#went looking for a different router

[thedarklyblue]

asked my housemate where the router is bc the wifi's been down all day and he said oh you know that global computer outage? spectrum's down. and i was pretty sure that was bullshit.

long story short i found three different routers in this goddamn house and finally figured out the one we've been using and reset it and voila we have wifi again!!! i knew he was wrong. so there. dykes do it better etc etc

[prettyboykatsuki]

I LIKE IT BETTER WHEN YOU CAN'T KEEP WARM | ODXNY

✮ tags ; heavy themes, gender neutral reader, mentions of past suicidal ideation, getting together, romantic tension, angst to fluff, extremely lovey-dovey ending, some implicit and suggestive content (lit one paragraph n non descript), themes of touch starvation, small height difference (reader is shorter)

✮ wc ; 6.3k (this is so shameful bye forever)

✮ a/n ; every time a semester ends i lose my mind and me writing this in several hours straight is evidence. if i had a nickel for every time i wrote a character study with the central theme of loneliness, i'd have two nickels - which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

i will spare you the insane rambling for the authors note at the bottom of this fic.

✮ synopsis ; he wants something. to live maybe. and if he could be a little selfish, to be with you. he wants that, too.

Bright.

Could just be the dark room he keeps himself in talking. His computer system and encrypted Internet browsers are all in dark mode - and his desktop set-up doesn’t have any L.E.D. strip lights to keep him company. He prefers it that way, the ambiance a better environment to work in  when he’s doing his usual rounds. Down to the programs U.I. - Odxny spends most of his time in perpetual darkness. Cozy and familiar - totally safe and secure. Nothing but the low whirrs of a computers fan and the faint blinking of routers to keep him company.

You’re the brightest thing he’s had on his screen in a long time. You’ve got white walls and no precaution, really. You’re sitting at your own desktop - and he can see everything of your life in the background of where you sit. There are photos of you graduating high school, being around unnamed friends, vacations and trips, and head shots like the kind you take for a resume. It’s all so personal. Bookshelves, trinkets, poorly made clay sculptures. Posters of musicians you like and Studio Ghibli movies. Evidence of life surrounds you like a halo.

Awful. Angel comparisons to someone he’s only known for a day make him wonder if he’s more pathetic than he thought. He probably shouldn’t think so hard about a stranger, a real stranger. Thrim generated randomly, though he thinks it sounds like a name. Finds it fun to say, for better or worse.

Natural light pours in from a window nearby, casting shadows in your room. He already knows you, in a way. He did the background search. Where you were born, raised, grew up.  The schools you went too, the career you seek. Bits and pieces of you are all scattered in his memory and are not at all thorough. He wasn’t really trying for that at the time, just needed to know if you were dangerous. There’s a cognitive dissonance. To know a life so thoroughly and to witness it is completely, and utterly different.

There’s miles between you. Must be thousands. He can’t remember the last time he’s really met someone, though. It’s hard not to notice that this feels akin to that. Like the embers of a campfire, glowing but not burning. A comfortable warmth.

Bright. His screen is very bright talking to you. Even obscured behind the mask, it’s a little difficult to look at it and leaves him on edge - restless and mildly painful.

When his vision adjusts though, there’s clarity. A person, a stranger - with an exceptionally nice laugh and who is exceptionally trusting. Odxny tries not to think too hard about the feeling of warmth that flutters at your overflowing sincerity.

The conversation is easy.

“Does that mean you trust me now?”

Odxny pretends to think on it. “Enough to keep you around.”

“See you later.”

“See you.”

You accompany your last words with a wave - short and sweet. Darkness pulls him in, back where he started. He has a mild headache from all the light.

__

You pick up on the language better than he thought you would.

He underestimated you. Can you blame him? Your choice is language is ArnoldC, for fucksake. Sure, he has limited knowledge on esoteric languages but can it really be in-depth enough to show you the basics.

(It can. Or at least, Od presumes this to be the case because you’re rather helpful in Incri’s hacks and Incri is hardly helpful to anyone in the world, no less the server.)

You pick up on things quickly with little guidance - always to the point and not usually making many errors. He has to commend your abilities and give you credit where it’s due. It’s not a hard language to learn, but for anyone with no familiarity with coding at all he’d expect there to be a learning curve. Even if you had coding language, it’s not like you knew SQL coming in.

You fit strangely well into the server somehow. You’re happy to learn and nonplussed about helping with small things, though you don’t know these people at all and have no reason to participate in their nonsense. You talk to Incri fine, and manage to get Pep to accidentally reveal telling information. Odxny finds all of this rather… entertaining maybe. More than impressive, really.

He has a hard time making sense of the feeling. He would hope you don’t think you’re under duress - given the fact your relationship in two days has been pleasant. Then again - maybe he’s missed some social cue and you do think that. It’s possible. After all, he doesn’t actually remember the last time he’s spoken verbally to anyone with very, very few exceptions.

He manages to call you again after the fact - opens the call with sincere and heartfelt congrats and feels pleasant seeing you take the compliment in stride.

You land on the subject of programming again, inevitably. He interrogates you a little more over your choice in language - almost like he can’t help himself. It’s basic curiosity. You had said you were the best in ArnoldC. A little research proved that to be true, presence of you in the forums of various esolang pages. He landed on many things. You’re the best at ArnoldC, but you also know Brainfuck for some ridiculous reason.

He thinks you’re a little ridiculous in general.

“It’s really for the love of the game, huh?”

You nod when he asks this. Smiling, bright and unbothered with a soft edge of smug pride that makes the muscles of his face twitch up. “Mhm. I like my little collection.

Odxny doesn’t doubt it for even a minute. He’s seen the proof, but perhaps he doesn’t need to mention that. “Your trophy case of ridiculous language?”

Your eyes come to life all of a sudden. “Wait. A real trophy case would actually be so cool.”

He pauses, blinking as the words sink before a smile breaks onto his face helplessly. “That was not to enable you.”

“Too late. I’m already looking up the ugliest wood trim display cases I can find.”

The laugh comes naturally. “You really are just like this?”

You look proud again. “What? Fun?”

Yes, Odxny thinks but doesn’t say. “Baffling.”

You ask Odxny to elaborate and he does. The conversation flows with frustrating ease. So easily that he mouths off about his plans to you without a second thought. He doesn’t know why he does it. Not really. He’s thought it through over and over - so it’s not like he needs to disclose it. He made his choice.

He thinks about moving it along. About ending the call or simply brushing past without going into any detail.

When he glances at the screen, you’ve got a pillow in your lap and your eyes completely focused on him. There’s that feeling again, alarming clarity in your gaze and brightness that causes him immense unease in the world he’s made of nihilistic, apathetic darkness. There’s a plan, always has been. He’ll do this and disappear and the world will soon forget him. If it happens that way, than at least this loneliness is a choice he’s made for himself and not something the world has cruelly decided for him.

His lips move faster than his head, than even his heart. Compelled by a nameless and brilliant force. “I don’t have any reason to stay. I’m just — tired. Of everything.”

“No reasons? Nothing makes you happy here?”

His response is measured. Quiet. It’s not secret. He finds his voice crumbles around the words anyway as if they’re a confession. “Not for a long time. I don’t feel much of anything, really. It is what it is.”

You frown. He’s seen it all before. Heard it all before. “That’s…”

He cuts you off quickly.

“We just met. And we’ll be strangers again soon enough.” He says with as much conviction and resolve as he can possible manage. Who he’s convincing remains unclear. “So, not to be cold but..you know.”

The disappointment in your face leaves an impression, but you relent. He tries to make amends for the depressing conversation of talking again and you perk up so genuinely it makes want to cry, in a distant and foreign way.

“Catch you later, then.” He says, and closes at out the call. The room falls dark for the second time. He blinks a few times to get rid of the light clouding his vision.

__

Wnpep is eager to teach you on the third day.

You’re eager in reply - matching energy with sharp wit and enthusiasm. Wnepep is a better teacher than Incri by several miles. Evident in how much faster everything falls into place for you. Not that you really need too much help in the first place. You break down the crumbling walls of an insurance scam with ease and come out of the other side more accomplished.

It’s a noble last hack, Odxny thinks.  Not unsurprising from Pep - unofficially the most sane and likeable member. He figured it’d be something like this less than a matter of personal vengeance.

You go back and forth for a bit in admin chat. Od types an apology about winding you up and tries not to read too much into the innuendo of it as you reply back with your own faux offended replies. He insists he’s somewhat sorry, and you’re far from believing him.

He finds himself grinning at his screen while he texts you mid conversation. When the realization hits, he almost curls into himself from embarrassment - a hand covering his mouth like it’ll do away with the grave sin.

The inneundo happens twice in one conversation, before you get to call under the premise of a victory toast.

A brief conversation about the last hacks barely leaves room for much else except Odxny plans of total isolation.

“Mm. I should’ve known it would come back to this. Why do you care what I choose to do with myself?”

That baffles you in a terribly genuine way. “Am I not allowed to care about another person?”

Odxny speaks honestly. “You are but I mean…” He trails off. He knows how he feels. “I’m not really a person anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m no one. I’m going to be no one. You have other things to fill your life with.”

There’s a vulnerable edge to his voice that he winces at when he hears it. It’s true isn’t it? All of it is true to Odxny, but especially where he says you have other things to fill your life with. You might share the same hobbies, but he’s seen it. He’s seen how different you are - your livelihoods, your existence. You’d be missed if you suddenly disappeared. Odxny knows the same isn’t true for himself. It’s been like that for a long while now.

(It’s crushing. That’s what makes your very ephemeral existence feel like a burden. Why it casts the shadows of doubt on choices he made, about how he would live so long ago. You care, don’t you? At least, more than anyone else in his life in the present. You care so undeniably, and so obviously and it is all so simple to you.

He almost envies it. Almost resents it, too. It’s such a small shred of humanity, the barest forms of sincerity but it is painfully raw. A split nerve. An open wound It’s not like the server, all of whom have accepted this distant fondness. It’s a delicate thread - spider silk accuracy and just as much strength. There’s conviction in your missing him and it haunts him.)

You think of what to say for a long time before landing on it. “I do. But I can care about multiple things at once,”

It sounds like I care about you too closely. He finds himself shivering. He’s truthful with you, unsure of how else to be when it comes to these conversations.

“That sounds burdensome.” He says. “Isn’t that exhausting?”

You don’t lie to him either. “Sometimes. But it’s worth the trouble.”

“Why?”

“Because I like your company,” You reply. Soft sincerity in your words. More clarity. More painstaking light.

“It can’t be that simple.”

“Why not?”

“If it was that simple then -“ Then it makes it seem like things could be different. He doesn’t say that. Stops himself before it can happen. “I don’t know why I’m bothering to argue. Why do I feel like I need to prove this to you?”

He’s almost afraid to look at your face, wincing when he sees how knowing you look. Not in a condescending way - but genuine, full blown understanding. Like you see through him.

He wonders if he knows you as well as he thought he did.

Your face is so sympathetic. “Are you sure it’s me?”

He cuts the conversation short on his own - making an awkward transition from the topic at hand into whatever he can manage. It’s an awkward fumble - a poor attempt at distracting both of you from this line of thinking. You’re kind enough to let him have it. He asks about your hobbies. You tell him about how you like to try the weirdest things and combinations you can find in a restaurant.

He finds it suits you.

A lot of things suit you. Even your piss poor attempt at the Terminator that he quickly mimics - possessed by god knows what.

You laugh when he does. Brilliant and bubbly and characteristically warm. You say the words through giggles.

“That was so bad!”

“It was a lapse in judgment,” He replies back defensively, smiling against his will. He finds himself laughing too.

“I like your laugh, by the way.”

He pauses caught off-guard. “Oh? My laugh. Oh, uhm. Thank you.”

You make a face that he can’t read. Knowing. In a different way than the last. He feels nervous.

“I have been laughing quite a bit, haven’t I?”

You grin. Smug and deliriously happy. “Sure have.”

He looks away from you. “Ha...Odd.”

You giggle again. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, nose scrunched in genuine delight. It’s a pleasant sound but not because it’s particularly wispy or floaty or delicate. But it’s real. Pleasant in the way the white noise of park during summer. Pleasant like the varied playlist overhead in a record shop. Pleasant like a moment of humanity tucked between everyday. He clears his throat.

“I like your laugh, I think.”

You laugh again, gasping with faux offense. “You think???”

He tries not to feel so grounded by that sound and fails. “Yeah. I think. Laugh again.”

He tries not to add please. You shake your head like you’re reprimanding him.

“No, no, you have to earn that. Make me laugh.”

“Nevermind. Shut up.”

You do laugh again that time. He joins you soon after. “And now you laugh? At me?”

The conversation moves again, comfortable like a tide. You ask about his favorite language and he tells you as much. You’re quiet and growing cheeky, listening to him talk.

“So you do like coding.”

“Maybe a little.” He replies, not giving in. “You remember far too much of what I say.”

The conversation comes to a close again. He thanks you for how nice its been and you make an off-handed attempt to get him to change his mind. You could always talk more. The implication delicate beneath it.

We don’t have to forget each other. Odxny brushes past it - but says he’ll see you tomorrow anyway.

__

Extorting Elimfs childhood friend (?) is an easy enough endeavor. Odxny texts you through out - to ask advice on what things to take when he leaves.

He calls you again when its over too. He can’t find a reason for it - nothing that makes sense. He just wanted to call you. He hasn’t wanted something like that in a while,  but he tells himself its fine. This is the last time you’ll ever know each other.

So its fine. He won’t waver.

He’ll just.. call you.

He asks you on your weed habits, mildly surprised when you tell him you smoke and take edibles sometimes too. The conversation loops back to the fund at one point. You don’t hide your displeasure about the whole thing today.

You’ve talked about it already. No need to keep bringing up. But you seem to feel so strongly and Odxny can’t figure out why. Can’t shake the feeling of wanting to know why every single time.

“Is it really so hard to believe I’ve come to like you in a few days?”  You ask, after probing.

“In a way that matters, yes.”

You frown at him when he says that. It’s the most upset he’s seen you look, if he can call it that. You’ve never been upset when he’s been rude or insulting - but this is bothering you. It doesn’t help him pull away from you.

He says it again. Reinforces how temporary this all is. He’s trying to convince one of you. Both of you, maybe, of his unimportance.

“I don’t think that little of you.”

He finds it hard to reply to that. It’s that feeling against. It makes him uncomfortable. It’s not empty platitudes or some vague sense of responsibility for his life. All of it is real, and all of it is meaningful in how plain it is. You make it seem easy.

“It’s life. It’s normal. People come, people go.”

You shake your head. “Not for me. I can’t forget you that easily.”

He wishes you would. He’s painfully, painfully relieved that you wouldn’t it. He voices neither thought.

“Then- try! You’re putting so much on yourself, and for what? You don’t stand to gain anything.”

You shrug. “Peace of mind. Knowing you’re still out there.”

It’s heavy. The implication is heavy. He’s not going to kill himself. He doesn’t want that anymore, though he thought about it. At the beginning. Loneliness is more painful when you have memories of what not being that way was like - he thinks. At the start of all that loss, the hollowness bared an almost painful gravity inside of him.

It’s like being told to breathe or blink - becoming conscious of what was once a natural function, how full life was once when it’s escaped. He doesn’t want to kill himself, but living is meaningless.

 These things aren’t paradoxical to him. They haven’t been for all this time.

(They weren’t until he met you at least. A mirror of wanting. Odxny looks at you and sees life reflected back. Despite it not being his, its moving. It’s beautiful in a human way, reachable. Tangible. Earned.

Wherever you are. Whenever you’re together, the black hole inside of himself seems to fade back into average planetary darkness. He becomes cruelly human again, feeling warmth and laughter.

He’s tells himself he’s not afraid of dying and that’s mostly true. He’s most afraid of living. Afraid he won’t be able to learn it again.)

 He manages to tell you some of what he’s thinking. He has no clue how to start over. He doesn’t know if it’s possible. You don’t feed him any false hope, but he tells you how he sees it. You’re feeling pity for him right? And you should figure that out sooner rather than later.

“Is it really that easy for you?”

You shake your head. You’re smiling but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “It isn’t. But I have to try.”

“Is that what you’re doing with me?”

“What?”

“Is this…?”

He cuts the call off when he hears himself, unsure of what answer he’s hoping for. The realization dawns on him too much, too quickly. The feeling of hope is loud in his chest but there is another feeling, embarrassing in it’s swiftness that follows shortly after.

Oh.

Oh.

__

The servers shuts down after a mildly sappy adventure to close up shop. The closest Odxny has gotten to flirting with you in his own way. He’s sad to see everyone go, despite there being no other choice.

It’s easier than he thought it’d be. To give you his number he means, even after shutting the entire server down. After leaving everything behind. He gives you the choice to make. Call me if you still want it - a silent promise.

 Maybe because deep down - some part of him always wanted to make this choice. Just maybe.

Your voice is different over the phone line. A little clearer, spoken softer. Just as lovely as it was the first time he heard it. Maybe more. Maybe.

The city beneath him is bright. So bright. It doesn’t hurt to look at, he thinks.

__

You call him every day.

You’ve been doing it for months.

He thought, at some point, you’d let up or start to forget. He’s been waiting on it to happen as horrible as it sounds. Like some self-fulfilling prophecy, he’d slip back into the background as is natural. A proof of his nonexistence, if you will.

You don’t forget though. He almost wonders if he’s dreaming when it happens. There’s a routine between you two, these days. You have your own life that you’ve been living the same as normal. When it’s night time for you, though - you hop onto your desktop and call Od like you’re two very average people.

There’s nothing solid to define your relationship aside from friendship as is. This is less frustrating than he expected it to be. Getting to know you better has only made him like you more. Your relationship is solid in a strange way. It’s been about six months total, and as corny as it sounds - Odxny feels like he’s known you for his entire life. You understand him in an intimate way, with vulnerable tenderness and radical acceptance.

He kind of misses the privacy of his old stomping grounds, but he doesn’t mind speaking though discord. It feels… normal. In a not displeasing way. You mostly talk to talk about whatever comes to mind. Sometimes it’s your job search, other times it’s  your part-time or friend drama. You’re vibrant as always. Without the wall of anonymity, Odxny gets to know of you like he’s just your average person. He finds he really, really likes that.

You play games together frequently. He’s never been interested in cozy gaming, but you play Minecraft and Stardew Valley together per your request. Odxny streams himself playing Ocarina of Time for you on Discord in the background sometimes too, and you keep it on when you’ve got work to do or you’re cooking or something else. There’s something very mundane to it.

You’re not doing anything with him today though. You’re calling him on facetime, rather than at your desktop. You’ve made the executive decision to laze around and Odxny has no problem joining you though you speak less than usual as a result of being sleepy. You had a long shift yesterday so perhaps Odxny can’t blame you.

“Need to get better shoes. For walking and stuff.” You say thoughtlessly. The corners of his lips twitch up.

“Yeah?”

You nod. Your face is smushed against your pillow at an unflattering angle. He smiles a little.

“Yeah. I’m on my feet for like nine hours when I serve and it hurts wearing flats. Need something sturdier even it diminishes my drip.”

He laughs at that. “Please never say that again.”

You continue onwards. “Decreases my aura, even. But alas, utility comes first.”

He snickers as he glances at you through the phone. You’re propped against one of his monitors as he does work on his computer. He’s getting back into programming for the love of the game, just seeing what he can do.

“Want help looking?”

“Feels a little ridiculous asking a super pro-hacker to shop Sketchers with me.”

“You seriously thinking of buying Sketchers?”

You laugh lightly. “Maybe I’ll get tipped more if I get the light-up ones.”

“Please don’t.”

“Hater.”

You break out into genuine laughter as Odxny shakes his head in despair. It’s something you’d do, no doubt. You sigh.

“I really do want a break from work.” You roll around on your mattress. Odxny can hear your rustling but can’t see you much. “The chains of capitalism shackle me in place. Woe is me.”

Odxny thinks on what you’ve said for a long while in silence. The question comes up every now and again though he’s never brave enough to ask it. His ludicrous amount of disposable income however is still sitting in his bank, collecting dust. It’s been six months and he’s hardly made a dent in it.

“Do you want to come visit?” He asks, cringing at the sound of his own voice. The words are strained and a little too eager. “I can pay the difference for expenses for wages and stuff. And, uh. Uhm,”

He loses his train of thought trying to speak, worsened by the way you pop onto his screen when he says that. Your expression is unreadable to him, comfortable and even. You smile a little as you lift the phone so he can see what you look like laying in your bed. Your face is in full view.

“It’d be a little weird to visit you before we start dating officially, no?”

His eyes go wide at the implication. You grin, mischief and mirth making your eyes practically beam. He can feel a blush crawl up his neck as soon as he registers it.

“Excuse me? Why are you saying that like it’s already been decided?” He bites back, not sure what else he could say.

“So you don’t want to date me?”

“I didn’t- you - damn it,” He groans at his own bluster as he giggles on the other side of the line. So cheeky. Damn him for liking it and damn you for being cute. “…You are saying you like me right?”

Your face softens. He can feel his heartbeat quicken. “Uh-huh. Just wanted to take it slow. But I’ve liked you for a long time.”

“How long is that, exactly?”

You shrug playfully and the fact he can’t be within reach to kiss you feels especially harrowing. “A secret.” You smile again, all trouble. “So. Wanna date?”

“Terrible confession. Zero stars,” He says petulantly. He leans back in his chair and finds himself smiling uncontrollably. “Fine. I guess.”

Your laugh fills his room. He doesn’t get tired of hearing it. His face hurts from smiling.

__

He manages to stave off on the anxiety of you coming to see him for a lot longer than he thought possible.

Making arrangements proves to be a little difficult. You have to tell your roommates that you’ll be gone for a while but promise to still pay rent and explain to your boss where you’re going. You have a good enough relationship and have been working long enough for them to agree to keep a spot open so you can start working when you come back.

After that, there’s the matter of Visas. Odxny goes out of his way to make that process go much faster than normal, though he doesn’t actually tell you. Once all of that’s sorted, there’s living arrangements. Try as you might to insist to live somewhere else, his place is too spacious for him to let you stay anywhere else. You can take the guest room.

He pretends that all of this is just happening in his imagination. He doesn’t even know the last time anyone came over, let alone lived with him. He does his best to make things presentable, and makes a guest room for you to live in should you desire. He even buys more decor (plants and things) to make it look… less like a cave and more like a home.

Nothing really feels real until the day arrives though. It’s a long flight and difficult trip. You refused to let him pay for the tickets so he moved it around to get you into first class both ways through other methods.

You text him the terminal, the arrival time, any and all delays. Still. None of it feels real until he’s already waiting for you near the bags. He can feel his heart race, his lungs short of air. He’s never experienced something so ridiculously contradictory in his entire life. He wants to run away while feeling stuck in place.

The anticipation nearly kills him.

He would recognize your voice anywhere though. Like he did for so many days alone in the dark. A hand waves high, shouting as loud as it can.

“It’s you!”

The sound of sneakers skidding across tile floors make his breath hitch. His eyes go wide as you stand still in front of him, luggage in hand and a million-watt smile on your face. He feels his heart beat so loud, he wonders if he’s going to throw up.

“Hey.” He says, dumbly.

“Hi!”

__

The adjustment period to living together isn’t what he expects.

It’s been a long time since he’s been so close to another human being. It becomes clear that you’re really living together though when your things end up in the bathroom completely incidentally. There’s something about finding your sleep shirt on a towel rack that makes reality settle in. You’re living together.

He’d be stupid not to notice the purposeful distance between you. An attempt to be thoughtful and not overwhelm him. It’s never awkward when you’re together. You eat together, watch movies and play games while sitting too close on the couch. You’ve been on a date in the two weeks you’ve spent, and it barely took any convincing on your end to make him go along with you.

Isolation aside though, Odxny is not clueless to the conventions of modern dating. You avoid touching him too casually. He doesn’t blame you, but he can’t help but crave your presence with a little more bittersweet longing as the days pass. He has to get past it or bring it up eventually, but it feels like something he’s never going to get over somehow.

The opportunity to do so gets thrown at him all at once. You’ve been living together for sixteen days. A conversation about love languages is what undoes it.

“Whats your love language, Od?”

He gives you a quizzical look. “Dunno actually. Never bothered to look.”

“I’d guess… hm. Quality time maybe? Or words of affirmation.”

He shrugs as he sits next to you on the couch, glancing at your phone as you read through the different ones. “What’s yours?”

“Physical touch. I’m super touchy. With anyone who will let me, honestly. Bad habits.”

Odxny gives you a long look as you say it. He debates if he should bring it up.

“You don’t have to be so careful around me, you know?”

You look up at him, startled by the comment. Several things pass over your face before you settle on an apologetic smile. “Sorry. It’s not like I don’t want to. I just don’t want to be too much for you.”

“That wouldn’t happen.” He says automatically. You laugh good-naturedly.

“Your confidence is assuring, but you underestimate how touchy I am. I’m afraid of I get my hands on you, I’ll never let go again,”

He thinks he wants that more than is normal. He shakes his head. “I don’t mind.”

You give him a long look, seeming struck by an idea, before humming and standing up. You turn around with your hand out towards him. His brows furrow in bewilderment.

“Have some faith.”

He takes your hand and stands up with you. He likes that he’s taller than you. Staring at you, he feels your fingers clasp around his hand and his heart thuds - loud and messy.

“Your room or mine?”

“What?”

You laugh. “Get your mind out of the gutter. Or don’t actually, but I don’t bear lewd intentions.”

He crinkles his nose at the word usage and laughs. “Shut up.”

“Just trust me, okay?”

He concedes with embarassing swiftness.

“Okay.”

__

You lead Odxny to the guest room you’ve been living in for the last two weeks. The bed is well-made and all the new furniture he bought is occupying so many of your belongings. It makes him dizzy. You shut the door behind him as you lead him in. It just feels especially surreal.

Wordless, you let go of his hand and hop up onto your bed. Once you’re laying down, you prop up on your side with your elbow and pat the empty space next to you, smiling at him as you do. Once it clicks what your asking, he can feel his face grow hot. He can’t refuse it though, and he doesn’t want too.

The sheets you bought together smell like you. Between there’s practically no distance between you at this angle. He’s gotten to look at you plenty through these few days but it’s different. You scoot impossibly close to him until there’s nothing separating you.

Your breath is warm - a soft exhale leaving your lips as you inch closer.

“What’re we doing?” He asks in a murmur, stone stiff. You smile, coyly.

“Touching each other.”

He frowns at the joke. Your expression goes a touch serious right after. The sincerity is debilitating. “Can I touch you?”

He nods. Can’t do much more than that.

He stares at you with impending, long-suffering longing as you bring a single hand to his face and cradle his neck. He flinches unintentionally, but pulls your hand back when you try to move it. He wants this. You relax a little when he does that.

Your hands are softer. Softer than a heartbeat. He can feel the various cuts and scars from years of working against his skin but they’re still so soft. He can feel how warm you in such a brief touch his chest aches. Your hands cradle his face tenderly, thumb brushing across his lip with a smile brighter than thousands of lights. Something in your expression wreaks havoc on his heart. Something so raw and so gentle and so full within it - all directed towards him.

It’s been so long. So long. He’s never wanted something so bad  he couldn’t remember needing. He’s never wanted to be closer to someone than he does to you in the moment.

“You’re handsome,” You say, so sweetly. Not a confession, but gentle appraisal. It’s rare he cries but he wants too. “I like looking at you. Can I kiss you?”

“Please.” He rasps, gravel in his voice unfamiliar.

You hum a little. Closing the space between you with a press of lips. It’s not chaste. Odxny is grateful for how long and how deep you linger. He wants it so badly. He wants you in some damning and unforgiving way. How could a human being feel so warm? Feel so pleasant with so little?

You press your foreheads together. His hand trembles when they grip onto your waist but you encourage him just a little. It’s just a kiss. His heart might beat out of him. It’s just a kiss. He thinks he loves you.

Your hand moves away from his face. You let it go underneath his loose shirt to touch his shoulder, running your palm down the plane of his chest. You squeeze his waist, and wrap your arms around his back and pull him to you until your bodies touch somewhere in the middle.

You guide his face to your neck and chest as you hold him. He grips onto you tight in response, a gasp in the back of his lungs at the sudden sensation. You coo above him, soft and light - your fingers threading through his hair and nails massaging his scalp.

Your voice sounds above him, despite how deep in a haze he is. He can’t do anything but cling to you with impossible longing. You speak softly as you pet him. Your heartbeat soothes his.

“I’m glad you’re here.” You tell him. There’s that familiar clarity that makes him want to cry. “I’m glad you let me come with you.”

He can’t think of anything to say back. It’s a soul-shattering emotion. “I love you.”

You laugh wetly above him. “I love you, too. So much.” And then much softer. “Let’s be together for a long time.”

__

You lay in each others arms until sunset. In small talk and silent murmurs. It takes him hours to work up the courage to kiss you again - but only minutes to take it further.

It’s desperate. Terribly. Inevitable. You’re beautiful in a way that is undescribable, best expressed through his teeth on your neck and his hands all over where he can reach - each grip and thrust and bite a reminder. You’re pretty when you’re pleased, warmth reaching up inside of him whenever you make the right face.

He buries himself in you. You’re soft and warm and beautiful and he wants to stay with you. Time is a thief. He damns the sun when it tears you from him come morning.

__

He decides to make breakfast when you wake up. Nothing complicated. You go to shower after him and he plates up toast and eggs and other various things. It’s half done when you come downstairs.

Your skin is still damp, and you smell of vanilla and soap. Your coffee sits in a cup on the table as you pad over to him. He turns to look at you as you reach your hand up and cup his face. You pepper a kisses along his cheeks stopping at his lips for the last one before you’re satisfied.

He fails in his attempt not to blush.

“Morning.” You grin. He tries not to be sick at the domesticity of it all and fails.

“Yeah. Morning.”

You sit at the counter and drink your coffee, glancing outside the window. “It’s bright outside.”

Odxny can’t tear his eyes off of you. “Yeah...” He agrees. He’s not torn his gaze away. “Very bright.”

✮ a/n ; i want all real life compsci men to kick rocks but odxny sweeped me off my feet in a way i can only describe as humiliating. he is a bit like astarion for me in that i see a lot of myself in him at least in the past. he is also incredibly babygirl and uhm . other things (fine. he's very gorjus.) but i truthfully was most compelled by his idealized idea of isolation. as the fic will show it resonated with me as a fellow compsci dork who also tends to isolate like crazy LOL

this fic was like a demon that possessed me. literally no meds, no caffiene - just balls to the wall demonic possesion of needing something out of my system LMAOO. and adhd of course. im working on all the other stuff too i promise. consider this a short interlude 👍🏾

[iznsfw]

You are now obliged to write an Eunbi smut

Waterbombed

IZ*ONE's Kwon Eunbi x Male Reader Smut

5,835 words

Categories | daddy kink, anal, jealousy, squirting, breast worship, fingering, titfucking, spanking, slight exhibitionism

Sorry not sorry for the Eunbi spam—I promise I'll write the other members and other idols after this. Waterbomb Festival Eunbi is just too hot.

Enjoy.

Tokki 🐰: oppaaaaaaaaa

This can't be good. Eunbi's bombing your phone again with ridiculous messages designed to attract your attention. It won't work today, though. You've got a lot to do, and besides that, she's equally busy. She's out there performing in some festival Woollim booked, and it's safe to say that it should have brought about only peace in your office cubicle. No videos, no flirty texts, no nada—that's how it should have been.

But one thing you've learned when dating Kwon Eunbi is to expect the unexpected. Too bad you didn't keep that in mind when you finally gave in and picked up your phone. Work can wait for a few minutes, right?

You: What is it ?

Tokki 🐰: have you seen my performance yet :]

You don't think so. The day's been too packed to make space for a quick watch.

You: Not yet love im busy

Tokki 🐰: you should oppa

becauseeeee

i really enjoyed performing at the waterbomb festival!!!!!

Waterbomb Festival?

Isn't that—

It slowly hits you, as if the information were a hesitant slap on the shoulder. Thoughts come blending into each other in your head and forming a quaky conclusion. Could it be…?

Open another tab on your work desktop. You quickly flock to YouTube. Never mind if your boss sees the history through the internet router. You have to know if your suspicions are true. 

Your experienced fingers spell out a search query into the curved search bar. In flash-paced impulse, you type out: "권은비 워터밤."

Then there it is: several fan-recorded videos of your girlfriend, your ever-so-precious and playful Eunbi, dressed in nothing but a flimsy bikini top and a see-through cardigan. Her hair is soaked from the sprays and shots of water coming at her, but she's smiling—she looks like she's having the time of her life.

The played previews of the videos are endless loops of her chest rippling and bouncing with her wide movements, even cutting to a clip where she's running her hands up her exposed body, grinding her hips down as if you were there on the stage with her, invisible yet still present. 

No wonder she didn't want you to attend. You insisted, but she asked that you did what you had to do. 

You're a good man. At least, you try to be. Eunbi's her own person and you're completely fine with whatever she does, even suggesting the kinds of tattoos she could pick out when she went to get some. They're what gave you the inked places to kiss her.

But she knows what she was doing with this. It's impossible not to discern that.

Look around before closing the tab with shivering breaths, then pick up your phone.

You: ????? 

You told me it was a festival

Not the WATERBOMB festival

Tokki 🐰: oh come on whats the difference 

and you don't own me >:(

i can do whatever i want

:PPPPP

She's got a point, but her intent with this is so obvious, with the lewd expressions she fires the audience and all, that—

You: Oh

So that's how it's going to be, huh.

It's maddening how your picture of her jumping around giggling as she types another message to you is probably accurate. 

Tokki 🐰: yes :3

can you come pick me up?? 

The audacity of this girl sometimes.

But forget it; as any good boyfriend would, you're picking her up. You'll do more than pick her up. 

-

Getting there in the guise of her manager isn't easy. You've had to negotiate with him, explaining that you'll pick her up on your own and save him the trouble. I'm a friend of hers, you said. I just want to congratulate her performance, you added. He gave you suspicious looks, but once he saw her name in your contacts, he ultimately agreed.

Driving through the crowd isn't easy either, but you manage to do it. You have your emotions to thank for that. Lust and jealousy, as you've learned, are like demons—they possess you, control you to the point that they invade other aspects of your life. Asmodeus sure likes tinkering with you, and you're just sitting there in the driver's seat letting him? If that's the case, you'd have to attend the Waterbomb Festival itself to wash yourself of hell's flame.

Heat begins to fill the room when you see her though. You'd adlib a pun into the script here, say a joke about how it's only hot because Eunbi is. But you're too turned on by the sight of her tits on display, poorly contained by the thin bikini and held together by one single button of the transparent cardigan.

Her smile pushes you on. She knows what you're here for, but she loves playing dumb as much as she loves provoking you. It's all going according to her plan.

Every bit of her insane curves sway in an aesthetic, almost rehearsed way at you as she approaches. Her hair is still wet, and maybe there's another thing wet, too; her thighs squirm together too much to be merely out of the soaked sprays aimed at her at the festival.

Eunbi's eyes sparkle. Makeup can't fabricate that glimmer.

"Daddy," she says, with conviction. With meaning. 

The hair on the back of your nape rises.

Eunbi's pushing you to the empty seat in the room, soon filling your lap with her soft presence. "You really came? I thought you were mad at Eunbi."

There she is again with the third-person thing. The daddy thing, too. She knows it's your weakness, hearing a pretty girl like her who pretends not to know of her effect on people get on her knees and call you what she shouldn't. You won't lie; it's insanely hot, but when she's grinding her round ass down on your growing bulge with that tiny bite of her lower lip, you, as usual, aren't passive. You aren't moved by her coaxing. You refuse to be. 

"Watch it," you warn anyway, a hand on one of her womanly hips. You massage it, a cautionary message written in your movements. Now you brush a thumb over her midriff and draw small gasps out of her.

"I'm n-not doing anything." 

Innocent as her voice is, her outfit isn't—the patterned bikini top barely holds on to her plentiful breasts, and the cardigan is useless anyway with how clear its seams are. 

"Daddy," Eunbi says again, the pout on her lipsticked mouth growing, "don't tease."

"I'm not doing anything," you say, happy to use her line against her. 

You love and live to see the weak expressions on her face when you trail your hands gently to the scope of her tits. If they barely fit the bikini, what more in your hands? They're too soft in your fingers as you gingerly toy with them. Her nipples poke the fabric of the top and brush your palms.

Eunbi's gasps frequent. "Please."

"What is this, baby?" you ask. "You go to a festival made for perverts and you make a scene anyway. And now you want me to take this off—"

Unbutton the single thing holding the cardigan together, slipping it off her shoulders. The bare, revealed body in front of you is something the Waterbomb Festival goers were able to see first—just under the gauze of the poor outerwear. It triggers an unhinged emotion in you, something that goes like: mine mine mine.

"—call you a good girl—"

Eunbi's lips are pursed as you touch her everywhere. She's completely soaked after her viral feat at the festival, but there's another thing down below that's wetter. Showing herself off to everybody, men and women alike, has her wet to the core. 

Your touch teases yet lingers, stays yet strays. She grinds down on your lap needily. 

"—and expect me to fuck you? Really?"

Eunbi's truly all bark but no bite. Her feistiness through texts doesn't translate in real life, wherein she completely melts when you just let your fingertips glide along her waiting skin. Just look at her heaving bosom, her large eyes—she's passiveness itself.

"But you, you liked seeing me up there, daddy," she stammers. Eunbi swallows the moment your hand rests on her cheek. "H-hah, you liked watching me."

She cries out too loud for subtleness at the sudden spank thrown at her tits. 

"Is this what you wanted those men at the festival to do to you?" Slap her bouncing tits again, squeezing before throwing another blow. "Slap your big fucking tits, dick you down right there on the stage for everyone to see?"

"Mmm, ah, you ask too many questions, daddy. Oh– oh my god—"

"If you want to be such a bad girl," you say, a harsh squeeze from your right hand on her boob, "you'll get fucked like one."

Pull down the narrow cup of the bikini to suck on her nipples. Replace the redness on the flesh from your slaps to redness from your mouth. You've placed your hand on skirted ass to keep her on your lap, because she's not going anywhere—she'll stay here, here where you can teach her a lesson. 

You dare to bite just a little. Beneath your palm, Eunbi's form curves and she screams.

"D-daddy!" 

"Sensitive, aren't we?" you ask with a smirk. Your tongue flattens as it licks greedily at her nipples, then retreating to her collarbone and neck. Still, her bountiful breasts are your main focus. 

"Please fuck me. I need it, I can't—"

"Take the skirt off. Bend over." 

Eunbi whines, but you fire her with a look of warning. Hence, she slips out of the white jean skirt. She doesn't even wear safety shorts underneath. Instead, it's a single thong that matches the plaid pattern of the top. She might as well be at a beach with how little clothing there is on her curvaceous body.

Your blood boils, but it settles when she does bend over obediently on your lap, and you enjoy the sight of her breasts dangling before settling on the soft plush sofa. 

"Someone might see, daddy," she protests, though she's already folded in half on the furniture. "The others, they're gonna look."

"You had no problem with that earlier," you say. Circle your palm over the exposed fat cheeks and clench your hand around one, just like you did with her tits. "I should fuck you at the door, make everyone see the sexy little thing they saw at the festival is mine."

"Noooo, please, daddy! The company'll be mad and my fans…oh, my fans—"

"Quiet, baby girl. Let me use you."

Eunbi nods, albeit her shadowed eyes are closed. She whimpers through pursed lips as the first spank capsizes. Her ass moves beautifully, as if it were a dancer just like her. It's hypnotizing, and for that you hit her more. 

"Oh, oh yes, daddy, oh my god," she cries out, her voice thin. "I love it when you spank me. M-makes me want to cum all over you."

"Not a chance after the shit you pulled out there."

Her thong is sticky with her juices. Feel it with your middle finger briefly. Dare to slip through the side to touch her waiting pussy. Eunbi sobs a little, reversing her ass into you, but is met with a spank instead. She winces.

Eunbi's ass is, to be brief, amazing. But even with that you'll go on to say how much you love the supple flesh bouncing in front of you, becoming red from the assault of your hand, clenching to bear the teasing. It's already a surprise that you haven't fucked her senseless already when she's lying stomach first on your lap in a tiny two-piece set, but you love to keep her on edge hankering for you to use her. 

"So you won't let me cum?" asks Eunbi, as if she were really disappointed that she'd be denied something she doesn't deserve. "That's not fair."

"Do you think it's fair to me?" 

"Oh, oh, daddy—" Her legs quake once your fingers nevertheless stuff her hole, and start moving at a pace too early to be set and too much to handle.

Your digits push past her slick walls and fill her over and over. "Presenting what's mine for everyone to see, Kwon Eunbi. And I thought you were a good girl."

"Ohhh, but I am!" Eunbi protests, on the verge of pleasure-induced tears. 

You just know where to touch her, where to fuck her pretty cunt at to reduce her to cum and tears. Nothing's a better combination. Stuff a third finger, and Eunbi gets too tight that you can barely fit. You have to spread your fingers a little to make space, yet she still squeezes down.

Through her struggles and cries she doesn't fail to move her crotch into your fingers. It's like she's in a battle of choices: to have you stop or have you go on forever. 

"I just wanted to have fun, daddy! I wanted you to punish me, to fuck me—"

"Well, you got what you wanted then, little brat. Cum for me. Cum for daddy."

Her screams fire off into the atmosphere like warnings. They have every right to send cautionary messages; Eunbi's a force to be reckoned with when she cums. At times, she'd yell and sob without shame as she came around your cock, tear the sheets with how hard she grasps at their fabric. But now, at a public waiting room backstage at the festival, she's got nowhere and no one to help her bear her orgasm.

So, while you violently fuck her hole with Eunbi-stained digits, her moans start off as what they were, evolving into louder and louder forms, until she's cumming, cumming all over your fingers as if her pussy were one of the water guns itself. Her squirt doesn't miss her thong, but it also doesn't leave your lap empty in its wake.

Oh, and she's screaming. She's crying out your name in pitched tones, carving your thrusts into stronger forces. "Shit, daddy, please!" Eunbi cries, struggling in your lap and squeezing down hard. "Please, daddy, I don't want to ruin your clothes!"

That's sweet of her, but frankly: "I don't care. Cum all over them. Just keep on squirting for me, baby. That's it."

Pull out to rub at her core, forcing more of her girl cum to eject into the air. Eunbi's legs flail and weaken. Her hips gyrate into your finger and flinch after you start spanking her impossibly wet cunt.

"Thank you, daddy," she says between gaspy gibberish and whimpers. She can barely see anything but stars. "My daddy, thank you, daddy, keep spanking my little pussy like that, mmm, I love you, daddy."

Alternate between spanking and rubbing so that the sofa is absolutely stained with her, so that anyone who comes in the room after the session will know that the Kwon Eunbi was railed here. So they know that they can gawk at her amazing body all they want, but she's yours. Yours, and no one else's. 

Eunbi bears it for a few seconds, hips lifting and descending. But it soon becomes too much to bear, for she implores, in a tired voice, "Daddy… stop. Too much."

No problem at all. Stop, like she asked. You never take things too far unless she wants you to, even when she's been bad, which reminds you: "But you're still a bad girl. You need to make it up to daddy."

"I know what to do!" she says, in a sudden cheerful voice she uses when she does her radio gigs. "I can make daddy feel better with this!"

Her legs are still weak, but she gets off your lap with the help of her own eagerness. Eunbi's always so ready to make you feel good.

She kneels, tugging your belt and pants off. Her animated expression at the sight of your cock is adorable, and as you ruffle her hair, you realize you just have to tell her:

"You're so fucking pretty, Eunbi."

Eunbi beams. Her cheeks flush. "Thank you, daddy."

"I bet you'll look even prettier fucking your huge tits on my cock."

"You don't have to tell me what to do," giggles Eunbi. "I'm a big girl."

She completely tears off the bikini top. Her wondrous boobs free themselves from the fabric, baring their flesh to you. It's an attempt to make you drool at the mouth and go bogey-eyed, and you can't say that it isn't successful. 

She squeezes her assets and plays with her nipples. Her fingertips brush and circle over the pink patch of skin as she moans seductively. The knot in your stomach tightens.

"Eunbi," you reprimand her. 

"What?" she says, eyes full of faux innocence. "I was so horny after you fingered me, daddy. You're just so hot when you're mad."

"I'll be madder if you don't let me fuck you."

She laughs. "Don't worry, daddy. Just sit there and relax for me, okay?" Eunbi raises a thumb questioningly.

Lower lip pinned under her teeth, she guides her large breasts to your cock. It takes no effort at all for her to slip your cock between. It's not unexpected either that the big soft skin imprisoning you feels amazing. With their size and impossibly smooth texture, you've no other choice but to moan loudly.

The backside of your length enjoys the space between her tits, while the rounded sides revel in their booby trap. Not a pun, you swear, especially not when your girlfriend's titfucking you, but there's no coherent thought when she's doing it. When she's smiling naughtily. When she's compressing her tits around your length like it's determined to keep you there forever. When—

"You're doing so fucking good, baby."

"Of course," she says happily. "Daddy made me cum even though I was a bad girl, so I'll always be good for him."

"Consider this your punishment, then."

"How is it a punishment if I love it?" 

"Don't start."

Another warning she doesn't heed. "I already have."

Her chest heaves and rests while being instructed by her hands. Eunbi lets a run of spit stream down her cleavage and on your cock as lubricant. Wipe the drool from her chin and offer it to her mouth. Her eyes sparkle with delicateness as she sucks on your thumb. The soft lips wrapping around your finger causes you to wonder what they'd feel like around your girth.

(Next time.)

"Gently," you have to remind her. The constriction of her bust around your cock is a little too much. So is her eager looks. "There's no rush here."

"But I want you to cum," Eunbi says. "I want you to cum all over my big tits you love so much. You love me, don't you? Then cum for me, daddy, show me you love your little baby girl, please?"

Fuck, it's tempting. You'd love to pepper her beautiful face and bust with your cum. She'd look so pretty in it while still keeping the look of pureness in her irises. But you have to hold out. 

She toys with your cock, slapping it against her boob then running its tip on her nipple. Your heart skips a beat, and she smirks. Seems like you're not doing a good job of keeping your daddy persona, but she's good enough to continue rubbing your firm veins on her skin. 

Eunbi's chest is a real-life fleshlight. Soon, your hips start to move of their own accord, and you're meeting her thrusts now, only with a little more force. There's the friction to chase after, too, and you're right at its heel. You're winning the race, already; you can almost taste it—

"Ohhh, daddy!" she says delightfully. Your cum rains on her chest and neck like a storm. The thunder can be your groans that instead of fearing, she relishes. 

"F-fuck," you say. "Fucking brat, take it all—"

Eunbi listens this time. She removes her bosom from enveloping your cock and attaches her mouth to it instead. You've trained her well; she shoves her face all the way down your length, effectively taking it all in her tight throat. Her neck flexes and relaxes. It stimulates you and has your legs bouncing.

Her eyes remain sealed onto you. The brightness in them that they hold so often tells you more than words could: she loves being your good girl as much as she loves being a brat. She loves riling you up but also loves being good and letting you have your way with her. It's what Eunbi keeps living for, and some may say it's an addiction, but if it is, she'd never want to recover. Not if it means having your warm cum down her throat and your hand tangled in her hair.

You call her a good girl more times than you can count. Ruffle her hair all the while and wipe the tears forming in her eyes when she whimpers. It takes a while getting her to get all of your cum—her throat extracts more from you, and it ends up with her gagging just a little. Finally, she makes the move to breathe.

Pants ride her shoulders, but Eunbi smiles. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" she says. "Let's go home now—"

"Oh, no, Eunbi, we're not done."

"H-huh?"

You pull her up and into your lap, her butt parked only a little away from your cock. Eunbi wears a shocked look on her face, and it only adds up to the hotness of her wearing nothing but a Burberry thong while on your thighs.

"I still have to teach you a lesson," you tell her between firm squeezes on her butt. "You think I forgot?"

"Why?" she whines. Her hands fidget with your shirt. "I've been a good girl, haven't I? You got to cum!"

"And I'm not stopping." Guide her hips to dance along the head of your length. Brush against her engorged clit. Tease her slit. "Fucking ride my dick."

You push her down. Eunbi cries out, her nerves still on a high after her previous orgasm. To be fair, you're a little sensitive, too, but you look forward anyway to cumming in her tight little pussy. It could happen any time when she's just so fuckable, her busty self bouncing and squirming on your girth, and her face never failing to not hide the pleasure she's going through. You can feel her twitch and spasm, but of course, you keep slamming her down on your lap like she's a little rag doll.

"Daddy!" she screams. "Please, oh fuck, you're so big!"

She's a little greedy herself. If you wanted to fuck her till she came and begged you to stop, she wanted it more. She's wild and unhinged as she rides you, impaling herself with your rod though you cumming in her would do more bad than good, but when it pokes every good spot and stretches her tiny cunt better than any toy or a couple of fingers, she might as well do it with no regrets.

Kiss her collarbone and keep a hand on her ass to guide her. Squeeze; her moans break. Then Eunbi's looking at you with crazed eyes, deluded and dizzy with pleasure, as you slap her fat ass and let her wet core press its walls around your penis like a trap. This whole thing's a trap if you really looked at it, from the appearance at the Waterbomb Festival to the outfit she's wearing, but if that were so, you'd want no parole. If being jailed in her hole means getting this delicious tightness and hearing her whiny loud moans every second, you'd appeal for a life sentence.

She might as well be liquid—the roll of her hips is too fluid to be that of a human. But you've seen her fancams from the festival and guess that it was a manifestation, a prophecy for this to happen. Your cock can't be anything other than solid, however. Eunbi's too sexy a girl for your erection to be nonexistent.

"That's it, Eunbi." Lean back a little into the wet sofa to let her do her thing. "Ride that fucking cock. Fill that tight pussy."

"I will, daddy," she responds, nodding as if in a spell-cast trance. Maybe it's true; the heat brewing in the small of her stomach is too good to be true. "Yes, please, I love your big cock, it feels so good inside me."

You don't even have to guide her anymore. She's fully fucking herself on you, her stamina never failing her. Her full thighs strain and her pussy clenches down with a slippery yet firm grip. Groan, then slap her ass. She hums happily. Your relentless upward thrusts and slaps just burn her lust into a complete fire. 

It's a surprise your legs don't collapse on the way to carrying her and fucking her against the wall. It gives you more opportunity to stuff her with you harder. Eunbi's legs spread more, her breathing ragged, and you're kissing her again. You press your lips on hers, then on her neck for which she closes her eyes appreciatively, then her collarbone. There isn't one part of her you don't love. You'd paint her with your cum three times a day like a daily meal if you could.

For now, you binge on lust with her. You eat more of her than you should. But who's making the rules? Whoever they are, let it be known you're breaking them—skin slapping against skin grows louder, almost syncing with Eunbi's repeated moans and your pumps. Her hips and yours create a rhythm together to make it work, to make your cock fit inside her, but she ends up weak and tired anyway.

"Please, daddy. S-suck my tits. I need your mouth on me so bad. Can you give your baby girl what she wants, daddy?" Her pout prods you on. "You can, right?"

"Of course." 

Latch your mouth on one of the bouncing circles of flesh. Nibble, suck, spit, suckle—that's your beginning loop of actions for her. But it becomes frenzied after a while because of how good her folds swallow you, how soft her breasts are. Even as your actions become less and less sequenced, she moans. You never want to hear anything else.

"Yes, yes, yes. Thank you. I, I'm gonna cum soon. Keep fucking me like that and I promise, I promise I'll squirt around your s-stupidly big cock. I will, I will, just fuck me, oh my god. Oh, daddy!"

Eunbi stays true to her word, especially with your thumb toying her clit. She lets out another rush of cum on your crotch. It's wet, it's plenty, it's oh-so-hot when she's screaming helplessly like that, struggling to keep up with your speed. 

Pull out so more of her can spray all over you. If people don't hear your little session in this waiting room, they'll see evidence of it—it ends up on the floor, the sofa, the wall, and your soaked clothes on the ground. Maybe Eunbi's back could have imprinted a mark on the wall too after how hard you fucked her. It's too easy for adoring fans and nonchalant staff alike to find out what happened to their beloved Kwon Eunbi after the festival, and you have a feeling that it's part of what makes Eunbi squirt so much now.

Go south. Keep your fingers on her hips to help her stand. Then, flick your tongue on her clit to help her go through the long stretch of her orgasm.

"Ahh, fuck!" 

Her core tightens again. Her hips flinch and recoil, but you keep firing your sharp little licks long after her climax subsides. 

"Oh, daddy," Eunbi sighs, dizzy, "that felt so good."

"Can you go for more?" 

You're met with a curious look. It's as if she's wondering herself: could she?

"I want to fuck your ass, too, Eunbi." Squeeze her cheek, and her other cheek turns red. "Won't you let daddy fuck this perfect little thing?"

Eunbi shivers. She walks over to the windowsill, steps shaky, and places her hands on it. Then, she looks back at you, coaxing you on. And you have to admit that it's quite the sight, because there she is, in only skimpy underwear and her breasts bare of any covering. 

It's the fact that she's so willing to go and expose herself through the uncurtained window and show everyone who gets to fuck her that makes you approach her. 

"Naughty girl."

Eunbi nods. What's there to deny? Her eyes shut after you spank her.

"If I get to fuck your ass every time you go to Waterbomb," you say, trailing her wetness to her asshole as lubricant and lathering it with her arousal, "I'd let you go here daily."

Eunbi giggles. "So you're not mad anymore, daddy?" she asks hopefully.

Your cock rubs her hole. It teases her, keeps her on the tips of her toes. "Maybe."

Push, just a little. Already she's clenching down unintentionally. Eunbi hisses and shuts her eyes.

"Ffffuck, hnn." Her hands drum a tortured song on the windowsill while her voice strains a melody of darling cries and whines. "Haaah, daddy, you're so big. I don't think I can take it."

"Of course you can," you say, choosing to be gentle this time, "'cause you're my good girl, right?"

"Y-yes. I'll take it for you, daddy—I can do it."

"That's my Eunbi."

Kiss her neck and slowly plunge more inches in her. She keeps letting out soft cries. Her face, showcasing her eyes shut tightly and mouth slightly hung open, reflects into the window. You wonder which group's performing now, and if the audience is too enamored by their song to see the previous sex doll that is Eunbi being fucked at the window. That somehow encourages you alongside her soft moans of pleasure. 

It's Eunbi's first time with anal, and she never imagined she'd experience it here, at a place where anybody can see her pleasure and struggle. She clamps a palm on her mouth.

"Daddy… ahhh, it's so big, daddy!" she cries softly.

"I know. Just spread that tight ass for me, will you? So you can take daddy better?" Smile when she follows your orders. "Thank you, baby. You ready?"

"Mmm." Eunbi hums hesitantly. "Yes."

She said she was, so there's no hesitance on your end in relentlessly fucking her asshole. It gapes a little with the help of her fingers, but Eunbi still wails. Stroke after stroke of your length fills her up and she isn't sure how to deal with the pleasure and pain it brings about. 

Her textured, pink walls might be a close competitor in terms of tightness with her pussy. With how closed its walls are, it nearly refuses to take you in. Try rubbing at her clit. As a result, it clenches around you tighter. Eunbi sobs and huffs as she tries with every inch of her spent body to take you in. 

"Nnnn, daddy! S-so big, so good, it's so good!"

Open her up. Spread the tight cheeks by spanking them. The backside before you grinds and gyrates in response. There's more wetness now on Eunbi's legs, trickling down her skin. Maybe it's sweat? Squirt? Cum? No time to think about it when you're focused on how damn tight she is.

Somehow, your pats and rubs on her core make her tighter. She's restricting you fully, forcing you to draw your hips all the way back to slam inside her. With each, she gasps, as if surprised, and begs again. Begs for more, although her ass is too tight to take more than a few pleasured inches in. Begs you to use her, spank her, which you do although you don't really understand the rest of her sentences. It's all garbled and messy, just like your swift thrusts.

"Pound me, fuck me! Fuck me for everyone to see, daddy, make me cum!"

Now that part's clear as day. You love Eunbi too much to not do what she says.

A few seconds in she relaxes a little. Hence, the rest of your dick goes inside her. You let out a soft groan at how good it feels: finally filling her to the hilt. You kiss her sweaty back, rub her clit, tell her how much of a good girl she is. It takes effect; she grows tighter and more relaxed at the same time. How it's possible, you've no idea, for you live in the present wherein you're fucking Kwon Eunbi's tight ass to no end.

Rub her little midriff. "You want me to fill this pretty stomach with my load, baby? You want me to cream your ass?" 

"Yes, daddy!" 

Now, trail your finger down to her clit where you rub furiously. "Want me to make you squirt again?" 

"Fuck! Daddy!" Eunbi's legs twitch and she throws her head back. "Yes, yes, make me cum, make me cum!"

That you do. Keep the tempo of your thrusts and rubs unsynced so as to let her experience the pleasure from both ends. Let your other hand squeeze and pinch her nipples, and let the fact that only you get to toy with them, not the audience. Not one single man out there gets to fuck her like this, even in his dreams. 

You smile for a bit until you blow your load inside her tight hole. Eunbi's feet finally lose balance and she falls back into you. Continue to thrust in her to ease your climax while she rains her squirt all over the pane and wall. Let a few fingers inside her pussy, too, and the silver rain grows stronger. Plentier. Better.

"So fffucking big, thank you, daddy," she mumbles coherently enough. She kisses your jaw tiredly. "Feels so good in my ass, thank you, I love you, thank you… the best…"

Her repeated whispers are adorable. You wince as you pull out. You're fully and completely drained, and you don't have to guess to know that she is, too.

"Calm down now."

"Okay, I will…" 

"I love you, too, by the way." Your lips meet hers. She kisses back happily.  "Don't forget that."

"Won't… forget…" Eunbi nods. Her heart pounds as fast as yours. "We'll go home now? For real this time?"

"For real this time," you chuckle. Stroke her hair. 

You let her robe fall around her spent body and drive her home. The janitors have a tough time cleaning up the room, luckily only assuming someone spilled water. The scent of sex still hangs around, though.

She's your passenger princess on the way home, but the next three times she'll attend the Waterbomb Festival, she's your toy. You're flying with her to Japan to fuck her anytime, just as a firm reminder that as much as she's loved to show off in the events, you love fucking her more.

[fivenightsatfreddysfanfiction]

Of Words and Weapons

.

Sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows as Vanessa looked over the various documents on the island in the center. She could hear Gregory laughing outside, playing in the yard with Freddy. Alex was upstairs in his room, a sign on his door letting them know he was broadcasting so it was better to send messages to him via phone. And Sydney was in the kitchen with her, preparing ingredients for making lunch, something with rice and vegetables.

She couldn’t keep her focus on her papers, looking up to watch him chopping broccoli in silence. If there was anything Vanessa hated in the world, it was that forced silence from him. The Pizzaplex used it as her punishment if she didn’t meet expectations or was ‘disappointing’ for them in some way, taking away Sydney’s voice so she’d have no other sounds in solitude but her own voice, which would end up meek and submissive from her uncertainty that he’d ever be back to himself. But this was different; this silence was one Sydney put upon himself out of fear of what he could do with his voice.

Alex had explained it, sort of. How in their past lives as the mercenaries of some renown Panther and Router, Sydney had been the Panther, who would capture persons of interest and then use any information he gained about them to speak them into submission. Words to break their hearts and spirits, to demoralize, dehumanize, destroy their sense of self-worth and autonomy; with just his voice, Panther could hollow out a person into shells of themselves, a fate worse than death.

And Sydney had some understanding of that, so his solution to his fear of even unintentionally using hurtful words was to just go mute. Vanessa thought it was stupid and had hoped that, in time, he’d realize how dumb it was to just stop talking and just talk to her again. She missed their conversations and she just wanted his past to not be constantly a shadow over them.

She set her pen down and took a deep breath. The contract she despised was tucked in her pocket as usual, and she took it out to look it over again. The legalese was densely packed and had taken forever for her to pick through to understand. What she got from it was the idea that him being bound to her like this meant she could give orders and he’d carry them out. Just thinking of it made her feel ill, but maybe.. maybe this could actually work?

She shouldn’t, she shouldn’t, just thinking of it was awful, but how else was she to get any progress?

“Sydney?” Vanessa began and hated how meek she sounded, like she was in front of Vanny, unsure of herself and her place in the world. She coughed and tried to clear her throat while Sydney paused his work to look at her expectantly, his head tilted in that way that made her think of a confused puppy. ‘Just say it and see if he’ll actually do it and maybe things will go back to the way they were!’

She tried again, tried to make herself sound more confident. “Sydney, I know you think you’re keeping us safe by not talking, but we’ll be fine so you can stop giving us the silent treatment,” Vanessa tried to joke, playing for casual and cool. “I’d like to have our chats again.”

Sydney just gave her that little smile of amusement and shook his head. Frustration flooded her, surging past a shallow current of attempted calm that tried to soothe her. ‘Just say it!’

“I’m ordering you to stop being silent and talk to me again!” Vanessa yelled tearfully and almost immediately regretted saying anything, hands flying up to cover her mouth as Sydney’s expression went blank.

“..I was wondering if you’d ever use that,” he finally said softly, then gave her a slow smile, laughing as he shook his head. He headed for the sink, washed the blade of the knife, wiped it dry and then set it into the wood block with the others. With that done, he returned to the kitchen island and laid his hands on the surface, leaning forward on it in a relaxed pose. “So, what now?” he asked her with a lopsided grin, hooded eyes just watching her fidget in her chair, “You wanted me to talk. What do you want me to say?”

Well, she got her wish. Her vision flickered, like the world seemed to distort for just a moment and then snapped back into place. Sydney was still waiting on her to say something. To issue another order. Vanessa swallowed, a lump in her stomach making her feel queasy. She wasn’t much of a supervisor, she couldn’t do this. Following orders was more her thing, dependable, reliable, comforting directions that she could follow or find loopholes in. Structure in the world that kept the chaos of the unknown at bay.

For all that Sydney was her best friend, her constant companion since awakening with no memories of her past, he was very much still an unknown to her.

Chaos she unbottled without thinking.

“That’s a familiar expression,” Sydney murmured when she didn’t speak up, that grin still on his face, “If your face freezes like that, I’ll get the blame for it.” Familiar words, teasing as usual, so why didn’t this feel right? Vanessa didn’t know what expression she had on -Fear, typical reaction to a mercenary with Panther’s reputation, even if his memories are gone, those skills didn’t fade.- but her eyes remained focused on him as he pushed himself away from the kitchen island. Away from her.

“My silence was your safety, Vanessa,” he went on with a casual shrug, “I don’t know why you wanted to remove that, but then you’re always looking for loopholes to exploit to get what you want.” Sydney’s expression and tone darkened, “Seems like I’m forever being partnered with hackers of one kind or another. People who think they know it all and still manage to fuck up on the most basic shit.”

“I’m sorry,” Vanessa said meekly, a memory of being threatened by a harsh voice and a British accent flashing through her mind. -What was that? I’ll have to come back to that in another session.- “I just.. I...” she trailed off brokenly.

“You just wanted to talk again, even though I’ve told you before,” Sydney filled in for her, “talking leads to trouble. You can’t afford trouble, Vanessa.” He gestured towards the household. “We have people depending on you! You’re the head of the house!” The look of contempt on his face had her whimper, tears welling up as pinpricks covered her skin.

Alex had warned her, didn’t he? Had told her about how his brother in their past lives could dig out a person’s weakness and just keep hitting it with his words. Find what scares them most, what they don’t want to face, and force it in their faces until they broke. -It’s what he was good at, according to Mike at least. Didn’t have much to him by the time I faced him in that attraction.- But Sydney wasn’t like that. He was always trying to lift her up, cheer her up, keep her reminded of things she liked and things that were her strengths. -And that can just as easily be flipped. Is this what you think he would attack with?-

“You don’t arm a weapon unless you intend to fire it at a target, Vanessa,” Sydney murmured, slowly circling the kitchen, moving out of her line of sight as she sat there, frozen in rising despair, “Otherwise it’s a waste of resources. Is that what you do? Waste your resources? You have so little to work with, and you squander some for a fantasy?”

Not enough money in the account. Not enough memories to hold her identity. Pounding against an iron door, screaming in desperation at the glitchy smile hovering in the shadows.

-There’s so much to address, you people are far too good at burying your issues. I can’t help you guys if you add a third layer!-

“N-no, you’re not a waste!” Vanessa tried to protest. This wasn’t really him, this wasn’t, this wasn’t!

“Do you have a target for me?” Sydney purred, leaning towards her from just behind her shoulder. How did he get there so fast?! -Apparently he could move pretty quickly and quietly for being a big guy. At least, back when he was alive. Or so I’m told.- “Or a topic to talk about? Because if you don’t, then this was a waste, Vanessa.”

She shivered, eyes wide and teary as his voice lowered, close to her ear, cold and biting. “What a waste, just like you,” Sydney whispered, “All that effort Vanny put into you, all that pain I put up with for you, and at the first chance to prove yourself all you did was show off how useless you are. Pretty face and empty head, no wonder she thought you were perfect as a host body. She gave you that contract, gave you power, and you don’t even know what to do with it.”

She felt lightheaded, her breaths quick and uneven as her vision glitched out more in that familiar way. -Wait, he doesn’t call her by that name, you do.. Ah! That’s where the lie is!-

“Maybe you should sleep,” Sydney murmured, gently taking hold of her chin and turning her face to his, lopsided grin in place again. “Life is too hard for you, isn’t it?” he added, tilting her face up closer, “So much easier to just.. Sleep.”

“Yeah, no. The Sydney we know tends to stay out of people’s personal spaces,” another voice declared in an unimpressed tone as mist of blue-tinged white rolled over the kitchen and crashed up against the two of them. Sydney was shoved away from Vanessa as she staggered back, hugging herself tightly with a sob. “Now I see the lie in this nightmare. You’re a lingering fragment of Glitchtrap’s programming!”

The kitchen flickered, the cute cabinets and household appliances vanishing in favor of black walls spattered with deep purple pixels, an incomplete rabbit’s head formed in the mess, mouth moving as if in slow laughter. Vanessa looked around herself, the fear and desperation of that night in the Pizzaplex surging back up. The sound of Gregory and Freddy playing had long faded, never there to begin with, and Vincent stood before her like a shield, facing down a Sydney who wouldn’t say things like that to her but did in this nightmare.

Or he could but refuses to and that can change any moment and what could she do then?

“What’s the truth here? Show your real form!” the guard declared, “Vanessa, focus on your memories of who Sydney is, to you and your family.”

She blinked, casting about for them, between the haziness and the gaps where Vanny, Elizabeth Afton, had scrubbed her memories. Little pockets of clarity, where Sydney was persistently trying to keep her memories fresh, rewrite her identity when it was being worn away, poking and prodding during their exercise routines. He was her friend, her protector, her teacher of sorts, who grinned proudly up at her when she finally took him by surprise during one sparring practice and brought him down.

‘This version of Sydney knows my weaknesses? Well, I know his too!’

Vanessa wasn’t sure when that retro-Freddy head appeared at her feet but then dreams were weird things anyway and very much not her department. She quickly reached down to grab it and put it over her head, then grabbed the stool she’d been sitting on, hefted it up, and ran screaming at Sydney in the most threatening way she could.

It was almost funny the way the man just froze up and stared at her like she was Death itself coming for him, absolute horror on his face up until she smashed the stool against his arm and knocked him over. Vincent’s gobsmacked expression might be hilarious to her later, but for now it was irritating as it meant he was wasting time gawking when he could be fixing this mess in her head. Vanessa smacked the stool down on Sydney’s back to be sure he was staying down and then lifted the Freddy head from her own to glare at the purple-skinned dream guard.

“Well?! You’re being paid by the hour; don’t milk it!” she declared. Vincent startled back into motion, pouting at her with a blush.

“You’re getting a discount already, I’m not haggling more when I have to keep taking Ven’s place and distract him from his commissions!” he countered and raised a hand towards the dazed man on the floor. Vanessa watched intently as Remnant wrapped over his body and pulled, unwrapping the image of Sydney like paper covering a present.

Her determined expression gave way to shock at the half-formed figure of the rabbit lady Vanny that lay in place of her best friend, blood-red eyes flickering to rainbow static erratically as she twitched like an animatronic on the fritz. He was right and her own fears were right; there was still Vanny’s influence left in her, pieces waiting to rip control of her body from her, prepare her still for Emelia’s ‘resurrection’. She still wasn’t truly free.

When would she ever be free?

The rabbit woman’s eyes rolled in her head to lock onto Vanessa’s face and before Vincent even registered what was going to happen, she lunged from the floor to Vanessa, hands outstretched as if to strangle her.

Her body moved in reaction, no thoughts, no doubts, not even a moment for either. A large kitchen knife just flashed in Vanessa’s hand and she lunged forward herself, slamming the blade into the rabbit woman’s body. Her palm pressed against the butt of the knife’s handle to increase the force, moving downward to let gravity help drive the blade in deeper. Vanny’s scream in response was strangled and electronic, artificial and grating on the ears. Vanessa just twisted the knife, then kicked the woman away, the knife ripping out from Vanny’s body being flung back in the motion.

When Vanny hit the ground this time, she burst apart in a cloud of purple and black, and Vincent’s cooling Remnant tore through the cloud, burning away the fragments before they could touch anything else in her mind.

“What the hell was that?” the man breathed in shock, staring at Vanessa as she swallowed and looked down at the dripping knife in her hand. Some part of her thought she should feel a lot more horrified by her own actions. Some part should be demanding to know how she learned to do that, if Elizabeth Afton had implanted these killing capabilities into her for Emelia to use.

But that wasn’t where these came from, was it? ‘She wanted Emelia’s hands ‘clean’, that’s why she made that contract with Sydney. Sydney was supposed to do the killing for me.. for her.. when it was needed.’ And instead Sydney taught her self-defense during their hours off from work before and during the Pizzaplex. Told her that she’d forget what he taught her sometimes but that it would be okay because they practiced enough her body would remember for her.

So the things in her head that would use her knowledge against her wouldn’t be able to predict her movements if she could do them on instinct.

The distortion of a rabbit hovering over them flickered and fell apart soon after, fading out before Vincent could tear into that as well. She heard him swear under his breath for failing to burn that bit of Glitchtrap out but all Vanessa could do was just lay her knife down on the kitchen island surface. The words were muffled anyway, the blade had grown heavy so she set it down, and now her skin felt clammy.

She could really use a shower and a few minutes to cry. Maybe she could yell at Sydney later for doing this to her, and then hug him tight for teaching her how to protect herself from her demons.

Maybe he had something like this in his head too, and that was why he still refused to talk. Maybe that was why he taught her how to do this, so if he couldn’t stop his own demon, Vanessa could stop him.

“Can we end the session now?” she asked weakly as Vincent dragged a chair over for her to sit in. Her legs wobbled and she all but dropped straight down onto it, but it was a relief to be off her feet.

“I’d like to discuss what happened here first,” he replied, gesturing at the mess in the kitchen. A lot of the room had broken apart into a cloudy void thanks to Glitchtrap, blank and formless like her focus.

“I don’t,” Vanessa countered flatly. She was already aware of what happened. Even with Gregory doing his best to break the network control over her, Elizabeth Afton still managed to get some programming into her head before Vanessa escaped the Pizzaplex and now she had to clean it up. This was her mind, her body, her identity; she wasn’t going to give any of it up to some little ghost girl who demanded to skip to adulthood and steal a new life instead of just be reborn like Alex said some ghosts could.

Vincent opened his mouth, then closed it with a sigh. “I’d really recommend talking this out, but I can’t force you to do something you don’t want to do,” he said reluctantly and offered his hand to her. “At least get some rest once you get home, indulge in all your favorite comfort things. Rebuild your mental stability and defenses.”

“I’m going to stick my toes under Sydney’s thighs,” Vanessa told him just as flatly and watched his face turn a darker shade of purple.

“There are some things you really don’t need to share with a counselor,” Vincent complained. She rolled her eyes; he did say to do something comforting, and warming her toes that way was nice, especially when she could then pester her best friend for a foot rub after and Sydney always indulged her while fake-complaining about it. Why did everyone else make such a weird big deal out of it?

She reached out and placed her hand in his and closed her eyes as the world faded away.

.

===

.

When Vanessa opened her eyes, she was staring up at the ceiling to the apartment Ven shared with his twin sister and Damien. The sofa she lay on was thick and soft against her back, the plush cushions rested against her head and neck, her feet resting in Sydney’s lap while he read a magazine. She blinked and looked down at him while he pulled his attention from it to her, a concerned frown on his face as he studied her carefully.

Rather than say anything, Vanessa pulled her feet from his lap and jammed them under his thigh, relishing in the warmth and the reminder that he was real, he was there, he hadn’t left her behind. Sydney just blinked at her actions, then patted the ankle he could reach comfortingly. She managed a smile at him even as her stomach still flip-flopped at knowing he taught her how to kill the Vanny in her head that tried to pull her sense of self down.

“I’d like to schedule a follow-up for this weekend to properly discuss this session as well as examine Sydney for correlating incidents,” Vincent said through Ven’s mouth as he pulled a notebook closer to himself on the coffee table.

Sydney’s grip on her ankle tightened and Vanessa looked to him as his face turned ashen, eyes wide and alarmed as he shook his head desperately. “Why don’t you want to get checked?” she asked him and sat up, dread creeping up her spine, “I told you I was afraid there was something still in me.. is there something like that in you?” she whispered, watching him intently as alarm turned to fear in her best friend’s eyes.

There had to be something like that if Sydney was panicking at the idea of letting Vincent in to see. She reached out to pat his shoulder as comfortingly as she could. “Hey, whatever’s going on, I’m sure we can handle it together,” Vanessa told him with a grin full of a confidence she didn’t fully feel, “You taught me how to take out the Vanny in my head, we can take on whatever Glitchtrap put inside yours!”

The complicated expression on his face was not all that comforting, not when it was paired with him pulling his hand from her ankle to fold his arms over his chest, shoulders hunching as though to protect himself from her words. Vanessa wondered if the same thing was happening to him that had happened to her; an implanted voice taunting him with his failures and mistakes, breaking him down where she couldn’t see, couldn’t reach.

She hoped fiercely for a chance to smash a stool on that other voice if that was the case. Sydney was a source of strength she could count on when she felt unsteady so of course she’d have to be one for him when he needed it most. That’s what made them such good partners after all.

“You are not a waste. You taught me so much, enough that I can lose my memories and still be a weapon against our enemies. So you can count on me to take out the ones in your mind and set us both free someday.”

[multi-muse-transect]

If there is ever a Wreck It Ralph 3, the movie should definitely tackle consoles. Like maybe the router leads Ralph into entering a console world and he finds out his game became a franchise that’s still going with different versions of himself. That also includes Vanellope. Also maybe said different versions of himself represent both era and console via their models and graphics.

Example: Early 2000’s Ralph is all cartoony and has low polygons akin to a PS2 while mid 2000’s Ralph is just a gritty version of Ralph that no one liked. Then there’s Ralph from the Wreck It Ralph Remake for current who looks the same as Ralph but more detailed.

A bit of a meta commentary on the evolution of games. Like Ralph feels outdated compared to his counterparts who went through their adventures.

Also maybe a Sergeant Calhoun whose newest game is an open world RPG after her franchise did a genre switch and has a variety of her selves with different romantic partners from other playthroughs (a reference to Mass Effect and any other RPG’s). Like there’s a Calhoun who’s all plasma blades/stealth build and has a girlfriend, a Calhoun who’s all heavy and has a boyfriend, etc.

[minervadashwood]

Daryl Dixon x NB!Reader (afab, plus-size) 🏹 Daryl x Reader x Rick 🛡️

The Cop and the Criminal - Chapter 13

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Series Masterlist |Masterlist | Taglist

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Summary: You tour the rest of the house. Rick comes over. This chapter contains: Hunting gear, smut, emotional embroidery, alphas x 2. Word count: 4.2K Note: I So excited to share this chapter with you. There are some sections in here about being nonbinary that are really dear to my heart.  I hope others like me can relate to them. @bringinsexybackk69 helped me with translations (from hillbilly to low country), and @livingdeadblondequeen helped with ideas, especially in the last section. @littlegodzilla and @green-eyedladywrites also gave me some great ideas and were excellent cheerleaders. Any mistakes, inconsistencies, or nonsense left on the page is entirely my fault. Enjoy!

“Oh, shit. I forgot about yer car. …If Randy catches it shut down like ‘at he’ll...”

“He’ll what?” “Welp, he ain’t gonna do nothin’,” Daryl shrugged. “Still looks bad, though.”

Daryl started getting dressed, so you followed suit, bending down to get your pants.  Daryl stilled you with a hand on your bare back.

“Y’all’s get washed up? I’ll grab the car and bring yer shit up.”

“You sure?”

He nodded. “Jus’ use the bathroom in the hallway. Don’ want ya seein’ the bedrooms yet. I’ll lock the place up, so ya jus’ come back out here once yer done.” “You… don’t want to join me in the shower?”

Daryl’s cheeks reddened. “Plenty’a time for tha’ later, gotta get ya unpacked and settled.”

By the time you were finished with a quick shower and had wrapped yourself in a towel, you found Daryl waiting for you in the living room.

“Here,” he said, holding out a silken garment.  “Got this for ya. Lemme help ya put it on.”

“What is this, Daryl Dixon?” You asked, approaching him.  He helped you put on the silk dressing gown that went halfway down your thighs. The color was a deep maroon, and you noticed that it had embroidery on one lapel.  It spelled out, “Theirs.”

You turned in Daryl’s arms. “I suppose you have a matching one somewhere?”

He nodded, and took your hand.  “Time to finish showin’ ya ‘round the place. Before Rick gets ‘ere.”

Oh, right. Rick. You’d forgotten about that. However, you didn’t have much time to think about it because Daryl tightly gripped your hand and pulled you behind him down the hallway. He opened a door on the right, revealing a small room with empty bookshelves and a huge desk.

“I thought you worked downstairs most of the time,” you commented, surveying the empty space.  

“Ain’t my office; it’s yers.”

“Mine?”

““So you can pore over them studies of yours. Got the Internet hooked up Monday.” He pointed to a black router with green blinking lights.  “Do ya need more stuff in ‘ere? I can get ya some different shelves or build ya somethin’--”

You stopped him with a quick peck on the lips.  “Show me more,” you said, knowing there were two other closed doors you’d yet to see. Daryl seemed to have thought of everything. He was the perfect alpha to your omega.

As he walked down the hall, he skipped the bedroom on the right. So, you turned the knob and looked in there yourself.

The room looked like a sporting goods store had thrown up in it. There was camouflage almost everywhere. You spotted at least three rifles lined up in one corner,  four or five knives sitting on a small table. Then there was a massive bow of some kind hanging from a hook.  Also, on the floor was a small pillow and a sleeping bag. The room was filled with Daryl’s scent.  Had he been sleeping in here? What was all this stuff?

Daryl tried to pull you away from the room, but you didn’t budge.

“Alpha, what is all this?” You stepped into the room, trying to understand exactly why Daryl had a room filled with weapons and camo. Surely Daryl wasn’t one of those preppers or paramilitary types. Right? You would’ve picked up on that before. Daryl never talked about conspiracy theories or the end of the world. He talked about work and you. That was about it.

“‘S jus’ my huntin’ gear,” he mumbled. “I know it’s a mess, but I’m gettin’ a gun rack that locks and deadbolt for the door, too.

“You need all this? For hunting?”

“‘Course.”

“Don’t you, like, just need one gun? And what’s all this other stuff?” you pointed to a collection of rolled up nylon bags.

“Tents an’ tarps an’ shit. You know. For campin’.”

“Isn’t camping where you take an RV out to a state park for the weekend to get away from the city?”

Daryl let out a sudden laugh and smirked down at you. “Ya really don’ know squat ‘bout campin’?

Your initial shock was wearing off as Daryl smiled at you. He had mentioned hunting before, back at the truck stop. However, you didn’t know hunting required so much stuff.

“Not a clue,” you said. “City slicker, remember?”

He shrugged, and you got the impression he was embarrassed about this hobby of his. 

You sat cross-legged on his sleeping bag and took the pillow and held it to your chest.  “Tell me more.”

He squinted at you. “Ya sure ya don’ wanna see the other room first?”

You shook your head. “Daryl, you listen to me for an hour every night when I can’t shut up about Canadian pack dynamics.  I think I can spare a few minutes to learn about your hobby.”

He seemed uncertain, but you caught the hint of a smile on his lips as he turned around and picked up the bow. 

“This is a crossbow - quiet as a mouse. Used fer like… rabbits, squirrels, stuff like ’at. Ya can’t be too too far away, though. Shots get shittier the further out ya get.”

You nodded. “Basic physics. The arrow loses velocity over time and arcs below the target.”

“Uh…right,” Daryl murmured, but his smile was a tiny bit bigger now. 

He went on explaining how he used everything in the room.  You were utterly fascinated. Daryl was not at all a talkative person, but he knew each weapon intimately, from the different guns (each for a different type of game, you learned), to the different shapes of the blades on each of his knives.  

“So that’s ‘bout it,” He said, sitting next to you. “Rest of the stuff is for shelter and keepin’ warm. So I don’ freeze my damn tail off.”

“You’re like a Southern Les Stroud,” you told him.

He arched his brow. 

“You know? Survivorman? He has this show about surviving in the wilderness? He’s like a genius when it comes to survival skills.”

Daryl narrowed his eyes. “Ya got a crush on ‘im or somethin’?”

“I don’t!” you protested. “He uses ancient techniques to learn how to survive in different biomes. He’ll study with people who’ve lived off the land for generations. Then he’ll let himself be stranded in the wild for seven days, and he films it all.  I bet you could do that, in Georgia, at least.”

“Don’ need a camera on me while I’m huntin’.”

“No, not the filming, the survival stuff. Have you tried it before?”

“First time I got lost in them woods? I’s 10 days out. ‘S guess I’d do alrigh’”

You listened as Daryl shared the story about him getting lost in the woods when he was just a boy, and though you tried not to show it, you couldn't help but be sad for him.

“You know I’d notice if you went missing, don’t you, Alpha?”

He stood and helped you up from the floor. “I know, Bubbie. C’mon let’s go see yer nest.”

Daryl opened the door to the master bedroom, watching you closely. You were already smiling, but as you got farther into the room, your smile blossomed into a toothy grin.

“It’s perfect, Daryl,” you said.

He released the breath he’d been holding. You were happy, that’s all he wanted out of this. To make a home worthy of you, a place where he could protect you and take care of you.  He wanted to meet all your needs and wants, so that he can be an alpha worthy of you, so that any time you need something, he’s ready to provide it.

You walked around the room, touching everything from the matching set of dressers and the cedar wood chests that he’d made. He wanted to be right next to you, hovering at your side, but this was your nest. He’d been careful not to scent the room, and Rick had never set foot in there.  Daryl would not go in uninvited. This room was yours now. 

You sniffed and inspected the pillows, and Daryl said, “If yer itchin fer somethin’ else, there’s stuff in them chests at the foot a’yer bed.” 

You opened the lid to both, touching all the pillows and blankets inside, and sniffing those, too. Then you let the lids fall shut.

“Everything in here smells so…new,” you said. “Have you really been sleeping on the floor instead of on the bed?”

Daryl resisted the urge to chew on his thumbnail. “”S yer nest.”

“But I could have brought stuff from my place. You didn’t have to keep it so…sterile. I mean—“ your voice cracked. Daryl almost went to you, but held himself still. “Just thinking of you sleeping on the floor all this time, Daryl. That’s not right. Why would you think I would want that?”

He shrugged, staring at the carpet. Sleeping on the floor was by and large better than many other places he’d slept. Besides, it didn’t feel right thinking about being in that nest without you, not when he’d wanted you to make it your own, to feel safe and comfortable so you’d stay. 

He cleared his throat against the lump forming there. “Somethin’ ya don’ like? Jus’ tell me an’ I’ll fix it.”

Your brow was furrowed, and your jaw clenched. “Wait here,” you told him, then slipped past him and back down the hallway.  You disappeared into his room only to emerge with his pillow and sleeping bag. The latter dragged on the floor behind you, leaving a trail of your underwear in its wake.

Daryl flushed and quickly scooped up the garments then returned to his perch outside the door to your nest.  He looked on as you spread out his sleeping bag over the comforter. Then you rearranged the pillows to include his on one side of the bed.  Finally, you looked at him once more.

“Do you want to come in, Alpha?”

“Ya sure?”

You nodded, rounding the bed to approach him. “What’s all that?” you asked, pointing at the bundle in his arms.

“It’s…uh…ya know…”

“My missing underwear?”

He nodded, not meeting your gaze.

You took the bundle from him and tossed it to the side. “You don’t need to steal those anymore. Now you have the real thing.” “I jus’…missed ya somethin’ awful,” Daryl whispered as you took his hand and pulled him to the bed.

You didn’t say anything as you used your free hand to turn down the covers. Then, you got into the bed, pulling him along with you.

You laid down in the middle, facing him. The front of your robe fell open with your movement, revealing one of your breasts.  Daryl let go of your hand to take off his suit jacket and unbutton  his shirt. Then, he got into bed with you and hauled you against him so half your bare chest was against his own.

“Your days of missing me are over, Dixon,” you murmured, kissing his jaw.

He slipped a leg between yours, then he held the back of your head, angling your mouth to his.  “Ya movin’ in wit’ me?” He asked, his lips almost touching yours.

“If you’ll let me,” you whispered, your voice straining as he angled his knee to press against your vulva. At the same time, he bridged the small distance between your mouths, kissing you and exploring your mouth with his tongue. His knee and his kiss coaxed a moan from you, and Daryl kissed his way to the soft, sensitive skin of your neck.

His teeth grazed your scent gland. “I wanna claim, ya, ‘Mega. So bad it hurts.” He licked and sucked your skin, and you wrapped your arms around him, digging your fingernails into his back. He told you, “This nest is yers, this house is yers.” His lips traveled along your jaw and back to your mouth. “I’m yers.”

Your hot breath arced across his skin, your breathing labored. “Next injection is Monday. I’ll cancel it.”

“Good.” He kept rubbing his knee between your legs. You ground yourself on his leg, and Daryl almost lost his breath watching you give in to the throes of desire. Because of him. Always so responsive and eager, his Omega, his mate. He nibbled your ear. “How long ‘til yer heat?”  He wanted it now, wanted to carve his mark into your skin, have his scent all over you, and your scent all over him. He wanted everyone to know that you were his. And, he wanted to be yours.

“Week or two?” you said, voice breathy. “Daryl, please.” You desperately pushed yourself on his knee.

He grabbed your hip by sliding his hand under your robe, anchoring you as you sought more friction.  “Tell me what ya want, Bubbie.”

“I need you…”

“Is this not good ‘nough for ya?” He moved you on his leg, but you shook your head.

“Please, Alpha,” you whimpered. You bit your bottom lip, eyes wide and staring at him.

I love you. 

The thought slammed into him like an 18-wheeler. The words threatened to burst from his chest, but he swallowed them. Burying his head in the crook of your shoulder, Daryl urged you on your back, and he hovered over you, undoing the belt at your waist, and letting your robe fall open.

Every part of you was sexy, delectable, beautiful. He wanted to kiss every inch of you, but you were desperate beneath him, writhing on the bed--your nest. 

It seemed that he couldn’t move quickly enough. You threaded your hands in his hair, urging him to help you. Far be it for him to deny you anything, especially this.  With his own hand, he cupped your sex, pressing his palm into your mons before slipping his finger inside you.

“Yes, Alpha,” you whimpered. Daryl gazed at you, transfixed as he added another finger then set his thumb to work on your clit. He loved your neediness, the way your body would answer his every movement, no matter how small. He loved how you looked, when you woke up grumpy in the morning, when you were pouring over your books, and when you were like this, begging him for release.

Daryl rested his forehead on yours, and you met his eyes, gazing back at him as you trembled and moaned.

He loved the way he felt with you. Like he was worth something, like he mattered. He’d trusted you with some of the darkest parts of himself, yet your affection for him never wavered. No, instead, it grew, as if sharing his secrets made you care about him even more. This was the opposite of what he’d experienced before meeting you. When he expected rejection, you gave him the opposite: acceptance. And he would spend his whole life thanking you for it.

The words were in his throat again, but it was far too soon. He swallowed them, and instead he told you,  “Let go, Bubbie, come on my hand, lemme see ya. Be a good ‘mega for yer alpha.”

You nodded, and he swirled his fingers, hitting that spot that made you moan, over and over. You gripped his shoulders, again, your fingernails digging into his skin, then you shuddered just as your walls clamped around his fingers. He slowed his movements and kissed you hard, staying with you as you rode out your high.

When you finished, he removed his hand and laid down beside you, ignoring his straining cock, still trapped in his pants. He just wanted to hold you and treasure you. There was time for him later, for now he simply wanted to take care of you, his omega, his love.

“So pretty,” he murmured, tracing a finger on your cheek. “Ya did good, Bubbie.”

You gave him a small smile, and he saw a satisfied sleepiness in your eyes. “Daryl, I--”

DING-DONG

The words died on your lips as you both jumped up, startled by the doorbell.

“Shit. Is it eight already?” Daryl cursed. “Best get dressed, Bubbie. Come see us when yer ready.”

You nodded, and Daryl gave you a quick peck on the cheek as he left the room and closed the door behind him.

You loved Daryl.  

It shouldn’t be a surprise; he was your mate, after all. But still, the realization was overwhelming. You’d almost told him, right there, swimming in post-coital bliss. That was the absolute worst time to confess your love for someone.

What if the feeling went away? What if this feeling wasn’t actually you? What if it was just your omega hormones trying to take over? Knowing and feeling were two different ideas, you told yourself. Feeling was easy, but knowing? Knowing meant certainty. It meant reflection. It meant time.

You’d met Daryl less than two months ago. Not nearly enough time to know anything. Your inner omega may think you loved him, but did you really?

You shook your head and opened your suitcase. You’d mostly packed PJs and loungewear, nothing really nice except what you’d been wearing. For a moment you panicked about Rick seeing your pants and underwear on the living room floor. However, you soon realized that Daryl had probably stashed away and hidden them somewhere. Those were nice pants, too. Tailored for your hips and belly, but shaped so you wouldn’t look too feminine.  You’d make him give those back. For sure. 

Sighing, you pulled the nicest pair of joggers you’d packed and a CareBears t-shirt and got dressed. Even though you weren’t cold, you also put on your zipper hoodie so your silly t-shirt wouldn’t be visible.  You also liked that the hoodie hid your shape, somewhat, as it was baggy and long on you. Just an extra layer of protection between your body and Rick’s alpha-ness. 

You could hear Daryl and Rick coming up the stairs, then their voices as they came inside. You tensed up, bracing yourself for Rick’s scent again, determined not to be swayed by it, not this time. 

A moment passed, and then another. 

You didn’t smell anything.

That was good. You’d just been thoroughly finger-fucked by your Alpha, your inner-omega was sated and calm. There would be none of this lusting after another alpha tonight. Thank god.

You went to the en suite bathroom to splash some cold water on your face. When you went to grab a hand towel, you saw two sets hanging from the towel rack. His and Theirs. You clutched a Theirs towel in your hand, tracing a finger over the embroidery. 

Although you’d known most of your life you weren’t a woman, nor were you a man, it was only in college you found the words to articulate how you felt. Even now, years later, it was so affirming when someone respected your gender identity. Whether it was simply using the right pronouns to not making assumptions about you based on what happened to be between your legs. 

But to have your mate get it, with one conversation you’d had--just that one time--meant so much to you. There was no fighting for your identity, no long explanations required.

The robe, the towels. They were much more than cute decor. They meant, “I see you, and I accept you, as you are.”  Deep down, you knew that Daryl somehow understood you, and this was proof.

As Rick entered the living room, he nearly choked on your scent. In a matter of hours, this house had been taken over. His alpha-honed senses told him you’d been recently fucked, and right here in this very room.

He must have taken some expired blockers because, while he didn’t feel a rut coming on like before, he certainly was feeling something.  Not a pull that relentlessly yanked on him, but more like a nagging tug in his gut--a sense that he should get close to you, wrap you up in his arms and never let you go.

He made a mental note to see his doctor on Monday. Prescription strength blockers. That would take care of this problem. Looking for a mate would help, too. He should really start working on that.

He chatted with Daryl, who’d grabbed three  tumblers and set them on the coffee table, next to the Sexton Single Malt Irish Whiskey.  A few minutes later, Rick heard a bedroom door open. He had the perfect view from the easy chair, looking down the hallway. However, his view was quickly obscured by Daryl, who had leaped up from his seat and gone to get you. 

Rick watched as Daryl held your hand and walked you into the living room.  He’d never seen such a genuine smile on Daryl’s face. Daryl would smirk, scoff, maybe even chuckle, but smile like this? Never.

“Uh… Rick, this here is my mate, Y/N.”

Only just remembering his manners, Rick got up from his seat, and jutted out his hand. “Pleasure, Y/N, nice to put a face to the name. Daryl’s told me a lot about you.”

You shied from his hand, leaning close to Daryl, but not cowering, and not afraid, either. Strange. Maybe the blockers were working well enough to keep you from smelling him.  He hoped so. Last thing he wanted was to scare you.

Rick shoved his waiting hand into his pocket and took a step back, watching as you and Daryl sat on the couch.  The deputy could not get over how damn beautiful you were. You had the prettiest eyes, the most kissable mouth, pudgy fingers, and were wonderfully filled out with soft curves everywhere. He’d be lucky to find an omega as adorable--or as sexy--as you. Even all covered in sweats, you were fucking gorgeous.

“Daryl talks a lot about you, too,” you said, your confident, playful tone surprising him. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

The blockers had to be working. There was no sign of that fear or dread he’d seen before, back in that parking lot.

“You have a pup, Carl? First grade?”

Rick nodded, trying to dampen his urge to just gape at you in wonderment. “Can’t believe my boy’s this old already.” In truth, it felt like Carl’s life was whizzing past and all Rick saw were blips along the way. Only four days a month did he get to see his son. It wasn’t nearly enough. Never would be.

Rick ignored those thoughts but kept talking. Talking came easy to him, and it seemed it came easy to you, too. He changed the subject and asked you about school. Just like Daryl had described to Rick, your whole face lit up, and your hands came to life as you told him all about omegas during some famine in Spain. And then that somehow turned into an explanation of modern-day pack dynamics and why alphas really love providing food for omegas, even though most Michelin Star restaurants are run by beta chefs.

“They don’t love to cook, they love their omegas. If the food is not for their pack, alphas tend not to be as careful.  Oh! And there’s this other thing I read--”

Daryl kissed your cheek. “Bubbie, how ‘bout a drink? Ya gotta be thirsty after all that talkin’.”

“Oh, sorry,” you chuckled, unabashed, then looked at Rick. “I get carried away, sometimes.”

“‘S alrigh’,” Daryl said calmly. He picked up the whiskey bottle and showed it to you.

“Damn, that’s some good stuff, Rick!” you exclaimed.  “This one sells out as soon as they post it on their site.”

Rick smiled at you, warmth filling his chest. “Just my way of saying welcome to the neighborhood.”

“That’s sweet,” you said, opening the bottle and pouring three drinks. 

Rick raised his glass. “To Daryl, who took a shithole and made it a home.”

The three of you clinked glasses, and you said to Daryl, “Was it really that bad? A shithole?”

Rick said, “You didn’t tell them?”

Daryl shrugged, “Wasn’t tha’ bad.”

“Y/N,” Rick said, setting his empty glass on the table, “You wouldn’t have been able to step into the bathroom without falling through the floor. This room? Nothing but busted sheetrock and cracked linoleum.  And the kitchen? half the walls were rotting, not to mention all the cabinets falling apart.  Daryl’s a damn miracle worker.”

Daryl stared at the bottle on the coffee table, not looking at you or Rick. “Didn’ do it alone. Rick helped me some.”

Rick reached over and squeezed Daryl’s shoulder. “Some is right. A couple hours, a few nights a week. I swear Daryl must never sleep.”

“‘S nothin’, Daryl murmured, and he reached for the bottle, pouring himself and Rick another drink while you sipped on yours.

Rick stared at you as your eyes were riveted on Daryl. You were smiling warmly at him, your lip quivering. But you didn’t say anything as Daryl continued to keep his gaze lowered, even as he downed his second drink.  You slipped your hand into his, and linked your fingers together and kissed the back of his hand.

Rick watched, happy for his friend but feeling his heart break at the same time. What he wouldn't give to have you gaze at him that way, to feel your love just by looking into your eyes and holding your hand.

He poured another drink, then a fourth. What was that app Lam told him about? MatchOmega? OmegaMatch? He’d download the damn thing as soon as he got home.

For now, though, his eyes were glued to you, and try as he might, he couldn’t look away.

Next Chapter.

===

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[maridiayachtclub]

i went to a con this past weekend. didn't go to any panels or anything, just wanted to browse the vendors and artist alley. which i did, with two primary goals:

the first was to find some comics and books by little indie outfits i have never heard of. and there were several of those, and i picked up a couple of books from local (or quasi-local. two states over counts as "nearby" when it's Montana) authors, but i guess i was hoping to see more? there weren't as many comics as i was expecting at The Comic Con. like, it's been a good number of years since i've been to one of these, but much more than the last time i went, it felt like the crowd consisted of (and the vendors catered to) people whose engagement with geek culture is mostly Star Wars and D&D by way of Stranger Things. like a very big presence hinged on big corporate-owned media, compared to indie and creator-controlled stuff. merchwise, there were far fewer handmade tchotchkes than there were kinda samey looking things made with 3D printers and CNC routers. i'm not trying to be snooty about it, but there was something alienating about the whole thing that i'm trying to figure out.

the artist alley was at least closer to what i was expecting, though i didn't find much that i actually wanted to spend money on. this was the other thing i was looking out for: FFXIV-related art. and there were like, two artists (of like 50 or so booths, plus however many more scattered throughout the vendor hall) that had anything FFXIV-themed at all, as far as i could tell. one artist had a bunch of prints of rather lovely watercolor-esque portraits of major characters (plus a landscape of the Crystal Tower, which I bought a print of), and someone else had acrylic charms of the standard set of fan-favorite characters in a cuter anime style that had different appearances on either side. but overall, the FFXIViness levels were disappointing, both in quantity and in selection.

overall the experience was very... whelming. i was kinda underwhelmed, but not so much i am officially disappointed. i would summarize my trip as "an unusual way to spend a saturday afternoon." it was a thing that happened.

the local anime con is happening in a month or two and i was kinda thinking of going to that. being in a nerd crowd, at least, was nice, and i kinda want more of that. but if i'm out of touch with nerd culture, i'm double plus out of touch with Anime culture. i'd probably be saving some trouble if i didn't go. like if i wanna see a buncha Genshin Impact art that i don't care about i can already go to twitter, right now, and do exactly that. don't even need to buy a ticket or anything

admittedly the whole experience was colored by attending the con with someone who was in a shitty mood, didn't like the crowd and was constantly trying to avoid it. maybe i woulda had more fun if i wasn't spending 40% of my mental energy worrying about that, or feeling like i had to keep offering excuses and apologies every time i wanted to stop and look at something, or trying not to get caught showing an untoward amount of interest in something that's too cute or feminine or pink. performative gender clown act BS. nah yeah now that i think about it, that was really biting into how much fun i was having

anyway, regardless, it still sucks that in today's economy you can reliably get pictures of one of ffxiv's numerous government-issued boyfriends but not a single wee doodle of Ysayle....

[katenepveu]

Museum for Art in Wood (Part 3)

This is the section where I talk about the museum's curated bits (which, as you may recall from my first, ranty post, are extremely limited), and also the places where I most desperately wanted curation.

Here is a very nice explanatory label, which is alas not in the website's information on this piece:

The Museum Collection originally consisted of lathe-turned objects, but today it features pieces that represent a wide range of processes. From ancient tools like the lathe to modern computer-controlled CNC routers, technical skills are at the core of artistic work.

Ron Fleming in Earth Offering (OBJ 1010) masterfully combined techniques: the traditionally turned bowl is upheld by a dramatically carved base of leaves. Fleming's piece exemplifies how artists utilize technical processes to create striking displays of craftsmanship and ingenuity.

There was a small grouping of things for kids (I don't remember the actual title, sorry), which was fun. Among the highlights were these two pieces, which were next to each other: Frog Bowl by Michael Brolly; Hippo - Two Bowls Joined by Robert Trout.

This grouping felt very Seussian: Which Way To Grow by Dina Intorrella-Walker; Hurdy-Gurdy by Jean-François Escoulen and Mark Sfirri; and Clarinet-A-Kazoo by C.R. (Skip) Johnson.

There was a grouping featuring works from immigrant artists. I really liked this Shell Form Series by Graeme Priddle, though it looks puzzlingly different in color in the catalog from my picture.

And this plate, and also the small sculptures to right, by Michael Korhun from Ukraine:

I thought this was amusing: Hat, Hats Off to Woodturning Series by JoHannes Michelsen from Denmark.

Moving away from the intentional and labeled groupings, the person I went to the museum with pointed out this much more confusing grouping:

A potato masher and a strainer, both of unknown date and maker, highly functional, next to ... an untitled sculpture by Jean-François Escoulen. I am entirely happy to have functional objects in an art museum, though I can't say that I entirely understand why those.

This functional object, on the other hand, is very pretty! Rays (Cutting Board LS39) by Lincoln Seitzman.

There were also the occasional forays into meta woodworking pieces that I would dearly have loved explanation for.

For instance, there was Sanding Disk by Kevin Burrus, made of "Ash, Wood Turning Center brochures": has it actually been used as a sanding disk? What is a sanding disk?

Similarly on the deliberate meta, also on display was a Pre-Turned Wood Object—at least that's what it says on the top. I'd love to get the joke? But I don't. (By Garry Knox Bennett.)

Or this shelf: why is there a pile of papers on the left? Is that a chalk board on the right? Is the shelf a collective exhibit of some kind?

I looked up object number 4 (the only one there) and found the very useful: Large Mallet. This is apparently a whole section of things from the John Grass Wood Turning Company, judging from the papers, on which that name is visible, and the item underneath, which is a Bundle of Balusters, but: why those pieces? Why is there a beat-up baluster on top of some new ones? What is happening here???

This, on the other hand, is just as meta and historical, but doesn't actually need explanation and I found it very charming: The Itinerant Turner's Toolbox by C.R. (Skip) Johnson.

Sculpture next.

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

tell me anything you know about Networking

Whether it's big or small, limited or unlimited, in a packet or a circuit network, has some interesting challenges. (For small networks, this is usually the case for the same reason that a small family with 3 kids is easier to deal with than one with 10 or 20 kids: you only have a few edges to keep track of per node, so it's harder to forget something and accidentally block one of the kids from getting to another kid.)

I think any of the people who actually know anything about networking in practice could probably make this ask obsolete by dumping 10,000 words of research results on it, but I'm a dilettante so I'm gonna skip that.

If you really want to understand this, you probably need to go to university and major in CS/ECE/similar -- I don't think either of the graduate courses I took in networking really went below the level of details you need for a B.S.

At the high-level, the reason the "big interconnected network" situation is so hard is that you have to remember all the networks that the nodes in your network have connections to, and any node may have multiple networks associated with it. (So for instance, if A sends something to B, and B only has Ethernet but wants to send it to C, and C only has Wi-Fi and can't communicate with A, you have a network that looks like this:

B > Ethernet

A > Ethernet

C > Wi-Fi

But you need to be able to store the connections you have with all your neighbors in a way that is also transportable, because you might need to send that information to your other neighbors, so the information needs to be somewhat compact. If you were to just write down "this is my neighbor network B, here's B's information," then of course the other nodes would need to write down all their neighbors' information, which is exponentially growing, and that's not a good idea. (In the example above, B would have to write down A's information.)

The popular way of doing this is to create a series of "layers," with the outermost layer being the least verbose (it only stores information about one other network), and the innermost layer being the most verbose (all of the network's neighbors are stored there). That way, each node only has one copy of everything, since the information they need is always in the same place and they don't need to store neighbor information for neighbors that can communicate with them by some other route.

There are 4 Layers in the OSI (Open Systems Interconnection) Model:

Network Interface (the hardware that actually communicates with the wires),

Network (Routing) Layer (sets up connections between nodes),

Transport Layer (packets get passed back and forth),

Application Layer (word processors, Minecraft, etc.)

Network interfaces are the fun part of this, but the basic gist of the model is that you should have to create different "internal" networks that can communicate with each other at different levels. So, like in the example above, we could create

network A > Ethernet

(Ethernet needs a service called "IP" and can only talk to other IP networks via "IP", so if you're using IP you need to connect to something like a "DNS" to get an IP address),

network B > Ethernet

<<==> I'm supposed to put more text here but I'm incoherent, so just ignore this line

(B's service is called "GNUnet" because they really hate Google),

network C > Wi-Fi

and all these can communicate by saying "I want to talk to this network! I have an IP address here, does that network know how to talk to this network with that IP address?" and so on.

What makes it "interesting," IMO, is that you now have multiple couplings in your system. If I go to sleep for a while, my router stops keeping the connection alive, so the other half of the connection is down, but my computer just lost one thing to think about, but the computer I was talking to has lost both of its connections and thinks I just disappeared, and then if I open up a new browser tab, my computer has to start the connection process all over, and now it has two things to do -- it has to get the new connection started, and it has to relay messages between the other computer and the rest of the network.

Normally you're doing that by "multithreading," which in the computer industry means "putting some of the work to be done on a different thread of execution than the thing that started it." So if your browser has a separate thread for downloading images, it can go ahead and look for the next image on the webpage while waiting for the first image to download, because each thread has its own memory (the "working set" per thread) where it can keep track of the things it needs to remember between its own calculations. (Threads share memory as far as the rest of the system is concerned, so they can read and write from it, but they don't know what other threads are doing at any given time, so they don't step on each other's toes.)

Except multithreading makes it easier to lose track of important information, and the computer might easily forget that it is still communicating with the other computer when it is done with the connection, but it is still connected to the network by other networks, and it also needs to remember what other networks it is talking to. It also has to remember which networks it needs to keep up with, and what it is waiting for from the networks it is waiting for, and all sorts of other information about what it is doing.

It's really easy to make a mistake at

[petermorwood]

That's a tiny selection, and - for us, anyway - not enough Nokias.

I / we (@dduane and me) have had Type 1, then two versions of Type 2, then DD had a Communicator - not a Star Trek style flip-phone, it looked like this:

...then two slider-phones (why isn't that style on this list?), followed by a Type 4 or possibly Type 6 flip-phone (with obligatory ST:TOS communicator chirp) then early and late versions of Type 5 before finally going on to Types 9 and 10.

Except for 1, where I can't remember the brand, they've been Nokia for dumb and HTC for smart all the way, until the G21 from last year which is back to Nokia again.

Here they are; from the left, Nokia 6310i, HTC One M8, HTC U11+, Nokia G21.

Why not dump / trade in the old stuff? Because of reasons - or A Reason, and it's a good one: they all still work.

(1) They're non-contract and prepay, so a minimum top-up every six months is enough to keep the numbers active, and even the ones without SIMs work just fine on broadband.

(2) We live far out in the country, power outages in bad weather are routine, our phone line goes through our broadband router, and it goes off when the power does. So the Nokia 6310i is backup. It lasts for something like 8+ days standby between charges, and can get a cell when even the newest smartphone is just a paperweight.

(3) The HTC M8's version of Android is now too old for some vital apps, but it's got a set of the most effective speakers for its size that I've ever encountered, so even though other functions are limited, I can still enjoy all the music on its SD card without plugging in any extensions.

(4) The Nokia G21 was what I could afford in a hurry after my mobile-banking app upgraded past what the M8's operating system could handle. It's good for upgrades as far as Android 13, yet its default-settings camera isn't as good as that of DD's HTC U11+, five years older. Different sensor? Different lens? I have no idea.

(5) When I had a bit more spare cash, I went looking for a U11+ of my own, because they have the best camera of any smartphone either of us has used, past or present. If optical zoom and indirect or off-camera flash isn't required, its images can almost match the ones from my elderly but excellently lensed DSLR.

*****

DD got hers in 2018; I nabbed mine just recently for less than half, and we've used them to take almost all the pics so far on Food and Cooking of the Middle Kingdoms.

They're especially good at shooting in the low natural light we so often get indoors where all the setting-up takes place. We don't have a complicated lighting setup and indirect / bounce flash isn't possible with a phonecam, so natural works best and cameras which don't need a lot of it for crisp images are just the ticket.

We used them for the parsnip pie posted earlier, and here are some more examples from the Middle Kingdoms site...

Those are seriously impressive photos from something that fits in a shirt pocket... :->

[ivoryminitower]

Echoes of Home: 58 - Tsu'na ("money")

Echoes of Home: FFXIV AU OC – WoLs on Earth

We were running low on gasoline-making supplies, so we spent yesterday harvesting.  Husband found corn farms south of Tulsa.  The corn here is different from Eorzea millioncorn; the individual bits of corn ("kernels") are larger, and the taste is not as sweet.

Husband had bought a gallon of corn oil when we started.  Even given the failed recipes, we had used almost all of it.  We did not have a recipe for corn oil, but Husband thought it would be similar in principle to making olive oil, and that writing a recipe should not be hard.  I was happy to write a recipe that did not explode.

We saw Deputy Frank in the diner yesterday evening.  Husband invited him to try our pretzels and pies, but all he ordered was coffee.  He stayed a long time at the counter, longer than most people who are by themselves usually stay.  The regular children did not stay as long while he was there.  I think he makes them nervous.  We did not sell as much food as usual.

Today we took the bus to Tulsa and went to a store called Best Buy.  It appears to mostly sell machines.  Husband spent what looked like a lot of our money on two computers, two phones, and two things he called "wifi routers".  He said the wifi routers will let the computers talk to the internet without wires, that "wifi" is a form of "radio".  He said radio is a type of light that we cannot see but that machines can.  I am not sure I understand about light that we cannot see.

Wikipedia has a very long answer about radio.  Google gave me something about a very long cat except that there is no cat.  I wondered why computers do not talk to each other the way phones do, but then learned that phones use radio too.  I had thought that phones worked like linkpearls.  I now think I do not know how linkpearls work.  Googling linkpearls only gives me results for Final Fantasy Fourteen.

The computers Husband bought, which he calls "laptops", are much smaller than the library computers, which makes them harder to read and type on.  But they are small and light, and they fold like a book, and they do not need wires all the time, though Husband showed me the battery charge on the screen and told me I need to plug the computer in when the charge is too small.

He installed one wifi router at home and did things to the computers to make them connect to it.  I am now typing on my computer in the bedroom.  I still want to go to the library, though.  Husband thinks the library may have wifi, so I might be able to take my computer there if I wish.  I can type anywhere, but if I want to see email or research things with my computer I need wifi or what Husband calls a "hardwire connection".

Husband called the phones "prepaid".  He said it means they will only work for a certain amount of talking before we need to pay someone money.  Original Him's phone uses a "monthly account", but getting that sort of phone would require ID.  Now that these are bought and activated, we have phone numbers we can give to people.  We have given those numbers to Sam and the Hartmans.  Husband does not think I should give it to Myra, that "the less she knows about us, the better."  Yet he gave a phone number to Leon that was different than the one for his phone.

Tomorrow we will go back to the Walmart and once again look at bicycles.  Husband still wants to build one as a project, but his project list is getting long, and we can use the bicycles right away.  We will also buy the light fixtures and offer money to Sam's friend Trevor to install them.

All of this amounts to about two thousand of my fifty-five hundred dollars.  I told Husband it is our money, and it is.  We are each doing things to build our lives here.  Yet it seems like the money is being spent almost as quickly and easily as it was made.  Perhaps that is how people live in this world, especially if they have nothing to begin with.  And we have more than we had before.

We have divided up the remaining twenty-five hundred dollars, with a thousand for Husband and the rest for me.  I still do not know what I want to do with money.  We can make much of what we need.  I can buy clothes I do not have recipes for, and perhaps make recipes for them, but they are not as practical or useful if I do not have glamour crystals.

Husband has bought things from Amazon.  Perhaps I should see what Amazon has for sale.

[gunslingerfromouterspace]

Role Playing Games 1

I started playing role playing games when I was 16, truth be told saying that I was actually playing is a bit a of a stretch. I remember my first approach to the whole thing, I was playing on my friend Patricio's Nintendo 64, half dozed off on lack of sleep and a bad joint. It was late at night, like 12 or 1 AM, he was on the phone with someone, probably one of his friends from elementary, he sounded excited which was a very unlikely thing to happen, Patricio was perpetually cool looking, always with his head in the clouds, his whole thing was that he seemed aloof and too coll for school.

"Do you want to go to "someone's" house to play a game??? (I dont remember whose house it was). I said "yes", and off we went.

We arrived and one Patricio's friends opened the door, maybe it was Diver or Maia, cant remember. These guys went to a different school, but I knew them through Patricio and other people (they were seniors to my ex girlfriend's class at that school).

I expected video games or a LAN party, the second option was kind of out of the question since a LAN party in 1999 would have involved us PHYSICALLY bringing our computers, and we did not have notebooks, we are talking actual towering CPUs linked together through a LAN router and one the computers slaved as server for the "party".

So that wasn't it, as we entered the house all that went through my head and I was kinda expecting the usual "lets get together to play video games as an excuse to drink, smoke and probably end up cuddling up with someone". Again wrong.

There was this older guy, probably early 20s, he looked fat and nerdy, one of the other guys, Diver, Maia and a girl that I think was one of Maia's friends

The guy pull out a big book and dice and "character sheets".

CHANGELLING THE DREAMING said the cover, a role playing gaming, an actual pen and paper role playing game. As a teenage nerd and gamer I heard about RPG's before but it was always obscured, the satanic panic from the 80s left the whole RPG scene sort of a fringe thing, D&D was just a bad 80s cartoon to me and I have not heard about vampire the masquerade yet, to me vampires were Louis and Lestat.

And we "played", I now understand how things actually work and I know we were not really playing as it should have been since we were teenagers and couldn't care less or know about "collaborative storytelling" but it was fun and something sparked in me. I knew there was more to it than just fooling around the table and making everything as funny as possible.

[nullarysources]

This AI Tool Helped Convict People of Murder. Then Someone Took a Closer Look

Todd Feathers for WIRED:

Global Intelligence claims that, using only open source data—public information that doesn't require a warrant—and a suite of more than 700 algorithms, its Cybercheck system allegedly can geolocate an individual in real time or at a specific time in the past by detecting the wireless networks and access points the person's "cyber profile" has interacted with. The company's founder, Adam Mosher, has testified under oath that the process is entirely automated, requiring no human intervention from the time an investigator enters basic details about a case into the Cybercheck portal until the time the system produces a report identifying a suspect and their location.

If the technology works as advertised, then Global Intelligence is selling police departments previously unknown surveillance capabilities for as little as $309 a case that rival the open source tools used by national spy agencies. But a WIRED review of investigations involving Cybercheck from California to New York, based on hundreds of pages of court filings, testimony, interviews, and police records, suggests Cybercheck is a much less effective tool—one that has provided evidence in high-profile cases that was either demonstrably incorrect or couldn't be verified by any other means.

…

In January, Mark Kollar, an assistant superintendent with the Ohio Bureau of Criminal Investigation (BCI), wrote an email to Cybercheck about a search warrant his agency had served to an email provider seeking information about an account that Cybercheck linked to a suspect. "The email provider is saying that the email listed in the Cybercheck report doesn't exist and has never existed," Kollar wrote.

…

In an unofficial email chain in which investigators from different agencies shared their experiences with the technology, which WIRED obtained through a public record request, Aurora, Colorado detective Nicholas Lesnansky wrote that Cybercheck had identified someone as a suspect in one of his department's homicide cases because the person's cyber profile pinged a router located at an address of interest. "Detectives went and spoke to the resident at that home who has lived there for 20+ years and never had a router by that name so we can't corroborate their information," Lesnansky wrote.

Hmmmm, let's don't, actually

[mydyspraxiablog]

This story but happon in ture life not one family member is listening to me so feeling left out with no say all because havn't got mobie phone or Natwest card. This row over record player and Alex assistance and Roku TV and Google tv. So one one eat food tomorrow.

Once upon a time in a cozy little town, April loved to dance. She would twirl and sway around her living room, imagining herself on stage where twinkling lights and her favorite music surrounded her. Dance was her passion, but she also adored watching her shows on Roku TV. It was her way of unwinding after a long day, and she could spend hours lost in different worlds.

There was one little hiccup that often interrupted her fun: Alex, the voice assistant. While usually reliable, Alex had an off day every now and then. April would call, "Hey, Alex, turn on the TV!" only to be met with silence and a blinking light that seemed to mock her requests.

This situation became a sore point, especially for Aunt Janet and Uncle Henry. Uncle Henry decided to surprise Aunt Janet with a new record player, something he felt would enhance their evenings. "Nothing beats the warm sound of vinyl!" he declared proudly. However, there was a tiny snag: the record player needed to be plugged in where the internet connection was. Unfortunately, that was not an option in April’s home.

April couldn’t help but express her concern. "Uncle Henry, I can’t plug the record player in where the phone plugs into the internet. It just won’t work!” she pleaded, exasperated.

“Don’t be selfish, April. I brought this for Aunt Janet! It’ll be wonderful, and you should just cancel that TalkTalk TV subscription,” he replied, waving her off.

"Uncle Henry, I can’t. I’m locked in a 12-month contract!" she exclaimed. “And if you just pay the $100 penalty, we can get the record player going instead of messing around with that pesky internet.”

“Tomorrow, I’ll unplug the internet, and nothing you say will change my mind! Then you won’t be able to watch shows on Roku TV, and Alex won’t work!” Uncle Henry shot back, clearly frustrated.

“Very well, Uncle Henry. You’ll learn the hard way,” April muttered under her breath, feeling defeated yet determined.

The following morning, Uncle Henry followed through with his plan. He unplugged the internet, and as he plugged in the sparkling new record player, all the lights flickered to life. Aunt Janet was thrilled, cradling her favorite vinyl in her hands, while the smooth sounds of classic records filled the air. For a moment, it felt like magic.

However, April felt the absence of her beloved Roku TV. Her heart sank a little deeper with every passing minute of silence that followed. “Uncle Henry, we can’t watch Google TV!” she called out, bouncing between the living room and the kitchen, trying to figure out how she could salvage her day. The organized chaos in the house felt sticky and tense.

“Come on now, April. Just enjoy the music!” Uncle Henry called back, completely oblivious to her struggles.

But April knew she needed to take things into her own hands. She bounded back to her room with her phone and a flicker of an idea. She was smart enough to figure out how to use her phone's mobile hotspot. Time for some ingenuity.

With a few taps on the screen, she turned her phone into a mini wireless router, connecting her Roku TV and some deep breaths filled her with determination. “Gotcha!” she cheered softly to herself, watching as the screen flickered to life.

She wandered back to the living room, a smile brimming on her face. “Can I have just a little dance party?” she proposed eagerly. “A record player and Google TV? It might just work together!”

Aunt Janet laughed, "Only if we can dance to the records, too!"

Uncle Henry looked taken aback, but then he chuckled, realizing he’d underestimated April's spirit. The atmosphere quickly shifted, and soon enough, everyone joined in the living room, taking turns at the record player and the Roku.

In the end, April’s dance went on, accompanied by the elegant blends of vinyl and dazzling screens worth of stories. Uncle Henry learned that sometimes technology could work together, and April learned that a little creativity could win over any stubborn adult.

As they danced and moved together, blending old-school melodies with vibrant television tales, it became a beautiful connect-the-dots between generations where dance, music, and the rhythm of laughter filled every corner of their cozy home.

The End

[altic0n]

Recap on what I've already done before continuing on to learning privilege escalation.

Following the module, I've learned the basics of using a VPN through the command line:

How to use SSH and what it's for. Essentially, being a more secure way to log into a website as an administrator via public/private keys, I think.

How to use Netcat and its basic function, though I really need to take the time to find a module on it more in depth to understand what it really does/can do. So far, I just understand that it's a way to connect and interact with different TCP and UDP ports, if I'm understanding things properly.

The module had me install Tmux, though as far as I understand it only lets me have multiple windows in my command terminal. (Not so useful for me outside specific circumstances I can imagine where I already have other terminals open and need a new space within something on screen already.)

It went over Vim, though even with it only being for text editing (as far as I can tell from its explanation), I don't quite understand it and its usage. I should definitely look into it more since keyboard only usage would be helpful, though I doubt I'd be able to full immerse myself in it.

Nmap was probably the thing I understood the fastest. Being just to preform a scan to see what ports are open or being used, it can be the easiest way to find open ports, but that would just be a basic scan. When using it for more in-depth scans, though it may take longer, the scans can indicate all open ports and even what versions each port is running on, giving you the information needed to find ways into a system. It also allows scripts to be ran giving extra functionality, a deeper dive into Nmap usage definitely seems warranted.

FTP (File Transfer Protocol) was something I honestly forgot about after it was showed to me, but given it's importance in acquiring data from a server, I'm sure I need to take the time to go back and understand how its used and what exactly it can do.

Interjecting here since as I was booting up my VM, I encountered an issue where the VM stays on a black screen when I logged in. It's a consistent issue, but just exiting Fullscreen fixes it. I guess I should figure out why so I don't have to deal with it later.

SMB (Server Message Block) seems like an important protocol to be able to exploit, but I don't think I paid enough attention to this section of the module to really understand what all I can do with it. Even as I reread the section right now, I don't think I understand it very well. I do understand there's a thing called smbclient that lets you access information within so you can get potentially get access to user files, but aside from this usage, I think I'm missing something

SNMP (No clue the expanded name) seems to be something for finding information on routers? It says that you could potentially find credentials being passed through it, but I don't really understand the explanation.

Taking a short break before recounting other parts of the module like Web Enumeration, Public Exploits, and the different types of Shells it explains.

[thepaddedamby]

It's Been nearly Seven years now.

Holy shit do we have a fuck ton of things to talk about here.

Where the hell did you go???

So, this has a short answer, and it has a long answer. The short version is that I just migrated away from the site. I pursued other goals I had, and I migrated away from Tumblr. Simple as that. Though this isn't exactly the full story.

After the rest and I of the Tumblr group had created the Red Light Room, we have to go on a hiatus due to lack of content and the growing discourse between myself and two other members of the group. This had lead to a post that was made about what would happen to the stream moving forward. We asked for requests of games and other topics we could use for future podcasts. Well, I'm sure you can probably guess how everything went. We got absolutely nothing. After a few months of waiting for something to appear, we had gotten nothing and decided to just leave it be. Dahlia, Midnight and Lusties Pleasures had all left Tumblr. I had left shorty after I never really looked back to this site in the slightest.

So, What happened after that?

Nothing much honestly, After I had left in 2017, I had a few big changes happen in my life. Some very good and some very bad. We'll get to all those in a moment. After I had left Tumblr, I had moved over to twitter for a short time before dropping out of any public eye for a long while. And while Amber's Padded Palace had vanished, the person in control of it did not.

In late 2018, I had started to date someone that would eventually propose to me just two years ago. Oddly enough, you all called it. Midnight and I had started dating. I was invited to move from my state and live with him, Lusties Tavern, and Lusties Pleasures. I of course had agreed and moved in with them. This was in early 2019. From there I had lived with them all for about two years. More on that in a moment.

What happened with The Red Light Group?

NOT GOOD THINGS! So, this one is a bit of a long one so I'll try and put what I mostly remember so bear with me. So everything had started about six months after I had moved in with the group. Any personality that Tavern and Pleasures had shown had melted away, leaving me dealing with almost completely different people. People who were inconsiderate, lazy, gaslighting, Manipulative and all together scum of people. This is the absolute hell I had to live through for about two years.

The issues had started with Pleasures. What I thought was a general cool dude had turned into a homophobic, self-absorbed, Toxic, "Man's man" (Very Toxic Masculinity.) Every little thing that had broken down in the house, it was automatically my fault. Internet goes out? My fault. T.V. Busted? My fault. Everything was placed on me. Everything had to be controlled by him, the location of the router, who the "bread winner" was, etc. We had butt heads a good amount of times over the two years, never in a good way. He had to right on every occasion, the end.

Then there was Dahlia. If your conversation was not on her, then there was a problem. Sad scene in a movie? Loudly announce that "I'm not going to cry." Tragedy in your life? Loudly announce "Well my brother died a few years back let's all talk about this instead." and proceed to cry crocodile tears. Suggest a small change in plans then? "Oh...Okay then...Thats fine" The loudly sigh and mope. Everything as stated earlier needed to be about her. If not? There was going to be a problem.

Problems had kept going through the house for the better part of two years. Though everything had changed in august 2021. Midnight and I had arrived home from a vacation to California to see my parents. Though when we had boarded the plane to go back to Texas, we had gotten a message in the shared roommate chat on discord. They had said that we were horrible people, and they were moving out. in this note they had also accused me of being an abusive Boyfriend to Midnight and Midnight had been a pathetic shell of a man. Of course, there was a lot of anger over this but somehow, Midnight and I moved on.

What happened after they left?

Midnight and I moved on. Plain and simple. over the next few days that they had moved out, they had proceeded to turn every mutual friend against us and gloat about it. Mentally it had started to hit us but as we had found out, we didn't need them. Life had already started to get better. We had moved from the shit hole we lived in, gotten better jobs and became engaged. What happened to them? As we have heard, everyone has started to turn on them. Though do we care? Not in the slightest. Karma is a bitch.

So what now? Why this post?

Well, this post was something I had needed to get off my chest for a while now. I wanted to come back to Tumblr for promotion stuff to hopefully post new Fic's I'm working on and hopefully post new journeys I'm starting. If this post swayed some former opinions, then that's awesome! I won't be focusing what I used to do on this blog, everything will be original content along with a few posts about my padded life in general. Plain and simple. With that, I'll be posting links to my other accounts to keep anyone interested up to date. I honestly hope you enjoy what's coming up and Stay Padded my Friends!