#i mean what do i know i didn't pay attention to them or anything i just rmr them from x factor

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

slash x fem reader where she thinks theres something wrong with her because shes a virgin because she refused to sleep with people because she could never pleasure herself and didnt want to make them feel bad by just laying there but then she lets slash touch her and slash does stuff and shes like wow

A/n: oddly enough I have a Dave ask very similar to this one

Warnings: Smut, fingering (f receiving), loss of virginity, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You were sitting on the couch with Slash doing your own thing while he was watching something on the TV. You weren't really paying attention to it and evidently Slash wasn't either, his hand lazily finding your thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze.

It wasn't really that bad so you just cuddled closer to him, assuming that's what he wanted. A few minutes later and you were in his lap, nothing unusual there since he could be clingy when he wanted to be -or rather the weight was nice when he was zoning out.

Occasionally he would kiss you but over the next few minutes his hands started rubbing your sides, moving lower and lower until they got to the waistband of your sweats. "Slash," you said, voice soft. You placed your hands over his and looked back at him. "What're you doing?"

"Nothing." He said, barely sparing you a glance. "What was I doing?" Your cocked your head at him, giving his hand a gentle smack. He let out a soft chuckle and kissed the back of your neck. "Alright, well, what's so wrong about that?" He asked, pulling you tighter to him.

You let out a heavy sigh and shrugged. "Nothing, I guess..." You mumbled, watching his hands inch further down. "Stop." You said, and he did, though he was pouting behind you.

"Why, what's wrong?" He asked, leaning forward to see your face, making sure you were ok.

"Just... stop." You said, brushing his hands off your stomach. He huffed and kept his arms wrapped tight around you. "You know why."

Slash chewed his cheek, you were a virgin, that was the reason you gave him, never told him why and he didn't really ask past 'can you still blow me'. "Are you waiting for marriage or something?" You and Slash hadn't been dating all that long, a few months now, almost half a year. To his credit Slash had been patient, he wasn't usually, his libido was high and you were just sitting there so pretty all the time...

"No, ew." You mumbled, leaning back into him, getting more comfortable in his lap. You took a deep breath before continuing. "It's just... I've never, like, you know." You said, gesturing vaguely.

Slash blinked at you. "You've never... what? You've never had sex, so what? There's always now." He said with a teasing grin, squeezing your hips gently.

You looked back to the TV, slumping slightly. "I've never cum before." You mumbled, sinking in on yourself.

Slash raised a brow at you. "And?"

"And?" You repeated, looking back at him.

"And what?" He asked. "That can't be it, you've never gotten off before? That's your big secret?" You thought about it for a moment, saying repeating it back to yourself it really was a non issue and you nodded but still. Slash scoffed. "Jesus, tell me when you kill someone." You smacked his shoulder, drawing a laugh from him.

He pulled you closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. "Doesn't matter to me, you know." He said, switching his attention to the screen. "Just means I get to be the first to make you cum." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he said it.

You stared at the TV a few feet away, getting comfortable in his arms. "Some women can't, you know." You said softly. "Just doesn't happen." Again Slash scoffed, this time reaching down and spreading your legs.

"That's bullshit." He said. "You really need someone to show you it's not true?" You closed your legs again but he kept his hands on your knees.

"No, it-it's not that, I think."

"Then what is it?" You looked back at him, chewing your cheek. You knew you had to tell him now, there was no getting around it.

"It-it's not just that I've never made myself... finish." You said, cheeks heating up at the topic of conversation. "Like, actually doing it and stuff just doesn't feel good..."

For a moment neither of you said anything, then Slash pulled you back with him, letting out a heavy sigh. "If all you're worried about is my ego getting hurt by not making you cum I don't see why I can't still touch you." He mumbled, pulling your head to his shoulder.

"Seriously?" You asked. "That's what you got from what I said?"

He thought for a moment before shrugging. "I mean, I won't if you don't want me to, I'm just saying it's fun to play with while I'm watching TV." He said, rubbing your thigh again, urging your legs to open for him.

You thought for a moment, staring at the screen. "That's weird, Slash, don't say stuff like that." He chuckled but continued to rub on you, hand slipping between your legs. You let him because Spongebob was coming on and he was bound to get distracted.

You let him rub you through your sweat, it felt as usual, weird and a little uncomfortable but you let him continue.

His hand slipped under your waistband, tracing your panties. You felt a flutter in your gut but brushed it off, inhaling softly and adjusting in Slash's hold. He pecked your cheek, fingers finding your clit. He was gentle, not really paying any attention to what he was doing and just toying with you, but you were definitely paying attention now.

Your breathing was getting heavy, face flushed as his fingers ran over you, rubbing your clit in circles through the thin, now wet fabric of your panties. "Slash..." You breathed, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck.

"Feels good?" He asked, looking over you with a small smile. You nodded against him and he pulled his hands away, pushing your sweats and panties off so he could see just how good you felt. "Look at that~" He purred, pushing a finger through your folds to gather your juices. "Just needed someone who knew what they were doing, didn't you?" He brought his hand to your mouth and had you suck yourself off of him.

Your grabbed his wrist and brought his hand back to your cunt. "Please, don't stop." You'd never had someone made you feel good, it was mostly your fault but this was still a new feeling, and you knew what it was, what it would lead to. You were more than ready to finally feel that bliss.

Slash didn't protest, happy to accept your request and keep playing with you while he watched his show. He pushed a finger into you, your back arched and a gasp left you, legs spreading, begging for more.

He started thrusting his digit in and out of you slowly, making sure you felt it every time his knuckle left or pushed in. It was only a little stretch but it was definitely something. When he curled his fingers you nearly broke.

It took him a minute to find that spongey spot but when he did he started moving his hand faster, hitting that same spot repeatedly while your moans got louder, filling the living room while he just sat there, a grin spread over his face. The TV was falling into the background now, he was more interested in watching your expressions, the shock at how good it could really feel.

Knowing this was your first time and he shouldn't make you do too much he didn't, he kept a rhythm he liked and hit the same spot over and over, watching your face contort in pleasure. "Slash, it-it feels weird." You mumbled, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"It's supposed to." He assured, kissing down your neck. "Just let it happen, gonna cum soon and it's gonna feel so good." He mused, sucking on a sensitive spot he knew you liked.

You were clenching around his finger, sucking it in. Your leg pulled up, you didn't know why but it did, and it felt better this way, leaving you more open for him. Your hands tightened, clawing at the air around you while your mouth open and closed, blubbering like a fish but no sounds came out at you came.

Your eyes rolled back, a wave of heat and pleasure flooding over you. Slash didn't stop, letting you ride it out. When you came down from it he pulled his finger out of you, making you whine, and he brought it to his own lips, sucking you off of him now. "Mmh... salty." He mumbled, kissing your cheek. Your breathing was still heavy, your mind a little foggy, but you knew what you wanted.

You looked up at him, eyes struggling to focus on him. "Do more."

[fookinhellcurlyyy]

What are your thoughts on the theory that harry is leaving the Azoffs? Personally, I don't think he is leaving them because he seems to be good friends with Jeff, but I don't know. Things are weird lately.

Also, do you think he is leaving Columbia/Sony? There's no announcement of a renewal, but he was seen with Strnger last year. They seem to get along.

Hi, Anon!

Before I answer, I just wanna say that I’m still not as well-versed as others when it comes to contracts, so my points are based on what’s been discussed so far and what I personally agree with.

I don't know for sure, but I do think it’s kinda sus that H's name keeps popping up and being falsely used—twice already this year, with both FireAid and The Sphere (like Gina @twopoppies mentioned recently).

And another curious thing would be a certain discussion brought up in a group chat I am included in, and it was right after The Sphere denial news broke out. It was pointed out that in Variety500's update last December 18, 2024, neither Jeff Az*ff nor Irving Az*ff's profile mentioned H, and vice versa. That made me curious, though I wasn't able to pay attention much because of all the content we've gotten for the past week at least lol

Anyway, I started digging tonight after I saw your anon message (I wanted to collect my thoughts as much as possible and be coherent despite knowing little), to see if maybe they never really mentioned each other in past updates anyway—and maybe, it really doesn't mean anything.

Here's a breakdown of what I found (focusing on H and Jeff):

Harry — 2022, 2023, and 2024 Variety500 Honoree

I couldn't find H's 2023 profile, but his both 2022 and 2024, no label/management were mentioned.

Jeff — 2021, 2022, 2023, and 2024 Variety500 Honoree

For Jeff, H was mentioned in 2021 (his roster of music stars including H), 2022 (H's MSG permanent banner), and 2023 (speculations of his 'flagship artist' - H - possibly doing a residency at The Sphere in the future, which popped up again this year).

I think what made it more curious is that in Jeff's 2024 profile, there was a part that says "Jeffrey Azoff works with many of the company’s artists, including Lizzo, the Eagles, John Mayer and Jon Bon Jovi and U2." It could just be because he wasn’t as active last year and wasn’t considered “mention-worthy” for the profile this time around? Not sure. Either way, I found it very curious because H’s influence and visibility remained strong, even while he was on a well-deserved break. I didn't want to think much of it at first, but the more I sat with it, the more interesting it seemed—again, very curious.

I was debating if this is worth mentioning at this point but maybe it's good to share it anyway to get other people's opinion? I also asked Paz @hoovesandfloorpaws about it since they've been building a career/business masterpost and might be able to provide insights. 🥹

It might be nothing tbh. But saving all of these here anyway! 😂

And I think, even if H decides (or has already decided) not to renew his contract, that doesn’t necessarily mean we'd completely see the Az*ffs or the Str*ngers out of his life—especially since the music industry is such an interwoven web of personalities. And he might make different career moves but remain friends or at least be on decent terms with Jeff, imo.

[lukesvangelista]

𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐀, 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐍' 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐘ʲᵈ²¹

in which joe goes out of his way to make sure you don't feel alone as you navigate recovery from surgery.

warnings; hip surgery, surgery recovery, mentions of joe's injury a couple years back

The athletic lounge was its usual chaotic mess of half-empty protein shake bottles, scattered hockey bags, and boys sprawled out across couches, chairs, and stools, recovering from lifting earlier that morning. The TV was on, playing a muted ESPN highlight reel, and the air smelled like a mix of sweat, coffee, whatever breakfast food was being served, and whatever Logan had decided to mix into his protein shake - probably something with an excessive amount of caffeine.

Joe sat lazily on his stool, a half-eaten plate of eggs, fruit, and cottage cheese pancakes in front of him. His phone was in his hand, but he wasn't really looking at it. The familiar post-lift exhaustion had settled deep in his muscles, but it was the good kind - the kind that left him know he'd put in the work that morning. Jake was sitting beside him, his elbows resting on his knees, lazily scrolling through something on his own phone. He wasn't really paying attention to anything in particular.

It was a rare moment of downtime before the rest of the day caught up with them - classes, team meetings, a skate later in the afternoon. The guys around them were talking about anything and everything - last night's game, assignments they hadn't started, what food was going to be ordered for dinner, etc.

It wasn't until Kristoffer spoke up that the atmosphere shifted.

"You guys hear about what happened to Y/N Y/L/N?"

The words hung in the air for a second before Jake lifted his head, "What do you mean?"

Kristoffer exhaled, leaning back against the couch, his arm draped over the top as he scrolled through his phone, "I heard Emma Peschel talking about it when she left the weight room this morning. Said Y/N got absolutely leveled in their last game. Right into the boards, from behind."

Joe's fingers tightened around his phone as he finally looked up to meet Kristoffer's eyes. Across from him, Logan frowned, sitting up straighter, "What?"

Kristoffer shook his head, and what he said next made Joe's blood run cold, "Apparently it fucked up her hip pretty badly. She had surgery a few days ago."

For a second, no one said anything. Then Patrick let out a low whistle, his voice soft but disbelieving, "That's brutal."

Jake's jaw tightened. What kind of hit does that much damage?

Kristoffer didn't reply to Patrick right away. Instead, he unlocked his phone, pulled up Twitter, and turned it towards the group of boys who had now huddled close together to see, "Some unofficial Ohio State updates account posted the highlight."

Joe leaned in - along with Jake, Patrick, Logan, Damien, and Chris - as Kris hit play. The footage wasn't fantastic - a little grainy, but Big10 Network could be like that sometimes - but it was clear enough. You were flying up the ice, cutting toward the offensive zone, completely locked in on the play. Your strides were fast and strong, your stick handling some of the smoothest the boys had ever seen. You weren't bracing for impact because you didn't see it coming.

Then, out of nowhere, a Minnesota player came charging in from behind.

The hit was brutal. Full-speed, straight into the boards. Your body folded awkwardly on impact, your legs kicking out from under you. You went down hard, barely moving after, but the boys (especially Joe, who had flinched so hard that his brother looked over at him in concern) winced as your singular cry of echoed through the now practically silent rink.

"Holy shit," Damien muttered. Chris exhaled next to him, a hand running through his brown hair.

Patrick shook his head, "Dude, not only is that extremely fucking dirty, it's extremely fucking dangerous!"

Jake had snatched Kristoffer's phone out of his hand, watching the replay again, his jaw tightened even more than he thought was possible, "How the hell do you even let that happen? That is textbook boarding. How does a ref miss that?"

Logan leaned forward, his hands now resting on his knees, "Please tell me there was at least a call on the play."

Kristoffer shook his head, "No clue if the refs did anything about it. Don't know if the NCAA reviewed it either. Emma was talking about something, but I couldn't hear her."

Damien scoffed, "There better have been some kind of suspension for that."

Joe didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He knew exactly what kind of hit that was. Knew what it did to a body. Knew the helpless feeling of waking up after surgery and realizing everything was about to get a whole lot harder before it got better. He remembered the way it felt when he'd been the one laid up, recovering. The way every single movement had hurt. The way basic things - standing, walking, even simply existing - had felt impossible. The way he cried because his parents were back in New Hampshire, and the way Jake had comforted him when the pain had become too much.

But you didn't have a sibling at Ohio State. And you didn't have parents in Ohio, either.

The motion of Chris leaning back against the couch shook him out of his thoughts, "She still in the hospital?"

Kristoffer shook his head, "Nah, she got back to her apartment last night. She's on crutches for awhile, though. Apparently it's like, a six month recovery timeline."

Joe exhaled, stretching his legs as best as he could from the stool he was still sitting on, but his mind was somewhere else again.

He remembered crutching around campus - how slow everything felt, how impossible it was to move through crowds, how people brushed past like he wasn't even there. The way doorways suddenly felt like obstacles, how uneven sidewalks became death traps, how exhaustion hit twice as fast when every step took twice the effort.

How isolating it was.

As much as it sucked, the worst part wasn't the pain. It wasn't even the frustration of not being able to do normal things.

It was how alone it made him feel.

And now you were going through that.

Joe stayed quiet as the conversation eventually shifted, the guys moving on to talk about practice, school, weekend plans. He knew he should be paying attention, but he wasn't. Because in his head, he'd already made up his mind.

He didn't say anything to the guys. But tomorrow, when you showed up on campus, struggling to crutch around like he knew you would be, you weren't going to be doing it alone.

Before he even realized what he was doing, he was already making his way toward the trainer's office.

The training room was quiet when Joe walked in. Jason, the athletic trainer for the team, was typing something into his computer when he glanced up.

Joe didn't waste any time, "Hey, do you have an extra pair of crutches?"

Jason raised an eyebrow, "You planning on breaking something?"

"No, Jake tripped over the table in the lounge and can't currently put weight on his ankle."

"What?!"

Joe huffed a laugh, "Relax. Jake's fine. I just need a pair."

"You are a fucking asshole, Dunlap!"

Jason studied him for a second before speaking again, "But yes, we've got spares. Why?"

Joe hesitated, not really knowing how to explain it, "Just figured I might need them."

Jason gave him an odd look but didn't push, "Alright. They're in the back closet."

Joe nodded, thanking him, and went to grab a pair. As he lifted them from the rack, he already knew that people were going to give him shit for this. The chirps were inevitable. His teammates were going to call him soft, say he was whipped, probably make a joke about how he was trying to impress you. But this wasn't about that.

This was about knowing what it felt like to struggle through the huge fucking campus alone, to feel like every single step was a battle, to want someone to just get it.

He knew what that felt like, and he wasn't going to let you go through that alone.

The next day, campus was its usual mess of students rushing between classes, bundled up against the biting Columbus morning cold. The wind had a sharp edge to it, the kind that cut through even the thickest layers of clothing and made the long walks between buildings feel like a battle. For most people, it was just an inconvenience - something to complain about before heading inside to the warmth of a lecture hall.

For you, it was hell.

You were exhausted already, and it wasn't even 10:00 in the morning. The crutches you'd been forced to use since your surgery were stiff under your hands, digging into your palms and straining your shoulders with every step. The rhythmic thud of rubber against pavement had become an annoying, constant reminder of how much slower you moved now.

It wasn't just the physical struggle that frustrated you, though. It was everything. The way people pushed past you like you were nothing more than an obstacle, barely giving you space to move. The way some people shot you sympathetic glances like you were some tragic case. The way every simple task now required double the effort.

You were so caught up in your irritation that you didn't notice someone approaching you from behind.

"Hey, wait up!"

You barely had time to react before someone fell into step beside you. You turned your head and nearly stumbled in confusion.

Joe Dunlap.

On crutches?

You blinked hard, half-convinced you were imagining things.

Joe was part of the men's hockey team. You knew him, but not well. The two of you had talked a few times here and there - mostly in passing, before or after practices, or at the occasional team event where the men's and women's teams overlapped. He was always fine. Not rude, not overly friendly, just kinda there. If you had to describe your guys' relationship, it would be nothing more than surface level.

Which is why the fact that he was now crutching alongside you made absolutely no sense.

Your immediate instinct was that you must have missed something. Maybe he had gotten hurt, and you'd just been too caught up in your own situation to notice. But no. He was moving too easily, his pace too controlled, too smooth. You recognized the actual struggle of being on crutches, and Joe clearly wasn't dealing with it.

Which begged the question: "What the hell are you doing?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

Joe smirked, shifting his grip on the crutches, "Misery loves company."

You stared at him, then at the crutches, and then back at him, "You do realize you don't need those, right?" you asked slowly, as if maybe he just hadn't figured it out yet.

Joe shrugged, "Never said I did."

You opened your mouth, and then closed it. You genuinely had no idea how to respond.

"So you're just... what? Choosing to suffer for fun?"

Joe let out a short laugh, "Something like that."

You stopped walking (or crutching, rather) for a second, forcing him to stop, too. You turned to face him fully, looking him up and down like you were trying to make sense of a particularly difficult math problem. “So let me get this straight,” you said, “You got up this morning, fully healthy, and thought, 'hey, you know what would be great? Using crutches for no reason'?��

Joe smirked, “That about sums it up.”

You exhaled sharply, pressing your lips together in frustration. “Jesus Christ,” you muttered, shaking your head as you started moving again.

Joe didn’t seem fazed. He just crutched along beside you, completely unfazed by the fact that you still had no idea what to make of him.

The two of you moved together in silence for a moment, navigating the mess of students swarming through campus. People still rushed past you both without looking, but Joe’s presence made it slightly easier - whether you liked it or not, he created a buffer, making it so that you weren't the only one people had to avoid.

It didn’t take long for your curiosity to get the better of you.

“So what, you’re just gonna do this all day?” you asked, still baffled.

Joe shrugged, "Maybe.”

You let out an incredulous laugh, “You’re an idiot.”

“Probably,” he admitted easily.

You shook your head, adjusting your grip on your crutches. Your shoulders were already aching, but at least now you had something else to focus on besides your frustration.

You guy walked - well, crutched - for a bit longer before Joe spoke again, “I had the same surgery, you know.”

That caught you off guard.

You glanced at him, “Yeah?”

Joe nodded, “A couple of years ago. Messed up my hip, had to get surgery, spent way too much time stuck on crutches,” he exhaled, “Sucked.”

You let out a short laugh, “Yeah. No kidding.”

Joe smirked again, the corners of his mouth upturned in a small upward grin, “Figured you’d get it.”

You paused again. You just weren't sure what to say. You still didn’t understand what he was doing - why he cared enough to do something this ridiculous - but you didn’t hate it. It was just weird.

The two of you weren’t close. You guys weren’t the kind of friends who texted or hung out. Your interactions had always been casual, fleeting, nothing that would ever suggest that he’d go out of his way to do something like this.

And yet, here he was.

“You’re actually serious about this, aren’t you?” you asked, glancing over at him.

Joe smiled, “What gave it away?”

You shook your head, “You know there were like, a thousand easier ways to be a decent person, right?”

Joe grinned, “Yeah, but this way is more fun.”

“For who?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He tilted his head, pretending to think about it, but the answer came easily, “Me.”

You rolled her eyes, “You’re an idiot.”

“We already covered that.”

You both stayed silent for a bit after he spoke. You weren't sure how, but somehow, this was the most normal you'd felt since surgery. Joe didn’t say anything else after that. He just kept crutching beside you, step for step, through the chaos of campus.

The two of you kept crutching along, falling into an easy rhythm. It was strange, really. Joe had been a near-stranger to you before today, just someone you'd had a few casual conversations with at team events, maybe a passing nod at the rink. But now, here you two were, making your way across campus like you'd been doing this forever.

You still didn’t quite know what to make of it.

Joe, for his part, didn’t seem to expect anything from you. He wasn’t making a big deal out of it, wasn’t hovering like he thought you were fragile. He was just there, matching your pace, keeping you company.

And, as much as you hated to admit it, it actually helped.

The weight of all the frustration you'd been carrying since surgery - the helplessness, the irritation at how slow everything was, the exhaustion from having to adjust to this new reality - felt just a little lighter with him beside you.

Maybe it was because he understood.

Maybe it was because, despite your initial confusion, it was actually kind of nice having someone by your side who wasn’t rushing ahead, who wasn’t looking at you like you were some kind of inconvenience.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was because Joe Dunlap was actually a decent guy.

You weren't ready to say that out loud just yet, though.

As the two of you neared the entrance of one of the main buildings, Joe finally broke the silence, "But for real,” he said, his voice more serious now, “if you ever need anything - help getting around, carrying stuff, running late to class - just let me know.”

You glanced over at him, eyebrows raised, “So now you’re my personal assistant?”

Joe smirked, “I wouldn’t go that far. Just figured I’d offer.”

You huffed out a small laugh, “You sure you wanna do that? I might just take you up on it, Dunlap.”

Joe smiled brightly, his brown eyes twinkling in the sun, “Good. I wouldn't have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

You didn’t respond right away. It was weird, how easy this was. How normal it felt, despite the fact that you two weren’t really friends - at least, not in the traditional sense. But for some reason, you believed him.

You weren't used to people outside of your team offering help without making a big show of it.

Joe had just done it. No hesitation, no expectation of anything in return. Maybe that’s what made it different.

You guys reached the building, and Joe pulled the door open, stepping aside so you could crutch through first. You gave him a skeptical look as she passed.

“You better not be planning to do this everyday.”

Joe laughed quietly, “No promises.”

You rolled her eyes, but there was something almost amused in the way you shook your head.

“Idiot,” you muttered.

“Again, we already covered that,” Joe shot back.

You bit back a grin.

Maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t mind if he did keep this up.

a/n; thanks to rey (@fantillisgirl) for enlightening my slight joe obsession! hope you all enjoy :)

[muiitoloko]

Hi! I wonder if you could write Alex Hughes has a crush on reader but too shy to make a move because she’s a lot younger than him and he’s man with the past.🥺

hope you have a good day🫶🏻💘💖

Title: Trouble Next Door

Summary: She was a walking temptation, and Alex was trying very hard to resist—but she made it damn near impossible.

Pairing: Alex Hughes × Fem! Reader

Warnings: improper language.

Author's Notes: Thanks for your request! I hope you like it. 🫶

Also read on Ao3

Alex took the glass from your hand, his fingers brushing yours briefly before he pulled away, lifting the lemonade to his lips. His hazel eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, a quiet gratitude in them that he didn’t voice. He never did.

You smiled at him, leaning against the counter as he stood to his full height, rolling his shoulders slightly after being cramped under your sink for the past half-hour. His glasses had slipped down his nose, and he pushed them back up absently, his hooked nose crinkling slightly as he did.

“You really didn’t have to do this,” you said, tilting your head as you sipped your own drink. “I would’ve called a plumber.”

Alex exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “It’s fine,” he muttered, his baritone voice low, rough at the edges. “Didn’t want you getting ripped off.”

That was true enough. But it wasn’t the whole reason.

The real reason was standing right in front of him, all bright eyes and easy warmth, and he was helpless against it. Against you.

It had been months now since you moved in next door, and in that time, you had made it infuriatingly difficult for him to keep his walls up. You were too kind, too welcoming, too damn beautiful. He’d learned quickly that you had an effortless way of making people feel at ease, of making even someone like him—someone with a past, someone who should know better—feel like he could belong somewhere again.

And maybe that was why he kept offering to help. Fixing your sink, carrying your groceries, checking in when you were sick. It was an excuse, really. A reason to be near you.

But it didn't mean anything, not really. Because what was he to you? Just a neighbor, a friend maybe, but nothing more.

You were young, with a whole future ahead of you, and Alex—Alex was a man with a past. A past that clung to him like smoke, no matter how far he tried to step away from it.

Alex turned his attention back to the sink, his hazel eyes flicking over his handiwork as he grabbed a cloth and wiped his hands clean. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if buying himself a moment before speaking.

“It’s fixed,” he muttered, setting the cloth aside and picking up his glass again. “Shouldn’t give you any more trouble, but if it leaks again, you know where to find me.”

You smiled, warmth filling your gaze as you leaned against the counter. “Thank you, Alex. Really.” Then, tilting your head slightly, you added, “So… how much do I owe you?”

Alex exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Nothing.”

You frowned. “Come on. You spent half an hour under my sink—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, his baritone voice firm but quiet. “I didn’t do it for money.”

You crossed your arms, challenging him. “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t pay you.”

Alex looked at you then, really looked at you, and there was something in his eyes—something unreadable, something restrained. “You don’t owe me anything,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He was stubborn.

And unfortunately for Alex, so were you.

“Fine,” you conceded, a playful glint in your eyes. “Then let me pay you another way.”

Alex stilled.

His fingers curled around his glass, his knuckles white as his mind immediately went straight to the gutter. Christ. His jaw clenched as he tried—tried—not to picture exactly what you might mean by that. What he wanted you to mean by that.

His pulse kicked up, the memory of your fingers brushing against his earlier suddenly feeling much more significant. You were younger, vibrant, untouched by the kind of past that weighed him down. You deserved someone clean, someone without blood on his hands. Not a man who had seen the inside of a prison cell.

And yet, the way you looked at him—like he wasn’t just a man with a past, but a man who could still have a future—made something hot coil low in his stomach.

He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses as he forced himself to meet your eyes. “What… exactly do you mean by that?” he asked, voice rougher than he intended.

You blinked at him, then laughed—soft and teasing, completely unaware of the direction his mind had gone. “Relax, Hughes,” you grinned. “I just meant I’ll buy you some drinks.”

Alex felt heat creep up the back of his neck. Fucking hell. He ran a hand over his face, forcing himself to exhale slowly.

“There’s a beer festival in town this weekend,” you continued, oblivious to the inappropriate thoughts currently running rampant in his head. “I was already planning to go, but I don’t have any company. At least, not until now—if you say yes.”

Alex hesitated.

It wasn’t a bad idea. It wasn’t dangerous. And yet, the thought of spending an entire evening with you, drinking, laughing, being close—it was dangerous for him. Because he was already toeing a line he had no business crossing.

He swallowed, gripping the counter as if it could anchor him. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “It wouldn’t be good for a girl like you to go to a festival like that. There’ll be too many drunks.”

You scoffed, tilting your head at him. “I can handle myself.”

Alex arched a brow. “Is that right?”

You grinned, stepping just a little closer—enough that he could smell the faint traces of your perfume, enough that his breath hitched slightly before he forced himself to stay still. “If you don’t trust that,” you said, your voice dropping just enough to be dangerous, “then that’s all the more reason for you to come with me.”

Alex inhaled sharply. God, you were testing him, and you didn't even know it.

He shouldn't go; he shouldn't. But the idea of you being there alone, surrounded by men who would look at you the way he already did in secret—the thought sent something dark and possessive curling through his veins.

He shouldn’t go.

And yet, before he could stop himself, he found himself saying—

“…Fine.”

Your face lit up. “Really?”

Alex sighed, shaking his head. “Yeah. But only to keep an eye on you.”

You smirked, stepping back, that knowing look in your eyes again. “Whatever you say, Hughes.”

Alex groaned internally, already regretting it.

He was in so much trouble.

The weekend came quickly—too quickly, in Alex’s opinion. He spent the better part of the day questioning why he had agreed to this in the first place. A beer festival. With you. Alone.

Dangerous.

And yet, here he was, standing outside his house, waiting for you.

When he heard the low, rumbling growl of an engine, he frowned. Then, as you pulled up, straddling that thing, his frown deepened into something closer to horror.

A motorcycle.

He’d seen you riding it before, always shaking his head at how ridiculously dangerous it was. Every time he caught sight of you zipping through the streets, reckless and infuriatingly confident, he’d mutter under his breath about how young people had no self-preservation. And now, here you were, parking the damn thing right in front of him, swinging one leg over smoothly as you pulled off your helmet with a smug little smile.

“Hey, Hughes,” you greeted, your voice carrying that infuriatingly amused lilt.

Alex exhaled slowly through his nose. “You’re not serious.”

You grinned, dangling the spare helmet toward him. “Dead serious. Get on.”

Alex stared at you. Then at the helmet. Then back at you. “No.”

Your grin widened. “Oh, come on. It’s not like I’m asking you to jump out of a plane.”

Alex folded his arms across his chest, his baritone voice flat. “Who’s going to drive that thing if you get too drunk for it?”

You rolled your eyes. “If I get too drunk, I’ll take a taxi.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, Alex?” You tilted your head, teasing. “Scared?”

His jaw clenched, hazel eyes narrowing behind his glasses. He wasn’t scared. He was… concerned. There was a difference. “This is a death trap,” he muttered, eyeing the bike like it had personally offended him.

“Oh, come on.” You patted the seat behind you. “Live a little.”

“No.”

“Alex—”

“No.”

You let out a dramatic sigh. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m alive. That’s fun enough.”

You gave him an exaggerated look—all amusement and mischief and barely concealed challenge—but when it became clear that he wasn’t budging, you huffed in defeat. “Fine. Then I guess we’re taking your car.”

Alex exhaled in relief. “Much safer.”

“Much more boring.”

He ignored that, turning toward his car. “Come on.”

You followed, but not without one last glance at your bike, shaking your head. “Old man.”

Alex shot you a warning look. “I heard that.”

You grinned. “I wanted you to.”

He muttered something under his breath, opening the passenger door for you, trying very hard to ignore the way his chest tightened when you smiled at him before slipping inside.

This was already dangerous, and the festival hadn't even started yet.

The festival was exactly what Alex had expected—loud, chaotic, and filled with the kind of people who didn’t know their limits when it came to alcohol. And you? You were having the time of your life.

He watched you, his hazel eyes narrowed behind his glasses as you flitted from stall to stall, sampling different beers, laughing at something a vendor said, and throwing yourself into the crowd with an ease he could never muster. You were light, uninhibited, adventurous. And he was the man standing on the sidelines, making sure you didn’t get yourself into trouble.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Alex had barely taken a sip of his beer when you spotted something that made your eyes light up—a beer-drinking competition. His stomach tightened with foreboding the second you turned to him with that devilish grin.

“Oh, no,” he muttered, shaking his head before you even said a word.

“Oh, yes,” you countered, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the crowd gathering around a long wooden table. “Come on, Hughes. Live a little.”

“You said that about the death trap on wheels,” he reminded you flatly. “I said no to that, too.”

“And yet, here you are. At a beer festival. With me,” you teased, waggling your brows.

Before he could argue, you were already signing up, tossing a bill onto the growing pile of money in the center of the table. The crowd whooped as the competitors took their seats, and Alex sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. You were absolutely going to get yourself into trouble.

He didn’t even have time to figure out how he was going to stop it before the competition started. Huge men with beer bellies and cocky grins began chugging down massive steins of beer while the crowd hollered, cheering on their favorites. Alex stood back, arms crossed, watching in quiet amusement as you, easily the smallest competitor, downed your drink with a confidence that made the men around you nervous.

By the second round, you had bested two competitors. By the third, you were a crowd favorite. Money changed hands, shouts grew louder, and Alex, despite himself, felt a reluctant smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You were something else.

By the time you made it to the final round, facing off against a burly man with a Viking beard and arms like tree trunks, the entire festival seemed to be watching. The final steins were slammed onto the table, the countdown began, and Alex could see the sheer determination in your eyes.

You were going to win.

And you did.

With a triumphant gasp, you slammed your empty stein down before your opponent, tilting your head back as the crowd erupted into cheers. Alex shook his head, smiling despite himself as you wobbled slightly when you stood up, clearly feeling the effects of the alcohol. He stepped forward instinctively, steadying you with a hand on your arm.

“You are trouble,” he muttered, voice low.

You beamed up at him, your cheeks flushed with victory (and maybe a little too much beer). “But I won,” you slurred playfully.

“You’re lucky you can still stand,” Alex countered.

Before he could make you sit down and drink some water, a group of men approached, clapping you on the back, handing you money, congratulating you. It was all good fun until one of them, a tall, greasy-looking bastard, got too close.

Alex saw it before you even reacted. The man's hand, bold and presumptuous, slid over your hip. Your body tensed, a frown tugging at your lips, but before you could step away, Alex was already there. His grip on the man's wrist was tight, controlled.

Barely.

“Back off,” Alex growled, his baritone voice dangerously low.

The man scoffed, yanking his hand back, clearly irritated. “Relax, grandpa. Just congratulating the lady.”

Alex’s nostrils flared, his pulse hammering. The world around him blurred for a second, memories from years ago slamming into him like a fist. The bar. The idiot with the leering grin. The way his blood had felt, warm and slick, on Alex’s knuckles.

He could still hear the sound of that fatal hit; he could still hear the judge sentencing him. Alex’s fists clenched, his body coiled with restraint. One wrong move, one punch thrown, and he’d be right back where he started.

But the bastard was smirking now, emboldened by Alex’s hesitation. “What’s the matter, old man?” he taunted. “Not man enough to fight?”

Alex saw red; he took a step forward, his fists tightening—but before he could throw a punch, your hand grabbed his.

“Alex,” you whispered, voice urgent.

His breath hitched.

You weren’t afraid. You weren’t pleading. But there was something in your eyes, something steady, something knowing. You shook your head once.

Not like this.

And just like that, Alex forced himself to breathe, to unclench his fists, to step back.

But you weren’t done.

Before the bastard could gloat, you grinned, pointed dramatically to something behind the crowd, and gasped, “Oh my God, is that the mayor?”

Every head turned, including bastard’s. And that's when you grabbed Alex's hand and yanked him into a sprint. For a moment, Alex was too stunned to react. His feet stumbled before falling into step with yours, and then—then he was laughing.

The two of you ran through the festival like children playing hooky, weaving between booths and drunken festival-goers, ducking under banners, dodging confused security guards. You kept glancing back at him, your laughter ringing through the night, and Alex—Alex couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this light.

When you finally ducked into a quiet alley, panting and breathless, you collapsed against a wall, giggling. “That,” you wheezed, “was possibly the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”

Alex leaned beside you, shaking his head, still catching his breath. “I don’t doubt that.”

You turned your head to look at him, mischief still dancing in your eyes. “But admit it,” you teased. “That was fun.”

Alex exhaled a laugh, hazel eyes crinkling slightly behind his glasses. “You’re impossible.”

You grinned, nudging his shoulder. “And yet, you keep coming back.”

Alex barely managed to keep the car on the road as you belted out the words to some song that had absolutely no business being sung with that much passion. Your voice, a little off-key and exaggerated in your drunken enthusiasm, filled the small space of his car as you leaned against his shoulder, entirely unbothered by the fact that he was currently trying to drive.

“I waaaant it thaaaaaat way!” you wailed dramatically, gripping his sleeve like your very soul depended on it.

Alex exhaled through his nose, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, his baritone voice edged with strained patience. “Christ, love. That’s the fifth time you’ve sung that chorus.”

You gasped, clutching your chest as if he’d just insulted your entire existence. “Are you saying you don’t appreciate the lyrical genius of the Backstreet Boys?”

“I’m saying,” he muttered as he pulled into your driveway, “that if I hear one more note of that bloody song, I’ll walk into the sea.”

You let out a snort of laughter, slumping further against his shoulder as he shifted the car into park. “M’kay, fine. No more singing.” A beat passed. “Unless you wanna duet—”

“No.”

You pouted dramatically. “You’re so boring.”

Alex sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose before unbuckling his seatbelt. “And yet, here I am, ensuring you get home safely instead of leaving you passed out under some beer stall.”

“That’s why you’re my favorite,” you slurred with an affectionate nuzzle against his sleeve.

Alex froze.

His whole body went rigid, his pulse doing a strange little flip in his chest at the unexpected affection. He cleared his throat, very, very pointedly not reacting. “Come on, trouble. Let’s get you inside before you pass out in my car.”

You whined but let him coax you out of the car, though you immediately latched onto him like a limpet, making it nearly impossible for him to do anything remotely useful. “Hughes,” you mumbled, arms wrapped around his middle as he tried to balance your weight and fish your keys out of his pocket at the same time.

“Yes?” he muttered, struggling to keep you upright.

“You’re warm.”

He rolled his eyes, muttering, “Brilliant observation.”

“I like that about you.”

Alex inhaled sharply, fingers fumbling with your key as he tried very, very hard not to dwell on the way you said it—so soft, so unguarded. It made his throat go tight.

He managed—miraculously—to unlock your door without dropping you or, worse, succumbing to the ridiculous heat rising in his face. Pushing the door open, he helped you inside, steadying you as you wobbled into the living room.

“Alright, bed,” he instructed, trying to steer you toward the hallway.

But before he could take a step back, your fingers suddenly curled into the front of his jacket, yanking him forward with surprising strength. Before he could even register what was happening, your lips were on his.

Alex froze again.

For a moment, his brain completely short-circuited.

Your lips were soft. Warm. A little bit desperate. And God help him, for one insane second, he wanted to melt into it—to give in, to pull you closer, to let himself have this.

But he couldn’t.

With a sharp inhale, Alex forced himself to pull away, gripping your shoulders gently but firmly as he put space between you. “No,” he rasped, his baritone voice rough with restraint.

Your brow furrowed, eyes hazy with alcohol and confusion. “Why not?”

Alex let out a shuddering breath, his grip tightening just a little before he let go entirely. He stepped back, running a hand over his face. “Because,” he muttered, “you’re drunk.”

You huffed, crossing your arms in an adorably uncoordinated pout. “So?”

“So,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I’m not about to take advantage of that.”

You blinked up at him, considering this, before your lips curved into a lazy, teasing grin. “Hughes,” you drawled, “are you saying you want to kiss me? But only when I’m sober?”

Alex regretted everything.

“Bed,” he ordered gruffly, refusing to engage.

You giggled, but thankfully let him guide you toward your room without further attempts at seduction. He pulled the covers over you, tucking you in with a sigh. Just as he turned to leave, your hand shot out, grabbing his wrist. Alex tensed.

You peeked up at him through heavy lids, voice softer now. “You don’t have to be scared, y’know.”

Alex swallowed hard. “I’m not scared.”

You hummed sleepily. “Liar.”

Alex sighed, shaking his head. “Sleep, trouble.”

You yawned, snuggling deeper into the blankets. “Fine. But only if you promise to think about kissing me tomorrow.”

He groaned, running a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ.” But as he closed the door behind him, a small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

He was in so much trouble.

[squidhominid]

The Wounds that Got Me Here: A story about my experience working for Lockstin

I have a story that I want to tell. A story I've told some people, in bits and pieces, but never really fully written out before. Given who the story involves, what their reputation is, I don't expect it to be fully believable. And because of that, I've spent years debating telling it. Afraid of being judged, of not being believed, of people thinking I'm just trying to tear someone down. I'm afraid people will think I'm overreacting, that what I experienced is 'just how the business works'. I'm afraid that they might be right.

But no matter what people think, it's the truth. I lived it. And I'm finally ready to share it, I think.

Not because I want to cancel anyone, this isn't a call-out post, but so I can share my story and heal.

CWs: discussion of underpaid creative work and inappropriate content involving minors

The story starts in late 2017, during Sac Gamers Expo. I had heard that Arlo had somehow gotten hold of copies of the Splatoon 2 Sound Selection vinyl, an extremely rare piece of Splatoon merchandise even now, originally only sent to members of the gaming press, and was giving them out. I was an avid collector of modern vinyl, as well as an avid Splatoon fan, and had been trying to track a copy down ever since it was known they existed. I begged my dad, desperately, to take me, even though it was a hell of a drive from San Diego to Sacramento, and, once I communicated to him just how rare this was and just how much I wanted it, he agreed.

While I was there, I had the chance to meet Lockstin, a YouTuber who I was a huge fan of at the time. Knowing he'd done a Splatoon video recently, and knowing his channel had gotten its initial start doing Game Theory counterpoint videos, I urged him to do a 'are Inklings actually made of ink' video, given this was a sticking point in the fandom, as well as due to personal frustration with MatPat for his 'are Inklings kids or squids' video. I saw value in trying to discuss the 'actual question', rather than the question MatPat had asked, in the process hopefully clarifying a widespread lore misconception, and I thought it was a topic his channel would do justice.

He said he'd think about it.

A month or two later I messaged him on Discord, asking if he had given it any more thought. He admitted that he didn't know anything about Splatoon, that his previous attempt to write on the games hadn't performed well, and that, and this isn't an exact quote, 'if I wanted to see it made, I'd have to write it myself', meaning I could write the script and sell it to him.

The Splatoon video they had done by that point, to be honest, was terrible. It was extremely poorly researched, and took what was in-universe meant to be propaganda, information from an unreliable narrator, at face value, building its thesis on the idea Grizzco presents to the player that Salmonids were just dumb animals. I knew that, if things were really this dire, I had to do this. I had to 'right the wrong' that was the quality of Lockstin's Splatoon content. So I took him up on his offer. We made a handshake deal, that I would write scripts for a cut of ad revenue. What 'a cut of ad revenue' meant, what percentage it would be, a payment schedule, none of it was ever specified. Just 'a cut of ad revenue'.

It took around a month of workshopping after that, but once I had a solid idea for a first video, I threw myself into the work. For two weeks, during my computer science lectures at community college, rather than paying attention to the lectures I'd be researching for the video I was writing. Two weeks of work.

I made $89. And in the meantime, I got some…pointed messages from friends.

See, for the thumbnail, he used key art from Octo Expansion. It had just been announced a couple months prior, so he probably thought it would grab attention, even though it wasn't really related to the topic of the video.

The problem was what art he used, and how he used it.

He had put, front and center, Agent 8, a canonically 16 year old character, in a piece of art showing her with splotches of ink on her. Except, he had photoshopped the ink splotches to be white. And then he added key art of Cap'n Cuttlefish from Octo Expansion, lurking in the background, positioned such to look like he was looking at Agent 8.

People who knew I had the gig, who I had excitedly told I was working for Lockstin, blamed me for the thumbnail. I told them I had nothing to do with it. I confronted Lockstin, since the original thumbnail he showed me before the video went up didn't have the 'white ink' edit. His response? To attribute the video's success partially to the thumbnail, and that he "could always swap it real quick if it [got] out of hand".

He never did. The white ink thumbnail is still up, to this day. And this wasn't an isolated incident; he has a pattern even now, years later, of using sexual clickbait in his thumbnails, because it's what 'works'. Even though the videos really don't need it. Even though, in my opinion, they're undermined by it.

In the time following that, I built a small team of Splatoon lore obsessive friends to work on the videos together. And Lockstin came to me with a question. He had a long-running series on his channel, 'Why do X have breasts', meant to analyze and apply actual scientific reasoning to humanity's propensity to put breasts on non-human and even non-mammalian characters, and he wanted to know if I could think of a way to make that work for Splatoon. I initially turned the idea down, saying I couldn't think of a way to make it work. Until someone on his Discord server came to me with the seed of an idea, and me and my team started mulling it over, and I realized that I had a way to turn the topic into something else.

Something that took the idea of 'Why do X have breasts', the sexualization, the clear fetishization by people who wanted to see that video made, and turn it on its head.

I came up with a theory merging female empowerment with body horror, something I thought would be unsettling to those who showed up for sexual gratification. The idea that the breasts were really musculature around the ink sac, enabling female Inklings and Octolings to be superior fighters in a society that, even in canon, seems to be dominated by strong women.

Of course, people didn't see it that way. I forgot, or perhaps was even baited into by the member on his Discord server, that people with buff-women fetishes would find that take on the idea more exciting than disconcerting. That's something I'm not proud of, even if I'm proud of, overall, snatching female empowerment from the jaws of misogyny.

The video made me $60. Even less, because I split the money between me and my collaborators. In the years since, this has become the best performing of all of the videos I wrote for the channel.

In the meantime, he came to me asking if I would be willing to work on non-Splatoon content, floated to me an idea he'd been workshopping about making a channel focused on western animation. He wanted to keep me on as a writer, even as it was clear Splatoon content wasn't as lucrative, for me or for him, as the other work his channel was doing. I told him I wasn't sure, but offered a Steven Universe theory that I had written the year prior, for a channel that never happened. His response was that he didn't want to involve himself in that fandom for drama reasons, which I agreed with, and we never spoke again about it.

Next, I was told that I had to write a video under a strict deadline; they had a sponsorship from Splatoon Amino, and the video had to be done by a certain date. Me and one of my collaborators, also credited on the end card alongside me, cranked out a video on why Inklings and Octolings die in water. It didn't perform amazingly, but I still made… $92. More than I expected, and I chalked this up to the sponsorship. Again, I split the money, because I felt that was the right thing to do.

Then came the video I'm the most proud of. I came across a theory on Reddit about Splatoon 3, based on evidence found in the at the time new Salmon Run stage, Ruins of Ark Polaris. I messaged the creator of the theory asking if I could use it as the basis for a YouTube video, and was told I could. I built on top of it a larger theory, that ended up getting quite a lot right about what Splatoon 3 would be, almost a full year before the New Years 2020 'Save Our Salmons' art where Nintendo made a direct point of Splatoon 3 involving Salmonids.

I made… $35. And for my trouble? Another sexualized thumbnail, with the focal point of the thumbnail being the Smash Ultimate render of the Splatoon Wii U default Inkling Girl, a 14 year old character, having eaten the Spicy Curry item, edited to make her blush more intense. The implications are plain to intuit.

And, this video had unseen effects. In all of my scripts, I would make meticulous notes, of sources, of evidence. In that video, I had cited a translation I came across on Tumblr, belonging to an at the time smaller creative voice, Rassicas. The translation was used in the video as I wrote it, but no citation was given. Rassicas, for their part, for years thought 'Lockstin stole their work'. They have cited not wanting that to happen to them ever again, to stand on their own merits rather than others benefit from their work, as one of the reasons they started their YouTube channel to begin with, with them now considered by the fandom to be the definitive, authoritative voice in the community on Splatoon lore, especially lore that is exclusive to the Japanese text.

For my part, years later when I found this out, I apologized. I even wrote a public apology, taking full accountability, because I had forgotten IF I had credited them or not. When I looked at the script, and found out that I in fact had, and that it was his choice to strip that out, I told them immediately. We were both livid at the revelation.

Then came my final video, and the one I'm the least proud of. One of my team shared a meme that had been blowing up on /r/Splatoon, comparing Inkling and Octoling ear shapes to the mantles of actual squid and octopuses, pointing out that the idols' ear shapes corresponded more to the mantle shape of cuttlefish. We realized it for what it was, a joke, but realized there was an opportunity for an actual video there. I mean, hell, we know cuttlefish Inklings exist thanks to Octo Expansion, so it wouldn't even be bending the canon all that badly. So we ran with it. Made a damn good video, I admit.

Too good. The fandom even now, five and a half years later, is convinced Callie and Marie are cuttlefish.

Lockstin did us another kindness, as well; at the end of the video he plugged a website that I had been putting together, now long-since defunct, for Splatoon lore investigations by my team that I didn't think could be made into videos, either due to the turnaround time required, the length, or the interest. Sending people off of his platform and onto ours. And, on top of the direct plug, the direct shout-out, this time the end card credited 'the team at Inktank.info'. It didn't credit us by name, like the prior videos. But in its place he actively was driving people to our platform instead of his. On the one hand, legitimizing our work as part of a team and a place. But at the same time, meaning our names weren't directly on the video this time. I have mixed feelings about this, but I'm willing to err on the side of leniency and say that wasn't his intention. He was trying to drive eyes to us and our efforts, uplift us as creators, like he had done for others by launching their careers.

And from the video we made $102. The most we made off of any video, even though it performed among the bottom two. I haven't mentioned it until now, but at some point it had been established that this was because Lockstin had been rolling forward ad revenue from past videos into payment for future videos. Unspoken was the fact that, if I wanted to keep making money on my old videos, I'd have to keep making new ones.

Again, I split the money. Even when I was making almost nothing, I wasn't going to let the people who helped me, the people who understood the things I didn't, go unpaid and uncredited. Multiple of the videos contained deep dives on topics like mollusk biology as part of their evidence, which were things I'd have no idea about on my own. Not paying them, not pushing Lockstin to credit them, would be laundering responsibility for the content I sold him, at best.

And, of course, another thumbnail scandal, again falling on me within my friend group. Lockstin had used a Garry's Mod fan render of Marie in the thumbnail, and people who knew I worked on it messaged me about him using stolen art. I ended up giving Lockstin the official render that he had meant to use, which was identically posed so he probably just mixed the two up… He never fixed it. Even now the thumbnail still uses stolen art.

It was at this point I decided to walk away. There was a sixth video that I had begun to research, that I had been planning since the beginning and was really excited to finally work on, but… I just, gradually and silently stopped talking to Lockstin, and I walked away.

I didn't immediately cut contact, though. I maintained messaging him until halfway into 2020. Because despite it all, I saw him as someone I had an amicable relationship with. Because it took time for me to fully accept what had happened to me. I even told him, in our last exchange, that I was still planning on making that sixth video. Because it took me some time to really sit with what happened.

And during that time, something happened. Around the end of 2019 there were serious concerns going around, of the FTC going after YouTube channels run by pop culture focused content creators, due to the updates to COPPA reclassifying them as 'children's content', regardless of what they actually contained. I messaged Lockstin in a panic, telling him if things got that bad, to delist my videos since I lived, and still live, with my dad, both of us disabled and on a fixed income. He assured me that anything that occurred would happen to the channel owner, and that I was safe, no matter what happened. And, "if it does wind up bad I'll be delisting all the videos. and also I'll take the hit for any fines."

Edit 3/12/25 (in bold): Regardless, having done some back-of-the-napkin math talking to Rassicas since making the original version of this post, it turns out I likely was only receiving a 10% share of ad revenue, assuming a standard-at-the-time $2 to $3 CPM for gaming content. Likely less, since I noticed a bump in income on the video that was directly sponsored despite it doing poorly, implying I may have received income from the other videos' sponsors as well. If I received any sponsor money though, knowing now how lucrative sponsorships are, I can't imagine I got a reasonable share of that either. And no matter how much napkin math I do, the fact of the matter is I'll never know exactly how much he made, and exactly how much of it I made. But it wasn't a fair amount.

And when you factor in lost residuals in the years since? The breasts video alone would have made $2,000 to $3,000 by now in just raw CPM, meaning I ultimately made about 2-3% of the ad revenue on that video.

Also, I want to be clear. It was my choice to bring in a team after the fact. He was never responsible for that, and it made a meager pay situation worse. I accept the responsibility for that.

Even now I struggle to square the circle of what this was. I don't know enough about his YouTube finances to know if I was paid fairly, if money really was that tight for him and his team. He had been known for uplifting creators he worked with. He helped launch Arlo's career. I can't imagine he would abuse his employees.

Not to mention, there were good times. This was a gig that I really, truly enjoyed, and put more effort into than he ever asked for. After my first video, at my own personal expense, I flew to Portland for a day to be a part of a fan meetup he did for the channel. He didn't ask me to do that. Hell, he told me not to, he told me I was crazy for doing it. But I did it because I was passionate about the work and about representing my work to his fans. Not only that, every time a video came out, I would spend one or two days, replying, personally, to as many comments as I could, answering questions, clarifying and elaborating on things, interacting with fans on a personal level. He never asked me to do any of that. I did that because I was passionate about the work I was doing. And I don't regret that.

But at the same time, this feels like abuse. Even as he was kind to me at points.

And that's the fear, right? He's 'one of the good ones', even with the sexual clickbait and everything else. My fear is that if I share this story, I'll be crucified for trying to tear down, trying to cancel, someone who overall has a positive reputation, who's much, MUCH bigger than I am. But that's not what this is about. This is just…me telling my story. Me telling people what happened to me.

So, I don't know what to call it, really. Other than a learning experience, as I start to lay the groundwork for my own channel, years later. Because I don't want to do this to other people. No matter what you call it.

And I want to be clear. There are other creators I've worked with. Other people I've made handshake deals with, but who treated me kindly, with integrity and respect, with definite terms set out in advance. And when I haven't gotten paid by those people, it wasn't because they exploited me, it was because the work fizzled out, and there was no profit, so there was no pay to be had. That's not exploitation. That's a reality of the industry. Sometimes things just don't pan out, and that's okay.

What's not okay is the ambiguity, the space in the margins that can be used to exploit others, whether that was one's intention or not. Because I don't think that was Lockstin's intention. I think he saw me as another Arlo, another person he was lifting up. But at the same time, this experience was a source of genuine trauma, and something that I'm only now starting to be comfortable with telling people outside of my friend group, five years after it ended.

Like I said. I'm not trying to tear anyone down. I'm not writing a hit piece. Because I doubt this was malicious. I really do. I know that, if I messaged him? If I told him what his actions were and did to me? We could hash it out, I could get closure privately. And, hell, I might do that if and when I feel ready to. Or, if he sees this and messages me? Hey, dude. I'm open to talk about this. I'm listening, if you want to say something. Because, that's the thing, right? I didn't confront this, publicly or privately, for five years, even after I walked away. I was afraid of talking to him, of what that could mean for me if he disagreed that what he did was harmful. I was afraid of a potential escalation, or losing work in an industry where I'm still only starting to find my voice.

But this isn't about that. It's about making the world a little safer for people like me, for other people who went through what I did and might not have the language or the tools to recognize what they're going through. And to make a public point, that I learned from the experience, that I plan to be better than what happened to me. Not so I can aggrandize myself, but so you, the people reading this, can hold me to it if I ever lose my direction. So I put what happened to me to a stone tablet, never allowed to forget it. Because I want to stop the cycle of abuse before it's allowed to start.

So, thank you. For taking the time to read this, and for taking my story for what it is. It means more than you could ever know, not just to me, but to everyone like me.

Edit 2, 3/12/25: Since making this post, I remembered and checked on something, and it's so much worse than I thought.

In January of 2022, Lockstin posted a series of 'Season Collection' videos, bundling his content year-by-year across seven videos. These videos made up a total almost 55 hours of content and 310 videos.

The first problem... He cut out all of the end cards. All of them. I know I wasn't the only writer he worked with. How many other people went uncredited in these compilations besides me?

The second problem... Going back to the point I made about residuals. How do you even calculate something like that? Compilation content is meant to ride the wave of super-longform content like Arlo's 'A Big Fat Review of Breath of the Wild' or Quinton Reviews' series on Dan Schneider. It's meant to play to YouTube Premium viewers, where creators get a payout based on watch time. A big one. A proportional share per-viewer of 55% of their subscription cost, based on how much of their watchtime went to which channels each month. Both LinusTechTips and Arlo have referenced longer-form content being some of their highest-earning content as a result of this.

So, at best? Maybe he figures out how much money he got from YouTube Premium and tries to split that up based on the retention charts. I can't imagine that'd be reasonable to expect someone to do for seven compilation videos on an ongoing basis. Maybe he just divides all the YouTube Premium money, and the $2 to $3 CPM, across all 310 videos equally. But that doesn't ensure people are paid for the specific viewtime for their specific videos, and on a 10 hour supercut of as many as 60 videos, the CPM split would be negligible.

The third problem... The Season 5 thumbnail has the Agent 8 'white ink' image again, one of a few videos the thumbnail references.

I know that this is a drastically different tone than the rest of this post. But this isn't just 'a good guy making mistakes' anymore. This is systemic abuse of everyone who ever worked with him. Not just writers, but editors, special thanks to people who contributed in other ways... What does he call it? "The vast majority of Lockstin's "Gnoggin" videos, with the sponsorships, needless outros, and end cards removed".

My work. My credit for my work. Is "needless".

And among the videos that he removed, he references 'videos with very incorrect information (such as predictions)'. The Season 6 video removes my Splatoon 3 prediction video. The video that I think was my best work for him, that yes got some things wrong but got a shocking amount right, that has value not just to me but to him on that merit alone. Just proof he didn't understand the content.

I'm sorry. I'm just, angry. I know this is a change in tone but I'm angry.

[fizzyrodeo]

my ranking of the seven deadly sins' designs in terms of personal preference. WARNING: I am not nice to Asmodeus or Beelzebub. All simps and stans have been warnen. 👇

1. Leviathan (Envy)

Rating: 8/10

I feel like the hate for her is kind of unfair, considering she's the first character we've gotten (or at least the first I've seen) that has two heads and despite being a conjoined demon she's quite cohesive while outlining the differences between her halves. I understand finding her design underwhelming, but before her there was Lucifer (who has the most basic design of them all) and then Beelzebub (whose only interesting feature are her lava bits) so I'm not sure why people are harsh on her like she's the first underwhelming one.

Anyway, I gave Levi an 8/10 because for the sins I don't typically like to fully judge until their demonic form is shown as well. I also feel like it would have been nice to see her be a bit bigger in her base form- not to the extent of Satan's size, but maybe a bit larger than Asmodeus or Mammon.

2. Satan (Wrath)

Rating: 10/10

Dare I say, this portrayal of Satan is kind of iconic. You can see the similarities between him and imp-kind, but he's not designed to just look like a giant imp (which is what most media does if it's not making him a sexy red human with horns). His size is what I'd expect it to be- really, it's nice to see a Sin that actually cares to stand out from its denizens in some way. Him basically being a giant dragon was a good choice.

Despite his rating being higher than Leviathan's, I didn't list him as first because I like looking at Leviathan more.

3. Belphegor (Sloth)

Rating: 4/10

I didn't really pay much attention to her when she was on screen, but her little details stood out to me. She only gets four points though, because not only was I unable to get a look at her full design but what I gauged from her outfit wasn't very impressive. Also, I'm not really that attached to the concept of her character. None of the sins really have roles except to maintain order within their rings I guess, but seemingly all Belphegor does is sleep.

Still, her unique details and coloring does count for something.

4. Mammon (Greed)

Rating: "eh."

Mammon goes right in the middle because I feel completely neutral on him. I know what the general consensus on his design is- too green, too patterned. But I personally can't really think of anything I'd change about him. Even knowing what a letdown his demon form is, it doesn't really impact me– I guess because by the time we got to his demon form being revealed, I was already desensitized.

5. Asmodeus (Lust)

Rating: 2/10

Definitely one of the most annoying designs in the show. I started skipping most of his scenes in S2 because I hate looking at him and his ugly-ass suits that do absolutely nothing for his figure. And as for the matter of his figure, he's just a big, disproportionately buff guy who was given the prototype design for Stolas' head. If Asmodeus wasn't built like a bird on steroids I'd probably like him better.

6. Beelzebub (Gluttony)

Rating: 3/10

Her design has some things I like– namely her ears and the lava hair (when it's under the lighting depicted). The problem is, it just doesn't give 'sin'. She fits in with her subjects too much (and no, I don't think that applies to Leviathan on the same scale).

Her outfits are really bad too. I mean, I get her basic outfit- she's a party girl- but it's basically Loona's regular outfit. She couldn't have had something a little more glam-rave? And the outfit she wore in 'Mastermind' is so random- it feels like she brought it at the last minute from a costume store, not like it's something she'd keep in her wardrobe.

The other issues with Beelzebub, from her not really embodying her sin (her and Mammon should have swapped) to her whole design feeling like another way to snub fat people out of the Vivzieverse (yes I know not all fat people are gluttonous and that gluttony doesn't just refer to food, but it's just so convenient that the embodiment of gluttony- whose whole thing is food- has a lava stomach and can't gain weight) make it really hard to like her overall.

7. Lucifer (Pride)

Rating: 1/10

He's just a disappointment. His outfit fits the circus theme Vivienne was going for, but it's negated by literally no one else in the show following that theme except Beelzebub and her crappy court costume. And personally? I would have made him look a little less angelic considering his current status, but I don't know enough about fallen angel lore (both irl and in the show) to debate if him looking so non-demonic makes sense or not.

The only reason he gets a single point is because he's still better than the absolute worst design in the show, which to me is Loona's demon form. Whoever cleared that needs to be banned from making executive decisions in this show.

[autistic-danieljackson]

So there's a stand-alone DVD of both parts of Rising and on most streaming sites and the season 1 DVD they're also grouped together as one episode and I'm seeing the runtime listed as the same but I swear there are extra scenes on the stand-alone DVD. Am I crazy? Is this a thing??

[anonyanonymouse]

I'm so disappointed I won't be able to immediately tune in on the twst update like usual 😭 I'm pretty sure this is the first time I won't be watching it right after it's up, and not only that, but my early morning obligation preventing me from enjoying the update is going to last FIVE hours 😭😭😭

[autumnrory]

oh my god i reread this 1d fic and got to the end and the author mentioned their other fanfiction account in the notes that has emblem3 fics and i was like that sounds familiar and i COMPLETELY forgot about the band but i cannot imagine being able to write fic about them skjdfjks

[bumblehoneybee]

idk why but i just imagined shadow circling the reader like all hedgehogs do when they like each other. it's weird but the little guy can't bring himself to confess in a proper way (story request? if u could🙏)

Come Full Circle

Shadow was a weird guy. He just was. But anyone who grew up how he did would be weird, so you put a lot of his strange habits out of your mind. So, you didn't pay it much attention when Shadow's habit of pacing turned into him walking around you.

It wasn't as obvious as him obsessively grooming his quills or him checking his shoes when he was bored. Shadow moved with purpose more often than not, so as he made his way around you, tapping his foot and scanning the perimeter, it took a few laps for you to realize that he was orbiting you like a moon caught by your gravity.

"Everything alright?" You asked, futzing with your outfit to not appear put off by his behavior. The last thing you wanted was to weird him out of things he did to comfort himself. Gaia knew he hardly allowed himself these things.

"Mm." Was all Shadow gave you, his face obscured.

So you shrugged and continued on with your day.

However, when the day winded down into dinnertime, you found yourself surrounded by others, most importantly other hedgehogs. Amy and Sonic specifically stared at you and the ever-orbiting Shadow with wide eyes, which unnerved you. And when you were unnerved, Shadow was biting, so at least they weren't staring for long.

Instead, you caught them giggling to each other, Amy especially joyful.

She caught your hand when Sonic got Shadow's attention with a race.

"Shadow's been circling you, huh?" She asked, smile small but knowing.

"Yeah?" You cocked your head. "What? Don't tell me it means something."

"For a hedgehog like Shadow," Amy began, pausing so you'd huff at her, "it means he likes you."

You were not impressed. "Cool. I like him too."

Amy slugged your arm, and like a bolt of lightning, Shadow appeared before the two of you. You stumbled forward into him, but he easily caught you, giving Amy a halfhearted glare. She didn't speak, but put her hands up in faux surrender.

"Loves you." She said to you, skipping off to soothe the bruised ego of one blue hedgehog. You watched her go, eyes widening when Sonic did a series of laps around her, seemingly just happy to see her.

Loves you. Oh Gaia, ohhhhhhh. . .

Shadow's voice snapped you into reality. "What did she say? Loves you?"

You shook your head to clear it. "Guess she loves me."

Shadow huffed a little, confused but unwilling to ask more questions. Seeing him finally still for once, you carefully began to step behind him. Shadow turns with you for a moment, brows furrowed, but they widen as you begin your second lap.

You had never seen him so still. A smile tugged at your face, but you didn't tease, didn't say anything. Instead, you circled your lovely hedgehog, watching him start to squirm and blush.

But he didn't leave.

Hopefully you'd get a kiss out of him today too.

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

can you make one where rafe showed his friends a private pic between and reader and she gets all pissed

do you think i deserved it all?

mean!rafe cameron x desperate!fem!reader

cw — explicit picture, manipulation, gaslighting

summary — you overhear your boyfriend and his friends talking abt a certain photo.

authors note — i’m writing with nails so this may have some typos but please ignore that. this can be read as a standalone but is apart of my mean!rafe series that is listed in order on my rafe masterlist under au's. if you guys have any longer requests, please send em in so i can make these a little more detailed cause my creativity is not flowing for some reason.

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

you weren't paying attention at all to what was going on around you. rafe, topper, and kelce always talked about stuff you couldn't care less about and that is exactly what they were doing now. the four of you were sat in the living room of the thornton mansion on the couches. your boyfriend was sitting beside you with your feet in his lap as you laid across the soft cushions and his friends were sat across from you two on the other one.

you were currently just mindlessly scrolling through instagram as you plotted your next post. you could faintly hear the boys talking about a variety of things along with the tv playing in the background. you sighed in annoyance when you couldn't find enough pictures and decided you'd be needing to go take some more. you swiped out of the app and began listening to whatever rafe was saying so you could let him know that you'd be needing a photoshoot soon.

"you guys gotta see this shit," he said as he scrolled on his phone and sat up a little straighter. "it's like fuckin' heaven, i'm tellin' you. 'nd she just doesn't care. none of those tantrums about privacy and all that other bullshit. i do whatever i want with 'em."

he leaned forward to show the two whatever he'd pulled up on his phone and their jaws immediately dropped. "holy shit, dude," topper mumbled, completely mesmerized by the screen.

kelce had the same look, leaning in a little to get a better look. "goddamn man. you got her all to yourself?"

your ears perked up at that and you shut your phone off, eyeing rafe wearily. "all mine," he stated with a smug grin. "i've got hundreds jus' sitting in this album. they just keep gettin' better every time i add one."

you felt your heart drop to your stomach and bile begin to rise in your throat. "you're one lucky son of a bitch," topper said with a laugh before sticking his hand up for a high five. "i'll be right back. y'all want any drinks or anything."

rafe looked at you momentarily. "jus' water," he replied, knowing you didn't care for anything else too much.

"i'll take a beer," kelce said while standing along with the blonde. "i gotta take a piss. be back in a minute."

topper let out a hearty laugh and slapped him on the back playfully. "yeah right."

as soon as the two left, you were quickly crawling over to rafe and snatching his phone from his hands. "what the fuck is your problem?" he snapped.

you stared down at it in shock. it was a picture of you from a few nights ago. one taken from a higher angle with your ass propped up in the air, you hair disheveled all across the pillows, your hands gripping onto the sheets by your head, and his cum coating your cheeks and mid-back.

your lip began to tremble and you dropped the phone into his lap rudely. "are you serious? why would you show that to them? do you know how embarrassing that is?"

he laughed. genuinely laughed in your face. "are you serious? it's not that big of a deal. you always blow things like this way out of proportion. you say you want me to show you off and shit and now you're pissed when i do?"

"i didn't mean in a disgusting way," you spat back. "i didn't expect you to go show off a vulnerable picture of me and have you and your friends talk about me like and object as if i'm not sitting right here!"

you could see the frustration building inside of him. he grabbed your wrist harshly and used it to pull you closer to him. "don't you dare fuckin' talk to me like that. before you ever even think about raising your voice at me again, think about who runs this shit, alright? cause it sure as hell isn't you. just remember, i wasn't the one begging for a chance, you understand me?"

a deep red blush creeped up your neck and onto your cheeks out of embarrassment. "I didn't mean it like that rafe," you said quietly. you didn't like when he was mad at you and you definitely didn't want him to leave you. "i'm sorry, i wasn't thinking."

"thats what i thought," he said cockily as he let go of your wrist. "you think i was gonna make a cute little instagram post or somethin'? that what you wanted?"

yes. it was. it was what you were dreaming of. but you knew better than to upset rafe. you were meant to say what he wanted to hear in times like this. you began to convince yourself that maybe he was actually right. maybe it was better this way. "no. i don't want that."

he smiled and chuckled. "good," he replied. “now get your shoes on and get your ass to the car."

your brows furrowed in confusion. you had only been here for and hour or two. "but rafe--"

"do i need to repeat myself?" he was pissed. you didn't need to hear anything else to know that. "get in the fucking car. we're gonna go home and you're gonna sleep off this bratty fuckin' attitude. then when you get up, you're gonna drop all this bullshit and apologize to me the right way. got it?"

you nodded shyly and began to move quickly to find your shoes. you were in for a long, exhausting night.

[whos-the-seme]

okay but I kinda need read a fic where Shen Yuan is wife plotted (AGAIN) by some random papapa plant (dammit Airplane--) and he basically falls into a floating coma or something. on a hunt for some rare herbs with liu qingge, he's lured by the sound of his Binghe's (his lost little lamb) voice and ends up ensnared.

okay, imagine that he's being held high in the air by these vines, just asleep, and nothing can wake him, even after liu qingge cuts the monster plant down to get him. he's just sleeping, rosy-cheeked, unwakeable.

peak lords panic, and start trying to figure it out what this rare plant is. sqh wracks his brain somewhat and somewhat remembers this plot line.

they come to the conclusion that its the everlasting dreams flower or some shit. basically traps the victim in their dreams while it sucks out their qi until the person dies of dehydration/starvation or qi loss, whichever kills them first (sometimes, its not the latter, and if the person is a cultivator, they can last a while before their qi is fully drained enough that they can no longer practice inedia but also haven't died yet). meanwhile, the person won't even care because their dreams are so sweet, that they don't want to leave.

the only way to cure it? true love's song. someone who truly knows and loves the sleeper needs to sing something from the heart, and if it's pure enough or something, it can pierce through the pleasant dreams of the person and wake them up. yqy and lqg instantly become flustered, but both of them can't help but secretly wonder how it would feel to have Xiao jiu/shen-shixiong wake up at their song.

they confer with the rest of the peak lords a little outside of shen yuan's resting rooms on the Qian Cao peak, and yqy decides to sing a little lullaby he used to sing to Xiao jiu when they were still on the streets. he goes in, his voice is a steady but a bit nervous, but he croons that shit out. airplane can't believe his fucking ears. yqy could honestly be an idol its not fair wtf-- only, sqh knows he can't dance to save his fucking life, so.

when yqy finishes, he waits, but his heart sinks when Xiao jiu doesn't so much as stir. he hurries out of the room but sqh notices how the tips of his ears are red in embarrassment. of course, even when he still had his memory, Xiao jiu wanted nothing to do with him, why did he think it would change now, he just--

lqj goes in next. he murmurs a song that he constantly hears sqq sometimes strumming on his guqin, thinking that means sqq must love the song. he's not sure what else he can do, he doesn't know how to sing from the heart, but the feelings he has for his shixiong... he has to at least try to wake him.

he doesn't wake. lqj walks out in defeat.

airplane who has been wracking his brain all this time because he was trying to think of requirements for awakening so he wasn't paying attention suddenly jumps up. he doesn't mind the startled glances that the other peak lords give him.

he just remembered!

the song didn't have to be a romantic song or anything. the love for the sleeper didn't have to be romantic love, at all! he remembered this plot line that he added about binghe trying to wake one of his wives, but it was one of the wives' sisters that woke her, because she truly loved her sister deeply. causing binghe to realize that his love was becoming shallow, in that it wasn't enough anymore or blah blah blah. he scrapped that plot line and that plant after he got a ton of bad reviews for even suggestion that lbh's love (pillar) wasn't big enough and so he had lbh fix it with papapa, but whatever!

he shivered.

anyway, the story has been so warped over time that its only told that it has to be a romantic lover. but it didn't have to be.

he had an idea. he loved Shen Yuan! despite the rocky start, their shared transmigration and experiences led them to form a closer relationship, and Shen Yuan was his best friend. he knew him wholly, both in his bitchiness of Cucumber-bro of their old lives, and in the snarky-masquerading-as-pretentious SQQ he was in their new lives. He knew him as a whole of Shen Yuan, not as Xiao Jiu, or as the original goods.

and also, both he and Shen Yuan had discovered they both liked some similar songs during one of their weekly private meetings a few weeks ago, while Shen Yuan was there under the guise of planning their eventual escapes, but was actually just drinking up all his wine and ransacking his snacks.

he's got this! (he hopes.) (he would quite not like his bro to die from an unwakeable coma.)

confidently, with incredulous stares following him, he walks into the room and sits at shen yuan's bedside. and proceeded to sing, as smoothly as he could, a vocaloid love song. if nothing else, it might shock Shen Yuan awake to hear a random ass vocaloid song in his dreams. the lyrics are actually pretty sweet and soft, but he can't stop imagining the music behind it, making it funnier than it should be to sing it.

[Shen Yuan, whose dreamscape has become completely synchronized to his current living conditions and so he dreams of the serene bamboo hut: *sitting at his table with binghe pouring him more tea* *sudden hatsune fucking miku disturbing the atmosphere*

Shen Yuan: 👁️👄👁️]

while he tries not to giggle as the song comes to an end, the stares of the other peak lords boring into his back from the doorway (he can just hear them thinking, "yqy and lqg couldn't wake him up but you think you can?" but maybe that's just his imagination. or maybe they think the song is shitty, what does he know--), shen yuan's eyes flutter open.

airplane, who didn't think this would actually actually work (though he hoped), gapes at him. Shen Yuan, eyes half lidded from sleep, gazes back.

"uh..."

"The everlasting dreams flower, really? That was a really good plot line, can't believe you, ah," Shen Yuan yawns, "dropped it in favor of more papapa as always, you shitty author." He can't catch a break. Why did he wake this guy up again?

"he's awake!?" multiple voices cry out.

THUMP. yqy has fainted.

they both have forgotten their audience. liu qingge has goes outside to punch a tree. the other peak lords are in various states of disarray, disbelief, and discomfort. liu minyan has appeared out of nowhere to take notes. mu qingfāng rolls his eyes and comes in to check shen-shenanigans's meridians.

"Can't believed that shit worked, honestly," Shen Yuan says, eyeing one of the older disciples try to drag YQY to a cot. he is starting to rouse. "hatsune miku, really?"

"aw! well now you know how deeply and purely I love you, shixiong!"

THUMP. YQY has fainted again.

more sounds of breaking trees from outside. mu qingfāng warily calls out a warning to avoid his good medicinal trees, thanks.

after a while of conversation, with eyes closing a bit once more, from exhaustion, rather than the plant poison, Shen Yuan gives Shang Qinghua a small smile. As his eyes flutter shut again, he says, "I love you too, bro."

[hellsslibrary]

Sae + feminization and breeding kink please I need it

You can make him an omega too if you want

"Come on, dude. Skirts were originally made for men, they rock them way better than girls..."

MASTERLIST is here.

#a.n. : THIS WAS THE BEST THING I'VE EVER WRITTEN. If anything, for the script I took that extra scene where they assumed Sae was a crossdresser, but if he really was and that makeup bag wasn't from Aiku's ex, yeah. So you can imagine that picture of Sae.

!!Warnings: crossdressing, light feminization, breeding kink (obviously), top!reader, bottom!Sae, no dom/sub boundaries, but Sae is a little more dominant if you choose (sorry, power bottom Sae world domination), praise and worship, riding, thoughts about what Sae would be like if he were a girl, but they're not serious, at the end Sae puts lipstick on your lips because I thought it was cute.

The soft rustle of the sheets, Sae's almost inaudible sighs, your moans, the slight groaning of the bed and the slapping of bodies against each other echoed in the large bedroom. Your eyes were fixed on Sae's calm and contented face as he slowly rode your cock.

His damn long eyelashes were even more visible because of the mascara on them, his lips were tinted with cute pink lipstick, and his cheeks were blushing not only from your actions with him. There were gold earrings in his ears, as well as a small necklace around his neck. On his torso was your shirt, which was not buttoned up, and on his hips was a regular pleated skirt and fuck... It was the hottest view in the world.

"So... What were you angry about when you came?" you ask, breaking out of your thoughts about admiring the perfect man on your cock, forcing him to open his eyes and look at you.

"I'm not angry, just a little disappointed. This infantile striker from the U-20 was rummaging through my bag... Found makeup there," Sae says evenly, interrupted by a light sigh from his lips as your hips slightly moved up during his bouncing. "They put it down to the fact that I have a girlfriend or something. It doesn't matter, don't think about it."

"You? A girlfriend? Funny..." you giggle, squeezing his waist tighter, which is why he started pushing on your shaft a little harder, pressing his hips on you. "When you reveal our relationship, it's obviously... Will make them disappointed? What should people think in such a situation? I don't know."

"I'm telling you, don't think about it. Even if they thought it was mine, it doesn't matter at all," Sae shakes his head at your thoughts, tightening his grip on your chest, leaving red marks from his nails there.

"Mmm, what do you think you would look like if you were a girl? Well, I mean, your breasts... I think it would be small, it would suit you. Maybe A-cup? Maximum B-cup..?"

"Idiot, what are you thinking about? If I were a girl, nothing would have changed... You just wouldn't get out of my cunt," the midfielder whispers, frowning slightly, moving his hips in a circular motion and then shrugging his shoulders. "But I think so. Small breasts sound logical. You are gay, why are you having such thoughts?"

"I don't know... You'd be such a queen... You're still the queen, though," you chuckle, lightly pressing on Sae's lower back, making him arch back, admiring his slender but muscular curves.

He just raises an eyebrow at these words, but doesn't pay attention to them, closing his eyes again and just focusing on how your cock feels inside him.

But your eyes didn't close for a second. How could they when a literal deity was riding your dick? Exactly, no way. You tried to absorb his every reaction, the way his breathing hitches, the way his hips twitch, the way his eyelashes flutter, the way he bites his lip to hide his moans, all of it.

You would literally worship this body without ceasing, if it were physically possible, of course. He would kiss every inch of you, come up with the most original and romantic epithets just for him, just for the beautiful man in front of you.

"Sae?"you ask carefully, looking at him, and his only reaction is to mumble. "You like it when I'm in your bussy, right?"

Sae's eyes immediately open and he stops his movements, looking at you with such a disapproving look that even your cock inside Sae moves from humiliation... Or something else.

"What is it... Bussy?" He's asking, even though he clearly doesn't want to know the answer to that question, judging by your face, which is red with shame and obvious excitement.

"Pussy. Man's. Like a boy plus a pussy and you get a bussy..."

Sae just blinks slowly at your explanation, and then sighs as expected. After all, what did he expect from you? And he resumes his movements, making you whimper softly at the feeling of him squeezing around you.

"Yes, I like it," he whispers confidently, flicking your nipple, which makes you blush even more, but you're clearly smiling contentedly, and then you raise yourself up on your elbows and kiss him.

The elder Itoshi just sighs, but puts his hands on your shoulders, responding with a kiss, which is why most of you have to push into him obviously not rhythmically, given the not particularly comfortable position, but it doesn't matter. The way his lips slide against yours and you feel the faint taste of chocolate from his lipstick, the way he moaned softly into your mouth was enough.

He pulls away first when he notices that you're whimpering from lack of movement and gently pushes you back onto the pillows, eyeing you. A barely visible smile suddenly appears on his face, only the corners of his lips turn up.

"Sae, why are you smiling, hmm?" you ask, rubbing his sides, thinking maybe he's amused by your impatience or something, but the next second he grabs your chin, grabbing something from the bedside table and opening it.

"You look good with my lipstick," he whispers, carefully smearing the lipstick on your slightly moist, pouty lips, and then pulling away, slowly running his thumb along the edge of your lips, where his own lipstick smeared after the kiss. "You also obviously enjoyed the taste, no?"

"If you were on my face, it would be even better... Mmm!" escapes your lips, but Sae just snorts and kisses you again, grabbing your chest and slightly accelerating his hips, swallowing your moans with pleasure.

"You're going to be an even better boy and make me cum, and I'll think about it, okay?" Sae asks, whispering it into your lips, narrowing his gaze when he looks at your lust-clouded eyes, and after your quick nod, he just kisses you gently on the cheek.

[himbosandhardwear]

It's a stupid fucking scheme, and he never would've gone along with it if he was sober, but she really didn't give him much time to contemplate it, she just shoved him into the pantry and yelled for Eddie to come into the kitchen.

Now he's got his head pressed against the slats while Rob asks Eddie if he thinks Steve is cute. Like they're in the fifth grade.

“Uhh,” Eddie drawls, clearly confused and put on the spot.

“C'mon,” she coaxes, “you can tell me, gay to lesbian solidarity.”

That's terrible, using that to weasel the information out of him.

“I mean…sure, I guess he's alright,” Eddie admits. “He's not really my type though.”

Oh.

Well…that's…fine.

“Seriously?” Rob asks like she doesn't believe him. “You don't think he's hot?”

“I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers, but, yeah, seriously. Not my thing. He's too…I don't know, high maintenance or something. I like my guys a little more, like, dingy.”

Steve nods to himself in understanding. He should've seen that coming but he hadn't. It's sobering.

Robin isn't finished arguing her case, the beautiful idiot. “Steve's dingy!” She yells, making Eddie laugh. “He is! He's plenty dingy! And he has other fine qualities! Like, uh, loyalty! And being helpful!”

“Are you trying to set me up with your painfully straight best friend or a golden retriever?”

“Steve's not-”

“Okay!” Steve shouts, bursting out of the pantry, yes he understands the irony, with both hands waving. “This was fun but let's wrap it up.”

Eddie stares at him, wide-eyed, but it quickly melts into anger. “What the fuck, Buckley? What kind of weird, pointless ambush is this?”

“It wasn't pointless, you fucking troglodyte. If you were paying attention-”

“Rob.” Steve didn't mean for his voice to do that but it has the intended effect. She clamps her mouth shut and pouts. “Sorry,” he says to both of them. To Eddie, “Seriously, it was a stupid idea. We're both drunk and being stupid, just forget this happened.”

Unfortunately, it doesn't look as though Eddie is going to forget any time soon. In fact, it's more like he's studying them both for clues, the wheels turning despite the whiskey and weed gumming them up.

Steve's about to turn tail and run when the lightbulb goes off. Eddie doesn't look like he believes the conclusion he's come to but he's figured it out nonetheless. “Wait. No. Seriously? No way.”

His eyeballs are aching. He pushes against them, causing starbursts behind the eyelids. “Can we please not do this?” He begs.

Eddie sputters. “If this is me finding out you're queer, Steve Harrington, then yes, we most certainly are!” He looks at Robin but she's stonewalling him in solidarity.

The fact that neither of them has said anything to the contrary is damning enough. Steve might as well have ‘bisexual’ tattooed across his forehead.

“Holy shit.” Eddie snatches Robin by the wrist, she tries to wrestle her way out but he's jangling her about like a rag doll. “Holy shit! You were trying to set us up! Holy shit!”

“Let go, asshole! You ruined it, remember?”

He does let her go, so he can stare at Steve in horror. “No! Fuck! Steve, I was bullshitting! I was lying my ass off, I swear!” He tries to round the corner of the island but Steve moves to keep it between them, unsure of this sudden development. Eddie stops when it's clear Steve isn't reciprocating.

They stare at each other until Robin breaks the awkward silence. “Prove it.”

Eddie shakes off the cobwebs. “Huh? I mean, how? I wasn't exactly doodling Mr Edward Harrington into my journals.”

She crosses her arms. “Then I guess we're done here.”

Steve doesn't point out that she's not actually in charge of this situation because it seems to motivate Eddie into action. He gives them the ‘one moment’ finger and then dashes outside.

“You believe him?” She mumbles.

“I don't know. At this point I'd probably settle for him looking to turn me into a bedpost notch.”

“Have some self-respect.”

“Nah.”

Eddie comes back, dragging Jeff by the arm.

“Tell him!” He shouts, finger pointed at Steve.

“Tell him what?”

“The thing that shall not be spoken.”

Jeff raises one eyebrow. “How am I supposed to-”

“Oh my god, just tell him.”

“No.”

Eddie blanches. “No? What do you mean, no?”

“You made me swear.”

“So?! I'm unswearing you! This is important! I need you to unfuck this situation, pronto! You can give him all the gory details, I don't give a fuck, just tell him!”

A gleam sparkles in Jeff's eye. “Every gory detail?”

Now Eddie, correctly wary, hesitates, glancing at Steve nervously. “Well, maybe not all-”

Jeff interrupts Eddie, turning fully toward Steve with, “Eddie is bananas in love with you. Probably has been since school, but it's gotten so much worse since this spring. I'd say seventy five percent of the songs he's written are about you. He's also got a fully fleshed out fantasy life involving you, including, but not limited to, five adopted Vietnamese kids, two cats and a dog.” He turns back to Eddie. “Can I go back outside now? Those hotdogs aren't going to eat themselves.”

Eddie, eyes closed, waves him away.

Before he's fully out of the kitchen, he turns and says, “Oh, also he has a VHS copy of one of your swim meets. Bought it off of some AV kid for sixty bucks.”

Steve's stomach, already roiling with excited nerves, erupts in butterflies.

Eddie does not notice this, head buried under crossed arms on the island.

“I think we've swung too far in the other direction,” Rob points out, oblivious to Steve's excitement. When she finally does notice, it's met with rolled eyes. “Of course you're into that. Absolute freaks, the both of you. You know what? Good. Take each other off the market. My job here is done.”

She hops off the stool and leaves them alone.

Eddie cautiously pokes his head up, sees Steve smiling at him and jolts up straight like a prairie dog. “You believe me?”

He wants to toy with him for a minute, a touch of revenge for the dismissal he made earlier. “What swim meet was it?” He asks, like a test.

Without missing a beat, Eddie answers, “March of ‘85. You beat some kid from West Jefferson by four seconds.”

Steve preens. Eddie isn't bullshitting, he really did beat that kid from West Jeff. Only someone who gave a shit to pay attention would know that off hand. The whiskey makes another appearance in his bloodstream, giving him the courage to lean over the counter, into Eddie's space.

“So…you like me?”

Eddie has this incredibly endearing habit of hiding behind his hair when he’s nervous, it takes Steve out at the knees every time he sees it. “I'm gonna be really pissed off if this is some convoluted prank but…yeah, man, I fucking like you. Romantically. In case that was in question.”

“Mmm,” Steve agrees. “What are our kids' names?”

Eddie closes his eyes against Steve's smug stare. “I hate Jeff so much.”

“I don't. I'll thank him at our wedding. Maybe we name one of the kids after him.”

When Eddie peeks at him, one eyed, Steve does his best to convey his amusement and fondness both.

His body goes lax, finally, at seeing Steve take all it seriously. “Okay, so I like the idea of all of them keeping their Vietnamese names, except one who we name James.”

“After Hetfield?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes. Please.”

Some time later, after making out in the pantry for a while, Steve vetoes James, but only because he doesn't want the poor kid to grow up with a complex.

“We’ll call the dog Jimmy.”

“Cool.”

[bi-writes]

whats wrong with ai?? genuinely curious <3

okay let's break it down. i'm an engineer, so i'm going to come at you from a perspective that may be different than someone else's.

i don't hate ai in every aspect. in theory, there are a lot of instances where, in fact, ai can help us do things a lot better without. here's a few examples:

ai detecting cancer

ai sorting recycling

some practical housekeeping that gemini (google ai) can do

all of the above examples are ways in which ai works with humans to do things in parallel with us. it's not overstepping--it's sorting, using pixels at a micro-level to detect abnormalities that we as humans can not, fixing a list. these are all really small, helpful ways that ai can work with us.

everything else about ai works against us. in general, ai is a huge consumer of natural resources. every prompt that you put into character.ai, chatgpt? this wastes water + energy. it's not free. a machine somewhere in the world has to swallow your prompt, call on a model to feed data into it and process more data, and then has to generate an answer for you all in a relatively short amount of time.

that is crazy expensive. someone is paying for that, and if it isn't you with your own money, it's the strain on the power grid, the water that cools the computers, the A/C that cools the data centers. and you aren't the only person using ai. chatgpt alone gets millions of users every single day, with probably thousands of prompts per second, so multiply your personal consumption by millions, and you can start to see how the picture is becoming overwhelming.

that is energy consumption alone. we haven't even talked about how problematic ai is ethically. there is currently no regulation in the united states about how ai should be developed, deployed, or used.

what does this mean for you?

it means that anything you post online is subject to data mining by an ai model (because why would they need to ask if there's no laws to stop them? wtf does it matter what it means to you to some idiot software engineer in the back room of an office making 3x your salary?). oh, that little fic you posted to wattpad that got a lot of attention? well now it's being used to teach ai how to write. oh, that sketch you made using adobe that you want to sell? adobe didn't tell you that anything you save to the cloud is now subject to being used for their ai models, so now your art is being replicated to generate ai images in photoshop, without crediting you (they have since said they don't do this...but privacy policies were never made to be human-readable, and i can't imagine they are the only company to sneakily try this). oh, your apartment just installed a new system that will use facial recognition to let their residents inside? oh, they didn't train their model with anyone but white people, so now all the black people living in that apartment building can't get into their homes. oh, you want to apply for a new job? the ai model that scans resumes learned from historical data that more men work that role than women (so the model basically thinks men are better than women), so now your resume is getting thrown out because you're a woman.

ai learns from data. and data is flawed. data is human. and as humans, we are racist, homophobic, misogynistic, transphobic, divided. so the ai models we train will learn from this. ai learns from people's creative works--their personal and artistic property. and now it's scrambling them all up to spit out generated images and written works that no one would ever want to read (because it's no longer a labor of love), and they're using that to make money. they're profiting off of people, and there's no one to stop them. they're also using generated images as marketing tools, to trick idiots on facebook, to make it so hard to be media literate that we have to question every single thing we see because now we don't know what's real and what's not.

the problem with ai is that it's doing more harm than good. and we as a society aren't doing our due diligence to understand the unintended consequences of it all. we aren't angry enough. we're too scared of stifling innovation that we're letting it regulate itself (aka letting companies decide), which has never been a good idea. we see it do one cool thing, and somehow that makes up for all the rest of the bullshit?

[nikovraskol]

Crack baby is very *chief kiss*🤌

I wonder if MC knows that legally they can't live alone as a minor without the involvement of an adult? Like you can do that at 16 but for this to be legal you still need a legal guardian and to get an ok from the government by giving a good reason like your parents working out of the country and you stay for school.

If I was MC I'd not ask because Bruce will not care enough to think of a good lie to give the government (but also he can just pay the right people)

Also what would happen if MC didn't ask for money for the House? Will Bruce tell them that he decided to move their room to the family wing? What else will he want to talk about? And how will he react to MC refusing to move rooms calmly and saying that they are who moved that room that that section (it can be a lie) and that they prefer the quite.

Alfred finding that he has more work to do, and also gets worried that you saddenly don't want to be close to the family

you're very perceptive anon, i do have plans regarding mc's age and all that jazz

masterlist

but if mc weren't too ask bruce for money, let's say you convienently had enough money saved up or you had a friend to stay with, you would likely leave silently.

you pack their bags and dip, just like that. of course, alfred would be the first to notice and he would be absolutely devastated! he cares for mc like a child and you just left without a word!! but not to worry, he's sure you'll be back, evident by the way the family reacts.

just -- don't be surprised by how closely he lingers when you're back, he must make sure you don't do anything rash anymore.

slowly but surely, the manor would become strangely silence, a lack of a presence that nobody can put their finger on what's changed .. i mean, they didn't take notice of you anyway so it's not like they'd suddenly realise straight away.

it's definetly damian who notices first .. he takes a walk around your room hoping to bump into you and (see you) remind you how useless you are.. but there's a silence around your room that puts him on edge.

he's completely disgruntled when he realises you've gone! blasphemous! how could this be?

he then tells bruce, who is just as perplexed -- how did you leave? you're a child! way too young to survive gotham alone. he then recruits the others and they track you down with ease ! you're obviously upset -- who do they think they are? they suddenly want to take interest in you now? after all that's happened.

like, you'd probably be casually lounging around, doing what you do and you turn your head and there's a family gathering in your room.. except they don't look too pleased.

you can cry as much as you want, kick, scream -- they'll take you back, you felt neglected, right? that's why you left, don't worry. they'll take care of you, just don't try running away again, yeah?

as for mc refusing to move wings.. that's really interesting to me because it opens up so many possiblities.

first of all, you refusing just adds to bruce's guilt. he takes it less as you being resentful and more-so you being scared, it adds to his image of you being some helpless, naive fool.

he'll probably relent for a week, but the image of you stuck in your room, crying alone has him clutching his hair until he can't take it and he'll just move u in ur sleep.

you go to sleep peacefully in your little box room only to wake up in some fancy, way too big room that has you gaping in shock -- you're obviously pissed off, where does he get off treating you like a child!

he sighs whenever you kick and scream, gently soothing you much to your chagrin. he'll change his plan from dropping in every once in a while to every single day.

he sees you as a child, so each time you shout at him, telling him you no longer want his attention, that you're not a child -- it just adds to his helpless image of you !!

there's nothing you can do now, there's no moving out or running away, because as soon as bruce sets his eyes on you, so does everyone else.

you're stuck, poor you, but don't worry, with bruce holding your hand you don't have anything you need to wish for! isn't that great?