk food, so I picked at it.

She watches me eat, “I really love you Connor, you’re my baby boy.” She’s crying again. I’ve never seen her so upset before. My whole life, she was always nagging me about something: smoking weed, growing out my hair, missing school. In fact, the last time I was in the hospital, for hurting myself, she told me that she was disappointed in me. “I expect better from you Connor,” she had said. That really stung. I was hurting, I still am hurting, and even my own mom wasn’t there to support me. What’s different about this time? I got too close to actually dying? Did they finally realized that I wasn’t faking my struggles, and now they feel guilty for not helping me?

My whole life they have pushed me too be something that I’m not, which actually caused them to push me away. They keep pushing me and pushing me, but still expect me to be able to stand. They load they weight of their expectations and disappointments on me, but I can only hold so much weight on my shoulders before it starts to crush me. I’m trying the best I can here, but I’m buried under the rubble that is the mess that I am. I tried so hard, I tried faking it so everyone could accept me, but its so exhausting. I just want people to love me for who I am, the mess and all, and not want to change me. I’m sending out a S.O.S. and its too bright outside to see my flare.

“Mom,” I say, “how long was I in a coma?”

“A long-time” she says.

“Can you please catch me up? I jus-” Mom waves her arm signaling me to stop. I really want to know what happened while I was asleep. No one seems to want to talk about it. I’m left to wonder what happened to the world while I was in this bed. Oh, I hope aliens invaded.

Mom sighs like she’s tired of being here, “The doctors said to wait to reintroduce media to you, but you must be so bored, so I brought you this.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out my phone. Oh, thank God. I basically rip it out of her hands and push the home button. The screen lights up to reveal hundreds of notifications. What the hell, I don’t have friends, literally. I don’t have a single person in my life I could even call a friend. People must really pity me. You disappear from the world, and suddenly everyone realizes how special you are. Everyone wants to be friends with the kid that almost died, their conscience won’t let them sleep at night otherwise.

I look at the date, October 15th. You mean to tell me I’ve been asleep for almost two months? It’s been two months since the first day of school. I missed two months of my life? Two months of school. Two months of gossip. Two months in this hospital bed. No wonders why everyone is freaked out, someone in a coma for that long, there has to be something wrong with them. “I’ve got to get going,” Mom says standing up. She kisses my forehead before she leaves.

I scroll through the notifications, they’re all texts from unknown numbers saying shit like “We miss you Connor, get well soon” Okay, talk about some bullshit. No one cared about me before, so why do I have to almost die for people to notice me. I mean no one deserves to be forgotten, or to disappear, but it would’ve been nice if they all noticed me before. I log on to Facebook. I hate that website, but I have a feeling it would be the most reliable place to find out what happened. Surly, Cynthia posted some Please keep my family in your prayers, our son is a freak bullshit. Sure enough, my feed is filled with pictures of me, people sharing stories about me, Connor was my best friend in the fourth grade, and he used to ride my bus. Everyone talking about how they know me, how much I mean to them. Its funny how death can bring out the shallowness in everyone. Also, why is everyone making my almost death so personal? My life had no bearing on yours before, and it doesn’t now. You don’t care about me. If I really meant anything to you, I would’ve known, I would’ve been an actual part of your life.

I click on my profile, and I’m tagged in something called The Connor Project. I click it, a video of Evan Hansen and Alana Beck plays, “The Connor Project is student group dedicated to keeping Connor’s memory alive, to show that everyone matters, everyone is important.” Okay, but, I don’t know why I need a whole group to keep my memory alive, I’m still alive. The site is filled with videos of Evan talking about how important I am to him. There’s a video of him telling the story about how he broke his arm , but it’s completely false. Maybe he fell out of a tree, but I wasn’t there. We never went to a yellow field or climbed any tall trees. I definitely didn’t drive him to the hospital either.

There’s old pictures of me everywhere on the page.  You can tell they’re old because my hair is so short in them, my ears sticking out. I wonder where they got them from. I’ve never been a big poster, I think there’s maybe two posts on my Instagram. Maybe Zoe or Mom gave them the pictures. I’m not mad, they’re all really good pictures of me. I look happy in most of them, like genuinely happy.

I don’t even remember ever being that happy.

There’s so many copies of emails me and Evan sent each other. Oh, that’s funny, because I’ve literally never talked to this kid, let alone sent him an email. And people are eating it up, thank you for sharing such an intimate conversation. Hey, I hate to break it to you: this isn’t real. This doesn’t sound like the Connor I knew. Guess what! The emails don’t sound like me because I didn’t write them. None of these emails I supposedly sent could vaguely belong to me. It’s like writing an essay about a book you never read. Also, who even emails anymore? Did we hit a time warp back to the 1990’s? It’s like I was asleep for so long that time actually started moving backwards. Why are they all about trees? You can tell by how pale I am that I don’t go outside. I keep scrolling. It’s just endless content of bullshit. Evan did say he wrote fake emails, and Jared was in on it, but how many other people were in on it? This is really elaborate. The page has 16,239 followers. Evan Hansen is being crowned as an amazing kid who shared a great tribute for his best friend.

This is a really cruel. It has to be an elaborate joke, right? But, what did I ever do to Evan that he would do something like this? First he writes a creepy letter about my sister, and now he’s infiltrated himself into my life as my best friend, as my hero. What is his obsession with me?

I’ve always been a loser just waiting to be seen, and finally everyone sees me. But they don’t see me.

They see the me Evan created.