#this is what happens where social media makes me greedy for attention. i should just Live with having an unpublished piece

[mayordeas-clone]

idk if this will resonate with anyone but do you ever draw something thats SOOO cool on a whim, just a banger and a half where everything worked, but the subject matter is just so personal, maybe even a little too cringe to expose to the masses, so you’re stuck with a SICK ASS PIECE OF ART YOU MADE but cant show it to anyone

[dduane]

Hello.

I've seen you posting detailed information about the WGA strike and wondered if you had any suggestions as to how those of us not directly involved can show our support for the Union?

Okay, bearing in mind that all this is entirely subjective at the moment (and so far lacking any more useful input from other sources): a few thoughts.

This will be my third WGA strike. (My first one was in 1988, just after I'd made my first live action sale—s1e6 of ST:TNG). And the thought keeps occurring to me at the moment that this time out, there's a potentially gamechanging player on the field that wasn't there before: truly pervasive social media.

(Adding a cut here, because this goes on a bit...)

In 2007, social media as we now understand it was still in its cradle. Now, though, those of us who're striking can make our voices much more widely heard. And so can those of us who're not, but just want to show solidarity. Last time, the AMPTP was able to do pretty much what it wanted without the public noticing or having even a medium-profile way to make their feelings known. But this time? Not so much.

So as an otherwise uninvolved person who wants to show solidarity, I'd start with something seemingly low-value. If I was on Twitter, I'd start routinely tweeting about the strike and my support for it—not obsessively, just persistently, a couple/few times a week—using the Twitter hashtags that are gaining ground even now, such as #DoTheWriteThing (and of course #WGAStrike). I would make sure I was following @WGAEast and @WGAWest, to keep an eye on what's going on.

Additionally: I would start politely, but repeatedly—again, maybe once or twice a week at least, and not stopping—tweeting the various major players in the AMPTP, especially the streamers: Amazon, Netflix, Hulu et al. I would start suggesting that their current attitude toward the WGA's contract negotiations is not only unrealistic but potentially (for the AMPTP) bad for business. (And self-destructive, too, as if this goes on much longer in this vein, they'll be seemingly eagerly casting themselves as The Baddies.) I would suggest that their bad behavior, if not amended by them coming to the table to bargain in good faith, might start affecting both my interest in their shows and my willingness to keep paying unreasonable people for access to them.

I should emphasize here that so far there've been no formal calls from anyone for boycotts or subscription cancellations. For the moment, this strikes me as wise. The point for WGA-friendly observers, right now, would be to keep what's happening to the writers visible: to keep bringing it up: to refuse to allow it to be swept under the rug. The "They only want two cents on the dollar!" angle seems potentially useful the more it's repeated. The point is to keep the repetition going: to make it plain, day after day, that the other side's being not just unreasonable, but greedy. Day after day, and week after week, and (if necessary: please Thoth may it not be...) month after month.

And tweeting is hardly all that can be done. Email is cheap and easy. But actual letters, written on actual paper and mailed, can still create a surprising amount of attention in a corporate office. (The saying in TV used to be that for every person who actually writes in about an issue, there are ten, or a hundred, who feel the same way but never got around to it.) Write letters to all the AMPTP members' CEOs, and make your feelings on the WGA's core demands politely plain. ...Especially when those CEOs collectively made almost three-quarters of a billion-with-a-B dollars in salaries last year, when many of the writers working on their shows can't afford rent.

After that: here's another thought, a little more physical. If by chance you're in an area where one or the other of the Guilds are picketing: turn out and support them! Honk when you pass: and if you're interested, show up and offer to walk the picket lines with them. These things get noticed. (In 2007 a bunch of us, both Guild members and non-, caused significant astonishment by turning out to picket AMPTP members' offices in Dublin.)

...Obviously not all that many people are going to be positioned, in terms of location or their own work and time commitments, to show up physically. But online? Find ways to keep this issue visible. The AMPTP wants this to go quiet, wants people to get bored with it, wants people to find reasons to blame the writers. They've tried spinning the story that way before. Don't let them pull that shit. Find ways to back those who're calling them on that, publicly. They do respond to this kind of thing (though they may strenuously deny it). If enough attention continues to be paid by the general public, they will blink—if sometimes excruciatingly slowly, as Disney began to blink over the dispute tagged #DisneyMustPay.

As viewers, and as viewers who pay for subscriptions to things, we far outnumber them. Help be a part of making the AMPTP understand that this quest for a truly fair deal is not going to go away. And the longer they try to act like the Guild's negotiation positions are beneath their notice, the more it's going to hurt them, and the stupider and greedier it's going to make them look.

...That's all I've got for the moment, as I need some lunch. :) ...But I hope this has helped. And thanks for your concern, and your desire to stand in solidarity with us! It's so welcome. :)

ETA: here's a link to the Guild's social media toolkit, for those who'd like to change PFPs or icons, etc., to show their support.

[tipsydipsydo]

➳ Dom-/Sub-Dynamics; Subspace

➳ rough Blowjob; deepthroating

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Gender of the Reader: male

Word Count: 826

Rating: 18+

Genre: Smut; literally pwp

Warnings: Sexual Language + Dirty Talk; Dom-/Sub-Dynamics; oral (Dom! receiving); Face-Fucking; Deepthroating; verbal Degradation + Humiliation; slight Mentions of Corruption-Kink; premature ejaculation (sub!); cumming in pants

Status: unedited like always bc I am a lazy Bitch

[Links]:

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「© tipsydipsydo」

This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Thank you.

“Fuck, yesss... that’s a good boy! Taking me balls deep, shoving my cock into that sweet little mouth of yours and down your throat until you’re gagging and choking on my thick tip. Spit and tears are streaming down over your chin and cute pouty cheeks. That’s a view I like to see.”, growls Jimin in a raspy, lustdrunken voice. 

His fingers have a tight, almost cruel hold in the hair on the back of your head, pushing you down until your nose is buried in his musky pubic hair. Fuck, he smells so good, it makes you tremble even more and your aching knees are so close to give up under the weight they have to carry. Your own cock, rock hard and in painful need of attention, is straining against the fabric cage of your pants and search desperately for any kind of relief. 

The pupils of your teary eyes are blown out by lust and desire and your mind is clouded by the sharp yet pleasing pain of his length in your sore throat. Everything you can think about in this moment is Jimin’s delicious cock and your absolute submission to him. You love it, you need it. You need this rough treatment and the domination by Jimin. 

Usual you’re both pretty soft and vanilla, you just seem to be so pure and innocent to him. Your boyfriend didn’t want to rush it and promises to take it slow wit you. Well...who said you want to take it slow and that he has to treat you like you’re a porcelain doll? 

Today you told him in a very clear vocabulary that he doesn’t need to hold his real sexual nature back, that you want to experience him raw and untamed, that he can take you like he desire without any leashes. Maybe you dropped the little comment that you’d like to have a rougher session, that you have certain fantasies as well. 

Of course Jimin made sure you remember your safe word and your ‘safe tap’, where you tap three times on his knee or any other near object when you can’t speak properly. ...but after that... Jimin’s entire personality shifted to something else... something you could be described as a hungry, sex-craving demon. 

“Hm? What’s that? Are you trying to take even more of my cock into your mouth? God, you’re such a greedy and insatiable boyslut. Do you like that? Getting called a needy slut, a little whore, a boytoy? Yes, yes you do. Fuck, you’re such a perfect fucktoy for me, Y/N. I didn’t thought you would like that, I wish have known earlier that this rough manhandling, deepthroating and degrading is what gets you going. You look so pure and decent but behind closed doors you are such a whore. My whore. Correct? 

You try your best to nod to his words, agreeing to his statement. Almost automatically your head bobs faster and faster, swallowing his whole length as if it’s nothing, flicking with the tip of your tongue over his oversensitive cockhead. At the same time your right hand moves down to his balls to fondle them, giving him extra pleasure. You want him to call you a good greedy slut, you chase praise and degradation at the same time. You want to hear his raw, hoarse voice calling you a perfect little whore, that’s all you want and need in this moment. 

God, you are truly living for it, getting so much pleasure for yourself out of it that it’s hard for you to control yourself. You don’t know what Jimin would do when he finds out that you made a mess all over yourself and come in your pants untouched. Probably he would make fun of you, calling you a pathetic slut with no self control, a shame for him and other things. This thought alone unleash feelings of sexual excitement and desire in your body you didn’t expect you’d ever get them. 

Well, maybe you should admit that you may have a certain degradation and humiliation kink.

“Come on, Bitch! Let me fuck your mouth, I wanna shoot my thick, creamy cum down your throat and I want you to swallow all of it! F-Fuck I- I think I’m gonna cum now-”, groans Jimin, a deep moan rumbles through his broad chest while he bucks his hips up erratically. Making sure that not a single droplet of his cum gets wasted and that you swallow everything he gives you. 

You’re busy with swallowing and not choking on his cum, not realizing that the incident happened you’ve thought about. Jimin starts chuckling when he looks down at you and shakes his head with a smug smile on his lips, pretty pleased to see the wet patch in the fabric of your pants. 

“Tz, what a pathetic little whore are you that you came in your pants after I face fucked you? Hm?”

[cuefog]

tog/khunbam fic rec

this is for @cannottranslate​ because you asked for it and i am grateful for the excuse to make a fic rec post

i expect this will be a long post so i’ll put it under read ↓ 

i’ll be leaving my own thoughts and comments under each fic (im sorry in advance for rambling too much)!! if you want the full summary and other info please click on the link provided lol

!!webtoon spoilers beware!!

♡ = one of my favourites

canon timeline

(these will be the ones that are set in the canon world and follow major plot events, even if there some changes in the details and relationships)

♡ deep sea blue by Feyren ♡

please read everything written by feyren!!!! lovely prose, wonderfully written khunbam emotional tension. khun braiding his beautiful hair accompanied by symbolism and perfectly crafted metaphor. bonus earrings.

♡ hollow moons by NoteInABottle ♡

please also read everything by noteinabottle!! equally lovely prose, wonderfully written khunbam emotional tension. khun wearing earrings and giving them to bam, accompanied by lots of symbolism and perfectly crafted metaphor. you could probably consider this a companion fic to feyren’s deep sea blue. both of these fics gave me a Thing for khun’s earrings (>_<;)``

take my hand (take my whole life too) by RadiantAshe

our dear ashe has written lots of great stuff but i think this is my favourite!! so much khunbam softness, very classic s3 vibes <33

Chestnuts at Nighttime by khunfounded (ongoing)

khun with a cat who loves him very much, and vice versa. that’s all the explanation you need. this fic overloads my heart with cute soft fluffy feelings!!! (bonus khun and bam dolls with little hands made of velcro so they can hold each other’s hands (ʘ‿ʘ✿) please i can’t take any more of this, somebody help my heart is gonna explode)

a thousand paths to you by LiannaAila

set during the time of khun’s coma. bam travels to a parallel universe and meets an alive and awake khun. this fic is exactly what it says it is and it’s so lovely <3

oh no he’s hot (and other earth-shattering revelations) by Bird_of_Dreams

tldr; bam being thirsty over khun

khun aguero agnis and his growing competency kink by chuuyaya

tldr; khun being thirsty over bam

motion by smokeandwaves (rated Explicit)

set during hell train, khunbam focused. this one is really popular in the fandom!! it’s well written, and if you consider smut a genre i would say this is the best one in the tog tag. lots of emotions, and a wonderful flow of feeling!! also it has a few sequel fics in the series, ‘obedience’ in particular being all about sub!khun,, which is,, (*ﾉωﾉ)

sometimes when i look into your eyes i pretend you're mine by agueros (minamis)

residents of the tower ship jue viole grace and khun aguero agnis and write fanfiction about them (i love these types of fics lmao)

From: Khun by AngrySheepProject  and To you who lies with my heart under the sea by Strawbellie666 (ongoing)

khun messaging bam’s pocket when he thought he was dead in s2

canon divergence + future canonverse

(future fics means it’s set in the future of the current canon, which at the nest arc rn)

♡ A World Without You by Breaking_Formation ♡

this one might be my favourite out of all of them. i know it says major character death but it happens in the beginning and there’s a promised happy ending so don’t worry!!! this one is a beautiful 20k word masterpiece.... seriously..... this fic is set after the nest arc, it has lots of Plot and plays around with the world and the lore of the Tower, so it’s already fascinating that way, but the real heart of the story is in the emotions!! if you love witnessing khun’s endless devotion to bam, this is the fic that shows you that devotion reflected right back at khun. it might bring you to tears :’)

♡ Our Hearts Are Made of Stars by Ruinous ♡ (ongoing)

out of the 5 or so other time travel au fics in the tog fandom, this one is definitely my favourite!! time travel aus are all super fun to read, but this one stood out to me especially because it hits all the right spots!! it’s written well and i love the level of foresight, and the emotions detailed into this, it really feels like the friendships and bonds are at the heart of this story and all the fighting stuff will turn out just fine, and everything will be ok :)

♡ enough by Feyren ♡

future fic, set in a cocktail party on the 87th floor. this is so well written!!!!! again, please just read everything written by feyren. the prose is wonderful and everything going on in this fic feels so well-crafted and carefully executed with just the right amount of subtlety in all the emotions. i think it’s gorgeous.

fire and ice by soundscape (ongoing)

set vaguely in the future. still ongoing, and the story feels like it’s just started, but very intriguing plot!! premise is people trying to separate khun from bam + the team trying to deal with shady fug plots

dig down deep by milkywxy (ongoing)

this one is a plotty one!! diverges from canon at the hidden floor arc. bam decides not to let rachel go with them. im super interested to see where this story goes!!

where the current leaves us by macrauchenia (ongoing)

this one is a Plotty one, still in the early stages of plot development but the premise is super interesting!! basically khun takes bam’s place in the bubble with rachel, during the administrator’s test on the 2nd floor. i’m excited to see where this story goes :D

special mentions for “bam climbs the tower” remix concept fics that you might like to check out (this is for you dango, since you said you like togverse canon divergence :D)

Moonlight by Shadow_to_rant (ongoing, khun meets bam in cave instead of rachel)

Timeless Existence by Jazebeth (Barrattiel) (ongoing, time travel au series)

Second Chance by Shadow_to_rant (ongoing, time travel au)

Never Let You Go by eternus (ongoing, time travel au)

Il Principe by euludey (ongoing, bam with different backstory/origins)

Night Never Falls by TripleTurtles (ongoing, au where rachel doesn’t succeed at pushing bam off the bubble on the 2nd floor)

Child of Arlene by MoodleNoodle (ongoing, bam is adopted by jahad before canon timeline)

au

♡ the king and his lionheart by chuuyaya ♡

khunbam royalty au with bam as king, khun as a genius war strategist. bonus pda in front of a whole courtroom. what more could you want?? this was soooo satisfying to read, i enjoyed it a lot :D (please also check out chuuyaya’s other fics if you like khunbam aus!!)

if there's anything in this life ive been waiting for (its you) by trueaguero (ongoing)

fascinating au where everyone is outside the tower and the tower is part of history. perhaps you could call this a “post-tower au” ?

if my heart was a house by The_Winged_Warrior

very cute magical fantasy au!! khun runs a potion shop and bam is an adventurer

aus are pretty self explanatory so i’ll put the rest in a list:

you are the magic in me by silverinerivers (ongoing, hogwarts au)

hope and legacy by chuuyaya (figure skating au)

♡ jump then fall (i'll catch you) by agueros (minamis) ♡ (figure skating au, consider it a prequel to ‘hope and legacy’, this is a beautiful 13k-word love letter to figure skating <3)

of social media and turtles by chuuyaya (celeb au with social media bits)

i am the last olympian by argenteas (percy jackson au)

who else is there to love but you? by khuns (college au, very soft pining!!)

Lucky coin by bothersomepotato (ongoing, college business majors au)

Greedy Turtles by Alien_ships (ongoing, on the surface it seems like just a pet shop au but there’s a lot of care and attention paid to the characters and relationship dynamics :D)

and i will come to you at every first snow by aguerobaam (khun is a magical doll in a toy store)

the heart heist by paused (ongoing, cyberpunk au)

khun special category

(it’s all about khun here)

♡ all the blue in the world won’t do, without you by NoteInABottle ♡ (ongoing)

multichapter fic set on khun eduan’s 111th floor!! if you’re too impatient to wait for the khun family arc, you should just read this fic. it’s still ongoing as of the time i made this post but it’s already looking to have all the elements i want out of a khun family arc. it’s written so so well too!! noteinabottle is one of my favourite tog authors :D

Brothers and sisters, I'm an atomic bomb by gleek_runner (ongoing series)

a wonderfully well written series of fics focusing on interactions between members of the khun family!!!! im just a sucker for the khun kids and im always starving for khun family content

He Wonders if He Still Breathes by Chocolatesandblood

khun and ran interactions!!

putting his resolve to the test. by soundscape

khun and hachuling interactions!!

Autumn Angel by XprincessxofxspadesX

khunbam meets maria and a series of complicated and fascinating interactions occurs. this was very nice to read ;w;

[satsuma-saturn]

The Green-Eyed Monster - Leviathan x Reader

A/N: I literally started and finished this last night, so the writing may not be the best lmao. I’ve opened my ask box for requests, so I’m going to start on those, hopefully getting them out as soon as I can

WC: 1672

Warning(s): cursing, possessiveness

fic below the cut

Envy is a hideous emotion, bringing pain to those who suffer from it and those around them. Sufferers of Envy can never be satisfied, always pained by the sight of another’s good fortune. As in the play, Macbeth, Macbeth is envious when he learns from King Duncan that Malcolm will be crowned king next. Being king is what he so desires after the witches tell him of his prophecy. In order to remedy his situation, he resorts to assassinating King Duncan so that he may become king, his wife being the catalyst for his actions. You see Envy as a daily occurrence, when someone wants what others have, but their object of desire is just out of their reach. Even if they obtain their object of desire, when they see something that another has that they want, they are suddenly filled with an envious rage, always wanting to have the best, to be the best.

Yet, when you look into the eyes of Envy, you never see the so-called “Green-Eyed Monster.” Instead you find yourself greeted with soft, golden eyes, filled to the brim with doubt and self-loathing. Sometimes, in your peripheral, you can spot another emotion: longing. When you turn to look at him, he looks away, turning into a blushing, stuttering mess. However, that blushing, stuttering mess is no more when Envy sees you appearing to give more attention to his brothers, always viewing himself as lesser than them. It isn’t fair. Why won’t you pay attention to him? Would you rather be with one of his brothers? Perhaps Lust, or even Pride? Is he not good enough for you? He can be better, as long as you remain his and only his. You can be happy with him, just don’t spend too much time with his brothers. That will only anger him.

“Leviathan.” Your voice is soft as you attempt to get his attention. Still, he refuses to look at you, those golden eyes glued to his tv. The blue light illuminating his face causes him to look washed-out, drawing attention to his already pale skin and the dark circles under his eyes. He’s always tired, but refuses to sleep, unlike Belphegor, who you feel sleeps too much. Rather than sleep, he stays awake, vigilantly watching his social media feeds for the release of a new game or anime. “Leviathan,” you repeat, your stubbornness surfacing as you try, to no avail, to grab his attention. Of course, he hears you calling out to him, but he chooses to pretend you aren’t there. It’s less painful than the reality. You hate him. Why else would you go out with Beel to dinner? What does Beel have that he doesn’t? Sure, he isn’t tall or muscular like Beel, but he can be good to you. Perhaps it’s because he’s a yucky otaku that you don’t like him. It isn’t fair. His brothers always had what he wanted, your attention and praise. Still, even as you try to talk to him, his eyes remain glued to his screen, his attention to his anime unwavering.

A small sigh escapes you as you stand in his doorway, unmoving. In most cases, you are the unstoppable force to Levi’s immovable object, but you’re tired. To you, it is clear that he won’t give you the time of day. It has been almost twenty minutes since you first tried to get his attention. Twenty minutes too long to be spending in the doorway of someone giving you the silent treatment. Truth be told, you have no idea why he’s angry at you, which is what you’re trying to figure out. Even if he were to scream at you, it would be better than the silence you’re receiving. At least you would know why he’s angry. If he wants to be angry, then he can be, but you’re not waiting any longer for him to come around. When he’s ready to talk to you, he knows where your room is.

Silently, you exit his room, leaving him to his own devices. You’re sure he doesn’t notice you leave his room, being consumed by whatever brightly colored anime he’s watching. Disappointing, but you should have expected it. He is Levi, after all, the self-proclaimed otaku. It would be like pulling teeth to try to steal his attention from an anime. However, you know that’s not why he’s ignoring you. No, it’s for a different reason, and you’re not sure what. Levi isn’t the type to bottle up his feelings, as he’s normally very open and you will know when he’s upset and why he’s upset, but at the moment, you’re still in the dark. It hurts. Why is he acting like this? Did you do something wrong? What happened to you being his Henry? The Lord of Shadows would never ignore Henry like that.

When you leave, he notices. He’s disappointed and feels a little betrayed at your disappearance, wishing you were still talking to him. Eventually, he planned on responding, but he wanted you to stew in silence first. Clearly, that was the wrong approach. All he’s done is upset you. With a small sigh, he reluctantly stands up to follow you to your room, craving the attention that he’d been receiving from you a few seconds prior. A knock on your door and you’re quick to answer. His heart pangs when he sees your face drop at the sight of him. You were expecting someone else, weren’t you? Maybe you were seeking Mammon, who you’ve been spending a lot of time with. Why does he always get your attention? What makes him so special to you? Why can’t he have what he has? It’s hard for him to understand why you’d even want to give that greedy scumbag the time of day.

“What do you want?” You ask, your voice no longer holding its soft, concerned tone. Why had he sought you out, especially after giving you the silent treatment? What, did he want to hurt you more? Maybe he’s pissed that you left and now he’s come to give you a piece of his mind.

“I…” Levi had followed you to apologize, but now he just wants to know. He wants to know why he isn’t good enough for you. Why do you prefer his brothers over him? It’s not fair!

A sigh leaves your lips. “If you have nothing to say, then I’m shutting the door. Don’t follow me inside. I don’t understand why you’re cross with me, but I’d rather you tell me what I did. Instead, you ignored me. It hurt my feelings, Levi. We’re supposed to be friends. Friends don’t give friends the silent treatment.” You press your lips into a frown, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

The purple haired demon opens his mouth to explain, but speaks before thinking. “You went with Beel to dinner. At Hell’s Kitchen. You spent a lot of time with him there and I got jealous. Of Beel. What does he have that I don’t? It’s not fair that he gets to hang out with you. It’s not fair that he ate dinner with you when you should’ve been in my room, watching anime with me. Why do you like him more? Do you hate me? Am I not good enough for you?” His questions fly out of his mouth, rapid fire, not giving you the time to consider one question before another one is asked. All you can think is, what the hell?

You laugh, humorlessly. “You’re pissed because I went to dinner with Beel? What the fuck, man? He’s my friend, just as you are. There is no reason to be jealous. You’re just being shitty right now. I probably hang out with you the most, but that’s not enough? You are good enough, and I don’t hate you, but I’m pissed off right now. I’m pissed that you’re angry because I was hanging out with someone other than you. You’re acting so self-important. I don’t want to talk to you right now. Goodbye.” Of course, constantly hanging out with him isn’t enough. He’s the Avatar of Envy. Jealousy consumes him when he sees you with his brothers. It’s too late for more excuses, you decide. Maybe you’re being irrational, but so is he, and two can play at that game. So, you shut the door in his face, leaving him staring at the door, unable to see behind it.

Dejectedly, he trudges back to his room, head hanging low. He fucked up, royally, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. The hurt in your eyes was all too clear, even to a socially inept otaku like himself. Still, he feels as if you could have made an effort to understand him. Despite what he may seem, he is still a demon. Demons aren’t quick to change nature, especially not him or any of his brothers. They each govern a different Sin for a reason. Now that you won’t be spending your evenings with him, who will you spend them with? Maybe Belphegor? The Avatar of Sloth was fond of cuddling you while he slept. Though, why would the demon who killed you deserve your attention more than he does?

The Green-Eyed Monster sits in his dark room, alone and heartbroken.Tears roll down his cheeks and snot dribbles from his nose as he clenches his fists in frustration. You are supposed to be his Henry! A sob escapes him and he wipes his nose on his sleeve, leaving behind a trail of snot. Envy is a miserable, lonely emotion. Perhaps he could have had you, but you slipped through his cold, clammy fingers. Maybe it’s what he deserves for being a yucky otaku, a shut-in. Why can’t he have you? It isn’t fair. What makes his brothers more deserving of his attention? The Avatar of Envy will never know the truth, especially when he only sees through the lenses of his Sin. He is Envy and Envy is he.

[atinydise]

Ateez reacting to their s/o calling them because they’re in danger (1/2)

❦ Genre: Horror/Fluff.

❦ Pairing: OT8.

❦ Word count: 3k2.

❦ Requested: Yes, thank you! 🦋

❦ Masterlist.

Part 2

HONGJOONG (ft. Burglar)

You watched Hongjoong’s Instagram story since he was out with the KBS Team. He was a special MC today. Before leaving, one of the highest staff members offered to eat at a BBQ Restaurant. Hongjoong couldn’t decline it wouldn't be polite, so it texted you 3 hours ago to let you know that he will get home late. You were happy that he met other people they will know how amazing your boyfriend was. When you yawned you glanced at the clock in the living room, it was already 1:00 AM. You wanted to wait your boyfriend as always, but you were too tired to wait him for an unknown time. You turned off all the lights and got in your bedroom. When you slide under the sheets, you heard like a lock noise coming from the kitchen.

You didn't mind it was probably your imagination. You rolled on the side trying to be a little bit comfier. As you fell asleep a little bit later, you recognize the sound of the window and not in simple noise but a smooth one like when someone is opening it. You sat down on your bed. The first thing you did was to grab your phone and check Hongjoong’s Instagram story. You covered your mouth to shut down the scream; your boyfriend last update was posted 5 minutes ago, and he was still at the restaurant. You heard a man voice whispering in the hallway. Instinctively you rushed off your bed to lock your bedroom’s door. It would keep him away from you for few minutes. You composed Hongjoong’s phone number, your shaky hands holding the phone. Fortunately, he answered. [“Y/N? I’m still at the-“] [“Hongjoong, there’s someone in the apartment.”] You whispered. [“Wait! What?! Are you sure?”] [“Yes! Please help me!”] [“Where are you?”] [“In the bedroom… I locked the door but I’m so scared!”] [“Can someone call the police?! There’s a burglar in my apartment!”] You heard him asking for help. [“Hongjoong, I’m so scared…”] You sobbed quietly. [“Y/N baby, you will be okay!”] said your boyfriend, trying to do his best to reassure you. You heard the intruder steps resounding in the hallway. You looked around you to see if there’s any place to hide. [“Y/N? You still there?”] You hummed; to make him understand that you were listening. [“Police is coming. And me too! I’ll be there in 10 minutes!”] You heard his breathe being louder and heavier, he was running to you. [“Joong… I think he’s just in front of the door!”] You heard the intruder struggling with the knob. [“Hongjoong…”] You cried quietly. [“Babe please, stay quiet and safe. Hide somewhere!”] he ordered. [“I’m in the wardrobe… but he will find me for sure!”] you sobbed, chocking your whines as you could. [“You’ll be okay baby! Please stay quiet and don’t do anything!”] You never felt this fear before. Your whole body was shaking, head to toe. The burglar went more insistent with the knob. Every time, you heard the man bumping at the door, your heart skipped a beat. Suddenly, you heard the police siren no far away of your apartment. “Shit!” Cursed the intruder. You heard him running back to the kitchen, probably dropping everything he stole on the floor. [“The police are there!”] You said to your boyfriend. You busted in tears, grateful that someone would rescue you. [“Stay where you are!”] Ordered Hongjoong. The policemen entered in your apartment, fighting noise coming from the kitchen. Maybe you should help them. But Hongjoong asked you to stay safe. Few seconds later, everything went quiet again, like nothing happened. You started to freak out again. You heard someone walking and opening the door. You stayed quiet and prayed that it was a policeman. The steps stopped just in front of the wardrobe. Your heart raced when the door opened. “Y/N!” yelled your boyfriend, crouching down to hug you. “Hongjoong!” I was so scared!” You hugged him tightly, trying to reduce the stress and the nervousness. “You will be okay…I’m here!” he patted your back, to reassure you.

Few minutes later, the police came to make a report. It seemed that the burglar saw that there were expensive things in your apartment. As you lived in the ground floor, it was easy for him to get in. Hongjoong was blaming himself because he wasn’t there with you. But for you that was a good thing, he was safe.

SEONGHWA (ft. Sasaeng*)

You invited your friends to spend time with you around a good diner. All of them were busy because of their work but unexpectedly, they were all present tonight. You cooked a tasty dinner for them and gossiped during the whole meal. “Is everything okay with Seonghwa Y/N?” asked one of your friends. “Everything is perfect,” you giggled, “he’s so good with me!” you blushed. “And he’s handsome too!” added the friend next to you, tickling your belly. “Look at you…” began another friend, “you were against dating an idol since you moved to Korea!” You smiled awkwardly. It’s true that you didn't want to date a celebrity, there was too much responsibility and it was too stressful. But when you met Seonghwa, everything was… different than all you heard on social media. You started to date Seonghwa one year ago just before his debut with ATEEZ. Your boyfriend and you got along so well and quickly. At first you were intimated buy him but now you saw his crazy side. He was just like a little baby who needed attention. At this thought, you smiled like an idiot; your friends were laughing at you. “By the way…” began the friend in front of you, putting down her glass on the table. “Now that the entire world knows about your relationship… are you safe?” she asked seriously. “Most of his fans are happy but there’s some who’s are threatening me…” you scratched your head, embarrassed. “You need a bodyguard!” “No! don’t worry! I’ll be fine.” You reassured them even if one part of you were terrified. 2 hours later, you were alone in your apartment, cleaning the dishes. You couldn’t stop thinking about what your friend said. Maybe some fans were crazy enough to hurt you. You almost got a heart attack when someone knocked at the door. Pretty sure that one of your friends forgot something. Without looking in the peephole, you opened the door but regretted it instantly when you saw a young girl, staring at you. “Huh… hi? Can I help you?” you asked politely. “Yes. I’m lost and really thirsty. Can you please bring me a glass of water?” said this girl, smiling widely. Her smile reassured you, but you kept an eye on her. “Stay here,” you ordered, “I’ll be back in few seconds.” As you went back to the kitchen, you heard your phone rang on the counter. [“Hi babe! I’m at the grocery store do you want something?”] [“Hi Hwa! And no… I ate too much already!”] you laughed. [“There’s a plate for me?”] he asked. [“Sure!”] you giggled. [“Then I’m coming home right now! I’ll be there in 5 minutes!”] [“Okay greedy, take c-“] You stayed quiet when you heard the breaking noise coming from the living room. You rushed there and saw the young girl with a vase in her hands. [“Y/N what was that?”] Asked Seonghwa. “What are you doing?” you asked the girl, ignoring Seonghwa. “I’m breaking your stuff like you broke my heart.” She simply replied, dropping another vase on the floor. “Are you crazy?!” you yelled, “what are you talking about?” “You are dating Seonghwa! He should be MY boyfriend!” She shouted, walking up to you. At this moment you understood the situation. This girl was wearing ATEEZ’ hoodie and the luminate of their world tour. [“Seonghwa…”] you whispered at the phone, [“There’s a sasaeng.”] * Your boyfriend cursed through the phone and ordered you to go out, but you were froze. “You stole my boyfriend!” she shouted again. “Calm down please…” you almost begged, seeing the look in her eyes. She scoffed, “I’ll calm down when you will break up with Seonghwa!” The fan walking up in front of you; facing without leaving your stare. “So? Are you going to break up with him or I will need to?” she threatened you. No word could come out of your mouth. You were scared that whatever you could, say she would hurt you. “Can you answer me coward?!” she yelled. [“Y/N! Y/N!”] called Seonghwa through the phone. “Then okay…” she finally answered, smiling maliciously. Suddenly, the couple of neighbors next to your apartment came in your living-room. Thank god, she didn’t close the door. “What is going on here?” asked the man. The young girl looked at them, scared. She just run away almost falling on the carpet. You fell on your knees, not getting the strength to stand up anymore. You felt like not enough air could get in your lungs. The woman crunched at your side trying to calm you down, but nothing worked. “Y/N!” yelled Seonghwa entering in the apartment. He realized what happened and hated himself. He kneeled in front of you, holding your hands. “I’m here baby… please calm down…” he asked. You looked directly at his eyes. “Exhale… and inhale…” he helped you as he could. You felt air entering in your lungs, not suffocating anymore. “Nice babe…” he rubbed your cheeks.

When you relaxed, Seonghwa called KQ’s CEO and asked a night protection for you till the crazy fans calm down. Thanks to social medias, Atinys learned what happened to you and found out the sasaeng. Now she was blacklisted of ATEEZ’s promotion and couldn’t approach you anymore. Your boyfriend wasn't kidding about your safety.

*Sasaeng: is an obsessive fan who stalks, or engages in other behavior constituting an invasion of the privacy of a Korean idol or other public figure.

YUNHO (ft. Kidnappers)

When the movie credit appeared on your TV screen, you composed your boyfriend’s phone number. “Answer me please please please…” you whispered. [“Yeoboseyo?”]* [“Yunhoooo!”] You whined at the phone. [“What?”] Giggled your boyfriend at your actions. [“I accidentally watched a horror documentary!”] You pouted. [“You watched the whole documentary?”] [“Yes! At first it was interesting, but it went down so fast! Murder, kidnapping, peeper…”] you enumerated. Yunho was laughing out loud. He knew how much you were a coward and a scary baby. He could bet that you would freak out the whole night. [“Can you come right now? I’m so scared.”] you asked. [“We are practicing sweetie. I don’t think I will come or sleep neither tonight.”] Honestly, a car light outside in the street got your attention. You don’t know why but the little voice in your head told you to look through the window. You spotted a black van in front of your portal; you smiled. [“Is that you?”] you laughed, [“you are incredible!”] [“What are you talking about?”] [“The black van in front of my house!”] [“I’m at the practice room Y/N. It’s just someone else.”] You didn't reply. As every Saturday, yours neighbors would be at the restaurant and at the cinema, except if they changed their plan. But that was unusual. You focused on the van, seeing 2 men going out of it. They were wearing black outfit with a beanie and gloves. Something was strange and it wasn't your imagination. [“Yunho, I think I’m in danger.”] Your boyfriend sighed, [“it was just a documentary Y/N… don’t freak out because of a van.”] [“No no! It’s not just a van. There are 2 guys! I don’t know them, and they are pointing at my house!”] you summarize your situation. [“Y/N…”] [“Yunho I’m dead serious!”] you raised your voice. As a proof you sent a picture to your boyfriend about what was happening. [“Look what I sent you!”] Yunho was losing his patience, you are always like that. But now it was different when he saw the 2 shadows next to the van. [“Y/N lock the door now.”] You didn’t think twice and made sure the door was locked. [“I’m coming right now.”] [“What should I do?!”] you asked, scared. [“Turn on your bedroom’s light and the kitchen too. They would think you are not alone.”] Genius, you thought. You rushed to do what Yunho said. [“What they want?”] you whispered, trying to look at them discreetly. [“I heard that there was kidnappers in Seoul, but I wasn’t believing it.”] he let you know. You heard the can door outside, but you couldn’t see what was happening. You just sat against the wall, trying to remain quiet. [“Where are you Yunho?”] [“I’m at 3 minutes to your house.”] you sighed, happy to know that their KQ’s building was not far away from your house. Suddenly, you thought about what would happen to your boyfriend. [“Yunho stop! They can hurt you! They are 2!”] [“I’m with Mingi, Wooyoung and Jongho.”] [“Hallelujah, you brought Jongho.”] you sighed of relief. [“You are pretty calm for someone who can be kidnapped.”] [“They can’t en-“] you began. A loud noise scared you. They were trying to smash the door. Yunho’s idea didn’t work. [“Yunho! They are trying to get in!”] You whispered. [“We are in the street! Don’t move!”] The reality started to hit you. These men were trying to kidnap you. Hopefully, you called Yunho and looked outside. If the little voice on your head hadn’t warned you, where would you be right now? “Hey! Can we help you?!” You heard Wooyoung high pitched voice. “What are you doing here?” Asked Jongho. Too afraid for them, you walked in front of the entrance door. Holding the knob, in case something bad happens. You watched through the little window at the right of the door. You saw the four ATEEZ members next to the van. The two intruders just laughed and run away, pushing Wooyoung lightly. Jongho and Mingi ran after them, while the loudest member took a pic of the plate license and called the police. You opened the door and rushed to your boyfriend. “Yunho!” you hugged him. He put his big hands on your back and on your head to keep you against him. “Are you okay?” he looked at your face and your arms, trying to see any bruises. “I’m fine…” you smiled, eyes watering a bit more. “You sure?” “Yes, I was just so scared. But now you are here…” you buried your face on his chest.

The next day, you learned that the police caught the intruders. They were walking around since 2 days here and they saw you alone today, so you were the perfect target. Now every time you watch a horror movie or documentary, Yunho will be there.

*Yeoboseyo: hi/allo in korean.

YEOSANG (ft. Peeper)

You were drying your hair and singing at your favorite song of the week. You had a long and stressful Friday. You worked all day, running to every floor of the building. And when you finally got home, one of your friends asked you to babysit her toddler for 2 hours. As a good friend, you accepted. Her little girl was cute but energetic or at least more than you a Friday night. When you finally played a good movie for her, she would turn around at the window, saying that there was a ghost outside. Too lazy and exhausted you told her that there was no ghost in your apartment. But she kept warning at least 10 times, you just ignore it. When her mom got her back, you decided to take a bath. It was really helpful all of your muscles were so relaxed that you felt on the cloud nine. Carefully you grabbed your phone to text back your boyfriend, but in the same time you spotted a shadow at the window. When you blinked there was nothing. “Probably a bird,” you whispered. Your boyfriend asked you how your day was and said that he would come to your apartment near it 11PM. When you explained your exhausting day, you saw the shadow again a little bit longer than a first time but when you blink it again there was nothing. You sighed, “this little girl scared me with her ghost.” You shook your head to erase the bad thoughts. 15 minutes later, you get out of your bath, wrapping your body with a towel. You checked your phone to see if Yeosang replied, but no he was probably pre-recording the promotion stage. So, you played some music to sing out loud like a diva while you were doing your skin care. The cream you usually apply on your face was almost empty. You reached the cupboard below the window and crouched down to reach the last cream pot. But when you stood up, you were face to face with a strange man behind the window. He was staring at you with a vicious smile. You didn’t react. You just went back calmly at the mirror, acting like nothing happened. You applied the cream on your face, staring carefully at the mirror reflection to see if the peeper was still here. Internally, you were a mess. You wanted to shout, scream, yell, cry and hide in the corner but maybe you would be in danger. You hummed like if you were singing but you grabbed your phone, almost dropping it on the sink. You called Yeosang, still acting like there was no one who was looking at you behind the window. [“Y/N? I’m leaving the building if it’s the reason of your-“] [“Someone is watching me by the bathroom’s window.”] you said calmly, staring at the man behind you, through the mirror. [“What? This is non-sense.”] replied Yeosang, like he couldn’t care less. [“Yeo, there’s a man peeping me and that’s all you have to said?”] you freaked out. You saw the creepy man raising a brow at the new look on your face. Your forced smile came back instantly. [“Close the curtains or ask him to go.”] he replied. [“He’s so creepy… I’m scared that he become crazy if I do something bad!”] [“Then I’ll call the police. Please go on the kitchen and close all the curtains. I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”] he said seriously. [“Call me just after okay?”] you almost begged. [“Yes. Stay safe babe.”] You nodded. Everything went quiet again when he hung up. Without looking at the mirror, you rushed to close the curtains and turned off the lights. After that, you sat on the kitchen floor, looking at the window to see if he was there. You couldn’t see him, but you heard his steps. He was staring at every window to get any chance to see you. You almost screamed when your phone buzzed. [“Okay, police are coming.”] said Yeosang a bit more peacefully. [“And you? Where are you?”] At this moment, Yeosang was the first person you wanted to be there with you in this cold floor. [“I’m in the van but stuck in the traffic.”] You sighed. Until the police came, he tried to comfort you with jokes or explaining how his day was.

[“And this is how I almost chocked Wooyoung.”] You giggled. You almost forgot the peeper around your apartment. But you heard the 2 policemen asking him to follow them. You rushed outside and see distinctively the face of this psychopath. “Everything’s okay Ma’am. Please lock your door, we will come back tomorrow.” Informed one of them. You just nodded, still shock. The peeper was smiling at you. You got chills and an urge need to throw up. “Y/N!” Called Yeosang when he saw you throwing up almost on your neighbor’s flowers. “It’s okay babe! You are safe now!” He patted your back, breathless. “This man… was so creepy.” You said wiping the saliva on the corner of your mouth, feeling disgusted.

After this day, Yeosang stayed with you every weekend and every time he had a free day. Behind your brave appearance, you were terrified, and your boyfriend was too. He couldn’t forgive himself if something happens to you.

Part 2

[jenomark]

Part 2

➔Pairing: Idol!Haechan x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: -.- ➔Genre: Smut ➔Warnings: Public sex + Vaginal penetration + Masturbation (F+ M) + Fingering ➔Word count: 4,170

➔Summary: He’s an idol, a friend, and you took his virginity. Beginning your friends-with-benefits relationship with Haechan wasn’t the best idea, but you just can’t help yourself when it comes to him.

↞ Part 1

  They all feel how you feel when you watch him on stage, like he belongs to you. His smile just for you. Not for the camera, or the thousands viewing clips on social media, but just for you. His song performed for you, the words containing messages only you can decipher. His hips moving across the stage, the thing in his pants pointing in your direction, everything moving towards you, the girl in the crowd, the girl watching backstage, the girl sitting on her bed. No matter where you are in the world, the lights burn across your retinas, the heat in the seat of your pants making it hard for you to stay still. You move just a little bit and feel the throb below, a Venus flytrap waiting for its prey. You pretend he makes eye contact with only you, acknowledging the very existence you try to hide from everyone else. He sees you, he really does.

 The song ends and the mirage vanishes. Six people go in different directions,  smiles wiped from their faces as easily as make-up. They forget the crowd, forget what it means to be themselves when others are watching. He veers towards you just a moment before remembering where he is and who he is, and then he passes you like you’re invisible. You wonder what he was going to do if he reached you. Kissing in public is too dangerous, even talking together arouses suspicion. You wait a second and follow him, each step playing around with your heart. As you round a corner, you walk into him, your body bouncing off of his. 

“I didn’t see you,” he said.  He did.  “I’m sorry.”  He’s not. 

  His fingers are on your arm, his eyes gawking at your cleavage, his tongue licking the middle of his chin. Staff pass by and he lets you go. He steps back and leans against a wall, his body pressing against its blank canvas like a work of art. People cut between you two, but neither of you notice, or care. He smiles, raises an eyebrow, and purses his lips with the pride of a million men. 

“Come with me.” he mouths. 

  As if you have a choice, you follow him through the people, past the place you had come from. A few staff turn to see the idol boy, his greetings charming, his stage outfit sticking out like a sore thumb. No one notices the girl trailing behind him, her eyes following him with determination, her legs clamped so tightly together, even as she walks. Haechan goes down a ramp until he’s underneath the stage. You hesitate a moment before following behind him. There is something about breaking the rules that has always scared you. Since you met Haechan, you had been doing a lot of that. Though you are terrified of being recognized, no one is paying attention to you.  He hides behind large black cases on wheels, their metal clasps shiny when the strobe lights from above the stage hit them. Stacked on top of each other, no one can see what’s going on behind them. To reach him, you step over wires and broken lights that have been replaced. The moment the space swallows you up, Haechan takes your shoulders and pushes you up against the cases. He unbuttons your jeans and slides his palm in until his fingers are cupping you. The rough way he rubs his hand against you makes your knees threaten to buckle. 

“This is dangerous.” you shout.

  The sound from the music above drowns out your words. You’re afraid he can’t hear you, but then he leans in close to your ear and tells you that the danger is the best part. His tongue is on your neck for a second before his head is between your breasts. He’s greedy. His hands haven’t stopped rubbing you, your clit so sensitive and swollen that you can’t feel anything but a soft burn. When he pulls himself out from between your breasts, you can see that his make-up has worn off, and his lips are puffy from sucking and kissing your skin. The strobe lights from above the stage are peaking through the cracks, lighting up his face in brilliant hues of purple and blue.

“Hi,” Haechan says. “It’s been awhile since I last saw you.”

 He removes his hand. He doesn’t pause to tell you to taste yourself, like he normally would. Haechan’s weakness is knowing how wet he makes you, and your weakness is giving in to him every single time. He hooks his fingers on either side of your jeans and pulls them down your thighs. They’re so tight that they won’t budge past your knees without a fight. Feeling frustrated, Haechan spins you around and bends you over one of the cases. Trying to get out of his buckled stage outfit also proves difficult, but the boy is determined. His cock is in you before you look behind to see if he’s free. The feeling of him never fails to flip your whole world upside down. 

 You say his name, and you say it loudly. The music vibrates your whole body, the heavy bass perfectly timed with his every thrust. The thrill of getting caught makes you want to scream every syllable of his name, each letter like a bread crumb leading to your hiding place. You think of how the music has to stop some time, how the lights have to turn on to reveal what is bent over in the darkness, and you wonder what it will be like when it happens. 

Haechan: Are you thinking of me?

You:  You wish. 

Haechan: I’m hurt.  Ah, it’s night time back home. Are you getting ready for bed? What are you doing?

You: Not you.

Haechan: You’ve been hanging around my friends too much. Seriously, none of you are funny. 

You: Does the thought of me hanging out with your friends make you jealous?

Haechan: Yes. We both know I don’t share. I miss you. I’ve been away for too long. It feels like I’m going crazy. 

You: Donghyuck, It’s been four days. 

Haechan: That’s too long.😣 Do you miss me?

You: No. 

Haechan: I’M HURT. 

You: I have a hard time believing that. What are you doing? How was the performance?

Haechan: I think it went well. We almost dropped Mark during Cherry Bomb. Right now, I’m getting ready to eat. Taeil, Yuta and Johnny want local food. I’m really excited.

You: I hope you’re enjoying yourself. ☺️

Haechan: I am. I’ve been horny.

You: Is that all I’m good for?

  The sound of the video call made you jump out of your skin. Like always, your volume was turned all the way up. You looked at your phone and saw Haechan’s picture staring back at you. At the beginning of your relationship, he had snapped a photo of himself and set it as the wallpaper for when he calls. “Don’t show this to anyone,” he had said. “They’ll never stop making fun of me.” In the picture he was acting cute, his finger poking his cheek. The way he looked was so far removed from how you saw him most days : sexy, naked, his face screwed up in orgasm. The word Devil was still a part of his name only you had added a little red heart next to it. You stared at his face a little longer before accepting the video call. 

“What took you so long?” he asked. “I don’t have much time.”

  You could see he was sitting in a hotel bathroom, most likely on the toilet with the lid down. When he saw you looking, he held the phone up to give you a short tour of the bathroom. He showed you the tub where he said he’d like to fuck you in, the toilet he was sitting on, and the sink. You weren’t as interested in his surroundings as much as you were in seeing his face. 

“It’s nice.” you said. 

“It’s nice until Mark comes in here,” he said. “Speaking of, he went out to grab something from Jaehyun’s room, so I don’t have a lot of time before he comes back. Let me see them.”

“Them?” you asked. You were playing dumb. You knew exactly what he wanted to see.

“Ahhh,” he groaned. “Why do you do this to me?”

  In the darkness of your bedroom, you didn’t think he would be able to see you well. You lifted up your shirt, anyway, and showed him your breasts. Haechan was dramatic when you revealed them, his mouth hanging open, the sound from his throat sounding like a croak. You pulled your shirt down quickly, the disappointment showing clearly on his face.

“You can see more of them when you get back.” you told him.

“Six days,” he said. “I can wait six more days.”

  It was the first time you were separated for more than three days. It had been almost two months since you started fooling around, but he came to your apartment nearly every day to spend time with you. Haechan being a staple in your life made it harder for you when he was absent. 

  During your short period of being together, you had grown too comfortable with him. You had exerted your time, patience and body far beyond what you thought it was capable of. There were days when your emotions completely took over, your happiness cradled in the palm of his hands. You were disappointed when you couldn’t see him, his fist closing tightly around any motivation you had for anything. In the physical aspect, there were days when your muscle aches were so bad after you finished fucking that you had to use muscle relaxing patches to get through your next work day. Fucking three times a night-sometimes four- was just as time consuming as it seemed. You were losing sleep, losing interest in doing anything but thinking of new ways to make him come.

  You liked to wonder how it was from Haechan’s point of view. You didn’t know how he survived juggling his schedules, priorities, and you, all at the same time. He should have collapsed from exhaustion, or at least aroused suspicion from his members and the staff. 

  Even through all of the risks on both sides, neither of you wanted to stop when the reward felt so good. Stopping was never an option, not for you, or him. You were as addicted to him as he was to you, and you could not get enough of your drug. After you made him come, you wanted to get back on top of him, riding him until your pussy was raw, until your thighs hurt from being spread apart for so long. You didn’t know when each of you started wanting to break the other, but the obsession was seeping into every part of your life.

“Let me see your cock.” you said.

 “What?” he asked. “My cock?”

 The shyness in his voice made you smile. You tried to hide it off-camera, but he could see the way your cheeks were rising. Haechan smiled, too, his laughter directed towards the floor. In the camera, all you could see was his Balenciaga hat and the little tufts of hair curling around his ear. In between fucking, you would lay with him while he fell in and out of sleep, your fingers curling that very section of hair. In moments like that, you thought about how easy he was to love, and how hard it was to stop. He stood, turned around and placed his phone against what you thought might be the top of the sink.

“Are you sure you want to see it?” he asked. “You might not be able to control yourself.”

 Haechan lifted up his shirt and tucked the end of the fabric underneath his chin. The belt he wore around his waist barely kept his pants up. He was losing weight lately, his body being worked in every direction. He unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his top button, brought his zipper all the way down until his briefs were revealed. When you saw his cock, it was soft. He rolled it around the tips of his fingers until it started growing to its full length. Your mouth watered at the sight of him. You sat up in bed, brought your knees to your chest and rested your phone against your thighs.

“How long do you think you have?” you asked.

“A few minutes.” he said.

 You didn’t have to tell him to touch himself. Haechan was already jerking himself off, looking down at his cock in his hands before looking into the phone camera. He turned to the side so you could have another angle of his body. Though it was probably wiser to keep quiet, Haechan did as he wanted. The moans filled the hotel bathroom, along with the sound of his palm around his cock. 

“Tell me you want me,” he said.  “Tell me you want your mouth around me.”

  You took your phone into your left hand. With your right hand, you dipped it into your pajama pants and started playing with your clit. Your eyes were on his cock, his fingers rhythmically moving to his deep sighs. There was something so torturous about seeing him and not being able to have him. You had to stop yourself from bringing the phone up to your face and trying to lick him through the screen.

“I want you,” you said. “I want my mouth around you.”

  You closed your eyes and imagined his cock sliding past your lips. You loved holding onto his hips and controlling how fast he fucked your face. You imagined what it would feel like to grab a handful of his ass as he did that. You tried to taste his imaginary cum, and how it would spill out all at once, like you had bitten into a delicious fruit and the juice was gushing into your mouth.

“Tell me…,” he began to say, his words breathless. “Tell me I’m the only one.”

“You’re the only one.”

  You were moaning with him, your voices rising in unison. Having sex via video call wasn’t what you had planned for the night, but you knew it was a vital part of your life. 

“Tell me-”

“-Tell you what? Anything. I will tell you anything.” you said.

“Tell me goodbye, Mom, I’ll talk to you later.” he said. 

  Your eyes snapped open as the video call ended. His selfie flashed for a second before disappearing. You were nearing climax, but the confusion made you stop touching yourself. You took your hands away from your pussy and read the text coming through.

Haechan: Fuck. Sorry. Mark. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. 

  You dropped your phone beside you and sunk back into your sheets, your pussy full of nothing but regret.

“Are you crazy?” you asked. “You shouldn’t be here.

“I wanted to see you.”

  He stood in front of your apartment at midnight, his hat low over his eyes, a face mask over his mouth. The way he looked reminded you so much of the night you realized you wanted him in very compromising positions. You had grabbed the first jacket from your entryway, which just so happened to be one of his that he left. You hugged it tightly around your body, the smell of him wafting into your nostrils.

“Just see me?” you asked.

He laughed. “Yes. Now that I’ve seen you, I can go.”

“You and I both know that you can never just go.”

“Perhaps I am crazy,” he said. “But I am also tired. Jet lag. I should be resting.”

“Don’t let me stop you then.” 

  You stood with a lot of distance between you. The way you were feeling as you looked at him felt foreign to you. Normally, you would barely talk before you stumbled into your apartment, tearing off each others clothes, pushing things onto the floor to fuck on the hallway table. With your whole relationship about the benefits rather than the friendship, it was easier to direct. You didn’t know how to handle moments when you were both forced to act like two non-feral people.

  You felt like you wanted to tell him everything you’d went through since he’d been gone. You wanted to grab a bite to eat where no one knew his name, sitting cross-legged on the floor, and watching him eat his fill. Wanting those things made you unsure about how you truly felt.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” he asked. “This is a one-time offer.”

“Okay.” you answered.

  You shut and locked the door to your apartment. When you turned back to him, his arm was extended. You looked down at his hand. Those hands had been all over your body. Sometimes you watched those hands touching other people and wondered what they would think if they knew they had been inside of you.

 Losing his nerve, Haechan pulled it back before you could take it. Without saying anything, you moved beside him and took his hand back. If he wanted to hold hands, you would give him what he wanted. You both walked half a block before you spoke.

“How was travelling?” you asked.

“Fun, “ he said. “I feel lucky. I’m so grateful for the opportunities. I like it. How was your time while I was gone?”

 You didn’t know how to answer truthfully so you just agreed that your time was equally as fun. Work days blended together when you had nothing to look forward to. You didn’t like to admit that you weren’t sure what day it was, or that so much of your life revolved around him. Luckily, he didn’t press you any further. It’s not that Haechan didn’t care what you were feeling inside, just that his outlook on life stayed blissfully positive, and you didn’t want to be the one to take that away from him.

“The clubs are still open,” Haechan pointed out. “I could use a drink right now.”

 You knew that holding hands in public was the worst thing you could do that wasn’t behind closed doors. You never knew who could be watching, their phones clicking away like the ringing of a cash register. The people stumbling out of the clubs could be people you worked for, or worked with. All it took was for one person to recognize Haechan and the fun would be over. You thought about letting go of his hand, but you didn’t want to. He sensed your fear and directed you away from the crowds exiting the club. 

“It will be okay,” he said. “As long as you’re with me, nothing will happen.” 

 You walked a few blocks before turning back to your apartment. The walking was aimless. After the club, you only came across a few people grabbing late night snacks at a convenience store. In the world the night had created, you both began to act more boldly. Haechan’s laugh was loud, his happiness contagious for people who passed you by. He brought you to him for back hugs, his arms squeezed tightly around you, his chin digging into your shoulder. Halfway back to your place, he got a message on his phone that stopped both of you in your tracks. You watched his face falter, his eyebrows furrowed together. 

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“It will be okay,” he said, repeating his line from earlier. “Don’t worry about me. Let’s just be here together.”

 You walked the rest of the way in a weird silence. You kept looking over at him to figure out was wrong. Worst case scenario: everyone found out about what you two were doing. Best case scenario? You didn’t know, but you were hoping to find out one day.

“This is where I leave you, my princess.” he said. 

 You stood in front of your door. Hearing him call you his Princess made you want to giggle. In the beginning of your relationship, it was Haechan who reacted in such a way. Taking his virginity made him a little dependent on you. He often giggled when you suggested new positions, or told him how pretty you thought he was. Now that you were far into knowing each other in the most intimate ways, it was you who couldn’t stop becoming so giddy every time he opened his mouth. He could see his affect very well. You wore it hugged closely around your body, just like his jacket.

“Be careful walking home.” you said.

  Haechan took a step forward. His figure was sexy, his eyes mentally undressing you. You thought that he might stay a little longer and fuck you on your apartment steps. Instead, he kissed you, his lips petal soft. As he pulled away, you could barely open your eyes to look at him. He backed away from you, his trademark smirk faltering just a little.

  He stopped to look at you after making every move. For anyone else, you would have faked your enjoyment, but for Haechan, everything was honest. If he touched you, your body quaked in response. You couldn’t stop your eyelids from fluttering, your body from moving up the bed to get away from his persistence. If he made you feel good, you let him know with your shortness of breath, your knuckles clenched around the sheets.

“You make the funniest faces when you orgasm.” he observed.

  You resisted the urge to take the pillow from underneath your head and whack him with it. Haechan sat between your legs, your knees hooked over his thighs. Often, you sat like this when you both felt too lazy for much else. He would play with your pussy for what felt like hours, his fingers pushing into you to see how many you could take. He would trace your labia with his fingertips, draw love hearts on your clit. He loved the way you looked when you were wide open for him, loved you shaved and unshaven. 

“It’s a compliment,” he said when he sensed your hostility. “I love everything about you, especially how ugly you look when you’re on top .”

  You clamped your legs shut, trapping his arm. He laughed gleefully, pushing your legs back open before climbing up your body. He laid across you, his full body weight crushing yours. 

“You’re heavy.” you said.

  Haechan flopped his body around, like a fish, until you felt his weight even more. You wheezed dramatically. The way you both joked around always made your day better. Laughing with him eased a lot of stress from your daily life. You used your hands to squeeze his cheeks. When he made a fishy face, you kissed his lips. 

“I could stay like this all day.” you said.

“Not me,” he said. “I don’t want you lying on your back the whole time.”

 You rolled your eyes, and he jokingly got offended. You pulled his neck down so that you could kiss him again. You made out like that, your naked bodies on top of each other, for awhile. The concept of time didn’t matter when you were together. There were times when you were thankful that all you did was have sex with each other. There was no fighting, no expectations, and nothing that could be torn apart if it wasn’t together to begin with. When your phone lit up, both of you pulled away.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“How am I supposed to know?”

  Haechan took one look at your phone lit up on your night stand and pushed it off. It clattered onto the floor, your protective case splitting in two. You started to get up to check on it, but he pushed you back down. He got onto his knees and pushed your legs up so that your ass was lifted off the bed. His distraction tactics were good, you had to give him that.

“I’ll buy you a new phone.” he said. 

 Haechan took your hands and interlocked his fingers with yours. When he entered you, your mind forgot the phone altogether. The way he moved wasn’t his normal fast pace. Haechan liked to fuck you hard, each orgasm strong and earth shattering. Passionate was not a word you often used to describe what you and him did in the bedroom. As he moved inside of you, he lowered his body down over yours until he was hugging you. He kissed you as deeply as he was thrusting.

10:02 a.m.

Haechan: You’re not answering your phone

10:03 a.m.

Haechan: Call me back

10:46 a.m.

Haechan: I’m sorry I left so many voicemails I don’t know what to do 

11:00 a.m.

Haechan: Pick up your phone

11:16 a.m.

Haechan: Johnny knows. He’s on his way to your apartment. Don’t tell him anything.

[fyeahbatcat]

BatCat has been unnecessarily broken up AGAIN, in the comics. After 80 years, most Batman writers are still hesitant to allow Catwoman fully into the Batfamily, alongside Batman. As if there has to be a protective shield for Batman, in order to keep Catwoman away. What do you think it'll take, for DC to remove the BatCat time limit? Allowing for Bruce & Selina to have a more sustained relationship. Is it all on Tom King? Do you think Matt Reeves can make an impact, with his iteration of BatCat?

I really struggled with whether or not I should answer this, because there’s no way for me to be completely honest and give you the answer you were probably looking for. In any case my answer is below the cut, but be warned if you’re looking for words of comfort and solace they will not be found there. I’m just going to be very frank in a way that some may not like. 

DC Comics and Tom King told us exactly who they are on July 1, 2018. At this point I’m really not sure what else you were expecting. Yes; I fell for it at the time. I drank the Kool-Aid. But if I didn’t know better back then I sure as hell know better now. Believe what the evidence is telling you; not what you want to be true. What is evidence says it that they’ve become so morally and creatively bankrupt that they’ve resorted to outright lying to their fans and screwing over small businesses to sell comic books. 

This is going to sound very harsh but now is the time to start developing a sense of self preservation. DC Comics is not going to change. It doesn’t matter how passionate, supportive, loyal, patient, or forgiving you are. Those things have no value to them beyond their sales margins. There’s no sense in hoping that something is going to come along and inspire them to have a change of heart. DC Comics is a greedy corporation: they have no heart. 

What do I think it’ll take for DC to make a long-term commitment to the relationship? Complete financial desperation. I’m talking Marvel-Going-Bankrupt-Couldn’t-Afford-to-Buy-Paper-in-the-90s desperate. That or, to a much, much lesser degree, a complete overhaul in leadership, editorial, and organizational structure. Neither or which I think are going to happen. Not soon anyway. 

You have two options here. Number One: 

When you stop expecting anything from them and then you’ll stop being disappointed. I know people who are some how able to just roll with the punches, and take the good with the bad. If you want to just be able to enjoy reading comics as much as you can you’re going to have to become one of those people. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. There are bigger, far worse things happening in the world and if comics are your sense of calm in the storm and you’re able to manage your expectations, it’s worth it to continue reading. Just acknowledge that at this point we know what to expect from them and there’s no point in making a shocked Pikachu face every time they do exactly what they’ve been doing for the last 40 years. 

Your other option is very simple: it’s time to divest from DC Comics completely. DC Comics is not going to change and they’re not going to eventually give you what you if you just hold out long enough. I had to learn this lesson the hard way, and I’m telling you this so you can make an informed decision on whether or not you want to spend the next ten years of your life being constantly let down like I did. They have no incentive to change. With that said, let me introduce you to what I call “DC Comics’ Cycle of Deception.” 

This isn’t a fine science or anything but it usually looks a little something like this: 

1. The Tease AKA “Fan-Baiting” 

DC Comics/affiliates “announce” something that sounds new and exciting  or game-changing by way of interviews, solicitations, events, social media posts, etc. 

 Examples: 

“Catwoman will be the co-lead of Batman”

Lois Lane is the new Superwoman

Major character *death* 

2. The Hype 

DC begins to hype “new and exciting” event usually through increased variant covers, planned collector’s editions, tie-ins, merchandise. Sales/ pre-orders and fan engagement begin to increase. Creators engage in interviews with mainstream media outlets such as Entertainment Weekly   

Examples: 

Approx. 152,069 exclusive variant covers of Batman #50

Damian Wayne Requiem series

3. The Catch 

When the time comes it is revealed that instead of delivering whatever new and exciting story was promised, DC Comics’ pulls the rug from underneath of fans. This is commonly in the form of a bait and switch or use of shock value. 

Examples 

Batman #50 

Lois Lane dies in first issue of Superwoman 

Character is revived from death after a few issues

Story is written off as AU or dream sequence and will have no impact on future stories

4. The Backlash 

Fan express intense anger online. The backlash is sometimes reported in comic/pop culture news media.

5. The Decline 

In the months following the backlash DC returns to the status quo. Readers lose interest in current books. DC Comics’ pre-order sales begin to decline. They increasingly lose market shares and are pushed out of top 10 pre-ordered titles by Marvel.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat. 

The problem with fans is we keep getting caught up in steps one and two very easily. We (and this included me for a very long time) are constantly rewarding DC Comics by throwing our money at them every time they do the absolute bare minimum. All they have to do is trot out batcat every so often in the most non-committal way and we come running. Every. Single. Time. 

They have absolutely no incentive to change, because we as fans have made it exceedingly easy for them to leech off of us. We can’t keep doing the same thing over and over again and expect different results.

If you’re really tired of DC and their bullshit and you’re ready to divest you’re going to have to stop subsidizing their scams until they’re ready to make a commitment. Full stop. That means no rushing out to buy the latest issue of Batman and Catwoman kissing on a rooftop or beach or whatever. Stop buying variant covers completely (DC and Marvel [but DC in particular] uses variant covers to artificially inflate their sale numbers. Don’t play this game). Don’t buy their bullshit Wedding Album or 80 Years of Batman and Catwoman, or whatever else worthless “collectible” hardcover they publish. Put the onus on them to earn your money. If you really feel that you must keep up with what’s happening with the characters, pirate that shit. 

If and when a time ever comes that DC is ready to commit to change and commit to their stories (and actually commit; not just say they’re going to commit; make them prove it) then, and only then, should you consider giving them any more of your time, attention, or money. 

I don’t say this to be mean or harsh or judgey. I’m saying this because you asked me what I think and I’ve been where you are. I used to think that if I was loyal enough and patient enough that eventually I would be rewarded with this big emotional payout. It never happened. I don’t want you to end up where I am. Trust me; it’s not fun on this side of jaded. 

Maybe by sharing my brutal honesty about all that I’ve learned from my experiences it will save someone out there from years of constant frustration and heart-ache. At the very least you’ll know what you’re getting yourself into. 

[leapyearkisses]

For the director’s cut: Orbs Are Bad News, please? Part 2 (or both, if you’re willing!) It’s one of my favorites 💗

One of my favorites, too! Thanks for the ask! :D I'll do both parts, with Part 2 to follow this a bit later.

Director's cut comments in bold below the cut! MESS, m/m, holding a handkerchief, etc.

This story came from a prompt on a writing meme about a character losing the use of their hands while having to deal with snz. I can't remember at the moment if the prompt was D&D-flavored or if I just picked that setting myself because I was really into playing the game at the time (still am!). Also I'm incredibly sleep-deprived, so I hope these comments don't ramble overmuch.

"Okay, we don't know what we're dealing with here, so let's be careful." Gerrit pushed open the heavy wooden door and lifted his torch to illuminate the room inside. The firelight played over several tables covered in intriguing objects and glinted teasingly off of more than one hint of gold. Gerrit himself spotted a stolid wooden chest in the corner and his heart rate quickened.

When I was a kid, my mom gave me the Dragonlance books and I fell in love with them, although it was a long time before I was able to play D&D myself. I attribute my love of the very traditional fantasy realm to these books and my enduring love of sickly mages to Raistlin (Soulforge was like an EXPERIENCE for me). Gerrit has his origins in Tanis Half-Elven - he's a good guy, kind of a normal/default fighter build. "Jackpot," breathed Remembrance, the party's resident ne'er-do-well. She rubbed her hands together, sharp nails clicking. Gerrit was sure she was assigning price tags to the lot of it, except for whatever she hid in her bags for herself, of course. "I know a guy in the capitol who'll pay through the nose for that pervy little statue there." "That is a religious object," chastised Cordes with a haughty tsk. "It's used in rituals of worship for the goddess Fortuna." "Oh, I'm sure he'll be worshipping," cackled Remembrance, and she slipped past Gerrit into the vault. "Few hundred gold and he'll be rubbing out a grand ol' prayer." Her pointed tail waved with greedy delight. "Hey! The proper course of action would be to bring it back to a temple!" Cordes went after her, pushing Gerrit aside.

Remembrance and Cordes are here to be the beta couple and provide background color. Their development was based on a few factors: A) a D&D party should have ~4 people with different abilities (fighter, sorcerer, cleric, rogue), B) a priest and a devil is never not a fun/ny dynamic, C) I'm not into F snz but I feel bad that most of my OCs are not women, and D) given that Gerrit is a "default" archetype, there needed to be differing characters to contrast his personality with (or he would seem to have none). Also I like dirty jokes, so Remembrance can be my humorous id for this purpose lol The half-elf grumbled but wasn't surprised. "At least TRY not to touch anything cursed," he called. He'd been the one to organize this little band, but although he was the one who reported to their patron, he had precious little influence over what they did. They were happy to point to him when some upstart had a problem with the party, though. Ingrates. He turned to the last member of the group. "What about you, Llewellyn? I thought I saw some books on the far table." "Lead the way," replied the sorcerer, and his usually mellifluous voice sounded strained. Purple shadowed the hollows under his faintly luminous silver eyes, and he had his nose tucked into his handkerchief again. Gerrit hadn't spent much time around full elves, but he'd always believed they couldn't get sick, at least not like a human or dwarf. Llewellyn had been dragging since Saints' Day, though, and seemed to have come down with a flu. His skin, where visible under his fitted robes, was wan.

Fuck up that slender, haughty elf man is an endlessly running subroutine in my head. "Sure," said Gerrit, and he stepped into the room, holding the door out so that Llewellyn could join him. "You, uh, you don't look like you're feeling any better." "Oh," said the sorcerer, "I'm not. I ran out of tonics." He entered the vault and walked over to one of the tables, investigating a strangely shaped glass bowl. "But as we were already down here, I'm not sure what you want me to say. There's no inn at which I might rest my weary bones." "Cordes could make you an herbal remedy," Gerrit grumped. He went over to the chest he'd seen earlier and smashed the lock off with the pommel of his dagger. He didn't need any fancy lockpicking tools like Remembrance's. And hitting something felt good when his companions were all intent to be annoying, acerbic, or both. "I suppose," Llewellyn replied, sounding uncertain as his voice wavered. Gerrit tried to ignore the way his ears heated at that. That was the tone that overtook the elf when he was preparing to sneeze. It wasn't any of Gerrit's concern. His occasional roll in the hay (literal and figurative) with Llewellyn did not make it easier or more appropriate to acknowledge his odd attractions, especially since they were currently ransacking a dungeon with a priest and a psychopath. He focused his attention on searching the chest, and he was rewarded with a heavy coin purse, a stack of calfskin-bound journals, and a ruby the size of a robin's egg. He whistled.

Gerrit and Llewellyn are the dynamic opposite of Eliseo and Padgett. Gerrit is the less-privileged, more personable, "low class" character and Llewellyn is the high-born, fussier, sarcastic noble; however, in this story Gerrit is the voyeur character with the fetish and the POV window while Llewellyn is tortured for everyone's amusement. Narratively it's more fun and easier for me to describe the non-fetish-having character because I also like the power of the narrator to be that voyeuristic eye. Llewellyn gasped. "Hah- hahttsch-ow!"

I made myself laugh while writing this hahah "'Ow'?" Cordes appeared from behind a bookshelf, one arm wrapped tightly around a thick rug, the other reaching for his pack of salves. "What is it? Cut? Burn?" When Gerrit looked, their sorcerer was rubbing his nose with his left hand. "Bruise," Llewellyn said. He lifted his right hand, in which he held a blue crystal orb that was knotted inside a thin lattice of gold chain. "I got my hand caught." He'd apparently run the thing into his nose when trying to cover his sneeze. Llewellyn's thin face was already dusted pink from the embarrassment. Gerrit couldn't help but laugh. "Very graceful," he chuckled. "I will thank you for keeping it to yourself," Llewellyn replied, and that was elvish dialect for "fuck you." Gerrit laughed again.

Embarrassment is a huge part of my enjoyment of this kink because of the ensuing power dynamics. The victim is thrown into disequilibrium by something (snz) that is inherently seen as socially inappropriate, disgusting, or at least uncomfortable. Almost always their reaction is outsized to what it would probably be outside of a fet context (most people can sneeze in public without feeling shame - which is the typical mode, lol. It's a normal bodily function). However, then the other character, motivated by their BF's anxiety and potential humiliation is prompted to caretake and comfort them, "approve" of the "shameful" act, and deepen the intimacy of the couple. They can also enjoy the embarrassment and the act voyeuristically while feeling their own discomfort about watching, then deal with either having to divulge the kink or be found out by their partner later (because consent is the sexiest thing, really). But I love my characters and I'm not into hardcore stuff so much, so there are almost never any consequences of the "humiliation" - the characters do not get caught out, they do not get shamed by society, they do not actually lose face or have to explain their sexual preferences to anyone who should not know them.

Now you know way too much about my psychology but also the basic formula for any kink story I have written or will write in my entire life. Yay! Cordes had leaned over to see the orb better in the firelight. He was the only one among them whose vision was hindered by the dim light. "What kind of artifact is this?" he asked. "It doesn't resemble anything I've studied."

Lol humans don't have darkvision. "I'm not sure." Llewellyn held it up to the torch. The orb lit up like a lamp, but otherwise nothing happened. "Whatever this chain is, though, it's very prone to tangling." He tried to shake it off his wrist and failed. This was a task for both hands, and he set to freeing himself. And kept trying. And trying. Gerrit frowned. "What are you doing? Cordes, would you get that off of him?" "Sure." The priest reached out to help, but Llewellyn suddenly backed away out of reach. "Uh... I'm not trying to steal it, elf." "Oh, I would let you take it," Llewellyn said, scowling. "But I have a feeling we would be in for some trouble if you touch it now." He held up both hands. His palms were wrapped around the crystal and bound with the ball in that thin gold chain. "I am... I'm stuck."

---

"STUCK," hooted Remembrance again. She was crouched at the entrance to the dungeon - a root-cellar-like set of doors they'd found in a small bandit settlement - and hauling out a heavy pack stuffed with loot. In the daylight, she looked menacing and out of place, her horns, dusky maroon skin tone, and black eyes setting her apart from this land's primarily human residents. "And you even said not to touch any curses!"

Jump cuts are funny! I love this kind of thing, honestly. It's some of my favorite humor - that and dramatic irony, which is also often depicted in visual media with a funny jump cut. "I recall you said so as well," said Cordes, who looked exactly like a run-of-the-mill human resident except for the star-like scar on his left temple. He reached down and grabbed Gerrit's hand, steadying the half-elf as he climbed out of the hole. Llewellyn was hanging uncomfortably on Gerrit's back, arms looped around the other man's neck. They'd tried to find a more dignified way to get him out of the dungeon, but he couldn't manage the ladder well enough without the use of his hands. "The artifact didn't react to my detection spell," sniffed Llewellyn disdainfully, and Gerrit was quick to set him down before that sniffing could become another sneeze. He didn't want to blush in front of the others.

Blushing is very appealing to me, so everyone blushes all of the time. "There must be someone in Veigh who can help you," Gerrit said. "We'll just swing by on our way to the capitol." The city was three days out of their way, but they couldn't have Llewellyn stuck this way for the two week trip back to their patron. With his hands bound, he couldn't cast any spells that required him to gesture, and that was almost all of them. He'd effectively rendered himself completely useless in combat. Veigh had a chapter of the Mages Guild in residence, though, and if no one there could help, they might at least be able to send Llewellyn on ahead via a transportation spell.

Let's go on a short tangent about names. Usually I name my characters using Babynames.com or similar sites and I pick based on the look, sound, and meaning of the names. For this little group, things were slightly more haphazard. Llewellyn is a Welsh name meaning "leader." I just happen to like this name already, but it also has a visual beauty and difficulty to pronounce on sight that lent it well to an elf character without me having to look up specifically elven names. When I make elf characters in D&D, I tend to give them a nickname or alias that is easy to remember and pronounce so that the name isn't a hindrance while playing the game.

Gerrit's name was picked based on sound. It is similar to the Welsh name Gareth ("spear ruler"), which is on purpose, but it was altered to make it a bit more fantastical/removed. It's appropriate for a fighter in meaning but also suits his more familiar/pedestrian half-elven experience vs. that of a noble elf.

Cordes was given a short name because he is a no-nonsense human, but I chose it to resemble that of conquistador Hernan Cortes because of the "holy invasion" and "treasure hunter" associations. Remembrance is named using the PHB's suggestion that tieflings often pick "ideal" names for themselves, and she has a complicated past (like most tieflings). "I will hope there is." Llewellyn looked pale and worn, though his fine features still exuded the otherworldly beauty of the high elves. His hair was a silky black, although mostly covered by his hood, and the contrast made his silver eyes look even more curious. He fumbled for a minute at his waist before scowling heavily. "I can't get into any of my bags, of course..." "What do you need?" asked Gerrit. Remembrance had started off through the trees, humming, her bulging pack swaying with her sinuous movements. Gerrit really didn't want to let her get too far ahead, not least because she was scary good at concealing herself in the foliage and might slip the party completely. However, Cordes was with her, and Llewellyn couldn't exactly fend for himself right now. "My handkerchief..." The elf's voice had gone wavery again, and Gerrit watched as his nostrils flared. Fuck.

Oho! Here is the plot and the kink conceit. Gerrit hurriedly patted his pockets until he produced his own handkerchief, or what he bothered with when necessary. It was a large square of flannel, rough around the edges. It wasn't embroidered or monogrammed like Llewellyn's, but he figured by now the flannel was a hell of a lot cleaner, and it was soft for an irritated nose. "Here, take mine."

Characters' belongings are also a good way to contrast their situations and personalities. I don't consider handkerchiefs particularly vital to my enjoyment of this kink, but they are a useful visual and I like to describe things. Small details like this are how you can worldbuild without having to do too much extra research. Llewellyn held out his hands plus the orb for it, breath hitching, but no matter how Gerrit tried to drape the cloth, it kept slipping off of the artifact. He supposed he could try to tie it around the-

This is just so funny to me XD Llewellyn made a desperate sound and tipped his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. His breath was coming in soft pants now. And he was raising the orb reflexively. Gerrit couldn't let him whack himself in the face again, so he did the only other thing he could think of. With one hand he reached out and took Llewellyn by the shoulder. With the other, he lifted the handkerchief and pressed it over the elf's nose. His fingers settled firmly on either side of Llewellyn's nostrils, and none too soon. After another half-hitch, Llewellyn ducked forward again with a quiet but insistent sneeze. "Happtsch!

One of the most pleasing sneeze sounds, tbh. Gerrit was sure he was beet red. “Bless you,” he mumbled. Through the cloth, Llewelyn’s nose felt hot, and any gentle pressure resulted in a bit of a squish. “Let me just…” "Whh- wait-" Llewellyn leaned into the handkerchief. "I'm nh- I'm not done hhH-" His eyes slipped shut and he gasped again. Gerrit swallowed and tried to ignore the tenting of his breeches. "R-roger that." He could feel Llewellyn's nostrils twitching against his fingers. "Hh...Haah- Hapttschuh! Snrk... Aptschiu!" His body rocked, and he took a half-step forward. Gerrit could hear the thick sound of congestion in the elf's nose as he tried to stave off another sneeze.

The desperation, talking through the sneezing, and congestion are all vital parts of this scenario. Unavoidable embarrassment + disgust factor + need for caretaking/mitigation. "Blow your nose," he said. "It will help." Llewellyn hesitated, but in the end, he had to comply. There was nowhere for the mucus to go except out. He started to blow with a gurgle.

I used to be really against mess, but the taboo/disgust part of the brain turns off psychologically a LOT during arousal and now I really do not find snz interesting without it. Snz without mess isn't embarrassing enough or visually exciting. Gerrit moved the hand from his shoulder to start rubbing Llewellyn's back. The handkerchief and his fingers were rapidly growing damp, but he really didn't mind. "There you go." He held the handkerchief to Llewellyn's nose until the elf moved back on his own. His nose was red and tender looking, and his cheeks were flushed rosy. He didn't seem to want to meet Gerrit's eyes. Gerrit didn't mention it. He didn't really want to look at Llewellyn either right now. It had been a while since the elf had looked so very fuckable.

Potentially due to my propensity to write fanfic about established ships, all of my OCs apparently have a history or mutual attraction out of the gate. On one hand, it's difficult just mechanically to write a scenario about a romantic or sexual encounter without there being chemistry and an excuse for them to already want to rub bits (obviously), especially in short stories, but I also cannot stand the thin veneer of situational causality that underlies porn (to borrow from Cards Against Humanity). If I can't care about my characters' lives outside of the one random fetish scenario, I can't care enough to write about them at all. He put the handkerchief in an easily-accessible outside pocket of his vest. "Ready to go?" Llewellyn coughed lightly. "Yes." "Excellent." Gerrit gestured for Llewellyn to precede him, and the two of them headed out through the trees, following the sounds of Cordes negotiating the underbrush and swearing about it. --- Travel proved easy enough once they made it to the road. They were fortunate not to meet anyone else along the way. The party could handle a group of bandits without their sorcerer, but they had their treasure to worry about, and Remembrance always drew stares, and sometimes aggression, even from normal travelers. Gerrit thought her skills more than made up for the extra negative attention they drew. And anyway, Remembrance was crazy but she wasn't evil. She did better out on the road than in town, but that was probably true of all of them. Llewellyn kept up with her pace, but it was clearly a struggle. He was usually fairly quiet, but he didn't speak at all as they walked, focusing on breathing and not devolving into coughing or more sneezing. There were a few times when Gerrit hastily reached into his pocket, at the ready, but Llewellyn fought back the itch with admirable determination. He kept his nose from running by sniffling heavily, which sounded somewhere between awful and revolting. Cordes commented on it multiple times with disgust, but nothing could be done. Llewellyn held his tongue, and Gerrit was reluctant in this case to offer the handkerchief without being asked.

Cordes is here providing the societal reaction and voice of reason lol, but there still aren't any consequences or shaming from them. I just imagine how fricking uncomfortable it would be if people acknowledged this porn scenario happening in-world and so that is never part of the story development. They found a place to camp about half an hour outside the small village of Tewks. Remembrance cleared out some brush to make a flat area for the bedrolls and then promptly decided she'd rather sleep in a tree with everything she owned. She found a good, solid oak a few yards from the camp and ensconced herself in the crux of its branches. She had a good view of the road in either direction and volunteered to take the second watch in the middle of the night, which was her favorite time. Gerrit agreed to take the first watch as Cordes started to set up his tent. The priest refused to sleep on the ground and always took an extra fifteen minutes to erect a curious one-person canvas canopy. It wasn't even large enough to sit up inside, but whatever. The priest never asked anyone else to haul it along, so Gerrit wouldn't complain.

Remembrance and Cordes are thus handwaved away from the sexual center of the plot and they will neither see nor hear anything they aren't invited to. These arrangements left him and Llewellyn alone together on one side of the fire, and he supposed that was preferable during the orb situation anyway. Llewellyn couldn't handle his own bedroll, help with the fire, or unpack any of their supplies. Gerrit realized he would probably have to help the elf eat, too. And... Well, when he noticed Llewellyn fidgeting uncomfortably, Gerrit took him out into a thicker copse to see to his other needs. They didn't talk about it... Llewellyn could hardly undo his own buttons, though, and it wasn't the first time Gerrit had taken over.

I am very into watersports, so it creeps in, although I don't think there's a friendly community out there for that like there is for snz, so I haven't developed any kind of presence for it. It appeals to me for pretty much all of the same reasons as described above. Maybe someday I will start writing those kinds of stories on this account as well, but I don't know if they would find an audience, so maybe not. By the time the fire was hot enough to cook over, Llewellyn had tucked himself up to sit on a tree stump, exuding an aura of furious self-reproach. Cordes took some jerky into his tiny tent with him - for some reason. Gerrit made up two bowls of pottage and sat himself on the ground at the roots of the stump. He put one bowl on the ground for himself and then held up the other. "Hungry?" "Not particularly," Llewellyn replied, voice blunted with congestion. He coughed. "But you're going to make me eat something, aren't you." "I'd prefer you do it willingly." Gerrit tapped the spoon on the side of the bowl. "Come on. It's hot. You'll feel better." Llewellyn growled in a manner more suited to orcs than elves. "I feel like an invalid." Gerrit sighed. "Well, if it makes you feel better, we can pretend you lost your arms in an owlbear attack very tragically." He could feel Llewellyn's fiery glare on him and smiled a little. "Look, we've all done stupid things while adventuring. I'm sure you remember when I tripped and knocked myself out on that knight's shield during the tournament." "I remember," replied the elf, begrudgingly. "Besides, you're sick on top of the whole orb thing. Maybe your detection spell wasn't sensitive enough. Maybe the thing's not even cursed! Maybe it's supposed to do this, and we just don't know why." "I have a hard time believing that. What possible purpose could this serve?"

Porn! Gerrit shrugged. "Don't ask me. Dad says my mother was a druid, but I haven't got a magical bone in my body." He tilted his head. "We could always try smashing it?" Llewellyn's rejection was forceful. "Do you want to explode?!" Gerrit chuckled. "Not really." Llewellyn sighed. Gerrit held out a spoonful of pottage. Feeding both Llewellyn and himself was a bit difficult, but Gerrit did well enough when he could alternate. It would be better if he could use both hands equally like Cordes, but he couldn't, and so he didn't. He just thought about it wistfully as he worked. Llewellyn ended up eating most of his bowl, then went back to sitting quietly and sniffling. Gerrit finished the rest and put the utensils aside to deal with later. And... Even though Llewellyn hadn't asked, he drew out his handkerchief again.

More caretaking, more intimacy. Gerrit is a kind and loving person even though he's a fighter by trade. "Hey," he began, trying not to sound awkward. "You wanna blow your nose?" No one else was paying attention and Llewellyn didn't need to inhale any more of that crap. The elf gave him a shitty side-eye. "Come on," said Gerrit. "Don't be like this." He patted the ground in front of him encouragingly as if Llewellyn was a recalcitrant cat. "I'm fine," said Llewellyn, and then betrayed himself with a quick breath. "Hah--" "Come on," Gerrit repeated, "before you make a mess."

He is also pretty comfortable talking about a lot of things that people with the fetish have generally admitted difficulty acknowledging. This is because even though he's the one with the fetish in this, he is also the "Padgett" character and practical and not caught up in the anxiety prison. Llewellyn came down off the stump to sit in front of him, legs tucked underneath, and rested the orb on Gerrit's thigh to balance himself. His eyes were pinched with reluctance, but Gerrit could see that the elf's nostrils were already damp. "Hah- hh- hurry," Llewellyn gasped.

People should sit in each other's laps. It's good. Again, Gerrit reached out with the handkerchief, enfolding his companion's nose. He could feel Llewellyn's breath fluttering against his hand through the fabric and hear quite clearly how it kept catching on congestion. "Hah-hngk- Hahgkttscht!" Llewellyn ducked forward with the force of it and Gerrit steadied him with a hand on his hip. "Ngkttsch! Hnggktxch!!"

The sneezes now involve nasal consonants because of congestion. Sometimes people tend to have a certain way their sneezes always sound, and I try to maintain that, but these details are important to show a change in the severity of the cold (and evidence of sniffling for hours). Gerrit bit his lip sharply to keep from saying anything, but his body was singing with arousal. Llewellyn hiccupped a short gasp and Gerrit pulled the handkerchief away to present a clean corner. The current spot had become soaked and silvery. "Bless," he managed after a moment, and he carefully readjusted the cloth. "Are you going to sneeze again?"

Hiccupping is also sexy and cute. Also I spelled that wrong in the original, gdi... Llewellyn nodded, eyes teary with the effort of the first bunch. Gerrit wasn't surprised; the elf had been holding back since they left the dungeon. He couldn't imagine it had been comfortable, but Llewellyn had his pride. He never would let Gerrit give him love bites either. Annnd Gerrit was going to have to stop thinking about that. "Haptsch!" Easier said than done. Really. But Llewellyn's comfort came first.

Voyeur with a heart of gold. "Hahkptsch!" The sorcerer groaned softly. "Hah- hh- Hgnaptscxhx!" Gerrit did his best to assist Llewellyn through the fit. He kept the handkerchief secure, moving it when necessary to keep it dry enough. He steadied the elf when the sneezes bent his body or when he felt faint from lack of breath. He even massaged Llewellyn's nose for him when he was trying to blow it and the congestion was stubbornly refusing to move. By the time he felt finished enough to lean back, Llewellyn was flushed and light-headed, swaying where he sat. Gerrit was sweating and needed a towel. "........Thanks," murmured Llewellyn, eventually.

Sometimes kink authors tend to just write out like twenty sneezes in a row and I hate that, honestly. (No shade - I don't even have an example in mind because I don't read a lot of stories anymore and everyone has their preferences.) I just think that the kink should support the storyline and not the other way around. The story should be enjoyable and sexy but have a narrative structure and coherent rising and falling action. Even if a fit is a sexy scenario (it is), trying to make your eyeballs power through a repetitive series of nonsense syllables is counterproductive and takes the reader out of the story and into the realm of annoyance, which disrupts arousal as well. "Yeah," said Gerrit. "Sure." He swallowed. "Let's wash up." He helped Llewellyn to his feet and they went a little way to a creek (generously; it was little more than a ditch through the woods). Gerrit gently washed Llewellyn's face, careful of his tender eyes and nose, and sent him back to camp to lay down for the night. He lingered at the water's edge to wash the handkerchief and, well, to take other matters in hand.

If ya know what I mean. Llewellyn was completely out when he returned, and Gerrit was grateful. He smoothed the elf's bangs back and then settled beside the fire to take watch. The woods in the dark were full of the sounds of insects and small animals moving in the undergrowth. And Llewellyn snoring and sniffling in his sleep. Safe sounds. Gerrit rested his chin on his hand and looked toward the road. Damn orb. It was going to be a long way to Veigh.

And this was getting long, so this is where I cut it to make part 2, which I will also commentate in a bit (hopefully after a nap =___=). Thanks!

[spice-chan]

Give me your vows.

Pro hero!au , marriage!au

Bakugo x fem!reader

Chapter 1 - My husband.

Word count : 2.4 K

There was no wedding. He was a hero, so it was a bit dangerous, plus, it’s not like you are in it for love. Still, it kind of felt like you were missing out on something every women should experience, the joy your friends described, how beautiful they looked in wedding dresses. You were prepared to get that, but now it felt like a massive loss that you never would, even though a part of you didn’t even want it anymore.

Love. The word still brought a searing pain through your heart, knowing you will never have what you once did. You dreamed of a future of the man you loved, Yuki’s kind smile filling your days as the two of you built a family together. All his little habits leaving a mark on your day, it was ripped away from you so cruelly.

Now your ‘husband in name only’, Bakugo, who you only had one conversation with, is in the car with you, driving you to your humble abode.

You were bitter, the taste remaining in your mouth throughout the whole drive.

It was so awkward as well, and you could guess that he also felt the same way, his default scowl was there, strong as ever, and his mouth had been sealed shut the entire drive, he didn’t even bother starting a conversation.

He parked the car, the house already fully furnished and ready to be moved into, including all your clothes and his.

Now all that’s left is to sleep and ignore the man next to you, or pretend like it’s a friend having a sleepover.

You moved to the door, unlocking it and twisting the doorknob, letting the fresh wave of clean air hit your senses. It was unfamiliar, not cozy like how you’d expect a home to be, it was stale. You slid inside, taking your shoes off at the door, your heart pounding in nervousness as he came inside too and took off his shoes. You went to the vase, taking out the extra key and handing it to him, deciding to break the ice.

“Here’s the key.” You said, holding it out to him, who took it wordlessly.

You offered a polite smile and went to the bedroom to change. Now that the situation sunk in, you accepted that you’re stuck for now, might as well try to get along. Bakugo saw the smile she sent him. He thought it looked oddly detached.

...............

You changed into your pyjamas, just some comfy shorts and a matching tank top. You hurried the process, knowing that Katsuki is waiting for you to finish changing to get on with it himself. You padded into the living room, and found his bulky form on the couch, scrolling through some of his social media. You coughed awkwardly, gaining his attention, and bringing to your own just how piercing and intense his gaze is. It made you nervous in a way, unsure of his thoughts.

“Uh, I’m done, you should go change.” You said, trying to hold the eye contact he seemed to be trying to make with you.

He promptly locked his phone, and left it on the coffee table, while heading to the room that you both now share. Damn, wedding nights aren’t supposed to be like that, ugh.

Now thinking about wedding nights, your expression fell, unable to maintain an optimistic view on the situation. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, in your eyes, fate had been too cruel to you. You were supposed to be with Yuki, and he was supposed to be with you forever. Now here you were, stuck with another man.

Why did you go through with this again ?

Taking a deep breath of the house which only smelt of sanitisers, you tried to bury your anguish. Bury it in the deepest parts of your heart, where Yuki resides, dead or not.

.........

Katsuki put on his loose sweatpants, mulling on his current situation.

He went to the dresser mirror, running his hand through his ash blonde hair.

His thoughts are interrupted when he hears your soft voice and gentle knocks on the door.

“Uh, Bakugo, I’m making some tea, would you like some? .” You asked. Bakugo was surprised that you decided to use his surname. He wanted to say ‘yes’, but was scared that would sound too desperate. So instead, he opted for -

“Tch, guess I could spare some time.” He heard you hum, then the sound of your footsteps padding away to the kitchen.

Bakugo had a contemplative look on his face.

This situation was so weird for Bakugo. He had zero experience with women, now suddenly he’s married ? Didn’t he skip steps ? Because this was awfully backwards.

He never thought the arranged marriage fiasco was for him, then again he never thought he’d be married to begin with. But here he was, with the most beautiful women he saw, married, living together, sleeping together...

Bakugo scowled as he felt warmth rush to his head. No, nope.

He heard your harmonious feminine voice call out to him, snapping him out of his reverie. He made a strangled noise and made his way to the living room. You looked up, but your brows furrowed in concern when you saw his face.

“Bakugo, you ok ? Your face looks really red. Is it a fever ?” You rambled on, making Bakugo growl.

“Shut up Shitty woman, I’m fine !” He exclaimed, his embarrassment growing at her show of concern. Unneeded, totally unnecessary and stupid concern.

You made a confused face, but couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it.

“Ok shitty man.” She responded.

“HAH” his hair literally stood up as he suffered an internal explosion, ready to wipe that mocking smile off her face.

“Do you take your tea with sugar ?”

“No no, repeat what you just said, damn scum!”

“Such fine tea, I’ll put you a table spoon then”

A fuse popped inside Bakugo.

This was going to be eventful.

Before Katsuki could snap at her, she give him his cup of tea, and started drinking her’s as if nothing happened. The fun moment was over, and no one wanted to address the elephant in the room.

She opted to scrolling through her phone while enjoying her tea then having another go at a conversation with him, but all in all, he seemed harmless, just enjoys exercising his lung capacity.

After a while, she finished, and moved to put her cup in the sink, from what she could see, Bakugo greatly resembled her current state. He looked like he was so sleepy, he could fall at any moment now. She moved to him and tapped his shoulder, once again becoming the target of his intense stare. The intense, vermilion stare.

“You should go sleep, you look tired, I’m heading to bed too. Good night.” You walked out then, leaving Bakugo to his own thoughts. Katsuki decided he should go to sleep to, but, next to you ? The idea of sharing a bed is discomforting, a notion never explored before, and now he suddenly has to do it with his wife who he only had a handful of conversations with, about two or three.

Fuck, should he just sleep on the couch ?

No, that’ll only make this more awkward, and Katsuki likes keeping his back in good shape. He walked into the room, twisting the doorknob and walked inside nonchalantly, but if anything, there was a scowl on his face. Your eyes ripped away from staring at your phone harshly. You locked your phone before Bakugo could slide into the bed and see the picture you were staring at. Putting your phone beneath your pillow, you turned your back to Bakugo and eventually fell into deep slumber.

...........

you read the document to be handed to Bakugo, finding that the only thing missing is his signature. Ok, it was all set. Although there was something that your parents agreed on with Bakugo and that is if the firm ever needed financial support in the future, he will help, that was a minor possibility and the ten percent share he will get will be very beneficial for him. The publishing firm your parents owned, which will fully belong to you in a few days, was extremely successful, having opened in several countries too. Your parents also have very suited quirks for the job, your mum’s quirk is photographic, she can remember any image she says, and show the image on any part of her body, while your dad’s quirk is memory, remembering any text he sees. It was probably a quirk marriage, but I never bothered to ask. I did inherit somewhat of a similar quirk to them, more so my dad. I can take one glance at a text and memorise it, while I can also paste it down anywhere I want, be it my body or a piece of paper. It fades when I want it to. Would have been a great quirk for a hacker, too bad me and computers don’t get along, so I settled to reaping the advantages during examinations only. And giving quickie book reviews.

Oh well.

Now that you are married, where you supposed to go hoke and make dinner ? Do take turns ? Do you pretend the other doesn’t exist like in wattpad stories ?

Ok, the last one just seemed like opening the door to drama.

Maybe you’ll be nice and make dinner, then that will make the atmosphere comfortable enough to discuss things, even if every cell in your body screamed ‘avoid situation’. This is something you can’t avoid, you had to be mature in this situation. But while your thoughts were in a state of chaos, someone else’s weren’t in a better shape.

Bakugo sat in his own office, looking at a document that entailed the things he needs to get working on to improve his agency. He debuted three years ago, making him 21- two years younger then you- but his agency was only established a year ago, and there was many things that could be done better, such as the support material and such. However, money wasn’t really the reason he married you, no, that was only a helpful benefit he can reap from it not to raise suspension on his intentions. And his intentions demanded he treat you well.

As one of the heroes known to be single and successful( he was in the top ten on his second year as a pro-hero), and your parents reached out to him for the set up. But Bakugo wasn’t a stranger to you.

He debated accepting, but in the end, not only can it help his company, but help him understand the enigma that is you.

Plus, you wouldn’t know what kind of greedy bastard you might’ve ended up with, even if he was foul mouthed with anger issues, he was still the lesser of two evils.

He decided to bring his document home to read over it at home, he packed his things and prepared to leave. He was getting nowhere anyway, maybe a change of setting could help.

His patrol hours were over, so he changed out of his hero costume, and took a quick shower, before promptly making his way home.

He unlocked the door, twisting it, causing a rush of air to spring out, a certain aromatic smell assaulting his nose, making his stomach grumble in complaint.

She made food ?

He walked into the kitchen, confirming what he already knew, as he saw a simple set up of two plates and cutlery, with drinks next to them, and your tiny frame-he failed to observe before, but your stature was pretty chibi sized compared to his- bringing the ramen over to the middle of the table.

“Oh, hey ! Good that I decided to make this when I did huh, I wasn’t totally sure when you get off work.” You greeted, smiling a tiny smile at him, hoping to ease him a bit. To be real, you were kind of walking on eggshells, would it be like romance stories when the guy decides to tell his arranged wife not to bother him and that he doesn’t need -

“Tch, thanks, I - uh- appreciate it I guess...”

Katsuki said, cheeks tinting at having to express gratitude like that. This was entirety too domestic for him, back when he roomed with dumb, dumber and dumbest, he was the one who cooked or they had take out, convenience store food was an option too. Definitely no women telling him ‘welcome back home I made dinner’. You were probably just trying to be friendly, he shouldn’t get ahead of himself.

He went ahead to change, opting to wear sweatpants again and just a sleeveless shirt.

When he came out, he saw her sitting on the dinner table with her serving of Ramen, putting an excessive amount of pepper flakes in it. Interesting, did she not put any inside because she thought he was some wimp who can’t handle spice ? A tick appeared on Bakugo’s forehead at the thought, finding it irritating when he was underestimated, be it war or food.

“Thank you for the meal.” He said, getting the pleasantries out of the way before taking the red pepper sprinkler from your hand and dumping an unholy amount on his plate. Your eyes bugged out, but you stayed quiet, waiting to witness his untimely demise. He took his first slurp, surprisingly handling it better then you thought, but you can see his cheeks starting to flush after a while. Seeing his struggle triggered your sadistic tendencies.

“Oh, you like spicy too ?” You asked innocently. He nodded, attempting to finish all his food without anyway water. You grabbed the sprinkler, “oh, this one doesn’t taste all that strong to a seasoned eater, you should have more” you said, putting some more on top of his food. The look on his face was comical, his red eyes looked defeated, until they burned with battle like determination.

“Tch, yeah, can barely taste it.” Bakugo lied, eating his food with renowned vigour. You resisted that urge to giggle. In no time, he actually finished his ramen, even though his ears and face were a fierce red. He then got a second serving( must be hard to try to maintain all those muscles) and put spicy in it again. What a simpleton. You grabbed the glasses and filled one with juice, directing your gaze to him as you gestured to them.

“Want some ?” You questioned.

He begrudgingly nodded, believing that he finally proved his tolerance to be worthy.

You found his insistence to be somewhat comical.

.......................

So this switches from second to thid point of view sometimes, I should rlly work on that. I wonder how Bakugo knows you 🤔🤔 guess u’ll find out soon enough. This chap was kinda filler, but i wanted to couchen the story before it gets more intense.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Wait let me try that again - spideychelle + "Angel in the streets, freak in the sheets.”

You’re absolutely right, Anon, so I’m very pleased that you and @itsjacobperalta picked this prompt! I had a lot of fun with it!

Operation Eight-Legged Freak

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle)Rating: M/NSFWWord count: 2396

Summary:

Despite being nice enough to give a select number of interviews after Mysterio blew his identity, Peter Parker is continually hounded for more. When the media discovers he has a girlfriend, they go after her too. Until now, she’s held back. Until now, they’ve been safe.

Michelle Jones grants a single sit-down interview and, boy, it’s a doozy.

31. “Angel in the streets, freak in the sheets.”

Operation Eight-legged Freak is a go, MJ texts Peter. She spies through the glass front of the coffee shop, searching until her gaze lands on the most reporter-looking person in there. Taking a deep breath, MJ centers herself and hauls the door open.

“Ms. Jeffries?” she asks, stopping at the table against the wall where a woman with decoratively oversized glasses is leaning too close to the screen of her laptop.

The woman straightens up and half-rises out of her chair with a hand outstretched.

“Miss Jones! Call me Elsbeth.”

“Michelle.”

As MJ shakes her hand, she focuses on clenching her teeth instead of her grip; the journalist’s gaze is sliding all over her, sizing her up as she probably internally composes some filler for the article she’s writing on Spider-Man’s girlfriend.

MJ wills the potential descriptions of herself out of her head. Peter’s been helping her practice that, reassuring her every time she comes up with a potential physical or character flaw that the press might hone in on. Of course, a significant portion of what he says is bullshit because he refuses to recognize anything about her as less than perfect. Dork.

“I’m just going to grab a drink,” MJ says, pointing towards the short line to the cash register.

“Oh, no, that’s on me. Or, rather, it’s on the paper. What can I get you?”

“Um, just a latte. Thanks.”

The woman gives her a phony smile and gestures for her to sit while she strides over to join the line. MJ takes the chair across from the open laptop and tries to relax into it. While she waits, she mentally goes over her and Peter’s game plan. Texting him might comfort her, but Elsbeth will definitely be watching. Which adjectives will she use to paint her picture of how MJ sits, how she scans her surroundings? She can’t worry about that. This interview is not about the reporter and MJ tells herself that she needs to remember how value she is.

Since the ‘Peter Parker is Spider-Man’ story broke, her boyfriend’s been under a microscope. It didn’t take a hell of a lot of time before the media found out he was dating someone and, though she hasn’t told Peter this, MJ’s planning unholy retribution against whichever little weasel at their school sold her out for a hasty buck. She suspects Brad. The attention now on her is the only thing keeping Brad’s dick un-punched.

Peter’s played nice―nicer than MJ would’ve in his place―in service of the super-persona the city knows and loves. Basically, he doesn’t want to besmirch the good name of Spider-Man. He’s made himself available for a limited number of interviews (decided upon with May’s guidance), in and out of the suit, always patient and smiling. MJ hasn’t been as accessible. As in, she hasn’t done interviews. Any. At all. Between her boyfriend, herself, her parents, Peter’s aunt, and Pepper Potts (who probably finds their exposure problems ridiculously easy to manage after years of wrangling Tony Stark), they determined that the best move was to withhold access to MJ. Now, being seen or used as an object goes against every belief she has, but this is a power move. They’d keep her as the queen among the pawns, the ace up their sleeve.

Turns out MJ isn’t the ace. She’s the joker.

The strategizing just seemed to go on too long and polite requests for Spider-Man interviews turned into microphones jammed in Peter’s face and photographers slipping into Midtown tech pretending to be parents picking up their kids. So MJ and her super-nerd devised their own plan, quickly realizing her time had come to do her part in shaping the Spider-Man narrative.

Half of what the papers and blogs were publishing wasn’t truthful, so MJ wouldn’t be either. She would grant a single interview and fuck with the press so hard that they would see her as an unreliable source of information (and stop asking questions), be made incredibly uncomfortable by her unprintable answers (and stop asking questions), or maybe just confuse them to the point that they couldn’t scrape together an article out of the array of utter shit she would present them with (and stop asking questions). The tabloid they picked out together for MJ’s interview also happens to already be on the other side of credible, which helps with making every word she says to this woman essentially worthless.

Ah, here’s Elsbeth with her latte.

“Do you mind if I record our conversation?” she asks, pulling her phone from her pocket.

“Please,” MJ says. She forces herself not to smile because she’d probably hurdle over polite and go straight to looking maniacal.

The woman taps her screen the second she’s set MJ’s coffee on the crowded tabletop.

“I’d warn you away from drinking coffee so young,” the woman says laughingly as she retakes her own seat, “but I guess you wouldn’t be sorry to stunt your growth.” MJ stares blandly back at her, gently swirling the mug, until she continues. “Because you’re already taller than Peter.”

She shrugs as Elsbeth quietly closes her laptop and slides the phone into place between them, eyes fixed greedily on her interviewee’s face.

“He likes my legs.” Before the instant spark of scandal in Elsbeth’s eye can be transformed into a follow-up question, MJ adds, “I think it’s a spider thing. Some kind of dark fetish as a result of him getting totally fucked by mutation. And you should call him ‘Mr. Parker.’”

Wrong-footed, Elsbeth tilts her head in discomfort at having to apologize.

“Sorry, yes, that was a slip in professionalism―”

“No, because that’s what I call him.” Now she’s just speechless. MJ raises her eyebrows like she’s explaining this to a child. “When we’re fucking.” An unusually mature child. “Should I have said at the start that his fetishes are numerous? My bad, I’ve never been interviewed before.”

It has now occurred to MJ that a liberal sprinkling of profanities through her answers can’t hurt either. Can’t hurt her. This interview’s going to require more redactions than a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey in a children’s library.

“I… I…” Elsbeth covers herself (or thinks she does) with a quick throat clearing and a dainty sip from her own cup of coffee. “No, that’s fine, I just normally like to begin with something more… general.”

MJ sighs.

“I regret to inform you that Mr. Parker’s tastes aren’t really in the realm of general.” She locks eyes with Elsbeth like she’s confessing a big secret. “He’s pretty fucking depraved.” After a second of enjoying the flicker of horror across the woman’s expression, MJ pretends to take pity on her. “Sorry, would you prefer if I call him Peter? You look uncomfortable.”

The journalist is darting her eyes around now, but, as ever, MJ isn’t speaking overly loudly and most of the customers of this place seem to get their drinks to-go; there isn’t anyone sitting at the tables nearest to theirs.

“General questions,” Elsbeth clarifies too late. “I meant general questions, about anything.” Something behind her eyes is beginning to look delightfully haunted and this time, MJ allows herself a grin and nods like she gets it.

“Right. Well, I’ve know that Mr. Parker―sorry, Peter―was Spider-Man since before we started dating.” Elsbeth visibly perks up because MJ knows what’s coming out of her mouth sounds like the first usable information since she walked into this coffee shop.

“That’s fascinating.”

And she does sound fascinated. MJ reminds herself it’s just the greediness behind getting a scoop, not legitimate interest in who Peter is as a human being or his many private sacrifices in the attempt to keep his secret before that dumb fuck Mysterio showed up.

“And,” Elsbeth probes, feeling around in the bag at her feet before extracting a pad and pen for supplemental notes, “what was it that made think your classmate was moonlighting as an Avenger?”

MJ takes a long drink of her latte and glances contemplatively at the nonrepresentational art print hanging on the wall beside them.

“He’s jacked as fuck.”

Elsbeth, who mirrored her by going for a sip when she did, nearly chokes.

“Anything―” She coughs. “―about his personality? That would make you think he’d lead a double life risking life and limb for strangers?”

“Oh sure,” MJ concedes easily. “Peter’s kind of a nerd, but he gets along with everybody. You know, one of those people who can be casual friends with a kid in every social clique? People in the neighbourhood who know him as Peter Parker love him too. He’s very nice.” And then she drops the anvil. “Angel in the streets, freak in the sheets.”

Really, Elsbeth should get into comedy. She’s great at abruptly shifting her expression from relieved to panicked. Jim Carrey made a whole career out of his ‘elastic face.’ This woman should totally find an agent.

“Haven’t you heard that expression?” MJ asks innocently, sliding two fingers through the handle of her mug slowly enough for Elsbeth to notice and potentially take as subliminal messaging.

“I’ve…” The woman trails off, lowering her pen again, and devolves her response into an awkward nod.

MJ laughs as though to herself. When she leans forward conspiratorially, planting her elbows on the table, the journalist flinches. She’d feel bad if the whole pack of media people in this city didn’t suck ass. Peter’s never done an interview with Elsbeth’s paper, and for good reason: one of their photographers followed him around for a week trying to get a shot of him changing in an alley as if he weren’t only seventeen years old. Yeah, today’s interview is more than a little about MJ protecting her boyfriend.

“We do shit you’ve never heard of,” MJ offers without being prompted. It doesn’t look like poor Elsbeth’s up to asking questions anymore. “In Peter’s bed, a missionary’s just a traveling priest and G-O-T stands for Game of Thrones, which we never catch up on because we’re too busy tearing another page out of the Kama Sutra.” She laughs like, isn’t this great? We’re having girl time. “Actually, I shouldn’t imply that G-O-T has never stood for ‘girl on top,’ because Mr. Parker does enjoy me riding his cock from time to time, but if we do that, I’m also wearing nipple clamps or I have my hands tied to a ring in the ceiling or something. That freak fucking loves his accessories.”

She takes a tranquil sip of her coffee. It’s actually pretty good and strong enough to keep her bouncing along through this interview. MJ respects an establishment that doesn’t skimp on the caffeine in favour of a mountainous topping of whipped cream. She might actually come by here again sometime.

“Ok,” Elsbeth says with sudden sternness, face contorted in a smile that hints she’s trying to convince herself that, somehow, everything will be fine. “We’ve covered all my questions―” MJ nearly snorts coffee out her nose at this barefaced perjuring. “―so I’ll just,” she explains, shoveling her things into her bag, “give you a call if I need anything else.”

MJ smiles as the journalist gets to her feet.

“Sure thing. I’d shake your hand,” she says, looking up at Elsbeth from her chair, “but you don’t want to know where mine have been. Or, if you do, that’s something we can cover in that phone call.”

The woman gives a nervous laugh and puts her palms up to ward off a handshake.

“No, that’s… we’re good. We’re all set.”

“‘K, great.”                  

“Thank you for your time.”

The disturbed look mounts Elsbeth’s face before she’s completely turned away from MJ, which just adds to MJ’s delight when she gets to call out to her.

“By the way,” MJ says as the journalist turns, fight or flight likely seconds from kicking in judging by the tension of her stance. “You know I’m a minor, right? So publishing anything I just told you would look pretty bad.”

The woman probably suspected this in the rational part of her brain that MJ’s spent the last half hour scaring into hiding, but she certainly looks irritated by the reminder.

“I guess you’re right,” she acknowledges tersely.

MJ nods to agree that, yes, she is 100% correct, and swallows the last of her coffee.

“Also, because I know you work for the kind of place that likes to share tip-offs with other scummy publications, I’d like you to feel free to spread the word that Spider-Man and his girlfriend are not to be fucked with. And neither is Peter Parker.”

After the woman flees, MJ slumps back, hand shaking as she rotates her mug in its saucer. When the quiet grinding noise breaks through the pounding of the adrenaline-accelerated heartbeat in her ears, she reaches for her phone instead.

Tell me how it goes, Peter texted.

She’s too jittery from confrontation and caffeine to sit any longer, so she pushes away from the table and calls her boyfriend instead, raising the phone to her ear once she’s on the sidewalk with her hood pulled up; it’ll take a little time for the warning to be distributed and, in the meantime, she doesn’t want to be recognized. One interview was enough.

“MJ?” Peter asks from the other end of the line. “How was it? What happened?”

She’s silent long enough to realize she actually isn’t sure how to put it into words.

“I’ll tell you everything when I see you, but there is one thing you should know right away.”

“What is it?”

“I think I made up a sex position.”

The truth―the real truth―is that they’re seventeen, missionary has been a trusted friend, and MJ’s only ever made brief eye contact with a copy of the Kama Sutra from across a display table at a bookstore. She hears her boyfriend inhale sharply before responding with obviously forced coolness.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhmm. We’re gonna try it.” If her adrenaline’s up, so is her bravado.

Peter fumbles his words, communicating nothing at first, then, “Why was that something I had to know right away?”

“Because,” MJ says, straining to make out the signs above the upcoming storefronts, “I’m planning on stocking up at the sex shop in the next block and I need to know if we’re going to have your apartment to ourselves when I get there.”

[kyndaris]

Living the Lie

This is a short story I uploaded first to my Fictionpress. Maybe one of these days, I should really take a mental health day from work. Or find some gosh darn direction in my life. But, if I did...would I be as inspired to write? Ah, the bane of being a creator.

Throughout my life, I’ve always watched as others raced ahead. It hasn’t been easy. Keeping my head above the surface of the ocean known as life. Every moment, I fear a wave crashing down on me, or when my strength fails and I stop treading water. Worst of all is when you see people posting up their picture-perfect lives and outstanding achievements on social media when you’re all but drowning in a dead-end job that had nothing to do with your degree or the hopes you fostered as a young child.

No one needs to reminded of their failures. So, please take your bullshit and spam it on someone else’s wall. And don’t, for the love of God, downplay it in your bid for the most likes! I can tell when someone’s fishing for compliments and I won’t abide by it.

You might be wondering where all this vitriol stems from. The answer is simple. It comes from a deep well of antipathy and frustration. Of being listless and rudderless. Of having no aspirations when you graduated high school at the top of your class and watched as all your dreams were dashed against the rocks of reality before they even had the chance to bloom.

No. This is no fairy tale full of happy ever afters. This is reality. This is truth. Where those with direction and purpose are able to find fulfilment while their silent and unsuccessful counterparts fall prey to their insecurities or keep it tightly tucked away under lock and key. And then suffer the repercussions with sleepless nights before they turn towards drink or prescription drugs to ease their suffering.

It was not always like this, you know.

I remember a childhood filled with dreams. Of jumping between obsessions as if they were Halloween costumes. One day, I fancied myself an esteemed surgeon of some repute. Another would see me shredding tunes on my plastic guitar.

None of that was enough to prepare my young self for the despair and doubt and fear involved with surviving in a world that does not have your back. And which is always eagerly anticipating your fall into destitution.

Because the fact of the matter is: no one cares. No one ever will. You’re just another number falling through the cracks of welfare. A bottom-feeder trying to wring what’s left from the upstanding, proper tax-paying civilians.

Over the years, in order to survive this cruel world, I’ve clung to whatever job that came my way. Lived pay cheque to pay cheque. Constantly concerned with what the future held and green with envy with the respectable lives of my friends.

It was enough for anyone to contemplate the unthinkable.

The entire world owed me. And if I wanted to live in this world of unfamiliar faces and sacks of meat with their wallets full to bursting, I would need to take everything that I wanted, consequences be damned!

The job I had in mind was simple in concept. It was the execution that turned out to be my downfall, as you’ll soon learn.

At the time, I thought my plan was full-proof. I would use others just like me. The downtrodden. The world weary. But even the most meticulous and well-laid ideas can fall through.

Much as it did in this instance, considering that I’m penning this even as I await my final verdict at court. But neither the judge nor the jury will delay me from my magnum opus. This will be my final piece of work before oblivion greets me after the next few hours. The weight on my shoulders is unbearable but press on, I must.

It started off as innocuous as could be. I was the perfect friend, eager to help. And so, when my friends were putting down for mortgages and then taking expensive holidays overseas, they would invite me to house-sit. It was a simple task and some of them even bothered to bequeath me with gifts for taking some time out of my week to look after their precious belongings.

Slowly and surely, though I am loath to admit it, I became greedy. Seeing all the things that they had but I did not, sparked something in me. They did not know it, but I would squirrel away trinkets that I knew would not be missed. Maybe a Rolex here, or a few hundred dollars that they had hidden underneath the mattress. It was so easy and simple. And none of them the wiser.

But as the years dragged on, I found myself grow ever more listless. What was the whole point of living? Everything was all so routine. Nothing could surprise me. And with that came the dread of waking up every morning, knowing that life was meaningless.

There was some trouble at work.

To numb myself from it all, I started drinking. First, it would be a bottle of beer with my co-workers every Friday night. Then, it would be two shots of whiskey every night. I knew that I had a problem when I was chugging down three cans of piss-poor beer just so that I could function for the day ahead.

It came as no surprise when the severance package came. I took it, hoping it would be enough to pay my overdue bills as well as indulge in my alcoholism.

Gradually, though, I realised that trying to drown my doubts solved nothing. The peace I sought was a lie. If I wanted to make something of myself, I had to act.

Two years it took me. Until I finally landed an enviable sales position at one of the leading security firms in the entire city. Though I had my fair share of problems, it was my fair share of connections and skilful networking that ultimately won me the part. Having landed the job I so highly sought, I began the second part of my plan – unable to be satisfied with the paltry salary that I was expected to live off.

While I had suffered a few casualties among my side-job of house-sitting, in my extensive friendship circles, I was still a trusted and respected member of society. It was no difficult thing to convince them that I had shed my old ways and had devoted myself to keeping their belongings safe from undesirables – and at a discount that they could hardly say ‘no’ to.

Slowly but surely, I built up a most trusted portfolio and sent off bits and pieces of information to my accomplices. With the job already cased and the codes to the alarms provided, it was a simple affair of waiting for the right opportunity to strike.

The first few jobs were a resounding success. Thousands upon thousands began pouring into bank accounts before being evenly distributed through private transactions.

But it all slowly came apart when the others became greedy.

I remember one incident at the office. It was late and I had stayed back to fix up some paperwork. Even though I had almost a million dollars tied up in investments, I could not draw attention to the vast amounts of wealth I now had. It had to be used sparingly. A little here, a little there – if I wanted to keep the tax agents off my trail.

His name was Doug. A stupid fellow, really. More of a hired muscle than someone I would have deigned to initiate cerebral conversations with. In he barged into one of my most innermost sanctums, caring not that at any moment he could have disrupted our tenuous business network – demanding more. Always more.

More, more, more, more, more.

You can imagine how maddening it was for someone of my intellect having to rely on such individuals for my masterplan to work. And yet, rely on them I must for it would not be detrimental to everything that I planned if I was seen in the midst of a crime scene.

Still, Doug had made his point clear and I strived to find more lucrative targets. Who was I to deprive my employees of a bonus or a raise? Not if it meant that I was beaten to almost an inch of my life. Besides, more money for Doug also meant more money for me.

For two months, we managed to rake in far more than the quotas that I had set. I will admit, the success we had found had made me giddy. I wanted to keep pushing the boundaries – take on more risks, for the reward when we had overcome all obstacles was a high that I never wanted to come down from. The rush, the thrill…

And that was the fatal mistake I made.

Instead of being satisfied with what we had managed to do and laying low for a time, I was eager to do something much bigger. I allowed my base greed take control and dictate my actions rather than heeding caution, even when my security business was hit by an audit and was under much tighter scrutiny than it had ever been.

Yet the thrill of it! Oh, I could wax poetic about how invigorated I was during the last several months as I played the elusive mouse. To steal a quote from the deplorable detective known only as Sherlock Holmes, the game was very much afoot. And I was eager to win it.

To show everyone I was more than the dowdy middle-aged man with a growing bald spot.

Alas, you know how the story ends. I won’t trouble you with the details that were splashed across the newspapers for weeks on end. What I will reveal is that in those days leading up to my arrest, the betrayal struck a deep blow to my confidence. I knew it had been foolish but I had thought that over our long acquaintance, I would have been able to trust Charlie.

The gun feels heavy in my hand. I bought it soon after my encounter with Doug at my office. A means of self-defence should something similar happen again.

I kept it strapped to the underside of my desk. An insurance policy for dealing with my less than savoury associates. One could never be too careful and I had learned that the hard way.

They say that to take one’s own life is an act of cowardice. But as a I stare at this carefully constructed piece of metal, I cannot help but think that the old adage is a lie. Perhaps it is my pride but there is something beautiful about going out on my own terms instead of wallowing inside a prison cell.

What is important to leave behind is not my wasted body but instead my legacy. To have others know that they are not alone in their fight against this oppression of the mind and soul. I could have been a successful businessman had the fates looked kindly on me. I could have lived my life with a smile on my face, spread out on a beach towel on Venice Beach. I could have been the one that had both a wife and loving son.

All of it could have been mine. Had not others stolen the happiness I could have achieved!

It is nearly seven. By eight thirty, I will be bundled into a police vehicle and escorted back to court. I know that any form of resistance would be futile.

But I am so tired…

Tired of what this world aspires to be. Tired of the expectations placed upon all the young boys and girls as they are constantly reminded that they are special. That they have purpose and meaning. Only for them to find out several months before graduation that they will only be a very small cog in a very large machine.

To the first responders that will find this: I apologise for the mess. In the end, it was not as easy as I had hoped. I dithered on the cusp right until I saw the first flashes of red and blue.

To those that were hoping to recoup their losses: again, I apologise. Perhaps you will be able to sell some of my assets (little though they may be).

And finally, to the jurors. I will not hear how you have judged me. Or my actions.

Still, let it be known that I, being of sound mind and body, do enter in my final testimonial. To shed some truth on the world and cut away the lies we weave around ourselves.

I may not be a good man. But I am my own man. How many of you can say the same?  

[la-knight]

Books I Read in 2016_::_The Sinister Sweetness of Splendid Academy by Nikki Loftin

“When my mom was alive, she read me stories every night.

‘Use your imagination, Lorelei,’ she’d say, ‘and your whole life can be a fairy tale.”

I wanted that to be true. But I should have paid more attention to the fairy tales.”

When Lorelei’s old school mysteriously burns down, a new one appears practically overnight: Splendid Academy. Rock-climbing walls on the playground and golden bowls of candy on every desk? Gourmet meals in the cafeteria, served by waiters? Optional homework and two recess periods a day? It’s every kids’s dream.

But Lorelei and her new friend Andrew are pretty sure it’s too good to be true. Together they uncover a sinister mystery, one with their teacher, the beautiful Ms. Morrigan, at the very center. Then Andrew disappears. Lorelei has to save him, even if that means facing a past she’d like to forget – and taking on a teacher who’s a real witch.

What Lorelei and Andrew discover chills their bones – and might even pick them clean!

1.85/5 stars

So I read this book a while ago, and the first time I read it, I really liked it. Not love, but I enjoyed it just fine. I’m not snobby about the target age of my reading material: I love Dragons Love Tacos as much as I love Red Queen as much as I love The Night Circus as much as I love Aru Shah and the End of Time. And I read The Sinister Sweetness of Splendid Academy at a dark time in my life (I have many) when my depression went undiagnosed and therefore untreated and I couldn’t handle much in the way of length or high-high stakes or grimdark or anything like that. So this book was perfect because it had stakes but it’s easier to care about one kid’s life than about, say, the war for the Iron Throne on top of all your faves possibly getting killed by ice demons or zombies. And I enjoyed this book.

More recently, I’ve reread it, and…well, I didn’t love it or like it as much as I had the first time. I didn’t hate it, but I definitely didn’t love it.

People talk about purity culture, which is hecka toxic, and I’m not here for that (I don’t judge people’s reading material unless it’s something drastic, like shouting from the rooftops how much they enjoyed Mein Kampf because, um, yikes). If there’s a book that I’ve heard is problematic, I may or may not read it for myself, depending on the nature of the issues and whatever. No media is perfect, it’s a balancing act. If I’m titchy about the person getting my money, I’ll buy that book secondhand so they don’t get any of my money (this is what I did with Stephenie Meyer, Suzanne Collins, Cassandra Clare, Anne Rice, James Dashner, & JK Rowling, for example). Not difficult to do. The obsession with consuming so-called “pure media” can be super bad and result in things like anon harassment or even death threats. I’ve seen this happen. On the flip side, the push against both problematic content and purity culture, when dealt with rationally, has led to some really great discussions regarding media analysis and critical thinking with regard to story consumption, and that’s great.

Why is this relevant?

So I reread Splendid Academy after some exposure to articles, essays, blog posts, and tumblr posts about several topics - including the pervasiveness and lethality of fat-shaming (among other things, like the silencing and condemnation by society of justified female anger). I did not go looking for these posts, they just trickled into the fringe of my social awareness as a result of using social media. I’d read them, reblogged and retweeted them, but I didn’t consciously try to apply those posts to Splendid Academy when I reread it. But this time through, the book made me super uncomfortable, although at first I didn’t quite understand why. I had to sit and, as they say, “think muh thoughts” all the way through a few times before I figured out what was bothering me.

The very basic dual premises of this book are sexist and fat-phobic. Now, I’m fat. There’s a lot of stigma around being fat. I mean, people have died of treatable, not-fat-related medical ailments because their doctor refused to look for those things, falling back on “just lose some weight and you’ll be fine” instead - and then boom, it’s something like cancer (which is not exacerbated by being fat) and the person dies.

(I am not Google. You can Google this information if you really want to. It’s all over Tumblr, Twitter, and Google. Don’t bother me about it)

The sinister nature of Splendid Academy is that its run by three witches fattening up all the kids to be eaten. Typical “Hansel and Gretel” motif, right? Except! In “Hansel and Gretel,” the kids are literally starving when they come upon a food source, an adult tells them to eat and eat and eat (it’s not their idea), and Hansel ends up locked in a cage by the witch and force-fed because the witch* threatens to kill his sister if he doesn’t. A lot of fairy tales (original ones in Grimms collections and by Andersen and whatnot, I mean) have morals of various types. The moral of “Hansel & Gretel” is not “gluttony should be punishable by death” or “being fat makes you a worthless human and it’s why bad things happen to you.”

(*By the way, the stereotypical long-nosed warty witch who eats Christian children is an anti-Semitic caricature of Jewish women and it’s gross; luckily the author doesn’t do that)

But in this book, the kids almost seem to bring their imminent demise on themselves by eating too much junk food. Sort of like how the narration says Augustus Gloop ended up turned into semi-sentient fudge in Charlie & the Chocolate Factory because he was a greedy glutton and not because Willy Wonka is a colonizing* sociopath who should never be in charge of minors.

(*Three words: Fucking. Oompa. Loompas.)

All but one of the kids attending Splendid Academy are snackers. These twelve- and thirteen-year-olds will snack on Skittles or sunflower seeds or whatever while they do homework or school work. They’re fed gourmet breakfasts and lunches in the school cafeteria every day. The food is enchanted, of course, to be highly addictive and also enchanted so that it transforms immediately into fat, apparently? Bypassing the stomach entirely, I guess, because the kids never get full and literally just eat all day every day that they’re in school.

Wait, you say. If the food is enchanted, it’s not the kids’ fault they’re eating it. That’s not fat-phobic at all. What?

I said all but one kid has fallen for these magical machinations. One boy (not our protagonist Lorelei, but her friend Andrew) is basically immune to the call of the candy. If the One Ring of Power was candy, he’d be movie!Faramir and Lorelei would be Frodo. And why is he immune? Because he’s got a fairy godmother? He’s magical himself? He’s a total nerd and studied mythology and knows how to spot ensorcelled edibles a mile away?

Nah. It’s cuz he went to fat camp.

Y’all can’t see my face right now.

Now, to be fair, apparently Andrew was a compulsive eater and needed some kind of intervention because he was out of control (which, also being fair, is a ridiculous and tired trope about how fat people can’t control themselves around food and we need to kill that with fire and not spoon-feed the idea to tweens, thanks). But even with the blegh back story of compulsive eater, YOU DON’T SEND A TWELVE-YEAR-OLD TO FAT CAMP, OHMIGAWD. Unless he’s got PICA (that mental illness where you compulsively eat dangerous or non-food shit like glass or soap or carpet lint) or whatever, he’s not compulsively eating because he’s the next Augustus Gloop and he’s a spoiled brat who hates the word “no.” I used to be a compulsive eater as a kid (which is oddly not how I got fat). I developed the habit if “eating my feelings” because I WAS SUICIDAL AND FOOD WAS THE ONLY THING THAT EVEN HELPED A LITTLE BIT.

And you know what helped me curb my compulsive eating when my depression got really bad? It wasn’t the taunting about being fat or my mom telling me I needed to go on a diet or my dad asking me constantly if I really shouldn’t put back that second cheese stick or applesauce cup. What really helped me stop compulsively eating WAS TREATING MY FREAKING DEPRESSION.

Ahem. However, the book does do one thing sort of right with this kid - because he HAS UNTREATED DEPRESSION went to actual therapy (for the compulsive eating specifically and not anything else that might be wrong) while shipped off to fat-person exile because his parents are horrible people, he can recognize “trigger foods”* - the foods that he would compulsively eat and would make him overeat when he was upset, foods he now avoids. They got that part right. But it also means he’s more selective about what he eats (which is fine) and has more self-control than the other kids (um…), self-control he learned thanks to an entire summer at fat camp (UM…), and his sheer determination alone to not “stuff his face” helps him shake off the herion-addictive magic laid on the school food.

ExCUSE me???

(*Side note, I’m on meds now for non-food stuff that screw with my appetite and also I’m a broke bitch but as a kid/teen, my trigger foods were bread, apple pie, cake, waffles, and fruit bagels. I can still, if I had money, eat an entire angel food cake but that’s not a trigger, it’s just super fluffy and delicious)

So our sidekick is a former fat kid with untreated mental health issues who got sent to fat camp and thanks to the miracle of fat camp has now overcome his unhealthy dependence on food AND has the will power (forged from denying his inner fatty) to throw off three witches’ worth of addictive magic. Something Lorelei only manages to do after she eats magical dead-kid bone chips. Because she and the other kids have no self-control and so just eat and eat...apparently.

Alrighty then…

But Andrew’s not our lead. Lorelei is. And Lorelei interesting as a middle grade protagonist. Her mom recently died of cancer and Lorelei blames herself (because that’s what kids do) and she’s filled with even more confusion, fear, self-hate, and anger than a typical tween girl as a result both of her mother’s lingering illness and ugly death as well as the fact that Lorelei at one point jerked away from her mom during an argument and, due to chemo-induced weakness, her mom lost her balance, fell, and broke a bone.

Lorelei is lost and angry. She makes friends with Andrew and finds out about the witches and their cannibal plot while still struggling not only with her mom’s death and her own guilt, but the screwed-up situation with her family. What situation? Her dad and older brother are 100% emotionally abusive and treat her like she’s some kind of bratty little monster because she’s feeling sad and guilty and scared and angry all the time.

HER MOM JUST DIED YOU BUTTHOLES, SHE’S GOING THROUGH PUBERTY WHICH IS A HORMONAL HURRICANE OF DEATH THAT RUINS EVERYTHING, AND YOU POOP-WAFFLES ARE HELPING NOT AT ALL AND YOU SUCK.

This is a MAJOR pet peeve for me because too often emotional abuse is normalized in middle grade fiction, especially when it comes from parents (this book, The Night Parade by Kathryn Tanquary, All Four Stars by Tara Dairman, Young Wizards by Diane Duane, and even in Harry Potter, perpetuated by some of the so-called heroes) and it drives me bat-crap.

This is a middle-grade review, so I’m trying to keep it PG13.

The head witch, Ms. Morrigan, is drawn to Lorelei because of her anger and how lost she feels, and instead of eating her, wants to adopt her and make her into a baby cannibal-witch. This would be kind of a cool angle except once again, it reinforces that Lorelei being angry about her mom being dead is a flaw iin her character and not a completely understandable psychological response to a tween’s universe being ripped in half by the concept of her mother being gone forever.

Her dad and brother are “good guys” and disturbed/horrified by and condemning of her anger, grief, guilt, and fear, and they punish her for it. Ergo, according to the narrative, her anger is bad. The evil witches who literally eat children admire her anger and say it proves she should be one of them, too. Ergo, her anger is double bad. She only stops being tempted to join with the witches once she realizes being angry about her mom dying is “immature” and “bad.” Ergo, blah blah blah, girls should never be angry, it’s unladylike and turns you into a flesh-eating witch.

My parents spoon-fed me “demonstrating anger in any way for any reason is bad” along with a HUGE helping of “being angry about feeling powerless makes you a bad person” for six years of my adolescence, then wondered why I started self-harming, developed depression, and attempted suicide on multiple occasions before I was twelve. The message that a child’s anger in the face of powerlessness, death, or sudden and unpredictable changes to their homeostasis is an inherently bad thing that should be punished and makes them bad or evil can be incredibly damaging. Her mom died. A twelve-year-old girl is allowed to be confused and sad and hurt and angry about that.

Like I said, I didn’t hate the book (although these two things I ranted about made me suuuper uncomfortable while reading and the more I thought about them later, the angrier I got). But I didn’t love it, and I didn’t like it as much as I did during my first read-through. The fat-shaming was annoying and gross, and I’m suuuper tired of angry girls being shamed for their feelings, especially teens and kids. Young people feel things so intensely. And they don’t always have the experience or the vocabulary to parse out how certain aspects of a story make them feel or why, or resist internalizing toxic messages about how feeling intensely or feeling a particular way at all is bad. Thre’s a big differene between asking an eight-year-old to consume their media critically and someone twice or thrice that age. And yeah, parents have a responsibility, family discussions, if they rely solely on books society has failed them, blah blah. Unfortunately, a lot of parents suck and a lot of parents shame their kids for having feelings the parets don’t think they should. Especially young girls. The normalizing of emotional abuse by parents in middle grade books proves how “normal” many adults think such things are.

Did I Enjoy This Book: yeah, for the most part, I guess. But I won’t be reading it again anytime soon.

Would I Recommend It: No, I wouldn’t. I can’t think of anyone I would feel comfortable recommending it to, who would actually enjoy it.

Plot: .35 star

Word Choice: .5 star

World Building: .5 star

Characters: .5 star

Realism: .75 star

-¼ star for fat-shaming

-¼ star for normalizing emotional abuse

-¼ star for shaming female anger

Total Score: 1.85/5 stars

________________________________________________________

Nicole Kidman as Principal Trapp Michelle Pfeiffer as Ms. Morrigan Bryce Dallas Howard as Ms. Threnoddy

[milesstorms]

Interview with Samantha

Miles Storms

10/1/2021

Prof Carranceja

COM 105

Me: Good afternoon, Samantha! It is so nice to catch up, thank you so much for being here today. 

Samantha: Thank you so much for having me, it’s been awhile.

Me:Let’s dive right in, I know you have a lot you want to share with us today. First and foremost looking back 40 years, how did it make you feel knowing your own family forgot your birthday? 

Samantha: In hindsight it was one of the smaller problems I was facing at the time. Being in highschool surrounded by all of the drama and even harassment from other students was all much worse. My family forgetting my birthday was the icing on top of the cake, with all of the stress around me my family laughably doesn't remember my own birthday!

Me: When you first got home and found Long Duck Dong in the room upstairs how did you feel, and how would you react if you had all of the life experience you do now?

Samantha: At the moment I was utterly confused and also still upset that my family hasn’t said anything about my birthday! The whole entire day was completely strange. Two unimaginable things happened in one day. First my family forgets my birthday, then Long Duck Dong, a complete stranger with a completely different culture, is in my house. Looking back on the situation I could have been much more accepting of Dong right away. At the time other cultures weren’t welcomed as easily. We have come so far as a culture accepting everyone no matter their beliefs or looks.  I feel like my whole family could have done a much better job making Dong feel more comfortable with his lack of language skills or even how to act in our society. 

Me: In your first few interactions with Ted on the bus and at the dance how did he make you feel? 

Samantha: On top of being very annoyed by him I felt harassed. In today’s society sexual harassment does not fly... rightfully so. Teddy constantly making sexual jokes to me, a girl  who was clearly not interested in him in the slightest, just shows how different times are today. Back then there was no support for women being harrassed let alone abused. The #MeToo movement has given every woman a voice. Even when Teddy tried to make a move on me when we were sitting in the car in the workshop during the dance it was taken way too far. Then he had the nerve to ask to borrow my underwear to show off to his friends and pretend we had sex. I hope women are strong enough to see how disrespectful that is now and no one deserves to be objectified like that. Thinking about it now, I question why I ever accepted being treated like that.

Me: I believe these kinds of conversations are important to have and I want to thank you for being so open about everything. I want to know if the #MeToo movement helped to realize this kind of treatment towards anyone is wrong? 

Samantha: Definitely. It has helped witnessing other strong women come forward and talk about their past experiences. These situations are very common, I just saw a statistic the other day that 1 in 4 women will experience some sort of harassment in their lifetime. Everyone knows someone who has been a victim, I feel that us women are standing together in the #metoo movement to empower everyone to have a voice. 

Me: Do you have anything to say to the girls who could be in similar situations that you were once in right now?

Samantha: There is always someone to talk to. You have the power to say no also, you do not have to make ultimatums to make other people happy. There is a light at the end of the tunnel, I feel this all made me much stronger throughout the years and helped shape me into the person I am today. At the moment it was very hard to cope with but time heals all. I may have handled things differently reminiscing back, but I still graduated college right after high school and found a good job. I have two daughters who are my inspiration. I am an activist because I want to give little girls like them the power that I felt like I did not have.  However the time I spent feeling unsure of myself or not good enough for anyone was very tough. 

Me:How did you cope with all of these insecurities? And how would you hope your daughter would?

Samantha: Coping was very difficult at a young age. It was definitely a skill I developed over time. It made it extremely difficult to cope because I felt like I couldn't escape the harassment everywhere I went.  At home I had my own grandmother feeling my breasts talking about how much of a “woman” I am turning into and in school I hear there are freshman boys paying a dollar to see my underwear. Truthfully I should have known giving my underwear to Teddy to show off was a horrible idea but when you are caught in the moment you really don’t know what to do.

Me: What would your reaction be if you daughters today were treated how you were once 40 years ago?

Samantha: I would be completely appalled if someone dared to treat my daughters in this way. Not only would it be brought to the attention of the school immediately but depending on how my daughters were handling the situation I might even report to authorities. Also my kids would not be back in school until the issue was resolved, no young woman deserves to be treated any less than the rest of society.  If I could pass along one life lesson to the two of them it would be to very let yourself be objectified. It was utterly disgusting how our culture viewed pretty women as some sort of trophy to show off to everyone. A woman is just as capable as a man if not even more. Seeing women now as big business owners, politicians and doctors is truly empowering to us all. I am so glad my two girls don’t have to be raised in a time where it is questioned whether women are capable or not. We are completely capable of providing for ourselves and to be truly happy on our own. I do my best to support all women and minority owned businesses now to show my daughters the power when we all come together. If we want to keep moving forward as a culture we need to keep supporting each other on our paths ahead. I am so happy that my daughters are living in a world where women are looked at with respect and dignity. 

Me:Do you think the classmates you went to school with 40 years ago are as progressive with the change in society as you are? 

Samantha: From social media posts I see it does not look like the men I once went to school with are ready to let go of their egotistical ways. Jake grew up filthy rich and went on to inherit his family's money. He does not understand what it is like to truly work for anything in life and is stuck in his own world. I saw him posting stuff questioning the legitimacy of the #MeToo movement as a scheme for some women to make money. It just goes to show you where his head is all of the time. He is an extremely greedy person who is always thinking of his own personal gain so much, he thinks everyone would go to the same measures he would. Ted also isn’t much better either. He is not as rich or stuck up as Jake is but he is still definitely stuck in his ways. The men who grew up around this time just have a false sense of masculinity. They all feel like they need to be top dogs everywhere they go and that has not changed since high school. 

Me: Thank you so much for your time. Do you have any last thoughts or messages to anyone out there right now?

Samantha: One last thing before I go. I hope all young women find hope in all of the social changes taking place right now. This is such a significant time in history I cannot wait to see what the future holds for us women. Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to do this interview, I am really glad I was able to get my story out to anyone it could help. Remember ladies you are capable and amazing in every way, no matter what a man says or does!

Me: You are such an inspiration to others, we all appreciate your vulnerability here today.

[triunfo-di-sablika]

BURN THE GOLDEN COACH, BURN THE DUTCH KING, BURN DUTCH COLONIAL RACISM IN THE CARIBBEAN

An interview with Fridi Clemencia, who sells newspapers in the morning at the Zegu roundabout and cleans rich dutch white people houses the rest of the day in Curaçao:

TdS: What is your view on the recent opening of the golden coach art exhibition at the Amsterdam museum in the netherlands? Have you heard about it?

FC: Yeah while working for one of these rich makambas at Jan Sofat they was watching it on the internets and harassingly questioned me why I was totally against this symbol of dutch hyper plunder. A carriage made of stolen gold gifted to a dutch queen who stole the wealth of all these Caribbean islands the dutch colonized and enslaved. It was Wilhelmina the one still standing in front of our parliament building in Punda who was forced by the United States to sprinkle some of that political decolonization on us. She wasn’t really feeling it, she rather had us in their colonial cages for as long as possible.

TdS: And now her great-grandson Willem Alexander inaugurated the art exhibition and the museum is organizing a so-called public debate to decide what must happen with the golden coach.

FC: That is just a façade. Like Club Facade at Saliña, you remember those days? Like seriously people have to do their history and understand who we are dealing with. Apeldoorn 2009 showed us a Beatrix the head monarch in charge celebrating Queens day and she had survived an assassination car attack. Black ancestral Caribbean musical rhythms expressed through dancing bodies saved a ‘queen’ and her ‘royal’ family from dying. One of the dancers that danced for the ‘queen’ was Wilfrido Plantijn an elder from Curaçao he died on the spot and several other dancers of Ekspreshon Kultural were severly hurt too. But the queen nor her son the predecessor unlawful heir to the throne of royal plunder paid the expenses for hospital costs of the injured dancers. They refused to pay insurance money, they refused to pay for the funeral of mister Plantijn, tickets for the family for the burial of their loved one in Curaçao. Big disgrace for a family of ‘royalty’ Oranje van Nassau the most greedy bloodsuckers of this diabolical kingdom refused to pay the family and friends of a Black Caribbean man that died and prevented basically saved their ‘royal’ ass from dying. These type of colonial kaka we dealing with. My grandma used to tell us all that “the devil is dutch, these white ‘royalties’ became rich because of Black genocide.” She never lied you know.

TdS: Weird thing is that everybody accepted it nobody made a big fuzz about it, it never got mainstream media attention.

FC: For the public the dutch monarchy has to show the fairytale face to lull the masses to sleep but that other face, the real one is a face of falseness, viciousness. That behavior, these characteristics of dutch coloniality is what the dutch king willem alexander is maintaining as a tradition but he also knows that honoring his tradition he has to act as if he is a progressive white ‘royalty’ and represents for all people in the ‘kingdom’. One of the deceptions styles he uses is art and via Amsterdam museum they blind the people by centralizing the dutch racism controversy evoked by the golden coach and act as if he is a Black Lives Matter ally. By the way there were no protests, not a whistle, no silent acts of disapproval of the exhibition or the ‘king’. Is that maybe how the crumbs of dutch capitalism crumble in the netherlands? Really? No statements made, no think pieces, no social media monologues, no symposium, conference of the Black vanguard. Such a big silence for something worthy of critique and deconstruction. I

TdS: True indeed it was a golden opportunity to chant down babylon in the media or just live in their faces. It seems the consistency in their words and deeds are mismatching at times. The panel painted with half naked Black and Brown people kneeling down, being submissive to this white woman is in a museum, everybody happy for the moment.

FC: The kitoki of gold was actually a trojan horse to trick the dutch white impoverished in the beginning of the 1900s to have celestial faith in the dutch ‘royal’ family and blindly support them as saviors of the nation. And in 2021 these white people still kept ignorant and believe they need a king, the mental programming is so deep even makambas in Curaçao see them as holy figures. And kings day is one hot colonial mess too and on top of it indoctrinating these little kids in schools to believe he a saint or whatever, it’s makamba madness.

TdS: Amsterdam museum seems pretty proud

FC: Amsterdam museum can put some art in their space that softly critiques the legacy of dutch slavery in the Caribbean Africa South East India but that’s really it. The institution of a museum like this dutch one is just like its cousin the Rijksmuseum upholding veneration of dutch royalty and that is never not to be discussed after all he the ‘king’ gave permission and lend the golden kitoki and made the whole show of whiteness and inclusiveness fallacy possible. Through art the museum and the ‘king’ and his political pawns in government, parliament, local administrations and corporate world are policing how Black people should feel about dutch white hyper plunder. The bodies of our ancestors painted on that golden piece of shit are still theirs in their minds. Dutch whiteness conditions them to believe they have ownership over Caribbean Black lives. And for the non-believers they should check how the dutch government is forcing and extorting neoliberal reform in exchange of illegal covid-19 loans to impoverish the islands of Aruba, St. Martin and Curaçao even more than they already did. These type of things are not part of the conversation.

TdS: That is colonial censorship which is needed to keep these islands in the realm of enslaveability. The same reason why Bonaire, Saba, Statia to this day are not getting the same social benefits and all the other state care arrangements to live a life as the dutch whites do in the Netherlands. The so-called Black/Caribbean decolonial/decolonizing/anti-colonial people let the dutch white savagery happen because maybe they think shutting it down would mean loss of income/speaking gigs/media performances/research work?

FC: The foundation of the dutch antiblack fuckery is that white people think they are the decision makers of what happens to these racist symbols that impact the lives of Black people in the netherlands and the Caribbean. Capitalism fucks up everybody head, even the Caribbean artist are all from the netherlands. Nobody really living on these islands or Suriname have been invited to think along or create an art piece. Nobody even demanded that artists and communities living in the Caribbean should also have a voice in this whole exhibition and pseudo debate. Its art apartheid pretending to be a decolonizing project. The ‘king, the government and Holland BV has blood on their hands though.

TdS: There is a big disconnect in communication with the Caribbean and both the diaspora and the makambas don’t seem to realize how the social deadening is speeding up around here.

FC: For real for real, people acting as if the islands aint going through colonial genocide and even Suriname is struggling real hard right now and in the netherlands, white people, the diaspora and Black people in general normalize that Suriname is independent and that every hardship they go through is their own fault since 1975 and not the fault of Holland BV. And these colonial art institutions with these exhibitions constructed to keep white hyper plunder systems in power are not intended to talk about that, they are tools to keep dutch capitalism plundering so their museums can profit off their savagery. It’s a art laundromat of royalty and institutionalized racism in the netherlands and the Caribbean. 90 to 95% of these exhibitions you will see dutch white people profit from it. It’s a colonial project where the souls of Black and Brown people get extracted and dutch companies get most of the monies.

TdS; This whole decolonize this and that movement leaves a fraudulent taste doesn’t it?

FC: Listen if the Caribbean really was connected to their own people in the Caribbean they would stand up for their people and demand spaces and structural funds for art if we keep it restricted to art for the moment. Right now as we speak Museo Tula in Bandabou Kenepa has been shut down for months by neoliberal policies from the last neocolonial PAR MAN government. They even tried to sell the art and artifacts of the museum to get money. These devils be wicked, i tell you. We talking about the blackest revolutionary landscape where freedom fighters shed blood for us in 1795. This museum had to feel the financial barbarities of dutch colonialism 2021 which by international law, treaties, kingdom law is a clear violation of Black Caribbean decolonization. Where the ‘Tula Taught Me’ t-shirt army at yo? On some real shit, have you heard the white art institutions or Black curators in the netherlands expressing any outrage, the white academics of colonial history, the constitutional law experts or just anyone that strutted down the colonized catwalk of decolonization or decoloniality?

TdS: The disrespectfulness has never stopped to amaze people down here. And this is a problem that could be easily fixed but people need to see the value of things and ancestors that have shaped our current lived reality. Maybe blood needs to flow before people in the netherlands start their journey to a new awakening.

FC: It’s similar to how the art community moves in the Caribbean. You depend on the crumbs of the ruling elite to live, that is if you desire recognition and some funds. I know people that do art, my sister make amazing shit but just like me she cleaning schools with broken ceilings and roofs that lack laptops and teachers equipped to educate Black emancipatory youth. How or why is art not being made to critique the fuckupness of the Caribbean not being able to eat from their artworks especially if its anticolonial decolonial and anti ruling elite on the islands? These are all human rights issues, this why Barryl Biekman one of the peoples we should bigup and give thanks to for fighting against the golden carriage and blackface 10 years ago. She was battling dutch white media on her own and telling the makambas that these symbols and systems of dutch antiblack racism are a crime against humanity.

TdS: 10 years it took the dutch to put the golden kitoki in the museum. That’s so backwards but typifies the super slow dutch savage capitalism influenced tempo of dismantling colonial racism in the netherlands.

FC: It may take a decade or more to defund the dutch monarchy take its stolen riches back and abolish that whole institution. The dishonesty and hypocrisy to invite a king to their exhibition but to only slightly critique, fake debating the golden vehicle of ceremonial modelling but refusing to scrutinize the plunder whiteness of the dutch monarchy and the dutch government. They could never take a stance against capitalism. That’s basically what’s going on. These people and institutions have generational blockages to understand and make the connection that where art and coloniality arises in spaces that the Caribbean has to be included and demanded to take a stance against the violence of racist genocidal policies that destroy the lives of the people on the islands. Once these colonial clouds capitalistic ignorance fades away they might start shifting attention to destroy the monarchy, to wreck wicked whiteness in the corporate world and government and in their own spheres of art and academia, intellectuality.

TdS: This national debate is a joke thing right?

FC: Both Rijksmuseum and Amsterdam Museum are being run like a business. They may have banned the word ‘golden age’ but the glorious memory of that era of coloniality is still vibrant in their bones and behavior. It’s still white people leading, funding these institutions. Their target audience is white people, the exhibition is made with that in mind. Even though some Black people were involved, they also know that Blackness could never reign supreme without consequences. They have to adjust to make white people not cry out their eyes. Because they are the majority that bring the coins and can keep their careers alive in the world of art. They don’t give a shit that right now the dutch are colonizing the islands to accelerated social death. That realization is not going to be made through nice non-threatening art or a dialogue while sipping a starbucks frappuccino. They have used the traumas and tribulations of us in the Caribbean so many times and most of these moments they always excluded us and silenced our sufferation. We were never part of their projects that use the lives of our ancestors to get that bag of money, fame, power whatever. It always comes back in a different shape and form but the fuckery stays the same.

TdS: So what besides the coloniality of dutch art curating, monarchy, capitalism, colonial genocide in the Caribbean is missing what needs to discussed and turned into action?

FC: reparations is deliberately structurally left out of the chatter even the thousands of rastas in the netherlands and on the islands quiet as fuck together with these movements, the voices and faces of Black whateverness. Amsterdam as a city and their council and movements led by Black people deepened the talks about apology. The council negotiated an apology for slavery but unsurprisingly without reparations also again without linking up with the communities living in the netherlands and the Caribbean. Reparative repercussions are very real, that’s Black economic and financial violence for dutch white people but to us it’s just a ancestral linkup to rectify the past and stop the ongoing genocide and plunder by dutch whiteness in the Caribbean and make sure it never happens again. No national security risk assessment, half ass decolonization elitist intellectual foolery or debates in art institutions cant escape their fate for all the savage white fuckery they have done and still are doing to us to this day in Statia in St.Martin in Curaçao in Aruba in Bonaire in Saba and in Suriname. Don’t ever think Maxima singing a few words from Marley's Redemption Song at Keti Koti will change our avenging hearts. Niki pabo makamba stinki, niki.

[charliestjames]

A Wager

Who: Charlie St. James and Margot Montgomery (NPC) When: March 10, 2018 What: Charlie calls her mother and a little peek into Charlie’s sociopathic mind Warnings: Mostly just Charlie being Charlie and Margot feeding into that

Margot: (looks at the caller id on her phone and raises her brow but smiles anyway) How’s the trip, dear?

Charlie: Your daughter is driving me crazy. She insist on seeing this switch when I’m very clearly capable of taking care of her. And this switch insists on seeing her when all of her attention should be focused on me.

Margot: I see… have you been? Taking care of her I mean…

Charlie: I thought I was. Apparently I was wrong.

Margot: The only reason I ask is because I’ve been stalking both your social media and I’m mostly seeing books on hers. And I spoke with her yesterday and she said she hadn’t really seen you much during the trip. Wait switch… is this the girl she was seeing before you showed up to school?

Charlie: And that’s because I’ve been busy but that isn’t the point I’m trying to make here. Depends. Is her name Ainsley? Because that’s who I’m referring to.

Margot: Charlie… if you haven’t had any time for her you haven’t been taking care of her. It’s that simple. And yes. Sawyer helped her move in, submitted to her and has been on a few dates with her…

Charlie: Yes well that wasn’t the answer I wanted so I’m choosing to ignore all that you just said if you don’t mind. Of course they’ve been on a few dates because why the fuck not.

Margot: I expect nothing less of you. Have you actually celebrated your good grade with her? Congratulations by the way. I don’t know, I could be wrong. Dinner is a date though, right? I have no clue, maybe they are just friends.

Charlie: It was my good grade. I wasn’t aware that needed to be celebrated with her. Yes, thank you. So she’s going on dates with the both of because she’s clearly greedy and that isn’t going to work for me. Whatever they can have fun together.

Margot:  it wasn’t just yours. It was your sister’s too. If you’d have had a poor submissive the grade wouldn’t have been as good. I know from experience. I don’t think you mean that. Have you tried talking to either of them about it? From what I recall your sister would literally do anything for you. Or are you jealous that she’s also seeing the switch that you are?

Charlie: Sure sure whatever. She was good before I got here, yes, but I made her better. I made her the best. I do mean that. I’m currently not speaking to either of them. Yes! She can’t have the both of us. It doesn’t work that way. It’s not like she can have two Dommes in the real world.

Margot: …. It takes two, dear. Don’t whatever me young lady, you called for my opinion clearly unless you just called to bitch.  So… you’re not speaking to your sister… your fathers aren’t speaking to your sister. You not speaking to her over something as petty as a girl? That’s beneath you. It’s something your fathers do. You’re better than that. If you want your sister than you have to make that clear. With you not spending time with her, not celebrating what she sees as a huge accomplishment with her, and now not speaking to her? She’s going to be confused. She is more sensitive than you and I are and part of being a good Domme is trying to understand how your sub is feeling even if you don’t.  And I meant- are you seeing this Ainsley person too? Maybe you want what your sister has and why can’t you both have it all? Remember in the real world you can claim a sub and a switch no problem.

Charlie: Yeah no. (Hangs up)

Margot: (gets a call hours) ...Yes, Dear?

Charlie: I want neither of them.

Margot: Then why are you so upset or bothered?

Charlie: I was but I’m not anymore. I’ve punished her and moved on from the fact that neither of them are good enough for me.

Margot: Okay… and you’re alright dropping the bond with Little Sawyer?  You realize once trust is destroyed it’s hard to get back.

Charlie: …..I hadn’t thought about her.

Margot:  Darling… she needs you. Not this Ainsley girl and not anyone else. But if you think about it and decide you’re honestly okay with stepping away from her then the fall out will probably be devastating. That bond is… special.  Takes more trust than the average relationship. She told me what she calls you. That’s… not something to take lightly.  But- if you feel that they aren’t good enough for you then I’m sure you’ll find plenty of people worth your time. We both know you are exceptional.

Charlie: I’ll think about it but for now I’m still not speaking with either of them. I need the separation to get my thoughts in order.

Margot: Understandable. I know how you work by now.  Keep in mind that if you do plan on working things out with your sister you shouldn’t stay silent forever- you went years without speaking to her and you were lucky she forgave you so easily.  I would hate for you to hit another roadblock when it comes to something you want.  I have faith you’ll figure it all out and whatever you choose will be best in the long run.

Charlie: It would have been too hard for her not to forgive me. She loves me too much and she’s much nicer than I am. And I did send her birthday cards every year. Fathers were just jackasses and never gave them to her. We both know if I truly wanted both of them then I could have them and I would have them.

Margot: I’m not going to argue any of that.  I guess you have some thinking to do and some decisions to make.

Charlie: Now I’m curious about how long it would actually take me to have them both.

Margot: What do you mean?

Charlie: I mean how long it would take me to get both of them wanting me to claim them. I’m thinking 4 months. Maybe 5 at the most. And before you go analyzing me, I’m not saying this is something I’m going to do.

Margot: Huh… good question.  I think it will take you a full year.  If you do decide to do it maybe we should make a wager.

Charlie: Alright, I’m intrigued. What is this wager exactly? Even though we both know I’ll win anyway.

Margot: hmm… I win and you agree to spend the Christmas holiday at my place for the foreseeable future.  You win and I put the down payment on your first home... where we will spend Christmas for the foreseeable future.

Charlie: I feel as though you would win either way. If you win, you get your Christmases. If I win, I get my house and my first year of medical school paid for, and you get every other Christmas.

Margot: I will agree to that- IF- the years I don’t get you for Christmas I get you for Thanksgiving.

Charlie: Fine, but only because we bet on the dog show and I continue to win every year. You really must stop picking the poodle every year. And I really hope you have a good savings becauses homes in Hartford are not cheap.

Margot: You do realize you fathers paid me a mini fortune to carry three babies for them, yes?  Plus my salary isn’t exactly small, dear.

Charlie: I’m glad to know we were worth a mini fortune. And I’m glad you can afford all of this when you lose. Just to clarify, I don’t have to claim them. I just have to make them want me to claim them, right?

Margot: No- the deal is actually getting them collared and claiming them. I’m not spending that chunk of my bank account on a mere manipulation, darling, but nice try.

Charlie: But I’m so good at manipulating people. Especially Sawyer, but whatever. She should be easy enough. She trusts me already. I may have to use different tactics with Ainsley. Maybe make her fall in love first…..Heart first and then submission should follow nicely.

Margot: I know you are, Dear, but this is also a lifetime commitment and major responsibility.  You have to be sure because it’s not just your life and heart. You’re messing with two other lives. Be sure about it before you make it your mission.

Charlie: I’m sure they’ll both be fine. I’m a great catch and they should be so lucky, but I’ll consider all the consequences of my actions and all that stuff I’m sure you want to lecture me about.

Margot: No lecture. I said my piece. Let me know what you decide on the matter… now… let’s have a chat about that little display you forced on your sister last week- explain.

Charlie: It was to get her ready for our presentation. I needed to see how much humiliation she could endure. Finding out she liked it was just an extra bonus really.

Margot: A warning would have been nice. You’re lucky I have a poker face.

Charlie: I didn’t have time to give you a warning. It was a spur of the moment decision.

Margot:  Mm hmm. Well, I’m glad that little experiment proved fruitful.  I know you’ll have far too much fun with that knowledge in the future.  Back to our earlier conversation- It just dawned on me… you’re just as possessive as I am. If I were in your situation? I wouldn’t want the Switch submitting to anyone else, I wouldn’t care if she was domming others, in fact, I would let her as long as I was the only dominant in her life. Then it’s actually a real plus that she happens to enjoy dominating the submissive I see as mine.  I could even control the way she dominates her.  Just my insight.

Charlie: (quiet for a few long moments) It’s like you want to pay for my schooling.

Margot: Well… I would like to see both my girls happy in the long run. If it means I end up having to pay up then so be it.

Charlie: And you think I could make her happy? Both of them?

Margot: The fact that Sawyer calls you Momma… the fact that you helped her get best submissive… that just tells me that with her you definitely could. She loves you and trusts you more than anyone right now.  As long as you don’t go fucking it up I think the two of you could be very happy.  As far as Ainsley goes...Sawyer tells me that she wants to go to medical school, that she’s brilliant… well, my dear, she is going to need a brilliant mind to challenge her and keep her stimulated… you can provide her with that and also give her the chance to be with a submissive you both enjoy… you could definitely make her happy.

Charlie: Just so you know if I’m actually collaring them, I’ll need at minimum six months and eight at the most. The point system will slow us down a bit.

Margot: Fair enough.  I still say it’ll be a year.