#charity printing rates

[lucyandthepen]

get you alone | ljn ( m )

ideally, jeno should have his hands full with teaching. (un)fortunately, he only seems to have his head full of you.

pairing: tutor!jeno x reader verse: college au rating: r ( minors, do not interact! ) warnings & tags: jeno is a college algebra math tutor & reader is failing, written in lapslock, not beta’d in any shape or form so please excuse mistakes, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, folks), piv, oral (f!receiving), use of pet names (kitten, angel, sweetheart), praise, reader calls jeno ‘sunbae’ until she doesn’t, size kink i guess if u squint! word count: 8.5k

a/n : actually this was written for a different fandom but i’ve decided to make it a jeno fic bc idk why not! first time writing in a different perspective so it’s a bit odd for me & i can't say i fw with this style nor am i particularly proud of this fic but she is ... sumn! also i fear i have a thing for the math tutor trope but that’s neither here nor there AHA enjoy !! 

if you liked it, please consider reblogging to support (especially because this may get flagged for mature content)!

there wasn’t anything special about your case; at least, that’s what jeno had thought when he picked up your request before he met you. before he met you, you were just another student trying to demystify the painfully enigmatic art of getting through college algebra. before he met you, he had already tagged this case as another charity stint — a good way to get brownie points with the dean’s office and the mathematics and natural sciences department. in fact, thinking of all his tutoring cases as community service made them somewhat palatable, if not a little forgettable. he was quite sure, at the time, that you’d be in and out — both of the tutoring center and his memory. such was the case with most of his other tutees, anyway. 

he hadn’t expected you to be… well, you — a pretty little thing, with your sweet smile and your wide doe eyes. on the first day, you’d stood out; you’d arrived at the tutoring center’s lobby in a short dress, knit cardigan, and coquettish makeup, as if every fiber of your being were bidding the spring a solid farewell. multiple heads had turned, including his, as you came up to the front desk and asked for one lee jeno for college algebra. you were eager for summer, jeno had learned as you broke the ice little by little, in part because you looked forward to visiting okinawa with your family, but also because you were eager to get your first semester out of the way. that much, you had in common with most of his other students — almost all of the ones seeking help in college algebra only took it as a depressing core requirement of whatever degree they were doing. you, specifically, were focusing on fashion design; that very vividly explained your attention to your looks. this mathematics class was a thorn in your side, a mandatory thing that was simply supposed to get you through later business-oriented classes in your degree program. for jeno, however, college algebra had become the perfect excuse from the moment he’d laid eyes on you. 

the more time he spends with you, the more he thinks you’re exactly his taste. it starts off with little things he finds attractive, things he picks up while he’s watching you fill out the practice sheets he’s prepared for you on quadratic equations or while trying to get you to understand logarithms — your neat, tiny handwriting, almost like print; your habit of boxing your final answers in firm strokes, even if they’re hopelessly wrong; your colored tabs, cascading down the page side of your textbook. but as the weeks wear on, he sees all the little things in between — the way your long eyelashes quiver when you stop and close your eyes as you think for the answer, the upturn of your plush lips when you have the same answer on the practice sheet as he does, the deepening of your artificial blush with a natural hue when you realize you don’t know the answers to his gentle questions. he notices that you refuse to wear anything longer than a knee-length skirt despite the still-strong winds, notices that your tiny palms are always smooth and pink, that your hair always smells of coconut milk. these are things he can’t help but jot down in his memory — that was exactly what you were, after all: memorable. 

and the more he remembers about you, the more jeno wants you. yet he’s never made a move, never given so much as a hint of his interest, not only because there are prying eyes all around the building but also because you have never so much as shown a smidge of desire back. in fact, he has to wonder if you’ve ever thought of him in a different capacity — not as a tutor, but as a man. if you have, you’ve never made that obvious; you always talk to him respectfully, the little wall you’ve erected between the both of you remaining steady, and you never let your eyes linger on his face for longer than it takes for him to explain what you don’t know. jeno has had his fair share of female students, and in all of them, he’s seen the same kind of hunger — to few, he’s catered to their whims, if only to pass the time, if only for his own benefit. but you, with your ribbons in your hair and your sweet, sweet mouth, have never once shown that same kind of desire. 

he doesn’t know if it frustrates him, but he does know one thing — it makes him want you all the more. 

he wants you even now, as you sit across from him, dolled up as usual. even now, as your eyes take on a glassy sheen of defeat, your cheeks puffing out in the way that tells him you’re admonishing yourself once again, he craves you — maddeningly so. and he realizes that it doesn’t really matter if you're not the one to fall first, as long as he can still have you. 

“time out,” you beg, your fingers meeting the palm of your hand to signal a break. “my brain feels like it’s going to explode.”

“you just had a break ten minutes ago,” jeno reminds you, though there’s a lighthearted amusement to his voice that makes you smile sheepishly. “at this rate, you’ll be on more breaks than you’ll be taking the time to actually learn.”

“i’m trying,” you groan, your fingers curling against your forehead as you bump your head against your fist. “i just don’t think i’m cut out for this polynomial whatever — trial and error bullshit.” 

“you’ll hate me for saying this — but you’ll never know unless you keep trying.” 

“funny.” your sigh rustles the papers in front of you gently. “how do you do it, sunbae?”

“hm?” 

“you’re not only good at this stuff, but you’re so good you’re able to take the time to teach people like me.” 

“strengths and weaknesses — it’s the natural way of the world.” jeno smiles gently at you, and he notes how his chest feels tighter when you return the sentiment shyly. “i could never do what you’re doing in your own degree, try as i might. anyway, you’ll get there. i won’t let you become my first ever failed project, you know.”

“i wouldn’t want to let you down either, sunbae, but—” the back end of your pencil taps lightly against the surface of the table. “it just feels hopeless. i can’t focus on anything. it’s so… so abstract, and everyone here is talking all at once, and i don’t even know what i’m ever going to get out of this class in the long run.” 

even when you’re dejected, you look pretty; your bottom lip juts out naturally when you whine like this, and for a moment, jeno can’t say anything in response. he’s too busy wondering what your mouth would feel like on his — on him. when he snaps himself out of his brief reverie, he notices you’re looking around at everyone else — and he has to agree that with the noise level in this whole building, it isn’t the most conducive site for learning, especially when the learner is already so averse to the subject matter.

“i can’t help much in the way of it being too abstract,” he says kindly. “but it’s not a requirement for us to have our sessions here. i know it can be quite distracting, all these voices flying around, so why don’t you look for a place that better suits you, and we can start meeting there instead? the more comfortable you are in your environment, the better you’ll be able to absorb the material, i’m sure.” 

“you think?” your pencil comes to a slow halt as you refocus on him, a thoughtful light glimmering behind your gaze. “yeah — yeah, i actually wouldn’t mind that. then, i’ll look for a different place for us to meet, and we can start there next week. how does that sound?”

“whatever suits you suits me,” he responds easily. 

he lowers his gaze immediately after you flash him a blinding grin; there are far too many people here, as you both very well know, and if he keeps looking at you and your pretty little expressions any longer, he might just give them something to actually look at. 

it had been your idea, not his, so why did jeno feel like he’d dragged you into a compromising situation?

you’d texted him over the weekend that your search for a new venue had been absolutely fruitless; every cafe and study space you’d been to was either too expensive or equally as packed with people, if not both. jeno had seen the preview to your message, but he hadn’t been prepared for what it read out in full when he’d actually opened it. 

sunbae, would it be too difficult to just meet at my apartment? i attached a map, so let me know!

it wouldn’t be too difficult; logistics-wise, it was walking distance from campus and almost directly across the train station he takes home. it also definitely promised an environment you were comfortable in, and you wouldn’t have to worry about excess noise from any other tutoring groups. no, the difficulty really only lied in himself — you two, all alone, would certainly mean his mind would be up to no good for the two hours every monday, wednesday, and thursday you would be together. 

but for your sake, he’d try to rein it in, with the operative word being try. 

your place is as neat and as pretty as you are; he doesn’t know if you’ve cleaned up for him, or if you’re naturally this organized, but he likes it all the same. it smells of toasted marshmallow and expensive perfume, and all your furniture matches. jeno supposes he likes that in a woman — someone able to care for herself, someone who cares about herself. and you’re always just as neat and pretty to match, with your hair always styled sweetly, your makeup always enhancing your features. 

the problem is that now that he’s in here, where you live, and where you spend most of your time, jeno’s mind seems to wander too much towards thoughts about what you do in private. he rejects studying on the couch, not just because it’s bad for posture and concentration but also because he can’t help but imagine you pressed into the cushions by his hand. he suggests the small dining table you have, but on the second meeting at your place, he starts thinking about what you might look like seated on the table, your ass hanging over the edge and his face buried between your thighs. whenever you look up to ask him something, he drinks in your lovely, made-up face again, and starts wondering what your makeup would look like ruined before he interrupts that trainwreck of a thought with the answer to your question. 

by the end of the week, jeno’s defenses are all but shot, and he realizes that this situation might be optimal for you, but it definitely isn’t doing him and his now constantly straining cock any great favors. 

he supposes that your performance has somewhat improved; you’re less likely to trail off when you’re thinking and can actually do practice sets for a lot longer without all the noise and hubbub around you. your only real hindrance is yourself and your frustration; you have a habit of giving into your carelessness that sends you spiraling into despair, and it doesn’t help that when you press your cheek against the surface of your dining table and whine, the comfort jeno offers is noticeably delayed because he’s too busy thinking about his cock between your lips. 

“my dad’s going to kill me if i fail this midterm,” you grumble, stabbing the practice sheet with your pencil; it skids sideways, and jeno robotically fixes it back into proper alignment for you, careful not to brush against the arm that’s folded inwards, supporting your chin. “he only agreed to let me take this degree because of the business aspect of it. as if i’ll need to know about—” you check the header of the worksheet. “domain and range when i’m doing actual design work.”

“you’ll never know what might be useful later on in life. i definitely thought this was nonsense back in high school — and then i got this job.” 

“and now you’re rolling in dough?” you smile slightly. jeno chuckles. 

“i’m a long way away from having myself a scrooge mcduck golden pool, but i make enough to get by very comfortably, thanks to this.” 

“thanks to me, you mean.”

“you’re not my only student,” he snorts, pinching your elbow; you cry out exaggeratedly. “focus up. the hour’s almost over, and you should have finished with this much earlier.”

“can you leave it as homework?”

“not a chance.”

you blow out a sharp puff of air. “my mom used to do this thing where she’d give me rewards if i did well with my homework. i wish i’d still get something out of this.” 

“what kind of rewards did she give you?” 

“chocolates — candy, or sometimes we’d go out for milk tea together, if i did a particularly good job.”

“this is math tutoring, not a trip to the dentist,” jeno says, amused. 

“a trip to the dentist would be more enjoyable,” you mutter under your breath, picking up your pencil and doodling an angry face next to the number you’re only halfway through solving. “this totally blows.” 

“try to finish this before the hour’s up, and i’ll see if i can get you something nice. out of my own paycheck,” he stresses, prodding at your cheek to shift your attention back to the paper. he doesn’t miss the fact that your eyes light up, childish as the promise is. 

he doesn’t know if that’s really what motivates you, but you do manage to finish the worksheet with a few minutes to spare before the clock hits seven, and that earns you some light, solo applause. it isn’t much by way of true praise, but you flush with pride all the same. jeno packs his things in silence as you get yourself a glass of water, and you see him to the door. only there does he notice your eager eyes, your expectant smile. 

“what’s going through that pretty little head of yours?”

“are you really going to give me a reward? i did great today, you know,” you respond bluntly. 

“you were serious about that?” he laughs. 

“absolutely. i earned it.” you raise a slim finger, wagging it in his face. he trails it with his gaze, no shortage of amusement in his eyes. “next monday, i want something sweet.”

jeno takes in the sight of you, keeping your door open with your hip; he wonders if you know what you’re doing to him, what you’re asking of him — if you even know there’s nothing that could possibly be sweeter than you at this very moment. he drinks in the sight of your feigned haughty expression on your pretty features, the unnervingly low dip of your tank top, the tempting hemline of your shorts, and feels like you must be aware of what he’s going to do next. 

“if it’s something sweet you want, you don’t have to wait until next week.” 

he does it before he can think it through — surely, there’s nothing too harmful about a quick kiss? he angles your chin upward with his thumb and forefinger before you can even react to his words, and he tastes you like that for the first time. you’re just as soft and as sweet as he’d imagined, if not more so. 

when jeno pulls away, you step back; there’s shock written all over your face, your mouth still hanging open slightly. your voice is gentle, shaky when you start speaking. 

“sunbae, wha—”

“see you next week. rest up over the weekend, or there’ll be consequences.” 

he finds it easy to joke with you now, even after what he’s done — finds it easy to wave goodbye with nonchalance as he walks to the elevator, now that he’s gotten one thing out of his system. the look on your face, the growing blush across the bridge of your nose and your temples is indication enough for jeno to feel confident — if you hadn’t thought about him that way before, you were sure to spend the next few days doing exactly that. 

it’s exactly a week before your midterm exam, and jeno notices you’re less than focused. 

he’d let you stew over the weekend, not expecting much by way of communication; indeed, his phone hadn’t once been jostled by your texts. he’d taken that silence to assume that you’d been wrapped up in thoughts of the kiss he’d left you with, and you did not disappoint on that front; the next monday saw you fidgety, flushed, and constantly faltering in your words. you asked less questions, which normally indicated a problem, but today, he’d let it slide; you definitely had a little too much on that pretty little brain of yours. 

he notices you’re still dolled up — your eyelids are shimmery, and your lips are glossy; you’re wearing a tennis skirt that hits all the right buttons for him, too. it’s true that you’re always pretty well-dressed and put together, but today somehow feels different. if before, jeno had always seen you dressed up simply to look good, today it feels a little more like you’re dressed up to look good for him. he knows it’s a little bit egotistical to assume as much, but he also doesn’t miss the side glances you throw at him when you think he’s not looking at you answering your textbook or the way your cheeks glow when you make the slightest bit of eye contact. 

still, you try to focus as much as you can; it’s adorable, in fact, to see all your valiant efforts to appear unperturbed. he figures he’ll play along for as long as you will — what matters to him, after all, is that you’re in the game to begin with. you complain less today, focus on your worksheets, and jeno even manages to witness the sight of your forehead creasing up as you concentrate on a particularly difficult item. you’re adorable, in the kind of way that makes him want to pin you down and have his way with you. 

you finish your work without a fuss today; you only actually asked for his help twice, which was a feat in and of itself. and again, when the session is over, you walk him to the door.

this time, when you linger, he waits; you’re clearly not good at hiding your true intentions, as it’s become clear you have something you want to say. as you try to piece your thoughts together, jeno reaches into his backpack’s front pocket and extracts today’s gift — an actual chocolate bar, albeit a rather run of the mill one. 

“what’s this?” you ask, your thought process clearly derailed as confusion takes over your features. 

“your reward. for a good job last week and today — you said you wanted one, didn’t you?” 

“but i thought—” you stop yourself, your mouth opening and closing, suddenly wordless. jeno grins. 

“not good enough? i picked that up from a convenience store on my way here, so it definitely isn’t anything special, but i thought it would at least be a good motivator.”

you’re turning red, and there’s turmoil in your eyes — he enjoys this, he realizes, the way he flusters you. if he had known this would be the result, he would have made a move much sooner. you shift your weight from one foot to the other, back and forth, obviously weighing out your options too. finally, you say, “alright.”

“you seem disappointed.”

“i’m not.”

“i’ll get you a better brand next time, if you really don’t like it.” 

“it’s not that.”

“so what is it?” he doesn’t expect you to say it, and you don’t defy expectations; your bottom lip just quivers, and jeno chuckles low under his breath, stepping forward just past your doorway, just a little bit closer to you. “don’t tell me you wanted something completely different?”

you don’t say so, but he knows; he can tell by the way you tilt your head back, the way your lips part slightly, the gloss still trailing along the seam. he can tell by the way your torso arches just a little bit closer, almost like an accident. he can tell by the way your eyes bore into his, almost pleading. 

“what you did last week…” you start, but your voice trails off into nothing soon after. he chuckles again.

“ah, that. i might have gotten ahead of myself.” 

“was that all?” you press.

“and what would you do, if it wasn’t?”

“well — do you always like to play games?”

“i have a penchant for playing with my food before i eat it, if that answers your question.” he smiles down at your still-reddening face. “i was giving you a reward, as you wanted. i came up short on options then and there. you’ll let it slide this once, won’t you?”

“you did that just because i did well last week?”

“of course.”

“well, i did well today, too.” 

“you did, and that’s why you have this.” he gestures to the chocolate bar in your hand. 

“i don’t want this.” your voice is stubborn now, heated and frustrated, and you stuff the chocolate back into his hand. you must not like having to ask for something so blatantly — it’s too bad jeno wants to hear it in those exact words. 

“tell me what you really want, then.” 

you’re still unable to find the words, but your hands do the talking for you; they press into his shoulders and give you leverage to tiptoe until you’re just close enough to his lips. but you don’t close that gap, your mouth quivering only inches away from his, and oh, jeno wants to toy with you, but you’re just too irresistible this close to him. his warm palms press against your jaw, keeping your face steady as he closes the gap, and this time, he doesn’t just get a brief taste of you — jeno claims your lips with the thirst of a man who’s stumbled upon an oasis in the desert. 

you must have thought about this moment long and hard over the weekend, because the nonchalant side of you that’s turned a blind eye to him is completely gone; he drinks in your soft noises and short, breathless gasps — all signs of your eagerness — until he’s drunk on the taste of you. the deeper the kiss gets, the less you can keep up, but you try, and jeno always likes rewarding your efforts, his wide tongue taut and flush against your tiny one in the sweet, warm cavern of your mouth. he licks every inch of it, leaves the mild nicotine taste of himself there, before he pulls away slowly. your eyes are still closed when he creates distance, fluttering open in a happy haze a few seconds later. 

“good enough for you?” he murmurs, tucking a soft lock of hair behind your ear. you hum in assent through your dazed smile, and jeno knows he won’t be the only one looking forward to this coming wednesday.

you’d done really well today.

jeno’s proud of you — prouder than he’s been of most of his students in his career here at the university, actually. you’d finally answered a worksheet almost perfectly, save for a couple of numbers where you’d forgotten to round up, and those things are absolutely negligible at this point (by his books, anyway). you’ve been on your best behavior yet, avoiding all forms of complaint, and he knows fully well why, but he won’t criticize you for your hard work all the same, no matter the motivation behind it. 

in fact, you’ve done so good that he doesn’t wait until he’s about to leave to give you your sweet reward — which is why, twenty minutes before he’s meant to go, he’s got you on your couch, your legs spread, each one hooked over his shoulders. 

truth be told, you’d been good way before the lesson had started; you’d answered the door in a crop top and the tiniest pair of shorts you’ve dared to wear yet — all clothes that you couldn’t yet wear outside yet, given the weather. selfishly, jeno is thankful for this fact, and if he had to list down other things he’s thankful for, just off the top of his head, it’s that you no longer meet in the tutoring center and that your apartment’s walls seem thick and well-reinforced. 

“sunbae, don’t tease me.” your silly little whining voice makes its first appearance of the day, but all jeno does is smile — it’s an almost wicked expression, set firmly between your thighs. “you said i did really well today. don’t tell me you’re backing out on rewarding me?”

“not at all, sweetheart,” he hums, pressing a small kiss to your inner thigh. he likes seeing you shiver at the contact, likes the way you’re chewing on your lip in what appears to be slight agitation. “just thinking of how much of a reward you deserve.” 

in all honesty, jeno would like to take every bit of you now; you’re already so ready for him, anyway. he can smell the faint perfume of your arousal, can see the way you’re anticipating the most from him, and a part of him doesn’t want to deny you of that. the larger part of him has dreamed of burying his cock into you, anyway, and why wouldn’t he do that? but something also tells him to wait — or, rather, to make you wait, to make you want him just a little more. 

and so, he decides.

his mouth finds your skin again, pressing kisses up your thigh; they get wetter, hotter as his mouth moves up, until his nose and lips are buried against your clothed core. you squirm in response, but his grip on your thighs keeps you relatively steady, even as his tongue presses against thin fabric. the wet muscle pushes sharp against your tiny entrance, the tip meeting slight resistance against your shorts and panties, but he finds a way, burying half his tongue in alongside damp cloth. 

you’re already wet like this, and so needy that it might be possible for jeno to get you off just like this, still clothed, but the hunger in him spikes once you call out to him. 

“sunbae, please…”

with a groan, his fingers yank the fabric aside, exposing your pussy to the warmth of his breathing. it’s as pink, as pretty, as tiny as the rest of you, as fuckable as he’d imagined it would be, and he wastes no time in pressing his tongue flat against your folds, dragging it up in a wide, messy stripe; the muscle only tenses when it bumps against your clit, his tongue flicking upwards to tease it. 

you’re so reactive, even at the slightest things — you whimper, you squeeze your eyes shut, you squirm. you’re begging to be fucked, and jeno’s cock is strained tight against his jeans, but your taste is so addicting that he can’t help but dive back in. his tongue eases between your folds now, spreading them apart until they’re lewd and sticky with his saliva, and the nub of your clit has grown so pronounced now — so pert and lovely that he can’t help but purse his lips around it and suck with excess force. 

“sunbae — f—fuck,” you mewl; you almost sound tearful. “f—feels so good…”

jeno wants to tell you how fucking good you taste, how beautiful the sounds you’re making are, but his mouth is too busy; his teeth rake down your cunt lightly, earning him a jerk of your hips, and he has to place pressure down on your thighs again to make sure you’re still enough for him to slip his tongue into your cunt. 

he can tell even just by that how tight you’d be around him; your walls are warm around his tongue, and there’s a pressure against the muscle that tells him how good it’d feel for his cock to take its place. as if to simulate his desires, he presses his tongue deeper in, fucks you shallowly with its wetness until your whimpers become little sobs, broken and choked back. his thumb drags across your slit then settles against your clit, and he can feel the thrum of your pulse against the pad of his finger, beckoning him. he complies, easily, thumb tracing circles around the nub that start off slow, only for him to ramp up the pace alongside his tongue. 

you’re easily at fault for that; the way you whine for him, call him sunbae, tell him how good it feels over and over — why wouldn’t he want more of you? 

he’s not sure which of you really earns the sweet reward today; you cum on his tongue, your cunt trembling against his mouth and your fingers threaded into his hair, but he’s the one who comes out licking his lips like he’s had the best treat of his damn life.

come the middle of next week, jeno finds himself face to face with a test paper — one already clearly marked, with a number circled on the top-right corner. ninety. a stellar grade for anyone, and especially for you. 

you know it, and you look absolutely triumphant; you’re practically shining as you perch on your little dining table, your perfectly manicured finger jabbing at the score in emphasis. 

“flying colors, wouldn’t you say?” 

“color me impressed,” jeno replies smoothly, a genuine smile of pride tugging at his lips; he turns the page over, scanning your responses. you still draw your parabolas a little on the small side, making them a bit difficult to discern, and you’ve still got the habit of not rounding your answers up, but this is tremendous work, and he’ll be the first to praise you for it. “your dad must be filled to the brim with joy now, right?”

“i haven’t told him yet. you were the first.”

“well, i’m proud of you, sweetheart.” 

“proud enough to give me a reward?” 

he looks down at you in feigned thoughtfulness. here you sit, back in your little tennis skirt, looking up at him with hopeful eyes under those long, curled lashes. for someone who spent the first half of this semester acting ostensibly nonchalant, you’d very easily shown your true colors soon after — not that he really minds. in fact, he’s taken a decided kind of liking to how eager and willing you’ve come to be. 

“we’ve only just started our session, though,” he hums out, an idle thumb grazing his chin as he watches your expression turn from bright to cloudy, the beginnings of strategy darkening your gaze. it’s not like he wants to say no; he has no real intention to. but seeing you squirm in want makes him feel good about his decision to hold out a little longer — never mind the ache in his cock even then. “don’t we usually leave the rewards for a later time?” 

“i was thinking — since it’s the start of a new lesson —” 

“we wouldn’t want you falling behind from the start, would we?”

“i promise i won’t,” you pout. “i promise i’ll put in my best effort next time.” 

“next time? sweetheart, don’t tell me you’re thinking to get off scot-free today…” jeno trails off, his hand falling to the nearest surface it can reach — which, logic seems to dictate, is your soft, milky thigh. he feels you tense under his palm, and he bites back a smile, keeping his expression level. “i just don’t know.”

your small hands grip at the front of his shirt, and he hears you, for the first time, doing something he’s always wanted to hear you do. 

“please, sunbae?”

how could he say no to you? he hadn’t really planned on it, had only wanted to see you do this, but it’s still too much and beyond his expectation — your misty gaze, your quivering lip. it’s almost laughable that you don’t think he’d notice the way you shift yourself so that his hand, still warm against your thigh, slides up your skin, the hem of your skirt bunched up in the junction between his thumb and forefinger.

jeno chuckles — isn’t this exactly where and how he’s always wanted you? “how could you ask me like that and expect me to refuse, angel? in that case, i have no real choice but to dedicate all our time today to your reward.” 

your breathing hitches — in anticipation, in desire, in excitement — as his hand continues its trail upward, deliberately now, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. his head dips down, rests into the crook of your neck, and he inhales the thick, sweet scent of your perfume, your shampoo, of you and all that he’ll take from you. 

“just remember, you asked for this,” he murmurs against your skin. “so i’m going to take every bit of you until there’s nothing left for anyone else.” 

you’re so willing, so ready even before he can get his full bearings; your hips are rising slightly off the table, and jeno feels like it’s you that’s telling him to move faster. he tugs down your panties, letting gravity take its course until they’re a tiny puddle of fabric on the floor, and he slots himself between your legs. like this, you have no choice but to spread, and you do so without hesitation, your knees locking against his sides as he pulls you in for a tight, hungry kiss. there’s that taste of you he loves, that clean, sweet buzz that draws him in, and his hands are bruisingly tight on your waist as he reclaims your lips. 

you already look dazed when he pulls away, which is always cute, but a little unfair — jeno wants you to be aware still when he takes you, and damn, if he doesn’t want to take you right fucking now. he kisses you again, harder and more demanding, as if willing your attention back to him, while his hands explore you — run up your thighs, fingers brushing against the plush curve of your ass. it’s not enough, not by a long shot, and he’s pushing the waistline of your skirt up your stomach with his hands, letting his warmth transfer onto your skin; he chuckles as your stomach sucks inward at his touch, just as you let out a gasp against his lips.

and he wants desperately to hear that noise again; in fact, he wants to know what you sound like in every capacity. his mouth works down your neck, pleased to find that suckling wet and languid on a spot just above your collarbone has you writhing and whimpering. are you sensitive or touch-starved? whatever the reason, he wants to draw all of that out of you, his hands drawing back down to hook under your thighs. jeno drags you to the edge of the table, until your bare cunt is flush against the front of his jeans, and he lets you feel him — a brief tease of what’s to come. 

“i’m s—so wet already,” you whisper, as if he doesn’t know — as if you know it’s exactly what he wants to hear anyway. “sunbae, please, i need you.”

“not that,” he murmurs, his teeth grazing your collarbone as he speaks. “not sunbae. jeno. call me jeno, angel.”

“jeno,” you exhale shakily, and it’s music to his ears — as if the last thing holding him back from you had shattered. 

“that’s it — what a good girl,” he purrs, his hips rocking forward against your pussy before they retract, leaving just enough space for his hand to slip between. slender fingers trail down your folds, sticky and slick. “you are all wet for me, aren’t you? ready to take me deep inside?” 

even the way you nod, a tiny movement of assent, drives him wild, yet a part of him still wants to test the limit of your patience, his middle finger stretching to circle your entrance. 

“wouldn’t want to shock your tiny little pussy, though, would i? will you let me stretch you out first, kitten?”

“yes,” you mewl, sounding almost tearful. “anything— anything, please.”

jeno drinks in the long, drawn-out keen you set free when his digit sinks into you; he’s already felt your walls against his tongue, but a small part of him is still surprised at just how tight you are. that same part nags that he might not fit easily into you, but whatever that voice is is easily drowned out by a more assertive promise — he’ll make it fit. 

“can’t tell you how much i’ve wanted to feel your pretty little hole around my cock,” he presses on, his finger pushing deeper in; he feels you tense a delicious kind of tightness, as if it’s almost too much for you. is it? “ever since that first day you came into the tutoring center, dressed up all cute — did you do that on purpose, sweetheart?”

“yes,” you admit, breathless; the syllable is lengthened into a weak moan as jeno pumps his finger into you, slow, deep strokes that tease your tacky walls open. “wanted — wanted to make a good impression…”

“and you did, didn’t you? kept looking so sweet for me, so pretty every single time — got me thinking about all the ways i wanted to have you. got me so fucking hard every time we’d meet — is that what you wanted?”

jeno doesn’t give you much room to respond, but he can make his own answers to appease himself anyway; he reclaims your lips, already eager for another taste of you, and you comply with the same amount of desire, your soft whimpers melting against his teeth. in the space of pseudo silence, wet, messy noises, he manages to tease another digit into you, and you cry out against his lips as it pushes in, joining the first in how deep it reaches. he absorbs that too, takes in every minute sound you make, relishes the way you pulse around his fingers. even without the noises, he can tell your pleasure’s heightening, with the way you clench around him, your hips rocking pitifully as you’re eager to rut against his palm. 

“look at you now.” he’s selfish, but he doesn’t care — he wants to ruin you, and if the telltale squelch of your cunt as he fucks his fingers into it isn’t indication enough, then the way your mouth hangs open as he pulls away, letting his name fall freely from your lips, definitely is. “legs spread, all desperate to feel good for me. what a needy little kitten you are. this good enough for you, angel?”

you shake your head, only to squeal as he pulls you closer, his fingers shoving deeper into you; your hips are re-angled, allowing him to brush the pads of his digits against the rough, sweet spot, and he feels triumph bloom in his chest as you throw your head back, teary eyes squeezed shut.

“no, no, no,” you babble, and he can see the bob of your throat as you swallow hard, clutching at sense to make words. “want — need your cock, want to cum on your cock so badly, jeno — want you to fuck me, stretch me open, please —”

“greedy, aren’t you?” he murmurs, leaning in to nip at the spot he’d left reddened above your collarbone. “go on then — show me how much you want it. show me what a good girl you are, and cum on my fingers.” 

“but—” 

“come on, angel,” he urges above the squelching noises, increasing surely in volume. his fingers meet resistance when they spread apart inside you, but all it does is create a delicious friction that has you squirming in his hold. “don’t hold back. let me see you fall apart.” 

and you do, so prettily, your eyes rolling back and your voice unrestrained. jeno’s fingers ride you through your orgasm, pumping deep and steady despite how slick you’ve gotten, your juices coating his hand and wrist. he watches the flush rise to your neck, stopping at your cheeks, watches the heaving of your chest, the shine of your skin from a thin sheen of sweat, and he doesn’t want to let you come down from this high, but his cock is aching — practically bursting from his jeans — and all he can do is make the silent vow that the next time you look like this, he’ll be balls deep in you. 

“that’s my girl,” he coos gently, watching the tension slip from your shoulders; his free hand is at the small of your back quickly, easing you down as your torso falls back, and you’re laying on the table. “pretty little thing, aren’t you? cumming so sweetly for me.” 

“jeno,” you groan out weakly, your tiny hand clasping around his wrist. “cock — i want your cock, please—” 

“can’t wait?” he’s indecent for sounding amused, but even that does nothing to stay his arousal; how eager you are simply makes him want you all the more. “okay, angel — since you asked so nicely.” 

a slight twinge of disappointment runs through him as he pulls his fingers out, but it’s quickly buried by the feeling he gets once he gives you a clear sweep of a once-over; how slutty you look, still half-dressed but already half-ruined, your thighs shaking in an effort to keep them open for him, the remnants of your last climax still leaking out of your hole. the sight of you has him so distracted that unbuttoning and unzipping his pants feels like a fever dream of an act; he barely notices what he’s doing until he’s already bare in front of you, and alertness has crawled halfway back into your consciousness as you push yourself up on your elbows to look at him.

“it’s so—” you have the decency to blush, though there’s a pleased look on your face that tells him you’re not really embarrassed. “i didn’t think you’d be this big.” 

“does that worry you?”

“i’ve never had anyone… this big.” pride blooms in his chest — good, he thinks, because if he can’t be as memorable as your first, then he’ll take being the most in something as a prize. “i don’t think — will it fit?”

“does it matter?” he chuckles, and your blush deepens. “no matter what — you’ll take all of me in, won’t you?”

you chew on your bottom lip, as if considering your options, but to jeno, there’s really only one choice — the correct one, and you make it when you nod your head. 

“it’ll feel good, though, you know,” he muses. his hand wrapped around his base, he lines himself up with you, the tip grazing against your folds. “even better than just now.”

with just a little more pressure, he has his shaft flush against you; his girth sits against your slit, the tip pressed against your clit, and he starts to rock his hips — into his fist, against your cunt. your hips quiver, and a shiver runs through you as your pleasure spikes again, but he can tell it isn’t enough. your bottom lip is back between your teeth, and your eyes are flitting between his face and his cock. jeno reaches out, eases your lip out from between your teeth, strokes it gently, almost tenderly. 

“say it,” he commands in a soft, silky voice. 

“fuck me, jeno,” you breathe out, barely missing a beat. “fuck me, fuck my pussy, please.”

and if you ask that desperately, he’ll waste no time; he draws his hips back, dragging his cock down until he’s aligned with your entrance. his eyes are trained on your face, even when he pushes in, so that he can take in your expression — the widening of your eyes as his tip breaches the first wave of resistance, the way your mouth falls agape as his fingers dig hard into your flesh. he’s never seen a prettier sight in his life.

“stretched you out already, but you’re still so fucking tight,” his voice is a soft, melodious croon, a stark contrast to the way he’s forcing past your tightness. “tight and wet, like a good girl.” 

“so big,” you whimper, your fingers stretched far enough to tickle the front of his shirt. “can’t — can’t take it.” 

“of course you can, angel.” jeno doesn’t give you the time to brace yourself fully before he’s rocking his hips in a little more sharply, his cock now halfway into you. your fingers curl into a little fist, immediately flying back to block the noise from your mouth. “ah ah. don’t get shy on me now; you’ve been so noisy for me all this time.”

but he doesn’t really mind the way you clap your palm over your mouth to muffle your high-pitched squeal as he thrusts in fully, the adjustment period after the last movement close to nothing; he’s too busy focusing on how good you feel around him, how warm and wet your insides are. this is heaven, easily, and jeno wants to stay here for as long as he can. 

“god, you’re fucking tight,” he repeats, an appreciatory gaze running over where you’re joined. his thumb stretches over your folds, rubbing them — something of an apology, perhaps, although all it does is stimulate you more, and you shiver at the extra contact. “how deep is it, baby?”

“can feel you here,” you mumble out, your small hand pressing just above your pelvis. he feels the tightness multiply as you place pressure, even just for a moment. “your cock’s so much deeper than anyone else.” 

your hand falls away, limp, as he draws his hips back; you inhale, long and deep, before letting it out as a broken moan when he pushes back in. it drives him crazy, to start off this slow, when all he wants is to find a pace that has you sobbing, but the resistance of your pussy against his length isn’t easy to ignore. jeno works you open, his jaw set and his grip tight against your frame, and it isn’t long before he’s picking up speed, the slap of his flesh against yours fueling him exponentially, mingling with your cries, steadily increasing in volume. 

“that’s it. let everyone hear you,” he eggs on, his thumb now circling tight around your clit; your legs are quivering, threatening to close, but he keeps you steady, one arm wrapped around your thigh. his thrusts grow rougher, more deliberate, and when he looks up from where you’re joined back to your face, he sees your expression as a mixture of incredulity and ecstasy. a thin line of drool hangs from the corner of your mouth, your pretty pink lip gloss smeared, and fuck if he doesn’t want to make sure you look like this every single time he comes over. “let them know who’s fucking you good, angel.”

“j— jeno!” your voice hitches, lilts up as he presses in at a different, deeper angle, and he almost cums right then and there from the way your walls pulse around him. “your cock feels so good, fucking me just right— more, god, more—” 

he complies without hesitation, gathering both your thighs and pushing them closer to your chest; you look even lewder like this, folded in half with your sopping cunt presented to him like it’s all his to take, and it is, isn’t it? there’s an increase in the intensity, the vigor in which he pumps his cock into you, and he knows he’s brushing repeatedly against your spot by the way you’re blubbering his name out in a way that suggests you sincerely think no one else in this building can hear you. 

“that’s my girl,” he hums approvingly, though there’s a thickness in his voice that has him sounding a little more strained. “such a good girl, with your cunt all nice and sloppy for me. do you like it when i go this deep? does it feel good when i fuck you where no one else can?” 

“yes!” you sob out, your hands crumpling the end of your skirt up into tight fists. “jeno, i— cum, i need to cum again, please—”

“i’ve got you, kitten,” his tone is reassuring, a stark contrast to the rigor of his hips. “don’t have to hang on for me, you know; always love seeing you fall apart.” 

“m’close, so close —” 

“let go, then,” he urges, his blunt nails digging into your flesh. “let me feel that sweet cunt cum on my cock.” 

you comply without hesitation, though if you’d done it willingly, he can’t really tell; he has to pin your hips down to stop you from bucking up and causing him to slip out, and you writhe against him as you sob in ecstasy, your walls fluttering before they clench. stray tears leak from your eyes, squeezed shut, and jeno wants nothing more than to eat you up like this — broken, fucked out. 

you’re not even fully down from your high when he feels it — that sudden wrenching in his gut that tells him he’s about to follow suit. with a low groan, he peels your thighs apart again, lets you watch him as he bullies straight into your leaking hole. your voice is a staccato, punctuating every deep, sharp thrust into you, and it’s exactly to that melody that he wants to get off. 

“tell me where you want it, angel.” he doesn’t trust his voice, sharp and short as it is now. “should i mark your pretty face? your stomach?”

“want it against my pussy,” you whisper out, and jeno almost loses his mind as he watches you spread your folds apart with your forefinger and middle finger, inviting him. “make a mess of it, sunbae.”

he’s barely able to pull out before he’s spilling against you; he ruts against your slit, coating your folds and the insides of your thighs in thick, creamy white. you hold your legs apart for as long as you can until they start to tremble, and he catches them and gently eases them down. 

when you sit up to kiss him, you’re still demanding; he feels your hips rock closer, your sticky cunt pressing against the underside of his cock.

“not enough,” you murmur against his lips, and jeno chuckles as you bind your hands around his neck. 

“don’t worry, kitten,” he hums back. “we’ve got all afternoon.”

[mortalityplays]

You need more free art.

I quit my job yesterday. Well, actually I quit my job eight weeks ago, but they finally released me yesterday for good behaviour. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do - but I do it for the wrong reasons. Working for major charities, you learn very fast that 'I want to make the world a better place' is a phrase you use to ask people for money, not to give them things. I was an ass-backwards fit for that world.

You need more free art. I need more free art. Everyone has felt the shift in our media landscape over the last ten years, away from access and towards nickel-and-diming the human experience. That lack of access is making life and culture worse for all of us, across the board. Paywalled news sites leave us less informed, attacks on the Internet Archive leave us less capable of research. Algorithmic social feeds and streaming walled gardens trap us inside smaller and smaller demographic bubbles, where we are increasingly only likely to encounter ideas that have been curated for us by marketing departments. Hasty efforts to resist AI commodification have only led to more artists locking their work away and calling for even more onerous systems of copyright law. This is not good for us.

We all need more free art.

So what am I going to do about it?

This is a question I have been asking myself for years. It's easy to sit here feeilng frustrated and thinking 'boy I hope SOMEONE does SOMETHING'. It's harder to take action in a world where I still have rent to pay. But hard doesn't mean impossible. Sometimes hard just means time-consuming, frustrating and slow. And sometimes it's worth doing something time-consuming, frustrating and slow because...I want to make the world a better place.

I'm going to do this:

1. From April 1st, I am relaunching as a freelance writer and editor.

This is the one that will (hopefully) help to pay the bills. I am a very good and experienced editor. I've worked on hollywood movies, I'm a member of the Chartered Institute of Editors and Proofreaders, I have clients who have been coming to me exclusively for more than 10 years.

Alongside bigger contract jobs, I am going to refocus on offering my services to small-press creators at a reduced rate. That means you, graphic novelists. That means you, itch and amazon writers. I want to help you develop your work, the same way I help large organisations. You can learn more about what an editor even does and what kind of pricing you can expect here.

2. I'm also going to start giving shit away. Like, constantly.

Next week I'm going to launch a new free shop. If you're unfamiliar, a free shop, giveaway shop, swap shop, etc. is an anarchist tradition of setting up a storefront where anyone can take what they like for no cost. Offline, this often means second-hand clothes, tools, furniture, food etc. Online, I am going to be giving away digital art. Copyright-free, no strings attached. It will (eventually) feature everything from print-res posters to zines, poems, tattoo flash, t-shirt designs and anything else we come up with.

Yes, I said 'we' - while this is a curated collection, it will feature work from a variety of credited and anonymous artists and activists, all of whom have agreed to give their work away to the public domain. Some of it will be practical, some of it will be political, but a lot of it will be decorative or personal. This is, in part, a response to recent difficulty I had finding somewhere that would print a one-off joke poster for a friend that featured the word 'faggot'. Enough. No middlemen - no explaining ourselves. Just print our shit and enjoy it.

I'm very, very excited about this project. I'll have more to say about it closer to the launch, but you can expect it to go live on March 27th.

2.2 I forgot to mention the ACTUAL LAUNCH GIVEAWAY

To celebrate my launch, I am going to be giving away a ton of physical prints. When I went looking for my old stock to see if it was worth setting a new (paid) storefront up, I realised I had way more old work in storage than I thought. This will be announced in its own right on Monday, but this is why I've been hinting you should go follow my Patreon.

On April 1st, I will pick 8 random patrons (from across all tiers including non-paying followers!) and mail them a bundle of assorted prints and postcards. The prize pool includes A3 and A4 posters, packs of A6 postcards, and printed minicomics that I've previously sold for up to £12 each.

You don't have to be a paying subscriber to enter - this is strictly no-purchase necessary. It is purely and entirely a celebration of the concept of GIVING ART AWAY FOR FREE.

3. PORN, YOU PERVERTS

Because I still have to pay to stay alive, I am going to be subsidising all this free art with the introduction of Fuck You Fridays. Starting from March 29th, I will drop a new 18+ short story on the last Friday of every month, over on itch.io (yes I know my page is desolate right now, don't worry I'll get there).

The first edition, Go Fuck Yourself, is about, well - telling your boss where to stick it. Julia has had it with her millionaire man-child manager, and is just about ready to let him know what she really thinks. It's a short and steamy 5k words, with a gorgeous cover illustration by @taylor-titmouse, and you can pick it up for $3 starting from March 29th.

4. ANOTHER BIG SURPRISE

I'm keeping this one under wraps for now, but April 1st will also play host to one more (FREE) launch. If you've been following me for a long time, you might remember the other significance of this date (no not April Fool's day, though that is certainly thematically relevant to this entire effort). That's all I'll say right now. Watch this space.

tl;dr: I'm sick of paywalls and career ladders. I'm literally putting my money where my mouth is. More free art for everyone and I'm not kidding around!!!

[mhanderszine]

REBEL HEARTS: AN M!HANDERS ZINE OFFICIAL ZINE RELEASE

On behalf of all contributors and moderators, we are proud to present the official release of Rebel Hearts: An m!Handers Zine!

This zine is the culmination of 33 fans’ love for Anders and m!Hawke, with over sixty pages of amazing art and fic for you to enjoy, entirely for free!

Though we will not be accepting money directly, we have designated Doctors Without Borders and Amnesty International as our suggested charities if you are feeling generous.

To download Rebel Hearts: An m!Handers Zine’s full package, complete with print-ready files and custom Handers emotes, please go to our official Google Drive. Please note that this zine contains works of all ratings, from general audiences to explicit.

We hope you enjoy the zine!

Cover art done by the wonderful @violaviolets

[usafphantom2]

The SR-71 crew who training in anti-SAM tactics left a 5-mile-long contrail in the stratosphere after dumping fuel for 10 seconds to see if the afterburner would ignite the fuel trail

The Blackbird

The SR-71, unofficially known as the “Blackbird,” is a long-range, advanced, strategic reconnaissance aircraft developed from the Lockheed A-12 and YF-12A aircraft. The first flight of an SR-71 took place on Dec. 22, 1964, and the first SR-71 to enter service was delivered to the 4200th (later 9th) Strategic Reconnaissance Wing at Beale Air Force Base, Calif., in January 1966. The U.S. Air Force retired its fleet of SR-71s on Jan. 26, 1990.

CLICK HERE to see The Aviation Geek Club contributor Linda Sheffield’s T-shirt designs! Linda has a personal relationship with the SR-71 because her father Butch Sheffield flew the Blackbird from test flight in 1965 until 1973. Butch’s Granddaughter’s Lisa Burroughs and Susan Miller are graphic designers. They designed most of the merchandise that is for sale on Threadless. A percentage of the profits go to Flight Test Museum at Edwards Air Force Base. This nonprofit charity is personal to the Sheffield family because they are raising money to house SR-71, #955. This was the first Blackbird that Butch Sheffield flew on Oct. 4, 1965.

During its operational lifetime, the SR-71 provided intelligence about the Yom Kippur War in 1973, the Israeli invasion of Lebanon in 1982, the US raid on Libya in 1986 and the revelation of Iranian Silkworm missile batteries in 1987. The USAF ceased SR-71 operations in January 1990.

Throughout its nearly 24-year career, the SR-71 remained the world’s fastest and highest-flying operational aircraft. From 80,000 feet, it could survey 100,000 square miles of Earth’s surface per hour.

SR-71 crews anti-SAM tactics

In 1968 the SR-71 crewmembers spent most of their time in the crew lounge, discussing anti-SAM tactics.

As told by Paul Crickmore in his book SR-71 Blackbird (Combat Legends), as the 9th Strategic Reconnaissance Wing approached the time when they would be flying out of the country at Kadena Air Base, Okinawa.

The SR-71 crew who training in anti-SAM tactics left a 5-mile-long contrail in the stratosphere after dumping fuel for 10 seconds to see if the afterburner would ignite the fuel trail

This print is available in multiple sizes from AircraftProfilePrints.com – CLICK HERE TO GET YOURS. Dawn at 80.000ft – SR-71 Blackbird

The plan was to penetrate enemy airspace at Mach 3. If fired upon, the pilot would accelerate to Mach 3.2 and climb, thereby forcing the missile’s guiding system to re-calculate the intercept solution. One idea was also to dump fuel to become lighter, thereby increasing the climb rate.

A 5-mile-long contrail in the stratosphere

A crew ended that debate during a Sortie over Montana by dumping fuel for 10 seconds to see if the afterburner would ignite the fuel trail. Instead, this turned instantly into an ice cloud in the fridge -55° C stratosphere and left a 5-mile-long contrail finger pointing directly at the aircraft.

The pilot reported that he could see the trail for hundreds of miles after turning back towards the west. That plan was scratched. That was the opposite effect, but they wanted regardless, the SR-71 was the first attempt at stealth in an airplane.

Be sure to check out Linda Sheffield Miller (Col Richard (Butch) Sheffield’s daughter, Col. Sheffield was an SR-71 Reconnaissance Systems Officer) Twitter X Page Habubrats SR-71, Instagram Page SR71Habubrats and Facebook Page Born into the Wilde Blue Yonder Habubrats for awesome Blackbird’s photos and stories.

@Habubrats71 via X

[greenhorn-art]

It Starts with a Dream by Autumn_Rain @ciaolongbao

Fandom: 全职高手 | The King's Avatar

Rating: General Audiences

Category: Gen

Words: 6 566

In a collaboration with Make-a-Wish Foundation, the Glory Professional Alliance hosts an event in Shanghai so that the children could meet their idols and heroes. It was a normal publicity stunt and charity event until it stopped being one. Trust Ye Xiu to always derail the Alliance's plans, but this time no one could blame him, or Han Wenqing, for that matter. Who would expect them to be so good with kids?

About the book:

FONTS: Crimson [Google Fonts], Roboto [Google Fonts], and Georgia

IMAGES: Equalizer background from Rawpixel (ID: 3119862); Gamepad icon (Image# 5358929) by pictranoosa on The Noun Project; Heavenly Domain image from The King’s Avatar Wikia.

MATERIALS: 20lb 96 bright 8½”×11”multiuse paper; 0.057" chipboard; Ruby red Iris Bookcloth; Neenah bright white 8½”×11” 65lb cardstock; 30/3 waxed linen thread; wheat paste (1:4 flour to water).

PROGRAMS USED: typeset in Affinity Publisher 2; cover designed with Affinity Designer 2 and Affinity Photo 2; imposed with Renegade's Community Imposer (settings: Quarto, snug against binding edge, signatures of 2 sheets).

Textblock printed with laser printer, covers printed with inkjet printer.

BINDING: Quarto size (quarter-letter, 4.25"x5.5"), sewn board binding with French-link stitch and breakaway spine.

Trying New Things 2: Electric Bugaloo!

Though it's not my first time making a quarto size book, it's my first sewn board binding and my first breakaway spine. Will not be my last. (I'm fact, as I'm writing this I've already bound another QZGS fic using this method!)

Much like Coptic, the sewn board binding technique bypasses the exact things I dread about making a case bound book: making the cover and casing in. Haven't gotten the hang of spines or hinges yet. Or pasting down the endpapers when casing in. (Art imitating life: my books aren't straight and neither am I lol)

Drumming things on (use of minimal glue, only on edges where necessary) is a lot less stressful and means there is less moisture to worry about. However I have my doubts about the structural integrity and longevity of sewn board binding when compared to case binding. With minimal glueing there's less holding it together, and the particular method of covering the boards means that they're partially exposed, in all their onion-y glory (by which I mean 🧅layers✨).

Onto the design:

The endpapers are an image of Glory's heavenly domain, acquired from The King's Avatar Wikia (I just cropped out the pro teams' logos, then resized and cropped to fit.)

The covers were designed as one image so that the contents will flow and connect from one cover to the other.

A major theme of this story, I felt, was connection: the kids are meeting their heroes; HWQ and YX stun everyone by connecting so well with the kids, playing with them, encouraging them, and inspiring them; YX opens up about his backstory and reveals a similar dream to a kid; that same kid going on to become a pro with New Excellent Era.

To pull some quotes from the story: "Everything started with a dream between friends… but now that dream will end with a legacy", "after all, you're never going to be walking alone. Glory has never been mean to be played alone", YX "[continued] inspiring new generations of gamers long after he had retired."

Following that theme of connection, the controllers on the covers are physically connected with a pinkish-red wire. For that I went with a red string of fate, thinking along the lines of fate and a love of Glory. The wire is also in the shape of a cancer awareness ribbon on the front cover (hence why the red is skewed pink).

The black and white controllers are like Player 1 & 2, and they're connected. To each other, to Glory.

I traced the gamepad icon with the pen tool in Affinity Designer, creating filled in curves of each component, for ease of recolouring and resizing without losing quality.

An equalizer background image, stretched and with low opacity, adds texture to the cover. It also reminded me of pixels from holograms. (The idea of the pros and kids' game playing out on stage with massive holograms really stuck with me).

I also wanted to directly reference Make-a-Wish in the cover design, so I looked up which font they use in the logo/branding. Search results turned up Georgia being used in relation to the brand, so I exclusively used that font on the covers. And added a little star above the 'i' in 'with', like in 'Wish' for the Make-a-Wish logo.

(also first attempt at nail art. Armed with a toothpick, I made Ye Xiu from The King's Avatar themed nails! 😾Sullen Kitten; 🌶️Unrivalled Super Hottie; ☂️Myriad Manifestations Umbrella; 🍁One Autumn Leaf; 😊Happy)

[mysafetycloset]

Pilot To Instructor Pipeline

Look, I’m not ungrateful. I’d be dead by now if I hadn’t enlisted. There’s nowhere else in Sol I’d have been able to take this shape. But the UGS isn’t a fucking charity; we wouldn’t get to exist if we weren’t useful, and only for as long as we’re useful. There’s a reason every single one of us…sorry, every one of them is terrified to ETS out.

What’s waiting out in the world for them? Best case scenario, their Handler takes them - if they want to, if they can, and if they’re actually at the end of their own contract. Otherwise? The Pilot Transition Program has always been a bad fucking joke. You get hacked up even worse to go work, I don’t know, at some hydrotherm farm down at crush depths or some flash-freeze deep space rig. Most are just too fried in the head to keep a "real person job" for more than six months. And that's being charitable.

Then comes the Instructor program. Finally - a path to a normal life for Pilots who qualify. Just agree to another minimum 4 year contract with “voluntary” renewal, then get ready for Reflash. It’ll be like you never let them put holes in your brain! Just sign right here on the dotted line.

Your average Pilot is too desperate and scared to want to look at the fine print. Yeah, I’m…y’know, I’m okay, right? I get by. I pass for something kinda like a normal human person, whatever that means. How many people didn’t make it? They won’t publish the fucking data, it’s all classified to the gills. I’d say maybe two-thirds of my cadre came out the other side, one way or another, to varying levels of functionality. The other third? Basically fucking vegetables, catatonic in some care home.

Even the best adjusted of us are…y’know, kinda buggy? We’re really cooked, neurologically speaking. Higher rates of psych issues, seizure disorders, acute onset dementia. I'm pretty lucky as far as that goes, for now, but sometimes I’ll be doing something and…just lose time. Minutes, sometimes hours. It’s weird.

The hardest thing, I think, is just that it’s…lonely, I guess. We have a lot more freedom, sure, but we don’t belong anywhere. We’re something separate. Apart. I miss belonging sometimes. Clear orders, no ambiguity, our only responsibility is to the mission, our siblings, and our Handlers. Things were simpler back then.

Moreover, like, I’ve never actually met a former Instructor. We’re all lifers. What the hell would I do after this? Go get a normal job? Get knocked up by some baseliner, raise some kids? Whatever. It’s bullshit. At least the Pilots get a chance to be something else, the ones brave enough to try. We’re more scared than any of them.

But hey. Thanks for the taxpayer funded tits and pussy. That’s pretty cool.

Interview with an Instructor, speaking on the condition of anonymity.

[ch4rryc0smos]

REVERIE | 20

I KISSED YOU UNDER THE STARS!

synopsis ┊kenji sato returns to japan, leaving behind everything he's ever known. and fate plays a cruel joke on him, when hazel vellichor walks back into his life, albeit not by choice. she makes a trip to japan, for a charity event, for another speech, and somehow; media wrangles her in for more drama. what they don't know is that she's ultrawoman, and kenji's ultraman, and there's more than to the eye here. they're well intertwined and every time they tug away, the knot gets tighter. everything leads them to each other, and now japan is in their hands, and they have to unravel every secret they refused to acknowledge prior to this. and they have to accept every role bestowed upon them, whether they like it or not. somehow, all of this leads to is them learning that there was always more to their friendship, and that they were truly two puzzle pieces, fit right next to each other.

genre ┊ childhood-friends-to-strangers-to-lovers, slight angst, tooth rotting & chaotic fluff, co-parenting (?)

pairing ┊ken sato x fem-self insert/oc, ken sato x public figure!self insert, ken sato x childhood-friend!self insert

warnings ┊ mild cursing, mentions of drinking, trauma, heavy topics (?), events in ultraman: rising take place alongside this story.

word count ┊1.4k

author's note ┊this is actually reverie's last part. i'm just a bit emotional because i've finished it. i finished it a while ago, but posting it made me feel like it was still being continued. but it's over. this is the epilogue, and it's reverie's end, but kenzel aren't going anywhere, i think i'll participate in selfshiptober, so if that happens, you'll most probably be getting many oneshots, some including them <3 happy reading.

prev.

Ken can’t stop looking at Hazel. Who he intends to marry. Or propose to, at least. She’s smiling at him. She’s wearing her floral print dress as they bask in the sun, hands working to weave together flower crowns. Ken’s eyes aren’t focused on the flowers, rather on the way her lips form a light pout and her eyes don’t stray anywhere but to the stems she works to weave. A smile is playing on his lips, and he’s so lost in her concentration, he doesn’t even realise she’s done until she turns towards him, and their eyes meet.

Something about the fact that she doesn’t know what’s going on his mind, and the fact that his heart beats faster when she smiles. And then she holds his hand, intertwines their fingers, and tugs his face closer. Then there’s some rustling, and when he reaches up, he feels the fuzzy feeling of flower petals. Hazel leans closer, and presses a feather light kiss onto his forehead. He latches his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

Her soft gasp of surprise is muffled against his chest. And he chuckles. Her hair tickles his neck, but he weaves his hand through it. She leans into his touch, and he places a kiss on the top of her head. One of her hands finds its place onto his chest, right over where his heart should be. 

Ken curses himself for letting his heart rate increase. He thinks he might be blushing and closes his eyes.

“Are you flustered, Kenji?” Hazel asks, and she sounds like she might be laughing. He looks down at her, and the smile on her face makes his heart flutter. Hazel’s grinning. Ken leans down, he can’t help but capture her lips in a kiss. She leans up, and then it’s her hands in his hair and he’s pulling her by the waist, even closer. And she’s practically on his lap. 

He doesn’t end up answering her question, but with the way she’s blushing, and the way she’s panting, he doesn’t think she wants the answer anyway. He stands up, holding her up. And she holds onto his shoulders for support.

“Put me down!” she says, hitting his shoulder lightly, and he just laughs instead. He’s carrying her somewhere and despite every protest, he continues. At some point, she does make a valid point that he doesn’t know the U.K well enough, but he doesn’t care. He’s listened to everything she’s said, about her childhood here, and if he can create positive connections to everything that’s affected her here, negatively. He wants to. 

He intends to, today. 

The simple thought of it makes him want to laugh out loud, with joy, at the aspect of finally being able to devote himself to her. He always could, yes, but he didn’t realise it until she walked out of his life the second time, and now he promises that he’ll be what she needs. 

At some point, he finally places her on the ground, and now they’re not in a meadow anymore, they’re at the garden that Hazel said she’d been last before she left the U.K. How that was the last time before she started travelling and speaking, she thought of her childhood. 

How adulthood kind of started right here. 

She turns around to Ken, and it’s like eighteen washes over her, again. But it doesn’t feel scary, how it did then. Instead of frowning, or crying, she’s smiling at him. At the fact that he remembered. She’s a bit confused when he asks her to turn away, to close her eyes.

“May I know why?” she asks.

She’s so polite he almost just wants to tell her, but he laughs. “No, darling. Just trust me, okay?”

She nods, turning around. Ken sighs shakily, getting onto one knee over the stone pathway, a bit worn with age. He pulls out the box, eyes the velvet cover as he opens it. He smiles at the moss agate ring that sits in the plump cushion. He holds it up. Smiles at the back of Hazel’s head as she waits patiently.

“Turn around, my love.” Ken’s heart might just fall out of his chest as he says those words, and it doesn’t get any better when Hazel turns around, and she’s smiling softly but then her eyes widen, and she claps a hand over her mouth.

She thinks she might cry. She doesn’t even know if she’s smiling anymore, but she’s happy. So happy, she can’t even think right. She doesn’t know if she’s understanding this correctly but he holds up the ring, moss agate, but as he’s saying it, like her eyes. She drops to her knees, clutching onto him, wrapping her arms around him, gripping onto his shirt with dear life. He falls on his ass, but he holds her. Her head rests in the crook of his neck, his cologne faint now but the scent of nature lingering on his skin.

Flower petals fall around them, scattered scarcely as they drop from her flower crown, and from in between his curls and the crevices of her dress, but she’s still clinging onto him for dear life.

“I promised I would be all yours, and I promise now that I’ll stand by you, for as long as you’ll let me,” he says, and she can’t think he’d ever practise this, because it feels like those words that you say when you’ve spent too long in your room and the dust is visible in the ray of sunlight and your eyes meet as you’re messing with something on the wrinkled bed sheets, duvet thrown across the bed. 

Those ‘I love you’s that transcend written and practised speech, those words that aren’t meant to hold so much value, but weigh more than a heart that grieves. 

“If you’ll let me,” he continues.

She thinks he’s outrageous.

“I’m yours, Kenji. As long as time allows me, I’ll be yours,” she whispers against the crook of his neck, and her heartbeat is loud against the quiet breeze that catches her hair. 

“You’re mine?”

“All yours.”

“Then, say yes,” he murmurs against her hair.

“Yes, yes, yes. As many times as you need me to say it, yes!” her voice is growing in volume, and he cups her face in his hands, making her look up.

Emerald and amethyst, meet once again. The books have lost count of all the gazes they’ve shared, and writers couldn’t use a million words to describe a single second of what they felt when their eyes met. How that feeling stayed the same, and never got old.

How when he brought her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss against her knuckles, her heart fluttered, how it has for a while now. Then the ring appears in her vision, and he slides it on.

It fits her finger perfectly. And the stone is the colour that her eyes are. 

He doesn’t resist when she crashes her lips against his, noses pressed together, breaths merged. Bodies pressed so close, considering them two would be a joke. 

“You’re my wife now.” 

He sounds elated, and he’s grinning, even while he’s panting and his chest is rising and falling rather quickly. His hands are in her hair, and he’s tucking the stray strands behind her ear. 

She runs her fingers down his face, his jaw, and he leans into her touch, turning his face to place light kisses against her fingertips. 

She hesitates.

“Promise, I’ll stay.”

Those words become a part of his wedding vows. She doesn’t know that just yet, but knows that even if they didn’t, it was a promise that would linger in the mornings he spends in her arms, and the alarms he misses to watch her sleep, or the breakfast he tries to make and shows up to the bedroom with his clothes stained and a little clip holding up his hair. 

He loves the way she laughs when he does these things.

And he vows to be the reason they happen, and to give her that simple sort of happiness for as long as life allows him to. He says that in his wedding vows too. And he’s never been a romantic, but for her? Always.

She is a reverie, and she is his. He didn’t know devotion, until he met her, again. And now all of his was for her. For his reverie. His daydream. And his anchor in life.

And everything she is, is a part of him. Two halves of one. That’s what they were. 

It’s always been like that. They just didn’t know all those years ago. Now they do, and they wouldn’t trade it for the world, they say.

They know they wouldn’t, when their eyes meet, after the tears clear up, they know that they would find each other, every time. Somehow. Some way. Every, time.

THE END.

— H. 

ch4rryc0smos © 2024 … do not repost, alter, translate, or steal my work.

[adaginy]

This economy is so weird. I hate how much stuff is new. I just want a cheap tote bag. The sort of thing where 10 or 20 years ago I'd pay like $6 on ebay and I'd get someone's grandma's old "my kids said no more cats so I got rid of them" tote bag stuffed in a manila envelope or something.

But now ebay or etsy or mercari is full of, like... brand new tote bags that'll be printed as soon as you order them and shipped 2-day, a thousand of the same design across all different sellers, "hand made item" shops with 8000 reviews. The sites aren't internet garage sales, they're just Amazon with different rates.

(It's not worth it to list a $6 used tote bag when no one will ever see it; it's not nice enough for consignment; unless you're making a pile for a charity shop or having a garage sale it's going in the trash. A+ we are in hell. At least now I've remembered a neighbor is having a garage sale tomorrow, maybe I'll luck out.)

[ccchloister]

It's so strange how the problems that come with existing online have forced me to find words to explain concepts that I assumed were mostly universal. I thought knowledge, talent, expertise, hard work and persistence were skills that were valuable and should be encouraged in everyone. A.I. has taught me otherwise.

A.I. might as well stand for Anti-Intellectualism, because that's the spirit behind the excitement. It literally takes the skill and labor out of skilled labor. Learning is being treated like an inconvenience, a problem to be eliminated in the name of efficiency. Entire disciplines are being treated as grand sacrifices in the name of mass production and instant gratification.

Why does art need to be efficient? It's not food. It's not medicine. It's not shelter. How fast are people shoveling content into their gob that between social media, streaming, and physical media, it's still not enough? Technology has already pushed creators to pumping out content at an unhealthy and unnatural rate just to try to appease social media algorithms. Now that same output is being used to train new algorithms to pump it out even faster while cutting creators out entirely. It’s sick and cruel. And instead of this exploitation being treated like an injustice that needs to be corrected, I'm told "It's inevitable. Adapt or die. Don't put your work online if you don't want it taken", delivered either with condescending pity, callous apathy, or malicious glee.

If A.I. fans aren't taking the "hardened pragmatic realist" approach, then they are shallowly aping socialist ideas, blaming capitalism for exploitation, not the tech. A very "guns don't kill people, people kill people" take. Just because exploitation of creatives is not a new concept doesn't mean A.I. isn't responsible for making it INFINITELY WORSE. They’ve also decided that people shouldn't be pursuing art and knowledge for the sake of profit and that the skilled creators trying to protect their labor are greedy, elitist gatekeepers trying to keep art from "the common man" (because creatives aren't the common man, apparently). It's that same resentment and distrust of experts that's typical of anti-intellectualism, except creative fields are in this weird place where they aren't even respected the way STEM is, so there's an extra layer of belittling and disrespect to the othering. Consumers feel entitled to art, but they don't understand how it's made, and they definitely don't respect it as a discipline.

The glut of creative content available for "the common man" to consume has never been greater or more accessible, but it's still not enough. It's not enough to just consume art. They want ownership. They want the sense of accomplishment that comes from making something, without having actually *made* it. And despite their finger-wagging at creatives wanting to protect their careers, they also want to make some money. Etsy is flooded with A.I. prints, kindle is filled with A.I. books, spotify is loaded with A.I. songs. There’s even A.I. kickstarters. Along with replacing writers and animators, CEOs want to replace actors, voice actors, and models with simulacrums they can make do whatever they want, forever, and A.I. fans are hoping they'll be the ones hired to facilitate that process. Even without actively profiting, A.I. still devalues the work of skilled laborers. Why commission a skilled artist when for 15 dollars you can buy a machine that will give you infinite works of the same or better quality, instantly? Do you have faith in consumers to prioritize ethics over convenience? Do you think it's right and fair and good to make compensating skilled creators an act of charity rather than a necessity?

A.I. users overestimate their contribution to the final product, thinking their idea is so unique and their vision so strong, that of course they should claim ownership… conveniently ignoring all the infinite little decisions A.I. made for them based off the knowledge and fine motor skills of millions of artists. It's like they think fully realized Good Ideas are a natural resource waiting to be excavated, and traditional creators had the unfair advantage of pickaxes, physical strength and a knowledge of geology to find the rich veins. Now A.I. is providing scanners and and powerful machinery so "the common man" doesn't need strength or knowledge to quickly mine those same veins first.

But that's not what art is, and that's not how creation works. Art is communication. Imagination is fostered through life experience, observation and processing information with your human brain. It's something every living person could do, because every person is unique with unique life experiences. Creation is practice, study, experimentation, problem solving, and adapting to limitations. There is nothing stopping anyone from doing these things. Natural ability has been grossly overvalued: most people with "talent" were not making hyper-realistic paintings at 13 like Picasso. What happens is a child shows a slight aptitude, the adults in their life notice and give them positive reinforcement, and then they are motivated and encouraged to pursue that interest. So instead of treating the naturally talented as having an unfair advantage, why not blame the adults in your life for not encouraging your interests at a young age. Or if you want to be brutally honest, blame yourself for not pursuing your interests despite a lack of external validation. You have agency.

I try to imagine, what is an A.I. fan's idea of a perfect future? One where no one has any advantages that another person doesn't, where "everyone's special so no ones special"? Where all labor is automated and no one has to do anything they don't want to and everyone spends their infinite free time bettering themselves for it's own sake rather than for money? Every time they mention the evils of capitalism and how we need universal basic income and other ideas of a post-work society it makes me want to pull my hair out. We don't *have* those things. We aren't even close to those things. So it is functionally useless to factor that into your argument. Who is Tech to use A.I.'s elimination of thousands of jobs in non-Tech industries as a bargaining chip to try and incentivize the government to create safety nets for those displaced? Since when has your government prioritized it's citizens over corporations? Have proponents always been this naive, or only when trying to assuage concerns over the consequences of their new toy?

Even if we did achieve that techie utopia, what makes them think most people will use their free time productively, exercising their brain for it's own sake? Because speaking for myself, I can have every good intention of using my time to create and learn, but those things frequently lose out to short term, dopamine-driven feedback loops like social media and video games. Without any external incentives, I guarantee far less people will pursue learning for its own sake if the knowledge-based roles that keep society functioning are filled by machines. Think of how we've had to reintroduce exercise into are lives just for exercise's sake. Hows that going? Again, speaking for myself as an overweight person: Not Great. I might intellectually know physical fitness is important, but the difficulty and unenjoyable nature of exercise and the benefits not being immediate and obvious means it frequently loses out to activities I do enjoy. I know not everyone is like me, but many, many people are. Now replace physical fitness with cognitive abilities. Abilities that require work, who's benefits are totally abstract, and would be wholly unnecessary for living in an A.I dependent society. If that doesn't give you chills up your spine, then you must stand to benefit from a culture of stupidity that's hopelessly dependent on tech. And I hate you.

No ones going to read all this.

[adrianastrix]

The reason why I'm so adamant about separating "earning money from your work" from "capitalism" is, firstly, that capitalism spreads the lie that "money = capitalism, so capitalism exists since money was invented and will exist until money fades out", making it look way more universal and strong that it actually is (capitalism is actually a development from 18th century free market ideology meeting freaking colonialism, so it's very recent and has a very spotty past).

But what gets me is that this association of capitalism with money, salaries and trading makes it so every time an artist sees how screwed we all are by this system and denounces it, they lock themselves out of financial support. Everyone start to spew vitriol about how you shouldn't take money since you hate capitalism so much, like the two things are equivalent.

You know what kind of people think that someone asking for payment in exchange for a service is fundamentally greedy, it doesn't matter how reasonable the price is?

Slave. Owners.

They are the ones who think every service should be provided for people who HAVE to work for them whenever they want, however degrading it might be, and for NO PAY WHATSOEVER. And that providing those workers with the bare minimum food and shelter instead of letting them die and buying new slaves is charity.

In every non-slave society, it IS expected that goods and services will be traded for fair rates. Criticizing capitalism has nothing to do with buy or selling things, it has nothing to do with believing that money, or trading, or advertising shouldn't exist. It has to do with criticizing a system that treat workers like uppity slaves that should be happy that they get a ridiculously low salary for brutal hours of work and aren't legally bound 24/7 to the whims of their employer anymore. What more should they want??? After all, if they get more money and free time they will blow it all in drugs and depravities anyway. Hey, y'all, are we sure those people shouldn't be legally bound 24/7 to the whims of their employer? For their own good?

So, by all means. Charge whatever you want to charge (or DON'T charge if you don't want to), buy iPhones, advertize like crazy and criticize capitalism at every single corner. The only ones who are hypocrites when they criticize capitalism are the capitalist themselves.

(And "capitalists" aren't all bosses. Capitalists are bosses who don't have to work. They make their whole living from the profits of other people's work (i.e., the capital). They are people who live from the interest the bank pays for their inheritance money, or from the rent paid by their 5 or more tennants, or from loaning some money to a company - "investing" on it - on a non-limited interest rate, siphoning that company's profits like crazy without ever lifting a finger to make it better. Sometimes, actively making it worse by imposing ridiculous conditions for their loan... *cough* investment. What, you thought interest in investments come from thin air, like magic? It's thinly disguised loan-sharking, my guys.

Your boss that will be broken in the streets if their bakery/youtube channel/print service fails isn't a capitalist, they are just a commoner providing goods and services like you, and they are in for a rude awakening if they think they can get away with acting like the local lord on the long run.)

[cherrygirlystuff]

Vintage Thrift Shopping for Indie Sleaze: Where to Find Authentic 2000s Pieces 🛍️

Hey there, vintage vixen! 🌟 Ready to dive into the world of indie sleaze fashion and score some authentic 2000s gems? Whether you’re channeling that iconic grungy glam or just want to add a touch of nostalgic edge to your wardrobe, finding the right pieces is key. From online vintage stores to local thrift shops, let’s explore where to hunt down those must-have indie sleaze staples.

1. Online Vintage Stores: The Digital Treasure Hunts

The internet is a goldmine for finding vintage indie sleaze fashion. These online stores offer a curated selection of 2000s pieces, making it easier to find exactly what you’re looking for without leaving the comfort of your home.

Depop: This app is a treasure trove of vintage finds and indie sleaze fashion. Search for keywords like “2000s grunge,” “vintage band tees,” or “retro denim” to uncover hidden gems. Plus, many sellers are open to negotiation, so you might score a deal!

Etsy: Known for its handmade and vintage goods, Etsy has a fantastic selection of 2000s indie sleaze pieces. Look for shops specializing in retro clothing, or search for terms like “vintage indie” and “2000s fashion.”

eBay: A classic for vintage shopping, eBay offers a wide range of 2000s fashion. From iconic band tees to distressed jeans and vintage accessories, you can find it all here. Just make sure to check seller ratings and reviews to ensure authenticity.

2. Thrift Stores: The Local Hidden Gems

There’s something magical about digging through racks of clothes to find that perfect indie sleaze piece. Local thrift stores can be a goldmine for 2000s fashion, and here’s how to make the most of your thrifting adventures.

Research Local Spots: Check out thrift stores and charity shops in your area. Stores like Goodwill, Salvation Army, and local secondhand shops often have a selection of vintage pieces. Visit regularly, as inventory changes frequently.

Know What to Look For: When thrift shopping for indie sleaze, keep an eye out for key pieces like distressed denim, oversized band tees, graphic sweatshirts, and vintage leather jackets. Look for items with that authentic 2000s vibe, including bold prints and grungy details.

Make Friends with Staff: Building a relationship with thrift store staff can be a huge plus. They might give you a heads-up on new arrivals or even hold pieces for you if you’re a regular. Plus, they often have insider knowledge on when the best items come in.

3. Vintage Boutiques: Curated Collections with a Twist

If you prefer a more curated shopping experience, vintage boutiques are your go-to. These stores often specialize in high-quality, hand-picked vintage pieces, including those coveted indie sleaze items.

Local Boutiques: Search for vintage boutiques in your city. These shops often carry a curated selection of 2000s fashion and can provide a more personalized shopping experience. Check out their websites or social media for updates on new arrivals and special collections.

Online Vintage Shops: Many vintage boutiques also have online stores. Look for boutiques that specialize in retro and vintage fashion, and explore their collections for indie sleaze essentials. Websites like Rokit and Beyond Retro offer a great selection of vintage pieces.

4. Flea Markets and Pop-Up Shops: The Hunt for Unique Finds

Flea markets and pop-up shops are fantastic for discovering unique, one-of-a-kind indie sleaze pieces. These venues often feature a mix of vintage clothing, accessories, and more.

Flea Markets: Visit local flea markets and vintage fairs for a chance to find rare and unusual items. These markets often have a mix of vendors, so you’ll need to do a bit of digging, but that’s part of the fun!

Pop-Up Shops: Keep an eye out for pop-up vintage shops and events. These temporary stores can offer exclusive finds and often feature curated selections of vintage clothing. Follow local fashion blogs and social media for updates on upcoming pop-up events.

5. Estate Sales and Auctions: The Ultimate Vintage Experience

For those willing to put in a bit of extra effort, estate sales and auctions can be a goldmine for vintage fashion. You might find some incredible indie sleaze pieces in unexpected places.

Estate Sales: Estate sales can offer a range of vintage clothing and accessories. Check local listings and auctions for estate sales that feature vintage collections. You never know what treasures you might find!

Auctions: Look for auctions that specialize in vintage clothing. These can be online or in-person, and they often feature unique pieces from past decades. Bidding can be competitive, but it’s worth it for those rare finds.

Final Thoughts, Babe: Embrace the Vintage Hunt

Finding authentic 2000s indie sleaze pieces takes a bit of patience and a lot of love for the hunt. Whether you’re scouring online stores, hitting up local thrift shops, or exploring vintage boutiques and markets, each piece you find is a little slice of fashion history.

So grab your shopping list, channel your inner vintage detective, and dive into the world of indie sleaze fashion. Happy hunting, and may you find all the retro treasures your heart desires! 🌟🛍️

[stuckybingo]

Stucky Bingo Round-Up #28 (April 23rd - 29th)

Don’t forget to fill out the submission form to be a part of the round-ups and to get your bingo badges! Sign-ups for a bingo card end on April 30th!

Bucky Barnes and the Swimsuit of Doom by theemdash Square filled: O1 - Kink: Lingerie Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Swimming Suits, Sexual Humor, Horny Bucky Barnes, Horny Steve Rogers Summary: When Steve asks Bucky to come with him to the photoshoot for the 2023 Avengers Charity Swimsuit Calendar, Bucky thinks nothing of it. He should have, though. He should have gotten suspicious right then and right there, but instead he was thinking about Steve in a swimming suit. He can't be held accountable for choices made by his dick. Or Bucky and Steve can't control themselves when confronted by tiny swimming suits. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

Bucket List's stop by Laevateinn Square filled: I3 - Steve's list Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: moodboard, Bucket List, Steve's list, Flowers, Carnival Summary: Bucky smiled as he looked one more time at the pictures he had printed to display in the apartment. Format: Drabble (exactly 100 words)

Sun by diamantesart Square filled: I1 - Alpha Steve Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Steve Rogers, Omega Bucky Barnes, Intersex omega, Knotting Summary: Steve takes cares of his omega. Format: Art

Three | One by andrea1717 Square filled: N3 - Free Square (Intimacy) Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: First Time, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst Summary: A few of Bucky's & Steve's first times & one last time through the years. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

(For Never Was A Story Of More Woe Than This) Act 2: Rising Action by Trinity Square filled: O1 - Peter Parker Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply, Homophobia, Toxic family dynamics, watermelon Major tags: AU Theatre, lovers to enemies to lovers, Bucky Barnes-centric, Miscommunication Summary: Bucky Barnes hasn't heard from Steve Rogers in 3 years. He'd rather never hear from him again. Too bad he's transferring to Stark Performing Arts University where he'll be forced to take the male-only lead roles with Steve in the school's queer rendition of the play ""Romeo & Juliet"". The close proximity might trigger the pair to rethink and investigate why they hate each other so much, and maybe fall in love again along the way. Format: Part of a multichapter fic

A Moving Target by PoliZ Square filled: I2 - Marksmanship Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Drabble, Avengers as Family, Shenanigans, Competition Summary: Tony discovers Clint, Bucky and Steve doing something ridiculous on the firing range, and he wants in. Format: Drabble (exactly 100 words)

Baby Nat vs Detective Rogers by rya_204 Square filled: O1 - AU A/B/0 Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply, Mentions of Mpreg Major tags: Fluff, Family Fluff, A/B/O, KId Fic Summary: In his career as a private investigator, Steve had seen many pups ask him about missing parents, but they were fifteen or sixteen years old. Natalia had arrived there to get something back, but he didn't take cases from six-year-olds. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

Beating Hearts by SmutConnoisseur Square filled: Adopted square - Kink : Dirty Talk Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: A/b/o, mpreg, rough pregnancy sex, knotting, praise kink, breeding kink Summary: Bucky comes home from work and is reminded why he never wants to leave in the first place. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

Destiny by @andrea1717 Square filled: N5 - Revenge Ao3 rating: Mature Warnings: Major character death, Moral Ambiguity, Sad with happy ending, emotional hurt Major tags: Alternative Universe, Love, Reincarnation Summary: Bucky and Steve find each other again - somehow. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

[neondreams2145]

TW: Fake blood, Fake wound

3D printed tourniquets created by the people of Gaza, this is true cyberpunk. Using the net and technology to fight oppression and help your community.

I should note, this is not a perfect solution, 3D printed TQs will have a higher failure rate than commercial medical grade ones. The people of Gaza need life-saving aid and proper medical supplies.

Here are several charities you can donate to help facilitate that.

https://www.map.org.uk/donate/donation-details/484

https://www.pcrf.net/

https://help.unicef.org/donate-monthly-for-children-gaza-2023?gad_source=1&gclid=Cj0KCQjw0MexBhD3ARIsAEI3WHIITq6yMc5ndzOKhXK8cRTIDcY_tZC5Q1g0VIAJrrZCa8eROCjg-uEaAhOUEALw_wcB

Also Karl and the folks at inrangetv are excellent content creators if you're interested in looking at firearms ownership and general self-defense from a leftist perspective.

[theawesomeaki-kun]

Arlo (Number Days) cosplay

Arlo watching over the gang

This was a photoshoot I did last 2021 on time for Earth Day + in support of Pacthesis’ release of Number Days t-shirts (Specifically, Arlo “Tree Hugger” prints) for charity on Arbor Day. 

My country has unfortunate international shipping rates and couldn’t really afford one myself, so I hoped a tiny cosplay shoot of everyone’s favorite tree boi could help bump some attention to it instead. 

On the plus side, the fundraiser was successful! Thanks to the Tree Hugger tees, there’s also now an official Pacthesis merch shop. I unfortunately still can’t afford the rates, but a good friend of mine luckily gave me a Cashy Tally ho, mofos coaster haha

Then years later I found more photos that ...I think I forgot from being too nervous about everything. So, here’s the rest of it! enjoi

And now, Cashy!!!

He is a box with typewriting paper. But I did end up making vertical slashes on the outlet, so it can actually hold up chargers. The back can also store things!

trying to take a picture of Bryce with his phone

And, finally...

oh

wait hang on

There we go.

[usafphantom2]

USAF U-2 Avionics Technician tells why S-300 and S-400 SAMs would not be able to shoot down the SR-71 Blackbird

The SR-71 Blackbird

The SR-71 spy plane, the most advanced member of the Blackbird family that included the A-12 and YF-12, was designed by a team of Lockheed personnel led by Clarence “Kelly” Johnson, then vice president of Lockheed’s Advanced Development Company Projects, commonly known as the “Skunk Works” and now a part of Lockheed Martin. The Blackbird completed its first flight on Dec. 22, 1964.

SR-71 T-Shirts

CLICK HERE to see The Aviation Geek Club contributor Linda Sheffield’s T-shirt designs! Linda has a personal relationship with the SR-71 because her father Butch Sheffield flew the Blackbird from test flight in 1965 until 1973. Butch’s Granddaughter’s Lisa Burroughs and Susan Miller are graphic designers. They designed most of the merchandise that is for sale on Threadless. A percentage of the profits go to Flight Test Museum at Edwards Air Force Base. This nonprofit charity is personal to the Sheffield family because they are raising money to house SR-71, #955. This was the first Blackbird that Butch Sheffield flew on Oct. 4, 1965.

The SR-71 was designed to cruise at “Mach 3+,” just over three times the speed of sound or more than 2,200 miles per hour and at altitudes up to 85,000 feet.

During its 24 years of service, the SR-71 Blackbird gathered intelligence in some of the world’s most hostile environments. The Blackbird evaded all the missiles fired at it and, to this day, remains the only USAF aircraft to never lose a crewmember associated with it; whether in the air or on the ground.

But could the SR-71 be shot down by missile systems such as Russia’s S-300 or S-400?

SR-71 Blackbird Vs S-300 Vs S-400

But could the SR-71 be shot down by missile systems such as Russia’s S-300 or S-400?

‘Looks like I’m going to give the only “no” answer so far,’ Damien Leimbach, former USAF Avionics Technician on U-2 aircraft, says on Quora.

‘The S-200, S-300 and S-400 are amazing platforms, and given their stated performance, the 300 and 400 could probably hit a target at the Sr-71’s speed and altitude. But that is not the same as hitting an SR-71.

‘Now, could those missiles shoot down the version of the SR-71 that existed in the 70’s or 80’s? Sure.

USAF U-2 Avionics Technician tells why S-300 and S-400 SAMs would not be able to shoot down the SR-71 Blackbird

S-400 SAM

‘But the question was could it shoot down the SR-71 if it were still in service, and if it were still in service, it would have received the same jamming and Electronic Warfare upgrades as other planes have.

‘Would these EW jammer upgrades make the plane immune from those missiles? Yes it would.

‘How do I know? Well, because I spent 6 years, recently, working on the sibling of the SR-71, the U-2 and as an electronics specialist I was directly responsible for installing and maintaining the AN-ALQ 221 jammer that made our high flying (but slow moving) plane immune to those missiles as well.

‘The U-2 and the SR-71 don’t just take pictures. They listen to cell phones. They monitor radios. And they also listen to, record and analyze the frequencies, pulse rates, variable modes and power outputs of enemy SAM systems like the S-200, 300 and 400.’

Knowing everything about S-300 and S-400

He continues;

‘We know everything about them. We know how they work, so it’s very easy to design systems to defeat them. The -300 is 1970’s Russian technology, which makes it about as sophisticated from an electronics standpoint as 1950’s American tech. The 400 is just an upgraded version of that. But we’ve had a long time to study them and build electronic countermeasures.

‘When the Berlin wall fell in 1989, and East and West Germany reunified, the very first thing NATO did was go in and scoop up all the Russian military tech it could find. We got T-80’s, We got Fulcrums and we got entire missile battalions worth of S-300 missiles.

SR-71 print

This print is available in multiple sizes from AircraftProfilePrints.com – CLICK HERE TO GET YOURS. SR-71A Blackbird 61-7972 “Skunkworks”

‘When other very poor nations like Belarus and Moldova split away from the USSR, we bought other stuff, like Flankers, Hinds, and more missile systems.

‘Only Russia, China and India operate the -400, but as much as they want access to American markets, I’m more than sure we’ve been allowed to peek at the equipment, and a missile or two may have fallen off a truck somewhere.

S-300 and S-400 could not shoot down the SR-71 Blackbird

‘Maybe its cheating a little, but buying out the competition is the American way. The point is, we know exactly what their missile systems can do and we’ve known for a long time. We build those upgrades into the U-2 and if we still flew the SR-71, we would build them into it as well.’

Leimbach concludes;

‘So, no, if modern weapons can’t even take down the U-2, they could not shoot down the SR-71.’

@Habubrats71 via X

[onioneyez]

Hello to my several followers! I’m participating in @fandomtrumpshate this year, which means you can bid for the chance to get a custom work of art from me!

I’m offering one full-color painting for one of these three fandoms:

Good Omens

Our Flag Means Death

Sherlock Holmes (ACD or Granada)

Bidding starts March 1st and ends March 5th!

Below is the link to my auction page! (I can’t figure out how to make a word a link on mobile 😎)

The winning bidder will donate the amount of their bid to any charity from a long list of progressive causes, and in return you’ll get a print-ready digital painting from me!

And if my stuff doesn’t float your boat, be sure to browse the many other offerings this year! Might bid on a fanfic myself.

Details of my offering below the cut:

Highest rating: M (Mature)

Length/scope: A digital painting, either color or black and white, not exceeding 6”x9”, and up to 300dpi. $25+ for a full color painting featuring up to two characters against an abstract or minimally suggested background. $50+ for a full-color painting with up to three characters with a fully fleshed-out background.

Especially interested in:

I’m all for any lovey-dovey or sexy or hurt/comfort or sad or funny scenarios you can think of. I love painting faces best of all. I’m an ace at anatomy and likenesses if you need them (went to school for it) but I love bending the rules for fun shapes. I live for golden hour and playing with saturated colors and I have a special interest in funny scenarios or wacky action scenes. I love any and all AU’s, I love painting rumpled birds and smoke and water and if you let me paint a ghost I’ll throw it in for free.

For Good Omens:

I love me some ineffable husbands, whether it’s platonic or romantic or nasty. I adore both the book and the show.

For OFMD:

Stede and Ed are my fave pairing, though every face on this show is super interesting and paintable. Ed is also very very pretty.

For Holmes:

I used to be active on the Watsons_Woes lj, so any “poor Watson” type stuff I’m super into. Bonus: I will know what you’re talking about if you bring up something obscure from canon.

Unwilling to address: No non-con, no pregnancy, no marriage, no young babies, no watersports, no spit-related stuff (like drool) no animal death, no poop stuff, no Omegaverse, no furry-adjacent stuff, no underage stuff, no de-aging stuff, no slashing the actors that play the characters (I will draw the actors though if you want, just no lovey stuff).

Also please no cars, I can do them but I dread it.

For Good Omens:

No T or M rated ineffable bureaucracy please.

For OFMD: No Steddyhands or Blackhands please.

Notes: After you tell me what you’d like, I’ll give you three thumbnails (very rough sketches/ideas) to choose from. When you pick your favorite, I’ll use it to proceed with the final. I prefer to pick my own color scheme, but I’m open to requests and can send you color studies to choose from if you like. The painting will likely take me several months to complete, but when I’m done you’ll receive it in your preferred file type, at a size that is suitable for printing out if you so choose. If you want a specific size, please let me know before I start.

Special Interests: Canonically trans or nonbinary characters, Trans or nonbinary interpretations of canon characters

Minimum Bid: $25

Extra stuff!

If you’ve read this far, you deserve some examples of my work so you know if I’m what you’re after. My portfolio is mostly kids’ book covers and chapter illustrations but you’ll get the idea.

Here’s some examples of the $25+ tier of paintings (no/ minimal background):

Here’s some examples of full backgrounds ($50+):

And here’s a very old drawing I never finished to show I can do likenesses lol. (Keep in mind I’m not offering sketches, only full paintings):