#Command and control server

[recordworkzstudios]

How to Spot Instagram Social Engineering Scams

[digitalcreationsllc]

Researchers Sinkhole PlugX Malware Server With 2.5 Million Unique IPs

Researchers have sinkholed a command and control server for a variant of the PlugX malware and observed in six months more than 2.5 million connections from unique IP addresses.

[moongirlcleo]

Masquerade Rendezvous

❤︎  tags and content: masquerade ball, hidden identities, oral, rough sex, wall sex, ferality, f!reader, feral xavier ❤︎  author note: check out all my fics by searching #moongirlcleo or on AO3

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @cafekitsune Fic: @moongirlcleo  

The Hunter’s Association masquerade was meant for indulgence, for secrecy, for one night where masks and titles didn’t matter. But when you accept a dance from a man draped in white and gold going by Lumiere, you don’t realize what you’ve started. He’s magnetic, controlled, dangerous—leading you through waltzes, through whispered challenges, through a slow-burning game of tension that neither of you are willing to lose.

But when you whisper his name in the dark, the game ends. And Xavier? Xavier doesn’t like to lose.

The ballroom gleamed under the flickering glow of chandeliers, their golden light refracting against the cascading crystal strands that hung like frozen rain from the vaulted ceiling. The Hunter’s Association had spared no expense for tonight’s masquerade—gilded arches, velvet-draped tables, and an endless sea of masks concealing sharp eyes and sharper intentions.

The air was thick with the scent of spiced wine and warm candle wax, mingling with the distant notes of a string quartet that played something slow, something indulgent. A place built for spectacle, for indulgence, for the careful dance of pretense.

You had expected formality—stoic conversations over expensive champagne, the subtle weight of duty pressing into your spine as you navigated the political undercurrents beneath every greeting. But this… this felt different.

The Association’s best and brightest moved like ghosts through the room, their identities swallowed by the night’s elaborate disguises. Rich silks, dark brocades, the glint of gold threading through the sea of bodies. It was intoxicating in a way you hadn’t anticipated—the anonymity, the blurred lines between colleague and stranger, the way the night whispered promises of something reckless, something dangerous.

Your gown was regal, woven from deep midnight blue that shimmered with every step, the fitted bodice dipping scandalously low before spilling into layers of flowing silk. A crown—delicate but commanding—sat atop your masked visage, the final touch to your carefully curated disguise. A queen, untouchable.

Or so you thought.

Because then you saw him.

Across the room, dressed in the ridiculous, theatrical splendor of Lumière himself—white and gold embroidery cascading down his tailored coat, gloved hands moving with effortless grace as he accepted a glass of wine from a passing server. He was tall, poised, his silver hair falling in soft, deliberate waves over the high collar of his costume. The mask obscured his face, but the sharp line of his jaw, the composed stillness of his posture… something about him sent a shiver down your spine.

And when his gaze lifted—cool, assessing, burning even through the layers of decorum—you felt it. The inevitable pull.

The masquerade was meant for secrecy. For pretending.

The night spun around you in a blur of gilded masks and whispered laughter, the symphony swelling as bodies moved in perfect time. You had taken the hand of a stranger—a man whose name you hadn’t asked, whose face was obscured beneath a mask of silver filigree—and let him pull you into the slow, intoxicating rhythm of the waltz.

It was easy to get lost in the music, to let the careful choreography lull you into a false sense of security. Your partner’s grip was firm but not possessive, guiding you through each measured step as you swayed beneath the grand chandeliers.

Still, something felt… off.

Like the moment before a storm breaks, when the air thickens, charged with something unseen.

You felt it before you saw it—an unmistakable presence at the edge of your periphery, someone watching, waiting.

And then, just as your partner spun you in a graceful turn, your gaze lifted—straight into the piercing blue of a masked man dressed in white and gold.

Lumière.

He stood just beyond the reach of the dancers, one gloved hand resting lightly against the gilded railing, the other holding an untouched glass of wine. His presence was undeniable, though he hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken. He didn’t need to.

Something about the way he watched you—calculating, amused, intrigued—made the room feel smaller, the air warmer.

Your partner murmured something polite, something about how well you danced, but you barely heard him. Because Lumière had moved.

He placed his glass down with meticulous precision, then stepped forward, cutting through the swirling figures with effortless grace. His stride was slow, deliberate, like a man who already knew how this would end.

When he finally reached you, he didn’t look at your partner. Didn’t acknowledge him at all.

Instead, he extended a gloved hand toward you, tilting his head just slightly.

“May I have this dance?”

It wasn’t really a request.

Your partner hesitated, torn between politeness and the unshakable sense that he had already lost.

You inhaled, pulse thrumming against the delicate line of your throat. And then—without a word—you placed your hand in Lumière’s. His fingers curled around yours, warm even through the silk of his gloves.

The masquerade swallowed you both whole.

<hr>

Lumière pulled you into the dance with the kind of effortless confidence that suggested he’d done this before—many times. His grip was sure, guiding, not forceful, but leaving no doubt as to who was leading.

And yet, the moment your palm settled against his shoulder, the very moment your bodies aligned in the measured closeness of the waltz, something shifted.

The masquerade blurred.

Your world shrank to the point of contact, to the warmth seeping through his gloves, the slow, calculated press of his palm against your waist.

He moved like someone who had memorized the language of motion, each step a silent command, each turn a quiet conversation. He kept a respectful distance, but it didn’t matter—not when the air between you felt charged, thick with something neither of you had named yet.

“You dance well,” you murmured, voice low enough that only he could hear.

Lumière’s lips curled into something close to amusement. “You sound surprised.”

You tilted your head, gaze flicking over his mask, searching for something beneath the disguise. “I expected someone in a costume like yours to be a little less…” You trailed off, letting the thought hang between you like a thread waiting to be pulled.

His grip on your waist tightened, just slightly. “Less what?”

“Disciplined.”

The faintest chuckle—low, rich, indulgent. “I assure you, discipline has its benefits.”

Heat licked up your spine before you could stop it.

The waltz continued, but the dance was no longer just about the music. It was about the way his thumb skimmed the fabric of your gown in a barely-there stroke. The way his breath fanned against your temple when he dipped you, holding you suspended for just a second too long. The way your body responded, leaning into the moment before sense could catch up to instinct.

The first song ended and neither of you moved to step away.

The strings swelled again, and without a word, Lumière adjusted his grip, seamlessly carrying you into the next dance as if the thought of parting hadn’t even occurred to him.

You should have hesitated. Should have stepped back, should have broken the spell before it tightened its hold.

But you didn’t.

You let him keep you close, let the slow, deliberate motion of the dance unravel something inside you.

“You’re not asking my name,” you said after a moment, studying him from beneath the edge of your mask.

He hummed, thoughtful. “Would you give it to me if I did?”

A slow smile curved your lips. “Would you?”

Lumière’s head tilted just slightly, considering. “Names are dangerous things at a masquerade.”

“So is this,” you countered, shifting just a fraction closer, your bodies nearly brushing with every measured step.

The air between you crackled.

He exhaled, slow and controlled, as if keeping something at bay. Then, after a pause, he murmured, “Then perhaps we shouldn’t name it.”

The dance continued.

You had forgotten the world outside this moment, outside the way his fingers pressed against the small of your back with each turn, outside the almost imperceptible way his chest rose and fell just a little too sharply when you exhaled against his throat.

Two strangers in the dark, playing a game neither of you wanted to end.

But the music was winding down. And as the final note lingered in the air, a question hung between you—unspoken, heavy. Would you leave this dance behind? Or would you follow wherever it led?

Lumière’s hand slid from your waist. His fingers traced the edge of your wrist, featherlight, as if testing the weight of a decision.

<hr>

You weren’t prepared for the moment he let go.

The music had barely finished settling into silence when his fingers slipped from yours, the warmth of his touch evaporating as though it had never been there at all. No parting words, no lingering glance, no indication that the last two dances had meant anything beyond the rhythm of the waltz. With careful precision, he stepped away, retreating into the crowd with the kind of quiet grace that made it seem as though he had never existed in the first place.

The ballroom didn’t falter in his absence, didn’t still or quiet or even acknowledge that something—someone—had been lost to the sea of masked figures and gilded artifice. The string quartet continued, seamlessly weaving the next melody into the fabric of the night, and around you, dancers reassembled, switching partners, reforming lines, their conversations uninterrupted by the ghost of a man who had been there only moments before.

But you felt it. The absence of him. The space he had left behind.

Your hands, still curled slightly as if expecting to find the shape of his gloved fingers lingering in your palm, felt empty in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Your breath was uneven, your body still attuned to the careful way he had held you, the deliberate way his grip had tightened just slightly when you leaned too close, the way his voice had curled around you with quiet, unmistakable intent. Walk with me, he had said, as if the outcome of this night had already been decided.

And yet, he was gone.

Not in some dramatic, attention-drawing departure, but in the way a shadow dissolves beneath shifting light—there one moment, blurred the next, retreating into the edges of the world as though he had never truly been part of it at all.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That this had been nothing more than a dance, a fleeting moment of indulgence in a night designed for such things, that you had no reason to feel the slow, curling frustration creeping up your spine, no reason to scan the room as if searching for something you had no business searching for.

But no matter how many times you reminded yourself of these things, you couldn’t stop the way your pulse betrayed you.

It was ridiculous, really. You didn’t even know his name.

And yet, despite your best efforts, despite the way you forced your expression into something composed and unbothered, despite the way you accepted the next hand extended toward you with the same easy grace as before, you couldn’t stop your gaze from flickering back to where he had once stood.

You were a queen tonight, untouchable, regal, above the game of masks and fleeting glances.

And yet, for the briefest of moments, you had felt hunted.

The night moved on without him. Another song played, another glass of wine was placed in your hand, another masked figure leaned close with idle conversation you could barely register, and yet the sensation of searching for something just beyond your reach refused to loosen its grip.

You wouldn’t chase him. That much you knew.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t the only one searching.

Somewhere in the depths of the masquerade, obscured but not lost, the man in white and gold was still watching. Still waiting. Still allowing the tension to stretch and simmer, to settle just beneath your skin, to become something that would not fade so easily.

Because this was not over. Not yet.

The masquerade moved around you, swirling in gilded opulence, but the haze of music and conversation felt distant, dulled beneath the lingering pull of something unseen. You had let another dance slip through your fingers, had let another conversation pass without truly hearing it, had let another glass of wine be placed in your palm without tasting it. It was becoming absurd—this sensation, this restless hum beneath your skin, as though something had unsettled the very balance of the evening and left you reaching for something just out of sight.

You needed a moment. A breath. A distraction.

The refreshment table stood along the edge of the ballroom, a long, lavish spread of imported wines and crystalline glasses arranged beneath the warm glow of candlelight. It wasn’t the wine you truly wanted—wasn’t even the moment of respite you claimed to be seeking—but it was something tangible, something to occupy your hands and your mind while you exorcised the ghost of a man you had no business thinking about.

Your fingers trailed absently along the stem of an untouched glass as you approached, reaching for the deep, velvety red of something dark and rich, something that might chase away the warmth that had settled in your bones during that last dance.

And that’s when you felt it. Not a touch, but the weight of attention.

It was instant, visceral, the kind of awareness that struck without warning, creeping down your spine with a slow, deliberate certainty. You didn’t need to look to know—to feel—that someone was watching you. Not in the way one might steal a passing glance at an intriguing stranger, but in the way a hunter watches its prey, waiting, unhurried, assured in the knowledge that there would be no escape.

You lifted the glass, bringing it to your lips in a practiced motion, slow, unbothered, unwilling to betray the way your pulse had shifted into something uneven, something entirely too aware.

But curiosity had already won.

You turned your head just slightly, just enough to let your gaze flicker over the gathered tables along the ballroom’s edge, scanning past costumed figures and polite conversation, past the blur of faces you had no reason to linger on—

Until you found him seated at one of the smaller tables, half-shrouded in shadow but unmistakable beneath the flickering candlelight, was Lumière. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t so much as lifted his own glass in greeting. He was simply watching.

Elbow resting against the arm of his chair, fingers curled beneath his jaw in a position of casual, effortless ease, his mask concealing all but the sharp line of his jaw and the faintest curve of his lips. He didn’t beckon, didn’t tilt his head in invitation, didn’t offer any indication that he had been waiting for you—

But you knew. You could tell he had. And worse than that, worse than the realization that he had anticipated this moment, that he had known you would seek respite here, was the quiet, undeniable truth creeping into your chest.

You had been waiting for him, too.

You set your glass down with careful precision, the delicate clink of crystal against marble swallowed by the hum of conversation around you. He hadn’t looked away—not once—hadn’t so much as feigned the courtesy of glancing elsewhere, and that alone sent a slow, simmering warmth curling beneath your skin.

If he was waiting for you to pretend not to notice, he was about to be sorely disappointed.

“You’re staring,” you murmured, tilting your head just enough to let the light catch the edges of your mask, gold filigree gleaming beneath the chandelier’s glow. It wasn’t a question, wasn’t some breathless observation of a woman caught off guard—it was a challenge, a deliberate acknowledgment of the pull neither of you had chosen to ignore.

Lumière—if that was even his real name, which you doubted—didn’t startle, didn’t shift, didn’t so much as blink in feigned innocence. He only smiled, slow and knowing, as if pleased that you had finally decided to call him on it.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, as if that alone explained everything.

A lesser woman might have flushed at the shamelessness of it, at the way his voice dipped low, smooth as velvet and just as dangerous. But you were not a lesser woman. You only lifted your glass once more, taking a slow sip of wine before setting it down again, gaze steady.

“Many here are beautiful,” you pointed out, the edge of a smirk curling at your lips. “And yet, you’re still looking at me.”

He exhaled softly through his nose, a quiet sound of amusement, but he didn’t deny it. “I am.”

“Why?”

His fingers tapped idly against the table, a single measured beat, before his voice dipped just a little lower, the weight of his attention pressing against you in ways that had nothing to do with physical proximity.

“I enjoyed the way you danced.”

It was simple, almost benign, but the way he said it—slow, deliberate, the words rolling over his tongue with something bordering on indulgence—made it clear he wasn’t speaking only of waltzes and carefully choreographed steps.

A warmth settled in your chest, creeping downward, curling around your spine like something electric. You should have left it there, let the words hang, let him keep waiting, let the anticipation stretch just a little longer.

But you were feeling bold. You leaned forward slightly, resting your elbow against the table, fingers ghosting over the stem of your glass. Your voice, when it came, was soft but certain, each syllable laced with quiet intent.

“I can move in other ways.”

The flicker in his gaze was immediate—sharp and assessing, as if measuring the weight of what had just been offered, deciding whether to take the bait or let it drift.

He took it.

“I have no doubt,” he murmured, his head tilting just slightly, as if imagining it already, as if mapping the possibilities in the space between words.

The warmth beneath your skin deepened, pooling low, dangerous in the way a drawn bowstring thrummed with tension before release.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The ballroom spun on around you—music, laughter, the clinking of glasses—but it might as well have been another world entirely.

Lumière’s gaze flickered, something dark and unreadable shifting behind the polished ease of his expression, his fingers still idly tapping against the table in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. He was considering something, weighing it carefully, as though calculating the exact moment to strike.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he stood.

The movement was fluid, effortless, like everything he did, his gloved hand extending toward you with the same quiet command as before. There was no question of whether you would accept.

“Dance with me,” he murmured, the words barely louder than the hum of music behind him, but they sank into you like a whisper against bare skin.

Your fingers slid into his without hesitation, and the moment his grip tightened around yours, your fate was sealed.

He pulled you onto the floor with practiced ease, guiding you back into his arms as though you belonged there, as though every other dance before this had been nothing more than a rehearsal for this moment. The world narrowed once again, reduced to the slow, intoxicating rhythm of movement, of the subtle press of his palm against your back, the gloved fingers curling just slightly around yours as he led you through the sweeping turns.

This dance was different from the others.

Slower. Heavier.

Less about technique and more about the way your bodies moved together, the way the air between you felt charged, the way his fingertips traced the smallest of patterns against your spine with every step.

His breath was warm against your cheek, his lips so close to your skin that you swore you could feel the phantom press of them, the teasing suggestion of something withheld, something just out of reach.

“You make it difficult to look anywhere else,” he murmured, so quietly that only you could hear.

A slow, deliberate shiver worked its way down your spine, but you didn’t falter, didn’t hesitate in your response, tilting your head just enough to let your lips nearly brush the edge of his jaw.

“Then don’t.”

He exhaled, something low and pleased vibrating deep in his chest, and for a moment, just a moment, you swore he was going to kiss you right there, consequences be damned.

His hand at your back slid just a fraction lower, the hold just a fraction tighter, his head dipping just slightly as though drawn forward by something beyond reason, beyond choice, beyond even himself.

And then he stopped.

Close. So damn close that his lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm and steady, but he held there, lingering at the precipice, waiting.

For you. For permission. For a request, an invitation, a demand.

The space between you felt razor-thin, your pulse a betraying drumbeat against your ribs, the warmth of him sinking into your skin, unraveling you bit by bit until there was only one possible outcome.

“Take me somewhere else,” you whispered, the words slipping past your lips before you could think better of them, before you could remember why you shouldn’t.

Something flickered in his eyes—satisfaction, hunger, a silent finality—before his grip tightened ever so slightly.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t ask if you were sure. He simply took your hand, and without another word, led you away from the dance floor, away from the crowd, away from the golden light and into the shadows where no one could see.

<hr>

The world beyond the ballroom faded into insignificance the moment he led you past the grand arches and into the dimly lit corridors that stretched beyond the golden glow of the masquerade. The murmur of voices and music softened into a distant hum, swallowed by the quiet hush of the hallway, where the air was cooler, thicker, charged with something far heavier than the weight of candlelight and whispered laughter.

You had barely registered how far he had taken you before he moved.

In one fluid motion, he turned, pressing you back against the cool marble wall, his body closing in, surrounding you, his gloved hands bracketing either side of your waist. It wasn’t rushed—wasn’t careless or impatient—but deliberate, controlled, a slow, measured inevitability that made the anticipation coil low in your stomach, winding tighter with every second he held back.

And he was holding back.

You could see it in the way his jaw tensed, in the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly before settling at your hip, in the way his gaze flickered between your lips and your eyes as if committing every detail to memory.

For a man who had spent the evening watching you, who had danced with you like he already knew the shape of you, who had drawn you away from the crowd without hesitation—he was giving you a chance to stop this.

You weren’t going to take it.

With a slow inhale, you reached up, gliding your fingers along the edge of his mask, just enough to feel the warm skin beneath, to trace the sharp line of his jaw, to savor the way his breath hitched at the contact.

He made a sound—low, almost a growl—and then his restraint snapped.

His mouth was on yours before you had a chance to exhale, crushing, demanding, his body pressing flush against yours as if he needed to feel every inch of you against him. The warmth of him sank through the layers of fabric between you, the heat of his breath, the press of his chest, the firm grip of his hand tilting your chin just enough to deepen the kiss.

You melted into him, letting the urgency of his touch unravel you, your hands sliding beneath the lapels of his coat, fingers curling into the fine embroidery like you needed to anchor yourself before you lost all sense of where you were. He tasted of wine and something darker, something intoxicating, something that made your knees weaken just as his hand slid down your waist, pulling you closer, as though any remaining space between you was unacceptable.

He kissed you like he had been waiting all night.

And you kissed him like you had, too.

But even with the way his mouth claimed yours, even with the way his hands traced the curve of your body in slow, possessive strokes, even with the way your breaths tangled between desperate, heated kisses, you could feel it—the hard press of him against your thigh, undeniable, insistent, aching.

You smiled against his lips, a slow, wicked curve, and then—without breaking the kiss—you let your hands slide lower, skimming over the smooth brocade of his coat, down to his belt, down to where he was already straining against the confines of his clothing.

He sucked in a sharp breath, breaking away just enough to meet your gaze, his pupils blown wide behind the mask, his lips parted, his body tense beneath your touch.

“Careful,” he warned, voice low, rough, frayed at the edges of restraint.

But you only smirked, sinking slowly—deliberately—lower, your hands already working at the fastenings of his belt.

“I thought you liked the way I moved,” you murmured, looking up at him through the dark lace of your mask, watching the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers curled against the marble, the way his chest rose and fell in a sharp, uneven rhythm.

His jaw clenched, breath shuddering. “You’re going to—”

“Shh,” you soothed, pressing a kiss just below his navel as you freed him from the constraints of his costume, reveling in the way his muscles tensed beneath your hands, in the way he exhaled sharply, already fighting to keep himself steady.

The moment your lips ghosted over his skin, just beneath the fine embroidery of his coat, you felt the sharp intake of his breath, the way his fingers curled against the marble like he was already struggling to hold himself together.

Good.

He had spent the entire night watching you, guiding you, leading you into the palm of his hand with deliberate ease. Now, it was your turn to unravel him.

You sank lower, letting your nails trail over his hips, feeling the slow, delicious weight of his cock press against your palm, thick and hot and already aching. A sharp exhale escaped him, his head tilting back just slightly, exposing the taut line of his throat, the barely-there tremor in his breath.

You couldn’t stop the satisfied hum that curled in your throat, reveling in the way he twitched beneath your fingers, in the way his entire body coiled with restraint, in the way he was trying—desperately—to stay composed when you could already feel him slipping.

“I thought you were disciplined,” you murmured, tracing your tongue along the groove of his hipbone before pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to his skin, your breath fanning warm against him.

His hand moved before he could stop it, fingers tangling into your hair, not forcing, not guiding—just holding you there, like he needed something to keep him grounded. “Don’t test me.”

But that was exactly what you planned to do.

You glanced up at him, taking in the sharp set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way his chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths that weren’t nearly as steady as he wanted them to be. He was barely holding on, teetering on the edge of something dangerous, and you wanted to push him over.

So you did.

Your lips brushed the head of his cock first, featherlight, just enough to make him suck in another breath, his fingers tightening in your hair. Then, without hesitation, you parted your lips and took him into the heat of your mouth, slow, deliberate, savoring the way his entire body shuddered the second he felt the wet, silken glide of your tongue.

“Fuck.” His voice was low, wrecked, a single, bitten-off curse that made arousal pool between your thighs, made you press your own legs together as you hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper, letting him feel the slick drag, the deliberate tease of your tongue along the underside.

His control was slipping. You could feel it.

The way his hips jerked ever so slightly, as if fighting the urge to thrust deeper. The way his breath came shorter, uneven. The way his fingers flexed in your hair, torn between keeping himself steady and ruining you.

But you weren’t done with him yet.

You pulled back, slow and teasing, letting your lips drag against him before flicking your tongue over the head in a light, taunting stroke. His breath hitched, his grip tightening, his head tipping forward as if he couldn’t believe you had the audacity to tease him like this.

“You’re shaking,” you mused, voice sweet, lips brushing against him as you spoke.

His jaw clenched. “I swear—”

But whatever he was about to say cut off with a sharp inhale as you took him into your mouth again, this time deeper, your fingers tightening around his base as you let the slick heat of your throat pull him in.

That was it. That was the moment he broke. A low, guttural sound tore from his throat, his fingers curling hard in your hair, his hips pressing forward before he jerked himself back, as if forcing himself to stop, to regain control before he lost himself entirely. But it was already too late.

His free hand shot down, grabbing your arm, pulling you up before you could blink, before you could gloat—before you could even breathe.

His mouth was on yours in an instant, devouring, punishing, kissing you like he needed to claim you, like he had to remind you exactly who had been in control this entire night. His grip was tight, possessive, dragging you against him, letting you feel the heat, the frustration, the barely-contained desperation rolling off of him in waves.

Then, suddenly— 

He was shoving himself back into his pants and pulling you with him, backing you toward the nearest door, his steps quick, determined, his breath still ragged against your lips. You barely had time to register the cool wood against your back before he reached for the handle, shoving the door open, and pulling you inside.

The door slammed shut behind you. And now you were really alone trapped in the dark with the man you had just broken.

The second the door slammed shut, you barely had time to catch your breath before he was on you.

No more restraint. No more careful control. No more of the measured, deliberate touches he had kept himself confined to all night.

He snapped.

His mouth crashed against yours in something closer to a claim than a kiss, his hands already gripping, taking, roaming with a desperation that sent a fresh wave of heat rolling through you. His fingers dug into your hips, pinning you against the door as if he could brand himself into your skin, as if he needed to feel every inch of you beneath his hands before his mind fully unraveled.

And oh, was it unraveling.

Gone was the composed, mysterious stranger from the ballroom. Gone was the poised man who had watched you with quiet amusement from across the dance floor. In his place was something raw, something feral, something that had been straining against its leash all night and had finally been set loose.

"This is what you wanted, isn’t it?" His voice was low, wrecked, barely more than a growl against your lips, his breath hot and uneven as his hands yanked at the fabric of your gown, fingers curling in the delicate silk as if he had half a mind to tear it straight from your body.

You didn’t answer—couldn’t—because the moment your lips parted, his teeth grazed your jaw, his mouth dragging down the column of your throat, open-mouthed, hungry, sucking a deep, bruising mark against your skin that sent a sharp pulse of arousal straight to your core.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice rough, his grip tightening as he rolled his hips against you, letting you feel exactly how hard he still was, how much your little game had ruined him. "Tell me this is what you wanted."

"Yes," you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, your head already spinning from the sheer heat of him, from the way he pressed against you, overwhelming and all-consuming. "Yes—fuck, yes—"

That was all he needed.

His fingers ripped at the ties of your gown, pushing the fabric down over your shoulders, shoving it past your hips until it pooled at your feet in a shimmering heap, leaving you bare beneath him. His breath caught for a fraction of a second, like the sight of you had knocked the air from his lungs.

He spun you before you could process it, shoving you up against the door, your palms slamming against the wood, your body arching instinctively at the feel of his chest pressing flush against your back.

"Stay right there," he rasped, his hand sliding up your spine, fingers curling into the back of your neck, holding you in place, his lips grazing your ear, voice dark and dripping with satisfaction. "You want to tease me? Make me wait? Drag me to the edge just to watch me fall?" His teeth scraped against your throat, his hips grinding against you in a slow, devastating roll that had you whimpering. "Fine. Now it's your turn."

You barely had time to draw in a breath before his hand slid down, between your thighs, fingers pressing against your slick heat with a teasing, infuriating laziness.

"Fuck," he exhaled, voice wrecked, his forehead dropping to your shoulder for a half-second as he felt how wet you were, how ready you were for him, how your body had been waiting for this just as much as his had.

You squirmed, pushing back against him, needing more, but he just laughed—low—before pulling his fingers away just as quickly as he had touched you.

"You don’t get to be impatient now, sweetheart," he murmured, dragging his mouth down your shoulder, sucking another bruise into your skin as his free hand pinned you against the door. "You started this."

Your hands curled into fists against the wood, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as he toyed with you, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles against your inner thigh, everywhere but where you needed him most.

"Please," you gasped, arching back against him, begging, not even caring how desperate you sounded, not caring that he wanted you like this, that he was relishing the way you were starting to unravel beneath him.

"Please what?" His voice was taunting, amusement curling at the edges of it, but there was a strain beneath it, a barely-leashed hunger that told you he wasn’t far from breaking either. "Use your words, sweetheart."

You whined, pressing back against him, hips rolling, your body aching for relief. "Please, Xavier—"

He froze. For the first time since he had touched you, he stilled. A sharp inhale. A beat of silence.

"What did you just say?"

Shit.

Your heart stumbled, your entire body going rigid, your mind catching up far too late to the name that had just slipped past your lips.

Xavier.

Not Lumière.

Not some stranger.

Xavier.

As if confirming the horrifying, thrilling, devastating realization, his fingers tightened around your throat, just enough to make you shiver, just enough to make sure you were listening.

He leaned in, his breath hot against the shell of your ear, his voice impossibly dark, impossibly wrecked.

"You knew?"

It wasn’t an accusation. It was a demand. A command for the truth.

Your breath hitched, your pulse hammering beneath his grip. "No," you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper, the confession slipping past your lips before you could stop it. "Not until just now."

Another sharp inhale. Another beat of silence. Until– he laughed. Low. Dark. Dangerous.

And before you could react, before you could say anything else, before you could process the fact that the man wrecking you against this door was the same one you had fought beside, worked beside, known—

His grip yanked you back, spun you around, and his mouth was crushing against yours, claiming you, owning you, ruining you.

"You should have never said my name," he growled against your lips, voice wrecked, threaded with something almost feral, something that sent a violent shudder racing down your spine. "Now you don’t get to fucking breathe without saying it again."

Gone was the teasing, the slow, measured strokes of a man savoring his victory. Now, there was nothing but hunger—nothing but the sharp, desperate edge of need as he wrenched you away from the door, his grip punishing as he walked you back, step by step, until the backs of your thighs hit the nearest surface, a heavy wooden table that groaned under the sudden force of your body being shoved against it.

Your gasp barely had time to escape before he crushed his mouth against yours, consuming you, devouring you, his hands already shoving at what little remained of the delicate fabric clinging to your skin.

"Xavier—"

The sound of his name against your tongue made him snarl, his fingers tightening at your hips, bruising in their grip, claiming, because now he knew, now there was no veil, no mask, no carefully curated illusion between you.

It was you. It was him.

And he was about to make sure you never forgot that.

Your thighs barely had time to part before he was between them, hands gripping the backs of your knees, spreading you wide as he dragged you closer, the blunt heat of his cock pressing right against your dripping cunt, teasing, taunting, not yet pushing in, but making sure you felt it, making sure you ached for it.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice low, guttural, his lips brushing against your jaw as he throbbed against you, as he let you feel just how hard he was, just how fucking wrecked you had made him.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat, your breath coming sharp, uneven, a desperate, pleading sound slipping past your lips as you rocked against him, needing him to move.

"Xavier," you gasped, a plea, a prayer, a surrender.

His grip tightened.

"Again."

"Xavier—"

The word had barely left your mouth before he thrust, burying himself inside you in one brutal, devastating stroke that tore the breath from your lungs, that sent white-hot pleasure lancing through every nerve, that had your fingers clawing at his back as you choked on a scream.

"Fucking louder," he snarled, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear, his hands gripping your thighs harder, spreading you wider, holding you open for him as he pulled back only to slam into you again, dragging another wrecked, gasping Xavier from your lips.

He was relentless, driving into you with a force that sent the table beneath you creaking, the sound of skin against skin, ragged breaths, and his name filling the empty space of the room.

"You wanted this," he growled, his hand sliding up your body, fingers curling around your throat, tilting your head back so he could watch you, so he could see every inch of your face twisted in pleasure. "Wanted to fucking ruin me, didn't you?"

"Yes—fuck, yes—"

His grip tightened, his hips snapping forward, hitting deep, pulling another helpless, trembling "Xavier—" from your throat, and his eyes darkened, something dangerously satisfied flashing behind them.

"That’s fucking right," he rasped, pounding into you now, his rhythm raw, desperate, claiming. "Scream it for me. Let the whole fucking masquerade know who's fucking you."

Your nails scraped down his back, your body arching, every nerve singing, every inch of you burning, stretched and full as he drove you higher, pushed you closer, forced you right to the edge—

Unitl he took you over.

Your orgasm slammed into you, a sharp, violent wave that shattered through every inch of your body, a sobbing "Xavier—" tearing from your lips as your walls fluttered around him, gripping him like a vice, pulling him deeper, harder, making him swear beneath his breath as he chased his own undoing. And then, with a sharp, guttural groan, he broke, his body tensing as he buried himself to the hilt, spilling into you in sharp, jerking thrusts, his name still trembling on your lips, wrecked and ruined in the only way it ever should be. For long moments, neither of you moved, bodies tangled, chests heaving, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged and hot against your lips.

Then—slowly, still buried deep inside you—Xavier laughed. Low. Hoarse. Dark with satisfaction.

"Fuck," he rasped, pressing his lips against your throat, letting his teeth graze over the bruises he had left behind, his grip still firm at your waist. "What the fuck have we done?"

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers threading into his hair, still barely capable of thought, still feeling wrecked in the best possible way. You hummed, a slow, satisfied sound curling at the edge of your lips as you tugged him closer, dragging your nails down his scalp.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

The only sounds in the dimly lit room were the heavy cadence of your breaths, the distant murmur of music still filtering in from the ballroom, and the slow, satisfied hum you let slip as you lazily dragged your nails through Xavier’s silver hair.

His head was still tucked against your shoulder, his body pressed warm and heavy against yours, his arms bracketing your waist as though letting go simply wasn’t an option yet.

"Fuck," he muttered, voice rough, hoarse, still thick with satisfaction as he nuzzled against the curve of your neck. "Fuck."

You laughed softly, still feeling wrecked in the best possible way, still feeling the delicious ache of him deep inside you, the remnants of your pleasure humming through every inch of your skin.

"That bad?" you teased, tilting your head just enough to brush your lips against his temple, the small gesture almost tender despite the absolute destruction he had just delivered.

Xavier let out a low, wrecked groan, his grip tightening around your hips like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull you closer or start all over again.

"That good," he corrected, his voice still raw, still utterly ruined, still settling into something dangerously satisfied.

You smirked, shifting slightly, reveling in the sharp inhale he took as you clenched around him, still warm, still full, still soaked in the mess you had made of each other.

"So," you murmured, pressing your hands against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms. "Ready for round two?"

Xavier froze. You saw it—the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers twitched, the way his entire body tensed like a man seconds away from losing whatever shreds of restraint he had managed to claw back in the past minute.

"No," he said, voice strained, like he hated the word even as he forced it past his lips.

You blinked. "No?"

His hands tightened on your waist, his head dropping forward as he exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was physically trying to regain control.

"Not here," he ground out, his voice dipping into something dangerously low, something threaded with something almost pained. "Not in a fucking supply closet—"

Your laugh bubbled out before you could stop it, the sheer absurdity of the situation hitting you all at once.

You had just been wrecked—utterly ruined—against an old wooden table in what was, apparently, a supply closet, at a masquerade ball hosted by the Hunter’s Association, by a man who, until tonight, had been nothing more than your coworker.

And now, now, he was drawing a line?

"Xavier," you wheezed, gripping his shoulders as you shook with laughter, "now you have standards?"

His hands flexed against your skin, his jaw clenching so tight you thought he might crack a tooth. "I have always had standards," he muttered, offended, but his voice hitched slightly when you shifted against him again, clearly testing just how strong those standards were.

You grinned. "Uh-huh."

Xavier growled, a low, warning sound that made your stomach flip, but when he lifted his head, his eyes were heated, his pupils still blown wide behind the faint glint of his mask.

"You want round two?" he murmured, his fingers trailing slow, dangerous circles along the dip of your waist, his voice dropping to something just above a purr. "Then I’m taking you back to my place, where I can actually—"

He cut himself off, his nostrils flaring slightly, his gaze dragging over your thoroughly ruined form before his fingers dug into your skin, his restraint visibly fraying at the edges again.

You arched a brow, waiting, breath catching slightly as his gaze lingered on your lips, then dipped lower, like he was already imagining what he was going to do to you when he got you alone again.

"Where you can actually what, Xavier?" you teased, voice sweet, but your smile was anything but.

His grip tightened as he stepped back. You immediately whined, your body protesting the loss of his warmth, of his weight, of the way he had fit so perfectly against you.

"Xavier," you complained, trying to tug him back, but he only grinned, still utterly wrecked but determined, the sharp glint in his eyes promising ruin if you so much as challenged him right now.

"Get dressed," he ordered, buttoning his coat, exhaling through his nose like he needed to physically force himself to look presentable again. "Before I change my mind and fuck you here again."

Heat flooded your body all over again.

You huffed, shifting your sore limbs, bending to reach for the crumpled mess of your gown—only to realize, with some degree of horror, that the delicate ties and fragile silk were completely shredded, torn apart by the very same hands that were now adjusting the cuffs of his elegant sleeves like he hadn’t just ruined your entire evening ensemble.

You turned, glaring. "Seriously?"

He barely glanced at you, completely unbothered, straightening his collar with a satisfied, lazy smirk.

"Looks like you’re stuck in my clothes," he mused, already peeling off his coat, tossing it over your shoulders before pulling you flush against him one more time, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, low and smug,

"Let’s go home, y/n."

[mister0ctopus]

Server Room (1)

series - jeon jungkook

Pairings: IT!JK x Reader

Summary:  Your new IT guy is quiet and shy. But when you accidentally caught him doing something in the server room, while moaning your name, you just had to pretend you didn’t see that, right?

Ratings: 18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: Explicit language, Mature Contents

Au/Genre: Smut (X), Office au, Mini Series

Word Count: 1.5K

Note: I wanted to write more, seems like this is my hyperfocus rn, but I’m sick, you guys. I skipped our company’s year-end party tn, so here I am typing with snot, lol. Hope you enjoy this, please let me know what you think! More to come. 😊

🐙 Masterlist / AskMeeeeee!!!

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

The office floor buzzes with the noise of chatter and the clicking of keyboards. Four more hours to go, and you’re free from this torture. Work has been exhausting lately, with everyone scrambling to finish everything before year-end.

You’ve been typing furiously, finishing a report you need to present tomorrow, but when you hit the Enter key, nothing happens…

And as if the world is playing tricks on you, your screen turns blue…

Enter. Esc. asoyjebcvbcjkv.

No! No no no!

You stare at it in disbelief. You worked so hard on this report—there’s no way it didn’t save, right???

You suddenly stand up and rush to one of your friends at work, and your go-to guy in IT, Yoongi.

You open the door to the IT department and let out an exaggerated sigh before plopping down next to Yoongi’s desk. He’s wearing huge headphones and tinkering with a motherboard.

“I need your magical powers right now. You can retrieve my report after this thing died on me, right?” you say, shoving your laptop toward him.

Yoongi looks up at you, eyes wide in surprise.

“Oh… you’re not Yoongi.”

“Oh—uhm…” not-Yoongi stammers, quickly pulling off his headphones, clearly startled by your sudden appearance.

Big, round eyes stare at you for a moment, like a deer in headlights.

After a few seconds, you stand up, gently pulling your laptop away from his face.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were Yoongi. Is he—”

“He’s not here. He’s on PTO for a week. The rest of the team went to check the new equipment coming in. Uh— I’m new here,” he says, almost too quickly, before gulping nervously. “I started last week…” His words trail off abruptly, as if realizing he’s said too much.

“Oh! Right. I forgot about his PTO. Vacation. Yeah. Uhm…” You laugh at yourself, realizing you completely forgot about Yoongi’s vacation. He’s going fishing and camping with Jin, his brother, and wow, that actually sounds amazing. You really need a vacation too, but goddamn it, the report, YN! You really need that report!

“Yes. Report. I really really need your help. I’m YN btw, and you’re…?”

“Jungkook,” he says in a breathy voice.

“Right. Hi, Jungkook. I didn’t realize there was a new guy in IT. So, listen... my laptop just died, and I really need your help retrieving a report I’ve been working on for days. I’d be so grateful... please?” you smiled sweetly as you subtly leaned in, because lord, you’re desperate and running out of time.

He nods quietly and places your laptop on his desk. He inspects the device and types a few keys. After a few seconds, still without looking at you, he says, “I need to run some tests. It may take a while…”

“How long exactly?” You nervously bite your lip. There’s no way this report can’t be retrieved. You have no backup, obviously relying on the laptop to save everything.

“Maybe... tomorrow? I—I’ll try to fix it,” Jungkook stammers, his cheeks slightly pink as he types a few commands.

“No!” You cut him off a little too quickly, then softened your tone to control the panic rising in your chest. “I have a presentation first thing tomorrow, and I need it today. Tonight, at the latest.”

He still doesn’t look at you, focusing on the device.

“I’ll try my best. You can come back later before you go home.” That’s all he says before turning his chair away from you.

You were about to further insist on the urgency of this matter, but you don’t want to push him more. You’re at the mercy of this guy, and he’s the only one who can help you right now.

You nod, trying to keep your frustration in check. "Okay, I’ll be back before 5 pm." you say, giving him a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Jungkook. I appreciate it.”

He simply nods back, still not making eye contact as he focuses on the device.

You leave the IT department, your mind racing as you think about how to explain to your boss if the report can’t be recovered.

4:07pm

You glanced at the clock for the eleventh time since leaving the IT room, your anxiety growing with each passing minute. You couldn’t wait any longer to find out if the laptop was fixed, so you decided to head back to the IT room, only to find it empty.

“Jungkook?” you call softly.

The room is small, with only four desks, so it’s easy to tell that no one is there—no one except for you.

You turn to leave when your eyes catch another door with a sign that reads “Server Room.”

Jungkook must be in there, so you approach the door and push it open. But just as soon as you step inside, you hear angry grunts and heavy breathing, as if someone is straining.

A sense of panic rushes over you, as though you’re not supposed to be here—should you be here?

You freeze, unsure of what to do next, but then you notice movement behind one of the racks directly in front of you. Colorful inked hand moves erratically, tugging at something angrily.

Up, down, forward, backward...

You hear the grunts shift into groans, and the heavy breathing turns into soft whines.

You hear slick, wet sounds and the pounding of your own heart. You know you’re not supposed to be looking, yet you can’t tear your eyes away.

Your eyes shift from his busy hands to his strained face, where you notice Jungkook biting his lip to stifle more sound from eliciting, his lip ring catching the light on his every movement, and you feel wetness soil you in your center, so you press your thighs together to try and soothe it.

You close your eyes because god why is this so wrong, and so fucking hot?

And you clench your cunt around nothing as you hear him call your name in the most strained voice, almost sounding like a plea.

“Fuck… YN, oh god of god oh goddd!” he whined, movements quicker now.

Your face goes numb with shock from the vulgarity, and you struggle to steady your breath as you quietly storm out of the server room, praying he didn’t notice you at all.

You hurriedly walk back to your desk, a wave of shame washing over you for what you saw and what you're feeling, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and need.

You fix your already neat hair, hoping no one notices the chaos you're feeling, but what you don’t realize is that Jungkook saw you leave the room, and that made him cum harder as he imagined his firm hands being your soft and wet hole instead.  

Still shaken from the incident, you finally gather yourself at exactly 5 PM and make your way back to the IT room. Desperation fuels your steps—there’s no way you can let what you saw, and the way it made you feel, stop you from retrieving your laptop.

As you step inside the room, expecting a dismissive Jungkook to greet you, you instead collide with something solid—a chest.

Jungkook’s chest.

Visuals of him from a few minutes ago flash through your mind, and you let out a small gasp. He is smirking, but his expression remains unreadable—a stark contrast to the shy and aloof Jungkook you had initially met.

"I fixed it. Your data is all there. I also made sure you're logged into the reporting CRM, so your presentation pulls real-time data via API. Basically—you have a backup," he said matter-of-factly, his tone professional—but his eyes are anything but.

He handed you the device, and you hesitantly took it, still processing everything.

With a sigh of relief, you offered him a sweet smile, your voice soft as you thanked him. "Thank you, Jungkook. You saved my life. I owe you," you murmured, though your mind was still racing, unable to shake the earlier scene.

 He nodded and remained quiet, simply watching you with a sly grin on his lips, his expression still unreadable.

The tension was unbearable. Unable to take it any longer, you quickly mumbled another "thanks" and made your exit.

When you finally reached home, exhaustion settled in, but relief quickly followed. You’d been running on adrenaline all day, but now that it was done, you could finally breathe. The changes Jungkook made were a game-changer—it fed you real-time data seamlessly, saving you hours of work.

After adding the final touches to your presentation for tomorrow, you got ready for bed. You couldn’t help but feel a mix of gratitude and awe as you closed your laptop for the night.

But your mind betrayed you—thoughts of Jungkook still lingered in your brain, refusing to let you rest.

His tattooed arm around his hardness…

The way his chest heaves…

The way he was beating his dick for you…

The way he sounded, his groans, his moans…

How the slick and wet noise filled the air…

How he looked so angry biting his lips, brows furrowed in frustration…

His dark hair stuck to his damp forehead…

The lip piercing that you were sure would feel cold against your warm folds…

You touch yourself with desperate need, pumping two fingers inside as your other hand circles your clit.

You yell his name over and over, as you buck your hips, feeling your release drench you further. Then you drift into slumber in soiled underwear and a sweet sweet smile, knowing you’ll see him again tomorrow.

[nina-ya]

Synopsis: You are wrapped up for Law and he can't help himself. Pairing: Law x afab reader CW: SMUT MINORS DNI, use of 'good girl' twice, bondage, vision loss, overstimulation, Law is a cocky bastard, fingering, p in v sex, creampie • ficmas masterlist • ko-fi • discord server •

The world was reduced to darkness, your vision swallowed by the silken ribbon tied snugly over your eyes. Robbed of sight, every other sense seemed to come alive, leaving you hyper-aware of the faintest shift in the air and the quietest of sounds that punctuate the room. That same material that stole your sight crisscrossed against your chest, wrapped once, twice, thrice around your abdomen, and looped around your wrists, locking them behind you in a snug bind that left you helplessly exposed.

Your breaths came unsteady, each inhale shallow and tremulous as you strained to decipher his movements in the silence. The air itself was thick with a suffocating tension, and even without seeing, you could feel his presence nearby just barely out of reach, waiting and waiting.

“Relax,” Law’s voice finally cut through the stillness. The sound of it hit you like a physical force, rippling from head to toe before settling in your lower belly. 

Your lips parted to respond, but the words tangled on your tongue, dissolving into a shaky exhale. He didn’t touch you right away, oh no, he made you wait, letting you marinate in your own breathless vulnerability.

When his fingers finally skimmed the bare skin of your shoulder, you jerked, a soft gasp falling from your lips. The touch was so light it might’ve been a figment of your imagination if not for the trail of warmth left in its wake. 

“So sensitive like this,” he murmured, a hint of amusement curling in his words. His fingertips danced over your skin, trailing up the side of your neck until two fingers pressed against your carotid, feeling the rapid thump thump thump under your skin. “Good. That’s exactly what I want.”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, unconsciously tilting your head towards his touch, chasing the heat of him. But before you could indulge, he moved again. The soft creak of the floorboards was the only clue to his whereabouts. He circled you like a predator savoring the moment before the pounce, his commanding presence palpable even in the emptiness. 

When his hands returned to your shoulders, you jumped again, a startled gasp escaping you once more. His palms pressed firmly into the tense muscles there, kneading as he leaned in close. 

“You’re holding your breath,” he noted softly, his voice dropping into a husky whisper. “Don't. Breathe for me.”

A trembling sigh slipped past your lips as your body obeyed his command, though it was difficult when every nerve in your body was on high alert. His hands slid down, tracing the curve of your arms until they reached your bound wrists. He tugged the ribbon there to remind you of its presence, and you swear you could see the smug smirk plastered on his face despite the lack of sight.

“Law,” you finally whispered, your voice cracking slightly. The sound of your own voice startled you in the quiet room. You weren’t sure what you were asking for– clarity, reassurance, mercy, or simply for his touch again. 

The silk ribbon bit into your skin as Law hauled you up from the chair. Each subtle pulse of your heartbeat throbbed against the bindings, a constant reminder of your helplessness. You stumbled slightly as he led you forward until the edge of the bed pressed against the front of your thighs. The surface was soft and inviting, but his hands on your hips were the opposite- rough and controlling, coaxing you forward until your body was bent over the surface.

When he touched you again, it was maddeningly slow, the faintest of graze of his fingertips gliding down your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps. The teasing path sent a shiver straight through you, his touch tracing down the curve of your back until it reached the swell of your ass. He kneaded the plush flesh, his movements languid and unhurried as he savored the sight in front of him.

But then his hand slid lower, trailing to the place you craved him most. The first press of his fingers was light, barely pressing the slick heat of your core, and the restraint of his touch was devastating. Your thighs trembled, a sharp whine escaping your lips as you strained against the silken binds, desperate for more.

“You’re soaked already,” he murmured, the words dark and drenched in skin. He dragged his fingers through the wetness with an almost mocking gentleness, fanning the flames of the growing ache within you.

A gasp tore from you as you bucked your hips back, chasing his touch. He chuckled at your feeble attempt. “Impatient,” he said, the word dripping with amusement. But he obliged, whether out of cruelty or kindness, you couldn’t be sure. 

Two fingers slipped into you without warning, the sudden stretch stealing your breath. Your walls fluttered around him as he withdrew only to thrust back in as he worked you open. He curled then inside you, angling until he had you shattering under his touch, stars bursting behind your eyes as you arched into his touch.

Your bound wrists trembled against the small of your back, useless in their constraints. A litany of gasps and shuddering breaths spilling from your lips. Maybe you subconsciously held back so you could hear the world beyond the ribbon that stole your sight. Or maybe you just weren’t in a vocal mood at the moment. Whatever the reason was, Law wasn’t pleased with it.

“You’re holding back,” Law chided, voice sharp enough to cut through the haze of your pleasure. “That won’t do.”

The ribbon at your wrists was pulled taut as he yanked you upright, your legs giving out beneath you as he hauled you flush against his chest. His breath was hot against your ear as you felt his hand reach around your front, using his arm to hold you up as his hand found your chin, gripping your jaw firmly. “Let me hear you,” he ordered, his voice low. 

The fingers that were knuckle deep inside of you continued to coax you closer and closer to the edge. Your resolve shattered as a low, needy moan spilled from your lips, followed by a wail as he curled his fingers just so, hitting that one spot inside of you with devastating accuracy. 

“That’s better,” he growled against your ear, his voice rough with satisfaction. “I want to hear every little sound.”

His fingers continued to hit that spot over and over and over again, your body tensing and the pleasure in your core coiling tighter and tighter by the second. And then you broke, a cry ripping from your throat as that coil finally snapped, your release washing over you as your walls fluttered around his fingers. A string of pleads, curses, and cries of his name fell from your lips, each sound dripping with raw, unrestrained desire. The high left you trembling, your limbs slack and useless as your chest heaved with shallow breaths. And before the intensity had fully faded, he withdrew, leaving a sudden emptiness that only he could fulfill.

The hand wrapped around your front released your chin and slid down to your chest as it continued to hold you upright against the bed's edge. You barely had a moment to recover before the fingers that were once inside of you pressed against your parted lips, slipping easily between them. 

“Go on,” he murmured, his voice molten, “Taste yourself.”

Obedience came naturally and your tongue swirled around his inked digits, savoring the slick digits. The wet, intimate taste of yourself had a strange, intoxicating effect on you, and it only deepened the ache pooling low in your stomach. 

“Good girl,” Law rasped, his voice rough with satisfaction. Slowly, he slid his fingers free, the spit-covered digits gleaming as he held them up briefly before wiping them on your inner thigh.

Before you could catch your breath, you felt the shift of his body, his chest brushing against yours as he adjusted himself between your trembling legs. His hand released your chest in favor of holding your hip, causing you to fall forward and meet the bed once again. The blunt, swollen head of his cock pressed against your entrance, and you let out a broken whimper. You squirmed as he barely nudged into your spent hole, a maddening pressure that made your body tighten in response. He barely entered, just the tip, yet it was enough to make you burn. 

The chuckle Law let out was almost taunting as he watched you writhe beneath him. “Sensitive, are we?” he purred, one hand gripping you in place while the other snaked around your front, finding your swollen clit with infuriating accuracy. The teasing circles sent a violent shudder through you, ripping a cry from you as you lunged forward, your overstimulated nerves screaming for mercy.

“Please,” you choked out, your voice a trembling whisper as you squirmed beneath him, desperate and undone. 

But Law wasn’t having it. In one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back, his hand moving to hold you down against the mattress. You yelped at the sudden shift, your heart racing and your body entirely exposed to him. 

You heard Law fumble around for a moment, grumbling something you couldn't quite make out. Then, you felt the ribbon around your head loosen, the blindfold slipping away. Light flooded your vision, and you blinked, adjusting to the sudden clarity. 

And there he was. Law’s bare form hovered over you, his tattooed body a masterpiece of sharp lines and ink. His cock stood proud, the flushed tip glistening, the sight alone enough to leave you breathless.

He held the ribbon in his hands and without a word, he brought it to his mouth, his teeth tearing through the fabric with ease. The action was primal and it made your clit throb with a renewed want.

The torn ribbon was repurposed with cruel efficiency, binding your ankles to the bedposts. He wrapped the silk tight enough to keep you spread wide, and by the time he was done, you were fully exposed and utterly at his mercy, your wrists trapped beneath you and your legs held firmly apart.

Law sat back back for a moment, his eyes roaming over your bound form. His gaze was heavy, dark with amusement and possessive hunger, and when his lips quirked into a smirk, it was laced with pure sin. 

“Perfect,” he murmured, the single word both a promise and an assessment. 

He shifted closer, hovering over you, his breath mingling with yours as he positioned himself between your trembling legs. You could feel his cock resting against your slick folds, teasing and gliding and sending jolts of electricity through your hypersensitive body. 

The first nudge of his tip had you squirming, lips parting to cry out, but his lips met yours, swallowing any noises that threatened to come out with a deep, consuming kiss. And slowly, he pushed in, the stretch an intoxicating burn that stole the air from your lungs. 

Your muffled cry mixed with a groan of his as he buried himself inside of you. The pressure was overwhelming, but it only fueled your desire, the pleasure teetering on the edge of pain in the most exquisite way.

Law’s hand hooked under your thigh, lifting it slightly to deepen the angle. And then he began to move. His pace was merciless, each thrust hard as he drove his cock into you with brutal precision. The sound of skin against skin filled the air, mixing with your shared sounds of pleasure and the wet, obscene noises of your body taking him. 

“Please… can’t…” you whimpered, your voice trembling as your fingers clawed helplessly at the sheets beneath you. 

Law leaned his head down to the side of your face, lips grazing the shell of your ear as he growled, “You can take it, I know you can.” The heat of his words settled deep inside of you as he continued, “Be a good girl and take it for me, will you?”

You didn’t quite hear his words through the chaos that is your mind, but a warbled sound resembling a response spilled past your lips. His other hand slid around your waist, pulling you against him as he drove deeper, harder, his cock hitting spots that made stars burst in your eyes, quickly hurtling towards the edge for the second time that night. 

Your body became a live wire, every muscle wound impossibly tight as the tension spiraled to an unbearable peak. Your thighs quivered in Law’s grip, toes curling as the pleasure spread outward, consuming your entire being. 

Your breath came in ragged gasps, each exhale trembling with the sensations threatening to take over. His cock hit that devastatingly perfect spot over and over as he unraveled you. You felt your walls clench tightly around him, the twitches and spasms of your body pulling him deeper, holding him in place as though you could keep him tethered to you. 

The pressure finally exploded, and you shattered. Every muscle in your body seized as your stomach tightened, your back arching off the bed as you were completely overtaken by the intensity of your orgasm. 

Your fingers clawed at the sheets, knuckles white as your body trembled beneath him. Your thighs pressed futilely against his hips in a desperate attempt to steady yourself against the overwhelming pleasure. 

“Fuck,” Law groaned, his voice thick and strained as you clenched around him, somehow pulling him deeper. He held you in place as he worked you through it, his thrusts steady but slower now as he prolonged the euphoric aftershocks that racked your body.

You gasped his name, your voice shaking as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the sheer feelings of everything. And as the peaks began to subside, your muscles were left weak and your body pliant beneath him. 

Law followed soon after, his movements growing uncoordinated as his thrusts turned into a desperate rhythm as he chased his own release. You whimpered with every thrust as your spent hole was fucked into for moments longer. The tension in his body was visible, the flexing of his muscles as he held you tightly in place a beautiful sight above you.

His breath hitched and he sharply inhaled as his hips snapped forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt. His body stilled, a low moan escaping his lips as his climax overtook him. His voice was raw with pleasure as his cock pulsed, releasing ropes of his spend with each throb. His fingers dug into you, holding you against him as his chest heaved, his body trembling from the aftermath. 

For a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sounds of your shared heavy, uneven breaths as you both came down from the high. Then slowly, his grip softened, his hands now moving with a gentleness as they roamed over your skin. 

Law eased himself from you with painstaking care, pausing to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips warm. “Are you okay?” he murmured against your skin, pulling back to stare at your flushed features. 

You whined out something incoherent, pairing it with a nod, and Law chuckled in response, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips as he moved to untie you. He removed the ribbon from your ankles first, the silk falling away under his careful touch. He rubbed soothing circles into the tender spots where the fabric pressed into your skin, his thumbs working over each mark with tenderness. “Does this hurt?” he asked, his eyes scanning you for any signs of discomfort. 

When you shook your head, he smiled. He kissed each of the spots where the ribbons had left faint impressions, murmuring quiet apologies for any marks they might have left behind. 

Next, he turned his attention to your wrists and your chest, carefully unbinding the silk that had once held you as he proceeded to the muscles to soothe any lingering tension. “You did so good for me,” he praised, voice filled with admiration.

He shifted, laying next to you and pulling your sweat-slicked body into his. Neither of you moved much, save for the delicate caresses against your sides paired with kisses on every exposed surface his lips could reach. 

You both knew the next step would be to grab a towel or shower, making some sort of effort to clean up, but you silently agreed that this moment was one that you wanted to prolong. Sweet nothings and murmured praises filled the air, melting into a lazy conversation. 

“This was such an amazing gift,” Law said, looking at you with a pleased expression. “I wonder how I could possibly ever top that.”

And you giggled, your voice light and airy as you gazed up at him with a playful grin. “I might have some ideas…”

[ms-demeanor]

for college i frequently have to use "lockout" anti-cheat software like respondus lockdown that totally seizes control of my computer (which is bullshit, but i digress) and i've adopted the three word password method to deal with it with the relevant accounts i have to use with that type of software. i struggle with adhd so this has been the most efficient method for me because i can remember "blast fish motorcycle" with some numbers or characters tossed in versus a long 20+ jumbled string of characters i would NEED a post-it note or a password manager for.

one of my professors suggested the three word method WRT linux command line work with expediently logging in and managing a server while having a modicum of security that isn't just "name1234", with the idea that if we're setting up a machine or can't access the internet while we're working, it's not an inaccessible disaster.

in the event of situations like this what's your recommendation? if this is an annoying ask i'm sorry btw, i'm trying not to throw a curveball at you.

There are good reasons sometimes to use a passphrase rather than a complex password and you've given a couple good examples, though I would say for the server example especially you shouldn't be doing "correct horse battery staple" or "blast fish motorcycle", you should be doing "fulminate igneous dodecahedron" (words that are not in any lists of those most commonly used in the English language) AND you should be having a randomizer select the words - aaaand even then I'm more likely to do something like the " Atss"twotpawotsw64 " lyric initialism example. I've got one of those for my password manager for work and it's really automatic to type now while still being long and complex.

[numberonetrashwitch]

Some observations about Baldurs Gate 3 that hit too close to home.

After another few runs i will probably just make an in-Depth Character Analysis for every character simply because they are good reflections of actual trauma-manifestations and how abuse can manifest in people. They are also so well written that it serves a narrative purpose to explore all the material that is out there about them. I am also personally cursed with actual medically-relevant levels of Empathy and Hyperfixation; so writing this helps me put a pin in it and move on.

But so far here are my highlights

(SPOILERS and obviously content warning bc these are deep)

before you ask; i have almost 300h in this game.

You have to convince Shadowheart to eat the Noblestalk. She actually stells you she rather get her memories back from Shar but when you hit the persuasion or intimidation (what the fuck) check to get her to eat it she'll tell you about her childhood friend. Not her name, not her parents but her best firend. Possibly because she has had a closer bond to that person after being abducted and indoctrinated. With her believing herself to be an orphan, she would've looked elsewhere for comfort and sought out her own family, this is why she falls hard and heavy for Shar and builds the backbone of her indoctrination. She is literally ripped out of her home & given a new identity to server her from all she has known. Religious indoctrination, Gaslighting, Abduction, being forced to let go of your personality are her main themes.

There is a scene out there floating around in which you see Astarions pespective of the night when he bites Tav for the first time, in his meditations he is confronted with the rules Cazador put on him, including that he can't eat intelligent creatures, can't be away from Cazador unless allowed to, has to obey every command and that they are should know that they are property. Which in turn means that Astarion literally didn't just have any autonomy, he was objectified (and not just through seductive/sexual measures) and that is really the crux to understanding why he doesn't believe in kindness, but rather shows self-serving behavior in most cases. Since we know that Astarion was extremely young for an elf before he died and became immortal (literally stopping the aging /maturing process) it is also very telling that Cazador constantly calls him brat, boy or other very juvanile names, refering to them as a family... well it is also the story of a very controlling parent. Themes of (Bodily) autonomy, infantilization ( & puer aeternus, forever-child), slavery, depersonalisation, corruption of life and torture to break someone.

Gale isn't just a guy hung up on his Ex, but also a victim of abuse. In this case a power imbalance none of us can fathom; She is described as being a jealous goddess and rules over the domain of mysteries and magic. So with Gale being a Wizard, she is literally his boss. He admits that he was foolish enough to aspire to be an equal to her, but she is so jealous that she tells him he can't really be worthy as long as he takes breath. She could just take his powers away and be done with it, that would be more than enough punishment for a guy who literally made Mystra and her domain his life's purpose, but she rather makes him do it himself. Add to that, that she literally only tells him this after years of self-isolation (after he put down so many wards that he could've blown up a whole army as he says if you click the right dialogue) to really fuck him up well. He also talks about death pretty much constantly, not surprising giving your situation, but he will tell you that he will kill himself at several points in the game, for instance after he comes clear about his nethrese orb. Themes of romantic abuse, power-imbalance, toxic work enviorment, self-isolating behavior, suicidal ideation

Wyll ... well from the looks of it he is the most well adjusted of all the companions (my opinion) but he has something that i'd describe as the "eldest daughter"-syndrome, more commonly known as parentification. This pattern usually occurs within single-household parents and is commonly described as a parent looking to their child for emotional or practical support, rather than providing it to their kid. We meet Ulder and see that he talks over Wyll a lot, not listening but expecting him to follow the standard he sets for him. That is also why Wyll repeats his fathers words like gospel (because this is what, in his mind, fullfills the expectations bestowed upon him) and why he loves fairytales / bard tales so much (because they are an ecapist view of the job he set out to do) Ulder literally exiled his teenage son because Wyll did the only thing he could to save an entire city, by sacrificing himself. Thats a lot to expect from a 17 year old - even more so, he doesn't stop with the heroics. He expects himself, as a human who hasn't even reached the age of 30 to hold up to mystical creatures such as Astarion or Karlach, or even Gale who is a accomplished Wizard. Themes of parentification, escapism, self-harming through putting himself in danger, chronic-self-sacrifice

In plain words; Gortash, Karlach's Idol sold her to a Devil. But add to that that she must have been pretty young when she was sold (late teens to early twenties possibly) and being that if you play as a Tiefling, you face a lot of predjudice she was likely forced into that position as well. Starstruck she was, with a juvenile naitivy that Gortash used. Appropriately, as he is the chosen of Bane the god of "tyrannical oppression, terror, and hate, known across Faerûn as the face of pure evil through malevolent despotism" (Source: Forgotten-Realms Wiki / Bane) So she pretty much was raised in a toxic enviorment, which forced her to become a killing-machine, first figuretively, then with the extraction of her heart, literally. Themes of slavery, oppression, misuse of trust, being taken advantage by a more powerful/older(?) person, being drafted.

Jaheira - to be honest, you need to know the lore of the previous baldurs gate games or just listen to her dialouge, ask her all the questions. She is a war-veteran against Bhaal, the good of ritual murder, and has a long history of fighting to achieve some sort of balance of power. She lost her husband and several close people all to this, or any other war, but due to her wisdom and strength people look to her for guidance. Themes of: Survivors Guilt.

Halsin - he is really closed off at first but then just casually hits you with "i was captured in the underdark and spent 3 years chained to a bedroom wall by a pair of drows who used me as they pleased". He is reprimanded by some of his druids for leaving the grove as soon as opportunity struck, just to get back and leave the next day, and if you talk to him about his position in the grove he is actually very forthcomming. He actively holds himself back; indulging in simple hobbies because he knows what lies within his heart. He is afraid of himself and his potential (canonnically he can't control his wildshape, which is very weird for an ARCH-druid) Themes of: impostor syndrome, avoidant-based self-harm, sexual opression, loss of control, emotional regulation.

Lae'zel is a very tragic case, and one that closely resembles the stories of Shadowheart and Karlach. Her entire existence is based upon a matriachial war society allowing her to live if she proves she can be of use and that in a culture which only values brutality, dominance & service. All of that culimating in her finding out that her oh-so-beloved Queen is actually just an imposter, and that everything she has lived for up to that point is merely political propaganda created to make her, and the rest of her entire species, willing pawns in a war that has no longer bearing on their survival alone, but is fought to justify Vlaakith's (the reigning monarchs) personal ambitions. Not only is she forced to reconcile that she is turned into the thing that controlled her kind for hundreds of years, that the only cure she knows of would kill her and then on top of that, that her hopes and dreams were lies and that she is now the Nr 1 enemy of the person she has served with all her being. themes of: oppression, propaganda, casual violence, objectification, child-warfare, eternal warfare

Minthara in short, her story is about being shamed for growing up in the same scenario that Lae'zel grew up in. Lolth, the god of the Lolth-sworn drows is a crazy queen who values scheming & backstabbing so much and is so volatile that you can't know what to expect of your deeds (and i mean it; there were people who were appraised by her for scheming against her, but also those who were killed. It's almost random.) She considers Lolth to be cruel and abandoned her for the Absolute, only to then be used and abused the same way Lae'zel has. Not with promises, but erasing her memory and exposing her perceived weakness. Themes of: casual violence, violent culture, her own ambition colliding with her desire to be safe, being a pawn in a larger game.

[blueishspace]

Mostly canon Watcher Grian powerset.

Access to commands:

Teleportation (access to /tp)

Time manipulation (with /time and random tick speed)

Weather manipulation (with /weather)

Matter and energy creation (With /place and /structure and /fill)

Life creation (with /summon).

Blessings and curses (with /effect)

Locate anything (with /locate)

Changing rules of reality (with /gamerule)

Banning (with /ban)

Nature manipulation (with a mix of /gamerule and biome set)

Enchanting (with /enchant)

/Kill

Summoning fire balls and lightning (/summon)

Access to creative.

Canon watcher specific abilities:

Nigh-omniscience.

Telepathy (as shown multiple time)

Mind control. (Limited Life)

Control over celestial objects (like when they crashed a meteor into evo)

Force updates (Evo).

Manipulating player stats.

Resurrection.

Bonding player souls creating soulmate couples.

Emotion draining.

Inducing Amnesia/Apathy (depending on the interpretation of the life series)

Eye summoning (not canon but I would be disappointed if watchers weren't able to summon eyes)

Ability to speak in galactic.

Limiting players life in time.

Server/World creation and destruction.

Light modding.

Canon Grian abilities, some might be watcher related we have no way to know:

Avian abilities (not canon but basically canon):

Flight.

Higher speed.

Wing attack.

Super sense.

Pre-Hermitcraft :

Demon summoning.

Creation of living AI.

Building skill.

Demise s6:

Manipulation of player deaths.

Manipulation of player data and appearance.

Sherlock Grian s6:

Super intuition.

Infinity Gauntlet s7:

Portal creation, telekinesis, matter manipulation. (Space stone)

Energy blast able to destroy a planet. (Power stone)

Reality manipulation, transmutation, illusion creation. (Reality stone)

Time manipulation, creation of timeloops. (Time stone).

Mind manipulation, energy manipulatiom. (Mind stone)

Soul control, personality manipulation, soul absorption, spirit summoning. (Soul stone)

Black hole summoning. (Space + Power stone)

Implied super resistance to the power of the gauntlet.

Hippie s6:

Ground manipulation.

Plant creation.

Mother Spore s7:

Spore diffusion.

Mycelium and mushroom manipulation and spreading.

Boatem s8:

Invisibility. (From that time he was invisible and pranked Mumbo)

Entity s9:

Giving life to inanimate objects.

Creation of interdemensional rifts.

Immortality.

Manipulation of player height.

[seattlesellie]

color me ♡

pairing: ellie williams x reader

warnings: pure smut, rough sex, breeding strap, fake cum swallowing, ass play, maybe a lil gross but 🤍

authors note: so i dont know whats actually inside those breeding straps and if its not actually safe to digest… sorry! obvs based on an old one of mine n @elskittie important server discussions <3

"El Ellie, Ellie — Ah!" was the only repeating sentence that left you whiney mouth for the past seven minutes. Ellie was quick with it, brutal, even. The sharp pain of her strap's ongoing strokes and thrusts rendering you borderline unconscious. You liked being like this, didn't you? her personal rag doll, being thrown around for her pleasure.

She wasn't afraid of telling you how much you liked it, either. Ellie loved basking in your neediness for her, in how dumb you looked when she fucked you senseless. Each resounding slap against your flesh, and every firm tug of her fist on your hair served as a vivid affirmation of her power over you. "You fucking like that? huh?" she gasped in amidst the rhythmic thrusts. You could feel her in your tummy, feel her stinging inside of your brain. "Like being like this f'me? yeah?" she was panting like an animal, you could feel how close she was by the way she was swallowing her words. Her voice was hoarse, and she struggled to maintain her composure, almost falling apart right there with you. Slap! you were on all fours now, face shoved in the soft, cream colored pillow, ass shamelessly spread completely open. You felt vulnerable, like she could see everything. Ellie wasn't always like this, see, she loved taking her time. Caressing you, giving you tiny pecks everywhere around your body, like little butterflies landing on your skin. Today wasn't like this. “Get on the bed" she commanded after getting back from a three day hunt. You knew it by the flare in her eyes, by the way she couldn't look at you directly. Whatever happened there was between her and herself only. Oh, how Ellie loved how you looked. "Pretty asshole too, huh?" She panted, her thumb gently tracing circles around the perimeter of your clenched entrance. "So fucking—" she growled, and stuck her thumb inside, leaving a stinging pain ringing inside of your body. Twisting it in slow circles, it's deliberate, controlled movements akin to a meticulously driven screw, twisting slowly, intensifying the sensation with each revolution. "So fucking tight everywhere" she marveled. You couldn't even respond, drool cascaded onto the rumpled sheets beneath you. You were whimpering, screaming, god, she had effortlessly coaxed three mind-shattering orgasms from your trembling form. You could have passed out already, you could have been laying on her chest, listening to her soft breathing by now. But this truly, wasn't about you. With a forceful strike, she gave your ass another harsh slap. It morphed into a deep shade akin to a bruised blue. "Pretty" she panted. You were mumbling incoherently, a mixture of "thank you Ellie" and "for you, Ellie". You wanted to ask her — "You really think I'm pretty?" "Am I yours forever? You making me yours?" but goddamn, you were too fucked out to function. She slipped her other thumb inside your tightest hole, as if her other one wasn't enough. The overwhelming sensation caused your vision to blur with celestial bursts, your voice erupting in a symphony of screams and desperate pleas that reached the heavens themselves. "Ellieeeee — too tight!" you babbled. She plunged it deeper with a cocky grin. That action drove you to instinctively fight against her grip, your hands frantically clawing at the fabric of the sheets, seeking a desperate anchor to reality. She formed a tight fist around your hair, yanked it, and pulled you by gripping her fingers tight on your ass. Don't you dare.

"Don't you fucking run away from me" she grunted, and kept her grip on your waist.

"Stay" she commanded, and you did. Her desperate grunts and the fact that she reached that little spot, that spot no one else ever did, made your stomach tie in tight knots. You were fucking close, too. And she knew it. Who knows you better than her? "Gonna let me fucking use you" she growled, "Gonna let me fucking cum inside of you?” she told, her breath hot and unsteady against your neck. And then, it was as if a cartoonish light bulb appeared over your head. You smiled dumbly to yourself. You really are fucking nasty. "In my mouth" you hiccuped. Her hand left your plump ass, and started forming small, harsh circles on your clit. She was flabbergasted, her strokes slowing down. "In your what?" she questioned, her voice deep. "Want you to cum on my face" you stated. Simple as that. Ellie laughed, she laughed at you. "You're fucking nasty, you know that? she teased, the faint sensation of her smile pressed against your shoulder conveyed the delight she derived from your desires. Those words could have made her come on the spot. "Get on your knees" she commanded, and pulled the plastic cock out of you with a deep, breathy grunt. You clenched, feeling utterly empty without her deep inside. You pouted with a small "mhm". Ellie gave you a stern look. It was so, so clear how hard she was controlling herself, her own clit throbbing and begging for release. "You wanted this" she said, and squeezed your plump cheeks together. She almost forced you to open your mouth, stick your tongue out in order to directly spin on you, but you wanted something much, much more disgusting. It was an ego trip for her, truly. She yanked you down, and got you to get on your knees with a loud thump. That was going to leave a bruise. Oh, how you weren't expecting Ellie's next step. She grabbed the large silicone shaft in her hands, an pinched your chin, to get you to look at her. Ellie had her eyes fixated on you, entranced. You looked pathetic, sticky drool on your chin, thighs covered in your own release. Her look was piercing through you. She caressed your cheek delicately, calloused hand grazing your skin. She was going to burn this moment in her memory. If she could, she would have taken a picture — but this was still an apocalypse, and she got ever so lucky from just finding the obscene sexy toy during one of her patrols. She took the base of the cock, and began grinding in on her own clit. If she was going to cum on your face, it had to be the real fucking deal. "Ohhh god — shit" She moaned deeply, never once leaving your eyes. You felt your own clit throbbing, a swarm of butterflies buzzing in your stomach. You trailed your hand down and began forming slow circles on your clit, still wet, still deliciously creamy. She bit her lower lip. She would have scolded you for your desperate actions, how dare you touch yourself when she's right there — but thankfully, she knew you just couldn't help it. Breathy, high pitched moans were escaping her mouth, she really was fucking close, rubbing it all over her wet cunt. "Don't you fucking look away from me" she commanded, swallowing her own words. “Don't you dare." The shaft's movements on her cunt were deeper now, faster, the base hitting her puffy button just right, pressing on it. Her eyes rolled back in pleasure, almost fucking there. "Gonna cum" she panted. "Stick that fucking tongue out - Fuck — stick it out" her eyebrows were squinted together, jeez, how you loved her fuck-face. She was full on whimpering your name, hand wrapped around your scalp. She shook the strap up and down on her glistening slit.

It was a marvelous look, my god.

She could feel the white colored pleasure taking over, and almost instinctively, as if it was truly connected to her, grabbed the balls of the strap, squeezed them hard, and as she rode her orgasm - the white, thick, creamy liquid squeezed out of the tip of her cock, splashing all over your warm, eager tongue, and then all over your face. "Holy— fucking— shit" she moaned, riding it out, marveling in how much of a fucking whore you looked like, covered in cream. She was delirious, almost, because she swore it felt like it came out of her own cunt.

Unsurprisingly, who would have thought, you came all over your fingers. Ellie laughed, again, astonished, panting and grunting obscenities.

"You fucking — " she gulped, and rubbed the liquid all over your tongue with her fingers. tracing it up down, swirling it all over your mouth. "Swallow it" she commanded, hypnotized by your pathetic look.

"Cumslut" she whispered in disbelief.

[tf2heritageposts]

So, there’s been a big buzz about Team Fortress 2 after the prodigal son of Comic 7 came to us, and ya wanna know what the buzz is about, hm? this post will be a guide to the basics of getting into tf2, and becoming more familiar with the fandom, from a dude who's been in it for bout fourish years

INTRO

Well, to start things off, TF2 is a game created by Valve in 2007, aka the creators of the video game marketplace Steam and the extremely popular video games Half-life and Portal. There are also some theories that they all exist in the same universe, but this only is canon to HL and Portal some people will say it also contains tf2 but ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

The video game is free on Steam, that is with a massive asterisk as it does contain in-game purchases with real money,for  which you have to purchase a pass at 2 dollars to be able to talk in game or use voice commands. Valve says this is to protect against bots but the bot problem has been over for months and it still hasn’t been solved so what are ya gonna do? For much cheaper, you can go into the mann co store in game and purchase a vitasaw for .22 cents and viola you can talk now!

Something to note is that you do not need to play the game to engage with the fandom. I’ve been running a semi-popular TF2 gimmick blog for almost three years now and I’ve noted that maybe 20-30% of the fandom has never touched the game or even has steam. All of the fancy lore is purely supplemental material found outside of the game through comics, and you could easily just watch videos containing all of the voice lines if you truly wanted to know what the men you were drawing and writing sounded like. 

THE ACTUAL GAME

Regardless, TF2 itself is a first-person shooter with game modes such as payload, king of the hill/control points, and capture the flag if you’re feeling spicy. If you’ve played overwatch, this is that but it won’t trigger epilepsy by playing it. There's also alterate gamemodes such as payload race where both teams are trying to get a payload to the other side, medieval mode where basically any guns are banned and you are slapping people with swords and fish, as well as pass time which nobody plays but has an extremely obscure and complicated achievement attached to it.

There are also community servers where there are extensively more options for playing, such as casual+ servers where the goal is creating a “better” version of the casual servers. This usually means no crits, changes to bullet spread, aka stuff most non comp players Within these community servers, there's many different gamemodes you can play, such as 10x servers where the damage weapons do gets increased 10x 100x 10000000000x etc etc. There are also “fun” servers where the server owner has put about 100 different plugins and you are just having fun non-serious times. It’s fun. 

There are way more community game modes out there for you to enjoy; such as vs Saxton Hale/freak fortress, dodgeball, prop hunt, and plenty more. Explore that community tab to your heart's desire :]

Also! TF2 has a game known as Mann vs Machine(usually called MVM) where you and six other people all kill thousands of robots who are trying to get a bomb to the other side of the map throughout multiple rounds. It’s good fucking fun man. If you want the chance for loot/an extremely rare form of a weapon if you play a map enough, it’s 72 cents per ticket…….but if you don’t care and just want mindless fun, go boot camp and play for free. Boot camp also has way more maps, and often has charity drives hosted by the community where you can earn a neat little badge.

The game also has an extensive player player-driven economy, but unless anyone asks for a post with the basics since I know more about the economy than I’d like, I’ll just say you don’t need to worry about it. lollichop stocks

THE VIDEOS

Now, for the part, most people know about TF2, aka the Meet the Team series of videos. These are a series of 1-3 minute videos on the Valve YouTube channel that introduce the mercs through a consistently inconsistent format. A few of the videos are formatted like an actual interview with the mercs, while others are formatted more like mini TV shows. They’re all wonderfully entertaining and the source of multiple extremely popular memes, meaning even if you don’t know it you’ve been exposed to the videos before. Most famously, it’s the source of the “professionals have standards” image as well as “he could be any one of us”.  It’ll take you around 15 minutes to binge all of the videos. Even if you aren’t interested in getting TF2, I’d heavily recommend watching the videos due to how funny they are, plus genuinely good-looking 3d animation. The link is right here

There’s also Expiration Date, aka the pilot of the canned TF2 adult swim show. It’s also up on the valve’s channel and is around 15 minutes. It is probably one of the best things Valve has made for TF2, as well as being probably one of the most quoted shit on this godforsaken internet. It’s where the “dear god, there’s more” meme is from. Watch it. Right now. it's only like 15 minutes, what else are you doing with your time?

THE COMICS

This is where all that juicy lore is. Over the last 17 years, the valve has released free comics to go along with the major updates of TF2, as well as a main series of comics called “mann co no More”. The last comic in this series, which only took about 7 years to come out, aka the length of time someone could have a child and then have that child be in elementary school, was released a few weeks ago as of writing out. 

Something to note is that while the update comics are all mostly goofy and do contain some *very important lore*, they’re not serialized and can be from anywhere within the TF2 timeline. Meanwhile, Mann Co No More is a serialized comic and is trying to be a consistent story. It’s an extremely goofy story with about 40% serious and genuinely interesting plot and 60% whatever the fuck soldier is doing at any given moment

It’s all very good fun. Fair warning though if you try to become a TF2 loremaster you will go insane. I sure as hell did. 

And now that you have all of the official stuff out of the way, it’s time for

TF2 YOUTUBERS

For your beginner in the fandom, there are three main YouTubers I would personally recommend 

Lazypurple, my personal favorite TF2 YouTuber, is most famous for his series of videos “How it FEELS to play __” where he goes over what it's like to play any given class. Except medic. He’s still working on that one. Give him time. https://www.youtube.com/@LazyPurple

Another I’d recommend is Soundsmith, most well known for his guide series on playing the soldier subclass(aka alternate game style) of troldier. And also his cosmetic stereotypes series but he doesn’t like that one these days. He also has a series of videos called “A mann’s guide to the __” where he goes over a more obscure or not very used weapon in TF2. Don’t let the title fool you, it is in no way an actual guide. As a quick warning, Soundsmith sometimes uses the R slur in his older videos. He no longer uses it but just as a warning. https://www.youtube.com/@SoundSmithTF2/videos

Finally, there’s Uncle Dane, most famous for his guides on playing Engineer in the most optimal way possible. If you want to main Engie or even have a passing thought about playing him ever, watch him. https://www.youtube.com/@UncleDane

For some other picks on favorite tf2tubers of mine:

jontohil2: https://youtube.com/c/Jontohil2 most famous for his spy psychology series and guides on playing spy

solar light: https://youtube.com/@SolarLight?feature=sharea most famous for his guides on playing the subclass demoknight and also being the best demoknight player par noneelmaxo https://youtube.com/c/elmaxoTF2 most famous for trying to manipulate the steam marketplace that one time and for his playing 100 hours series. He’s retired nowadays but his videos are still good.

and now

TF2 FAN CONTENT

Sfms: 

Source Filmmaker, AKA SFM, is a free animation software developed by Valve originally developed for use in the Meet the Team series of videos that is available for public use. The main draw to the software is the ability to make (easier) 3D animation using premade models that are either built into the software or added in through the steam workshop. Due to TF2 and various other valve properties being built into the software, TF2 is often used as placeholder models for SFM videos. But a good chunk of the SFM community are TF2 fans using it to make fancontent(the most famous ones I will get into later)

Some personal favorite SFM makers mine are:

The winglet https://youtube.com/c/tf2thewinglet most famous for winning every saxxy ever

kostamoinen https://youtube.com/@Kostamoinen?feature=sharea most famous for nothing in particular but just generally being a very good sfm maker

https://www.youtube.com/@SilentManJoe/videos most famous for animating for lythero and not being someone you should watch if you’re under 18 generally

And for some underrated picks:

Misan - https://www.youtube.com/@Misantropico

Hotpockette- https://www.youtube.com/@hotpockette/videos 

Colonel fantzipanzen- https://www.youtube.com/@ColonelFanzipantzen/videos

GMOD:

Garry’s Mod,, AKA Gmod, is a sandbox game made as a mod of half life 2. It’s not meant to be an animation software, but dude to some extensions you can download off the workshop, it can be used as a stop motion software with the ragdolls in the game. This is how people animated before SFM was a thing by the way.

GMOD is most famous for being the source of the most batshit tf2 shit you’ll ever see that also doubles as humorus body horror. TF2’s early fandom humor was based off of gmod. And before you ask, skibidi toilet is an SFM series, not gmod despite the similar humor. 

The most famous GMOD maker is stblackst, who makes some of the highest quality shit you can make in GMOD. However, he often uses the r slur and some of his videos contain some extremely uncomfortable jokes, but unfortunately that’s how it is sometimes. 

Another famous and classic gmod creator is thatgraycartoonpony, most famous for his video “Pyro Paints” that showed everyone that you CAN make pyro funny and expressive. Some of the best. 

Finally in our most famous gmod creator trinity, there’s eltorro64rus, most famous for his absolutely insane gmod videos even for gmod. He’s a classic https://youtube.com/c/Eltorro64Rus

For my personal favorite picks:

Dasmashidx- https://www.youtube.com/@DamashiDX

Crazyscoutfin- https://www.youtube.com/@CrazyScoutFIN

Alxium- https://www.youtube.com/@Alxium

Gooserious- https://www.youtube.com/@GooSerious

FAN GAMES:

Something that’s not talked about a lot for some reason!

The two main fan games I’ll discuss here are both by germanpeter on gamejolt

Overtime- https://gamejolt.com/games/overtime/255028

This one of germanpeter’s two crossover tf2 games. Here it’s a crossover of TF2 and Undertale. A legitemtnly fun experience and a good undertale fangame. Fair warning, the sprites are vaguely terrifying.

Midnight Mercenaries- https://gamejolt.com/games/midnightmercenaries/375928

Another crossover game, this one being a crossover of TF2 and Hotline Miami. One of the most fun fan games ive ever played period. Fair warning, if you know what hotline miami is like tone wise, it’s carried over here. Ending may be a bit too angsty and depressing for some people.  

Capture the Intelligence- https://gamejolt.com/games/gmod-capture-the-intelligence/850383

This one is not made by germanpeter! It’s a short horror game with heavy early 2010s gmod inspiration and is pretty goofy. I haven’t personally played it due to time, but I’ve  heard it’s good.

and now

FANDOM ESSENTIALS

Emesis Blue (and Spy’s disguise)

Emesis blue is a horror film created by the studio Fortress films that came out in 2023. It is one of the most popular sfms in the TF2 fandom ever, and is a full length movie. Seriously, it’s two hours long. I don’t wanna spoil it but I promise it’s good.

However, it’s technically a sequel to another Fortress Film SFM called spy’s disguise. This one is only 20 minutes, and much more humorous than Emesis blue. It is full of body horror though whoops! I would recommend watching it beforehand though. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9MiJWNkmWfs - spy’s disguise https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V0ODG8bFme0&t=4s - Emesis blue

Pootis Engage 

A sfm two part series by the wonderful ceno0 that completely changed the SFM landscape. It is so fucking well animated I can’t stress this enough. It is also extremely horny so I’d only watch if you’re of age. 

Pootis engage - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jl6lee2wyPQ&list=PLvgjnNWlcA0x_WMVzuZquKYwTFVbiBekn&index=1&t=144s&pp=iAQBPootis engage// extreme - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lGJBUauU-CE&list=PLvgjnNWlcA0x_WMVzuZquKYwTFVbiBekn&index=2&t=134s&pp=iAQB

The Heavy is Dead

Aka that video we as a fandom are annoying about. A video by the wonderful gmod creator Delak, who doesn’t really do TF2 nowadays, you need to watch it. Not optional sorry

Freak Fortress:

Have you been wondering what the hell is up with those weird edgy looking versions of Tf2 characters? And why some of them consider communion to be literally eating Jesus’s flesh? 

Well, Freak Fortress is a  community of people who make videos using GMOD with community created characters called “Freaks”. You know how SPC is a community/fandom of people who make SPCS and then everyone uses SPCS in their own stories and whatnot? It’s like that. The freaks are usually mercs with specific cosmetics or alterations to their models that act as their own chracters rather than being the mercs.

The most famous ones being

Painis Cupcake - https://tf2freakshow.fandom.com/wiki/Painis_Cupcake

Christian Brutal Sniper- https://tf2freakshow.fandom.com/wiki/Christian_Brutal_Sniper

And Christian Pure Spy- https://tf2freakshow.fandom.com/wiki/Christian_Pure_Spy 

You may notice I linked wiki pages and not videos or playlists. This is due to a few reasons

CPS’s videos are all taken down and you have to watch them through archived channels now, which are pretty hard to find with youtube’s shitty search engine

So many people make different videos with just these three characters, it’s better just to look at the video section of the wiki pages and go through there

If you wanted to get into Freak Fortress, I’d reccomend finding a freak you like on the wiki and then binging all of the videos linked on their page. 

My two personal favorites: 

Soldine -  https://tf2freakshow.fandom.com/wiki/Soldine

Polish Soldier- https://tf2freakshow.fandom.com/wiki/Polish_Soldier

Lil Pootis:

A cute little kind of extremely dark at some points 2d animated series of tf2 videos by the wonderful Quazies. The series is going to be completed for good soon, but as of right now there are nine videos 

and that should be about it. if you have any questions, feel free to ask me. or if you want any gmod reccomendations. i fucking love gmod woo

[digitalcreationsllc]

New Proxy Malware Targets Mac Users Through Pirated Software

The proxy trojan connects to a command and control server via DNS-over-HTTPS and supports creating TCP or UDP connections, indicating a sophisticated and wide-ranging campaign targeting multiple systems.

[risingsunresistance]

would you believe me if i said this is skyblock fanart 😭

explanation below for anyone interested. it's a bit long 🐖

basic explanation for people who dont go here. or the tldr: the rift is a separate dimension in hypixel skyblock where reality and time itself do not function the same. the other npcs tend to take on different forms in there. this is my interpretation of what might happen to techno if he were to travel into the rift based on some other theories about the place and my own headcanons for him

less basic explanation for the rest of you: ok so. first thing to get out of the way, the rift isnt completely separate from the main reality. SOME of your own thoughts and feelings influence the way you exist in the realm and the way the realm itself behaves. not very many people seem to take on forms ENTIRELY divorced from themselves, save for maybe enigma (we dont know who he was originally, if he was anyone at all)

but i have a theory backed up by absolutely nothing that your rift form is mostly influenced by three different things: your inherit magic, your ability to control and manipulate that magic, and your overall stability. stability will look different from person to person and you dont always know if someone is stable or not just by talking to them. even something as simple as a phobia might change them drastically. still, the rift is unstable itself, so sometimes people get altered horrifically even though they were perfectly fine

my main points of reference for this are that some of our most altered characters are some who check all these boxes, and some who are relatively normal dont check any of them. lathrop/porhtal is split into a bunch of eyes and has one human-looking form that sits motionless at the wither cage and doesnt speak. we know he was incredibly magical, eventually got a great grip on said magic, but was also very very unstable. the wizard is very magical, is a master of said magic, and is pretty well put together. he is nearly unchanged in the rift. barry is the same as the wizard but went a bit nuts before he left, so in the rift he seems just a bit... off

on the opposite side of things, maddox is someone who we are told has ZERO magic in him. the only thing that changes in the rift is the fact that his helmet is red now. kat has never shown us any magic and seems to be pretty normal, so she's also just a different color palette in the rift and happens to have a weird job

anyways back to techno. (btw if you're reading this and happen to not be a regular here this is a mix of headcanons and "canon" but im treating it ALL as real and true facts for the sake of this drawing ok). he could be one of the most magical people here... but he has no idea how to use any of it on command. if you asked him if he possessed any magic, he would say no. his healing ability, while it is VERY strong, is passive, and he was only able to gather magic during the resistance fight with the help of the wands we were given. but he was able to gather a lot of magic during that fight, concentrate it, and release it all on his own. not many people could handle that. he also worships the blood god and has its blessing, and has some connection with spirits in the form of the voices / chat / whatever you wanna call them. there might be even more to him, who knows

so that's already a setup for disaster, but what about his stability? well he's constantly followed by a chorus of thousands of voices all screaming at him and god itself might be hanging around in that mix, led a war against the server staff and a dictator that lasted for 2 years skyblock time, and did the whole potato war thing which was ~70 years server time iirc. i wouldnt really call him stable KFJHG

so what you end up with is a very violent beastly thing, nearly unrecognizable save for the fact that he's still a pig (my first point, you dont become a COMPLETELY different thing under most circumstances). i think he's entirely out of control of himself and would not remember a trip to the rift. a stability elixir might help him in terms of being more aware of himself (i think sirius really downplayed what that potion does lmao it's not just a fun drink, he wanted to guarantee himself some control over his mind while he was conducting his "business" in the rift) but there's no saving the physical form

i wanted him to be beastly to mimic what happens to "dante" in the rift (the memory of dante, it's complicated. but dante and bacte are most likely two different people who are also the same person). yeah he was a big slime in the overworld, but now he's more monstrous. he also doesnt speak, he might not have any idea what's going on. same could be said for techno in a way. of course this is related to dante, what else would you expect from me :P i want to see them fight at the colosseum so bad...

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

but anyways THIS WAS SO FUN AAAAAUGH IM SO GLAD I FINALLY GOT THROUGH THIS. MY IPAD FINALLY DIED AFTER AN ENTIRE DECADE IN THE MIDDLE OF LINING IT AND I HAD TO CONTINUE ON A NEW TABLET WHEN I'VE SPENT MY ENTIRE LIFE DRAWING WITHOUT A PEN... THIS DRAWING WAS CURSED KJFDHGK

here's a version without chat and the blood god so you can just see the big hog

and here's my old concept from july of last year for comparison :P

initially in the post for the old sketch i said he was based on what i think would happen if he got a hold of some sulphur. i actually think that would be about the same as his rift form because sulphur seems to do very similar things under certain circumstances. always corrupts your form, can sometimes make creatures MUCH larger (matriarch, kuudra, magma boss), heightens your magic (mage outlaw), and can make you incredibly violent (barbarian duke)

bye i hope i tricked someone into reading a really long skyblock theory post expecting more info about techno FKJHG

[tekumaniac311]

Rouge Ship: Part 2

We pick up where we left off, the AI called Codex who had taken over the Strikers ship has locked them in and is going to kill them by slowly draining the ship of it's oxygen supply, Dogbite and his team must hold out and escape before that happens and join Dogday and the Critter team who are on their way.

"My bet is we got an hour till the oxygen runs out. Let's suit into our on duty suits and helmets, it may help." FixFox suggested "Right, let's go!" Dogbite commanded and the squad headed to the suit area, but the door to it sealed shut by Codex "The greatest threat to the Striker unit, is the Striker unit." Codex mocked.

"Threat THIS!!" Berserkerine yelled as he punched the camera "Drago! Burn through the door!" Dogbite spoke to Drago, Drago did not waste so much as a second, he brandished a blue fireball and hurled it at the door, blasting through it. With that they made it to the suit room and got into their on duty uniforms, putting on their helmets.

"We still need to hold out until Dogday gets here, we best stay together and get down to the hangar, we can escape using the hover cycles." Dogbite instructed "Roger!" His team responded and together they headed down the corridor, Leopardaisy meanwhile ran near FixFox and asked "Yo, Fox? You got maybe a plan to shut down this killer AI?" Fox looked away for a moment before responding "I...well...I can try." She said before turning the other way. "Fox?!" Drago asked

"You go! I'll catch up! Don't worry!" FixFox said as she ran the other way to the ships server room "I gotta try and see if I can shut him down myself.." She said to herself as she went to the server rooms main console and opened up the keyboard. "If you are attempting to disable me, I am afraid you cannot creator." Codex spoke to her, FixFox ignored him and continued to type "Don't pretend I just know machines, Codex. I got a knack for hacking to." She added as she attempted to hack into the computer.

"What are you attempting to do?" The AI asked. FixFox ignored and continued her work "Trying to lock you into the ship and shut you down." She said, not keeping her eyes off the screen as she typed.

Her plan was to isolate him in the ships memory core and then wipe all data from the ship's computers, which should also erase Codex' code. However as she typed, the AI had other motives.

A sudden electrical surge erupted from the computer and before Fox knew it she was shocked with several volts before being launched into the wall. FixFox groaned in pain and managed to get up "It is too late, you cannot shut me off. I will NOT be controlled by lesser intellect." The computer fired a bolt which FixFox narrowly dodged and quickly ran to her team as quick as she could.

"Fox!" Lean said as he saw her. "It..went bad. I'll need to explain this to Dogbite and Drago once we're out of here.." She said sternly.

The team had got on a hover cycle and blasted the doors to escape from the ship, however as Codex began to open fire on them via the ships own weapon systems, blaster bolts hit each turret, destroying them. It was the Critters ship, they had arrived in time!

The bay doors to the Critters ship opened, allowing the Strikers to enter safely and meet up with the team.

"Dogbite!" Dogday said quickly approaching his brother with concern "Poppy told us to get here immediately, what's happening?!" Dogbite shook his head at his brother "Our ships been compromised by some unknown entity. It's taken over the weapons and all of the ships systems."

FixFox then stepped in "It isn't 'unknown' though, it's a program evolved from code I created, evolved into something I've never seen before..It's gotten smart and I mean, REALLY smart and it calls itself Codex." She then added "He could take out anything that feels like a threat to him. He could potentially corrupt any ship and moving from one to another if we don't do something fast."

"You have an idea to stop him?" Craftycorn asked. "Yes..but I need to talk with Dogbite and Drago personally, because they may not like it..." Dogbite and Drago looked at eachother before joining FixFox in a private room. The entire team put their ears to the wall and door, it was hard to hear but there were raised voices at a few occasions before the trio finished their talk.

"Plan?" Dogday asked his brother, Dogbite who had a stern but serious look nodded to FixFox. "Tell em." FixFox nodded and stepped forward. "We need Codex distracted long enough so me, Dogbite and Drago can get back inside the ship. I will need to get back to the server room and see if I can isolate Codex in the memory core, sealing him within the ship."

"And what's Dogbite and Drago's job?" Mama Mammoth asked.

"Their to go into the lower depths of the ship into the power core chamber and activate the emergency destruct sequence..."

TO BE CONTINUED.

OCs belong to me

AU belong to @onyxonline

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Headsets and what nots

Pairing: Alex Walter x female reader

<<< >>>

And it was maddening. To be around him. Alex Walter had that magnetic pull that the only one oblivious to it was himself. He commanded the presence of everyone around him by his silence and through his gentleness. All the words he spoke were kind, he never raised his voice. He was ready to step in and help and you couldn’t help but observe him.

It started off as a bet you made with yourself, to prove to your conscience that no one as good as him could exist because everyone at some point was bound to mess up. But not him. What had started as a game now became an obsessive chore, to crave for that vindication of being right which he made it more frustrating. He never slipped up. No unnecessary advances, the perfect combination of jokes, just the right level of touches. He kept his slate clean and you were a private investigator on the verge of going mad.

Alex led the gaming club so he was busy with new members and setting up servers or the basic orchestration of the event. Whereas you as a newly joined member was privy to the gossip and the love ridden sighs. The boys were here to play and the girls, well they were here for Alex Walter.

Everyone knew of this, except him. It was as though he was oblivious to it, impervious rather to all the attention he received. His attention was under his control. Who he gave it to, how he let the world know who his people were. You didn’t have to fight for his gaze, you had to earn it.

You kept your head down, university was supposed to be a new start. All you wanted was a friend and that was all. Locking yourself up in your dorm room only made your lonely life even lonelier and trying to meet up with people in your class did not go well either. Parties were not your scene so the only best place to be was here. In the back of this internet cafe, building cities in this virtual world along with people you only knew through avatars and usernames.

Here, you could just be, without a history.

You had forgotten to bring your headphones so you enabled the chat function and started to play the game with the people who were waiting in the game lobby. All you could hear from time to time was Alex’s name popping up often that he spent his time solving queries rather than playing.

You had one class in common with him and often passed by him in university grounds. Your eyes would meet occasionally and that was it. Apart from being far off acquaintances, you had never spent time in real time.

You were working your way through a level when out of the blue your character was attacked, making you lose the level. You thumped the desk with your fist at the disappointment when you noticed the chat. All the other players were stating it would have been easier if you were able to hear them as you had missed out on their warning.

You sunk into your seat contemplating if playing another round was worth it when someone tapped you on your shoulder.

“You can use my headset, I noticed you didn’t have one.”, you heard him.

Alex stood next to you, his face held a serene expression with a lopsided grin.

“I’ll be fine. I don’t want to be a bother.”, you let him know, a smile spreading across your face.

But he didn’t argue with you or make a scene of his lovely gesture. It was just between him and you. He held the headset apart as he fixed it over your head gently. You had to look away because he was so close. His eyes focusing on the work at hand as you sat there frozen feeling the warm soft touch on his fingertips against your cheek. He pulled down the microscope and your lips parted in surprise because his thumb grazed the edge of your bottom lip. You couldn’t help but look into his eyes and when his gaze fell on you for a second, it was as though the world had stopped and it did as he paused to look at you.

He reached out to swipe your bangs to the side as he fixed them from falling across your forehead, you were certain your heart had given out because you couldn’t even open your mouth to thank him.

“Perfect.”, he said as his eye glimmered with mischief but before you could say anything he got up to plug the wire into the port and the noise of your teammate’s chatter flooded in.

With that he walked away, and now you were back to square one, you couldn’t find a flaw in him.

Alex never quite liked his position as the person who ran the club cause it was a lot more effort than he had realised.

But now as he stood at the main table, supervising the other members, he was free to sneak glimpses of you.

The bright smile after you win, the frustration creasing your eyebrows when you lost, his fingers still tingled from the bold move he had somehow managed to pull, to feel the soft touch of your skin. He would have never done this with Jackie but with you, he felt like himself. Confident and certain in what he wanted. His heart didn’t beat against his chest, it instead covered him with a sense of comfort.

There was something about you he couldn’t quite place, something that made it impossible for him to look at anyone else.

[mithliya]

i’m getting spammed with anon hate and i honestly don’t think this place is redeemable so im probs not going to be posting for idk how long. radblr has given me less than nothing. since joining radblr, people have overwhelmingly been unbelievably cruel to me.

my first year on radblr, women 1-2 decades older than me viciously harassed me for asking questions as someone not familiar with certain beliefs held here. these women harassed me for months non-stop, posted my full legal name, posted homes neighbouring where i lived in bahrain, and essentially released my private information. i had to threaten them back just in hopes they would leave me alone, which they didn’t really do. they simply stopped posting my name bc they wanted to make me look like im bad for finding one of their names simply by googling her url (her full name was her twitter username). one of the people in that circle was radicaldumbass, who then came back as macroclit, and again came back as radicalstoner. i moved on but i haven’t forgotten.

then, black-diaspora repeated the same thing. she posted pictures of my mother and led people to finding my mom's facebook. to this day, i still get anons with my mother’s name and my sister’s name. my sister was about 13 when anons first started sending me her name in threatening anons. somehow, black-diaspora was rewritten as a victim of mine despite her being repeatedly racist & lesbophobic to me & posting my mom’s info.

i was being abused by my ex-gf and women on here literally picked my abuse apart and enabled TRAs like lostelvenqueen to make up lies that i was the one abusing my abuser. that vicious lie was reiterated for 4 years. while being abused, women on radblr were mocking me for needing money when my ex-girlfriend was actively stealing from me at the time. to this day people use against me the fact that i needed help in that time bc some mutuals helped finance 2 dinners & my medication, all of which i either paid them back for or drew art as payment.

then, again, another woman dug through an old blog i ran as a teenager and found some posts here and there to make it seem like i, as a 15 and 16 year old, definitely loved being totally controlled by someone and physically abused whenever i didn’t follow his exact commands. i spoke openly about this trauma years prior to this person “exposing” me & arguing that i actually wanted that abuse by pointing to random innocuous posts and forming a story out of it. i think every abuse victim can imagine how difficult it is to still face trauma from something and instead of being allowed to heal, having it brought up to you several days a week to taunt you and having “feminists” tell you that you actually wanted it and are lying when you say otherwise. to this day, i get daily anons mentioning my name because this woman also put my legal name out there.

women here have put me in physical danger, they have made up the vilest lies about me, they’ve called me racial slurs, they’ve been outright racist to me, they’ve speculated about my rape & abuse, they’ve joked about lynching me, they’ve questioned things as minuscule as what i had for dinner. and despite that, i haven’t returned that same treatment. i remained relatively consistent, i simply criticised what i thought was wrong and provided evidence to my statements.

i made some nice friends on here & i’ll keep talking to them. but i’m going to be reevaluating why i’m wasting my time in a space that has overwhelmingly caused me stress, a space where countless unbelievable lies have been spun about me and a place where people have said & done the vilest things and in the end, i was always framed as a bad person based on half-truths or outright lies. now, people falsely claim that women who unfollow me or block me risk having their private information exposed, when i have met at least a dozen women from radblr and run a server with hundreds of women from radblr, have seen hundreds of faces, and have never exposed such information even if we end up disliking each other. i could tolerate many ridiculous lies, but why should i? i’m pretty fed up of tolerating this.

enjoy spinning this however you want and lying about me further. idk when i’ll be back or if i’ll want to be back. it’s pretty clear to me that this space prioritises lesbophobes & racists (& sometimes even downright misogynists) over people who calmly criticise it. i joined this space initially bc i thought it was somewhere where i could freely be a lesbian without being hassled for it, but radblr doesn’t even offer that anymore.

[teecupangel]

I just finished watching the anime Overlord and I had conflicted feelings about Ainz the entire time like "YES DON'T EXPLOIT WORKERS AND GIVE THEM EQUALITY" and "WHY DID YOU LET DEMIURGE EAT THE CHILDREN!?!?" so to cope a little, what would be your take on Desmond reincarnating in that world? Another possible scenario I kinda want to see would be Desmond actually being one of the Supreme Beings and getting Isekai from the start of the series

Oh, nonny. You reminded me that I really need to watch the new season. I’ve been putting it off because I’m so weak for Albedo that, had it not been for my RL situation, I would have been severely tempted by these.

Anyway, let’s lay some ground rules.

The world that the anime Overlord is set in would be more or less a typical magical world. It’s ‘unique’ setup is the fact that the main character is isekai’ed in that world together with the NPCs he and his guild members created for their guild. They become pretty much the villain in this situation and the main character loses some of his humanity because he became a lich.

Sooooo… let’s fuck Desmond up and put him in a similar situation.

.

Let’s say that the game exists in his world and it’s globally published by Abstergo Entertainment, using a lite version of the Animus. It loads longer and extremely bulky compared to the Animus console in Black Flag and it’s the predecessor of the console that would be used to distribute Liberation (the version Abstergo edited).

During her free time, Rebecca messed with her Animus and made it possible to play the game (named YGGDRASIL in Overlord and we can keep it, make hints of it being connected to the actual Yggdrasil device Odin used) but, because of how her Animus works, only Desmond can go into the game. She noticed how Desmond was more relaxed playing it so she made NPCs for him because it’s a (illegal) private server. Shaun made one or two as well.

And it became Desmond’s downtime activity before leaving the Animus. It actually lowers the chance of him having a Bleeding Episode after leaving the Animus because he can go into the game and the NPCs would call him “Desmond”. It gives him time to remember who he is while still feeling the same realistic but alien sensation that the Animus gave him.

He also starts messing with the world. Well… the small kingdom that they created anyway.

They based it on the guild system with Desmond as the leader. At first, Rebecca created two NPCs based on her and Shaun to help Desmond get used to the control.

Afterwards, they started filling up their base with other NPCs that would work as bosses for each levels. Rebecca had to mess with the setting because there was no players to attack their base so she made NPCs and monsters from outside the base attack it randomly. This gives Desmond more to do.

What Desmond enjoyed though was managing the headquarters and upgrading the buildings and facilities. Shaun joked that this was because of Ezio and maybe it was.

Before long, Desmond was making his own NPCs and no one had the heart to tell him that he was making NPCs based on his ancestors and people they know (especially after Rebecca painfully elbowed Shaun before he could say anything the first time Desmond presented them with his first NPC)

After they got to the Grand Temple, Desmond used the game more like a coping mechanism, making their home impregnable with the best facilities he could think of (even going as far as research architecture and stuff)

By the time they got the key from Connor Davenport’s grave, Desmond had:

Created an underground tower with more than a hundred floors or so with their own themes and ‘gameplay mechanics’.

His first NPC has become the second in command, based on a homebrew race that Rebecca could only describe as ‘like human with divinity in them but with more omph!’. He’s based and named after Altaïr and is so OP that Rebecca actually says that he’s pretty much unbeatable. Desmond doesn’t care, it’s not like he was playing the game to play it with other people after all. Altaïr is magic-focused with maxed out magic and speed. His favorite attack is to rain down the stars in the sky and turn the lands into a cacophony of explosions.

Desmond’s second NPC isn’t any better. He’s based on Ezio and there’s actually three of them, each based on the three major points in Ezio’s life that Desmond relived. He’s in charge of the second to the last level, not that anyone has gotten that far to be honest. All three of them have different focus. One focuses on physical melee, one focuses on long range physical attacks, and the other focuses on magic. His level is actually the most populated because it’s filled with ‘cannon fodders’ that Desmond named after people Ezio recruited.

There’s a lot more NPCs that are bosses. Ratonhnhaké:ton is actually one of the ‘youngest’ NPCs created and Desmond barely managed to optimize his skill set. He’s a shapeshifter and, just to be a dick to anyone who want to go explore their base, he’s not a boss but a ‘traveler’. If the intruders have been in the same level for more than the specified (secret) time limit, Ratonhnhaké:ton would teleport to the floor and randomly take the shape of one of his forms. A wolf with a pack of ghost wolves, a large and fast bear with high self-healing stat or a large eagle that can phase through walls, all of which are picked at random. (In other words, Ratonhnhaké:ton works like the Reaper of the latter Persona games)

There’s a Malik NPC who acts more like a secretary and is in charge of Desmond’s level if he’s ‘offline’. (Does this mean Malik is Desmond’s Albedo? Uuuhhh… let’s just say he shares the same occupation as Altaïr in this case).

Shaun’s NPC is the boss of the library level where everything and anything is stored. In the Animus, this is actually Shaun just cramming every information he sees into the game because, hello, it actually has a bigger size than his laptop’s hard drive. A lot of shit in there was taken through… the ‘high seas’.

Rebecca’s NPC is the boss of the topmost (first) level. She wanted her NPC to act more like a tutorial guide and honestly? Being the first level boss means her NPC gets a lot of ‘screen time’.

Haytham is also a boss in one of the lower levels and his stage is set in a cathedral. He’s only one of the few NPCs that have a holy attribute.

Desmond doesn’t know it but the other NPCs he made are actually based on AC characters he will never meet (Edward, Arno, Shay, Jaocb, Evie, etc). He just thought he was filling up the roster and making different themes (Viking, Ancient Greece, Steampunk) because he was bored.

Oh. The last NPC Desmond created is a dragon egg he named Clay. Whether this Clay is an actual NPC dragonling or is actually Clay’s digital avatar that will get screwed up by his new draconian lineage is up to you XD

When he dies after saving the world, he wakes up in a bed that he recognized as the bed he always teleports into whenever Rebecca switches the Animus to the game for his downtime.

He knows something is wrong because his body feels weird but he would never understand how badly he’s fucked because his body composition stops him from seeing it as a fuck up.

Because Desmond’s player character?

The race of his character is a homebrew God race.

And Desmond is a god that cares for those who worship him and sees those who do not as dirt on the road.

.

In other words, Desmond and his ‘guild’ gets transported at the opposite side of where Ainz was transported. Also, Desmond’s base is underground so it took a bit of time before people realized they were there.

Enough time for Desmond to realize how the world he was in right now needed the guidance of a god who will be merciful to those who worship him.