#anti-slip gaming controller

[crazydiscostu]

EasySMX M15 Mobile Gaming Controller

The EasySMX M15 Mobile Gaming Controller offers console-grade comfort and advanced features, it aims to provide an immersive and responsive gaming experience for users across various mobile platforms. Let’s take a closer look. (Product supplied for review purposes) EasySMX EasySMX, a company known for its commitment to delivering high-quality gaming accessories, has designed the M15 with an…

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wicked Games 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Guilt. You can't deny it any longer. Your stomach is chaos. Everything you eat threatens to come back up or churns like cement. 

Something happened. Something you can't remember but you know what it was. Yet it isn't just that mistake that eats away at you. It's the one keeping you awake. The one draining you of energy and money alike. Your marriage. 

Stupid is an understatement. You didn't think any of this through. It's catching up to you. You didn't just fuck around because you’re angry. No, you're unhappy. 

But you did fuck around. For all you can say about Barrett, he didn't do that. It's over but you just don't know how to end it. He doesn't either. 

Tonight? You say that every day but you find an excuse not to do it. You're tired, you have to make dinner, you'll do it tomorrow when he isn't in a mood. 

That night you delay the inevitable with a trip to the pharmacy. You need something for your stomach. Once you get it under control, you'll be able to think. 

You grab the cheapest anti-nauseant on the shelf and read it over. May cause drowsiness. Well, what doesn't make you tired? 

"Got a bug?" The deep timbre scares you for more than its abruptness. It's familiar. Your vision flickers like a strobe light as you look over. 

It's him. Again. Captain America. What are the odds? 

"Ate something, I think," you murmur. 

He watches you. It's like he's waiting for something. You stare back. 

"Anyway..." you glance around him. "Sorry, if I'm in your way." 

You take a step back to clear the view of the shelf. 

"Nah, this stuff doesn't affect me. Can't remember the last time I had a stomach ache," he scoffs and turns. He grips the edge of a shelf as he faces you. "You never texted back." 

You flinch and flutter your lashes. "Texted?" 

He grins and puts his hand across his chest and drags it down. He laughs, "we had a good night, didn't we?" 

"Huh, I don't know what you're talking about." 

"Really, you don't? 'Cause I can hear your heart racing." 

You blink and look around, "really I don't--" 

"I'm sure that works with your husband. You two did look awfully happy at the grocery store. I could see the disgust crawling all over you," he snickers. 

"Excuse me, I don't know you. So please, go away." 

He clucks and stands straight. He drops his arms and frames his hips, "is that how you talk to your Captain? You're not how I remember you. You were a lot... nicer." 

"Shut up. That didn't happen." 

"Keep telling yourself that," he shrugs. 

"I-- I can't remember..." you whisper. Your voice cracks, "please, I don't remember." 

You look up at him with teary eyes. It was him? Of all people you had a drunken one-night stand with Steve Fucking Rogers. This can't be real. 

"I remember," he steps closer. "I can't forget." 

"No, please, I'm married. Alright? It was a mistake. Just a drunken night." 

"Not for me," he insists. His earnestness makes you shudder. 

"Look, I'm flattered but my life is complicated enough  alright? I'm sorry but I'm sure you can find someone else, Cap. Someone who isn't twenty shades of fucked." 

You shake the box of tablets and cringe. You turn and sweep away. You head to the checkout and go to one of the self-service machines. 

He surprises you as he puts his hand on the plastic divider and looms over you. You focus on scanning the pills and paying. 

"Look, Cap, I'm sorry I didn't reply." You slip your card out of your wallet.

"You ran out. I came back to an empty apartment." He juts a leg out as he leans on the divider. 

"Sure, but I woke up in a stranger's bed, all alone. I was a bit freaked out." 

"I went to get breakfast," he says. 

"Did you not notice the ring on my finger?" The machine blares in rejection of your card. You curse under your breath and try again. 

"You didn't seem to," he retorts. 

You swallow as your card is rejected again. You toss the pills on the little ledge next to the till and huff. "It happened and I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye but I got enough going on." 

He sucks in through his nose and lets it out slowly. You turn away and he snarls, "I can hear the other heartbeat too, you know?" 

You stop short. What the fuck is he talking about? You gather what pride you have left and set your chin high. You march out without looking back. 

Other heartbeat? 

The nausea, the exhaustion, the aversion to the candle in your bathroom. No. It makes sense but it can't be true. 

You can't handle anything else. You just can't. You can't afford a pregnancy test, let alone a baby. 

[frownyalfred]

Can I get clarification on your pro shipping post? The example you gave was a 20 year old with a 40 year old, and that's "problematic" (not really), but not really what I think of when I hear "pro shipping". Usually it's the shipping of minor/adult or incestuous relationships that I see getting defended. Does being against fictional works/ships that depict pedophilic or incestuous relationships as normal/romantic count as puritanism to you? Do you see the ship of Bruce Wayne/Damian Wayne as a personal preference with no moral implications?

I think there's a huge difference between being personally against something, and wanting to shame others or ban others from reading or writing something. The Puritanism comes from wanting to limit and ostracize others who don't share your beliefs. It comes from believing that your perspective is the only morally right one.

I think there will always be people who want to write or read about ships like that, yeah -- incest, pseudo-incest, everything in between. By moral implications, do you mean for the person interested in the ship? Or do you mean for others? Because I see that concern a lot on here -- this idea that somehow, by wanting to read/write about something, people are either 1) harming others by spreading this morally wrong ship or 2) harming themselves by normalizing the ship, and therefore making it more likely that they'll pursue similar relationships in their real lives.

We don't have much evidence for either of those claims. People have been clutching their pearls and wringing their hands over "morally wrong" books for ages -- and yet, Game of Thrones is still available in every bookstore. Am I a bad or woefully misguided person for having read Lolita in high school? Is a 16 year old reading a Bruce/Damian fic likely to turn around, shrug, and say "guess fucking my Dad is okay now"? Did an entire generation of fans shipping Wincest somehow have lasting, moral effects? I really don't think so. Not at the scale anti-shippers online seem to think, at least.

I think we need to separate how we moralize people from the content that they consume. And acknowledge that shaming and excluding people for wanting to read something doesn't exactly do much to prevent "moral implications." There's also a huge difference between reading a book, and endorsing the ideas/events inside of it. Same things with fics.

Anti-shipping is very appealing to people because it purports to protect people from harm. Until you look a little closer, and you realize that that protection comes at the expense of free expression, creative license, and agency to choose what we personally do and do not consume. And that that protection isn't really airtight out of your anti-shipping discord or tumblr community.

I think the best we can do is let people write and read what they want -- whatever they want, with limited warnings/etc like ao3 employs -- and ensure that those pieces of content are tagged, warned, and displayed accurately. We need to understand that the only control we have is over ourselves, and what we choose personally to consume or not consume.

I don't generally read those fics you mentioned, but I'm not saying they should be banned from ao3. Just because I might possibly think they're wrong or gross doesn't mean I think the person who wrote them is wrong or gross, either. The more we go down that moral slip and slide, like I said in my previous post, the worse off we will all become.

[vigilskeep]

@lavelland @cicide76536

it’s really me pulling a lot out of something very minor—like i say, pretty much nothing can keep zevran down for long—but i was talking about this banter

it doesn’t stand out at all if you just listen to it by itself, but as someone who has spent a considerable amount of time in game with zevran and listening to zevran’s dialogue, the tone with which zevran says “what is your point, dwarf?” and “that must be it, exactly” really jump out. i actually heard this one for the first time in game and it genuinely startled me

the way he says “what is your point, dwarf?” is... totally antithetical to everything about his usual style of speech. it not only abandons the light, playful tone he never drops, it’s short, blunt, and tells his conversation partner to get to their point already. a far cry from his usual long-winded style of evasion, dancing around the topic at hand, right? and calling oghren just “dwarf” is actually him picking up oghren’s style of speech. under normal circumstances, zevran refers to oghren by name or, on multiple occasions, “my fine dwarven friend”. he even calls him “my friend” in this banter before oghren gets too far. it’s oghren who addresses zevran simply as “elf”. it’s really odd that on one particular occasion zev abandons his cheerful facade and, for lack of a better turn of phrase, descends to oghren’s level. his charm and friendliness are a survival tactic. if he abandons that, even briefly, that’s notable!

he does try to recover it with a cheap shot like “that’s big talk for a man who lives in a tunnel”, but he lets it slip again with the dry, dark tone of “that must be it, exactly” (which is odd again when overly enthusiastically agreeing with something he clearly disagrees with is his usual method of escaping a conversation; see wynne)

i don’t have entirely solid analysis on why this of all places is where zevran loses his cool but like... i think it’s hard to treat as an analysis when it’s such an obviously understandable thing to get angry over! compare to his response if you allow or take part in anti-elven atrocities in the game. but i think it’s notable as a point of characterisation for zevran, who is so in control of himself usually, that even in conversation this can be made to get to him. it matters, and he responds to it, whether he wants to or not

[luvvictoria]

Favourite game

( ♡ ) pairing : Gen Narumi x fem!reader

( ♡ ) warning : f!reader, NOT PROOF READ , kinda cringe, sex , explicit content , p in v, idk bro

( ♡ ) a/n ✏️ : I feel very creative those days 😭

"You're really going to play that now?" You rolled your eyes, but the playful smirk on your lips gave away your amusement.

"What?" Gen didn't look up from his console, his thumbs dancing over the controls. "You know I can't miss the new update."

The room was a mess of discarded action figures and half-eaten ramen bowls, a stark contrast to the gleaming cityscape outside the office window. It was a rare moment of peace before the chaos that often accompanied your lives as members of the Defense Forces.

You shifted in his lap, the friction sending a shiver down your spine. You leaned over, your hair brushing against his cheek. "You're going to miss the best part."

"And what's that?" He finally glanced up, one eyebrow arched in curiosity.

"This." With a swift move, you pulled his head towards you, capturing his lips in a fiery kiss that left you both breathless. The game controller slipped from his grasp, forgotten amidst the growing heat between them.

The tension in the room was palpable, a silent symphony of desire that had been building for weeks. Gen's hand slid down your back, cupping your ass as he pulled you closer. The sound of your heavy breathing mingled with the distant sirens, a stark reminder of the world outside your bubble.

With a playful nip at his bottom lip, your stood up, strutting towards the desk. You leaned over, your breasts pressing against the cool surface. "Are you going to keep playing, or are you going to show me what Japan's Strongest Anti-Kaiju Combatant is really made of?"

Gen's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you. He set the game aside, the battle on the screen fading to black. "Alright," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. "Let's see if you can handle it."

The door to the office slammed shut, the echo muffled by the thick carpet. He stalked towards you, his movements predatory and graceful. The respirator mask hung around his neck, a stark reminder of the battles he faced outside these four walls.

You felt a thrill run through you as he stepped behind you, his hands sliding up your thighs to grip your hips. He took off your combat gear, sliding it down your legs and he unzipped his. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "Ready?"

Your heart pounded in anticipation. "Always."

The first touch of his dick against your wetness made you gasp. He didn't wait, pushing into you with a force that made your knees buckle. You braced yourself against the desk, your nails digging into the wood.

Your rhythm grew frantic, the sound of your skin slapping together a sharp counterpoint to the sirens wailing outside. Gen's grip tightened, his hips pumping harder, faster, as if trying to outrun the inevitable call to duty.

You moaned, your eyes squeezed shut, the sensations overwhelming you. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body, making you forget the tension of their daily lives. You could feel his muscles flexing against you, his strength a stark contrast to his usual laid-back demeanor.

The desk creaked under your weight, papers fluttering to the floor in your wake. Gen's breath was ragged in your ear, his voice a low growl as he whispered dirty encouragements that made your core clench around him.

Your movements grew erratic, the room spinning as your climax approached. You reached back, your hand finding the back of his neck, your nails scraping against his skin. "Harder," you panted, pushing yourself back against him.

He obliged, driving into you with an intensity that left you gasping for air. You could feel him swell inside you, his breathing matching the erratic beat of your own heart.

Suddenly, the desk phone blared to life, the shrill ring piercing the air. Gen cursed, his body tensing. For a moment, you thought he would ignore it, that he would let the world burn for the sake of your passion. But duty called, and with a final, powerful thrust, he groaned, filling you completely.

Your bodies stilled, panting, as the phone continued to ring. With a sigh, Gen pulled out, his cock glistening with your arousal. He reached for the phone, lifting it to his ear. "What is it?" he barked, his voice still thick with desire.

The voice on the other end spoke urgently, the words a blur to your lust-filled brain. But you could feel the change in Gen's body, the tension coiling back into his muscles like a spring winding tighter and tighter.

"Fuck." He slammed the phone down, his expression shifting from passion to grim determination. "We've got a breach. Code Red."

You straightened, your own arousal fading as reality crashed back in. You reached down, adjusting your clothing as Gen turned away to grab his combat gear. "Let's go," you said, your voice steady. "We've got a city to save."

The room was a flurry of activity as you both dressed, strapping on your weapons and gear. The playful banter of moments ago was replaced with the seriousness of the situation at hand. But even as you prepared to face the monstrous threat beyond the office walls, the heat of your encounter lingered, a reminder of the connection that made you more than just colleagues.

When you were both ready, Gen turned to you, his red eyes intense. "Stay safe," he said, his voice gruff.

You nodded, your own eyes gleaming with a fierce resolve. "Always."

And with that, you sprinted out of the office, leaving your passion-filled sanctuary behind, ready to face whatever the world threw at you.

[daffodil221]

So, a list of stuff I’ve found on Stanford Pines’ computer.

- ‘Bill Cipher’ gives you the Sesame Street Jazzy Triangle video

- ‘Stan Pines’ gives you brass knuckles on Ebay

- ‘Weird’ gives you a video of Weird Al stuck in the computer, yelling at Bill

- ‘Dipper’ gives a note to Dipper ordering him to look into the sun in order to read solar ink in the book

- ‘Mason’ shows a slip of paper with Dipper talking about anagrams

- ‘Mabel’ activates stickers and glow-in-the-dark stars around the desk until a message pops up that says ‘lab now fully mabelized’

- ‘Fiddleford’ gives the link to the Cotton Eye Joe music video

- ‘Soos’ gives a few pages of Soos writing about the Book of Bill

- ‘Gravity Falls’ will give you the message: ‘never heard of it’

- ‘TJ Eckleburg’ will give the message: ‘never mention that name again’

- ‘Triangle’ gives one thing: ‘)’

- ‘Weirdmageddon’ gives a Gravity Falls Gossiper article about the event

- ‘Book of Bill’ gives the message: ‘hide it under shirt during pledge of allegiance’

- ‘Sixer’ shows an X-Ray of Stanford’s hand, along with a medical report

- ‘Tad Strange’ shows a video of bread being cut to jazzy music

- ‘Journal 3’ gives a message that says: ‘the journal for me’

- ‘Giffany’ gives a message saying: ‘input deleted. AI antiviral activated’

- ‘Gideon’ gives a link to sweat-resistant bolo ties

- ‘Waddles’ sends you to pigplacementnetwork.com

- ‘Pacifica’ shows a note from Pacifica saying she won’t make a deal with Bill

- ‘Dippy Fresh’ shows an r/nostalgia image of Burger King’s Kid’s Club

- ‘Wendy’ gives a note from Wendy to the book, a sly little trick

- ‘Divorce’ will give a logo to a restaurant? called O’Sadley’s

- ‘Mystery’ gives a ?

- ‘Riddle’ responds with: ‘would you like to play a game?’

- ‘One Eyed King’ shows a video of a black-and-white swirl as Bill tries to mind control his audience, mocking their free will

- ‘Hey Nerd’ gives you an image of an advertisement screen displaying a Galaxy, a Magazine, a Hand, a Sponge, and Cologne, some of which are Bill-themed

- ‘Lies’ shows an image of a ‘Game of Life’ parody board game, followed by a brief spiel about the history of nerds that is wrapped up by the message: ‘Lie until you aren’t lying anymore’

- ‘Dorito’ has a dorito fly slowly towards the screen before a Bill jumpscare

- ‘EVEN HIS LIES ARE LIES’ gives an excerpt of a therapy session/interview with Bill, regarding Stanford

- ‘MYSTERY SHACK’ googles the Confusion Hill tourist attraction in Mendocino County, California, USA

- ‘SORRY’ shows an image of Fiddleford and Stanford in college, covered in post-it notes

- ‘CURSED’ shows an anti-triangle pamphlet, warning kids about the shape

- ‘VALLIS CINERIS’ shows a video of a triangle demon with a bow tie and propellor hat being held by two other triangular silhouettes, with a text-to-speech voice asking ‘why did you do it?’

- ‘AXOLOTL’ will respond with: ‘you ask alotl questions’

- ‘PORTAL’ will respond with: ‘portal.exe has been deleted — i bet you could build one’

- ‘ALEX HIRSCH’ googles ‘flannel’ for you

- ‘DISNEY’ will respond with ‘rat.gif censored for your protection’

- ‘THEORY’ gives a video of MatPat, who says ‘Hello internet, this time, you’re on your own. Good luck.’

- ‘SEASON 3’ gives Season 2, ‘SEASON 2’ gives Season 1, and ‘SEASON 1’ gives Season -1: Antigravity Falls

- ‘TITANS BLOOD’ responds with: ‘hoot hoot. password please’

- ‘GOD’ shows an axolotl swimming in front of a Bill statue

(will update) (i’m putting the big ones at the end i guess)

[deepdisireslonging]

No Cum November Part 8: Exorcism Play

Dean ramps up the challenge by handing the reigns to the Reader to control the pace. Can she manage that control, or will Dean’s stronger side overpower her?

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader

Warnings/Promises: SMUT, anti-demon handcuffs, exorcism play (is that a thing? It is now), edging, oral (male receiving), light degradation

Word Count: 1400

Note: Had a bit more fun with this one. Wanted to play with both Dean’s subby side, and his proud Deanmon side. Let me know your thoughts and reactions in the comments and with reblogs. Happy reading!

Part 7: Double Possession

You awoke to the sensation of being watched.

Two eyes, eclipsed with demonic black, stared down at you. The hand over your mouth muffled your scream. The other hand around your wrists controlled your thrashing until you could recognize the familiar face.

“Hey there, sweetheart.” He gently lifted his hand off your face.

“Dean?” Panting, heart racing, you hesitated inching away from him. “Are- are you alright?”

He grinned. “I am myself. It’s just contacts. You can find just about anything on the internet these days.” He leaned back, giving you room to recover. “How are you? That is- is this okay? Are you up for a little game?”

Intrigued, you sat up in your bed. “A game?”

Two pairs of cuffs landed on the sheets next to your hips. Eagerly, you started to slide back down into place, but Dean stopped you with a chuckle. Taking hold of your wrist, he tugged you to stand so he could take your place. You watched as he closed the first cuff around his wrist. Only then did you recognize the anti-demon symbols engraved into the metal. You clicked the second cuff around his wrist with shaking hands.

With another grin, Dean leaned back into the sheets. “Ready to ride the demon out of me, baby?”

You hesitated. “But, with you tied down… you-“

“I won’t be able to stop you? I know. I trust you. And even if you do cum, you’ve done so well. Taking both Sam and I, having to watch us cum without getting to orgasm. If you cum tonight, it’s alright. We start over. And we keep going till the end of the month. We’ve got a few more plans for you.” He tilted his head to get a good look at your face. “Y/N. Look at me, sweetheart.”

You did.

“You can do this. Trust me.” He wriggled. “Now take that shirt off so I can see you.”

“Who’s in charge here? You, in the cuffs, or me?” A teasing smile played at your lips as you toyed with the hem of your sleep shirt. Despite not being able to see his irises, Dean’s eyes followed your hands as they dipped under the fabric. Despite the dark contacts, his eyes still lit up as you removed your shirt, tossing it to one side. Your bottoms followed suit, making him lick his lips. “Let’s see if we can exorcise you with a bit of cardio?”

He was still clothed and arched into your reach for his shirt buttons. One by one, you slipped them through the fabric until you could see the expanse of his chest and soft tummy. His stomach contracted as you first gently ran your fingers across his skin, then grazed the same path with your fingernails. He softly whined your name as you started to undo the button and zipper on his jeans. When you dragged the fabric out of the way, and then his boxers, his member sprang up stiff against his stomach. You took it into your hand, making Dean pull on the cuffs with your slow movements. His loud groan as you twirled your thumb around the tip froze you. Maybe a gag was in order?

“Where’s Sam?”

“Out.”

“Hmm.” You slid your hand down to grip the base of his cock. “Nobody here to save you but me.”

Catching his eye, you situated yourself between his legs and began to suck him off in earnest. He writhed and twisted, trying to both push his length deeper into your mouth, and pull away to catch his breath. With your nails digging into his hips, and the cuff into his wrists, there wasn’t anywhere for him to go. So he begged. He begged for you to twirl your tongue how he liked. Begged for you to hum around him. Begged you for mercy after you quickened your pace. Begged for you to move when you slowed down too much. He knew what you were doing. You were edging him. And you were toying with his pleasure the same way that he and Sam had been teasing you all month. It made his cock twitch in your mouth with the thought.

You pulled off with a pop. “Getting close, darling?”

All he could do was nod. Through the contacts, you knew his eyes were glazed over in pleasure.

You began again, giving no mercy. Dean filled your mouth a few moments later, crying out your name. Even after you removed your mouth to kiss across his tummy, you still weren’t done. You straddled his hips, trapping his cock under your wetness. Then he understood. With him at only half-mast, you would be able to ride him with less of a chance of ruining the challenge. While still overstimulating the man trapped beneath you.

“Feeling vengeful, sweetheart?”

“Maybe just a little.”

Dean’s head fell back into your pillows. The drag of you across his length was torture so close to his release. But his cock did it’s best to stiffen again anyways. He shivered as you rose just high enough to sink down onto it. You stopped when you reached his base. On either side of his hips, your thighs quaked. If what you had planned was going to work, you would really have to focus.

“Ah, this was easier when your mouth was full, wasn’t it?”

With a start, the dark glow in Dean’s eyes sent a fearful zing through your body. It made you clench with the pseudo-danger of the scene. Especially with the way Dean’s voice remembered that growl that came with his demon days.

“What’s your plan, sweetheart? Ride the demon out of me? Make me cum so hard I see grace?” His voice cracked as you flexed your walls around him. “You’re off to a good start,” he muttered.

You took a deep breath and began to move. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus-“

Dean laughed high. “Alright. Let’s see you try.”

Where you had been controlling the pace, Dean began to match your thrusts. He snapped his hips hard, and twisting his hips to put pressure on your clit. Your chanting was interrupted. You restarted phrases and lines over and over, trying to make it through the whole exorcism. Dean continued to move. Continued to knock you off rhythm with his hips, and with his words.

“You look so good up there, sweetheart. Riding me like only you can. Like you were meant to be. I love a blowjob as much as the next guy… but watching you bounce on my cock is the best thing. How close are you? Can you feel that orgasm building?”

“Ergo- er…. ergo, draco male- oh, Dean, maledicte-“

“How bad do you want it, Y/n? You’ve been so good. What’s one orgasm? I could give you so many, and Sam wouldn’t have to know. But no, you’re our good girl, aren’t you? You won’t cum. But I bet you’re close. Bet your nipples are so hard. Squeeze your breasts for me. Wish I could touch you-“

It didn’t register that you were supposed to be in charge. You’d lost that long ago.

“Oh, God-“

“He’s not here. Keep bouncing. I’m- keep going-“

Dean’s body stiffened. His cock twitched and filled you. While Dean fought to catch his breath, you fell to one side. You shivered from head to toe, just barely short of the release Dean’s demon side had tempted you with. How much longer was this challenge? You needed to cum.”

Warm, trembling lips pressed against your forehead. “You did so good. Just a bit longer.” He breathed deeply, guiding you to calm down from your denial. “Alright. Let me outta these things.” He rattled the cuffs against your headboard.

“Maybe I want to leave you in them for a bit longer. You’re not fully exorcised yet.” You giggled under his glare. “Besides, maybe I want to sleep right here.” A yawn broke though your next words with perfect timing.

“But if I’m tied up, I can’t cuddle my good girl to sleep.”

“Very true.” You released the cuffs. Dean turned to one side, removing the contacts and placing them onto your nightstand. Then he embraced you, holding you tight and nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. “Sleep tight. And rest up. Sam’s got something planned for you soon.”

***

On the King’s Blade (King of Hell!Sam)

Series Masterlist

[palmtreesx3]

Act 4 - Going All the Way

Queening (Steve's Chapter)

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Series Masterlist

Get in the mood for this installment:

Series Playlist

Queening Mood Board

Summary: (10.6k)  Steve’s phone call with his dad does not go well, and the aftermath of that call impacts way more than Steve himself. Steve has to realize a few things, only one of which is that he’s got people there to pick him up when he’s down, but the most important is that relationships don’t have to be conditional. As everyone rallies behind Steve, a revelation comes in the form of a stranger on a bench, and that chance meeting starts a few wheels in motion behind Steve’s pretty head. Can he fix what he’s done when he was down and out? Can he patch things up? Is this the end of the road, or can he go all the way? Buckle up, and enjoy this angsty chapter of Get Off. 

Warnings: it's a sex shop and generally just NSFW so 18+. Heavier topics are explored, depicted or mentioned including prejudice and anti-gay bias, heavy binge drinking as escapism, depression and a blink of thinking better off dead, controlling parents, overstimulation and some dashes of neurotypical behavior you can catch if you blink slowly enough. There’s also the ongoing sexual innuendos and explicit discussion of body parts, as well as implied p+v intercourse, and the holy grail of pussyeating. 

"What the hell is going on, son?" his father's voice bellowed through the phone. "I just heard from a colleague that you're working in some... some pornographic store downtown! In town for business and he could have sworn he saw your lookalike walking into the place, but then you turned around and he knew it was my own flesh and blood. How goddamned embarrassing, Stephen. Do you know how embarrassing that conversation is to have over a business dinner?"

Steve winced at the tone his father took, a visceral response he’s had since childhood. A tone he knows well and somehow still cuts just as deep as it did when he was thirteen. "Dad, it's not like that. It's just a job. It’s…it’s retail, s’all it is" he stammered, attempting to diffuse the tension. To deflect. To play ball. 

His father scoffed, "Retail job? Don't play games with me. I've spent years paying for whatever you need, trying to get you scholarships for sports which you squander away with your shitty grades, and this is what you end up doing? Sitting on your ass for a few years and working in some seedy place, peddling who knows what!"

"It's not like that at all. It's just a store, and we sell lots of things, not…not just that stuff, Dad." Steve tries desperately to explain, slipping right back into it - the role of a boy trying to find any excuse to satiate a father that could never be pleased. Like the time he was a shameful teenage boy being told he’s worthless as he stood in the entryway of the house, barely over the threshold, all because he passed the ball and let Sammy Curtis sink the game winning shot instead of taking it himself.

"That stuff” he interrupts with a scoff. “Is this what I raised you for? I expected you to have a respectable career by now. Thought this move to the city was going to give you some fresh choices, not this... this filth!"

Steve was not ready for this. Half his hangover was still hanging on for dear life. Just a moment ago things were…not this complicated. He was eating a raw bagel talking about…you…with his friend. Even when that was the thing that felt complicated it wasn't really, was it? It was simple, and easy and… Now he’s struggling to find the words to defend himself, especially hard long-distance, though he also guesses he should be grateful it was - he wasn’t forced to see the rage and disappointment behind his father’s eyes this particular time."Dad, it's just a job. We needed work, and this opportunity came up. It doesn't define who I am. I just…it shouldn’t matter that much." 

“Just a job? Stephen? What do you mean just a job?” At that, Steve can hear his voice slip into a deeper register. He knows the face that goes along with this. He knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that his father is going to try and ruin his life. It’s not much of one, but it’s his, and he can just tell that he’s about ready to pull the rug out from under him. 

“You're 25, for God's sake! When are you going to get a real job, a job that befits the family name? Do you think your mother and I worked so hard for you to end up in some disgraceful position like this? Galavanting around a city and being a part in all this promiscuity. Goddamnit, at this rateI bet you even associate with the gays. Don’t you?"

He feels his body tense and wince as those words spill out of his fathers mouth. His eyes flit to his friend, sitting on the couch, legs tucked up under her and perched there watching one side of this debacle unfold like a deer in headlights. Forcing a smile at him, an awkward smile of encouragement, none the wiser about the hate his father is spewing about people like… about her. Tears welled up in Steve’s eyes thinking about it and Robin sees them - or at least she thinks she does - and her eyebrows furrow in concern. But before she can be sure, he turns around refusing to show his vulnerability right now even to her. He bites his lip to stifle the visceral response he had to his dad’s prejudices about his friend. "Dad, I'm doing my best. I'm trying to make a living and figure things out. It's not as easy as you think."

His father's tone softened with a hint of disappointment unlike the frustration and anger that has been flowing out of him since the minute Steve picked up the phone. In almost a plea, he says "You're embarrassing us, son. This is not the life I envisioned for you. You need to reconsider your choices and start acting like an adult."

After a brief silence, his father's voice returned, this time laced again with frustration - the softness that just fell was all an act. This is the hammer Steve was expecting, and it’s falling. Right now. "Enough of this nonsense. You're coming back home. I've arranged for a position for you in the firm. You'll start immediately. Stability, respect – those are the things you need. Not whatever you're doing in that disgraceful place."

Steve ran his free hand through his hair, shaking his head but not really knowing what to say. Dragging his hand back down his face, he felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The pressure to conform to his father's expectations had been a constant weight on his shoulders for his entire life and this is not the first time this conversation has been had. This time feels different though. Before he hadn’t had anything to call his own - not as much to lose. This stupid apartment and the life that they’re living, it’s been good. Maybe the best thing that he’s ever had. And it’s been his. Before, his dad just wanted control. This time, he wants to control him and strip him of the actual identity he’s been working so hard to understand and build. "Dad, I... I need some time to figure things out here. I can't just drop everything and come back."

His father's tone grew more insistent. "Time? You've had enough time, and look where it's gotten you – working in a place like that! It's time to put an end to this foolishness. You're coming back, and that's final."

Steve hesitated, torn between his desire for independence and the fear of his dad. He takes a deep breath and finally responds "I appreciate your concern, but I need to make my own choices. I can't just give up on everything I've built here."

"Built? You call this building a life? What have you accomplished, working in that... that den of immorality? Come home, and I'll set you on the right path. It's time you take responsibility for your future." 

As his father continued to insist, Steve’s yearning to forge his own path and avoid any that looks remotely like his fathers continues to intensify. He’s tuning out the insults at this point, desperate to find some sort of life raft to hold on to as he drowns in his fathers disappointments. It’s only then, that he finds it. The lifeline. The realization that he's got miles between him and his father now. He’s not coming home later to ground him or impose punishments on him. He isn’t relying on their money to pay bills. His mind is racing a mile a minute, and nothing…not one fucking thing he can land on points to any reason that he has to comply with his father. He isn’t depending on him for anything anymore, so why does he owe his dad anything at all?

"I'll think about it, Dad," And with that, he hangs up, knowing full well that he won’t think about it for another goddamn second. 

And that day, Steve called out of work. 

Robin couldn’t even argue with him. After the receiver hit the wall, she could tell that it was worse than she expected the minute he turned around and she could see his eyes glistening. She also was confused as fuck, because she swore she also saw him smirking just a little bit, but she was not going to poke the bear. She let him storm off and slam the door to his room. She didn’t bother him even though everything inside of her was screaming to go knock on the door and make him talk about it. Make him listen to her. She wanted to tell him he wasn’t anything that his father probably just said he was, but they’ve had this conversation before and…damnit she was working really hard at knowing boundaries - trying to read the room and figure out when she needs to shut up instead of rambling incessantly at all the wrong times. She thinks that this is one of those times that people need space, so she acquiesced. 

She makes a full pot of coffee, sets out some more food and the bottle of aspirin from the medicine cabinet and leaves it all out on the kitchen counter for Steve for whenever he emerges once she’s gone. Subtle. Not every way to help has to be in your face, she tells herself. I don’t need to meddle. He’ll let me know if he needs anything. Right?

Robin’s walk to work that day was quiet and dreary. The weather outside, overcast and air thick with that feeling that comes before the clouds break open and pour down on you. Seemed fitting. 

It took Robin five whole minutes after she got to work and put her stuff away before she meddled anyway. She picked up the phone once, and quickly set it down - thinking better of it. But immediately picked it back up against her better judgment and called you. As your answering machine picks up and your message plays, dripping with sarcasm and coyness asking your caller to leave a message after the beep, the realization hits then that she has no idea what your schedule is and it was a dumb idea to call you. Dumb dumb dumb. Steve’ll be pissed anyway. 

As the silence settles on the other end of the line Robin’s eyes widen in panic. She meant to hang up, call back later, pretend this didn’t happen at all and play it off as a wrong number. But she’s pretty fucking sure she just said that out loud instead of in her head. “Dumb dumb dumb. Steve’ll be pissed anyway.”

She hung up faster than the devil can fly, slamming down the phone and rattling the display case. The commotion drew Murry out from the back office, shirt pulled up and scratching at his stomach. “What’s got you all worked up Red? Little lost without your other half? Where is he anyway? Finally ruined his perfect attendance because of a wicked hangover, didn’t he? Make sure you tell ‘em he’s not eligible for the Perfect Attendance award this year, nowwww–ohhh something is off about this... What is it Red?.”

So for the next hour, Robin tries her best to summarize what it’s like to have the Harrington’s as parents and what just happened this morning. At least what she knew, because Steve hadn’t shared anything that his dad had said on the other end of that line. “Red, thank God you talk so fast, otherwise that story would have taken up your whole shift. Shit.”

That coaxes a chuckle out of Robin, which makes Murray smile. “Listen, that guy sounds like a Grade-A Asshole. No wonder Steve’s wound so tight…Makes so much sense actually. But this ain’t your fight. Steve’s gotta deal with this demon on his own and he has a funny way of showing it, but he knows where to find the people to help when he needs them. I’m sure of it. He’s not that fucking stupid.” 

“Yeah, see you’re wrong there Murray. He does absolutely think that he has to do everything on his own. Even when he knows we’re here, he won’t… he won’t ask for help. He won’t talk about it. He…thinks he deserves it.” 

It ended up being a slow day, not many people wandering the streets with the off and on drizzles happening all day long, so Robin used that time to bring Alex up to speed after she popped in the shop after work. 

Alex found the story surprisingly relatable. She grew up in a house with rich, successful parents just outside the city in the suburbs. Her parents hosted lavish dinner parties for business partners and she grew up in a way that seemed an awful lot like the Harrington house, other than the fact that they didn’t disappear on her for weeks on end. Her parents, however, were disappointed in her. Unlike Steve’s story, they were not pissed at her skill or her work ethic, her dreams or aspirations. No, they were pissed and disappointed at who was calling the house late at night and giggling on the other end of the phone. Who was picking her up for a night at the movies, or who she was driving off to meet under the swaying trees in the park. The boys she was dating were not good enough for the family - not a “strong enough merger of families” and then when she brought home a girl…well that was a horse of a different color all together. 

Five hours later, Robin and Alex are standing outside of their favorite pizza place in the neighborhood, thinking that a pie and some beers might just draw a sulking Steve out of his cave of self-loathing for the night. They haven’t heard from him all day, and Robin, despite thinking she should maybe let him be for a while, still decided to try and call home to check in on him. When he didn’t answer, Alex offered up a simple explanation, “Rob, he’s probably just sleeping it off, or not in the mood. It’ll be fine.”

Pies and six packs now acquired, they walk side by side the rest of the way back to the apartment, ready for whatever their friend might need. 

“Honey, we’re home!” Robin exclaims, as they barrel through the door. But she stops dead in her tracks seeing the counter laid out with all of the supplies, perfectly arranged exactly how she left them that morning. “Steve? Y’okay?”she shouts down the hallway, on her way to tap at his door before she hears Alex call her name from the living room, beckoning her to come. 

When she arrives, what she doesn’t expect to see are the crushed cans of High Life strewn all over the coffee table, an ashtray so full that she knew he had to blow through most of the pack he has tucked away from when they drink, and the half emptied bottle of Whiskey sitting at the foot of the couch. He didn’t even bother with a glass, she knew it. He spent the day trying to drink away the awful things that sorry excuse for a father said to him straight from the bottle. 

His shoes - the Chucks, the ones he’s been wearing lately - they’re not by the door. Neither is his jacket, so she knows he left and went somewhere. 

But then a high pitched beeping sings from the kitchen, and Robin immediately knows that Steve’s Tamagotchi is hungry…he left, but he forgot his keys. That stupid drunk idiot got locked out. 

All the strings Robin has been holding together all day come loose. They unravel like a dangling thread on a handknit sweater and Alex is pretty sure she hadn’t taken one breath since she started rambling. “Ohmygoddoyouthinkhe’sokay? Whatifsomethinghappenedtohim? Ican’tlivewithmyself. Howdoweevenfindhim? OhmygodI’mgonnahavetotellthekidshe’smissing. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.” 

“Robin.” Alex calmly speaks.

“Ifhe’sdeadI’mblaminghisdad,Isweartogodhe’sasgoodasadeadmanhimself” 

“Robin.”

“Jesus,weshouldcallthehopsital? Ormaybethepolice. Yeahwegottacallsomeone. Ohmygod.”

“ROBIN!” Alex finally screams, two hands on her shoulders now shaking her into some sense of reality. “You’re spiraling. You can’t be spiraling. We have to think.”

“Yeah. Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just….”

“Rob, I know you’re worried. We’ll figure it out. Okay?” Alex slides her hand along Robin’s cheek, around her neck and tugging her in for a deep hug, trying to get her to reset, regroup…focus. “Babe, first thing….why do you think he would leave?”

Pulling back, she assesses the situation. Eyes darting around the apartment, closing her eyes so she could think. Just then they pop open looking at the mess on the coffee table. The beer. That was the last of the beer. 

“He was out…” she whispers. “I bet he ran out of beer. That was all we had, and it looks like he polished it off.”

“Okay then. Let’s go for a walk. Check some places where he might get some beers - maybe the corner store you guys go to? See if anyone has seen him, okay? Sound good babe?” Alex’s tone is cool, calm. Her eyes are caring and concerned not just for Steve but also for Robin. She’s being so soft, and even in her panicked haze, Robin notices. 

“Al…Thank you. I needed that.”

With a soft kiss on her temple, Alex grabs Robin’s hand and tugs her towards the door. “Now don’t forget your keys, either, you maniac. Let’s go.”

It’s three pit stops and two meltdowns from Robin on the sidewalk curb later that they find him. It’s honestly the first place they should have looked, but at least they were on the right track. 

Steve did, in fact, get raging pissed that he was out of beer. The cashier they recognize, but don’t know his name, told them as much - mentioned that their friend came in angry and stumbling, grabbed a pack of beer and left it in the middle of the aisle when he rushed out of the store grumbling to himself. It seems as though dear Stevie also forgot his wallet. 

The next place they thought to look was The Hideout. Robin thought that maybe he’d come looking for her, begging for some cash so he could replenish his stash. Pay no mind to the fact that it was past closing for a weeknight and Robin was long gone, at this point they were absolutely certain Steve had no idea what time it even was. Half expecting to see him leaning on the door of the shop, or passed out in a slump on the front stoop, when they came up empty handed again Robin needed to cry.

Head in her hands, leaning on her knees as she sits on the curb, Alex tries to stifle a laugh at how splotchy faced and snotty her beautiful girl is right now. “Baby,” she says, pushing back her hair “Baby…let’s think, kay? is there anywhere else Steve feels safe in this city? Who else does he feel safe with other than you?”

The revelation comes quickly. 

Head popping up with a renewed sense of confidence in their search for their missing and probably sloppily drunk friend “I bet he’s at Bennys.” 

And after a 10 minute walk that is the most silent Robin Buckley has ever been in her entire life, she lets out a breath that she may or may not have been holding the entire time when the door to Benny’s swings open and she takes in Steve with his forehead on the bar. Hopper is standing behind the bar polishing glasses with an irritated scowl and right in front of Steve stands a Joyce, hand right on top of his with sad, concerned eyes that flit right to the girls who just sounded the bell. 

Pitiful. The look Joyce was giving him was pity. And if Steve were coherent enough to realize it, he would be completely ashamed to be receiving it from anyone. Steve was shitfaced drunk out of shame and disappointment and whatever feelings of inadequacy he was shielding away from everyone else in his life, but at least he was safe. Thank Christ he had the decency to come to Benny’s, where at least Joyce would take care of him - make sure he doesn’t do anything else stupid. 

“Steve!” Robin yells, rushing over to his side “Steve, we didn’t know where you were. And you left your keys. I was so worried. We thought you were dead, I swear….well I thought you were dead. Alex was much more rational, but…” 

A groan falls from Steve’s throat as their attention turns to Joyce. She opens her mouth to speak but Hopper interjects before she could even get a word out. 

“Your buddy here is a fucking mess. He’s lucky this is Rick’s third stop on his daily tour of downtown dive bars. Recognized the bastard and drug him over here after he got kicked out of wherever they were before this. I honestly don't know where. Ricky’s always so drunk I probably shouldn't even be serving him by the time he gets here anyway.``

“Steve, honey.” Joyce’s honey soft voice stirs him “Your girls are here. Rob and Alex, they’re here for you, baby. Let them help you, okay? Y’cant stay here like this.” She says as she rubs his hair back and tries to soothe him awake. 

“He’s been drinking straight ginger ale for at least an hour. He thinks it's mixed with whiskey but I just couldn't. It was easier than him and Hop arguing ‘bout it.” she says under her breath, just out of his earshot. 

After agreeing to let him sweat it out for a bit longer, Joyce passes the girls a drink while they wait and slides another ginger ale in a rocks glass in front of Steve with a wink.  With soft voices they talk about what has unfolded today just loud enough to hear each other over the din of the jukebox playing “Hunger Strike” in the background. 

Shit. 

As she hears the deep roll of his voice on Eddie Vedder’s verse she’s reminded of you, and remembers the cryptic message she most likely left you on your answering machine. Even though the boy is sitting there in the flesh in front of them, his eyes now open enough to see the whites of them, his stare is vacant and he hasn’t looked this way since… well. Ever. Robin has seen him through some pretty serious shit, and he’s never looked quite this detached. 

“I’m worried about him, girls.” Joyce coos. 

With a nod in agreement, she asks for the only thing she can think to do next. “Joyce, can I use your phone? I gotta call someone who might be able to help.”

Alex’s eyes go wide and she winces, “You sure that’s a good idea, Rob? I mean, I see where you’re going with this, but he’s gonna be pissed, isn’t he?’

Seeing the look of confusion on Joyce’s face, Robin grabs the phone and continues “It’s..a girl. He’s fine. It’ll be fine. I don’t care if he’s pissed about it at this point. We need help and… I might have already left her a message earlier in a panic. Oh - Hey!” interrupted in her rambling as you answer the phone on the first ring. “Yeah, yeah I’m so sorry about that weird message earlier. It’s been a… day - a real bad one. We need some help. We’re at Benny’s, and…it’s just - Steve. We need help with Steve, can you come?”

Of course you will. You were there to help as soon as you could. And just like Robin and Alex assumed, Steve was pissed. 

“I'm just saying Stevie, you didn't have to be so mean to her. She came because I called. Didya really expect the two of us to be able to drag your sorry ass home without calling in reinforcement? Have you seen my arms? They're basically twigs!”

“I wasn't trying to be mean to her. It was you guys. I was pissed you called her…cause I didn't… It's embarrassing. She didn't need to see me like that. I know you were trying to help. You can barely carry a damn grocery bag, so I get it, its just… I was pathetic.”

“Well. You said it, I didn't.” Robin shrugs, kicking her feet up on the stool next to her by the register. It's been a few days and they're at least able to poke fun a little bit at the whole thing. Steve and Rob had a long talk after he was able to shake off a two day long hangover that he spent in the dark, shades drawn - crackers and some Pedialyte by his bedside. 

Steve eventually spilled his guts to Robin on the fire escape while she smoked, his throat still too sore from the pack he inhaled in his drunken rage that day. He wouldn't even look at her when he told her about how his dad was talking about… her. Told her that there's been a lot of terrible, downright rude things that his dad has done and said over the years that he's made an excuse for or ignored, but that…that disregard, that intolerance he showed for someone that Steve cared about. That when it comes down to it, Steve loved. That was the last straw. He couldn't turn a blind eye anymore. 

He didn't feel he owed his dad an explanation. If he really thought Steve would show up this weekend with his bags and his Beamer ready to put on a suit and head to the office alongside his dad on Monday, he has another thing coming. 

Murray saunters into the storefront then “Before I finalize this schedule, ya sure you're gonna show up on Monday, dude? Last chance to turn in your notice and go shadow daddy dearest, because if you no call no show me on this schedule next week consider this bridge burned.”

“No way in hell, Murray. I'm fully committed to your dick shop. I'll sell anything you dream up over spending one hour in a building full of pricks like my dad. Don't care how much the salary is or how big the guilt trip.” 

“Well in that case, Steve, it sounds to me that where your dad works is the real dick shop, huh? We…deal only in one way tickets to pleasure town here.” 

“Touche” Steve gives Murray a pow pow with his finger guns before walking through the dangling beads hanging at the entrance to the break room. 

Emerging twenty minutes later (and five minutes late from his break) Steve is unsurprised to find Alex spread across the length of the couch. “What are you two assholes doing?” 

“Hi Alex, thanks again for saving my life and ensuring I don't die in a ditch or need my stomach pumped from alcohol poisoning and ensuring that my most magnetic and caring roommate and best friend didn't have a stroke while I was missing. It's nice to see you again. I am forever in your debt.” Alex mocks with a deep voice meant to imitate his while Robin cackles, slapping her thighs. 

“Smash or pass” she deadpans. “Julia Roberts.”

“Pass” Steve and Robin say in unison. 

“Really?” Alex pops up in surprise. 

“I guess I just don’t get the appeal with that one. I like her movies, though, just…don’t wanna see her bush. No rolling in the hay with her for me.” Robin says very matter of factly. 

“Yeah, for me” Steve quips pointing right at Robin. “Reminds me too much of this asshole right here. Can’t even think about it.” 

Madonna. Demi Moore. Sharon Stone. Liv Tyler was a unanimous smash. An hour went by throwing out names and shouting out whether or not they were fuckable before Alex’s bisexual ass snuck in Brad Pitt.

“Bleh, pass. That's a dick.”

“Smash.” Steve's eyes go wide. Did he just…

“Stevie boy, did you just smash Brad Pitt?” Alex is literally on the edge of her seat at this point. Robin's jaw is just about on the floor. He's waving her off “That…that's not.. I mean. If I were I guess…he’s a good looking guy, s’all I’m saying.”

 “You would like the golden boy type shit. I'm more of a ruggedly handsome older man kinda bisexual. I bet you'd smash Patrick Swayze too, handsome. UNLESS…are we talking Interview with a Vampire long hair type Pitt because…”

“This is too much for me!” Robin is shouting as she starts pacing. 

“Robbie, I’d expect a little more tolerance from you. I’m disappointed.” Steve pokes fun. “Anyway, you do have the late shift today, so I’ll save you from thinking about me boning Brad Pitt and get out of here.”

“Ew. Steve. No. You and Pitt? You’re definitely bottom. He’s batter dipping the corn dog, not you.”

Raising his middle finger in the air, he gestures behind him to the girls as he walks out the door. 

After grabbing a coffee, Steve swings into the record store to browse for some new vinyls. The guy at the front desk is starting to get to know Steve, and he likes that the guy is comfortable enough to make recommendations or pulls a vinyl or two to save for next time Steve comes in. It makes him feel memorable. He’s little more than guy at the record store to Steve, but yet guy at the record store cared enough to think about him and what he might like even when he’s not here. 

It’s stuff like this, that he hasn’t really experienced until he moved here to the city, that makes Steve feel less than insignificant. Who would have thought that coming to a city filled to the brim with more people than he knows what to do with would make him feel more seen than a small town where everyone knows your name ever did. 

He grabs his bag, filled with three new recommendations from guy at the record store, and he’s heading for the door before the cashier yells out “Oh damn, bro. I almost forgot. Someone left this for you. It’s already paid for, so don’t worry about it, but she said you gotta hear this one.” Steve reaches out to grab the bright red sleeve and turns it over twice before slipping it into his bag. “Yeah thanks dude. See ya around.” 

He lies to himself when he thinks that the brisk pace he is walking on his way home is because the nights are turning colder in the city and he wants to get home. He lies to himself a second time when he says he wants to keep moving so he takes the stairs two at a time instead of waiting on the elevator. He lies to himself for a third time, pretending that he’s not really in a rush even though he doesn’t take off his shoes and jacket before he makes a beeline right for his record player all while unwrapping that vinyl he knows that you left for him. 

The whirring of the player and the zap of the scratching needle connecting with the plastic make his brain start to buzz and he’s done lying to himself when he thinks that he was so fucking stupid when he shouted at you - drunk out of his mind or not, he has been expecting you to never speak to him again, so…you leaving this for him might just mean…

In the time of chimpanzees I was a monkey

Butane in my veins and I'm out to cut the junkie

With the plastic eyeballs, spray-paint the vegetables

Dog food stalls with the beefcake pantyhose

What the fuck did she leave me? He thinks, as he lets the record spin and listens, patiently. Waiting for the hook. Waiting for the bass drop. Waiting for those deep drum rhythms he likes so much. Waiting for the lyrics that are supposed to hit home.

Oh. 

Soy un perdedor

I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?

(Double-barrel buckshot)

“Maybe I should just move home and take a stupid job with my dad like he’s been telling me to do since junior year of high school.”

Murray hears the boy complaining as he walks through the door with three giant boxes stacked on top of one another. “Casanova. Hey!” Setting them down he snaps both his fingers right in Steve’s face “We’ve been over this… focus on my dick shop, not your dads. I got new goods, get your sweet ass over here.”

He waves Steve and Robin over to the front window, and they dutifully follow. Ripping open the boxes with a rusty pocket knife he pulls from his tube sock, Murray rambles about the boxes filled with a new Latex fashion line he was checking out at the expo. He shoos Steve off to grab the mannequins from the back storage room so they can set up the window display. “Make sure to grab the dudes with the biggest packages back there, Stevie-boy!” before looking at Robin curiously, asking her to spill the details and explain the pivot back into full on self-loathing Steve took. 

“Ah, the lady friend? She gave him that? Sassy. I think I like her. If he doesn't want her…” wiggling his eyebrows, Murray is quickly cut off as Steve re-enters the floor.

“Doesn’t want who?’ Steve says, male mannequin under each arm. 

“Oh, nothing. I gotta go get some lunch. I’ll grab the plastic girls on my way back in and you two can play dress up.” 

“Hey Stevie, whaddya think?” Robin’s got one of the black latex outfits held out in front of her as she tries anything but effortlessly shaking her hips to the beat of the song playing overhead on the speakers. The would-be seductive dance is cut off when her face lights up, running off to the break room with the package in hand.

“I don’t like that look Robbie. What are you doing?”

Shaking the beads dangling from the door frame to announce her re-entry, Steve’s eyes glance up before doing a double take. Robin stood there, leaning into the wall looking as casual as she possibly can (which isn’t that casual, honestly), standing in a full head to toe black latex catsuit. If Steve could have, he would have taken a polaroid if not just to gift to Alex as a thank you, or apology. Whatever she needs most from him - he’s not too sure at this point. Robin arches her back like she’s posing for a centerfold and it’s not long before the two of them are deep in a fit of laughter from her antics. 

Except something goes wrong. The fit of laughter soon lets up, but Robin still can’t catch her breath. Steve is breathing deep, grinning again and shaking his head at her, and while she’s happy she’s coaxing out a laugh and a smile she hasn’t seen from him in over a week, her chest is getting tighter by the second. 

Looking at his friend's pallid face, his eyes dart around thinking while she starts wheezing for air. “Rob…are you...you’re not allergic to latex, are you?”

She shakes her head no adamantly but quickly backtracks, realizing that no, she can’t be sure she’s not allergic to latex. Holding up her hands between the two of them, her wrists are ballooning up around the seam of the catsuit sleeves, body swelling up making the suit stretch over her skin even tighter. She starts to claw at it, trying to get it off, but it’s so slippery and tight, and suctioned to her sweaty skin that it won’t budge and her panicked expression locks on to Steve’s. 

“You didn’t know you were allergic to latex? What the fuck Robbie?” 

“When was I supposed to find out, huh? Not like I’ve been carrying around condoms since I was 15 like you, you asshole!”

“So what…that’s not… What about a balloon? Haven’t you ever been around a fucking balloon before, Rob?”

“Steve, I'm poor. We didn’t buy balloons for birthday parties. I didn’t get….extra…shit. I…no. I can’t remember …ever having a…. balloon.” She’s sucking in breaths between words as much as she can. “Steve, help. It’s….I can’t…”

Walking down the street, Murray is on his way back from grabbing his sandwich, when he spots the flashing lights on the street ahead. What he doesn’t expect is to see those flashing lights belonging to an ambulance pulled up outside of his store. Dropping his sandwich into the grimey gutter, he’s absolutely dumbfounded at the sight before him - Robin laid out on the stretcher, clearly naked and covered with a white sheet and his new inventory in shreds on the sidewalk after the paramedics had to cut it off of her. “Oh for fucks, sake. I didn’t literally mean you should play dress up, Red.” 

It takes the paramedics another 20 minutes to get her settled and breathing from an oxygen tank in the back of the rig and explain the situation to Murray and Steve. Her reaction was bad, so they should expect her to be down and out for at least three days until the swelling goes down and she can recover her breathing enough to function normally. Murray storms off into the store grumbling about Workers Comp paperwork and throwing his hands in the air while Steve stays back, readying himself to climb into the back of the rig and ride with his friend before she stops him. 

“Listen, dude. I’m clearly not gonna be home tonight, and you don’t need to worry about me. Don’t you dare think you’re gonna sit and keep watch at my bedside. This is definitely the only time in my life my tits will look this big, so I’m not about to invite you in. Alex gets clear first dibs before the swelling goes down.” 

Steve grimaces, scrunching his nose up in disgust “Ew, gross Robbie. Stop talking to me about your tits.” 

“Whatever. All I’m saying is, maybe take advantage of the empty house? I know she sent you a message loud and clear with that record but I still don’t buy that she won't give you a shot to explain. Call her. Please?” 

All he can do is nod as she pats his hand and smiles. He backs away so they can close up the rig and watches as they pull off, lights flashing with his swollen raspberry of a friend in tow. 

Murray ends up closing the shop early that night, saying he’s had it up to here with both of them and he just wants to go see Hop and Joyce for an ice cold drink. Before Steve could even respond, Murray’s finger is in his face “NO. You’re not invited this time, buddy. I don’t wanna see your face until tomorrow. And you have the late shift. I don’t wanna close and I think you two owe me.”

“Owe you?! What the heck, I didn’t do anything, man. Robin, she is the one that -”

“No, you listen here. Your moping and loathing is getting irritating. I like you, unfortunately. I’m not sure why, but I like you Steve, and you’ve been fucking annoying since you let your dad get in your head. And whatever is going on with this lady friend, you better fix it.” He pokes Steve right in the chest - hard.

“Is she a girl, or a woman, Steve?” he says, and Steve remembers their chat about Steve’s choices. Why they never seem to work out and how he keeps going for the wrong kind. 

“She’s … she’s a woman. Obviously. She doesn’t want to put up with my bullshit.”

“Fix it, Steve. Thank me later.” 

He had two beers before he worked up the nerve to pick up the phone. He probably would have had another, but he thought better of it considering the last time he saw you. More like the last time you saw him because he doesn’t fucking remember a lick of it. An apology probably wouldn’t go over very well if he was shitfaced again all because he needed some liquid courage to get the balls to call you up. 

It took three, long, agonizing rings for you to pick up, your voice suddenly some sort of beacon in the night for him. He was silent for a beat too long, and just when you went to hang up muttering “whatever asshole, prank call someone else next time” he finally was able to whisper out your name just loud enough that it traveled through the phone line and made it to your ears. 

“You got my record?” 

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“I deserved that… and it’s actually good.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

“I know. Can I see you?”

And to his surprise, you agreed. You asked him to meet you outside, so you can walk to the cafe together. Promised in a way that had him believing it would all be fine - that you’ll figure it out from there. So he’s sitting on the bench outside of his building waiting, legs bouncing up and down uncontrollably mind weight down from anticipation, nerves and his least favorite piece of baggage, self-doubt. 

“You look like you’re waiting on something, boy. Don't wait too long, or you’ll end up looking like me and still never finding what you’re lookin’ for, ya know?”

Steve chuckles and nods. He thinks he does know. And God, he doesn’t want to spend his life chasing an idea and running away every time he gets close because he’s sure he’s not good enough for it. He doesn’t want to be sitting on a bench when he’s 80 lamenting about how he used to look good, had the good hair before it all fell out and turned gray, would get the girls and throw the parties, could pound back a six pack like it’s no big deal, how he was the former Keg King - King Steve. Like that all means anything at all. None of it did. It was all bullshit. 

“I’m Steve” he says, holding his hand out and reaching across the bench. The man reaches out accepting his grasp and introduces himself as Robert.“You live here too?” he nods back at the apartment building. 

“Sure do. Me and my little rascal Dart.” and Steve notices the small dog laying quietly at the man’s feet. 

“What you said before…I am waiting on something. Someone actually. But…I think I’m mostly waiting on myself.” 

“Ah, yes. That’s the age old problem innit? We’re always late to our own party. Been in this city for decades and it’s all the same. Young kids like you are lost until they find what they’re looking for, but some of ‘em, they never find it. No one leads ‘em to it and they forget that it’s even worth lookin’ for along the way.” 

Steve nods, a little solemnly, at the wisdom the old man is sharing. Resonating just a bit closer to home than the old man probably knows. But then he sees a flash of you from down the sidewalk, your jacket wrapped tight around your body, a tentative smile on your face when you see Steve waiting for you like he promised. 

“Ah,” the man laughs a hearty laugh. “She looks like she’s worth waiting for though, my boy. You should go.” 

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” Steve says with a bright smile, and it’s genuine. Maybe she's worth it? Or Maybe Steve will see the old man again. He's not sure which he meant, actually. Maybe…both. 

The walk to the cafe seems to go on for eons. After an interaction teetering on awkward, feet pushing at invisible rocks on the pavement and tentative smiles, you both head in that direction side by side, stealing glances for a block or two before either one breaks the silence.

It seems like both of you have let the dull drone of the city take up enough space in the night and you finally speak up at the same time. 

“I am sorry for being such a mess.”

“I'm sorry for being a bitch.”

“No. No.” You cut him off. “Yeah you're right. You were a mess and you were kind of a dick about it. I'm not gonna excuse that. But you were a mess, and Robin and Alex were worried for good reason, obviously. You were a mess because something happened and I can't be mad at that. I can be frustrated with how you handled yourself…how you treated people who were just there to fucking help you, man, but at the end of the day, you were going through some shit and…I held it against you instead of helped. And then I got you that record and…”

“I…yeah I should not have drank my problems like that. I shouldn't have. I was an idiot. I am an idiot. That song is…not that far off. Might be my theme song, actually.” He holds back a small laugh to himself. “I do stupid shit. That's not new. But…I wasn't mad at anyone until -”

“You sure seemed mad, Steve.”

“I was…it's just. I guess I'm realizing now I wasn't actually mad at anyone but myself and my dad until you showed up.”

“Correct. You made that loud and clear.”

“Oh. I -” silence falls over them for a few steps, Steve finally looking over at you in a way that makes you feel like he's looking into you not at you this time. “I think I finally understand. Can…can I try and explain? Once we get there?”

You nod. And you let him. 

Like a floodgate, the honesty Steve holds back on a regular basis flows out the minute he starts. Tucked in the back corner of the cafe, a steaming hot chai in front of you, a black coffee with cinnamon and nutmeg there in front of him, he tells you how growing up actually felt for him. Not just the my dad is an asshole version but how it really affected him. He says it out loud and admits the way his dad made him feel. Tells you stories about all the sports and the winning and the popularity that was never what he wanted anyway. Tells you how his dad has spent his whole life grooming him to be a mini-version of Mr Harrington, and that's the absolute last thing in the world he wants to be. He just wants to be Steve - whoever that is. 

And he cries. He cries when he tells you about the phone call. You notice it's not at the mean things his dad says to him, the names he's called or the put downs about his life that break him down - it's when he tells you about the disdain in his dads voice when he berates him about being friends with the gays. How he couldn't look at Robin after the way his dad talked and how he felt more shame in that moment than any other. Not ashamed that he’s friends with Robin. Not in a million years, but more from the idea that his dad - no anyone - would be lucky to find a friend half as good as Robin is, so who the fuck cares who she loves, right? Jesus Christ. Shame that someone he loves has to live in a world where people like his dad exist. 

You both need a refill before he can get through the hard part, though, the part where he hurt you. Steve motions to your empty cup asking if he can get you more and before you know it, comes back a short time later with two new steaming mugs and plates of assorted pastries and snacks balancing on top. I didn't know what you'd like, so I got it all. 

Something tells you that even if you don't actually say it, Steve would know for next time. He'd know that you're a sucker for their blondies and like to snack on their homemade caramel corn because even as he's spilling his guts he's paying attention to you, and from here on out every time you meet Steve Harrington at the cafe, he'd have your drink and a plate with a blondie on it waiting for you every single time. 

Then, Steve tells you about that day. About how he remembers chain-smoking inside the house and how he knew Robin would fuck me up for it but I didn’t care. He recalls for you how he sat on the sofa with the whiskey bottle muttering to himself about the things his dad said, trying to figure out why this man thinks he can still push his grown son around. He tells you he remembers leaving to get another 6-pack when he ran out but that was the last of it. He doesn't remember much of anything or how he got to Benny's. Hop had told him, and he makes sure to remind him every time he's seen him since that he was pitiful watching Steve being drug in by the drunkest man on the block. Never thought I'd see the day anyone was more drunk than goddamn Rick, boy. Sure proved me wrong. 

And when he gets to the part where his friends show up, when you show up, he looks downright ashamed and worried. With a deep sigh, falling from his lips, he tells you that the next and only other thing he remembers from that night was you walking through the door. With his head lain on the bar, vision completely sideways, what he saw was a fucking angel walking into the bar. Thought he was hallucinating or maybe even finally out of his misery and you were coming to bring him towards the light, until his brain made you right side up and he realized who it was. 

He didn’t remember the yelling, but Robin told him later how big of a douchebag he was when all he did was start yelling at you and making one hell of a scene. Hearing Robin tell him about how he shouted and asked in such an accusatory tone What are you doing here? made him wonder if he was no better than his dad in the first place. Sounded an awful lot like him in the moment, at least. 

You think he looks like a kicked puppy as he explains the rest. “I - I don't expect you to say anything. Or do anything. I don't expect you to forgive me or…” running his hands through his hair you can tell he's trying to pluck up some semblance of courage. 

“The thing is, I was mad when my drunk brain finally registered that you were there, and you were there to help. Because I didn't want that. Help sure…I fucking needed help. You saw me. But you….” His swallow is so loud it's audible. 

“I was embarrassed I didn't want you to see me like that. I… “

Reaching across the table you gently touch his forearm and it gives him enough courage to finish what he has to say. 

“I didn’t want you to see me like that, because I like you too much…Like, the real kind. And I feel so stupid saying it out loud, because I thought that if I showed you how broken I was, you’d see that I wasn’t worth it. Maybe you don’t think I am in the first place and that’s fine I can be just your friend. S’probably all I deserve, honestly.” 

He chances a look at you just then, and when it’s not a scowl or indifference he feels safe rough to continue. “Before I didn’t know why I was being such a jerk and I figured it was just because - I am a Harrington, after all. But, I understand why I did it now. I understand that even though I did it wrong, I was trying to protect you from me, and I was trying to protect myself from… ”

Scooting your chair closer to Steve, you push his wild and windswept hair back so you can see him even when his head is hanging low. His eyes flit up to yours and there’s no pity in your eyes. He was expecting pity at the very least, but it’s not there.

“Steve, who says I need to be protected? Especially from you?”

He doesn’t expect your fingers to find his on the walk away from the cafe. He doesn’t expect your touch to be soft. He doesn’t expect it to stay longer than a second - maybe just the gift of something fleeting. But it is. It does. Your fingers hook into his and they don’t pull away, holding on to him and his limp hand before he can even process what he’s being given. Fingers hooked and coaxing him to just let go and embrace it. Fingers he accepts as he laces his with yours, and they stay that way for the entire walk back to his apartment. 

—-

A nod of the head with a huge grin spread across his face, Robert welcomes Steve back to the building, still perched on the same bench he walked away from a few hours ago. Maybe Dart needed to go out again, or maybe Robert never left, but in that moment, Steve thought about everything the old man said to him earlier. He’s done with waiting. Waiting has gotten him nowhere. Hiding his feelings has gotten him nowhere. The only person standing in his way is himself. 

Your name falls from his lips softly, but there’s something there that wasn’t there earlier in the shop. It’s more sure of himself, almost confident. The predictable thing to come next was a goodnight kiss on his front stoop, and you’re thinking that maybe after all this time and him finally admitting that he’s into you, you’ll get what you’ve been wanting since that night in the back seat of the cab, or when you felt your tummy flip sitting across from him eating that ice cream. Poised to lift up on your toes to close the distance, instead he surprises you when he tugs your arm and pulls you inside the front door to his building with a grin. 

And you got that kiss. Oh God, did you get it. 

When the door closed to their apartment, Steve turned around to look at you. There was a heat behind his eyes as he slid your coat off of your shoulders for you, and a yearning hiding there when he looks up at you from below as he crouches down to help you slip off your shoes. Rising back up in front of you he’s close. So close that his lips are just barely apart from yours and the heat of his breath tickles your cheeks. The pair of you are so close that there’s barely any space between your bodies when you suddenly find your back pressed up against the door behind you. 

Lips finally touching, slow and just barely you breathe out “Robin…” 

“That’s not my name, honey.”

And you laugh. A sweet thing that makes Steve’s insides twist and turn.

“She won’t be home tonight. There was some latex…She’s fine. I’ll explain later.”

The kiss you finally get is sloppy, but in the best way. There’s no time for chaste kisses here, pillowy lips slotted together and moving effortlessly between one another. He adjusts your chin with the tips of his fingers so that he can gently caress the line of your jaw, following it back down and up again as he slides his fingers through the base of your hair. His grip there is tight, but not painful, Possessive but not overwhelming. It’s like he’s got something he wants so desperately and he’s afraid to let it go. 

He gently touches your upper lip with the tip of his tongue, coaxing you open further for him, letting his tongue follow the outlines of your teeth before letting his dance together with yours. He lets out a small sigh as you continue to nip at each other's lips and play with how you both respond to one another's kiss. The sigh makes your mouth crack open in a smile, cheeks drawing up with the grin and encouraging his kisses to explore elsewhere. Small pecks start on the corner of your mouth and then your cheeks, right on the apple of them as their pulled taught by your smile. 

Moving down towards your jaw, your neck, they get more and more salacious the lower they get. Red and pricking, a bruise is blooming at the spot on your neck just under your ear where he settles in to suck and kiss at your skin while the whimper that falls from your lips as he does it and your fingertips running through his hair and scratching at his scalp keep him grounded - barely capable of holding it together as is. 

When you ask him what he wants, the answer he gives you is not one you expected. Sure you expected him to want to dote on you - after all, he’s attentive like that on any given day, so Steve being a giver in the sheets was almost…a given? But when his gasping breaths punctuate each word that comes out of his mouth Can you … I want you to ride my face? was a pleasant surprise. 

Now surprising him, you not only agreed, but were confident about it. “Always wanted this. No…no one would let me.” He tells you as he breathes into you, chest heaving, foreheads touching. He barely notices as you pull the top of your dress down and work it over your shoulders, then the swell of your breasts. He only registers your exposed skin as you guide his hands down to your waist so he can hold you steady as you step out of it. 

Coaxing him backwards towards the sofa, you tap his shoulder and tell him to sit down on the floor, back against the furniture, as you make a show of removing your bra. He does as you ask, unable to tear his eyes away from your supple skin and perfectly peaked nipples, making a mental note that later he absolutely has to get his mouth on them. As you shimmy down your underwear in front of him, you pause to add a kiss to the top of his head before dropping the garment directly in his lap.

He bunches them up in his hand, sliding them into his front pocket for later as you settle over him, “Y’know…they call this Queening?” perched there on your knees, you’re fully undressed and slotted above his face so casually. 

“Mmmm. Makes sense.” He says, against the seam of your pussy and your thighs, making you vibrate with his words and his gentle hum. 

“R’mind me to tell you why one day.”

“Mmmmhmm. Sure thing.” In a haze, he reaches around you, fingers digging into your supple ass and pulling you closer. Forward and over, just where he wants you. The perfect position where he can use both his mouth and his nose - just like Robin told him he should.  Head moving subtly left to right, he tests it out, tip of his nose gently nudging your clit left to right and right to left and his warm breath teasing your wet, glistening folds. You let out a gasp followed by a small breathy little uhh, that has his ears ringing and he’s happy. Pleased with his position, he slips his tongue out and traces you with it, before returning with a big, firm lick - tongue flattened and wide making sure you touch all of you in one pass. Those big hands wrap further around you, now snaking over the tops of your thighs and this time tugging you down. Down down down and there’s nowhere else to go. 

Now you’ve had some fine oral sex before. It’s a non-negotiable for you when it comes to relationships: If a man is worried about tasting your clit, you don’t want him. You’re worth more than that. You’ve even done this a time or two, but Steve nestled between your thighs, under you like this fully clothed and pulling you into his face further despite there not being anywhere else to go is otherworldly.  

Other times you’ve found yourself in this position were tactical. A position change, a new angle, just for fun, a lazy guy. But being perched on top of Steve Harrington’s face is making you feel like a true goddess. You were about to give him a history lesson and tell him why this is called Queening and instead he’s proving it to you. Making you feel just like one.

Between smooth glides of his tongue, Steve sucks at your lips, your clit, the seam of your thigh. Once you’ve settled and allow yourself to fully relax over top of him, he releases his bruising grip - perfect tiny crescents left behind in their wake - and uses those free hands wherever he can reach. Sliding up your spine, ghosting over the peach of your ass, along the curve of your backside and between them, too. 

You’re not quiet anymore. You couldn’t be if you tried, and if you weren’t muffling the sounds coming from him with your thighs, you’re pretty sure the symphony of both of your moans would be enough to tip you over the edge. Since his are busy elsewhere, your hands find their way to your tits, rolling your nipples between your fingers and throwing your head back in pleasure as you start to absentmindedly grind on his face. 

He lets you bask in your pleasure for a while before tugging you out of your daze, hands covering the small of your back, pulling and angling you forward so that your hands fall to the arm of the sofa behind him. Now, leaning over him, soft and subtle grinding returning like muscle memory, he takes the opportunity to slide his fingers in from behind, just alongside his mouth. Thick digits slipping inside, scissoring alongside the wet muscle of his tongue, nose nudging your clit between deep rolls of your hips against him, he notices the twitching of your velvety walls first, followed by the shaking of your thighs. 

Freeing his hands, he finds your legs again, if only to hold you down to ride out your climax, combating how badly your sensitive body is trying to pull away, just slightly. The work he’s putting in on your pussy is paying off tenfold when you tremble and shake above him. Unable to move from the vice grip he has on your legs, you have no choice but to cry out and let him lap at you, drink you up until you're overstimulated and begging him to stop. 

Limp and satiated, you easily fall into his arms as he moves up between you and the couch, pulling you into his lap. Your head lolls forward has he grabs your cheeks to look at you “Y’feel good baby? Y’feel like a Queen?” 

You nod, dazed but eager and happy as he lifts you and stands. Legs wrapping around his hips while he peppers you with kisses that taste like your own pleasure, he carries you down the hallway to his room. 

Kicking open the door, he stalks over to his bed and tosses you onto it without a second thought.  Looking up at him with big doe eyes, he knows he’s done for. He can’t move fast enough as he loosened his belt and tugs down his pants. Crawling over you on his bed, he nudges that nose against yours again to get your attention. “You wanna? We don’t have to y’know?”

“Steve Harrington, I want to so bad, I’m gonna make you forget your name.” 

TAGLIST: @livsters @katie-tibo @johnrichardpapen @angywritesstuff @k-k0129 @tisthedamngoldrush @middle-of-the-sky @thebrazilianatheist @mochminnie @micheledawn1975 @falling-throughthe-hourglass @rafaaoli @ash5monster01 @gabessock @onyxslayss @scoopshxrrington @superblysubpar

[ewesless]

💨💀 Headcanons!

@5mary5

Okay so this is my dirty secret forbidden crack. Here there be talk about bad gas out the ass (I can't find that legendary tumblr post, but if I do I will edit this post.) Edit: As promised! No wonder I couldn't find it :( I bless old chats, thank you old chats.

Mine will be the opposite with the characters breaking the taboo with MC!

MC: Somehow they have never done this in front of anyone. Is it magic? Superhuman levels of self control? Nay, it's because they are a sheep plushie. Laughs at farts because they are pretty immature and like crude humor. So this will be their reaction!

Lucifer: Only in the sanctuary of the bathroom, but he does alone in his room or office. He has the tightest control and the stick up in there helps a bit. Even dead asleep he has ironclad hold over his sphincter. Mammon and the Anti-Lucifer League have tried to cause him to with gas causing food and drinks, but even curses, spells and hexes failed. Does he even fart or is that why he's so cranky all the time? Scolds MC for being immature and regularly chews out his brothers for being vulgar. Strings anyone up by the heels who would have the audacity to fart in front of Diavolo because it makes Diavolo lol and Barbatos looks at him like he's commit a heinous offense.

Mammon: Will hold someone down and fart on them, aka his brothers, by that I mean Levi. He would be embarrassed for letting one slip in front of MC, but when he finds out it makes them laugh and they're okay with it he's relaxes and won't worry about letting them out. Intentionally low pressure ones though and tries to be quiet about it. Will tap Luke someone else on the shoulder and say, "Guess what?" And then fart!! He fooled Luke and Little D. no. 2 with the "pull my finger" trick.

Leviathan: Rancid, third stinkiest because of his food choices and because he will hold his bowels during binge sessions and speed runs. His headphones have advanced noise cancelling now because he was having a gas attack from anxiety during an game night against MC, Diavolo and Barbatos (Because Barbatos was curbstomping him) so all of a sudden he is gifted these fancy headphones??? He doesn't connect the dots because he thought his old pair had good cancelling. When MC is hanging out with him he'll apologize only if they're audible or noticeably stinky. He thought the reason MC was laughing their ass off that fateful game night because he was so funny...

Satan: Third stinkiest. He's accustomed to being alone in his room so when he's reading in the library and wants to be left alone he will rip ass. It smells like a litter box in his room sometimes, but he blames it on Mammon's cooking rather than the cats he is able to smuggle in. He doesn't fart intentionally in front of MC, but he isn't bothered by it when he does because it's a normal bodily function so wht would he be? That's illogical.

Asmodeus: you would not catch him DEAD. He gets an upset stomach occasionally from fad dieting so he takes stomach medicine when he does, but he's an "exclusively in the bathroom" type. He will whenever he's alone though, but he resents it. He thinks his gas smells the least offensive and he's right!

Beelzebub: The stinkiest of stinkies. They have power behind them too, like gale force hurricanes (not really, but you could swear it) when he has eaten certain food. He does not hold back but he does apologize when he belches and farts.

Belphegor: Second stinkiest, silent but deadlies. No apologies, no remorse because he's lazy and his rear is just as lazy and it's a natural bodily function. He uses them to troll his brothers too, but he always gets a particular smirk when he does and they are a creeping death so if someone is observant or wary enough (like Lucifer) they will escape the room.

Diavolo: He got caught off guard by one in front of MC once and it snuck past his defenses unhindered. He almost died from embarrassment and MC almost died from trying not to laugh about it. After that he was profusely apologetic, but MC told him it was fine as they laughed and soon Diavolo was laughing with them. He's always extremely polite and socially graceful about even a stomach gurgle because he has an image (and a Barbatos who is always protecting and enforcing that image) he has trained himself to have an incredible ability to hold them in. (The chat where he had the leg cramp supports this) So when he catches a moment between public appearances or meetings to escape to the bathroom he has to make the most of the opportunity. He farts for funnies in front of Lucifer when they've been drinking because one time he did and Lucifer was so aghast by his gas that he let out a scoff-laugh of disbelief and amusement that the Devildom Prince just did that. Diavolo is hellbent on hearing that cute reaction again and uses it at unexpected moments like a ninja flashbang. With MC he feels like he doesn't have to feel the pressure to be seen as perfect and occasional fartiness (usually when Barbatos is on a kick with certain foods) is just part of him that he can be himself without fear of judgement with them about.

Barbatos: My MC would be in a long term battle of wills against anyone, but particularly Barbatos. They will not fart. He will not fart. No one has given ground in the ?(?) years they have known each other. The reason why? One time he passed gas in front of them and was so ashamed because of looking anything less than completely perfect, flawless and in control that he edited the timeline. He will go so far as to summon portals and step into pocket dimensions to fart.

Luke: Holds them and excuses himself to the bathroom because he's a polite and well mannered boy (in some ways...) and it would reflect negatively on Michael and Simeon for him to do that. If he tooted (his words) in front of MC he would be upset about being gross or uncool in front of them, but MC would reassure him everyone does and that it was kinda funny though, wasn't it? Well ;n; I guess it kinda was... never again.

Simeon: He doesn't exactly hold them back, but he doesn't exactly let them out either. These situations do call for discretion, but he gives it away even if it was overlooked because he laughs a little and apologizes every time. In front of MC it makes him embarrassed, but when he realizes they make MC laugh he's more inclined to be relaxed and might do it for funnies.

Solomon: He has a category of his own. His food may not affect him, but it does affect the smell of his farts. At PH his room smells like absolute rotten ass unless Simeon rushes and airs it out whenever Solomon leaves it because he keeps the door shut and locked and often stays in their a whole day or more. Like Leviathan he'll be busy or distracted and in flow state with his research and magic and not use the bathroom. He can go in the woods no difficulty because he has magic to assist (not like HP wizards though. The man has sensibilities and couth.) He knew MC laughs at farts by observing their reactions to others so sometimes he'll say, "Hey MC." to get their attention and then rip one and laugh with them. During routine inspections of Cocytus Hall Barbatos actually casts a spell on his nose and mouth because of the foul and despicable sham of a sorcerer's fecal particles saturate the air.

Raphael: Because he eats a variety of foods but also regularly eats Solomon's food his are a subcategory of Solomon's. He does not make an expression or reaction and noone else does either because even his farts convey threat and the danger of his rain of spears.

Mephistopheles: When he was a young Demon he was even more anxious about looking good in front of Diavolo and impressing him. He did fart in front of him once and was so mortified that he vowed to never do something so disgraceful again. Will not ever fart in front of MC.

Thirteen: THIS IS THE REASON SHE HATES SOLOMON SO MUCH. She got a severe upset stomach from his food and actually thought about 100 new death traps to murder him with. That was the only reason she didn't kill him on the spot bacause the silver lining was those 100 traps! She would sooner hide out until the extinction of all life before she would pass gas in front of MC or anyone. The number one and only who adheres to the in the bathroom!!!

These are inspired by real life! Especially Mammon and Solomon.

[zzzykiek]

Play it Sweet

2PAlastor x Diabetc human Fem!reader

This chapter dives into the NSFW zone at the end so Minors DNI you've been warned.

CW: toxic work environment, creepy boss, anxiety, p in v sex, cunnilingus (just a smidge). 

*Please give credit when reposting*

Thanks and enjoy!

2P Alastor credit - https://anic-mj.tumblr.com/post/627521842542936064/2palastorblueberry/amp 

Chapter 3 —-- In Control

His tears are pouring over your shoulder. “Al?” You gently rub his back. He reaches into his pocket and procures another yellow pill. (Are these anti anxiety meds?) He steps back and throws the pill down his throat. He takes a deep breath and you gently swipe a tissue over his cheeks. 

“Th-th-thank you. I k-k-kept up the act a bit longer than p-p-planned.” 

“Well you did a fantastic job!” Your turn to plant a kiss on him though you have to half-jump to reach. The smile it brings from him is so adorable you can actually feel your eyes dilate. “How can a demon be so adorable…” you definitely didn't mean to say that out loud but there it came, out with your breath. Before you could process anything from that blunder you’re in Al’s arms, legs wrapped around his waist, as his forehead sits against yours blue bangs tickling your temples.

“I’m a-d-d-dorable huh?” He laughs and twirls you around. (Holy cow, he is strong!) “We should head out, my sunshine.” His voice purrs that new nickname and you melt into an embrace as he lets you slide down his frame to be standing on the floor. You look at him and giggle, both of you have the goofiest looks on your faces. His smile grows suddenly “Oh! and don't think I missed you mentioning having a recording studio. This I must see!”

“Well then let's go. I seem to remember you mentioning some blueberry pancakes.” 

“Th-that I did!” 

You lead him out to your car and cringe at the state of it. Random books, games, and antiques you had planned to restore. “Sorry, I wasn't planning on hosting a guest… I promise my place is clean.” You hear the door and see Al plop into the passenger seat with bright eyes turning over an old radio in his hands. (He likes radios? His voice did sound like one at first.) You hop in and start up the car before acknowledging his interest. 

“I rescued that beauty from an old thrift store. Poor thing needs some TLC. Sadly when I got it Boss decided to add work hours with my promotion, so it got stuck in limbo…” 

“TLC?” 

“Oh, it stands for Tender, Love, and Care. I restore antique things I like. If you like that you are going to love the ones in my studio.”

“You’re perfect.” Now it was his turn to accidently slip a thought out with his breath. You both chuckle and the remainder of the car ride goes by in a wave of blushes, glances, giggles. You finally reach your little cottage and Al follows you inside, still clutching the radio. You do a little spin in the living room of your small abode. 

“Here we are! I gave up having a typical bedroom so I could bring my studio to life….” You say glancing at the haphazardly made futon around the corner. “...but this is what you wanted to see!” You throw a door open and let the back lights illuminate the perfect merriment of restored and new recording technology creating an impressive switchboard. Bookcases filled with restored radios, cameras, and phones. Al’s eyes are wide and with a flash of green light he returns to the blue deer figure you met hiding under a table. You lean against the switchboard and flick a switch bringing the tape reels and record player to life. 

“So did you know I liked radio, or is that also your thing? Judging from your reaction I'd say you have a thing for broadcasting too.”

“Y-y-yes my sunshine, I am known as The….” He summons a blue cane with a microphone atop it and twirls it with a flourish and finishes it with a bow. “The Radio Demon.”

“Well Mr. Radio Demon, can I assume you dance?” You flick a switch and the room fills with your favorite electro swing mix. 

Al tightens his grip on the microphone, then it disappears as he offers his hand to you. You accept and are immediately pulled into the best dance of your life. (Not that you had many other dances under your belt, and definitely the only one who could actually dance to your music.) All timid nature is gone as Al spins you around, leading you in perfect time to the music, and even lifts you above his head. 

You’re nose to nose as the song ends, both of you breathing heavily, and in the same heartbeat, his hand is behind your head and your fingers are gripping his collar while your lips explore his. (How do our lips fit so perfectly together…?) You sigh into the feeling and he mewls in response gently flicking his tongue against your lower lip. You allow access and he gently moans at the feeling of the deeper kiss. He is holding onto you so tight, like you would run away if he let go. You let your hands explore his hair, confirming your suspicions of his ears being sensitive as he melts onto his knees at the first light touch. He breaks away the kiss and looks slightly sad for a moment as he gently unzippers your dress. You laugh remembering that for some reason you chose blue undergarments that day. (I guess that was fate.) His eyes glow as he admires this little surprise. Quickly fumbling with the buttons on his coat, starting to shake again. 

“No-no-no, I need to be in control for this…. First t-t-time, I don't want to scare you off.”

He goes to grab another yellow pill and you catch his hand gently.

“What if I don't want you in control?” You look him in the eyes. 

“P-p-please, I want to b-b-be.” 

The look he gives you tells you how important it is to him so you let him down the pill and help undo his buttons while he takes a deep breath. You make it through all the buttons (Three layers is a lot of fucking buttons.), and pull his upper vestments off. As you touch his chest you're surprised to feel soft fur, as pale as his skin. You run your fingers through it letting out a deep contented sigh.  He closes his eyes and leans into your touch. Grabbing your wrist, he begins planting small kisses along your arm until he reaches your lips again where he dives back in. His kisses are desperate and sloppy, gently suckling your lip as he backs off just long enough for a breath. He begins rutting his hips and soft moans escape him each time he makes contact against you. His sounds alone send a surge of warm arousal straight to your core, only to be combated by the tingle of his clothed erection hitting your clit, making it your turn to moan. 

You gently push him up as you fuss with his belt and pants, letting them drop revealing more soft almost white fur and the slightly darker toned skin surrounding his cock. (Oh shit is that going to fit…?) 

“I p-p-promise to be gentle.” (Ok can he read my mind? I am starting to wonder now.) 

He kisses you again with a bright red flush on his pale cheeks. You feel him position himself and slide his tip up along your slit, moaning at how slick you are. (Holy shit, I've never been this turned on by anyone before.)

“Y-y-ou really want me?” He breathes the question in between kisses. All you can do is nod, so kiss drunk at this point that you knew he could get anything out of you he wanted. (I guess I gave him everything already though huh…?) You feel pressure at your entrance as he gently begins pushing in. You whimper at the sensation. (Fuck it's been way to long, and he is so big!) You hiss in a breath and his kisses become lighter as he coos reassurance between each one. Running a hand through your hair, he murmurs, “It’s okay,” and, “I got you,” followed by, “Hold on to me.”

When he says that, you let your hands fall to his arms and squeeze, digging your nails into biceps. He groans in pleasure as his pelvis presses flush against you. (Was that from my nails or him bottoming out?) His breath becomes deep and animalistic with tiny sounds of pleasure escaping as he gently pulls back.

“I'll mold you to me.” His voice is still soft, but there's a spice to it, and you feel static dance on your skin. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and you loosen your grip on his arms to entangle your fingers in his hair as he carefully pushes all the way back inside. Your eyes go wide as he hits a spot you never experienced before. (Now I understand the whole seeing stars thing.) 

“Al,” his name tumbles from you as he picks up his pace.

A soft yet guttural moan escapes him with every thrust, contrasting your uncontrollable squeaks as he hits that spot over and over, never letting you get a full scream of pleasure out before he is hitting it again. Your eyes go wide as he places his forehead against yours. You’re so close and as he looks into your eyes you realize so is he. 

“Cum with me, my sunshine.” He purrs, locking your lips together again as your mind goes blank with pleasure. Every muscle in your body pulses almost in time with his. You can feel, as he slows his motions, the warmth left behind from his own orgasm, with no way to tell what of the mess now coating your thighs is from him and what was from you. 

Before you even recover, he dips his head down between your legs.  He begins licking up the mess running down your swollen pussy. This elicits a gasp from you and an animalistic moan from him as he greedily takes in all the juices he can get to, going so far as to use his finger to get more from inside your overly sensitive hole. 

Your brain and body come down from their high enough for you to form a few thoughts. (I just fucked a literal demon…. That's new…. I am totally fucked.) You can’t help but giggle at your own ideas. Your movement breaks Al from his dessert between your legs. He wipes his mouth quickly as he pulls you up into an embrace, both of you kneeling on the floor in the middle of your studio. “Are you o-o-k?” He asks then. “D-d-did I hurt you?”

You snuggle into the soft fur of his chest. “No Al, not at all.” You feel him relax and hold you closer to him. (Drowning in soft fur isn't a bad way to go right?) 

The rest of the evening goes by in a blur of kisses, cuddles, and conversation. His cute little stutter comes and goes as he talks. You spend hours talking to Al about radios, music, your broadcasts, books… you've never been able to speak this easily with someone. Eventually everyone gets bored or annoyed, but not Al; he is fully engaged and just as excited as you. The more excited he is, the less he stutters. He even shares some first-hand things about some of your restored items you could have never discovered on your own. Eventually (Way too late for a work night.), you fall asleep on his heavenly soft chest. 

[animentality]

seen some posts joking about gortash’s “anti-anxiety coat” due to the immune to frightened enchantment, and its probably not that deep or meta but i actually do find it a compelling look at how he really does walk around almost supernaturally fearless. like even when you threaten him he brushes it off like its funny or just nonsense, if worth reacting to at all! even when you meet him at the morphic pools to face down the netherbrain, his words convey a lack of confidence in winning but his tone and body language do not. and i think part of it is that he is insane (affectionate) but also, possibly, the power of the anti-anxiety coat lol.

he also does things like robbing the crown of karsus from the personal vault of the archdevil mephistopheles, and befriending a bhaalspawn on purpose. things that normal people or even average villains probably wouldnt dream of attempting, and he pulled them off near-flawlessly. but if he’s so effortlessly unflappable, why the coat enchantment right? the game could have made “immune to frightened” an inherent feature, but they made it something he only gains from his equipment. it’s just interesting to think about!

and since i am thinking about it… if we imagine that he is genuinely prone to anxiety or panic attacks, and has difficulty controlling it enough to be worried about appearances in public and have a whole enchanted coat about it, what do you think he’s actually scared of? does he have more of a generalised anxiety thanks to growing up in hell and etc, or do you think there are specific things that really get to him? is it other people? politics, secretly? the idea of powerlessness?

ironically i think the dark urge would probably be the only thing that genuinely does not scare him in the least, and couldnt if they tried.

I think that he was a scared little boy when his parents sold him to pay off their debts.

I don't believe his parents, when they said that he was a spiteful and hateful wretch from birth. Nubaldin says that they sold him to pay off a petty debt.

Now either of them could be lying, but I fail to see why Nubaldin would lie to you. He has no reason to, he just thinks you're one of the spirits of the damned.

Gortash's mom, on the other hand, would lie because she hates Gortash for tadpoling her, and it would be her justification for what she did to him. Plus, she's hoping you can save her, so she has to make herself look sympathetic.

So I think Gortash was hurt and abandoned, and enslaved by an awful devil, who allowed his servants to beat him black and blue. Everyone in the House of Hope is a miserable wretch. The Archivist mentions that his spine was like...I think punctured or broken for making a mistake?

And we know Nubaldin used to "bruise his knuckles" on Enver's "whimpering face."

So he must've been terrified, all of the time he spent imprisoned in the House of Hope. Of being punished, of being trapped there forever...

So when he manages to escape one day, slipping out due to a silly mistake on Nubaldin's part...

What's the first thing he would do?

Try to attain power. But not just because he's scared and wants to feel powerful! I actually have another theory.

See...some people data mined the game and discovered that Gortash might've been intended to be in the House of Hope at some point... because Raphael still has his contract.

So he's still not free of Raphael, even though he escaped him.

He has a note on his body, indicating that he might've been speaking with Helsik about going back, so he could get his contract, presumably.

Now imagine this poor lost young man...whose parents sold him. Who spent his childhood being tortured by souls of the damned and the devil and his servants.

He would never ever want to go back there. Not in life, not in death.

So what does he need to do?

Become powerful.

Strong enough to raid the hells, and either kill Raphael, or at least steal back his contract. so what does he turn to first?

Weapons. The black market. People who know about slipping in and out of the hells, and how to kill monsters, demons, and all other manner of creature.

Then, he needs to curry favor with a powerful god. One who can help him. One who can use him, for his fear and desperation. Who is a good god to turn to for that?

Bane. God of tyranny. Someone who could have use for him, if only he was clever and ruthless enough. And young Enver Gortash has a lot to prove.

And he would be drawn to the power of Bane, the ability to force others to submit to your will.

And the Dead Three?

That's even more power for him to obtain.

Siding with Ketheric, finding the Dark Urge...

I mean.

Listen.

Just on a character level, a powerless abuse victim seeking power does make sense...but I also think.

Wouldn't it be interesting, if he was doing all of this, so that he could both obtain power for himself...and also obtain the power he would need to kill Raphael?

Just food for thought.

Anyway.

Off topic.

Back to the subject of his cloak...well.

He would never want to be afraid again.

Fake it till you make it. Maybe he made or bought the cloak with the no fear enchantment so that he could fake confidence and power, until he actually had it?

Either way, it makes sense with his backstory. It's also so goddamn sad.

Also, he should be afraid of the dark urge, but isn't. Maybe that's why they were drawn to one another.

[crazydiscostu]

ZyberVR Quest 2 Multipurpose 3-in-1 Handles

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[justinspoliticalcorner]

Amanda Marcotte at Salon:

Republicans know that their war on legal, accessible birth control is unpopular. But that's not stopping them because, as they learned from convicted felon Donald Trump, the way to hide what you're up to is simple: Lie. Lie a lot. Lie every time you open your mouth. Lie with a straight face, and have faith that the weak "fact checks" offered by the mainstream media don't matter. The Republican comfort levels with lying are sky-high in the era of Trump. Speaker of the House Mike Johnson, R-La., does it with a smirk, satisfied that no one can stop him. It is somehow still staggering how much they lie about birth control and their nefarious intentions toward it. The good news is that Democrats are taking action to cut through the GOP's thick forest of falsehoods.

On Wednesday, Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer, D-N.Y., held a vote on the Right to Contraception Act, which guarantees the right of an individual "to obtain contraceptives and to voluntarily engage in contraception." The legislation also protects the right of licensed health care providers "to provide contraceptives, contraception, and information, referrals, and services related to contraception." Despite loudly insisting they have no desire to take away birth control, all but two Republicans voted against the bill. This follows a 2022 vote on the bill in the House, in which all but 8 Republicans voted against the right to use contraception.

Republicans' excuses this week ranged from obvious lies to obfuscation tactics which ultimately amount to lies. Sen. John Cornyn, R-Tex., called the vote "phony" because "contraception, to my knowledge, is not illegal." But of course, no one is saying it's illegal — yet. The point of Wednesday's vote was preventive, to ensure the right to birth control in the face of overt calls, including from Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas, to "revisit" the legality of contraception now that the right to abortion is no longer federally protected.  Sen. Katie Britt, R-Ala., whose State of the Union response introduced the nation to what a strange and dishonest character she is, went in for an appropriately weird lie. She falsely claimed the bill would "offer contraception like condoms to little kids." It does no such thing, though I have a lot more questions for Britt about how she thinks puberty works, and if it's induced by the sight of condoms instead of the natural process of growing up. 

Dishonest actors like Cornyn are being empowered by Trump, whose lies are even more hamfisted. Trump was recently asked by a reporter if he plans to restrict birth control and he simply said, "Some states are going to have different policy than others." Journalists know this is his way of avoiding a straight answer while letting the religious right know he supports any law they pass. Trump's campaign staff, clearly panicked that he'd let his anti-contraception stance slip, immediately took to Truth Social to claim he had "NEVER" and would "NEVER" support restrictions on birth control. This, however, is a blatant lie. During his time in the White House, Trump passed policies to cut off contraception coverage on health insurance, appointed health advisors who would like to see most methods banned completely, and ended federal funding for birth control at about 1,000 family planning clinics. 

Republicans use two big, interlocking lies to conceal an anti-contraception agenda from the public. First, they deny they intend to take birth control away, by limiting their definition of "birth control" to condoms and the rhythm method. To justify that shell game, they lie about how the most popular and effective forms of birth control work, claiming they are "abortion." They ping-pong between these two lies, so that the fact-checkers can never keep up. 

[...] So many lies in such a short sentence! Plan B is not an abortion. As the Washington Post noted, "Emergency contraceptive pills such as Plan B and Ella work by inhibiting or delaying ovulation, thereby preventing sperm from fertilizing the egg." The second lie is her implication that if folks "consider" something to be true, that makes it the equivalent of a fact. But many people also "consider" the Earth to be flat or believe Ernst is a hobgoblin in a lady suit. Doesn't make it true! Then there's the dishonesty of focusing only on Plan B, which is a drug stigmatized because it's taken after intercourse. What Ernst fails to mention, however, is that emergency contraception and the birth control pill are the same drug, just different doses. They work identically, by suppressing ovulation. The Christian right opposition to Plan B is a stalking horse for banning all hormonal contraception. Ernst's failure to admit that is a lie by omission. 

The Right To Contraception Act vote in the Senate laid bare the GOP’s hypocrisy on contraception: They seek to wage war on contraception and birth control by deceiving the people, including falsely equating most common forms of birth control and contraception to “abortifacients.”

[rallamajoop]

Eveline, the Connections, and the buried D-series lore

A surprising number of unused text files can be found by datamining the RE7 game file (I found next to nothing in RE8, for comparison). Many look to come from an earlier version of Mia's sequence on the tanker, which I may get to posting about those later ‒ but by far the most fascinating are a series of three files about the the E-series project, adding names and a whole tragic backstory to a couple of humble key items that are still in the game: the D-series arm and head.

These three documents were presumably earlier drafts of those you can still find in the final lab, though they contain a number of details missing from the final game. I'll share all three below, but we'll start with the second, because it's by far the most interesting.

Biological Weapons Development 2 We've decided that the biological weapon should look like a young girl. That way it will be easy to slip it into groups of, for example, refugees. In early ■■■■, 1999, Dr. Olivia ■■■'s team infected a human embryo with ■■ from ■■■■, creating four prototypes. These were named, Dana, Dahlia, Darlene, and Dorothy. The D-Series was able to control the thoughts of others by making them ingest a mold-like secretion. The initial symptoms caused by this secretion are visual and auditory hallucinations, and ■■■■. The secretion also erodes the target's cerebral ■■■. As the infection progresses, the target develops strong feelings of friendship towards the girls, and actively seeks to serve them. It is also possible for the secretion to fuse with the target's somatic cells, causing mutations in the body's physical structure. D-001 Dana Deceased (■■■■) D-002 Dahlia Deceased (Decrepit at 319 days) D-003 Darlene Deceased (Infection) D-004 Dorothy Disposed of due to poor performance D-005 Dolores Suicide D-006 Diana Killed by D-005 D-007 Daniella Killed by D-005 D-008 Doris Deceased (■■■■■■) E-001 Eveline Stable [Progress under observation]

(Excuse the slightly-wonky table at the bottom ‒ it's the best I could easily do for tumblr.)

There's a real SCP vibe to all those clinical details and tantalising redactions ‒ far more is redacted in these early versions than in any file that made it into the game. What really killed Dana and Doris? We don't know, but the idea of causes worse than what's reported for other subjects is nasty stuff.

The most striking implication in this list is the story of poor Dolores, who killed two of her sisters (Dolores and Diana, D-006 and 7) before killing herself. We don't know why or how it happened, but Dolores was D-005, which is a number you might have seen before:

Well, shit. That poor damn thing.

The D-series arm belonged D-002 ‒ Dahlia, who was apparently 'decrepit after 319 days', so very likely affected by the same rapid aging as Eveline.

You find the arm attached to a horrifying corpse-doll-thing, the arm itself allegedly gifted to Marguerite by Eveline soon after her arrival. And speaking of this particular asset, the fact this arm seems to have tried to grow a whole new head even after being severed is a wonderfully creepy bit of detail.

I didn't find it strange that both components would have been on the ship with Eveline ‒ they're required components for making anti-infection serum, which might well be needed in transit or at their destination, and perhaps those components have a longer shelf-life than the serum itself. But the third document in the series tells us there was rather more to the fact that Eveline herself had that arm in her possession.

Biological Weapons Development 3 Eveline (E-001) has displayed remarkable results in performance tests against mice, ■■■■, monkeys, and humans. Finally, we have a biological weapon we can use. Unfortunately, her metabolic functions are lacking, meaning she still requires doses of ■■■■■. If ■■■■■ is not administered, the somatic cells age rapidly, and in a worst-case scenario ■■■■ may also occur. An attendant will be required to administer regular doses of ■■■■■ to Eveline. Having observed Eveline (E-001), we have noticed several interesting points: ・ Eveline has a tendency to regard the targets she gains control of as "family." It seems that gaining control of humans has a special meaning for her. ・ She treats part of ■■■■■■'s (D-0■■) corpse as a treasured possession. Perhaps she regards it as a memento mori from one of her sisters? ・ ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■. Perhaps ■■■■■■■■■■. Those infected with D-Series secretions can be treated with a special serum. The serum can be synthesized by ■■■■■■■■ing D-Series somatic cell tissue. In case of accidental infection, administer the serum as quickly as possible. Be aware, however, that the serum is only effective against mild infections. Administering the serum to those with severe infections can result in the infected cells coagulating and ■■■■, and may even result in death. Be sure to administer the serum at the appropriate time.

So apparently Eveline was in the habit of carting poor Dahlia's severed arm around with her, as some kind of twisted memento. Dahlia most likely died long before Eveline's creation, which does not make that detail less creepy.

Though it's much less interesting than the latter two, here's the first file in the series too:

Biological Weapons Development 1 This program started in 1997 with financial backing from ■ ■ ■ ■. The aim was to create a biological weapon that could take control of enemy groups without having to engage them in combat. This gives the program an advantage that differentiates it from previous biological weapon developments: it lets us turn our enemies into allies. Soon, those who once opposed us will voluntarily become our friends, serving us as required. With this program we can increase our allies while avoiding the costs associated with military engagements and having to deal with prisoners of war… The governments of ■ ■ ■ ■ and ■ ■ ■ may also be interested in this new program too.

Still no detail in any of these to explain why the two arms so very clearly attached to the D-series ""head"" were apparently not fit for purpose, but eventually you've got to just shrug and go with this stuff.

All these files are not so much "cut" content as older drafts that were accidentally left in the game, and they contradict the versions that did make it in in a few places ‒ for example, the draft version puts the project's beginnings in 1997, whereas the final version moves that date forward to 2000. But it's a real shame all that detail on the D-series was cut, because it adds so much context to elements that did make it into the finished game. The game still works without them, but I'd venture the whole picture is that little bit richer for knowing about them.

[indefenseofkara]

MWII Operator Headcanons: Kortac edition

Hello! It’s time for my Kortac headcanons! I’m doing the base operators that came with the game (except Oni because he’s a playstation exclusive so I can’t play him.) Like before, all images are screenshots from my game.

“Fender” Takacs

momma's boy, in the positive sense

can be loud and rambunctious, easy to view as a "mans man"

but very respectful of women and doesn't tolerate any of that "locker room talk"

the whole "mystery dad" thing has maybe gotten out of control

and when he's drunk he might let slip that he thinks his dad is someone like Reagan or maybe Elvis

or a time traveler. Seriously

“König”

I like the cleft pallet head canon

definitely a guy who crafts

there's already a ton of fan ideas about him, I don't really have anything to add

“Calisto” Allard

thinks she's better than you, but she's right

honestly one of those people who is good at everything and it's just not fair

refuses to look unkempt. No messy buns, no old t-shirts. Even her lounging around or doing chores clothes are high quality and well coordinated

still coming to terms with the fact that she isn’t straight

Darnell “Hutch” Hutchinson

competitive to a fault

seriously, just say "bet I can (blank) better than you" and he's ready to go

really good singing voice, a deep baritone

I think he has sisters. idk why, it just feels right

he’s actually the most meta character because he worked with the Call of Duty Endowment, which implies CoD exists within the world of CoD

Kim “Horangi” Hong-jin

has attempted to bet on the fact that he's a terrible gambler

it did not work

because he is a terrible gambler

can really hold a grudge

dyed his hair blue one time and kinda wants to do it again

likes to paint his nails

Rozlin “Roze” Helms

I like to think that she put Graves in his place a couple times when in Shadow company

like can you even imagine? He'd say some sexist remark and then say "not you/you're different/you don't count" or some "boys will be boys" nonsense

as if Roze isn't ready to throw down on behalf of any and all women in the fucking world

has been the "only woman" or the "first woman" in organizations for so long, and she's sick of it

maybe that’s one reason why she split from shadow company?

Sami “Zero” Zakaria

his call sign is the answer to the question "how much sexual attraction do you feel?"

(I'm trying to say he's ace)

yeah he had his rich party boy days, but that was more of a performance; a persona molded by societal expectations

when not in the battle field he's surprisingly chill

cannot stand low quality alcohol

Declan “Conor” MacConor

this mf-er blinked in my first screenshot of him

will play up the accent to get laid. No shame

if people get annoyed by his filthy mouth he talks about how cursing is a part of his ~culture~

guilty pleasure: reality tv

Tor “Aksel” Eriksen

serious about sunscreen. He's Scandinavian and has scars and tattoos. Gotta protect that skin

definitely owns a motorcycle

probably part of a heavy metal band at some point

he’s one of those guys who will wear shorts and sandals when it’s snowing and tell everyone “it’s not even that cold!”

Salvatrice “Stiletto” Muselli

biggest issue with her scar is that it makes it hard to do covert/undercover work

due to working on anti-drug task forces, she always carries narcan

has definitely threatened to castrate someone. Like holding a knife to their sack and everything

pretty good at giving herself manicures

she’s my fave, tbh

Thanks for reading! You can find my Specgru headcanons here. 

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Convicted monopolist prevented from re-offending

This Sunday (Apr 30) at 2PM, I’ll be at the San Francisco Public Library with my new book, Red Team Blues, hosted by Annalee Newitz.

In blocking Microsoft’s acquisition of Activision-Blizzard, the UK Competition and Markets Authority has made history: they have stepped in to prevent a notorious, convicted monopolist from seizing control over a nascent, important market (cloud gaming), ignoring the transparent, self-serving lies Microsoft told about the merger:

https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/media/644939aa529eda000c3b0525/Microsoft_Activision_Final_Report_.pdf

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/27/convicted-monopolist/#microsquish

Cloud gaming isn’t really a thing right now, but it might be. That was Microsoft’s bet, anyway, as it plonked down $69b to acquire Activision-Blizzard — a company that shouldn’t exist, having been formed out of a string of grossly anticompetitive mergers that were waved through.

Activision-Blizzard is a poster-child for the failures of antitrust law over the past 40 years, a period in which monopolies were tolerated and even encouraged by the agencies that were supposed to prevent monopolies from forming and break up the ones that slipped past their defenses. Activision-Blizzard is a giant, moribund company whose “innovation” consists of endless sequels to its endless sequels, whose market power allows it to crush its workers while starving competitors of market oxygen, ensuring that gamers and game workers have nowhere else to go.

Microsoft is another one of those poster-children, of course. After being convicted of antitrust violations, the company dragged out the legal process until George W Bush stole the presidency and decided not to pursue them any further, letting them wriggle off the hook.

The antitrust rough ride tamed Microsoft…for a while. The company did not use the same dirty tricks to destroy, say, Google as it had used against Netscape. But in the years since, Microsoft has demonstrated that it regrets nothing about its illegal conduct and has no hesitations about repeating that conduct.

This is especially true of cloud computing, where Microsoft is using exclusivity deals and illegal “tying” (forcing customers to use a product they don’t want in order to use a product they desire) to lock customers into its cloud offering:

https://www.reuters.com/technology/google-says-microsofts-cloud-practices-anti-competitive-slams-deals-with-rivals-2023-03-30/

Locking customers into Microsoft’s cloud also means locking customers into Microsoft surveillance. Microsoft’s cloud products spy in ways that are extreme even by the industry’s very low standards. Office 365 isn’t just a version of Office that you never stop paying for — it’s a version of Office that never stops spying on you, and selling the data to your competitors:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/25/the-peoples-amazon/#clippys-revenge

Microsoft’s Activision acquisition was entirely cloud-driven. The company clearly believes the pundits who say that the future of gaming is in the cloud: rather than playing on a device with the power to handle all the fancy graphics and physics, you’ll use a low-powered device that streams you video from a server in the cloud that’s doing all the heavy lifting.

If cloud gaming comes true (a big if, considering the dismal state of broadband, another sector that’s been enshittified and starved by monopolists), then Microsoft owning the Xbox platform, the Windows OS, and the Game Pass subscription service already poses a huge risk that the company could grow to dominate the sector. Throw in Activision-Blizzard and the future starts to look very grim indeed.

It’s a nakedly anticompetitive merger. As Mark Zuckerberg unwisely wrote in an internal memo, “it is better to buy than to compete.”

(These guys can not stop incriminating themselves. FTX got mocked for its group-chat called “Wirefraud,” but come on, every tech baron has a folder on their desktop called “mens rea” full of files with names like “premeditation-11.docx.”)

Naturally, the FTC sued to stop the merger (after 40 years, the FTC has undergone a revolution under chair Lina Khan and is actually protecting the American people from monopoly):

https://www.vice.com/en/article/ake97g/ftc-sues-to-block-microsoft-acquisition-of-call-of-duty-publisher-activision-blizzard

The FTC was always in for an uphill battle. “Cloud gaming,” the market it is seeking to defend from monopolization, doesn’t really exist yet, and enforcing US antitrust law against monopolies over existent things is hard enough, thanks to all those federal judges who attended luxury junkets where billionaire-friendly “economists” taught them that monopolies were “efficient”:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/13/post-bork-era/#manne-down

But the FTC isn’t the only cop on the beat. Antitrust is experiencing a global revival, from the EU to China, Canada to Australia, and South Korea to the UK, where the Competition and Markets Authority is kicking all kinds of arse (see also: “ass”). The CMA is arguably the most technically proficient competition regulator in the world, thanks to the Digital Markets Unit (DMU), a force of over 50 skilled engineers who produce intensely detailed, amazingly sharp reports on how tech monopolies work and what to do about them.

The CMA is very interested in cloud gaming. Late last year, they released a long, detailed report into the state of browser engines on mobile phones, seeking public comment on whether these should be regulated to encourage web-apps (which can be installed without going through an app store) and to pave the way for cloud gaming:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/13/kitbashed/#app-store-tax

The CMA is especially keen on collaboration with its overseas colleagues. Its annual conference welcome enforcers from all over the world, and its Digital Markets Unit is particularly important in these joint operations. You see, while Parliament appropriated funds to pay those 50+ engineers, it never passed the secondary legislation needed to grant the DMU any enforcement powers. But the DMU isn’t just sitting around waiting for Parliament to act — rather, it produces these incredible investigations and enforcement roadmaps, and releases them publicly.

This turns out to be very important in the EU, where the European Commission has very broad enforcement powers, but very little technical staff. The Commission and the DMU have become something of a joint venture, with the DMU setting up the cases and the EU knocking them down. It’s a very heartwarming post-Brexit story of cross-Channel collaboration!

And so Microsoft’s acquisition is dead (I mean, they say they’ll appeal, but that’ll take months, and the deal with Activision will have expired in the meantime, and Microsoft will have to pay Activision a $3 billion break-up fee):

https://mattstoller.substack.com/p/big-tech-blocked-microsoft-stopped

This is good news for gaming, for games workers, and for gamers. Microsoft was and is a rotten company, even by the low standards of tech giants. Despite the sweaters and the charity (or, rather, “charity”) Bill Gates is a hardcore ideologue who wants to get rid of public education and all other public goods:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/13/public-interest-pharma/#gates-foundation

Microsoft has a knack for nurturing and promoting absolutely terrible people, like former CEO Steve Ballmer, who has played a starring role in Propublica’s IRS Files, thanks to the bizarre tax-scams he’s pioneered:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/24/tax-loss-harvesting/#mego

So yeah, this is good news: Microsoft should have been broken up 25 years ago, and we should not allow it to buy its way to ongoing dominance today. But it’s also good news because of the nature of the enforcement: the CMA defended an emerging market, to prevent monopolization.

That’s really important: monopolies are durable. Once a monopoly takes root, it becomes too big to fail and too big to jail. That’s how IBM outspend the entire Department of Justice Antitrust Division every year for twelve years during a period they call “Antitrust’s Vietnam”:

https://onezero.medium.com/jam-to-day-46b74d5b1da4

Preventing monopoly formation is infinitely preferable to breaking up monopolies after they form. That’s why the golden age of trustbusting (basically, the period starting with FDR and ending with Reagan) saw action against “incipient” monopolies, where big companies bought lots of little companies.

When we stopped worrying about incipiency, we set the stage for today’s Private Equity “rollups,” where every funeral home, or veterinarian, or dentists’ practice is bought out by a giant PE fund, who ruthlessly enshittify it, slashing wages, raising prices, stiffing suppliers and reducing quality:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/16/schumpeterian-terrorism/#deliberately-broken

Limiting antitrust enforcement to policing monopolies after they form has been an absolute failure. The CMA knows that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure — indeed, we all do.

From Apr 26–28, Barnes and Noble is offering a 25% discount on preorders for my upcoming novels (use discount code PREORDER25): The Lost Cause (Nov 2023) and The Bezzle (Red Team Blues #2) (Feb 2024).

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Mountain View, Berkeley, San Francisco, Portland, Vancouver, Calgary, Toronto, DC, Gaithersburg, Oxford, Hay, Manchester, Nottingham, London, and Berlin!

[Image ID: A promotional image from the Call of Duty franchise featuring a soldier in a skull-mask gaiter giving a thumbs up on a battlefield. It has been altered so that he is giving a thumbs-down gesture. Superimposed on the image is a modified Microsoft 'Clippy' popup; Clippy's speech-bubble has been filled with grawlix characters; the two dialog-box options both read 'No.']

Image: Microsoft, Activision (fair use)