#but hopefully by then crafted gear will be out

[aur-eliaa]

Dawntrail finished!

[lae-zels]

action rpg with low poly customizable character, with whom i can play dress up throughout the game, save me

[lxndonorris]

racing surprise for Lando - Lando Norris (SFS24)

fem!reader x Lando Norris Theme: Smut (you've been warned) in the midst of pre-season testing, Mclaren invited you to surprise Lando x word count: 2710+ taglist: @game-set-canet another edition to the suit fitting saga 2024 (SFS24). Quite similar but I hope you like the added twist. Oh and I needed that picture so dont blame me. Next one will hopefully be este, and if you have any request, for SFS24, testing or simply something else, dont be shy and hit me up!

The air crackles with anticipation as the new season of Formula 1 looms on the horizon, heralding a fresh chapter in Lando Norris's illustrious career as a professional racing driver. With the promise of new gear, a state-of-the-art racing suit, a meticulously crafted helmet, and a gleaming Mclaren race car awaiting him, excitement pulses through his veins like the roar of an engine.

Amidst the flurry of activity in the Mclaren garage, you stand, a silent observer disguised as one of the team members. Dressed in the team's iconic orange shirt, dark pants, a cap, and sporting a headset, you blend seamlessly into the backdrop, your heart aflutter with anticipation as you await Lando's arrival.

He initially invited you himself to join him here, but you had to decline. Unbeknownst to him, his team has already reached out to you, preparing a surprise for your boyfriend. 

And then, like a whirlwind of energy and charisma, he enters the scene. Clad in his new racing suit, adorned with sponsor logos, he cuts a stroking figure. The fabric hugs his form in all the right places, accentuating his athletic build with precision and care. His curly locks framed his face, adding a touch of boyish charm to his rugged allure.

As Lando moves through the garage, his presence commands attention. There is confidence in his stride, a swagger in his step that speaks volumes about his self-assurance. He greets everyone with a warm smile and a handshake; his enthusiasm infectious. There is a genuine camaraderie between them, a sense of unity forged by their shared passion for racing.

With the assistance of two friendly mechanics who shield you from view, you watch as Lando prepares for his testing session. The air is thick with excitement and tension, a tangible buzz of anticipation that electrifies the atmosphere. The scent of his cologne lingers in the air, a subtle reminder of his proximity that sends shivers down your spine.

Each step Lando takes seems to echo purpose, his eyes alight with a belnd of determination and curiosity.

You watch from your vantage point, hidden in plain sight among the team members. As a conversation turns to the upcoming training session, Lando's demeanor shifts slightly. A curious, shy smile played on his lips as he listens closely. With a hand on his hip, he leans in slightly, his posture relaxed yet attentive.

There is a quiet determination in his gaze, a hunger to extract every ounce of potential from the testing session. He understands the importance of these moments, recognizing them as opportunities to fine-tune his skills and familiarize himself with the nuances of the new car.

You can't help but admire the way the fabric hugs his body tightly, emphasizing the curves of his backside and the strength of his arms. His movements are fluid and purposeful, each gesture imbued with quiet confidence.

With each glance, your eyes trace the lines of his suit, lingering on the subtle details that hint at the layers beneath. You know that beneath the sleek exterior lies a network of tight undergarments—fireproofs designed to protect him.

This knowledge adds an extra layer of allure to his already magnetic presence, heightening the intensity of your admiration.

As the conversation draws to a close, Lando offers a grateful nod to his mechanics. With a sense of purpose, he turns his attention toward the track, eager to put their plans into action and unleash the full extent of his talents.

With practiced ease, Lando slips into the remaining racing gear—his gloves and a tight balaclava—each movement deliberate and precise. The helmet, adorned with beautiful colors and logos, completes his ensemble, its glossy surface reflecting the glow of excitement in his eyes.

With a playful twirl, he settles into the driver's seat, his grin widening as he prepares to start testing. With a loud roar, the engine comes to life, and slowly but steadily, he makes his way out of the garage. Your stomach tightens in a mixture of anticipation and pride.

Through the crackle of the radio, his voice rings out, a symphony of exhilaration as he tackles each corner with precision and finesse. You listen intently, your heart swelling with joy as he pushes the limits of his Mclaren. You know he is so happy to be back, and you can actually see him smiling when you close your eyes. His voice is a little rougher, yet it carries his joy and passion through the radio.

Once his session is over, he returns to the garage. As Lando emerges from the cockpit of his Mclaren, he lets out a jubilant cheer with a triumphant flex of his arms. Shaking your head, you can't believe him actually doing that. Licking your lips, you still can't tear your eyes away from his arse, filling his suit fully.

The testing had been a success, and he surpassed all expectations. Running a hand across his chest, he can't help but revel in the rush of adrenaline that still courses through his veins. The fabric of his racing suit clings to him, damp with sweat from the intensity of the session—a sensational sight that you missed during the winter break.

In one swift movement, he reaches up to remove his helmet and balaclava, revealing a mop of tousled curls and a flushed complexion beneath. His lips part slightly with a satsified smirk, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes as he licks his lips, sending shivers down your spine. He looks so happy and excited, and you smile seeing him like that.

As he moves through the garage, shaking hands with his team members, he can't contain his joy. His tongue darts out playfully, a gesture of exuberance that shows his satisfaction with the achievements so far.

Lando chats with a few mechanics for a while, and you can tell the residual excitement from the testing session continues to surge through his veins, pulsating with every beat of his heart. He keeps stroking his chest, touching his arms, and subconsciously, he touches himself through his suit—just barely, yet it catches your attention. 

It is as if the adrenaline of the track has infused his very being, filling him with an exhilarating energy that seems to amplify with each passing moment.

Entranced by his every move, the sound of his voice, and his cologne's scent still hovering all around you, you miss the opportunity to reveal yourself—Lando has already left for his private quarters.

Leaving your headset and cap behind, you rush after him and spot him strolling through the paddock. Unable to tear your eyes away from him, captivated by the effortless grace with which he moved, you follow him. Every step seems to exude confidence, joy, and self-confidence.

As he runs a hand through his messy curls, you can't help but notice the way his hair fell in disarray, framing his face in a way that is both endearing and alluring. There is a rawness to his appearance—a sense of vulnerability—that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

And then, as if sensing your gaze, he runs a hand across his chest, a subtle gesture that speaks volumes about the excitement still running through his body. You can almost feel the electric energy radiating off him, a tangible reminder of the thrill of driving an F1 car.

In this moment, you are struck by the sheer magnetism of his presence, even though you're just looking at his beautiful back. And as he disappears into his quarters, leaving you to ponder the whirlwind of emitions he had stirred within you, you can't help but feel a sense of awe and admiration.

As you knock on his door, a nervous anticipation grips you, your heart pounding with uncertainty—how is he going to react?

"Coming." Lando's voice echoes through the door before it swings open, revealing your boyfriend standing right in front of you. With an almost shocked expression, your breath catches in your throat.

"Y/N?" He asks, and in an instant, his entire face lit up with a radiant smile that reaches his eyes, filling you with warmth and joy. 

"Hi." You smile shyly, your face flushing with heat. 

Without hesitation, he pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms enveloping you closely. You melt into him, running your hands across his firm back.

"What are you doing here?" Lando smiles, separating himself just enough for his face to be mere inches away from yours. He places a hand on your cheek, tracing your skin with his fingertips.

"Surprising you." You motion for a few Mclaren team members to film the two of you from afar. 

Both of you turn your heads and wave toward the camera. 

"They offered to get me here; we just needed a few clips for their channel." You shrug, and he nods in agreement and curiousity.

"This is great," he leans into you, kissing you gently. You lock eyes with him for what feels like an eternity.

The film crew gives you a thumbs up, telling you that it's now time for some alone time. 

As Lando welcomes you into his private quarters, a rush of excitement surges through you, mingling with the lingering traces of adrenaline from his testing session. Your gaze is drawn irresistibly to the contours of his chest, the fabric of his racing suit accentuating every curve and sinew.

He meets your gaze with a knowing smile, a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes as he senses the admiration and desire in your gaze. There is confidence in his demeanor, a quiet assurance that speaks of his comfort in his own skin.

"So, how was I?" With a playful grin, he steps closer, closing the distance between you until the warmth of his presence envelops you.

"Amazing." You lift your chin slightly, meeting his confidence with your own. "And you look the part too." Smirking, you lick your lips.

Without a word, he takes your hand and guides it to the fabric of his suit, allowing you to feel the sleek material beneath your fingertips.

"I know how much you like this on me," Lando breathes, locking his eyes with your own. However, you're unable to withstand his burning gaze and lower your eyes, following the movements of your hands instead.

As your hand traces the lines of his chest and arms, you can't help but marvel at the strength and resilience that lie beneath the surface. The fabric is cool to the touch, yet it seems to hum with the energy of the track, a tangible reminder of the passion and dedication that fuel his every movement.

"This feels so good." You breathe deeply while you keep stroking his chest, feeling his biceps, and watch his chest move with every breath he takes, eliciting a low rumble of pleasure deep down his throat.

"Fuck," Lando can't hold back a low moan, his hand now following yours closely, his body yearning for so much more. He leans his head back, embracing both of your hands now on his chest.

You know how much he loves to be teased, touched, and stroked. Effortlessly, you push all of his buttons and his most sensitive spots—his nipples, pecs, arms, and most importantly, his member filling his suit.

"Good." You whisper, leaning in to him, tracing the outlines of his stubble just above his lips. A shiver races down your spine, the rough texture of his beard contrasting with the softness of your touch. There is something undeniably alluring about the way his beard frames his lips, adding a touch of raw sensuality to his appearance. 

With each passing moment, the desire to feel the roughness of his stubble against your skin grows stronger—a primal urge that threatens to consume you completely. You lean in, brushing your lips against his in a tender caress. The sensation of his beard against your skin sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

With your hand on his crotch, he moans softly against your lips. Lost in the heat of the moment, you surrender yourself to the heady rush of emotions. Your lips meet in a fervent kiss, craving his delicious taste.

"Y/N." Lando murmurs, his hands now steady on your waist, holding you close.

"Care to give me a show?" You bite his lower lip teasingly, causing him to chuckle. "I want to see all of you in that." Tugging at the zipper of his racing suit, you stroke him firmer, encouraging him to show off.

"Of course." He giggles, and you settle onto the sofa, anticipation tingling in the air, thick with the electricity of the moment. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Lando takes center stage, spreading your legs to make some space. His movements are fluid and confident as he begins his private show.

With each flex of his muscles, his form seems to come alive, the contours of his body highlighted by the sleek fabric of his racing suit. He lets you feel his muscles tense, letting out more guttural growls.

"Very good." You smile, and with a playful smirk dancing on his lips, he turns around, giving you a tantalizing glimpse of his firm back and arse. He bends to show off his butt even more, much to your amusement. 

And then, with a sudden burst of energy, he begins to dance, his movements a mesmerizing combination of grace and athleticism. His hips sway to an invisible rhythm, and his body moves with a natural ease that shows off his innate charisma and confidence.

As he twirls and turns, the fabric of his suit seems to come alive as well, clinging to his form as he moves with effortless grace. With a slow and deliberate motion, he reaches for the zipper, his fingers tracing the line with teasing slowness.

As Lando slowly unzips his suit, his eyes never leave yours; their intensity like a flame igniting the air between you. His gaze is electric, a silnt invitation that sends shivers down your entire back. Hidden beneath his beautiful eyes lies hunger—a raw desire that mirrors the heat pulsating through your veins.

With each inch of fabric that melts away, inch by inch, he reveals the tight garments—a glimpse of the tight fireproofs. Easily, he slips out of the upper half of his suit, giving you a good look at his chest. His defined muscles barely conceiled, he flexes again, straining the fabric even more. 

Lando closes the distance between you until you feel the warmth of his body radiating against your skin. His gaze is never wavering, pulling you so much closer.

"Fuck." You reach for his chest, tracing the tangible outlines of his abs, as he licks his lips. With the sleeves of his suit dangling down his waist, he stands before you, his form outlined against the soft glow of the room, a vision of strength and sensuality that takes your breath away.

In that moment, as you drink in the sight of him, you know you want him. 

You motion for him to sit down right next to you, and right away, you lean in, kissing him passionately.

Lando embraces your body against his, and at the same time, your hand slips underneath his suit. His skin is warm and tight; all of the tension is showing its effect on his body.

"Mhmmm." He purrs into your mouth, one of his hands firmly on his length, bulging against his clothes.

In one swift motion, you manage to get into his pants and pull his member out of his clothes, causing him to moan in agreement.

"That would be so good, Y/N." Fully aware of what you're about to do, you keep kissing him while simultaneously running your hand up and down his length.

With every breath he takes, Lando lets out guttural groans before leaning his head back against the sofa cushions.

Looking into his eyes, you bend down and take him into your mouth. 

"That's what I meant." He swallows hard, running a hand through your hair.

Together, you easily catch up to each other's rhythm, moving as one. His husky, rough voice echoes through your mind as more and more drops of his taste cover your tongue. 

Then, his body gets stiff and rigid, and he holds his breath before letting go of all this tension, pressure, and desire. It feels so good. Letting out a long, breathless moan, he relaxes quickly, leaning back even more. You let go of him, licking your lips to savor the taste.

Lando fondles with himself for a while while you catch your breath.

"This was so good." You sigh deeply before a chuckle leaves your wet lips. He smirks, leans in, and kisses you.

"Thank you for being here." Lando rubs his nose against yours gently.

[captainx-camino]

I'm taking Viktor to the Ball at a convention we're attending in January and, naturally, I needed a Ball outfit for that, so...

It's almost done! I'm gonna be putting the hammer symbol that Jayce has on his white coat on the back of this one and a few random cogs on the exposed breast of the coat before it's all said and done but WOO! Nearly there.

Which means, it's time for an outfit breakdown! (And a mental one. I only have a few more days until I have to pack and I still have to finish a different Jayce outfit.)

But, anyway!

I wanted to go with a princely look and I honestly think I just about nailed it.

-The coat and vest were purchased as to save myself time, since I decided to do this very last minute. I did take up the sleeves and fix the fit though so... *Shrugs* The corset vest is part of my outfit for my wedding next year to my own, actual lovely partner (who is also my Viktor). So, I already had that. Yippee.

-The shirt was just one I had in my closet that I had to take in since I've lost weight. So, already had and more fitting there.

-I did add the epaulettes to the coat, which I made by hand out of craft foam, fancy trim, and ribbon. (I layered a red ribbon over the gold trim for an extra pop of color).

-The tie was made by above mentioned partner, who made us matching ones for both our outfits. I made the little gear tie pin though out of an adjustable ring base and a couple random jewelry gears from a multi pack we have (that will also be used to decorate the breast).

-The capelette is based off The Blanket™️ and has red lining, just like said blanket does. I sewed in curtain ropes and decorative closures for some added pizzazz both where it's sewn into the capelette and where it clips around the body. The capelette also has a shoulder seam, as well as a lapel. Which was a pain in the ass. I do not recommend having to do either lmao

-The pants were also purchased, and have a double closer on the front in a very steampunk way (I wasn't about to attempt to make that in a crunch I'm already struggling lol) I will also probably be folding them so they're cuffed at the bottom, but we'll see how that works out in my final fitting.

-The shoes were thrifted and were all black when I got them. I used leather paint to paint them with the red panels, added gold trim, painted the outside of the soles gold, and there is a little hex crystal shape on the bottom of the soles that I painted blue. I also switched out black laces for maroon because they fit better with the look.

-The gloves are the same gloves I got for Jayce's black outfit and are getting a little clip added later, but otherwise nothing fancy or crazy has been done with those.

-And finally, the wristband is from Willow Creative and literally my favorite thing I have ever bought ever. I highly recommend them if you're looking for a good Jayce bracelet! Absolutely gorgeous.

For those curious, this is what's being cut out and added to the back of the coat (sorry it's a bad drawing I just needed to see what it would all look like together)

I have a couple different gold fabrics for the main body of the hammer and some nice brown filigreed damask for the brown. (White boarder will probably just be foam so it's easier to attach to the back.)

That will be added as soon as I have it completed, hopefully later today.

But yey! Jayce Talis Ball outfit!

I am so looking forward to dancing with my Viktor.

[goreinfested]

If it John Cena hcs then it’s crush hcs

JOHN CENA CRUSH HCS:

( little a/n: I said i was going to sleep but I keep thinking about all these requests and the gears in my head are turning I can’t stop them ! I am a little sleepy though so hopefully it doesn’t affect my writing :p)

One thing about John is: if he has a crush it will never stay a crush the champion ALWAYS gets what he wants

From the moment he saw you he was stunned. you were exactly his type. It was like you came from straight inside his head and decided to come to life hand crafted and made for him- but we all know that’s not how it works and he’s a bit dramatic

It really didn’t take him that long to introduce himself as he’d saunter over to you with a lopsided smile

“hey I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m sure you already know who I am by now” he said pointing to the shirt that said ‘the champ is here’ “ but allow me to officially introduce myself”

You thought at that this bastard was so cocky that you simply just laughed and walked away. You laughed at him? The world wrestling champion? Now that simply couldn’t slide

Of course this filled him with determination to get you to really see him. Taking every chance to talk to you be it passing in the halls, after promos and matches to even one time he kept trying to have a conversation with you while you were on the way to the bathroom

You gotta hand it to the guy, his dedication was admirable.

I’d like to think you of course were oblivious

When trying to have simple conversation with you didn’t work, being his normal funny self surely would right?

He’d do all sorts of crazy stupid shit to grab your attention. Pulling stuff like walking up to you with a bra on and modeling it like some poster girl, or better yet this other time where he was putting on the best impressions he could muster ( some could say he was making fun of them) of wwe superstarts ( specifically Randy orton) and while it did make you laugh, Randy stood behind him the whole time and didn’t let the poor guy know he was hearing the whole thing

Of course when he turned around color drained his face and he was hightailing it outta there yelling ‘c’mon Randy it was just a joke no need to scowl you’re gonna age your face 30 years!” And he said so laughing the whole way right out of that situation

Chaos really erupted after that but it got your interest in him and it got your attention.

People definitely started whispering about it, not that cena was shy about being into you.

People like triple h & r truth were spreading around cenas rumored feelings for you around the locker room saying things like ‘ isn’t John acting a little strange ? I think he’s got the hopeless romantic act or something going on’

Of course since the company was so big, this was going to start spreading EVERYWHERE. People saying all sorts of things even at one point it got spinned to make it look like YOU were the one who had a crush on HIM.

He’d be really upfront about it if someone asked though.

“ hell yeah I am attracted to them! And I’m first in line if they’re single.”

He did not play when it came to stating how he wanted a chance

It was laughable and kind of cute really

Nothing was too embarrassing for him. Not constant rejection or any of the whispers

Of course if you were really not interested cena is not disrespectful enough to keep pushing your boundaries, he’s very respectful to those around him. Especially people he feels are closer to his heart than others

HOWEVER IF you do show him interest? He’s cranking up the volume 10000%

The smooth walk up to you, stupid pick up lines and the whole nine yards seemed to be a daily routine

He would NOT have any type of flirting or anything with other people if he had a crush

Unless of course if it was for a storyline or something but I’d like to think he’d be a little hesitant

Definitely feel like if his heart is leaning towards someone it’s all or nothing. He doesn’t really betray his own feelings or loyalty even if you weren’t together yet

[christabelq]

I was going to post a cosplay photo today, but decided to do another of my tutorial type things instead👩‍🏫. This time it’s for the steampunk handgun I used in my recent Typhoid Mary shoot and also seen in a few of my earlier pics. I’ve found it super useful to have, as it suits a bunch of different characters. If you want to rustle one up yourself, you’ll need these ingredients…

1 x Nerf gun or similar – Choose your gun carefully, as it will dictate what your finished weapon looks like. I went for something small, but chunky, which I picked up cheap in a thrift store (💜 my bargains).

Sandpaper for prepping the gun.

1 x can of black spray paint (or possibly more depending on the size of your gun – tbh I regularly misjudge how much paint I’ll need for stuff and end up having to make extra trips to the craft store to stock up 🚶‍♀️😩

Silver acrylic paint and 🖌️🖌️ to give the gun a metallic look (or gold if you want to bling out).

Assorted fixtures for decorations – I used some gears left over from another project, a bit of an old speaker and some circuitry from a broken tablet, but loads of other stuff will work. Btw, if you haven’t tried it, it’s super therapeutic pulling bits out of an old tablet, especially if it’s one that used to crash on you a lot like mine😈😈😈 

 Plastic knob – Replacement for the cocking thingy at the back of the Nerf gun, as this totally gave away that it was a toy. My piece was stripped off a toy gun I used in another project, but you can use whatever’s available.

A piece of leather – Trim for the barrel to add to the steampunk vibe and (hopefully) make the gun look a bit more realistic.

Needle and thread 🪡 – Most of my projects involve sewing in some way, as it’s something I like doing. Here it was used for finishing the edges of the piece of leather.

Fixative spray – Used to try and ensure I don’t accidentally scratch off any paint when I’m using the gun in a typical display of klutziness 🥴

Normally when I do these tutorials, I start rambling on at this point about whatever bits of the project pop into my head, but this time, I’m totally going to be structured about it, so here’s a step-by-step guide…

Sand off any logos and stuff on your gun, as these always make them look toy like. If the gun you’ve chosen has any smooth surfaces, you might want to sand these as well, as the paint will go on better that way. Top tip here is not to use really rough sandpiper or you’ll end up with nasty scratches.

Strip off any fittings on the gun which don’t look realistic and replace if necessary. In my case, this included replacing the thing for getting the gun ready to fire (I’m sure there’s a technical term for this, but it beats me what it is). I screwed the new bit into the end of the mechanism, so it still works, which is pretty cool.

⛫💨 Spray the gun matt black to prime it, plus any of your fittings which need to match. Usually this has to be done in a couple of stages, as if you’re working on a table or something you won’t be able to turn anything over until it’s dry. Also, no matter how good a surface looks at the time, you often come back to find the paint hasn’t covered something properly 😠😠. Here’s another tip… go off and do something else between coats rather than waiting around for however many hours it takes the paint to dry 💡

🎨 Add the metallic distressed look with the arcylic paint. For this to work, you need to dust the paint on super lightly. I usually wipe my brush on a bit of paper each time I dip it in the paint to get rid of the excess.

Once the paint is dry, attach your fittings. The trick here is to try to make them look like they have some kind of purpose and aren’t just window-dressing. Glue is the easiest way to stick things on, but I use bolts and screws when possible 🪛🔧, as these are more secure and allow gears and stuff to spin around if you want them to. If you’re using leather like me (or any other material), you’ll probably want to sew in a folded overedge before attaching it to stop it fraying 🪡.   

Touch up any damage you did to your paintwork when working on step 5. Maybe you’ll be luckier than me, but no matter how careful I am, there always seems to be some.

⛫💨 Spray on your fixative for protection. This should be done in steady lines with the can about 30 cms away from the gun. It’s best to do a few coats, sometimes working from side to side and sometimes from top to bottom, so you get good coverage. My tip for this stage is to shake the can well before use and do a quick test spray first to make sure the fixative is coming out evenly.

Pick up the finished gun and start rocking it /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿💥

So there you have it. Hopefully if you’re new to projects like this, it will give you a good starting point. I think you get good results for some pretty easy steps. Let me know if you found it useful or if you have any questions 💬, and stay tuned for more cosplay stuff.

Luv your friendly neighborhood  cosplayer, Christabel ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

ko-fi.com/christabelq instagram.com/christabel.simpson/ deviantart.com/christabelq

[boltedfruit]

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

Steve's attempt at a record-breaking gangbang ends up with him flying back to Hawkins to track down number one-ninety-eight. The mystery man who left an impression. - A thumb swipes his lower lip. Breath ghosts along the bite mark on his shoulder. It stings. Steve hopes he drew blood. “I’ll remember this forever, sweetheart.”

Thank you to @cowboythighs for giving me permission to write this fic based on their super fun prompt, which you can read here~

Read the full fic below:

What’s in his fridge?

There’s at least one bag of broccoli, half a container left of that nice parmesan he splurged on…maybe the chicken wings in his freezer are still okay. Hopefully? He still has some of that decadent hickory barbeque sauce. There’s no reason he can’t cover a bit of freezer burn with a healthy dousing of the stuff. He didn’t do the dishes last night, but that’s fine. Has time to run the dishwasher before–

Something vibrates. Loudly.

Someone’s phone is going off in the middle of the shoot.

Steve lifts his head, annoyed that the director hasn’t called cut yet. The man on top of him is dripping sweat, a bead of which narrowly misses landing in his eye. Steve casts a look sideways, hoping to catch the director raising his walkie.

Nope. Still posted up behind his wall of cameras. Stoic as ever, the man watches Steve work.

Steve lets the moment drag, his expectant silence punctuated only by the grunting and groaning of the muscled man pumping away between his spread legs.

More loud vibrations.

He cranes his neck to see over the man’s shoulder, sees the clock over the huddled producers and decides himself it’s time for a break.

Steve presses a hand against the massive chest above him and pushes lightly. The man’s movement falters, stops. Steve meets his eyes with an easy air of I’m the star, get off me, and it does the trick. The behemoth withdraws from Steve’s body with a mutter and wipes the sweat from his red brow as Steve swings his legs over the platform and sits up. He tests his weight, but finds he can still place pressure where he needs to without any pain.

The director shouts something Steve doesn’t hear. Calls back, “Somebody’s phone is going off! It’s ruining the vibe.”

“What phone? I don’t hear a phone,” the director says in his heavy German accent, shrugging in a way that rankles Steve. “We’re almost at two-hundred, surely it can—”

“No, it can’t wait. I need five anyway.” His own assistant appears by his side with a robe.

Steve shrugs it on and heads toward the source of the vibrations. Around him, production comes to a standstill while fluffers and PAs run around tending to the talent.

Steve tracks the phone down in a bag near craft services, but a producer beats him to it. She sheepishly digs out her phone and shuts it off, muttering an apology.

Steve sighs, grabs another cracker and decides to take a much needed bathroom break. On his way, he grabs his own phone and sees a text from Robin.

still good for eight?

I’m only at 197, might be closer to 9 or 10.

big ew, but congrats. should I pick up dessert?

Coffee double dutch choco cake pls?

obvi, my very spoiled friend. have fun you little award winning superslut!

Thx, lov u!

Robin sends back a string of emojis. He finishes up in the bathroom, thinking of all the times he’s been nominated for an AVN but never won. And it’s not like it’s terribly hard. He chooses interesting projects. He works with skilled teams. He stays clear of scandals and keeps his nose figuratively and literally clean of all the seedy underground bullshit that comes with the job.

But best actor still eludes him.

It grinds his gears, or at least the ones he used to have back in high school. The ones driving him to be a better player than everyone else at basketball practice, the ones that pushed him to state championship games three of his four years at Hawkins High. The ones that crowned him prom king and made him a bullshit name for a bullshit time in his life.

It’s his inner machinery, and even though he’s grown up a lot in the last five years, he’s still yet to replace some old rusted parts.

As he returns to set, Steve runs his hands through his hair, pinches both cheeks a little to bring a fresh blush back to the surface. His assistant applies lip gloss as he situates himself back on the black and white platform where he’s been fucked for the last three hours by one-hundred-and-ninety-six men.

He’s aiming for three hundred before dinner. Three-fifty if more than a good chunk of the men left are two-pump chumps. It’s about scheduling.

Steve shifts his weight from one asscheek to another, feels a brief twinge in his lower back. He flips over, stomach pressing against the slim pleather cushion.

It’s almost five.

The director claps his hands, and once Steve is in position, everyone resumes their roles. He gets comfortable on his elbows, cock limp between his legs and showing for the camera. He hears the next guy shuffle up behind him, can hear the shaky breath leave him.

Everyone knows their part to play in this circus, and Steve knows his best of all. He’s front and center, surrounded by a seemingly endless line of men of all ages, shapes and sizes. He’s taken more dick and strap today alone than he probably has in the last few years combined.

He’s going to win best actor, and he’s going to win best gangbang.

The thing about sex work is that it’s like any other job, really. There are good days, long days, fun days, days that drive him up the fucking wall. There are times he’s excited, nervous, bored out of his skull. Most shoots he books last a day or two, and hardly ever does one last more than a week, tops. This isn’t his first gangbang scene, but it is a record breaker for him, and several others in the industry as far as he’s researched.

But so far it’s been a lot of the same. Almost two hundred men and he hasn’t held a steady erection since an hour in and now he’s been daydreaming while giving tried and true sultry looks to the camera, fake moans of practiced pleasure leaving his throat.

Steve’s good at his job.

He’s been doing it since his parents cut him off and kicked him out at eighteen. He moved to LA and lived in his car until Robin graduated and followed him to the big city. It was exhilarating at first, fun. These days, at twenty-three, he’s mostly just bored.

And he knows better than to ignore an ache. If he holds one position for too long, he’ll be wrecked for a week. He’s big enough of a name now he can negotiate a lot of his contracts, and so he always gets control over how he’s positioned. The cameras can figure it out from there.

“And…action!”

Steve pouts for the camera in front of him, parts his freshly glossed lips and crosses his eyes a little. He never got the cross-eyed thing, but it’s apparently a huge kink for some.

Fingertips tickle over his ass, lead to palms lightly petting his hips. Steve wiggles for the man he can’t see, encouraging and coaxing as he goes to his knees and leans back. Wants to be grabbed, manhandled. Add the potential for a little healthy bruising and the audience eats it up.

But that doesn’t happen. Instead, he hears a breathy sigh from behind him, and then the sound of spit a second before he feels it hitting his hole. It drips down slowly, painting him wet, and Steve keens for the lens trained on his face.

The thing about this shoot is that it’s been a nightmare to plan. A year to put together a schedule, another six months to find the talent. There’s been cancellations, reschedules, a few deaths even, more casting, issues with health insurance and testing dates. Steve’s been along for it all, because this is his project. His idea, his brainchild.

All for one day.

One day to break some records. Prove to himself he can do this. That what he does can win awards and not only nominations.

After that he can take a very, very long break.

The hand rubs up and down his spine, firm and sure. Applies a little pressure at the lumbar and Steve actually lets out a small moan. It’s nice. He might set up a massage for tomorrow.

The camera swings wide, leaves Steve’s face and gives him some breathing room. The hand on his back remains while the other presses two fingers to his hole. He’s stretched, lubed beyond the meaning of the word even before the spit. There’s no need to finger him open.

But he receives a gentle probing with two fingers, a few deep, slow strokes that press in search with what seems to be a practiced touch. Steve rolls his hips back. Takes a few tries, but when the extra finds his prostate, he gasps, drives back to meet that zing of electricity again and again.

“God, just look at you,” the extra whispers. “Can’t wait to feel you. I’m so lucky.”

Steve moans. Not so fake this time. He drops his head, catches sight of lightly haired thighs covered in scribbly tattoos. He doesn’t even take into account the size of the man behind him, too focused on his own swiftly filling erection.

Huh.

It’s not like it’s a requirement or anything, by contract or personal preference of his scene partners. A lot of the time the bottom isn’t hard. Not exactly fair, but a limp bottom does not a film break, or whatever. More than a few of the men who have been inside him today have paid him plenty of attention, even tried for longer than Steve felt necessary. But they were all here to do a job, and that was to film a gangbang scene with Steve as the gangbangee. Hard or limp, he just wanted them to finish in him so they could get the shot and all go home to a nice hot shower.

“You’re gorgeous, y’know that?”

Though dirty talk was common, it wasn’t in the script for this shoot. And it wasn’t the usual lead-in of fuck yeah, look at your puffy hole, you take it so well, you’re like a bitch in heat, take that shit, take it like a whore.

“That’s it, baby, relax for me.”

It’s sweet…it’s kind. Things a lover would say.

Another strike of lightning burns him from the inside out, and Steve lets out a breath he’d been holding.

The hand at his back glides down, calloused fingers smoothing over his skin, until the director calls for penetration.

Steve wants to snap at him to shut the hell up. This is fine. More than fine, even. His prostate hasn’t exactly been the star of the show today, and a little pleasure makes his job that more enjoyable.

The fingers leave, and in their place frustration grows. That is, until the blunt head of another cock is pressing against him–no, dragging. The man is rubbing himself over Steve’s hole. Isn’t shoving in and taking like all the others.

More spit hits his rim , makes him startle. The hand on his back draws circles to settle him like a spooked horse.

This isn’t lovemaking. This is a scene. Steve huffs at himself, thinks just stick it in already, dude.

The extra’s hands slide from his back to his hip, his other hand joining in and pulling Steve’s weight, using Steve’s own body to slide inside. Steve groans. The guy’s big, thick. Should have paid better attention while he had his head down.

“Knew you could take it, Harrington,” he says softly, and Steve almost misses it when the man whines as he bottoms out. Fingers dig into his sides, tight but not bruising. “Pictured it a little different, but a guy can’t complain.”

So the guy’s got a fantasy, that’s fine. A lot of the talent cast for this production expressed a desire to work with Steve. Came with the territory, and the long filmography.

But something about this man hits him a little different. His words have him melting enough to feel warmth build, begin to spread.

His legs are tingling, insides burning with the stretch and latent pleasure. He wants more.

He grinds his hips back, trying to put his weight into it. The man moans low and finally, finally, starts moving his hips. Drags Steve back on every thrust.

“Jesus, you’re so–so–” Another drawn-out moan and the man collapses along Steve’s back. He’s slim, but his arms are strong as they wind around Steve’s waist. More tattoos. Bats in flight, stretched faces with sharp teeth. Long hair tickles over his shoulder as the man noses along the back of his neck “You feel like a dream.”

It’s quiet. Quiet enough Steve knows the cameras won’t pick it up. It’s just for Steve, and that sends his blood rushing, dick kicking as tension builds in his belly.

“Shit,” he grinds out, feels drool slip from his open mouth to pool on the black pleather underneath. “Oh, God.”

“That’s it. Wanna make you feel good, sweetheart. Come on. You deserve to feel good.”

He’s so hard he’s aching. Feels the weight of himself slap his stomach on each ever harder, deeper thrust.

Steve’s going to come. He’s actually going to come.

“Just knew you’d be so good for me. Could tell the first day I ever saw you. Wanted you forever. And look what you’ve accomplished,” he babbles, Steve’s heart growing three sizes, “You’ve changed the industry. You showed LA who’s king.” A particularly deep thrust has his elbows giving out. The man effortlessly braces his abrupt fall, a calloused hand snaking up to pillow his jaw. Steve is vaguely aware of the camera in front of them both, but he couldn’t care less if he tried right now. It feels too good. Feels better than anything all day, all month, all year. To the cameras, it must look like Steve’s being choked, but it’s the farthest thing from it. He’s being held, kept safe. “Always knew you’d go places. Get everything you wanted and more. I was actually jealous, and look at us now. Can’t believe how lucky I am.”

Steve’s cursing, praying, something as he’s pressed into the pleather. Now, his cock is trapped, facing backward so every time the man draws out and pushes back in, their cocks drag for a brief moment of bliss. The cherry on top. Neat trick.

“Never thought I–never even dreamed–”

A gasp, a flash of teeth in skin and Steve is coming with a shout, flexing his ass to get more, more.

He feels warmth spread hot and wet inside him and knows this will only last another moment or two. He needs to turn around. To see the man that just took him apart without touching his cock. Needs to–

A thumb swipes his lower lip. Breath ghosts along the bite mark on his shoulder. It stings.

Steve hopes he drew blood.

“I’ll remember this forever, sweetheart.”

The director shouts something Steve doesn’t hear. Can’t comprehend past the pleasant hum buzzing inside him.

But then the weight on his back is gone, the cock inside him slips free and with it a spurt of come. Cameras circle back around to catch the aftermath, hears a muttered nice from some crewmember when they see the twin puddle beneath himself.

He rolls his eyes, safe to do with no coverage on his face.

He feels so empty. Cold begins to creep in.

Steve blinks quickly. Why is his throat suddenly so tight?

Then another man approaches, is lifting his hips up, is pushing in with absolutely zero patience or attention paid to Steve at all. And that’s fine. It is.

They’re on a schedule, after all.

-

“Yippee!” Steve claps when Robin sets the plate of cake before him.

She joins him on the couch, a forkful of her own piece of cake already in her mouth. “I don’t know how you’re even sitting right now.”

“It’s honestly not that bad.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Look who’s literally talking.”

Robin pulls her own fork free and sticks her tongue out. “Seriously though, you sure you don’t need anything? A heating pad? Ointment? Therapy?”

“Ha ha. I already took care of what I needed to–stop making that face, oh my God. I’m just dandy, Robs, don’t worry. I want to veg out and watch tv for the next six months and gain like twenty pounds.”

“You are too skinny.”

“My point exactly.”

“But, still like. Wow.”

“I know.”

“Three-hundred sixty-eight guys. Whole ass men were inside you today. That has to be a health issue for the community or something, right? How are your insides not melting out of you right now? I should have laid down a towel to protect your precious piece of shit couch.”

“You’re so funny, and it’s our precious piece of shit couch.” But even so, Steve preens a little. He did it. He broke his goal and then some. “I’m gonna win that goddamn award if it kills me.”

He looks over when she doesn’t answer. Robin is looking down at her plate.

They’ve had this argument before.

“I’m taking a break,” he says, reaching for her hand. She squeezes, and he squeezes back. “Promise.”

Robin nods. “So,” she says, shaking herself from the momentary tension, “you mentioned one guy was unique. I’m almost afraid to ask.”

He snorts. “Why?”

“I mean, was he like eighty or something? Was he dressed all in latex with one of those gas masks? Did he have two dicks or what?”

Steve laughs, drops her hand to grab a pillow, and throws it at her instead.

Then he tells her.

In as much detail as she can handle, anyway.

“Did you get his number?” Robin asks, and frowns when Steve shakes his head no. “What about a name?”

“It was kind of a rush, an in the moment kind of thing. Wasn’t really time for a lot of talking.”

“Oh my God, Steve.”

And then, his best friend in the entire world has an absolutely batshit idea.

-

He gets the call sheet from his favorite producer, an easy going older man with decades of experience in the industry. He doesn’t ask questions.

Three days later, Steve's got a list of three-hundred-and-sixty-eight names, including himself and the crew. Beneath the call sheet is a packet of numbers and addresses.

It might be a crazy idea…but Steve’s one of the world’s leading gay adult film stars. He can afford to be a little crazy.

So when his sabbatical officially begins, Steve starts calling.

-

The first thing he tries is going down to number one-ninety-eight. That makes sense, and even Robin had agreed.

But the man who answered was a fifty with a slightly higher voice than he remembers. He quickly thanked Steve for the experience, and the paycheck, but explained he didn’t have any tattoos. He was afraid of needles.

Steve huffs, crossing the name and number off.

His guy was definitely younger than that, had a deep, smooth voice. Had ink that looked homemade from a glance.

The list he has is in no discernible order. It’s neither numerical nor alphabetical. He checks the first few addresses and finds it has nothing to do with location, either.

So he calls each and every single person. Actually blocks out time to do it around breaks and lunch, time spent with Robin which they both agree is long overdue.

After a week and a half of calls, Robin drags him to the beach for an afternoon of sunbathing and people watching.

“I don’t know, Robin. I already crossed off the guys I know, the ones I’ve seen in other projects. But I’ve still got over a hundred people left.”

“Says the guy who wanted to bang over three hundred guys. This is your own fault.”

“I know,” he agrees, swirling his fingers through the sand. “I’m just…I don’t know. Worried, I guess.”

“Why?”

“What if he thinks I’m a freak for tracking him down? What if he wants nothing to do with me?”

Robin snorts. He looks her way, sees her nose and cheeks are red from the sun despite her large sunhat. Her toes are dug into the sand, and the book she’d been reading lays forgotten on her stomach.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Steve. From what you told me, it sounded like he had a little crush.”

“Yeah, but that could have been my filmography talking. Lot of guys say I’m on their shortlist of dream lays. It’s like a fantasy thing for them.”

“Disgusting. Absolutely abhorrent,” she says easily. “But you said your guy was different. You think it was just an act?”

“I couldn’t tell. He seemed…sweet. If that makes sense?” Steve shrugs, hands her the bottle of sunscreen. “You need another layer. You’re turning into a tomato, birdie.”

She cups her hands, and he squeezes a dollop out. As she rubs the lotion into her skin, she seems to consider what he’s said.

“How sweet can an actor in a gangbang be?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Then you have to keep at it. You have to keep calling until you find him. You may strike out more often than not when it comes to dating, but you have, like, a good good people radar.”

“What does that mean?”

“I mean, you naturally attract decent people,” Robin says, smiling. “Take me, for example! I’m the best person you know.”

Heat climbs his face, settling at the tips of his ears. He sinks further into the beach foldout, embarrassed for a reason he can’t name. Robin’s smile turns knowing before softening into something closer to friendly pity.

Robin drops her book in the sand and stands, grabs Steve’s hand and starts pulling him toward the water’s edge.

“Come on, sourpuss, let’s go swim!”

-

He’s down to five people.

The phone numbers they gave were either disconnected or, more likely, fake. So he has no choice, really.

He decides to fully embrace his apparent new level of creepy stalker and physically visits their listed address.

The first three people are surprised but happy to see him, and he ends up sharing beers with two of them, but all three are very clearly not the person he’s looking for. The fourth is nice enough, if wary, but is in his forties and is trans. Is all too happy to show Steve the strap he used on the day. So that rules him out.

There’s one address left, and honestly Steve had been hoping it was a fluke. A mistake.

Because the address is in Hawkins, Indiana. His hometown.

He never chose a stage name, a mistake that many a producer and actor used to lecture him on in the first couple of years he was in the business. But he made it his own. It worked. His parents haven’t contacted him since he was kicked out, so if they know about his career choice, Steve isn’t aware. He prefers it that way.

He always imagined he’d send them a photo of him smiling with his AVN award when he finally won. A final, brief fuck you and career announcement all in one.

Needless to say he hasn’t been back to Hawkins once since he moved to LA. And though he isn’t shy about his legal name, Steve has never discussed his past, his childhood. Nobody in the industry that is legally allowed to discuss his association with Hawkins never has, because they simply don’t know.

Steve’s honestly a bit surprised nobody he used to know has reached out in the last five years. He knows Tommy at least frequented the sites his agency posts to. Nowadays, gay and straight films can be found in the same tags, same pages. Even if someone didn’t go looking for gay porn, they still might have come across Steve in something. An ad, even.

But no, nothing.

He’s not ashamed of what he does. He hasn’t actively avoided his past or anything. If anything, he’s simply strived to not care about it. It doesn’t matter. He hasn’t seen a Hawkins address in years.

Until now.

It’s weird. Could be some kind of underhanded prank. Maybe he should call his lawyer and tell him to expect some sort of blackmail soon.

The last four have led him to the neighboring cities around Los Angeles, but he’s not had to leave California yet. And being back in Indiana has him off his feet. Wrongfooted in some small way that leaves him feeling like a stranger. An impersonator.

He left small town life behind and made it big in a way that would have had every gossiping homebody’s heads turning if they knew.

Half expects to burst into flame the second he steps foot within city bounds.

But nothing happens. His rental car keeps driving. The turn off the highway is familiar, second nature.

He pulls into Hawkins and follows the directions parroted to him by his GPS. He notices several new fast-food places, the old mall has been redone, some houses seem bigger–but it’s still the same small, old town.

He comes to a crossroads. Left to Forest Hills Trailer Park where he’s never been, or right to what would eventually lead to Loch Nora and his childhood home.

He takes a left.

The trailer park isn’t huge, but each home has a small yard. He drives through a winding road that’s half gravel until he finds number fifty-three.

He parks, gets out and stands. Butterflies swarm his stomach, his palms sweating.

Steve gives himself a silent pep talk and walks up the short drive to the front door.

He knocks twice and waits.

It’s getting colder in Indiana. A few more weeks and there might be the first fall of snow. Back in California it was eighty-six degrees when he boarded the plane. He shivers.

Steve jumps a little when the door opens, the screen between him and an older man who frowns down at him.

“And who are you?”

“Hi! Hello. My name is Steve. I, um. Is there a Wayne Munson here by any chance?”

Steve steadies himself, tries to calm his rising nerves. He steps back to make room as the man opens the screen door and steps out into the early afternoon light.

“That would be me, son. Can I help you? You look a little lost.”

It’s not him.

Not his guy.

Steve’s stomach drops. Feels a little sick to his stomach.

The voice isn’t the same. It’s low, sure, but rougher with age. And Steve remembers the tickle of long hair along his skin. This man, Wayne Munson, is balding.

Unless he wore a wig…then, maybe…

He rechecks that this trailer is indeed number fifty-three.

“No, I uh. This is the place. This is going to sound strange, but I don’t suppose you have any tattoos?”

Wayne huffs. He pulls up his sleeve and shows Steve a faded old tattoo, a blue cross with blown out edges.

“Just the one.”

Steve nods, disheartened. “I see. Okay. I, uh, thanks for your time. I’ll just go–”

He turns, feeling foolish.

“Kid, wait a minute. Come on inside and warm up. You drink coffee?”

Steve debates. He’s cold, sure, but that’s an issue fixed by turning around and driving back to the airport to hop on a plane back to California.

Staying could turn out badly. Hawkins was never friendly to outsiders, and the rumor mill sprinted when it came to talk of things like sin and violating the good word of the Lord.

Steve’s pretty sure being a porn star is hidden somewhere in there.

And it was never a secret in backwoods like these people tended to dole out their own justice. Some kids were killed in Indy for being gay and working corners. Why not here, in the home of a man Steve doesn’t know?

He puts on his best smile. “That would be great, sir.”

The man drops his eyes to the ground, waves a hand at him. “Please, enough of that. I’m just Wayne. Always have been, always will be. Come on in, it’s not getting any warmer out here.”

Steve shuffles inside, thanking him. “Looks ready to snow soon.”

“Ah, another week or two I think. You from around here?”

“Used to be,” Steve says as Wayne gestures for him to sit on a stool at the kitchen counter. “I moved to California a few years back.”

“Hm.” Wayne starts a fresh pot of coffee, old-fashioned kettle on the stove. Steve’s grown used to his Keurig. “Big place compared to here. How d’you like it?”

“It’s busy. I’ve gotten used to it.”

“I imagine there’s always something for doing.”

Steve nods. “You’re right.”

“What d’you do for work out there? I’ve heard it’s all tech companies and wannabe actors.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Well, actually…I’m an actor.”

“Ah, geez. Don’t mind me, it’s the stereotype.”

“No offense taken,” Steve says. “It’s kind of the reason I’m here.”

“Do tell.”

“It’s kind of embarrassing. I had this big, uh. Film. Scene. A big scene. It required a lot of background actors. Extras, you know?” Wayne nods. Steve is flubbing this big time, Christ. “I kind of hit it off with one of the–one of them. Fell a little in love if I’m being honest. My best friend, she had this crazy idea to get the call sheet and go down the list to see if I could find him.”

Wayne’s eyes go a little wide and it’s only when the kettle starts whistling that Steve realizes his slip up.

But Wayne beats him to it. He takes the kettle off the burner and starts fixing two cups of coffee. Says, “Young love’s hard to come by, kid. I’ve been telling my boy for years now, if ya find somebody worth chasing, you run. Doesn’t matter the obstacles, if they’re a boy or girl. Just run to em.”

“That’s…that’s really good advice,” Steve mutters, surprised and relieved when Wayne doesn’t seem to have a problem with him. “Means a lot, being from here.”

“Me, I’m from back south, but Hawkins is home. Strange as it is to hear, this town’s actually progressive compared to where I grew up. But there’s still work to do, that’s for damn sure.”

Wayne reaches into a cabinet and brings down a bottle of liquor Steve recognizes all too well. Good quality bourbon. Steve doesn’t miss the healthy pour that goes into each mug.

“Good for warmin’ up,” Wayne says as he passes one mug to Steve. He goes for the fridge next and pulls out a half eaten chocolate cake. “You fancy a piece? My boy whipped it up, but I told him like hell he expects me to finish it on my own.”

“Oh, I don’t want to take up your time–”

“You’d be doing me a favor,” Wayne cuts in, smiling in a way his parents never did. Kind, warm. Real.

Steve relaxes the rest of the way, the tension leaving him all at once. Wayne Munson’s a good guy.

“I’d love one.”

-

“...and I told my boy, I said, if music is what you wanna do, you go and do it. Convinced him to get his GED and get out of dodge. School was never much of a Munson family pastime, anyway.”

“God, yeah. I hated school. I barely graduated, and that was still a few months after I got kicked out.”

Wayne shakes his head, takes a sip of his beer. They’re sitting on the front porch, watching the sun begin its slow descent. Steve almost forgot how pretty Indiana skies could be.

“I knew your folks, y’know. Back in high school. Forgive me for saying it, but your father was a real piece of work.”

Steve can’t help the bitter sound that leaves him. “Trust me, I know.”

“Can’t stand a parent dumping their kid on the world like that. More like dumping the world on their kid. Real life is tough shit. If you love your children, you don’t just abandon them to figure it out for themselves.”

Steve hums. Takes a chance. “It sounds like you’re talking from experience?”

Wayne scowls out into the distance. “It was just me and Al for a long time. Our parents weren’t around much, and when they were they weren’t the best. We all did what we could.” He shakes his head again, meets Steve’s eyes. “Just a shame Al turned out exactly like our old man. Couldn’t spot respectable if it bit him on the balls.”

Steve laughs again.

Wayne lifts his beer and points out to the gravel road. “‘Bout time!”

Steve looks out and watches an old beat-up van wind down the road, music getting louder the closer it gets.

“You’ve got company! You should have said. You’ve been so kind, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Wayne tells him good-naturedly. “That’s just my boy. Owes me dinner since I’ve cooked the last few.” Adds when the van is parking behind Steve’s rental, “You should stick around for supper. He makes a mean lasagna.”

“I really should…”

Then Steve sees him.

Wayne’s boy, who he’d assumed at first was his son but learned was the nephew he took in after his brother fucked up somewhere along the way.

Steve’s throat goes dry.

The music cuts off as the van door opens and out hops a man with wild black curls tied up into a mess of a bun. He’s not even looking their way as he hip checks the door closed and walks back to the double doors. He swings them open, grabs a duffle, many bags of groceries baring the local Krogers logo, and a large glass casserole dish that looks far too fragile to be balancing the way it is. Before he closes the doors again, a large orange tabby hops out and winds around his legs, rubbing and trotting after its owner as he heads up the drive.

“Sorry I’m late, old man. Store was packed, and then Garfield here didn’t want to…Oh.”

He slows when he sees his uncle has company. Stops completely when his eyes land on Steve.

The guy’s young, could be a few years on either side of Steve’s age. He’s wearing all black denim, complete with chains and large belt buckle. His knuckles are tattooed and Steve wonders where else he has them.

And he’s familiar is the thing.

And isn’t that funny?

Because back in school. Steve would play reckless and brash. He’d skip school, get in plenty of fights he always lost. Made friends with the wrong crowd and got into enough trouble. And he would wonder, in the way only a closeted bisexual boy could in the Midwestern US, what it would be like to run away with someone a little older, a little rougher, a little more mean. Someone who knew more about the world. Who didn’t give a shit about kid stuff like Steve used to, like reputation and dating and getting into girls’ pants as much as possible. On being the best all-American athlete he could so others would think, wow, that Steve Harrington sure is going places.

He would wonder, in profound secrecy and silence and repression, what it would be like to kiss someone like the man stood before him under the shade of a tall tree in the woods behind his house. What it might be like to touch another boy and not have to be afraid to death of the idea.

The large cat, Garfield, rubs up along Steve’s legs then. Walks a figure eight between them and yowls to be paid attention to. Steve reaches down to pet between his ears, is vaguely aware of the two other men talking to one another, of Wayne explaining why Steve is here, who Steve even is.

And Steve knows this guy. He does.

He’s got long hair. Tattoos, maybe more hidden away. Has plush lips and flushed cheeks from standing in the cold with arms weighed down by too many things, and, and–

“You’re–”

“I’m Steve,” Steve says, straightens back up and holds out his hand. “Steve Harrington.”

The other man gawks. A bag slips from his fingers and a tub of cream cheese goes rolling right back down the small incline.

“Jesus, boy,” Wayne’s muttering, walking down to help with the groceries. He grabs the serving dish first, then heads for the runaway cream cheese. “Where’d your manners go? Introduce yourself!”

Wayne grumbles as he heads after the thing.

Steve’s hand is grasped, shaken, held. Steve smiles. Wants to roll up the long sleeves to see if he’s covered in the bats he saw during filming.

“I’m Eddie,” Eddie says, breathes really.

And oh wow. Wow.

Steve doesn’t let go, and neither does Eddie.

“I heard you make a mean lasagna.”

A smile splits Eddie’s pretty mouth. “That so? I wonder who said that.”

“Somebody who loves his nephew a whole lot.”

“Huh, no idea. Could you clue me in?”

Steve steps closer. “Think a little harder? Maybe you forgot.”

“Maybe,” Eddie says, and though it’s soft, it’s undeniable. “Always forgetting things, that’s me.”

It’s him.

Wayne passes them by again, taking another bag from Eddie’s hands. Eddie sets the rest down at their feet, sparkling, dark eyes never leaving Steve’s.

“Steve here’s an actor. Eddie, weren’t you telling me you had a gig down in LA with the band a few weeks back? What a coincidence, that.” He keeps walking.

Steve watches him go inside, Garfield hopping happily after him.

When he turns back around, Eddie’s close enough he can feel his breath.

Steve glances at his lips. Sees them bend with amusement.

“It’s funny.”

“What is?”

“King Steve, here in my uncle’s humble abode. What a surprise.”

King Steve is as close a moniker he’s ever received working in the industry. An irony that’s followed him from high school into adulthood, even though the two weren’t connected.

And something inside Steve breaks apart, blooms, shines.

It’s him.

Eddie reaches up, traces a thumb along his bottom lip.

“I think we’ve met.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Care to stay for some homemade cooking, your liege? I think we have a lot to talk about.”

The thumb at his lip dips, goes inside his mouth, briefly makes contact with Steve’s tongue. He wants to suck on it, wants to do a whole lot more.

“We definitely do.”

Eddie’s hand falls away. He picks up a few bags and lets Steve take the others.

And as Steve follows Eddie Munson, his mystery guy, inside it hits him all at once. A punch to the solar plexus.

Just knew you’d be so good for me. Could tell the first day I ever saw you.

He knows him.

You showed LA who’s king.

Not just from the shoot.

“Oh my God, I know you! We know each other!”

Eddie Munson, the guy who walked over lunch tables and caused a scene. The guy Tommy shoved into lockers. The guy who dealt at every party. The guy who wore denim and leather and was in a band. The guy Steve watched, who watched him right back.

Wanted you forever.

I was actually jealous, and look at us now.

Can’t believe how lucky I am.

I’ll remember this forever, sweetheart.

And Steve hurries in after him as Eddie’s knowing, familiar laughter leads the way.

[infinite-hearts-333]

Meet: Ouřa Thorn!

Hi hi I have a hyper fixation on the smiling critters the size of fricking Saturn and all you amazing beans are making me feral enough to post on this site again PFTT- SO here’s my take of the space rider au that was made by the AMAZING @onyxonline (dude your art is like my world rn good job 👍🏾✨)

Also what would I be without a lil lore drop so that’s all below hehe :3

Ouřa Thorn is based off of a Armadillo girdled lizard, though due to their horns, and massive size, many confuse them for a dragon or a wyvren of some sorts (not that they care to correct).

They joined the space riders in their teens, and just never left- doing the odd jobs where ever they could, cleaning, cooking, maintaining crafts, ect. They had no powers to their knowledge, and if they did they weren’t noticeable or activated yet.. and well many crews don’t have room or need for a wannabe space maid. So Ouřa Thorn stayed at the base.

They were fine with this, they would be a little bit of a sore thumb in the crew since lack of fighting skills, powers, and that they couldn’t wear any of the cool uniforms without shredding them with their spines. (Sure they could flatten them, but it only takes one spook for them all to spike up and poke someone or rip something :<)

The world however, always has other plans. Whilst they were working in the supply section, checking out crates that came with make, gear, food, what ever critters had mailed to base had to checked through carefully to ensure nothing sketchy was put inside. Standard precautions, and for a good reason.

One of the closer priests had tried to mail some their followers straight to the base to try and breach and take over it, or to lay low and snoop out info.

Ouřa Thorn heard one of their fellow mail sorters shriek as a gang of the cults follows breached into the docking bay. Sirens filled the air as the base was alerted of the breach, and hopefully some of the riders would be able to get to the docks and stop the cult before any casualties or damage happened.

When the riders arrived at the scene- well. It was quite the scene. Ouřa Thorn always had powers. They just need the right amount of pressure to kick start it.

Under the stress of critters they cared about being in danger from the cult, Ouřa Thorn gained their only ability. Their symbol is the Ouroboros, representing the cycle of rebirth and destruction, as well as the World Serpent.

Over all, it was a little bit of a shock of see a massive Lindworm aggressively hoarding all of the docking staff while hissing angrily at a heap of cultists, laying still on the floor.

This form is absolutely a last choice move, due to its destructive behavior and the factor that it is high in energy to maintain, leaving Oura Thorn exhausted afterwards. Though with all those spines and thick skin, they’re practically a tank for charging through lines hehe.

After the docking incident, their started to consider being a space rider :>

[bugsims]

NOVEMBER & DECEMBER ROUNDUP Lately, I've been thinking about all the amazing stories and legacies that've influenced who I want to be as a writer. I realized that I wanted to share the ones that I've loved most over the past month or so, and hopefully inspire others to share what inspired them! In no particular order, here are my November and December loves.

Forever In Between (18+) by @rebouks

Forever In Between has always been one of my favorite stories on tumblr, and it's usually what I read through to get myself back in gear and inspired to write! Becca puts so much love and passion into each line-- every character is rich with humanity-- it's hard not to get swept away.

WARWICK: Chapter III (16+) by @warwickroyals

Ayanna is truly a master in storytelling, and showcases her work through the sims in a way I'd never thought possible. Reading her posts is like stepping into a film. I can't recommend it enough, especially if you love devouring stories the same way I do!

Questioning: Identity by @lotuso3o

As part of Lotus' sixth gen in their whimsy stories legacy, they crafted this gorgeous post about Mariah's gender identity. I am a huge lover of any editing style that exudes warmth, and this one wrapped me up in a cozy blanket. Lotus' post is absolute perfection, it could be its own short story.

Nightlife Series (18+) by @nightlifeseries

Everything about the Nightlife Series brings out such nostalgia in me. It reminds me of of all the late night romantic, dramatic, and wild shows that were strictly off-limits growing up. This series has twists at every corner-- there's even a YouTube series to watch, too! I absolutely love coming back to it, and can't wait to see what happens next.

[honourablejester]

PF2e Character Concept – Archaeologist Rogue

Guess who this was inspired by? Since I’ve been talking about Jonathan Carnahan recently. Heh. Though this will be more loosely inspired than an actual attempt to create the character in Pathfinder. We’re just going to take the idea of a charming and loyal pickpocket with some scholarly backing behind him, and go from there.

As for why PF2e, mostly for the archaeologist archetype, but also because Osirion is right there? Golarion has a straight-up Ancient Egypt analogue sitting pretty in northern Garund, so we might as well use it!

So. Our class is obviously going to be Rogue, and given that the main thing that Jonathan repeatedly does to the benefit all is pickpocket people, we’ll be taking the Thief racket (Scoundrel is a possibility, if we wanted to lean more on the charming angle, but thievery usually works better for Jonathan, so we’ll go Thief). And to hone in on that … If we want a background that will give us the Pickpocket feat, we could go Street Urchin, but I rather like Hounded Thief from Guns & Gears. Because the premise of that background is that you stole a ‘unique item from a strange individual’ and now you have the creeping feeling that you’ve drawn eyes because of it. So, for example, possibly we stole a mysterious strangely-shaped amulet from a strange person, and it might turn out that it’s the key to a magical tomb in the desert? Just spitballing here. Heh.

For ancestry … Okay. If we want an ancestry that is smart, fast, well-travelled, loyal, communal, curious, and inveterate hoarders … I mean. He’s got to be a Ratfolk, no? That might sound cruel or on-the-nose, that the thief is a rat, but ysoki are loyal, love their families, love travel, and just enjoy collecting things. Like shiny things. But that’s besides the point! *grins* Let’s go with the Desert Rat heritage, and say we’re actually from Osirion, or possibly Katapesh. For our languages, we’ll take Common, Ysoki, and Ancient Osirion, because our little scholarly thief has always been interested in the ancient empire (and its mysterious treasure-filled tombs).

Our starting stats will be a +4 to Dexterity, a +2 to Constitution and Charisma, a +1 to Intelligence, and a +0 to Wisdom and Strength. We’ll primarily be levelling those first four, but at some point we’ll try to boost our Wisdom for Perception in there.

For skills, we’ll start with Stealth, Thievery and Underworld Lore, and then 7 more, plus 1 for our Int modifier, and 1 because we doubled up on Thievery between the Thief Racket and Hounded Thief. So we’re also going to take Deception, Intimidation, Diplomacy, Society, Survival, Acrobatics, Medicine and Crafting because they’re handy, and then Lore: Ancient Osirion. Taking the Archaeologist dedication feat at Level 2 will auto-bump Society and Thievery to Expert, and we’ll bring at the very least Stealth and Deception all the way up with them.

For feats, we’re definitely going to focus around stealth, theft and deception, stuff that will get us out of trouble if at all possible. Subtle Theft, Multilingual, Charming Liar, Fleeing Diversion, Slippery Prey, Swift Sneak, Kip Up, etc. Amusingly, there are a couple of feats, one a rogue feat (Mug, on attacking) and one an acrobatics/thievery skill feat (Tumbling Theft, on tumbling past), that let you rob enemies in combat, which is my favourite Jonathan move, so we’ll definitely snag at least one of those. From the archaeologist archetype, I also definitely want Scholastic Identification, to let our boy decipher those important ancient arcane text at key moments. Heh. Also Magical Scholastics so he can cast Detect Magic and hopefully figure out if something is cursed before he picks it up.

So. We have a cheerfully light-fingered ratty rogue who grew up in the desert and fell in love with the romance of an ancient empire and the tombs buried under the sands. Nahan, a charming and loyal and ever-so-slightly greedy Ysoki Rogue, who got into some slight trouble when he stole a very particular object from a mysterious stranger.

[websterss]

CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT — MICHAEL GUERIN

REQUEST: Ohhhh- him and Liz flirting in his bunker??? Or just him starting his own jewlery business (ik this is big fandom hc) or him going back to school

WARNING(S): fluff

WORD COUNT: 1,559

PAIRING: Michael Guerin x fem!Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed! I went with the jewelry business

MASTERLIST

Michael had been hunched over the back work table when the doorbells chimed. He panicked after he heard you announce your arrival. He spared the clock off to the right of the store a glance.

9:30 p.m.

He had stayed at the store late again, and in return, you came to get him, to take him home.

“Fear not…cause I come in peace!” His heart fluttered as you giggled your way over to him. Michael felt relieved and amused as you greeted him with a lighthearted remark. His mind briefly pondered how you managed to sneak up on him without any warning. He watched you navigate through the store's new layout, his gaze following your every move, admiring the way you effortlessly glided through the space. You maneuvered your way through the two center shelvings he had installed. These held a few of his artistic pieces. Ones you had begged for him to display for others to see and hopefully take some interest in for their hand-crafted rings, necklaces, or even bracelets. The outer counters of the store were all transparent clear glass. The one you were walking straight towards, was made out of wood, the one he made his finest creations on.

Michael let out a soft scoff at your remark, trying to hide the unexpected burst of warmth that had blossomed in his chest upon hearing your bubbly laughter, causing a faint smile to tug at the corners of his lips. He couldn’t help but be touched by your lightheartedness, feeling a slight tension leaving his shoulders as he observed you taking in the new layout of the shop.

And just like a moth drawn to the flame, he couldn’t help but follow your figure in the shop as you meandered about the glass counters, casting a sidelong glance your way.

“Do you now?” He mumbled as you grew closer to him.

As you approached the countertop, he discreetly moved the hidden piece further into the shelf with a flick of his wrist, ensuring it remained hidden from sight. The movement of the cloth that hid the piece caught your attention as it laid itself flat as you stood before him. Michael could see the gears shift behind your mischievous eyes. The fleeting glance past his shoulder.

“No.” He shook his head.

“I just wanna a peek.”

“It’s not-“

“Not finished–“ You rolled your eyes. “I promise I’ll give my honest review.”

“As honest and loyal as you are beautiful. This is the one time I beg of you, don’t go snooping.” A flicker of amusement crossed his face at your eagerness, and a hint of a smile tugged at the edges of his lips. He knew how persistent you could be, and he didn't doubt that given a chance, you would immediately look in the first place he told you not to look. But he found it endearing, he found everything about you endearing.

A soft scoff escaping his lips, he shook his head once more as he leaned forward onto the counter, his gaze fixated on you. “No…”

“You can’t tell me that and not expect me to snoop. No seriously what is it?” You push yourself over the surface, trying to peer over his shoulder.

“Y/n, I’m serious. No.” His laugh gives him away.

"Michael, I'm curious. Please." You copy his grin as you try to make a break for it around the counter. He watches as you push yourself over the countertop, your efforts amusing him to no end, his body relaxing as his laughs fill the space between you. His laughter only fuels your attempts even further.

He could see the spark of determination in your eyes, and he knew you wouldn’t give up so easily. With a swift motion, he swiftly stepped around the counter to intercept you, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He caught you by the waist, pulling you back to face him with a gentle but firm grip, holding you in place.

He tried to maintain the facade of seriousness, but the corners of his lips involuntarily curled upwards, betraying his genuine amusement. He watched in a mix of amusement and playful frustration as you persisted in trying to break free and sneak a peek at the hidden item.

His laughter filled the air, and as he held your wrist firmly to restrict your shoves, his eyes met yours with an almost mischievous twinkle.

"Curiosity killed the cat, you know." He muttered playfully, his gaze fixated on your features as he let go of your wrists, now pressing his hands against your hips, guiding you back against his work table, his touch gentle yet firm. His breath caught in his throat, he bit his bottom lip, his gaze flicking down at your lips for a brief moment before he slowly lifted his gaze back to your eyes. His heart pounded in his chest at the proximity of your body, and he could feel his palms grow slightly clammy as he fought the urge to give in to desire.

“And satisfaction brought it back…” Your chest rises and falls heavily. The way he takes away your breath has you ready to do anything for him.

“Sweetheart. You can’t look at it.” Michael peers into your eyes with a glint of fear, pleading eyes. “Not this time.”

“Is it for me?” You melt into his hold. Your gaze softens.

“That information is strictly confidential…” He smirks.

“So it is…” You curl your lip inward to fight off your smile. “Noted.”

As Michael held you close, he couldn't help but let out a warm chuckle. Your persistence and eagerness always managed to make his heart skip a beat, and even in this situation, he found himself secretly enjoying your playful banter. But he knew it was time to reign in the excitement. He took a deep breath, his gaze firmly fixed on your face as he took in your beautiful features.

"It is for you…but it’s not perfect yet." He muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as his fingers gently curled around your cheeks. "Just promise me you won't look, alright? Please."

“To me, it’s already perfect if it comes from you. But yes, I pinky swear not to snoop.”

“Ah…the infamous pinky swear.” Michael couldn't help but chuckle softly at your response. He felt a mix of emotions swirling within him, a combination of affection and contentment. But he couldn't suppress a mischievous grin that tugged at the corners of his lips. He gently lifted your hand, interlocking your pinky with his, your other hands still grasped together. "There." He chuckled. "No more peeking." He added the subtle touch of bringing them up to his lips and pressing a kiss to them.

“Oh no, you locked in the promise, how ever will I break such an indestructible barrier now!” You feign worry.

“You don’t.” His gaze remained fixated on you, a flicker of playfulness gleaming his eyes. He knew you so well by now. He had grown accustomed and even fond of your cheeky wit and playful nature. But now that you were so close, he couldn’t help but steal a kiss from your soft lips, his touch as gentle as a whisper.

You couldn't help but crack a bemused grin as he played along. "It's unbreakable, and if you break it..." He chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with a hint of playful menace. "Well, there will be consequences to face." He teased.

“The good kind I hope.” You let out a bubble of laughter.

Michael laughed softly at your adorable giggle, his gaze flicking down from your eyes to your lips for a moment before he gently brushed them with his thumb. He was caught in the moment, completely entranced by your effortless charm and wit.

He leaned in even closer, his voice low but full of playfulness. "The best kind...always." He whispered leaning down to kiss you sweetly, gently. Making sure to hold you like the precious gem you are. Afraid of having you break in his hands.

Your curious mind hadn’t let you enjoy the moment though. “How was business? Did you get more clientele!”

“A few yeah. I even had a familiar face come in for a special request.” Michael turned his head over his shoulder and you watched as a black little velvet box floated over to the both of you. Michael snatched it out of the air to show it to you. A ring sat inside as he opened up the box.

“Michael this is beautiful!”

“Kyle Valenti wants to marry my sister. Can you believe it!”

“Kyle came by?” You awed.

“He did, and he’s asked me to tell you that you need to keep Isobel occupied tomorrow and have her look beautiful or she’ll eat him alive. His words.”

“Iz accomplishes that on her own, but I can keep her busy and beautiful!” You squeeze your face in delight.

“I asked Maria, Liz, and Rosa to tag along so Iz won't get suspicious.”

“Good call…I’m a bad liar.” You wince.

“I know.” He nods, not denying your self-claim. “Hence why I called them!”

“Wow, thanks!” You scoff, whacking him across the shoulder.

“You walked into that one on your own.” He couldn’t contain his laughter as you continued your attacks. 

[muppet-meddler]

You May Call Me Kanaya.

While I Do Not Necessarily "Kin" Her, I Do Feel A Strong Connection To Her Character, As I Hold Much In Common With Her. Perhaps That's What Kinning Is, At It's Core. Much To Consider.

Much Like Kanaya, I Enjoy Sewing And Fiber Crafts, Am A Virgo, Enjoy The Color Green, Imagine Sawing My Enemies In Half, Am In A Long Term Queer Relationship That Began Online And Long Distance, And Often Meddle In Matters That Aren't Necessarily My Business.

Really, The Resemblance Is Uncanny.

For Clarity, While I Consider Myself To Be A Member Of The Brotherhood, I Am Not Fond Of Partaking In Religious Fanaticism.

And No, My Vampirism Does Not Make Me Affiliated With The Religion Of Emo. I Practice Ethical Vampirism.

The Brotherhood Has Seen The Rise And Fall Of Many Emotionally Charged Movements, Only For Views To Shift Gears In Mere Moments. I Intend To Report On These Happenings, Not Necessarily Partake.

At Times, I May Write On Viewpoints Of The Croaker Or Other Such Members That Contradict My Own, Or Others That I Have Posted. This Is At It's Core A Collection Of Ponderings, Not A Manifesto.

My DNI Consists Only Of TERFs And Other Forms Of Bigotry.

All Viewpoints Of The Brotherhood Are Welcome To Be Voiced On This Blog. Pro And Anti Croaker, Skeptics And Believers, Followers And Haters Alike.

However, Slurs, Racism, Transphobia, Homophobia, Zionism, And Other Sentiments Of Predjudice Will Not Be Tolerated Or Given Platform.

I Will Let The Contents Of This Blog Evolve Organically, But I Have A Few Ideas On Where I Would Like For It To Go.

Some Ideas Are As Follows:

The Brunt Of My Work Is Hopefully To Be A Platform For Interviews, Theories, And Musings From The Masses. I Would Like To Be A Mouthpiece For Lurkers Who Wish To Not Unmask Themselves, And Shed A Spotlight Onto Prominent Brotherhood Figures Who Wish To Speak Openly. Perhaps Even The Croaker herself.

In True Auspististic Fashion, I Hope To Be A Bridge Or A Mediatory Presence. I Have Noticed What Seems To Be An "In" Group And An "Out" Group, And While The Brotherhood Has Been Welcoming To Myself And Others, I Understand The Nervousness That Comes With Speaking To Some Members Directly.

Requested Research Topics. There Are Many Events, Seemingly Disjointed, That May Be Confusing Or Daunting To A Newcomer That May Be Commonly Referenced. If You Have An Inquiry On Brotherhood History, Ask And I Will Do The Research For You. There Are Many Blogs Of Which To Keep Track, And I Have My Ways In Finding Answers For You.

A "Daily Digest" Of Sorts, Not Necessarily Always Daily, Of Notable Happenings Within The Movement.

Backlog Summarizations Of Major Events And Connections. I Have Been Lurking Since April, And Joining Only Recently In The Open Means There Is Much To Be Notated. I Do Not Mean To Step On Other Croaker Archive Blogs' Toes- But Rather Provide Supplemental Material And My Own Work.

With All Of That Out Of The Way... Where Shall We Begin?

[simslegacy5083]

NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 9

Today's (7/31/2024) Episode: The Birthday Girl

The household was grieving Peachy’s departure for the afterlife, but time refused to stand still  for those left behind.

The very next day was Noemi’s birthday. Fielding condolence calls and messages from friends and family wasn’t how they wanted to start her special day, but with Peachy having been opposed to “some fancy memorial shindig”, it was the best closure they could offer his loved ones.

Luigi’s baby made him miss his dada even more. Peachy had been so excited to help Skye try new activities and foods, but never got the chance. When Luigi found Noemi and Valentina in the nursery, celebrating his son sitting up for the first time, he had to work to suppress a strong wave of resentment.

Just a day earlier Peachy would have been able to enjoy the milestone with the rest of them… that boy of his couldn’t pick the right time for anything!

The unfortunate ending to Luigi’s birthday party had prevented Noemi from giving him the special gift she’d arranged.

Her old robotics club friend Kenzie had become a Computer Engineer, with access to computer glasses that only those in her field could craft. Gaming and computer enthusiast Luigi had been trying to find some for awhile and was overjoyed upon opening his fiancées cheerfully wrapped present.

“Happy belated birthday love,” she said as he excitedly slipped them on. Luigi gave his girl a warm thank you kiss, exclaiming:

 “I’ve always loved how you just “get” me. Hopefully the big day and BIG gift I have planned for you will make you just as happy!”

The couples first stop on Noemi’s “party train” was a meetup with their island friends. The group had intended to take all the kids to enjoy “Family Funday” but as they were leaving Luigi got a text from Rhys telling him they’d discovered the event was geared towards older sims.

Deciding to skip the festival this time around the household met their friends at a nearby beach cabana instead, where the always unfiltered Beau saw Luigi and blurted out “You look ridiculous!” before a mortified Breanne could stop him. She quickly elbowed his mirth into a halfhearted apology.

Luigi knew the tech glasses looked odd but refused to show how the tactless comment had stung his pride and instantly tainted his joy. “Envy doesn’t look good on you friend.” he smirked instead before turning his emerald gaze pointedly to Isra and Rhys in greeting.

After shyly accepting everyone's happy birthday wishes Noemi settled in a quiet corner with a sleepy Skye while Luigi kept the conversation going.

Isra was happy to report that her 3rd trimester was progressing smoothly. When she asked if anyone else was planning to join her in having a second child, both Luigi and Noemi shook their heads. “Skye is quite enough for us. Besides, with your brood he won’t lack for playmates!”

Overall, Luigi was glad his and Isra’s relationship had worked out like it did. He was quite happy with one child and, clearly, she wouldn’t have been.

Beau spoke up then “well his highness might be one and done, but if all goes well Bruce will be getting a little brother or sister soon”, explaining that he had an appointment scheduled for another insemination attempt. As everyone wished them luck Luigi glanced at his friend's elder wife with concern. He hated to imagine any kids going through what he had losing his papa, but he couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t offend Beau.

When they finished up at the beach the pair made a quick stop at the house to drop Skye off with his grandma before grabbing a teleport to Chestnut Ridge. It was finally time to get his birthday girl that extra “BIG” gift, the horse he’d promised her the evening they got engaged.

Amaya met them at the park just outside the exhibition center, wrapping Noemi in a big hug and exclaiming “Happy, Happy Birthday pretty momma! Are your ready to go pick out your new best friend!?” At her enthusiastic “let’s do this!” the girls headed inside the center while Luigi hung back to play with his new toy while he waited, telling them “I know nothing about horses, so I’ll leave this to you two experts.”

A surprisingly long time later the ladies finally emerged, although the horse trailing behind them wasn’t quite as large as he’d imagined.

Noemi introduced the tiny foal: “This little guy is Roach – I thought you’d appreciate the name”. Luigi chuckled “You thought right.”

“Are you going to grow up to be as faithful and sturdy as your namesake?” he asked the soft nosed creature as he gently stroked it, mimicking the animation from one of his favorite videogames. “Look” he grinned, turning to Noemi “gaming skills DO translate to the real world sometimes!”

Amaya took Roach back to her ranch to wait on his new parents while Luigi and the birthday girl enjoyed a nice romantic walk. The teleporter wasn’t far, but taking a less direct route gave them more time to enjoy each other’s company and the lovely summer evening.

Finally arriving at Amaya’s ranch, they were met by Valentina and Skye. While oohing and aahing over each others tiny offspring Luigi convinced Miguel that his little Greyson simply must have a kitty companion, and he just happened to have the perfect kitten for the job….!

Finally, Valentina pulled out the uneaten cake crafted by Peachy with love the day before and lit fresh candles. Noemi wished to stay healthy, FINALLY start her new career, and get back in shape as she blew them out and spun her way into the next life stage in front of her friends and family.

It had been a wonderful day and she looked forward to many more with her two favorite boys by her side.

For anyone not familiar with the reference, Roach is named after the faithful steed of the main character in The Witcher videogame series.

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

[rookerystories]

Star Trails and Ash Rails: The Ship Part 2

Her pilot was humming to herself when Rei got to the bridge.

“Good mood?”

“Always,” Vri said with a quick smile.

“Got an update for me?” Rei asked, straight to business, looking over the readouts.

“Ship’s in view. Looks like an old prison ship, like I thought. No external damage, but scans are showing some gnarly radiation levels throughout, except for this room,” Vri waved a finger at a small, square room near the top of the ship, “which is weird, but I’ve seen weirder.”

“Any life signs?”

“Rads are too high to get an accurate read. If anyone is alive, they’ve gotta be in there, whatever there is.”

“Warden’s office.” Rei said, matter-of-factly.

Vri raised an eye at her to which Rei shrugged. “Long story. Looks good for a core leak though,” she commed down to Karish and the others, “Boys, Yllis, set up in rad suits, we’ve got a core leak. Karish, you got everything you need to fix it?”

“Depends on what it is, but if I don’t, hopefully their engineering does.”

“Any life signs Dodger?” Dex asked.

“Too much interference to tell. But Dex?”

“Yeah?”

“Warden’s office looks clean.”

“Fuck.” Dex muttered and she heard the distinct sound of a round replicator whirring to life.

“I’ll meet you in the hangar,” Rei cut her comm and looked at Vri. “Keep a good distance, we’ll fly in. If shit goes off the rails Vri, blow us outta the water. I’m not going to a Parishi prison or a slaver pen. That’s an order.”

Vri was about to make a smart remark when she saw Rei’s face. “Sure thing, captain,” she said somberly.

Rei nodded and set off at a brisk pace to the elevator that’d take her down to the hangar. Adrenaline fought with her own willpower to make her jittery and nervous, flooding systems indiscriminately. Instead, she forced her mind to tick, to think. Chances were good the warden was dead; if they’d let their ship deteriorate this badly, it was one of the only answers. The others were… less ideal.

She walked into the hangar to see Dex and Yllis stowing gear on a small, agile transport and to hear Karish ask “Wait, what’s the problem with a Parishi warden?”

Dex looked grim, a face he usually reserved for pre-mission jitters and to fuck with green pilots. He nodded at Rei.

“What do you think, Dodger?”

“Right now, I don’t think a damned thing. But I’m hoping to all the hells the fuck’s dead.”

“It would explain the state of the ship,” Yllis signed rapidly.

“Exactly.”

Rei checked her own gear; a new Raptor 7 semi-automatic handgun loaded with high density ferro rounds and a nearly antique Cobra-9 assault rifle — a souvenir from her participation in the war. The rifle had been retrofitted to accept the new round-replicators that kept you from needing to reload, and she switched the device to craft static crumple rounds after ensuring its material load was full.

“Is there something I should know?” Karish asked, panic rising in his voice.

“Stay behind us, fix the core, and hope to whatever gods you believe in the warden is dead,” Rei said and climbed aboard the transport, sealing the rad suit she’d thrown on as she did so.

She strapped herself into the pilot’s chair and flicked the pre-flight checks, feeling a sense of serenity fall over her as she felt the Roc’s systems activate in tandem. Dex and Yllis had already climbed aboard and Karish, fighting panic, followed them tentatively. Rei sighed and turned in the pilot’s seat to the engineer.

“Look, Matthais,” she said gently, “it’s probably nothing, okay? But since you’re freaking out, I’ll tell you. The Parishi wardens are — were,” she corrected herself, “Cyborgs. Sort of. They still had some fleshy bits, but it was mostly tech. No emotion, no pain. And they were ruthlessly efficient. And I don’t know if neural programming can be mean, but if it can, they were the meanest fucks you could find. Didn’t even do it for pleasure. They’d torture a prisoner just to make the others watch. But they’re old. Haven’t been made since the end of the war. And they weren’t great on the self-maintenance thing. So, if we’re lucky, this one’s long dead and we don’t have to worry about it. But if it isn’t, you stay the fuck behind us, okay?” There was bite in the last sentence and Karish, who was pale but looked less panicked, nodded.

“Besides,” Dex added with a grin only Rei noticed was fake, “We’ll be lucky if we get there in one piece, considering Dodger’s flying.”

“Excuse me, which one of us held the record for walk-away crash landings six years running?”

“Least I walked away from my crash landings,” Dex fired back.

“That was one time, and it was only because I was upside down!”

“Whatever you gotta tell yourself, Dodger.” His grin this time was more genuine, but she could still see the tension in the line of his jaw. They both knew firsthand what the wardens were like.

Rei kicked the Roc out of the hangar before she could think more on those memories, feeling the inertia pull at her innards. It was a familiar, comforting feeling.

[chaos-monkeyy]

My latest original smut work, and another one that I had a ton of fun with 😁 I'd love to know what you think!

Trans M / Cis M, Explicit (naturally), a little shy of 4.5k words. SciFi/Fantasy, age difference + military rank difference. Also posted here on AO3 with full tags; no archive warnings apply.

Opening teaser:

“This is callsign: Gremlin, I’m going down, repeat, I’m going down! Can anyone hear me? Need search and rescue, send help, I’m going d—”

His own panicked voice, nearly drowned out by the rattling of his ship as the raging storm tossed him around in the air like a child’s toy, was the last thing Kyl heard before everything cut off in a crunch and the world went black around him.

—

The next thing he heard was a forlorn beeping. Blinking groggily as he came to, Kyl lifted his head and looked around.

The beeping was coming from the console of his one-person scout ship and the world was white now, instead of black. Wincing at the bright glare from the snowscape outside, he squinted through the half-crumpled, tilted canopy while the beeping finally warbled itself into silence.

There was nothing out there. Nothing to see but empty, windswept snow stretching to the horizon, the sun riding high in a pale aqua-blue clear sky. The last flickering lights on the ship’s console died a few seconds after the beeping did. Kyl groaned, the sound coming out as a faint croak.

Well, shit.

After a moment of sitting there with his eyes closed against the bright glare, Kyl took a deep breath and unbuckled his harness. He moved slowly, gingerly, certain he had to be injured and just wasn’t feeling it yet— but, to his surprise and relief, he seemed to be fine. Aside from a few strained muscles, some bruises from his seat harness, and just generally being shaken up by the crash landing, at least. 

First things first, then. Take stock. Forcibly pushing away the anxious worry tickling in the back of his mind— why had base gone radio silent on him like that? Had they even heard his call for help? And what the hell was he going to do if they hadn’t?— Kyl wiggled out of his seat and started rummaging through the interior wreckage of his ship.

There wasn’t all that much to search through; he’d headed out on what was supposed to be a routine one-day scouting mission, back by suppertime. He had maybe a day’s worth of water and rations. Two days if he made the supplies stretch. Nowhere near enough to try hiking back to base from this far out, though. Especially not without proper cold weather gear. He didn’t even have a jacket. And where one unexpected, unprecedented, furious storm had hit… Who knew what could come next.

Aside from the food and water, he also had a first aid kit he luckily didn’t need, save for the metallic emergency blanket folded up in the bottom of the kit. Kyl shivered as he repacked the kit minus the blanket, squinting out through the canopy again. Another howling gust of wind buffeted past, swirling up the snow and rocking the downed space craft with ominous creaking sounds. The wind whistled into the cockpit as well, Kyl noted uneasily, cold drafts coming in through the cracked plastiglass canopy and the buckled metal alike.

Well, first rule of survival: stay put if you can. Even if his mayday hadn’t gotten through to base, they had his planned flight path. Someone would find him soon, surely— hopefully— and from what his scans had been showing before the sudden and violent storm had swatted him out of the sky, from what he could see outside… his wrecked ship was probably the only shelter he’d have for kilometers around anyway.

So Kyl found the least drafty corner of the cockpit, wrapped himself tightly up in the emergency blanket, and settled in for what he hoped to hell would be a short wait.

—

It wasn’t exactly short, but it wasn’t too long either, all things considered, before someone did find him.

A little under a day and half after the crash at his best guess, Kyl was jolted out of fitful sleep by a loud banging sound on the outside of his crashed ship. He froze, relief and alarm warring foggily in his brain— what if it wasn’t his people; what if it was someone, or something, else who had found him? They were still exploring this planet, after all— but then a muffled voice called his name.

“Gremlin? Pilot! Answer me, Kyl, burn you!”

Kyl nearly fainted with giddy relief. He’d recognize that voice anywhere.…

[itskindachilly-right]

Stupid idea (n.s.)

Slightly aged up!neteyam (18) x Navi!reader

Summary: the reader had the dumbest idea in the history of the universe

Angst without comfort (cuz I live for emotional pain). Two parts. (Part 2 will have comfort)

Warnings: neteyams feelings get hurt by the reader (bozo). No physical descriptions of y/n but she/her pronouns are used. Let me know if I missed anything

A/n: thank you for over 100 notes on my first story!! I hope this does just as good! Enjoy🧍🏻‍♀️💖

Background: Y/n spends a little too much time with spider. She ends up being introduced to social media and it’s old trends. Pranks especially. Specifically the “silent treatment” done between humans who are romantically involved. Her and spider thought it’d be a good idea to try it on Neteyam. Her and neteyam have been together for two years but are not mated yet. Who would’ve thought this “prank” would be such a stupid idea?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Neteyam enters the tent, closing the makeshift door softly, and tosses his bow from training onto the floor, brimming with excitement. Although fatigued and weary, he's relieved to finally be home, ready to recharge and rediscover a sense of serenity. Eagerly, he anticipates the forthcoming moments. However, he finds a silent, vacant, and impeccably neat space. Puzzled, he scratches the back of his neck, hoping that some motion will help him grasp the underlying issue that is clearly amiss.

Eventually, he locates you on your shared mat, sitting slightly hunched over, engrossed in your bracelet making. A smile creeps across Neteyams lips as he approaches you, shedding his gear carelessly onto the floor. Longing for your warm embrace.

With caution, he lowers himself onto the mat, mindful not to disturb you excessively. Curious as to why you haven't stopped your work or acknowledged him, he gently taps your shoulder. However, there is still no reaction from you, leaving him flustered.

"Y/n?" he whispers, drawing closer, settling beside you. He places his arm around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder. He gazes at you hopefully, studying your profile and slightly pouted lips. Internally, he pleads for you to turn towards him even slightly, just enough to grant him the opportunity to kiss you—an eagerly awaited moment he has anticipated throughout the entire day. However, doubts start to creep in.

In an attempt to prod you, he moves aside the strands of hair veiling your neck and leans in, finally making contact with your skin. He senses a reaction, as goosebumps rise on your skin, filling him with joy. He continues to kiss you, yearning to hear your laughter, your voice, to feel that he is truly home, safe, and cared for.

Yet, you remain indifferent, absorbed in your craft. This realization leaves him feeling melancholic, irritated, and vexed. His voice sounds hollow and devoid of emotion as he asks, "really?" Your gaze remains fixed on the piece of jewelry, mindlessly grabbing more beads. You understand the need to play along, realizing it's not the right time to smile.

He notices your efforts to suppress a smile, and it angers him. He abruptly rises from the mat, hissing with frustration. Without uttering a word, he stands there, silently staring at you. "Are you serious, y/n?" he scoffs. “What are you doing?"

He spits out the words with intensity, watching them fall heavily to the floor. His eyes glare at you with so much anger that your ears grow warm. He makes a deliberate attempt to express his disappointment, and he succeeds.

"You know what?" he seethes through clenched teeth. "I don't care if I did something wrong or if this is just another one of your new human things you’ve learned. I truly don't care!" He raises his voice, shouting the last sentence. "We're getting older, y/n, but you're behaving like Tuk!"

You refuse to meet his gaze, blinking wearily at the object before you. You’re getting him angry and you know you should stop but you kept going. Deep down, you know he will eventually forgive you, just as he has countless times before, and that thought provides you with a sense of security.

"You know what? I'm tired. I'm exhausted," he continues, his voice heavy with fatigue. "Training didn't go well today, and I made a lot of mistakes. Dad didn't say a lot, but I could sense his stress and disappointment, and I know it was all because of me," he confesses with a heavy sigh, running a hand through his braids. "I understand that it may not be your fault, and it's not your responsibility to carry my guilt, but I had hoped you would offer some comfort and support, as we've always done in our relationship."

As he speaks those words aloud, a twinge of sadness washes over you. However, you swiftly attempt to suppress those feelings, convincing yourself that it's merely a joke, just a prank. After all, he will eventually comprehend it. You reassure yourself that you will provide him with the warmth and love he needs, but at a later time-like an idiot.

"If I did something wrong," Neteyam utters wearily, taking a small step closer to the mat. "Eywa, just tell me directly. I promise I won't repeat it again. I'm willing to learn from my mistakes for the sake of our relationship. But if this is a bad joke—Eywa, I don't know."

He gazes at you, hopeful that you will respond. He waits, hoping you'll give in, look at him, and reveal what's troubling you. However, you remain silent, distant, motionless. It becomes too much for him to bear.

"You know what? Grow up, y/n. I can't tolerate this attitude towards me," Neteyam exclaims and running a hand through his braids. "I'm going to rest with my parents." he declares finally, casting one last glance at the scene before him—your vacant expression and empty face. He wonders if you doubt him because he has been overly kind too many times before. With a weary sigh, he reluctantly gives you a final chance to break free from it all. "We'll discuss this tomorrow, but believe me when I say this," he adds reluctantly, spurred on by your actions. "My patience is wearing thin."

He leaves quickly and retreats to his parents tent as fast as possible. He knows he must separate himself as this suffocating guilt gnaws at him from within. He believes he is justified in his anger, his frustration with you. Yet, he still questions if he might have done something wrong. The guilt continues to weigh heavily upon him.

A/n: y/n is a dummy buttttt did y’all like it????? Comment some feed back plsss and I love u guys<3