#game interviews in regular clothes?

[sevennone]

240410 VGK@EDM | pre-game chat

[thewitchblue]

Bruce isn't actually a playboy to the dismay of others. His wife is a shapeshifter and simply changes skins to keep up the reputation. Whenever someone comes to the door or she goes to a gala to support Bruce, she changes into a new person, unable to keep her hands off him as he gives whoever he's speaking to a smirk.

He wanted to flaunt her around, but he needed to keep Batman as far away from Bruce Wayne as he possibly could. This was the only way they could kill the rumours before they began. Nobody would suspect a playboy to be a fighter period, let alone be Batman.

It was actually her idea to use the playboy act to keep Batman's identity away from Bruce Wayne. They would never suspect Bruce Wayne. The closest the public has gotten to solve the masked vigilante was saying they are friends because of how linked Bruce is to the police. Even then, the rumour was killed quickly.

That didn't make keeping her a family secret easy, however. The boys nearly told the public multiple times because of how excited they were to have a mom like Batmom. If Bruce didn't intervene, Batmom would have been exposed, and it would have been all over the news. They are keeping her secret until they absolutely have to reveal her.

That all changed when the Justice League arrived at Wayne Manor after the heroes found out about his contingency plans. It was a trust exercise. One Bruce wasn't happy about, but he considered it necessary.

Nobody knew about her or her shapeshifting (which was the coolest thing ever to the kids) except their family. Batmom was kept a guarded secret and loved deeply by both of the kids she helped adopt so far.

The boys quickly learned to keep her a secret after a couple of close calls in interviews. Not even their friends knew of her. She always wore a different skin when they were around and acted all embarrassed about being caught as another fling.

Batmom waved to them as Bruce was giving them a tour. She was relaxing in the kitchen with Alfred. They were having a pleasant conversation that Batmom considered more engaging than the heroes. She assumed they would simply look the other way and dismiss her as another woman Bruce Wayne managed to reel in. After all, this is her regular skin. A skin she rarely wore outside the Manor.

"Woah, who is this?"

Barry asked Bruce with a flirtatious smile. Bruce glared at the speedster as he made his way to his wife's side.

"My wife."

He replied with a voice that promised violence if the heroes attempted to flirt with her. He pulled out a necklace that held his wedding ring on it and held her hand. She was his, as much as he was hers, and he'll be dammed if someone stole the best thing to ever happen to his family.

"You have a wife?!"

Oliver questioned loudly. Bruce quirked a confused eyebrow at Oliver. His friend seemed stunned. The playboy Bruce Wayne has a wife, and nobody knows about her?

"I see you with a new woman constantly. When did...this happen?"

With a timid smile, his wife waved her hand while shape-shifting into an entirely different woman. She changed her entire appearance. Hair, clothes, eyes, even her face and body type were different.

"This happened ten years ago, Oliver."

The heroes had never been more surprised. The cold, bad Bat had such deep love for his family that he couldn't even keep the adoration off his face when he looked at her.

Just as they began to digest the fact Batman is married, an excited seven-year old child came sliding in with an older kid grinning behind him. They seemed to be in a game of tag before the older one launched the younger into Batmom's arms with a massive grin on his face.

The woman giggled as she caught him, twirling in a circle while tossing him in the air until he, too, fell into a fit of giggles. She held him like Simba from the Lion King for a moment to show him off before holding him normally. She peppered kisses all over his face with a smile until he began squirming in her arms.

She grinned at her boys. They were her everything. She adopted them quickly after she married Bruce. The boys were excited to have a full family, so they agreed immediately to the adoption. They were her boys from day one.

She decided to show little Jason mercy, apparently as she stopped her affection attack. However, she kept him in her arms, not wanting to let him go just yet. She turned back to the heroes in normal clothes with a beautiful smile.

"Oh, baby birds, say hello to Bruce's colleagues."

Suddenly, both young boys were attempting to hide with shy smiles. Even the extroverted Dick was timid at first. Neither of them were used to the type of attention they got whenever they went out with Bruce. Not even Dick, who was a performer.

The elder of the two wrapped his little arms around her waist, which caused her to ruffle his hair affectionately. Suddenly, the heroes all understood why Bruce fell hopelessly in love with the mother in front of them.

"Wait, wait, wait, you kept a shapeshifter from us?!"

Barry asked. His brain seemed to finally compute the facts in front of him. He blinked rapidly at the happy family. Never in a million years would he ever think the Batman could be a family man with a wife and children. Batmom casually said,

"I'm afraid that's my own decision, Barry. We all agreed it would be for the best that I was a secret. We tried to keep the boys a secret, too, but they both seemed to have... other plans." She, quite honestly, never even considered fighting. Sure, she could, but her life was with her boys and Bruce.

A playful smirk played on her lips as she looked at her children as they sheepishly smiled back.

Jason squirmed in his mother's arms and hid his face in her shoulder. He was still getting used to the unconditional love everyone in the family gave him.

With a gentle kiss on the top of Jason's head, she finally sets him down only for Bruce to pick him up again and place him on his shoulders. Tiny Jason squawked in protest. Dick snickered at his mother's side, still partially hiding behind her.

She smirked and playfully bumped him with her hip. Her family is her life, and she plans to keep them as close to her as possible. The League watched Batman and their Batmom play together with grins. They loved Batmom already.

[wttcsms]

saying let's get married;

domestic and sweet moments during the first year of newly-wed life (f!reader) <3

KUROO — "my wife" this and "my wife" that to the point where all his friends and coworkers are groaning and saying we get it, man! you're married now! his dorky nonfiction books taking up all the space on the nightstand. helping him tame his bed hair when he wakes up and is trying to get ready for work. created a powerpoint presentation where he told you he was going to give you the most epic promotion of a lifetime (the powerpoint was themed to mimic an HR presentation describing new employee benefits and perks, along with what the new position would consist of; the final slide asked "do you accept the position of being tetsurou kuroo's wife? limited time bonus offer includes a diamond ring!")

OSAMU — doesn't know how to fold your clothes properly (it's not weaponized incompetence, he just doesn't understand why your tops have these many strings and components to them). tries out all his new recipes with you as his taste-testing guinea pigs. during your wedding reception, atsumu asked you who was cuter: him or osamu. on your off days from your job, you go to onigiri miya and help him close down the shop. blowing bubbles at him from the soap that foams up when you're washing the dishes. him knowing where you're most ticklish and using it against you every time he asks you for a minor favor.

BOKUTO — asks you about kid names before he even pops the question. wants you to quiz him on your family tree because he so badly wants to impress them when he's meeting them (he then asks for a quiz on your extended family once the wedding date is scheduled). gets excited when he sees those corny tiktoks that claim "these initials are soulmates" and he sees yours and his initials paired together; he'll send you those tiktoks and go "babe, look!!! i told u we were meant to be!!" brings you up any time he can, whether it's in regular conversation with friends, small talk with a cashier, a meet n greet with a fan, or a post-game interview. loves to do push-ups with you on his back.

OIKAWA — makes a vision board at the beginning of the year, except the main image is a horribly photoshopped picture of your head pasted on some stock photo of a bride. he was showing you something on his phone, and the notification from his jeweler announcing that your engagement ring was ready for pick up popped up and he nearly dropped his phone while trying to hurriedly swipe away the notification whilst shielding his screen from you. gets all pouty and wants to be the little spoon; will also start asking you "baaaabe, would you still love me if i was a worm?" saw you in the stands booing his opposing team, and whistled, exclaiming "that's my girl!" panics when he sees strands of his hair on the bathroom floor; proceeds to ask you if you'll still be with him even if he becomes bald. then asks if you'll pay for his hair transplant (as a joke; you never use your card when you're with him).

[maxladcomics]

Theory: Papyrus's battle body

So, everyone should know about 'Papyrus's battle body', it's something I've been pointing aggressively at for years to point out that his brother is a liar-

Contradicting what he says, during the hang out, Papyrus specifies that he wears his special clothes underneath his 'REGULAR CLOTHES'.

Then the interview came out and it turns out I was wrong.. Papyrus's battle body is indeed....

...

....HANG ON A SECOND.

What the interview confirms is that Papyrus does indeed have a battle body, but what's also been confirmed is that it's not his clothes. But there's also an important question to factor in: Does what his brother say, have any merit? Was this 'battle body' made a few weeks ago for a party?

I've mentioned this before but it's very important for this theory, there's a post on the Undertale tumblr that relates to this:

"not everyone is as tough as my brother." - immediately starts talking about Shyren for some reason. "they say those without blame should cast the first stone." (Is this implying something happened to Papyrus that someone could be blamed for?)

Anyway, Shyren's form in battle is made of 2 different monsters, the body is 'Shyren's agent'.

Papyrus loses his head when killed, and his body dusts, then his head. They both have different dust patterns.

"Papyrus's body and head have different dust patterns because it's his battle body but not his battle head" - @fluo-skeletons

If I can make an assumption from the Undertale changelog, dust patterns are changed for each individual monster. There was some extensive research done before I found this, including checking dust pattern related to monster size, HP, EXP, G, and none of them seemed to line up.. Was this patch note intentional for these connections to be made?

(Image cropped and modified for ease of reading, this is on the fandom wiki)

What I'm saying is that Papyrus's entire body was made, and he didn't always look how we see him in the game. But this leads to one of the biggest mysteries of Papyrus, what or who is he?

There's not a character that's canonically been shattered to pieces that speaks just like he does, there is never any implication he can read wingdings either so ignore that

He can walk/run through the air, he acknowledges things that implies he knows he's in a game, and how games themselves function. He's implied the ability to use a save file, he can use blasters, his bedroom is silent. It's implied he's been inside the true lab, or at least Alphys's lab. He's implied that he can see from your perspective (NOT FRISK'S, YOURS.), the annoying dog annoys him the most, he can change game UI and take over the whole screen.

Who else has done that?

[ilguna]

☼ breathtaking pt1 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you thought that you were going to go into the arena without ever meeting your soulmate. little did you know, he's been next to you the whole time.

warnings; swearing

wc; 3.5k

part two.

–

The worst part about the announcement of the Quarter Quell was by far the amount of questions you were asked about it afterwards. In the months leading up to the reaping, all you kept being asked was, “How do you feel?”

In the beginning, you would just stare at them for a second, hoping that they’d realize how stupid they are for asking it in the first place. How do they think you feel? While they’re all grown and get to live the rest of their lives without worrying about dying, you’re having your rights taken away from you yet again.

You aren’t supposed to do this again. Everyone was promised that once they win, they are done with the Hunger Games. They were no longer eligible to go inside, the only time you’d come close would be during mentoring. You’d get to live that week in the Capitol over and over and over again, watching different tributes get reaped, and then die in the arena.

As the reaping drew closer, the question died in their throats. The idea of reminding you about your potential fate made them uncomfortable. They never considered the idea of how irritating it was to answer the question every day of the week and then for it to slowly fizzle out.

You could handle the odds of going back into the arena. With only four girls in District Five, there was a twenty-five percent chance that the name pulled out of the bowl would be yours. It bothered the other girls, but you knew you had to let it go if you wanted to be even remotely happy for what could be your last weeks in your home.

Actually, the part that upsets you the most is the fact you’ll never get to see the world in color, because you haven’t met your soulmate yet. You’ll never get to see the sky, or the trees, or the color of the clothes you wear everyday. All the features that make someone who they are is absent in your sight. You’re left with black, white, and grey.

You thought that you would have years to try and find them. You’re only in your twenties. You were supposed to take over mentoring, which would’ve allowed you to get a better chance at finding your soulmate. 

It was ruined as soon as your name was the one drawn out of the bowl. You felt your heart sink into your stomach, because you weren’t stupid enough to think anyone would volunteer for you. The sighs of relief that came from the other girls was salt in the wound.

For a few hours, you were stupid enough to hope that you’d win, until you saw exactly who was drawn this year. It ended up being the last nail on the coffin. You are going to die inside of the arena, you’re sure of it. That’s why you haven’t taken a single thing seriously this past week.

Why does it matter? Why would sponsors matter? They don’t want you, they want the siblings, they want the volunteers, they want their darlings, and they want the newest trouble. You are just a minor victor in the crowd.

When you were telling your stylist about your pessimistic views, all he could say was that they were entirely justified. The Capitol loves their victor’s unfairly, and then it ruins the chances for the rest of you. Anything that would normally catch the attention of the crowd on a regular Hunger Games is useless here. The parade, the scores, the interview you’re about to do. It’s for nothing.

You trace patterns on the bare skin of your thigh, watching as your prep team and stylist move around the room. They’d briefly gathered a few minutes ago to talk, and ever since they’ve been running around pulling things off the shelves in the closet. You’re guessing it’s jewelry.

Your stylist pulls out one of those protective bags for dresses, except this one is bigger and stuffed with fabric. He unzips it to take a look inside, and you can see the smile come across his face. His eyes dart up to yours, looking at you through the mirror.

“(Y/n),” He begins, coming closer, “I’ve been saving this dress for a special occasion, since I will never be able to use it again in any of my work. Tonight, you will be my muse.”

You give him a slight smile, “Are you sure you don’t want to save it for anything else?”

“I’m sure.” He says, unzipping the bag, “I’m aware you can’t see the color, but you should know that it’s not the most important part. It’s the design.”

Together, he and the prep team work to get the dress out of the bag. It’s a light shade of grey, so you’re going to guess that it’s a pastel color. It’s uncommon for stylists to go for something so gentle, because the lights on the stage tend to wash the tributes out. That’s why the colors are bright and hard, so they can pop and shine.

You think that it’s going to be some small dress, but the fabric never stops. There’s so much of it. He tosses the dress bag off to the side, and then unzips the back for you to get into. It takes a minute, they have to adjust and pin the dress where it’s too big or too small. By the end, you can’t even tell that it’s been altered.

One of the prep team members gets to work on fluffing the dress, while the other fixes your hair, and then gets to work on putting the jewelry on you. She focuses on your earrings and the necklaces on your collarbone to make sure they’re positioned perfectly. They get you in heels, and then your stylist shuffles in front of you to settle something on the top of your head.

You’re ordered to close your eyes until you’re in front of the mirror and finishing touches are made. They fix your makeup, and then spray something wet and sweet smelling on your skin. You’re guessing it’s perfume, but as soon as you open your eyes and sway slightly, your skin sparkles.

The dress is floor length, off the shoulder but with long and loose sleeves to keep you from getting cold while waiting for your turn to be interviewed. And the object he snuggled in your hair is a tiny tiara that sparkles with your skin each time you move.

You run your hand over the gorgeous patterned lace, letting out a breath, “What color is it?”

“Pink.” He says, coming over to stand behind you, “A gentle and loving pink, one that resembles innocence and beauty.” He fixes a curl, “It’s light and uplifting, and it looks beautiful on you.”

“Thank you.” You smile.

“You’re good to go out, (Y/n). I believe in you.” He says.

You wander out of the room and down the hall, absently tracing one of the closest flowers while you near the line to the stage. The other victor’s are in varying outfits. This year, District Two is subjected to looking like gladiators, the Ritchson siblings are eye-catching in their sequin outfits. Johanna Mason wears a long dress, but she doesn’t look out of place.

A few eyes land on you as you draw closer, but they don’t linger longer for more than a second. They don’t care, a victor from District Five is anything but a threat to them at this point. You’re sure half of them have already decided how they’re going to get rid of you in the arena. And if they haven’t, it’s because they know they can take you in a fight. There’s no use planning it.

It’s only a few minutes later, when the entire hallway is going completely silent. You look over to see Katniss, dressed in a large wedding dress. You should’ve guessed, that was the whole obsession after their Victory Tour. Of course, her stylist would try one more thing to catch the Capitol’s attention.

“I can’t believe Cinna put you in that thing.” Finnick says, there’s a look of bewilderment on his face.

“He didn’t have any choice. President Snow made him.” Katniss defends.

Cashmere flickers her hair over her shoulder, “Well, you look ridiculous!” She spits, taking Gloss’ hand and walking off with him to stand at the front of the line.

You swallow, closing your eyes. You don’t know how you’re going to survive this, really. You know nothing about any of these people, except for what you’ve seen on the screen. You’re at a severe disadvantage compared to the other female victor’s back home. At least they got to talk to half of these people.

The only two victor’s that feel the same way you do must be Katniss and Peeta, but even they’re fitting in more than you are.

You resist the urge to rub down your face, but you do let out a slight huff. You guess you’ll just have to resort to hiding in the arena, even though you didn’t win through that strategy. You mostly fucked around with trying to set off traps and force the gamemakers to accidentally kill the tributes for you. It worked, it’s why you’re standing here today. 

That’s not going to fly in the arena, though. These people have watched your games, the same way you watched theirs. All strategies are on the table, which means that you’ll need to figure out how to camouflage and hide, immediately. 

Cashmere and Gloss lead the way onto the stage, and one by one, you make your way to the seats at the back of the stage. The audience is loud, cheering and whistling. The lights are blinding, you squint through them, relaxing your face when you’re adjusted to the brightness.

You tuck the dress beneath you before you sit down, as soon as you’re planted in your seat, you can feel the nerves in your stomach settle. You haven’t been on a stage in a few years, you remember hating every minute of it. From the parade, to your face being shown for scores, to all the interviews and speeches you did after you won. You hated every second of it.

Caesar’s hair is a different color, it’s some type of grey, so you’re thinking it’s a muted color. You know that he changes it every year, you wish you could see, because you’re sure he looks fantastic every time. He’s been hosting the Hunger Games for a long, long time. That’s a lot of colors to go through, repeating or not.

He does his usual opening-interview spiel with the audience by cracking a few jokes and getting them in a fun mood. From what you’ve heard from your mentors, the citizens of the Capitol are torn between hating the Quarter Quell and adoring it. It’s clear on why; most of the favorites are here. It’s a shame they don’t know how much power they hold.

Cashmere starts the interviews with a speech on how she’s been crying ever since she was chosen. She’s so heartbroken over the fact that the Capitol is suffering because of how many victor’s they’re losing to the games. Gloss follows up with talking about how they’ve been so kind to them ever since they won, and it’s been a pleasure mentoring since.

Enobaria expresses how sad she is that she won’t be able to experience the Capitol’s wonders, since there’s more to live through. She was hoping to get more body modifications and possibly become one of their featured darlings, or a modeling icon for the people back home. 

Beetee does his intelligent rambling, talking about how the Quarter Quell is technically illegal and it shouldn’t exist in the first place. He asks if the experts—Gamemakers—have considered this and examined it as of late. You watch as Wiress goes up and backs him up calmly, explaining that this isn’t fair.

When Mags takes the stage, it’s filled with Caesar guessing what she’s trying to say, but you can tell that she’s outraged, too. She’s too old for this, and yet she volunteered to come to save a girl she mentored. Finnick talks through a bright smile, and when Caesar asks if he’s got anything to say, his eyes darken. He proceeds to recite a love poem that’s clearly talking about his home district and how he might not get to see it ever again. It’s misinterpreted and too many people in the crowd think it’s aimed at them. 

“For District Five, we have the lovely (Y/n) (L/n)!” Caesar shouts, hand held out in your direction.

You get to your feet with a smile, heading toward the front of the stage. You place your hand in his, he squeezes your knuckles, “Hello, Caesar.”

“Hello!” He laughs, looking over what you’re wearing, “Well, don’t you look pretty! I don’t think I’ve seen anything quite like this before on stage.”

“My stylist was saving it for a special day, and that’s tonight, I suppose. I was just as surprised as you are.” You look out to the audience.

“Yes, it has been an interesting night so far.” He agrees, “Tell me, what was going through your mind at the reaping?”

You give a half-shrug, “I was disappointed, if I’m being honest.”

“And why’s that?” He asks.

“Well, I’m sure you can guess.” You shake your head, “I’m sure it’s an honor for some people to be back here again and have the opportunity to compete, but I’m losing out on one of the most important parts about living.”

“Let me guess, getting to mentor tributes?” He smiles.

You shake your head again, “No Caesar, it’s getting to see color.”

There’s enough gasps at once that makes your smile inwardly. You know what the other victor’s are trying to do, so you’ll help them. Even if they don’t invite you into their alliances, you’re with them on this. You don’t want the Quarter Quell to happen. You want to go home. That’s why you’ll expose yourself to the Capitol, because you’ve heard how colorful they are. They’ll eat up the idea of living this long without seeing color, ever.

Caesar gapes for a second, “You haven’t found your soulmate yet?”

You look out, “I will never get to see the Capitol the way the rest of you do. I hear the buildings are brightly colored, I hear how gorgeous the clothes are. And I will never get to experience that, because it’s being taken away from me.”

You can feel the tears build in your eyes. They’re partially real, because all you’ve ever wanted was to see the world the way your parents did. They saw real beauty everywhere they looked, and you saw nothing. And you will see nothing, until the day you die in the arena.

You hard blink to force the tears down your face, throat clogging. You have to play it up for them, otherwise they won’t care. You take a few seconds to dab at the corners of your eyes, with Caesar comforting you. The citizens are eating it up, there’s a few of them crying, you can’t see them past the light in your eyes, but you can hear them out there.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n).” Caesar squeezes your hand.

“I am too.” You sniff, fanning your face, “For what it’s worth, I think the city is beautiful without color, too.”

The buzzer goes off, signaling the end of your interview. There’s shouts complaining over how short it felt. You kiss the tips of your fingers and blow a kiss to the crowd before turning away and walking back to your seat. You struggle to hold in the smile that wants to break over your face.

The next few interviews are just as brutal. Johanna questions whether or not the creators can do anything about it. They never anticipated that the Capitol and the victors would form such a bond. Cecelia does a number by saying goodbye to her kids on camera, which has the whole audience in tears.

Seeder’s calm when she says that Snow is considered powerful. If he is, then certainly he can change the fate of the Quarter Quell, right? Chaff comes in swinging, reciting the same thing as Seeder but enforcing the idea that Snow must not care about the way his people feel.

And then Katniss walks to the front and the audience is in shambles. She’s unable to speak for several minutes, and by the tame she can, she’s speaking about her wedding. How none of them will be able to attend it, now that she’s been reaped for another Hunger Games, but Snow wanted to show them what could’ve happened.

She starts twirling like she did last year, except the minor flames from the year before have turned into large ones. They consume the end of the dress and eat away at the layers, until it reaches her shoulders, and suddenly the flames are gone. You’re left staring at a black dress with feathers. When she stretches her arms out, wings appear. 

Katniss’ interview ends almost a minute later, and she takes her seat. This allows Peeta to come to the front of the stage, where they go back and forth being comical. Caesar changes the topic to the Quell once he sees an opportunity to, and there the mood slowly spirals downward.

He says that he and Katniss are already married, and they did it privately while they could because they wanted the moment to be theirs. Then he quickly says that it’s unofficial because the traditions back home mean almost nothing to a piece of paper confirming it. Caesar and the crowd eat it up, completely on the edge of their seats.

“As you say, no one could’ve. But I have to confess, I’m glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together.” Caesar says. There’s a round of applause, Katniss briefly looks up from her dress.

“I’m not glad,” Peeta suddenly ays, “I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially.”

There’s a shock that goes through Caesar, he doesn’t say anything for a second, “Surely even a brief time is better than no time?”

“Maybe I’d think that, too, Caesar,” Peeta spits, “if it weren’t for the baby.”

Silence.

The words sink in the air, but as people get to their feet, shaking their fists, voices raised and screaming about injustice, it sparks others to follow. It’s not long before the whole audience is a wreck and nothing but an indiscernible noise. Caesar stands there dumbfounded, speaking into the microphone but not gathering any attention.

You press your lips together to hide the smile cracking at the corners of your lips.

Caesar’s trying to get the crowd to calm down, chaos has broken out. There’s no point in saying anything once the anthem begins to play. The volume’s so loud that you can feel it in your chest when the deeper parts play. It lets you know that it’s time to get to your feet to say goodbye on the program.

You lace your fingers in front of you, but quickly notice that others are not doing the same. As you look down the line of victors to your left, where Peeta is at the end, you can see that they’re holding hands, and your district partner has his palm open to do the same. 

You grab his hand, and turn to Finnick, who has this little smile on his face, hand held up for you to take. You carefully place your hand on top of his, he’s quick to lace his fingers with yours. You squeeze tightly, hoping for some reassurance, and find him squeezing back.

When you look up to the crowd, your face twists. The light is just as strong, but you can tell what’s beyond it, because it’s no longer a sea of different shades of black, white and grey. They’re in color, they’re bright, and they almost hurt your eyes from the shades they’re wearing.

You gasp, tears filling your eyes when you look out. You remember what your stylist said about the dress you’re wearing, and look down at it. Gentle, loving, innocent, beauty, light and uplifting pink. He was right. He dressed you as a princess for these people.

You tear your eyes away to finally, finally look at Finnick, your soulmate. The reason why you’re seeing these colors. You’re met with bright and breathtaking eyes, watching your face with a crooked smile. You can’t help the laugh that comes from you as the tears overflow your eyes. 

“It’s you.” You breathe.

“It’s me.” He agrees.

[endless-ineffabilities]

Something has taken over my brain. After reading do me no good and seeing Matt at all these holiday parties…. I keep thinking about bumping into him at one of those parties and having some ✨fun✨ with him in a coat closet.

Thank you for all the fun fantasies. ☺️

-🦁

rendezvous with Mr. Smith (18+) 🍸

He was the life of the party, but you couldn't say you were surprised. You've heard tell of Matt Smith in the circles you both run in, and he was notorious for being a charmer. A smooth talker. Your regular casanova.

He once famously referred to his mug as resembling the bottom of a boot, in one of the interviews you indulged in thanks to your curiosity, but that particular bottom of that particular boot must possess a strange appeal that you wouldn't mind stepping on. In a nice way. In a heated, clothes discarded, hair rumpled kind of way. You could step on him, and drag your foot along his navel down to the tent pitched in that designer denim.

You thought it was just going to stay a fantasy, until he set his sights right on you, his gaze drawing down to your lips as you took a generous sip of your dirty martini. When you finished, he offered to make you another.

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Smith?"

"Mr. Smith is my dad." He gave you a subtle wink that could have dropped your panties to the floor. "Call me Matt."

"Okay. Matt." You tried to throw the wink back at him, hoping you didn't look like you were suffering from a nervous twitch.

When he licked his lips and smiled at the gesture, your nerves calmed somewhat. How did one flirt with a master of cheeky banter? He's had leggy models and decorated actresses grace his bed — how could you compare? You decided to step up your game. Matching every compliment he threw your way with one even more suggestive.

"You've got this presence," he whispered in your ear, "sweet but with an edge. It's the kind of thing that sticks with you, you know?"

"I wonder how else I could stick with you."

He didn't say anything for a moment, and you began to cringe inwardly, thinking you'd taken it a step too far. Was that line sexy or was it just awkward? Thankfully, Matt thought the former, because you found yourself being steered into one of the guest rooms, away from the din of the gathering.

His lips were on you before you could stupidly ask what the hell he was doing. Why would you, when it was glaringly clear? It became even more apparent when he braced you with your palms against a desk, his bulge fighting for attention as he rubbed it against your ass. His mouth wetly glided on the back your neck, and he whispered, "I want you, love. Do you want this?" He drove his hips forward, stealing the answer from your lips. You let out a soft moan instead, but he insisted, "Tell me you want to fuck me as much I want to fuck you."

"I do, Matt," as you spoke, he slowly undressed you, reaching around your hips to unbutton your jeans, pulling it down with a burgeoning impatience. "I want you to fuck me," you confessed, and he growled lowly in his chest, your panties meeting the floor as well.

You heard the rattling of his belt, anticipation taking root in your belly and spreading like wildfire. You'd gotten so wet that you would have felt that warm release if you rubbed your thighs together. Matt makes you gasp when he uses his hard cock to collect the substances leaking from your core, coating himself in it.

"Oh fuck," you heaved, taking a deep breath, but nothing could have prepared you for the sharp sensation when he finally entered you in one slow and torturous thrust, every raw inch of him filling you in a foreign yet welcome way.

"Yeah," he said from behind you, "that's good. That's my girl." As if remembering his manners, he added, "Is this okay, beautiful? Are you alright?"

"More than," you gave a satisfied sigh, craning your neck to see him. He leaned forward and captured your lips in a gentler but somehow more searing kiss. He took his time, his tongue tracing the outline of your lips, all while his cock was lodged deep in your cunt. Your walls tightened in your lust, contracting around his length, causing his head to fall on your shoulder. You wiggled your ass back as a signal for him to move. And he does.

Deep and measured at first, breathily moaning in your ear. Before he leaned back, hands digging right into the flesh of your hips, and he pistons his cock inside you with a brutal pace, drawing obscene noises out of you that would have gotten you both into trouble if the speakers weren't blaring loud in the main room.

There was nothing poetic about the words that came from your mouths, clichéd sex talk like, "You take me so well," and "You're so fucking big," but you wanted to sear them to your memory. In the middle of being pounded like a whore, you were already thinking of how you were going to try your best to preserve this memory for another night's self-pleasure.

Little did you know that it wouldn't be the only night you'd get with Matt. There would be dozens of encounters in his own bedroom and in yours. On set, in his trailer. In the back of a limo when he took you as his date to a premiere. In a hidden alley during your anniversary trip to Portugal.

And, in your marital bed.

[vamprnce]

okay these specifically ??!!!?! jesus christ

omfg the sm2 official concept arts ?!?!!!?!!

[noxturnalnymph]

Dancing is a Dangerous Game

(FrankieMorales  x  F!Stripper!Reader)

A/N & Warnings: Sexual Content below - 18+ only, Frankie doing what he do (iykyk), unspecified age gap (anywhere from 10-15 yrs), talk of stripping/dancing as a job that pays the bills. The photos on the Moodboard are just for fun, the female Reader is not specifically physically described so you can imagine her however you want. Thank you to @saradika for the divider.

Did I make this prompt up myself for me and some fellow writers? Yes. Did I set the word count limit? Also Yes. Did I stick anywhere even close to that limit? *laughs hysterically.

PROMPT: Pick a Pedge Daddy character - Joel Miller, Frankie Morales, Dave York, etc. (it can be Canon or Non-Canon/AU/No Outbreak).

PPCU Daddy is surprised - and excited - to learn that the grad/postgrad student he hires to watch his child sometimes also works as a: stripper/dancer/cam-girl/onlyfans-model/dating-or-escort-service (or straight-up SW) 

*1000 word Minimum - 2000 word Maximum

WC: 4749  (I have a problem)

Frankie’s mouth was hanging open. He knew he should close it. He knew he looked like a weirdo. He knew he was about to get a “Catfish, lookin’ like a fish” joke from his friends. But for the life of him he couldn’t take his eyes off the stage, or close his gaping jaw.

Not since his babysitter walked on stage and started taking her clothes off.

To be fair, you're not his babysitter anymore. Not since he called you three weeks ago asking if you could babysit for him tonight and you broke the news to him that you'd gotten a new job and couldn't babysit anymore. At least now he understands why you left the not-so-lucrative world of babysitting for an arguably better-paying gig. 

You've only been dancing for two minutes and he already sees more money on the stage than he would've paid you to sit his kid tonight. He’s been watching as you undulate your body across the stage, bending and dipping, stripping down to your underwear. Even though part of him thinks he should, he definitely doesn’t look away when you divest yourself of your lacy little bra.

He always thought you were hot. He was a newly-single dad, interviewing you for a semi-regular babysitting gig. He tried to focus on your resume and your qualifications. He tried to breathe through his mouth so he couldn’t smell your delicate perfume. He tried to ignore the dewy pink lipgloss you had spread across your mouth, which is in stark contrast to the bright red lipstick you are currently sporting.

He was very motivated by the fact that you, as a graduate student in your mid-20’s, seemed more responsible to leave his kid with than the other applicants to his babysitting ad, all of whom were literal teenagers. But truth be told - you were also really fucking hot. Horny dad and the hot babysitter, what a fucking cliche he was.

However, in the eleven months you babysat for him, he never acted on his inappropriate attraction to you. He never treated you as anything other than an employee. You’d show up to his house, hair in a messy bun, wearing comfy clothes, ready to sit on the living room floor all evening playing with his kid. He was polite, and respectful, and was almost positive you never caught him staring at your tits.

Your tits that he’s most definitely staring at right now. Holy shit you have great tits.

“Fuckin’ A Fish, if you’re gonna keep your mouth open, you could at least pour some beer into it.”

“Huh?” Frankie snaps his head back to the table he’s sat at, surrounded by his friends. They all chuckle. 

“We’re about to order the next round and you didn’t even drink any of that one yet,” Benny says as he points to the dripping bottle in Frankie’s hand.

Oh, sorry, Frankie mumbles as he pushes the now-warm bottle to his lips and begins to drink the beer down, his eyes moving back to the stage. The entire club is lit only by colored lights that coordinate with the twirling lights and lasers pointed at the stage, pulsating to the tempo of the music you’ve picked. Fog rolls across the floor of the stage, cascading over the edge. 

There’s a single golden pole at an outcropping of the stage that you’re now gripping with both hands, sticking your ass out towards the audience and giving it a wiggle. You let go of the pole and hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties. You slowly begin to push them down and just as the crack of your ass comes into view Frankie momentarily forgets that he can’t swallow liquid and breathe at the same time. 

He begins to sputter and cough, choking on the bubbly liquid and spurting it across the table onto the faces of half of his friends. He’s met with groans, curses, and several swats to the back of his head as he attempts to get his wheezing under control, and the fluid out of his trachea.

Santi, who somehow managed to avoid Frankie’s beer-foam projectile, slaps a palm on Frankie’s shoulder and says,

“Guys, Frankie’s real sorry, he’s just never seen a naked woman before.”

The laughter at Frankie’s expense serves as some form of forgiveness, and everyone slowly goes back to flirting with the wandering dancers and ordering their second round. Santi keeps his hand on Frankie’s shoulder and leans into Frankie’s personal space.

“You alright?” Santi asks, squeezing his friend’s shoulder firmly.

Frankie manages to mutter a strangled yeah before several rounds of trying to clear his throat. The lights have dimmed, sinking the club temporarily into a hazy darkness. He briefly registers that the song you were dancing to has ended, so you’ve most likely left the stage.

Santi laughs, shaking his head. He moves his mouth right to Frankie’s ear, almost whispering.

“When I convinced Will to have his bachelor party at this club I thought you’d be the one making your hot babysitter choke, not the other way around,” and he claps Frankie on the back hard, “if you know what I mean.”

Frankie’s eyes go wide as he meets Santi’s crooked grin, but his friend offers nothing more as he moves to the other side of the table, turning his devilish smile on the waitress. He orders two beers and three shots for each man, dismissing the groans of protest from the table. Bachelor Down!, he shouts at Will as everyone does their shots and chases them with cheap beer.

You approach the table full of men with seven other dancers, each of you assigned by the club to give a 20-minute private dance to one of the members of the bachelor party. You’re each in various states of dress, but most are only half-dressed. You’re back in your lacy underwear set - panties and bra - but the sheer nature of the fabric leaves little to the imagination. 

Your previous job as a part-time nanny worked while you were an undergrad. When you started law school it became too much and you had to switch to more infrequent evening babysitting gigs so you had your days free for school and studying. Unable to keep up with school payments you recently had to find something new. Something that only required night and weekend availability, but paid really well.

Enter: Stripping. 

You’ve only been doing this job for a little over a month but you’d quickly gotten very comfortable with being naked in front of strangers. You had your little dance routine and could easily make flirty banter with the club’s customers. Your boss was impressed enough that he’d started assigning you party gigs with some of the other girls, like this bachelor group.

You walk up to the group of strangers, the rest of the girls fan around the table as you’re left standing just behind a broad-shouldered man with a baseball cap on, curls sticking out from under the back strap. You turn to the man with a big smile on your face.

Holy Fuck. 

Not a Stranger.

It’s Francisco Morales. The hot dad you until-recently babysat for.

He looks at you sheepishly. Your hands immediately fly to cover your breasts, suddenly mortified that your nipples are showing through your nearly-transparent choice of outfit. 

“Mr. Morales!”

“Oh I- I already,” he begins to stutter. Is he telling you that he’s already seen your tits? 

You look around at the collection of empty beer bottles and shot glasses on the table and figure that they’ve all been here for much longer than just your dance. So covering your nipples does nothing for your modesty as hot dad has probably already seen everything. You drop your arms to your side, attempting to look relaxed and casual.

“So I-uh. I guess you found a babysitter for tonight.”

He laughs. He actually laughs at your awkward attempt at diffusing the tension. Thank god. He opens his mouth to speak but before he can say anything one of his friends is speaking to the group. He explains that “everyone gets a private dance” and no one can object - and he looks right at Mr. Morales when he says this - because “it’s all been paid for already.”

Following the lead of the other girls you gently grab Mr. Morales’ hand, missing the looks back and forth between him and his friend. You do your best to confidently lead him back to the private rooms with the rest of his group. There are a dozen rooms in the hallway and eight of them have been held in reserve for this bachelor party group. Pulling him inside the last room on the right, you close the door behind you. 

The room is dim, save for the red glow of the lights. The ceiling and floor are both painted black and the three walls without the door are mirrored. Towards the left is a single high-backed black leather chair facing a brass pole that sits in the exact center of the room. On the far side of the room is a curved loveseat against the wall.

This should be easy. Not just because this is your job but because unlike any other man you’ve ever led back here, this is a man you are extremely attracted to. 

This is a man you have fantasized about.

You’ve imagined his curls between your fingers when you’ve grabbed a fistful of a customer's hair, imagined that it’s his stubble scratching between your breasts when you’ve pressed them close. You’ve envisioned his wide chest as you ran your hands down their front, his massive paws in your hands as you’ve taken their sweaty palms and placed them on your rolling hips. 

You’ve wished they were his thighs that you were grinding your ass onto and his erection that you all-too-frequently felt pressing into you. That should make this easy. But instead you’re super fucking nervous. Even more nervous than your first night here, when you dragged your panties down your legs and bent over, exposing your pussy lips to a packed room of strangers. 

What makes you most nervous is probably that the fantasies didn’t stop in the club. It would be one thing if they were just here, serving as a comfort, self-soothing by putting a familiar face in place of a groping stranger’s face. But that’s not the truth. You’ve imagined him at home too. 

In the shower, pretending your hands were his hands as you pinched and plucked at your wet nipples. Daydreaming about his weight on top of you, fucking into you, as you drove one of your toys in and out of your wet cunt. 

And if you’re being perfectly honest, you can admit that it’s been going on for almost a year, since shortly after he hired you to be his babysitter. Remembering the times you’d made yourself come on his couch, hours after his kid had fallen asleep, waiting for him to return home from a night out with his friends. Your hand stuffed down the front of your pants, petting your clit to the thought of him on his knees in front of you.

You never thought you’d actually be naked in front of your fantasy-DILF. This is like being slapped in the face with your own wet dreams. This is kind of a nightmare.

“Listen, you don’t have to-” he begins just as you start to speak as well.

“Mr. Morales I know-” and you both stop and let out breathy, nervous laughs.

“C-Can you please stop calling me Mr. Morales?”

“Oh sorry! Is that weird?”

“It sounds like the start of a bad porno,” he groans, laughing again. “Please just call me Frankie.”

“Of course, I’m so sorry Mist- Frankie. Sorry. Frankie.”

You both break out in laughter again, loudly this time, hoping to finally diffuse some of the tension. A knock sounds at the door and a deep voice - security - asks if everything is alright. You shout back that everything is fine and the room quiets down.

“I should start the music and get going,” you say quietly, motioning for him to sit on the curved red velvet seat against the far wall.

You press a button above his head and music starts up, the first of three songs forming a 10-minute loop that will repeat for this booking. You look into the mirrored wall to your left and notice how nervous you look. Then you meet his eyes in the mirror. Why does he look just as nervous?

You straddle one of his legs and shakily reach back to undo the clasp on your bra. You meet his eyes again. Fuck he can see how your hands are shaking. You look like such a fucking kid. A goddamn amateur. This is going to be the least-sexy lapdance he’s ever been given. 

You can’t stop the gasp that leaves your lips when you suddenly feel his hot hands covering yours at your back. 

“You can leave this on if you’d be more comfortable,” he says softly, barely heard over the pumping bass of the music.

“No I’m fine, I’m just…” you don’t know how to explain to him without embarrassing yourself but suddenly you’re making an admission and the word-vomit has left your mouth before you can even do anything to stop it. “I just always thought you were hot.” 

There it is. It’s out there now. 

He opens his mouth to say something and your nerves bubble up and come out as more words and why the fuck are you talking more?

“I know, I know,” you spit out before he can get a word in, “the babysitter thirsting after the hot dad, how prosaic, right? Talk about a bad porno.”

His warm hands still touching you, he slowly moves his fingers around yours, deftly undoing the clasp of your bra for you.

“It’s okay, I kinda… thought you were hot too,” his admission slips out in a whisper.

You really want to kiss him right now. But that would be a very bad idea. Security patrols the hallway and the door has a small window towards the top of it. It allows security to peek inside and see from the shoulders up. Usually if they can see your shoulders, all is good. If they can’t see your shoulders, it gives them an idea if rules are being broken or if the girls need help. 

Kissing - among other things - is against the rules.

You barely turn to look at the windowed door but you’re embarrassed to think that Frankie must know what you’re thinking because it’s like he can read your mind. Or maybe he’s just thinking about kissing you too? Either way he puts his hands back down to his sides and lets you lean into him, allowing your bra to slowly shift down your shoulders until it falls into his lap.

Your tits are right in his face. You’re half naked in front of the hot dad whose child you used to babysit. The hot dad who you’ve pictured doing this exact thing with - and more. But he’s not even looking at your tits. He’s looking you right in your eyes and making you feel more naked than you’ve ever been in your whole life.

He shouldn’t be here, not doing this, not with you. He should ask for a different girl. He should tell the security guy to kick him out. He’s making you so uncomfortable, he can tell by your twitching movements and halting breaths. He can’t stop staring at you like he’s some kind of lonely creep, what a fucking weirdo he’s being.

You position your legs on the outside of his, keeping his legs slightly open and his hands obediently face-down on the couch next to him. You’re straddling him but hovering above his lap, seemingly careful not to touch him. When you put your hands on his shoulders to brace yourself you begin to stiffly roll your body towards and then away from him.

He doesn’t know where to look. He can’t keep looking at your face, he knows the eye-contact is getting very disturbing. Why the hell did he tell you he kinda thought you were hot too? At least he didn’t admit the truth, that he thought you were fucking supernova-hot. He’s had to bite his tongue countless times to stop from asking you out.

He focuses his eyes at the hollow dip that lies at the base of your throat. It has a dance of its own, moving slightly with your pulse and rolling with your shallow breaths, the rise and fall of your chest a baseline rhythm. He tries not to think about your bare breasts just below, breasts that he’s thought about putting his hands on every single time you’ve walked into his house for the last year. 

He can see your deep red lips in his peripheral vision, and immediately the image of those lips on his skin is conjured. He pictures a chaste kiss planted on his cheek followed by a less-chaste thought of his thumb pressed into your mouth, your eyes looking up at him while your lips leave a red ring on his hand. He needs to fucking calm down. This is just a dance. You’re at work doing your literal job.

He suddenly notices you’ve almost completely stopped moving. He looks up at your face and you’re wearing a tight, pained expression. His brows furrow. Oh no. What’s wrong? Is his erection noticable? Is he creeping you out too badly? Do you want him to leave? He opens his mouth to ask if you’re okay but you silence him with a gentle squeeze to his shoulders.

“I think I’m gonna die if you don’t touch me,” you squeak out in a strained whisper.

In the back of his head a part of him thinks that he shouldn’t immediately cave. It shouldn’t be this easy. Part of him thinks he should need more than just you saying that. 

But he doesn’t. At all.

He slowly slides his body down the sofa, pushing his frame between your legs. You move your feet apart to accommodate his wide shoulders once you realize he won’t fit otherwise. He stops when his ass is sitting on the floor and his head is just above the seat of the sofa, you towering over him. He reaches down and begins to take off your platform heels one at a time. 

As your bare feet hit the floor you run your hands up your neck, over your face, and through your hair, your knees knocking at his shoulders. Touching you gently with only two fingers on each hand, he pushes on the backs of your thighs, guiding you even closer to his face. He grabs your feet and holds them in his hands, forcing your legs to fold and pushing your knees past his ears as his head rests back on the seat.

You’re kneeling at the edge of the sofa, shins on the cushion, feet dangling over his shoulders, your toes curled in his massive hands on his chest, and his head between your thighs. Your face still looks uneasy, and he can just make out whining noises over the music. High-pitched and breathy, the way a dog would beg for scraps at the dinner table.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna touch you now,” he growls.

You grab the brim of his hat and twist it off his head, immediately diving your fingers into his locks. He squeezes your toes and you take his cue, lifting your hips and canting them towards his waiting mouth. Latching his mouth onto your underwear, he runs his tongue up and down your covered seam. 

He feels you begin to rock your hips into his face, rolling your body above him. Any security who looked in the window would see your shoulders moving to the beat and assume you were kneeling on the couch and giving a lap dance. He can only barely see you from his angle, sees the lace of your panties, sees your wrists grabbing at his hair.

Letting go of one of your feet, he grabs at your wrist, dragging your hand from his head to the front of your own underwear. You run your fingers down yourself, parting them around his mouth, letting his tongue tangle in them. Then you grab the edge of the gusset and pull it to the side.

Wasting no time, he immediately begins to lick at your folds, tasting the wetness that has gathered there. A lot of wetness. Christ, you’re so fucking wet. His nose touches just below your clit and a string of your arousal attaches him to you when he pulls back slightly.

A slight pause in the music has his heart stop and his stomach in his throat. After a couple seconds - that seem to stretch on forever - the first song begins playing again, restarting what must be a looped set of music. 

That must mean this private dance-time is halfway over. Ten minutes left but since you two probably started after everyone else you might not have the full ten minutes of privacy if his friends decide to burst in the door. Which, if they’re led by Santi, is a real possibility.

Less than ten minutes. No problem.

You must also feel the sense of urgency because you adjust your hand that is holding your panties to the side. You take your thumb and pointer finger and move them over yourself, parting your lips to open yourself more to him and pulling up slightly, exposing your nub. He flattens his tongue in response and drags it over your sensitive bundle, noting the way your body trembles when he does so.

He knows he doesn’t have the time to edge you as he’d like to, but he can’t help himself when he moves his head lower and twists his tongue into your hole, thrusting it into you. You are bouncing yourself slightly up and down, helping him fuck yourself on his tongue. He feels your wetness pouring over his lips and dripping down through his whiskers.

He feels your hand leave your own body and tangle back in his curls along with your other one, grabbing two fistfuls of hair tightly in your grip. Having had enough of his teasing you’re apparently deciding to take matters into your own hands.

Frankie loves eating pussy but this? This might be his favorite thing in the whole world.

He angles his head perfectly, opens his mouth, and sticks his tongue out stiffly as you begin to grind your pussy against his face. You’re using his nose, his tongue, his chin, even the bristles of his facial hair. You’re using whatever you can to get yourself off as you ride his face. It takes everything in his power not to break out in a giant smile.

He doesn’t hear you, you’re still being the quietest you’ve been since you got in this room, but he feels it. Shit, does he ever feel it. He feels your body tense, then your legs quiver, feels the pulsing in your cunt as you press yourself firm into his still-open mouth. He gently laps up your gushing orgasm as you release the grip on his hair and whimper softly above him.

Knowing you’re short on time, he has you climb off him much sooner than he’d like you to. Your heavy-lidded eyes meet his and then yours go wide. You bend down and grab his hat, plopping it back on his head and attempting to tame his just-fucked-hair back underneath it. You run to the corner of the room and grab a small robe hanging on a hook, skipping back over and roughly wiping his face off with it the way you would a toddler after a meal.

He quickly adjusts himself, tucking his protruding hardness under his belt in an attempt to conceal it as he watches you adjust your askew panties. Still topless, you throw the robe back towards the corner in a panic just as there is a quick knock at the door. Without a signal to enter the door flies open anyways, no less than three of his friends bursting through the doorway drunkenly, shots in hand for Frankie to partake in.

They make Frankie drink the shots before he even leaves the room and then they drag him away from you, hollering obnoxiously. All he can manage is an apologetic look over his shoulder as he hears the final song finally come to an end. Time’s up. Luckily you’re laughing at their antics and don’t seem to be upset. Maybe you were just flirting with him because that’s your job. Maybe you just wanted a good tip.

A tip! Shit.

Being dragged down the hallway Frankie grabs Santi by the arm and asks in his ear how much he should tip you. Santi says he usually tips $200. Frankie is shocked that a 20 minute dance would garner that big of a tip, but then again it’s been a long time since he’s been at a place like this. And to be fair, you - albeit unknowingly - let him fulfill a long-time fantasy of his.

$200 is more than he would have paid you to watch his kid tonight. No wonder you’re not his babysitter anymore. He fishes around in his wallet and takes out all the cash he has, $236. He manages to break off from the group of guys after they do another couple shots and he looks around for you. 

Unable to find you he spots one of the girls you came to the table with and she lets him know you’re on a break but she can get the tip to you. He hands her the folded bills and she thanks him by leaning in and giving him a peck on the cheek. When she pulls back from him she widens her eyes at him and flashes him a knowing smile.

“I’m sure she’s very appreciative… of the tip,” she winks.

Frankie tries not to blush and resists the urge to high-tail it to the bathroom and wash his face off, opting instead to keep the scent of you on him. He returns to the table of his too-drunk-to-notice friends and finishes out the night of revelry.

.

3:03am

Hey

Hi

3:06am

Sorry

3:09am

You’re probably asleep

3:10am

Hi

I’m just getting home actually

3:11am

Oh cool me too

Sorry to bother 

I just wanted to make sure you got your tip

I left it with your friend

3:14am

I did, yes. Thank you so much.

3:14am

Cool 👍

3:16am

Don’t take this the wrong way…

But how drunk were you tonight?

3:18am

Idk

Why?

What did I do?

I’m so sorry

3:19am

No, don’t be sorry!

I’m not trying to be rude.

I just….

Did you mean to tip me that amount?

3:25am

Oh my god

Was it not enough?

I can give you more

I’m really sorry

Do you have Venmo?

3:27am

No! OMG. It was plenty!

Literally the most I’ve ever been tipped is like 40%

You tipped me 118%

3:30am

Oh

3:31am

Yeah so I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get too drunk

And accidentally just give me everything in your wallet

3:35am

Is that what happened?

3:37am

Because I can Venmo some money back to you

It’s really not a problem

3:40am

Sorry no

I just tipped what my friend told me to

3:41am

Well I checked with the other girls….

NONE of your friends tipped that much

And they were all very generous!

3:44am

But none as generous as you

3:45am

He’s such an asshole

I’m sorry

I didn’t know

I feel like an idiot

3:46am

Again, please don’t be sorry

It was VERY generous of you

And I’m very grateful

3:50am

I was in a giving mood tonight I suppose

3:51am

Mr. Morales, is that you being flirty?

3:53am

Oh we’re back to Mr. Morales now?

3:55am

Can you get a babysitter on Wednesday night?

3:55am

I don’t have custody this week so no babysitter needed

Why?

3:56am

We should go out to dinner

3:57am

Oh we should?

3:59am

Yeah we should

Frankie

4:01am

MY treat

4:01am

LOL I should hope so!

4:02am

Pick me up at 7 😉

4:02am

I will

See you Wednesday

[hikari-kaitou]

Translation from Gyakuten Saiban Fan Book

What sort of person is Miles Edgeworth?!

Phoenix's best friend and rival, Edgeworth, has gained a reputation among fans throughout the trilogy of being a man who carefully hides the chinks in his armor. Mr. Inaba and Mr. Iwamoto seem to have rather different opinions on the finer points of his character.

Mr. Inaba's comments

Interviewer: What blood type do you think Edgeworth is? (T/N: in Japan, it's believed that blood type reflects a person's personality)

Inaba: I happen to think he's type B.

Iv: What gives you that impression?

Ia: It's not so much that I dislike B types as I find them intimidating. They seem strong and I feel like I can't stand up to them.  I think good-natured people can generally be found in the O type category (lol).

Iv: By the way, what type are you, Mr. Inaba?

Ia: I'm a meticulous, cleanliness-loving A type Virgo. Also, I think Franziska is an A type like me. On the outside, we look like punks, but we have a fragile side that comes out looking a bit crybaby-ish sometimes. Kinda cute, don't you think?

Iv: Actually, most players seem to feel that Edgeworth is an A type Virgo (lol). So how about his birthday?

Ia: In the winter. I feel like winter suits him.

Iv: What sort of place do you think he lives in?

Ia: Definitely not in an official residence. He seems like he's probably swimming in old heirlooms (lol).

Iv: What sort of hobbies or luxury foods do you think he enjoys?

Ia: I feel like he probably plays some expensive sports and lounges at home in his robe with a glass of wine. My image of him is that he's like a host club host. His lifestyle is like a host's (lol).

Iv: Do you think he listens to music? 

Ia: I feel like if I say he listens to classical, that would make him seem too proper, so… I think he listens to new and old American and European music equally.

Iv: Do you think he has a cellphone?

Ia: He's definitely got one. One with a simple but sleek design.

Iv: And finally, what do you think his type is?

Ia: Hmmm… someone warm, I guess? This is kinda basic, but I feel like he cares more about how someone is on the inside, rather than their appearance, and he probably prioritizes personality. He might be surprisingly disinterested in women. Maybe he'd accidentally treat his partner coldly or something. Oh, I kinda touched on this earlier, but for Franziska, I think she seems like the type who'd be difficult to win over but would fall in love surprisingly easily, so I hope Edgeworth will do his best (lol).

Mr. Iwamoto's comments

Iv: Mr. Inaba said he thinks Edgeworth was born in the winter, and players overwhelmingly agreed with that. What do you think, Iwamoto-san?

Iwamoto: Edgeworth was born in June, just like me who voiced him in the games! And I think he was born in Chiba Prefecture because I was too (lol).

Iv: So from your position as the voice of Edgeworth (lol), what type of place do you think he lives in?

Iw: Either a designer penthouse, or somewhere surprisingly simple, like a place with plain concrete walls. I feel like he lives in an unexpectedly functional apartment. At least more than you might think, based on his frilly outfit.

Iv: So considering the type of room you imagine him living in, what sort of clothes do you think he wears at home?

Iw: Clothes that are out of touch with reality. Like the kinds of things most normal people wouldn't wear, or like… Like he wears silk just because, or instead of a regular shirt, a prince-like blouse. I feel like Manfred Von Karma probably influenced him there, but he dresses more plainly now than he did when he was younger (lol).

Iv: Maybe he started to notice that he didn't quite fit in with others (lol). It might be because of his frilly clothes, but he seems to be in better shape than Wright. Is his build based on your own, Iwamoto-san?

Iw: No way (lol). But I did sneakily make him the same height as myself.

Iv: Since he's in such good shape, do you think he does sports?

Iw: Maybe long distance running. He seems like the type who might go out jogging by himself in silence to "outrun his sins…" (lol)

Iv: What do you think his blood type is?

Iw: B type. I don't really have any real basis for that, he just strikes me as a B type.

Iv: And what do you think Edgeworth's type is? 

Iw: Let's see, maybe someone enthusiastic and passionate? (Lol) Like maybe he likes the kind of person who charges recklessly into things? And that's not just for women but in general the type of person he likes.

Phoenix version

[lfghughes]

Could you write a Trevor fic where the reader likes to crochet so she makes beanies that match Trevor’s game day fits and he wears them during interviews and a reporter asks about it and he like goes into detail about how his gf makes them for him and he loves watching her crochet. Thank youu!!

a/n: this is such a cute little thing ahh, thank you for sending this request. gotta mix in some happy stuff today

There was no prouder boyfriend than Trevor. Everything his girlfriend did he supported 110% and he proudly showed it. He wasn’t really sure at what point it started but all he knew was one day she had made him a beanie to wear and on one of his game days he wore it to the rink. Since then it became their thing. She would make him beanies that were different colors and had different designs that would just go with his suit of choice for the game.

It was something that was really just between them but then some of his teammates found out about it which again he didn’t mind because he was super proud of it. At the end of his game he got pulled to do an interview, something he was very used to by now and with the win tonight he was definitely in a good mood. Most of the questions were the usual question but then came one that made him smile from ear to ear.

“We heard that these beanies you wear have a little backstory to them?” Word sure did get around pretty quickly, that’s what Trevor learned. “They do, yeah. It’s actually really awesome. My girlfriend she crochets these for me and she makes me one for every game day suit I have.” Trevor explained, this was one of those things he could talk a lot about but also everyone around could see just how proud he was of this. “Is this something you two do together?”

“Oh no, this is definitely all her. I love to watch her, she’s very talented. Me on the other hand, not so much but maybe one day I’ll get good at it.” Trevor teased before saying goodbye and heading out. Once he was able to, he changed back into his regular clothes and threw his beanie back on. It didn’t take long for his phone to start blowing up when he realized that the internet was currently freaking out over his interview and also gushing over how cute his relationship was. The internet did have that right, he knew his relationship was cute and he also knew his girlfriend was crazy talented and he was happy people were seeing that.

[expecto-patronix]

Full Focus (Fernando Alonso x Reader) smut

A/n: fuck it, Fernando smut for all the nando fuckers out there.

Pairing: Fernando Alonso x (female) reader

Warnings: smut (oral, both receiving). Age gap (reader is in mid 20s, Fernando 41)

Summary: you and a few guys have a twitch stream session but your secret boyfriend Fernando is a distraction and a tease.

Word count: 3229

----------

How you had managed to keep your relationship with Fernando secret from your friends was still a mystery. You, Lando, Charles and Pierre were hanging out all the time. Even in covid you were still streaming on twitch with the guys on a regular basis.

Before covid you would walk around the paddock. As a journalist your job was to find out as much gossip as would be possible. With you being the same age as the younger drivers, you had an easy way in. Their humour matched yours and quickly you became a part of their friend group.

Why they had never noticed your eyes lingering on the Aston Martin garage every time you walked down the paddock to meet with them was a mystery. Somewhere during his time with Alpine you had met Fernando on the grid. Of course, you had interviewed him a few times prior to that but this time Esteban introduced you two. Now Fernando had joined Aston he looked better then ever. His big brown eyes always had a glint when he was dressed in his team clothes or driver suit, and you loved to see him like that.

You hadn’t told your friends about your relationship yet because you weren’t sure how they’d react. Fernando was obviously significantly older than you and you did not want to have to justify anything. So, you and Fernando decided to keep things quiet at first, just waiting for the right time to tell your friends.

Now there were 3 weeks with no races, meaning everyone had some free time to just enjoy themselves. The off time gave you and your friends time to stream again, which was something you could only do if there was no race to prepare for. You had gradually invested in better gaming equipment so you could better match the drivers during your e-racing matches. You just hoped they would not notice how your skill level had improved exponentially ever since Fernando came over more and more often and gave you some pointers.

‘LNADO! THAT WAS MY CORNER YOU BASTERD’ you scream laughing into the mic. Your ears are filled with at first the loud laughter of Charles and then the loud wheezing of Lando. You tear your eyes away from the screen as a red flag pops up and a message saying you were out of the race. To the right side of your living room, out of view from the camera, Fernando has put down a yoga mat and is now doing some weights and core exercises. It was a sight to behold really, his tight white sport shirt clinging to his body and showing off his muscles whatever way he moved.

‘Earth to Y/n!’ Charles voice brought you back to the game. Apparently, you and Lando crashed so hard it created a chain effect crashing everyone and so the race was over and a new one was ready to start, only you still had to connect. Your eyes snap back to the screen. On screen two you see the boys staring at you with amused smiles. You tried to supress the blush wanting to creep up on your cheeks.

‘What has you so distracted all of a sudden?’ Lando teases.

‘Nothing, just my cat jumping on the table and almost knocking something over…’ you lie, in the corner of your eyes you see Fernando break his set while he catches on to what is happening in your stream. The blush on your face and neck was also speaking volumes.

‘Awh, can you show the cat?’ Pierre asked.

Goddamnit.

‘Ahh maybe later? He just… left the room.’ It was a terrible lie, but at least the guys dropped the topic after that and the next race started. You did a qualifying and all, all of you easily passing though to Q2. Then when you were waiting in the garage to go out for Q2 you see Fernando on the yoga mat. He was sweaty from his previous exercise so he decided to take off his shirt. Oh fuck. Then the fucker proceeded to do lounges. He had noticed you looking at him out of the corner of your eye the past minute and decided to give you a bit of a show. He knew exactly what he was doing, the exercise showing off his strength and stamina at once and every once in a while you swore you could hear him grunt softly. Was the training he was doing now really that demanding? Absolutely not, but he loves messing with you.

‘Y/N WHY AREN’T YOU OUT YET?’ you hear Charles scream at you. Once again you got caught not paying attention. The cat excuse can’t be used again because he just left, as you had told them.

‘I am waiting for the track to dry to do a quick lap!’ you defend, frantically looking around the screen to see how much time was left in Q2. Shit. Too late. Even if you would go out now there would be no time for a timed lap. This meant you were to start from p15.

‘Maybe if you’d kept your eyes on the game you would have made Q3’ Pierre says wriggling his eyebrows at you from your second screen.

You just groan and throw your head back in your game chair out of frustration. To your right Fernando has now stopped his exercise and has started stretching. There was no way he needed to stretch like that at this moment. Such a tease.

The sound of racing resumes in your headphones, meaning Q3 has started. You redirected your eyes to the screen once more. All the boys were focussed on their laps. Even though it was just online racing no one wanted to lose, not even a pole position. Your eyes were unfocussed on the screen while your mind went to the sight you had just seen. Your incredibly handsome boyfriend doing his very best to distract you by doing his most low-effort training just to give you a show. And it had worked. You subconsciously clench your thighs together to relieve some of the pressure that was slowly starting to build. Maybe you should just give up on trying to refocus on the game and concede to Fernando’s tactics.

You blink your eyes trying to refocus when you hear Fernando softly clear his throat nearby. Apparently he had moved to right next to your computer, arms crossed across his chest and an amused look on his face.

‘Did you want to join me in the shower or no?’ he asks in a thick Spanish accent.

You quickly turn off the camera and mute yourself, staying in the stream but being clearly absent. You move the headphones off your ears and place them on your shoulders.

‘I swear the guys know something is up, I can’t keep making up fake pets to excuse myself Fernando!’ you laugh at the idea.

‘Then tell them.’ He retorts with a smile.

‘What?’

‘It has been months, mi amor, I think it is time they found out. No?’

He was right. You would have to tell them sooner or later… and maybe about now would be a good time.

‘Alright… I will.’ You say, standing up and placing one hand on his sweaty chest and one on the back of his muscled neck. His hands land on your waist, pulling you in closer and leaning in to place his lips on yours. How he always managed to take your breath away completely you would never know. The only thing you did know is that the sensation of Fernando, from his hands roaming your back to his mouth hungrily claiming yours, was engulfing you completely.

His mouth moved from your lips to your neck, biting down on your pulse point. Sparks of pleasure were already soaring though your body at his touch. You scratch your nails down his toned chest as response, enjoying the way his muscles jumped under your touch and how he shivered slightly when you put a but more pressure behind your touch. Fernando’s hands slide down your sides so they could creep up again but under your shirt. While his hands roam your skin under your shirt he walks the two of you back in your room, his mouth never leaving your neck.

You feel the floor under your feet disappear under the yoga mat that was still laying on the floor, very classy. Not that you would ever admit it out loud, but you loved it when Fernando got all sweaty. It reminded you of times when after a race he would come to you to either unwind or celebrate, depending how the race went. You felt Fernando hitch your shirt up, trying to get more access to your body. He pulls away from your neck to allow you to take off the fabric of your shirt and then your bra, leaving you in just your sweatpants just like him. You pull him closer by his neck, feeling his muscles tighten at your touch as he pulls you closer by your waist, connecting your bare chest to his. The skin-on-skin contact felt amazing, but you craved more. You feel his cock harden against your front when he deepens the kiss to dominate your tongue with his. Ever the control freak.

But you take him by surprise when you pull back suddenly. At first, he looks at you, searching your eyes for any sign he had done something wrong. And then you quickly drop to your knees in front of him and pull his sweatpants loose and down in one swift motion. Before he had any time to object or scold you for risking damaging your knees you pull his boxers down and take his cock in your hand. Fernando lets his head fall back with a moan at the relatively sudden contact. Where just a few moments ago his cock was just getting hard, you could now see the pre-cum already glistening at the tip while you spit in your hand and start pumping him slowly but with enough pressure to make his breath hitch and his head snap forward to look down at you. You look up at him while innocently batting your eyelashes.

‘Don’t tease.’ He breathes out as you keep your slow pace a bit too slow for his liking.

‘I thought you liked teasing?’ you retort, he lets out a snort.

‘Not when I’m on the receiving end.’ He says whilst weaving a hand through your hair. You take the hint and move one hand to his muscular thigh to steady yourself while the other moves to the base of his length so you can put his tip in your mouth. He lets out a sigh of relief at the feeling of your warm mouth where he needs you the most. You move your head down his length and take him as deep as you could without gagging and stroke what was left of his cock with your hand. Almost immediately you set a quick pace, just how he likes it. His hand in still in your hair to keep you from slowing down just in case you wanted to tease him again. He was always in control, and you knew it.

Fernando’s breathing grew more and more ragged while you worked him towards his release, the sheet of sweat already adorning his body only growing more and more obvious. Then you hear his breathing deepen and you feel his hand on your head tighten in grip, he was getting closer. With all the willpower you had you took him even deeper in your mouth, fighting your gag reflex for all you were worth. When you looked up into his eyes and he looked back he lost it. The tears welling in your eyes from almost gagging made your eyes look even more pretty in his mind.

‘Fuck…’ he breathes, followed by a string of Spanish curse words. Then you moved your head one more time up and down his shaft, this time taking him all the way in, so the tip hit the back of your throat. The look he gave you was enough to fight your reflexes for a bit longer, the need for air completely forgotten as he moans out your name and the muscles in his abdomen start to spasm as he comes in your mouth.

He moves his hips a bit back when he starts coming down from his high, giving you a chance to swallow down his seed and then breathe in a gasp of air that refilled your lungs, which had rarely ever felt so empty. Fernando stepped out of his pants, which had pooled around his ankles by now, and threw them towards the laundry bin. The pleasure that was building in your abdomen was a lot to handle, your clit begging to be touched and your cunt begging to be filled. But as you watch Fernando walk towards the shower you think maybe he is just going to clean up now, so you stand up and sit back down on your game chair, grabbing your shirt from the floor and placing it on your desk.

You eye the computer screen for a minute, your webcam was still just a black screen and the microphone was still muted, thank God. Just before you could see how the race was going however your chair was spun around quickly, and Fernando was now looming over you.

‘I’m not done with you yet, mi amor.’

Before you had any chance to answer his lips are back on yours, his tongue once again entering your mouth not caring about tasting himself on you. Now your fingers wound through his hair when one of his hands moves to harshly pinch one of your nipples. You pull back from the kiss to try and catch your breath, letting out more moans when he continues to tease your nipple with his hand. His head moves down to catch the other nipple in his mouth, and you can feel him smile when you let out a rather loud moan when his tongue flicks at it. You head falls back against the chair as you relish in the pleasure he makes you feel. His mouth stays on your chest and his hands move down to your pants, tapping your thigh to let you know to lift your hips so he can pull your pants off. You oblige and the clothes are thrown onto the pile Fernando had started earlier with his clothes.

Then his kisses move down from your chest to your belly, then to your waist. You sit low in the chair to give him the best access possible. You close your eyes when you feel his hot breath close to where you need him, but just not there yet. The anticipation is murder. then you feel two thick fingers suddenly moving through your slit, collecting your juices, swirling them around your clit and then moving back down to your entrance, slowly penetrating you. Your mouth falls open in a moan.

‘Fernando…’ is all you get out when you get interrupted by him placing a wet kiss to your clit. But he moves his head right back again while he slowly fingers you.

‘What do you want, Y/n?’ he asks.

‘Don’t tease…’ you plead; your eyes go down to a sight to behold. Fernando is looking at you with a soft smile, his head between your legs and his fingers slowly moving in and out of you.

‘But you know I like teasing you, no?’ he asks with a mischievous smile. Fucking hell.

‘Fuck, I need you...’ you try.

‘What do you want?’ he asks, knowing fully well what you need, but he loves to hear you say it.

‘Fernando please, make me cum?’ you half tell him, half ask him. You didn’t want it to sound like begging, but the tone of your voice gave you away anyways.

‘It would be my pleasure.’ He says and then his mouth is on you. you close your eyes at the intense feeling as his tongue circles your clit expertly and his fingers start picking up the pace.

‘You’re so wet for me.’ Fernando remarks. He always manages to make you blush, no matter how many times his head was in between your thighs. You grip the armrest of the chair tightly, your body chasing the building tension in your core. The room is filled with the wet noises of Fernando quickly pumping his fingers in and out of you while his tongue is attacking your clit like a last meal. His pace is brutal, and you knew you wouldn’t last long like this. The pressure in your belly slowly building, tightening until it started to spread though your entire body.

‘Fuck, Fernando, I’m, I, fuuuuck.’ Is all you manage to say and he just smirks, whispering a soft ‘cum for me then’ against your clit followed by some Spanish praise words and you were done for. Fernando’s other hand was holding you down while he worked you through your orgasm. It took you longer to regain your breath than you were proud of, shockwaves of your orgasms being kept up by Fernando still softly sucking your clit and slowly pumping his fingers in you.

When you finally got to open your eyes again and see your room and not just stars, Fernando reached behind you to a pack of tissues which he must have gotten earlier when he left the room. As the gentleman he is, he cleans you up nicely and gets you some other pants to wear. You put on your shirt again and check the computer screen.

There must have been around 30 missed messages from the boys in your private chat of them trying to get your attention back.

Fuck

The game

You try to fix your hair as best as possible and arrange your shirt like it was before you would restart your camera and microphone.

‘Heeeyyyy guys I’m back!’ you say in a chipper tone, trying to hide all the evidence of what had just occurred while also making sure Fernando would hear you were back on the stream.

‘Jeeeezus Y/n, what took you so long? We’ve been waiting for like 15 minutes!’ Charles remarked.

That long? Oops.

‘Yeah sorry, I was just... running some errands’ you lie. Another terrible excuse.

‘Yoooo Y/n! What is that on your neck?’ Lando was kind enough to comment on the bruise slowly forming on the side of your neck, as was the whole chat of the twitch stream it seems.

How were you going to talk yourself out of that one?

Or just tell them the truth…

You never had to decide what to do, because at that moment Fernando moved into the back of your camera, redressed, and still trying to fix his own hair. He walked into the camera frame, tilted your head to give you a kiss, then moved your mic towards the side to say, ‘Hi guys!’ and then he left the room, shouting something about groceries. The boys on your second computer screen looked shocked at first, but quickly they all burst out laughing, and you swore you could hear Pierre scream ‘I knew it!’ before the chat exploded.

[yandere-collections]

Yandere!Actor X Streamer!Reader

male yandere oc x gender neutral reader

This yandere is a semi famous actor. His name is Vince Cantrell and most people know at least one or two movies he’s been in, like when he played the heartthrob of a love interest in the smash hit Guardians of Time trilogy. He’s a rather aloof and eccentric person, choosing to remain hidden away in his manson completely isolated from humanity. He hasn’t acted in a while, taking a break after the sudden death of his parents. However, he can sometimes be persuaded into doing things for marketing, interviews and such to build hype for new projects which was how he met you for the first time. 

You were a moderate sized streamer, usually reaching a few hundred viewers during regular streams. You got a real bump in viewership after you played the licensed game sold as a tie-in with the Guardian of Time series based on the movies. In it, you had to think fourth dimensionally in order to strategically build and defend a self sustaining agency in its own branch of reality. Because you played it, and were good at it, the game did far better than projected as thousands of people tuned it at a time to see what you could do, finding inspiration in how creative you were at pushing the games boundaries. 

The devs took notice of how you lead to a direct boost in sales, giving them the chance to make a sequel with an even bigger budget. That’s when they took the opportunity to invite you to promote the sequel by playing an early version before the final release as a way to show off all the new features. And the best part? You would be doing it with Vince Cantrell since his character from the movies was prominent in the game as well. It was meant to be a prerecorded casual interview with gameplay that you would then stream on your channel the week before the game’s release.

You met Vince an hour before you were to begin filming, having to go through make-up and staging. He shook your hand, not thinking much of you at the time. You seemed nice, he supposed after you moved away to respect his space instead of crowding up close, he hated people who invaded his personal space. You both took a minute to look the other over. He wore his character’s signature outfit, a black business suit with sci fi elements and electric green accents to match with his eyes. It stood in contrast to his stark white hair, making his features even more striking, almost inhumanely pretty. You on the other hand were dressed in some of the nicer clothes you owned, something closer to business casual. You thought you looked nice and you were happy enough with your appearance, but knew you couldn’t compare to him, not even mad about the distance between you two. If only you knew the emotions swirling inside Vince. He was actually a bit embarrassed, feeling like his costume was a bit too ostentatious compared to you. He admired how down to earth you were and how well you pulled off the look without feeling the need to hide behind excessive wealth and glamor, unlike most people he worked with. If Vince took off all his layers, would he like the person underneath? Would you be willing to show him how?

After introductions, a pair of makeup artists practically pulled the two of you to your chairs under uncomfortably bright lights. Although Vince was used to this treatment, you clearly were not. He even had to hold in a chuckle after seeing your displeased face, failing after you shot him a betrayed look. The studio’s side door opened as the director and one of the devs came through, drawing attention with their arguing about which aspect of the production to focus on, the interview or the game. They came to a stop in front of you two to debrief you on what the two of you had to do while on camera, things like what features to talk about and what to talk about with each other. Pretty standard stuff but Vince was charmed by how earnestly you listened and nodded along. 

The two of you were taken to a simple set comprising of a computer with two chairs and a themed backdrop. You and Vince were then left alone, sitting in your chairs while everyone moved around you, setting up lights and cameras. You averted your eyes from the actor seated next to you, not knowing if you should talk to him or even what you would talk about.

“So, what is it you do again? For a job, I mean. They tried explaining it to me but I was a bit confused.”

Of course Vince was mostly throwing you a metaphorical bone so you could feel more at ease with him but he was genuinely interested in learning more about you. 

“I livestream myself playing games for my audience. Sometimes I’ll make edited videos but it’s mostly the streams.”

“And people watch you do this instead of playing themselves?”

“Yeah! Sometimes people can’t afford games or they want to see if it’s good before they buy it. But other people like watching people experience something they like or the sense of community with other viewers.” You looked a bit nervous as you explained it to him and Vince felt the urge yet again to put you at ease. He couldn’t stand the idea of you feeling uncomfortable around him.

“I guess I can see the appeal. You’re an entertainer like me,” he said, not really knowing what else to say. After all, he didn’t really get internet culture. It must have been the right thing to say as he was treated to the sight of your face lighting up with the brightest smile accompanied by a blush, looking a bit flustered by his comment. Adorable.

“I’m glad! A lot of people don’t think streaming is a real job so I’m always happy when someone at least tries to understand it.”

You then asked him a couple questions about his work. He was happy to answer, especially since you refrained from asking anything too personal, but he was more interested in learning more about you. Your favorite color, your favorite game, everything. With each new thing he learned, his hunger for more grew. You were just as good at pulling information from him, especially with the way you would light up with each fact he gave and deflated with each nonanswer. He would do anything to keep that smile on your face. 

“Alright you two! We’ve got everything set up on our end. Let’s boot up the game and then we can get started!” the director shouted. Vince nearly glared as you were jolted out of the conversation, sheepishly nodding as you woke the computer from sleep mode and double clicked the icon on the screen. 

And then, it was time to start. You had a hard time concentrating on what to say with the stage lights and all the cameras pointed at you. Sure, you were used to facecam but this was nothing like that. You nearly jumped out of your seat when you felt a pair of lips brush against the shell of your ear, right before the cameras began rolling.

“Just focus on me and the game. You’ll forget about them in no time.” 

Vince was once again treated to you blushing, smirking as he pulled away. He saw no harm in a little bit of flirting, especially when it was so easy to pull such a cute reaction from you. He then pasted on a smile, taking the lead in introducing the two of you and the company behind the game while you composed yourself enough to take over. 

“Well, let’s get started!” you said after the intro. “I’m super excited to play this since the sequel was so much fun. And it’s not everyday I get to play games with a famous actor like Vince Cantrell!” He felt his heart warm as you looked at him, a teasing glimmer in your eye. Time to turn up the charm.

“I’m even more excited, if you can believe it, to experience this game since I’m with you,” he said, holding eye contact. “But I’m afraid I don’t know that much about video games. Hopefully I won’t slow you down.”

You laughed at that. “Don’t worry, it’d be my pleasure to teach you. You’ll know everything you need to when I’m done with you.”

The next couple hours flew by for you two. It was like you had both forgotten the cameras and were in your own little world. It was the most fun Vince had had in a long time, ever since his parents died. You were the first person he felt he could genuinely connect with, not as an actor but as a person. 

In between interview questions about his role in the movie and the flirty comments you two exchanged, you showed off the features of the game. Vince took this opportunity to crowd in close, pressing against you in order to look at the screen. You eventually coaxed him to play a little after promising to keep your hand over his to help with the controls.

“And if you click this menu right here, you’ll see some things they added in the sequel. Like pet shops! They officially added pets after I found a bug that let you domesticate wild animals and everyone in the community fell in love with it and asked for it to become a proper mechanic.”

“So if we place this down our citizens can buy pets?”

“Yep! You can choose what pets you want to stock and customize the building. And after a while, the pets may cross breed and make new species.”

“Interesting…” he muttered, caring more about the feeling of your hand on his. Not that he was bored, of course not! He thought he could listen to you talk about game mechanics for hours on end, just to hear your voice. 

“And let me bring up the color wheel so you can see all the options for customization. Go ahead and pick whatever you want. See, you’re already getting it!”

“Only because I have you to help me. We’d probably need to spend far more time together before I could do anything like this on my own. Maybe I could come over sometime?” You looked a bit taken aback by that. Sure, he was laying it on a bit thick and playing up his incompetence but it wasn’t really his fault, not when you were so completely enchanting that he would do anything to get closer to you. It was exciting, having to take the initiative. Most of the time people pursued him, wanting the attention of someone rich and handsome while not actually caring about him at all.

“Ha ha, maybe,” you laughed, brushing off the comment. You both continued with the game for a little while longer until you got the signal to start wrapping up. You announced the game’s release date and also said you would be doing a give away for some free game keys in your chat when the video premiered on your channel in a few weeks time. 

“AND… CUT!”

And just like that, it was over. The lights shut off and you slumped, no longer having to be “on”. 

“I don’t know how you do stuff like this so often. I’d never survive,” you sighed.

“You get used to it. Besides, you did really well. You’re great on camera.”

“Really? Well I guess that makes sense even if my setup is way more casual. And you definitely helped a lot! I would have been a wreck without you helping me.”

He tried not to let it show how much that affected him but it was hard for him to hide how pleased he was hearing you say that. It was only natural you would recognize his rightful place was by your side. There was just one thing left for him to do.

“I was serious, you know. About coming over and playing games with you. You could even stream it if you wanted.”

You bit your lip. “Really? You’d be okay with that?”

“More than okay, I assure you. I had a lot of fun today and would love to see you again in a less formal context.”

“Oh…” You trailed off, considering it as Vince felt his heart crawl up his throat. Please say yes. “Um, sure. That sounds fun. Let’s exchange contact info and see if we can set something up. I expect you’re way busier than me so let me know when you have some free time, okay?”

And with that, he was in. The actor watched as you entered your details into his phone, eyes narrowed like a predator. You then walked off with a wave, eager to get home and wash the day off in the shower. Vince smirked as he watched you go.

You may not realize it now, but you were already his. After all, once Vince Cantrell decided he wanted something, nothing could stop him

(Hope you enjoyed! There will be a part two to this, when I get around to it)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Daddy-Daughter Podcast 2023

11 years ago, my kid's daycare surprised us by announcing that they were closing for Christmas break a day before everyone else, so I ended up with our then-four-year-old daughter, Poesy, at my office for the day.

After she got bored with coloring and playing with my office toys, I sat her down on my lap in front of my podcast mic and we recorded the greatest, all-singing episode of my podcast ever:

https://craphound.com/news/2012/12/21/happy-hols/

Thus began an annual tradition. Every year since – save one, when my mic was busted – we have recorded a podcast: I interview the kid about her favorite media, apps, books, and hobbies. Sometimes, she gives a tutorial. Then, we sing a song.

She's 15 now (!), and I still managed to drag her to the mic this weekend. We discussed her musical favorites, old (Ike and Tina singing "Proud Mary") and new (Dominic Fyke). We discuss high school, volunteering at the zoo, and the rigors of dance team. She teaches us how to drive. She runs down her favorite apps, and discusses her recent name change. And then, we sing!

https://craphound.com/news/2023/12/10/daddy-daughter-podcast-2023-edition/

This is the eleventh installment in this time-series snapshots of my kid, starting in London, then moving to LA, and every year I go back and listen to the previous recordings. It's not just a wonderful moment of nostalgia for me – it's also a powerful way to put everything into perspective. Anyone who's kept a journal (or a blog!) knows, the act of regular record-keeping, combined with regular revisiting of those records, turns the impressionistic jumble of memory into a clear picture of your life and its trajectory. We remember so poorly, but our treacherous minds fill in those omissions with whatever's going on right now, so if times are good now, we remember all times as good. If times are bad, everything seems bad.

The following year sees Poesy far more confident and even funnier – and excited about working at the zoo someday:

https://craphound.com/news/2013/12/23/christmastime-daddy-daughter-podcast-with-poesy/

At six, Poesy has learned a little French, and some naughty words for Jingle Bells (and she's got a lot more vocal control!):

https://craphound.com/news/2014/12/22/podcast-happy-xmas-guest-starring-poesy/

At seven, Poesy is living in Los Angeles and my mic is very busted, but Poesy knows all the words to Frosty and she's got the barrelhouse walkout nailed:

https://craphound.com/news/2015/12/25/podcast-happy-xmas-guest-starring-poesy-2/

We didn't manage to record the next year, so we catch up with Poesy at nine, with her English accent all but gone – but her memory for lyrics is better than ever (who knew there were so many choruses to "Deck the Halls?"). This is the first time I interviewed her, for an in-depth discussion of how to make slime (remember slime?):

https://craphound.com/news/2017/12/23/reviving-my-christmas-daddy-daughter-podcast-with-poesy/

At ten, Poesy is now watching online makeup tutorials and has lots of advice for you, and is super into squishies:

https://craphound.com/news/2018/12/24/christmas-podcast-with-poesy-2018-edition/

At eleven, Poesy's no longer willing to sing, but she has lots of information about riding horses. This is the first year that she's got her own music preferences, with half of them being contemporary artists like Billie Eilish and the other half being older acts like Queen. This is also the year that she got rid of all her old toys, books and clothes, because they were "not her style":

https://craphound.com/podcast/2019/12/20/my-annual-daddy-daughter-xmas-podcast-interview-with-an-11-year-old/

Twelve sees us podcasting from covid lockdown. No song this year, but she's playing video games (Among Us), thrifting (while double-masked), and she's just discovered Tiktok, along with Tiktok dances, and she's started to find cool music that I enjoy:

https://craphound.com/news/2020/12/11/daddy-daughter-podcast-2020-edition/

At thirteen, Poe's a high school freshman and the singing is back! She's big into Drag Race and Ru Paul. And high school sucks so hard that she'd rather go back to Zoom school. She's still riding horses, and she's fallen in love with a book for the first time in years: Animal Farm (but she hates the ending):

https://craphound.com/news/2021/12/23/daddy-daughter-podcast-2021-edition/

Last year, Poesy was fourteen, and my office had just flooded out in a freak rainstorm. Poesy has discovered her argumentative nature, and she loves hiking in nearby Angeles National Forest. She's getting into hiphop – Eminem, Snoop Dogg, and Cyprus Hill – and South Park (also Fleetwood Mac!). We get a lot about Big Mouth, and a long discussion of her short fiction writing:

https://craphound.com/podcast/2022/12/12/daddy-daughter-podcast-2022-edition/

These annual time-capsules are just tremendous. I may not have had the discipline to do daily, time-lapse ready photo portraits, but this corny, silly yearly tradition is more than a way for my kid and me to spend a few minutes together just before Christmas – they're a way to connect to our past and think about the future to come. I can imagine doing these over Zoom when the kid's away at university in a couple years, though who knows if she'll stand for that.

Here's the podcast episode:

https://craphound.com/news/2023/12/10/daddy-daughter-podcast-2023-edition/

And here's a direct link to the MP3 (hosting courtesy of the Internet Archive – they'll host your stuff for free, forever):

https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_457/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_457_-_Daddy_Daughter_Podcast_2023_Edition.mp3

And here's the RSS feed for my podcast:

https://feeds.feedburner.com/doctorow_podcast

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/2023/12/11/daddy-daughter-2023/#not-bye

[multiplicity-positivity]

Hi there, we were just wondering if you have any advice on figuring out the separations/differences between alters. We've been on-and-off blurry for like two months and we're pretty sure our regular host hasn't really been fronting much but our memory is kinda consistent between fronters and can make it pretty confusing to tell who we are/who's in front a lot. Thank you in advance, and sorry if we worded this badly :3

Hey, we actually have a couple resources which may help y’all figure out some differences between the alters in your system.

The first is this little template which has a few questions you can ask each other to learn more about one another:

We also have a post with some tips on discovering differences, and sometimes forging new ones, between alters or headmates. The post is kind of long, but it’s an in-depth explanation on how individualizing has worked for us in the past:

A bit of specific advice though…

If it’s kind of hard to tell who is fronting often, maybe try making a habit of jotting down or doing something particular in those moments when you do know who is fronting. This could look like updating a fronting history log, writing in a journal, wearing a certain item of clothing, or doing something specific that the current fronter enjoys (listening to certain music, eating a certain food, working on a certain project or hobby, playing a certain game, etc.). Making a habit of noticing and acknowledging whenever you do know who is fronting in the present may help making these distinctions easier in the future.

Good luck with this. I know our own system can be blurry a lot (a big reason why we stopped doing sign offs here haha) but in general it has gotten better with time and effort spent like, consciously acknowledging those moments when we do know whose fronting.

[bittercape]

WIP game

rules: you will be given a word. share one sentence / excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word

tagged by @paprikadotmp4 , thank you!

word: WRITE

W - from a wip so far bearing the informative name 'bottom Slade overstim'

While Slade has been working through this minor epiphany, Jason has worked Slade’s shirt up past his nipples and is nibbling on his pecs and vaguely rutting against his thigh. It feels like a more than decent sized cock, at least as far as he can tell through two layers of clothes.

R - from a fic that is technically finished and will be posting tomorrow

Red Hood is utterly mesmerizing to watch in a fight — and he’s all Red Hood, in this fight, plowing through the goons like a siege weapon taking down a wall, all speed and grace and power. Slade maybe gets a slightly unnecessary cut because he’s watching Hood more than his own opponent, hitting the gap in the armor on the outside of his thigh. It hurts like a bitch, but he can’t even regret it; Red Hood punching out the teeth of a Bane-sized thug is a sight he won’t forget any time soon.

I - from a still unnamed wip featuring Jessica Jones and Karen Page in the tennis universe:

“If you want,” Karen says, noncommittally. “We can do an interview later in the week if you like.” “Ugh, gross,” Jessica says, and Karen laughs, slightly too loud for the relative quiet of the bar. A few people glance their way, but leave them be soon enough. “What do you want to know about Roy?”

T - another still unnamed wip, this is a 5+1. exerpt from Steph's section:

The fact that she’s had the second Robin’s sweaty socks pushed into her face doesn’t take away from the symbolism, at least if she doesn’t think too hard about it. She would have continued on her merry way, if it wasn’t for the goons.

E - from the imaginative working title 'steve thing' that wants to grow big:

Either by design or by accident, JARVIS was not forbidden from reporting, and Steve and Natasha both were given regular updates on what Tony was doing – watching the documentation, mostly, and drinking more coffee and vodka than any normal human should consume in a year. What JARVIS did not say was what his processors were doing while Tony did his complicated mourning. On the sixth day, Tony shot Clint with a tranquilizer dart by the coffee machine in the common area kitchen.

tagging: @mightymightygnomepriest @safelycapricious @flammenkobold @carcrash429 @katzynia

your word is: SHIFT

[naanima]

Oh, dear Ratboy. I really like it when he does long podcasts. It helps that he can communicate. Interview starts around the 1h.11sec mark. Dot points things of interest:

He has finished moving from Calgary completely, doesn't even have winter clothes anymore. LOLs.

When he first arrived in Florida he was happy to take a backseat, but the team wanted him to get involved in the leadership group.

He really loves living in Florida.

VGK was the best team they played. Boston & Vegas were very similar. Talks about how Boston slapped them during two of the regular season games, but they played really well against them for the other two games. And that's why he had the belief they could win. OMFG. He fucked up by jumping on the ice and got the penalty LOLs. It was all his fault.

He thinks players who come through in OT etc are the ones who want the puck on their stick. Good or bad they will need to be able to live it.

His dad always preached live in front of the net. Take some physical abuse in the games, earn it to score. Can't get your stick tied up. He learns a lot from Brady when it comes to spinning it off and getting it into the net. Watches every one of Brady's games.

When he switched to the Right Wing he watched a lot of vids of good right wing players.

Evolved as a player year to year. Same mindset as when he was a kid, "screw you I'm getting that puck." Paul gets on him when he gets into a bit of a shoving match on ice with guys he shouldn't. LOLS.

Offseason - earlier was PT, playing catch-up in strength, conditioning wise more cardio in the hopes to play more mins and faster. He feels he is better prepared this season. He is back to 100%.

Microphones on ice - good for the game. NHL gotta do a better job. It is evolving more via the players and teams. Players don't like it too much bcos they would feel like walking on eggshells. If it is used properly it can grow the game.

Wedding vids - makes athletes look crazier than they are.

Media/SocMed blowing things up. Keith talking about his team being "soft' - he was pissed bcos of how it got blown up. They had a chance to be in the playoffs and then they lost four games in a row. Ouch.

His current health - "Everything feels great." He didn't realise he broke his sternum, he thought maybe a collarbone, it wasn't how hard the hit was, it was the spot. He had to leave the game bcos he had to do concussion protocol. Game 3 didn't really hit him how bad he was. After the game he was not feeling great. Drove home that night with a sling, probably shouldn't have done that. The next morning he couldn't get out of bed. The day after he had to call Brady to help him get up, he couldn't even remember if he had a shower. LOLs. During one of the scrums he couldn't even really grab people's jerseys.

Getting into fights etc. Not that they want to get into a fight, it is more that they just hate losing. LOLs.

Sticking Jonathan Quick - doesn't know what happened, he has no excuses. He is not a fan of goalies that play out of their creases.

Buddies with Auston Matthews & other hockey players. It is the game. He would run almost everybody... except Brady for a lot of reasons, one of them being Brady would take him down. Lols.

Olympics & World's etc - a shame that they can't play together. It is sad. His first dream is to win a Stanley Cup, and then to win for the US with his brother.

Right now - being down in Florida outside; jetskis etc. Not going to buy a boat. Love hanging out with his family and friends. He used to not like the beach at all, but now he is there all the time. He is not into nice cars. Only into golf and stuff on the waters. No gators close to his house, they are close to the rink (wtf).

Him changing team - talked to Calgary that he wasn't gonna sign a long-term contract, worked together with the team, and with permission he had one week to talk to a handful of teams. Came down to Carolina, St Louis' and Florida. He just wanted to learn everything he could before he made the decision.

Going back to Florida in a few days.

Taryn is doing great, was injured last year/season and when she came back she was great.

Invited to 6 weddings, attended 4.

Jack Eichel - his hit. Haven't seen the video.

Fav goal in the playoffs - when Cousins scores. The Carolina one.

Barky is so chill, he thinks Barky is the best player he ever played with/seen. Loves watching Barky playing, during training he learns from him.

Scoring between his legs, his dad was pissed. LOLs. He used to do a lot of trick stuff, flipping his picks etc. He remembers watching Kane and Crosby doing it when he was growing up.

He will chat with his dad after games, and nowadays his dad trusts him.

He thinks Brady is great, a great scorer. Brady's goal is to get the team into the playoffs. Ottawa loves Brady, he is a god there. They treat him and his family well bcos of Brady.

His parents come to Taryn, Brady and his games etc.

It is fascinating to me that Matthew is so very much, "I did this", 'it is my fault", "we didn't play well enough", "the other team is better" etc.

I typed this as I was listening to this so there will be mistakes. LOLs.