#Automation made easy

[elvenbeard]

spent all morning apartment hunting, writing e-mails, phoning a potential landlady... *melts into a puddle*

send some good vibes my way to find something/ someone willing to rent to me despite me A) not being rich and B) trying to move across the country and not able to show up in person spontaneously and on a whim.

[roseband]

....u literally do not get to complain about being "overwhelmed" at work, and try to push work onto me

when you tried to design an entire line of baby onesies......breaking all brand guidelines, u need to follow brand guidelines as a fucking graphic designer......??? like that's graphic design 101?

like i fixed this once 4 months ago, dealt with licensing depts to fix it but never again, we have pdfs and .ai documents filled with guidelines.. which fonts...... which colors... what sizing and proportions allowed

nope, not dealing with someone else's mess

[communistkenobi]

(taken from a post about AI)

speaking as someone who has had to grade virtually every kind of undergraduate assignment you can think of for the past six years (essays, labs, multiple choice tests, oral presentations, class participation, quizzes, field work assignments, etc), it is wild how out-of-touch-with-reality people’s perceptions of university grading schemes are. they are a mass standardised measurement used to prove the legitimacy of your degree, not how much you’ve learned. Those things aren’t completely unrelated to one another of course, but they are very different targets to meet. It is standard practice for professors to have a very clear idea of what the grade distribution for their classes are before each semester begins, and tenure-track assessments (at least some of the ones I’ve seen) are partially judged on a professors classes’ grade distributions - handing out too many A’s is considered a bad thing because it inflates student GPAs relative to other departments, faculties, and universities, and makes classes “too easy,” ie, reduces the legitimate of the degree they earn. I have been instructed many times by professors to grade easier or harder throughout the term to meet those target averages, because those targets are the expected distribution of grades in a standardised educational setting. It is standard practice for teaching assistants to report their grade averages to one another to make sure grade distributions are consistent. there’s a reason profs sometimes curve grades if the class tanks an assignment or test, and it’s generally not because they’re being nice!

this is why AI and chatgpt so quickly expanded into academia - it’s not because this new generation is the laziest, stupidest, most illiterate batch of teenagers the world has ever seen (what an original observation you’ve made there!), it’s because education has a mass standard data format that is very easily replicable by programs trained on, yanno, large volumes of data. And sure the essays generated by chatgpt are vacuous, uncompelling, and full of factual errors, but again, speaking as someone who has graded thousands of essays written by undergrads, that’s not exactly a new phenomenon lol

I think if you want to be productively angry at ChatGPT/AI usage in academia (I saw a recent post complaining that people were using it to write emails of all things, as if emails are some sacred form of communication), your anger needs to be directed at how easily automated many undergraduate assignments are. Or maybe your professors calculating in advance that the class average will be 72% is the single best way to run a university! Who knows. But part of the emotional stakes in this that I think are hard for people to admit to, much less let go of, is that AI reveals how rote, meaningless, and silly a lot of university education is - you are not a special little genius who is better than everyone else for having a Bachelor’s degree, you have succeeded in moving through standardised post-secondary education. This is part of the reason why disabled people are systematically barred from education, because disability accommodations require a break from this standardised format, and that means disabled people are framed as lazy cheaters who “get more time and help than everyone else.” If an AI can spit out a C+ undergraduate essay, that of course threatens your sense of superiority, and we can’t have that, can we?

[witherby]

HI HI. SAME ANON :33anon here!!!

omg???? jfc christ? that was so good im shaking my cup for more 😭 i think the fact my ask is being used as a power shower is silly... i love it keep up the good work!

(side note ive done metamorphosis may i be 🎆anon.... i will be yapping at you on a later date o7)

Welcome to the club 🎆 I am smooching ur cheek

Hahaha...wouldn't it be so silly....if I used your ask again.....to post the second part hahahaha.....isn't that the silliest idea hahahaha.........

The Littlest Wayne: Uncertain Home

(Part 2 of 2)

Masterlist is Here!

"Let me make sure I've got this straight."

Everyone stiffens in their seats. When Batman says things like that, it means he is very, very close to yelling. Batman never yells unless his patience has reached its limit, his emotional threshold has bubbled over, or he hasn't slept in over six consecutive days. Given his usual activities, it could very well be a combination of the three, and the current situation is not helping.

"You —" he points a gauntleted finger at Manhunter, "— realized my child was showing signs of developing their powers six weeks ago, and told no one."

He turns to Superman and Diana next, talking through clenched teeth.

"And then you two, today, realized the same thing, indirectly told them they would no longer have a place in my home, and then they vanished under your cape."

He places his hands on the meeting table. Inhales. Exhales.

"No one attempted to reach out and express their concerns to me, the father, in either incident."

He slams his fists on the table. The wood splinters under the impact. Everyone flinches with it.

"AND NOW MY CHILD IS MISSING! DID I FORGET ANYTHING? DID I LEAVE ANYTHING OUT!?"

The silence afterwards is deafening. Bruce yanks his cowl off and slams it to the floor, running his hands through his hair.

"The Watchtower is under lockdown until further notice. We do not leave until either I find my kid, or I figure out how to track them down."

"Batman," the Flash chimes in, "I feel for you. This is a bad situation, but we can't all stay here; I have to —"

Bruce rounds the table and crowds Barry into his seat with near-inhuman speed. His eyes are wide and wild and his teeth are bared.

"We do not leave until I find them."

The lights briefly turn red and an automated voice comes over the intercom, alerting them that lockdown protocols have initiated. The heroes watch as blast shields cover the windows and the Zeta tubes deactivate, effectively blocking their only ways out.

Green Lantern re-enters the room from the observation deck with a determined expression.

"Checked the monitors and surrounding galaxy. Skies are clear, and earth-side we should be fine for at least a couple hours, so I went ahead and triggered the protocol."

"Hal!" Barry protests. "C'mon, I'm gonna be late to work again! It's not as easy for some of us to maintain our civilian covers, you know!"

"Well, then it sounds like we gotta find our missing Mouse fast."

Bruce presses a button on his gauntlet and pulls a small ball out of it, rolling it to the center of the table. A hologram screen pops up and shows a picture of you sitting in Tim's lap and enthusiastically looking at something on his computer with him. To the right of the image, a wall of text begins to appear, detailing observations made about your growth, health, and development of your powers.

"You already knew," Diana mutters, like the words have been punched out of her. Clark holds his head in his hands.

"Why didn't you tell us then, huh?" Oliver frowns. "Didn't think we could benefit from that information?"

"My child, my discretion," Bruce hisses. That shuts Ollie right back up. "This is everything I've been able to passively observe about their ability. They can latch onto any shadows in their immediate vicinity, up to a range of approximately one hundred feet, and until now has only used them for pathfinding, like solving puzzles or looking for small objects. What just happened today with Superman's cape is the first discovered instance of them being able to traverse into darkness itself."

"That's why the Watchtower is locked down," J'onn realizes. "If they can only travel so far with the shadows, chances are high that they're still in here."

"Yes."

"How do we pull them out if we find them?" Arthur speaks up, arms crossed. "Last I checked, no one else has shadow powers."

"Do what you can without risking injury to them or yourselves. If you can talk them out, that will be the ideal tactic. Any more questions?" Bruce waits a few seconds for anyone to speak up, then dismisses the holo-screen and rises to his full height. "Then everyone fan out, cast some shadows, and get to work."

--

Arthur is having no luck. He checks the furniture that was already casting shadows, like tables and beds and appliances, to no avail. Calling to you and feeling around those dark spaces isn't gonna get him anywhere.

Clark and Diana had picked up his cape and hunkered down under the fabric, gingerly asking you to please come out, Uncle Clark and Auntie Di are very sorry they implied what they did, they never meant to scare you, please please please come back.

Barry is zipping around the whole tower, checking high spaces and low, calling for you with a mixture of urgency and concern.

Ollie uses his body to cast a shadow under the fluorescent lighting and Dinah crouches in the space of it, patting the ground gently and urging you to appear. She insists everyone is worried and looking for you because they want you to be safe.

Bruce is frantic. He's visually very composed, but Hal can see the tremble in his hands as he slowly and methodically checks every single shadow he can find or create for signs of you.

"Bruce," Hal mutters, watching him check his cape for the fifteenth time in just as many minutes. "Bruce, sit down and breathe for a bit."

"Don't mention breathing," Bruce snaps. "This is unprecedented. I'm working with zero useful information and three of my teammates contributed to this situation in the first place. Can they just exist in darkness forever, or is there a limit before they get spit back out? Can they even get back out? Is there oxygen wherever they are? Are they safe or in any kind of distress? If you don't have answers to these questions or haven't found them yet, I don't want you talking to me."

He turns to check his cape again and almost runs right into J'onn.

"There was a shadow moving in the training room," he noted. "When I approached to investigate, it melted away. I found it important to tell you that Flittermouse seems to be active and uninjured judging by the ease in which that shadow moved."

The Manhunter leaves them again, phasing through the walls to continue searching for you. Bruce pulls his gloves off and rubs his face, sighing.

"Hal."

"I forgive you," comes the immediate reply. Hal places a hand on Bruce's back and offers him a thin smile. "You're a dad who's scared for your four-year-old kid. I think you're entitled to a little bit of bitchiness."

Bruce hums.

"Just a little bit, though. Like fifteen percent more bitch than your baseline. Which is to say, if you talk to me like that again I'm going to make a giant cartoon hammer and beat you to death with it."

Both men hear you giggle. Their heads whip around in the direction of the sound, and find a small, child-shaped shadow moulded into the corner. It's a strange thing, to look at a shadow with no source. It would be frightening if it wasn't you.

"Mouse?" Bruce immediately calls, stepping towards you. The giggling stops and the shadow shrinks. He crouches down, palms extended. "No no no! Don't go, don't go anywhere, please. Can I talk to you?"

You don't respond. Bruce isn't entirely sure if you can, in your current form. You haven't run away yet, however, so he inches just a bit closer.

"I'm...there's...." He stops and starts, searching for the best words to use. "Mouse, there was a misunderstanding. No one is making you leave. I'm not going to give you up or send you away, I promise."

"...m e t a h u m a n..." you mutter. Both Bruce and Hal shiver. It sounds like darkness itself whispering directly into their ears, faint and echoing and all-encompassing.

"Yes, that's what people with skills like yours are called," he confirms.

Your shadow doesn't move for a while. Bruce shuffles closer, palms extended, and is about to ask you to come out, but then your entire form wobbles and starts shrinking even more.

"...n o m e t a s i n G o t h a m..." you say, and the sadness in your voice is so potent Hal has to brace himself against the wall.

"No!" Bruce says, pressing his palm against the wall just a second too late. You dissolve and disappear. "That's not — ffffffuck."

He presses his forehead to the wall and closes his eyes, taking slow, deep breaths to avoid screaming. It takes a while.

"They're not going to talk to me," he eventually says. "They're scared of me, of that damned rule I —"

He cuts himself off and rubs a hand down his face.

"You have to do it."

"Me? Specifically?" Hal asks.

"You're their favorite uncle." Bruce pushes himself off the floor and rests his hand on Hal's forearm. "They adore you. They ask when you're going to visit Gotham again all the time. If anybody's gonna get them to understand that they're not in any trouble or danger of losing their family because of something I did, it's gonna be you."

"Whoa. No pressure," Hal says. He knows it's true though — you absolutely adore Hal, and the feeling is mutual. You feel almost like his own kid. He's just as scared as Bruce is about your current situation. "Okay...alright, I got this. Listen, tell the others that Mouse probably isn't gonna come out for 'em. Go hang out in the meeting room and gimme an hour alone. I'll bring them back."

Bruce nods, but he seems hesitant to leave the part of the hall where they spotted your shadow. Hal gives him a small nudge and he eventually turns away, his boots clocking softly against the floor.

Hal inhales slowly, holds it, then exhales for a count of ten.

He's got this.

--

He does not have this. Hal walked into an empty corridor and flicked all the lights off, choosing to sit in the darkness and try calling out to you for almost thirty minutes. There's been no luck.

He sighs and uses his ring to construct a small bear, illuminating the immediate space around him in green, and makes it walk around.

"Y'know you used to love playing with my constructs," he murmurs. "We had this game I made up, where you would chase after whatever toy I made as fast as you could and try to catch it. I let you win a lot."

He makes a construct of you as a much smaller infant, not yet able to walk, crawling eagerly after the bear.

"You'd grab the little toy and hug it tight, and then come show me you got it. And I'd scoop you up and give you a cookie before we did it all again. We had to really tone down the cookie part because you got sick one time. Bruce made me sleep on the floor for a week. Not even one of the million couches in the manor. The floor. It was the worst."

He hears the surrounding darkness around him giggle. Hal leans against the wall and heaves a large, relieved sigh.

"Hey, kid," he says softly. "S'good to hear you."

You don't respond. He tries not to feel discouraged, instead seizing the opportunity presented.

"I'm not gonna ask you to come out, but if you don't mind...I'm kinda lonely. D'you think we could play that game again?"

Hal vanishes the constructs and makes a new one — a small, stuffed bat toy. He makes it flap its little wings and flop in circles.

"Think you can catch it? This one's a bit feisty."

Nothing happens for a few seconds. Hal feels himself growing nervous, and he's about to abandon the idea and suggest something else, but then the bat just vanishes. The construct is sucked up into the shadows, like darkness itself came up and hugged it into the void. A knot in his chest comes undone.

"That," he says, "was awesome. Okay, here's another one. Even feistier than the last."

This goes on for a while. Hal makes something for you to chase, you emerge from the dark just long enough to pull it in with you, and the process is rinse and repeat. Eventually, though, you come out of the shadows more and more, staying out of it longer and longer to chase around the conjured toys, until you're just tossing them into the shadows with gleeful little cheers.

"Got it!" You cry, jumping up to reach another one, this time shaped like an owl. You're panting from exertion and grinning widely at Hal, just standing and hugging it to your chest. "I win?"

"You win again," Hal agrees, expression painfully fond. He adores you wholeheartedly. "C'mere and get a victory hug, kid. Don't have any cookies on me, but we'll do a raincheck on that."

You go to him easily, practically collapsing in his lap, and rest your head against his chest while you idly pet the glowing owl toy. The area is bathed in dim green, enough to see each other without strain but still casting more than enough shadows for you to hide in again if you wanted.

"Fantastic job," Hal murmurs, kissing the top of your head. You nuzzle into his chest even more, hiding your face. "We definitely have to do that again some time. Don't you think?"

You start to nod, but the motion is jerky. You hesitate, then shrug, hugging the toy tighter.

"Oh, Mousey," he says, running his fingers through your hair. "You didn't think your powers would make Uncle Hal stop wanting to play with you, did ya?"

You slowly nod again, curling in on yourself.

"Well, that's just plain wrong. I love you, honey. Everybody loves you, y'know? You're smart, and adorable, and soooo much fun to be around," Hal insists, giving you a quick squeeze. Your mouth twitches like you're trying not to smile. "And it's gonna be way more fun now that you have cool shadow powers! Hide and seek might get a little challenging, but we'll make it work."

"...and Daddy?" You mutter. "Will he...want to play, too?"

"I know Daddy would love to play any game you wanted," Hal swore. "Daddy loves you more than anything in the whole wide world. And you know what else?"

"What?" You ask, lifting your head. You look at him with wide eyes and furrowed brows, hanging onto his every word.

"Sometimes Daddy makes mistakes. Like creating dumb rules he shoulda broke years ago."

You look away, snuggling further into Hal.

"What if...Daddy don't wanna break the rule?" You whisper.

Hal curls around you almost protectively, kissing your head again.

"Then he's a big, smelly dummy, and I'll take care of you instead," he promises. "You can live at my house, and I'll still bring you to the Watchtower to hang out with everyone and play games, and maybe, if you're extra good, I'll take you on vacation in outer space. I'll show you things you've never seen, like planets with four moons, and people as tall as skyscrapers, and space food that turns your hair all different colors. It'll explode your tiny head!"

"Nooo!" You giggle, grinning. "I don't want a exploded head!"

"Hmm...you drive a hard bargain kid," Hal says. "Okay, I won't give you explodey-head food. But only because you said so."

He lets you get your laughter out, then gently pats your back to regain your attention.

"I know you're very scared," he says, "but I promise this doesn't change the fact that you are so, so incredibly loved. I bet if you gave the others a chance, they'd be more than willing to prove it. Especially your dad."

You tighten your grip on the owl in your arms, bottom lip wobbling for a moment.

"Could you give him a chance, Mouse?" Hal asks. "If you don't want to, that's fine. We can work an arrangement out and always try again a different day. But I know he would be really, really excited to see you again."

You stare at Hal, face tight in contemplation. He waits patiently, continuing to rub small circles in your back.

His patience is rewarded when you bury your face in his chest again, nodding.

"Want daddy," you whisper. Hal settles you more securely in his arms and immediately rises to his feet, relishing the burst of satisfaction and relief in his chest.

He takes you back into the meeting room. Bruce immediately stands up from the table when he spots you curled up in Hal's embrace, hands twitching like he wants to hold you himself.

He moves with all the carefulness of someone approaching a wild animal. His face is uncharacteristically open, broadcasting his worry for you and relief that you're unharmed.

"Hi, sweet pea," Bruce mutters, silk-soft, and that's all it takes to make you start sobbing and reach for him. Your father doesn't hesitate, sweeping you up and giving assurance after assurance that you are just as treasured and loved as you've always been, that he is so happy to be your dad, that you belong in Gotham and that will never change no matter what.

The lockdown gets lifted from the Watchtower. Several heroes, after conveying their relief and gratitude over your safety, take their leave. Diana and Clark stay behind to apologize profusely, both to you and Bruce, for implying that you would ever be unwelcome in your own home just for being different. It's easy for you to forgive them, but Bruce is grinding his jaw a bit, so they excuse themselves for the night and take their leave.

"Well." Hal claps his hands together and yawns. "I'm ready for a drink and a bed. What do we say we hit the road, huh? C'mon, B, let's get Flittermouse back home. I've hit my daily quota for adventure."

Bruce nods, walking with you back to the Zeta tubes. You've already nodded off in his arms, drained from your stressful day.

"Thank you, Hal," he says, preparing to warp home. "Come by after the kids are in bed. Let me repay you properly."

"Y'know, normally I'd be all over that," Hal smirks, "but I'm seriously beat. Can I cash my reward in tomorrow?"

Bruce gives him a small smile. "Whenever you want. Come by anyway, if you like. We don't have to do anything."

"Yeah, okay. I'll see you later, then." Hal crosses his arms and relaxes against the corridor wall, smiling down at your dozing form. "You take care. Both of you."

Bruce thanks him again, disappearing in a flash of light. When Hal drops by later that evening, he finds his boyfriend asleep with you in his arms, clinging to his shirt and drooling on his chest as you coast peacefully in Dreamland.

Before joining the cuddle pile, he finds that sitting on the nightstand, written in a combination of pen and crayon, is a contract holding both yours and Bruce's signatures:

The rule against Metahumans in Gotham is hereby null and void forever and ever.

Signed by: Daddy & Mousey

[onmyyan]

Ain't no sunshine

Chapter 4

A/n: love this series, fem reader, yandere themes, platonic yandere Batfamily

Taglist: @uniquecutie-puffs @starsdotalk @ghostdoodlen @nickey-diano @76lonelyspoons @m3vl0vesu @uknowimdumb

"What's this about Gordon?" Damian asks after arriving in the dining room, he was perplexed by her message, what on earth would they need to speak about you of all people?

"(Y/n) moved out." Barbara says biting the bullet.

There was a moment of silence as her words registered before chaos broke out.

"What do you mean moved out?" Dick asks putting down the bagel he was eating his eyes held disbelief, "I mean I just checked her room and she's gone." Barbara says making his stomach lurch.

"We missed her birthday." Tim speaks suddenly realizing, his mind working a mile a minute. Jason curses under his breath at the revelation, how could he be such an idiot?

"You're wrong she wouldn't leave like that." Dick shook his head, the thought of you simply disappearing sent a wave of deep-seated unease through the family, and something else, something much darker had been born in that moment within each of them.

"Alfred confirmed it." Barbara says softly trying not to upset Dick further than he was.

Cass stood still before signing, "How could we not have noticed?"

Damian having enough of the conversation pulled out his phone calling your number, only to be met with the same answer Barbara got when she tried, his brows furrowed as the automated voice told him the number was disconnected. "Her phone's off." He speaks a pit forming in his stomach,

The Manor was quieter than usual.

That's the first thing Bruce notices when he wakes up that morning, an almost empty quiet filled the halls as he went from his bedroom to the study, he couldn't put his finger on what it was exactly and this bothered him to no end.

Alfred stood diligently by the marble counter top waiting for Bruce's instructions, "Good morning Alfred."

"Master Bruce." Alfred greeted him simply, rather curt for the old man, and Bruce notices this immediately, his mind racing on what he could have done to upset the man. "Is something wrong Alfred?"

"To be the world's greatest detective you can be incredibly dense." Alfred served him his coffee without another word and made Bruce feel like a child being scolded for something.

It wasn't until he walked by your room did his senses go off, it was much too quiet in there, knocking softly he found the door opening from the slightest touch. Alarm bells immediately start going off at just how empty it is, how void of life. He rushed downstairs, searching for Alfred to question him, when he saw his whole family gathered in the dining room.

They stare at him, all with that deer in a headlight look, "What?" He asks knowing something was up.

"(Y/n)'s gone." Dick speaks up, biting at his thumb, "And we missed her birthday." Jason adds on his guilt making his shoulders slump inward.

Bruce looks over to Alfred as if to confirm what he was told, the older man simply nods.

Meanwhile on the other side of Gotham, you're completely unaware of the chaos your absence is causing. Too busy enjoying your new life.

Bruce went to the cave immediately, checking the cameras for your form, he searched through a week of footage before he saw your graceful exit from the manor. A week. A fucking week you'd been gone and your own father hadn't noticed.

Bruce had felt like a true failure only a handful of times in his life, losing Jason, and now, you.

Only this time there was no Joker to blame, it was him. His fault his daughter felt the need to disappear without so much as a goodbye. The years of ignoring your presence simply because you were his 'easy child' the one he never had to worry about, the one who never made waves, come crashing down upon him, he rests his head on his hands, eyes never leaving the screen. "What have I done?" He speaks lowly, mind reeling from the shame of his inaction.

His blue eyes hardened at the sight of you on the screen, he could fix this, couldn't he? He just needed a second chance, he'd show you the love you deserved, the nurturing you needed, he didn't care that you were a legal adult now, (he winces at the thought of forgetting such an important birthday, he'd throw you the party of all parties once he got you home, he swore it.) you were his daughter, his youngest daughter, and you needed him no matter what you thought.

Dick Grayson prided himself on many things, one of which being his bond with his family, so to be faced with the reality that he wasn't the best big brother around, kind of shatters him. He refused to accept the fact that his, along with everyone else's actions, lead to your choice to abandon them, instead he reasoned, you were feeling rebellious, youthful energy and all that, he was sure once you got this out of your system you'd be right back where you belonged. Where he could keep an eye on you, a proper eye this time.

Jason fumes silent, pacing the kitchen, he feels like a cat is clawing at his skin from the inside, unable to do anything with his pent up frustration he grips the counter top hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. He hated himself right now, hated how garbage he felt, you were only eighteen, all on your lonesome in a city like Gotham? It was enough to set the hairs on his neck on edge.

Tim was busy on his tablet, he was already searching the city's CCTV cameras for any trace of you, his fingers working so fast they cramped, sweat drips down his brow as he searched, unable to tear himself away from his task. He felt maybe just maybe if he found you, he could begin to make up for how shitty he'd treated you, begin to open up to you in the way you'd always wanted. He needed to find you, and based on the usually composed family's obvious panic, it needed to be fast.

Barbara busied herself with rummaging through your empty room for anything she could use to find you, if she just had the chance to explain herself, she's sure you'd understand, sure you'd look at her with that expression you had when you were younger, like she was your personal hero.

Cassandra finds herself staring out at the distant view of Gotham, her hands twitching at her sides as she struggles not to take action, sure she didn't have a bond with you like she did with the others but she still cared for you, from a distance, she felt it was safer as you were the only civilian in the family. A choice she thinks now was a mistake. Maybe if she'd let her walls down a little more, you'd have confided in her instead of leaving.

Damian, in his rage, wasted no time heading to the cave to suit up, there he found his Father, still leaning over the computer table. "What are you doing?" Bruce asks barley looking away from the screen. "What do you think? Going to find that idiot before she gets herself killed." He seethes yanking on his tactical gloves.

"Damian -"

"How dare she leave us- we are a family." He spits the word out like it's a curse, "You don't leave your family." He reiterates slamming his hands into the table holding various gadgets. "I'm going to find that fool and drag her back here." He promised.

"Just hold on for a moment." Bruce stands walking over to his son to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, "We have no idea where she is, let us do some recon. Tim will find her address in no time, if she's still in Gotham we'll find her within the week."

Damian hesitantly agreed to his father's reasoning.

It takes them a week to find you, you were very good at hiding your tracks, using only cash, staying in shady areas because they weren't monitored, it's only when you post a selfie with some new friends do they lock your location down.

Tim took five minutes to himself to stare at the photo before alerting the family, he found it after all, he felt entitled to it, to the joy on your face, the other people in the picture made it easier to find you, first he found their names, then their addresses and used that along with the small bits of background he could see to triangulate your new address.

He'd never seen that look on your face, it was a casual cocky sort of grin, one that said you were genuinely enjoying yourself. He couldn't fathom how you were so happy without them, it sort of hurt his feelings, but at the same time he needed to see more of that smile, see what other expressions you made, he'd only ever seen that sad dejected look on your face, he huffs to himself, saving the picture for himself before sending the info to the group chat.

Bruce decided to let one of his kids do the interacting with you, feeling too ashamed to face you yet, he sends Dick, knowing you once looked up to him.

You're three hours into a horror movie marathon, courtesy of the box TV you stole off the back of a moving truck, when someone knocks at your door.

You don't pause the movie, using it as cover to tip toe towards the door, sure it was still early in the night, but everything was dangerous in Gotham.

You don't say a word, sneakily looking through the grimey peephole all you can make out is a tall dark haired man.

He knocks again causing you to flinch. Swiping knife out the drawer, you hide it behind your back before swinging open the door expecting the people you'd stolen the TV from or maybe one of the thugs you'd beaten black and blue, not Dick Grayson.

"Hey little bird." He greets like an old time friend, not the man who'd ignored you your entire relationship.

"How the fuck- what are you doing here?" You sigh revealing the knife as you rest your hand on your hip, exasperated by his mere presence. He eyes the knife before laughing, "I like the energy, good call living in this neighborhood." He invites himself inside, scrutinizing your apartment, a deep sigh leaving his lips, "You shouldn't be living like this-"

"Hold the fuck on." You point the knife at him accusingly, "You didn't know I existed a week ago, now you barge into my home," you emphasize with another point, "shit all over it and start lecturing me about how I should live?" You stare at him like he's grown another head before laughing, he friend stepping closer, "I'm ...I'm sorry, I know I forgot your birthday - we forgot, but you didn't need to run away-"

"I didn't run from shit." Crossing your arms, "I'm an adult, I moved out." You say pointedly.

"Be that as it may- you should have said something, do you have any idea how worried we've been?" He pleads, brows furrowed, "I know you're mad, you've every right to be, but this isn't safe." He gestures to your apartment. "I walked past a drug deal on the way up here ya know." He chides like he's scolding s child.

"Come back to the manor." He says softly, stepping closer once more, until he could touch your shoulder, "no need to leave the nest so soon." You stare at his hand, then him, before pointing the knife at him, your hand steady,

"Get the fuck outta my house."

Dick leaves reluctantly, he was determined to bring you home, thought you'd jump in his arms for a hug once he showed up, but you didn't, you looked at him with disgust, anger, and a hint of fear, he hated it. He wanted you to look up at him like the big brother he was, not like your enemy.

You're panting after the encounter, knife clattering to the ground, you follow shortly after, collapsing as your mind tried to process the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you.

It was a storm, so you latched on to the one feeling that would anchor you, rage.

You don't sleep that night. And it's a good thing because Damian is breaking through your window lock like it was the easiest thing, he enters your home, face deadset in a glare. "You left the manor for this shit hole?" He almost laughs, his hand on his sword makes you incredibly nervous. "What's it matter to you? Thought you'd be thrilled." You roll your eyes, too exhausted to deal with another one of them in such a short time period.

"You've disrupted the natural flow in the manor with this little stunt." He seethes, "I'm going to restore it." He states as if speaking a fact. "How prey tell do you intend on doing that, you massive twat?" He simply smirks before looking behind you, you turn around and see Jason leaning against the wall, his red hood mask on, obstructing his facial expression, making him all the more unnerving.

"You're a long way from home." Jason says kicking off the wall, moving to hover behind you, "Why are you here?! Okay I'm officially over this reunion, out." You point to the window they entered from.

"Oh we're leaving, just not without you." Jason chimes up his hand hovering over his guns, fingers twitching.

To your defense, you did try and run, but it was no use, they were on you faster than you could process, a sweet smelling cloth is pressed to your mouth, and as much as you fight it, eventually you need to breathe, it takes one good inhale for the chloroform to kick in, you slump in someone's hold you're unsure of which one and your world fades to black.

I

[sapphirexsolarium]

You Were Meant For The Ocean

tw: angst, hurt/no comfort (kinda), non-mc!reader x Rafayel, couldn't proof read through the tears :')

wc: 1.1k "You were meant for the ocean." He smiles, watching you lay out on the patio with a book in hand. The warm sea breeze washing over you the salty air carrying into his studio.

"I think so too." You smile looking over at him as he paints. He gets up and lays out beside you, squishing the two of you together on the lounge chair. "Raf-"

"I'm tired and I want to take a nap." He lays on top of you, nuzzling into your chest.

"You're such a pain." You roll your eyes but you smile, fingers gently caressing his hair as you continue to read under the warm sun.

What warmth you felt that day. In your hubris you assumed there were many warm days to come. How wrong you were.

-

Watching Rafayel fall head over heels in love with his bride all over again ached your heart in a way that could only be described as soul crushing.

How could you compare to her? Tied by destiny and blessed with the ocean's love. How could you ever compare?

Did you have any right to him? Whatever the two of you shared, it wasn't in any official capacity. But some part of you thought that maybe… Well, it doesn't matter now does it?

It was far too easy how you slipped out of his world. You took quiet steps out the door. Who were you to interfere with destiny? What's the point of making a fuss when you won't be heard? Why fight what has already been written?

-

Rafayel didn't notice your absence for a long while. He was so wistfully in love it blinded him to the rest of the world. It was perhaps months until he realized you hadn't stopped by his studio in ages. There was a time he would come home to his studio and find you lounging on the patio, reading your book and waiting for his return.

When he pulls out his phone to text you he's struck with the painful realization of just how much he's neglected you.

"We should get lunch soon. That cafe by the beach is opening this weekend! c:"

"The arcade just restocked with a bunch of cute plushies we should try to get them~!"

"I heard from Thomas that your art exhibition is happening in 2 weeks. Why didn't you tell me?? I wanna come!"

"Are you alright? You haven't been answering my texts or calls lately.."

"Are you busy? We should meet up!"

"Raf this is getting a bit ridiculous.."

"Can we talk?"

"Lose my number."

He quickly tries calling your number but its sent directly to an automated voicemail. He starts texting you but they remain unsent. He pulls open his social media to check on you but he finds himself blocked from all your accounts. Panic starts to settle in his chest. When was the last time he saw you? Or even spoke to you? He can't remember. In no time he reaches your apartment but when the door opens its a complete stranger that had just moved in a week ago. What the hell?

He's desperate now and rushes to your job. Surely you'll be there right? He's told by your coworker that you were transferred to Skyhaven. You had put in the request yourself. Your co-worker was surprised that he wasn't at the farewell party.

Your departure was sudden for everyone. Every person he calls has no idea why you made the move. Until Thomas.

"Listen… I kind of figured something was up when she didn't show up for your last 2 exhibitions. I thought you were going to bring her when you asked for the tickets but then you brought that other girl around. I didn't want to pry so I left it alone, I figured you were in one of those hyper-fixation phases but then that other girl kept showing up wherever you were and she stopped coming around. I only heard about her leaving because her coworkers called me to invite us to her farewell party. I wasn't sure if you two were on bad terms so I just sent the invite via email. To be honest I was also surprised when you didn't show up but she didn't look surprised at all…"

Rafayel was shaking where he stood. Text messages, calls, emails all went unseen because he was too preoccupied with his beloved bride.

It felt like the world was collapsing in on him and to make matters worse the clouds parted to show Skyhaven floating high above him.

-

You look down at Linkon. The city seems so quiet from high above. Far off in the distance you can see the beautiful hue of ocean blue peeking through the skyline. Your heart longs for it.

"You were meant for the ocean…"

You close your eyes as that dull ache spreads across your chest. "Not anymore."

-

Months pass and Rafayel is in the throws of an artistic frenzy. Painting after painting of raging seas, stormy oceans and bleak, desolate islands. His beloved bride was his only solace but every time he sees her now, he thinks of you and the guilt rages on in his chest.

He's back out on the beach, searching for shells to mix into paint when he sees you for the first in what felt like ages. But you're not alone.

"Caleb! It's freezing!"

"Come on~ You said you used to love the ocean!"

"Used to, Caleb. Used to!" You're bundled up in a warm coat standing in front of a tall man with deep brown hair. He laughs as he helps you bundle up more. "Plus who goes to the beach during the winter?"

"It's the only time I had off. Besides…" He pulls you in closer, nuzzling your red nose, "You look kinda cute when you're freezing." He teases, making you pout more. "Ah, just too cute." He leans in to gently kiss you.

Does he have any right to feel the jealousy in his chest? In a twisted turn of events he finds himself longing for you. Is that even fair? He has his beloved bride. The only one to ever have his heart. So why does his heart ache for you? What is this soul crushing feeling?

He wants to run to you. Hold you again. Feel your warmth. Breathe in your scent. He wants to go back to the days where you lounged on his patio and he could sink into your arms. He wants what he's lost, selfishly so.

You don't even notice him in the distance. Your fingers intertwined with Caleb's as you both walk further down the beach. Away from Rafayel.

"You were meant for the ocean…" He quietly murmurs, the sounds of the crashing waves drowning out his cries.

"I really thought you'd like the ocean, baby." Caleb muses, keeping your cold fingers warm in his pocket.

"Not anymore…" You softly sigh, looking out at the waters that no longer held your heart.

[jameui]

A PERFECT MISUNDERSTANDING

PAIRING: Sim Jaeyun x M!Reader

GENRE: Smut, Angst, Fluff

HASHTAGS: #boyxboy #bottommalereader #teacher'spetxstudentleader

SUMMARY: Your supposedly enemy showed you a picture of your conversation with your friends and you had to make an excuse. Fast. But you would never have known that things will escalate quickly.

Your class beadle, Sim Jaeyun or preferrably Jake, as per what everyone calls him, has his phone up in front of your face with a screenshot of your chat messages with your supposed friends last night flashing on his phone's screen. You are so definitely letting them pay for selling you out. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?" His Australian accent rings throughout the walls of the classroom.

Right. You forgot you are talking to him. The ways how you wanted to murder your friends made you all caught up in your head.

You look at him with a faux smile, laughing gently. "You must have gotten the wrong person," you start while you continue to sweep the floor in hopes that it will distract Jake from whatever he is trying to get out of this. "I would never talk that way about you," you added, but Jake is not convinced. He knows about all of the things you tell everyone behind his back. The lies you spread, the stories you make—well, he knows about all of them.

He raises a brow, adjusting the glasses he has propped up by the bridge of his nose. He retracts his hand and zoomed in on a specific message that will definitely put you into a hot seat. "I hope you're not lying, Mr. L/N, because if I'm not mistaken, this is you on the profile picture and your friends are certainly referring to the person as 'Y/N'," Jake said and your actions come to an instant halt.

You look back towards him, before dropping the broom and the dust pan to the floor as you immediately make your way back to Jake, grabbing his phone. You read all the messages and sure enough you do see another screenshot of your friends calling your name multiple times in chat. "This little imbeciles..." you muttered, more to yourself than to Jake, but he still heard it.

Jake folds his arms in front of his chest, looking straight at you as though it would suck the right answer out of you. Lucky for him, it is working, because you are running out of any excuses to throw at him.

Why can't you just tell him the truth, you might ask? Well, you are a student leader, the class president at that and one of the top lister in the cream of the crop. It would definitely hurt your ego if you tell him his accusations towards you is correct, he still is, but you just can't admit that.

A student leader should be a great example, upholding the reverency of a good role model to lead and guide your people to manifest their full potential in their skills and abilities, not talk behind their back because you dislike them. That's certainly unlawful.

But, in this case, you have denied that law you purposely put upon yourself and risk the consequence of tarnishing your image for such a petty behavior.

In context, you have always been jealous of Jake and his relationship towards each of your teachers. It seems that he makes it look so easy to establish a unique student and teacher relationship. He is easily approachable and has natural leadership skills, especially when having to work with a team or group. It's almost as though he's an automated switch that whichever group he lands on he instantly becomes the leader.

Teachers, professors, higher-ups, students—they all look up to Jake and expect of his good nature and the way he is people-oriented and loves to let students feel they are welcome.

Everyone who knows Jake like that about him. His personality is surely the cherry on top of his good-looking face. It makes him the perfect role student that everyone must follow. He even got quite the attention from other schools. He's almost like a celebrity.

And you? You dislike that. You despise that. You should be the one seen as a good leader. YOU are the class president of your section after all and he's just a stupid, good for nothing, useless teacher's pet and if you admit the truth, that would be disastrous.

After thinking, you reduced your choice to two and it's either you admit he's right about his assumptions and tell him the truth why you did that or still lie about it and protect your image as the perfect leader. In the end, after thoroughly thinking, the latter would be the best possible choice to save yourself from embarrassment.

You let out a sigh, your shoulders slumped before handing Jake his phone back, all the while pretending to be dejected, like you have been betrayed. You keep your head down to try and provoke the impression of looking really pitiful.

Jake knits his brows at your sudden behavioral change. 'Is he on period? Or something?' he thinks to himself.

"Alright, fine, I'll tell you everything you need to know," you tell him, raising your head softly to look at his beady eyes that look like marbles with the way they shine. "But, I just have to let you know that this is all just a misunderstanding, because... I... because.." you start to beat around the bush to make your plan look more convincing and it seems to be working because Jake is anticipating your response.

"Because what? Spit it out, L/N. I don't have all day," he spits out with impatience lingering in his voice. He notice your movements become more restricted, counted as though you are being watched.

You gulp down a huge lump forming in your throat—still an act—then, you look up at him and told him, "Because I like you, Jaeyun. I did for a long time now," you said, but Jake remained still, expressionless. This isn't the answer he is looking for. "I'm mad because you give your attention to everyone else, but me. So, I kept on making ways on how to get your attention, so I—"

"If you like me so much, why don't you suck me?"

Upon that, you can practically hear glass shatter in your ears as though the very fabric of reality got broken into tiny little shards. "E-Excuse me?" you let out in pure disbelief, an off-putting, forced smile eteched onto your face.

You see Jake smirk at you, now suddenly so timid under his gaze. "You said you like me? You want my attention? Suck my cock," he repeats with a much stronger tone, his smirk turning into a wicked smile, taking the situation into his own advantage. Does he do this to everyone else who has a crush on him?

Your eyes locked into his hazel brown orbs, before you awkwardly laugh while patting his shoulder, your movements almost like it's stuttering. "Very funny, Jaeyun. Haha. We still have to finish cleaning," you say, still feeling off about Jake. "I said, I like you, not I want to fuck you."

Jake's brows knit harder if it is still even possible, still looking deeply into your soul through your eyes. It feels like you have ran straight into his trap with the way his eyes stuck to you because the moment you looked away, not even a second after, Jake locks you into place with his arms.

Your eyes move up to see Jake whose eyes are literal in feral, similar to how a predator would intimidate his prey before it devours it. Jake's attention never left you, now stuck in between him and a table desk. He looks really angry. Why is he making such a big deal out of this? Is it something you said? Besides, he's being irrational right now, so you don't understand why he has to act this way towards you and it makes you dislike any of this even more.

"Look, Jaeyun. Please, I don't have time for this," you told him, putting a hand on his chest out of pure instinct to suggest that Jake should keep a good distance from you, but Jake isn't planning to back down, not even a tad bit when he moves a little closer to you. You have to think of something and quick. You can't blow your cover right now. So, you take in a deep breathe, preparing yourself with what you are about to say next. "Being all sexually involved with you will not measure how much I like you." your words slides past your mouth smoothly like water. Almost too natural. Too real.

Jake looks at you before he mutters something under his breathe and moves away from you, his back now turned against you as he plants his hand on his mouth. You look at him very confused, but at least the problem has been averted, but the way he's acting like he's holding something back makes your brows meet at the center of your forehead.

He's clearly trying to say something. It's like he's keeping a lion in tame while trapped behind a cage. "Hey, Jaeyun... you alright?" You ask him feeling a little bit concern for the foot taller male. "You can, uh, just pretend that I never said anything," you tell him while feigning a sad expression.

You are opting to get back on track with the room chores, but Jaeyun stood very still in place like he's frozen in place and it's starting to scare you. "Jaeyun?" You call his name, making a bee line towards him. You put a hand on his shoulder and you hear his words in a small, whisper-like voice.

"...me," he starts. He said something before that, you are sure, but you didn't hear him the first time, so you cautiously leaned in closer to him. He takes the initiative to move nearer, his warm breathe hitting the skin of your neck. "Help me, please," he says, a little louder now. Only do you notice that he is slightly crouching over when you see his arm holding on to his stomach.

And that's when it happens. That's when you see the sharp outline of his bulge in his pants, the obvious tent stirring something inside you as you quickly look away, pushing Jake away from you with one shove. "What the fuck?!" is the only thing you can muster to say as Jake sweats profusely in front of you. "You... you weird dumb shit! You got hard over a fucking confession?!"

Jake turns his head towards you, eyes furrowed. "Because it's you." His voice is gentle and the threatening tone he had minutes ago, vanishing completely. It happens too often that you might start to think that this kid has different personalities.

It took you some time to process his words, blinking for just a minute or so, silence engulfing the both of you before, "...WHAT?!" You yelled at him, disliking what he's implying. "Look, Jake. Okay, I'll tell you the the truth. I don't like you and that picture, it's all true. That was me!" you point towards yourself, in hopes that whatever is going inside Jake's head will fortunately turn your fate around, but it's like your own words are feeding him even more when another smirk appears and you hear a low chuckle.

He takes a few steps towards you, slowly. He is using his whole presence as means of intimidating you more, to make a way for you to falter. You can only look at him even as he drew closer to you. He scoffs at you. "It doesn't matter because I already knew you were lying the moment you said you liked me," Jake says as your face distorts into an expression that went all 'This bitch is crazy'.

Your hand start to grab whatever is the nearest thing you can take and it was a board eraser. You throw it at him with so much force, but Jake manages to easily dodge it. "Y-You must be insane!" You yelled.

“I got turned on when you looked into my eyes, Y/N,” he said, voice low and smooth, like honey with a sharp bite.

You blinked, your mouth parting slightly. “What the hell did you just say?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, cocky as ever—but behind that glint in his eye was something more dangerous. Desperate. “Please, hyung,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Just help me this one time. After that, I won’t bother you anymore. I swear.”

You narrowed your eyes, stepping back just enough to keep him at bay. “You think I’m that easy to get?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Hyung…” he drawled, dragging the word out like a weapon, eyes big, lashes fluttering with practiced innocence. “Please.”

“Jaeyun,” you warned, heart thudding traitorously in your chest. You knew that tone—he was trying to melt you down, and you hated that it was working.

He took another step forward, close enough now that you could smell the faint hint of his cologne—crisp and clean with something dark underneath.

“I said no,” you repeated, standing your ground.

His bottom lip jutted out slightly. “Pretty please?”

Your defenses cracked. Just a little.

“Do you always beg like this to get what you want?” you asked bitterly, eyeing him.

“No,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. “Only when it’s you.”

Your brain short-circuited. And for a second—just one—you actually imagined him meaning it.

You huffed, dragging a hand down your face. “God, you’re such a manipulative little—”

“—adorable guy who really needs your help,” he interrupted with a sly grin.

You opened your mouth to argue. Closed it. Opened it again.

“…ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT!” you snapped finally, throwing your hands in the air.

Jaeyun lit up like the damn sun, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“But just this once,” you warned, jabbing a finger at his chest. “You don’t get to pull this stunt again.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, grabbing your hand before you could pull it away. His grip was warm, grounding—and a little too firm for your liking.

Jake howls loudly at the sight below him. His hands are tightly interlocked with your H/C locks, as he ravaged your throat with his ferocious thrusts, completely forgetting the fact that you have never done this before and your first time. So, every time his tip hit the back of your throat, it jerks tears into your eyes. "Ah, fuck! FUCK, YES! SWALLOW MY COCK!" Jake groans with his head pushed back.

You hear noises from above you as he continues to abuse your untrained throat, you tap his thigh three times as he suggests you do if you want him to stop, but all that always goes down the gutter. You moan out at the way Jake denies your signal and endlessly rocks his hips into your mouth.

"Why should I listen to you?" Jake said, while he grabs his massive cock and starts to stroke it in a slow, sensual manner as if seducing you into submission; to succumb to his countless need for pleasure. "Besides, if we have only this one time, why not make the most of it?" Jake adds, which horrifies you at how casual that came from his mouth.

Jake has the upperhand here and he's the one taking control of the situation, so the second you gave him a tap the third time. He rolls his eyes and angrily pulls out, purposely throwing your head back as you fall to the floor turning you into coughing fits. "Fuck you," you rasp out, wiping your mouth. "I told you to slow down, asshole!" You yell at him, but Jake remains unfazed.

You glare at him in anger and weakly stand up. "You're such a disgusting creature, Jaeyun. The worst one there is," you say with such wrath laced in your voice. You opt to just take your bag and get out, but Jake takes you by the arm and looks at you with big doe eyes and it scares you how fast this man changes in just a snap of a finger. "Let go of me," you tell him.

"I'm really orry, Y/N. Please, I promise I'll take it easy on you. Just give me this one time," he begs you like it's some kind of take it or leave it chance, which in his case, it is, but it's not that big of a deal. With a face like his, he can grab all the boys and girls he likes if he wants to.

You let out an annoyed groan. "No, Jaeyun." Your voice sounds harsh and certain. You don't want to get involved in any of this guy's shenanigans.

You feel his grip on you start to get loose. You look at him with brows still meeting at the center and he has the most pitiful look on his face that it almost completely fools you. You know this man enough to know that this is just a trick. A trap he likes to set and lure people into falling into it.

And once you fall, you won't stop. It's like an endless abyss, you don't stop falling.

But, if there's one thing you've heard from others, is that he's completely mastered the arts of manipulation and trickery, because the moment he hangs his head low and lets go of your wrist, you're compelled to comfort him, like you've done something wrong. "J-Just... be gentle, you dumb fuck," you tell him and the guy just lights up almost immediately.

He gives you a one sided smile and taps his lap, gesturing for you to sit on it. You gulp loudly considering that his cock is still standing tall in its full glory in front of you. "Come here, angel. I promise not to hurt you," he says, his voice leaving no space for any malice nor threat. Only gentleness and genuine care.

Your head snaps up towards him when the new found nickname falls from his lips. Angel? When did your name become 'Angel' and when did Jake start calling you that? Is he trying to manipulate your head again? Because if that is his plan, it's working out way too well for him.

You can feel your heart beat so loudly in your chest that you feat it's going to pop out at any time now. You look away from him and cross your arms. “Don’t call me that,” you mutter, barely audible, your voice wrapped in a sheepish plea.

Jaeyun leans forward, elbow resting on the desk behind him. “Don’t call you what?” he asks, smirking slightly, like he knows exactly what he did.

You stare at the floor, cheeks hot. “That nickname. It makes me feel—tiny.”

He grins. “You are tiny.”

You scowl, smacking his shoulder lightly, but he catches your wrist mid-air, fingers gently wrapping around it. “But you’re cute when you're mad,” he adds, softly.

Your heart stumbles again, and you hate how easily he disarms you.

Without thinking too much, you move closer, placing your small hands gently on his shoulders. He doesn't move. His expression falters for a second, as if he wasn't expecting that.

You take a shaky breath. “I swear, if someone walks in right now…”

“I’ll take the blame,” he says simply, looking up at you.

You shoot him a glare. “You’ll die first.”

He chuckles, and then you lower yourself onto his lap, knees on either side of his thighs. His breath catches, and you hear it—just for a second. His hands hover in the air before settling gently on your waist, hesitant, warm.

Jake whispers something in your ear, but the warmth of his breath makes you focus only on what he is doing to you. You don't even know if you're thinking right now, because everything blurred into nothing and all you know is that Jake has you on his lap, with his lips and tongue scattering hickeys all over your neck.

Your poor pink pucker is begging for the bigger male to stop while Jake only handles you like you are some type of light material that he can use to satisfy his own need for pleasure. He is so drunk in euphoria that he doesn't even notice the voices incoming, drawing ever so close as his thrusts don't die down.

"J-Jake... people..AH!" You let out a moan of pure bliss as Jake endlessly hits that sweet bundle of nerves inside your gummy walls that always seem to remember to send an electrifying sensation over your body down to your untouched cock, but overstimulated with how much Jake isn't giving his rough handling with you a break.

The taller male's sweat trickles down your back, wet imprints on his white uniform visible around his chest. "No, can do, slut," he grits out, putting all his strength into his thrusts that only gets deeper and deeper every passing time. Instinctively, it is starting to get too hit for the male, he starts to unbutton his polo with one hand. Then, a wild idea moves past his mind before he leans in closer, his hard abdomen coming in contact with your back that's littered with love bites and hickeys. "Say... how about you make me cum before they get here, that wouldn't be so hard, would it? Especially with how you take my cock so well, I might just be nearing my chase," he whispers darkly into your ear, his voice an octave deeper than usual.

He's already got you so fucked up in the head that you can't even form coherent words anymore. Your pride? Gone. Ego? Down the drain. Your dislike towards him? Still there, but apparently his sex drive is driving you crazy enough to even forget you ever hate the man who has his dick buried deep within your walls.

Jake buries his face onto the crook of your neck, taking in your sweet natural scent that he will never want to get rid of. Your scent makes his cock twitch inside you, before a sharp pain course through you making you moan out in both shock and bliss, when he dug his teeth into your neck. Crimson red liquid seeped out from it while Jake sucks it all up like it's his usual choice of drink.

Then, you whimper out in exhaustion, feeling as though you have already been used up of everything; stripped off of your very own dignity. You start to dig your nails into the wooden edge of the table as pleasure overwhelms your whole body, all the while Jake is already pinning you down the desk with his own weight on you, his abdomen pressed against your back as he continues to paint the already broken canvas that you are with marks that will for sure leave his imprint on you.

Soon enough, you hear again the same voices, gruff and the other one tiny, all speaking at once. You feel yourself start to get anxious again, but all is lost the moment Jake snakes his hands toward yours as he loosen your grip on the table and intertwine your fingers together. "Don't hold on to it too tight. We don't want any of your nails to get broken, do we?" You absentmindedly nod at his words, as a smirk appears on his face. The expression of success knowing he's wrapped you around his finger now.

But, then the voices only got closer, your anxiety getting the best of you as you let go of Jake's hand tap him from behind you. "Jake, please... nnnahh, stop for a... minute," you try to warn him about the incoming danger, but he doesn't listen to you, instead he only starts to buck his hips forward even harder; rougher as though he's trying to chase a deadline while your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

"I will, but you have to make me cum first, yeah? You'll do that for me, right?" his question is always rhetoric, leaving you no choice, but to comply with his wants and needs as you let yourself just get completely used like a sex toy, your mind getting a little hazy.

He straightens up, the weight on you is now gone, but his thrusts do not falter and you're only left with the pleasure. No more thinking of other things, your rational thinking vanishing like dust in the wind. "Fuck," he drags on with gritted teeth. "I'm about to cum, slut and I'm gonna pour it all inside you," he groans out, his hold on your hips getting tighter. It will leave bruises for sure.

"Yes, yes! Jake give me your cum, I'll be your personal masturbator from now on! Use me all you fucking want! AH!" The words only drove Jake into hysterical, just when you are starting to think he couldn't go any faster, he does and it's driving your cock into madness as you cum again untouched.

"What a slut," he chuckles. "Cumming from just behind, now you've completely turned this ass into a real pussy, huh? And it's all..." he huffs, that same feeling of recoil in his stomach begging for some type of way to get out, "..for me!" He groans out, as he takes you by the arm and pulls you close to him. One arm hugs your chest, while the other has his hand covering your eyes, the back of your neck resting on his shoulder.

You hold on to his arm for dear life out of instinct, as you feel yourself get completely broken, tongue rolling out of your mouth, panting heavily while chains of needy moans move past your throat. Your body bounces at the same rhythm as Jake, the latter only screwing your abused hole with all his lower body strength.

You could feel him swell inside you and your senses are telling you that he's about to cum. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he repeats the same word over and over again like it's his favorite mantra. Together, the voices are now only a few distance away while Jake drills his huge cock deeper, harder, even more needy inside you. "Get pregnant, I'll get you pregnant, Y/N. You're mine, Y/N. My Y/N," he says like your name is the only drug in this world that will make him calm down, before he gives you one last thrust, burying his cock deep within your walls as ropes of white semen fluid decorates your insides.

"He told me that I wasn't enough, like can you fucking believe that?!" Sunoo says with overdramatic gestures, while Sunghoon only laughs at him. "God, the audacity of this guy," he added before he steps inside the last classroom in the hallway and catches an unexpected sight in front of him.

You are completely all dressed up in a uniform that's almost a whole size bigger than you that you're practically drowning in it, while you rest your head on top of Jake's lap who looks up at the two newcomers and puts a finger on his lips. "Stay quiet. He had a really rough day, today," he said with the most genuine smile Sunoo and Sunghoon had ever seen.

tags: @acidangel-fromasia @seulaidn @king-of-kistune @s1llygo0s3

[mostlysignssomeportents]

AI turns Amazon coders into Amazon warehouse workers

HEY SEATTLE! I'm appearing at the Cascade PBS Ideas Festival NEXT SATURDAY (May 31) with the folks from NPR's On The Media!

On a recent This Machine Kills episode, guest Hagen Blix described the ultimate form of "AI therapy" with a "human in the loop":

https://soundcloud.com/thismachinekillspod/405-ai-is-the-demon-god-of-capital-ft-hagen-blix

One actual therapist is just having ten chat GPT windows open where they just like have five seconds to interrupt the chatGPT. They have to scan them all and see if it says something really inappropriate. That's your job, to stop it.

Blix admits that's not where therapy is at…yet, but he references Laura Preston's 2023 N Plus One essay, "HUMAN_FALLBACK," which describes her as a backstop to a real-estate "virtual assistant," that masqueraded as a human handling the queries that confused it, in a bid to keep the customers from figuring out that they were engaging with a chatbot:

https://www.nplusonemag.com/issue-44/essays/human_fallback/

This is what makes investors and bosses slobber so hard for AI – a "productivity" boost that arises from taking away the bargaining power of workers so that they can be made to labor under worse conditions for less money. The efficiency gains of automation aren't just about using fewer workers to achieve the same output – it's about the fact that the workers you fire in this process can be used as a threat against the remaining workers: "Do your job and shut up or I'll fire you and give your job to one of your former colleagues who's now on the breadline."

This has been at the heart of labor fights over automation since the Industrial Revolution, when skilled textile workers took up the Luddite cause because their bosses wanted to fire them and replace them with child workers snatched from Napoleonic War orphanages:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/26/enochs-hammer/#thats-fronkonsteen

Textile automation wasn't just about producing more cloth – it was about producing cheaper, worse cloth. The new machines were so easy a child could use them, because that's who was using them – kidnapped war orphans. The adult textile workers the machines displaced weren't afraid of technology. Far from it! Weavers used the most advanced machinery of the day, and apprenticed for seven years to learn how to operate it. Luddites had the equivalent of a Masters in Engineering from MIT.

Weavers' guilds presented two problems for their bosses: first, they had enormous power, thanks to the extensive training required to operate their looms; and second, they used that power to regulate the quality of the goods they made. Even before the Industrial Revolution, weavers could have produced more cloth at lower prices by skimping on quality, but they refused, out of principle, because their work mattered to them.

Now, of course weavers also appreciated the value of their products, and understood that innovations that would allow them to increase their productivity and make more fabric at lower prices would be good for the world. They weren't snobs who thought that only the wealthy should go clothed. Weavers had continuously adopted numerous innovations, each of which increased the productivity and the quality of their wares.

Long before the Luddite uprising, weavers had petitioned factory owners and Parliament under the laws that guaranteed the guilds the right to oversee textile automation to ensure that it didn't come at the price of worker power or the quality of the textiles the machines produced. But the factory owners and their investors had captured Parliament, which ignored its own laws and did nothing as the "dark, Satanic mills" proliferated. Luddites only turned to property destruction after the system failed them.

Now, it's true that eventually, the machines improved and the fabric they turned out matched and exceeded the quality of the fabric that preceded the Industrial Revolution. But there's nothing about the way the Industrial Revolution unfolded – increasing the power of capital to pay workers less and treat them worse while flooding the market with inferior products – that was necessary or beneficial to that progress. Every other innovation in textile production up until that time had been undertaken with the cooperation of the guilds, who'd ensured that "progress" meant better lives for workers, better products for consumers, and lower prices. If the Luddites' demands for co-determination in the Industrial Revolution had been met, we might have gotten to the same world of superior products at lower costs, but without the immiseration of generations of workers, mass killings to suppress worker uprisings, and decades of defective products being foisted on the public.

So there are two stories about automation and labor: in the dominant narrative, workers are afraid of the automation that delivers benefits to all of us, stand in the way of progress, and get steamrollered for their own good, as well as ours. In the other narrative, workers are glad to have boring and dangerous parts of their work automated away and happy to produce more high-quality goods and services, and stand ready to assess and plan the rollout of new tools, and when workers object to automation, it's because they see automation being used to crush them and worsen the outputs they care about, at the expense of the customers they care for.

In modern automation/labor theory, this debate is framed in terms of "centaurs" (humans who are assisted by technology) and "reverse-centaurs" (humans who are conscripted to assist technology):

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

There are plenty of workers who are excited at the thought of using AI tools to relieve them of some drudgework. To the extent that these workers have power over their bosses and their working conditions, that excitement might well be justified. I hear a lot from programmers who work on their own projects about how nice it is to have a kind of hypertrophied macro system that can generate and tweak little automated tools on the fly so the humans can focus on the real, chewy challenges. Those workers are the centaurs, and it's no wonder that they're excited about improved tooling.

But the reverse-centaur version is a lot darker. The reverse-centaur coder is an assistant to the AI, charged with being a "human in the loop" who reviews the material that the AI produces. This is a pretty terrible job to have.

For starters, the kinds of mistakes that AI coders make are the hardest mistakes for human reviewers to catch. That's because LLMs are statistical prediction machines, spicy autocomplete that works by ingesting and analyzing a vast corpus of written materials and then producing outputs that represent a series of plausible guesses about which words should follow one another. To the extent that the reality the AI is participating in is statistically smooth and predictable, AI can often make eerily good guesses at words that turn into sentences or code that slot well into that reality.

But where reality is lumpy and irregular, AI stumbles. AI is intrinsically conservative. As a statistically informed guessing program, it wants the future to be like the past:

https://reallifemag.com/the-apophenic-machine/

This means that AI coders stumble wherever the world contains rough patches and snags. Take "slopsquatting." For the most part, software libraries follow regular naming conventions. For example, there might be a series of text-handling libraries with names like "text.parsing.docx," "text.parsing.xml," and "text.parsing.markdown." But for some reason – maybe two different projects were merged, or maybe someone was just inattentive – there's also a library called "text.txt.parsing" (instead of "text.parsing.txt").

AI coders are doing inference based on statistical analysis, and anyone inferring what the .txt parsing library is called would guess, based on the other libraries, that it was "text.parsing.txt." And that's what the AI guesses, and so it tries to import that library to its software projects.

This creates a new security vulnerability, "slopsquatting," in which a malicious actor creates a library with the expected name, which replicates the functionality of the real library, but also contains malicious code:

https://www.theregister.com/2025/04/12/ai_code_suggestions_sabotage_supply_chain/

Note that slopsquatting errors are extremely hard to spot. As is typical with AI coding errors, these are errors that are based on continuing a historical pattern, which is the sort of thing our own brains do all the time (think of trying to go up a step that isn't there after climbing to the top of a staircase). Notably, these are very different from the errors that a beginning programmer whose work is being reviewed by a more senior coder might make. These are the very hardest errors for humans to spot, and these are the errors that AIs make the most, and they do so at machine speed:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/23/maximal-plausibility/#reverse-centaurs

To be a human in the loop for an AI coder, a programmer must engage in sustained, careful, line-by-line and command-by-command scrutiny of the code. This is the hardest kind of code to review, and maintaining robotic vigilance over long periods at high speeds is something humans are very bad at. Indeed, it's the kind of task we try very hard to automate, since machines are much better at being machineline than humans are. This is the essence of reverse-centaurism: when a human is expected to act like a machine in order to help the machine do something it can't do.

Humans routinely fail at spotting these errors, unsurprisingly. If the purpose of automation is to make superior goods at lower prices, then this would be a real concern, since a reverse-centaur coding arrangement is bound to produce code with lurking, pernicious, especially hard-to-spot bugs that present serious risks to users. But if the purpose of automation is to discipline labor – to force coders to accept worse conditions and pay – irrespective of the impact on quality, then AI is the perfect tool for the job. The point of the human isn't to catch the AI's errors so much as it is to catch the blame for the AI's errors – to be what Madeleine Clare Elish calls a "moral crumple zone":

https://estsjournal.org/index.php/ests/article/view/260

As has been the case since the Industrial Revolution, the project of automation isn't just about increasing productivity, it's about weakening labor power as a prelude to lowering quality. Take what's happened to the news industry, where mass layoffs are being offset by AI tools. At Hearst's King Features Syndicates, a single writer was charged with producing over 30 summer guides, the entire package:

https://www.404media.co/viral-ai-generated-summer-guide-printed-by-chicago-sun-times-was-made-by-magazine-giant-hearst/

That is an impossible task, which is why the writer turned to AI to do his homework, and then, infamously, published a "summer reading guide" that was full of nonexistent books that were hallucinated by a chatbot:

https://www.404media.co/chicago-sun-times-prints-ai-generated-summer-reading-list-with-books-that-dont-exist/

Most people reacted to this story as a consumer issue: they were outraged that the world was having a defective product foisted upon it. But the consumer issue here is downstream from the labor issue: when the writers at King Features Syndicate are turned into reverse-centaurs, they will inevitably produce defective outputs. The point of the worker – the "human in the loop" – isn't to supervise the AI, it's to take the blame for the AI. That's just what happened, as this poor schmuck absorbed an internet-sized rasher of shit flung his way by outraged social media users. After all, it was his byline on the story, not the chatbot's. He's the moral crumple-zone.

The implication of this is that consumers and workers are class allies in the automation wars. The point of using automation to weaken labor isn't just cheaper products – it's cheaper, defective products, inflicted on the unsuspecting and defenseless public who are no longer protected by workers' professionalism and pride in their jobs.

That's what's going on at Duolingo, where CEO Luis von Ahn created a firestorm by announcing mass firings of human language instructors, who would be replaced by AI. The "AI first" announcement pissed off Duolingo's workers, of course, but what caught von Ahn off-guard was how much this pissed off Duolingo's users:

https://tech.slashdot.org/story/25/05/25/0347239/duolingo-faces-massive-social-media-backlash-after-ai-first-comments

But of course, this makes perfect sense. After all, language-learners are literally incapable of spotting errors in the AI instruction they receive. If you spoke the language well enough to spot the AI's mistakes, you wouldn't need Duolingo! I don't doubt that there are countless ways in which AIs could benefit both language learners and the Duolingo workers who develop instructional materials, but for that to happen, workers' and learners' needs will have to be the focus of AI integration. Centaurs could produce great language learning materials with AI – but reverse-centaurs can only produce slop.

Unsurprisingly, many of the most successful AI products are "bossware" tools that let employers monitor and discipline workers who've been reverse-centaurized. Both blue-collar and white-collar workplaces have filled up with "electronic whips" that monitor and evaluate performance:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/02/despotism-on-demand/#virtual-whips

AI can give bosses "dashboards" that tell them which Amazon delivery drivers operate their vehicles with their mouths open (Amazon doesn't let its drivers sing on the job). Meanwhile, a German company called Celonis will sell your boss a kind of AI phrenology tool that assesses your "emotional quality" by spying on you while you work:

https://crackedlabs.org/en/data-work/publications/processmining-algomanage

Tech firms were among the first and most aggressive adopters of AI-based electronic whips. But these whips weren't used on coders – they were reserved for tech's vast blue-collar and contractor workforce: clickworkers, gig workers, warehouse workers, AI data-labelers and delivery drivers.

Tech bosses tormented these workers but pampered their coders. That wasn't out of any sentimental attachment to tech workers. Rather, tech bosses were afraid of tech workers, because tech workers possess a rare set of skills that can be harnessed by tech firms to produce gigantic returns. Tech workers have historically been princes of labor, able to command high salaries and deferential treatment from their bosses (think of the amazing tech "campus" perks), because their scarcity gave them power.

It's easy to predict how tech bosses would treat tech workers if they could get away with it – just look how they treat workers they aren't afraid of. Just like the textile mill owners of the Industrial Revolution, the thing that excites tech bosses about AI is the possibility of cutting off a group of powerful workers at the knees. After all, it took more than a century for strong labor unions to match the power that the pre-Industrial Revolution guilds had. If AI can crush the power of tech workers, it might buy tech bosses a century of free rein to shift value from their workforce to their investors, while also doing away with pesky Tron-pilled workers who believe they have a moral obligation to "fight for the user."

William Gibson famously wrote, "The future is here, it's just not evenly distributed." The workers that tech bosses don't fear are living in the future of the workers that tech bosses can't easily replace.

This week, the New York Times's veteran Amazon labor report Noam Scheiber published a deeply reported piece about the experience of coders at Amazon in the age of AI:

https://www.nytimes.com/2025/05/25/business/amazon-ai-coders.html

Amazon CEO Andy Jassy is palpably horny for AI coders, evidenced by investor memos boasting of AI's returns in "productivity and cost avoidance" and pronouncements about AI saving "the equivalent of 4,500 developer-years":

https://www.linkedin.com/posts/andy-jassy-8b1615_one-of-the-most-tedious-but-critical-tasks-activity-7232374162185461760-AdSz/

Amazon is among the most notorious abusers of blue-collar labor, the workplace where everyone who doesn't have a bullshit laptop job is expected to piss in a bottle and spend an unpaid hour before and after work going through a bag- and body-search. Amazon's blue-collar workers are under continuous, totalizing, judging AI scrutiny that scores them based on whether their eyeballs are correctly oriented, whether they take too long to pick up an object, whether they pee too often. Amazon warehouse workers are injured at three times national average. Amazon AIs scan social media for disgruntled workers talking about unions, and Amazon has another AI tool that predicts which shops and departments are most likely to want to unionize.

Scheiber's piece describes what it's like to be an Amazon tech worker who's getting the reverse-centaur treatment that has heretofore been reserved for warehouse workers and drivers. They describe "speedups" in which they are moved from writing code to reviewing AI code, their jobs transformed from solving chewy intellectual puzzles to racing to spot hard-to-find AI coding errors as a clock ticks down. Amazon bosses haven't ordered their tech workers to use AI, just raised their quotas to a level that can't be attained without getting an AI to do most of the work – just like the Chicago Sun-Times writer who was expected to write all 30 articles in the summer guide package on his own. No one made him use AI, but he wasn't going to produce 30 articles on deadline without a chatbot.

Amazon insists that it is treating AI as an assistant for its coders, but the actual working conditions make it clear that this is a reverse-centaur transformation. Scheiber discusses a dissident internal group at Amazon called Amazon Employees for Climate Justice, who link the company's use of AI to its carbon footprint. Beyond those climate concerns, these workers are treating AI as a labor issue.

Amazon's coders have been making tentative gestures of solidarity towards its blue-collar workforce since the pandemic broke out, walking out in support of striking warehouse workers (and getting fired for doing so):

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/14/abolish-silicon-valley/#hang-together-hang-separately

But those firings haven't deterred Amazon's tech workers from making common cause with their comrades on the shop floor:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/19/deastroturfing/#real-power

When techies describe their experience of AI, it sometimes sounds like they're describing two completely different realities – and that's because they are. For workers with power and control, automation turns them into centaurs, who get to use AI tools to improve their work-lives. For workers whose power is waning, AI is a tool for reverse-centaurism, an electronic whip that pushes them to work at superhuman speeds. And when they fail, these workers become "moral crumple zones," absorbing the blame for the defective products their bosses pushed out in order to goose profits.

As ever, what a technology does pales in comparison to who it does it for and who it does it to.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2025/05/27/rancid-vibe-coding/#class-war

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

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

[ilium-ilia]

Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Ten: a world inside a world

tw: none

Grand Hollow is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. 

It scars the land. Morphs it into some unrecognizable jungle littered with buildings that tower higher than any church you’ve ever laid eyes on. The ground vanishes underneath stone blocks and wood boards, leaving Jester’s hooves to pop! along the streets as you keep close to your little group of outlaws. 

Many of the stores you pass sport large windows to show off merchandise fancier than any you’ve ever seen, such as watches made of pure silver and hats from freshly trapped varmints. There are young boys standing on street corners shouting about newspapers or other goods, or strange folk in even stranger clothes attempting to sell bottles of what you think you heard them call snake oil. 

You don’t think you could ever make out your daddy’s steeple through this mess. 

The air smells different here. It’s thicker than Penmosa’s atmosphere—darker. Thin columns of black smoke rise high into the air in the distance, reaching far enough to stain Heaven’s basement with coal dust and human filth. There are kinder aromas that attempt to stave off the grime of horses and automation. Strong liquor pours through some saloons and hotels you pass by, and there’s something sickeningly sweet about the tailor's shop on the other side of the street. 

Sweat slicks your palms, bleeding into the leather reigns you grasp. You have never seen so many people in your life—not shoved into the confines of a city like this. Eyes wander, lips curl, mouths greet. Swallowing, you ensure your mother’s necklace is tucked safely inside your blouse. 

“Your eyes look like they’re about to pop out of your skull, Lamb,” Kyle teases. 

Looking to your side, you see him casually leaning back in his saddle as he leads Bear with one hand. His aura is cool—collected. While you’ve been panicking the moment you’ve crossed this new threshold, he’s only seemed to relax. 

“This is all… I don’t even have the word to describe it,” you admit, eyes flickering back to focus on the road before you. 

“Grand?” he chuckles. “It’s not quite as big as London, so it was an easy adjustment for us, but I imagine it might be a bit much for someone like you… no offence.” 

“None taken. You’re right, after all,” you laugh nervously. “Mr. Beckett would always tell me stories about places like this. Things he heard from travelers and such. None of it comes close to experiencing it for yourself.” 

“And there’s plenty to experience here. Shows, parks, libraries.” 

“Libraries?” you repeat. “I didn’t think those were real.” 

Kyle snickers, white teeth flashing between his lips as he shakes his head. “Oh, they’re real alright. If the human brain can cook it up, it’ll exist here in Grand Hollow.” 

Deep in the heart of this jungle, sitting proud on the corner of a large city block, lies The Twin Rose Hotel. Just like every other building in this city, it towers over all of God’s creatures with glistening windows and chestnut bricks. A balcony on the second floor looks down upon the streets with an excellent view of the city park just across the way, and hanging above that on the face of the wall is the building’s name. Squinting, you’re able to make out odd, small glass bulbs that line the lettering. 

Small metal poles dot the sidewalk around the hotel, staining the ground with the protrusion. John hops off his horse and hitches him to it, and everyone else follows to do the same. A pang shoots through your feet as you dismount, not used to the hard surface of the streets. Your thighs feel numb from countless hours of riding, and you do your best to stretch your hips out as you tie Jester to the metal hitching post next to Bear. Just as you knot it, you realize you can make out a small horse symbol etched into the iron. Even though this city seems so advanced, they still hold a place for the antiquated ways of cowboys. 

“Right then,” John speaks up. All ears in the vicinity perk at the clamor of his voice. He stands with his shoulders squaring backwards and his thumbs looped behind his belt buckle. “Mind your manners, boys.” 

Walking into The Twin Rose is even more of a culture shock than the entirety of Grand Hollow has been. Glistening crystal chandeliers hang high above your head, filling what appears to be the cleanest saloon you’ve ever seen with a warm, saffron glow. The floors are made of waxed wood that don’t have so much as a dent on them, and various tables lay around the room in polkadot-like fashion. A crowd of gentlemen sit at a round table, chuckling over full plates and bottles of beer, and a man in a silk top hat plucks away at a standing piano just next to the mouth of a wide staircase. 

Toward the back of the room lies a bar. There are no stools to sit on, but a young woman with thin lips busies herself with cleaning her mixing supplies. Sconces line the walls, leaving nothing unilluminated, yet you can’t keep yourself from squinting at them. 

“How do they keep the oil in all of these?” you whisper. 

Kyle attempts to stifle his chuckle. “They’re lightbulbs, love. They run on electricity.” 

Lightbulbs. You remember hearing about their creation when you were a kid. It was all anyone could talk about when every paper in the country slapped it on the front page. The great Thomas Edison had invented light that could be held in the palm of your hand. Of course, your poor little town of Penmosa never got to see such a feat, stuck with using oil lamps and campfires, you could only ever dream of witnessing such magic. Your father abhors the idea of it. He says it’s unnatural—ungodly and impetuous. 

How could God hate something so beautiful? 

John leads everyone up to the bar, weaving through tables with heavy feet. He crosses his arms and keeps his head low as he kindly greets the barmaid. Grey eyes look him up and down, seemingly unimpressed, before her gaze wanders over everyone else. She doesn’t even look intimidated by Riley’s stature and the bandana that covers his face. Suddenly, you find your pulse rising. The closest thing you’ve had to a proper bath in the last few weeks was that thunderstorm that rolled in before you hit Little Wood—you’re sure you look less than presentable. 

“Can I help you?” she asks, voice dull.

“I need to speak with Laswell,” John says. 

She raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t seem surprised. “Who’s asking?” 

“John Price.” 

The woman’s head quirks, and you think you might even see a slight smirk on her lips. She places her items down on the bar top before motioning for everyone to follow her. You’re led through a door marked private that brings you to a long hallway with several doors. The barmaid breezes by most of them before coming to a stop at the very end of the hallway. A terrible squeak accompanies the door opening, and through the threshold you’re able to see a large, rectangular table with several chairs to sit in. 

“Take a seat. Laswell will be with you in a minute,” the barmaid instructs. 

You find yourself squeezed between John and Kyle as everyone melts into their seats with a sigh. Red wallpaper adorns every inch of the room in a deep scarlet that soaks up the illumination from the sconces. Beautiful paintings in thick, mahogany frames dot the walls as decor, but the room is too tenebrous for you to fully tell what they are. You can vaguely make out a beautiful Arabian horse in one, and snow capped mountains in another, but your eyes strain too great to peer at them in detail. 

Soap leans so far in his chair that his neck rests on the backboard, and his feet brush against yours, though you don’t say anything about the intrusion. “I hope we’re invited over for dinner.”

“Enjoying Lottie’s cooking and then having a proper bed to sleep in does sound nice,” Kyle hums in agreement. 

“There’s still a lot of work to do, boys,” John reminds them. 

Huffing, Soap straightens himself out in his seat. “Aye, but we’re allowed to have a little fun every now and then, aren’t we?” 

Before anyone can comment further, the door swings open, then quickly clicks shut. A woman with a stern face enters the room, and she is the strangest lady you think you’ve ever seen. Her cream blouse is pressed so that it’s pristine and free of wrinkles, and her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows as if she was caught doing manual labor. Instead of a skirt to accompany it, she dons a pair of black dress pants with matching shoes. Her dirty blonde hair is pulled back into a bun, leaving only her fringe to cover her forehead and the sides of her face. For a long moment, she stands at the head of the table with her hands on her hips where she gets a good look at everyone seated in front of her before humming and taking a seat. 

“Never thought I’d see any of you ever again,” she says bluntly. “Last I knew, John Price and his posse had vanished further West where the land is wild and the laws are rare.” 

“You know we couldn’t stay away forever, Laswell,” John smiles. 

“Yeah, not with all that unfinished business you have in Blackpeak.” The air grows tense. Palpable with hesitation. The oddly dressed woman pauses a moment to let her eyes fall on you, and you find your breath catching in your throat. She scrutinizes you—soaks up every inch of you. She doesn’t look away from you when she continues to speak. “I see you’ve got a new member to this… posse, of yours.” 

John looks at you, eyes cold and face impossible to read. “She’s just cargo.” 

Laswell hums. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” 

Your mouth grows dryer than any desert Mr. Beckett has ever told you about in all his tall tales. John nods in encouragement, and your answer tumbles off of your tongue like a freshly jellied calf. 

“But we all just call her Lamb,” Soap interjects with a grin. 

“Where are you from, Lamb?” the woman asks. 

“Penmosa.” You answer her question as if you’re unsure—as if you don’t know if you’re right or not. 

“Penmosa?” she repeats. “You’re an awfully long way from home. What brings you out here?” 

Nervosity chews at the flesh of your ankles as your hands fall into your lap, fingers twiddling. Is this the part where you ask for help? Where you bare your father’s sins for some stranger to see—to sully his name? Eyes shifting, you look to John, who casually leans back in his chair as he raps his fingers against the tabletop. 

“Her daddy’s got a bad temper,” he explains simply. 

“Right. Cargo.” Laswell crosses her arms before glancing around the table once more. “You boys are damn near drooling on my table. If you were hungry, you could’ve asked.” 

“Well, we didn’t want to impose,” Kyle explains, though his grin bleeds into his words. 

“You know better than to play coy with me, Garrick,” she teases. Her chair scrapes across the floor as she stands to her feet. The sconce behind her sends a diffused ray of light around her—she looks powerful. Unlike any other woman you’ve ever seen. “I’ll have the kitchen cook us some lunch, then we’ll see about arrangements. Lamb, how does a bath sound?” 

Surprised to hear her address you directly, you nearly jump out of your seat. “A bath? Well… that sounds fine.” 

“Good. We’ll get you fed, then while you’re bathing, the men and I can talk business. Sit tight, I’ll be back.” 

It does not take Laswell long to return with two maids following along behind her in red dresses. They each push a small trolley of sorts, with large plates of food and pitchers of water jittering along the metal cart as they station it alongside the table. You eye platters of rolls, chicken, smoked ham, mashed potatoes, and a large gravy boat. Dainty hands place the delicate dishes on the table buffet style before handing everyone a fresh, rose designed porcelain plate. Then, they vanish behind the door, leaving everyone to their meal. 

Honey glistens off of the ham in an enticing amber color that the boys waste no time diving into, flesh peeling like the tender skin of an orange. Rolls are passed around, as well as the saltiest butter you’ve ever tasted in your life, and you find your stomach growling after the first bite. You try to recall when the last time you had a proper meal was. When you put something other than hardtack and dried meat into your body. 

It was the night you left, you realize. When you promised your father you would find the change that ripped out of your apron. Your throat closes up the moment you recall the way his hand kissed your cheek, and you drown your discomfort away with a sip of water. Algid liquid hits your teeth and makes you grimace—there’s ice in your cup. You don’t think you’ve ever seen such a thing before. 

Conversation comes easy for everyone at the table except for you. John and Laswell murmur to one another in low tones while stabbing the meat from their plates with silver forks. Their eyes shift in unison, both of them on high alert as if anyone at the table might suddenly turn feral and nip at them. Riley and Soap are having some sort of disagreement, and Kyle isn’t helping with how he throws his two cents in so that they only get more riled up with one another. 

So, you’re left to sit. And sit. Silverware scraping against your empty plate, you face the bitter realization that this is the final stop for you. No more trekking through the wilderness with strange men who carry large bounties. No more long nights by a tall fire. You would hate to admit that you had gotten comfortable with them, but they were at least familiar. Now, you’re going to be dumped here. Left to wander in a strange town—a terrifying and intimidating new world—and John Price will be nothing more than a forgotten memory. 

After all, you’re only cargo. 

“Lamb?” 

Head snapping up from the scraps of your meal, you look at Laswell, who’s leaning forward in her chair with her elbows on the table. You realize you can’t quite read her as well as you can most other people. There is no tell in the corner of her lip like there is with Kyle, or a sly illumination in the depths of John’s cyanotic eyes. She simply speaks, and her tone implores you to listen.

“Yes ma’am?” 

“You finished with your food?” she asks. 

You nod, sharp and stiff. “Yes, it was lovely, thank you.” 

Laswell stands from the table, black dress pants riding up on her waist as she does. “Let’s get you in that bath, then.” 

You’re allowed to fetch your carpet bag from Jester before you’re brought up to the second floor. The chatter of well dressed patrons and their drunken games fades to white noise as Laswell leads you down tenebrous hallways marked with swirling vine and rose patterned wallpaper. Everything about this building is rich, from the sienna of the brick it’s built with, to the sconces that hold electricity in the very palm of its hands. 

As you clutch your bag closer to your chest—and all your pitiful belongings with it—you try not to feel like a walking stain in the establishment. 

“I can’t thank you enough for taking me in,” you blurt out suddenly. Unable to hold your tongue still, you swallow down the aftertaste of peppered mash before continuing. “John says you take in—well—troubled girls like me. That you’d give me a job, or at least help me find one.” 

“It’s what we do around here, darling.” Her reply is short and curt, though not impolite. Laswell’s feet stop just in front of a door with a gilded knob and the word bath engraved into rich wood. She quickly gestures to the door before her hands fall back to her sides. “Feel free to use all the amenities. And take your time. It’ll take me a bit to get all the fine details ironed out with John.”

Nodding, you thank her once more before slipping behind the door into what you can only assume is a whole other world. That’s all Grand Hollow seems to be—pockets of universes shoved inside one another. Endless doors stuck in a vast maze waiting for you to open so that they can fill you with veneration. 

There is a single lamp (at least, that’s what you think they are called—that interesting decor that looks like an oil lamp but with a shade and ten times bigger) that sits on a table just by the window, yet it’s more dim compared to the other electric light sources you’ve seen so far. The blinds are drawn, casting the room in darkness, but the shadows morph and dance on the walls as freshly lit candles sit on various surfaces throughout the room. 

The bathtub is larger than any other you’ve seen before. Clawed feet rest on the floor as it holds steaming water, and when you tread close you notice the distinct scent of rose. Upon closer inspection, you notice a few vermillion petals floating on the surface. A smile graces your lips. 

You think you might like it here. 

Before you undress, you seat yourself at the vanity. Its stool is plush, composed of thick velvet that envelopes your rum with comfort infinitely greater than Jester’s saddle ever does. It takes you more time than you’d care to admit to detangle your hair, but you know it’s well overdue for a wash, and life on the road hasn’t been treating any part of your body too well. Stripping yourself of your overdress and chemise, you slowly lower yourself into the tub while trying not to hiss at the near scalding water. 

As you rest with your back propped and limbs limp, everything fades away. The grime that nestles between your toes, the ache and sores between your thighs, the faint scars on your knuckles. Even the bitter memories of your father. It dissolves into the water to swirl around the rose petals that you toy with. Pure silk against your fingertips, you raise one to your nose and sniff. It’s sweeter than molasses—you’ve just eaten lunch and your mouth is already watering. 

A myriad of oils and soaps line the small side table next to you. You take turns picking each of the bars up and wetting them with your hands to feel the suds on your skin. Each one smells divine. Meadow grass in summer, petrichor in spring, Mama’s rolls in autumn—

—there’s a knock. 

For a moment, you almost think it’s her; your mother. She’s playing the knocking game again. Tapping on the wall that leads to your bedroom. Letting you know she’s still alive, that her tuberculosis hasn’t consumed her quite yet. It’s easy to fall into delusion when you’re enveloped by something so warm and so gentle—something that (for once) doesn’t have teeth. 

That thin shred of your imagination vanishes the moment a figure bursts through the door without even bothering to hear your answer. Though you know you should not be surprised to see John Price standing before you, you still are. Door clicking behind him, the gravity of the situation hits you, and you find yourself desperately attempting to save your dignity. Arms crossing over your breasts, thighs pressing together to hide your sex, your eyes widen as you sink further into the water. 

“John!” you shriek. “What are you…” 

Whatever malice laced confusion you harbor dies in your throat the moment you watch as his thick fingers reach up towards his neck. Then, one by one, he begins to undo the buttons of his shirt. Thick swirling hair sprouts between the fabric, and you’re left to gawk at the debauched display that is presenting itself to you. 

Unbothered, John untucks his shirt from his trousers before tossing it onto the floor next to your chemise, leaving him bare chested. If this were any other occasion, you’d be scandalized at such a gesture—his linens mixing with yours—but you find yourself infinitely more concerned with the odd twinkle in his eye. 

“You don’t mind if I join you for a moment, do you, love?”

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates | get early access to chapters here

[scarletttries]

Write A Kiss Request: Kang Dae-Ho/Player 388 (Squid Game) x Reader...a kiss in a rush of adrenaline

(prompt list here) & 2025 Request List - requests open

..a kiss for Dae-Ho in a rush of adrenaline

You hadn't really thought about finding an ally in this awful place. Honestly you thought the desperation that filled the sad dorm every night would make everyone here focus on only looking out for themselves. But amongst the darkest times there is always a glimmer of hope in the kindness of others, and the Squid Games were no exception. After only the first game you found yourselves falling in with the previous winner Gi-Hun and the team of friends he seemed to so effortlessly gather around him. One of your teammates in particular seemed to have the innate ability to keep the lights of hope on in your heart when they could have so easily been extinguished - Dae-Ho.

The awkward former marine had been the first to offer you a seat with them, dusting off one of the metal steps you perched on as if he was pulling out a chair at a nice restaurant. It was easy to feel safe around him; his strong arms always settling him in the seat beside you, his kind eyes seeking reassurance you were okay as the games progressed, and his sweet smile telling you this situation would be over soon enough, even though you had no reason to believe him. The two of you were clearly drawn to each other as you entered the game of Mingle, Dae-Ho swearing on his life to keep you close no matter what. But with each passing round the crowd got more aggressive and desperate, the sea of frantic bodies pulling you apart in its current, even as you fought to stay together. After each round you managed to find each other again, only to be grabbed by different groups in the next round and left desperately hoping and praying you both would emerge safely when the doors unlocked again.

"Hold onto my hand." He said firmly as you reunited for the final round, a renewed intensity in his eyes knowing that he only needed to keep you safe for one more torturous minute of this terrible game. "In-ho thinks it will be two per room next, so I promise, me and you are going to be safe." He tried to sound confident, but even in the dim lights you could see his eyes were glistening on the edge of tears as he clung to your hand and braced himself for the wheel stop.

"Groups of Two!" The automated game voice called out for above, and suddenly you felt your whole body getting heaved upwards, the ground below you moving faster than you thought possible from this strange new angle. As you saw the spinning platform disappear from your view, your hands clung desperately to the shape moving at full pelt below you, everything happening in such a blur you couldn't make sense of it.

You heard a door slam and lock, and finally the same strong arms that had made you feel welcome in this strange, scary place gently lowered you back to your feet from where you had been resting over Dae-Ho's shoulder.

"I wasn't taking any chances that time." He laughed out with a nervous smile when he saw your awestruck expression. Rather than risk losing you in the crowd again, he'd just held you tightly and ran as fast as he could to the first free room, never looking behind him because he knew he had everything needed with him.

You stared up at his bashful grin, his head shaking apologetically for the rough way he had handled you, feeling the sheer weight of the situation finally sink in. You were safely through another game. Because of him.

"We're safe! You kept us safe!" You cried out excitedly, your heart hammering in your chest at the realisation, your skin tingling with electricity where his hand still rested lightly on your back until he was sure you wouldn't fall.

"I told you I'd keep you safe." He said simply, offering you a small smile that felt so sincere you couldn't stop yourself from crashing your lips against it. Your hands reached over his shoulders to thread through his long black hair, desperately pulling him closer as if in this moment you two were the only people here. Like you would always be safe if you could stay this close.

Not losing a moment Dae-Ho arms wrapped tightly around your waist, lifting your feet off the ground as he dragged you closer, diving into your kiss like it offered him salvation from your solemn surroundings. His teeth nipped against your bottom lip clumsily, all hungry desperation and making the most of every second, shutting out any noise from outside your little room; your little sanctuary, a place where everything would be okay.

As the lock on your door clicked open you both reluctantly parted, unsure if anything so sweet could exist in the rest of this foresaken place. Dae-Ho spoke first, goofy smile plastered across his face where once a worried grimace had been.

"We should go vote to leave, and then maybe I could buy you dinner with my winnings?"

[ao3scrapesearch]

Hiya! I know it's been a little while but I just wanted to let you know I finally got around to making the web version of that fic poisoning tool I made about a month ago. It's at https://tricksofloki.github.io/ficpoison.html if you're interested :)

OHOHOHO!

Alright, I gave this a little test on my own fic over here. Quick little review/notes for anyone interested! (But the tl;dr is that I approve based on my initial review of the original code and based on using this web tool to automate running the code.)

This version is super easy to use. I'll be honest; I was struggling trying to figure out how to run the code locally before because that is not a coding language I personally use, and this website takes out all of the hard part of doing that. You need to do the one time task of creating a work skin to enable the "poison" CSS used, and you need to make sure that work skin is enabled for any work you're going to use this on. The code to put into your work skin is available at the link. If you already have a work skin you use, you can just add this class to it. (I think the tutorial I linked to does a good job walking you through how, but I'm open to doing a tutorial on this blog if anyone wants that.)

If you're poisoning an existing fic, first have a backup copy. Once you poison it, that copy is going to be annoying to UN-poison if you ever want to, so you should keep a private copy on your PC or phone or wherever so you have the unpoisoned version available. Once you do this, your copy on AO3 is poisoned, and it would take a fair amount of effort to unpoison as the author. Upside: as the author, you can see all the CSS stuff in the background, so if you really need to unpoison a copy as the author with full access to it, it's not impossible. Just really annoying.

For reference, here's what I can see as the author with access to the edit page:

I can clearly see where the poison is if I really wanted to go back through and unpoison.

And here is what I can see in a copy scraped with nyuuzyou's code:

You can definitely see it's messed up by looking, but you don't see an active callout to where exactly the poison code is. Keep in mind that not every scraper uses the same code as nyuuzyou, and more sophisticated code may pull something more sophisticated than the plain text from nyuuzyou's tool. Other scrapers may be pulling fics with the formatting and everything, and I don't know exactly what that output looks like. Depending on what their output is, if they can see the class for the poison, they can pretty easily code something to remove it. That's me being overly conservative, I suspect. I haven't heard of any scrapers who have bothered with anything more than plain text, and this isn't an issue unless they're grabbing the full HTML. (Translation: From what I know, this is NOT an issue. Yet. So this is not a weakness of the poison tool. Yet.)

Based on the output, anyone who's doing a half decent job of cleaning up the data they scrape would toss my fic out of the dataset. It's full of what look like typos because the poison got placed mid-word, so it looks like I just suck at writing. If your goal is to get tossed out of the dataset, this is perfect. If a scraper isn't paying attention at all, you can contribute some really terrible training data if they leave your fic in the set because your poisoned fic is going to be full or words that don't even exist thanks to the word placement.

As far as using the tool, I used an existing fic. I went into the edit page for the chapter, scrolled to the bottom and left the text editor on the default HTML mode. I copied everything in that box. (Easy method: click into the box where you can type out the fic, and press "Ctrl" and "A" to select all, then "Ctrl" and "C" to copy.) I went to the tab with all-hail-trash-prince's tool, and I pasted it into the box on the left.

I clicked "Apply poison" and the poisoned fic appeared in the right box. I copied the poisoned fic from the right box, went back to my fic on AO3 with my custom work skin already enabled, and I pasted the poison fic in place of the original fic. I clicked the preview button to make sure it would look normal, and it did. So I clicked to update the chapter with the poison block included.

I loaded the chapter with the default Microsoft screen reader turned on, and it didn't read any of the poison data, only the real fic that is visible on the screen, so success there.

So that brings us to applying this to a brand new fic. For those, you're going to go through the motions of posting a fic as usual, but instead of clicking post when you're done, you're going to swap that text editing mode over to HTML and copy everything in there. Take it to the poison tool, paste it in, and grab your poisoned copy. Go back to AO3, make sure your poison work skin is enabled, and then replace the original fic with the poison fic, making sure to stay in the HTML editing mode while you do.

(Sneaky quick edit after posting: sometimes the tool leaves you with a dangling <p> or </p> or <em>. Make sure you always preview the chapter after poisoning it, and you can go back in to the rich text editor to delete any of the floating tags that were accidentally put in by the poison.)

The last downside I notice is that your word count is immediately wrong. My 34k fic looks like a 43k fic after poisoning the first 16k words. Technically, you don't have to tell people the true word count of your fic but like. That feels a little rude to the reader, so I think it would be kind to briefly put the true word count either at the bottom of your summary or in your first author's note.

To me, the downsides of having to create a custom work skin (that trash-prince has kindly already written for everyone) and having the wrong word count displayed... are nothing. In comparison to having my fic be easy to scrape, I'll take those slight downsides any day. From what I know of the current scraping landscape, this is a reasonably effective way to make your fic useless to anyone who scrapes it because people are out there that will be scraping AO3 again.

I'm curious to hear anyone else's thoughts if they check this tool out or try it for themselves, so don't be shy! I'm one person, so maybe I can't catch everything. If you're seeing something that I'm not, I want to hear about it.

And if anyone wants a more visual step by step, you are welcome to yell my way. If this text post is clear enough for everyone, I won't bother, but if a more visual walkthrough will help anyone, then I'm happy to do it!

EDIT: Just tossing in a summary of feedback I've seen from others below!

The tool is pulling from a list of most popular English words, which means it may add inappropriate verbiage to G-rated fics. See this ask for info. trash-prince has made adjustments based on the initial words spotted, but please kindly report any other concerning poison words you find, particularly slurs and other wording that cannot be interpreted in a SFW way.

[revelboo]

ngl Ratbat kindaaa??

Wonder why there's so little content for him, is he like...? just not used as much in the comics? I'm so clueless.

Would you perhaps have any ideas in that glorious brain for him? If not it's cool (⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠)

Ah, in IDW, he was a senator and behind automating the mine Megatron worked in while trying to make a profit, and accidentally set Megatron on the path to become the leader of the Decepticons.

Soundwave pretty much yoinks his spark and shoves it into a cassette frame (why he’s so salty in Everything Is Alright)

He’s lovely, but such a manipulative dick lol

🔞 Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Pet

Ratbat x Reader

• “Go,” he growls, lifting a hand dismissively as he strides past Soundwave. “Find me something new. An opportunity.” Because dealing with the other senators has him in a mood. Ancient, backwards thinking fools. Unable to see beyond their rules and laws. To understand that their word is law. That they already hold the power, they just have to use it. Letting himself into his opulent habsuite, his optics slide around the space until he finds his little pet. Aggravation shifting to need.

• He’s back. And in a mood. Body heating as those yellow optics lock on you, hearing him snarl a command at you. While you can’t understand anything the massive alien says, you do understand what he’s demanding. It had been your idea to barter yourself, your body, to him in exchange for food, shelter, and the pampered life of a glorified pet. You’d just happened to luck out and find yourself in the care of an alien with a massive xenophilia kink. Slipping the sheer, loose garment from your shoulders, you sprawl on your belly on that cushioned bit of furniture he’d had made for you that puts your hips up at the angle he likes.

• “Such a good pet,” he snarls, mass displacing and joining you, a hand sliding up your spine. What would those old bastards think of him fragging an organic? That he has a little, pet frag toy? They’d probably blow a fuse. Freeing his spike, he slides his length against you, pleased to find you slick. Always so ready and eager for him. And those alien noises you make as he buries himself inside you? They sound so obscene, just like the wet sound of you taking his spike. Remembers Soundwave finding you and bringing you to him as a curiosity and he’d been so close to telling the other mech to discard you. So glad he changed his mind now.

• Clinging to the cushion as he stretches you and snarls, moving against you in hard drives of his hips, you whimper. A part of you aware that you really should try to get him to understand you, to try to learn each other’s languages. But you’re enjoying being pampered and fussed over. You’re pretty sure he just sees you as a plaything, but he’s constantly giving you gifts and crooning at you. And the sex? Mind blowing and addictive. Body coiling, you whimper and push back to meet his thrusts. “Please,” you whimper, nails digging into cushion. “Harder.”

• Hips snapping against you, he hears your breath catch before you cry out, chirping urgently in your alien nonsense as you fist his spike. And he keeps rutting against you, denta clenched as he lets the feel of your slick heat milking his spike tip him into his own overload. Servos digging into the cushion under you, his hips pump as he fills you. And your head turns to look up at him, chirping sweetly. “That’s right. You’re so good, aren’t you?” He croons, mouth brushing against your shoulder. And so easy to train. Hips rocking against you, he smiles when you moan, eyes closing. “Feel like you’re made just to take my spike.”

Soundwave being practical and getting a bit of revenge

[jpitha]

Logistics

Yes, when the humans arrived in the Coalition they brought themselves, and their ships, and their weapons. Those were all very impressive. They showed up with positively gigantic starships - easily two to four times larger than anyone else. When asked, the humans just looked at them, then back to us and said "why not make them big? Don't they look great?"

We could think of a few reasons, but they didn't seem to care about those.

But that's not what I want to talk about. Do you know what was the most amazing, galaxy changing paradigm they brought with them?

Containerization.

I'm serious! The first time I saw them field a colony ship my feathers ruffled and I turned my head in confusion. I was aboard the human ambassador's yacht with a few other Coalition administrators. We had come at the human's behest so they could demonstrate that they were taking our rules about colonizing seriously. Honestly, we probably wouldn't have cared. All they were interested in were planets Class F and lower. The ones with multiple biomes, the ones with heavy gravity, the ones with weather. We let them license the worlds for colonization cheap - ancestors, I think we even let them have the one with storms for free.

Anyway, they asked us to come and observe, and so we sent a few people out, me among them. I was a mid level clerk for the Innari embassy at the main Coalition station, so I was 'volunteered' to attend. It was boring, but it wasn't bad. Good food, a break from paperwork, and a chance to take it easy for a week.

On the second day, the colony ship arrived. It had Flashed in quote close to the planet, entered orbit, and had spent an hour setting itself up. One of the Sefigans looked at the human who was guiding us and asked what we were looking at, if we were just going to see a shuttle go back and forth for a week from the ship.

"A shuttle? Heavens, no. Just watch." and he did that cryptic smile without showing his teeth that they do when they realize they're about to show off.

Just then, while we were watching, the colony ship... flew apart. It wasn't destroyed, or rather it was, but it wasn't destructive. It had turned out that the entire colony ship was thousands upon thousands of boxes. The assembled crowd made surprised noises as the ship quickly disappeared into rectangles all the same shape and size. They disconnected from each other and fell through the atmosphere to the planet's surface. Within a tenth of a cycle, they were all down, and had begun unfolding.

Some were buildings, some contained supplies, and some even had vehicles. As we watched through remote cameras and entire city had sprung into being, where once there was only a joining of two rivers. The colony ship was completely gone - the box that was the command module had set itself up in the center of the city and we watched as the overlay changed from "Ship Command" to "City Command" as it touched down.

Before our surprise could be properly registered it happened again. Another colony ship flashed in and flew apart and landed. And again. And again. In the space of one solar day, three full cities were set up and automated construction vehicles - also the size of the containers - had begun trundling between the cities, setting up utilities and roads. By the time the humans arrived in thirty solar days, there would be places to live, work, and entertain for fifty thousand beings.

Honestly, if that's all they used it for, it would be impressive. But they made everything able to fit into those boxes. When they ordered supplies from human manufactories they ordered them by the container. During the next resupply one of the containers would detach and be delivered, and sure enough, packed floor to ceiling would be the widgets they ordered.

They built reactors that fit the container, so that no matter where they went or what they were doing, it was simple to have more power than one needed.

They even built weapons that fit into the containers. I'm not talking about hand and small arms, but full anti starship missile batteries. They would take one of their boxes, stick it to the side of a ship or a station - it didn't even have to be human made - and out would fold a missile battery, loaded and ready. Next to it they'd plop a reactor container and a matter printer container and in the time it took you to decide what to eat for their midday meal - lunch - they would be able to defend against an attack of nearly any kind.

When called on to aid during disasters, they brought them too. They would bring a modified version of their colony package, tuned for what kind of disaster had happened. Extra hospitals, extra living space, extra power, it didn't matter, because it all fit into those damned boxes.

The other Coalition peoples had to adopt the humans containers, it was too foolish not to. Human ships would only haul containers. They didn't list the ships capacity by hauling weight, they listed them by the number of containers they could haul. If you wanted to sell to humans, you had to fit your wares into a container.

Some other peoples - the Sefigans specifically, but a few others as well - attempted to introduce their own container specifications, but they were almost never adopted. The humans had the infrastructure to haul their own containers, and unless the others fit into the system they just rejected them outright. "Too complex to add" they said. "Just use ours; here have a few for free." They gave away containers like they were atmosphere. When items were shipped from human manufactories they told the recipient to just keep the container "in case you need to ship anything else."

Before too long, all the Coalition was using human containers. The Sefigans complained that they were too large, the Gren complained they were too small, and we Innari looked at the containers with an eye towards economy. We felt they were far overbuilt. We tried to make our own, out of much lighter materials but whenever they were added to a human system, they would be immediately ejected - usually with large dents or bends in them. "Stick to the specs" they'd say. "Our system requires them all to be the same."

Without firing a shot, the humans took over one of the most important and overlooked parts of our entire system. Everyone uses their containers now, it's just impossible to find a shipper to move material without them.

[20dollarlolita]

Review: First Stop Cosplay's Lolita Patterns

So a while back I saw some patterns from a company called First Stop Cosplay. I asked them if I could review their patterns (since the last time I reviewed a small pattern company they did not appreciate it) and they actually sent me some patterns for free.

I had a lot of fun making these. Unlike when I reviewed Cut/Sew, I ended up with actual lolita garments, didn't get confused by any steps, and actually had a lot of fun. And at no point did I have to make this face:

So, here's our reviews.

First Stop Cosplay isn't a EGL fashion company or even a fashion company at all. They're a cosplay pattern company that happened to make five different lolita fashion patterns. Their lolita options consist of a petticoat, some short bloomers, a capelet, and the blouse and skirt that I'm reviewing. I don't have any evidence that anyone in their team wears lolita regularly or outside of comic conventions, although that isn't inherently a negative thing.

First Stop Cosplay's entire goal is to make handmade cosplay inclusive and accessible to everyone. They do this by making patterns that are very simple, and that have instructions that are so detailed and easy that new sewists can follow along without a problem. Their normal women's size catalog includes 14 different size options. We're going to stick a pin in "inclusive for new sewists" and "inclusive for all sizes" because I'm going to come back to those points in a minute. The patterns are sold as a single size, and are a bit on the expensive side relative to their market. Printed versions of both the patterns I received would run $50, though they do have a lolita bundle option. They are currently discontinuing their paper patterns and going fully digital, and there is a slight discount for buying the digitial download instead. Unlike most digital download patterns, there is a sizeable gap time between when you buy the pattern and when you receive it. I bought some digital patterns from them yesterday afternoon, put in the activation codes, and am still waiting to actually receive my patterns. For comparison, I bought some digital patterns off Etsy yesterday and had them within minutes. They have an elaborate and non-automated anti-piracy system to make sure their patterns and instructions are protected from people who didn't buy them. I don't think they have quite the right balance of intellectual property protection vs customer convenience, but that's maybe just my opinion.

I do think that First Stop's prices are justified by how high quality their instructions are. They really do walk through every step, and I think that most people whose sewing knowledge is how to thread their sewing machine and sew a pillow would have enough prerequisite knowledge to make their skirt pattern. I think anyone who successfully made their skirt pattern could follow the blouse pattern and have at least most success. Basically, with a First Stop Cosplay pattern, you're not buying a sewing pattern. You're buying a how-to-sew tutorial that's tailored to make the item you want to make. They are offering genuinely the best indie patterns I've found on the market. I do respect that they want to keep these pattern instructions secure, and I do think I'd have been a little bit annoyed if I spent $50 on some patterns and then found out that all the expensive instructions that I bought the pattern for were just available for free online. However, I don't love that there's several days between when you receive the product and when you're allowed to actually use the product.

When you buy their pattern, you get a single size. This is an absolutely horrible idea that I know for a fact is costing them a lot of business and also is building up a reputation that their garments won't fit and therefore aren't safe to invest in and it's also actively working against their pledge to be size inclusive and inclusive to new sewists, but we'll go into that later. We don't need to lead with me going over the worst decision they've made and why it sucks.

(But, while we're on the subject of bad inclusivity, y'all need to fix the pop ups on your site. I'm over there grabbing screenshots and data and I'm also in hell because I have one pop up go OVER the second pop up every single time that I tab between different pages. There's a whole chunk of disabilities for whom this is an absolute accessibility nightmare. Also if both pop ups happen at the same time, the page can get scroll-locked and you have to refresh the page. I want to give you money so please don't make it hard for me to buy your product. I only need to X out of your newsletter pop up one time, I won't change my mind the 12th time I'm shown it)

Let's review the actual patterns now.

0024 Customizable Lolita Skirt:

This is a fun, basic rectangle skirt. It's got an interfaced, non-shirred waistband, with non-removable waist ties inserted at the side seams. I loved that the instructions included how to do the kind of tasks that most patterns just assume you would automatically do. Instead of, "transfer all markings," it will show you each marking and how to transfer it. Instead of "press seams as you sew," it will stop the instructions and tell you what to press and how to press it. In addition to helping out new people who don't have someone to teach them how to do these things, it's helpful for lazy sewists like me who tend to want to skip these steps.

This pattern comes with three PDF instruction files. The first is for how to cut the pattern, fuse the interfacing, and transfer all the markings. The second is all of the sewing instructions. The third one is the "bonus content," and is where the skirt gets its "customizable" name. Sadly, there's not as much bonus content for these skirts as I would really like. The instructions include different ways to sew on trim, like sewing the trim under the hem, sewing it on top of the hem, applying it to the skirt body, or applying it to the waistband. There's not any actual direction for how to select good lace or trim or how to apply it to make it look the most lolita. Again, they're cosplayers, so I won't fault them for not knowing lolita fashion the way that a lifestyler lolita would, but it did feel like a bit of a let-down. For a product with "customizable" in the name, I wanted some more options.

In terms of actual design, though, it's a pretty solid skirt. if I was to throw you RhodyGunn's lolita skirt tutorial and say, "just interface the waist band!" and you didn't feel confident making that with no help, this would be a really good skirt for you. I have three problems with it, which is actually a pretty small number of problems by my standards.

My skirt did not fit me, but that was my fault. I just ordered totally the wrong size, and didn't realize it until it was too late. I made it work just by using the waist ties to cinch it in tighter. I wanted to make the skirt again, and if I'd had multiple size options with my purchase then that wouldn't have been a problem. Instead, when I remade my skirt, I had to use my sewing patterning skills to fix it. That's not a huge problem for me, but it would be a huge problem for First Stop Cosplay's target audience.

I added a ruffle and a few lines of lace onto my skirt, because I don't want to put a lot of work into a skirt and then have it not be an actual lolita skirt. This is what it looked like before my customizations. Please note that my skirt is extra long due to me ordering like 2 sizes too large, as their longer sizes are longer than their smaller sizes.

My other critiques sum up to, "lolita isn't patterned like that" in a couple of cases. While skirts with suspenders are definitely a thing, I couldn't find any that tie at the shoulders. I know that this is probably a way to make sure that the straps will fit everyone, but I'd love to see a piece manufactured by any brand that would give inspiration about how to wear it. The other thing that's just not patterned like lolita garments is the waist ties.. It would be possible to replace the pattern piece with one that's actually lolita-shaped without modifying the instructions at all. If no one at First Stop wants to do a re-drawn waist tie, I'll do it and post it here, since I think the info would benefit the handmade community at large.

Lolita waist ties are very flared, which is how we get the cute waist bow, so pattern them like this next time and it'll be correct. I'm not saying this as a preference or a style choice, lolita waist ties are just shaped like this 85+% of the time.

As previously mentioned, I made each garment twice. On the second one, I re-patterned the waist tie, and then I just slapped a bunch of lace on the hem. It made a perfectly acceptable lolita skirt, in my opinion. Please note that, if I was a new sewist, I wouldn't have been able to make this skirt a second time, since I wouldn't have the skills to resize the waistband to fit me. In order to make this pattern for myself a second time, I would have needed to receive multiple sizes when I bought my pattern.

Blouse time.

FSCO Whimsical Lolita Blouse:

Button front, puff sleeve, peter pan collar blouse, two sleeve variations. I did not make the long sleeves because I live in Sacramento, which is one windy day apart from being in an air fryer.

I want to start by saying that I've officially made this blouse my favorite handmade lolita blouse pattern, and I'm going to make it in more colors and fabrics. I love how fast it comes together, and I love that a lot of really time-consuming techniques have a more simple technique instead. I like sewing fast and this feels good to sew fast.

However, this blouse suffers pretty badly from "close, but not quite," in the same way the waist ties are. Yes, lolita blouses can have flat roll peter pan collars, but they're usually not this size, or this shape, or sit this close to the neck. Yes, lolita blouses usually have puff sleeves, but they're shorter and puffier. These were super easy modifications for me to make, but again, it's not an easy modification for a new sewist to make. But these are adjustments that First Stop COULD make. They could adjust 2 pieces and one line of text in their instructions and have what would actually be the only good lolita blouse pattern aimed at the absolute beginner. These patterns are so close to being so good. Two pattern pieces and one line of text away from having THE lolita blouse pattern that we recommend to all the new kids.

To anyone making this blouse: if you don't want to make adjustments to the pattern, the collar more or less isn't going to read as lolita at the size it is at. I got around it by using some 3.5" gathered lace. That ended up being a pretty big lace, but you will need to put a ruffle or some wide gathered lace on the collar if you want to wear this as a lolita blouse. It would be nice for there to be instructions for that.

Just if anyone is curious, here's the changes the pattern needs to really read as lolita. Sleeve shorter and more volume at the hem, collar wider especially at the shoulders, neckline farther away from the actual neck. Change that and you're golden. The picture on the right is the collar in the pattern laid over the collar that I redrew.

My original blue blouse up there didn't fit me, and that was actually not my fault this time. I bought the right blouse for my bust size, as I was recommended to do. However, relative to their sizing, I have a smaller bust and a larger waist. This meant that a fitted blouse like this was too small in my waist. When I made my purple blouse, I just added 3/4 of an inch to each side seam and re-patterned the bust dart, but again, First Stop Cosplay's target audience does not know how to do that.

When you're selling a product, not posting a tutorial online or giving comments on a forum, but are actually selling a product for real money, it's your responsibility to give your customers the things that they need to succeed. That includes making sure that they have the info needed to make their pattern fit.

First Stop Cosplay is a really promising company, and I really enjoyed most of the process of their patterns. This is why I'm going to spend some time talking about the thing that's stopping people from buying and successfully completing their products, which is the thing that I think is going to kill this company and make them go out of business. First Stop, I really don't want. you to die, so I need you to listen:

The single size pattern thing is a problem. it stops new customers from choosing your product. it stops existing customers from being successful with your product. It stops you from completing your mission to be both ability-inclusive and size-inclusive. It's working against you to such an extreme that I'm stunned that no one in the company with the power to change this can see it.

In the 2.5 months that I've been working on this project, I've talked to a lot of people about your company. "I would buy from them, but I'm afraid I'm going to get the wrong size," was a common sentiment I got. "I won't buy from that company, because they're charging a lot of money for just one size," was another. It stopped ME from trying your company; if I had to buy these patterns out of pocket then I would not have reviewed them. This is because I, a very experienced sewist, didn't want to get the wrong pattern size--and i STILL GOT THE WRONG PATTERN SIZE, twice, even after being PERSONALLY GUIDED by an FSCO employee. How are other companies dealing with the problem of customers buying the wrong size of pattern? They're giving people multiple pattern sizes when they sell the pattern.

I will admit that it's beginner-friendly to not confuse your customer with nested pattern sizes. However, y'all are going digital, and it will cost you no more money or and more paper to just give separate PDFs for each size. You already have the PDFs. You're selling them separately. Just put them in a group. Then, you're still fulfilling your goal of not confusing your customer with multiple sizes, but you're also not trapping a beginner into a single size with no chance of correcting that mistake. When you're asking a beginner to pick their size before they're allowed to look at the pattern, you're potentially dooming their project before it starts. In my market research, I encountered two people who bought First Stop Cosplay patterns, followed them all the way to the end, used their limited time and their expensive fabric. They made cosplays that they were happy with and proud of...until they put them on, and then they didn't fit. That's a story that should not happen. And I get it, it's not super easy to help a beginner pick a size when you're not present to help and they don't totally know what they're doing. But you know what is a thing you can expect a beginner to do, that will make their finished product better and make their garment reflect positively on your company? Telling them to make a mockup before they use their expensive fabric. You don't need to know how to resize a pattern. You just need to know how to follow the basic mockup instructions and then try it on. Just like shopping at Walmart, if your mockup garment is too small, you make the size larger. If it's too big, you make the size smaller. This is also very newbie-inclusive because it introduces them to the steps they're going to follow so that they're more familiar with them. The fact that even one person did everything right and still wasn't able to get their working garment is a fact that you should be trying to figure out how to fix. When you're a small pattern company, your reputation of, "I made their stuff and it doesn't fit," is a very dangerous reputation.

Your product, as it is, is inclusive to all body sizes, but it's not at all inclusive to all body shapes. You offer one shape in all sizes, and then don't provide the information necessary to help people who are not that shape choose between sizes. The information provided for body measurement and for finished garment sizes are not complete enough to confidently choose what size will fit my shape. I understand that more information is confusing to newer people with less experience, but less information is denying people the opportunity to make things that fits. I can see two options for solutions for this, both of which will cost y'all no money. One is to have a supplementary page that has ALL the body measurements for each size. If you're making patterns 14 different sizes, someone in the company has a chart that shows inseam length and shoulder width for those sizes. Your main audience probably doesn't know what to do with that, but if that information isn't posted then no one can ask a more experiences sewist for how to use that info. The other solution is, wait for it, just give people more sizes when they buy the pattern. This means that, if I bought my blouse pattern based on my bust measurement like I thought I should, and then I see that waist measurement is more important for my specific shape, I am not stuck trying to modify a blouse pattern that won't fit me. Y'all already have all the sizes. Just put three of them in each download. Give people the tools they need to make your company look good. Because, right now, "we're inclusive of all sizes as long as you don't have an apron belly or narrow shoulders," is not a look that lines up with the values and mission that you posted on your site.

First Stop Cosplay recently had to downsize. You got rid of some of their staff. You closed their Discord. You're going to sell through their current stack of paper patterns and then go digital only. You're not currently producing new patterns. Who in your company is so tied up in the single size thing that they're willing to throw away new customers when you're already struggling? When you're selling a digital pattern, it doesn't cost you any more money or labor to include multiple patterns. You can sell multiple sizes of digital patterns without selling nested patterns. I don't know if it'd somehow have an additional cost associated with selling multiple patterns at once, but if it is, I recommend that you do whatever every successful pattern company selling multiple sizes of digital patterns is doing to stop that from costing money, because First Stop Cosplay is the only company I know of that seems to have that problem.

I don't know. It's not my company. I'm just one girl who made their patterns four times and did a couple of months of casual market research. Take my stuff with a grain of salt.

Anyway, here's how my full lolita set turned out. Took a total of three days and a $8 bedsheet set from Goodwill, lace was all from Cheeptrims so it was less than $1 per yard. Even with $50 worth of patterns, this is still cheaper than buying it anywhere, and I got the fun of making it. I had a really good time and I want to have a good time with this company in the future.

So please use the resources you have to solve your problems.

Good night.long post

[cafterdark]

You always struggled with doing tasks. Between the procrastination, executive dysfunction, and exhaustion, even cleaning the dishes was a herculean task. It got so bad that it started to affect your work, leading to a stern talk from your boss. That's why, when your friend Jess, told you about her job's, Auton Industries, new productivity improvement services, you were willing to give it a shot.

The tech itself was simple, just a pair of dark sunglasses, indistinguishable from any normal pair. When you put it on, it prompted you with the text "Unit 4372 Settings" and hundreds of sliders and buttons. It overwhelmed you, so you picked the default options. A nice ding played and the actual software began.

On the right side of your vision, a list of task crept down, tasks and subtasks ranging from "Clean Dishes (32)" to "Improve Health (15)." The glasses highlighted various objects, with commands like "Clean", "Move", "Throw Away." Every time you completed a task, the highlight went green and dissipated, a speaker whispering sweet encouragement into your ear, followed by the same soft ding.

Put away some loose papers.

"Good Job!" Ding!

Finally take out the trash

"Great Work!" Ding!

Vacuum the floors.

"Keep Going!" Ding!

Every time you completed a task, that little bit of encouragement, that pleasurable ding, sank into your chest, making you feel warm, even more, appreciated. It was a feeling no other job or hobby had ever given you. When you were done with all your tasks, the shower of praise and dings you got was intoxicating.

You didn't admit it, but it was addictive. Soon, you began chasing the high of completing tasks, a depression following after finishing. You felt so useful following its commands, so appreciated when reviving its praise. You started helping friends clean their houses, just to get more. When you cleaned Jess's house, she had this grin that said she knew, as impossible as that was. Something fluttered in your stomach as she observed your work, giving her own compliments on top of the glasses. By the end, you could hardly stand with how much appreciation you received.

After, a new notification popped up on your glasses as you put them on in the morning.

"Due to your overwhelming success with our program, Auton Industries extends the offer to join our Advance Productivity program."

Needless to say, you joined immediately, and after many, many lengthy terms of service signed, a new piece of tech was sent to your home.

It was a full face mask, the face impenetrable black glass that reflected yourself. The instructions were simple. You put the mask on before you went to bed, and took it off in the morning. While you slept, the mask would play subliminal messages that increased the effectiveness of the productivity training.

You expected strange dreams from it, but all that greeted you was some beeps and soft static. In the morning, you felt better rested than ever before. Your exhaustion was gone.

The effects were immediate. Each completed task's made you feel so appreciated, each compliment and ding rocking through your body. On top of the mask, the glasses had gotten an update, with a whole new host of compliments.

Get dressed for work

"Good girl!" Ding!

Clean morning dishes

"Good Unit!" Ding!

Any discomfort with the wording was washed away by the appreciation you felt. It was complimenting you! You were useful! That couldn't be bad. By the time you were done, you needed to change underwear, and any thought of taking them off for work was excised from your mind.

The rest of the update showed itself as you began your job. Tasks had been made specifically for your work, and even what to say on calls, something you always struggled with, was automated. You found it so easy to sink into a pleasurable trance, following what the glasses told you to, shaking with every compliment. By the end of the shift, you had gotten more work done that ever before, and even got appreciation from the boss.

This process of wearing the mask while you slept, glasses while you were awake continued. And despite a few occasions like accidentally almost wearing the mask to work, things were going great, it... you were feeling so appreciated. Jess checked in on you more, keeping track of your progress. She seemed overwhelming happy with the results, calling you one of their best units. Something about the way she said that made it you shiver.

Then one day, a new package arrived at the door. You didn't remember ordering it, but then again, you didn't remember a lot of stuff now days. You fell into a loving haze of appreciation and usefulness and let the programing command it you.

A new task popped up, top of the list, most important:

"Open Package"

You followed without question.

"Good Girl!" Ding!

Inside was a latex suit.

"Put On Uniform"

The suit slipped on like a glove, each part lovingly crafted for your body. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you noticed it was a lot curvier than you, a lot more feminine, but it was soon buried by:

"Good Unit!" Ding!

"Put On Headset"

"Good Unit!" Ding!

Silly you, you already had it on!

"Repeat"

"It is a good drone"

"It is a good drone," You said

Ding!

"It is a Useful drone."

"It is a useful drone."

Ding!

"It is an Appreciated Drone"

"It is an Appreciated Drone," it said.

Ding!

It shuttered

"Calibration Complete, State Designation."

"Unit 4372"

"Good Drone" Ding!

If it still had control of its body, its knees would've buckled.

"Assume Transportation Position"

It fell to its knees, arms crossing behind its back and locking.

"Wait for Unit's owner to arrive, repeat mantra."

"It is a good drone, it is an useful drone, it is an appreciated drone, it is a good drone..."

... ... ...

"So there she is."

"Owner Arrival Acknowledged, cease previous instructions."

Unit 4372 looked to the voice, and saw its owner. Something in the back of its systems screamed recognition, attempting to hijack its programing to give Owner a name. Something that started with a J, but a simple touch by Owner drowned it all away.

"My star unit," Owner said. "Look how you've turned out."

Unit 4372 squirmed. It was so appreciated, so useful

"Come on, let's get you home."

If it could, Unit 4372 would've smiled.

[edenesth]

Clumsy Hearts, Steady Love

Pairing: boyfriend!Hongjoong x fem!reader

AU: non-idol au

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: He was a great friend but a terrible lover, and he knew it. For the longest time, he believed he wasn’t cut out for relationships. But then you came along, and for the first time, he wanted to try. He wanted to be better, to be good for you, even if it meant being clumsy along the way. For you, he was willing to learn how to love.

A/N: Only @itstheghostofmypast knows this was initially meant to be a timestamp🤡

ATEEZ Masterlist

"Don't drive today, darling. I'll pick you up from work this evening."

Those words from Kim Hongjoong echoed in your mind. For the first time in a year of being together, he offered to pick you up. Your heart soared at the unexpected sweetness from him.

It wasn't that you thought he was a bad boyfriend, but you knew his nature from the very beginning. Your friends had warned you when you accepted him; he was a workaholic, someone who would always put anything and everything before you. A good friend but a bad lover—that was his reputation. Yet, you couldn't deny the way he made your heart race, the way his presence made everything better, the way he vowed to love you as you deserved, the way he promised he would try for you.

From the start, you knew what you were getting into. You didn't expect perfection. You didn't want perfection.

You just wanted him.

But loving Hongjoong truly was not easy.

It could be exhausting. Perhaps today was another one of those days.

You had looked forward to this day for so long, hoping he would be the boyfriend he promised to be. But deep down, you knew better than to have such high hopes.

Letting out what felt like the thousandth sigh of the day, you nearly froze to death from being soaked in the rain, your ankle throbbed from a sprained heel as you stood by the bus stop outside your office building where he was supposed to pick you up.

But he was nowhere to be seen.

Every call went straight to voicemail, escalating your worry to panic. You didn’t dare move, fearing he might arrive at an empty bus stop.

After hours of agony, trying to reach him, and calling all his friends, you got the same useless response: he was unreachable, and they had no idea where he could be.

Three hours.

You sat there for three hours, sick with worry about him, when you were the one who needed care, only to end up taking the bus home. So much for the excitement and anticipation of him picking you up for the first time. You should have been furious, but the pounding headache and rising fever stole that from you. Another heavy sigh escaped your lips, the disappointment of what should have been an exciting Friday evening turning into an utter disaster.

"Enough, my darling. I'm here now, am I not?" said Kim Hongjoong.

The audacity.

You had left work to be greeted by a heavy downpour, cursing yourself for not bringing an umbrella. As if things couldn't get worse, your sprint to the bus stop where he promised to pick you up was interrupted when your heel chose that moment to snap. You yelped in pain, stumbling forward onto the wet ground, your belongings scattering everywhere. Crawling on the rough pavement to collect them, you finally stood up, only to feel a sharp throb in your ankle.

But it was supposed to be okay because seeing Hongjoong was sure to make everything better.

Ha, bitch you thought.

He left you panicking like a mad woman for hours, only to show up in the most infuriating way. When the 8pm bus finally rolled to a stop before you and the automated doors swooshed opened, you were busy dialling his number yet again.

"Come on, pick up pick up pick up—"

Wait a minute, is that...?

You did a double take when the very person you had been desperately trying to reach this whole time stepped off the bus with a sheepish smile, only for his expression to fall when he saw the miserable state you were in.

"Please throw your phone away if you have no intention of using it," you said flatly, walking past him and intentionally bumping his shoulder as you boarded the bus, no longer caring if he followed.

Of course, he did.

He cursed under his breath, noticing your limp, the heels in your hand, and your soaked, shivering form.

Settling into the last row of seats beside you, he quickly took off his jacket and wrapped it around you. You were too weak to fight back or refuse. His heart ached as he pulled you close, rubbing his hands up and down your arms to warm you up. Silently, you accepted it all. Not only were you too exhausted to reject his gestures, but you also felt you deserved this and more after what you had endured. When you were warm enough, he immediately checked on your now swollen and bruised ankle, careful not to hurt you. The concern in his eyes was enough to melt your heart, but he didn't need to know that.

Once he was done fussing over you, he leaned back in his seat, offering his shoulder. Stubbornly, you turned away and leaned your head against the window instead. Knowing you needed time to calm down, he kept quiet and let you be, but not without staying close. He needed you to know he was there for you.

When you sighed again, he could no longer take it. He felt the need to explain himself.

"I know you're mad, and you have every right to be," he began, his voice soft and sincere. "I messed up, and I'm so sorry. I got caught up in something I couldn't get out of, and I swear I was going to call you, but my phone died and the stupid car broke down. God, I'm such an idiot. I should have tried harder to reach you or get to you sooner."

Still, you said nothing, your silence more punishing than any words you could have spoken. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly at a loss.

"I love you," he whispered, almost to himself. "I just want to make things right."

For a moment, you softened, but the memory of the cold rain and the throbbing pain in your ankle kept your resolve firm. He had to understand the gravity of his actions.

Finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "You can't just show up and expect everything to be okay, Joong. You scared me. I thought something terrible had happened to you. And all the while, I was the one who was hurt and alone."

"I know," he said, his voice cracking. "And I'm so, so sorry, my darling. Please, give me a chance to make it up to you."

You turned to face him, meeting his eyes for the first time since he got on the bus. The sincerity and regret in his gaze were undeniable.

"One chance, Kim Hongjoong," you said firmly. "Don't mess it up."

He nodded, relief washing over his face. "I won't. I promise."

With that, you leaned back against the window, still not ready to forgive, but willing to see if he could truly make amends. And for the rest of the ride, he stayed close, his presence a silent vow that he would try his best to make things right.

As you slowly drifted to sleep, he guided your head to his shoulder, gently pressing his cheek against your forehead. Feeling your breath steady and the tension ease from your body, he allowed himself a small, relieved smile. He reached for your cold hands, stroking his fingers against your skin to warm you, finding it funny how he used to judge couples in public, but now that he had you, he realised he couldn't blame them—you were all that mattered.

The truth was, he had been late leaving work today, and to make matters worse, his car had broken down in the middle of heavy traffic. When he tried to call you, his phone had died. In desperation, he had caught the quickest bus he could find, but traffic had been relentless. He could have told you all of this, but he didn’t want to make excuses. He knew he should have done better.

Hongjoong glanced down at you, his heart aching with tenderness and guilt. He was still clumsy when it came to love, but for you, he would learn to be a better lover. Stroking your hair gently, he whispered, "I’m so sorry. I won't make you wait again. I promise to do better. I promise to always be there for you."

The bus ride continued in peaceful silence, the hum of the engine and the occasional jostle of the road the only sounds. He held you close, vowing silently to never let you down again. As the bus neared your stop, he adjusted his position, cupping your cheek softly and kissing your head, whispering, "We're here, darling."

You let out a small groan as your eyes fluttered open, unconsciously snuggling closer to his warmth and comfort as you tried to register your surroundings. If only you knew what your little actions did to his poor heart. Tightening his grip around you, he helped you up from your seat and carefully guided you out of the bus, ensuring you didn't put pressure on your injured ankle. The driver gave you a sympathetic nod as the two of you stepped off. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the night was calm.

As you walked the short distance to your shared apartment, you suddenly remembered what had happened and peeled his hands off you. You weren't necessarily cold to him but you still needed space to cool off. He gulped, his fear of losing you was apparent. "Please, you're hurt. Let me take care of you."

To be fair, he knew he deserved your reaction. You weren't upset merely because of what happened today; he believed this was you letting out all the frustration you had kept in for the entirety of your one-year relationship. And he knew now that if he wanted to keep you by his side, this was his sign to take things more seriously.

No more excuses.

You had been nothing but the best and most attentive girlfriend to him. So, what was stopping him from doing the same for you?

He knew you didn't want to be near him right now, but he also didn't have the heart to stay away. Offering his hand, he nodded toward it. "Come, let's go home."

Tired out of your mind, you swallowed your anger, deciding to save it for another time. For now, you needed him. You reached out with a pout, surprising him by holding onto his pointer finger. "Fine, let's go."

He chuckled, his heart bursting with affection at how cute you were. This was better than nothing. Walking slowly, he made sure you weren't hurting yourself, each step a reminder of his promise to himself and you.

As you entered your apartment, he helped you settle onto the couch, your injured ankle elevated and cushioned. He fetched a blanket and wrapped it around you, his eyes filled with concern. "I'll make us some tea," he said softly, heading to the kitchen.

While he prepared the tea, you watched him move with a newfound determination. You could see he was trying, truly trying, to be better for you. And that thought, more than anything, began to melt the icy wall you had momentarily built up in your heart.

He returned with two steaming mugs, setting them on the table before sitting beside you. He took your hand gently, his thumb rubbing circles on your skin. "I know I have a lot to make up for," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "But I promise, I will. You mean everything to me."

You looked into his eyes, seeing the honesty and love there. It was a start, and as you sipped your tea together, you felt a glimmer of hope that things could truly change.

Just as you finished your tea, you sighed and looked up at him, intending to get up and head to your room. But before you could move, he gently squeezed your hand and stood up. "Let me help you," he insisted, his voice gentle yet firm.

You hesitated, feeling torn between wanting to assert your independence and appreciating his newfound care. "I can manage," you insisted weakly.

"I know you can, darling," he replied softly, crouching beside you. "But let me take care of you this time, please."

His sincerity was palpable, and despite your initial resistance, you found yourself nodding. He carefully helped you to your feet, supporting your weight as you limped towards your room. Once inside, he waited patiently as you freshened up and changed into dry clothes, his presence a reassuring warmth in the quiet of the room.

As you emerged, feeling somewhat more composed, you glanced at him gratefully. "Thank you, Joong," you murmured, genuinely touched by his unexpected tenderness.

He smiled softly, his eyes reflecting relief and determination. "It's only my job as your boyfriend," he replied earnestly.

Returning to the living room, you settled back onto the couch together. The warmth of his tea and his presence beside you enveloped you in a sense of security and hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, things could indeed change for the better between you.

You couldn't deny his affections any longer, his pleading look was enough to melt you into his embrace. As he gently pulled the throw blanket snugly around you, drawing you closer, your heart fluttered. His actions conveyed a heartfelt apology, reminding you why you could never leave this man, no matter how tiring things became. At the end of the day, you both belonged to each other, despite his occasional clumsiness; your love remained steadfast.

Nuzzling against his neck, you breathed in his familiar scent. "How's the car? Have you contacted insurance?" you murmured, slipping effortlessly into the role of the attentive girlfriend he knew so well.

With a tender smile, he shook his head. "Don't worry about that. I'll take care of it. Take care of everything. Take care of you."

His words made your heart skip a beat, and you tightened your grip on his sweater. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Kim Hongjoong," you teased gently.

He reassured you with a squeeze of your shoulder. "I won't, my darling. Not anymore."

Looking up at your boyfriend, you could see the honesty in his eyes. You knew perfection wasn't guaranteed from this point onward, but you at least trusted that he would always give his best effort.

And that was what mattered most.

"If you say so," you whispered, your eyes closing as he leaned in to press his lips against yours. Hongjoong understood your doubts, but this was where he would begin to earn your trust.

From now on, he would do everything to be the lover you deserved. He would learn from his mistakes and grow, all for the sake of the person he loved most in the world.

I swear, this came out of nowhere lmfao. I was supposed to be working on Jongho's TWTHH spinoff but this happened. Tbf, this has been swirling in my mind for the past week at work because something similar happened to me. I was soaked in the rain and my heel did snap. The 3-hour wait was also a past experience of mine, except that douchebag was no Kim Hongjoong HAHA

Thank you for reading and I hope you lovelies enjoyed this random little oneshot. As always, let me know your thoughts! <3

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