#but it is in high resolution so this should work with other phones

[leclsrc]

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k  

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day. 

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes. 

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading. 

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka. 

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh. 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward. 

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed. 

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control. 

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time. 

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.” 

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.” 

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

[sirfrogsworth]

Froggie's Guide to Budget Headphones

@nimrella I am more well versed in traditional audio and home theater with big honking speakers, so I don't have much personal experience with headphones and headphone accessories. But I can tell you what I've learned from other people who are in the headphone world. And since you are starting more within the "budget" range I think I am somewhat qualified to guide you at this level.

You have three paths to choose from...

Wireless, low impedance wired (no amplification required), and high impedance wired (amplification required).

Basically... easy, medium, and hard.

But also... good, better, best.

Wireless Headphones

Wireless headphones have come a long way. Audiophiles used to scoff at them but now there are options that really do sound fantastic and the Bluetooth data rates are good enough to deliver high resolution audio. They also have noise cancellation options which may be desirable. If you do not have a quiet, dedicated space for listening to music you might find high end noise cancellation a godsend. People love them especially for planes, trains, and automobiles.

I don't know if everyone knows how noise cancellation works or not, but basically the headphones have microphones that listen to the world around you. They measure the incoming sound and then generate an opposite sound that just about kills ambient noise. If you play the same sound 180 degrees out of phase it basically nullifies those sound waves. The tech works best between 50 Hz and 1000 Hz. For reference we hear between 20 Hz and 20,000 Hz (lower if you are old). So anything super high or super low pitched can still get through.

In any case, if that sounds appealing, wireless headphones should be a consideration.

The other advantage of wireless headphones would be the ease of use. They pair to your phone, your laptop, your TV. They have controls to help you pause and skip songs and change volume. Some allow you to take phone calls.

But the big downside is the sound quality takes a bit of a hit. As I said, the bluetooth standards have actually gotten very very good. (Though there are audiophiles who will swear it still sounds like a 1990s MP3.) So streaming the actual media files are not really an issue. But trying to cram all of that tech into lightweight headphones you can wear around town all day requires compromises and added expense. Not to mention the battery has a limited lifespan. You may have more limited or inconsistent frequency response, poor dynamic range, distortion problems, weak output, and a high noise floor. Wireless options still can't match wired headphone systems in the same price range. And the wireless options that come close are quite spendy.

Wireless Headphones Suggestions

In your price range the two wireless options that I hear mentioned over and over again are the Sony WH-1000 series and the Bose QuietComfort. They are both well regarded for having a good mix of sound quality and noise cancellation while also being a decent value. You might be able to visit a Best Buy and demo them to see if you prefer the sound and comfort of one over the other.

The Apple AirPods Max are said to work really well within the Apple ecosystem. They have some interesting spatial sound modes and very good audio quality. I've heard the noise cancellation is some of the best currently available. But they seem too expensive and a lot of people feel they are too heavy. I also suspect they are due for an update. That said, if you wait for the new ones to come out and buy used, they could come into your price range. I'd really only suggest these if you have multiple Apple products that you will be streaming sound from.

Before we move into wired headphones, let's go over some terms that you might see pop up when doing research and reading reviews.

Froggie's Glossary of Audiophile Terminology

Driver A speaker is made up of drivers. Some speakers have a woofer, a midrange, and a tweeter. Each individual thing is a driver. And with headphones you will often hear "headphone driver" instead of speaker because it is more specific. Headphones typically have an all-in-one driver that does all frequencies. A woofymidteet.

That's not a thing.

I made that up.

Frequency Response This is the range of frequencies produced by the drivers from low to high. You want to make sure your headphones have good, deep bass. That will make more of a difference than anything else. It's the foundation of all sound and what is sorely lacking in devices with small/cheap speakers.

Music typically doesn't go much below 40 Hz in the bass range. So if you are only interested in music listening, that is plenty deep. Movies can go down to 20 Hz, but this isn't necessary for a good immersive experience unless you have giant subwoofers. So if you find something that can play ~40 Hz with decent output, you should be all good. Every speaker has a frequency response curve. It looks something like this.

The X-axis represents the frequency and the Y-axis represents the volume in decibels. We are most concerned with the 40 to 10K Hz section, as most sound happens there.

I'm not going to go super in-depth and overwhelm everyone, but typically you want this graph to look fairly flat in that range. A flat-ish line will give you a "neutral" response.

The above graph gets a little bumpy in the high frequencies. That means those frequencies will have a higher volume than the lower frequencies. If a higher frequency has a big peak, that could make your sound seem too bright or tinny.

Or you could have the opposite problem. You could have a null in the bass where the output dips below everything else. This can make your sound a bit anemic and lacking punch.

Whereas a more flat speaker will output all frequencies at about the same volume and sound much more balanced and smooth.

Equalization or EQ A flat response is good because it will accept EQ well. Equalization is where you add peaks and dips in volume deliberately to taste.

This can be as simple as 3 knobs.

Or it can be a more complicated parametric EQ.

A lot of digital EQ methods have presets to help get you started. I promise it isn't as intimidating as it looks.

Some people like to buy speakers/headphones that are EQ'd how they prefer out of the box. (Or if you get Beats by Dre they just turn the bass all the way up and say "Fuck them other frequencies!") But this is often a bit of a crapshoot because it is hard to EQ a speaker that sounds good in every room or every environment or just to varying individual preferences.

By making the speaker more neutral, it can be much easier to equalize specifically to your needs and enjoyment.

So if you like the bass a little bassier and the mids a little quieter, you have the power to dial that in with great specificity on a neutral speaker. You can apply any EQ you wish and you won't be fighting the speaker's predetermined response.

Basically if you are reading reviews and the headphones are described as "flat" or "neutral" that's a good thing (in my opinion). Just remember nothing is going to be perfectly flat. We're shooting for flat-ish.

If you do decide to get a neutral sounding pair of headphones you may find them a little bland out of the box. Do not panic. You just need to learn a bit about how to apply EQ, but thankfully YouTube is plentiful with tutorials.

The Harman Curve was researched to be most liked by the most people, so you might start there. (Also, SoundSource is a very popular EQ app for Mac.)

Dynamic Range This is the spectrum of how quiet to loud something can get. If you have speakers that can render both a pin drop and a big explosion with great fidelity and proper intensity, you will be in audio heaven. There is so much emotion and drama that can be expressed by expansive dynamic range and most cheap speakers compress it to an inch of its life. When the soft and the loud sounds are the same you miss out on so much audio information intended by the composer.

Distortion This is just how loud a speaker can go without breaking up. Low distortion is good. While every driver distorts at some point, usually that is at a much higher volume than you will use. This typically only plagues cheap, tiny drivers.

Sound Pressure Level (SPL) This is a measurement of how loud a speaker can get. While you don't want to listen to anything louder than a sustained average decibel level of 80 to 85, you do want peaks over 100, especially in the bass. Bass is less damaging to ears and hearing damage is all about sustained volume rather than quick peaks here and there. Most headphones can comfortably do an SPL between 90 and 110 dB. The ability to go louder is good, but only because that expands headroom, not because you should actually listen to them that loud. So if the headphones can get super loud, that means they will have a much easier time delivering normal levels.

Noise Floor Every sound system has background noise. You know that static you hear when you turn a radio up really loud when there is no sound playing? That is your noise floor. You want that to be as quiet as possible because if you turn up the volume, you don't just turn up the volume of the sounds you want to hear, you also turn up the volume of that background noise.

If you can find a headphone system with a decent low noise floor and you can also find a very quiet space to listen in, you could have a religious experience. I don't think people realize how much the room you are in matters, even when listening to headphones. When you are in a quiet room, you can play at lower volumes. And that can mitigate a lot of the problems associated with cranking the volume. You won't damage your ears for one thing. But the speakers won't have to work as hard so you'll have less distortion and better clarity.

Noise mostly comes from the amplifier, which I will talk about later on.

Froggie Pro Tip: If you want cheap speakers to perform better, go to a quiet room and move them as close as possible. This allows you to play them at a lower output while maintaining your desired perceived volume.

Okay, now we can finally talk about...

Wired Headphones

You have open back and closed back styles.

Open back tends to have a more natural sound and feels more comfortable. Like listening to regular speakers. People generally feel they are able to listen to them longer because they don't create a seal and cause pressure on your ear drum. However, if sound can get out, it can also get in. So with open back headphones people nearby will be able to hear what you are listening to. And if you are not in a quiet room, all of that sound will leak in. Meaning you have to increase the volume and the noise floor and the distortion.

Closed back seals off your ears and gives you a quiet and immersive experience. You can be in a noisier room without having to crank the volume as much. Some prefer this style just because it helps them feel like they are going into their own personal dimension of sound. These are great for ASMR too. But ear fatigue can become an issue and you may need to take little breaks to let your ears breathe and your ear drums rest.

And the last thing we need to discuss is impedance.

The impedance of headphones mostly determines how hard they are to amplify. Impedance is measured in ohms which is this little horseshoe symbol... Ω.

Lower ohms means less electrical resistance and easier to amplify.

Higher ohms means more electrical resistance and difficult to amplify.

If you get headphones rated below 100 ohms, they can typically be driven by smartphones and laptops just by plugging into a standard headphone jack. Though depending on the device, 100 may sound a little quiet so you may want to go lower. 30 ohms is fairly typical if you plan to drive your headphones with everyday electronics.

Above 100 ohms you are going to need some sort of amplification—usually a DAC with a headphone amplifier. (There are DACs without amplification so be sure to check that.)

A DAC, or digital-to-analog converter, is already built into your phone and laptop. But those are very small, don't have a lot of power, and might have a higher noise floor due to interference from other components and heat and just a lot of electrical signals nearby.

By getting an external DAC w/amplifier you separate out the components, make them larger and more powerful, and typically improve the sound quality. Because it is more isolated, the amplification can be much quieter despite being more powerful.

If you plan to stay in a static location and you have high impedance headphones, you can get a little box DAC that sits on your desk. It works like an external sound card for your computer. If you record music or stream, a digital audio interface works great as well (remember to check the Ω).

But if you need to be more mobile with your headphones you can get a little USB dongle DAC, though you will probably not get the same sound quality and power.

Both will be superior to the internal DAC built into your computing devices.

So, low impedance headphones are easier if you need to move around.

High impedance headphones are better for staying put in a single location unless you get a dongle DAC.

Just remember, high and low impedance doesn't necessarily indicate quality. It's just that in order to drive high impedance headphones you need the larger amplifier with the nicer components and, by necessity, you automatically get that quality bump.

You can get very good low impedance headphones. However, if you power them *only* with a smartphone, you may not use them to their full potential. Which is why getting an external DAC is a good idea regardless.

But the nice thing about low impedance is you can get the headphones and still use them until you save up for the DAC. Or you can use them as normal while out and about and have a special listening spot at home with the DAC.

To review...

Low impedance and high impedance can both be high quality.

Low impedance (less than 100 ohms) works with anything.

High impedance (more than 100 ohms) requires amplification.

Both will be used to their full potential with a DAC/headphone amplifier of some kind.

Wired Headphones Suggestions

Again, I have not personally listened to any of these. I am just relaying what experts I trust have mentioned as being nice quality in your price range.

The beyerdynamic DT 770 headphones are some of the most well-regarded budget headphones I've heard of. They come in low and high impedance versions.

The Sennheiser HD 560 high impedance headphones are also praised for their value and performance.

If you can go a little pricier...

The HIFIMAN Sundara headphones have low impedance and can be driven easily by all your devices.

And the HIFIMAN Edition XS are even lower impedance and about the same price.

And if you want to try a DAC, I've heard good things about both Fosi and Schiit (yes, like the poopies), though there are many different brands. Just make sure the DAC has a headphone amplifier rated for the ohms you need.

The FOSI K5 Pro is a cheap "beginner" DAC that will power anything up to 300 ohms. This is the kind that sits on your desk.

And if you want a more portable dongle DAC, you can get something like the iFi Go Link.

I've also heard good things about the AudioQuest Dragonfly, though I hate recommending AudioQuest products due to them claiming they can do magical things. They use scientific gobbledygook to scam customers most of the time. That said, the DragonFly might be their only valid product.

Note from Future Froggie: AudioQuest just can't help themselves. While the Dragonfly itself is a good product and not a scam, they developed the "DragonTail", which is a scam.

It's just a USB A to C Adapter for the Dragonfly. But they have to find a way to justify 30 fucking dollars so they came up with this bullshit.

Definitely need to stabilize my geometry. If I have unstable geometry that could lead to quixotic trigonometry. And we all know that could introduce vertices into dodecahedrons. Which leads straight to accelerated cosmotic entropy catalyzing the heat death of the universe.

Fucking AudioQuest.

ANYWAY...

An inexpensive DAC may be all you ever need but DACs can get crazy expensive—just like headphones. And if you are really fancy you can get a DAC and a headphone amplifier as separate items. Audiophiles claim when you simplify components to a singular function you increase quality. While I think there is some small truth to that, I suspect they just think the tubes look neat.

Froggie's Disclaimer: I am not telling you to get these specific things, but I do think you'll probably be happy with anything I've suggested. But sound is a subjective experience and it is always best to test things out before you buy them, if possible. Or make sure there is a return policy. You might see if there is a brick-and-mortar store nearby that allows you to demo headphones. Remember that comfort can be just as crucial as sound quality for long listening sessions.

Final Thoughts

Good sound has been life changing for me. And I am excited when anyone goes down this journey. While the stuff mentioned is considered "budget" by audiophiles, this can give you a good starting point if you want to upgrade down the road. You'll get to know your preferences and get a better understanding of how this all works and choose your own adventure from there.

Though it is very possible you'll be quite content with "budget" and the sound quality is more than enough.

Personally, while I am very happy with my current home theater setup, I am hopeful one day I can upgrade one budget tier above where I currently am and that will be my endgame. I've heard $10,000 speakers and it is mostly a land of diminishing returns once you reach that level.

I'm fine in "budget" land.

Further Research

I didn't mention the different types of headphone drivers because I didn't want to put too much data in everyone's head. But if you want to do additional research you can learn about the 4 main types... dynamic, planar magnetic, electrostatic, and balanced armature.

[anarcho-masochist]

I have so many thoughts on the United Healthcare thing.

As you know, I'm studying criminal justice and forensics. So hands down the most concerning thing is that they left things at the scene (water bottle especially...did they just panic? did they forget?). I see a lot of people talking about the pictures, but a moment on a low resolution security camera at that angle is not good enough for facial recognition at all, so if no one says they recognize them, or too many people do (I can think of easily 20-30 people who look similar enough to that) the pictures are not a big deal at all. But people underestimate how sensitive DNA testing is these days because of its (relatively) infrequent use. There is a backlog, and it's still somewhat expensive. So you can get away with minor crimes leaving DNA everywhere, but if it's a more serious case and it gets prioritized, there's a very high chance they'll find usable DNA. In this case, I'd say it's certain they will. I assume they knew that in theory, and it was simply a mistake. Along with this, though, you need known DNA to compare the unknown DNA to. So, as long as they can't narrow it down enough to suspect him and get a warrant to collect known DNA to compare to the DNA found at the scene (or if his DNA is already in a database-still would need to narrow it down), it doesn't hurt him. My worry is that people say they've seen someone who looks like him / they know him and then they'll have a suspect pool to check whether any of those people have left home (didn't show up to work, live alone and no one would've noticed, etc.). From there, gathering known DNA samples.

His initial plan, if it happened as law enforcement currently suspects, was a solid one. Bus was a good way to get there, the fake ID and burner phone, and keeping the hood and mask up (almost) the whole time. As was waiting for him to come out of the hotel and the route he used to escape (and likely change clothes in central park). It's simple but leaves few gaps. It makes it nearly impossible to ID him, in theory. In practice, the execution wasn't perfect, but that's to be expected due to the stress of the situation.

Major news sources have been talking about how law enforcement is trying to profile him based on everything. The most effective outcome that's likely to have is if it scares him into making a mistake.

Basically, unless he gets himself caught or is seen and it's called in and police can investigate it in time, he actually has good odds of getting away with it.

Ethically, I think this adds to a wonderful precedent and other people thinking of doing something like that should, if they decide to, mask up, and do not leave anything at the scene.

Also, there is a tip line, and police are already getting overwhelmed by the number of tips they're getting.

https://www.nytimes.com/live/2024/12/06/nyregion/unitedhealthcare-ceo-brian-thompson#hundreds-of-tips-are-coming-in-the-police-say-they-want-more

It's very, very easy to call in a tip. Even if you might be mistaken, it could be useful.

[jabberwondia]

【the next step】 【part 2】 RIDDLE x READER, NSFW

Part 1 is here.

The proverbial "next time".

Riddle Rosehearts x Female Reader, 18+. Fluff, sexual intimacy (explicit), consensual.

Worrying about failing a test, botching that one high note at the recital, or stammering throughout the graduation speech are all examples of performance anxiety. The thought of failing and the looming overshadow it casts on the far-off dream of success – to a lot of people, it can be paralyzing. To counter it, you dwell on all the possibilities before that something can even come to pass, methodically going through worst-case scenarios in your head; at the time, they all seem more like prophecies.

Contrary to what his occasionally fiery mood swings might suggest, Riddle Rosehearts was a fairly confident and composed person, and never suffered from nerves before a test, recital or speech. The roots of his self-assurance were practice, diligence and rules. No test would ever be scary if you had revised hard enough, no note unreachable if practiced frequently enough, and no speech impossible if rehearsed enough. Rules provided a frame which allowed little flexibility, which meant more provable, safe results.

This, however, was different. There was no way to prepare for it. Any guides on the subject would generally say, ‘Let it flow’, and honestly that’s what he believed he had done -or at least tried to do- last time, when you were catching your breath, spread on top of his lap. He had purposefully, repeatedly, attempted to forget all about it – but every time his phone buzzed with one of your messages, he was sorely reminded of everything he did, and specially of what he didn’t do.

‘Would it be so bad if it were... planned?’ he pondered. But it’s not like those words would ever leave his mouth, and he truly did care about you, so he was not about to insult your integrity by suggesting something as unrefined as “Hey baby, let’s get it on”.

Sigh. It hardly seemed like the topic you could trust friends with, either. “What should I do?” he wanted to ask, but the fear of getting humiliated in return was too real. Or at least, it was inside Riddle’s head, as however certain he could be in social situations, one of his most recurring nightmares included screwing up an easy spell, getting laughed at, then yelled at by his mother, and, finally, falling through the void (in that order).

“Next time,” he had told Floyd. Why did he do that? Whatever the hell did that mean? Not unlike enlisting New Year resolutions and telling everyone you started working out – in a way, the contract behind your words binds you to turn them into action. Riddle really wish he hadn’t, and to be fair, Floyd hadn’t even asked about it since – but the thought alone was eating away at him.

Alone in his room, he had, at long last, drafted up the end-all, be-all of text-based conversation.

Riddle Rosehearts: “Hello! 🌹 What are you doing for the break? I’ll pass on going home this time, I think. We can expect an exceptionally hot summer this year, and I’m worried about the hedgehogs.”

And then, greatly contingent on your answer, but – hopefully – the next sentence would be:

“If you’re free sometime, would you like to stay the night?”

‘Stay the night’ was a much more suitable euphemism for what he wanted to say. It was short, and sweet, and left the possibility of nothing happening, which was important. The main problem with it is that it broke quite a few rules, but most notoriously: the rules that stated students from other schools were not allowed inside the dorms past curfew, and that non-alumni needed a special permission to enter in the first place. Well, uh, and also the fact that he was trying to bring a girl to sleepover to an all-boys school. After one law had been violated, the rest of transgressions just seemed like silly, collateral damage. This is why he was a stickler for codes and regulations – being unyielding did, in fact, protect the system from falling apart all at once.

The hedgehog excuse also worked well, and even his mother had believed it and granted him permission to stay all summer on campus.

The first text is an easy one to send. If, for any reason, Riddle feels like he needs to call the whole thing off, he can just invite you to a Tea Party, or suggest a date in the park. The break begins next weekend, and it’s a perfect time because the school will be mostly empty and free of prying eyes. And if you are too busy to catch up, spending a quiet summer caring for the hedgehogs doesn’t sound too bad either.

Y/N: “oh hey! 😊 poor darlings🦔 it’s good they have a very kind caretaker💓 yeah, I read somewhere we were reaching record temperatures. thankfully it’s not so bad inside our dorm. i’ll go home, but only from the second week onwards”

Which leaves a week in between to... to...

Riddle opens up his drafts once again. All he has to do is copy, paste and hope for the best. But as he’s proof-reading, it occurs to him that maybe “sleepover” is better than “stay the night” – which one sounds more casual? Ugh, his hands are starting to feel icy cold and unresponsive. The weight on his chest is getting bigger.

Y/N: “we should meet up before I leave! 😊 i can help take care of the hedgehogs if you need a hand?"

Oh my Queen. A second, continuous text from you was not in the original plan. So now what? Well, he could still brave through and –ahem– suggest his suggestion. Hell, if he was so paralyzed at a text, there’s no way he could actually sleep with you, even if you did come over.

Riddle does not want you to help take care of the hedgehogs. Or rather, that is so trivial right now, that he wishes you could forget about it, and words to be undone.

Riddle Rosehearts: “I couldn’t possibly ask that! Hedgehogs are nocturnal, so you’d have to come in pretty late.”

Riddle is quick to type and send, but then gasps when he realizes the meaning. It can be taken two ways: either that he wants you to come in late, ergo, wants to get in your pants and is cowardly suggesting it; or he does not want you anywhere near the dorm at night, which, eh, kind of resets all the progress made in this conversation.

Y/N: “oh, right 😊 the school has rules against that, lol”

It’s getting more and more impossible to recover from this, like a rowing boat trying to maneuver through a river of chocolate fudge.

The draft that is waiting in his copy clipboard now makes no sense. “If you’re free sometime, would you like to stay the night?” is no longer applicable to this flow of the conversation. But he needs to find a way around it, or else it’s back to square one.

Riddle takes a very, very deep breath. Face red, fingers trembling, he manages to write:

Riddle Rosehearts: “Actually, don’t worry about the hedgehogs. It takes time to build trust with them anyways. But on that note, would you like to stay over sometime? Feel free to say no.”

That last part sounds incredibly weak and lacking in courage. He erases it and types it again a couple of times until deciding in favor of leaving it as-is – the fact that you don’t feel pressured is, after all, of utmost importance to him.

And yeah, “stay over” sounds better than sleeping or staying the night, so let’s stick to that.

When the message pops on your side of the screen, your sight paces back and forth at least twenty times, doubting the verity of your own eyes or reading comprehension. After last time, and how nonchalantly it had ended, you thought for sure that Riddle had been distancing himself from you, and that you had crossed a boundary that was hard to backtrack from. That is exactly why, truth be told, you were relieved when he initiated casual conversation as if nothing had happened. The struggle was mixing all these pure, affectionate, innocent emotions he made you feel with the raw Eros of whatever last study session was, and it had left you more confused than ever.

But hey, you tell yourself. Nothing needs to happen. I can just sleep. We can cuddle, and that’s it.

It seems you are taking all too long to answer, because his chat box pops up again.

Riddle Rosehearts: “I want to see you.”

Riddle was really good in situations reigned by protocol. He was the best social dancer you’d ever seen, and the way he’d guided you while waltzing through an interscholastic dance had been dreamlike. He’d open doors for you and escort you to your school gates; he was always eager to send over a study guide or offer some academic advice. But “I want to see you” and “I miss you” were words rarely uttered.

Filled with a newfound courage, you text back:

Y/N: “i'd love to! is friday ok? 😊”

Getting into Heartslabyul is always a challenge. You’d need to either come over during the daytime and then purposefully miss curfew, or you’d have to find a way to sneak in just before the gates are closed for the night. As a housewarden from a rival school, your face is somewhat known within the Night Raven College students, and while it’s not exactly a secret that you’re dating the Heartslabyul sovereign, you’d rather if people did not know you were planning on staying the night, for the Seven’s sakes!

If this were an eventful holiday, like Halloween celebrations or a friendly Spelldrive tournament, inter-school visits were more easily forgivable. There were plenty of ways to score a guest pass and walk around freely. But an outsider going around the dorm at night, on a normal school day? Now, that is just fishy.

You devised a plan of which the success depended on how fast Riddle could find you and then rush to his room. And you know he hated running in the hallways.

Your Signature Spell, “Drink Me”, as tongue-in-cheek as it sounded, allowed you to change an object or person in size for a very small period of time. Theoretically, if this was used on yourself and your clothes, you could become hedgehog-sized in seconds. And then, all would Riddle need to do is transport you in his shirt pocket. Simple enough, right?

As you head through the motions of the plan, you realize how utterly embarrassing it is. First, you would need to decide on a set of coordinates where Riddle would find your miniaturized self. He needs to pick you up, basically engulfing you with both hands. You are then to fit inside his pocket, and this meant that his heartbeat would sound like thunderstorms in the summer sky (a by-product of you being so small). And because you’d turn back in 5 minutes, he needs to rush to his room and take you out of the pocket, lest you grow back to normal and rip his prized uniform shirt apart.

There could be some repercussions. Usually, your Signature Spell required of a catalyst – you would use homemade soda for the shrinking spell and cookies for the enlarging spell – so as to keep the side effects at bay, and make the desired transformation last longer (a maximum of an hour). Very rarely you’d cast them directly from your pen to the object in question, unless you wanted or needed consequences to be more immediate and short-lived. In this case, staying small for a whole hour was not exactly the most enticing of options, and gorging on enlarging cookies while the effects of the fizzy shrinking drink hadn’t yet subsided always resulted in nausea, an upset stomach and a fever (you know – you’ve tried before). So, the only viable option was cast and run: a plan problematic in and of itself, but the only chance you had to access the property unnoticed. Ah, if only Chen’ya could teach you how to disappear at will.

When you suggested all of this over the phone, Riddle was flabbergasted. It was hard to tell which is more mortifying – carrying you around like a portable magic pen, or having you enter the dorm life-size and risk a student seeing you enter his room at night.

Eventually, after much persuasion, he had agreed to meet you at the outskirts of the Heartslabyul forest, which was exactly five minutes away from his quarters.

It’s the first meeting since the, uh, lap-sitting incident, and you are both quite self-conscious still. You wave and smile at his approaching figure, but he hurriedly hushes, “Quick! Before anyone sees you.”

Pointing a shaky pen to your chest, you take a deep breath. “Here goes. Drink Me!”

If the feeling could be compared to anything, you’d say it kind of reminds you of a balloon deflating – air gushing out, spiraling as it swirls until it reaches the floor. A kaleidoscope in which the senses become filled all at once, as the world around you is so big, and you’re now so small. The only good part is that, because your height and weight also decrease in proportion, having a parasol ready allows you to float tenderly for the last couple of inches, and the fall is never too abrupt.

Riddle is now... huge. I mean, wow there, Y/N, witty observation. But he really is, and even the act of him crouching to get closer to you shakes the whole ground like an earthquake. He stares at you, two fingers pressed on his lips, pondering if he should lift you up by the collar... but no, no, that’s too ungracious.

So, he offers the palm of his hand. You know that even if you talked at this size, your tiny micro lungs are not enough to produce enough sound to reach him properly, so you keep quiet and climb up his thumb.

When Riddle brings you up to the height of his pocket, it’s like that one Twisneyland attraction that you rode together once, the scary one with the elevator which you had hated with every fiber of your heart as you held on to your boyfriend’s arm screaming – and he wasn’t too keen on thrill rides, either, but had tried to put on a brave face for your sake.

“Are you alright?” he beckons, in a normal tone for him, but it’s like a cacophony ripping apart at your miniature eardrums. You put your hands over your ears. “—sorry! So sorry,” he reduces his voice to a whisper.

Plopping yourself into the pocket, you fall all the way in, roughly reaching the middle while standing straight. You are way smaller than hedgehog size at this point, comparable to a miniature doll of only a few centimeters high. “Hang in there,” he says.

By the sudden swaying, like a seism about to tear the face of the Earth, you assume that Riddle has set course for his room. The countdown starts.

As luck would have it, everyone and their mother is out to get the Headwarden today. He gets stopped at least thrice, mostly about silly stuff such as the shipment for flamingo food or the rundown for the next unbirthday party. It’s impressive how many students are still in the dorm, really –don’t these people have anything else better to do?– their voices are so loud you can barely make out the conversations, instead just catching the keywords. You have both hands pressed against your ears, eyes closed, trying to avoid sensory overload. At least this goes to show there is no way you could have gotten into Heartslabyul unnoticed if you were your proper size.

After many unwanted interruptions, time was running out for the both of you. The de-transformation would start coming in little bursts, where you’d feel your body a little bigger each time. The transpired, stuffy white fabric of that pocket was sure starting to feel a little tight, and now you could almost peek over the hem on your tiptoes.

“Riddle!” is your hurried plead, but he’s going as fast as humanly possible, as fast as anyone can go while still avoiding attention.

When he’s at the doorstep, it feels the seams won’t hold any longer. To the best of your ability, you lift yourself using your arms, trying to squeeze up and out. He fumbles with the key, breath visibly agitated, until he remembers he can just use magic, and can finally, triumphantly, open the door and slam it shut.

“Y/N!” he beckons, in a panic, looking for you to jump on his palm again so he can plop you onto the ground.

“No time! Throw me on the bed!” you squeak, unsure of how much of your speech is currently intelligible. Riddle catches the gist of it, and grabs you by the first thing he can pinch, which is the hem of your skirt, as you’re now dangling outside his pocket, barely not small enough to fit back in.

And next thing you know, he is flinging you like a Spelldrive disk towards his bed; with a loud “poof”, you transform mid-air and land headfirst, full size, cartwheeling on his mattress. Your skirt is flung open, you’ve lost both shoes somewhere along the way, you’re all tangled in on yourself, but at least you are finally safe, and neither Riddle’s shirt nor reputation have been ruined.

Adjusting your sitting position, you first make sure all parts have grown back to size. After all, it’s not unheard of for the effect to last longer on some objects or body parts than others. A quick check assures you that you’re back to normal – all over, that is. You turn to Riddle, who is watching you from the edge of the bed, hand over his mouth, his expression between bemusement and bewilderment.

A stifled laugh that you can’t seem to contain breaks the silence, and it’s like springing open a can of worms, because the redhead giggles a little, too, and then the whole situation becomes too funny to hold it in. Soon he’s laughing tears out of his eyes, unable to speak in full sentences.

“You — you really became pocket size. Right here! You were right here!” He gasps for air between chuckles, pointing at his chest pocket. “I can’t believe... really can’t... ahaha!”

“Hehe, that was some adventure,” you agree. And it’s not like you’re not laughing yourself, but your turn to your boyfriend, and the sight of him fills your chest with a strange warmth, so much that it quiets your laughter. You’d rarely ever seen such a playful, childlike expression; he keeps cry-laughing uncontrollably, wiping his eyes and clutching at his stomach; a hint of relaxation in his ever-so-stiff posture.

His giggle fit starts settling down, and then it dawns on you.

“Oh, no, we need to go through this exact same process tomorrow!” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Tomorrow. He liked the sound of that. It made the fact that you’re staying over more official.

“We’ll think of something by then,” he states.

The rush to close the door and prop you out of the pocket as fast as possible meant that the room was still dim. Because you had landed on his bed, there you were sitting upright in its dead center; suddenly feeling a rush of pink on your cheeks, as the whole Drink Me situation had acted as a deterrent to the actual elephant in the room: the fact that you were here to sleep over and that you had both been so nervous up until that point.

Riddle’s bleary eyes flicker in the twilight, still a soft smile on his lips.

“That was nice,” you grin. “It’d been a while since I last saw you laugh.”

“Oh, come now. Am I really that serious all the time?”

You struggle to find the words. “It’s like... like you’re always worried about something. Not that I blame you—"

“Huh,” he retorts before you can continue. “Well, even I can find something that tickles my funny bone, every now and then.”

He’s now frowning and pouting and just... standing there, as if still hesitant to join you in bed. After all, Riddle was quick to notice that you had made no effort to stand up, and now is wondering what the next step is. It’s not like he had planned any activities for you to do that night – maybe watching a movie on your phones? ...playing card games? Or just go straight to sleep? In the end, he could decide on none and the Day Of came to happen before he could devise a plan, something he dreaded from the bottom of his heart. His whole life was set in rules, set in stone tablets, and now he had to somehow improvise.

“I’m not worried,” he says, pensive, then adds: “Not when I’m with you, at least.”

“Liar,” you accuse him, to which he looks rather offended, albeit playfully so. “By now, you’re probably thinking, ‘What’s comes next?’ — well, aren’t you?”

His expression gives him away immediately. For such a well-postured, well-mannered person, Riddle tends to be a bit transparent. “H-how did you –”

“—it’s because I’m thinking the same thing, too,” you admit. “This is hard, isn’t it?”

It’s not a question. In no unclear terms, last time you’d met had been the very first instance of feeling each other’s bodies, and along came the realization that you are dating and it’s perfectly okay for you to do so. And now you’re subconsciously running your fingers through his velvety red, quilted duvet; and Riddle is still paralyzed a few steps away from the bed. You are not the boldest person out there; and he seems to be bold for anything except for this.

“Agreed,” he muses. Again, he’s like on the outside looking in – it’s that anxious feeling that never goes away, back to the little boy and the cakes he’d never eat.

“This is so awkward to say out loud,” you muster up some courage. “But I’ll try.”

“—yes?”

“I don’t care what we do today. I get to be with you, and that’s enough.”

...oh. Riddle can feel his heart doing a summersault. Being filled to the brim with love like this is something he is not accustomed to. It’s like he’s back to your warm embrace and the rhythmic breathing of your clothed chest, like digging his fingers in your back again, and feeling you return the squeeze. Every single waking moment, and hell, even while sleeping, he goes back to that evening. But he struggles to return your words, hesitant and meditative, staring at the floor.

“Riddle?”

“—yes?”

“Are you okay?”

He’s not. He’s fed up with himself. Scared of this new situation to which he doesn’t have a manual for. Terrified of underperforming and disheartening you.

“Of course,” he lies through his teeth. You are still fully clothed, so all he can see are your knees and calves, from where the skirt of your uniform ends and the socks begin. It’s not remotely erotic at all, yet he’s burning all over. You notice his eyes traveling up and down, trying to take the sight of you in.

You can’t be sure, but deep inside, you intuited that if you both feel the same, then he wants it as much as you do. But then again, pressuring your boyfriend is something you would never, ever venture to do – like a hedgehog himself, he was always quick to spike up to prevent you from poking at his vulnerability. He’d get angry or annoyed or sulky, only to quickly apologize later. So, you are not brave enough to ask, but the least you can do is initiate the scene – like the character that utters the first lines in a play, setting the mood and the proceeds in motion.

Hands, your own, travel to the elastic on your socks, as you slide them off slowly, one by one. Your feet get adjusted to the soft duvet, now feeling it on your bare skin, and you can’t help but notice how utterly cold your toes are – might be from the air conditioning, might be from the nerves. Riddle gasps audibly and clutches at his chest.

You look up at him, as he’s still standing immobilized in his spot. Fine. You’ll venture one more step past the proverbial line of his defenses, then.

Not unlike his, your school uniform consists of a white shirt with a tie or ribbon, at the student’s free choice of whichever. The ribbon on your neck is striped light blue and white, with a small coat of arms applique that depicts a teacup floating in a bottle full of tears. With a quick tug, you undo it, then the first button of your collar, all while keeping eye contact with your boyfriend – it feels like the sound of your own heartbeat is going to deafen you at this point.

Riddle takes a step in your direction, fully flushed, although you can barely tell through the room submerged in the summer dusk. But he stops just by the edge of the bed, frozen again. His is quite the big mattress, and he will need to crawl to you if he wants to reach you. Close, yet so far.

You press your lips together, at the attempt to regain some moisture: your mouth feels dry and trembling all over. Even so, you use the last bit of courage to undo one more button – completely innocuous, as this barely only reveals your collarbone.

“Stop,” he beckons, scaring you for a second. Seeming so desperate, filled with regret. “Don’t.”

“Oh.” Maybe it had been too much? You dread having pushed the Heartslabyul warden too far. “I’m sorry—”

“—no.” He takes a deep breath. “I mean, let me do it.”

Riddle climbs into the bed, knee first. His hand is reaching for your face, slate grey eyes full of adoration, and in turn, you unbalance him by pulling at both his arms, so he stumbles on top of you. Bumping heads at the fall, now faces only an inch away.

“Riddle—”

“—shh. Quit staring.”

But you’re not really, as your eyelids are drooping over, lost in the moment. It doesn’t matter, though. It’s so like him to want to have the last word.

As usual, it’s a peck on the lips, albeit a bit longer and hungrier; he then kisses your cheek, and now the question is what comes next and how the familiar pattern will be broken. To your surprise, you feel two nibbles on your neck, just below your jaw at first and then close to your throat. One leg has snuck in between yours, pressing slightly, the weight of his bony hips digging into your thigh.

He’s always fixing other students’ uniforms, so maybe that’s where it comes from, but he has unexpected skill in unbuttoning your shirt all the way through. But he’s taking it slow and steady, because every single new flash of skin is just killing him on the inside, building up fire within.

Pushing up with one arm, he uses the other to take your hand and give it a kiss, then a tug as he prods you to turn around, softly undressing one sleeve, and reaching for the clasp of your brassiere. Is this too sudden? He’s filled with worry, but push comes to shove, and his instincts urge him to keep going. He needs both hands to do this, causing him to promptly level forward, his mouth caressing your naked shoulder plates. And with one quick snap, you’re out of your bra, though it still lingers lazily on top of your breasts, as you adjust on your back once more.

Riddle realizes – he can almost peek – y-you’re half-naked, writhing beneath him, and –

“—hey,” you call softly, smiling with a tint of self-consciousness as you reach a hand for his cheek. “C-can I...?”

Can I take your clothes off, too? – is what you mean to say, but the words can’t seem to leave your mouth. Curses. Leaving the question unasked, you tug at his striped necktie, and his fingers follow yours, together undoing his shirt buttons all the way to his waist. He’s using a white, paper-thin t-shirt underneath, so you can make the shape of his nipples through it. More lightly clothed than ever, the sudden rush of shame gets the best out of you, and your gut reaction is to pull him into a full embrace, arms clasped around his neck.

Riddle stops for a moment, melting into your hold. You cannot see eye to eye right now, but you can clearly hear each other’s heartbeat. After a moment of hesitation, he kisses you again. It’s sloppy and uncharacteristic of him, but he wants to eat you whole and has no way of hiding it. Uncertain, his hand travels down your neck, feeling your collarbone, and hovering for a few instants where your bra is – unbound, it is no more than a decoration on top of your chest, and he pushes it aside.

“Ah,” he exclaims, almost unwillingly. Your breasts are oscillating up and down with your breathing, your lips are swollen and dyed a madder red, and you just look so beautiful.

“Now you quit staring,” you snap back.

“Hah,” he laughs raspingly. “Who do you think you’re talking to? You’ve got some nerve.”

You smile so wide your cheeks hurt, glad that he’s finally back to his normal self, setting aside all the anxiety and worry. Well, mostly. Of course, some worries are still in the way, but they continue melting as the heat rises – it’s impossible not to give into the moment and fondle your breasts. You let out a little yelp.

“Ah – does it hurt?” he frowns, worried, unable to gauge your reaction. Sure, he made a point to read a few erotic novels in an attempt to prepare for what should be expected for this situation –ugh, perish the thought of anyone finding those hidden at the bottom of his drawer– but truth be told, he still had no idea how rough or how gentle he should be.

“No,” you assured. “It feels good.”

“Show me where.”

At his request, you guide his hand with yours, back to your chest; and strengthen your grip, instructing him to squeeze ever so slightly. His leg, or rather, his knee presses against you, separating your legs further apart, sending a wave of electricity throughout your body. The goddamned skirt is still in the way, but you can’t muster up enough lucidity to concentrate and remove it, moaning and twitching below him.

Riddle must have read your mind, because he shifts his hands to the zipper on your skirt instead, and his mouth starts moving down and away from your neck. Your first reflex –completely involuntary, mind you– is to cross your arms and cover up your breasts, as if it made any difference at this point. His eyes move up to yours, worried again.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” –well, now you’re making less sense than the Queen’s Twinkle Twinkle Little Bat poem– “It’s just... ah...”

He understands. Neither of you want it to end, and yet moving forward is just as scary. Before this, when you first started dating, he used to be able to listen to his inside voice when he kissed you. Or rather, he was forced to listen to it, by his own brain – like a switch you can’t turn off, he’d count the number of kisses and always follow the same pattern. His head was constantly yapping at him, keeping track of time so as to not be late for the 5 PM tea, or telling him to compulsively fix your uniform. But since he had climbed on top of you ten minutes earlier, he has not heard his inner voice, not even once. He could not keep count of how many kisses and nibbles he’d placed all over your collarbone, shoulders, inner elbows and wrists; softly motioning you to let go and uncross your arms. And the sheer fact of losing control was terrifying, yet it felt so good.

That being said, when faced with your bare chest, and the zipper on your skirt lowered but still not removed, Riddle feels a flash of clarity and stops dead on his tracks. There she is, the girl he loves, half-dressed, gorgeous, breasts perking up, but there is one thing that doesn’t quite feel right.

“Come here.” He props you up, helping you sit. He moves the hair off your face and pats your head. “I’ll– I’ll take off the rest of my clothes, too.”

It’s not as embarrassing if it’s the two of you, is his reasoning. And it was important for him that this wasn’t one-sided.

“—you wha– you will?” Not at your brightest nor most eloquent, you’re taken aback by his sudden assertiveness, again crossing your arms in front of your chest. He’s halfway through the zipper of his black school pants when he stops to look at you, face fully flushed.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he mumbles guiltily, his delivery harshly contrasting with his words. “You know I hate that.” Feigning authority and playful anger, part of him is trying to be a tease, yet still unsure how.

A giggle escapes your lips. “Shame you’re not wearing the dorm uniform today.”

“—ah.” He notices in that same moment. Had he been so nervous he completely mixed up his clothes today? As the last layers were coming off and he was sitting there in his underwear, he realized it didn’t matter.

“Wait, what is it about the dorm uniform?”

“Heh. Just – the heels,” you blurt out. “They’re kind of... –ah, I’m not gonna say it.”

The idle talk is not important. All you can focus on is how his porcelain skin contrasts with the crimson quilting, and he’s blushing head to toe, like a white rose poorly stained with red paint. Actually, you meant to say the heels turned you on (come on, admit it, just a little?), but halfway through the sentence you noticed you could not be any more aroused, and then he fell on top of you again, and your head emptied completely of thoughts. His hand now presses between your legs, and you wonder where your skirt went – it had been on you just a second before, right?

“Riddle,” you gasp, knowing the fabric of your underwear is betraying you and giving away how wet you are. You have no doubt he can feel it too. And he wishes you wouldn’t call his name, not like that – do you have any idea what you’re doing to him? His fingers are caressing you softly, and it truly feels like you might burst even though you’re just getting started. His face is close to yours, jaw shivering in a cold sweat, even though it feels like there must be a hundred degrees in the darkness of the room. And while he’s helping your orgasm build up, thumb toying with you gently, he can’t help but wonder if your skin feels just as good to the direct touch as it feels through your panties, and how is it that even the parts of you he never knew are all so perfect. It seems slightly unfair, he muses, that you could be this flawless without even trying – but then you wince a little, possibly lost in pleasure, and Riddle starts worrying again.

“Are you okay?” his words feel moist close to your ear.

“Hm-mm.”

“Relax your arms.”

And the second you do, he moves back down again, slobbering kisses all over your neck and chest. While seemingly rawer and more animal than ever, he’s still attentively measuring your reactions, and finds you gasp the loudest when he sucks on your breasts. So, he teases them for a while, circling slowly with his tongue, then softly and toothlessly pinching the stiff center with his lips; he repeats from left breast to right, slowly, deliberately, back and forth, with a sort of rhythmic cadence. Focus, Riddle reminds himself, as his own erection is throbbing painfully. But he’s determined to devote to you first and foremost.

“May I–”

“Yes. Please,” you beg, not even sure what you are agreeing to, but realizing it might as well not matter anymore.

Struggling to open your eyes, you force yourself into keeping alert just so you can take in the view of your raggedly breathing boyfriend, peeking up from the curves between your breasts, hand on the inside of your underwear and soaking his slender fingers inside, applying even pressure. He is amused at the sight of how effortlessly they go in and out, assisted by your moisture, so much so that he forgets about your breasts for a moment. Your voice brings his attention back, however.

“I – I can’t...”

“It’s okay. Don’t hold it in”, he reassures, but maybe he is also talking to himself, as Riddle is always the type to exceed in self-restraint. You are melting, becoming undone with a touch of his hand and he cannot get enough of how it feels – to hear you panting and moaning, to know he will soon be able to press inside you and fill you with his length. It’s an unfamiliar, weird, wonderful thing – not quite like he had imagined, but perfect all the same. Your chest is responsive to his every kiss, and now his fingers have gotten faster and heavier. He can feel you close and is living for it.

“Riddle, I –”

“You’re so beautiful,” he gasps breathily, finally able to be honest with himself. “Don’t hold back. It’s all right.”

“Riddle. Riddle? I’m – I ––”

“––Y/N,” he chuckles, and his touch becomes even more merciless. Your hard nipples cannot possibly take any more kisses. “You’re so adorable.”

It’s not like you need any more stimulation, but as he says this, his mouth is full of one breast and hand cupping the other, and you can clearly see it all, from his heavy-lidded slate grey eyes to his dark red eyelashes, all focused on you as he’s making your sex squeak with wet sounds, pushing down just underneath your navel as his fingers throb and sting inside you.

“Please. Don’t stop.”

He won’t. He’s not the type to tease you like that. Your toes are curling in a frenzy as your legs swing inevitably open, and pretty soon you’re incoherently giving into the thrusting of his hand, and his lips have not left your breasts for one second.

You can’t hold it in. You would have if you could have – the sensation was just too amazing, and you were trying to grasp at straws –literally, if by straws you mean sinking your nails into his shoulders– trying to prolong your orgasm to no avail. You are coming all over, spasming and stirring and gasping his name, and Riddle is a bit scared at first – did he – did he do that? – but it seems you are content, and you settle down huffing beneath him. He takes out his fingers, but his hand stays put, pushing on you softly, as you are still whimpering with the aftershocks that come and go after the peak.

Riddle knows what is supposed to come after that, but the thought alone makes his stomach do cartwheels. Now, how to initiate? He doesn’t have time to think, as you grab him by the wrist, taking his hand out of your underwear and giving it a tug, motioning him to come closer. In your current clouded state, it’s hard of you to completely gain enough strength to pin him down as you originally had wanted to, so you settle to have him sit beside you as you roll over so that your upper body meets his crotch.

“Y/N?” he yelps, suddenly self-aware of how flush his length is against the fabric of his boxers, throbbing to come out, and your face is now caressing it softly with only one layer to separate you.

“Ah. Sorry. Too fast?”

He shakes his head.

“No. Actually,” he pushes his underwear down. “Please. Can you –”

He needn’t ask. The sensation of him in your mouth compelled such novelty – it was weird to get used to, but at the same time felt like the natural next step to take. Tip reddened and throbbing, teased by your lips as your hands would steady his thighs. Funny how something so intense – suckling at him, gasping for jagged breaths, as the bitter taste of his precum numbs your other senses – would come apparent to you so matter-of-factly, unrehearsed yet perfectly calculated. Riddle stifles moans until he can’t anymore, pouring from his lips, buckling into you with hand tangled in your hair, pulling you closer.

He’s no longer thinking straight, and that’s fine. If he were, he’d still be stuck in the preparation phase, staring mindlessly at the welt of your socks, unable to move. But since he’s no longer counting the kisses he’s given you tonight, he’ll make a point of also not counting how many times he’ll thrust into you, as he topples you over when the wetness of your mouth just won’t quite scratch that itch, and hurriedly reaches over the counter for a condom. It’s not like the guilt is completely done, but this – this is everything right now, and as you are huffing and puffing away below him, eager to receive him, he understands that a bit of chaos is needed every once in a while.

A lot of first times are awkward. This might be no exception. But he enters you with such ease, you wonder how this new feeling can be so recognizable, as the pressure builds between your legs and his hipbones dig into you once again, and he restrains your hands with his, raising your arms, soft eyes filled with lust.

“So tight...” Riddle whispers, but it’s more like sounds are escaping him, uncontrolled, “Y/N... y-you’re...”

His speech is barely intelligible, though you can sometimes make out words – ‘beautiful’, ‘good’, ‘wet’ – and a few poorly-pronounced phrases like “does it hurt?” –– it doesn’t, and as you’re pinned beneath him with a clear view into his quivering rosy lips and half-lidded gaze, you know he’s getting closer as he gets harder. He‘s trying to get his mouth full of your taste as if it were forbidden – like it all boiled down to this one evening, and this chance was all he had. And if it were for him, he would have made it last forever – but his body is not so used to this kind of endurance, so after a few minutes Riddle finally gives in, collapsing into your shoulder, quietly whimpering your name, in a moment of weakness that is greater than he’d like to admit. Riding his orgasm, fingers entwined with yours and digging at your knuckles in a tight grip, his voice is unlike you’ve ever heard it before, and you understand its over once he quiets down.

The silence lasts for a few moments. Or, more appropriately put, a slight wave of sheepish embarrassment, as he’s promptly rolled over to your left and you’re both lying face up and wheezing up a storm as if you’d just ran some kind of marathon. But then Riddle slightly tugs at your hand.

“Everything alright?”

“I think so. You?”

“It’s been... quite the novelty,” he says flatly, but then smiles a little at his choice of words. “Do couples do this all the time? ...it seems exhausting.”

“So that’s it? That was your quota for a whole lifetime? Fine then.”

“––No!” he hastily turns sharp on his side, facing you, only to find that you’re unable to hold your laughter. “–Oh. Not funny, Y/N.”

“Sorry! Sorry.”

“– I would very much like it if we did it again. Uh... tomorrow, or – or some other time.”

You smile. “I would like that, too.”

“Should we settle on a schedule?”

“––what? No!” but a sudden tinge of guilt overcomes you, as you quickly realize he might need it. “U–uh, I mean, if – if that makes it easier for you–––”

“––just kidding,” a soft smirk escapes him, like a stifled giggle that says ‘gotcha’.

“Oh, look at you cracking jokes now,” you accuse him with a pout. “That’s a first.”

“Guess that makes two firsts in one day.”

As you both let out a complicit giggle, reaching out for the sheets and then for each other’s hands, no longer worried about the next one step or million steps to come, you find yourselves drifting off to sleep in a loose embrace.

[the-lost-boys-wife]

THE POLY! LOST BOYS x READER INCORRECT QUOTES

(GUESS WHOS BACK YET AGAIN!? should I be doing my English work…maybe? Do I have better things to do- yes! post more about my boys obviously!? If you enjoy leave a comment if you want any other fandoms for more things like this or one shots

Love you guys lots <3)

Y/N: Dwayne , I know you snuck out to see David last night.

Dwayne : If you tell Paul or Marko, I swear I’ll murder you, and they’ll never find the body.

Y/N: Five bucks?

Dwayne : Fine.

Y/N: Uh, Dwayne ? Paul is in the pool and I don't think hes waterproof.

Dwayne : What?

David: I think they meant, Paul is drowning.

Dwayne : WHAT?!

*Meanwhile*

Paul: *is drowning*

Marko: OH MY GOD, PAUL! KEEP SWIMMING!

Paul: I can't swim, dumbass— *sinks*

Marko: PAUL!

Marko: Do you know that we are made out of atoms?

Marko: And atoms never touch each other.

Marko: So in my defense, officer. I did not punch this kid.

Marko to that one surf nazi: If karma doesn't hit you, I fucking will.

David to y/n, who’s about to get married: Today, two families are becoming one.

Marko, in an ominous voice: Two families enter, one family leaves.

Dwayne: That sounds so threatening…

Paul: The Wedding Games…

Star: May the bouquet toss be ever in your favor.

Y/N: Beautiful.

David: Fuck all of you!

David: She was poetry, but he couldn't read.

Marko : His name was Jared he's 19.

Dwayne: When his parents built a very strange machine.

Paul, singing: Watch that scene, digging the dancing queen.

Y/N, singing: Eyyyy, Macarena!

Michael: Horrible job everyone.

Dwayne: Today, Y/N took my phone, and in five minutes, they sent high resolution close-up photos of Marko to the following people: Paul, David, Michael, the neighbors, the bank, my accountant, San Diego Blood Bank, and Shake Shack's text bot.

Marko: So don't panic but one of us is possessed by an owl....

Dwayne: ....

Paul: .....

David: ......

Y/N: ...Who?

Marko: That's the thing we don't-

*Everyone stares at Y/N*

Paul: I am an expert at identifying birds.

David: Okay, what about those ones flying over there?

Paul: Yeah, they're all birds.

Y/N , looking at a selfie of Marko’s: I hate this photo.

Marko: I’m cute as fuck in that photo! I’m smiling kindly!

Y/N : You’re not smiling kindly; you look like you’re up to something.

Marko: Up to kindness.

(Ok that’s all for today! This is filled with marko just bc I love that boy! He’s full goblin and I just wanna hug him!)

[sunlightandsuffering]

Is Mikasa going to tell their moms the part where she was awake at 2 am anxiously looking at her phone, praying that the asshole would text her for a booty call?🤣🤣

SORT OF !! LOL!! this one is just plain chaos tbh

Why does she always find herself in the same situation, it’s a question she asks regularly.

Because even at home in the comfort of her own room, she can’t escape him, can hear him playing irritatingly loud music as he drives down the street, her universal signal that he’s home now. 

And it just so happens to coincide with the fact that she’s horny as hell and hoping for a booty call. 

But when it’s been ten minutes and she still doesn’t receive a text, Mikasa allows herself one of her rare guilty pleasures, the thing she’d rather die than admit to even herself. She looks around her room, and after deeming it safe, she taps the ‘photo’ app on her phone, heart accelerating in her chest, pulsing with adrenaline. 

At first, her dedicated iPhone photo album seems innocent, spattered with silly photos of her and Sasha, pictures of her work schedule that she should really delete, homework she’d sent to Eren, a few selfies she’d taken for Instagram. And then, as her thumb hovers over the ‘albums’ section, things take a turn for the worst, more so as she clicks an album entitled ‘anime crushes’. 

And as she scrolls, and scrolls, past poorly doctored photos of Itachi Uchiha, and worse yet, Inuyasha she finally finds him…

Eren Yeager, her neighbour, and the very colourful array of nudes that he’s sent her (and she has sent back, but she’d rather die than admit that). 

And she clicks on one that always gets her just a little too hot, always pushes her right over the edge, that smirk, that dark glint in his eyes, the way he looks at her right before he sinks in, fucks her silly, hungry for it. Already her hand is slipping down to her panties and she’s imagining all the ways in which he can– Her door opens and Mikasa screams, her phone going flying and one can only imagine the absolute terror that overtakes her as Mikasa comes face to face with none other than her mother. 

“Darling, are you okay? You look flushed,” Her mother asks in concern, coming over to place a hand over her daughter’s forehead, checking for a fever. “Mother!” Mikasa hisses, “I’m not,” She shoves her hand away, “I’m fine I was just–” “What? Where is your phone, what were you doing?” So fucking nosy, she curses her mother’s inability to let things go. “I was reading a scary story.” Lies!

“Well you better not have broken it young lady, that cost your father good money, now where is it?” 

Mikasa scrambles to find where she’d thrown the phone, waving her mother off, “It’s fine, I’ll get it, what did you want anyway?” Her mother makes a tsk-ing noise, “I was coming to ask if you want me to put your laundry in the dryer, don’t take that tone with me young lady you live under my roof–” “Yes mom, I was just umm busy, it’s fine, that would be great I appreciate you, if you could please just,” Mikas gestures towards the door as she continues to rummage around her comforter, looking for the damned device. Her mother gives her a stern look before reluctantly stepping towards the door, and it’s then that they both spot it, her Iphone sitting innocently in the middle of the carpet having flown much farther than Mikasa could have ever anticipated, swathed in a pile of panties Mikasa has yet to put away. 

But even from far away, the image on the screen is obvious, in high definition, full resolution colour and also, because Eren’s dick is simply that big, of course it can be seen by even her infamously blind mother. 

It’s quiet for a moment, a pregnant pause as her mother examines the very impressive erect penis on her daughter’s phone screen. 

“Mikasa,” Her mother takes a deep breath, reaching down to grab the device, a somewhat exhausted lilt to her voice, “Darling whose penis is that?” “No one’s, Mom GO AWAY!” Mikasa makes to grab the phone away, but at that exact moment, the menace himself chooses to text her, the booty call she’d been waiting for, his name written in all caps next to a skull emoji and another much more incriminating emoji…

EREN 💀🍆 10:00 PM

Wyd ? 👅

“Huh,” Her mom releases a little huff, “I see the Yeager boy is good for more than just mowing the lawn.”

Mikasa wants to scream.

[izamationbroker]

My current job is pretty laidback about us having phones out and listening to music as we work sorting archaeological artifacts in a lab, so I've started binge-rewatching Durarara!! from the very beginning.

I've already finished the original run yesterday and just started x2 Shou, but some thoughts I had:

At least in the anime adaptation, the original run was meant to be pretty self-contained in the event they weren't able to continue (which to be fair was true for quite a while before x2 got greenlit), so rather than consider the original run a "phase one" of Izaya's grander scheme to start a gang war and awaken Celty's head it makes a bit more sense to think of it in the context of a failed first attempt.

In that context, it makes me wonder how he felt about it, his first grand failure. Grand enough that he felt the need to step back and lay low so he could go back to the drawing board (see: his initial conversation with Shizuo in ep 25).

I honestly bet he picked a fight with Shizuo just to take out his frustrations on it all. He managed to create a messy three-way conflict and get Celty roped into it as Anri and Mikado's friend, but the head gave narry a stir. Not to mention, Celty was able to help them resolve things pretty easily by just getting these dumb kids to actually talk to each other.

I don't remember the episode number because I just binged the whole thing, but Shingen at one point suggests that rather than rope Celty into a conflict, Izaya should try to center the conflict around Celty herself. Izaya claimed he was doing just that, but I don't think he really succeeded in the initial run. Sure, Celty was involved, but more as an independent third (fourth?) party than as a focal point. She was in the Dollars and friends with both Anri and Mikado, but she didn't really have much of a stake in the squabble itself. That was just a big messy of miscommunication between three high schoolers completely unrelated to her. That must have been frustrating, honestly, getting so close but falling just short of what he needed.

Then, on top of everything else, he wasn't even really involved in the resolution of the fight itself, either. He says in his theory that he needs to create a war only HE can win, right? I'd imagine that's why he was fucking around with a bunch of kids rather than the bigger leagues like the Yakuza that he works with regularly: it's a lot easier to insert yourself as an authority as the only adult. He'd be able to take control of that situation so easily, but Celty took that role instead, so he never even got a chance to win the war.

And to blow off steam from his initial failure, what does he do? He deliberately picks a fight with Shizuo, someone he generally tries to avoid when he can help it, by fucking with his brother's safety.

I wonder if he needed to feel alive for a minute by reminding himself of the loom of death. Shizuo's arguably the only one that actually threatens Izaya enough to feel any sense of awe or dread. I wonder if he wanted to put himself in that position to remind himself what was at stake and give him the motivation to go back to the drawing board and try again. He really does have a Shizuo Complex in that sense.

Anyway, I might do Shou, Ten, and Ketsu individually as I finish them, but if anyone would prefer a liveblog instead, lmk. I might stop at Shou for now, tho, because Wa-kun and I are I thiiiink like halfway through Ten? And I don't wanna spoil them with my rambling.

[animatedjen]

hello animatedjen!! I hope your day has been beautiful 🧡 I've recently moved into an apartment and have decided to get a gaming monitor for my PS5, so I can game at my desk and save some space while still enjoying photo mode sessions. if I remember correctly you play Jedi on PC, so maybe my question for you isn't relevant, but is there a monitor you use & like or would recommend for this purpose? I know these things are expensive and you seemed like a good person to ask about getting my investment right the first time around! especially since I would also use it for professional photo & video editing on occasion, and I know that's relevant to your career field as well. any advice you have on making a flexible set up would be so appreciated! thank you in advance!! I hope this question isn't too bothersome! P.S. I want you to know that you're a micro celebrity amongst my coworker friends because they see your photo mode shots rotate as my desktop wallpapers all day every day haha 😅

Congrats on the apartment!! And I'm very honored to be your work desktop wallpaper 💛 Respawn should be giving you a referral bonus!

Right now I'm using a Gigabyte QHD 34" ultrawide gaming monitor I got secondhand. Good specs for the price, but it's not super color accurate when compared to my Macbook retina screen - it could be calibrated more via software or a physical tool, but for now I use the monitor for gaming, general life stuff, and pre-color editing. I have a DP cable for the PC and HDMI for the Macbook or PS5, so it's easy to switch between devices.

The ultrawide aspect ratio also means I crop my photomode shots to 16:9 to post on socials, since 21:9 photos are very skinny (see above) and people often scroll Tumblr on their small, vertically-oriented phone screens. On the plus side, it's great for video editing since I can see more of the timeline at once. And no black bars during Jedi Survivor cutscenes!

You'll have to decide your budget and what specs are most important to you for photo/video work - I'd recommend a screen somewhere between 24" and 34", with QHD (2K) or UHD (4K) resolution. A higher refresh rate (at least 60hz, if not 120/144/240hz) helps for gaming and video with higher framerates. Color accuracy is tricky, but if you're not creating high-end photo prints or color grading for Netflix, something good (but not perfect) will be just fine. Some monitors will be better for gaming, and some better for photo/video editing, so decide which one to prioritize.

I've seen ASUS ProArt, Dell UltraSharp, and BenQ monitors recommended when I've shopped around before, but I skew towards non-gamer, Mac-friendly tech since more of my client work is on that system and the Jedi stuff is (sadly) not my paid job (yet). But if any other gamer/creative professionals want to drop recs in the comments, y'all probably know more than I do! 🙌

Thanks for the ask and sorry I can't be more helpful. Look forward to seeing the photomode shots from your new monitor :)

[verycharismaticdragon]

Wuthering Waves graphics settings and how to cook them

I tried looking up a guide for this, but all the ones I found were of a "if your device is dying or catching fire, try turning these off" variety - when what I wanted was more along the lines of "the best settings for taking screenshots", or at least "these settings offer obvious improvements in graphics, while these ones are barely noticeable".

So, today I've decided to just go for it and make some comparisons myself! And share my findings, of course. To start with, I went to compare settings that affect how character models look, since I do love me my blorbo caps.

Before we begin: do open the images to their full size to accurately see the differences! Tumblr's compression is lying to you! And without further ado...

Settings you definitely DON'T wanna turn off

Anti-Aliasing. Your good friend who takes care of 80% of pixelization on your models. I'll just let the shots speak for themselves:

Anti-Aliasing ⬅️ ON - OFF ➡️ (all other settings ON or highest possible)

Settings you probably won't notice are gone

Capsule AO. AO stands for Ambient Occlusion, and what it does, in theory, is improve shading, adding extra depth (or color, i think?) to shadows depending on environment. Well... is the ambient occlusion in the room with us right now..?

Capsule AO ⬅️ ON - OFF ➡️ (all other settings ON or highest possible)

Ofc, I gotta say that it's possible it will be more noticeable in the environment shots; but since for now we are talking character models - you can see for yourself. (I also gotta add that I saw someone complain that it doesn't work properly on mobile version after the 1.1 update. So maybe I'll try it again in a while.)

[continued under cut]

Shadow Quality: Ultra High vs High. Now, I won't say I can't see any differences, but they are so minimal that you really gotta ask yourself if it's worth the extra strain on your CPU.

Shadow Quality: ⬅️ Ultra High - High ➡️ (all other settings ON or highest possible)

Like there's a difference in how the shadow bleeds, for example near the corner of his lips, but you gotta really look for it to notice.

I also have to add that, unfortunately, even Ultra High does not solve an issue of pixelated shadows that sometimes inexplicably happen to certain characters in certain angles 🤷‍♂️

Now, while we are talking shadows...

Shadow Quality comparisons

Shadow Quality: ⬅️ Ultra High - Medium ➡️ (all other settings ON or highest possible)

Shadow Quality: ⬅️ High - Medium ➡️ (all other settings ON or highest possible)

Now, as you can see, there's a clear difference in depth once you lower SQ to Medium. Other than that, it doesn't look too bad, and if you have performance issues to consider, going with Medium might be the right choice. Or you can keep it on Medium for regular gameplay, and only turn it up when you want to take pretty screenshots/screen recordings! Just from my experience, I can barely see the difference on the phone screen, even in environment shots - but it does make a difference once I open the pics/vids on PC.

And for completion's sake...

Shadow Quality: ⬅️ Medium - Low ➡️ (all other settings ON or highest possible)

Now, there's no significant difference on the character model, and if you were already going to stick with Medium, you might be thinking, why not free up my device's processing power some more? But I gotta warn you here: Low becomes very noticeable in environment shots, removing like half of the shadows of objects. I will make an environment shots comparison sometime later, but you can easily observe the effect yourself by going to any overworld location during the in-game day and changing the setting. So: I'd say turning it all the way down to Low should be the last resort, if your device is catching fire - and after you have turned down all other environment-related settings!

Finally,

Settings that are down to taste

FSR (to fullname, AMD FidelityFX Super Resolution) is an upscaling technology, or, to make it easier, a nifty little trick games use to make themselves look better than their actual resolution. You will notice that the FSR ON version looks much crispier!

FSR: ⬅️ ON - OFF ➡️ (all other settings ON or highest possible)

However, the other side of this coin is that it may make pixelization on the edges more noticeable. This especially affects spiky hair *and here I went to grab a few more screenshots* - again, open the image to full size to really see what I'm talking about.

(to make sure im not misleading anyone, this set was taken with my casual settings, not the highest possible ones like the other screenshots in this post)

So... what to prioritize is entirely a matter of your taste 🤷‍♂️ As you might've already realized, pixelization is not that noticeable if you are not zoomed in to 100%. On the other hand, if we are talking screenshots in particular, fixing slight blurriness takes minimal editing, unlike fixing pixels... Just think about it - or try changing the setting and taking a few screenshots with your faves to compare - and decide.

Now, last but not least,

Bloom. Bloom is a method of lighting the model. From what I've read, it is used to up the 'brightness' of the game, without actually upping it. If you look at the comparison, you will see that the Bloom ON version has this sort of soft 'glow' to it...

Bloom: ⬅️ ON - OFF ➡️ (all other settings ON or highest possible)

...however, you may also notice that the Bloom OFF version has slightly more definition to it.

And, confession time: after turning Bloom off for the first time, I actually left it off and never looked back until today. To explain why, I will show a few more screenshots, with ON and OFF versions taken without moving the character from the spot:

Now, if we try to flat compare the two, I'd say that OFF works better for darker places (first set, character facing away from the light, and the shaded side of the second set), and ON works better in the light (third set, character facing bright light, and the lighted part of the second set - especially the glow on his hair!).

But in a more general way - and what I think you should consider while choosing what to do with this setting - toggling it almost feels like switching up the art style of the game. Both styles look good in their own way! For me personally, Bloom OFF feels more right for WuWa's vibe and setting, which is why I'm keeping it that way. Maybe you love the gentle glow of Bloom ON, though - and that's perfectly understandable too! It's really pretty!..

All in all, though, I think you should try toggling this on and off - zooming in on your characters, fighting and seeing the ResLib animations, and so on - before deciding what to go with. At the very least, the OFF version is worth trying out!

----

And this will be all for today! Here's Encore to see you off!

Taken with my usual graphic setting, btw. And I'll see when I have the time for that environment comparison.........

[canis-constellate]

(Context link)

OOP (The anti-endo talking in the screenshots) saying shit like "Oh fronting isn't like having a controller and you just go to the other person's door and ask if they want to front" is so funny to us because like. For a while, yeah, that is exactly what it was for us. Not kidding, for a significant period of time, we fronted by going into the front room and using a glorified xbox controller to control the body. And, usually, we had a ton of people going to/in the front room to hang out, to talk, etc... oh, sure, there was the occasional fight over "I do/don't want to front and so/neither does [someone/everyone]/anyone else", but since we were extremely community-based by that point and had a major focus on conflict resolution to avoid major problems like we had when we first discovered we were plural, 95% of the time, everything was pretty chill.

Like... does OOP not recognize that not every system works the same? That one of the goals of recovery for DID--as far as I'm aware, correct me if I'm wrong obviously--is to have more control over who fronts and being able to have more of that communication? I should imagine so, if they're truly as knowledgeable about DID as they seem to portray themselves being! So, why are they so pissed off about another system who they do not know theoretically having that level of control?

(Nowadays, we no longer have to go to the front room to front, but that's because everybody has a crystal that's basically a phone, a la the crystals in D20's Fantasy High, and those function about the same as the controller. Just with less fighting over who holds it. That does, however, mean it's significantly easier for someone to swoop in, take control of the body for five or ten minutes, and when they leave all of the food we were eating is just Gone. Cough cough Jaydin is a prick cough cough.)

[burrowkit]

So, I full out acknowledge that my life has been good, but a lot of random, weird, awful stuff has also happened that feels relatively fine but like...

Sometimes someone calls it out and then it's like "wait, that's just a Tuesday for me. Is this not normal?"

Among some of the stranger (bad) things (I guess)-

Basically growing up with minimal oversight at a sailing club (still was safe, it was def community watches all the kids attitude)

Girls snapping each other's bras back to cause pain

Playing a game called Man Hunt which was kind of like tag, but like, if you were tagged you joined the hunting party, and tried to find everyone in the school yard

A reminder that being popular tends to be seen as well known. You could be the heavily bullied kid but still considered "popular" because everyone knows your name (I'd argue popular and well-known/notorious are two different things, but whatever)

Had the entire male population of my class (and many guys from the other classes) be my bully (as a gal)

Had a guy (different school, why is it always the guys? This actually should go above the previous 2 points, but anyways) spend the entire year sneaking up behind me to scare me. This has resulted in my very LOUD scream when I'm startled, as a defence mechanism

At every immunization/flu shot/vaccine dose, someone would always punch my arm near/at the injection site for up to a week later (someone as in another student)

Cornered into small spaces by a guy

Had my stuff constantly stolen (when it's the entire male population, it's pretty easy for them to steal and hide my stuff)

Had my OCD made fun of while I was clearly struggling

Was bullied because I was crying because my grandmother had just died (my dad was being a tad tough and forcing me to go to school because he couldn't miss work, the kids didn't seem to understand I had little choice in my ability to stay home)

Attempted to give the silent treatment/ignore my bullies as a New Year Resolution because I was desperate to just not have them in my life (which ultimately made things worse and got me called a bully for wanting to cut out people actively tearing me apart)

A break for positivity, reading all sorts of cool books during lunch

Okay. Had a crow call my name, repeatedly. When I made it to High School, it did move there. It does occasionally find me, continuing to call my name.

Had everyone constantly shipping me with everybody. Constantly. Any guy I talk to? Clearly they're my "soulmate" and I need to date them. -eyeroll-

Jumping back in time, we used to camp with a giant group of my parent's friends, and we all love Scooby Doo. We'd spend every year trying to do a show of some sorts. One year, we made a horror film (which is really more of a comedy, but anyways)

Spent time as a kid playing catch with the wind. (Tossing a giant frisbee into the air, it would hover for a few seconds, then come back to me)

Had 2 friends be given the "it's them or us" choice. First one chose the new group, bullied me out of our friendship. Second one chose me, held it over my head. Learned the lesson that it's best to bow out.

Frequently late to school (high school) due to the school bus picking us up late. Got made fun of for that.

My friends became obsessed with locking out bad emotions, and pushed me to lock up all my emotions except seeming happy to them.

Things time in such weird ways, and I can't even explain that

Randomly picking up phones before they ring.

Was told off by a random city bus driver because I couldn't see the accident (no one else on the bus saw, but he took out his anger on me)

{I should mention, I was once told I was a bully magnet. Like, went to this class specifically for people who are outcasts... they made me the designated outcast... of outcasts. That kind of hurt}

I constantly learn something new that I have normalized as "this is life", only to find out that it's so absolutely not. E.g. having bad fevers with a period isn't always normal. Nor is feeling like one is dying... anyways...

Being treated as a Reserved Sign in High School for the tables in the cafeteria during our free... even when there are other tables available.

After a car accident (MINOR car accident), being told by the doctor that I'm lucky to be alive, let alone the fact that I was the only one with minor whiplash

Being laid off during the solar eclipse (and having a minor surgery pre-planned later that same week, and my car being fixed magically too)

Said lay off came with the bonus of being able to spend time with visiting family which was a great coincidence

On the other negative thing, learning that abusive work conditions are often the same red flags as relationship ones. Same names, different 'this is what it looks like'.

[supernaturalfreakout]

Tension and Release

[History on Your Side—Chapter 6.] Sam Winchester x Reader

Chapter Summary: As things start to heat up between you and Sam, you are interrupted by unexpected news. *Please see the masterlist for entire work summary and tags* Notes: Assume that the events of TVD have not yet transpired- and TVD characters are older than canon (around 26-27 years old) and are working, not in high school as in the show obviously! Read on AO3 | Masterlist

The kiss was needy, although agonizingly tender; the resolution of a dissonant chord that had been building since you met.

Despite his strength, Sam's touch was gentle as he cupped your face, pulling you closer into his starved embrace.

Your lips moved in tandem, a push and pull, request and answer to each other's desire, echoing the shared sentiment that had finally found its voice.

As you parted for air, a shared smile danced between you, the unspoken tension now replaced by a new, exhilarating energy.

Sam's warm breath grazed your ear. "Let's not rush..." He whispered, tracing his thumb over your mouth so your lips parted slightly. "But let's not wait either..."

You shuddered inwards, his words and actions only adding fuel to the flame that was igniting within you.

You gazed up at him under hooded eyes, biting your bottom lip as you slowly rose to your knees, hitching your leg to settle on top of him.

God he is tall…and strong… As if you hadn't noticed the first time you laid eyes on him. You had, of course, but now, your impressions were confirmed.

You felt his hard shoulder muscles and ironed biceps flex and extend as his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, unyieldingly into his lap.

You leaned into his embrace, surrendering to his magnetic pull that was imploring your senses. He cradled you to him, as though he couldn't get close enough.

Now in his arms, you realized that, if he wanted, you were completely at his mercy. The thought flooded your bloodstream with a dopamine-adrenaline cocktail as you joined your lips back with his.

This kiss was different. Craving. Demanding. A newfound confidence igniting in you both.

As your tongues met, you automatically rolled your hips, feeling Sam stiffen against you.

His hands travelled from your waist, down your back, to rest on your ass. A throaty moan escaped your mouth as he squeezed, eliciting a breathy chuckle from him against your lips.

As you again parted for air, hot breath mingling, your eyes locked and reality seemed to snap back into place for a brief moment. You became acutely aware of the fire burning within you, and the distant ringing in your ears.

Wait... it wasn't just in your ears. Sam could hear it too. His eyes darted behind your shoulder, towards the source of the sound in the hallway. You tilted your head in the direction he was looking, finally identifying the sound was coming from your landline phone.

You turned back to Sam with a confused expression then shrugged, leaning back into his touch.

"Do you usually get calls at this time of night?" Sam chuckled between breaths as he peppered a trail of kisses along your jaw and began to nibble at your earlobe.

"No!" you squealed, still catching your breath, squirming into his ticklish kisses.

"Not unless..." Shit... you thought, remembering that you had left your phone on Do Not Disturb.

"Unless what?" Sam mumbled against your jaw.

"Uh, nothing, never mind." You shrugged, before grabbing his face and returning your lips to his, becoming increasingly drunk on the taste of him.

The phone went silent, then started to ring again. A coil of anxiety spiraled in your stomach. What if it's mom? Has something happened to dad?

"Hey... hey..." Sam half mumbled, noticing the change in your demeanor as he gently broke the kiss. "Maybe you should get that? Sounds like someone's really trying to get hold of you". Despite his dilated pupils, and obvious arousal, a gentle concern touched his face as he caressed your jaw with his thumb.

You looked at him with a gentle plea, reluctant to leave his touch, despite the worry that was now evident on your face.

"I'm not going anywhere" he smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You directed him a knowing smirk before reluctantly sliding out of his lap.

You swayed into the hallway, Sam's gaze lingering on you the whole way.

You cleared your throat then picked up the phone apprehensively. Your voice came through slightly crackled as you answered. "Hello?"

The voice that met you was laced with concern. "Y/N? Finally… Where have you been? We've been trying to get hold of you all night".

"Bonnie...? Why, who has?" Your confusion was evident in your tone.

"Me, Caroline, Matt, Ric… have you not checked your phone?"

Anxiety built in your chest as you walked over to where you had tossed your jacket over a chair in the kitchen and took out your phone from your pocket.

11 missed calls, and 58 unread messages... Shit. Panic rose in your throat as you scrolled through the group WhatsApp.

"Bonnie… what's going on?" Panic was now evident in your voice.

Sam, noticing the change in tone, got up from the sofa and followed your path into the kitchen, smoothing out the wrinkles in his clothes.

"It's Elena… she was in a car accident this evening…Grayson and Miranda…didn't make it" Bonnie choked.

You froze for a second. "What?"

"Yeah."

You trembled. "Oh my god. Is she…?"

"She's in hospital, but uninjured… no one knows how she made it out… but I've never seen anyone like this Y/N…"

There was a tense pause as you tried to keep up with what Bonnie was saying.

"Sorry, I know it's late but... we didn't want you finding out after…we... we knew you would want to be here".

You ran a hand through your hair. "Oh my god, Bonnie… of course… I'll… I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thanks Y/N, we all need you."

"Of course, I'll catch the next flight… hold on… okay?".

"We're trying..." Bonnie sniffled. "See you soon… I love you".

"I love you too."

You held the phone in your hand in silence for a few seconds after Bonnie had hung up, the echoes of your conversation lingering in the hollow space around you, as if the walls themselves absorbed the weight of the news.

Elena, your oldest friend, in a living hell, while the lives of her parents had met a tragic end. Each syllable uttered by Bonnie etched deeper into your chest, tightening an invisible vice around your heart.

Sam, catching the last part of your conversation, stood in the doorway, watching you with concern. "Y/N… What's wrong?" he asked tentatively as he approached you slowly.

You felt numb. Your gaze was still glued to the phone in your hand. "It's Elena… She's in hospital… a car crash. She's alive… but, her parents are... dead."

The lack of intonation in your voice filled Sam with dread.

Your gaze finally met his as he stood at your side. Cortisol flooded your system as the reality of the situation came crashing down upon you. You had known Miranda and Grayson your whole life; they were like second parents to you.

You felt the burden of helplessness pressing in, a suffocating awareness that you were far from where you should be, distant from the ones who needed your presence, your support.

Guilt gnawed at your insides, coiling and twisting, as if accusing you of not being there when it mattered the most.

You clutched the phone tightly, as if by sheer willpower you could alter the reality painted by Bonnie's trembling voice.

You shook your head, unable to get your words out, unaware of the tears starting to roll down your cheeks.

Sam's instinct to comfort kicked in, and he gently placed his hand on your trembling shoulder to calm you.

Sam's touch triggered something in you and you began to sob, the cocktail of hormones and alcohol in your system overwhelming you.

Sam gently pulled you towards him before cradling you against his chest, rubbing comforting circles on your back. "Hey… take a breath…that's it, breathe…"

Seeing you like this felt like a punch to the gut. Sam simply held you to his chest, holding back his own emotions as he let you process yours.

You sniffled into his shirt, breathing in his scent. "I'm sorry" you breathed, finally gaining control of your breath.

Sam stroked your hair. "Shh... You've got nothing to be sorry for".

You straightened up, trying to compose yourself, wiping your tears on your sleeve. "I… I have to go home... My friends need me".

"Of course... We'll get you where you need to be, alright?" He said as he wiped a stray tear from your cheek.

The next ten minutes passed in a flash. As you tried to gather yourself, Sam remained by your side, a calming presence in your time of need. He swiftly moved to help you pack, gathering your essentials and helped you book a taxi to the airport without hesitation. Although the thought of being torn apart from you pained him deeply, he knew he would do the same if it was Dean in hospital. Unfortunately he didn't even need to imagine.

As the taxi pulled up to your house, Sam accompanied you outside, carrying your bags.

As you stood on the sidewalk, the weight of this evening's events crashed down on you. You felt torn. Dissonant, once again.

You peered up at him through bloodshot eyes. "Thank you."

"No need." Sam shook his head with a tentative smile, his eyes reflecting concern and empathy.

In a moment of quiet reassurance and longing, you gently reach up, cupping Sam's face in your hands, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. It was a gesture of appreciation, and an unspoken acknowledgment of the connection you shared.

Sam lips lingered against your forehead for a moment, fighting against the aching part of him that didn't want to let you go.

"Stay in touch, okay?" His voice was tinged with concern as he stroked your cheek.

You nodded, forcing a smile and with a final lingering look, you stepped into the waiting cab, a whirlwind of emotions accompanying you.

As the car pulled away, Sam stood on the curb, a silhouette against the fading streetlights, a steadfast presence etched in your memory.

Sam's eyes lingered on the vanishing cab and deep sigh slipped past his lips. His mind swirled with concern, a persistent ache in his chest, praying for your comfort and resilience amid the turmoil awaiting you in Mystic Falls.

Chapter 7

[apuckishwit]

Eddie Overthinking Himself to Oblivion

A preview of Chapter 29 of Rolled a 1 on the Check, Rolled a 20 on the Save, on AO3

Eddie books the flight to Chicago and a hotel that week.

At first, riding high off the implications of the picture that Steve’s roommate sent to Gareth (he’s so excited he even manages to talk himself down from worrying that Steve actually had no idea what the flag colors he got painted on his cheek meant and was just trying to be a good ally to his roommate and her girlfriend and Eddie was just going to make a fool of himself and he was just gonna make it weird and Steve was never going to want to talk to him again and, and, and…), he books the hotel for a week.

Then he thinks that’s presumptuous and shortens his stay to three days.

Then he tells himself he’s being ridiculous and he needs to nut up and take the risk if he wants a chance to be with Steve, and rebooks the week.

Then he has a really weird dream where he and Steve are sightseeing around Chicago, having a great time, and he gets up the courage to take Steve’s hand while they’re standing in front of The Bean, and Steve leans in real close, fluttering his lashes and just whispers that he’s been dying to ask Eddie’s sister out and he’s so glad Eddie introduced them, and this random girl who looks weirdly like Eddie waltzes up and flings her arms around Steve’s neck and they start kissing. He wakes up with a gasp and immediately panics and cancels the hotel entirely before he manages to take a deep breath and remind himself that Steve would never be that callous even if he wasn’t interested in Eddie.

Also, Eddie doesn’t even have a sister, so…

He’s not even going to try to unpack that symbolism. He has a cup of coffee and goes to rebook the hotel.

Then he finds out all this yo-yoing managed to get his credit card flagged for fraud and has to spend an hour on the phone with his card company sorting that out.

He swears Gandalf is looking at him judgmentally as he fishes a different credit card out of his wallet to book a different hotel (cause like fuck is he going to talk to anyone at the first hotel again, ever). “Stop looking at me like that, you little monster!” he hisses at his cat. “I think I want this one to be your other dad, excuse me for panicking a little!”

Gandalf yawns at him and goes back to lazily batting one of his toys around the kitchen floor.

He drinks another cup of coffee (resolutely ignoring the fact that he’s going to have godawful heartburn later…God, getting older sucks) and books the hotel. For a week. He compromises with his (irrational, he knows it’s irrational, but that’s never stopped him before) fears that he’s making a horrible mistake by leaving his return date to Seattle open-ended. There. He’s doing it…he’s going to shoot his shot with Steve, and he’s going to be optimistic, damn it. What are the chances of them finding each other? In what world do the circumstances of their meeting and getting to know each other and becoming friends even happen? In what world do those circumstances happen, and Steve turns out to be what Eddie thinks might actually be the man of his dreams, turns out to be someone Eddie actually has a shot with? How can it not work out when every single step of their story feels like something out of a story, a movie, a fucking fairy tale? He should be optimistic, damn it! If this were one of his campaigns, literally everyone playing would have pegged them as love interests by now.

Years later, it will occur to Eddie that he could have spared himself a metric fuck ton of anxiety if he had just thought to ask why, exactly, Robin thought a picture of Steve with a bi pride flag painted on his cheek would be of interest to Gareth.

[goodnightmemes]

CARMILLA SEASON ONE SENTENCE STARTERS (PART ONE)

Lines taken from episodes s01e01 - s01e19 of the web series Carmilla. Feel free to change as needed. Part two is here.

❛ Nothing, not even the homecoming goat sacrifice, disturbs the pursuit of knowledge. ❜

❛ I passed the test! 62%. Which is pretty cool. It’s like a gentlewoman’s C. ❜

❛ This is our college adventure, come on! ❜

❛ And how is the Jäger-bombinatrix doing this morning? ❜

❛ And really, why does anybody do anything? ❜

❛ I found it next to a pile of ick that started growing mushrooms the next day. ❜

❛ Don’t judge. My dad thought I’d use an iPhone to send high-resolution selfies to potential stalkers. ❜

❛ If an incident is in progress, please dial 4815 or activate the nearest blue tentacle phone. ❜

❛ To report an escaped entity or poltergeist activity, please press - ❜

❛ Fine. I’ve got three weeks of a journalism class and I’ve seen all of Veronica Mars. I’ll find her myself. ❜

❛ I don’t know, things just got so foggy after the alchemy guys released, you know, the fog. ❜

❛ I’m your new roommate, sweetheart. ❜

❛ Oh, this is not happening. You are not my new roommate! ❜

❛ Boom! Revenge is mine. ❜

❛ See? Blood.In the milk container. ❜

❛ This is like, a death threat, or a health code violation. ❜

❛ Well, there’s no denying it’s a little…odd. ❜

❛ How many people you know take Type O with their Chocoa Crunch? ❜

❛ Are you really gonna try and pretend this isn’t a total freak show? ❜

❛ Oh, see, surviving. Yes, I like that plan. ❜

❛ A lot of problems can be solved through good communication. ❜

❛ A lot of problems can also be solved by taking hair and blood samples to figure out exactly what kind of freaky it is you’re dealing with. ❜

❛ You filled a milk container with blood as a prank? ❜

❛ It was food coloring, and…and corn syrup. ❜

❛ That bunched-up little face you make when you’re angry is hilarious, buttercup. ❜

❛ I kept on having the same dream before. ❜

❛ And the darkness is in my eyes and in my throat and I can’t breathe, and … ❜

❛ I-I’m sorry, I can’t be here anymore. ❜

❛ I really hope that it passes over you and I hope it doesn’t touch your face. ❜

❛ Are you really so damaged that you’re incapable of caring about anything? ❜

❛ You’re a child. And you understand nothing. Not about life. Not about this place. ❜

❛ You know what? The sooner you stop playing Lois Lane, the better off you’ll be. ❜

❛ No, I’m not just gonna give up. ❜

❛ So, maybe that’s just how it is, but that does not mean that I have to accept it. I deserve better. [ name ] deserves better. Hell, even you deserve better. ❜

❛ It’s a town hall meeting! Remember your training, we’ve got five minutes! Run, run! ❜

❛ Sometimes a girl’s gotta manufacture her own excitement, you know? ❜

❛ We should be reinstating our night marches. ❜

❛ And then the Zetas piped in with this chant that pretty much sounded like “pizza or death”. ❜

❛ I think we’d make a pretty great team. ❜

❛ Yeah, a team. You and me, absolutely. ❜

❛ Hey, is that fish in your hair? ❜

❛ It is very, very nice of you large, large gentlemen to offer to keep me safe, but as you can see, I’m in my room. Snug as a bug in a rug. So, you’re good to go. ❜

❛ If I decide to go wandering down some dark alleyways late at night, you guys’ll be my first call. ❜

❛ Get the hell out of here before I feed you each other’s spleens. ❜

❛ Dude, she bit me! That is so not cool. ❜

❛ Guess that’s it for the truce, then. ❜

❛ We have been working nonstop and, not that we’re geniuses or anything, but I think we’re really close to a breakthrough. ❜

❛ I think my brain has melted. ❜

❛ Chocolate is comforting in the face of epic failure. ❜

❛ And what kind of thrilling adventure do we find ourselves on now? ❜

❛ This is so childish. You’d think we were still six. ❜

❛ Schadenfreude isn’t very attractive. ❜

❛ But I so had it coming, didn’t I? ❜

❛ God, this age doesn’t understand obligation. It’s like an undersea anchor; impossible to escape. ❜

❛ They’re the ones using dander collected at parties to seed an immense interconnected fungus throughout campus. ❜

❛ Apparently, it’s a communications experiment. Or, maybe a really complicated risotto recipe? I don’t know. ❜

❛ Sorry, I just forgot that I have to be anywhere but here. ❜

❛ Oh, no. You are entirely too sweet ❜

❛ But you’ve got to admit it looks pretty hinky. ❜

❛ Confronting her has historically been about as effective as using bug spray on Voldemort. ❜

❛ Oh, wow. That’s…why are you wearing warpaint? ❜

❛ Come on! Why are the hotties in this room always trying to hurt me?! ❜

❛ That is unfair, okay, cause I’m here out of the, like, bro-ness of my heart, alright? ❜

❛ So, has it even occurred to you that while you’re duking it out, nobody is actually out there protecting anybody at all?! ❜

❛ Ah, it’s mostly just paintballs and anchovies. I’ll talk them down. ❜

❛ It just seemed so real…like…that weird moment of clarity during magic hour or the moment right before a car crash. ❜

❛ I was in my room and there was something in my bed. Something under my bed. This dark, prowling thing without a face. ❜

❛ I tried to pull the blankets over my face to hide, but the darkness started seeping through them like blood, more and more, until I was drowning in it. ❜

❛ Well, dreams are supposed to be strange. Last night I dreamt I was trapped under a bed. ❜

❛ But, just a dream. No reason for all of this…twitchiness. ❜

❛ There is no twitching. There is an absence of twitching. ❜

❛ You know, if it’s really making you so miserable, I could get you something to help you sleep. ❜

❛ That’s uncharacteristically considerate of you. ❜

❛ Yeah, well, I just don’t want you losing it and torching all my stuff. ❜

❛ The results are starting to look profoundly WTF. ❜

❛ I know Silas has some quirks, but I’m pretty sure spontaneous combustion, super strength, and an all-protein diet weren’t options on my roommate form. ❜

❛ Your Snape/Ron fic’s still on the screen, spaz. ❜

❛ It’s a charm or whatever. To help with the bad dreams. ❜

❛ So, in the spirit of all this newfound closeness, maybe you could tell me where you go all night? ❜

❛ Mmm, well, I have to keep some of my secrets. Otherwise, I’ll lose my air of mystery, won’t I? ❜

❛ Oh, you know, I miss my dad, I have papers due. I’m about to be my roommate’s next victim. ❜

❛ Come on. Let’s get you changed into something with a little less whiff. ❜

❛ Everything in your fridge is made of glucose and palm oil. I’m surprised you don’t have scurvy. ❜

❛ As soon as we got there, everyone was leaving the building, and yes, as the sun went down, we started to hear something…skittering. ❜

❛ Before you realized the staircase wasn’t in the same place anymore? ❜

❛ Before we realized we might have gotten a little turned around. And that most of the computer monitors we could see were warning us to “Run. Run now”. And the skittering was getting closer. ❜

❛ We created a flamethrower using a lighter and some mace. ❜

❛ I get a text that says “Come quick. Stuck in Library. Bring fire extinguisher” ❜

❛ Okay, yes! It was stupid, and we’re lucky that you didn’t have to save our souls. ❜

❛ Well, yeah, but we know she’s a vampire. I mean, we’ve known that since the blood in the milk container, right? ❜

❛ You all knew I was living with a vampire and nobody said anything? ❜

❛ She’s not a vampire. There’s no such thing as vampires. She’s a…light-averse octogenarian with extreme hemoglobin deficiency and really good skin. ❜

❛ My roommate is an honest-to-Lestat vampire. How do we stop a vampire? ❜

❛ No! No! We can’t immolate everyone that [ name ] thinks is a supernatural creature. ❜

❛ Well, I have an idea but you are not gonna like it. ❜

❛ Okay, explain to me again how offering yourself as bait to your blood-sucking roommate is not the worst plan ever devised by womankind. ❜

❛ Well, the fact that a terrible plan is our only plan is not really a selling point. ❜

❛ You guys know that I can hear you, right? Maybe instead of peanut gallery-ing you can help me figure out how we trap a vampire? ❜

❛ How do we feel about bear spray? ❜

❛ What would Mina Harker do? …Get bitten. Mina Harker would totally try and act all alluring to the bloodsucking fiend and totally get bitten. Let’s not do that. ❜

❛ Looking at the stars. It’s comforting, to think how small we are in comparison. All the lives we’ve led, the people we’ve been, nothing to that light. ❜

❛ “Black as the pit and terrible as the night was Bagheera”? I always loved that. It’s beautiful. ❜

❛ Behold: Vampire bait! ❜

❛ Don’t you look like a virgin sacrifice? ❜

❛ Parties should be a shimmering moment of possibility, not a collection of brutes around a piece of flaming driftwood. ❜

❛ Feels like more than that. Like something seen underwater from a great distance. ❜

❛ God, I’m a nostalgic idiot tonight. ❜

❛ Maybe I don’t feel like sharing you right now. ❜

❛ God, what am I doing? Naive, provincial girl. Entirely too tightly wound. Such a cliché. I oughta know better. ❜

❛ I oughta know better. And yet…there’s something about you. ❜

❛ Also, I got my head smashed into a table, if anyone cares. ❜

❛ There is not allowed to be some new horrible thing! ❜

❛ You know, at times like these a dude needs to be with his bros. ❜

❛ Well, don’t look at me. I didn’t want to kidnap anyone to begin with! ❜

❛ Definitely not untying angry vampire. ❜

❛ You can’t just keep a hostage in your dorm room! ❜

❛ I”m sure there’s all sorts of things we could figure out through some minimally-invasive probing. ❜

❛ It’ll seem dire once they start your tribunal. ❜

❛ So the sooner you ‘fess us and tell us what’s going on, the better this is gonna go for you because we have got…a spatula, and a stapler, and we are not afraid to use them. ❜

❛ You cannot seriously think we’re dumb enough to believe you’re innocent just because you say so. ❜

❛ Look, if I were really a vampire, would I just stay here, tied up, proclaiming my innocence as some sort of trick? ❜

❛ Yeah. That’s completely exactly what a vampire would do. ❜

❛ Do I strike you as the type of person who plays well with others? ❜

❛ Uh, we’re rehearsing a skit. Uh, yeah, the torture scene from Arsenic and Old Lace. Mmm-hmm, yeah, there’s a torture scene. ❜

❛ I hear they have a great collection of straight-jackets and tranquilizers. ❜

❛ I swear, if one more of your broken-hearted study buddies comes knocking at the door, I’m gonna start spritzing them like cats. ❜

❛ No, no, no! Please don’t die, please don’t die, you stupid vampire! Here, look, I’ve got blood. ❜

❛ The experience of being held captive by a clutch of imbeciles for something I didn’t even have the pleasure of doing is humiliating enough without having you wipe me up like a dribbling child. ❜

❛ Wait, you thought that was me trying to eat you? ❜

❛ Oh…Oh! So, when you were hitting on me, you were really hitting on me? ❜

❛ Could you just stake me now? Cause I think that would be less mortifying than this conversation. ❜

❛ If you want us to trust you, you have gotta tell us your side of the story. ❜

[actress4him]

The Shadow of Death - Soldier Boy AU - Part 2

Taglist: @painful-pooch

Part 1 | Shadow of Death Masterlist | Part 3

Contains: lady whump, beating, misogyny, threats of noncon, noncon touching

.

.

She heads on foot to the nearest safehouse, bemoaning the fact that she had to leave her bike behind the whole way. It’s registered to her father, at least, so if they run the license her name won’t come up. 

She has to hand one thing to him - he’s kept her from existing on record as much as possible. Anyone who’s given her real name will find that she disappears at age fourteen, when he dug her up out of the foster system. And most of the people that work for him know her only as Cora Greaves, who’s never truly existed to start with. So even if any of the cronies blab, no one should be able to track her down. Her only concern is if they find her prints at the house and realize that the fourteen year old isn’t dead or missing, after all. 

It’s evening by the time she picks the lock to the front door of the safehouse and lets herself inside. The phone in her pocket has remained silent so far, but she doesn’t expect it to remain that way for too long. At some point she’ll be contacted and given instructions. In the meantime, there’s nothing to do but wait. 

There are several bedrooms in the house, none of which have been assigned to anyone as far as she knows, but she finds herself naturally collapsing on the small mattress, without a bedframe, in the tiniest of the rooms. It isn’t until she’s been lying there awake for hours, staring at the blank walls, that she realizes what she did. 

She doesn’t bother getting up and moving. If anyone else ends up joining her here, she’ll just be kicked to this one, anyway. Clearly they’ve done a good job making sure she understands her place. 

The next morning her phone finally buzzes. A voice she vaguely recognizes gives her terse instructions on where to find an emergency fund and an ally to send to post bail for the few who made it. 

Her father, unsurprisingly, did not make bail. 

Unfortunately, she finds out in a short while that Roderick did. 

While she’s waiting, Kamaria carries out a mission that was already scheduled for this week. It helps distract her from her anxiety, and she tells herself that her father will be grateful for her initiative. Not only did she do her job with no one around to ensure it, but having crimes associated with the group continue while most of the group was still in prison might help cause reasonable doubt. 

Roderick and the others are at the safehouse when she returns. She attempts to slip away to her room without calling attention to herself, but he steps into her path and she doesn’t dare try and dodge him.

“And just how did you manage to avoid a night in jail, hm? Which GI Joe did you throw yourself at?”

Kamaria stares at the wall over his left shoulder and resolutely refuses to react to his implications. “You left me chained up in the basement, remember? They thought I had been kidnapped.”

His hand swings up and locks around her throat and he slams her back into the wall. She plants her own hands flat against the surface at her sides, willing them to be still and not fight back. It’s only ever made things worse. 

“How many times do I have to knock you down before you get rid of that high and mighty attitude of yours?” Saliva sprays across her cheeks. He’s angrier than usual today, which doesn’t bode well for her.

“I just answered your question. They didn’t realize I was part of the group, they let me go. Are you really mad that there was someone left on the outside that could make sure bail got posted and the Johnson mission got carried out?”

Yanking her forward, he shoves her into the wall again. She grits her teeth as her skull bounces and colors flash across her vision. 

“I’m mad because I watched decades of work go down the drain yesterday, because if the stupid lawyers don’t do their jobs right everything could be over for good, and because you still can’t seem to understand that you are nothing!” 

He lets go of her throat, but immediately buries the other fist in her stomach. Kamaria doubles over, retching. Just as she starts to recover her breath, he throws her to the floor. It takes her longer than it should to scramble up to her hands and knees. He’s there as soon as she does, nearly knocking her back over with a brutal kick to the ribs. 

“But the good news is, you make an excellent punching bag for taking out my frustrations. And guess what? Your daddy isn’t here to stop me.”

She makes it back to her feet with one final cough, fully aware that he’s allowed her to do so. Her hands want to come up in defense. There are still knives in her pocket and boots, too, burning holes into her skin. 

She could do it. She could fight him, and she could win. Roderick’s strength lies in brute force, but she’s quicker and better trained in hand to hand than he is. 

These thoughts go through her mind every time he hurts her, but the answer is always the same. If she wants to keep her place here…if she wants to live, she has to take it.

He charges, and she instinctively swerves before forcing herself to stop again. The sooner she allows him to get it over with, the sooner he’ll leave her alone. So she stays still while he decks her across the face, while he holds her by her hair and punches her in the ribs and stomach over and over, while he slings her at the wall, knocks her down, and begins to kick her again. The only thing she does to defend herself is cover her head with her arms and tuck her knees to her chest.

When she’s wavering on the edge of consciousness, he uses a foot to shove her over onto her back and lowers himself to straddle her hips. Suddenly she’s fully awake, panic sending her senses into overdrive. Her hands come up to shove at his chest, forgetting all plans to not fight back, but he snatches them up with one of his own and leans forward, pinning them above her head. 

His other hand strokes a fiery line across her chest, following the neckline of her shirt. Kamaria stops breathing. A plea sticks in her throat, demanding she let it out, but even through the haze of panic and pain she refuses to cave…yet. 

“You know, if Greaves doesn’t make it back, the business passes to me. And then I’m gonna make you my little toy. I’ve never gotten to use you like you deserve because he thinks it’ll break you and make you useless to us, but I don’t really care. I can always find another assassin. You can just stay chained to my desk, all bloody and broken, waiting for me to come home and do whatever I want to you.”

As he speaks his fingers trail down her front, and Kamaria struggles futilely against his weight. Finally he laughs, pinches her cheek, and climbs off of her, walking away without a glance behind. 

Oxygen floods back into her lungs with a vengeance. Every breath rattles in her chest, grating against broken ribs, but she can’t calm them down. 

She can’t fall apart either, though. There are others in the room who’ve watched the whole thing…not that falling apart has ever been an option for her. 

Shoving herself up off the floor with the barest of grimaces, she stumbles on bruised legs to the room she’d slept in the night before. The door is shut and locked. The men have taken over all the bedrooms, leaving nothing for her. 

Every time something like this happens, she wonders why she expected anything different. 

There’s a closet at the end of the hall that holds nothing more than a broom and a couple of spray bottles. It’s safer than staying out in the open living room. Without bothering to turn on the light, she shuts herself inside, curling up in the corner for another sleepless night.

[roandgieo]

Necklace Online Shopping: Discover Elegance with Ro & Gieo

In today's fast-paced world, shopping for jewelry has become more convenient and accessible than ever. Gone are the days when you had to visit a physical store to find the perfect piece to complement your outfit. Thanks to the rise of online shopping, buying a beautiful necklace has never been easier. Ro & Gieo, a premium jewelry brand, is leading the charge in providing an unmatched online shopping experience, making it easier than ever to find elegant, stylish necklaces from the comfort of your own home.

Why Choose Ro & Gieo for Your Necklace Online Shopping?

When it comes to purchasing jewelry online, trust, quality, and selection are paramount. Ro & Gieo offers a curated collection of necklaces that caters to various tastes and occasions. Whether you're looking for a delicate piece for everyday wear or a statement necklace for a special event, Ro & Gieo has something to suit every style. Here’s why you should consider shopping with us:

An Extensive Range of Designs

At Ro & Gieo, we understand that jewelry is a personal expression of style, which is why we offer a wide variety of necklace designs. From minimalist, contemporary pieces to bold, eye-catching statement necklaces, our collection has something for everyone. We bring you necklaces crafted with fine materials, including sterling silver, gold, diamonds, and precious gemstones, ensuring every piece stands out for its elegance and craftsmanship.

2.Convenience of Shopping from Home

One of the major benefits of necklace online shopping is the convenience it offers. At Ro & Gieo, we’ve designed our online store to be user-friendly and accessible from any device—whether you're browsing from your phone, tablet, or desktop. You can explore our collection, read detailed descriptions, and view high-resolution images of each necklace, all without stepping foot outside your home. Shopping for a necklace has never been so hassle-free!

3. Exclusive Collections and Custom Designs

We believe in offering something unique to every customer. That’s why Ro & Gieo offers exclusive collections you won’t find anywhere else. We also understand that some customers may want a one-of-a-kind piece, which is why we offer custom jewelry services. If you have a specific design in mind or want to personalize a necklace for a special occasion, our team of skilled designers is happy to work with you to create a masterpiece that reflects your vision.

4. Secure and Seamless Shopping Experience

When shopping for jewelry online, security is a top concern. Ro & Gieo takes your privacy and security seriously. We utilize the latest encryption technology to ensure your payment information is kept safe. Plus, our easy-to-navigate website makes it simple to complete your purchase quickly and securely. Whether you're purchasing a single necklace or a complete set, our online shopping platform guarantees a smooth and stress-free transaction.

5. Fast Shipping and Easy Returns

We understand that once you’ve found the perfect necklace, you can’t wait to wear it! Ro & Gieo offers fast and reliable shipping, ensuring your jewelry arrives at your doorstep in no time. We also offer hassle-free returns in case you're not fully satisfied with your purchase. Our priority is to make sure you're delighted with your new necklace, and we’ll work with you to find the best solution.

Necklace Online Shopping: A Perfect Gift Idea

Whether you’re shopping for yourself or looking to give the perfect gift to a loved one, a necklace is always a thoughtful and timeless choice. At Ro & Gieo, we offer a wide selection of necklaces that can be personalized with initials, birthstones, or other meaningful engravings, making them the perfect gift for anniversaries, birthdays, or special milestones.

Our easy-to-navigate website also provides helpful guides, such as necklace size charts, gift suggestions, and style tips, making it easy to find the ideal necklace for any occasion.

The Ro & Gieo Promise: Quality and Craftsmanship You Can Trust

Ro & Gieo is committed to providing you with the highest quality jewelry that meets the highest standards of craftsmanship. Every necklace is carefully designed and crafted using the finest materials, ensuring that each piece is as durable as it is beautiful. We pride ourselves on our attention to detail, from the first sketch to the final polish, and it shows in every necklace we create.

Start Your Necklace Shopping Journey Today

Ready to add some sparkle to your collection? Explore the world of necklace online shopping with Ro & Gieo and discover pieces that are as unique and beautiful as you are. With our wide selection, expert craftsmanship, and unbeatable customer service, Ro & Gieo is your go-to destination for all things jewelry. Visit our website today and find your perfect necklace—because everyone deserves to wear something extraordinary.