#power bottom ryan

[wolfawaycamp]

i'm so hungry and starving... please... a donation, kind sir... for the bottom ryan coalition... we are so cold...

Dear Bottom Ryan Coalition,

We have seen your humble plea and hope that the enclosed donation of some power bottom Ryan will have you well fed and warmed.

Sincerely,

🐰 Bunny Lapin 🐰

President and CEO

Doing Too Much Corp 

[Available on AO3 here.]

Ryan sips a chai latte and thinks, for maybe the hundredth time today, about sex.

Outside, an aggressively pale gray sky is spitting snowflakes, which Ryan wants absolutely nothing to do with. He’s sitting cross-legged under a blanket in the coveted corner space of the sectional sofa and waiting, very impatiently, for Dylan to return from his last exam before the start of winter break. Ryan’s last final was two days ago, and he’s been feeling greatly deprived of his boyfriend’s attention in the interim. He understands Dylan has been busy, he’s not upset about that, but he has been promised some stress-relieving activities before they have to start making the rounds of holiday visits with family and friends, sleeping in various guest rooms and, in all likelihood, in separate beds.

He hears the key turn in the lock and Ryan’s on his feet and halfway to the door before deciding to be cool and sit back down, trying to look a little less eager. He rearranges his blanket and picks his half empty mug back up to take a sip. Ryan listens as Dylan drops his book bag and shoes in the entryway and hangs up his coat and scarf before rounding the corner into the living room. When he spots Ryan on the sofa, Dylan throws himself onto it face first and rests his head on Ryan’s leg, closing his eyes with a weary sigh. He looks exhausted.

“Hey, you survived,” Ryan says, not allowing an ounce of the considerable enthusiasm he feels at Dylan’s return to make it into his voice, “yay.”

This has become an ongoing bit between them, because Dylan finds it hilarious when Ryan says something like “yay” or “yippee” in the absolute flattest monotone he can manage.

Dylan laughs—it works every time—but he doesn’t open his eyes.

“Hooray for me,” he says weakly, his cheek nudging Ryan’s thigh.

“Did you get any sleep?” Ryan asks, dragging his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair. He wishes Dylan wouldn’t pull all-nighters like this. He doesn’t even need to, he always seems like he’s got a good handle on the subject matter for his classes. Ryan’s pretty sure Dylan is tutoring his less gifted classmates for free at these study sessions.

“Oh yeah, got a luxurious 30 minute chair nap before the final.” Dylan makes a face and Ryan mirrors it, tsking his disapproval. 

It’s not unusual for Dylan to grab a nap somewhere random on campus. He can sleep just about anywhere, in some of the most uncomfortable-looking positions. He and Schrödinger have that in common—Ryan suspects his boyfriend might be part cat. Unlike Schrödinger, though, Dylan usually complains about his neck being stiff after.

“Dylan, you cannot be helping yourself by staying up all night before your exams,” Ryan chides gently.

It isn’t really Dylan’s grades Ryan’s worried about. He’s made the Dean’s List every semester, despite always procrastinating way more than Ryan would personally be comfortable with. He’s more concerned that Dylan will burn himself out working harder than he has to.

And Dylan likes helping out his fellow physics students, Ryan knows that, but he still thinks he’s doing too much. If he hadn’t accompanied Dylan on a few of these late library nights and seen the absolute nerd herd he studies with, and if Dylan weren’t Dylan and devoted far beyond Ryan’s capacity for doubt, he might start to get suspicious. Dylan does this library long haul shit often enough that he has an overnight bag that he keeps in his car for the occasion, with a toothbrush, deodorant, a change of clothes, dry shampoo, and god knows what else. He’s such a dork. Ryan finds him almost painfully adorable.

“I felt alright for the final,” Dylan says, yawning halfway through his sentence, “thanks to coffee and Adderall. I’m just crashing hard now.”

He nuzzles into Ryan’s lap, moving his head a little closer to his hip, and Ryan feels a warmth spread through him that’s only about half caused by affection. He can’t feel the heat of Dylan’s breath on him through the layers of sweatpants and blanket, but just the weight of his head so close to Ryan’s dick is doing something for him. He tries to ignore it and rubs the back of Dylan’s neck, but Dylan’s soft groan in response does nothing for Ryan’s flimsy resolve to keep this g-rated.

“Mm thank you that feels nice,” Dylan murmurs. Then, a bit louder, as if he’s just remembered they don’t actually live here alone: “where’s K?”

“Work. Until 7.” 

It’s Kaitlyn’s last barista shift before the shop she works at on campus closes down for the semester. Which Dylan would know, if he remembered to check their shared Google Calendar.

“Oh,” he says, seeming to intuit Ryan’s mental scolding without him needing to say it out loud, “yeah. I knew that.”

“It would be a perfect time for a non-sleep-deprived boyfriend to rail me into the mattress…” Ryan taunts, “if only I had one. Too bad the only boyfriend I have thinks he needs to live at the Science and Engineering Library.”

Dylan scoffs. “Wow, he sounds like a loser.”

“He is.”

“He sounds pretty hot though.”

Ryan laughs, kneading the back of Dylan’s neck with his fingertips.

“He is.”

Dylan smiles in his lap.

“Trust me babe, I’m gonna fuck you so good, real soon. All I need is, like, a solid six hours of sleep, and a shower, and, y’know, probably more food by then, and some caffeine to go with the food…” he pauses and yawns again, “but once I’ve had all of that, oh man, you’d better be ready. One way ticket to Pound Town.”

“Okay, well… that’s a lot of requirements standing between me and Pound Town,” Ryan says, “can we work on that? What about… three hours and a snack?”

“Four hours and a charcuterie tray,” Dylan counters.

“A whole tray? I can’t just feed you some string cheese and ham slices?”

“Ryan, I take my craft seriously. An athlete needs fuel. At least, that’s what Kaitlyn says when she eats a whole pizza by herself the night before her hockey games.”

The thought of Dylan as any kind of athlete is almost laughable, but if there was a semi-pro league for topping, maybe he would qualify. He is tall, anatomically fortunate, and very determined. Plus, Ryan definitely wants to get fucked by him sooner rather than later, so he’s not about to laugh.

“Hm. All right. What if you fucked me real quick right now and then you can sleep as long as you want and we can get food delivered later. Pho or Chinese or something? You’ll sleep better anyway.”

He knows this is true, but isn’t sure it will be enough incentive. Dylan sleeps like the dead after he comes. They both do.

Dylan turns his head so he’s face-down in Ryan’s lap and lets out another groan, this one more protracted and decidedly less sexy. Then he turns his head to the side again.

“Baaaaabe,” he whines, “I’m so fried. It’s not that I don’t want to—believe me, I do. I just don’t think it’d be very good.”

“Well… what if I did all the work? I could be on top. You know, uh, ride you and take care of myself.”

Dylan is silent for a moment, processing this suggestion.

“Damn,” he says, “you want it that bad, huh?”

“Yes,” Ryan answers, and the blunt honesty of his need seems to finally crack Dylan’s defenses.

“Fine, but I’m literally just gonna lay there. Like, total starfish mode.” He’s trying to sound put out but Ryan sees him grinning. 

“I can work with that, as long as you’re hard.”

“Oh, I’m gonna be hard,” he sighs, “I’m halfway there already.”

“I love you,” Ryan declares. 

This is true—and mostly has nothing to do with how easily his boyfriend gets erections—but Ryan’s fighting kind of dirty now. Dylan might have a filthy mind, but he’s also such a romantic sap that being straightforwardly sweet to him turns him on more than pretty much anything.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dylan says dismissively, clearly aware of exactly what Ryan’s doing, “I know you do. You also love getting your way.”

“Mm-hmm, that too,” Ryan admits, patting Dylan’s head affectionately before sliding out from under both him and the blanket and standing up. “Now c’mon before you pass out right here.”

He grabs Dylan’s single hand in both of his and drags him physically off the couch and toward the bedroom as Dylan laughs at his eagerness.

Ryan releases Dylan’s hand only when he’s deposited him right next to their bed and he backtracks to close the door behind them

“Bed. Now.” He commands.

“With my clothes on?”

“I’ll take ‘em off in a second.”

Dylan lies on the bed and Ryan leans down and presses a kiss to his temple. “You work too hard, boy genius,” he says, “relax. I’ll take care of everything.”

“I am not a—wait, everything?” Dylan raises a skeptical eyebrow but Ryan thinks he’s starting to get into the idea. It’s not like Ryan’s never taken control before, he does that fairly often. But Dylan’s got a major service top streak, he rarely lets Ryan do it all himself.

“Yeah, everything.”

“Okay,” Dylan says with a quiet, wide-eyed intensity that Ryan sees only on occasions when he’s momentarily too horny even to make jokes.

Ryan grins down at him. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Understood.” Dylan moves his shoulders a little, adjusts the pillow under his head.

Ryan begins the preparations. He digs a condom out of the bedside drawer for easier cleanup, grabs some lube, and turns on the little space heater by the bed. They’ll generate their own heat soon enough but it’s still nice to have, and it’ll kick off automatically in half an hour. He sets the package of wet wipes they keep in the drawer a couple of inches from the heater, not close enough to be a fire hazard but close enough that they’ll have the chill knocked off of them for wiping up later. There’s no way he’s getting Dylan directly into a shower after this.

He strips his own clothes off in front of the heater and tosses them into the hamper before climbing onto the bed with Dylan, who is quietly watching his every move with drowsy, half-lidded eyes. Ryan grips the hem of his sweatshirt and the t-shirt underneath and Dylan sits up to allow him to pull them both off in one motion. They end up inside out and tangled together but Ryan just chucks them toward the hamper and moves on. He then quickly relieves Dylan of his pants, socks, and underwear. He’s a little glad that Dylan hasn’t bothered with his prosthetic hand today—he has yet to perfect a method for taking that off of him in a sexy way, but he’s working on it.

“Ah, shit,” Dylan says, “I might actually fall asleep just lying here. If I do, you have my full consent to keep going until you finish.”

He’s joking, there’s no way he’d actually fall asleep, but something about it, about Dylan doing nothing while Ryan gets himself off, being so passive that he could actually fall asleep… it’s not unappealing.

“That’s… kind of hot, actually. See how little you can do. Play dead.”

“Done,” Dylan says, settling back into the sheets, draping his left arm over his eyes to block out the light.

Ryan takes a moment just to look at him stretched out on their unmade bed, his reclining form long, pale, and perfect. He’s not quite fully hard yet, but he’s getting there. Ryan lays his head on Dylan’s chest and rubs slow circles low on his abdomen, in the sensitive space between his navel and his cock, watching him swell and lengthen in response. He avoids touching Dylan’s cock directly for the moment, trailing soft touches over his hip and then lightly dragging his blunt nails up and down his inner thigh, trying to build anticipation.

Dylan draws a shivery breath and Ryan thinks he looks ready. He finally gives him a few lazy strokes with his hand just to be sure before dripping a little lube onto Dylan’s cock and rolling on the condom. Then he generously drizzles more on the outside.

Ryan hovers over Dylan, unsure if he wants to be squatting with his feet on the bed or kneeling on his knees. He decides to start with kneeling and move to squatting if he needs more of a bouncing motion later. He straddles Dylan and scoots down a little to line them up. Dylan’s breathing slow and deep, eyes still obscured in the crook of his arm. He only hums softly when Ryan takes him in hand and positions him just right.

He takes a deep breath and tries to consciously relax his body, remind his muscles to be loose and pliant. It hasn’t been so long that Ryan needs fingers or a toy inside him first, but a few days is long enough for him to feel a little tight. He presses the lubed head of Dylan’s cock to his hole and sinks down slow, feeling the slight pop of his flared crown passing through the ring of muscle at his entrance.

It doesn’t hurt, in fact it feels really goddamn good, but there’s an intensity to the sensation for sure. He can feel every inch gradually pressing into him, spreading him open. Dylan’s shaft glides in smoothly, and his slight upward curve puts him at the ideal angle to rub against Ryan’s prostate, the swollen, sensitive spot on his front wall, but he doesn’t move to make that happen just yet. He takes a moment to adjust and appreciate the stretch, the warmth, the breathtaking sensation of being completely connected and filled so full.

Ryan can tell being inside him is having an effect on Dylan too—he hears him suck in air through his teeth as he bottoms out and Ryan’s weight comes to rest on his hips. Ryan shudders a little and Dylan’s body jerks in response, almost like he’s having that dream everyone has sometimes when they’re just on the edge of sleep, the one about falling.

“God,” he breathes, “you feel so fucking good.”

Ryan’s face is alight with heat at the praise but he tries not to let on that he likes it so much. Normally, he’d tell Dylan he feels good too—and he definitely does—but he decides to keep up the bit instead.

“Shut up,” he says, giving Dylan’s side a playful swat with his open palm, “you’re supposed to be asleep.”

Dylan laughs out loud and it might be the best sound in the world.

“This roleplay sucks.”

Ryan clenches a little around his boyfriend’s cock, and Dylan curses under his breath.

“You love it.”

Dylan’s lifted his arm from his face to peek at him and he watches as pre-cum drips from Ryan’s tip down onto his abdomen, connecting the two points for a moment in a thin, shimmering line.

“It, uh, has its charms,” Dylan says with a smile, eyes lifting to Ryan’s face. “Should I pretend to snore?”

“No. You should do nothing and say nothing.” Ryan’s immediately afraid this has come out harsher than intended, so he runs his hands up Dylan’s stomach and over his chest and, in a much softer tone, he says, “just relax, babe. I’ve got this. I’ll take care of us both, promise.”

“Yeah,” Dylan says, “okay.”

Ryan drags his hands back down Dylan’s torso and then rests them on his own thighs. He rocks his body forward and back a few times, feeling the press of that curve against his front wall, the deep, tingling pleasure it sends outward through his own shaft. And he’s so hard—Ryan’s always so hard when they do this—even though he has no particular need to be when he bottoms. Dylan likes it though, likes to see how hard Ryan gets when he’s inside him. He likes the feeling of Ryan’s cock, rigid and needy and wet at the tip, rubbing against his belly with every stroke when Dylan fucks him in missionary.

He gyrates on top of Dylan, grinding the length inside him very slowly, feeling himself open up. Sure, maybe he said “fuck me real quick” earlier, but now that Ryan’s fucking himself on Dylan’s cock he doesn’t see much need to be in a hurry.

Ryan’s ridden Dylan in this exact position before but never with him just lazily pancaked out beneath him. Usually, his boyfriend would be touching him all over, squeezing Ryan’s ass and nipples, holding onto his hips and urging him on, running his single hand and the flat, soft plane of his inner wrist over Ryan’s abs and breathlessly telling him how gorgeous he is. In a softer moment, he might sit up and tenderly stroke Ryan’s face, kiss his forehead and cheeks and chin before passionately bringing their lips together. Either of those options would drive Ryan absolutely crazy, but something about this is working too—Dylan looking dazedly up at him, his hushed demeanor a product of both fatigue and awe, as Ryan takes exactly what he wants from him.

He’s working Dylan’s cock in precise circles inside him now, like a toy, focusing the pressure and the friction right where he needs it, pleasure rippling outward with each movement. This may not be enough stimulation to get Dylan off, but he’s got to be enjoying the visual and Ryan doesn’t mind finishing him off with his hands after if he needs to. Since they’re using a condom this time, he would even consider putting Dylan’s cock in his mouth if he’s feeling generous—which he often is after he comes. The plasticky latex flavor condoms leave behind is not his favorite, but it’s at least a possibility, unlike when they’re doing it bare. For now, he puts Dylan’s pleasure out of his mind completely, relegates his sighs and moans to enjoyable background noise. Ryan’s looking for what feels the best for him and him alone.

Ryan leans back and puts his hands out behind him, gripping Dylan’s legs for leverage just above his knees as he rides. His movements stroke Dylan firmly inside him in quick, decisive movements. He knows he’s getting close, but doesn’t realize just how close until it’s too late. Before he can even touch his own cock directly, Ryan’s orgasm barrels through him like a freight train, so hard he finds his eyes are watering. The onslaught of sensation has him bucking uncontrollably on Dylan’s cock, moaning with abandon, his head tipped back toward the ceiling. He imagines he probably looks like he’s howling at the—nope! He cuts himself off. That’s too loaded a metaphor for him to be thinking of, even now.

His immediate desire is to let himself fall forward into Dylan’s arms, but Ryan holds himself back, realizing he’s spattered his boyfriend’s stomach and chest with cum, and belly flopping onto that doesn’t seem like such a good idea. Instead he rests where he is for a few seconds, his chin falling toward his own chest, and Dylan bends his legs behind him, plants his feet on the bed with his knees up to give Ryan something to lean back against.

Only when he comes back to his senses does Ryan realize that Dylan’s beginning to go soft inside him. He’s somehow completely missed him coming too. The contractions that squeezed his insides so tight when he climaxed must have dragged Dylan along with him, wringing his release out of him as a welcome—if unintended—side effect. 

Ryan pushes up on his knees, lets Dylan’s flagging cock slide slickly out of him, and then flops down beside him on the bed. He takes Dylan’s face in his hands and kisses him softly, sweetly, a little thank you for humoring him—not that Dylan seemed to mind.

“Hey—babe,” Dylan murmurs between kisses, “—baby?”

“Yeah?”

“Little help here?”

Ryan lifts his head and sees Dylan is gesturing at his stomach, realizes he can’t move onto his side to take off the condom without risking Ryan’s cum, which is pooling on his abdomen, dribbling over onto the bed.

“Oh shit, sorry,” Ryan says, “lemme get that.”

He jumps up and grabs the wet wipes, which feel warm from sitting in front of the heater, uses several of them to mop up his own cum and then dabs at a smear of Dylan’s that’s leaked out of the condom and down onto his balls while he’s been immobilized.

Dylan snorts softly. “Thanks.”

“I did say I’d take care of everything.”

“That’s true,” Dylan nods, “I’ll get this though.” 

He shifts to the side and takes off the condom, tying it off and dropping it into the trash by the bed. Ryan hands Dylan a wipe for his dick, deciding it’s probably best to let him handle that cleanup job in case he’s still sensitive. 

Ryan does the same for himself, wiping away the excess lube between his cheeks, feeling just a hint of tenderness inside when he moves in a certain way. He doesn’t mind that, it makes him feel well-fucked, and he knows it won’t be enough to leave him sore later. He goes to the dresser and grabs some clean underwear and t-shirts for them both, pulling his on and tossing Dylan’s at him. He even remembers to crack the bedroom door so the cat won’t wake them up complaining if she rouses from her heated bed in the living room and decides she really needs to come in. Then he lies back down on the bed next to Dylan, snuggling into his arms, warm and content.

“Well, it looks like you stayed awake after all,” Ryan teases. 

“Jesus, you think?!” Dylan laughs, “watching you get yourself off like that was… so fucking hot. Pretty sure that ass of yours could wake the dead.”

“Thank you… I think? I don’t entirely get the implication there… not sure I want to…”

“Yeah, neither do I. Maybe ask Eight Hours of Sleep Dylan about it when you see him. He should be around approximately…” Dylan pretends to look at his watch, which he isn’t wearing, “eight hours from now. Are you gonna take a nap with me?”

“Yep.” Now Ryan yawns and Dylan does the same just after, as a reflex. “I think I earned it.”

“Yeah,” Dylan says fondly, almost like he’s proud, “you really did.”

Ryan pulls the blankets up over them both and sleep overtakes them without another word.

[brainrotcharacters]

That's that shit eating grin that practically screams "Harder! HARDER!" except the homoerotic subtext is a tripwire they're crash landing through

[mothgardens]

@tired-dragon22 ask and you shall receive :)

If you know me, no you don’t (I’m looking at u, T)

This is probably going to be a little messy and silly, but defo worth it.

To the people who think that Logan is a dominant, angry top… YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND HIM— this goes both ways because if you think that Wade is a submissive, whiny bottom you gotta be kidding.

These two characters are so complex and I am going to spend far to much time analyzing their psychosexual behavior, lets begin:

Logan, like most us know, is passed around like a blunt: Storm, Jean, Scott, Jean and Scott at the same time, Kurt, Storm, Kurt and Storm at the same time, Wade, some people ship him with Charles and Erik as well— point being, the man has some experience.

I know he wouldn’t run for one team (top or bottom), he is playing both fields. In my heart, he is a switch. But, that means he has multiple roles. To me, he is a power bottom MOST of the time, a service top, and on special occasions he can be a regular old bottom.

You have to really delve into the details of his character to see this how I do, and tbh idk if I will be able to explain it as well as I’d like.

Thinking about his character overall, he plays the “bad boy” who is mean and uncommitted, but that is not him. That is a mask to the world to hide his vulnerability.

This man is really just a soft, sad soldier. He has spent to much if his life grasping for stability and dignity. Everything he has ever done has been for some drop of control. But, he doesn’t like it.

He hates his anger, it’s exhausting. He hates fighting for everything he wants. He hates the constant tension and stress. He needs someone to take it away. Which leads me to our first role, Service Top.

He wants to serve. He wants to be told he is doing well (I will die on the hill of this mf having a praise kink). He doesn’t want to fight for control anymore. He hates having a constant guessing game; he would prefer to be told what to do. So, this is a perfect role for him. His partner has control, but he can still serve them. He can be their loyal dog. Do as they say, how they say it. He would get of to pleasing his partner. If they tell him “good job” then his heart is their’s.

I think the line between him being a power bottom or a traditional bottom is paper thin. He likes the lack of control, but he doesn’t like the guessing game. So, he gives suggestions, orders, or, primarily, bitches until his partner does what he wants. HE IS A BRAT, YOU CANNOT FIGHT ME ON THIS.

Simply, he needs to be taken care of. He takes care of so many people, he takes control of so many situations, he never catches a break. He just needs someone to gently lay him down and take the tension away.

I am foul, so one of my favorite traits about Logan is his animalistic tendencies. I believe they shine out during sex. Along the lines of him being a brat, sometimes he will just growl instead of actually bitching. Or he will whine instead of saying a word. I think he is incredibly verbal during sex, but his partner has to get him comfortable enough to quit biting back noises.

I’m not going to get into a lot of details, but just know: Logan is a bratty, feral power bottom who becomes a little mess OR he is a loyal dog service top who just wants to please.

That was my ted talk, amen.

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO ADD ON; im so happy i found the bottom logan community. He is so important to me.

(i can also make one of these about Wade)

[khruschevshoe]

My Hot-Take/Controversial Ranking of Doctor Who Seasons (excluding specials bc my special order is really unhinged)

3 > 1 > 10 > 4 > 5 > 8 > 11 > 12 > 9 > 7b > 2 > 6 > 13 = 7a

Disclaimer: I have favorite episodes that come from every single season on this list, including 7a. For example, even though Season 6 is low on the list, the God Complex, Almost People/Rebel Flesh, and Impossible Astronaut are some of my favorite of the show. I do really love the Power of Three. These are based on season arc/average feeling per episode/rewatchability on a subjective level.

[gettothedancing]

The Energy Information Administration (EIA) predicted in January that “wind and solar energy will lead growth in U.S. power generation for the next two years.” Critics say adding ever more wind and solar capacity could be paying more for less, as additional weather-dependent capacity falls short of producing electricity when consumers need it. “We built a heck of a lot of wind capacity in 2023 in the United States, but the actual amount of wind electricity produced went down, simply because you have wind droughts,” energy economist Dan Kish, senior vice president of policy at the Institute for Energy Research (IER), told The Epoch Times. “The windiest spots have been hit pretty hard with wind turbines, so now they’re going to places that are less prolific in terms of wind, and the result is you’re getting less wind per installed megawatt of wind power than you did before.” According to the EIA, while overall “renewable” energy production grew by 2 percent in 2023, largely because of increases in biofuels and solar energy, consumption of wind energy declined for the first time in 25 years. “Our entire grid has been built with the goal of moving power to people when they need it,” Kish said, but noted that, increasingly, this is shifting to providing electricity “whenever the wind blows or the sun shines.”

Coal plants, while emitting more carbon dioxide (CO2), have provided an affordable, reliable, and flexible supply of “dispatchable” electricity, which can be ramped up or down to meet demand. To date, while installed wind and solar capacity have increased, natural gas has been the prime beneficiary of the transition away from coal—both as a supplier of base-load power and as a backup to wind and solar when the weather doesn’t cooperate. U.S. natural gas consumption reached a record 89.1 billion cubic feet per day in 2023 and has increased by an average of 4 percent per year since 2018, according to an April report by the EIA.

“The combination of [artificial intelligence] and increased reliance on intermittent renewables means more natural gas—both because solar and wind can’t easily provide electricity with low harmonic distortions that delicate data center kit needs—but also because unreliable power sources infiltrate the grid, assuring 24x7 supply relies ever more on dispatchable, traditional energy, which is gas,” Simon Lack, founder and managing partner of SL Advisors LLC, told The Epoch Times. Unlike coal, however, gas is not stored onsite at power plants but rather delivered just in time via pipelines. During winter storm Uri in Texas, for example, freezing temperatures and electricity outages disrupted gas deliveries, the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission reported, exacerbating the crisis that ended with widespread blackouts and the deaths of an estimated 246 people. While natural gas is abundant, affordable, and burns cleaner than coal, it doesn’t satisfy net-zero goals of “decarbonizing” energy and reducing global emissions by at least 43 percent by 2030, 60 percent by 2035, and reaching net-zero by 2050. Given that, nuclear energy is increasingly being touted as the ideal solution.

The 54 U.S. nuclear plants and 93 U.S. nuclear reactors, located across 28 states, currently generate about 19 percent of the nation’s electricity, according to the EIA. A nuclear plant’s capacity factor, which measures the amount of usable energy it produces as a percentage of the maximum it could potentially produce, is the highest of all power sources, averaging more than 92 percent, according to the DOE. By comparison, the capacity factors for wind and solar are the lowest of all major U.S. energy sources, at 35 percent and 25 percent, respectively. Nuclear power plants are designed to run 24 hours per day, seven days per week, making them ideal for reliable, base-load electricity. Energy economist Ryan Yonk, a director at the American Institute for Economic Research, said the safety of nuclear plants has improved with time, and although risk has not been completely eliminated, this leaves nuclear as the ���no-carbon energy” of the future, provided that the industry can build plants that address risk concerns and regulatory concerns. “If you really care deeply about CO2 and view it as a substantial problem, we have an established technology that doesn’t produce CO2, that produces large amounts of low-cost energy at relatively low risk,” he said. The Biden administration appears to have also come around to that point of view, and the Inflation Reduction Act enacted by the administration offers a 30 percent federal investment tax credit for new nuclear projects. The White House announced in March that it was “signing on to last year’s multi-country declaration at COP28 to triple nuclear energy capacity globally by 2050; developing new reactor designs; extending the service lives of existing nuclear reactors; and growing the momentum behind new deployments.”

The DOE is also working to ease the conversion of existing coal plants to nuclear. According to the DOE’s Office of Nuclear Energy, “we’ll need an additional 200 gigawatts of nuclear capacity to reach net-zero emissions by 2050 and some of that could take place at or near retiring coal plants.” The agency stated that more than 300 existing and retired coal plants could be converted to nuclear energy, and this would increase the U.S. nuclear capacity by more than 250 gigawatts, nearly tripling its current capacity of 95 gigawatts.

As US Coal Plants Shutter, a Renewed Focus on Nuclear (Kevin Stocklin and Andrew Moran, Epoch Times)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Ad-tech targeting is an existential threat

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me TORONTO on SUNDAY (Feb 23) at Another Story Books, and in NYC on WEDNESDAY (26 Feb) with JOHN HODGMAN. More tour dates here.

The commercial surveillance industry is almost totally unregulated. Data brokers, ad-tech, and everyone in between – they harvest, store, analyze, sell and rent every intimate, sensitive, potentially compromising fact about your life.

Late last year, I testified at a Consumer Finance Protection Bureau hearing about a proposed new rule to kill off data brokers, who are the lynchpin of the industry:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/16/the-second-best-time-is-now/#the-point-of-a-system-is-what-it-does

The other witnesses were fascinating – and chilling, There was a lawyer from the AARP who explained how data-brokers would let you target ads to categories like "seniors with dementia." Then there was someone from the Pentagon, discussing how anyone could do an ad-buy targeting "people enlisted in the armed forces who have gambling problems." Sure, I thought, and you don't even need these explicit categories: if you served an ad to "people 25-40 with Ivy League/Big Ten law or political science degrees within 5 miles of Congress," you could serve an ad with a malicious payload to every Congressional staffer.

Now, that's just the data brokers. The real action is in ad-tech, a sector dominated by two giant companies, Meta and Google. These companies claim that they are better than the unregulated data-broker cowboys at the bottom of the food-chain. They say they're responsible wielders of unregulated monopoly surveillance power. Reader, they are not.

Meta has been repeatedly caught offering ad-targeting like "depressed teenagers" (great for your next incel recruiting drive):

https://www.technologyreview.com/2017/05/01/105987/is-facebook-targeting-ads-at-sad-teens/

And Google? They just keep on getting caught with both hands in the creepy commercial surveillance cookie-jar. Today, Wired's Dell Cameron and Dhruv Mehrotra report on a way to use Google to target people with chronic illnesses, people in financial distress, and national security "decision makers":

https://www.wired.com/story/google-dv360-banned-audience-segments-national-security/

Google doesn't offer these categories itself, they just allow data-brokers to assemble them and offer them for sale via Google. Just as it's possible to generate a target of "Congressional staffers" by using location and education data, it's possible to target people with chronic illnesses based on things like whether they regularly travel to clinics that treat HIV, asthma, chronic pain, etc.

Google claims that this violates their policies, and that they have best-of-breed technical measures to prevent this from happening, but when Wired asked how this data-broker was able to sell these audiences – including people in menopause, or with "chronic pain, fibromyalgia, psoriasis, arthritis, high cholesterol, and hypertension" – Google did not reply.

The data broker in the report also sold access to people based on which medications they took (including Ambien), people who abuse opioids or are recovering from opioid addiction, people with endocrine disorders, and "contractors with access to restricted US defense-related technologies."

It's easy to see how these categories could enable blackmail, spear-phishing, scams, malvertising, and many other crimes that threaten individuals, groups, and the nation as a whole. The US Office of Naval Intelligence has already published details of how "anonymous" people targeted by ads can be identified:

https://www.odni.gov/files/ODNI/documents/assessments/ODNI-Declassified-Report-on-CAI-January2022.pdf

The most amazing part is how the 33,000 targeting segments came to public light: an activist just pretended to be an ad buyer, and the data-broker sent him the whole package, no questions asked. Johnny Ryan is a brilliant Irish privacy activist with the Irish Council for Civil Liberties. He created a fake data analytics website for a company that wasn't registered anywhere, then sent out a sales query to a brokerage (the brokerage isn't identified in the piece, to prevent bad actors from using it to attack targeted categories of people).

Foreign states, including China – a favorite boogeyman of the US national security establishment – can buy Google's data and target users based on Google ad-tech stack. In the past, Chinese spies have used malvertising – serving targeted ads loaded with malware – to attack their adversaries. Chinese firms spend billions every year to target ads to Americans:

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/03/06/business/google-meta-temu-shein.html

Google and Meta have no meaningful checks to prevent anyone from establishing a shell company that buys and targets ads with their services, and the data-brokers that feed into those services are even less well-protected against fraud and other malicious act.

All of this is only possible because Congress has failed to act on privacy since 1988. That's the year that Congress passed the Video Privacy Protection Act, which bans video store clerks from telling the newspapers which VHS cassettes you have at home. That's also the last time Congress passed a federal consumer privacy law:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Video_Privacy_Protection_Act

The legislative history of the VPPA is telling: it was passed after a newspaper published the leaked video-rental history of a far-right judge named Robert Bork, whom Reagan hoped to elevate to the Supreme Court. Bork failed his Senate confirmation hearings, but not because of his video rentals (he actually had pretty good taste in movies). Rather, it was because he was a Nixonite criminal and virulent loudmouth racist whose record was strewn with the most disgusting nonsense imaginable).

But the leak of Bork's video-rental history gave Congress the cold grue. His video rental history wasn't embarrassing, but it sure seemed like Congress had some stuff in its video-rental records that they didn't want voters finding out about. They beat all land-speed records in making it a crime to tell anyone what kind of movies they (and we) were watching.

And that was it. For 37 years, Congress has completely failed to pass another consumer privacy law. Which is how we got here – to this moment where you can target ads to suicidal teens, gambling addicted soldiers in Minuteman silos, grannies with Alzheimer's, and every Congressional staffer on the Hill.

Some people think the problem with mass surveillance is a kind of machine-driven, automated mind-control ray. They believe the self-aggrandizing claims of tech bros to have finally perfected the elusive mind-control ray, using big data and machine learning.

But you don't need to accept these outlandish claims – which come from Big Tech's sales literature, wherein they boast to potential advertisers that surveillance ads are devastatingly effective – to understand how and why this is harmful. If you're struggling with opioid addiction and I target an ad to you for a fake cure or rehab center, I haven't brainwashed you – I've just tricked you. We don't have to believe in mind-control to believe that targeted lies can cause unlimited harms.

And those harms are indeed grave. Stein's Law predicts that "anything that can't go on forever eventually stops." Congress's failure on privacy has put us all at risk – including Congress. It's only a matter of time until the commercial surveillance industry is responsible for a massive leak, targeted phishing campaign, or a ghastly national security incident involving Congress. Perhaps then we will get action.

In the meantime, the coalition of people whose problems can be blamed on the failure to update privacy law continues to grow. That coalition includes protesters whose identities were served up to cops, teenagers who were tracked to out-of-state abortion clinics, people of color who were discriminated against in hiring and lending, and anyone who's been harassed with deepfake porn:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/06/privacy-first/#but-not-just-privacy

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

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/20/privacy-first-second-third/#malvertising

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

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

[soul-controller]

Selfish Top Bottom

When it came to distinguishing whether a man was a top or a bottom, there was no way that anyone could look at Ryan Thompson and know that he was an absolute top. With the bulky and imposing physique of a powerlifter and an obscenely large cock that was instantly noticeable that no matter how loose or tight his pants were, the man could absolutely be the perfect individual to represent what a power top was.

Due to living in a relatively small urban town (at least in comparison to a huge city like Los Angeles or New York City), word seemed to travel fast around queer circles to the point where if you didn’t know who Ryan was, you at least knew of his reputation. He was a perpetual manwhore, constantly hooking up with anyone he wanted and discarding them immediately after they fulfilled his needs. Although most people understood that that was just the way that things worked in their community, the same could not be said about Mitchell. Although he had never actually met Ryan or been intimate with him, the young twink knew that it was someone he had no desire of ever interacting with. 

However, all of that changed once Mitchell found out that the hunk had hooked up with his best friend Shane and mistreated him once Ryan had came. As Shane recollected how the stud ridiculed the “pale” and “pathetic” man and told him to leave his apartment as soon as possible before threatening to beat his “weak pansy ass” up, Mitchell could only see red at the other man’s behavior. There was certainly no problem with hookup culture if that was how Ryan wanted to live his life, but Mitchell drew the line at blatant disrespect and homophobic rhetoric. So with that in mind, he decided to put a plan into action – one of complete revenge to teach a lesson to the asshole meathead. 

To Mitchell’s amusement, it didn’t take much for him to catch Ryan’s eye. All he had to do was show up to the same club where Ryan had met Shane and sneak peeks at the ginger-haired hunk’s beefy body and playfully avert his gaze once Ryan realized that someone was staring. After a good 30 minutes of this back and forth, the beefy stud and twink finally met before heading off to Ryan’s place to “have some fun”.

Once they were walking up the stairs to the apartment, Mitchell wasted no time giving a performance of a lifetime by pretending to be fully infatuated as he felt up the man’s thick muscles and remarked about how hot and sexy the stud was. As a result, the duo couldn’t even make it into the bedroom before they ducked into the first bathroom they saw to get more intimate. Upon undressing himself and helping Ryan take off his clothes as well, Mitchell’s right hand began to traverse down the man’s pectoral shelf and cobblestone abs as he quietly whispered under his breath. As the twink’s dainty fingers finally began to graze along Ryan’s impressive and girthy manhood, Mitchell then grit his teeth and smirked as he forcefully wrapped around the man’s cock and balls and tugged.

The immediate tension caused Ryan to gasp and scream in shock, but rather than intense pain, the tugging was soundtracked by a resounding POP that echoed through the spacious bathroom. As he looked down at himself, a guttural scream escaped his lips as he noticed two things – his crotch was completely flat reminiscent of a Ken doll and Mitchell’s frail hand was still holding onto his real cock and balls.

As Ryan desperately asked what was going on, he watched in pure horror as he watched the man whisper more words under his breath which led to a chain reaction onto his detached genitalia. Before his eyes, his cock and balls were losing its realistic organic composition and shifting to gain an artificial shimmer – his cock was turning into a rubber dildo (with a suction cup even added onto the end to fully seal the deal).

While the hunk was acting absolutely manic at the transformation that had befallen him, Mitchell was completely calm and even joyful as he savored the other’s utter helplessness. Revenge felt oh so sweet… and he still had one more thing planned to make it even sweeter! As he continued to recite the words underneath his breath, the young warlock couldn’t help but smirk as he watched his magic going to work immediately. In an instant, the man’s firm muscular butt had been replaced with an insanely large and flabby ass that would wobble with every step he took. 

Despite wanting to wring out the pathetic twink’s neck, Ryan realized that there was something preventing him from either speaking to the man or physically attacking him. So instead, he could only watch in disbelief as the twink cockily stared at the man before turning and exiting the apartment.

Now alone with his new body and desires, Ryan stood at the sink and looked back at the dildo that still hung from a nearby wall. Despite how eager his mind was in regards to getting fucked, the perpetual top had no practice bottoming and thus knew what he needed to do before he got on Grindr and searched for a man to fill his needy hole…

Eager to read more stories like this? Head over to my Patreon to discover tons of hot transformation fiction including monthly mini-stories like this one!

[nhlclover]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 | 𝐑𝐘𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐃

word count: 1.43k

summary: all you want to know is if ryan's into you.

warnings: drinking, cursing, touching? nothing explicit though, kissing

notes: based on 'into you' by ariana grande. okay so i wrote this mostly in a single evening and it seemed to get me out of a writing slump so i hope you guys enjoy!

I'm so into you, I can barely breathe And all I wanna do is to fall in deep But close ain't close enough 'til we cross the line, So name a game to play, and I'll roll the dice.

You adjusted the bottom of your dress, pulling it down a little more so that you didn’t accidentally expose yourself. You step into the bustling environment, scanning the room for your friends. You come up empty, only spotting two different couples dry-humping each other and a very intense game of pong happening in the middle of the room. You’d rather be anywhere but here right now if not for the fact that Ryan specifically asked you to come. And it’s hard to say no to Ryan…

“Oh, there’s a party at Michaels frat tonight. Come with?” Ryan asked, throwing an arm around the back of your chair.

“Gross, I hate frats.” You groan.

“Yeah but you like to party with me so…” Ryan says, giving you a cheeky grin.

God, it was hard to say no to Ryan. His boyish grin and the twinkle in his eyes that accompanied it had you weak in the knees. When his eyes lock with yours, you feel your breath leave your lungs. His presence alone had the power to render you speechless. You’re so into him to the point it almost hurts. A sweet dull ache.

“Fine.” You cave. Ryan responds by leaning over to you and pressing a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

An arm snakes around your waist, pulling you out of your brief daydream and into a strong frame. “Hi.” He says softly into your ear.

You instantly recognize the voice as Ryan’s, stopping you from elbowing what you thought was a handsy frat brother in the stomach. When you turn to face him, Ryan nearly groans out loud when he sees your outfit. Your legs looked endless in your black mini-skirt, and Ryan knew he’d have to force himself to keep his eyes off your chest behind a tight black t-shirt. God, you looked good. So good. Your cheeks burn as his eyes trace your figure.

“You look great.” Ryan says, a lazy grin on his lips.

You fight off a wide grin that threatens your own. “Thank you.”

You consistently found yourselves close to crossing the line, teetering on the edge of friendship. But never had either of you worked up the courage to cross said line. Your connection was a dance, a delicate balance of shared jokes, shared moments, and the lingering touches that left them both wondering. You yearned to cross the line, waiting for the moment that Ryan would make a move.

Oh, baby, look what you started, the temperature's rising in here Is this gonna happen? Been waiting and waiting for you to make a move Before I make a move.

“C’mon, the boys are back here.” Ryan says, taking your hand in his and pulling you towards the back of the house.

You arrive in a living area, spotting Ryan’s teammates scattered on two couches. The pair of you sit down in empty spots, squeezing next to each other so that your legs are pressed up against one another.

Ryan seamlessly joined the boys’ conversation as they discussed hockey. You found yourself half listening in on their argument, which consisted of whether or not the President's Trophy curse is real. Mid-sentence, Ryan’s hand finds its way onto your knee, sending a jolt of electricity down your spine. Your heart raced as you glanced down at his calloused fingers resting lightly on your skin, the contrast between their rough texture and the softness of your knee sending a shiver down your spine. Despite the ongoing conversation around you, your mind was solely focused on the physical contact. He began to trace gentle, rhythmic circles on the inside of your knee, your mind turning to mush. His hand lingered there for a moment before his touch ventured higher. With each inch slowly gained, your mind raced with questions, a manic but silent dialogue echoing in your thoughts.

Was this the moment you had been waiting for? Was this the culmination of all the unspoken pining the pair of you had shamelessly done? Or was this just a continuation of the dance the two of you had been doing?

Every fiber of your being yearned for clarity, for resolution, for an end to the game of push and pull that had consumed your relationship. You wanted nothing more than to be done with the tiptoeing and the skirting around the edges of what could be.

So, baby, come light me up, and, baby, I'll let you on it A little bit dangerous, but, baby, that's how I want it A little less conversation and a little more touch my body 'Cause I'm so into you, into you, into you.

Ryan’s hand squeezing your knee pulls you out of your thoughts, and back to the present moment. Your eyes flicked to his face, meeting his expecting gaze.

“Did I miss something?” You ask, your voice tinged with embarrassment. “I kind of spaced out for a second.”

Ryan’s chuckle washes over you, his boyish smile appearing on his lips and melting away the lingering unease. “It’s okay,” Ryan reassures you. “I just asked if you wanted something to drink.”

“Oh, sorry,” You reply, a blush creeping on your cheeks. “Uh, sure. I’ll come with you though.”

Standing up, Ryan extends a hand, helping you up from the couch. He tells his friends the two of you will be right back, leading you to the kitchen with a delicate hand on your back. His hand sits dangerously low on your back, his touch sending a shiver down your spine despite the oppressive heat in the house due to the amount of people.

Stepping into the kitchen, you find yourself alone with Ryan for the first time this evening. The atmosphere shifts, the ambient noise of the party fading into the background.

“What are you feeling?” He asks, motioning to the supply of alcohol on the counter.

“Are you playing bartender?” You ask, teasingly.

“Yeah, sit back. I’m great at this.” He says, supplying a wink. You chuckle softly, hopping up onto the counter.

“Alright, since you’re so great at this… I’ll let you pick my drink.” You say.

You watch as Ryan grabs two cups, pouring tequila and orange juice into both of them, before handing you one of them. “That’s it?” You ask.

“Babe, it’s a frat house, what did you expect a frozen margarita?” Ryan teases, slotting himself between your legs. The use of a pet name as well as the feeling of his hand back on your knee make your heart skip a beat.

You fall into conversation, telling each other random stories from throughout the week. You find yourselves talking seamlessly, punctuated by shared laughter. With each refill of your drink, you feel the inhibition that had been weighing on you slip away and be replaced by liquid courage.

Emboldened by the alcohol, you reach out, running a hand through Ryan’s dark locks. The conversation comes to a standstill as he eyes your face, locking in on the playful grin on your lips.

“Why haven’t you made a move?” You ask. Your words hang in the air between you two like a dare.

It isn’t until Ryan suddenly straightens up and your hand falls from his hair, that you realize how close he’d gotten. His brow furrows, Ryan’s expression briefly clouding with uncertainty. He stays silent so you continue, wanting answers.

“I’ve been waiting and waiting for you to make a move.” You say, a little chuckle slipping off your tongue. “And I can’t wait anymore. I need to know. I need to know if you’re into me.”

Without a word, he closes the distance between the two of you, capturing your lips in a kiss. His mouth is warm, lips firm as they kiss yours. You don’t hesitate to melt into him, tasting the tequila and orange juice on his lips. His hands land on your thighs, gripping them tightly. A soft whimper leaves your lips when his tongue brushes against your bottom lip, and then slides inside your mouth.

For a heartbeat, everything else ceases to exist and it’s just you and Ryan stranded in a moment in time. Every sense of yours feels heightened. The heat of his body pressing against yours, the rhythm of his heartbeat echoing in your ears.

The kiss finally breaks, the both of you out of breath from the shared moment of passion. Ryan’s soft eyes stay locked on yours as he brings a hand up to your face, cupping your cheek.

“I’m so fucking into you.” He says softly.

[ghostradiodylan]

These are so valid.

I keep things pretty sfw around here but my discord crew know (especially my rum tunnelers—FFN to you all) that I can be summoned at any time by the mention of vers Rylan.

So many people assume Ryan is Dom Top and Dylan is Sub Bottom (and that those two aspects of someone’s sexuality are inherently linked which is a whole other thing I could rant about [and have]), and while everyone is entitled to the headcanons they find most pleasing, I find that a little funny since canonically Ryan lets Dylan be meaner to him than anyone else without getting offended about it and talks about his ass having a bank account like he’s inviting Dylan to make a deposit. 👀

some 🥵 rylan headcanons

despite dylan's flirty nature, ryan is the far more experienced of the two of them when they first get together (and whew boy, does he teach dylan a thing or two...particularly involving his tongue)

They're both vers

And they're both switches if they're having a 'not-vanilla' sorta night

ryan likes dylan's hand(s)...i mean, have you seen how big it/they are?

dylan is absolutely weak in the knees constantly for ryan's voice. i mean...have you heard him speak? he even makes dorky campfire stories sound captivating, mesmerizing

cuddles are non-optional during the afterglow. even with a quickie, there's gotta be some cuddles and hugs and sweet words

dylan hits the gym with jacob. he says its to get into shape, he doesn't want to get to soft now that he's in a committed relationship. thats not the reason, he just wants to be able to carry ryan with ease one-handed

ryan = leather, dylan = lace, except when it is the other way around

they laugh pretty often in bed together. above all else, they care about each other's joy and pleasure. it's rarely ever 'serious' unless they're having a particularly emotional night.

they initiate probably at equal measure, but go about it different ways. dylan makes a whole deal of it, while all ryan has to do is run his hand down dylan's back

they're that couple with hickeys. they get a bit more covert once the honeymoon phase passes, but dylan wears too many v-necks for hickeys to be not exposed every so often

they're not crazy on PDA besides holding hands or cheek/forehead kisses, but once that apartment door is closed and they're away from prying eyes, there is constant touching, contact, and reassurance

[walkingnearfoxes]

The Space Between the Lines (Homelander x Reader) - Chapter 1

2.4k words. Teacher Reader. Homelander in an undefined part of the canon timeline. SFW.

There are a dozen teachers who would kill for this job. You’re just not sure that you’re one of them.

(This is so self-indulgent and also my first time sharing any sort of fanfiction with the world. Hope it brings someone some joy :) )

The penthouse is unsettling. Something about the furniture arrangement, the way the bright windows reflect off of each piece and refract off one another, feels very fake. You wouldn't be surprised to see this exact setup in a magazine if not for the obsessive amount of American memorabilia surrounding it. The massive flag covering half the windows gives an ominous warning rather than patriotism; it casts half of the space into shadow. To keep yourself from turning and running out the door, you decide to focus on a single portrait of the many spanning the walls. You can pretend to be in an art museum, immersing yourself in your country's history rather than standing in this nationalist shell of a home.

Your eyes land on a painting of George Washington. It comes with a golden plaque on the bottom to detail the year of completion and the artist. Charles Willson Peale. You don't recognize the name, but you know you've seen the painting a dozen times over in your history textbooks. George casually leans against a cannon, a ghost of a smile on his lips to celebrate his victory in the Battle of Trenton. There is something about his posture that catches your attention. While he stands with authority, he is a bit slouched. Is he leaning against the cannon to show us his power, or is the man just exhausted?

You are no art expert, but it certainly looks authentic. Curious, you pull your phone out of your pocket and search for details on the piece. Sure enough, you find an article describing Vought's agreement to take the piece off the Met's hands - for a mere 21.1 million dollars.

You huff a quiet laugh at the number. "Jesus Christ."

"Not quite."

Your stomach lurches into your mouth. With a squeak at a pitch you didn’t even know you could reach, you spin on your heel. You usually are quite vigilant to noises around you, but this smooth voice crept up on you without a single warning. Then again, you had never had a super try to sneak up on you - let alone the most dangerous one.

The Homelander in all of his red, white and blue glory. You grew up seeing his sharp grin in every corner of your childhood. Vought movie marathons with friends, posters along the city streets, even on the lunch boxes of your old students - the blue-eyed hero was everywhere. Seeing him in person was something else entirely. He wasn't quite as tall as you imagined, but he made up for that in his stature. He stood with his hands folded behind his back, his posture perfect, a curious smile on his lips. Everything about him was pristine - almost too pristine. It made him look right at home.

You took a moment to let your pulse slow and find the ability to speak. "I'm so sorry, sir."

His grin grows, and you can't shake the image of a shark from your brain. "Please, Homelander is fine.”

Is it?

You tighten your grip on the heavy backpack you brought with you. The shaking Vought assistant that found you in the lobby and directed you to the penthouse had done little to settle your frazzled nerves. She was very good at telling you what you weren't supposed to do but had forgotten to tell you what you should do upon meeting the Homelander - hence your wandering around the artwork. You swallow and gesture awkwardly at the wall of paintings. "This is an amazing display."

"You like it?" He takes a step forward with his hands still clasped behind him. His eyes drift along the walls and he sighs proudly. "It's come together over the years. Think I'll need to add some more recent ones."

You glance back at the rest of the apartment. "Does Ryan like history?"

He looks at you from the corner of those bright blue eyes. "Right to business, huh?"

Your spine stiffens. "Oh, I didn't...I just meant-"

"Relax," He chuckles with a wave of his gloved hand. "I like it. Take a breath. Your poor heart is overexerting itself."

Before you can react, his fingers press under the strap of your backpack. He slips it off of you like he is picking up a piece of paper, and not a bag weighing you down with three separate textbooks, two novels and a packet of paper. Still, he chuckles. "Damn. You bring the whole library with you?"

Relieved of the backpack that undoubtedly left an indent in your skin, you rub carefully at your shoulder. "I wanted to make sure we had options."

He hums in acknowledgment and places your backpack on the small table at the center of the living room. He opens it without looking back up at you - your hand twitches at your side - and he analyzes your collection.

"Interesting..." He murmurs, and you have a hard time deciphering whether that's a good or bad thing. “All of these are Vought approved?"

Before you can answer, he snorts a laugh and pulls out the hefty social studies curriculum Vought had given you. It’s a mess of highlights, notes, and underlines you blessed it with over the last few weeks. "Well, someone has done their homework...no wonder they picked you."

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Picked" is a strong word. Sure, you had noticed the web postings for private teachers at Vought, but your red flag censors had gone off immediately. For one, the salary was absurd. It was more money than a dozen teachers at your old school made combined. It was a tempting fantasy until you read the rest of the post. Something about it was concerningly vague. While most of the postings read as a regular teacher job, it never explained who you would be teaching. As far as you knew, Vought wasn't starting up schools; they had enough control over kids through every other avenue. So who, exactly, was this lucky rich teacher going to educate? Your instincts flared, and you clicked off to another posting.

But then Vought found you.

You were selected for a teacher's award the past fall, granting you an unexpected spotlight. It proved to be a very mixed blessing. It gave you a stipend to keep up the rent payments - a teacher attempting to live in Manhattan was no easy feat - and a fancy trophy to impress your family, but it also put a target on your back. Teachers with decades more experience than you gave shifty stares along with their congratulations, and it wasn't long before you felt ostracized enough to turn down your school's polite offer to return the following year. Vought was there in moments with a phone call and a salary that was suddenly hard to refuse - and when you made the mistake of talking to your mother about it, it was all over. It was only after taking the job that you were told you would be privately teaching Ryan Butcher - the Homelander’s son. And here you were.

You smile politely. "I'm told I wasn't the first teacher, sir."

He arches a perfectly blonde brow.

"...Homelander."

"There ya go," His smile never fades as he puts your hefty collection of books down on the table, adjusting them to make a perfectly straight tower. “But you're right. You're not the first. Or the tenth."

You blink. "Oh...may I ask why?"

He looks back up at you and says nothing for a moment. You get the impression that he is analyzing you, and you do your best not to shift. You were never enough of a Vought fanatic growing up to remember the full extent of his abilities, but you vaguely recall that he could see through anything except zinc. What exactly was he looking at with you?

He seemed to approve of whatever it was, for he saunters towards you with a smile. "Ryan is...brilliant. Brilliant," He explains - and you note that when talking about his son, there's a sparkle in his eye that's real. "But...therein lies the problem. It only took about a lesson or two before I could see it wasn't a good fit."

So he watches the lessons. You file that away before replying, "He was too smart for them?"

He raises his hands as in those perfectly red gloves. "I am in awe of what teachers like yourselves can do," he says with a chuckle. “You're the real heroes, slaving away to mold the brains of our next generation."

"...but?"

"But the lessons these people come up with," He says with a laugh of disbelief. "You wouldn't believe the bull-...the stuff they tried to tell my son. I finally had to step in and fix it up."

That explains a lot, and you resist the urge to look at the curriculum stack. You can feel his stare and if you didn't know any better, you could swear there was a challenging twitch to that sharp grin.

"...if I may ask. With such a...specific curriculum, why not teach him yourself?" You ask.

He tilts his head. "You're the one with the credentials. Not me."

There is a long moment of silence. You hear the wind pushing against the floor-to-ceiling windows - the ones not shrouded in the American flag. You forget the level floor of this apartment, but it's high enough that you can only see clouds from here. Does he enjoy that loneliness? Or does he use it to look down on the people below?

"Question for you," He says suddenly. "Forget that stack of papers for a second. How would you introduce the American Revolution to my son?"

The American Revolution - the first unit in the Homelander-made curriculum. America simply did not exist before the colonies.

He sees your hesitation and waves his hand again. "Come on, no wrong answers. Tell me what you'd do."

You take a breath and fold your arms across your chest. "I'd probably start with some immersion."

He blinks a few times. "Immersion?"

"Well, I'd ask the students what they would do if they were in the same position as the colonists," You explain. "How would they feel if they had to pay more for everything without anyone asking what they thought."

"Interesting," He nods his head slowly. "So you side them with the patriots right away. Love that."

"Not necessarily."

He frowns at that, his brows drawing together. "Not necessarily?"

"There's always at least one kid who wants to be the devil's advocate," You say, a small smile on your lips as you recall past students. "They ask why they're asked to pay more money. Is it for protection? The Revolution lets them explore different perspectives."

"Does it now?"

You nod with a growing smile. "Not to mention the kids become complete Hamilton geeks."

"Interesting."

You blink, a bashful smile growing on your lips. "Thank you."

"Oh, not what you said. There's a lot we'll need to workshop there," He says with a chuckle. "But your heart accelerated when you were talking about this. You really care about all of this, don't you?"

You can't recall another time where you had felt so aggravated and complimented at the same time. Still, remembering this man's talent at lasering people in half, you settle for replying, "I do."

A wide grin settles on his face. "Then I think this will work perfectly."

The way he purrs that final word gives you a shiver of warning. You unconsciously rub at your shoulder again, sore from the backpack's work on your muscles. "I...hope it does."

He suddenly claps his hands, and you manage not to jump. "Well, let's have you come by tomorrow at nine o'clock—the same time as today."

You frown. "Am I not starting today?"

"Ryan’s filming a commercial today. Something about a video game. Or a book?" He shrugs and settles his hands on his hips. "Buddy keeps a busy life. But he'll be ready tomorrow."

Your teacher instincts cringe at the idea of a kid missing learning on a Monday, but you know better than to comment. You just nod. "I'll be here tomorrow, then."

He grins, all tooth and no warmth. "Wonderful."

The Homelander says nothing further, and you cautiously reach for your backpack. When the hero continues to watch you and not say a word, you become eager to leave as quickly as possible. You take your backpack, leave the books behind, and turn to go.

Only when you have your back to him does his hand fall onto your shoulder.

You barely stifle a gasp, your entire body straightening. In the choice between fight or flight, you settle on freeze.

"Your poor shoulder," He murmurs, his voice dangerously close to your ear. "These muscles are tight."

Before you can reply, he presses. His palm slowly pushes into your muscles in a way that is remarkably not human. You've had massages before, and very few of them could make any progress with the tangle of knots that were your shoulders. He instantly applies the pressure needed to unlock them, and the relief forces a pleased sigh out of you. 

His deep chuckle from behind you is nearly enough to make your heart stop. "Better?"

Your face feels hot. You swallow down and nod. "Y-yeah. Thank you."

The Homelander's hand slowly slides off your shoulder, and you watch as he walks to stand in front of you. "Any time, teach," He winks and then saunters forward. "Come on. I'll walk you out."

You follow him to the exit, your backpack resting on your very relaxed shoulder. The Homelander opens the door for you, giving a small bow with a hand to the hallway. His eyes never leave you. 

"See you tomorrow," He says as you walk past him.

You turn to face him fully and nod. "See you then."

He blatantly looks you up and down, then gives you a playful salute before shutting the door.

As you slowly turn on your heel and head for the elevator, you half expect the walls to turn purple or lobsters to crawl across the ceiling. That whole interaction with the Homelander was undoubtedly some strange dream where reality twisted; there was no other explanation for what just happened.

The ding the elevator makes as it opens sounds surreal and distant, and you exhale as you step inside.

What kind of deal had you just made?

[corroded-hellfire]

Time For Toys and Time For Cheer - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish story

Collaboration with the El to my Max, @munson-blurbs

Summary: When Brittany’s Christmas presents for the boys come in, it’s evident that “it’s the thought that counts” doesn’t apply.

Note: Jingle bells, Brittany smells, please enjoy this fic today!

Warnings: mild violence, Eddie being a perv, Brittany being Brittany

Words: 2.3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me.”

Eddie lets the scissors drop down onto his mattress as you peer into the box he just opened. Seeing Brittany’s name on a box when you picked up the mail for your boyfriend was enough to irk you for the rest of the day—especially since Eddie wouldn’t open it until after the kids were in bed because it’s probably their Christmas gifts. The silver lining though, was that you saw Brittany is going by her maiden name again. You hope to God she changed it legally; she doesn’t deserve to be a Munson. 

The box did contain gifts for the boys but as you look inside you see what pissed your boyfriend off. You reach in and pick up a box of Legos that were made for a kid half Ryan’s age. The Blue’s Clues coloring book that Eddie takes out is just as insulting. Should she get credit for knowing Ryan likes Legos and Luke likes coloring books? Not in your opinion. Not when she lived with them for most of their lives. Not when she gave birth to them and should know how old they are and that these presents are not age appropriate. 

“Is this really a bunch of Lego kids on a bus? Oh look, they’re soccer players on a bus.” You scoff and roll your eyes as you set the gift back in the box it was shipped in. “Yeah, ‘cause Ryan loves sports so much.” Eddie’s eldest was in agreement with his father that sports are stupid. You think his mother would’ve known that. Then again, his mother is Brittany. 

“He’d put that together in less than five minutes,” Eddie says, nodding towards the Lego set. He sets the coloring books back inside as well and pulls out a small white paper that got stuck to the bottom of the box. “Looks like they’re from Wal-Mart. Nice of her to send a gift receipt. Almost as if she knew her presents were shit.” 

Any irritation you feel for Brittany doesn’t come close to the love you have for Luke and Ryan, and you’d do everything in your power to make sure they have a wonderful Christmas. 

“Think Wayne will watch them for a few hours after dinner one night?” you ask, eyes scanning over the gift receipt before meeting Eddie’s deep brown ones. 

“If we buy him a mug, he might watch them for the whole weekend.” Eddie puts the gift receipt back in the box and closes it. He looks over at you and an adoring grin grows on his face. “I fucking love you, babe.” He takes your face in his hands and presses a wet, smacking kiss to your forehead. 

Eddie falls a little bit deeper in love with you every time you do something for the boys without any hesitation. And since it’s a frequent occurrence, it’s safe to say that he’s head-over-heels for you. 

A few nights later, Eddie brings the car to a stop in front of his uncle’s trailer. He puts it in park and looks over his shoulder at his sons in the backseat. Ryan doesn’t seem bothered one bit that he’s being dropped off at his grandfather’s. Luke, on the other hand, looks like you and Eddie just told him he’ll never be able to eat another cookie again in his life. 

When Eddie’s eyes meet Luke’s blue ones, the little boy groans and drops his head back against his seat, curls smooshing around his head like a halo. 

“Why can’t we go with you?” he whines. 

“Luke,” Eddie says with a chuckle. “You hate clothes shopping for yourself. Let alone anyone else.”

“Yeah,” you say as you turn to face him as well. “And I can take forever in dressing rooms. I can never decide what I like better.”

“Plus,” Eddie adds with a smirk, knowing a foolproof way to get the boys out of the car, “you really wanna come with us and watch us kiss the whole night?” 

The moment Eddie leans in towards you, both boys groan and Ryan slaps his hand over his eyes. Checkmate. 

Luke is quick to scramble out of the car, his older brother right behind him. 

“Go!” Luke practically shouts. “Take your time! Make sure you get a nice dress.”

“Yeah,” Ryan adds. “Has to look nice for your work party.”

It’s hard for both you and Eddie to keep a lid on your laughter while the boys are all but pushing your car down the road to get you away from them. 

“Be good,” Eddie calls out the open window. 

“Yeah, yeah…” Luke mumbles as he trudges up the front steps of the trailer. Ryan follows behind him and gives you and Eddie a wave before they head inside the house. 

The moment they’re inside, Eddie turns to you and raises his eyebrows. 

“Can we buy you a new dress?” he asks. 

“Why?” you ask with a laugh. “You’ll want me to buy a sexy one, then not want me to wear it out anywhere and let people see me in it.”

“Ah, fuck,” he mumbles as he puts the car in drive. 

“Maybe after we return the baby-fied toys that are in the trunk and get the new ones, we can look at some lingerie, though?” you tease.

“Deal.”

The Wal-Mart parking lot is a madhouse; Eddie circles it three times before finally snagging a spot all the way at the back. He scoops the presents from the trunk and the two of you make a beeline for the return counter, with you holding onto his jacket sleeve to avoid losing him in the crowd. 

“Okay,” Eddie says, once you’ve secured the gift card that contains the store credit. He looks at you with sheer determination. “We gotta divide and conquer. You shop for Ryan, and I’ll shop for Luke.”

You make your way to the Lego aisle; Brittany had the right idea, but the wrong execution. After perusing the shelves for something more age-appropriate, your gaze lands on a kit to build a Statue of Liberty replica. 

Just as you grab it, you feel someone tugging on the other side. “Um, sorry, I’m taking this one,” you try to explain, willing your voice not to waver as it often does during confrontation. 

The man who’d reached for it as well scowls at you. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” He yanks it from your grasp triumphantly. There’s a nasty sneer on his face as he looks down his nose at you. He’s around Eddie’s height, bald as a cue ball, and has a beer belly that’s larger than most pregnant women’s bumps.

“Hey! What the hell’s your problem?” The words slip from your mouth before you can stop them. 

The man smirks menacingly. “What’re you even doing in this aisle? The Easy Bake Ovens are down that way.”

When he points to his left and lets his guard down, you seize the opportunity to pull the Lego set from him. 

“What d’you think you’re doing, bitch?” He reaches out a meaty hand to snatch it back, but he’s jerked back by his collar. 

“You calling my wife a ‘bitch’?” Eddie growls, eyes blazing with fury. You can’t remember the last time you saw him this angry. He shoves the man, now wide-eyed and fearful, into a display of Tonka trucks, which catches the attention of a security guard. 

He marches over to the men, waving his hands and shouting. “Hey, break it up!” The guard pulls Eddie away from the man. “You two,” he looks between Eddie and the guy, “get outta here!”

Eddie sputters. “Wha—no, he called my wife a bitch!” he tries to protest, but the guard just pushes him toward the exit. “This is bullshit!”

Despite the gravity of the situation, you can’t help but feel butterflies at the way he said, “my wife.” It has a much better ring to it than just, “my girlfriend” or even “my fiancée.”

Your awestruck demeanor vanishes as you stare at the back of Eddie’s head in disbelief while the security guard leads him away. You’re left hanging in limbo, unsure if you should follow him out or buy the toy—he is going through a lot of trouble for it, and you’d hate for his efforts to be for naught. 

As if he can read your mind, Eddie looks over his shoulder and gives you a wink. “You know what Luke likes, baby,” he calls out. 

You can only nod as you hold onto the Lego box for Ryan. 

“Meet you in the car,” Eddie says before turning back around, wincing when the guard shoves him out the door. 

It’s hard to shake off the fact that Eddie just got kicked out of the store and proceed to shop as though nothing has happened, but you know you need to find something for Luke. Something that isn’t made for a preschool demographic. 

“Okay, Legos for Ryan. Luke still likes coloring books. Just not Winnie the Pooh ones.” Brittany was at least on the right track with her gifts for the boys—just a good number of years behind.

The coloring books are a few aisles over and you chew on your bottom lip as you check out the collection. There are lots of Disney ones full of princesses and mice, but Luke only really enjoys the movies made by The Mouse, not any toys or games.

Scooby Doo catches your eye and as soon as you pick that one up, you see a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles book.

“Hmm…” you hum, but then chuckle to yourself. Of course he gets more than one.

You cradle those two books in your arm with the Lego set and also grab Pokémon and a monster truck one.

You’re welcome, Brittany, you think. You sent three but now he’s going to think you sent him four. None of this is for Brittany’s sake—both you and Eddie know that. The boys would be the ones disappointed, not their mother. There will come a day when they recognize her absence and carelessness, but you don’t want to help point it out; you just want to show them love and support.

On the way to the register, you do a double take when you see a mostly empty shelf of wrapping paper. Brittany didn’t bother to wrap the presents before she sent them, but that’s something else the kids don’t need to know. 

Making sure to get a paper that’s very different from any of the ones back at the apartment, you add a Frosty the Snowman roll to the pile in your arms. This way, they’ll differentiate these from the presents left by Santa. 

Most of the registers are crowded, which makes you huff, but you’ve had your share of fighting for the evening. Instead, you wait silently until the woman behind you in line starts speaking to you. “Last minute shopping for your kids, too?” she says with a laugh. 

You nod. “Yeah, it’s been quite the adventure,” you offer, not wanting to relay the near-WWE match that occurred in the toy section. 

“I’ll bet,” she chuckles, hoisting a toy Batmobile. “Boys or girls?”

The question catches you off-guard for a moment. “Boys. Two of them.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t imagine having two sons. I have one, and he’s a menace.”

You smile. “Yeah, but they’re my menaces.”

On Christmas morning you’re not entirely sure what’s up first: the sun or the boys. Eddie looks like a zombie as the two of you initially follow the boys out to the living room. Once they see the tree and the mountain of presents scattered about, their joy and excitement are almost as good as a cup of coffee in waking you and your boyfriend up. 

Heaps of wrapping paper pile up as they tear open their gifts: action figures and Hot Wheels for Luke, books and science kits for Ryan, and a handful of VHS tapes for them to share. 

Once the heap of presents begins to dwindle down to the last handful, Eddie stands up.

“Don’t wanna forget the gifts from Mom.”

The boys instinctively glance at you before they realize that their dad is referring to Brittany. 

Eddie hands them the carefully wrapped packages, assessing their expressions to gauge their excitement. 

“No way, this is the Lego set I wanted!” Ryan cheers, beaming at the toy. 

Luke is equally impressed with his gift. “Yes! New coloring books!” He stands up and does a little happy dance that looks very reminiscent of something you’d see one of The Peanuts characters doing. 

Eddie smiles, knowing all the bullshit of dealing with Brittany, in the past, present, or future, is worth it to keep his boys happy. 

“You guys wanna call Mom and thank her?” Eddie asks.

They nod, racing each other to the phone so they can get back to playing as soon as possible. There’s a part of you—a petty part—that hopes their phone call wakes Brittany up from a peaceful sleep. Just because you play nice for the kids doesn’t mean you can’t have small moments of joy at the thought of that woman being inconvenienced. 

“Your kids are crazy,” Eddie says to you, plopping back onto the couch and flinging his arm over your shoulder. “You should really rein them in.”

You give an exaggerated sigh and shake your head. “I’ve tried, but their father is even worse. Just enables the insanity.”

Eddie laughs, kissing your cheek before tilting your chin towards him so he can press his lips to yours. 

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

“Merry Christmas, Eddie.”

[the-world-of-nai]

♏︎ scorpio observations

this one goes out to my dear, dear scorpio buddies. haven't met many of them though... i am a scorpio moon myself! in the first house, at 4 degrees :D

(ryan and rachel both have heavy scorpio placements which allowed them to encapture the grand, dramatic emotions of the notebook.)

developed scorpio placements can be the most compassionate signs in all of the zodiac. they are fixed water which means they feel things the deepest, so if they are developed then they are able to empathize very well with others because they can comprehend the depth of others' emotions. they know what others want and need.

(penn is a sun+moon+merc+venus in scorpio!)

another thing about developed scorpio suns, moons and venus placements is that they can sometimes feel like they have all of this love to give but no one to give it to. scorpio is an all or nothing sign, especially when it comes to their emotions. so they can feel like they really want to be in love and feel all of those emotions, but at the same time there is no one that interests them enough to give said love to. they may also feel like they don't receive the same loyalty/ ride-or-die-ness back.

(jimin is a venus+mars scorpio!)

scorpio placements are often philosophical people because they enjoy depth and value the truth. mystery and secrets entice them a lot. getting to the bottom of things/coming up with theories on things is in their nature. they have a fascination with the occult and all things taboo.

some shadow scorpio traits include paranoia and an obsessive nature. scorpio placements know what people want to hear so they can use that against others and lie a lot to manipulate people. they can also be too focused on their own emotions, their own craving for power and control. this is why they sometimes have a reputation for being 'fuckboys' or 'players'.

(leonardo being a sun+venus+mars scorpio says it all...)

scorpio, like i said, are all or nothing. this can make mars, sun, and moon scoprios perfectionistic and very self-critical when it comes to their own goals. like they set insane standards and goals. they are very ambitious, strong-minded people. like the other fixed signs, everyone can talk shit to them and they'll still have their own beliefs deep down.

(fun fact: jungkook, taylor swift, and jimin are all scorpio mars!)

[timeforsomethrillingheroicsblog]

people you want to know better tag game ✨

thanks for tagging me @parallelunivrses!

last song you listened to: help by the front bottoms

currently watching: lost (s3) 

currently reading: the poisonwood bible by barbara kingsolver & burn it down power, complicity, and a call for change in hollywood by maureen ryan

latest obsession: lost in general, jack shephard specifically. i resisted but he got my ass in the end. tragic.

tagging: @stripesysheaven, @unorthodox-oblivion, @obsessivedaydreamer, @youliterallythott, @eponine119, @epiphytecanopy @actual-lea and anyone who wants to do it!

[anon-sect]

Picture source: Instagram @madnikemaster

Talex had been known to possess a special transformation ability. He could get into places and get out most times very easily because of his ability. Since being known for such power, he had been sought out by many to do private investigations and to retrieve stollen items. Some had paid him handsomely for his service.

His next job was just like some of the others. Talex was requested to retrieve a valued family trophy that once belong to the client's father. It was stolen from the house by a close friend of the family. The guy denied taking it, but the client knew he had it. Talex was hired to retrieve it, and return it to the rightful owners.

The suspect was hosting a huge party at his house. The client managed to get him an invite to the party so that he could get in and find the valued item. The suspect thought that Talex was a good friend of the client and suspected nothing about his reasons for being at the party.

Talex waited until the party was filled with guests. His client suggested searching his room first while the host was too distracted by the guest. He snuck upstairs to his room and quietly entered in. He closed the door back and began his search. After five minutes of searching, the object wasn't found. He decided he would search another room. Before he could leave, he heard the host approaching. He feared being caught without the object in hand. It would be hard to explain why he was there. He snuck into the closet and shrunk himself down to 5" tall. He climbed into one of the shoes and hid. He heard the host coming towards the closet. Fearing being caught, he merged himself with the insole of the shoe he was in. The Nike sneaker smelled really foul, but it was the best hiding spot, he thought. He would wait till the guy left, then he would leave the room without anyone noticing.

Ryan open his closet and saw the missing shoe he was looking for earlier. "Oh, there you are. May as well put you with your pair, so that I don't have to hunt you down anymore." He took the shoe and placed it in the shoe box with the other one. He put the shoe box in his cloest and placed other heavy objects on top of the box. He retrieved what he came to get and went back down to his party.

Talex could hear his leave, but knew his situation as worse off. The shoe was in a shoe box now. To make it worse, several heavier objects were placed on top of the box. There was no easy way to get out of this situation. Being so confined would prevent him from returning to his normal size. He would just have to wait it out.

TWO DAYS LATER......

Talex finally smelled some similance of fresh air as there was a little day light. He had spent the last two days on the bottom of a stinky sneaker as an insole. But he soon saw his hopes dashed as a white socked foot entered the shoe and pressed down on him. The walking part was a nightmare. Each step brought on waves of pain over and over. Supporting the giant's feet was no walk in the park. He wanted out of the shoe as soon as posssible.

As the time continued on, the sock began to become wet with foot sweat. Foul odor no longer just came for the stench of the old insole and insides of the shoe. Now, the sock was starting to stink as well. Still being so confined, he was forced to remain as an insole under the giant's foot.

Ryan got home from his long day. He took his shoes off and stuffed the rank socks inside each shoe. For some reason, one foot felt so much more comfortable than the other foot. He knew the inssole were slightly worn, but one of the insole just felt more comfort from. He really coulnd't explain why that was so.

Talex thought his opportunity was finally here, only to smell the foul stench sock for the rest of the night. With it stuck in the shoe, he was still trapped as an insole. He mentally wept for his situation. The giant was completely unaware of the torment his foot had done to him the whole day. The constant stepping and and sweeat. He decided on the next morning he would transform back even if he was caught in the act. It was much better than spending anotther day as this guy's insole.

The following morning, the sock was removed. He instantly tried to reform back to human existence, but something was wrong. Every attempt he tried, nothing happened. Over and over, he tried to change back but couldn't. He then realized his fatal mistake. Any form he takes, he must revert back within 24 hours, or he would risk being stuck in that form permanently. He had been an insole for three straight days. Taale realized he was now stuck forever as an insole in the guy's sneaker. This was supposed to be a simple job. Find the trophy and get out with it. This end result was not what he expected.

Ryan inserted an insole in the other sneaker to have an equal level of comfort for his feet. He then put on his sneakers for another long 12 hour work day. He stepped outside his house for the drive to work.

Talex was mentally pleading for a quick death as the previous day's torture started all over again. This was his life to exist as nothing more than an insole for a stranger to crush under his foot for the rest of his life.

[dalekofchaos]

Life Is Strange. Where are they now scenarios

It's officially been 10 years since the events of LIS1. So this is my scenarios for what could happen in both of the endings for each of the characters.

Save Chloe ending

Max and Chloe are wanderers. Until they decide to settle down in New York. Or in Seattle. I'd like it to be Seattle since Max's parents are there and Victoria too. But regardless of where they choose, Max settle down. Max gets a job as a photojournalist and Chloe becomes a mechanic/tattoo artist and opens up a garage that offers both of her expertise. At some point Max meets a man named Brody. Brody tells the story of two boys he met and asks Max to help prove their innocence. Max eventually does. She goes back in time to witness the Seattle Incident. Max witnessed everything and uses her eyewitness testimony plus photographic evidence to help prove Sean and Daniel's innocence. Eventually Max and Chloe are haunted by the storm. The memories of what they lost and decide that the only way to deal with these emotions and thoughts is to go to the Arcadia Bay Memorial. When they get there. Max passes out and is brought to a nightmare. She's brought back to the week, she has to go through it several times and notices several variables she missed(Nathan knowing about the storm, Sean Prescott as the mastermind, saving Nathan and ending in the hospital) but it keeps going until Rachel appears. For a more in depth look, see this post. But bottom line is Max eventually saves Rachel and by saving Rachel she saves Arcadia Bay AND Chloe. As Max, Chloe and Rachel prepare to leave Arcadia Bay, everyone is there to see them off. Joyce hugs them, Chloe and David shake hands, Warren and Kate hug Max goodbye and it closes on Max, Chloe and Rachel driving off into the rainbow and heading towards Los Angeles.

Victoria sees a therapist and leads her family's gallery until she overcomes her trauma and does not let what Jeffershit does harms her love of photography. Max and Victoria occasionally get together and share their work since Arcadia Bay.

Kate survives in the hospital since Michel confirmed she survived on threads. She writes a book for children and does podcasts about surviving Arcadia Bay and about surviving a serial killer and bullying. This is how Max, Chloe and Victoria find her. At some point Kate and Victoria go through a slow burn of dealing with their trauma in therapy, going through the bullying and learning to forgive each other. It begins as friendship and blossoms into a relationship and what started as a victim and a bully ends as girlfriends.

Steph is with Alex. Steph and Alex start off as a traveling band and even Izzy joins them. Eventually they visit Haven and catch up with RYan, but Ryan asks to join them as he can't stay knowing what his father did and losing Gabe and his mother, there's nothing for him there. So Ryan leaves with Alex and Steph and joins the band. At some point Steph and Alex meets up with Max and Chloe. Steph and Chloe reconnect and Max befriends Alex. They bond over their powers and what they've been through. However Alex notices Max's guilt after hearing Steph's story about surviving Arcadia Bay. Alex convinces Max to tell Steph the truth. Max eventually tells Steph about how saving Chloe caused the storm that wiped the town. Steph is mad for a while, but eventually forgives Max and Chloe. Every year or so Alex, Steph, Mikey, Max and Chloe get together to play D&D. Alex and Steph eventually settles down in Salem.

David would remain in Away. He would be visited by Max and Chloe, Sean and Daniel and to his shock and relief, Kate. While David mourns for Joyce, he found peace in Away and has a better relationship with his step-daughter and made peace with someone he really hurt, even if he doesn't deserve it.

Save Arcadia Bay

Max grieves for a long time until she decides to live her life. She realizes that Chloe would want her to live. She has the memories of Chloe and holds her in her heart. She has Warren, Kate and all her friends in Arcadia Bay. She graduates with Warren by her side. Max goes on to be a successful photojournalist. At some point Max meets a man named Brody. Brody tells the story of two boys he met and asks Max to help prove their innocence. Max eventually does. She goes back in time to witness the Seattle Incident. Max witnessed everything and uses her eyewitness testimony plus photographic evidence to help prove Sean and Daniel's innocence.

Warren would be a positive presence for Max, always there for her and a good influence during her grieving period. They’d watch movies together in their dorm rooms and just hangout. In a sense, Warren becomes what Rachel was for Chloe, her angel. Warren’s presence soothes Max’s broken heart and this is why Max slowly falls in love with him. They graduate together, go to college, Warren becomes a chemistry professor in the UO while Max becomes a photojournalist. When they are older, they get married and have children. Warren becomes the Maes Hughes of his university showing off Max and their kids lol

Like in the Save Chloe ending, Kate goes on to become a author for children's book and goes on to talk about her experiences with Jefferson and bullying in the hopes it could help so many people struggling with bullying. While maintaining a close friendship with Max.

Victoria would be horrified of what Nathan and Jefferson did. Max and Victoria would make peace and Victoria would help her through her grief, which would result in Max and Victoria finally becoming friends. Victoria, Taylor and Courtney would take Max out for shopping, dress Max up and Victoria would help reignite Max’s love for photography and would not let Jefferson ruin her passion. Max and Victoria together would take some killer shots. Victoria would tell Max “when you are a famous photographer, you can put your pictures in my gallery” and it was a deal, Max would focus on becoming a photographer and Victoria would become heir to the Chase Space. Max and Victoria embrace in a hug.

Joyce and David would divorce. Joyce just had enough and realizes she held responsibility for failing Chloe and for allowing David to be a toxic and abusive influence in her life, but she just didn't want to see it. In a way she still loves him, but she can't have him in her life anymore, while David knows he failed Joyce and Chloe and leaves to atone.

Nathan does time in a prison for a brief period before he goes to a mental institution. He gets visits from Victoria and his sister Kristen. Max would confront Nathan in a mental institution. Upon being visited by Max, Nathan would break down in tears and tell her he did not mean to kill Chloe, hurt Kate or hurt Rachel. He didn’t want to hurt anyone and profusely apologize, but he knows he has to live with what he’s done and Max takes it upon herself to forgive Nathan. This results in a monthly visit where Max and Victoria would visit Nathan, think of this like the fanfic The Sense Of Me for Max and Nathan’s friendship.

[venactricisfics]

Bucking Tradition: A Yellowstone Fanfic

Chapter Four

*Adult content ahead*

Another morning’s worth of chores was behind me, but no matter how hard I tried to focus on the work, the memory of Ryan’s lips on mine kept sneaking back into my thoughts. It was maddening, the way one moment could replay so vividly, like a song stuck on repeat.

A soft nudge on my shoulder pulled me back to reality. I glanced over to see Denim’s muzzle pressing against me, his big brown eyes full of quiet insistence.

“All right, buddy,” I said with a small laugh, scratching his neck affectionately. “Let’s get to it.”

I led him into the corral, the familiar rhythm of our routine soothing my restless mind. Denim loved training—always eager, always focused. He seemed to know how much I needed this, needed him.

We’d been working on level four tricks for months now, honing moves that could truly wow the crowds. Things like side passes, flying lead changes, even some fancy spins. Denim took to it all like a natural, his intelligence and spirit shining through every step.

I let myself get lost in the training. Nothing else mattered—not the chores, not my swirling thoughts—just the rhythmic pounding of hooves against the ground and the powerful connection between horse and rider. The wind whipped through my hair, cool and wild, and for those fleeting moments, I felt truly free. This was everything. The thrill I lived for.

The spell broke when the dinner bell rang, echoing across the ranch. The guys were back from the field, which meant if I wanted this meeting with Ryan to actually happen, I had to move. Fast.

Sliding off Denim, I gave him an affectionate pat on the neck. “Good boy,” I murmured, even as the realization hit me—I reeked of horse. The earthy scent of Denim clung to me like a second skin, and I wasn’t sure how romantic I could feel smelling like a barnyard.

I jogged toward the house, the excitement of seeing Ryan again mingling with a nervous energy. There was no time to waste.

A short while later, the grime of the day had been washed down the shower drain, and I stood in front of the mirror, towel wrapped around me. It wasn’t a date, I reminded myself. It was something else. Something more. The weight of that realization made my chest tighten.

Then it hit me. I needed to find Jamie or Lee. They’d have what I needed. I didn’t want to get caught up in the moment only to realize I wasn’t prepared. Ryan was thoughtful, sure, but just in case he didn’t think of it... I had to.

I threw on some clothes and headed down the hall, knocking on Jamie’s door. “Hey, I need to ask you something, and you can’t tell Dad,” I said firmly.

“What is it?” Jamie opened the door, his face drawn and tired like he hadn’t slept in days.

“You okay?” I asked, stepping inside. His normally neat room was a disaster—papers strewn across the desk, spilling onto the bed.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Just going through the books. There’s not enough to cover feed for the winter.” His voice carried a sharp edge of panic.

“We’ll figure it out. We always do,” I said, trying to reassure him. His worry was contagious, but I couldn’t let it show. “Take a breath, and we’ll look at it together.”

Jamie shuffled through the paperwork, pointing at numbers that blurred together in my head. He wasn’t explaining much, just venting his frustration.

“You’re gonna hate this suggestion,” I told him, meeting his stressed gaze. “Call Beth. This is more her area than mine.”

“You’re right,” Jamie said, his voice a little lighter. “I do hate that suggestion.”

I gave him a small smile, hoping to lift his spirits. He picked up a paper from the bottom of the stack and pointed at it. “This,” he said with cautious optimism, “this will pull us out.”

I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, but relief flickered across his face, so I figured it was progress. Suggesting Beth must’ve nudged him in the right direction. Jamie and Beth’s relationship was... complicated. Strenuous didn’t even begin to cover it—they couldn’t stand each other. Still, sometimes the friction sparked solutions.

“What was it you needed, Alex?” Jamie asked, his voice calmer now.

I hesitated. Jamie already had enough on his plate, and I didn’t want to add more. “Uh... I’m not going to be at dinner. Can you cover for me?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, though his furrowed brow hinted at confusion.

“Thanks,” I replied, slipping out of his room.

I made my way to Lee’s cabin, steeling myself for the inevitable teasing. Lee was my eldest brother, and while he had a knack for making light of everything, I knew he’d help me.

I knocked, then pushed the door open before he could answer. “Lee, I need help!”

“What’s wrong?” His expression was instantly serious. “What happened? Do I need to grab my rifle?”

A grin spread across my face. “Nothing like that. I just need to borrow a condom.”

“Borrow?” He raised a brow, his lips twitching with amusement. “You planning on returning it when you’re done?” He headed into the bathroom, rummaging through his medicine cabinet.

“Only if you want it back,” I quipped, leaning against the doorframe.

“I’ll pass,” he said, handing me a package. “We’re not that close.”

“Thank you,” I said, slipping the box into my pocket. “Please don’t say anything to Dad or Beth.”

Lee shook his head with a chuckle. “Yeah, I’m not getting involved in that, Bitsy. Just glad you’re being careful.”

The childhood nickname made me feel like I was eight years old again.

“I gotta go,” I said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Thanks again.”

“Anytime,” he called after me as I headed out the door.

Finally, I was ready—or as ready as I could be, not knowing exactly what Ryan had planned for the evening.

The gravel crunched under my boots as I stepped into the dim barn. There he was, waiting. My heart skipped a beat as I took him in. He’d made an effort—new button-up shirt, fresh jeans. I smiled. Guess he didn’t want to meet me smelling like a horse either.

“Hey,” I said softly, my voice almost lost in the quiet. “Sorry if I kept you waiting.” Ryan’s eyes swept over me, his gaze lingering. “You’re worth the wait,” he murmured, stepping forward to rest his hands on my hips. He pulled me closer, and I tipped my head back to meet his eyes. Standing on my toes, I pressed my lips to his.

The kiss was just as hypnotizing as the first, soft but brimming with unspoken promises. When he broke away, his voice was low. “My truck’s out back. You ready to go? Not that I mind this...” He gave my hips a playful squeeze, the corner of his mouth tugging into a smirk.

I quirked a brow, letting him lead me outside. “You didn’t actually get a room, did you?”

He opened the truck door and helped me climb in. “No,” he admitted, “but the thought did cross my mind.” Sliding into the driver’s seat, he added, “Still have to be up at 4 a.m. to run cattle.”

“Right,” I said, my heartbeat picking up. “So...what did you come up with?”

“You’ll see,” he replied with a grin.

The truck rumbled to life, and we drove out into the field. The night stretched wide and clear, every star twinkling against the velvet sky. He parked and climbed out, heading to the back of the truck. I watched him rummage for something, curiosity bubbling.

By the time he came to my side, I’d already climbed down. His brow furrowed, a flash of disappointment crossing his face.

“Sorry,” I stammered. “I’m just so used to—”

“It’s okay, Alex,” he interrupted gently, his hand slipping into mine.

He led me to the back of the truck and lowered the tailgate. My breath caught. Strings of soft, golden lights lined the edge, illuminating a bed of blankets and pillows. It was cozy, thoughtful, and more effort than anyone had ever put in for me. “It’s perfect,” I whispered, my heart thundering in my chest.

Ryan’s gaze softened as he brushed a strand of hair from my face. “You are.” Before I could respond, his lips met mine again, soft and deliberate. His hands found my hips, lifting me effortlessly onto the tailgate. I slid back onto the cushions, bringing him with me without breaking the kiss.

The world faded away—the stars, the field, the night itself. All that mattered was this moment, here and now.

Ryan’s lips met mine again, but this time there was no rush, no urgency. The kiss deepened as his hands explored the curve of my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. I could feel the warmth of his skin radiating through his shirt, a barrier he was quick to remove.

He slid his shirt off in one fluid motion, and I couldn’t help but pause, taking him in. My lips parted as I traced his chest with my fingers, feeling every ridge and scar. He was rugged and beautiful, a man molded by the land he worked and the life he lived.

I raised my arms, letting him help me out of my top. The cool night air kissed my bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his touch. His lips found my neck, lingering in that spot that made my breath hitch, and I melted into him. His hands were steady, confident, as they slid the straps of my bra down my shoulders.

His kisses traveled lower, tasting the curve of my collarbone, then further still. When his mouth found my breast, a soft moan escaped me. He moved slowly, savoring each moment, each reaction he coaxed from me. His tongue teased one nipple, then the other, until I arched into him, silently asking for more.

Ryan shifted, his lips trailing down my stomach, stopping just above the waistband of my jeans. He looked up at me, his eyes dark with desire but filled with an unspoken question. My heart raced as I nodded, my consent clear.

He unbuckled my belt, the sound loud in the quiet of the night. His hands worked methodically, tugging my jeans and boots off in one smooth motion. I was bare before him, exposed in every way, but I didn’t feel vulnerable—I felt wanted.

Ryan’s breath was warm against my skin, each exhale sending shivers through me as his lips trailed lower, exploring with unhurried reverence. When his mouth found its destination, a gasp escaped me, sharp and involuntary. His tongue moved with purpose, tasting and teasing, drawing a soft moan from deep within me.

He shifted, his hands gripping my thighs firmly, holding me steady as his tongue delved deeper, mapping every inch of me. Then he found it—that perfect spot that sent a spark of electricity coursing through my body. My legs trembled against his hold, my fingers clutching at the blankets beneath me as I tried to ground myself.

Ryan’s movements were deliberate, each flick of his tongue and gentle press of his lips coaxing me closer to the edge. He seemed to savor every reaction, every sound that spilled from my lips, as if my pleasure were his sole purpose in that moment. His name tumbled from me in a cry as the tension inside finally shattered, the waves of release rippling through me.

I lay trembling, my breaths uneven, as Ryan’s lips pressed gentle kisses along my thighs, grounding me as I came back down. He looked up at me, his eyes dark with satisfaction and something deeper, something unspoken but felt in every touch.

“Just as sweet,” Ryan murmured, his voice low and thick with desire, as he kissed his way back up my body. His lips brushed mine, soft and searching, grounding me as I floated back down from the high he’d pulled me into. My hands roamed over his chest, tracing the hard lines and flexing muscles beneath my fingertips. They drifted lower, finding the buckle of his belt.

I fumbled with it, my need building with each passing second. I ached for him, for more than this electric anticipation. Sliding my hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, I found him, hard and warm against my palm. He growled softly into my neck, his breath hot against my skin, as I stroked him—slow, deliberate movements that matched the rhythm of our hearts.

“Baby,” he rasped, his hand catching my wrist, “if you keep that up, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself.”

I met his gaze, my voice steady despite the trembling anticipation coursing through me. “I don’t want you to stop.”

A slow smile spread across his face, and he pressed his lips to mine before leaning back, settling beside me on the truck bed. His eyes shifted upward, taking in the star-filled sky as he spoke, his voice tinged with regret. “I know. But I didn’t have time to get to town.”

It took a moment for his words to click, and when they did, I sat up, reaching for my jeans. Fishing the small box from my pocket, I dropped it onto his chest before curling back beside him.

“Fortunately,” I murmured, a playful grin tugging at my lips, “I have two brothers who don’t ask too many questions.”

Ryan glanced at the small box on his chest, his lips quirking into a slow grin. He picked it up, turning it over in his hand like it was some kind of treasure.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said with a low chuckle, his eyes glinting with a mix of humor and affection. “You came prepared, didn’t you?”

I give him a smirk, my cheeks warming under his gaze. “I didn’t want to take any chances.”

He leaned closer, cupping my face gently, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “You think of everything, don’t you? Guess I better make this worth your while.”

Ryan leaned in, capturing my lips with his in a kiss that reignited the heat between us into a roaring flame. He shifted slightly, discarding his boots and jeans with a sense of urgency that mirrored my own. His eyes, ablaze with desire, met mine as he positioned himself between my parted thighs.

The sound of the wrapper tearing was brief but electric, a prelude to what came next. He rolled the condom down his length with practiced ease, then leaned forward, his hands steady on my hips.

I hooked my leg over his waist, feeling every inch of him as he pressed into me slowly, deliberately. I held my breath, savoring the connection that had been building for what felt like forever. My fingers dug into his back, anchoring us as he sank deeper, filling the space between us completely.

Our bodies moved in unison, a perfect rhythm guided by the thundering beats of our hearts. Each thrust, each gasp, drew us closer to the edge until we finally reached it together, a shared moment of bliss that left us both breathless.

He collapsed against me, his weight comforting as our bodies intertwined in the aftermath. The silence between us was soothing, a tangle of legs and arms and the kind of peace I hadn’t known I needed.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that with you,” Ryan finally broke the silence, his voice low and content as he rolled onto his back beside me.

I propped myself up on one elbow, gazing at his face with a teasing smile. “You? I’ve been dropping hints for years.”

Tucking myself against his side, I pulled the covers over us, letting the warmth settle in. “You must’ve fallen off your horse one too many times not to notice.”