#and realistically the answer is probably “no” but goddamn it's a thought

[penofwildfire]

Do you think Zane's ever glad to not be in his original body. Do you think he ever embraces the distinction between himself and the old Zane. Do you think he ever thanks the master that his bloody actions have not stained the white gi of the boy who gave his life for the world.

[dreamsteddie]

Wowza. Part one blew up way more than I thought it would so here! Part two! I do have more thoughts about this so there might be a couple more parts to come. We'll see ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

------

Eddie takes half a second to consider just not answering. Maybe throwing his phone away and never going back to the restaurant they went to last night so he never has to confront whatever it is that's about to happen. Maybe even fleeing the country and living alone on a sheep farm with no friends and go relationships ever again so something like this never happens again.

But then he thinks of Steve. Kind, funny Steve with the bright eyes and soft skin who looked at Eddie like he could fall in love with him and he knows that whatever comes next, Steve deserves for Eddie to see it through with him.

New Message: Steve H.

Hey

Just that one word sends Eddie's heart into his throat. He can see that Steve is still typing, those little ellipses of doom popping on and off the screen. Realistically, Steve probably doesn't know what happened, right? Eddie's pretty sure Steve wasn't in on it and it's been less than an hour since Eddie himself found out, so probably not.

Steve H: Gareth called me

Fuck.

Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck.

If Eddie's heart was in his throat at the first text, the second one has it dropping through his body and out of his goddamned ass. It's not that he doesn't want Steve to know. He was always planning to tell him, he was just hoping he could be the one to do it. Gareth being a little shit and calling Steve first was not part of the plan.

Steve H: He told be about the prank. I'm sorry if I wasn't what you expected and you were just being nice. We can pretend it never happened. No hard feelings.

Eddie slams his head into his pillow. This is such a cluster fuck he can hardly bring himself to look at the text but he needs to come up with some kind of response, like, yesterday if he wants any chance of keeping the man of his dreams from running for the hills because apparently, Eddie's friends are trying to destroy his life. He takes a deep breath and starts typing.

Eddie: Hey, I'm so sorry about that. I just found out about what they did an hour ago at practice. I didn't think they would just call you out of the blue like that, I was just about to text you.

Not completely true, but Eddie was going to text him about it, just after screaming into his pillow and making a couple Vudu dolls first.

Eddie: For what it's worth I really do like you and I would love to still take you out on that second date, but I understand if my friends scared you off and you want nothing to do with me. I know it's fucked up.

It takes a minute for Steve to respond, the typing bubbles ebbing and flowing as Steve types and retypes whatever it is he wants to say. Eddie is about ready to call it a wash and start googling sheep farms for sale in Ireland when a new text comes in, dispelling all thoughts of learning to sheer wool.

Steve H: Are you sure?

And fuck if that doesn't hurt his heart. Eddie has spent all of two and a half hours with Steve, he's a virtual stranger, but Eddie can swear he can feel all of Steve's secondhand insecurity through that one lonely sentence. Before he even registers what he's asking, he send a quick reply.

Eddie: Can I Facetime you?

Before Eddie can try to rethink his decision, his screen lights up with a notification. Steve is calling him.

Eddie scrambles to answer, fumbling his phone a little in his haste and almost missing the call completely. He manages to get it on the last ring, breathing heavily in a way he knows can't be flattering.

All thoughts about his lack of dexterity fly out the window when he looks into his screen. On their date, Steve was perfectly put together. Hair meticulously done, clothes freshly pressed, and a light sheen of lipgloss accentuating the perfect curve of his mouth. While Steve is still beautiful through the lens of his camera, it's clear that he's been crying. His eyes are red and a little puffy, hair out of order in a way Eddie thinks is probably unusual for him, and Eddie can see that he's wearing a well-loved beige hoodie.

"Hi," Steve says, waving a shy hand almost the same way he had last night.

"Hey sweetheart," Eddie says, keeping his voice low and gentle, desperate to soothe Steve however he can through the distance of their phones.

For a minute they just look at each other, neither one knowing what to say in a situation like this. Eddie sees Steve gearing up to say something, but he cuts in before he starts. There's something he needs to say while Steve can see him face to face.

"I'm really sorry about what happened!" He says, much lounder than he intended. "My friends were being dicks. I haven't dated in a while and instead of being normal fucking people they set up this whole stupid prank but I swear I wasn't in on it!"

Something about what he says draws a small smile from the corner of Steve's mouth, so Eddie keeps talking. "Besides, if they wanted to prank me they should have picked someone that isn't a literal fucking model in disguise. There wasn't a chance in hell I wasn't going to beg you for that second date."

At that, Steve gives a little chuckle and it lifts Eddie's heart from where it'd fallen onto the floor and puts in back in his chest 10 times lighter than before.

"Jesus, are you always such a flirt Munson?" he says.

"Only when the boys are especially pretty," Eddie responds.

Steve gives another little laugh at that before sobering up. He gives Eddie a long look through the phone, and Eddie lets him.

"Are you sure you don't want to just call it quits here man? Gareth was pretty adamant that I'm not the kind of guy you usually go for. I don't want you to feel like you have to humor me out of kindness." There's a forced flippancy to Steve's words that Eddie knows well from his own Munson Coping Strategies Handbook. Steve is trying to give him an out, but Eddie can tell that he doesn't want to.

For the first time since this all started, Eddie is well and truly mad. Gareth and Jeff had absolutely no business poking around in his love life in the first place, but now they've reached out to the guy Eddie already told them he liked to what? Tell him never mind actually, we don't think you're the right guy for our friend even though he told us very explicitly how into you he is.

Eddie lets all the frustration, anger, and tenuous hope building up in his chest fuel his reply. This one has to count, he can feel it. It's a charisma saving throw with the whole campaign on the line. He can't miss this one.

"Honestly Steve, if you asked me two days ago what I was looking for in a partner, I probably would have said I wanted to date another alternative metalhead or punk who likes playing DnD and getting high on the weekend." Eddie can see Steve's shoulders slump as his eyes dart away, but he pushes on, determined to make his point.

"But, I haven't had as good a time as we had last night in a really long time." Steve looks back up, eyes alight with the same tentative hope Eddie himself is channeling. "I think you're funny and interesting, and you have the absolute worst takes on ice cream flavors, and you're hot as hell. Like, seriously the hottest guy I've ever seen in real life."

Steve smiles, the edges of his eyes crinkling.

Critical success.

"So, about that second date."

-------

Tag List

@wheneverfeasible @the-dark-hearts @sofadofax @wrenisfangirling @whatfinestandsfor @lilpomelito @raisedbylibrarians @ollyxar @mugloversonly @xxbottlecapx @hezaaxdexangelous @kimsnooks @that-one-gay-crow

[wonderwomanfantasy]

okay but imagine a jealous Miguel who's been absolutely obsessed with you but was to scared to say anything. One day he comes over to your house to tell you how he feels about you but he notices you're wearing an old hoodie from your ex(who you obviously don't care about because you've been madly in love with mig) and he just goes feral and rips it off you, he says sm nasty possessive shit while he fucks you in full nelson✋ I'm sorry I've just had brain rot over this man and saw your asks abt him

oh baby I'm obsessed. this is nasty so it's going under the cut ^^

Miguel is 100% the type of guy who will refuse to admit he has feelings for you while everyone else knows. Yeah, he brings you coffee almost every morning, it is not to see you smile he just uh… made extra? He likes it when you rely on him, he likes being your hero even if he’s just buying you pads. He’s touchy too, when he passes behind you he puts his hand on your lower back even if he has plenty of room, or wraps his arm around your waist while the two of you are in a crowded place together so he doesn’t lose you. God speaking of crowded places if the two of you are ever in a loud place trying to talk he’ll lean in close so he can hear you speak and if his proximity makes you flustered, all the better.

 Miguel knows deep in his heart that it’s wrong how jealous gets, and realistically if you two were just dating he’d be able to just chill the fuck out but since you aren’t he can’t help but worry that someone else will catch your eye while he’s busy working out how he feels for you and wondering if he’s selfish enough to pull you into his dangerous world like that. The realization that you’re already in too deep makes his stomach churn. Even if you’re not dating you’re easily the person he’s closest to, everyone in the multiverse knows about his weak spot for you… if there's danger you’re already in it, if he really loved you he wouldn’t just keep you at arm's length, he’d cut you out of his life completely.

It’s a surprise when Miguel stops by. You’ve told him a thousand times that your home is open to him anytime but he always at least calls beforehand. Not this time. You can tell right away that something is off, he doesn’t hug you when he comes in and he’s got this weird look on his face like something eating at him but he won’t say what's up.

Miguel really did come over with intentions to tell you that he can’t spend time with you anymore, that it was too risky and too painful… then he sees the goddamn hoodie you’re wearing. And he recognizes it. He knows in that moment that he isn’t going to leave you, he isn’t going to let you go and let some other man have you. You are his, in this universe and in every other. 

“Is that your ex’s?” you’re a little tripped up by the suddenness of the question, and before you can answer it he’s looming over you, one of his clawed fingers hooked in the collar of the garment.

“Are you thinking about him again or what?” Miguel demands of you and really he doesn’t even care to hear the answer. “I could treat you better, why don’t you fill your pretty little head with thoughts of only me?” as if at that moment you could think of anything else. Not with his pretty eyes looking at you like that. Not with his big sharp fangs biting and ripping your clothes off of you. All you can think about is him. 

You’ve never been scared of Miguel, not the way other people were, but at that moment when you see the hungry look in his eyes all you can think is “god he’s going to eat me alive” and it sends a shiver down your spine. 

He carries you like you weigh nothing to him. And honestly, you’ve seen this man bench press a minivan, you probably don’t weigh anything to him. Miguel holds you in front of a mirror and makes you watch as he presses his big dick into you and uses your body like a fleshlight.

“See that? See how good you take me?” he whispers into your ear “You’re mine now, no one else gets to fuck you, no one else gets to hear the sweet noises you make, just me.” he says while bitting your neck

He has your legs over his arms and he really is just bouncing you up and down on his dick, he pushes your head down and makes you watch as he pushes into you for the first time before he pulls your head back to look at yourself in the mirror. 

“Wanted to fuck you like this for so long, now that I’ve got you here I don’t think I’m ever going to stop,”

And he doesn’t stop. Not until a mix of his cum and yours is dripping down his thighs and your legs are twitching. When he finally pulls out he scolds you for not keeping his cum inside of you and pushes the mess back into you with his fingers. 

He asks if you feel empty without him nine inches deep in you (you do) he asks if any other cock could ever make you feel full again (not likely) he asks if you’ll forgive him for being so rough with you, and if you’ll let him do it again.

[catharsis-in-a-bottle]

thoughts about vetinari and sybil?? eyes emoji

HI LIESMYTH i had to break out my laptop to answer this because i can't type fast enough on my phone...

I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS. many of them influenced by fanfiction and not actual discworld canon. i am not even sure of the extent of their dynamic in canon yet because i haven't read all of the watch novels, but regardless in all of these books sybil is either a main character One (1) time, or she is a very minor character (I Am Mad About This). as such my thoughts sort of have to be extrapolation anyway

when it comes down to it i think i have three angles on vetinari and sybil (all very personally biased):

the Old Friends Angle - they are friends from boarding school, they meet each other for tea, they generally actively talk to each other, etc. from this angle, i see vetinari and sybil as having a genuine rapport and enjoying each other's company in a platonic way, which seems closest to the scraps we get from the actual books. regardless of angle, i think sybil and vetinari get along not just well, but interestingly. vetinari would be more than happy to listen to sybil rant about dragons, sybil would be more than happy to subtly make fun of people with vetinari, and their combination of Total Frankness and Subtle Bastard create such a collision of opposites that they break through Incompatible and get to "we're going to have weird conversations but we're going to enjoy it the entire time"

the Happy Throuple Angle - the vetinari/vimes/sybil triangle works out, whether vetinari and sybil are attracted to each other or sybil gives a Stamp Of Approval on the vimes/vetinari situation, etc. i think this one feels the most unrealistic of the three. from what little of sybil's perspective we get, we know she cares about tradition to SOME extent, and we know vimes cares about maintaining ankh-morpork's idea of masculinity, so both of them would have so many hang-ups about the throuple situation that they'd hang up the whole thing in the closet and never mention it again... this situation also begs the question "what the hell is going on with vetinari's sexuality" but i think it's boring to say he must be gay in all situations. let the man fuck around. let him flirt with the duchess of ankh-morpork. anyway, i say the Happy Throuple is the least realistic situation, but it IS the most fun for me to write. (probably because it's the easiest, if i'm being honest w/ myself)

the Messy Divorce Not Talking Shitfest Angle - this once again comes from my obsession with the vimes/vetinari/sybil situation....so what if the aforementioned hangups about tradition created Catastrophic Dilemmas, or what if vetinari is gay and attracted to vimes but not to sybil but still asks for her approval on the situation... what happens when sybil is put in that tenuous position..... GOD i read the BEST fic the other week called The Old Kings of Quirm Did It Too by bissonomy (who has also written the funniest vetinari fics in the world) that put forth this dynamic and it feels so real... it's like. what if we gave genuine attention to sybil's perspective in any capacity, specifically from the standpoint of her views on tradition and desire for monogamy. i'm going to lose my goddamn mind

idk in general i like thinking about sybil's perspective because the books present her as Interesting Character who then just becomes The Main Character's Wife, and if we take that at face value we can end up with any of the above angles (the 1st basically complies with canon, in the 2nd sybil [in fanfiction] becomes the Invisible Wife who either dies so vetvimes can get together or gives blanket approval of vetvimes with no explanation, in the 3rd we comply with the nature of her marriage to vimes wherein vimes literally barely mentions her and hardly spends time with her - in that sense we can get to the Divorce just from actual canon details). BUT we can also arrive at all these angles by going beyond how sybil is presented in canon. the Old Friends dynamic becomes what i described in that paragraph, which is based more on extrapolation than canon; the Happy Throuple comes from thinking about sybil as being genuinely attracted to vetinari and/or wanting to break past vimes's views on masculinity (Putting the Commander to Bed my beloved...); the third comes from exploring sybil beyond "Yay I Got Married So Life Is Good Now" and wondering if she truly loves vimes, or if vimes truly loves her, and from perspectives like bissonomy's fic. THIS BECAME ABOUT MORE THAN JUST VETINARI AND SYBIL SORRY I GOT SIDETRACKED

this is unorganized and way too long so here are my conclusions:

vetinari and sybil should be allowed to be autistic about their respective interests together

it would be cool if they fucked

it would be cool if they wrote letters to each other

it would be cool if they had a messy love triangle and created a Divorce Situation

AND my ideal vetinari/sybil dynamic is actually the terrible transgender lesbian stressed-out love triangle that i am currently writing. i want vetinari to actively cause sybil's bisexuality crisis. peace and love on planet earth

[spideywhites]

Hello, just want to start off by saying that this will definitely be a long one and I apologize in advance. First off, I am obligated to say I absolutely love The Color of Summer and I want to thank you for the effort and time you put into creating and writing it. It was such a fresh and engaging read, with great worldbuilding and compelling characterization. You gave the characters realistic perspectives and personalities alongside realistic flaws and developments. Just as importantly, you didn't shy away from changing canon and the pace and flow of the story was really engaging and interesting. Sometimes you read something that is interesting but is so poorly paced or grammatically written that it sort of becomes a chore to read but TCoS was consistently engaging and never lagged for me, it was a joy to read. Thank you for putting this out there for people to enjoy!

That being said, after rereading TCoS again, I picked up so many details I missed before so now I have a whole bunch of questions. Answering some of them will probably be considered spoilers but I am really curious so I still have to ask, (though you obviously have the right to "no comment" any or all of them):

In contrast to canon, where Naruto is constantly shouting out his goal to be Hokage and where it is a crucial part of his character, I don't think I remember Naruto in tcos having mentioned having this desire. Since a large part of his goal to be Hokage seems to stem from his need for approval/validation/attention in canon, did having Natsume in tcos show him some of the attention he needs result in Naruto's lack of need to be Hokage?

Is Natume's previous to last incarnation Izuna Uchiha? Because I am certainly trying to manifest it that way after reading the hints you dropped. Just...it would be delicious if Natsume, with the complicated but sympathetic and/or loving dynamic he has with the Uchihas he knows, in contrast to the slightly antagonistic/wary dynamic he has with the Senju-adjacents and village, was actually a member of the Uchiha clan in his previous to last incarnation. The thought that Izuna, who was against Madara's idea of the village and warned him against the Senjus because he didn't trust them, being an incarnation of Natsume, who also doesn't trust them aka the village, the Hokage, the village Elders, all of them Senju-adjacents, is brilliant. It would make his relationships with the current Uchihas so much more complex and interesting. Imagine, Natsume (having somehow remembered his previous life as Izuna): I was right! I was so right! Goddamn it, Madara, I told you not to trust them and their bs peace. Now the whole damn clan's dead!! And there's still wars and child soldiers!?! Everyone's traumatized and brainwashed!! What was the point, every thing is just as bad!? Oh, he can't hear me, he's to busy trying to end the world...

Was Itachi the one who put the mental block on Natsume, and did he do it after the meeting with the Hokage following Shisui's suicide and the seal leaking? Just remembered Itachi apologizing somewhat randomly while Natsume was in the cell, after the meeting where Natsume expressed anger and blame toward Minato for his and Naruto's plight as Kyuubi vessels.

Will Natsume stay in Konoha or will he leave? Given that despite hating the village and wanting to leave before, all the people he loves (Naruto, Sasuke, Genma, Hinata etc) live there and are loyal to Konoha, plus the fact that Natsume tied himself to the village through his responsibilities as the Uzumaki Head probably means he intends to stay now. I don't think he would leave Naruto and Karin to bear the weight of the promises he made as the Uzumaki Clan Head nor the hatred/suspicions they would face if he went missing nin. He also had the unfortunate realization during his chunin exam arc that everywhere outside of Konoha is actually just the same as Konoha. Nowhere is safe or better. But if he ever found out the truth about Shisui and the Uchiha Massacre? I don't think he could bring himself to stay or at the very least he would definitely try to kill Danzo and the elders and end up labeled a traitor because there is no way Konoha would let the truth out or take responsibility. (I mean we all saw the Naruto ending right? No one held accountable and nothing changed)

What are Sasuke's feelings regarding Natsume? As kids they went from a friend's brother to friends themselves. Then the massacre happened, and it seemed like Sasuke held some sort of resentment or feelings of betrayal toward Natsume mainly because of his relationship with Itachi. Then, Natsume made himself a helper/someone to lean on in regards to dealing with training or the political/legal fallout of the massacre. He helps and teaches Sasuke to survive and learn/train but he can't bring himself to comfort Sasuke emotionally. Natsume keeps his distance in that regard because the emotional turmoil is too much for him but he also accidentally tries to fill in some parental roles. He is helping Sasuke find out the real truth of the massacre but doesn't hate Itachi like Sasuke does and Sasuke is aware of this. There is learned trust and intimacy between them but also some ever present underlying strain. We can see that Natsume considers Sasuke as part of his family now (the ones he is willing to love and considers his to protect) but what are Sasuke's thoughts on Natsume?

And I should probably stop here because that went on waaay too long. I honestly still have so much more to say and questions to ask but I'm restraining myself. (Is it obvious yet that I hyperfixate on things I enjoy?). Anyways, thanks spideywhites, hope to see more content soon (in a "authors don't owe readers content" and "post at your own leisure" kind of way).

Oh boy, I’m so glad you enjoyed TCOS enough to even write this ask, it really means so much as a writer. Even if I’m doing this for fun, it’s incredible to see people get so engaged! Thank you for thinking so highly of this messy fic of mine! As for your questions, we’ll..

1) You are correct! Naruto’s outlook on a few things has shifted since having some measure of ‘parental’ guidance. He’s been given structure, care, and knowledge of daily life tasks that he wasn’t privy to before, which can really alter his perception of wants vs needs. Another thing he doesn’t have is the clone jutsu 😌 for now…

2) This one IS a major spoiler that I can’t confirm or deny. I mean — yes, he does have a previous incarnation within the naruto universe, that much is heavily hinted at and quite obvious, but I can’t tell you who yet. 🤭

3) Ohhh honestly I’m impressed you circled back and caught that detail! I’ve written a few scenes that will eventually come full circle (sorry, I’m very excited about them so I can’t bring myself to keep it totally hush-hush) and that part with Itachi IS one of them, though I won’t elaborate as to why just yet. The issue with Natsume’s mental block has a little bit more to go.

4) This one is a ‘no comment’ answer for now 😂 too plotty, too spoilery

5) Sasuke and Natsume have a very intense, odd sort of relationship. You’ve nailed it on the head. It’s undergone a few transitions already and there are more to come as they grow into teenagers and adults. I’ve always seen Sasuke as someone whose greatest fear is love, but love is his greatest need. I think he, especially as a child, can’t possibly move on from the weight of betrayal from his most loved person (Itachi) and can no longer accept love without always expecting the other shoe to drop. True forms of love, no matter their shape, probably terrify him, and he resents Natsume for being so much like Itachi underneath that gruff exterior. In that same vein, Natsume is the easiest for him to love. It’s all very conflicting for a traumatized twelve year old. 😅 That’s all I’ll say for now!

Hopefully you enjoy the recent chapter, and I hope to start updating more regularly again!

[goodluckclove]

Actual Hot Take: Ramble Incoming

I'm in a mood, less than a week out from my hysterectomy, and I have some thoughts. Rough thoughts. Medium spicy.

They're about world-building and critiques and readers and writers. It turned into a big ramble as I processed some feelings - you'll note the subject change partway through - so I'm throwing a read more.

I would say here that this is my own personal opinion but essentially I realized that my real issue here was how sick I am of cynicism in lit spaces and like...yeah I don't think that's a crazy hot take. I feel at this point that I am incapable of hot takes.

I am deeply intimidated by the kinds of writers and readers who eviscerate logistical world-building choices in genre fiction. I usually only see it in sci-fi and fantasy communities but I have to imagine it happens in every genre.

Maybe an unrealistic fabric is used in a historical fiction novel. Or a poor choice of saddle in a western. Or a medical inaccuracy in a horror scene. It has to happen all the time because certain people have expertise that research might miss, or a writer's research could be wrong, or they could've just not researched at all. But for some reason specifically the Speculative Fiction crowd are the most likely, in my experience, to lose their goddamned minds.

Has anyone read Greg Egan's Schild's Ladder? It's about the hardest sci-fi out there. So esoteric and thorough in its scientific accuracy that when I tried to read it it circled back around and sounded like fantasy. Listen to this excerpt from the plot summary:

Huh? Huh???

I don't know about you, but this is virtually indistinguishable to me from the schizophrenic rambling of Philip K Dick. I did not hate the book. I couldn't finish it because I had no fucking clue what anyone was talking about, but I enjoy it's existence. The prose was pretty retro. It's like a pulp novel from an alternate universe where everyone has a PhD in Quantum Physics.

It's just a weird spectrum, the questions you're supposed to answer and the ones you're allowed to leave a mystery. What mysteries will the reader use against you as proof that you didn't think it through? People say write for yourself, and you should, but some of those same people are quick to produce massive think pieces on why your choices make you a bad writer. That's just a thing some writers choose to do. And there's really no way to predict what someone might get unreasonably rant-y about. As I put my writing more out there I have no idea what people will use to claim I put no thought into the most emotionally vulnerable writing I've ever created.

And they say that's not supposed to bother you. But like. Of course it does? There's a level of thick skin you're supposed to develop about writing, but I don't think that applies to all aspects of writing or all the time. If someone disregards my entire novel that I gave myself tendonitis over because my depiction of back of house food service wasn't realistic or my magic system didn't go in a direction they thought it should, I'm going to be upset. It won't ruin my life or get me to give up writing - I don't see anything doing that at that point. But I'll get sad. I'll probably get pretty sad and it's weird that I feel like it's bad for writers to admit that.

My hot take, nestled within this hot take, is that I think this applies to every writer. Even the ones that react with ego and anger to massive critiques on their books - right before we cringe and scoff and laugh online - are probably also just sad that we didn't like their writing. Unless they specifically didn't try, or posed a scam in the form of a book, they're likely sad they offered something born out of creative effort and got rejected. Nobody likes that.

It's one thing if the writer themselves has some trash beliefs. I am fine with people eviscerating JK Rowling or any of the writers who feel like the best way to get a book deal is to bring down other writers or pretend to be a different race online. But it's just crazy to be a writer in an age where you might publish a book someone hates so much that they release a three hour-long video essay roasting entire segments for a potentially incalculable audience.

I used to be into that kind of stuff, but after being here for so long relishing in that rage-bait feels weird. Because a lot of the people here, even if they write themes I'm not interested in, seem like nice enough people actually trying to do something. I had strangers on here send me their writing and someone sent me what was clearly a fetish thing and even though I wasn't into the kink I talked to the person about it and they were perfectly civil and courteous. I'm almost 30 and I'm learning that while some artists are using their medium to push unhealthy beliefs or hateful ideologies, a lot more people just want to tell a story that feels important to them. Even if other people don't like it.

I don't know. I was angry at first when I started this but by now I'm just sentimental and I think people should stop treating complaining as their primary hobby. I think critiques are important, but there comes a line in which I'm forced to think you'd just like hearing yourself talk. And if you like to talk why not talk about something you enjoy?

If you've read this far (you're very odd), I'm going to go ahead and list a few books that inspired my writing and say why I like them a lot.

Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut: Love my man Vonnegut. His prose is so warm and easy to read and his stories are so wild and interesting to think about. Everyone should read Vonnegut he's great and he seemed like a pretty nice guy.

Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison: This book wrecked me hard. Some of the descriptions were so beautiful I put the book down and let out a sigh. When I finished I walked out of whatever classroom I was in without asking for permission from the teacher and spent the rest of class wandering campus in the rain and weeping openly.

Griffin and Sabine by Nick Bantock: it's a trilogy told through postcards and letters you can physically open and remove the pages. Has some of the most beautiful romantic intimacy between two people who never meet. There's one particular letter I read and reread a lot when I was younger because it was exactly what I wanted in life.

[incorrectcoldflashblog]

Any fic, number 4 and 27?

Hi, friend! Sorry this took me almost two days to answer, haha, I was in Paris for a concert yesterday and only just got back.

4.) If the fic required it, what did you research in order to write it?

The only fic I’ve published that really required any research is What Happens in Vegas and the goddamn tornado warnings. I don’t even know why I was so obsessed with getting this right when I was writing Chapter 4 because in the next chapter I just gave up on even trying to make it realistic, haha, but there you go. I did do a lot of research about ancient Mesopotamia to write my Genie AU, which is why it’s ironic that it’s now completely abandoned^^���

27.) Share a piece of lore you made up for the story

Well, obviously my Genie AU is also probably the WIP that required me to make up the most lore, since Len was a 5000-year-old genie in that one, although I did try to keep some key elements of his backstory, like having started life as a petty thief. I’ll use this as an excuse to share a little more of this fic since I’ll sadly probably never actually finish it (trigger warning for implied child abuse and suicide):

Cold couldn’t really remember the earliest millennia of his life. He supposed they must have been alright; they were just a very long time ago, and after a while everything just kind of tended to blur together.

The earliest he could remember clearly was a young man in Egypt. After he’d finished screaming, he’d been so excited. People always were excited by magic, back then. They would never have locked him away, or asked if they could return the children he’d created for them. Not like today’s ingrates.

Europe had been a funny little…continent? Glorified peninsula?

Whatever it was, Cold wasn’t sure how he’d ended up there in the first place, any more than he was sure how he’d ended up in this new place. The first human he’d encountered there had been an impeccably mannered little girl with bright blue eyes and brown curls, and a funny habit of speaking to him in Latin.

He was glad to have been discovered by a child. Little girls rarely made him hurt people the way adult men did.

Lisa was a lonely, unloved child—her parents had wanted a boy, she told him, but all of her baby brothers had died in infancy. It wasn’t an unusual request—he’d lost track of how many requests for baby boys he’d fulfilled over the years. Lisa had hoped that if she wished for her mother to fall pregnant with their long-desired son, her parents would stop being so cruel to her.

It turned out she was wrong.

He’d always suspected why Lisa had kept him around for as many years as she had without making her third wish, but what little heart he had had still sunk when she’d confirmed it.

“Please,” she had pleaded. “I’m decided. Just do it painlessly.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I thought the purpose of you demonic creatures was that you do whatsoever I desire.”

She was right, of course. What choice had he had?

Thank you so much for asking <3

Even More Fic Writers Ask

[idonotbitemythumbatyou]

hey! i really love your fic but i’m just wondering if you could hint at all about how everyone will end up. right now it feels like everyone will get a nice satisfying ending or show some growth or near happiness except for tom and greg. which is kind of a reverse of the show’s ending i guess. just curious thanks!

(The fic in question : The Kids)

Oh this is an interesting question, and I suppose it depends on what you mean by a happy ending. I actually think there’s been a lot of character growth for Greg (and Tom - but he’s not a POV character in this fic until the epilogue). Greg has done more self reflection than I think is even realistic for him - all because I self-indulgently wanted to write my thoughts about him (and Ewan) somewhere.

 The thing to remember is that not all character growth is positive. Connor, for example, experiences negative character growth in The Kids - but he’s perfectly happy doing so.*

For a short answer of whether Tom and Greg will be “happy” in the end of The Kids, that’s a resounding “no.” Wait! Don’t walk away!! It’s not out of malice or because I want to punish them. I’m simply following what I think would happen next, and what choices I think the characters would make next. 

I would also disagree with the premise that Tom and Greg end up in a happy place in the show. I think I might be in the minority in the fandom - and certainly among tomgreg shippers - but I didn’t see the stickering as all that romantic and positive. I found it thrillingly fucked up, but not sweet. 

Throughout the show, Tom is his most vulnerable and human in front of, and for the sake of, Greg. And Greg shows himself over and over again to be literally-just-some-20-something-guy, and not equipped to receive all that emotional energy. The finale brings all that to a head and, I think, cements them into an entirely new dynamic. Tom is now powerful enough to have whatever he wants - but his emotions are a greater liability than they were before. He wants to keep Greg, but for his own safety, has to compartmentalize him into an object, thus muffling his affection for Greg into the affection one would have for an object. To me, that is a fascinating place to pick up a relationship, and part of the reason I had the physical element of the relationship only start at the finale of the show. But I do recognize that most people interpreted that moment differently. 

The reason the siblings have shown such growth so quickly in my fic is because the cage door opened for them in the finale.** But Tom and Greg both still work at the poison factory, and if there’s one thing the show taught us, it’s that the only way to be happy is to not work at the goddamn poison factory.

I don’t want to spoil the final chapter and whether Greg actually leaves and goes to college, or stays with Waystar - and thus Tom - but to realistically consider options:

I don’t see Tom ever leaving his CEO position without being forced out. He worked too hard to win, and it’s more important to him than his own happiness. So Tom will continue to be satisfied but largely unhappy. Sorry Tom, buddy. You’re my favorite character. But you made this prison for yourself. 

If Greg goes, he and Tom are no longer together, but Greg has a real chance at happiness, if not the satisfaction of being mega rich and powerful (though he’ll still be ridiculously wealthy). This is by far the best outcome for Greg, and worst for Tom. But if Greg chooses this, he will be unhappy in the short term, and end the story unhappily.

If Greg stays, he and Tom will stay together, but they will never be open about the relationship. It will probably be an open secret in future decades, but eventually Tom will be too rich and powerful for anyone to say anything about it. They will not be happy, but they will be satisfied. 

To me, character truth is the most important thing when writing a fic, and it was love for the characters that inspired me to write The Kids in the first place. So it just depends on whether you find my interpretations of the characters truthful, and if not truthful, then at least interesting. 

-----

*In the next chapter, I even have a moment where Greg thinks “Maybe it was a sign that he was growing as a person that he had developed enough self awareness to realize:” and then he says just the worst, most regressive, self-own imaginable. It’s bad, but it’s still growth. It's still coming to a new conclusion based on new experiences.

**though the cage door is only open temporarily for Shiv. After maternity leave, she's doing a perfect swan dive right back into the poison vats. And she, too, will continue to be miserable. yay. :(

[justablah56]

*sighs* tell me about your fursona /lh /pos

ok first off- Vik is that you 👁️👁️ you're the only one who I know has seen my fursona recently sbjsjdjs either that or it's rae who saw it on your blog and didn't interact w it so I wouldn't think it was him if they went on anon lmao- but methinks its vik

okay now I'm gonna actually answer- bUT INSERT THAT ONE ENTRAPTA MEME- THE "IVE WAITED Y E A R S FOR SOMEONE TO ASK ABOUT MY THEORIES" YEAH THATS ME RN- anon I am looking at you with my big ol autistic eyes that are sparkling with this 10 minute unstoppable rant that is about to occur (✧⁠ω⁠✧⁠)

SO ! ampen right ? my little guy ? my baby girl ? my beloved ? I'm gonna talk mostly abt their physical design than their other details bcs I have more notes abt their physical appearance than anything :]

I have no idea what they are, I kinda just started drawing her abhdjsjsj but I think the two most notable animals he could conceivably be are probably a fox and a dragon of some sort (original I know) however I do want to give an honorable mention to my first draft of them, bcs goddamn I changed a lot abt her bsjdhsjjs. at first he was just completely a dog but I decided to give them those 3 fingered claw/hoof things, here's the very sketchy guy herself who inspired Ampen:

yeah snndjsn basically the only thing that stayed the same was the vague color scheme and the "hooves" changed from the hands to the feet. a lot of ampens physical design was just cool things I saw in other fursuits that I thought would be cool, like I just loooove the hoof feet, they look v cool and I just like them a lot, so I included them ! (I didn't in my first real drawing of ampen but then I did on their character sheet) same with the tail, I'm p sure at the time of ampens actual creation I had recently seen a dragon fursuit with that kind of tail and was obsessed with it, I tried so many different tails for him and none of them were looking quite right until I tried their current tail, and I love it . the dragon bit also comes out in her muzzle, it's a bit more pointed and sharp than a canine muzzle would be, again mostly just bcs I think it looks neat :] and I knew I wanted my fursona to have big ol ears from the very beginning, I didn't put them on ampen-rough-draft bcs I didn't start with the intent for him to be my fursona sbjdjdjs but anyways- the fur pattern took me a while to come up with, I started with just vague splotches of color in random spots, messed around with specific colors, I don't think I decided on the pink stitch mark things until like- the very end dnjsjjd I have no idea where I came up with it , I was just trying random things and hoping they looked right lmao-

I gave them glasses bcs . I have glasses . and I think it's cute and there aren't enough furrys with glasses :3 then added the piercings bcs I think they look cool and that's really it bajshjejskwks

anyways , now for the couple things that aren't visible on a drawing, I imagine her being like 5'4 MAX , he's pretty short . mostly bcs I am v short and plan to actually make ampen, and that's a height I could realistically get to accounting for the ears hdjwjdjjejdke anyways, I don't really have many other little facts about them since they're basically just me personality-wise, so make of that what you will ! I will however GLADLY answer more specific questions if you (or anyone else 👀) have them bcs it will give me an excuse to come up with answers abhdjsjdjsjjd

anyways- this is all to say that I'm in love with Ampens design and I really should draw him more often and also probably just develop them more tbh- BUT ! ty v much anon for enabling me to ramble about Ampen, they're my most specialest little guy and I love her <33

[mmoxie]

Part 4- Card Collector

Cheap walkie-talkie from your local pro shop? Check.

Worn-out shitkickers from the nearest 'Lectro Pawn? Check.

Pocket check- Pall Malls, lighter, breaker flashlight, leatherman. Good to go.

Jobs like these didn't provide equipment or on-site training. You worked with what you could carry.

The Coyote del Rey was an interesting case study in how, when you're in the shadow of Vegas, you try and figure out how to shine through it. In this case, the wrong answer was a wooden longhouse, probably three thousand feet square, covered in vanity lights and uncomfortably realistic depictions of a... remarkably sexual coyote-man sitting on a throne.

But that was the place. And Rubén wasn't the kind of guy who had any explanations, or really even wanted to think about it. He pushed a tight roll of cash into Dani's palm and spoke his peace while she counted it.

"That's ten percent," he started. He spoke through his teeth and preened a lot. He wasn't being a tough guy, he was stressed- Dani saw it right away. She knew stress. "You get the other ninety at seven in the morning. Everyone who's in, is already in."

He paused to breathe, and she paused to stare at the money in her hand. Ten percent? This is five thousand dollars!

"So nobody comes in. And nobody's coming out until the end of your shift. It's a private occasion."

Dani nodded. It was honestly liberating, after years of mandatory pep rallies, condescending e-mails, and standards nagging, to have a job with a clearly-defined goal and reasonable expectations.

The name's Goon, she said to herself, stifling a laugh. Hired Goon.

When her shift started, she spent a long time with her hands on her hips, just staring up at the would-be casino's deeply erotic mascot.

Oh yeah, this guy's got stats.

She trained her flashlight beam on the mascot's bodacious pecs and imagined a card representing all his feats and endeavors.

Name? Lord Fucktavius de Balsaque.

Height? Six foot... nine. Aw, yeah...

Weight? Two-twenty-two, and alllll muscle. Love muscle.

RBI? Ranked... Butt... Insertions? Thank god I'm not stupid enough to speak my mind. Anyway, he's batting a thousand.

And if you flip the card over, you get a condom instead of a stick of gum. This fuckin' guy. Only from Topps.

She considered the possibility that she needed a social life outside of Seebs as she turned her flashlight back to the path ahead, shook her head, and got back on patrol.

The building was quiet overall. They weren't playing any loud music in there- maybe it was more of a religious thing than a party?

Her thoughts drifted to Heaven's Gate news stories from nearly thirty years ago. As if expecting the mothership to come blazing by, she reflexively turned her eyes to the sky.

Nothing but the old standbys. And all those goddamn phone satellites.

A few hours passed, her mind wandering through cults in the news, close encounters- ooh, Barney and Betty Hill, I remember that- and circling back, eventually, to the task at hand.

Maybe I have some kind of attention disorder, she thought, walking into the back of a fellow goon. She hadn't realized she lapped him, and here he was again.

"Hey! You an idiot or something? Watch where you're going!"

C'mon, this one's all you. "Easy, my man. Just missed some details in the dark. --How you doing, anyway?"

He whirled and trained his flashlight- a hefty police maglite, she couldn't help but notice- at her face. She squinted into the beam.

He was squinting too. One corner of his mouth was hitched in disgust. He was an older man, she saw- potbelly, hiked dungarees, thin souvenir t-shirt with a pack of smokes tucked under the sleeve. She thought he was going to do a little more hissing and spitting, when he laughed.

"Shiiiiiit. Alright. Shit, c'mon." He turned, laughing again, and beckoned for her to keep up.

"You know what's going on in there?" He held his arm out as they moved clockwise around the building.

"I had some ideas. Branch Davidians are back? Rubén said nobody gets in, or out, until after seven."

"No, and thank god for that. I used to live near Waco. Packed up and sold once I saw the ATF in town. Didn't want any government ghouls coming after my guns."

"Aw, man, don't tell me you've got a gun on you. I don't need to hear that at three in the morning in the middle of nowhere."

"Don't be a homo about it. Anyway, I used to be a diver. I'd go off into the gulf and find old sunk pirate ships. Happens I'd find me a funny-gun, like a four-barreled blunderbuss or an ivory-handled clustergun. Corroded to shit, never liable to fire again, but I'd get 'em in a CLR bath, see, and then pick the gun apart."

"Uh-huh." Don't be a homo about it? She had to suppress a hard bark of a laugh, and dragged a hand over her face. This fuckin' guy.

"So, see, then all I do is cast duplictate parts, assemble, and bam- got me a new old gun."

"With no serial number or registration. So you had a house full of hobby guns that came from nowhere, and..."

"...And the ATF had just rolled down the street, yes."

"So, what's going on in the building? Is it cult stuff?"

"Huh? Oh, shit- no, so- this is a workshop. Those are all state bigwigs in there."

"Doing what?"

"Gerrymandering. You've got governors, mayors, city councilmen on one side of the table, and then Econo-Lodge, Sunoco, and Pepsi-Cola on the other, deciding how the state should work."

Dani's eyes were wide with disbelief- and then slack with immediate, told-you-so acceptance. She set a hand on her stomach. Maybe she did have an ulcer.

Name: Family man and coke enjoyer, Mayor Johnny Tightlips.

Height: Five-nine.

Weight: 250. All golf.

RBI: Wouldn't you know it, Republican Business Interests are top of the league, this season and every season.

Flip over the card and you get a little ticket you can turn in for stage time at the primaries. Eat your heart out, Dan Quayle.

I could start a whole series.

She looked back at the old man and frowned. "And we're watching their asses?"

"Pays, don't it? Best money I ever made for taking a walk. You do this once a year, you're set until the next, in a town like Eureka." He brandished his flashlight stiffly at her, all of a sudden. "So don't go messing it up."

He kept walking, while she stood a moment in the dark and frowned. Her ulcer- if that's what it was- hurt pretty badly. She held a hand to her gut and turned to face the wall again.

--Oh, right. Hi, Lord de Balsaque.

Name: Dani DuFresnes.

Height: 5'... whatever.

Weight: I don't check anymore. Long as the pants fit.

RBI: This season, Dani has only caused one Really Big Incident, and so far evaded notice. Fans want to know: When's the next one?

Flip the card over and you get an electric bill. Topps exclusive!

Ten or twenty minutes of self-denigrating wordplay later, she saw the old man's flashlight beam cut through the dark. He had lapped her- and he was coming in hot, all of a sudden. Confused, Dani tossed her flashlight aside and dove into the darkness. She liked her odds better if she could see him, but he couldn't see her.

"Bossman says you can go home early!" he called out, waving his light around. There was an angry glint in his eye as he wheeled through the murky dark, panning this way and that at random. Dani walked backward, eyes trained on him, hands fumbling for a tree she could get behind.

"Sounds like he found out he was splitting his pay tonight," remarked a low, distinctly Minnesotan voice. "Not our fault he was slowing down."

What the fuck? Dani whirled for the voice, and saw a barrel-chested man, stuffed into an undersize suit like a professional wrestler. He was leaning against a tree and speaking into a radio handset like a stage microphone. She heard him crackle out of the one clipped to her belt, and quickly changed directions when it squealed with feedback.

Okay, if I hear that, I'm too close. Now what the fuck is going on?

More sounds- the hollow, metallic snap of a prison-grade spotlight powering on. A broad beam spread across the Coyote del Rey side-yard, creating a glaring gray-green path between herself and her only coworker.

She didn't bring a maglite. No faux-swordsmanship with steel-jacketed D-cell batteries tonight. Did the old man mean to kill her? They paid her five thousand up front, and that was just ten percent of her half- was he pocketing a hundred thousand dollars a year before she signed on?

No time to do the math on it. He was racing down the light path, holding the flashlight like a heavy bat. She pulled her leatherman from her back pocket and unfolded the three-inch knife. It was all the protection she was liable to get.

"You all know how this works," the Minnesotan voice continued over the radio. "First blood is best blood. And these brave, free Americans are proud to spill it for their benefactors."

"Winner take all," he concluded, and she saw the massive figure step out from the shadows, into the edge of the spotlight. "And loser give all. Go!"

She had never even learned the man's name, and now she was wrapped up in some... perverted clandestine death match? For the amusement of senators and... soda CEOs?

And what was that emphasis on blood? First blood is best blood, loser give all...

Son of a bitch, it's a cult! It's a cult and it wants me to bleed for a company!

That notion made her ulcer burn- and she could see the orange flash of fire curling around her teeth when she rolled away from an oncoming overhead smash, heavy maglite carving a crescent out of the dirt where she had just been.

"I've done ENOUGH of that!" she roared, and a stream of pressurized flame tore a crescent through the grass to match her competitor. But she turned away from him, and toward the man on the microphone.

"Who do you work for?" she hissed. Fire within was becoming fire without, rising up around her neck and shoulders like a cloak. Her incandescent glow cut through the dark of the woods as he retreated out of the spotlight a few steps.

"Who TOLD YOU that you could do this to me?!"

<-Prev Next->

[nicawlette]

A  FUCKED  UP  KISSING  MEME

@nobully asked: 💔 i am ready

18. a  kiss  that  draws  blood.

She wasn't not drunk— not that much, at least. Not enough to be unaware of what she'd done, or was doing. Not enough to forget it all tomorrow.

Just enough that loose inhibitions had all but disappeared during her time spent at various bar counters, laughing and flirting with whatever patrons had been chosen to keep her company before she'd set off for her next destination. Nicolette preferred not to look too deeply at all the things that had led to her spending the evening like this, eager to turn everything hazy around the edges.

The problem with letting go of inhibition, however, was that she lost the restraint she already possessed so little of. Emotions ran high, volatile, ready to take the place of logical thought with the slightest provocation. It was a dangerous cocktail that often got her into trouble.

It was precisely why Nicolette finds herself sitting in Wang Yi's apartment with her shirt rolled up, biting cheek and tongue through the stinging pain of antiseptic being dabbed against the ugly wound on her waist. She's not drunk, but somehow sentiment had won out above all rationale, leading him to be the first name she thought to call as she'd sat bleeding in the alleyway behind the bar. He hadn't sounded too happy to be woken up so late and just as anxious as the first time she'd called him for reasons like this, but even so... he'd answered.

And then he showed up.

❛ I'm not going to the hospital. ❜ Had been the very first thing she'd said when his feet came into view, and she must've expressed just how nonnegotiable it was from the start because, miraculously, he hadn't argued. Still, an acute sense of dread had filled her, that he might just leave, and while Nicolette could realistically take care of herself just as she always had, it would be a nightmare. And... she didn't want to be alone. ❛ Take me to your place— it's closer, and I risk running into Zhilan if I go back to the apartment... we can't worry him. ❜ We, because it was the best way she knew to convince him.

Thank God for little miracles. It had worked, and she's only half regretting it as Wang Yi nudges his fingers a little too firmly against the split flesh. She hisses sharply through her teeth, and he surprises her by murmuring a soft ❛ sorry ❜ despite his apparent annoyance. Nicolette won't dare to fool herself into believing he's actually worried... that this gentle care is anything other than an effort to preserve the flimsy facsimile of normalcy he's created for himself by acting like a good person. Still, it's enough to make warmth bloom within her chest, right alongside a dull ache.

Another bit of rough prodding causes her to flinch away from his touch, a gasp of pain leaving her lips as they pull into a grimace. ��� Oi, nurse, you're patching me up, not dissecting me like a goddamn frog! ❞ Nicolette turns to shoot him a warning look, but the expression on his face gives her pause. She manages to catch him tearing his wide eyes away from her expression of pain just in time, but he's not quick enough to play off the way his gaze lingers on her sluggishly bleeding wound, cheeks slightly flushed in a matching shade of red.

❝ Maybe if you stop moving around so mu— ❞ He starts to complain, a rather poor excuse, before her harsh bite of laughter silences him.

❝ Oh, I see. ❞ The words are drawn out and dripping with meaning. The cut on her bottom lip burns as Nicolette smiles, appraising Wang Yi with great amusement.

❝ I don't know what you're talking about, ❞ he argues, ❝ do you want my help or not? ❞ Knowing him, he's probably bluffing— there's no way he'll just leave her to bleed out, no matter how much she pisses him off. All she has to do is seem a little hurt, genuine or not, and he folds for her, every time. Is any of that real? Is any of that concern for her wellbeing or feelings actually directed at her as a person? Or is it another lie, one he won't let go of, even in her similarly twisted presence?

She decides not to think too hard about that, right now. Instead, Nicolette focuses on how that earlier warmth has dipped low to pool in her gut at the way he'd seemed so enraptured by her suffering. ❝ Are you sure it isn't you who wants something from me? ❞ She tests, reaching down to wrap scarred fingers around his thin wrist. ❝ You seemed awfully focused on something other than providing medical treatment, just now... ❞ Her grip tightens before letting go altogether. ❝ Do it again, ❞ she says, quiet and provacative, ❝ you know you want to. ❞

Emboldened by her open invitation, Wang Yi only appears to hesitate for a brief moment, as if waiting for her to lash out, before his firm touch returns to the edges of the injury and presses a little harder than necessary. Her brows knit, face pinching in discomfort as she makes a soft, wounded sound. He's wholly entranced, giving her his full attention in a way he hasn't before ( aside from the night he'd been drunk ).

She's always been addicted to that— being under someone's sole focus.

Nicolette realizes belatedly that her bottom lip is bleeding again as it's abused between her teeth, copper coating her tongue. Wang Yi seems to notice, catching the way a drop rolls down her chin. Of course, she notices that, too. ❝ Hey... did you still want to try my blood? ❞ The words come suddenly, surprising even herself, though she doesn't allow it to show.

❝ Yeah, kind of, ❞ he admits, before appearing suspicious, ❝ wait... you don't mean— ❞

❝ You don't hate the idea, do you? ❞ She interrupts, turning towards him on the stool to lean closer, unbandaged wound momentarily forgotten. ❝ Don't lie. ❞

❝ That's not— that isn't the point. ❞ There he goes, trying to make excuses, instead of just going with the flow. ❝ Plus, if I really wanted to, I have your blood on my fingers. That'd be much easier. ❞ Proving his point, Wang Yi begins to lift the hand that had fondled her just moments ago, bringing it towards his face.

Nicolette stops him just as quickly by grabbing his wrist again, yanking it away and in turn, pulling him closer. Her other hand grips his face, thumb and forefinger holding his chin in place. ❝ It's no fun that way, ❞ she scolds, clearly teasing. She's still thinking about the way he'd reacted to hurting her, and it makes heat rise to her cheeks in excitement. ❝ Come on, doc... ❞

❝ I don't think this is covered by your insurance. ❞ He snarks, though it's weak and clearly just for show. He makes no move to pull back.

❝ It's okay if you're too embarrassed to admit it... you can just push me away if you don't want to... ❞ That whispered warning is all he gets, and when no rejection comes, Nicolette does not allow herself to hesitate. She closes the distance between them quickly, angling his face towards hers by the hold on his chin. He seems cautious still, meeting her movement more slowly.

Their lips slide together wetly, aided by the slick fluid coating them from small cut. She hums curiously, deciding to make it easier for him. Fingers release his chin for a moment before grabbing his face, pressing into his cheeks and forcing his mouth open at the same time she lets go of his wrist to rest her hot palm atop his thigh, using it as leverage to lean against.

This seems surprise him enough that he bites down on her bottom lip on reflex, eliciting a sharp cry of pain. The cut splits further and floods their mouths with blood. He jerks, gasping audibly, but she follows after him even as he begins to pull away. ❝ It's fine, ❞ she reassures against his lips, breathless, ❝ keep going. ❞

He pauses for only a second longer before relaxing by fractions, returning the kiss with growing fervor. He's not as wildly eager as he'd been when drunk, too held back by his own thoughts. Still, it's clear he's enjoying himself, and she's pleased that his talent in this field is just as prominent while sober. Wang Yi doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands, but settles for moving one towards the curve of her waist, settling it below the cause of this whole situation.

His fingers twitch like they're barely holding back giving into temptation, and even that soft brush against her tender skin causes some hurt— yet the muffled ❛ ah ❜ she makes in response is hardly one of just pain. Apparently, that proves to be ample motivation. He does not flinch this time, nor pull his hand away. Instead, he parts his lips further and their tongues meet at long last.

It goes on like this until she loses track of time. Until everything starts to feel a little hazy around the edges again. Nicolette had been sober since she'd called Wang Yi in the alley surrounded by unconscious bodies in worse shape than her, and knows that alcohol is not to blame. In fact, her side feels far too warm and wet, even if the press of Wang Yi's fingers against her flesh is pleasant. She's the one to pull away first, growing lightheaded from lack of air, among other things. They're both flushed and panting, and she notices that her hand had found its way to the nape of his neck while the other remains gripping his thigh.

Nicolette blinks slowly, breathing in deeply. Her voice is wrecked and her gaze is liquid hot as she confesses, ❝ I'd love to continue, ❞ and if that doesn't make him sputter, ❝ but I... think I might pass out, soon... ❞ There's only a second of confusion before he notices the state of her wound and pulls away, all heat replaced with outrage and panic. She closes her eyes, mildly disappointed, though a muted smile plays on her lips as she drowns out his questions and scolding.

❝ It's fine, ❞ the assurance is punctuated by another squeeze to his thigh, ❝ I've... lost a lot more than this, and survived. ❞

❝ Just... bandage me up... and let me sleep over, yeah? I'm tired... ❞ Maybe if she's lucky, her pitiful state and wildly impressive makeout skills will keep her from having to occupy his bed alone, this time.

[paradisetemporarilymisplaced]

So I was being a basic bitch the other day and listening to my true crime podcasts when it occurred to me just how suspicious Nile’s “death” would look to everyone not in the Guard, leading me to a train of thought that, 2200 words later, absolutely got away from me but I can’t let go so I’m inflicting it on all of you!

To set the stage, we know the movie takes place over approximately a week. Here’s what happens to Nile from the military’s point of view:

She dies is very seriously injured

She heals without a scratch

Just before she’s supposed to be shipped out to Germany, she vanishes, leaving two men concussed (and presumably reporting being knocked out by a woman with short hair wearing civilian clothes)

She goes AWOL for several days

They get word from the CIA that she is to be reported killed in action (details unclear)

So, at the beginning of this very weird week, the USMC has to tell Nile’s family of her death critical injury. What her family was told depends on how long she was dead – a Google search tells me that family will be notified in person within 8 hours of a soldier’s death, but we don’t know how long her first death lasted. For an injury, however, they’d get a phone call to notify them and the unit would arrange for them to visit as soon as the soldier is transferred out of a combat zone. Like I remember when I was in high school, a guy from my church who was a Marine was really seriously injured in a helicopter crash in Iraq and from what I could tell, his parents were told immediately and were flown out to Germany to see him, so it stands to reason that Nile’s family would have been informed relatively quickly after her throat was slashed, one way or another.

And then, she goes AWOL. Her family would be notified while the USMC tried to figure out where she went, not least because the military would want to know if she’s contacted them. (And it’s possible that her family may have been on the way to Germany to see her since we know that’s where she was supposed to go!) So for several days:

Nile’s mom and brother have no idea where she is

They know she was seriously injured and most certainly should not have been moving around on her own

They can’t get a hold of her

The military can’t tell them anything

And the next thing they know for sure is that she was “killed in action.” After being injured and vanishing into thin air. And they presumably cannot produce her body or any concrete evidence of her death. In any case, something sketchy is going on, so they’re like. SMELLS LIKE A MILITARY COVERUP.

In a surprise to probably no one, there is a well-documented legacy of mysterious US military deaths, particularly of women of color (TW for sexual assault in these links). The cases of LaVena Johnson and Vanessa Guillenin particular have made national news because of their families’ persistence in seeking justice. Likewise, Nile is a Black woman, and her mom and brother are most certainly hypercognizant of (a) state violence against Black people and (b) these high-profile cases of suspicious military deaths. So her family are seriously side-eyeing the situation, knowing that (a) the military has a serious incentive (and a documented history) of covering up things that make them look bad and (b) nothing about Nile’s disappearance and supposed death are adding up.

And Andy’s right. Nile does come from warriors. And you know who else does? Her brother.

Don’t get me wrong. Nile’s mom would absolutely not back down. She’d know something was up and want to get to the bottom of it. But based on what I know about Gen X parents (mine), they’re not the most technologically savvy. Like they can use the internet, but they didn’t grow up with it the way we young millennials and Gen Z did. So Nile’s brother takes the lead. And what do zillennials do best?

Social media.

Nile’s brother starts going hard on any site he can, trying to get the word out to see if anyone knows what happened to his sister. He starts a Reddit thread. He starts a Facebook group. He reaches out to the media and true crime bloggers and podcasters à la Sarah Turney, getting loud and being a general nuisance in hopes of getting some answers. He gets his friends and Nile’s friends involved. Maybe eventually Dizzy, Jay, and others from Nile’s unit hear about it and reach out, telling him what they saw and how weird it all was. He’s drumming up interest, and soon “Nile Freeman” becomes a household name (at least among the true crime fans).

Copley is, of course, trying his best, but at this point there is just so much that it’s impossible for him to scrub everything. Sure, he can erase new footage of Nile and the Guard, but what can he do about Reddit threads and podcast episodes that are speculating something weird has happened? Maybe he could hack the sites and shut those things down, but honestly, that’s the last thing he’d want to do, because that only adds weight to the theory that Nile’s disappearance is a military coverup. So eventually he has to tell Andy what’s going on.

Andy, obviously, does not take the news well. However, she is also completely computer illiterate, because that’s Booker’s job and he’s the only one who ever bothered to learn what the internet is in any meaningful way. (She probably calls Booker for advice, and for the record, I think Booker would have no qualms about shutting down conspiracy threads, tinhats be damned, but Copley is too concerned about the consequences. He’s ex-CIA for crying out loud, he knows how it’ll look if they scrub every mention of Nile’s name from the internet.) Maybe she confers with Joe and Nicky but, let’s be honest, they’d be equally unhelpful. So at this point, she knows they have to bring in Nile.

But the thing about Nile is that she, too, knows how to use the internet (duh). Aside from her being a young millennial/digital native, we know from the cave scene where she’s giving Booker suggestions on how to track Copley that she clearly is even more computer savvy than the average person. And for that reason she almost definitely took over the day-to-day tech stuff after Booker’s exile. So I think it would be foolish to expect her to be unaware of what’s happening. She’s not contacting her family or posting on the message boards or anything, but she knows what’s up. So Copley and the team probably sit her down to “break the news,” but we know the girl does not have a poker face (see: literally shooting herself in the foot and not being able to play it cool whatsoever) and cracks immediately, telling them she’s seen everything about her case – she’s not interacting with any of it, she certainly didn’t instigate anything, but she knows. (And she is so goddamn proud of her brother.)

At this point, I’d like to pause and consider Nile’s role in the overall narrative of this movie. She’s set up as a foil to Andy, obviously, but she’s also a foil to Booker. Booker, who, like Andy, is a serious pessimist, but who, unlike Andy, still has very fresh memories and trauma associated with being the new kid, which have destroyed him. In his mind (and Andy’s), if Nile communicates with her family, she’ll become just like him in a century or two – bitter, alone, and stuck with her grief and memories of watching her family die and knowing they died resenting her. It’s a small sample size, but this is the only experience they have to go off of.

But it doesn’t have to be like that.

There’s been a lot of discussion of TOG being a fundamentally queer movie – a group of people brought together because of something inherent about themselves that is different, that must be hidden, that causes others to hate, fear, and reject them. Booker’s backstory is the archetypal traumatic “coming out” story – his family learns who he is, hate him for it, and attempt to cast him out of their lives. He’s stuck with his trauma, his pain, his loss, and it consumes him.

But what if Nile’s family would be the opposite? What if her “coming out” to them as immortal is met with acceptance, love, celebration? What if her family is just overjoyed to have her back, and they don’t care what the circumstances are? I'm reminded of this incredible post from @shitty-old-guard-deaths a while back, where Nile’s mother hits Booker with a frying pan because “my baby let me believe she was dead for FIVE YEARS based on your bad advice???” (which may or may not have inspired this whole tangent). Nile takes the advice of someone who did the same thing she wants to do because she doesn’t want to risk her family’s rejection. She wants the good memories with her family and is afraid that showing them her true self will bring her unbearable pain, forever replacing those memories. But, with high risk comes high reward.

Anyway. Nile and the team are trying to come up with a plan for how to handle this whole thing, but she’s not really participating because she’s too afraid to hope. Until finally, quickly, so she doesn’t lose her nerve, she suggests she reach out to them, knowing that, realistically, that’s the only solution before things snowball even further out of control. The team is shocked, but realize that she has a point. They decide that Copley should actually be the first point of contact, posing as a US government official to talk with them and test the waters.

So Copley goes to Nile’s family’s house to talk with her mom and brother. They’re probably distrustful and apprehensive, but nonetheless secretly ecstatic that their work has paid off. They talk and review all of the information that they’ve collected, including testimonials from the people on Nile’s base and recent sightings (along with photos) of Nile (with the same three people) over the last few years that people have sent them but they haven’t posted publicly. At this point, Copley’s like, yeah this is about to blow up, we gotta put our cards on the table. He convinces them to come with him to some safe house/black site/whatever he can get that is technologically impenetrable (I’m picturing them in like, an interrogation room at a police station kind of deal), takes their phones, locks the doors, and brings in Nile.

What follows is the most delightful reunion scene of all time, bringing Joe, Nicky, and even Andy to tears as they watch and listen from outside the room. With Copley’s help, Nile tells her mom and brother about her immortality and what’s been going on since she died (within reason, of course), and they are thrilled. They don’t understand why (because no one does) but they don’t question it and they see it as a gift from God – she’s been resurrected, she will live, and she has a purpose. Her mother and brother are so happy to see her again and are willing to agree with pretty much anything to stay in her life as long as they can.

So. They set up some complicated agreement (they bring in the other three for support/intimidation as needed) setting the terms of their relationship. They swear Nile’s family to secrecy, maybe bringing up the lab to show how high the stakes are, and they readily agree. They come up with some cover story for Nile’s brother to share on the message boards (maybe that the government has opened an investigation but because it’s an open case he has to shut it all down? Tells people to direct their tips somewhere else? Something to that effect). There’s still speculation, of course, but without Nile’s brother at the helm providing the energy, the hype dies down as news stories are wont to do without any movement. And Nile’s family goes to work for the team. The experience has taught them that Copley can’t possibly do everything himself, especially when it comes to social media, so Nile’s brother takes the lead on the day-to-day tracking/social media while Copley and her mom focus on finding jobs and scrubbing their traces afterward.

So there you have it: Nile gets to integrate her biological family into her found family and spend the rest of their lives with them as it should be, Copley gets some badly needed help managing the reality of social media, the team finally has a positive narrative surrounding outsiders Knowing About Them AND about interacting with people from their previous life, and the audience gets the happy ending to this very lovely and very queer story to counteract the pain associated with Booker’s family.

Plus, you know, I’m a sucker for both a good government conspiracy theory and for Nile getting every good thing she deserves.

[the-final-sif]

My other AU I mentioned yesterday was my own Dreamon AU. I think a lot of Dreamon AUs are cool, but the part that I always get hung up on is why. Frankly it’s what gets me hung up on demononic possession in general. What’s the point of it all? Just to start chaos? Just to hurt people? To what end?

Well, I thought about it for awhile and ended up coming up with an answer of sorts; “Dreamons” or demons are parasites that infect hosts and feed off of them before taking control of their life in order to infect the people who are emotionally close to the host. This allows for reproduction and for the parasite to spread itself further.

Going with a sort of realistic-minecraft style, close relationships between players create connections in code that a specific kind of dreamon (akin to a computer virus) can exploit to infect other players regardless of physical distance between the host and infectee.

It can even infect these players across servers, and added to the fact that this type heavily prefers to infect admins, it’s particularly deadly.

The process usually takes a month or two for the dreamon to prepare the other players for infection, and then in a period of a few hours it exploits the connections and wipes out anywhere from hundreds to thousands of players.

At that point, a select few number of those players have their physical bodies used like puppets to move to new servers and infect new admins.

c!Dream gets infected not long after he opens up his own server, he doesn’t realize it until it’s too late. Until he’s lost most control over his body.

He’s trapped inside his own head with the Dreamon, with only very limited bursts of control.

Dream realizes very quickly that he’s in the worst case scenario. He’s heard storiesof dreamons like this, and he knows what happens next.

Past admins have tried everything. Every cure, every combination of potions, every attempt to rip the Dreamon from their code. Nothing has had success in the past. Nothing saved their servers.

But c!Dream has something that no admin facing this challenge before him had:

A willingness to commit to incredibly stupid sounding impluses regardless of the cost to his wellbeing.

Because listen, he doesn't have zero control, he just has very little control.

And sure, he could probably communicate that's he's infectes to the rest of the server, even if the Dreamon would fight him on that.

They could try to do the impossible and find a cure, and most likely fail.

Or, Dream could speedrun ruining every relationship he's ever had so the Dreamon loses the ability to infect others.

Is it a sane plan?

No.

Does Dream have any real idea how he's going to pull it off?

Also no.

But goddamn it, Dream is going to try! He has to. Because if he does nothing, quite literally everyone whose ever loved him dies.

[orange-waterfalls]

I Call This One: Bold & Brash!

The egos x artist! gn! reader

ty @pokemonpunqueen for the request!

A/N: I’ve decided that I’m gonna write for the egos when I can’t think of anything else or I need practice writing lmao. I mean I was doing that before? But I didn’t know it? listen it’s fine it’ll be fine but FOR NOW I thiiiink I’m gonna take requests. Just a few. I’ll stop when I think it gets too much. This is exactly what it says. I focused on like drawing/painting for “artist”, with some references to animation thrown in there. I did Darkiplier, Wilford, Yancy, Illinois, Google, Eric, and a Host thrown in there bc I love him and I miss him

Word count is 1.5k

Enjoy

Egos x artist!reader

Darkiplier

He’ll want to commission art from you

He makes comments about how Mark is a narcissist but also he’s a narcissist.

Oh look, Dark’s asking you for another picture. What does he want? He wants you to draw him? Again? For the fifth time this fucking month? Wonderful.

He likes looking at how you make art of him, be it stylistic or realistic

He will hang them up all over the fucking house so pace yourself

He’s fine if you draw anybody else

Except Mark. Never Mark. How can he tell, you ask? No fucking clue, but he does

Gets a bit worried that you won’t make enough money to live comfortably

Just because not everyone needs a fucking MANSION-

Will always buy things for you if you ask

Likes to be able to support your job or hobby

Sugar daddy? I mean maybe

Makes sure you eat, sleep, drink water, survive--

Leaves snacks for you at your desk for when you don’t want a meal.

Carries you to bed if you fall asleep at a desk

Recommends you wear comfy clothes at all times so you can fall asleep wherever

A bit of an enabler, he’s doing his best tho

If you take commissions don’t be surprised if he threatens to kill someone when they don’t pay or are rude to you

He loves you, that’s all

Wilford

Fucking elated

Draw him!!! Please!!!! Please draw him!!!!! He has coin!!!!! He can pay!!!!!

Ecstatic if you actually draw him like he’ll giggle for an hour straight just looking

Secretly commissions more art from you

So also sugar daddy

It’s always something so obvious so you know it’s him anyways

He likes bright colors and eyestrain for some reason

If you make that, he just. Stares at it. Unblinking. You have to snap him out of it (im not projecting what do you mean)

Gets extremely worried about you not taking care of yourself

Gets someone to fucking babysit you when he’s gone so you take care of yourself

When you get greatly offended by this he settles for texting you reminders

And when you ignore those he texts more

Don’t be surprised if you get spammed by several people and an alarm starts to play from somewhere in the house

You’re gonna be healthy whether you like it or not, asshole

Drags you to bed aggressively

He WILL NOT drug your food with melatonin because that’s illegal. B U T-

He’s a little confused, but he got the spirit

Will advertise your art to anyone and everyone and also on his show and threatens the audience with a gun

AGAIN, a little confused. he just wuvs u so much 

Yancy

I mean technically he’s kind of an artist too so he appreciates your skill and creativity

He’s very nosy and likes to look over your shoulder while you work

If you don’t like him doing that, he still does it, just more secretively

Likes to work in the same room as you. 

That is if you don’t mind constant singing or tap dancing in the background

He shows off your art to anyone and everyone and gets mad if they don’t immediately say it’s fantastic

May or may not have stabbed someone over it, you’ll never know

If you show him something you’re working on, he’ll show you something he’s working on in return

The law of equivalent exchange

You tell him you can make MONEY from things like art and dancing and he goes apeshit he gets so fucking excited

If you’re like an animator and offer to animate his dancing he might actually cry

He’ll deny it constantly every day until he dies

If you make things traditionally he hangs them on the wall Everywhere

You might run out of room

By which i mean you will run out of room as soon as possible

Will never tell you a drawing is bad ever unless it’s like Really Bad which it never will be in his eyes

He loves anything and everything you do u are so precious

You have a permanent support system within the man

Google

Used to see art as pointless

Then comprehended the chemical release it causes in the brain and thought that was fine

Then saw you get really mad with something you were working on and got confused again?

If art no make good chemical, why art?

He still doesn’t understand, but that’s ok

You tried to get him to make something once

He just. Kinda. Made a buncha ones and zeroes

You still framed it and hung in on the wall and he got embarrassed

If he could blush, he would

If you draw him he looks like he doesn’t care but it’s at that point he decides he would die for you

Primary objective: answer questions as quickly as possible. Secondary objective: make u happy. Tertiary objective is to destroy mankind

If you draw bing that will disappear IMMEDIATELY you have BETRAYED him

If you ask for a color palette recommendation he Always says the google colors. Always.

You might’ve thought he was going for an rgby type of thing. But then you realize.

He is in charge of your financing. He will tell you the most efficient ways to make money as an artist and you follow then

He is also in charge of making sure you FUCKING EAT A MEAL

“But isn’t an objective to destroy mankind?” shut up he’s not happy about it either

Despite his best efforts he loves you and that ain’t gonna change

Illinois

Doesn’t fully understand

He needs to be outside at all times and cannot stay in one place

And you’re like??? Required to stay still???? For prolonged amounts of time????? Disgusting. Anyway, whatcha workin’ on?

He might ask you to try and teach him

If you do try he gives up almost immediately

Sometimes you just get so into it that you forget to do basic things and he gets upset

(i.e. eating, sleeping, living, etc.)

He gets worried about you

He is a hypocrite bc he does the same

He will drag you to bed, motherfucker

Honestly he might lock your shit somewhere until you fucking take care of yourself. it’s like a hostage situation god

“Where the fuck did you put it” “I have no clue what you mean. I might know if you eat your dinner, though”

Asshole (affectionate)

Sometimes you like make faces when you try to draw a person and it’s hilarious and cute to him

He looks at your drawings the moment you walk away but acts like he doesn’t care

He cares a lot

Will support you no matter what but will also tell you without hesitation if he thinks something looks shit

Listen he’s out of line but he’s right

Eric

Loves you a lot and will support anything and everything you choose to do or make

Drawing? Awesome! Painting? Wonderful! Animation? Superb!

He often wants to buy you supplies or something but he does not know what anything is

Fuck is a chalk pencil???? What are gel pens vs normal pens?????? Watercolor????? What the fuck are you saying??????????

Will subtly drop hints that you could,,,, draw him,,,,, maybe,,,,, if u wanna 

And by subtly I mean he starts to ask and then starts crying

If you draw him he will cry again he loves u so much 

If he ever were to get a tattoo it’d be something u drew. Nothing else is as important to him at the moment

He enjoys photography and film, and likes to try and bond with you over artistic things

I mean. Some things overlap.

You could talk about a single drawing for hours and he’d listen intently the whole time

Don’t ask him for feedback, it’s always some version of “it’s perfect and I love you”

Even if he hates it

Which,,,,, he might hate it sometimes

He’s not a good reviewer. 2/10, very biased

He likes to take photos when you’re in the zone

If you tell him to delete them he will

While secretly making one his home screen

Host

Hey, he gets it

He writes, he understands the hyperfocus

Sometimes he wouldn’t move from his chair for a day because he was busy writing a script

That being said, you probably have to be the one to get him to take care of himself

Or you have to take turns

Otherwise you’re both gonna fucking die

He asks you to describe your art to him and tries to picture it.

He’ll tell you if he thinks it probably looks good or bad

You shouldn’t take it to heart because he can’t see it

He is a bastard sometimes

“Well, what do you think?” “I think it looks fantastic” “Thanks, babe” “...” “... you think you’re fucking funny, don’t you”

He asks if you can draw him sometimes

No, he won’t see it, but he’ll appreciate the sentiment if you do

He will ask for your opinion on his scripts sometimes

If you say it’s bad he gets really defensive

You work in the same room a lot of the time and forget the other is there

One of you has to preemptively order food or like set a timer so you can goddamn Survive

You’ll be fine

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Chapter 1

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Summary: Assigned all cases involving android-related crimes, saddled with a prototype that follows him around like a plastic puppy, Detective Connor Anderson knows this must be karma for all the bad shit he’s ever done.

He thought he'd hit rock bottom, that he didn't have much left to lose, but he's proven wrong by the android sent by CyberLife. And Connor learns just how much further he can fall.

Prompt: For the @dbhau-bigbang​ 2020 challenge!

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

AO3

(Story moodboard by @uh-kitty-got-wet​​)

November 5th, 2038

Friday 11:21PM

The whiskey was harsh and burned like liquid fire as it slid down his throat. He dropped the shot glass onto the bar top and closed his eyes and savored the bloom of the cheap booze warming his chest. The music from the old jukebox behind him belted out tunes that would have been considered outdated when the place opened.

It was like this most nights. He was alone, exhausted, and well on his way to a pleasant buzz. The one thing Connor had going for him was that he hadn’t started in on his third drink until 11 PM.

That had to be some kind of record. On a Friday night, he was usually shitfaced by 10. Call it the long hours he’d been working, or maybe the fact he felt more self-loathing than usual, he’d somehow managed to hold off on spiraling until nearly midnight.

Definitely a record. And Connor deserved to celebrate.

When he tipped the glass with one finger and caught Jimmy’s eye, he nearly looked away in shame. The bartender had never given him shit before, at least in a verbal sense, but the cool stare he gave Connor now made him want to crawl into a hole and die there.

But Jimmy didn’t say a word, just gave him another dose of poison and turned away, leaving Connor in relative peace to enjoy the game. Denton Carter was kicking ass tonight, so at least there was that.

It was all going beautifully until the door opened and the sound of rain echoed throughout the tiny bar, along with a distinct smell of wet asphalt and dirty concrete. Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw two of the other regulars shift in their seats to stare at the newcomer.

Not another regular, then. And by how lengthy the stares were and the sudden shift in atmosphere, Connor guessed the barometric pressure had taken a drop due to a pair of long legs and pretty eyes.

Turning his body only far enough to get a glance for himself, Connor was not disappointed, eyeing the stranger from their black dress shoes, up their shapely legs clad in dark jeans, past curvy hips and—

Oh.

Connor turned back in his seat, hunched over and grimacing in disgust, put there by the sight of a blue triangle on a lapel and a glowing armband around one arm. He hadn’t even needed to look higher for the LED to know what the fuck had just waltzed into the joint like it actually belonged there.

He nursed his whiskey, praying the thing would pass him by and leave him the fuck alone. Or better yet, Jimmy would throw it out.

No such luck, of course.

“Detective Anderson,” spoke a smooth, raspy voice to his right. “I’m the YN800 model sent by CyberLife.”

He elected to ignore it. Maybe if he did so for long enough, it would take the hint and go away.

Again, Connor’s luck was not holding out.

“I called your cell phone, but you didn’t answer,” the voice continued, unimpeded. “I then looked for you at the station after checking your home, but you weren’t there either. Your colleagues indicated you tended to frequent the bars in the area, and I was fortunate to find you at the fifth one.”

His eye twitched. This thing had gone to his apartment?

“Well, here I am,” he answered, dry and caustic as he stared straight ahead at the wall of bottles. He calculated how angry Jimmy would be if he took out his service pistol and shot it through the head.

Pretty angry, Connor decided. It would probably leave a stain. Also, he didn’t want to compensate some asshole company for property damage.

“What do you want?” he finally growled, scratching his nail into the bar top already marred with various scuffs and dings.

“You were assigned a case earlier this evening. A homicide.”

Already, a headache was forming between the eyes at the sound of the android’s irritatingly friendly voice.

“Yeah, and?”

“It involved a CyberLife android,” it said in that same smooth inflection. “In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators.”

You have to be shitting me.

Connor grit his teeth and clenched his glass tighter, a flush of heat moving through him that had nothing to do with his blood alcohol content. A fucking android was sent to help cops do their job?

Fuck that, and fuck this hunk of junk.

“Good for them,” he answered as he tipped the glass up to his lips. “I couldn’t give less of a shit. Now get the fuck out of my face. We don’t need any help, especially from a plastic pair of tits like you.”

He should have known that wasn’t the end of it. The android spoke again, adopting a tone of what it had probably been programmed as “sympathetic.”

“I understand you may be experiencing reluctance to having an android’s assistance in this matter, but I am—“

“—ruining a perfectly good evening, butting your nose where it doesn’t belong and sure as fuck isn’t welcome.”

Connor put his glass down harder on the bar top than he meant to, nearly spilling his drink.

“I suggest you leave before I void your warranty.”

Connor thought the machine got the message when it finally went silent. He could even see its mood ring spinning yellow out of the corner of his eye before it settled on that annoying placid blue.

He’d just brought the glass halfway to his lips when it said, “I’m sorry, Detective, but I must insist.”

Connor set the glass back down and started to count to ten. He couldn’t lose it now, he’d promised Jimmy he wouldn’t break anything else after the last brawl he’d gotten into.

But the fucking thing just kept on talking.

“My instructions stipulate that I have to accompany you.”

“You know where you can stick your instructions?” Connor growled before downing the glass of whiskey.

It was a good thing he had, because its next words made him choke on spit.

“No. Where?”

Connor set the glass down, and for the first time that evening, fully turned toward the android and stared at it.

The damn thing was staring back, head slightly tilted like a curious puppy. It had large eyes to match the image too, earnest and innocent and entirely too sincere. Its attire at second glance wasn’t the typical android faire. A smooth grey android jacket and a dark, patterned tie marked it as something different. Unique.

And just a little too pretty. Every designed, group-focused imperfection on its face made it that much more appealing. Its hair was neatly coifed, pulled up and pinned behind its head, exposing the smooth curve of its neck.

Hanging down the left side of its face was a strategically-placed lock of hair that Connor immediately want to twirl his finger around. He suspected that was the point.

The further down Connor’s eyes traveled, the more he lost his train of thought. The perfectly sensible tie was lying on the slope of its breasts, something even the jacket couldn’t cover. Why the fuck androids had breasts to begin with, Connor couldn’t begin to fathom, and it seemed even more ludicrous now seeing them on a “specialized model.”

The android hadn’t moved apart from its artificial breathing, another thing about the machines that was uncanny. They weren’t human, and the fact CyberLife kept trying to pass them off as such was a goddamn insult to humanity.

He met the thing’s eye, gave an unimpressed huff, and went back to nursing his drink. If the fucking tin can didn’t understand a dirty innuendo, he certainly wasn’t going to ruin its pristine, virginal programming.

Connor doubted everything that had just gone through his head as those unnecessarily realistic tits were pressed against his elbow, without warning or any sense of decency or a concept of personal space.

“How about this, Detective?”

Connor fumbled, nearly spilling his drink, a massive what the fuck! warning flashing in his head as the machine pressed closer.

“I’ll buy you another drink, on the house. Surely that’s worth a few minutes of your time? And if not, you can send me on my way.”

Connor couldn’t speak with that voice right into his ear like a close confidant, sultry and low and borderline pornographic, so it was a good thing the android didn’t bother waiting for a response.

Instead, it turned to Jimmy and said in a louder, more normal tone, “Bartender, another round for the detective, please.”

Jimmy turned from where he was cleaning glasses on the counter, eyebrows shooting upward as he looked from the machine to Connor. It had backed up a few inches, but there were a lot of reflective bottles on the wall. Connor wondered just how much Jimmy had seen.

Connor gave a little helpless shrug as if to say, Don’t look at me, I don’t know what the fuck it’s doing!

But when the damn thing actually brought out real paper money and set it on the counter, Jimmy got moving. Seemed he wasn’t picky about where his money came from, and Connor almost resented the fact he hadn’t thrown the android out on principle.

Who the hell gave it money in the first place? CyberLife? What, did they hand it a few bucks of allowance before letting it off its leash?

Despite all his reservations, and there were a great many of them, Connor was not about to turn down a free drink. Or two.

“Make it a double,” he grumbled, purposefully avoiding the android’s focused gaze. He could practically feel the thing staring into the side of his head, but at least it remained at a distance and wasn’t pressed against his side like a drunk, horny badge bunny anymore.

“Thanks, Jim.” Connor took the glass and tipped it back, drowning it in one go. The slide of the familiar burn down his throat, spreading throughout his limbs, did quite a lot to help ease the tension in his muscles.

He released a heavy exhale, pushed away from the bar, and got to his feet.

“You want to play plastic cop? Okay, then. Keep up,” he said, tilting his head in its direction without actually looking at it. “Or I’m leaving your ass behind.”

Connor didn’t wait for a response, only raised his hand in parting to Jimmy, and pushed open the door to let the rain-drenched Detroit night swallow him whole. But even through the sound of the rain pinging off the hood of his nearby car he could hear the even footfalls behind him, just a little too close for comfort.

Fucking androids.

Next Chapter

[worldsover]

Judgement to the Desiccated ft. Karina

length ✦ 5573

genres ✧ sm type future; asphyxiation; blackmail; virtual_servant!Karina;

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Air did a poor job of not being polluted so Lee Soo Man flooded the world instead. The man himself certainly must be long gone and could not have been in charge of that decision but the legacy of his company far exceeds the legacy of any other human collective in history. Once on this planet, gas was the fluid of choice for respiration and breathing was an unconscious reflex. Now there’s Aether by SM. How very on-brand of them to have the liquid air you breathe follow perfume naming conventions.

Open your eyes and exit the sleeping chamber. Aether has you work for each inhalation, it desaturates the color of the bedroom—maybe there’s a subtle but uncomfortable tinge of yellow—and it makes your nose itch. Your muscles wield much less force than they used to because of the lack of resistance the fluid provides. Moreover, it smells like hairspray as though the ozone layer is taking sardonic revenge.

Screens impersonating windows track your eyes to ensure realistic parallax, playing the scene of divine blue heavens that could not exist. An azure sky is a reward for those planets that have an atmosphere and a sun for light to scatter. Your walls are either chrome or drywall white and your whole bedroom is plainly decorated just like the day you moved in.

“Etymology of bedroom,” you think out loud, though it falls on no ears.

“Bedroom is a compound noun consisting of bed and room. Bed goes back to Old English bedd ‘sleeping place, plot of ground prepared for plants,’ which goes back to the Germanic-”

Plants and sleep are both strong words to use nowadays. The former doesn’t exist in nature and it seems you’re the only one who bothers with the latter. Faint buzzing distracts you from the AI’s response and signals you to the nano drones that swim throughout the liquid to process carbon dioxide from your lungs. This whole ordeal could’ve been much worse if you didn’t have brain interfaces doing the hard part of controlling your diaphragm. The most you need is a purposeful thought. Still, it gets tiring having to think the same thought every three seconds. In. Out.

Was the metaphorical Soo Man teaching a lesson in perseverance? You love K-pop and imagine it’s how trainees used to practice dancing, singing, being charismatic. Being an idol had to be as natural as breathing air. Inhale and exhale. Right now with any antiquated programming language you clung on to, you could write a single for loop that did the same job. For every three seconds: breathe in, breathe out.

“What’s for breakfast today?” Not loud enough. “What’s for breakfast?” you think it louder.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready for service.” It’s quite a kindness for SM to blur the bland dystopia you live in by augmenting reality through your neural device. A bosomy woman in a gold-lined but otherwise modest maid outfit appears from the corner of your eye and she bows. Ae-Karina is bewitching and almost becoming of her basis as its graphics have gradually upgraded over the rotations but you wouldn’t misconstrue the avatar as human.

“I said, what’s for breakfast!” It feels impolite to scream in your head, there’s other residents there, but finally the fridge lights up.

“Of course master. May I remind you eating is unnecessary?”

In. Out. Every day, she does remind you, yes. How kind of the company to put all your nutritional requirements in the new air. Aether goes in then Aether goes out. You wish the thoughts of breathing could fade into the background but they’re just like your cravings for food. Always hungry but never starving, whole though not once satisfied. Your eyes pause at her gorgeous face and she tells you there’s bacon. Take it from your fridge. Bacon goes in. Well, the drones take care of the out.

Your assigned living space is the entire 207th floor of a tower. Two hundred and seven floors below the surface. The neighbor a few floors upstairs says that he thinks living deeper is a sign of status. What a luxury. That guy should check the status of his facial muscles, maybe improve his code that lets him tell lies while he’s at it. A couple hundred flights of stairs to swim up is a useless skeuomorphism of skyscrapers in the days of the sun. In fact they were more than useless, you would've preferred a single vertical hallway as it would have let you propel upwards unimpeded. Each floor is the exact same, a glass door that affords no privacy for its residence, a false tree on each side. At the upper levels, malls, convenience stores and other gaudy retail, but it’s the gyms that mock you that you mock in return. They’re always empty.

Finally reaching the top is no true break even if it is a change in scenery. Inhale. Aether tastes a little different up here. Exhale. Can’t say you like it.

Countless satellites form a parody of the star from which the planet flew away, the false image refracted by the upper boundary of Aether. They can’t take away your memories of this star. Looking up at the sky once blinded you with ultraviolet radiation, burning your cornea. It was beautiful. Now everyone’s decided that if they’re playing the part of corporate dystopia, they might as well fit the aesthetic. In a way, it’s self-fulfilling. They wouldn’t have chosen a neon pink sun to compliment the blue and metallic gloom of the cityscape if it weren’t so ingrained in popular media already.

Still, you would’ve expected Google or Walmart to become the megacorp responsible for the state of the world, not a Korean entertainment company. Must’ve been quite the red paperclip scenario. Instead of material design or utilitarian architecture, tacky artistic structures line the streets. The same advertisements for albums that they’ve been selling for the past however long. It's all so obvious, the city could've been designed from scratch to accommodate new forms of travel and goddamn liquid air but instead they went with futuristic Tokyo.

Dubstep permeates your inner ear implants. A notification informs your thoughts that it’s “Hip-hop EDM dance pop with a strong jungle house groove and urban influences.” It’s dubstep. Liquid carries barely any sound so SM affords the option for implants if you're nostalgic for one of the senses. Even though it’s a slower form of communication than direct neural transfer, the noise comforts you. Of course the company would choose dubstep as their background music, but maybe they make money off refunds somehow. It switches to Ice Cream Cake. Much better.

You walk the not so busy roads towards a short brick warehouse in the distance and heavy rain soaks your clothes. No such thing as weather without the sun and water but it’s all simulated anyway.

A warm Seulgi adlib and you know it’s Psycho that starts playing. No, none of your senses are real. The most you could trust is your vision but even that’s being lied to. You could be living in a vat and fed all these thoughts, but then why make it so mediocre? Not paradise, nor torture but a lukewarm in-between. Guess that's what happens when SM Entertainment manages the post-apocalypse. Good on them for trying. The alternative would be a frozen hellscape without solar radiation. Can’t deny their work with geothermal and nuclear energy to keep the Aether warm so that you didn’t have to live underground for the rest of human history. It’s quite great PR to save humanity.

“Hey now, we’ll be okay,” repeats a few more times than you remember.

The Idea Factory Alpha White Delta Green says the neon tubes lighting the front of the brick and mortar building. Your ID card bears a name but it’s not yours, not until they approve your name change. Those usually get processed faster with how often people liked changing their names.

Sit at a desk with a sterile white keyboard and slick new monitor. Type and empty words appear on the screen: “Think for the many, not for the one. We need to think ahead.” A thumbs up. The company appreciates the input. That’s probably enough work for one day. Some SNSD live stages help the time pass, SM certainly appreciated the streaming numbers and it would net you some social points.

It’s hard to say what comes to mind when they ask you to envision a world without the sun and air, especially since it’s what you’ve known for... Two hundred years? There’s no frame of reference, that much you can tell from when you counted seconds to see how often the satellites completed their orbit. SM really took time to have them propel at random speeds, they love withholding sensitive information like that from citizens. To be fair, time is sensitive. Guess the meaning of that phrase changes like all parts of language.

Look around. Dozens of employees at identical workspaces all try to answer the same questions. Naturally, there’s no need for manual labor anymore but there will never be a replacement for human ingenuity. Nice slogan but you know you’re only here for data. Can’t see a need for customer retention though—what’s the alternative, skip Earth? See you on another planet?

“Hey bro, you come up with anything new?” Dave says. Two desks away, you see the enthusiastic, surprisingly spry man play around with a Newton’s cradle. The balls at each end bounce back and forth, not slowing down their rhythm any time soon.

“I think I got something,” you say, “Earth is not the answer. It can’t be, long term.”

“Ooh, I like that. Actually, I really like that.”

“What are you gonna do, copy me?”

“Of course not. You know how much SM hates plagiarism.” Click. Clack.

“Ha. As if there’s a single original thought left in the world.” Click. Clack. The imaginary sounds of metal spheres bouncing play in your mind. They got the volume wrong, no way it’d sound that loud from that distance. “You’d think with all their resources, they’d have figured out space travel by now.”

“I don’t think they want to leave, bro. Wouldn’t be great for profits.”

Your mouth opens to laugh and causes laugh8942.mp3 to play in Dave’s head. “I love it. SM probably hates that sass too,” you say.

“Oh no, they’re gonna arrest me for thoughtcrimes. Nah, they love creativity, just when it suits them. Also, if they actually did bust you for wrongthink like rumors say, I wouldn’t have this on me.” Dave twirls a finger and points at you and you thank his absurd flair for the histrionic that keeps you amused with such drab work.

“NewDrug.mp6. Would you like to play it?” the dry system voice notifies you.

“Woah woah there tiger, hold on.” Dave must’ve noticed your intrigued eyes and holds his hands up. “You might wanna experience that at home. But if you’re interested in more, ask for chicken parm at the vegan place. You know the one.”

Dave leaves his desk. He doesn’t return. You finish your work. Inspire. Expire. You’d rather not.

In contrast to your commute to work, the roads fill with others on your way home. You have to know. Take solace in the comfort of a bench where a huge McDonald’s arch bathes the surroundings and its people with a yellow glow. Really shouldn’t watch it now, especially if Dave says it’s a home type of watch but you have to know. A family of five watches you pass out. They, along with every other passerby, ignore your still body draped over the chrome outdoor seating as you look like yet another junkie. The title is correct after a fashion, the simulation is some sort of new drug. The details of the exploits that happen in the immersive replay wash over you but you don’t need them to know that it’s the sort of lewd that SM would not allow—at least not publicly and not without the right exorbitant payment.

Suit pants and underwear go straight to the laundry. That must’ve been an embarrassing sight but no one bothered to stop you, so it doesn’t matter. Look up where this vegan place was that Dave so presumptuously assumed you knew about and you find that it’s about four Avengers’ stores down from work. He must’ve eaten there before.

“Yo Dave, just wanna make sure, what’s the name of the vegan place called?”

“What are you talking about, man? You telling me there’s some secret underground farms that SM wouldn’t know about?”

You can’t tell when you got to work, a lack of standardized timing would help as well the haze of living in a monotonous dark. “Nah, I mean, for the-”

“I have no idea,” Dave emphasizes each word, “what you’re talking about.”

“I see.”

Work flies by, unusually.

“Hey, can I get a chicken-”

“Uh, this is Maron’s Veggies Only, it clearly says on the sign.”

Clear your throat. “Parm.”

The shifty part-time worker looks around and rubs his fingers gesturing for money. “No digital.”

Over the counter, you pass him a gold coin stamped with a holographic 1 and he hands you a USB stick and a laptop in return. How old-fashioned.

“It’ll sync with whoever you have set as your avatar experience aspect,” the worker says.

“Thanks.”

Ever vigilant as the patrol is, the alleys are the last place you want to go to hide with the obvious criminal element within them all but you head to one anyway. Dump the anachronistic technology in your storage pocket dimensions. Looking at its contents, you’d have to clean that mess up later, but the more you look like an average slob the better. The biggest problem with the inventories is all the people squatting in them. Inspectors wouldn’t care about the archaic ruins you left in yours.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready to service.”

“I’d like to go on a date. A special date.” You highlight the key word special and sit on your living room couch. No one’s going to look in your glass door and regardless, you wouldn’t be the pervert for glimpsing into someone’s home.

“Ah yes, master. Ae-Karina is ready to fully service,” she says with a provocative tint in her tone, her sclera disperses to black to match. A pole drops from the ceiling while parts of her maid outfit dissolve which reveals more of the silky skin of her thighs, her lissom arms and most importantly her overflowing breasts. Ae-Karina wraps her legs around the pole and spins around, teasing fingers trace curves on her body to harden you. Her dance is precise but sultry regardless. She pulls up her short skirt to flaunt more of her ass beneath white panties and then pulls down to flourish her cleavage, not trapped by a bra. “Are you enjoying your maid’s show?”

“Very much so, yes,” you say.

Half of a smile forms before a glitch occurs and she teleports next to you, fully nude. It doesn’t pull you out of the illusion however. You just stare and drink in the splendor of her created body.

“You’re not going to touch?” Ae-Karina says.

A feel of her tits and you find it softer than pillows you used to rest on. Soft isn’t much of a character that exists anymore when the whole world is engulfed in liquid. No one has beds, especially with the rarity of sleep. Therefore, her mounds are a consummate dedication to the texture as you squeeze and pinch at her cute nipples.

Her maid outfit rematerializes as she straddles you. It provides more friction to your pants as she begins her lap dance. The weight of her body dragging across your legs and clothed erection induces your carnal impulses further. If only you could fuck the virtual idol. You have to make do with the imprint of her pussy lips on your bulge sliding up and down. Breath in. Breath out.

Ae-Karina pulls down your boxers and spits on your erection. It's not real but her hands so slick on your cock and you let reality slip. Real is for the past, you have desires gratified in the present. There is no real person nibbling at your neck but your nerves activate in sexual desire without discernment for truth. No, she doesn't love you, but when the voracious mass of ones and zeroes says it loves its master, you say it back.

"I love you."

ILOVEYOU infected ten million computers in 2000. An explosion. Calibration engaging. It’s 1:21 PM, Sunday, July 18, 2286 and hypothetically the sun would be out in its full rage. At this latitude and longitude, you’re at what was once the epicenter of all—Seoul, where a fountain caused a chain reaction allowing the hopeful remnant of a world to exist. It lasted a surprisingly long time without the sun and without Aether but the dying planet would succumb inevitably to the ever-increasing contamination so SM of all corporations took charge. A different kind of chain reaction occurred when they acquired a restaurant chain that discovered the recipe for liquid air. The law is on its way and prepared to punish you to its full extent.

You reel while your ears ring. An even sexier version of the woman you already fantasized about appears from your peripheral vision in the crater of your floor. A skimpy cop outfit, striated with reflective material that seems to wane black at different angles, outlines Karina’s curves. She has a tool belt with absurd gadgets, such as a knife baton hybrid, a taser combined with a spray bottle and a Tamagotchi. None of this is necessary. They could just immediately arrest you, impose limitations on your devices. Sure, SM cloned people to deal with underpopulation, but why Karina would be the enforcer is a whole nother issue. Maybe the entertainment company loves their irony?

“Halt. You’re under arrest. Any resistance will be penalized according to the combined Terms of Service of all SM and SM associated products.”

Fucked anyway, you figure you might as well go for it. Escape into your inventory and only seconds later you’re forced out. You manage to get what you need regardless.

“Violation of access rights will be charged to your account.”

It’s so obvious but there’s a reason you kept so much gold in physical storage. As you swim away, the sides of your apartment start to bubble. Bubbles? Already, your limbs feel unsteady. Something’s wrong in the Aether.

“This is standard procedure for escaping suspects that are indoors. Again, this is all agreed to under the Terms of Service.”

“When the fuck did I ever click accept to that shit?”

“When you were born in this world and decided you want to stay in it,” Karina says out loud. You hear her say it. Your physical ears process the vibrations in the air that come from her mouth. Gravity thwarts your desperate escape as your limp body floats on the limit between liquid and air. The atrophy of your muscles becomes apparent within the gaseous atmosphere. She watches you sink down as the room drains of all the false air though her eyebrows crease when she inspects you closer. Your breaths are involuntary. Despite your muscles shorting out, the force of gravity and the pressure of the gas bearing down on you, you’re breathing and you don’t mean to. Her eyes wander farther down. On your pants, a concrete rod stamps the fabric.

“Oh, you like what you see?”

“Shut up, criminal. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

“Your pussy,” you say and she scoffs.

“Original.” Karina bites her lip as your erection continues to grow behind its prison. You use all effort to put your hands up.

“Please, miss Karina. I’ve been bad.”

“I could punish you even more for sexual assault.”

“Then do it.”

Heat radiates the room in a way you haven’t felt in a while and droplets of sweat form on each of your bodies, especially on the thighs that her revealing outfit parades. Her facial features contort in deliberation and the wait kills you. You bat your eyes at her before Karina takes off her tight shorts and drops herself into your anticipatory face. This makes no sense but none of this life made any sense so you decide to go with the tides.

Centuries of training your respiration has led to this moment, but when you finally have real air to breathe, you spit at the opportunity and choose to suffocate. Then you spit at her pussy and lap it up. Karina’s nectar transfixes your olfactory glands, for once a smell that isn’t the sterile Aether. Your eyes are mesmerized in parallel because of the perfect design of her pussy, a single crease that leads into her hole that your tongue emphatically explores. Karina spreads her thighs wide to reveal a small nub that craves attention. So give it. Suck and swirl and flick your tongue, and the woman provides you the tight clench of her legs as a gift. And the sounds, rediscovered glorious noise. Loud, almost too loud, and clear is how they assault your ears, even surrounded by the flesh of her thighs. Muffled by the weight of her legs, you hear Karina moan in approval but she’s still clearly in charge with how she chokes you with her legs. This is not about your pleasure but hers, and any satisfaction that you derive is not only incidental but probably punishable by SM copyright law.

Karina squirms her hips subtly on your mouth. Her eyes are sharp and she’s just about to stop your hands from moving but she notices them clasp together.

“I’ll do anything to make you cum, please.” you say sloppily as her pussy juices fill your cheeks and drip down your chin.

“God. I can’t.” She takes deep, contemplative breaths. ”That’s more time added on for inappropriate behavior.” Her groaning and brief squeals make her words sound incogent.

You give her a concluding lick and a kiss on her slit. “So what have you been doing right now then?”

Point to a corner of the room and a subtle red light indicates a recording camera. At once, she pulls out a hose from a pocket that could not fit it and the vacuum submerges the room with noise. Her expression shifts quickly to serious.

“We don’t play games here in SMTOWN unless it’s SuperStar so don’t fuck with me.”

“Look who's trying to be a comedian. How about you fuck with me any further and the video gets released.”

“That’s funny, you think you have any sort of power-”

“Yoo Jimin, I suggest you don’t push me more.”

“Where do you know that name from? Right now.” She weighs herself down on your neck.

“You think I don’t have contingencies for if I die too? Karina, we can make this a  win-win scenario. We both get to cum, we both get to walk away unscathed.”

“Fuck you.”

Your weak arms wander between her thighs. At any moment, a feeble punch towards your face or another ten seconds of asphyxiation and she could call your bluff. Even if you did have the ability to expose her perversions in any way, there would be no permanent recourse, not as long SM was in charge. So it surprises you when Karina takes off her shorts. 

“Goddammit. Your cock just looks too good. And your mouth, how are you so good with it?” Put up five fingers when she motions to remove her top as well, and instead she opts to take off your clothes, seizing your pants and throwing them to join the rubble in the room.

A finger slips in, then two and a third dares. Her flawlessly architected pussy lips clings to your digits and Karina shudders in reply. You explore her wetness and find it’s smooth to the point of having no faults, but her juice inside is gloppy and causes your fingers to stick more than the liquids she spills from her slit.

“Who said you’re allowed to have more?”

You lap up the nectar on your fingers. “Then why’d they make you taste so good?”

Your thumb teases her sweet tight asshole and puts just the slightest amount of pressure on it while you finger her with more intensity. The mass of her butt burdens your torso the closer she gets to orgasm. Her eyelids squeeze close and you see her body ripple in anxious pleasure. Karina shows off her pearly whites, teetering on the cliff of hysteria.

“Yes, yes! I’m so close,” she screams.

"Not yet."

“Fuck." Karina sobs, "God. Damn, fuck I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just fuck me.”

“My pleasure,” you say. There’s no need for you to grab her since she brings herself down to your groin, which you’re thankful for as your arms are as good as jelly now. Fortunately, your cock throbs as hard as ever while Karina’s slit rests on it.

“Say you’ll delete it all, all the evidence, promise me.”

“You’re gonna fuck me first or what?” Your breath hitches while she makes a strangled noise as her velvety walls swallow your cock whole to leave no room for comfort. Her tightness is stifling and you have to start counting just to breathe again.

“One two-”

“Be quiet.”

But there is no quiet when pleas for your cooperation intersperse her excessive profanities when she seats herself into your cock and ricochets up and down. Sweat emanates from her creamy skin while her legs widen to find a better angle for her supporting knees in her cowgirl position. Grapefruit and other citrus mingle with the scent of the sweat, fruits you haven’t seen except on billboards in music videos. As much as your mind crackles and your blood roars for every atmosphere of pressure Karina’s walls provide on each thrust in and out, you can’t help but reminisce on sweeter, more innocent times.

The white fluorescent lights in your apartment sputter. For all the advancements in technology, some among many things never change. Light refracts differently in air, less bright, but you can see the pure enjoyment on Karina’s face no matter the luminescence. Karina slows her ride to pull her hips down harder instead and she jolts when your cock finds the most tender spots inside her pussy and it interrupts her babbling.

Karina almost hyperventilates when she gets up to spit on your cock. She pulls out some kind of meter from her tool belt and sighs when there’s no beeping and you recognize it having to do with carbon dioxide. She gets back to dribbling saliva and the filament trailing down to your shaft mesmerizes you. This spit is real, not simulated, and it wettens your erection in a mix with her pussy juices to paralyze you further in your already listless state. Her bare thighs jiggle and you can’t exert much force with your hands but her buttcheeks are firm with just a bit of give.

“Thank you for this cock, thank you for being bad,” Karina says as you watch her ass sink deeper while her pussy holds your dick taut. She’s frenetic when bounces up and down to play an unadulterated orchestra of slick noises between your groins.

“You’re welcome,” you accomplish getting out the words between planned breaths. Your hands cup her buttcheeks but you fear they may break with how she strikes her ass into you.

Karina turns around once more to give you the spectacle of her facial expressions as she fucks herself into you. Knead her calves laying on your torso and they take no energy to spread them though she brings them back together, compressing your hard shaft within her pussy. A new game you play with her, a separate rhythm of loosening and tightening. Her feet press on your chest to help her bounce, but the way they bear down on your lungs against the timing of your breathing causes you to fumble. Your cock bends straight forward as she plunges herself into you and it sends prickles to your entire skin, making the new angle difficult but worth it. Karina takes your hand and starts sucking on your fingers.

“You want my promise that bad?” you say.

“Yes, as bad as I want your cum. I swear, I need it.”

She draws her knees up to her torso and hugs her legs to keep thighs as tight together as possible. Karina couldn’t keep her word, she was trying to kill your cock with constriction.

“Fuck, your pussy is so fucking tight. God, Karina, fuck. You’re so good.” Even if good isn’t the word you want to use to describe her.

“Do it, please, please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby. Karina can be a good girl, a good maid, a good cop, whatever you want. Just don’t get me in trouble, please.”

Karina’s mouth stops saying words though her lips writhe, drunk in increasing lust. Her cheeks flush, before the rest of her skin joins in redness while she grapples your chest and whatever spare limb she can find. You still struggle wresting control of your body but nature seems to take over when you drive yourself into her and match her needy cadence. The air in the room is replaced by a new air but it isn’t Aether. Passion, sweat, heat and all fluids that you both exude join squelching sounds, slaps and moans in harmonic bliss when her body tenses and she screams. As her body tightens, her pussy especially holds your cock for dear life and endeavours to wring out all your semen as her wetness throbs and spills. Karina starts counting to three repeatedly and you laugh though your amusement quickly subsides when you feel her juices become more viscous and she continues her ride, even in the dying pulses of her climax.

“Was I good?” Karina asks.

Just a moment goes by before you mentally send her a screenshot of all the recordings being deleted. Karina hasn’t stopped fucking you yet so at least it wasn’t a ploy.

“Thank you, thank you, I love you.” The flexion of her pliant legs brings them all the way back to rest on top of your legs. Karina lays prone above you and finally give you a kiss. The citrusy flavor may be closer to lime than grapefruit but it’s been so long that you can’t remember which scent is which. Lips crash and her tongue lashes out at yours trying to establish dominance. Keep still to let her investigate your mouth while her pussy does the same to your shaft.

You savor the way Karina’s top emphasizes the bouncing of her tits synchronous with the rebounding of her waist on your cock, but your mouth waters when she frees them. Take the shortest moment to relish in the sight before Karina smothers you with her plump globes. You wriggle your face to try to breathe. Inhale, up and exhale, down, but all you inhale is the scent of her orbs’ sweat. Her hips undulate with a pace at least double yours breathing and the echoes of slapping flesh resonate throughout the air-filled chamber. The loudness is unlike any you’ve experienced in a long time. It’s almost a flashbang every time her ass slams into your lap, especially as you start to see white when orgasm threatens to overload you with preludial pulses.

The last words you hear infected ten million computers in 2000. Fade to black. Cut. You’re slammed out of existence back into existence as a sun rebirths both within you, heating your core to a dangerous high, and from your eyes, dazzling you in an unforgiving white light. In the throes of unconsciousness relapsing to consciousness back to tenebrosity, your streaks of semen suspend in the Aether like a dead tree resting from the wind. What flashes your mind in its orgasmic state are two things only you would remember, plants and weather. Your hyperventilation is unconscious but not unwelcome, as it’s the first time in a while your breaths were reflexive even in the liquid air. However, basking in your newfound power, you start to choke. Right. You breathe in and out again. In and out. In. Out. In. Out. Back in.

“Replaying KarinaArrestsYou.mp6.” A hint of vexatious glee in the system’s otherwise dry voice. You don’t stop for it.

✦✧✦✧✦✧ 

AFF, AO3

It’s pretty silly but the idea danced around in my head ever since I saw the absolute Black Mirror concept that SM had for aespa and I concur that Karina is insanely hot.

As I’m writing this, this Kurzgesagt video on the idea of a rogue Earth comes out and now I have to rewrite stuff to make it at least a little consistent. I’m obviously already going nuts with all these ridiculous sci-fi concepts but this video almost feels too targeted to me writing this for me to ignore it.