#leads to broken cables over and over again

[tjerra14]

my new headphones arrived and while I'm always a little 'eh' on new ones while adjusting they do have a nice bass and are a little clearer than the old ones so I think we'll get along well

AND

after two decades of cabled headphones I made the reluctant switch to bluetooth and oh my god. I just forgot my phone on my desk and walked into the kitchen and could still listen to music with my hands free and pockets unburdened, the freedom

I will be so productive (not)

[lolathepeacocklord]

if they started a band together I think it should be called Triple A, representing their combined power of autism adhd and autism again

[guardianofnightmares]

Sunrise

Faint beam of artificial light from a surface danced off yellow armor of an Autobot, giving it a color of a newborn star. Bumblebee graced the Decepticon with a broad smile, its warmth making the hostile gloom around his facial features to dissipate.

To Blitzwing a minibot reminded a stray ray of hope which arrived to safe lost souls from a long dead and forgotten world.

A true rising sun in the realm of darkness.

----------

Alright, fellas, next entry to the @blitzbee-week event is finally here)). The prompt of the second day was "Sunrise" and I decided to go more figuratively with it rather then depicting a literal "appearance of the sky" at a particular part of a day. As you can guess by a provided description, Bee basically becomes a "leading star" for a brooding Blitzwing, who, as it seems, is not that thrilled by discovery of his partner.

Just as a previous entry to a mentioned event, this picture is dedicated to my fanfic called "TFA: Icarus". Here's a [link] for the series "folder" which also includes an existing teaser (future prologue) for a story if anyone wants to give it a try. Again, can not thank you enough for all the support you've shown for it so far, I will try my best to come up with updates soon enough.

As it usually goes with such works of mine, I will provide the full snippet of one of chapters, which a depicted scene is taken from, under a cut line for anyone wishing to read more about the scene. Hope you'll enjoy it)

To the surprise of many comrades he’d worked with, the Triplechanger proved to be the most patient mech on a team when it came to long lasting missions. Usually he didn’t find it difficult to lay low and wait for orders to come, even if it meant to stay idle for several solar cycles. It was a useful trait of character which Decepticon rightfully prided himself of. 

Yet, even a seemingly boundless patience had its limits. 

“Can you see anything of use out there?” Blitzwing finally asked his unfortunate “partner in crime”.

A brightly colored mech slipped on the spot upon hearing Con’s voice but managed to regain his balance. 

“Not yet, Blitzwing, give me a klik!” A minibot shouted over his shoulder, holding on the steel bar for dear life. “Climbing is not as easy as I’m surely making it look in your optics.”

If Bumblebee planed to cheer up a Warframe with such a comment, he failed miserably, for it only seemed to sour up an already bad mood of a tall mech. 

To a Decepticon, it felt like forever since the minibot began his ascend up a steep scarp of a crumbled wall. One would think that, thanks to his light frame, he’d manage to reach the top level in no time. But even this uneven terrain, made of torn sheets of metal and broken cables, proved to be a challenge to an agile Autobot. 

The damned energy chain, which linked limbs of both mechs to each other, clearly was the greatest obstacle for Bumblebee, barely giving him a chance to move as far away from a somber mech as possible. Not to mention that a Decepticon was forced to stand on one pede in order to accommodate his companion’s slow conquest of new heights. 

Admittedly, a Triplechanger considered an option of tearing the bug’s pede he’s bound to off. But that type of cuffs always latched onto anything in their vicinity (while being activated). Meaning, the chances of getting tied to a nearby wall, as a result of said actions, reached more than 90%. 

Tearing his own pede off was not part of a Warframe’s plans. 

“If you haven’t noticed it yet, Bumblebee Prime, we don’t have plenty of time left to hide in these tunnels,” A “former” convict grumbled in response while surveying his surroundings for an up-tenth time. He didn’t notice how a Bot winced at the mention of his new title.

Minibot knew he deserved that snide remark. But it did not make him feel better about his recent promotion to an Elite Guard. Or about a decision to become one for that matter. The decision which led to a situation where an Autobot and a Decepticon got lost under an Iacon city. 

They had to hide in maintenance tunnels from the times prior to a Great War. Tunnels built by Decepticons for Autobots’ use, and left by them to slowly rot in an utter disrepair after the said War was officially ended. Sealed off since the banishment of Warframes from Cybertron, eventually the structure turned into an urban myth not many of currently living mechs remember or even know about.

An old complex Blitzwing and Bumblbee were currently navigating in was once part of the major supportive structure. Meant to protect veins and tubes once full of energon, that section was made of sturdy materials which stoically passed the test of time. 

The Decepticon would’ve lied if he’d said he’s not pleasantly surprised by that discovery. 

But it did not bright up his mood by much - they still needed to find a way to the surface level of a planet. 

“Foolish of me to expect a scout with no field experience to do a Warframe’s job,” the mech muttered under his breath, words bitter on his glossa. “Perhaps I should have been the one to search for an exit after all”.

Blitzwing had no intent for the last sentence to be heard by his peer, but an aforementioned scout, apparently, had nicely tuned audials. 

Figures. 

“And to risk exposing your Decepticon signature to raging authorities? No, thanks!” Bumblebee chirped after successfully reaching for a rod sticking out of a long abandoned structure. “It was already enough of me putting everything at risk by making stupid decisions - I don’t want to see you following my lead.”

Somehow the fact that a minibot admitted his mistakes helped to somewhat cool Blitzwing down. He said nothing in return but did glance at him once prior returning to surveying desolated surroundings. 

Bumbler’s changed since the promotion to the ranks of an Elite Guard. He seemed to act more mature, even if he’s still naive about most things happening around him. For strangers it’d be an unexpected change of character for such an optimistic and energetic Bot as Bumblebee. But Blitzwing was no random outsider, whether he liked to be on closer terms with a current companion of his or not. 

Death of a teammate has effected the minibot on a much deeper level then he’d ever admit to anybody, even to himself. Yet, despite how horrible it might’ve sounded, the Decepticon thought that that was an important lesson every soldier had to live through. And as a mech, who’s witnessed deaths of many of his comrades throughout the Great War, he had to agree that Bumbler was holding up pretty well for someone so inexperienced in mentioned matters. 

Even Blitzwing, who did not know Prowl as well as a yellow Bot did, felt the loss of a mech effecting him as well to a certain degree. No matter how secluded and cold the cyber-ninja seemed to be, he always had a special aura around him, the one that made people feel at ease in his presence. Though how he could so freely speak to a Con about importance of life and probability of peace among Cybertronians remained a mystery to him to that solar cycle.  

What was that thing black and golden Autobot’s talking about during the last conversation of theirs? 

“To have Faith not in Primus, not in The Allspark, but in each other”?

What exactly made him see it being possible back then and, especially, at a current stage of the reignited conflict between factions? Triplechanger had no answer to that question either. He didn’t view how the world should work the same way Prowl did. Could not fully comprehend the intricacies of a philosophy of an Autobot, but, at least, did not lack the courage to make it very clear during a mentioned discussion of theirs.

Blitzwing didn’t have Faith in anyone anymore, and he surely wouldn't in a foreseen future. 

For who could remain being supportive of their unhelpful, unwanted partn-… Autobot, while being lost in Allspark forsaken place with no means of escape?

…

“… -es! I see the gap in a wall!.. Blitzwing, I actually see it!”

The joyful voice tore Triplechanger from a deep melancholy state he slipped into while looking down a dark tunnel to his left. He raised his ruby optics, their faint glow barely lighting sharp features of his blue faceplates.

“Right where you’ve predicted it to be,” The Autobot added after turning around in order to face his unfortunate companion, unintentionally giving him quite a peculiar view of his small form.

Faint beam of artificial light from a surface danced off yellow armor of an Autobot, giving it a color of a newborn star. Bumblebee graced the Decepticon with a broad smile, its warmth making the hostile gloom around his facial features to dissipate.

To Blitzwing a minibot reminded a stray ray of hope which arrived to safe lost souls from a long dead and forgotten world.

A true rising sun in the realm of darkness.

...

Blitzwing huffed in mild annoyance at himself and his artistic side of a processor - it was not the right moment for poetic comparisons. Hope and Faith had no place in a situation he was stuck in, only cold calculations. He and Bumbler had to get out of that place, no matter the cost. And the sooner they’d get rid of an energy chain, the better.

[kkpwnall]

the roads lead back to you || rated m || chapter 1

a 1990s second-chance winter rom com

huge shoutout, thanks, and all the love to @judasofsuburbia for beta'ing and squealing in the notes at me <33

[read on ao3]

Immediately after defeating Vecna in spring break of 1986, Eddie left Hawkins without a word and never looked back. Now, ten years later, he’s forced to come back to town, and he can’t seem to avoid the friends he left behind. Steve has spent the past ten years putting everything he has into keeping his ragtag family together and running the local diner, with almost no time for anything else. He’s been nursing a not-so-quiet grudge against Eddie since the day he left, so when he stumbles back into Steve’s life, he dredges up all the old feelings Steve thought he left behind years ago. In the winter of 1997, will they take another chance to start over or will the ice between them smother the spark?

snippet under the cut!

Diner Guy’s got a stately patrician nose that looks like it’s been broken at least once or twice and finally healed crooked. A jaw square enough to hang a picture off of. Stormy hazel eyes to die for, and moles dotted all over his face and neck, trailing tantalizingly down the collar of his sweater.

And there, in his right ear, a tiny golden hoop.

Eddie’s had dinner, but he always saves room for dessert.

“Hi there,” he says, leaning over the bar with a winning smile. 

The guy doesn’t even look up at him, just grunts. Like actually grunts, like some sort of caveman in cable knit and keeps wiping the already spotless counter. 

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he tries again. “I’m Eddie.”

That earns him a look. 

“I know.” Tall, Bronze, and Gorgeous deadpans. 

[keep reading on ao3]

[chiakery]

Rewatched episodes 1 and 2 of CR3 and the whiplash of these characters from back then and now (episode 93) is unreal.

good lord they were babies

Fearne stealing a gigantic earring right after they landed in Jrusar, trying to help Ashton cheat in a card game and failing to do so. Fearne having a shard of the Fire Emperor inside her; figuring out the way to hide in the moon city from a terrifying fey dragon.

Laudna trying to play with children who were too scared of her, puppeteering Pate to shake FCG's hand and talking as him in a silly voice. Laudna with her new pact with Delilah, quieter than ever.

Ashton laughing (mostly sarcastically) and cursing every other word; breaking an animated table into splinters while laughing like a maniac. Ashton with his new arm, trying to take care of their friends, self-reflecting on how hurtful his words have been to Evoroa.

FCG getting a bucket of piss thrown at them, being proposed a job of a curio in a bar. FCG sacrificing himself to make sure their friends survived, making it possible for forces on Exandria to know what they were up against.

Orym just trying to figure things out, leading Bertrand back to bed by his finger, hesitating to strike Eshtross first. Orym with his new powers, hexed flowers blooming from his veins, his heart broken again because he couldn't protect everyone, because someone else died doing his job.

Imogen being uncomfortable during cable rides and worrying about dropping a basket of veggies for Zhudanna. Imogen showing off her powers in her hometown, deceiving so many Vanguards, her stone cold "Know what, mama?"

Dorian failing miserably to play at Spire by Fire, strings of his lyre breaking at first note. Dorian arriving with the Voice of the Tempest, grief and a promise of vengeance written all over his heart

[cozzzynook]

I absolutely love your stories! And I was wondering ig we could get a angst to maybe fluff? Deadlock gets sparked maybe after Ratchet has first Aid? Maybe it was a one time thing and Ratchet and Pharma are tryna fix a relationship-? Maybe Deadlock spots em kiss...he leaves his first bitty f9rst Aid with things and a note and leaves? Maybe he returns when the wars over as drift with a small miniambulance sparkling on his hip when he joins the Lost light, is Ratchet gonna try to fix the relationship between them?

Oooooo the drama

- Deadlock spends a half drunken night with Ratchet who isn’t drunk either. They pretend to be drunk but they aren’t. They’re just too afraid to admit what this could be. Not ready to admit or truly feel the burning that comes in their sparks when near each other. Deadlocks never felt this before and neither has Ratchet. But they tell themselves being on different sides means no, this can only be one night. So they part ways after and the next time Deadlock sees Ratchet he has a sparkling in his arms and he’s leaving a medic behind that doesn’t look done with him.

- deadlock can play off hurting Pharma as being a con wanting to cause chaos but Ratchet knows why he really did it and so he invites him back to his home where he hides Deadlock till the search party leaves.

- with just the two of them plus Ratchets bitty they relax in a way. Deadlock helps Ratchet with First aid who takes so well to Deadlock Ratchet is just bewildered because the bitty hates their sire. That makes Deadlock laugh and in turn First aid laughs for the first time and Ratchets inviting Deadlock over more often but only at night so they don’t get caught.

- this goes on for months until the two are watching First aid sleeping and Ratchet smells so good Deadlock can’t help putting his olfactory sensors at his neck cables and nipping.

- ratchet doesn’t fight him, he encourages him by leaning in and turning to put his servos on Deadlocks hips and he hates how that makes him shiver and allow Ratchet to lead him to the berth.

- Deadlock tries playing the big bad con but he can’t. He melts into Ratchet and feels the mech mend something he thought forever broken.

- he ends up spending the entire next day in Ratchets berth just taking care of First aid and getting his tanks rearranged by Ratchet until night comes and he leaves.

- he feels himself becoming tired more easily and often emotional in a way he never was and knows something is up pretty quickly.

- a quick trip to a clinic in neutral territory and he knows he’s sparked.

- the initial reaction is shock but that soon wears off and he’s thinking of the logical thing to do which is talk to Ratchet who he catches talking to Pharma who is smiling disgustingly mischievous and putting a servo on Ratchet who doesn’t move it.

- he has an idea of what that means and decides yeah, he’s not sticking around to be hurt even more so he leaves. Has his bitty that looks entirely too much like Ratchet and First aid that he named Forceps. The little bitty makes him change from Deadlock to Drift again and he leaves the cons and goes to Crystal city where he learns peace and that he deserves a second chance.

- his bitties home is crystal city and he stays there for a long time until he meets Kup who offers him and his bitty a place in the wreckers where he meets Hot rod who later becomes Rodimus who asks him to join the lost light with his bitty.

- he was skeptical but agreed since Rodimus said he specified for Red Alert to be the crews medic and not Ratchet. Rodimus was his bonded amica so he knew everything and provided Drift a hab with two rooms and plenty of energon along with other former cons that had some sparklings for his own bitty to play with.

- things were fine since Rodimus sparkling sat literally every day for him without complaint. Forceps loved Roddy and as he began to talk he called him Uncle which Roddy loved.

- but good things don’t always last and Rodimus rushed to him pushing him back in his hab the day of the departure looking so upset and afraid. “they switched Red alert last minute to honor his request and they won’t budge. I’m so sorry Drift but..Ratchets coming on board..i’m so sorry. I can get you and ceps off through the back if you want.”

- “don’t even bother taking him through the back kid cause I’ve already seen everything I need to know we need to talk.”

- ratchet stands in the door way that never got to close because he put his servo on it to catch it. He stood there with First aid on his hips who was looking at the adults in the room before seeing a sparkling around his age and he jumped down excited to play with them before either adults could stop them.

-it was scary how similar the two looked and how Drift couldn’t deny Forceps was Ratchets.

- “i’m so sorry Drift,” Roddy looked so guilty but Drift shook his head and asked Roddy to take his sparkling so they could talk. Roddy agreed and looked towards Ratchet to see if he would say the same. “I suppose First aid should know his brother,” Ratchet didn’t look angry but he wasn’t looking happy either.

- roddy took both sparklings to the designated sparkling area leaving Drift and Ratchet to talk.

- there was…frustration and Drift trying to keep distance. He wouldn’t keep Ratchet from seeing Forceps but he didn’t say anything past that. Ratchet automatically said Drift could see First aid as much as he wanted and was grateful he could see his other creation but he wanted more.

- “thats not a good idea. Pharmas here, don’t wanna piss off your boyfriend.”

- “we’re not together. Haven’t been since the day you beat him up.”

“What?”

“Is that why you never came back?”

Ratchet had a sad look on his face plates that still wrenched Drifts spark after all this time.

“I saw you two..the day I was going to tell you. He was leading you into the house with his servo on you. You didn’t take it off so I just knew you were getting back together.. guess I should’ve asked.”

Ratchet couldn’t fault him since he and Pharma were trying to get back together but the spark was gone and Ratchet didn’t recognize the mech anymore. Something in Pharma had changed and he no longer wanted the mech around him or First aid.

He told Drift as much and he would later be proven correct when Pharma betrayed them and endangered not only him and Drift and the entire crew but the sparklings on board, the sparked mechs and femmes aboard and his own sparkling along with Ratchets second sparkling.

But for the time being, the two were agreed on being co-creators.

Though they would later be conjunx welcoming a third bitty that could still be hidden by ceremonial robes on Drift.

That and Roddy’s loud mouth keeping everybot distracted while Megatron tried to keep Roddy from doing something too stupid along with Minimus.

Things ended up just fine.

-

This is not the story you were asking for but i started writing and looked up to remember the rest and saw i fragged up…and didn’t wanna start over…i’m sorry 😭

[itsthestutterforme]

BROKEN SILVER LININGS: Chapter Six

Summary: You truly had John Walker to thank for what happens next.

Warnings/Notes: sexual themes (fingering, nipple sucking, dry humping), MINORS DNI

**

Your eyes slowly peeled open at the sound of your phone vibrating on the glass living room table.

You must have fell asleep when you were binge watching Outter Banks because the are you still watching? froze on the screen.

Taking the phone into your hands, you see that Bucky was calling.

“Hello?” “Oh I didn’t mean to wake you up, doll.” “It’s okay. I didn’t realize I fell asleep.”

“Have you watched the news lately?”

Those were six words you can go the rest of your life never hearing.

“What’s happening, Bucky?” “It’s nothing bad. Well, it’s not the greatest but it isn’t an end-of-the-world situation, baby.”

You let out a breath you were holding.

“Then what is it?” “They’ve instated another Captain America,” your heart sank in your chest.

“What?” You exit Netflix and clicked on the cable, flipping to the nearest news channel.

“But I thought Sam was..” “He turned down the offer. Said it wasn’t suited for him,”

“‘Wasn’t suited?’ But didn’t Steve write a letter saying the shield was his.” “Yeah,” Bucky says with a sigh.

Your eyes were trained on the TV, reading the headline.

“AMERICA CHOOSES ANOTHER CAPTAIN AMERICA TO SERVE AS A BEACON OF HOPE”

The newswoman elaborates on the increase in crime since the Blip as well as the increase of hopelessness leading to climbing suicide rates.

Essentially, they were spinning it that America needs Captain America.

“Y/N?” Bucky calls your name over the phone. “Hm?” “You okay?” You were going to respond when the newsroom panned to another section.

“John Walker Issues His Very First Press Conference as Captain America” was in bold letters on the bottom of the screen.

Your blood ran cold in your veins when the camera zoomed onto the man stand behind the podium.

He smiled and waving to a few fans cheering behind the metal fences that kept them away from the journalists and other officials.

He was waving. Wearing Steve’s gear. Carrying Steve’s shield.

How dare they just give away Steve’s belongings like that?

You don’t give a damn about technicalities. Howard Stark made that shield for Steve. SHIELD made the uniform for Steve. It is his, by all rights.

You were livid. But what John just said was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Did he just..? Did he say that he wanted to meet with us? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’m coming to pick you up right now.” Bucky tells you. You heard clamor coming from your window and got up to figure out what it was.

“Bucky, there’s paparazzi outside.”

God, you hated those people.

“I’m fifteen minutes away, doll. There’s traffic.” “You don’t have to rush, Bucky. I’ll be okay, I’m just..” you trailed off with a sigh, sitting back down on the couch.

“I know. I’m pissed too.”

The line went silent for a moment. “They made sure he looked like Steve too. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. What the fuck, Bucky.”

“They had no business giving away the shield either,” Bucky adds. “Exactly,”

In a matter of minutes, Bucky tells you he was at your place and to pack a bag. Your heart pattered in your chest at the authority in his voice but you shook your head to get rid of those kinds of thoughts.

This wasn’t the time for it.

You had changed into navy sweatpants and matching backless top.

If you had to brave the paparazzi (yet again), you might as well be comfortable.

Sliding on your shades, you stepped out of your apartment with your weekender bag in hand.

As soon as your foot touched the parking lot, you were submerged in a crowd of eager photographers asking you questions coupled with blinding flashes from their cameras.

“I’m not interested,” you tell them, pushing through them.

You looked straight ahead to see Bucky picking up and physically moving grown men out of the way until you had a clear walk way to the car.

He opened the door for you and ran around to the drivers side.

“God, these people are crazy.” Bucky says, whipping his car into reverse before peeling out.

“They are. Thank you for helping me out back there,”

“Of course,”

“So what are we going to do?”

**

“Wait how did we get here, exactly? You wanted to rip his face off earlier and now you want to talk to him?”

Bucky stands from the couch and ran a hand over his face.

“I still want to rip his face off, okay? But I don’t know, this conversation may be good for us.”

“How would that be good for us, Y/N?” “Maybe it’ll give us the closure we need. I don’t know.”

“They replaced Steve with that wannabe,” he points an accusatory finger at the TV.

“And you don’t at least want to know why? Why they chose him and not someone else?”

“That man is an asshole, Y/N. You’re not talking to him.”

This was the first argument between you and Bucky. And you didn’t like it at all.

“Hey, don’t confuse my feelings and respect for you with me relinquishing my control, alright? You don’t control who I talk to and what I do.” You snapped, shutting off the TV as you rose to your feet.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, he leans his palms on the back of the couch.

“He’s not a good guy, Y/N.” “I’m not saying he is. But how would you know that, Bucky?”

“Because I met him before,” he holds your gaze. “Much to my dismay, we shop at the same grocery store. He saw me and stopped me when I tried to go down a different aisle. Then he asked me about you.”

“What did he say?”

You sat back down on the couch and he sat next to you. You call his name when he hesitates.

“Was it.. something sexual?”

“He said something smart about you and men in uniform. I never wanted to break someone’s jaw so bad.” He admitted, chuckling at the last part.

“What held you back?”

“I thought of how disappointed in me you would have been if you found out I was in jail.”

“I would have bailed you out,”

“Yeah, I know.”

A lot was said in the span of ten minutes so some silence would do you both some good.

You both sighed in unison, leaning your head back to ease some of the tension.

“M’sorry for yelling, baby.”

“I’m sorry for yelling too, Bucky.”

This game between you and Bucky had been going on long enough. You’ve been waiting for him to make the first move ever since you kissed last month.

That was the only things he’s ever initiated since you’ve known him.

So it was clear that he was waiting for you like he said he would.

“Hey, Bucky?” You start, moving closer to him and slowly straddled his lap.

His eyes snapped open and he straightened his head to look at you.

“Y-yes?” he groans when you lift your hips slightly, your hands slowly sliding up his arms and resting on his shoulders.

“I’m think I’m ready now,” “Oh, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear those words,” he says against your lips.

You held the side of his face and brushes your lips against his before finally pressing a warm kiss on his lips.

He held the back of your head, licking your bottom to silently ask for permission. You sighed when he deepens the kiss, his tongue fighting for dominance.

He followed your lips when you tried to pull away, already craving the way you taste.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you down into his lap, rolling his hips up.

Pulling away from his lips, you brushed his head to the side and mouthed at his neck.

His lips parted when you nipped at a sensitive part on his neck.

“W-wait, baby.” he pushed your hips back a bit and you pulled away from his neck.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, still dazed from the kiss.

“I’m sorry. I just.. I don’t want to hurt you.” He said breathlessly.

“How would you hurt me?”

“I haven’t been with someone in a long time and I just don’t want to mess this up.” He confessed.

A part of him was worried that you would get upset and walk out.

“We can take this slow, Bucky. We have nothing but time, right?” You pecked his lips before sliding off his lap.

“Right,” he watches you walk into the kitchen and open his fridge. “I’m grabbing a water. You want one?”

“Yeah,” he says after clearing his throat.

You were bending down to grab two water bottles when he stands from the couch and made his way over to you.

You hardly heard his footsteps so he startled you a bit when you turned around to see him a foot away from you.

“You scared me,” you whispered when he takes the water bottle from your hands and tossed them back into the fridge.

He takes you into his arms and sets you on the counter, sliding in between your legs.

“I thought you wanted to take it slow?” moaning softly when he kissed down your neck.

“We are. But that doesn’t mean we can do other things. Is that something you want?”

You got lost in how his mouth felt against your neck that you forgot to respond.

Bucky pulls away from your neck and grabbed ahold of your chin so you looked at him.

“Is this something you want, sweetheart?” He repeats, dipping his finger along the band of your sweatpants.

“Yes, I want it. Please.” You pulled him further between your legs, biting at his neck and slipping your hands under his shirt.

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me,” he groans when you scratch down his back.

Pushing you on your back, he pulls your sweatpants down your legs along with your panties.

You tried to sit up but he gently pushed you back down.

He pushed your bra and your crop top up over your breasts before latching on to one of your nipples.

Dragging a finger along your entrance to smooth your juices over your folds, your back arched when he slides a finger inside of you.

He waits until your walls relax before slipping in another finger. He pulls away from your nipple to suck bruises down your chest.

“Oh!”

“How does that feel, baby?” He whispers into your ear, scissoring his fingers until he found the sensitive spot that made your body jolt.

“Fuck, Bucky.” You whimpered. A hard knock on the door brought you out of your daze.

“They’ll go away, doll.” He tells you, not faltering his pace and you extended your legs until they trembled around his waist.

The knocking continued and Bucky took your nipple into his mouth again.

“Bucky, it’s Sam. We need to talk.” The voice spoke and Bucky pulled away from your chest to catch you staring at the door.

“Cover your mouth,” he tells you against your neck.

“What?”

You met his gaze and he curled his fingers inside of your hard until your covered your mouth with your hands.

He resumed sucking at the sensitive nub, quickly pumping his fingers in and out of you and rubbing quick circles on your clit with his thumb.

His metal arm circles your waist to hold you in place when your orgasm hit your like a freight train.

Your body shook and twitched in his arms, tears brimmed in your eyes from the intensity.

You finally went limp in his arms and he slowly set you down. He chuckles when you blink owlishly up at the ceiling.

He fixes your top so everything was covered before pulling you to your feet, sliding your panties and sweatpants up over your legs until they were on your waist.

“You alright, baby?” He wipes your tears away when you nodded.

“Good, because you’re the one that has to answer the door.” He opens the fridge and opens a water bottle for you to drink.

“Why me?”

“Because I have to deal with this,” he motions to his hardening bulge in his jeans and you groaned at the sight.

“Can’t we just tell him to come back another time?” “Sam is as persistent as they come,”

As if on cue, Sam says through the door, “Bucky, come on, man. This is important.”

You take a long swig of your water before turning to open the door when Bucky caught your hand.

He pressed a wet kiss on your lips before pulling away to push you toward the door with a soft pat on your ass.

Sam was about to knock again when you opened the door, much to his surprise.

“Y/N, hey. I was just about to call you.” Sam starts and you opened the door for him to enter.

“Did you hear about what’s been going on?” He asks.

“Yeah, and I’m trying my best to forget about it.” “How have you been holding up, Y/N?” He asks, his eyes softening when you met his gaze.

“The first month was.. devastating but I got through it. Couldn’t have done it with Bucky, honestly.”

“Man, I can’t imagine how you must have felt when it all went down. I’m sorry I didn’t check on you sooner.”

“It’s okay, Sam.” “No, it’s not. We should be keeping an eye on one another. Especially us.” He motions between the two of you.

“I’ll do better,” he adds.

“I assume you’re here because of that wannabe’s press conference?” Bucky retorts as he strolls into the living room.

He changed his complete outfit to a black compression tshirt and grey sweatpants.

You could definitely hear something purring.

“I mean he said he wanted to meet with us on national television so we don’t really have much a choice.” Sam considers and you shrug in response.

“You’ll want to hear what he has to say,” he adds, causing you and Bucky to share a look.

“You’ve met with him too?” Bucky questions. “He showed up at my house with a fairly lengthy file. He needs our help for a mission.” Sam pulls out the file from under his jacket and set it on the table.

“And you want to help him? The wannabe?” Bucky says in disbelief. “Look, I don’t like him as much you do. But this puts an entire city in danger if we don’t help,” Sam explains.

“If I agree to this, Y/N stays out of this. I’m not putting her in danger.”

“This is an all-hands-on-deck situation, Bucky.”

“I don’t care. Not her. She’s getting as far away from this as possible.” “I think Y/N can speak for herself,” Sam states.

“Let me see that file,” Sam hands you the file in your outstretched hand and your eyes scanned over the material.

“Steve told me to take care of her,” Bucky tells Sam. “And did that include falling for her?”

And the silence was deafening.

TAGLIST:

@mostlymarvelgirl

@babezawa

@torntaltos

@railmesebstan

[holylulusworld]

Brother's keeper (2)

Summary: She would do anything to protect her brother.

Pairing: Royal!Tony Stark x Princess!Reader

Warnings: mentions of marriage, love-hate relationship, feisty/bratty reader, enemies to lovers, arguments, royal au, dystopian au, banter, sexual tension, betrayal (not Tony), a hint of making out

This series takes place in the Two kings (Arc1) & Not a queen (Arc 2) universe, at the same time. I recommend reading these stories first to understand this universe better.

You can find all arcs here: Of Kings and Queens Arcs

Brother’s keeper masterlist

Brother’s keeper (1)

Leaving your homelands to spend the next month with your fiancé – no other than your nemesis Tony Stark was the hardest decision you ever made.

Your father wanted you to stay, but you lied and told him that it’s essential for your upcoming wedding to get to know Tony better.

While your father showed an ounce of decency, and shed a tear when you left your home, your brother didn’t even say goodbye.

You pretend that it was too hard to say goodbye to him, or that he’s ashamed of his doings. Even though, deep down inside, you know it’s not true.

“A pleasure to have you here,” Howard offers his arm to you. “I’m sorry. My son is once again, engrossed in…” He sighs. “You know him. He works on one of his projects.”

“It’s fine, your highness. I had the chance to get to know the kingdom, and your library while he was absent,” you chuckle.

Honestly, you are relieved you had the last days to yourself. Tony would’ve only reminded your brother and the betrayal which still pains your heart.

“Princess, the library is all yours, princess. You can use it whenever you want to,” Howard leads you along the hallways, toward his son’s laboratory. “We have a beautiful garden too.”

“I’m not much into flowers. My interests lie elsewhere,” you softly say. It’s so much easier to talk to Howard. If only his son was more like him.

“Here we are,” Howard points toward the lab. “Maybe you’ll get my son’s attention. I tried to get him out of his lab for days.”

“Howard,” you sigh as the king squeezes your arm. “Your son and I are like fire and water. Or heat and cold. We don’t match.”

“Princess, did you never hear about opposites attract? You and my son are the perfect match. All the other women cannot tame Tony. He needs a strong-headed woman to keep him in line. Now go in there and give him hell for ignoring his fiancé.”

“What are you doing in here all day?” You walk around the lab, scrunching up your nose as it’s a mess. “Sitting around in this mess.”

Broken devices, cables, and computer boards lie splattered all over the floor and desk. Remnants of a different time.

Tony huffs but doesn’t look up from the motherboard he’s working on. “I try to fix what our ancestors ruined. If I can repair the motherboard, I’ll be able to rebuild the control for the satellite…and…” Tony finally looks up at you. “You wouldn’t understand…”

“You want to repair the control for a satellite? Is that even possible? I thought there was no way to reach them. And didn’t they all get destroyed? It’s been ages since people last used them.”

Tony blinks a few times. “Colibri, you just made me rock hard.” He blurs out without thinking.

“What?”

“Fuck…did I say that out loud?” Tony wrinkles his forehead. “So, you’ve got the looks and the brain.” He grins. “How could your brother ever let you go?”

“Just like every other man, he underestimated my value,” you hop onto Tony’s desk to get a better look at the motherboard. “Do you think you will find a functional satellite?”

“I have faith in me and my knowledge. I just know somewhere up there a satellite is waiting for me to get in contact with it,” he grins. “I’ll change the world and use all the technology our ancestors left us.”

“Your ancestors,” glancing at a construction sketch on his desk you frown. “This looks like a person made of metal.” You cock your head. “A robot or something like that?”

“Something like that,” he excitedly says. “Wait. I got something better. Have a look at this construction sketch. You’ll understand it better.”

“That’s…” you snatch the piece of paper out of Tony’s hand. “A man in a suit made of metal. Almost like a knight in his armor.”

“This armor was so much more. It was a powered armor that gave the person wearing it superhuman strength and durability, flight, and an array of weapons. If only I’ll be able to find an energy source to make them work.”

“Wait…do you have one?” You gasp when Tony nods silently. “Where? Can I see it? Fuck, I want to wear it.”

“Calm down,” he chuckles. “It doesn’t work and is more like a rusty wreck.”

You huff. “If you don’t want to show it to me, fine. But don’t lie to me, Stark. This is more than a rusty wreck. You are working on reconstructing it. Don’t you?”

“Damn it,” Tony grunts. “You are a smartass, aren’t you? Nosy too.” He shakes his head. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll spank your ass raw.”

“Hmm…I won’t,” you pat his shoulder. “This is…so exciting. Can we…I mean…can I see it? Please. I promise to not call you out on your bullshit for a day.”

“Make it a week and we have a deal,” he grins. “Oh, and you will kiss me after I show you the armor. With tongue.”

Wrinkling your nose, you look at the construction sketch again. “Fine. But your tongue stays in your mouth, Stark.”

“Call me Tony, darling. You should get used to it. In a few weeks, you’ll scream my name…”

You can’t believe this is real. A red armor Tony’s size stands right next to several rusty models. Most of them are unrepairable, but this one looks brand-new.

“I tried to rebuild it, using the construction sketch. It won’t work, though. I need an energy source.”

“It’s awesome,” you carefully touch the armor, smiling as it feels like you are touching history. “We need to find something to make it work. This is…I don’t know…”

“I know,” he whispers in your ear. “Now that I showed you the armor, I must insist on—”

Tony grunts when you jump at him. You push him against the wall to claim his lips in a heated kiss. You dominate his mouth, not giving Tony the chance to ruin the moment.

Part 3

Tags in reblog.

[bornonthesavage]

Detective Steve x Serial Killer Eddie 

CW: Discussions of dead bodies and methods of murder 

The hot tip of the cigarette smoldered red, burning up the end as smoke swirled away into the damp afternoon sky. It had been a wet October, the air already thick with the smells of dead leaves and petrichor. Steve liked the rain, he did, but shit. Sometimes it would be nice to stand out in the sun. At least it wasn’t raining now, something his hair was grateful for. He tilted his head back and blew out a cloud of smoke, the tip of his tongue pressing into his bottom lip.

Behind him he heard movement, the steady sound of familiar footsteps, followed as always by Nancy’s no-nonsense voice. “Steve, hurry up with your smoke break. We have work to do.”

He nodded once, taking a last drag before stubbing it out on the nearby wall. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t get your holster in a twist.”

When he turned, she was already giving him a stern look. “This is no time to mess around.”

“Why not? It’s not like the body’s going anywhere.”

It was the third one in a month. Which, for a city like Indianapolis, wasn’t a ton. The problem was that they knew all the murders had been committed by the same person. They had a serial killer on their hands. It was Steve’s first, since he’d joined the force three years prior. Sure, he’d dealt with plenty of homicide cases, but a serial killer was something else entirely. It set the force on edge, as they knew they were on a time crunch before someone else ended up dead. Nancy most of all, it seemed.

“Stop joking. Henderson says he has some more info for us.”

Steve nodded. “Alright. Lead the way.”

They marched through the first level of the empty building, a construction sight that had been put on hold, until they reached the stairs. The victim had been found on the second level early that morning by the owner of the property, as he’d been doing his weekly inspection. As soon as they’d been called in, Steve knew what they’d find. It was a gruesome sight.

They stepped into the room together, the space already full with others as they moved around and collected evidence. Jonathon was crouched near the head of the victim, taking photos, while Henderson stood nearby taking notes.

“What information do you have for us?” Nancy asked at they approached.

Henderson glanced up and gave Steve a head nod. “The body is in pretty much the same state as the others. All the bones in each limb are broken, as is the jaw. We’ll need to do an autopsy, obviously, but I’m willing to bet all breaks happened premortem. As did the removal of the eyes.”

“So, they were tortured,” Steve summarized. “Just like the others.”

“Yep.” Henderson nodded. “As you can see, the body was also strung upside down using cable wire. Again, we’ll need an autopsy, but the cause of death was almost certainly blood loss from the cut throat.”

Yeah, Steve sort of gathered that. The kiddie pool filled with blood, placed just below the strung-up body, sort of made it obvious. He took a step closer and leaned down to get a better look at the gash along the throat. It was deep, done with a sure hand.

Nancy looked back at Henderson. “So, you’re absolutely positive that it’s—”

“The Upside-Down Killer? Yeah, positive.”

Steve snorted as he straightened up. “I can’t believe you’re all calling him that.”

“Them,” Nancy corrected. “We don’t know it’s a man.”

“Statistically, it’s the most likely outcome though.”

Nancy pursed her lips, unable to argue that point. “Alright, well, were you able to find anything else? Anything that might help us catch the son of a bitch?”

At that, Henderson’s face lit up. “Actually, yes. Maybe. Come over here.”

They followed behind him to the far corner of the room, Steve keeping a pace behind. Henderson crouched down and pointed to what looked like a partial boot print. It was just the back half, imprinted in some dirt that must have blown in during the last rain storm. A small smile tugged at Nancy’s lips.

“This is good. This is the first bit of evidence we’ve been able to gather on this guy.”

Steve quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, so it is a guy now?”

“Obviously. Look at how big that boot print is. So unless the killer is a woman with oddly large feet, it’s a man.”

Steve hummed, his eyes trailing back to the print. It was extremely clear, easily picked up to add to evidence. The killer was getting sloppy. This was good for the department, evident by Nancy’s bolstered mood. She straightened up and turned to Jonathan.

“Make sure you get plenty of shots of the boot, with measurements. Then get the rest of the team in here to collect the body and get it back to the lab. If our killer already messed up with this boot print, who knows what other ways he could have slipped.”

Jonathan nodded, already making his way over. Nancy turned and marched out of the room, but Steve lingered behind. He stopped beside the body, taking in the gaunt and twisted face of the man. It never really got easier, to see bodies twisted and mutilated in this way. It was a part of the job, sure, but there was a reason Steve hadn’t gone into pathology. He would rather be on the puzzle solving side. Henderson came to stand beside him.

“We’ve got to catch this monster, Steve. He’s getting bolder. This murder happened only a week after the last. A whole week sooner than between the first and second. He’ll kill again, and soon.”

Steve let out a deep sigh and nodded. He knew that was true, of course. More people were going to die. He clapped his hand onto Henderson’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Don’t worry. We always catch them eventually, especially nowadays. He’d have to be a mastermind to get away with this for long.”

Henderson gave him a smile. “There’s the cocky Steve we all know. You always get your man, huh?”

Steve tossed him a wink. “Always.”

By the time he made it outside, Nancy was finishing up her call beside the car. He caught the tail end of what she was saying as he approached.

“Yeah, will do. We’re headed back to the station now, and once we have the full autopsy we should have a better grasp on this thing. Yeah. Okay. Bye.”

She hung up and turned to Steve. “Hopper says to get back to the station now so we can write up our full reports. We need to figure out if this guy has any relation to the other victims.”

Steve nodded as he climbed into the car. “He might be the missing link we’ve been looking for. I still haven’t been able to find any common thread between the other two, but maybe we’ll find something here.”

“Hopefully. We need a break in this case.”

Indianapolis had never been where Steve wanted to end up. It was never more obvious than on days like this, with the sky overcast in grey and the littered streets flitting past outside the car window. No, Steve had always wanted to move some place with more sun. Maybe California or Arizona. Someplace warm. But for now, he was needed here.

Steve had always had a thing, ever since childhood, that made him need to be useful. Perhaps it was because his parents never even looked at him unless he was doing something they deemed good, something they could show off to all their friends. Daddy issues, how original. It was the whole reason he’d gotten into this line of work to begin with. As a detective, he could help someone in a way that really mattered. In a way that was important.

His therapist would tell him it was unhealthy to get off on the idea of only holding value so long as he could provide a service. That was precisely why he didn’t have a therapist. There was no way he needed another person inside his head, picking apart all the reasons he did what he did.

When they reached the precinct, Steve lingered in the car for another second while Nancy jumped out almost as soon as it was in park. She was always like this when there was a case she deemed important. At first, some of the other guys had called her Nany Drew. Both she and Steve had shut that down pretty damn fast. Steve watched as she marched up the steps and threw open the door, not even waiting to see if Steve was following. Which was fine. He usually needed to take a moment before walking into the chaos. Steve leaned against the headrest and took a few measured breaths, then pushed open his door and climbed out.

Almost as soon as he was through the door, the new recruit, Will, approached him. “Hey, Hopper’s waiting for you in his office. I think Nancy’s already there.”

Steve gave him a brief nod. “Thanks for letting me know.”

By the time he got to Hopper’s office, Nancy was already pacing back and forth as she recounted the new information they’d learned. Steve leaned against the wall beside the door and listened.

“This means he’s getting sloppy. And that’s only what we have on a first inspection. Once forensics gets in there, who knows what else they’ll find? I think we’re getting close. I can feel it.”

Hopper leaned back in his chair. “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. This guy is a sick son of a bitch and we don’t know what he’s capable of. I want you two to revisit what we have so far and this new evidence. Get an ID for this victim, see if there are any connections.”

“Already on it,” Nancy said. “I have Max looking through the missing people who’ve been reported in the last week. If this victim has anyone who cares about him, he’ll be there.”

“Good. Steve, what have you found about the previous two victims?”

Steve straightened up and pulled out his phone, where he’d made a file. “The first body we found belonged to Andy Phillips. He was a local tax broker, no history or record in our systems. As far as I can tell, he was pretty straightlaced. The second victim was Martin Brenner. He was a surgeon, one of the tops in his field in fact. There were some rumors about him being sued for malpractice, but nothing ever came of it. So far, I haven’t found a connection.”

Hopper drummed his fingers on his desk. “Alright. Get to work on adding this new evidence to the case. I want the report on my desk by tomorrow morning.”

“Yes sir,” Nancy said, already storming out the door. Sometimes it surprised Steve, just how much of a force of nature she was.

It was hours later, when Steve was bent over his computer and writing up his report, that Nancy burst into the room with a wide smile on her face. It was a little unnerving, considering the case they were working on. She slapped a file down on his desk.

“Fred Benson.”

Steve blinked, looking at the papers. “What?”

Nancy slid a few sheets around until it revealed a picture of a bespeeched man in a white pressed shirt. “Fred Benson. That’s the name of our newest victim.”

“Jesus, how did you find that so fast?” he asked, picking up the file to flip through.

“Oh please, you know I’m just that good. Max also helped. This guy was reported missing two days ago when he didn’t come home from his job. Apparently, he worked for Indianapolis Times as a journalist.”

Steve hummed as he read the missing person report. “Any connections to the other two bodies?”

She shrugged and moved around the desk to sit in the chair opposite him. “I haven’t got that far yet. But I do think we’re starting to see a pattern in this guy’s victims.”

Steve snorted. “What, that they were all really fucking boring?”

“No,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “They’re all middle to upper class white men.”

“Eh, that’s not really an MO.”

“How can you say that? If they were all women with red hair, you’d see it.”

He tossed the file back onto the desk and leaned back, kicking his feet up. “Yeah, because that would be specific. These guys look nothing like each other. Hell, that Brenner guy was at least forty years older than the other.”

Nancy pursed her lips. “Still. It’s something that we should consider.”

“And we will. We’ll consider everything, just like we always do.”

Nancy opened her mouth to say something more, but just then the door opened and Chrissy walked in carrying two cups of what smelled like coffee.

“Hey guys!” she said with a bright smile. “I heard you were working hard on that new serial killer case and thought you might both need a pick me up.”

“Oh my god, you’re a life saver,” Nancy said, reaching out for the mug offered to her.

“It’s no problem,” she said, turning to hand the other mug to Steve. “Have you made any headway?”

Steve motioned to the file. “Yeah, actually. Nancy thinks we finally have an MO for who the killer goes after.”

Chrissy’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

“Eh,” Steve waved a hand. “Sort of. Considering so far all we have is ‘White guys’, I’d say that’s not too helpful.”

Nancy shot him a look. “Hey, it’s something! We can start building a character analysis, at least.”

Chrissy took the file from Nancy’s hand and flipped it open, her big eyes scanning through the papers. “Let me take this down to evidence so it can be documented. I’ll let you guys get back to it.”

Steve raised his mug and gave her a smile. “Thanks, Chris.”

She slipped out the door with one more wave. In her wake, Nancy got a thoughtful look. Steve knew that could only mean trouble.

“I think this guy, this serial killer, has some issues.”

Steve almost choked on his coffee. He set the mug down and dabbed at the drops that had fallen on his tie. “Gee, Nance, you don’t say? What could possible have given it away? Was it the torture? Or was it the kiddie pool filled with blood?”

“Cut the sarcasm, Harrington,” she said, pointing one manicured nail at him. “And I mean, yes, it’s all of it. But more so, it’s the painstaking details this guy goes through to make every kill the same. Usually, it’s something pretty simple, like strangulation with electrical cord or cutting off a persons head. But not this guy. He always makes sure to break all the bones in the exact same place, saving the jaw for last. Then it’s the eyes, which he takes. After that, he strings them up in the exact same manner with the same pink kiddie pool beneath them. It’s so specific. Like, there has to be something there.”

Steve turned his eyes away, back to the blinking cursor on his computer. Nancy had always been good at this, at seeing the patterns he couldn’t. It was amazing she hadn’t been promoted yet. Surely within the next five years, she’d be his boss rather than his partner. Puzzles really weren’t his thing. Which was ironic considering his job. But when everyone else gave him the pieces and showed him where they went… yeah, he could do that.

“You’re probably right. And if that’s true, there’s a good chance he sticks to other patterns in his life. And patterns mean leaving clues. Don’t worry, Nance. We’re going to catch him. It’s just a matter of time.”

By the time Steve left the precinct that night, it was pushing ten o’clock. He didn’t love working long hours, but it was better than sitting in his empty apartment, letting the worry and stress take over until he spiraled. At least if he was working, he was getting things done.

He trudged up the stairs to his second floor apartment and shoved the key into the lock with a little more force than was necessary. But his feet were killing him, and he could already feel the migraine coming on. All he wanted now was to drop into bed and close his eyes until morning.

Once inside, Steve kicked off his shoes and shrugged his jacket from his shoulders, hanging it on the rack beside the door. He left the lights off as he walked down the hall to the living room, where he dropped his carrying bag. The room was a little colder than he’d expected, which he realized a moment later was due to the window he’d left open beside the sofa. Well, there went his heating bill.

Steve began to walk toward it when a sudden pressure at his throat made him stop. His whole body froze up at the cold press of metal and the contrasting hand that wrapped around the base of his throat. A spike of adrenaline rushed through his system, making his heart pound harder and his breath catch. The feeling of a body pressing to his back stopped him from shaking too bad.

A voice spoke directly into his ear, the touch of wet lips and hot breath making him shiver. “Guess who.”

Yeah, he could take a pretty good guess based on context clues. Steve licked his lips. “What are you doing here?”

A deep laugh rolled across his neck, making Steve’s hair stand on end. “Oh, I just couldn’t stay away. I saw you today, outside the site of my latest work.”

Steve turned his head slightly, feeling the soft scrape of the blade. “You were there?”

“Mhmm. And I have to say, you looked fucking delicious. All brooding, with your long coat and cigarette. Can you really blame me for not staying away?”

The hand tightened slightly before relaxing again. Slowly, Steve turned around. The blade never left his throat, just shifted to sit along the underside of his jaw. He took in the dark eyes and wild curls of the other man, the wicked tilt of his lips as he drank in the sight of Steve. He wore a nondescript black long sleeve, with just the hint of tattoos peeking out. Steve met his eye, barely able to make out the depths of them in the shadows of the room. Then, slowly, a smile grew across Steve’s face.

“Hey baby.”

Eddie’s own smile softened. “Hey Sweetheart.”

[undrgrnd-nft]

Tezos Goes Big

I really didn’t want to write this, I swear. I have real work to do, podcasts to edit and my daughter is home sick; but, it’s like holding in a sneeze, when I have something to say it’s best to get it out.

This is not about the @tezos event at Art Basel Miami. It may be what is driving the conversation but this is not really about the displays in a lobby of a hotel.

This is the culmination of years of disrespect to a driving force of adoption and endemic of the crypto space (and society) at large.

Art rejuvenating dead space is not a novel concept. In fact, in Miami, there’s an entire area that could have been used as a template by all blockchains. It’s called Wynnewood, look it up and you’ll get the New York Times article I reference all the time.

What was once an industrial park became a hub for restaurants, music and entertainment: culture.

Why? Because some graffiti artists began painting on the cold gray walls of a concrete jungle.

Did those artists share any of the financial gain brought to the neighborhood? No, but think of the exposure!

Web3 was not built by nor built for creatives like us (yea, I’m putting myself in that group, shut up about it). It was built by boys and men that look, talk and act like me (white, male, presumable douchey based on appearance) but lack a moral and emotional foundation.

They use the right words, have picked up key phrases and platitudes, but at the core it’s not about the things many of us value. It’s not about art.

It’s not about a reorganization of institutions that were built to keep specific classes, races and sexes subservient.

It is not building a utopian-Marxist future where the moral and decent are rewarded financially for their collective effort.

Look at the state of streaming services: Netflix, Hulu, Paramount, Peacock, Max. What was once meant to disrupt the cable industry has now become Cable Networks 2.0.

The same is true in crypto. What started as a revolution has become a hype parade led by influencers masquerading as cultural relevance.

Remember the @TezosFoundation Permanent Collection drama? In a Twitter space shortly after things began to spiral downward, one of the leads made a comment on the criticisms, “if this is the response maybe we won’t do this again.”

We all knew it then.

But many of us came here to create something better. So we, many of them my friends, gave second chances, put a positive spin on it and took their opportunity when it was offered.

I was jealous.

Because I would have done the same.

UNDRGRND is just me: a stay at home dad, taking care of a toddler who disrupts the means of production constantly. I know how hard it is to put together something and share it with an audience.

But so does every artist I write about.

So when we watch people with large budgets, people who are able to make a living on crypto already, getting paid to present the work of others and the result is done with the level of care it takes to hang a Missing Cat poster on a telephone pole, it’s infuriating.

Many of the artists I’ve gotten to know over these past three years were creative directors in their web2 lives. Do you know what they could have done with a fraction the amount of money @tezos has in its war chest?

It’s disrespectful.

It always has been.

I’m going to push post on this in a few minutes and the anxiety is rising. I know others are going to criticize what I’m launching in the coming months.

I’m in a glass house throwing rocks.

The difference is I’m not deluded enough to think I have all the answers or have an ego like I’ve done anything yet.

I’m just a guy writing about the things I like while my four-year-old sleeps on me.

This was never about the display.

It was about the devaluation of creatives for years and the continuation of a broken social contract that promised an idealistic future.

So heed the lesson because we’re tired of this shit.

And I’m fucking coming…

- Founder of UNDRGRND, @NFTjoe

[spookyspaghettisundae]

No Lesser Evil

Beeping. Lazy repetitive beeping filled the sterile room.

Glaring sunlight flooded in from the large windows, and the only artificial lights were tiny, blinking on the countless medical devices that surrounded Chloe Grant.

The fog lifted from her consciousness, and she connected the beeping to those medical devices and tiny blinking lights. To the cables and diodes on her, and the IV drip attached to her arm. The lazy beeping belonged to the system monitoring her heart rate.

Her body ached, sore from lying in bed for too long.

A long sigh escaped her.

And as she twitched, her movement stalled, and searing hot pain shot through her side like lightning.

She pawed at the hospital gown and pulled it up to find a clean bandage beneath her ribs, and like the sunlight flooding in, shreds of memories flooded back, washing over her. The creature’s deadly claw had cleaved through the air and sliced her side open.

Without even removing the bandage, flashes of memories invaded her mind through a distant haze—memorizes of slipping in and out of consciousness, and riding the razor-thin edge between life and death—of latex-gloved hands, and a needle and thread stitching her up. Of masked doctors and nurses looming over her as they scrambled and rambled to keep her alive.

A chair at the side of her bed stood in a way where a visitor could have been sitting and speaking to her.

A visitor she vaguely remembered.

A woman. A woman with long, fire-red hair.

Loretta Corsino—she had been saying something to Grant while she was slipping in and out of her delirium. Another shredded memory that sank into a foggy oblivion.

Still, the monitor lazily beeped. Lights blinked.

The sunlight from outside felt warm on her skin. Pleasant.

Better than the throbbing underneath the bandage.

Grant knew better than to rip the IV drip out or leave hastily.

She stared at the button hanging over her bed, dithering on whether or not to buzz for a nurse. Doubtful that Celava’s sweeper team would have delivered her to a common hospital in Rome after her encounter with the Apex Predator they had kept contained in Intellitech’s basement.

The more awake she became, the more Grant’s side hurt, and the more that buzzer tempted her. The relief that pain medication might bring if she only asked.

Something told her: she only needed to press that button.

And ask.

Grounding her, her throat felt like burning desert sand. A glass of crystal-clear water on the bedside table tempted her even more than the buzzer and the prospect of pain meds.

She surrendered to that lesser temptation.

Grant grabbed the glass and sipped. Sipped again.

How good the water tasted to her now.

She winced as another jolt of pain shot through her side from all the movement.

The damned Predator had cut her. A deep wound.

It was a nice hospital. Too nice to be of the public sort.

Probably private, and most definitely under the corporate auspices of Celava.

Which only left one big, glaring question.

Why?

She had broken into their premises, and entered the country with a false identity. With the amount of resources and pull they had, Celava’s agents could have ferried her away to some black site, or simply disposed of her corpse and covered up any trail leading to them as culprits.

Any investigations into her disappearance would lead nowhere.

So… why were they keeping her alive? Nursed back to health?

She cursed under her breath and another twitch triggered another jolt of pain in her side.

The entire mission had been a failure. She had failed to get the data dump out of the building to Ruiz—so they were none the wiser on what Celava’s game truly was. And now she was sitting in one of the lion’s dens.

Left to wonder how hungry the lion was.

At the very least, Grant hoped, Ruiz had gotten away, and only she herself had been compromised.

Dark thoughts swirled once it dawned on her how little leverage she held in any upcoming interrogations, which she inevitably expected Celava agents to put her through. There probably wasn’t much they didn’t already know about Future Proof’s operations, but there was no telling how much it would take to satisfy them and let her go.

If they let her go.

The door to her hospital bedroom opened. A nurse in bright pink scrubs wheeled in a sleek black stand, crowned by a flat-screen television set.

The nurse gave Grant a weary smile. Tired, exhausted, perhaps even marked by pity—the nurse’s kindly face was hard for her to read.

“Dinner will be served soon,” she said, with heavy Italian accent. “I hope you are feeling better now.”

Grant nodded.

The oddity of it all dispelled all the dark thoughts. It all felt like she had fallen through the cracks of reality into another, parallel world.

After all—after traveling through the Anomalies, and seeing time re-written, again and again—that was the case, wasn’t it?

The nurse plugged in the TV, switched it on, and left the room with swift steps, flashing Grant another weary smile before closing the door behind herself.

The screen was on, but stayed a dark gray, with only green letters in the top corner indicating it was set to receive a signal. A tiny webcam topped the device. The shiny black bead of its camera stared back at Grant with utter coldness.

She steeled herself, prepared to see a familiar face, but not the one that winked onto existence on screen in vibrant color.

A prowling lion of a man stared at her through the television screen. Silver hair in a crew cut framed a roadmap of wrinkles, speaking volumes to a life of hard-earned power and dignified prestige. His gaze burned as it rested squarely upon Grant, as stern as the rest of his entire expression, barely distracting from a shaven jaw so sharp that it could cut glass.

Muscles on his crossed arms bulged within the confines of a dark blue three-piece suit.

Grant recognized him from the photos: Malcolm Wright. The CEO of Celava himself.

Conan the Barbarian in a designer suit, as Danielle had put it.

“Miss Grant,” he addressed her through the screen, authoritative gravitas to match his appearance. British accent, though different from the Operator’s Cockney—sounding more sophisticated and theatrical, like David Attenborough. “Welcome back to the world of the living. I hope these accommodations are agreeable, despite the unusual circumstances of our meeting.”

Though dryness still plagued her throat, she knew not what to say.

All of this—these circumstances—all of this was a far cry from whatever she had been expecting.

She took another sip of water instead of replying, and he kindly picked up the slack.

“The dossier on you has been growing quite quickly since your visit to the Intellitech premises. You must have questions.” He clenched his jaw and stared at her through the screen, reading her closely through that cold, dead lens atop the TV set.

Collecting intel on her, they likely only had data and secondhand accounts to interpret in gauging her and her motives. The less she spoke, the more he needed to rely on blind assumptions—and the more likely she might have ended up finding something useful to leverage in the interrogation she expected to follow their exchange.

Therefore, she took another sip of water. Stayed her tongue.

Wright smirked.

He continued after the prolonged pause, and the absence of any reply from Grant.

“From what I gather, you must be quite the asset to Future Proof. But with what happened at the Rome office, I’m sure that all of that has changed. The bad news is, Malachi might not see you as favorably as he once did. On the bright side, I have a job opening to a woman of your talents. There is a future in Celava for you.”

A sales pitch. And a clever move to match. The better they took care of her here, the more likely she had been compromised by the rival company—limiting her options, rendering her a persona non grata with Future Proof, and rendering her more vulnerable to whatever was bound to spill next from Malcolm Wright’s lips.

Rather than an interrogation… this was a job offer.

“I’m impressed,” she finally said. She needed to exert an air of authority of her own. Stand her ground, and angle for the best conditions. “For a moment, I thought I’d wake up on some volcano island, surrounded by sharks and lasers, while you monologue your dastardly plan at me. Well, Mister Wright, here’s your chance to show me you’re Mister Right, and not some run-of-the-mill lunatic, or… some deluded jackass who’s going to ruin the world for profit margins and a golden parachute.”

Wright smirked again.

“How very American. I admire audacity,” he said, with the last word riding on a gravelly growl. “If any of my reputation precedes me, then you know I am not one for petty formalities, nor do I give a hoot about false-hooded flattery. I’ll do both of us a favor and cut to the chase. I don’t want nor need you to act as a double agent on the inside of your former employer’s organization. I don’t need nor care about whatever insipid experiments Malachi and his lackeys are cooking up next. It’s now clear to me—we are already years ahead of the competition. The future, Miss Grant, is ours to shape.”

He had meant that quite literally. The gravity of his words echoed in her mind like rolling thunder.

The future, Miss Grant, is ours to shape.

She took another sip of water.

None of this was the kind of play she had expected. Then again, it fit the opinion pieces she had read about Wright.

Eccentric, confident, and deeply impatient. Like most in the tech industry, he believed governments and laws were posing unnecessary restrictions on brilliant and creative minds such as his own. Unlike most, he had lifted Celava up from obscurity and turned it into a successful company, though not as successful as those who cut corners or played loose with their ethical standards.

He certainly wasn’t the kind of man to suffer sycophants nor fools, and he wasn’t going to tolerate her dancing around the matter at hand.

Thus, she decided to play his game. To match the ante and call any bluffs.

“What exactly do you need me for? And would the price tag outclass whatever Spencer was paying me?”

“I’m aware of the dangerous field work you engaged in, and your excellent track record prior to employment in Future Proof. I will double whatever he was paying, all benefits included, and then some.”

She almost choked on her sip of water.

This was no idle offer.

So what was the catch?

He answered her unspoken question. “It would be the most dangerous, deadly, and rewarding work in your entire life. I can only use the smartest, the fastest, and the strongest in my entourage. You would be leaving your life behind to start anew—turning your back on the modern day as you know it, where corruption and weakness are endemic to our so-called civilization. But I assure you—you would be writing history, and your name would go down in the books with mine as the intrepid, as the warriors and explorers and scientists who went on to create a better world.”

He meant every word he was saying.

His convictions ran deep, rooted in every fiber of his being, and the zeal in his voice lent uncanny credence to his speech.

She washed it all down with another sip, hoping to finally dispel the cotton feeling in her throat.

Radiance.

Even through a screen, he radiated with the sunlight of his convictions, shining with charisma.

He meant every word. As naïve as it sounded, he was being sincere with her.

Where even in the world was he? No—when in the world was he?

Was he speaking to her through the Anomalies somehow?

Then she remembered the wasteland she had glimpsed of the future, past the Anomalies in the Crossroads she had traveled.

The doomed future Spencer had predicted, and pinned upon Wright’s back.

“You,” he said, and that single syllable placed a heavy weight on her sore shoulders. “You would lead with others of your caliber. You are educated, capable, and physically fit enough to face the challenges you would be tasked with dealing with. And you would challenge me. All I demand is loyalty, and unwavering courage.”

Another sip.

She asked him, “What if I say ‘no’? What if I want to just, you know, walk away from all of this?”

His eyes narrowed. The rest of his expression turned stony and cold.

“I would be very disappointed, and our conversation would end right here. But you are free to walk away. I will not press charges, I will not pursue you any further for your invasion of Intellitech’s privacy, though you may suffer the consequences should you choose to cross me again.”

The words sank in.

Once she walked away, back to Future Proof, Spencer and all the others would forever question her loyalty to the company. She would forever be considered a potential traitor, a double agent.

She could have asked for more details, but knew better. He also knew better, and would never divulge anything that risked the success of his operations. He wouldn’t open up about anything that might endanger… well, whatever he was plotting.

Beeping machines filled the silence between them until Wright spoke again.

“Think about it, and think carefully. I am not asking you to simply relocate to a different office in a different city, I am asking you to leave your entire life behind, and build a new world with your own two hands. It will be difficult, and there will be blood, and sweat to shed along the way.”

Building a colony out of time, deep in the past.

That was how Spencer had phrased it—what he believed Wright was up to. And with what Wright had just said, the puzzle pieces were all falling neatly into place.

“But I sense it—I sense the thunder in your heart,” he said. “Once you have made up your mind… call me. I await your response, Miss Grant, and I have a feeling you will not disappoint.”

He had leaned closer to the camera, having grown on the screen before her.

The image of Wright went dark, and with that, consigned his appearance to the digital void.

Was he already in his Promised Land, in a prehistoric era, manipulating their future from the distant past?

All dark thoughts now mingled with uncertainty and something else—with curiosity.

Some part of his offer excited Chloe Grant.

Mulling over his offer, she worried about those she might leave behind—her mother, Danielle, her friends, and her colleagues at Future Proof whom she had come to like. Even the memory of the late Max Carter and all his grumpy swearing surfaced in those swirling thoughts of those she’d leave behind.

Grant rubbed her temples, unsettled that this meant she was considering Wright’s offer in all earnest.

Some part of her was… tempted.

That part of her kept growing by the second. Like a blooming flower, blossoming in her mind.

Such warm sunlight on her skin.

What was it that kept her here? In this life? It wasn’t the money, though the pay didn’t hurt.

Was she so different from Wright? Didn’t she sometimes dream of something resembling his vision?

And could she really trust Spencer and his speech of Wright being responsible for some nebulous doomsday in the future? Or was Spencer the one who would be to blame for that horrid apocalypse, and the Apex Predators?

Then again—one of those creatures had been kept in Intellitech’s basement like a leashed hound. And her side throbbed where the Predator had almost cut her open to bleed out.

Then, yet again—she knew too little beyond whatever narrative either man was spinning. Two rival CEOs, two rival companies, all toying with the fabric of reality and time itself, by toying with the mysterious Anomalies.

And here she was, between them, at a fork in the road.

She needed to decide, and nothing would make this decision any easier.

There was no lesser evil. No certainty in doing the right or wrong thing.

Her mother would be fine. In her disappearance, Future Proof’s life insurance payout would kick in, and provide for her mother for life, beyond a shade of any doubt.

Her friends would move on. It wasn’t like their lives hung in any balance. She’s miss some of their scheduled appointments by the end of the month, and they would find out that Chloe Grant had gone missing, though her disappearance would be covered behind so much red tape that they would have no other choice but to move on.

And as much as she enjoyed the company of her colleagues at Future Proof, she felt no personal attachment to any of them. She barely knew them outside of their work life together.

That only left… Danielle.

Danielle, who had moved in with her.

But Danielle had been involved with a Chloe Grant of this timeline, while this Chloe Grant still felt alien to herself, and the timeline she returned to. Though they were the same Chloe Grant, somehow, learning of her past and actions and relationship to Danielle still felt like hearing another person’s story.

Like fiction.

And even if Wright was truly responsible for the doomed future that Spencer had predicted—could Grant not have had the best chance at changing that all by getting so close to Wright that she could literally get her hands on his throat?

He had to be there.

Then.

In his colony, in the prehistoric past.

The heartrate monitor still emitted lazy beeping, though the pace had picked up.

Reflecting her growing excitement. Anxiety, perhaps.

The sunlight from outside felt warm on her skin. Kept her calm.

Everything was falling into place somehow. Not puzzle pieces, but chess pieces. Maybe she was one of those pieces on the board, with Spencer playing against Wright. Or maybe she had the chance to become the player.

Maybe this was the right thing to do.

Grant clenched her jaw.

This was her chance to change the future.

“Wright?” she asked out loud. “I have made up my mind.”

The screen stayed dark, though the green letters in the top corner indicated it was still on.

Transmitting and receiving.

She had her answer.

Wright was going to like it.

He was the kind of man who liked winning.

[maleyanderecafe]

would you consider chip from the cable guy (1996) a yandere?

I watched this one with Cherry yesterday and it's a fun movie for sure. I like the kind of comedy and hijinks the two characters get into, and Chip is the best wingman, even if he probably goes overboard. He just wants to have friends is all I'm saying. Still, I wouldn't say he's a yandere, even on a platonic sense. Also every time I see this image it makes me laugh, I can't get over how funny his expression is.

The story starts out with Steven, who has just broken up and moved into a new apartment calling his friend Rick about his cable. Rick recommends bribing the cable guy so that he can get all of the channels on the TV, something that Steven gets iffy about. When Chip the cable guy comes in, he tries to bribe him but ends up befriending Chip instead. This leads to the two of them hanging out, playing at basketball games together, watching TV together, even going out to a Medieval themed restaurant together. Steven and his ex, Robin, start to get back together with the help of Chip, however, this causes Steven to want to distance himself from Chip so that he can spend more time with Robin and hopefully get back together. Chip actually tries to get the two back together by pretending that Steven bought her free cable, as well as beating up the person that she was dating, something that does work, however, Rick feels like Steven has started to overstep on his boundaries, kicking him out. This leads to Chip framing Steven for stealing things (such as a TV, speakers etc) when they originally were just gifts from Chip, which leads to Steven getting fired. When asking for Rick's help, we learn that Chip isn't even actually a cable guy, and has actually had this pattern of obsession with other people in the past. Chip ends up kidnapping Robin, and Steven comes to save her. After a fight on the giant satellite dish, Chip jumps off after losing Steven as a friend, but survives. Robin and Steven get together, while Chip goes through the same level of obsession after the pilot says that the two are buddies.

This movie is a lot of fun watching Chip and Steven's dynamic. Chip is very much into television and references it a ton, with his main thing being that he doesn't realize that he's not living in a movie/tv show and that reality is a different beast. It's a bit of a dark comedy with just fun moments in character.

Chip does maintain a lot of yandere traits. He's very clingy towards Steven, constantly wanting to hang out with him, invading on his personal space and genuinely just being kind of a menace in general. He leaves Steven hundreds of voice mails and gets mad when he doesn't pick up, as well as pretty much tries to get Steven and Robin together to make sure the two of them are still buddies. He even buys Chip a ton of things, and when it all backfires, he goes back hard with vengeance, kidnapping Robin and framing him for stealing. Still, the genuine problem I have with Chip as a yandere is that he switches targets too fast. In the end of the movie, he pretty much is implied to have ditched Steven in favor of the pilot and that's after Steven made a plea to him before jumping off of the satellite dish that the two of them would still be friends together, and even in the end, Steven still never really says that he wants to stop being friends with him. You can also argue that he has, at least according to Rick, done something like this in the past, however, you can argue that we don't really know the extent to how far he went so that's up in the air, but really, a yandere, even one that's platonic shouldn't really switch up targets that fast, as yanderes are very well known for their devotion and persistence towards one person, even if it is in a platonic way.

Overall, very fun movie that I enjoyed with a obsessive character, however, for my money it doesn't really hit the yandere mark due to the fact that again, he switches targets far too fast.

[abysmal-black]

(@pxison - Yonji) [ COVER ]: sender lunges forward to throw their body over the receiver and shield them from harm during a fight.

Neither of them should have been here.

Targets running was nothing new but this old man had a death wish.

Sanji is under strict orders to bring him in alive, a bonus Judge wanted; good gracious, some precious object for his collection; Sanji hadn't been listening. A stray artery shell struck the building he found out later, the resulting destabilization and crumbling brick threw the target and him to the ground but the floor beneath the prince was weaker and gave way in rushing lines and splinters. Sanji was on his feet before the building could settle following the hurried clatter of steps a floor up, the way they had come cut off by a jump old bones surely wouldn't survive intact. Fuck. He growls, a vision of his father's disapproving scowl worse than the spot on his record.

The chase leads outside, old man making a run for the adjoining tower across crumbling battlements, wiry frame dodging downed men and soldiers still firing from cover. Sanji's faster, easily lunging and pivoting past the chunks of heavy stone and cracking floor. Doesn't hear the shell slicing through the gunpowder burned air or the droaning whirr of cables in his six. It's only when gloves close around the flapping collar of his target does he realize the grounds given away under him and his bodies about to catch the business end of something nasty.

Yonji should have been minding his own damn business. He had to be under orders to clear the wall but he still shouldn't have been there. Sanji could have taken it, sure it probably would have ripped clean through his shoulder or blown off his arm at the elbow if he had half a second to pull back. What's a little battlefield amputation? So, why was Yonji there? Why did this idiot swoop in and cover him?

The target is safe, snot and tears making a mess of his face as he clings to the prince's fist clenched around his shirt. Sanji's eyes are blown wide, curly brows pushed together in open concern while mouth fights to string together a choked: "What did you do?" A scorched hole of metal and cables takes up the space that was his brother's shoulder, the reinforced shell of his ribs exposed from the temporary cavity of the bullet's impact. His empty hand is fisting at the yellow double six of Yonji's suit unsure if he should let go, unsure if his touch is the only thing keeping that ugly gash from spreading further.

"Idiot." A broken little curse devoid of malice but bubbling with hurt. Sanji pressed forward on his boots, carefully bridging the crumbled gap to safer ground. "Why did you do that?" Judge could have gone without the bonus, without this stupid old man. It was neither of their faults but Sanji would blame himself. He should have been more careful, been more aware, knew when to say fuck it. "Idiot." Choked out the word again when he lands and set Yonji down.

[jechristine]

I read this article today and thought it did a nice job of providing context for the WGA and SAG-AFSTRA negotiations.

I’m going to paste in some excerpts—

On the alienation of the creative laborer from his product:

“Television has turned into a hyperspecialized Model T assembly line where everyone does one particular tiny job,” says Schur. “You focus really hard on screwing this bolt into this piece of metal, and that’s all you do. And as a result, nobody’s learning how to make a whole car. The battle now is to figure out which patches we can put on the process so that in five or ten years, people will still know how to make TV.”

On the signifiers of “prestige” and their easy appropriation (I think this is a main problem of Euphoria, actually):

It may not have helped that some streaming services thought their recommendation algorithms could replace old-fashioned marketing, which made it easy for even great shows to come and go without causing a ripple. In an attempt to make their wares stand out among the glut, some platforms simply spent more money on them with mixed results. Over time, the expensive signifiers of prestige TV — the movie stars, the set pieces, the cinematography — became so familiar and easy to appropriate that it could take viewers six or seven hours to realize the show they were watching was a fugazi. “Premium and streaming have been chasing more of a film attitude than a TV attitude, which is making shows more expensive but oftentimes not as good as they used to be,” says Ryan. “You’re seeing ideas that should’ve been movies being elongated into eight episodes, and they don’t have the narrative engines to sustain them for that long.”

And this is super depressing. On the closing window for a diversity of voices:

One of the best things about the boom was that it created space for stories and voices that had usually been marginalized. But as Hollywood reverts to what it thinks are sure things, many fear that TV may lose some of that diversity. “I recently spoke to the writers of a show that would’ve featured a trans lead,” Nori Reed, a comic and writer, says in an email. “After years of development at a major studio, they were told they had to change the trans character to cis if they wanted the show to be produced. Another friend was developing a show at another major studio that featured a central trans story line. Their show was canceled. When their manager tried to shop it to other studios, they were told that nobody wants to produce trans-focused shows any longer, citing the need for ‘global appeal.’”

And on to the unsurprising but depressing future:

Many in the industry have conjectured that the streaming ecosystem may eventually shrink to four major platforms. If that’s the case, then we’d have sacrificed cable only to replace it with a broadcast-style monopoly. A world with fewer apps could have immediate downsides for both consumers and creators. A number of streamers have raised their prices recently, and less competition would embolden them to do so again. More significantly, anyone making shows would likely lose negotiating power.

Would love to read thoughts about this piece if anyone else is interested!

[asapgaragedoorstx]

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[elitecellparts-repairparts]

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