#free virtual beat

[phantomrose96]

Prometheus

content warnings: horror. body horror. ghost show can have a little existential horror, as a treat! :)

...

Tucker and Danny sat as silhouettes in the Foley attic rec-room.

The ghoulish light of the television pinned their shadows against the back wall, pulsing in and out like fireflies at each flash of the screen. It left their backs drenched in darkness, and it made monoliths of the old furniture and piled-high boxes that wrapped the perimeter of the attic. Drafty air whistled through the gaps in the insulation. Plicks and flicks of moths beat in tone against the light of the television where the seal of the attic window failed to keep them out. Danny hounded the controller in his hands, clackering with each frenetic beat of his thumb while he mashed his buttons and leaned his full bodyweight into the assault he wrought, virtually until--

“BOOM!! Headshot!” Danny yelled with a pump of his fist. From his nonexistent peripheral vision, he could not see the way Tucker would not look at him.

“Come on, man,” Tucker said.

“Get it?” Danny asked.

“Dude, come on, like… Maybe don’t.”

Danny let out a disappointed huff of air from his nostril, spirits dampened. The wayward glow of his eye settled back on the screen: Victory blazoned across his split of the screen. You Died pulsed on Tucker’s. Danny mashed the rematch option. “Maybe get good then,” Danny said, “and then you get to make the bad puns.”

“Sorry man look I’m just—tired okay?”

“Yeah I know—”

“You can be goofy about it tomorrow—”

“I know—”

“I promise it’ll be hilarious then just—”

“Okay okay, I get it. I’ll save the jokes—”

“How much longer?”

“Hmm?”

Danny looked, and Tucker was looking now too, and it was taking all concentrated will on Tucker’s face to keep looking.

“How much longer until you’re like… You know.”

4am chimed from the grandfather clock stowed in the Foley attic. The ghostly sheen of the television splashed bright and pallid across the right side of Tucker’s face, as he stared at Danny. And it splashed bright across the left side of Danny’s face, which was the only side of Danny’s face remaining.

“I don’t know like… maybe 3 more hours, I think?” A lisp whistled from the absent flesh of his jawbone.

Tucker watched his lips. And his eyes drifted to the shadow carved dark and empty in the socket that could no longer see him, a merciful concealment of where skin turned to raw exposed flesh turned to bone.

Tucker looked forward again, and he mashed his thumbs into his own controller. Danny’s character’s skull exploded into a cloud of meat-rain before Danny had the chance to notice the match resume.

“Fine. I can do 3 more hours,” Tucker said. “And start watching your head.”

…

It wasn’t until the camping trip 4 months ago that Danny knew anything was strange.

It was a yearly Fenton tradition, which Danny tolerated and Jazz dreaded, to haul the four of them and the RV out into some swampy campground 3 hours from home. They’d roll in roaring, RV stuffed to the brim with wilderness equipment and enough mechanical monstrosities to scare away all actual wildlife. All except for the fish, who had the disadvantage of not seeing the mechanical affront to God parked with questionable legality on the campgrounds.

This year, Danny had decided he was embracing it. Because for the first time, sitting grubby and wet in the mud for 3 days sounded much nicer than his typical weekend plans, which was mainly getting his ass kicked by ghosts. He’d flagged down Valerie a week ahead of time to tell her, between gunshots, that he’d be absent for those 3 days. Valerie had taken equal offence at the request that she pick up Phantom’s slack, and the implication that she wasn’t already doing that.

But it meant the ghosts were covered for the weekend, and it meant Danny was free to do nothing more exciting than sit in the mud, which was all well and good enough for Danny. Although his hopes of leaving the weekend with the same number of scars he started with were dashed by hour 5. It was his own fault too. Jack had insisted Danny gut the fish Jack caught via a blast of the Fenton Disintegrator to the lake (unconventional, not even a fishing device, a ghost weapon he and Maddie were fine-tuning. A ranger came and yelled at them about it.) And while distracted by his parents getting told off for being menaces, Danny miscalculated the slipperiness of both fish and knife.

Luckily the RV was, among many many things, a hospital on wheels, and Jazz had quit sulking long enough to take a morbid fascination in cleaning Danny’s palm out with antiseptic that burned like acid and bandaging up his palm. For dinner that night, Danny ate his open-flame grilled fish with a little more prejudice than usual.

By Saturday, his hand hadn’t healed. Nor by Sunday. And on Sunday evening while Maddie and Jack busied themselves with packing up the tent they’d both invented and yet struggled to collapse back into its box, Danny flagged Jazz with quiet urgency.

“I think there’s something wrong with my hand.”

“Wrong how?”

“Infected, maybe.”

Jazz knit her brow in concern. “It looked fine this morning,” she muttered as she pulled Danny down onto the stump beside her and flipped open the First Aid kit latch. She unraveled Danny’s bandage layer by layer, and the concerned knit to her brow loosened to confusion.

“It looks fine. It’s barely even red.”

Danny snatched his hand back. “Yeah, and it’s barely healed at all.”

“I mean, it’s healed a little bit.”

“Yeah but. Barely.”

“It looks pretty normal.”

“Jazz my day-job is getting whacked with ghost machetes,” Danny said, tone growing a little tense at Jazz’s lack of concern. “I know how quickly cuts are supposed to heal.”

“And how quickly is that?”

“I mean. It depends. But like a day.”

“A day?”

“Or maybe 25 hours, I guess.”

“Danny, you cut yourself pretty deep.”

“26 hours max, literally.”

Jazz was staring. Danny felt awkwardly judged.

“Hey um, as a question Danny, do you remember the last injury you got before your ghost powers?”

Danny hesitated. He racked his brain and some part of him felt a little embarrassed how hard he had to search, as if it were shameful to have been so delicately uninjured before this whole thing.

“…Dash, maybe. But Dash it good at the kind of quick jabby punches that hit your nerve but don’t bruise.”

“Anything else?”

Danny fell quiet. Then brightened. “I fell off my bike last year. Racing Tucker. Scraped up my shin and knee.”

“And how long did that take to heal?”

The delight faded a bit. Danny thinned his lips thinking. “…Maybe a while.”

“Probably a few weeks.”

“Jeez, really? No.” Danny said. And he so deeply wanted to be offended, because he’d become the biggest expert in the family on getting his skin used as a ghost shrapnel canvas, which should make him the authority on injury healing. And Jazz was doubting all of that. “No. That’d heal in like. A day.”

“Maybe with ghost powers,” Jazz answered. “Maybe in ghost form. Which, currently and for the last 3 days, you have not been in.”

Danny fell quiet. He considered this information that deeply annoyed him until, with grudgingness edging to acceptance, he looked at his hand, and then his sister, and then his hand.

“….Oh.”

That night, home and showered and with the clock creeping toward 1am, Danny sat on his bed. He pooled his hands in his lap, lit by the moonlight pouring through his bedroom window. He sat an inch above his bed, in fact, hair shimmery white and his right glove removed. In the wash of moonlight he watched his palm. And there was something haunting, almost, in the way he could see the edges of the cut stitch themselves back together bit by tiniest bit. He lost himself in a grainy infomercial on his television, and when it ended, his cut was gone.

…

Phantom returned to the ghost fighting scene with an unwarranted new confidence. In truth nothing had changed. But Danny operated now with the knowledge that he was a particular kind of resilient that he’d not actually realized before. And while he did not like getting fileted by Skulker’s ghost gut-hook knife, or seared by Ember’s flame guitar, or bonked in the head by Fenton Bolas (Dad why), there was a certain delight in the “This will all not be a problem by tomorrow”-ness of it all.

Even better, he now knew that just idling in ghost mode for an extra hour or two was all it took to be right as rain again. (“This is making your Gameboy addiction worse than Tucker’s,” Sam had commented. “Well how else am I supposed to pass the time?” Danny asked while mashing buttons with one less finger than usual. “You could read a book.”)

On the flipside, it did make Danny grouchier about mid-school-day attacks, which didn’t afford him the luxury of floating around to bake in ghost mode for an hour or two watching bad tv. And unless Mr. Lancer got real chill real fast with Danny Phantom taking Danny Fenton’s English tests, it meant that any school-time fight injury had to be dealt with conventional human-style, and super-healed after school.

And Danny carried this knowledge with more bitterness than usual one fall afternoon when a fight with Technus had already gouged into the first 15 minutes of his math test, and now Danny was going to have to suck it up for the last 45 minutes if he wanted to pass geometry this quarter. Which was bullshit because that last blast Technus got on him had really fucking hurt.

Danny landed, and in his math-induced funk, he missed the particular wide-eyed way Sam and Tucker stared at him. “Here,” Danny said, handing off the thermos to Tucker, and Danny let his human transformation slip through in rings around his sternum.

“Danny stop,” Sam said, and with an urgent breathlessness that froze Danny in place. “Do not turn back.”

Confusion seeped into Danny’s blood. He let the transformation rings fade away, and he felt the thermos heavy in his outstretched hand that Tucker would not take. Heavy and wet. Heavy, and very very wet.

He looked at his hand, and his white glove was unrecognizable beneath the saturation of red. The thermos dropped from his hand, and suddenly Danny wasn’t so sure which direction was up.

“Sit,” Sam maybe said, or said something like it. Her hands were on his shoulders. He was easing in a direction that was probably down. His butt hit cold pavement. And suddenly he raked in a shuddering breath which was wet as mud.

Sam was pulling away the top of his suit, which was the worst possible place for her to do that considering how much it hurt. She was pulling right where Technus had blasted him, and Danny had half a mind to tell her off until he saw what was underneath the fabric.

“That’s not good,” he bubbled out through a lot of blood in his mouth and throat.

Baseball-sized. Like someone had taken a very large hole-puncher right to his sternum. A very good hole-puncher because it had in fact punched him straight through and run off with the little cut-out it stole. Globby flesh spilled to fill in some of the empty space. But a solid chunk of sternum, and heart, and lung, and spine, were rudely elsewhere.

Danny was in a very slippery wet dream, and his fluttering eyes agreed.

“No,” Sam said with an unnecessarily aggressive pinch of his skin. “Absolutely do not fall asleep.”

“Ow,” Danny said, maybe about the pinch but also his missing organs.

This wasn’t good enough for Sam who was a little bit ghost-shaded herself while she grabbed both Danny’s ears tight and angled Danny’s eyes to hers. “If you turn human now that’s going to be very very bad. You’re fine, Danny. You’re just in shock, I think. Focus on me. Come on, count with me Danny. 1. 2.”

“Isn’t counting sheep supposed to put you to sleep?” Danny quipped, but all the blood gurgling maybe ruined his delivery a little.

…

His heart sewed itself back together in 20 minutes. His esophagus and trachea kindly followed at the 27-minute mark, the last of the tubage knitting itself together and forming the correct kind of air-seal against anything else in his chest cavity. That was a blessing, because passing the time was easier when he could talk without re-enacting the elevator from The Shining – a joke Danny had tried to deliver several times and which refused to land.

And while he still did not have his new spine vertebrae nor sternum by the 30-minute mark, Danny could see the way the last of the white fear had left Sam’s face and the way Tucker could now face him directly. And that told him that however he looked, he no longer looked like someone who was going to die.

By the 1-hour mark, Danny sat drenched in his own blood from a fatal wound that no longer existed. And he’d missed his math test.

…

Super healing was cool. Very cool. What other kind of power lets you just walk away from fatal injuries?

At the close of a ghost fight, thermos capped, swimming in the eerie silence of a street cleared of screams, Danny stood. And he shivered. He ran his hands up and down his stomach, his chest, his back his face, pressing any pain-point to discover if his fingers would sink in wet and deep. Was it safe to transform back? If he made a mistake, would he notice fast enough? Would he be able to turn back again in time?

Alone in the snow of the Amity golf course. The roof of the mall. The back archives of the library. Danny lingered. Many places were good for lingering, and so Danny would linger, wherever and whenever he could. It made that held-breath feeling of transforming back easier, to know no part of him was at risk of undoing him.

And sometimes his hand did come away sticky. And in the black of night Danny went home, mindful to step only on the kitchen tile from which blood could be wiped up cleanly. And he was tired from too many nights of this when he pulled cereal from the cupboard and splashed milk into a bowl and cleared away the nuts and bolts from the half-undressed Fenton Disintegrator (undergoing v2 upgrades) and flickered the noxious glow of the muted television to life while his liver stitched itself back together. The tremble would not quite leave his cereal spoon hand but he’d manage.

One night Walker had blasted off half of Danny’s skull. And he lay shaking hunched on the pavement willing himself to overcome the pangs of shock radiating through his body until he had enough composure to call Tucker on the phone and ask if he could come over, if they could play Man vs. Zombie maybe, and stay awake through the night while his brain matter remade itself.

One night he had to grab Valerie by the ankle before she flew off, and she probably only heeded him because the break in Phantom’s superhero bravado unnerved her so much. “Please just stay and talk to me. Something bad will happen if I fall asleep,” he said, while holding the parts that used to be his stomach. “Define ‘bad.’” “I’ll die.” “Sounds like a human.” She shouldn’t have taken pity on him. But she did. Maybe because she was a human who would die like Danny if left on the pavement with her stomach open. Valerie stayed until the sun rose.

And he was lucky, because as a human he should have died. And Danny didn’t. He just came close, more and more and more. Until the sight of a raised ghost weapon forced a very human flinch from him.

…

“…losing an edge, you’d say, Craig?” “Not exactly. As a psychiatrist who’s worked with many veterans and active-duty soldiers, it’s common to—”

“Morning,” Jack said, flipping up his welding mask just long enough to nod to Danny before re-busying himself in his soldering.

“Dad, do you think maybe you could do that in the lab?” Jazz asked over a bowl of cornflakes, with a tone one might use when asking a 10-year-old to move his basketball game outside.

“Hmm, why? The table won’t catch fire.”

“Which is what you said last time,” Jazz said, carefully plucking up a cooled bit of metal scrap from beside her cereal bowl.

“…ffered many fatal injuries on camera, who knows how many weren’t capt—”

The television drowned beneath the screech of Jack’s welding, let up to breathe for moments at a time before Jack resumed the drowning. Danny’s eyes followed. The refurbished Fenton Disintegrator had nearly reformed, bigger than its original body, with a gaping fish-mouth twice the radius of the thing which had blasted up the fish in the campground lake.

“I just think, Dad, that you and Mom have a whooooole laboratory basement to yourselves, and I have just this one dining table to eat cereal at, so—”

“But then you kids would miss out on what I’m making. See, Danny’s interested. Danny, watch this—”

Jack hoisted the monster up. He hitched it atop his shoulder, and set his eye behind its sight, and twisted at the hip to point its open maw directly at Danny.

Danny froze.

“Dad, Jesus, at least show some trigger-discipline if you’re—Danny?”

Danny could not move. He could not move or really see. The shockwave rippled through him, and he believed for the moment that surely he’d been shot until Jazz shook him. “Danny, are you okay?”

Danny’s heart was intact but still it squeezed like it had been ripped. His legs were whole but they were numb beneath him. And he was useless too. Over what? Over nothing. Over a gun pointed at him, the sort which had been pointed at him 4,000 times before.

“…Danny?” Jazz asked, more worried than before. Jack had put down the gun, and he was staring at Danny in the same way.

And it was stupid. So very stupid. Because Danny had super-healing, and a hit from something like that would heal. It could rip him apart, and he’d be completely fine.

So it was all actually incredibly incredibly stupid that he was somehow, without even meaning to, crying.

…

The fight had ended three hours ago. And three hours was longer than only the worst of his injuries took to heal. Tonight had not been bad at all, just a bit of ripping and tearing at his leg from a bear-trap Skulker had laid (despite Skulker insisting he did not know what a bear was). And that had healed up in 20 minutes flat.

Danny lingered anyway, sitting soaking cold in the snow on the golf course. He liked that it was high-up here. He liked that the lights fanned far and wide. He liked that the razed-flat golf turf allowed nothing to hide. He wiled away the hours he ought to be sleeping, because there was a security in consciousness, in his ghost form. If he slept, he could be killed. And if he sat resting in ghost form on the crest of the golf course hill, he could not.

But he could nod off. Catching his head at each dip. But his mind fizzled and faded, rubbing against the staticky edge of sleep, enough to perhaps not notice steps in the snowfall that tracked him to where he sat.

The whir of the charging gun kicked him to high alert.

All alert, all at once, so suddenly adrenaline soaked that Danny had no sense of orientation when he spun on spot and his eyes drank in the sight of the barrel-mouth breathing to life in his direction.

“Told you I fixed the calibration on this, Honey.”

“Well at least it’s not a fish.”

Stop, Danny wanted to say. But he was paralyzed. He was dread. He was stone.

It screeched. And it roared. And with a connection of a car crash, it took greedily for itself a gibbous moon of Danny’s torso.

He collapsed. Eyes spinning. Ears ringing. Sensation like fire and like ice and like buzzing static and nothing, feeling, at all to connect to his legs.

Stop, Danny wanted to say. But he needed a mouth for that. So the second blast connected.

…

It had been an amount of time. Jack and Maddie Fenton may have stooped in the snow and collected samples to study. Danny could not know, because he’d need eyes to know. They may have crunched with their boots and mused about the resilience of ecto-flesh, more resilient than fish-flesh. Danny could not know, because he’d need ears to know. They may have picked him up piece-meal and carried him in their pockets. Danny could not know. Not without touch.

He may have been on the golf course. He may not have been. There was no ‘where’ Danny could know. He needed his proprioception for that.

There was was. There was something Danny hoped was be. This was, Danny hoped, awake. This was the only awake he could be without a brain. And if this was awake, how long could he last? And if this was awake, was it enough to heal again?

Super healing was cool. It saved you from death. But maybe not always.

Was time passing…? Was the snow cold. Was the wind blowing. Was the hilltop white under pooling lights. Was it. And did it. And was he and did he.

Was time passing?

Surely, it had been just an eternity, by now. An eternity at least.

Or had it been only one second.

Or Danny wasn’t here.

He was, though. He had to exist to feel what he felt in the moment. He had to exist even if he was deprived of the mouth needed to scream the agony that was, in its entirety, him.

…

Sun glazed the snow on the east bank of the golf course down to a slushy sheen by 10am the next morning. Mitted, in snow boots, three trespassers combed the 18 holes of Amity Park Golf Course.

“Are you sure it’s this one?” Sam asked, voice hoarse with a question that had been repeated once an hour for the last three hours between heaving breaths of clearing snow.

“It has to be this one. They said golf course there’s only one golf course,” Jazz answered, and her hands trembled against the heel of the shovel she dug into her nearest snowbank.

“Do you see any foot prints?”

“They’re melted.”

“Well check the melted sides then!”

“We checked the melted sides.”

“Maybe we missed—”

“Guys shut up,” Tucker said, and he said it low, and he said it with lips the color of ash. He stood rooted. And his eyes shifted to the crown of the hill 30 feet to their right.

Jazz and Sam shut up. Because they heard it too.

Jazz abandoned her shovel in the snow. She ran. But Sam was faster.

And it was a noise. Long and piercing and deflating. Quiet. Then starting fresh from the top. Long and singular, like the note of a bagpipe. Sam rounded the crest of the hill. And she found the noise first.

And this close, she realized what it was. The noise was relief. Because the thing lying in the melted snow was finally enough of a mouth, and enough of a throat, and enough of a lung, to scream.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Google’s new phones can’t stop phoning home

On OCTOBER 23 at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

One of the most brazen lies of Big Tech is that people like commercial surveillance, a fact you can verify for yourself by simply observing how many people end up using products that spy on them. If they didn't like spying, they wouldn't opt into being spied on.

This lie has spread to the law enforcement and national security agencies, who treasure Big Tech's surveillance as an off-the-books trove of warrantless data that no court would ever permit them to gather on their own. Back in 2017, I found myself at SXSW, debating an FBI agent who was defending the Bureau's gigantic facial recognition database, which, he claimed, contained the faces of virtually every American:

https://www.theguardian.com/culture/2017/mar/11/sxsw-facial-recognition-biometrics-surveillance-panel

The agent insisted that the FBI had acquired all those faces through legitimate means, by accessing public sources of people's faces. In other words, we'd all opted in to FBI facial recognition surveillance. "Sure," I said, "to opt out, just don't have a face."

This pathology is endemic to neoliberal thinking, which insists that all our political matters can be reduced to economic ones, specifically, the kind of economic questions that can be mathematically modeled and empirically tested. It would be great if all our thorniest problems could be solved like mathematical equations.

Unfortunately, there are key elements of these systems that can't be reliably quantified and turned into mathematical operators, especially power. The fact that someone did something tells you nothing about whether they chose to do so – to understand whether someone was coerced or made a free choice, you have to consider the power relationships involved.

Conservatives hate this idea. They want to live in a neat world of "revealed preferences," where the fact that you're working in a job where you're regularly exposed to carcinogens, or that you've stayed with a spouse who beats the shit out of you, or that you're homeless, or that you're addicted to Oxy, is a matter of choice. Monopolies exist because we all love the monopolist's product best, not because they've got monopoly power. Jobs that pay starvation wages exist because people want to work full time for so little money that they need food-stamps just to survive. Intervening in any of these situations is "woke paternalism," where the government thinks it knows better than you and intervenes to take away your right to consume unsafe products, get maimed at work, or have your jaw broken by your husband.

Which is why neoliberals insist that politics should be reduced to economics, and that economics should be carried out as if power didn't exist:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/05/farrago/#jeffty-is-five

Nowhere is this stupid trick more visible than in the surveillance fight. For example, Google claims that it tracks your location because you asked it to, by using Google products that make use of your location without clicking an opt out button.

In reality, Google has the power to simply ignore your preferences about location tracking. In 2021, the Arizona Attorney General's privacy case against Google yielded a bunch of internal memos, including memos from Google's senior product manager for location services Jen Chai complaining that she had turned off location tracking in three places and was still being tracked:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/01/you-are-here/#goog

Multiple googlers complained about this: they'd gone through dozens of preference screens, hunting for "don't track my location" checkboxes, and still they found that they were being tracked. These were people who worked under Chai on the location services team. If the head of that team, and her subordinates, couldn't figure out how to opt out of location tracking, what chance did you have?

Despite all this, I've found myself continuing to use stock Google Pixel phones running stock Google Android. There were three reasons for this:

First and most importantly: security. While I worry about Google tracking me, I am as worried (or more) about foreign governments, random hackers, and dedicated attackers gaining access to my phone. Google's appetite for my personal data knows no bounds, but at least the company is serious about patching defects in the Pixel line.

Second: coercion. There are a lot of apps that I need to run – to pay for parking, say, or to access my credit union or control my rooftop solar – that either won't run on jailbroken Android phones or require constant tweaking to keep running.

Finally: time. I already have the equivalent of three full time jobs and struggle every day to complete my essential tasks, including managing complex health issues and being there for my family. The time I take out of my schedule to actively manage a de-Googled Android would come at the expense of either my professional or personal life.

And despite Google's enshittificatory impulses, the Pixels are reliably high-quality, robust phones that get the hell out of the way and let me do my job. The Pixels are Google's flagship electronic products, and the company acts like it.

Until now.

A new report from Cybernews reveals just how much data the next generation Pixel 9 phones collect and transmit to Google, without any user intervention, and in defiance of the owner's express preferences to the contrary:

https://cybernews.com/security/google-pixel-9-phone-beams-data-and-awaits-commands/

The Pixel 9 phones home every 15 minutes, even when it's not in use, sharing "location, email address, phone number, network status, and other telemetry." Additionally, every 40 minutes, the new Pixels transmit "firmware version, whether connected to WiFi or using mobile data, the SIM card Carrier, and the user’s email address." Even further, even if you've never opened Google Photos, the phone contacts Google Photos’ Face Grouping API at regular intervals. Another process periodically contacts Google's Voice Search servers, even if you never use Voice Search, transmitting "the number of times the device was restarted, the time elapsed since powering on, and a list of apps installed on the device, including the sideloaded ones."

All of this is without any consent. Or rather, without any consent beyond the "revealed preference" of just buying a phone from Google ("to opt out, don't have a face").

What's more, the Cybernews report probably undercounts the amount of passive surveillance the Pixel 9 undertakes. To monitor their testbench phone, Cybernews had to root it and install Magisk, a monitoring tool. In order to do that, they had to disable the AI features that Google touts as the centerpiece of Pixel 9. AI is, of course, notoriously data-hungry and privacy invasive, and all the above represents the data collection the Pixel 9 undertakes without any of its AI nonsense.

It just gets worse. The Pixel 9 also routinely connects to a "CloudDPC" server run by Google. Normally, this is a server that an enterprise customer would connect its employees' devices to, allowing the company to push updates to employees' phones without any action on their part. But Google has designed the Pixel 9 so that privately owned phones do the same thing with Google, allowing for zero-click, no-notification software changes on devices that you own.

This is the kind of measure that works well, but fails badly. It assumes that the risk of Pixel owners failing to download a patch outweighs the risk of a Google insider pushing out a malicious update. Why would Google do that? Well, perhaps a rogue employee wants to spy on his ex-girlfriend:

https://www.wired.com/2010/09/google-spy/

Or maybe a Google executive wins an internal power struggle and decrees that Google's products should be made shittier so you need to take more steps to solve your problems, which generates more chances to serve ads:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/24/naming-names/#prabhakar-raghavan

Or maybe Google capitulates to an authoritarian government who orders them to install a malicious update to facilitate a campaign of oppressive spying and control:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dragonfly_(search_engine)

Indeed, merely by installing a feature that can be abused this way, Google encourages bad actors to abuse it. It's a lot harder for a government or an asshole executive to demand a malicious downgrade of a Google product if users have to accept that downgrade before it takes effect. By removing that choice, Google has greased the skids for malicious downgrades, from both internal and external sources.

Google will insist that these anti-features – both the spying and the permissionless updating – are essential, that it's literally impossible to imagine building a phone that doesn't do these things. This is one of Big Tech's stupidest gambits. It's the same ruse that Zuck deploys when he says that it's impossible to chat with a friend or plan a potluck dinner without letting Facebook spy on you. It's Tim Cook's insistence that there's no way to have a safe, easy to use, secure computing environment without giving Apple a veto over what software you can run and who can fix your device – and that this veto must come with a 30% rake from every dollar you spend on your phone.

The thing is, we know it's possible to separate these things, because they used to be separate. Facebook used to sell itself as the privacy-forward alternative to Myspace, where they would never spy on you (not coincidentally, this is also the best period in Facebook's history, from a user perspective):

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3247362

And we know it's possible to make a Pixel that doesn't do all this nonsense because Google makes other Pixel phones that don't do all this nonsense, like the Pixel 8 that's in my pocket as I type these words.

This doesn't stop Big Tech from gaslighting* us and insisting that demanding a Pixel that doesn't phone home four times an hour is like demanding water that isn't wet.

*pronounced "jass-lighting"

Even before I read this report, I was thinking about what I would do when I broke my current phone (I'm a klutz and I travel a lot, so my gadgets break pretty frequently). Google's latest OS updates have already crammed a bunch of AI bullshit into my Pixel 8 (and Google puts the "invoke AI bullshit" button in the spot where the "do something useful" button used to be, meaning I accidentally pull up the AI bullshit screen several times/day).

Assuming no catastrophic phone disasters, I've got a little while before my next phone, but I reckon when it's time to upgrade, I'll be switching to a phone from the @calyxinstitute@mastodon.social. Calyx is an incredible, privacy-focused nonprofit whose founder, Nicholas Merrill, was the first person to successfully resist one of the Patriot Act's "sneek-and-peek" warrants, spending 11 years defending his users' privacy from secret – and, ultimately, unconstitutional – surveillance:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2013/03/depth-judge-illstons-remarkable-order-striking-down-nsl-statute

Merrill and Calyx have tapped into various obscure corners of US wireless spectrum licenses that require major carriers to give ultra-cheap access to nonprofits, allowing them to offer unlimited, surveillance-free, Net Neutrality respecting wireless data packages:

https://memex.craphound.com/2016/09/22/i-have-found-a-secret-tunnel-that-runs-underneath-the-phone-companies-and-emerges-in-paradise/

I've been a very happy Calyx user in years gone by, but ultimately, I slipped into the default of using stock Pixel handsets with Google's Fi service.

But even as I've grown increasingly uncomfortable with the direction of Google's Android and Pixel programs, I've grown increasingly impressed with Calyx's offerings. The company has graduated from selling mobile hotspots with unlimited data SIMs to selling jailbroken, de-Googled Pixel phones that have all the hardware reliability of a Pixel, coupled with an alternative app suite and your choice of a Calyx SIM and/or a Calyx hotspot:

https://calyxinstitute.org/

Every time I see what Calyx is up to, I think, dammit, it's really time to de-Google my phone. With the Pixel 9 descending to new depths of enshittification, that decision just got a lot easier. When my current phone croaks, I'll be talking to Calyx.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/08/water-thats-not-wet/#pixelated

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[wosoamazing]

Shadows of Victory

Your parents die before the world cup final. 1.7k words

So i know I said the fic that won the poll would be out next but um, that obviously didn't happen, but I hope you all like this, came up with the idea and decided to just run with it. (I also do apologise for the cringy title - if it is cringy)

You were late, you were late to training and you were going to get punished for it, even though you had permission to go, even though you shouldn’t have even been playing. Two days post semi-final and two days pre final, you needed to be there, you needed to be at training and on time, even if you'd just gotten on a 21 hour plane ride.

Hoping to just slip into the group you walked onto the pitch, boots already on and tracker in. However your plans were foiled when Vilda shouted your name from across the pitch, you quickly transitioned to your pace into a jog and moved towards him.

“You’re late,” he snapped, looking at you expectantly.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you mumbled, as you looked to the floor..

“Well, I hope somebody died for you to be this late,” he mocked and you felt like you could punch him. He knew someone had, he was the one that allowed you to go back to Spain so you could go to your Parents' funeral that the city had planned. It was a flight you wished you never had to do, sitting with Luis on a 21 hour flight, but it was the only way you could go to their funeral.

“Do my parents count?” you asked, verbally punching him rather than physically punching him. You don’t think you’ve even seen the and left wordless and yet you did, he stared at you, in shock and you immediately regretted the decision.

“Alright everyone, back to training, we have a world cup final to win,” he said and you were confused, but quickly joined training, maybe he was just waiting to punish you until after training. 

You hadn’t spoken to anyone since then and you played the full 105 minutes of the final, most would see that as a reward but it was punishment, you didn’t want to play at all.

You sat on the pitch, a mix of gold confetti and grass under you as you watched everyone else celebrate, you couldn’t celebrate the weight of the medal around your neck, the weight of victory was nothing compared to the weight of your heart.

“Mind if I join you,” you heard the ever recognisable voice of Emma, and you knew she wasn’t asking, she sat down next to you but she didn’t say anything, waiting for you to talk first. 

Emma had been your coach for the past season, you’d signed for Barça at 18 however you’d never actually played for them, you were loaned to Man United for that season, then in the 21/22 season you were Loaned to Man City and for the most recent season you were loaned to Chelsea. You enjoyed all the clubs, but Chelsea was probably the best, unlike how Emma seemed to the public she was actually really supportive and kind. 

“It’s weird,” you said finally breaking the silence between you, “them not being here, it’s weird”

“I know. It is,” she replied. It was weird for Emma too, your parents were at every single game physically possible, they didn’t care if it meant stepping out of a meeting and onto a plane and then stepping out of the stadium into a virtual meeting, they would be there, no matter what. They were there for every award, every final, every first, and now they weren’t, they’d missed a final, a first and two awards. Emma also knew how much you loved your parents and how much they meant to you, you spent all of your free time with them, you called them every night. “They’d be really proud of you, I know you played against your will tonight, but you still showed them up, I’m not happy you’re going back to Barça, will make them harder to beat,”

“Why? Because I’ll be on their team or because you won't have me on your team?”

“Both,” she replied with a laugh, “Alright, up you get, you don’t have to go celebrate but at least go sit on the benches,” you nodded at her before getting up and making your way to the bench, where you brought your knees up to your chest.

-

Alexia had noticed you sitting by yourself on the bench, and decided to go sit with you, dragging Jenni behind her. 

“Pequeña,” Jenni said as they sat either side of you.

“Please just leave me alone,”  you mumbled.

“No,” it was Alexia this time, “you played really well today,”

“Thanks,”

“We know you’re having a tough time Pequeña but you could talk to us,” Jenni said softly not wanting to come across too harshly.

“What do you want me to talk about? That my parents are dead. That I was forced to play in this match even though I’ve flown 42 hours in the past 4 days. That I am teammates with most of this team yet I don’t know any of you because I’ve never actually put a Barcelona kit on. That I’m starting a new season with a new club that I’ve actually been part of for 3 years, that has some of the best players on the world on it, but mostly i was excited to finally actually get to play in the same city my parents played in and now they’re dead,” you snapped before tears started to spring out of your eyes, “Sorry, I’m sorry, you’re just trying to be nice and-”

“It’s okay Nena,” Alexia cut you off as her arm wrapped around your shoulders, and you all but launched yourself into her lap, surprising her slightly, however she was quick to adjust her arms so she could hold your shaking body in her arms, “We’ve got you Nena, you’re okay, it’s going to be okay,”

You sat next to Ona on the plane back to Barcelona, which was where you finally got some sleep, the exhaustion had settled in and you could barely keep your eyes open, you slept for almost the entire flight waking up an hour before landing. 

-

You were practically catatonic by the time the plane landed, you hadn’t made any indication of plans to get off the plane and so once everyone else had disembarked, alexia crouched in front of you, placing her hands on your knees.

“Nena, you’re going to come home with me, Olga, is waiting in the car for us, we just need to get off the plane and get our bags,”

You nodded your head once at her, as she stood, and she placed a hand between your shoulder blades, gently guiding you through the airport, and out to the waiting car.

You slid into the car and didn’t even notice when Olga greeted you, or notice the fact that Mapi, your idol, was sitting next to you. Your whole body felt numb and your head was fuzzy but despite that your heart felt heavy.

You were guided by Alexia into her spare bedroom, where you immediately lied down on the bed, on top of the covers, completely missing the way Mapi had gone into your home to get some items you would need for the next few days, having been instructed by Ona to do so, hoping that by the time you needed to return to that home you would be in a better place.

You laid on the bed with your eyes wide open, however you couldn’t actually see anything or at least you weren’t registering it. You didn’t see Alexia’s silent celebration when she realised you were at least drinking water, nor did you realise when she filled it up multiple times. You didn’t notice the multiple times Ona had sat in front of you on the floor, trying to coax you out of whatever state you were in. You hadn’t slept, you hadn’t cried, you hadn’t eaten and you hadn’t talked for two days, which is how Lucy and Ona ended up at the airport, picking up your girlfriend. Something that shocked most of the team when Ona mentioned it.

-

Alessia walked into Alexia’s house and straight past the multiple teammates in the living room, ignoring their varying facial expressions. She was expecting it, after all no one even knew if you were both straight or not, let alone the fact you were dating.

“Baby,” she said as the door to Alexia’s spare room closed behind her, she walked up beside you and crouch down, “hey baby,” said softly spoke as she placed her hand on your back, she noticed your eyes flicker and land on her, before the corners of your lips lifted ever so slightly, “hey, can I help you get up? I think it would be a good idea to have a shower,” you started to move and so Alessia helped you, guiding you to the bathroom where she sat you down on the edge of the bath, placing a kiss on your forehead, before grabbing clean clothes for you both, and messaging Ona quickly asking if she could get Alexia to get more sheets so Alessia could change them. She stepped back into the bathroom and locked the door. Placing the clothes on the counter she walked to you.

Alessia’s hands moved to the hem of your shirt before they stopped, “Can I?” she asked and you nodded, before putting your arms up helping her to take it off, she hesitated again before just going ahead with your shirts, you’d seen each other naked thousands of times, she’d undressed you thousands of times but this was different, you were so vulnerable, broken. Alessia’s heart broke at the vacant look in your usually bright eyes, she didn’t miss the bags under your eyes, or the way you were unsteady on your feet.

-

“I-I can’t do this, how do I do this without them?” you sniffed.

“I’m sorry, it sucks, I’m so sorry, but I’m here for you, I will always be here for you, no matter what,” she said softly before kissing your head, “I love you so much,” she murmured as sobs once again started to rack your body. Alessia held your trembling body in her arms, occasionally murmuring comforting words in your ear. Eventually your breaths slowed and evened out, allowing Alessia to relax slightly.

[pin-k-ink]

saccharine // kozume kenma

tw ⇢ friends to lovers, making out, so much spit, hair pulling, food kink(?), hands free orgasm, just pure filth

wc ⇢ 3.4k

Kenma was utterly immersed in the virtual world displayed across his gaming monitor, fingers flying in dexterous motions as he maneuvered through each intense level. The vibrant colors and frenetic action held his focus in an unwavering trance, shutting out all external stimuli and distraction with ease. He was in his own insular bubble, mind narrowed to the singular objective unfolding pixel-by-pixel before him.

So thoroughly zoned in was Kenma that the faint creak of his bedroom door swinging open on its hinges barely even registered through his fixated haze at first. It wasn't until the soft thud of footsteps sounded, infiltrating the periphery of his gaming cocoon, that his brow furrowed ever so slightly in a subtle break of concentration.

Kenma felt his shoulders tighten a fraction as the additional presence within his space slowly penetrated through to his consciousness. With obvious reluctance, he tore his keen gaze away from the rapidly flickering screen to locate the source of this intrusion into his hard-won solitude.

Standing just inside the doorway was none other than you - looking perfectly at home despite having let yourself into his private sanctuary so casually. There was already a lazy, contented smile curling the corners of your mouth upwards as you regarded Kenma with that soft, unassuming warmth he secretly found so disarming. You looked slightly rumpled, as if you'd just arrived back from a long day out, but your entire energy exuded the kind of earthy comfort that always seemed to counterbalance Kenma's own more aloof aura so well.

As his slowly refocusing eyes drifted down, Kenma couldn't help but zero in on the crinkled plastic convenience store bag gripped loosely in one of your hands. He felt his lips pursing in a subtle moue, knowing without needing to ask that the mysterious parcel was no doubt stuffed full of all manner of highly processed, tooth-achingly sweet snacks and candies - the kind designed to incite nostalgic cravings in anyone who'd ever grown up as a sugar-fueled ball of youthful energy.

"Hey," you called out, voice light and laced with that melodic lilt of amusement that Kenma secretly catalogued as one of his favorite inflections from you. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything too intense over here."

As if in direct answer to your playful query, the muted barrage of synthesized explosions and combat effects issued forth from Kenma's computer speakers - temporarily overridden in volume by your arrival. Kenma felt one eyebrow quirking upwards as you simply laughed, completely unoffended as you strode further into his room with all the casual confidence of someone fully assured in their welcome.

Which, to be fair, you always had been. Even when Kenma was at his most brooding or socially awkward, you'd never seemed fazed by his prickly exterior. Your relationship was quite simply one of easy equanimity, a perfectly counterbalanced orbit of push and pull that you both navigated through unconscious instinct at this point. No pretense or strain ever overcomplicated the simple fact that you both enjoyed inhabiting the quiet spaces of each other's lives, no matter how dissimilar your individual idiosyncrasies might appear to outside perspectives.

"Not really," Kenma replied after a protracted beat, finally deigning to bless you with a response as you unceremoniously flopped down on the end of his bed with a playful bounce. He tried to feign nonchalance, to not allow the subtle crinkling of bedsprings and sheets rustling beneath your added weight to lodge itself under his skin quite so insistently. But he could admit to himself, if to no one else, that you inhabiting his personal domain so casually would always elicit a visceral flare of...awareness from his carefully cultivated aloofness.

He hoped the small, inscrutable furrow of his brow was enough to silently convey the token protest his persona demanded - the subtle you're-invading-my-territory bristle that most people wisely heeded when dealing with Kozume Kenma's highly attuned sense of solitary sovereignty. Not you though. Even after the numerous years of rad-proximity cohabitation that began between you two, you still seemed to gleefully take measured delight in cheerfully ignoring every last one of his prickly deterrent mechanisms.

Rather than take umbrage at his mild look of affront, you simply beamed and began rummaging around inside the plastic sack with greatly exaggerated gusto - no doubt for your own private amusement at tweaking Kenma's carefully maintained airs once again. The crunch and rustle of packaging being rifled through filled the small bedroom as you built up an aggravatingly teasing sense of dramatic flair, finally extracting your prize from the bottom of the bag with a wee little noise of triumph.

"Cherry?" You announced, brandishing the large spherical lollipop like a trophy freshly liberated from its crinkly plastic tomb. That impish glint danced through your gaze as you rolled the candy enticingly between your fingertips with a sly smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. "I got a whole fresh bag full of those novelty flavors you used to go crazy for back in elementary school."

Kenma felt his brows twitching slightly as he absorbed the sight of the garishly dyed confection being spun and twirled in a saucy little display of enticement clearly meant solely for his benefit. The bright crimson whorls decorating the bulbous sugar orb put his mind immediately in the nostalgic mindset you'd explicitly stated - dragging forth powerful sensory memories of sticky fingers and tongues frantically chasing fleeting sugar highs around the smallest provocations.

"I remember how much you used to get a real kick out of novelty flavors like these after especially Kuroo dragged you out to play," you carried on in a lower, more conspiratorial tone as Kenma found his gaze firmly arrested by your mouth. You'd already begun dragging the pointed tip of the lollipop between your parted lips with tantalizing leisure, punctuating the suggestive motion with a slow wink. "Always the tasty little reward to help recharge those spent batteries, wasn't it?"

Before Kenma could formulate any semblance of a verbal response, you had already sealed your lips around the bulbous candy with a contented hum. His eyes went wide, transfixed, as he watched your cheeks hollow on the first experimental suckle.

There was something about the way your lips moulded so perfectly around the firm, protruding shape - the soft sounds of suction and the glimpses of your pink tongue slowly swirling to chase the initial burst of sticky sweetness. It was such a small, innocuous action, and yet Kenma found himself utterly entranced against his will.

You seemed blissfully unaware of the effect you were having, far too caught up in your own nostalgic indulgence. Your eyes had drifted shut in apparent bliss as you allowed the full-bodied flavor to roll across your palate with a pleased rumble. Kenma swallowed hard, feeling the heated prickle of a flush threatening to crawl up the back of his neck as you hummed out another long exhale of unabashed enjoyment.

The synthetic cherry scent suddenly seemed amplified ten-fold, heavy and cloying in a way that had Kenma's senses surging into hyperawareness of your every breath, subtle shift, and indulgent kitten lick. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the slow-motion mesmerism of watching that plump lower lip drag free from the candy's glistening surface with excruciating leisure.

A bead of melted syrup immediately welled up in the wake of your mouth's retreat, hanging heavy and taunting for the barest beat before gravity fully exerted its pull. Kenma's throat clicked on a strangled inhale as the ruby-red droplet began tracing a sticky path down the very center of your chin with tantalizing languidness. He could all but taste the cloying sugar exploding across his senses as the errant rivulet continued its maddening descent...only to finally shudder to a halt mere centimeters from the hollow of your throat.

You didn't seem to notice the escaped treat's sluggish journey, far too wrapped up in dragging the rapidly diminishing lollipop free to lave a series of thorough, indulgent kitten licks along the fresh sugar-trail your previous enthusiasm had laid across your very lips. Kenma felt his fingers flexing against the game controller, nails digging into the worn rubber in a white-knuckle grip as he was utterly transfixed.

The thick, humid weight of unspoken tension was mounting by the second, made heavier with every demonstrative sweep of your tongue and quiet simper of gratification that vibrated through the hushed bedroom. Just as Kenma was certain his restraint was about to fray completely, shattering into tinder to be consumed by this blazing conflagration of suggestive temptation, your eyes fluttered back into focus.

Your gazes instantly locked together with the electric shunt of a livewire arc-ing closed circuit. For an interminable breath, you both remained suspended in that heated stare - the only sound Kenma's own rapidly pounding heart hammering against his ribs with deafening intensity. Then, with obvious relish, your tongue swept out to lap up the errant trail of cherry syrup that had very nearly defied gravity's hold entirely before retreating.

Kenma's stomach muscles clenched as if taking a physical blow, his throat clicking on another difficult swallow against the sudden, harrowing jolt of explosive arousal that shocked through his system at the razor's edge of suggestiveness you had just displayed. You didn't show even the barest hint of hesitation or embarrassment, however, simply allowing your lips to curve upwards in an insolent smirk as you beheld the thunderstruck look on Kenma's face.

"Want a taste?" The words were innocuous enough, if perhaps delivered a shade too heavy with bedroom timbre and subtext. But the accompanying gesture of holding the thoroughly debauched candy out towards Kenma in clear offering? That was borderline obscene.

Unable to summon the power of speech for several suspended heartbeats, Kenma could only stare at the lurid streaks of color and glistening artificial sheen adorning the thoroughly savaged lollipop like neon warpaint. The sticky shine of sugar and saliva combined into an almost pornographic glaze that his overheated subconscious immediately supplied a barrage of wildly inappropriate mental images to contextualize.

It felt like a cosmic paradigm shift had occurred with shocking abruptness, as if someone had reached out and simply altered the gravity governing your established dynamic without advance notice or permission. What should have been a harmless instance of sugary indulgence between casual friends had taken on an electrifyingly charged tenor rife with fraught implications Kenma's fevered lizard brain was straining to process without imploding.

You seemed to notice the glazed look overtaking his features because you shifted forward on the mattress with what could only be described as a lazy roll of your hips. Your gaze briefly flicked down, confirming you had indeed provoked the expected bodily response in Kenma to match his overheated look. When you glanced back up through your lashes, pupils already dilated to liquid rings of pure invitation, a full-body shudder rocked through Kenma so violently it momentarily shorted his lungs of air.

There was no going back from this moment poised on the precipice of your established equilibrium. The gauntlet had been thrown in a bold, unambiguous challenge...and Kenma realized with a sort of stunned exhilaration that his subconscious had already accepted without input from his higher reasoning.

"Last chance," you purred out, deliberately dragging the candy's slick, hardened curve between your lips in an achingly sensuous tease.

Kenma didn't hesitate any longer.

With a low, guttural growl that sounded foreign even to his own ears, he surged forward until only a mere hairsbreadth separated your flushed frames. You sucked in a sharp inhale at his sudden approach, eyes blown wide in a heady mixture of surprise and approval, but didn't retreat.

If anything, you unconsciously leaned in further - near desperately offering up the ravaged lollipop like a silent supplication that Kenma was all too eager to receive. Without preamble, he sealed his lips around the exposed portion of sticky sugar...

You both seemed to hold your breath as Kenma's lips closed around the lollipop, savoring the tangy-sweet burst of artificial flavors coating his tongue. But there was an underlying muskiness as well - the undeniable taste of your own saliva mingling with the sugary treat in an intoxicating way that deepened the moment's intimacy.

Kenma's eyes slipped shut as he slowly drew the candy deeper into his mouth with a low rumble of appreciation. He could feel the heavy weight of your gaze scorching across his face as he indulged in long, leisurely pulls and sweeps of his tongue. The air between you had grown thick and charged, practically crackling with unspoken tension.

When he finally allowed the thoroughly worshipped lollipop to slip free with a damp pop, Kenma's eyes fluttered open to find you watching him with rapt fascination. Your chests were rising and falling in tandem, breaths falling into sync as that taut line of heated awareness stretched between you, thrumming like a tightly coiled wire.

"Your turn," Kenma rasped out, voice pitched and gravelly as he held the glistening treat out in mute offering. He could see your throat working on a convulsive swallow before you slowly, almost mesmerized, leaned forward to accept it between your newly reddened lips.

The sweet indulgence continued to pass between you in a steadily escalating cycle of wordless exchange - growing more fervent and molten with each intimate iteration. By the time the lollipop had fully dissolved into a rapidly melting stub, your joined breathing had grown harsh and punched-out against the heavy quiet surrounding you.

You held the lingering candy husk out towards Kenma with a look that could only be described as smoldering want. He found himself already leaning in, chasing those reddened, swollen lips until they crashed together in a heated collision of sugared, seeking mouths.

The lollipop was quickly forgotten, allowed to roll away into discarded oblivion as you both surrendered to the long-simmering hunger abruptly allowed to boil over into frantic need. There was nothing gentle or tentative in your joined onslaught - merely a wild, unbridled devouring as you clung to each other with something akin to desperation.

Kenma felt like he was short-circuiting from a constant barrage of new stimuli assailing his senses all at once. The velvet glide of your tongues tangling in an increasingly sloppy duel, the bittersweet tang of melted sugar commingled with the addictive essence of your unique tastes and scents, the featherlight caress of your fingertips branding tingling trails everywhere they exploratively roamed. It was quickly overwhelming his carefully cultivated restraint in tidal waves of new sensation.

Just when Kenma thought his tenuous grasp on control might disintegrate entirely, he vaguely registered the crinkle of plastic as you scrabbled blindly for something else. Your joined momentum barely faltered, mouths still hungrily devouring one another, as you managed to produce another candy - this time one of the gummy ring varieties.

You didn't hesitate before pressing the sticky, yielding treat against Kenma's lips in blatant invitation. His eyes slipped open in a momentary daze, but you simply held his heated stare as you slowly pushed the sugary disk deeper, deeper, until finally he was forced to open up and accept it fully inside.

A tremor rocked through Kenma as his tongue was instantly overwhelmed by the intense burst of sour green apple flavor. But the cloying artificial tang swiftly melted into something headier - the lingering taste of your saliva providing an irresistible musky counterpoint. He found his suckles growing more insistent, cheeks hollowing with each powerful pull as you watched him rapturously.

You seemed spurred on by his display, hands tangling almost painfully in his hair to sharply angle his head as you sealed your mouth over his in another bruising kiss. Climbing into his lap, you pressed even closer as the half-dissolved gummy quickly became the star attraction in a molten tug-of-war, messily traded back and forth as you strained to chase every melted smear and lingering taste from the other's questing tongue.

The wet, obscenely suckling sounds soon being disgorged into the dense air around you were utterly depraved...and yet neither of you could seemingly get enough. You rolled and writhed together with mounting desperation, limbs entangling as your bodies gyrated with a lustful, reckless abandon..

You hummed approvingly as you produced another treat from the bag - a plump gummy worm in a shockingly vibrant shade of lime green. Without preamble, you traced the squishy confection along the swollen seam of Kenma's lips, leaving a glistening trail of sugary syrup in its wake.

He immediately opened for you, taking the candy into the velvet heat of his mouth with a low rumble of pleasure. You watched, entranced, as his cheeks hollowed on the first experimental suck, feeling your belly clench at the obscene sound.

"Let me taste..." you rasped out, not waiting for permission before surging forward to lick away the sticky smears his thorough sampling was already leaving at the corners of his lips.

Kenma groaned at the hot glide of your tongue, catching it briefly to suckle hard - drawing you into a messy open-mouthed clash. The gummy candy quickly became the molten centerpiece of a heated tug-of-war, passed between your questing mouths in a filthy exhibition of slurping and swapping spit-slicked remnants.

By the time the neon treat had fully dissolved into so much sugary wreckage, your chins were streaked in lurid green and crimson from the excessive mess. You barely skipped a beat before grabbing another - this time one of the fruit-flavored taffies.

Kenma watched with heavy-lidded intensity as you slowly enveloped the tan-colored chew between your lips, torturously working the sticky mass along the insides of your cheeks before offering it to him with a muffled moan of wanton bliss. He immediately accepted the proffered treat, tongues dueling and tangling as you traded the rapidly dissolving candy back and forth in lascivious exchanges that had you both panting harshly through your noses.

Another candy soon joined the melting fray after the taffy had been comprehensively obliterated - a molten disk of pale yellow butterscotch this time. You took the initiative to cradle the liquidized confection against the swell of Kenma's lower lip, smearing the cloyingly sweet syrup across the reddened plump flesh. He instinctively gave a broad sweep of his tongue to chase the sugary trail, moaning brokenly at the artificial richness coating his palate.

This only seemed to spur you on further, and you were soon leaning in to lick and suckle away every last melting butterscotch droplet painting Kenma's swollen mouth. The sounds of your vigorous sampling and soft whimpers of delight were utterly shameless as you wallowed together in the sticky, heated devastation of so many defiled treats.

More gummies were soon added to the rapidly disintegrating pile - their colors blending into a garish kaleidoscope of streaked saliva and disgorged groans across your flushed bodies. You traded each dissolving confection back and forth in messy bursts of bruising suction that left your mouths swollen and tingling from the stimulation.

At some point, you tipped the bag entirely over the bedsheets, allowing the remaining sugar-dusted debris to spill out in a vibrant trail that seemed to beckon like an insistent siren. Neither of you hesitated before your joined frames collapsed squarely into the sticky devastation, utterly heedless of any shreds of restraint still tenuously remaining.

Candy dust and gobbed spittle were soon finding their way into every available crevice and exposed patch of slick, overheated skin as you thrashed together in delirious rapture. The thick, cloying sweetness and musk of arousal hung in the air like an intoxicating fog as you both surrendered to this singular, obsessive need to consume each sugary morsel from the other's plush mouths...among other intimate sampling still to come.

By the time the decimated bag had been exhausted of all its confectionary contents, you were both utterly spent - collapsed in a sweaty, debauched heap of limbs amidst the sticky devastation you'd so comprehensively wallowed within. Lurid warpaint streaked your flushed frames from the thorough coating of candy carnage, but matching dopey grins still curved your thoroughly ravaged mouths in unison.

Unbeknownst to you, the front of Kenma’s pants were soaked with more than just saliva and sugar, but the evidence would remain hidden until he got the chance to change his clothes.

"Guess we got a little carried away there, huh?" You teased, prodding Kenma in the side with an idle fingertip as he let out a grunt of agreement.

"We could always take a shower," he suggested after a beat, voice roughened with the kind of gravel that made your lower belly clench.

"And then what?" You prompted, rolling over so you could rest your chin atop Kenma's chest and peer up at him through your lashes.

He didn't even pause to consider, just gave a small shrug before responding in an even tone: "Then we could grab a whole bag of candies from the store and start all over again."

[seat-safety-switch]

Now that the Olympics are over, I can tell you all about my part as an understudy on the Canadian table tennis team. No, not "ping-pong." That's a derogatory name issued to us by the tableless tennis players, the sweating bigots. Sure, I didn't get a chance to actually go toe-to-toe against the best in the world, but I got to hang out with the people who did.

In Canada, virtually all of our good table tennis players are imported. And it's easy to see why. Let's say you're the number 300th-best table tennis player in Japan. There's a lot of competition, and, even if you're crispy-good, you may never get to break out of your shitty Chiba beer pong league before you've aged out.

In Canada, where we have many fewer people, you might be like the ninth best. That's a lot of improvement for the cost of just one plane ticket. Sure, you could accuse these nice folks of being carpetbaggers looking for an easy route to the Olympics, but let me tell you: Canada absolutely does not pay shit for table tennis. That's why I'm there. A lot of the world's second-best talent takes a look at Canada and goes hmm. Maybe Australia. Third-best pretty much gets roped in here if their significant other gets a job as a realtor in Vancouver. And then there's me, who is there to eat the free snacks at the Olympic table-tennis commencement ceremonies (put on by realtors in Vancouver.)

Which is not to say I'm decent. Sure, I can beat a toddler pretty well at The Good Game (that's what we call it.) Most six-year-olds, however, have the hand-eye coordination and a good enough long game to put my ass in the ground. Even the drunkest university student can hang a beating on me, after I get tired of running back and forth and just lie down in a corner, moaning about how much my feet hurt. Do any of those folks sign up for the Olympic try-outs? No. They have to have jobs, because they want to keep their houses. They can't just be flittering off to Monaco for the World Invitational Small-Plastic-Ball-Striking-Championships (sorry, the translation is not great.)

Sure, it's not an easy life. I do have to trick sponsors (realtors from Vancouver) into paying for all my flights, fancy uniforms, and room and board. Staying in the Olympic Village is difficult whenever the host country decides to try some wacky shit like making a bed entirely out of compressed, dehydrated cactus. And I'll probably never actually get to be on camera, because my coach tells me that even holding a flag might be beyond my skill-set.

Am I happy to represent my country? No, but it's this or become a realtor in Vancouver.

[faustiantales]

𝖆 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖕 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖛𝖗

Dark Descent: Info-kun X fem/afab!Reader

Twisted Truths: incest, dubcon, headcanon info-kun name, underaged sex, fingering, vaginal penetration

Synopsis: Kenzo's little sister sought his help for a VR game. Since the game she's playing is an 'immersive' visual novel romance, with his aid, the line between reality and fantasy blurred — as well as the line between siblings.

Shadows Lengthen: 2.6k words

        The room was bathed in the soft glow of the computer monitor, casting an eerie light on [Y/n]'s focused face as she navigated through the virtual world of 'Amorous Abyss.' It was a game she'd heard whispers about, a visual novel rumored to be so immersive it was like living a second life. Her heart raced with excitement as she approached the moment she'd been eagerly awaiting for weeks.

        [Y/n] had chosen her love interest carefully: Kai, the brooding, mysterious hero with a heart of gold hidden beneath layers of angst. His digital eyes seemed to gaze into hers, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. It was time for their relationship to take a steamy turn, and she was more than ready.

        But there was a problem. The game's latest update included a feature she hadn't anticipated: a full-body immersion system that mimicked intimate contact with the characters. The game's description called it 'revolutionary,' but she knew she needed help to authenticate the experience.

        Her thoughts drifted to her older brother, Kenzo. He was the closest person she had to a confidant, and she knew he'd be able to keep a secret. Plus, she'd caught him playing games with mature content before. He'd understand. She took a deep breath and picked up her phone, and the decision was made. Her thumbs danced across the screen as she composed a text message, her cheeks flushing with a mix of excitement and embarrassment.

        "Niisama, I need to talk to you about something...it's kind of weird," she typed, hitting send before she could second-guess herself. The anticipation grew as she waited for his response, the game's romantic background music swelling around her.

        The redhead's reply was swift. "What's up, [N/n]? You okay?"

        Her heart skipped a beat. She knew that her brother was stuck on gadgets 24/7, though she never expected him to reply to her message this fast, especially when he deemed it 'insignificant'. Most of the time, he would just ignore her message or leave it on 'seen' when he's busy doing his shady dealings. Thankfully, this time, he seems free to acknowledge her.

        "Can you come to my room? It's about this game I'm playing. I need some advice," she responded, pursing her lips in anticipation.

        She heard his footsteps in the hallway, and a moment later, her bedroom door creaked open. Kenzo's face was a mix of curiosity and concern. Though the second emotion appeared only for a split second — by the time his narrowed, red orbs landed on her, intrigue and annoyance masked his features.

        "What's going on?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

        The girl swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her older brother's gaze on her. Kenzo was always a man of few words, but he had a knack for making his presence known. His arms were folded across his chest, and he waited for her to speak, his curiosity piqued by the urgency in her message.

        "It's about the new VR game I got," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want to... experience it fully, but I need your help."

        The bespectacled male raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

        Her eyes darted to the floor as she gathered her courage. Her older brother's gaze was heavy, but she knew she had to ask. So, with whatever little courage she had, she gathered everything and stared straight at her brother's ruby orbs, which were looking at her intensely, making her feel small and vulnerable. 

        "There's a... scene coming up, and I need a stand-in for the physical part. It's just for the game," she rushed out, hoping he'd understand.

        Her brother's expression morphed from confusion to surprise and then, to her relief, to amusement. [Y/n] felt her heart leaped with hope, knowing that her brother would be willing to listen to her trivial concerns and give her the advice she needed.

        "You want me to... help you with that?" He chuckled, his voice low.

        She nodded, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. "Please, Niisama. It's important to me. I've never felt this way about a game before."

        He studied her for a moment, his eyes softening as he stepped into the room. "Okay, but you have to explain everything to me."

        With trembling hands, she demonstrated the VR setup, showing him the controllers and the headset. She explained the intimate scenes in detail, her voice growing softer with each word. Kenzo's smile faded, replaced by a look of understanding.

        "Alright, I'll help you," he said finally, his voice a gentle rumble. "But only if you're sure this is what you want."

        She nodded, a spark of excitement igniting in her chest. "I'm positive."

        "Let's get this over with, then," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of something she couldn't quite place. The redhead took the headset from her, his eyes meeting hers.

        As the headset slipped over her eyes, the real world faded away, and she was transported into the arms of Kai, her virtual lover. The sensations began to overwhelm her, and she reached out, her hand brushing against something warm and solid.

        Her heart jumped up in her chest. It was Kenzo, standing next to her, his hand hovering awkwardly in the air. [Y/n] briefly removed the headset, looking at her redheaded older brother with an apologetic expression, which he only responded with an unreadable expression.

        "Sorry," she murmured, her cheeks flushing even deeper. He snickered, his hand dropping to his side.

        "No problem," he said, his voice thick with something she hadn't heard before—desire?

        [Y/n] put on the headset once more and the VR game began to play out, and she felt the digital whispers of Kai's breath against her ear. Her body responded instinctively, her breath hitching in anticipation. Kenzo's hand found hers, and she squeezed it tightly as the scene grew more intense. The fabric of her pajamas felt rough against her skin, a stark contrast to the soft caresses she felt in the game.

        The tension in the room grew palpable, the air thick with unspoken desires. It didn't take long for the siblings to move to the bed, mirroring the scenario played in the game. [Y/n] could feel her body reacting to the sensations, and she knew her brother could feel it too. His thumb began to trace circles on the back of her hand, sending shivers up her arm. Her heart raced in her chest, thudding like a bass in a dance club.

        The moment arrived. Kai's digital hands began to undress her, and she felt Kenzo's own hands mimic the movements. His touch was gentle but firm, his skin warm and real against hers. The game's graphics were stunning, the fabric of her dress sliding away to reveal her naked body. She gasped as she felt her brother's hand cup her bare breast, his thumb brushing over her erect nipple.

        The line between reality and the game blurred as she leaned into his touch. The VR world swirled around them, the only sounds were the sighs of the virtual lovers and their ragged breathing. Her body arched off the bed, and she bit her lip to stifle a moan as Kenzo's hand traveled lower, his fingers slipping under the waistband of her pajama bottoms.

        The game's narrative grew more heated, and the girl felt her arousal mirror Kai's digital passion. Her brother's touch grew bolder, his fingers delving into her wetness, exploring her folds. She couldn't tell if the sensations were coming from the game or her brother's hand, but she didn't care. All she knew was that she wanted more.

        Her hips began to move in time with the rhythm of his fingers, her body undulating like a wave in the sea of desire. The VR world melded with the physical one, and she could feel Kai's mouth on hers, his tongue probing deeply, as Kenzo's kissed her neck. It was as if the two men were one, their passion intertwined in a dance of flesh and pixels.

        The climax built within her, a crescendo of pleasure that she'd never felt before. She threw her head back, her moans echoing through the headset. Her brother's other hand found her hip, holding her in place as he drove her closer to the edge. The room spun around her, a whirlwind of sensations that left her gasping for breath.

        And then it hit her, the most intense orgasm she'd ever experienced, tearing through her like a tornado. She bucked against the redhead's hand, her body convulsing with pleasure. She could feel his arousal pressing against her leg, and she reached out, her hand wrapping around his hard length.

        As the last waves of her climax subsided, she opened her eyes, the VR world fading away. Kenzo's eyes were dark with lust, and she knew at that moment that their relationship had shifted forever. The game had brought them together in a way she'd never dared to dream of.

        But now, as she looked into his eyes, she knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in their lives—a chapter filled with passion, secrets, and a bond that was no longer purely familial. With trembling hands, she removed the headset, the cool air of the room a stark contrast to the sultry embrace of the virtual world.

        "Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse with desire. Kenzo's eyes searched hers, the intensity of the moment weighing heavily on them both. He leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek.

        "Don't thank me," he murmured, his hand sliding from her hip to the back of her neck. "This is just the start."

        Without another word, he claimed her mouth in a kiss that was every bit as passionate as the ones she'd shared with Kai in the game. His tongue danced with hers, the taste of him intoxicating. It was like nothing she'd ever felt before—real, raw, and all-consuming.

        [Y/n]'s hand tightened around his shaft, her movements growing more confident as she felt him respond to her touch. She could feel his pulse racing through his veins, the beat matching the frantic rhythm of her own heart. His kiss grew deeper, more demanding, and she met him with equal fervor.

        They broke apart, panting, their eyes locked. The air was charged with a tension that could have powered the city outside their window. He stepped closer, and she could feel the heat of his body against hers.

        "We should..." she began, but he silenced her with another kiss.

        Kenzo's hands slid down her body, peeling away her pajamas. Her skin was alive with sensation, every inch of her yearning for his touch. He paused, his eyes raking over her naked form with an appreciation that made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

        "You're so perfect," he murmured, his voice a gruff whisper.

        And then, with a hunger that was both terrifying and exhilarating, he removed his clothes, throwing them across the room like a sack of potatoes. His body was a sculpted masterpiece, a stark contrast to the softness of hers. [Y/n] could feel her own pulse hammering in her throat, her eyes wide with a mix of lust and awe. She could feel the heat of his arousal pressing against her, and she spread her legs, inviting him in.

        Their bodies moved together in a dance as old as time, a dance of passion and need. Kenzo's kisses grew more urgent, his hands exploring every inch of her skin. He knew just where to touch her, just how to make her gasp and arch her back, her body a canvas for his desires.

        And as they became one, the barrier between the game and reality shattered. The digital world of 'Amorous Abyss' faded away, replaced by the very real sensation of her brother inside her, his movements driving her towards another peak of pleasure. The lines blurred until she couldn't tell where the game ended and her new reality began.

        "So this is what you truly meant by help, huh?" the redhead sneered, cleaning his glasses while thrusting into his little sister's tight hole without mercy.

        [Y/n] nodded, unabashed, feeling the warmth spread through her body. Her cheeks were flushed with a perfect pink hue, her tresses damp with sweat and sticking to her forehead. She let out a couple of wanton mewls, her inhibition gone when her brother continued his relentless assault on her poor cunt.

        Kenzo's strokes grew stronger, more demanding, as he watched his sister's body respond to his touch. He'd never seen her like this—so open, so vulnerable, so desperate for release. It was intoxicating, and he found himself getting lost in the moment, forgetting the taboo nature of their situation.

        "Such a slut," he growled darkly, ruby eyes narrowing to a judging glare, his signature smirk adorning his lips. "But you're mine now, aren't you?"

        [Y/n] nodded vigorously, unable to form coherent words as the pleasure built up within her. Her body was a symphony of sensations, each stroke of Kenzo's cock sending shockwaves of ecstasy through her core. She felt his grip on her hips tighten, his pace quickening as he approached his own climax.

        But amidst the whirlwind of passion, a tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered a warning. This was her brother, the person she'd grown up with, the one who'd protected her from monsters under the bed. Yet here they were, sharing the most intimate of moments. Would this change everything?

        The question was forgotten as Kenzo's hand found her clit, his thumb rubbing it in perfect time with his thrusts. She threw her head back, crying out his name as the orgasm claimed her once again. The room was a blur of lights and sounds, their cries of pleasure melding together in a symphony of lust.

        And when it was over, when they lay tangled in the sheets, their bodies slick with sweat, she knew that nothing would ever be the same again. They'd crossed a line, and there was no going back. But as she felt his heartbeat against her chest, she couldn't help but wonder if this was the start of something incredible, something that had been hidden within the pixels of a game all along.

        Kenzo rolled onto his side, his arm draped around her waist, and she could feel his breath against her neck. His cock was still hard, still buried inside her, and she shivered with the aftershocks of pleasure. For a moment, they lay there in silence, the only sound the steady thump of their hearts.

        "That was..." he began, his voice trailing off.

        "Incredible," she finished for him, her breathing still ragged.

        "Should we make this a regular thing?" he teased, humping his hardening cock against her entrance.

        The sensation of his thickness sliding in and out of her was so real, so intense, that she could hardly believe she'd ever lived without it. [Y/n]'s eyes widened with surprise and a thrill of excitement, biting her lips to prevent a shameless moan from escaping her lips.

        "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice breathy.

        Kenzo leaned in, his eyes gleaming with sinister mischief. "You know what I mean. Every time you play that game, I'll be here, bringing those scenes to life. What do you say, little sis?"

        The girl felt a rush of conflicting emotions—shock, arousal, and a hint of fear. But the excitement won out. She nodded, her voice a whisper. "Okay."

📜— Return to the Shadowed Archive

[thethiefandtheairbender]

as a lifelong ATLA fan who narrowly had ATLA dethroned as my top show by The Dragon Prince steadily over the past 5 years, the similarities between the two have very little to do with the surface level parallels that get regularly drawn between them.

Like ATLA, TDP has Books for seasons and chapters for episodes, but unlike ATLA, which only touched on storytelling sparingly as a theme, TDP is obsessed with interrogating storytelling and history and the presence of unreliable, biased narrators throughout many of its episodes (most notably 2x05, 2x06, 3x06, 4x04, and 4x07 among them). Half of what you learn in the 1x01 intro ends up being a lie once you reach S3, with more being steadily deciphered.

Yes, TDP has different magics with people living under those umbrella terms... for the elves. Humans are coming culturally at things from a completely different angle, and the elves' connection to their primal sources are discussed philosophically in detail, informing their practices and their culture first hand, including the way they chafe against humans, who are arcanum-less. Many animals in the world are also connected to magic, which influences both their design and which ones get hunted for humans' more 'clever' solution in dark magic, including each other.

The core issue of the Puppetmaster, down to being a coercive magic formed by someone deeply resentful of their imprisonment? Said puppetmaster is the main endgame antagonist of the entire show with all of S4 onwards being exploring the ethics of controlling people against their will in various methods, and the entire show itself being a thematic battleground of fate (imprisonment) vs free will for virtually every single character.

Where ATLA mostly concerns itself timeline wise with ending the war, very little thought is shown by any of the characters as to what they'll do after the war. This isn't a problem (as it reflects the sheer domineering scope of the conflict) but even Zuko being firelord is only ever really addressed with 2.5 episodes left till the finale. TDP, meanwhile, ends its 'war' in s3 and s4 opens up with dealing with the old wounds festering between people with centuries of history, the struggles that come when people aren't able to let go and believe they're safe or mourn in a healthy manner, and the religious/cultural clashes that may occur when trying to integrate different groups of people.

TDP also has an evil father with a devoted daughter and a brother who eventually defects, but it explores the reality of an abusive parent who loves/will sacrifice for you and your right to leave regardless, even if that means leaving the sibling you truly deeply love and who loves you in turn. Which means that when you and your sibling are on opposite sides of a deep ideological conflict, it actually really fucking hurts bc we've seen first hand just how much they love each other and also how and why everything fell apart not in spite of that love necessarily, but also because of it.

Is this to say that TDP is a 1:1 with ATLA or that it's better? No, not at all, and the latter is subjective. I prefer TDP, but I think they're about on equal ground when you look at each show currently as a whole (although TDP has two seasons left to go).

But TDP takes a lot of what ATLA was doing thematically with some of its most interesting beats and then builds or expands upon them further. It talks further and more consistently about the cycles of violence; in many ways, Jack De Sena's character, Callum, begins the series largely where Sokka had ended (and he's not the most like Sokka anyway; very much his own thing); we get Faustian bargains and centuries' long grief and fucked up people who are trying both succeeding and failing at not doing fucked up things. There are antagonists, but it is very hard to actually label anyone at this point a straight up villain. Moral greyness is where the show starts, and it just continues from there.

That's not to say the show is nothing but dark and depressing - like ATLA, there's a steady thread of hope and humour even as the show gets steadily closer and closer to its 11th hour point - but the show is usually emotionally heavier. There's more blood and potentially disturbing imagery with body horror and on screen death. There's so much foreshadowing you basically can't go more than 5 minutes into any episode without having something that's going to come back around or be referenced again like 3-5 seasons later.

Just to be clear - TDP is like ATLA, but it's like ATLA in interesting ways beyond the more shallow surface level that usually gets attributed to it, while still very much being its own show and its own thing. And that is why I tend to recommend it to people who like ATLA.

Thank you and goodnight

(Also, the fandom doesn't have any ship wars, and the show is queer as fuck)

[tera-rabbit]

Kinito needs a virtual buddy. (steam key, should be region free) : 6TTWX-TCK7F-X6RDJ (hopefully it'll work, if not, just scream really loudly ༼ᕗຈل͜ຈ༽ᕗ )

thank you very much for the game! I beat the game to one of the endings and really liked it. Kinito and Buddy really have a lot in common

I named my buddy Bill : )

[fluffytriceratops]

𝐈 𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮 - 𝐑𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 [𝐛𝐚𝐲𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞]

notes: part one? will probably make a very spicy part two- hehe. ;) if you know, you know. also- i imagine y/n as english here, but that's literally just me lol. there's no real hint or anything saying that she is or isn't. :D also also, i want raphael to choke me like he hates me but he loves me. :P

warnings: mature language/swearing,

tags: @thelaundrybitch @turtle-babe83 @leosgirl82 @rheawritesforfun @s-s-ironnie @post-apocalyptic-daydream @mysticboombox @drowninghell @lec743 @raphielover  @raphslovemuffin80 @squirrelfurs @bibiz82 @pheradream-15 @kikithedreamerwriter @m1dnyt3-w0lf @scholastic-dragon @moonsua1 [if i've forgotten anyone i'm so sorry please comment or dm me and let me know and i'll add you right away so i don't forget in the future!]

(if you would like to be tagged in my future tmnt x reader related work, feel free to let me know and i'll happily add you!)

i love you all sm! i'm sending all the virtual hugs and well wishes to you!! <33

---

She didn't understand what she had done. From the moment she met him, Raphael acted as though he hated her. Y/n was for at a loss. No matter what she did or said, there was always this wall between them. After a while of trying to befriend him, she eventually gave up. If he did not want to be friends, then so be it. She would spend her time with his brothers.

But that only seemed to make matters worse.

It was terribly confusing and Y/n didn't know if she could take much more of it.

She had tried so hard to please him. And despite all her efforts he pushed her away. Treated her as if she was nothing. So she turned to her actual friends, and that only seemed to anger him more. Did he not want her around at all? Did he not trust her with his family?

The thing that was the most frustrating, was the fact that no matter how hard she tried. She couldn't get rid of her love for him.

---

It wasn't as if he hated her. In fact, it was the exact opposite. Raphael had a hard time expressing his feelings. He had an even harder time when he believed that those feelings weren't reciprocated.

Y/n was beautiful. She was as sweet as honey with warm skin as soft as silk. Her eyes shone when she laughed. She always wore this lip gloss that made her lips the perfect shade of pink. And she smelled amazing. Like vanilla and cedar. A warm and comforting scent.

There was no way she liked him as much as he liked her. Raphael was so certain of this. So he did the only logical thing he could think of.

He pushed her away.

Because he knew he would never be able to love her. And being in the same room as her, knowing she would never be his, was excruciating.

The only thing he could think of doing was keeping his distance. Which was hard when she was always approaching him. So he avoided her like the plague.

That didn't mean that he didn't get jealous.

---

How could he act like he knew her? He didn't know her at all! Raphael was like a stranger to her! The only things she's learned of him was from his brothers. And even if they had been telling him about her, it wasn't the same. Her gaze narrowed at him. "I'm sorry? Can you repeat that please, because I don't think I heard you right."

Raphael gazed at Y/n from across the room. He was leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest, biceps bulging. (she would have been drooling if he wasn't such an ass-) He moved his toothpick to the other side of his mouth with his tongue. Head tilting ever so slightly as he studied her.

"I said, that your actions don't surprise me. Figures someone as pristine and conceded as you would do somethin' like that." He didn't skip a beat. Didn't hesitate with his comment. Even if it was uncalled for.

Y/n blinked. It was almost worse hearing it for a second time. It made her angrier, at least. She was absolutely gobsmacked. Surprised he had the balls to make such an assumption and voice it so simply.

Raphael pushed himself off of the wall and stalked towards her. "Cat got your tongue, princess?" His lips twisted up into a smirk as he loomed over her. Staring down at her with his eyes made of gold.

Leonardo, who she had been talking to moments before- opened his mouth to intervene, but Y/n cut him off before he got the chance.

"You have no right to make any sort of assumptions about me."

Raph hummed, "Ain't assumptions if they're true."

Y/ns gaze hardened, her hands balling at her sides. "You clearly don't know me at all."

"I think I know ya well enough."

"And I think you're an ass!" She snapped, face red with anger. "If you have any other false assertions about me, I'd rather you kept your mouth shut!"

"And I'd rather you not be here at all!" He growled in return. Golden gaze burning down upon her like fire. "You're always around! Do ya not have anywhere else to be!? Any other friends besides us!?"

"You aren't my friend!" Y/n's eyes stung with tears, and she did her best to hold herself together.

"Thank fuck for that!"

"Raph, enough!" Leo seperated the two by physically putting himself between them. His ocean eyes were glued to his brother. "Take a walk." He demanded, nodding in the direction of one of the sewer tunnels.

Raphael's veins burned. He hated the sight of Leo coming to the rescue. Because of fucking course he did. It was always the wise and powerful Leonardo guiding them through their problems. He would have fought more. Pushed back harder. Let his anger consume him. But his gaze caught the sight of tears trickling down Y/n's face. Like stars falling from the sky. His heart ached and squeezed. He wanted to drop to the floor and beg for her forgiveness. Kiss her feet and worship the ground she walked on.

Y/n was a moon goddess. Made of pure starlight.

And Raphael was a brutish soldier, stuck on Earth while he watched her dance with the stars.

It was better if she hated him. It made things easier that way, he reminded himself.

Raphael didn't say anything else. He simply turned around and walked away. Afraid that if he stayed a second longer, he'd do one of two things.

Beg for the goddess' forgiveness.

Or break her.

---

Leonardo let out a heavy sigh before turning to face the h/c haired girl. "Are you okay?" He asked, planting his large hands atop her shoulders. They covered them entirely, showing just how much bigger they all were than her.

Y/n nodded, reaching up to wipe at her eyes quickly. It felt like Raphael had attacked her out of nowhere. It wasn't like she was doing anything besides talking to Leo. (Okay, maybe she had been flirting with him a little bit, but could you really blame her? Have you seen the guy, he's fine as hell-) It felt unwarranted. She didn't feel like she deserved his hate, but no matter what she did, he always seemed hostile towards her.

Leo didn't look convinced. "You sure?"

Y/n let out a quiet sigh. "Yeah.. Is it okay if I just go and finish my book in your room?" She reached towards the couch and grabbed it, clutching it to her chest.

"Of course. No one will disturb you there."

She forced a small smile. "Great. Thanks, Leo."

"Anytime, Y/n."

Leonardo watched as she padded away in the direction of his bedroom. Lips pressed into a thin line. He turned and moved in the direction Raphael went in. He wasn't surprised to find him in the dojo, absolutely wrecking the punching bag.

"Raph."

Said male glanced in his direction for a split second, grunting in acknowledgment.

"What the hell was that?" Leo gestured behind him, blue eyes hardening into a stern glare.

Raphael clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Nothin'. Just leave it alone, Leo." He continued to slam his fists upon the bag, watching it jolt and sway with each lethal hit.

"Y/n doesn't deserve the shit you give her. If you gave her a chance, maybe you would see that. She's a nice girl, she's our friend. You need to give her an apology."

Normally, Raphael would have fought with Leo. Arguing with him to the point where their verbal hits would turn into physical ones. But his motions stilled at this. He knew Leo was right, as much as he didn't want to admit it. He hated seeing Y/n look at him like that. With wide teary eyes and a wobbling lip. Staring at him like the ferocious monster he was.

Before either of them could say anything else, Mikey popped his head in the room. "Hey guys, dinner's ready!"

Leo nodded and turned back to Raph. "Go tell Y/n dinner's ready. You can apologize whilst you're at it." He didn't leave room for argument as he left the dojo. 

Leaving Raphael looming next to the punching bag. He lifted his arm and hit it once more. That was the final blow, the bag snapped off the chain and smashed against the ground. It's contents pouring out.

He'd have to try and fix it later.

---

Y/n sat on Leonardo's bed. Back pressed against the wall and chin propped up on her palm. One of her favourite books sat open on her lap and she read it contentedly. She did her best not to think about Raphael and his actions and words. How he was so distant and vile towards her. She had done nothing but be kind to him. To try and have a decent relationship with him. But he refused to have even a decent relationship with her. It was beyond frustrating. It made her want to rip her hair out. 

She let out a long slow sigh, tilting her head back till it hit the wall and she was looking up at the ceiling. Her mind was a mess, and while she had told Mikey she would stay for dinner earlier, now she was regretting her choice. She contemplated trying to sneak out. But that was near impossible when the lair was full of trained ninjas. Y/n couldn't sneak past them no matter how hard she tried. 

There was a rap of knuckles on the door. She assumed it was Leo, or perhaps Donnie. Mikey would just barge in, and she highly doubted she'd see Raph for a good long while yet. 

She pushed herself up and went towards the door. Yanking it open, but whatever she was about to say died on her tongue. Lips parted and throat dry. She couldn't say anything as she gazed at the mutant in front of her.  Y/n stepped back from Raphael, studying him with an intense gaze silently. Being unable to find any words to speak. 

Raph cleared his throat. "Leo sent me to get you for dinner."

Y/n dropped her gaze with a heavy sigh and turned away from him, shaking her head in disappointment. She was hoping for an apology, or something along those lines. She wanted him so bad but it felt like he was miles away. 

"Y/n?" Raph stepped further into the room, looking at her in confusion. "Are you not hungry?"

"I do not want any dinner!" Y/n spat angrily, running a hand through her hair in agitation.

Raph looked taken aback by her outburst. But he stayed silent, allowing her to take in a couple deep breaths and try to calm herself down. He understood anger better than most. And Y/n had every right to be angry with him. 

Finally, she turned to him. "I have spent so much time wanting to be alone with you. Wanting to talk to you! Wanting to know -" she cut herself off with a sharp inhale, dropping her gaze to the floor. Cheeks warm and tips of her ears dusted in red.

She shook her head again. "I understand that you do not wish to see me... That you would prefer to stay in any other room-"

"That's not true." He cut her off quickly. Molten gold gaze staring at her. Piercing her soul. 

Y/n brought her eyes back up to him. Not believing his words. "Raphael-"

"You're wrong." He said again. Voice sharp.

Still, Y/n did not believe him. "You have avoided my presence." She stated, quite simply. It was a fact. Raphael could barley stand to be in the same room as Y/n, let alone hang around just the two of them.

"In order to give you space." He muttered, swallowing thickly. She watched the way his throat bobbed with the action. 

Y/n's eyebrows dipped in confusion. "You've.. Said all but a few words to me."

"To stop myself from sayin' the wrongs things." He said, taking a step towards her. Raph wet his lips with his tongue, not missing the way her eyes followed the action. His heart pounded at the sight alone. He had caught himself staring at her eyes many times, so to find hers glued to his - she had no idea the kind of chokehold she had on him.

Y/n stared at him in disbelief. "You've barley been able to look at me in the eye."

"Because I can't stand to see the misery I have caused you!" He snapped, clearly agitated. Pacing back and forth in front of her. Like a caged animal. Skin crawling at the way she watched him. Those eyes of hers... They were paralyzing. In the best way possible.

"You did not..." She whispered, hesitantly taking a single step forwards. "I am the one who has trapped you in your own home. I should have been more understanding of your space-" 

"I'm the one who trapped you." Raph cut her off, growling out the words. "I have spent the last few weeks in agony." He admitted, glancing over towards her for only a second before he resumed his pacing. "Unable to talk to you. Unable to be alone with you because I knew you wanted nothing to do with me." 

Y/n opened her mouth to protest but he continued. "Which makes sense, I mean look at me! I'm fucking scary. I'm a freak. I have a bad temper, it ain't pretty when I'm angry. I get jealous and envious easily and I'm not the best with emotions. I'm not the best guy, my brothers are ten times better than I will ever be." 

"Raph-" 

"I see the way you look at them. I see how much you care for them. Leo especially. He's the hero. I'm the villain. That's how it's always been, that's how it always will be. If yer gonna love any of us, it's understandable that it would be him." His shoulders sunk, and he finally stopped pacing but had yet to fully turn towards Y/n. His chest was heaving with much needed air after the amount of word vomit he had spewed. 

"Leo's your perfect love match..." 

"You're right in the sense that you and Leo are different. You cannot be anymore different. You're practically polar opposites." She breathed, studying him carefully. Heart aching from the words he spoke. "But who said I ever wanted Leo..." 

Raphael slowly looked towards her. Eyes boring into her own, trying to see if she was telling the truth or not. Trying to understand the meaning behind her words. 

He was silent for what felt like a long time. They both were. The silence was thick, suffocating. They both had so much they wanted to say but neither of them had the courage to say it. 

"I can't stop thinking of you," Raph started softly, "From the mornings when I wake up, to the evenings right before bed. To the dreams I have of you.. My thoughts of you never end." His hands shook ever so slightly and he balled them into fists to control it. 

"I am yours, Y/n. I have always been yours." 

Y/n took in a heavy breath, chest rising as she sucked the air into her lungs. "I.." Her eyebrows dipped again as she tried to comprehend his words. Was he saying what she thought he was? "I don't understand.." 

Raphael shook his head in frustration, "I don't know how to be anymore clear." He huffed, lifting his arms up and turning away from her. 

Y/n's gaze hardened and she moved towards him. "Do not get angry-" 

"I am not angry!" He snapped. 

"You look angry. And bothered. Look at you, you're all flushed." She gestured towards him and Raph grit his teeth, face warm in embarrassment. 

"Yes, that is what happens." 

"When one is angry." 

"When one burns for someone who does not feel the same!" Raphael hissed, closing the distance between them. Towering over her. He lifted a hand and ran it down his face, biting down on his lip.

"You.." Y/n could not bring herself to look away from him. "You burn for me?" 

"Why do you think I got angry at you for flirting with Leo?" 

"Why do you think I was flirting with Leo?" 

Raph seemed confused by this, brows pulling together. "If you even bothered to look at me, really look at me. For longer than two seconds.. You would have seen.." What small bit of distance left between them she closed by taking a final step forward.

 "I burn for you." 

[aventurineswife]

im under the assumption that requests are open, so uhmmmm

ahem-

can i request Aventurine giving Reader a hug or whatever physical affection, and Reader starts crying because of that? (Reader is crying because it's been a long time since they were last touched/held, and the thought of someone wanting to touch/hold them is very scary. even the sensation behind being touched/held is almost overstimulating, despite how badly they want to be held)

i know my request is, uh, oddly specific ?? hope that's ok with you tho 🧍‍♂️ im one of the few dorks out there that is so touch-starved that i cry when it happens lol,,, it's not that i hate touch, my brain just can't register it.

“If you hold me without hurting me, you'll be the first who ever did”

Summary: After a long time without any physical affection, you’re overwhelmed when Aventurine gives you a comforting hug. The sensation is almost too much, and you break down, finally allowing yourself to be vulnerable. Aventurine reassures you with gentle words and a steady presence, letting you know he’s there for you whenever you need.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Emotional Vulnerability, Reassurance, Established Relationship.

Warnings: Emotional Overwhelm, Touch Starvation, Reader Crying.

A/N: Don’t worry, Rose! My requests are open, so feel free to drop yours whenever you like! ;) And don’t worry, your requests aren’t weird or anything—actually, they’re cute and wholesome. 🤧🥺 I can also relate to the touch-starved feeling, though I’m uncomfortable with people touching me without consent (trauma). I’d be fine with holding hands or arms, though. :') Hope you enjoy this! And remember, you're valid! 💖🌹🫂 *Sending virtual hugs <33*

Sorry this uh rushed and I didn't edit it properly and got to your request late :')

The room was quiet, save for the soft murmur of the city outside. Aventurine led you in, his gentle hand resting on your back. You felt your pulse race as he guided you to sit on the sofa, his easy confidence steadying you as you took a shaky breath. Tonight, he’d traded his playful banter for a quieter presence. His usual grin softened, and his eyes were filled with something far more tender.

You sat beside him, hands twisting nervously in your lap, feeling that comforting warmth radiating off him. Despite how close he was, you couldn’t shake the distance you felt from it, as if an invisible wall held you back. It was as though you were tethered to a feeling you couldn’t escape—something that had kept you from letting anyone close for so long.

“Are you alright?” Aventurine’s voice was low and gentle, his words laced with concern. He reached out, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture simple, yet it felt like a landslide of emotion.

And then, without another word, he drew you into his arms, pulling you close against his chest. The sudden warmth, his touch, the feeling of his heart beating steadily—it was too much. A wave of sensation hit you, so foreign yet so needed, and before you could stop yourself, tears blurred your vision.

You hadn’t been held like this in so long, hadn’t felt this kind of closeness. It scared you, left you trembling in his embrace as the ache in your chest spilled over into silent sobs. Every part of you was screaming that this was wrong, that you couldn’t trust it, that you shouldn’t let yourself need it so badly. Yet Aventurine held you tightly, his presence unwavering, silently urging you to let go.

“Hey… you’re safe here,” he whispered, a hand rubbing slow circles along your back. “I’ve got you.”

You felt his hand press against your back, steady and comforting, grounding you with each small touch. His other hand cupped the back of your head, cradling you as though you were the most fragile thing in the world. His words, low and close to your ear, were soft promises that left no room for doubt.

The tears came harder, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, feeling the fabric of his coat against your cheek. You clung to him, fingers clutching the back of his shirt as though he might disappear if you let go. Every part of you felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that was terrifying, yet liberating.

“I’m sorry...” you managed, voice muffled against him.

“For what?” He shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes, usually playful and glinting with mischief, were filled with nothing but understanding and warmth. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

Your words choked up, and you simply shook your head, a fresh wave of tears welling up. You couldn’t explain it; it was too raw, too deeply ingrained in every wall you’d ever built around yourself. But Aventurine seemed to understand. He stayed, hands gently brushing up and down your back, thumb tracing soothing circles along your shoulder.

And in that moment, for the first time in ages, you felt safe. The warmth, the steadiness of his heartbeat, the quiet strength in his hold—it reminded you that maybe it was okay to let yourself be held, to be cared for, even if it was overwhelming. His hand found yours, fingers entwining, grounding you in the here and now.

“Whenever you need this,” he murmured, his voice steady and filled with reassurance, “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

The promise lingered in the quiet, like a lifeline you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting for. You let yourself lean into him, allowing the tears to finally fall as he held you, the world slipping away until it was just the two of you, wrapped in warmth, safety, and an unspoken promise of more moments like this—of a love that was patient enough to wait.

This is so Aventurine 😪💛

[glossdebut]

Take a Bite Ch. 2

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: Your fledgling career as a music journalist is finally going in some kind of direction that must be on the path to success. Your coworkers like you enough to invite you out on Fridays, your boss is starting to think you’re competent enough to let you score a few bylines, and you're finally getting the hang of InDesign. All of your hard work, late nights, and complete lack of a social life are starting to pay off... Even if it all came at the expense of the longest relationship of your life. Fine. You've accepted the fact that romance isn't for you, under any circumstances. You won't risk your career for anybody. Not even Min Yoongi.

✧ TAGS: slow burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, producer yoongi, music journalist reader, neighbors to friends to lovers? you'll see, reader is bad at feelings, reader is post-break up

✧ WARNINGS: more social drinking in this chapter, horny thoughts from y/n, seokjin is a warning of his own tbh

✧ WORDCOUNT: 3.2k

✧ STATUS: complete

✧ AUTHOR'S NOTE: yoongi being sweet, y/n being terrified, and jin cameo to celebrate his return <3 btw if you're noticing a theme with the chapter titles, let me know teehee. taglist is up, so feel free to join if you want to be tagged in future chapters! clover beat you all to it

Chapter 2: Tell Me What You Want From Me

Unsurprisingly, it’s less than twenty-four hours later when you run into him again. It tracks, now that it’s clear that the universe is dead set on throwing Yoongi in your path, that you’d see him in person before he’s even gotten the opportunity to text you. If he actually was planning to text you, that is.

It’s a little past four in the afternoon, and you’re both making it home from work. It seems that way, anyway, based on the bag slung over his shoulder and his business casual clothes. No one looks good in business casual, but he does. You hate him, you decide.

He’s also holding a huge bag of tangerines, which is… Well, you guess it’s a talking point. If you’re going to be forced to interact again (although you’re very much considering doing the rude thing and just running inside without saying a word) you might as well make up for the last time you saw each other. Last night. Or, this morning, really. You, drunk and drooling over him. Him, stupidly charming and a very good sport.

You’ve been hungover all day, but it started to wane on your way home from work so you decide to do the neighborly thing and talk to him.

“That’s a lot of tangerines,” you say, and you feel a little smug when Yoongi visibly startles at the sound of your voice. Serves him right after making you practically jump out of your skin last night.

He pulls out one of his headphones and grins, raising the bag triumphantly.

"I have a thing about tangerines,” he explains. If that can even count as an explanation. "You want one?"

You can hear your mother in your ear chastising you for taking food from a virtual stranger, but you reason that just because you take one doesn’t mean you have to eat it, and you walk over to his door with your hand out.

“Sure,” you say, eyeing the bag warily. “Only because I’m not convinced you could eat all of those by yourself.”

He hums, staring at your hand as he pushes his door open, tilting his head toward the inside of the apartment in invitation. 

Your eyes widen. You open your mouth to protest, to tell him he could just hand you one, but Yoongi already has his back to you as he walks inside, kicking his shoes off at the door. You linger lamely in the doorway of his apartment. 

“Oh—Uh, are you sure?”

"Would I have invited you in if I wasn't sure?" You continue to linger as Yoongi sets the bag down on the kitchen island. He opens a cabinet, procuring a plate. "I don't bite,” he calls, turning on the tap of his sink to wash his hands.

You tentatively step inside, shutting his door behind you and setting your bag by his shoe rack. You follow his lead, toeing your shoes off before joining him in the kitchen. You watch as he starts peeling the fruit across the island, shifting awkwardly. 

Yoongi's eyes dart toward you for a moment as he continues to peel.

“You're acting like you're scared of me or something. You know I'm not gonna murder you, right?" he asks with a laugh, now starting to separate the sections of the tangerine.

“I know you’re not going to murder me,” you assure him, visibly relaxing a little so as not to look like such a hopeless, awkward freak. 

"Good. Just checking." He holds out a section of the tangerine, offering it to you.

You take it, smiling gratefully, but you let him eat his own piece first. It’s the least you can do, for your poor mother’s sake.

You do a shit job of being subtle as you glance around Yoongi’s apartment while you chew, but it’s not like you’re trying very hard to hide it. It’s a natural curiosity, to be in an apartment with a structural layout identical to your own, but so differently decorated. You feel like it’s not weird to look. 

"What?" he asks as he eats his own section of the tangerine, and when you look back at him his eyebrow is raised in question. 

“Your apartment is cleaner than I would’ve thought,” you say, laughing a little.

“Did you think it would be gross?” Yoongi asks, amused. “Do I give off a gross vibe?”

You snort, because he absolutely does not. If anyone gives off a gross vibe between the two of you, it’s probably you, the sloppy drunk that almost threw up on him last night because he was so hot and so close and you were so wasted. But you keep that bit to yourself. “Not gross. Just… messy?” you offer, snatching another section of the tangerine from his hand. “Not gross, though.”

“Oh, well that’s good,” he teases, starting to peel another tangerine and dividing it in half, sliding one half to you on the plate. “That you don’t think I’m gross, I mean.”

“No, it’s very neat in here,” you hum appreciatively, taking the plate. “The constant bedhead thing you’ve got going on is very misleading.” You point at his mussed hair. If you were a different person, maybe you’d touch it.

He does it for you, though. You watch as he ruffles his hair, smirking at you. “You don’t like my hair?”

“I didn’t say that,” you say. Something about Yoongi makes this back-and-forth come easily for you, and it feels dangerous. You should leave it alone, but you can’t. “Putting words in my mouth.”

He hums, and you watch his gaze flick down to your lips as you say the word ‘mouth.’ “You… have a little…” You watch as he brings his hand up to his own lips, rubbing his thumb at the corner of his mouth to indicate where you have something, apparently.

You hurriedly bring your own hand up to rub at your mouth. He shakes his head, laughing in a way that’s more of a sharp exhale through his nose, and then he’s rounding the counter. 

When he gets to you, he holds your chin, and you hold your breath in return, looking at him with wide eyes as he wipes it away himself.

Something shifts. You can feel the charge in the air as his thumb brushes against your bottom lip, and your heart does that stupid flippy thing again. This is a bad idea, you think. Since when did your life become a cheesy romcom? You don’t have time for this. Based on the sympathy in his eyes last night when you told him that, he doesn’t either. You both just got home from working on a Saturday when you were both drinking last night, for fuck’s sake. But you can’t bring yourself to pull away even as every cell in your body screams at you to run out of his apartment right now, future awkward hallway run-ins be damned. 

And then Yoongi’s apartment door is swinging open, and you’re flying away from him like shrapnel as a broad-shouldered man in a fuzzy pink sweater walks in like he owns the damn place, brown paper bags bundled in his arms.

“Yoongichiiiii,” the man sing-songs. “Your Seokjinie-hyung is here to make you dinner, you cretin!”

Yoongi, who hasn’t moved, who didn’t fly away from you like shrapnel at the interruption, finally breaks eye contact with you to look at the man. Seokjinie-hyung, apparently. 

“Do you have to barge in here, hyung?” he says, with the type of tiredness that can only come from a person who endures this kind of thing five days out of the week, minimum. Can’t relate , you think. There’s nobody breaking down your door to make you dinner. “Can’t you knock, like a normal person?”

“I didn’t anticipate you’d have company, Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin says, waggling his eyebrows and looking at you. “I’m Seokjin. But you can call me oppa.” He smirks. “Unless, of course, you already call him that.”

Ew, for one. You stare at him, your lips parting in shock, because what the fuck do you say to that? You’re completely dumbfounded by this beautiful, broad, gross man. 

“Hyung,” Yoongi says sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose, and you finally find your voice.

“I’m Yoongi’s neighbor,” you say quickly, because this complete stranger does not need to think that you are sleeping with this other complete stranger and calling him oppa, of all things? What planet did you just beam to?

“Okay, Yoongi’s neighbor,” Seokjin says, walking further into the kitchen and setting the grocery bags down on the counter. “That’s a beautiful name. Is it French?”

“Hyung, ” Yoongi repeats, louder this time, smacking the back of Seokjin’s head. “Don’t be an asshole to my guest.”

“Yah, when did you become so disrespectful!” Seokjin says, surpassing Yoongi’s volume, smacking him right back, waving his hands around as he speaks. “Am I not a guest, too? Here I am, selflessly providing you with dinner, because god knows you’re incapable of feeding yourself properly. Don’t think I don’t see the tangerines, Yoongi-yah. Was that dinner?”

Okay, yeah. You are officially a spectator to whatever the fuck this is. You’re convinced that if you try to intervene in any way, you’ll lose an arm, and you can’t seem to get your legs to work to walk out the door, as much as you may like to. You’re frozen to the spot, entranced. 

“You’re an unwanted guest,” Yoongi hisses, smacking Seokjin once again. “And I am a grown man, fully capable of feeding myself.”

“Yes, a grown man whose height topped out at five-foot-seven because of his horrific eating habits,” Seokjin retorts, narrowing his eyes at Yoongi as he starts unpacking the grocery bags. “Do you think these broad shoulders were bestowed upon me by god? They weren’t. It was kimchi-jjigae.”

“Yah, you’re only three inches taller than me, hyung. Don’t get cocky just because of a few inches,” Yoongi complains, and you swear you see him lift onto his toes for just a moment.

“Oh, but a few inches can make a world of difference, Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin practically purrs, and at that you find your voice, because really, enough is enough.

“I should go!” you blurt out, and both of their heads snap in your direction comically fast. Seokjin looks amused, but also like he forgot you were there entirely, which you think is fair. Yoongi, however, looks incredibly guilty. You’d think it’s cute, if you could think anything besides ‘get out while you still can’ right now. 

Yoongi steps a little closer to you, lowering his voice so it’s only for you. You can feel your change of heart before you even process anything he says.

“I’m sorry…” he says, glancing back at Seokjin for a moment. “…For that.” He sighs. “Look, I get it if you want to bolt right now. Seokjin-hyung has that effect on people.”

You hear Seokjin’s cry of protest behind Yoongi, which Yoongi ignores.

“I just don’t want to intrude,” you say. Polite. To the point. Your last line of defense, which Yoongi is quick to crumble with his soft voice and earnest words.

“You wouldn’t be. Despite being a pain in my ass, hyung is a good cook. And he makes enough food to feed an army even when it’s just the two of us,” he continues. “I… You can stay and eat. I’d like it if you did.”

What the fuck is happening to you right now? You can’t even begin to understand why you can’t seem to say no where Yoongi is involved, despite only meeting him less than twenty-four hours ago. 

The only thing that you can tell is that it’s not just because of your attraction to him, as undeniable as it may be. You may be an introverted homebody, but you’re still a woman who gets hit on semi-frequently. If that’s what this was, no matter how pretty Yoongi is, you’re sure you’d still be able to say no. But you’re not saying no.

“…This is all very, very weird,” you say, and Yoongi breathes out a strained ‘ I know, ’ which makes you relax a little. “I’ll stay, if you insist.”

“He insists,” Seokjin says, not even bothering to look up at you as he chops vegetables.

To your surprise, Yoongi doesn’t make any kind of cutting remark in Seokjin’s direction. He just keeps his eyes on you, nods in agreement. 

“I insist.”

So you stay.

★ ★ ★

Seokjin is very insistent about not letting you help in the kitchen.

“Unless he’s chopped off a limb to get out of it in the past ten seconds I haven’t been looking at him, Yoongi-yah has two fully-functioning hands and knows his way around a kitchen. So you just sit and look pretty, and let your oppas take care of everything,” he tells you. 

You hate the delivery of that, really. But you do as he says, and it’s actually pretty nice.

Plus, you get to see just how fully-functioning those hands of Yoongi’s are. You have a fucking front row seat to the capability of those hands. 

It does not help that Seokjin insists on refilling a wine glass for you every time you take a sip, but what does help is focusing on Seokjin’s weird, kind of cute pinky fingers instead of Yoongi’s fucking sinful everything that you want in your mouth more and more as the alcohol warms you. 

The bickering between the two even seems to die down as they cook. It’s clear that the two of them have done this together before, and it even makes you wonder if they lived together for a point in time.

You learn a lot about Yoongi, too. That he works too hard, which he himself had alluded to last night, but Seokjin confirmed with a gusto that makes you think it’s probably worse than you assumed. That he’s completely powerless to his dongsaengs, which Yoongi didn’t even try to deny. That there are seven of them altogether, a close-knit friend group that will always be the seven of them barring death, and maybe even then. It’s all very sweet. 

You’re in the middle of fantasizing about what it would be like to have six friends who love you so much when Seokjin turns the conversation to you suddenly.

“What do you do, Y/N?”

“I’m a music journalist for Look Here Magazine,” you reply, starting to straighten up with pride just as you did last night when you told Yoongi, but something in Seokjin’s expression makes you freeze.

He looks pleased as fucking punch, and you’re beginning to realize that is probably never a good thing.

“Oh, are you?” he purrs.

“Hyung,” Yoongi says warily, but he looks just as confused as you feel.

“You know, our Yoongi makes music.”

“Yes, he told me,” you say slowly, your eyebrows furrowing.

“He’s very good,” Seokjin continues. “Back in college, he used to write all of these raps about eating pus—“

“YAH! Stop!” Yoongi interjects, and when you look at him he is completely pink. You were already pink from the wine, so you would guess you’re fire engine red right now, if the heat in your cheeks is any indicator. 

“You weren’t ashamed of it then, Mr. Tongue Technology,” Seokjin sniffs, doling out rice into three bowls like he didn’t just drop a bomb that you’ll be thinking about for the rest of your life, maybe. Tongue technology.

“I was twenty,” Yoongi complains. “I was young and cocky, and I had an awful group of friends who never told me how fucking stupid I sounded.” He turns to you, although he is barely able to hold eye contact. You’re in the same boat. “Please forget you ever heard that.”

You nod, stiffly. What else can you do? Say you’d like to take that tongue for a spin, right now preferably? No, no, no, no.

“How about we talk about something else?” you offer, quickly. “What do you do, Seokjin?”

That seems like the right thing to say, because even when the three of you finally sit down to eat, Seokjin is still happily going on about his aspirations as an actor.

★ ★ ★

Seokjin rubs his belly happily, slumped against his chair.

“God, I’m good,” he sighs. “Tell me how good I am, Yoongichi.”

“You’re so good, hyung,” Yoongi says flatly.

“Thank you again, for having me,” you say, smiling a little. Despite your apprehension towards Seokjin at first, dinner was surprisingly pleasant and, to his credit, really fucking good. “Both of you.”

“Ah, you should come next time all the kids are around,” Seokjin says, grinning. “It’ll be a hoot.”

Yoongi stays quiet across from you, but he meets your eyes and nods. Flip.

“Well… I’m only two doors down,” you say softly, looking down at your empty bowl.

“Just wait until Jiminie and Jeongguk get ahold of her,” Seokjin says to Yoongi. You don’t know what that could possibly mean, could mean a lot of things coming from Seokjin, but Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“It’s getting late. We should probably clean up,” Yoongi says, starting to stack the bowls. “Do you need a ride home?”

“I’m not an invalid, Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin scoffs. “I can take the bus.” He stands up, snatching the bowls away from Yoongi. “Let hyung clean up and I’ll be on my way.”

Yoongi doesn’t put up a fight, handing off the bowls, and then Seokjin is in the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone for the first time since tangerines and Yoongi’s thumb on your lip.

“Thank you,” you say again, this time just for Yoongi. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a night like this.”

“I wouldn’t have any nights like this if it weren’t for Seokjin-hyung and the rest of my friends,” Yoongi says, brutally honest in the way you’re figuring out he always is. “When you love what you do, it’s hard to remember that there’s anything else.”

You nod, because you know exactly what he means by that.

“I really know what it’s like. I know we just met last night, but if you ever need…” He shakes his head, putting his words together. He looks unbelievably shy, not for the first time tonight. “Ah, I’m not used to being the one to give this speech. Look, we can hang out, is all I’m saying.”

You realize then and there what Yoongi is offering, and something clicks into place. Friendship. Despite the charged moments, the clear attraction, he’s offering to be someone you can go to. Someone who gets it and won’t judge. It doesn’t feel like pity, either, strangely. This is why you can’t bring yourself to say no to him, you realize. He’s offering you something you desperately need.

You smile, despite the fact that you kind of feel like crying.

“Only if you show me those raps Seokjin was talking about.”

✧ shoot me a reply or an ask if you enjoyed this chapter! feedback is always appreciated <3 join my taglist if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

@dollfaceksj

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[py-dreamer]

So... I know I'm late...

But yea! I said I was coming back with some stickers and I kept my word! I would've hoped that I could've completed the sheet in like a day but as you can see...that didn't work out

I know I've been a bit MIA lately but burnout sucks. I do have a lot of WIPS I really want to work on but again, it seems that the ProcrastiNation hath struck my feeble mortal brain again.

But anyways:

I headcanon Aroace Mei, just a personal headcanon (disagree if you like) I also like lesbian Mei but thought I'd give some aroace appreciation

Silktea was only given 1 episode but OH BOY did it fuel our wild shipping habits. And I jumped on the bandwagon. It's a reference to that scene in She-Ra where Scorpia tells Catra she 'didn't want to do this' then wraps kitty up in the blankey and cradles her like a wee baby. And Sandy would do that for any friend, I will die on this hill

Saw a fanart where Mk had a pig nose themed pacifier and I just yoinked that idea. The pig hoodie and the pacifier seems like something Tang would do for Pigsy (also to get away with free noodles cause who can say no to that face?~)

Mac showing Wukong the lantern. What can I say, mans' fascinated by them pretty lights. Though our little performer's eyes seem to be straying from the show (^u ')

I know many people have issues with shipping with Nezha and such and I know the two had a rough history but y'know what fans do; they love to make the people who kill each other soulmates (platonic, romantic or otherwise) Even if it wasn't romantic, I still love the idea of them being buddies and just chilling, the danger noodle prince and the angy prince snuggle and watch a movie (mainly from Nezha 2019 but I also saw New Gods and can I just say, I want those two twinks to bicker then kiss awkwardly and I want Yun Xiang to BEAT. HIS. ASS) but in case anyone asks, I do perceive Nezha to be a consenting adult in general outside shipping drama and if the two are adults, it does make my heart squeal when I see these two hold hands and whatnot

HOW COULD I EVER FORGET MY SPICYBOIS, inspired by that one Ponyo kiss scene. I was actually gonna make a bigger piece but then I saw someone do it already in a much better fashion than I ever could and I just gave up on the idea but Ig here, its just like the two cakes mentality and I gave it a go. Hope I could do the concept justice

Have spider queen or scorpion queen ever interacted before? No. But they are both queens and I believe Spider Queen's confidence could rub off on Scorpion Queen and she'd appreciate the company of Spider Queen's children henchmen. Also she give yummy food so lesbian venomqueens for the win

Redraw of that moment with Peng and Azure. I normally detest that bird but these two do get some gears grinding and whatever anyone says. Neither of those two are straight. I'll tell ya that.

Toxicinsanity is another rarepair that had like 1 sec screen time. I don't think they'd ever work out in canon and had virtually no chemistry. I still love all the fluffy ship content I can find of them though and if it ever were to happen. I think the mayor would scare the sh!t out of Syntax

Let's get at least one hetero couple here, Chang'e and Hou'Yi are a couple of favorites ngl, I took most of their outfits from Over the moon cause both of them looked stunning, Chang'e especially. I've seen people ship mah girl with other people and while I do agree it's healthy to move on, in my heart she will always long for Hou'Yi

Also irl, on valentines, my mum took us out for lunch, she treated us to bubble tea and donuts. We walked home so I waited to drink mah drink in my room while I drew and I accidentally finished it all... I'm so sorry mum

f*ck I forgot ironbull. Uhh....I'll draw something later, rn I need to go to bed before I get yelled at...

click pic for less sh!ty quality!

[ellavatorz]

My Beloved || c.b. x reader

prompt: dating Colby has its up and downs, but your love never lessens. and two years down this same path, you’re still absolutely love-struck for each other.

tw/cw: smut, fem!reader, established relationship, semi-sub/dom dynamic, name-calling.

a/n: this is for a lovely anon. thank you for suggesting this prompt for me to write, it was a fun one. I hope you all enjoy it as well.

pic is not mine, found on Pinterest.

*

It wasn’t every day that Colby found himself drowning in his and Sam’s workload. However, it also was uncommon for him to not have something to occupy him.

Today, it just so happens that the virtual meetings he had planned were postponed for a later date, and his editing had taken a shorter time to finish than he anticipated.

And so, with a day’s worth of taxing effort being cut short, Colby treated himself to a bath. After texting you the details of his day’s end, of course.

Even as two years passed, the commitment of settling into a place of your own has remained an unspoken topic. Although it’s definitely doable, that step forward just hasn’t arrived yet.

Which is why you end up driving a few neighborhoods down to Sam, Kat and Colby’s shared home. Having a spare key, you welcome yourself to the upper level of the home and into Colby’s room.

Settling into his bed and under the comfort of his scent, you find yourself grinning at the idea that your presence would be a surprise for your boyfriend. And as if on cue, Colby’s voice can be heard from the bathroom, echoing a song his phone plays.

Soon after the song hums to a stop, Colby is escaping the mist of the warm shower’s humidity with a towel secured around his waist. You quirk a brow at his entrance, noting the manner in which his happy trail peeks out from seam of the towel.

“Well shit, here I was thinking I’d be the surprise but it looks like you beat me to it.”

Colby blanches at the sound of your voice, eyes darting directly to his bed to find you. He grins, eyes crinkling into a pair of half moons. Instantly, his body is gravitating towards you, that same damn smile settling into the quirk of his lips.

“I’m very pleased to see you, baby.” He admits, barely getting a knee through the comforter before you’re stopping him with a hand to his chest.

Confused by the sudden pause, Colby looks for any signs of discomfort in your body language. Once he’s found none, he looks into your eyes with furrowed brows. You smile in return, rubbing the skin of his chest gently.

“I thought you’d be excited to see me, but I didn’t think you’d be that excited.” You say, gesturing with your eyes toward the evident tent beneath the towel.

“Ah,” he chuckles, following your sight to his crotch. He flushed red and suddenly you’re reminded of how much you love to see him flustered. Cute, you think.

“Though I can’t say I’m not in the same boat.” You voice, ridding yourself of the sheets you were just enveloped in. You lead his hand to your lower half, nudging his fingers between your legs.

His jaw slacks at the feeling of your short’s dampness, caressing you gently as if unsure.

“Fuck,” he exhales and sits himself on the edge of the bed, hand not once disturbed from its place in between your legs. “I didn’t know I had that kind of power over you.”

“Oh please. You can’t possibly think that by standing there, looking as virile as you do with hardly any fabric on you, I won’t drop everything I’m doing just to claim what’s mine now, do you?”

You answer hastily. Gaining confidence with the sudden adrenaline rush, you taken it upon yourself to tug him free of the towel; allowing it to plop onto the ground beside the bed.

“You know what you’re doing. So let me give it to you.” You continue, boring your gaze straight into his eyes.

“And what’s that?” He quips, throat bobbing with the sultriness in his voice. He leans further into your space, snaking his free hand around your throat.

“Everything and anything you want it to be. So tell me, my pretty boy.. how do you want me?”

Without missing a beat, he’s hovering over you and working his way down your neck; trailing both saliva and welts as he reaches your clothed breasts.

Irritated with the sudden interruption, he rocks his hips against your shorts as he begins to remove your top. Growling at the stubborn fabric, he decides against undoing the clasp, and instead tearing through what he could to get to you.

You make an effort to scold him for mindlessly shredding your belongings but your words fall short when his mouth has attached itself to your breast.

Nipping at the perks of your chest, Colby hums in content upon hearing your delicate moans.

“Fuck, Colby, please—“ you whimper, feeling his growth camber against the exposure of your thigh.

“Please? And here I thought you’d own up to your word and let me have you however I wanted.” He retorts while gripping your hips with both hands, squeezing with vigor.

A bashful squeak replaces your response as he draws you in by the chin, reaching a hand behind your the arch of your back to stabilize you.

“And I want you miserable.” He concludes just before shoving you back into the mattress. With a staggered huff, you begin to chew at your bottom lip with anticipation, knowing damn well this could go one of two ways;

He could have you writhing in pleasure as he fucks into you, blinded by his quirk for pleasing you before himself. OR he could play by his own game and torment you until satisfied.

You hope for the latter.

“On your knees.” He orders, tugging your shorts past your legs, panties slipping off along with them. Rather than playing a bratty role, you follow as told.

Sloping into a downward angle with your ass in the air, you irrationally begin swaying your hips in a taunting manner.

Before you have time to comprehend what’s happening, your skin is left stinging in affect of the reddened hand print Colby has left. Mounting himself over your spine, he begins working his fingers through the folds of your cunt.

Heaving a pitched gasp, you lean forward out of reflex. Clearly, Colby has had enough of your antics as he responds by entangling his hand in your hair, pulling at the roots of your scalp until there’s tears filling your eyes.

A dazed moan rests in the air, but you’re far too gone to identify who’s it was. Then, Colby’s voice is echoing in your ear, breath whispering beyond the shell to where you can feel the stubble on his chin rub against your cheek.

“You’re such a sloppy little shit. Look at how much of a mess you’re making in my bed. And just off of my fingers?” He tantalizes in an ever so cocky manner. He feigns a laugh before removing his fingers from your heat and bringing them to your face.

With the grip on your hair, he tilts your head in his direction and uptakes the lewd task of lapping away at his fingers; tasting you.

“So messy. Making me clean up after you? Hah.” He chuckles, his eyes glazed over with a rawness of libido. Once he’s finished with his little show, he’s releasing his hold on your hair and returning you into a lying position— where he can see you and vice versa.

You aimlessly reach for him and he naturally hovers toward you, crowding into you to presses a slew of passionate, slow and hard kisses to your mouth.

“Fuck me, please. Please, Colby? Make me yours, please.” You whine, hands cupping his face. Embracing one of your hands in his, Colby allows his alter ego to falter for a moment to smile at you.

“With pleasure, my love. You’re always mine.” He counters just before aligning himself with your entrance. Your chest rises and falls with the feeling of your heat being filled, tightly compressing and decompressing with a pulse of its own.

Colby’s moans echo your own, parroting your noises here and there. The head of his cock brushes against your sweet spot, creating stars to appear before your eyes. Again, you reach for your boyfriend and he responds by bringing one hand to your cheek, cupping it gently as he kisses you with an equal amount of delicacy.

After a few more ragged thrusts, you feel yourself reach your climax in unison with Colby. Riding out the remainder of your highs, you breathe heavily and manage to rasp a small “fine,” when Colby searches for your awareness and well being.

Collapsing beside you, Colby tugs the covers over your recovering form before trailing light pecks over your shoulder. Although you’re too exhausted to reciprocate them, you smile and thank him before he’s moving again.

Returning from the bathroom with a damp towel in hand, he begins the task of aftercare for the both of you. When he’s finished, and just before he’s making a move to toss the towel into the laundry bin, you wrap a hand around his wrist, halting his movements.

He peers down at you with a smile on his face. You return it, despite it forming a little lopsided.

“I love you.” You murmur, shutting your eyes. There’s a soft peck placed in your forehead, his woodsy sent envelopes you.

“I love you too.” He replies. “So much.”

[gatitties]

So how about this.... some king, saitama, genos and tatsumaki (Separate) headcanons with a reader who's an A class hero and their power involves video games physics. An example of that would be where reader had the power to interact with the world as if it is in a video game which as you may know has these:

The System

Video Game/Game Mimicry

Video Game Imitation/Mechanics

Virtual Reality Mimicry

The user can alter the laws of physics to mimic any and all video games. This power can give the user a wide variety of abilities like he can use a cheat code from a real game to trick his foes and avatar manipulation that creates modulate personality character identities (Think of it as a character customization except irl). Reader also has an instant learning ability so anything reader sees or wants new information they acquire, they can immediately learn and master any form of knowledge that can comprehend with ease. There's also a dimensional storage ability that reader can store anything inside their item box and can summon them back with relative ease. Actually just to make this quick I'm just gonna have to send this link so it would better explain everything: https://powerlisting.fandom.com/wiki/Video_Game_Physics anyways for personality I imagined reader to have a more laid-back attitude and relatively has a lot of patience when it comes to dealing people that can anger others quickly yet he's also confident and outgoing that likes to hang out with people no matter what you are as long as you don't try to harm him. Reader works a bartender and tends to meet other heroes (or villains who happens to visit that place) they always put on a polite behavior despite the mistreatment they'd often receive from other customers. also they never lose to a single game match like ever! No matter how professional you are at a video game or how much you do speedruns. reader is always one step ahead of you and even if you cheat they would immediately spot it. and speaking of speedruns, they also have a streaming channel on youtube in which they do all sorts of challenges. Other than that reader is pretty much the person you'll love to hangout with.

─King, Saitama, Genos & Tatsumaki x hero!reader

─Summary: just a few headcannons of your relationship with these heroes

─Warnings: none

King

─ He probably met you from one of your streams early on, then you saved him from a monster he was completely terrified of, only taking a quick look at his 'character' stats to detect the terror behind that straight face.

─ You found it so amusing that you indirectly encouraged him with a drink at the bar where you worked, after which he became a regular customer.

─ Although you had to change the meeting place because there were many King fans who came to ask for autographs, there were only a couple of people who wanted your autograph, and it was not even because you were a hero, but because of your streams.

─ Anyway, you found yourself at his house every time you had free time, when you found out that he played video games and watched your streams he desperately tried to deny it, you didn't give it any importance and now he's one of your most competitive rivals.

─ Luckily you can give more life to the games you play, King is used to playing against npc or Saitama and it's always very easy to win, so his mission right now is to beat you.

─ He will definitely run towards you if there are monsters nearby, you have incredible power and despite being A-class, he thinks you can eradicate any kind of threat or at least aspire to more than A-class.

─ Your relationship is based on a constant fight to break records in any game, whether it is the best streak in Valorant, speedruns in Mario 64 or winning in Mortal Kombat, although the rivalry increases much more in Mario Kart, peace was never an option.

Saitama

─ He met you in the middle of a battle, completely fascinated by being able to change your 'character' and appearance, he asked you if you could change his appearance too, although you could 'program' reality in a certain way, his change would not last forever.

─ After that silly situation, he found you at work and stayed for a while chatting, which made him visit the bar more when he needed to get away from Genos for a bit.

─ He takes care of all the people who have a bad treatment towards you when you work, although you simply don't care, he insists that you should not let disrespect pass.

─ He encourages you to change some parameters of reality to play some jokes on bad customers, you only get carried away sometimes changing the appearance of those people to something ugly.

─ Smoke comes out of his head whenever you play games because you are unbeatable, more than once you let him win to see his happy face, although if he rubs it too much in your face you will not let him win again.

─ You feel a little envious of his great power, it's not that you complain about yours, but sometimes it's tedious to have to think of a video game mechanic to transfer it to reality and fight, it's not so easy to change weapons from a shooter to sorcery from a fantasy rpg and he just has to throw a punch.

─ You are somewhat similar so when you both need calm or are saturated you get together to have a tea or coffee without the need to start a conversation, you just enjoy the program that is on television.

Genos

─ You became a Saitama 2.0 for this boy when he saw you fight, you will have him as a puppy in your work until you agree to train him once and for all.

─ However, no matter how much you explained to him that you only had powers by copie stats from video game characters to use them to your advantage, you couldn't help him much for that, so you simply supported him in the silly ideas that Saitama invented.

─ He didn't care that you were a class lower than his, after all Saitama was C-class and was his trainer, he thought that having two would only make him stronger.

─ He's not that big a fan of videogames, so unfortunately you spend more time having small battles against him in your free time, you weren't as good in combat as you were in videogames but luckily Genos was easy to read and distract with reality bending.

─ He won't tolerate a single disrespect towards you when you work, even though you don't care about the bad comments, you don't even have time to blink and those people are kicked out.

─ He'll put on your streams in the background while he cleans house, he's probably subscribed and donates from time to time to ask when you're free for a rematch.

─ Probably you will lend him some robotic parts or weapons from some games like Metroid, Megaman, Metal Gear Solid or Call of Duty, although they will not last infinitely in the real world.

Tatsumaki

─ She started a rivalry with you because you started to get the attention of some of the administrators of the hero association, you were just an A-class, you weren't that great.

─ You decided to ignore her silent threats during meetings, although when it was your turn to battle together she always did something to stand out from you, you really didn't care, it's not like you put in that much effort in battle.

─ After a while she left the childish attitude and found herself frequenting your bar, at first it was to follow you closely, then for chat with you.

─ She will begin to admire your fighting method because it's never the same and you learn quickly about your opponents, coming to imitate their attacks, you always change the game mechanics to your liking, although she will not admit it out loud.

─ At a certain point she offered you a class upgrade because you really were much better than a simple A-class, but you turned it down, you had enough work already and being a hero was only an occasional thing, she got mad at you for saying no.

─ She doesn't like to lose so she won't waste her time playing games with you, nor will she admit that she watches your streams and that's why she knows that she won't be able to beat you in any video game.

─ She makes a competition for everything she can think of in what she can beat you, you don't give a shit about her tsundere attitude and you just flow with it, if she wants to compete, it's never a bad thing to have a healthy rivalry with someone.

[silverzoomies]

Polaroid

peter maximoff x reader smut

warnings: solo masturbation. that's pretty much it, sorry

word count: 2,625

a/n: i wrote about him jerking off again. whoops. i've been absent for a week. but i'll be home tomorrow !! and hopefully i can get back into the flow of writing. until then, here's this rushed, unpolished thing i wrote on a whim !! it's super clunky and i'm so sorry lol !!

edit: made some minor changes to this. fixed some things that felt off, but overall it's still the same idea.

taglist: @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @icannot3 @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz (as usual, ask to be added !!)

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Home alone, at long last. Helllllllz to the yeah. Down in the heart of his (mom’s) basement, Peter lies lazily on his back in bed. Today, it's one of those slow, hot afternoons midway through summer. Sunny, with a slight overcast. Peter hasn’t been outside to see it for himself. But he heard some guy on the radio call it “totally tubular” weather for a day at the beach.

He almost wishes he’d take a two second run to the Bahamas, or somewhere else. Peter could kick it back on a towel and watch babes in bikinis walk by. Maybe he could even stir up some trouble in the sand. Like he used to do, way back in his childhood. Just for some extra mayhem.

Alas. Today, Peter feels lazier than lazy. He’s found a new name for himself in Lazyville. As the leading candidate in the office of laziness. Speeding all around the globe for the umpteenth time this week sounds like too much work. Even a super powered mutant, living life in the fast lane, has his off days sometimes. What’s one break, eh? Breathing a sigh, he stares up at the ceiling. Earphones rest over his ears. Peter listens to a melodious tune by Jefferson Starship. Over his belly, he twirls his thumbs, bobbing his head along with his jams. Chillaxin’ and relaxin’ as one should on his day off. Hm.

Except, Peter’s kind of antsy. No one’s home at the moment. He has all this free time to do whatever he wants, in the privacy of said home. With not a soul around to judge him, or even bug him. And listen. It’s been centuries since he got off. Which may or may not be a slight exaggeration.

But wouldn’t you believe it? Despite his uniquely handsome features and outrageously fit bod; Peter has absolutely no game whatsoever. Crazy, right? Who woulda thought it? The dude who locked himself away in his (mom’s) basement for a good ten years. He’s awkward as hell? Say it ain’t so! Whoa!! Insane in the membrane!!!

Not to mention, it might as well have been a geological age since he got laid. Whatever. Who needs the companionship of someone else to have a totally righteous time, huh? Haha…

Ahem.

Today, Peter dubs himself the crowned king of slacking off and jacking off.

Pulling his earphones down to rest around his neck, his fingers move to find his jeans. He teases himself for a beat or two, his palm rubbing over the denim. Another beat, and his cock is freed from the tight, restrictive material. Peter makes a mental note: He might need to invest in looser pants. This pair is rough and uncomfortable around his legs, so he shoves them all the way down to his ankles with virtually no shame.

What does it matter anyway? For the time being, he’s free. At least until his mom gets back, that is. He should really stop thinkin’ about that. Every time Peter remembers - oh, yeah - he’s a grown ass man still living at his mom’s place; it kinda wrecks the vibe. Makes the mood crash and burn. Total boner killer. And he’s not even hard yet.

His half-hard cock rests limply over a curly patch of silver hairs. Peter would never admit it to anyone, but he’s always been self conscious of his hair situation. Some chick back in high school - he can’t even remember her name - said his silvery bush “looked really weird.” Like the pubes of some geriatric. 

Peter can barely picture her face at this point. But the sound of her giggling at his expense is, unfortunately, locked away in his brain forever. Another embarrassing memory to withstand the test of time. Probably until he dies, or becomes a geriatric himself.

What was he doing again? Oh. Right.

Peter gives his dick a firm squeeze, like he’s checking to make sure it’s still there. Before taking the semi-hard length into his hand. Slowly, he strokes himself to hardness. Breathing a relieved sigh, Peter settles into the groovy-patterned sheets of his bed. The smooth tip of his cock inches through his closed fist with every stroke. As his frustration blossoms, his length throbs with an intense longing for something more.

Thick veins pulsate under his hand. Sparkling beads of precum leak from his tip. He coats the head in a generous glaze of slickness, eliciting a hushed noise from the depths of his throat. Keeping himself as quiet as humanly possible is basically a instinctive response. But he doesn’t have to hold himself back right now, does he?

Sweet. Peter’s gonna be as loud and obnoxious as he wants.

Pumping his cock a bit faster, he momentarily stops to fondle his balls. They rest heavy in his palm, smooth to the touch and loose between his fingers. After teasing himself impatiently, Peter redirects his attention to his twitching length. Aching for more stimulation. He jerks off with a pleasurable rhythm. Subconsciously following the beat that resonates from his earphones, his strokes fall into a more consistent pace. He leans further back in bed, letting his lips part. His nerves tingle. And as he revels in the sensation, he loudly moans. Letting the noise rip through the silence of his ( mom’s ) basement.

Said basement has now become more stifling. Kudos to the summertime heat for that one. Peter’s Conan the Barbarian T-Shirt - now damp with his sweat - feels like too much of a hindrance. He pulls the fabric up, letting his upper half breath. With his shirt clamped between his teeth, Peter leaves his body exposed. A sheen of sweat coats his abs, and his pecs raise with each labored breath he takes.

He takes a half second to admire his own physique. Honestly? No bullshit? His body looks pretty damn amazing. If only there were someone around to appreciate how naturally jacked he is. It’s a hell of a tragedy, really. All this smokin’ hot, speedster bod goin’ to waste. Tsk tsk tsk.

Who was he even kidding? Why would anyone wanna waste their time messin’ around with a total shut-in like him?

Dammit. Now's not the time for some hateful, self-ribbing. He should distract himself with something. Something like-

Using the gift of his mutation, Peter increases his speed by a few notches. His fist squeezes tightly around his length, stroking his cock even faster. He groans into his shirt, knitting his brows as arousal washes through his groin in waves. It feels good. Really fucking good.

But it’s not enough. He wants to utilize this free time as much as he can. It’s the perfect opportunity to get even more frisky than he usually would. Peter bolts around the basement, searching for a few hidden…uh…treasures, we’ll call them. In a blink, he reappears on his bed, leaving his overly tight jeans and boxers discarded on the floor.

Lying next to Peter over the wrinkled blankets, rest a bottle of lube - the tingly kind, a stroker toy - clear, with literal, silver lining, and a polaroid photo. The toy hasn’t been used in eons, but its quality is still up to par. Peter made sure to clean it the instant he found it again. And the photo, well…

It’s his own, filthy secret.

A low-res, high flash picture taken of you at last year’s, X-mansion, Halloween party. Whoa, mama. You were scantily clad in the most outrageously suggestive Indiana Jones costume Peter ever saw. Back at the party, you even tipped your hat and cracked the whip a couple of times. Which may or may not have awakened something in him. But that’s beside the point.

You were so tipsy that night. Way more flirtatious than you naturally would be any other day. Peter remembers you pressing your body against his, hanging over him all night like a sexy sack of potatoes. He sat next to you on the couch. With a cheesy grin on his face, he watched your every move. The tiny shorts you were wearing kept riding up your thighs. It was obvious you were braless under a tight, cropped, button-up shirt. Leaving so little to the imagination.

Point blank, it was fucking awesome.

You crossed your smooth legs. One over the other. And you leaned in to whisper something hot in Peter’s ear.

“Take a picture with meeeee, Quickie, I wanna remember this moment forrrever and everrrr.” You pleaded, your breath tickling the skin of his neck. 

What followed, he hadn’t seen coming. As someone - it’s all a blur, Peter can’t remember who - snapped the photo, you pressed your glossy lips to his cheek. Your giggles were so coquettish and teasing, he felt shivers race through his body at mach speed.

“I’m, like, sooooooooo scared of snakes. Geddit? ‘Cuz I’m Indiana? But your snake doesn’t scare me. Can I pet it, pllllleeeassse?” You giggled again with a little whine.

Making an abrupt move, you reached for Peter’s crotch in front of everybody. After zipping away to grab you a solo cup full of water and some bread, Peter snatched the photo from whoever. And he bolted home in a fit of shameful embarrassment.

In retrospect, you weren’t just tipsy. You were majorly smashed. You didn’t remember a single minute of it. Figures. He’s not too surprised you wouldn’t remember flirting with him.

Peter sighs, blinking himself out of the memory. Eager to continue his once-in-a-silver-moon, jerkin’ session. He squeezes a fair amount of lube into his palm, wrapping his large hand tightly around his cock. Over every inch of his aching length, he spreads the slick substance. Tingles sparkle like stars across the hot, velvet skin of his cock. Wet noises echo lewdly through the basement, as Peter pumps his leaking dick fast and hard.

Clenching his shirt between his teeth, Peter tilts his head back. A loud, seething moan slips from his lips, slightly muffled. He pauses again, grabbing the stroker and guiding its smooth slit over the swollen head of his cock.

“MMmmmnnn~!” Peter hums a steady moan, exhaling through his nose.

The inside of the toy feels nothing even remotely close to the real thing. Kind of a bummer. But the tunnel’s soft, bumpy ridges are still a double A plus. A little too good sometimes, actually. The toy slides down Peter’s cock as he pushes his entire length through. It’s a tight fit around him. Tighter than it should be. Which is doing wonders for his confidence. Maybe he should be more proud of his size.

He’s above average enough, the small toy can’t contain the length of him entirely. His weeping tip peeks out the other side of the stroker, prodding through with every pump. Peter breathes another, shuddering moan. His brows crease in pleasure. Pumping his cock with the squishy toy, he whines in desperation. Forcing his thick length through the toy’s tight grip, slick with lube and smooth as silk. The ridges inside tickle and massage his cock, stimulating his buzzing nerves. 

The muscles in his groin tighten, stiffening his legs. Shoving his cock rapidly through the ribbed tunnel of the toy, he groans louder. Letting his needy noises slip as they please. Fuck it. No restraint. Indulging himself further in his degeneracies, Peter keeps your photo close by. He shoots a glance at it, admiring your soft thighs and amazing cleavage.

He daydreams about you. Imagining the way you’d feel around him, squeezing him so much tighter than any toy. You’d be needy and wet for him too, making it so easy for Peter to bury himself balls deep inside you. 

Peter thinks about the way your titties would look, bouncing with each thrust of his hips against you. Would your nipples peak, stiffening under his fingers? How would you react if he had a little fun, and teased you with a superspeed buzz? Would you even like that? Would you think that kinda thing was weird?

He really does want you sooooo bad. But you have absolutely zero idea. Peter knows he’d treat you right if you let him. If you ever gave him the time of day outside of missions, he’d take you on the wildest ride you ever strapped yourself into.

Clenching his teeth hard into his shirt, he wraps both hands tightly around the stroker. Peter leans as far back as he can, bracing his feet flat on the bed. The blankets curl under his toes, as he lifts his hips. Driving his cock through the slick, textured toy and fucking it hard.

“Nnghh…fuuuuck. Fuck.” He groans, voice catching under fabric.

His breaths quicken, and his moans morph into desperate whimpers. Peter aches for your heat, and the closeness of your body. Your gentle touch. Your sweet voice and little whines. He knows, without a doubt, you’d feel beyond amazing. And you’d probably taste so sublime.

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Peter whimpers into his shirt. Saliva seeps through the fabric, melting off his tongue and dribbling down his chin. His cheeks burn hotter, turning a brighter shade of crimson.

“Mmmmmfuckyeah-” Peter moans, followed by a muffled mumble of your name.

He fucks his cock through the toy at rapid, superspeed. Lifting his hips off the bed as if roughly drilling into your tight heat. Peter’s cock throbs as powerful surges of electricity erupt in the pit of his belly. Glossy, white streaks of cum spill from his tip, flooding over the toy. Dripping down the squishy sides of it. His cum stuffs the inside full, coating his dick in its stickiness. Peter thrusts his cock fast enough to appear a blur, until he’s completely spent.

Lying in a sweaty heap over his blankets, Peter pants easy breaths. Tousled, silver hair rests messily over his head. He pulls the stroker from his cock, and slick cum trails after it. Wet and thick against his softening dick. He throws his head back into the bed, taking a moment to compose himself.

It’s really crazy that he’s thinkin’ about you like this, isn’t it? He’s honestly really embarrassed by it. Peter grabs the polaroid and stares at it longingly, unable to suppress the grin pressing into his dimple. Damn. He just can’t help himself. No matter what, he’s kinda ride or die for you.

If only he had the balls to tell you up front.

Peter gazes at the photo for a few seconds too long. Lost in the sight of your sexy body again. You’re such a goddamn knockout. He guides his attention to his dick to find…he’s rock hard again? Seriously? Dropping his head onto the bed, Peter groans with agonizing frustration. He just can’t catch a break, can he? Why’s he always gotta be so antsy, so on edge, or so horny all the time??

A faint sound, like creaking wood, graces his ears. Peter tilts his head up instantly.

Only to be greeted by none other than the unexpected sight of you.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck-

You’re standing in his ( mom’s ) basement with your mouth agape. A faint indication of blush paints your cheeks, though he can barely see it. Peter should be moving. He should do what a speedster naturally would do in this kinda situation: Clean up and dress himself in less than a blink’s time. Just to play innocent afterwards. Maybe he could gaslight you into thinking you didn’t watch him get his rocks off.

But he’s stunned to the point of being frozen. Neither of you make a single move. Except for Peter’s dick. It twitches subconsciously in his lap, catching your attention. And your eyes widen further.

He really should’ve gone to the Bahamas. Peter’s betting those beaches are seriously bangin’ at this time of year.

[abanava]

Fanon Tim Drake haunts my nightmares. I think the people responsible for him should pay me for emotional distress, everytime he gets babied I shrivel up and die. Like no, he was never smaller than the severely malnourished child who’s been living on virtually nothing his whole life (Jason).

No he doesn’t have an addiction to caffeine and never sleeps, he’s a canonically a power napper and he nearly never drinks coffee in the comics?? Like his favourite drink is some knockoff coca-cola.

No, Jason Todd was never his Robin? Like the whole reason he figured out Batman’s and robins identity is cuz of his obsession with Dick Grayson? Like bro took one look at a move Robin.Dick did and was like yep I know this guy?? And when people make him so self conscious that it’s actually insane?? Like sure he has his issues but not to that scale.

Like this is the kid that looked Jason dead in the eyes while he was beating the shit out of him and still said he was the better Robin.

Not to mention Bruce himself admitted that Tim was smarter than he was when he was Tim’s age.

Please I am begging you to stop making Tim some ‘UwU I’m an innocent baby that is so useless it physically hurts people’ please I beg 🙏🙏 I also believe so hard that people who write Tim like this have only real wfa (nothing wrong with it but it’s arguably the fannon Wayne family with a few in character (like what did they do to my man Duke))

‘But let people have their fun’ Tim Drake is like 80% out of character, the only thing they keep is his smart mouth. If you think of Tim Drake like this please do more research into his character 🙏🙏 I don’t even like him but fannon continues to ruin my life.

Also feel free to correct me if I got anything wrong 😁