#e writer pad

[piyushflip]

Laptop with writing pad

Erase Button :  Digital writing Tablet displays your notes until you erase them with the Push of a button. button erases notes instantly (Please make-Sure Screen mode Unlocked From Back Side of the Product)

Pressure-sensitive : screen lets you create thick and thin lines. Durable case and recessed screen are safe for school, travel and home use.

Reusable, Paperless, Environmental-Friendly :  digital writing Tablet displays your notes until you erase them with the touch of a button, One-touch button erases notes instantly.

[2baabbies]

🖤 Knee Socks (Changbin x Reader) 🖤

Crossposted under 2Babbies on Ao3 <3

(decided to crosspost this today for all the changbin fuckers, I hope you like it 🫶🏻)

Pairings: established frenemies changbin x reader, to lovers

Words: 4100

Summary: Changbin stops by uninvited to pick up the jacket you borrowed from him. You are annoyed that he has interrupted your down time on your day off, but maybe he’ll find a way to make it up to you?

(inspired by the Arctic Monkeys song!!)

Humour + Fluff + Smut

afab + fem!reader

CWs: reader and binnie are mean and they swear at each other but they actually looove each other, playful insults are thrown around, picking on your crush to hide your real feelings??, jokes about murderers/getting murdered, gamer girl!reader, changbin projects on reader based on how she’s dressed (but they’re both down bad so it’s fine)

Smut Tags: taunting/teasing, explicit consent because consent is sexy, big dick changbin, changbin sock fetish, slight dom dynamics but reader and bin are both kind of switches in this one, changbin going down on reader, some edging, vaginal fingering, begging, praise, slight degradation, handjob, mutual/guided masturbation, dirty talk, confessions during sex

!!ATTENTION!!

Reposting this fic to other platforms, including as a translation, is expressly prohibited. Do not copy, alter, or claim this fic as your own. Absolutely no permission is given to anyone to post my works, even with credit, and this fic should only appear on Ao3 or Tumblr under my accounts. Reposting is not only plagiarism, but a direct violation of my wishes as the original writer and owner. Please respect writers and don’t steal!

Likes, reblogs, asks and comments are very welcome and appreciated <3

~~~

The fourth phone call in three minutes prompts some concern, so you forfeit your competitive match to give the caller your full attention.

“What’s wrong?”

“What are you doing?” Changbin responds casually.

“I’m trying to rank. Is something wrong?”

“Rank? Christ, are you playing that stupid game again?”

“Felix is two whole levels above me!”

“… So?”

“Felix isn’t even good, he’s not allowed to be two levels higher than me!”

There is a pause on the other end and you think he may have hung up before he speaks.

“So that’s what you’re doing? Wasting your day away on your computer?”

“Why are you complaining? I went out with you and Chan last night. And I don’t have another day off for two weeks, so I have to grind as much as I can today. And fyi, you’re putting me at a disadvantage. I just left a match to answer your stupid call because I thought you were getting murdered or something. That could’ve been a win.”

“You think I would call you if I was getting murdered?”

“Yeah, I think you would. You know why? Because you’re stupid.”

“Hey hey hey, be nice.”

“What do you want? You’re wasting my precious time.”

“You stole my jacket last night, e-girl, I’m here to get it back.”

“I’m not an e-girl- wait, you’re here? Right now?”

“Wasting away in the lobby. Waiting for someone to come and murder me.”

You stand up from your chair and pad out of your room to your intercom. You hang up your phone and shout into the speaker.

“Quit loitering, shithead!”

“Fuck you!” Changbin shouts back.

You unlock your apartment door then buzz him in.

“Doors are unlocked. Your jacket is on the couch. Get your shit and get out.”

You hear him giggle maniacally as he opens the now unlocked lobby door and roll your eyes before returning to your bedroom. You quickly queue for a new match and put your headphones on. You join in immediately and the sound of Changbin entering your apartment is drowned out by the sounds of the game. You think you hear him say something from the other room but you opt to ignore him to maintain your kill streak. The match ends with a win and Changbin startles you as he speaks up beside you.

“You have an addiction, you know that right?”

You pull your headphones down and glare at him.

“Dude! What are you still doing here?”

“Look at this,” He picks up one of the many empty energy drink cans scattered across your desk, “You’re going to have a goddamn heart attack. I told you to lay off these. And your desk is a mess!”

“Shut up! Why are you in here?”

“You left your door unlocked. Not safe. That’s how murderers get in.”

You groan.

“Stop lecturing me! You were two minutes coming up, at most.”

“Yeah, but what if I wasn’t? And what if there was a murderer who was waiting just outside your door? Did you think of that, Ms. Noise-Cancelling-Headphones?”

“But there wasn’t a murderer! You’re just an idiot!”

You spin your chair towards him, clenching your fists in exasperation. He huffs and crosses his arms, his blue jacket slung over his broad shoulders. Suddenly, his eyes widen and he swallows before looking away.

“What the Hell are you wearing?”

You look down at your attire as you sit cross-legged in your gaming chair. You had expected to spend the whole day inside, so your outfit was not exactly guest appropriate but it suited your personal comfort level just fine. You are wearing a thick oversized sweater that drapes over your lap, no pants, topped off with fluffy socks that cover your legs and end just above your knees. The sweater hangs low, doing little to cover your chest and cleavage, and the socks squeeze the plush insides of your thighs. Normally you would have been more embarrassed dressing this way in front of your friend, but Changbin had not been invited into your room and you were still annoyed at him for taking up your personal time.

“What’s wrong? They’re just my pajamas.”

“You sleep in that? Fuck, you really are an e-girl.”

You roll your eyes.

“It’s comfy. And look, the socks have beans.”

You lift your leg to show the bottom of your foot, where cat paws are printed on the socks. He slaps your leg down firmly.

“Don’t do that.”

“Why? There’s beans!”

“I can see that.”

You notice a dark blush dusting his cheeks as you go to lift your leg again. This time he holds your leg down by your thigh to prevent you from lifting it.

“Would you stop that? Have some modesty will you?”

“Modesty? They’re cat socks.”

“And you’re wearing them like some sort of pervert.”

You curl up in your chair and turn back to your pc.

“Lee Know would appreciate them.”

“Yeah, he probably has a catgirl fetish. He’s your target audience.”

You glare softly at him.

“I’m telling him you said that. And there’s no audience. This is just how I dress when I’m alone.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s not supposed to be weird men in my room!”

He blinks in surprise then gapes, offended, at your words.

“I am not a weird man. Take that back.”

“You just called me a pervert. Because of cat socks.”

“I’m sorry! But don’t flash me!”

“Flash you?”

He points at your lap, and this makes you blush. All you see is the gap of bare flesh not covered by your sweater or your socks. You throw your hands up in defeat as he gestures impatiently, and his attention on your thighs suddenly makes you self-conscious. You slap your hands down to cover them.

“There! Happy?”

“Not that! You were- your legs- just don’t spread your legs open when you’re not wearing any clothes, yeah?”

“These are clothes.”

“You’re not wearing pants, and you might not be wearing underwear either.”

You scoff.

“You think I’m not wearing underwear? Seriously?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“I’m not a freak.”

“Prove it.”

You peer at him.

“That I’m not a freak?”

“That you’re wearing underwear.”

“You’re weird as fuck man.”

You kick your legs up on the desk, knocking a few cans to the floor in the process. Changbin grumbles about your slobbish habits and picks the cans up, then storms out of your room. You wait a moment for him to return and when he does not, curiously get up from your chair to check on him. You spot him in the kitchen from your doorway and pause to watch him. He has his hands braced against the counter and his head lowered as he takes measured breaths. He notices you out of the corner of his eye and looks at you, his jacket is still slung over his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

Your eyes flit over his arms, flexing as he grips the counter. Then they roam over his black shirt, tightly fitted over his biceps and abs, then down until they land on the unmistakable bulge in his slacks. You look back up to meet his gaze. He looks wrecked, watching you with heavy eyes as his cheeks burn with shame.

You jump as something falls in your room and hits the floor, bringing you both out of the silent trance you had been in for who knows how long.

“What was that?”

You shrug.

“Murderer. Ghost.”

“Ghost?”

“My apartment’s haunted. That’s why I never have anyone over.”

He laughs with a hint of strain.

“You’re funny.”

“Changbin.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll go, just give me a second,” He rasps.

You do not give him a second. You clear your throat and tug your sweater off in one quick swoop. He stares, wide-eyed, as you toss it to the floor and cross your arms. You stare back at him, wearing nothing but a comfy sports bra, your underwear, and your knee socks. The underwear are lame, not even a cute pair. They are the kind with a little satin bow, pink with faded prints of flowers and bunnies, and a small rip in the frilly waistband. There is nothing sexy or enticing about them.

Changbin’s cock strains against the zipper of his pants, no doubt aching to be released. He exhales slowly as his eyes skim over your body. He audibly swallows then looks away.

“What’s wrong? You’re acting like you’ve never seen a naked woman before. You’re not embarrassed, are you?”

He groans and throws his jacket to the floor then begins crossing the room, tearing his shirt off next in the process. You back up into your room, tripping over another discarded can then falling back on your bed. You sit up just as he enters the doorway. Suddenly, he pauses. He grips the top of the doorframe, giving you a clear view of his muscles at work. You nonchalantly check him out as he pants softly. Then, he points at you.

“You’re the devil, you know that right?”

You laugh and roll your eyes.

“I wasn’t trying to seduce you.”

“Are you trying now?”

You gnaw on your lip and eye his crotch again lazily. Then you shrug.

“Not particularly.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Look at how you’re dressed.”

“I didn’t dress to impress anyone today, Binnie. Who would even see it? Look at me, why would I wear ratty underwear and a sweaty sports bra if I was trying to look sexy? I’ve been a good girl, you’ve been the bad boy thinking dirty thoughts.”

You emphasize your statement by propping your legs up and spreading them open. He shivers and takes in the clear view of your scantily clad figure.

“y/n,” He says seriously, “I need to know before we go any further if you want this? I’ll stop the moment you ask, I promise, but I want to know before I do something stupid if you even want to keep this going or if you’re just teasing me. Because I… really want you, and I think I’m gonna lose it if we keep this up for much longer.”

You smile and respond softly.

“I trust you, Binnie. I know you would never hurt me. So whatever you want to do, you can do it to me.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

“Take your panties off, please.”

You smirk at his hesitant order but obey it. You hook your thumbs into the elastic of your panties and slide them off, taking your time and keeping your legs spread as you complete the process. He watches you greedily, drinking in the sight of you as you pull your bra off next. You discard both garments to the floor carelessly, then dip your thumb in the cuff of your sock and begin pulling it down.

“No. Leave those on.”

You pull your hand away, fluttering your fingers playfully and tilting your head. He finally enters the room, crossing slowly and kicking the can away when he meets it. He stops at the end of the bed. You hold your breath as he stares down at you, and watch as he reaches down to caress your ankle then gently grasps your calf. You let out a shaky breath right before he drags you to the end of the bed by one leg. You gasp as the bottoms of your thighs come flush to his knees.

He meanders fixing your knee socks one at a time. He tugs them up to hug your thighs and runs his thumbs just under the bands to touch the soft skin beneath. You shudder when he looks at you, then grabs your other thigh and squeezes both of them. Your legs quiver as he holds them open and massages underneath your thighs.

“You’ll tell me if you want me to stop, yeah?”

You nod and he shakes his head.

“Say it.”

“I’ll tell you. But I don’t want you to stop. I really don’t want you to stop.”

Changbin falls to the floor on his knees and grips the tops of your socks, he then hikes your legs over his shoulders. You gasp and clench your fingers in the bedsheets when he dives in to lap at your pussy.  You throw your head back and release a pitchy moan as he slowly mouths at you. His fingers curl to stretch the fabric of your socks and your thighs hug his face as he prods you open with his tongue. 

Despite how ruined he looked and how wired he said he felt, he eats you out with an astounding amount of restraint. He rolls his tongue inside between filthy open-mouth kisses, eyes boring into yours as he makes obscenely wet noises. You are not sure if they come from his saliva or your arousal, but it makes your core ache nonetheless. You throw one hand against your forehead and slap the other down on the bed as he continues his tortuous pace.

“Changbin,” You whine, the last part of his name fading off in a squealing moan.

“Mhm,” He peppers a few kisses on the insides of your thighs and nuzzles his cheeks there gently, “What is it, baby?”

“Stop teasing…”

He punctuates his response with a long, deep, kiss right on your clit. You cry out in frustration as he smirks down at you.

“No.”

“Binnie…”

“You teased me, it’s my turn, honey.”

You huff and mewl as he resumes eating you out.

“But I… I didn’t…”

He groans, rumbling your heat as he does so. You buck your hips and moan as he begins picking up the pace, then breaks away. You whimper and glare at him as he licks his lips clean.

“Stop…”

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks breathlessly, “Or do you want me to give in to you?”

“Will you please just fuck me?”

His breath hitches at how soft and desperate your voice sounds. He shakes his head and brings his lips to your heat again.

“Why?” You cry, tears pricking as you feel yourself teetering on the edge of release.

“Shhh, patience, baby. Patience.”

You run your fingers through your hair and arch your back as you grind against his face. He finally grants you relief when he props his elbows on the bed, your thighs still straddle his face, and he pushes three of his fingers between your folds. He buries his face in your heat and fingerfucks you, continuing to do so until you climax. You can only make mindless, breathy, sounds as he stimulates you through your high. You grip the bed sheets and squeeze your thighs together on instinct, mind going blank as pleasure pulses endlessly through your core. He holds your thighs open and continues suckling at your clit, watching you fall apart from his tongue. 

Slowly, he stops and lowers you on the bed. He lets your legs fall to his sides and presses chaste kisses over your thighs and abdomen. Your legs twitch and you let out a wrecked moan as your pussy throbs. His hands roam sweetly over your thighs, petting and soothing you to relax.

“There you go. Good girl. Wasn’t that worth waiting for?”

You make a short, annoyed, sound.

“You’re such a fucking tease.”

He chuckles and stands up, unzipping his slacks and pulling them down. You let your head loll to the side as you watch him. His cock pitches a tent in his boxers, standing proudly as he shucks his pants off. He takes his time rolling the band of his boxers over his length, no doubt enjoying your attention. You bite your lip as he strips himself down then kneels beside you on the bed. You run your hand over his thigh and give a teasing squeeze, then look up for his reaction.

“Mhm.”

“Well?” He murmurs.

“You’re big.”

He snorts, his cock stands proud and drips precum as he moves over you.

“Yeah. It’s a pain.”

“Not for me.”

“Oh? You can take a big dick right now?”

He taps his fingers against your pussy and chuckles when you whine and roll away. You glare over your shoulder as he rubs your hip.

“You’re still too sensitive, baby.”

“And whose fault is that?”

He rolls his eyes.

“My fault for giving you an amazing orgasm, I guess.”

“Yeah, how are you going to get your dick wet now? Stupid.”

His cock jumps and he groans softly at your chiding.

“I’m not.”

“You don’t want to fuck me?”

Your tone is more insecure than you wanted it to be, but there is no way to take it back now. Changbin’s eyes soften and he rolls you over to face him. His hand comes to cup your cheek as you avoid looking at him.

“Is that what I said?”

“No.”

“Right. Do you need to hear me say it?”

You nod shyly and he shoots you a soft smirk.

“I want you. I need you. You’re so beautiful.”

You laugh softly.

“Okay-”

“I want to make you feel loved. I want to take care of you.”

“Oh, so now you want to be romantic? What happened to the teasing and manhandling?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Well, that was when I was hungry, baby. I’m not thinking straight until I’ve had my fill.”

He leans down, hovering his lips over yours.

“Are you thinking straight now?” You murmur.

“No. You’re still making me crazy.”

You giggle and brush your nose against his.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“What are you gonna do about it?”

“Kiss you?”

You nod timidly. He chuckles as you both close the space between you and share a slow, sweet kiss. You sigh into his mouth as he pets your cheek with his thumb.

“What about now? What do you want me to do?” He asks.

“Fuck me?” 

“Hah… I don’t think you’re ready for that yet, baby.”

“Pretty big talk for a guy that got hard over socks.”

“Well. They are on you.”

“Shut up.”

You kiss again, a bit more heated. Changbin melts into your arms as you pull him closer and he grinds against the crease of your hip. You giggle as he moans and chases the friction a second time.

“Can’t fit your big dick in my pussy? Just gonna hump me like a dog instead?”

He groans and raises his hips up, his cock still hangs and drags over your abdomen.

“You’re so rude. I’m being so sweet to you.”

“Gonna cry about it?”

“Would that turn you on?”

You shrug and give a teasing grind against his thigh. He curses softly and drops his head.

“Don’t make me beg, I might really cry then,” You laugh and he whimpers, “Please?”

“Please what?”

“Touch me.”

You giggle and roll away for a moment to grab lotion from your bedside drawer. When you turn back he shoves his face into the crook of your neck and lets out a shuddery breath onto your chest. You clutch his head close and kiss his forehead as he props his leg over yours. You lube your fingers then slip them between your bodies and around his length. He jerks his hips impatiently as you stroke him slowly.

“y/n…”

“Yes, baby?”

“F-Fuck…”

“You like that?”

“Mh-hm.”

He pants and pulls you closer as you work your hand around him. He curses and throws his head back to gaze up at you. Your touch slows as you watch his lips part in a small whimper.

“Please,” He breathes, “I’m so close.”

“You’ve been such a good boy.”

He nods and cries out in frustration as you slide your hand up his abdomen. You scratch your nails over his chest and gently direct him.

“Wanna come? Go ahead, Binnie. I want to see you touch yourself.”

He makes a choked noise and leans up to brace himself over you.

“That’s not fair,” He takes a shuddery breath, “I helped you.”

“I am helping,” You pout, “What? Are you saying you can’t get off? This isn’t enough for you?”

He looks down as you dip your fingers between your legs and play with your clit. He curses at the soft sounds that escape your lips. He steals another kiss and slowly begins stroking himself over you. You giggle and murmur quiet encouragement against his lips as you lazily pleasure yourself.

“Wanna come, Binnie? Wanna come on my pussy?”

“Y-es…”

He kisses you again, hard, as his movements become faster and uncoordinated. You cup his cheek and allow the fingers between your legs to graze absentmindedly over your sex. He slowly breaks away and gazes into your eyes as he works himself to release. His eyes fall shut and he groans your name.

“Come on, baby. You’re almost there.”

“Fuck,” He gasps.

He jerks himself through his climax, moaning desperately as he spills his cum over you. You watch his expression intently as milky streaks fall over your abdomen and crotch. You glance down and spread the sticky substance between your fingers, then look back at him. He watches you through fluttering lashes and pants into the shared air. Then, he smirks and leans down to share a wet kiss. When you part he kisses your cheek then collapses on top of you, nuzzling your neck.

“I love you.”

You scoff.

“I make you jerk off to me once and that’s all it takes for you to fall in love? You’re pathetic.”

He whines in protest.

“I loved you before that, bitch. And, I’ve jerked off to you many times-”

“Ugh, you freak…” You respond with no animosity.

He laughs breathlessly and heaves a tired sigh. “I mean it. And not just the masturbating part.”

You snort and listen to his labored breath slow then settle into a tranquil rhythm before breaking the silence.

“I know. I love you too. Even if you get turned on by socks.”

Changbin laughs and squishes his face against your cheek. You turn your head and press a loving kiss to the bridge of his nose.

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” You mumble before granting him another kiss.

“Mhm… I will… later.”

You gasp as he goes to pull you closer and gently keep him at an arm’s length.

“Ah, I’m dirty.”

“Yeah, you are.”

You laugh then make a disgusted noise as he pulls your hips together and kisses your neck. You melt into his arms and let him cradle your head to his chest. You sigh and nose sleepily at his shoulder.

“You better clean me up.”

“M’yeah…”

“M’serious…”

“Mh-hm…”

You relax and doze off embracing each other.

You wake again hours later. No light peeks in from the window, the only thing illuminating your room is your desktop screen. The red numbers of the 24-hour clock beside your bed tell you that it is midnight. You fight your way out from where you are tightly tucked into bed. Changbin’s shirt covers your figure as you sit up then slip out of bed. The shirt falls just above the top of your knee socks, leaving a sliver of skin peeking out. You finally notice Changbin, seated in your gaming chair and just wearing your headphones and his boxers, focused on the game playing in front of him. He has cleaned up the desk and his jacket is folded neatly over the back of the chair. You watch in silence then tiptoe over as the match finishes.

“What are you doing?”

He jumps and throws his hand over his chest as he looks at you.

“y/n!”

“Why are you playing my game?”

“... No reason.”

You take the mouse from him before he can queue and open your profile. He smiles sheepishly when you gape at your stats.

“You brought me up five levels?”

“Did I?”

“I didn’t know you could play.”

“What, you really think Felix leveled up all by himself?”

You blink as you process his words then grin and fall into his lap. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss his cheek.

“Thank youuu.”

“Don’t thank me, just get better so you don’t have to play so much.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault! All my teammates suck.”

“Mhm, that’s what they all say.”

You roll your eyes and rest your head on his chest.

“Still, I appreciate it.”

“Do you?”

“Mhm.”

“Wanna show me how much you appreciate it?”

You smirk.

“Yeah. What do you want me to do?”

His thumb glides down your clothed leg then back up again.

“You don’t have to do anything, baby.”

“I don’t?”

“I’ll just let you have this seat and then I’ll take care of the rest.”

You stand and watch him rise then turn to fall to his knees as you fall back in the chair. He smirks and pushes his shirt up out of the way, then draws your legs over his shoulders.

[exquisiteserotonin]

Ternion

Word count: 3.3K

Pairing: Young Mr. Ben SNL(as a TA, Grad Assistant)xFemale ReaderxProfessor Jonathan Levy Scenes From a Marriage

Rating: E! For explicit (18+ only, MDNI)

Warnings: Threesome, Power Imbalance, Brat Taming, Oral Sex (F! Receiving), somewhat degrading actions

Summary: Your friend and fellow graduate assistant Ben asks you to come over to his place for help with another task that your overbearing advising professor, Jonathan Levy, has dumped on the both of you.

A/N: I don’t typically subscribe to the whole professor student thing, but this was begging to be written and I hope this means I am out of my funk and my damn season of writer’s block is over. I hope you enjoy and as always reblog, comment, engage! I would love to hear from you!

And to my sluts thank you as always for giving me your magic! @magpiepillsjunior @magpiepills @youandmeand5bucks @legendary-pink-dot @pink-whiskey-woman @redhotkitchen @arcanefox207 @for-a-longlongtime

Ternion

Ternion: a group of three, a triad; a section of a paper of book containing three double leaves or twelve pages

Your eyes were beginning to glaze over as you stared at your laptop screen. It was another long afternoon of compiling participant demographics and data from your advising professor’s study in your closet of an office. You closed your laptop a little harder than you should have as you began to pack up for the day. The parking lot behind your building was nearly empty, most students having left for the day. As you drove home, you had visions of cozying up on the couch with your blanket, drinking an adult beverage, and binge watching your favorite tv show.

You were only a few miles from your house, when the infotainment screen in your car flashed with a familiar contact: Ben, your office mate and fellow graduate assistant. Deliberation coursed through the pads of your fingertips and against your better judgment you answered.

“Hey Ben, what’s up?”

“Hey,” his voice echoed with a hesitancy, “Professor Levy asked me a for a favor and I—“

“Are you serious, Ben?” You groaned in exasperation. “This is such bullshit. ”

“I know, I know—I hate to ask but would you come over and help me out?”

Say no. Say no. Say no, your brain said on repeat. Desperation wafted from his hushed voice in a way that immediately unlocked your kindness. You just knew he was pouting, running his hands through his chocolate brown hair while somehow making his already big eyes even bigger, like glassy orbs of whiskey on ice: against your silent protests that he NOT be so easy to say yes to. But aside from that he was also the kind of colleague who’d help you out in a pinch…and too damn attractive for his own good. It certainly made having him as your office mate interesting and frustrating at times.

You gripped the steering wheel before announcing your decision.

“Well, I was legitimately on my way home,” you replied with a deliberately loud sigh. “But yeah, sure.”

It was a bitch move, you knew, but you needed your displeasure to be known. A small part of you felt bad about being so vocal with your frustration. It wasn’t Ben’s fault, but he needed to know the inconvenience of it all. You would not be at your professor’s beck and call. Especially on a goddamn Friday night.

“Just give me some time to head over,” you huffed and added, “I can’t be over there in a snap like Professor Levy would want.

“Hey now,” Ben spoke in a firm whisper that somehow still held a hint of kindness despite your bite, “don’t shoot the messenger.”

You turned the car around and headed to Ben’s house. You found parking on the street and walked up the stairs to the door of his small Brownstone. You pushed the doorbell and found yourself brushing your hands through your waves and cautiously smelling yourself.

Passable. You thought to yourself.

Then he answered the door, emerging in a snug navy blue v-neck and loose gray sweatpants slung low on his narrow hips. A hint of skin teased you between the hem of his shirt and the elastic of his pants. They held onto his hips for dear life with nothing but the insurance of a haphazardly tied drawstring. You nearly whimpered at the sight of him.

What a fucking tease. Get a hold yourself, woman.

You breezed through his door without a word, trying to quell your craving and channel it to the frustration you felt with your advising professor. This was his fault anyway.

“Um…hello to you, too,” he greeted.

Your hands were placed firmly on your hips when you turned back to face him. One of his brows was cocked at you, already waiting for another snarky response. You couldn’t help but pout back at him. He knew you too well.

“Just like him to not give you a weekend off,” you huffed.

“You don‘t even know what I‘m going to ask you,” his voice was low and sterner than you had ever heard before. “I‘m starting to think you like a little fight.“

The way his eyes bore into you was so deep, it was nearly a glare. He held his chin up in the slightest way, arrogant enough that it demanded your attention to his strong neck. It wasn’t long before you felt tiny sparks of electricity traveling over every inch of skin of your body. It didn’t help that he stood with his hips pushed forward in the most arrogant and un-Ben-like way.

“Wow, if only you could give a little bit of that attitude back to Professor Levy,” you said with some bite and unconstrained breathiness.

Conveying the facade of confidence was important. Especially in situations like this.

Ben stepped forward, his shirt and sweatpants clinging against his body in exactly the right way.

“You’re only proving me right,” he purred, now only inches from you.

Do not moan. Do not moan. Do not moan.

“Just give her what we know she needs, Ben,” you heard a polished voice command from the shadows of another room.

A different kind of heat crept over your face and neck after hearing the familiar voice.

What were the chances?

You looked towards the shadows to see Professor Levy swaggering towards you. He pushed forward a few steps, placing his hands in his trousers pockets before leaning against the wall to watch you. His eyes were low and piercing and he licked his lips that rested beneath his salt and pepper beard.

“Of course he’s here,” it came out as the repressed moan you were fighting against.

Professor Levy nodded towards Ben in acknowledgment of some kind of unspoken agreement. Faster than you could think or speak, Ben pulled your body tightly against his, grinding against you as he pressed his lips to yours in a hungry and greedy kiss.

You didn’t expect for Ben’s lips to feel as soft as they did. They were even softer when he parted yours with a firm lick of his tongue. The heat rose within you as his large hands wrapped around your waist, finding your skin beneath your shirt as he pressed your bodies even closer together. With every move he demanded you feel every twitch of his cock for you.

“W—wait!” You gasped, pushing him from you.

Your eyes moved from Ben to Professor Levy, a strange mix of unbridled desire and anxiousness stirring in the lowest part of your stomach. Ben’s thick fingers managed to keep a possessive grip on your hips that you didn’t brush away, despite the way your brain was spinning in want of answers.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You demanded of both of them.

The two men shared another knowing look that stoked the flame of your frustration. Professor Levy raised an eyebrow before removing his glasses and wiping them on a cloth he pulled from his shirt pocket. You couldn’t help but keep your eyes on him as he strutted towards you, his fingers weaving through the gunmetal ringlets of his hair. You rolled your eyes with disdain for his insufferable ways of working, but found yourself burning from your center with intrigue at what those fingers might be able to work on you.

“Always with the snark,” your professor directed the words towards Ben who responded with a shrug and a smirk.

“You will not talk about me like I’m not in the room,” you paused, turning to him and holding your eyes directly to his, “Jonathan.”

He one more large stride forward until he, too, was inches from you.

“I think you mean professor,” he commanded, continuing to advance on you until you backed into Ben.

A moan escaped you as Ben stood like a wall behind you. With your chest heaving up and down, Professor Levy brushed a strand of hair from your face with his long, lithe fingers. Yet they didn‘t stop there. The heat continued to rise from the three of you as the professor‘s hand journeyed down the curve of your body until they met Ben‘s at your hip. They shared a look of longing before turning that desire towards you. And in the strangest turn of events, the professor’s lips were on yours with his tongue paying adoration to your pouty lower lip.

Unable to contain the desire that trembled within, you let out a long, loud whimper as Professor Levy gently trapped your lower lip with his teeth. You already thought the feeling of Ben’s throbbing cock at your lower back was enough to drive you mad, but somehow you knew you were going to be pushed to your limit the moment Professor Levy took your hand to his pants until he pushed your palm to feel him twitch with desire for you.

The part of your brain that held your common sense screamed at you, demanding you not give him the satisfaction. But every other part of it, along with every part of your body, beckoned you to give in. The feeling of Ben’s massive hand moving to the front of your waist was followed by his thick fingers inching towards the front of your jeans. You couldn’t help but pant as you felt his hot breath brush the back of your neck.

“You can’t tell me that this isn’t better than the fight you put up,” Ben’s voice came to your ear in a low growl.

He wasn’t wrong. But ever true to yourself, you bit your lip and replied with a little extra spice, “I think that remains to be seen.”

Your words made Ben snap his hips forward against you with a gravelly moan. Within Professor Levy’s mahogany eyes you could see from his heavy-lidded stare the desire the two men held for each other while searching for their reason to include you.

Professor Levy lifted your chin with a push of two strong fingers, silently ordering you to look squarely into his bespectacled eyes before he spoke, “You definitely need to be taught a lesson.”

You found yourself following him to Ben’s large leather couch, with Ben close behind you, his fingers intertwined in yours. Professor Levy took his place first like a king warming his throne. He smirked as he taunted you by unbuttoning his shirt. He manipulated each button with skillful fingers until he slipped it off and let it fall to the living room floor. He spread his legs wide as he sat, smoothing his hands over the soft fabric of pants that covered his strong thighs.

Ben nibbled playfully at your neck and then your ear with desperate and needy breaths. His warm hands slowly slid beneath your shirt, moving upwards until he massaged your breasts with paws massive enough that they made them feel small. Before you could even think your shirt was gone followed by your bra.

Professor Levy beckoned you to him as he rubbed his thighs, “Come sit here…now.”

This time, you submitted without a fight, feeling the way your skin nearly melted into his as you let your back rest against his chest. His beard tickled the skin of your ear as he licked at the bottom of it. His supple fingertips reached under your arms until they found the altar of your nipples. You rolled back against him as he tortuously began to caress, flick, and pinch them even slower and more skillfully than he had with the buttons of his shirt.

“Ben,” your professor called to your colleague, friend…inevitable lover, “come here.”

You dragged your nails along the waist of his low slung sweatpants while he lifted his shirt over his head. You kept your fingers just above his waistband while he leaned over the couch towards you and your professor. It was mesmerizing to watch how these two beautiful men looked at each other with such intimacy and longing as you lay between them. Your professor took a hand from your nipples and brought it possessively to the back of Ben’s neck, pulling his face to his before licking his bottom lip and pressing onto his mouth for a slow, sensuous kiss.

“Fuck.”

There were no other words you had that could possibly convey the carnal state of desire you had fallen into. Hungrily, you pulled at the drawstrings of Ben’s sweatpants before reaching your hand to the waistband. In a lightning fast move, your professor pulled it away, squeezing your fingers between his.

“Tsk, tsk, not without my express permission,” Professor Levy scolded in a low, buttery whisper.

Slowly, Ben positioned himself at your legs, his hands caressing your waist until he began rubbing your professor’s thighs with you. Professor Levy grabbed Ben’s hand and squeezed it before lowering his eyes to him.

He spoke with unwavering confidence coating every word as he gave Ben a command that sent shivers spiraling outward from your wet center.

“Taste her.”

The wanton darkness that overcame Ben’s eyes and the smirk that curled the corner of his upper lip coaxed your heart and your pussy to throb even more than you anticipated. Your professor’s demand spurred Ben to pull off your jeans and underwear even faster than you could put any thoughts together. You sat naked between the two men in so many more ways than you’d imagined you ever would be. Through your dizzying thoughts, Ben placed a firm grip on your legs pressing them a part.

Any words you thought you could form in your head only came out in quick, pulsing gasps. An unbridled heat spread all over your body as you felt Ben’s broad fingers handle your outer lips until they began to line themselves up at your slit.

“Jonathan, she’s so fucking wet,” his voice was hushed and his breath was so hot against your pussy.

Professor Levy’s response came out in a guttural moan that met your body by way of hands continuing to work on your nipples. The theme of surprise continued as your professor and Ben played off one another in ways that only happened when two people knew each other beyond words. Ben’s nose pressed into your mound as he licked a slow, deep stripe up your center.

“Oh my god,” You cried, finding your professor’s hand with a desperate grasp as Ben began working on your pussy with slow, luxurious and hungry swirls until he moved into a varied and unexpected pace that had you shaking, writhing, and bucking against his every move. Each time his tongue worked on you, he pushed you to the very edge of ecstasy over and over and over again.

He moved his worship to your clit and pressed his face and tongue deeper into you, eliciting a cry from you that filled the room, “Jesus, Ben, fuck oh my—Professor!!”

You pressed one hand through Ben’s waves and gripped Professor Levy’s thigh while riding your high.

“Ben, tell me what she tastes like.”

He lifted his face from your center, lips and chin dripping with your spend.

“Like heaven.”

Ben looked up at you, his eyes glassy with passion and also shining with the gleam of a man hungry for more. The sight of him caused you to whimper. You had never studied his face this way before even though you shared a small space together almost daily. The broad bridge of his nose sloped downward and he breathed you in with a playful smirk before adorning your outer lips with a delicate kiss. You thread your fingers through the disheveled locks of his hair, smiling back at him until your lips opened once more as he teased you with more caresses of his fingers.

“He’s good isn’t he?” Professor Levy growled into your ear.

Your brain was spinning, your body shaking in anticipation of what was to come next. Professor Levy reached an arm over your body, maneuvering his hand towards your neck and without missing a beat, Ben pressed his mouth onto you again sucking at your lips before he dipped his tongue into you again. He continued to venerate every fold with abandon, moaning with each taste he had of you like it were the best meal he’d ever had. You didn’t think it could get any better, especially with the pressure of your professor’s hand at your neck matching the intensity of each manipulation of Ben’s tongue.

And then…

One…two of his broad fingers reached into you, curling into your tight wet pussy while his tongue paid particular devotion to your clit.

“Ah, oh my god, fuck!” You came crying, writhing, and losing any more words the tighter your professor’s grip became.

Ben’s voice vibrated against you with a low, carnal laugh as you felt the slick sensation spill from your center onto the leather beneath you. He then pressed his hands lightly at your lower belly, causing you to shudder with even more aftershocks from your orgasm. You worked through catching your breath and looked down at him. The face he greeted you with as you caressed his wavy locks was that of a bold and satisfied man who knew he could do that to you again.

Ben rose up from the floor and leaned forward until his face was close to yours. You relaxed and leaned your head back against your professor’s as he eased his hold at your neck. In an unexpected moment of tenderness, Professor Levy threaded his fingers between yours.

Ben’s eyes shined as he looked toward you and then your professor. The simultaneously tender and sensual intimacy they shared was amplified in this quiet moment. It felt so private that you were almost embarrassed by having witnessed it.

“Wanna have a taste?” Ben asked as he pressed his thumb still damp from you to Professor Levy’s bottom lip.

Your professor took it, sucking at the tip savoring the taste of you on Ben’s skin. Heavy-lidded with lust, Professor Levy let go of Ben’s thumb and then licked his lips.

“Mmm, sweet,” he murmured with a seductive and low rumble coming from the back of his throat.

Ben stood up and lifted his chin with a proud smirk. He walked to what you assumed was his bedroom and then turned around to lean against the doorway. The way he leaned his elbow above him and his other hand resting at his hip demanded you pay attention to his defined torso. The waistband of his sweatpants sat so low that your eyes had no choice but to travel down the peppering of brown hair that led to the thick treasure you were becoming so desperate for.

A light squeeze of your thighs by your professor was your signal to stand. He walked around you and used his eyes to study every curve of your body. A light touch of his fingers beneath your chin had you breathing hard again as his gaze now demanded that you give him your own. The breath from his mouth danced upon your lips. Yet instead of taking you in for a kiss, he turned from you with his hands in his pockets. You stood naked before both men watching you, waiting for you, bodies reaching for you from a doorway to a room and to a deed that you could never really come back from.

And the decision was clear. There was no way in hell you could turn back now.

You stepped forward. The old, hardwood floors creaked beneath your feet.

“Wait,” Professor Levy called out.

You closed your eyes with a sharp intake of breath and you stopped as he had demanded. Your breath quivered as you waited for what they had in store for you.

He shared another look with Ben, his eyes lowering and the brown of them becoming devilish and dark.

“Get on your knees and crawl.”

[randomthefox]

"Rings don't actually exist. They're only for gameplay mechanics"

Meanwhile there are multiple characters who have rings on their person at all times

https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/sonic/images/5/59/Sonic_Art_Assets_DVD_-_Amy_-_1.png/revision/latest?cb=20230731191523

https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/sonic/images/1/15/Sonic_Art_Assets_DVD_-_Shadow_The_Hedgehog_-_4.png/revision/latest?cb=20230731210959

https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/sonic/images/7/75/Shahra.png/revision/latest?cb=20150622115758

https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/sonic/images/e/e4/Ariem.png/revision/latest?cb=20231102022111

There's stuff like Sonic having one or multiple rings on his person throughout the majority of Secret Rings

https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/sonic/images/b/b2/Sasr21.PNG/revision/latest?cb=20220507181503

https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/sonic/images/1/10/Darkspine_Sonic.PNG/revision/latest?cb=20220507180106

https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/sonic/images/4/4c/SonicandtheSecretRingsBlueRing.png/revision/latest?cb=20210414221919

In SA2 Sonic and Shadow discuss rings and the necessity of collecting them to maintain their super forms

Rings absolutely exist within the setting. Anyone who says otherwise is being willingly obtuse for no reason.

Now I have to admit, I am not entirely unsympathetic to the perspective that "rings do not exist diegetically in Sonic, they're just for gameplay." I was aggressive in my response to wg_alen but that's because I could smell the stink of "Ian Flynn said so" on this tweet.

Seriously, the "as silly as that sounds" just REEKS of "Ian Flynn said rings aren't canon in a podcast and what he says goes" doesn't it?

For people who are actually using their brains instead of thoughtlessly regurgitating whatever Ian Flynn tells them to think, and who have independently came to the reasoned position that the rings in Sonic are just for gameplay and don't "actually" exist; I understand. Because I used to be the same way. I also used to believe that the rings were just a gameplay mechanism and we weren't supposed to interpret their existence as literal within the world of Sonic. Same with the springs and bounce pads. They're just there because of video game mechanics, the characters in the world of Sonic do not actually interact with them.

But eventually I had to face up to the cold hard facts that no, the rings absolutely 100% exist within the world of Sonic. They are referred to directly and specifically in dialog multiple times across several games, and are used as currency in both Sonic Adventure's Casinopolis and in Sonic Unleashed for exchange for goods at store fronts. The rings are used as currency and as a way of providing "energy" for the cast and setting. They absolutely exist diegetically in universe.

Now perhaps the rings do not function LITERALLY the same way they do in the realm of gameplay. We never see rings fly out of characters upon taking a hit in any cutscenes for example. As recently as Shadow Generations, Shadow takes a homing attack from Sonic and just hits the mat. No rings fly out of him. And in the games like Sonic Adventure 1 and 2 where you can have boss fight against other playable characters, their damage threshold is just represented like a hit counter or life meter. Collecting rings does not refill their hit points, and if they collected a ring from the boss arena and then take a final hit which drains their hit points the boss fight will end even while the rings they collected fall out of them meaning they should have one extra hit to take by gameplay logic.

So the way the rings provide additional hits/mistake allowances is just gameplay mechanics which shouldn't be taken literally. But the rings themselves definitely exist, and have value both as a unit of currency and as a means of providing energy. This cannot be denied. And if some dumbass comic book writer is saying that should be denied, then that is just further proof that he's always always always wrong about Sonic and should never ever ever be listened to about anything ever.

[kyoness]

One Word, Why

Chapter 2 of a silent cry

WC:699

Warnings: mental breakdown, slight anxiety?

Any tips for a new writer are appreciated!!

Three letters dwelled in your curious mind, w, h, and y. You never understood why you cared so much. You had some ideas at first, nevertheless none of them stuck with you. Even going as far to ask yourself if you loved Satoru Gojo, no, you couldn't have.

That wasn't the only why in your conscious. Why did Suguru snap, more importantly why didn't he tell Gojo, Shoko, or you. Did he really think you wouldn't be there for him? That thought made a familiar gaping hole in your stomach of pure sickness and distress. One of the only people you made an effort to talk to, that you trusted with your life, didn't trust you.

Sitting on your black leather padded chair at your birch desk in your cold, colorless, still, office. You found salty tears forming in your exhausted eyes. You haven't been able to sit down and reflect on everything thats going on around you, you've been worrying too much about other people, especially him. You sniffle, your quiet tears turning into muffled sobs. The reality of his death hit you at last. You

You envisioned Suguru, when you met, how his man bun was never not messy. You rememberd his random strand of hair he called a bang that hung on his tan forehead. How his dark eyes always seemed annoyed and loving at his two closet friends, Shoko and Gojo. Recalling how he would try to involve you in their shenanigans, you politely declined. You weren't special enough to hang out with the Gojo Satoru, Shoko Leri and the Geto Suguru.

That one time, where he fell flat on his face in front of a girl he "wasn't" trying to impress. When he saved your life from curse,  or even when he came up to you in public, after everything that happened. Your chest tightened, the air around the somber office was now light. You allowed yourself to cry in your trembling arms, lightly reciting the name of your late friend. No one was in this hallway with you, none of the rooms were accompanied by anyone, you were alone. Just as you've always been, nobody would try to see you, that was your job.

However, someone heard you. Satoru Gojo stiffened in front of the bark door that lead into your office, listening. The papers in his hand loosening. He's never been one to comfort, let alone have someone cry practically in front of him. Maybe from fear of a curse, but this was different you were different. Because the name that left your despaired lips, was his best friend Suguru.

Normally, he wouldn't care for someone who was a mere acquaintance. Though, despite little conversations, your group grew up together. Him, Suguru, Shoko, Nanami, Haibara, and you. You were also important to Suguru, which made him soften towards you. Right?

He raised his hand to the door knob but faltered. What would he say to you? To be honest, he just wants to drop off these papers and leave. He sighed in frustration, cursing the higher ups who forced him to drop these off and started to walk away. Suddenly, the door he just walked away from creaked open. A girl with downcast,beautiful, e/c eyes locked eyes with him.

"Gojo?" You quietly questioned with a somber pitch, stepping out of the doorframe.

The way your reddened eyes followed his bandages with such gentleness, the way his last name left your mouth with such kindness that he's never received before, that was beyond explaining. His eyes widened underneath his wrap, almost unthinking as he lifts his pointer finger to the top of his eye cover and unravels it. Revealing his still dull eyes, almost as a silent cry for you to notice.

"You..okay?"  The words that he's only ever said sincere to one other person, came out almost... naturally towards you, like he was destined to say them

Then Gojo Satoru found himself pondering, why?

[ithaquakisser]

It took me hours to think but What if WHAHJA E Ithaqua X reader fic where the reader had a nightmare n he comforts or smth 😭

I don’t mind if it’s established relationship or friends to lovers or Can be interpreted platonic or romantic Btw! :3

Teehee⭐️

With You

Synopsis; Ithaqua comforts you after a nightmare.

CW; Asphyxiation, depictions of anxiety

WC; ≈893

Note; I had a hard time writing this one because I was suddenly hit with writer's block. This is a short piece I hope this is okay! Enjoy! 🫶

These endless nights of terror were everlasting.

You huffed and puffed as you sprinted down the seemingly everlasting halls of the manor. An ominous figure stalked after each step you took, leering through the halls. Its face appeared to be distorted, incomprehensible. Piercing silver orbs burnt into the back of your head, leering over you. Exuding feelings of disconcertment as it stared straight through you, long, slender arms reaching out to you as if it yearned for an embrace.

Your heart hammered vigorously against the confines of your ribcage as you panted heavily. You dare not look back. Not even once. The figure called out your name repeatedly, low groans emitting from it as it spoke your name like a chant. “...Y/N…” The tall silhouette croaked. You halted in your tracks, your heart skipping a beat, for you could not bring yourself to move a single limb.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins, your heartbeat battered rapidly in your ears. Your breathing became labored as your heart threatened to burst out of your chest. The willowy figure approached you and towered over your small frame. Its eyes peering into yours, lengthy and slender fingers enveloping your neck. Tears of dread streamed down your face as the figure sunk its nails into your throat. You cried for help, unable to utter a single word. You gasped for air, struggling under the grasp of the towering silhouette.

You tightly squeezed your eyes shut whilst you wept, the inky silhouette pressed down onto your throat and tightened its grasp. You choked out pitiful attempts of cries, struggling under its grip. “Help… Me…” You yawped, gasping for the slightest bit of air. Hot tears spilled from the corners of your eyes and you pleaded. Slim fingers tightly wrapped around your throat only grew tighter with each passing moment, you cried and begged pathetically.

You awoke with a gasp to a sweet, gentle nudge and the serene voice of your lover. With a hand on your chest, you panted. Your flushed face was soaked with salty teardrops. Ithaqua tenderly wiped away your tears with the pad of his thumb as you sobbed. “Y/N… breathe.” He whispered as he sat beside you, offering his hand out to you.

You took in a deep breath as you hesitantly placed your hand over his, you fixed your e/c eyes on his next move. Gently, he ran his thumb over the palm of your hand. He traced miscellaneous symbols for a brief amount of time. With time, your breathing slowed. Your heart meeting with peace once more. His almond-shaped eyes locked with yours, his lips curling into a fond smile.

“Do you feel my touch?” Asked the hunter. You nodded in response as he traced hearts on your hand. “Good.” He murmured. “Your hands are cold…” You remarked. His face shone a faint scarlet hue upon your remark as he averted his eyes from yours. “I should be the one protesting. You woke me up after all.”

“How so?” “You kicked me. Twice.” He deadpanned. “S...Sorry…” You muttered, lowering your head in shame. Ithaqua placed a hand on your cheek and traced a line along your cheekbone, his eyes fixated on yours as he lifted your chin. “Don’t apologize.” “I disturbed you though…” “Don’t you fret. There is no need to. What matters is that you’re okay.” He reassured, placing a tender kiss on your forehead.

Both of your hands intertwined, his onyx eyes glistened under the moonlight as he proceeded to trace the stars on your palm. His soothing touch brought peace to your heart as you began to relax. “I too was tormented by night terrors when I was a child.” He spoke, lowering his gaze. “As a way to calm me down, mother would take my small hands into hers and caress them.”

"It'd... always calm me down. The moment she took my hands into hers, I felt at ease." His eyes linked with yours as he raised your hand to his lips, gently placing a kiss on your knuckle. "Your mother certainly is an angel." The hunter smiled sweetly as he held your hand in his. "She was... Definitely." He murmured. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot more at ease." You replied breathily. "I mustn't stay here for too long. I'm certain you'd be reprimanded for having me here." "The baron does not need to know. After all, it's merely one night." Ithaqua replied as he pulled you into a warm embrace. You melted into his touch and rested your head on his chest. The soothing sound of his heartbeat echoed into your ears, pounding in serenity against his chest under your presence.

"Would it be okay of me to stay the night?" You questioned, furrowing your eyebrows in worry. "There's no need to fret. You were planning to after all were you not? You had fallen asleep prior." You let out a sigh as you proceeded to wrap your arms around his waist. "I suppose you are right..."

"Will you be alright?" Inquired Ithaqua as he ran a hand through your hair, twirling a strand between his fingers. "With you here, I'll always be okay." The male beamed in response, lightly resting his chin on your head as he held you in his arms. Rays of moonlight shone upon the two of you as you slipped into slumber.

"Rest well, Y/N."

[thrawns-babygirl]

Insufferable Pt 2 (Crosshair x F!Reader)

Writers block is killing me lmaoooo so I decided to make a part 2 to one of my first fics i ever wrote because its been sitting in my drafts for way too long. Hope Yall enjoy, let me know what you think. Likes, Reblogs and Replies fuel me so pls dont hold back. Thinking of writing a part 3 but idk yet lol

I proofread it but im tired as hell so let me know if i missed anything

Rating: (E (18+) Warnings: Gags, Unprotected PiV, Creampie, Oral (F!Receiving), mentions of drawing blood Word Count: 2600+

Masterlist

It’s been weeks since the Batch landed on Kamino. Weeks of tests and poking and prodding and nothing to do but wait for orders to come in. It’s been a while since the batch had been on Kamino for this long in between missions and tensions were running high. Hunter had snapped at Wrecker, Tech had snapped at Hunter, Wrecker was trying to keep his head down and Crosshair? Crosshair was being the most unbearable of them all.

The Batch were used to his clipped replies and scathing remarks by now, but at the moment it’s like he was trying extra hard to be a snarky prick and the others were sick of it. They had gotten a brief reprieve when Crosshair was called down to the shooting range for an evaluation by Nala Se and a couple of other doctors and scientists but according to Tech’s findings in the Kaminoan data base he performed ‘sub-optimally’ and was sent to medical for an examination.

The Batch shared withering stares, knowing that if Crosshair was being intolerable now then the results of todays evaluations were only going to make the sniper ten times worse to deal with. A new mission could not come soon enough.

Crosshair was stalking down the halls of Kamino, and if looks could kill, any reg that he passed would have dropped dead had he been brave enough to make eye contact with the furious sniper. He was seething to himself as his legs dragged him down to the medical wing, towards the one person he wanted to see less than anyone else on this maker forsaken planet at the moment, you.

Ever since he made the grave mistake of giving in to his sordid desires with you on his mind, he could barely look at you, not that the two of you had a good relationship to begin with, but now it was worse.

Any time he looked at you he would be reminded of how he debased himself to the thought of you. How he couldn’t even control himself enough not to give you the smallest amount of power over him, and he hated it. The worst part? It wasn’t even the one time. After the metaphorical seal was broken, he couldn’t stop. Every night since he would bring himself to mind-blowing, leg shaking orgasms by his own hand in the ‘fresher, your name threatening to escape him in the form of strangled groans as he bites down on his fist to stifle his sounds. Those same nights he would wake up, panting, painfully hard as your form invaded even his subconscious.

He knew his brothers were on the receiving end of his short temper more than usual, but they had luckily chalked it up to their lack of action recently and being cooped up together in a tiny barracks on Kamino. He’s not sure how he would deal with it if they had any idea of the real reason he was so short tempered with them.

He’s shaken from his reverie as the door to your office slides open, he was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t even realise he was just standing outside your door. You look up at him, datapad in hand and give him a sickly-sweet smile. A brief look down at the pad in front of you shows the results from his lacklustre performance at the shooting range as well as some requests for certain medical examinations to see if the cause of his frustration is physical or mental.

He barges past you into your office without uttering a word and takes a seat in front of your desk.

“Well hello to you too Cross” you beam at him. It’s like you enjoy watching him suffer, like you derive some sick pleasure from watching him fail. He can’t stand it; he can’t stand you. So why is his cock reacting to your taunting smile? Why does he have to actively resist the urge to push you up against your desk and shut you up himself? He still doesn’t say a word, just glares at you while he pops a toothpick in his mouth.

“Just a couple of things today before I move your ungrateful behind onto a specialist, shed your armour and take your top off so I can draw some blood” He’s totally silent as he removes the top half of his armour and blacks, revealing the planes of his scarred chest. You quickly and painlessly draw some blood from his arm before running it through a machine to test his hormone levels and to test for any diseases.

“Have you been sexually active in the last 6 cycles?” You ask while looking down at the machine readout that’s coming up on your pad. The question startles him, he knows it’s standard, its not even the first time you’ve asked him, but while his traitorous cock is trapped against his body and his codpiece the question feels… different. He concedes that he can’t remain non-verbal the entire appointment and the sooner he gets through this the sooner he can… relieve himself.

“Yes” his reply is clipped, he’s still refusing to make eye contact, preferring to look around the sterile white room. You give a light snort, before looking up at him from your pad.

“Something funny?” he grits out at you, teeth clenching down on the toothpick in his mouth.

“Oh just with your sparkling personality I just wasn’t sure how lucky you were wooing the ladies, or men, no judgment, you’re just a little… how should I say this… abrasive?” the machine has finished uploading the data from his blood samples to your pad and you continue flicking through the results to see if there are any anomalies.

“I’m nicer to people who don’t piss me off Doc” he’s looking away again, out the small window near the back of your office, watching the ever-present Kamino rain. “Besides working for the GAR you get a lotta ladies hanging around bases looking to have some fun with a clone or two. But I’m sure you know all about that don’t you?” he turns to face you, a cocky smirk painting his features.

You balk, gripping your pad, brows furrowed as you look for something to say. He’s not wrong after all, you have had a rendezvous with a few clones in your time serving as a doctor on Kamino. It gets lonely and the donor was a very attractive man, so naturally things were bound to happen.

“Jealous Cross?” you’re still inputting the results of his blood test into the system, refusing to make eye contact as you try to recover from being called out.

“Not at all, why would I need some reg’s sloppy seconds when I’ve got lines of women ready to throw themselves at me and my ‘sparkling personality’ any time I’m off world” he finally has the upper-hand again and you’re scrambling to keep up. You simply decide on staying quiet while you gather the instruments required for the rest of the exams and will the rising blush away from your cheeks. “Out of the rest of your armour and on the bed” you grit out at him, still refusing to look him in the eye.

“Oh Doc, you gotta woo me a little better than that if you want me in your bed” you can hear the cocky smile in his voice breaking through over the clatter of his armour hitting the hard floor of your office as he follows your instructions and sits down on the cot in front of you. “If I wanted a cocky di’kut in my bed I’d ask any of the clones from Tango Squad to join me, not you, now lie down so we can get this over with and you can be a pain in your brother’s asses instead of mine” you move the scanner over him, adjusting the settings before running it over his whole body, watching the readouts closely searching for any abnormalities.

“Those shinies wouldn’t know how to please a woman if it hit them in the face” he drawls, eyes trained on your form leaning over his body. You let out another involuntary laugh “Oh and you would hotshot?” your eyes don’t leave the readout in front of you, if they did you would see the tent that Crosshair is pitching in his blacks as his eyes rake up and down your form.

Every single lewd thought the sniper has had while touching himself in the refresher coming to the surface now that you’re so close, the confirmation that you have indeed slept with regs making his blood boil. He could make you feel better than any of those regs could ever dream of, he would make your body sing for him, and he’s certain you would let him.

 “I would” he states simply and watches as a blush spreads its way up your neck to the tips of your ears, your throat bobs slightly as you swallow, and he knows he’s got you right where he wants you. You finish your scans, moving the machinery away and begin busying yourself with your datapad again. Without looking up you walk over to your office and punch in a code to the door panel locking it before walking back over to where Crosshair sits on the edge of the cot, leaning back with his hands planted on the fabric behind him, lets spread, rolling the toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other.

“Prove it then” you finally look up, placing your data pad on the desk.

“Now now Doc, who says I want to prove myself to you?” his voice dropping an octave as you saunter over to him. Your eyes land on the bulge caged by his blacks and you smirk up at him “Your body betrays you trooper, but if you don’t want to I have plenty of fine men on the other side of that door I can mmphh-” he silences you by slamming his lips against yours, his hands moving to your hips and pulling you against him as he runs his tongue along your lower lip, you open your mouth slightly and he slips his tongue inside, swallowing any sound that threatens to escape you.

You reluctantly break apart for air, panting slightly with kiss swollen lips as Crosshair stands up off the bed and slowly starts peeling your uniform pants and panties down your legs. “You talk too much Doc” he grunts out spinning you and placing your now naked ass on the bed that he was just occupying. “and what are you going to do abou-” you’re once again interrupted as Crosshair shoves your panties into your mouth and you look at him incredulously. “Much better” he growls as he lowers himself down to his knees, running his hands along your bare thighs before spreading them and gazing at your slick entrance.

“You’re already so kriffing wet doc, those regs mustn’t be treating you right if you’re already this soaked for me” you can feel the warm puffs of his breath fanning over your sensitive entrance as he talks. He looks up at you, not breaking eye contact as he licks a broad stripe up your cunt, swirling the muscle around your clit before diving in and eating you like a man starved.

Your groan is stifled by the fabric shoved in your mouth, saliva is threatening to spill around your lips as Cross laps at you. You close your eyes and lean your head back, indulging in the feeling of his tongue slipping inside you. You didn’t want to admit it but the clones you have been sleeping with have been somewhat lacklustre recently, with you often having to finish yourself off after they excused themselves back to their barracks. Tonight however, you can tell by the rapidly tightening coil in your stomach that that will not be an issue.

Cross groans into your cunt, and the vibrations of his voice send electricity shooting down your spine, winding the coil tighter. You open your eyes and glance down, the Sniper has freed himself from his blacks and his using his free hand to stroke his hard length vigorously. The sight sends you over the edge, your thighs wrap themselves around his head as all of your muscles tense and your orgasm washes over you and down onto his chin, your loud moans of his name muffled by the now soaked fabric still stuffed in your mouth.

Crosshair continues lapping at your juices, bringing you to overstimulation before extracting himself from your thighs and wiping your slick from his face. His smirk has evolved into a cocky grin as he stands and lines himself up with your entrance.

“You ready for the main course doc?” you nod vigorously as he runs the tip of his cock along your soaked entrance, teasing your clit before pushing forward enough for just the tip to slip inside only to pull it back out and continue teasing you.

You groan through your gag and tilt your hips upward hoping that he will get the hint and fuck you already. “Oh if only they could see you now, the high and mighty Doc just begging to be filled by a defective clone… if only they could see how much of a slut you are for my cock-” he punctuates his statement by finally slipping himself inside of you in a single swift thrust.

The feeling of your tight walls rips an uncharacteristically loud groan from the sniper, you felt divine, and after so long fantasizing about fucking you, he’s certain he’s going to bust early like some damn shiny losing his V card. He stays still for a moment, one hand gripping your thigh and the other reaching between the two of you to start toying with your already sensitive clit, causing your head to loll forward. Slowly, after acclimating to the way you stretch around his girth, he starts moving, his cock reaching perfectly inside to that sweet spot that has you rapidly approaching your second orgasm quicker than you anticipated.

You’re lucky your office is soundproofed, the loud moans that make it through your gag and the sound of his hips slapping against yours would paint any passer-by a very vivid picture of what exactly is going on behind closed doors. The drag of his length against your walls is heavenly, the tight circles he’s drawing against your clit with his fingers cause your muscles to clench around him, strangling his cock as your orgasm washes over you. You pant through your nose, squeezing your eyes shut as your peak engulfs you, loud moans of his name caught on the makeshift gag still stuffed in your mouth.

Placing both of his hands onto your hips and resting his head in the crook of your shoulder he chases his own peak, hips slamming into yours as he latches his mouth against your neck sucking a dark mark against your skin as his cock throbs inside of you, spurting ropes of hot cum into your abused pussy. Thrusting a few more times before stopping and resting his forehead against yours in a surprisingly intimate gesture.

You’re both panting, as he finally reaches up to remove the soaked fabric from your mouth. He slowly extracts himself from you, watching as his release starts spilling out of you onto the white bed beneath you and begins to redress. “I think I’ve proven my point doc; anything comes up on the scans let me know” he says as he continues clipping the hard plastoid of his armour into place. You nod, still somewhat at a loss for words as you watch him tuck your panties into a pouch on his belt. He gives you a three-finger salute before unlocking the door to your office and making a quick exit before you get a chance to say anything to him. Leaving you to redress alone and figure out what the fuck just happened.

@where-is-my-mind-tho @starborncyare @antishadow2021 @healingskywalker@crosshairlovebot

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How Amazon transformed the EU into a planned economy

Amazon is a perfect parable of enshittification, the process by which platforms first offer subsidies to end users until they’re locked in, then make life good for business customers at users’ expense, until they’re locked in, then claw back all the value they can for themselves, leaving just enough behind to keep the lock-in going.

In a new report for SOMO, Margarida Silva describes how the end-stage enshittification of Amazon is playing out in the EU, with Amazon repeating its US playbook of gouging the small businesses who have no choice but to use the platform in order to reach its locked-in customers, making European customers and European sellers poorer:

https://www.somo.nl/amazons-european-chokehold/

The mechanism for this isn’t a mystery. Amazon boasts about it! They call it their flywheel: first, customers are lured into the platform with low prices, especially through Prime, which requires pre-payment for a year’s shipping, which virtually guarantees that customers will start their shopping on Amazon. Because customers now start their buying on Amazon, sellers have to be there. The increased range of goods for sale on Amazon lures in more buyers, who lure in more sellers, with both sides holding each other hostage:

https://vimeo.com/739486256/00a0a7379a

This flywheel creates a vicious cycle, starving local retail so that customers can’t get what they need from brick-and-mortar shops, which funnels sellers into offering their goods for sale on Amazon. The less choice customers and sellers have about where they shop, the more Amazon can abuse both to pad its own bottom line.

There are 800,000 EU-based sellers on Amazon, and they have seen the junk-fees that Amazon charges them skyrocket, to the point where they have to raise prices or lose money on each sale. Amazon uses both tacit and explicit “Most Favored Nation” deals to hide these price-hikes. Under an MFN deal, sellers must not allow their goods to be sold at a lower price than Amazon’s — so when they raise prices to cover Amazon’s increasing fees, they raise them everywhere:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/25/greedflation/

It’s not hard to understand why Amazon would raise its fees: the company has an effective e-commerce monopoly. Like Ozymandias, they have run out of worlds to conquer, and so their growth has to come from squeezing suppliers and/or raising prices, not from bringing in new customers. This is likewise true of mobile companies like Apple and Google, who have run out of people who are so excited about incremental mobile hardware gains that they’ll buy a new phone every year, which means that growth has to come from squeezing app vendors:

https://www.tbray.org/ongoing/When/202x/2023/06/09/Pixel-4-to-7

This is likewise true of the streaming companies, which is why Netflix is cracking down on “password sharing”:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/02/nonbinary-families/#red-envelopes

It’s true of the movie studios, which is why they want to zero out their wage bills by replacing writers with automatic plausible sentence generators that will write stupid movies that they think we’ll still pay to see because there won’t be anything else:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/06/people-are-not-disposable/#union-strong

It’s certainly true of Uber, which is why they’ve double the cost of a taxi ride and halved the wages they pay drivers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

Monopolies “grow” by making their customers and suppliers worse off. But they have to be careful about this: if it’s obvious that you’re using your market power to screw buyers, you can get in trouble with competition regulators. That’s because the only part of antitrust law that the neoliberal project left intact is “consumer welfare” — the idea that monopolies should only face enforcement when they raise prices and/or lower quality:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/10/play-fair/#bedoya

This focus on price-hikes has given monopolists a free hand to squeeze suppliers and workers, because a monopolist — from Walmart to Amazon — can claim that squeezing your workers and suppliers is necessary to enhancing consumer welfare. The less you pay to produce a product, the cheaper you can price it.

When a company has a lot of seller power, we call it a monopolist. When it has a lot of buying power, we call it a monopsonist. No one ever made a bestselling, family-destroying board game called “Monopsony” so most people haven’t heard of the concept. But monopsony is every bit as dangerous as monopoly, and monopsonists find it far easier to acquire market power than monopolists. Few suppliers can afford to have even 10% of their sales disappear overnight, so a buyer who accounts for 10% of your sales can demand deep discounts and other favorable terms.

Amazon is a monopolist, but it’s also a very powerful and ruthless monopsonist. For example, its audiobook division, Audible, has a 90+% market-share, and it used that market-power to steal at least $100m from audiobook creators, in a scandal dubbed Audiblegate:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/07/audible-exclusive/#audiblegate

For Europe’s 800k sellers who rely on Amazon to reach their customers, the monoposony conditions are blatant and shameless. Take listing fees: Amazon’s “flywheel” pitch claims that as the company grows, it achieves “economies of scale” that can lower its cost basis. But Amazon’s listing fees haven’t changed, even as the company experienced explosive growth in the EU (remember, sellers whose Amazon fees exceed their margins have to pass those fees onto buyers, and also raise their prices everywhere else to satisfy the Most Favored Nation requirement).

Amazon books the revenues from these fees — and other junk-fees it extracts from sellers — in Luxembourg, an EU member nation that provides a tax haven to multinational businesses that want to maintain the fiction that they operate their businesses out of the tiny kingdom. There is sharp competition in the EU to offer the most servile, corrupt environment for multinationals, and Luxembourg is a leader, along with Cyprus, Malta and, of course, Ireland:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/15/finnegans-snooze/#dirty-old-town

But at least listing fees haven’t gone up, unlike other fees, which have climbed sharply. Amazon falsely claimed that its additional revenues from fees were the result of growth by independent sellers, which Amazon pegged at 65%. Later, the company admitted that the true growth figure was 22%. Meanwhile, fees are up 85%.

The true growth figure might be lower still. Amazon refuses to show the math behind its growth figures, or even say which sellers and sales are included in the figure.

The SOMO report cites research by Juozas Kaziukėnas of the e-commerce research firm Marketplace Pulse, who finds that sellers are now giving 50% of their gross revenues to Amazon, an increase of 10% over the past five years across the whole EU. However, different EU (and ex-EU) countries have experienced much steeper increases in fees — in the UK, fees have nearly doubled (up 98%), and in France, fees more than doubled (up 115%).

Many of these increases come from the Fulfilment By Amazon (FBA) program, which is promoted as an optional service, but which is really obligatory — careful research shows that sellers who warehouse, pack and ship their own goods get banished to the depths of search results, even if they have ratings, costs and times that are competitive with FBA. This is especially true of the “buy box” that lands at the top of most searches. The company refuses to disclose how buy box positioning is determined, but 90% of products in the buy box pay for FBA.

Amazon has used excuseflation to hike its FBA prices, blaming higher energy prices for price hikes that predated the Russian invasion of Ukraine, and blaming covid for price hikes that predated the pandemic.

Italy’s competition authority did yeoman service in uncovering the sleaze of FBA, publishing an investigation that showed that Prime and buy box made the notionally “optional” FBA into a must-have for merchants, meaning that Amazon could jack up FBA prices without losing business.

Another notable source of gouging came in response to the UK and France adopting digital services taxes, which were meant to make up for the tax-base erosion enabled by Luxembourg’s flouting of EU tax law. Amazon passed these taxes straight through to its merchants, without seeing a comparable decrease in the number of sellers using its platforms — an unmistakable sign of market power. If you can raise prices without losing customers, then, by definition, your customers have nowhere else to go.

I’ve previously written about how Amazon’s $31b/year “advertising” market isn’t really advertising ��� rather, it’s a payola scheme that auctions off the top of a search-listing to the merchant with the most to spend:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

This is how you get a simple search like “cat beds” returning results whose first screen is 100% ads, and whose next five screens are 50% ads, many of them for dog products:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/interactive/2022/amazon-shopping-ads/

Auctioning off search results means that every time you search for something you want, you have to wade through screen after screen of listings for products whose vendors spent more on advertising, leaving less to spend on making quality goods.

This is as true in the EU as it is in the USA. The SOMO report shows that European merchants are required to spend ever-larger sums to show up in results for the exact products they sell, leaving them with a choice between making less money, raising prices, or skimping on quality.

But even the “winners” of Amazon’s gladiatorial combat among vendors can still lose. Amazon uses an automated product removal process that can delete some or all of a merchant’s products, without warning or explanation, and no one at Amazon will explain what a merchant did wrong. That remains true even if a vendor pays for Amazon’s “marketplace consultant” service — ask these paid Virgils why you’ve been cast into Amazon’s pit, and they’ll shrug their shoulders (and bill you for it).

And even if you can navigate the junk fees, the Kafka-as-a-service removals, the war of all sellers against all sellers for search primacy…you still lose. Merchants told SOMO that a product that survives Amazon’s gauntlet is likely to be cloned by Amazon and sold as an Amazon Basic or other house-brand product. Amazon doesn’t charge itself 50% junk fees, so it can always underprice the vendors it knocks off, and give its own products permanent top-of-search placement.

Amazon founder Jeff Bezos once testified under oath before Congress that this doesn’t happen — and then refused to return to Congress when multiple vendors showed evidence that he’d lied:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/business/2021/10/18/amazon-congress-letter-third-party-data/

He definitely lied:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/amazon-india-rigging/

Amazon has faced investigations and enforcement in the EU over this, and settled a claim with a promise to “not use non-public seller data to compete with sellers,” but given the company’s record of broken promises on this score and the difficulty of catching them cheating, it’s pretty naive to think they’ll stick to this.

The report quotes Thomas Höppner, a lawyer who has represented small businesses that Amazon screwed over. Höppner says the problem is that the EU evaluates Amazon’s bad deeds on a “case-by-case” basis, missing the big picture: “By the time one identified problem was seemingly solved, Amazon had long made amendments elsewhere with the same effect. We require a more holistic approach that considers the entire Amazon ecosystem and the various interdependencies within.”

But the EU’s enforcement approach is about to change significantly. The EU just passed the Digital Markets Act (DMA), which imposes a bunch of obligations on Amazon:

allowing sellers to offer their products on other marketplaces at different prices (Article 5.3),

not obliging business users to pay for one of its services in order to use its platform (Article 5.8),

limiting the way Amazon uses non-public seller data to compete with them (Article 6.2)

preventing Amazon from giving top billing in search results to its own products or sellers that have acquired extra Amazon services (Article 6.5)

The report concludes with a suite of recommendations for improving EU enforcement. First, they argue for a return to traditional competition law, abandoning the “consumer welfare standard” that is so friendly to monopsonies and their abuses of suppliers and workers.

They call for a probe into Amazon’s Most Favored Nation deals (“fair pricing policy”), the practice of sponsoring search results, and spiraling fees. They want the EU to adequately fund DMA enforcement, with “measures to prevent regulatory capture.” And they want Amazon to publish clear explanations for how search results, buy box placement, and other practices hidden behind a veil of secrecy.

Amazon will doubtless claim that disclosing how those systems work will make it easier for spammers and scammers to game their way to the top of search results. We should be skeptical of this claim — content moderation is the last domain where anyone takes the bankrupt idea of security through obscurity seriously:

https://doctorow.medium.com/como-is-infosec-307f87004563

Finally, the report calls for breaking up Amazon, forcing it to choose between being a platform seller or a platform user, calling this the only way to “prevent the conflicts of interest between its role as a platform intermediary, seller, and service provider.”

The technical term for this measure is “structural separation” — a rule that bans platform companies from competing with their business customers. This is the principle at work in the US bipartisan AMERICA Act, which would force Google and Meta to spin off the parts of their ad-tech business that put them in a conflict of interest. Right now, Googbook represents both publishers and advertisers, while operating the marketplace where ad sales take place, and they take 51% out of every ad dollar:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-shatter-ad-tech

Structural separation hasn’t really been applied in the US for a generation, but it’s gained currency in recent years, for the obvious reason that the referee can’t also own one of the teams. I was in Germany last week speaking to regulators and politicians, and they espoused skepticism that the EU would embrace structural separation anytime soon.

But they were wrong! Today, the European Commission announced plans to force Google and Meta to sell off their conflict-of-interest ad-tech lines of business, mirroring the provisions of the US AMERICA Act:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2023/06/google-may-soon-be-ordered-to-break-up-its-lucrative-ad-business-eu-warns/

Structural separation really is the policy we should be demanding. It’s amazing that lawyers who would never argue a case in front of a judge who was married to the plaintiff will turn around and defend the idea that Amazon can fairly operate a marketplace where they compete with other sellers.

With Amazon dominating online sales, and with in-person retail cratering, Amazon’s decisions have the power to determine the outcome of whole swathes of Europe’s economy. This is the “planned economy” that the EU claims it detests and seeks to prevent — but it’s an economy planned by distant autocrats in a Seattle boardroom, for the purpose of extracting the surpluses needed to launch an endless procession of penis-rockets.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/14/flywheel-shyster-and-flywheel/#unfulfilled-by-amazon

[Image ID: A desert ruin. In the foreground is a huge Amazon box, with an EU flag in place of its shipping label. Atop the box are the feet and partial legs of an Oxymandias figure.]

Image: Rama (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Gladiator_with_sword-Louis_Ernest_Meissonnier-MG_1216-IMG_1223-white.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/fr/deed.en

[piyushflip]

digital writing pad for laptop

Erase Button :  Digital writing Tablet displays your notes until you erase them with the Push of a button. button erases notes instantly (Please make-Sure Screen mode Unlocked From Back Side of the Product)

Pressure-sensitive : screen lets you create thick and thin lines. Durable case and recessed screen are safe for school, travel and home use.

Reusable, Paperless, Environmental-Friendly :  digital writing Tablet displays your notes until you erase them with the touch of a button, One-touch button erases notes instantly.

Replaceable Battery : The battery compartment is secured with screw for more safety.

Educational Gift : Best Birthday Gift For Kids. writing pad  Avoid the frustration of communication barrier for deaf and mute by this light weight easy to carry paper thin LCD board and communicate with ease. Easy and Fun way to leave family messages, notes, sketching ideas, or just doodling.

Easy Electronic Writing

Environment Friendly

Single-Tap Erase

Long Battery Life

[uzumaki-rebellion]

So...

I went down a rabbit hole yesterday reading old stuff about fanfiction writers, and Black fanfiction writers in particular, especially after 2009 with the whole Uhura/Spock debacle where Black women were writing fics with the new AOS canon. (which honestly was supposed to be a canon pairing in TOS, but the anti-Black racism of 1963 prevented the hook up happening. It's why Uhura and Spock are always "friends" working after hours to play the Vulcan lyre together)

I was reviewing the Racefail 2009 dustup (where some of my real life professional writing friends/associates were calling out b.s.), and I want to say how empowering it is to see Black fanfiction writers still working on things, many for years (like me) in various fandoms. Every Black fanfiction writer out there is following the tradition of Octavia E. Butler and Toni Morrison, by writing themselves in and also writing the stories they want to read. There is liberation in quietly scribbling worlds that you create. It doesn't matter if anyone else but you sees it, but there is power in putting pen to paper.

One of the things that I was reminded of is the fear of Black voices taking up space. Fandom and fanfiction writing life is often targeted by jealousy, fake concern trolling, and creating a hostile environement for Black and Blaqueer people.

It was an interesting trip down memory lane, however, I also realized that a lot of Black fanfiction writing history is in the hands of a lot of white people. I'm happy that there are people like Stitch, Princess Weekes, and other Black folks who blog/vlog, and write about Black fanfiction,. We just need more of us to see the value of fanfiction as a part of Black History in the arts. I would love to see more Black people in Academics and pop culture media doing more to preserve the history of Black fanfiction. Intersections are real and we are a distinct part of the fanfiction tapestry. Don't even get me started if you are a Blaqueer person navigating these spaces. Much of our work is niche because of Anti-Blackness and the pervasiveness of white racism in particular since whitness dominates the globe in detrimental ways.

All this to say, yay Black Fanfiction writers for staying the course. You may think it is a hobby or something frivolous, but I promise you non-Black people are out here maintaining jobs/careers, status, and accolades using your work and voices to pad their papers, books, and media appearances. I think it's time that Black folks who write fanfiction are aware of this fact.

Stitch:

Princess Weekes:

[incongruence-osaf]

The Incongruence of Stars and Flowers - Chapter Two

2006 (present day)

Casinopolis, Station Square, Mobius

Unrelenting bombardments of bare skin slapping against leather echo through the open doors of an otherwise quiet hotel room. Scattered on a kitschy poker-themed coffee table are unfolded weekly newspapers with flashy headlines about critics’ favorite restaurant dishes, the latest building demolitions, the best Mobian-owned small businesses, and remnants of aliens found in the most shocking of places. A laptop with a gradient green geometric background lays open by the papers, its fan working hard after too many windows about gardening have been minimized on the homescreen. The stark green aura alone would look surreal in front of the living room’s closed windows if it wasn’t complemented by the vintage floor lamps set to low. 

Holographic toys shaped like small fish litter the furniture and maroon kaleidoscope carpeting. The ones laying closer to the office space, the source of the commotion, twitch on the ground as if alive and gasping for air with each groundshaking impact. Just as the vibrations cease in the flooring, walls, and ceiling, a coffee maker in the teal-tinted kitchen punctually starts its scheduled brew. Shortly after, a black-furred hedgehog with disheveled red stripes on his head quills and limbs saunters out of the office space with a slight limp in one leg. A beaten boxing bag still swings in circles just out of view behind him.

Shadow the Hedgehog obtains his freshly brewed coffee and half-heartedly imbues it with manifested serenity, still riding the wrathful high of the impromptu kickboxing session. What usually functions as his afternoon-riser routine became an early evening release after the words of a particularly obsessed writer burned his eyeballs. It’s the seventh article published by the same author within the last four months extrapolating how much of Station Square has been tainted by the corpses of the Black Arms alien terrorists. Public G.U.N. reports chronicling their units’ periodic combings of each city sector aren’t enough for hungry citizens. It’s getting harder to avoid reminders…

He shuffles to the bathroom with a sweat-soaked towel draped over his shoulders. The overhead light is too bright (and always too blue) during this hour of the evening for his sensitive eyes, so he quickly switches it off and presses the buttons of a small remote. A string of LED bulbs, “fairy lights” as his friend Sonic the Hedgehog calls them, illuminate the ceiling with a dim golden pulse. He strategically rubs ungloved finger pads in wide semi-circles on his forehead and over his eyes to release some tension, gently setting down the coffee mug beside a cup holding red and blue toothbrushes. Carefully trimmed claws wipe sweat away from the corners of a third eye, its eyelids closed and somewhat camouflaged in the middle of his forehead. He blurrily paws at the shower knobs to set the water to a brisk massage. 

After retrieving hygiene products from his half of the medicine cabinet, the tired hedgehog opens his primary eyes in front of its attached mirror. The faintly yellow sclera has a noticeably gentler appearance underneath the less harsh lighting. For a long moment, he studies the swathes of blood orange in his irises and the surrounding gold flecks that lure his gaze into the depths of his pupils, blinking only once. His third eye twitches concurrently while remaining closed, the movement caught by the other two and keeping their attention.

He knows very well what this unfavored body part looks like. It took shape during what could be loosely called the artificial lifeform’s childhood aboard the ARK; the memories of that closely monitored period of development are foggy at times. It’s forever stuck to him and similar to his other two in appearance. Yet he still makes a point to open it, albeit lazily, trying to act like this recurring curiosity and its object are not a big deal. Independently, the eye moves. 

For a rare moment he doesn’t feel the urge to look away. Instead of its usual unpleasant jaundice, the sclera shines like ethereal ivory directly under the fairy lights. Swirling shapes seem to glow like embers in the iris that Shadow never took time to admire before. The pupil itself looks warmer now like flashes of the night sky during firework shows instead of a cold black hole. But the glimmer of this new perspective is quickly forgotten as a familiar wave of sickly static starts to prickle underneath burning skin and sweating black fur.

The likeness of Shadow’s deceased sperm donor, Black Doom, enters his mind in a cloudy image. Flowing robes the color of dried human blood and celestial jewelry sharp like scythes hang from his looming legless frame. Hovering with the warlord is the fleshy six-armed organism of his third eye, wiggling with dutiful anticipation to be his dark and watchful fragment. 

Shadow slips into ruminating about the aliens’ wrinkled skin in shades of deep ash and plum. Black Doom’s red-tipped head horns reminiscent of a desperate bull stained with the gore of a matador. Doom’s Eye with its markings like bright ruby tears spilling outward from the wet and hellish eyeball. Shadow’s attention moves to the purple-ish membrane of his own eyelids. The reptilian texture feels exposed and unwashed in more ways than just the post-workout saltiness. Measured breaths in his chest hitch as if the target of a heart-drawn dagger while he surveys the red arrows encircling his third eye and the painterly edges of his body’s many red stripes. Dissonant buzzing crawls deeper into his skin and causes his breathing to become shallower. The outlines and markings are almost indistinguishable from the memory of those he tries so hard to leave behind, buried in rubble to rot.

He turns the sink faucet, splashing cold water onto his face, and roughly scrubs the remnants of kickboxing sweat and dysmorphia off his skin in the shower. After he’s done, he snatches up a plain white bandana hanging on a wall hook. When folded neatly and tied snugly around his forehead, the bandana conceals his third eye and dissipates some of the remaining discomfort. One last check in the mirror confirms that the layers of metallic silver nail polish coloring the tiny horns on his head aren't chipping yet, prompting a huff of approval. He struggles to attach snug silver hoops to the symmetrical sets of horns on his head, making sure the connecting chains drape between them in just the right way that he likes. He does like the way the jewelry accentuates the crescent shapes and angles of his red stripes when he is able to ignore the implications of these traits. They can look rather pretty. It’s also a plus to prepare a versatile look in case he needs to adjust the style of his bandana due to weather, heat, or comfort. 

Shadow brings his still untouched drink to the kitchen. With a little more gusto than last time, he once again tries to channel some peace into the mug before chugging the lukewarm coffee. A pop of yellow by the sink contrasts the monochrome teal of the countertops and cabinets. Closer inspection reveals that it’s a hastily scribbled sticky note. No sign of its author is seen or heard in the suite at the moment.

“Sorry for not washing  the chili bowl and stuff.  Vanilla had an emergency  and Amy wasn’t available.  Buy you lunch tomorrow + more choc coffee beans?” -  SONIC 😉

The aforementioned bowl and utensils lay in the dirty side of the sink (thankfully), and at least Sonic’s bottomless appetite made him lick ninety-nine percent of all the porcelain surfaces clean before leaving. Shadow shakes his head while doodling “12:30PM🖕” on the sticky note. He then opens the fridge to figure out a light post-workout dinner to make before work. Following the sound of the fridge door opening is the flutter of little wings descending from bedding atop the attached freezer, and following that the pitter-patter of paws walking into the kitchen. The Dark Chao drowsily floats down toward Shadow who instinctively guides its plump body into a cradle position with one arm. It leans into his still damp chest fluff while staring expectantly into the fridge. The spine tail of a tortoise shell kitty with striking orange splotches weaves between the jet black legs towering above her.

“Don’t worry little ones, I’ll feed you first. Chance, stop being a brat.” Shadow feels the Dark Chao’s ears twitch and its bat-like wings tense up as PurrChance impatiently growls, jealous that it has closer proximity to the open fridge filled with food. Though the two animal companions learned to tolerate each other and even play together since the unclaimed cat followed Shadow home, they each absorbed differing degrees of their guardian’s standoffish tendencies. Amiable body language resumes when PurrChance finally has her bowl of salmon-flavored moist food and the Dark Chao has a large fruit resembling an orange to eat on a neighboring food mats. The clock on the wall shows 8:35PM, leaving twenty minutes before his work shift. An encrypted text from a contact named Sugar appears in an app on his phone that reads, “My customer will be here in 3 mins. See you soon.”

✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫

Shadow’s work shirt and belongings are packed in a messenger bag. He dons a black hoodie underneath a distressed bronze leather jacket, the hood pulled over tied-up quills. A pair of dark jeans hug his lean legs and special motorcycle gloves provide extra grip for his hands. His geometric hover shoes already provide substantial protection against the elements but not so much his everyday gloves. Sonic teases him that he doesn’t need to wear all that extra stuff because he’s the “Ultra-Durable Ultimate Lifeform” model. While true, it doesn’t dissuade him from taking the bare minimum of precautions while riding amongst the road-raging drivers in Station Square. Just because his body regenerates small injuries and lacerations doesn’t mean he enjoys dealing with them. Irksome consequences can actually overpower arrogance sometimes. The calculated hedgehog has yet to see this phenomenon happen in Sonic, though.

  Shadow activates Chaos Control to teleport to the fourth floor and ambles to the exit door, the hotel stairwell on the other side. His air shoes power-up on the quietest setting before crossing the threshold. Skillfully, he descends the metal staircase in side-steps while hovering an inch above each step. He approaches the corner at which the first security camera is aimed, stopping just out of its view underneath the preceding light fixture. The flash of his Chaos Control is masked by its glow and appears as a mere fluctuation in the building’s electricity on a camera feed. Shadow teleports just underneath the device. Legs in a side-split position and grippy gloves palming both sides of the wall’s corner keep him still and secure. He carefully points the lens ninety degrees upward once he hears the barely perceptible scuffling of sneakers in the stairwell. 

A taupe Mobian sugar glider walks tightly against the inside railing. She holds a pair of black stiletto heels. Her brown membrane “wings” are delicately tucked into a sumptuous and well-fitting wrap dress made of shimmery magenta mesh. A layer of chunky glitter eyeshadow creates an orange ombre effect on the skin of her already darkened eyelids. The fabric of a fraying black shawl covers her unique head markings and lays long over her shoulders to contrast her special attire. She smiles gratefully at Shadow with cautious eyes and keeps on with light footing. After she passes him and enters the blind spot between the first and second cameras, Shadow discreetly moves it back to its original position. This process repeats on each consecutive floor.

The final security camera monitors the hotel’s back door from the outside. Shadow double checks his hood before teleporting to the drainpipe located directly underneath it. The rusty pipe creaks threateningly under his muscular weight. But the cacophony of raindrops spraying off the eaves provides some echoey distortion for him to proceed with moving the camera. A vehicle with dark tinted windows awaits beside the furthest dumpster with its lights dimmed. Sugar gives Shadow a final appreciative nod before rushing to the car, swapping her sneakers for the heels, then shuts the car door. Once the mysterious chauffeur has disappeared in the rain and the camera is fixed back to normal, Shadow silently climbs down the drainpipe and re-enters the door. A final Chaos Control takes him to hotel’s private parking garage that keeps his Dark Rider motorcycle secured from the public.

✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫

Salty coastal breeze mixed with petrichor wafts through Station Square and tickles Shadow’s nose. The steady rain that had started earlier in the evening has already increased the risk of hydroplaning on every street. Not helping to reduce the hazard are scattered potholes that still need filling and considerable sections of the earth below that were displaced by the massive destruction of the Perfect Chaos flood, still uneven and slouching the asphalt years later. Tone deaf billboards printed in optimistic blues and greens advertise clean air, ocean, forest, and street initiatives on the sides of buildings. Some of the cheesy words are illegible underneath many layers of graffiti tags and throwies and decay omitting some letters and details. The overall sentiments would be nice if they weren’t so lurid in a fucked-up environment changing at a snail’s pace, a complaint Sonic has consistently vocalized.

Sociological upheavals and a doubled police presence have created a tangible tension in the Station Square air after the cumulative horrors of the Perfect Chaos flood and the Black Arms Invasion struck the very heart of the city. Even the most carefree city enjoyers, the delinquents, and the goodie-two-shoes now operate with baseline unease, not knowing when things will get better. Though it’s exasperating dealing with more foolish humans who are preoccupied with puffing out their badged chests at the expense of others, it gives Shadow more of an excuse to lay low. He needed to get away from the particular shitshow Westopolis turned into just after being the epicenter of the Invasion. 

After the bulk of the disaster was resolved, G.U.N. Commander Abraham Tower granted Shadow a leave of absence when it became clear that the alien hybrid annihilating all of his blood relatives and the Black Comet wasn’t a life event he could effectively compartmentalize. The additional precaution was to distance Shadow from a traumatized Westopolis population that grew increasingly suspicious of all alien intruders. The Commander also has his personal grievances that thin the line between trauma and prejudice. Shadow will not quickly forget how Tower angrily pointed a gun and blame to the back of his own agent’s head for ruining his and others’ lives. Surprisingly, he’d beaten Shadow to the punch for once. Even after receiving a somewhat genuine-sounding apology from his superior, forced close proximity would be a begrudging challenge for the both of them.

Luckily for the residents of Station Square and visitors, lots of entertaining attractions are available in Twinkle Park’s amusement park and Casinopolis’s multi-story strip malls. It’s all a (temporary) reprieve from annoyances both small and large for many people. For Shadow, that’s applicable only when very specific stars align due to his picky tastes. The bright neon lights of both districts are on full display now to feed walking crowds’ anticipation for nightlife festivities. Am⭑bean⭑ce, the twenty-four-seven cafe for which Shadow took up a job, is located close by the most popular blocks of Casinopolis for those wanting quick energy to continue indulging their vices, or for those just needing rest from the overwhelming commotions. 

If it weren’t for his G.U.N. co-worker and friend Rouge the Bat pulling her affluent businesswoman strings, Shadow would’ve had a difficult time securing an extended stay at one of the casino’s connected hotels. Club Rouge has higher security and a classier atmosphere than most of the neighboring businesses. The establishment attracts business from a variety of notable figures both accessible to the public eye and those who are not, and all are well-treated regulars. Shadow was grateful that she considered his general disdain for flashy sights and sounds when she booked him a room on one of the highest floors of the hotel furthest away from the frequent chaos below. Her acquaintances are many, her allies are exclusive, and her trusted friends are few. All of whom she manages to keep tabs on. But only some, she’d say, are enjoyable to keep tabs on.

So, when Rouge went out of her way to ask Shadow to help the fellow Mobian named Sugar, who has to evade police surveillance and hostility while she stays in the same hotel for work, it was obvious that this person is of great importance. On the bright side, fulfilling this favor will show gratitude for his friend’s hospitality and would also prolong the safety of a fellow outsider laying low. On the downside, it’s an occasional inconvenience, but not an egregious one. They have not spoken once during their several meetups for routine sneaky sabotage. All he knows is that Sugar is unlikely to be her real name (which he isn't entitled to know), her specific type of sex work is illegal and excluded from the Casinopolis ordinances, and that she has been assaulted in police custody.

Shadow is stopped by a red light before the last turn, his left leg propped on the ground. The city block’s chaotic array of colors and shapes reflect sleekly off the professional black and red paint job on the Dark Rider. There are anxious pods waiting outside one of the clubs on the same side of the street, some members of which stubbornly choose to wear chunky sandals and matching metallic or bandana halter tops despite the inclement weather. Shadow shakes his head, his eyes following the trail that’s made by the people’s open umbrellas with their inconsistent heights, until he sees a quieter group of both human and Mobian women. A few men cling to their sides, all of them huddling under a large flower basket that hangs from a lamppost. 

A cream fur coat and pressed trench coats covering long sparkly dresses are standout silhouettes amidst the typical crowd, captivating Shadow’s attention. He’s reminded of Sugar, with her beautiful magenta dress and shawl wrapped in a skillful way to both conceal and show whatever she wants and needs. The leather jacket hugging Shadow’s torso feels claustrophobic. He becomes more aware of his own body and how it’s disconnected. Parts that are too muscular and veiny for what a Mobian hedgehog should look like. Parts that are too thin and bony according to his other genes. He imagines all the ways delicate fabric could drape from his elbows, or encircle his waist, or cascade over his back spines. 

Shadow accidentally makes eye contact with the human woman in the fur coat. A friendly but tight smile flashes at him, which he returns with a delayed nod. The traffic arrow turns green for his final turn.

✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫

The Am⭑bean⭑ce cafe on the corner of the block has its own signature lighting in full effect as Shadow parks his Dark Rider at 8:58PM. Decorative orange seahorse, red crab, pink starfish and blue dolphin shaped LED lights softly shine from their scattered locations around the registers, countertops, big tables and window ledges. The seahorse ones are the most pleasant to look at and are Shadow’s favorite; he doesn’t quite know why. He definitely knows why he hates the pink starfish ones. 

Growing healthy and tall in the corners are potted palm trees with thin green light strips carefully spiraling up their trunks, the tops of their leaves illuminated by sunny lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Chalked on the black walls are peachy-beige sketches of Emerald Coast. Framed paintings depicting the coastal culture of Station Square and abstract bubble art hang in precise rows. The sketches and paintings are displayed nicely behind the lavender glow of scallop string lights secured by thick rope. All of it is easier on the eyes than the flashy advertisements and gaudy lightbulb patterns further down the street.

Lo-fi music plays with heavy emphasis on bossa nova. It’s quiet enough for overstimulated visitors but loud enough to create an immersive atmosphere that amasses regulars and allures newcomers. Shadow acknowledges his fellow night shift co-workers working up front. Lionel the Ginger Tabby is the manager on duty ineffectively multi-tasking by counting inventory and engaging chatty customers with his brand of niceties. Nyx, a pale human woman styled with heavy dark makeup, shaved hair, and piercing white eyes, prepares drinks for a short line of customers. There are scattered pairs and loners that had already been seated when Shadow walked in, signaling a moderately busy start to the shift. After changing into his ironed black work shirt with the cafe name printed in peach on the chest, Shadow clocks in and joins the crew up front. 

“The new contacts look good.” Shadow remarks, nodding upwards to Nyx standing tall beside him at the workspace wall. Standing on the provided stool makes the difference a little less jarring while he grabs stacks of supplies and refrigerated items.

“Thanks. I can’t wait to make assholes uncomfortable with these babies.” Nyx smirks while pointedly turning her head to stare into Shadow’s soul, the contacts as white as sterile hospital bedding. He returns the gesture with a cold side-eye and a steely poker face, not needing to look while he pours and mixes fruit juice contents inside a pitcher. He purposefully makes his third eye blink underneath his bandana so the slight shift in the fabric is only visible to Nyx’s line of sight. Her eyes catch the movement and widen, her face contorting into a perturbed smile.

“Fuck! Alright, you win!” She giggles, breaking composure to squirm her shoulders. 

“Nyx,” Lionel mutters without looking up from his clipboard. “No swearing in front of customers, please.” The long tufts of yellow-orange fur on his jaw, cheekbones, and head are contained by thin netting that leaves an opening for his eyes, nose and mouth. He’s genteel in personality as much as the required workplace getup makes him look scrunched and uncomfortable. Far from the worst person on Shadow’s list of past and present colleagues. But nonetheless a displeasure to work with. 

Nyx rolls her eyes and finishes making a coconut matcha drink. Shadow gets to work brewing a fresh pot of dark roast coffee, sneaking a tiny scoop of coffee beans into his jeans pocket for munching when Lionel isn’t looking. He peeks through the window to see that the crowd of club-goers down the street has shrunk. The group of women with their accompanying men are no longer under the lamppost. He thought he saw a glimpse of the cream fur coat, which promptly flitted out of sight near the entrance, possibly catching the moment an usher allowed her inside the club. Why did she smile at me…?

Just as Shadow finishes making a small iced latte for himself, the cafe door is roughly pulled open with a high-pitched squeak by a sweaty human man wearing an anchor patterned dress shirt. He hastily sips the last few drops of his wine can before chucking it into the trash bin by the entrance. He completely ignores the adjoined recycling bin. Damn rude. His stature, on the shorter side, teeters. He scowls behind the other customers, tousling his wavy black hair while he waits. Good thing I made my drink when I did. This could get interesting…

As the line of customers shortens, the man’s glistening forehead wrinkles deepen and he starts huffing belligerently. Shadow wordlessly waves a finger to get Nyx’s attention and juts his head. She immediately clocks the fellow human and purses her lips. It’s expected and common for tipsy and drunk customers to wait out their buzz and hydrate at the cafe. Yet there’s an unspoken rule that the severely inebriated should have a peer accompany them while occupying the premises. They won’t kick out lone drunkards right away unless they cause a ruckus. But some of them are on thin ice. Conversely, some are on ice that’s comfortably thick. Lionel, the pushover that he is, can be too placating despite acting no-nonsense. 

“The fuck’s the holdup? I got’a auction to be at in ten!” The man blusters, garnering stares from the Mobians within range of his spittle. 

“I can take someone else’s order over here!” Lionel shouts. He finally puts his clipboard down and takes note of the man. He starts transferring another register drawer seeing more people enter the cafe.

The faster ordering flow still doesn’t quell the fumes exiting the nuisance’s nostrils. The stench of alcohol will be unavoidable once it's his turn to order. The hedgehog's hyper-sensitive nostrils already sting from the sour change in the air even while standing at the back counter. He prepares for a headache, both physical and mental. Then the landline phone rings at the most convenient time when guess-who is next in line.

“Hey Shadow, I gotta take this, probably about shipments coming tomorrow. Can you swap for a minute? Nyx, pause new orders after yours!” Lional says while hurriedly walking to the phone. Shadow exhales a long breath out his nose while finishing the drink he had started making, not caring if Lionel hears his disdain. A grating tone cuts through the friendly hum of Nyx’s customer service voice and a flushed face peers down over the front counter, as much as the owner can.

“Hey, rat! Yeh you, ya gonna take my order or what?”

Shadow shoots the man a poker face with a tinge of glare, maintaining eye contact the whole time he washes his hands until he’s standing behind the register. 

“I’m a hedgehog. What can I get you?”

“Yeah-yeah, I know what you are…” he fails to discreetly give Shadow a once-over, “and I’ll get one’a them energy juice things in a can, the mango one. S’all.”

“Okay. Your total is $3.72.” The man leans his elbows on the countertop, exposing the drenched armpit holes of his dress shirt that’s otherwise pristine. A horrible combination with the alcohol. Coins jingle out of the wallet during a clumsy attempt to find quarters. Shadow waits with cold impatience.

Those slippery and nonchalant words replay in his mind: I know what you are. The goosebumps and bristling fur spreading down his arms betray his composure. The hedgehog coolly smoothes the traitorous fur down and glances backwards. Lionel has returned from the phone and is now using the new batch of dark roast. Slanted ears pick up on the nearby conversation. Nyx leans against a cupboard with her tatted arms crossed, facing toward her co-workers as the microwave warms a sandwich.

“Y’know, I been fussin’ at my apartment since the po-pos found a fuckin’ alien gun with a arm still attached to it, all’at behind the dumpsters. Whatever they’re called, black uhh…Black Armsss, yeah.” Lionel meanders closer to the registers while stirring a pitcher and bounces off the topic.

“Hoo boy, they’re lucky they didn’t get hurt. Unidentified tech was found by Shelly's Dock last month. Weird chemicals were leaking into the ocean, and when some fisherman lifted the thing above water, one caught a whiff of whatever was coming out. The poor guy couldn’t stand right and his arms were numb for weeks. Weeks.”

“Oh f’sure! To think all’at is lying around when shit like that can happen. Cleaning it up, my ass. Could bessspyware or somethin’ that we don’t know about yet. S’all demonic lookin’ with those symbols.”

Lionel’s face cringes at what he thinks is overused swearing but still humors the ranting. Shadow's been biting his tongue the whole time and realizes that Nyx has been listening too, locking eyes with her after she delivers the heated sandwich to a waiting customer. Shadow adjusts his bandana, pulling it down so it covers even more skin around his third eye, which had started twitching since the air turned sour.

“Yes, I suppose. It can definitely be off-putting…” Lionel affirms.

The hybrid’s fur prickles more. The dreaded feeling he tried to scrub away that same evening slowly crawls over him again. He does share the public’s condemnation toward Black Doom’s genocidal plans. He shares the horror for the hive-minded brains and also sympathy for the broken bodies of his siblings reaching their breaking points to carry those plans out. He also had been at the mercy of wills and wants imposed on him in the past, not just their shared parent's. But he feels anger for the parts of the planet they did successfully destroy by their own hands; not excluding his own.

There’s a lot about his life that he didn’t ask for. Bodies that share blood in color, in veins. Frames that share an unsettling outline in the light of flames. Eyes that share such primal blaze to inspire fear. The thought of erasing such parts has lingered before, not quite passively. In dreams, the sun washes over petrified constellations in the cold gray ashes of early mornings. In daydreams such as right now, Shadow wants to sink to the bottom of the ocean with one of the anchors on the tacky shirt in front of him. The drunk man turns his attention to Shadow again, squinting his eyes at the sectioned quills for another once-over.

“Say heh, you got familiar colors, an’ I seen those markings…Don’t happen to know, um…?”

The corner of the energy drink can loudly strikes the counter and dramatically slides to a spot directly in front of the inquisitor.

“Hey dude. You're holding up the line, ” Nyx urges with a tilted head and click of her tongue, chemical-white eyes blinking a little extra wide.

“Oh. Ferrgot I had a five,” he sneers, slapping the bill onto the counter. He struggles to pinch the stray coins into his grasp. Shadow avoids putting the change in the open hand hovering too close for his liking and walks away, downing two-thirds of his own drink in one sitting. The man does the same, leaving a disgusting handprint on the glass of the exit door and the memory of cheap wine in his wake.

When the moment presents itself where Shadow and Nyx are at the same workstation again, the woman invades the hedgehog’s personal bubble just enough for communication. 

“I’m sorry, that dude sucked. To think I thought his shirt was the worst thing about him when he first showed his mug here…sheesh.”

Shadow barely nods in acknowledgement, a gesture that many people wouldn’t notice. He takes advantage of the moment to let his third eye get all its pent up twitching over with. His ears had drooped into a folded position underneath the bandana ever since the drunkard first opened his trap. Lifting and loosening those muscles barely alleviates the tension in his temples. 

“That must have been scary for him to find out there was a corpse piece lying right by his home. Wish he would’ve been quieter when telling the story, though.” Lionel projects toward the other two.

“He was rude and nosy for absolutely no reason.” Nyx counters, “You should have said something.” 

“When was he nosy?”

“Didn’t you hear the last part? The thing he asked Shadow?”

“...I thought he was asking about other police findings?”

“You’re kidding, right? There's a word for it.”

“Nyx, drop it…” Shadow sternly whispers.

Lionel hesitates with an awkward nod and pursed lips. Nyx backs off and there’s a noticeable roughness in the way she’s handling the dishes and cups. Always one to be attentive and passionate, her gumption for picking apart bullshit can sometimes steer obtuse. It stems neither from a lack of intuition nor intellect, just a lack of personal experience. Her external dwelling on situations like these sometimes lasts longer than Shadow’s own. But what each store in the body is another matter.

✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫

The ride home featured much less rain, clouds, and cars. What was left of the weeping raindrops were kind enough to slightly cool Shadow’s prickled skin and boiled blood. Unnatural lighting washed away almost all of the stars when the city was in full swing earlier in the evening. But most businesses closed by 3:00AM except for the few twenty-four hour ones. Constellations then had a bigger stage on which to shine alongside the moon. The full side of the lasered heavenly body was a soft spotlight that followed the tiny white bandana as it wound through glistening streets. Both the Big Dipper and Little Dipper joined in keeping watch through the hedgehog’s slightly ajar curtain as he and the animal companions drifted off to sleep at home.

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Pan Says... (5/?)

Summary: After waking up in a strange room with a naked stranger, Emma and Killian must endure the twisted game their kidnapper insists they play in order to gain provisions and avoid punishments.

A/N: I know, I know, I KNOW! I’m sorry. I’m a bad, bad writer, making y’all wait so long for this update. I truly apologize. My muse took a bit of a sabbatical, but hopefully she’s back and ready to work. I have things pretty well mapped out for this fic from this point on, so fingers crossed I can keep her on task. 

Lots of love to @ultraluckycatnd and @kmomof4 for their exceptional beta skills on this one! 

Rated E /Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me! / Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four

Part Five

Consciousness returned slowly. The buzz of the fluorescents, the warmth of the blanket, the soft caress of fingers carding through his hair, the scent of his Swan, the dryness of his tongue as it stuck to the roof of his mouth, all points of awareness that were sharpening with clarity as he broke free from the confines of sleep.

“Killian?” Emma whispered, having sensed the change in his breathing. “Killian, are you awake?”

With effort, Killian managed to pry his eyes open and focus on the concerned pinch in his Swan’s brows. Reaching up, he intended to soothe it away with the pad of his thumb, but when he opened his mouth to respond, all that came out was a croaked, “Aye,” before he erupted into a fit of coughs from the cool air hitting the aridness of his throat.

“Hang on,” Emma said, scrambling from their bed so she could fetch him a glass of water. “Drink this.”

Bringing the cup to his lips, Killian took slow sips. Once his thirst was adequately slaked, he handed the cup back to Emma and asked, “What happened?”

A look of distress flashed across her features as she responded, “You don’t… what’s the last thing you remember?”

Rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger, the memories of what had happened before he’d blacked out began to flood his mind. A maelstrom of emotions bombarded him: fear, anger, lust, guilt, terror, euphoria, and relief. His pulse began to race, his heart hammering against his ribs as he reached up and felt for the small puncture wound in his neck, even as his body began to respond to the memory of Emma on her knees in front of him.

“I, um…” His cheeks began to feel warm, and the tips of his ears were practically on fire. “I remember you… you saved me. When Pan had me injected with poison. You…” In an attempt to even his breathing and slow his libido, Killian sucked in a deep breath and sat up further in their bed, only to realize he was still completely naked. Ignoring how that realization spiked his arousal, Killian refocused his thoughts. “I remember them administering the antidote, but everything after that is… how did we get back here?”

Seemingly oblivious to his current turmoil, Emma tucked her legs beneath her and told him, “Whatever they gave you knocked you out pretty fast. One of the Lost Ones helped me get you back to our room.”

Killian sat up from the headboard, his eyes raking over her for signs of harm. “A Lost One? Did he… Did he hurt you? Pan didn’t--”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, reaching out and taking his hand in her own. “He just carried you back, put you in bed, then…”

“Then… what?”

Emma chewed her lip, her eyes cutting towards the camera that monitored them. Scooting towards him, she lowered her voice and shared, “He told me something, and I… I think he knows you. I think he--”

“Knows me?” Killian balked. “What did he say?”

Running her tongue over her lip, Emma flicked her gaze once more to the surveillance, giving Killian a moment to try, once again, to calm his body’s reactions.

“When they took you away,” she began, her voice still low, but tight and halting, “he told me that if I cared for you at all, then I had to do what Pan said. There was something in his eyes. He looked, I don't know… scared. For you. Then, after we got you back here, I confronted him about it, and he said, ‘There are only two reasons people find themselves here. Because they have either crossed Pan, or because they are the punishment for those who did.’ He said our being here is a punishment for someone who crossed Pan.”

“And you think I am that Lost One’s punishment?”

Emma opened her mouth, but was cut off by the crackle of speakers, preempting her reply as Pan’s voice echoed through their room.

“Oh, good! You’re awake. I was afraid you’d sleep the rest of the day away.”

“We wouldn’t want to put a damper on whatever sick or sadistic plan you have in mind for us,” Emma muttered sarcastically, earning her an amused huff from Killian. He was gladdened that she hadn’t lost any of her fire, despite the ordeal they’d both been through.

“Now, now, Emma,” Pan tutted. “I’m here to offer you a reward.”

“A reward?” Killian parroted, dubiously.

“Why, yes!” Pan declared, a little excitedly. “You both took your respective punishments for breaking my rules in stride, so I thought a nice hot shower might be in order.”

Killian met Emma’s gaze. He could see the desire for such a luxury swimming in her eyes, and despite his current state, and the fact he would not be able to keep certain matters hidden from her, he nodded his agreement. Emma left the bed to begin taking off her clothes, and Killian swung himself around so he was seated on the edge of the bed with his back to her, willing his erection to subside.

An exercise in futility, for any progress he might have made was quickly forgotten when she called out to him that she was ready and he had to join her at the door, both of them completely naked. If she noticed his arousal - and honestly, how could she not - she said nothing. Simply took his hand and led them along the line that led to the shower room.

“You go first, love,” he told her, knowing that only one shower actually worked. Grabbing her caddy from the bench, he handed it to her then picked his up and held it in front of him, hiding himself from her view even as he turned around in an attempt to give her some privacy. An action that would also prove futile.

“Oh, one more thing before you begin,” Pan’s voice grated from overhead. “I’m sure you’d like a towel this time, so Emma, in order for you to receive yours, Killian has to watch while you bathe yourself. You won’t mind, will you Killian?”

Grinding his teeth together, Killian peered over his shoulder and willed his gaze to remain fixed on hers. She gave him a small shrug, but he could see in her expression how she didn’t want a repeat of the last time they’d defy Pan’s “offer” to earn towels.

“It isn’t as though you haven’t seen it all before,” she said, clearly trying to justify her willingness to comply while still leaving it up to him. “But I don't need a towel. I can just drip dr--”

“No,” Killian sighed, turning around while keeping his caddy firmly held in front of him. “You’re right. A small price to pay to ensure your comfort.” Even if it robs me of my own, Killian thought to himself as he adjusted his stance.

Though he was tempted to set his focus over Swan’s head and onto the back, tiled wall, Killian knew Pan would not come through with the promised item if he felt Killian had not made good on his end of the deal, so he watched as Emma lathered shampoo into her hair, the suds sliding down her neck and collecting atop her breasts before slipping between and continuing on in their descent down her body.

Shifting his stance again, his buttocks clenched and a groan caught in the back of his throat. Each movement of her hand as it scrubbed the soap filled loofah along her skin brought forth a memory of how she had pleasured herself beneath his gaze earlier that day. His hardened cock bobbed, brushing against the plastic of the caddy he was still clutching at his groin, and Killian felt ridiculous for the way his lust was running away with him. It wasn’t as if she were putting on a show. There was nothing overtly seductive in the way she was showering, but the mere fact she was wet and naked, with suds covering her body while within arms reach, coupled with the memories of her splayed out before him, which were seared into his mind's eye, were enough to have him rigid and weeping by the time she’d finally finished.

“Okay,” Emma said, collecting her items and stepping out from the hot spray. “Your turn.” They quickly switched places, and Emma inquired to the open space around them. “I don’t suppose you’d go ahead and give me that towel so I can dry off while taking my turn to watch, huh?”

“Funny you should mention that,” Pan answered, in that tone that always made Killian’s gut tighten with apprehension. “I think you’ll want to wait for your towel since the only way Killian will be earning his is if… you wash him.”

“Fuck,” Killian muttered under his breath, his groin throbbing at the mere thought of Emma’s touch running over the wet planes of his body.

From behind him, Emma sighed. The splash of her feet against the wet tile preceded her presence, and Killian was hyper aware of how close she stood as she squeezed his shampoo into her hands.

“Wet your hair for me,” she instructed. “ And you might have to crouch down, so I can…”

Killian obeyed and tried to center his focus on anything other than the way the scratch of her nails on his scalp sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine. When she told him to turn around so she could begin washing his front, he studied every tile, every faucet, every crack, every water stain within the room so as to try and ignore the feel of the loofah scrubbing him clean. His neck, his chest, his shoulders, his arms, his torso, just to the waist, before she instructed him to turn once more.

His efforts were futile, though. The hot spray beating down on his cock nearly sent him over the edge as she continued her thorough cleansing. His back, his buttocks, the backs of his thighs, his calves, his heels.

“Turn,” Emma said, crouched down at his feet and working her way back up his legs.

He shouldn’t have looked down. He shouldn’t have taken in the sight of her naked, wet, and practically on her knees before him once again. For with the image came the memory of her mouth wrapped around his cock, her tongue teasing his tip, and the way she swallowed around his length. When her hand brushed against his balls he was lost. Unable to keep himself from coming, he grabbed onto his cock and managed to turn away from her; a pained, guttural noise reverberated from his chest from the ruined orgasm she’d inadvertently given him that was spilling over his hand.

“Killian? Are you okay? What’s… oh.”

“Fuck!” he shouted in anger, slamming his hand against the tile wall. Humiliation and shame burned at his cheeks, and when Emma’s hand lightly grazed his shoulder, he bucked it off, turning his body further away from hers. “Don’t,” he clipped out on a huff of breath as a shudder ran through him. “Please, I…”

What the hell was wrong with him?

“I-I’m sorry, love,” he panted. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“Hey,” she soothed. “It’s okay. Will you… will you please look at me?”

His shoulders slumped as he complied, turning to face her even though he couldn’t yet look her in the eye.

Her hand cupped his cheek and he nuzzled into her touch on instinct, his eyes slipping shut until she said, “Killian, we have no idea what Pan actually gave you earlier.”

His eyes flew open and he jerked back, his mouth agape as he stared at her. That possibility had never crossed his mind.

“I was thinking about it while you were asleep,” she confided. “I know Pan said it was poison and an antidote, but… he could have given you anything. For all we know, he gave you some sort of hyped up aphrodisiac or stimulant for this very purpose.” Stepping forward, she closed the space between them and took his face in her hands once more. “He wants us to suffer. He wants to make things awkward between us. He wants to force us into situations that are humiliating and vulnerable and harmful. None of this is your fault.”

Killian swallowed hard and took in a shuddering breath.

“And just for the record,” she continued on with a soft yet coy smile, “the fact that I turn you on in no way offends me or makes me uncomfortable. You don’t have to hide that fact from me.”

Before Killian could respond, the sound of something being rolled into the room caught both their attention. A cart, ladened with towels, had been pushed through the door. Emma grabbed Killian’s hand, prompting him forward so they could grab the towels before they might be whisked away again, but he resisted.

“Hang on,” he said, a fresh blush coloring his cheeks. “Let me just… clean up first.”

“Right.” Gesturing towards the cart, she said. “I’ll just grab us both some towels.”

Killian quickly rinsed away the remnants of his orgasm, giving himself a few extra moments to simply stand in the calming waters of the shower, allowing his heart rate and breathing to normalize before joining Swan by the towel cart.

“Here,” she said, handing him two towels. “I wasn’t sure how many you’d want.”

An amused sound fell from his lips as he wrapped a towel around his waist before draping the other over his shoulders. Swan was currently swathed from head to toe in three towels, with a fourth clutched against her chest. Clearly she was taking no chances of being left cold and wet like last time.

They were both relieved to find that, unlike last time, everything was exactly as they’d left it when they returned to their cell room. Once they’d finished drying off and getting dressed, another surprise was in store for them.

A meal. An unprompted and unearned meal. A tray of their favorite foods appeared behind the food panel without any warning or strings attached. Or so they hoped.

“Tell me more about what the Lost One said.” They had been quietly consuming their meal for several long minutes before the silence had begun to further unnerve him. A wry smile rose at the corner of Emma’s lip prompting Killian to ask, “What?”

“I’d tried to bring up this topic in the shower, but you appeared to have other things on your mind.”

“You did?”

Emma nodded, an amused expression set on her face as she took another bite of her grilled cheese sandwich. “Mhmm,” she hummed, waiting until she’d finished the bite before adding, “I asked if you had any ideas as to who the Lost One might be, but you were too… focused on the task Pan had set that I don’t think you even heard me.”

Pawing at the patch of skin behind his ear that always seemed to flare up when something embarrassed him, Killian mumbled a half-hearted apology, knowing her teasing tone and the mischievous glint in her eye were in an effort to keep the subject light-hearted.

“Yes, well,” he said, popping a grape into his mouth, “Any task of Pan’s worth doing…”

He left the statement unfinished, allowing it to hang between them for a moment before turning serious once more.

“Honestly, I haven’t a clue who it could be,” he confessed. “I can’t imagine my being here would be a punishment to anyone in my life other than Liam, and neither of those men is my brother.”

“You’re sure?”

“Aye,” he stated with confidence. “Liam is broader, more solidly built, and besides,” he took in a deep breath, calming himself as the memory of the last time he’d heard his brother’s voice filled his mind. “We heard that voicemail. He thinks I’m on some sort of trip, and the thought of it obviously gave him comfort. Plus, I can’t really see Liam getting involved with someone like Pan. He’s too… noble and self-righteous.”

Emma snorted at Killian’s exasperated tone. “Sounds a little like David.”

“Speaking of David,” Killian hedged, picking at the remains of his meal. “Any chance he might be--”

Emma cut him off with a shake of her head. “Neither of them are David, but…”

“But… what?”

She chewed her lip for a moment, guilt pinching her features as she whispered, “I have wondered if my disappearance and presumed death isn’t some sort of punishment for him or Mary Margaret, but honestly… like you with Liam, I can’t imagine either of them getting caught up in some sideways deal with the likes of Pan. And I have no idea who I would be a punishment for, besides the Nolans.”

Killian scratched his fingers through the scruff at his jaw. “I suppose we’ll have to wait for an opportunity to ask them outright.”

“Yeah…” Emma hedged, collecting their tray of finished dishes and depositing it back on the exposed shelf. “That’s if Pan hasn’t done something to them in retaliation for talking to me about it.”

As if on cue, the speakers overhead crackled, signaling the impending voice of their captor.

“I take it you both enjoyed your shower and dinner?”

Neither of them answered, seeing as Pan’s questions were generally rhetorical. However, it seemed he’d hoped for some sort of response this time.

“Come now,” he pouted. “No thanks or show of gratitude for my generosity today? Might I remind you that I required nothing of you in exchange for both the showers and the meal? Not to mention my leniency regarding the towels… considering Emma never finished completely washing you, Killian.”

Mutters of ‘thanks’ begrudgingly fell from their lips, followed by startled gasps as the room was suddenly plunged into darkness.

“Perhaps a good night’s sleep will help you both gain some perspective on my indulgences, because rest assured… tomorrow our game will be back in full swing. Round three awaits you both.”

“Goody,” Emma grumbled, climbing into bed and settling herself beneath the covers. “Are you going to be able to sleep?” she asked, propping herself up onto her side, facing him. “You were out for a while after… whatever they gave you earlier.”

“Aye,” Killian replied, laying down beside her with his eyes trained at the ceiling. His mind, however, was not on sleep.

“Tell me,” Emma said, softly, sensing that something was troubling him.

It took Killian a few long moments before deciding to share his burden with her. The last thing he wanted to do was pressure her, or endanger either of them in any way at the prospect of breaking Pan’s rules, but the more he thought about it…

“I don’t want our first time to be forced,” he whispered. “Or coerced.” Swallowing thickly, he murmured, “I don’t want to fuck you because Pan tells me to, I want…”

“What?” she said on a husky breath. “What do you want?”

Turning his head, he locked eyes with her, fighting against the desperation to reach out and hold her as he declared, “I want to make love to you. I want you on our terms, not his. I want to have you because you want me too, not so we can endure this hell a little longer. I want to think back on my time with you and have something pure, something untainted to remember. Something I can hold onto with happiness.”

Tentatively, she reached out and brushed her fingers through his hair. “So do I.”

Air whooshed from his lungs. He wanted nothing more than to close the gap between them, take her in his arms, and kiss the breath out of her, but… “It’s risky,” he reminded her. “I shudder to think what Pan might do. I know I’m willing to face whatever punishment he might have in store for me, but the thought of him hurting you--”

Emma stopped his words with the press of her fingers against his lips, and held them there as she repositioned herself, straddling his waist. “You’re worth the risk.” Pulling him up by the collar of his shirt, she fused her mouth to his, but not before demanding, “Fuck Pan, and make love to me, Killian.”

(Yeah, I know... feel free to yell at me in the reblog/comments 😁)

Part Six

[mojowitchcraft]

Fave WIP Round-Up [Part 1]

Personally, I love a WIP, I love getting updates in my inbox and I love supporting and interacting with the writers as new chapters come out. So here's some of my fave WIPS that have updated recently, go show them some love! Find the rest of my WIP Recs here

Roommate Wanted by @lihhelsing [Now Complete] Rated E | Chapters: 16/16 | Words: 66k

Steve Harrington has a problem and it seems that Eddie Munson is his only solution. Nevermind that he has never met Eddie, or that he seems a little weird from what Steve can gather, Steve just needs a place to live that's cheap enough and Eddie is offering exactly that. A roommate in a one-bedroom apartment should be fine. Even if there's only one bed, right? They're never even going to meet each other since they keep opposite schedules. But Steve can't live with someone he barely knows, he has a weird curiosity about his quirky roommate. He has a genius solution and they begin to communicate through notes.

Slither by @mixsethaddams [Now Complete] Rated M | Chapters: 10/10 | Words: 71k

Eddie Munson has a reputation for using his podcast to tear apart any influencer that has the misfortune of coming into his line of fire. So when Steve Harrington, heir to a hotel fortune and king of talentless masses, pops up on his screen, it should be Eddie's easiest target yet. Right?

Better by You, Better Than Me by @palmviolet Rated M | Chapters: 35/? | Words: 182k

November 1983. Between unpaid bills, the supposedly straight jock he’s seeing, and letters from his convict dad, seventeen year old Eddie Munson’s got enough to worry about. But when Will Byers goes missing, it sparks a chain of events that will show there are more depths to Hawkins — and to certain people in it, like infamous Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington — than he realizes. / or, the excessively long slow-burn in which Eddie is involved in the Upside Down from the very beginning.

In My Head (I See a Supercut of Us) by @kiaramori Rated E | Chapters: 13/14 | Words: 91k

"I just want him to know how I feel--and not be freaked out or anything. I don't need him to feel the same, I just want him to understand." In which Eddie accidentally makes a deal with a devil, and Steve's bisexual awakening takes him by force

as good a place to fall as any by @rewritingicarus Rated E | Chapters: 12/14 | Words: 73k

"Are you sure this doesn't look ridiculous?" says Steve, watching Eddie as he pads back behind the camera. "You definitely don't look ridiculous, man," says Eddie, shooting a few frames. "I know you probably feel it right now, because you're not used to it, but, trust me — camera loves you, dude. You look like a wet dream." or Eddie is a photographer in need of a model. Steve could do with the extra cash.

Crawling On Back To You by @rainbow-nerdss [Now Complete] Rated M | Chapters: 30/30 | Words: 109k

By anyone’s estimation, Steve shouldn’t have an opinion about Eddie one way or another, apart from the wild hair and crazed laughter which sometimes came from his lunch table in the cafeteria. But that’s only because nobody really thought all that much about anything that happened before middle school. Before Steve hit puberty, started playing sports, and most importantly, before he started hanging around with Tommy, Carol and the rest of the popular kids. Because Eddie Munson? He was Steve’s first ever friend — his best friend, really, for close to six years.

Coming Up Lavender by cairparavels [Now Complete] Not Rated | Chapters: 28/28 | Words: 68k

Steve goes to college with one thing on his mind: a new start. What he gets is the ghost of his sullied past as a roommate, forcing Steve to come to terms not only with who he once was, but who he wants to be.

Now Playing on WICR by @spinmewriteround Rated M | Chapters: 7/? | Words: 31k

A modern college AU, in which Eddie leads a double life: The Bard, a college radio DJ, by day, annoying group project partner by... other days. Both personas have loved Steve Harrington from afar for years, but when he lets his secret slip on air one day, it's up to his off the air self to prove that he means it.

Rolled a 1 on the Check, Rolled a 20 on the Save by @apuckishwit Rated T | Chapters: 30/34 | Words: 111k

A modern AU where, after his relationship with Nancy flames out in spectacular fashion, Steve finds himself feeling increasingly depressed and adrift. With nothing better to do with his time, he gives in when Dustin begs him to join his online DnD game to round out the party. To his surprise, he finds himself really enjoying it--the guy running the game is amazing, and super patient when Steve doesn't get something. He and their DM, Eddie, often find themselves talking on the games Discord server for hours after their session ends. For the first time since Nancy left him, he's starting to feel like things aren't so bleak. Still, when he has an opportunity to take Dustin and the others to the big gaming convention Eddie's planning on attending a few states away so they can all meet in person for a one-shot session, he's nervous. Really nervous. Like...way more nervous than he should be, just meeting a friend. Eddie IS just a friend...right?

Edited May 7th to note completed fics Edited Aug 3rd to note completed fics

[hoardingpuffin]

With the Band AU being quite popular rn in the Fable community, allow your Local Bassist With Brainrot to use this as a shameless excuse to infodump a few bass and bassist fun facts/general facts in no particular order of relevance.

• we typically credit Paul Tutmarc with the invention of the bass guitar in the 1930s, and it became popular because many musicians grew tired of logging around the larger and heavier contrabass

• bassists typically have callouses and, due to the nature of how you play, are gonna have short fingernails. The hand used for plucking is gonna have callouses on the very top of their fingertips due to the angle of how you pluck bass strings, whereas the hand that's on the neck is gonna have them more on the pads of the fingers. Bassists also have nimble, very flexible fingers [do with that information what you will fanfic writers]

• E-Bass, P-Bass, Bass Guitar and J-Bass are all terms referring to basses that're not the typical orchestral bass or Contrabass. "J-Bass" specifically stands for Jazz Bass, a term coined by Fender in the 60s. A Jazz Bass or J-Bass has a specific shape, two single coil pickups (a P-Bass or Precision Bass typically is gonna have one pickup) and more slender necks. Generally, a J-Bass' tone is gonna be a bit cleaner than a P-Bass'. J-Basses are especially used for Blues, Jazz, Funk and Reggae (but obviously not exclusively).

• apart from Fender, some popular Bass brands are Harley Benton, Squier and Sire Marcus Miller

• it's a popular joke that the bassist is the quiet member of the band and/or that they have it "easy" - however, it's the bassist's job to keep the rhythm and provide a large chunk of the foundation of a song [the same or very similar jokes exist for drummers - listen, sometimes musicians bully each other. It's a love language/j].

• you don't typically strum a bass like you do a guitar - you rest your thumb on a pickup and use index, middle and sometimes ring finger to pluck from above.

• a bass' neck is often longer than a guitar's, meaning that the frets are further apart - so some things that work on guitar are not gonna work on bass [found that out when I tried learning a bassline my partner wrote on guitar - it's tricky /lh]

[schmedterlingfreud]

writing patterns

Thank you again @ma-chi1993 for the tag! ♡⸜(ˆᗜˆ˵ )⸝♡

rules: share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns!

Now, since I've published just nine works on my AO3 account (I wish I could write shorter and more stories, sigh), I'm using my EFP account as a reference.

Also… why are my first sentences so short? That is the pattern, believe me.

La cosa più pericolosa, (Luca) || AO3 -- EFP [🇮🇹​] "La cicatrice quella sera aveva ricominciato a pulsare, a scottare lungo la pelle del viso bruciato dall’abbronzatura e scorticato dalle rughe di vecchiaia, a scavare un solco di dolore dalla mandibola, lì dove nasceva, fino al lobo dell’orecchio destro." [🇬🇧] "That evening, the scar had begun to pulse again, to burn along the skin of his face, burned by the tan and flayed by the wrinkles of old age, to dig a furrow of pain from his jaw, where it began, up to his right earlobe."

Effetto Luna, (Luca) || AO3 -- EFP [🇮🇹]​ "Due settimane e tre giorni." [🇬🇧] "Two weeks and three days."

L'Ideale del Paguro, (Luca) || AO3 -- EFP [🇮🇹​] "Ce n’erano a centinaia." [🇬🇧] "There were hundreds of them."

Canto d'estate, di lacrime e d'odio, (Original, Poetry) || EFP [🇮🇹​] "Bevi, ti strozzi, gocce tiepide che sbrodolano fino al mento, che ti colano fra le dita, che non distingui più dalla tua saliva, e hai ancora più sete" [🇬🇧] "You drink, you choke, warm drops that drip down your chin, between your fingers, that you can no longer distinguish from your saliva, and you are even thirstier"

Quattro di Picche, (Hetalia: Axis Powers) || AO3 -- EFP [🇮🇹​] "Feliciano balzò in ginocchio sul suo sedile imbottito, si sporse contro il finestrino del treno e appiccicò le mani al vetro intiepidito dai raggi del sole." [🇬🇧] "Feliciano jumped to his knees on his padded seat, leaned against the train window and pressed his hands to the glass warmed by the sun's rays."

Come tempera nell'acqua, (Original) || EFP [🇮🇹​] "La prima goccia è sempre la più bella, non trovi?" [🇬🇧] "The first drop is always the most beautiful, don't you think?"

Lithuanian Cub, (Hetalia: Axis Powers) || AO3 -- EFP [🇮🇹​] "Caro Eduard, dopo tutto questo tempo ho finalmente trovato il coraggio di rintracciarti di nuovo e di scriverti per avere tue notizie. [🇬🇧] "Dear Eduard, after all this time, I have finally gained the courage to search you out again and to write to have news from you."

Siberian Cub, (Hetalia: Axis Powers) || AO3 -- EFP [🇮🇹​] "Stringo il quadrato di carta stagnola fra le dita, formo un angolo sul bordo, in modo che la polvere si raccolga tutta al centro della strozzatura, e la inclino verso il cucchiaio che reggo con l’altra mano." [🇬🇧] "I squeeze the square of tin foil between my fingers, form an angle on the edge, so that all the powder collects in the center of the constriction, and tilt it toward the spoon that I hold with my other hand."

Chinese Cub, (Hetalia: Axis Powers) || AO3 -- EFP [🇮🇹​] "Il braccio di Ivan mi pesa sul petto." [🇬🇧] "Ivan's arm weighs on my chest."

Danish Cub, (Hetalia: Axis Powers) || AO3 -- EFP [🇮🇹​] "Ho freddo alle punte dei piedi." [🇬🇧] "My toes feel cold."

I'm tagging writers pals again and all of you who are reading these words and who want to share their writing! ✩

[blowflyfag]

WRESTLING FURY: June 1989

PAUL E. DANGEROUSLY 

The Manager Fans Love To Hate

By Don Laible 

[The original Midnight Express are wreaking havoc in NWA rings everywhere.]

What a difference two years can make. It wasn’t too long ago that this Scarsdale, New York resident was juggling responsibilities as managing editor for several internationally recognized professional wrestling magazines. Always tagged as the ‘Boy Wonder’ who worked best under pressure, a career as a spokesman and manager to some of the most respectable grapplers seems to have been destined to Paul E. Dangerously. 

With the encouragement and support from key wrestling personnel and his family, Dangerously has become the top ‘mouthpiece’ in the sport today, at least he has according to this writer. As a result of his dedication and will to succeed in such a brutal game filled with more disappointments than highlights, Paul E. has overcome the biggest hurdle of them all–the rookie jinx. Dangerously has been riding high on victories and championships for two years now with no let up in sight. 

The weight that tipped the scale in favor of Dangerously giving him a shot at becoming a manager actually occurred several years back.It was the late Grand Wizard of Wrestling, one the sharpest dressers and smoothest talking men among the managerial ranks, that encouraged Paul E. to follow his dream. Through his father-son type of a relationship with the Wizard, the managing seed was planted within Dangerously. 

“The Wizard was a wonderful man who commanded respect,” stated Paul when asked about the man he admired for so many years. “I owe so much to him. You know, I studied his actions both in and out of the ring. To me, he was the master and who better to learn from than a man who managed world heavyweight singles and tag team champions,” continued Dangerously from his home in Atlanta, Georgia. 

[Paul E. and Eddie Gilbert really got things cooking at the CWF.]

Everyone, regardless of their profession, needs a place to begin from, a so-called launching pad. In January 1987, the state of Florida was where Paul E. Dangerously unleashed his managerial talents to the wrestling world. His first proteges who paraded the ‘Sunshine State’ territory were billed as The Motor City Mad Madmen: Tombstone and Man Mountain Mike. What a pair of bookends Dangerously was nestled between! Both men were over 6’4” and 260 lbs. And, needless to say, opponents found it frustrating and difficult to take a swipe at the bold young manager. 

During their first pro tour, Dangerously and his duo wanted to send a message loud and clear that they could not be intimidated. Kevin Sullivan, a seasoned veteran with numerous championship belts displayed in his trophy case, was targeted by Dangerously to be the Madmen’s first victim to get their ‘no mercy’ policy across to the rest of the wrestling pack. 

Sure enough, after being on the receiving end of a few brutal beatings by Dangerously’s duo, the much heralded Sullivan disappeared from the Florida region for apparently safer grounds in the Mid-Atlantic area. In a few short weeks, Paul E. Dangerously was not only a respected managerial mind but the talk of all wrestling promoters throughout North America as well. 

Shortly after his stint drew to a close in Florida, Paul E. Dangerously became a household name with wrestling fans. Once signing on with the Minneapolis, Minnesota based American Wrestling Association, whose television show aired on the ESPN Cable Network, Dangerously was brought into millions of households on a daily basis. With the confidence he gained with the Motor City Madmen carried over into the AWA, Paul E. began an intense search to bring together a wrestling family that would play ‘second fiddle’ to no one. He didn’t just want to make a name for himself, the brash rookie manager was culminating a plan to totally dominate the prestigious organization. 

Paul E. Dangerously didn’t waste any time in ruffling a few feathers within the AWA. “Loverboy” DEnnis Condrey and “Ravishing” Randy Rose, the Original Midnight Express tag team, through lengthy negotiations, were reunited and brought into the AWA by Paul E. They most assuredly entered with a bang. At the time Dangerously brought in the Original Midnight Express, Jerry Lawler and Bill Dundee held the AWA Tag Team title. 

[Randy Rose and Paul E. inspect the bloody damage done to Tommy Rich by Austin Idol. Idol was one of the first men handled by Dangerously.]

After winning challenges in convincing fashion from such respected teams as Greg Gagne and Steve O, Dangerously shrewdly secured a contract calling for his prized up to get a shot at the tag champs in a match that was to be held in Whitewater, Wisconsin. The championship match went according to his most fans anticipated, quick paced and lots of high flying maneuvers. However, it was because of Dangerously ‘two cents’ thrown into the encounter that had a profound impact on the outcome. 

As Lawler let his temper get the best of him, he chased Paul E. around the ringside area. With the referee’s back to the action in the ring, Dangerously successfully noticeably flipped his ever present cordless telephone to Dennis Condrey who wacked it across the unsuspecting Dundee’s forehead. The pin was now academic. One, two, three–on October 30, 1987 the new AWA Tag Team Champions, led by Paul E. Dangerously, were the Original Midnight Express. 

The late ‘Adorable’ Adrian Adonis and ‘Cowboy’ Bob Orton, Jr. were two other established wrestling machines who entrusted their careers in the hands of Dangerously. It was through the strategy set forth by Paul E. that enabled Adonis to run Tommy “Wildfire” Rich out of AWA rings.

When asked about his feelings towards Adonis, Paul E. was quoted as saying. “Adrian put on quite a bit of weight when we were together but it never affected his performance on the mat. He was a remarkable athlete and it was a privilege to have worked with him.”

[Veteran wrestling announcer Boyd Pierce puts a headlock on Dangerously as “Kangaroo” Al Costello takes control of the famous phone.]

Once his goals in the AWA were accomplished, it was off to the Alabama headquartered Continental Wrestling Federation. What a greener pasture the CWF proved to be for Paul E. Dangerously. The services of “Hot Stuff” Eddie Gilbert were quickly secured by Dangerously. Together, Gilbert and his manager literally brought back front he grave a promotion experiencing unhealthy low attendance figures to all-time high box office receipt records. 

Dangerously and Gilbert were the pulse that pumped exciting ring action throughout the CWF circuit. Fan favorites Austin Idol and Willie B. Hurt were Eddie and Paul E.’s main adversaries. With some of the painful, degrading stunts executed by Dangerously on Gilbert’s opponents, there wasn’t a fan in Dixie that had any compassion for what would happen to the cocky, quick-talking Yankee. Unfortunately, and much to the fans disappointment, Paul E. Dangerously had the last laugh on all of them. He departed from the CWF without a scratch on his body. 

With all the attention Jim Cornette’s Midnight Express (“Beautiful” Bobby Eaton and “Sweet” Stan Lane) had been receiving, Dangerously regrouped his Express and headed back to the National Wrestling Alliance to reclaim the right to be known as the one and only Midnight Express. Right off the bat, Paul E. got his angered message across to Jim Cornette. 

While the verbose Cornette was being interviewed during an NWA television taping, a phone call for Jim was received. The voice speaking to Cornette was that of Dangerously. Apparently there had been bad blood between the two managers in the past as Jim Cornette was screaming derogatory remarks at Dangerously at the onset of the call. A challenge was then made by Cornette to Dangerously. 

Just moments after the heated conversation, all hell broke loose. Paul E. Dangerously and his Original Midnight Express miraculously appeared on the set. Eaton and Lane were overcome by the surprise attack by Dangerously’s tag unit. Cornette was victimized with a wallop to the forehead by Paul E.’s phone and bled profusely. When order was finally restored, a feud was born within the ranks of the NWA–Express VS Express and manager clawing at manager. 

Intimidation isn’t in Paul E. Dangerously’s  vocabulary. Wherever he turns up, whatever task is put to him, Paul E. challenges it with a vengeance. Young, articulate, professional, agree or disagree with his tactics inside an arena, one fact remains unblemished–Paul E. Dangerously remains on top in wrestling due to his will to be the best. Second best is all the motive the “Scarsdale Superbrat” Needs to keep him working overtime on staying ahead of the rest of the pack.