#what a mammoth effort

[fastandcarlos]

Almost Lost You : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: things have been frosty between the two of you for some time, but when everything turns upside down, is charles really willing to lose you as a result of it all?

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

“Where are you going?” You shouted across at Charles, finding yourself looking in disbelief as he began to pick up the red bag that was on the arm of the sofa, throwing the strap over his shoulder. “Are you seriously leaving right now?”

As you spoke again, Charles’ head snapped around to look at you, his shoulders dropping as he let go of a sigh. “I think it’s for the best if we just have a bit of space, I’ll see you down at the track.”

Truthfully neither of you could even remember what it was that you were fighting about anymore, you’d barely seen each other for weeks and the tension was building. What you had hoped would be a happy reunion had become a weekend of nightmares for you both. You were training in two separate countries, counting down the days until you could see each other again, and now it felt like Charles couldn’t get away from you quick enough.

“Have a good race,” he told you as he picked up his keys from the worktop.

The lack of emotion in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, “that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all weekend,” you soon found yourself muttering under your breath.

“What was that?” Charles questioned as he passed you by.

Your head shook as you heard the door to your apartment open.

“Nothing.”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Your hand quickly grabbed at the wheel once again as you felt yourself going slightly wide into the turn, rushing to steady the car. Down the radio you could hear the frustrations of your team as yet again you found yourself on the verge of sending the car into the barriers.

“Y/N, get your head in the game,” you heard Tom, your race engineer tell you.

You didn’t give him a reply as you concentrated on what was ahead, knowing that you’d need another flying lap to be in with a chance of qualifying for Q3. You took things a little slower as you approached the start line, giving yourself a couple of laps to find yourself again.

“The tyres are pretty worn now, this is going to take a mammoth effort from you to qualify with how you’ve been driving so far this weekend,” Tom warned you as you left him know that you were ready to go.

“I can do it,” you assured him.

If you listened closely enough, you were sure you could hear a faint chuckle in the background of your radio. “Good luck.”

You found yourself with your foot down hard as you went over the start line, teeth gritted and hands firmly on the wheel, determined to silence anyone who doubted you back in the garage. Your lap started well, the corners that had proven tricky throughout the weekend were finally working with you instead of against you, with no other cars in the way to stop you reaching your target.

Back in the garage the excitement was starting to build, your team had begun to worry that something wasn’t quite right throughout your weekend, but now the pieces started to seem like they were fitting together. You didn’t dare tell anyone about your troubles with Charles, half of your team weren’t exactly approving of your decision to date a driver that drove for one of your closest rivals. Did you let that affect you? Of course not. You loved Charles. And he loved you. You thought.

“Damn.”

Silence descended amongst the garage in a split second, all hope was lost as several pairs of hands smacked onto people’s faces.

“Y/N? Y/N?” Tom yelled down the radio, “Y/N are you alright?”

The cameras tried their hardest to show something, but you found yourself in a car that was surrounded by smoke. In the blink of an eye you found yourself staring at the blue of the barrier at the side of the track, heart racing as pain scorched through your body.

Everything had been going so well until you found yourself going over a loose bit of debris over the track, cursing the stewards who must have missed it, your back wheel jammed over it leaving you with no control. The last thing you remembered was skidding over the gravel, scrunching your eyes shut as you found yourself going round and round before bracing for the impact of the almighty bang.

“Y/N, you good?” Tom repeated, still awaiting a response from you.

“I-I think so,” you stuttered, finding yourself unable to move, greeted by pain that you had never experienced before.

“Medical is on the way.”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Back in the garage of Ferrari, a chorus of groans had captured Charles’ attention as he sat in his car letting his team know exactly what he needed from them in order to support him into Q3.

“What happened?” He asked around, unable to quite see through his visor towards the small television screen that was up in the corner of the garage.

Around him everyone met each others glances, no one wanted to be the one to break the news to Charles. They knew how much he adored you, how protective he was of you, and this would have tipped him over the edge. Luckily for them all though, Fred took a step towards the car and knelt down next to Charles. His presence was enough for Charles to know that something serious had clearly happened, removing his helmet out of respect for his boss.

“There’s been a pretty bad crash,” Fred began to tell him, watching as Charles nodded in reply, managing to figure that out all for himself. “The person involved has told their team they’re alright.”

“Who was involved?” Charles pushed as he watched the smoke on the screen start to disappear, the colours of the bar starting to emerge through the gaps.

“I’m sorry,” Fred whispered.

Charles didn’t need Fred to say anymore as the orange colours of your car became clear, your race number printed against the side of your car clear as day.

“Y/N.”

As Charles looked around the room, no one quite knew the right thing to say. He needed a moment to process, his eyes glued to the screen willing for you to get out of the car. There was no sign of movement from your car, filling Charles with dread. Perhaps things hadn’t been the best between you recently, but that never stopped him loving, caring, about you. The longer that time seemed to pass the more that Charles began to worry. Were you really okay? Was someone out there just trying to protect him?

“We’ll keep you updated throughout Q3 if we hear anything,” a voice suddenly told him, snapping Charles out of his daydream.

“You think I’m going out there?” He gasped in disbelief, shaking his head at the engineer beside hi.

“Charles, the car is super fast, pole is yours for the taking. You can’t let us down now, work has to come first,” he pleaded with him.

The engineer’s words struck a cord with Charles, the penny dropped as he realised what was going on around him. All this time work had been his priority, he had barely given you the time of day for so long all that he cared about was getting that car over the line first, no matter who he hurt along the way.

“I can’t do it.”

“You have to do it.”

“No. No I don’t,” Charles adamantly told them all, the sharp raise of his voice taking many by surprise. “Driving this car isn’t most important right now, making sure that Y/N is alright is.”

With that, Charles took the wheel off of his car, beginning to climb out of it. He could feel the disappointment of his team around him engulfing him, but he didn’t care. He could apologise for disappointing them one day, but right now he was holding onto the chance that he would be able to fix things with you.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

“Are you alright?” The paramedic asked you, leaning over to make sure that you were strapped onto the bed securely.

The corners of your smile turned up slightly, “I’m as comfy as I can be having just gone over 200mph into a barrier.”

“I see you’ve still got your sense of humour,” he chuckled in response.

Your hands gripped either side of the bed as you felt the two paramedics begin to push you towards the ambulance that was waiting to take you away. Getting you out of the car was a much tougher job than anyone had imagined, the damage on your car was extensive, but nothing was more hurt than your pride. Every driver had crashed, most multiple times, but that never stopped you feeling as if you weren’t good enough.

Your body jolted as you were wheeled over the gravel, hearing several apologies come from the two men either side of you. You insisted that it was alright, biting down on your bottom lip to mask the throbbing that was taking it out of you all over your body.

“Wait!” A voice screeched across as you began to be raised up into the ambulance. “Don’t shut that door yet!”

You were far too sore to lift your head up to see who was making the noise, but you knew. You could almost feel your heart skip a beat as a familiar voice called out.

“Y/N?”

“Sir, are you alright?” One of the paramedics questioned, watching in confusion as a figure ran across the track in order to try and get to them before they shut the door.

“She’s my girlfriend, I just want to make sure that she’s alright.” Charles told them.

The paramedic looked down at you, nodding as you nodded back at him too, silently assuring him that it was alright, that Charles was with you.

As soon as he got silent permission from the paramedic, Charles took a hold of your hand, getting to look at you for the first time. You were pretty cut up and bruised, the sharp intake of breath that came from him as he studied you was enough to confirm that for you.

“Are you alright,” he whispered, brushing his fingertips gently over the back of your hand, treating you like the most fragile thing in the world.

Your head shook in reply to him, “everything hurts.”

“Oh baby.”

You had tried your hardest to hold back any sort of emotion since the moment you lost control, but as soon as you found Charles by your side, you couldn’t keep it together any longer. Before you knew it Charles’ spare hand was underneath your eyes to wipe away the tears that were falling. All that you had bubbled up from the race, the arguments, the fear of where things were going had finally reached the surface. And it killed Charles too.

“You’re in safe hands,” he whispered down to you, brushing your hair out of your face when he found a second to move away from your eyes. “You’re gonna be alright.”

“I’m sorry.”

Your words cut through Charles like a knife, reality there to smack him in the face. What did you have to be sorry for? You were both responsible but Charles knew he had been so much worse.

“What have you got to be sorry for?”

“Everything,” you murmured, your voice shaky and unsteady, “but most of all being stupid enough to crash.”

The two of you were so lost in yourselves you had failed to realise that the ambulance was now shut and you were on your way to the hospital to get yourself checked out. On the other side of the vehicle Charles knew there would be many men dressed in red unhappy with him, but if he was honest, he just didn’t care.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Charles assured you, leaning down to press a kiss against the top of your head, “you couldn’t help what happened out there.”

“It’s not just what happened out there Charles.”

“We’ve not been in a good place, right?”

Your head nodded in agreement, pain still etched upon your face as you found yourself wriggling ever so slightly in an attempt to make yourself comfortable. Charles moved straight away, offering himself to try and help you settle again.

“Let’s not worry about that for now, let’s just see what’s going on with you.”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

After several hours in the hospital, specialists, doctors, friends all visiting you, you were finally starting your journey to mend. You had a fair few bruises, a fracture in your wrist but most of all you had a huge dent to your confidence which you knew you would get over.

Throughout it all, Charles never left your side, listening intently to everything that everyone had to say in order to know what he could do to look after you. Carlos had popped by and brought Charles something more comfortable to wear and the reassurance that the majority of the garage understood why he had chosen to do what he did.

And now you found yourselves alone.

The tension was nowhere near as bad as it was when the two of you woke in your hotel room that morning but you both knew there was plenty still to talk about. You pushed your body up on the bed so that you were sat up, feeling Charles press his hand to your back to make you lean forwards and placing a cushion behind you to rest on.

“Are you alright?” Charles asked as he pulled his chair closer towards you.

“I’ll get there,” you lightly joked, offering him a smile. “I’m alright.”

Your voice sounded convincing, but Charles knew you better than that. “I was so worried back in that garage, I really thought there was a chance that I was going to lose you.”

“I thought I was going to lose you too,” you suddenly admitted, taking Charles by surprise. “When you walked out this morning I thought maybe you’d given up.”

Charles’ head shook straight away, shuffling even further forwards and taking a hold of your hand. He went to speak but his breath was trapped in disbelief. The thought of walking out the door and not returning had never even crossed Charles’ mind no matter how angry he got. Knowing that that was what you thought he would do tore him apart, there was no chance that he was ever going to give up on you so easily.

“I love you,” he reminded you, saying those three little words that he knew meant the most to you. “I’m sorry that I’ve been such a horrible boyfriend recently.”

“You haven’t-“

“-I have,” he interrupted, “you don’t need to make me feel better y/n.”

“Maybe we’ve both been a bit neglectful,” you suggested, refusing to let Charles take all the blame for what had happened.

You’d both been so wrapped up in work and making sure that you were on top that you’d forgotten all about the people that had helped you get there. You were each others biggest fans, even if you didn’t always show it.

“You know, there’s one good thing about all of this,” Charles mumbled, pressing a kiss against the top of your head. “Now that you’re injured I’ve got the perfect excuse to look after you and be a proper boyfriend to you.”

“Charles, you’ve always been a good boyfriend to me,” you corrected.

Charles laughed back at you, the familiar sound that you had missed so much.

“I’ll be an even better boyfriend then,” he smirked, standing up from where he sat and moving to the edge of your bed.

You shuffled across so that there was enough space for Charles to sit himself as close to you as he possibly could. It was the closest the two of you had been together for quite some time, and admittedly, you absolutely loved it.

“I love you,” he smiled, gently nudging against your side, “I don’t ever want to lose you.”

“You won’t lose me,” you replied, bumping him back too, “I love you too.”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Pyramid Head! König

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Size Difference, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Dubious Consent, Tummy Bulging, Cockwarming, Kidnapping, Imprisonment, Squirting, Mention of Gangbanging, Sadistic! König, Degenerate! König, Breeding Kink, Profanity, Implied Fem Reader, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

Pyramid Head! König is a SEX. PEST. EXTRAORDINAIRE.

He pursued you relentlessly until he finally caught you, literally picking you up by the collar of your shirt like you were a wet cat and taking you home with him.

Pyramid Head! König treats you as his own human pet. He dresses you up in clothes he finds on his travels, brings you little trinkets for you to play with and look at, tries petting you without crushing your body beneath his mammoth strength.

He treats you like property in other regards, too. Typically of the breeding variety.

Pyramid Head! König’s sex drive is really something to behold. Just ask any of the monsters roaming around Silent Hill and, if they could, they’d tell you what a degenerate he is – how insatiable and relentless he can be.

Pyramid Head! König uses anyone and anything for his own pleasure if he’s horny enough. And, lucky him, he now has you at his side 24/7.

Pyramid Head! König is absolutely massive compared to you and he makes no effort to hide it. He picks you up and uses you as his own fleshlight, holding you about the waist and spearing you on his cock, pumping you up and down the shaft while growling beneath his veiled mask.

He cares little for your cries. In fact, they seem to spur him on.

Pyramid Head! König is absolutely fascinated by the shape of his cock protruding from inside your stomach. Sometimes, he’ll make you sit on him just so he can press and prod at the outline, his dick stiffening at every clench, cry and moan you make while your body acts as unwilling shelter for his cock.

You swear you can even see the outline of a vein and the pulsing of the tip. Feel it inside you like a second heartbeat.

So it’s no surprise to anyone that Pyramid Head! König is a big cockwarming fan. Literally the biggest.

Pyramid Head! König can make you sit on his dick for hours before he decides to use your body as little more than a cocksleeve and starts pounding into you.

When he cums, it’s thick and fast. He holds you in place while he fills you, watching your stomach swell with his cum as if he were filling a balloon.

Even when you whine and tell him it’s painful, that you feel as if you’re about to burst, he doesn’t let up. He’s far too enamoured with the bloating in your middle to care what you think.

Pyramid Head! König’s favourite thing to do is, when he’s completely emptied himself inside you, press down on your stomach and hear you cry out. God, nothing makes him feel or act more feral.

Nor does anything compare to sight or the feeling of his seed squirting out of you and spraying across his butcher’s apron when he presses down on your stomach, forcing hours of carnal pleasure from your body as if to purge and prepare you for another round.

Pyramid Head! König wears those stains like a badge of honour.

If you ever displease Pyramid Head! König, he shackles you to a corner and cums on you for days at a time, repeatedly, until you’re literally almost drowning in a pool of his cum.

He doesn’t care that he’s practically shooting dust by the end of it; the sight of you drenched and crusted in his semen makes the cramping in his hand and cock more than worth it, to see you so utterly humiliated and his.

Pyramid Head! König doesn’t let you wash it off until he deems you worthy of such a privilege. And when he can finally wrangle his libido back into some form of order, regardless of how minimal that may be.

More often than not, he ends up licking you clean before you can go in search of soap and water. With what appendage, you have no idea. All you know is that it’s long, wet and slips out from under his mask like a tentacle, relinquishing you of one bodily fluid in exchange for another.

Despite Pyramid Head! König’s possessive demeanour, he isn’t above enlisting the help of other monsters and manifestations to get his point across.

If ever you do something to royally piss him off, he’ll actually bring a monster (or two, or five) to you – those he can control with his influence – and make them fuck you.

Pyramid Head! König enjoys seeing you in pain when you’ve wronged him. Especially when, as he pulls you out from the mound of flesh and forced orgasms, he appears as your hero. Your saviour.

Only to use you again as he always does. As he always will.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad X

[wingedjellyfishflight]

Harem in Reverse

"You're soon to be 26, Your Royal Highness. You must put together your harem soon or risk being married off to whomever the regent chooses for you." You sigh, nodding in agreement. Choosing a direct husband would be against the rules, and frankly, you weren't interested in interviewing for the perfect man. Choosing many for their adherence to various qualities, though. That would be a good choice. "Shall I put forth a call for certain attributes? Strong arms? Large chest? Impressive intellect?"

"No, I want to review the troops this week. I will find my consorts among the best our nation has to offer." The advisor looks stunned.

"Your Royal Highness, those are rough men. They do not have the breeding or training to handle you gently as a consort should. They are-."

"Advisor Williams, I know what attributes I am looking for. Schedule me to review the best of the troops, then. If none catch my eye, then I will consider others." The advisor nods, frustrated at not being heeded, but knowing they must follow a direct order.

The following week, you are almost nervous while getting ready, the beginning of butterflies in your stomach. If you weren't so tired, you're sure it would be worse, but the night before was yet another attempt on your life. They are becoming more frequent and more violent now.

Sighing, you hurry to the courtyard where your mount, Rosebud, is waiting. A gift that you feel had been meant to be another threat on your life. The mount was no ordinary horse or pony. Instead, it was the largest draft mule you had ever seen. If you had treated him like a horse, you're sure the thing would have stomped within minutes. He was a vain creature who had to be sweet-talked and treated with utmost respect before he would agree to do much of anything. He was covered in whip and spur scars, telling anyone that he was difficult to force submission from, despite their best efforts. Not that you thought anyone could force an animal born of a mammoth jack donkey and a Shire horse to submit physically. You loved each and every scar, the signs of his stubborn nature on display for all to see.

"Hello, sweet boy." You greet him and let him snuffle you over, waving off the over eager stable hand. "May I ride you today? I am to inspect the troops." He blows a huff of air and turns his head away. You slide your hand along his proud neck and across his withers to the saddle. Checking it over, you deem it done well enough and climb on his back. Your legs spread wide across his broad barrel. Your advisors turn away, knowing that you will refuse their most strident pleas to ride sidesaddle.

"Let us inspect the troops." With that, the company is off at a quick walk to the parade grounds. Your group of advisors and the personal guard that you only marginally trust join the General and his entourage at the front of the formation. You strongly dislike the General. He is somehow the worst mix of ass kissing and condescending.

"The army is excited to be inspected this morning, Your Royal Highness." You barely manage to cover your snort. There is no way they are happy to be here standing in the sun to be inspected on your whim. You move from company to company, looking over the men and pointing out individuals to be inspected, but seeing none you would consider as consort. Reaching the special forces, the rabid dogs as your advisors refer to them, the General is incensed to see that the leader of one is missing.

"Where is the Captain? This is not an optional inspection!"

A man steps forward, "He was injured in a skirmish this week and is still confined to the hospital, General Argus." Looking over the group, you see several still sport bandages and healing abrasions. You nudge your mount closer, his ears perked forward in a match to your curiosity. The General apologizes to you for the disrespect of the men for not appearing but is cut off.

"Your Royal Highness. Escaping the hospital took longer than predicted. For that, I sincerely apologize." You turn, seeing a man limping toward the formation at a quick pace. This must be the Captain. As he falls in, you dismount your mule, resting your hand on his broad neck. Your personal guard hurriedly surrounds you, standing much too close. Rosebud takes exception to being crowded, ears flattening against his head. He strikes out like a snake. His teeth click just shy of the nearest man, who stumbles back yelling and unsheathes a sword. Without a thought, you draw your own ceremonial dagger.

"Touch one hair on Rosebud, and I will gut you." Everyone around you freezes before slowly backing away. "I will not be crowded by your incompetent forms when I am here to inspect the troops." They retreat from your anger, not wanting to risk you calling for their death. Rosebud drops his head, relaxing, and you absentmindedly rub his long ear the way he loves. His lip twitches and his eyes half close for a moment before he pulls away. You step forward, and Rosebud matches your pace, keeping his shoulder just behind yours. It took months to build up a relationship with him, and now he is putty in your hands most days.

An advisor tries to signal you to stay back, but you ignore them, your eyes on the men, looking for the best of them. You memorize the name of the Captain and another likely candidate, signaling Advisor Williams to your side. He groans but carefully walks to you, eyes locked on the increased alertness of Rosebud.

"I will have an audience with this Captain Price and Colonel König. As soon as the men are dismissed. In private." You walk forward and give a cursory inspection to the man who had spoken on the Captain's behalf. His uniform is impeccable, you are happy to see. You don't want them punished on your behalf. The smirk on his face beneath his mask sends a thrill through you. Another man who is not cowed by your station. That is important in advisors. Lieutenant Riley, his uniform says. You nod and mount Rosebud again, rejoining the pack of advisors to inspect the remaining troops. No others catch your eye.

Walking into your State room, you signal for everyone except the two soldiers to leave. While unusual, they are compelled to do so by your haughty glares and Advisor Williams guiding them away, barring the doors behind him and standing guard. Sitting in your throne, you drag your eyes over the men. Colonel König is wearing his customary face covering, and Captain Price has the cover he is well-known for in his hands.

"I have a proposal for you both that I want you to carefully consider. This proposal will not be spoken of again if you decline and it will not leave this room." The men perk up, and you see heat in their eyes as they consider one of the possibilities of your words. "I need advisors who are not advisors." That throws them off, and you see the Colonel shift uneasily. "These advisors would be the closest of any man or woman to me. They would teach and protect me with their very lives. My life is under threat and has been since the King and Queen died, my uncle taking over as Regent. I need advisors who will help me oust him and take my rightful place on the throne without contest and without raising his suspicions. Thus, I need men who will join my harem." You pause, savoring the way their faces change as they process this.

"Your Royal Highness, are you asking us to find you men to join your harem? That is most unusual, but we will do our best." You shake your head at Captain Price.

"Yes, but not in the way you are thinking. I am asking the two of you to join my harem and to advise me on the best men to round out such a harem. To be advisors and leaders in removing the despot from his fake throne. To be my lovers, spoiled in every way and to guard me from all attempts on my life. I want you both, and I trust you to choose others and to bring them to me for approval. If you decline this position, we shall never speak on it again."

"Yes, I would be honored to be chosen for your harem, Your Royal Highness." Colonel König does not hesitate to agree. He feels he has loved you from afar for years, and this is an opportunity he will not squander.

"I would be as well, Your Royal Highness." Captain Price is confident that declining now would be a mistake, and he is not a man prone to mistakes. "I have a few men in mind that would be good additions. They are a bit of a package deal." You nod, expecting as much.

"Their names?"

"John MacTavish, Simon Riley and Kyle Garrick, Your Royal Highness."

"I have two in mind that would be good choices as well. Hiro Watanabe and Kim Hong-jin. They are foreign, but good, loyal and strong men, Your Royal Highness."

The smile you bestow them with is almost a surprise to the men. "Then, I wish for you to gather your men and their belongings. You will join me tonight, my consorts."

"Yes, Your Royal Highness." The men bow and leave, stunned at the way this meeting has gone. You order Advisor Williams to prepare the harem quarters and pack your own belongings secretly. It would be folly to live apart from the men who will be your new private guard and you would be lying if you weren't excited to see under those perfectly done uniforms.

[emmyrosee]

Ushijima does nothing halfway. Especially when it comes to his daughter.

It’s very adorable to see, there’s nothing quite like her asking him for anything and everything, and him doing it.

For her third birthday, she wanted a pony. When he couldn’t find one, he and Romero dressed up in a pony costume.

When she asks for candy, he gets her two of whatever she likes- one when she eats all her dinner, and one because ‘mommy doesn’t need to know.’

When she comes barreling into your bedroom while you two snuggle, wailing and desperately trying to dry her eyes while you both scramble from the bed to calm her down. He’s quick to reach for the baseball bat next to his bed to ward off any “monsters.”

“What’s wrong, baby?” You soothe, opening your arms for her to leap into. She does, and you hoist her up and onto your hip, her face burying into your neck.

“Jock’s gone!” She sobs, and immediately, you and Wakatoshi tense up.

Jacques, the handmade giraffe Uncle Satori had sent all the way from Paris for Reina’s second birthday had immediately made its presence known in everyday life. Everywhere Reina went, Jacques was close behind or enclosed in her tiny hand: play dates, dinners out or at the table, sitting on the toilet at bath time…

In her arms every time she was going to sleep.

“Oh sweetheart,” you croon. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

“I…I…” she lets out a sniffle and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “I forgot to…”

“We’ll find him,” Wakatoshi assures, and Reina’s eyes light up at her favorite hero.

You gnaw at your lip before looking at the time, “baby, don’t you think we should maybe just try tomorrow?”

“She needs it tonight,” he says simply, planting a kiss to your head before stalking out of the room. “He’s got to be in the house somewhere. Probably just playing hide and seek.”

What a damned game he was playing.

Surely enough, everywhere Jacques would be, or was suspected to be was exactly where he wasn’t; he wasn’t in the bathroom, or in the chair next to hers at the dinner table. He wasn’t in the playroom, nor under her bed, everywhere that Jacques could be, he certainly was not.

“Doya think he ran ‘way, daddy?” Reina wails, fingers clasping onto your pajama pants. A soothing hand cards through her locks, and despite Wakatoshi having the patience of a Saint, you could see it in his eyes it was slowly slipping away.

“It would make more sense than him just not being here,” he mumbles, and you offer him a sympathetic look for his efforts. “Okay, Reina,” he sighs, crouching down to be eye level with her; exhaustion paints his face and his hair sticks up wildly with his anxious carding, “when was the last time you had Jacques?”

She sniffles and wipes her nose on your sweat pants, “I told him to stay and watch the washin’ machine, ‘n come get mommy when it was done, and he never did!”

Wakatoshi blanches and his jaw slacks. You cover your mouth to hide the laughter that desperately wants to bubble out. Reina’s bottom lip wobbles as she unknowingly just took three years off of her fathers life.

“…the last time you had him was in the laundry room?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So… he’s in the laundry room?”

She nods again. Big brown eyes flick up to you, and he sinks his teeth into his lip to stop himself from laughing in a similar vain as you. “Okay,” he says, standing up and scrubbing his face with his large hands. “In hindsight, that should’ve been my first question.”

“Huh?” Reina asks, eyes flying up to you when you finally let a few cackles out, watching as your mammoth of a husband shuffles down the hallway to the laundry room. The light flicks on, then off, and when he emerges, there’s Jacques, dangling from his beefy hand.

“Found him,” he says blankly. Reina gasps and quickly runs over to her father, eagerly clutching the giraffe to her chest.

“You didn’t run ‘way!” She squeals, rocking the plush back and forth before planting a kiss to its head, chirping a sweet little “thank you, daddy!” before shuffling back off to bed, like the last three hours of struggle didn’t just happen.

Wakatoshi looks at you with exhausted eyes, but the minute they lock with yours, he’s unable to fight the wide smile that starts to spread over his face, causing the both of you to break out in loud laughter and snickers. You quickly make your way back into his arms, your head thunking against his chest while it rumbles with his laughter.

“I cannot believe that little snot just outplayed us so hard.”

“You’d think this is our first day,” you snort. Your head turns up to look at him, and you give him a kiss on the base of his jaw as a reward. “You’re so good to her.”

“I almost have to be,” he sighs sleepily. His olive eyes glaze over your face, “there is no way you’d be able to handle her antics on your own.”

“Hey. Just because she likes you more than me does not mean I can’t handle her on my own.”

He offers you a small snort and reaches up to gently stroke the corners of your smiling eyes, “I do suppose so; her ability to give me grey hairs certainly does come from you.”

“Exactly,” you chuckle. Lovingly, despite his slander, you nose at his jawline for him to lean down for a kiss which he happily complies in, his hands gentle on your cheek in the middle of the hallway. You giggle against his lips and nuzzle your nose against his, “I want another one…”

“A kiss?”

“No, a baby.”

Immediately he pulls back, face dropped in a deadpanned expression to contrast your excited one. “Clearly we need to get you to sleep, you’re talking nonsense.”

“Toshi!”

“Come on,” he grunts, hoisting you up and over his shoulder, ignoring your laughter and the banging of your fists against his back. “Bed time. Before the both of you give me an aneurysm.”

[robertreich]

How Amazon Is Ripping You Off

Shopping on Amazon? Stop! Watch this first.

Amazon is the world’s biggest online retailer. This one single juggernaut of a company is responsible for nearly 40% of all online sales in America. In an FTC lawsuit, they’re accused of using their mammoth size, and consumers’ dependence on them, to artificially jack up prices as high as possible, while prohibiting sellers on Amazon from charging lower prices anywhere else.

They’re accused of using a secret algorithm, codenamed "Project Nessie," to charge customers an estimated extra $1 billion dollars,

If this isn’t an abuse of power that hurts consumers, what is? So much for all of those “prime” deals you thought you were getting.

Project Nessie isn’t the only trick Amazon has been accused of using to exert its hulking dominance over the online retail industry — leading to higher prices for you.

Much of the FTC’s antitrust lawsuit centers around the treatment of independent merchants who sell items on Amazon’s online superstore — accounting for 60 percent of Amazon's sales.

Amazon allegedly uses strongarm tactics that force these sellers to keep their prices higher than they need to be. Like barring them from selling products for significantly less at other stores — or else risk being hidden in Amazon’s search results or having their sales stopped entirely.

And Amazon is accused of engaging in pay-to-play schemes and charging merchants excessive fees that end up costing you even more.

Independent sellers are effectively forced to pay Amazon to advertise their products prominently in search results. If they don’t fork over cash, then their products get buried underneath products of companies who do. This hurts sellers but also harms shoppers who have to parse through less relevant products that may be more expensive or lower quality.

And to be eligible for the coveted “Prime” badge on their items — which is considered crucial for competing on the platform — independent sellers are pushed into paying Amazon for additional services like warehousing and shipping, even if they could get those services cheaper elsewhere. If sellers forgo trying to qualify for Prime, their goods apparently become harder for customers to find.

When all of these extra fees are added up, Amazon takes around a 50 percent cut of each sale made by a third party. It’s projected that Amazon will earn around $125 billion from collecting fees in the U.S. in 2023, most of which get passed on to you.

By charging all of these extra fees and stifling independent companies from selling their products for less elsewhere, Amazon is using its dominance to essentially set prices for all consumers across the internet.

And when you combine Amazon’s control of ecommerce with all of the other industries it has entered by gobbling up companies — such as Whole Foods, One Medical, and MGM — you’re left with a behemoth that simply has too much power.

This is all part of a much larger problem of growing corporate dominance in America. In over 75% of U.S. industries, fewer companies now control more of their markets than they did twenty years ago.

The lack of competition and consumer choice has resulted in all of us paying more for goods because corporations like Amazon can raise their prices with impunity. By one estimate, corporate concentration has cost the typical American household $5,000 a year more than they would have spent if markets were truly competitive.

This power isn’t just being used to siphon more money from you. A giant corporation has the power to bust unions, keep workers’ wages low, and funnel money into our political system.

It’s a vicious cycle, making giant corporations more and more powerful.

But under the Biden administration, the government is making a strong effort to revive antitrust law and use its power to reign in big corporations that have grown too powerful.

We must stop the monopolization of America. This FTC lawsuit against Amazon is a great start.

[margotw10bis]

Pretty Baby.KNJ [m]

sugardaddy!namjoon x sugarbaby!reader

Genre: smut; short-story

Words: 4.9k

Synopsis: Namjoon is your sugar daddy. However, you can't deny how your heart is jumping in your chest when he calls you his "pretty baby"…

Warnings: rough sex; unprotected sex; anal sex; first anal; oral sex (f. receiving); Namjoon is huge 😳; he loves ass; use of "daddy"

1 → 2 → 3 (Bonus : Memories ; Doubts & Possibilities)

What just happened? Namjoon is so shocked about your demand that he just stays still for several minutes. He has never imagined, in a thousand years, that you, his pretty baby, would put an end at your relationship like that. Were there signs he didn't see? Were you unhappy? He genuinely thought that you liked spending time with him, especially since he started to make efforts to know you better. He even thought that you liked him. But you obviously don't.

He wanted to tell you to change your mind, to think about it, that he could change if you wanted him to, but it would have been selfish. It was already too damn selfish willing to keep you for himself when he was fucking other girls — even if he doesn't anymore.

He thought that something changed the last time you two had sex. It was different, more real. Did he imagine everything? It looks like it since you just stepped out of his office after throwing a bomb at him. Fuck. But then, why would you look so sad? Everything is messed up in his head, he can't think straight.

More than the surprise caused by your announcement, Namjoon feels something truly unpleasant in his chest and he wishes it was just his ego. But it's not. He knows damn well it's his heart. Once again: fuck.

————

"I don't understand you, honestly" Jimin sighs

Yeah, you neither. You regret so, so much what you did yesterday. You clearly let Lisa messing up with your brain. You should have trusted Namjoon rather than her. You were so afraid of being hurt that you pushed him away and you hurt yourself instead. That's fucking stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

"I don't need you to tell me I've fucked up, Jimin. I need you as my best friend to support me and tell me everything is going to be fine" You say with a shaky voice, ready to start crying, again

"Come here" He whispers to hug you and rub your back

"Can I stay here tonight?"

"Of course you can. We are going to watch your favorite show on Netflix and eat some pizzas. How does it sound?"

You look at your best friend and feel so damn lucky to have him. You rub your eyes to get rid off the last tears and get the TV remote.

In another part of the town, Namjoon opens the door of the apartment. Your apartment. He can't just give up like that, without even fighting. But the place is desperately empty. No lights on, no noise. You are simply not here. He still has a ridiculous slight hope when he opens the door of your bedroom. Yet, your face is no where to be seen. Namjoon's heart squeezes. Where the fuck are you?

He is not sure you will show up tonight so he decides to leave and go meet his parents. Maybe he could use some advices from a 40-year married couple.

Namjoon's mom is super excited to see her busy son. It's pretty rare he comes eat with them. But her smiles fades when she notices the look on his face. He looks tired and sad. Defeated. It breaks her heart to see him like this.

They sit in the comfortable and huge sofas of the living room. Every single furniture of their mammoth house is expensive. Namjoon's parents love buying costly things but also giving their money to people who need it. Maybe that's why Namjoon doesn't have any problem with spoiling his sugar babies.

"Can I ask you guys something?" He asks, unsure

"Of course, honey" His mom says

"How did you become a couple? Was it easy?"

His parents share a glance, half surprised half amused. Namjoon has never wanted to hear about love before.

"It was certainly not easy" His dad starts "Your mom is pretty stubborn. I gave her many presents, expensive jewelries and so on. But she didn't care at all. I honestly thought she wasn't interested"

"I didn't care about the money. I cared about him and his feelings. You know, love is not just words but acts too. However, the acts don't have to take the material form of gifts" The woman continues

"So how?" Namjoon asks

"Spending time with each other. Small acts of consideration. Actually, the best acts of love are the simplest ones because they show how sincere you are and that you care about the small details" Her mom answers

Namjoon takes a few moments to think about it. He has shown his affection with presents. Expensive ones, even. But you, you are full of those simple acts of consideration his mom is describing. You made sure he wasn't tired or that he ate well. You changed your shampoo when you noticed Namjoon's scrunched nose at the smell of it even if he didn't say anything about not liking it. You distracted him with a mind-blowing blowjob on the day he lost a huge contract. Fuck, everything you have done the past few months was little acts that made him slowly fall in love with you. But maybe you didn't think Namjoon cared about you too.

"Is this about the girl from the mall?" Namjoon's mom asks carefully

"Yeah, but I'm not sure she really wants to be with me" He replies honestly

"I think she does. The look she was giving you, it doesn't lie, honey"

Those words are what Namjoon needed. Now, he has to find a way to see you again.

————

You have thought about it all day. Should you? It's Namjoon's birthday and you were invited by his mom. But it's also true that you told him you wanted to end things... However, you miss him so bad and it has only been five days.

You check yourself in the mirror. Yes, you have thought about not going but you have still gotten ready. Your heart beats so loud that you wonder how it is not showing through the soft material of your white silk dress — great metaphor of your willing to go back from the start and start on a new page.

It's Namjoon's birthday. And you miss him. And you love him. The only thing holding you back is you and your fear of being hurt. Are going to stay alone your entire life because of that? That would be so pathetic. Fuck, Namjoon gave you so much confidence, where did it go? You would be so disappointed in yourself if you don't at least try. So you fix your mascara for the last time and head to Namjoon's party.

The house is way bigger than you thought, especially because it's in Seoul center. You can't imagine the price of it. You knock on the front door and a fucking butler invites you inside. You are stressed, you can feel your hands shaking. Thankfully, there are no too many people — you guess just family and close friends. That makes you wonder what you are doing here. Everyone is so elegant and, even if you have put on one of your most beautiful dresses, you don't seem to belong here.

"Boring party, isn't it?"

You jolt as a male voice whispers in your ear. You turn your head and meet some very handsome man. He could easy be elected World Wide Handsome. His brown hair looks smooth and his eyes are sparkling with playfulness. Let's not talk about his juicy and plump lips. Fuck, every women must be jealous of it.

On the other side, the stranger is quite amused by your shyness. He also wonders what such a pretty girl is doing it. If his friend Namjoon has you as a friend, Seokjin would be upset and disappointed that he didn't introduce you to him before. Yes, the man is a womanizer but a very picky one: he seems to date only the most beautiful women.

"I'm Seokjin by the way"

"Y/N" You reply, shyly

Seokjin's eyes widen. Are you Y/N? Like the woman his friend can't shut up about lately? Oh, things are about to get interesting... Now he understands Namjoon. You look very pretty in that dress, almost a sexy version of a cute bride. Yep, Namjoon will go crazy when he sees you and the slight shadow of your nipples through the thin and smooth fabric. But for now, he is not here and Seokjin is a flirt.

"I'm honored to meet the most beautiful woman of the night" He says with a seductive tone

You don't really know what to say so you just thank him. Is he flirting? Oh my god, how are you going to escape him?

"It's the glass I wanted to bring to my friend but I rather offer it to a pretty girl" He continues, handing you a glass of champagne

You take it. You need alcohol to gather your courage, especially if Namjoon tells you to go fuck yourself after what happened in his office. You drink the glass one shot.

"Well! You go faster than Dom Toretto!" Seokjin jokes, laughing so loud than a few people turn toward you

His laugh also attracts Namjoon's eye. However, he doesn't see his friend. The only thing that seems to be visible to him is you. You came. And you look so fucking gorgeous. Namjoon recognizes the silk dress, it was his birthday gift for you. It looks so good on you that Namjoon's brain starts picturing you in all kinds of situations — both with and without the dress on. He wonders if it's the kind of dress you would wear for your wedding day. And after your marriage, what you would look like with a baby in your belly, his baby. How proud he would be to have you by his side and how everyone could see you belong to him.

Okay, his brain is definitely sick because those are ridiculous thoughts. You said you didn't want this relationship with him. But, what are you doing here?

Namjoon walks toward you and your heart stops when you see him. He is the definition of handsomeness. And he is wearing a fucking black — Prada it seems — suit with a white shirt. It's the look you prefer on him. This is torture for you, especially if it's the last time you see him.

"Hi" You almost whisper

"Hi" His voice is neutral and you don't know if it's a good thing "Can I talk to you, in private?"

You gulp and nod. Fuck, you are stressing so much. He invites you to follow him and he leads you to his bedroom. A huge place actually with not only a king size bed but also a sofa and a large bookshelf. All the furnitures are matching, even the pattern of the fabric. The color scheme, warm beige with hints of green here and there, is soothing — something you really appreciate right now.

There are so many things you want to say but nothing seems to form on your tongue. You can't look at him. You are so overwhelmed by your feelings that you could cry.

"I'm surprised you're here" Namjoon says

There is no reproach in his voice, he is just sincerely surprised. You can understand. But is it a good or a bad thing?

"I can leave if you want"

'But please don't say you want me to leave' You pray internally

"No, I'm actually glad you're here"

Your heart does a backflip in your chest and you look at him with hope.

"I'm so sorry for what I've said" You say as you are gathering all your courage "I don't want to end the contract"

"But I do"

Your whole body freezes. Your heart stops too, in a painful way. It hurts so bad, like your soul is torn apart. So that's it. It's the end for Namjoon and you. Fuck, you wish you could go back and never went to his office. You would do anything to go back in time.

A breathless 'Oh' leaves your lips, like you have received an uppercut in the stomach — well, it's pretty much what you feel.

Namjoon gets closer and notices your eyes watering. Words are not enough to express what he is feeling so he does what he does best. He captures your lips and kisses you deeply. You moan both in surprise and pleasure. You don't know what the kiss means but you are ready to take whatever he is giving to you if it's the last time you see him.

Namjoon wraps his arms around your small frame. The silk of the dress is so smooth under the tip of his fingers, but not as smooth as your skin. His hands go down and find your ass. He makes sure to lift the fabric and digs his palms into the flesh of your asscheeks. The cold air on your hot skin makes you gasp in pleasure. He growls as he missed it so much.

You pull him closer by grabbing the back of his neck. His lips travel down your jaw and then to the thin skin of your throat. His wet kisses make you shiver and create a pool of arousal between your legs, especially when Namjoon sucks on your skin. A reddish mark adores your neck. Namjoon smiles at it. You are so beautiful, you can't go out without a stamp of him.

Namjoon doesn't stop. He firmly grabs your ass and lifts you up. You wrap your legs around his torso and secure your arms around his large shoulders. You are now higher than him and it gives him the opportunity to dig his face into your breasts. He messily kisses your boobs and captures your harden nipples with his teeth through the fabric of the dress. Namjoon smirks when he notices you don't wear a bra and bites your nipple a little harder, making you whimper. Your head rolls back and you arch your back to give him a better access.

Your soaked pussy also needs friction so you start grinding on his abs. You need him so bad. You are stressed and horny when you think about what you are going to do.

Namjoon walks to his bed and sits on it, you still inside his arms. The new position makes it easier for you to grind on his lap. You can clearly feel his hard-on against your clothed cunt. You tug on his hair to access his lips and you kiss him like there is no tomorrow.

"Damn, baby, you're on fire" He jokes against your lips

"I want you" You moan, there is no better way to say the truth

You pull off and stand up between his muscled legs. You can see lust in Namjoon's brown eyes but also some affection in them. It gives you confidence to carry on. You take off your dress and the sight of your body almost completely bare makes Namjoon's cock twitch in his pants. He can't help but caress himself through the fabric, and his dick gets even harder. You slid down your ridiculously small and wet panties to stand entirely exposed in front of him. You finally take off your heels, your feet thanking you for that. You feel fragile but also proud to have the courage to completely give yourself to the man you love. You will have nothing to regret, even if tonight is the last night you'll ever spend together.

Your breathe is shaky and your hands are sweaty. Fuck, stress makes your legs weak but you have made up your mind way before entering Namjoon's parents' house. You are prepared, both mentally and physically for what is coming. You now have to trust yourself and Namjoon. You turn around and give Namjoon a perfect view of your ass he loves so much. You slightly bend over so he can see both your holes. Your pussy is so wet that Namjoon's breathe on it makes you clench.

"Fuck, baby" Namjoon whispers as it was the most beautiful thing he has ever seen

"It's your birthday present" You say shyly

Namjoon is taken aback. Is it what he is thinking about?

"What do you mean?" He asks, clearing his throat — he wants to be sure he is not over-interpreting

You take a deep breathe and reply.

"You can have my ass tonight"

It's like a dream came true for Namjoon. He has been dreaming about it for months. Your perfect ass. He wanted to stretch it every time he squeezed your cheeks. It must be so fucking tight. Just thinking he will finally be able to dive in it could be enough to make him cum in his pants.

He doesn't waste any time and starts licking your glistening pussy. You moan about how starved he looks. He is literally making out with your pussy and it's so fucking hot. His tongue rolls on your clit, then digs in your entrance to go back to your clit again. It's so good that your legs quiver. At some point, Namjoon takes a fat licking from your sensitive bud to your pussy entrance but continues higher to your other hole.

You whimper as Namjoon takes big laps of it. The new sensation is beyond words. You feel way more sensitive. You have to grab his hair behind you when he enters your pussy with two fingers, still wetting your puckered hole. Namjoon's face is so deep between your asscheeks that it's scandalous but fuck it feels good.

He leaves your hole one second to bite on the flesh of your perfect ass. His fingers pumping into your dripping cunt are delightful, especially when he goes deep and fast, making your legs weak. You can feel some arousal going down your inner thighs.

"Keep going, I'm gonna cum" You moan

Seeing you liking it makes Namjoon so fucking happy. He could eat your ass all day. Your hole is damn soaked right now and Namjoon starts entering it with his tongue. You're so sensitive, you're not sure to can handle it. Namjoon speeds it pace in your pussy and you almost scream. You tighten your fingers in his hair, bringing him deeper against your ass and he growls. Your pussy clenches and Namjoon digs his tongue further in your hole, almost not able to breathe. You know how sinful you look but fuck, Namjoon is tonguing your ass. The wave of bliss you know well in growing inside you but there is something different, something that makes it more powerful and your teased area is more sensitive. You can't hold any longer and you cum on his face and fingers. Choked screams of his name escape from your lips. Namjoon grabs you in his arms to prevent you from falling.

He puts you on his bed delicately as you're coming back down to Earth. He lets you rest a little and take off his clothes.

"Are you sure you want this?" He asks you, kissing your lips tenderly

"Yes, just be gentle" You say

You are crushing everything in him right now. The trust you put in him doesn't only fill his pride but also his heart. He promises: he is going to fuck your ass so good that you won't ever want him to stop.

"Tell me if you want to stop, okay baby?"

He kisses your forehead and spoons you. You feel his large and buff chest against your back but the way he holds you is so sweet that you push your ass closer to his cock with an urged need of feeling him. He places your upper leg a little forward to have a better access to your ass. He also makes sure to bring a good amount of your juices to your hole and to his large cock to lube them.

"I'm going to stretch you a little, I don't want to break you" He whispers in your ears "Yet" He adds playfully to make you laugh

Namjoon slowly pushes one finger in your so tight hole and you gasp. You hold on his other arm wrapped around your waist. He softly starts back and forth moves. It hurts a little but it's also so fucking good.

"Try to relax, it will hurt less" Namjoon says as he pecks your shoulder

You do as he says and you notice how easier it makes for him to finger you. He adds other finger and you almost cum instantly. Fuck, it's so good. You can't even describe how it feels. It's like you can feel him better, deeper. All the sensations are increased.

Namjoon enhances his pace when he sees you feeling more pleasure. He can't wait to put his dick in and to make you cum all over it. Your tight hole is going to feel so good around his length.

"Fuck, I need your cock"

Namjoon is beyond happy to fulfill your wish. He pulls off his fingers and grabs his cock. You feel his tip slightly entering your pussy to gather some of your arousal and then going up to your ass. He pushes to enter you but he is so fucking big.

"Come on, baby, I know you can take it" Namjoon encourages you

You gasp as his tip is inside you. You feel so fucking stretched. Pleasure and pain have never been this connected. You dig your nails deep inside his forearm but he doesn't care: you are fucking taking his cock in your fucking ass. Namjoon caresses your stomach to soothe the pain and keeps kissing your shoulder. He is so gentle you could die.

"Are you okay?"

You nod and Namjoon pushes deeper. You feel every single inch entering you and stretching you. You know he is not entirely in you but you're not sure to take more of him. Namjoon seems to feel it and he slowly pulls over, not completely, to push inside again. You start moaning, louder and louder as Namjoon pounds faster. The pain is still here but the pleasure... Oh god, it's beyond words.

"Fuck, Joonie" You moan as he enters your hole deeper

"You're doing great, baby. It's the best birthday present ever"

He grabs your asscheek and squeezes it hard. He spreads it to look at his dick fucking your ass. Feeling your very tight hole stretched by his huge cock is delightful. Especially when he is the first one. The thought makes his dick twitch inside your ass. He enhances the pace a little when he sees you relaxing and having pleasure. He feels so proud of it, that his cock provides you pleasure. That his cock is fucking your ass. He growls when he realizes it.

"You're so fucking perfect. Your ass feels so good"

The bliss is driving him crazy. He could fuck you so rough that you wouldn't be able to walk for days. But it's your first anal, he can't just destroy you. He grabs your chin to kiss you. Your hand reaches the back of his head. He gives you one hard dick stroke, making you scream his name. You don't even care that other people in the house hear you.

"That's it, scream my name, baby. Tell everyone who fucks you good"

"It's you, Namjoon" You moan loudly

He starts pounding pretty hard and fast in your ass and you're on the edge. Namjoon captures your throat with his large palm. He is almost entirely inside your ass and you feel him so deep. You have never felt so full. You start feeling a huge orgasm building inside you, despite your empty and clenching pussy.

"My pretty baby" He moans when sounds of skins clapping starts filling the room

You're so close to cum. Namjoon looks at your perfect ass taking his cock. Your cheeks get spanked by his thighs and abs every single time. He is not as gentle as at the beginning but he can't hold himself, especially when he notices how fucked up you look. You love his dick in your ass, he can feel it. He swears, he is going to fuck your perfect little ass harder the next time and you will beg for more. The show is so sinful that it spurs Namjoon to push deeper inside your ass, now entirely. He doesn't even know how you manage to take his dick in your tight hole but one thing is sure: you do and you do it fucking well.

"Oh, fuck!" You hiss "I gonna cum"

Namjoon smirks and slaps the side of your ass. You feel your empty pussy clenching. He seems to hear your silent prayers and the hand around your waist goes South to slide two fingers into your cunt, making you groan loudly. You feel so full of him that you can't help tightening your holes. Namjoon is fucking your ass so good. He hides his face in the crook of your neck and hugs you tighter in his arms as he pounds you deeper.

"Cum for me, baby" He whispers, almost begging you as he feels he won't last long

Your hole is too tight and it feels too good to have you in his arms. It feels so good to see how much you trust him — you let him fuck your ass for god's sake!

"Yes, yes!" You scream, loosing your mind over the pleasure

"Fuck, I love your ass" He growls, the vibration echoing into your core

You can't hold on any longer and you cum hard on his cock and his fingers buried deep in your pussy, almost crying of how huge is the wave of pleasure washing over you. You mumble some words you don't even know as you are high. So high, way beyond clouds.

Namjoon pounds a few more times into your tight ass and releases his cum inside. He hugs you so tight, leaving your pussy empty again but still inside your ass, like he is afraid you vanish.

You two stay like that a moment. You can't believe Namjoon just fucked you ass. You also can't believe how much you liked it. You almost fall asleep, you don't want to leave his embrace. You feel good, peaceful. You hum in content and scoot closer into his chest.

"Did you mean it?" He asks suddenly

"What?"

"That you love me"

Your body tenses and your eyes open wide. What? How does he know? You pull over, running at the opposite side of the huge bed. You try to cover your naked body with your hands. You look so panicked, almost terrified.

"It's okay if you didn't mean it" Namjoon reassures you, even though it breaks his heart to see how you are reacting right now

Did you just confessed your love while you were having an orgasm? Well, the best orgasm ever, but still. You're so ashamed. You didn't want to tell him like that. Fuck, when you tell Jimin you said 'I love you' to Namjoon while his dick was in your ass, he is going to laugh so loud...

You are ready to deny it but when you see Namjoon's face, you can't lie. You do love him. You can't keep being a coward and lying to Namjoon and to yourself.

"I meant it. I love you, Namjoon" You confess in a whisper

The silence is killing you. Especially when it's the exact moment you brain chooses to remind you that Namjoon said he wanted to end the contract too.

"That's a good thing" He says, surprising you "Because I love you too"

He gets closer to you and caresses your cheeks. Okay, you have always loved how kind he was after sex but the way he is looking at you right now, it make your heart melt so much it hurts. You can't help kissing him. Namjoon chuckles against your mouth and hugs you tighter. Honestly, he could fuck you again. No, he could make love to you.

"Say it again" You ask

"I love you"

His bright smile with his dimples brings so much happiness to you. Is it possible to die over joy? Because you could right now.

"Okay, there is no contract anymore but I'm not gonna lie, you're still my pretty baby"

You giggle.

"I have to tell you something" You say, pricking his curiosity "I'm jealous so don't you dare having another baby"

"I'm all yours" He reassures you

Like you said, Namjoon has always been honest with you. So you believe him when he says there is nobody else.

"I think we should go back to the party. I can't not showing at my own birthday"

You nod but wince when you sit.

"Are you okay?" Namjoon asks, worried

"Yes, it just hurts a little" You confess, cheeks reddening

Is it bad that he feels proud of it? He wasn't exactly soft but he definitely can get rougher and honestly, he can't wait to pound into your ass again. Or your pussy. He doesn't care as long as he can give you pleasure.

Namjoon helps you standing up and getting dressed. Your beautiful silk dress is now completely crumpled. You pout at it and Namjoon finds you so pretty. Now that he knows you love him, his brain is even crazier than before: images of you in a white dress walking down the wedding hall or of you with a round belly are stuck in his head. But he definitely can't go as fast, he will scare you.

Does that mean that he will wait for years? Absolutely not. His pretty baby better be prepared for her Christmas present. Especially after the best birthday present he has ever had: you saying that you loved him too. 

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Taglist @gimeow @whoreseok723 @wecanpretendit @missbangtangirl @dprmoon @baechugff @parkinglot-nights

[literary-illuminati]

An Arbitrary Collection of Book Recommendations

(put together for a friend out of SFF I've read over the last couple of years)

Cli-Fi

Tusks of Extinction and/or The Mountain in the Sea by Ray Nayler. They’re pretty different books in a lot of ways – one is a novel about discovering a certain species of squid in the Pacific might have developed symbolic language and writing, the other a novella about a de-extinction initiative to restore mammoths to the Siberian taiga – but they share a pretty huge overlap in setting, tone and themes. Specifically, a deep and passionate preoccupation with animal conservation (and a rather despairing perspective on it), as well as a fascination with transhumanism and how technology can affect the nature of consciousness. Mountain is his first work, and far more substantial, but I’d call it a bit of a noble failure in achieving what it tries for. Tusks is much more limited and contained, but manages what it’s going for.

A Half-Built Garden by Ruthanna Emrys. In a post-post-apocalyptic world that’s just about figured out how to rebuild itself from the climate disasters of the 21st century (but that’s still very much a work in progress), aliens descend from the sky and make First Contact. They’re a symbiotic civilization, and they’re overjoyed at the chance to welcome a third species into their little interstellar community – and consider it a mission of mercy besides, since every other species they’ve ever encountered destroyed themselves and their planet before escaping it. Awkwardly, our heroine and her whole society are actually pretty invested in Earth and the restoration thereof – and worried that a) the alien’s rescue effort might not care about their opinions and b) that other interest groups on earth might be more willing to give the hyper-advanced space-dwelling aliens the answers they want to hear. Basically 100% sociological worldbuilding and political intrigue, so take that as you will.

Throwback Sci Fi

Elder Race by Adrian Tchaikovsky is possibly the only thing I’ve read published in decades to take the old cliche of ‘this generic-seeming fantasy world is actually the wreckage of a ruined space age civilization, and ‘magic’ and ‘monsters’ are the remnants of the technology’ and play it entirely straight. Specifically, it’s a two-POV novella, where half the story is told from the perspective of a runaway princess beseeching the ancient wizard who helped found her dynasty for help against a magical threat, and half is from the perspective form the last surviving member of a xeno-anthropology mission woken out of stasis by the consequences of the last time he broke the Prime Directive knocking on his ship tower door and asking for help. Generally just incredible fun.

Downbelow Station by C. J. Cherryh is, I think, the only thing on this list written before the turn of the millennium. It’s proper space opera, about a habitat orbiting an immensely valuable living world that’s the lynchpin of logistics for the functionally rogue Earth Fleet’s attempt to hold off or defeat rebelling and somewhat alien colonies further out. The plot is honestly hard to summarize, except that it captures the feel of being history better than very nearly any other spec fic I’ve ever read – a massive cast, none of them with a clear idea of what’s going on, clashing and contradictory agendas, random chance and communications delays playing key roles, lots of messy ending, not a single world-shaking heroes or satanic masterminds deforming the shape of things with their narrative gravity to be seen. Somewhat dated, but it all very impressively well done.

Pulpy Gay Urban Fantasy Period Piece Detective Stories Where Angels Play a Prominent Role

A Master of Djinn by P. Djèlí Clark stars Fatma el-Sha’arawi, the youngest woman working for the Ministry of Alchemy, Enchantments and Supernatural Entities in Cairo, a couple of decades after magic returned to the world and entirely derailed the course of Victorian imperialism. There’s djinn and angels and crocodile gods, and also an impossible murder that needs solving! The mystery isn’t exactly intellectually taxing, but this is a very fun tropey whodunnit whose finale involves a giant robot.

Even Though I Knew The End by C. L. Polk is significantly more restrained and grounded in its urban fantasy. It’s early 20th century Chicago, and a PI is doing one last job to top off the nest egg she’s leaving her girlfriend before the debt on her deal with the devil comes due. By what may or may not be coincidence, she stumbles across a particularly gruesome crime scene – and is offered a deal to earn back her soul by solving the mystery behind it. Very noir detective, with a setting that just oozes care and research and a satisfyingly tight plot.

High Concept Stuff That Loves Playing around With Format and the Idea of Narratives

Radiance by Catherynne M. Valente is a story about a famous documentarian vanishing on shoot amid mysterious and suspicious circumstances, as told by the recovered scraps of the footage she was filming, and different drafts of her (famous director) father’s attempt to dramatize the events as a memorial to her. It’s set in a solar system where every planet is habitable and most were colonized in the 19th century, and culturally humanity coasts on in an eternal Belle Epoque and (more importantly) Golden Age of Hollywood. Something like half the book is written as scripts and transcripts. This description should by now either have sold you or put you off entirely.

The Spear Cuts Through Water by Simon Jimenez is the only classic-style epic fantasy on this list, I believe? The emperor and his three demigod sons hold subjugated in terror, but things are changing. The emperor, terrified of death, has ordered a great fleet assembled to carry him across the sea in pursuit of immortality. The day before he sets out on his grand pilgrimage to the coast, a guilt-ridden guard helps the goddess of the moon escape her binding beneath the palace. From there, things spiral rapidly out of anyone’s control. The story’s told through two or three (depending( different layers of narrative framing devices, and has immense amounts of fun playing with perspective and format and ideas about storytelling and legacy.

I Couldn’t Think of Any Categories That Included More Than One of These

All The Names They Used For God by Anjali Sachdeva is a collection of short stories, and probably the most literary thing on this list? The stories range wildly across setting and genre, but are each more or less about the intrusion of the numinous or transcendent or divine into a world that cracks and breaks trying to contain it. It is very easily the most artistically coherent short story collection I’ve ever read, which I found pretty fascinating to read – but honestly I’m mostly just including this on the strength of Killer of Kings, a story about an angel sent down to be John Milton’s muse as he writes Paradise Lost which is probably one of the best things I read last year period.

Last Exit by Max Gladstone – the Three Parts Dead and How You Lose the Time War guy – could be described as a deconstruction of ‘a bunch of teenagers/college kids discover magic and quest to save the world!’ stories, but honestly I’d say that obscures more than it reveals. Still, the story is set with that having happened a decade in the past, and the kids in question have thoroughly fucked up. Zelda, the protagonist, is kept from suicide by survivor’s guilt as much as anything, and now travels across America working poverty jobs and sleeping in her car as she hunts the monsters leaking in through the edges of a country rotting at the seams. Then there’s a monster growing in the cracks of the liberty bell, an in putting it down she gets a vision of someone she thought was dead is just trapped – or maybe changed. So it’s time to get the gang together again and save the world! This one’s hard to rec without spoiling a lot, but the prose and characterization are all just sublime. Oddly in conversation with the whole Delta Green cosmic horror monster hunting subgenre for a story with nothing to do with Lovecraft.

Some Desperate Glory by Emily Tesh is a story about aliens destroying the earth, and growing up in the pseudo-fascist asteroid survivalist compound of the last bits of the human military that never surrendered. It stars a heroine whose genuinely indoctrinated for the first chunk of the book and just deeply endearing terrible and awful to interact with, and also has a plot that’s effectively impossible to describe without spoiling the big twist at the end of the first act. Possibly the only book I read last year which I actively wish was longer – which is both compliment and genuine complaint, for the record, the ending’s a bit messy. Still, genuinely meaty Big Ideas space opera with very well-done characterization and a plot that does hold together. 

[srbachchan]

DAY 5982

Jalsa, Mumbai July 4/July 5, 2024 Thu/Fri 10:52 am

Birthday .. Ef Sweta Prasad .. July 5, 2024 .. all our good wishes and love ❤️

🪔 ,

July 05 .. birthday greetings to Ef Shashikant Pedwal from Pune .. and Rajat Watel from Jammu .. 🙏🏻❤️🚩

.. a 3rd viewing for me and twice for many that came on an invite .. the experience just keeps building .. every time you notice and admire the pains taken by the Director in putting this massive vision into fructification , and presenting it in a manner that makes the film historic .. historic not just in its commercial prospects, but historic in its values of the audacious mind of the Director in metamorphosing the legend of the Mahabharat with its manifestation after 6000 years , into the viewage of modern day humans that go to see the film TODAY in 2024 ..

2024 ... centuries away from 2898 ( in the title of the film) .. which has been calculated after references to the Puran and Ved to be the moment of the reincarnation of Krishna - the Avatar that shall be born at the ending of the Kalyug - when all the atrocities, lies and irregularities of the World to be exhausted and overcome ..

The brilliance of interpreting a mythological Epic - the Mahabharata, which comprises of over 1 lakh 40 thousand verses , the largest epic ever in the history - and bringing it to modern day - well modern meaning 2898 AD - and to embellish it with the subtle nuances, which govern the past with what is to happen after the Mahabharata is over - the war between the Kauravas and the Pandav armies that lasted 18 days ..

SO WHAT NEXT .. WHAT HAPPENED AFTER IT WAS OVER ..

does life remain in its stagnancy or there is more ..

WELL FIND OUT BY SEEING KALKI .. and revel in its vast and massive presentation .. and to live till the FINALITY of its story-telling in the wait of the Part 2 ..

SO .. had a wonderful chat with Nag Ashwin for the camera and it should be out soon hopefully as a Podcast or on the TV channels , soon ..

Yes the film is a massive spectacle .. but it is also a learning .. a learning of the merger of myth and reality .. and a learning to the film makers on the process of putting this mammoth together for a viewing audience ..

It is humbling and perhaps not in my league to speak of a project which has been involved with me also , but at times it does become unavoidable .. such be its magnification in its discuss ...

The chat, or as some prominent journalists have titled previous effort with me and the cast of the film as the Kalki Chronicles , could well be titled the Kalki Director Chronicles ..

And I do wish that the Production be swift in putting it out as a PodCast , for it to be viewed and heard by several more ..

I retire now as the night was long and the morning early .. but shall slumber in the essence of Kalki , irrespective of the yay's and nay's of the World for it ..

My love 😍

Amitabh Bachchan

[mama-qwerty]

Rescue

So here we have another self-indulgent piece that I had started months ago. Finally got around to finishing it and boy does it feel good to write.

Takes place in my Knuckles MacPherson au.

~~~~~

Under any other circumstances, Callie probably would have been intimidated.

She stood in the large office, decorated with ornate display cases containing trinkets and artifacts, many of which she was pretty certain weren’t obtained fairly or legally. Some were weapons, spears or shields or swords, while others contained relics that most likely held a more spiritual or symbolic meaning. Masks, headdresses, and statues of various sizes. Each item was carefully labeled, well lit, and positioned inside a glass case. They lined the walls, trophies on display for their owner, the large elephant Callie was currently staring down at the opposite end of the room.

Or she supposed he could be a mammoth. He was covered in brown fur, his long tusks curling toward the ceiling. They were actually fairly impressive, as far as tusks went. Obviously this guy had been around for a while.

He was currently on the phone, exchanging words with someone on the other end about her presence. It had taken some effort to make her way here, and she hadn’t even had the decency to have an appointment. She shifted the bag slung across her as she waited for him to finally hang up and address her.

She flicked her eyes to the right, where Knuckles stood. His eyes were half lidded, one swollen and sporting an ugly purple color that was almost black. A split marked his bottom lip, and his tongue dipped out to run over it as she watched. There were obvious bruises along his body, what looked like a healing laceration across his chest, and his large formerly white mitts were now stained and torn.

Shackles weighed on his wrists and ankles, with some sort of energy charge tethering them together. A large collar was clamped around his neck, with a larger box-like protuberance on one side. A little green light blinked regularly on that box, steady and menacing.

She may not have had a lot of experience off-world—this being her first time, after all—but she knew a shock collar when she saw one. Judging by the darkened fur peeking over the edges, it had been used often.

She simultaneously wanted to rush to her boy, take him in her arms and comfort him, and launch herself at this smug mammoth to tear his tusks right out of his face and beat him with them.

Knuckles had been taken two weeks ago. A ring had opened, allowing six humanoid beings to come through. There’d been a short battle, but these beings—bounty hunters, most likely—had been ready with electric staffs. They swarmed him, weakening him just enough to attach that cursed collar, and drag him back through.

She’d been panicked, worried sick for him, and the Wachowskis had been a godsend at keeping her sane. It had been a frantic search, Tails had put out all possible feelers through the galaxy for any sign of his location, when they suddenly got a hit three days later.

“The return of the most dangerous warrior in the galaxy! He’s back and tougher than ever! The battles have never been more intense! See him take down any challenger!”

The arenas. They’d taken him back to the arenas.

They would regret that. She’d make damn sure of it.

The mammoth finally hung up the phone with a slam, drawing her eyes back to him. The look he leveled upon her spoke of a man short on patience, and an overabundance of a nasty disposition, with the desire, and means, to do whatever the hell he pleased.

An intimidating situation, in most other circumstances.

These weren’t most other circumstances.

“Well,” the mammoth said, his voice not quite a sneer, but not quite not. “You seemed quite eager to meet with me. Tell me your business, or stop wasting my time.”

He sounded simultaneously annoyed and bored. Again, the idea of beating him with his own tusks flashed through her mind. She pushed it away with some effort, and stood tall, pushing her shoulders back and leveled him with a cold, sharp glare.

"I'll give you one chance to give me the echidna, and render his contract void." Her voice was tight, clipped, and dripping with barely contained rage.

The mammoth behind the equally sized desk leaned back in his chair, the springs straining beneath his weight. A smile curled his lips—a smirk, really—and he rested his elbows on the armrests of the chair, steepling his fingers before his chest.

"I find it very entertaining that you think you can simply waltz into my place of business and issue demands."

"Oh, this isn't a demand," she said, a similar smirk curling her own lips. "It's a courtesy. This is me, being polite, giving you a chance to avoid a whole lotta trouble."

An amused sound rumbled through his trunk, and he ran a hand along one of his long, curled tusks. Callie thought it was probably similar to when men caressed their own mustaches. "Trouble? Little lady, you'll pardon my amusement. You don't strike me as capable of giving me much trouble at all."

She shrugged. "Underestimating someone is a sign of either overconfidence, or bigotry, and right now I'm not sure I care which you're doing. Either way, that gives me the advantage."

"I doubt it."

"Try me."

"Me'na," Knuckles said, and the croak in his voice hurt Callie's heart. "You must go. He will—"

He was cut off with a sudden cry of pain, the lights on the collar around his neck lighting as electricity coursed through him. He grit his teeth, falling to one knee as thin tendrils of smoke trailed up from beneath the collar.

Callie's poker face fell momentarily, and she reached for Knuckles as he panted from the pain. Mogul chuckled at the sight, and that made Callie see red.

“Do that again and I will personally shove that tusk of yours so far up your a—”

The mammoth cut her off with a more annoyed huff, his chair giving a squeaky groan as he leaned forward. "Enough of this. I've wasted enough time with you. The echidna is mine, and will be until I see fit to release him from the contract he signed."

"As a child, with no legal guardian to permit such an agreement to take place," she said, her lips pulling into a tight line. She stepped closer to the desk, her shoulders back and gaze locked onto his. "I'd bet my ass that contract was signed under duress, if he even signed it at all."

“The boy was an orphan, and as such became my property—“ He gave her a sneering smile with a little amused snort when she bristled at that. “Ahem. I took . . . responsibility for the boy, and gave him opportunities he wouldn’t have otherwise had. I made him strong.”

“His father made him strong,” she said, and had to grit her teeth to keep from yelling. “His tribe made him strong. You made him an attraction to line your pockets.”

He lifted one massive shoulder in a shrug. “Agree to disagree.”

She pointed to Knuckles, and oh how her heart clenched when he flinched. “Look at him. I highly doubt he’s making you the money you want when he’s obviously too tired to fight properly.”

Another shrug. “That’s the advantage of a famous name. He doesn’t have to win. He just needs to appear. He’s one of the most famous champions I’ve ever had, and people flock to see the legendary last of the echidna, even if he’s getting his tail handed to him.”

“And what happens if he’s killed?”

His sneering smile returned. “Then I have exclusive rights to the only recording of the most dangerous warrior in the galaxy being defeated, in addition to a new owner of that title.” He sat back again, much to his chair’s very loud protest, bringing his hands to that steepled pose once more. “This is the way things are done here, lady. It’s just business.”

“More like extortion, kidnapping, and slavery, likely with a little dash of blackmail sprinkled in, too.”

His smile dropped. “I’d watch your mouth. You have no idea who you’re talking to.”

Her smile returned. She stepped forward and picked up the name placard on his desk, turning it toward him. “Mammoth Mogul. That’s you, right? The same Mammoth Mogul who not only owns the biggest broadcasting stations in the galaxy, but also half of Casino Zone, and majority shareholder of every arena this side of the Milky Way. Oh, not to mention a major contributor to a lot of the high muckity mucks around these parts, who always seem to turn a blind eye to the questionable goings on in your arenas and casinos, yet crack down pretty darn hard on other ones.”

Mogul’s face darkened, his fingers slipping from the steepled position to interlace and tighten. Oh, he didn’t like that.

“I believe you’re mistaken.”

“Yeah, your incredibly convincing poker face tells me I’m not.”

Silence settled for a moment, and Mogul leaned forward again, planting his elbows on the desk as he watched her with sharp eyes. He spoke through grit teeth. “And where did you hear these . . . wildly fabricated things?”

Her smile turned a little sharper. More predatory. “I’m a librarian. Curious by nature. I research. I dig. I sift through page after page of newspaper articles, and connect dots.” She dropped the placard back onto the desk with a clatter. “And you really should invest in a better firewall for your network. Once we got through, it was just a matter of searching your files to gather the info we needed to get in here.”

His eyebrow raised. “We?”

She shrugged, turning slightly to assume a more bored demeanor. Truth was, she was scared out of her mind, not only for herself but for Knuckles. This mammoth could theoretically snap her neck at the slightest provocation, and she wasn’t exactly playing it safe. She just hoped the plan she and Wachowskis had come up with actually worked.

“My associate zeroed in on where the echidna was being held, and then it was a quick job of bypassing all your so called security so we could get a peek at your internal files. Ticket sale tracking, profit expectations, bookkeeping . . .” She cast him a side eye. “How interesting that there seemed to be two copies of those. With vastly different numbers.”

The silence that settled then was heavy and thick and Callie could feel it seep into her as though it were a physical thing. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, as the mammoth’s gaze bored into her.

“I could kill you right now. You realize that, don’t you?”

She resisted the urge to swallow hard, but her hands clenched tighter on the strap of the bag slung across her.

Steady, Cal. Steady.

She had three rules to follow: Don’t show fear, stand your ground, and get Knux out.

“There’s that underestimating thing again.” Her voice was soft, and she pushed a little smirk to her lips. “Do you really think I came here without a plan?”

“And do you think I’ll just let you leave?” Mogul reached beneath his desk, presumably to press the little secret button all big important crooked bosses seem to have to summon his security team. “Maybe I’ll put you in the arenas. You wouldn’t last long, but hey, you’d be an interesting draw, nonetheless.”

“Oh, ya think? I’m actually a little flattered.”

Seconds passed, and no big burly security guards burst through the door to apprehend her. Mogul kept flicking his eyes to the door, the agitation in his expression growing every second they didn’t appear. Callie stood before his desk, watching him with a little smile.

When it was clear no help was coming, the mammoth pegged her with a dark glare. “How the hell did you get in here?”

Her smile grew. “Ah, now he’s asking the right questions. Your guards tried to, shall we say, convince me to leave, but I was pretty determined to speak with you. So I made sure they wouldn’t interrupt us.”

Okay, truth be told, Tails’ inventions made sure they were nicely contained for this little rescue mission. That little fox had been busy building as many weapons and traps as he could, while Callie searched through Mogul’s database to find information to, well, blackmail him with.

Sonic had wanted to come along to do his hero thing, but the adults decided it would be best if the other boys stayed behind. The rest of the universe didn’t know about them, and if this guy discovered there was a super fast hedgehog, and a super intelligent fox with a talent for building weapons, he would likely stop at nothing to snag them for his little gladiator games, too.

Best to keep them out of sight, and off this jerk’s radar.

Mogul pushed himself to stand, his chair giving one last groan as he hefted his weight from it. Callie’s heart pounded in her chest—holy crap he was huge. Now she did swallow hard, and it took all her bravery to stand her ground and not step back.

“I don’t need them to take care of you,” he growled, leaning forward to rest his fists on the desk and glare at her. “You’ve wasted enough of my time.”

“Me’na,” Knuckles called again, and Callie didn’t spare a look in his direction.

“It’s alright, sweetie,” she called, and was surprised when her voice came out steady. “We’ll be home soon.”

A snort of laughter traveled down the mammoth’s trunk at that, and he shook his head. “I can’t decide if you’re delusional, or just plain stupid.”

She smirked. “And I can’t believe you never wondered what was in my bag.”

His smile faded as his eyes flicked down to the worn messenger bag slung across her. She reached inside, pulling out a small cylinder shaped object with a button on the top. Holding it in a fist, she let her thumb hover over the large red button.

“We could have done this the easy way. I get the echidna, and you keep your arena in one piece.” She shrugged. “But you decided to be a dick.”

He scoffed. “Your poker face isn’t as convincing as you think it is.”

“I don’t think you understand just what’s at stake here,” she said, her voice quiet. “I didn’t just take out your guards. Before I came up here to talk to you, I took a detour to check out your arena. Then I found my way to the holding cells beneath it, where you keep your fighters contained. Nifty little prison you’ve got down there. Exactly how many are here of their own free will?”

His lips pulled into a tight frown. “They’re fairly compensated for their participation.”

“Mmm, that’s not what they said. Had myself a little chat with some of them. Seemed like most are here due to some debt they couldn’t repay. Some were captured. Others snagged as kids, like he was. All forced to fight, to put money in your filthy hands.”

He stood tall, crossing his arms before him. “They all signed contracts. It’s legal and binding.”

“And I’m sure they all signed them completely of their own free will, too,” she said, the scoff in her voice apparent. “But you know what? I’m willing to be nice and give you one more chance.” She nodded toward Knuckles. “Let him go. Never send any of your bounty hunters or goons after him again. You can sit up here, making bank off the misery of others. Just leave.us.alone.”

Mogul stared at her for a moment, seemingly considering her offer. “And if I refuse?”

She shrugged. “Then I push this little red button, and all the explosive devices I planted around the building go kaboom. All your fighters will be released, and some of them really didn’t have nice things to say about the guy who forced them to fight against their will. So I’d be a liiiittle worried about payback if I were you.”

The mammoth snarled at that, his hands dropping to curl into fists by his sides. “I’ll never stop hunting him.” His voice was little more than a growl. “Whatever you do I’ll rebuild from. A minor setback, at best. But I will make it my mission in life to see you both in that arena, beaten within an inch of your lives. I will revel in your screams. Your begging for your lives.”

A chill ran up Callie’s spine. He meant it. He would never stop looking for them, and especially now that he knew what planet they were on, he may not stop with just her or Knuckles. The other two boys would be in danger, as would any other person or animal on Earth.

Which meant that what she was about to do was for the good of her entire planet, and not just her boy.

But truthfully, her boy’s safety would have been reason enough.

“Big mistake,” she said, lifting her thumb. “Huge.”

Her thumb dropped, and there was a soft ‘click’ as the button depressed.

The entire building shivered. Explosions rang out all around them, deafening for a few seconds. The trio on Mogul’s office staggered on their feet, as the display cases around the room trembled from the force of the blasts.

That was much bigger than Callie expected. Tails really went all out with his weapons. She’d have to tell Maddie to keep an eye on that kid.

“NO!” The mammoth bellowed, moving to the windows that overlooked his arena below. Flames engulfed the spectator seats, and great pillars of smoke billowed out.

Callie didn’t waste any time. She hurried to Knuckles and jabbed the detonator against the collar. “Touch the end to any exposed circuitry, and twist the top,” Tails had told her, and she did as he instructed. The cylinder vibrated in her hand, and the sharp cackle of static floated up, right before the collar shorted out. The blinking green light went dark, and Knuckles gave a little grunt of relief.

“Look out!” he shouted, just as Callie was grabbed from behind by a long trunk, and thrown across the room. She landed hard, sliding across the floor, before smashing into a display case. The glass shattered, raining down on her as she tried to regain her senses.

“You’re not going anywhere!” Mogul smacked Knuckles into the corner with a swing of his trunk. The echidna crashed hard against the wall, crumpling to the floor with a painful groan.

“Leave him alone!” Callie screamed, the fear inside her quickly being overtaken by her protective instincts.

Mogul turned to her, his eyes hard and sharp, full of rage and fire. “I’ll kill you first, and make him watch,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. He stalked toward her, hands curled into tight fists. “Then I’ll make him fight until he begs for death.”

Oh shit.

Callie plunged her hand into her bag, fumbling for a moment in her panic, before her fingers curled around a flat disk with a button on the top. She pulled it out and clicked the button before throwing it like a Frisbee. Little arms jutted out around the circumference as it flew through the air, creating a crackling electrical net which wrapped itself around the mammoth, pulling his arms tight against his body as it delivered a strong shock.

Mogul screamed before going to his knees, and Callie moved as quick as she could to get back to Knuckles, her hand dipping into her pocket to retrieve the portal ring meant to send them home.

She wasn’t quick enough.

Just as she managed to half crawl, half run toward Knuckles, Mogul broke free from his electrical restraints. He clamped a hand on her ankle, yanking her backwards toward him.

“Oh no you don’t,” he sneered, tearing the bag strap to toss it into the far corner of the office. “No more toys.”

“Me’na!” Knuckles pushed himself to his knees, but he was obviously too exhausted and injured to help much. Mogul must have really put him through it for the echidna to be that sluggish.

The ring was still in Callie’s hand. As Mogul pulled her back, she closed her eyes and thought of the Wachowski’s backyard.

Then she slammed the ring on the floor, and pushed it toward Knuckles. It slid along the floor, coming to a stop right beneath him, and he had time to give her a shocked looked right before it opened, dropping him through.

“No!” His cry echoed as he traveled from this world to Earth, and a second later the portal closed.

Safe. Her boy was safe.

And then she was flying through the air when Mogul tossed her like a rag doll. She smashed into another display case, vaguely aware when the glass sliced her open in various places.

“I’ll admit, you took me by surprise,” he said as he came toward her. He moved slowly, shedding his suit jacket as he approached. He unbuttoned his cuffs, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. “Not many can make that claim. But then again,” he lifted her by the throat, and slammed her into another case, “they never make it for long.”

Callie’s feet dangled above the floor, his fingers tightening around her throat.

Acting out of pure panic, Callie reached into the case behind her, hand searching for something, anything, to help. Her fingers curled around something solid and heavy, and she brought it around with all the strength she had left, smashing what seemed to be a solid iron statue straight against his temple.

Mogul uttered a strained growl, releasing her as he staggered back. Callie dropped, coughing and gasping, but kept her eye on the mammoth. He turned away from her slightly, his large tusks facing to her left, and an idea struck. She moved before she could think too much about it.

Lunging forward, she grabbed hold of his nearest tusk, and swung her body like an Olympic gymnast on the parallel bars. The momentum jerked him to his left, whipping his head to the side as her weight carried her forward. She was just heavy enough, and he off balance enough, that it made him cant to the side, and he fell with a hard thud to the floor.

Scrambling like a madwoman hellbent on surviving—which is, honestly, what she was—Callie whipped around to plant one foot on each tusk, and grab hold of his trunk. She yanked the appendage, drawing a pained cry from him as it stretched beyond its limit.

Yelling from outside. The freed fighters were coming. She’d told them of her plan, and promised them the opportunity to deal with Mogul after they were freed. She was sure there were probably some other guards she hadn’t run into, and they may be giving the fighters some trouble, but had no doubt the warriors would prevail.

It was amazing what you could do when you were fighting for your life.

Case in point.

Callie gave a hard yank on the mammoth’s trunk. “Still surprised?”

Instead of answering, Mogul reached up to grab her feet, and lifted her to slam against the floor. She lost her grip on his trunk, and all the air rushed out of her lungs at the impact. As she lay there, stunned, he moved over her, wrapping his hands around her throat and squeezing hard.

“You’re all out of options,” he hissed, a wicked smile curling his lips. “Time to die.”

“Guess again.”

Mogul had time to look to his right and then he was hit with a blast of energy, sending him flying back to land on his giant desk, smashing it to bits. Callie coughed and gasped, rolling slightly before a hand was on her upper arm.

“C’mon,” Tom said, pulling her to her feet. A large weapon that looked like a portable cannon was slung over his other shoulder. “We gotta go.”

Tom practically dragged her toward an open portal, just as the door to Mogul’s office burst open, letting in some of the most dangerous, and angry, warriors he’d all but imprisoned below the arena.

She had just enough time to look back and watch them descend on the downed mammoth, right before the portal closed.

And that’s when she was hit in the middle by a worried echidna. She let out a strained grunt, going to her knees as she gathered him into her arms.

“Watch the ribs, kiddo,” she said through grit teeth. There were likely a few cracked ones, if she had to guess. Among other injuries.

Knuckles wrapped his arms around her, gathering her shirt into his fists. Tails must have removed the collar and shackles. Good.

“You should not have gone,” he said, his voice cracked and broken. “You should not have done that. He would have killed you.”

“Yeah, right,” she said, burying her face into the safe spot on his forehead, right before where his quills started. “Like I’m gonna just let him keep my boy. It’s like you don’t even know me, ki’kone. Honestly.”

He uttered a soft chuckle, gently nuzzling against her chest. The two stayed like that for a moment, before Maddie moved closer and gently laid a hand on her shoulder.

“We should get you two cleaned up,” she said, her voice soft. “Come into the house and I’ll take care of your injuries.”

Callie gave a little nod, before looking over at Tom. “Thanks for the save.”

The sheriff gave a wave of his hand. “Don’t mention it. Although,” he looked down at Tails, “I was a bit surprised at the power in that gun of yours.”

“Yeah,” Callie said, slowly pushing herself to her feet. “I was glad to have the stuff you made, but hoo boy, they packed a punch.”

Tails smiled shyly, pulling his fists to his chest. “But they did the trick, right?”

“We’re gonna have a chat about that stuff, later,” Tom said, giving the boy’s bangs a quick ruffle. “But yeah, they did the trick.”

“Man, I wish I could have helped!” Sonic said, rolling his head back. “I knew it was a bad idea to send you alone. I should have gone with you!”

“She needed stealth if this was gonna work, bud,” Tom said, crossing his arms. “You are anything but stealthy.”

Tails looked to the hedgehog with a shrug. “He’s got a point.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“C’mon, guys,” Maddie called as she headed toward the house. “Let’s get these two fixed up.”

The Wachowskis headed back into the house, Tails grilling Tom on how his rifle worked, when Knuckles gave Callie’s hand a little tug to hold her back. She turned to him, giving him a cocked eyebrow in question.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice soft. “For coming for me.”

She smiled, going to one knee with a soft grunt as her ribs protested.

“I will always come for you, baby.” She caressed his muzzle with a knuckle. “Always.”

Knuckles smiled, leaning forward to rest his forehead on hers. They shared a quiet moment, before limping into the house, eager to rest and begin healing.

[hd-junglebook]

Neutral

Part 6

word count - 4,059

You're nestled comfortably in your tent, enjoying a rare moment of respite from the chaos of camp life. The soft glow of moonlight flickers gently against the walls of your tent. A book lies forgotten in your lap as you lean back against the makeshift bed.

Your peaceful reverie is abruptly shattered as Bellamy bursts into the tent with all the subtlety of a charging mammoth.

He storms across the tent until he stands directly beside your bed. "Have you seen Octavia?" he demands, his voice gruff and urgent, his eyes wild with panic.

You shoot him a silent glare, your annoyance evident even in the dim light. "And here I was, thinking you'd come to serenade me with sweet nothings," you reply, your tone laced with sarcasm.

Bellamy scowls, his features contorted with frustration. "This is serious, y/n!" he snaps, his patience wearing thin. "Octavia's gone.”

You roll your eyes, unable to resist the urge to taunt him further. "Well, maybe if you didn't have such a big head, you'd be able to see past your own nose and find her yourself," you retort, Bellamy's face turns a deep shade of crimson, his anger boiling over at your flippant remark.

"You think this is a joke?" he seethes, his voice trembling with rage. "Fine, I'll find her myself. But don't come crying to me when she's lying in a ditch somewhere."

With that, Bellamy storms out of the tent, leaving you alone once more. There's no denying the satisfaction of getting under Bellamy's skin, even if only for a moment.

With a guilty sigh, you push yourself up from your makeshift bed and hastily follow him out into the cold night air. "Bellamy, wait," you call after him, your voice softer now, "I'm sorry. I'll help you find her."

He grunts in response, his steps never faltering as he continues to march forward with purpose. You quicken your pace, falling into step beside him, determined not to let him face this ordeal alone. "Why are you always so mean to me?"

He casts a sidelong glance in your direction as he scoffs at the question. "Me? Mean to you?" he retorts, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping into his voice.

"If anyone's the mean one around here, it's you, y/n. If you’d quit being so annoying all the time, I’d treat you better."

…

You and Bellamy scour the camp in search of Octavia, deciding to seek help from Clarke.

Bursting into her tent, you find her hunched over a makeshift table, poring over maps and charts with furrowed brows. "Clarke, have you seen Octavia?" you ask, getting straight to the point.

She looks up, her eyes widening in concern. "No, I haven't," she replies, her voice echoing your worry. "But I'll help you look."

Together, the three of you comb through the camp, calling out Octavia's name as you search every nook and cranny for any sign of her. Despite your best efforts, she remains elusive, her whereabouts still unknown.

Bellamy's jaw clenches as he gathers the other members of the camp, rallying them to form a search party to scour the surrounding area. The volunteers gather at the gate, devising a plan of action to cover the most ground in the shortest amount of time.

"Everybody, gather around and grab a weapon," he commands, "My sister's been out there alone for 12 hours. Arm up. We're not coming back without her."

Bellamy turns to Finn with a fierce intensity in his gaze. "Finn," he calls out, his voice cutting through the night air like a clarion call. "You're with me."

A meteor shower streaks across the sky, illuminating the darkness with a dazzling display of light. Clarke exhales sharply debunking the other campers’ theories,

“That’s not a meteor shower, it's a funeral. Hundreds of bodies are being returned to the earth from the ark. This is what it looks like from the other side.” she huffs out before turning to Raven.

You glance up at the spectacle, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. "The flares didn't work," you mutter under your breath, your voice barely audible over the murmurs of the others.

Bellamy's gaze meets yours in silent acknowledgment. With a heavy heart, he turns back to the group, his voice firm as he outlines the next steps of the search.

“What are we waiting for? Move out!” he calls out. The group springs into action, venturing out into the wilderness in search of Octavia.

The sound of their footsteps echoing in the stillness of the night, the only illumination comes from the flickering torches held aloft by the campers.  

You walk in silence behind Finn, scanning the surroundings for any sign of Octavia. The darkness is oppressive, pressing in on you from all sides. Finn's voice cuts through the quiet, breaking the tension like a crack of thunder.

"Over here!" he calls out urgently, waving the group over. You rush over to where Finn stands, A length of rope lies coiled on the forest floor, discarded and forgotten amidst the underbrush. "Is this Octavia’s?" Finn says as he picks up the rope and shows it to you.

Your eyes catch sight of something else amidst the tangled undergrowth. Footprints, faint but unmistakable, crisscrossing the forest floor like a trail of breadcrumbs leading deeper into the darkness. You catch Bellamy and Finns attention, guiding them to the footprints.

“The prints are deeper going that way. He was carrying her.” Finn shouts. "We're getting close," he mutters, his voice barely audible over the rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl.

The group continued to press on, following the footsteps. Impaled corpses, their lifeless forms skewered on crude stakes, stand as silent sentinels, alluding to the fact that you all have entered Grounder territory.

Half of the delinquent’s balk at the sight, their faces pale with fear as they exchange nervous glances. "We should head back," one of them whispers, his voice trembling with apprehension.

Bellamy's gaze flickers to the rest of the group, his expression unreadable. "Anyone who doesn't want to continue, head back to camp," he says, his voice firm.

Several members of the group step forward, their faces pale with fear as they make their decision. With a nod from Bellamy, they turn and disappear into the darkness, leaving only the six of you standing amidst the shadows.

"We keep going," Bellamy declares, his voice unwavering. "We find Octavia, no matter what."

…

Finn, who had been leading the group, suddenly stops in his tracks, his brow furrowed in frustration as he examines the ground beneath him.

"I've lost the trail," he admits defeatedly. A wave of restlessness washes over the group, murmurs of frustration and anxiety echoing through the woods.

Just then, a voice cuts through the tension like a knife, breaking the silence with its unexpectedness. "Where's John?" a girl pipes up from the back of the group.

You glance around, your heart sinking as you realize that John, one of the members of the search party, is nowhere to be found. Panic begins to bubble up within the group, their anxiety mounting with each passing second.

"Spread out and look for him," you command with false security. "He was just here, he can’t be far."

The group disperses, scrambling through the forest as they search for any sign of their missing comrade. Grounders emerges from the trees seemingly out of nowhere with a speed and stealth that takes the search party by surprise.

More and more of them begin to appear, their numbers growing by the second as they surround the group.

You and the rest of the search party scramble to escape the encroaching grounders. Fear pulses through your veins as you run blindly after Finn through the underbrush, the sound of pursuit echoing in your ears.

"Stop!" he calls out, his instincts kicking into overdrive as he senses something is wrong.

"So, are we racing to the finish line or just trying to outrun our bad decisions?" you state through exaggerated breaths. Bellamy gives you a look of disapproval before you raise your hands in surrender.

Diggs, in his blind panic refuses to stop running, leaving the group behind he fails to see the tripwire lying in wait for him. With a sickening crunch, he triggers the trap, his body impaled on the cruel spikes of a grounder trap.

Horror washes over the group as they witness the gruesome sight. Roma, overcome with panic at the sight of Diggs' fate, breaks away from the group once more. The grounders, sensing weakness, give chase, their figures disappearing into the shadows as they pursue their prey.

…

With each step, the forest seems to close in around you. The pounding of your heart drowns out the sounds of the forest as you sprint after Bellamy as he charges after the grounders. You both skid to a halt - Roma's lifeless body, lying crumpled on the forest floor like a discarded doll.

"They're playing with us," you gasp out, sickened by the sadistic display. This was a message.

Jasper's grief erupts into a raw, primal scream, his anguish echoing through the darkness as he unleashes his rage on the grounders. his cries fall on deaf ears, the grounders closing in menacingly.

You grab for him but he slips from your grasp. "Jasper, stop!" Bellamy shouts. But rage has consumed him. The Grounders peer out from the shadows, weapons poised, savoring his anger.

Just when it seems like all hope is lost, a deafening blast pierces through the air, the sound of the Foghorn reverberating through the forest like a warning bell. The grounders hesitate, their faces twisted in confusion before they retreat.

Bellamy held up a hand, signaling everyone to pause. "The fog is coming. We need to set up shelter, now!" Murmurs of alarm rippled through the group. Jasper's eyes went wide with fear.

Monroe sprang into action, dropping her pack and pulling out a large tent. "Everyone, help get the tent up! We need to get inside before it's too late." You rushed to help her and Jasper unfurl the canvas and snap together the poles with fumbling hands. The others gathered fallen branches to weigh down the edges.

As soon as the tent was upright, You were the first one to scramble under the tent, you can feel Bellamy's presence close beside you, his hand brushing against yours while you hold the flap open. The rest of the group follows suit, huddling together in the cramped space as you wait for the deadly fog to roll in.

"Will this hold against the fog?" Monroe asked nervously.

Bellamy's jaw tightened as he secured the entrance flap. "It'll have to. Just stay low and cover your skin."

The air inside the tent is hot due to the overcrowding. The heat of so many bodies pressed close together creating a suffocating atmosphere. Sweat beads on your brow as you struggle to catch your breath in the oppressive heat.

Bellamy shifts beside you, his proximity only adding to the warmth radiating from your surroundings. You steal a glance at him, noticing the sheen of sweat on his brow as he too grapples with the uncomfortable conditions.

The rest of the group is similarly affected, their faces flushed and their breath coming in ragged gasps as they try to find relief from the sweltering heat. Some fidget restlessly, while others simply close their eyes and try to endure the discomfort in silence.

You can't help but let out a chuckle, despite the discomfort. "Well, who needs a sauna when you have a tent full of sweaty delinquents?" you quip, trying to lighten the mood amidst the stifling heat.

The minutes drag on and the oppressive heat shows no signs of abating, Bellamy's patience wears thin. With a frustrated sigh, he glances around the cramped confines of the tent, a determined glint in his eyes as he realizes that something isn't right.

Jasper's restless energy permeates the silence that following. "How long are we supposed to wait?"

"There's no Acid Fog," he mutters in disbelief. "We've been sitting here for nothing." Bellamy's sharp eyes catch sight of a lone grounder slipping away through the trees, his movements furtive and swift.

Bellamy's jaw tightens as he weighs his options, his gaze fixed on the retreating figure of the grounder. "He doesn't see us," he says quietly, his voice firm with determination. "I'm going after him."

Finn considers the implications of Bellamy's plan. "And what?" he asks, his tone skeptical. "Kill him?"

Bellamy shakes his head. "No," he replies, his voice low and cold. "Catch him. Make him tell me where Octavia is. Then kill him." Jasper's eyes widen at Bellamy's words, mirroring your expression. "How do we know he's not leading us to another trap?"

Finn's shoulders sag in resignation at the question, "We don't," he admits. Without another word, Bellamy springs into action, his instincts driving him forward as he leads the group in pursuit of the fleeing figure.

…

The grounder leads your group through a winding cave passage, dimly lit by scattered torches. Shadows dance across the rough walls as you venture deeper underground.

Your eyes widen in alarm as you spot Octavia struggling to reach the key, her fingers just out of reach.

"Octavia," Bellamy calls out. You watch anxiously as Bellamy approaches Octavia, grabbing the key and releasing her bound wrist. "Monroe, watch the entrance," before turning back to his sister. "It's okay. You're okay."

Your eyes drift over to the grounder lying motionless nearby, spotting the foghorn on the cave floor. Realization dawns - this grounder had blown the horn that saved your lives. He had risked himself for you.

You share a troubled glance with Finn. Together you crouch down, checking the grounder for any signs of life. As you roll him over, his eyes flutter open weakly.

"We need to get back to camp," you tell Bellamy urgently. Whatever the grounder's motives, he clearly doesn't see you as mere enemies to be slaughtered.

You're taken aback as the grounder suddenly surges upwards, a flash of steel glinting in his hand in the dim light of the cave. Before you can react, he slashes the knife viciously towards Bellamy.

On instinct you throw yourself forward, your bare hands closing around the blade with a desperate grip. Searing pain slices through your palms but you clutch it tightly, stopping the attack. Blood wells up, slick and hot.

 Finn rushes in, shoving you aside. You grit your teeth against the pain, pressing yourself back against the rough stone wall of the cave in a desperate bid to distance yourself from the violence unfolding before you.

The sharp edges dig into your back, adding to the discomfort, but you welcome the distraction, focusing on the sensation to distract yourself from the agony coursing through your veins.

Finn and the grounder crash together, grappling fiercely. They slam into the cave walls, the knife glinting dangerously between them. The sound of struggle echoes through the cave, their bodies locked in a desperate struggle for survival.

With a violent twist, the grounder drives the blade into Finn's side, the sharp blade sinking deep into flesh with a sickening squelch.

Finn cries out, shock and disbelief etched on his face, as he stumbled backwards and collapsing to the cave floor as blood stains his shirt.

The grounder's wild eyes fix on Bellamy as he charges forward with a guttural cry. Bellamy braces himself just as the muscular grounder slams into him, driving him down.

They crash violently to the cave floor, the grounder's knife glinting as he presses it to Bellamy's throat.

Bellamy struggles beneath the weight, grunting with effort. The knife edge digs in, just shy of drawing blood.

"Please!" Octavia cries out desperately. "Don't kill my brother!"

The grounder hesitates, conflict etched on his face. His grip on the knife wavers slightly at her words. In that moment of indecision, Jasper appears behind the grounder and swings his makeshift club with all his might. It connects solidly with the back of the grounder's skull with a sickening thud.

The grounder's eyes roll back as he sags forward, collapsing unconscious atop Bellamy. Shoving him off, Bellamy scrambles to his feet, chest heaving. Bellamy pushes himself to his feet, his chest heaving with exertion as he surveys the scene before him.

Octavia is already at Finn's side, her hands trembling as she applies pressure to the stab wound and trying to stop the bleeding. "Hold on, Finn," she pleads while he groans in pain.

"We need to get Finn out of here now!" Bellamy orders. Bellamy and Monroe lift Finn up and you all hurry from the cave, leaving the murderous grounder behind. You know the knife that was meant for Bellamy could end up costing Finn's life instead.

Bellamy moves with purpose, leading the way back to camp. His movements spur the rest of you into action, and you struggle to keep pace due to the pain coursing through your body.

…

You glance down at your injured hands, the pain throbbing with each heartbeat. With a grimace, you tear off your sleeves and hastily tie them around the wound, the makeshift bandage offering some measure of relief.

The adrenaline is starting to fade in your body and instead the exhaustion is kicking in, you find yourself lagging behind, your steps growing slower and more unsteady with each passing moment as your friends disappear out of your view. Your vision blurs and swims, black spots dancing at the edges as you fight to stay conscious.

With each step, the world grows dimmer, the sounds of the forest fading into a distant haze as you push yourself forward. With everything going on all you can think of is your mother.

"I wish you were here," you whisper to yourself, gaze drifting upward to the vast expanse of the night sky.

The stars twinkle overhead offering no answers, their silent witness serving only to remind you that you were unwanted and unloved. You wish she hadn't sent you down here alone, without her guidance and protection.

Tears well up in your eyes as you struggle to reconcile the harsh realities of your situation. You long for her comforting embrace, for the reassurance of her presence by your side.

You fall to your knees in the darkness, the burning pain almost unbearable as you check the bandages. the white cloth of your sleeved are now stained crimson with your blood.

With a heavy heart, you wipe away the tears and attempt to push yourself to your feet, knowing you cannot dwell on her any further.

The darkness closes in around you before you can’t see anything else.

…

The sound of heavy rain pelting the earth fills your ears, mingling with the distant rumble of thunder. Mud squelches beneath you, soaking through your clothes as you lie helpless on the forest floor.

The damp forest floor feels good pressing against your flushed cheek. In the distance, thunder rumbles ominously.

Faint voices drift through the trees, too far to understand. You try to call out, but only manage a weak croak. "Bellamy?" you rasp hopefully. You strain to make out the words, your senses dulled by pain and exhaustion.

"You two," he points to his search party, "head in there and don't come out until you've got him.

The figures draw nearer, distorted by rain and fog. You can just make out Bellamy's dark curly hair coming into view, his face etched with concern.

"Hold on," he breathes, dropping down beside you. "I’m gonna get you home." You wince as he grasping your arm tightly, fresh pain lancing through your body.

You tried to speak but only managed a weak cough. Bellamy slipped an arm under you, carefully pulling you up from the cold mud. You cried out hoarsely as the movement ignited fresh agony in your wounds.

"I know, I'm sorry," he grimaced, holding you close against him. "I’ve got you now. Just stay with me."

Leaning heavily on Bellamy, you hobbled forward with his support. Each step was torture, but you focused on putting one foot in front of the other as the storm raged around you.

Every gust of wind threatens to uproot trees and send them crashing to the ground.

"You're going to be okay," he reassures you, his voice gentle yet resolute. "Just hang in there, alright? We'll get you patched up and back to camp in no time."

His two companions emerged from the cave. Between them, they carry the grounder who attacked Finn, his unconscious form slung over their shoulders like a sack of potatoes. He grabs the rope they'd used on the grounder before. "Let's get this bastard tied up before he wakes."

Working quickly, they bind the grounder's hands and feet. The storm around you seems to rage even harder as they work, as if protesting their presence in the forest.

With a nod of acknowledgment they follow behind as he leads them back to camp. The wind whips through the trees, drowning out any words that might be spoken. Bellamy remains steadfast by your side, his arm wrapped securely around your waist as he supports your weight.

With each step, the muddy ground threatens to give way beneath your feet, Bellamy scoops you up into his arms as your legs finally give out, no longer able to support your weight. You cry out in pain, clutching at him weakly as he carries you the last stretch towards camp.

The rain beats down relentlessly as He ducks into the shelter of the dropship. Clarke and Octavia rush forward when they see the state you're in, alarm on their faces.  

He gently layed you down on a blanket as you whimper, fresh waves of agony coursing through your body. Bellamy smooths back your wet hair, his expression pained. "You're safe now," he murmurs.

Suddenly angry shouts erupt from behind him. Bellamy's companions drag a bound Grounder through the entrance, throwing him harshly to the floor. Clarke and Octavia stare in shock before rounding on Bellamy, demanding answers.

"The hell are you doing?" Octavia demands, her eyes narrowing as she surveys the scene unfolding before her. Bellamy meets her gaze, his expression unreadable as he responds with quiet determination. "It's time to get some answers."

Octavia scoffs at his words, her disbelief evident in the way she crosses her arms over her chest. "Oh, you mean 'revenge'?"

But Bellamy shakes his head, his gaze unwavering as he meets her eyes. "I mean 'intel'," he clarifies, his voice cutting through the howling wind with quiet authority.

Turning to his companions who carried the captive grounder, Bellamy issues a command. "Get him upstairs," he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As the boys obediently move to carry out Bellamy's orders, Clarke approaches. She meets Bellamy's eyes, a silent question passing between them.

The radio crackles to life behind her, causing Bellamy to giver a shocked look at the unexpected interruption. Abby's voice comes through the static, her words echoing with urgency and concern. "Clarke, okay we're ready. Can you hear me?"

Turning to face him, "Look," she begins, her voice heavy with emotion, "this is not who we are."

Bellamy's eyes harden as he faces down Clarke and Octavia's protests. He holds up a hand, silencing them. "This is who we are now!" he declares through gritted teeth. "We do what we must to survive."

His uncompromising words dare them to argue. Clarke and Octavia exchange frustrated looks but stay silent. They know Bellamy's mind is set.

With frustrated sighs, they turn away and get to work treating Finn. Bellamy kneels beside you again, his calloused hand is unexpectedly gentle as he caresses your face. "I have to take care of this," he says grimly before heading for the ladder.

You watch through hazy eyes as he disappears above to deal with the Grounder prisoner. The storm continues its assault outside, rain pounding relentlessly on the metal hull.

Utterly spent, you finally let your heavy eyelids fall shut. The pain feels distant now. You take comfort knowing Bellamy will keep you all safe, no matter what it takes or who tries to stop him.

…

[wulvercazz]

😳BIG Effort💦

previous~ oK now this is the end of this au<333 tbh it was only created to give me a reason to 1. draw Mammoth Ichigo, and 2. draw said Ichigo absolutely wrecking stocky sabertooth Grimm uwu<3333

also have this lil extra doodle that I'm sure happened between last post and this one... when Grimmjow's attitude about getting on Ichigo's pants went from "I can take him" to "sweating nervously"

(if u have even a rough idea of what elephant dongs are like,,, u get it 😂😰)

[zelenbug]

more ridiculous biology rayman headcanons. this time for several species. this is from july 29 i forgot to finish this again

-

teensies are mammals basically (again you cant apply cladistics here because everyone was literally created by god but still). generally theyre like the closest thing anatomically to a human (that isnt. a human)

and yeah they can have breasts

i couldnt tell you why they dont all have nipples though (ie nookins dont but teensy hermit does)

the most notable thing is the giant schnozzle. which is all soft tissue and squeezable, their skulls must be very short and weird looking like go ahead and imagine that. you know how cyclopes were possibly imagined because ancient people saw mammoth skulls and thought the giant nose hole was an eye socket. yeah.

anyway i think the reason for the teensies giant schnozzle is that thats where the organ is that helps greatly with... synthesizing magic? something like that? its important for them to be able to use magic effectively, and is the reason teensies have a much easier time with magic than most other glade species. youd still have to learn magic to be any good at it though

the reason ales mansay is so bad at it is partly because his magic organ thing is broken and doesnt work really well, but mostly because he dropped out really early from magic school (because he hated everyone in it and everyone bullied him in turn) so he just doesnt know anything

elaborations on aleses magic abilities with bonus non-biology headcanons

itd be possible for a teensy to get around the Magic Synthesizing Organ Is Broken issue, and still be able to be good at magic if they make an effort to learn it. itd just be more difficult for them than for other teensies. and i suppose itd be more similar to other species learning magic despite them not having the magic organs (ie red wizards for globoxs species)

the magic organ isnt part of the nervous system, so any potential brain issues would be separate from any potential magic organ issues

teensies dont hatch from eggs but i still stand by reproduction being magic and features not being real. so i dont know how itd work with them. as far as im aware theyre delivered by a stork idk (the stork thing is not a real hc but itd be really funny)

also i forgot to bring this up but the majority of teensies are just bald, possibly more commonly than even globoxes? if teensies do have hair its likely to be really short. if they have long hair they either have a wig or are romeo patti

although if teensies are such good magic users (and such spells exist as, according to a cut origins line, "ten foot toenails" (which ales got affected by) which is weird because i dont think teensies even have those to begin with),.... they can definitely just magic themselves some hair. maybe thats what romeo did to himself

oh yeah. curiously for mammals (same here applies to raypeople also). no external ears whatsoever, i guess then they have either earholes (that are just never shown, much like any nostrils on any teensy etc even though they DO apparently have nostrils) or like. external eardrums like frogs

-

raypeople are also basically mammals, but the classification is even weirder for them since basically all of them are created even more magically than usual. they do also got nipples though

have i delved into how limblessness works in the glade? its really common but raymans species are unique just for HOW limbless they are. anyway its obviously heavily just magic. all the interconnected system things (ie the digestive systems, blood vessels and such) connect between floating body parts with basically just portals. so if they eat something the food just baiscally teleports from the head down to the body

generally how itd feel like to have limblessness is like. still feels like youre moving your hands/whatever with (nonexistent) muscles using your own brain? but you have a greater range of motion, like how i brought up how globox would be able to use his feet as a propeller to swim

it works weird with ray people. or just rayman idk. instead of still having limited range on how far the floating body parts can go, he can throw his fists a lot further, but his hands can also just come off like at the start of rayman 3. and magically reattach back to him so he can actually use them

im also thinking about how in the ending its shown how his hands just wandered off while rayman was asleep and scared andre into existing. i think its moreso like sleepwalking? its interesting though that his hands could just move THIS far from him for this long, while ALSO when hes asleep. can he move his hands this far when awake and concious of what hes doing??

also he can just fall apart which. yknow also is canon but its interesting thinking about this with regards to these biology headcanons

greater range of motion still stands. he can absolutely turn his head 180 degrees backwards (which also briefly happens in rayman 3 in the vortex cutscene because he got spun too hard). i think he just wouldnt tend to do it often because it freaks people with necks out

anyway THESE guys giant schnozzles grants them a better sense of smell. idk what else itd do

as ive mentioned reproduction is even more magic than every other species, they get created by either very very powerful magic people (ie fairies, ie betilla; also accidentally happened independently with the bird one and tarayzan, upon which he immediately ran off), or actual raypeople somehow having a kid (ie with the musicians strangely small-nosed baby). its also possible they have to ask a fairy nicely to grant them a kid idk (however. i dont think this would fit for raymesis the giant cringefail loser that he is.) in any case they absolutely do just magically pop into existence which is somehow different from whatever teensies do to pop into existence

i dont know if raypeople can inherently have helicopter hair or how does it even work when their hair is any other different shape that cant turn into a chopper. can the magician helico? can the musician or his family helico?

raypeople have no inherent magic capabilities like teensies do, theyd also have to learn it, like the magician whos like about the only known rayperson to utilize magic to that extent

ray people are also a decently rare sight. most everyone only just knows rayman. though i suppose theyd have to be frequent enough for everyone to view raymesis as "who even is this dweeb" as opposed to treating him any more special for being this rare species

-

so theres like. a general type of insects that dont tend to look much like insects on the surface. like they have 4 limbs, appear to have proper external skin and eyelids and other stuff that a vertebrate would have. however theyre still all bugs and do NOT have bones

im talking this about so vaguely because im referring to several species. as in greenbottles (murfy), mosquitoes, and also uglies, and there could be more that fits this criteria

its clear why greenbottles and uglies would be like. the same strangely vertebrate-looking type of insects

mosquitoes look more obviously buglike but they still have eyelids and such. i think theyd also be closely related (((as far as that goes with everyone literally being created by god))) to the other two

arguably these flies also count as closely related despite having 6 limbs. this thing is wrinkly as hell. anyway this is just silly all of these examples are literally just dipterans

having rather vertebrate-like external anatomy might just be inherent to the arthropods in the glade because i can think of many more examples. though its not entirely applicable to all of them, this is mostly just a regular crab

anyway yeah. this part was rambly and poorly written but either way The Bugs Are Weird. i think they have internal supports thatd still be more similar to a normal bug exoskeleton, theres still no bones

anyway green bottle flies in real life are blowflies and deposit their babys in rotten meat! this is why i think murfys preferred meals are meat too rotten for everyone else to bother with, with obnoxious amounts of honey or nectar or something other too sweet for everyone else to bother with. of course everyone else thinks his food taste is insane meanwhile he berates globox for just trying to make a salad with fruit and fish in it

i think murfy was also a little baby worm at one point its because hes a fly. the difference from real flies i think is greenbottles would pupate at the equivalent at around 13 years old (which, according to my other headcanon, would be close to 40 decades in glade years). then they get out of the pupa non-wormly and with wings, but unlike real life insects still keep growing after that until they can actually be considered an adult (in real life insects are 100% adults and wont grow any further if they have wings)

also murfys (and other greenbottles obv) wings are detached and floating, very convenient for clothes

-

lums barely even have biology to speak of. theyre entirely made out of magic (and therefore mostly glow, unsurprisingly enough for the thing that is called a lum)

even despite being glowing orbs with wings (or sometimes no wings) they still have a physical form that you can hold onto (even before origins i mean). their external traits are rather inconsistent but they can often have faces, limbs, and they can all make noises

heres a pic of globox just holding it like normal, and interestingly you can tell hes holding it by the more solid glowing part of the lum

anyway in particular a notable example of those lum traits is andre. hes like a little bug, he doesnt glow at all, he loves plum juice, but hes still a lum and entirely made out of magic. theres no internal anatomy to speak of so the plum juice he drinks doesnt even go anywhere

i dont know if you can dissect a lum i think it just wouldnt work

also yeah red lums do just come with an inherent built in flaw of turning evil sometimes because they got too scared. it just never got too out of hand until one of them happened to have arms and any intellect at all (with regards to how to make other black lums) and then he caused there to be magnitudes more black lums than there were around previously, well enouogh to be a threat to everyone

lums are everywhere, ever present, seemingly predate even the glade itself (that was the case in r2 anyways), at least some other creatures might be made OUT of lums (rayman is seemingly either made of those or electoons??)

i dont really know why sometimes they have limbs and sometimes they dont. even when its just yellow lums. it might be possible that theres distinct types of yellow lums, and theres 1000 specifically that are important for the heart of the world, and like countless lums that people just catch for sport and those have arms and legs. idk

OH YEAH. the fact that lums are magic is like, i think, The thing that makes hoodlums function. its mostly fairly regular fabric, but the fabric itself makes them just inherently assume certain roles with certain behaviors and voices and stuff. somehow. the black lums make it work and thats how they can walk around and shoot people despite most of them not having arms (andre does but it didnt even matter because his hoodmonger form functioned the exact same as any normal hoodmonger)

semi related (not biology related) neat fact! the currency in rayman kart, which is just coins, is also referred to as lums (even internally). they just have rayman faces on them but the fact that theyre called lums is still notable. you can build interesting lore off of this

also semi related, electoons and darktoons i think are also just composed out of magic. but they have more solid non glowing forms. i dont really know what electoons do though, origins suggests theyre responsible for The Fabric Of Reality which is A Lot (but i guess it does fit with what theyre named after. electrons tend to be in atoms [citation needed])

-

knaaren. i dont even know what to class them as (beyond being vertebrates)? are they reptilian? mammalian? what? huh? do they hatch from eggs? either way one thing i can say is that theyre a single sex species. theres some cut lines in rayman 3 where they literally say female knaaren dont exist

those were. definitely cut for good reason because this seems to me like a weird misogynistic joke. and its literally not true knaaren can and do run sometimes.

anyway im going to pretend some knaaren just decide theyre women anyway. but yeah at the very least the vast majority of the population consists of men

they can still have kids, idk how either, they ask the leptys nicely for it or something? either way as a result the vast majority of knaaren have either just a dad, or dads (they mostly just mention their dad). i dont know if heterosexual knaaren even exist (outside of women, but that still suggests cishet knaaren are not real)

LATE EDIT: lady knaaren that will only kiss other ladys are also real of course just uncommon

also knaaren might be carnivores? i dont know what exactly they eat though outside of brains. i dont imagine they get many visitors do the desert (so they could eat them since theyre just okay with doing that to fellow sapients). since their god is a giant mean bird i imagine theyd revere birds and not eat them. some of them have pet rats so they probably wouldnt eat the rats either? tbh i could see it bc theres SO many rats in just one map in their level

also yeah the knaaren were made by the leptys (the aforementioned giant mean bird) not polokus. i think leptys just showed up in the galde and went "Ok polokus im putting a bunch of violent brain eating dudes onto your planet have fun" and polokus was like "uhh ok sure"

also knaaren spend enough of their time just bullying teensies to depict it in murals all over their caverns for some strange reason. like its important to them that they chase teensies and carry them around on ropes. although tbh the teensies dont even look scared about it so im not sure whas going on here

like girl you are voluntarily holding onto these ropes at this point

-

speaking of the gods. i dont know if they have any standard anatomy to speak of either. and theyre not bound to one external appearance either (though they do have like a "true" form), but polokus is about the only one that shapeshifts for fun (or because he was going through a tragic breakup idk), and i guess jano randomly turning really really big is also related to this

so what i mean is. idk if theyd have internal anatomy either, much like lums. this polokus line from origins kind of reads like its the case though?

so obviously its difiicult to deduce The Biological Features And Anatomy Of Gods because they can look and be shaped like basically anything

in practice though, whatever forms they take theyre still like, Physical and they can definitely just disguise themselves as normal people. i think this is what voodoo mama (NOT THE NYMPH)/mama hite did so most of the red wizards around the docks where she hangs out just assume that shes just. another globox person. and not like A God. physically she appears exactly the same as those she just has way way more magic powers (because shes a god) and also divorced polokus (because theyre both gods)

this is past biology at this point but gods can also end up creating other more minor gods. but about the only instance of this is with polokus accidentally creating jano, all the other ones in the glade just kind of formed on their own much like polokus himself has

and of course they have way more magic capabilities than literally anyone else. i think jano literally is responsible for the entire pocket dimension of land of the livid dead (origins) existing, and thus also like all the nightmares in it

-

ever think about these guys?? i dont know their biological classification either but i can tell that they have hair (not that that really means anything)

i tjink these are mostly found around aeropolis (instead of the common population mix of teensies and globox people with occacional others) and theyre even more closer to just the most average guy you can get. no specific magic capabilities, no nothing

sometimes theyre also just bald for no reason but hair seems more common than on teensies or globox people. seriously though that woman is bald

anyway its very obvious why razoff could be connected to these. but the weird thing is that, instead of a stripey nose, he just has a bunch of spots all over him (including the nose), and he has 3 fingered hands instead of 4 fingered hands. also a way longer neck that mans a giraffe

(showing him with his hat off makes the resemblance between him and the aeropolis people more obvious though)

so the question is is razoff just weird or is he part of a closely related species to the aeropolis people? is he part of a subspecies? why less fingers?

whatever is going on with him hes definitely a lot more reptilian looking. although its seems he doesnt have scales anyway, he just has fairly smooth and shiny skin. but i guess you can then assume aeropolis people are kind of reptiles??? but they can also jsut be nothing because cladistics are not real in the glade

-

the way the rat looked with present mouse_eye textures (instead of having that part of the mesh be entirely white (because the mouse_eye texture is gone) so it looks like some kind of frill) in the earlest rayman 3 demo we have. this thing literally has faceted eyes you cant convince me otherwise

-

this thing is a glute and it is a bird that can eat and derive nutrients from anything (or at least digest anything)

it has antennae for communication, jumps around, and i think teensies have bred it into numerous fancy varieties. and theres of course feral glutes that just act like pigeons except theyre flightless and they eat your lunch AND the pretty rock you just found on the beach AND probably try to eat you too and this is why globox hates them.

and they dont even make for good meat! so you cant eat them back!

i should share that drawing i did recently of various glute morphs and breeds i think thats pretty fun

[bodybeyondstories]

dicks keep growing around me - 7 (Myron)

Ty hatches a plan to make some extra spicy content using Myron's ability. Myron begrudges after some self-reflection, and things tumble further than either of them expect.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 (Previous)

male TF // growth // dick growth // butt growth // nsfw

4478 words

(This is now the longest running series and I have two more DKGAM chapters that I started developing as I was writing this one. Might be settling back into a writing mood, so that's cool. Also I've just really been enjoying sitting with these characters)

---

[Me: It’s not that I’m opposed to it]

[Ty: But you’re not *not* opposed to it]

[Me: I’m ruminating on the situation]

[Ty: Ok! We love to ruminate!]

[Me: It’s just risky…]

[Ty: What could possibly go wrong?]

I briefly considered the laundry list of mishaps and mayhem that had consistently been falling into my life, baffled by the thought that Ty’s superdick ripping through their pants and coating their car in jizz had somehow not scared them away from me in perpetuity. They could barely keep the baseball bat swinging between their legs under wraps and were by whatever tiny miracle cool with that.

[Ty: ok actually don’t answer that. We’ll be careful this time!]

[Me: Is careful in the room with us now?]

[Ty: Just once. We recreate my l'il episode in the locker room, but with some rippage. Just enough to wow the viewers. That's it!]

[Me: You mean when you got all up in my underwear and almost ruined your own 🤨]

[Ty: Exactly 😙! But this will be more of a controlled scenario. ‘Dicks keep growing around me,’ in your words. They'll eat this up.]

I never should’ve uttered that phrase. I sat curled on the couch and levied an exasperated sigh at my phone. It's always some sort of antic with this one. I thought that inadvertently turning us into medical mysteries verging on freaks of nature would temper my former roommate’s exhibitionist imagination, but they were doing a great job of rolling with the punches–much better than poor Miguel and his window washing beau. But Ty seemed to thrive with the mammoth appendage springing from their groin, and it was their body to do what they felt like. And I do like to help my friends, even if in my own unique way.

I rested a hand on my hip, contemplating how far we would take these shenanigans before whatever this mysterious power was tapped out or we ended up in some government facility or pharmaceutical lab. I'd like to spend time around the people I care about without them growing uncontrollable donkey dicks. Even if they didn't seem to care all that much. I caressed the curvature of my backside, cheeks stretched taut over a layer of fat padding powerful muscle. These days, I felt like I could lift anything with only moderate effort. It was actually making my workouts more difficult, I was having to get creative just to maintain progressive overload. Some of the more serious guys at the gym have been trying to get me into powerlifting, even amateur competitions, but I’m mildly afraid of where that might lead. And I don’t need even more attention.  

I felt a tremble in my glutes as the muscles seemingly flexed in disagreement. I'd been feeling these small twitches more often lately, deep in the muscle. I was worried I'd been overtraining. Maybe I should slow down on leg day, I thought, then immediately banished the idea. I guess, like Ty, I had started to grow accustomed to the spotlight on my dump truck whenever I was in public. I even got a kick out of the furtive glances and comical double takes. My hands were always resting on my round cheeks, letting me steal small squeezes here and there, especially when I was trying to think through something, and cared less and less who saw me feeling myself up. With this ass, who could blame me?

I glanced back at the mound of my oversized posterior making a permanent taking up space on the couch. I couldn’t help but wonder how far all this would go, reflecting on a recurring anxious daydream of a future in which the plush couch was gone entirely and I simply had beanbag size butt cheeks to relax into. I had convinced myself that we’d figure all this out long before things got that far. And if Ty was right about one thing, it’s that these changes were kind of fun. And it’s not like anything all that bad had happened. So far.

—

7…8…9…

I gritted my teeth as I tried for a tenth hip thrust. The plates clanged heavy against the ground as I failed, my butt falling back to the floor in resignation. I breathed a sigh of relief at being done with my last set, my glutes burning in satisfaction. Again that annoying twitch, stronger this time. 

At least these shorts held up, I thought,  leaning my head back. It was a quiet morning at the gym, meaning I could unapologetically load up the bar with several plates on each side, enough to really get a pump going. I needed to work up a sweat for Ty's little experiment later, which I had begrudged when they finally wore me down by promising to get a few pairs of super supportive, ultra stretchy gym shorts from the athletic line of the brand sponsoring them. All I had to do was go through my normal routine, hand them off in the locker room, and film the short scene with Ty before any unsuspecting person wandered through.

“Myron, right?” came a question from somewhere above and behind.

I swiveled my head around towards that voice, looking up to see someone silhouetted against the overhead lights. I couldn't quite make out their face, but I'd recognize that figure from a mile away.

“Winston?”

“Yeah, you remember,” he said with a nervous laugh. “Um, sorry if this is awkward, but I saw you from across the floor and I just had to know where you got those…”

“Shorts?” I interjected, a beaming smile appearing on my face. 

“Yeah! I've ripped through just about every pair I have, it's kind of becoming a problem. You know how it is.” We nodded in commiseration. “I could send you the link for these, if you want?” I said as I extracted myself from under the loaded bar and regained my footing, trying to casually pull the thin fabric to cover more of my thighs (to no avail). This current pair looked painted on and kept riding up my legs, making my ass look somehow even more bubbled, but they were solid. At least for the time being. “I’m pretty satisfied so far, and I think we’re probably the same size.”

“No, I think you might have me beat,” said Winston, eyeing me up with an appreciative smile. “Are you a trainer? I need to know your routine.”

I was taken aback. Winston looked like he had just stepped out of a fitness magazine. His stringer tank top hung from the peaks of his traps and flowed delectably over his torso, leaving his juicy pecs, biceps, and boulder shoulders exposed to the air, nipples peeking out playfully whenever he moved, the light catching the glisten of sweat in just the right way along his deep brown skin. His thin joggers ended at calf height, doing nothing to hide his tree trunk quads and of course, the wildly disproportionate globes of his glutes, stretching the otherwise loose sweats tight across the mathematically elegant curvature of muscle that made up his backside. His body was a work of art. And he wanted fitness advice from me?

I turned to the mirror. Maybe it was the way my shorts were riding up or maybe a trick of the light, but it did look like my perky bubble butt had surpassed his, evolving into an amazonian ass since we’d last met.

“Um, sure,” I stammered. “Yeah, let me give you my number, we could train together sometime. Miguel will get a kick out of this,” I added with a nervous chuckle, handing him my phone.

“Well he definitely has a type.” He winked as he put his info in and shot himself a text.

—

I left Winston with the comically overloaded barbell to get his leg workout going and headed to the locker room. Ty was standing in one of the aisles, leaning against a wall of lockers with arms crossed, looking unusually impatient.

“Time is of the essence,” they snapped. “We're about to hit the midday rush.”

“Oh am I holding up your little workday excursion?” I quipped, working my fingers under the waistband of my shorts. It was struggle enough to get them on, but with a serious glute pump, it was a lost cause. I meticulously peeled them down the top half of my ass cheeks until they simply wouldn't budge against the hemispheres of my posterior. Ty, seeing my frustration, intervened, locking their thumbs in and pushing down as the elastic approached catastrophic failure, eventually resorting to palming each cheek with one of their dinner plate sized hands.

“You sure you don't want to make some content of your own?” they asked, grunting with the effort. “You would do numbers.”

With my gym shorts finally off (with no shortage of curses, prayers, and geometric strategizing), I whipped my underwear towards Ty's face. They caught them in their nimble fingers, appearing to hold the reinforced bikini briefs with reverence. They closed their eyes and let their nose dance delicately above them like a sommelier of magic musk.

“Is it that serious?” I asked.

“You have no idea,” they answered. “But let's save all that for when the camera's rolling.” They whipped off their work shirt and track pants and positioned themself on the bench facing the camera in nothing but their underwear, their long legs splayed to either side. Their massive fabric encased member rested on the bench, thrust forward slightly as they leaned back, indulging in another strong whiff of my underwear.

I had long known Ty made fetish content, but I had never actually seen them in action. They had crafted a compelling character. Laid back stoner with gravelly, sultry undertones. They reel you in with a dopey demeanor and cute asides, their eyes dancing casually around the mise en scene as if there was something vaguely interesting just off screen, before cutting directly to the camera with startling intensity. I watched my recently used underwear tangle between their fingers as they brought them up to their face and inhaled deeply, their eyes fluttering with a full body shudder. This looked genuine. They bit their lip as they dug into the sweat soaked fabric, their face a contortion of pleasure and pain. With their shirt off you could see their core flexing in involuntary waves, becoming stronger and stronger as beads of sweat formed on their brow. Eventually they began to shudder across their entire form, lean muscles brought into stark relief as they curled forward and stood up to their full height, staring down at the camera as they blocked one of the overhead lights to create an accidental dramatic effect. This was getting serious. They rested their hands on the tops of the lockers for support as they became slightly off balance, a brief look of confusion as their dick lurched further, small tears appearing in the fabric of their overstressed pouch, shudders becoming rolling muscle contractions across their slim, lanky physique.

They struck an imposing figure with their full wingspan splayed across the tops of the lockers on either side. How had I forgotten how tall they’d grown? Their fingers curled against the metal, head drooping down more and more frequently to the commotion coming from their groin. Their breathing became heavier and more urgent as their dick pushed against its confines, already testing the limits of its pouch as it began to visibly engorge.

It was obvious that the pouch was comically, woefully huge, literally unbelievable if you hadn't already seen the beast visibly pulsing against the fabric as if in sync with their heartbeat, eyes and lips creased with discomfort.

“I think it's…happening…again,” they muttered, looking down at their overpacked crotch with a mask of worry. I couldn't tell how much of this was an act for the video and how much was real. I don't think I cared. The pouch was inflating with the pressure of Ty’s growth, stretching the fabric to the limit as it grew larger and larger, slowly revealing their pubes as the waistband was pulled downward. 

I was captivated, my heart pounding with the knowledge of what was happening in that pouch, turned on by the prospect of our all too real fantasy content production suddenly being discovered by some unsuspecting civilian. I thought of Miguel. Saw his self-conscious worry in the set of my friend's face, wondered if his own expanding member would reach a similar point that could only conservatively be described as colossal. My hole twitched at the thought.

“Augghh!” exclaimed Ty, bending over in pain and snapping me back to reality.

“You okay?” I asked. I knew this was risky.

“Wait. It's…almost,” they muttered through clenched teeth and panicked breaths.

Small tears began to appear as the pouch finally started to give way, growing and widening as their monster cock did the same. A slow tearing sound filled the space as the fabric separated bit by bit from the elastic waistband and the seams of their pouch split open just as the growth started to slow down and rest to a stop. With a final grunt, the now useless panties gave way and fell to tatters as Ty's semi hard cock ripped through, hanging down between their knees under its own weight, a few bits of fabric still hanging on.

“Was,” they breathed heavily, hands holding on to the lockers on either side. “Was that good?”

I was speechless. It was incredible. “I, uh–”

“I think so!” came a voice of encouragement out of the ether that Ty seemed to immediately recognize.

Their eyes widened in shock as they whipped around, revealing an unassuming gym goer previously hidden behind the expanse of their double wide back. Their newly enlarged schlong swung heavily through the air, bobbing back and forth until they stopped it firmly with one hand and tried to cover it up with the other, a gesture that was so comically futile that it just served to emphasize how undeniably massive their dick had become. Their long, lithe form was crouched in embarrassment, their naked body displaying a vulnerability that I don't know I'd ever seen from them before. 

“Kai!” they exclaimed, their voice an entire octave higher with what sounded like uncharacteristic nerves. “We've, um, got to stop meeting like this.”

—

“So who's this twink they have a crush on?”

Miguel was cuddled up against me later that evening, his hand caressing my ass cheek in lazy circles. I felt my glutes spasm again. Strong enough to resonate deep in my hole and cause my back to arch ever so slightly.

“That whole story and that's what you're focusing on?” I asked. “And I don't know if it's a crush so much as a series of awkward encounters.”

“Or a pattern of meet-cutes, as they say,” countered Miguel. “They're having a romcom moment, they should lean into it.” He smirked and gave my butt a playful swat.

“Okay but not even the underwear thing?” I asked, rolling on top of him to grab two handfuls of his juicy pecs. He's really been going hard lately, I thought. 

“I can’t blame them. You've got an enticing aroma.” Miguel pointedly squeezed the underside of my ass, sliding a finger towards the entrance of my waiting hole.

Another spasm. Strong enough for Miguel to feel the tremor through my glutes and pause briefly. He bit his lip in anticipation as I arched my back and began to rock against his groin, feeling the heat of his python stirring to life. He gasped as I rolled his nipples under my thumbs, his dick jumping in excitement. Has he always been this sensitive? I thought, but didn’t have time to reflect as he slid one finger, then two into my sensitive hole. I clamped down, biting my lip as my butt cheeks flexed with the sudden spike of pleasure.

“You always feel so good,” he said, sliding a third and fourth digit, beginning to prep me for what was to come.

I could discern what was to come extending between my legs, pushing them apart with its girth. I could practically feel his heartbeat through the pulses of the veins along his shaft. His face narrowed in concentration, his breath deepening as he got harder and harder, his baseball bat elongating inexorably behind me. I was overcome with lust as my lips fell hard onto his.

“I really can’t blame them,” Miguel repeated, swinging around to reposition me on all fours, ass up, back arched. His dick flailed widely under its own momentum, slapping the insides of my thighs with blunt force. It wasn’t yet fully hard, but was that still hard enough to bruise? Note to self, I mused. He smacked the globes of my ass with enough force to definitely leave a mark, setting them into uncontrollable jiggling motion.

“Fuck,” he whispered, grabbing handfuls of each cheek.

A steady ooze of precum wound its way down my back. These days, he had no shortage of homemade lube. He nestled his face between my shoulder blades, rubbing his beard against my sweaty back as he left urgent kisses on my skin. My hole twitched in anticipation. His breath became ragged as he slid his massive head between my cheeks. The sheer weight of it was more astounding every time.

But he continued. He left a gooey trail of precum as he caressed my shuddering hole and his cock thumped heavy onto the bed before springing back up to kiss my taint. I sighed in wanting, missing the weight of his monster cock even though I still felt the heat radiating from it. But then that beard was tickling my sensitive hole, and those urgent kisses turned into guttural moans as he began furiously eating me out. It was enough to cum right then and there.

“God you taste so good,” he moaned between my cheeks.

Miguel’s rimming prowess was such that it nearly eclipsed the power of his record breaking dick. My mind was swimming in ecstasy, unable to hold on to a coherent thought beyond whatever symphony he was writing through expert ministrations around my butthole. I was dimly aware of the muscle tremors running across my glues getting stronger and more frequent, a dance of minute twitches interspersed with full spasms, crescendoing into a full body shudder as my ab muscles contracted together and a prickly heat spread across my backside and down my legs. It felt familiar. I had the phantom sensation of deja vu but nowhere near the mental capacity to investigate.

“Does this feel good?” Miguel asked, coming up briefly for air.

“I, uh, yeah,” I eked out, clenching my teeth through the orgasmic heat radiating from my lower body. I felt another shiver, my ass and leg muscles contracting in tandem on a regular basis now. What’s happening? I thought. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this kind of full body horniness, a pulsar firing off gamma rays with every heartbeat.

“You look so fucking good.” Miguel caressed each ass cheek, then let his fingers trace along my hamstrings. “You’ve really been hittin’ legs, huh? Feels even better than I remember.” An inside joke that gave him no end of amusement. “You’re sure they’re not sneaking that GluteMax stuff in the gym's water supply?” I felt my right cheek jiggle as he gave it a firm slap.

“Had a great leg day,” I chuckled. “And I know a guy.”

Miguel repositioned, backing up awkwardly to extricate his dick from underneath my belly and position his massive head at the top of my ass crack. I looked back to see him entranced, one hand resting on my ass for stability and the other holding the base of his dick. The space needed between us just to situate his cockhead at my backdoor was comical, he may as well have been on the other side of the room.

“Can I?” he asked.

“Be my guest.” I steeled myself for what was to come.

I was well aware that I was quite possibly the only person on earth that could take his gargantuan prick and those first few inches of his mushroom head always felt unreal. My hole expanded past what I thought was humanly possible as he slowly rocked back and forth, easing himself in. Before long, my walls were stretched to the limit. When he was inside me, all I could even fathom was the pressure of his monster cock filling me up to the brim, sending me to ethereal heights. He began to work up a rhythm, but then I worked up my own. My glutes and legs weren’t the only parts of my lower body that had gained outsized strength. As I became lost in orgasmic bliss, I was pushing and pulling him in and out by sheer force of will, using him as little more than a human dildo.

“Fuck you’re strong,” he breathed, moaning into me as he relinquished control. Bottoming out was a pipe dream, but he had made it far enough in to grab my hips and leave little bite marks on the small of my back as he held on for dear life.

As I built toward orgasm, the spasms got stronger and longer. My legs were on fire, I felt like I could burst if I didn’t cum soon. I was bearing down on Miguel’s cock with enough force to destroy a normal human penis, eliciting a grunt of concern.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I…I just…” I lost the ability to formulate sentences as a mind melting orgasm crashed over me, a supernova centered around my hole, which still refused to relinquish its iron grip on Miguel’s cock. I shot rope after rope of cum against my chin, my chest, my stomach, before my hand finally steadied my dick. But the feeling of orgasmic release continued, my back arching deeper, knees sliding across the bed and feet losing purchase as suddenly they dangled in the air. My legs settled into a delicious stretch to relieve tension, contractions finally releasing with the last spurts of jizz.

“That was…that was amazing,” breathed Miguel. I could hear his feet stumble onto the floor as his prodigious cock slid slowly out of me, ending with a thud against the edge of the bed as he stood up to full height, hands still gripping my cheeks for support. “Wow,” he muttered, fingers splayed out against my butt. “You’re really good at that,” he said.

“Good at what?” I asked, shifting around to slide off the bed and find purchase on the hardwood.

“Whatever muscle you’ve been training to, um…” he trailed off, looking dumbfounded.

“To what?” I continued, standing up to full height and looking down into Miguel’s big cocoa eyes.

Looking down? I glanced at Miguel’s feet to verify that they were solid on the ground and worked my way up the rest of him. Not kneeling, not slouching. So how was I looking down? I was a tad bit taller than Miguel but we still basically saw eye to eye. But now I was gazing from inches above, down into his flabbergasted expression.

A wave of disorientation hit as I looked past him into the mirror, my head closer to the upper edge than I remember it ever being. I rested my hands on his shoulders. I was now visibly, undeniably taller than him. Miguel stepped aside, shocked into silence as he turned my body ninety degrees, my side profile coming into view in the reflection.

My upper body was the same. Soft paunch of my belly below pecs that were starting to take shape along with some definition coming in along my triceps and forearms. The look of someone who was still relatively new to working out but consistent with a rigorous program and appeared to be decently in shape. As my eyes wandered down the expanse of my lower half my heart fluttered in disbelief.

I was inexplicably higher from the ground because my legs were…bigger. It wasn’t an optical illusion or some sort of sex induced vertigo. I was literally taller. My quads, hamstrings, and calves had the same shape and muscularity, the same healthy layer of fat, but had become bigger and beefier versions of the legs I had had just a few minutes ago. They looked wildly disproportionate to everything above the waist. Yet that was the least of my concerns.

With some strategizing, I could’ve probably maneuvered my most forgiving pants onto my legs. I was certain I had some shorts on hand that were stretchy enough to at least cover my quads until I could figure out how to update this wardrobe. But there was nothing I owned that was going to last more than three minutes against the planetoids that had inflated behind me.

I thought back to my encounter with Winston at the gym. It was hard to imagine how I could’ve ever compared myself to Miguel’s dapper, bubble butted fling. Winston’s ass was a showstopper, but this? This was something else entirely. My ass had grown into two beach balls perched on top of my hamstrings, ballooning from my lower back around the small dimples on each side. It was a comically unrealistic, anatomically impossible morph that was very very real. I squeezed one cheek and felt a pulse of pleasure permeate the background noise of post-coital satisfaction, causing me to briefly lose my balance.

I stumbled backwards, still disoriented from my sudden growth spurt (Is this how Ty felt?), my monster booty smashing Miguel back onto the bed hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He sat up on his elbows, awestruck, his semi-hard python bobbing in the air in front of him.

“Oh shit,” I said, my face flushing with embarrassment. “I think I need to sit down.”

“Don’t sweat it, babe,” said Miguel. “I always got a seat for you.”

He leaned forward and placed his hands on the underside of each cheek, taking a second to watch them shake, then buried his head deep between them, fully smothered by the time he reached my hole.

The flood of pleasure tuned out any concern I had had about this latest development. I sighed, leaned back, and fell on top of him, his head and shoulders disappearing beneath my mammoth ass as his dick sprung to full attention dangerously close to my lips. I grabbed hold with both hands, each of which could barely wrap around half of his pole, and began lapping up the steady stream of pre from his mushroom head.

One more thing to deal with later, I reasoned as I began to fall back into a second wave of orgasmic bliss. This really was fun. So far.

[frydawolff]

Sharing this today because I don't think enough non-actors know: To qualify for SAG health insurance, you have to make at least $26,470 per calendar quarter. i.e. If you can hustle $26,470 in a quarter, you have health insurance for a year. At the end of that year you need to make another $26,470 in that next calendar quarter. (The bigger issue is the obvious need for universal healthcare, but, America.)

This is what the WGA and SAG-AFTRA strikes are really all about:

SAG insurance is hard to get, even harder to keep if you develop a chronic illness that prevents you from working, or just haven't booked in a while, etc. Broadcast residuals were meant to help with that, with passive income to keep you qualified for insurance. Streaming's refusal to distribute broadcast comparable residuals has resulted in even high profile, heavily awarded, multiple season jobs not being enough to earn healthcare.

The cast of Orange Is the New Black essentially worked for exposure, as have the rest of us since then.

This is why we've been yelling about AI:

Gift link, no paywall: https://wapo.st/43rubnB

Opinion  It’s fine. We don’t need human actors.

"My dear shareholders! Do not worry about the fact that all the screen actors and screenwriters are on strike.

If there is one thing I have figured out about the meaning of life and the meaning of art, it is that art is something that should be entirely the product of machines and robots while people march around with picket signs and complain that they cannot afford food and housing. Also, no one should ever be paid a residual, whatever that is. I just don’t like the sound of it.

When our ancestors sat around the cave fires at night, sure, they told stories. Certainly, they scrawled on the walls of their caves, but as an executive, I know for a fact that they hated that part of being alive so much. They said to themselves, “Someday, when we have indoor plumbing and can live as we choose, we will be able to delegate this tiresome dreaming and telling of stories entirely to robots and billionaires. The only good part of drawing mammoths on the walls of caves is the fact that I, the illustrator, am not being compensated monetarily in any way for doing so.” (This primal yearning for people to not be compensated for their creative efforts except in exposure is something that has driven artists for a long time and we hope will continue to drive them, in case our AI idea backfires.)

We will be fine without these humans with their so-called faces and voices and acting. If Marvel films thus far have not been populated entirely by CGI characters, it is only for want of sufficient motivation, and I’m sure we can fix that."

[whoreviewswho]

Nothing's just rubbish if you have an enquiring mind - Paradise Towers, 1987

At the time of writing, it is impossible to refute that the production history of Doctor Who in the 1980s is incredibly, thoroughly documented. Recently, I saw a video floating around fandom on Twitter from the now current production team being disparaging and critical toward the mid-80s period of the show. None of the talking points that came out of this were anything new but it did highlight, for me, the biggest problem of this era by way of how much it was not discussed. Mid-80s Doctor Who was bad. Mid-80s Doctor Who was also made exclusively for the fans. I think that fans feel, to this day, somewhat uncomfortable addressing this fact. After all, they are a significant and vocal subset of the programme’s audience and the ones who imbue themselves, or in the mid-80s were imbued by the production team proper, with a sense of ownership and understanding of the show that eclipses everybody else’s. We know how Doctor Who works because we’ve seen it all, we know it inside out. If it isn’t working for us, it must not be working.

Of course it goes without saying that this is completely tosh. Doctor Who did and does not exist solely for Doctor Who fans. It doesn’t even exist primarily for them. Doctor Who is a programme produced by a public broadcaster in Britain as part of their remit to inform, educate and entertain. No matter how much Russell T Davies and the BBC at large would prefer one to believe otherwise. At any rate, a programme with that comfortably met the BBC’s mission statement and was appealing across demographics of the British public was not the one they John Nathan-Turner had been producing for, arguably, four years at this point. 

But this was, thankfully, to change thanks to A. the appointment of Andrew Cartmel in the role of script-editor and B. the enormous falling out between Eric Saward and JNT leading to the latter refusing to hire any old hands that would have previously worked with them as a duo. Incredibly, this decision led to an enormous uptick in quality for the next three years. Wild. One of the first writers that JNT sought after for season twenty-four was Stephen Wyatt, a promising new talent at the BBC in late 1986. Following the hiring of Andrew Cartmel as script-editor, in early 1987, JNT arranged a meeting between the two writers where they got to discussing their mutual admiration for the works of J. G. Ballard. The pair began to construct the basic plot that would become Paradise Towers with Wyatt taking particular inspiration from his own experiences frequenting council housing in London's East End.

Season twenty-four, and really beginning with Paradise Towers, would mark a significant shift in the style and tone of Doctor Who from previous years. Cartmel and his team of writers were heavily inspired by contemporary comics, specifically the series 2000AD and the works of its writers such as Alan Moore, Grant Morrison, Dave Gibbons, Pat Mills and John Wagner. The second major change Cartmel employed, however, was a distinct turn back toward Doctor Who's cultural role as key viewing for British families. Regaining the general audience, and by that I mean adult non-fans watching the BBC, is one thing (and arguably the much easier one) but the task of reframing Doctor Who as an important programme for children was surely the more mammoth and, I would argue, necessary effort. Let’s not kid ourselves, where would the older fans come from if not childhood passion for the show? This is really the sole reason why fandom can never be trusted for knowing what makes for good Doctor Who on television since the answer invariably returns to “the ones that are like what I watched as a kid”. I don’t mean to spend any more time ragging on the latter half of the Eric Saward era than I have to but fully appreciating Paradise Towers simply has to go hand-in-hand with the acknowledgement that seasons twenty-one through three were playing to an older audience than Doctor Who was ever designed for. Yes, it was conceived as a programme to bridge audiences between two programmes that were targeted at older and younger demographics and Philip Hinchcliffe was correct in refuting claims that his version of the show needed to be watered down by arguing that it’s not made the children’s department; it’s made by the drama department. 

BUT this line of thinking was part of a wider rationale and objective for the show to introduce children and families to mature concepts and themes through the lens of a science-fantasy adventure serial. That’s what Doctor Who does best. The violent thrillers being told about video nasties and psychotic mercenaries being chopped up by cyborgs don’t cut it as family entertainment, even if they were really good. Paradise Towers is the Cartmel era at its most children's television. This is no way a discredit and certainly not something that disappears after this season; the balance simply becomes more nuanced. Despite its reappraisal over the years, I would find it would be hard to object to any adult viewer now whose opinion is simply that this was a bit too children's TV for their sensibilities but I think that this was still the right move. Even if this did swing too far into the realm of pure children's entertainment, Doctor Who had been so far away from that realm for so long at this point that an aggressive swing the other way was necessary. The show needed to even the scales before we could move back toward something a bit more overtly mature. Paradise Towers carries sense of a new era really beginning to fall into place (Time and the Rani is really a hangover from the Colin Baker era) but it's not quite there yet. It is similar in that way to a story like The Beast Below, for example.

With that family audience in mind, it is no surprise that the basic story of Paradise Towers is incredibly easy to get your head around; a dilapidated housing complex, that was designed by an evil mind who thinks his work is ruined by having people actually live in it, is out to kill the inhabitants. The foundational elements of this story, however, and the broader socio-political context is incredibly dense and opens itself up to thoughtful conversation about modernist architecture as an extension of urban renewal. Paradise Towers is, quite blatantly, a council estate, a place where all of the children and elderly were shunted into while the able-bodied were sent off to war. Contextualising the story in real-world history of Britain, we know that this is not what was really happened. What was actually happening under Thatcher's government, and buy no means ended with her, wax urban renewal of low socio-economic areas that largely neglected the people who actually lived there, redeveloping these parts pop England to be glimmering examples of perfect modernist architecture. Whether they were homes for those who needed them or not was a less important concern. In the case of Kroagnon here, the triumph of having built something is more important than it actually being put to use; "The whole place is polluted with flesh". And, of course, the more intellectual members of the audience would be quick to realise that Paradise Towers is obviously riffing on High-Rise. None of these things matter to a six year old though. What matters to six year olds is that the bad guys follow orders from a monstrous entity that prioritises a product and an aesthetic over living people. And, perhaps even more importantly, those same guys are just as capable of realising this is wrong and joining the good guys if they know that they should. The takeaway from this parable is as simple as 'Everybody should work together to take out the common enemy'. Which, in this case, is an actually life-threatening entity that is abusing, and symptomatic of, a larger system.

While Nicholas Mallet would never be my first choice for all-time best Doctor Who director, he does some very admirable work in this serial. Right form the off, there is a great juxtaposition between the devastated horror of the towers and a Yellow Kang being hunted and killed with the stark, shiny retro-futurism of the Doctor and Mel's, themselves an extension of those aristocratic adventurers of Victorian fiction, absorbing their bright and chipper tourist material. That being said, I love the Doctor's immediate resistance to the advertising material. The beginnings of Cartmel's interpretation of the Doctor as a scruffy defender of the lower classes are immediately apparent in this story.

The Kangs themselves are an incredibly simple realisation of what is unambiguously a political idea; they are the children neglected by the system who grew up to be warriors and hunters, just like the Rezzies did though in a much less malicious fashion as children would. It is a very dark idea but all of it is extremely pllatable for families. Speaking of the Rezzies, Tilda and Tabby are easily the most hilarious aspect of this story as an adult but they would surely be quite genuinely frightening for kids. When you are a child, there is something deeply unsettling and unnerving about the elderly. Their existence is so far beyond your scope of understanding that they are really quite alien and ripe for scares. Mel's kidnapping in episodes two and three is actually very unsettling considering the limitations on play here. For the adults, residents of the dilapidated towers descending into cannibalism is either going to come off as hilariously silly or the least apologetic Ballard rip in the whole serial. For those who really love this, it is obviously both. Tabby hilariously layering cream on Mel's biscuit is probably my favourite moment of comedy in the whole story.You can see the influence this era and this story specifically must have had on Russell T Davies' conception of Doctor Who. Gridlock and Dot and Bubble have far more in common with the stories of season twenty-four than any other in the show's history.

The 2000 AD influences are really all over this production. The aesthetic of this world and the specific socio-political subtext feel perfectly in-step with any of that house's publications. For all the Kangs' dialogue, their use of language, is silly and naff on-screen, it would be incredibly easy to dismiss on the written page. Is this especially different from, say, the language of the Mutants in The Dark Knight Returns? It is no surprise that this particular story inspired its own independent comic-book series later down the line.

But, that being said, the biggest problem here is the actual production which is, frankly, overextending its reach Ince again. Everybody involved is trying very hard to sell the story but this production team is not up to the task of realising Wyatt's world (Richard Briers is probably the sole exception to the claim that everybody here is trying their best to realise this material. Granted, his performance is well within the remit of children's TV villain but not in the right way). The sets are quite good though the lighting does ether cheapness no favours. The Happiness Patrol, for example, improves on this. Take the lighting in episode three's interrogation scene. The idea is there but it doesn't quite work. The cleaning robots are bloody terrible too. A redesign could have gone a long way to saving them. The legs hanging out the back are great but they're just not scary at all despite how great they are on paper. Pex is probably the biggest victim of this production not working. great character and Howard Cooke gives his all in it but he is simply the wrong casting choice for this. With that comic-book influence in mind, it is easy to see how Pex was intended too operate as this headstrong, hyper-masculine parody of the typical superhero/comic book action hero. Again, imagine him on paper being drawn like The Punisher or Judge Dread. The scrawny Howard Cooke is not the actor to convincingly sell this. I'm not entirely sure that this idea actually lends itself to the story being told. Pex is perfectly suited to the aesthetic of Paradise Towers, the tone is on point but this quite angry story about a very specific cultural context seems at odds with Pex's little story about being a deserter from war that tries to play as a superhero but is naturally ill-suited to it. It's very endearing but just its own little thing in this world rather than part of a greater thematic whole.

In his second story, Sylvester McCoy is great but, again, is plagued by that affect of being not-quite there. The script characterise shim well enough though somewhat generic and the matter is not helped but his performance still being in its infancy. It's not all pratfalls and mixed metaphors as some would lead you to believe but the multitudes that came to define the Seventh Doctor are certainly not here yet. Just like watching him parade around with a not quite right umbrella, the shape of it is there but the full definition isn't. The Doctor has so many excellent moments in this story. His outwitting the Caretakers by simply weaponising authoritarianism to suit his agenda. It's a very simple and somewhat obvious little scene but it perfectly illustrates the idiocy of blindly following inane orders; "Rules should always make sense". The shifting seats in the interrogation is also a lovely bit of theatrical play and there is a surprising glimmer of darkness when Pex volunteers for the mission that will kill him in episode four, as if the Doctor knew things were always going to play out that way. He doesn't even try to stop him from tackling Kroagnon and being blown up.

Then there's Mel. Mel sits awkwardly in this story. The world of a decaying, children's television dystopia is not an inappropriate place for a character such as Mel, who is already really just a kid's TV idea of 'the smart and plucky girl one", to inhabit. Bonnie Langford commits herself admirably but, in contrast to the Doctor, her presence is not much of a disruption to the narrative and the character is so thinly drawn that any attempt at thematic or subtextual threads to be drawn between her and the events of the story are so thin as to be entirely non-existent. Langford and McCoy play off of each other well enough but it is nevertheless painfully apparent that her character was conceived to play off of Colin Baker's Doctor and a lot of her role as a foil is nullified by the stark difference between their respective characterisations of the Doctor.

When I first saw Paradise Towers, I really did not take to it. Likely it was my previous conceptions of the Cartmel era as a fan, misconceptions that were likely informed by the impact of the New Adventures novels in fandom, that blinded me to how much good really is in here. The Cartmel era is not hard-edged science-fiction for mature audiences and Doctor Who fans. Like the best offerings of this programme have always been, the Cartmel era, and Paradise Towers, is an idiosyncratic little show for families that's punching above its weight. 

[petermorwood]

Hey, since cloning technology is good enough for them to create mammoth meatballs but not the entire mammoth yet, which prehistoric animal do you feel like taking a bite of?

Given where I was born, and where @dduane and I currently live, I think some Giant Irish Elk venison would be about right.

Enough for the entire clan with plenty of leftovers and a Handy Thing To Hang Stuff From.

*****

Which leads via Memory Lane to a funny by John M. Ford, who used to post such things - along with witticisms, wise observations and poetry - on Making Light.

He produced these in the same way a bonfire produces sparks: random, unexpected, brilliant and without apparent effort - though like the graceful swan on the river, I bet there was a lot of work going on out of sight. Or maybe not. Mike was that good.

For instance, he wrote THIS just to comment on another post...

I saved everything I could find offline because You Can Never Tell about online stuff, and also because there was, for a time, doubt - happily, It Got Better - that ANY of his writing would ever be seen again.

(Dammit, just like Terry Pratchett I HATE having to refer to Mike in past tense...)

And now, the funny (original archived Here). I've been assured that This Recipe Will Work, though the assurance also came with a strong suggestion about reducing the ingredient quantities More Than Somewhat.

*****

Hot Gingered Pygmy Mammoth & Jumbo Shrimp Salad

Feeds your whole tribe.

1 pygmy mammoth, boned and cubed (about 1 ton) 1 ton jumbo shrimp, peeled and deveined (many many ordinary shrimps, or one Ebirah claw) 10 buckets sesame seeds 60 pounds bean thread noodles if you are an Eastern tribe, whatever your tribe uses for noodles otherwise. If you have not yet invented the noodle, this might be a good time to do so. 1 bucket vegetable oil 1 bucket sesame oil Salt 10 buckets minced fresh ginger 6 buckets minced garlic 15 buckets dry Sherry 15 buckets rice wine vinegar 60 pounds sugar 60 buckets diced fresh mangoes 15 buckets chopped green onions Big Snorgul's helmet full of red pepper flakes 10 buckets chopped fresh cilantro, plus 5 Big Snorgul's helmets fresh cilantro, garnish 1000 large heads lettuce, cored and leaves separated (a raid on the People Who Grow Stuff may be necessary) 30 buckets thinly sliced, peeled, seeded, drained cucumbers, or just chop up the damn cucumbers and say "Fie to thee!" a lot All the chives you got

Preheat a giant turtle shell over a fumarole. A big giant turtle. Put some oil in there. Make sure no other giant turtles are around to see you do this.

On a flat rock, stirring with your Stick of the Dining God, dry cook the sesame seeds over medium heat until they are brown and smell good. Remove from the heat. Add the noodles to the turtle shell and fry fast until puffy and the color of sunrise. Remove from the oil and drain on non-itchy leaves. Throw salt. Set aside.

Sear the mammoth meat on the flat rock. Salt but don't overdo it, you remember what happened to the Chest-Clutching Tribe of the Plains. Drain.

Get a less giant turtle shell. Okay, think of this as a celebration dish for a good turtle hunt and shrimp catch. Make the vegetable oil and most of the sesame oil dance. Add the shrimp, mammoth, ginger, and garlic, and cook fast, stirring, until the shrimp are just pink and firm. Doom of Ten Thousand Wretched Canapés awaits those who overcook shrimp. Remove from the shell with pole weapons. Add the sherry and vinegar, and sing the Song of Deglazing over medium heat. Add the sugar and stir until it is one with the sauce. Cook until half the fluid is gone. Feed anybody who thinks this is waste to the giant turtles. Add the rest of the sesame oil, mangoes, green onions, and pepper flakes, and stir to warm through and wilt. No, this wilt is good. Tell the people it is the wilt of the Wilt God. You need all the mojo you can get. Remove from the heat and add the shrimp and ginger, and the cilantro. Stir to warm through and do the Highly Dramatic Ritual of Adjusting the Seasoning to Taste.

Now your tribal status is on the thin edge of the cleaver. Have everybody bring what they eat off of. You know your tribe. Put lettuce on whatever they hold out and spread the hot stuff on it. Those who have no eating platters should be used to the drill by now. Arrange cucumber slices on top in whatever symbolic pattern seems propitious to you and sprinkle with the toasted sesame seeds. If you have a really tough tribe, yell "Bam!" until they get a groove going. Add fried noodles, cilantro sprigs, and chives, and watch for any signs of people keeling over that can't be blamed on strong drink.