#there's actually some real tech in here

[unfortunate17]

May Never Make it Out Challenge

Post a 1-5 paragraph excerpt of a WIP / fic idea that may never make it out of your drafts but is near and dear to your heart

thank you to @tooindecisivetopickaurl and @in-amor-veritas for the tags. I'll no-pressure tag @skibasyndrome @spennufall @malinowaj @phneltwrites and @hergrandplan

here's a very self indulgent science fiction au that i've been working on on & off for over year. i actually have more than 12k written it's just too weird to actually share LOL but...here's like 3k of it ♥️

---

SIMON: SESSION 3

"I have a surprise for you."

"Oh?" Wilhelm asks, trying to keep his voice calm. Erik's words from last night are still fresh in his mind as he makes his way from the entrance to the middle of the room where the two chairs stand as usual.

Simon's seated on the floor this time, cross-legged. Wilhelm hesitates before taking his usual seat on the chair instead of joining Simon on the floor. The boundaries between them are still a little blurred. It’s difficult to understand what would startle Simon and what would make Wilhelm himself uncomfortable.

"It's not a song," Simon clarifies, a bit unnecessarily as there’s no piano in this room, "It's - a surprise. You have to close your eyes." Wilhelm watches as Simon gets to his feet, eyes subconsciously tracing a path from his slim shoulders to his slender waist. By the time he manages to rip his gaze away, a faint shade of pink is dusting across Simon's cheeks. Strange for someone without blood. "Wille is that okay?"

“What?”

Simon smiles like he’s heard a very funny joke. “Can you close your eyes?”

"Oh - yeah, sure," Wille nods. He curls his fingers into his sweats and shuts his eyes.

"I'm going to leave the room for a minute."

Wilhelm opens his eyes, a sound of protest rising in his throat, "You - has Erik said -"

"I'm just going back to the bedroom," Simon explains patiently. If Wilhelm's sudden reaction has piqued his curiosity, he doesn't let it show. "The passages are connected. I won't be anywhere I don't belong."

Simon's already halfway to the door before Wilhelm can get himself to respond to the wry words thrown his way. "It's not that you don't belong," he finds himself arguing. Simon freezes at the doorway, but he doesn't turn around to face him. "That’s not what I meant."

The response comes after a long moment of silence. "I'm not like you, Wille," Simon says softly, "Now please close your eyes. I want this to be a surprise."

Wille shuts his eyes. Mostly because he doesn’t know what to say.

The room is silent without Simon, the only sound is his own shallow breathing and the faint ticks from the CCTV cameras moving about the room. Simon is watched twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Wille’s not quite sure how he hasn't asked about them yet, how he manages to live - exist, whatever - like that. He knows that if he were in Simon’s place, he would’ve gone insane by now..

Simon is gone for less than a few minutes, but it feels like much, much longer. The room is uneasy without him, like something is not quite right.

When Wilhelm hears the door slide open again, he squeezes his eyes shut harder, bursts of multicolored dots appearing behind his eyelids. "Simon?"

There's a warm hand on the back of his neck. Wilhelm jumps, his eyes flying open involuntarily. He swallows at the sight before him. His tongue feels like it’s stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"Is it a stupid surprise?" Simon asks quietly, a hint of uncertainty coloring his voice.

Wille thinks he’s forgotten how to use his vocal chords. He shakes his head, keeping his eyes trained on Simon's as he reaches out to gently take one of his translucent hands in his own.

A smile flickers across Simon's features then, eyes squinting in happiness, tongue pressed to the backs of his white teeth. He relaxes, shoulder’s loosening. "How do I look?" he asks, "Do you like it?"

Wilhelm leans back in his chair, scanning him from head to toe. Black boots with little zippers up the sides, dark jeans covering the length of his legs. His arms are covered by a soft looking navy sweater; the peek of a white tee shirt visible through the V-neck. "Yeah,” he nods roughly, “You look - nice." Every nerve in his body must be burning, Wille thinks hysterically, what with the fucking heat Simon's body seems to give off.

"I spent a long time picking it out," Simon admits, squeezing his fingers, "I wanted to - I wanted you to like it. Like me. Sometimes it looks like you do, but you're embarrassed by it. So I thought, if I was more like you, then - you might."

Wille pulls his hands away, noting the way Simon flexes his wired fingers as though he misses the feel of it. "What're you doing?"

"I -" Simon looks at him, wide-eyed. Innocent. "I want us to go on a date."

Wilhelm stands from his chair, steps a few feet to his right in order to take in Simon's delicate frame. He hesitates, then decides that the question probably isn't as loaded as he's making it out to be. "Okay," he says, as casually as he can muster. His pulse is jackhammering. "That sounds like fun. Where would we go?"

Simon's expression ripples, something catching his features far too quickly for Wilhelm to read. "A movie," he says, "An ideal place to observe culture, ideals of beauty, self, and fantasy. Then maybe a walk through a busy street. We'd get a concentrated but shifting view of human life."

Wilhelm stays silent.

"Do you think about me when we're not together?" Simon asks now. He takes a step forward. When Wille doesn't move back, he seems to take it as a sign to close the space between them entirely. He fists a robotic hand in Wilhelm's long-sleeve. His voice is smooth, sexual in a way Wilhelm has never heard. "Because I think about you, Wille. I like to think about you watching me on the cameras."

Wilhelm thinks this is what it means when people say their life is flashing before their eyes. His breathing is obviously unsteady and he wishes he'd worn jeans, or at least thicker pants. He's embarrassingly hard on camera and Simon's done nothing but talk to him. "Simon," he begs, "I’m not sure what you - "

"You give me indications that you're attracted to me," Simon whispers, fingers smoothing across his chest. He tugs at the waistband of Wille’s sweats, "Your micro-expressions are - "

"I'm not sure how micro they are," Wilhelm grits, teeth clenched. He tries to imagine Erik in the observation room, tries to conjure up the image of him watching his exchange with muffled laughter. Unfortunately, it’s not enough to calm the rush of blinding lust that pools in his stomach at the way Simon’s blinking up at him, eyes deep and dark and wide. He takes a shuddering breath and pulls Simon’s hand away from his pants.

Immediately, Simon's face falls. He takes a step back, "I'm sorry," he says, "You’re aroused, but also uncomfortable."

Now, Wilhelm's face feels like it’s on fire. His gaze darts up to the cameras, their steady, blinking almost incriminating. "It’s fine, Simon. Our time is - I'll see you tomorrow, okay?."

The acute disappointment on Simon's face makes him want to take back the words at once. He swallows, turning towards the door. But, Simon stops him once again, his fingers brushing the edges of Wille’s shoulder blades.

"Will you ever take me on a date?" Simon whispers. It sounds like the words are being torn from his body.

Wilhelm closes his eyes, trying to keep his breath steady. "I don't know," he admits, more honest than he’d have preferred to have been in this room. "Have you ever been outside this facility, Simon?"

"No," Simon murmurs. His hand smooths across Wilhelm’s back. "I've never been outside these two rooms."

Wilhelm nods. He turns slightly to remove Simon's arm from his back, the grip of his hand wide around Simon's clothed elbow. The touch is different somehow, more charged than anything they've shared before.

"Will you take me?" Simon asks again, "Wille?"

And Wilhelm needs to leave. Right fucking now.

________

Wilhelm’s breathing hard by the time he’s out of the room, the ghost of Simon’s fingers still dancing on his neck, his face an ever-present image in his mind. He leans against the table in the observation room, ignoring the way Erik’s watching him closely..

“What the fuck,” he manages at last, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears, “What in ever-loving fuck was that?”

Erik simply calmly adds another spoonful of sugar to his tea. He's leaning back lazily in his chair, screens still blown up with the view of the now empty room. Wilhelm decidedly doesn't look to see where Simon is now. “What was what, little brother?”

“What was he doing?” Wilhelm’s all but yelling now, “Why is he - he’s coming on to me. Why would you make him do that?”

Erik takes a sip of the steaming liquid, an amused expression spreading across his face, “You’re the only other person he’s ever met besides me and I’m basically his father. Doesn’t seem too far-fetched that he’s got a bit of a crush.”

“Fuck,” Wilhelm runs a hand through his hair, trying to get his racing heartbeat under control. “Why would you do that?” He asks finally, “Give him - a sexuality?”

Erik sets down his cup and leans forward on his elbows, “Why not? Sexuality is a fundamental aspect of human life. According to most psychologists, sex is considered a primary reinforcer.” He snorts, “Gives him something to look forward to with you around now.”

Wilhelm takes a seat gingerly on the edge of the table, knee bouncing almost involuntarily. “Why me though? Why make him attracted to his tester?” He tries to keep his question as neutral as possible, but it’s obvious from the way Erik’s face twists with perverse pleasure that he’s given too much away.

“You're asking me if you can fuck Simon, right?” Erik laughs, open-mouthed and shameless.

Wilhelm cringes, cheeks blazing, “No - fuck you, Erik. That’s not what I -”

“You can,” Erik throws him a smirk, “His body is wired with neurotransmitters. He has a complex network of signal paths that mimic nerves. Strip him of those clothes he's just put on for you and he's anatomically accurate, a concentration of sensors down there. If you engage him in the right way, it'll create a pleasure response, and he'll give as good as he takes. He'll even finish, even if the actual mechanics of him coming - ”

Something in Wilhelm runs cold at the words. He steels his back, tries to make himself look as tall as possible even if Erik could stand and dwarf him with mass alone. “That’s not what I fucking asked,” he says darkly.

“Maybe not," Erik mulls as he gets to his feet, "But it’s what you want to know.”

"No it isn't," Wilhelm argues hotly as he follows Erik out of the room. Instead of taking the staircase to the right back up the kitchen and living room, they make a left turn at the end of the corridor. There's a completely new hall here, one that Wilhelm's never seen before. Not for the first time, he wonders how big the facility really is, why one lonely man would need so much space.

They walk in silence for a minute, passing a range of anatomically accurate paintings, mostly of naked young men and women. Wilhelm doesn't ask about them, keeping his eyes trained on Erik’s back. "I want to know," he says instead, repeating his thought from earlier, "why you made him attracted to me - his tester. Why program him like that? Is this to cloud my judgment? A defense tactic or something?"

Erik snorts unkindly. They stand in front of a smooth metallic door, much like the other ones he's seen around in the hallways. Erik clicks the button on his remote door slides open with a smooth hiss. "You don't have access to this room. Just saying."

"Erik," Wilhelm grits, "Why is Simon flirting with me?"

"For fuck's sake, Wille," Erik's voice is tense, coiled, clearly irritated and condescending all at once. "I programmed him to be gay, just like you were programmed to be fluid or whatever the fuck you’re calling yourself this month."

Wilhelm frowns as he steps through the doorway, "Nobody programmed me to be anything."

They're in some sort of lab, smooth glass cases covering bits of blue gel, boxes - clear and cardboard - line an entire wall, most of them filled to the brim with papers to the point where the lids strain outwards. Along his left are sections of android bodies - limbs, torsos, hands - lined in glass cabinets. Towards the back of the room are more parts, specifically a collection of heads. Skull-forms, some with complex carbon-fiber and pneumatic muscle structures, ready to frown or smile. All are noticeably missing the synthetic meshed-flesh covering that Simon has. A row of synthetic faces hang separately up on armatures, much like hats on hat-stands, waiting to be worn.

In the middle of the room is what appears to be an operating table.

Erik moves towards it, picking up a skull as he goes. "Don't be ridiculous," he rolls eyes, clearly amused, "You decided to be queer? No, of course you didn't - you were programmed by a complex combination of nature and nurture. Just like Simon has been programmed." He motions for Wilhelm to follow him as he sets the skull down on the smooth metal of the table. "And frankly, this sounds like your insecurity talking. You're attracted to him; he's attracted to you. His flirting isn't an algorithm, because for the record, I didn't program him to like you."

Wilhelm allows the words to sink into his skin for only a moment before he stomps down on the giddy warmth that irrupts in his stomach. For fuck's sake, he's a scientist; he needs to stop thinking like a teenager with a crush. "Is this where you built him?"

Erik watches him for a long moment, clearly interested by the change of subject, or more accurately, Wilhelm's need to change the subject. "His version of the womb if you will. Want to know the biggest challenge when it came to making him?" Wilhelm moves to nod before he realizes that it's a rhetorical question, "Facial expressions. Humans read and express them on a basic level, we're born with it hardwired into us - they span every culture, every language. It ended up being the main downfall of some of the earlier prototypes - "

"Earlier prototypes?" Wille can't help but jut in. Realistically he knows that Erik's been working on this little hobby of his for over a decade, there had to have been other models, simpler ones, ones that didn't work as well. It's still a strange idea though, that there were others before Simon. That there might be others after him.

Erik raises a dark eyebrow at him. "You thought he was alone - the only one?"

"No," Wilhelm admits, "I just - I knew he wasn't the first. But I did think he'd be the last." His voice is tighter than he'd anticipated, a fierce curl of protectiveness that’s obvious even to himself.

"You feel bad for him, little brother?" Erik leans against the table, looks him dead in the eye.

Wilhelm shakes his head, tries not to let his voice betray him.

Then, Erik sighs. "Simon doesn't exist in isolation - not any more than you and I do, at least. He's part of an evolutionary continuum, version 12.8 to be exact. Every version gets a little bit better, a little bit closer to that all-consuming fear. The androids that'll make the human race obsolete."

Wilhelm cracks a weak smile despite himself. He rolls the thought around in his mind like a marble. "So - do you think he's it? You know - singularity?"

There are a few beats of silence, nothing touching the moment except for the sound of their breathing, even though Wilhelm feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. He wants to know the answer almost as badly as he doesn't.

"I don't know," Erik says at last. He shoots Wilhelm a strange look, "Shouldn't you be telling me?"

"Fair enough," Wilhelm reasons, cocking his head. "Anyway, what about facial expressions?"

"Christ," Erik shakes his head, runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair, huffing a laugh. "He really does make you emotional doesn't he." Wilhelm flushes despite himself, "I hacked everything," Erik says abruptly.

Wilhelm blinks, "You - "

"I took all the data pouring in from cameras, cell-phones, every single one, across the globe - and redirected it through social media. Gives you a limitless supply of human facial and vocal interaction. Simon's mind is made out of structured gel - do you know what that does, Wille?"

Wilhelm shakes his head, "I don't know what any of this does to be honest."

"Don't exactly blame you," Erik shrugs casually. He sets the skull on the table, before he pinches it with two fingers. Wilhelm watches in fascination as the gel keeps its form even after Erik lets go, hardening into its new shape. "This is state of the art stuff, hasn't been released to the public yet. Structured gel is a new building material my company found a few years ago. Earlier AI models always used circuitry, but we had to get away from that. Our minds don't necessarily work in sequences; it'd be inaccurate, simplistic. AI minds need to be able to restructure and rearrange at a molecular level, but still hold their structure when required. For example, Simon’s mind holds still for memories, but shifts for thinking."

Wilhelm reaches down to poke at the skull. It feels like Jell-O, but tougher somehow, more durable. "What about the software?"

Erik smirks, "You're a thinking man, Wilhelm. Why don't you give me your best guess?"

"Social media," Wilhelm guesses. Then, he huffs a breath of laughter. “I guess, since you need to filter his data, social media is perfect - it gives you the ability to work with dense graphs based on familiarity rather than raw data from search engines. Most companies use social media to map out profits, what items are popular, who's trending.” At Erik’s encouraging nod, he continues. “It's a map of people's thoughts. But not just not a map - it's - it's more like a - blueprint. Because it's not what they're thinking, but how they're thinking, isn't it? It makes it so that Simon can be fluid and patterned, but also impulsive and chaotic."

Erik gives him an appraising look, clearly impressed. "Well done, Wilhelm. I hope this'll help you in future sessions."

Wilhelm stills, hand faltering where he reached for the gel skull again. "What do you mean?"

"I'm showing you this so you'll remember," Erik's gaze is cool, collected, casual, but it makes Wilhelm feel like he's been dunked in ice water. "Simon is not a boy. By definition, he has no gender, no sexuality, no identity. He's synthetic gel and hydraulics."

Wille averts his gaze from Erik to the skull on the operating table.

“A machine.”

[chewwytwee]

maybe if you find yourself liking AI art all the time and that makes you sad for some reason you just don' t have very good taste in art lol

[claire-starsword]

Authentic Story of the Shining Force - Saint Fencer Max - Chapter 3

Translation notes:

So, uh. Elliot's name is rendered with two t's in the og game, but a single one in the GBA version. I had never paid attention to that at all until I had already edited all these pages, and I don't care enough to change it.

Cain's sword causes an explosion here. In the game, it is indeed capable of summoning flames.

This is a perfect illustration of how I feel about these names, but I do wonder what the actual intention was, since Cain is supposed to be already gone. The original image is even cut off weirdly in the middle of the text, and i don't think it's a problem with the scan, since every scanned page has a black border showing that the paper itself doesn't cut there. I wonder about the production of this thing, but i'll wait until i translate the author's comments before saying more.

The map in the previous chapter was very accurate to the beta map of the game. The smaller map here showing Rindo however looks off, the coast is different, and there seems to be a river directly to the north of Rindo, as opposed to the path to Shade Abbey. Perhaps fitting since Shade is skipped here.

Metaphaluna, huh? Needlessly to say, the country of the gods/Ancients is called only Metapha in the final game. Also, in this panel, it pops up as an alternate reading for 前世紀 (ancient times), not the name of a country specifically. I chose to romanize the last part as "luna" for three reasons. One is that the continent of Rune is actually rendered as Lune in at least two guides. I take romanizations from JP guides with a grain of salt since they sometimes look bad/unnatural, or are inconsistent (Pelle's name for example has been romanized as both Peil or Payle depending on the book). I checked though, and town names however are consistent in both the books I've seen romanizing things. The second reason is that the beta map used at this point has a fairly noticeable crescent moon shaped island right in the middle. In the final game, we can't know exactly where Metapha is, because you only teleport there. But I wonder if this island had something to do with it at some point. The third reason is simply I saw no better reason. Metaphalna and Metapharuna would be just as valid, but don't have any meaning to them.

The biggest equation next to Tao as she explains the magic types is very clearly a E=mc². Look close.

I've retranslated Elliot's scenes from the game thinking it would be relevant to these notes. Now I feel it really isn't, but you get more content so you should be happy.

My main point with that is that Elliot does not say anything about Cain in the game. In the GBA version, Balbazak does try revealing Max, Cain and Darksol's identities before dying, but that's not a thing in the og. So yeah I really translated a bunch of stuff for nothing this time! Except not because Darksol is awesome in that scene and everyone should get to see it.

Now let's talk about Otrant. I have mentioned before that Otrant's gender is never explicitly said, and they speak in a mostly gender neutral way (I feel like there's a few masculine patterns in some lines, but I'm not confident enough to say for certain). What I hadn't noticed is that they also use lipstick in the games, which is probably what sparked these observations to begin with, but i'm uh, occasionally not smart. In any case, if any of these aspects were done at this point in development the artist here sure ignored them, and drew a regular old man who gets called an old man. They hate to see an androgynous boss winning.

I don't recall Otrant's third eye being called "Eye of Truth" anywhere else, but the manual of the game does say it can see the past and the future.

Otrant's naming of the Shining Force is a bit more elaborate here, but the wording is very similar to the actual game.

Finally, let's play spot the cameo!

We've got Gong, Zylo, one of the birds, and probably Anri. Easy.

Here, besides the obvious three who were actually introduced in the story, we again have a bird, Anri between Ken and Hans, Gong to the right, and Mae and Gort behind Luke. If you read the pre-release page you know that Gort was meant to be Mae's servant at some point, so this might be why they're together, or it's just coincidence because they still join around the same time in the final game. More importantly, to Ken's left we have...

Some guys. Who are these. They could be made up by the artist (there will be another case of this), but I find it curious that the artist had to do that when there are so many character to pick from, and he clearly wanted to depict official characters here. For one, there's evidence that Earnest was already designed at that point in development. However, that link also shows that Vankar didn't have a portrait by that time at least, and Vankar would have already joined by this point in the story. So could the bald centaur here be a beta Vankar, or the artist's interpretation of Vankar via unfinished art? Maybe, but just a guess in the end. Mostly I'm just fascinated by how detailed this guy is compared to even Mae and Gort's cameos. The other guy isn't so i don't think about them nearly as much.

[autistickfigure]

i think im gonna have to put them down ..

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Tesla's Dieselgate

Elon Musk lies a lot. He lies about being a “utopian socialist.” He lies about being a “free speech absolutist.” He lies about which companies he founded:

https://www.businessinsider.com/tesla-cofounder-martin-eberhard-interview-history-elon-musk-ev-market-2023-2 He lies about being the “chief engineer” of those companies:

https://www.quora.com/Was-Elon-Musk-the-actual-engineer-behind-SpaceX-and-Tesla

He lies about really stupid stuff, like claiming that comsats that share the same spectrum will deliver steady broadband speeds as they add more users who each get a narrower slice of that spectrum:

https://www.eff.org/wp/case-fiber-home-today-why-fiber-superior-medium-21st-century-broadband

The fundamental laws of physics don’t care about this bullshit, but people do. The comsat lie convinced a bunch of people that pulling fiber to all our homes is literally impossible — as though the electrical and phone lines that come to our homes now were installed by an ancient, lost civilization. Pulling new cabling isn’t a mysterious art, like embalming pharaohs. We do it all the time. One of the poorest places in America installed universal fiber with a mule named “Ole Bub”:

https://www.newyorker.com/tech/annals-of-technology/the-one-traffic-light-town-with-some-of-the-fastest-internet-in-the-us

Previous tech barons had “reality distortion fields,” but Musk just blithely contradicts himself and pretends he isn’t doing so, like a budget Steve Jobs. There’s an entire site devoted to cataloging Musk’s public lies:

https://elonmusk.today/

But while Musk lacks the charm of earlier Silicon Valley grifters, he’s much better than they ever were at running a long con. For years, he’s been promising “full self driving…next year.”

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

He’s hasn’t delivered, but he keeps claiming he has, making Teslas some of the deadliest cars on the road:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/2023/06/10/tesla-autopilot-crashes-elon-musk/

Tesla is a giant shell-game masquerading as a car company. The important thing about Tesla isn’t its cars, it’s Tesla’s business arrangement, the Tesla-Financial Complex:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/24/no-puedo-pagar-no-pagara/#Rat

Once you start unpacking Tesla’s balance sheets, you start to realize how much the company depends on government subsidies and tax-breaks, combined with selling carbon credits that make huge, planet-destroying SUVs possible, under the pretense that this is somehow good for the environment:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/14/for-sale-green-indulgences/#killer-analogy

But even with all those financial shenanigans, Tesla’s got an absurdly high valuation, soaring at times to 1600x its profitability:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/15/hoover-calling/#intangibles

That valuation represents a bet on Tesla’s ability to extract ever-higher rents from its customers. Take Tesla’s batteries: you pay for the battery when you buy your car, but you don’t own that battery. You have to rent the right to use its full capacity, with Tesla reserving the right to reduce how far you go on a charge based on your willingness to pay:

https://memex.craphound.com/2017/09/10/teslas-demon-haunted-cars-in-irmas-path-get-a-temporary-battery-life-boost/

That’s just one of the many rent-a-features that Tesla drivers have to shell out for. You don’t own your car at all: when you sell it as a used vehicle, Tesla strips out these features you paid for and makes the next driver pay again, reducing the value of your used car and transfering it to Tesla’s shareholders:

https://www.theverge.com/2020/2/6/21127243/tesla-model-s-autopilot-disabled-remotely-used-car-update

To maintain this rent-extraction racket, Tesla uses DRM that makes it a felony to alter your own car’s software without Tesla’s permission. This is the root of all autoenshittification:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

This is technofeudalism. Whereas capitalists seek profits (income from selling things), feudalists seek rents (income from owning the things other people use). If Telsa were a capitalist enterprise, then entrepreneurs could enter the market and sell mods that let you unlock the functionality in your own car:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/11/1-in-3/#boost-50

But because Tesla is a feudal enterprise, capitalists must first secure permission from the fief, Elon Musk, who decides which companies are allowed to compete with him, and how.

Once a company owns the right to decide which software you can run, there’s no limit to the ways it can extract rent from you. Blocking you from changing your device’s software lets a company run overt scams on you. For example, they can block you from getting your car independently repaired with third-party parts.

But they can also screw you in sneaky ways. Once a device has DRM on it, Section 1201 of the DMCA makes it a felony to bypass that DRM, even for legitimate purposes. That means that your DRM-locked device can spy on you, and because no one is allowed to explore how that surveillance works, the manufacturer can be incredibly sloppy with all the personal info they gather:

https://www.cnbc.com/2019/03/29/tesla-model-3-keeps-data-like-crash-videos-location-phone-contacts.html

All kinds of hidden anti-features can lurk in your DRM-locked car, protected from discovery, analysis and criticism by the illegality of bypassing the DRM. For example, Teslas have a hidden feature that lets them lock out their owners and summon a repo man to drive them away if you have a dispute about a late payment:

https://tiremeetsroad.com/2021/03/18/tesla-allegedly-remotely-unlocks-model-3-owners-car-uses-smart-summon-to-help-repo-agent/

DRM is a gun on the mantlepiece in Act I, and by Act III, it goes off, revealing some kind of ugly and often dangerous scam. Remember Dieselgate? Volkswagen created a line of demon-haunted cars: if they thought they were being scrutinized (by regulators measuring their emissions), they switched into a mode that traded performance for low emissions. But when they believed themselves to be unobserved, they reversed this, emitting deadly levels of NOX but delivering superior mileage.

The conversion of the VW diesel fleet into mobile gas-chambers wouldn’t have been possible without DRM. DRM adds a layer of serious criminal jeopardy to anyone attempting to reverse-engineer and study any device, from a phone to a car. DRM let Apple claim to be a champion of its users’ privacy even as it spied on them from asshole to appetite:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Now, Tesla is having its own Dieselgate scandal. A stunning investigation by Steve Stecklow and Norihiko Shirouzu for Reuters reveals how Tesla was able to create its own demon-haunted car, which systematically deceived drivers about its driving range, and the increasingly desperate measures the company turned to as customers discovered the ruse:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/tesla-batteries-range/

The root of the deception is very simple: Tesla mis-sells its cars by falsely claiming ranges that those cars can’t attain. Every person who ever bought a Tesla was defrauded.

But this fraud would be easy to detect. If you bought a Tesla rated for 353 miles on a charge, but the dashboard range predictor told you that your fully charged car could only go 150 miles, you’d immediately figure something was up. So your Telsa tells another lie: the range predictor tells you that you can go 353 miles.

But again, if the car continued to tell you it has 203 miles of range when it was about to run out of charge, you’d figure something was up pretty quick — like, the first time your car ran out of battery while the dashboard cheerily informed you that you had 203 miles of range left.

So Teslas tell a third lie: when the battery charge reached about 50%, the fake range is replaced with the real one. That way, drivers aren’t getting mass-stranded by the roadside, and the scam can continue.

But there’s a new problem: drivers whose cars are rated for 353 miles but can’t go anything like that far on a full charge naturally assume that something is wrong with their cars, so they start calling Tesla service and asking to have the car checked over.

This creates a problem for Tesla: those service calls can cost the company $1,000, and of course, there’s nothing wrong with the car. It’s performing exactly as designed. So Tesla created its boldest fraud yet: a boiler-room full of anti-salespeople charged with convincing people that their cars weren’t broken.

This new unit — the “diversion team” — was headquartered in a Nevada satellite office, which was equipped with a metal xylophone that would be rung in triumph every time a Tesla owner was successfully conned into thinking that their car wasn’t defrauding them.

When a Tesla owner called this boiler room, the diverter would run remote diagnostics on their car, then pronounce it fine, and chide the driver for having energy-hungry driving habits (shades of Steve Jobs’s “You’re holding it wrong”):

https://www.wired.com/2010/06/iphone-4-holding-it-wrong/

The drivers who called the Diversion Team weren’t just lied to, they were also punished. The Tesla app was silently altered so that anyone who filed a complaint about their car’s range was no longer able to book a service appointment for any reason. If their car malfunctioned, they’d have to request a callback, which could take several days.

Meanwhile, the diverters on the diversion team were instructed not to inform drivers if the remote diagnostics they performed detected any other defects in the cars.

The diversion team had a 750 complaint/week quota: to juke this stat, diverters would close the case for any driver who failed to answer the phone when they were eventually called back. The center received 2,000+ calls every week. Diverters were ordered to keep calls to five minutes or less.

Eventually, diverters were ordered to cease performing any remote diagnostics on drivers’ cars: a source told Reuters that “Thousands of customers were told there is nothing wrong with their car” without any diagnostics being performed.

Predicting EV range is an inexact science as many factors can affect battery life, notably whether a journey is uphill or downhill. Every EV automaker has to come up with a figure that represents some kind of best guess under a mix of conditions. But while other manufacturers err on the side of caution, Tesla has the most inaccurate mileage estimates in the industry, double the industry average.

Other countries’ regulators have taken note. In Korea, Tesla was fined millions and Elon Musk was personally required to state that he had deceived Tesla buyers. The Korean regulator found that the true range of Teslas under normal winter conditions was less than half of the claimed range.

Now, many companies have been run by malignant narcissists who lied compulsively — think of Thomas Edison, archnemesis of Nikola Tesla himself. The difference here isn’t merely that Musk is a deeply unfit monster of a human being — but rather, that DRM allows him to defraud his customers behind a state-enforced opaque veil. The digital computers at the heart of a Tesla aren’t just demons haunting the car, changing its performance based on whether it believes it is being observed — they also allow Musk to invoke the power of the US government to felonize anyone who tries to peer into the black box where he commits his frauds.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

This Sunday (July 30) at 1530h, I’m appearing on a panel at Midsummer Scream in Long Beach, CA, to discuss the wonderful, award-winning “Ghost Post” Haunted Mansion project I worked on for Disney Imagineering.

Image ID [A scene out of an 11th century tome on demon-summoning called 'Compendium rarissimum totius Artis Magicae sistematisatae per celeberrimos Artis hujus Magistros. Anno 1057. Noli me tangere.' It depicts a demon tormenting two unlucky would-be demon-summoners who have dug up a grave in a graveyard. One summoner is held aloft by his hair, screaming; the other screams from inside the grave he is digging up. The scene has been altered to remove the demon's prominent, urinating penis, to add in a Tesla supercharger, and a red Tesla Model S nosing into the scene.]

Image: Steve Jurvetson (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Tesla_Model_S_Indoors.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[prael]

A Bargain To Remember

Kinktember Day 13: Car sex

(G)I-DLE Miyeon x male reader smut

words: 4,950 Kinktember Masterlist

"Finally, a face to the name."

You know all about Miyeon, of course. She's the type of girl whose face is plastered on every screen and every street in every corner of the galaxy, a darling of the interplanetary conglomerates. From the spaceports to even the most downtrodden of back-alleys, you can probably find her face on some poster or flyer or some massive digital billboard high above you—those corporate powers that be sure want to squeeze as much out of her as possible.

The surprise is that she knows you.

Of course, it's on those screens, or the ones at home, or the ones in their pockets, that most people become acquainted with a girl like Miyeon. Those glossy eyes, her effervescent smile, her delicate but fierce features, of course, they leave an impression. They sell you dreams, products and promises. That's why you can find her all over the place—but the versions of her you can interact with— ones to purchase and enjoy—are another beast altogether.

"Can I help you, miss?" you feign ignorance of her identity as she takes the chair at the other end of your desk.

"I would like to make a purchase."

"A purchase? From me? What could I possibly offer to someone like you? I sell scrap electronics to junkies and fix the broken implants of low-life thugs. How could that possibly interest you?"

She crosses her legs, and says, "Don't play with me. I have seen your work, quite the artist you are, though I wouldn't say you exactly have my mannerisms down. The curve of my mouth, the cadence of my voice—not exactly up to par with the real deal. But as fakes go, you do well with what you have."

You scratch at the back of your head and then catch a bead of sweat forming at your temple, "Think you have the wrong guy, miss. You're talking AI and Virts here. Not my thing, definitely not my forte."

She's quiet as you look around at anything but her face. The grey concrete walls and steel beam of the roof are awfully fascinating suddenly, and then the holos playing on loop above the screens of your makeshift booth—really anything than to have to admit that your life's work consists of making and selling forgeries of people like her. She knows why she's here—the least you could do is be brave and admit to your craft.

"I tried your work myself. Quite the experience. Can't say I ever planned on fucking myself—but well, there's a first time for everything I guess."

There's enough power across your desk to not only shut you down and make it so the only tech you would ever touch again is a pair of electrified cuffs at best, and at worst she could have you put down and silently disposed.

Miyeon continues, "As I say, it wasn't entirely accurate, I'm not actually that loud or aggressive, for the record. But it was fun, so if you're thinking I'm about to expose you, not the case—I'm actually here to invest in your skill. Your art is fun, and I dare say your tastes in women, are spot on."

You let out a small nervous laugh and then say, "I don't usually take requests."

Her pink-painted lips, the gloss shimmering slightly from the bright fluorescent overhead light, form into a delicate, mischievous grin. "I'm willing to make you an offer, one you won't refuse. You get me what I want, and I'll license your work. Think about it. An official Miyeon VirtueX™, think of how lucrative an asset that could be. The whole galaxy's lining up to get a taste—and you would be the only real supply."

You lean forward in your chair to peer at her and ask, "Let's say I was who you think I am, what is it that you want from me?"

"What I want from you," she pauses and tilts her head, her eyes glance across your features briefly and her tongue traces the edges of her teeth. "Is to show me the past." She places a drive on the desk—old-tech, the kind that would never run on any kind of systems that are sold today. "You can get this working, right?"

"Is that a government stamp?" You point to the symbol on the drive. "I plug that in and I'll have execution squads here in under a minute."

"It's all above board. Officially disposed and untracked. I just need to live it, once." Her voice is quiet and pensive.

"Alright. Deal. But those two lumps of metal you call bodyguards have to stay out there, and you're coming through to my studio. If I'm gonna help, you have to play by my rules."

She flashes you a winning smile. You thought you had her pegged down but all this has proved you wrong—there was more to Miyeon than the flashy clothes and the blinding lights, a lot more. And your curiosity is getting the better of you now.

"You know, you're only the third person to ever step in here," you open up the secret passage into the back room, and gesture for Miyeon to step in.

You close the door behind you both and feel the heavy metal slide lock with a hiss.

"The first was me, naturally, and the second left it in a body bag a few years ago."

She doesn't flinch, just brushes past you and sits on the edge of your desk, running a finger along the steel as if surveying the conditions of your equipment. "Hard to imagine you make the stuff you do from a place like this," she says.

"The drive," you say as you hold out a hand.

She passes it over and you examine the shape and material. Most drives these days are designed to interface with neural implant ports or organic docks directly—this is true vintage work. It might have been what some would have called groundbreaking tech a hundred or so years ago. You hook the little device up to your primary work machine and start running tests.

She slides off the table, her hands resting on your shoulders. She bends down, her body pressed into yours as she murmurs near your ear. "How is it?"

"A mess. But a fixable mess. Should have something you can use soon enough."

Miyeon breathes gently in your ear before placing a hand on your arm, "Please, whatever you do, do not look at the contents. It's personal, just let me view it, and live it, one last time. Then you can lock it away again for all eternity and erase the copy from your server. And then you get exactly what you want from me."

You breathe in deeply, a mixture of her perfume and the thick oily scent of hot electronics flooding your brain. "Whatever, it's none of my business anyway. Now take a seat will you." You nod to the chair on the other side of the room.

The drive whirrs softly and a data scan runs to gather all the fragmented encryptions left behind on the device. Miyeon lies flat back on your chair and waits for you to connect her—she holds out her forearm expectantly.

"Come on then," she smiles sweetly and pulls a loose curl behind her ear.

You clamp your eyes tight and inhale. "Here goes nothing." You run the system at the push of a button and all the data you scraped compiles in a memory, one for Miyeon and Miyeon alone to relive. You walk over, drawing the connection from the chair and readying to insert it into her arm. "Connections like these, they can hurt, okay? Are you ready?"

"Do it." She's insistent.

A quick stab of your fingers later and the tiny prongs slide into the barely visible organic slot on her skin. Her head tosses violently and for the first time, there's fear on her face. But as soon as you have her connected, her eyelids begin to flutter. You sit a while, watching her as a million synapses all spark to life behind rolling eyes—whatever the moment is, she is in it. You leave her in peace and sit back at your workstation, waiting.

There's an artificial sensation of the atmosphere becoming slightly humid all around, the lights are a soft pastel blue, and the world is swathed in cotton wool. Silent. You find yourself completely frozen in time. It drags and yet somehow comes to a finish just as you're still adjusting to the quietude.

Miyeon's connection beeps and you turn around, removing the port from your system. She pulls the connection from her arm.

"So, tell me, was it worth the trip down memory lane? You get everything you wanted?" You unplug the old-school hardware and await the confirmation that all the corrupted data's safely expunged from your hard drives.

"Almost everything. But most things, in the end, never get a happy ending, do they?"

"Sounds heavy. The stuff that happened on there, pretty rough, huh."

Her pupils are dilated, the whites of her eyes flooded red. "Like you wouldn't believe." Miyeon climbs from the chair, finding her feet back in the real world after living in another for a precious few minutes. She blinks twice and there's a distinct film over her corneas.

"So that's it? My end of the bargain was fulfilled. And I get my licensed content?"

Miyeon turns and you wonder if that's a tear that's been cast down her cheek. "Sealed and guaranteed. Now let's give you some real data to work with. The right anatomical model, an authentic Miyeon behavioural pattern, every single unique vocal calibration, every erogenous spot, every subtle expression in real-time—have it all. One more condition. I have another memory, a real one in my head, if you make me relive that, you can record it and scrub every detail you need. Are we agreed?"

You nod. "Done. Sit there and we'll connect."

"You're going to manually record?"

"How do you think I get it all so accurate?" you tell her with a smug smile.

She sits and gives a nod. "If it's got to be done." You take a seat behind her, and you both reach over your shoulder to pull the neural connector into your napes and slot them in.

A brief flash of many realities as you slip into her consciousness and she welcomes you to her memory.

A calm setting, sitting in a car, you were driving and she's in the passenger seat. You're parked beside a winding hillside road and looking out over a city. A city you don't recognise. Miyeon's fingers dancing across your thigh with a suggestive gentleness, a sly smile.

"Where are we?" you ask.

"Seoul." Miyeon smiles.

"When are we?"

"2024."

"2024? That's over seventy years ago!"

She laughs. "Yeah? You wanted the real authentic Miyeon, didn't you?"

"Sure, but in 2024? That's just unbelievable. You look the same. How are you so—"

She leans close and traces a finger across the line of your jaw. She stares directly into your eyes and says, "We'll worry about the details later. Right now, you want what I've promised, and you've come this far, so you know what has to be done. We're already where we need to be."

Your senses are engulfed in an emotion and memories that are not your own. All a simulation and all a vivid and overwhelming experience. You're in love with her, that's the overriding feeling—the feeling of whoever she was really with at this time.

"This is the memory of the best sex of my life." She leans close to whisper to you. "So do try your best."

"This is just..." You don't get to finish, she's grabbed your shirt and pulled you close. She kisses you deeply. There is nothing of the daintiness or composure that you're used to, you've lost all your will and she is dragging you out of control. You find yourself consumed with an overwhelming and perplexing ecstasy and the idea of restraint or of reason seems unimportant now. You're driven purely by passion and by instinct—she has to have you and you have to have her, it's almost a compulsion. She's yanking off her seatbelt and reaching for your trousers, clawing at them desperately.

And just like that, you're scrambling at each other's clothes, almost frantic. You have the sensation of her breath across your face, the heat of her lips against your skin. Hands, everywhere. Exploring the curves of her body. A hungry desperation to peel back every layer of fabric to feel more, and more of her. She bites your bottom lip and looks at you with pleading eyes.

"I want you and I want you now." Her lips move like liquid lust and her hand like electricity, the energy tingles when she wraps her fingers around your cock and pulls it free from your pants.

She gasps and then giggles as if pleasantly surprised, a cute and kittenish squeal, she hums with her own approval of her actions.

"I'll be gentle," she whispers, her eyes shining with mischief. She rubs you from tip to base, taking the full length, slowly and teasingly over and again until the blood's pumping and you're at full salute. She's on her knees in the passenger seat and leaning over you. A smirk on her lips, she goes lower and lower still, her tongue warm and wet. Taking your crown into her mouth and enveloping you, her pace slow but sure.

Your hand in her hair, not to control or pressure, just to feel her in the moment. Encourage her, caress the back of her neck and appreciate every moment of pleasure. She takes you deep, deeper into her throat, the heat of her lungs, the power in her movements as she comes off and plunges again and again. It's effortless and instinct, and not for anything other than her own desire to please, and that itself is thrilling, you have to admit.

It's a strange new world for you to have sex without the enhancements of technology. It's so raw.

You sigh and whimper at every suckling pull, your nerve endings raw and singing. Her palms firmly pressing down onto the tops of your thighs, her movements grow slower, more sensual but she sucks harder, the vibrations from the moans of her enjoyment humming through the root of your shaft—fuck, it feels so fucking good, too good. She releases you with a slight gasp for air and a drooling line of spit.

She wipes her lips with a knowing glint in her eyes. "Outside, now." Miyeon doesn't hesitate. Her shirt pulled off and tossed into your face and she's leapt over to the rear passenger door, flinging it open wide, the warm night air rushes in to greet you, along with the sound of crickets. She slams the door shut and you open yours.

You climb out and head to meet her at the front of the car, she's already leaning against the metal hood. The car is one of those muscle cars from back at the time, a real classic ride that suits a woman like her. "Hey you," she rubs her hands against the metal as she leans forward and sprawls herself over it. "Get behind me already," her tongue dancing across her red-stained lips, her chest heaving in excitement, you're as hot and as hard as you'll ever be.

Miyeon tilts her head, watching you closely with half-opened eyes, her pretty pink tongue sticks out between her perfect teeth, and a teasing wink follows. She wiggles her hips, an inviting gesture, her skirt raised to reveal the gentle wobble of her cheeks—she doesn't have underwear, what a perfect minx she is—all bare for you.

She runs a hand down over the hem of her skirt and then raises it fully up over the top of her ass. As glorious as the very stars overhead. You have an overwhelming urge to run your hands across her bare flesh and as you take the first steps towards her, you find your arms reaching and touching and tracing every inch of skin that's exposed.

You run your hands over her cheeks, spreading them, kneading them, Miyeon's letting out soft little noises, encouraging you, inciting you—but fuck, this view... it's exquisite. It's so clear now, that all those fakes, the painstaking hours of recreation, simply did not live up to the real deal, and not just the view, everything is magnitudes superior.

You smooth your palm between her thighs and you part them, pulling her ass to the edge, sliding her legs open, watching as her wetness shines. "Just how badly do you want me?" you ask her.

"Look at me, how can you say something like that? Of course, I fucking want you. I hate having to wait. Come and fuck me."

You guide your cock to sit between her cheeks and rock into it gently, enjoying how those perky cheeks cradle your length and the way her whole body rocks with every movement. "Is it wrong that I love watching you squirm?" you ask, running the palm of your hand over the bare skin, digging your fingers in, grasping a handful and appreciating how it yields under your fingertips.

"Only wrong if I mind, and I don't," Miyeon groans, lifting her hips against you and smothering your dick in her deliciously juicy flesh. She is irresistible. "So what are you waiting for," her voice soft and suggestive. "Go on, you know you want to. You know how much I need it."

You grit your teeth and trace her lips with the tip of your cock, and it's like lightning flashing between you both. Fuck. Her lips are so wet and hot—they're so tantalisingly puffy. She wiggles and gyrates against you as you rest inside her opening. She groans and you're shuddering.

You slide the first few inches and gasp. You both moan softly together as you glide in, she's so much tighter than you had imagined she might feel—every inch that slides inside makes her clench you more.

"Yes," Miyeon is urgent and breathy, her muscles are contracting as though attempting to swallow your entire length. And she's hungry for it. "That's it baby, nice and deep," her words as electrifying as the sensation of her snug walls quivering as she clings on with greed.

"Like this?" you whisper in her ear as you lean over and pin her petite frame against the metal, letting her feel you, all of you. Every inch. And as she moans and shivers under the weight of your body. Your hands reach her shoulders and your fingertips find her neck, circling and caressing and massaging in all the right places—she turns her head as far round as she's able to gaze at you as she hums and gasps with each rolling movement of your hips.

Her teeth biting her bottom lip, her cheeks flushed pink, a complete dream in motion. Her body arches as she urges and wills herself back on you. You groan in return. Everything about her feels unreal in its perfection. She's squeezing against your cock, and her most hidden recesses begin to melt for you.

Miyeon cums like this, and it's without warning. She tenses, her eyes go wide and her mouth hangs open—her silky tunnel clamps tight as a vice grip. And the way she gushes all over you, covering you, she can barely breathe, she can barely let out a cry or a single noise, only ragged breathing as you hold her firmly in place and fuck her through it.

You fuck her without shame or inhibition. She whimpers, a feeble cry, every thrust powerful and deliberate. Miyeon moans what feels like your name and you give another forceful snap of your hips, both hands firmly on her slim and shaking waist. There are no words that can possibly encapsulate her.

"That's it," her breath erratic and shaky. She grinds her ass into you with every forward push, working into a perfect rhythm and going balls-deep with each pump. "Hard." You slam against her ass, the clapping sound of skin against skin—it fills the warm and humid air.

Miyeon cums again. So fucking easy to make her cum. Her beautiful brown eyes are desperate with desire. She shakes, she is panting, "Just like that, keep doing exactly that and I'll lose my damn mind. God, you feel so fucking big."

She's limp now, just taking rough, powerful and blissful strokes—her cries a series of hoarse grunts and weak moans.

You grab her by the waist, hard, she lets out a yelp, and then you're manhandling her, throwing her delicate figure over onto her back. There they are, those perfect little tits, grown red being forced against the metal of the car. Her soppy mess drips out from her thoroughly fucked hole.

"This, is all you wanted right?" You gather her legs and thrust them roughly up and over your shoulders, sliding easily back inside. Her pussy gushing and absolutely soaking. "A good rough fucking. You just love to be used don't you, baby. This is the side of you I've been missing, seeing how you have always been so prim and proper in front of everyone."

"That was your problem, all those homemade VirtueXs made me all commanding when I really just love to be taken." Her breaths are ragged.

"Maybe that's just how I'll be selling you in future then," you say.

She gives a throaty chuckle. "Do whatever the fuck you want, but for now," Miyeon takes a tight hold of her knees, and draws them against her chest. "Make me cum again, please."

You have her absolutely filled with every inch of cock and stretched tight with every savage drive of your hips, again, and again, and again. Sweat forms a light film over every curve and groove of her form. She's gorgeous, she's taking it, and she's loving it. "Let me feel you cum," she breathes between pumps and thrusts, her fingers kneading the flesh of her thighs as she spreads herself as open as is physically possible.

A combination of pressure and adrenaline, you're hammering deep. Miyeon is groaning and pleading. A loud moan, a series of short sharp exhales and whimpers. Those narrow hips are trembling, her slim thighs shake, toes are curled. Her orgasm and invitation for you to join her come as a surge.

You explode. Locked, sheathed so deep and full, you fill her. "Cum so much..." Miyeon sighs in awe. Your climax is euphoria.

Both a sweating, quaking mass of interlocked limbs, you pull away and your drenched cock slips out. "How are you real," you exhale. "Never felt anything like you."

"I am one of a kind." Miyeon laughs gently to herself. "Now let's get back in there and you can fuck me some more."

You're in the backseat now, Miyeon's slender body climbing all over you. She leans in and takes your lips, her sticky lip gloss and the sweet taste of her mouth as she invades with her tongue and leads yours into a frenzy. Her fingertips drag down across your chest. She's positioning herself over your cock.

The beauty of simulation is there's no recovery, only the chasing of the next orgasm, and she's keen to provide the means. She takes you with her eyes closed, a small, grateful moan and she slides herself slowly up and down. Your head arches back with a cry as she holds onto your shoulders and glides her lips down over your shaft.

"Gonna ride you," she whispers as she rocks herself in time with the rise and fall of your breaths. "Ride you until you explode again." Your fingertips squeeze into the supple curves and muscles of her torso.

It is a euphoric ecstasy. Miyeon looks perfect riding a dick. She sinks down low, grinding back and forth. She moves like waves, her hair stuck against her cheek. You take hold and move the strands out of the way, before trailing down the bare skin of her neck and to her tits, groping them firmly.

"Been so long since I last got to do this. Missed how big you are." She grasps the headrest as the speed and intensity of her motions increase. "Yeah, that's it, baby."

Her eyes flutter and her head starts to fall further and further back. Erratic, out of control, wild—she starts slamming her ass down hard. Fucked-slack and oozing, her juices dripping down. She's growing quiet and you watch her expression transform, her eyes turn glassy. You watch her face strain in her pleasure, it's a wonderful sight—pure bliss. Then she erupts into moans as her body convulses and spasms, and all you can do is hold her steady, her hole throbbing tight around you. She gasps, desperate for oxygen, every fibre and nerve singing in harmony.

From one, right into chasing the next, Miyeon lifts herself, turns, presents her ass to you and sits back on your cock. You watch it slip up between her cheeks and disappear inside her cunt once more, she hums a content sigh and leans forward. Miyeon braces herself against the window of the car, looking over her shoulder as she moves.

Her groin rocks and grinds on your shaft in a rolling motion and it's heaven itself. That cute, perky ass smacks on your groin in a sensual motion. Her hand snakes between her legs. Her moans grow in strength and volume. Wet, slippery, soft, Miyeon's fucking you and riding herself to her own orgasm. She starts to tremble. You start to tremble. She's squirming wildly, desperate for her climax, that gorgeous cunt squeezing every inch and driving you crazy.

And you lose it. Another intense explosion that makes you clasp onto her ass and hold it steady. A groan rips through your entire body, and you empty everything you have. She cums the instant she feels the heat spread through her. A unified orgasm. Pure heavenly relief. The energy seems to drift into the air and the car rattles beneath you both. It is incredible. The euphoria is otherworldly.

"Tell me that was good," she asks softly.

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"Again. Again. Please, one more time?"

"It's your head, sweetie. Have at it."

"Hmm, I suppose it is. Then I want to sit on you, and I want it in my ass." Miyeon giggles and slips herself off you, a mixture of your cum and hers falling down her thighs.

"Whatever the fuck you want," you groan, delirious as Miyeon pulls you up to the seat and then takes her place on your lap, she spread her legs out over yours and you take her hips, guiding her ass onto your cum-soaked cock. Everything is a fucking blur but the sensations are turned up to eleven, and there is nothing else that is comparable.

You plant kisses on her hot, sweaty back as you slide her down onto your length. She's twitching, and squirming. You hear her let out a soft gasp of delight at the invasion. The tightness, the constricting squeeze is just...

"Oh yes..." Miyeon breathes softly. "Let me... let me do the work now, let me fuck this big hard dick with my tight ass." She circles her hips, drawing on your cock with a slow, tight, merciless motion. Your world starts spinning all over again. She's slick with sweat, her cheeks grinding on your thighs, the scent and the sex drives you fucking wild. "What a perfect dick. I could do this all day."

You lean your head forward, and sink your teeth into the muscle of her shoulder—a flurry of loud moans from Miyeon as she bounces on your shaft. The sloppy sounds, the music of her pleasures, the clapping slap, it's insane and exhilarating. You lick her sweat from her flesh, tasting her.

She's slick and stretched, clamping around your cock as her pace quickens and turns ragged and urgent. It's a whole other level, it's unparalleled and all-consuming. You're just about ready to blow inside her ass.

"Hold onto me," She pants, grasping your left wrist and bringing it over to her mouth, placing your fingertips upon her tongue and sucking. It is lewd and erotic and exciting and your insides begin to churn and ache.

There's no stopping you now, you erupt again, gripping her waist as your hips buck up on instinct, jamming yourself deep and blowing. Miyeon moans around your fingertips—taking your load while still rubbing her swollen little clit.

"Yes, I love it when I make you cum like that," she murmurs, sliding herself slowly off your half-mast cock and crawling off your lap. She throws herself down on the seat in a heap, peering down at the thick mess of cum dripping out of her freshly fucked orifices, a dazed smile, satiated.

You blink and try to get her into focus but it's to no use—she blurs and vanishes before your eyes. And soon, you're back. Your workshop, in your chair, and still hooked into Miyeon. Still sitting back-to-back, your foreheads damp, breathing hard and ragged. The lights flickering a bright electric blue.

"Incredible," you breathe.

Miyeon sighs. "Yeah..." She detaches the link from behind her ear. Miyeon climbs to her feet, shakily making her way around your workspace. "I'm such a mess," She says, touching under her dress.

"Fuck, yeah me too," you sit there trying to process what just happened.

"I want a copy. The whole thing." Miyeon places a card down on the desk.

"I'll get started."

[savanir]

DP x DC prompt [3]

during one of the final psych evals at Arkham right before he gets to be released, the whole thing wrapped up so tidy, just a little relapse which involved a robbery. Getting sent back to Arkham, but he got to stay at the asylum so long that he no longer has to serve a prison sentence, score!

But during that eval his overseeing psychiatrist recommended him to have a change of scenery, some fresh non polluted air.

Riddler was rather convinced the guy was making this recommendation to everyone in Arkham in their own weird way to convince them to just leave Gotham and become someone else's problem. should he notify Batman about it somehow? nah, it’ll be more interesting to see how this is gonna turn out in the long run.

But can he leave the state? Can he even leave the city? he never really bothered to look into it, at least not legally, up until now if he felt he needed to leave for one of his plans he just did it.

Turns out he can, it’s a whole hassle and a half though, first a judge and then a probation officer and he’s pretty sure both were like “what the hell is this psychiatrist guy thinking!?” but at the same time, shrink probably knows what he’s doing (WRONG) so he’s allowed to go visit out of state family or whatever.

he had to wear this nice ankle monitor though, Wayne Enterprises™ tech, not overly bulky but still very present. real fancy, and a fun extra challenge heh.

now as for a good reason to leave New Jersey he’s going to need distant relatives, and he finds some, great grandpa walker also has a son, who had a son who had a daughter Madeline, who married some guy Jack Fenton, and she lives somewhere out in the boonies Illinois. great he’ll visit her.

far enough away in all sense of the word that there is no way she knows anything about him. it would be best to call her first though, be polite about it.

“hello, you have reached Fenton works, this is Maddie speaking” 

“Riddle me this-” ah whoops, habit, oh whatever, “we don’t share parents, but certainly a part of your life, from laughter to strife. Who am I?”

there is a pause …  he’s going to be a bit disappointed if she hangs up if he’s honest.

“cousins~” comes the cheery reply.

“correct! the name is Edward Nygma, we are distantly related you and I and well-”

“oh you simply must come visit!” 

well this was rather easy, perhaps a little too easy, but she lives in the midwest so maybe just going with whatever some guy says over the phone is normal there? stranger danger not really a thing in a small town where everyone knows everyone?

things start to make a little more sense once he gets there and he’s starting to think some things might run in the family. like a preference for the colour green and weird hyperfixations and genius bordering on insanity. Though that remains to be seen, Jack does not seem like a very bright light after his very enthusiastic welcome.

their kids however are observant and sharp. young Jasmine is wasting no time trying to psychoanalyze him. and the boy, Danny, he had not really meant to and he swears he’s sticking with calling the kid Danny so he wouldn’t seem overly familiar, but he might have called him little bird a couple times now.

but that’s all whatever, he’s playing nice here. and he doesn’t even have to worry about his eccentricities tripping him up because this place is insane.

There actually is a local teen vigilante active but he seems about as loved as he’s disliked. and the ghost boy’s enemies are basically all his own kind, which another crazy thing to now know about. ghost. they are real actually, how is Gotham not completely overrun? and how do they even work? and where do they keep coming from?

Edward might be getting a little sidetracked here. He had fully intended to sneakily get his next big game plan underway all the way out here, ankle monitor be damned. but he hasn’t made any progress at all.

Instead he’s been listening to Madeline and Jack to maybe figure out what the deal is with these ectoplasmic entities, he has to know, at this point he might go crazier if he doesn’t. 

He’s making Jasmine promise him not to get her doctorate in Gotham, he’s going back and forth with space riddles with Danny.

so yeah the whole thing kinda just became a vacation, maybe the psychiatrist had the right idea after all? hmm nah, probably not. but this is fun. He’s thinking about recommending this place to some of the others.

It's different enough to get the vacation feel, but enough crazy shit happens to make it all feel like home.

it is not until Maddie wants to talk with him about potentially switching the position of godfather of Danny to him rather than some weird rich friend of theirs that Edward realizes he might have lost the plot somewhere

Apparently the little bird basically begged them with a powerpoint presentation on how he likes Edward so much more than that Vladimir guy. 

And honestly, the fellow sounds like a Dracula Lutho so even if it’s kinda sad Edward can understand why he’d be considered a better option. Even if the guy has more money and a huge company that makes him said money. And it’s not like the Fentons know about his Riddler activities.

Thinking it over, Edward does think that Danny would like Gotham and Wayne has that space program thing right? The kid is definitely smart enough for that (Nygma certified), and yeah Edward does quite like their space themed back and forth. So, fuck it, why not, what is the worst that could happen?

He doubts Maddie and Jack are gonna kick it any time soon anyway out here in the boonies, it’s just a title thing, a stamp of approval or something.

he should have known he was going to eat those words later… he had this whole beautifully elaborate trap set up for the whole Batclan, and he was just getting to the good part when his phone went off.

Had to put the whole thing on pause cause that particular contact wasn’t gonna get ignored. He did promise to be available.

If the whole thing he had planned now went tits up he could at the very least laugh later at the reactions of the bats as he told them to “hold up one second, I have to take this.” while they were all in various perilous positions. 

Sadly he did have to go, he had a very distressed godson to pick up.

[softestqueeen]

passenger princess

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!tech analyst!reader

summary: After what happened and Aaron being unable to drive, you have the honor of driving him home. Too bad the little motel has only one room left - with one bed.

warnings: 18+ MDNI!! smut, unprotected p in v, no real foreplay, aftercare, kissing, making out, fluff, the beatles ig, love confession, kinda aprupt ending (sorry guys, i'm tired)

wordcount: 3603 words

a/n: this is inspired by this post from @pastelpinkflowerlife! i loved the idea and hope I could do it justice! i peppered in some of my favourite tropes and smut ofc. (i'm just a girl) for the plot they are also not in NYC but a bit farther away, so i could make it a bit more realistic. enjoy <3

“He’s yours,” Derek told you with a shit eating grin while your smile dropped.

“What?”

“You get to drive Mr Grouchy over there home. He’s not cleared to fly yet because he almost busted his ear drum, so someone has to drive him. And that’s where you come in, sunshine. The rest of the team is already on their way to the airport. Here’s your car key.” His smile never faltered once as he flung the key at you.

“Oh, and by the way, Garcia has all your tech stuff, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Derek, we both know that that’s not what I’m worried about, but whatever, I’m not getting out of this, am I?” the whining in your voice was impossible to ignore.

“Nope, drive safe, princess,” and with that Derek turned around, got into another car, which was almost identical to the one you would have to drive and drove away.

You didn’t get any time to sulk, Aaron already walking up to where you were standing, a slight frown on his face that turned apologetic once he looked into your eyes. He felt genuinely bad for you.

“I’m sorry you’re stuck with me now. I bet that’s not how you anticipated to spend your weekend.”

“Oh, no it’s all right Hotch. I’m not really a fan of flying anyways, I’ve always preferred to be in the lair at Quantico.”

So, it was not actually that all right, because you had teeny tiny problem.

You had a huge crush on your boss, Aaron Hotchner.

From the moment you first laid eyes on his tall frame, his piercing eyes and oh those hands, you knew you were a goner. Since then, you were incredibly attracted to him, and you knew you would inevitably catch feelings for him. Which weren’t very promising conditions for driving in a small car with him. Especially when said person was one of the best profilers ever.

But you really don’t have a choice and if you were being completely honest you were glad that in some way or another could take care of him. You knew with how stubborn he could be it wouldn’t be easy, but you hoped he could at least relax a little bit. 

A moment of silence passed between the both of you before you decided to take a step towards the car.

Aaron was already on his way to the driver’s side, but that would not happen, not under your watch.

“I’m driving today. We both know you shouldn’t right now, and it won’t hurt you to sit back and relax a little bit. For once, let someone take care of you, please” the smile you sent him, made him begrudgingly agree. He’s always had a soft spot for you and your smile, especially because it always made everything seem a little lighter. No matter if it were a case, a profile, or any other conversation, you could turn his whole mood with just a simple smile. Oh, and don’t get him started about how he feels every time you beam at him.

Aaron still didn’t step away from the car, rather opening the door and holding it open for you.

Thanking him with a shy thanks you get into the car. Hotch closing the door behind you, walked in front of the car to get in himself.

Once you were both buckled in, you couldn’t hold the comment back that was burning on the tip of your tongue. It was a bold comment, especially from you, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“You’re like my passenger princess now for once,” and while that made you giggle, Aaron only shot you a slightly amused but still grumpy glare. You referred to the one time he called you that (also as a joke) when there was a local case about a year ago and he drove you back towards the head quarters. After you got hurt, he desperately needed to see you smile again and he definitely succeeded.

You started the car, put on the radio and now your little road trip could officially start.

Aaron could now properly look at you; the way your hair fell down your shoulders, the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, the blush on your cheeks, the way your lashes touched your cheeks every time you blinked. You were truly mesmerising.

The truth was – Aaron had feelings for you, the first time he saw you was like a slap in the face, your beauty taking his breath away. It was the first time he ever felt something akin to butterflies since he first met Haley back in high school and definitely the first time he considered romance again after her death. If he were being honest, he would have hired you even if you weren’t as good at your job, for completely selfish reasons. Fortunately, though, you were an outstanding agent and fit right in with Garcia, who would be your closest colleague. That day he couldn’t get you out of his head, and till this day he couldn’t.

But as long as he wasn’t 100% that you felt the same, he wouldn’t act on his feelings. As you were his employee it also wouldn’t sit right with him to possibly put you in an uncomfortable position or force you to do something you may didn’t want to do.

So, for now he would just keep on watching from afar, or as of now, rather from up close. He wasn’t too mad about you driving, that way you couldn’t pay him too much mind while he could fully concentrate on studying your face and committing it his mind.

A Beatles song coming on the radio, interrupted his train of thought. Before he could do it though, your hand reached out and increased the volume, the song now filling every inch of the car. And to Aarons absolute delight, he could hear your gentle voice singing along. Now he suddenly wished the music weren’t quite as loud, so he could hear you better, but he would take what he could get.

Once the Beatles have passed, the station played a lot of other stuff Aaron thought you wouldn’t really like or would be too young to know, but you knew the lyrics to all of the songs. Hotch assumed that you didn’t even realise that you were singing, which made the moment strangely more intimate. After about one and a half hours of driving, there was suddenly a loud metallic sounding noise, which made you both freeze.

You pulled over and got out of the car, Aaron immediately following suit. Once you’ve walked around the car, you saw exactly what caused the noise – you had a flat tire. Upon taking a closer look you could see that you must have driven over a nail, which was now stuck in said tire.

Aaron saw the issue as well. “Do we have a spare tire?”

“I have no idea, how about you check the trunk?”

“Good idea,” Aaron said, already on his way to the back of the car.

“Wait- Aaron, do you know how to change a tire?” you only now realised that you definitely did not know how to change one and you just prayed that he knew, because calling someone because of that would be a bit embarrassing. It would also prolong your stay at the side of the road, which also wouldn’t be ideal.

You probably didn’t realise what you said, but hearing his first name falling from your lips almost made Aaron blush like a schoolgirl. Usually, both of you kept a professional face, never using your frost names unless you were meeting after a case with the others.

Once Aaron had calmed down a bit, he came back with a spare tire and answered you, “Of course I know how to change one, don’t you?”

“Uhm- well, I never had to do it, and it also never happened to me before. I’m glad you know how to do it though,” the smile returned to your face, while Aaron got to work.

He encouraged you to watch and explained everything to you, even letting you fasten a few of the screws and rewarding you with a rare smile once the new tire was installed.

Finally, you went back to the car and resumed your journey. It all went well, but of course, it couldn’t stay like that for long.

From one moment to the other, it suddenly started raining like crazy, the roads slick from the rain. The journey would have taken a few hours that you planned to drive without any overnight breaks, but the rain made that almost impossible.

“Maybe we should stay the night somewhere and wait for the rain to stop,” Aarons gentle voice cut through your inner turmoil. It always scared you a bit that he could tell exactly what you were thinking without you saying a single word.

“That’s a good idea; I’ll stop at the next motel.”

Finally, the next exit neared, the storm only getting worse and worse by the minute. You were glad you finally got off the street, all of Reid’s statistics about car accidents in extreme weather conditions plaguing your mind.

You took the exit, the dingy motel not looking like the most comfortable, but it was the only shelter you could get at the moment.

After parking the car, the two of you grabbed your go-bags and hurried inside. From the inside the motel had the same shabby charme as on the outside. A bored looking teenager looked up as you approached the information desk. Hotch took over the talking, asking for two rooms.

“We only have one room available at the moment, we should have more tomorrow, though,” came from the boy, his voice unwaveringly monotone.

The two of you made short eye contact, your smile reassuring him that it was all right.

“It’s fine, we’ll take it.”

He handed over the key, Aaron leading the way to your room. After opening the door, he held it open for you, letting you take the first look at your little oasis. You froze in the middle of the doorway, the single queen-sized bed in the middle of the small room almost glaring at you. The flowery sheets that matched the dusty curtains just added to your horror.

“Are you alright?” came his voice through your brain fog, your legs immediately starting to move again.

“Oh, yea I’m fine, I just didn’t expect it.”

“Expect what?” he asked before stepping inside himself “Oh.”

You turned around, the mild shock evident in his voice.

“If you’d like I can sleep on the floor, if this arrangement makes you uncomfortable,” he immediately offered once you had fully turned around.

“There’s no way I’m letting you sleep on the floor with a damaged ear and bruised body. We’re both grown ups, if you don’t mind, we can share the bed,” you’d do anything to get that poor man off the floor, even if the thought of sharing a bed made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

He gives you a curt nod before offering you the bathroom first, claiming he still wanted to call Jack. You told him to send the little boy lots of kisses from you before taking your go bag and disappearing into the bathroom.

After taking a shower, brushing your teeth, and doing your short skin care routine, you step outside again. Aaron had taken off his jacket and tie, the top buttons of his shirt undone. He looked up once he heard the door open, his eyes wandering over your pyjama which only consisted of shorts and a baggy t-shirt, that barely covered you, your legs on fully display.

He realised he may have stared at you when you started moving again, taking a seat at the other side – your side – of the bed. Grabbing his own bag, Aaron disappeared wordlessly into the bathroom.

You prayed that you didn’t make him uncomfortable with your outfit, you didn’t think you had to share a room with anyone, especially not with him. Slipping under the covers, you take your book and start reading, quickly losing yourself in the pace of the book.

When Aaron had taken his shower and joined you in bed again, you tried your best to stay neutral. You put away your book, leaning over to your bed side table to turn off the light. He did the same, both of you covering yourselves with the blanket before wishing each other a good night.

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, both exhausted from the intense case and long car ride. But you woke up not soon after, having slept for about two hours.

The first thing you noticed was a steady warmth against you and something heavy on your stomach. You opened around and turned your head, jut to see Aaron’s head in the crook of your neck, silently snoring while the creases absent from his usually frowny face. He was hugging your body and had apparently pulled you closer to him in his sleep. The contempt expression on his face kept you from waking him, though your eyes seemed to have disrupted his sleep.

Aaron opened his eyes, immediately feeling groggy. What was unusual though, was the warm body that he apparently had hugged to himself. The comfort of the position almost lulled him back to sleep when he felt eyes on him and remembered who he had pulled closer to him.

He raised his gaze, meeting your curious eyes, but not once did his grip on you falter.

“Didn’t take you for a cuddly guy, Hotchner,” your sleepy voice broke the silence, filling the space between you. Your faces were so close together, that Aaron could feel your breath fanning on his face, just how he was sure you felt him breathing against your neck just moments before.

After a quick laugh escape him, he pleaded with you. “Please, we are literally cuddling right now, please call me Aaron.” You calling him by his first name, would make the situation so much more intimate. It wouldn’t just be Hotch being a bit lonely and cuddling up to you while unconscious, it would mean so much more.

His comment made both of you laugh and after silence settled again neither of you could deny the tension now. Your eyes moved from his, to his lips before returning, a new hunger suddenly visible in your eyes.

Aaron got the cue and took the first step, leaning forward and connecting your lips. Your face was already so close to his that it didn’t take much to kiss you, only a small tilt of his face and a slight change of position on your part and you finally got what you dreamed of for years.

But it was so much better than you could ever imagine, his lips unbelievable soft and steady against yours, his lashes fluttering and hands wandering to your waist, holding you steadily against him. One of your hands finds it’s way to his chest, the other one gliding into the hairs on the back of his neck, holding him close to you.

Even though you started out slow, it didn’t take long to get a tad more heated. Hands started to wander, to explore and you could feel Aaron’s tongue running over your bottom lip, seeking entrance.

Instinctively you part your lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Your tongues didn’t fight for dominance, they moved together, finding a rhythm in each other. Unfortunately, you had to breathe, so you reluctantly pulled away, Aaron’s lips chasing after yours.

You opened your eyes, immediately finding his, pupils blown wide, his breathing heavy.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice still groggy with sleep, though not at all uncertain.

“You, Aaron.” His name from your lips made something in him snap. He connected your lips again, before flipping you, so he was completely on top of you, covering your frame with his body.

Aarons lips parted from yours, now making their way over your face to your neck and slightly under the hem of your shirt, the feeling of his lips against your hot skin driving you insane. Before he could go any further though, you stopped him by fisting his sleep shirt and pulling him up to you again.

Now, you could also feel his arousal, his prominent bulge pressing against your thigh, making you whimper.

The man above you gave you a slightly puzzled look.

“I need you now, I don’t think I can wait any longer, Aaron,” your voice was breathy, but you made clear what you wanted, because you knew Aaron would give it to you. The thought made your heart rate increase even more, if possible.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” the nickname made you swoon, though his lips on yours served a quick distraction.

 His hands started to wander again, halting at the waistband of your sleep shorts. Before he could even pull away you were already nodding your hand and burying your hands in his hair. Aaron let his hand slide under the waistband, finally making contact with your heat.

You let out a moan once he let his middle finger slide through your folds, the sensation almost too much. He withdrew his hand to pull the shorts down and you were quick to kick them off.

Now, Aaron pulled down the waistband of his own pants, freeing his impressive length. He wasn’t just long, but also just the right kind of girthy and veiny. You couldn’t help yourself, one hand reaching down and wrapping around him. Slowly, you started to apply pressure moving your hand up and down, letting the palm of your hand glide over his tip, not once breaking the kiss.

He let out a low groan into your mouth and grabbed you by the wrist, pulling your hand away. Taking his length in his own hand he finally moved himself towards your entrance. His tip made contact with you and Aaron didn’t waste any time and started to press inside of you.

Because of the lack of foreplay, he made sure to give you enough time to get used to the intrusion, you hand now gripping his biceps for leverage. Once fully inside of you he let out a sigh, the hand not holding him up wandered to your face cupping your cheek. Your eyes fluttered open, making contact with his. Giving him a nod to signal him to start moving, he pulled out almost completely, before completely bottoming out again, the front of his pubic bone touching your clit in this position.

He pressed his chest against yours before finding a comfortable rhythm, slow but sure, adding so much more intimacy to the situation. The only noise that could be heard in the room where your joined moans and groans and the careful sound of skin hitting skin. It didn’t take long for you to get closed, his chest rubbing against your nipples, his pubic bone against our clit and his thick cock inside of you, an almost overwhelming experience.

By the way Aaron was panting and the way his cock twitched inside of you, you knew he was close.

“Please, come inside of me, Aaron. I’m so close," you whispered into his good ear on purpose. Your warm tight walls, your voice and that final little detail made him unravel, his cock spurting his cum into you, painting your walls white.

Aaron groaning into your ear and the sensation of his cum filling you, made the tight coil in you finally snap and you threw back your head with a moan of his name. He slowly came to a halt inside of you before peppering countless little kisses onto your face, helping you calm down.

Once the two of you had your breathing under control, Aaron placed a final kiss on your lips before pulling out of you, making you whine and him hiss at the loss of contact.

He unravelled from your arms and went to the bathroom to clean himself up. Joining you again he held a warm washcloth, which he used to clean you up with a gentle hand, running his free hand over your hip and soothing you. He threw it onto the bedside table before laying down with you again, opening his arm for you. Not hesitating for even a moment you scoot closer and lay your head onto his chest, your arm wrapping around his torso. His hand softly stroked your hair while the other one went to your hip, drawing small shapes onto your skin.

You tilt your head back to look at him. “Aaron, I have to tell you something,” his heart started beating faster, your ear still pressed to his chest, though he only answers with a hum and thoughtful eyes, “I wasn’t really honest with you in the past. I have feelings for you, Aaron, and I have for quite a while now. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable with this, especially if you thought that this was only a one time thin-“ Aaron cut your rambling off with a kiss.

“Don’t worry, honey. I love you too.”

Content and also very relieved you place another quick peck on his lips before laying down on his chest again and closing your eyes.

It is to say that the rest of your road trip went without any further interruptions and the silence in the car was now anything but awkward.

a/n: i hope you liked this, if so please leave some notes, likes, reblogs and comments! feedback is very appreciated! i’d like to write more with criminal minds characters, so if you have any ideas/requests lmk!!

please also consider supporting my ao3: @ softestqueeen

requests open! (now also for the x files)

taglist: @silvermagnolias@milywatermelon@bigbananaa @mmmmokdok people interested in the initial post: @lmg-stilinski24 @mrs-ssa-hotch @htchnr @casualkryptonitekitten @their-love @itsfelicity-emma @fanficrseblogged

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake Does Not Believe in Ghosts

Which is a problem because his boyfriend is a ghost. Or, at least, that’s what Danny keeps trying to explain to him.

Tim isn’t dismissive—he’s fascinated by Danny’s abilities and origin story. But ghosts as in “the dead-but-not-gone spirits of human beings”? That just doesn’t register for him. Tim has met aliens, time travelers, and gods alike, but actual ghosts feel like a line too far for his rational mind.

“It’s probably a dimensional thing,” Tim muses one night while calibrating a piece of ectoplasm-sensitive tech. “You’re a type of interdimensional entity made of ectoplasmic energy, and your world calls them ghosts because it’s a good linguistic match. Makes sense.”

Danny stares at him from his spot on the couch, one eyebrow twitching. “Tim, I’m literally dead.”

Tim pauses, turning his chair to face Danny. “Okay, but… not really, right? Because you’re still here. Like, functioning. Alive-ish. It's more likely that the portal exposure altered your molecular structure and tethered your consciousness to an ectoplasmic state. That doesn’t make you a ghost, Danny. It makes you… a transdimensional being, maybe?”

Danny sighs, sitting up and dragging his hands through his hair. “Tim, I died. My heart stopped. My body turned into ectoplasm. And now I’m stuck between being alive and… not.”

Tim’s expression softens as he sets the equipment down. “I’m not trying to invalidate what happened to you, Danny,” he says gently. “I just think you’re reshaping what it means to exist. ‘Ghost’ feels like the wrong word for someone as... tangible as you. You’re not some lingering spirit—you’re real. You’re you.”

Danny blinks at him, caught off guard. “Well... that’s kinda sweet, but it’s also wrong. I’m literally the definition of a ghost. I haunt places. I make ghost noises.”

“Sure, Danny,” Tim says, with a small, indulgent smile that sends Danny spiraling between affection and frustration. He reaches over to squeeze Danny’s knee. “You’re definitely a ghost.”

Danny groans, flopping back onto the couch. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m practical,” Tim corrects, leaning back in his chair.

“No, you’re dense.”

It’s not like Danny hasn’t tried to convince him. He’s gone intangible mid-conversation, flown through walls, and even pulled out his ghostly wail—though he only did that because Bruce was safely out of earshot. None of it works. Tim just treats it all like a fascinating science experiment instead of proof that Danny is, in fact, dead.

“Tim, what will it take for you to admit that ghosts are real?” Danny grumbles, covering his face with a pillow.

Tim hums, thoughtful. “I don’t know. Hard evidence? Like a case study? Maybe letting me run some tests?”

Danny lifts the pillow just enough to glare at him. “You are the case study!”

Tim gives him an easy smile. “Exactly. And the results are inconclusive.”

He’s still annoyed, but… well, maybe having a boyfriend who insists on understanding everything isn’t the worst thing in the world.

At least Tim cares enough to try. Even if he’s completely, utterly wrong.

[audliminal]

Survivability Bias Pt 1

Masterpost - Ao3

Danny stares at the screen in front of him. The fact that he’s in a library is the only reason he’s not squealing at the clearly well-maintained website he’s currently exploring. As it turns out, this dimension does have NASA. That fact on its own isn’t too terribly surprising, considering all the other ways it’s similar to Danny’s home. What is surprising (and, in no small part, exciting!), is that in this dimension NASA seems to have much better funding. Danny had managed to resist looking up anything related to space for the first hour of his time in the library, but then Danny had chanced across an article about the ISS, and his resolve had crumbled. Not even fifteen minutes later, and Danny is here, exploring the very nice NASA website. Plumbing its depths, really, for all the information it can provide on what space is like in this world.There’s lots of new information; space research is definitely more advanced here than it was back home, and there’s occasional vague allusions to odd things like the livability of Mars, and other oddities, it’s almost like this dimension has come to the forgone conclusion that aliens must exist. Which is certainly an exciting thought, but it also seems odd to Danny. What divergent experiences lead to such a conclusion Danny wonders, as he absently hovers over the opportunities tab for the fifth time. He knows he really shouldn’t get his hopes up, but with a more funded NASA, maybe he could find a way to get a job there eventually. After all he has no real idea when, or even if, he’ll ever manage to go home, so maybe it’s okay to think about the future a little bit.

Maybe they’ve already come into contact with aliens, Danny thinks. Maybe I could get a job working with aliens! It’s that thought that gets him to actually click the tab, desperate to know if that’s even a possibility. The page that opens doesn’t really list specific jobs or anything. Mostly, it seems to just be advertising that NASA is always looking for smart people that are passionate about space (Danny’s definitely one of those things, at least). But there is an interesting little banner advertising a special summer camp for aspiring astronomers, ages 14-18. The idea of that is both surprising and exciting. Danny doesn’t think his home world’s NASA had anything like that. Sam had sent him through with some money, but he’s still unsure if it’ll even work here, and he’s also not sure he wants to risk getting in trouble if it’s just a really close match. Plus it’s definitely not enough to afford the inevitable cost of a whole entire space camp. Danny remembers going to summer camps a couple times as a kid and he knows they weren’t cheap. Still, Danny remembers that Sam had also given him a few pieces of really nice jewelry that he could pawn off for cash, and maybe that could let him afford it?.

It would be so much easier if Danny had a social security number. Or, like, literally anything proving that he really does exist. But, well, technically he doesn’t exist here. Obviously, physically he is here, but he certainly wasn’t born here. He’s basically an undocumented immigrant, just from a place that he literally can’t ever physically go back to. Even the computer he’s using right now highlights just how alien this place is to him, with its large, flat screen and graphics better than anything he’s ever seen in his life. It runs so smoothly, too, that he just knows Tucker would cry if he could see it. And this is what they have in a library. Danny can’t even begin to imagine what high end tech here might look like.

Everything here is strange and new, and Danny doesn’t even really know what he needs to catch up on. He wishes he could have stayed. He had wanted to stay. Of course he had. But after the second time the Guys in White managed to capture him, well, it wasn’t hard to see why they wanted him gone. So when Sam and Tucker and Jazz had cornered him, and explained that they’d found a way to send him away, to somewhere that the GIW couldn’t follow, he hadn’t argued. He hadn’t argued when they dragged him down to the lab, and he hadn’t argued when Jazz shoved a backpack into his hands, and he hadn’t argued when Sam had told him that she’d added cash and jewelry to what Jazz had gathered. He hadn’t argued as Tucker had messed with the portal, and he hadn’t argued when they pushed him towards it.

He can’t go home. Maybe just for a while, but maybe not ever again. He can’t see his friends, and he can’t go to sleep in his own bed, and he can’t come home from school and play Doomed with Sam and Tucker. But maybe all that wouldn’t be so terribly painful, if he could just have one little thing here that he couldn’t have done back home. Danny knows it’s a long shot, but he clicks on the banner, just to see.

The first thing he notices as he reads through the description, is that it offers a lot. Eight weeks, overnight in a specialized science camp facility, an opportunity to experience both a shuttle launch simulation and a zero gravity simulator? The opportunity to experience multiple different kinds of jobs? This isn’t some camp that wants to introduce kids to the idea of astronomy, this is designed for kids who already want to be astronomers. All in all, it’s everything Danny could have imagined and more. It’s not exactly cheap, though. Five thousand dollars isn’t exactly affordable when all you have is some cash that may or not work, and a few necklaces, fancy as they may be. After all, it’s not like Danny knows enough about jewelry to have even a hope of not being ripped off.

At the bottom of the description, there is mention of scholarships, though, and maybe if he angles it right, he can manage to make use of one of those? Danny glances through the list. He doubts he can prove himself worth the aptitude scholarship. His grades weren’t exactly good back home, even if he did have his transcripts. And he’s hardly going to get the financial hardship scholarship if he’s got no proof that he even exists here. One of the scholarships catches his eye, though, specifically because he has no idea what it’s for. 

Danny knows the word meta. It’s like self-referential shit or something. But it’s not exactly a scientific thing. That’s language arts stuff, the kind of thing Mr. Lancer goes on about, and there should be no reason for it to be a kind of scholarship. But maybe it’s an acronym or something? Danny mouses over, and clicks through to see what exactly it is, even if it probably won’t be relevant to him.

“Here at NASA we understand that people don’t always fit our standard expectations of normality!” The meta scholarship page reads. Danny tries not to let his hackles go up at the mention of normality. They can’t possibly be talking about people like him, after all. Nothing he’s seen so far has implied that ghosts have any sort of presence here. “In our efforts to expand our understanding of the infinite expanse of space, it only makes sense to do our best to work with those who do not conform to those expectations, especially when those exceptions often represent unique opportunities for possible field work. If you identify as a meta, and believe your talents make you uniquely suited to extreme environments, we welcome you to apply for our full-expense meta scholarship!*”

The introductory paragraph only leaves Danny more confused, and a bit wary. The references to normality and unique opportunities for field work have bile rising into Danny’s throat, and he shakily opens a new tab, and types the word meta into the search bar. If they’re experimenting on people here too-

The search returns an astonishing number of results. Among the first ones are a wikipedia article on metas, and so many news articles. Danny clicks on the wikipedia page first.

“Metas refers to an individual who possesses meta powers. Derived from the prefix “meta-”, meaning beyond or transcending, meta powers are innately defined by the natural capabilities of the general population. Thus, on Earth, the term meta, or metahuman, typically refers to anyone who has abilities beyond the standard human experience. A significant portion of metas can be attributed to the human metagene,  which typically triggers in moments of intense physical or mental stress, and can produce unique situational abilities. Other metas, may belong to other species who naturally have certain abilities, or to individuals who are granted powers by various deific forces or even objects.”

What.

It can’t possibly be that easy. This world can’t possibly be that perfect. Danny keeps reading. He realizes as he continues that this article is long, with literally dozens of subsections. On top of that, as he begins to read, there are references to numerous other events, and topics that he’s never heard of before. And by the time the librarian arrives to usher him out of the library for the night, he still isn’t finished with it, but he has learned quite a bit.

Apparently, it isn’t exactly as perfect as it sounded. Rather, this dimension has a long history of meta-related conflict. There’s been plenty of discrimination and mistreatment in the past; the kind of thing that Danny is more than familiar with. But on top of that, there’s literal, actual superheroes here. A lot of them. Superheroes that have fought against numerous world-ending threats and won. And those same superheroes have worked with the world governments, and ratified the protection of metas’ rights as being fundamental human rights. If Wikipedia is to be believed, Danny really is safe.

Still, Danny knows first-hand the way that governments can and will lie. And just because the internet claims that these so-called metas are treated fairly, doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s true. 

Propaganda, Danny thinks. Who’s to say it isn’t all just propaganda? I need to be more careful about transforming tonight.

But the library does need to close, so Danny heads out into the second night in his new hometown, mind racing as he thinks about the implications of everything he’s read. The space camp seems so far away now, in the aftermath of the following revelations. Danny needs to get further from civilization if he wants to transform tonight. He follows the main street out, away from town. Maybe in a field somewhere, he’ll be okay? This doesn’t exactly seem like a large town. Even if it’s not true, Danny thinks as he walks. At least I’m not alone here. And I didn’t see anything about Anti-Ecto Acts.

[queerliblib]

hello hello and HAPPY PRIDE! 🏳️‍🌈 This time last year, we asked you to help us raise $15k to launch a digital library of queer and trans ebooks and audiobooks. You came through and smashed that goal, making Queer Liberation Library a reality. Now comes the hard part… maintenance.🧑‍🔧📚

Our goal is doubled this year. That’s right: $30,000 real! actual! american! dollars! to continue to provide library services to our rapidly growing community. We recently reached 50,000 library members (!!!) since launching in October. For context: our dream goal was 10,000 members by the end of 2024. (time to dream new dreams!)

We’ve heard you that the hold times are just too long, and we agree. Your donations enable us to buy more licenses for more books and reduce those wait times. The average cost for one year of access for an ebook is about $40, while audiobook is about $80. For most of these items, the tech requires that only one person can use them at a time, just like a physical book. So! More funding = more copies of popular books = less waiting for you!

We’re also fundraising in order to introduce online programming. We want to be able to offer things like digital book club, video chat author talks, and maybe even… a summer reading challenge! ☀️👀

If you can donate — even just a dollar or two! — you have our deepest gratitude in helping to keep this project running. 💖

✨DONATE HERE✨

If you aren’t able to offer financial support, what you CAN do to help is to spread the word. Tell your friends! Your fam! Hell, tell your exes! Leave some of our flyers at that rad coffee shop with a little rainbow sticker in the window! Tell even just one person that you think should know about us, and you’ve done your part to keep QLL going. 🌈

And most of all, keep reading. We are so, so happy to have you with us while we all make access to queer information, literature, and resources more accessible together. Thank you for being a part of the QLL community — we love you! <3

[delicrieux]

…TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS ! ⋆｡°✩

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ chapter summary. some things in life are unbearable, and in yours? they’re titled gojo satoru and trying to ruin you.

pairing. gojo satoru x f!sorcerer reader

genre. enemies to lovers, ‘my bully is actually in love w me,’ comedy, light-hearted romance, aged up characters (in college), gojo being touchy bcs boundaries do not exist to my king

warnings for this chapter. gojo is being particularly troublesome

wc. 3k

author’s note: HOW ARE WE FEELING JJK NATION?!

ੈ✩‧₊˚

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | twny masterlist | next >

CHAPTER 1: imagine minding your own business undisturbed omg

tokyo jujutsu tech is big. real, real big. but no matter where you go, he's there.

gojo satoru has made it his life's mission to relentlessly annoy you for no apparent reason. it was hate at first sight, or something equally despicable as that. for three years now, you’ve had to endure jeers raging from your sorcerer's ability to the size (or lack thereof, as you’re often reminded) of your ass. yes, that does count as harassment. no, gojo does not care.

you don’t know why he can't just leave you alone. he seems to delight in your anger and misery. they say you need to stand up to your bullies and give them a taste of their own medicine, but that does not work on gojo. the angrier – the better. he wants a reaction. he wants attention. he wants your despair served on a platter for him to lick clean and mouth, “delicious, thank you, more please.”

it's the silence and ignoring he can't take. it's like a personal insult. some deep rooted fear you hope he'll choke on.

gojo claims to hate you quite loudly. boisterously, even. wears his spite like a badge of honor, keeps it nice and clean pinned to the lapel of his uniform.

yet everywhere you go, he’s there – by your locker, outside your dorm room, on every mission you’re sent on, and always in the places you frequent. it's not exactly stalking, but it's like...gojo's way of being just as clingy without getting called out. you have called him a stalker. he laughed, pointed, and said, "what kinda idiot would even want to stalk someone like you?”

out the women's showers, you waddle to the common area. there's a vending machine, and you’d like a bubbly drink to refresh yourself. first, from the moist heat of the showers and then from the humid summer just outside the window. it’s peaceful, despite the temperature. the water still clings to your skin.

you just to locate and rejoice the last bottle of cola before you feel eyes on the back of your neck. of course. of course he's here, and you didn’t even hear him. of course.

"ugh," you groan aloud, fingers stalling against the cold buttons

"your ugliest pj's?" you startle from how loud he is, right next to your ear. too close. he’s always too close.

he makes sure to whistle long enough to make you squirm away. fuck him, he towers over you. can’t see his eyes underneath those super expensive designer glasses, but you know they keen for your reaction. once, to shoko, he said he bought them because they looked cool. unprompted, uninvited, unwanted, you chirped that they looked dumb as hell.

"whaddya got there?" his fingers press into your spine, and maybe he uncovered a new technique to turn you into stone. there is absolutely no personal space in this equation. he has none, and he has no concept of invading yours. with anyone else, maybe you wouldn't mind.

keep cool. you’re cool. stone-faced, unmovable. you don’t care if he’s trying to claw into your marrow with his neatly trimmed nails.

you hesitate for a single moment before you punch in the number. the machine whizzes and thunk, “fuck off, please,” you say, bending down to snatch your drink. he hums, sounding too satisfied for your comfort.

"you're gonna fuck yourself up on all that carbonation. never thought you could get any more hideous, but alas!"

you turn to him, and he has the good sense to move back a step to avoid the mouth that’ll insult him. there's a twitch to his brow, and an ease to his smile as he regards you leisurely. the latter is almost never a good thing. it means he's really enjoying this interaction.

if you shake your cola enough, maybe you’ll be super lucky and the spray will land on his face. now that's an idea. but even if you caught him off guard, his cursed technique would likely be in motion and the soda wouldn't touch him. how troublesome. a waste of a drink. you decides against it.

gojo leans on the vending machine. his own personal attempt cower her into submission. for what exactly? no one knows. maybe getou would have an idea, if he’s merciful enough to share. when you don’t say anything or flinch away like ijichi often does, he sighs heavily.

"aw, are ya still mad about last time? that was days ago. c'monnn, kami-”

"don't say my name."

"i forgot. kawakami-chan doesn't like me, right?"

you thought about switching schools. kyoto tech is also very good. you’d be at peace there. utahime hates gojo just as much as you do, and you have already bonded closely over this shared distain.

it's likely gojo would transfer after you. just to spite you.

"don't you have anything better to do than harass me?" you question.

the most infuriating thing about gojo, and about this situation, is that he’s happy. when you’re like this – huffing, shoulders taut, and frowning – he seems to be enjoying himself the most.

"don't pretend like you don't like it, kami-chan."

this asshole has a god complex. he seems to truly believe the earth would have ended up in a heap of smoldering ruin if not for him. to be fair, he's probably right, but still. you would first bite of your tongue than admit to that. you have considered a lobotomy to get the idea out of your head, but in the joke that is your life, gojo would likely be holding the orbitoclast.

you resent him so much you find yourself burning in his presence. it's like he took a personal class to master the art of pestering.

"doesn’t this ever get boring?"

he laughs, pressing a hand to his cheek as if embarrassed, "i never get bored of you, kami-chan. when are you coming back to the field? been too busy hanging out with losers to do some missions?"

"how pathetic must you be," you snark, "to be thinking of me when i'm not there to torment."

gojo ignores you and moves to tug at your top. the audacity has you reeling, and you attempt to smack his hand away only for it to be stopped at the last second, "yup," he inspects the quality of the fabric, his teeth flashing and making his already smug features look haughtier, "cheap.”

you open the can so forcefully the contents fizzle and spray on your hand. gojo grins so hard you expect his face to crack in half. if only.

"can i have some?”

"stop touching me," you hiss, trying to slap him away again, "why are you always touching me?"

gojo sidesteps. the dodge and dash he does, coupled with his agility, is incredible. had you not seen his many victories in battle, or spent any amount of time with him, you might be enamored. impressed, even.

perhaps that lobotomy is still an option.

"just," his arms dart out to pin you to the vending machine and you immediately aim a high kick to his thigh. but, of course, his infinity protects him. bastard. he doesn't let up though, and those hands slide along the expanse of your thighs until they meet your sides, leaving a warm trail, "makin' sure i can see all of these pores up close."

gojo, as disgusting as you often think he is, does always have a bit of honesty in his insults. you want to scream, maybe, because your pores are fine. great, even, you’ve invested into a new skincare routine, and it’s clearly working. it even works on shoko’s dark circles. he’s so full of shit, it's nauseating.

"fuck off," you shove his hands away and gojo lets you, surprisingly.

"really gross," he comments.

"you're the gross one. self-absorbed stalker."

gojo, an absolutely foul looking monster if you’ve ever met one, waggles a finger at you.

"careful, kami-chan," there's no trace of warning, only amusement, "we wouldn't wanna accidentally bump into each other too many more times."

his meaning isn't lost on you.

you hold up a finger, too. right in his face. pause. take a sip of your soda. there's no reason you should indulge this maniacal sadist in any capacity. gojo has an aura. an attitude. he comes off as unrelenting, and for all intents and purposes, he is unrelenting. in and out your life, an unshakable constant, with a lopsided grin and piercing eyes. you hate him.

you try to sidestep and flee to your room, but he blocks you. step. block. step. block. step block. stepblockstepblockstepblockstepblock-

"god! you're fucking infuriating," you explode.

you want to clock him, strangle him, castrate him, kick his head through the concrete. he's ruining a perfectly nice evening. what is it about you that he just loathes to see, so much so that it drives him to see you hurt all the time? is he truly so bad off? does he live a miserable and joyless existence?

"thanks," he looks genuinely honored, "but how'd you come to the conclusion, huh? after a little brainstorming session or-"

"what do you want?"

"lately?" gojo taps his chin, his tongue poking out, "seemed like you needed some space, so i just waited around here till you were done."

christ, he really is a stalker. you’re starting to worry he's like, actually insane.

"but now we can hang out!”

"i'm going to bed," you declare.

gojo ignores your announcement. gojo always ignores whatever you have to say.

"where we heading? your place or mine?"

"you are not going anywhere with me!"

he reaches out to flick your temple. it's so juvenile it takes you by surprise. your hands immediately fly up to protect yourself.

"huh," his face softens as if you’re this small, pathetic thing. not pity exactly, but definitely a worrisome expression, "look,” he snaps his fingers, “look. look,” he snaps them again and you will tear your hair out in 83 seconds if he doesn’t go away immediately, “we both gotta take a mission, right? might as well go together."

"go with suguru,"

gojo sighs dramatically and his whole upper body collapses, like he's pretending you kicked his shin. you reel back a bit from the proximity.

"mmm, but suguru’s so uptight lately," he comments. that’s good. getou suguru, ever the diligent one, was the first person in your sorcery class who made you feel welcomed. you quite like him, but the fact that his best friend is gojo implies there's something deeply wrong with him. you really don’t want to know what.

"go with shoko then," you state.

"shoko's just..." his arms jerk violently as if he's pretending to smash a plate, "not really on board with my mission types lately. says she can’t leave our only doctor since the patients are dying before they have a chance to enter the trauma room."

sad news for shoko, but your mind works quick.

"go alone," you smile, tilting your head to the side. the motion seems to catch his interest, "and don't come back."

gojo clicks his tongue, clearly peeved. victory. you relish this tiny bit of triumph. he starts to walk away and you watch him retreat, hopefully from your life, "i can't,"

"no way you've fallen so far."

"suguru told me to check in with someone before going on my own. it'll just make him and yaga-sensei super worried!"

"oh no," you chime, "i think you should go alone. and die."

he laughs, "come on," a pause, "it'll be fun! team-bonding and shit."

team-bonding and shit is you having a cola and reading a magazine. not fighting alongside the man who torments you like you’re some sort of pet: ‘kami-chan, do a split,' ‘kami-chan, do a roll,' ‘kami-chan, how big is your cup size again?'

the most effective way to hurt him is silence. you turn your eyes away and hum. this must be done delicately. if he catches even a whiff of your intention to flee, he’ll barge right after you. get you in a headlock and make you cry, because maybe he’s grown demented and will enjoy the sight of your tears.

with as much ease as your taunt muscles can muster, you casually pad in the direction of your room. he hasn't tried to tear down your door yet, but that's likely because the senseis would have to reprimand him.

gojo won't leave you be though, will he? as if it's a struggle to keep pace with you, he follows closely and peppers you with requests:

"come with me."

"shut up."

"we can grab dinner and-"

"you can shut up."

gojo sings, "team-building exercise, you're supposed to make a comrade's wishes come true, so come with-"

"i'll kill myself if force me to go with you. stop begging. it's so lame."

he laughs so loudly and unexpectedly that you jolt. this asshole thinks your threat is baseless. it isn’t. you’ll do it, or so god help you. you aren’t one to bitch out on anything, and maybe that’s why he’s so intent about this.

you wish he'd just give up, but it's highly unlikely. he's stubborn, and you aren’t enough to bend him.

"are you implying you'd kill yourself in front of me? for what? to mess with me?"

your face is very serious when you say, "yeah."

"shit, and you expect me to not want to see that? sorry babe, i'll have to tag along," he grins wickedly and you find yourself fighting down a spring at nausea at the sickly pet name. that’s a new development.

you move to stomp away, but he's right there to cage you to the wall. no, please, you’re at your limit. you might crumble into a heap on the floor and never rise again, even if he consistently poked at you for days.

"come," his glasses slide down his nose a bit and you’re met with gleaming, impossible, revoltingly beautiful blue eyes, "on," and he leans down. this close his infinity is gone, and you can feel the hard planes of his muscles, "a mission with me."

"kill me," you bite out.

you don’t like this, nor the rising fluster or the scent of his cologne. he always smells fresh, even in the summer months where sweat sticks like second skin. the cool wall against your back has your skin prickling. maybe this is a new advanced torture method. much more effective than waterboarding, which you would willingly take if that meant he’d let you go.

why must he be so tall? the sunlight bleeding from the windows douses his hair in a halo. it’s completely deceptive to how absolutely giddy he looks. your breathing picks up. what a nightmare. you’d attempt to knee him again if your limbs weren’t suddenly immobile.

he leans forward and murmurs, "is that an invitation for some freaky shit? cuz i like where we are now."

"gross!" you lean back as far as possible.

"i knowwww," he's undeterred by your snappiness, "seriously," he tries, "what else are you doing tonight, huh?" and you wonder why he's getting closer as your neck protests, "don’t tell me," there's a lilt to his voice you don’t trust, "you afraid you can't handle me?"

"is sexual harassment on your daily agenda?" you bite.

he moves away slightly, looking perplexed, as if you’ve given the world's toughest question. his posture becomes defensively slouched. a frown pushes his brows together and for once, the smooth talker has no quip or response.

you’re not one to look a gifted horse in the mouth and scramble.

"hey, hey, you didn’t answer!” he calls out, rushing after you, "hey! kami-chan, where'd your manners go? i need a clear answer."

damn pride. damn self-respect. you’re fleeing.

gojo doesn't let you get away that easy. your path to sanctuary is obstructed again as gojo halts you by plucking at your shoulder. you shake yourself off like a wet cat and bail. yes, you’ve resorted to running, but your room is just within reach.

"why are you running?!" his whine echoes down the empty hall, "answer the question!"

just a bit more and-

he catches up with you and hauls you up by the armpits, spinning, laughing. you squirm, and there goes your drink, your damned, tasty drink. all his antics have been on the short side, but he's never done this before: cradle you against himself, as if he was going to play catch with you.

"let go, creep!"

"creep?!" his voice is scandalized but still mirthful, "for all my gentlemanliness, huh?!"

he tosses you and you can barely right yourself with a solid landing. that's new too, the physical handling. why today of all days has he decided to pick your fights with his hands? does it make you less immune? why are you wondering? you should be running.

"and anyways, where'd your manners go huh, huh, hu-uh? no thank you when a nice gentlemanly guy takes the time of his day, the greatest guy, the-"

you might go insane. actually snap and go coo coo coconuts. kill everyone. this might be the beginning of your villain origin story. your personal vendetta to kill gojo satoru.

"seriously?!" he yells, and you open your eyes (you don’t remember closing them. it's probably a last resort sort of deal. if you can't see gojo, gojo isn’t real), and gojo's much, much, closer.

"would you mind-" you hiss.

"really," he chides, not an ounce of his good humor on his face, and you’re unable to tell if he's taunting or sincere, "all those classes you went to when you were little, and you still can't pay attention to the first thing a good guy says? do i have to spell out your obligations for you?!"

"would you kindly go fuck yourself and allow me to exist in peace?!" you shriek.

a door down the hall opens, and someone, maybe a fellow student or maybe a teacher or maybe someone unrelated all together, pops their head out the crack of their bedroom. you see this in slow-motion, watch a silhouette tilt their head and stare. it's so stupid it could be considered a scene from a comedy.

"would you two keep it the hell down already!?" your would-be-rescuer screams.

gojo glances to the side, unbothered but maybe curious. you run. before gojo can pick up his wits, you slam the door to your room open, lock it, and even fumble a deadbolt for added assurance. your room is dark save for a nightlight plugged into the corner.

your legs are shaking. you feel like throwing up. you’ve never been so terrified in your entire life.

the news reaches you via a text from shoko a good few hours later. gojo goes on the mission alone.

'please die please die please die please die,' you pray.

he returns an hour later, unharmed and cheery.

[oh-no-its-bird]

Fic where, in practicing to get edo tensei right, Orochimaru uses Izuna as a test subject and tries to substitute DNA to make it work, using Suigetsu's bc like it's extra flexible or whatever bc shape change

Edo tensei mermaid Izuna locked in a tube somewhere in Oro's lab,,

He's SO mad about it and has literally no information ab what's going on at all bc hes locked in a fucking tube !!

Bonus points if Orochimaru doesn't even specifically know who he is

They unearthed him w the rest of the founders on a whim but bc no one really requested him specifically, the body just kinda sat there and eventually got mixed in w the rest of the Uchiha corpses, till Orochimaru requests an Uchiha corpse and they shrug and send him over

He still has Madara's eyes too (left alone either by oversight / or bc they decided not to pull them before he got mixed in w the other bodies, who had by then already gotten scooped of their eyes so they assumed he'd already been harvested)

Ok but like. No one even tells him what happened/where he is/that madara made the village. Why would anyone?? The only one Izuna sees regularly is Orochimaru, and he doesn't know those facts would matter??

Izuna doesn't even know what Konoha IS, he isn't gonna recognize the name

From Izuna's perspective, he died in his bed and then BOOM. Tank time.

Orochimaru might tell him it's been some years since his death (thinking he died in the massacre) and even if Izuna doesn't believe him bc like, enemy, enemy territory, he sure as fuck probably won't be thinking "Ah yes it's been decades since my death and my brother went against my dying wishes to make that village"

Tho he might get nervous and start picking up those cues when he sees the tech

Oro mentions offhand that the Uchiha were all killed and Izuna immediatley assumes the Senju won the war and loses it

He'd figure it out eventually obviously (probably after being set free, most likley by Sasuke w Suigetsu) But he'd also probably keep that to himself, bc like, enemy territory n stuff

Mermaid shapeshifter Izuna terrorizes the shinobi world,, Sasuke doesn't know what he just unleashed.

Ok actually but like. Suigetsu's shape-shifting but bc Izuna has a fire chalra nature, make it liquid fire shape-shifting. Fuckin, fire mermaid Izuna. He has an awful time retaining his form and actually for the first chunk of time, him being in that tube is genuinley just for the best. He keeps turning into liquid fire with no real solid body and can't put himself back together for hours.

Izuna hears his brother is still alive and running Akatsuki and is so down to clown till he realizes THATS NOT HIS FUCKING BROTHER HOW DARE YOU USE HIS NAME

Anyways oh my god Izuna on team Taka,,

He and Sasuke would be SUCH a dynamic actually, they look alike so much?? Sasuke doesn't recognize him but he's clearly a close relation, so there's some mystery there. Sasuke is like super shaken by finding a member of his clan and Izuna, by that point aware that apparently the rest of his clan is dead, is sticking to him like GLUE. Sasuke is bitchy little brother coded and Izuna understands this is probably karma bc he is also bitchy little brother coded

They probably clash a lot, especially bc both are expecting to be in charge here, but ultimately I think they'd get along better than Sasuke does most people, and there's also that bonus vulnerability of like. Izuna is an older Uchiha boy who's trying to brother him (with a noticeably different brother-ing style to Itachi too) and Sasuke has been alone for so, so long.

Sasuke accidentally calls him nii-san then promptly has several break downs about it

Suigetsu and Izuna either get along ALARMINGLY well or they hate eachother. I think I wanna go with the first bc it sounds more fun. They couldn't talk to eachother in the tanks but they could still see eachother, so maybe they kind of developed some sort of code to communicate?

They are "cause problems on purpose" friends. They're also "wdym I can't kill him???" *looks of genuine confusion* buddies. They're giving Sasuke the biggest headache actually, someone stop them. If you leave them to "take care" of a problem, there will be carnage.

Also, like, Izuna literally has Suigetsu's DNA in him. That's a thing.

Mmm maybe some complex thoughts ab how Izuna has effectively become a bloodline thief against his will (the ULTIMATE taboo for shinobi from his era) and he's like, actually fucked up about it.

Running joke where they refer to each other as cousins, could be funny. They argue over who's the bastard child (it's Izuna obviously but he won't just take that title lying down)

Izuna is like, in his 20s, and Karin is around 16 or 17 at this time I think?? She definatley has a bit of a crush on him (which helps take the edge off Sasuke) but like, he's not acknowledging that beyond patting her on the head. She'll get over it eventually. (Sasuke hides behind Izuna when Karin is trying to flirt w him and Izuna absoloutley laughs at them both)

Izuna is actually really impressed w Karin's sensing abilities specifically. I think he'd be a bit on edge around her at first, bc Uzumaki -> Senju ally. But he'd quickly assume she's a deserter (he has no idea the Uzumaki are pretty much wiped out rip) and becomes cautiously chill after a minute or two (also when he first escapes, he REALLY doesn't have the luxury to pick and choose his allies. He's instantly attached to Sasuke and cautiously fond of Suigetsu, and Karin seems to have Sasuke's trust at least, so he'll keep an eye on it but otherwise trust Sasuke's judgment)

Izuna and Karin besties arc where they paint eachothers nails is a must. I love the take that Izuna is really into fashion n stuff and he and Karin should like, trade hair tips or smthn. Karin knows modern soap brands where as Izuna bought his soaps from clan vendors who no longer fucking exist, so like, it's definatley helpful.

Karin is the only one of them to have any real hint of where tf Izuna came from (tho even she doesn't have the full details) it'd be cool if she was the one to figure out more details ab his general mystery— maybe something about her chakra sensing gives her a hint as to how old he really is?? Or she finds the paper trail that hints towards the bodies being mixed up???? Idk but she deserves to have an "aha!" moment

Also Izuna's medical knowledge/standards are NOT up to modern and Karin is so mad about it, she's giving him hella lessons on first aid n shit and he's very, very interested in all this free medical knowledge

I know the least about Jugo so bear with me on this one pls— I think Izuna would find Jugo to be pretty fascinating as a person actually. He enjoys tentatively poking him with sticks, and comes to genuinley like him as a person (when he's calm) pretty quickly

Also cats love Izuna so he gets bonus points from Jugo bc of that, they can bond while petting Izuna's contracted cats or smthn idk

Yeah I really don't know much ab Jugo so that's all I have to offer sorry

Ok let's backtrack a bit, back to Orochimaru ->

Fun scene towards the very start of the fic, where Izuna still has no fucking clue what's going on, but recognizes Orochimaru as a member of the Orochi clan. He says as much, and Orochimaru has to pause.

No one's mentioned his clan to him in years. They haven't been relevant in Konoha since Orochimaru was born— even before that, they were barley relevant. Izuna should not know who they are.

(The only reason he does know is bc they had a neutral to positive relationship w the Uchiha back in the warring era, and Izuna had visited them once before)

Immediatley, Orochimaru is squinting at this guy. He's giving Danzo a ring asking who exactly he got sent over, but Danzo doesn't actually have anything to offer him??? The paperwork is a mess and there were a LOT of Uchiha. He's not registered as a shinobi tho.

Hmmmm.... ok.

Orochimaru is suddenly aware there's some kind of mystery here now, which is dangerous for Izuna. Izuna is, again, in enemy territory, and he's able to pick up on the fact that Orochimaru doesn't actually know who he is. This ofc means that HE sure as hell won't be telling him.

Maybe he bares his teeth and sarcastically says he's the second coming of Uchiha Madara (not even that big of a lie when u think ab it)

Pivoting time ->

Izuna is listed in the data books as like, being equally as talented as Madara and I think we should talk ab that more actually

I love Tobirama but he really did get him by surprise

Izuna just got cocky and taken by surprise!!

HE DIDNT EVEN GET COCKY HE JUST LOGICALLY DIDNT EXPECT TOBIRAMA TO FUCKING INVENT TELEPORTATION

Then he went down in the history books both in canon and out of it as the weakest of the 4, that's so tragic

Izuna gets mermaid edo tenseid and (once people know who he is) everyone is like "Ok well at least he's uhh. The weakest of the 4 right?? I mean tobirama killed him when they were like only 19/20 so we'll probably be fine???"

Then he just fucking bodies them all bc hes a nightmare actually AND on whatever special test trial edo tensei steroids they gave him

Izuna is fueled on rage and spite and he's full up on both

Imagine he gets the full story of everything that happened while he was dead too, like.

Ok so Madara goes against his EXPRESS dying wishes and makes his village. (what the fuck!!) Then backs out (yay!!) but in an awful way that effectively fucks over the entire clan for years to come (nii-san what the FUCK)

Then gets literally backstabbed by Hashirama (HE FUCKING TOLD YOU!!! WHAT DID HE FUCKING SAY!!!!!)

Then the Uchiha seem to thrive and like. Ok. He's still mad about it, but at least something... kind of nice came out of it.

THEN BOTH THE VILLAGE AND MADARA'S(?????) SCHEMES KILL THEIR ENTIRE CLAN

Izuna is SO mad at literally everyone, holy shit. The only one safe from his rage is Hikaku, god rest his poor, poor soul

Actually, I think it'd be funny if Izuna was like, indescribably extra awful mad at everyone— but then is like. Normal mad amounts at Tobirama, who was a bitch but at least didn't seem to carry on a personal fucking vendetta against the Uchiha like EVERYONE ELSE INCLUDING FUCKING MADARA FOR SOME GODDAMN REASON

Izuna is going like, "FUCK you, FUCK you, OH, EXTRA FUCK YOU—" then squints at Tobirama and goes "...fuck you." Then goes back to screaming

To be clear, Tobirama absolutely contributed to the end of the Uchiha, but like. A) it'd be funny, and B) at least his seemed slightly less on purpose than literally everyone else

There's also I think a difference of like. Izuna never expected Tobirama to suddenly turn around and be pro Uchiha

Where as everyone else (again, including his brother!!) Was like. A genuine betrayal

Tobirama fucking over the clan was never a surprise

He never pretended to be on their side (like Hashirama lowkey did)

Tobirama vs Izuna but it's them getting to relive their rivalry where as Izuna vs literally anyone else is emotionally charged as hell and filled with demented screaming

Leaving it there for now, I might actually try to write this one but who tf knows

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The cod-Marxism of personalized pricing

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

The social function of the economics profession is to explain, over and over again, that your boss is actually right and that you don't really want the things you want, and you're secretly happy to be abused by the system. If that wasn't true, why would your "choose" commercial surveillance, abusive workplaces and other depredations?

In other words, economics is the "look what you made me do" stick that capitalism uses to beat us with. We wouldn't spy on you, rip you off or steal your wages if you didn't choose to use the internet, shop with monopolists, or work for a shitty giant company. The technical name for this ideology is "public choice theory":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/05/regulatory-capture/

Of all the terrible things that economists say we all secretly love, one of the worst is "price discrimination." This is the idea that different customers get charged different amounts based on the merchant's estimation of their ability to pay. Economists insist that this is "efficient" and makes us all better off. After all, the marginal cost of filling the last empty seat on the plane is negligible, so why not sell that seat for peanuts to a flier who doesn't mind the uncertainty of knowing whether they'll get a seat at all? That way, the airline gets extra profits, and they split those profits with their customers by lowering prices for everyone. What's not to like?

Plenty, as it turns out. With only four giant airlines who've carved up the country so they rarely compete on most routes, why would an airline use their extra profits to lower prices, rather than, say, increasing their dividends and executive bonuses?

For decades, the airline industry was the standard-bearer for price discrimination. It was basically impossible to know how much a plane ticket would cost before booking it. But even so, airlines were stuck with comparatively crude heuristics to adjust their prices, like raising the price of a ticket that didn't include a Saturday stay, on the assumption that this was a business flyer whose employer was footing the bill:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/07/drip-drip-drip/#drip-off

With digitization and mass commercial surveillance, we've gone from pricing based on context (e.g. are you buying your ticket well in advance, or at the last minute?) to pricing based on spying. Digital back-ends allow vendors to ingest massive troves of commercial surveillance data from the unregulated data-broker industry to calculate how desperate you are, and how much money you have. Then, digital front-ends – like websites and apps – allow vendors to adjust prices in realtime based on that data, repricing goods for every buyer.

As digital front-ends move into the real world (say, with digital e-ink shelf-tags in grocery stores), vendors can use surveillance data to reprice goods for ever-larger groups of customers and types of merchandise. Grocers with e-ink shelf tags reprice their goods thousands of times, every day:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/26/glitchbread/#electronic-shelf-tags

Here's where an economist will tell you that actually, your boss is right. Many groceries are perishable, after all, and e-ink shelf tags allow grocers to reprice their goods every minute or two, so yesterday's lettuce can be discounted every fifteen minutes through the day. Some customers will happily accept a lettuce that's a little gross and liztruss if it means a discount. Those customers get a discount, the lettuce isn't thrown out at the end of the day, and everyone wins, right?

Well, sure, if. If the grocer isn't part of a heavily consolidated industry where competition is a distant memory and where grocers routinely collude to fix prices. If the grocer doesn't have to worry about competitors, why would they use e-ink tags to lower prices, rather than to gouge on prices when demand surges, or based on time of day (e.g. making frozen pizzas 10% more expensive from 6-8PM)?

And unfortunately, groceries are one of the most consolidated sectors in the modern world. What's more, grocers keep getting busted for colluding to fix prices and rip off shoppers:

https://www.cbc.ca/news/business/loblaw-bread-price-settlement-1.7274820

Surveillance pricing is especially pernicious when it comes to apps, which allow vendors to reprice goods based not just on commercially available data, but also on data collected by your pocket distraction rectangle, which you carry everywhere, do everything with, and make privy to all your secrets. Worse, since apps are a closed platform, app makers can invoke IP law to criminalize anyone who reverse-engineers them to figure out how they're ripping you off. Removing the encryption from an app is a potential felony punishable by a five-year prison sentence and a $500k fine (an app is just a web-page skinned in enough IP to make it a crime to install a privacy blocker on it):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/15/private-law/#thirty-percent-vig

Large vendors love to sell you shit via their apps. With an app, a merchant can undetectably change its prices every few seconds, based on its estimation of your desperation. Uber pioneered this when they tweaked the app to raise the price of a taxi journey for customers whose batteries were almost dead. Today, everyone's getting in on the act. McDonald's has invested in a company called Plexure that pitches merchants on the use case of raising the cost of your normal breakfast burrito by a dollar on the day you get paid:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/05/your-price-named/#privacy-first-again

Surveillance pricing isn't just a matter of ripping off customers, it's also a way to rip off workers. Gig work platforms use surveillance pricing to titrate their wage offers based on data they buy from data brokers and scoop up with their apps. Veena Dubal calls this "algorithmic wage discrimination":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

Take nurses: increasingly, American hospitals are firing their waged nurses and replacing them with gig nurses who are booked in via an app. There's plenty of ways that these apps abuse nurses, but the most ghastly is in how they price nurses' wages. These apps buy nurses' financial data from data-brokers so they can offer lower wages to nurses with lots of credit card debt, on the grounds that crushing debt makes nurses desperate enough to accept a lower wage:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/18/loose-flapping-ends/#luigi-has-a-point

This week, the excellent Lately podcast has an episode on price discrimination, in which cohost Vass Bednar valiantly tries to give economists their due by presenting the strongest possible case for charging different prices to different customers:

https://www.theglobeandmail.com/podcasts/lately/article-the-end-of-the-fixed-price/

Bednar really tries, but – as she later agrees – this just isn't a very good argument. In fact, the only way charging different prices to different customers – or offering different wages to different workers – makes sense is if you're living in a socialist utopia.

After all, a core tenet of Marxism is "from each according to his ability, to each according to his needs." In a just society, people who need more get more, and people who have less, pay less:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/From_each_according_to_his_ability,_to_each_according_to_his_needs

Price discrimination, then, is a Bizarro-world flavor of cod-Marxism. Rather than having a democratically accountable state that sets wages and prices based on need and ability, price discrimination gives this authority to large firms with pricing power, no regulatory constraints, and unlimited access to surveillance data. You couldn't ask for a neater example of the maxim that "What matters isn't what technology does. What matters is who it does it for; and who it does it to."

Neoclassical economists say that all of this can be taken care of by the self-correcting nature of markets. Just give consumers and workers "perfect information" about all the offers being made for their labor or their business, and things will sort themselves out. In the idealized models of perfectly spherical cows of uniform density moving about on a frictionless surface, this does work out very well:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/03/all-models-are-wrong/#some-are-useful

But while large companies can buy the most intimate information imaginable about your life and finances, IP law lets them capture the state and use it to shut down any attempts you make to discover how they operate. When an app called Para offered Doordash workers the ability to preview the total wage offered for a job before they accepted it, Doordash threatened them with eye-watering legal penalties, then threw dozens of full-time engineers at them, changing the app several times per day to shut out Para:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/07/hr-4193/#boss-app

And when an Austrian hacker called Mario Zechner built a tool to scrape online grocery store prices – discovering clear evidence of price-fixing conspiracies in the process – he was attacked by the grocery cartel for violating their "IP rights":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/17/how-to-think-about-scraping/

This is Wilhoit's Law in action:

Conservatism consists of exactly one proposition, to wit: There must be in-groups whom the law protects but does not bind, alongside out-groups whom the law binds but does not protect.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francis_M._Wilhoit#Wilhoit's_law

Of course, there wouldn't be any surveillance pricing without surveillance. When it comes to consumer privacy, America is a no-man's land. The last time Congress passed a new consumer privacy law was in 1988, when they enacted the Video Privacy Protection Act, which bans video-store clerks from revealing which VHS cassettes you take home. Congress has not addressed a single consumer privacy threat since Die Hard was still playing in theaters.

Corporate bullies adore a regulatory vacuum. The sleazy data-broker industry that has festered and thrived in the absence of a modern federal consumer privacy law is absolutely shameless. For example, every time an app shows you an ad, your location is revealed to dozens of data-brokers who pretend to be bidding for the right to show you an ad. They store these location data-points and combine them with other data about you, which they sell to anyone with a credit card, including stalkers, corporate spies, foreign governments, and anyone hoping to reprice their offerings on the basis of your desperation:

https://www.404media.co/candy-crush-tinder-myfitnesspal-see-the-thousands-of-apps-hijacked-to-spy-on-your-location/

Under Biden, the outgoing FTC did incredible work to fill this gap, using its authority under Section 5 of the Federal Trade Commission Act (which outlaws "unfair and deceptive" practices) to plug some of the worst gaps in consumer privacy law:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/24/gouging-the-all-seeing-eye/#i-spy

And Biden's CFPB promulgated a rule that basically bans data brokers:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/10/getting-things-done/#deliverism

But now the burden of enforcing these rules falls to Trump's FTC, whose new chairman has vowed to end the former FTC's "war on business." What America desperately needs is a new privacy law, one that has a private right of action (so that individuals and activist groups can sue without waiting for a public enforcer to take up their causes) and no "pre-emption" (so that states can pass even stronger privacy laws):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2022/07/federal-preemption-state-privacy-law-hurts-everyone

How will we get that law? Through a coalition. After all, surveillance pricing is just one of the many horrors that Americans have to put up with thanks to America's privacy law gap. The "privacy first" theory goes like this: if you're worried about social media's impact on teens, or women, or old people, you should start by demanding a privacy law. If you're worried about deepfake porn, you should start by demanding a privacy law. If you're worried about algorithmic discrimination in hiring, lending, or housing, you should start by demanding a privacy law. If you're worried about surveillance pricing, you should start by demanding a privacy law. Privacy law won't entirely solve all these problems, but none of them would be nearly as bad if Congress would just get off its ass and catch up with the privacy threats of the 21st century. What's more, the coalition of everyone who's worried about all the harms that arise from commercial surveillance is so large and powerful that we can get Congress to act:

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

Economists, meanwhile, will line up to say that this is all unnecessary. After all, you "sold" your privacy when you clicked "I agree" or walked under a sign warning you that facial recognition was in use in this store. The market has figured out what you value privacy at, and it turns out, that value is nothing. Any kind of privacy law is just a paternalistic incursion on your "freedom to contract" and decide to sell your personal information. It is "market distorting."

In other words, your boss is right.

Check out my Kickstarter to pre-order copies of my next novel, Picks and Shovels!

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/2025/01/11/socialism-for-the-wealthy/#rugged-individualism-for-the-poor

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

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

--

Ser Amantio di Nicolao (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Safeway_supermarket_interior,_Fairfax_County,_Virginia.jpg

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

[genericpuff]

I'm sorry, but this should come as a shock to absolutely no one.

Just a little bit of 'insider info' (and by 'insider' I mean I was a part of the beta testing crew a few years ago) Webtoons has been messing with AI tools for years. You can literally play test that very same AI tool that I beta-tested here:

Mind you, this is just an AI Painter, similar to the Clip Studio Colorize tool, but it goes to show where WT's priorities are headed. I should mention, btw, that this tool is incredibly useless for anyone not creating a Korean-style webtoon, like you can deadass tell it was trained exclusively on the imports because it can't handle any skin tone outside of white (trying to use darker colors just translates as "shadows" to the program, meaning it'll just cast some fugly ass shadows over a white-toned character no matter how hard you try) and you just know the AI wouldn't know what to do with itself if you gave it an art style that didn't exactly match with the provided samples lmao

And let's be real, can we really expect the company that regularly exploits, underpays, and overworks its creators to give a damn about the ethical concerns of AI? They're gonna take the path of least resistance to make the most money possible.

So the fact that we're now seeing AI comics popping up on Webtoons left and right - and now, an actual "Webtoon AI" branding label - should come as zero shock to anyone. Webtoons is about quantity over quality and so AI is the natural progression of that.

So yeah, if you were looking for any sign to check out other platforms outside of Webtoons, this is it. Here are some of my own recommendations:

ComicFury - Independently run, zero ads, zero subscription costs (though I def recommend supporting them on Patreon if you're able), full control over site appearance, optional hosting for only the cost of the domain name, and best of all, strictly anti-AI. Not allowed, not even with proper labelling or disclosure. Full offense to the tech bro hacks, eat shit.

GlobalComix - Very polished hosting site that offers loads of monetization tools for creators without any exclusive contracts or subscriptions needed. They do offer a subscription program, but that's purely for reading the comics on the site that are exclusively behind paywalls. Not strictly anti-AI but does require in their ToS that AI comics be properly labelled and disclosed, whether they're made partially or fully with AI, to ensure transparency for readers who want to avoid AI comics.

Neocities - If you want to create your own site the good ole' fashioned way (i.e. HTML / CSS) this is the place. Independently run, offers a subscription plan for people who want more storage and bandwidth but it only costs $5/month so it's very inexpensive, and even without that subscription cost you won't have to deal with ads or corporate management bullshit.

Be safe out there pals, don't be afraid to set out into the unknown if it means protecting your work and keeping your control as a creator. Know your rights, know your power.

[jakescapes]

𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖'𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨. (𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 1)

pairing: stalker!jake x reader (f)

synopsis: It all started when you met Jake Sim—the campus golden boy everyone adored. Charming, new, and impossible to resist, you quickly become his obsession. But as you fall deeper into his world, you realize the person you're falling for isn’t who he appears to be. And soon, you're trapped in a game you never agreed to play.

warnings: stalking, brief kissing in public, big tit reader, jake is kinda weird, panty sniffing, masturbation (m), light manipulation(?), part 1 is really not that bad tho, lmk if there are any more!

word count: 10.6k

author's note: so like i kinda hate this ㅠㅠ and i wasnt gonna make it into separate parts but i just wanna test the waters with this and see how much attention this will get first if that makes sense. also first time actually writing smut so idk if it sounds awkward, but pls give me any criticism you think needed! ty >.<

continue reading here

now playing: mind games by sickick

It all started when you met Jake Sim. He was the campus guy—popular with the girls, adored by the professors, the kind of person everyone gravitated towards, but still had the kind, innocent, and nerdy element to him. If there was a charity event, Jake was organizing it. If someone had tech problems, Jake was fixing them. He had this effortless way of making you feel like you were the center of the world when he spoke to you.

You weren't immune to it, either. As a new freshman, you’d heard his name long before you met him. So when you found yourself at a party a month into your first semester trying not to look out of place, Jake was the last person you expected to notice you.

You weren’t even supposed to be at that party. Crowded rooms filled with loud music and drunk strangers weren’t exactly your thing, but your new friend/roommate Ava insisted. She was the kind of girl who thrived in any social setting, the life of the party, effortlessly magnetic, something you learned the first day you moved in with her.

With her status as an upperclassman, she knew everyone worth knowing and had declared that you had to go to the “first party of the year” because it was “going to be epic.” So, naturally, she dragged you along.

Now you were nursing a watered-down drink in the corner of a house that smelled like cheap beer and vanilla-scented candles. Ava stood beside you, casually pointing out all the people she deemed “important”—guys and girls she seemed to have endless stories about, whether those memories were good, bad, or in between.

“Oh!” she said suddenly, nudging you with her elbow. “That’s Jake Sim over there. Real nice guy, everybody loves him.” 

You followed her gaze across the room. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, talking to a group of people who seemed completely captivated by whatever he was saying. Even from a distance, it was easy to see why. He had that kind of face—sharp jawline, warm smile, the perfect amount of confidence in the way he carried himself. His dark hair pushed back slightly over his forehead, like it had been styled that way on purpose. 

You nodded without saying anything.

“You know,” Ava smirked, “I feel like he’s been eyeing you across the room for a while.” 

You blinked, startled. “No he hasn’t.”

“Oh, he has. He’s doing that thing guys do where they pretend to listen to the conversation but keep glancing at you like you’re the main event.”

And who’s to say you weren’t the main event? Sure, this was your first official college party and the atmosphere felt a little out of your comfort zone, but it’s not like you spent your whole life as some awkward wallflower. You’re hot and you have what it takes to make men gawk and stop to stare at you on the streets. Even if you were oblivious about it. Even if you didn’t care. Plus you were a new, young face to the campus. And what do college boys with raging hormones love more than some new, hot, fresh meat?

You rolled your eyes, trying to brush it off. I mean, yeah, Jake was cute, but you weren’t going to entertain the idea of him eye fucking you across the room from your very tipsy friend who definitely should take it slow with the alcohol. You came here to accompany your friend, not for some popular boy. And that’s what you were going to do. At least that’s what you told yourself.

You couldn’t help sneaking another glance in his direction. Sure enough, his eyes met yours for probably the hundredth time that night. Your breath caught for half a second as he smiled. Not a quick, polite one, but the kind of cocky and sly smile that made it seem like he knew something you didn’t.

“See?” Ava whispered, “Told you.” Before you could argue, Jake excused himself from his group of drunk friends and started making his way towards you. Your instinct was to bolt, but Ava was quick to grab your arm, holding you in place. “Oh my god, he’s coming over here.”

“Shut up. Don’t make it weird,” you hissed under your breath.

“Me? Never,” she said, but the mischievous glint in her eyes told a different story.

Jake stopped a few feet away, holding a red solo cup in one hand, the other casually tucked into his pocket. “Hey,” he said, his voice so smooth but unassuming that for a second you didn’t know if he was talking to you or Ava, until his eyes eventually met yours. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Jake.”

You hesitated for a moment, your throat dry. But Ava on the other hand, ever the social butterfly, was already beaming with her response. “This is _____. She’s a freshman. And she’s my new roomie.” 

“Ah,” Jake said, his smile widening as he held out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Freshie huh? Welcome to the chaos. If you ever need a hand settling in, don’t hesitate to ask. I know Ava over here wasn’t exactly the most put-together during her freshman year,” he playfully teased.

Ava rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah yeah, whatever,” she replied in defeat. You could tell they shared some history together, though the details weren’t something you cared to uncover at the moment.

You shook his hand, feeling his strong grip and his overwhelming gaze. “Thanks,” you managed to mumble, your voice quieter than you intended.

Ava, clearly delighted, nudged you again before stepping back. “I’m going to find another drink. You two have fun.” She shot you a not so discreet wink, one Jake clearly noticed. He responded with a low, undeniably attractive chuckle that stirred something inside you, something you knew you shouldn’t be feeling. 

And just like that, she was gone, leaving you alone with him.

Jake tilted his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that made you want to fidget. “So, what do you think of the party?” 

“It’s… loud.” 

He chuckled and you awkwardly laughed in return. “Yeah, not really my scene either,” he admitted. “I was actually about to head out. Want to join me? I know a quieter place where we can talk.” 

You hesitated, something about his directness caught you off guard. You’d been in similar situations like this before—situations where boys had tried to talk you into following them to their rooms and the like. Now, you weren’t inexperienced when it came to men, but a one night stand with someone you’ve been conversing with for about 45 seconds didn’t seem like something you were interested in at the moment. But that wasn’t what Jake was implying. You could tell he wasn’t like other guys in the past, the ones who were all too eager to make their intentions clear. There was something different about the way he carried himself. 

And something different, there definitely was. But we’ll get to that part later.

Jake was patiently waiting for your response while you contemplated. You looked up at him and he smiled again, that disarming, perfect smile, and for a moment, you forgot why you were even questioning it. 

“Sure,” you replied, not realizing then that this was the moment that everything in your life would change. 

------------------------------

“So,” you asked, glancing out the window at the quiet streets passing by, “where are we?”

Jake gave you a sideways glance, his hand relaxed on the wheel. “Just a spot I like. It’s nice to get away from all the noise sometimes, don’t you think?” His voice was warm, almost teasing, like he already knew you’d agree. 

You nodded, leaning back in your seat. “Yeah, I guess.” The party had been a bit much for your taste, and the idea of some quiet didn’t sound half bad. “Do you come here a lot?”

“Not really, I usually only bring people I actually want to talk to.”

Your cheeks warmed at that, and you looked down at your hands, fumbling with the hem of your dress. “Well, that’s nice of you.”

He chuckled softly. “It’s not about being nice. You just seemed different. Thought it might be worth getting to know you better.” 

His words caught you off guard, not knowing whether to take it as a compliment or not, but the way he said them felt so genuine, so effortlessly charming, that you couldn’t help but smile. “Different how?”

He shrugged, his eyes flickering to you briefly before returning to the road. “You’re not like everyone else. You’re not trying too hard, you’re just… you. It’s refreshing.”

Even though it sounded so cliché, he wasn’t lying. But it’s not like you were trying to be different. I mean, it wasn’t hard for someone like you to stand out from a crowd of drunk girls, definitely trusting their tiny tops and micro shorts way more than they should, especially at a college party, basking in the attention of young, hungry men. But maybe that’s what they wanted. Maybe they want the recognition, the attention. You don’t. Not because you couldn’t pull it off—you could—but you didn’t care to. You weren’t there for the feeling of lingering eyes on you, and that was obvious to anyone paying close enough attention. And Jake paid attention. Oh, he did for sure. The moment you walked in the room, he noticed the way you carried yourself, not chasing the spotlight like others. And also mostly because you weren’t trying to whore yourself out at every given moment like everyone else, girl or guy. But it intrigued him, igniting a flicker of curiosity and a peculiar intent that he’d never felt before in the back of his mind. 

You let out a soft laugh, unsure of how to respond. “Well, thanks, I guess.”

Jake’s grin widened. “Don’t mention it.” 

As the car slowed and he turned down a quiet street, you realized you weren’t sure where you were, but the thought barely lingered. Something about the way he spoke made it hard to think too much. It felt easy, almost natural, to trust him. And that was the scariest part.

------------------------------

The door clicked shut behind you, and before you even had a chance to set your bag down, Ava was already perched on her bed, eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

“So,” she grinned, tucking her legs under her, “how was it?”

“How was what?” you asked, feigning oblivion as you dropped your bag onto your chair.

Your roommate groaned dramatically, sitting up straighter on her bed. “The date! You leave me in the middle of a party that you were supposed to be my date for, with the most popular guy on campus!”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. “It wasn’t a date. We just… hung out.” You tried your best to sound indifferent, but Ava was already grinning.

“Whatever it was, tell me!” she demanded, practically bouncing on her bed.

“It was... nice,” you replied, trying to sound casual as you kicked off your shoes.

“Nice? That’s all I’m getting? Did you guys talk? Do anything?”

“No, we didn’t do anything. And I didn’t want to anyway. He was very respectful.”

“Of course he was,” Ava said, throwing her hands up like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, it’s Jake we’re talking about here. The guy’s practically perfect. Teachers love him, girls worship him, and he still manages to have this whole humble, good guy image.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Exactly. Nothing shocking there.”

“Still, I just had a feeling he’d be different with you.”

You froze for a second, glancing at her. “Different? Why?”

“Because I’ve seen how he is with other girls. Trust me, they throw themselves at him all the time, and he’s always so polite about it, but he never seems interested. He doesn’t make the first move. Ever.” She shrugged, as if it were no big deal. “But tonight? He came straight for you.”

You shrugged back, brushing her comment off with a small laugh. “I think you’re reading too much into it. He was just being nice.”

Ava raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t push further. And you? You kept brushing it off, like you always did.

------------------------------

As you walked back into your shared living room after your nightly shower and routine in the bathroom, you glanced over at Ava. “Hey, by the way, what did Jake mean earlier? You know, when he said you ‘weren’t the most put-together’ during your freshman year?”

She just snorts, clearly unbothered by the memory. “Oh, that. Yeah, I was kind of a hot mess back then. Partied a lot, made some questionable choices. But, hey, isn’t that what college is for?”

You chuckled. Makes complete sense, honestly. “I was just curious. For a second, I thought maybe you two had a thing or something.”

“A thing? Well… kind of.”

Your head snapped up.

She shrugged casually, like she was recounting a minor detail. “There was this one party my freshman year. We were playing spin the bottle, and it landed on Jake. So, yeah, we kissed. Or, well, made out. But it only happened once.”

You blinked, not sure how to respond. “Oh. Uh, okay.”

“It wasn’t a big deal, I swear. It was years ago, and neither of us cared enough to make it weird. It’s not like it’s awkward or anything now. We don’t even bring it up.”

You nodded slowly, trying to process the new information. “Got it. Not jealous or anything,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, though the thought does linger for a second. It’s not like you had any claims on Jake, but… still.

“Good. Because honestly, you and Jake? Totally different vibe. I think it’s cute.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your water bottle to avoid letting the conversation stretch any further.

------------------------------

A few days later, Jake was leaned back against the couch in his apartment, a half-empty can of soda resting loosely in his hand. His friends were scattered across the room, voices bouncing off the walls as they talked about the usual—classes, campus drama, upcoming events—but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

“So, what’s with you?” Jay, his closest friend, asked, nudging him with his foot from across the coffee table.

Jake blinked, realizing he’d been quiet for too long. “What?”

“You’ve been zoning out for the past five minutes. Let me guess, girl troubles?”

That got the attention of the others. “Girl troubles? Jake Sim?” Sunghoon chimed in, laughing. “Yeah, right.”

Jake shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant, but the small, almost imperceptible grin tugging at his lips gave him away. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s totally like that,” Jay teased. “C’mon, spill.”

He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “Her name’s _____. I met her at that party the other night.”

“Wait, the one you ditched us for?” 

Jake just chuckled and nodded, his gaze dropping to the can in his hand. “Yeah. Her.”

Then Jay let out a low whistle. “Damn, guess I never expected you to be the one to take the lead for once.”

“It’s not about that,” Jake said quickly. “She’s just different. She doesn’t try to stand out, but she does. I don’t know, man. She’s—” He stopped himself, shaking his head with a faint chuckle. “Forget it.”

“No, no, keep going,” Sunghoon pressed, leaning forward. “You’re actually into her, aren’t you?”

Jake didn’t respond, but the way his jaw tensed and his eyes flicked away said enough.

“Wow, well, I mean, good for you, dude. She’s gorgeous. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if half the guys on campus are already trying to get her attention.” Jay implied. 

That comment sent an unexpected pang through Jake’s chest. He tried to dismiss it, but the thought lingered, other guys noticing you, talking to you, maybe even flirting with you.

“She doesn’t seem like the type to fall for just anyone,” Jake said, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. 

“True,” Sunghoon agreed. “But still. She’s new, she’s pretty, and she’s got that whole ‘mystery girl’ vibe going on. Trust me, people are going to notice her.”

Jake forced a laugh, but the unease was already settling in the back of his mind. You didn’t seem like the type to entertain random guys, but the idea of someone else getting too close to you didn’t sit right with him.

The thought stayed with him long after his friends had moved on to another topic. It wasn’t jealousy, he told himself. It was just concern. You were new to campus, probably still finding your footing, and he didn’t want anyone to take advantage of that.

He told himself it was harmless as the idea began to form in his mind. Just checking in on you, making sure you were okay. Not in an overbearing way, of course. You wouldn’t even know. It was just the right thing to do.

And if it gave him peace of mind? Well, that was just a bonus.

That night, Jake sat hunched in front of his glowing PC screen, the only light in his room casting long shadows across his walls. His fingers hovered over the keyboard with an eager sort of precision, scrolling through page after page. What was he looking for? You. Only you.

It wasn’t like him, spending hours like this, completely absorbed in something he couldn’t explain. But there was something about you that was different. Like an itch he couldn’t ignore, let alone resist scratching.

Finding your Instagram hadn’t taken long. A couple of clicks here, a mutual tag there, and suddenly your whole world was laid out before him. Your name. Your face. Your posts. From there, it was a rabbit hole he couldn’t help but dive into. Facebook? Found it. Tumblr? Found it. Pinterest? Of course. Each new profile unlocked a little piece of you, a puzzle he was determined to solve.

Hours passed, and Jake found himself digging deeper, further back into your life than he had any business going. He paused on a blurry group photo from high school, his eyes immediately locking onto you. Awkward braces, a side ponytail, and a shy smile that tugged at something strange in his chest. He chuckled softly to himself, his lips curving into a grin.

“Cute.”

The realization of how long he’d been doing this emerged at the edge of his mind, but he was quick to brush it off. I mean, who doesn’t do this? Everyone stalks their crush. It’s not weird. It’s normal. He was just curious. That’s all.

And yet, even as he closed out one tab and opened another, Jake couldn’t shake the nagging sense that this wasn’t enough. The photos, the posts, the snippets of your life he was piecing together, they still felt distant, impersonal. He wanted more. Needed more.

His hand hovered over the mouse for a moment before he opened Instagram again, pulling up your most recent story. You were out earlier with a friend, walking with a coffee in hand, the city bustling in the background. It was mundane, ordinary. But to him, it was fascinating. 

You were almost like an unsolved case to him. Every photo, every caption, every comment was a clue, something to dissect and overanalyze. The way you angled your head in selfies, the way you always seemed to wear rings on your right hand. Did that mean something? Maybe it was just a habit, or maybe it wasn’t. He didn’t know, but the not knowing made him dig deeper. Each little detail was like a breadcrumb leading him further down a path he couldn’t stop following. 

It boosted him. Every new discovery sent a thrill rushing through him, like solving the next piece of a complex puzzle. The high school photos, the forgotten Pinterest boards filled with dreamy quotes and wedding décor. He was piecing together a version of you even you didn’t know you’d left behind.

The rational part of him, however, it was there. Buried somewhere, trying to surface, to remind him that this wasn’t normal, that this wasn’t healthy. But the excitement, the adrenaline of knowing so much about you, drowned it out every time. You were fascinating. You were beautiful. And you didn’t even know it, but by leaving that party with him that one night, you were letting him into your world.

It felt intimate. Special. Like he was uncovering the real you, the one hidden behind the edited photos and casual captions. And Jake? Jake couldn’t get enough.

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes flickering to the clock. It was late. Too late to still be sitting here. But he didn’t care. You were under his skin now, in his mind, in his every thought.

And he convinced himself, once again, that this was fine. Perfectly fine. He was just looking. There's nothing wrong with looking. 

Right?

He didn’t notice it yet, but he was crossing a line he didn’t realize he was already standing over.

------------------------------

It was a perfectly normal Saturday afternoon. You were at the local grocery store, a basket in hand as you roamed the aisles, debating between two different brands of pasta. The store was buzzing with life. Kids whining for candy, parents arguing over coupons, the hum of soft pop music barely audible over the chatter.

You were zoning out, staring at the shelves, when a familiar voice startled you.

“Hey, fancy seeing you here.”

You turned sharply, and there he was. Jake. Dressed in a simple hoodie and jeans, he looked casual and relaxed, the epitome of “guy next door.”

“Oh. Hey, Jake. What’re you doing here?”

“Grocery shopping, same as you,” he said with a grin. “Though I’ll admit, I didn’t expect to run into you.”

You smiled politely, feeling a little awkward. “Yeah, small world.” And it was then that you realized Jake wasn’t holding a basket or a grocery cart at all. You glanced down at your own, practically overflowing with items, while he stood there empty handed. Maybe he had stopped by to grab something quick. 

He glanced at the shelves, his eyes scanning the items before landing back on you. “Pasta night?”

You held up the two boxes in your hands. “Debating between these two. Any recommendations?”

He stepped closer, pretending to study the boxes like it was a life or death decision. “Well, this brand’s sauce clings better,” he said, pointing to one, “but this one’s texture is nicer. Depends on what you’re going for.”

“I didn’t know you were a pasta expert.”

He grinned. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” 

And for some reason, that stuck with you. You had this feeling that he was being truthful, but not in a good way. Like there was more to that statement than he was letting on, something hidden beneath the surface. A part of you couldn’t ignore the unease creeping up your spine, but his smile was so convincing, that you pushed the thought aside. Maybe you were overthinking it.

You shook your head, putting one box back and dropping the other into your basket. “Good to know. Maybe next time I’ll consult you for my grocery list.”

He chuckled, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than felt necessary. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The two of you ended up walking through the aisles together, Jake casually slipping into conversation as if this wasn’t entirely coincidental. He asked you about your week, made jokes about the odd products on the shelves, and even recommended a snack or two that he claimed was “life changing.”

It was easy to forget the awkwardness at first, Jake was good at that. He made people feel comfortable, like you were the only person in the room, even if it was just a crowded grocery store.

But as the conversation went on, little things started to feel… off.

Like how he seemed to know exactly what aisle you were heading to next, always a step ahead, grabbing things you hadn’t even noticed. Or how he mentioned a specific brand of matcha you liked, something you didn’t recall ever telling him.

Or when you turned to grab a few more things, and you noticed Jake picking up items—fruits, snacks, even the same brand of shampoo you had chosen—things that seemed oddly familiar to what you were already grabbing. You glanced back down at your basket to where you noticed Jake running out of room, even in his big arms, that he had casually started to place some of his items in your basket, almost absentmindedly. 

At first, it was just a few, but then his arms began to overflow with more things. You couldn’t help but notice how he seemed to be running out of room. His hands were awkwardly balancing a few cans, some fruit, and the bottle of shampoo, all piled up like a small tower. It was kind of cute.

"Uh, you might want to grab a basket," you said, eyeing the growing pile in his arms. "I don’t think you’ll fit everything."

Jake looked down at his arms, then back at you with a slight laugh. “Oh, right. Thanks for the reminder.”

He glanced around awkwardly, like it hadn’t even occurred to him. 

I mean that was kind of weird, right? The thought lingered, but you brushed it off as you continued your shopping. 

And then there was the moment at checkout.

You were unloading your basket onto the conveyor belt when Jake casually reached for the same brand of chocolate you’d grabbed earlier, dropping it into his basket with a small smile.

“What?” he asked when he noticed your raised brow. “You have good taste.”

It was harmless. But the way he casually mirrored your actions, not just then, but from the moment you saw him in the store, you’ve noticed how it seems like he’s not just casually shopping, but actively observing you and somehow always knows what your next move is. 

Maybe you’re just being paranoid. It’s getting late after all, the sun is beginning to set and here you are, with a guy you don’t really know all that well. Of course you’re going to be a little on edge. It’s just womanly instincts.

But as you walked out of the store, bags in hand, and saw him heading in the same direction as you—despite you being certain he lived on the other side of campus—that faint unease crept back in.

“Need help carrying those?” he offered, gesturing to your bags.

You shook your head quickly. “No, I’m good. Thanks, though.”

He nodded, still smiling. “Alright. See you around, then.”

And as you started walking away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that his gaze lingered just a little too long, like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to pounce on their prey. It was subtle, but the intensity of his stare made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, even as his smile never wavered. You tried to dismiss it, telling yourself it was probably just your imagination running wild. After all, it’s Jake. Everyone loves him.

------------------------------

"So, Jake asked about you," Ava said casually as she applied her mascara, sitting across the room.

"Wait, what?" you asked, sitting up from your bed. It was 7 a.m. in the morning, and you had just been jolted awake by your roommate’s loud music blasting from the bathroom a few minutes ago.

"Yeah, said something about how he wants to ask you out. Take you on a real nice date. Then end it off with spreading your legs in the back of his car."

You froze, your heart racing in your chest. “Wait, what.”

Your silence was then followed by laughter. "Oh my god! I’m joking!"

You let out a huge sigh of relief, but then you playfully shot her a look. "Ava, do not play with me like that." But honestly, you were kind of serious too.

She shot you a grin, clearly amused. "Oh, come on, you’re so easy to mess with. But seriously, you know you wished I wasn’t joking.”

You rolled your eyes at Ava’s teasing and went back to scrolling on your phone. “Yeah, okay,” you muttered, not giving it much thought.

“He did actually say something about asking you out, though.”

You paused, glancing up at her again. “Are you messing with me?”

She swore up and down, looking completely sincere. “No, I’m telling you the truth. He said he wanted to take you out for a nice date. That’s what he told me.”

“I still don’t buy it.”

“I swear on everything, I’m not lying!” Ava’s voice was insistent now. “So what’s the deal? You gonna go?”

You hesitated, unsure. “I don’t know…”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Ava scoffed, clearly frustrated. “Girl, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Every girl wants a night out with Jake. You’d be crazy not to go.”

You chewed on your lip, contemplating her words. It's not that you wouldn't enjoy going out with Jake, it's just that something about him still unsettled you. You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but there were moments where the way he looked at you, or the way he seemed to know a little too much about you, made you feel like you were under a microscope. It wasn’t overly creepy, but there was an underlying tension that you couldn’t ignore.

Still, you couldn’t deny that you liked his company. He was charming, funny, and his attention was flattering, sometimes even a little intoxicating. But you weren’t sure if it was just his charm that kept you second guessing those little moments that made you feel unsure

“It’s not like that. I mean… he’s nice, and he’s funny, and I enjoy being around him. But, I don’t know. Sometimes, I just feel kind of weird around him. Like, there’s something about him that makes me feel uneasy. It’s like… something’s off.”

Ava tilted her head, unimpressed. “You’re being paranoid. Honestly, I never feel that way around him. He’s always been chill, and I’m sure he’s just trying to make a move on you. Stop second guessing it, okay?”

You sighed, but Ava wasn’t having it. She was determined to get you to say yes. 

And honestly speaking, a part of you wanted to get to know him more too. He definitely knew how to make a girl laugh, and he was great at contributing to conversations. There was an ease to the way he spoke, like he was genuinely interested in whatever you had to say. And you couldn't deny that there was a certain chemistry between you two. He was charming, effortlessly so, and that smile of his? It melted you every time.

You were sure he was a great kisser too. I mean, those plump lips of his didn’t look like they lied. They were always so close, so inviting. The thought of it made your pulse quicken a little, despite yourself.

So, why not let yourself live a little? Everyone around you was practically begging you to take the plunge. Ava was begging you to go and she knows him better then you do, so when she means he's no harm, she can't be lying. You could use a night of fun, a little excitement. It didn’t have to be anything more than that. After all, he was just a guy. It wasn’t like you were doing anything wrong by saying yes, right?

So a few days later, when you saw Jake waiting outside of your class and finally asked you on a date, you had no reason to say no.

------------------------------

So here you were. At the edge of a nice lake surrounded by a cute park. Jake beside you, rambling on about some random topic that, honestly, you weren’t even sure you were fully listening to. He had a way of talking, of keeping the conversation flowing smoothly, making it feel like you were the only two people in the world. His voice was soft, relaxed, and as he gestured with his hands, you couldn’t help but watch the way his muscles flexed under the sleeves of his shirt.

You'd almost forgotten why you were so nervous about meeting up with Jake in the first place. The whole thing felt so natural now, so effortless. His laugh was contagious, his stories engaging, and his presence so easy to enjoy. As the sun started to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over everything, you found yourself laughing more than you had in weeks, the worries and uncertainties slipping away.

“So,” you said casually, glancing over at him, “what exactly are you majoring in, by the way?”

“I’m in engineering. Tech stuff.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, but you could tell by his tone that he took pride in it. “It’s all about computers, networks, systems, you know? It comes in pretty handy,” he added with a sly wink.

“Handy?”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah. I mean, you never know when a little extra knowledge can be useful. You’d be surprised at how helpful it is until you need it,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as if implying something more, but before you could react, he eventually changed the subject.

You two wandered the park, your footsteps light, side by side, as you talked about everything and nothing. The air was crisp and refreshing, and the sounds of the nearby water and chirping birds only added to the peaceful vibe. The awkward tension you'd felt in previous encounters with Jake was now a distant memory.

But as the sky darkened, and the park became quieter, something shifted between the two of you. It wasn’t anything obvious, but there was this electricity in the air that hadn’t been there before. It was like everything had led to this moment.

You both stopped by the water, your shoes crunching against the gravel path as you looked out over the lake. The soft waves lapping at the shore reflected the dimming sky, and for a moment, the world around you felt suspended in time. Jake leaned a little closer, his arm brushing against yours as he turned to face you.

"I’m glad we did this," he murmured, his voice soft, almost too sincere.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the summer evening air. "Me too."

And then, without warning, Jake’s hand cupped your cheek, and he kissed you. It was gentle at first, just a soft press of lips, and it shocked you definitely, but you melted into it, letting go of any lingering hesitation. His lips were warm, his touch delicate, and for that brief moment, you forgot about everything—forgot about the nagging thoughts that had been chasing you all day.

But then, suddenly, the kiss deepened. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss turned more urgent, more demanding. His lips were now on yours with an intensity that surprised you, and before you knew it, you were pressed up against him, his body a solid wall against yours. His hand gripped your hips so tight that it sent your mind into a frenzy as he groaned loudly against your lips.

You pulled away for a split second, your heart racing. "Jake... we’re in public," you whispered, your voice shaking slightly.

But he didn’t stop. Instead, he kissed you even harder and took this opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth, his hands now reaching further and further down your waist, pulling you towards him. The world around you felt blurry, as if you were floating in a bubble of his touch, and for a moment, you forgot where you were, who you were with—forgot about everything except him.

But then reality came crashing back in seconds. You broke free from the kiss, taking a step back, your breath coming fast. "Jake," you said, voice shaky, "we’re outside. There are other people around." You glanced around nervously, your eyes darting over the now dark park, thankful that no one was nearby but still aware that you were far from alone.

Jake just looked at you, his expression still soft but with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "Oh, sorry. I’ve just been really wanting to do that," he said casually, like it was no big deal.

You weren’t sure how to feel about his nonchalance, but you tried to dismiss it, even though a knot formed in your stomach. "Right," you muttered, taking a breath to calm yourself.

For a moment, the air between you both felt charged, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe things were moving faster than you were ready for. But as Jake stepped back with a small grin, his eyes still warm, you felt yourself ease back into the moment, convincing yourself it was just him being... well, Jake. Charming, spontaneous, and maybe a little bit too eager.

So, when he grabbed you by the arm with a playful grin and said, “Come on, I know this great dessert place,” practically dragging you along with him, you told yourself this was just Jake’s way of showing he cared. You told yourself there was no harm in it. Jake was just spirited, maybe a little intense, but in a charming way. That’s all it was.

The rest of the night went smoothly enough, or at least it seemed like it. You talked and laughed some more, and by the time Jake dropped you off in front of your apartment, you found yourself in a bit of a daze. The streetlights cast long shadows, but all you could focus on was the lingering feeling from earlier. The kiss—the intensity of it, the way he didn’t seem to care about where he was or who might see. You’d been caught up in the moment, but now that it was over, that uneasy knot was back in your stomach.

"Thanks for tonight," you said, your voice a little quieter than you intended as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

Jake turned to look at you, his eyes soft, almost too sincere. "Anytime. Let me know when you want to do this again."

"Yeah, I will." You hesitated for a second, unsure if you should say more, but then the words just seemed to evaporate. Instead, you opened the door, stepping out and giving him a small wave as you walked up to your apartment.

As you entered the building, your thoughts kept circling back to that kiss, to his lack of concern about where you were or who might be watching. You’d had fun, no doubt, but there was a part of you that couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

You tried to push the thoughts aside, telling yourself you were overthinking it. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was just that kind of guy. But the unease in your chest only grew heavier as you walked to your room, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you were starting to see him for who he really was.

------------------------------

You and Jake had started hanging out more and more after that date, and you couldn't deny it, you were falling for him more than you expected. Sure, sometimes he did stuff that made you question things, but he wasn’t perfect. So what?

Today, you were studying for some upcoming exams at the school library. The space was quiet, and even though you were focused on your work, you enjoyed having him there. Jake had brought you both coffee and snacks, and the atmosphere felt warm and cozy. You were sitting across from each other, the constant clicking of keyboards the only sound in the otherwise still room. It was a perfect setting, relaxed, comfortable, and you found his presence quite calming. It only felt natural.

“One sec, I’ll be right back. I have to use the bathroom,” you announced, getting up from your chair.

Jake didn’t say anything and just nodded, his eyes still glued to his screen, focused on whatever was on his laptop. But as soon as your back was turned and you were walking away, Jake’s attention shifted.

His eyes landed on your bag, which was slung over the back of the chair next to where you were just sitting a few moments ago. The handle of your tote peeked out from the side, and something shiny caught his eye. It was your keyring. The familiar silver glint of your room key sat half-hidden inside your bag. You must’ve forgotten to tuck it deeper, but it was unmistakable.

Jake’s gaze lingered on it for a moment longer than usual. He looked around, ensuring no one was watching, before reaching over with careful fingers. The motion was almost imperceptible, but he slid the key out of your bag, letting them rest lightly in his palm. He checked the surrounding area once again. No one was looking.

His pulse quickened just a little, the thrill of the action sinking in. You were gone, out of sight, leaving him with this small window of opportunity.

He looked at the keys. They weren’t just any keys—they were a way in. 

Jake sat there for a moment, the keys tucked securely in his pocket, a sense of satisfaction bubbling in his chest. He knew it was a little risky, but it was too perfect to pass up.

He glanced around again, making sure no one had seen. This wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment decision—he’d considered this before, the idea quietly simmering in the back of his mind.

He’d thought about sneaking into your room before, just out of curiosity (or so he told himself). But he never quite figured out how he’d do it without raising suspicion. The idea had first occurred to him a while back when he submitted a 3D-printed model of a robot for his tech project. It wasn’t just a cool demonstration of precision, it was proof of how easy it would be to replicate almost anything if he had the right dimensions.

Now, with your keys in his possession, that idle thought from a while ago clicked into place. The perfect way to turn a passing fantasy into something tangible.

It wasn’t like it would be hard to replicate the keys. After all, he was an engineering major. He had the skills. The tools. The knowledge. With the advanced tech available to him, specifically his access to the 3D printers in the lab, replicating those keys would be a breeze. The thought was almost laughable. No one would be the wiser. 

The more he thought about it, the more the plan excited him. He could “find” the real key after he made the spare, casually give it back to you later, and look like the hero. The savior. You’d think he was just looking out for you, a kind guy who happened to stumble across your lost key. The hero who went the extra mile to return something precious. 

And you’d never know he’d taken it in the first place. Hell, you might even think it was a sweet gesture.

A small, almost smug smile crept onto his face as he imagined it. He liked the idea of being the guy who could fix everything for you, who could always be the one to make things right. In your eyes, he'd be the one who cared, who was always there for you, just the kind of guy you'd want to be with.

The plan felt so natural, so flawless. He didn’t even feel guilty. It was for you, after all. It wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong. Just helping you out in the best way possible. It would only bring him closer to you, make you appreciate him even more. 

You came back from the bathroom a few minutes later, the library air still cool and comforting as you settled back into your seat. Lost in your own thoughts, you picked up where you left off in your study notes. The soft clicking of your laptop keys and the rustling of paper were the only sounds filling the space between you and Jake. It wasn’t until you stood up to gather your things, ready to head out, that you noticed something was off.

You dug through your bag, feeling around for your keys, the ones you’d left in there earlier. But they weren’t there.

You froze for a second, your eyes scanning the table and the chair you’d been sitting in. It was only then that you realized they weren’t in your bag at all.

“What?” you muttered, frowning as you scanned the surface of the table. “Where did I put my keys? Jake, have you seen them?”

He was already standing up and grabbing his things by the time, pausing for a second and giving you a slight shrug. “No, haven’t seen them,” he said, as he put on his best “confused” face, sounding completely genuine. “You’re sure you put them in there?”

You nodded, trying not to panic. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Well, if they’re not in your bag, maybe you forgot to bring them. They’re probably somewhere in your room still. I’m sure they’ll turn up.”

There was a little panic in your voice as you started to shuffle through your things. “But I could’ve sworn I left them right here…”

“You don’t have a backup key or something?”

You sighed, realizing you hadn’t thought this through. “No. It’s fine though, Ava’s home. She can let me in. I’ll just buy a new one later.”

Jake smiled a little wider, his mind already running through possibilities, but he kept his tone light. “Alright, guess that works.”

You still seemed a little confused, but the moment passed. You dropped the subject and started talking about something else while you two were getting ready to leave. But Jake could tell—you were distracted now, just a little bit. He’d planted the seed. Maybe you’d brush it off, or maybe you wouldn’t. Either way, he was confident it would only matter if he wanted it to. 

When you both walked out of the library building, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the campus, Jake slipped his bag over his shoulder and turned to you with an easy smile.

“So, I think I’m going to head home and get some rest,” Jake said.

You nodded, still rummaging through your bag, trying to keep your mind off the missing keys. “Yeah, same. I’ll probably head home too.”

"Sure thing. Have a good night."

“Night.”

Then you walked away, completely unaware of the keys now nestled in his pocket, Jake’s expression shifted. That easygoing smile lingered, but there was a sharpness in his eyes, a focus. He wasn’t heading home, not yet, anyway.

Instead, he made his way across campus to the engineering building. The hallways were mostly empty at this hour, the hum of the fluorescent lights echoing faintly. Jake swiped his student ID at the lab room door, stepping inside to the familiar scent of metal and machinery. The quiet whir of the 3D printers waiting in the corner greeted him, and he felt a surge of anticipation.

Pulling your keys out of his pocket, he set them down on the workstation. His fingers worked intently with great focus as he measured and scanned the key, inputting the data into the design software. The model on the screen was precise, the ridges and cuts an exact match to the original.

As the printer came to life, Jake leaned back in his chair, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. By the time the printer finished its work, the replica key was indistinguishable from the original. Jake inspected it carefully, his mind already running through how he’d “find” your keys and return them to you, playing the part of the helpful friend. You’d never suspect a thing.

Pocketing both the original and the replica, Jake left the lab, the grin still lingering on his face as he made his way home. 

------------------------------

The next day, Jake managed to find you after class. “Hey, look what I found at the bottom of my laptop bag,” he said, holding up your keys with a triumphant smile.

Your eyes lit up as you recognized them. “Oh my god, no way.”

“Yeah, guess you must’ve accidentally dropped them into my bag instead of yours. Good thing I noticed before it got buried under all my stuff.”

You let out a relieved sigh, taking the keys from him. “Seriously, you’re a lifesaver. I was about to go buy a new one.”

Jake chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Well, glad I could spare you the hassle. So… are you free today? Thought maybe we could grab some food or something.”

You gave him an apologetic smile. “Oh, sorry. Me and Ava already made plans. We’re going shopping downtown, actually.”

For a brief second, Jake’s expression faltered, feeling disappointed. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, no worries. You two have fun.”

He hesitated for a moment, then added, “What time are you heading out? Just curious.”

“Uh, probably around noon,” you said, shrugging. 

“I see. Cool. Anyway, have fun. Maybe we can hang out later this week.”

You smiled and nodded before heading off, completely unaware of the shift in Jake’s demeanor as you walked away. If you were going to be gone for hours, that left him with the perfect opportunity.

------------------------------

Jake’s heart raced as he stood in front of your door. This was it. He had thought about this moment so many times in his mind, playing out every detail, and now, with your absence leaving him a window of opportunity, he was finally here. Now, he couldn’t shake the feeling of excitement mixed with a strange sense of calm. It was a risk for sure, he knew that, but for some reason, the thought of being in your space, of having access to the things that were uniquely yours, felt almost...right.

You had just left with Ava, heading to the subway station. He knew because he was watching. He had to be sure you were completely gone before he made any moves. But now, he could finally do what he had been waiting to do for so long. 

Slowly, he pulled the replica key from his pocket, his fingers trembling with a mixture of excitement and disbelief. He aligned it with the lock and turned it, the soft click echoing in the silence. It was almost euphoric. The moment his ears caught the sound, he felt his breath catch in his throat. The sound of success, of having everything perfectly fall into place.

Jake breathed a sigh of relief, though he couldn’t place why. Was it the thrill of it all, the forbidden nature of what he was doing, or just the satisfaction of knowing he had outsmarted you? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that his body was finally moving, his heart pounding as he pushed the door open ever so slowly, just a crack. Then the gap widened just a bit until it fully swung open, and it revealed your shared apartment, the space you inhabited. His eyes scanned the layout, taking in the unfamiliar sights, the small and intimate details that made this place unmistakably yours.

It was small but cozy, with a cluttered bookshelf lining one wall and a comfy couch facing a tv. A coffee table sat in the middle, a few magazines scattered on top, and beside it, a worn-out rug that had clearly seen better days. The kitchen area was visible in the corner, neat but not pristine, just lived in enough to feel real. He could see the faint light coming in from the windows, the sun still high, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. And then, one of the bedroom doors was slightly ajar—he couldn't help but notice it. Could that door be yours?

Just the thought of going into your room made the region below in his pants twitch. But he could get to that in a moment.

He stood frozen, his gaze sweeping across your private sanctuary. He could hardly believe it. This was your space, your life, and he had made it.

His thoughts swirled in a hazy mix of excitement, guilt, and something darker. He knew he had to move quickly. You’d be back before long. So, he manned up and finally took a step inside. His feet felt heavy, like they were sinking into the floor as he closed the door behind him with a soft click.

Jake froze again. The weight of what he’d just done settled on him in that brief moment of stillness. But then, just as quickly, the urge to explore, to be a part of your world, surged forward. He stepped further into the living room, his hand brushing along the arm of your couch, lingering as though he could feel the traces of you still there.

He looked around, breathing in the air, and a small smile tugged at his lips. This was his opportunity. This was his chance to get even closer to you, to understand you in ways you’d never suspect. He wanted to leave his mark here, in this space where you were supposed to feel safe and in control.

His eyes drifted to the small table beside the window, a few personal items scattered across it. There he saw some books you had mentioned reading in past conversations with him.

He looked even further. Soft blankets littered the couch as Jake bent down to smell them. Some didn’t smell like you, him inferring they were mostly used by Ava. But the others smelled so strong he felt like you were practically there beside him. He spent a good while just inhaling the aroma of you, reminiscing the scent, until he finally snapped out of it. 

Jake’s gaze shifted toward the bedroom doors again, but this time he didn’t linger. He hastily made his way over to them. There were two doors across from each other, and Jake’s heart picked up speed as he walked toward the one on the right. He opened it slowly, his breath catching as he stepped inside. The room felt familiar, but not quite right. He scanned the walls, noting the framed photos of Ava and a few other girls, laughing and posing together, but no sign of you. The realization hit him: this wasn’t your room.

Without hesitation, he moved to the door on the left, his mind racing with anticipation. As he pushed it open, a wave of relief washed over him. This was it. This was the space that had been calling to him in the back of his mind, the space that felt like it was meant to be his, even though he hadn't been invited.

Your room.

The first thing he noticed was the soft glow from a string of fairy lights hanging across the ceiling. The room was cozy, warm, comforting, even. A faint scent of pumpkin spice lingered in the air, almost like it was designed just for you. His gaze swept across the space, taking in the details with a sharp, almost clinical eye. There was a bed pushed against the far wall, with a soft, pastel comforter neatly arranged, and a small desk cluttered with books, papers, and a laptop. He rummaged through them, but was careful enough not to make it seem like your stuff was being messed with. There were assignments, drawings you made, and a few other things, but ultimately, he started to get uninterested.

So he got up and delved further into your room, heart hammering in his chest, as he moved to your dresser, glancing at the things you had left behind—lip balm, a few stray earrings, a bottle of perfume. His fingers lingered over the objects, each one feeling like a piece of you that he could claim.

Jake could feel the weight of it—the tension, the thrill—this was more than just curiosity now. This was ownership. It was like stepping into your world and realizing, for the first time, that he could be a part of it in ways no one else could. No one else was here. No one else had access like he did. 

He opened every single drawer of your dresser, inspecting every single article of clothing you owned. Including the ones he’d seen you wear frequently and ones you’ve seemingly barely touched. He noted your dark grey hoodie that you seemed to live in basically, but also noticed your more scandalous and sexy pieces, wondering why you never put those on for him in the past? One by one, he searched through your dresser from top to bottom. Then he reached the last and final drawer and as he was sliding it open, it never dawned on him what clothes it would occupy until it was fully opened.

Panties. Tons and tons of panties.

Jake froze.

He just sat there, staring.

And staring.

And staring.

But as much as he enjoyed looking, he was eventually slowly reaching in the pile of stacked underwear and grabbing as many as he could.

He brought them up to his face, inhaling the foreign scents of your undergarments. These were obviously your clean pile, but Jake was so focused on what he possessed in the moment, he didn't seem to care. But then, a familiar throbbing in his jeans began to emerge at this point, however, he was still too focused on the many pieces of fabric in full display right below his very own eyes. He then began to look around more. He noticed most of them were thongs. Some cotton, some laced. Some had cute patterns on them; bows, for example. And some were more mature, with dark red or black lacy fabric.

There were bras too. He didn't ignore those.

Now, one thing about you is that you know how to cover yourself up, especially in the upcoming colder seasons. So, when Jake saw your bras tucked away in the back of the drawer and pulled one out, you could say he was shocked at the least, to see it was pretty much big enough to be at least a C cup.

This realization made his cock even more excited, now to the point where he couldn't hold himself back any longer. Jake then immediately unbuckled his jeans as fast as he could, ripping off the buttons in seconds, until he shoved his pants down, right under his ass where he could finally access his poor, frustrated dick, in desperate need of attention.

He pulled it out of his boxer briefs in haste and groaned at the sight. It was red. Angry red, and bulging out in full length already, right in front of him. He gripped it tightly and let out a hiss in pain. But it was a good pain.

His eyes trailed down from the bottom all the way to the top, noticing his veins protruding out even more than they usually do.

Sure, he's jerked off to the thought of you (or pictures of you) countless times before. But now, that he's here—in your room—with full and complete access to your bras and panties, his dick simply just can't take it.

But it will. Jake needs it to.

So, he started moving his hand up and down slowly at first, getting used to this new uncomfortable feeling, until his cock finally calmed down. Jake threw his head back, eyes shutting tight, mouth open in a silent moan. He tried imagining in his head what you would like wearing just your bra and panties. What would you wear for the first time with him? Would you put on something sexy and alluring? Or would you go more cute and innocent? All the thoughts were turning him on too much.

He looked back down at your drawer and spotted a laced baby pink thong peeking out through the bottom of the pile. With no hesitation, Jake immediately grabbed it, looping it onto his dick while he continued to jerk himself off.

The now added friction of the cloth made his cock even harder at this point, which he didn't know was even possible. But after minutes (that seemed like hours), his hand began to grow tired and cramped up, trying so had to release, yet subconsciously edging himself every time he was about to. With a groan full of exhaustion, he momentarily stopped, giving his hand a quick break. He let out a short gasp of air, panting with adrenaline.

But when he glanced down to his still very hard and throbbing cock with your cute little panties wrapped around it, he grabbed it again, this time even harsher.

"Come on, come on," he muttered to himself, frustrated, with furrowed eyebrows. He shut his eyes tight again, imagining himself pounding into your tiny little cunt. He wondered if you wouldn't be able to take it—the thought of you struggling to fit it in all the way. He liked that idea a lot. He would kiss your forehead, tell you he would go slow. And then he would ram himself into you, giving you no time to adjust.

But then he wondered if maybe you'd surprise him, and turn out to be a cock slut, riding it so well, like a beast. He groaned at the thought of it, speeding up his hand even more, gripping his cock even harder. The idea of you bouncing relentlessly, not giving his dick a break until he came inside of you, which sounded just too good to be true. Would you grab your big ass tits and squeeze them right in front of his face? Would they bounce uncontrollably as you rode him like there was no tomorrow?

"Yeah, just like that. Don't stop," he basically whispered to himself in bliss, his imagination getting the best of him. "Fuck, I'm so close baby," he whimpered.

And just like that, he was coming undone. Right then and there, unleashing his load onto your carpeted floor with seemingly, no care in the world.

He laid there, panting out of exhaustion. After he caught his breath, he smiled to himself, a dark, satisfied grin that tugged at the corners of his lips.

He could hear the faint sound of traffic outside, the world continuing without a clue about what he was doing inside these walls. His fingers traced over your cum filled panties once more, and grabbing more from your drawer, each item feeling like a new possibility—a piece of you he could add to his collection.

For a moment, he couldn't shake the feeling of victory. It was as if the world was his, and everything he'd been waiting for was finally within his grasp.

But just as the saying goes, good things never last. And just as quickly as the euphoria had flooded him, the sound of your front door squeaking open shattered the calm, and his eyes widened in fear.